sxmstiel

[sxmstiel]

waywardteamfreewill​:

Eileen never really had the chance to have a real Christmas, which is pretty par for the course when it comes to being a hunter. Her parents were killed when she was still a baby, and the most she did with Lillian was exchange cheap presents they collected on the road. Dean seems determined to go all out this year, claiming it’s for Jack’s benefit, but really Eileen thinks that’s just an excuse. For the first time in all their lives, they can actually settle down and have a real holiday.

She’s not really sure how she feels about it. There’s a lot more fanfare than she’s used to–from the elaborately decorated tree, to the gifts, and the meal Dean’s cooking in the kitchen that she can smell all throughout the bunker. It is nice, especially seeing how excited Jack is, but it still feels like it doesn’t belong to her. That fear is only confirmed when she waits too long to wrap her gifts, and she’s still going up until it’s almost dinner time. 

Not only does it take her too long, but they also look like messy lumps by the time she’s done. She doesn’t understand how people fold the edges without making the paper wrinkle or how to cut the right amount. At first, she kept cutting too little, and then too much, until she was surrounded by scraps of rejected wrapping paper. She does manage it eventually though. While, she isn’t proud of her results, all that matters is that she did it.

She carries her sad looking presents to the living room and finds Cas already beneath the tree, organizing his immaculately wrapped gifts. Maybe, she should’ve asked him for help. For some reason, she didn’t think a newly human man would do a better job than her. She just hopes he likes the gardening tools she got him. 

She grins when the former angel signs to her, always a little grateful that there’s one other person here who’s fluent in ASL. Sam has drastically improved, but he’s still learning. “I don’t think I can face him yet,” She admits after shifting her presents to one arm, so she can sign before joining him under the tree, showing off her terrible wrapped gifts. “Is gift wrapping something you learn as an angel?” She signs with a laugh. 

Eileen is a newer addition to the bunker, but Cas enjoys her presence. Cas has always respected hunters, but he sometimes forgets how vulnerable it feels to be human until he is one—it was so much easier to hunt when a simple knife wound or bite mark was a meaningless inconvenience at worst. Every time Eileen leaves the bunker, she’s risking far more than Cas has since losing his Grace for good this time around. It shouldn’t surprise him though. He saw Eileen’s strength firsthand at their initial meeting, when she stood up for Sam, and he’s only grown more impressed with time.

“No, that wasn’t one of my duties,” Cas signs, his expression hopefully wry enough that she knows he’s in on the joke. “But there are several good videos online about gift wrapping. The tutorials from Japan are particularly useful. I’ve learned you don’t need nearly as much tape as you’d think.” That’s genuine advice—amongst everything else he’s meticulously researched since becoming human, gift wrapping was one of his more recent interests. 

He just—wants to do this right. And yes, Cas is fully aware that in the grand scheme of his long life, his ability to wrap a gift correctly should hardly register, but it does anyway. It’s important: this bunker, these gifts, celebrating this holiday with his chosen family. Strange that there are versions of himself, somewhere, who didn’t choose this.

Maybe it doesn’t matter. Those version of himself are gone anyway, no doubt destroyed when his Father destroyed the other universes. He’ll never know what was so different about them—or what was so different about him, apparently. As confusing and frustrating as it can feel being human sometimes, it also feels inevitable in some ways. The Winchesters didn’t create his doubts, his fascination with humanity, but they solidified them. Dean did. He wishes he hadn’t needed to choose between Heaven and Earth, but if he can’t have both, this is the one he wants. 

“I could show you, if you’re interested,” he signs next, part out of pride and part his endless desire to be helpful around the bunker. “It’s easier than it sounds.”

[sxmstiel]

@waywardteamfreewill​

In the kitchen, Sam and Dean are cooking together. Cas can hear the ebb and flow of their voices from the living room, even if he can’t make out the words. The occasional laugh. Running water. It’s all background noise though, when he once might’ve heard it all clearly, despite walls and distance between them. It’s soothing in its own way when it’s muffled though. Peaceful.

Much of Christmas is, if Cas is honest. He won’t pretend he understood the point before, when he watched humans decorate their trees and exchange their gifts. Sam and Dean have certainly never celebrated it this way, not in the decade Cas has known them. And, in human terms, a decade is a long time. 

But Jack’s excited. That alone would’ve been enough for Cas, but this holiday is growing on him in its own right too—and not only because he’s looking forward to whatever Dean’s making in the kitchen right now. As a soldier—as an angel—so much of Cas’ life was routine. Ritualistic. Praying to his unknowable father, watching humanity’s growing pains, following orders. The chaos of this new world feels sharply different. It’s a good thing, but there’s a certain appeal to finding new rituals too. Human ones. Maybe celebrating Christmas will be one of his.

Besides: Jack isn’t he only one who is excited. Everyone in the bunker can see how Dean lit up at the idea  of a genuine Christmas celebration. So, Cas is determined to do this right. He’d deliberated over his gifts all month, spent perhaps too much time choosing each one. It’s not as though his list was long. Dean. Sam. Jack. Eileen. Claire, even if hers was ordered in advance and shipped to Jody’s house. 

Eileen’s was the hardest. Her gift is wrapped the most extravagantly in return, dressed up with multiple bows. They’re all wrapped carefully though, with different patterns and paper for each person. Jack, for example, gets comic book print.

Cas is knelt by the tree, neatly stacking each of his gifts under it, when Eileen herself enters the room. Cas finishes his task, then turns. “Merry Christmas,” he signs, once he’s sure Eileen’s attention is on him. Neither English nor American Sign Language are his native language, but they both come easily to him even now. Cas stands, surprised still when his knee pops. “If you’re looking for Sam, he’s helping Dean,” Cas adds, nodding towards the kitchen. “So, it shouldn’t be long before he’s sent back out here.”

[sxmstiel]

sxmstiel​:

Cas has seen plenty of movies, especially since the bunker became his home. Some might say he’s watched too many by now. Old westerns with Dean. Planet Earth with Sam, even if Cas spends most of it correcting the narration. Star Wars with Jack. Just about anything on Netflix, no matter how terrible, when he’s left to his own devices for too long. Cas has had popcorn too, even if they make it in the microwave in their kitchen. With Jack around, there’s been even more movie nights than before. 

Cas considers bringing all that up, but, apparently, there’s a difference between watching movies from the bunker’s couch and watching them in the theater. If that’s the case, then it will be something new for him.

That’s the case for almost everything, as he’s finding out. The world itself isn’t new, not when he’s watched it from afar for generations, but it is different. Cas is simply…existing in the world, rather than fighting for it, and that’s strange. He never knows what  to expect when he steps outside the bunkers walls, especially now that his senses are so dulled. Last time he was human, he died. Granted, he died plenty of times as an angel too—all things considered, he’d died much more as an angel, actually. That doesn’t stop Cas from worrying about what might happen now that he won’t see it coming, won’t be able to stop it. 

A movie doesn’t sound bad though. Cas likes movies, buttered popcorn, and time with Dean. Putting them all together can only be a good thing.

Still, as he puts the finishing touches on his own planter, Cas finds himself asking for the other option anyway. Cooking would keep them both behind the bunker’s walls, but it isn’t only that. “I don’t know how to cook yet,” he says, looking over at Dean. Cas’ shoulder is still warm, even when Dean moves his hand away again. “I’d like that. It seems like a useful skill. And you’re very good at it,” Cas adds, because it’s true. “I’m sure you’re an excellent teacher.” 

Food is, of course, the best part about being human so far. It’s something he’d remembered fondly, even as an angel—even when everything tasted like the sum of its molecular parts, instead of simply sweet or savory. 

He also knows that Dean likes to eat as much as he likes to cook. Maybe more. Sam wasn’t allowed in the kitchen, even when he still lived here, and Jack’s more prone to eating sugary cereals straight out of the box and putting together food combinations that even Cas questions. Eileen is much better in the kitchen, but she’s busy with hunting still.

It doesn’t seem fair that Dean is the only one cooking proper meals for the bunker then, once all is said and done. Maybe this is something Cas can do to help. He’ll have an excuse to grow more herbs then too. And, speaking of his herb garden—“The  thyme looks great,” Cas adds, nodding down towards the freshly trimmed planter. “Maybe we can use it in our first lesson.”

Dean doesn’t know what his face does when Cas shows faith in his teaching skills, but he’s sure it looks mostly constipated. Learning to take a damn compliment, that’s another item on his endless list of things he’s working on. It’s on the tip of his tongue–to laugh it off or make a comment about how Sammy is the one with a college education, but he chokes it back, and the strain of it shows. 

Charlotte would say something about acknowledging his worth, and after spending his entire life doing the exact opposite, it doesn’t come easily to him. He fights through that voice that tells him he can’t help Cas, because he can’t help anyone. The last time Cas was a human, Dean basically said ‘good luck figuring it out, buddy. See you later,’ and doing everything he can to make up for that can’t erase that. But he also can’t change the past. All he can do is try to do good by Cas now, and finally the very small rational part of his brain reminds him that if the guy wants to learn how to cook then he’s actually his best bet. Unless, he wants to learn how to give someone food poisoning, then Sammy it is.

“I’ll have you going from a PB&J sandwich to a Turkey Melt in no time, Cas,” He finally says, the promise coming out a little shakier than he meant to, but that’s pretty par for the course with anything he says to Cas these days. “Not that there’s anything wrong with loving a good PB&J,” He adds offhandedly, because…well, there’s something real endearing about a fallen angel cherishing a sandwich meant for kids.

When Cas points out the thyme, Dean turns his attention back to it and tilts his head as he tries to see what the other sees. It looks like a plant to him, but if Cas says it’s great, he’ll have to trust him. It’d be kick ass on some roasted chicken, which gives him an idea for his first lesson. Roasted chicken and vegetables is pretty damn easy for a beginner. Just season it up, stick it in the oven, and wait patiently. 

“Awesome,” He comments with a satisfied grin, stepping back to admire his work. “I already got just the thing for your first class,” He pauses before braving a glance at his friend, a soft smile reaching his face. “We make a good team, Cas,” He says sincerely.

There was a time when he told Cas that the two of them and Sam were just better together, which he’ll stand by ‘til he’s on his death bed, but he’s starting to realize that they don’t actually have to be together for that to still be true. He misses having Sam around–ragging on him, picking up after him, and everything in between, but this is good. Sam is finally getting that normalcy he’s always wanted, and Dean is getting…Cas. Even if it’s not in the way he really wants, he’s still here, and that’s all he really needs.

[sxmstiel]

waywardteamfreewill​:

Those words are so simple, but somehow they feel like Dean’s entire world. Cas is happy to be there–with Dean, and he’s not a flight risk anymore. Dean’s wanted a lot of things in his forty years, but he always brushed them aside, telling himself that Winchesters don’t get what they want, and eventually it became too easy for Dean to just forget those fleeting selfish moments. 

But in the decade he’s known Cas, there’s been this stubborn, persistent need that he just can’t let go of this time–for Cas to stay. And not just stay, want to be there. All those times he heard wings flutter behind him, only to turn around to an empty room and a sinking feeling in chest, all those times he knelt beside Cas’s lifeless body, feeling like the world was crumbling around him, he’d let himself do something he never did and prayed for him to come back. Somehow, this former angel went from went from this strange entity that pulled him out of hell to one of the most important people in his life–one he can’t stand to be away from. He might even be able to stomach Sam moving more than Cas, and boy is that a weird realization. 

Dean tries to focus on clipping as he listens to Cas, but his hand feels a little unsteady so he pauses to rest his hands on the table, fixing his gaze on Cas. He looks so different and similar to his old self at the same time. Same blue eyes, same messy hair, but there’s something noticeably human about him now that wasn’t there before. Part of being human means feeling things more, and Dean knows Cas already carries a lot of guilt over his family, but it must feel like a punch to the gut now. He can’t help but feel a little responsible, even though he knows this time that a lot of that isn’t his fault. But…Cas wouldn’t have been involved in a war against heaven if he and Sam hadn’t started the apocalypse. 

Cas isn’t exactly ready to throw himself head first into humanity and join society, but there’s still things Dean thinks they could try that are just for them, and don’t feel like he’s trying to fill the hole Sam left behind. It shouldn’t be too hard, there’s a lot of shit Dean hasn’t done, considering the world was always on the brink of ending. 

“That’s be great,” Dean says with a tentative smile, steeling himself to reach over and give Cas’s shoulder a squeeze, the small touch causing warmth to bloom in his chest. “You know, I was thinking, there’s a lot of things you still need to try for the first time. We can start slow,” Dean feels the need to add, so he doesn’t overwhelm him. “Like I can teach you how to cook. Or we can go to the movies. You gotta experience buttered popcorn in the dark and your feet sticking to the floor for the first time.”

To an outsider, it’d sound like Dean is asking Cas on a date, but he’s pretty sure his friend isn’t versed enough in social cues or human courting rituals to catch on. Which is a relief, because as much as Dean has been itching to do something about all these…feelings, he isn’t ready. It doesn’t feel like he’ll ever be honestly, it’s just too big. Cas isn’t some waitress he’s trying to pick up, he’s not even on the same plane as Cassie or Lisa. He’s…well, he’s kind of everything. It’s fucking terrifying.

Cas has seen plenty of movies, especially since the bunker became his home. Some might say he’s watched too many by now. Old westerns with Dean. Planet Earth with Sam, even if Cas spends most of it correcting the narration. Star Wars with Jack. Just about anything on Netflix, no matter how terrible, when he’s left to his own devices for too long. Cas has had popcorn too, even if they make it in the microwave in their kitchen. With Jack around, there’s been even more movie nights than before. 

Cas considers bringing all that up, but, apparently, there’s a difference between watching movies from the bunker’s couch and watching them in the theater. If that’s the case, then it will be something new for him.

That’s the case for almost everything, as he’s finding out. The world itself isn’t new, not when he’s watched it from afar for generations, but it is different. Cas is simply...existing in the world, rather than fighting for it, and that’s strange. He never knows what  to expect when he steps outside the bunkers walls, especially now that his senses are so dulled. Last time he was human, he died. Granted, he died plenty of times as an angel too—all things considered, he’d died much more as an angel, actually. That doesn’t stop Cas from worrying about what might happen now that he won’t see it coming, won’t be able to stop it. 

A movie doesn’t sound bad though. Cas likes movies, buttered popcorn, and time with Dean. Putting them all together can only be a good thing.

Still, as he puts the finishing touches on his own planter, Cas finds himself asking for the other option anyway. Cooking would keep them both behind the bunker’s walls, but it isn’t only that. “I don’t know how to cook yet,” he says, looking over at Dean. Cas’ shoulder is still warm, even when Dean moves his hand away again. “I’d like that. It seems like a useful skill. And you’re very good at it,” Cas adds, because it’s true. “I’m sure you’re an excellent teacher.” 

Food is, of course, the best part about being human so far. It’s something he’d remembered fondly, even as an angel—even when everything tasted like the sum of its molecular parts, instead of simply sweet or savory. 

He also knows that Dean likes to eat as much as he likes to cook. Maybe more. Sam wasn’t allowed in the kitchen, even when he still lived here, and Jack’s more prone to eating sugary cereals straight out of the box and putting together food combinations that even Cas questions. Eileen is much better in the kitchen, but she’s busy with hunting still.

It doesn’t seem fair that Dean is the only one cooking proper meals for the bunker then, once all is said and done. Maybe this is something Cas can do to help. He’ll have an excuse to grow more herbs then too. And, speaking of his herb garden—“The  thyme looks great,” Cas adds, nodding down towards the freshly trimmed planter. “Maybe we can use it in our first lesson.”

[sxmstiel]

waywardteamfreewill​:

“Sam’s gonna need those 8 to 10 weeks just to decorate the place,” Dean points out with a snort. The two of them don’t exactly have experience making a home…homey. Growing up in motels meant never hanging up photos, never growing a house plant, never having to think about what furniture looks good or what natural light can do for a place. For the longest time, all he knew was he hated ugly ass motel wallpaper and used sheets. 

But once they found the bunker, Dean became a wannabe HGTV host and filled his room with things, jumping at the chance to have his own bedroom since he was four. Meanwhile, Sam treated his room like just another motel room. It barely took them any time to pack, because, even though they’ve been here for nearly a decade, Sam never settled in. Dean can just picture his brother now, wandering around his empty town home and with a lost puppy expression, trying to figure out where to put his shit. Unless Eileen intervenes, he’s fully expecting a very barren house-warming party. 

Dean nods absently at Cas’s explanation, his mind still focused on Sam and his new home. It seems weird that cutting a plant somehow makes it healthier, but he isn’t going to argue with the guy who’s spent most of his newfound humanity gardening. He guesses it kind of makes sense, sometimes amputation is the best way to treat an injury with a human, but that’s a little extreme. 

He pauses his clipping when he hears the words “I’m not Sam,” and he’s not surprised Cas says it, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. From day one, Dean made it clear Sam comes first. Cas, save Sam from Lucifer. Cas, pull Sam from hell. Cas, give Sam his soul back. Cas, fix the wall. Cas, you can’t stay in the bunker because I have to save Sam. 

It’s no wonder Cas is comparing himself to his brother, and usually he’d brush it aside, make a joke, but his gaze goes to the ring on his finger as he smooths the dirt, and he knows he can’t run anymore. It’s probably just a harmless statement, and he’s overreacting by commenting, but he meant it when he said he never wants Cas to doubt his place here. 

“Hey,” Dean stops what he’s doing and angles himself to face Cas, stare him straight in the eye, “You’re not some cheap Sam replacement, alright? I’m fucking happy you’re here, Cas,” He says, his voice low and stern. He clenches his jaw and swallows roughly as he prepares himself to admit what he’s always longed for every time he turned around and Cas was just gone, every time he came back to an empty bunker. “All this time–I just wanted you stay, man. I hated it when you kept leaving. I mean, I didn’t want–this to happen to you,” He gestures to Cas in his very casual, human outfit, “But I’m just…I’m glad you’re here.” 

“I know,” Cas reassures him, even if there’s that same warm feeling at Dean’s words. If becoming human has made Cas more vulnerable, it seems to have done the same for Dean in their conversations—or maybe this is who Dean is, once the adrenaline rush finally fades, once there isn’t an impending end of the world to martyr himself for. He likes this version of Dean.

It’s obvious Dean remembers their Purgatory conversation too, that he took it to heart—Cas’ accusations that maybe he kept leaving, but Dean never stopped him. “I’m happy to be here too,” Cas says. As long as Dean, Eileen, Sam, and Jack want him around, he isn’t going anywhere. 

And, yes, Cas wants to be useful while he’s here. He can’t hide that. He doesn’t feel useful anymore, after a very, very long lifetime as a soldier, and he’s adjusting. Poorly, maybe, but he’s allowed. He’s fairly certain turning from angel to human is considered a life-changing event. But Cas didn’t offer to help Dean in the garage because he thinks of himself as a replacement for Sam. Cas could never replace Sam; that isn’t the point. Sam doesn’t need replacing. That doesn’t mean it isn’t hard for Dean, so used to seeing his brother by his side, when he turns around and Sam isn’t there. If Cas secretly wanted Dean to stop him from leaving, Sam had the opposite experience.

Sam, of course, is not dead. Not this time. Hopefully not for a very long time, at least by human standards (and Cas might’ve still called that a brief amount of time even for the longest human life, except it seems like his days are slowing down lately; there aren’t more hours in the day, but they matter more, stretch out longer). Still, Cas has seen firsthand what happens when the Winchesters are separated. He’s been the victim of it many times, just as he’s used it for his devices. Years ago, he broke the wall in Sam’s head to keep Dean busy. The fact that it worked only proves his point. 

“I’ve lost many brothers and sisters over the years,” Cas says, instead. Not just through death. Heaven is still up there, and there are new members of what could’ve been his family, alongside the few older angels who survived the chaos of the last decade or so, but they aren’t his anymore. Jack has more claim to Heaven then Cas. This is his new, nearly human family now, one Cas chose time and time again—one he still would chose, if he could somehow get his Grace back tomorrow—but that doesn’t mean he can’t sometimes grieve that family he used to have too. “It’s understandable if you miss having Sam in the bunker. If I can help, I’d like to. That’s all I meant.”

[sxmstiel]

waywardteamfreewill‌:

Dean wonders what gave Cas the impression that he’s genuinely worried about getting hurt by a bunch plants. It isn’t until he relaxes his face that he realizes his eyebrows were pinched together, which must’ve given away that he isn’t exactly Mr. Cool, Calm and Collected over here. If only Cas really knew what was going on in this head, and it isn’t plants. 

He meets Cas’s small smile with his own strained one as he takes the scissors, their fingers brushing. He’s so used to their small touches now that the heat that follows doesn’t cause him to flinch back anymore. Instead, he takes comfort in the warmth that settles in his stomach whenever he’s close to Cas, because, while loving him will always scare him a little, it doesn’t feel like something he has to run from anymore. His parents are dead, Sammy knows, and Dean thinks he’s dealt with this long enough to finally allow himself to be comfortable with thinking dudes are hot. He’s pined after Cas long enough to be comfortable with thinking he’s hot. 

What would happen if Cas could tell that he was he was worrying about him and not plants though? Dean is pretty sure this isn’t entirely one-sided. Whether Cas feels that way about him or not, they have do have a connection that they don’t share with anyone else–that profound bond. That has to mean something, right? Or maybe they’re just meant to be like this–best friends who live out the rest of their human lives clipping plants and using the herbs Cas grows to cook. If that is how things are going to be, it’s not like Dean can complain. He always though he’d die with from a bullet or the bad side of a knife, so growing old with Cas, even platonically, ain’t half bad. 

Even though it seems like the world has handed him his perfect happy ending on a silver platter, he still has a long way to go. A lot of demons to conquer, even if they’re in his head this time. Charlotte still wants to see him frequently. Coming out was a big milestone for him, but there’s still years and years of Winchester trauma to work through–things he still hasn’t figured out how to deal with without drinking it away.

Dean didn’t need a therapist to tell him he has a drinking problem to know that. It’s just another trait he inherited through John Winchester. But he always figured with his life he’s allowed to rely on a bottle of Jack Daniels to get him through the night. If he’s going to die before he’s forty, then what difference does it make that he’s ruining his liver? Except now Dean’s 41 with nothing to fight and basically guaranteed to die in his sleep like a regular guy. There’s nothing to drink through, but that hasn’t stopped him from picking up the bottle. Even he has to admit that Charlotte has a point, it might be time to kick yet another one of his bad habits.

He keeps that in the back of his mind as he starts clipping the thyme like Cas instructed, and he can see why he likes this so much. It’s kind of like how Dean lets his mind go quiet as he works on Baby’s engine. It’s therapeutic in a way. He pauses his work to look at Cas with a real grin this time. The fact that Cas is looking up how to pair herbs with food makes his chest warm. “Yeah, it does,” He says softly before going back to clipping. “And mint goes good with lamb. Soon you and me can work together to make a feast for Sam’s first house party.”

Dean gets to work harvesting the thyme, and Cas watches, for a second, even though he doesn’t need to. He trusts Dean. He’s trusted Dean with his life; he can certainly trust him with an herb garden. This is a peaceful moment though. Cas doesn’t need to rush onto his own task. The life within his new seeds has waited so long already, through packaging, shipment, Cas fumbling for the right amount of change at the cash register. The mint can wait a few minutes more for its perfect planting conditions.

In the end, he pauses for too long. He gets caught staring. Dean looks back up with a smile, talking about cooking and food and Sam’s new house, and Cas reflexively looks away a moment too late, feeling guilty somehow. After all, Dean’s gone to work on Cas’ garden already and Cas isn’t actually helping. 

He busies himself now though, rolling the sleeves of both his thick sweater and the long-sleeved shirt underneath up to his elbow—it’s so cold in the winter months, even if he never realized before, and Cas has quickly adopted the Winchesters’ predilection for layers—so he can scoop handfuls of dirt into a fresh, formerly empty planter. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that,” Cas says, as he works. “The mint will take 8 to 10 weeks though,” he adds, directly quoting the information on the pack of the seed packet. “So Sam may have to be patient.”

He smooths the dirt down as he speaks, wondering if he should’ve thought to take off his own winged ring. It’ll need to be cleaned now. He likes the way it looks on though: a reminder, that Dean, at least, is working to accept Castiel Kline instead of Castiel the angel. That makes him reluctant to set it aside, even for this. That attitude, at least, is not new. He’s always been sentimental. With the angels, it was considered a flaw. With the Winchesters, with Jack, it’s a strength.

Cas glances back over at Dean, buoyed now that he’s begun his own work in turn, and nods approvingly at the small bundle of thyme Dean’s collected so far. “Good,” he says. “When we just clip the top that way, the whole plant grows better.” That isn’t necessarily something Dean needs to know, but Cas has spent late nights researching this garden—that and human health, an endlessly grimmer task—and it feels good to share. He likes being knowledgeable on this. It’s pride, plain and simple. He doesn't accomplish much these days, but what he does, he does right.  

But not alone. At least not today. “Thank you for helping,” Cas adds, belatedly. “I’m not Sam, but I’d be happy to hand you your wrenches sometime in return. You’d just have to show me which one is which.”

[sxmstiel]

waywardteamfreewill‌:

Dean has taken to domestic living faster than expected for a guy who didn’t have a real bedroom until his late thirties, but, as wrong as it feels to admit it, he likes caring for a home. He’s been thriving on decorating, cooking, un-ironically reading ‘Country Living,’ and watching HGTV for inspiration. Still, in his transition from hunter to housewife, he still doesn’t know a damn thing about gardening. 

It’s not like the Winchesters had any opportunities to lay down any roots growing up–metaphorically or literally. The impala wasn’t exactly a greenhouse. From the few times he’s watched Cas do it though, it seems like a relaxing hobby. He even talks to his plants, for fucks sake. It’s both weird and adorable as hell–the perfect way to describe Cas in general, he thinks. 

Dean wouldn’t usually volunteer to help with this kind of thing. He’s pretty sure he’s destined to be a plant murderer, but in his efforts to keep his promise to be a better friend, and maybe with a slight ulterior motive to get closer to him, Dean agreed to help when Cas asked. He knows he’s being a little…clingy lately. The massive bunker feels too big without Sam, and he’s feeling his brother’s absence like a missing limb. But he isn’t just latching onto Cas as a Sam replacement. Between his big coming out moment and now having the bunker to themselves, it seems like the time to start testing the waters–to see if things between them will ever be something more or if they’ll always just be best friends who just stare at each other a little too much. 

As Cas gets things ready, Dean busies himself with removing the rings he’s taken to wearing again, so he doesn’t get any dirt trapped underneath them. He shoots Cas an amused look, because it’s just such a Cas thing to say. “Right, don’t wanna piss off the mint. We might have an herbal bloodbath on our hands,” He snorts before stepping to Cas’s side, close enough that their shoulders brush. 

He doesn’t know what he’d rather help with, because he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, but he guesses whatever will give him the least chance of ruining Cas’s garden. “Harvesting sounds…safe?” Dean suggests, though it comes out more like a question. How hard can it be pull something out of the dirt? He’s pretty good at digging shit up. “Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it, bud–Cas,” He says quickly, covering up his mistake with a cough. 

‘Don’t call him buddy, you ass,” He reminds himself, though he doubts Cas can tell the difference. It’s not like angels know all about the intricacies of pet names. He doubts that Cas worries Dean is friend-zoning him every time he uses the “b” word. Actually, it’s most likely that Cas doesn’t think about him in that way at all, and all this internal debating and agonizing is for nothing. Why would a former angel of the lord waste that kind of love on a guy like him? Just a human–a human who is almost directly responsible for everything that’s gone wrong in Cas’s life. 

As usual, Dean finds a way to make a joke. Cas lets him have it, with an exasperated expression that’s as fond as it is practiced. And thankfully it does come without much thought, because Dean steps close—not too close; it’s only the way humans interact with one another, the way Cas interacted with Dean before he knew what it meant—and their shoulders brush together. It’s distracting. It shouldn’t be. Cas is adjusting still, that’s all. He never used to be this aware. 

Somewhere along the way this ceased to be Jimmy’s body and started to become his, but it isn’t until he became human for good, with no chance of recourse, that he truly understood what that meant. There is so much in humanity that angels never experience, despite their supposed role as protectors. For example, he never had goosebumps as an angel. He does now. It wouldn’t be uncomfortable for someone else, surely, but for Cas the pinpricks have him leaning away from Dean to grab their supplies.

He misses it, if he’s honest. Feeling like he could help Dean. Feeling like brushing Dean’s hand with his own could bring Dean comfort, alongside healing grace. Now that Cas is in his own, very human, body, he isn’t sure he understood any of it.

Was this why Dean used to flinch away, when Cas first began appearing beside him or healing his wounds? If so, what changed? Dean hasn’t done that in years. If anything, Cas is the one who pulls back now. His touch can’t heal anymore. His hands aren’t channels to grace—they’re just hands. Useless, in comparison to what they could once do.

He doesn’t feel the same way about Dean’s, somehow. Dean is human, but he’s trained his entire life. Even in this new world, Dean still cooks, cleans, cares for the Imapala and his family. Dean has purpose, even if it isn’t what it once was. Dean’s always been good at that though: forging a new path, instead of the one laid out for him.

When Cas glances down at Dean’s hands now, they’re bereft of their new rings—or their old ones, as the case may be. Cas likes the rings though. Dean wore them when they first met, and this seems like a return. Nostalgic. Of course, even back then though, Dean was far from healed. He’d already lost his father. Already watched his brother die. Already been to Hell. But somehow, the next ten years would see Dean face down worse, even with Cas at his side. It’s soothing, now, to see Dean removing his rings to work in this small garden rather than to clean blood and disaster off them.

“It’s all safe,” Cas says, because although Dean’s joking, he’s still developed that characteristic slant in his eyebrows that mean he is worrying about something. “No harm is going to come to you from an herb garden, Dean,” Cas deadpans, with a wry smile. “And you’re not going to hurt it either. These plants are resilient.” Even still, he directs Dean towards the thyme before handing him a pair of small scissors. Thyme, as much as mint, can withstand most things.  “You only need to clip the top few inches,” he says, using his forefinger and thumb to show Dean roughly the amount. “And then we’ll dry it. According to the Internet, it goes well with chicken.” 

[sxmstiel]

@waywardteamfreewill​

Gardening is not simple. It looks that way from the outside—already there is plenty to harvest, even after he’d trimmed his herb garden as much as he could for Dean’s gift last month. It doesn’t take much work from Cas either, if he’s honest. He fertilizes the planters once or twice a month. He makes sure the grow lights have working light bulbs. The soil dries out quickly, but it’s supposed to. Most of his herbs are from hot, arid climates��historically, at least; in reality, these actual seeds came from the Ace Hardware in town—so he’s sure to let the soil dry out each time.

So it’s simple enough, as far as what they actually need from Cas. But at  its core, gardening is still complicated because life is complicated. From the outside, a seed is just a seed. Even still, it requires just the right amounts of glucose, water, and carbon dioxide for that seed to even consider sprouting. Everything must be perfectly balanced, until the roots grow deep enough, the shoots emerge from the earth, the leave unfurl. All this, a microcosm of what happens on the planet, occurs within Cas’ shallow planters inside the bunker’s walls.  All this, and it happens without Chuck’s interference or even his presence.

Cas enjoys gardening. The orderly steps. The neat rows of plants. It’s nothing like the life he used to live, but in between the wars—from what he still remembers, what wasn’t tampered with—he liked to watch things grow. Evolve. 

Sometimes, he looks at his plants and thinks about complicated photosynthetic processes. Sometimes, he just thinks about whether he should plant more basil for Dean to use in the kitchen. That’s the benefit of a human mind, he supposes, if his can truly be called that. Humanity has always been more flexible, more versatile, than most. 

Today, he’ll be both trimming the old and planting the new. He normally works on his small herb garden alone, but Dean hovered long enough that it seemed only fair to ask him to help. Maybe Dean isn’t sure what to do with himself now that Sam’s gone. In that, Cas can relate, even if it’s for different reasons. “Would you rather help harvest first or plant the new seeds? The mint will need its own pot. It can be...aggressive.”

[sxmstiel]

sxmstiel‌:

There’s a long moment between Sam’s and Dean’s reply. It it feels long, at least, because Sam’s second guessing himself already. Maybe he was too casual.  Maybe he hasn’t been casual enough. Maybe he should’ve told Dean years ago, when he first realized this about himself, but their dad was around, and then Sam was in college, and then their dad was dead and everything was wrong—the list is endless. 

Technically, Sam hasn’t kept it a secret. That’s what he’s told himself, at least. If Dean had ever directly asked him, he wouldn’t have lied…which was an easy cop-out, when he knew damn well Dean would never bring it up, even when Sam made jokes about Sastiel or made eyes at a bartender in some middle-of-nowhere town. Even now, half the reason Sam’s saying something so explicitly is for Dean’s sake, because he’s almost positive Dean’s grappling with this himself. And doesn’t that say everything about Sam’s version of honesty? It isn’t a lie, he just isn’t talking about it. It’s honesty, but only because he’s trying to convince Dean to do the same.

Healthy or not, it works though, because Dean utters the phrase John’s bisexual sons. Sam follows Dean’s lead then, responds as casually as possible—which is to say he makes a joke, stealing the infamous page from Dean’s playbook for emotional conversations. 

“Wait, you have a thing for cowboys?” Sam says, sarcasm obvious in his tone. “I would never have guessed.” Sam didn’t sit through a lifetime of cowboy movies, a literal trip to Dodge City, and watching Dean dressing both himself and Cas up to avoid making fun of Dean for it. Just a little, at least, now that it’s finally out in the open. 

Dean’s the one who moves the conversation back towards something more serious though and Sam automatically shakes his head when Dean apologizes. “No, Dean, you didn’t,” he says, although he isn’t sure that’s completely true. Sam’s been sure that Dean isn’t completely straight himself for a while, but that wasn’t always the case. Growing up, Sam saw Dean with his string of girlfriends, heard Dean’s constant dating advice, sat through jokes about being a girl and needing to grow a pair. Looking back, he knows why Dean acted that way. As a kid though, already so sure he was the black sheep of the family, that something was wrong with him? It stung. 

“Not in the past decade, at least,” he says. He is fine now though, even if he hasn’t always been, and that’s more important. They’re fine. “I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me either,” Sam add, because he isn’t the only one who’s avoided this conversation. “Man, we’ve got a pattern, don’t we?” Sam says, with a self-deprecating smile. “Let’s try for at least one week where we don’t have a conversation that ends with sorry, we should’ve talked about it sooner, alright?”

It doesn’t matter how old Sam gets, he’ll always be his annoying brat of a little brother, and his response to Dean’s subtle confession is true to character in kind of the best way. The reaction always felt like the scariest part of the whole coming out thing. He’s imagined so many different nightmare scenarios, ranging between grossly homophobic and “you? Dean Winchester? The Dean Winchester who loves women? Never!” The dig at his love of cowboys is the tamest of them all.

It’s not like he’s going to fall to Sam’s feet and cry about how grateful he is though, so he gives him his best glare and a quick, “Alright, alright, shut up,” in response. “At least, I wasn’t into Stanford dudes. All those beanies and fair trade lattes,” Dean says with an overdramatic dramatic shudder. 

Dean needs to stop losing himself in the past, agonizing over all those ‘what ifs,’ but with their life it’s hard not to. There’s just so much he wishes he could change that he’s surprised that pearl didn’t just disintegrate in his hand from the sheer amount of self loathing he has. He wishes he was better about Stanford, he wishes wasn’t so under his dad’s thumb that Sam didn’t talk to him, and yet he wishes he were a better son–a better brother. 

He can’t go back and fix his mistakes though. He’s lucky enough to be alive and have the chance to finally have something close to a normal life. Now is his chance to be better, and he has to take it, so he’s not still spiraling in his thoughts of regret when he’s sixty. 

“Well, we’re telling each other now,” Dean shrugs and looks at his feet awkwardly, and man does he need a drink. It goes against his “doing better” revelation, but these last days have had an emotional toll on him, between Sammy leaving and their Big Bi Bonding moment. 

“Sorry, we should’ve told each other sooner,” has been their go-to saying for the past decade, and every damn time they see how everything goes to shit when they hide things for each other, but it’s like they just won’t learn. Still, Dean thinks this was a good first step. Hell, he’s proud of them, but he’s pretty sure he hit his emotional quota for the month.

“Sure thing, Sammy. We’ll schedule a weekly phone call where we spill all our deep dark secrets,” Dean snorts before shoving the tape gun in his direction. “Until then, get packin’, man. This is what happens when you wait to tell me you’re moving until you sign the lease. You gotta do all in one day,” He points out smugly with a raised brow, “Lesson learned.”

[sxmstiel]

waywardteamfreewill‌:

Sam throws out that word casually that Dean thinks he misheard him at first. It’s like he didn’t even have to think about it–like it doesn’t feel like some cursed, damning word to him. Dean’s shoulders stiffen as he stares blankly at the tape gun gripped tightly in his hand. He’s so focused on replaying that statement in his head that he tunes out the rest of what Sam says.

“I was out as bi to all of my friends.”

That is what he said, right? Unless he’s losing it. He clenches his jaw to physically stop himself from demanding his brother to repeat himself and flood him with questions, because that’s why he hasn’t said anything even if everyone already knows. He doesn’t want some big coming out moment, he doesn’t want to have to explain himself, and he doubts Sam wants to either. 

After all this time, keeping this deep, dark secret buried inside, and it was all for nothing. It’s not like he thought Sam wouldn’t be fine with it even if he was straight, but he still worried. He practically raised the kid, he didn’t want him to look at him differently or give him a reason not to look up to him anymore. Turns out they had more in common than they thought. Dean thinks back to that day when John and Lee drove off and left him behind–how he had Sam on the phone, ready to spill his guts before chickening out. All those times he felt like he had to carry this burden alone, he could’ve talked to Sam. 

It’s not too late. They’re not really the type to share deep, meaningful talks, Sam always claims he’s fine, and Dean cuts them short before they can go too far with a “no chick flick moments.” Maybe he’s still not ready to bare his soul, but he is ready to at least talk about this. How many times did Sam want to tell Dean, but felt like he couldn’t? He was practically his dad’s shadow back then, and he can’t imagine he gave off the impression he would’ve taken that news well. 

Swallowing roughly, he drops the tape gun on the desk and faces Sam. It doesn’t matter if they’re both old as hell now, he’s still the older brother, and he won’t shrink away from Sam like a coward. “Between your hair and my thing with Cowboys, he must’ve had some idea,” Dean says before letting out a slightly hysterical laugh, “John Winchester and his bisexual sons, if he could see us now…” He trails off with an amused shake of his head, his smile tight and somewhat bitter.

“If I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me,” Dean begins, sighing, “Then man I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know how he would’ve reacted, probably bad. He wouldn’t even admit to himself back then, and he could see him turning all that pent up self-hatred on Sam, so he’s kind of glad he didn’t.

It doesn’t hit him until a second later that he technically came out, and he both feels like puking and like he’s lighter somehow. It kind of happened in the best way, because he never wanted to have to announce it. The last thing he wanted was a big, tearful confession with hugs and all that junk. Maybe it won’t be so hard to spread the word now, maybe he can just slip it in casually like Sam did, or somehow become even more explicit while talking about Dr. Sexy and his boots. 

There’s a long moment between Sam’s and Dean’s reply. It it feels long, at least, because Sam’s second guessing himself already. Maybe he was too casual.  Maybe he hasn’t been casual enough. Maybe he should’ve told Dean years ago, when he first realized this about himself, but their dad was around, and then Sam was in college, and then their dad was dead and everything was wrong—the list is endless. 

Technically, Sam hasn’t kept it a secret. That’s what he’s told himself, at least. If Dean had ever directly asked him, he wouldn’t have lied...which was an easy cop-out, when he knew damn well Dean would never bring it up, even when Sam made jokes about Sastiel or made eyes at a bartender in some middle-of-nowhere town. Even now, half the reason Sam’s saying something so explicitly is for Dean’s sake, because he’s almost positive Dean’s grappling with this himself. And doesn’t that say everything about Sam’s version of honesty? It isn’t a lie, he just isn’t talking about it. It’s honesty, but only because he’s trying to convince Dean to do the same.

Healthy or not, it works though, because Dean utters the phrase John’s bisexual sons. Sam follows Dean’s lead then, responds as casually as possible—which is to say he makes a joke, stealing the infamous page from Dean’s playbook for emotional conversations. 

“Wait, you have a thing for cowboys?” Sam says, sarcasm obvious in his tone. “I would never have guessed.” Sam didn’t sit through a lifetime of cowboy movies, a literal trip to Dodge City, and watching Dean dressing both himself and Cas up to avoid making fun of Dean for it. Just a little, at least, now that it’s finally out in the open. 

Dean’s the one who moves the conversation back towards something more serious though and Sam automatically shakes his head when Dean apologizes. “No, Dean, you didn’t,” he says, although he isn’t sure that’s completely true. Sam’s been sure that Dean isn’t completely straight himself for a while, but that wasn’t always the case. Growing up, Sam saw Dean with his string of girlfriends, heard Dean’s constant dating advice, sat through jokes about being a girl and needing to grow a pair. Looking back, he knows why Dean acted that way. As a kid though, already so sure he was the black sheep of the family, that something was wrong with him? It stung. 

“Not in the past decade, at least,” he says. He is fine now though, even if he hasn’t always been, and that’s more important. They’re fine. “I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me either,” Sam add, because he isn’t the only one who’s avoided this conversation. “Man, we’ve got a pattern, don’t we?” Sam says, with a self-deprecating smile. “Let’s try for at least one week where we don’t have a conversation that ends with sorry, we should’ve talked about it sooner, alright?”

[sxmstiel]

waywardteamfreewill‌:

“Yeah, there is,” Dean agrees with a quiet laugh. It’s something he always wanted–to be a dad. He knew it was a pipe dream and that it wasn’t in the cards for a guy like him, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t think about it. When Dean met Ben during his birthday party and did the math, he foolishly got his hopes up and had to choke back his disappointment when Lisa told him he wasn’t his. 

And then Jack came along. He’s not Dean’s by blood, but he’s still his kid. They had a hell of a rocky start, by his own fault, but once he was able to see Jack for who he was, it all kind of clicked into place. Sometimes, Dean feels robbed of the chance to really raise Jack, diapers and all, but Kelly was right, Jack had to grow up to be safe. Besides, whether he looks like a college kid or not, he still likes all the things a three year old should, and that’s enough to make him feel like they’ll have the chance to give him some kind of childhood. 

Still, their dad probably wouldn’t get it. It’s so outside of what he always believed in–saving people, hunting things. He wasn’t alive when the angels intervened, he never met Cas, and if he stuck around long enough to see that their son was technically the son of Lucifer, he probably would’ve shot first and asked questions later. 

Dean nods with a grunt of confirmation as he focuses on packing, only pausing to look up at Sam when he tells him about the apology. How the hell did they get here? He wonders. No more hunting, acting domestic as hell, and now Sam’s the one apologizing to John while Dean can’t stop thinking about all the ways he did them wrong. He used to be his dad’s perfect soldier, and if he knew what he was thinking now, he’d never forgive himself. Meanwhile, Sam seemed to try and do everything he could to separate himself from their dad. 

“Huh,” Dean says in surprise, and he doesn’t want to take Sam’s final moments with their dad away from him, so he chooses not to question him on it. “Well–uh–good. That’s good. I’m glad you got that,” He stammers before clearing his throat. “I still don’t really know why I brought him back,” Dean admits with a heavy shrug. It felt like he carried the weight of his dad’s death on his shoulders for so long, but it’s been almost fourteen years now, and he’s accepted their patched together family for what it is. It just seems like if he had one wish, it’d be something else by now.

“I guess, I don’t know, with mom back, I wanted us all to be together for the first time since we were kids. And–” He stops abruptly, wondering how deep he wants to get into this with Sam. His brother is moving out and moving on though, so it kind of seems like the time to lay it all out on the table. “I used to think I had to hide everything from him. Even now, I think about all the things I wanted to tell him and never did. All the shit he’ll never know about,” Dean sighs and runs a hand over his stubble, “I still didn’t get to, but hearing that he wanted some version of this for us was good.” 

“I get that,” Sam says. “I do.” Even before Stanford, even before he could actually leave, there were parts of himself Sam hid away. The truth of how much he hated hunting, when it was clear both Dean and their dad thought he’d calm down, grow into it. How much he sensed, even then, that he didn’t fit into that world—or maybe, if he’s honest, he’d hid the reality from himself as much as them, the fact that he fits too well, but on the other side. The thing that should be hunted, not the Hunter.

But there were other things too, things that felt smaller in comparison. He’s been around Dean long enough, looked up to Dean long enough, and he thinks he knows what Dean means when he says I wanted to tell him, I never did. He thinks he can understand, even if it’s another on the long list of items they’ve never talked about. He lives with Dean and Cas—they don’t have to talk about something for Sam to notice it.

For most of his own secrets, Sam never wanted to tell their dad. This is one of them, the way his first kiss was Amy Pond but his second was Elliott Mills, and he never spoke about either of them. How he imagined settling down with anyone, as long as it meant a picket fence and the life he coveted, and that felt so much more important than the specifics of who was there with him. 

He often did want to tell Dean that, if he’s honest. Thought about it hundreds of times before Stanford. And then after, when he was grieving Jess, grieving Madison, Sarah, the implosion of his relationship with Amelia—it felt pointless to talk about anything related to romance, because his life was just an endless cycle of loss, of remembering why he needed to hunt in the first place. 

That’s been Sam’s excuse for everything. There’s never enough time. There’s always something wrong. Something he has to fix. Some reason he can’t sit down and talk.

Well, there’s time now. Even Sam can’t deny it. “You remember, uh, when you told me Dad used to drive to Stanford to look out for me? My first thought was maybe he got to see Jess too. The closest he could’ve come to meeting her, you know?” Amazing, how after all these years, it still hurts to think about Jess. For once though, given how rarely he ever mentions her, this isn’t a story about her. “My second thought was wondering how much he knew. I had a whole life there, you know? And I kept a lot of secrets from my friends to make it work, but I was honest in other places. I know, that doesn’t make up for it, but...the stuff I couldn’t talk about back home, I talked about there. I had a picture of mom on the nightstand. I told people all about her, even though I barely knew anything back then. I was out as bi to all of my friends. Those things.” 

He swallows. Shrugs. It isn’t a big deal to talk about, except he’s somehow avoided naming it explicitly in front of Dean for decades. And yeah, he’s never directly hidden it away, but clearly he hasn’t been obvious enough either. “I don’t think dad saw most of that though.” Knows he didn’t. He’s certain he would’ve heard about it. “I don’t know what he would’ve said. He had a hard enough time with the college part.” That feels almost sacrilegious, after everything else Sam’s said in their dad’s favor today. It isn’t bitter though, not after all these years. It’s just the truth.

[sxmstiel]

You got four of the same color connected, so… Given the name of the game I assume that means you’ve won

[sxmstiel]

waywardteamfreewill‌:

“The kid’s gonna bounce between places like a child of divorce,” Dean huffs a laugh as he finishes up taping up a box before moving onto the next. Their family is fucking weird, and probably makes no sense to an outsider. Two brothers who used to hunt monsters, a guy who used to be an angel of the lord, a half angel half human toddler with the body of a college student and has three dads, and all their extended family, like Eileen and Jody and the girls. It’s so far from what Dean expected for his life, but he’s not complaining. 

Dean raises a brow in surprise at Sam’s confession. His dad never told him that. Did he have one for Dean too? The irony in it all is that Sam would probably be a Stanford graduate lawyer if it weren’t for John. They probably wouldn’t have the family they do now if their dad lived. It’d probably still be the three of them and the impala, forever on the road. He hates the bitter feeling settling in his chest, and his instincts tell him he shouldn’t think about John Winchester this way, but it says a lot that their dad apparently had these big dreams for his boys, but ended up being the reason they couldn’t have them.

Clearing his throat, he turns away from Sam to busy himself with the box. “When he came back, he told me he hoped I’d get a family,” Dean admits before gesturing around him, “I don’t think he meant this though.” His response to that was that he already had one, and he meant it. He tried the normal life with Lisa and Ben, and it wasn’t for him. He can’t just turn off years of hunting and fit into the suburban dad role. His life is messy, and his little found family doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it’s his. 

Dean wants to believe that his dad would be okay with it all, and maybe that’s why that pearl brought him back instead of helping him with Michael. As messed up as their childhood was, Dean doesn’t believe it’s what his dad actually wanted for them. His dad would’ve wanted Sam and Dean to be happy, he’s just can’t imagine he’d accept this kind of happiness for his oldest son–when it means loving a man. 

“Maybe you’re right though. There’s nothing to fight anymore, so he’d probably be kicking back with a beer and demanding we start giving him some grandkids. Looks like it’s up to you to continue the Winchester legacy, Sammy,” Dean smirks. 

Eileen and Sam are still dancing around each other like preteens at a school dance, but Dean can see them settling down and having a few kids yet. They’re getting old, sure, but there’s still time. 

“There’s Jack,” Sam counters, although in any situation where their dad is somehow alive and asking them to settle down—which seems almost unfathomable if he’s honest—he isn’t sure that Lucifer’s son counts. He counts to Sam though. And Sam hasn’t been a perfect father either, by any measure. Under his watch, Jack’s been through more than any child should. Jack’s been tortured. He’s fought in wars. Sam’s watched Lucifer steal Jack’s Grace. Jack’s still Jack though, despite it all. Smiling and happy. 

If Sam’s honest, he’d never wanted to be a father before. Jess had asked once, casual, back when they were so young and parenthood seem completely out of reach anyway. Sam remembers dancing around the subject and she’d let him, sensing through the way that he hardly mentioned his family, the way that his family never visited, that this was complicated for him. 

Even with Jack, Sam still isn’t sure he knows how to do this. He’s shared plenty of parenting books with Cas, passing them back and forth in the hopes that he’ll figure out some secret in the process, but Sam’s sure no one’s ever been in this situation before. Everyone says their child is unique, that they’re special, but their son spends afternoons in Heaven with an archangel. There aren’t helpful tips for that.

In some ways, it’s made him more sympathetic to their father. He was in uncharted territory too: losing Mary, facing off against Yellow Eyes. Their dad tried his best, even when he messed up. Their father thought he was doing the right thing and Sam knows all about good intentions.

That hard won sympathy goes far, but sometimes he worries it doesn’t go far enough. After all, Jack’s opened his eyes to so much. Jack’s Nephilim status means he was never going to have a real childhood, but Sam wishes he could’ve. He’d like to think he would’ve retired much sooner if he thought they could give Jack that. And if Jack came to him tomorrow, said he was done helping Heaven and he wanted to go to school instead, of course Sam would support him.

“He really said that to you?” Sam says, after a moment. Throughout their childhood, it was Sam who asked for a different life, but Dean deserves something better too. Sam’s always thought so; he didn’t realize their dad agreed. 

Sam reaches for an available box and neatly stacks clothing inside. One step closer to moving out. “He uh. He apologized to me,” Sam says, as long as they’re sharing. “I said I was sorry too. It was good, you know?” he adds, almost in a rush to paint that conversation as healing. “I know you and I never really talked about it after he left again, but that wish meant to a lot to me. I got to say goodbye.”

[sxmstiel]

waywardteamfreewill‌:

Time: The next day

Location: Sam’s room

The next morning Dean made a trip to the nearest home improvement store to pick up some boxes and bubble wrap for Sam. After sleeping on it, (or laying awake all night on it), he feels a little better about it all. He’s not sure if there will ever be a time where he’ll truly be okay with Sam leaving, but at least he’ll be nearby. He’s not going across the country this time, and there won’t be years of silence between them. Helping Sam pack is only a small gesture, but it feels huge compared to how he handled him leaving for Stanford. 

“Well this won’t take long,” Dean declares as he looks around Sam’s practically bare room, “Did you ever even unpack? It’s been years, man.” The bunker isn’t exactly homey, considering it’s lack of windows and the fact that it’s underground, but Dean has tried his best to make the most of it. His bedroom here is the first real one he’s ever had, and he’s taken advantage of the opportunity by buying a tempurpedic mattress and actually allowing himself to keep random knick knacks to decorate his shelves with. Sam’s room doesn’t really look any different since they day they found the place. 

Dean wonders how he’ll manage to fill up the space in his new townhome. The place is gonna end up looking pretty sterile if he doesn’t get some decor and more furniture. Eileen was obviously trying to help with that with her Christmas gifts, but he’s gonna need more than a few succulents. “Maybe, we should go shopping…” He muses aloud as he works on putting a box together, the sound of the tape gun echoing in the sparse room. 

He thinks back to what Sam said yesterday–how this domestic, normal life can be for them. It still doesn’t feel real. He spent his whole life living between the Impala and motels, eating diner food and washing blood and monster guts from his skin before tucking into a hard mattress with stained sheets. Most days, he feels on edge–just waiting for something to happen that will throw him back into the life that John Winchester built for him. But it hasn’t happened yet, and he realizes he’s already began living his own version of the “apple pie life” without noticing. Dean cooked an entire Christmas feast the other day, he has a kid, and he reads home decor magazines.

“If dad could see us now…” Dean snorts with a shake of his head before he can stop himself. He’s not sure if he’s really ready to open that can of words yet, but it kind of seems like the perfect time when they’re going against everything he believed in. Sam is moving, Dean is letting him, and he’s also spending way too much time thinking about a man who used to be an angel.

It’s true—Sam doesn’t own much, even after all these years. Dean settled into the bunker right away. He’d even called it nesting. In contrast, Sam’s got pictures of family and friends, but they’re all in a box. He’s got clothes, but half of them are in a duffel still anyway, a relic from all their traveling to and from hunts. 

His desk is the only thing that ever gets cluttered—papers scrawled with notes and books he’s pulled from their library. Lately, he’s taken to keeping stones and and herbs and scraps of cloth in the drawers along with Rowena’s old journals, his own personal magic supply kit. The plants from Eileen are lined up on his nightstand now too, Sam’s one real attempt to decorate, but it doesn’t do much to make this room look lived in. Especially now that everyone knows those plants were intended for his new place, rather than this empty room.

“I’ve been trying to put together a shopping list actually,” Sam says. It feels like a huge leap to be here already, from their conversation yesterday to Dean putting together boxes, teasing Sam about how he’ll need new things for his new place. “There’s a guest bedroom, so I’ll need furniture for that. And, uh, another room that I thought could work for Jack? In case he wants to come stay with me sometimes too.” Technically, the townhouse is minuscule compared to the bunker, but it feels huge when it’s space he’ll have to fill by himself. 

Sam’s folding up flannels when Dean casually mentions their father, and he slows, despite himself. They haven’t spoken much about their dad in recent years, not even after Dean’s wish brought him back for a night. It used to be their biggest point of contention—Sam, who couldn’t stop fighting with their dad, and Dean, who only wanted them all to get along. 

But that was years ago. Dean’s wish brought Sam closure at least, even if that wasn’t the version of their father he remembers in the end. He’ll take that apology, take the chance he had to apologize right back, even if that John hadn’t yet said if you can’t save him—and that was before the demon blood, before the magic, before all these times Sam’s stepped further and further away from his father’s definition of human. Maybe Sam shouldn’t wonder too much about what their Dad would think of him now. 

“He told me once he’d started a college fund for me, before...you know,” Sam says, well aware of the irony. His full ride scholarship hadn’t changed their Dad’s reaction to Stanford. “Maybe he’d be happy to see us all settling down now.” He doesn’t know if he truly believes that. Sam does believe that their parents are happy in Heaven now; that they’ve got a world up there without monsters or pain. He doesn’t know that John Winchester could truly have accepted a life that didn’t revolve around Hunting otherwise, no matter how much the world’s changed. He doesn’t know if his dad could ever have accepted the supernatural and the mundane living side by side like this.  

But he also doesn’t know where Dean stands on their father these days. After all, it was Dean’s wish that brought Dad back, even if he hadn’t meant to. Only a few short years ago, Dean still would’ve rather seen Dad again than separate himself from Michael for good—and that says enough. Maybe Sam’s selfish, but if the choice were his? If Lucifer was in his head again? Sam doesn’t think he’d be able to wish for anything else but freedom. 

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Dean blinks in surprise at Sam’s statement. He implied it in the past, but never said it so blatantly or with so much conviction. He’s not sure if he’ll ever fully stop feeling the need to defend their dad–it’s on the tip to give all the credit to him, but he stops himself. It was Dean Sam went to when he took his first steps. It was his clumsy, chubby four year old hands that changed his diapers when John was too caught up in revenge to care for him. It was Dean who helped Sam with his homework, who punched bullies, or gave advice when Sam started showing interest in girls. It was Dean who was there for him when Jess died, while John ignore their calls. And it was Dean who sold his soul to bring him back when he lost him. 

Sam’s right, he did that. All their dad did was the bare minimum to keep them alive and ruin any semblance of childhood that he tried to give his little brother. Dean is only four years older than him, but was always responsible for him when John couldn’t be, and that’s why this is so hard. Because Sam is like his son, and while he’s way past due to leave the nest, he still doesn’t want to let him go. 

Dean lets out a huge breath, jaw clenching as he wills the burning in his eyes to go away. He’s not going to cry around his little brother. He’s just not. But then Sam puts the idea of letting himself have the things he wants in his head, and his body just isn’t getting the message. His whole life has been two things–hunting and looking after Sam. He’s still adjusting to the fact that the world doesn’t need him anymore, but he never really let himself consider the fact that Sam might not need him either. 

He knows what he wants, but it still feels so impossible that he’s too afraid to let himself begin to believe he can have it. He wants Cas. He wants a real sickeningly domestic, apple pie life with him. It didn’t work with Lisa, but that whole situation was all wrong. With Cas though? He can picture them in the kitchen side by side, wedding bands, kids, the works. It’s probably a pipe dream. It’s just so unrealistic for someone like him, and he lost Cas so many times, that he’s sure the second they even get close to that kind of life, something terrible would happen. 

“Yeah,” He finally admits in a low grumble, studying his stained fingers, “Just doesn’t feel like that’s meant for us, you know? Getting what we want.” Nostril’s flaring, he sniffs in an attempt to get himself together before mustering the courage to look Sam in the eye. “I’m happy for you, man. Or at least I’m trying to be. I’ll even help you pack,” He forces a tight smile as he pats Sam’s shoulder. “Little Sammy ain’t so little anymore, huh?”

Something about Sam’s question hits Dean hard. In a way, that’s what Sam was pushing for. Whatever is underneath the anger. It hurts though, watching Dean try to pull himself back together. It hurts knowing this is, in part, because of what Sam’s doing. What he’s done. They’ve got a full lifetime to untangle even still. And yeah, it’s absurd, maybe, how hard it’s going to be, even at this age. Add that to the list of things he needs to work on.

It’s obvious Dean has an answer to Sam’s question though. There is something he wants—or maybe it’s someone. Sam’s woken up from a nightmare enough times to hear Dean and Cas quietly talking outside. He saw the shining silver ring that magically appeared on Cas’ hand after Christmas, so similar to the ones Dean used to wear when they were young. And then there’s the fact that Sam’s moving out, that Eileen’s talked of moving someday, but Cas? If anything, Sam thinks it might be good if Cas left the bunker more. Instead, he seems perfectly content to stay within sight of these  walls. To stay within sight of Dean.

“I do know,” Sam says. It isn’t a lie. He’s given variations of this same speech so many times. This life ends bloody.  Anyone who gets to close, they get hurt. We don’t get normal. The thought still terrifies him too—how could it not? Part of him still thinks he’s going to wake up to something burning in his new home, even though he knows that’s irrational. But some of his fears are more grounded in reality too. Maybe he’s going to move into this boring suburb and hate it, even after all the years he coveted that life. Maybe he’ll spend the entire time worrying about Dean, Cas, Eileen, and Jack, even moreso than he already does. Maybe Sam Winchester (the boy with the demon blood, the man with the altar for witchcraft) could never make a fresh start work, no matter how badly he wants it.

He has to try though. Dean should too.

“It could be for us,” Sam says, tone soft. “I know, I haven’t always felt that way.” And sometimes, when he did have hope, it was for the wrong thing. A light at the end of the tunnel that would’ve killed him. “But the world’s changed, man. Whatever it is, you should go after it.”

But, predictably, it’s the rest of Dean’s comments that get to Sam now, especially when his brother finally looks at him, looks him in the eye, attempts a smile. Sam hasn’t felt little in a long, long time, but he still feels like Sammy sometimes—if only when the nickname comes from Dean. The fact that Dean’s willing to help him pack goes even further. 

Some of the tension Sam didn’t realize he was still holding drains away, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “Thanks,” Sam says. His throat still feels tight, but it isn’t uncomfortable. “I’ll show you my new place. You’ll love it.” He pauses, and then huffs out a brief, quiet laugh. “Actually, no, you’re...going tell me it’s completely lame,” Sam admits. “But still. This, uh. It means a lot to me.”

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Dean lets out a sharp breath when the realization hits him hard. Eilleen knows. And she’s known for a while if her Christmas gifts to Sam are a clue. He’s such a fucking idiot–how could he have not seen it? The dog bowls, the plants, all the little knick knacks Sam would need for his own place. Dean must’ve been in such deep, denial that he let himself believe she was just helping him decorate his still nearly bare bedroom, and helping him sneak in a dog. 

“Of course, she knows. I’m so damn stupid,” Dean lets out a humorless laugh as he runs a tired hand over his face. He learned the hard way what happens when he lets his anger get the best of him, and the last thing he wants is to lose his brother the way he lost Cas, but this has been such a sore subject between them for so long that he doesn’t know how else to react. They keep things from each other, until it blows up in their faces, and they never fucking learn. 

He should be grateful that Sam is moving within the same town and not across the country like last time–that he’ll be close enough to still see him every week, and maybe he will be when he’s had a second to sit on it, but right now he just feels betrayed. “Yeah, you should’ve told me earlier,” He snaps, tossing the towel on the hood of the car. “Instead of sneaking behind my back, while Eileen knew the whole damn time. I could’ve–” He stops abruptly. Could’ve done what? Would he have helped Sam look for the right place? Bought him housewarming gifts like Eileen? He’s not so sure. Dean doesn’t want to trap Sam like their dad did, but he doesn’t want to encourage him to leave either. 

Suddenly the fight leaves him, causing his shoulders to sag as he leans heavily against the side of the car. It’s a painful reminder of why he give into his anger again and again, because when he can’t hide behind it, he just feels…tired–hurt. Sam’s right. He doesn’t want to live in an underground bunker made for hunters. He wants to be normal. He wants dogs, windows, and neighbors.

Dean just wishes that Sam could be happy under the same roof as him. Jack’s in and out while he works with Heaven, Eileen probably won’t stay too long without Sam, and Cas…who knows what he’ll decide to do once he figures out the whole humanity thing? Dean feels like his family is slipping through his fingers, and he’ll be left in this gigantic bunker alone. But that’s his problem, not Sam’s, and it’s time his little brother got his own life, even if he doesn’t like it. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean finally chokes out, his voice a rough rasp. Apologies have always been hard for him, but he’d rather put aside his pride than wait until it’s too late again. “You’re right. I just–how am I supposed to look out for you if you’re not here?”

Sam can almost see the realization hits Dean—that Dean wasn’t the first person Sam told. That Eileen’s helped Sam keep this secret too. He can hardly explain why he told her instead of his own brother. Maybe because he knew it wouldn’t be complicated with her. Despite everything else that may or may not be between them, Eileen understands Sam’s desire for independence. 

But Sam and Eileen have only known one another for a few years. Having Eileen here in the bunker with him is even more recent. It isn’t a huge change for either of them, then, if Sam has his own place instead. With Dean though? Before Stanford, Sam was used to hearing his brother breathe in the bed beside his every night. Sam would complain, but it was comforting too. On the rare occasions he was alone as a child, Sam remembers he couldn’t sleep without that sound. 

Even now, Dean is one of the first people Sam sees each day, no matter how grumpy Dean can be in the mornings. There have been times in his life where Dean was the only person he’d see day after day. For over a decade now, any real distance between them meant something bad. Something dangerous. It meant Michael, or Purgatory, or Hell in the very literal sense. So, yeah, he told Eileen first. For all their similarities, for all that he wants a future with her now, they don’t have that same kind of history.

But before Sam can even attempt to verbalize any of that, Dean’s anger gives way to something else. Sam watches his brother slump against the car he’s painstakingly rebuilt for Sam and that hurts. He’s the reason for Dean’s crestfallen expression now. 

Sam abandons his station at the toolbox and moves, carefully, so he’s beside Dean instead. “You don’t need to do that anymore,” he says. He knows that’s far easier to say than to do. It’s never seemed to matter that they’re adults now—that they’ve both essentially lived full lifespans and then some. Sam can’t promise he’ll be safe now, no matter how much the world has changed, but that isn’t the point. And maybe part of Sam still wants to push back, to say i can take care of myself, but he doesn’t think that’s the point either.

He hadn’t necessarily realized it when they were young; how deeply ingrained it was that Dean took care of him. He knows now and he doesn’t want to just ignore that. He doesn’t want to discount how much Dean’s done for him.

He knows it’s been warped before too, used as a weapon by others and by each other. Sam turned to Rowena’s spellwork to remove the Mark against even Rowena’s judgement, and in turn, it almost ended the world. When Dean worked with Gadreel, it was because he couldn’t bear to lose Sam. 

 “You raised me,” Sam says, giving up any pretense, the way he’s said practically to Dean in the past. He loves their dad, as complicated as their relationship was, but he’s made his peace with their reality too. John Winchester wasn’t the one who was there for him growing up. “You did. I’m always gonna be your brother, no matter what. But now you can think about what you want too, Dean. There has to be something outside of—hunting. Protecting me.”  

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Own car. Own space. Not having to share. Sam is dropping some pretty heavy-handed hints, and he’s using that voice–the one he uses for when he’s trying to walk Dean through something. He might be a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but it doesn’t take a genius to see where this is leading. Deep down he knows that Sam isn’t going to stay in the bunker forever, especially now that they’re not hunting anymore, but he thought with Eileen here, he might stay a little longer.

“I don’t mind sharing,” Dean shrugs as busies himself with wiping at his stained fingers. He knows he’s being difficult on purpose now, but he’s not going to let Sam try and turn this on him or make it seem like it’s his idea. Dean isn’t the one itching to leave. He isn’t going to send Sam packing just because he wants some extra space. The bunker is huge. If anything, he has too much space. “I got you your own car, so you could stop stinking up mine with your burrito farts, Sammy,” Dean snorts as he wacks Sam with the greasy towel, still trying to hold onto the humor as long as he can.

Two steps forward, ten steps back, or at least that’s what he feels like he’s doing right now. He got Sam the car, because he does deserve his own car. There’s no reason to share the Impala when they aren’t going on long road trips anymore, and it’s kinda sad for two grown men to be sharing a car just get groceries. He should just tell Sam all these things, like Charlotte keeps encouraging him too, but telling him feels like opening the door and telling him to get out. 

Still, even though Dean was expecting it, Sam’s confession feels like a slap to the face. He’s hit with a sudden sense of deja vu, like Sam is eighteen again and showing Dean his acceptance letter to Stanford, telling him about his full ride and the day he’s leaving. In that moment, it doesn’t matter that twenty years have passed or that he’s trying to be a better person, he still feels the same exact way as he did back then–like a bucket of ice water was dumped over him. 

Dean’s throat closes and his jaw visibly clenches as he tries to fight through the overwhelming wave of anger. He mentally counts to ten like Charlotte taught him, trying to clear his head enough to think like a rational forty year old man. Sam isn’t a kid anymore, there’s nothing to fight, so he has every right to find his own place, but telling himself that isn’t enough to make him believe it.

His whole life it’s been: “watch out for, Sammy.” That’s his job, no matter how old he is, he’s always supposed to protect his little brother. How the hell is he supposed to protect him when he’s not with him? Maybe he’s selfish, maybe he’s an unreasonable asshole, but he doesn’t know how he’s just supposed to be okay with this. 

“And you’re telling me now? What’s wrong with the bunker?” Dean fires back, the sudden change volume causing his voice to echo in the garage. “You want space? Take a second bedroom. Hell, take a third. There’s a library, and good trails for your morning run. There’s Eileen. Is she going with you or are you just leaving her here too?”

Sam isn’t scared of Dean, not at all, but the abrupt change in his brother’s voice, the way that echoes loudly through the garage—that does make Sam flinch, even if he suppresses it as soon as it happens. It’s been that way since the Cage though. Abrupt noises, unexpected movements in the periphery of his vision: they all set his heart racing. He’s had the name for ages—PTSD—but that doesn’t mean he’s dealt with it the way he should. He isn’t simply ignoring it anymore though and that must count for something.

But right now it’s an unwanted distraction. Sam should’ve known Dean wouldn’t take the bait, wouldn’t agree that space was good or necessary, but he’d hoped it wouldn’t be like this either. Hoped for it, even as he avoided the conversation as long as possible. It was a stupid move. Maybe Dean would’ve handled this better if he’d known Sam was looking from the very beginning.

Years ago, Sam would’ve gotten angry here too. Hell, he would’ve approached this conversation already pissed off—he remembers the way it felt. The way he used to always have one last fight in him, even when he shouldn’t. He would’ve made a great lawyer, once upon a time.

Things have changed. Sam’s tired now. He’s tired and he’s allowed to be. For the first time in forever, there isn’t anything riding on his shoulders. There isn’t some horrible, cosmic plan, some being lurking in the shadows just waiting to control him. All those years took their toll though. Sam’s anger is still there, still makes itself known in unwanted bursts, but he tries to save it for the people who deserve it. Dean doesn’t, especially not right now. Sam isn’t going to fight Dean over his right to move out.

In the end, he doesn’t think Dean wants to fight either, not truly—because that’s the other thing Sam remembers about all that anger. For him, it was so often fear or hurt under another name. 

Sam can read between the lines anyway. It isn’t Eileen who will feel left behind when Sam leaves the bunker. 

“No, Eileen’s not coming with me,” Sam says. He can feel more than hear the tone of his voice shifting higher, defensive even when he doesn’t want to be. “She knows she can stay here as long as she needs, but this isn’t about her. Or the bunker,” Sam says, because Dean chooses to focus the conversation there, and it isn’t lost on him that Dean’s detailed list of the bunker’s charms has Dean himself conspicuously absent. “None of that is the point.” 

He doesn’t know how to explain this though: not in new terms, at least. Sam’s wanted out of hunting since he was a child, and he’s told Dean that a dozen times, in a dozen different ways. He’s talked about it since before he even understood what this crusade meant, when all he knew about hunting was the hotel rooms and the new schools and the ever-present knowledge that somehow, hating this made him the freak. The bunker is tied up with all of that. Sam doesn’t have to be. 

“I should have told you earlier, I know. I’m sorry,” he says. “But I’ll still be in town. You can come over whenever you want. I’ll still come here to see you—all of you,” he continues. “I’m not leaving anyone, Dean. I just can’t...stay here. This isn’t what I want and you know that.”