#DEAN AND CAS TRASH

[lizstiel]

Dean’s sitting at the kitchen table eating meatloaf when it all sort of hits – and he’s desperate to remember it exactly how it happened.

With his fork raised halfway to his mouth, a dollop of meat and sauce perched precariously on the tines, his eyes wandered over to where Cas stood by the sink in a pair of ratty pajama bottoms and one of Dean’s old t-shirts. (One of Dean’s old t-shirts, because once Cas gets his shoulders into them they never really sit the same way.)

He’s got soap up to his elbows, scrubbing methodically at the dishes Dean just dirtied, his brow a taught, concentrated line. He’s bringing the same kind of meticulous focus to the dishes that he used to bring to leading the armies of Heaven; that singular kind of attention, both unnerving and admirable. (Dean had once tried to explain that he didn’t need to wash them quite so vigorously, to which Cas had deadpanned, “Do you know how many food particles remain on the dishes you wash, Dean?” It quickly became his job, after that.)

It’s early July. About 6:30pm. The window over the sink is cracked, and the front door is wide open, letting the sound of cicadas and crickets drift in with the summer breeze. The sun’s starting to set behind the field, casting the world in that particular orange glow that has always made something in Dean ache. In the other room, the record player Sam got them for Christmas plays a beat up Janis Joplin record he’d found at a secondhand store in town. The opening chords of Me and Bobby McGee have just started, and the cicadas are humming, and the crickets are singing, and the sun is setting, and Cas is standing in old pajamas washing dishes Dean just used to make them dinner and –

Cas tilts his head.

This isn’t revolutionary. He does it a lot. A very ingrained behavior, some might say. But he isn’t confused, he’s reacting. To the song. He doesn’t react to music the way Dean wants him to, never has, but in his own way, it’s almost like he’s leaning closer to hear it. An infinitesimal thing. The smallest gesture. The corner of his mouth twitches, and Dean has never loved him more than he does at this moment: backlit by a summer sunset in their house in the middle of nowhere, hand washing dishes and listening to Janis Joplin.

Cas turns when the sound of Dean’s fork clattering on the plate sounds, but Dean just scoops him into his arms, chases any worries away with a kiss, and then another, and then one more for good measure. Cas laughs against his mouth, desperately trying to keep his soapy arms away from Dean’s dry clothes. “Dean,” he chides, squirming and chuckling, trying to extract himself from Dean’s grip. “I’m not finished.”

“I’ll get ‘em tomorrow,” Dean promises, peppering sweet little kisses down the line of Cas' throat. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days. It tickles all the way down. “Love you so much,” he says, because he wants to. Because he’s so full with it he’s overflowing. Because if he doesn’t tell him right now, in this moment, and every moment after this one, he might die. He needs him to know. It’s vital that he knows.

Cas’ laughter warms, and he slides one soapy hand to the back of Dean’s neck, eyebrows raised in challenge when he shudders at the sensation. When Dean doesn’t immediately shoo him away, he slides the other soapy hand up Dean’s arm. “Dean?” He’s not worried, the timber of his voice is honey-smooth and light, but he’s confused. Not that Dean doesn’t tell him often, and loudly, how much he loves him, but to be fair this did kind of come from nowhere, so he understands. It’s just much too much. It’s not enough and it’s everything. It’s everything in the world Dean has ever wanted.

Janis Joplin is singing freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose, and Dean’s arms are loose around Cas’ waist, and he loves him, god he loves him so much, so he kisses him on one corner of the mouth, and then the other. Janis says, nothin’, don’t mean nothin’ hon’ if it ain’t free, no, no – and he rocks their bodies together, slow, to the beat of the music. Cas’ arms come to wind around his neck automatically, and his smile starts to sprawl into something reserved for only the really good moments. Wide and gummy and for Dean – and feelin’ good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues. He presses his forehead to Cas’ and they just sort of sway there like that, smiling at each other like this might be the last chance they ever get.

Cas says – “I love you, Dean,” just as Janis is singing, you know feelin’ good was good enough for me – and it occurs to Dean that he’s dancing in the kitchen with the love of his life. He thinks back to the longest, loneliest nights he spent staring up at the night sky, believing wholly he’d die bloody and alone on the backend of some random hunt, and how the smallest (but loudest) part of him had wished for exactly this. For someone to hold him and see him and dance in the kitchen with him, barefoot and covered in soap.

He kisses the tip of Cas’ nose, the lines under his eyes. Doesn’t realize he’s crying until Cas is wiping tears away with the pads of his thumbs and soothing hands through his hair. He’s crying, too. Laughing and crying and telling Dean he loves him, he loves him so much, he’s loved him from the first moment he saw him.

It settles in Dean then – really settles deep, and true, and good – that he was meant for this. He wasn’t born to be a weapon. Wasn’t born to be a son, or a father, or a brother. Wasn’t born to save the world or to end it – was just meant to dance. His arms were meant to hold. To sway them both around the cheap linoleum floor, to sling low around Cas’ waist and spin them both ‘til they were dizzy with it.

They laugh and kiss and Janis is saying – good enough for me and Bobby McGee – and Dean is thinking – Yeah. Yeah, it really is.

[angelsdean]

me pulling myself out of the grips of fanon cas and realizing one of my wips (pretty much abandoned) would need to be completely overhauled bc it makes no sense to me anymore (post-canon dean grieving and starting a garden / keeping bees / visiting the farmers market every week bc these things remind him of cas. like he can still do all these things, but not because of cas). and gonna have to rewrite a scene in my long time travel wip where they stop at a roadside market and dean buys cas some honey as a gift bc honestly i don't think canon cas would care abt that anymore. the whole bees / honey!cas thing in canon stemmed from his completely broken down mental state and he only admired the bees so much because they reminded him the structure and hierarchical order of heaven. but it's not like one of his genuine interests

[magnificent-winged-beast]

Sights...

What I choose to watch on a Saturday night. 🐚

[shallowseeker]

TFW + TV

All this "Sam + class" shit is why Dean, Cas, and Jack sometimes forgo watching TV with him. That's the most important part of my Ted Talk, actually.

Dean watches the Kardashians! (And Cas does, too. A man can't survive on caviar alone. Cas watched Jenny Jones. He's a trash TV junkie!):

CASTIEL: I can hear three. Wait, maybe -- maybe four. They're talking about whether Kylie Jenner would make a good mother. The consensus is no. DEAN: Yeah, well, that's why I'm a Khloe man.

///

Sam thinks Dean isn't cool enough to watch The Walking Dead. (Nightmare Logic ep) Cas has seen it, though, (per the Tombstone script) so that means Dean has probably seen it. Point is, Sam doesn't think it'd be up Dean's alley.

SAM: Uh, Maggie was working a lead. Kids online said they were studying when -- and I quote -- "a walker tried to end them." It's a zombie -- a "Walking Dead" thing. DEAN (patiently, slightly annoyed): I know what a walker is, Sam.

///

Cas watches trash TV and Riverdale, but he doesn't want Sam's judgy shit about it (Peace of Mind script):

CAS: It's like we stepped into an episode of [Riverdale]. SAM (judgy): You watch-- CAS (defensive): Jack does. I would never-- I mean, it's not so bad. Sometimes, a baby floats.

///

Jack's seen Lost Boys "like 36 times." Ergo, Jack's movie nights are primarily about spending time with Dean. Jack is a delightful captive audience, and he's not judgy about it. (Even Cas is a little judgy about the cowboy ones, lol.)

MAX: Do you ever, like, hang out? JACK: Well, we have movie nights on Tuesdays. Dean usually picks. I've seen "Lost Boys" like 36 times.

///////////////

(Text Attributions// Supernatural scripts here via @spnscripthunt. Transcripts are located here via SPNWiki. Visit their Tumblr to donate.)

[gaugesage]

Here have this dumb quick sketch

[anotherneworld]

Individuals attempting to chastise fans for pointing out the very clear discomfort (I won’t use ‘hate’ because hate requires cultivation, and I don’t think Jensen Ackles wastes any time thinking about your ship until he’s actively confronted with it by people who don’t respect the answers he’s already provided on multiple occasions) Jensen Ackles radiates when people ask him about That Ship during panels by saying that it’s all projection of the fan’s own discomfort have clearly not been in the room with him when it happens and you don’t have to listen to a single thing they say *shrug*

[mochatheangelkiller]

Cas deserved so much better than what the Winchesters gave him. His father killed his only son and the people Cas thought was his family don't give a shit.

After everything he's done for them, falling, betraying his own kind for the sake of helping them stop the apocalypse and everything else. They still don't care.

[saving-people-haunting-things]

Out of all of the things to go full conspiracy theory over, why Destiel?

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ notes: happy birthday to me! when this posts i'll officially be older, and celebrating by being cringe (writing this). i also love that picture of misha. it's him at my birthday party for real. he told me himself (lying)

↳ warnings: none!

↳ song: rock your body—justin timberlake

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• Special occasions like this are few and far between

• The Winchester family hadn't had a proper birthday in decades. While Dean clung to memories of gas station twinkies in replacement of a birthday cake, Sam remembered most of his birthdays with a sort of sad animosity. Up until walking out on his dad for Stanford and spending his birthday that year with Jessica, he hadn't had a single enjoyable birthday party. Maybe that was part of the reason he refused to let you feel the same way about your own birthday—even if none of you were kids anymore

• Worst case scenario, the world is ending again and you all have little time for delicacies. If that's the case, you'd get a quick pat on the shoulder from Dean, one excited bear hug from Sam, and very confused Cas wishing you the best of births before being told to continue packing the shotguns with salt rounds

• "With age comes responsibility, so keep loading those guns. Spider-Man said that."

• "For someone that watches so much trash tv, you know so little about media, Dean." You snorted at your friend, fingers nimmbly crushing salt into a line of rigid red shells before moving onto the next group

• "Shut up before I decide to give you your birthday noogies." He pointed a finger at you from across the room with a single raised eyebrow. Off to the side you saw Cas ask Dean what birthday noogies were not-so-quietly, and you struggled to hold back a laugh

• Even in the worst situations, they could always manage to make you smile

• Best case scenario, however, it's a free day. Nothing to do, no devils to fight, no ghouls to stop—nothing. Just you, the guys, and time on your hands that you all normally never have. So what better way to utilize it than with a little surprise party?

• Sam would be the most into the whole birthday party shtick. He'd insist that it was the least they could do for you after all the years on the hunt together, and even got Dean to budge after a few minutes of petty debating

• "It's stupid and cheesy, Sammy. We're grown adults. We've fought the devil beforr for christ's sake." Dean gave his brother the stink eye from his spot in the drivers seat. Groceries stores and Mom & Pop stores passed them by as they ventured into the nearest town, but neither of them paid attention to their blurred surroundings

• "Come on Dean." Sam twisted his torso and turned to face him fully. "Don't tell me you don't remember the look on their face last month when we brought them back a souvenir from our hunting trip in Alabama. You would have thought we brought them a new car. Besides, this is the one chance we've had in a while to actually celebrate something." Sam's eyebrows tilted up as he recalled the memory, shooting a knowing look at Dean's side-profile

• "So what? I say we just tell them happy birthday like a regular person and call it a day." Dean grumbled

• "Is that why you're driving in the nearest direction of the bakery here?"

• Dean didn't respond

• "That's what I thought."

• "Shut your pie-hole or I'm kicking you to the curb."

• Once the boys get back to whatever new place you all are holed up for that week, a couple of crinkled bags in hand, they call on Cas to help out with setting up whatever decorations Sam had forced Dean to throw in the cart

• Cas didn't take nearly as much convincing to partake in the setting up of festivities, but he certainly did need a lot of it explained

• "I thought angels were familiar with the concept of birthdays?" Dean asked at one point while watching Sam pull part of a cake out of the oven. His hand was slapped away when he went to grab at it, and he glared at his younger brother momentarily

• "We are." Castiel's gruff answer came shortly. "But we stopped keeping count after the first couple thousand years. And it was never done like—" He flicked the party hat atop his head curiously, "—this."

• "What did you guys do to celebrate?" Sam asked while popping the lid to a can of store bough frosting open

• "Pray."

• "Naturally." Dean rolled his eyes sarcastically. A blanket of silence fell over the room after that as Sam set out to frost the first part of the cake. Then—

• "Hey. How come none of you are wearing paper hats?"

• "Oh, trust me Cas. It'll mean a lot more to them if you were the one wearing it." Dean's grin was borderline evil as he looked at the angel

• It's safe to say that you laughed the hardest you had in a while once seeing Cas looking so hesitant in a mini cone hat

• Overall, it's the best birthday— the best day —that you've had in a long time

• You didn't need much, and as a hunter you'd come to expect almost nothing. But knowing that your friends— the short tempered, college dropout, otherworldly friends that they were —took it upon themselves to set all this up for you was the emotional equivalent to a punch in the gut. A lovely emotional punch in the gut

• "If you start crying, I'll leave." Dean snapped at you when you eventuallyvoiced how much this meant to you. But the threat was empty, and you all knew it

• Sometime during the party, you had managed to wrestle a paper hat of his own onto his head, and how it sat on the side of his head like a crooked unicorn horn. Occasionally he'd reach for it as if to take it off, then lower his hand with a small smile

• "Shut the fuck up and give me a group hug, Dean." You grinned with teeth, gesturing at him to stand up

• "Wait, no, I take it back that's worse."

• "I will kill you, Winchester. I swear I'll do it."

• You ended up getting your group hug that day, even if it took Castiel trapping Dean between you and him to get him to stand still

• "I hate it here." He griped with a groan. Sam could only laugh as be watched his brother struggle in Cas's iron grip, and said angel was smiling a bit to himself. You felt your heart swell; even if the look on Dean's face was downright murderous

• "Smile or I'm egging Baby on my birthday night." You said before setting the camera's timer and holding it up above you all

• "You wouldn't—"

• "Watch me."

• All four of you have your own copy of the photo from that night, kept in your seperate pockets and bedside table drawers. To this day you find yourself smiling when you look at it, and even if you'd never know it, so do they

[kerryweaverlesbian]

Dean (pushing his luck) "joke" flirting with Cas asking him to dispose of a body for him. "Come on man, you're basically my husband. The husband takes out the trash, it's in the contract."

"That is inaccurate. I'm also not your husband."

"We live together*, we have a kid, we sleep together** - and unless you've been doing some seriously under the radar canoodling, we're pretty fuckin committed. Face it, Cas, you're the Ricky to my Lucy."

Cas creases up his forehead, "So...you're my wife?"

Dean blinks. He blushes. He hadn't thought of that. "Um."

"I think I understand," Cas says, nodding to himself with his 'I got it' smile, "Yes. We are playing roles. I will 'take out the trash' while you 'sit there and look pretty'."

He stands to go.

"No, wait, Cas. I'm not-" his brain is firing all sorts of confusing, happy signals, "I'm not. Pretty." That's not what he meant to say.

Cas stops and leans in close to his face, examining him closely. Dean fights for his life not to make eyecontact, but he can't help it in the end.

"No," Cas says eventually, matter of fact, "You are my pretty wife."

Before Dean can surpress his own smile, Cas presses a swift kiss to his warm cheek and then disappears with a flap of his trench coat. Dean is left in their kitchen to touch the place Cas kissed him and try not to shake with happiness.

*cottage type situation, the two of them plus whoever wants to crash at theirs for a few days/weeks/months

**they sleep platonically in the same bed as best friends. They snuggle all night.

[angelsdean]

fuck you fuck you *glowing cas eye* 

[give-bucky-his-boyfriend-back]

Dean Winchester, 8 years old, made a drawing for his dad. John doesn't even look at it and throws it in the trash.

"You're a man Dean. Stop doing that and make yourself useful."

So instead of making drawings he learns how to fight. His hands no longer hold crayons, instead they hold weapons. They no longer create things, instead they break them.

Dean is 16 and Dad is no longer 'Dad'. He calls him 'sir' instead.

When Dean asks his father why, he doesn't get an answer except 'Because I say so.'

Dean is 26 and he fights. He breaks things, kills them. Where before his hands were stained red by crayons, it's blood that gives them their signature color now.

He loses his father, loses Sam over and over again,goes to hell, is brought back falls from apocalypse into apocalypse and still he fights. Now both humans and creatures fear him. The ultimate killer. His hands do what they are best at.

When Dean is 41 he loses Castiel. The angel tells him that he isn't a killer. That all that he did was for love. Cas tells him he loves him.

For the first time ever since he was 8, Dean thinks about his hands. Maybe they weren’t made to kill, to hold weapons or to break things. Maybe they are made to care, to love , to simply hold.

So instead of letting the angel go, he grabs the lapels of his coat and holds on.

"Dean what are you-"

Dean crashes his lips against Cas's, interrupting him as the darkness starts to engulf them. When they break apart , Dean looks him in his eyes and smiles.

"I love you too sunshine. And I aint letting you go this time. Not alone."

On ao3

[littlebluejaydraws]

Looking at the creamy surface of the liquid, Castiel wonders why he never thought of doing that, then at Dean's pleased smile, wondering why he did. Map of the World, Chapter 7 / What Love Can Do- Bruce Springsteen

ID: A series of seven digital drawings of Dean and Cas from Supernatural, showing Dean making Cas coffee, along with lyrics from What Love Can Do by Bruce Springsteen. The drawings are all rough sketches in black on a white background, with mid tones in pink in every second image. The lyrics areas follows. 1: "There's a pillar in the temple where I carved your name, there's a soul sitting sad and blue", with Cas sitting at a kitchen table and Dean leaning on the same table looking at him. 2: "Now the remedies you've taken are all in vain", with an image of bottles piled up around a trash can, viewed through the legs of Cas' chair. 3: "Let me show you what love can do, let me show you what love can do", with Dean facing away and pouring coffee into a cup at the kitchen counter. 4: "Darling I can't stop the rain", with a birds-eye-view of a coffee mug as Dean adds sugar to it. 5: "Or turn your black sky blue", with a close up of the coffee mug as Dean passes it to Cas. 6: "Well let me show you what love can do", with Cas taking a drink. 7: "Let me show you what love can do", with Dean and Cas sitting facing each other at the table and smiling. End ID.

[river13245]

We are here for you

Navigation / SPN Masterlist

Dean x Reader x Castiel

The sun was starting to set, it was at the perfect height to be directly into your eyes as you drove. You were reaching to pull the sun visor down so it would block at least some of the glare as your phone began to ring.

There were only a select few people who called you. Other people texted because they know you don't like talking on the phone unless it was an emergency. So once the visor was down you picked up your phone to see it was Castiel.

When you answer you put it on speaker and place your phone on your lap as you continued to drive. "Hey angel" the nickname you had for him rolled off your tongue easily and you knew that there would be a soft smile on his face. "hi y/n"

He wasn't one for nicknames really and that was okay. However that wasn't the thing that had you nervous is was the fact that after he had spoke your name a sigh escaped him. "Castiel what's wrong?" he never called you if there was something wrong. He would just appear so the fact that he hasn't yet really has you worried.

"its Dean" his words were forced out as if he was becoming frustrated with something. You knew that Dean wasn't doing to well with the passing of his mom, and the whole Jack situation.

That's actually why you were out running around trying to find any way to get his mom back but also to find any trace of Jack. There hadn't been and you knew they were not going to be happy with how there was no progress being made. "What's going on with him. Is he okay?"

Rustling was heard and a incoherent grumble was heard before you heard Cas telling someone to stay out the fridge. A few moments later Cas spoke into the phone again. "I cant help him this time. He needs you, we need you to come back to the bunker. He's drunk and no one can get him to calm down"

As you rest your head against the seat you sigh. You weren't angry or anything you just had to figure out how you would approach Dean to get him to calm down. "alright ill be there as soon as I can. I love you"

Before he hung up a soft "we love you too" was heard before the beeping sound. Tossing your phone to the passenger seat you pressed on the gas. You were known for always being a safe driver usually but on cases and when people needed you, all caution was thrown to the wind.

When you pull up the bunker you park beside baby and walk inside. The sight inside breaks your heart, Dean is standing with what looks like to be his fourth beer in his hand as he argues with Sam and Cas both. Cas is trying to be gentle with him but you can tell they had just got done arguing because of the tension through the room.

Sam is the first to notice you and he gives you a look that's like "save me". You point to tell him that its okay to leave and so he does but not before kissing the top of your head in a friendly way.

Now it leaves the three of you in the room. You walk up beside Castiel and look at Dean. "Dean can you please put the bottle down?" your voice was soft not wanting to come off as demanding or anything to tip him off but you should have known that wasn't going to work. Instead he lashes out. "of course you come as backup. I'm fine its my fourth beer I don't need you here. Neither does Cas"

The words he spoke were intended to hurt you and it works. He doesn't usually say hurtful things like that towards you its usually your own insecurities and other people that do. But you choose to not feel it at the moment instead you look at him and tell Cas that he can leave. He places his hand on your shoulder and squeezes it letting you know that whatever Dean says isn't true before leaving.

Dean is taking another drink of his beer and you take it from his hands and toss it in the trash. This earns a incoherent mumble of words and you just shake your head. "come on dean you stink of sweat, dirt and alcohol. Lets get you cleaned up we could both use a shower"

As you spoke you were running your hand up and down his arm gently and it seemed to calm him down as he leaned into you. "never seemed to bother you before" This earns him a light slap on his arm as you begin to walk the both of you to the shower.

Closing the door you see him taking off his clothes and then you go over and start the water making sure its a nice temperature for you both. Then you take off your clothes and hold his hands as you walk under the water.

Making sure that he was the one under the water first you run your hands through his hair and then hold his face in your hands. "Dean Love." He looks down at you but doesn't respond "Me and Castiel love you. and so does your brother. Hell there are a lot of people who love you. You aren't alone in this. I promise"

He pulls you into a kiss and its sloppy but you both keep it short because tonight is not the night. "alright now clean yourself up. Ill wash your hair"

When you grab the shampoo he begins to wash off his body. You watch as the dirt washes off him and goes down the drain and then you begin to wash his hair. This results to him resting his head against your chest. Its the reason you choose to wash his hair at times like this.

Your hands run through his hair and scratch gently at his scalp. The whole time you do this he is resting against you. Only pulling away to rinse his hair out and then you do your own routine before the both of you get out and into your pajamas.

Dean had only put on a pair of sweatpants while you put on sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt that was Castiel's. Dean was the first in bed and you got in beside him. When you both get comfortable you grab the remote and turn on scooby doo. This causes Dean to laugh a bit and he watches it.

You knew that Dean would be apologizing tomorrow for how he acted because its something he has been working on is apologizing for when he says or does things that are hurtful to people he loves. So tonight you push it to the side.

Hours later Castiel comes back to the bunker and sees the both of you asleep. He had been out looking for anything that would help us all so it was nice to see the two people he loves most asleep without any worries.

He walks over to the bed and covers the both of you up and kisses you and deans forehead. When he does this he uses some of his power to enter your dreams so he could make sure they were good ones before he walks off after saying "I love you both"

[valleydean]

Chapter 1 [Read Here]

CHAMPION Part III of Heavyweight a deancas boxing au by valleydean (emmbrancsxx0) playlist | tip

SUMMARY: Brooklyn, 1933. Dean Winchester, the number one contender, trains to become the next Heavyweight Champion of the World, and this time he won't let anything get in his way. Title holder Castiel Novak has second thoughts about retiring, especially when someone from his past arrives in New York and asks for his help. Meanwhile, a new contender rises to fame and threatens to complicate both of Dean and Cas' ambitions - and their relationship.

PREVIEW:

An-gel Nov-ak! An-gel Nov-ak!

The crowd cheered for him from the bleachers of the world’s largest arena. Chicago Stadium had 26,000 seats, and every single one had been filled. There were men and women who paid more than they could afford for the rare chance of seeing the Heavyweight Champion of the World from the nosebleeds; and, sitting ringside, there were those who remained wealthy despite the turbulent times: celebrities and politicians, mobsters and socialites. All of their shouts sounded the same as they whooped and roared when Castiel knocked his opponent out in the seventh round.

Over an hour had passed since then. Now, the quiet hung like a curtain as Castiel stood in the center of the ring, and he assumed this would be the last time he’d ever perform in Chicago.

“What’s it like being back in your hometown?” the reporter from the Chicago Tribune had asked him in the post-fight press conference. Castiel had informed the man that Chicago wasn’t, in fact, his hometown. He’d never lived in the city. He’d only ever visited, and rarely. Besides, he hadn’t thought of Illinois as home for a very long time.

“After you retire at the end of the year, do you think Pretty Boy Winchester can win the title?” another reporter had asked. The question had made the raw, tender skin over Castiel’s knuckles stretch and burn when he tightened his fists under the table.

Yes, of course, I believe Dean will take my title next year. He’s more than deserving.

That had been his answer, the words coming out mindlessly from all the times he’d repeated himself before. They were truthful. He meant them. Castiel could tamp down the scalding pride in his chest at the thought of anyone but him wearing the belt. Because it wouldn’t be anyone. It would be the same man he’d look in the eyes every morning when he woke up.

Dean wanted the title, and he should have it. It was his turn and Castiel would support him every step of the way.

He’s more than deserving.

He just wished Dean had spoken to him before announcing to the world, right after Castiel’s first victory of the year when his wounds were still bleeding, that he would participate in a title fight after Castiel was gone. Maybe, if he’d given Castiel some kind of indication beforehand, it wouldn’t have felt like he was walking over Castiel’s grave.

Castiel scanned the arena outside of the ring. The house lights were on, making the place seem foreign and liminal. The spilled popcorn kernels, cigarette ash, and crumpled trash that lined the sticky floors served as the only signs that life had once been vibrant there. Castiel could still feel the hot overhead lights on his skin, just as surely as he felt the blood seeping onto his bandages and the bruises that would line his face tomorrow. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

Soon, bruises and blood would be a thing of the past. All the pain that came with victory wouldn’t plague him anymore. He could unclench his fists, relax his muscles, let his calloused knuckles soften and his bones heal from all the times they’d been broken.

He wondered if, like an ache on a rainy day, those fractured bones would remember the glory. If they’d whisper, or if they’d echo with yells.

An-gel Nov-ak!

The loud whining of a metal door struck the silence like a jab.

“Cas!”

The door clattered closed, and Castiel’s eyes fluttered open. His neck was starting to pinch. He leveled his chin and watched Dean stride down the aisle between the ringside seats, polished shoes crunching over debris as he went. He was still wearing his suit, his wool coat draped over his arm.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Dean complained. “The hell are you doing out here?”

“Thinking,” Castiel said simply, even though it felt like a lie. His mind had just been circling around the same thing it had been for nearly three months now: his retirement, and everything that went along with it. He’d asked Dean time and time again if he was doing the right thing. And, time and time again, Dean had assured him that he was.

He believed Dean, because Dean wanted what was best for him. They wanted what was best for each other. And yet, the question remained like a contusion on Castiel’s ribs.

Castiel resolved not to bother Dean with it anymore. The answer wouldn’t change, and neither would the circumstances. It was like Dean kept saying: it was okay to feel mixed emotions, and to be nostalgic. What Castiel felt was nothing more than that. Castiel would learn how to open his hands and put down the fight.

He still had eight months, two weeks, and a day to learn how.

Dean walked up the steps and ducked into the ring. “Okay. Thinking about what?” he asked, carefully hanging his coat on the ropes so it wouldn’t crease.

Castiel pressed his lips together and looked to the side, hoping to find an excuse. He remembered what the reporter from the Tribune had asked him. “My father used to take me to Chicago sometimes—before we had a car. He would make me load the pigs into the Studebaker wagon to trade them at the markets. The trip took almost nine hours. It smelled. But it was better than killing them.”

He brought his eyes back to Dean, who was furrowing his brow as if Castiel was insane.

“What?”

“You’re thinking about pigs?” Dean asked.

Castiel sighed wearily.

Dean shrugged. “Well, we could go see ‘em. If you want.”

Now, Castiel’s brow lined. “The pigs? I’m fairly certain they were slaughtered.”

“No, not the—” Dean groaned. “Your folks.”

Castiel would rather not.

“Might be nice,” Dean pressed on. “I wouldn’t mind meeting them.”

Castiel shook his head. “They don’t want to see me.”

“You mean, you don’t wanna see them?” Dean corrected, as if reading Castiel’s mind.

“I want to go to sleep,” Castiel answered, changing the subject. His face was beginning to pound, and he didn’t know if that was because of his wounds or the current topic. He walked from the center of the ring toward Dean, who was pouting.

“I thought we were gonna go out,” Dean reminded him. “Only got one more night here. I got some club recommendations before the fight.” He grinned handsomely, which he knew usually got him his way, and sauntered closer to Castiel. He wrapped his arms loosely around Castiel’s waist, making their chests brush. “Get some drinks in you and your face’ll hurt less.”

Castiel was exhausted, and it wasn’t as though Dean had never seen Chicago before, but he had promised Dean a night on the town.

“And you defended your title tonight,” Dean said. “That calls for a toast!”

“Is that what you want to do?” Castiel asked, his eyes drinking in Dean’s ruggedly enticing face. He cupped his sore hands around Dean’s elbows.

Dean smiled again. “Hell, yes!”

As much as Castiel wished he could rest, lying in bed right now wouldn’t be the same without Dean. He still hadn’t found a way to say no to Dean, anyway. “Fine. Then, let’s go.”

With a smug smile, Dean leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Castiel’s mouth. It stung a little, but Castiel gladly took the pain that came along with the warm feeling the kiss left.

Dean pulled away and headed for his coat, saying over his shoulder, “C’mon, go put your tie and jacket back on. I’ll go get us a cab.” He left the ring and hustled down the stairs, headed for an exit door.

Castiel lingered for another second, looking over his shoulder at the center of the ring. Beyond, the stadium was still vacant. When it had been filled and the crowd had been cheering his name, he’d felt as if he’d been flying. He wondered if this was what it would feel like after he retired: like he was being pulled to the ground.

Shaking the thought away, he exited the ring and went to the dressing room to collect his things.

[darkshrimpemotions]

I know us never seeing Sam's handprint from Cas pulling him from the Cage can be explained away by "Cas didn't get his soul" or, more hilariously, by "it's somewhere stupid like his ankle" or, more unhingedly by "Cas didn't HAVE to leave a handprint on Dean he did it on purpose because unhinged angel fell in love at first sight and said DIBS."

But my personal headcanon is that Cas carried Sam out of the Cage by pinching one corner of his jacket very gingerly with two gloved fingers like you'd carry a dead mouse to the trash, holding him as far away as possible the entire time.