#12x12 coda

[destieltaggedfic]

Do you have any coming out fics?

I have a post here which is fics about Cas coming out and while I still had some others where Cas came out, I went looking for a couple with Dean too.

Secrets - peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim)   Ao3

Nonspecific timeframe.  Sam can tell Dean is nervous about telling him something so they play a game where they tell each other secrets and it doesn’t take long for the truth (and Dean) to come out.

Word Count: 2k                                 Non-Graphic Sex

Home is Where You Are: Coda to 12x12 - Piper_Halliwell1979   Ao3

Set S12.  To stop Dean trying to set him up with the waitress Cas comes out.  So Dean starts giving him tips about hitting on guys before they get back to business.  In the aftermath of the Ramiel encounter they talk it out.

Word Count: 2k                                 Graphic Sexual Acts

Right Up Over the Wire - liadan14   Ao3

Set S5.  When Sam walks in on Dean and Cas he is shocked and angry, because he thought Dean was homophobic.  Dean explains to Cas why Sam probably thought that due to some of his past actions when it came to guys.  He then explains himself to Sam.

Word Count: 7k                                 Non-Graphic Sex

12x10 Coda: Worth the Wait - Piper_Halliwell1979   Ao3

Set S12.  After the revelation that Cas has had female vessels, he and Dean have a discussion about his gender and in the process comes out.  The combination of the two allows Dean to admit that he loves Cas too but needs time to come to terms with his male vessel.

Word Count: 4k                                 Graphic Sexual Acts        

it's in the wanting – fountainfeatherwind   Ao3

Nonspecific timeframe.  At breakfast one morning Cas casually comes out, sending Dean into a head spin for the next few days, until he says something to Cas that could be construed as flirting.

Word Count: 1k                                 No Sex

All Together Now – exalteddean   Ao3

Set S6 AU.  When Cas turns up injured and dying, Dean convinces him to try and survive, but for that he needs a temporary vessel and then Cas shares something about Dean that he probably shouldn't have

Word Count: 3k                                 Graphic Sexual Acts

[theheartchoice]

Change 

dean/cas  |  teen  |  2.7k  |  coda for 12.12  |  sam pov  |  ao3 

Wally burned like St. Patrick’s Day. Something in that barnyard gasoline colored the flametips shamrock-green.

“He would’ve loved that,” Mary remarked from beside the pyre. “His mother was Irish. His family get together for a big thing, every year..”

She was gazing into the flames, lost to them, adrift in some private reverie. 

Sam, tall and broad and officially two people in stature, stood with an arm loose around his mother, his other hand shoved deep in his jacket pocket to stave off the nightime winter chill. His eyes flitted to Dean, who was offering similar support to Cas.

Though his brother’s hold was more secure around the wounded Angel, pulling him in close to his side. And both Dean’s hands were put to use: one on the forearm nudging his torso, the other wrapped around, rubbing not untenderly over the bunched and ruined fabric of Castiel’s trenchcoat.

Dean leaned aside Castiel’s ear, murmuring something which was lost to Sam in the crackle of elm and sizzle of maple.

Sparks spit at the shadows from the brush skirting the platform as the structure engulfed itself—a blaze of green and orange, huffing out thick black smoke. The heat swayed on the winter breeze. Flames licked higher and higher into the starless sky, consuming and reaching beyond their grasp as they waved their goodbye.

Little else was said as their friend burned. Not that Wally was really a friend—more an aquaintance. But he was a good guy, and a decent hunter. One who had gotten caught up in the dime-a-dozen demon play the Winchesters had grown accustom to, but which they tended to forget was still so alien to other hunters.

Wally had agreed to help in order to learn, rather than just cut tail and run. And for that, he was brave.

They parted ways in the small hours, Mary saying she would pay a visit to Wally’s mother in the morning. Dean stole the driver’s seat of Castiel’s old Ford ute after he and Sam helped him into the passenger side.

Dean entrusted his little brother with the keys to the Impala, snarking through his exhaustion that if he didn’t treat her with the respect she deserved there would be hell to pay.

Sam, in his good graces, stifled a smile with a yawn and took the threat in his stride, remarking inwardly that he knew damn well how much that car meant to Dean—to both of them—and how anything that could take Dean (willingly) away from his Baby was something else worth respecting—something significant, something special.

Their family caravan rolled out of the chalky drive, pyre spent and demon bodies disappeared (assumedly) by Crowley. With sunrise a few hours away, and having been beaten and bloodied and built their own Burning Man, Dean had called it: some much needed shut-eye at the motor inn before attempting the long road back to Lebanon.

It didn’t escape Sam’s attention how worried his brother was about their best friend. From acting as a human crutch in the ten steps from carpark to motel room, and again across the few feet of carpet to the bed, to how he insisted Cas let him burn those ragged clothes as he undressed him—and then re-dressed him—in Dean’s own sleepwear. 

But not before dabbing a warm, damp washcloth over Castiel’s grimy skin, his temple and shoulders and stomach—those previously cracked and blackened abdominal muscles, which were presently taught, a healthy bronze hue, and void of any telltale scarring.

Dean also didn’t take no for an answer over the sleeping arrangement: he settled Cas into his bed with the intention of bunking on the couch. No biggie. Not that he would get a whole lot of sleep.

Sam suspected the events of the evening would weigh on his mind, and that even if he wanted to, even if he had a bed of his own, Dean’s conscience wouldn’t let him sleep. He’d be glancing over at Cas every five minutes to check he was still breathing, still there.

  Sam was right.

He was right about most things when it came to his brother and his best friend—that is, the unspoken thing the two of them shared. 

The very special, very powerful, utterly distracting, all-consuming, heart-felt, soul-deep thing. The thing that had prompted Castiel to speak certain weighty words back in that barn with his dying breath. The thing which, now, had Dean lying awake in the dark staring intermittently over at his sleeping Angel.

It wasn’t uncommon for Sam to rouse from sleep after a particularly gruelling hunt, one in which the loss outweighed the win. But it wasn’t usual for him to lose sleep over a big win like this.

Sure, they lost someone. But they also saved someone—or, he was saved—someone close to both him and his brother. On top of that, words were spoken which had been, in Sam’s opinion, a long time coming. And Castiel couldn’t take them back any more than he could raise Wally from the dead, no matter how much Dean may have wanted him to.

Not that they were horrible words. They were confronting.

Sam’s older brother was emotionally stunted, afterall. And dealing with complex, intense, intimate, one-on-one feelings—moreover for a guy, his best friend, and a freakin’ Angel of the Lord—was not something he was likely prepared to deal with.

Sam sympathised with that.

He padded over to the armchair adjacent to his brother, who was now pointedly staring at the ceiling, the wall, the loose thread on his sleeve..

“..How’s he doin’?” Sam spoke softly, sinking into the old cushioned seat.

“What..?”

Despite the lack of lighting, Sam gave his best C’mon-Dean-Really? face, and the shadows seemed to convey it, for his brother sighed and fidgted, his feet planting on the sofa and knees rising high. His form was a sihlouette vaguely outlined by the pinkish neon glow of the motel sign through the window.

“He’s sleeping. Angels, aren’t spose to sleep.”

“You’re the one who insisted he get some rest,” Sam mumbled around a yawn.

“Yeah, well.. least he’s still breathin’.”

Thankfully. Because even though it was something Dean not only deserved but needed to hear, Castiel’s confession probably would have worsened Dean’s grief had he not survived. Because now it was out in the open, it was real. And Dean would have lost his final chance to speak his heart, to tell Cas how he felt in return—that he felt the same, Sam suspected.

Hell.. he knew.

“So..” he tiptoed toward the elephant in the room, “You wanna talk about it?”

Sam’s voice was quiet and measured, though he half-expected Dean to spike the volume as he snapped in frustration of unshared, unbroached feelings. But his big brother did manage to meet him halfway and surprise him, from time to time.

Sam could see a head shaking wearily in the hazy contrast of shadows and light.

“You noticed too, huh?”

He gave a soft chuckle. “I’m neither blind nor deaf, Dean. ‘Course I noticed.”

“Yeah..”

He seemed to be contemlplating something, perhaps playing the moment back in his mind: trying to discern exactly what he was feeling when those words left Castiel’s mouth; when he looked directly at Dean; when Dean couldn’t meet his eye..

“..Love and.. Love, right?”

Sam smiled, “Right,” and he let it sound in his voice.

Dean settled back into thought, arms folded behind his head, eyes drifting over the static patterns cast on the ceiling from outside. Sam left him to it, feeling the call of nature before he could catch another hour of sleep before the half day of driving ahead of them.

Five minutes later Sam emerged, flicking off the bathroom light and pulling the door half closed. behind him.

In those few seconds of illumination, he noticed the second remarkable thing this night: Dean was sat beside Cas on the edge of the bed, hand curled gently over the sleeping Angel’s.

He didn’t say a word, and Dean didn’t flinch from his position as Sam padded back over to his bed and slipped between the covers.

However much Dean would grumble over it, Sam would describe it as a ‘loving moment’. One filled with care and cherisment, the kind of moments he and Castiel often shared through looks alone, and not often enough through physical contact, bold or otherwise.

The image lured a warm, happy feeling into Sam’s chest as he drifted swiftly back to sleep. 

Fifty six minutes later he woke to his alarm vibrating under his pillow.

It was after sunrise, though still very much still morning. Better they get on the road as soon as possible and leave this place behind, bad memories and all. Or so was decided last night as exhaustion threatened to claim them before they piled into their vehicles and drove away from Wally, from the barn, from Ramiel and a scorched ring of holy fire, from an entourage of dead demons and the memory of an almost-dead Castiel.

Dean was back on the couch, his aging hunter’s body failing to bend in a way that would allow for comfortable sleep. Sam knew he would be tired either way, but he had a sneaking suspicion Dean had spent most of the past Fifty six minutes perched on a mattress, too awake to sleep or fighting off the need to sleep so as to watch over his Angel, just as he had watched over Dean so many times over the years.

It was Dean’s turn to protect him through slumber, and marvel at his friend at rest, at peace, dreaming, healing.

With Castiel sleeping soundly and his brother most likely having just slipped into unconsciousness, Sam pulled on his jeans, boots and jacket and snuck out of their room with two goals in mind: coffee and breakfast.

The morning was grey and damp and the air was still holding that last chill of winter. Hot coffee and a hot breakfast would hopefully lessen the grievance of waking, and soften any grumpiness from the others when he returned.

And it did.

But in Dean’s case it seemed less the magic of double-spiced breakfast burritoes and triple-strength coffee that did away with his morning crotchetiness, and more the simple presence of his best friend, alive and well.

Dean still looked to be dreaming: all moony-eyed staring at a sleep-softened Cas, hair mussed and eyes shining that peaceful pastel blue, lips easing up into a smile as his concentration flitted between the hunter and his barely-touched food.

The colour had returned to his cheeks and, Angel or not, Castiel was enjoying his own breakfast, along with the close company of Dean, obviously, who had yet to allow more than a few feet to separate them since waking and helping Cas out of bed, across the carpet, and guiding him down into one of the chairs circling the little kitchen table.

It was déjà vu. 

Sam felt an odd, wonderful, rare little peace that grew to settle in the air like a fresh new atmosphere. The coming of Spring and the promise of new life, of rebirth and many beautiful things.

He ate quietly, enjoying their win. He smiled at Dean smiling at Cas who smiled right back at him—gladness and fondness and shyness and coy little secrets that weren’t so secret anymore. Or ever.

When all seemed to be unsaid and done, the three of them trading glances and knowing smiles, Sam took the reigns of driver, keys in hand, as Dean ushered them out the door, chasing after his brother.

“Sammy, no. C’mon—“

“—You need sleep, Dean—real sleep.” He obviously wanted to quash that with some adlib remark about Sam’s face or hair or whatever, but he didn’t, because he wanted sleep. “What kind of brother would I be if I let you drive and risk you falling asleep behind the wheel.”

“Wh—? You think I’d knowingly endanger my Baby?!”

“Which one?”

Sam didn’t bother trying to hide his smirk. Instead, he let it bloom into a grin as Dean shifted into cranky-mode and side-swiped him with his bag enroute to the car, muttering some warning about respect and carefulness and.. yeah, Sam’s hair.

He kind of wished Dean had joined Castiel in the backseat, the mental image urging a new smile every time his thoughts wandered: the two of them, slumped beside each other, head on shoulder, cheek on hair, hands comfortably twined between them, on display for any and all to see..

But Dean wasn’t the clingy, romantic type—at least not when others were looking. Dean was content to let Cas curl up in the backseat—until Cas forced him in there himself.

Because Dean may have forgotten about the considerable strength of his Angelic best friend, even when below 100%.

The look on Dean’s face was priceless as he straightened his jacket, Cas slipping in beside him.

His Angel was doing much better, and the tables had once again turned on who was looking after who.

Castiel and Sam traded smirks in the rearview mirror as the engine roared to life, Dean muttering something about betrayal and lousy family and waffles.

He was edging into non-coherance, and by the time they pulled onto the interstate he was stretched out and dozing along the leather seat, spare jacket bundled under his head for a pillow.

There was space between the two of them, both Dean and Castiel gravitating towards the window and armrest along the door. Perhaps there was too much space to casually initiate contact.

Rain pattered down, hazing the road ahead. It was a peaceful, scenic drive. Mountains turned to forest which eventually to famland. Dean’s gentle snores were a comfort, as was their known destination: Kansas. The bunker. Home.

They weren’t together nearly enough, and if recent events meant—on top of other things—that Cas would be with them, living and hunting (and other things) together, then maybe it was all worth it. 

Castiel’s truck had been left behind, Dean promising to get it back to Kansas, somehow, else abandon it and find him some new wheels since the thing refused to start in the morning cold.

Helps to know your car, Cas, Dean had told him. But if you’re not schooled in the ways of the mechanical beast, then you should at least have a ride that won’t die on you every hundred miles.

He’d made a passing comment—a promise—to teach Castiel a thing or two when they got back to the bunker, pocketing the keys and letting the warmth of his coffee permeate his then-chilled bones as he swallowed, accompanying Cas back to their room.

The thought of home and family and a damn good win pooled in Sam’s chest like a sun-warmed lake at the turn of seasons.

He could feel change coming—it had already come. It was here, and it was good.

It allowed him to feel real hope for the struggle ahead—for the journey, and the darkness they would encounter.

There was always something just beyond the horizon, waiting in the shadows, waiting for night to fall.

Usually, with his brother and his best friend beside him, Sam felt they were a force to be reckoned with. That together they could take on anything.

And now that the truth was known, now that they were something close to happy, now that they were stronger in and of themselves for it, now, like this, in the open presence of love, the three of them could fight and probably win.

But more importantly, when the dust was settled and the threat destroyed, they would have each other. Not someone just to kill for, or die for, but to live for. To truly be with.

Change had come, and it was strong, and real, and good. They deserved this. And if the world depended on them, and happiness was akin to some mighty strength, then that was just a bonus.

[quillquiver]

Driving Home

DeanCas Coda to 12x12

Dean’s sweaty hands grip and re-grip the steering wheel as he surreptitiously looks over to the passengers side. It’s weird to be driving Cas’s truck, but he insisted under the pretense of letting the angel rest---”Like hell’m gonna let you drive home, Cas. Get in the car.”

Castiel stares listlessly out the window. Dean swallows thickly.

“...So, are we gonna talk about it?”

No answer.

“Cas?”

Dean’s heart is beating a mile a minute and he’s convinced he’s gonna be sick. When he side-eyes his angel (and he can say that now, because apparently the idiot loves him), Cas is gripping the edge of his trench so hard his knuckles are white. 

“Castiel,” Dean says. His full name feels foreign on his tongue. “You--You can’t just leave me hangin’ here, man.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Dean.”

Dean’s heart sinks.

“...Oh. Yeah. ‘Course. It was just, ah--heat of the moment, right? I get it.” He doesn’t love me.

It’s a long time before Cas’s coat slides noisily against the leather of the seat as he turns around, but Dean’s eyes stay firmly on the road. Even when the other unbuckles his seatbelt. Even when he slides over. 

It’s weird, because they were never really together, but Dean’s trying real hard to blink as much as possible so he can actually see the road through his watering eyes. He bites his lip and takes shaky breaths and feels Cas press up against his side and his dumb heart does a backflip and he pulls over. 

He’s parked and his eyes are squeezed shut when Castiel presses a clumsy, soft kiss to his cheek. “There’s nothing to talk about,” Cas murmurs. “Because I said it all.” The angel presses his forehead against the side of Dean’s face and gives a shaky sigh. “Knowing you has been the best part of my life. The things we’ve shared have changed me. You’re my family. I---I love you. So much. It’s terrifying.”

Dean’s heart is going to explode.

“I’ve never felt love like this,” Cas continues quietly, though it sounds more like rambling than speaking for any specific purpose. “It pales in comparison to anything in Heaven. The immediacy and intensity is... overwhelming and wonderful and---”

Dean turns and hugs him before he can run out of adjectives. 

He feels tongue-tied and ecstatic and nervous all at the same time, but manages to whimper out a tiny “Cas” into the other’s neck. They’re clutching to each other like two drowning men on a life raft, but when Dean feels wetness against his skin he pulls away and kisses him. 

It’s ungainly and graceless as far as first kisses go, mostly owing to the fact that Cas is crying and Dean is shaking, but it’s also sweet and soft and so so good. 

When they pull away, Cas’s eyes are wide and blue and his hands are buried in Dean’s flannel, while the latter can barely stop the love you too from tumbling past his lips. He shakily traces Castiel’s stubbled jaw and sighs when the angel kisses him (again!). 

They spend the next while carefully making out in the front seat, touching and kisses until their lips are swollen and sore. When they pull away for the last time, it’s with smiles on their faces and laughs bubbling in their chests. Coyly, Dean thread their fingers together and presses his mouth to the back of Cas’s hand. 

“If knowing me has been the best part of your life, you must be forgetting all the cool shit you’ve seen. Dinosaurs? Fuck yeah.”

Cas rolls his eyes as they drive off, but his smile turns into a smirk. 

"The plumage of the Allosaurus was pretty impressive.”

Dean grins and leans over to press another kiss to his cheek. Cas cuddles up against him.

They drive home.

[analysisonfire-blog]

12x12(ish) Coda / 1,398 Word Count

“Dean, there’s nothing to discuss.”

They are standing outside the impala and Cas’ truck. The moon lights their first time seeing eachother since the barn.

“What are you talking about, man?” Dean scoffs, “There’s always things to discuss.”

“Oh, what? You, Dean Winchester,” Cas lets out a dramatic sigh, “King of repressed feelings, want to talk about feelings?”

“Why shouldn’t I? Maybe I’ve changed. You sure have.” That came out more vicious than Dean wanted it to. Shit.

“Unfortunately.” Cas responds with a put upon smile.

“I didn’t-” Dean takes a moment before continuing. He notices the clouds rolling in through the darkness. “Cas, I meant that as a good thing.”

“Well it didn’t sound like it.”

“You know I have a problem with things coming out differently than what I mean.” He focuses on keeping his voice soft. He doesn’t want to fight, and he wants Cas to realize that.

“No. I don’t.” Cas’ reply came out short. So much for keeping calm.

“What do you mean? You know me bette-”

“You know, you say that you want to talk this "problem” out with me.“

Dean bites back a smile as Cas uses finger quotes around problem. He’ll always find that, uh, cute.

"But, I’m struggling to connect that with what you said to Sam.” Cas finishes.

“What are you talking about?”

“Ahem, How am I supposed to look him in the eye now, Sammy?” Castiels says in an over exadurated impression of Dean.

And just like that, Dean realizes what Cas is talking about. After the barn incident, the three of them drove to the cheapest motel they could find. Cas of course didn’t want to stay, but Sam insisted he should let his vessel rest. Dean stayed quiet.

After getting their stuff settled in, Sam and Dean went to get fresh ice for the cooler. As soon as they got outside though, Sam called Dean out on acting like a child and not acknowledging that Cas was even there. Alive.

“You should be greatful, Dean.”

“For?” Dean honestly had no idea what Sam was talking about at first. He was too lost in his own thoughts.

“That he’s here. With us.”

“I am grateful. I’m freaking overjoyed.” Dean tries to get his point accross by waving his arms dramatically.

“Doesn’t seem that way.”

“Mm.”

“How quiet you’ve been? Not even helping me convince Cas that he needed to rest?”

“I'I’m just struggling.”

“With?” Sam already knows the answer.

“With what he said to us.” He paused, “to me.”

“That’s unfair to Cas.”

“I know,” Dean nearly shouted. He turns away and wipes his hand over his mouth.

“I am being unfair to him. Just like I was back at the barn.” He’s speaking quiter, now.

“I didn- I couldn’t say- He was dieing and- I was so scared he was- and I…” He turns back to look at Sam, pleading with him to get what he’s really trying to say.

“Oh,” Sams mouth opened, while his forehead relaxed the way it does as he understands something.

“Yes.” Dean only says one word, but both him and his little brother can feel the weight of that word pulsing between them. They don’t even notice the footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Dean,” Sam tried to think of what to say, but Dean beat him to it.

“How am I supposed to look him in the eye now, Sammy?”

“Just-”

“How can I live with myself with- with him in the same fucking place all the time? What happened is unacceptable.” … “I just think it would be easier if he weren’t here.” Castiel finishes reciting Deans words, and brings Dean back into reality.

“That- c'mon, man. You are taking that way out of context.”

“Am I, Dean?”

“Wait, how did you even hear all that?”

“I went down to get some coffee from the machine. Then I heard you and I went back to grab my stuff.”

“Oh. That why you decided to pack your bags and leave town? After we spent so long trying to convince you to stay and rest?”

“I don’t recall you saying much on that matter. That was all Sam.”

“Yeah. Well- I had a lot on my mind.” Dean scoffs, he’s gotta turn this conversation back around. “Besides, isn’t that your go to move? You left. Shocker.”

“Dean.”

“No, Cas. You don’t have any right to call me out on not dealing with things properly. You ALWAYS leave. After Sam got thrown into the pit. Working with Crowley. Purgatory. Purgatory again. Lucifers Crypt.”

Cas tries but fails to hide his flinching, and Dean knows he’s winning. He picks up his pace and steps into Cas’ personal space.

“Leaving to go work with Crowley, even though we were. Right. There.”

“You had Mary back I was giv-” Cas cuts himself off, taken aback by a broken face suddenly staring back at him.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Saying I love you, then leaving?”

Another beat.

“Dean.”

“Castiel, let me talk, please.”

It’s not often Dean uses Cas’ full name. Cas lets his shoulders relax. Dean takes that as a yes.

“I am shit at communication. Anyone who has ever known me knows that most of the stuff I say, you need to read between the lines to understand what I mean.”

Castiel tilts his head. A silent ‘tell me something I don’t know.’

“That night at the hotel, Sam was calling me out on the same shit you are calling me out on now. How I didn’t handle the situation well. How I didn’t try and convince you to stay.”

Cas blinks.

“But when we were setting room assignments, who was going to stay with you?”

“You.”

“See? You have to read between the lines of what I say and what I do. Why would I have chosen to stay with you, if I didn’t want to take care of you?”

“I didn’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

“That’s not what happened. Do you have any idea how worried I was when I came back to the room to find you gone?” Dean steps away and sits against the impala. He burries his head in his hands.

“You told Sam it would be better if I left.”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I said that it would be easier if you weren’t here because,” he pauses, “I couldn’t say what I wanted to say back at the barn. I was afraid, if you died and I said it, Mom and Sam would look at me different.”

“What?” Cas squints.

Dean lifts his head from his hands so Cas can understand better. Not that he couldn’t hear him just fine. But Dean figures Cas needs to be able to see his face to really understand.

“If I said it, they would treat me like my pain is worse than theirs. Like I was a widow.” Dean swallows and looks away. “Or, something.”

There is a beat but Cas doesn’t say anything, yet. Dean seems like he still has more to say.

“And then after-” he pushes himself off the car and steps into his space again. “when you survived… I couldn’t bear to be around you, knowing that I probably hurt you.”

“So you ignored me… not because you were uncomfortable with what I said but-” Cas trails off. Despite the flutter of hope deep in his chest, he puts on his best confused face. He wants Dean to continue. To say it.

“Because I was to much of a coward to tell you I love you until now.” Dean finishes.

Blue eyes met green, for the the thousandth time. But somehow, it seemed like they were just meeting for the first time.

Dean knows this moment. He’s read it a hundred times. He’s watched it a million more. That moment that people talk about. Where nothing else matters but the figure in front of you. When the world is spinning and your heart feels like its going to make dents on your chest. Described by warm colors seeping into souls and lights flaring into camera lens’.

But none of that compares to this moment. When Dean takes Castiels face in his palms and kisses him. There are no special effects in a movie or words in a book that could convey this moment.

Well, maybe just one word.

Home.

[feartheophanim]

12x12 Coda

They pushed into the bunker.  Castiel made his way to the kitchen while the rest of the Winchesters watched where he disappeared through the door.

Sighing, Dean closed his eyes for a moment.  He had only about a minute to shoo everyone.  This could get ugly.  Dean licked his lips before spinning around to look at his brother.

Lifting his hands in a surrender and arching one eyebrow higher than the other, Sam donned a smirk.  “Hey, yeah, I’m heading to bed. Have fun.”  He walked toward the hallway.

Biting the inside of his cheek and trying to push down the blush that was traveling to his cheeks, Dean turned to his mother.  

She had a softer smirk. It was awkward, but she lightly punched his shoulder and offered a stiff nod.  “Go get ‘im, tiger.”

Dean couldn’t stop the blush that time.  His eyes prickled and burned with the intensity of the blush as he watched his mother slip down the hallway, too.

He wasn’t sure how ‘under control’ it was when Cas returned.  In his hands were 4 bottles of beer.  “Hey, I thought...”  He trailed off.  He looked around the empty room; a tiny confused twitch set off between his eyebrows.

“I thought maybe we should go to bed early.”  Dean wrung his hands a little.  He stared at his fingers.

“Oh, okay.”

Dean didn’t see it; he was too transfixed on his own hands, but he heard the clatter of the bottles on the table.  He waited.  Or he anticipated.  Or he worried.  He wasn’t sure what to do.  There was more to this.  It was heavier than it needed to be, than it used to me.

There was more that needed to be said.  He opened his mouth but ended up closing it again.  Everything had always went unsaid and suddenly it wasn’t.

Cas was going to die and he said it.

Where Dean was still looking at his hands, he saw Cas’ hand come close to his own.  It was close enough that Dean could feel its warmth. 

Dean’s breath caught.  He peeked up at Cas.

Across from him, Cas was staring at their hands.

Maybe unsaid was their thing.  Maybe he didn’t have to say.  At least, not yet.

He looked back down at their hands.  With a huge breath in his lungs, trapped there by a lump in his throat, Dean took Cas’ hand in his own.

Dean wasn’t sure how long they stood their like idiots, barely even holding hands.  

Breaking the silence, Cas’ voice sounded much louder than the whisper that it was, “We should go to bed.”  He began to let go of Dean’s hand, ending the moment.  

Ending their moment prematurely in Dean’s opinion.

Tightening his grip, Dean shoved the lump in his throat to the side.  “How about the same bed, buddy?”  GOD, did he really say it like that?  That was horrible.

But it did the trick.  Cas’ hand relaxed into his.

That night, they slept, all curled around each other, all balled up in their own universe.  A profound, little universe they’d carved out of the rest of the world.

It didn’t smell like food, but it sure as hell smelled like home.

[cocklesheadboop]

Dean looked away, he couldn’t bear to see the pain reflected in Cas’ eyes after the words were said.

“I love you...”  Each syllable echoed in Cas’ gravelly timbre. “I love all of you.”

The distinction made him curl into himself, annoyed that Cas felt the need to make a point of it. He knew, alright. He knew.

For a long time, he’d known it would be said. He knew he was different; that they were different. An inevitable confession of course, an acknowledgement of the long years of quiet emotion building to something. Dean was a lot of things; stupid and oblivious he was not. 

He used to dream about the first time Cas might say ‘I love you’ to him. Maybe in the car at night, when the breadth of the feeling was too great to keep in, or at the bunker during some innocuous evening with pizza and movies.

But he dreaded it would be like this. Dire, pain-ridden, and lacking the intimacy he craved but wouldn’t admit he needed.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He vowed to himself he would make things right. Once they got out of this, and they would, he would put aside his fear and cowardice.

He had to.

Because Cas’ second “I love you” would be different, would be followed by Dean’s first utterance of the confession.

Followed by many firsts shared between them.

[drsilverfish]

12x12 Coda... (morning after)

“Dean, if you want to teach me to...  flirt, I am ready to learn,” Cas offered, sipping a black coffee.

Uh....” Dean ‘s head went a bit white noise. He glanced swiftly at his brother, who was already hoovering up the morning’s ration of eggs and toast.

Cas was wearing a clean black T-shirt, one of Dean’s old ones, which read “AC/DC”. His hair was plastered, a little damply, behind his ears. Dean had insisted on laundering the trench, to get rid of all the black goo and blood from the barn. He’d insisted on laundering the angel, too. Let’s wash that angel-killing rune magic off, Cas, just to be sure...c’mon, don’t be a baby, one shower is not gonna be that terrible...

Sam contented himself with raising an eyebrow.

“Yesterday,” Cas continued blithely, you wanted me to ‘hit on’ Megan, our waitress.” He waggled his fingers, making solem air quotes for “hit on”. 

Dean mentally, and colourfully, cussed himself out. 

Cas’ skin had been surprisingly soft and soapy, the terrfying cracks made by the spear all gone, although Dean had anxiously searched for them with careful fingers, the water thrumming under the weight in his throat...

He sat down at the breakfast bar with the other two, grabbing himself some of what was on offer.

“You want me to pass better... as human,. I understand,” Cas said, in a gravelly and obliging tone.

“Uh, yeah... that’s... sure...” Dean mumbled, shoving toast into his mouth hastily.

“Why don’t you practice on Dean?” Sam suggested, widening his eyes at his older brother.

He’d rubbed Cas dry with their best fluffy towel. From the solid chords of his neck to his long, elegant feet, Dean had been meticulous, each touch a silent prayer... And if his eyes got wet... well, it was just the steam, settling on them both in the quiet. 

He’d tried not to think too much about the fact that he owed those prayers to Crowley..

Cas blinked, for a second, then turned to face the older Winchester, “Your gluteus maximus muscles appear to be of an efficacious tensile strength,” he told Dean, “and, considering your propensity for fried food, your blood cholesterol levels are quite passable...” 

Dean choked on a mouthful of toast and had to take an extra swig of orange juice.

“Dude, he said you had a nice butt,” Sam sniggered.

Cas had come, unprotesting, to Dean’s room. I know you don’t sleep, but you almost died and your body needs to rest now Cas, please... just, lie down.. yes here, next to me, c’mon buddy, under the covers that’s right... 

Dean had kept babbling for a while, his own receipe for banishing death... That was a close call, buddy, freaking demons, Jeez. Why does shit always go down for us in barns, huh? His laugh was like a bark or a sob. Are you cold, are you ok, Cas? 

But Cas had just looked at him, a look more naked than his entire body had been earlier under the shower... So then Dean held him, and he smelled of lavender... and who cares how hard his heart hammered in the dark...

Dean flushed at the tips of his ears and gave his brother a swift kick in the ankle. 

“Uh, Cas.... no.... you... can’t let on you can read people’s frigging.... internal organs, for a start...”

Cas frowned in concentration, anxiety in the tiniest of tells in his knuckles, a piece of toast he didn’t need to eat lying half-bitten on his plate.

“In certain lights, a human soul looks like amber, but there are no insects...” he started.

“Really?” Sam took a glug of coffee, looking genuinely intrigued. 

Dean was not having a good morning. His own stupid fault, as usual. 

“No... that’s.. wrong too, obviously... I’m.. I appreciate your mouth, when it smiles before you do..” Cas threw Dean a hopeful look. 

Dean felt his heart give a treacherous lurch. 

“Definitely don’t waste that on a waitress you just met,” Sam said lightly, his eyes flicking between them.

 “And don’t listen to anything my brother has to say on the subject of flirting anyway, Cas. Dean says everything sincere with his actions, not with his... cute mouth.”

“Shuddup Sam,” Dean growled, but he was a little bit grateful.

The angel had shaken for quite a while in his arms and Dean had just... held on tight. He couldn’t make the strings of his voice-box work anymore, so he’d prayed, over and over, so close to Cas’ mouth he was sure he’d feel it on his breath. 

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

[tardisheart134]

12 x 12 Coda (dean/cas)

Word Count: Approx. 655 

Dean had excused himself to his room under the pretense of exhaustion, but he couldn’t sleep.  Mary and Sam had followed suit soon after.  When Dean emerged and hour or so later, Castiel was sitting on the couch with his head buried in his hands.  Dean stood against the door jamb, taking in the sight of his frame.  The full weight of how close he came to losing everything began to sink in.  

“Cas” he rasped licking his lips.  

Castiel lifted his head slowly so not to jar it.  

“Cas - what is it?  What’s wrong?”  Dean could still see traces of the black poison that outlined his veins.  

“I’m fine, Dean.  I just have a headache is all.  It’s the poison working its way out of my system.”  Dean flicked on a lamp and rummaged through a drawer for some Excedrin Migraine.  Castiel winced, his eyes being sensitive to the light.  

“Do you think this will help?” Dean handed him the bottle.

“No.” Castiel said dryly as he downed half the bottle in one gulp.  Dean flicked off the lamp and sat beside Cas.  

“Is it working?” Dean asked impatient, but caring.  

Castiel shook his head.  “I think the only solution is for me to sit here quietly and wait for the pain to dissipate.” Castiel gritted.

Dean was in pain too.  He hated seeing Cas like this and he hated how willingly Cas would sacrifice himself.  He felt he was responsible for Cas thinking he was expendable, but knowing it didn’t fix it.  It didn’t happen overnight and Dean knew he couldn’t make a quick fix of it, but he’d give anything in this moment to change it.  

“Well, if we can’t ease the pain...we’ll just have to distract it…”  Dean made to pull Castiel closer but Cas flinched and shied away at his touch.  

“Cas - please - let me…”  Dean tugged softly on the sleeve of his trench coat until Castiel let Dean pull him into his lap.  He laid his head on Dean’s knee. Cas was tense, his muscles poised to bolt at any moment.  Dean had a feeling if Castiel still had his wings, he would have vanished by now.  Dean smoothed his hand down Cas arm.  “...just relax…” Dean traced a light finger over Castiel’s temple, tracing the bridge of his nose and smoothing out his wrinkled brow.  He massaged his head running his fingers through his hair.  He kept repeating the same patterns in Cas’ skin until his vision went blurry with tears.  

“You’re my angel - “ Dean barely whispered.  Castiel turned to face him when he felt his tears on the back of his neck.  “You’re mine and I almost lost you…” Dean’s chest heaved and his face was wet with tears.  Cas reached up stilling Dean’s hand to tangle their fingers together.

“Dean?”  

Dean looked down unable to meet Cas’ eyes.  

“Don’t cry - Dean.”

“What if I lost you Cas?  What would I have done?”  Dean splayed his fingers over the back of Castiel’s neck, plucking at the tufts of hair at the base.  “...And why - only when you were about to die - were you able to say you love me?” Dean crumpled in on himself, relinquishing control as sobs rolled through him. Cas coiled his arms around him and let Dean haul him up against his chest.  

“Did you mean it?  Do you really love me?”

“Of course, Dean - I thought it was obvious.”  Castiel cradled Dean’s wet cheek, keeping eye contact.  

“I do too, ya know?...love you...I mean...you know that right, Cas?”  

Castiel padded his thumb under Dean’s eyes before pressing a soft kiss to his lips.  They remained still and quiet.  Every passing beat seemed to bring relief to both of them, as they remained tangled in each other’s arms.  Dean buried his face in Cas’ hair, pressing soft kisses all over.

“How’s your head - angel?”

“Better now…” Cas murmured against Dean’s chest.

“Good.”

Notes: I really don’t know anything about writing Codas so I apologize.  

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[findingcas]

darling. 1,6k 12x12 coda. the aftermath. [ao3]

listened to this song on repeat while I wrote this

Mary stays behind for one reason or another, an excuse slipping off her tongue easily. None of the guys had really been paying attention at the time. Still, it makes it easier for Cas to climb into the back of the impala and just sleep. Not that he needs it, per se. It’s just something about being on the edge of death that wears an angel out and makes him want to crave sleep more than before.

They pull up in the garage at nearly one in the morning the next day, after Dean had driven the entire way with not a word from him. In some ways, it was the most awkward car ride that Sam had ever been part of. At the same time, he didn’t know what to say either. What do you do about someone who was nearly dead and then suddenly wasn’t? Congratulate them? Offer condolences? It’s complicated, just as the rest of their lives are.

After pulling all the bags out, the three of them decide, through silence, that the things can be taken care of in the morning. All of them, at least the two humans, need a proper night’s rest before they can deal with anything else at the moment.

Before Sam makes his way to his room, he turns to Cas, only a few steps behind him. There’s  a beat of silence, a moment where he’s not sure he should do what he wants to and then decides that it’s okay. His arms wrap around Cas’ shoulders and he feels Cas’ arms come up almost immediately.

Sam looks up briefly, spotting Dean just coming out from the garage putting his phone back into his jean pocket after probably texting Mary over making it back to the bunker safely. Dean stops and stares at Sam, not quite making eye-contact. His fingers twitch at his sides and there is something playing across his face that Sam can’t quite put a finger on.

“I’m glad you’re not dead.”

Sam pulls away until he’s at arm’s length. Cas has a small, tired smile on his face. “I am too.”

He tries to return the smile, but it probably comes out more like a grimace than anything else. Sam pats Cas on the shoulder and finally lets him go. He turns down the hallway and heads straight for his room.

Behind Cas, Dean approaches and then passes by, headed for his room as well. Cas isn’t sure why he feels a pit in his stomach, as if he’s done something wrong. On one part, he is too tired from everything that has happened to do anything about it, the type of avoidance he learned from the Winchesters themselves. Another part, a much bigger part, wants to fix this before it gets any worse. He did, in fact, almost die not too long ago.

So he follows Dean to his room. Incidentally, the room that Cas had picked out for himself during his stay while the brothers were in prison is directly across from Dean’s. This is the reason that Dean pays no mind to Cas until he doesn’t turn right like usual.

Cas lingers at the door and Dean pretends like he’s trying to clean up, looking absolutely everywhere but at the one person who wants to talk to him. “Is everything alright, Dean?”

“Everything’s - ,” Dean clears his throat, realizing that his voice is a pitch higher than usual. “Everything’s fine, man.”

Cas takes a chance and steps into the room, keeps walking until he is a few steps away from Dean. He thinks about reaching a hand out, putting it on Dean’s shoulder or perhaps his forearm as if to steady him. To steady him from what, Cas isn’t sure. He decides against it and leaves his hands dangling uselessly next to him.

Dean still won’t look at him.

“Dean?”

His jaw is working, like he’s trying to work up the words to say something, but he still won’t look up at Castiel, staring off to a spot just above his shoulder instead. It’s infuriating and frightening all at once.

Cas has a vague idea of what this may be about, but he doesn’t want to be right. Because, if it is about the thing, then he has been suffering at the end of a terrible silent treatment all because Dean can’t deal with things.

“Is this because I said I lo-”

“Shut up!” Dean finally does look up at him, something that isn’t quite anger flashing in his eyes. Both of his hands come to rub at his face, the miles from the last twenty-four hours finally showing on him. “Sorry.”

The sadness begins to reflect in Castiel’s eyes, fully understanding why Dean has been acting the way that he has. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable by what I said. It won’t happen again.” He makes to turn, to leave Dean in peace when a hand falls on his shoulder and roughly turns him around.

“You think this is because you made me uncomfortable?” Finally, more than one emotion is shining through Dean’s voice. And even though his words are perfectly clear, Cas still has some trouble understanding them, so he remains quiet. That’s answer enough for Dean.

The other hand comes to rest on Cas’ empty shoulder. “You didn’t make me ‘uncomfortable’, man. It’s just,” Dean bows his head and leans a little harder into Cas, “you almost died.” The last part is a whisper, like it’s a secret no one else needs to be let in on.

Dean looks back up. He’s not making eye contact again. Instead, he’s laser focused on Cas’ tie and brings a hand there for a moment. “You really almost died this time and I can’t handle that.”

Something is trickling into the air between them and Cas can’t even bring himself to breathe. Part of him knows that this is one of those moments in which some may be tempted to speak but he needs to stay silent, to let Dean work through whatever emotions are raging just underneath the surface. So he does nothing, says nothing when Dean’s fingers slowly come to trace the lapels of his trench coat.

A minute or an hour passes before Dean speaks again, without looking up, “You can’t just say things like you did when you think you’re going to die. It’s not fair.”

There are tears glistening in his eyes, reminiscent back in the barn when Castiel was in a much different state than he is now. “Dean.” He doesn’t know what else to say, what words to pick from the thousands of languages he knows to try to even alleviate this pain that is so strongly radiating of this man. So he says the word that holds the most meaning to him.

Dean looks up at him, tears slipping past and falling onto his cheeks. He starts to pull a hand away from Cas’ lapels, to wipe them with the back of his hand but Cas is too fast. He takes a step forward and grabs Deans face, gently cradling it between his hands. With only his thumbs, he wipes each tear. There’s only a few, but enough to make Dean’s face tacky with salt.

Only because it seemed to work the first time and only because anything else would seem inappropriate, Cas says it again. Only, this time, it’s a question. “Dean?” He’s not sure what he’s asking for. Permission, perhaps. Forgiveness. Grace. Mercy.

Dean erases the sparse distance between them and kisses Cas like it’s nothing and he is frozen.

During Castiel’s brief stint as a human, he would spend more time trying to figure out how to go to sleep than actually sleeping. Once, he spent an entire night seeing how long he could hold his breath. Each time, he would go just a few seconds longer, reveling in the pressure-pain of his lungs when he would go just a tad too long without a breath.

This is a lot like that, but also a thousand times better. There’s a horrible moment where Cas is completely taken aback by the action that he does nothing, and then he responds with everything he has in him. He pulls Dean closer to him by his face. A soft noise escapes him and he can feel more tears slipping through his fingers only to land on his own cheeks.

They back up into the wall space between the door and the desk and stand there, Cas’ back to the wall and kiss and kiss and kiss. More than anything, it’s Dean’s tears that cause them to break apart, his silent crying starting to turn into something much more. Cas just hugs Dean to him. It’s nothing like the way he cradled his soul into his grace all those years ago, but he tries the best he can with a human vessel.

Dean wraps his arms around Castiel and puts his forehead to Cas’ collar. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this.” It doesn’t seem that Dean is aware that he’s actually saying anything out loud.

Cas isn’t sure if he’s referring to this or to the pressure of all the things that have been happening to them as of late. Still, he takes a hand and runs it through Dean’s hair while the other holds onto his broad shoulders. He stares into the empty room, Dean murmuring into his collarbone and hopes that he can be enough to fix this

[tragidean]

one more sunset, maybe i’d be satisfied [2.1k] (ao3)

Somehow, the drive home is even more solemn with Mary behind the wheel. Dean’s pretty sure his nose is close to broke in several places, Sam is more or less shellshocked, and Mary… Mary hasn’t looked Castiel straight in the eye since Ramiel burst into ash. From over the front bench, Castiel can see her white knuckling the steering wheel with her eyes set hard on the road, soft rock playing melodically through the speakers. Maybe it’s just the circumstances, but Castiel can’t help but feel something odd about it all, down to his very core.

“Does it look broken?” Dean asks and turns to Castiel, a tissue held up to where a stray blood drop fell at one point.

No, there’s nothing wrong, Castiel wants to say—you’re overreacting. You’re distracting yourself because you don’t want to accept what just happened. After all, Dean just watched him gag on gangrene and whatever else was rotting him away from the inside, despair written into his eyes, his very touch, his soul at its deepest.

But there’s more to it than that, more that Dean isn’t willing to mention. And honestly, Castiel doesn’t want to remember much of it, either. On his supposed deathbed, he revealed his true weakness, and now he’s alive to live in the aftermath, in the car with his family—his all too human family—with a sick feeling in his stomach, and not from the gaping wound the lance left him with. Gaping no more, there’s still a scar, though, faint as it may be. A reminder of his mortality, a near brush with death that no one could’ve saved him from.

Life is fleeting, Castiel tells himself. Make the most of it, because the next time, he won't be as lucky.

[theartofangirling]

A History of Love

12x12 coda, 1.8k

[ao3]

Objectively, Castiel knows what love is. It would be impossible for him to spend his existence watching humanity without gaining some understanding of it. For the humans, it drives and defines their lives – sometimes, it seems to be the only thing they think about, talk about, write about. Castiel sees it everywhere in his father’s creation. He sees it in Lily Sunder’s grief at losing her daughter. He sees it in Jimmy Novak’s pleas to protect his wife and daughter.

He sees it in the way that Dean Winchester looks at his brother. He sees it in the way that Bobby Singer looks at his boys.

(Nobody has ever looked at Castiel in that way.)

Objectively, Castiel knows that love is a powerful force that even the humans struggle to comprehend. He knows that, as an angel, it is not his duty to love. He protects humanity, but he does not love them. He knows he is supposed to love his father, but if that feeling is love he does not know why the humans hold it in such high regard.

Castiel walks upon the earth like a man but he holds it at a distance. He doesn’t know how to love like the humans do. He doesn’t even know if he can.

The apocalypse is coming and Castiel doesn’t leave the Winchesters’ side. Heaven is in chaos and Hell is rising but Castiel stays close to the two humans that he has sworn to protect. He doesn’t fully understand it – his mission ended long ago and he has defied the orders that his superiors spent millennia instilling into him. But there is something in the way the Winchesters look at him. The way the nickname they have given him falls from their lips as if it belongs there. They trust him, although they have every reason not to. Castiel has never been trusted before. He goes against everything he has spent his existence learning and stays close to them. He feels himself falling and he knows that he is giving up everything to do this and doubts grow in his mind, but then Dean claps him on the back and Sam tosses him a beer and the doubts fade.

The last thing Castiel wants to do is betray the Winchesters, but Heaven is at war and he has never been more desperate. He feels pulled in every direction. He doesn’t know who to trust anymore – Crowley or Raphael or demons or angels. Then the Winchesters convince him to stay one night at Bobby’s house and he listens as they bicker over which Indiana Jones movie to watch. He finds himself smiling because he knows what this is. This is what love looks like. For a few moments, he is immeasurably proud of himself for recognizing it.

When they find out, as he always knew they eventually would, the look on their faces is like a physical pain. This is not love. This is hatred and betrayal. Castiel still believes that what he is doing is right, but their every word digs into his skin. He understands now that they could never love him. He is too foreign, too different. He is an angel and he cannot know what love feels like. They leave him in the circle of fire and he knows that they will never trust him again.

If Castiel had a heart, it would be breaking.

Castiel dies, and when he returns he retreats into himself. Once, he almost believed he could be like them, but he now knows that it is impossible. Angels and humans don’t love each other. Still, he finds himself pulled back in again. The Winchesters need him and he can almost convince himself that it’s because they care, not merely because he is useful.

When he and Dean get stuck in Purgatory, it is easy to leave Dean. Castiel has spent the last years leaving them, always on the edges, protecting them but never getting too close. If he gets too close, they will all get hurt. He leaves because he knows that Dean will be safer without him. They are always better without him. He learns to shut out Dean’s prayers, telling himself over and over that Dean doesn’t need him. Castiel doesn’t deserve to be saved, certainly not by the man who already saved him.

Purgatory is silent and leaves too much room for thinking. Castiel finds himself wondering if this means that he loves them. He has seen Sam and Dean sacrifice themselves for each other, and he knows that they love each other. Maybe Castiel doing the same for them means that he loves them.

He pushes the thought away. Angels can’t love, he reminds himself.

(Later, after leaving Purgatory, after Naomi and the crypt, Castiel sits in the library of the bunker, a Men of Letters book spread across the table. Sam sits in the seat beside him and opens up his laptop without a word. Dean hands Castiel a cup of coffee and sits across from them. Their eyes meet for a moment and Dean nods briefly. It feels like forgiveness.)

As a human, Castiel feels so many things. Hunger, thirst, aches, itches, sores, pains. He doesn’t know how to sort through all of them. He is overwhelmed with feeling. When April touches him, he knows it should feel right – he wants it to feel right – but it doesn’t. It feels like the farthest thing from right. This isn’t love, he thinks. He doesn’t understand how humans can sort through all of it without exploding.

He sees the silver blade enter his stomach, but when he wakes up he doesn’t feel any pain. Instead, he feels the weight of Dean’s hand. He sees the Winchesters for the first time with his human eyes. Oh, he thinks. He doesn’t know what it is, but something feels right.

He becomes an angel again, but the feeling doesn’t go away. He tries to keep his distance from the Winchesters but finds himself coming back to them again and again. They are the twin, bright stars that he orbits around, unable to free himself from their pull. He knows that he is growing farther from his own brothers and sisters; they don’t understand him and at times he doesn’t even understand himself.

Perhaps I’ve been down here with them for too long, he tells Hannah. There’s seemingly nothing but chaos. But not all bad comes from it. Art. Hope. …Love. The word feels strange in his mouth. Heavy, somehow. He isn’t sure if he wants to take it back.

Later, Hannah asks, Do you love them?

Angels can’t love, Castiel says, automatically.

She gives him a strange, shrewd look. You know that’s not true.

Castiel doesn’t know what’s true anymore.

Some days, it’s barely there. He can pretend that he’s as he once was: high, cold, unaffected. Then something will happen – Claire will roll her eyes and hide a smile from him, Charlie will hug him and call them best friends, Sam will show him how to hack government websites, Dean will let him choose the music in the Impala – and it comes rushing back. He knows that his grace isn’t fully restored, but sometimes he wonders if part of his humanity refused to go away when he became an angel again. Then he remembers that he felt this way even before he fell.

Angels can’t love, he reminds himself for what feels like the thousandth time.

You know that’s not true.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

He gives himself to Lucifer to save them. He doesn’t even think of the repercussions on his vessel or the world; all he can think is that they need to be safe. Nothing else matters – certainly not his own life.

Later, he meets his father face to face for the first time. He wants to feel something other than this anger and confusion. He is supposed to love him – his father created him and these humans and this whole hopeless, broken, beautiful planet. But all he wants to do is shout at him, Why did you make me this way? Why didn’t you give me a place to belong?

As if he knows what Castiel is thinking, Chuck catches his eyes and smiles and says, I did, Castiel.

Castiel has never had a family. He has his brothers and sisters, but they never loved him the way the humans love each other. His father left him and couldn’t be bothered to answer his prayers or those of the billions of others left behind, waiting. Every person or being that Castiel has ever cared about has died, often through Castiel’s own hands.

Except the Winchesters.

When Castiel’s blade splits through Billie’s vessel and floods the dark road with celestial light, he feels as though he himself is splitting open. He has cared for these humans in a way he didn’t know he was capable of, even though he knows that they don’t care for him. He has always been a tool for them. It doesn’t matter, though, not anymore. All that matters is that they are safe.

You mean too much to me. His voice breaks and he feels human, cut open. They stare at him, the three of them, the closest thing he has ever come to a family. It doesn’t matter, he reminds himself, that they don’t care. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.

Now, with his vessel torn open and the life bleeding out of him, he knows he has to tell them. Even if it doesn’t mean a thing to them, it means everything to him. It means that he is no longer the shining, incorruptible warrior of God that he was supposed to be. He has fallen so many times and in so many ways, and each time he has returned to the Winchesters. He is not human, but he has learned more about the way humans love in his last eight years walking the earth than he did in the millions of years watching from afar. If he is going to die, he wants them to know the most important thing he has learned from them.

“I love you,” Castiel says, and they feel like the truest words he has ever spoken.

Then Dean says, “We’re family. And we don’t leave family behind.”

Something instead Castiel breaks open because oh. They love him. They don’t need to say it. They love him too and they won’t leave him, just as he won’t leave them. They are family.

Castiel is dying but at least in this moment, he feels more alive than he has in his entire existence.

This, he thinks, this is love.

[deletingpoint]

12x12 coda

„Hey, how’re you holding up?” Sam’s voice rings through Dean’s messed up thoughts. He shrugs and rubs his face with both hands, leaning to the kitchen counter. How is he even supposed to answer that? It’s not like Cas hasn’t died before. It’s not like it doesn’t hurt more each time. It’s not like he isn’t way too obvious.

He glances back at Sam: “I don’t know, just, it’s, it’s like leviathans all over again,” he lets out a cough, “so, not good I guess?” he ends with another quick glance.

“Yeah, it was a rough day,” Sam is deliberately slow, yawning and stretching his arms, still observing him. To hell with his scrutiny, Dean’s not gonna elaborate, it’s already been a bad enough day as it is without having to dig up old wounds. Silence drags and drags and drags.

“Okay then, I think I’ll get some sleep,” finally a hand is clapping Dean on the shoulder before there’s movement by the kitchen door. “Cas, hey,” still only Sam’s voice echoing in the room filled with smells of food, “mom gone to bed?”

“Yes. She did seem a bit … jumpy is the word? And tired, of course.” Dean doesn’t raise his head to look at Cas, the voice is enough to bring back all the images of him being almost dead. Again. And then alive. Again. Saying … saying too good words to make it all even worse.

“I’m gonna call it a night too, sorry, guys,” Sam doesn’t sound sorry at all. He does sound exhausted, Dean will give him that. “I’m glad you didn’t die, man,” Dean raises his eyes at that. So simple, huh? Sam is pulling Cas into a hug, his long limbs almost covering the little guy. He kind of wants to smile at that. “Thank you, Sam,” a muffled voice, Castiel’s hands grabbing onto Sam for a moment. And then it’s over. Sam lets go of Cas, nods for goodnight and gone he is.

 Suddenly Dean feels how very tired he is and he sinks on the floor, back against the counter, legs stretching out. He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh. Cas is still in the room, this always warm presence and Dean smiles a little when Cas sits right next to him, pressed against his left side. It is such a relief that Dean can feel his eyes prickling even when they’re closed. He loves touching Cas. But that’s the thing with touching, it’s never enough. Even now, pressed together, he still wants to touch him more. To know it’s real, to know they’re both real, to feel that warmth that makes him want to cry and smile at the same time. To never lose it again.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” that makes him pull his eyes open, only to find himself looking in Castiel’s. For what? “For what, Cas? None of this was your fault.”

Cas lowers his head and brings it back up again, his lips briefly lifting a corner of his mouth. “For making you feel this pain.”

Dean swallows a lump at that and tries to answer. “It’s …” he doesn’t even know what to say. It’s alright? It really isn’t. It has been too many times. “It’s not really your doing,” he finally manages.

“Still. I’m sorry.” He means it. And somehow it’s good to know.

“Yeah, okay.” He leans fully on Cas, brushing his fingers against his hand, lifting it up and playing with it. He already held it once today, but that was a strong grip, now he’s just lingering. And he wants to say those too good words. To say them back or whatever. It would be a perfect moment. It doesn’t have to mean anything, other people say it. All the time, almost throwing those words away. But they’re too good to be real. He wants it, needs it to be real. This moment, it has to be real.

“Dean?” there’s a question in Castiel’s voice.

“Just, just something,” he stumbles out and then finds his head crashing on Cas’ lap. Cas freezes for a moment, then his fingers move through Dean’s hair, caressing them. It’s almost too good. Dean closes his eyes again. He should go to bed, he should sleep, he should, just … “Just.. would you, uh, would you watch over me tonight?” he finally manages to force out, his voice barely a whisper.

There’s a moment of silence, fingers still. It’s too good, isn’t it?

“Of course,” Castiel answers, his low voice so very very quiet. Still real. Still here. It’s good.

[winchester-reload]

Hi there, so I am pretty late to the party and currently only in Season 12. I just watched episode 12 (the one where Cas nearly dies. oh heavens my heart.) and I was wondering if you know any fanfic that kinda pays a little more attention to it? Like Deans reaction or Cas thoughts or something like this? I hope its okay to ask, and if you don't know any never mind this. Thanks a lot anyway xx

mmmmmmmmm, yassssssss that was a very good episode. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve rewatched it. Surprisingly though, I did a search through my archive and only found two codas for it???

One of them was mine, and I hesitate to even suggest it because, although it does directly deal with the events of that episode, it also doesn’t have a happy ending (because I never wrote the second half. It’s intended to have a happy ending, but listen, writing is hard, and it passed me by.) So read at your own risk, I guess.

And the other was this insanely delicious coda from @ozonecologne. (Oh yeah, and please do yourself a favor and check out @purgatory-jar​ amazing comic for this episode. It goes along with Ozone’s fic. You won’t regret it.)

Now, I also did do a quick search on tumblr for codas and I found these other gems, but I have not read them – I’m sure they’re wonderful! Ratings likely vary.

@casthewise Driving Home

@rosie-berber All of You

@feartheophanim Coda

@procasdeanating Coda

@cocklesheadboop Coda

@castiel-left-his-mark-on-me Coda

@deancasheadcanons One Last Thing

@domesticadventures “be there.”

And, uh, listen, I just scrolled and there’s a ton more, so here’s a link to the search I did if you find yourself still thirsty after all of that.(Sorry to anyone/everyone who didn’t get a link. My laziness knows no bounds.)

If anyone wants to suggest their fave, throw it on a reply/reblog! And I hope you find something you like in that pile @mcmaraudonald!!! It was an “inspiring” episode for sure.

[kingdumbass]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural) Additional Tags: Led Zeppelin - Freeform, Coda, Post-Episode: s12e12 Stuck In The Middle (With You), Mixtape, Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx Mixtape, Ficlet, destiel ficlet, POV Dean Winchester, Castiel in the Bunker, Impala Conversations, Bittersweet, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Destiel Anniversary Summary:

THE MIXTAPE.

This is more of a 'why' than a 'how', which is just as important.

sharing again for destiel anniversary xo

[drsilverfish]

Dean after Cas’ “I love you” (12x12)

It thrums and beats at him along the road, keeping time with the revving of Baby’s engine.

It makes his hands stutter and jump, as he lays them, quick and quiet.

It worries at him as he cracks the books, spitting and thumbing pages, Bobby-style.

It haunts, him, colder than a ghost beer on death row

It sings to him like Djinn venom, deadly and sweet.

It’s more than he owns, and he feels crushed by it.

It’s a rusty knife in his innards.

It’s pours over him like new rain biting the dust.

It wakes him, hot and burning in his skin.

It haunts him, like his own face in the wing-mirror.

It chokes him, hacking off his sentences, lost words drying on his lips.

But he runs it through his fingers...

and something turns inside of him, like a soft fox. 

[thigholstercas]

Bi-monthly (as in every two months) destiel fic rec list (that no one asked for…again)

Hi <3 so after doing this list last year and enjoying my time doing it, I decided to do these fic rec lists every two months. I wanted to do something to appreciate fic writers, so these will help me read more and also share some of them with you. I will also add some ficlets, poems, and drabbles that I read here because some are way too good not to be linked. As usual, I hope I’m not bothering the people being tagged here.

January & February

something suddenly everywhere (50k, M)

Fix it. READ IT!!! No kidding. Dean is literally a widower. Angst with a happy ending. I loved that half of the fic is Dean pretty much figuring out how to live in a world without Cas. There's this part that literally undid me. And the ending...freaking good.

Suck it, Judy Garland (20k, M)

FAKE MARRIAGE... well sort of, is Sam and Cas. Dean is jealous but they figure it out. I had an obsession with 12x12 codas and I found this fic. It's a really nice fic, specially if you enjoy jealous!Dean.

The Hunt by @theedeangirl

I think this was one of the first things I read this year. There are 3 parts (part one: before. castiel. part two: during. dean. part three: after. dean.). Cas and Dean are hunters and they paired up to hunt something, things unfold from there. (Note: there’s smut in part 3). The gifs are a plus btw.

this by @thekingslover

Look I just have a thing for every single thing where Dean asks Cas to stay and Cas will. Because of course he will.

Broken Road (109.6k, M)

The Lebanon AU. It's actually really good. Dean’s pov, John’s pov and eventually Michael’s pov. Of course, Cas and Jack are there. As you can see, it is pretty long, but as soon as I started it, it took me two days, because I felt compelled to keep reading it.

the cost of a thing (75k, M)

I believe this is a pretty known fic, so probably you must have read it already. But if you haven’t and you like angst with a happy ending while Dean and Cas are fake married…READ IT!

a dream needs believing (31k, E) by @jewishdeanwinchester

Cas was rescued from the empty, and he is upset at Dean because of it (at least at the beginning). This fic has everything, angst, fluff, smut. Is a fix-it. There’s a wedding. Dean goes to therapy. Emma and Jack are there :) Yeah, it has everything. And I loved each part of it.

yeah, okay, there are a lot (and these are not all of them), but you are all really talented, so read more…

As you may know, it was Dean’s birthday, so here are some of my favorite ones:

remain, a timestamp for stay by @thisisapaige

he’s 43, dude by @pointyearedelvishprincling

43 (I love you through sparks and shining dragons) by @chaoticdean

43 kisses by @deansleftshoulder

forty-three pies by @big-wet-cas-eyes

time is swiftly moving along by @jactingjoices

43, a poem by @lookforanewangle

if you haven’t, you should really look into the #deansbirthdaybash tag to see a bunch of lovely creations made for Dean’s birthday.

Also, it was Valentine’s day/Deancas' first wedding anniversary so there were a lot of fics (including those for #spnvalentinesgiftexchange and #spncreatorsdailyvalentines). I’ll link some of the ones I loved:

still be loving you by @pointyearedelvishprincling

will you marry me? by @angelscas

romantic at heart by @interrogatethecat

paper boy by @casthewise

I’m the one he’s walking to by @reblogging4thewin

a moment like this by @marvolord

how to woo a guy in six days by @ersatzangel

You can also look into my they are married :) tag to see some lovely creations made for Dean and Cas’ wedding anniversary.