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tibbinswrites · 5 years

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oh my god I would love a prompt for destiel + 78 (unless u aren't into writing destiel then anything spn is fine 😊) no pressure tho!

Whelp, here it is! Sorry for the wait. I hope you like it. It’s my first attempt at smut and is pretty much all angst (which is why I’ve placed it under the cut).

Destiel is my favourite pairing, I promise! I didn’t write this just to torture them!

You picked SUCH a good prompt, my friend, excellent random number choosing.

(send me a number between 1 and 635 and I’ll write a thing for you)

78. Somewhere back along the line you lost your love and I lost your trust. (Fade Away – Bruce Springsteen)

When Dean pushed through the bead curtain of Cas’ cabin, he didn’t even look surprised to see him lying underneath one of the camp’s other residents, grunting and gasping out encouragement as he was fucked deep and tender. One hand clutched at the guy’s ass, the other slid through his receding hairline. For Cas’ part, it didn’t bother him that Dean had just walked in either, he just glanced in his fearless leader’s direction without his hips even slowing their pace. Dean stood there with his arms folded and looking all kinds of imposing. Cas just rolled his eyes; sex was enjoyable, one of the most enjoyable things he had found, in fact, and Dean was not going to spoil it by being… well… Dean.

“Get out.” Dean said harshly.

Cas cursed as Jeremy practically toppled off (and out of) him in shock, accidentally planting an elbow in his (soft, weak, malleable) stomach.

“Sir!” Jeremy stammered, trying to salute while grabbing for his pants with the other hand. Cas smirked, shifting himself more comfortably against the pillow so he was at least more reclining than lying. He didn’t bother to reach for the sheet, there wasn’t any part of him that Dean hadn’t seen before. He tucked an arm behind his head and tried to affect a coquettish tone.

“Is it your turn now, Commander?” He teased as Jeremy scrambled from the cabin with his fly still open and his shirt unbuttoned.

“Are you the camp whore now, Cas?”

“Of course not, I don’t get paid.” He rolled over to reach his bedside drawer and pulled out a joint and a lighter, not bothering to offer one to Dean, he wouldn’t take it, not anymore. “You couldn’t have waited until we finished?”

He took a deep drag, letting the drug work its magic and sighing as it did. Suddenly his stomach didn’t hurt quite so much, and that brief flash of irritation was soothed away.

“Would you have finished?” Dean said. And it wasn’t a question, merely what passed for his version of a joke now.

Cas snorted obligingly. “One way or another, yes,” he answered anyway.

“Put your pants on.”

“Why? Aren’t you going to just take them off again.”

Dean looked revolted, as though he hadn’t fucked Cas in this very room multiple times.

“I’m not interested in sloppy seconds. And we’ve actually got more important things to think about than your dick.”

Cas took another lazy drag, more just to irritate Dean than because he actually wanted to. The smoke curled in front of his eyes and through the haze he saw Dean’s shape and could almost, almost pretend.

“Are you sure?”

“Cas!” Dean barked.

“Fine.”

Cas dressed one-handed —far more gracefully than Jeremy had, it had to be said (heh, graceful he wasn’t, not anymore, no, he was gracegone, gracedepleted, gracedead) —and after a few minutes he stood in front of his commander, puffing on his joint.

“You sure you’re not paid?” Dean observed, nodding to the weed.

Cas shrugged, “Tokens of appreciation aren’t payment,” he said, “I still let you fuck me and when was the last time you brought me flowers?”

Dean’s entire face seemed to tighten then, he hated it when Cas referred to their naked activities when they were both clothed, or really at all. Honestly, Dean seemed to hate pretty much everything these days. It was getting depressing.

“There’s a run leaving in fifteen.”

“And you made me put on pants for that?” Cas complained. He didn’t go on supply runs anymore, not since Risa had caught him taking whatever those pills had been in the back of the pharmacy they were raiding. She called it reckless and dangerous behaviour that put their whole team at risk; Cas called it efficiency seeing as he only would have taken the drugs back at camp anyway and at least this way he had more space in his pocket for the antibiotics they were supposed to be scavenging for.

Dean hadn’t seen his side of things.

“Lewis and Gregson got got.” Dean said, his voice as blank as his eyes, “There are croats wandering around near camp and I wanna find them before they find any more stragglers on patrol. Provided you’re sober enough to handle a weapon?”

“Never been a problem before,” Cas said with a salacious wink. He’d found it was easier to lean into the blitzed out sex-fiend persona than it was to admit how goddamned horrible everything in his life was (and goddamned indeed, literally. Abandoned, alone and stripped of everything great and righteous and holy that he had ever been).

Dean ignored him. Once he would have seen through Cas’ walls, tried to talk, tried to actually show him some comfort. Even though he had admittedly never been great at feelings, at least he’d had some back then. Now, Cas was pretty sure that Dean’s capacity to care had died when the resulting shockwave of Lucifer taking hold of his true vessel had been transmitted directly (and painfully) into Cas’ brain.

Cas trailed after Dean through camp, not bothering to match his stride, they weren’t equals anymore, not even friends really. Dean hated him, for delivering the news about Sam, for not being able to save him, for being a living, now-breathing, reminder that there was a God and that He didn’t care about the world He professed to love. To Dean, Cas was just another broken promise in his lifetime of trying to pick up the pieces.

He wasn’t making things better for Dean like this, he knew he wasn’t, but Dean wasn’t the only thing who’d lost everything. Cas’ home was gone, his siblings left him without a second thought, his Father renounced him and pulled his power from him and now he was useless and human and the only other person who might have cared suddenly didn’t.

Also, he’d lost two literal limbs and Dean acted as though he should just be able to walk it off. The brief high of orgasm and the longer-lasting bliss of pills was the closest he ever got to flying these days. He resented it as much as he mourned it, hated it as much as he indulged. But hey, the commander had a mission, and Castiel was still a soldier.

It was cold and Cas pulled the jacket a little closer around himself in the grey morning, glad he’d grabbed the thing on the way out and at the same time irritated that that had even been a thought to cross his mind, as though temperature was something he thought of now (it was, apparently).

Risa glared at him when he pushed through the flap of the command tent. Why their base of operations was a tent when their resident bum got the second-biggest cabin, Cas couldn’t even guess. Pity probably; he had changed species after all, he might as well get a double bed.

“Awake then?”

“Up and active, thanks very much.” Cas snarked back, ignoring the bare curl of contempt in her mouth at the implication. He actually liked Risa, despite all her hard edges she did still have something of a heart. She cared about her team at least, enough to know that it was better for everyone if Cas wasn’t involved, and enough to fight Dean on things that she thought were too dumb and suicidal, things that Cas had stopped caring about years ago.

“Who was it this time?”

Cas grinned, “I can’t seem to recall.”

Risa sniffed and turned to Dean, “Is he going to get us killed out there?”

“He’ll be with me.”

Risa pursed her lips and nodded, clearly unhappy but not willing to pursue the argument.

“Okay, so, you’ve got your team ready?” Dean continued, placing his hands on the table. He seemed impatient, itching to get out there and kill some monsters. “You take your team left as you leave camp; Burrows,” he indicated the large man half-hidden in shadow that Cas hadn’t even noticed. Lax of him really, poor observing, especially on a mission where they were going looking for things that wanted to kill them. “will go about fifty feet out. Cas and I will go a hundred and widen the circle. We’ll keep going like that until we flush these things out, got it?”

Burrows gave a jerky nod, Risa muttered a confirmation. Cas said nothing, he’d follow Dean, everything else was irrelevant.

“Then let’s go kill some evil sons of bitches.”

It wasn’t difficult to see why Dean was the leader in the way that the others jumped to do his bidding. He had a presence to him, steel forged with blood, a legacy hard-won and a respect earned. The whole camp bowed to him, followed his word, trusted him to look after them, to take out the infected no matter who they were (or had been). They trusted that he knew what he was doing. He was revered if not liked. He could be harsh and stubborn and didn’t often take the time to explain why people were to do something except ‘because I say so’.

Perhaps it was only because Cas had known him before, but he had actually stopped liking Dean some years ago. He still loved him of course (he didn’t think there was anything in existence that could change that), still respected him, still believed in him, but he couldn’t help but miss the softness that had once been so close to the surface, he missed the easy smiles and laughter that wasn’t spoiled by derision. He missed the jokes and the references he didn’t understand and the music and the car.

Baby had been left to rust under a tree at the edge of camp and every time Cas saw her it felt like there was a hole boring into his abdomen. When they’d first parked her (she was impractical after all, not suited to off-roading and not big enough for a decent supply run), before Sam, Dean had been meticulous in his care of the vehicle. He’d covered her with a tarp when it rained, kept her polished and pristine, turned over her engine to keep her purring, sat inside her, sometimes with Cas next to him, drinking beer and playing through his cassette tape collection.

He missed his Dean, warm and funny and shy and wickedly intelligent, he missed the man who loved to cook, the man who had convinced him that he was worth staying behind for, the man who had kissed him like it meant something.

He had never had sex with that Dean, but he had been more intimate with him in one conversation than in all the things he had done with this cold imitation in front of him now, the one who roughly grabbed his arm to pull him to standing, who thought nothing of leaving bruises on his (now bruiseable) skin, who practically shoved him out the door and towards the armoury.

Once they were geared up, Dean nodded a tense farewell to Risa and Burrows and he and Cas headed out first. The plan was to enter the woods at the same time and to keep an even pace so they could easily find each other should help be needed.

It was stupid of Dean to just take Cas, particularly when the other teams were made up of half a dozen soldiers each, but Cas didn’t question it. Perhaps Dean just wanted a break from being the leader, or perhaps Dean was finally ready to kill him, leading him into the woods and telling him to think of the rabbits before putting a bullet in the back of his head. Cas snorted, a fitting end to his life as any, he supposed.

“What’s funny?” Dean demanded.

“Oh, nothing,” Cas said airily. “Just wondering if this is the part where you kill me.” He grinned at Dean and was surprised to see a flash of something in those cold eyes before he shook his head and turned back to the trees, gun held at the ready.

“I’m not gonna kill you, Cas,” he said quietly.

“Yes you are.” Cas said, as sure of this as he was of anything. “Maybe not today but you are going to be the death of me.”

Dean said nothing to that and Cas frowned at his expression, it was angry, because of course it was, but there was something else there too, guilt? Sadness? Grief?

“Hey,” he said gently, reaching out a hand to run his thumb once over Dean’s cheekbone, and Dean let him, which was more than he expected. “Don’t look like that, it was always my choice. I will die for you, Dean Winchester, and for nothing else.”

Dean pulled away after a moment, his face unreadable once more.

“Eyes open,” he said, beginning to walk again.

Cas followed, his gun at the ready. It was even colder under the trees, the watery sun diluted further by the lush canopy. The earth smelled of damp rot, clean in a way that so little was these days. His boots felt the ground give slightly with each step but thankfully it wasn’t muddy enough to hold him. A slight wind rustled the flora and made him shiver. Dean seemed unperturbed, used to things like cold while Cas was still adjusting, even years later.

He kept his eyes sharp on their surroundings as together they moved deeper into the foliage, falling into step this time, each taking turns to check behind them. There were more places to hide now but croats were unsubtle, they didn’t hide when there was the chance to spread their disease to fresh meat so he wasn’t worried about an ambush so much as he was about missing the signs of approach.

They’d probably passed around a third of the camp before Dean spoke.

“So… Jeremy, huh?”

Cas shrugged, “Among others.”

Dean scoffed, “Are you trying to sleep with everyone in camp?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dean. Not everyone wants my ‘sloppy seconds’.” He still used fingerquotes sometimes. Partially because it had become a habit, partially because Dean used to find it funny.

Dean grunted at that, flushing slightly, which was honestly more of a reaction than he’d had to pretty much anything in a while.

“Why are we out here anyway?” Cas asked, and it was only a slight complaint, more curiosity than anything. “Everyone smart knows to stay in the camp and everyone who leaves goes with a gun.”

“We’ve got kids back there, Cas. Teenagers. They might be smart but they’re also idiots. They sneak out sometimes, dare each other to scale the walls, have parties a little way out.”

“So why not stop them?”

Dean huffed, “Because they’re kids growin’ up in this shithole of a world. I couldn’t stop them even if I wanted to and God knows they deserve to kick back every once in a while, might as well keep them as safe as we can.”

And there it was, the reason that Cas hadn’t swallowed a full bottle of pills and let it end on a literal high. A glimpse of the old Dean, the one that still cared about people, the barest hint of compassion. It was stupid how a bare few seconds of something other than anger could renew Cas’ will to live but whatever. It was enough because it had to be.

“Yes,” he said. “I agree.”

“Besides,” Dean continued as though Cas hadn’t spoken, his voice taking on a sharper tone. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you sneaking out sometimes too. At least the kids go in a group.”

“I miss the stars.” He confessed, his usual guards lowered by the appearance of what Sam used to call ‘Mother Hen Dean’.

“You can see the starts in camp,” Dean said, though less harshly than he could have. Then he lifted the walkie talkie to his mouth and pushed the button, they must have hit the halfway mark while Cas wasn’t paying attention. “Risa, Burrows, any sign of ’em?”

There was a small crackle of static and then:

“Negative.”

“Not yet, Commander.”

Cas waited until Dean clipped the walkie back to his belt before continuing, suddenly desperate to make Dean understand.

“It’s not seeing the stars that I miss. I miss hearing them, being able to fly among them, being a part of them.”

Dean glanced his way, looking a little disconcerted by his honesty.

“Stars make sound? Isn’t space a vacuum?”

“Not to an angel.”

Dean considered that for a moment, then his eyes flicked to something behind Cas.

“Cas, look-” He started to yell, but the croat was already on him and Cas was on the ground, his head spinning with the too-quick movement and the lingering sluggishness of whatever was still in his system. Then, there was rotten breath on his face and teeth gnashing inches from his nose and he regained his wits long enough to get his hands on the thing’s throat and push it away with all the meagre strength his human (only) form was capable of. One of its filthy, ragged nails raked across his cheek and he yelled, before his hearing whited out in a blast from Dean’s shotgun that took the croat’s head off. Thick blood splattered Cas’ face and shirt and he pushed the thing off and scrambled to his feet, scooping up his own gun and firing at another croat that had just emerged from the trees. He hit it between the eyes and it dropped. Cas had been a warrior for millennia after all, he had excellent aim, even when using human weaponry and possibly a little concussed.

The commotion had apparently attracted more croats though, and it might take a few minutes for Burrows’ team to find them in the brush. Dean whirled around, firing shot after shot with deadly accuracy and Cas followed suit.

Dropping bodies next to Dean everything else fell away: the drudgery of their day-to-day, their struggle for survival, the constant ache between his shoulder blades, none of it mattered because this was where he belonged.

And then Burrows arrived and a few seconds later Risa did too. Together they dispatched the croats from a safe(ish) distance, picking them off as they came into view. Soon there were none left.

Cas spun around to face Dean, grin splitting his face. This was a high in and of itself. It had been so long since he’d been in a battle, fought at Dean’s side, had any kind of purpose that he’d completely forgotten about reality until his eyes landed on Dean’s bloodless face.

“What?” Cas asked, glancing around, counting the soldiers, the bodies. They hadn’t lost anyone as near as he could tell, this was a victory. There was an amount of awkward shuffling and glances away before Cas remembered and then he laughed, gesturing to his cut cheek, which had almost certainly come into contact with some of that first croat’s infected blood. “Oh, I get it. Now is the part where you kill me.”

Dean’s expression twisted into something ugly and painful, then he glanced towards the others, who were watching the two of them with wide eyes.

“Go back to camp.”

“We can’t just leave you out here alone.” Risa said at once, always practical, though she didn’t suggest Dean go back to camp and let them take care of the issue.

“I said go!” Dean repeated, his voice half a growl, half a shout.

Burrows took Risa’s arm and whispered something, then he addressed Dean, “Radio if you need us,” he said. Gesturing for the others to follow as he started walking back in the direction of the camp. One by one the soldiers followed, some hesitating, as though they wanted to say something, goodbyes perhaps? Cas had slept with half of them after all, maybe they felt they owed him something. He waved.

“Bye.”

When it was just the two of them and a dozen or so dead croats, Cas raised his gun. “You know, I can do this myself if you don’t want-”

“Don’t you dare,” Dean growled, striding over to snatch his gun. “We don’t know you’re infected yet.”

“Blood to blood contact is how it’s spread, Dean.” Cas said calmly, wiping his face on his (just as stained) sleeve, though the damage was already done. “I think we can be pretty sure.”

“Well I’m not risking it.”

“It’s more of a risk if I go back to camp.”

“Which is why we’re not going back,” Dean insisted. “We’re waiting this out. Five, six hours and then we’ll know.”

“You don’t have to stay and watch me turn feral,” Cas argued. “In fact, I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Well tough shit.” And with that, Dean turned his back and began to march further into the woods. Cas hurried to follow (because of course he did, why break the habit now?) but Dean didn’t go far, just until they were out of sight (and smell) of the corpses they left behind. Then he leaned against a tree and eyed Cas over. “What do stars sound like anyway?”

Cas smiled. “Like the striking of a match, like a windchime in a hurricane, like ice beginning to crack on a frozen lake.”

“Sounds distracting.”

“I learned to tune it out. But it was nice to have the option, you know?”

“Yeah.” Dean said, staring at Cas like he wasn’t talking about stars. “You goddamn idiot.”

Cas shrugged, rolling with the shift in topic easily. “It was inevitable really, I’m not what I used to be.”

“You don’t care, do you? You might be dead in six hours and you don’t even care.”

“Why should I?”

“Jesus, Cas!”

“I’m no use to anyone. I’m no role model, I’m no leader, I can’t heal and I’m not even a good soldier anymore. I provide nothing and I’m a detriment to the group, a waste of resources. You should look at this as a problem solved.”

“Wow. Fuck you.”

“One last time?” Cas grinned wryly. “I’d love to, Dean, but we probably shouldn’t risk it. Blood might be the main contaminant but we haven’t tested it with semen so-”

“Shut up!” Dean yelled, his hand raising to rake through his hair. “Stop fucking talking like that!”

Cas blinked.

“I’m just trying to be practical.”

“Yeah, well, don’t. This is your life, Cas, stop talking about it like it doesn’t matter!”

It doesn’t. He bit the words back. Instead he raised his hands in surrender and sat down on a fallen log, soft with rot.

“So what, you’re just going to stay with me until I start displaying symptoms?” He tried to keep the hope out of his voice. Selfish it may be but he wanted the last thing he saw to be Dean’s eyes.

“You’re damn straight.” Dean said. “If the virus takes hold you wouldn’t be able to do it. And-” he hesitated, “and if I left you alone then you could go wandering back to camp and convince the guard to let you in after so long, infected or not.” He finished, though Cas had a suspicion that that hadn’t been what Dean was going to say.

“True.” He replied mildly.

Dean gave a gruff nod and leaned more heavily against the tree. They were silent for a while, listening to the sound of birds, the faint wind, the scurrying of small rodents. It was pleasant, more pleasant than it probably should be but Cas felt more at peace with himself now than he had on any number of pills. It was ending. It was over. He was finally done. It was more freeing than he’d expected.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, an apology he’d held in for far too long, “I’m sorry that I couldn’t save Sam.”

He remembered the anguished silence when he’d delivered the news, the resulting anger, the punch he hadn’t had the capacity to feel. He remembered feeling hopeless as he watched Dean shatter in slow motion, knowing that if he had the ability to change such a major event he would have given every speck of his grace to make it happen and also knowing that it wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference.

“I’m not doing this now,” Dean said, his voice wavering on the edge of dangerous, a glint of something dark in his eye.

“Now’s sort of the only time I’ve got.”

“Then I’m not doing this, period. I won’t do deathbed confessions here. You might not even be infected, you don’t get last rites yet. We’ve got at least three hours before any of that shit becomes relevant so until then, I’m not doing this. Clear?”

“Fine. What about this weather then? A little cold for August, don’t you think?”

“Cas...” Dean warned.

“What? You don’t want to talk about anything real and I don’t want to spend the last few hours of my life listening to that little huffy thing you do when you’re pissed at me.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and Cas rolled his eyes at the sound of the aforementioned ‘huffy thing’.

“Stop rolling your eyes, I can hear it.”

“Oh really? What do rolling eyes sound like?” Cas teased. He probably shouldn’t find amusement in Dean’s irritation but he was dying so he figured he got a pass.

“Like an annoying asshole sitting three feet away from you.”

“That’s not a sound either, Dean.”

“Shut up.”

***

Three and a half hours later and things were much the same, except Dean now sat on the log and Cas was cross-legged on the ground, doodling nonsense patterns in the mud with a stick. He still hadn’t begun to show any symptoms of the croatoan virus taking hold and he was beginning to get bored; jittery too, he wished he’d brought even a joint with him but the whole mission was supposed to take less than two hours so he hadn’t bothered.

He sighed and used the stick to wipe away his current drawing.

“Having fun there?”

“I’m ecstatic,” Cas deadpanned back. “Are you going to shoot me yet?”

“No.”

***

Four hours and ten minutes in and now Dean was starting to get antsy; he kept checking his watch and looking at Cas and opening his mouth like he really wanted to say something but kept changing his mind last second.

“Just spit it out, Dean.” Cas said after the sixth time this happened.

Dean glared at him for the call-out but took a deep breath anyway, and he wouldn’t quite meet Cas’ eyes as he spoke.

“So it looks like we’re getting into the end of it now but just in case… are there any messages you want me to pass on?”

Cas blinked at him stupidly for a moment, “You’d do that?”

Dean shrugged, feigning casual, “I mean, not if you’re gonna start waxing poetic and shit but, you know, if you’ve got an idea for a will or whatever.”

Cas snorted, “Sure. I bequeath all my toilet paper to Chuck and I’ve got a stash of oxy taped behind the headboard which I’m sure Frank would like back.”

“Okay, if you’re not going to take this seriously-”

“Dean, come on, I know the drill here. I’ll be burned, my cabin will be given to someone else, my stuff will be divided up as most benefits the camp and as my closest friend you get dibs on anything of sentimental value, what else is there?”

“Fine,” Dean spat venomously. “All your crap can burn with you, I don’t want any of it.”

Cas shrugged and looked away, unprepared for the sting that lanced through him at the words; not that he had much Dean would want, a ragged old coat and a few creased polaroids. “I guess that’s up to you.”

***

Another three and a half hours passed in tense silence before Dean finally stood from the log. It was well past noon now and Cas’ stomach had been cramping for the past fifteen minutes. He tried to remember the last time he ate, he still forgot that that was something he needed to do now.

Sunlight speckled the ground with golden spotlights and everything looked just that little bit greener in the sun. It was warm enough now that both Dean and Cas had taken off their jackets.

“Right, I’m calling it. It’s been over seven hours and you’ve not tried to eat me. Looks like you got lucky.”

Cas levered himself to his feet using the moss-covered trunk behind him, thoroughly confused. There was no reason he wouldn’t be infected, he had an open wound on his face and had been covered in contaminated blood, he should have succumbed to the disease hours ago.

“Maybe it’s because I used to be an angel,” he guessed, touching the cut on his face. “Vessels often have a faint sense of grace about them even after the angel’s departure.”

“Sure, let’s go with that.” Dean said, completely uninterested now that there was no danger. He was still as tense as a coiled spring though, an air of energy tightly controlled but primed to explode at any second.

“Either way, it saves building a pyre. I daresay the firewood will be of more use in a month or so.”

He said it partially for the reaction, because he knew that Dean needed to be pushed or he’d take his anger out on someone who didn’t deserve it. He also said it because for the past few hours, Dean had been fidgety and quiet, distant and present at the same time. He hadn’t been barking orders or throwing out insults or disgusted looks, he’d been… almost worried and that was far too disconcerting for Cas’ (not as high as he wanted to be) brain to handle right now.

Whatever his reasons for saying it, it worked, Dean was on him in the time he took to blink, one hand pawing beneath his shirt, the other holding his head in place while Dean attacked his mouth, biting and sucking, teeth clacking against teeth.

Cas allowed himself to be ravaged, craved it even. It still looked like Dean after all, even smelled like him beneath harsh soap of the camp. There was nothing gentle in it, there was nothing gentle in Dean anymore, but it made him feel more than all of the careful lovers and all the drugs combined. He welcomed the pain as he kissed back, just as feral, his hands going at once for Dean’s pants, expertly popping the button and pulling down the zip without looking. Dean pressed him back until his spine hit the tree trunk and then he pressed further still, grinding the hardening outline of his cock against Castiel’s.

Cas gasped, his head falling back against the tree with a thunk and Dean took advantage of the opening, latching his teeth onto Cas’ neck and clamping down, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to leave a mark. Cas’s fingers danced upwards, under Dean’s shirt, mapping the firm muscles, the slight jut of his ribs, memorising the shape as he had so long ago, assembling Dean atom by atom until he was whole again. He wished he could do that now.

His questing fingers found a nipple and he pinched, rolling the nub tightly between his fingers. Dean let out a growl and pulled back to spin Cas around, slamming him back into the tree and yanking down his pants.

“Dean,” Cas panted, reaching behind him to pull Dean closer.

Instead of obliging, Dean took Cas’ hands and placed them on the tree before jerking him back by his hips, pressing bruises into the skin. Cas scrambled for a moment to regain his balance but didn’t protest, ultimately it would probably be more comfortable this way.

He heard a hacking sound as Dean spit on his hand, and then he flinched when that hand wrapped firmly around his cock, beginning to jerk him slow and hard, twisting on every upstroke. He moaned, loud and unashamed, before biting at his own bottom lip, feeling sweat beginning to gather at the base of his neck until a rough tongue licked it away.

Dean nipped at him playfully and then reached his other hand around to tap two fingers against Cas’ lips, his chest warm and solid against the line of Cas’ back.

“Open up.”

Cas obeyed, licking around the digits, trying to cover them with as much saliva as he could, he knew this game well.

Once Dean was satisfied he pulled his fingers free with a wet pop and then, still squeezing Cas’ dick with one hand, wiped them over his own cock, slicking himself up as well as he could in the middle of the woods a hundred feet from camp.

Cas whimpered as he felt the blunt head prod at his hole and winced when Dean began to apply pressure, refocusing on the pleasure from Dean’s hand until he relaxed enough to allow Dean entry. Dean breached him with a grunt, sliding halfway in all at once, pausing there for only a few seconds before beginning to move deeper.

Cas whined, feeling the wind on his skin at the same time as Dean’s cock splitting him open was an overload of sensation and he loved it. Dean’s rhythm on Cas’ cock faltered as he focused his attention on fucking him instead but Cas didn’t mind, he didn’t need it in order to come anyway.

“Fuck.” Dean breathed as he bottomed out, rocking his hips without withdrawing as through trying to push himself deeper still.

“Yes,” Cas agreed. “That does seem to be what we’re doing.”

He could feel the glare on the back of his head.

“Shut up.” Dean said, shifting his hips back only to slam them forward again, nudging against his prostate and making Cas shudder.

“Make me,” he whispered.

So Dean did. He quickly set up a brutal pace and although he didn’t succeed in silencing Cas completely, the force of his thrusts kept knocking the breath from his lungs so that he could no longer form full sentences.

“Yeah, Dean, aah, just like-, yes!”

It was like his blood had been replaced with liquid fire. The lack of any real lube adding a hint of discomfort-on-the-edge-of-pain that made Cas want to scream. He bashed his fist against the trunk and desperately tried to push himself back to meet Dean’s every thrust. It was so good, it was just what he needed, one of Dean’s hands gripping his hip, the other on his shoulder, using him as leverage, using him to chase his own pleasure. Their breathing was ragged and too-loud and Cas was glad of the dense greenery that seemed to soak up all sound, keeping this moment theirs and theirs alone.

Shifting the angle slightly, Dean hit his prostate again and Cas keened, raising his eyes to the sky even as his shaking legs threatened to send him to the ground. His chest heaved, his ass ached, his dick throbbed, but Dean was there, Dean was looking at him, Dean was inside him, Dean was touching him as though he wasn’t something filthy to be avoided.

“Yes,” he urged, feeling that curl of pleasure low in his belly, chasing it with every thrust of Dean’s cock, “So close, Dean. Come on, fuck me.”

Dean grunted and his grip tightened, slamming impossibly harder into him while Cas moaned and whined and pushed back with what little (human) strength he could muster. He was so full, it was so good, his nerves were firing off lightning-

And then he was flying, bliss covered him like a soft blanket and he was among the stars once more, his wings were heavy and comforting on his back, his eyes opened to colours that humans didn’t even have a name for. He was strong and eternal and sure of his purpose and he had Dean, the most brilliant soul ever created, and he would guard him and guide him and love him and be loved in return...

Dean groaned loudly in Cas’ ear as he gave one last thrust and as spilled deep inside of him, plastering himself to Cas’ back for a few seconds while they both rode the aftershocks of their respective orgasms.

And then it was over. Cas hissed when Dean pulled out and then he slumped to the ground, boneless and sore and more frustrated than ever. Tears stung his eyes and he slammed his fist into the tree again, screamed, hit the tree again and again until his knuckles were bloody and he couldn’t breathe through his sobs. It was always the intense orgasms that drew this out of him; for one, glorious moment he had believed again, everything had been beautiful and right and clear. But now the moment was gone and he was back in the mud, just trying to coax air into his uncooperative lungs while Dean watched him impassively, buttoning up his pants.

“Somewhere back along the line you lost your love and I lost your trust,” he said quietly when he’d regained at least a measure of control over his body. He felt empty now, drained. How could sex so good leave him so damn hopeless?

Dean frowned at him. “Are you quoting Springsteen at me?”

He didn’t wait for an answer before taking Cas under the elbow and hauling him to his unsteady feet. He even bent to pull up his pants for him, which had tangled themselves around his ankles.

And it was moments like these that usually brought a spark back to Cas’ life, evidence that the Dean he loved hadn’t been completely eradicated when Sam let the devil in.

But they were only moments, as fleeting as they were uncertain. Neither of them were what they had once been. The most beautiful soul in existence was tarnished and ugly, incapable of love, the emotion that had once come to him so easily, and Castiel, Angel of the Lord, bore that title no longer, unfit to do anything but seek relief in moments, unable to earn back the trust of the Righteous Man that he had squandered when he’d failed Sam.

“Let’s head back, I’m starving.” Dean said, scooping up their jackets and guns and handing Cas’ back to him before turning on his heel and heading back towards camp without a backwards glance.

Cas took a moment to steel himself before following.

Hope, he decided suddenly, was not something worth having. Not in this universe.

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tibbinswrites · 5 years

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Heyyyy, so it says your prompts are open and that you've got a list? Could I pick 502 please? With some glorious destiel fluff....... hope it's a good one.

Of course Nonny!Thank you so much for sending a request. And you did indeed pick a good one ^_^

(send me a number between 1 and 635 and I’ll write a thing for you)

502. “Your smile is not as bright as it used to be.”

“Dean, can we talk?” Cas asked as soon as Dean closed the door behind him. Dropping his keys into the chipped ceramic bowl by the door, Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, he was pretty sure he knew what this conversation was going to be. Cas was using his serious voice.

“Can it wait until after dinner?” Dean hedged, shucking off his jacket and hanging it over the banister, knowing he was being cowardly by trying to put off the inevitable but he couldn’t help it, just because he’d known it was coming didn’t mean he was prepared for this to be the last time he’d walk through the door to a husband, not a future ex-husband. “I’m starving.”

Cas’ mouth thinned with displeasure but he nodded, dropping his folded arms and spinning on his heel to head down the hall towards the kitchen, his boots—fuck, he hadn’t even taken off his shoes? Was he leaving as soon as their ‘talk’ was over? Were his cases already packed upstairs? Dean didn’t think he could handle that—squeaking on every second step.

Dean toed off his own shoes and followed, resisting the urge to slump and shuffle behind Cas like a kicked puppy. Instead he rolled his shoulders back and decided to face it like a man. If this was what Cas wanted… well, it would suck, but there was nothing Dean could do about it short of changing his entire personality into something that Cas could love again, and they both knew Dean was much too stubborn for that.

“I made casserole.” Cas said, gesturing to the glass dish covered in tinfoil—the meal people gave to the grieving, large and hearty and enough to keep a single person going for a good few meals—before taking a couple of bowls from the drying rack by the sink. He placed one down and then huffed at the inside of the other, using his fingernail to pick at a dried smidge of something on the inside.

Dean almost smiled, Cas was useless at washing up; almost everything he cleaned left something behind: the glass sliding doors that led to the garden were so streaky on the outside where they’d washed them together the previous week—making faces at each other and trading kisses through the glass, a perfect Sunday afternoon that Dean would never have again—that Dean had to open them to actually see the beautiful flowerbeds that Cas coaxed into life year after year—Dean had never been good at knowing how to handle living things—Many an hour Dean had spent before work re-cleaning things that Cas had tried to clean the previous day. It was funny most days, irritating others, but it was always worth it whenever Cas caught him at it and blushed a glorious pink, his smile small and embarrassed and grateful for Dean’s silence on the matter.

He hadn’t seen that blush in a few weeks now; Cas had been leaving before him for once, picking up the early shifts at the bookshop he worked at on top of his usual part-time hours, at least, that was his story, but Dean had his own suspicions - all of Cas’ smiles had a strained unease to them now, the way he smiled when he was keeping a secret, like when he’d accidentally scratched Dean’s car and had pretended not to know how it had happened until he caved after about twenty minutes and confessed everything. Cas was rubbish at keeping secrets, so this one must be a doozy.

Cas scooped out two portions of cooling chicken casserole and placed them one after another into the microwave for a few seconds to heat them back up to scalding while Dean awkwardly sat in his usual seat and waited, shifting uncomfortably.

Once the food was in front of them they made small-talk: How their days had been, which included stories of an asshole customer Dean had had to deal with who hadn’t known the difference between an exhaust pipe and a gear stick but was very insistent that Dean was doing his job wrong all the same and a very confused and frustrating old lady on Cas’ end who was looking for a very specific book for her grandson but she couldn’t remember anything about it except that the cover was blue.

They laughed where appropriate in between bites of food. Dean complimented Cas’ cooking, Cas waved him off, saying it was nowhere near as good as that stew Dean had made last week.

It was all so domestic, so very proper, like something out of an advert. Dean hated it, practically chewing on the tension that they were both pretending not to feel. The casserole sat heavy in his stomach, fear roiled in his gut and eventually and far too soon their bowls were empty and their spoons rattled loudly in the porcelain.

Cas looked up at him then, his eyebrows were pulled into a frown, his hair was a mess, his striking eyes were large and worried and he was so goddamn beautiful that Dean’s breath caught.

“I’ll wash up,” Dean said quickly, making to grab their bowls but Cas caught his wrist.

“Leave them.” He said in that voice that brooked no argument, the one that usually sent lightning straight to his dick but now just left him feeling queasy. “It really is important, Dean.”

Dean swallowed and left the bowls where they were. Cas stood, sliding his fingers comfortably between Dean’s and led him to the sofa. Dean began to sweat. He loved Cas. He loved him so much that he didn’t know how he was going to get through this conversation without bawling, without begging.

He’d have to call Sam, tell him how he’d fucked up the best thing in his life. He’d have to call Bobby and tell him that he’d be too busy drowning himself in Jim Beam to come to the garage for at least a week. He’d have to wake up every morning and not see that horrific shock of dark hair, or that pouty disaster of a mouth, or those stunning eyes blinking open, the slow spread of a lazy smile. That deep, rolling laugh that lit up his insides like a goddamn firecracker.

That was his future, because he loved Cas, and because Cas hadn’t been happy for almost a month now and Dean didn’t know what he was doing wrong.

“Are you alright?” Cas was asking him.

Dean nodded, despite the fact that his heart seemed to have dropped to somewhere around his knees.

Cas squinted at him but ploughed on, clearly as anxious to get this talk over with as Dean was for it to not happen.

“Dean, I’ve been thinking.”

“Well that doesn’t sound good.” Dean winced at the dead croak that came out instead of his usual chirpy sarcasm.

Cas shot him a look. “I’ve been… pondering a big decision lately,” he continued, still holding Dean’s hand in his own lap. “And I’ve come to a conclusion.”

“Is there someone else?” Dean choked out. He knew that Cas would never cheat on him, but it would be just like Cas to fall in love with someone else and never act on it for fear of hurting Dean until they were officially separated. For all that Cas would break rules (and laws) without a thought—trespassing, minor vandalism, public indecency (okay, maybe that last one was partially Dean’s fault)—his moral code was absolute.

His question seemed to reset Cas’ brain for a moment, derailing him from his previous train of thought. He blinked and his head cocked in that adorable baby-bird way that Dean would never tire of teasing him about. The sight of it now made Dean feel like he’d swallowed a lead ball.

“What?”

“You’re leaving me, right? I wanna know if there’s someone else.” Though exactly why he wanted to know, he couldn’t explain. Could he really resent this other person if they made Cas happy where he had failed? He knew he sounded churlish but he couldn’t help it. His life was going to darken now, the colour from it leeched away when those blue eyes left his sight for the last time. He was ashamed to realise that he was crying.

“No!” Cas said, sounding alarmed, and both his hands were on Dean’s now, warm and solid and there. “Sweetheart, no, I’m not leaving you, of course I’m not leaving you! What made you think that?”

Dean sniffed, blinked, sniffed again and then one of Cas’ hands was on his face, gently wiping away the tears that were still falling while he processed the words and his throat loosened enough for air to flow easily once more.

“Your smile isn’t as bright as it used to be,” he said pathetically.

Cas’ whole face softened into the dopiest grin Dean had ever seen and he leaned forward to press his lips to Dean’s forehead, which, although Dean had never said it aloud, Cas seemed to know made him feel cherished and safe.

“Now why on earth would I leave you when you say things like that?”

He kissed Dean again, on the lips this time, soft and sweet. Dean stroked his thumb across the back of Cas’ hand, the pure relief making his entire body sag into Cas. And Cas caught him, because Cas always did. His arms encircled Dean tightly for a moment before gently pushing him back.

“I know I’ve been a little… on edge lately,” Cas said, keeping careful eye contact with Dean as he spoke and once more taking his hands in his own. He knows Dean intimately, knows that Dean needs to be touched right now, that he needs that reassurance, even if he’s too scared to ask for it. “But I promise, it has nothing to do with our marriage. We’ve been together for almost ten years, Dean, and every night I go to bed wondering how I got so lucky.”

Dean took a moment to breathe, a moment to smile, a moment to feel all his love for Castiel filling him up inside. Cas wasn’t leaving him. He loved him.

“Then what’s wrong? He asked, a different kind of panic ebbing into his system now.

“Mildred wants to retire and she’s selling the shop,” Cas explained slowly, his eyes flitting away, a hint of that exquisite pink dusting the bridge of his nose. “And I know it’s impractical, I know we don’t have the money, and I know that we’re comfortable in our routines as they are and this would change a lot of things for us and not all of them for the better…”

“But?” Dean urged, squeezing Cas’ hand. That brought those eyes back to his with a sudden clarity and fierce energy that made Dean’s heart squeeze.

“But I want it, Dean. I want to buy the shop. I love working there and Mildred’s been teaching me the more business side of it during the opening shift and I really think I can do it. I think I could even start a section for collectors books, rare editions and start up a- a library system for kids who might not be able to afford the newer editions of schoolbooks that the local library won’t have, I could set up groups and get authors in for readings, make it more than just a bookshop and I really, really want it.”

His eyes dropped again, the spotlight leaving Dean’s face.

“Of course, I have no idea where we’d get the money from, even though Mildred said she’d be willing to sell it to me with a large discount it’s still a lot of money. And my hours would more than double. I’d have to get up early and stay late and work weekends at least until I can hire some people but we wouldn’t have as much time for each other and that would be difficult. Mildred made me offer a few weeks ago and I didn’t wanna tell you because I didn’t think there was any point, but I need to let her know by Thursday or she’s going to put the shop up for sale officially and I lose my chance. With the deadline getting closer I started to really consider it so I had to say something.”

And really, who was Dean to resist that face?

“Okay,” he said, “let’s do it.”

Cas blinked, “Really? Just like that.”

Dean laughed, “Yes, really, dumbass. I love you and owning a bookshop is perfect for you. Mildred’s a great lady but you could do so much more with that space and it sounds to me like you’ve put more thought into this than you did your proposal.”

Cas laughed, breathy and gorgeous. “I knew you’d say yes,” he mumbled, “Sam warned me you’d started looking at rings yourself.”

“God, you’re perfect.” Dean said, suddenly awestruck. “And we’ll find the money. I can pick up some extra shifts at the garage, we could go begging to the bank, or hell, I could ask Sam.”

“You’d do that?”

Cas knew just how reluctant Dean was to ask Sam for anything—despite the fact that his little brother was in the five figures kind of rich and kind enough that he would give it all to Dean if he’d only say the word—and he looked suitably touched at the gesture.

“I put him through college and changed his diapers, pretty sure he owes me.” Dean said nonchalantly and convincing precisely no one. “Yeah, Cas. I’ll ask. But don’t blame me when Sam starts sending you monthly booklists to pay him back with.”

Cas smiled bright and happy, and if that wasn’t just the most amazing thing Dean had seen all day.

If you liked this, please consider buying me a coffee, or send me your own prompt.

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tibbinswrites · 5 years

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50) If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

Hmmm... I think it would have to be angst. I love torturing my favourite characters, I just find it really therapeutic xD

Plus, I still love happy endings so it wouldn’t be completely without fluff ;)

Thanks so much for asking!

#TibbinsAnswers

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tibbinswrites · 5 years

Text

Prompt: “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

Prompt requested by @psychicbouquetblaze-stuff (sorry I’m retagging you for the same story but the ‘keep reading’ link no longer worked so I thought it would be best to repost. I’ve also edited it a bit because it needed doing).

Prompts are open. I’ve got a few lists to choose from in the ‘Prompts’ section of my blog or feel free to send me an ask or a message if there’s a specific one you’d like ^_^

Dean/Castiel

Prompt #5 from this list: “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

Castiel flashed his badge and a smile to the janitor as he opened his front door.

“Mr Faukes? FBI Agent Moore, and this is my partner, Agent Mathers. We were hoping to ask you a few questions about the incident you reported last night.”

Dean held up his own badge with a faint tightening of his eyes at the alias. It had been one of Cas’ spare sets of badges in the glove compartment of the continental, Sam had taken the impala to the next town over, where a possibly related case had also popped up. Dean hadn’t been happy about it, but he had conceded that point that seeing as he had a fully powered angel with him, it was best Sam take the vast majority of their weapons, just in case.

Faukes, after throwing a cursory glance at Dean, looked back to Castiel with a shy smile of his own. He was a tall man, late 30s, with strong arms and rugged features. His clothes looked to be a patchwork of different autumn-coloured fabrics but they blended together well and looked soft and comfortable. His light brown hair was neatly combed and he had kind brown eyes that Castiel found himself trusting.

“Sure thing,” he said, stepping back to let them in with the slightly awkward movements of someone who didn’t get a lot of visitors. His voice had a gravelly tone to it that matched the slight German accent. Castiel liked the sound. They walked past him into the small apartment. It smelled pleasantly of lemongrass and was sparsely decorated with an overflowing bookshelf, a sofa squashed beside it and a rickety desk that looked more like storage space than a place of work. A kitchenette was in one corner with a square table and a single chair for meals. The dish rack next to the sink was stuffed with crockery and there was a small sewing machine on another table, along with a couple of rolls of fabric leaning against the wall. A small electric heater clunked slightly as it fought against the morning chill. It was a messy home but meticulously clean. Faukes gestured them to the sofa and spun the dining chair around to face it before sitting himself on the plush cushion tied to the slats with ribbon, “And you can call me Matt. What do you need to know?”

“Your report said you found a jar of eyes in your boss’ office?” Dean cut in as Castiel opened his mouth. His tone was sharp, accusatory, as though Matt was their prime suspect when in reality he was just a witness. Matt looked a little unsettled at the heavy scowl Dean was levelling his way and Castiel couldn’t blame him, he shot Dean a look to take it easy, which was ignored.

“Um… yeah,” Matt said, dragging his eyes from Dean back to Castiel, who nodded encouragingly. Matt cleared his throat, fiddling with a stray thread on the hem of his shirt and began to speak, “So, I was cleaning up after we closed and I noticed the door to Mr Hitching’s office was open. I thought it was strange because even when he’s in he keeps it shut, and he’s supposed to be on holiday for the next two weeks. I figured his one of the other owners might have needed some papers or something and called up his secretary to come and fetch them so I thought I might as well just pop in to vacuum and empty the trash. But I saw it as soon as I turned the light on. It was just… sat on the desk. Like a paperweight, like it wasn’t something important enough to even hide. Five eyes. I remember thinking how weird that was, why five? That’s not even three people… That’s horrible, right? I shouldn’t have thought that.”

“Not at all.” Castiel assured him, leaning forwards intently, “When faced with trauma, the human brain—if it doesn’t reject the trauma entirely—might try to focus on certain details to distract from the trauma itself. You’d be surprised at some of the things people notice when faced with things of this nature. Sometimes their observations are vital to solving the case.”

Matt smiled again, smaller this time, but grateful. It was nice, Castiel decided, making this man smile.

“I bet you’ve got a load of stories like this, huh?” Matt said, shifting forward slightly too, sounding awed and impressed at the idea, “Job like yours. God, I couldn’t do it.”

“Well, we can’t all be janitors.” Dean muttered. The comment was innocuous enough, and Castiel would have ignored it if it hadn’t been for Dean’s tone, practically dripping with venom. Matt’s face immediately fell and Castiel shifted on the couch to glare his ‘partner’.

“Agent Mathers, that was incredibly rude. I think you owe Mr Faukes an apology.”

Dean flushed, an angry red tinge creeping up the back of his neck. He stared at Castiel and the angel saw a kaleidoscope of emotions flash across his face, too fast to catch any of them, but after a moment he relented and turned back to Matt.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “my partner’s right. I was out of line.”

“It’s alright,” Matt said, looking more confused than offended now, “but thank you.”

Castiel took over the questioning from there, gently prying for all the details Matt could remember. Castiel found himself intrigued by the man, it was clear he was very self-conscious, about his job, his home, himself, but there was also a confidence to him born of self-reliance that Castiel couldn’t help but respect. He also seemed grateful to talk. From what he told them, he didn’t have many friends in the community.

“It’s a small town,” he said, when Castiel asked him why that was, “around here, everyone knows everything about everyone, and they’re pretty quick to judge. Most of them are heavy church-goers. And not the kind that preach love and acceptance, if you get my meaning.”

“That must be difficult.”

Matt shrugged, “It is what it is,” he said, his head tilting slightly to the side as he met Castiel’s eyes, “but it’s nice to talk to some folks with a different mindset for a change.”

Castiel nodded, trying his best to ignore the click of Dean’s jaw and the tension oozing from the seat next to him, “I understand,” he said, “I too find it difficult to ‘branch out’ when it comes to socialising.”

That was an understatement. Excluding other angels, who were less likely to want to catch up than they were to want to bury an angel blade in his chest, most the social interaction Castiel had experienced was through the Winchesters. Sam and Dean were the best men he knew, and their chosen family was a good one, but that didn’t stop Castiel from thinking that it might be nice to have people to talk to without the weight of world-shattering consequences as a constant looming presence in every conversation.

“Anyway, thank you for your time,” he continued, standing and indicating that Dean should follow suit, “you’ve been very helpful.” He produced a card and handed it to Matt while Dean made a beeline for the door. “Here’s my number. If you remember something else, or if you just need to talk to someone with a different mindset, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely call.” Matt said with a wink. “Agent Moore, would it be terribly inappropriate if I were to ask you on a date?”

Dean froze, his hand on the doorknob.

“I- it would,” Castiel stuttered, heat rushing to his face, “but I think I would like that. Perhaps once this case is over?”

“Keep me updated.” Matt grinned.

Dean yanked open the door and strode off down the hall, not even waiting for Castiel to catch up. The angel rolled his eyes and glanced at Matt, who snickered and held up his card.

“Good luck with the case.”

Xxx

“I can’t believe you, Cas. First of all, you made me a rapper, what the hell? Second of all, how do you go into a freaking suspect’s house and come out with a date?”

“Nothing’s been arranged,” Castiel said calmly, watching from the end of one of the twin beds as Dean wore a path in the already threadbare carpet of their motel room, “besides, Matt isn’t a suspect, he’s a witness.”

“Until we can prove he’s not the one carving out eyes, he’s both.” Dean insisted. “I just… I don’t get it, man, I thought you liked chicks anyway?”

“I’m indifferent to gender.” Castiel said, frowning. “I’ve never understood why it matters so much to humans what pronouns their partners use. I liked him. He was interesting and kind and I would like to get to know him better, what’s wrong with that?”

“We’re in the middle of a case, Cas, you can’t afford to get… you know, distracted.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow, “and how many bartenders and waitresses and almost-victims have you gotten ‘distracted’ with, Dean?”

“That’s different!”

“How?” Castiel demanded, truly irritated now. Dean had many wonderful traits that Castiel admired but his hypocrisy was not one of them. He supposed it stemmed from being the older sibling, more often left in charge than not, ‘do as I say, not as I do’ was practically etched into his bones.

“Because...” Dean spluttered, “because they’re just a bit of fun, alright? They knew the drill, we’re not exactly planning to settle down, and were never go out on dates.” He spat the word like something filthy, “What kind of future do you expect you can have with this guy, huh? Are you gonna tell him what we do? Bring him home and introduce him to your half-archangel son and all the people we yanked from another world? The guy was squeamish about a jar of eyes, how do you think he’d handle literally any of the crap we go through?”

“A first date is not a marriage proposal, Dean. What’s the harm in dinner and a movie?”

“You don’t eat.”

“I can, I just don’t need to.” Castiel shot back, “Random sexual conquests don’t appeal to me. I would rather find a person I have a connection with, and I felt I had a connection with Matt. Why are you so angry? The last time I had a date you were happy for me. Is it really because he’s a man?”

“No!” Dean yelled, a little too loudly, he winced as the sound bounced back to him from the cheap cinderblock walls and lowered his voice to a hiss, his arms folded tightly across his chest and he finally stopped pacing, “It’s because I think you’re being irresponsible. We don’t know that we’re not gonna have to gut that guy before the week is out. And what are you talking about a connection? You spoke for half an hour, you don’t build a connection in half an hour.”

“You’re not angry-” Castiel realised, squinting at the man in front of him. His hands were tucked up into his armpits and his shoulders were slightly rounded, almost as though he was trying to curl into himself, “you’re hurt. Wait a minute, are you jealous?”

“What?!” Dean exclaimed, “Jealous? No, I’m not jealous. Of what? I didn’t like that guy.”

Castiel tilted his head, “Then what?” he asked, his voice low and even, “You don’t like that I like him? You don’t like that I could possibly show interest in anyone other than you?”

Dean took a step back like Castiel had hit him. All the blood drained from his face.

“What are you talking about?” He said, which is what Dean always said when confronted with something he didn’t want to admit to.

“Come on, Dean,” Castiel said impatiently, “you’re not stupid and subtlety isn’t my strong suit. You know how I feel about you, you’ve known it for years. So you don’t want it but you don’t want anyone else to want it either?”

“That’s… that’s not-” Dean choked out, looking sick now, “I didn’t mean-”

“Then what?” Castiel cried, finally standing to be on even ground with Dean. He was frustrated, he was angry, he was overwhelmed, “Explain it to me, because I don’t understand.”

Instead of speaking, Dean’s jaw snapped shut and for a moment, Castiel was sure he was going to bolt from the room. Instead he strode forward two steps and cupped Castiel’s face with his hands before bringing their lips together, effectively shorting out his brain.

“I’ve always wanted you.” Dean murmured against his mouth, “Since Purgatory I’ve let myself want you. But if I had you, I could lose you. And I’m not strong enough to lose you.”

They stayed that way for a while, breathing each other’s air, foreheads pressed together, lips barely brushing. Dean’s hands were warm and calloused and gentle against his skin, Castiel’s hands gripped at the fabric of Dean’s shirt, though he didn’t remember moving.

“It’s worth it for this,” Castiel whispered back, half-lost in the feeling of Dean so close, “isn’t it?”

“Losing you sucked bad, Cas.” Dean said shaking his head and pulling back slightly, just enough that they could lock eyes, “I gave up.”

Castiel sighed and pulled away completely, stepping back, feeling cold as Dean’s hands left him. “I understand,” he said, “but I disagree. Neither of us can guarantee forever and it’s not fair for you to try and keep me from seeking elsewhere something that you aren’t willing to give me.”

“I know,” Dean said, but he reached out to take his hand and slot their fingers together, “So this is me realising that I’m willing, I guess.”

Castiel squeezed his hand and quirked a small smile, “Finally.”

#prompt #repost #Destiel fanfic #spn fanfic #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #prompt me #writing #TibbinsWrites #TibbinsAnswers #supernatural

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tibbinswrites · 5 years

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Q, X, Z, W, and I. ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Q: Do you have any discarded scenes/storylines/projects?

I do indeed. There are lots of scenes that I’ve had to heavily edit or cut completely because they just didn’t work with the story I was trying to tell. I’ve also got several projects on the back burner that I hope to get around to at some point but am more likely to forget about before I can.

X: A character you enjoy making suffer.

It’s gotta be Dean Winchester (Supernatural). I think he’s my favourite person to put through the emotional blender. I identify with Dean in ways that I probably shouldn’t and it’s just so satisfying to break him down so I can start building him up again (most of the time).

Z: Major character death–do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can’t tolerate?

I have written MCD, in this fic in particular if you want to read it. In canon I don’t think I could tolerate Castiel’s (Supernatural) death, but in fanfic anything goes really. It all depends on how it’s done. For example, in Merlin (spoiler alert!), Arthur’s death was done so badly in my opinion that I didn’t feel anything at all, which is not how you want to feel after several years spent following these characters.

W: Do you like more general prompts, or more specific ones?

After another one? (I wouldn’t complain) ;P

I’m not sure I have a preference. I want the person prompting me to like the finished product, so the more specific they are, the more tailored that fic will be for them, which is very satisfying. I also struggle with story arcs and proper, coherent plots on my own so having someone else spelling out the beats for me that I just flesh out helps me learn and improve in my storytelling. And it’s also an opportunity to get to know the prompter, and the more fandom friends the better.

However, I also quite like being given a vague concept and being able to interpret it as I please, taking it in an unexpected direction or changing the fic completely if I don’t like where it’s heading. That freedom is why I got into writing in the first place and it’s a lot less pressure than having to live up to someone else’s idea of what a fic is going to be.

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

For writing, not really, I have no guilt about loving to torture my characters (though I probably should).

For reading though... I think it has to be A/B/O fics. I don’t think I’ll ever write one, and there are a lot of problems with the concept, but some of them are just so well done that I can’t help but love them. This one is a particular favourite of mine by @thanks-tacos, there’s just something about the way relationships like these seem to work, even though I’m personally against the whole principle of true mates or the inherent uneven balance of power between partners (though there are fics that subvert and conquer this of course, which is why I would call the trope a guilty pleasure).

Thank you so much for asking

#TibbinsAnswers

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tibbinswrites · 5 years

Note

06&26 please! I will never pass an opportunity to read something from you :)

It has taken me days longer than it should and it was supposed to be short, but here it is, finally. Thank you so much for your patience, I hope it holds up.

Prompt #06&26 - Wings and Protection from this list

Inspired by this fantastic fic (seriously, it’s so much better than mine, go read it).

Love Tibbins xx

How I Met Your Brother

Cassat with Sam on the hood of the impala, watching Jack throw stonesinto the lake, twisting his wrist low to send them skipping over thewater like Sam had shown him. Dean was asleep on the picnic blanketto their right, one elbow sticking out from under his head, kneestucked up slightly. He’d probably be stiff when he awoke, and cold;the sun was beginning its slow descent towards the horizon andalthough the temperature hadn’t dropped dramatically yet, the windhad picked up from slight breeze to more constant chill. Not that Casfelt it beyond his intrinsic knowledge of what the temperature was,but Sam and Jack had already put on their jackets. Still, they alllet him sleep. He needed the rest and Cas could always heal his acheswhen he woke.

Thislunch outside had been a great idea of Dean’s, getting them all outof the bunker for some sunshine and quality time, something whichnone of them had been able to appreciate lately, particularly Sam. Hehad taken the loss of the Apocalypse World survivors hard, and theambiguity of Jack’s current state harder still, so seeing him smileand joke and gently poke Dean with a long branch until thestill-sleeping hunter batted at the offending weapon and rolled ontohis side, making Jack hold his hands over his mouth to try and stopthe laughter from waking the angry bear.

“I’mreal glad we did this, Cas,” Sam said quietly, watching thebranches of a willow tree where they trailed lazy patterns in thewater, “I don’t know how he knew that this was what I neededbut…” he gestured at the beautiful scene around them, thebeginnings of spring making itself known; flowers beginning to emergefrom the earth, greenery budding on branches, the sound of demandingchicks hassling their poor parents for food.

“Areyou surprised?” Cas asked, a smile in his voice, “He knows youbetter than anyone, as you know him.”

“Ithought I did,” Sam replied, a shadow crossing his face, “Ithought I knew what he needed, but when he- last time he neededsomething I just couldn’t figure it out. I let him be Agent Pageand I gave him beer at breakfast and I tried to take him to a stripclub. I felt like a kid, like I was trying to cheer him up in thestupid little ways that kids do. I didn’t know how to fix theproblem so I just tried masking it with stuff he liked. It didn’twork.”

“I’msure he appreciated the effort nonetheless,” Cas saiddiplomatically, “as you appreciate his efforts in cleaning up thebunker and doing your laundry and suggesting this. Isn’t it thesame? It doesn’t fix the problem, but it helps.”

Samsighed, a long, deep sigh that seemed to come from his very core, hiseyes fixed on Jack’s next stone that was too heavy to make a goodskipping stone and the corner of his mouth twitched up as it hit thewater with a disappointing plop. Jack wasn’t deterred though,searching through the pebbles on the very edge of the shoreline,muddying the water by stirring up the sand. Cas saw worry in Sam’shazel eyes, even through the stress and pain of loss there was aconstant, gnawing worry. Cas knew it, he felt it too.

“Whatdoes fix the problem?” Samasked him suddenly, “We’ve still got so much going on; I need tobe there for Jack, for everyone that’s left, for Dean, but I don’tknow how. I can’t even go into the library anymore. I stood outsideit for twenty minutes this morning, but I couldn’t go in, couldn’teven look. I just kept seeing Maggie-”

Heburied his face in his hands then. Not crying, like would be expectedof someone in this position and in this much raw pain, probablyforcing the tears down because of the boy skipping stones only yardsaway. Keeping up appearances, a lifelong habit.

“Ifailed them, Cas,” he mumbled through his fingers, “I failed allof them.”

“Whatcould you have done differently?”

“Something.”

Cas’heart went out to the man. Sam had grown so much in the last fewyears; ever since Cas had returned from the Empty Sam had beendifferent, he had taken on the parental role in Jack’s life whileDean had kept his distance, trying his absolute best to make surethat Jack never felt the same loneliness that he had as a child. Caswould be forever grateful to Sam for fulfilling his promise to Kellywhen he himself couldn’t. Not that that was why Sam had done it, ofcourse, he was just kind.

“Doyou-” Sam began, then he dropped his hands from his face and shookhis head, expression closing in on itself, “never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothing,it’s… it’s stupid.”

“Tellme anyway.”

Samshot him a look, cautious, like he was worried Cas wouldn’tunderstand.

“Doyou think maybe Dean was right? That we should’ve let him go whenhe asked us to? We lost over twenty hunters, Cas. Good people whodidn’t deserve to die. And Jack had to burn off who knows how muchof his soul to save us. Would it have been better to let Dean get inthat damn box?”

Caschewed on his bottom lip; his immediate reaction was no,of course they were better off for having Dean here, how could Sameven think otherwise? But he knew that would be unhelpful, it wasclear that Sam already hated himself for thinking it.

“Perhaps,”he said instead, “but could you have lived with yourself if youhad?”

“Liveswould have been saved,”

“Butnot you brother.”

“Itwas what he wanted,”

“So?”

Sam’slips quirked at that. “I know,” he said quietly, “as wrong asit is, even after everything Michael did, I would rather have Dean.”

“Metoo.”

Theyfell silent for a little while, watching asJack eventually grew bored of throwing pebbles and began inspectingthe insects that gathered around the roots of nearby plants.

“Iknow what it’s like to lose people under your command,” he saideventually, “to be the only one left and feel like you failed thembecause of that.”

Samlooked at him, pushing his hair back from his face and tucking itbehind his ear.

“Bummission?” He asked,

“Quitethe opposite. It was the most important mission of my life,” hepaused a moment, “I never did tell you the story of how I raisedDean from Hell, did I?”

Samstarted at that, twisting his torso around to face him, “No. I- youdidn’t.”

“Iwas desperate to prove myself,” Cas said with a sigh, “Anna hadfallen only a few decades before and I had taken her place asgarrison leader in all buttitle, our reputation hadtaken a hit because of Anna’s rebellion but there was littleopportunity for any significant victories to try and rectify that.Still, our garrison was the most disciplined, the most tenacious inpursuing a goal. We had never failed a mission for Heaven. At thetime, I thought that was why I was chosen, but now I’m not so sure,perhaps they thought I would be a good decoy, or maybe they werehoping to get rid of me because of my reputation as a rebel among thehigher-ups, though, of course, I wasn’t aware of that.” Histhroat tightened, as it always did when he thought of Naomi and theparts of himself that he had lost thanks to her… treatments. Hewondered if he would ever regain those memories, he wasn’t sure hewanted to. “Regardless, they placed me with fourteen other angels,the best of the best, leaders of their own garrisons, and they gaveme command. There were three other groups sent as well of a similarsize. An army. We hadn’t been needed in such numbers sinceLucifer’s fall. We seemed to be much harder to kill back then.”

Hesmiled wryly at Sam, who was watching him, rapt.

“Assoon as we got word that the Righteous Man had arrived in the Pit, wewere sent to retrieve him. And so we laid siege to the gates. Mygarrison were strong, we worked well together and they trusted me aswell as any angel trusts their superior. Implicitly, whether or notit’s wise.”

Heremembered it well. A lot of his memories of his time in Heaven hadgone fuzzy around the edges—probablythe result of his bouncing from angel to human and back again, theloss of his grace and its diminished power—butthat war… every detail was as sharp as the day it happened, likeeach moment had been painstakingly sketched onto glass, preservedforever.

Theywere the last of the groups to arrive at the gates, Castiel had hopedto use the distraction at the main point of entry to see if he couldfind another one but Hell had closed all other ways in and out, would have closed the main gates too if that action was reversible.So they threw themselves into the assault; demons and almost-demonsand hellhounds and twisted creatures that had once been human souls,tortured into madness and forgetting their human forms, all of themfell before his blade. But there were always more; perhaps some wereeven the same ones, they were still in Hell after all, torment waseternal here. He and the others pushed forwards, breaking through thegates after only a year of fighting, but that was barely the firsthurdle, on the other side, as expected, was a veritable wall ofdamned creatures, all intent of destroying them.

The bloodshed wasunending, angels didn’t tire and neither did demons, though whilethe latter revelled in the violence and chaos of it all, after adecade the angels began to flag. Hell was oppressive to their verybeings, everything that it was made of repelled them. The power ofsuch a place attacked more than just their physical forms, once pastthe threshold of the gates, they were bombardedwith the prayers. The walls of Hell kept them in usually, but oncethey were inside the bubble popped and the screams began. Thousandsupon thousands of them, praying to God, to His angels, to anyone whowas listening to help them, save them, stop the torment that theirhad brought upon themselves, either with a deal or a lifetime ofvice.

Some angels fled at the onslaught and Castiel couldn’t blamethem. Whether or not you believed the souls here deserved their fate,it was another thing entirely to hear it. Noneof his retreated though and Castiel redoubled his efforts to make anopening, using the screams as motivation. He couldn’t aid all ofthem, but there was one, one voice in the millions that he could helpsave. He tried to pick it out, to focus on it, but as he had no ideawhat Dean Winchester’s voice sounded like, it was impossible. Buthe did pick one voice, a young American male, and pretended that itwas the Righteous Man. He fought for that voice, even as Kevial wassurrounded and torn apart, his grace shredded and tossed aside withno hope of retrieval. It was the first loss of the battle and it washis, but he forcedhimself to press on. He had sent Kevial up to scout from above, totry and see if they were almost through; a reckless decision, theywould know they were through when they got there, and it had costKevial his life.

Hesent Lanariel back to the edge of the fighting to recuperate after ahellhound had badly rent one of her wings and there she was caught bya group of demons who dragged her, screaming, back into the Pit.

Sherejoined the battle twelveyears later, her eyes flickering with corrupted grace, and Castielcut her down himself.

Hetoo was beginning to weaken, his grace starting to compress under thepressures of this place, where everything was blood and sulphur andbile. In a way to combat this he changed his form to a more compactshape; his earthly vessel, James Novak, onlywith the dimensions skewed so he was larger than the average human.He kept his wings, of course, mostly for practicality’s sake butalso so that he would be recognisable as an angel in the way that theRighteous Man thought of them, if he was still human enough torecognise anything. It had been sixteenyears on this plane since Dean Winchester had died on Earth, no doubthe was being given special attention by Hell’s best torturer,Alastair, to break him, to break the first Seal, if he hadn’talready.

Perhapsit was that desperate thought that caused him to dash through a briefcrack in the defending forces the second it opened. Itwas pure luck that he had been right next to it, slicing through ahellhound to reveal it and his just acted. The openingclosed behind him just as quickly, and although he hadn’t gonecompletely unnoticed, the distraction at the gates proved too largefor more than a few creatures to peel off and attack, though once hehad dispatched them, he knew that he wouldn’t have long before thevery presence of his grace drew attention like a beacon.

“SoI fled into Hell. I abandoned my garrison, left them to face thehoards of demons without me. It shouldn’t matter, they were allcommanders, one of the others would have been capable of leading, butit felt like a betrayal. I knew when Hell sensed my presence, I knewit because I heard my garrison, my siblingscrying out for mercy as they were overwhelmed. Hell had been contentto keep us fighting at the gates eternally, it has enough creaturesto spare, but the moment it knew that one of us was inside it endedthe battle.”

Casfelt his face twisting as he remembered the voices in his head, greatwarriors, pleading for a quick death.

“Ithink they were hoping to draw me back out if they tortured theothers,” he continued, taking a deep breath and comfort in thedelicate scent of honeysuckle and lilac and damp earth thataccompanied it. “Dozens ofangels crying out for me specifically to help them. Someof them lasted for years.I could have followed theircries, I might have saved even some of them. Instead I turned away.”

“Oh,Cas,” Sam said, it wasn’t the beginning of a longer thought,merely the reminder that he was there and that he was listening. Cashad never told this story before. Neitherof the brothers had asked aboutit and Cas hadn’t wanted toreopen old wounds. Still, it felt right that he talk about it now, toSam.

Itwas not the Hell of Crowley’s reign that greeted him; stone halls,demons confined to meatsuits, ego and efficiency;the Hell of Azazel’s rule was a labyrinth. Or it may have been theopposite. There was so much empty space it felt like flying through ablack hole. Even the constantbackground hum of the angels backin Heaven had been cut off, only those screaming for mercy;he had never felt so alone.There was nothingto see butflashes of demonic energy,the stench of rot and pain andsulphur, prayers like acacophony in his head and nowhere to hide fromthe occasional demon patrol that would attack him on sight.He followed the gentle tug of the Righteous Man’s soul, they’dbeen given that much by their superiors at least, animprint, not enough to visualise, but enough to be certain when helaid eyes in it.

Itwas a strange descent. Not only was he getting weaker each day, hiswounds taking longer to heal, the power of Hell beating down on himrelentlessly, but it felt… empty. It was draining, more drainingthan he would have expected. Constant battle would have kept himalert, finding his way through twisting paths would have engaged hismind, but as he flew towards Dean Winchester there were no landmarks,no walls, nothing to indicate that there was anything except for theprayers and that tug and the infrequentencounter with a feral creature. He was beginning to get anxious; hehad left his siblings to die all so he could complete the mission,but would he even make it that far?Angels were not supposed to be in this place; it was everything theystood against, concentrated and acidic and it was grating on his verygrace.

Itwas almost threeyearsbefore he reached the cages and by that time he was fatigued in a wayhe had never been before; the prayers hadgrown louder and now actualvoices joined them, hands grasping through bars, some to claw, othersto beg. He ignored them. These souls were damned for a reason afterall, none of them had been deemed worthy of salvation, so there wasno point even acknowledging them.

Still,striding through the rows of cages was… uncomfortable, it was hardto ignore the prayers when the ones praying were so close, it washard to turn his head from a sobbing child—what had theydone to deserve eternity here?—from a woman half-deranged withpain, from a man convulsing on the ground. The not-air around themall was thick and cloying, those in the cages might not need oxygen,but most of them probably weren’t aware of that yet. Indeed, manyof those he passed had scars on their throats, some still drippingopen. His hands balled into fists as they longed to reach out andtake away that pain; thatis what angels were made for, to heal, to help, to aide humans. Ofcourse they were warriors, but if he stood aside and did nothing, howwas he better than the demons who had trapped them here? What was hefighting for if not for them? He had to shake himself at thattraitorous thought, focus, you have a mission.Heaven needs you.

Sohe spread his wings once more and flew past the remaining cages,towards the source of the tug. Attacks from Hell’s swarms werebecoming more frequent now as he delved deeper, more twistedcreatures lunged at him from the dark, those that had forgotten whatlight was. He reminded them with a flash of grace; eyes burned,demons howled and alerted others, they were all searching for him, heknew it. They knew that he was inside and they knew what he was therefor, it was only luck that the very nature of Hell made it difficultto find anything at all, including an angel actively trying to avoiddetection.

Hewondered if Heaven had sent more angels after him, or if they hadsimply given up the mission as a lost cause. Dean Winchester hadbroken the first Seal after all, he had felt the snap inside hisgrace as the Seal splintered, a warning of something new, somethingonly spoken of with an air of reverence and skepticism in Heaven.There was no turning back, the Apocalypse had begun. Dean Winchesterwould be needed to house Michael, but that need was much lesspressing than protecting the other seals. He should be with them.Instead he was here, in this festering space of pain and despair. Andhere he would stay unless he could find the Righteous Man. He knewthat as surely as he knew the names of all the prophets. He would notleave Hell without Dean Winchester. He had abandoned his own for thismission, he would see it through. The tug had grown clearer over thepast few days, a more solid directional pull than just vaguelydownwards and the singular demonic entities became groups, leavinghim weaker with every pulse of grace he had to expend.

Fortyyears since Dean Winchesterhad arrived in Hell, Castiel found him. Or at least, he found a heavyfortification of demons and hellhounds and other monstrosities. Theywere clearly guarding something, and Castiel knew what. He kept hisdistance, scouted out the defences, staying out of sight. But he knewthat there would be no easy gap to slip through thistime, he was going to have toforce his way in. He dropped back for a moment, feeling the strain inhis wings, even his limbs were beginning to shake with the tremendouspower that Hell exuded. He could turn back. As soon as he left Hellthe security measures would become laxer, making it easier foranother group of angels to retrieve the soul later. He had not beenmade for a battleground such as this, there had never been shame inretreat.But thesoul had been in Hell for a long time already, Dean Winchester mightbe pure demon by the time Michael was ready to claim his vessel, andthat just wouldn’t do. It called to him, now he was close enough tohear it, though his view was blocked by the demons. It sounded…angry. Anger, guilt, pain and… was that relief? Was the soul awareof his presence?

Gatheringhis grace he shottowards the wall of demons, hoping that the element of surprise wouldgive him an edge. Well… they were definitely surprised at thearguablestupidity of his move but they rallied quickly and the battle beganin earnest. Castiel fought with everything he had. His wings wererazors and shields, his blade sangin his hand and his grace whipped around him, boiling eyes in theirsockets and leaving only husks behind; the soul became agitated,probably distressed that his saviour was outnumbered and alone.Castiel sent a surge of grace towards it, burning demons in the way,aiming to soothe, to show the soul all the might of his Heavenlypurpose.

Theprotective ring around Dean Winchester broke and the would-be guardsscattered; some fled, most died. When the last of them had been cutdown, before more could come, Castiel got a look at Dean Winchester’ssoul for the first time. It was… horrible. It wasn’t bound byrack or chains, thought there wasa rack, and a screaming soul was trapped on it. The Righteous Man wascarving strips of the soul’s imagined flesh but his head snapped upwhen his guard vanished and he whirled around to face his salvation.

Castielapproached slowly and the soul mirrored him in retreat, ananimalistic snarl rippling from its throat. It looked human, thissoul had not yet forgotten its earthly form, though it had apermanent bloody stain streaked across its naked skin and its facewas twisted in feral distrust and malice – probably a result of thebarely-healed scars and open wounds criss-crossing its entire form:bite marks and the lashes from whips, knife wounds and ragged slashespossibly from some kind of saw. In some places the skin hung inflaps, in others it was tight and shiny with burns. Castiel would becapable of healing that once they got out of here, but it was adisturbing sight all the same. He extended his hand and the soulflinched back.

“Comewith me, Dean Winchester.”

Thesoul bared its teeth, tinged orange with blood diluted with saliva.Castiel tried not to show his disgust. This is the creature thatHeaven deems worth saving?

Still,there was something about it. It didn’t shrink away from him or runto him, it just glared at him defiantly, there was somethinginteresting in that.

“Iam an angel of the Lord, I will not harm you.”

“Alastair!”The soul screeched, suddenly frightened, “Alastair!”

Itcalls for aid from a demon? Curious.

Heknew he did not have the time to talk this wretched soul into comingquietly, not with a thrum of power appearing in his periphery;Alastair probably, even among angels he was known, and feared.

“Iapologise for any discomfort,” he said instead before using hiswings to propel him forwards quicker than the soul could retreat. Hegrasped it by the shoulder and the Righteous Man screamed as hisflesh sizzled from the contact with his grace.

Almosta full demon, he thought, butnot quite. Not yet.

Heshot upwards, Dean Winchester thrashing in his grasp. Castiel pulledhim in tight, after all this he would not risk failing Heaven becausehe simply dropped his prize.It was a few days before a demon found them, despite the flurry ofactivity he could feel pulsing from the place, and all that time thesoul fought him. Growling disjointed words like ‘No’ and‘Alastair’ and ‘back’, also a few choice curse words thatCastiel would not repeat.

Castielcurled one wing around his writhingcharge as he fought thedemon. He didn’t need both to fly. He actually didn’t need to flyat all. Anywhere in Hell was floor if you demanded it be, though notall of Hell’s residents had figured that out yet, but fortravelling directly upwards flying was necessary, it was alsoquicker.

Thesoul had crowedwith delight when the demon appeared, but hissed when Castiel blastedit with grace and it disintegrated.

“Whydid you want it to win?” Castiel asked. It didn’t really matter,it wasn’t relevant to the mission, the wants of the creature in hisarms had no bearing on its fate but still… Castiel was curious.

“Back,”wasall the Righteous Man said.

“Youwill go back.” Castiel said. Deeming now as safe a place as any torest. He shouldn’t need it, but he did. So he dropped onto asuddenly solid surface and for the most part let Dean Winchester go,holding on only by the soul’s wrist. “You will be returned tolife on Earth. You have important work to do for Heaven.”

“Screwyou.” It said, trying its best to wrench itself from Castiel’sgrip, but even in his weakened state, Castiel held on easily.Ignoring the soul for the moment, Castiel gingerly spread his wings,wincing as the lacerations and would on them were stretched. Heseemed to have stopped healing almost entirely now. The pain waseasier to ignore when they were moving, but it would benefit him inthe long run to keep track of the damage, knowing his limitations ina fight was vital, and he knew that there would be a lot morefighting before the mission was done. The human watched him,suspiciously, eyeing his wings.

“Angelsaren’t real.”

Thiswas perhaps the most perplexing thing the human had said. Castielturned his attention from his wings and back to the soul in front ofhim.

“Yousold your soul to a demon.”

“Demonsare real.”

“I’man angel.”

Deansaid nothing to that. Castiel gestured around them, to the sicklyred-grey dimness and the screams of the damned.

“Weare literally in Hell. You didn’t think there might be anopposite?”

Deanjust shrugged. “Take me back.”

“Ialready told you-”

“Alastair.”

Castielsquinted at the soul, “I don’t understand.”

Deanscoffed and turned away from him as much as Castiel’s grip allowed.Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood to explain himself and Castiel wastoo tired to push. Tired… that was a new feeling. One that didn’tsit well with him given his current location. He might not need tosleep but he did need to rest, he needed a few hours to not expendany grace or use his wings. That was… not ideal. But if he wasgoing to recover enough strength to get the Righteous Man out of herethen it was necessary.

Hegot forty minutes before a patrol of three demons found him. Heburned one of them with grace but that left him feeling drained andweak. His fighting the others was sloppy and resulted in a few newinjuries, one of them almost grabbed the soul in his arms but Castielused one of his wings to slice through the creature’s flesh,removing its reaching arm and causing it to stumble backwards. Headvanced, suddenly furious that this thing had dared try to harm hischarge.

Castielwas not fool enough to think that they could linger after that, nomatter the protestation of his wings. He flew, more slowly than hewould have liked. For once, Dean Winchester didn’t fight him, andfor that he was grateful.

Itwas only a few days before he had to stop again. The demons werestarting to pinpoint his location and trajectory out of Hell so henow had to fly horizontally as well as vertically just to keep themfrom swarming him. It was taking more time and energy than he had tospare and he was starting to think that he would be unable tocomplete his mission. He also had to keep hold of Dean at all times,he had lunged for Castiel’s angel blade more than once, though hadyet to be successful.

“IfI let you go, will you try to run or attack me?” Castiel asked himas they alighted on the non-floor once more. Castiel’s legsactually gave out from underneath him as they hit a solid surface andhe crumpled ungracefully. That was embarrassing. Hiswings trembled with strain and he let them relax behind him, notfolded tightly into his back or stretched out. Dean eyed them, theneyed him, and shook his head.

Dean’seyes were strange things. They were green, which was not unusual,though they had flickered black a few times since Castiel had takenhim. Again, considering the position Castiel had found him in, thatshould be unsurprising. But while a lot of the souls here had hadeyes glazed over with pain or apathy or fear or even acceptance oftheir fate, Dean’s were sharp and alert. They calculated everythingand projected nothing and he seemed suspicious, guarded and careful.It was intriguing to say the least. Perhaps there was indeed more tothis human soul than he had first thought.

Castiellet Dean’s wrist fall from his grip and Dean jumped backwards,snatching his arm up to his chest and scratching at where Castiel hadheld him until he began to bleed. But he didn’t run or attack, soCastiel left him to it. His self-inflicted wounds would only re-healwhen he stopped scratching, only the damage intended for the soulitself would remain.

Timepassed and still Castiel did not rise. They were as safe as theycould be at the moment and he felt the sluggish pull of his gracetrying to knit together his many wounds. He sent it towards hiswings; those were what he needed most, and what the demons tried totarget when they attacked, but it was an increasingly slow process.In the meantime, Castiel watched Dean. The soul kept a distance fromhim but didn’t stray too far. After a while he began to pace in acircle with Castiel at its centre, his posture tense and aggressive.It almost felt like Dean had set up a perimeter around him and wasscouting for danger. This amused Castiel, a human guarding an angel.The whole thing was so absurd he actually laughed. Dean flinched atthe sound and whirled to face him, staring at him in outright shock,asthough he hadn’t heard a laugh not tainted with evil in decades. Heprobably hadn’t. Come tothink of it, neither had Castiel and he hadn’t realised how badlyhe’d missed the sound. Not that it was a regular occurrence inHeaven but Uriel got a few laughs on occasion.

“What’s funny?” Dean snarled at him.

“That you seem to be protecting me. It’s humorous.”

Dean looked unsure at that, downright unsettled even.

“Fine, die then.” he spat, dropping to sit cross-legged on the‘floor’, arms tightly folded. “See if I care.”

Castiel tilted his head at the strange soul. He does care,he realised suddenly. Even though he hates me, he recognises thatI’m trying to help.

“Apologies,” Castiel said, “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Take me back.” Dean said after a pause.

“Back to Alastair?”

Dean jerked his head.

Castiel tilted his head.

“Why?”

“Why does it matter? Take me back and go home.”

“It matters,” Castiel said calmly, “because my reason for beinghere is to retrieve you. God commanded that you be saved. If I wereto return you to your torment, I would be going against God’s will,against Heaven and my purpose. I would also be forfeiting my life, asI do not have the physical strength to return you and then escapeHell. If I am to die, I would like to know if it would be worth it.”

Dean stared at him for a long time, those eyes seeming to search hisvery grace as they mulled over his answer.

“Not worth it,” he said eventually, turning away, “not foryou.”

Castiel frowned at the soul in front of him. This was nothing like hehad expected. He had had images of a pitiful creature that would sobits gratefulness for rescue, glad for an end to the tortures ofHell’s most depraved. Instead, this one wanted to go back.

“You don’t deserve to be here, Dean Winchester.” Castiel saidgently.

Dean flinched.

“Shut up.”

Castiel didn’t argue the point, he didn’t have the energy andthey had lingered too long as it was. He stood and stretched hiswings; some of the deeper claw marks had begun to close and thedeeper tissue damage had mostly healed, it was the best he could hopefor.

Surprisingly, when he saw Castiel stand, he didn’t try to bolt.Instead he walked towards him and extended his arm.

Castieltook it and flew once more.

***

“Behindyou!” Dean yelled mid-flight. He had been pressed against Castiel,his head hooked over Castiel’s shoulder. The more Hell’sinfluence faded from his soul, the more of what Castiel liked tothink of as the real Deancame into view and themore of Dean Winchester that he saw, the more intrigued he was. Deanwas surly and irritable but he had anintelligence and a razor witthat Castiel liked. Apparently,Dean did not like flight, andso had begun to cling as though afraid that Castiel would drop him,despite his attempts at reassurance. Truthfully, Castiel did notmind. And seeing as Castiel’sown senses had dimmed to a dangerous level, he was grateful for theextra pair of eyes, especially seeing as Dean seemed to have changedhis mind regarding demons and whether or not he wanted Castiel towin.

Castielspun, bringing one wing around to shield Dean as he swung with theopposite arm, his blade sinking into the neck of the attackinghalf-soul. It shrieked and hissed unpleasantly and scrabbled itsclaws along the wing that was covering Dean’s form. Castiel criedout but did not pull it away, to do so would expose Dean, and hewould not see the Righteous Man harmed. He kicked the almost-demonaway, ripping the blade out as he did so, yanking it across. The bodyfell into the depths of the Pit,its head flapping unnaturally on the remaining sinew keeping itstrung to the torso. Anotherdemon lungedat him from behind, landing on his back and sending him spinningoff-kilter, grace now pouring from the joints where his wings met hishuman-shaped back. Castielcurled himself around Dean, wings in tight as thedemon tore at his back andbit at his neck, it was a sign of how weak Castiel was that thoseteeth could even break his skin. He endured the onslaught until therewas a slight pause in the attack, then he acted, swinging one of hiswings out with force to dislodge the demon and following the momentumaround, blade aimed for the creature’s heart. The blade hit trueand the demon screeched as it died, following its brethren in a fall.

Onlytwothis time, he thought as hedropped Dean on the now-floor and collapsed ina heap where he landed, thatwas unusual these days. Hewas more likely to come across groups of three or four lately.They were closing in on the gates, he knew, buthe didn’t know what awaited them there. An army of Hell-spawncertainly, but would there be any angels to help him, tofinish the task of saving Dean Winchester? Castiel was fully awarethat he might not make it out the other side of this mission. Infact, he had almost hoped for it. The guilt of sacrificing hisgarrison weighed heavy and the idea of returning to accolades andpraise disgusted him. He had to finish the mission, and then he coulddie of his wounds. There was honour in that.

Butnow… he wasn’t even surehe could make it that far. The stench of Hell was all around him,seeming to feed on his very grace. Hecouldn’t endure it anymore, he wasn’t strong enough, he-

“Hey,open your eyes, you wingeddick,” came a ragged voicefrom in front of him. Automatically Castiel obeyed and the hard edgesof Dean Winchester’s face swam into view.

“Dean,”he said, as though he were pleasantly surprised by the soul’spresence, “are you hurt?”

Deanscoffed and ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit that hadreplaced the scratching, for which Castiel was grateful.

“AmI hurt? Your wingslook like a freaking beadcurtain right now.”

“Idon’t know what that means.”

“Itmeans they’reshredded, idiot. And I left my emergency surgery kit in my othersoul so unless you can mojoyourself better we’re grounded.”

“Theywill heal,” Castiel said, strugglingto push himself to sitting, “itmay take some time before I can fly again. I apologise for thedelay.”

Hiswords came out more biting than he meant them but astonishingly, Deansmirked until he walked out of Castiel’s view and around topresumably inspect the damage.

“Sohe’s got some sass in him after all, good to know,” he said,“hey, why do you bleed blue mist?”

“It’smy grace, it’s what I use to heal myself, what makes me an angel,”Castiel explained between heavy breaths that he shouldn’t need.

“Soit’s probably bad that it’s floating away then.”

“Itwill replenish.”

“Andhow long will that take?”

Castielgrimaced as Dean poked at a deep scratch on his back, “I’m notsure.”

“Great.”

Theylapsed into a long silence, hours passed and Castiel was still losinggrace faster than it could restore itself. That was worrying. If hedied here, what would Dean do? He could not escape Hell on his own,he couldn’t even hide. Castiel had toget him out, or at least keep him safe until his siblings launchedanother mission. He would not allow Dean’ssoul to be returned toAlastair, no matter what. Hehad only just begun to heal, purely from the lack of constant tortureand an angelic companion, freckles previously hidden by gore nowdotted Dean’s form, his eyes now sparked with emotion whensomething amused or frustrated him, he spoke in confusing slang andno longer jumped away from Castiel as soon as they paused to rest.Castiel could not let that light be dimmed again.

Thatwas all that mattered. It was more than his mission now, it wassomething he wanted desperately, to keep Dean Winchester safe.

“Dean,”Castiel said, his voice measured, Dean,who had taken up his pacing again, stopped and backed up so he was inview.

“Ithink we are going to have to delay your return. I’m sorry.”

Deanrolled his eyes, “Whatever, man, take the time you need, it’s notlike I’m going anywhere without those flappers anyway.”

“I’mnot going to make it out of Hell,” Castiel continued, ignoring thechange in Dean’s expression, aslight tightening around the mouth,“but I can protectyou. I can change my form, concentrate my grace into a shield aroundyou. It won’t be using energy on flight or movement so it will notweaken and my grace will replenish more quickly. No demon will beable to get through. You willbe safe until my siblings come for you.”

“Okay…”Dean said, “And if you get back to full power before that happens,you’ll just pop back out, right?”

Castielsmiled, suddenly sad that he would never see Dean Winchester restoredto life. “No, Dean. Mywings are too deeply damaged, it would take more grace than I possessto heal them enough to fly again, andchanging my form into something non-sentient would be permanent.”

Deanwas shaking his head violently, “No, hellno.”

“Dean-”

“I’mnot gonna just sit in some angel-bubble for who knows how long justso that you can get out of babysitting duty. You are notleaving me here alone, you understand?!”

“Mysiblings-”

“Theyain’t here!” Dean yelled, “I’mnot pinning my hopes on somefeathered assholes who don’t evencare where you’ve been for the last decade.”

“You’drather pin your hopes on a dying angel who can’t fly?”

“I’mpinning my hopes on you.”Dean snapped, “You’re the most stubborn son of a bitch that Iever met. You just took out two demons and you’ve been flying onfumes for weeks straight and you wanna give up now?”

“I’mnot givingup,”Castielinsisted, trying not to give sound to the frustration that only Deanhad been able to bring out in him, “I’m being practical. Thereare other angels, Dean, and I can protect you long enough for them toget here. Thisis the only way I can think of that will make sure you never end upin Alastair’s hands again. This is the only way to saveyou.”

Castielsensed rather than heard Dean’s flinch,

“Inever asked you to save me,” he said, his voice shaking with rage,“I never asked anybodyto save me. I’m not some freaking damsel in distress princesslocked in a tower, I got myselfhere. I made a deal and I knew where it was going, so don’t actlike I didn’t sign up for this, likeIdon’t deserve everything that I get.There are people here who were tricked into their deals, or were tooyoung to know what they were selling, that ain’t me. Youwanna go out in a blaze of glory? Go die for one of them instead.”

Hestepped forward and prodded at Castiel’s back again. “NowI’mnot anangel surgeon but I know a little something about first aid, so Iguess the first step is to stop you from bleeding, leaking, whatever,right?”

“Dean,wait-”

ButDean had already pressed his hands directly onto what was probablythe wound losing the most grace, right at the joint of his wings.Castiel cried out. Painlanced through him, then horror ashis grace began to pull at the soul so valiantly trying to help himas though attempting to steal its energy. Castiel jerked forward,away from Dean’s touch, and rolled to face Dean, holding a hand outin front of him, “Stop!”

“Don’tbe such a baby,” Dean scoffed, “I know awaddedshirt would be better but-”

“Thatwas incrediblydangerous.” Castiel said, a growl leaking into his voice. “You’relucky you didn’t explode.”

Ithad been like a shot of adrenaline in a human brain, a sudden rush ofenergy, intenseand overwhelming.

“Dramaticmuch?”

“Fora human soul to come in direct contact with grace is notsomething to take lightly.” Castiel admonished, “I don’t evenknow what would happen, it hasn’t been done in eons.”

Deancrossed his arms, sceptical, “I’lltell you what happened,you’ve stopped leaking.”

“What?”

Deanjust raised an eyebrow so Castiel craned his neck and tested hiswings. Dean was right, the superficial damage on his wings had closedover, even if he could feel the deeper tissue trauma. It would takeless time for his grace to replenish now. Thatdidn’t mean he wasn’t angry.

“You’rewelcome.”

“Icould have destroyedyou.”

“I’malready dead.”

Castielclenched his jaw, “AndI would be unable to reverse that if my grace had absorbed you.”

“Thatsounds like a you problem. Myproblem is making sure that no one else dies for me, you got it?”

“You’re…infuriating.”

“Hey,I never claimed to be an angel, pal. AndI just saved your feathered butt, so maybe stop with the name-callingand make with the healing so we can get out of here. Look, whateversoul damage I got from that weeny little shot you’re gonna fixlater anyway, right? So we might as well use it. And no more stupidtalk about becoming a shield or whatever. We get out of this togetheror not at all, because I’m telling you right now, if your‘siblings’ show up, I ain’t going with them.”

Castielgrumbled but refrained from mentioning the fact that Dean would havelittle to no say in the matter if it came to that, but his angerdimmed into a warm glow that he didn’t quite understand,unexpectedly touched at Dean’s obvious wish for him to stay alive.

***

Thingsbecame marginally easier after that, Castiel regained his ability tofly within a few hours and they set off once more, energy restored.Dean was generous with his soul energy, though never more than oneshort burst at a time, Castiel had been explicitly firm on thatpoint, and he had to admit that Dean had been right, it gave him anextra edge in battle and he was going to need that it they were everto make it to the gates. Even if it made him tainted in the eyes ofHeaven, even if it meant thathisgrace was so weak he needed to tangle it with a human soul; it wasfilthy, it was unheard of, it wasthe most beautiful thing Castiel had ever experienced. For onreceiving Dean’s gift, he saw,he truly saw what was under the layers of trauma and guilt anddespair and rage that Dean gathered around himself. He felt his soulas pure and glorious as it had been before Hell, not unmarked truly,but bright and delicate and good. Castiel kept those thoughts tohimself. They were not right, they were not related to the mission.But Castiel took to staring at Dean when they paused to rest, tryingso hard to see what he could feel when Dean touched his wings.Sometimes he did, when Dean smiled at him one time without sarcasm ormalice, he saw it then and it caught his breath.

Deanslowlybegan to open up about things that he missed onEarth. He talked about food, and women, and his car, andalcohol. But it took him almosttenyears of travelling together to ask about his brother.

“Hey,so you know a bit about me, right?” Dean said, shuffling his feeton the not-floor.

Castielcocked his head, “I have learned much since meeting you.” Theywere waiting for his grace to rally once more, he had taken a set ofclaw marks to one of his wings, perfectly placed to sever one of hismain tendons. It was excruciatingly painful, but Castiel did not letit show. Pain was just a thing he could ignore and it was worthignoring it so long as Dean didn’t think he needed some ‘souljuice’. Castiel was worried about how much soul was now blendedwith his grace. He would return it, of course, when the oppressivepressure of Hell was gone, allowing his grace to replenish as quicklyas it could, but it was weakening Dean day by day and he didn’tknow how much more he could give without doing something irreparable.

“Imean, from before. You know about my life, right? That I was a hunterand we killed a lot of bad things?”

“Iwas given a summation.”

“Right.So… you know about my brother.”

“Ofcourse.” Castiel didn’t elaborate. He didn’t like thinkingabout the boy with the demon blood. Theyhad gotten word on the battlefield of what Sam Winchester wasbecoming without his brother there to guide him, and it had beenprophesied as to how it would all end. Hedid not like to think of Dean becoming a vessel for Michael anymore, it felt less like the natural order of things and more like apreventable loss.

“He’sdead, right? I mean it’s been, what, nearly fifty years? Huntersdon’t live that long.”

“Actuallyit’s only been a few months on Earth.” Castiel said, “yourbrother is alive.”

Thatput a light in Dean’s eyes like Castiel had never seen before,“Really? You better not be screwing with me, man.”

“I’mtelling the truth. Or at least, he was alive when I entered Hell, Idon’t know what’s happened since.”

“He’sokay,” Dean told him, “Sammy’stough, tougher than me. He’s fine.”

Castielsaid nothing. It was clear that this was important to Dean and hedidn’t want to ruin it by informing him about the demon that wascurrently his brother’s only companion.

“We’regonna get out of here,” Dean said, a small, hopeful smile on hisface that buried itself deep into Castiel’s chest, “I’m gonnasee him again.”

“Yes.”

***

“Andhe was right.” Cas concluded, smiling atthe sun now restingon the horizon, glancing at Sam to see tears in his eyes. Jackwas back to skipping stones in the lake, concentrating fiercely, “Wegot through. We got close enough to the gate that I began to hearsnatches of angel radio again, I sent out a signal, told them that Ihad the Righteous Man but I needed help to get him out. Heavenrallied, sent all the angels it could spare, including my originalgarrison. Hell’s army was as numerous as it had ever been and welost even more angels in the fight. But Dean leant me his strengthand we managed it. Together.”

Hefelt pride welling up in him, as much as he had felt when he hadflownthrough the hoard of demons like a bullet, ignoringthe demons that harried at him,and come out the other side, unfurling his singed and battered wingsto reveal Dean’s grinning face,

“Didwe make it?”

“Yes,Dean,” Castiel had said, his arms holding the human soul just astightly as his wings had, “we made it.”

Ithad taken several days for Castiel to recover enough to be able totake on the task of healing Dean. The other angels had tittered aboutthe presence of human soul intermingled with his grace and Naomi hadrequested a meeting for once Dean had been returned to Earth, ameeting he would not be able to attend because of Pamela Barnes’and then Dean’s own interference. But he was praised by hissuperiors and promoted to official commander of his garrison, despitethe fourteen angels in his charge that he had allowed to die. Thoughthe garrisons of those fourteen did not forget as quickly.

Deanhad not allowed any other angel near him while Castiel was healing.Zachariah tried and even Michael paid a rare visit but Dean sent themboth away without a conversation and certainly without a healing.When Castiel was deemed well enough, he was instructed by an annoyedZachariah to begin the process himself.

“You’rethe only one he can seem to stand,” he huffed, practically shovinghim into the room where Dean was being kept and closing the doorbehind him.

Deanwas crouched in a corner defensively, but he stood when he recognisedCastiel.

“Yoursiblings are all dicks.” He said by way of a greeting, “All theywanna talk about is the Apocalypse and using me as a meat suit, it’sgross.”

“Wedon’t interact with humans much.” Castiel said, “I’m afraidwe are very practical creatures.”

“LikeI said, dicks.”

“Iam one of them, you know.”

“Nah,”Dean said, “you’re different.”

“Thankyou?”

Deanlaughed, it was small and shaky but it was real. “So it’s timenow, right? E.T. goes home?”

“Thoseare not your initials.”

Deanlaughed again, Castieldecided that he liked the sound very much.“Heal me up, doc,” Deansaid, spreading his arms out.

Castielstepped forward. “My name isn’t ‘Doc’,” he said, raisinghis hand to begin sending healing grace pouring into the soul infront of him, but before he could, Dean grabbed his wrist andmet his eyes.

“Whatis it? Your name? You never said.”

“Castiel.”

Deannodded and released his wrist. “Cool. I’mma call you Cas.”

Baffled,Castiel blinked at him, “Why?”

“’Causeit’s shorter,” Dean said sardonically, “and it suits you.Sounds less stuffy.”

“Myname is not ‘stuffy’,” Castiel huffed, flickinghis fingers in quotation,though he wasn’t opposed tothe nickname.

“Nah,it’s not so bad. But I mean, you’ve got a better nickname from methan Junklessout there,” he jerked his chin towards the door and grinnedconspiratorially at him. Cas couldn’t help but smile, even thoughZachariah was a well-respected and high ranking member of Heaven andhe had no authority to poke fun.

“Alright,stand still,” Castiel instructed, raising his hand once more. Deanshuffled a little but did as he was told.

Castielbegan on Dean’s face, healing away the scratches and the red tintto his skin, remnants of the blood he had shed. Under the healing,Dean’s hair lightened to sandy brown and the freckles, which Cashad only caught glimpses of before now, came into glorious view. Evenhis eyes grew more vibrant incolour.

“Theylook like peas.” Castiel mused aloud.

“What?”

“Youreyes, they look like spring peas.”

Deansnorted, and a new red tinge appeared on his cheeks, though it wasfar more endearing than the one he had just healed, “That’s gottabe one of the worst pick-up lines I’ve ever heard.”

“Idon’t know what that is. I have picked you up many times.”

Deanmade another amused sound but said nothing.

Theritual continued. Molecule by molecule, Dean’s soul was re-shapedinto what it had once been, although Castiel knew that he could noterase all of what Alastair had done.

“Areyou getting rid of all my scars?” Dean asked suddenly.

Castielblinked at him.

“Ihad a long white one here,” he pointed to his right elbow, “froma werewolf hunt when I was fourteen, and I had somehere,” he gestured to his abdomen, though he didn’t meetCastiel’s eyes, “from the night Sammy left.”

Castieldid not enquire, but he recognised the point about scars. They wereimperfections on Dean’s soul, true, but Castiel had found that theyonly added to Dean’s beauty. They were a testament to what he hadbeen through, a story told through puckered skin and raised tissue.Perhaps they were important to him.

“Doyou want to keep them?”

Deanconsidered, then shook his head, “I don’t need to be remindedanymore.”

SoCastiel erased them and, oneby one, Dean recounted thestories of how he had gotten them; most of them anyway, there weresome that he wouldn’t talk about. He was passing over Dean’s leftshoulder when Dean stopped him,

“Leavethat one.”

Castielactually took a half-step back, “what?”

“Youcan leave ’em, right? Leave that one.”

Castielplaced his hand over the raised mark on Dean’s arm, his fingers fitperfectly, “You’re sure?”

Deannodded, “Junkless told me that I’m not gonna remember you. Hesaid that I ‘needed to be introduced to angels properly’. Bastarddidn’t say anything about making me forget the rest though.”

“Ican make you forget it all if you want.” Castiel offered. That wasdangerous, he had been given strict instructions to only erase thememories of himself and their escape from Hell, but Castiel had seemhim down there, revelling in doling out the torture that he himselfhad endured. The person that Castiel had come to know would not beable to abide what he had done, perhaps it was best that he forget.

“No,”Dean said softly, “I need to remember. I need to know what I canbecome.” After a moment, heshook himself, “so leave that scar, okay? If there’s one thing Ididn’t hate about thatplace, it’s you.”

“Verywell.”

***

Oncethe healing was done, Castiel raised his palm to Dean’s head. Hefelt an intense sorrow that Dean was not going to recall anythingabout him, but Heaven had a plan, and Castiel was made to follow thatplan.

“Bye,Cas.” Dean said with a wobbly smile that Castiel tried to return,“Drop by some time, okay? I’d like to meet you again.”

Castielnodded, though he had no idea if he could keep such a promise.

“Goodbye,Dean.”

***

“Ittook me moments to restore Dean’s body and place his soul inside.Heaven told me that it was important he be returned exactly where hisbody lay, but now I think they were just being petty. I should haveleft him somewhere beautiful.”

“AndDean doesn’t remember any of it?” Sam asked, glancing at thestill-sleeping figure, though he would probably wake soon, he was alight sleeper.

“No,but sometimes he’ll say things, turns of phrase that soundfamiliar, that kind of thing. Perhaps part of him remembers. Memoryis complicated, it’s impossible to erase everything.”

Theylapsed into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, just taking inthe scene, the shadows were getting longer, the temperature wasdropping incrementally butdespite all that it was serene.This place was truly calming.

“Iunderstand your feelings of failure, Sam,” Cas said eventually,“you weren’t there for people you felt responsible for and theysuffered because of it. But if I had turned back to try and save mybrethren, I would not have saved Dean. And the only way to haveprevented Maggie and the others from dying would have been to lockDean in the Mal’ak box and drop him in the ocean. Butyour choice wasn’t so clean-cut as choosingwho to save. Andit’s hard, because you cared about them, but you have to forgiveyourself. Dean is here, and Michael is dead and those are good thingsand we will deal with therest. You proved yourself awise and capable leader, Sam. Don’t let this discourage you fromtrying to help those that survived. Don’tshut yourself off to the possibility that this time, things mightjust work out.”

Deanstirred and groaned, loudly stretching out on the blanket. Samflashed Cas a quick smile and wiped at his face.

“Thanks,Cas,” he said, nudging him gently with his shoulder, “I think Ireally needed to hear that.”

#prompt #prompt list #prompt me #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #wings #protection #spn fanfic #fanfiction #writing #TibbinsWrites #TibbinsAnswers #supernatural

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