#13x05 coda

[pantheonofdiscord]

Notebooks - 1.5k, 13x05 coda, angst, MCD (But there’s a happy ending. Just trust me.)

"Dean. Every notebook, on this particular shelf, tells a version of how you die."

But which one's right?

#18

Jack, the nephilim, power beyond anything the Earth has ever seen, has both Winchesters suspended in mid-air. Rings of glowing, golden energy ripple out from his raised hand. They match his eyes.

The Devil is behind him, whispering.

“All they ever wanted was to use you, Jack. Both of them. They never cared about you. They feared you. They could never understand.”

Jack is uncertain, shaking. His eyes dart away.

His hold is tight, and Sam struggles to speak. “Don’t trust him, Jack! He’s lying to you – that’s what he does. He’s the one who wants to use you, not us.”

“Jack, listen to me,” Dean tries, voice straining with effort. “Your mom didn’t want this. Cas doesn’t want this. You’ve got people who care about you, people who –”

“These boys don’t know how to care for anyone but themselves,” Lucifer hisses. “Think of what they’ve done to you. Think of what they’ve put you through. I’ve never harmed you, Jack. I would never harm you.”

Jack only looks more torn. It’s no longer just him that’s shaking, it’s the very ground beneath his feet. The towering trees, every blade of grass – it all trembles, violently, on the verge of implosion. Jack’s eyes widen in fear. Fear of himself, of what he can do.

Then, as ever, the fatal Winchester mistake: Dean takes advantage of Jack’s distraction, fighting against the iron grip of power to reach for the holy oil.

“NO,” Jack cries, his hand moving once in a knee-jerk twitch.

Dean Winchester’s neck snaps.

#94

“I’m tellin’ ya, Cas, it’s a terrible sandwich.”

“Sam likes it.”

The old, black car is cruising down a long stretch of blacktop. The sky is a spotty canvas of pearl-grey and cerulean, the sun dipping in and out as the winds blow.

“Yeah well, that’s Sam for you. Peanut butter and banana, though? What the hell has he been teaching you? I mean, I know you’re rockin’ the real, human taste buds again, but there’s no need to punish yourself.”

“I’m not!” Castiel says, chin jutting forward, defiant. “I happen to like peanut butter. And I’ve discovered that I like bananas, too.”

“Yeah, I know you do,” Dean says back, with a suggestive wiggle to his eyebrows.

Castiel rolls his eyes, but his cheeks go a little pink.

Dean’s tint as well, and he looks back out the front window, clearing his throat. “So, um, anyway,” he starts, voice much quieter. “Sam was gonna head out this afternoon, said something about checking out this museum event thing in Wichita.”

“Um, yes, he mentioned,” Castiel says, also staring through the windshield with rather undue concentration.

“Yeah, well, uh. . . we’ve.” Dean swallows visibly. “He – he was gonna grab a motel, stay over. Guess. . . we’ve got the bunker to ourselves tonight.”

Castiel nods, slowly. “I suppose so.”

Dean’s breathing seems shallow, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly, but his eyes are bright. “Yeah. That’s. . . yeah.” A slow grin crinkles the corners of his eyes.

Finally turning in his seat, Castiel answers with a smile of his own. It fades after a moment. “When are we going to tell him?” he asks quietly.

“Soon,” Dean says quickly, swallowing again. “I want to. But, y’know. . .”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Besides,” Dean says, turning sideways as the cheeky grin returns to his face. “The sneakin’ around thing’s kinda fun, right?”

Castiel rolls his eyes again, but nods. “Yes, it is, actually.” His smile is wide, his eyes are warm.

They’re so caught up in staring at one another, neither of them notice the F-150 barreling towards the intersection.

It broadsides them at 71 miles per hour.

Castiel wakes up in a hospital bed two and a half weeks later.

Dean Winchester was pronounced D.O.A.

#177

The three men stand shoulder-to-shoulder on a black hilltop, the grass crispy, burnt away, curling.

“What we wanted, right?” Sam says softly, gaze tracing the horizon, fire reflected in his eyes.

Dean nods. “Yep. Blaze of glory.”  

“It does seem very. . . us,” Castiel agrees. He’s almost smiling. Almost.

Bright red lightning spikes, mere feet away, but none of them flinch.

The air is smoky-grey, and the sky itself is cracked with yellow-orange fissures – hundreds of them, thousands, more. A million different worlds, all on the brink of collapse.

A house of cards.

“It’s worth it,” Castiel says, resolute as stone. “This, us, here. It’s worth it.”

“Ain’t no place I’d rather be,” Dean says.

Sam shakes his head, but he smiles. “And it’ll work, right?”

“Yes. It’ll work.” Castiel says firmly.

“Alright, then.” Keeping his eyes forward, Dean reaches out with his left hand and grasps his brother’s shoulder. His other hand sneaks out blindly to his right until it finds Castiel’s. Their fingers weave together. “See ya on the other side, fellas.”

Dean Winchester squeezes Castiel’s hand, tight, before the spell takes effect and he ceases to be.

#233

The wendigo creeps silently through the tangled underbrush, unseen by both brothers. Dean holds the flare gun up, at the ready, but his grip is laxer than it should be. His knuckles have grown knobby with arthritis.

“Sam,” he hisses into the darkness, squinting through the cheap, drugstore glasses that Castiel had insisted he start wearing.

Sam is, in fact, more than fifty feet to the north, and his good ear is turned away.

So he doesn’t hear the light, barely-there rustle of the wendigo, as it takes its final, leaping strides towards Dean.

Sam does hear its shriek though, mingled with Dean’s scream of pain.

He’s already almost gone by the time Sam reaches him. Blood bubbles from his lips and practically floods from the tears in his chest.

“Dean, Dean, no, hang on, hang on, I’ll get you help,” Sam babbles.

“S’okay, Sammy,” Dean chokes. “Jus’ too slow. Gettin’ too slow now.”

“Shut up. You’re gonna be fine, Dean.”

With the last of his failing strength, Dean reaches out a hand, fisting it in Sam’s jacket. “C-Cas. Sammy, you gotta tell ‘im. You gotta. . . Cas.” His voice trails off, his eyes starting to drift closed.

“Damn it, Dean, stay with me. And Cas knows, man. He knows.” Tears start to drip down Sam’s cheeks. “God, you idiots. Everybody knows.”

“No –” A wracking cough sends Dean’s body seizing. “No, Sam, promise. Promise you’ll –”

Sam shakes his head, almost blind now by his tears. “I’ll tell him. I promise, Dean, I promise.”

“S-Sammy. . .”

Dean Winchester dies a hunter’s death, at age fifty-nine.

#302

Castiel has hidden the car keys again.

“Hey, Cas? Did you check the table in the hall?”

“Twice, Dean,” Castiel says, infinitely patient, as always.

But today he’s sad as well.

“Damnit, I probably left them on the nightstand again,” Dean grumbles, and turns a rueful eye up the staircase. “Man, why the hell didn’t we get a bungalow? All these damn stairs.”

He grips one hand on the stair railing and pulls his cane level with his hip, but Castiel stops him with a gentle hand to the shoulder. “You’re not supposed to be driving anymore anyway, Dean,” he chastises with a fond smile. He’s let his vessel age, but his eyes are as clear and bright as they’d ever been.

“I wanna go get a burger, Cas.”

Castiel shakes his head. “You’re not supposed to be eating burgers anymore, either.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but turns around. “Well damnit, Cas, what the hell am I allowed to do now?”

Smiling softly, Castiel answers by leaning in and brushing their lips together. Dean hums a little, so Castiel brings his worn and weathered hands up to rasp through the prickly, grey stubble on Dean’s cheeks.

“Damn, Cas,” Dean murmurs, leaning away. “Unless you got a bottle of those magic blue pills hiding somewhere, I think at least one of us is gonna be disappointed, here.”

“Never,” Castiel says, eyes holding Dean’s with a ferocity rarely seen nowadays. “Just sit with me?”

The day is misty and grey, but in a quiet, peaceful kind of way. The two of them sit on the battered living room couch all afternoon, arms intertwined and a blanket draped over their knees.

Hours later, as the sky starts to darken, Dean stands, planning to start on dinner.

But he only makes it halfway up, then his hand flies to his chest, and he collapses back down.

He gasps, face contorting in pain, and Castiel’s eyes fill with tears.

“I’ll be right there, Dean,” he says, turning on the sofa and bringing his hands up once again to cup Dean’s face. He draws his thumbs across Dean’s cheeks until his eyes open. “You won’t be alone, I’ll be there with you. I’m right behind you, I swear it, Dean.”

Dean’s gasping, his heart thudding out of rhythm, but he meets Castiel’s gaze and he nods.

There’s no fear in his eyes.

Dean Winchester dies of a heart attack, and Castiel follows right after him.

//

Billie slides one delicately manicured hand along the cover of the book.

There are hundreds of notebooks, hundreds of ways Dean Winchester’s story ends.

Hundreds of choices, important choices, that only he can make. And everything depends on him.

Time was, Billie couldn’t imagine betting on a Winchester.

But she closes her eyes and peers through the Veil. She sees a dark alleyway, lit by a neon cross and the yellowy bulb of a pay phone. She sees Dean, walking on shaky feet, straight into Castiel’s waiting arms.

Maybe. Maybe.

Alright, she thinks. I’ll take that action.

[brittywritesstuff]

13.05 Coda

“Even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise” -- Victor Hugo  

He almost doesn’t answer, but fuck it.  He’s had enough losses, why not pile on?  Who else needs help dying?  Who else needs help losing a loved one?  Dean Winchester, at your service.  “Yeah?”  He huffs, glancing in the side mirror.  The voice he hears nearly stops his heart.  A white-hot heat flashes through him, and he can’t breathe.  He glances at Sam, and words escape him.  

“Dean?”  Sam’s brow is furrowed, and Dean thinks he hears his name, but he’s paralyzed.  

“I…” He swallows against the dryness in his throat and finds himself thankful for the empty back road this late at night when he closes his eyes to steel himself.  “Where?”  He heaves another breath -- a difficult task for him at the moment and nods despite the fact that the conversation is entirely verbal.  “I’ll-- I’m on-- I’m coming.”

“Dean?”  Dean lowers his phone to his lap, and Sam’s hand is on his shoulder, bringing him back.  “Dean, what’s wrong?  Who was that?”

“Cas,” Dean chokes out.  His foot presses harder on the gas, and the Impala’s engine roars in the quiet night air.  

Sam’s incredulous, and if Dean had any solid frame of mind right now, he wouldn’t blame him.  “What-- what’d you mean Cas?  Dean!  Talk to me.  What the hell is going on?”

Dean shakes his head, as if trying to rattle a cohesive thought into place.  “Cas… He’s…”  Sam’s still staring at him like he’s got two heads, but Dean isn’t able to volunteer much more than those two words.

Dean flips on the blinker and veers the Impala off the main road, guiding her through the deserted streets.  When he turns down the alley, Sam shifts and clears his throat, desperate to beg more answers out of Dean.  He remains silent.  Dean switches off the headlights as she rolls to a stop, and Sam gasps.  “Dean, is that--”

“Cas.”

They climb out of the car simultaneously, and Dean ventures forward.  He’s cautiously optimistic.  He wasn’t kidding when he said he needed a win.  He’s never kidding when he says he needs Cas.  And he’s never needed him more than in this moment.  He’s never needed Cas to be real more than in this moment.  

The figure turns, and Dean meets his eyes.  He’s frozen, his heart hammering in his chest.  His tears shine with tears, and he makes no effort to wipe them away.  “Cas,” he breathes.  He watches as the tears swimming in the angel’s eyes spill free, and his own follow suit.  

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean chokes back a sob, and neither are certain who makes the first move.  In an instant, they’re crashing  into each other’s arms, clinging to one another desperately.  Dean tucks his face against Cas’s shoulder and drags a shaky breath.  “You were gone, man.”  His hands dig into the back of Cas’s coat.  His tears splash against the tan fabric, and he feels Cas turn his face against Dean’s, the angel’s tears hot on his skin.  “You were gone.”  His eyes are screwed shut tight, and he holds on as long as he can.

When they part, Dean grips Cas’s face, his hands nestled below Cas’s ears, fingertips disappearing into the base of the angel’s hair; thumb brushing the hinge of Cas’s jaw.  Dean’s looking him over as if he’s got the Holy Grail between his hands.  “I saw you die.”  His voice is trembling, and with every word, more tears follow.  “I saw…  Your wings, Cas.  I burned your body.  How?”

Cas’s hands are gripping the front of Dean’s jacket.  “I… I’m not sure.”

Dean takes a breath in a failed attempt to calm himself.  “But you’re real?”

Cas’s brow furrows.  “Of course, Dean.”  As if trying to prove a point, Dean feels the coolness of Cas’s grace swirling in his chest.

In reply, Dean pulls him into his arms again.  They’ll figure the rest out later.  They’ll figure out the cosmic consequences and deal with them as they come.  They’ll figure out the why, the who, the what.  At the present, none of that is important.  “You’re home,” he says, hardly above a whisper, and he’s certain Cas knows what he means.  He’s not talking of the bunker or the Impala.  Cas is home, with Dean.  And in that, Dean feels whole again.  

@deanmonsandangels This one’s for you, girl, ‘cause you’re the best and ILY!

[drsilverfish]

13x05 Coda

“Hello, Dean” Cas says, as the elder Winchester stops several feet from him, incredulous face lit against the blue of the call-box.

“Sammy, get the kit,” Dean barks. 

“Uh, hey Cas,” Sam waves at him, but goes to the trunk and brings what Dean asks.  

Cas blinks as he gets a face-full of holy water. 

“Roll up your sleeve,” Dean says roughly. 

Cas opens his mouth a little, but he does it. Dean grips his forearm and cuts it with a silver knife. Cas notices Dean’s hand is shaking slightly.

“Not a shifter then,” Dean growls. “How do I know you’re not Lucifer or some other angel-dick in disguise?”

“Ask me something,” Cas says, arms dangling by his side, the cut already vanished.

“Lucifer’s been in your frickin’ head so....”

“You gave me a mix-tape,” Cas blurts, “It had a song on it called Travelling Riverside Blues, about squeezing citrus fruit.”  

Dean shoots a quick glance back at Sammy, who is sitting on the hood of the Impala studying a patch of dirt, hard.

“So?” Dean’s voice is rough.

“Lucifer was gone from my head then. It’s me, Dean.”

Dean steps in and shoves Castiel’s chest, hard. He yells, “I burned your friggin’ body! It can’t be you! Where the hell have you been, man? And who’s controlling you now? Leviathan, Naomi? Jack? It’s always something!”

Cas blinks. This is not quite the welcome he was expecting. He lets Dean shove him, once, twice, then he reaches out and gently grips Dean’s sleeves. 

“I’m sorry, I thought...”

“What? You thought what, Cas?! That everything would be peachy down here?”

“I thought perhaps you and Sam made a deal...”

“Who with?” Dean yells. “What, you think I didn’t try? I prayed to that SOB Chuck until I bust a gut. Amara too. Crowley’s dead so...”

“I want to help... Dean, please... I was in the Empty.”

Dean gawps and goes limp in Cas’ grip, “The Empty? What the hell was that like?”

“Black, formless, filled with dead angels and nightmares,” Cas says bluntly.

Dean sags against him a little. “How d’you get out?”

“I fought the Guardian. I fought to get out, to get....” Cas hesitates.

“Home...” Dean says in a rush.

“Yes,” Cas says very quietly, “home.”

“C’mon,”  Dean says, “let’s go home, Cas.”  

“Hey Cas, it’s unbelievable, it’s amazing to see you, what even?” Sam rolls him, without hesitation into a hug. Cas squints at the streetlight. 

“I’ll drive,” Sam says to Dean, “Get in the back and y’know, check on him or something?”

Dean makes an “Uh, ok, well, reluctantly if you say so” face, which Sam gives a good appearance of buying.

As they drive in the dark, Sam takes a glance or two in the mirror.

First they are quiet, just looking at each other. 

Later, they are still quiet, but he sees their fingers, laced together on the seat between them. 

The whole of Baby fills up with the kind of wonder and hush that falls over a town on Christmas morning.

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

Two Words

a 13x05 coda

Hello Dean.

Two words

in my ear.

Unbelievable

impossible

words.

It’s a wonder

I don’t crash my car,

or at least

drop the phone.

Somehow my body

holds it together better

than my brain

which is on a

loop

--CasCasCasCasCas--

with interjections of

--How?!--

Cas trips the

circuit by saying

Dean. Say something.

“Cas.”

It isn’t a

question.

I know.

He always

said he could feel

longing

like a prayer.

I’m no angel,

but I swear

I can

feel

him

reaching

out to me,

a bubble of light

in my chest.

Yes, he says.

He tells me where to

find him. He’s

close--

I think

he knew.

I repeat the address aloud.

I know Sam will find

the way.

I just

drive, my body

still on autopilot.

Cas doesn’t say

goodbye--

he never does--

just hangs up.

The bubble in my chest

grows and grows.

An exit,

a town,

an alley,

a cross.

And then…

For so long

neither of us

can speak.

Or move.

And then…

Just two words.

Hello Dean.

[kathrinerose]

It was going to be okay

13 x 05 coda. Dedicated to @ikhaberry cause you inspired me to get my lazy ass in front of my laptop and give this a try.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t ask the question he wanted: how? He couldn’t say the words that were on his lips: I missed you. I need you. I lo… He couldn’t even think about it. Because if he did, he would break. He would lose it, he would fall to the floor, he would shatter in pieces. He couldn’t let himself feel, wasn’t allowed to get his hopes up.

None of this was real, none of this was possible. It was just one more nightmare. A nightmare that felt so real, they all did. First, he believed them, let himself get lost in them. But he couldn’t anymore. He couldn’t take it. He knew too well what would happen next. There would be a blade, wide blue eyes, a light so bright, burned wings on the floor. It always happened.

Until it didn’t.

Until he stood in a dark alley, staring at the angel in the trench coat, staring at everything, staring at the future. He didn’t want to believe at first but there was something different. He couldn’t tell what it was, but he knew. “Dean.” It was barely a whisper, but it was all it took.

Suddenly, he was stumbling forward. Suddenly, there was an angel in his arms. Dean cried in his neck, hold him tight, intended to never let him go again. Cas was back, Cas came back, back home, back to him. “I need you, I need you”, he managed to say between sobs.

“I’m here, Dean. I’m not going anywhere.” And it was all obvious to Dean. The world was an ugly place, full of death and loss and pain. But it was going to be okay. Now, it was all going to be okay.

I was going to be okay, when Cas was in the backseat of the Impala, his blue eyes connected to Dean through the tiny mirror. It was going to be okay, when they arrived at the bunker, when Cas was home again. It was going to be okay, when Jack could finally meet Cas, when they hugged for the first time, when Dean joined them just because he could.

It was going to be okay, when the four of them sat in front of the tv, watching a show none of them could remember. It was going to be okay, when Sam and Jack fell asleep while Dean couldn’t because he was too scared that Cas was gone when he woke up again.

It was going to be okay, when Cas took his hand and said: “Go to sleep, I’ll watch over you”, when he beamed at him with that tender smile that was reserved for Dean and only him. It was going to be okay, when Dean nodded, without any attempt to let himself fall asleep. It was going to be okay, when he kissed his angel, a soft kiss on the corner of his lips. It was going to be okay, when he woke up to Cas kissing him on his cheek, his temple, his nose. It was going to be okay.

Actually, it was going to be so much more than okay.

[idkkarlo]

You’re back

just a little 13x05 coda I wrote that I would like to share. ao3

He didn’t think he had ever been this tired before.

These last couple of days had been rough on them, to say the least, and it was clear to Sam that Dean wasn’t in a talkative mood and that this would be a quiet ride home, except for the music blaring from the stereo. He took one look over at his brother, sighed, and then lay down to get some sleep. They had a long ride home after all.

Sam wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep when he was jolted awake by Dean’s cellphone ringing between them. Dean barely glanced at it, before he answered. “Yeah?” he said. It was obvious his voice hadn’t been used in a while.

Sam looked at his brother, as the emotions flitted over his face. He hadn’t even been on the phone for a minute, before he looked over at Sam, eyes wide and an unreadable expression on his face.

Sam immediately straightened up.

“What?”

A phone call that could make Dean react like this could be a number of things, and Sam could do nothing but fear the worst until Dean told him.

Instead Dean looked out at the road again. He hadn’t said anything else for the duration of the phone call, and without answering the person on the other end or answering Sam, he hung up, put the phone back down between them, tightened his grip on the steering wheel and stepped on the gas.

“Who was that, Dean?” Sam tried again.

Dean still didn’t speak for another few minutes. It looked like he was having trouble saying anything. At last he looked over at Sam, and Sam could see that his eyes were wet, and what looked like a small smile was playing on the corner of his mouth.

“I didn’t…” Dean’s voice was choked with emotions, and he cleared his throat to start over.

“He was dead, Sammy.” Dean shook his head, as though he was trying to shake the hope away that was also starting to blossom in Sam’s chest.

Dean looked over at him again, and this time it was plain just by looking at Dean’s face that what he was feeling wasn’t the same thing that Sam was feeling. “He was dead,” he whispered, as if repeating it would change the fact that they had spent so much energy and time grieving Castiel.

No more words were exchanged for the rest of the ride, but the excitement bubbling in Dean was unmistakable in the small room of the car. Sam was nervous, too, but also knew that they had to approach apprehensively.

They had been told that Castiel was dead, that this time he wouldn’t be coming back. It wouldn’t even come as a surprise to Sam if Dean had been praying to Chuck, because he had done that too, both for Cas, but also for hope that God was looking over their mom in the other world where she was trapped.

It didn’t make any sense if Cas was alive, but that didn’t stop the hope from rising high in his throat. He felt a little teary-eyed himself.

When they had proof that this was the real Castiel, and not someone pretending to be him, then they could find out why he was back and go back to the bunker. They deserved at least a week’s break after this, Sam thought.

It didn’t take more than 20 minutes before Dean was driving down a little road, the excitement very obvious on his face, and then he pulled to a stop. Out of the windshield Sam could see the blue light from a phone booth sign vaguely lighting up the figure standing beside it. The figure, the clothes and the hair looked like Cas.

Sam couldn’t stop blinking, trying to figure out if this was actually real.

Dean moved to get out of the car first, and Sam followed only a split second later. The car doors shutting rung out very loudly, way too loud for the silence of the street, but not loud enough to drown out the blood rushing in their heads.

It wasn’t hard to take the first steps towards the figure in front of them. Sam’s feet felt too heavy to move though, and Dean was already in front of the car when the person by the telephone booth decided to turn around.

No one moved as Castiel turned around. The moment his eyes met Dean’s it felt like there was a rip in time. Sam could feel the tension of the moment hanging heavy in the air. He couldn’t believe it. There was absolutely no doubt. This was Cas. Castiel, their best friend, their brother, who they thought they would never see again, was alive and standing right in front of them. He couldn’t believe it.

The only sounds around them was the occasional car driving by on the busier road further away from them. No one moved. No one said anything.

Sam couldn’t take his eyes off of Cas, but Cas had barely acknowledged his presence with a glance, and Sam didn’t know if he was even allowed to make the first move towards him.

After what felt like 10 minutes, Dean finally closed his eyes, and Sam looked over at him. A tear was trickling down his chin, and as he closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, Sam thought that maybe this wasn’t even something he was supposed to see, something he was even allowed to see.

Cas took a step forward, just as Sam took a step backwards.

“Cas,” Dean choked out, his voice filled with all the emotion he was feeling. “Cas,” he repeated, and absentmindedly lifted his hand a little, as if to reach out for the guy.

“I’m here,” Cas said.

He took a few steps forward until he was standing right in front of Dean, a little too close as only they tended to do.

Sam felt excluded, but also knew that this moment wasn’t something he should intrude on. Dean and Cas had always had a special bond, and even if Sam loved Cas too, it wasn’t in the same way that Dean loved Cas, and he knew that. He had always known that, it just wasn’t until now that it really dawned on his just how different their relationships were.

He would get to say hello to his friend, even if that meant he had to wait for a little while. It might have always been Dean’s job to protect Sam, but Sam had made it his job a long time ago to make sure that Dean was happy, and if that meant his own heart clenching in his chest as he waited for his best friend to notice him too, then that was alright with him.

“I’m back, Dean.” Cas’ voice was rough and familiar. He lifted a hand as if he was going to touch Dean’s face, and then thought better of it and put a hand on Dean’s upper arm. From where Sam was standing he could clearly see Cas giving Dean’s arm a squeeze. “I’m back,” he repeated.

That was all it took for Dean to break down. A strangled sound escaped his throat and he took a step forward to bury his head in Cas’ neck, arms going around his back to hold him tightly against his own body. Cas’ own hands came up to grip Dean, and he gently started carding a hand through Dean’s hair.

A few minutes went by. Sam just stood on the other side of the car, staring at them, waiting for his brain to realize that this was actually real.

“God, I missed you,” he heard Dean say. Again, Dean sighed, and started to pull back from Cas. They now held each other at an arm’s length, and Cas couldn’t stop smiling, whereas Dean was just staring at him with love in his eyes.

A raindrop fell on Sam’s hand. He slowly went over to them, the sound of his footsteps attracting their attention, and Dean finally let his hands fall to his sides, but didn’t remove his gaze from the other man.

Sam didn’t know what he was supposed to say, so he just smiled, hoping that it didn’t look sad, but tried to convey how happy he was that Cas was back.

He hugged Cas, and with a hand to his shoulder told him, “we’re glad you’re here” because it was the truth.

Another few moments of staring went on, as Cas let that sink in, the fact that he was wanted here and that he was loved, until Dean cleared his throat and with a movement of his head gestured to the car.

“Let’s go home,” he said.

Sam let Cas ride shotgun, and Sam should have feared for his life with how little time Dean spent looking at the road and instead looking at Castiel, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care if he died right there in that moment, because that was not what mattered right now.

Not even the ongoing rain outside of the car could dwell the happiness that they all felt right there in that moment.

[ashesinyourpants]

"Alright." Dean says as he pats Cas' shoulder, "good to have you back"

Dean can feel his own words failing on him, cracking and tumbling, as if Dean himself was about to fall.

Cas smirks as he watches the brothers back and forth. Dean didnt know what he was doing with his own face, too scare to move, too scare to blink, afraid of waking up.

He tried to ignore the buzzing on his head as they drove all the way back to the bunker, Sam still trying to explain Cas what'd happen the last few weeks. Dean though he was supposed to feel grateful that Sam avoid talking about his behaviour regarding Jack so much, but again, the buzzing on his head wouldnt stop. Getting worse by the second.

Dean objected a few times, agreed and nodded when it was necessary. But he couldnt speak, because every time he did, Cas' head would turn to him and the buzzing would get louder, a sting would reach the back of his eyes.

By the time they got home, Dean had only looked at Cas once.

Watching Jack and Cas share a hug and a few comforting words made Dean's stomach flinch, a creature waking up inside of him.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was walking to his room.

"Leave him, Cas. Its just a lot for him..." Dean was sure he heard Sam said.

Dean left the room eventuality, his stomach now moaning for food and water. As he expected, he found Cas standing in front of the white board, still reading whatever crap Sam and Jack had put up for the search of mom.

"He doesnt know how to do it again." Dean said refering to Jack’s ability to open up the portal, slowly walking up to the table where Cas was leaning against, still keeping his distance.

The buzzing ringing on his ears, tingles spiring up on his stomach, his hands a still shaking, as if holding onto the chair in front of him wasn’t enough.

"We'll find a way." Cas answered, staring at Dean, a smile on his face. Dean had to refrain himself from frowning at the oddness of seeing Cas smile this many times a day. But before he could even comment on it, Cas' face turned serious.

"I'm sorry about your mom, Dean." Cas apologized, pain on his eyes. 

Dean could of laughed. 

Leave it to Cas to be the only one completely oblivious. His whole world was torn apart because of Cas, because he died and Dean had never said it back. 

 Nothing else mattered anymore, not without Cas. Everything was torn to shreads because Cas had died, and Dean never got to love him right.

But he was back, standing in front of him, apologizing for something it wasn’t his fault, probably thinking that Mary was the only one Dean wanted back.

The sting on his eyes increased, tears forming, hands shaking more noticeable. The pain on his heart, the same pain he’s had since the moment he saw the wings spread on the floor, became unbearable.

Cas' eyes drilling on him, both to lost to know what to do next.

"I miss you." Dean said, the first tear falling.

"I'm right here, Dean." Cas confirmed, hesitating on moving towards him.

"You left." Dean said again, unable to stop, his body moving to meet Cas halfway.

"I know."

"You promised you wouldnt." Dean whispered, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"I’m fine, Dean." Cas whispered back, suddently a lot closer than he was before. “We’re ok.”

The buzzing grew louder, making Dean dizzy, his heart heavy on his chest.

He missed Cas. He knew that already. He needed Cas. He knew that too. He wanted Cas.

He was in love with Cas.

Dean grabbed Cas by tie and pulled him towards his body, arms around his waist, burying his head on the crook of Cas' neck.

Cas immediately holding him in, bringing a hand up to his shoulder.

The silence of the room interrupt by the inhale of breath that Dean took once he realized the buzzing had stop.

Dean let himself wonder what it would be like to ask for a forever.

[mostlygayy]

Pairing: Dean/Cas

Word count: 1982

Episode 13x05 coda 

(yeah i’m late af lmao oops)

[terence-f]

it’s still only Tuesday, right? so here’s another 13x05 DeanCas coda, because why not, it’s never too late for a DeanCas coda.

“What I don't understand, is how we didn't end up in a ditch,” Sam says after an hour of silence.

Dean barely listens, his mind preoccupied with some critically important things he has to take care of as they get home. Right when Sam speaks, Dean is in the middle of a thorough comparative analysis of restraining capabilities of holy oil versus good old handcuffs. Handcuffs don’t involve fire and in general sound somewhat more appealing — especially if used on a bed head.

“What?”

Sam sighs. “I mean… After you got that call? I’m wondering how you went on driving straight.”

“I’m just an A-plus driver,” Dean grins. “Sammy, I used to drive with a ghoul-pyre in the back seat.”

“It’s different.”

Dean knows that it is. What he doesn’t know, is how he managed to keep his left hand at the steering wheel after he’d heard the voice on his phone. Probably all of them were lucky that the road was arrow-straight. There and about ten miles more. Or maybe all the way up to that god-forsaken place where Cas was waiting for them.

“Yeah,” he mumbles and looks in the rearview mirror. Cas is sleeping soundly, his head leaned cozily onto the back of the seat as if he’s never left there. His lips and eyebrows tremble like in a dream.

Everything about him seems so familiar — and so new. Dean recalls the feeling of their first hug in the neon lights of the payphone booth, their frantic, erratic movements, hardly even looking like a greeting. If this wasn’t a rendition of a win, then Dean doesn’t know what was.

Dean smiles to himself and stares back at the road.

All of a sudden, he remembers their previous resurrection hugs. They were fewer than actual resurrections, he notes to himself and winces at the lost opportunities. In fact, now that he thinks about it, he never hugged Cas after his coming back from the dead. After losing him for a while — yes, but not after him being dead. So dead, he adds mentally, struggling against the urge to immediately fill the hugging gap he’d let happen.

But Sam is staring at him mutely, and Dean grips the wheel and keeps on driving.

He gets back to his thoughts and having weighed the options, dismisses all of them. He never was good at keeping Cas away from trouble, wasn’t he? He should be happy that at least now Cas is in the back seat of the Impala, the safest place in the universe. And then... and then they’ll see what happens.

Dean sneaks another glance in the mirror. Cas is frowning in his sleep, and instinctively, Dean frowns too, a bit anxious. They hardly had a chance to talk, and Dean has no idea what state Cas is in now: an angel or a human. Whatever it is, Cas is clearly exhausted and needs rest. Talks can wait.

Dean doesn’t know yet what he’ll say, though. There’s too much he can — he needs to — say, and at the same time there’s pretty little left unsaid. Not after the stare they shared. That silent moment, Dean is certain, was the loudest silence he ever heard.

What a blind idiot he was if it only took him to lose Cas to realize how much Cas really meant to him?

“Dean, watch the road.”

Reluctantly, Dean drags his gaze away from the mirror. Sam is right, now it would be too damn stupid to get them all killed in a crash.

“You know what,” he says, pulling over, “you’d better take the wheel.”

Surprised, Sam raises his eyebrow. “You trust me?”

“No. But I trust myself even less.” He opens the door and smiles at Sam, “I’m gonna be an A-plus passenger tonight.”

He crawls into the back seat and quietly settles himself close to Cas. The moment he adjusts his breathing to Cas’s and freezes still, all his anxiety is suddenly gone.

Sam pulls back to the road and hits the gas.

They are heading to Lebanon at full throttle, and once in a long while, Dean is really enjoying Baby’s engine purr.

[irrlicht-writes]

He couldn’t believe it. When he got the call, he thought he was dreaming - or that he was truly dead and this would just be what his Heaven would look like. Sammy, his Baby and... and...

Cas.

Castiel stood there, as he said he would, next to the payphone he called from. When did he come back? It didn’t even matter. The coat was new, Dean thought, but who cared? It was Cas. Cas.

He had to hug him. He didn’t wanna let go. This wasn’t a dream, was it? Cas was warm, and real, and solid. He couldn’t believe it. That son of a bitch really did it. He came back from the dead, again. And now, Dean would make sure his angel wouldn’t die again. He wouldn’t be able to take it.

“How long was I gone?”

“Too damn long.”

In truth, Dean couldn’t even say. Was it a week? Two? Three? It had been a fucking eternity. His hands were itching. He wanted to reach out again, to touch Castiel again, just to make sure he was real.

“Let’s go home,” was all he managed to say.

Castiel looked at him and damn, he missed him so much. Cas came back. Cas came back from whatever hellscape he had been condemed to and - 

Sam had gotten into the car; and the sound of the door closing tore Dean out of his thoughts. Cas was still standing there, looking at him.

“Dean?”

Dean could only smile. His angel had come back. Nothing could stop them now. Now, everything would be alright.

[bedtimeisthebesttime]

Season 13 Coda

“Castiel, what was he like?”Jack asks, always curious.

Dean wasn’t prepared for that question, and certainly wasn’t prepared for the tide of grief it brings. It rises and settles at just below the nose- just short of drowning.

Sam somehow knows this, because he’s the one who answers.

“He was kind,” Sam says solemnly, the thickness of his voice serving as a visceral reminder that Dean isn’t the only one here who’s grieving. “Too kind for his own good,” he continues.

And hell if Dean hasn’t had that exact thought before. Cas’s compassion was blinding and fierce and was always going to be the death of him. Some small part of Dean, the part that isn’t furious with Cas for being so reckless, can’t help but be proud of him for that.

“You’d have loved him, Jack.” Sam says. “You remind me of him, actually, sometimes.” It hurts to hear Sam say that, mostly because Dean knows exactly what he means.

“Dean?” Jack prompts. “You knew him well, what was he like?”

Dean wouldn’t know where to start with that question on the best of days, but it floors him now. Cas was too many things all at once; each of them contradicting and complimenting each other in equal measure. Cas was intense- he favoured action and honesty over delicacy and tact. But Dean knew him well enough to know that he could be gentle too. He was old, old enough that Dean must have seemed like an insect to him. He would see glimpses of it, sometimes, when Cas talked about humanity. It was as though there was a perceptible shift where he would look at you with different eyes- see something you couldn’t. But other times, he’d be just like a child; naive and innocent, looking at Dean like he knows everything. He often seemed untouchable. Dean could sometimes forget that he was looking at a vessel; that Cas was a thousand feet of searing, celestial light condensed down and tucked into a human body. And yet, when Dean reached for him, Cas molded to his touch, completely malleable; all that blazing heat carefully crafted down into a gentle warmth, just so Dean could touch. There was a huge sense of duality in Cas; a constant conflict between the hardened angel and his bleeding heart. Not quite angel, not quite human- some remarkable mix of the two.

“Well, it’s like Sam says,” he answers Jack.

“He was a lot like you.”

[theheartchoice]

13.06 reunion

Sam was asking the questions Dean should've thought to ask - but they didn't come to mind. The Hows and Whys didn't matter. Cas' answers didn't register. Dean was seeing and seeing is believing. 

Hearing is believing, and despite the gibberish his brain was yet to unscramble he knew Cas' tone and cadence anywhere. Just as he knew those too-blue ancient eyes from his memories and dreams and nightmares. Didn't matter that his coat was different. Didn't matter that him standing right there seemed too good to be true. Right now, the way things were, Dean would gladly take a fever dream vacation if it felt as real as this. 

But there was one more thing needed to cement this reality, to bolster the belief that exactly what Dean needed, exactly who Dean wanted the most - and for which miracle he'd been foolish and desperate enough to resort to begging in prayers to a capricious god - was now unearthing dead hopes, reigniting damn soul-fire by his presence bathed in neon under a moonless sky in a dusty back alley ten miles from nowhere. 

"I don't even know what to say," Dean's brain translated Sam's words - but his feet were already moving; Cas didn't get another word out before Dean wrapped himself around him. 

Feeling is believing. Body and breath and warmth and a heartbeat to fill the offbeats of his own. Cas wrapped around Dean in answer to the only question that really mattered:

You're here? 

I'm here, Dean. 

Dean's voice found him and words formed of their own accord - perfect words for an impossible moment, "Welcome home." 

Cas hugged him tighter, and Dean had his proof. Dean was home, too. 

[cardinalwrites]

Two words.

He was six hours away.

Dean made it in two.

Because like hell or high water, he was not going to wait another second.

“Dean, Dean!” Sam attempted to grab his attention, both hands on the handle on the ceiling in a small attempt to hold himself together at the speeds Dean was driving. “Who was that, Dean? Who was it?”

“We need to go, we need to go,” Dean only repeated instead. It was not until later that he realized he had never put his phone on speaker or that Sam had no idea why he was jolted out of sleep until they arrived at that empty alley.

There were no other souls around the alley, but the light just above the telephone pole flickered and sparked every few minutes. It was almost fitting really.

“Oh my God...” he vaguely heard Sam whisper in the background, but Dean wasn’t paying attention to that. He was paying attention to the figure standing in front of the telephone booth.

He looked the same, and yet the clothes he wore should be nothing but ashes right now. Or maybe they were slightly different. He always did like wearing a stupid trench over anything else.

When he turned, however, Dean knew. He didn’t need tests. He didn’t need blood to be drawn. He didn’t need a blade. Without realizing what he was doing, he began to close the distance. Right in that moment, that distance of a few feet felt like a few inches. He was done. So done with everything, prepared to not come back.

Dean spoke with every step. “You...”

Dean nearly tried to convince Billie before he was thrust back. “Son...”

Two feet. “ Of a...”

“Bitch” Dean collided with shoulder’s first, both arms moving to wrap around the other man’s form and hold on tightly. “You son of a bitch,” his voice finally broke.

He heard Sam’s footsteps get closer, but what made more of an impact was the other man’s arms match his own and pull Dean closer. He could practically hear the heartbeat underneath the other man’s chest.

“You son of a bitch,” he mouthed into the crook of the other man’s skin, fully aware his face was not wet because of any sweat or otherwise.

He still had yet to say something, anything. But his phone call had said it all. 

Two words, simple words he’d never thought he’d hear again in that gravely voice.

Just a few hours earlier, Dean was dead in more than a literal sense, lost. And now, his angel pulled him out. 

They both needed wins.

They had won.

[quillquiver]

DeanCas Coda to 13x05

Time moves too slow and all at once. It takes five years and five seconds for Dean to be out of the car; hand to the chrome of Baby’s door handle, foot to pavement, eyes trained on the figure in the trench coat---a different trench coat is that him is he here what am I doing I’ve finally cracked. Castiel turns, a spinning top and a rotation of the Earth: big and small and meaningful and nothing at all and Dean...

Dean’s knees almost give out.

He’s pinned by those blue eyes. Stuck. There is a fine tremble moving from the bottom of his heart right out to the tips of his fingers, and Dean is going to fucking pass out. He can’t speak. He can’t move. His hands twitch with the urge to touch. His mouth falls open and he’s choking on all the things he wants to say.

It’s Cas who moves first.

The sound of his footsteps ring out like fucking gunshots, and the coat billows out behind him and Dean briefly has the insane thought that it looks good on him I like this one better than the old one before Castiel is right in front of him and time has sped up again and nothing feels real it has to be a dream it has to but Cas’s eyes are wide and blue and wet and Dean may or may not be crying too and then they’re hugging and solid and here and he doesn’t care, he doesn’t fucking care if this is Castiel or something dressing up like him because he smells like lightening and the earth after a storm and his hair is windswept and soft and his stubble is rough and this is the best win. The most important win.

The win he never thought he’d get to have.

Fuck it.

Dean kisses him. Fast. A chaste, quick, desperate thing because he is done waiting and wasting time. Because no one will die again without at least trying this. Seeing if it works. Seeing if it’s reciprocated.

Which, as it turns out, it is.

Castiel is like a hurricane in his intensity, surging forward to capture Dean’s lips and kiss him messy and wet and eager. His body is warm and his heart is racing through his plain white shirt and when they pull away it’s with Dean’s cry of protest, Cas’s hands coming up to cup his cheeks like he’s something beautiful and worthy of devotion. Their foreheads rest against one another’s and Dean’s fingers tangle so thoroughly in the trench coat they’ve turned white, pulling the fabric against Castiel’s lower back. He nudges their noses, quickly darting forward to steal another kiss before allowing Cas to look his fill.

So close, Dean can see every shade of blue in those eyes of his.

Castiel is the first to smile. The first to huff a whisper of a disbelieving laugh. The first to paw at his cheeks like he can’t believe they’re here, doing this, because it is ridiculous. Dean’s hands move from the coat to anchor themselves at Cas’s wrists and he smiles, too. He cries and he smiles and his heart is too big for his chest. He doesn’t blink in fear of missing something.

Neither does Cas.

Instead, Castiel pushes against Dean’s forehead until it hurts, forcing them to acknowledge the tangibility and realness of the here and now before whispering, reverential and giddy and disbelieving all at the same time:

“Hello, Dean.”

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[feartheophanim]

Coda/Prediction 13x05/13x06

Jack whispered to Sam as soon as he thought the other two men couldn’t hear him. “Dean is... different.”

With a small smile, Sam nodded “Yeah, he’s uh, he’s happy.”

Jacks eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Because of the cowboys?”

Sam laughed a little but trained his eyes on his brother. Shaking his head a little, almost like he couldn’t believe the sight.

Dean was fidgeting with Cas’ cowboy hat, the one he’d insisted the newly-resurrected angel to wear, the hat that Cas agreed to wear despite a little roll of his eyes. They were happy though, very happy. They were back to their usual game and little remarks and lots of half-smiles.

Clapping a hand on Jack’s shoulder, Sam cleared his throat, “Not just the cowboys.” He pushed up from the countertop he’d been leaning on to try and coax his brother and the angel into actually leaving, otherwise they’d fawn over each other’s appearance indefinitely.

Jack nodded a little, eyebrows still plucked together in confusion. He repeated in a whisper to himself, “Not just the cowboys.”

[pray4jensen]

The Burden

1405 words, deancas, originally a 12.10 coda (but let’s pretend that this is their angsty reunion following 13x05 :P ) 

Dean won’t touch him.

They’re sitting in the car, in the backseat, owning it, and Dean’s fingers keep grazing the cuff of his sleeve—Castiel’s sleeve that’s like his coat. Castiel’s sleeve that’s like his body.

Bloody. Ragged. Broken.

Castiel stays still.

Sam’s driving the Impala, hands steady, smeared in blood. Sam’s eyes are sure; they check the mirrors routinely. They follow along when he turns his head, concentrating, more than a formality, and they tighten sometimes, when he thinks of things that he shouldn’t, like Castiel does when his lips tremble with old fear.

But that’s over now, so Castiel raises his hand and places it on Sam’s shoulder.

Sam swallows and keeps driving.

Dean’s fingers twitch, when Castiel does that. Dean’s fingers brush his coat when Castiel shakes. Dean’s fingers press lightly, against the tan fabric but they don’t wander and they don’t move.

So Castiel stays still.

They arrive at the bunker, two hours past midnight, and he wants to sleep, something long, something in some way dormant, but his clothes are filthy and his powers are waning.

He’ll have to do it the human way.

Castiel waits on a chair, because he knows that they all want their turn with the shower, but Dean lingers in the kitchen with him, standing behind Castiel’s chair, hands gripping the top of the frame. His fingers brush the collar of Castiel’s shirt. His thumb drags over the back of Castiel’s neck, still too far away to make contact, still not touching. Dean picks at his collar, smoothes it out, and he towers over Castiel like a secret guardian.

When Castiel makes his way to the showers, Dean follows closely behind.

Mary steps out, towel in hand, wearing soft blue pajamas and slippers, covered in a grey Men of Letters robe, and she looks surprised when she sees him, still smeared in red and, “You should have gone to the showers first,” she says and, “Oh, god. I’m so sorry, Castiel.”

She wonders how long he’s been waiting.

“I was—I’m fine,” Castiel says, even as he wavers on his feet, and he stumbles back, into Dean, and Dean’s hands finally touch him, dig in—hold him.

But he’s been so silent since the barn.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel mumbles, to Dean who’s got him around the waist, to Mary, maybe, whose eyes don’t miss things and scrutinize the way that her son touches Castiel.

Castiel straightens up. Dean’s hands skim down his hips, linger, then let go.

“Well,” says Mary and she gives him a hesitant smile. “Shower’s open.”

When she’s gone, Castiel keeps standing in the hallway. He doesn’t know what Dean’s waiting for, but he knows that he can hold off a little longer. He takes a step towards the kitchen, limps and reaches out to grab the wall, and, “I’ll come back,” he says to Dean. “I can wait.”

Dean’s still quiet. Castiel doesn’t look back to see his face, but he pauses with his weight against the wall, breathing laboured, breathing slow.

He can’t wait, he realizes. He’ll end up sleeping like this if it’s any longer.

Dean’s hands are suddenly heavy on his shoulders, sliding down the length of his arms, grasping his hands, entangling, entwining and, “Get in, you stupid bastard,” and “damn it, don’t be noble.”

Castiel limps again, and Dean lets go of his hands, instead lets him swing an arm across his back, lets him say his thanks to Dean when he helps him into the bathroom, and then they’re past the threshold and he’s waiting for Dean to close the door and go.

But Dean doesn’t go. Dean stays and he closes the door until they’re both trapped inside so Castiel drops his eyes to the floor and says, “What are you doing?”

There’s a moment then, of silence. There’s a moment there when nothing moves and Castiel finds himself standing painfully with the edge of the bathroom counter digging into his spine. And then there is movement, lots of movement, and Dean’s sinking down to the bathroom floor, back sliding against the door and his face contorts and he looks like he’s in pain, his words coming out broken.

“I-I can’t do it,” Dean says. “I c-can’t do it—”

I can’t keep watching you die.

Castiel swallows. He doesn’t know why but it gets to him, these words, and he lets go of the counter that he’s been gripping so tight and he makes his way to Dean, alarmed now, afraid. He makes his way to that part of the floor.

Dean grabs for him. Dean’s on his knees and he has his arms wide, wraps them around Castiel’s waist, lowers Castiel gently to the ground and he pulls Castiel in, pulls him in tight, gathers him in his arms and Castiel’s breath hitches in his throat, with surprise, as Dean holds him like he’s never going to let go.

They’ve never held each other like this. Most of the time, they pretend that they don’t know what it’s like to love each other so hard that it hurts to breathe.

“H-hey,” Dean murmurs, voice throaty, voice rasping as he rubs a hand across Castiel’s back, lets the other fist Castiel’s dirty coat. “Hey,” he whispers, “you’re gonna be fine,” he says, even though Castiel already is. “Y-you’re gonna be f-fine.”

So Castiel tells him.

“I am fine,” Castiel says. But you’re not.

Dean’s arms crush him. Dean’s shaking so violently that Castiel’s heart hammers in his chest, a shared fear.

No, Dean says and smiles painfully. I’m not okay, Cas. I’m—

“Lemme do this,” Dean says then, abruptly, and his hand that’s been rubbing circles across Castiel’s back jolts to a stop, instead moves to the back of Castiel’s head and cups him there. “Cas, please.”

Castiel tentatively brings his arms up. He wraps them both around Dean.

“Let me do this,” Dean says again. “Lemme do this.”

He doesn’t know what they’re doing. He doesn’t know what Dean needs. Other than sleep. For a long time, that’s all that he’s been allowed. To know that he can let Dean sleep.

Now he’s tired, too.

But he rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder. His cheek is flush with the skin of Dean’s neck. He lets himself...

Breathe, Castiel reminds himself, Breathe, so he does, hot air heating Dean’s skin.

Dean’s hands reach for his coat then, unstable hands that let go of their embrace without wanting to, just so that he can pull the ratty thing off. It’s bloody, Dean mumbles and there’s a note of hysteria in his voice and I can’t keep watching you die, so Cas lets go of Dean, too. He lets go so that the coat can be gone.

“You’re good,” Dean breathes into his ear the whole time. You’re good, and it’s like he’s reminding himself. Damn it, Cas. You’re alive.

They get the coat off. They get it off and Dean steers him until he’s sitting in the gap of Dean’s legs, until his back’s pressed against Dean’s chest, watching Dean’s hands trail across his stomach. Watching, watching. Watching every button spring free until there’s nothing left.

Dean’s hands start quivering when they skim the spot where Castiel’s wound was.

It’s gone. But there’s still an outline left.

“You’re fine,” Dean reassures him but his own voice is a croak. “You’re f-fine.”

Yes, Castiel tells him. I’m fine.

I can’t keep watching you die, says Dean. I can't.

Castiel doesn’t know what snaps into Dean then but Dean’s actions become different. Certain. He hauls Castiel to his feet, ushers him into the shower, the both of them, still clothed except for Castiel’s naked chest. The water comes down on them, pouring rain, hot steam, dribbling down Castiel’s face, hair clinging to his forehead like sweat. Dean drops to his knees, undoes the button to Castiel’s pants, undoes the zipper, pulls him out of those clothes. Pulls him out of his undergarments until it’s just him, all body, all bare, while Dean’s hands massage the dry blood out of his skin.

The water turn pink.

When Dean rises to his feet, his hair is drenched and every sliding drop down his cheeks looks like a tear.

Castiel presses his thumb to Dean's cheek and tries to brush it all away.

Then he leans in and presses his mouth to his.