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[melanieathene]

Mr. Wonderful

This is a love story.

I'd like to say it was a classic case of love at first sight, but I don't know if that's true.

All I know for certain is that it's a love that was meant to be.

We don't get many quality folk in this dump that calls itself a diner. Truckers who haven't seen a washcloth in days – weeks maybe. Bums who stumble in to get out of the cold, taking up table space long after they've drained the last drop of coffee in their cup. Old folks on a tight budget looking for a cheap meal. Cheaters looking to score, streetwalkers looking to oblige them. Impatient, forlorn, pitiful people. Losers, every one.

He stood out like a sunbeam slicing through a cloudy sky. Clean, well-dressed, and handsome – god, he took my breath away with his movie star good looks. He was way prettier than the models you see in those fancy magazines – the ones I leaf through in the grocery line, but can never afford to buy.

“I'm gonna to marry that man,” I murmured.

Rhonda snapped her gum as she turned her head to follow my gaze. “Him?” She snorted. “Honey, he's out of your league. Married. Or gay. My money is on gay. Look at the long-haired fella he's with. There's something going on between them.”

“I don't care. I want that table. I'll trade you for the party of six.” I hitched my thumb towards table three.

The cackling old biddies sitting there were fussy, but they were surprisingly good tippers. Regulars who liked to meet up after church, or their book club, or whatever. Normally, Rhonda and I butted heads over who got to serve 'em.

“Your loss.” Rhonda shrugged and sauntered away. I saw the good-looking guy shoot a glance at her ample bosom as she walked by.

Gay, my ass.

I popped a couple of buttons on my blouse, the better to display my cleavage. If he liked boobs, mine were an even bigger eyeful than Rhonda's. The rest of the package wasn't bad either.

The green eyes that turned my way as I approached the back-corner booth set me in mind of an emerald I once saw in a store window. Dazzling. No other word for it.

“What can I offer you, gentlemen?” I asked in as sultry a voice as I could muster.

“Well, I don't know,” Mr. Wonderful drawled – and damned if he didn't sound just as good as he looked. “What do you have to offer?” The suggestive smile that accompanied the question set my pulse racing and my cheeks ablaze.

“Dean!” the tall one barked.

Oh-oh. I quickly suppressed a sigh. Jealous boyfriend alert. Abort! Abort!

But it would appear luck was on my side, because the next words out of his mouth were:

“You'll have to excuse my brother. He... He's...” Mr. Tall flung up his hands, as if giving up on trying to explain the unexplainable.

His (hallelujah!) brother grinned unrepentantly.

“I'll have a salad – the house dressing is fine,” Mr. Tall continued, obviously deeming it better for all concerned if he changed the subject. “He'll have the double cheeseburger with fries. And, uh... two coffees, please. Make mine decaf.”

“And pie,” Dean added. His eyes caressed my name tag, before straying over to the curve of my breast. “Apple if you've got it, Sherri with an 'i'. With whipped cream –”

“And a cherry on top?”

“Ahh, a woman after my own heart. Thank you, darlin'.”

I could feel the weight of his stare as I walked away. Who could blame me if I put a little extra wiggle in my walk?

“Not gay,” I whispered as Rhonda and I crossed paths. “With his brother. And he's a first class flirt.”

“Hrmph,” she muttered. “That don't mean nothing. I might bump him from gay to bi, but that's the best I can do for you. My gaydar's never wrong.”

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Rhonda? She's my best friend and I love her to bits, but she can be an insufferable pain in the ass when she thinks she's right. Which is all the time.

I wasn't going to let her be right this time. Mr. Wonderful – Dean! – was the kind of man I'd been dreaming of for far too many years. I was through with settling for Cracker Jack toys! I wanted a real prize. And there he was... not ten feet away.

A glance over my shoulder at the booth showed Dean frowning as Mr. Tall shoved his laptop towards him. They both seemed pretty engrossed by whatever was on that screen. Real serious, like. So it would appear that I had a little competition after all. Digital competition. Pfftt! I wasn't worried about that. With my looks and bubbly personality, most men easily sway the way I want them to go. I fluffed my hair and unfastened yet another button. Hey, when you're going for the gold, you gotta give it all you've got.

I picked up the tray containing their order and called up my best smile. The megawatt one that best shows off my dimples and pearly whites.

That smile dimmed considerably as I turned to face them.

There was a third person in the booth. Another man. Another looker, with dark, wind-swept hair and heavy five o'clock shadow on his chiseled jaw. Dean had scooched over to make room for Mr. Trench Coat, but they were sitting close. Really close. In fact, they were pressed together from shoulder to hip to knee.

Dean caught my eye as I approached and hissed, “Personal space!”

“My apologies,” Mr. Trench Coat replied in a low rumble that rivalled Dean's for the honour of sexiest voice ever. Though why he was apologizing wasn't clear to me. Dean was the one who hadn't moved over far enough in the first place. The bigger question was where he had come from, though. I hadn't heard the bell ring to announce his arrival. It was a mystery that didn't sit well with me.

“Would you like to place an order, sir?” I said, polite and frosty in the same breath, as I set plates in front of the two brothers.

“No.”

No, thank you. Lovely manners you have, there.

Blue eyes lifted to meet my gaze, staring at me – through me – as if they could see into my very soul.

“No, thank you,” he intoned.

And just like that, I was dismissed. I mattered less to him than the cockroaches in the kitchen.

His eyes turned back to Dean. Dean's gaze fell to his plate. Mr. Tall choked back what could have been a chuckle – or maybe he just swallowed funny.

I beat a hasty retreat. But I wasn't done with table nine yet. Dean was clearly a dessert man. And I had pie as my secret weapon. Homemade pie, too. None of that pasty store-bought stuff most dives like ours serve. I baked it myself twice a week to squeeze a few extra bucks from our skinflint boss, and I wasn't beyond letting that little fact slip when I brought a slice over to Dean. So, take that, Blue Eyes.

Confidence restored, I felt almost generous towards the poor guy. I even brought him a glass of ice water – which he didn't touch. Nor did he thank me for it.

It was a fairly busy night, but I kept glancing over to that corner as I hurried about my tasks. Dean had once again inched closer to Blue Eyes – or maybe Blue Eyes was crowding him? Either way, their knees and elbows were knocking. Mr. Tall noticed this too. Judging from the knowing little smirk he wore, it wasn't the first time he'd seen it happen. But even his eyebrows rose when Blue Eyes casually swiped a fry from Dean's plate, and Dean didn't so much as blink. He'd slapped Mr. Tall's hand when he'd tried that trick not five minutes before, hard, growling something along the lines of, “if you insist on eating rabbit food, don't expect me to share the good stuff.”

Blue Eyes dove in for another fry. And then a third. And then he snagged Dean's coffee and took a tentative sip.

Apparently, that wasn't much to his liking. I had to turn away from the sourpuss face he pulled, just so I didn't laugh out loud. When I turned back, Dean was doctoring his coffee – pouring in creamer and adding tons of sugar – all without taking his eyes off the computer screen or his mind off his ongoing conversation with Mr. Tall. He removed the stir stick from the mug and licked it. Blue Eyes took advantage of his distracted state to grab the coffee and cautiously sample the results. He smiled and took a second, deeper drink. And a fourth fry.

It was with considerably less enthusiasm than I had originally planned that I delivered the pie and declared it was made by yours truly.

Oh, I hovered in the vicinity, ready and eager to reap the rewards of my labour, but I had a sinking feeling that Rhonda – once again – was going to be proven right.

Sure enough, I wasn't the one Dean sought out after the first bite. The look of bliss that crossed his face was all I'd wished for – and more – but it was Blue Eyes he turned to. Blue Eyes on the receiving end of an ecstatic smile. Blue Eyes who obligingly opened his mouth when so prompted, and thus received the second forkful of my pie.

What Blue Eyes thought of it, I'll never know. For at that very moment, the bell that had been faithfully announcing arrivals and departures (except for Blue Eyes', of course) blasted from its place above the door, followed by the door itself. Shattered glass flew in all directions, and the metal frame embedded itself in table five. I heard Rhonda scream, saw her limping for the kitchen with blood seeping from a gash on her left leg. Customers who jumped up, preparing to follow her example and flee, were trampled as a horde of people poured into the diner – fifteen – twenty – maybe more. They looked like a biker gang, all dressed in black leather with dangling chains, all tattoos and piercings and unkempt beards. We've had a lot of bikers pass through. Most of 'em never cause a spot of trouble, though a couple of times we've had rival gangs rumbling in our parking lot. But I'd never, ever before seen black eyes like this lot had. Black. So very black. Like the gates of hell must be...

I'm a little hazy on what happened next. There was a lot of hollering and pushing and crashing. Things flew through the air – tables, chairs, even people.

I slipped in a puddle of what I sincerely hoped was ketchup, and felt myself falling... but, somehow, Dean was there to catch me. He scooped me up in his arms like the hero in one of those stupid romance novels Rhonda likes to read. He carried me through the mêlée, shoved me into the restroom, and told me to lock the door and keep it locked.

He didn't have to tell me twice. I didn't have to see any more to know that whatever was happening out there, it was bad. Really bad.

I just prayed the bathroom door was strong enough to keep it from happening to me.

If there had been a window, I would have climbed out of it and run away.

But there wasn't a window. And I would never have known the end of the story if I had skipped out at the middle.

Two clear voices rang out, rising above the continuous chorus of furious shouts and frantic cries. A sudden wash of light crept under the door, almost blinding me with its intensity. The silence that followed was almost worse than the horrible noise that preceded it.

I'm not ashamed to admit I screamed like a little girl when a quiet knock sounded on the door. I was bawling like one too, I was that scared: snot and mascara smearing my face, breath hitching and heart hammering fit to burst.

“Sherri? Sherri, it's Sam. It's over. It's okay to come out.”

“I don't know you, Sam.” I sniffled and drew closer to the door, but I wasn't about to open it. “Why should I trust you?”

“I'm Dean's brother.”

“Where's Dean?”

“He was injured in the attack. Cas is... uh... patching him up. Don't worry, Dean's in good hands.”

“Is Cas a doctor?”

“No... not exactly. He's... It's hard to explain. Sherri, will you open the door? We have to get you out of here.”

“Dean told me to stay put.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake,” I heard Sam mutter. And then, louder, “Cas! Can you help Dean over here? I need him to convince Sherri that it's safe.”

Slow, shuffling footsteps made their way across the floor. It felt like an eternity before the voice I wanted to hear finally spoke my name.

“Sherri,” he said wearily. “It's Dean. Open the door.”

Blue Eyes was standing there scowling at me when I cracked the door open. His arm was snugly draped around Dean's waist, clearly supporting most of his weight. Dean's arm was slung around Blue Eyes' shoulders, further steading himself. I suppose I should have felt guilty for making Dean come to me in his condition, but I didn't. I flung myself against his chest and hugged him tight. But not too tight, and not for as long as I really wanted to hold him. His quick gasp let me know how much his ribs were hurting him.

“Thank you,” I said, reluctantly stepping back. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“It's what we do. Besides, how could I deprive the world of a five star pie maker like you?” The cocky grin was back and (damn!) it looked good on his face. Even bruised and bleeding, he was one fine looking man.

Blue Eyes' fingers twitched, knotting into the fabric of Dean's shirt. His little finger brushed against bare flesh where the shirt had rucked up. Dean shivered and turned a questioning gaze his way. “Sam will take you home,” he said absentmindedly, as if he'd already forgotten I was still standing there. It was obvious he was trying real hard to fit a puzzle together, as if he'd just found a missing piece and the picture was finally making sense.

Sam ushered me away, his giant hand hovering near my face, ready to shield me from the worst of the carnage, or so I believed at that moment. We were almost to the door when a thought struck me.

“Rhonda!” I exclaimed, suddenly stopping dead in my tracks. “She went into the kitchen. She was hurt.”

“Wait here.” Sam righted a toppled chair and gently but firmly insisted I sit down. I bit my lip as I looked around. Carnage? Where was the carnage? There should have been bodies. Lots of bodies. But there were none, just a strange, dark ash that coated every surface. As if the people had been burned away.

I remembered the blazing light.

Just before it flared, I remembered a voice calling, “Dean! Dean!” Desperation filled the cry. The anguish of a man about to lose all that he held dear. The voice of a blue-eyed man who liked his coffee overly sweet.

And I remembered Dean's voice crying out in reply. One single word: “Cas!” As if the name carried with it a thousand conversations they'd never had – should have had – might now have.

The kitchen door swung on its rusty hinges, and Sam came towards me carrying Rhonda as if she weighed no more than a kitten. She was unconscious, but alive. I felt my heart blossom in relief as I rose from the chair and rested a hand on her arm. Sam led us out the door. Out to the blessed smell of fresh air, where a hint of rain lingered like a promise on the breeze.

I don't know why I turned around for one final look at Mr. Wonderful.

He didn't look back at me.

He and Blue Eyes were too busy staring into each other's eyes.

Slowly, Dean leaned forward. Just as slowly, Blue Eyes tilted his head and leaned in to meet him halfway.

All love stories should end with such a tender, yearning kiss.

And, like I said at the beginning, this is a love story.

It just isn't mine.

Originally posted 2015-03-03. Just thought it might be fun to post some old stories here. :)

[melanieathene]

It Only Took a Second

It only took a second to change everything. The words “I love you” hung in the air between them. Three little words that found lodging in Dean's heart as no other words ever had.

In that breathless second, Death and the Empty's presence were forgotten. The world narrowed down to the blue of Castiel's eyes, the tears that trickled down his smiling face. Joyful tears. A joy so deep it transcended time and place.

In that frozen moment, everything Dean had ever wanted (but had never hoped to find) was within his grasp.

And then it all was ripped away.

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Bonus Day 31 - Trick or Treat

Halloween has meant different things to Dean Winchester over the years.

Dean's first Halloween was idyllic – everything he'd hoped it would be; absolutely perfect in his four year old mind. For weeks beforehand, he spoke of nothing else but what to wear and how much candy he'd get. That joy dimmed slightly once he learned his candy consumption was going to be strictly monitored (he had expected to eat it all right away). But, hey, free candy! Who could remain disappointed about that? Besides, staying up an hour past his usual bedtime was a treat in itself.

Dressed as a cowboy – in jeans, plaid shirt, a fringed leather vest and of course, authentic cowboy boots and wide-brimmed hat – Dean trotted from door to door, a grinning pumpkin basket held in one hand, a toy pistol in the other. “Trick or treat,” he cried whenever someone answered the door. Basking in the praise of how cute he was, and what a good boy he was for always remembering to say thank you, he strutted back to his waiting father, holstering the pistol and accepting a helping hand down any stairs. In the dark stretches between houses, John carried the pumpkin and Dean continued to hold tight to his father's hand. The dark was scarier than he had anticipated, and soon became crowded with rowdy older kids but, with John at his side, Dean felt protected and safe.

It didn't take long for the pumpkin to be filled to overflowing.

“Maybe next year Sammy can come with us,” Dean said as they turned to make their way home. “Mommy too. It's not fair they had to stay home.”

John laughed. “Sam's just turning 6 months old, Dean. It will be a few years before he's big enough to go trick or treating. Maybe next year your Mom can go out with you and I'll stay home to watch Sam and hand out candy.”

Dean was yawning by the time Mary welcomed them home with a hug for Dean and a kiss for John. “To bed with you, young man” she declared. “The candy count can wait until tomorrow. Into your PJs with you. Now!”

This met with no argument from Dean. He rushed through brushing his teeth and saying his prayers and was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He had no idea that two days later his mother would be dead, their home and happy life destroyed in a burning inferno. In a way, he lost his father too that night. Azazel became John's obsession, pushing him into the life of a hunter.

Sam was almost seven when Dean finally convinced their father to take them trick or treating. The threat of venturing out alone with his brother if John refused to accompany them was the deciding factor. John knew all too well what dangers lurked in the shadows: ghosts and ghouls, witches and demons, the list went on and on. Halloween is an especially dangerous time. It draws monsters out of hiding and allows them to walk undetected amongst us. It amazed John how other parents – blissfully ignorant citizens – allowed their children to run free on such a night. There was no way his boys were doing that! So, knowing Dean's stubbornness when it came to doing what he thought was best for Sam, it was better to concede rather than chance them running into some monster.

There was no money for fancy costumes, but there seemed to be more than enough to provide John with a continuous supply of alcohol. Dean acknowledged this fact with no little bitterness, but he kept the observation to himself. Sam was going trick or treating; that was all that mattered. A sheet with eyeholes cut in it was good enough for Dean. He shoplifted a cheap plastic Batman costume for his brother. Pillowcases could hold any goodies they collected.

Sam was over the moon about the whole adventure. He traipsed from door to door, squawking “trick or treat,” almost dancing down the street as they headed for the next house. Dean trailed a step or two behind, one eye on his excited brother, the other on the hulking presence of his father. John was armed to the teeth, and Dean knew it. Heck, Dean's ghost costume concealed more than his identity. He carried a knife or two himself. In addition, the pistol tucked in the waistband of his jeans was loaded with silver bullets – and he knew how to use it. He wasn't the fool his father thought he was. He knew the risks. He was a hunter too.

By the time their pillowcases bulged with treats, John was more than pleasantly buzzed, he was flat out drunk. He staggered along the sidewalk, giving the stink eye to the people he passed. Anger radiated off him in palpable waves, and more than one person ushered their child across the street rather than confront him.

“Time to call it quits, Sammy,” Dean said, giving his bother a nudge and inclining his head towards their father.

“Okay, Dean,” Sam quietly agreed.

And that was the end of Halloween. John spent the next two days in an alcoholic haze, sobbing inconsolably over Mary.

Dean stuck a candle in a Twinkie and sang Happy Birthday to his little brother.

Halloween as an adult is much like any other day in the life of a hunter, distinguished only by the plethora of spooky lawn decorations that spring up as the day approaches. The costume most employed by the Winchester brothers on this occasion would have to be FBI agent. Investigating suspicious deaths, chasing down vengeful ghosts, thwarting witches, digging up graves, exterminating zombies and ghouls, and (Sam's least favourite) dealing with a murderous clown are but a few of the cases they've tackled.

Honestly, Dean is far more enamoured with the day after Halloween when candy goes on sale: all the yummy goodness without the need to go begging door to door. Plus, he gets to pick and choose his favourite treats – no crummy molasses kisses or hard gumballs for him! Bring on the mini chocolate bars and cheese sticks! Bring on the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Twizzlers, Skittles and Sour Patch Kids! Sam of course, being the health nut that he is, disdains all sugary treats and refuses to share in Dean's seasonal glee. Dean leaves him behind in the Bunker, sipping his herbal tea and no doubt dreaming of kale salads.

Which is how he finds himself with an angel sitting in the passenger seat as the Impala turns into the mall parking lot. Castiel is an excellent shopping companion. No complaining as they wander from store to store. No frowny, judgement face over Dean's choices of snacks, only curiosity about some of the brightly packaged items.

“What is Candy Corn?” Castiel inquired, studying the tri-coloured, pyramid-shaped candies as if they held the answer to the mysteries of the universe.

“Sugar, corn syrup, vanilla and honey coated with wax.” Dean grabbed the package and tossed it back on the shelf. “You don't want that. Here,” he plopped a bag of Jolly Ranchers in the angel's hand. “These have more flavour.”

“What about these?”

“Hershey Kisses? Not really Halloween-themed, but toss them in the cart. I like Kisses, you probably will, too.”

“I have never had a kiss.”

“Gotta try one, then,” Dean said. “Ooh, look! M&Ms!”

It took a while, but finally satisfied with his selections, Dean turned the Impala for home. Of course, he couldn't wait until they got there, and pulled the car off to the side of the road so he could break into his stash.

“Trick or treat,” he said, popping a candy in his mouth before offering the bag to Castiel.

“Why do people say that?” Castiel chose a green Sour Patch Kid and warily bit its head off. His mouth puckered at the taste, and he scowled.

“Halloween tradition,” Dean managed, when his fit of laughter finally subsided. “It's pretty literal, Cas. You offer the person a choice: trick or treat. If they give you a treat, you don't play a trick on them.”

Castiel dug out the bag of Hersey Kisses and ripped it open. Is a kiss a trick or a treat?” he wondered, staring at the candy.

“Depends on the person.” Dean grinned. “Could be either – or both.”

Castiel carefully placed the candy on his palm and held it out to Dean. “What would you like it to be?” he said.

Dean swallowed, sobering, realizing the conversation had strayed off the Halloween path into something far more serious. Something scarier than things that go bump in the night. All his Halloweens, all his days, had led to this one day, this one moment in time.

He'd thought about it in the past – of course, he had. He had eyes, didn't he? Castiel was gorgeous – had definitely inspired a shameful fantasy or two – but Dean had never had the courage to act on his desire. He'd buried it deep, so deep he'd thought it hidden even from himself. But here, now, it all came bubbling to the surface. Now, with the promise of love, unconditional love, shining in Castiel's blue eyes, he realized the feeling ran both ways. Love was his for the taking... if he dared.

“Not a trick,” he whispered.

Castiel unwrapped the candy and raised it to Dean's lips. Dean opened his mouth, his eyes focused on Castiel's as he chewed the chocolate morsel: a prelude to the real treat.

“Not a trick,” Castiel agreed. And kissed him.

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

A/N And, so, the final prompt has been completed – better late than never as they say. :)

I'd like to express my thanks to @winchester-reload for providing us with such interesting (and sometimes challenging) prompts. I'd also like to thank everyone who has left a note or reblogged my posts.

You can find my complete Suptober23 collection on AO3, at

Feel free to browse to my other stories while you're there. I'd love the feedback.

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Day 15 - Abstract

Castiel knew what love was in the abstract sense of the word. He knew that there were three types of love: agape, philos and eros.

Angels were children of agape, the love of and for God. There was no higher purpose, and Castiel spent countless millennia unquestioningly devoted to this ideal. That agape proved to be a lie nearly broke his heart.

Philos referred to friendships or family relationships. He understood this kind of love perfectly well; it was logical, mutually beneficial, and easily detectable. The Winchesters were prime examples of philos. Their willingness to sacrifice life and limb for each other was legendary. That they welcomed Castiel into their family was both humbling and a source of quiet joy. They made it easy to replace agape with philos.

Eros was the concept of physical love: erotic, sexual, passionate encounters. Castiel was aware of the mechanics of eros; understood which parts of the human anatomy were involved; knew that both parties generally enjoyed the process immensely. From what he had observed during his time on Earth, however, such intimate acts looked messy and awkward, often silly and sometimes self-destructive. It puzzled him greatly why anyone would ever subject themself to the whims of eros.

Oh yes, Castiel knew all about love. Or thought he did...

But there is a world of difference between academic knowledge and the reality of making love.

He lay on the bed, stripped of clothing and inhibitions, arching up to meet the lips that hovered tantalizingly out of reach. Moaning in satisfaction as they finally connected, he breathed in the scent of his lover – whiskey and coffee, leather and gunpowder – and surrendered himself completely to an overwhelming onslaught of sensations. Each kiss was a little deeper than the one before, a little more heated, a little more wild.

Fingertips danced their way across Castiel's rib cage, pausing to tweak a nipple every now and then, before venturing further, leaving no inch of his skin untouched. Every cell in Castiel's body tingled, sending an electric current of desire pulsing through his veins. His heart was a jackhammer, threatening to pound its way free of its cage of flesh. His eyes rolled back in his head, his entire body going taut as a riptide of emotion consumed him: carrying him off to previously uncharted waters, before depositing him safely back to shore. Sated. Exhausted. Amazed.

A broad palm came to rest on his chest, monitoring heartbeats, and Castiel's eyes flickered open.

“Okay there, sunshine? You're not going to keel over with a heart attack, are you?”

“M'fine, Dean.”

“You're a damned sight more than fine. You're incredible, Cas. That was... I don't have the words to describe how good that was.”

“I never dreamed it could be like this.”

“If you're with the right person, it is.”

“Am I the right person, Dean?”

“You are for me.” Dean kissed the tip of the angel's nose. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Castiel replied. Nor did he doubt for a second what kind of love this was. He finally understood what all those songs, all those books of poetry had tried to tell him in their flowery, incomprehensible way. Eros was no longer a mystery to him.

Of course, a little more research into the subject wouldn't hurt...

“Can we do it again?” Castiel begged, and drew a laughing, more than willing Dean back into his arms.

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Bonus Day 31 - Trick or Treat

Halloween has meant different things to Dean Winchester over the years.

Dean's first Halloween was idyllic – everything he'd hoped it would be; absolutely perfect in his four year old mind. For weeks beforehand, he spoke of nothing else but what to wear and how much candy he'd get. That joy dimmed slightly once he learned his candy consumption was going to be strictly monitored (he had expected to eat it all right away). But, hey, free candy! Who could remain disappointed about that? Besides, staying up an hour past his usual bedtime was a treat in itself.

Dressed as a cowboy – in jeans, plaid shirt, a fringed leather vest and of course, authentic cowboy boots and wide-brimmed hat – Dean trotted from door to door, a grinning pumpkin basket held in one hand, a toy pistol in the other. “Trick or treat,” he cried whenever someone answered the door. Basking in the praise of how cute he was, and what a good boy he was for always remembering to say thank you, he strutted back to his waiting father, holstering the pistol and accepting a helping hand down any stairs. In the dark stretches between houses, John carried the pumpkin and Dean continued to hold tight to his father's hand. The dark was scarier than he had anticipated, and soon became crowded with rowdy older kids but, with John at his side, Dean felt protected and safe.

It didn't take long for the pumpkin to be filled to overflowing.

“Maybe next year Sammy can come with us,” Dean said as they turned to make their way home. “Mommy too. It's not fair they had to stay home.”

John laughed. “Sam's just turning 6 months old, Dean. It will be a few years before he's big enough to go trick or treating. Maybe next year your Mom can go out with you and I'll stay home to watch Sam and hand out candy.”

Dean was yawning by the time Mary welcomed them home with a hug for Dean and a kiss for John. “To bed with you, young man” she declared. “The candy count can wait until tomorrow. Into your PJs with you. Now!”

This met with no argument from Dean. He rushed through brushing his teeth and saying his prayers and was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He had no idea that two days later his mother would be dead, their home and happy life destroyed in a burning inferno. In a way, he lost his father too that night. Azazel became John's obsession, pushing him into the life of a hunter.

Sam was almost seven when Dean finally convinced their father to take them trick or treating. The threat of venturing out alone with his brother if John refused to accompany them was the deciding factor. John knew all too well what dangers lurked in the shadows: ghosts and ghouls, witches and demons, the list went on and on. Halloween is an especially dangerous time. It draws monsters out of hiding and allows them to walk undetected amongst us. It amazed John how other parents – blissfully ignorant citizens – allowed their children to run free on such a night. There was no way his boys were doing that! So, knowing Dean's stubbornness when it came to doing what he thought was best for Sam, it was better to concede rather than chance them running into some monster.

There was no money for fancy costumes, but there seemed to be more than enough to provide John with a continuous supply of alcohol. Dean acknowledged this fact with no little bitterness, but he kept the observation to himself. Sam was going trick or treating; that was all that mattered. A sheet with eyeholes cut in it was good enough for Dean. He shoplifted a cheap plastic Batman costume for his brother. Pillowcases could hold any goodies they collected.

Sam was over the moon about the whole adventure. He traipsed from door to door, squawking “trick or treat,” almost dancing down the street as they headed for the next house. Dean trailed a step or two behind, one eye on his excited brother, the other on the hulking presence of his father. John was armed to the teeth, and Dean knew it. Heck, Dean's ghost costume concealed more than his identity. He carried a knife or two himself. In addition, the pistol tucked in the waistband of his jeans was loaded with silver bullets – and he knew how to use it. He wasn't the fool his father thought he was. He knew the risks. He was a hunter too.

By the time their pillowcases bulged with treats, John was more than pleasantly buzzed, he was flat out drunk. He staggered along the sidewalk, giving the stink eye to the people he passed. Anger radiated off him in palpable waves, and more than one person ushered their child across the street rather than confront him.

“Time to call it quits, Sammy,” Dean said, giving his bother a nudge and inclining his head towards their father.

“Okay, Dean,” Sam quietly agreed.

And that was the end of Halloween. John spent the next two days in an alcoholic haze, sobbing inconsolably over Mary.

Dean stuck a candle in a Twinkie and sang Happy Birthday to his little brother.

Halloween as an adult is much like any other day in the life of a hunter, distinguished only by the plethora of spooky lawn decorations that spring up as the day approaches. The costume most employed by the Winchester brothers on this occasion would have to be FBI agent. Investigating suspicious deaths, chasing down vengeful ghosts, thwarting witches, digging up graves, exterminating zombies and ghouls, and (Sam's least favourite) dealing with a murderous clown are but a few of the cases they've tackled.

Honestly, Dean is far more enamoured with the day after Halloween when candy goes on sale: all the yummy goodness without the need to go begging door to door. Plus, he gets to pick and choose his favourite treats – no crummy molasses kisses or hard gumballs for him! Bring on the mini chocolate bars and cheese sticks! Bring on the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Twizzlers, Skittles and Sour Patch Kids! Sam of course, being the health nut that he is, disdains all sugary treats and refuses to share in Dean's seasonal glee. Dean leaves him behind in the Bunker, sipping his herbal tea and no doubt dreaming of kale salads.

Which is how he finds himself with an angel sitting in the passenger seat as the Impala turns into the mall parking lot. Castiel is an excellent shopping companion. No complaining as they wander from store to store. No frowny, judgement face over Dean's choices of snacks, only curiosity about some of the brightly packaged items.

“What is Candy Corn?” Castiel inquired, studying the tri-coloured, pyramid-shaped candies as if they held the answer to the mysteries of the universe.

“Sugar, corn syrup, vanilla and honey coated with wax.” Dean grabbed the package and tossed it back on the shelf. “You don't want that. Here,” he plopped a bag of Jolly Ranchers in the angel's hand. “These have more flavour.”

“What about these?”

“Hershey Kisses? Not really Halloween-themed, but toss them in the cart. I like Kisses, you probably will, too.”

“I have never had a kiss.”

“Gotta try one, then,” Dean said. “Ooh, look! M&Ms!”

It took a while, but finally satisfied with his selections, Dean turned the Impala for home. Of course, he couldn't wait until they got there, and pulled the car off to the side of the road so he could break into his stash.

“Trick or treat,” he said, popping a candy in his mouth before offering the bag to Castiel.

“Why do people say that?” Castiel chose a green Sour Patch Kid and warily bit its head off. His mouth puckered at the taste, and he scowled.

“Halloween tradition,” Dean managed, when his fit of laughter finally subsided. “It's pretty literal, Cas. You offer the person a choice: trick or treat. If they give you a treat, you don't play a trick on them.”

Castiel dug out the bag of Hersey Kisses and ripped it open. Is a kiss a trick or a treat?” he wondered, staring at the candy.

“Depends on the person.” Dean grinned. “Could be either – or both.”

Castiel carefully placed the candy on his palm and held it out to Dean. “What would you like it to be?” he said.

Dean swallowed, sobering, realizing the conversation had strayed off the Halloween path into something far more serious. Something scarier than things that go bump in the night. All his Halloweens, all his days, had led to this one day, this one moment in time.

He'd thought about it in the past – of course, he had. He had eyes, didn't he? Castiel was gorgeous – had definitely inspired a shameful fantasy or two – but Dean had never had the courage to act on his desire. He'd buried it deep, so deep he'd thought it hidden even from himself. But here, now, it all came bubbling to the surface. Now, with the promise of love, unconditional love, shining in Castiel's blue eyes, he realized the feeling ran both ways. Love was his for the taking... if he dared.

“Not a trick,” he whispered.

Castiel unwrapped the candy and raised it to Dean's lips. Dean opened his mouth, his eyes focused on Castiel's as he chewed the chocolate morsel: a prelude to the real treat.

“Not a trick,” Castiel agreed. And kissed him.

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

A/N And, so, the final prompt has been completed – better late than never as they say. :)

I'd like to express my thanks to @winchester-reload for providing us with such interesting (and sometimes challenging) prompts. I'd also like to thank everyone who has left a note or reblogged my posts.

You can find my complete Suptober23 collection on AO3, at

Feel free to browse to my other stories while you're there. I'd love the feedback.

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Day 15 - Abstract

Castiel knew what love was in the abstract sense of the word. He knew that there were three types of love: agape, philos and eros.

Angels were children of agape, the love of and for God. There was no higher purpose, and Castiel spent countless millennia unquestioningly devoted to this ideal. That agape proved to be a lie nearly broke his heart.

Philos referred to friendships or family relationships. He understood this kind of love perfectly well; it was logical, mutually beneficial, and easily detectable. The Winchesters were prime examples of philos. Their willingness to sacrifice life and limb for each other was legendary. That they welcomed Castiel into their family was both humbling and a source of quiet joy. They made it easy to replace agape with philos.

Eros was the concept of physical love: erotic, sexual, passionate encounters. Castiel was aware of the mechanics of eros; understood which parts of the human anatomy were involved; knew that both parties generally enjoyed the process immensely. From what he had observed during his time on Earth, however, such intimate acts looked messy and awkward, often silly and sometimes self-destructive. It puzzled him greatly why anyone would ever subject themself to the whims of eros.

Oh yes, Castiel knew all about love. Or thought he did...

But there is a world of difference between academic knowledge and the reality of making love.

He lay on the bed, stripped of clothing and inhibitions, arching up to meet the lips that hovered tantalizingly out of reach. Moaning in satisfaction as they finally connected, he breathed in the scent of his lover – whiskey and coffee, leather and gunpowder – and surrendered himself completely to an overwhelming onslaught of sensations. Each kiss was a little deeper than the one before, a little more heated, a little more wild.

Fingertips danced their way across Castiel's rib cage, pausing to tweak a nipple every now and then, before venturing further, leaving no inch of his skin untouched. Every cell in Castiel's body tingled, sending an electric current of desire pulsing through his veins. His heart was a jackhammer, threatening to pound its way free of its cage of flesh. His eyes rolled back in his head, his entire body going taut as a riptide of emotion consumed him: carrying him off to previously uncharted waters, before depositing him safely back to shore. Sated. Exhausted. Amazed.

A broad palm came to rest on his chest, monitoring heartbeats, and Castiel's eyes flickered open.

“Okay there, sunshine? You're not going to keel over with a heart attack, are you?”

“M'fine, Dean.”

“You're a damned sight more than fine. You're incredible, Cas. That was... I don't have the words to describe how good that was.”

“I never dreamed it could be like this.”

“If you're with the right person, it is.”

“Am I the right person, Dean?”

“You are for me.” Dean kissed the tip of the angel's nose. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Castiel replied. Nor did he doubt for a second what kind of love this was. He finally understood what all those songs, all those books of poetry had tried to tell him in their flowery, incomprehensible way. Eros was no longer a mystery to him.

Of course, a little more research into the subject wouldn't hurt...

“Can we do it again?” Castiel begged, and drew a laughing, more than willing Dean back into his arms.

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Day 14 - Fever

The fever hit without warning. One moment, Dean was perspiring lightly from the exertion of pursuing the witch. In the next, beads of sweat dotted his brow and he began to shiver uncontrollably. His steps slowed, and he stumbled to a complete stop: hands braced on knees, head hanging low. He sensed more than he saw his brother run past him, machete in one hand, gun in the other.

“Way to go, Sam,” he wheezed, the breath leaving his lungs in one long, shaky exhale. Replacing the lost air proved to be quite the challenge. He coughed, coughed again, and finally managed to inhale. Dizzy and decidedly weak in the knees, Dean decided the ground was a prudent place to be. He sank to a kneeling position, wavered there a second, then toppled over to land in a crumpled heap.

He lay there, gasping like a fish too long out of water, his face flushed an alarming shade of red.

And that was how Castiel found him.

“Dean!” he cried, dropping to one knee and placing a hand on Dean's forehead. “You're burning up!” he declared, worry evident in his voice. “But there's no trace of a virus... Was it something you ate?”

“Don't think so.” Dean moaned, and pushed his face further into the deliciously cool hand. “Sam had the same thing for lunch, and he's okay.”

Castiel's free hand travelled slowly across Dean's chest, trailed lower to his rib cage, down to his stomach, and lingered there. “It's not your appendix,” the angel murmured. “I can't find any root cause for a fever.”

“I feel better when you touch me,” Dean said, surprise evident in his voice.

“Touch you where?”

“Here.” Dean tapped his head. “And here.” He pointed to his chest.

Castiel felt the pit-pat of the hunter's heart increase in tempo when he laid a hand over it.

“Lower,” Dean moaned.

Castiel moved his hand down to Dean's belly.

“Lower.” Dean clasped the angel's hand in his both of his own and dragged it towards his crotch.

“Uh, Dean...” “Lower,” Dean begged. “Please, Cas? Please...”

“Dean!” Castiel pulled free and backed away. Instantly, Dean curled into the fetal position and emitted a wail of sheer misery.

“Dean!” Sam echoed, arriving just in time to witness this odd exchange. He rested a hand on Dean's shoulder. “You okay, man?” he asked.

Dean reacted as if he'd been poked with a firebrand. “Don't touch me!” he screamed. “It burns! It burns!”

“What the hell?” Sam sputtered, watching in amazement as Castiel rested a hand on the same shoulder and Dean quieted immediately.

“I believe he is suffering from a spell,” Castiel said, allowing Dean to link their fingers together. “Before she fled, did the witch have time to say anything, Sam?”

“Not a word.” Sam frowned, thinking. “There was a dusting of grey powder on the table. It swirled into the air when we burst through the door. Dean ran through it, chasing after the witch. The wind was behind me, it blew the dust away before I entered the room... Didn't Dean bump into you as he followed her out the back door? Maybe that's why he's so fixated on you.”

“That's very possible, Sam.” Castiel cast a bemused look at Dean. “No nibbling on my fingers, Dean.”

Sam snorted a laugh, quickly turning it into a cough as Castiel turned a disapproving stare his way.

“Sorry,” Sam offered. “I know it's not funny, but you have to admit it's pretty weird. Who leaves sex pollen lying around the house? And leave it to Dean to stumble into it.” He shook his head. “Well, we'll just have to muddle though somehow, and hope the effects wear off. The witch is dead, so she's can't revoke the spell. Maybe Rowena can offer some advice? I'll look into that... do a little research. In the meantime, let's get you two back to the motel. Maybe a warm bath – or a cold shower – will make Dean feel better. I'll book another room so I don't accidentally bump into him.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” Castiel said, more than a trace of desperation in his voice.

“Whatever you feel comfortable doing.” Sam grinned.

Sam was seated in the diner located across the road from their motel when the bell over the door jingled and Dean appeared.

“Morning, Sam,” Dean chirped, slapping his brother on the back. Easing himself into a chair, he picked up a menu and studied it.” “Mmmm, pancakes,” he murmured. “Or bacon, sausage and eggs with home fries and baked beans? Why not both? Ooh! They have pie!”

“I see you're back to normal,” Sam said wryly.

“Never felt better, Sammy. The spell ended shortly after midnight.”

“And you waited until now to tell me?”

“”Uh, sorry. It kinda slipped my mind. I was – We were – ”

The bell over the door sounded again, and a distinctly rumpled-looking angel entered. His coat hung off one shoulder; his tie was missing, his dark hair a tousled mess. A pink blush tinged his cheeks, and a purple bruise peeked out from under the collar of his crookedly buttoned shirt. A satisfied smile graced his lips; a matching smile lit Dean's face as Castiel seated himself beside him.

“Never mind, I get the picture,” Sam said, and hid his own smile in his coffee.

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Day 13 - Flirt

“Refill, sugar?” the waitress trilled, leaning over the table so her cleavage was perfectly in line of sight. Or would have been, had Castiel bothered to raise his eyes from his phone.

“No thank you,” he murmured politely. “Dean, look at this.” He passed his phone over to the hunter. “I think I've found our witch.”

“Oh, witches are yesterday's news,” the waitress said, determined not to be ignored. “So dark and gloomy. I'm going as a mermaid this Halloween. Hair down to here, all curvy and sparkly and – ”

“The bill, please,” Dean interrupted.

The waitress pouted, but retreated to the counter.

“If she'd batted her eyes at you any harder, those fake lashes would have fallen in your coffee,” Dean grumbled

Castiel tilted his head to one side. “I don't understand that reference.”

“She was flirting with you, Cas,” Sam said helpfully.

“Oh. I didn't notice.”

“Dean sure did,” Sam chuckled. “What's the matter, Dean? Jealous that she didn't flirt with you?”

“She's not my type.”

“What? Young, blonde, pretty, stacked. What's not to like?”

“The bill, sir,” the waitress tossed a slip of paper at Dean. “And if you decide you'd rather hang out with a mermaid, sugar...” She tucked a second paper in the angel's pocket, and mimed 'call me'.

Dean tossed some money on the table – just enough to cover their meal, plus an insultingly small gratuity. Sam and Castiel trailed him out the door. As they crossed the parking lot, Castiel retrieved the paper from his pocket and studied it curiously. “Is this another flirtation?” he mused.

“That's a damn sight more than flirting, Cas. That's a brazen attempt at seduction.” Dean snatched the phone number from Castiel's hand and ripped it into tiny bits which he scattered to the wind.

“That's littering, Dean.”

“Sue me,” Dean said and stalked off without so much as a backward glance.

“Sam?”

“Yes, Cas?”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Sam patted the angel's shoulder. “No, Cas. Dean's just being a dick. You know, it's not too late to go back inside and get her phone number.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Never mind, Cas,” he said.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean greeted as Castiel entered the kitchen. “Coffee?” He waved the pot questioningly.

“Yes, please,” Castiel replied as he took a seat.

Dean leaned over the table until their foreheads almost bumped and deposited a steaming mug close to Castiel's hand.

Castiel wrapped both hands around the mug and breathed in the enticing aroma before taking a cautious sip. “What is it about coffee that makes its molecules so pleasing?” he wondered, taking a second, deeper swallow. By the time Dean had stuffed the last of the bacon in his mouth, Castiel's mug was empty.

“Refill, 'sugar'?” Dean trilled, with a wink and a light touch that caressed the angel's shoulder.

Sam's head popped out from behind a newspaper in time to see a funny look cross Castiel's face.

Call me, Dean mimed after refilling the mug. He turned away, setting the pot back in it's holder before calmly sauntering out of the room.

“W-was... was that a flirtation?” Castiel sputtered.

“I don't know,” Sam said, shaking his head from side to side. “It could have been... but, then again, sarcasm is equally likely.” Sam shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“I see.” Castiel sat quietly sipping his coffee for a few minutes, before suddenly pushing his chair back and rising to his feet.

“Where are you going, Cas?” Sam asked, already knowing the answer.

“To speak with Dean.”

“I'm not sure that's a good idea.”

But Sam's words fell on empty air. Castiel was already halfway down the hall.

He didn't bother knocking.

He burst into Dean's room with such force that the door crashed back against the wall, cracking the plaster. A second bang slammed the door shut again.

Dean looked up from from where he was seated at the end of the bed, a partially assembled gun held in his hands. He dropped a cleaning rag to the floor, but showed no other reaction to the obviously angry angel's rude intrusion.

“What was that?” Castiel demanded.

“What was what?”

“Don't play stupid. You know very well what I mean.” “Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Why don't you spell it out for me, Cas.”

“In the kitchen... Was that a flirtation, Dean?”

“Would you like it to be?”

“You're making fun of me.”

“No,” Dean admitted quietly. “I'm not. I'm really not. Answer my question, Cas. What if it was a flirtation. How would you respond to that?”

The fear in Dean's green eyes was obvious as he waited for a reply.

Castiel found himself at a loss for words, his silence lasting so long that Dean carefully set the gun aside and rose to his feet, retreating to the far side of the room.

“Never mind,” Dean muttered. “Forget it. I'll just –we'll just – Let's pretend this conversation never happened.”

“I don't like ambiguity,” Castiel finally responded, advancing step by slow step. “I don't 'get' flirtations or sarcasm. I prefer honesty. Directness. What I'd do, how I'd feel, if –if – I truly believed you were interested in me, wanted me... the way that I want you...” The last few words were spoken so softly they almost were inaudible. As they trailed off into silence, Castiel stood as still as a statue, and let his eyes do the speaking for him.

Dean closed the distance between them and drew Castiel into a tight embrace. His lips were warm and tender as they connected with the angel's: negating the need for any further words, nurturing the hope that shone in Castiel's eyes, erasing the fear that had clouded his own.

“Is this direct enough for you, 'sugar'?” Dean whispered as their lips finally parted.

“Yes,” Castiel breathed, and leaned in for another kiss.

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Day 12 - Swap-Meat

“O-kay,” Bobby drawled. “Run it by me one more time. Cas is Sam. Sam is Dean. Dean is Cas. Have I got that right?”

“No,” Sam said, but the words came out of Castiel's mouth, in Castiel's voice. “Sam is Cas. Cas is Dean. Dean is Sam. ”

“Huh?” Bobby shook his head. “Let's try spelling it out one at a time, boys.”

“I'm Sam,” Sam said, “in Castiel's body.”

“I'm Dean,” Dean said, “in Sam's body.”

“I'm Cas,” Castiel said, “ in Dean's body.”

“I'm confused,” Bobby said. “I'm going to slap name tags on the lot of you.”

“If you think that will help,” Castiel agreed, in Dean's voice – the words didn't sound sarcastic, as they normally would spilling from Dean's lips.

“How long is this going to last, anyway?” Bobby grumbled.

“A day or two. Maybe more, maybe less. Rowena was plenty pissed at us. She wouldn't give a straight answer, just whammo! Swap-meat! And I'm suddenly a giraffe. How do you do it, Sam? It's like walking on stilts.”

“At least you're not stuck wearing a flasher's outfit and shoes that pinch.”

“There's nothing wrong with Cas's trench coat. He'd look naked without it.”

“Well, I'm borrowing some of your clothes, Dean, until we switch back. “How about you, Cas? You doing okay?”

“I'm fine, Sam. Angels are accustomed to adjusting to different vessels. Dean's body is very comfortable, and the bowed legs are quite endearing.”

“Aww,” Dean cooed. “What a nice thing to say.”

Their eyes met and held; unconsciously, they drifted closer together, inevitably drawn into each other's orbit – no matter the bodies they wore.

“Nope, nope, nope!” Sam declared, shoving them apart. “I am not going to stand here and watch myself make out with Dean. You two can just keep it in your pants – your own pants – for the next however long this takes.”

“But, Sam,” Dean whined, turning a pleading look on his brother.

“Those puppy dog eyes won't work on me. I invented them.”

Castiel pouted, the look not new on Dean's face, but quite unsettling coming from the normally implacable angel.

“Fine,” Dean muttered. “No PDAs.”

“No hanky-panky behind closed doors either! You know what – I don't trust you. You and I will bunk together until we're back to ourselves, Dean.”

“Aren't you afraid he will mistake you for me in a half-asleep state and make a move on you?” Castiel wondered.

“Ewww,” Dean and Sam chorused. “Gross!”

“Well it is a possibility,” Cas said. “Dean is surprisingly cuddly, and often wakes up with an erection. If one thing leads to another – as it often does – ”

“I need a drink,” Bobby declared.

“Make that a double,” Sam sighed. “And add a dash of brain bleach while you're at it.”

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Day 11 - Epic

The temperature dropped; their breath puffed little miniature clouds into the frigid air. An eerie silence embraced the room. One moment she wasn't there; in the next, she materialized with all the elemental force of a hurricane. A window imploded in a shower of deadly glass fragments. Loose items joined it in swirling around the centrifuge of her sudden presence. A lamp, a chair, an end table swept past as if they weighed nothing. Picture frames tore off the walls; books flew from shelves, their pages flapping like frightened birds. She floated in the centre of the maelstrom. Silent. Deadly.

“Poltergeist!” Sam shouted, ducking in the nick of time as a paperweight flew past his head.

Eyes that burned red, in a face whiter than the tattered dress she wore, turned towards him. Her features twisted into a hideous mask of fury, and a boney finger pointed Sam's way, sending a chill racing down his spine. Still, he stood firm, backed into a corner, but determined to protect the little girl who cowered behind him.

The apparition's mouth opened, an ugly gash of crimson in her pallid flesh, and she emitted a bloodcurdling shriek.

“Banshee,” Dean corrected, ushering a second child into the hallway where his frantic parents waited. The door slammed shut behind the boy, barring that route of escape.

The banshee's head turned towards Dean.

“And an ugly one at that,” he taunted, drawing her attention away from Sam, away from the remaining child.

The ruse worked. The banshee was upon him almost before the words had left his lips. He felt invisible, icy fingers grip his heart, and squeeze. As she shrieked again and again, her rancid breath filled his lungs, replacing oxygen with poisonous air. He couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. His eyesight began to fail; colours dimmed to shades of grey, rapidly darkened to black...

He heard Sam shout, “No!”

Thought he head Castiel scream, “Dean!”

And then he knew no more.

Dean slowly regained consciousness: blinked up at the blue eyes peering intently down at him; discovered, as feeling crept back into his numbed body, that he was being held. Castiel knelt on the floor in a stance like the hero of a romance novel's cover, with Dean as the swooning maiden reclining in his strong embrace.

“Wha' happened?” he mumbled, too dazed and confused to protest the compromising position.

“Cas happened.” Sam's worried face peered over Castiel's shoulder. “You should have seen it, Dean. It was... it was...”

“Epic?” Dean suggested weakly.

“Yeah! Exactly! Epic! That banshee didn't stand a chance. Cas tore her to pieces like he was shredding paper. And then he healed you... though it was touch and go there for a moment.”

“I thought I'd lost you,” Castiel murmured.

Was it Dean's imagination, or was the angel's face closer than it had been before? Closer than it had ever been? Their noses were almost bumping...

Click. The unmistakable sound of Sam's cell phone snapping a picture sounded.

“Bitch,” Dean sputtered.

“Jerk.” Sam grinned.

“Beloved,” Castiel whispered. He closed the distance between them, his lips meeting Dean's with a tenderness that rapidly escalated into passion as Dean began to respond.

If any other pictures were taken, neither Castiel nor Dean paid the clicking noise any mind. They were far too lost in the wonder of each other. And, besides, Dean could deal with Sam and his phone later – but not, of course, until after he'd downloaded those pictures for himself.

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Day 10 - Close Shave

It was raining, Raindrops wove crooked tracks down the motel's windowpane, the weak light of a streetlamp casting their shadows on Dean's face: phantom tears, that he refused to shed.

Cas had almost died this afternoon. Dean had almost died trying to save him. Sam had almost died saving them both. It had been one hell of a day.

Dean raised the bottle he held clenched tight in one hand and took a swig. A trail of fire burned its way down his throat: the echo of a sob, that he refused to utter.

Bone weary, yet unable to sleep, he kept a silent, lonely vigil: watching lightning fork its way across the sky; trying to convince himself the only storm was the one raging outside.

Sam was okay. He was safe and sleeping in the bed behind him.

Cas was alive – though god only knew where he had flapped off to in such a hurry.

“I'm fine,” Dean whispered, and took another long swallow. The whiskey – and the lie – slipped down his throat with the ease of long practice.

It was easier to numb the pain than it was to confront the truth behind it. Cas had almost died this afternoon, and if he had... well, let's just say Dean would have preferred death too, rather than a life without him. That Sam had saved them both left Dean's head – and heart – in turmoil. When had Cas become so important to him? What was he supposed to do with the sudden realization that he had? He felt his world tilt on its axis; unbridled emotion struck him like a thunderbolt. Nothing would ever be the same.

“I'm fine,” he repeated, gritting his teeth.

“You are anything but fine,” a low voice murmured.

“Cas,” he breathed.

“Hello, Dean.”

He could hear the smile in the fond tone. Could feel the tension in his body easing with the familiar presence at his side.

“You're back.” He set the bottle on the table and turned to face the angel.

“I always come back.”

“You always have so far... But you almost didn't today.”

Castiel frowned. “And you almost died as well. I didn't ask for you to save me.”

“You didn't have to. Just as you didn't have to throw yourself away to save my life.”

“I had no other choice.”

“Neither did I.” Dean expelled a shaky breath that was closer to a sob than it was a sigh. “Self-sacrificing bastards, aren't we?”

“It would appear so.”

“Not the first time we've had such a close shave... and it probably won't be the last.”

“Probably not.”

“Why do we do it, Cas? Why do we find it easier to die for one another, than we do to face the fact that we – ”

Castiel's head tilted to one side. “That we what, Dean?”

This was it. This was the moment to set himself free, to spill his newfound truth and damned be the consequences. But the words stuck in his throat. All he could manage was: “You know. You have to know. You can't be that stupid.”

“I know. I just need to hear you say it. It's an angel thing, Dean. I can't possess a vessel without its permission. I can't say what you want to hear until you say it first. And believe me, I long to say it. I've waited what seems to be an eon. I've despaired time and time again, but still I cling to the hope that someday – ”

“I love you,” Dean said quietly, the words at last – at long last – bubbling to the surface. And, oh, they were easier and sweeter than he had imagined they would be. “I think I'm in love with you.”

“I love you too, Dean. And I am definitely in love with you.”

There was no telling who made the first move; whose hands reached out to hold and caress, whose mouth was first to claim the other's. There was no you or me, no what ifs and lost yesterdays. There was only here and now and us, and it consumed them.

“So, where do we go from here?” Dean wondered, as they surfaced from a searingly hot first kiss.

Castiel met his stare, lips red and puffy, blue eyes wide and wild with desire, dark hair ruffled as if a strong wind had blown through it instead of Dean's wandering hands. He was, quite simply, the most gorgeous sight Dean had ever seen.

“May I suggest you go book another room?”

“That might be the smartest thing you've ever said, Sam,” Dean laughed, and grabbed the angel – his angel – by the hand. “C'mon, Cas. Let's not waste another minute. Whatever time we have left on this planet, I want to spend it with you.”

“Finally!” Sam sighed as the door slammed shut behind them. “Those two idiots finally got their act together. I just hope their room isn't right next to mine!”

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Day 9 - Starlight

“Star light, star bright, first star I've seen tonight; wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.”

“That's not a star, Dean. It's a planet. Venus.”

“Shaddup, brainiac,” Dean muttered. “It's called the evening star, isn't it?”

“Yeah, but it still isn't a star. It doesn't burn, it merely reflects the light of the sun.”

“The sun is a star.”

“Yes.”

“Sunlight is a kind of starlight.”

“Your point being?”

“That's good enough. It's valid to make a wish on it.”

“I give up!” Sam tossed his hands in the air.

Silence reigned as the brothers continued walking.

“So,” Sam said, long moments later. “What did you wish for, Dean?”

“What?”

“You heard me. What's your wish?”

“I wish my brother wasn't such a giant pain in the ass.”

“Dean!”

I wish we weren't schlepping through a stinking swamp. I wish my feet were dry. I wish you hadn't eaten those burritos for lunch. I wish – ”

“I'm sorry I asked.”

“I wish we were hunting a clown instead of a rugaru.”

“Now you're just being mean.”

“Don't ask stupid questions, then.”

Silence. In the distance a lonely frog croaked. A heavy mist began to rise, obscuring the trail they followed.

“I thought,” Sam said haughtily, “you might have wished for something useful.”

“Like world peace?”

“Like the successful end to this hunt. Or maybe for Cas to return.”

“Cas? Why would I wish for Cas?”

“Well, you two have been joined at the hip lately. Actually, you have been for some time. What's up with that, anyway?”

“Nothing! We're friends. Just friends!”

“Hmph,” Sam snorted. “More like boyfriends. I thought you were going to burst into tears when he said he'd be away for a week. Did you at least get a kiss goodbye?”

“I wish you'd – ”

“Too late! You've already used up today's wish.”

“Is this how seasoned hunters sneak up on a rugaru? I could hear you bickering a mile away.” A gravelly voice startled the brothers, sending their hands scrambling for weapons, until their brains registered who the speaker was.

“Cas!” Dean said. There was no denying the joy in his voice.

Sam smirked.

“I heard your prayer, Dean. I returned from Heaven as soon as I could. You can head home now. I took care of the rugaru.”

“So you did wish for Cas!”

“Fuck off, Sam.”

“I knew it!”

“So help me, Sam...”

“Sam is right, you know,” Castiel said, as more pinpricks of light began to dot the darkening sky. “Venus is not a star. But you don't need to seek out a star to summon me. All you have to do is call my name.”

“Awww,” Sam cooed.

“I am made of starlight; you are made of stardust. This is why we are drawn together: two halves that together are complete.”

“Hey, I'm stardust too – the entire planet is stardust.”

“True, Sam. But Dean's stardust is especially attractive to me.”

Dean tripped over a root and was saved from landing in a puddle only by Castiel's swift hand.

“And I did kiss you,” the angel continued. “I don't know how Sam knew that. We were quite discreet.”

“Cas!”

“Your brother is an enthusiastic, but surprisingly quiet lover. Perhaps, now that you know about us, Sam, I can convince him to become more vocal.”

Sam burst into uncontrollable laughter. “I wish I could see your face right now, Dean,” he howled.

“I wish you both would shut the hell up,” Dean growled, stalking off in what he hoped was the right direction.

But of course, as he knew only too well, not every wish comes true.

And it was a long walk back to the Impala.

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Day 8 - Satanic Panic

“Cas!” Dean cried.

“Caaasss!” Lucifer repeated. His face – Castiel's face! – twisted in cruel mockery. “I'm afraid your little little angel can't come to the phone right now. He's... ” Lucifer thumped his chest. “He's otherwise engaged.”

Lucifer's head tilted to one side – the wrong side, Dean noted, just as his touch had landed upon the wrong shoulder.

“Oh, he's not a happy camper,” Lucifer mused. “If you harm a hair on Dean's head, I'll kill you. Dean, Dean, Dean. Blah, blah, blah. Oh, he has it bad for you!”

“He won't have to kill you. I'll kill you,” Dean said.

“Will you now?” Lucifer laughed, the evil laugh sounding wrong – so terribly wrong – spilling from Castiel's lips. “And how do you propose to do that? Kill me, kill your boyfriend. Hurt me, hurt his body. Use your brain, you stupid ass. There's nothing you can do.”

“He said yes to you. That means he can say no, too. Fight him, Cas,” Dean begged. “Please, please, fight him. Come back to me.”

Dean sat bolt upright in bed, hair plastered to his head with sweat, face ghostly pale, body trembling. He hadn't had that dream in quite some time. Had hoped he would never have it again. His heart slammed against his ribcage. His throat was dry, his eyes aching with unshed tears.

“You fought him, Cas” he whispered. “You fought him... and I got you back. No need to let some satanic panic nightmare rattle me.”

But he was rattled. Beyond that, he was shaken to the core. There would be no more sleep for him tonight. He shot a glance at the clock: 3:05 it read. Dean sighed and draped his dead guy robe around his shoulders. Barefooted and otherwise clad only in a t-shirt and boxers, he shuffled from his room, wandered down the dimly lit hall and stepped into the kitchen.

Motion at the table caught his eye moments before the overhead lights flickered to life. Dean's hand rose halfway to his waist before he remembered he was unarmed. His brain clicked that it didn't matter seconds before the shadowy figure spoke.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas! What the fuck are you doing sitting here in the dark?”

“I don't need a light, I have excellent night vision,” Castiel said, rising to his feet. “In any case, I was meditating.”

“You're worse than a damn cat,” Dean muttered.

Castiel's head tilted questioningly.

“Can see in the dark,” Dean offered, leaving the thought 'and you apparently have nine lives' unspoken. That hit a little too close to home to be funny right now.

Something of his disquiet must have shown in his face. Castiel frowned. “Which dream was it this time?” he asked. “Hell? The rack?”

“No. I... Um...”

The angel moved like a damned cat too, Dean noted: all ease of movement and sinewy strength. He bridged the distance between them before Dean had time to formulate a convincing lie. A warm, firm hand slotted into place upon his shoulder. The correct shoulder. Breath hitched in Dean's throat, not quite a sob, but close. Too close.

“Dean?” Concerned blue eyes met and held his gaze.

Dean pulled his robe closer around him, feeling stripped naked by the penetrating stare. Was it the nearness of the angel, the lingering nightmare, or something inside of Dean himself that brought it all bubbling up to the surface? He couldn't tell. But he could feel his defences crumbling, no matter how hard he tried to keep up a brave facade, trying to shield himself from a truth he wasn't sure he wanted to share. One he was only just coming to acknowledge to himself.

“Dean.”

“Lucifer,” he blurted, helpless to resist the tender admonishment. Desperate to ease the burden of his nightmare. To find solace.

“Ah...” Castiel's gaze softened. “He's dead, Dean. He'll never bother you again. Sam is safe. He's sleeping in his room. Your brother isn't Lu–”

“It wasn't Sam.” Dean whispered. His jaw clenched, determination straightening his spine. “It was you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, Cas. You. You let Lucifer possess you, and I... I couldn't deal. His touch was all wrong, Cas. The things he said... The things he implied....”

“He was the Prince of Lies, Dean.”

“What if he spoke the truth.”

“What do you mean?”

“What if... What if you loved me? What if I was in love with you?”

Castiel's eyes widened; his grip on Dean's shoulder verged on painfully tight. “What if...” he repeated, slowly, disbelievingly.

“Yeah, Cas. What if?”

“Even a liar may occasionally tell the truth. Sometimes the truth is more cruel than a lie. And Lucifer was always cruel.”

“So... he didn't lie.”

“No. He didn't. Not that time. Not about how I feel – how I hope you feel.”

A tentative hand came up to cradle the angel's cheek. “Then,” Dean began, swallowed sharply, tried again. “Then, maybe, that's one nightmare I can lay to rest. If you– If I–”

“No more ifs,” Castiel said, and kissed him.

I was right, Dean thought, in that brief instant before his senses went reeling and all hope of further thought abandoned him. There'll be no more sleep for me tonight...

But he really didn't care.

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Day 7 - Black Cat

You might think life as a witch's familiar is an easy one. A roof over my head, a place to sleep and a belly full of food in exchange for helping focus their power. Oh, and maybe the sacrifice of a claw clipping. Or a tuft of hair. Or a few drops of blood. Even a pulled whisker or two – ouch! That one hurts.

But it's not all lazing in the sunlight and yowling at the moon. There's a lot less to purr about than you might think. And what's a feline to do if hunters come after your witch and slay her? Well, it's back to the streets with you then – and if being a black cat labels you as being bad luck, well, that's too bad for you.

Not that my witch-bitch didn't deserve to die. She was evil personified. She hurt a lot of people – innocent people – and she cast a lot of malevolent spells. So it was inevitable that hunters would eventually find and end her.

But not before she had time to cast one final spell...

A curse. A love curse at that. Honestly, was that the best she could do? I can think of a dozen better options, but I guessed she panicked.

I will spare you a list of the ingredients that went into the spell. They make me queasy, and I'm not the picky type. Suffice to say, it was a noxious brew. The tall hunter who came up behind my mistress (and killed her), avoided being enchanted. But the other two – the pretty one (according to her) and the angel – caught the worst of it right in the (excuse the expression) puss.

There was a moment, a brief moment, when I thought the spell wasn't going to work. But then they started making goo-goo eyes at each other. Handsome's hands reached out to grab the angel and pull him in close. I found it hard to tell if they were kissing or trying to devour each other.

The tall hunter figured it out before I did. He muttered something that sounded like, “finally!” followed by, “I'll just wait outside.”

He ran from the room as if Satan himself was on his heels. I sat and watched the increasingly enthusiastic lovers for a while, but their x-rated antics soon became more than I could bear. I joined the tall hunter outside, where he leaned against a sleek beauty as black as my fur.

“Hello, kitty,” he said as I sauntered over, and he squatted down to pet me. I allowed it. A good decision. His clever fingers found all the places I most like being stroked.

Moans and the sound of furniture crashing to the floor echoed from within the cottage.

“How long do you think they'll be?”

I purred in reply as he hit a particularly sensitive spot.

I wish I could have told him the spell typically only lasts an hour. Unless the victims happen to be secretly in love. The effects never totally go away in that case.

But I'm a cat and I can't talk. And I had new accommodations to locate. Something different this time, hopefully. A nice little family. A warm place by the fire. A bowl of milk now and then...

No more damned witches for me!

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Day 6 - Full Spread

I look at the feast spread out before me, and I can't believe my eyes. There you lie – full spread – open to me in far more ways than in body. Naked in spirit. Revealed to me as you have never been to another.

I am honoured at your trust. In awe of your bravery and beauty.

I know this can't be easy for you, being with another man. I know the road you took to get here was long and hard: overcoming the hurtful lessons of your father, risking the good opinion of your brother, hoping that this is what I want too.

Oh, Dean, how could you ever doubt that I would want you? You are my heaven, the manna that I crave. You are my home, my life, the one I hold most holy. You are the Righteous Man whose soul captured my heart the moment that we met.

“Cas?” you whisper, trepidation creeping into your eyes.

I have been quiet too long. I should have thrown myself upon you, let the fires of desire consume us. And I will – oh yes, I will, my love. But give me this – a moment to savour – before I rip off my clothes and join you in your bed.

“I love you,” I say, helpless to hold back a truth that cannot be denied. “I love you. I want you. I can't believe this is real.”

“It's real, Cas. Believe me.”

And I do.

I tumble into his waiting arms, knowing he'll catch me as I fall.

His kisses are like wine, intoxicating. His scent... his taste... his touch... the little sounds he makes as we dance the dance lovers have enjoyed since the dawn of time. Each step brings us closer, ever closer... lifts us higher...

My mind goes blank, awash with pleasure, that rapture impossibly increasing as he follows me down.

For a moment we simply lie there, a tangle of sweaty limbs wrapped in silence, his heartbeat a furious tattoo that vibrates in my chest.

Together. We are finally together. This is why I was created. This is where I'm meant to be.

I am his – I've always been his. And, now, he is finally mine.

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Day 5 - Portrait

Angels are not supposed to cry. Nor does their loyalty stray from service to God in thought or deed. But I've watched you through the years. I've seen your blind obedience to duty; I've seen you question it, and I've seen you choose free will. Now and then, I've even thought I might be the reason why.

But thinking and knowing are two very different things.

You stand before me today, tears pooled in your blue eyes, speaking words I never thought I'd hear – never deserve. Words that tremble from your lips and burn their way into my heart.

I am worthy.

I am loved.

You love me.

This is the legacy you leave behind. No holding back. No room to misunderstand. Not this time. Not ever.

You speak your truth to save me. You greet the Empty with a smile. Happy in the moment. Content that you have saved me. Content to love. Content to die.

I need no portrait painted by a master's hand. I need no photograph, no digital recording. I'll see your face whenever I close my eyes. I'll replay your words in dreams night after night. I'll grieve, I'll rage, I'll long for you each moment of every day.

Because I also have a truth, Cas. A truth I waited too long to speak.

I love you, too.

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Day 4 - Nimbus

The full moon rode high in the night sky, a wide circle of light surrounding it. Dean paused in his long trek back to the car and stood gazing upwards, fascinated by the spectral effect. Something about the sight sparked a feeling in his chest: a sense of familiarity; of warmth, though the night was cold enough that his breath puffed little clouds into the still air. A sudden wave of grief swept over him then, and he found a sob catching in his throat.

“Cas,” he whispered, and a single tear tickled it's way down his cheek.

He remembered a sunlit morning in a diner – which diner he couldn't say, after a while they all looked the same. But it was one of those rare and peaceful interludes between the end of a successful hunt and the beginning of the next.

Sam was sitting in the booth across from him, happily munching on some vegan crap that Dean wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. Castiel was seated at Dean's side, tucked in next to the window, his face turned up to the sunlight streaming in through the glass. His dark hair captured the light and seemed to reflect it, his usual messy locks catching the glow encasing his head like a halo.

Castiel's smile burned brighter than the sun as he turned his face back to Dean, and Dean was struck dumb with the sudden realization that he loved this beautiful man. But he was an angel. Holy. And Dean was nothing more than a lowly mud monkey. Unworthy. Worthless.

The smile Dean returned was forced and sad.

Castiel frowned, and dropped his gaze to his untouched cup of coffee.

Dean sighed, and took a sip from his own cup, the brew cold and bitter now. The likelihood of his carefully hidden desire ever coming true seemed unlikely, as far from reach as the farthest star. Which didn't alleviate his longing in the slightest: the desire to bask in the angel's presence... to reach out and hold his hand... to kiss the smile back to his face...

“Why was I such a fool?” Dean said, turning his mind back to the present.

“All the wasted years... All the times I bit back the words I wanted to say. All the opportunities we had to be together, together in every way. If only... if only...”

Dean brushed the tear away with an angry swipe of his hand. “Cas was a fool too. A coward, like me. It took the Empty to force the admission from his lips. But at least he got to say it. I didn't. I didn't have time. How am I supposed to live with that?”

Dean tilted his head back, eyes locked on the hazy nimbus ringing the moon.

“I love you, too, Cas,” he whispered. “I love you.”