#14x12 coda

[vinylackles]

each the other’s world entire

14x12 deancas coda, and it’s my very first one, so please be easy on me 

“Cas, if you’re a friend of mine then you’ll understand that I have to do this.”

The angel could tell that Dean was trying to keep his voice down, trying not to disturb any of the other patients on the hall. And he didn’t care. All the hurt, all the anger, everything came boiling to the surface and he felt as though he was going to explode. 

“Friend? Are you kidding me?” 

Dean hadn’t seen that type of fire in his eyes in a while, and he was taken aback by the intensity. The blue seemed to be burning, even brighter with the white lab coat there next to them. He didn’t have much time to stare though, because suddenly two hands were on him, gripping the back of his jacket and guiding him down the hallway.

“Cas, what the hell?”

He didn’t answer, only kept moving until he found an empty storage room, pulling Dean inside. And then, he let loose. 

“You don’t get to call me a friend Dean. We aren’t friends. We’ve never been friends.”

The pain that came across Dean’s face was almost too much for the angel to handle, but he kept going. If Dean was so set on his plan to die, then it wouldn’t matter anyways. 

“I know we’ve been through some stuff, but Cas, c’mon now.” Dean’s voice had gotten even smaller than before.

“No, Dean. From the moment I laid a hand on you, we’ve been connected. And I didn’t know what that meant, I didn’t process that emotion for a long time. Not until I became human. I could never understand why I wanted to throw myself in front of you every time you tried to leave for a hunt, or why I always felt like I needed to be with you while you slept, to watch over you and keep you safe. Those aren’t angelic things, celestials don’t do that. For anyone. And then, when I lost my grace I understood.”

“You understood what?” Dean’s mouth was dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of it while he clung to every word.

“You know exactly what, because you feel it too. I see it. I feel it. Your heart speeds up when I enter a room, your anxiety spikes when I go out of your sight just like it does when Sam does the same thing. I’ve known for a while.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Why didn’t you?” Cas countered, frustration still billowing inside of him. The shocked look on Dean’s face at his confession wouldn’t slow him down, not this time.

“Do you find it enjoyable to toy with me Dean? It’s good to hear your voice. That was cruel. You had to know what that would do to me, because I know you knew how I felt about you. How I feel about you, even now, when I’m exceptionally angry with you.”

“Cas I didn’t-”

“After everything we’ve been through. I pulled you from hell with my bare hands, I found my way back to you in the dark every time. I rebelled for you. I died for you. And this is what you give me? You call me friend? We’re more than that and you know it.”

Dean didn’t seem to have an answer, but the angel couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. 

“Sam told me what you were like when I was in The Empty. You didn’t leave your room, you drank too much. He said he’d never seen you in that much pain. And you were about to do that to me, to put me through that, when you had a choice? And to top it off, you weren’t going to tell me?” 

“Cas I-” He tried again, but Cas wouldn’t let him get any more words out. 

“I am the only one who would be here. I would hear you crying out for eternity Dean, after everyone else is gone. Even if you weren’t praying to me, you are a frequency I can’t turn off. You might as well just kill me if you’re going to seal yourself in that coffin.”

“I don’t have a choice! Do you think this is easy for me? It’s Michael.”

“I don’t care! Don’t you get that? What can I say to make you understand?” 

“Cas I get it. But we’re talking about the world here. The entire frickin’ world, that Michael wants to turn to ash, in case you forgot.”

And suddenly Cas was far too close, his chest almost pressing into Dean’s. The hunter took a step away, but his back met the hard metal of the shelves, knocking over some supplies in the process. 

“I don’t care about the world. I care about you.”

“Cas. Please.” His voice was wavering, his confidence in his own plan faltering. He didn’t want to leave, he wasn’t sure he could anymore. And as if to drive the final nail in, Cas leaned forward, stethoscope bumping between their chests. And he kissed him. 

Every last bit of resolve he had melted away as their lips met. They’d both imagined this happening 1,000 different ways, but never quite like this (Cas as a doctor had been involved in a few of Dean’s scenarios, he had to admit). They never imagined this kind of desperation, the heat of each other as they grabbed onto one another. Dean’s scabbed fingernails broke open as he clung to the front of Cas’ lab jacket, leaving red speckles against the white. He pulled his angel as close as he could, their lips crashing against each other like waves on the shoreline, sure and true. 

When they finally broke for air, it was for Dean. He was panting, but Cas was as steady as always. He pressed their foreheads together, letting Dean catch his breath. 

“So that’s what I had to do, to make you see.” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement. 

“Make me see what?” Dean almost laughed his question, adrenaline pumping.

“You are my world. You and Jack and Sam. The rest can burn if it has to. I’m not going to lose you. I can’t.”

“Okay Cas. Okay.”

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

A full circle (Destiel Coda 14x12)

Dean walked out of the room, and was surprised to find Cas standing there - just standing there, so still and unmoving, looking out the window. He had his back to Dean, but as he heard his steps, come up to right beside him, Cas turned to face the hunter, with the smallest of smiles on his face. Dean didn’t even have to think before he mirrored him.

“What’re you doing here?” Dean asked, following Cas’ previously enraptured gaze to seek out the object of interest, but finding nothing quite so striking, but the backyard of the little motel, trees blocking out the rest of the view, and the dark blue sky, speckled with shiny stars. “Stargazing, huh?”

“No.” Cas spoke simply, but the weight of his words hung over Dean’s head with those grave blue-tinged eyes. “Sam needed to talk to you. You needed to converse alone. I was merely giving you some,” he paused. “Personal space.”

At those words, Dean almost shuffled on his feet, maybe edging a little closer to Cas - a fraction of a scene playing out in his head - or maybe he edged a little further away, speaking mostly to himself, “Didn’t you need to talk to me too?”

But if Cas heard him, and Dean could bet he did, he didn’t respond; agreeably silent, as if it was Dean’s turn to speak again.

Dean obliged, and begun to fill the heavy silence with his words, muttering and ranting. “He needed to talk, alright. I swore I thought I was handling it all well this time, the going away part, but looks like I didn’t, after all. Don't remember the last time Sammy cried in front of me - hell, I don't even remember the last time he hit me when either of us weren’t freakin’ possessed.”

“I should -” Cas made a gesture towards Dean, reaching out to cup his face, his eyes concerned. “I should heal you -”

“No!” Dean took a step back, maybe a bit too fast. “I mean, you don't need to. This is nothing, Cas. Kid’s got a good right hook, but I probably need this,” He gently touched his face, swollen and bluish. “A reminder of the sense he knocked into me, let’s call it.” There was only a breath of laughter, at the pun made without meaning to, and it all came from Dean.

“That’s the reminder?” Cas repeated, as if he were paying attention to each syllable Dean spoke, and if that weren’t true, perhaps he’d move his eyes from Dean’s when he spoke, but there they stayed, and there, Dean whimpered.

“Don't make it sound like that,” He begged. “I don't need a bruise on my face to remind me why I stayed. I know why, I wouldn’t forget it,” Dean slowed down, just looking at Cas, letting himself feel. “Not when it’s right in front of my eyes, every moment I’m awake.”

Again, if Cas noticed, he didn’t react. But the serenity, probably forced, was wearing off. “So, the words spoke louder than the actions.” He remarked, simply.

“Sure did.”

“You do believe in us,” Cas repeated, looking at Dean even more intently, and saying it as a statement and not a question, and God, Dean loved him for that.

“I do! But also,” He paused, judged the moment, but he couldn’t take it anymore, and he let it out in a breath. “This isn’t goodbye!”

Cas froze, and his eyes fell to the ground.

Dean was probably too far gone, to be called back to disciplined appropriation. “How could you say that to me, Cas? You asked me if it was goodbye?” The latter’s eyes darkened. “No! It isn’t goodbye, because it couldn’t be just a goddamned goodbye!”

“That’s what you had in mind, Dean,” Cas didn’t sound like he was defending himself, he was still detached enough to make Dean hurt, but at least he sounded like he was accusing Dean. “It was your grand idea to go away like that. It could’ve been the last time I saw you, if you planned to be gone forever tomorrow morning. What was it, then, if not a pathetic attempt at farewell?”

Dean clenched his fists. “I have no idea what it was! I’m not the one holding the wheel here, I’m just trying to do the best I can! But you’re all making it so difficult - do you have any idea what that made me feel like, Cas? It made me feel like I’m abandoning you once more, I’m letting you down - it made me feel like the entire choice, the whole idea was the wrong one!”

“Then I managed to convey exactly what I wanted.” Cas staccatoed.

“Why don't you see it?” Dean had to resist the urge to yell, if only it’d get past Cas. “I don't have a choice here! Maybe I don't do it tomorrow, maybe I do it next Sunday. But it’s gotta be done, Cas, because the alternative is worse! Michael possessing me to destroy the World? To destroy everyone I care for?”

Cas fell silent, but his silence held a complacent argument.

“You’ve gotta be nuts to choose me over that, Cas.” The argument faded away.

“I have to,” Cas let out, and for a moment, the barrier holding every emotion in place threatened to break, just like the door in Dean’s mind. “Even if you’ve got to do this - if you have to get away, there are other ways! Why not just go to another Universe, Dean? Another galaxy? I know I can’t fly us there anymore, but there are ways it can be achieved. Does it have to be just you, in that box, on the bed of the Pacific, alone?”

Dean couldn’t believe his ears. “Are you seriously stupid enough to want to come with me?”

“Why can’t I?” Cas threw back, working up into a familiar righteous rage, standing tall and firm. “What use am I to Heaven, anymore? How much of an angel do I even remain? I don't have any other family. If this is about Jack -”

“It isn’t about that!” Dean clutched the windowsill, tearing his eyes away from the angel, lest he see his tears. “It’s about me! What do you think will happen when the door comes off it’s hinge, Cas? It won’t be you and me, it’d be Michael and you!” Cas took a step back, surprised at Dean’s tone.

Dean continued. “Do you remember how you said once, that you’d be the one who’d stay till the last? Everyone would be dead, and I would’ve killed them, but you’d remain, and you’d have to see me do it all, and you’d be there when no one else would!? This wouldn’t be like that. Because this time, you won’t be there either.” He felt Cas’ hand on his shoulder, as he went on. “You think Michael wouldn’t kill you too, Cas? You’re - you’re one of the things that make me fight - to come back to the surface, you think you wouldn’t be removed - one of the biggest thorns in his path?”

Cas refused to listen, knew that giving in would most likely mean that Dean would proceed with his suicidal plan, and replied with anger he didn’t feel, since he felt his side crumbling with Dean’s heartfelt justifications, probably run over in his head a million times before. “And, what about now, Dean? What do you think we’ll do without you?”

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off. “Did you think we’d go on as usual, when you’re gone? Do you think Sam will ever hunt again, without his brother? Do you think Mary will? Dean, what do you think I’d do?” And there a pause, languid. “Life itself would cease to be like living, and I doubt I could even face Jack anymore. I’ve known of humanity from you, I’ve loved it, beginning from what I saw of you.”

Dean fell silent, his eyes meeting Cas’ once more, and the blue-eyed ones now glossy and unclear. Cas continued to speak, because it felt like Dean had given him leave to, finally.

“I rebelled,” Cas spoke, a little softer, boundlessly more soft than the same words once spoken to a younger Dean, pushed up against the brick wall by a frisky, furious angel. “I did it - all of it - for you. I gave everything for you.” There was a transition, when Cas stopped calling back on old memories, and leaned in towards the hunter, not quite pushing him up against the wall, than pushing back his arguments of leaving. “How do you, Dean Winchester, talk of leaving, and not expect to be stopped?”

Silence reigned for a moment, and words unspoken were exchanged.

“It’s not that I want to leave.”

“Why don't you say that more often and let us try, let us try again Dean, and watch us get rid of Michael by any means necessary?”

“You’re -” Dean stopped himself, closing his eyes, and biting his lip. The tears threatened to fall, and Dean couldn’t have that. “Okay.”

Cas waited for more.

“You win.” Dean breathed out. “I said, okay. And I really mean it this time, I swear.”

“You didn’t, the last time?” There might’ve been the beginnings of a smile, a triumphant one, on Cas’ face. “Didn’t you mean it, when you said that to Sam?”

“I did.” Dean defended. “I meant it, and I really do believe in all of us, Cas. But I wasn’t - I wasn’t sure it’d actually make a difference. It was more like pushing back the inevitable. A longer probation period. But now.” He actually smiled back, and the way Cas’ eyes lit up on seeing that, Dean would never be able to express with his vocabulary.

“What now?”

Dean shrugged, and it was enough.

Perhaps, just perhaps, Cas smiled back at him. There was no movement, but that of his eyes, yet his smile just deepened, and in that moment, it was worth it. In that moment, there was the real amicable kind of silence, one which isn’t interrupted by archangels banging on doors in your brain.

“Let’s go in, Cas,” Dean finally spoke, and when he did, he put his own hand on Castiel’s back. “It’s getting late. Maybe you should try sleeping today; it just feels like one of those nights when celestial beings who don't need sleep, should sleep.”

“I don't agree,” Cas replied, in a manner which was so completely Cas, that Dean’s heart broke yet healed a piece. “I’ll -”

“Nightly rounds of the planet, performing miracles on all the needy, like the old days?”

Cas grinned, his eyes twinkling, and the glimmer in them not dimmed even by the stupidly spontaneous mention of a time when he had had wings by Dean. “No, not tonight. But, just like the ‘old days’,” He paused, probably for dramatic effects because Dean knew every inch of him too well by now, “I could watch over you.”

They’d reached inside the room by now, where Sam lay, completely knocked out, the sounds of his muffled breathing audible though his face was against the pillow - and Dean landed on the bed next to it, crossing his legs as he sat on the edge and watched Cas sit down on a chair. “That’s not happening,” He retorted. “But least I could do for you, is get you off that chair and give you an actual place on the mattress, until I really need to sleep, which is none too soon. Just get Sam’s laptop, he won’t know, and I’ll find us something to watch.”

“I’d say you needed to sleep, Dean.”

“Could’ve been my,” Dean hesitated for a moment, before getting over himself and letting it out. “Last night on Earth, Cas, sleeping doesn’t seem to be worth it. Why, you busy? What are your plans?”

They shared a knowing look, and it was all good in that moment, as Cas said exactly what Dean knew he’d say. “I just thought I’d sit here quietly."

***

I HAD to add this, for those of you who don’t remember: 

[spn-destiel-enthusiast]

14x12 Deancas Coda

The conversation Dean and Cas should have had.

“So then, this is goodbye?”

Those words hit Dean like a ton of bricks. And the look on Cas’s face isn’t helping. He can see the heartbreak in Cas’s eyes.

Just as he goes to answer, Sam interrupts them. “Guys. Check this out.”

Dean turns around and glares at Sam. “Right now, isn’t a good time.”

Sam looks at Dean and then at Cas and nods. “Uh, right. I’ll leave you to it,” he says turning and going back in the room.

Dean takes a deep breath and turns back to face Cas. “You want to talk? Let’s talk.”

“Now, you want to talk?”

“I’d prefer not to talk about this, but it’s obviously something that you’re not going to let go, so let’s talk Cas.”

Cas squints at Dean. “Why weren’t you going to tell me? Or Jack?”

Dean drags his hand down his face. “I told you, this isn’t easy on me and I’m not very good at goodbyes,” he admits.

“Don’t you get it Dean! There doesn’t have to be any goodbyes. We can fix this, like we always do.”

Dean takes a step towards Cas, anger written all over his face. “Don’t you get it Cas! There is no other way! This is the only way to make sure Michael doesn’t destroy the world!”

Cas clenches his hands at his sides and breathes hard through his nose. “We always find a way Dean! You think just because Billie handed you that book with the solution, you think it’s the only way, but it’s not!” he says through grit teeth.

“Cas,” he whispers, closing his eyes. “I have to do this.”

“Dean Winchester, how dare you call me earlier and tell me it’s good to hear my voice, without even telling me what you were planning to do. And how dare you, not even bother telling goodbye, after everything we’ve been through in the last ten years,” Cas says, voice completely wrecked.

Dean opens his eyes and can see the unshed tears shinning in Cas’s dark, blue eyes. “Cas, do you know how badly I wanted to call you tell you my plan? Do you know how badly I would rather stay here with you, Sam and Jack? Now, do you see why I can’t even tell you goodbye? You mean to damn much to me man,” he whispers.

Cas takes a step towards Dean and places his hand on his arm. Dean leans into Cas’s touch and breathes a little bit easier. “And this is why I can’t let you do this. You mean too much to me as well Dean. And I said it once and I’ll say it again, I love you.”

Deans heart starts racing and he covers Cas’s hand with his own. “I know. But you have to let me do this Cas, you just gotta. And uh, I-I,” he stops and takes a deep breath, urging his mind to stop racing. “I love you too,” he finally spits out.

Cas smiles sadly at Dean. “Well then, this is goodbye Dean.”

“Yeah, I guess it is. Come on, let’s get in there before Sam wears a hole into the ground with his pacing.”

Cas nods and leads the way into Donatello’s room. Sam fills them in and they get Donatello to wake up. Dean tells Cas to fill him in on everything he’s missed and he leaves the room.

Cas spends the time filling Donatello in on everything and leaves when he reassures him that he’ll be okay and will be in touch with him and the Winchester’s. Cas nods, not wanting to tell Donatello that it’ll just be Sam soon.

Instead he leaves the room and exits the building, wanting to tell Dean that he wants to go with him, because he wants Dean to know that he loves him and will support him in whatever he wants to do.

But when he approaches Sam and Dean, Dean looks over at Cas and says, “Let’s go home.”

Cas let’s Deans words wash over him and he silently thanks whoever is listening for Dean changing his mind. They then get in the impala and head home.

[zipegs]

Coda to 14.12: Prophet and Loss

The drive back to the bunker passes in relative silence. Even Castiel, who hadn’t poured himself out onto the pavement in some long overdue attempt at catharsis like he and Sam had back at the hospital, seems reluctant to puncture the bubble of quiet hope that shudders inside the Impala’s four doors.

Whatever the reason, Dean is grateful. He’s tired, and his jaw hurts, and he doesn’t have the energy to do much more than cling to the steering wheel and let Baby guide his family home. He can see Sam’s face out of the corner of his eye, somber yet determined, illuminated in brief flashes of light that slide wetly over the Impala’s sleek back.

He doesn’t dare glance back at Cas.

When they finally arrive, Dean is slow to put the car in park and kill the engine, and even once its steady purr has choked off into thick silence, the three of them just sit there for a moment in the dark.

Sam is the first to move, swiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand, and he pushes the passenger door open with a deafening creak. He shoves it shut. Dean can hear his footsteps thumping around to the rear of the car, the brush and slide of a duffle bag being pulled out of the trunk. In the back seat, Castiel, too, begins to stir, slipping out and into the garage.

Dean shoves a hand through his hair and tries to pull himself together.

When he finally emerges, Sam has already gone inside. He can picture the look his brother probably shared with Cas over the hood of the car, the eyes he likes to make when he thinks that Dean isn’t watching. The thought pisses him off, but he’s too drained to linger on it for long.

Cas is leaning against the car, his back pressed up against her metal frame, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trench coat. Behind him, the trunk is still popped, its jaw unhinged and ready to strike.

Dean’s not sure what to make of it all. In the wake of his promise, he feels both relief and terror—hope is an open wound in his chest. He feels scooped out, hollow despite the archangel locked deep in the recesses of his mind. He has never been good with words, never known how to articulate his feelings in any particularly meaningful way, and so when he catches Castiel’s eye he simply quirks his lips and lets a hand rest on the angel’s shoulder. Dean holds it there for a moment, and then when he walks past, he allows it to fall. It slides down the front of Cas’s trench coat, palm sliding over thick khaki, fingers catching on smooth brown buttons.

Cas’s eyes follow him as he makes his way to the trunk, ducking behind the open hatch and burying his face so he doesn’t have to meet his gaze. Dean slings his duffel over his shoulder, wraps his fingers around the lid of the trunk and slams it shut.

“I’m not giving up.”

He stills, the palm of his hand flat against the car’s cool metal. He doesn’t look at Cas. The words hover in the air between them, and Dean waits for them to dissipate.

“Cas—” he says finally, quiet and pleading. The night swallows his voice whole. Don’t do this, he wants to beg. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. But Castiel has never been good at taking orders—he’s always had a penchant for rebellion, even from the start.

“You said back at the hospital that when the time comes, we have let you go. Sam may have agreed to that, but I certainly didn’t.”

Dean exhales, a huff of breath that’s hot with frustration. He shakes his head, rubs a hand over his mouth. The blooming bruise on his jaw is a dull ache, and pain flares under his fingers as he worries the spot where Sam’s fist struck bone. “What do you want me to say, Cas?” he asks after a moment, turning to face him. “I said I’m willing to try, okay? I—”

I don’t want to die.

The words are on the tip of his tongue, but he bites them off, looks down and away instead. He feels like he’s 29 again, staring down an eternity in Hell. It’s the first time since then that he can remember feeling like this—like there’s something worth holding onto. Something worth reaching for. That’s the kicker, isn’t it? The moment Dean wants to keep fighting is the moment it’s no longer an option.

“Dean.”

Sometime during their conversation, Cas has moved around the car to stand beside him. He puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder, digs his fingers into the flesh that hides under his jacket. Even through three layers of fabric, the feeling is electric. He can’t help but look up—Castiel has always had a way of drawing Dean’s eye, and now, this close, it’s a magnetic pull he can’t hope to overcome.

“We’ll find another way.”

He sounds so sure, so firm. Castiel is nothing if not sturdy, and Dean has been standing on his own for far too long. He swallows, blinking against the burn in his throat, the sudden blurring of his vision. A shaky breath shudders its way into his lungs.

Cas slides his hand around to cup the back of his neck, and Dean’s breath punches out of him. Heat blooms under Cas’s hand, radiating down his spine and into the pit of his stomach. The touch is soft but sure, fingers curling against the nape of Dean’s neck, brushing against his hairline. He’s looking at Dean like he’s worth something. Like he’s worth saving.

It’s too much. He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against Castiel’s, fingers clutching at the lapels of his trench coat. Tears have begun to gather in his lashes, spilling hot and terrified down his cheeks.

“You don’t have to do this alone.” Castiel’s voice is a low murmur. They’re so close that Dean can feel the heat of his breath. If he tilted his head, leaned forward another three inches, they’d be kissing.

“I’m scared, Cas,” he admits. He feels small and impossibly young, a boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’s not sure how much more he can bear before he breaks.

“I know.” Castiel’s thumb is rubbing small circles into the back of his neck, his other hand pressing against the small of Dean’s back. “I can feel it.”

That startles a laugh out of him—Dean nearly chokes on it, taking a moment to pull back and wipe sheepishly at his eyes. “Thanks, man,” he says, trying for sarcastic and falling a little short, “that’s really encouraging.”

Castiel’s gaze is soft and fond and maybe a little sad. He’s moved his hand to cup Dean’s cheek, and Dean flushes at the intimacy of the touch. “I’m with you, Dean,” he says, quiet and earnest. “I mean it. I’m not giving up, and I won’t let you.” Dean’s eyes catch on the bob of Cas’s Adam’s apple as he swallows. The twist of his lips turns a little uncertain. “Nothing is worth losing you.”

Cas’s palm is a brand on his skin. Dean feels too hot, despite the winter chill that bites at the tip of his nose, the exposed skin on his hands. This is what he was afraid of, back when he was trying to pull this whole thing off without Castiel finding out. This is the kind of hope he didn’t want to have to face, the kind of love he knew he couldn’t bear to leave.

Cas leans in, and Dean can’t help but follow.

Read on AO3

[mattzerella-sticks]

Unwritten (a Dean/Cas spec coda for 14x12)

(Link to fic - click here)

Dean's plan - the lone happy ending in all his books - didn't work. Spiraling in a depression, he is left adrift in the seas of destiny, feeling like they're pushing him towards a fate he cannot bear. What makes it worse is the lighthouse shining from across the way, acting as if he has any choice in stopping himself from hitting the rocky shore.

Why can't Castiel get the hint?

           Dean hadn’t changed out of his wet clothes yet. He slumped into the first chair he saw, ignorant to Sam’s cries. It didn’t matter to him, whether the seawater would stain the cushions like they might have done to the leather interior of his car. Or that he could catch a cold if he stayed dressed like he was. ‘Nothing matters now, since it didn’t work…’ His melancholy clung like to him like the salty sea spray, every deep inhale another reminder that his fate had been sealed – unlike his box.

           Sam retired for the night, promising to tackle the problem come morning. His inspiring speech didn’t have any effect; Dean’s mind stuck back with the Ma’lak Box as it slowly sank deeper and deeper into the dark ocean. Empty, with its door swung wide. Like how he was feeling. Like how his prison will soon be. ‘I should be there with it, like in the book.’

           It’d be easier to deal with, except people kept shining lights in his direction. Flashing them over, exposing the daunting bleakness that was inside. It was Castiel’s turn now. Castiel, who sat across from him, staring. Looking at him with eyes as blue as the ocean he tried drowning himself in. His hands folded over themselves in mock prayer. Dean couldn’t take it.

           “Hey,” he barked, “You got anything better to look at?” Castiel shrugged. His lack of response, only further angered Dean. “You’re not gonna say anything either?”

           “What is there to say?”

           “That you were right… and it didn’t work,” Dean said, “How it was hopeless to try and I shouldn’t have even attempted it because it was always going to fail because I’m a failure and nothing ever goes right –“

           “I’d never say that, Dean.”

           “But… But…” Head hung, he rubbed at his eyes with the palm of his hands, “But it’s true…”

           Castiel sighed. “Dean –“

           “No, Cas, I don’t… I don’t want to hear it.”

           “You have no idea what I was about to say.”

           “I know enough. I know you’re glad I’m here and not locked away with nothing but fish and Michael for company.”

           His angel huffed, pulling back. Dean knew he stabbed at a nasty wound, the memory of their conversation in the hospital still fresh for both of them. “And what if I am? Is that a terrible thing?”

           “Don’t know how it’s not.”

           “Maybe the fact we’re here talking is a good thing,” Castiel said, “That we have another chance to free you from Michael –“

           “There isn’t another chance, Cas!” Dean cried, “This was it! And now I get a front row ticket to watch Michael destroying the world and everyone I care about.”

           “You don’t know that –“

           “And where do you get off, anyway?” he asked, “Talking about chances. Seemed like you were pretty fine accepting that deal with the Empty – enough to not tell us about it.” He twisted the knife deeper, sickeningly enjoying the look of regret on Castiel. “If you didn’t catch me with the box, were you ever going to? Or were you just gonna disappear one day and leave us to wonder if you finally had enough of playing human?”

           “I… This isn’t the same thing, Dean.”

           “Bullshit. You make a promise with an all-powerful creature to sacrifice yourself for someone else – it’s like staring into a fucking mirror!”

           “Are you going to blame yourself for this, too?” Castiel asked, tone bitter and biting, “Use this to feel even worse? Dull the pain with even more pain until you just numb completely?”

           “Seems like all I’m good for these days…”

           “You… you…” Castiel slammed his fist down on the table, shaking it. He stood, shoving the chair back, scraping against the floor. His shoulders heaved with the righteousness of his anger. Dean shrunk under his powerful gaze, burning with his grace. “I am my own person who can make my own decisions. Not everything is about you or because of you. The world might be on your shoulders, Dean Winchester, but most of it finds you completely irrelevant. There are people around the globe who can go about their days without thinking ‘Is this what Dean Winchester would do?’ And there are people here who can do the same. Like me you… you wet, sad sack of flesh.”

           Dean was stunned. Castiel stilled, but poured his fury out around him, the raw emotion making the air around him crackle with intense electricity. Inside Dean’s own body, a rush of emotions fought for control. He wasn’t sure which won, too worn down by the nothing previously occupying his body to identify it. But he was laughing, and tears streamed down his face.

           His angle startled. “Why are you laughing?” Castiel asked, head skewed to the right, “Why are you… why are you crying?”

           Dean shook his head. “I have no idea, Cas,” he said, “I have no idea what I’m doing…” He dropped his face into his hands, shaking with the overwhelming weight crushing him, sweeping over him like a tidal wave. Michael pounded even harsher than before, and he felt the lock bend further than it has ever gone.

           In an instant, a strong set of arms enveloped him. “Shh, Dean… it’s okay…” Castiel whispered, stroking his hair back and forth. Dean snuck a peek out from between his fingers. Castiel kneeled beside him, all the anger gone, replaced with something even deeper: worry.

           “It’s not okay,” Dean said, “I’m going to lose my body and you’re going to disappear…”

           Castiel smiled. “If it makes you feel any better, the Empty wouldn’t have the satisfaction of taking me if Michael kills me.”

           “That really doesn’t Cas…”

           Castiel nodded, lapsing back into silence. He continued petting his hair, the motion relaxing him. Dean leaned into it, humming. “You know,” Dean said after a while, “things were really starting to look up for us. That’s what makes this suck a whole lot more.”

           “Yes.” Castiel clucked his tongue, sighing. “You know I didn’t mean any of what I said.”

           “You weren’t wrong,” Dean said, “I am very irrelevant.”

           “Not to the people who care about you. Not to Sam or Jack or… or me,” Castiel told him, “I… didn’t want to burden you with this information. I know how much you already carry with you… seen how fractured your mind is. Who am I to add any unnecessary stress when you’re dealing with so many other things at the moment? Besides, this was something I chose to do, and when the time comes, it’ll be for me to handle.”

           “You’re not a burden Cas. Your problems are my problems. You shouldn’t have to face anything alone.”

           “Then why do you choose to do so yourself?”

           Dean looked away, hands fiddling with each other. “I…” He can’t lie to his angel, each untruth drying up in his mouth and turning to dust. “I don’t know. Guess I’m just… used to it. Old habits and all that…” He chuckled, the dark notes echoing in the empty room. “Maybe I’ll never learn… too broken to ever work normally.”

           “You’re not broken, Dean.”

           “I am,” he insisted, “You said it yourself – there are fractures! All in here!” Dean pointed to his head, jabbing at it. “It’s how Michael took control, how he’ll break out. There’s nothing holding my mind together but paperclips and rubber bands. And when he leaves… even that won’t work anymore.”

           He kept at his head, each harsh tap of his finger another painful reminder of his faults. Castiel grabbed at it, holding his hand, pulling it away and back towards his lap. “You misunderstand me, Dean. That’s not what I meant at all,” he explained softly, “Yes there are fractures but… they do not make you weak. Your mind is strong. In all those cracks of fear and sadness I saw thousands of happy memories filling their space. Keeping you whole, keeping you sane. The edges may have been roughed, but you managed to protect yourself from their sharpness. Your scars shone like gold; a testament to the beauty of the human spirit. It made me proud to see how well you hold yourself together, even through all the disasters you suffered through.”

           Dean kept his eyes on Castiel, his speech wrapping around his heart and filling it with warmth. Softness bloomed in him, almost like a wildflower in the spring. “You really think all that?”

           He nodded. “I know it’s scary having Michael in there, and things seem pretty bleak. But you can hold him there until we figure out another plan. And when he’s gone… you will still be here.”

           “I… I’m not sure,” Dean admitted, “I won’t give up but – but it’s hard, all alone –“

           “Then you won’t be alone, Dean,” Castiel said, “I’ll be here to help in any way. Let me show you that you don’t have to handle everything by yourself.” He squeezed Dean’s hand, and he repeated the gesture moments later.

           “Okay… but then you gotta let me do the same.”

           “Dean…”

           “No,” Dean frowned, “If we beat Michael… I want to know you’ll be here the next morning. The Empty ain’t taking you without a fight… and I can get pretty scrappy when people try taking things from me. Especially when it’s something – someone I care about.”

           Castiel laughed, his deep chuckle filling his chest like a deep lungful of fresh air. His angel agreed. “It would be awful when the moment I get to be happy, it’s all for naught.”

           “Well, the good thing about being us Cas is that we don’t get to be happy.”

           “…How is that a good thing?”

           “No, listen,” Dean continued, smiling, “It’s true. People like us don’t get happiness served up on a silver platter. We have to make it for ourselves. Had been for the… for the longest time. But whenever we tried it always seemed to just… fall apart. Knocked over like a stack of cards.” He tangled his fingers with Castiel’s, staring into his eyes. “Maybe because we kept trying alone?”

           “…What are you trying to say Dean?”

           “Say? Nothing,” Dean told him, “I’m just a man, holding back an archangel from destroying the world, asking an angel with the shadow of an ancient entity hanging over him if he’d like to work towards being happy… together?”

           “You want us to re-write our stories?” Castiel asked, “Defy fate?”

           “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

           It was a long pause before Castiel grinned; a gummy thing that made Dean’s engine run. “Of course,” he said, “I want nothing more than to be at your side.”

           “Well all right then.” Then, for a moment, Dean was unsure of what to do next. Castiel was fully occupied with Dean: stroking his hair, squeezing his hand, gazing at him as if he shone better than the brightest treasures on Heaven and Earth. It was the most comforting feeling, and Dean could not hold back the yawn that tore through him.

           “You should get some rest,” Castiel said, “It’s been a long day for you.”

           “For both of us.”

           “I don’t know what you mean?”

           “You could use some shut-eye, too?” Dean asked, hopeful, “And I… I don’t want to be alone.”

           Castiel understood. He helped Dean up, and while still holding hands, guided him to his room. Dean let Castiel take the lead, for once happy to be out of control. There wasn’t anything for him to be worried about if he let the tide pull him. He didn’t need to fight.

           Because – for the first time since he was locked away – Michael was quiet.

           Billie couldn’t catch a break. It happened while she was filling out paperwork, going over ledgers of all the people who passed that day, and building schedules for her reapers.

           Her dimension shook, as if their pocket was struck by lightning tossed down from God himself. Billie nearly fell out of her chair. In front of her, the shelves trembled from the strain. One quaked ferociously, as if it proving to be the source of the phenomena. Thankfully, everything stopped almost as soon as it began.

           Reapers flew to her, asking what had happened. She ignored them all, standing, striding over to that one bookshelf. The one marked ‘W’. The one where all the books end the same. During the event, a lone book dropped from the shelves, landing face down on the floor.

           She picked it up, leafing through its pages to make sure nothing bent. They were all still crisp, but something else made her worry. She flipped though it until she hit the end of the book. And when Billie did, she pulled out another one to do the same. Her reapers watched her do this for six more books before she stopped.

           Billie stepped back, unsure of what to do. “I… I can’t believe it…”

           “Billie?” one of her reapers asked, “What’s wrong? What did you read?”

           “…Nothing.”

           Death owned books that detailed the varying ways people would die. This had always been the case since the very first person was born, and Death sprung into existence. No one escaped Death, and the books proved it. Except, for the first time ever, the books were blank.

           Dean Winchester’s books were blank.

[tragidean]

remember me [810] (ao3)

Dean listens to the Impala idle for a good few minutes before he hears Sam even make a move to leave, his sigh radiating disappointment. Head thumping against the steering wheel, he watches Sam peel himself out of the front seat with all the exhaustion of a man that let his anger get the best of him, and slam the door in his wake. The trunk pops open, thunks closed; footsteps echo across the garage, and still, Dean sits, blinking with wet eyes, nose pressed to the center of the wheel.

“Get out of the car,” Castiel says from the backseat, and Dean’s stomach clenches even tighter.

“Come on, man,” Dean groans, hands clasped between his knees. “Already got punched in the face once today, I don’t need—”

“Get out of the car, Dean,” Castiel repeats, patience dwindling—and Dean has never been one to deny him.

Dragging his body out of the front seat takes more effort than necessary, but Dean manages it, feet to the concrete and hands at his sides. He barely gets the door closed before Castiel is on him, arms tucked under his own, hands fisted into the back of his flannel. Less of a hug and more of a grapple, but Dean takes it for what it is, face pressed into Castiel’s neck.

Castiel grips him tighter, jostling him a bit. “I could kill you,” he mutters, nails digging in. Dean’s eyes well, emotion finally pouring free. “But you’d probably like that too much.”

“Cas,” Dean says—attempts to say, heart in his throat and body trembling, and not just from the cold. “Cas, you don’t gotta—”

“Apparently I have to.”

read on ao3

[pray4jensen]

(GIF courtesy of @magnificent-winged-beast)

u know, after some thought, i think the worst part about when dean teases cas by greeting him with that softly uttered “doctor” is the look on his face. like we joke that dean’s losing it because cas is basically dressed up as dr. sexy incarnate, but dean’s not really losing it. 

instead of dean being completely overwhelmed with his fantasies about the medical field and its attractive doctors, he’s looking at cas with fondness in his eyes. he’s looking at cas, knowing that he’s gonna bury himself in the ocean, and when he does, he’s not going to be able to see cas like this again. he’s never gonna walk in on a case anymore, amused to find that cas is already there, dressed up and deeply-entrenched in the mechanics of being a good hunter. 

and so this scene becomes an example where dean isn’t simply taken off-guard by cas’ antics, even if that’s the first interpretation that would fit. instead, it’s a scene that concludes the farewell tour that dean started with his brother, sam. it’s an exchange that could function both as the beginning of a conversation or an exchange that could serve as its end:

cas: “...mr. winchester.”

dean: “doctor.”

instead it’s dean saying good-bye in a way where words can’t fail him. it’s his own private good-bye, for himself, and not for cas, because this good-bye’s not meant to be reciprocal. it’s meant to be dean taking cas in, as the image that he wants to remember, knowing that cas is healthy, knowing that cas isn’t that same bumbling beginner hunter who once had trouble playing good cop, bad cop. 

that cas is ready, that cas will be okay, and that dean’s family, the one that dean worked so hard to keep, will remain intact because cas will be there in his stead to take care of them. 

[winchester-reload]

I accidentally drunk-posted this to ao3 last night, so I might as well post it here too since it’s episode-related. There’s a second half I’m not done with yet, but this bit stands on its own as a coda, or whatever.

Pairing: Dean/Cas

WC: 1400

tags: first, kiss, angst, episode 14x12 pre-coda

also on ao3

Cas came into the bunker like a thunderstorm, expression cloudy and eyes hot enough to start brush fires. He dropped the big book that’d been tucked close to his chest onto the library table in front of Dean, and it coughed dust as the water-warped pages accordioned together, fluffed up again. Kicked the old, thread-bound cover back, revealing the yellow vellum page; Possessionem, atque tutelam &, Vatican Ed. 1723, it said.

Dean uncurled from his book, hands slipping to the edge of the mahogany as he pulled in tight. Cas wasn’t supposed to be back yet. Last text Dean got said maybe Tuesday would see him in Kansas, and that meant Dean wasn’t supposed to have to deal with this. He should have already been gone.

Wonderful.

He cleared his throat. “Who’s your friend?” he asked, trying to keep it light.

“Oh, that?” Cas puffed, carelessly spilling into the chair opposite Dean. The airiness of his response was drowned out by the vinegar he had pickling his words. “It’s a book, Dean.”

“Well, shit, Cas. You don’t say—?”

“Yes. It’s a book that Jack and I managed to track to— and retrieve from—a catacomb in New York. Now, ask me why we went to all that trouble.”

Dean hesitated. Then, “Why?” because he was nothing if not a glutton for punishment.

“Well, because we heard it had some particularly potent protection sigils, which, might— ” He pecked an elbow onto the tabletop, twisted his hand in an overly-animated open shrug “—hypothetically—be beneficial to someone harboring an unwanted invader. Why? What did you do this last week?”

It was baited. Dean didn’t need the all caps, period-after-each-word, version of it to see that. He chewed his cheeks, slid his copy of Vonnegut away. Dog-eared pages flat against the table now until someone else bothered to pick it up. “Okay,” he said scratching his neck. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess you talked to Sam.”

“What would give you that impression?”

“Cas, it’s a ma’lik box—”

“Yes—” Cas said, mocking, “I’m familiar with them.”

It triggered that little muscle twitch at the back of Dean’s jaw. “Okay, here we go—” and Cas shot back out of his chair.

“Jack and I were out trying to find literally anything that might help you, and all the while you were out building some stupid, secret box to go bury yourself in— And you weren’t even going to tell me—? So, yes, Dean. Let’s “go”,” he spat, throwing the quotes. “Why are you so impossible?”

“Alright, back off—” Dean bristled. He wanted to keep it civil—fuck, he needed to. The last thing he wanted was to have to ruminate on a fight with Cas for the next forever-billion-years, but the asshole was a button-pusher. Always had been. “I get it, okay? You’re pissed. You wanna be pissed, be pissed, but it ain’t gonna change anything. Billie said what she said.”

Cas rounded on him surprisingly quick, leveled a look so dark, it practically bred its own shadows. “No,” he said, flat, “you’re right, of course, it doesn’t change anything. But do you know what does, Dean? The fact that you’re lying!”

A fingernail of shame suddenly surprised Dean, twisted into his chest. “No—” he stumbled. This was getting away from him quick. Too quick. He scoffed, smiled, tried to brush it away. “Uh, no. You’re wrong—”

“Uh, yes. I’m right—” Cas contested. “See, because if Billie’s answer was to bury you with Michael at the bottom of the Pacific, there would have been no death note to hand you— because, in that scenario, Dean, you’d never die! And maybe Sam doesn’t know that, but I do!” He plucked his chest, tie swinging as he leaned in. It dredged up all those old, angelic chills Dean had filed in the archives of his memory; the weight Cas carried with him like churning ozone when he was all keyed up. “So, why don’t you tell me what the book really said?” he suggested with a low growl. “What you’re actually running from.”

Dean swallowed, tried to hold Cas’ eye, failed. They were close enough now that Dean was all but boxed in his chair, and butterflies played his pulse in response, kicked his heart up into his throat. “Okay, you’re—” he started. Then, “But, that’s totally—” and he stopped, watched Cas’ balled fists turn white at the knuckles. Fuck. “Did you tell Sam?”

“No, but I will tell him. I’ll tell him right now.”

“Don’t—”

“Then what did it say?”

“It said I die old,” Dean muttered, and it was like prying nails from his ribs just to get it out. “ It said I die happy. Natural causes. No Michael. No monsters.”

Cas blinked, caught off guard. The anger in his face diffused then fused again into something so much more knotted up. “I don’t understand—”

“There’s nothing to understand because it doesn’t matter! All the rest of ‘em said I die bad, Cas. All of ‘em! Michael burnin’ me out while he destroys the world—!”

“How does ignoring this one spot of hope fix that?”

“That ain’t hope! I don’t know what to do with that— I don’t even know where to begin to try to make something like that happen! The box is what fixes it! The box, I know how to do!”

Cas’ fingers spread, hands coming up like he wanted to strangle Dean, but couldn’t bring himself to get close enough. “Did it ever occur to you—?” he said slowly. Eyes rolling closed before peeling open again. “—that, maybe, your first step in accomplishing a happy ending, is to stop running? To stop this— suicidal ideation? To just... love, and let people love you?”

Dean shook his head, Cas’ words pooling at the hinge of his jaw and making it hurt. “It wouldn’t matter,” he said, looking at the bookshelves, the corners. Anywhere but Cas.

“Why—?”

“Because no one's gonna love me—” Dean spilled. “Who’s gonna love me like this? An archangel stuffed up in my attic and the rest of me so fucking screwed to hell, I can’t even sleep on a good night!”

Cas balled hands into his own chest, shoulders high and body tight like they were both about to go over some invisible cliff if he didn’t stop the vehicle soon. “I love you!” he pleaded. “Sam loves you! Your family— You are not unloved, Dean!” He had tears in his eyes, but it was easier to ignore them.

Dean shut his eyes, heat washing him. The image of Cas dying on an old couch at the back of the barn flared fresh in his brain— I love you, I love all of you— He tried to swallow it, but it was too sour. Tried to rub it away with the heel of his hand, but it only spread, made speckles. He shook his head, instead, pulled his already loose collar looser. “No, I… Not that kinda love,” he said quietly.

Cas suddenly deflated, arms falling to his sides, weight shifting between his feet. He sunk to the floor at Dean’s knees, looked up, face raw and open and done. “Sam loves you,” he said again quietly. “Jack loves you. Your mother—”

“Cas—”

“—loves you…” He suddenly touched Dean’s knee, stretched up onto his own, wedged between Dean’s legs, quiet and hot, cheeks wet with tears as he pulled all that electric energy in. “But, I—” He grabbed Dean’s face, cradled it between his hands as Dean’s fingers clawed into the fabric at Cas’ sleeve— holding him there, holding him back, he wasn’t sure which. “I love you,” Cas whispered. Something in Dean cracked, split open. He let their foreheads brush. Their noses.

Let Cas kiss him, soft and slow.

Cas kissed like he’d imagined it a thousand times, mapped it. Studied it over and over and over again, until every jump of his lips timed with the thrum of Dean’s heartbeat. The curl of his fingers at Dean’s jaw.

Then it broke, quick as it started, but Cas and all his hasty energy didn’t move back. Neither did Dean. “I don’t know another way to say it,” Cas admitted to the small space between them. His voice finally wavered, broke. His hands uncurled, flat palms drying the tears Dean didn’t know he’d lost. “You have to tell me because I don’t know.”

Dean suddenly remembered to breathe and it came in sharp and unsure. It came in with the smell of Cas and a hit of his blue eyes close enough to taste. Dean swallowed the salt building in the back of his throat and dug his voice out of Cas’ rubble. “That was it,” he whispered back. “You just said it.”

And it seemed utterly ridiculous how everything suddenly felt so simple.

[fangirlingtodeath513]

frustrations & fantasies | a 14x12 coda

read here on ao3

Dean tries to follow Sam down the hallway that leads to their rooms when they get back to the bunker. It’s been a long few days, mentally and physically, and he wants nothing more than to lay in his memory foam and finally let the tension ebb out of his body. Cas has other ideas, apparently. Almost as soon as Sam’s back is turned, Cas’s fingers close around Dean’s bicep, gently but insistently keeping him in place.

Once Sam’s door shuts, Dean turns to face his best friend with a frown. “What’s up, Cas?”

Frowning right back, Cas lets go of his arm. “We never finished the conversation that Sam interrupted.”

Humming quietly, Dean shrugs. “Nothing to finish, plan’s off. Let’s go get some rest, man. I know you don’t sleep, but you could probably use a hibernation, at least.”

Cas crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow at Dean. Dean glares right back, but there’s no heat behind it. With a sigh, he waves a hand at Cas, signaling that the angel continue.

“Just because you called the plan off doesn’t mean you won’t go back to it the second something goes wrong. I know you, Dean, I know how you operate.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t deny it. He can’t. Cas is right, and they both know it. “What do you want me to say, Cas?”

“I want you to talk to us next time, Dean.” His reply is soft and exasperated and he can practically hear the eye roll Cas keeps himself from adding. “Sam and I both want to help you, but we can't do that if you don’t tell us what’s going on.” Frowning, Cas’s voice grows softer, “secrets between the three of us never do any good.”

Dean snorts. “That’s funny, coming from you. You’ve been hiding something for weeks, now.”

Cas nods stiffly, eyes downcast. “I didn’t get the opportunity to tell you before-“ he cuts himself off, but Dean gets where he was going with it.

“Then tell me know.”

Cas looks up at him and sighs. “I don’t want it to set you off again. We just convinced you to abandon your idiotic plan, I don’t want you jumping right back to it.”

“I won’t,” he promises, taking a tentative step closer. “Tell me.”

Cas glares at him for a moment but relents, shoulders slumping. “Jack’s return wasn’t as no-strings-attached as I led you to believe. When I went to Heaven, the entity from the Empty was there. It was attacking Heaven to get Jack’s soul, claiming he belonged in the Empty because of his half angel side.”

“Cas, please tell me you didn’t,” Dean begs, a frustrated groan leaving him when Cas’s gaze drops to the floor.

“I didn’t have a choice, Dean. I couldn’t let Jack go to that place, it was my only option.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Alright, well, when’s it coming, then? Let’s figure out a way to beat it.”

Cas’s gaze snaps up to Dean and he silently thanks Chuck that angels don’t have the power to smite with looks, because with the look Cas is giving him, he’d be dead. “So you’ll concern yourself with other people’s problems, but as soon as it’s you, you’re off to the bottom of the ocean, or being launched into space?”

Dean sputters, trying to string together a coherent sentence. Cas doesn’t give him a chance, he just barrels right through, “Why are you so unimportant that you can fling yourself into the metaphorical and physical abyss to save people but as soon as I do the exact same thing, you treat me like I’m a child who doesn’t know any better?”

“Because-”

“No, no ‘because’, don’t try to reason your way out of this. You’re self-destructing and I’m not just going to stand by and watch you do it. I’ve been around too long and seen too many things to let you get away with this.”

“Get away with it? I’m not getting away with anything, Cas. I have an archangel in my head that’s hell-bent on destroying the world, sorry for trying to be a little proactive in not letting him destroy the world!”

Cas’s glare only sharpens. “That’s bullshit and you and I both know it. You’re terrified that you won’t be able to contain him and that it’ll be your fault if anything happens, so you’re going to punish yourself by spending the rest of eternity at the bottom of the ocean with a petulant archangel that’s trying to destroy Chuck’s toys.”

Petulant? How arrogant, the stupid archangel voice in his head mutters. Dean shakes it away, crossing his arms over his chest. Cas is right, of course. He’s well acquainted with the motives behind Dean’s choices, so he supposses he shouldn’t be surprised that Cas figured it out. “What do you want me to say, Cas? It would be my fault. I’m the one that chose to let him in, I’m the idiot that believed he’d actually leave once he killed Lucifer.”

Cas rolls his eyes so hard his entire body shifts and he steps back out of Dean’s space to stare into his eyes, nose scrunched in annoyance. “Anyone in your position would’ve done the same thing, Dean. You were protecting your family. You’re not to blame here. That doesn’t mean you’re not being an idiot, but you’re not to blame for this situation.”

Dean nods once, though he doesn’t believe it. He knows this is all his fault. If he’d just been strong enough to eject Michael for good…

“Stop,” Cas murmurs, head tilted. “I know where your head’s going. Stop thinking like that, Dean. I assure you, it’s not because you’re not strong enough. Michael is a conniving, petulant archangel who will do whatever he has to to win, in any reality. You’re overcome him once. This time, you’ve got me, Sam, and Jack behind you, and the entire network of hunters you and Sam helped create. We’ll figure it out.”

Dean nods again, eyes slipping shut and throat bobbing as he swallows. “Okay,” he whispers, stubbornly ignoring the crack of his voice in the middle of the word. Cas sweeps him into a hug, his hands bunching up the fabric of Dean’s shirt against his back.

“You need to stop trying to sacrifice yourself at the drop of a hat, Dean,” Cas murmurs, breath hot against Dean’s ear. It sends a shiver through him, so he tightens his arm around Cas and frowns. “Only if you do, too. I don’t wanna lose you, Cas.”

Cas nods once, but Dean can tell he doesn’t believe it. He pulls away, forcing Cas’s arms off and frowns.

“Cas, I’m serious. I don’t want to lose you, either.”

“Why?” Cas asks softly, eyes downcast.

“Why? Dude, you’re my best friend, you’re my family. You’re one of the most important people in the world, to me.”

Cas’s mouth tips down, just enough for Dean to see it, before he forces a smile on his face and nods. “You’re important to me, too, Dean.”

Dean runs a hand through his own hair and heaves a sigh. Now or never, I guess, he thinks, clearing his throat. “You can’t sacrifice yourself because I love you and it’d kill me.”

Cas’s head snaps up so quickly that Dean’s shocked he didn’t break something. “You-what?”

“Don’t make me say it again, man, c’mon.”

“Say it again. Please?”

He swallows against the lump in his throat, voice much softer this time, “I love you.”

There’s a split second where nothing happens and then everything happens at once. His back smacks against the wall and Cas is pressed along the length of his front, mouth colliding with Dean’s hard enough to hurt. He couldn’t care less, though. His hands make their way to Cas’s hips and he pulls his best friend impossibly closer as he melts into the kiss. Every single inch of tension in his body dissipates and the world stops spinning on its axis. Everything finally clicks into place as Cas’s arms wind around his neck and he feels a pleased rumble against his chest.

That’s how Sam finds them a few minutes later; wedged against the wall, grinning against each other’s lips. They finally pull away when they hear his footsteps, but Dean only spares him a half-second glance before he turns his attention back to Cas. “Hey, so, uh… you still got that doctor’s coat?”

Cas rolls his eyes but his mouth tips up in a smile and his hand slips down to grabs Dean’s. “Of course I do. I’m sure you’ve got a pair of cowboy boots to go with it.”

Dean shoots a grin at his brother as he and Cas head down the hallway towards his bedroom. Dean’s got a giddy smile on his face and he’s entirely shameless when he digs out a pair of cowboy boots for Cas to wear. What the hell, Cas ain’t gonna judge him for it. Besides, why pass up the opportunity to fulfill his biggest fantasy?

[letsgobethegoodguys]

Sam was so freaking tired of being strong. Every time his world was ending - every time he was about to lose Dean - he had been strong. Swallowed hard, blinked back the tears. Accepted Dean's hugs and pretended he was gonna be okay. And Sam was sick of it. Dean was choosing to leave him, that selfish son of a... Sam was angry, and he was sick of pushing everything down. As Dean walked towards him out of the hospital, Sam felt the rage bubbling in his chest. He wasn't gonna do it anymore. So when Dean apologized, Sam snapped. "How sorry are you?" He asked. Dean was taken aback, but Sam didn't care. He kept going, the anger surging out of him, attacking his brother with his words. The next thing he knew, he was taking a swing at Dean. Dean's eyes were full of surprise and confusion. When Sam tried to swing again, Dean caught his arm. "Hey, hey, hey," Dean was saying, trying to soothe. Sam felt his anger melt away. He wrapped his arms around Dean tightly, fingers tangled in the back of Dean's jacket. "I believe in us," Sam said, choking the words out around his tears. "Why don't you believe in us too?"

Sam wasn't being strong anymore. He was so tired of pretending he was gonna be okay without his brother. Sam was willing to cling to Dean forever if it only kept him here. Because Sam wasn't strong. Not without Dean.

[ravenscat-tumbler]

Coda 14x12: Prophet and Loss

~ Don’t Wanna Be Alone Tonight ~

“Really?”

“Dean, it’s Cas, I had to tell him.”

“You had to tell him?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

Sam gives him a bitch face, “There is no way I’m going to let you leave without saying goodbye to Cas. He deserves at least that much don’t you think?” Sam asks.

Dean clenches his jaw, swallowing hard.

“Sam, beside you, there is only one other person who can talk me out of this and it’s Cas. You know this. Is that why you told him?” Dean questions.

“Why is that?” Sam asks. “I know he’s your friend, hell he’s your best friend, but is there more? And don’t say he’s like your brother, you and I both know that’s not how you feel.”

“We don’t have time for this, Sam. We have other things we need to worry about.” Dean says, shoving his phone in his pocket.

Sam sighs but doesn’t fight him.

*

“That means that the next prophet will be wired wrong and the next and the next, how do we end this?” Sam asks Castiel, he knows the answer but he doesn’t want to say it, neither does Cas which is why Dean speaks up.

“You know how.” He says looking at Sam.

They all know who he’s really talking about, yet Sam and Castiel refuse to accept it.

*

“You’re making the right choice, your uncle is in a persistent vegetative state, being kept alive by machinery and nothing else. Sometimes letting go is the right choice.” The doctor states.

Dean nods, looking at Sam, “Tell me about it.”

Sam makes a face and follows the doctor towards Donatello’s room.

“Just coincidentally you’re all here at the same time.” The doctor says.

Dean and Sam glance towards one another.

“Dr. Novak.” The doctor says as Castiel walks out of a different room in front of them, “Meet uh…”

“Yes, I know. I know these gentlemen.” Castiel says, glancing towards Sam, “Mr. Winchester,” and then Dean, “and the other Mr. Winchester.” He states almost possessively, staring at him a little longer than necessary.

Dean’s mouth parts as he takes in Castiel dressed in a doctor’s outfit. He licks his lips and smirks.

Read the rest on ao3

[blueberrymamba-blog]

“Dean, installing a tow hitch to carry your own friggin coffin is a new level of drama entirely.” Sam stated bitterly as he watched his brother fighting the uncooperating mechanism behind the Baby. Dean knew the Impalas chassis by heart and Sam knew it shouldn’t take long to install the trailer, but Dean’s hands were shaking and overall restlessness beamed from all over him and could probably be seen from space. It was a miracle Jack haven’t noticed anything, actually.

Dean made an exasperated sigh and turned around.

“I don’t recall asking you for your goddamn opinion, Samantha!” he snarled, looking somewhere over Sam’s shoulder. Ever since Sam learned about his brother’s absolutely foolproof plan, Dean was actively avoiding looking him in the eyes like he was afraid Sam suddenly grew the ability to hypnotize and persuade people into not doing the most stupid thing in their entire life, which by the way was a huge accomplishment if you think about their history with big, bad entities trying to destroy the world because of their mistakes.

“No, you only asked me to support your drama.”

“To which you agreed to. And it’s not any drama, Sam, it’s the only way out of this situation and you know it.”

It was now Sam’s turn to sigh. Yes, he knew it was in fact the only way to stop Michael from drowning their world in blood and ashes, because the whole library and knowledge written by the Men of Letters over decades could not provide any other solution, but it’s not like Sam accepted it with opened arms. There was a time in which he would rather see the world burn than losing his brother, and while he most certainly won’t risk everybody’s lives, he won’t just dump Dean’s overdramatic ass into the ocean. Lock the coffin? Sure, Cas will probably be able to open it again once they actually find the solution. Actually dropping it in the big water? Not a chance. It’s not like Dean is going to do anything about it once the lid is sealed.

He will probably yell at Sam a lot though. Maybe he should think about sealing his lips together as well. Just to be sure.

“Sam, do you hear me? Pass me some gloves, I’ll check the oil as well because I know you won’t do it.”

“What? No, sorry, I was thinking about, uh, Cas.”

Dean froze and finally looked directly at him.

“Cas? What about him?”

“Did he just let you build the coffin and dump it in ocean? Just like that? It’s not really his style.”

Dean suddenly seemed to remember not to look Sam in the eye. He shifted, visually uncomfortable and opened the car’s hood without saying a single word. Sam’s raised his eyebrows so high he could feel his forehead almost disappear.

“Dean…?”

“I didn’t tell him, okay? I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t? You’re going to disappear forever and what, he’s supposed to learn about it when it’s too late?” Sam suddenly got a feeling this conversation isn’t just about telling Cas about the plan. Not entirely.

Dean didn’t answer. He was half-hidden behind the hood and Sam couldn’t see his face, but he was currently polishing the engine oil lid with a piece of cloth instead of pulling the yellow dipstick out, which meant he was only pretending to be busy in hope of Sam dropping the subject.

Sam knew Dean wasn’t good at sharing feelings, which was the reason he had to put up with their mutual bullshit for the past ten years, but this was knew. When Dean thought Amara was going to tear him to shreds, he managed to say goodbye to all of them, even after just getting Cas back. Why was this any different?

“But Dean…”

“Sammy I can’t. He will want to lock himself up with me and I can’t let that happen, because someday, Michael will break out and Cas would be the only thing he could take his anger out on. He would hurt him, a lot, for all of eternity, with my hands. I saw him die once. I can’t do it again.”

The last piece came out low and shaky, like Dean put all of his energy to not break down. Sam walked around the car with an intention to talk some sense into Dean, because he won’t just outright lie to Cas about his brother’s whereabouts forever, but froze when he saw Dean’s red eyes and puffed, wet face. It looked like he was crying for a while now. How come he didn’t notice? Was Dean really this good at masking himself and hiding?

“Dean, I am here too. I will stop him from jumping inside with you. Besides, I need him to help me save you, because we’re not just going to let you rot in there until the end of time. There must be something we can do.”

Dean sniffed and wiped his face with his sleeve, clearly unconvinced. He snorted, still avoiding Sam’s gaze and busied himself with the actual engine’s oil check. His face was still puffed and he looked like hasn’t slept for a few nights.

Sam sighed again, knowing he won’t convince Dean anyway and squeezed his shoulder on his way out of the garage. He decided to go straight into the library and drown himself in books in hope of seeing something that escaped his attention when reading them for the first time. He had to do something, preferably before getting Dean buried alive.

“Do you think… He…” Dean tried to ask, but stopped dead in his tracks, clearly not knowing how to proceed. Sam smiled understandingly.  

“Yeah, Dean. He does. With his whole heart.”

Got inspired by 14x12 cursed sneak-peek and @blazeeblake‘s golden comment. Also because I love me love some angsty Destiel drabbles before the actual airing. 

[dates-with-cas]

Believe in Us -- 14x12 coda

"So, uh, back at the home," Dean starts, still pulling the door shut behind him. He keeps his voice low, eyes turned down, away from Cas.

"You were gonna do it, weren't you?" Cas matches his avoidance, shrugging his coat off of his shoulders but refusing to look up at Dean. "You were going to kiss me and then throw yourself into the ocean in an impenetrable box." The words come out harsher than he means them to, though their fierceness is pale in comparison to the ache in his heart.

"I said I wouldn't, didn't I?"

"Right. Right."

"Look, Cas, Sam said we'll find another way, so we will, I-"

"Of course," Cas scathes, "Sam said." He tips his head up now to find Dean watching him, eyeing him cautiously. "Because you believe in you and Sam- you believe in all of us," he mocks.

"Cas, I-"

"What about this, Dean? What about us? Do you believe in this because it sure as hell doesn't feel like it." Dean shuts his eyes, visibly deflating and all Cas can think is good, because it's satisfying for once to actually feel like he's being heard. "You didn't even have the nerve to tell me yourself."

"I couldn't tell you!" Dean snaps. They're both shouting now and if they're not careful, they'll wake Sam up and that's not a conversation Cas wants to have right now.

"Why? Because I'd get in the way? Because I'd try to stop you from doing something completely stupid? Well, you told Sam and he-"

"I couldn't tell you because I knew I saw your stupid face before I left that I wouldn't be able to go through with it. I couldn't tell you because I knew something stupid like try and come with me and you can't because Jack needs you and Sam needs you because even with Michael gone, something else will take his place and I can't leave them alone like that."

"But you'll leave me?"

"Only because I have to." He pauses, exhaling shakily and Cas can see for the first time how hard he's trying to hold back tears. "Sammy's the only one who could convince me not to go, Cas, but you... you wouldn't even have to try." Dean nods slowly and lifts his head to look at Cas. "So yeah, I was gonna kiss you tonight because it was going to be the last time I ever saw you and I didn't want to leave thinking that I didn't care, that all these years were for nothing."

Cas is halfway across the room before he realizes he's moving and then he's bundling Dean up, pushing his fingers into his hair and pulling him close. Dean shakes against his shoulder and Cas squeezes his eyes shut as guilt overwhelms him; he shouldn't expect anything from Dean, especially not now when he's already going through so much. He's always known that Sam will come first, there's no contest - and Cas should just be happy that he has Dean at all after everything that's happened in the last ten years.

"I'm sorry," he whispers and faintly, he hears Dean's muffled words: I do believe in this. Cas pulls back to face him and Dean's eyes are red and watery.

"It's too hard. Every day I'm afraid maybe this is the last day I'll see you, the last day I'll hear your voice. I don't want to think about it, but it's always in the back of my head. It was just... easier for me to go without seeing you. I'm sorry."

Cas tips forward, kissing the bridge of Dean's nose and bumping their foreheads together. When he reaches Dean's lips, he kisses him, soft and sweet, but as Dean winds his arms around him again, Cas is absent.

For years, this is everything he ever wanted but thought he could never have and now he can't even enjoy it. Now that it's happening, all he can think is that the same fear that keeps Dean from speaking his mind and being truly open with him is the one thing keeping Cas with him.

[casistooadorableandithurts]

Monsters & Saints

Coda for 14.12.

(Read it on ao3. Tags listed there.)

I hope you enjoy! xx

It’s a normal, quiet Thursday morning when Castiel gets the call, and the peacefulness he was for once feeling is ripped away from him mercilessly.

It’s a quiet Thursday morning, and Cas is standing outside the bunker, watching life around him flourish and thinking about how nice it would be to turn this space into a garden.

(One day. Maybe. When this – when everything – is over.)

It’s right at that moment – right at the moment when a butterfly, its wings tinted green, has finally found the courage to flutter closer to Castiel – that his phone rings, startling Cas and the butterfly, and the angel watches it fly away in a flurry of bright colours.

“Hello, Sam.”

Whatever Sam is saying doesn’t make any sense.

The world is spinning.

Castiel doesn’t know when it started doing that, but one moment he’s standing, the next his knees hit the dirt below him, the hand not holding the phone desperately trying to hold him up, stop him from crashing face first into the ground, keep him steady.

Cas doesn’t remember reaching his hand out.

Sam is still talking, something almost like a child’s terror tinging his voice, his words, and Castiel doesn’t know how to make it stop.

Sam is demanding an answer now, calling out Cas’s name once, twice, three times, asking if he’s alright.

Cas is not alright.

Dean is going to die.

 “So, then… This is goodbye?”

Cas meant for his words to be cutting, and they are.

Dean swallows, hard, his eyes locked on Cas’s, unwavering.

Cas knows exactly what Dean is trying to convey, but he won’t give in – the way he usually does when Dean looks at him like that.

(“No, Cas. I don’t want to say goodbye, not yet. I’m not ready.”)

He can’t, won’t, let Dean do this.

“Cas…”

He won’t listen to this.

Cas moves in a flash, barely noticing, but suddenly Dean is being slammed into the wall and Cas is gripping the lapels of his jacket, knuckles turning white and tears springing to his eyes as he stares Dean down.

Dean’s expression has changed, sorrow taking over, and Cas doesn’t want to see this, doesn’t want to have to deal with this.

The pain in Dean’s eyes, he understands too well.

(He thinks, bitterly, if Dean goes through with his plan, the Empty will never claim him.)

(The thought doesn’t comfort him.)

“I can’t let you do this, Dean.”

(I rebelled for this!?)

Dean is still quiet, but he never drops Cas’s eyes, never looks away.

(I gave everything for you, and this is what you give me?)

“There has got to be another way, and we are going to find it. Together.”

(You, me and Sam. We’re just better together.)

“No, Cas.”

Cas pushes Dean back into the wall, desperate now to hold on and never let go, desperate to find a way to stop Dean’s pain, take it onto himself the way he did for Sam, anything to stop his suffering.

“Dean, listen…”

Whatever Cas was going to say is lost as Dean reaches for him and slams their mouths together.

Cas stops breathing.

As their mouths move together, Dean spins them around and pins Cas against the wall, careless about the fact they’re in public, Cas is still wearing a doctor’s outfit and they are going to blow their cover.

Dean kisses Cas in a way he’s never been kissed before, despair, fear and love pouring through, his hands gripping his hair, pushing his head back to give himself more access to his mouth, tongue slipping through.

Cas knows Dean needs to breathe, but he refuses to be the one to break the kiss.

Everything he’s ever wanted, everything that in any other circumstance would have made him so happy the Empty would have come for him in a heartbeat, is now only filling him with more pain than he ever thought possible. He clings to Dean, though, fiercely, his hands still on the hunter’s lapel, tears the likes of which he has never shed in his life dampening his cheeks, his heartbeat matching the crazy rhythm of Dean’s.

When Dean finally pulls back, his eyes are red. He stays close, pressing his forehead to Cas’s, closing his eyes and breathing the angel in.

“I love you,” Dean opens his eyes, whispers into the space between them, “I love you.”

Cas’s heart stops, and he’s certain the Empty has finally come for him, but more tears are rolling down his cheeks now, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt less happy than he feels now.

“No…” he whimpers, “you can’t do this to me…”.

Dean finally looks away at that, a flash of pain crossing his face once more, and Cas knows he sounds pathetic, but he begs.

“Dean, please.” Cas can see Dean bracing himself, ready to pull back, to close off again. So, he does the only thing he can think of, and reels the hunter back in for another kiss.

Dean goes willingly, too easily, and Cas allows himself to think he might be breaking through Dean’s resolve.

The kisses grow heated, then, as Cas desperately tries to give Dean a reason to stay, a reason to keep fighting, anything to stop this ridiculous plan he isn’t dumb enough to believe will work.

Just as Cas is opening his mouth to let Dean’s tongue in again, Dean pulls back, panting, trying to put as much distance between them as he can without letting go of Cas’s face.

“Cas, I’m sorry.” If Dean weren’t holding him up, Cas is sure he would have collapsed to the ground again.

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.” The words hurt, but Cas understands, feels like a hypocrite, almost breaks down and tells Dean all about his deal with the Empty.

There’s no time.

He doesn’t want to hurt Dean the way Dean is hurting him.

“I wish I had told you sooner,” is the last thing Dean tells him before he turns to head back to Donatello’s room, “I’m sorry.”

Cas stays where he is, catching his breath, until his mind processes everything that just happened and he breaks, the pain in his hand when he almost punches a hole in the wall barely registering as more tears blur his vision, obscuring the spot Dean just walked away from .

By the time they get back to the bunker it’s way past midnight and everyone is exhausted.

Cas can tell Sam is feeling lighter, as if he actually believes he’s convinced Dean to postpone his plan indefinitely while they work on finding another solution.

Cas isn’t as hopeful.

As Sam and Dean drag themselves to the showers, Cas finds himself hiding in the Dean Cave, looking for the comfort only something so familiar and homely can give him.

(His first option would have been Dean’s arms, but he doesn’t know how to ask.)

(And, for once, he’s not the one that has to ask.)

It’s only twenty minutes later when Dean finds him in the Cave, comes up behind him, caresses his shoulder.

“You coming, Cas?”

What else can he say?

“Of course.”

When they get to the bedrooms, Dean ushers Cas through the door of his room, then locks it behind himself. His eyes look glassy, lifeless, and Cas’s heart breaks, and he wishes, once more, that he had some sort of solution to propose to Dean.

Before he can lose himself too deeply in thought, Dean reaches for him, pulling him by the hand until Cas is sitting next to him on the bed.

Dean is moving on autopilot, reaching down to untie his boots without no real drive to do so, so Cas slips off the bed, kneels in front of Dean, and does it for him.

There is nothing that could possibly hurt him more right now than seeing Dean so empty; this man that he has always believed to be more than strong, this man that never gave up, no matter what, is now reduced to almost an empty shell, the battle in his mind draining him of everything he has always been.

(Sam mentioned once, something about Dean’s behaviour when Cas was dead, something about Dean’s eyes looking as dead as Cas was, but the angel thinks he’ll never know the full extent of what went on when he was gone, and he can’t help but feel the burden of it, blaming himself, as always.)

Once Cas has got Dean out of his shoes, jeans and flannel, he lies down with him, moving up the bed until they’re lying comfortably side by side.

As soon as Cas opens his arms, Dean is moving towards him, placing a soft kiss on Cas’s throat as he settles there, his hands gentle on Cas’s chest. Cas wraps his arms around Dean, kisses his forehead, lets out a sigh.

They lie there for what feels like hours, no words spoken between them, the only sounds in the room their soft breathing, and occasionally barely-there kisses pressed into skin.

Cas can’t help but wonder, imagines finding himself in this exact position, arms wrapped protectively around the man he loves, without the enormous burdens they both bear: no more wars, Heaven, Hell or any sort of deadly deal to drag them away from each other.

He can’t picture it.

It’s not their lives.

It has never been their lives.

(Oh, how he wishes it could have been the type of life Dean lived, even if it would have meant them never meeting each other.)

Just as Cas is starting to think about what his life would have been like without the Righteous Man, as if summoned by Cas’s dark thoughts, Dean reaches a hand up to Cas’s cheek and angles his head downward, stretching up at the same time to meet him halfway, pressing their mouths together, swallowing any and all dark thoughts taking over Cas’s mind in a soft moan.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, stop it.”

Cas can’t help but obey.

As they settle more comfortably against each other, as their kisses become more passionate, as fire like he’s never felt before starts building in his gut, Cas lets go of the weight on his shoulders, at least for the night, and loses himself in Dean’s mouth and the warm weight of the hunter’s body pressed against his.

Everything else can wait until morning.

[mattzerella-sticks]

The Big Goodbye (a 14x12 Dean/Cas Coda to “Prophet and Loss”)

(Link to Fic)

Castiel still had an itch he needed to scratch, and while Sam's speech got through to Dean, there was still hesitance there. That a part of him would not let go of the box even if he believed in his family. Since he feels like their time together was always cut short, Cas decides he will say what he needs to say - what he wanted to say for the longest time. And be the turning point that helps get Dean to fully commit.

           Castiel slammed Dean up against the wall of his bedroom. He waited for this moment long enough, the outside world interrupting in the worst moments. Antonio, Donatello, even Sam though he hadn’t meant it, startling him; keeping him from pouncing. But now, locked away in his hunter’s den, there was no one who could have stopped him. He could let drip all the gasoline he held back then set it ablaze with one action. “I have a few words for you, Dean Winchester.”

           Dean gulped, darting down the expanse of Castiel’s face before meeting his gaze again. Castiel has studied Dean’s eyes for years, learned the hidden emotions that he believed were reflections of the ones he felt. The feelings he doubted the names of for so long, only assured in his confidence when the end seemed near, were plain for him to see. Jumping like sparks off exposed wiring, ready to shock them both.

           “Y’know, I said I wouldn’t do it, Cas,” he whispered; voice heavy and rough, “Sam punched me already… I think I have enough bruises for the night.”

           “I don’t think so,” Castiel said, leaning closer, “But then again, I don’t feel like punching you either.”

           “…Then what are you going to do?”

           “I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen.”

           “Well then maybe we can get a bit more comfortable – ngh!”

           Castiel slipped a knee between Dean’s open legs, grinning at the blush he worked onto his hunter’s face. “No,” he told him, “I need your undivided attention. This has been something we’ve put off for far too long.”

           “…I’ve only had this plan for less than a week.”

           “I know.”

           Dean frowned, sighing. “All right, you’ve come this far, then. Out with it.”

           Castiel pulled back, squinting at Dean. He could tell his hunter wanted to look away, his neck twitching like a cornered animal. Dean’s body hummed with all the pent-up energy of a circuit cut from completion. Yet he remained where he was, staring at Castiel like the years between their first meeting and now were nothing but days; time having folded over on itself like a piece of paper. That wasn’t the case. They can’t go back. Castiel doesn’t want to go back. He wants to move forward with Dean, alongside Dean – into the future.

           “I can’t believe you weren’t going to tell me –“

           “I was going to tell you –“

           “I had to find out from Sam –“

           “I was figuring out how to say goodbye –“

           “We’ve said goodbye all the time, in worst situations… how could it be any different?”

           “Because I…” Dean muttered, face fully flushed, “Because all the other times I got them wrong – I did them… wrong.”

           Castiel smiled, one hand loosening on his jacket to slide up the side of his face. He stroked a thumb across his cheek, scruff a comforting sensation. “So did I,” he said, “Which was why after Sam told me I… I went to work. I searched and referenced everything I could to save you from your fate. But I admit I wasn’t… only preoccupied with that. My biggest fear was that there would be nothing in all the books and guides the Letters collected.”

           “It still doesn’t seem like there is –“

           “Hush,” Castiel commanded, “I’m not done.” He gripped at Dean’s jaw, applying a light pressure that made stars burst before the green backdrop in his eyes. “When I am, then you can speak… Okay?” Dean nodded. “Good… I figured that, where Sam failed maybe I could succeed. Convince you that there was still some spark of hope left that we could nurture and grow. I meant it then and I mean it now.”

           “But…” Castiel chuckled, “You… you’re so stubborn. Running away every chance I tried to speak, each time forcing me to re-write the script I prepared for you. When we got those few seconds alone in the care facility I’ll admit to tossing all my notes out the window – your very presence setting my grace on fire with the overwhelming need to make you see reason. And then I…” He trailed off, tongue darting across his lips.

           Dean followed their path. His mouth parted, as if to speak, only nothing came out. Castiel could tell he remembered what was asked of him, and didn’t want to break the rules. Chills rocketed up his spine, and Castiel growled out a ragged breath. “I learned a lot from you Dean,” Castiel confessed, “You taught me to defy fate… that following my heart is better than following orders, even if it led to a few mistakes… and one very, very important thing.” He skewed his head to the side. “You can ask what it was.”

           “What was it?” Dean rushed out.

           “That we’re afforded so few things in this life, that we must make the most of our nights – as if they were our last,” Castiel told him, “And if you truly believed this was going to be our final goodbye… I wanted it to be big.”

           Then Castiel kissed him, doing what he wanted to do earlier in the night, what he dreamed of for so long. Dean tasted of stale beer and grape Jell-O, the mingling flavors only driving him further into madness. They reminded him of the beauty in the ordinary, of humanity, and the man who set the bar for all others that now melted in his embrace. Dean’s arms wrapped tight around his waist, tugging him closer for contact.

           “Oh yeah,” he panted, Castiel sliding down to nibble at his neck, “This is just what you ordered, Dr. Novak.”

           “Funny,” Castiel said, “I thought you would prefer cowboys…”

           “Cowboys, doctors… if you had kept the white coat and stepped into some cowboy boots this would have been the perfect send-off.”

           “I find that the grandest gestures are somehow the most simple and…” he traced a hand down his thigh, “intimate.”

           Dean shivered at the touch, leg hitching up and over Castiel’s hip. “I don’t get it though,” he continued as Castiel laved at his collar, “Why now? Why make this your goodbye?”

           He slowed his affection. Tearing away from the bruise he worked onto Dean’s skin, he returned his attention to his hunter’s face. He looked nervous, like he stood on the edge of a cliff, staring into a long and unknown fall. Castiel grabbed for Dean’s hand, curling his fingers around it possessively. “Because sometimes a goodbye isn’t what you think,” Castiel explained, “It could be a closing of an old way of life – cleansing of a toxic way of thinking. My goodbye wasn’t to you but for you. To show that I am done thinking I don’t deserve this, that we can’t have something beautiful. I… I had hoped the expression of my… care towards you would inspire you to not go through with it – give you something to cling to.”

           “Cas…”

           “You said earlier, that if I was a good friend I would let you do this?” Cas grinned, an easy stretch of his lips, “Well… that’s okay if I’m not. Because I don’t want to be your friend– it’s not enough. I want us to be more.”

           His words had an affect on Dean. From the way his lips trembled, to the glossy sheen of his eyes. He looked gorgeous to Castiel like this, reminding him of the many natural wonders across the Earth. Overcome with the sensations and feelings Castiel evoked, Dean seemed as pure and untainted as nature itself. Castiel wiped away a stray tear that slipped past.

           “I – um… I never thought…” Dean choked back a sob, laughing. “I didn’t realize what this was for a… for a long time. Got so used to denying myself things, saying it was good for everyone…” He squeezed Castiel’s hand, his other rubbing at his cheek. “I… I want to say yes. There’s nothing I want more than for us to… But…”

           “Dean,” Castiel said, “we still have a chance. Believe in the people who believe in you – that good things can still happen for us.”

           Dean chuckled again. “You really know what to say… maybe that’s why I was avoiding you until the end. Could sense that whatever you were going to lay down was going to make it hard for me to walk away from.”

           “I can be very persuasive,” Castiel told him, “especially to get what I want. And that’s to wipe away any doubt that we’ll need to use that crazy plan of yours.”

           “…It’s in the book –“

           “Enough talk of books,” Castiel growled, pressing against Dean’s crotch. “I’m going to fuck you, and when I’m done you’ll be too wrung out to be pessimistic about the future.”

           “That’s so sweet Cas… you gonna turn down the covers and light a couple of candles by the bed, too?”

           “…Who said anything about using the bed?”

           Castiel flipped him over, knocking the air out of him. He latched onto his neck with his lips once more, teeth biting at the sensitive spot he already marked. His fingers sped to his belt, unbuckling it along with his pants’ button.

           Dean enjoyed every second of Castiel’s ministrations. As each article of clothing fell away, he was met with a groan, cry, or outburst of heady jubilance. His hunter squirmed, trying to reach out. But every attempt was met with a disapproving snarl. “No,” Castiel told him, “no moving until I tell you.”

           He focused on working Dean into a fierce ecstasy he could never recover from. Not burdened by the limits of physicality, Castiel extended his grace out to Dean to increase his sensitivity. So that each brush of his fingers across skin was like a string of wildfires blazing in the summer heat. And his kisses stung with the force of the strongest lightning storms.

           By the time they finished, Dean was slumped over on Castiel’s chest, their naked bodies wrapped in each other. Halfway into Dean’s second orgasm, he repositioned him so that he could lift his hunter into his arms. By his third, Castiel was inside of him.

           Castiel gently pet Dean’s head, murmuring praise into his ear, showering him with as many compliments he could weave together. Dean traced shapes into Castiel’s back, cheek pressed up against his shoulder.

           “Y’know,” Dean said, “I… I’m having a hard time remembering anything before you kissed me.”

           “Is that a bad thing?”

           Dean leaned back; his face softer than it had looked in years. He shook his head, dropping it back down, and hiding his smile in Castiel’s neck. He felt Dean's heart beat thunderously against his chest, making him wish he had one of his own so they could match. Instead, he spread his grace over Dean, covering them both in its warmth.

           They stayed like that for the entire night.

[whichstiel]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Characters: Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Episode: s14e12 Prophet and Loss, spn 14x12, Prophet and Loss, episode coda, Episode Tag, Bunkers Series: Part 10 of Season 14 Codas Summary:

Cas and Dean share a late night conversation.

Excerpt: 

To: hunter.list@mol-dns.net

BCC: castiel1383510385@gmail.com

Subject: Update 1/2/2019

It’s been a busy week, everyone!

APB:

There are rumors of a pack of super-werewolf truckers working truck stops along I-80. Nothing confirmed. Continue to keep ears to the ground.

Report any Reaper encounters to HQ.

Wins:

Jessica’s team got to the heart of a large ghoul infestation in Portland. Just cleaning up strays now.

Boris and Zora took out a nest of vamps in Tennessee. Great job!

Losses:

Castiel transferred the blue Prius to Donatello to get him home. No ETA yet for recovery.

Alerts:

The loaded trailer parked in space A32 is Do Not Disturb. Status: fragile; Value: vital. See SW with questions.

Castiel flicks his thumb up his screen, scrolling through Sam’s terse weekly email. There’s nothing overtly worrisome in it - not to most of the readers, anyway. In comparison to recent weeks, it’s downright uneventful. There’s nothing about the horrific promise of the box sitting quietly on the trailer in the garage. It’s presented as though it’s just another artifact to store in the bunker. A weapon to deploy against Michael and not something that will torture the man he—

Castiel wants to destroy it.

He wants to tear it apart with his bare hands, melt it with his grace, and rend it into hunks of metal so unrecognizable as to be utterly useless to ever contain an archangel. Anger bubbles in his gut and if he has to direct it somewhere, it might as well be to the fine work of destroying Dean’s proposed cage.

He presses his thumb on the sleep button on his phone and when the screen goes black, Castiel slots it back into his inner coat pocket. He shifts in his seat and looks around at the sea of books and stone tablets stacked across the wide table. While Sam prepared to return with Dean and his damned ma’lak box, Castiel went through the bulk of the useful library tomes, with the sarcastic aid of Rowena. Now that the Winchesters have returned, Sam has dived back into research - a second pair of eyes, to see if there was anything Castiel missed. Their search has yielded no fruit.

Castiel wants to channel the frustration into a fist or the destructive arc of a blade. He wants to stride the world, a burning sword personified, until he finds an answer. There’s only one thing that stops him: terror. Terror, that if he leaves the bunker then Dean will do it. He’ll lock himself away while Castiel is gone leaving nothing - no goodbyes, all words unsaid, and only regrets between them.

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