#dean finds out one day and hes like So if I have two feathers does that mean Im twice as lucky???

[casdeans-pie]

Every Thursday Cas finds a way to sneak a special angel feather into one of Dean's pockets - so he gets a tiny bit of extra good luck

The feather fades away after 24 hours and it actually uses a lot of Cas's energy to pluck it and hide it on Dean every week, but he likes to feel useful. he likes to feel like he's able to watch over Dean and protect him and help him. even just a little bit. even in just the small way he can as the Angel Of Thursday

[hjpslytherclaw]

Hello! 👋 Your Harry Potter fics are an absolute joy! It warms my heart to find another HJP lover out there! 👓⚡️💖 Hopefully if it’s no trouble, what do you think about a fic where the reader, whose in a relationship w/ Harry, has a dream or NDE (near-death experience) where she meets James and Lily and they’re so grateful for her loving Harry & being there for him? Keep up the great work! 👍

ah thank you so much!! and absolutely, I've been meaning to do one like this for awhile now <3

here is . . .

Beyond Our Hearts | Harry Potter

Harry Potter x fem! reader

Summary! In which during the battle of Hogwarts, Y/N L/N has a strange vision of her boyfriends parents while fighting for her life.

Warnings / Content! y/n on the verge of dying, mentions of death and passing, a worried harry but majorly fluff besides that.

It all happened so quickly.

From throwing as many spells as she possibly could at opposing death eaters to having the world go pitch black, Y/N L/N's life had flashed before her eyes like a bolt of lightning.

She had awoken in a room of nothing but pure light. Looking around the room seemed to shift, one moment nothing but white to the Gryffindor common room, the forest of Dean, the great hall during the Yule ball, it configured itself to places she had known too well.

And as vast as it had originally happened, it had become grimly clear to Y/N what was going on.

"I'm dead," Y/N's voice was a bare breath, as light as a feather but weighted with nothing but despair.

The second those words had escaped her lips her mind had only thought of one thing.

Harry.

How's Harry? Would he be joining me? Does he know? The thoughts were drowning her.

"I've died," She repeated. She felt her eyes begin to water. This couldn't be the end could it? She was barely eighteen this was supposed to be where life truly began, not where it ends.

"Not exactly."

The voice made Y/N jump, the room had changed once more at the action. Now it had set the scenery at an oddly familiar place. It took a moment but Y/N had realized where she had seen it before. It was the Potter's house.

And when she turned around to find the voice that had spoken to her, she was met with the two former occupants.

No way.

Y/N believed she must've gone mad.

She had only ever seen them in pictures and visualized them through Harry's descriptions but it was clear as day who they were.

James and Lily.

Harry's parents stood before her.

Y/N swore she felt her heart stop.

"This isn't death, not yet at least." Lily had spoken, her hand clasped around her husbands. "More so of a limbo, a place between life and death."

"I didn't think we'd be getting to meet so soon, Y/N." James had smiled.

Y/N's mouth had opened but no words had come out. Pure shock was all she had felt in the moment.

"I understand the shock, I've been told even in the afterlife i'm devilishly handsome." James grinned, which earned him a light hit on the shoulder from his wife.

Y/N laughed.

"It's alright to be shocked," Lily said soothingly, she had something so comforting about her that made Y/N feel safe. "Meeting the passed parents of your partner doesn't happen everyday."

"I- I just find this all so hard to believe," Y/N had gotten out through a dry throat.

"And that's perfectly fine." James consoled, "What isn't fine is us having to meet you so soon. I mean you're a lovely girl, Y/N, but you shouldn't be here."

"Wait so does that mean-"

"You can go back to the land of the living?" Lily finished, "Yes."

Y/N had let out a happy breath she hadn't known she was holding. She could go home. She could go back to Harry.

"But before you go back," James said, "There's a reason you're here, with us."

Y/N furrowed her brows, only to relax them moments later. It was strange to have them be the ones to find her in her almost death.

"As of right now Harry had given himself up to Voldemort-"

Y/N's happy heart had faltered. "What?! He's not, he can't-"

"He's alright, Y/N." Lily smiled, "He's alive and well, in fact looking for you. The battle is over."

Y/N let out a sigh of relief. It was all over. Harry was safe.

"Though while giving himself up he was struck with the killing curse." James had told, "And in his last moment, his last thought, was you." James and Lily shared a smile, "We hadn't known at the time of you're arrival here but we both hoped that one day, when you got here, we'd meet you for that reason."

Y/N's mouth went slightly ajar. She was feeling too many things at one time to fully find one to express.

"We've seen you two over the years," Lily confessed to the L/N girl, catching her attention again. "All of the ups and downs, the good and the bad and you two have held together through it all. He cares for you in ways that astonish me. The love he holds for you is one that only the books seem to have."

"The way he looks at you is a way I thought only I could have, when I looked at Lily of course." James interjected for a moment, lightly squeezing Lily's hand.

"A look of pure and unconditional love." Lily smiled. "Harry deserves nothing but that. We never thought we'd be thanking you for giving him that this soon, but this was a chance we figured we'd take."

Lily had let go of James's hand and walked towards Y/N, Y/N had stayed still as she had approached her. Dead and yet so alive at the same time. It was wonderous.

"You have given him nothing but the love he deserves. You've cared for him and looked after him like no other, Y/N. We obviously haven't been around to do that and as much as that may always hurt, it's incredible to know that he has you." Lily expressed to her. "I can speak for both James and I when I say we're so, so grateful you've been there for our Harry. You've given him something so incredible, you've given him a reason to keep going and that's more than we ever could've asked for."

"The world was all we ever wanted for Harry," James spoke, "And though he may never get all of that, you've given him more of that than I thought was possible. I'm thankful he has you to lean on, you to love."

Y/N hadn't expected any of this, she hadn't expected to meet the parents of the boy she had loved so much, stand before them in a place between the living and the dead, but in the moment she couldn't find anywhere else she'd prefer to be besides with Harry himself.

"Now," Lily spoke again, sorrow in her tone. "Harry has just found your body in the living side of the world. And as much as I'd like to continue to thank you for all you've done for our boy, I don't want him to go through so much distress in finding you in this state."

Y/N felt a pang of sadness, she wanted to stay for a little longer, this was too short for her liking. But she belonged with the living, she belonged to live besides Harry and celebrate the end of the a lifelong war.

"Thank you," Y/N spoke, "For having such an amazing boy. Thank you for approving of me."

"Thank you for giving him what we couldn't." James grinned.

"I hope to continue this someday in the far, far future," Lily said softly, "Until then, continue giving our boy the love he deserves."

"I promise to never stop," Y/N assured them happily.

She was met with a joyous nod from James and an even brighter smile from Lily.

And then she awoke.

She was back at Hogwarts, her face covered in soot and dirt. Harry leaning over her.

"Y/N!" He exclaimed, relieved, he seemed to have been doing cpr on her. He embraced her quickly, "I was so worried, oh my love, I'm so happy you're alright."

Y/N had still barely processed the interaction she just had but Harry's hug, his presence in general was enough to wash anything away.

"It's over," He confessed to her, "It's all over, darling."

She couldn't imagine a more blissful feeling. Harry Potter was her happiness, her calm after the storm, it didn't matter what happened next for the two of them.

She was going to keep her promise to Lily and keep loving him, with every star in the galaxy, with every fiber of her being, she knew she'd never stop.

And one day, someday, she'd get to tell them she lived up to it.

[profoundbondfanfic]

do u have any favorite canon compliant / "missing scene" fics?

Hello there! Yes, here are a few suggestions with fics that include extra scenes like the 'fanfiction gap' and add something new to Cas and Dean's relationship.

a kiss for every season (literally) by sobsicles [Explicit, 22k words]

The first time Dean and Cas kiss, it's not really even a kiss at all. It is not, however, the last kiss that they share. ~~~ Dean doesn't think about it. Not about what it means, not about what it makes them, not about how it affects him. This life—that's not how things work. It's just this, these "in the moment" moments that always slip right out of his fingers because he lets them. He doesn't try to hold onto them, and neither does Cas, and maybe they shouldn't. Cas kisses him like no one else does, like no one else ever has. Dean absolutely does not think about it unless it's happening to him, and then he doesn't have the ability to think at all. What does it say about him that he occasionally kisses his best friend, who's a man? Dean doesn't know, and he doesn't really want to find out, either. 

All This Happened, More or Less by ceeainthereforthat [Mature, 88k words]

Dean had no idea that inheriting John Winchester's Impala was only the beginning of the destruction of his life. That Sam's dreams were more than just the consequences of late night pizza dinners. That angels looked like slightly rumpled tax accountants. And he's not ready for any of it.

Fracture Mechanics by Rend_Herring [Explicit, 43k words]

Admitting it won’t make Dean any more inconsolable than he already is, and he’ll never feel Cas’ absence any more or any less acutely than he does in this exact moment. “He’s gone,” Dean finally admits, because it seems like the only thing left to say. When the terrible, swollen vacancy of the room offers no recourse, Sam says, “I know.”

Home by FriendofCarlotta [General audiences, 2k words]

This is the story of a car, and the boy who loves it so fiercely, it becomes a home. As the boy grows into a man, his car is the one constant in his life. Until, one day, he meets an angel, and "home" takes on a new meaning.

If I Could Change One Thing by 2Minutes2Midnight [Explicit, 13k words]

Spoilers through Season 5 finale. When Dean gets sent into the future where he refuses Michael, he vows to change one thing, if nothing else. He must prevent Castiel from becoming human. No matter the cost.

Revisions by zeppazariel [Explicit, 127k words]

From the beginning, Dean and Cas continue to find their way together over and over. Chuck keeps erasing it.

That Wasn't Supposed to Fucking Happen! by anyrei, queerwerewolf [Explicit, 66k words]

What if it all wasn’t just subtext? Individual, subjective interpretation? What if we’re only seeing a fraction of what’s going on with the Winchesters? What would happen if we saw what was actually happening off-camera? Destiel might not technically “exist”, but that’s because the cameras haven’t captured it. Now that the fourth wall has been broken, subtext may become explicit text. Explicit being the operative word here. Season 12 Ongoing Fix It from 12x09 through 12x23.

The Sum Of My Regrets by LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch [Mature, 20k words]

“A quick trip to the past, that’s all. Look Cas, I know we can’t do anything about all the innocent people getting into the crossfire of our battles, but this I can do. Let me rescue this child and give Lily Sunder back her life. What can possibly go wrong?”  In which Dean Winchester travels through time, learns a thing or two about best laid plans and falls in love with an angel – all over again.

these masks we wear by deansnuggles [Mature, 24k words]

These are the things you hide, when you’re John Winchester’s oldest son: A feather Sammy found and gave you. A piece of satin you cut from a nightgown you swiped from the thrift store. You like to keep it in your pocket and rub it between your fingers. A romance novel left behind in a motel. You tape the cover of a Stephen King novel on the front. A picture of Robert Plant hidden under the fabric on the bottom of your toiletry bag. A cassette of Queen, a cassette of The Beatles. You like to draw. Knights and dragons and cowboys. A mockingbird. A lily. A boy in your class. You rip that one up and burn it. We follow Dean through important times in his life as he slowly learns to accept who he is and figures out what a happy ending means for him.

this ain't for the best (but i want you) by jewishdeanwinchester [Explicit, 8k words]

Five times Dean and Cas fucked, and one time they made love. Or, times Dean and Cas could've been but weren't. (Until they were.)

You can also check our coda tag for fics that follow along with specific episodes.

[wearywinchester]

Safe

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When a hunt goes south and you wind up taken, Dean is always there to find you.

Requested by @randomwriter1021: “Could you do a dean x reader where they are on a hunt and the reader gets kidnapped/ tortured and Dean saves her and it all ends in some fluff? I know it's kind of overused but I love it so much. (You are such a great writer and I love all you work)”

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: implied torture, injuries, blood, angst, guilt, fluff

There were a number of things Dean feared in his lifetime, a handful at that. They didn’t revolve around his own safety, they didn’t revolve around the materialistic things he’s got in his live. He didn’t hold himself in that high of a regard. His greatest fears revolve around the family he’s got left, the friends and loved ones he’s got left.

His greatest fears revolved around you.

When you’d gone missing on that hunt, one he didn’t even want you on in the first place, he felt as though his heart had fallen to his stomach. If it weren’t for the way it’d been hammering in his chest like it’d never had been before, if it weren’t for that grounding him to reality, he just might have lost his mind.

He went through a flurry of emotions within seconds it felt like— rage, devastation, fear, more anger. He nearly tore up the motel room in initial fury at the thought of you being alone somewhere, some grimy demon in your presence. The thought of them laying so much as a finger on you had him seeing redder than red and if Sam hadn’t brought him out of it he’d have trashed the place in a blind rage.

He was angry. Angry at himself for not arguing with you just a little bit more on staying back this time. For not sweet talking you out of it like he knew he could. He was angry at the fact that he’d let himself get so close to you, because if he hadn’t, you’d be safe. But he knew he couldn’t do that, he couldn’t put a mile between himself and you even if he tried.

You were his weakness and this is what the end result was.

That’s when the guilt flooded in, hard and fast. The very same anger that sat heavy behind the fact that he’d let his walls down and let you in had simmered there. He felt that if it wasn’t for him, you’d have a happier life, you were better off. He felt guilty, guilty and angry that he was the poster child for hunting. That just about every monster out there, yet to be killed, had his name in their mouth. Every demon knew Dean Winchester, every demon had a desired interest in Dean Winchester, stopping at absolutely nothing to track him down.

He hated that he was some novelty that every monster out there, from bad to worse, had known of him.

Maybe that’s why he fought his feelings as hard as he did. He knew that’s why. That’s why he bickered on every little thing with you since the two of you were just twenty and figuring out the true reality of the hunting world. That’s why he strived to get on your nerves just as much as you got on his. He thought maybe, just maybe if he used enough wit and sarcasm in his every word that it’d keep that barrier he fought so hard to keep from crumbling. It was a valiant attempt, but it was one that he knew was failing him.

It failed, and this is what was to come of it.

The time that had gone by was agonizing, every possibility of every fate you’d had flashing through his mind in an excruciating loop. He drove around for hours in search of abandoned buildings, leaving Sam to research possible leads in that town he’s come to hate. He wanted to leave and never come back but he wouldn’t do it until he found you. Sam couldn’t talk him into helping out with research, he knew to stop asking after the first try.

And it’s that very guilt that floods him harder than the first time when he finally finds you.

That demon was dead and gone without so much as another word out of its mouth once he knew he’s got the right house, and he was strong-willed and angry as he barreled through that house.

The moment he lays eyes on you, that feeling in his chest, the anger boils over and sears him from the inside out as he sees you slumped in that chair looking absolutely miserable. He feels he doesn’t deserve to be the reason your eyes light up in that moment. He feels he doesn’t deserve to be the cause of your relief, because if it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be there.

The guilt is incessant, ripping him to shreds at the sight of the scarlet smearing across your cheek, a track of it having run down your forehead in a singular drip. It gnaws and preys on him at the tears in your sleeves and the scuffs in your boots, all too telling of the way you’d struggled and fought with all the venom in the world like you always did.

When he felt guilt, you felt relief.

“Dean!” You said, trying to make sense of whether or not this was reality or some sort of dream the past two days had conjured up.

He crossed the room in a matter of a few strides, quick to rid you of the rope around your wrists and ankles. You were sore, boy you were sore, having been stuck in that chair for the better part of 48 hours. You saw the worry in his eyes and the guilt filling his every move as his hand settled on your face, calloused and warm as his gaze bounced across every inch of your face as if to assure himself it was really you, that you were really there. He was awed, in a moment he’d gotten lost in as his thumb swiped over your cheek, a moment he’d been pulled from at the feeling of your arms tight around him.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he said, huffing out a sigh of relief, the weight pressing heavy on his chest having lightened up now that he knew for a fact you were okay. “I got you.”

That very feeling still ran deep, sitting heavy in his heart as he’d settled down in that motel room with you later that night. You were freshly showered, not without Dean fussing over you on the other side of the curtain, insisting on sitting on the toilet seat with a frown and crossed arms because he’ll be damned if his lets you out of his sight. Not now, at least not for a little while.

All your wounds had been tended to with the utmost of gentle care, his jaw tenser than ever as he worked with feather light touches, too afraid to cause any more pain. There were fewer than you thought and more than he’d like, something even so much as a scratch having the anger and upset bubble in his stomach.

Even after that, you still couldn’t hate him, you never would, you couldn’t hate him the way he felt he deserved.

“De, you gotta stop frowning now. For me,” you say, lifting your head from his chest to see he was in fact frowning.

He looked down at you, tired green eyes softening once he meets your gaze. “‘M not frowning.”

Your lips purse and the softest of smiles tugs at the corner of his mouth, and it’s then that you sit up a little bit more. You pretend the action doesn’t hurt as much as it does, you pretend for his sake just so you can lean up and press a kiss to his cheek. One that melts away some of that guilt and anguish that surrounded his heart. A kiss that turned to two, two turning to another as he turned his head to look at you with all the love in the world.

His sigh is soft, breath fanning warmly against your lips in a silent show of the emotions he’d felt in that very moment. His forehead pressed to yours in that moment, your nose bumping his as his eyes fluttered closed.

He knows. He knows there’s no way you could hate him even when he feels he deserves it most. He knows you’ll love him just the same as you did last week, just the same as you did when you’d first said it ten years ago. He knows you’ll love him tomorrow and the days coming after that and he can’t quite grasp how you would, but he knows.

You kiss him softly, sweetly, one that makes him melt just a little bit more as the tension in his posture loosens just a bit. That same tension in his jaw lessening when your hand settles on his cheek. It’s your laugh that has him curious, soft and sweet as he pulls back to look at you.

“What?” He says, swallowing as his own curiosity trickles in.

“You looked awfully heroic today, De, if I say so myself,” you start, “a handsome one at that.”

He chuckles softly, half humorous and half bittersweet at your words. “Sweetheart, I ain’t a hero. Hell, I’m not even the sidekick.”

“You’re my hero, Dean. Always have been,” you say, dipping back down to lay on his chest.

His smile is soft as it sits pretty on his lips, his hand running over your head and smoothing down your cheek, thumb rubbing back and forth over your skin and a pattern of comfort that puts you at ease. He refused to make you privy to just how he’d been feeling inside, even though you already knew. But he refused, because this wasn’t about him. It was about you and he didn’t want that on your shoulders.

But he was content in that moment, some chick flick on the motel tv as you tucked yourself against him. For the first time in the last two day you felt safe, the worry in his mind dissolving for now. He wouldn’t let you out of his sight, not for a little while, but this was a moment to rival all others.

He dips down and presses a kiss to your forehead, a silent I love you, the softness of his smile and the roughness of the beginnings of his stubble pressing into your skin. He was your hero, he couldn’t believe he was your hero. He’ll take it, the mere thought of it sitting contently in the forefront of his mind as the tips of his fingers smooth over your skin in a comforting loop.

You were safe.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @lanea-1 @campingmonkey @deandaydreaming

[malereader-inserts]

Even Though it Hurts

Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Remus Lupin & Son!Reader Summary: You have a will power than no other. Word Count: 2,032 Request: “ Hi, I love your writing so much. Can you do dad!Remus Lupin x son!reader, where the reader is in secret relationship with Seamus and Remus find out? Just some super angsty story, cuz I live for angst (I knew Remus will be supporting parent). Thank you✨” A/n: Okay, I tried my best to make it angsty. WARNING: homophobia, homophobic slur, anxiety 

It’s not like you wanted your dad to know. 

You didn’t really know what was going through your mind, really, because you know your old man. Your dad was a loving father, he supported you in anything you had interested in. If you were into potions, he would try and get to a little chemistry set - muggle kind that wouldn’t end up exploding the house. If you were into muggle history, he would take you to the museums wherever you lived at that moment. 

If you were interested in quidditch, he would give you books about the history of quidditch and the rule book. He even tried to get to a broom with his own money, but he had to dip into your mother’s money (which was reserved for you and anything you wanted, it was open to Remus as well because before she died she really loved Remus.) 

But, you weren’t sure if he would support you in a new revelation of yourself.

That included kissing pretty boys in the corners late at night. 

Granted, when you spent a summer with Remus and Sirius, they talked about how they had a relationship before Remus got with your mother and Sirius whored about.

Still, it was something you were terribly scared of. Your best friends have tried convincing you and settle your racing mind that you were overthinking it and that Remus would love you no matter what you were or have done.

“You take your time, babe, but I don’t know why you’re stressin’. Your dad is sound and he’ll take the news fine!” Your boyfriend says as you sighed, closing your book. 

“Everyone is saying that Seamus, but that doesn’t eliminate the slight possibility that he wouldn’t approve.”

“I think it does, (Y/n),” Seamus replied, giving you a pointed look, “Why are you so afraid?”

You stare at your boyfriend, “I’m going to bed.” 

“Wha-?”

“Night.”

Seamus watches you tuck yourself in bed, moving the pillows around you so that your boyfriend could slip into bed with you. You flick your wand to turn off the lights as Seamus watches you dumbfounded.

You rubbed your hand as you make it to your next class, which was transfiguration, you smiled at your boyfriend - managing to give him a kiss on the cheek as he flushed red. You moved to stand with Ron and Harry as Dean teases Seamus.

“A minute to the hour, what took you so long?” Ron asked you as you shrugged your shoulder.

“Caught up in the library, sorry,” You replied as you sat down.

Harry was next to Ron as you sat down next to Seamus, who was jabbing you in the side trying to get your attention. McGonagall starts the lesson and Hermione randomly appearing out of nowhere. No one batted an eye throughout that lesson, it was a double before the end of the day.

So, when the lesson finishes, McGonagall calls you to stay behind. You tell Harry, Ron and Hermione not to fuss over you as you held Seamus’ hand a bit longer. Seamus was the last to leave, giving you a supportive look because as much as McGonagall was lovely - she sure can be intimidating.

“Mr Lupin,” she says, calling you over to her desk as you meekly pulled your shoulder bag further onto your shoulder as you walk towards her, “Have a biscuit.”

“I’m okay, Professor,” you replied.

She narrows her eyes, “What was the punishment she gave you.”

Of course, your head of the house would clock on. She had seen how happy you were at the end of the fourth year, how you were so comfortable with showing off that Seamus was yours. She could tell there was a behaviour change in you because as the fifth year started - she knew you weren’t stressed about the subjects.

You were a smart kid, but this was something concerning. You avoided being seen with Seamus unless it was in the privacy of the common room and the bedroom.

“Let me see your hand,” She held her hand out and you knew you had to comply because she wouldn’t let you out of the room.

You gave her your non-dominate hand as she examines the injury. She didn’t like how it was still red, it told her that it was a fresh open wound as bruises started to surround the vile words.

“(Y/n)...”

She looks up at you and you already had started to sob, it was almost her motherly instinct that kicked in as she abruptly stood up and beckoned you to sit down as she soothes your back. 

“It wasn’t bad at first, you know?” You started to explain, “At first they were about dad and how he was a werewolf.”

McGonagall could see the scarring of the old sentence you had to write, “WEREWOLVES ARE VILE MONSTERS.”

She watches you cry harder as you started to hiccup, with a flick of her wand, a glass of water was starting to make way towards you.

“Catch your breathing, darling,” She says to you, rubbing your back, “I guess the wench found out about you and-?”

You chuckled, surprising her because honestly you hadn’t expected so much venom from a well-kept woman like Professor McGonagall and you weren’t expecting her to comfortably call Umbridge names. 

“Yes, she called me in first, gave me the option to either take the punishment or let Seamus. I couldn’t let him do that, and then she told me not to say a word to dad because if she found out, she- she...”

McGonagall could and would throw her shit if she could. No-one should be able to harm the students at all cost, Hogwarts was a place of safety and inducing fear in the students was the last thing she wanted. 

You hiccupped, “She would find where dad would be and make sure he would pay for his actions - I don’t know what she would charge my dad with, but, I can’t lose my dad like I have with my mother. He’s all I have left. I can’t hurt my dad, I can’t hurt my boyfriend, even if it kills me.”

She stares at you in silence, because a young teenager shouldn’t have to think like that.

“Alright, I’ll write you off for the rest of the week, and let me bandage your hand.”

Perhaps you were terrified to tell your dad about the punishment you have to endure, perhaps you were terrified how your dad would react that you rather endure pain and homophobia than tell him. You know that your dad would lose his cool.

McGonagall tends to your wound, she doesn’t want to see the nasty words on your hand and she knows full well you didn’t want to either. 

You leave her classroom to go back to bed, luckily, it was nearing Christmas so Christmas break was soon to come. 

You spent many days talking to McGonagall, she couldn’t stop you from going to detention, so no matter how many bandages you go through, you could feel the pain of two sentences branded on you.

“WEREWOLVES ARE VILES MONSTERS.”

“I AM A DISGUSTING FAGGOT.”

You managed to go home early due to the attack on the Wesley family, as you were considered part of their family as well as Hermione and Harry, they allowed you to go home - home as in the base of the Order. 

You weren’t sure how to confront your dad as you tried spending your time sending letters to Seamus. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

You slammed your hand down on the desk as your head the voice before meekly turning around to see your dad, raising a concerned eyebrow.

“You scared me,” You sighed out, putting your feather down into the ink, “Announce your presence at least dad!”

Your dad chuckled, “I apologise, next time I will knock before speaking.”

You smiled as you turn yourself to look at him as he slowly enters the room, he wonders why you were cooped up in the room. Hermione was often seen downstairs reading a book whilst Ron and Harry was busy with themselves. But, you, you rather stay in your room.

“Are you ill?”

“Partly,” You responded far too quickly, you were nervous for some reason - the same nerves that ran down your back when you were in Umbridge’s office. 

When you were in “detention” she would rather have you answer quickly, you feared too much that you would reprimand. You pulled your sleeves down just to cover your hands.

“Running a bit of a fever, I’ll just sleep it off, dad.”

“(Y/n),” Remus narrowed his eyes at you, his chilled son that was much more of an anxious mess, “What’s going on? I’ve noticed that you’re sporting the same bandage as the twins and Harry.”

“Well-”

“And they told me it was because of Umbridge,” Remus continues, not meaning to interrupt you, “Son, what did she make you write?”

Remus hated the woman after she was the one to put up the suggestion on the law of werewolves, he would hate himself, but the tears confirmed his fears.

“I’m sorry!” You cried, looking down to cover your face with your hands.

“Shh, my boy,” Remus strides to give you a hug, he kneels in front of you as he lightly grabbed your hand, “May I?”

You sniffled and slightly nodded, you allowed your dad to wrap the greyish bandage. He didn’t know what he was expected, but the words that were scarred into you was worst than he thought. He wanted to throw up, he could understand the werewolf one - you are paying for his condition.

“Can you explain to me the other-?”

“Please don’t hate me!” That was your immediate response.

It wasn’t the confident response that Remus has in mind, he didn’t care if you were gay - you were still his son and he wouldn’t see you any differently. After all, he was a werewolf and you didn’t care at all - and he was considered a threat. 

He hoped that if you ever had the need to come out to him, he was expecting you to send him a letter that you were bringing home your boyfriend to meet him because you were so confident that your dad would welcome him with open arms. But, not this.

“(Y/n), I would never hate you for being gay,” Remus spoke firmly, “I love you with all my heart and you liking boys wouldn’t change the fact.”

“But-”

“My darling boy,” He says softly, “Were you afraid of my reaction because of the fear that Umbridge had instilled in you?”

You didn’t respond but that was enough for him to understand the situation as he sighs, rubbing his thumb on your forehead before bringing it close to his lips, placing a family peck upon your temple.

“I’m not mad nor will ever be mad, okay?” You nodded, it doesn’t settle the anxiety in you and Remus knows that, “So, do you have a boyfriend?”

Remus changes the topic, get you to relax first before forwarding the situation with you and the fear you had. You looked at him confused at the sudden change of topic before softly smiling to yourself at the thought of your boyfriend.

“It’s Seamus.”

“Seamus?” Remus says, narrowing his eyes, “The pyromantic maniac?”

You nod.

“Well, I guess it’s not Draco,” Remus says as you smiled at your dad, who gives you the same loving smile, “Though, when we’re able to have visitors - we’re not allowing Seamus to use magic. I cannot risk having someone blowing up the house!”

“I mean, that is fair,” You agreed with him, Remus chuckles, “You promise you’re not mad?”

“There’s nothing to be mad about, son, now are you more comfortable to talk about your hand?”

You looked at him, it was now or later and you didn’t want to experience the dread of that conversation. You take a deep inhale and exhale before giving Remus a nod. Your dad perched himself on your bed, preparing to hear your story. 

“I want to hear how you and Seamus got together first, actually.” 

“Really dad?”

[rustys-lodge]

Periods.

request : Heyy Could you do a sister Winchester fic?Pretty please🥺Okay so basically she is like a teen and she gets a first period and she is scared to tell sam and dean cause she thinks that they'll be disgusted by her or something.But like she finally very hesitantly tells sam and he comforts her and tells her it is okay and urges her to tell dean too and she does and he is also really supportive and allAnd just a bunch of fluff✨I'm sorry if it's too derailed! I really hope you consider writing this! Thank youu. 

Warnings : a whole talk about menstruation ??

----

"What do you want for dinner ?"

"Nothing..Not hungry."

The most dramatic squint was thrown your way. "Not hungry..Hmmm...That's suspicious. How can a monster like you not be hungry,huh ?" Sam took a heedful step towards you, abruptly seizing you up off the ground. 

suprised, you gasped as you felt blood gush down. “Put me down.” You almost shouted, startling your older brother, who started apologizing as your feet were back on the floor. 

“Honey, i’m sorry, did i hurt you or something-i’m sorry-i dind’t mea-”

“I’m okay, just leave me alone.” You wiped at the tears overfilling your eyes. 

“What’s with you, today, honey ?” 

you sighed loudly, hoping it’d get him away from you, but it only worried him more. 

“Come on...You can tell me.” Sam rubbed your arm encouragingly. 

You opened your mouth to talk but it was as if your voice drowned in your thoughts. You got your first periods that day. And you wanted to tell Sam and Dean but you were too scared to disgust them. The last thing you wanted was for them to hate you and judge you. and although you knew your brothers weren’t that type of people, it still worried you sick. 

“Say it, baby. I know you want to” 

You wrapped your arms around your waist as your stomach, along with the cramps, started hurting from how nervous you were. They love me...They wouldn’t get mad or disgusted..They love me..

“I prom-”

“I got my periods!” You blurted out, your eyes widening as you weren’t expecting yourself to say it. And neither was Sam, whose eyes widened as well. 

He froze, mouth agape. “I...I...”

For a second you felt as if you were as light as a feather but it all faded away as Sam kept quiet. Was he starting to hate you ? was he disgusted ? Did you do the right thing ?

The tears that welled up in your eyes pulled Sam’s attention back to you. He chuckled, hugging you and rocking you side to side rightly before letting go. “I’m so sorry, baby, i didn’t mean to make you cry. I wasn’t expecting that i’m sorry.” He sat on the bed, pulling you to stand in between his thighs. 

“How-umm..How are you feeling ? Are you okay ? Do you need anything ? Does Dean know ?” Sam’s questions piled up but all you could think about was Dean. Sammy was the easy part. Dean felt more like...Hell. “Honey ?” 

You snapped back to life. “Can we..keep it between us?” 

Sam frowned, leaning back a little. “No...Y/n...He has the right to know. He’s your big big brother, why would you not want him to know ?” 

You shrugged, glancing all around to avoid Sammy’s eyes. You felt humiliated enough. “Because he’s...he’ll get disgusted by m-” 

You got interrupted by the door being yanked open. 

“Speaking of the freaking devil.” You mumbled. 

Dean’s eyebrows frowned at your words. “Is that how you were taught to greet people, kid ?”  A little too loud apparently.

Dean set a beer case and a brown bag on the table before he slumped down on the sofa. Sam walked over to the bag, glancing at you over his shoulder. 

“So, what’d you two do while i was gone ?” 

Your eyes darted back over to Sam, who turned out to be watching you. You didn’t need words to communicate. His encouraging eyes and intimidating posture were enough to tell you what to do. 

You tilted your head to the side, pleading him to give you more time. But he refused, tilting his head in Dean’s direction. 

“Umm..” You both turned over to the latter. “Do you have something to tell me ?” He got up from the soda, burrying his hands down his pockets as he stood in front of you. 

“N-”

“Yes, she does.” 

“I um...” You lowered your eyes to the ground, embarrassed but Dean pulled your chin up, kneeling down on one knee. “You can tell me, buddy” He flashed you a comforting grin when he realized that it was a serious matter.

You thought for a second, realizing that he was going to find out anyways. So you leaned closer to his ear, whispering the news, as if Sammy didn’t already know. 

He pulled away, his eyes widening as his lips twitched. He looked like he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure what to say. Or how to react for that matter. 

He chuckled nervously. “So you’re a big girl now, huh ?” His over enthousiastic voice caused you to supress a laugh. Poor men.

“You...You’re not disgusted by me, Dean ?” 

“What, no, baby, of course not.” Dean placed a kiss on your forehead. “I’d never get digusted by menstruation, let alone by my baby sister.” He waited for a response but you kept looking into his eyes, doubt present all over your face. “Hey, nothing about periods is embarrassing, honey. Plus, Sammy and i are your big brothers, we’d never ever judge you or laugh at you about natural things like periods, alright ?” 

You nodded, pulling him into a hug. “Thank you, D.” You muffled into his flannel before you shifted to sam, burrying your head into his shirt, “Thank you, sammy.” 

“It’s okay, baby. Does it hurt ?” You looked up at Sam, nodding. He caressed your hair and then walked over to the edge of the bed. He patted the spot beside him, motioning for you to go sit there. 

You waved him off and shook your head, deciding not to take the chance. You could end up with a crime scene, for all you know. 

“So, what do you know about periods ?” 

You scratched your head...” I was hoping you’d tell me about it!” 

“How the hell would we know ?” 

you scuffed. “You’re a nerd” You pointed at Sam. “And you’re a sex addict.” 

“A what” Both brothers asked in unision. 

Your eyes widened as you pointed an accusing finger at Sam. “I learned it from him, he said it. I heard him.” The latter choked on his own spit. 

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, i did.” 

“Oh yeah ?” 

“Yeah” 

“Then go find some other nerd to help you with your periods, because im out.” 

-----

Heelllooo, my girl. I’m soo sorry it took so long, i wrote it a few days ago i was gonna post it then, but then it got deleted and i forgot what i wrote so i had to come up with a WHOLE new thiing. ‘Hope you liike it ❤❤❤🌹🌹🌹

[sibsteria]

stronger than the all father [jack kline]

prompts: none

summary: Jack and Y/n have identical wings, they aren't related and she isn't an angel so what's going on?

characters: Jack Kline, Castiel, (mentioned) Dean Winchester, (mentioned) Sam Winchester, (mentioned) God

warnings: BIG FLUFF, confused!Cas

---

''So, Jack, you've been here more several months now. How are you liking it here?'' He was shoulders deep into a bowl of cereal, I had hopped up to the counter to talk to my favourite nephilim.

''I'm starting to like it more than I did when I first came here, Dean isn't as mean to me now.'' His nonchalant shrug just makes me awe at his personality.

''I told you he'd come around, I've always believed in you.'' He stops crunching and looks at me.

''Thank you- for believing in me, I don't think I'd be the same without you. I feel like I have to be near you all the time, it's weird.'' He squeezes his brows together at his own words, I slant a smile and send it his way.

''Sometimes you just love the company of people.'' I let my smile widen and push down from the counter, walking over to him. I pat his shoulder and lean against the table.

''No, it's more than that. Do you trust me, can I try something?'' I nod immediately.

''I trust you with every bone in my body, go ahead.'' I motion for him to proceed.

''Close your eyes and count to five.'' I do what he says, no hesitance.

''One-'' His spoon hits the ceramic bowl.

''Two-'' The wooden chair scraped back against the floor.

''Three, Four-'' His concentrated sigh sounds out.

''Five-'' A bright light bats against my closed eyelids, with a heavy fluttering sound. An intense tingling spreads across my shoulder blades and middle back.

I open my eyes and cry out in confusion.

''Ah- what- what's happening to me?'' I yell as it becomes slightly painful, gripping onto the table as a crutch, Jack is by my side in seconds.

''I-I don't know, I just-'' I look up to see beautiful white wings, with tawny brown accents cascading down the long feathers.

''Woah, Jack...your wings...'' The pain isn't forgotten but shoved aside as my breath is taken away by him.

''So you can see them?'' He looks excited and hopeful, I nod and smile with question.

''I thought we couldn't see win-'' I scream as a shooting pain digs through my skin, this one more intense than the last. He holds me up so I don't buckle to the floor, the pain is replaced with a soothing coolness as I find relief.

''Y/n!'' A rich, fluorescent burning projects around the room, similar to Jack's. He staggers back, it blinds him for a slight moment.

The light fades and Jack seems breathless and scared.

''What-what's wrong?!'' My eyes search around the room for an answer.

''You...have wings-'' I snap my head to the side, yelping as I see the fluffy planes sprouting from me.

''They're like mine, no one has wings like mine-'' He tilts his head, walking closer to me, I walk up to him, meeting in the middle of the room.

''What does it mean?'' I look up at him, he's thinking of a secure answer.

''I don't know, I was talking to Castiel and he said that- a true soulmate can see angel wings and I thought mine might be you. I was so sure, and when you said you could see them it felt amazing but- but I don't know what this means. Castiel never told me about this.''

''I will be honest with you, I'm trying so hard not to panic right now, when I said I could trust you-'' Jack must have thought I was backtracking on my trust so I urge myself to carry on. His eyes crinkled and his jaw dropped, in despair.

''No, no, no! Jack I still trust you, so much. I just didn't expect this to happen. Like, yes I'm panicking but- but-'' I stop and try to slow my breathing, which is now rapid and stammered.

''Hey, it's okay.'' He wraps his arms around me, as best as he could with the large units of flight stretched out.

''I'm so glad I'm your soulmate, Jack.'' I whisper, fear still imminent.

''Me too, but I don't know why you have wings, this shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry.'' He is riddled with anxiety.

''You don't need to apologise, you didn't know.'' After my sentence, Castiel appears, frantic and panicking.

''Jack, why does she have wings? Angel radio is breaking down, all the angels are in panic mode. May-day warnings are everywhere. I came to see if you were all okay and-'' I widen my eyes at Cas' explanation.

''So- you don't know why I have wings?'' I'm full on freaking out now.

''Well, maybe-but it's a myth, a legend. I doubt it could be.'' Castiel seems to be thinking hard, weighing his beliefs,

''What is it?'' Jack asks.

''Well. They say angel soulmates and nephilim soulmates are different. If a nephilim finds their soulmate then they can bring about the world ending. They are said to sprout wings identical to their counterpart and when flayed together, a magic most powerful will be born.'' I feel dizzy and confused.

''So does putting the wings together end the world-'' Jack and I jump away from each other as to not touch wings.

''Not if intentions are pure, at least that's what it means in old Enochian.'' At this I settle, any intentions that rise from Jack are innocent and pure.

''D-Do you want to put them together?'' If Dean were here, he would've made a sex joke at Jack's question.

I look over to Castiel and he nods, pushing that it should be okay,

I turn my back to Jack and he does the same, inching closer to each other a tingle sends signals up and down my feathers as we near each other.

When our wings collide, a light similar to before erupts from our wings, coursing a white energy through them.

The beamed glow surrounds both our wings and bodies eventually.

I look around but we aren't in the bunker anymore, and Cas is no where to be seen. We are in a place booming with greenery and vast infrastructures, it's beautiful.

As I'm no angel, I ask for Jack.

''Is this like, heaven?'' I move from him to face him.

''I think...I think it's our heaven.'' I understand him from the get-go.

''What about Cas? And everyone else?'' I panic.

''This must only be temporary, I can feel the power that we hold, stronger than God's.'' I could vomit at his words.

''W-we have power stronger than God, THE God?'' He notices my freak out and cups my face with his cool hands.

''Don't worry, I'm here.'' He hugs me tight and I can feel the pureness that surrounds him.

''I know.''

[ckneal]

Awhile back, someone in the archangel fandom (or was it the midam fandom?) posited the idea that Michael can’t read, and I got to admit that I really love that idea, and if I ever do write my genfic about the Shurley family before Lucifer’s fall, I am going to steal it.

Because I think that it’s great for setting up Michael’s relationship with Metatron in particular. Between rearing the younger siblings and acting as Chuck’s liaison, relaying orders to the few groups of angels that were already actively involved in Chuck’s Plan (i.e., the cupids and the reapers [yes, I know, I don’t like the reapers being angels either; blame season 9]), and overseeing a multitude of tasks ranging from the extermination of the hellhounds to the safe transition of life from sea to land, not to mention struggling to help keep Lucifer in line as his devil-may-care attitude became increasingly problematic--Michael just did not have TIME to learn to read. So he delegated that. 

Namely, to Raphael.

However, when the day came, things did not go as planned. You see, Chuck had a lot of rules. Some of which applied to all of the angels, and some just to the four archangels, who were the only beings alive to have knowledge of certain things. Like, the Empty. Because Castiel didn’t know what the Empty was when he died. Or the spell that could bind god-level creatures away. Or--and this was a big one--Amara. After Amara was sealed away, Chuck never wanted to hear her spoken about ever again, and he specifically forbade the archangels from talking about the Darkness in any way, shape, or form--thus explaining why Castiel did not know what he was unleashing when he removed the Mark of Cain from Dean in season 10. 

So when Raphael stumbled upon Lucifer and Gabriel dramatically reenacting the battle that sealed away the universe’s first unspeakable monster in front of an audience made up of their younger siblings, Raphael was scandalized in a number of ways. At the disregard the two of them were showing toward one of their father’s most fervent rules, at the demonization of their aunt (even if Gabriel and Lucifer weren’t blatantly identifying who that monster had been), and that Gabriel would participate in something that made light of what had been an extremely painful episode in their family history. Even if Raphael knew that Lucifer and Gabriel were very close, and could tell at a glance that Lucifer likely manipulated Gabriel’s love for showmanship. 

Gabriel breaks character immediately and starts to stammer, “Please don’t tell!” But even as he’s saying it, all of the angels nearby feel a rumble in their grace, which the archangels recognize in the same way that anyone who has ever worked at a help desk would recognize the dinging of a bell. Seconds later, they hear Michael call out in the distance, “RAPHAEL! WE ARE NEEDED!”

Before they can answer, Lucifer jumps on Raphael, pinning them to the ground with a hand over their mouth, looking around in a panic because Michael finding out what Raphael had walked in on was almost as bad as their dad finding out. Raphael looks up at Gabriel as they struggle, their eyes clearly saying, Are you really just going to stand there?

Gabriel was never good with family conflicts. Lucifer, however, was always quick under pressure. Hearing Michael call out again, louder now, as he came closer to their location, Lucifer looked beyond Gabriel, to the multitude of younger angels who were all still gathered there watching. In an authoritative voice that reminded everyone that he was the God’s second eldest son and second in command of Heaven’s armies, he yelled, “Disperse!” 

Angels promptly flew off in every directly, like a flock of pigeons startled. Michael was caught off guard. And, shielding his face with one arm, that was how Michael came to blindly reached out into the the flurry of bodies and grab one angel at random. 

“Metatron. Have you seen Raphael? It’s important.”

“Um--” Before Metatron could grapple with becoming the third angel ever to lie (Lucifer and Gabriel being the first two), the rumble occurs again, and Michael makes a frazzled grumbling noise. 

“Can you write?”

“Yes?”

“Okay. . .” Michael looks around again, clearly uncomfortable, and unaware that Raphael is hmm-ing around Lucifer’s hand as loud as they can in frustration a short distance away while Gabriel’s shrugging helplessly--but not really, because he could get up and shout for Michael himself, but then Lucifer would be mad at him, and Gabriel just does not do well in these situations. . .!

Meanwhile, Michael. “Okay, Metatron. I have a very important job for you.” 

He releases his hold on Metatron and starts patting down his hair, trying to make this random angel plucked out the crowd look presentable, because Michael can’t very well act of God’s scribe and Raphael’s disappeared.

“Me? Really?”

“Yes. Now, when you go in, stand up straight and don’t stare. Don’t question him, and don’t interrupt him. Wings.” 

Metatron isn’t picking up on it, but Michael’s tone is disinterested in the actual conversation, he’s just trying to get a job done--and for goodness sake, why isn’t Raphael here? Metatron spreads his wings, and Michael hastily begins smoothing out the feathers. 

Meanwhile, things are starting to sink in. “Wait, you don’t mean--”

“It’ll be fine. Don’t be intimidated.” Michael snaps his fingers, and the door to Chuck’s throne room opens. He crouches down and looks into Metatron’s face for the first time. “Be respectful, but don’t be intimidated. Remember, he’s our father, and he loves you.” 

And then Michael shoves Metatron through the door, desperately hoping that this isn’t going to blow up in his face. Their father had been very clear in not wanting the younger siblings in his workspace. Mentally, Michael is promising himself that he will never delegate something so important ever again--completely unaware, as he so often was, that he had just been party to an immensely defining moment in a younger sibling’s life. Metatron was already glorifying this moment in his head, thinking about how God himself had singled him out for special purpose, and that their father loved him.

He and Michael would have that mistake in common later in life.

[occult-castiel]

The Same Page

This is my @destielsecretsanta2020 gift for @eclypseaf!!! The request was open, but bonus points for Miracle being present. So I wrote some post empty rescue fic!

This one honestly gave me a really hard time and I have no idea why. I hope you like it and have has an awesome christmas!

[Ao3 Link]

The portal spits them out in the dungeon.

Dean stumbles out first, a half step ahead of Cas. Human, malleable, and very much alive with one of the little dude's arms draped over Dean's shoulder.

Cas stumbles forward. Dean shoots an arm out in front of him, places a hand firmly against his chest. He maneuvers his other arms under his trenchcoat, grips his side firm.

His skins almost cool to the touch — much too cold to be safe. Not for a human, especially a brand new one.

And what if he's sick? Or gets sick and can't get better? Without his grace, there's a whole new set of worries. A bad flu that gets worse until he's gone, a hunt going wrong, fucking cancer. Heart disease kills pretty much everyone, doesn't it?

He takes a deep breath and focuses on the gentle thud of Cas' heart against his palm.

The last eight months haven't been easy. Not between the alcohol Sam eventually cut him off from, and the hunts getting sparse, and Jack being terrifying and gone until he wasn't.

Cas lulls his head to the side. His inky heart sticks to his forehead, and his blueberry-sweet eyes are unfocused but still manage to catch Dean's.

It's achingly familiar, and he smiles easy. "Hey there, sunshine."

Cas pinches his brows together as his head swims to stay upright. He slurs through some half-baked, nonsense question about coral reef bleaching, and Dean's so relieved he laughs.

Cas smiles at the sound, dazed and feather-light, but the joy is unmistakable.

It's the best thing Dean's ever seen. Fuck, he missed him. Missed him so much he didn't know what to do with himself.

Cas winces — what little help he was giving Dean in holding him up falls. He makes up the difference quick. Weak fingers curl around Dean's wrist.

"Sorry —"

"S'okay. Gonna —" he swallows hard. Tries to shove away the distinct pin-prick in his tear ducts that always means he needs to man the hell up. "Gonna get you to a bed, okay?"

Cas grunts, a pitiful noise that's mostly air and entirely feeble. "Tired."

"Rest then. It ain't far. I gotcha, buddy."

When he nods, his hair brushes Dean's neck.

It's not well thought out. The lack of work and overload of carbs haven't done Dean's muscles any favors. His joints creak and protest every step, but his room isn't far, and he'd be damned before he let's Cas feel like he has to do anything alone this time.

Miracle hops off the bed the moment the door opens.

Dean lays Cas on top of the bunched up blanket. Once he's down, Dean slowly works the trencoast and suit jacket off, his hands careful as they trail across the thin cotton of his shirt.

Cas shivers, and Dean wrestles to tug the blanket out from under him, Miracle nuzzling the side of his leg the whole time.

She's probably hungry. Or just wants attention. He hasn't exactly been available the last couple weeks, too busy with his nose in piles of research. But it all payed off.

Cas grimaces in his sleep, and it twists the cords in Dean's chest. He reaches his hand out and ghosts his fingers across the sweat-stained hair stuck to his skin, gently pushing it to the side.

He'd said it once, not more than a month ago, in the darkness of his room, Miracle tucked as close as he could get her.

He said he loved me, and I — I didn't say it back. But I do. God I do.

Dean trails his hand from his forehead to the flushed pillow of his cheeks. The other knuckles roughly at his eyes and comes back wet.

He has no god damn idea what he wouldve done without Miracle to talk to. Cause he could never get it out to Sam. Not those last moments. Not what Cas really means to him. Always too close to an edge of something larger than any apocalypse they've ever dealt with.

He traces down low enough to brush across Cas' wrist, the pained look still on his face.

Dean swallows, his heart hammers hard in his throat. Timid even though the guy is unconscious, Dean grabs his hand.

His mind blanks. Turns to complete static — a jumble of half-formed thoughts about every reason he ever told himself not to.

He's an angel. The worlds ending. Always ending. He doesn't feel that way. Can't, the equipment for it's not there. It's why he leaves, isn't it? And what the fuck could ever hope to start when it's all always falling apart? When they could fall apart.

Everyone leaves.

A flash of cold prickles down his back, and he tries to takes a deep breath. It goes down ragged. There was something he read once, about picking out a sense.

Cas' breath, slow and steady. The clink of Mircale's claws on the floor. A muted buzz from the florescent lights in the hall.

He breaths again, a little easier. His fingers curls into Cas' palm, and his finger twitch against Dean in response. The dent in his brows relax, his jaw goes slack.

"S'okay Cas." He squeezes. "Just... be okay."

When his phone rings, dumped and forgotten on the other side of the room, he isn't quite sure how to let go. Like the ligaments in his hand have cemented in place, forgotten the muscle memory to make the movements happen.

When the second call comes through, Cas mumbles something. Dean's shoulder slack, and he pulls his hands back, clammy and with a slight tremor.

It's Sam. There's a small tug of guilt — he should've called him the moment he put Cas down. He knows he would've been worried sick if Sam was the one that had to go.

Sam's relieved too, promises to buy stuff for dinner on his way back from where Dean went in the Empty about fifty miles out. And he must hear something in his voice, because he stresses to go watch a movie or something and let Cas sleep it off.

Of course he's right. They knew Cas would be out cold. But leaving the room is still hard, and he lingers in the doorway until he gets a good look at Miracle's mess of tangled fur.

He hasn't brushed her hair, since that's practically what the fur is, in weeks.

"C'mon girl."

He grabs the brush from the bedside table, casts on last look at Cas, and takes Miracle to the TV room.

She hops on the couch next to him, tail thumping with excitement.

"You wanna get pretty to meet Cas later?"

She nuzzles his hand, sticks her nose against the brush, and a little bit of the stress from today lightens up.

He flips on some netflix show about baking food, and talks to Miracle as he starts in on her snout.

It's ritualistic to touch on whatevers going on with her, at this point.

As her fur smooths, he tells her about the Empty. Its piss-poor lighting, the mind boggling way directions work, how it has this awful burnt-licorice and gasoline stench clung to the nothingness of its everything.

It kinda makes his head hurt.

Almost two full episodes in, he has all her fur neat and tidy, and his little monologue has circled back to Cas. She'd know a lot about him if she could talk.

"It's hard to believe he's really back. And — and maybe it'll be good. We could, I dunno, get you a yard?" He nods, smiles. "Yeah, I bet your spoiled ass would like that. The bunker ain't a place for pets."

Miracle leaps from the couch, and someone clears their throat from the door.

Cas stands in the doorway, hunched in on himself. Dark strands of hair twist up in random directions, and the casual clothes Dean left him fit snugly.

He looks... comfortable. Like he slipped into humanity ages ago, not this afternoon.

"Cas."

He tilts his lips up, tight and sheepish. "I see you have a dog now."

"Yeah. Miracle. She uh — she helped me." He motions vaguely to his head. "Might not be batting a hundred up here if not for her."

Cas glances down at her, and the tense smile softens. "I'm very grateful then."

Almost reverent, he scratches the side of her ear.

Dean shakes his head. Blinks. Two things he never thought he'd see side by side mixed with the insanity of the day make none of this seem real.

Deep breath.

"She can — she can be there for you too," Dean says. "If you need it. Dogs are great listeners. Even the Madonna types like this one."

Cas gives a contemplative hum. "They are both blonde."

He puffs a breath of air. It's easy to forget Cas actually knows what he's talking about now, sometimes. Even if he does still miss the point by a mile.

"It was your turn."

Cas raises an eyebrow.

"To, uh, pick a movie." He motions to the seat next to him. "If you want."

Cas runs his bottom lip between his teeth and doesn't look at Dean. Doesn't say anything either. Just nods, walks over, and sinks into the couch.

It's a respectable distance. Close enough Dean would be able to sense him, far enough away they won't touch.

Miracle curls up on the other side of Cas, head flopped on his lap, right next to his balled up hands.

"Is it over?" His voice is small.

Dean doesn't have to ask. "Chuck isn't aproblem anymore." Cas sighs, slinks down bonelessly into the cushions. "We figured it out, took his powers. Jack's fixing up Heaven with it. Says he's gunna do that, find a way to put Amara back together, and then come home."

"Good. I don't think I'm up to fighting standards." He rolls his head to the side. They're close enough Dean can make out each muscle in his neck when he swallows. "You didn't have to save me, Dean. I'd — made peace with that fate."

It's bullshit. It's bullshit and Cas has to know it. He almost tells him a much, but if he can't have that talk now, then he never will.

He licks his lips. It doesn't help the dryness.

"Did you mean it?"

It's a dumb question, but one he needs answered.

Cas doesn't miss a beat. "That and more." The serenity in his words is endearing as it is cutting when he adds, "But we don't have to address it. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

It's Dean's turn to melt with relief. "Good — that's good."

Cas winces. "I understand if you'd like some space —"

He starts to stand up, and panic seizes Dean's chest like a vice grip. He grabs his wrist and Cas freezes.

"No! God no. Cas, it — it wasn't supposed to happen like that."

He looks confused, before some amount of understanding smoothes out some of the worried lines in his face. His eyes flick down to Dean's mouth for an instant. "How was it supposed to happen, then?"

"I thought, maybe on a hunt? Or — I don't know. Just... " some place I could say it back.

Its not good enough, saying it without saying it. Cas gave a speech. He saved Dean's life, saved the god damn world. All without knowing.

He shakes his head. Starts again. He had enough practice between thoughts he couldn't shove away and late night pet-therapy. "I thought you knew. Hell, I've been scared everyone knows. And if they did, you did too, right?"

"Subtly isn't always my strongest suit."

He laughs, and it's almost on the wrong side of sane. "Don't I know it."

He can do direct.

Slow enough that Cas has time to pull back, he runs his hand up his arm, cradles it against the back of Cas' neck. He leans across the small distance and kisses him.

It's clumsy and unsure, and Cas places a skittish hand on Dean's side like he's not sure what he's allowed to have even now, but their lips mesh together in a way that feels better than anything he can remember.

When they part, he's not sure either one of them are breathing. And he can't look at Cas, not when he says it. Not yet. So he presses their foreheads together, keeps his eyes fully lidded.

"I don't know how you could think you aren't worth saving. You — you're it for me."

"Dean —"

He shakes his head, and the tips of their noses brush. "I love you more than I know what to do with. You know that right?"

Bewildered, Cas says, "I didn't."

"Yean, well. Now you do."

He scoots back in place, flushed firm against the cushion. Their hands tangle together, and their knees are touching, and it's too much and not enough. But mostly not enough. Dean dares a glance over. Cas is staring at their hands, a pleased smile on his face.

And they're on the same page.

"I think you said something about a yard when I walked in?"

Instead of answering he says, "We should retire. I'm too old for this shit."

"Entirely?"

Dean shrugs. "A hunt here and there wouldn't hurt I guess."

"We'll talk about it later." He reaches over him, grabs the remote. "I think you said it was my turn?"

Dean grins, full and toothy. "Yeah, just no more romcoms, dude. I can only take so many."

Cas nods, curt and serious. "Of course."

He does anyway, and it's the best shitty movie Dean's ever seen.

[hen-of-letters]

@spnprideweek day one: flags

This little ficlet for #spnprideweek is brought to you by my big, non-binary bisexual love for this beautiful fandom, and my desire to fix that moment in 'Baby' when Cas indulges Dean by saying "werepire", but Dean doesn't hear him and Cas doesn't know. It ended up getting a bit long, so there's more under the cut or over on AO3. Thanks!

Dean's at Pride, and feeling a rising level of discomfort.

It's not the fact that he's wearing eyeliner in public for the first time in his forty-two years. Hell, he'd been wanting to do that ever since he was a kid, dreaming of being a rock star. The covers of music magazines in gas station racks had been windows on a world free from the brutally narrow definition of what his Dad meant when he told him to "be a man". Gradually, though, he'd learned what is gloriously apparent today under the hot June sun: that there are as many ways of being a man as there are men.

It's not because the sleeveless white t-shirt he's wearing is somewhat snug. (The heat had made him shed his pink, purple and blue plaid shirt - the one he'd worn today because Claire always called it his 'bi flannel' - and tie it around his waist.) He and Cas are both wearing a little of their contentment on their waistlines these days, and he believes Cas when he says that he adores his body because he means it when he says the same to Cas.

It's not the big, heart-shaped sticker slapped on his chest, which is striped in the colours of the bisexual pride flag in a way that's much less subtle than the flannel. Dean's always known that he wasn't only into chicks, but putting a name to it is new. Dean's had jobs and Dean's had roles, but having an identity had always seemed like a luxury well beyond Dean's means. Now he's not constantly running for his life, though, he has the breathing room to figure himself out. And he's good with this part of himself. More than good.

It's not the two flags that are padding the pockets of his jeans. One, he'd bought for Cas: it's striped in pale pink, pale blue and white. Earlier, he'd gone with Cas when he'd met up with some friends he'd met online (having managed to get past all the cats this time). The ex-angel had found that discussing their experiences of being trans had helped him feel happy in the body that had become his own. Dean could only feel immense gratitude for the way Cas' face had lit up afterwards when he'd talked about how he was creating himself, becoming himself, and embracing the human condition of change.

Dean hopes that the gift of the trans pride flag will show Cas that Dean understands and loves him, and the same is true for the other flag, which he'd picked up for Jack. It's yellow, white, purple and black. Dean had had to do a little research when Jack had used the term non-binary - it's amazing how the world can move on while you're living in an underground bunker. He'd kept on researching, too, after he'd learned the basics. Maybe he was still figuring himself out. Maybe there was more to discover about himself, and wasn't that fantastic?

Jack is wandering around somewhere with Claire and Kaia. Jody and Donna are here, too, with Alex and Patience. Adam and Michael have probably partied their way through fifty international pride parades by now, but they should be meeting up with everyone else later. Sam and Eileen are not far away. Eileen was the one who's slapped the bi pride sticker on Dean's chest - with unnecessary force, if you asked Dean. She'd grinned at him, showed off the identical sticker on her own chest, and said, with a suitably cheesy wink, "we need to stick together". He remembered the moment he'd nervously asked her the sign for 'bisexual', and when she'd shown him - the letter signs for 'b' and 'i' - she'd added, "me too," and Dean had scooped her up into a crushing hug.His love for his family is endless, and them all being here is definitely not why he's uncomfortable.

And it's not the body glitter freckling his cheeks and his shoulders with gold, although his feelings might change by the time he tries to remove it tonight. He'd been gilded with it when he'd been dancing up a storm with a group of drag queens. They'd admired his eyeliner - a deep brown shot through with gold along his upper lashes - but winked and said it was "a little subtle for Pride". As soon as Dean had seen the tube of glitter, he'd yelled "hell yes!" and even managed to hold still long enough to be coated in the stuff before moving his body to the beat again. Although he's sure his feet will be aching later, so far his favourite cowboy boots are not the source of his discomfort.

It's not the bright pink feather boa, either, which he'd acquired from the same source as the glitter, when he'd been sent off with a kiss to the cheek and the words "be bold, honey!" He'd expected the boa to tickle or irritate, but for some bizarre reason the sensation of feathers around his shoulders and the back of his neck feels incredibly comforting and reassuring. He feels warm and safe and oh. Oh.

As that particular realisation sweeps over him, Dean tightens his hold on Cas. He's standing behind him with his right hand on Cas' hip, and his left arm is up over his shoulder and wrapped around his chest. His hand is splayed out, at once putting his silver wedding band on display and somehow attempting to conceal Cas from the eyes of his many admirers (and, well, good luck with that. Cas is incredibly beefy these days).

Which brings us to the source of Dean's discomfort; to the thing that's deepening the furrow in his brow and the dimples beside his pursed lips: namely, the sheer number of guys hitting on Cas.

It's not like Dean can blame them. Cas' muscular frame is wrapped in black jeans and a tight black t-shirt bearing the Led Zeppelin 1975 tour logo. The short sleeves show off the floral tattoos trailing down his left arm. Cas is wearing a rainbow-coloured enamel belt buckle and, because he's determined to be the death of Dean, black cowboy boots. Before they'd left, Dean hadn't been able to resist grabbing a black kohl pencil and smudging a little along Cas' upper and lower lashes. And, okay, maybe Cas' wide-eyed bewilderment every time he's flirted with is vaguely amusing. But when Dean is right here? Not cool.

Right on cue, here's another one. From over his husband's shoulder, Dean levels his very best glare at the guy. It's a look that can stop a demon dead in its tracks. A vampire would tremble. A werewolf would wet itself. But one young gay guy with a few drinks in him? Totally unaffected. Like the others, he's all smiles and understanding when Cas politely, if awkwardly, waves him away. (Literally. With a final dorky little wave goodbye.)

Dean realises that he's moved his right arm around Cas' waist, so now Dean is wrapped around Cas like some kind of koala/octopus hybrid. An octoala? A koctopus? Definitely koctopus. Heh.

Dean snorts at the thought, which is somewhat unfortunate, given that his face is right next to Cas' ear. Cas flinches and turns his head around to fix him in a squinty glare.

"Koctopus?" Dean says, apologetically.

Cas narrows his eyes further and tilts his head to the side.

"Um, the way I was wrapped around you. I was like a cross between a koala and an octopus."

Dean nudges Cas. "So what does that make me? C'mon, you know you wanna say it."

Cas just tilts his head a bit further to the side, either in confusion or outright despair. Dean has untangled himself from Cas and stepped back, and looks down at the ground, suddenly self-conscious.

Dean feels Cas' hand on his shoulder, and then it smooths over his back, finding the back of his neck underneath the boa. Whatever his shape, Cas' touch has the exact same effect on Dean. He looks up into the impossibly blue eyes of his husband.

"You're a very glittery," Cas begins, softly, "and very beautiful," one corner of his mouth lifts, and then he purses his lips together, trying to hold back the smile, "koctopus."

The corners of his eyes are crinkled. He's not amused by the joke, Dean knows, just absurdly pleased to be saying something he knows will make Dean happy. Of course Dean knows that Cas loves him, knows the whole cosmic-realm-crossing magnitude of it, but in little moments like this, he's floored by it. Dean can't help his sudden exhale or the massive grin that breaks across his face. He wraps his husband up in hug that they hold for a good long moment, before Dean leans back to kiss Cas.

No one had ever explained to Dean how difficult it is to kiss someone when you can't stop smiling. He'd never had that problem before Cas, but now it's practically a daily occurrence. It's a menace because kissing Cas is one of Dean's favourite pastimes. Now, they trade little pecks between wide, toothy grins, until passion takes over and the kisses become heavier.

It takes someone wolf-whistling for them to part, and then they're back to grinning and staring into each others' eyes, until Dean spots something on Cas' face. And something else. And something else. In fact, there's something all over Cas, and that something is gold glitter. It's on his face, his hands, his Zeppelin shirt, and even in his hair. Dean runs his fingers through the unruly curls - Cas has been wearing his hair longer lately - in an attempt to shake it out, but only deposits more glitter into Cas' locks.

"Oops," Dean says, "I kinda glitter bombed you there. It's all over your shirt, too. Sorry, Sunshine."

He doesn't sound terribly sorry.

"This is your shirt, Dean."

"Aw, man."

He does sound a little sorry now, but his future laundry woes are forgotten when Cas presses another kiss to his pouting lips. They're forgotten again when something across the crowd catches Dean's eye.

"Oooh," Dean exclaims as he drags Cas towards the stall he's spotted.

It's selling cowboy hats in every configuration of colour imaginable, and Dean is practically jumping on the spot excitement. Cas looks his husband up and down, slowly.

"You think your outfit's lacking accessories?" he deadpans.

"Yup," is Dean's gleeful reply, "and so's yours."

Cas' groan is lost to the noise of the crowd and the beat of the music, so no-one will ever know if it was one of protest or defeat. He does, in fact, end up wearing a black cowboy hat with a rainbow band, so if it was protest then it was highly ineffective. Dean's has a pink crown, purple band and blue brim, and he's carrying another black one with a band in the non-binary flag colours for Jack. Cas admits that Jack's going to love it.

"Damn, this is awesome," Dean says as they head back to meet up with the rest of their family.

Walking hand in hand with Cas, Dean's thoughts wander. Dean could kick his younger self for every time he'd called someone gay or a girl as a way of saying they were weak. Because all he can see in the people around him is strength. He grins again, giddy with the atmosphere of defiant joy. All around him is everything he'd spent his life fighting to protect: freedom, family, and love. Holding his husband's hand a little tighter, he's grateful that in the end he gets to have both: freedom and peace.

[pallasperilous]

Boneless Wings

 {AO3 version}

So, blah blah blah, it’s their standard-issue disaster: pack of dumbass witches (always with the dumbass witches. Where do they find the time for this shit? Somebody get these women signed up for a Peloton subscription or a macramé class or a vibrator of the month club, seriously, whatever it takes—), ancient curse, Castiel being the actual angel of stepping in it, nobody cares. 

The point is, two hundred and forty-one hours of binge-worthy drama later, Dean and Cas are living in a semi-detached just a short thirty-minute commute to somewhere equally lame, Castiel has two literal-ass wings, and yes, Susan, they kiss now. 

The neighbors are weirdly cool with it. 

For those of you perving along at home, Dean could absolutely provide a list of the hundred or so ways that having a boyfriend* with giant fucking actual wings is super hot and/or awesome.

This is not that list.

(*you can just shut right the fuck up , Sam, because it’s either this or Dean will start saying lover. And nobody needs that. Nobody wants that.)

1.  Bird mites. Holy shit. 

 2.  Sharing a bathroom. The shower curtain rod, and consequently the security deposit, are early casualties. The medicine cabinet follows swiftly behind. Shower hijinks are not even an option.

 3.  Dean comes home one day from a gig and there is a giant plastic green turtle in the backyard. A closer inspection reveals that the turtle is actually a mule for about half a truck bed of industrial dust ‘n grit. It is, in fact, a kiddie sandbox. Dean points out that they do not, in fact, have a small child (FINGERS CROSSED), so...?

Cas then earnestly shows him an entire playlist of exotic birdy dust bath videos on Youtube. 

Dean then earnestly shows him the garden hose. 

4.  The down just gets, like...everywhere. EVERYWHERE. How many times have Sam and Dean practically sold their kidneys for a single angel feather for some dumb spell to solve some pointless Occult McProblem? And now Dean is picking them out of his damn teeth every morning. (No, gross, not because of... Jesus, no, that is not a thing.)

On the upside of this one, Dean finally has an excuse to buy a Dyson, which he’s secretly always thought looked awesome. It is. 

 5.  When Dean is scraping out the umpteenth canister of fluff he jokingly suggests they use some of it to supplement the tragically flaccid down comforter currently shaming their bed, and Castiel pitches an existential fucking sulk. Dean wants to experience happiness again, so he does not point out that it get ass-bitingly cold here this time of year, and decent bedding is not exactly inexpensive, and the Dyson kind of maxed them out on household purchases.

But whatever.

 6.  Castiel is indulging in what Dean thinks of as a sky pout when he flies right into a head-on with li’l Timmy NextDoor’s new Christmas surveillance drone. It dings the shit out of one of Cas’s left primary feathers (the scientific term is “those big motherfuckers”), which apparently hurts like a bitch. Cas is grounded for a few weeks after that and is cutely pathetic about it and at first Dean is absolutely down to kiss it better. By the end, Dean is almost ready to strangle Cas with his own necktie, but he has learned a lot of surprisingly interesting stuff about ancient Mesopotamia, like that it was super horny.

 7.  After the snow melts, Dean starts finding shit on the front step with the morning paper. It’s not even a good newspaper; Cas signed them up for the local fish-wrapper (or maybe it was Sam, before he fled for the hills— he occasionally breaks out in a  “support local journalism” rash). The crossword puzzle is insulting, but the paper does at least syndicate Carolyn Hax, whom Dean secretly suspects of being an absolute wildcat in the sack, so he grudgingly expends the calories to bring it in every morning. 

Anyway, at first the stuff he discovers crapping up the welcome mat is just shiny bits of trash — couple granola wrappers, some MGD pull-tabs, a few field-stripped twisty-ties. Probably just windblown, and he tosses it in the garbage can. 

Then a couple weeks in, things start getting...grisly? It escalates real slowly, from a variety platter of mouse bits to squirrel à la power line and then half of a dry-aged raccoon and an opossum that has recently graduated from playing dead to professional dead-being. The neighborhood crows obviously love that their front step is now a roadkill café; Dean has to bat increasing numbers of them away with the kitchen broom in order to relocate their horrible snack to the edge of the nearest storm drain.

Then one morning there are like twenty crows and they’re in just the cutest little football huddle-up around what turns out to be a human fucking finger with a retro-fun mood ring still on the knuckle (it’s feeling: Sad) and Dean fully loses his shit. 

Cas hears him freaking out and comes whomping out of the garage ready to, whatever, flap somebody to death maybe, but as soon as he establishes that Dean doesn’t need anything more than a fresh pair of boxers, he de-poofs a bit and assesses the whole human finger/crows situation in his usual infuriatingly unrushed way. The crows had mostly bounced up to the cable line over the house, safely out of brooming range, but one by one they start to drop down and hippity-hop back towards the world’s tiniest crime scene.

If Dean were five percent less freaked he’d be tempted to go inside and find out how much of a dent he can make in a six-pack before Castiel finally dings and spits out his results, but he isn’t, so he just stands there in silence clutching the broom like it’s a shotgun.

Eventually Cas says “hm,” and then he looks at the crows and makes some noises that sound like a spoon caught in a garbage disposal, and the crows make some scrawps and chuks back, and then one of them delicately noodges the tip of dead finger with its beak and then hippity hops back a foot or two, bows, and then they all fly away over the shitty little beige duplex across the street like they’re running ten minutes late to an important bird appointment.

Castiel stands up (Dean reflexively backs up into the doorway, as this involves Cas bomfing out his wings a bit for ballast and Dean has caught a blow to the nuts on more than one occasion), dusts off his goddamn slacks, pulls a plastic evidence baggie out of thin goddamn air or maybe his socks, and casually bags the finger like they’re doing a standard FBI wheeze. “So what,” Dean says, as Cas diligently zips the baggie, “the fuck?”

“Oh,” Cas says, blinking in surprise that Dean is still there and interested, “they think I’m their god.”

Dean kind of stares back at him, the six feet of dude and like sixteen feet of bird, and thinks sure, okay, but his face must still be stuck on “Tippi Hedren attic scene” because Cas puts a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder and adds “Don’t worry. I’ve told them I don’t require further offerings, and I reassured them that you’re my consort and were simply jealous of other potential mates.”

It takes Dean two weeks to come up with a response to that, but by then it’s become evident that no bird is ever going to shit on the Impala again, so he decides to just chalk it up in the win column and move on.

You know. The family business.

8.  No matter how tightly he folds them, Cas can’t fit his wings through the definitely-not-up-to-code doorway of the wood-paneled family rec room in the basement, so Dean claims it as his man cave and dubs it the “No Fly Zone.” 

Castiel doesn’t find this funny, but Dean really only uses it to fold laundry. 

 9.  Transpo is an obvious issue. Cas can almost stuff himself into the Impala if he sort of reverse-cowgirls the back seat, but then the wingtips smoosh up against the windshield and Dean’s visibility is approximately zip. And, sure, Cas could fly himself anywhere they really needed to go, he’s basically a Chevy Of The Air, but sometimes it’s raining, and the seraph Castiel — Shield of God, Heavenly Soldier of the Lord, multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, will smell like a wet fucking chicken for days afterward. Febreze does not help.

Dean spends a few nauseating weeks contemplating the purchase of — and here he learns that the human gag reflex can be conditioned, but never truly eradicated — a convertible. Once Cas brings up the possibility of a minivan or perhaps a station wagon (he’s taken to studying family motor vehicles with all the intensity of a birder with a life list) and Dean makes him sleep on the couch.

Dean gets his own living room rotation after he shows Cas a Craigslist posting for a very reasonably priced horse trailer. Castiel points out that it’s used and Dean notes that neither of them is exactly mint in original packaging either. Castiel points out that he’s not a horse, and after a few necessary but admittedly unoriginal jokes, Dean pulls up a website with an exhaustive photographic tutorial on how to convert a horse trailer “for the safe and sanitary transport of ostriches, emus, and/or cassowaries.” Cas points out that he’s not an ostrich, emu, and/or cassowary, and Dean counters that he clearly isn’t, because an emu would probably show a little more gratitude, and that’s how Dean learns that the couch has a broken spring under the left cushion. The transpo issue remains unresolved.

 10.  Dean keeps a pair of shop-grade safety goggles by his side of the bed. It’s not the sexiest look, but it turns out feathers are stabby as hell when encountered at a particular angle. Cas can do the healy thing, of course, but they learn the hard way that cornea perforation is not really a mood enhancer. On the bright side, Castiel accidentally corrects Dean’s incipient presbyopia, which means Dean doesn’t have to hold the newspaper at arm’s length anymore when he’s idly speculating what Carolyn Hax looks like below the neck. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

 11.  You’d think that, when you’re coming down from a time-limited but incurable curse that makes you feel like every cell of your body has its own cute little individual headcold — because you missed a hex bag due to the fact that you were preparing your legal response to Sam turning up to the hunt wearing a goddamn hair scrunchy, as if he were fresh off the set of a very special episode of Clarissa Explains It All — anyway, you’d think that being wrapped in the warm embrace of an angel’s wings would be nice. 

But you would be wrong, because apparently your boyfriend has been out communing with the bees again, and those feathers pick up ragweed pollen like it’s their goddamn job, and guess what else angels can’t cure? Dean will take Motherfucking Seasonal Allergies for 600, Alex. 

12a.  One of the neighbors has that homesteading hippie brain disease that drives an otherwise normal-seeming person to brew their own beer and raise a bunch of chickens despite living within five hundred yards of a fully functioning Hy-Vee. There’s a week where one of the wee little velociraptors seems to be processing some kind of trauma because it starts yelling at dawn and keeps going until well past the hour that swearing is allowed on network TV. 

When Dean finally hammers on the front door the next afternoon the neighbor apologizes with some extremely nasty home-brew (HIPPIES) and some absolutely devastating weed (HIPPIES!) and explains that “Ginger is going through a rough molt” and then he kind of nods his head towards Dean’s side of the fence where Cas is futzing around in the squash plants and stage whispers (this is a direct quote) “You know how they get.”

Dean is about to rip the dude a new one for comparing his immortal space-kaiju lover to a fucking Australorp yard pullet when Castiel pops his head up over the white pickets and breezily contributes “Bad molt, yes, those are terrible, Dean can tell you all about how insufferable I am those weeks,” and sometimes Dean just doesn’t know why he even tries.

 12b.  The less said about angel molt, the better. 

Seriously, the freakin’ eyes-on-his-hands naked mole rat dude from, whatsit, Pan’s Labyrinth of Subtitles, would run screaming from this shit. 

 13.  There’s a 4th of July BBQ Potluck Block Party and Dean’s inability to stand idly by while good meat is abused ( shut up Sam ) means he winds up manning the grill and dismissing the pretenders to set some strictly inedible things on fire. Cas hangs out next to him and uses his flappers to kinda whupf the smoke away from Dean’s eyes now and then, which rules. It’s actually a pretty chill event until Sharon and Don From Number 4267, The Green House With The White Trim, turn up with a giant Pyrex full of naked, still-marinating teriyaki wings. 

Sharon And Don look down at their wings and then up at Castiel and then down at the wings and then up at Castiel and they are clearly teetering on the edge of a Midwestern politeness failure-based nervous breakdown. But then Cas, smooth as a margarine commercial, gently takes the dish from Sharon’s frozen hands, examines the contents for a silent moment, and says “it’s alright. They weren’t personal friends.”

He gets an extra burger for that one.

 14.  Cas keeps absent-mindedly trying to groom Dean — who, in case it still needs to be said at this point, possesses zero-point-zero feathers of his own — so he goes after Dean’s hair, instead. Dean has to stop him after his second hour of trying to straighten out a cowlick. “I don’t understand how you can steer properly with this deformity,” Cas says, as if it’s a genuine miracle that Dean isn’t constantly careening over ottomans like Dick Van Dyke. He’s even more horrified by Dean’s (frankly minimal) use of hair gel. “Jesus, Cas, it’s not like I’m drinking it,” he says, but then one time they have an epic make-out session shortly after Dean performs his masculine beauty rituals and there’s some smearage of various types of Product (tm) on the flappy areas. 

And, sonuvabitch, for the next six hours Cas is spirographing around the house like he has a heavenly inner ear infection, and he only stops veering into the doorframes after Dean wipes down every. Single. Feather. With mineral oil and about eighteen clean shop cloths. Dean switches to something called hair wax, which costs thirty zillion times more per ounce and makes him smell vaguely like church, but is a lot less gloppy. The things we do for love.

 15.  Seating inside the house is a bit of a conundrum, too. Cas can kind of flop his wings out to the sides if he sits in the middle of the couch, but then Dean’s stuck on the recliner, which is basically in the next county. Bar stools are disastrously tippy, Dean’s lower back and hips have not endured mumble-mumble years of hunting just to be subjected to a damn beanbag chair, and, after a brief flurry of optimistic excitement, Dean determines that they’d have to take the front door off to get a massage chair in. He finds a swing online that if, he can get the hardware properly installed in the crossbeam, is rated for up to 500 pounds, so he texts Cas the URL so he can check out the specs. After half an hour he writes back —

CASTIEL: Dean

CASTIEL: I believe this swing is intended for sexual congress.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: I can infer from the ellipsis that you have spent several minutes attempting to draft a response.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: Dean

DEAN: it’s multipurpose

  16 . On the plus side, though, big-ass wings make for a pretty good drying rack. He can get every sock in the house laid out on those suckers in a single round and, one episode of Dr. Sexy later, they’re perfectly dry and toasty warm, without any of the pair-busting casualties Dean has learned to expect from the apparently socknivorous dryer in the basement. 

Dean assumes it’s just the product of good air circulation and body heat until he realizes that he hasn’t had to toss a pair for being too worn out in...maybe six months? So he asks Cas “Are your wings... healing the socks” and after an entire Abbott and Costello routine centering around heal versus heel, Dean determines that the answer is: yes, his boyfriend’s wings are channeling the almighty power of Heaven to magically repair the socks Dean buys at Target in twelve-pack bags. On sale.

This is actually kind of sexy, if Dean is being perfectly honest, so, you know what? It doesn’t belong on this list.

 16.  So nobody really freaks out or bursts into tears or calls the news or the FBI or anything when Cas goes out in public with him, which Dean is secretly a little disappointed about, because come on. (Maybe giant wings just reads as a gay thing? Was there an episode of Will and Grace about this that Dean missed back when he was ass deep in wendigos or something?)

But no. Dudes tend to just glance at them across the Home Depot parking lot, throw them the Mutual Dude Acknowledgement Nod, and say some shit like “Comic-con,” or “nice anime” in a knowing tone. Then they go back to rolling their carts full of gaskets or hammers or whatever back to their mom’s station wagon. 

Little girls tend to go googly-eyed — Castiel seems to fall into the same category as a Disney princess, despite the stubble and the drabcore wardrobe, and Dean can’t count the number of times some mom has approached Dean at the grocery store (like he’s Castiel’s manager?? Which, okay...yeah, actually) and asked if they do birthday parties. The money would actually be pretty tempting if Dean weren’t five thousand percent sure that Cas would get them both arrested by launching into an anatomy lesson about duck sex or how God is a loser who favors relaxed fit jeans and Wild Turkey.

The worst is white ladies of a Certain Age, and it always seems to happen in the pudding aisle, for some reason. They either go cross-eyed with horniness and become indiscriminately handsy (Dean can’t blame them for the impulse, but also back off, Karen), or ask Cas for prayers for their cat’s chronic asshole problems (which Castiel WILL take seriously). 

Worst of all is when some hippie spinster clocks them. This woman inevitably reaches right for the feathers and asks in a willowy voice if they’d ever consider turning some of them into dreamcatchers to sell at her studio, which is literally always named The Faerie’s Glen. Then Cas gets confused about why, exactly, a sixty year-old WASP in a peasant skirt would need to call on the infant-protection powers of an Ojibwe spider goddess, while Dean just wants to bite the lady’s fingers off. 

Either way, it’s always a bad scene, and many fully loaded grocery carts have been lost to the fallout.

17.  For some metaphysical reason Dean is too dumb to suss out but also too smart to question, lugging a pair of Cessna-sized flappers around this mortal dimension actually seems to tucker Cas out. He doesn’t need to zonk out every night, but he semi-regularly throws in the towel and actually crawls in with Dean for the duration. 

This would be swell in theory, but the guy absolutely cannot settle the fuck down in less than three (3) human hours, which is the exact amount of sleep Dean requires to maintain his famously sunny demeanor. It’s not just ye olde tossing and turning — Dean can handle that, sharing a bed with Sam is like sleeping next to a kangaroo with restless leg syndrome — no, it’s a nonstop parade of little flippy-flappies and shiffle-shuffles and spontaneous outbursts of preening. 

So Dean makes him a Baby Sleep Sack. 

This is something Dean knows about due solely to one super dumb hunt involving a banishing sigil that had to be drawn in — he still feels like this had to be a misprint — human breastmilk, and that was obviously not happening. But the monster of the week wasn’t going to banish itself, so they wound up at the nearest Walmart, at 4am, picking up what turned about to be an unnecessarily generous supply of baby formula, along with a fresh box of shotgun shells because God bless America*. It doesn’t work, although “lots of stabbing” turns out to be a solid fallback plan, but the point is that while Sam was debating between Digestion Support or Neurological Development, Dean acquired an unprecedented familiarity with some of the products currently available to the sleep-deprived parent. So Dean finds some DIY Baby Sleep Sack knockoff patterns online and determines he can replicate and scale up the concept with some beach towels and duct tape, and the next morning he presents the lumpy but totally functional prototype to Castiel. 

Initially Cas thinks it’s a sex thing (reasonable, it probably is), but once they clear up that misunderstanding, he’s obviously a little peeved by the concept of being swaddled as if he were a gassy baby instead of a deathless sky monster in a sexy dude-shaped can. But Dean must be giving off some serious man on the edge vibes because Cas grudgingly agrees to let Dean tape him up the next time he’s feeling dozy. 

It’s real awkward and takes forever to get Cas bundled up right, and then he’s just kind of lying there on top of the sheets, like an enormous, grumpy baked potato. 

“I could easily break out of these restraints,” he says in a pissy tone after Dean has crawled in and turned off the light, and Dean rolls over to tell him “no shit”, but then he has to stop himself because the guy is already asleep.

Eventually they upgrade to a version made out of some of those trendy weighted blanket things, a few yards of parachute silk, and a whole lot of velcro. The dude looks so damn peaceful that Dean is honestly a little jealous.

*he doesn’t, actually. 

 18.  There’s a sunny afternoon that isn’t the usual Kansas is trying to murder you level of humid so Dean rolls the Impala out into the street for a wash. Cas helps him out a bit initially, although tragically not in a way that involves removing any unnecessary articles of clothing, but Deans sends him to grab a new tub of wax from the shed and he never comes back. After half an hour Dean needs a beer break and goes looking for him, expecting to find Cas lost in thought over whether Turtle Wax is made of actual turtles, or is made to put on actual turtles. Instead he finds Cas crouched on the shimmering pavement at the back of the driveway, sun beating down on him like it has a personal vendetta, and he’s got both wings stretched out real low above the ground. Dean kind of flips out because it’s the type of pose that just screams “stabbed in gut by angel blade” or “migraine from Hell, literally.”

Then Cas looks up, which pulls his wings up a smidge too, which in turn reveals that fully half a dozen neighborhood cats are lounging in the shady patch beneath his wings, spread out on the concrete like blobs of furry peanut butter. No, it’s actually eight cats. There are eight cats.

“Ling-Ling was feeling a little overheated,” Cas says, as if this explains everything. 

And, you know what, at this point, it does.

 19.  Dean has faith that eventually Sam or Cas or the third demon from the left in the second row will turn up a solution for the whole business. Castiel will get to tuck those bad boys back into the secret wing-closet dimension and he won’t have to worry about getting stuck in stairwells anymore, or being reported to the FAA (again). Then they can finally pack up the house, plaster over the more egregious spots of drywall damage, and go back to killing things outside of the tri-county area. The whole thing has been a pretty embarrassing interlude for a couple of dudes who’ve kicked Satan’s ass multiple times — Sam is probably telling other hunters that they’ve been deep undercover to take out a nest of suburban vampires, or a pack of ghouls with mortgages, instead of vacuuming angel down out of the AC unit and considering a Costco membership. 

And sure, there have been some...serious pluses to the situation (see: the other list), but, in his weaker moments, Dean has to admit that he’s kind of going to miss some of the goofy, irritating shit, too — like finding a six-inch feather in the veggie crisper (how? why?), or watching Cas fwap his wings out just in time to accidentally clothesline a jogger, or even the strangely compelling, sorta cheesy smell that starts to float around the house if Cas goes a little too long between hosedowns. 

He has actually grown fond of this shit. Which is 100% the least sexy thing on earth, it’s some genuinely, seriously pathetic goo goo crap, and that’s why nobody will ever hear a fucking word about it. People will ask “so what’s it like, with the wings” and Dean will waggle his eyebrows suggestively and review the highlight reel over an inadvisable amount of rail whiskey. His secret’s safe with, well. Him.

 20.  Seriously though, the bird mites. 

Gross.

[where-dreamers-go]

“Hearts, Fangs, And Knifes” Spn Gabriel x Reader

(A/N: Based and extended version of my Imagine: Getting hit by a cupid’s arrow while out on a hunt. Did I just write an investigation and hunt?? Didn’t think I’d be doing that, but okay—cool! I hope you enjoy. I’m also double checking that Pages doesn’t change Dean to Bean…again.

Warnings: Canon violence, language, and death. Some angst.

Word Count: 4,767 Words)

“It’s not a simple salt and burn anymore. It probably wasn’t even that to begin with.” You said as you fought the urge to lean on the Chevy Impala, tired.

“Maybe we should check the house again. We could have missed something,” Sam suggested.

Dean crossed his arms and said, “I’m thinking that lady at the diner lied through her teeth.” He looked down to his bloodied shoes.

There had been more than just a haunting, but none of you had seen the attacker clear enough. Which was why you had called Gabriel for back up and assistance since Castiel was busy.

Subconsciously, you rubbed your shoulder. Being that it dislocated earlier, you were still wary even if it was popped back in place.

“Then looks like we’re going to the diner for some milkshakes and a liar,” Gabriel mused.

“I owe you one.” You gestured to your shoulder and the archangel winked.

“Alright. We’ll go.” Dean said. “Grab a dem—….the hell?” His eyes looked somewhere behind you.

Before you could glance over your shoulder, something nailed you from behind. A warmth filled your chest and a lightness filled your limbs.

The boys cursed and you heard them unlock their guns.

“(Y/N)?” Gabriel called softly and hid your face in his chest as he embraced you.

“Get over here!” Dean’s voice shouted from further away.

“Gabe…”

“Shh…”

“What was it?”

He didn’t answer.

“What was it?”

Sam quickly said two words that lead to Gabriel tightening his hold on you.

“A cupid.”

You took in an uneasy breath.

“Get your feathered ass over here!” Dean’s voice was anything but comforting.

With much effort, you pulled out of Gabriel’s arms. You faced the cupid who donned a casual look, jeans and such.

Neither Dean nor Sam lowered their weapons as they tracked the cupid’s movements. The eldest Winchester had closed in on the cupid, keeping a minimum two paces of a distance.

“You’d think humans would be happy to see me.” The cupid said.

“Gabriel,” Sam said and the archangel behind you immediately had his angel blade in hand.

“Oh,” the cupid smirked. “Didn’t know it was you, brother.” They walked over to the group with a languid swagger. “Makes this…a little better.

Gabriel’s eyebrows set in a deep frown and pulled you to his side.

“That’s close enough,” Dean ordered. His green eyes glaring at the cupid.

Still with a smirk, the cupid stopped walking.

“Did you have orders to mark (Y/N)’s heart?” Gabriel took a step forward in a ready stance.

“What, you haven’t been listening, brother?”

“Answer the question.” Dean growled.

“Why? It’s been done.”

Your fingernails dug into your palms.

Why? What’s the whole point? This shouldn’t be happening.

Your feelings for Gabriel had quadrupled. Keeping your feelings at bay and hardly detectable was a skill built over years of practice. That was how you dealt with having a massive crush beyond crushes on an archangel. What you were feeling as you stood there two blocks from the motel and a short drive to the ghost’s house was unavoidable. What you were feeling less than two steps from Gabriel was greatly alarming.

“What do you know about me?” You asked the cupid.

By the look in their eyes they weren’t expecting you to speak let alone that question. The cupid rested on their heels.

“Just that you run around with the Winchesters and Castiel and causing unnecessary problems in Heaven.”

“Anything else?” You pressed.

They shrugged.

“This isn’t a game.” Sam said to the cupid. “Why’d you do it?”

“Why not?” The angel looked to Gabriel, grinning. “Does it bother you, brother?” An angel blade appeared in their grip.

“It does bother me,” Gabriel leaned forward.

You swallowed. The energy in the air was dangerously thick.

Eyes flickered between the two angels.

“Who else did you mark?” Dean asked, losing his patience.

“Who says I completed the match?” He looked to you. “Can a human handle a lifetime of unrequited love?”

Your jaw locked.

“Have fun hunting.”

In a flutter of wings and a sickening grin, the cupid had left.

It took more than a few moments before the Winchesters and Gabriel begun lowering their weapons and putting them out of sight.

Even with the cupid gone. They left more concern and questions for the brothers and Gabriel.

You exhaled, clearing your mind the best you could.

“I think….I think we should go back to the house tomorrow. It’s getting late.”

The boys and archangel had looks of confusion.

“(Y/N)…,” Sam’s voice was calm.

“Come on.” You walked passed them and went to the Impala. Thoughts focused to the hunt, you refused to give your heart the satisfaction of daydreaming nor of the added feelings in you. There was still a monster in town.

Things to do. People to save.

So much for a short hunt.

The drive back to the motel was short and crammed with unspoken words. That didn’t mean that you missed the looks that the men were giving one another nor the quiet glances to you in the backseat. You had all but tuned everyone and everything out as you watched the lights of the motel come into view.

Once out of the car, you were already fishing your key out of the pocket.

“I’ll see you guys in the morning.” You said as you went towards your room. “Night.”

Both Winchesters wished you goodnight. Concern layered in their tones as opposed to the casual ‘goodnight’s.

Once you were alone in your motel room you locked the door.

You sighed. You could have been sitting in the car on the way back from a completed hunt, and on your way out of town by now.

There just had to be a rogue-ticked-off cupid, didn’t there? Still getting over the last hunt. You thought as you took off your shoes. This one was supposed to be easy and short. But no. Freakin’ complicating things more.

Again, you sighed. Think of something else. Colors, narration, something.

So you did. You preoccupied your mind with the present—what you were doing and nothing else. Going to take a shower, you had hoped that there would be enough hot water to ease your muscles. There wasn’t. Not for long anyway.

Mindlessly sitting on the bed in your sleepwear, you ate a snack. Every so often you were mentally yelling and switching to a song any time your thoughts started veering towards anything love or cupid related.

Just need to get through this case. Maybe it’s two cases in one? You thought as you continued eating. Can get that waitress at the diner to talk. Maybe we can catch her in the afternoon or something. Owe Gabriel a milksha—

A flutter of wings was immediately accompanied by Gabriel as he appeared in the middle of the motel room.

“Were you listening?”

“You’ve hardly said a word since being marked. Is it wrong for me to be worried?” Gabriel walked to the end of the bed and took a seat.

“No.” You ate more of the snack, getting your focus away from your heart.

He watched you behind honey-colored eyes.

“At least we know that the monster we’re after has super speed. Narrows it down some. They’re strong too.”

“(Y/N).”

“What?”

He pulled your snacks out of your reach. Eyes boring into your head.

You felt your resolve softening, but you kept your thoughts cluttered or clear. It switched any time it revolved too close to your heart.

“You’re not eating my snacks and you’re going to get frown lines, Gabe.” You sighed. “If this is about the cupid having a mini tantrum….I don’t want to think about it.”

“I can find another cupid….get the mark off. I’ll find the one who marked you—.”

“Gabe,” you interrupted. “We have to hunt this monster first. It’s killing people. But….but if you want to go…go after the cupid….I’m not—you can go. That’s your call.” Your chest felt like it was tightening and air was a rarity.

“No. It isn’t.” His hands gripped the comforter. “It’s your heart.”

Tearing your eyes away from the archangel, you set your focus on the bathroom door. Clearing your thoughts again still held a level of difficulty.

“It’s been a long day. Better to sleep and have a clearer head in the morning, yeah?” You muttered.

A snap of his fingers and the snacks were on the table and you were under the bedcovers while your breath was minty fresh.

“Thanks, Gabe,” you murmured.

“Good night, gumdrop.”

“Good night.”

Offering a small smile, Gabriel teleported out.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you fell back onto the mattress.

Way to complicate things, you thought.

Soon exhaustion overpowered your battling thoughts and allowed you a few hours of sleep.

. . .

Suits on and fake IDs pocketed, you and the Winchesters stood by the counter in the diner. The morning sun-rays shone oranges and pinks across most of the surfaces.

“May we have her current address,” Sam asked the manager.

“Yes, sir. Let me write it down for you.” The manager answered as he went to the back.

As the manager disappeared behind a wall, Dean gave a raised eyebrow.

“You don’t think she’s sick, do you?” You asked quietly.

“Depends,” Dean started. “How much does she really know?”

“Just because she called out sick doesn’t mean she was involved with what happened last night,” Sam reasoned.

“If she’s sick,” you said, “Then she’ll be home all day. We need to check the guy’s house again.”

“Agreed. We must have missed something.”

“Not that we knew we were looking for anything besides a ghost,” Dean added.

“Yay,” you sung sarcastically.

The manager reappeared with a paper in hand.

“Here you are. I hope she’s alright. She’s a good person. Good worker.” The manager said as he handed over the paper to Sam.

“Thank you.” Sam smiled. “We just need her help. Thank you for your concern.”

“Thank you,” Dean said with a nod as the three of you walked out of the diner.

Even though neither of you were hungry any more, you were all growing suspicious. How many supernatural creatures were going to appear on this one hunt when you all thought it was over?

“Looks like we’re going to the house again first.” Sam announced. “It’s closer.”

“What should we be looking for?” Dean asked. “The man’s family owns the house and could have taken things.”

“I don’t think so. The guy didn’t really have what some might consider a lavish lifestyle.”

“So we’re back to square one.” Dean got into the driver’s seat as the rest of you climbed in.

“At least we know a bit about him already.” You added in. “Handyman, practically everybody in town knew him…”

“Unusual death in the woods.”

“Still seems random. Why would he be in the woods? Exercising?”

“Getting ready to exercise his time as a ghost and haunting people?”

You could practically feel Sam rolling his eyes in the passenger seat.

On the drive over the defeated-ghost’s house, Sam had already started planning where to look in the house. The usual spots where information was kept. Dean had the radio on, knowing the ride was just long enough for a few songs.

“Can you higher the music some?” You asked. The song was good, yes, however the height in volume helped keep your mind on the song itself and nothing more.

Dean gave an approving smile through the rearview mirror and turned the dial.

During the drive, you noticed Sam checking on you every so often. You knew he was still worried considering you hadn’t so much as hinted about the whole cupid incident the evening prior. He had cause to be worried because you were friends, but to you it wasn’t the time to discuss it. Not that you were ready to.

If you thought the motel smelled a little stale, the inside of the destroyed-ghost’s house was stuffy. No one had been in for at least a couple of weeks.

When was the last time the guy’s family opened a window in here?

The three of you dispersed to different sections of the home. Sam went into another room, you spotted a closet by the kitchen, and Dean went straight to the paper mess on the counter.

Since the three of you had got into town, the man’s family had yet to go by, but who knew when they’d show up. Someone inherited it already. The three of you had to quickly find what you needed.

“People still have these?” Dean had found an old phonebook with corners folded. He flipped through some of its yellow pages.

“They’re a lot thiner now,” you commented. Looking through the closet, you peeked into a cardboard box. It held only door locks.

“Any chance this guy was paranoid of being hunted?”

“What’d you mean?” Dean asked.

“There are at least ten different door locks in here.” You grabbed the box and pushed it on the counter for Dean to have a look.

“There were four deaths before his. Then the guy started haunting…”

“He could have been a victim like the others.”

“He was the local handyman, he knew everyone…”

“That doesn’t mean he had motive. The lady at the diner said he had an affair with the neighbor.”

“Jealousy is a good cover story.”

You frowned, “Was there even a haunting?”

“You’re telling me…some monster has been throwing us off their trail?”

You exhaled.

“Hey.” Sam called from another room.

You and Dean made your way to Sam who had a notebook laid open on the desk.

“You found the guy’s diary?” Dean peered down to the various notepads and scraps of paper. “Or tiny scrapbook?”

“They’re phone numbers to bookstores, a psychic, a private investigator, and even a cryptologist.”

“He knew something was up,” you said.

“Looks like our guy here was close to contacting a hunter.” Dean flicked through the pages.

“Do you think that’s why he was killed? He knew the victims and knew it wasn’t…normal.” Sam said.

“For lack of a better word,” you crossed your arms.

“He might have been trying to stop them—the monster.” Sam thought out loud.

“He got caught.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest.

“But how? He had work, but…did he know where to look?”

“I have an idea where we can start.”

You and Sam looked to the eldest Winchester.

“Diner waitress’ house.”

. . .

Nice and pressed suit jackets back on, you and the boys stepped out of the Impala. Sitting on a well-groomed yard sat a quaint house. Unsuspecting and fitting into the neighborhood.

It was time to get some real answers.

“We don’t know what we’re walking into.” Sam said as the three of you neared the door.

“Keep alert.” Dean advised.

“No distractions.” You breathed in. A mental image of Gabriel was interrupted by Sam’s knocking on the front door.

Quietly, you stood waiting for a response.

Right on cue, the three of you smiled as the lady from the diner answered the door.

“What can I do for you?” She asked as nicely as if you were customers in need of a stack of a hot breakfast.

“We were wondering if we could ask you a few more questions ab—?”

“Of course.” She stood aside as she opened the door more. “Please come in.”

A warning shiver ran up your neck as she smiled.

Hey, Gabriel, you prayed, just letting you know that I have a funny feeling about this waitress.

Sam lead the three of you inside.

The house smelled like lavender and bleach.

You may have enough mental control to divert attention from one thought to another, but you could not help but to wrinkle your nose at the smells.

Passed the entryway, she invited each of you to take a seat on a couch. The back of the couch faced the hallway you entered.

Dean sat rigid beside you. No doubt he sensed something was off or didn’t like how all of you had your backs exposed.

“Would you like anything to drink?” She asked.

“No, thank you.” Sam answered casually.

It was both amazing and entirely helpful how he could always do that. To make it seem as if it was a warm business meeting with tea.

She sat down in an armchair across from you all and crossed her legs.

“What can I help you with? Did you find out why he’d kill his own neighbor before himself? She was such a darling woman. She always ordered caramel sauce with her pancakes.” She smiled.

“Tasty,” Dean piped up half-heartedly.

The lady’s smile did not fade.

“How did you know him,” Sam began to question. Even going as far as to ask why she thought it was that man in the first place when it was found that he was quite happy with his job.

As the woman began to answer, her voice faded away; your attention drawn elsewhere.

You turned to look behind you. Another woman was standing in the doorway. A similar built to the one in the armchair.

“You three should have left town.” The waitress spoke, she was beside Sam then. Her hand close to touching his head of hair. Smiling at the Winchester, her eyes turned an unnatural shade of blue. As her smile grew, fangs were exposed in place of her front teeth. “We’re glad you stayed.”

“Vetala. Fun.” Dean leaped off of the couch with a knife in hand.

She had moved back to the armchair before Dean’s shoes met the floor.

“Bronze or silver?” You asked.

“Silver.”

Sam was on his feet.

Hand reaching in your suit for your knife, you were pinned to the couch in a second. Your airway was constricted by the waitress’ hand. Her fangs more than too close for your liking.

Sam was shoved somewhere passed the couch after his attempted rescue. His thud against a wall and the floor was rather significant.

On the other hand, Dean hit the vetala hard enough that she loosened her grip on your neck. Turning, she backhanded Dean to the armchair. Both him and the chair toppled backwards and you missed how he flailed his legs to get back onto his feet again.

With a hand searching desperately in your suit, you heard the sounds of Sam and Dean’s continued fight. After finding the right handle, you pulled out your silver knife and plunged it into the vetala’s chest. She faltered and barred her fangs at you.

Somewhere off to the side of the couch, and out of your line of sight, Sam battled against the other monster with blunt hits.

To your surprise, the hand around your neck tightened, her nails digging into your skin.

Why isn’t it working? What’s wr—?

An arm wrapped around the vetala’s throat and yanked back.

“Twist the knife!” Dean ordered.

Grabbing ahold of the knife with both hands, you rotated the weapon.

In another moment, the vetala’s body stiffened and then slacked completely. Dean shrugged the body off to the side so it would not land on you.

Behind the couch, Sam had the other vetala in an arm lock before using his own silver blade to kill the monster. Finally it dropped to the floor, Sam looked away from the body with a flip of his hair.

“You alright, Sam?” Dean asked as he helped you off of the couch. He made sure not to step on the dead vetala.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“So…” You said and rubbed at your neck. “Was there a haunting or was it a set up—fake out…thing?”

“We all need a drink, is what I think.” Dean stated.

“Heh, you rhymed.”

“Shut it.” His tone was not firm nor irritated in the slightest. Perhaps tired.

You raised your eyebrows in a playful challenge and called out, “Gabriel, if you’re not busy—”

“Don’t tell me it was the waitress.” Gabriel had appeared beside you. “Really wanted that milkshake.”

“Yeah. A pair of vetala.” Sam explained briefly. “They had a nice operation going for them.”

The archangel’s eyes darted between the bloodied knife in your hand and your neck you were still touching. His jaw muscles tensed. In a snap of his fingers the pair of vetala were gone.

Handy, you thought. More than anything, you were relieved and overjoyed that Gabriel appeared when you called. You wished you could be as helpful to him. You wished you could do more for him. He deserved more positivity.

“Let’s get going,” Dean said as he started towards the front door.

“There were only two of them?” You asked. “Not a nest or anything?”

“Vetala work in pairs.” Sam answered.

“But if the archangel over here would like to do a house check,” Dean smirked, “I wouldn’t mind.”

You glanced over at said archangel.

“Be back in a sec.” Gabriel zapped out.

“How come he listens to you more?” Sam asked as you two turned to join Dean.

The warmth in your chest brought a smile to your face. You did love the extra attention Gabriel gave you. It made loving him a little more bearable.

“Maybe I ask a little nicer,” you shrugged. “I don’t remember ever yelling at him or anything like that.”

Why would I? You thought. They’re the ones with the weird tense relationship….some trickster stuff. Glad I missed that. It would change things….I think.

Outside, Gabriel stood beside the Impala.

“Let’s go.” He sung.

“What?” Sam opened the passenger side door. “You got plans?”

“Yes. I can have plans.”

You hardly felt your shoulders slouch in disappointment, but you could feel the cold, emptiness in your stomach.

“Will you be gone long?” You asked.

Gabriel tilted his head and spoke, “You’re coming with me.”

“Hey,” Dean interjected. “If this is about finding that piece of shit-cupid, I want in.”

You tensed. Thoughts swam in multiple directions before you could stop them. Bits and pieces more clear than others that you hoped Gabriel didn’t catch. You didn’t want to burden him or make him uncomfortable with how you felt. Not even the cupid who marked you could had known that you already held romantic feelings for the archangel. Although out of everyone, maybe Sam knew, he was perceptive in that way.

“(Y/N).” Sam had lightly nudged your shoulder.

“What?”

“Uh…you kind of tuned us all out.” Sam said, his face full of concern. “You can tell us. I mean…we will go after the cupid. What they did to you was wrong.”

Exhaling quietly, you ducked down and squeezed into the car’s backseat.

“(Y/N),” Dean turned to look at you from the driver’s seat. “I don’t know who the bastard marked you with or how confused or pissed you might be, but don’t you dare think for a second that this is less important than a hunt. I won’t stand for that shit and neither with Sam. Got it?”

You nodded. Your fingers pulling at your sleeves.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered.

Sam got into the car and shut the door.

“We’ll let Cas know…” Dean turned the key in the ignition.

At the flutter of wings, you jolted. Your palms clammy like if it was your first hunt. You dared not to look Gabriel in the eyes as he settled in the backseat. Regardless, you could feel him studying you intensely.

The car made its way back to the motel and you had never felt so incredibly awkward. For one, you knew that your friends wanted to know who you were in love with. Two, Gabriel could sense your emotions and might have been reading your mind every second. Three, you weren’t sure if you should tell any of them the full truth.

They were your friends and deserved to know, but that didn’t mean you were obligated to nor ready.

As you walked back into your rented room, you went through a mental checklist. What you did not expect however, was Gabriel had followed you inside, closing the door silently.

You walked straight to your bag and set it on the foot of the bed. The first thing you wanted to do was have a quick change into something casual for the ride back. Getting wrinkles out of a suit wasn’t on your to-do list. You made sure to not take any more time than necessary changing in the bathroom and washing any blood off.

Back in the main room, you ran on automatic, thoughts preoccupied by a random, catchy song. Gabriel only watched, not saying a word, which only made your nerves alert you.

Once you zipped your bag and turned around to be two breathes away from Gabriel. Your heart practically leaped to your throat.

Honey-colored eyes captured your gaze. The bag in your grasp was tugged away without any resistance from you.

“It’ll be easier if I stay away until we get the mark off of your heart.” Gabriel said.

“What?”

“It would be selfish of me if I took advantage of that mark.” He traced a small invisible pattern across the fabric covering your sternum.

Incredibly short breathes made it in and out of your lungs.

His hand returned to his side and he took a step back.

“I’ll put this in the car for you.” He said as the sparkle in his eyes dimmed. “Then I’ll go…”

It felt as if clawed hands were tearing at your heart. Your eyes stung from unshed tears.

“Gabe.” Your voice was small and broke at the last sound.

“I’ll fix this, gumdrop.” He didn’t look at you from the door. “Don’t worry.”

“Gabe.” Your feet refused to move. Your mind whirling with meanings to his words. “Do you love me?”

After a few moments of sheer silence, he sighed. His mouth opened, but he didn’t speak.

Your hands formed into fists as you forced words out, “Regardless of the stupid cupid arrow or mark. Do you…do you actually love me? Did you mean it with every flirt? Every time you would show up when I asked or needed you? When I was scared or happy? Because this isn’t like a movie love spell. Have I treated you any differently?”

Even from across the room, Gabriel’s eyes could root you to the spot and read you like a book.

You couldn’t believe, well actually you could, that it took your heart and feelings to be tampered with for Gabriel to express his feelings for you. To open up more.

“Gabriel,” you swallowed. “Taking the mark away wouldn’t change me. The feelings were already there.”

“(Y/N)—.”

“Read my mind! Freakin’ go through it. None of this is new. I just never had it in me to tell you or ask you out.” You finally took a longer breath. “I’m only human.”

Gabriel snapped your bag to who knows where and took long strides to be back in front of you. His warm hands held yours and rubbed the tension away until you no longer had your fingers digging into your palms.

“You’re not only a human. Don’t say that,” he shook his head. “And I’ll tell you and remind you in all the ways of how you are more. I’ll tell you how intelligent and kick ass you are until you get sick of it and then I’ll tell you more. I’ll compliment you until Sam and Dean roll their eyes into the back of their skulls and then I’ll shout it from every ‘tallest building’ in every country because everyone should know how incredible you are. How perfect I think you are.”

“Yeah?” You sniffed as tears blurred your vision.

“Yeah.” Gabriel’s lips curved up and he nudged his nose against yours.

The wide smile on your lips could hardly match the amount of joy and love you felt building within you.

“I should have read your mind weeks ago.” Gabriel kissed your forehead then your eyebrow, followed by your temple, your ear, earlobe, cheekbone—

KNOCK KNOCK THUMP

“Hey, you okay in—“

“Hold on!” You shouted to Dean outside. “I’m having a moment!”

“What?”

You laughed lightly.

The archangel’s lips made their way to the corner of your mouth.

“I love you, Gabriel,” you whispered.

He grinned and kissed your nose.

“I love you, (Y/N).” He hooked your hands behind his neck. “Say the word and we’ll go somewhere alone. Anywhere.”

~~~

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[especially-obsessed]

Sunset Whiskey

Summary: Dean and Cass go out on some angel business, so you and Sam take the impala on a vamp case. After a long day on the road with Sam, you realize something. You have to talk about it with Sam, nervous about what his reaction will be.

Requested: Yes

Warnings: fluff!

Word Count: 1.8k

**Requests are open!**

“Cass!” Dean's yell was answered with silence. The tips of his ears were turning a shade of crimson red, and it was obvious he was getting fed up with the angel's tardiness. Dean huffed and started pacing around the bunker, his boots clomping on the floor as he took five steps towards the door, five steps back to the table, where you sat.

“Damn it Cass,” Dean grumbled. “What good does praying do if you don’t answer?”

“Can’t help noticing the irony in that,” you snorted. Dean tilted his head towards you, and you had to turn your face away from him to hide your smirk. Anything said now would only add to the fire. Damn Cass for ruining Dean’s perfectly good mood today.

You glanced down at the book sitting on the table in front of you. A random page thrown open to make it look like you had read up to that point. The book was something about angels, or demons. Angel demons? You couldn’t remember. Whatever Sam wanted you to read today was not as important as watching Dean about to lose his cool over the fact that Cass wasn’t showing up or answering his prayers. Cass had asked for Dean’s help with finding rogue angels when he stopped by the day before to check in with the three of you. Dean sighed loudly and closed his eyes.

“Castiel, please get your feathered ass down here,” he said in a calm voice. After a few seconds, he opened one eye, as if Cass was going to be standing right in front of him. “Oh, what the f-”

There was a slight rush of air and the sound of flapping wings, and Cass was standing right behind Dean. Dean just rolled his eyes and turned around, scrutinizing Cass for being late. You listened to their conversation, but heard another set of footsteps heading down the hall. The footsteps grew closer to you, and stopped behind where you sat. You smiled, breathing in the smell of sandalwood and fresh honey crisp. Sam wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. You smiled, squirming at the feel of his stubble on your cheek and neck.

“How’s the lore?” he asked.

“Painfully boring,” you sighed. Sam laughed and pulled away from you. You shivered at the loss of his warmth, wishing he would come back and hug you again. He moved swiftly to the other side of the table and set his computer on the table. He walked into the kitchen and past Dean and Cass, who were still talking about what they needed to do on their ‘angel recon’, as Dean was putting it.

Sam walked back into the room with a bowl in his hand. “Are you guys okay if (y/n) and I go on a case?” he asked, placing the bowl in front of you. Watermelon. You could already feel your mouth watering.

“We’ll call you if we need anything,” Dean replied calmly. Cass put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, and just like that, they were gone.

“What’s the case?”

“Couple of bodies have popped up in Colorado, drained.” Sam started typing on his computer.

“Vampires? Find the nest, easy,” you said, sitting up from your chair. Sam looked up at you with bright eyes. “Be ready in five?”

“Make it ten,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at you as he stood up and closed his laptop. You knew that look well, and all but ran to your room with Sam hot on your heels.

Trees, trees, and, oh wait, more trees. That’s all there was on the twisting and turning road you and Sam were on. When Sam said you were going to Colorado, you got excited. Little did you expect there to be a seven and a half hour drive there. Sam tried to reassure you, saying that the closer to the motel they got, the better the views would be, but six hours in and you still only saw the dull brown and green of the trees.

“I can’t even see the sunset from here,” you rested your head on the window, looking up at the sky, seeing it start to turn from blue to purple.

“Give it a minute,” Sam looked over at you, and rested his hand on your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. “The trees will clear soon enough.”

“You said that thirty minutes ago.”

“Well, this time I know there’s a clearing coming up.”

You quickly sat up in your seat and looked at the road ahead of you. In the distance, as far as the horizon would let you see, there was the top of an orange mountain range. You looked around and could tell the trees were becoming less congested and you could see farther into the woods. You squirmed in your seat anticipating the view coming up. Sam squeezed your thigh again. Almost . . . there.

The impala was bathed in sunshine. It wasn’t warm like a normal sunny day, but the glow gave you a happy feeling that swam throughout your body. You looked past Sam and saw the sun, surrounded by brilliant shades of red and orange. The horizon was smokey, and the clouds held an eternal yellow. Tranquil, gorgeous. The silhouettes of the mountain tops added a darkness to the sunset that made you smile. Could that even be considered irony?

Your eyes met Sam’s, his golden-brown eyes watching you, flitting back to the road every few seconds. His eyes reminded you of the afternoon sun shining through a glass of whiskey; warm and smooth. He smiled and reached for your hand, which you happily took. Your hands fit together perfectly, his enveloping yours. Like puzzle pieces, a perfect fit.

“We’re almost there. We should be able to check into the motel by nightfall.” Sam dropped his hand and rested it back on your thigh, squeezing it enough to make you giggle. You scooted closer to him in the seat and took in another deep breath of . . . him. Sam let out a content sigh like he could read your mind and was thinking the same thing as you. He raised his hand from your thigh and flipped on the radio, a preset station from Dean playing classic rock. He wouldn’t dare admit this in front of his brother, but Sam did enjoy this type of music from time to time. The song that was playing ended, and the man on the radio introduced the next song.

“This one goes out to all of the love birds on an afternoon drive . . .” his raspy voice cut off as the music started to play.

“Young Love by Sonny James!” you exclaimed.

“How did you even get that so quickly?” Sam asked, chuckling at your excitement. “Can this even be considered classic rock? It’s not very . . . rock-ish.”

“It was when it first came out. Now shut your cakehole.” Sam only rolled his eyes at that. You looked down and could see that he started tapping his left song with the beat. The chorus was coming up and you took a deep breath.

“Young Love, first love!”

“Filled with true devotion!” Sam sang next to you. You could barely control your smile.

The two of you continued singing along with the radio all the way to the motel. The ride into town from where you saw the sunset only took two or three songs, but it felt like you had been sitting in the Impala with Sam for hours. And Sam was spot on with his estimate of getting to the motel by nightfall. The sun was just setting behind the trees when Sam parked the impala and walked up to the front desk. You got out and went to the back, pulling out your duffle bag and Sam’s. You made sure to place your knife and gun back securely on your waist.

Once inside the motel room, you made quick work of changing your clothes. Sam suggested going after the nest tonight once they found where it was. You would rather be dressed and prepared to leave once Sam figured it out. Dean was right, he was a wizard with a keyboard once it came to research. You had already done some in the car on the way here, but it would be easy for Sam to connect the dots of all of the vics locations and relationships.

“Alright Mr. Winchester, whatcha got?”

“That was . . . rough,” you said, walking through the open door of the motel. The air conditioning all but slapped you in the face. It clung to your sweat-soaked skin.

“Yeah, no kiddin’,” Sam plopped down on the bed and let out a loud sigh. You set your gun down on the table and plopped down next to him. You instinctively started to curl into his side. After a few seconds, he rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around you.

“You did good today,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

“Not too bad yourself, Winchester.” You looked up at him and smiled softly. There was a pit at the bottom of your stomach, eating away at you slowly. Sam must’ve noticed the look on your face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. His voice flooded with concern. You moved away from him, just far enough that you could look at him without craning your neck and so that his arm still held you. You reached up and grabbed his face, holding it in your hands.

“You know I love you, right?” you asked him.

“Of course. I love you too. Wh-,” He swallowed, thinking about what he wanted to say. “Is everything okay?”

“Do you ever think we could leave this life?” you asked, holding your breath as you waited for Sam’s answer. You watched his face as he thought over the question. He only nodded at you. You smiled. “Sam, I love you very much. More than I think you’ll ever know. But I’ve been thinking lately . . . I don’t want to do this anymore. Hunting I mean. I want a normal life. I want to live in a house with big windows and cook dinner at home for a family and-”

“I want that too,” Sam said quietly. You sucked in a deep breath.

“Really?”

“Of course I do. I want a family and a normal life. And I want that with you.”

“You would leave this life to start a new one with me?” you asked, trying to hide your disbelief. You never would have imagined that Sam would want that after trying numerous times and getting sucked back into hunting. Or even leaving Dean behind.

“I would go with you anywhere. I know why you got into this life, and if you’re ready to get out, I’ll go with you. I love you, (y/n).” You looked into his sunset whiskey eyes. You could see the love and the hope, swirling together.

“I love you too, Sam.” He pulled you closer to him and kissed you on the forehead. You snuggled further into him, admiring his familiar scent. The sounds of someday lulled the two of you to sleep. You were home.

--

Requested by Anon

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I’m so very sorry this request took so long. Thank you to whoever requested this, I love the concept!

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**Requests are open! Please submit your request to my inbox here (:**

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

The turtle and the birdie as told by Jack and two of his dads in Strong and content I travel the open road

“Once upon a time, there was a . . . .” Cas begins, looking at Jack expectantly.

“TURTLE” Jack supplies. 

Of course it’s a turtle, Dean thinks with a smile. They watched a documentary on sea animals last week in preparation for the beach and Jack was enamored with the turtles. 

“Inside voice, Jack.” Cas corrects automatically, voice gentle.

“Ah yes, that’s right. Once, upon a time there was a turtle who lived in the sea, playing with the fishies and eating up all the seagrass. His or her or their name was . . . .” 

Dean can see Jack grinning ear-to-ear in the rearview mirror. 

“Daddy!” Jack’s eyes widen and he covers his mouth, remembering Cas’s admonishment. “Daddy the turtle.” Jack whispers. A surge of love fills Dean’s chest, and he swallows thickly.

Any prior tension about Cas sitting in the back disappears.

“Of course, how could I forget?”  Cas catches Dean’s eye in the rearview mirror and winks lovingly.

“Daddy. Daddy the sea turtle loved to swim and play. Sometimes, he would protect the little fishies from the big mean sharks.” Cas draws out the last bit, dropping his voice low to indicate just how big and mean the sharks were. 

Jack giggles.

Dean absolutely does not tear up at Cas’s gentle description of him. The road is just dusty or something.  

“One day, Daddy was swimming along when he met a new friend. Jack, what kind of animal was the new friend?”

“A birdie with big rainbow wings and lots of feathers and a tiny bowtie.” Jack supplies. Dean and Cas’s smiles in the rearview mirror are identical twins when they make eye contact. 

Cas’s face drops into a serious expression. “Oh, the birdie sounds very fancy. What's their name?” Dean holds his breath, waiting for the answer.

“BABA! YOU’RE A BIRDIE BABA!” 

“Right, that makes sense. Because I have wings. But I don’t usually wear a bowtie.”

Cas pauses, chuckling. “Maybe I should start.” 

Dean’s mind wanders as he envisions Cas in a bowtie. Yeah, that is definitely happening. Soon.

Cas continues. “So, Daddy the turtle finds Baba the birdie perched on a rock, soaking up the sun.” Jack nods appreciatively.

“Hello, birdie. I’m Daddy the turtle.” Cas changes his voice, making it higher in pitch.

“That’s not what I sound like!” Dean protests.

Cas looks at Dean seriously. “Well of course not. We aren’t talking about you, Dean. This is Daddy the turtle. Why would you think he sounds anything like you?” 

Dean watches as Jack covers his mouth with his hand, giggles escaping out the side. 

Traitorous child.

Dean shakes his head with mock severity, but he can’t keep a smile from peeking through.

“I’m Baba the birdie. It is very nice to meet you, Daddy. Would you like to be friends?” Cas’s voice deepens, getting into the character.

“Oh come on!  Seriously?” Dean protests. Jack and Cas laugh harder.

“All of these interruptions.”  Cas says sternly.  “May I continue, Dean? We’re trying to play Storytime.”

“Yeah, Daddy. Interrupting is ruuuuude.” Jack agrees.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Fine, but see if I let you ride on the back of my turtle shell,” he deadpans

“So, Baba and Daddy became friends, and eventually --best friends. Daddy would bring Baba beautiful shells from the ocean floor and he would tell Baba stories about the fish and the coral.” 

Dean gets lost in the cadence of Cas’ voice, the melodic hum of his syllables like a soothing balm.

“Sometimes, Baba would bring Daddy flowers. Daddy had never seen flowers and at first he tried to eat them to see if they were yummy like his favorite sea grass.”  

“Silly Daddy!”  Jack laughs.  “Flowers aren’t for eating.”

Cas smiles.  “That’s right.  Daddy realized quickly that they were better to look at instead.”

Jack nods, pleased with this confirmation of his accurate assessment.  Cas continues:

“Now, some days Daddy had to do turtle things like fighting sharks, and some days Baba had to do birdie things like flying high. But they always came back to each other afterwards. And they always cared about each other.”

A lump rises in Dean’s throat. He looks up to find blue eyes staring at him in the mirror.  A little bit of moisture is gathering in the corner of his own. 

“One day, Baba came back after a very long journey,” Cas murmurs. “He was so happy to see Daddy, that he said . . . .” Cas pauses, looking at Jack.

“I LOVE YOU!” Jack screams, forgetting any instructions  to use his inside voice. A happy chuckle escapes Cas’s mouth.

“That’s right, and Daddy said ‘I love you, too.’ and they lived happily ever after. The end.” 

Jack’s face scrunches in protest. “That’s not how it goes, Baba.”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “Oh? You don’t think Daddy loves Baba back?” 

Jack rolls his eyes. “Of course he does,” comes his exasperated reply, “but that’s not the end. Auntie Amara comes and gives Daddy wings and Baba fins so they can play every day in the ocean and the sky.”

“Oh.” Cas replies, emotion thick in his voice. “Of course. And they live happily ever after.”

AW I LOVE THIS STORY <3 go read the full fic everyone, it's a treat :)

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[dothwrites]

spn15 spec, destiel, post 15.18, mcd?? sort of???

---

And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me. You will always be my friend.--Antoine de-Saint Exupery, The Little Prince

---

Castiel opens his eyes in nothingness. 

It’s not dark, though the air which presses around him is thick onyx. There is neither gravity nor weightlessness here. Castiel exists but he does so in a void so barren that he doubts his own mind. He opens his mouth to call out, but no sound escapes. 

Castiel exists in ignorance for one, glorious moment. Then the weight of memory crushes into him. His chest buckles underneath the pressure. He tries to scream, but the vast emptiness swallows the sound. 

---

“Cas, we can fight this!” 

Dean, his Righteous Man, Dean, the shining beacon, his friend...The first real friend he’d ever made. Dean is ready to fight. Dean would fight God, has indeed fought God. But he can’t fight this. 

The door shudders in its frame. Blow after blow rains down on the weakening wood. Already, the wood is splintering under the assault. The thin strip of light at the bottom of the door disappears underneath a sea of writhing black. The Empty is here. It wants what it was promised.  

“Dean,” he says. He intends to say much more--It’s too late, let me go, thank you--but his voice cracks on the single syllable of Dean’s name. 

He wants to stay. God help him, but he wants to stay. 

“No, dammit Cas! You don’t get to give up! We can fight this thing, we can keep running, we can...” Dean’s voice trails off into nothing as he looks wildly around the small room. 

Though he might protest, Castiel knows that Dean is a man bailing out a sinking ship. In his heart, Dean knows the battle is already lost. But he’s still defiant, still clinging to the faintest shred of hope.

Castiel loves him for that. 

“You fought for the whole world.” Castiel’s voice is weak and pale against the ear-shattering thunder of the Empty’s attempts to break into the room. 

“Cas, no--” 

“But you can’t fight for me.” 

The words shatter something vital in him. Castiel gasps as the agony shreds through him. He thought there would be more time. He thought that happiness was an ideal that no one could ever reach. He thought there would be time, he doesn’t want to go, he wants to stay--

“Cas, I can’t...Not again, I can’t lose you again, please don’t go--” 

Black seeps into the room, slender tendrils snaking across the room towards where they stand. Castiel feels every second ticking away. He’s lived for millennia, seen worlds and empires rise and fall, felt the passing of centuries like nothing more than a passing breeze. Millions of years, and now, when it means everything, he has no time. 

Castiel cups Dean’s cheek with one shaking hand. If this is it, then he doesn’t want to leave with any regrets. “Dean,” he croaks. That word has become his compass, his prayer, the star to which he hitched his wagon. 

“I’m so sorry. I don’t want to leave you. If I had a choice, i would stay. I would stay with you through every sunrise and sunset, through every moment, the mundane and extraordinary alike.” Castiel’s voice catches in his throat as the door finally shatters and darkness pours into the room. 

“You’ve taught me everything, Dean, and I...I’m so grateful that I got to know you. Without you...” 

Castiel can’t continue. He’s immeasurably grateful for all he’s experienced with Dean, but he’s always been greedy. He wants more. He wants to see Dean’s hair continue to silver until it’s soft and grey. He wants to go fishing with Dean and discover the peace inherent in the activity. He wants to watch Jack grow into his own and Sam start a family. He wants, with a fierceness that takes his breath away. 

Darkness curls around his ankle and winds its way up his calf. 

Dean shakes his head. Tears well in his eyes but refuse to spill over, though his lower lip shakes. “Please,” he asks, tilting his head into Castiel’s palm. “I can’t...how am I supposed to do this without you?” 

Castiel starts to respond, but his voice is cut off by the swift, hard press of Dean’s lips into his. His heart jolts and gutters in his chest before it picks up again, beating so hard he thinks it might escape through the confines of his ribs. 

“I love you.” 

The words tumble out of Castiel’s mouth, the same as they did years ago when he was rotting from in the inside out. The same frantic need consumes him now as it did then, when every beat of his heart dragged him closer to the edge of oblivion, when seconds were more precious than gold, when he was so close to losing everything--

Dean sobs. He clutches the lapels of Castiel’s coat and kisses him, teeth bruising behind his lips.

Castiel’s whole lower body is engulfed in darkness so complete that it feels as though it’s ceased to exist. His whimper is lost in Dean’s mouth. 

“No,” Dean gasps, pulling away. Castiel already knows the cause of Dean’s denial. He can feel it, creeping up his chest and shoulders, slithering down to his arms. He remembers how it was to be devoured, remembers the noxious black ooze of the Leviathan crawling through him, but this is worse, is so much worse, because now he knows what Dean’s lips taste like, now he knows everything he has to lose--

“Cas, I love you,” Dean tells him, though his words echo strangely. The Empty crawls up his throat. Castiel chokes on it, but he doesn’t dare to blink. He can’t lose a second of this, of Dean’s face, horrified and tear-stricken though it is. 

Seconds tick away like centuries, Dean’s face in front of him. Castiel can’t hear what he’s saying, but he can see the words shaped on his lips. 

I’ll find you, I promise, I’m coming for you, Cas, Cas, I love--

And then. 

Empty. 

---

With the image of Dean’s face in his mind, Castiel screams. 

There is no sound in the Empty, but he screams anyway. His agony and loss pour out of him, his grief and fear. Everything that he’s lost, Dean--

Castiel screams until his voice cracks and breaks, until his throat is shredded and raw, until he tastes blood in the back of his throat. 

Hollow, he slumps to the side, curling into himself. His one consolation was that he would at least be asleep for the rest of eternity. He wouldn’t have to live with the weight of everything he’d lost. Now, even that slender comfort has been ripped from him. For the rest of time, he’ll have to exist with the memory of Dean’s glassy eyes, with the sound of Dean’s choked voice echoing through his skull, with the phantom ache of Dean’s lips against his. Castiel shudders, sobs ripping out of his throat. 

“Jesus. So much for helping.” 

Castiel blinks. The sound of another voice is foreign in this void where nothing should exist. He rolls over, looking up at the sardonic face staring down at him. 

“Ruby,” he rasps, then remembers himself. 

That’s not Ruby. 

“Go away,” he mutters. He wraps his arms around his legs, pressing his forehead to his knees. There’s no point in having pride here, not when time is meaningless and every second is a torture. The Empty already knows his secrets, though why it chose Ruby’s form to torment him is a mystery. 

“Look feathers, you were the one who screwed the pooch on this whole ‘fixing eternity’ thing. So I think I’m going to stick around for a bit.” 

“There’s no point,” Castiel says miserably. “You got what you wanted. I’m here. I’m suffering. What more could you possibly want from me?”

“Were you dropped on your halo? I told you what I wanted the last time you were here. I want out, you moron. I told you to find a way out, and you wound up here, which is kind of the opposite of what I asked.” 

Castiel blinks slowly, lifting his forehead from his knees. “Ruby?” he asks. 

Ruby rolls her eyes and sighs for dramatic effect. “Yeah, dumbo. You know, I’ve only been trying to tell you that since the beginning.” 

“I can’t trust that.” Castiel remembers all too well the last time he was here, the jolt of pleasure at seeing Meg once more only to realize that the Empty was aping her appearance to hurt him. “The Empty, it takes on your visage, your memories--”

“Yeah, you’re just going to have to trust me on this.” Ruby’s eyes flash black. “You know, as much as you can.” 

“I’d pay attention to her, Clarence. If you don’t, then she’ll probably kick your ass.” 

Castiel knows that voice. He whirls around. Meg’s face greets him, a tiny smirk twisting her lips upward. “Meg,” he whispers, an odd combination of grief and happiness twisting in his chest. 

“The one and only,” she assures him. 

A small shred of doubt clings at the back of Castiel’s mind, but he has to trust in something right now. Even if it’s two dead demons. 

“Castiel. So lovely to see you again. Though I can’t say that I agree with the company you’re keeping these days.” 

Make that three dead demons. 

“Crowley,” Castiel breathes. 

The demon looks exactly the same as he did  the day he died. His suit is pristine, down to the pocket square. He looks at Meg and Ruby with disdain before he turns that expression on Castiel. “I suppose you’re doing your biannual visit to this dump? Feel like taking any passengers out with you when you make your escape this time?” 

“I’m not...I made a deal,” Castiel whispers. He made a deal to save his son and he’ll never regret that, not for a second, but then he thinks of Dean’s face. “I’m not leaving.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so negative, Cassie. You do have a way of wriggling out of the tightest of places.” 

Mingled guilt and joy sear through Castiel as he turns around. Balthazar’s familiar face looks at him. Balthazar raises an eyebrow. “No hug?” he asks. 

“I don’t understand,” Castiel breathes. Surrounded by ghosts from his past, he feels weak. “None of you should be awake. That’s the whole point of this place. All of us, asleep, forever.” 

“That’s the way it should be, but you have a habit of wrecking the natural order.” Castiel winces at Anna’s cool voice. Though there’s no real judgement in her voice, there’s also no real warmth. “It’s been changing here, ever since your last visit.” 

“I woke it up.” 

“And because you woke it up, we all started to awake as well.” Hannah’s calm voice joins their small group, though it’s growing steadily larger. “All of us, demons and angels, started awaking. At first, it was just for moments, but lately, it’s been distracted. More of us have been able to stay awake for longer. Eventually we started finding each other.” 

“That’s my boy,” Meg says, unmistakable fondness in her voice. “Shaking up the natural order, wrecking the whole of the afterlife.” 

Castiel’s eyes dart between all of them, former enemies, allies, and friends. “Is this all of you?” 

“Were you not listening? Did they not just tell you that we’ve all been waking up, at least a little bit?” 

Gabriel pops into existence next to Castiel. Despite himself, Castiel jerks back in surprise. 

“So, what’s it going to be, Cas? Are you going to just pop out of here like always?” Crowley brings Castiel’s brain back to the present. 

When he made his deal, he made it with full awareness that there was no coming back. He accepted that burden because he knew it was the only way he could save Jack. 

But that was before he felt Dean’s lips against his, before he heard the words fall from Dean’s mouth. I love you. 

When he made the deal, he had never heard those words directed at him. When he made the deal, he had nothing to fight for. 

Now he does.

He made a choice long ago. You don’t have to be ruled by Fate. You can choose freedom. 

Castiel looks at all of them, demons and angels alike, and makes a choice. 

“We’ve got work to do.” 

[americancowgirl19]

Mutant not Monster - Part One

Part One: Background; this is basically a background part. Dean will be in the next part with Sam. I highly recommend you read this part so you can understand the plot.

Summary: Y/n and her twin brother, Warren, are both mutants. In a world where mutants aren’t accepted, Y/n and her brother have to go on the run as anti-mutant extremists begin hunting their kind down. Sam and Dean are hunters, just not mutant hunters. However, their paths cross and despite a rocky beginning they become allies against not only the war against mutants but the war against mankind. 

Warnings: angst, curse, fluff, anti-mutant terrorism

Reader: Female Reader; Y/n Worthington 

Pairings: (Eventual) Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,794

A/n: This is more of my own mini story than a specific part of X-Men and Supernatural. I’ll stick as close to supernatural as I can but if you see things that are different than they were in the show, just roll with it. This is kind of a crossover with X-Men and Supernatural but I’m just doing my own thing with the X-Men characters and Supernatural. I’m not going along with any specific movie or comic book. When Dean and Sam come in it’ll technically take place around the season 4 of Supernatural where they know about angels. Also gif is from google and it’s Miley Cyrus from the ‘Can’t Be Tamed’ music video.

Part Two

Masterlist

1989 - Y/n POV - Reader is 9

“Warren slow down!” I shouted after my brother as he scales up the tree. I try to keep up with him but struggle to maintain a steady grip on the bark. My twin brother just laughs and continues to climb branch after branch.

“Y/n! Warren! Be careful!” Our mother shouts approaching the tree. I take a second to look down at her. She stands by the trunk with her arms crossed. Her eyes squint as she looks up into the tree but I doubt she can see us through the branches and leaves. “Don’t climb too high!”

“Come on, Y/n,” Warren says regaining my attention. He motions for me to continue following him. Huffing I reach for the next branch and pull myself up.

“How much farther? Mom doesn’t want us too high,” I tell him.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” Warren says ignoring the uneasiness in my voice. While I didn’t have a fear of heights, in fact I liked being higher than everyone else, I was afraid of losing my grip from being too tired. As much as I tried to keep up with my brother he seemed to have energy for days.

“Warren, look at this,” I say finding a birds nest. My brother looks down at me before quickly climbing to my spot.

“Wow,” He whispers as the newly hatched birds chirp for their parents. “They’ll be big enough to fly before we know it,” He tells me.

“Do you ever wonder what it’s like to fly?” I ask looking at him.

“All the time,” He says. “I wonder what it’s like to soar with the birds and fly through clouds,”

“You’ll probably get wet,” I warn him. “Clouds are water after all,” Warren shrugs.

“Never been afraid of a few rain drops,” He smirks at me. I smile rolling my eyes. I look back at the baby birds.

“Warren! Y/!” Our mother shouts for us again. “Come down from there, it’s time for supper!”

“Can’t she see we’re busy in the tree?” Warren grumbles. I laugh.

“Come on, I’ll race you to the bottom,” I challenge him. He smirks and begins climbing down at the same time I do.

“If I win, I get your ice cream!” Warren shouts.

“Like hell you will!” I shout back.

“Language, Y/n!” Mother scolds.

“Yeah, language, Birdie,” Warren teases.

“Oh, why don’t you- Ah!” I screech when my feet slide off the branch. I go to cling to the tree but I fail to get a grip. Before I can fall too far Warren has my hand in his.

“I’ve got you!” Warren says quickly.

“Don’t you dare drop me, Warren Worthington!” I shout holding his hand as tightly as I can.

“Never,” Warren reassures me with a playful grin before swinging me to the next branch.

1994 - Y/n POV - Y/n is 14

“St. Joes Catholic School?” I ask with disbelief in my voice. “They’ve got to be kidding, right?” I ask my brother as I flop down on his bed. He walks into the room after me and shuts the door.

“I don’t think they are,” Warren says taking a seat at his desk chair.

“Why are they sending us away?” I whisper but don’t expect an answer. In fact, I’m terrified of what the answer would be. Warren stays quiet as he mulls over the information our parents just dropped on us. “We never fit in here,” I admitted whilst sitting up. Warren glances at me. “They may be our parents but we’re practically strangers to them. We share nothing in common with them except some similarities in our looks. We don’t belong here Warren and they know it,” I sigh looking down at my fingers.

I expect Warren to argue against me like he usually does. This isn’t the first time I’ve voiced my opinions on this matter. Ever since I could remember I’ve felt as if Warren and I were outcasts in our own home. Our parents used to try and connect with us but they gave up years ago.

I didn’t even notice Warren standing up until the bed sinks beside me. I spare him a glance before looking back at my hands. We sit in silence for a few moments before I lay my head on his shoulder. His head soon rests on top of mine.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find a place where we belong,” He reassures me. “We’ll find a home,” I smile as my mind begins imagining what this home would look like. “It’ll be a place where we do fit in and we’re not strangers,”

“As long as you promise we’ll stay together,” I say lifting my head. Warren looks at me. “Don’t you dare leave me, Warren Worthington,”

“Never,” Warren smirks winking at me. “Lighten up a bit, Birdie,” He says nudging my shoulder. “Who knows, maybe St. Joes Catholic School is where we’ll find people to connect too,” He shrugs.

“It would be nice to talk to someone who doesn’t have your ugly mug,” I comment standing from the bed.

“Well, it shouldn’t be hard for me to find someone who doesn’t crack mirrors when they look in them,” Warren fires back. I don’t dignify him with a verbal response. I simply flip him the bird and leave his room.

1997 - Y/n POV - Reader is 17

“Go Warren! Run!” I scream from the stands as my brother overtakes the lead runner in the track meet. I clap loudly and scream when he takes first place without a problem.

“He won! He won!” My brothers girlfriend, Amanda, shouts from beside me. We jump up and down together before laughing excitedly. 

When the meet ends the two of us instantly go looking for my twin. I weave through the crowd in his direction. Amanda follows me knowing all too well about my inner Warren Compass. It didn’t matter where I was or where he was, we could always find each other. Amanda also swears that we have some sort of telepathy between us or that we could read each other’s mind. While I knew that neither of those things were true, I did have a sixth sense when it came to my brother. Warren has the same feeling about me as well.

“There he is!” Amanda shouts surpassing me to go to her boyfriend. Warren spins around and pulls her into his arms. She giggles as he spins her around. I gag when they romantically kiss.

“Did you see my last run?” Warren asks us.

“Of course, baby,” Amanda smirks leaning into him not even caring about his drying sweat.

“You mean the one where you look like a flailing chicken without a head?” I ask before doing a dramatic imitation. Amanda snorts while Warren lunges for me. I laugh evading his attempts to put me in a head lock.

“Ok! Ok!” Amanda shouts getting between us. “I want to get back to the dorms, get cleaned up, and go to the party,”

“Hell yeah, baby,” Warren smirking lighting up at the mention of a party. Amanda shakes her head wondering where he gets all his energy. It didn’t matter that he just spent all day running, he still has enough energy to take over the world.

It doesn’t take us long to get back to the dorms and cleaned up. Warren promises to meet us at the party before going to take a shower. Amanda and I both go to the bathroom to do our makeup and to get changed.

“Oh my God, is your back ok?” Amanda instantly asks.

“Um, it’s fine?” I say turning towards her.

“Where did you get all of those bruises?” She wonders.

“Bruises?” I ask before going toward the mirror. “Oh, shit,” I whisper seeing them. They weren’t too bad but they were definitely noticeable. 

“What they hell are you doing when I’m not there to supervise you?” Amanda laughs while returning to her makeup.

“I don’t know,” I whisper to myself. I take another moment to stare at the bruises before shaking my head.

A couple weeks pass and the bruises don’t leave. In fact, the grow darker. I take extra care with how I move but it doesn’t matter. The bruising just continues to get worse until things start to get even weirder.

I wake up in my bad with a sore back. That’s nothing new, it’s practically my norm by now. However, waking up to find several feathers in my bed is new. I sit there in confusion as I wonder where the hell these feathers have come from.

“Y/n! Open up!” Warren shouts slamming his fist against my door repeatedly. “Open the door!”

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” I shout hopping out of bed. He doesn’t stop knocking until I let him in. “What the hell?”

“You’re getting random bruising too?” Warren asks the instant I close my door.

“How do you know about that?” I ask.

“Amanda told me,” He said. I frown my eyebrows wondering why now, all of the sudden, she’s telling him about my bruised back. “She told me because of this,” He takes his shirt off and turns his back to me.

“Jesus, Warren,” I whisper looking at his bruises. They’re similar to mind in shape but they’re much darker and slightly bigger. “Wait,” I whisper stepping closer. I run my finger along a section of his back and he instantly flinches away from me.

“Uh, ow!” Warren snaps.

“Sorry!” I raise my hands defensively. “But you have something coming out of your back,”

“What?” He frowns his eyebrows and I nod. He goes to my full length mirror. He then notices the nubs that I pointed out. “Turn around,” He says coming over to me. I do as he says feeling nervous that he might find the same happening to my back.

“I woke up with feathers in my bed,” I whisper holding back a flinch when he touches my bruises.

“Sorry,” He whispers noticing me tense. “You have the same thing happening,” I slowly turn towards him. “I have feathers in my bed too... I thought they were from my pillows but...” His voice trails off.

“What’s happening to us, Warren?” I whisper. He pushes his lips together.

“I don’t know, Birdie,” He whispers back.

1997 - Y/n POV - Reader is 17

“Warren! Warren, open the door!” I shout pounding on his door like he had mine a week previous. “Warren, I know you’re in there, now open the damn door before I break it down,” I growled hitting the door even harder.

A few moments later my puffy eyed brother opens the door just enough for me to slide in before closing it again. He hangs his head as I stare at him. When he sniffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve I snap out of my trance.

“Come here,” I whisper pulling him into a tight hug. I frown my eyebrows when I feel something on his back but I don’t pull away. He holds me so tight that it’s hard to breathe but I just hold him. “What happened?” I whisper.

“She kept asking questions,” He tells me after a few minutes. “She kept wanting to know about the bruises and I just... I couldn’t tell her,” I close my eyes and hold him even closer. I try to hold onto him but he pushes me away. “Then this happens,” He whispers sniffling as he takes off his shirt. I look at his chest before giving him a look. He turns around and I gasp.

Two small white wings have sprouted from his shoulder blades. They look like a baby birds wings. Not nearly big enough to fly nor hold his weight. Despite they’re small size they’re beautiful.

Then it clicks. Our backs have been going through the exact same transition. Slowly, I step back to his bad and fall on it. Warren quickly pulls on his shirt again.

“We’re mutants,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” Warren whispers.

“We’re mutants,” I whisper again. Warren sighs walking over to me. The bed bounces slightly when he collapses beside me.

“Yeah,” He repeats. We lay on his bed in silence as we try to come to terms with the... new development. “I quit track,” He tells me. “Not like I’d be able to hide these things at practices and meets... Plus who knows how big they’ll grow,”

“Warren,” I whisper lowly. “St. Joes is notorious for they’re anti-mutant beliefs,” I say slowly turning my head towards him. Warren continues to stare at the ceiling. He lets out a long sigh.

“Yeah,” He mutters.

“Shit,” I whisper.

1998 - Y/n POV - Reader is 18

‘Y/n Worthington,’

I frown my eyebrows as I slow to a walk in the middle of the empty hallway. I look around for the voice who said my name. However, the few people in the hallway pay no mind to me.

‘Y/n Worthington’ The voice says again. ‘My name is Charles Xavier and I am a mutant like you,’

“I don’t find that very comforting at the moment,” I mutter feeling standoffish. I can hear the voice laugh a bit.

‘No, I expect you wouldn’t’ He says. ‘I’ve been looking for you and your brother for a very long time,’

“Where are you?” I ask as I continue to search for him.

‘Not far from the school,’ He responds vaguely. ‘I need you to listen to me. There is someone on campus that wants to hurt you and your brother,’

“Warren,” I whisper no longer caring about this Charles Xavier. The only thing on my mind is finding Warren. Before I could start my wild goose chase the voice in my head tells me exactly where he is. I don’t bother to question him, I simply race to his location. “Oh my God,” I gasp seeing the building is engulfed in flames.

Before I even try to go into the fire something in the sky catches my attention. I then notice it’s Warren trying to save people. Sprinting into action, I leave the crowd. My pure black wings rip through my long jacket and take me to the sky towards my brother.

“There’s more people on the third floor!” Warren shouts over the noise of the crowd.

“There’s someone after us!” I shout to him.

“No shit! Who do you think started the fire?!” Warren snaps.

“Don’t get snippy with me, Angel!” I growl back at him.

“Just get the people out! I’ll handle the guy that’s trying to kill us,” Warren orders. I want to argue but Warren is already flying off and somebody has to get those people out.

My wings carry me into the building. They fold around my body protectively as I crash through a window and land on the hot floor. It takes some convincing but I finally get the people to trust me enough to allow me to get them to safety.

‘You’re brother is a mile to your left,’ Charles informs me. I send a silent thank you before quickly going towards Warren. I get to him in time to see him dropping a man to his death.

“Warren?” I ask slowly flying towards him. My large yet feminine keep me in the air beside my brother. Warren’s head hangs as he stares at the mans dead body on the ground below us.

‘If you both would join me, I’d like to talk with you,” Charles says in my head. I can only assume Warren hears him as well. 

“Angel?” I ask moving even closer to him.

“Let’s just go,” Warren says flying to where Charles wants us to meet him. I glance back to the dead body before flying after my brother.

1998 - Y/n POV - Reader is 18

“Wow,” I whisper walking towards Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.

“Aren’t we a little old to be going to a school like this?” Warren asks as we follow behind Charles. I nod along with Warren’s question seeing as we’re both legally adults.

“This isn’t just a school for the gifted but a home,” Charles explains. Warren’s head snaps towards me at the same time mine snaps to him. “Here you can learn different skills you did not learn at your previous school. You will also meet students with various gifts, some like your own,” I slap Warren’s arm when I see a girl fly past us with wings that came off of a fairy. “You are welcome to stay here for as long as you wish,”

“This place is amazing,” I laugh in wonder. Warren slowly beings to grin which only brightens my mood. Ever since the fire a few days ago, Warren’s smile has been nonexistent. 

“I’ll show you to your rooms, allow you to get settled,”

“Are we sharing a room?” Warren wonders.

“While school is in session, yes,” Charles nods. “But when most of the students return to their homes, you can have separate rooms,” I smile at my brother. Even though I didn’t exactly like sharing a room with him, it would be nice to have him close after someone had tried to kill us.

“Well, it’s not as big as the one at mom and dads but it’s cozy,” I say while walking around the room. Charles had left us to settle in a few seconds ago.

“Do you ever wonder what mom and dad are doing?” Warren wonders while tossing his suit case on one of the beds.

“Angel, they haven’t even contacted us since freshmen year,” I remind him. “The only thing they’ve done is financially support us and even that is over now,” I say sitting on my bed. “I try not to think about them because we don’t need them. We just need each other,” I say smiling at him.

“So, you’re saying I’m stuck with your ugly mug for the rest of my life?” Warren asks with a small smirk.

“Aren’t you a lucky duck?” I wink at him. Warren slowly shakes his head. “What happened?” I finally ask. “With that man that you let go?” My mind goes back to the day with the fire and how Warren had let a man fall to his death.

“I don’t even know his name,” Warren whispers. “Just some anti-mutant man,” He tells me. “He said our wings went against his religion and that we had to die,” I can feel my wings twitch but I don’t say anything. “I had him in my hands and I wanted to turn him into the police but then he went on and on about how he wasn’t just going to kill me but kill you as well... I just got so angry. He talked about how he was going to rip our wings off and rid the world of us. The thought of someone out there that wants to kill you as badly as he did made me so angry. Before I knew it I was letting him go and watching him fall.” Warren explains to me. I stand and walk over to him. Warren looks at me as I sit next to him. “I don’t regret killing him. I feel guilt about the fact that I’m not sad over his death,” He says. “But he threatened you, threatened us...” Warren sighs.

“You don’t have to justify your actions to me,” I tell him. “Warren, I would have done the same thing,” I told him. He glances towards me. “You think your need to protect me is one sided? I’d do anything for you. You’re all I have and I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” I tell him. Warren smiles a bit.

“Don’t you dare leave me, Y/n Worthington,” Warren says quietly. I muster up a playful smirk.

“Never,”

2004 - Y/n POV - Reader is 24

“What do you mean they’re shutting the school down?” Warren snapped. “They can’t do that!”

“They can and they are,” Storm, one of the teachers, says calmly yet her eyes are raging in anger. “The students are to be sent back to there homes-”

“Where they’re going to be hunted down and slaughtered in front of their families,” Beast growls. I sigh rubbing my face tiredly.

Years of peace between mutants and mankind destroyed in one weekend. We tried to do damage control but our efforts were in vain. Almost every pro-mutant policy has been taken away. With the government turning their backs against us the radical anti-mutant organizations are rising against us in a dangerous fashion.

It didn’t take a genius to know that a war is on the horizon. This school is one of the only safe places for the students yet we’re being forced to send them away. We’re being forced to send them back to their families where they won’t be nearly as protected as they are now.

We all knew that with the war would come casualties. These extremists aren’t planning on taking prisoners. They see us as anti-human and a threat to the human race. They see us as monsters. They will kill us every chance they get.

“We have to protect them,” I speak up. “They’re children!” I practically shout. “We can’t just leave them to defend themselves,”

“We’re not going to do that,” Jean shakes her head. “We’ve fought for mutants this long, we’re not just going to give up now,”

“Jean’s right,” Storm nods. “There’s a war coming and it’s going to get ugly,” She warns everyone in the room. “But we’ve been through ugly times before. We can get through this if we work together,”

“We’re ready,” Bobby, one of my closest friends, assures her. “You guys have made sure of that. A lot of us are ready to fight,” Warren, me and the other alumni students nod in agreement.

“Professor?” I asks hesitantly. Charles continues to sit in his wheelchair as he goes over everything in his mind. It pained me to see the man who took my brother and I in in such a state of distress.

Warren and I share a nervous look. After years of living life just the two of us, we finally find out home. Not long after that, our home is threatened. It angers me to the core that people think they can threaten my home without retaliation. As far as I’m concerned everyone that lives under this roof is my family and I will do whatever is necessary to protect them, especially my idiotic twin.

“There here,” Charles whispers, his eyes widening. My head snaps to the side as an explosion shakes the Earth under our feet. Warren’s eyes meet mine and dread fills our hearts. The war’s begun.

@akshi8278​