#leknope

[casfallsinlove]

when the light came through (r, 2.5k)

[ao3] for grace ❤️

They leave the bunker just as dawn begins to ease over the horizon, until the sky above the Kansas plains is smudged with pale rose-gold. A soft mist hangs low, catching on the bare, bristly grass poking through the thin smattering of snow. Castiel has seen many sunrises in his time, but he thinks this is the most beautiful. Perhaps because of where he's going, or who he's going there with.

The Impala purrs as they breeze along the highway, a quick burst of the rumble strip when Dean takes his eyes off the empty road for a second too long, and the radio murmuring quietly. Some talk show or shipping forecast or something--they just wanted the background noise, really.

Castiel feels at peace. With Lucifer locked up and the Angels back in Heaven, there's little to be at war with these days. Occasionally a haunting pings up on their radar, or Sam will call them with news of a suspected vamp nest or rampant werewolf that he and Eileen are too busy to handle, but things are mostly quiet. Settled. Comfortable.

Of course Dean and Castiel don't know how to deal with comfortable very well. So here they are, driving with no endgame in sight, just them and the car and the wide open road. Twin duffel bags sit on the backseat; Castiel’s has clothes spilling out of it where the zipper broke, the corner of a book getting bent out of shape. A plant is wedged against the door, fastened securely with the seat belt; a philodendron, one that Castiel bought for 75 cents from a stall at the side of the road because it was brown and dying. Dean had told him to throw it on the compost heap at the time but then the plant started growing again, its leaves getting greener and smoother as it stood proud in its little yellow pot.

“You're like the Doctor Doolittle of flowers,” Dean said one day, when he caught Castiel gently stroking the leaves.

Castiel replied, “I think it’s found some trace energy left in me, some small part of what I used to be. It's feeding from me.”

“Gross.” Dean had pulled a face, but his fingers were affectionate, playful at the back of Castiel’s neck.

He couldn't leave the plant behind.

Now, Dean’s humming something tuneless as he drives, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the wheel. He glances over, once, twice. The Colorado state line looms in the distance.

“You're sure about this, huh?” he asks, anxiety barely hidden just below the surface of him. It ripples there, faint blotches of purple-blue and gray bleeding into Dean’s usual bright gold and green. Castiel takes Dean’s hand, runs the pad of his thumb over the small mountain ridge of knuckles. The gray starts to fade.

“I'm sure,” he says.

Dean looks at him again. The corner of his mouth quirks.

“Okay then.” He squeezes Castiel’s fingers and puts his foot down on the accelerator a little heavier.

The Impala roars. The road whips past, endless and full of potential.

     “No fucking way.”

Castiel scowls. “Yes way.”

Dean scrutinizes him across the sticky tabletop, like he wants to call bullshit. His burger, poised in midair, is slowly dripping sauce down his wrist.

“You're telling me aliens are real.”

“Yes.” Castiel slurps his Coke from a bright green twisty straw. It fizzes, makes his nose burn. “I've met them.”

“Yeah, okay, Mulder,” Dean shakes his head, his burger back on its trajectory to his mouth. He takes a huge bite and adds with his mouth full, “Little green men in silver suits? Impossible.”

They've been having this argument since they crossed the border into Nevada and saw a sign at the side of the road telling them to watch out for low-flying UFOs. Now they're in an alien-themed diner and Dean's stubbornness is back in full-force.

“Dean, you've met vampires and angels and God Himself, and yet you refuse to admit that there's life out there other than what's on this earth? There is more to the universe than humans can possibly imagine or ever hope to see. There are planets out there which hold life, intelligent life, surviving just as humanity survives. I'm several millennia old, I've met more than one species of extraterrestrial.” He shrugs. “But if you think you're right, go ahead and think you're right.”

Dean flicks a ketchup-dipped fry at him. “You're such an asshole.”

It's nice, being with Dean like this. Not having to worry about one of their lives being under threat or the next big bad coming to destroy the world. They can just be. And what they are is wonderful. Dean is wonderful, glittering gold, like something precious, something to be treasured.

The paper placemat underneath Castiel’s plate has a press-out alien mask in it. When Dean goes to the bathroom Castiel pops it out and holds it up against his face. He steals one of Dean’s fries, putting it in his mouth so it sticks out like a cigar.

“Hello, Mr. Winchester,” he says in a funny voice when Dean sits back down.

Dean blinks at him then bursts out laughing, throwing his balled-up napkin at his head.

“Oh my god. You're so fuckin’ lucky I love you,” he grins.

Well. Okay then. Dean loves him.

Lucky indeed.

“I love you, too,” Castiel says, still in the stupid alien voice, and at this point they're making complete spectacles of themselves, being far too loud and boisterous for the quiet diner, their feet knocking under the table, but Dean is glowing, beaming, an entire spectrum of colors almost too vibrant to look at. Castiel wouldn't want to dull that for anything.

   They roll into Vegas not long after dusk has fallen. It's warmer here, the desert air dry and dusty and getting caught behind Castiel’s teeth. Lights flicker and splinter in his peripheral vision; amber and red, green and blue and harsh pinks. People are out on the streets, laughing and drinking and flagging down taxis. Night doesn't really seem to make a difference here. Castiel pulls at his shirt, restless, his knees pleading for a break from the car. Dean is yawning, jaw cracked wide.

They head west to avoid the snarl of traffic downtown and end up in Sun City. Dean says it's just so they can find a motel that actually has a vacancy, but he seems relieved to be away from the hustle and bustle. Everything is softer out here, quieter. The set of Dean’s shoulders is more at ease.

The El Camino is a shabby little motel wedged between a Fuel-and-Go and a Denny’s, making the parking lot smell like gasoline and greasy food. Castiel wrinkles his nose as he leaves Dean to get the bags and heads into the lobby, waving away a cloud of cigarette smoke from a man with a beer gut pressing quarters into the vending machine beside the door. Inside, Castiel asks for a king and a wifi pass so he can watch Netflix on Dean’s laptop. The woman behind the counter smiles habitually at him, purple plastic nails clacking on the formica as she slides his key over.

A waft of stale, cold air hits them when they shoulder into the room. Dean sighs and switches the heater on and after a few seconds of clunking protest it huffs to life with a whine and a rattle. Castiel stands by the door and watches Dean for a minute; the tired curve of his spine, the way he toes his boots off and stumbles a bit. He takes his neatly folded pajamas out of the duffel and puts them on the end of the bed then looks at Castiel. An easy grin spreads over his face when he realizes he’s being watched.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Castiel shrugs. A smile sneaks into his lips though and Dean laughs. As he passes to get to the bathroom he brushes the back of his hand over Castiel’s stomach, his fingertips catching lightly on a belt loop, a soft and intimate gesture that leaves Castiel feeling warm all over.

While Dean’s showering he gets changed and climbs into bed. The blankets are scratchy on his arms but he's cold enough that he doesn't care. Dean's laptop sits on his stomach, its cable trailing across the brown, threadbare carpet to the outlet, the plastic casing of which is cracked in one corner and yellowed with age.

Navigating to their shared Netflix profile is easier now than it used to be--practically second nature. They're slowly working their way through several series together; most recently, Parks and Recreation. He pulls up the next episode and then clicks over to his emails while he waits for Dean.

Nothing from Sam, but there is a brief reply from Mary in response to a query Castiel had about the Baku, a monster of dream manipulation that she had mentioned once encountering. Castiel would like to plug all gaps in his knowledge to assist Dean as best as possible now that he's human, or as good as.

He’s typing a reply of thanks and best wishes when Dean appears beside him, freshly showered and in his pajamas, his skin slightly flushed and damp still, his hair towel-dried ruffled.

“What are we watching?” he asks, bouncing down on the bed and jostling Castiel. Rolling his eyes, Castiel presses send and switches tabs back to Netflix.

“Nothing yet, I was waiting for you.”

Dean narrows his eyes at the laptop. “Wait, was that Mom? What were you talking about?”

It's so easy to tease Dean that Castiel can't resist doing so, just a little. “That's for me to know.”

“Ugh, that's not worrying at all,” Dean says, but he actually sounds rather fond. Of Mary’s attempt at conquering modern forms of communication, maybe, or possibly the fact that two of the people he loves most get on so well. That last thought makes Castiel heart swell in his chest.

They burrow in together to watch Parks and Recreation, Dean’s head on Castiel’s chest. His laughter echoes in the space behind Castiel’s ribs, a fierce, lovely thing.

 It’s the early hours of the morning when Castiel stirs. He’s not sure what disturbed him; the blare of a big rig’s horn, or the tipsy giggles of some women outside on the breezeway, or maybe just an instinctive awareness that being awake would be a good thing right now.

He rolls over and into Dean, who grunts and mumbles, “You ‘kay?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, and kisses him.

Dean’s slow, sleepy, but gradually comes to live under Castiel’s touch. The kisses get deeper and more urgent, laced with a faint hint of peppermint toothpaste. Dean shivers when Castiel places his palm on his chest, warm through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, and rolls onto his back, bringing Castiel with him. Soft ultramarine light from the buzzing neon sign outside creeps around the gap in the curtains, highlighting the lines and ridges of Dean’s profile, illuminating a path for Castiel’s lips to follow.

Hands grip his waist tightly, cling there for a moment then slip underneath Castiel’s shirt and skim up and down his sides. Dean’s hands are steady and sure, capable of great destruction but also incredible gentleness. It’s the latter with which he touches Castiel, his fingertips alone making heat pool in Castiel’s gut.

A quiet moan escapes Dean when their cocks brush through their pants so Castiel rocks lazily into a rhythm that leaves them breathless and shaking. Dean’s thighs are trembling either side of Castiel’s waist so he runs his hand down Dean’s arm and threads their fingers together, squeezing, pressing them into the lumpy mattress.

He doesn’t let them go, even as the headboard starts smacking the wall, and their kisses become little more than their mouths sloppily meeting in between gasps, and when Dean comes it’s with a choked mantra of “Cas, Cas, Cas” followed by every muscle in his body contracting, before he goes boneless with a long, contented sigh.

Castiel can feel the wetness, even through two thin layers, and it’s more than enough to tip him over the edge into headless, blissful oblivion. Starbursts explode behind his eyes as he groans into the damp skin at Dean’s shoulder, a hand curled around the back of Castiel’s neck and scratching at the sweaty hair there sending aftershocks of tingling pleasure up his spine.

“I love you,” he tells Dean, like it’s a fundamental truth of the universe, the thing that keeps the stars in the sky and the ocean tides anchored to the moon.

Dean lets out a sob, fractured, bone-tired, and holds Castiel close.

  The end of the line turns out to be San Diego.

Sand tickles Castiel’s bare feet, warm on his soles and gritty between his toes. As an angel he saw oceans being created, beaches unfurling from crystalline waters, plants blossoming and creatures evolving, but in retrospect everything pales in comparison to this: walking down a beach in South California, hand-in-hand with Dean Winchester while the sun sets ahead of them.

The sky is awash with pastels, the sand golden and the water a deep green-blue. Few people are around and those that are don’t pay Dean and Castiel any attention. Which is just as well, as Dean has decided to talk about the time he and Sam hunted a banshee in Florida at the top of his voice, eyes alight and free hand gesturing wildly as he tells Castiel about Sam falling into a swamp and screaming about alligators.

A shiver trickles its way down Castiel’s body; it’s cool out, a cold wind blowing in off the water and whipping at their hair. He presses closer to Dean’s side.

He squeezes Dean’s hand, smiles because Dean’s grin is infectious, pauses to kiss him, sugar-sweet from the ice cream they ate while huddled in hoodies back on the pier. Dean’s arm comes around Castiel’s back, trapping him there. He hums happily into the kiss, then breaks it to rest his forehead against Castiel’s.

“I never thought I’d get to have this,” he whispers, a secret just for them. “I gave up hoping. Every time I reached for it, it just seemed to get further away.”

“I know,” Castiel says, because he does, because it seemed impossible to him too.

“But now--God, me and you, Cas. I feel so…” Dean shakes his head, apparently unable to complete that sentence.

Castiel kisses the bolt of Dean’s jaw. “Yes,” he agrees, because the words won’t come to him either.

The sun continues to fade. Twilight inches in around the edges, painting the water a glossy bruise-black. Castiel doesn’t pay it heed. Dean exudes warmth, happiness, unwavering affection; the sun at the center of Castiel’s universe.

Who knows where they’ll go next. The entire country is spread out before them, theirs for the taking. As long as they’re together, Castiel doesn’t care. 

[microcomets]

we threw hozier a pride flag during take me to church and he wore it the whole song 🥰 (photos by @leknope)

[fatqueerstyle]

Tag Rules: Tag 15 followers who you want to get to know

Nicknames: Mag, Mags,

Gender: Lol who knows

Zodiac: Libra ⚖️

Height: 5'1

Sexuality: Queer af

Hogwarts House: Slytherin 🐍

Favorite Animal: Manatees??

Favorite Song: Gravity by Sara Bareilles

Favourite Food: coffee and donuts

Average Hours Spent Sleeping: solid 7 every night

Cats or Dogs: Well I have a cat! But I love both

Number of Blankets I Sleep With: one comforter and one snoopy Halloween blanket

Dream trip: St. Helens Oregon the entire month of October for the spirit of Halloweentown festival

When I Made This Account: like 2009???

Why I Made This Account: I thought it was cool? No one else had it.

Number of Followers: 13k 👩🏼‍💻

Tagging: @thatqueerbabej @fats @leknope @nathandrakeisbisexual @lapislazuliblue lol that’s it that’s everyone I know 🤷‍♀️

[captainshakespear]

put your songs on shuffle & list the first ten. tagged by @my-doctor

1. The Angels’ Share - Geddy Lee 2. Still - Foo Fighters 3. Allies - Mutemath 4. Any Time at All - The Beatles 5. Land of Confusion - Genesis 6. 24K Magic - Bruno Mars 7. Group Scene - The Worst Pop Band Ever 8. Musicology - Prince 9. Kick It Out - Heart 10. House of Wolves - My Chemical Romance

This is embarrassing ... anyway I tag @hematiterings @gaydean @novaks @jokerondeck @leknope because you came up in my auto tags. :D

[trenchcoatandhalo]

1x01 vs 11x23

[deansmom]

STOP TORTURING US ALL WITH THESE MISHA/VICKY POSTS I WILL KILL U

GRACE I AM PUBLISHING THIS BECAUSE THERE ARE MORE MISHA AND VICKI POSTS IN MY QUEUE AND IF I END UP DEAD TOMORROW I WANT THIS TO BE PUBLIC PROOF

[lapislazuliblue]

leknope replied to your post: mr. krabs, councilman jamm, the blue alien from...

That actually worked out surprisingly well. I really was just going for the most random set I could find lmao

I KNOW at first glace i was like “shit” but it worked out really really well :D

[xylodemon]

dean/cas fic: The Tunnel of Love (22K, nsfw)

The Tunnel of Love; 22K, nsfw -- casefic, futurefic, first time, haunted carnival shenanigans.

for spacebureaucracy, who put the idea in my head.

.

"We might," Cas starts slowly, pausing like he's choosing his words. "We might have to kiss."

Dean just stares at him.

.

[read it @ AO3]

[deancasotp]

leknope replied to your post: Keep readingRead More Now!

I would love it if you came back!! If you want, of course <3

You’re so lovely. <3 I just reactivated it but it seems to be fucking up so it doesn’t appear like I’m following anyone and I’m not seeing anyone’s tweets either. Hopefully it’s okay tomorrow. Thank you for your kind words. <3

[knopetastic]

leknope replied to your post: so I’m gonna go to a bastille concert ...

ITS GONNA BE SO AMAZING I SAW THEM A FEW MONTHS AGO AND IT WAS ONE OF THE BEST NIGHTS OF MY LIFE!!!!!!!! HAVE FUN!!!!!!!

THEY'RE ALREADY IN MANILA AGGH I CAN'T WAIT

moonislands replied to your post “so I’m gonna go to a bastille concert tomorrow and I’m really excited...”

Have fun ! :)

I WILL OMG

[idfuckdean]

leknope replied to your post:Every research paper I’ve written for the last 3...

saME

hell yea HELL YEA

[party-b00b]

I've done it. I have become the party boob

[deansmom]

2.8k of episode coda aka the missing scene jensen and misha talked about. now with bonus missing scene. feelings. they finally talk about the crypt scene, 10.22, and 11.04. (ao3)

"Why didn’t you kill him?” 

Dean’s voice sounds more quiet, less angry than it had when Sam was there. His hands are resting on the chair in front of him and his head is bowed, his shoulders broadcasting his exhaustion clearly. 

Castiel lets out a breath and lets himself deflate, “Dean...” 

“I just -” Dean rubs a hand over his face, “After everything he did to us? To me?” He looks up at Cas, trying to communicate his concern with his face alone, “To you?” 

The hurt in his voice makes Castiel pause for a moment.

Dean starts talking again before Cas gets a chance to, “I know - believe me, I fucking know about Sam’s new moral code of ethics or whatever but Cas.” 

He wonders if his friend can tell how genuinely concerned he is.

“That guy?” Dean lets out a slightly incredulous laugh and starts pacing, “Fuck that guy. After everything he’s done? The world isn’t gonna stop spinning without that piece of shit.” 

“Dean,” Castiel interrupts, his voice inexplicably fond. “I just... I couldn’t.” 

The look Dean gives him makes Castiel huff a laugh and shake his head sadly, “He’s human, Dean. He’s human and defenseless and I...”

Cas frowns and looks down at the table, “I’m not ‘100%’ as you say.”

He looks visibly uncomfortable and unnerved by the topic and Dean feels like the world is spinning. 

“He said I was scared and -” Castiel’s frown deepens, “Damaged. Broken.”

Dean’s heart clenches in his chest and his hands twitch with the desire to reach out and touch him, “Cas...” His voice is soft and more than a little concerned. 

“Please don’t,” Castiel murmurs back just as softly. “He wasn’t wrong.” 

The words hang in the silence for a few minutes. Cas can’t take his eyes off of the table and Dean can’t take his eyes off of Cas. 

Fuck, are they really doing this?

“If you’re broken-” Dean starts and stops, feeling helpless and out of his depth. He has to clear his throat to get the words out and his voice still cracks. “If you’re broken, the hell does that make me?” 

Castiel smiles and it’s half fond, half bitter, “Strong.” 

“Well,” Dean laughs somewhat breathlessly and tries to ignore the way his eyes are prickling, “That’s - that’s bullshit.” 

“If I was -” Dean hates how his voice keeps cracking. It makes him want to hide.

“If I was so strong -” the word comes out dripping in sarcasm and disgust, something deep inside of Dean snapping. “- I wouldn’t -”

Dean’s shaking with the effort to get the words out of his mouth.

“I wouldn’t have hurt you.” 

He keeps his eyes firmly on the ground and pretends his hands aren’t clenched into fists at his sides. He pretends that there aren’t a few stray tears of frustration and grief sliding down his cheeks.

He’s so busy pretending that he misses it when Cas walks across the war room. He misses it when Castiel stops in front of him, close enough that all he’d have to do is look up and their faces would touch. 

“Dean,” Cas murmurs quietly, his voice making it evident this conversation isn’t any easier for him. “I...” 

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and prepares himself for a blow that doesn’t come.

“I know -” He reaches out hesitantly and brushes a finger against Dean’s sleeve, testing the waters. “I know there’s - there’s nothing I can say that will make this any easier for you.” 

“God,” Dean lets out a slightly incredulous laugh that’s marred by a sob and resists the urge to yank his arm away. “Stop doing that.” 

Castiel huffs and moves his hand away, “I’m not doing anything, Dean.”

“Stop being understanding,” Dean snaps, his voice rising with his level of panic. “Stop letting me touch you, stop trying to make it up to me like you’re not the one who I beat to a half dead bloody pulp!” 

That seems to give Castiel real pause because he takes a step back. 

“You...” Castiel takes his time choosing his words, ignoring the way his borrowed heart is hammering in his chest. “Dean, I did hurt you.” 

“Christ,” Dean laughs again, verging on hysterical this time. “It’s not the same thing, Cas.” 

Castiel makes a frustrated noise and looks up at the ceiling, “Dean.” 

Dean opens his eyes at that and chokes a little on the words that are trying to come out of his mouth, “Don’t you dare say it’s not my fault.” 

It earns him a glare.

“Fine,” Castiel snaps, losing his temper a little. “As long as you stop pretending that everything’s okay now because we’re ‘even.’” 

“Cas I don’t give a shit about that,” Dean tries to explain, his hands coming up to grab at his own hair. “I don’t - it wasn’t you. It was the spell. I know you and I know -” His mouth works but there’s no sound coming out, just a slightly desperate and wild look in his eyes. 

God, he’s terrible at this. 

Castiel’s face is blank as he watches Dean, giving nothing away. 

Dean swallows thickly and manages to get out, “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Something in Cas’ face softens and he lets out a shaky breath, finally looking away.

It’s unnervingly quiet in the bunker for a few minutes. The only sound Dean can hear is his own heart thudding wildly in his chest and his ragged breaths. 

“That’s why.” 

Castiel doesn’t look up when he says it. His eyes are still trained on the table, anywhere but Dean. 

Dean must make a confused noise because then Cas is laughing and it’s sad, a little broken, but it’s a laugh. 

“That’s why I’m not upset with you, Dean.”

He looks up after a moment and offers a tentative smile, “I know it wasn’t you.”

Dean shakes his head and starts to back away but Cas steps forward, feeling a little bolder, and grabs his wrist loosely.

It makes him stop in his tracks, his heart stop beating for a few seconds. 

“I know...” Castiel watches the top of Dean’s head and prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that he’ll be able to communicate this properly. “I don’t know exactly what you’re feeling... but I have been in similar situations.”

He can feel Dean’s pulse jump at that. 

“And I know that -” He lets out a breath and closes his eyes, trying to ignore the vivid memories of everything. Every swing, every order from Naomi, every splatter of blood. “I know that it’s - it’s impossible to forget.” 

Dean’s shaking a little bit when Cas opens his eyes again. 

“Does it...” Dean licks his lips, clearly restraining himself from running away from this conversation, “Does it ever get easier?”

He doesn’t want to lie to him.

“No,” Castiel admits carefully after a few moments. “Not in the way you would like it to.” 

He keeps talking before Dean can spiral too far, “But it does get easier to... allow kindness from the ones you’ve hurt. It...” Castiel’s hand slides down Dean’s wrist until it’s loosely wrapped around his fist. 

“Touching,” he murmurs, “Gets easier. You’ll never stop wondering why they’re letting you touch them, but you...” 

He’s not sure how to explain it without it sounding weird.

“Perhaps greedy isn’t the right word, but you’ll start to savor every touch. You’ll commit every touch to memory. Everything you’re allowed.” 

Dean actually huffs a laugh and smiles, his hand unfolding a little in Cas’ grip. 

“I have yet to look in the mirror and not feel guilty for the things my hands have done at the bidding of others,” Castiel admits quietly, his eyes focused on their hands. “I suspect that will never get easier.” 

“You know,” Dean licks his lips and steps a little bit closer to Cas, his eyes still closed. “Bobby told me one time -”

He smiles despite himself and deepens his voice, “Son, good hunters know that they ain’t always good people. That’s what makes ‘em good hunters. Because they look in the mirror and they know all the shit they did and they know it all ain’t so cut and dry. The second they stop knowin’ that?”

Dean’s smile slips a little and his voice softens, “That’s when they stop bein’ a good hunter. That’s when they stop being a person.” 

Castiel watches Dean’s face for a few moments of silence, allows it when Dean flattens their palms against each other and twins their fingers together. 

“You’re a good person, Cas,” Dean says eventually.

It makes his Grace flare momentarily, stupidly filling with pride and affection. 

“I’ve had a good teacher,” he murmurs, squeezing Dean’s hand. 

Dean leans forward finally and rests his forehead on Cas’ collarbone. He lets out a shuddering breath when Cas’ free arm comes up and wraps around him. 

“I’m so sorry, Cas.” 

The words are whispered into his shirt so quietly that he almost misses it.

“I know that you don’t - you don’t blame me, okay? But I do. And I can’t promise that I’m going to... be okay with this. Ever. I just -” Dean’s breath hitches and his free hand grabs a fistful of Cas’ jacket, “I’m so sorry.” 

Castiel feels like there’s something caught in his throat and he has to clear it a couple times to actually get words out. 

“And I... I know you aren’t angry either. But I am... truly, truly sorry, Dean.”

They stay like that for a few minutes, touching in ways that scare the daylights out of them for different reasons. 

It’s not closure, exactly. 

But it’s more than they’ve ever had. 

“I wasn’t mad at you,” Dean says quietly into the half drained glass of whiskey.

He knows Cas just walked into the room. He can’t hear him, but he knows the signs. He knows the way the air moves differently when Cas shows up in a room. Even without the Mark, he can feel the shift in the atmosphere. 

Dean doesn’t look up from the table and he doesn’t get a response.

It’s fine, he wasn’t expecting one.

“I know why you let Metatron go and I sure as shit don’t agree with it, but I get it.” 

He takes a sip of his drink and frowns, “I was just... I was scared.” 

One of the chairs across from him gets pulled away from the table and then he can just make out Cas’ shirt. He still doesn’t want to look up from the table. 

“I know you can take care of yourself, Cas,” Dean sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “I know that I’ve got no reason to be worrying about you as much as I do.” He purses his lips, swirling the liquid in his glass around aimlessly, “But I do. I worry.” 

“I know,” Castiel says quietly, a little guiltily. “I worry about you too.” 

Dean smiles and it’s a little bitter, it tastes a little sour in his mouth. “I’m not the one who’s still on the mend.”

Castiel gives him an unamused look, “Dean.” 

Sometimes Cas leaves Dean a little speechless with his ability to pack so much into one word. He doesn’t have to look up at him to know that Cas is exhausted and concerned and ready to lecture Dean on taking care of himself. 

“Me?” Dean keeps talking, ignoring it for right now because there’s nothing he can say that will make Cas stop looking at him like that.

“I’m broken.” He drains what’s left of his glass and finally glances up at Cas for a moment, giving him a tired smile, “I’m holding it together with duck tape and gorilla glue. But I’ve been falling apart and slapping myself back together for years now. I’ve got practice.” 

He stands abruptly and goes over to the liquor cart and pours himself some more, “You’re not broken, Cas. You don’t need duck tape, you need time to rest.”

Castiel huffs an exhausted, slightly indignant laugh, “I feel broken.” 

“I know what broken looks like...” Dean turns around to smile tiredly at Cas and leans against the bookshelf, “And it ain’t you.” 

Castiel shakes his head fondly, a small, pleased smile on his face. “You’re very kind.” 

Dean ignores the way his heart flips at the smile. 

He pushes himself off the bookshelf and walks over to the table, “Look, I could tell you to suck it up, swallow it down and keep on keepin’ on.” Dean sets his glass down on the table and ignores the way his cheeks flare up, “But hell, if there’s anyone in the world who deserves to hole up at home and watch shitty TV all day, it’s you.” 

Castiel meets his eyes and Dean wonders if it’s possible to feel his Grace like this. Wonders if it’s possible that the way his whole body lights up when Cas looks at him like this is because of that.

“Why did you let Amara get away, Dean?” 

It’s a fair question. Really, it is.

But Dean’s tired and he’s had too much to drink and he’s not expecting it. 

He straightens up abruptly, his face closing off. The soft smile he’d been wearing melts into something blank and not-quite cold. 

“I...” Dean looks away from Cas and takes a long drink of the whiskey. 

“I don’t know.” 

He looks down at his socks, the ones that Charlie had given him with the Starfleet insignia on them. His chest aches all over again with thirty different emotions and the biggest, loudest one is grief. 

“You two...” Castiel keeps his voice quiet and doesn’t push, doesn’t try to get Dean to look at him. “You two have a connection.” 

It’s not a question so much as it is a statement. 

“Yeah,” Dean answers without thinking, hates the way his voice cracks.

“And you...” He can feel Cas’ eyes boring into him, wonders if Cas is checking to see whether or not his soul is still there. “You want to protect her.” 

Dean downs the rest of his glass in one go and sits down in the chair next to him, “I don’t know.” 

The war room is silent for a few minutes at the admission, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

The chair scraping against the floor barely registers with Dean until Cas is right there, standing in front of him. He looks up a little dazed and is abruptly reminded of Stull and how Cas had looked so heavenly, had given him a glimmer of hope. 

Castiel’s hand reaches out and hesitates, hovering in the air between them until Dean gives a slight nod.

His eyes close when he feels those familiar hands settle on his cheeks, his heart stutters when Cas’ thumbs brush over the lines of his cheekbones.

“We make quite a pair,” Cas murmurs thoughtfully, his thumbs not stopping.

Dean snorts despite himself and leans into the warmth, “Yin and Yang.” 

“No...” He hums and settles one hand on the back of Dean’s neck when he feels him leaning in closer and closer, “Not quite.” 

“I swear, if you start singing Katy Perry...” Dean finally gives in and lets his face fall into Cas’ stomach, resisting the urge to rub his face against the soft shirt. 

Castiel huffs a quiet laugh and runs a hand through Dean’s hair, “Are you implying that being a missing puzzle piece would be inaccurate?” 

Dean actually thinks about it for a moment as one of his arms wrap around Cas’ waist before he mumbles a little petulantly, “No.” 

There’s something easy about this.

It’s always easy with the two of them, even when it’s not easy. Even when they’re both scared to touch each other, it’s still easy to do something so sentimental like press a kiss to Cas’ chest. 

No matter where they are in their relationship, what they’ve done in their lives - they fit. Cas dropped into Dean’s life and slipped into a hole he hadn’t realized needed filling. 

“We’ll figure this out,” Cas promises quietly, runs his fingers over Dean’s scalp. “You’re not alone in this, Dean.” 

It doesn’t mean much in the long run - they can’t predict what will happen with the Darkness, they can’t stop Amara. Cas can’t protect Dean from whatever Amara has planned for him, not if she’s really God’s sister. 

But it makes him breathe a little easier, at least for right now. 

“For what it’s worth, Cas,” he mumbles into the shirt. “You’ve got me for as long as you want me.” 

It’s a little more honest than he intended to be.

Castiel’s Grace flares up so much that the lights flicker for a moment. Dean laughs fondly, tightens an arm around Cas. 

He almost misses it when Cas says, “Does forever work for you?”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes out, “That works.” 

[lapislazuliblue]

mr. krabs, councilman jamm, the blue alien from mass effect, cas, black widow, spock

WELL THIS IS A VERY RANDOM GROUP OF PEOPLE

Push off a cliff - Mr. Krabs, though let’s be real I’d just throw a dollar off the cliff and grab some popcorn

Kiss - Black Widow, HELL YEA HELL YEA

Marry - LIARA, MY SPACE WIFE, LOVE OF MY LIFE, STARS IN MY NIGHT SKY (aka the blue alien from mass effect)

Set on Fire - Councilman Jamm, fuck that guy, I’d take so much pleasure out of setting his annoying gross ass on fire

Wrap a Blanket around - Cas, god give my poor bby a blanket and some hot coco and just LET HIM LIVE IN PEACE

Be Roommates with - Spock (I had to put him somewhere and I guess this is where he landed)

[xylodemon]

first date; deancas, 800 words -- for dirtyovercoats, who wanted an awkward first date. Unfortunately, this is only mostly that.

[AO3]

--

"Okay," Dean tells his reflection. "Okay. You can do this. It's just dinner."

They're at the ritzy Italian restaurant in Smith Center, which is the kind of place Dean usually avoids unless he's questioning the manager about the weird rattling noise in the stockroom or the cold spots behind the bar. The mirror in the restroom is rose-colored; between that and the dim lighting he seems younger, more bright-eyed. He doesn't look like a guy who's been to hell or been a demon or -- any of that.

He checks his watch. He's been gone a little over eight minutes.

It took him about four years to realize he was in love with Cas and about three more years to actually admit it. Another two months passed before he finally worked up the nerve to ask Cas out, and then it was another month before the monsters cut them a break long enough to make a reservation somewhere. All of that, and now Dean is hiding in the restroom like a fucking baby because that's easier than making conversation with a guy he already more or less lives with.

"Okay," Dean says again. The restroom's floor and counters are all dark-polished marble, so his voice hums around the stillness, just enough to set his teeth on edge.

Nine minutes. Cas doesn't really get bored, not like humans do, but he does get irritated sometimes, and Dean's been gone so long that he's starting to imagine the worst -- Cas drumming his fingers on the fancy tablecloth, frowning at the breadsticks the server brought over in a delicate, gold-wire basket, stabbing a cocktail straw into the twelve-dollar martini he ordered.

A fucking chocolate martini, because molecules or not he's developed a sweet-tooth over the last few months. He chews watermelon gum when he drives, and he leaves Starburst wrappers on the couch when he watches tv, and he likes to hang out in the bunker's kitchen when Dean is baking, just so he can sample the pie filling while it's hot and sneak raw cookie dough behind Dean's back. When Dean tells him not to, he just shrugs and says, Stop worrying, Dean, I can't actually get botulism.

Ten minutes. Dean should really get back out there, before Cas gives up on him and leaves. They drove over in the Impala, but Cas knows how to steal a car. He's got his own credit cards now, so he could pay a taxi. He could --

"Dean?"

Dean doesn't quite jump out of his skin, but it's close. He turns around as Cas is stepping out of the shadows in the doorway, and -- wow. Dean has seen him in his gray fed suit a hundred times, but he's wearing a slate-blue shirt tonight instead of his usual white, and his soft, grey and blue tie is a little loose, the knot slightly off center. His throat is all smooth skin and long lines, and Dean can't stop staring. He wants to touch, but that feels like it should be impossible. With the restroom's dull light humming behind him, Cas looks as otherworldly as he actually is, like all that stardust and intent is just right there, bright enough to burn Dean out if he gets too close.

"Dean," Cas says again, taking another step inside. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I was just -- um."

Cas pauses for a moment, his mouth soft at the corners. Soft and kind of sad. "If you're uncomfortable, we don't --"

"No, I want to," Dean blurts. "I want to. I just -- I don't really know how to do this."

"If it makes you feel any better, neither do I."

Oh, right. Of course. Dean feels like the biggest idiot alive.

"You know, this isn't necessary," Cas continues, his voice careful and low. "As I understand things, people date so they can get to know each other, and so they can decide if they'd like to pursue a relationship. I already know everything about you, and I don't need to decide anything. I chose you years ago."

"Cas," Dean says. His throat feels tight. "I just -- I wanted us to do something normal. You know, just once."

Cas studies him for a moment, then kisses him, leaning in slow and brushing their mouths together easy and soft. He tastes like chocolate and vodka from his stupid martini, and he curls his hand around the back of Dean's neck, stroking his thumb over the dip behind Dean's ear. As he pulls away, he slides his other hand down Dean's arm, pausing at Dean's wrist before he laces their fingers together.

"Dean," he says quietly. "Have dinner with me."

"Yeah," Dean says, kissing him again. "Yeah, I can do that."

[antique-romantic]

leknope replied to your post:So I made it to the musical episode of scrubs

best musical episode of anything ever tbh

pretty feelsy for a musical ep though like woah