#idk i've read through this too many times to be able to judge anymore

[perlukafarinn]

for @inacatastrophicmind who made this gorgeous gifset at my request <3

After the dust has settled, after Chuck has gone and yet another apocalypse has been averted, Cas tells Dean that he wants to be human again.

Why, Dean wants to ask but he keeps his mouth shut. Cas’ brief stint as a human sucked in most ways imaginable but so has his much, much longer stint as an angel. Maybe he needs the change. Maybe they both do.

He disappears for a little while and when he returns, it’s with a smirking Rowena in his front seat and a vial of grace in a delicate chain around his neck. He hands it to Dean, and Dean accepts it even though he knows he doesn’t deserve that kind of trust. He’ll have to do his best to earn it, even if it takes him the rest of his life.

He also accepts it when Cas kisses him, because that part is at least familiar.

*

What isn’t familiar is what comes after.

Peace. Stability. Basically all things synonymous with ‘domesticity’ and isn’t that a strange thought. God is dead and Dean got his happily ever after sharing a bed and picking out curtains with the former angel who pulled him out of hell.

The curtains, for the record, were not Dean’s idea.

“I don’t get it,” Dean says, eyeing the lacy, mustard-yellow monstrosity that Cas is holding with disdain. “We live in an underground bunker.”

Cas turns the fabric over in his hands. “They would just be for show. Bare concrete is depressing, at least this would be nicer to look at.”

“Disagreed. And since when were you so into decorating?”

“I kept you, didn’t I?” Cas says dryly. 

That’s probably the most sarcastic, round-about way Dean’s ever been called pretty. 

“Aw shucks, thanks honey.”

Cas puts the curtains down, picking up another, even uglier pair. They’re pea-green and crocheted; he has to be messing with Dean at this point. “I like that.”

“If you buy those, I’m burning them,” Dean warns.

“Not the curtains,” Cas says. “You calling me ‘honey’. Please do it more often.”

That effectively shuts Dean up. He can’t be snarky with Cas when he gets this sincere.

*

Dean wakes up to an empty bed.

It’s rare enough these days that the realization immediately puts him on edge. He reaches over to Cas’ side, relieved to discover that the mattress is still warm. Glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand, he sees that it’s only a little past six.

Despite the early hour, there is no way Dean can go back to sleep without knowing where Cas is so he sits up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He stumbles into the hallway in just his boxers and shirt, already missing the warmth of his bed.

As he nears the kitchen, he can hear someone moving around in it, and when he rounds the corner he spots Cas by the stove, spatula in one hand. 

“Cas?” Dean asks, voice still husky from sleep. “What’re you doing?”

Cas doesn’t so much as glance back. “It’s supposed to be an omelette.”

Dean walks up to him, hooking his chin over Cas’ shoulder and wrapping his arms around Cas’ waist. The supposed omelette is a burnt, scrambled mess of eggs, vegetables and sausage on the pan. 

“If you wanted an omelette, I could’ve made you one,” Dean says. 

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Cas sighs, removing the pan from the heat and turning it off. “I’ve seen you make it before, I thought I could do it myself.”

“Maybe next time follow a recipe?” 

“You don’t need a recipe,” Cas says, frustration leaking into his tone.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’ve been cooking for myself and Sam for thirty years. You can’t expect everything to come easy to you. Some stuff you gotta learn from scratch.”

“Nothing comes easy to me.” 

“I don’t know, you’re pretty good in the sack.”

Cas huffs out a small laugh at that and Dean smiles, relieved. Sometimes, making flippant comments only serves to frustrate Cas further. It’s a delicate line to walk and more often than not, Dean flounders off it and falls right on his ass.

“Now, c’mon, wash the pan and get started again.” Dean tightens his arms around Cas for a moment, dropping a quick kiss on his shoulder. “I’ll guide you through it.”

*

‘Happily ever after’ should be overstating it. 

It’s not like they’ve reached some blissful, unchanging state. Not like they never argue, or go to bed unhappy, or need to spend days apart because they’re feeling cooped up and everything they do pisses each other off. 

But, Dean thinks, there’s just no other phrase for it. 

Cas disagrees.

“Our story isn’t over,” he says, trailing kisses down Dean’s chest and this is so not the kind of talking Dean likes in bed, but he is the one who brought it up. “We don’t have a story, that was the point wasn’t it?”

Dean tugs at his shoulder and Cas acquiesces, straightening on top of Dean so they are face to face. 

“So you don’t wanna ride into the sunset with me?”

“Perhaps.” Cas looks him up and down. “What kind of riding did you have in mind?”

Dean laughs. “I have been such a bad influence on you.”

Cas grins and leans in, giving him a nice and thorough kiss. There’s no talking after that, theoretical or otherwise, and Dean supposes it’s just as well. Cas is right.

They’re not a story anymore. 

[iamanartichoke]

I was going through my "following" list last night for reasons and it stuck me how many blogs that I used to interact with and considered friends, in the online tumblr sense at least, have been abandoned or whose posts I never see anymore, for some reason or another, and it just made me sad like, it's baffling to me how the fandom can arguably be alive and well and active but at the same time it feels a lot like I'm just hanging onto the tattered and torn edges of a ripped up tapestry that used to be whole and beautiful.