#cas saved him. cas has seen him like no one else has. cradled his soul in his hands and pieced him back together.

[werepiremalewife]

january 24th (~1.4k)

yeah, so, i’ve never written any type of fic before but i simply could not resist for the love of my life’s birthday. it’s a little late, but it’s still jan 24 where i live. so enjoy, the finale meant absolutely nothing to me :))

-------

It’s January 24th.

And when Dean wakes up, his first thought is, “Today is my birthday.” Despite his posturing and what everyone may think of him and how much he wishes he could just let it all go, he can’t forget that today he turns 42.

And he woke up to an empty bed and cold sheets.

He turns onto his back and stares unseeing at the ceiling. He wasn’t expecting anything, but he hoped he could at least spend a lazy morning in bed cuddled with Cas. And he maybe hoped for-

No.

Dean shakes his head. He won’t do this to himself. Even in the safety of his own thoughts, he can’t bring himself to think about candles or celebrations or anything. He learned long ago that these thoughts only added to the ache in his chest. (The ache which has slowly been eased away to almost nothing after the world was more or less put to rights and he fixed things with Jack and yanked Cas’ ass back from the Empty.)

With a sigh and an internal mantra to just make it through today, Dean climbs out of bed (fuck making it— it’ll be his birthday present to himself) and tosses his dead man’s robe on as he strides out to the Bunker’s kitchen. He’s still half-asleep and caught in the middle of a massive yawn when he runs into someone.

Someone holding a mug filled to the tippy-top with burn-inducing coffee.

“Son of a bitch!”

“Oh, Dean. I’m so sorry. I was trying very hard not to let the coffee drip down the sides and you were supposed to still be in bed.”

It’s Cas with his big blue eyes full of sincere apology and concern as he looks at Dean who’s now got boiling coffee seeping through his shirt and burning his toes.  

“It’s fine, Cas. I’m just gonna go change-“

“Wait! Let me.”

“What? That doesn’t even-. I just need a shirt that ain’t soaked.”

Dean turns to head back to his room, but Cas huffs and actually stomps his foot. Before Dean gets the chance to ask what his problem is, Cas steps in front of him, forcibly hands over the half-empty coffee, and lace his fingers with Dean as he leads them to their bedroom.

“I’ve already made a mess of things, just let me fix them.”

Dean sighs, “Alright, Cas.”

Once inside their bedroom, Cas takes the mug back and places it on their dresser before quickly stripping Dean of his robe and soggy shirt. Dean stands there and lets him do it, because the path of least resistance is usually his best bet when Cas gets in these moods. Cas manhandles him into his (favorite) Dr. Sexy t-shirt that he mostly wears under a hoodie to avoid the inevitable teasing from Sam and wrestles his arms back into his robe. He keeps his hands on his chest, lightly clutching the edges of his robe and smiles up at Dean.

“There. I think we can get back to starting today’s events. But, first. Happy birthday, Dean.”

With a light tug, Cas pulls Dean into a gentle kiss full of love and appreciation and all of the good things and it’s too much too much too much. 

Dean kisses back (because it’s Cas and how could he not?) but all the while his mind is reeling because Cas knows it’s his birthday. Cas knows it’s his birthday and made it sound like he had something planned. When they part, Cas is still holding onto his robe and looking at Dean the way he always does these days: with naked affection. But, Dean not knowing when to just shut up and let good things happen just has to pipe in-

“How’d you know?”

Cas tilts his head and brings his hands up to cradle his face (and Dean completely melts into the touch, but it’s his birthday and he loves Cas a lot, so sue him).

“It’s the second most important date in my life.”

And wow. That’s. That’s just. Wow. And as much as Dean is freaking out because he, fuck up Dean Winchester, means that much (anything at all really is a shock) to Castiel, badass angel who’s always been too good for him (for anyone really), he just can’t help himself.

“What’s the first?”

And God. He is just so stupid. Why he can’t he leave things alone? Cas is a freaking angel who’s seen the world be born and created things and saved humanity and has a son now and there’s also Claire and Sam and-and Dean just needs to be grateful that Cas wants to be here with him at all and not so fucking greedy and insecure and-

“The day I raised your soul from the Hell. The day that changed everything.”

Dean’s frozen. He’s frozen and gaping like a fish because what. How can he even. It doesn’t. And Cas is just standing there, still cupping his face and stroking his thumbs over his cheeks and smiling that smile with all of that love and emotion just bare for anyone to see but only Dean is there so he’s hit with it full force and fuck. 

He really, really loves Cas. 

And because Cas knows him like no one else ever could, he just trails his hands to his neck, across his shoulders, and down his arms to link their fingers together and doesn’t make Dean say a word.

“Come on, love. Breakfast is getting cold.”

And with a squeeze to fingers and a quick peck to his lips, he turns and guides them to the door.

“Don’t forget your coffee.”

Dean manages to pick up his coffee (now at a drinkable temperature) as he follows behind his incredibly sweet boyfriend. A fairly substantial gulp (doctored exactly how it likes it because Cas is simply the best) helps clear his head of any lingering sleepiness. When they arrive in the kitchen, Cas guides him into a seat at the table.

Seconds later a stack of pancakes with a candle sticking right in the middle are placed in front of him.

They’re mishappen and all different sizes and almost burnt in some places and almost raw in others and a broken piece of bacon and two strawberry halves make the strangest smiley face Dean has ever seen and Dean’s heart is so, so full that he thinks it might consume him. He’s definitely on the verge of tears and these shitty pancakes that are barely edible should not choke him up, but fuck it, because they do and he’s not even ashamed.  

“Cas.”

That’s all he can manage and his face must be doing some weird things as he struggles to not let his emotions spill over until he’s nothing more than a puddle on the floor because Cas starts to look somewhat frazzled and concerned as he rushed to explain. 

“I know pancakes aren’t the typical “cakes” that one puts candles in and makes wishes on for their birthday, but I wanted to give you wish just from me and it was hard enough to convince Sam and Jack to let me have the morning alone with you, but I’m selfish and just wanted-“

He’s cut off because Dean stood and smashed their lips together in what can barely be called a kiss with how wide he’s smiling but he just can’t stop. A lifetime of birthdays unacknowledged, uncelebrated, unimportant and spent hunting monsters or drinking himself stupid in bars or binging on burgers and milkshakes and now, now, he’s not alone or forgotten or hurting. He’s so disgustingly happy and in love and it’s not even 10 A.M. and it’s already the best birthday he’s ever had.

Dean pulls back from the not-kiss still beaming so much that he thinks to himself he might blind Cas. 

“Thank you. I love you.”

Cas kisses him this time.

“I love you, too. Happy birthday, Dean. Now, eat your breakfast. We have cuddles and Dr. Sexy for an hour before Sam and Jack come back for the rest of the festivities.”

Dean sits down and looks at the little flame of the candle, trying to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to wish for when his life is this filled with love and happiness. He closes his eyes and blows out the candle.

I wish for more of this.

[irrlicht-writes]

a meadow memory

When Lisa breaks up with Dean, he's left afloat. The break-up didn't hurt in the way he thought it might and he's wondering why. What if she's replaced him? What if she just didn't want to hurt him and that's why she wouldn't say why she left him? In order to calm down, Dean follows the birds' chirping to the nearby park where he meets a curious stranger. He doesn't know this man and yet he doesn't object when he's led into the forest. Maybe it's okay. Maybe in the end, it will be okay.

Pairing: Dean/Castiel Rating: Teen Look at the art here! written for the Dean/Cas Reverse Bang. Find on Ao3 here! @insertdeeplyrics @professorerudite  Want to be added to the taglist? Hit me up!

*

 “When you're lost, come to me. I'm the path you're meant to find.”

 *

It’s a subtle thrum but it awakens something inside the soul.

“Do you want to play?”

There’s a forest behind the house.

“You don’t have to be afraid.”

There’s a boy with the shadow behind him.

“Go hide. I’ll find you.”

There are lights at the heart of the forest.

“You won’t get lost.”

It feels like they sing to him; and within their song, he loses himself in the fog.

*

 It’s a sunny afternoon. It’s a Sunday, and Dean’s stomach is pleasantly filled. There’s no radio on, and Dean has been enjoying the silence. It’s a nice feeling, sitting in peace once in a while. Maybe he should open the window so he can hear the birds. His place is not close to any real forest, but the local park is just around the corner. They do have some trees in there that could technically qualify as some sort of wilderness, if one is generous enough.

“Dean,” Lisa says and she doesn’t break the silence. Dean has been expecting this talk.

“Yeah?” he responds but doesn’t turn around to face her.

“Can we talk?”

Her voice is soft. Dean likes the sound of it. Lisa is an incredible good person, way too good for him. He nods at her request.

He knows what she wants.

They haven’t been a couple for a few months now – they’ve just been living together. Lisa has been talking about kids, cooing over strollers in the streets. Dean wants kids too, someday – but not just yet.

And he doesn’t know if he wants them with Lisa; or if Lisa really wants them with him.

It’s okay though. She deserves to be happy, so it’s okay.

Lisa shifts behind him before she starts to talk.

“You deserve to be happy, you know that?”

Huh. That’s weird. It doesn’t sound like any other break-up speech he’s ever had. Dean turns around and blinks at Lisa. She’s standing a few bits away from him and she – she doesn’t look sad. She doesn’t look sorry.

“I know you put other people’s happiness above your own, Dean, every time. No matter what it means for you, you want to make others happy. And, Dean, that’s wonderful. But I’d wish, that sometimes, you’d put your own happiness as a priority.

I know that they say relationships are a give and take. I go to a car show with you if you in turn accompany me to a shopping trip. But you never took me to any car shows, did you? Because you knew I wouldn’t enjoy them. And yet I’ve dragged you to shopping mall after shopping mall and you’ve never complained once. Because you knew I was enjoying myself.

But know what? I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to be.

I want children. You know I do, and you also know I don’t want to wait that much longer before having them. I also know that you don’t want them, at least not yet. And yet, if it were to happen – you’d marry me, like your dad taught you to. But would you be happy? You might be, in some time. But it wouldn’t be what you’d want, right? You’d be married to me forever, and you’d tell yourself that that’s how it’s supposed to be like.

But I don’t want that.

I care about you, Dean, I care about you greatly. I want you to be happy, and your happiness doesn’t lie with me.”

She steps closer to him and Dean can feel the warmth radiating off of her. It’s comforting. She gently takes his face in her hands and presses her lips against his forehead.

“I care about you so much. I love you, Dean, don’t you doubt that. But love changes, you know? I don’t love you any less than I loved you a month ago. But it’s different now. And I’m going to move on.

I know you’re going to blame yourself for that. I know that you’re going to tell people that you must’ve done something wrong and that that’s why I left. And in the back of your head – you’ll wonder if maybe you weren’t good enough. That maybe I’ve found someone better than you, someone who’s worth my time.

But that’s not it, you know? There’s nobody else.

And I know that you will still think that, no matter how often I tell you, so I implore you: please believe me. Nobody’s replacing  you. You’re perfect, Dean.

You’re not perfect for me, but you are perfect just the way you are. Let no one tell you otherwise.

So even when I’m gone, remember that, please.

You’re perfect, it’s not your fault and you deserve happiness.

Please remember that, as a favour to me. Please.”

 She’s gone after that. Dean doesn’t feel empty though. He hadn’t been expecting this.

He looks back to the window. He had been expecting the sky to cloud over after this, even if it would’ve just been in his head, but no – it was still a nice sunny day.

He can even hear the birds, he thinks.

 *

 It’s not his fault.

 He wakes up the next day and he doesn’t feel like the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. It feels very weird and he doesn’t really know how to deal with it.

Dean sits up in bed and looks around. It all still looks the same as before. Somehow he had expected things to be different. Lisa is gone, after all. And yet, there are still birds outside. The world didn’t change.

Dean gets up and walks over to the window. It’s another nice day. Maybe he should visit the park today. He could hear the birds properly there. Lisa might be coming to pick up her things today though. But then again, she still has her own key and might even prefer not to see him. Love changes, she had said. He wonders what she meant by that.

  *

 Dean arrives at the park just shortly before noon. There aren’t many people here – a few joggers, a few dog-owners and a few parents with their strollers. Dean thinks that there might be a playground somewhere in the area. He’s never really been here before – he’s never had the time before. He wonders why.

He finds a bench and sits down. There’s nothing particular to look at but it soothes him still. He can hear the birds so much clearer now and closes his eyes to enjoy them better.

He can hear their chirping so much better here and there’s also the soft rattling of the leaves in the wind. It sounds a bit like a lullaby and it reminds him of home but he doesn’t remember why. They moved after Sammy had been born, maybe his first home had been close to a forest? Could be. Maybe. Possibly. But then again, it hardly matters anyway. He’s here now and the noises soothe his soul in a way he didn’t know he needed.

“Don’t fall asleep here, the flowers aren’t blooming here.”

The sudden voice drags him out of his daydream. Dean blinks and looks up, not even really registering what the guy had said. He’s sitting at a disadvantage but the new guy seems to be about as tall as Dean himself. Dean can’t see much against the light that shines from behind the guy.

“I... what?”

The guy bends down to his knees, looking Dean straight in the eyes.

“You were falling asleep,” he says, “and I told you not to.”

Dean doesn’t know how to respond. On the one hand, yes, falling asleep sitting upright on a park bench might not be the best thing – and someone might confuse him for a homeless dude and call the cops on him – but it’s not like that’s a crime or anything.

“But,” the guy continues without waiting for Dean’s response, “if you want, I can watch over you. If I protect you, you can sleep soundly.”

Dean blinks irritated. He’s just supposed to trust this dude out of nowhere? Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.

“Sorry pal, but I don’t even know you.”

The guy cocks his head and blinks.

“You don’t know me,” he repeats slowly as if he doesn’t understand.

“Yeah! Who’s to say you’re not just gonna run off with my things?!”

The guy blinks again.

“You only have your keys on you; and they serve me no purpose. Why would I take them?”

Dean just gapes at the man; and now, for the first time, properly takes him in: the guy has dark brown hair, a solid tan; he’s got stubble on his face and the bluest eyes Dean’s ever seen. Also there’s a flower in his hair but instead of it being weird, it makes a strange sort of sense somehow.

“You’re weird,” Dean says and he knows he should get up and leave.

The guy smiles. It seems familiar.

Dean doesn’t know why.

“You said something about flowers,” Dean continues.

The man nods and pulls the flower out of his hair.

“It’s not safe without them.”

He reaches forward to tuck the flower into Dean’s hair and he has no idea why he doesn’t resist.

“Why isn’t it safe without them?”

Blue eyes blink at him.

“It just isn’t,” the guy responds.

“My name’s Dean,” Dean says.

“I know,” the man responds and when Dean blinks, he’s gone.

He reaches into his hair and pulls the flower out. It’s wilting. It was in full bloom before.

Dean wonders.

Dean wonders, and watches the leaves.

The petals are carried off by the wind and maybe it’s safe wherever they go.

There’s a boy crouching on his windowsill.

 *

 He doesn’t know why he comes back.

Maybe the park is nice. Maybe he enjoys the fresh air. Maybe he enjoys the flowers that don’t bloom.

It’s not even ten when he makes it to the park. At night, he had been restless and he had kept staring at the flower. He had taken it home, cradled in his hands. He had felt bad – when the man removed the flower from his hair, it must’ve been sad since it had started wilting almost immediately. Dean had still put it into water, in a desperate attempt to save it.

He had thought that maybe, with enough good intention, the flower could be saved.

And yet  – it wasn’t dead.

When Dean woke up this morning, the flower was still hanging on. It had lost more petals during the night, but right now, it’s still alive.

It’s remarkable.

Maybe Dean wants to find the guy again just so that he could maybe save the flower.

He doesn’t know why he thinks the guy might be able to do that.

It might be because it’s the guy’s flower.

 Dean sits down on the bench again and waits. There are more joggers here today, but maybe that’s because it’s earlier than yesterday. Dean doesn’t really care anyway.

He can hear the birds in the trees. And as usual, they are a soothing sound. The leaves from the trees in the wind just help add to that melody. He tries hard to not fall asleep as there are no flowers around here. But it’s hard, Dean has to admit. But he can do it. He woke up so early today that he can stay awake now.

 Despite his best attempts, he falls asleep. This time, nobody comes to prevent him from doing so. When he wakes up, he doesn’t know how late it is. He just knows that he feels worse than before. His back and shoulders are stiff now. That serves him right for falling asleep on a public bench.

Dean stretches and looks around. The park is definitely more filled up now, but it doesn’t seem like anyone is paying him much attention. But also – the guy isn’t here. Somehow, Dean is disappointed.

So that poses the question; does he stay here and wait, or does he leave? Should he come back tomorrow? Should he come back at all?

He sits there for a moment longer, indecisive. Then he gets up and gets ready to leave.

Maybe the guy hadn’t been here after all.

 Dean doesn’t want to go home, so he wanders the streets a bit. He’s not sure why, maybe the crowd just sweeps him away for a while.

Lisa is gone.

And she was right. He blames himself for it. He thinks that maybe she left because she’s met someone else. That she’s met someone who’s better than him. He knows that she’s said that she didn’t, but – what if? What if she met some guy called Darren who’s just better than him?

What if she’s at Darren’s house right now, laughing with him about Dean? What if Darren is man enough to give her what she wants? In truth, he doesn’t really want to think about it. But what –

What if Darren doesn’t exist? What if what Lisa said is actually true? He looks up at the sky. It’s still a nice day today. He doesn’t know what to feel about this break-up. He doesn’t feel as heavy or guilty as he thinks he should. After all, all his previous break-ups had been his fault, at least that’s what he’s been told. And now Lisa had said it wasn’t his fault.

It’s not his fault.

He doesn’t think he can believe that. Something breaking apart must always be someone’s fault, right? Just like his parent’s divorce was Dad’s fault. Mom hadn’t done anything wrong, but Dad had. So, for him and Lisa – it must’ve been him. Maybe he hadn’t been able to satisfy her enough. Maybe he hadn’t had the money she’d been looking for. Maybe he hadn’t been enthusiastic enough about kids. Maybe it had been because he hadn’t proposed to her.

Dean steps out of the way of other passer-bys and stops.

Maybe he’s just not man enough.

After all, that’s what Dad’s always said.

Man up, son, he’d say.

After that, Dean had hid his Harrison Ford poster under his bed. He believed it might be better if Dad didn’t see that hanging about.

Maybe it’s his fault that Dad left. Maybe it’s him that drove Dad to another woman so he could have another firstborn son. Dad doesn’t need to tell Adam to man up, does he? Adam doesn’t have any Harrison Ford posters in his room like Dean used to have.

He should’ve been better for Lisa. If he could’ve just kept her, then –

Someone touches his hand.

Dean looks up and sees the guy from the park next to him. Dean blinks.

The man gently holds his hand and just looks at him and somehow, Dean calms down. He doesn’t recall what he had just been thinking about.

“Hello, Dean,” the man says and Dean breathes easier.

The guy interlopes their fingers and starts tugging Dean who willingly follows.

It’s okay now.

It’s all okay now.

The boy smiles the brightest smile Dean’s ever seen.

 *

 Maybe he closes his eyes. But he can hear the birds so much better now. He knows he should be able to hear people passing them by and the cars on the street but he can only hear the birds. They’re comforting. It reminds him of a time long ago, when there was a forest behind their house and he could hear the birds when he woke up.

The hand on his is warm. It even feels familiar.

“Someone held my hand once, just like this,” he says and he gets no response.

But that’s quite alright.

He wonders – who had it been? Who had held his hand like this and why did he let them go?

“There was a forest behind the house,” he says and he can feel the warmth of the man in front of him.

The forest was important – is important. Dean just doesn’t really know why or how.

“I think there was a boy, but – I can’t really remember –“

They stop but Dean doesn’t open his eyes just yet. He can’t really hear the birds anymore but that’s not so bad. He doesn’t miss them, because he feels closer to them than ever before. He’s still holding hands with the man. Dean steps closer to him.

“The flower you gave me,” he says, “it’s wilting.”

“That’s okay,” the man replies and something inside Dean is soothed by it.

Dean drops his head forward slowly until he comes to rest on the man’s shoulder. He doesn’t know why he’s allowed to do this. But it’s nice, it’s so nice.

“Flowers bloom and flowers wilt,” the man says, “but as long as you remember them, they’re never going to be gone.”

Their fingers are still intertwined.

Dean opens his eyes and he sees that they’re in the forest. He can’t remember walking this far; it all looks different from the few trees in the park. But maybe it’s the same? After all, Dean has never gone inside so what does he know? He trusts the stranger, oddly enough.

They’re still holding hands so it’s all okay.

“We're all like flowers. We bloom and we wilt, but for as long as we live, we'll bring joy to those around us. And when we are gone, we will be remembered fondly. So don't fret what's been lost, and relish the memory. Flowers will bloom again, and if you come back, I'll be here.”

Dean doesn’t really understand but he thinks there’s some truth in that. He can’t be sure however.

They sit down and Dean lowers himself to the ground. There is softness to the tree crowns and the man is quietly sitting next to him.

“I feel like I know you,” Dean says.

“Mayhap you do,” the man simply replies.

“She left me,” Dean says. “She says there’s nobody else but I don’t know if I can believe her.”

“Why not?”

The man’s voice is soft and the trees around them make Dean feel better.

“Because – because we didn’t fight. I didn’t – I didn’t give her a reason to leave, I think. She just – she just decided that I wasn’t good enough anymore. I’m – I’m never good enough.”

No, Sam is the golden child. He’s just – he’s just the first son, that’s all. He’s never been good enough for Dad and even though she’s never said it, he knows: Mom prefers Sam as well. If he had disappeared into the forest, none of them would have missed him. Maybe they wouldn’t even have noticed.

“What if – what if I got lost? What if they never looked for me? What if they were better off without me?”

What if he’s still lost even now? Dean’s breathing becomes erratic. He hasn’t talked to Sam in a while, so what – what if Sam just doesn’t remember him at all? What if Sam is happy that Dean’s lost in the forest? What if they’re having a family gathering right now, while he’s here and they don’t even think about him –?

“Hush now,” the man says and Dean takes a breath.

“I have something for you,” the man continues and Dean is trying to focus on the grass under his back. The grass is fresh and cold and the dirty ground beneath him is solid. He didn’t get lost. He’s here, he’s real, nobody forgot about him.

Yes, maybe he’s not the favourite child, maybe he’s not the one to be proud of, but that’s okay. At least they still remember him. At least they haven’t lost him. They haven’t lost him.

“Here,” the man then says and drops something onto Dean’s stomach. At first, he doesn’t notice. The tree crowns are moving softly in the wind and he can hear the birds in the distance. Then he looks up to the guy. He has blue eyes. Dean hadn’t noticed. And there – there are wings behind him. Oddly enough, that’s not even weird. It’s like they belong there. Dean wonders how he ever thought that this guy was complete without them.

The shadow behind the boy wavers. It’s bigger than Dean himself, but he’s not afraid. The shadow will protect him.

 Dean looks down. There’s a stone lying on his stomach. It feels oddly warm. He sits up a bit and takes the stone in his hand. It’s filling nicely into his palm, and there’s a blue shimmer to it. It might be more of a crystal than a stone and Dean could get lost staring into it.

“What is it?”

“It’s important,” the man replies, “and thus is why you must look after it.”

“Why me?”

“Because in the end, it was always meant to belong to you. In the end, you were always meant to come here.”

“What if I hadn’t come here?”

“Then I would’ve found you somewhere else. You were lost, and so I found you.”

The crystal hums in Dean’s hand. It’s a familiar tune.

“What if I lose it?”

“You will not. But shall you lose it regardless, don’t fret. It’ll come back here, and I’ll come back to you.”

Dean looks at him.

The man smiles the brightest smile that Dean’s ever seen.

 *

 He saw Lisa a few days ago. He’s seen her holding hands with some fellow he’s never seen before. So in conclusion, she did replace him. He hadn’t gone to talk to her, but he’d thought it might hurt seeing her. Alas, it has not done so.

He’s happy for her.

Maybe their break-up wasn’t his fault.

Maybe he can believe that now.

He’s gone to the park a few times since then, but the man never appeared again. Some part of him tries to tell him that this guy hasn’t been real at all. That the flower and the crystal are just something that Dean picked up somewhere.

It’s the rational explanation.

But he knows it’s not the truth.

The flower in his apartment is blooming and he hasn’t watered it in five days.

The crystal is still warm to the touch, even after four days in the freezer.

 Dean walks up the stairs. He has a job interview tomorrow. It’s going to go well. He knows it will. And even if he won’t get the job, it will still be good. The interview he’d have after he would be rejected from this job would be even better than the one tomorrow. He has hope. For the first time in a long time, he has perspective – and that perspective doesn’t scare him. It doesn’t prompt him to steer off his path.

There’s commotion in the hallway.

The place across from Dean had stood empty for a while. It seems like there’s a new tenant. Dean’s never had much to do with his neighbours, but maybe this one will be different. After all, why not try?

Dean’s standing next to his door, looking over to the open door across from him. Should he go over? Maybe he should wait introducing himself until tomorrow, when the guy moved in? He’s not sure. Dean fondles his keys in his pocket, but he doesn’t pull them out just yet.

He wonders where the guy has gone. Would he only ever appear again if Dean lost that stone? And would Dean be willing to try this out?

 The forest behind their house is quiet. But Dean is not afraid. There’s a boy holding his hand and so Dean knows he won’t get lost. The shadows behind the boy are not scary at all, and Dean even feels weirdly comforted by them.

They feel like a comfort blanket, wrapping all around him. He wonders what they are.

But then again, it doesn’t really matter that much.

They are nearing the meadow, and it feels like the leaves are singing.

 “Hello,” a deep voice tears Dean out of his thoughts. It sounds familiar.

Dean turns around and sees a man standing there. The man has dark hair, and is wearing an ugly sweater. He’s carrying a box labelled “books”.

He’s got blue eyes, and there’s a flower in his hair.

And around his neck, there’s a necklace. It’s filled with a warm blue glow.

It’s the guy from the park, but – different.

Dean just knows it’s different.

“Hey,” Dean replies.

The guy looks at him and Dean’s not sure what he sees in these eyes. Could it be recognition?

“I’m Castiel,” the man then says and of course. What other name could it have been?

“I’m Dean,” he says. He’s half-expecting an I know, but it never comes.

What comes instead is a curious tilt of head. It’s adorable.

“Let me help you”, Dean says and Castiel smiles.

“I would like that.”

Castiel has the brightest smile Dean’s ever seen.

 *

 “And at the end of the path, we’ll meet again. It might take years, and the path might be overgrown, but if you keep walking, the journey will feel like no journey at all.”

[speakofgrace]

in any universe || deancas || 2.6k || ao3

For all that Castiel loves humanity, he’s still stiff and awkward around actual humans. He’s not sure the bunker has ever been this full; it certainly hasn’t in the time Sam and Dean have lived there, since they carved themselves a real home.

But now it’s almost overflowing, and Castiel is off-guard. He doesn’t know these people, and he’s sure some of them must have encountered the… other version of him, judging from the way they flinch.

He’s amazed this new Charlie can even look at him.

He perches alone on the stairs, a beer in one hand, and watches Dean, almost scared to take his eyes off him.

He’d told that other version of him that they were the same, and in some ways, that was true; they’d had identical existences for billions of years, as soldiers, as agents of Heaven’s plan. It’s only a handful of decades that separate them.

 Maybe even less; that other him had been blind in one eye, and that had unnerved Castiel in a way he’d never experienced before. He’d never, ever seen an angel with a scar on their vessel, and he wonders how many times Naomi drilled into that other angel’s head. He pictures the way not-him’s mouth had twitched and trembled, and he trembles, too.

 Maybe Apocalypse world did have a righteous man, and maybe that other him had rebelled, or had tried. He wonders at what exact point it had become too much; when the desire to do what was right had finally broken, when Naomi’s trespassing became too much to bear.

 But then Dean laughs at something Charlie says, and it stops mattering, because Castiel does know.

 Dean Winchester is saved.

 The fight through Hell had been so gruelling, and Castiel almost thought they were going to lose, even as the light of Dean’s soul had come into view, shining brighter even than hell fire. And Castiel had surged forward, sliced through three demons in one hit in his sudden desperation, and reached out to grab.

 He remembers the way Dean’s soul had recoiled, the shock of an angel’s touch burning away the muck and leaving a scar on the very essence of him, an explosion of light as Dean’s soul had realised that Castiel was safety, was escape, and had clung on as Castiel flew up, up, up, soaring victorious to bring the Righteous Man home.

 When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost!

 And it was true; he was lost to Heaven’s control, permanently. No matter how hard they tried to claw him back, he would choose Dean. He had fallen for a human in every way it was possible to fall, and he would do it over and over and over again.

 Dean smiles again, and Castiel gets to his feet, drifts over to Dean like a satellite in orbit, a moth caught in the light of his happiness.

 Dean grins at him when Cas brushes against his shoulder, waiting for Charlie to finish speaking.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, and it’s almost true. He respects Charlie deeply, but everything that isn’t Dean has almost taken on a haze of insignificance.

“No big,” she says, taking a sip of her drink.

Dean raises his eyebrows a little then, face shifting into that open, vulnerable expression that Castiel so treasures.

“Can we talk?” Cas asks, voice soft even in the hubbub of the room.

“Of course,” Dean says, gesturing between himself and Charlie.

“No,” Castiel says, “can we talk alone?”

“Oh. Sure.” Dean nods to Charlie, and she nods back, giving him a little cheers with her drink. “Come on,” he says, turning to head down the corridor.

 Castiel follows him to his room, eyes trained on Dean’s shoulders as they walk. He knows he’s standing a little too close, but he doesn’t care, he’s never cared. Something in him will always want to be by Dean’s side, no matter what tries to get in his way.

 Dean closes his bedroom door once they’re inside, and Castiel makes no move to step away from Dean, just follows him when Dean sits down on his bed. They’re so close that their thighs brush every time Dean inhales.

“Cas?” He says, and Castiel realises that he’s worried.

“I uh. I met someone interesting.”

“Oh?” Dean says, eyebrows raised and face open, and something in Castiel gives a little lurch.

 Dean looks so unburdened when he wears that face. Castiel wants Dean to look like that all the time.

 “I met me,” Castiel says, and Dean’s eyes widen even further. The green of them is tinged a dark gold by the lamplight.

“When we went to save Charlie… I was there.”

Dean frowns, apparently more confused than anything else.

“As another rebel?” He asks, and Castiel has to pause, floored by the faith Dean still has in him, even after all his failures.

“No,” Castiel says, and Dean frowns deeper. “As an… interrogator.”

Dean knows what it really means.

“You – he – was working for Michael?”

“Yes.”

“But how?”

 Castiel stops, just looks at Dean’s face, the scattering of freckles on his nose.

“There was another me, but there was no you,” Castiel says, and watches Dean’s mouth drop open.

“What do you-”

“That world had no you, no Sam. That other me never rescued you from Hell.”

 Dean rolls his eyes then, and Castiel’s heart gives a little lurch.

“Cas, come on, I’m not that important.”

Castiel grabs at his shoulder then, pushes at Dean so they’re face to face.

“Dean, listen to me,” he says. How does Dean still not understand?

“That other me probably had doubts, just like I did. He was blind in one eye, because Naomi had been in his head so many times. And Naomi would have done that to me, if she could.”

 Dean looks almost angry, now, like he always does when he thinks about losing people.

“But I broke out of her control, because of you.”

“You said you didn’t know what did it.” Dean says, almost irritated.

“I lied,” Cas says, and he smiles, just with his eyes. “I wanted to thank you.”

“Cas, that was years ago, why-”

“Not just for that. For everything. For saving me.”

 Dean looks up then, that wide open look on his face, and Castiel leans forward, almost without thinking.

“I know you don’t feel the same way, but to me, you are the most important thing in the universe. In any universe.”

 They’re so close, Dean’s eyes glowing so warm in the lamplight.

“Fuck it,” Dean whispers, and Castiel doesn’t have time to figure out what that means before there are lips on his. They’re soft, hesitant, like Dean’s not sure if Castiel wants this.

 (He would laugh, if his mouth wasn’t busy)

 Castiel reaches up, cradles Dean’s face in his hands, brushes his thumbs along the curve of Dean’s cheeks, and Dean kisses him gentle, twists his hands in the lapels of Castiel’s coat.

 They’re still side by side on the bed, bodies twisting into each other at an awkward angle, even as they both curve towards each other like brackets, and Castiel sighs.

 Dean pulls back, so their breaths are touching instead of their lips.

“Wow,” he says, and Castiel agrees, leans forward again to recapture his mouth.

“Hold on,” Dean says, and lets go of Castiel’s coat, ever so gently shrugging his hands away. He leans forward, and Castiel frowns, tilting his head while Dean unlaces and kicks off his boots, and then reaches over to tug off Castiel’s shoes.

 Castiel lets him, lets Dean slip his hands under his suit jacket and push, until Castiel is in nothing but his shirt and tie, and Dean smiles, drapes his coats over the end of the bed.

 Dean arranges his pillow so he is propped up against it, half-sitting half-lying in front of him.

“Alright,” Dean says, and spreads his arms, “come here.”

 And Castiel goes, braces himself over Dean’s body and dips his head down, because it’s been a couple of minutes since they were kissing, and that’s too long.

 Dean winds his arms around Castiel’s waist, spreads his hands against Castiel’s back and pulls him down, until Castiel is sitting in Dean’s lap, his hands draped across Dean’s shoulders and his legs braced either side of Dean’s hips.

 They kiss slow, and Castiel’s grace is humming and sparking. It’s different to when he held Dean’s bare soul, but it’s no less intense, his grace and his vessel both demanding to be closer closer closer. He kisses Dean deep, tracks every hitch and pause in his breathing, every shift of his fingertips against his back.

 He wants to touch Dean everywhere, wants to run his hands and his lips over every inch of him, wants hours or days or forever with Dean like this, warm and pliant and inviting. He slips his fingers beneath the collar of Dean’s shirt, presses against the muscles of Dean’s shoulders and feels the way they shift under his skin.

 They don’t have that long, Castiel knows; the bunker is still teeming with people, and someone will come looking for them soon, wonder where they’ve vanished to in the middle of what almost counts as a party. So Castiel contents himself with kisses, with the way Dean’s lips fit against his own, the way Dean’s hands are hitching up his shirt to slide against the skin of his back.

“God, Cas,” Dean says, finally pulling away.

“I hope he’s not here,” Castiel says, still tracing his fingers along the curve of Dean’s neck.

“Alright, smart-ass,” Dean says, but his lips are curved into a smile, and Castiel can’t help himself, so he leans forward again and kisses it.

 When Castiel pulls back, Dean bites his bottom lip, and Castiel’s immediate instinct is to bite it for him.

“I,” Dean says, and Castiel pauses; Dean’s always needed time to think about his words, when emotions are concerned. Castiel will give him all the time in the world.

“I can’t say you’re the most important thing. But you’re tied for first place.”

 And Castiel kisses him hard, kisses him long and deep and desperate, because he knows exactly what that means, knows how deeply and fiercely Dean loves, and he basks in it, collects up Dean’s breaths and tucks them away inside himself to be treasured.

“Been a while since I’ve kissed someone this long without clothes coming off,” Dean says, smiling again.

“Are you propositioning me?” Castiel smiles back.

“I was gonna say it was kinda nice, but I can work with that.”

“When all this is over,” Castiel breathes into Dean’s mouth, “I’m not letting you out of this bed.”

 And Dean blushes, his whole face turning pink and lovely, his eyelids fluttering down as he looks away.

“Cas, we’re gonna have to go back out there in a minute, you can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” Castiel doubts Dean will fall for it, but it’s worth a shot.

“You know why,” Dean says, and trails his hands down to Castiel’s thighs, tugging him forward and looking at him smugly when Castiel hisses against the friction.

“Fine,” Castiel says, and leans down to kiss one more time. He drags it out as long as he can, and Dean is willing, both of them losing themselves for a good few minutes before Castiel finally pulls himself away and gets to his feet.

 Dean stays sprawled on the bed, watching as Cas moves to put his suit and coat back on.

“Don’t,” he says, biting his lip. Castiel tilts his head.

“You look good like that.”

 Castiel grabs Dean’s hand and pulls him upright, tugging at him so that Dean collapses against his chest, kissing him for good measure.

“Cas,” Dean almost groans, winding his arms around Castiel’s waist and holding him tight.

“Can you blame me?” Castiel asks, grazing his fingertips over the back of Dean’s head.

“No,” Dean breathes out between kisses. “We’ve got some lost time to make up for.”

“How long?” Castiel asks.

“I don’t know. Years. Since Purgatory, at least.”

Castiel remembers Dean’s prayers, remembers the ache of them, and Dean’s lips are the only thing that take the edge off.

“What about you?” Dean mumbles against his mouth.

“Always. Since Hell.”

 Dean pulls back properly then, stares at him with wide eyes.

“Seriously?” He asks, awed.

“It took me a while to figure out,” Castiel says, brushing his thumb over Dean’s cheek, the smile lines near his eyes. “But I remember watching Anna kiss you. It felt… wrong.”

And Dean just keeps staring at him, his jaw gone slack.

“You…” He says, voice barely above a whisper. “Holy shit.”

 Castiel trails a hand down, rests it against Dean’s shoulder in the spot where there was once a perfect replica of his handprint. The spark of silver running through his soul remains, a different kind of scar. One that can’t be healed along with Dean’s body.

“I’ve seen a lot of souls, Dean,” Castiel says, “but never one as beautiful as yours.”

“Cheesy bastard,” Dean whispers, laughing against Castiel’s lips. Castiel smiles along with him, but it’s true; Dean is art, Dean is poetry, Dean is every good thing about humanity poured into a golden statue and come to life. Castiel knows every language known to man and then some, and even still, there aren’t the words to describe Dean Winchester.

 He tries anyway, traces the shape of those words in English and Enochian and Hebrew against the curve of Dean’s lips, draws fragments of sentences with his fingertips along Dean’s back.

 And then there’s a knock at the door. Dean pulls away, eyes dazed.

“Dean, honey, are you in here?”

 Dean’s eyes snap into focus, his hands tightening in the back of Castiel’s shirt.

“Yeah, just a sec,” Dean calls. He sounds calm, but Castiel can see the panic.

“It’s alright, Dean. You don’t have to tell her if you don’t want to,” Castiel whispers.

“No, I… I want her to know.”

 And Castiel smiles, body flushing warm as Dean smiles back, wide and shining.

“Okay,” Castiel says, and leans forward to peck him on the lips one last time, before he finally pulls away. He reaches down to tuck in his shirt, and Dean straightens his tie as much as he can.

“Ready?” Dean says, eyebrows raised.

“Of course,” Castiel nods. Nudges at Dean’s shoulder with his own.

 Dean opens the door, and Mary perks up where she’s waiting in the corridor.

“You okay? Charlie said you-”

And then she notices Castiel, notices his lack of coat and messy hair and the flush on Dean’s face.

 She smiles.

 “I’m good, Mom,” Dean says, looking her in the eye. He reaches out, tangles his fingers against Castiel’s. “I’m really good.”

 Castiel looks down, fascinated by the floor, the doorframe, anything that isn’t Mary’s gaze.

“Good,” Mary says, like it’s simple. Castiel looks up, and she’s still smiling, looking at their joined hands.

 Dean grips a little tighter, traces his thumb across the back of Castiel’s hand.

 Mary is right; loving Dean is all encompassing and overwhelming, but it’s simple, too.

“Shall we?” Castiel says, gesturing out into the corridor.

“Yeah,” Dean nods.

 Mary turns to leave, and Dean follows. He doesn’t let go of Castiel’s hand.

[shootingcookielover]

Sanders Sides Super hero AU

Have this Sanders Sides Superhero AU!

Basically, all the sides have a so-called ‘power object’ (I swear I didn’t realize how similar this is to Miracuolous- It wasn’t intentional-) which gives them superpowers and costumes when in use. For example, Deceit has gloves and when he puts them on, they activate, while Remus has a morning star which he only has to pick up. In use not only means that they get powers and a costume, but, because I’m a very visual person and envisioned this as a comic, how the world looks to this character changes as well.

Also they are definitely all friends or related, but fail to recognize each other. When they’re in super- mode they have two groups: Supervillains and Superheroes. Deceit and Remus are supervillains, everyone else is a superhero. (Except Virgil, maybe? He’s definitely got questionable loyalties.) Supervillains got pointy long ears, superheros got ‘normal’ ears.

Remy is in this, too. He can only be seen in super-mode. He pops in and out and totally doesn’t work for another villain in the shadows, maybe Thomas or the mysterious orange side.

Now, have some art:

Ethan didn’t know how to process what was happening. His grandfather - the absolute best person to have ever existed - had died. Right on his fifteenth birthday.

The small treasure chest in his arms shook as he put the small key into the lock and turned. Click.

He flipped the chest open and there lay... a pair of mustard yellow gloves. 

No. It couldn’t be.

Ethan’s grandpa had been a supervillain. Suddenly his father’s reluctance to give him the chest made sense. His old man had been jealous, jealous that grandpa trusted Ethan more than his own son.

But Ethan barely cared. He picked the gloves up.

He quickly wiped away his tears and pulled them on. His grandfather’s legacy wouldn’t be forgotten.

Roman stared at his parents in disbelief. They couldn’t be serious. His eyes trailed upwards towards his parents’ eyes. They looked serious...

“You were superheros?”, he asked in awe.

“Well, your mother was.”, his father quickly answered. His mother chuckled, still holding out the small treasure chest.

“Yeah. But it’s your sxteenth birthday. You’re ready to take over the mantle.”

With wide eyes, Roman snatched the chest and cradled it close to himself. He excitedly began jumping in place. “I can’t wait to tell Remus!”

He was just about to leave, when his mother reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Wait, Roman.”

“Huh?”, he turned around, confused. “What is it?”

“You can’t tell Remus about this.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too dangerous.”

Roman gulped. He guessed that made sense. It was the same in all the superhero stories. Don’t tell your loved ones to keep them save.

“...okay.”

They finally let Roman leave to change for the first time. Unsure of where to go, Roman stepped inside the upstairs bathroom. He locked the door, before opening the chest. A blood red sash rested inside.

He took it out. His hands shook from excitement as he put it on.

Remus could feel something inside him die. He pressed his back against the hallway wall. 

He’d known people preferred his brother over him, they weren’t as subtle as they liked to think. Yet, of his parents he’d thought better. The idea that parents weren’t supposed to pick favorites had stuck deep in his soul.

Now he knew. His parents liked Roman more than they liked Remus. If they even liked him at all.

With a harsh gesture he rubbed the tears off his face. 

Steps walked towards the door, towards the hallway. Fear spiked through Remus and he sprinted towards the door to the attic. It was conveniently placed right across from his parents’ bedroom.

The door wasn’t locked.

He ran up the stairs and pushed open another door.

Behind it lay the attic, Remus’ favortie room in the entire house.

Clutter littered the room, barely leaving enough room to walk. 

Remus sunk to his knees, hands coming to wipe away more tears furiously. This was stupid. He was used to Roman being treated better than him, why did it even still bother him?!

A voice cut through the storm in his head, easily settling it. Confused, he looked up. Where had the voice come from?

Remus got to his feet, looking around. Again the voice was heard.

The boy followed it, expertly making his way through the room. He sank to his knees again, next to a small treasure chest in the far back of the room.

He’d never seen it before. The voice was definitely coming from inside.

It looked like a pirate’s treasure chest, with all the tentacles carved into the white framework. Remus idly wondered if the framework had been carved from the remains of a pirate crew; murdered and eaten by the captain so he could bury his treasure chest without anyone knowing where. So nobody would steal his treasure.

He carefully tried to lift the top, but the chest was locked. 

Even after looking around, Remus couldn’t find the key. With a defeated sigh, Remus sat down.

Click.

What the f-

Remus pulled on the chest’s top and it opened.

Inside rested the most beautiful morning star Remus had ever seen. A grin spread across his face as he reached out for the object.

Oh, his parents were going to pay.

His hands wrapped around the morning star’s handle.

“Mom? Have you seen my tie?”

Logan leaned heavily against the hallway wall as he shouted down the stairs. He tried his best, but he felt horrible. His chest burned with even more, terrifying emotions. He was lightly trembling.

“No, sweetie, I’m sorry. I think there’s one in the storage room?”

“I’ll go look.”

Logan forced hismelf to turn around. Even though he wanted to close his eyes and not face what lay before him, he knew it wasstupid and kept them open.

This was dumb, he told himself. Feelings sucked. Emotions were useless and painful.

He quickly wiped away his tears and trudged past his sister’s bedroom.

The storage room was stuffed to the brim with things. Any kind of things.

He rummaged through it, making his way to the back of the room. 

In one of the boxes, he actually found a tie. A blue tie with lighter stripes. With it in hand, he made his way back to his room to put it on.

Virgil pressed both his hands against his ears as hard as he could. He didn’t want to hear his mother’s angry shouts, but she was just so, so loud.

Tears leaked from his eyes and he pulled his legs closer to his chest. His lungs felt as though they were constricting, choking him. He could barely breathe anymore.

It wasn’t his mother’s fault, he told himself, because his father had said so, his father would never lie to him- he’d said that his mother felt bad about the yelling, that she didn’t mean to-

A voice cut through his thoughts and settled the storm in his mind.

Confused, he looked up.

The voice spoke up again. Virgil stood up, his legs lightly shaking.

A loud thump from the door made him jump in fear. He pressed a hand on his heart, trying to calm himself.

His mother couldn’t break down the door, she hadn’t managed to do it before, she wouldn’t be able to now.

...

right?

As soon as he was at the closet, he pulled it open. The voice came fro mthe back of it.

Virgil pushed through his clothes and found a few boxes. He knew these boxes.

They belonged to his biological father, who had died far before Virgil was old enough to remember. A voice talked from one of the boxes.

He sunk to his knees and started looking through the box. There was a small treasure chest at the bottom. The source of the voice.

Virgil pulled it out. He tried opening it, but it was locked. He set it down before him, unsure of what to do.

Click.

His hands shook when he opened the chest. A hoodie rested inside. 

It was absolutely his style and Virgil pulled it out. He quickly put it on, feeling much better with the heavy fabric covering his bare arms.

Patton entered the house and instantly felt some dread pool in his stomach. His mother was using the treadmill, he could hear it, all the way from upstairs. 

That meant she’d been upset again.

He quickly left his school bag in his room and made his way to Virgil’s. School had ended for his step-brother earlier, so he must have taken the brunt of it. 

“Virgil...?”, Patton pushed open the door to his room.

It’s empty.

Virgil isn’t there. Which meant he had gone for a walk to calm himself down.

That was... good, Patton thought as he pulled out his phone.

Hey Virge, u okay?

He pocketed the phone again and was about to turn away, when he sees the wide open closet.

Patton knew Virgil hated leaving the closet doors open. He didn’t like when other people could see his clothing.

Hesitantly, Patton crossed the room to close the closet.

His eyes gravitated towards a small treasure chest in a box in the back. He fell to his knees and pulled it towards himself. He didn’t quite know why, but something about this chest felt like it belonged to him.

The chest didn’t open. Of course it didn’t, it belonged to Virgil. 

Patton wanted to push the chest away from himself. But he found a key.

His hands shook as he put it into the lock and turned.

Click.

Inside the chest lay a cat hoodie. This wasn’t Virgil’s style at all.

So it was okay to take it, right?

Patton pulled the hoodie out. He didn’t want to put it on. It wasn’t his!

He wanted to put it back where he found it, but the hoodie felt so right in his hands-

“Patton?”

His mother had calmed down. Patton quickly tied the hoodie around his shoulders.

“’Sup, babes.”

Deceit whirled around when he heard the voice. It was unfamiliar. Definitely didn’t belong to the Duke.

What he found was a person holding a starbucks cup. Sunglasses covered their eyes and they were wearing a leather jacket.

“What’cha doing?”

The person strolled past Deceit. 

“Who are you?!”, Deceit asked. The other person turned towards him, slight confusion etched in their face. 

“What are you talking about, babes? It’s me, Remy.”

“I don’t know you.”, Deceit snapped. “How did you get in here?”

‘Remy’ leaned forward, nose almost touching Deceit’s. “Hmmm. You know, I don’t know you either, babes. What’s your name anyway? Pronouns? Call me Sleep, he/him.”

Sleep held out one hand towards Deceit. The snake considered it. Then he took the offered hand. “Deceit. He/him.”

“Babes, I brought Starbucks!”

The Prince whirled around, sword appearing in his hand. Dad jumped, quickly stepping behind Logic. Logic adjusted his glasses, irritation flitting across his face. The Spiderling almost fell off the shelf he was perched on. 

“Who are you?!”, the Prince asked, loudly. 

The stranger sighed in annoyance as he sauntered inside. “Ah, great, so you babes decided to hand over your mantle too. I’m Sleep, he/him.”

Sleep put all the Starbuck’s cups down, except one, from which he took a long sip.

[amazingworldofsupernaturalfics]

Straight Out of the Cage

Warning: mentions the Cage, possible spoilers for season 12(i think it’s season 12)

Pairing: no pairing yet

tag list: @ladyjaye95 @fandomtrashs-blog

    She stood in the cemetery. The last place she remembers being. Being dragged into the cage with Michael and Lucifer, Sam controlled by Lucifer and their half-brother Adam being Michael’s vessel. Being trapped in the cage with two archangels was no picnic but somehow she managed to stay sane.

    She didn’t know what year it was, didn’t know if anyone she knew was still alive, and she really didn’t know how she could get a hold of anyone. From what she heard in Hell, Bobby had died and was rescued by Dean, that allowed Bobby to go to Heaven.

   She began her trek out of the cemetery and to the closest town.The closest town was Lawrence, this told her she was in Kansas. She remembered both Sam and Dean were born there. Making it to the first gas station she saw and she nicely asked to use their phone which the man behind the counter nodded, handing her the corded phone. She punched in a familiar number that she hoped still worked.

   “Hello?” Her voice timid filled with worry when the person on the other side picked up.

   “(Y/n)? Is that really you? Where are you?”

   “Yeah Garth it’s me. I’m, um, I’m in Lawrence. I need help.”

    “What do you need?” His voice filled with a caring tone she thought she’d never hear again.

    “Can, um, can you by any chance get a hold of Dean, Sam or Jody? It’s been so long and I know the boys have new numbers but I didn’t know about Jody.”

   “I’ll get a hold of Sam and Dean. Get to the closest hotel or motel and stay there until they get there.” She heard the sounds of a key board. “Where are you exactly?” She gave hi the name of the gas station and he gave her the name of the closest hotel. “Go there. I’ll call and get you a room. You have nothing on you, do you?” She checked her pockets and found that they were completely empty.

   “Not a thing.”

   “Go to the hotel and the boys will be there as soon as they can.” She let out a sigh of relief. That was on thing didn’t have to worry about.

   “Thank you so much Garth. I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t answer.”

   “No problem, (Y/n). You helped me out when I needed it, it’s my way of thanking you.”

   “You’re amazing Garth. Truly.” They both said good-bye before hanging up. “Thank you so much for letting me us the phone.” The man behind the counter smiled at her.

   “Why don’t you grab something to eat and a drink.” She looked shocked at his statement. “From what I heard you need a pick me up.”

   “Thank you but I don’t...”

    “Don’t argue about it.” She got a real good look at the man. He looked like a younger version of Bobby and that meant he wouldn’t take no for an answer. She nodded and started to walk around looking at what to get. She settled on a microwave burger, pie and a beer. The man smiled as he took money out of his back pocket and put it in the register.

    “Thank you so much.”

    “No need to thank me. You look like you had been to hell and needed something.”

    “You have no idea.” She couldn’t help but smile. “You remind me of an old friend who passed away. You’d make a great parent, if you don’t already have kids now.” All he did was nod in thanks.

     “You best be getting to that hotel. You look like you need rest.”

    “Thank you again.” They nodded at each other before she started on her way to the hotel.

    It took her about thirty minutes to walk to the hotel Garth had set for her. It was a bit classier than the shady motels she was used to. She looked over the parking lot and that’s when it looked like she’d seen a ghost and an old friend at once. It took her seconds to walk over to her but she recognized the moment she saw her. She ran her hand over the black paint as she walked along the drivers side, the hood still hot from the engine running.

    “Hey there gorgeous. I thought I’d never get to see you again.” She crouched down in front of the grill. “He kept you looking sexy as always.” She heard shouting coming from the office behind her, the main one sounded a hell a lot like Dean but only a bit deeper./ She then heard Sam telling him to calm down. So she decided to stand up and walk into the office which caused both men to look at her.

    Both men looked relieved and shocked to see her standing in front of them. She looked the same as she did when she was dragged to the Cage. Her favorite color flannel, dark blue jeans, and her favorite boots. She had some dirt on her face but that was from her wiping her face with the back of her hand which was dirty. Her hair had gotten longer but that was really the only physical thing that had changed.

    They stood there as she walked passed them to the desk to get checked in. In her mind, she needed a shower before she was to try to explain how she got back topside. She smiled at the man that Dean had just been yelling at, even giving him a sorry on behalf of Dean.

    With the key in hand, again walking pass Sam and Dean only giving them the sign to follow. They did as they were told and followed her to her room, which wasn’t too far from the office. She opened the door, leaving it open for the boys as she sat down on the soft bed and undid her boots. Dean was the first one to break the silence.

    “How in the hell did you get out of the Cage and in one piece?”

    “Honestly, I don’t know. One minute I was trying to keep Michael from touching me and the next I was standing in Stull Cemetery, all alone. Not knowing what year it is or even if the people I know are still alive.”

    “Why didn’t you call us?”

    “Don’t have your new number or else I would have. Oh and thanks for leaving my ass in the fucking Cage. I knew you’d save Sammy but y’all left me in there when your angel...”

    “Cas.”

    “Yeah, Castiel, let Lucifer use him as a vessel. I should have called Jody instead of Garth. I fucking knew it.” She got up and paced a bit around the room.

    “We didn’t...”

    “Didn’t know what, Dean. Think that I would have lasted as long as I did in that fucking Cage with two archangels.”

    “We were told that you had cracked.”

    “By who, Lucifer?” The look on both of their faces told her that they deeply regretted what they did. “I’m going to shower and then you both will fill me in on what you two did while I was away.” She walked into the bathroom and started the shower.

    “I’m going to grab a clean set of clothes for her.” Dean stepped out the door only to return a couple minutes later with his duffel bag. He pulled out a clean shirt and a clean pair of boxers, leaving them on the bed while (Y/n) showered. “How are we going to tell her about what has happened, Sammy?”

    “We have to tell her the truth about everything. About you being a demon, about Chuck and him being God, about Amara.” He took a deep breath. “How did she even manage to stay sane in that Cage? Death had to put a wall up to protect me. So how is she able to be normal?”

    “I don’t know, Sam. I just can’t believe she’s back.” A small sad smile formed on his face. “Why didn’t she call Jody? she’s had the same number for years.”

    “She did say she didn’t know if Jody had the same number. Besides that, how does she even know Garth?”

    “That is a good question.” Both men heard the water turn off and moments later the door opens. (Y/n) steps out in just a towel and her hair slicked back.

    “Thank god for showers. That felt amazing.” She had a smile on her face. She looked from Sam to Dean.

    “I grabbed a pair of clean clothes for you. Even though it’s just a shirt and boxers.”

    “Thank you Dean.” She walked over to the bed and grabbed the shirt with a smile still on her face. She slipped the shirt over her head and once the top covered everything, she let the towel drop then pulled on the boxers. She made sure the shirt didn’t ride up when she pulled the boxers up. “So, which one of you gonna start. No need to really tell me about the whole getting Sam’s soul back.” Both men looked at each other and Dean began telling (Y/n) about what had happened.

    As they told her about the Leviathans, she started yawning. She ended up laying down and both men sat on either side of her. They were afraid she would disappear before their eyes.

    The bed was super soft and (Y/n) felt Sam and Dean sit on the bed. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face, she was home with her little family. Without realizing it, she had grabbed onto Sam and Dean’s hands as she fell asleep. The last thing she remembered was Sam saying being in the Cage takes a lot out of a person.

    “We will stay here for tonight and head back to the bunker in the morning.” Dean looked over at Sam who nodded and looked back at the sleeping woman between them.

    In the middle of the night, (Y/n) began to toss and turn on the bed. The first movement woke Dean up instantly which he woke Sam moments later. They both saw the pained expression on her face as she rolled over as if she tried to get comfortable. A thin layer of sweat covered her skin as the nightmare raged on in her mind. Sam placed a hand on her arm causing her to instantly wake up and she tried reaching for the gun she normally had under her pillow, but it wasn’t there.

    “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay you’re safe.” Dean pulled her into him, cradling her to him. He felt her body shake, her skin felt clammy. “You’re safe and nothing will get you. Not as long as Sammy and I are here.” (Y/n) looked up at Dean then at Sam as a couple tears fell from her eyes.

    “You want to talk about it?” Sam’s voice was calming as he wiped the tears from her face. She shook her head as she laid back down and looked up at the ceiling. She looked over at the clock, it read three am.

    “Do you fell like hitting the road?” Dean looked down at her, worry filled his eyes. “We have a place that’s safe.”

    “Really?” She looked at thim confused.

    “We’ll explain on the way there. Right now, let’s get ready to hit the road.” She didn’t fight with them, just got out of bed after they both did. “We will be there in a few hours and he sooner we leave the sooner we get there. Maybe Chuck can help with your nightmares.”

    “Chuck, as in the guy who said he was a prophet of the Lord who dated that insane chick that had this insane thing for Sam?” Sam’s head dropped in shame. “Sam please tell me that you didn’t date or even sleep with her.”

    “It was worse than that. He married her.” The expression on her face morphed from horrified to shock then she started laughing.

    “In my defense, she used a love potion that she got from a crossroads demon.”

    “So, Sammy, how does it feel knowing you were married before Deano.” She couldn’t help but laugh.

    “Enough, let’s get going.” Sam’s voice went stern when he spoke. (Y/n) held up her hands in surrender.

    “I need to leave my room key at the office then we can leave.” She saw Dean grab he clothes and boots as she walked out of the room to the office. After she dropped the key through the return slot, she walked over to Baby.

    “Miss her?” Dean smirked as he put her clothes and his bag in the trunk. “She missed you.”

    “I did miss her and I missed the both of you.” She opened the back drivers side door and slid in, instantly laying down on the leather seat. A small sigh left her lips as she settled on the seat, laying on her side as she nestled the leather. For the first time in a long time she felt at home.

    Moments later they were on the road. An AC/DC song playing loudly and (Y/n) had fallen asleep about twenty minutes out of town. From time to time Dean looked back at the sleeping woman and a smile would appear on his face which caused Sam to smile. Both men were happy to have her back but they didn’t know how she wasn’t a mess.

    “We’ll find out when we get back to the bunker. Maybe Chuck can explain what’s happened.”

    “I don’t know Sammy. It took Rowena to get Lucifer out of the Cage. So you know whoever did it had power.”

    “I know. Besides, she was never supposed to have been in the Cage.”

    “You don’t think I know that, Sammy. She wasn’t even supposed to be in that cemetery.” (Y/n) moved a little in the back seat which caused both men to go quiet and look back at her.

    The hours passed slowly yet quick until they pulled up to a rest stop an hour away from the bunker.

[kitchenwitchsuperwhovian]

The Things I Should Have Done

Pairings/ Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam, Castiel, Crowley. Bobby and the British Men of Letters (mentioned)

Summary: Final part in my series, There are Worse Things I Could Do. The reader is taken by Crowley and the Winchesters try to get her back.

Prompts: None

Word count: 4,830

Warnings: Angst, emotional upheaval, fear, anger, closure ending in a little fluff.

A/N: This is the final part to the original challenge fic, There are Worse Things I Could Do. Many thanks to those who stuck by me in this series. Also to my beta, @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid, for putting up with my lack of a soul towards my word-vomit.  @ekinsyikin, you get a tag because of your ask about doing a part 2 (and now a part 3) to my original fic.

*Italics are flashbacks* *

“Out with it Sammy. Did you find her?” Dean asks hesitantly.

“Dean, it looks like she’s...well she’s…” Sam stutters and stalls while trying to think of a way to soften the blow that’s coming.

“She’s what Sam? Where does it say she’s at?” Dean shouts in frustration and anger. 

“It says that she’s at the house that I was taken to by the British Men of Letters…”

Dean is stock still in shock as his heart races in fear. Sam was gone for a few days and look at the damage that was done to him and Y/N has been gone for six months. Six months of possible abuse, torture, and God knows what else. Cas and Sam look at the way Dean pales and takes a step back as if he was hit. When Dean bends down to take a deep breath to keep from hyperventilating, Sam and Cas are instantly by his side, picking him up and placing him in the nearest chair.

“What if she can’t be saved?” Dean tearfully asks Sam in anguish.

Sam can only try to placate Dean because Sam knows best that being held captive there for a few days was one of the worst experiences of his life and he was once locked in the Cage with Lucifer. Sam prays that when they do find Y/N, that she hasn’t been broken beyond repair.

BMoL Safe House

“Now, Y/N. What to do with you now that those pesky Winchester’s know where you are? I could just kill you or torture you to the point of you begging for death or….” Crowley trails off as a sudden inspiration takes hold.  “I know what would cause the most damage and finally keep those bloody bastards off my tail for good. Oh mummy dearest, you can come out now.”

“Fergus.” Rowena states with such disgust that it practically makes those in the room want to gag in sickness.

“I have one last task for you and we shall never have to see each other again. You can even have it in writing.” Crowley states in triumph as a spark of glee shines in his mother’s eyes before she narrows her gaze in distrust.

“Fergus, you have never done anything in the kindness of your black heart so get on with it. What is the catch?” Rowena asks in trepidation.

“I need you to take Y/N here and alter her perception of her relationship with the Winchesters. I want her to become enemy number one to the brothers and I don’t want the Winchester’s purse dog to be able to heal her with his grace. So anything that accomplishes that, long term of course, is good enough for me. What do you say?” Crowley asks with a smugness that rubs Rowena the wrong way.

“Magic like that takes a lot of planning and the right kind of spell to hold for that length of time. I may have seen something like it once but that book is now lost...correct Fergus?” Rowena asks Crowley with a smirk of knowing that makes him squirm in discomfort.

Little did Crowley know but Rowena still has the Book of the Damned. She secreted it away when the whole mess with Dean and the Mark of Cain went down which unknowingly released the Darkness from the Cage. The Book stated that in order for a curse to be cast, another equally harsh curse must be released upon the completion of the “cure.”

 “Fergus, we have a wee problem.” Rowena sings sickeningly sweet.

 “What could possibly been wrong now? The Winchesters are on their way, Lucifer’s child is free and out in the world, and I still have you to contend with.” Crowley growls at his mother in rage.

 “Fergus, shut it. This one is warded against magic. She may be poisoned currently by the Djinn we paid but there is no telling how long it will last.” Rowena huffed in annoyance as she prepared to walk out the room and away from her dreadful son.

 When the Winchesters and Y/N first met and worked with Rowena, Y/N had Castiel place an anti-magic warding on her ribs using some of Rowena’s blood and hair from a fight she was in earlier that day. When Castiel asked why, Y/N stated that the look in Rowena’s eyes when using her magic is the same look that Ezekiel had when he was trying to make his bid for more power. Y/N’s reasoning was that no amount of power will ever be enough to satisfy Rowena.

 “Where do you think you are going? We still have some things to do before those bloody boys come and try to ruin our fun. Just give her another dose of the poison and we can go. Who cares if she lives or dies as long as she distracts the Winchesters until our work is done. Now come on.” Crowley threatens Rowena as he drags her, fighting and screaming out of the house and off to finish whatever Y/N had stumbled across.

Three Hours Later

“Cas, can you sense if the warding is still up? Sam and I will circle around back to see if we run into any of Crowley’s lackeys.” Dean mutters angrily as he checks and rechecks his weapons.  Both custom guns are loaded with witch killing and devil’s trap bullets and his silver machete is strapped to his leg holster as Sam grabs the shotgun and his own machete before slamming Baby’s trunk closed.

“Dean, the warding is gone and I can sense Y/N but she is very faint. We need to hurry.” Castiel explains before he disappears in a small gust of wind.  “Dean!” Castiel yells from inside the house in a panicked shout that has Sam and Dean kicking down doors to find them quicker.  In the basement, a cot is chained to the floor and Cas is leaning over a small frame, trying to get a pulse. At the shocked gasps of surprise at the state of the body, Castiel looks up in pain as both boys rush to the bed.  

Sam is afraid that they were too late as Dean is shocked to see Y/N’s state of distress.  There are multiple slices across her arms and legs and a particularly nasty one from sternum to hip bone on her right side. It looks like she put up one hell of a fight against whatever Crowley did to her.  There is dried blood and glass in her hair by the right side of her forehead and defensive scratched on both hands.

“Dean, we need to get her to a hospital. I can’t heal her. Something is preventing me from healing her with my grace. We have to hurry because she’s fading fast. Dean!” Castiel shakes Dean out of his stupor and repeats that she needs a hospital.  Dean gently carries Y/N’s body bridal style out of the the house and places her in the backseat of Baby. He tosses the keys to Sam and gruffly tells him to drive.  Dean shakily gets in with Y/N and cradles her closely as Sam speed off into the night.

“Kid, you gotta be alright. We have so much to talk about and I have a lot to make up for. Just hang on sweetheart and don’t give up. Please.” Dean whispers into her hair as silent tears track down his face. Sam occasionally looks in the mirror at Dean and Y/N and prays to Chuck that everything will work out. Dean needs Y/N and if she was to die, Sam doesn’t know what Dean would do to get her back.

It seems like hours later (but it’s only been fifteen minutes), Sam parks in the Emergency Entrance and yells that they need help. A nurse and doctor ask what’s wrong as Sam makes up a story about their friend being in a car accident and how she won’t wake up. Dean and Sam are stopped at the entrance to the ER and are told to wait in the lobby, fill out her paperwork and as soon as the doctor is done with Y/N, she will be out to talk about her condition.

Three hours later, the doctor comes out of the ER with a tired and pained expression on her face until she spots the brothers pacing her lobby.  

“Relatives of Y/N Y/L/N?” Dr. S. Goodman asks out loud.  Sam and Dean stop their pacing and have a silent conversation as they walk over to the doctor.

“We are Y/N’s friends. She has no one left but us.” Sam states calmly while Dean nervously clenches and unclenches his fists, trying not to freak out and yell out his questions on how Y/N is doing.

“Come into my office down the hall and I’ll fill you in on the situation. Please.” Dr. Goodman directs the boys to the first office on the right and sits behind her desk sedately. “Please shut the door. I promise that it’s not bad news, as of yet.”

Dean gives her a funny look and Sam itches to grab his gun and start demanding answers.  Castiel pops into the office and when the doctor doesn’t freak out or flinch, the boys become even more surprised and a little suspicious of the doctor.

“Saranya good to see you although I wish it was under better circumstances.” Castiel smiles grimly at the doctor as she hugs him tight.

“I as well Castiel. So these are the Winchesters I take it and my patient is another hunter?” Saranya asks calmly as both Dean and Sam leap out of their chairs and aim their guns at the doctor.

“Dean, Sam, put the guns down. Saranya’s father was a small time hunter, mostly vampires until the British Men of Letters had him killed last year.  This hospital has a separate ward for hunters alone. She has seen many a creature related injury treated successfully here. So, Saranya what is wrong with our friend?” Cas asks as both Dean and Sam slowly sit back down.

“Y/N is suffering from Djinn poisoning however the scratches and cuts along her body are from a car accident. It looks like she hit her head on either the windshield or side window and was dragged out of the car across the broken glass. I found a couple of shards of glass still embedded in her skin. The thing I am worried about most is the poison.  She’s been under for three, maybe five days at the most but she has a newer puncture mark on her right arm that is most unsettling.  She was injected with a second dose of poison.”

“What does that mean, doc?” Sam asks as Dean’s hearing becomes muffled upon hearing that she was poisoned a second time by Crowley.  His hearing re-sharpens as Sam suggests that someone go into her dream-world and wake her up.

“I’ll do it. I can go in and wake her up. I just hope she is in the good dreams world not the nightmares.” Dean volunteers and is surprised when no one tries to stop him.

They decide that Y/N needs to be moved to a more secure room and while Dean is under the effects of the poison, he will be closely monitored in case there is an issue. Sam and Dean discuss possible ways to convince Y/N that the Djinn dream/nightmare isn’t real and to wake up by killing herself. Castiel and Dr. Goodman discuss her treatment upon waking along with any new information about the British Men of Letters situation.

“Now Dean, you’ll feel a pinch and the poison should take effect almost immediately. Castiel will link you to Y/N’s world so it’s up to you to find her and get you both out. Be careful. You don’t know what she’s experiencing but to her, it is as real as you and me.” Dr.Goodman gravely reminds Dean as he lays on the bed and gets the monitoring sensors attached to his head and chest.

Dean closes his eyes as he starts to feel the effects of the poison enter his system.  When he opens his eyes, he sees the map room in the bunker and Def Leppard’s Rock of Ages is blasting through the speakers.  Suddenly, Y/N comes sliding into the room and starts singing into her hairbrush, eyes closed and hips swinging as she belts out the lyrics at the top of her lungs.

“Y/N?” Dean asks as he cautiously approaches her with hands help up in a non-threatening way.

Y/N’s eyes pop open wide and she squeals Dean’s name before dropping the hairbrush and running into his arms. She hugs him tight and then surprises him completely by kissing him deeply and passionately.

They break apart to catch their breath and Y/N grins widely at Dean before placing a quick peck on his lips.  She takes him by the hand and leads him into the kitchen where pots and pans are sizzling and smoking on the stove.

“Babe, I’m glad you’re home early but is Sam okay enough to finish up without you? Last time you left early, Sam almost dropped that ‘75 Chevy on himself changing the oil. So, what’s going on?” Y/N asks while she stirs a couple of pots before grabbing some veggies from the cutting board and throwing them into the sizzling pan to cook.

Dean just watches Y/N bustle around the kitchen and lets himself momentarily imagine that this was their life. He and Sam work on cars while she’s at home waiting for him to come home. They have a normal life with everyday, normal problems. He hates for her to lose this dream but in the real world, she’s dying slowly.  So Dean takes a deep breath and prays that she can forgive him for what he’s about to do.

“Y/N, can you stop and look at me for a minute? This is really important.” Dean asks softly while gently turning her away from the stove.

She turns off the burners and chides him gently with hands on her hips. “Dean, it better be an apology for ruining the surprise dinner I spent months planning for our first wedding anniversary mister.  I even have Charlie watching Emily Rose for the weekend so we can have some alone time. I know that she’s our daughter but at three months old, I need a break before I shoot someone. So what’s up babe? You look so serious…” Y/N rambles as Dean quickly kisses her silent. The kiss lasts for a while as he puts all of his feelings into the kiss. He reluctantly pulls back and whispers that he is sorry.

“Sorry for what?” Y/N whispers against his lips.  She has a confused look on her face as Dean takes a deep breath and says that he’s sorry for what’s about to happen.

“Y/N, you were in a car accident and if that wasn’t bad enough, you were taken by Crowley and poisoned by a Djinn. Sam and I found you and took you to a hospital where Cas and a friend of his are trying to heal you. You know what you need to do to wake up sweetheart. You need to kill yourself.” Dean states sadly as he absentmindedly rub his hands up and down Y/N’s arms.

Y/N pulls herself away from Dean and faces the sink. Her head lowers and he hears her mumbling to herself.

“Y/N, you knew this was too good to be true. Come on, you knew that this wasn’t real. Dean would never fall for a girl like you. And this is all just a dream, a fantasy. You aren’t married to Dean and have a beautiful daughter. Charlie is still dead and you, Sam, and Dean are still hunters. There is no happy endings or happily ever afters in this life.” Y/N murmurs to herself as Dean steps close and pulls her into a hug.

“Thanks Dean, for having my back even though I left.” Y/N removes herself from his arms and grabs the knife from the counter as she turns to face Dean. She gives him a sad, resigned smile and gasps when she plunges the knife into her abdomen.She disappears and Dean takes the same knife and plunges it into his heart. He jolts awake as he hears Castiel tell Y/N welcome back.

Dean looks over at Y/N as she shakily gives Sam a hug and cries softly into his shirt. Dr. Goodman checks over Y/N and Dean’s vitals and assures Castiel and Sam that with a little bed rest and some antibiotics, Y/N should be discharged within the week. Sam thanks her and escorts her out of the room with Castiel so Dean and Y/N can talk in private.

Y/N shakily props herself up higher on the bed to get comfortable while Dean detaches the sensors from his person.  He’s about to say something but Y/N puts her hand up to stop him.

“Dean, I’m seriously exhausted and in pain so can we just not talk about what I saw in the dream until I’m a hundred percent? Then I promise to answer all your questions, including why I left and stayed away for so long.” Y/N exclaims while Dean can visibly see her energy levels drop and she has a hard time keeping her eyes open.

“Whatever you want sweetheart. Just get better and we’ll talk then. Sweet dreams, Y/N.” Dean whispers as Y/N’s soft snores echo throughout the room.

Dean lays his head back and just stares at the ceiling, thinking about everything he saw in Y/N’s dream world. They were married, had a little girl, and Sam and him had a garage.  The main thing that sticks in Dean’s mind is the fact that they were happy and in love.  ‘If it was her true feelings coming to life, then did that mean that she loves him and wants this kind of life with him?  And if she loves him, will she be okay if she finds that he doesn’t feel the same way?’

Dean drifts off to a light sleep as memories of him and Y/N flit through his dreams on an endless loop.

Four Months Later

“Ready for that talk sweetheart?  Doc Goodman said that you were good as new last week so I gave you an extra week to think about having this conversation. Don’t I deserve some explanation for your disappearing act? Or the fact that Crowley had to be the one to lead us to you? Or the fact that you could have died and I would have never known what had happened to you? Or to tell you…” Dean angrily states while pacing her bedroom floor.

“Dean, sit down. Your pacing is making me dizzy. And if you would shut up for a second, I could give you the answers you are looking for.” Y/N states in a calm and collected manner.

“So, to begin with I want to say I’m sorry. Sorry for running instead of talking to you both. And for not keeping in touch. I needed some time to come to terms with some personal stuff and I should have been a better friend.” Y/N stated softly while looking down at her wringing hands so she missed the wince Dean gave at the mention of them being “friends.”

“Y/N, no need to apologize. I get needing some space but please come to us instead of running away from your issues. I know that I’m the pot calling the kettle black at running away from the serious emotional stuff. But know that Sam and I are here if you need anything, okay?” Dean states calmly as he sits next to Y/N on the bed.

Y/N takes a moment to screw up her courage and tell Dean the main reason for her absence. As the silence grows, an obvious tension grows between the adults that makes both uncomfortable with unanswered questions.

“Dean, I need you to stay quiet while I explain until I’m finished or I’m never going to get this all out.” Y/N speaks in a somewhat calm manner as she holds Dean’s questioning stare. He nods his assent and motions for her to start.

Taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart, Y/N explains how she’s been slowly falling in love with Dean and feeling like less of a woman with each barmaid and waitress Dean takes back to the motel. The night she left was the final straw as Y/N realized that he doesn’t feel the same way and she needed some time and space to get over him. Dean’s face is a blank mask as a riot of emotions races through his system. The emotion at the forefront is guilt. Guilt for the way he made her feel like less of the awesome female she is. Fear and anger are a close second because he’s coming to the conclusion that he almost got her killed. And the last is regret because no matter how he looks at it, Y/N will get hurt because he loves her like he loves Sam, as family.

Dean realizes that she’s gone silent and is waiting for him to talk or say something to her declaration of love. Dean gulps around the regret in his heart and tries to speak a couple of times but always stops short of actually saying anything. With each minute that passes and Dean still doesn’t speak, Y/N’s expression becomes more morose and her eyes begin to fill with tears. Her quiet sniffle has Dean looking at Y/N sharply and he grabs her and hugs her tight as the dam breaks and she sobs into his chest.

“Sweetheart, I am so sorry for any pain I have unintentionally caused you. I never thought that who I hooked up with would make you feel less than the awesome, amazing and badass hunter you are. No, before you say anything, let me say my piece.  First, I am honored that someone like you could find things to love about me even though I’m broken beyond repair. Hell, even Sam has those days where he hates me almost as much as I hate myself.  Secondly, I….I’m sorry that I can’t be the one to love you like you deserve. You should have someone love you with every fiber of their being and when you find that someone, know that Sam and I will be happy for you. You are an important part of my family but that is all I feel for you. I know that you can’t help loving who you do but maybe with some time, it fades to affection.  Please remember that I am not intentionally trying to hurt you but I just thought that you should know upfront how I feel so you don’t get hurt anymore than you already are.” Dean murmurs into Y/N’s hair as he strokes calming circles on her back as her sobs turn into occasional sniffles. With a huge sigh, Y/N pulls from Dean’s grasp and sits back on the bed emotionally spent.

“Thanks Dean for being honest. I guess you really can’t choose who you love but you can choose your friends. In the spirit of being friends, I guess you’d like to know where I was for those six months, huh? I wasn’t hunting if that’s what you were thinking. I went to Bobby’s old shipyard and had a new house and garage built. I’ve been working my way through the junkyard, selling what I could so I could set up a new contact base for other hunters. I kept thinking about the huge hole in the network that Bobby left and so I started to reach out to other hunters about a possible replacement. My first choice was Garth but with Bess and the kids, they could potentially be in constant danger so I’ve taken over temporarily. About a week before you found me, I felt like someone was following me so I tried to head into town for cover but was in the crash about a mile out. The next thing I know, you are waking me from the dream world. Which reminds me, do you think that Cas can search for a proper replacement at the junkyard? I would do it but I think I still need a little time before jumping back into the hunting life, ya’ know?”

Dean stares at Y/N in shock as he realizes that even though she was gone, she wasn’t absent in their lives. She was still in the thick of things, trying to keep them safe and informed to the best of her abilities. Dean comes to the realization that he would rather lose her to the network than to lose her in a hunt gone wrong.

“Y/N, don’t take this the wrong way but you’re an idjit, as Bobby would’ve said. You did more for us hunters while working the network than in the last five years hunting.  Bobby would’ve been so proud of you for keeping other hunters safe so…..I can’t believe I’m gonna say this. You need to leave. You would be so much more useful to us as the main contact in the hub. I guess with the constant threats of the Apocalypse and dealing with the Mark and the Darkness, the network fell apart.  I mean just look at the cluster fuck that was the situation with the British Men of Letters. If we would have has the network running like before, we may have not lost so many hunters. We need you to be the glue that holds us together and maybe with some time apart, we can become better at being a family.” Dean says quietly while watching Y/N’s face for any kind of reaction to his little speech.

When Y/N does look into his eyes, he sees a spark that, if he was honest with himself, he missed seeing in longer than he can remember. She smiles widely and hugs him tight before running out of the bedroom, yelling for Sam and Castiel.

When both men holler that they’re in the map room, Y/N races down the hall and into Sam’s arms. She’s laughing hysterically with tears running down her cheeks as she keeps repeating the words, “I’m going to be the new Bobby!” over and over again. Dean leans against the wall, crosses his arms against his chest, and chuckles as the dumbfounded expression on Cas and Sam’s faces.

Dean steps into the room and explains what she has been up to at Bobby’s and how she will be taking over the network. Both men nod their assent and understanding and Y/N notices the wistful expression on Sam’s face.

“What’s going on in that big brain of yours Sam-I-Am?” Y/N teases Sam while hugging Castiel.

“You’re leaving us again. But I know that we could really use someone like you to keep the network strong. So I guess we’ll see you when we’re in the area then?” Sam asks with a smirk on his face.

“You better or I’ll personally drag you back by the ears and cut that glorious mane of yours.” Y/N states with malicious glee.

“I too am glad that you have found a place and purpose that suits you. And you seem happy but sad at the same time. I shall drop in to see to your wellness on occasion as well, Y/N. We shall miss you.” Castiel states stoically.

All three men surround Y/N in a tight hug and her last thought before packing and leaving the bunker is that this may be one of the best things she has ever done.

[markofcastiel]

In The End

12.23 coda - destiel

“C-Cas?!”

Castiel was dead. Dean saw it. He didn’t believe it at first. Maybe he never even accepted it. He had knelt there, by his dead friend’s body as it cooled until his brother dragged him away.

Friend. Is that the word? No. No, that’s wrong. It feels as weird in his mind as it does on his tongue. Odd. Reductive. But how else do you describe it? Comrade, family, best friend? How do you sum up a person that means everything? How do you find a word for all that’s simultaneously right and wrong? How do you stuff all the love, the trust, the intimacy in a little labeled box and hope it doesn’t that get back to you with the tag ‘return to sender’? He doesn’t know. Dean doesn’t know the name for the person you call with your heart when you’re scared and afraid. He doesn’t know how anyone could tally all the hours, all the deep conversations, all the whispered doubts, and ever dare think they can be photographed into letters, as if they were ever moments that could be explained in just one picture, or a thousand, or even a million. Friend. Just as he thought, that’s not right. They’re more than that.

So much more.

His hands shake now. He’s been drinking again. Every day. It doesn’t help. Sammy doesn’t get it - he says words, meaningless, infuriating words. “You can’t grieve forever”, “you can’t let it do this to you”. But it’s not an ‘it’. It’s Cas. It’s Cas. Sammy still doesn’t get it.

Cas is gonna come back. He always does. He always comes back to Dean. Be it minutes, hours or days, he stubbornly claws his way back. And it has been days. Fifty three​. Fifty three days, eight hours and seventeen minutes, to be exact. But it doesn’t matter. Dean can wait a little more.

Except - here he is. Castiel, in all his glory: trenchcoat waving in the wind, face hard, eyes the sharpest blue Dean’s ever seen since that first day in an old barn in Pontiac, Illinois. The gun slips from Dean’s hands like it hadn’t been there since he turned five and he’s moving before anyone can even take a breath.

“Dean-” Sam’s eyes widen. His hand is reaching for his big brother, trying to hold him back, but it’s too late. Dean is a moth to a flame. Still, Sam heeds. “Dean, that’s not-”

But Dean knows already. He knows. It’s the wrong dimension and, even if it wasn’t, he could tell from a mile away. He could tell by the way blue eyes aren’t frayed with humanity, by the way tan colored shoulders aren’t sagging with the weight of responsibility, by the way the piercing gaze strikes down on him like lightning on a tree - burning through without second thought. Dean knows. And still, he falls at the familiar but unknown feet, eyes red with tears, unshed.

“Cas,” he calls again and his voice breaks because he's​ painfully aware that the nickname and all it’s meanings, all the times it rolled off his lips, in happiness and sadness, worry and comfort, all of it, is lost on the man standing tall in front of him, angel blade glinting under a dusty sun that isn’t his or Sammy’s. This is Castiel. But it isn’t his Castiel. It isn’t the angel that saved him from hell, it isn’t the angel that smiles softly when their eyes met, it isn’t the angel who grumbles and argues and calls Dean an assbutt when they’re both being stubborn. This Castiel, of this world, never met any Sams or any Deans. He never rebelled against all of Heaven or fell to save one man. This Castiel is a warrior, a soldier, looking down on the hopeless human at his feet with nothing but puzzlement.

In a moment of short lived insanity, Dean considers stabbing him in the heart. It’d be crazy. It would serve no purpose other than getting himself killed. But, for a fraction of a second, he wants to try it. If he can’t have his Cas then he wants to do it all over again with this Cas. Maybe he could even get it right this time.

“Cas… y-you might not believe this but I know you. In another universe, I know you. I- I’m the person you talk to about your fears… your doubts… hell, even your dreams.”

He holds the trenchcoat now, quivering fingers clutching the fabric like his life line has been sown into every stitch of brown. Castiel frowns at him, head tilting just slightly. Briefly, Dean captures a thread of the man he loves. Unknowingly, he reaches for it, he reaches with everything he has, and it’s like finally coming up to the surface after being submerged.

“I’m the one you always come back to. I- please. Cas, please. I need you.”

That seems to confuse and trouble the angel, his expression shifting a fraction. Dean is a beacon that doesn’t know it. He calls with every fiber of his being, oozes despair and longing so dark, so deep and so there that it could eat a black hole whole. Castiel, like a curious child, reaches for him, lays a gentle hand on the stranger’s face - a gesture he had not yet learned but somehow seemed right. If anything, his hesitant touch makes everything worst by tenfold. Dean cries. Tears track the valleys above the man’s cheeks like flowing rivers in a rush to meet the sea. Castiel doesn’t understand those, not here, not in this lifetime. It’s the cries of the soul that he hears. It’s that which he understands.

Pain. A dull, sick green, so strong it could move mountains, weeping through the fissures of the cracked soul like water through stone.

Sorrow. Dark black, muffling everything else, drowning the man in an ocean of regret, with waves of ebony self-hatred and foam of anger. Castiel is sure he’d once shined brighter than any star in the sky, he can almost see it beneath the leftovers of a man, all the potential, fogged up; like a window when you press too close to it; like a window when you hit and bang the glass, when you scream, too loud, too long, unheard.

Longing. Red like blood, like life and need and must, intensified, focused, a whirlwind finding way to hurricane and a spear cutting at every part of Castiel’s being. Every part. As if this man knows him so intimately that the pain of his soul touches every possible variation of Castiel, in every moment of every second, and he realizes it’s the itch he’d always felt in the back of his mind, the white noise screeching in the background of dying stars, spreading from this moment of this man touching an angel to all of infinity, sounding and resounding throughout all of space and time, echoing from the birth of the universe to the very end of all - beginning here, now, in an insignificant, minuscule millisecond and somehow stretching forward and backward through Castiel’s entire timeline. One man, one human, singing by himself the music of never being, the story of a life untasted, unfelt, unloved, undreamt - touching that which never dies and never lives while wishing for something else.

This version of Castiel can’t take it. Maybe no version of Castiel could ever possibly take it. His hands turn harsh, he grips dirt blond hair hard, shakes away the delicate thing under his fingers like it’s a broken toy.

“Stop it,” he commands, voice booming like the roar of thunder and the song of storms. Sam watches from a distance, worried any wrong move will rip through the paper thin patience of the familiar faced stranger. He twitches at this aggression, his hand almost reaching for something but stopping when the angels discards his brother like trash and steps away, leaving Dean to fall on the white dirt, his wet tears painting the earth like a canvas.

“Cas,” Dean tries again, but isn’t talking to the one standing in front of him anymore. Maybe he never was. His eyes are shut tight, his head between his arms on the sandy road leading nowhere. His voice is somewhere else, somewhere that can’t quite be reached, that’s why it cracks and fails and doesn’t fully bleed from his mouth. “Cas. I need you.”

“Stop it,” urges the angel again. He pulls back in, hauls Dean up, grabs him by the collar and throws him against a pillar, shoves rough and hard, close. Too close. Green eyes turn back to him like a plant following the sun.

“Cas-”

“Stop it,” this time he pleads, because Castiel earned this place, he deserves this body, this earth, this reality and yet he can feel it slipping away. Dean doesn’t catch up on it, or maybe this is the one thing he will allow himself. Just one. Maybe he can steal this Castiel from this world where there’s no Dean to miss him.

“No,” the human says selfishly, ignorantly, not understanding the consequences, “no, I’m not leaving here without you.”

“Dean,” Castiel utters even though he didn’t know the man’s name just a moment ago, even though it had never rolled off this tongue before, “stop it. You’re hurting me.”

An angel is an angel is an angel. Castiel was eternal once and so, he will forever be eternal. In all variations of his existence, he is a circle with no end. He’s the Ourobourus, destined to eat itself. At infinity, even parallel lines intersect. One Castiel is all Castiels.

But Dean isn’t listening. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. He reaches forward, calloused, tired hands cradling the angel’s face as if Castiel - one Castiel - is the meaning of it all.

“Cas…”

Castiel, no one knows which one, sighs. It’s the opposite of the breath of Life, he becomes the weed, the fungus, the wrong that sucks away at all the other lives to survive. Castiel, the one that smiles softly and loves Dean, opens his eyes and sees again.

He doesn’t tell Dean. He doesn’t say that you can’t switch the living for the dead without infecting the timeline like a disease, without eating away at all other Castiels like they were the errors along the pathway. He doesn’t speak a word of all the other Deans, in all their other lives, that will suffer just because this Dean was too foolish to let go. In this universe, and none others, not anymore, Castiel allows this selfishness to pass quietly, if it will spare any regret. He will find a way. But, just in case he doesn’t, if this Dean is the only Dean he can heal and touch and make laugh, then he will make sure he is happy enough for all the Deans that aren’t.

This time, when he presses forward, he can feel the warmth of Dean’s palms on his cheeks like home and, though he doesn’t know any of these things, they somehow come to mind: it’s the feeling of children being read to, hot cocoa on a Christmas morning, cinnamon on apple pie, Dean smiling at him on a beach. This time, when he presses forward, Cas isn’t afraid. He kisses Dean for the first time, but also the third and the tenth and the hundredth. Though he feels the deafening silence and the sudden emptiness of the universe, he knows he will never feel alone again.

—

It’s only decades later, when this Dean passes away during his sleep, softly in the dead of night, that Castiel parts with him. In Heaven, it will only feel like a second. This Dean won’t notice that one second going by without Cas, not now that he’s happy and beaming, certain of the love he finally thinks he might deserve a bit after all. In this second, Castiel lives out all the other lives, one by one, he slips into all realities where he’s missing and Dean is crying, knelt by his body or alone in their bed. He comes back for all those Deans too, and, even though he’s not their Cas, they take him in, they kiss him just as sweetly and cling to him just as hard. They come to love him as his Dean had and, one by one, live out their lives until the day they die.

When he returns to his Dean, all other Deans are there too, shining within him. The human realizes only now, what he had done all those years ago.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He demands, old green full of tears. But Castiel - the only Castiel - just smiles that soft smile that won over every single Dean.

“It didn’t matter.”

And it’s true, because Castiel came back to him, time and time again, life after life, after life. But it doesn’t change the fact that Dean was the one to erase all those other Castiels, all those other possibilities.

“Oh god, Cas- I’m- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know- I… Cas,” Dean calls, reaches, fat tears rolling down sunken cheeks full of crinkles and Castiel comes, just like he always did ever since that day. He slips into Dean’s grasp and molds himself against the man, kisses him breathless before he wipes the salt off his husband’s skin.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, “I’m here, Dean.”

Castiel is going to fix this new wound just like he fixed all the others, soft and slow, with care and patience and too much love, until Dean forgets to hate himself because he’s too busy loving him.