#makes me think about cas and that bed and breakfast dean wanted to be part of desperately

[castieldelamancha]

me: :(

my brain: ed and stede are in love and starting a new life together, they dream of opening an inn together too

me: :)

[stargazedwinchester]

Angel Girl | Dean

Summary: Dean learns you're not human, but an angel.

Requested here! Thank you! Let me know if you want a part 2! Felt like I could write this forever but obvs had to end it at some point lmaoo

Word count: 1,299

Taglist: @rowenalovee @amythedoctor @girlsforpjm @chaospossum @take-it-on-the-run, @themidnightwitch44 @linkthetrashgoblin

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

Dean's love life has always been rocky, from casual dating to raunchy hookups with the girls he finds at the local bar and waking up the next day simultaneously enjoying and regretting his life choices. He's never settled for anyone and the relationships he's had over the years have almost always ended on the wrong foot.

Until he met you.

Castiel had introduced you both whilst Cas had made an excuse of hearing your prayer over an issue that made him realise you're not quite the person that needed help, of course, because you were different.

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

Dean wakes up in a cold sweat, his heart beating 100 times a second. His eyes scan the room to ensure he's awake and not in a dream state. He takes a deep breath, before propping himself up in bed, looking over at his bedside table and checking the time. 5:24 AM. "God damn it," He sighs, placing his head in his hands, hunching over. He rubs his stubble to try and wake himself up. His fern-coloured orbs meet with the ceiling. 

"God, just give me a break." He whispers, resting his forearm across his eyes. "Please let me sleep." He huffs, attempting to relax before sleeping again. The sound of large wings echoes the room, and Dean refuses to move his arm. "Cas, get out." He shoos, waving his spare hand.

"Hello." A sweet voice appears, making Dean jump out of his skin. He reaches for his gun and points it at the figure standing at his door. Fear takes over his face, his eyes enlarged and his mouth slightly agape. 

"Y/N?" He asks, his face reading multiple different emotions. "How did you get here?" He stumbles, his thought process is jumbled right now. His gorgeous eyes meet yours, then you look down at the floor. 

"I heard your prayer."

"M-my prayer?" He lays his gun flat on the bed, his gaze unable to move away from you. You nod.

"It's universal... You pray to God and angels can answer." You smile at him, yet he remains confused. "Y/N, you're an angel?" He questions, gradually getting up from the mattress. You assume that he already knew, maybe Cas had told him prior but Dean chose to not say anything about it. The surprise from Dean surprises you. "You didn't know?" You say softly, and Dean shakes his head. "I thought Cas would have told you, but that's okay. I guess there's much to talk about." You chuckle lightly. "Yeah, we do."

You tell Dean that you'll be back the following day to answer all of his questions, and allow him to return to bed so he can go back to sleep.

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

You arrive at the bunker, the early morning Kansas sun beaming down onto the back of your head as you let yourself in. You walk down the stairs and meet Dean in the kitchen who's cooking up breakfast for himself. "Hey Dean," You greet, showing him a friendly smile. You stand next to the counter as he turns around and faces you. "Hey Y/N. You didn't zap in today?" He asks, scraping scrambled eggs and bacon onto two plates. "No, I wanted to seem more... normal. Human, I guess. Did it work?" You ask, a gleam in your eyes. "Yeah, I'd say so." He starts, reaching over to the drawer where the cutlery is kept. He passes you a plate, a knife and a fork. "Y'know, I was thinking last night..." He says, leading you over to the dining table. "I want to show you how to act more human. So..." He slides the plate in front of you, the steam travelling up toward your face, the smell engulfing you.

"I thought we could start with you trying food. Here," He passes you the cutlery in the correct hands. "Dig in." He finishes, piling his breakfast onto his fork and bringing it to his mouth. You attempt to do the same, but much slower. You bring it up to your mouth, allowing the food to sit there in your mouth for a few seconds. You swallow, Dean watching your every move. "See? Not so bad is it?" He chuckles lightly, and you smile at him. "No, it's quite enjoyable. The flavours are quite foreign." You say, lifting another forkful. 

You have both finished your breakfast, Dean's crack at trying to help you has definitely helped, but he's not done yet. He suggests that you both take a night to yourselves to catch you up on the most iconic movies. 

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

"I had an idea of watching a chick flick for tonight," He almost shivers at the idea. "Just this once. Then we can watch Star Wars." He says, and you laugh at him. "Dean Winchester watching a movie made specifically for teenagers... I never thought I'd see the day." You chuckle, and he smirks at your quick comment. "Hey, there's nothing wrong with a chick flick every so often." He admits, switching the TV over to something very close to Netflix, but is borderline illegal. Upon choosing Wild Child, you both sit back, remaining quiet throughout the whole movie.

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

The movie finishes, and you glance over to Dean, who's sound asleep sitting up, his arms are crossed and one leg is resting over the other. Despite being an angel, you can't help but feel something warm and fuzzy ignite in your chest, a feeling of adoration and... something else you can't quite put your finger on. He shuffles, and you nudge his arm gently. "Dean," You whisper, trying to not startle him. He groans, his eyes flickering. "Dean, the movie has finished." You shake him again, and he rapidly sits up properly. "I'm awake." Dean rubs his eyes, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He stretches, his arms above his head. His t-shirt rides up a little, and you can't help but glare. He rests one arm above his head, and the other beside you on the sofa. 

Dean reaches for the TV remote and searches for one of the many Star Wars movies. "So, how'd you like that one?" He asks with his gaze upon you. You nod. "It was good. I can see why it's so popular." You smile, a gentle look on your face. He grins at you, nodding his head. "Can't say I've seen it many times myself," He clears his throat, searching for 'The Empire Strikes Back'. "Dean, I know when you're lying." You add, scanning his face. "What? No I'm not," He chuckles nervously, avoiding any eye contact with you. "Yes you are, I can feel it. Your weird behaviour is offputting."

"Offputting? That's rude." He jokes and the movie auto-plays. The intro to the movie startles you, and Dean laughs at you. "That's really loud." You huff, and Dean relaxes an arm around your shoulders. "It's okay. That's the only loud part of the movie." He adds, shuffling closer to you. "Now, this is one of the best Star Wars movies they've ever made," He starts, and you allow him to ramble about the context of the movie and which actor plays what character. You sit and stare at him whilst he has his rant, his passion for something has really intrigued you like no other.

Everyone will always have a say about supernatural beings and how they differ from humans, how the stereotype that angels are typically full of wisdom and forgiveness. But for you, wisdom is the need to know the true forms of the Winchester brothers, especially Dean. Something about him and the need to aid other people except himself has always bewildered you. 

Hoping that this will help you bring him closer to you, you'd just about do anything for that to happen.

[blessyourhondahurley]

Part 1: Morning

After the best (mostly) sleepless night of his life, Dean wakes up to the start of a very special day.

(Read on AO3)

Dean can't sleep.

He's had sleepless nights before, of course. Hundreds, honestly thousands of them. Nights when his blood screamed with adrenaline left over from a recent fight. Nights when the pain of fresh wounds throbbed with every heartbeat. Nights when his head spun from whiskey, and cigarettes cadged off of friendly strangers. He's lain awake in anger, in despair, in loneliness, in exhaustion so deep it drove away the very cure it craved. He's spent bleak hours watching the numbers change on a cheap motel's cheap clock, too overwhelmed with dread for the coming day to allow himself even the respite of a long blink.

Today, though, for the first time in his harrowed life, he is wide awake with joy.

It's a few ticks past 4 a.m. according to the pretty nice clock on his pretty nice dresser. He is curled on his side in his bed, wrapped in warmth, listening to the pre-dawn birdsong, and he's so full of joy he thinks he might cry with it. He'd turned in shortly after midnight, but sleep so far hasn't come to him. He's just been lying there all night, smiling into the dark like a crazy person.

It's the sweetest vigil he's ever kept.

~~~~~

To his own great surprise, he must actually manage to fall asleep at some point, despite the joy (and the birds), because when the alarm rings at quarter of six, it jolts him out of a gauzy dream. The blankets shift and the form beside him unfurls. Cas gives a low, rumbling groan that Dean can feel in his spine as he's spooned snugly from behind. An arm wraps around his waist, a broad hand flattens on his belly, possessive.

“Too early,” the love of his life grumbles. Dean can't help but grin.

“You're the one who set the alarm, baby,” he chuckles, nudging a gentle elbow back into his bed mate's ribs. “We've got a busy day ahead of us, remember, and you said it was important that we had, and I am quoting you here directly, 'enough time to eat a filling, nutritious breakfast'.”

Cas drops a dry kiss, sleepy and slantwise, onto the side of his neck. “I regret every word,” he rasps.

“Oh really?” Dean says. “Because I also remember you including a slot in the agenda for morning sex. You regret that part too?”

Another kiss, this one firmer and with a hint of teeth. Cas's hand slips down Dean's tummy and insinuates itself under the elastic of his boxers. “On second thought I stand by my earlier statement in its entirety.”

It never takes Dean long to get riled up in the mornings, not when it's Cas doing the riling. Twenty minutes later, they're giggling in the shower, bodies flushed and blushing with post-coital glow. The day already feels golden, and his body feels weightless, like decades of fatigue and wear have fallen away from him. He's starting to contemplate a soap-slicked round two, his dick plumping a little between their bellies, when Cas slaps his ass hard and shoves him out of the spray.

“Go make me pancakes. You promised.”

“Bossy,” Dean says as he reaches for a towel. “You're lucky I love you.”

Cas turns off the water and gives him a gummy grin. “Yes, I am. I want mine with chocolate chips, thanks.”

Grumbling good-naturedly about eons-old entities with palates like a toddler's, Dean pulls on a clean pair of boxers and heads to the kitchen.

~~~~~

“Are you sure we have everything we need?” Cas asks him again. It's ten or fifteen to 9:00, and they need to get on the road soon if they want to be on time. On cue, the last-minute jitters have shown up. Cas is standing in the middle of the kitchen, wringing his hands together and looking around like he's never seen the place before in his long, long life. “I just feel like we're forgetting something,” he says plaintively.

Dean slots the last of the breakfast dishes in the drainer and turns to wrap him up in a hug. He kisses the spot on his beloved's forehead where his eyebrows are drawn up with worry.

“We're good, babe,” he soothes. “I checked and triple-checked. The car's packed, the calls have been made, the paperwork is all filed, I even took the trash out already.”

He can feel Cas's body relax in his arms as he runs down the list. Once the worst of the tension has dissipated, he pulls away (because they really are on a schedule here) and pecks out one more quick forehead kiss. “Today is gonna go off without a hitch,” he promises.

Cas smirks, puts a little tease in his voice. “Not even one hitch?” he asks.

Dean laughs. He has to kiss him for real then. They let it go on a bit too long, but, well, fuck it. It's their day. “C'mon, sweetheart,” he says, grabbing his fiance's hand and tugging him towards the garage. “Let's go get married.”

Continues here

[cheynovak]

Forest Green Eyes - PART 2  

Castiel & Y/N Winchester  

Warnings:  Bad family dynamic, over protected, abuse, bad language …  

Side note: English isn’t my first language.  

Words:  1816

This story takes place after the SPN finally. Jack asked Castiel to go back to earth to be the guardian angel of Y/N. Cas accepts this task but only to discover that Y/N is the biological child of Dean.  

 

Part 3 - link below  

----------------------- 

 

“Let’s go. I will take you away, anywhere you want. But not without clothes or a bag. You at least leave a note for your parents.” He tried to say firm.  

“Thanks Cas.” She said while hugging him. Here hair touched his chin and while their hug lasted longer than usual, he could have sworn that for a second... No that’s not possible!  

But as soon as she pulled back and he looked in Y/N’s Forest green eyes all he could see was hope, stubbornness and... Dean. 

“Castiel and Y/N drove quietly into the night. After the hug and leaving Texas, he and Y/N didn’t really spoke much. Y/N was clearly tired, so Castiel suggested to search for a motel to get some rest.  

When they arrived, the receptionist looked suspicious at the angel. “One Room?” he asked to confirm Castiel’s question looking back and forward between Y/N and Castiel. 

 Y/N started to get nervous. “Yes, two queens.” she said quickly.  

“Why did that man look so troubled?” The angel asked. “Probably because of the million years of age difference.” Y/N laughs.  

Y/N took a nice hot shower and went to bed while Castiel was watching the TV.  

“Hey Cas, would you mind telling me one of your stories?” When Y/N was a kid and had trouble sleeping would Castiel tell her biblical stories of the old heavens.  

“I’m pretty sure you’ve heard them all.”  

“Oh, come on Castiel, I’m sure there is more.” She said with puppy eyes.  

“Fine” He thought for a second, “Let me tell you about my friends, the Winchester brothers.” He said while sitting himself next to her on the bed. Y/N looked with glisters in her eyes while Cas talked about Sam and Dean. What they went through.  

Hours went by and Y/N not once interrupted Castiel’s story.  

She noticed that whenever he talked about Dean his eyes would light up or he would smile a little.  

That when he talks about the older Winchester’s troubles, he could still feel the pain.  

Castiel told Y/N what he did to protect Dean. “That’s the last time I got to see him. I’m not allowed to contact the dead in heaven.”  

“You really loved him. Didn’t you.” She asked the angel with tears in her eyes.  

Castiel could barely look her in the eyes, afraid to get lost in them. Ever since he truly looked at her last night, all he wanted to do was stare in them. It made him feel connected to Dean again.  

“I do.” He said. “You need to get some sleep.” He abruptly jumps of the bed.  

“Goodnight Cas.”  

“Goodnight, Kid.” 

The next morning, they had a quick breakfast at the diner. ”So where are we going now?”  

“Well after talking about Sam and Dean last night I thought I take you to the bunker? What do you think?” Said Castiel while he watched Y/N gobbles her food. “Wait, that still exists?” She asked without looking up from her plate. 

“I hope so! You really like food, don’t you?”  

She smiled and took the last bite. 

 

The ride in the car was again, silent, part from the radio playing Metallica. You turned it up and started to hum. Castiel couldn’t stop thinking about the similarities between you and the oldest Winchester brother, surely, he must see those signs because he misses Dean.  

A few miles on the road your car started to make weird noises, before either of you could have said anything, broke the car down. “Great.” Sight Castiel.  

“Well, looks like there is second-hand dealership nearby according to google.” Maybe they fix cars as well?” Y/N said with a positive attitude. “Just a short walking trip.”   

 The man who owned the dealership and his son, who wasn’t very much older than Y/N, perhaps a year or 2, told Cas that they normally don’t fix cars, except when they can sell them. But that if they want, his son would be more than happy to fix theirs for a small price, if they helped out.  

Y/N was happy to learn more about mechanics. She already knew the basics from the class she took in high school. But never got further than changing tiers and oil.  

At the end of that day, the owner of the shop offers Castiel and Y/N to stay for dinner before they hit the sack. Castiel accepted because he knew Y/N would be starving.  

He watched while Y/N and the son were talking and laughing. Even though he was glad that she got along with people her age. He couldn’t help to feel jealous. This was the first time in 10 years that she made a friend beside him. “Your daughter is very handy. My son told me that she pretty much fixed your car all by herself, all he had to do is tell her where to look.”  

Castiel’s focus shifts from de teenagers to the man. “Yes, yes she is. A born gift I guess.”  

 

Y/N looked over at her guardian, the two of them meet each other's eyes, again. And without a word he knew exactly what she is thinking. For the first time in her life, she was truly happy.  

Y/N’s lips curled into a smile like she agreed with his thoughts.  

After a few more hours Y/N and Castiel decided to hit the road again. Cas thanked the man and his son for their help and dinner. While Y/N and the kid exchanged phone numbers. 

 

The ride to the bunker wasn’t that far anymore. But Y/N managed to fall asleep right away.  

Castiel parked the car in front of the bunker and watched Y/N sleeping. He studied every outline on her face, every freckle, her full soft lips. “You know Cas, looking at people sleep like that is creepy.” Y/N smiled, slowly opening her eyes.  

“We’ve arrived. But I didn’t want to wake you.” He said softly.  

After a small house tour Castiel told Y/N to go to bed. “Let’s explore tomorrow.”  

Y/N gave Cas a small peck on his cheek and hugged him good night. “Thank you Castiel, for taking such good care of me. This was the best day I ever had.” 

The angel felt his cheeks turn red and his heart jumped almost out of his chest.  

Castiel wanted Y/N to finish high school, so they made an agreement. At least go to school until you graduate. So, she did. Not that it wasn’t easy being the new weird kid at 15. No friends apart from some loners like herself. They were supposed to at least join one P.E. activity beside school.  

So Y/N chose martial arts. Castiel thought that was a good way to being able to defend herself.  

Her grades weren’t spectacular, but she at least tried. Castiel not once had to go to school, so the town folks had no idea who her parent is. Only that her name was Y/N Novak daughter of Jimmy Novak. But because she mostly sticked to herself no one had questions.  

--  

The older Y/N got, the more Castiel saw characteristics compatible to Dean’s.  

She was 23 now, worked at a car dealer a town over. Drove and old red Chevy Chevelle. And yes, had a boyfriend, her colleague Steve. Not her first boyfriend. But the first she brought home. 

By now Castiel no longer pretended to be her father “Jimmy Novak” he now was here “roommate” Cas.  

 

Late at night and Cas heard Y/N and Steve argue. About how he thought it was weird that an “old man” was living with her. And the way he looked at her, was just creepy. And that he wanted her to come live with him.  

She declined his proposition a couple of times. Telling him that she would never abandon him after all he had done for her.  

Her arguments, the way she looked him dead in the eye pretending that this fight didn’t hurt her as much as it actually did. She took off to her room in anger and but before she turned around the corner, she told Steve to pack his stuff and leave. So, he did.  

 

Castiel made a list over the years with everything he could remember about Dean and compered them with Y/N.  

Green eyes? Check 

Light brown hair? Check 

Freckles? Check 

Anger issues? Check 

Trust Issues? Check 

Check, check, … Check. Why didn’t Jack told him? Why would that be such a bad thing? Maybe he didn’t know either?  

He couldn’t wrap his head around it, so the angel went for a walk. When he came back, Y/N was still in her room. The angel decided to make sure she was ok.  

“Y/N? Can I come in?”  

“Sure.” She rubbed a single tear away.  

“Are you ok?” “Yeah Cas, I'm great!” She rolled her eyes.  

He stood there not knowing what to do. When she was younger, he hugged her and told her everything would be ok. But maybe Steve was right, hanging out with an older man is weird. So, he wanted to respect her by keeping his distance, although every fibre in his body wanted to hold Y/N in his arms.  

“Well, if there is anything I can do, just let me know.” He turned towards the door.  

“Cas, wait, please. Can you, … I don’t know, stay with me tonight? I really don’t want to be alone now” 

“Are you sure? “  

“Yes, please?” That answer made his heartbeat faster, he felt this weird feeling in his stomach. And before he knew it, he sat beside her on the bed. “You can lay down if you want to. I trust you Cas”  

“Eh, yeah sure.” She immediately placed her head on his chest and her hand next to it holding on to his shirt. Castiel wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her just a tiny bit closer. He smelt her favorite shampoo, felt her warmth through his shirt. Why does this feel so right but wrong at the same time. His heart made jumps he never felt.  

He softly pressed a kiss on her head. She didn’t really responded part from a soft hum. She was already asleep.  

 

All Castiel could think of is how he wanted to hold her in his arms forever. How right this feels.  

It has been a long time since he felt these feelings. But is there a chance he feels this way because she reminds him of.... him?  

-------------------------------------------

If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

[roonyxx]

If Only...: Chapter 6

Summary: When you get an invite from your family to go see them you refuse because they are always on your ass about being single. So what if Dean says he will pretend to be yours?

Warnings: language, tension, angst, fluff.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

A/N: The text divider is from the very talented @talesmaniac89​​, so part 6 is out, thoughts are in italic, all typos and mistakes are mine (proofreading is hard) I hope you all enjoy xxx

Wordcount: 3900

If Only Masterlist

My Masterlist

Part 6

You woke up with a soft yawn. Stretching yourself out in the heavenly comfortable bed, a groan leaving your lips.

“Morning sweetheart.” Dean’s gravelly voice cut through the silence of the room.

“Mornin’” you breathed out, “What time is it?”

“Around 11.” He answered.

“What?! Oh no!” you threw the sheets off of you. “We’re so late!”

He chuckled as he saw you hop on one leg and pulling your sock on the other, “Move Dean!”

“Relax sweetheart. I took care of it.” He put his hands behind his head, his shirt clung tight to his chest, making his nipples a little bit visible.

After tearing your eyes away from his perfect torso, you looked up to see his ever green eyes and a proud smirk on his face.

“You took care of it?” you frowned “How do you mean?”

“I mean that I called the reception desk and told them to tell your family they won’t see us today.” He stated.

“You really did that?” you sat back down on the bed.

“Yes, after yesterday, I think we deserve some time off the drama, no?” he sat up on his elbows. “Are you mad I did that?” his voice sounded a little unsure.

“No! not at all, I’m actually really glad because I was not looking forward to today.” You gave him a small smile. “So today, we just lie in bed all the time?” you chuckled lightly, as much as Dean could enjoy laying in his bed until afternoon, he rarely spends all day in it.

“No. Today I’m in charge of the schedule.” He smiled at you.

“Oh? So what’s on it.”

“You’ll see.” He winked at you as he got up and went into the bathroom.

While he got ready in the bathroom, you got dressed in the room. After, you ate breakfast together.

“Are you ready?” he asked you as he put on his jacket.

“I think yes? Depends on where we’re going.” You wrapped your scarf around your neck and walked out of the door with Dean close behind you.

“Nothing special yet, that’s for tonight. I just wanted to see the town a little more and the sights. So up until tonight, you’ll lead me.” He pushed the button to call the elevator.

“We can look for some presents for Sam, Cas and Jack in town, and see the lake from the west side. It’s very beautiful. You are making me really curious about tonight though.” You said as you stepped inside.

“Sounds perfect to me. Relax, it’s just a little something to show you my gratitude.”  

“Gratitude?” you looked up at your handsome companion.

“Yeah you know, for bringing me along to all this. I’m having the time of my life.” He looked down at you with a smile.

It warmed your heart to hear that. Dean being happy is the sole purpose of your life.

“You don’t have to do anything for it Dean. You deserve all this.”

The elevator pinned when it arrived at the destinated floor. The doors slide open and you both stepped into the lobby.

You were about to walk outside when a tug to your wrist stopped you. You frowned to see Dean had stopped in the doorframe of the entrance of the resort.

“Dean? What’s wrong.”

He tugged you closer, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You swallowed hard, both your hands rested against his warm chest.

“Dean what are you doing…” you whispered at him.

He looked down at you, a faint smile on his face. His free hand came up to cup your cheek. He licked his lips and bend his head towards you. His breath fanned over your face, your eyes fluttered shut as his nose brushed yours and then…

He kissed you. His lips pressed against yours, not moving yet, just his lips tightly on yours. Only when you fisted his flannel shirt he moved his lips, opening his mouth slightly to take your top lip between his, his tongue brushed the sensitive flesh. A whimper left your mouth as you opened up to him and felt his tongue brush over your bottom lip before he softly slipped it inside to explore your mouth. A groan erupted from his throat and arrived in your mouth, you felt the vibrations of it through his chest. He slightly sucked at your tongue as he pulled away, the sucking noise sounded as a bell that brought you back on Earth.

He held you close and looked at you, his lips now swollen and slick, his pupils a tad wider then before. Your tongue darted out to lick your own lips, swallowing hard when you tasted him on it.

You tasted Dean Winchester on your lips…

“W-what was that…” you stuttered.

He gave you a sweet smile and looked up at the mistletoe dangling from the ceiling and then casted his eyes towards the reception where Cindy and Marc stood.

“Couldn’t miss that opportunity, now could I?”

It was all for show… of course it was! That’s why he was here. He was here as your friend and pretend boyfriend. Not real, Y/n. It’s not real…

“Oh… yeah.” You slightly pushed out of his embrace and stepped outside, taking a big and needed gulp of fresh air. Let it go Y/n. When you get back to the bunker it’s all over.

“You alright?” Dean asked when he saw you breathe in deeply.

“Yeah… I am. I was just surprised. That’s all.” You walked further outside towards town.

“Oh shit… sorry I didn’t mean to… I just saw the mistletoe and with your foster parents, I wante-“

You chuckled slightly at your friends rambling.

“It’s okay Dean, you did nothing wrong… it was quite good even.” You muttered that last part, but the skilled hunter had heard it none the less.

“Yes? Because it was good to me too. You’re a good kisser, Y/n.” he took your hand when you entered town.

“I am? Because it’s been a while since I kissed anyone…” you looked down at your feet, the snow on the tip of your boots was suddenly very interesting.

“How long is a while?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know… four years maybe?” you sighed. Four years without feeling lips on yours, without feeling hands trace your skin, without soft touches you desperately craved, without feeling wanted…

“Well I didn’t notice it, it was really good.” He smiled at you.

“Thank you. How long has it been for you?” you could kick yourself in the face for asking that…

“Oh uhm… two months ago, I think?” he looked up in thought, a small smile coming over his face as he remembered that evening.

You remember it too… the moaning through the motel walls. That was an awful night.

“Oh yeah… the park ranger, right?” you asked.

“Yeah, she was a feisty one.” He let out a low whistle.

Your earlier high of his kiss was now crushed with jealousy. You’ll never be like those girls. They looked like supermodels, you were just one in a million faces.

“How do you do it ?” his voice made you look up.

“Do what?” you frowned.

“Not kiss for four years, I mean… you didn’t have sex for four years?!” he looked baffled. You suppose for a guy with his looks, it’s unimaginable.

“It’s not by choice, Dean.” You slightly snapped at him. “Like I said before, guys aren’t lining up to me. It takes two to have sex.” You kicked at the snow in annoyance. It’s not like nothing happened, you got by thanks to the shower and your beloved toys. But still… a toy doesn’t make you feel wanted, a toy can’t grab you or kiss you, a toy can’t touch you in the way you needed.

“Sorry…” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

You stopped walking and sighed “No it’s fine, I’m sorry. I just get grumpy about it. It’s not your fault Dean. I’m just…”

“Frustrated?” he finished for you.

You nodded. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Well those guys are fools, you’re an absolutely gorgeous woman, super funny and one hell of a hunter too.” He smiled at you.

You blushed hard and looked into his eyes, seeing the honesty in them made you only blush more.

“Thank you, Dean.” You started walking again and pointed towards a shop. “I think we could find something cool there for Sam.”

He nodded and went with you inside.

For Sam you bought a new winter jacket, you saw his old one was frayed, had holes and stains on it. This one was a thick jacket with many pockets and a plaid lining on the inside to keep the giant warm. For Cas you bought a snow globe with a picture of Dean, Sam, Jack, Cas himself and you inside. A smile already growing on your face at just of the thought of when he will ask you what the purpose of the fake snow inside is. And for Jack you asked the store owner to engrave his mother’s name into an iron ring.

Luckily you had already bought Dean’s present and it was well hidden in your room, for him you had gotten a miniature replica of the Impala he could use as a keychain and you had taken the old pictures of his mom, Sam, and even the one with bobby and took them to a specialist to restore them professionally. The old ones you had silently placed back into his room after and the restored copies were waiting in your room for Christmas eve. You really hope he wouldn’t mind you borrowed them.

Dean bought his presents as well, he smiled, content with what he had found. You also saw the fake fart balloon that made it into his bag but you pretended you didn’t see it. But smiled to yourself, he is such a dork.

After the shopping you and Dean ate lunch in one of the little restaurants, Dean’s smile only grew bigger when he opened the menu, they only served pancakes in this restaurant. Dean, of course, took the Pancake Tower. Which existed out of fifteen pancakes stacked upon each other and in between each pancake there was molten chocolate, turning the pile in a pancake pie. Finished off with some syrup on top.

“You’re never gonna finish all of that.” You said to him as he licked his lips, his eyes fixated on the pile in front of him.

“Oh watch me, sweetheart.” He said as he lifted his cutlery.

And he did… he finished everything, within twenty minutes. While you were struggling with your fourth pancake you could see him eye your dish.

“You’re kidding, right?” you said, “How are you not rolling out of here?!” you gently shoved your plate towards the tall hunter.

“Because I’m a warrior, I need my fuel!”

And so you watched him eat two more pancakes.

When you stepped out of the restaurant you caught him rubbing his tummy with a sigh in the corner of your eye.

“How’s the warrior tummy doing?” you smiled at him.

“Shut up you.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer into him. His scent welcomed you, and with that the tingly sensation of your lips returned, your mind was still reeling over that kiss. It was the best kiss you ever had.

“So we have about” he looked at his watch on the wrist that was resting on your shoulders, “Three hours left before we have to get back. What do you want to do?”

“I want to show you the other side of the mountains, we can take the ski-lift up.”  You pointed towards the station where the carts went up on the cable.

“Wait what? You want me to step into one of those death traps?!” he stood frozen at the spot, his eyes looked over the egg shaped containers that carried people up the mountain.

“Dean, it’s completely safe. Noting ever happened to it. You can also walk up the mountain.”

“Safe?! It’s a metal box hanging from a cable 150 feet up in the air!” he grunted.

You pulled him along “I promise it’s safe, I’ll hold your hand, okay?” you teased him.

He gave you a glare that resembled Sam’s famous bitch face, but he agreed and went with you to the station.

You both stepped into the box, sitting next to each other on the narrow bench, Dean hands clung tight to it.

“Hey…” you say as you slipped your hand over his, he turned his hand so you could intertwine your fingers, “It’s okay Dean.”

He nodded, his hand holding yours tighter, “Yeah.. sorry, I’m not a big fan of heights.”

“The Dean Winchester is afraid of heights?” you teased him, bumping your shoulder against his. “That’s okay, we all have a fear.”

You saw his eyes looking outside the windows, flicking over the mountains.

“Hey Dean, look at me.” You held his hand a little tighter and waited for his eyes to meet yours.

“My car at the bunker, it makes a rattling noise when I start it, do you know what it is?” you asked him.

He frowned a little, like the question took him by surprise.

“Does the noise come from under your hood or under the car?”

“Definitely under the hood.” You answered him.

“I can’t say for sure without taking a look but sounds to me like your water pump needs replacing.”

“Is it a lot of work to replace it?”

“Well I’ll have to remove the battery first to get access to it, then take off the water pump belt, I will change it too while I’m at it. Then I gotta take off the pully and drain your cooling system.  It shou-“ his sentence got cut when the box entered the top station and the doors opened to step out.

You both stepped out and he gave you a sly smile “You distracted me.”

“I had to get your mind off the height somehow, and it worked! And well my car does make a noise.” You shrugged.

“Thank you, it really helped.” He took your hand in his once again as you stepped out of the station and toward the little look out that gave a panoramic view over the entire resort and its surroundings.

“Oh wow… it’s beautiful.” He said looking down at the valley.

“Yeah, the resort looks so tiny from up here, like a doll house.” You rested your head against his shoulder. A soft smile graced your lips. This is what you want. Just you and him. Him close and him being happy. This was your dream.

You sighed, your dream was coming to an end. The day after tomorrow you would drive back home, and so his touches and looks would stop…

You had a taste of life with him, of how gentle he can be, of his soft touches and longing glances. You should be glad you at least had a taste, but letting it go would be twice as hard now… In the span of three days you only loved him more, and letting go will be harder than ever.

“You alright? You’re quiet.” He said as he looked down at you.

“I’m okay, just thinking of what you have planned for tonight.” you lifted your head to look at him.

“You’ll never be able to guess it.” he looked over the valley “You will have to dress warm.” He noted.

“Okay? Is that all I’m getting out of you?”

“Yep.” He popped the ‘P’ and stepped away from the look out. “Come on, if we head back now we can pick up a hot cocoa on the way.” He held his hand out for you that you gladly took.

“Yes! I want one with sprinkles in it!” you cheered with a wide smile.

You stepped with him back to the station and took a cart down, you arrived back in town where you took your cocoa before going back to the resort.

Once you were back in your room you put the presents for the boys near your bag and put on a few extra layers and saw Dean put on his long sleeve Henley. The muscles of his back stretched as he put the soft material over his skin, you quickly casted your eyes to the floor when you felt heat rise in your cheeks.

“You ready?” he asked as he shrugged on his jacket.

“I think yes?”

“Good” he opened the door and you went with him down to the garage.

“We’re taking Baby?” you said in disbelief.

“Yes we are, but first” he came to stand in front of you, holding one of his ties in his hands “I will blindfold you.”

“Oh…” dirty images of him resurfaced in your mind, but you quickly pushed them down, “Okay?”

He put the tie around your head and helped you inside the car before he got in himself and drove away.

“Is it a long drive?” you asked.

“Nope.” Was all he said.

You felt the car move, she turned right, then left, then you drove up, and up, and up…

“Are we going to the moon or what?” you chuckled.

“You’ll see.” He said with a smile in his voice.

After another five minutes the car came to a stop. He stepped out and came to your side to help you out and walked with you through what seemed to be like a field.

“Okay, I’m gonna take the blindfold off now.” He said as he stood behind you and slowly untied the piece of fabric.

You gasped when he pulled away the cloth. You were on top of mountain, at the edge of a grassy field which was cleared from the snow. In the middle stood a table with candles and some fairy lights held up by a thin wooden structure. Next to the table stood a fancy fire pit.

“What is all this?” you wondered.

“It’s dinner!” he exclaimed with a big smile and pulled you closer to the table where the food stood waiting under a preheated bowl.

“Dean… you did all this?” you looked around, the sun had set and the lights of the little town below were a beacon in the dark night.

“I asked for some arrangements, yes.” He stood next to you, watching over the town like a shepherd looking after his herd.

“Dean… you-“ he cut you off when he cupped your face, your eyes going wide.

“You haven’t seen the best part yet.” He tilted your head upwards to the clear sky, a million stars shone brighter than you had ever seen them before, the dark blue of the night made room for sways of purple and lighter blue to mix in where you could see the milky way. You had never seen it so bright.

“You always told me how you were sad you couldn’t see every star in the galaxy.” He whispered. “So when I saw the advertisement in the resort I booked it while you were in the shower.”

His hands were still on your face as you looked down at the green eyed hunter, at this man who you were so hopelessly in love with, this man that owned your heart, this man that amazed you every single day.

This man that you would never be able to call yours…

You wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his neck. You held him tight.

“Thank you so much Dean… no one has ever done something like this for me.” You whispered in his neck, his smell made you melt in his embrace.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close to him, “You’re welcome” he whispered back, and you stood there for a while. Just enjoying each other in that special moment.

“Come on, let’s eat before it gets cold.” He slowly loosened his grip on you to pull your chair back so you could take a seat. Him doing the same after you.

“Some wine?” he held up a bottle.

“Yes please” and watched him pour the red liquid.

The chair seat and back where heated and with the firepit, and the never ending blush in your cheeks, you certainly weren’t cold.

Dinner was nothing too complicated but extremely good.

“Dean… this is amazing.” You said with your last bite.

“It’s really nothing. I just wanted to do something nice for you, you deserve that.” He sipped from his wine. “You brought me here and I’m having the time of my life so I wanted to give something back.”

“I’m really enjoying myself too, I should have brought you along sooner!” you chuckled. “You’re the perfect boyfriend.”

“Oh really?” he gave you a little smirk.

“I mean… you’re just really charming with my family and gentle and…” you cleared your throat. “I’m having fun.”

“Yeah, me too.” He took a deep breath “Y/n? Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He already had your heart, nothing he could ask would be too much.

“Have you ever loved someone?” he looked at you intensely, a lump formed in your throat.

“How do you mean?” you gasped, was he onto to you? Why was he asking that now?

“An ex, a crush? Anyone?”

“Uhm… yeah, there is someone.” You couldn’t lie to him, he always called you out on it.

“Oh, there is? As in now?” he asked, curiosity laced his voice.

You nodded, and took a bigger gulp of your wine.

“Do I know him?”

“Yeah, you do.” You can’t tell him, he’s a good friend but that’s it, nothing more.

“It’s not Sam right?” his eyes went wide at the thought.

“What no! He’s like a brother to me.” A disgusted frown came over your face at the thought, Sam is no doubt an attractive man but he’s not who you want.

“So why isn’t that guy here with you?” he said as he filled your glass again.

A deep sigh left your lips. You hate to lie to him, but you can’t. Your fragile heart wouldn’t withstand the blast…

“It’s one sided…” you muttered, you face tilted down.

“Oh… Y/n I’m so sorry…” he reached out to you, putting his hand over yours.

You looked up at him and gave him a little smile, “It’s alright. I have everything I need, a roof over my head, food in my belly and an amazing best friend who is also a great mechanic.” You chuckled to lighten the mood. “Mates before dates, am I right?”

“Hell yes you are sweetheart, I bet Sam and I are way more fun than him anyway.”

“Yeah, I would be lost without you.” You turned your hand upwards to hold onto his.

“I- We would be too sweetheart. You’re family.”

You gave him a wide smile, even though you might never be able to call him yours. You were still part of his live, you were his family, and you heard the honesty in his voice. No matter what, you will always have a home with the Winchesters.

After the fire died out and conversation was replaced with yawns, you retreated back to the resort where you fell asleep with a content smile on your face.

Being with Dean might be your ultimate dream but as long as Dean was close, you were home. And that was enough for you.

Part 7

~ FEEDBACK IS GOLD ~

[castielcommunism]

those posts about dean being better as a deuteragonist are so interesting because there's that thing in fiction where the main character is so boring you wish x was the lead instead, like why cant we just have dessert for breakfast feeling, but in this case fulfilled badly in a cursed monkey's paw kinda way. anyways rambling but do you think that it could still work if there writing was better? or is samantha only that fun because carrie's there as a comparison doing main plot things?

Yeah I think “Dean should be a deuteragonist” is sort of a catchall statement for “the writing should be better” with a bunch of nested arguments for what you think “better” actually means. Like in an alternate universe where Sam remained the lead I’m sure you’d get a lot of people saying they wish Dean was the main character instead (alternate universe me might even be saying that!), because the question of who exactly is the main character doesn’t necessarily determine the quality of the show itself. spn is bad for reasons beyond this character imbalance (which I think most people understand when they’re making this argument anyway).

Like PERSONALLY I think the problem with Dean being the protagonist is that all other characters flow from him. What needs to be removed is that, not necessarily Dean being the main character of the show. I consumed spn by binge watching the entire show in the span of a few months, and it felt like an exercise in watching everyone slowly bend to his whim. All external goals are discarded in favour of following Dean. Cas especially suffers from this (“you just gave up your whole army for one guy” well Cas you didn’t need to do that! That’s pretty unreasonable of Dean to ask you to do that!), but Sam also definitely suffers from it in pretty egregious ways. Him wanting to get out of hunting and be independent is always punished, but it’s almost always done through the mechanism of his brother pulling him back in.

And these things aren’t inherently bad, like it’s fine if your protagonist is an obsessive controlling dick to his friends and family, but the show doesn’t seem to be aware that this is what they’re making Dean out to be. And that’s where I want to seriously tone down these traits in Dean’s character, because they’re SO overblown and dramatic and harsh with virtually no resolution or reflection that I cannot take it seriously. Sam and Dean do horrific shit to each other and the show goes damn that shit was crazy. anyway tune in next week where the brothers make up and never discuss this betrayal of trust and autonomy again!

I feel like I need to add a bajillion qualifiers to any post where I say what I just did in the above paragraph, but like canon Dean IS pretty unpleasant pretty frequently. Like I don’t think that’s really debatable. Carver Era and Dabb Era are especially egregious. I think part of the reason people enjoy Kripke Era is because Dean being an asshole was at a reasonable level with much more sympathetic motivations and reasons behind it, and we also got a more balanced perspective from Sam, the guy who has to deal with his brother’s issues while also dealing with his own. They were both abused and neglected as kids and they’re dealing with it in unhealthy ways as young adults and hurting each other in the process, but not to such a degree where it feels like your soul is being ripped out of your body. Like these are two kids on the very cusp of adulthood who are scared and alone and don’t know how to talk about their feelings or work through the trauma they endured, and a lot of the time they’re just trying to get out of bed every day. I feel like the show lost that when they became adults, not because you can’t show adults the same level of sympathy and patience, but because they’re slowly morphing into gritty edgy action heroes. They have to look cool more than they have to look sympathetic, and any gestures towards vulnerability (Dean’s issues with substance abuse being intermittently brought up, Sam’s desire to be “pure” and “clean”, their various interpersonal issues, their loneliness, etc) are used as set dressing much more often than they’re used as like, actual starting points for character development. These guys are serial killers but they also like puppies and feel sad sometimes, so it’s actually very morally complicated! That kinda shit.

And like again, if you want to make your lead guy a huge asshole then go for it, but you need to take that seriously. But the show doesn’t, so I’m not going to take it seriously either! Like I really can’t take #deantransgressions seriously most of the time because Dean being insane or an asshole is used to make the drama of the week/season spicier. If you want to take it as a commentary on familial trauma or cycles of abuse, the conclusion you will likely come to is “it’s inevitable that abused children will become abusive as adults”, which is horrifically shitty and depressing and I reject that completely. I don’t KNOW if the show is even trying to argue that, but again, I don’t think it’s aware of how murky and complicated these topics are, especially if you don’t treat them with an appropriate amount of care and nuance.

Anyway lol this has drifted way off topic but like, I think a lot of the show’s writing problems (at least re: character development) would be “fixed” by decoupling Dean’s perception of reality with reality itself. Like when he’s wrong, let him be wrong! Let there be consequences. And also let that still be a sympathetic position to be in and not this huge massive fuck-up that you need to be brutally punished to atone for or whatever. The show does this with Cas, it does it with Sam, it does it with all kinds of characters. I want Dean to get pushback on his behaviour and be told to snap out of it, and then watch him work through his bullshit and come out the other side a more self aware and well adjusted guy. I want to be his character development cheerleader! Having figures like Bobby who are fundamentally on Dean’s side but also know he can be an asshole sometimes and have no qualms telling him when he’s being one is sorely needed. If all the side characters on spn are meant to be in service to the mains, then at least have them do interesting things like that instead of all becoming epic cool girlboss hunters who join the brothers on hunts once or twice a season.

So anyway to maybe sort of answer your question, I think that balancing out the cast more events between Sam/Cas/Dean would go a long way, but also changing the way “being wrong” is handled on the show. It’s not a huge moral failing or character flaw to be wrong. Pre-supposing the characters’ humanity and operating from the perspective of “I want to help you get better” would massively improve a lot of the character problems on the show imo. Allow Dean to grow, give him the supportive space to do that in, and write the other two leads as fully fleshed out people who have goals and desires that have nothing to do with Dean, and I think you’d get a much more compelling show with much better character drama. Whether Dean remains the main character then becomes a matter of preference more than anything else

[quillquiver]

Happy first year anniversary, Dean and Cas! Read on AO3

When the pitter-patter of little feet sound at six in the morning, Castiel squeezes his eyes shut and buries his face into the pillow. He’s about to beg Dean to, please for the love of all things holy please can it be your turn, but when he flings his arm back, Dean is… gone. And he has been for a while if the lack of warm on his side is anything to go by. Though he has vague memories of Dean cuddling up against his back and kissing at the juncture of his neck earlier, it’s so hazy and sweet it could have been a dream. Cas rolls over to the sound of hushed voices outside the door. His sleep-addled brain barely has time to compute closed door + hushed voices = Dean has Jack, before he’s dropped off again.

When Castiel next wakes, sun is filtering through the half-closed curtains, sliding across the duvet like honey on toast. His heart leaps when he looks at the time, but the sluggish memory of Dean taking care of Jack has him relaxing back into the memory foam. It’s quiet—no murmur of voices, no lull of the radio seeping under the door. Cas stretches lazily as towards the empty side of the bed, squinting at Dean’s pillow. A goofy smile overtakes his face; perched delicately atop the 600-threadcount case, totally unassuming, is a card and one of those pink Hershey’s kisses.

Delicately, Cas plucks the thick, cream coloured paper from the fabric. On the front is a hastily sketched out sun coloured in with yellow crayon, the words you are my… scrawled on the outside. Inside are two lines of cheap blue ink, half the text smudged. Cas pushes up onto his elbows.

Sunshine,

The internet told me paper for the first year. Come down when you’re ready.

—your valentine xox

Cas bites his lip to curb his smile, reverently thumbing over the card. His hand floats up to clutch at the ring that hangs from his neck and he flops back onto the bed with a contented sigh. Eventually, he kicks himself out of bed, pulling on his patterned silk robe and slipping his gifts into one of the large pockets. He slides on a pair of thick wool socks, grabs Dean’s gift from his disorganized sock drawer, and pads downstairs.

It smells heavenly, the kitchen is a disaster of half-done dishes and ingredients abandoned on the counter. The table is covered with plates of food: waffles and pancakes and eggs and sausages and fruit, all kept warm under mismatched tea towels. Two plates sit empty, with a third smaller one messy with the evidence of long-consumed breakfast. The coffee has been done and an empty mug sits beside the machine. Cas presses a hand to the card in his pocket. Though he’s stopped needing to pinch himself for the most part, he digs his fingers into his side to make sure this is real.

Then he pops a strawberry into his mouth, grabs Jack’s plate, and starts washing.

He’s got one pan left when the Impala’s tell-tale rumble sounds from down the street. Dean pulls into the garage and quietly comes in through the side door, careful on the off-chance Cas is still asleep. It’s sweet, the way he tiptoes over the squeaky floorboards and slides into the kitchen. Though he desperately wants to look at him, Cas keeps his eyes on the pan in his hands, hoping that Dean will come tuck himself against his back, cold and all.  

He doesn’t.

While Castiel has known patience, it escapes him this morning, forcing his feet to turn and lower back to rest against the counter as he looks and looks and looks. Dean is leaning against the doorframe, cheeks red with winter and hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants. He’s wearing an old hoodie and his left sock has a hole in the toe. He’s staring.

He’s lovely.

“How was drop-off?” Cas asks. A year into their formal partnership and the pleasure of these domestic questions seems to have increased tenfold. From the way Dean hides his grin in a shrug, Cas thinks he feels the same.

“Beth came knockin’ on my window again but, y’know, I told her what’s what.”

Cas rolls his eyes; as patron saint of school drop-off, Beth has been increasingly frustrated with Dean’s flouting of drop-off rules—no paring, no idling, no getting out—in addition to being deeply skeptical of the Impala’s seatbelts. “She needs to get over herself; it’s preschool.”

“Right? I mean, you shoulda seen the kid tryin’ to carry his lunch and his school valentines, Cas. He needed help, what was I supposed to—what?”

Cas shakes his head, trying and failing to control his smile. “Nothing.”

Dean ambles into the kitchen, redness staying high in his cheeks even as he thaws. “Seriously, what?”

“Just… this. You. Us. Talking about preschool. I’m—I’m happy.”

“Yeah?”

“Deliriously so,” Cas nods.

“And, y’know, it’s…” Dean gestures vaguely to the table.

Castiel quirks a brow. “Breakfast?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious.”

“Mm,” Cas teases, squinting at the spread. “It is a very elaborate breakfast. That and a gift upstairs? I must have been good this year.”

“That’s for Christmas, you doof. You don’t gotta be good to get shit for valentine’s day or a wedding anniversary. That’s, like, relationship rule number one.”

Cas’s eyes widen comically. “I thought rule number one is: don’t talk about the relationship.”

Dean pauses. “That’s a fucked up way to use a Fight Club reference.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re a dick,” he laughs.

“No, I wanted dick. But when I woke up this morning—mmph!”

Dean’s mouth is still chilled, his hands moving to fist the loose fabric at Cas’s sides and tug him closer. They’re experts at this by now; Cas only has to tilt his chin for Dean to open up, their chaste, good morning kisses turning to wet, languid things more suited to post-coital cuddling. His stomach flips as Dean idly picks at the loose knot of his robe, sighing into his smile when the thing comes undone. At the touch of cold hands against his hips, he yelps, nearly jumping five feet in the air.

“Sorry,” Dean breathes into their kiss.

He doesn’t sound sorry at all.

Blindly, Cas guides them away from the counter. They stumble into a chair—Cas pushing at Dean’s jacket, Dean squeezing two handfuls of Cas’s ass. “Didja—mm—like the card?”

Cas nods. “I loved it. Yours is on the table.”

Dean cranes his neck, revealing a long swathe of warm skin Castiel can’t help but put his mouth to. “Weird lookin’ card,” Dean pants. “Hey, gimme a hickey—”

“Not a card.” Cas murmurs, doing just that. He worries the goosebumped flesh between his teeth. “Angel blade. Didn’t know about human marital traditions but for angel bonding—”

Dean pulls away with wide eyes, moving back when Cas attempts to get at his neck again. “Wait, you’re… you’re giving me your angel blade?”

“For our anniversary,” Cas confirms.

“But—it’s yours. I mean. It’s you. A part of you, and you’re just… gonna give it away?”

Frustrated, Cas moves back with a raised brow. “If you’re asking me whether I’m giving the love of my previously eternal life the last remnant of my angelhood, then yes,” he says. “I am ‘just going to give it away.’ To you.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s upper lip. “But to be honest, I’m yours in body and soul so it’s less of a gift and more like… returning a beloved item. If I had any grace left, I’d give it to you to wear.”

“Uh, no, if you had any grace left, you’d—”

“We’re getting off track, here.” Another kiss, this time to the corner of Dean’s mouth. “The important thing,” a third kiss, “is that,” and a fourth, “we’re healthy,” a fifth, “and together,” a sixth, “and I like to think we’re happy. Correct?”

“Yeah, but—”

“So,” Cas interrupts. “Dean Winchester, son of Mary, if you would do me the great honour of accepting my blade—a gift that is only exchanged after the first millennium of existing as a bonded pair—I would be forever grateful.”

Dean chews his lip.

“I have other knives, Dean,” Cas says quietly. He carefully replaces Dean’s hands on his ass, looking at him sweetly, seriously. “I trust you with all of me, just as I’ve been privileged enough to have your trust. Isn’t that what this whole thing is about? Protecting each other, knowing each other…” Dean gives a little nod of acquiescence and Cas smiles. “Besides,” he continues. “I think you’d look very attractive, wielding my sword. Don’t you want to hold it in your big, strong hand?”

Dean bursts into raucous laughter.

“No?” Cas asks, insistent even as he swallows a laugh, himself. “You don’t want to palm my blade? You don’t want me to show you how to curl your fingers around the base for the best grip? How to twist your hand the right way, to achieve a satisfactory result? How to thumb at the tip…” Somewhere along the way their teasing has abated. Now Dean shivers, eyes wide as his fingers curl into the meat of Cas’s ass. Cas looks at him, guileless in his hunger. “…Don’t you want to take me deep inside yourself, until I’m touching the very root of you?”

“Yeah,” he says, breathless. “Yeah, okay.”

It’s hard to tell who kisses whom first, but it’s a flurry of movement; Dean pushes the robe is pushed off Cas’s left shoulder and a hand grips the back of his neck as Cas divests Dean of his jacket and start working on his shirt. It’s rucked up to his underarms but he’s refusing to let go of the bare thigh he’s gripping, his other hand clinging to the ring and chain around Cas’s neck. Abandoning the shirt, Cas instead sinks to his knees, dragging Dean’s sweatpants and briefs with him. He nips at the inside of Dean’s thigh and hears tableware clatter as Dean’s hand slams down to balance himself. “Ca-aaas!” Smirking, Cas nuzzles at his groin, pressing wet, warm kisses to his hard cock as a hand tangles in his hair—not pulling, just holding. “This isn’t—um, the f-food…”

Cas takes him into his mouth.

It’s quick; Cas curls his tongue the way he knows Dean likes until his legs tremble. He comes with a strangled noise, left hand slamming into a bowl of whipped cream even as his right scrabbles at Cas’s shoulder. “Up, c’mon, get up here—”

Cas brings himself as he ruts into the crease of Dean’s groin, sloppy kisses turning to shared breaths as he whites out. Dean’s shirt has taken most of the mess, and Cas privately applauds their ability to keep come away from the silk fabric now dangling uselessly from his elbows. “…Happy anniversary,” he pants, grinning against the juncture of Dean’s neck.

“Happy valentine’s day.” Dean huffs a laugh and presses a kiss to dark hair. “Love you,” he whispers.

Cas holds him close. “Love you, too.”

“…Shit, did I fist the whipped cream? What the fuck.”

Cas laughs.

[myaimistrue]

my gift for the wonderful @lotsofquestionslimitedanswers as part of the @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! i hope you love this sweet bit of fluff as much as i loved writing it <3

also available on ao3

Cas has fought celestial battles. He has seen the rise and fall of human civilizations, he has razed cities and healed kings, and he has been the only thing outside of God’s control. Yet somehow, someway, he is being bested by a pan of scrambled eggs.

He lets out a string of curses he would never have even dreamed of fifteen years prior, and carefully carries the smoking pan to the trash can. He dumps as much of the blackened lump as he can unceremoniously into the trash can and sticks the pan, still coated in bits of burned eggs, back on the stove.

Cas is trying to make breakfast to bring to Dean in bed. He’s doing okay, he thinks, except now there just won’t be any eggs. Or pancakes. (Cas actually thought the batter turned out pretty nicely, but when he went to pour the first bit into the pan, his hand slipped—he spent a good twenty minutes cleaning all of that up.) At least there’s still bacon. Shit, the bacon!

Cas rips the oven open, still cursing, and just barely remembers to put an oven mitt on before he pulls the pan out. Thank God, the bacon is on just the right side of burnt, sizzling and crispy but not blackened yet. He breathes a sigh of relief, and sets the pan down carefully beside the other on the stove. Well, Dean’s always enjoyed bacon the most—if breakfast is just that, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Cas figures he can at least make some toast to go with it. Unfortunately, he forgot to buy more bread at the store yesterday, so there are only three pieces left, two of which are end pieces. He toasts them all, gnawing on a thumbnail and trying to convince himself that Dean won’t hate all of this.

Cas has only been back, free from the Empty and fully human, for a month. It’s been a good month, mostly, full of reunions and laughter and slowly but surely figuring things out. He and Dean share a bed now, share a life in a way they never did before, and it’s good. Cas is learning to be human again, and every step of the way, Dean is with him, endlessly patient and gentle with all of it, seemingly happy just to be with him at all. And Cas gets to kiss Dean when he wants, gets to hold his hand and brush his fingertips along the crinkles at the corners of Dean’s eyes, and every day, he gets to tell Dean he loves him. 

The only problem, really, is that Dean hasn’t said it back yet.

Cas knows Dean loves him. It’s clear now—it was clear from the moment he stumbled out of the Empty and into Dean’s trembling arms—and Cas understands that Dean shows it in different ways than words. He shows it in the way he sat with Cas for an hour helping him learn to tie his shoes, the way he makes PB&Js without complaint whenever Cas requests them, the way he slides his hand into Cas’s while driving and runs his thumb back and forth along Cas’s palm. Regardless of whether he says it out loud, Dean loves Cas with such ferocity that Cas sometimes worries he can’t match it. 

So Cas is doing what he can: he’s making breakfast in bed.

He arranges the limited food on an old wooden tray, along with two mugs of steaming coffee and a jar of Dean’s favorite apricot jelly that he did remember at the store. Cas studies his handiwork critically, then adds a few napkins (amidst all the change, Dean remains a very messy eater). The end result looks nice, Cas thinks. Better than he worried it might, at least.

Slowly, carefully, Cas makes his way out of the kitchen, and to the bedroom he now shares with Dean. The door is cracked from when Cas left earlier, and he can see the corner of the bed, the way Dean’s pulled all the blankets over to his side. Cas smiles at how familiar that’s become lately—it seems that with the luxury of his own bed, Dean is loath to share the covers; Cas steals them back all night long, but it works out because Dean puts up with his kicking. 

He creeps in and sets the tray down on his bedside table. Then, unable to resist, he slips back under the covers and wraps his arms around Dean. Dean stirs somewhat awake, and wiggles back into Cas with a satisfied hum. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean says sleepily. “Where’ve you been? ’S early.”

“Uh, I was…” Cas glances back at breakfast, and he thinks it looks measly now, small and poorly put together. “I made breakfast. For you to eat in bed.”

“...You made me breakfast in bed?”

“Yeah,” Cas says quietly, tucking his face in Dean’s neck, enjoying the closeness but also trying to hide his embarrassment. “Is that okay?”

“What? ‘Course it is.” Dean sounds like he’s smiling, and Cas can see it in his mind’s eye, that dreamy thing that only comes out when Dean is extremely relaxed. “It’s sweet.”

“Sweet,” Cas says, testing the way the word feels in his mouth.

“Yeah.” Dean’s still half-asleep, unfiltered and unencumbered in a way he rarely is, even now. “You’re real sweet to me, Cas. Always are.”

“Even though the breakfast isn’t good?”

“What?”

Cas sighs. “I messed up the pancakes and the eggs, and there wasn’t enough bread. It doesn’t look good like it does when you make breakfast.”

“I don’t care about that,” Dean says, a little more awake, his voice sure and strong. “I’d eat concrete if you made it for me.”

At that, Cas feels the knots in his stomach begin to unwind, feels his heartbeat slow to match Dean’s. He kisses the back of Dean’s neck, lips lingering on sleep-warm skin. Dean shifts closer.

“We’d better get up,” Dean murmurs. “Don’t want the coffee to get cold.”

“Or the bacon.”

“You made bacon?” Dean sits straight up in bed, sniffing around in the air like a bloodhound and apparently completely awake. Cas rolls his eyes and flops over into the warm spot he left behind, pulling the covers up and over himself again. “I can’t believe I didn’t smell that. Damn, Cas. You outdid yourself.”

“I don’t know about that,” Cas says. He peeks around the blankets as Dean grabs the tray and settles it over his legs eagerly. “It’s not—”

“Oh hell yeah!” Dean looks down at him with a brilliant smile that seems to make everything else around them go dim. “You got the apricot jelly stuff?”

“Yeah.” One thing Cas had done right. “I picked some up at the store the other day. I know it’s your favorite.”

Inexplicably, Dean’s ears go red. “Thanks, Cas.”

“Of course.” Cas sits up and studies Dean’s face like he has for years. Dean’s expression is a little difficult to read, but he’s still smiling. Cas feels himself start to smile, too. “So this is okay? You like it?”

“Dude.” Dean looks at him incredulously, but it’s good-natured, fond. “You’re as bad as me. I’m telling you, this is great. I don’t think I’ve ever had breakfast in bed before. And it’s…” Dean goes red again, this time all the way to the apples of his cheeks, but he continues on valiantly. “Nobody’s ever done the shit you do for me. And I’m so fucking lucky, it’s ridiculous, and I…” The hush of their bedroom seems to grow, to expand, as Dean glances at the tray then back at Cas with some huge emotion behind his eyes. “I love you.”

Cas blinks. “You—”

“I love you.” Dean says again.

“You love me,” Cas repeats breathlessly. He knew it would come eventually, he did, but this—this is worth the wait.

“I love you.” Dean laughs like he can’t quite believe it, like he’s so happy it’s ridiculous, it’s impossible. “Holy shit, there it is. I said it. I love you. You made me breakfast in bed, and I fucking love you.”

Cas surges up, unable to hold himself back any longer. He takes Dean’s face in his hands and kisses him as deeply as he can, as deeply as he’s ever wanted to. Dean is surprised at first, but meets Cas in the middle like he always does, takes what Cas gives him and then takes some more. They only separate when the tray is in danger of tipping all of their breakfast over onto the floor.

“Let’s eat first?” Dean says sheepishly. “And drink the coffee?”

Cas’s face hurts from how hard he’s smiling. “Yeah. Okay.”

So they sit side-by-side in bed on top of the covers, sharing bacon and toast, sipping coffee between secret little smiles, and Cas relishes every bit of it, every human moment. He watches Dean chew, enraptured by the image he makes: the sunlight behind his head a halo, the holiness of his soft grey shirt and sleep-mussed hair, and all of it, eclipsed the golden shine of a soul Cas can no longer see but can feel—even in his humanity, he knows he can feel it. 

“I love you,” Cas says.

And when Dean says it back, his face is more beautiful than anything in heaven.

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

If prompts are open : Id love to see Dean asking Cas to put the handprint back on him

oooooh this is a VERY cool prompt! I'll take my best stab at it, I hope it lives up to expectations <3

(I'm taking prompts to celebrate 300 followers, feel free to bing one into my inbox!)

----------------

Dean’s shoulder aches. 

It has since Cas yanked him out of hell--no, gripped him tight and raised him from perdition. Cas had gripped him tight, all right, the handprint seared into Dean’s shoulder. Even though the print’s been gone for years now, and Dean has known Cas for over a decade, it still throbs sometimes. 

It’s hurt more in the past few months, since Cas’ confession and the bloody handprint he left on Dean’s jacket, a sorry reminder of the original one. When they figured out a spell to bring Cas back from the empty, they needed a piece of him, so Dean had carefully cut the handprint out of his jacket, let the dried blood be the part of Cas. 

It worked.

Dean rolls over to look at the angel laying beside him in the bed, nearly out of grace, low enough that he sleeps now, exposing that shoulder to the air as he does. Cas’ breathing is slow and steady, his hair flopping over his forehead, face squished into the pillow. 

Beautiful. 

Dean can’t fall back asleep, though--he woke to his aching shoulder because he had another one of those nightmares where the spell didn’t work and he was left without any of Cas for eternity, just a ghost, some memories. Watching Cas sleep is grounding, reminds him that this is--as Cas once told him--real. 

Eventually Cas’ eyes blink open and he stares at Dean blearily, and then frowns. “How long have you been awake?” If Cas’ normal voice is deep, his morning voice is something to reckon with. 

“Uh...a while?” Dean tries.

“Bad dream?”

“Something like that.”

Cas wraps Dean in his arms, snuggles his head into Dean’s chest. Dean had never had much experience with sleepy Cas before this, but it’s kind of the best, a Cas that’s warm, pliable, a little bit sleep-drunk and a lot affectionate. 

“Want to talk about it?” Cas asks, his voice slightly muffled, and Dean decides that, y’know what, maybe he does.

“Just...thinking about the handprint.”

“Hm?”

“Like...from my jacket, from when you--” Dean can’t finish the sentence, and Cas tightens his arms around Dean. “It was just a lot like the...original one. It still hurts.”

Now Cas lifts his head. “Really?”

“Like a ghost pain or something. I kinda miss it sometimes.” Dean tries to look anywhere but Cas, but that’s kind of difficult in their current position. 

“I could put it back,” Cas offers.

“You could--no, that’s fine.”

“I was actually trying to figure out what to do with the last of my grace--”

“Cas, no.” But before Dean can protest more, Cas is kissing him, which is a surefire way to make Dean shut up, and then he’s reaching up and gripping Dean’s shoulder, that shoulder, and there’s a familiar searing pain, and Dean is flooded with warmth. When he pulls away, Cas is smiling at him.

“You’re not in charge of me,” Cas says, his smile getting bigger. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

Later, after falling back asleep wrapped up in each other, and eventually waking up for real and having scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast, Dean takes a look in the bathroom mirror, at the new handprint on his shoulder. This one is less angry than the original one, like it was put there with love. 

When Cas comes into the bathroom a few moments later and kisses Dean on the cheek before turning on the shower, Dean knows it was.

[nalledimessi]

Chapter one: Back Home.

Hello there friends! Sorry for not been here so often now but i have somethings to deal with, but I'm glad to be back and with a serie of my own. I hope you like it, love it, share it and comment. Feedback, reblogs and you keep me going and is love for me!

Before we start I want to leave special regards to my friend @imgoingtofreakoutnow because without her this serie couldn't be possible. Annie, friend, I love you and I'm still can't thank you enough for help me with this. Also thanks to @elijahs-wife hope to see you soon and I hope you're taking care of yourself.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Tag's @valsworldofcreativity @avala-moon

You stop the engine once you are in the driveway of your home, the same house you shared with him not long ago. You hesitate for a few minutes, playing with the keys in your hand. If only he was here, you think for yourself before taking a deep breath and opening the door. The dark surrounds you while you close the door behind you, leaving your keys and purse on the side table to then walk towards the counter leaving the take-out food on it.

“[Y/N]” his voice coming out of the shadows.

It would never stop to amazed you how he pronounces your name, so soft and so intimate. You sigh resting your hands on the counter, closing your eyes trying to stop the tears that want to get out desperately. “What are you doing here, Elijah? You made it clear you wouldn’t return” you question him before turning to see him.

“The truth of the matter is…” he says, taking his hands to his trousers’ pockets and standing straight, “I still have feelings for you and no matter how hard I try,” —he drops his gaze momentarily to then fix it in yours— “a part of me just doesn’t want to let go” he declares. “[Y/N] I give you…”

“Don’t you dare to finish that” you interrupt him with crystal gaze and anger in your voice, “we both know that as soon Klaus needs you, you won’t hesitate to leave everything behind” —you sigh— “including me, to run to him.” You closed your eyes trying to stop the tears at their edges. “I can’t do this anymore, Elijah” you sob, opening them again. “Please leave” you beg him.

He walks towards you and stops a few inches away, enough for you to inhale his scent. He leans over and deposits a kiss on your head. “I will leave for now.” He lingers close to you a few more seconds to then announce you: “I love you [Y/N] and that is why I have to leave” he confesses before walking out of the door and disappearing in the night.

You know you should’ve told him before, but you know him better than himself; if you had mention it, he would have been torn between choosing his brother and his unborn child.

“We’ll be fine” you say, moving your hand to your abdomen. You take your phone out of your pocket and call the only one you could count on now.

“Are you alright? Where are you?” he picks up alarmed.

“I’m fine, New Orleans” you rush to answer his questions. “I need a place to stay for a few months” you continue.

“Say no more, your room is still the same way you left it” he expresses.

“Thank you, Dean” you say relieved.

“That is what family’s for, we will be waiting for you” you hear him say before ending the call and walking upstairs to pack and go back to Lebanon, Kansas.

You rush to pack up the most essential and everything that could be used to track you down.

You look back through the rear mirror, glancing one last time at what you have called your home with Elijah these last months. -It’s better this way- you say, before starting your way back to your brothers, the Winchesters.

You reach Alexandria, wishing you could keep driving and be far away from New Orleans, Elijah and the chaos that came with being a Mikaelson, but you need to think of the safety and wellness of your child. You decide to spend only the night in Alexandria, stopping at the first motel you saw, and to continue driving at the first light of the day, obviously after breakfast.

“A room for the night” you say as soon you get to the manager office, cap over your head and a big hoodie covering you, making sure to avoid the surveillance camera that was pointing to the door.

“Card or cash?” the old man behind the counter asks while removing the room key off the board keychain.

“Cash” you respond. No way to track you that way, for anyone.

“60 dollars and I need an ID, sweetheart” he grins at you. You place your ID and money on the counter “Room 10 for [Y/N] Winchester, 2nd floor to the right”

“Thanks” you utter, taking the keys and ID from him and following his directions to your room.

Once you settle on bed, your phone starts ringing. You look at the name on the screen and pick it up.

“Hey Sammy” you greet him.

“Dean mentioned you’re coming back, is it true or he’s just playing with me?” The hope in his voice makes you smile.

“It’s true Sammy, I’m on my way. I’m spending the night in Alexandria but will hit the road first thing in the morning after breakfast” you assure him.

“It’s everything alright?” he asks concerned. He knows you after all and even if he was the youngest, he had always been the smart one.

“It’s complicated” you confess.

He chuckles. “I’m starting to think that word means Winchester”

You chuckle back. “Yeah, I think you’re right” you mention playing with the sheet of your bed.

“Alright, be safe. See you when you arrive. Love you [Y/N]”

“Love you too Sammy” you add before hanging up and plugging in your phone next to the Colt M1911A1 that Dean gave you before departing.

Standing in front of the house, Elijah notices that your car isn’t in sight and that the curtains you always keep open are closed. He walks to the entry, using his key to access the house. Looking around the first floor everything was as usual but there was no sight of you.

“[Y/N]?” he calls you from the stairs but no respond. He vamp-speeds to your room to find it completely empty; the closet without a single piece of clothing just like your drawers. The only clothes left are his, with the only exception of his dark blue dress shirt, your favorite. He takes a seat on the bed, taking his head in his palms. If only I had fought for you, he thinks for himself.

He raises his gaze at the sound of the entry door and vamp-speeds downstairs, only to appear in front of his sister. “What are you doing here Rebekah?” he questions, confused and disappointed.

“I came to see [Y/N].” She looks around. “Where she is?” she asks, setting once again his sight on her brother.

“She is gone” he announces, sad and avoiding eye contact with her, “and it seems to be my fault” he adds, taking his hand to his trousers’ pocket. “I apologize Rebekah”

“What happened?” she questions him, crossing her arms. “Don’t tell me you let her go”

He looks at her. “If I admit to you that it’s complicated, would that suffice? Or, are you determined to torment me throughout this endeavor?”

She shakes her head. “Did you push her away?”

“I came last night to arrange things between us, but she asked me to leave and so I left” he vaguely explains.

“And she was gone when you returned.” He nods.

“We should go,” he told her walking to the entrance. “There’s nothing for us here anymore” he concludes, looking around one last time before leaving the house.

It takes you more than you wanted to arrive to the bunker, but finally you are back.

“I’m home” you shout as soon you are inside, your voice followed by the sound of footsteps.

“[Y/N]! Glad you made it kiddo” you roll your eyes at Dean.

“I’m not a kiddo anymore” you say while walking down the stairs.

“You’ll always be to me.” Taking the suit case from you, he pulls you into a hug “I missed you [Y/N]” he whispers in your ear.

“I missed you too” you whisper back, hugging him.

Sam takes your bag from your shoulder and pulls you apart from Dean to crush you to his side “Glad you’re back.” He releases you a little to look at you. “You’re staying longer this time, right?” he inquires.

“Definitely” you smile, pulling back from him. “Where is Cas?” you ask after looking around the room and not seeing the angel with the trench coat.

“I’m here” he appears in front of you, looking directly at yourself. “There’s something different about you [Y/N]” he notices, squinting his eyes while scanning you.

You smile nervously. “I can assure you Cas, the same old me I was when I left. I did cut my hair though, must be it!” you rush to say.

He shakes his head “Perhaps it is.” He gives you one more look then adds “Welcome home”

“Come on,” Dean says, passing his arm over your shoulders, “unpack and refresh yourself and we will be waiting for you in the kitchen.” Dean walks you till your bedroom door.

“See you in a few” you say, taking your suit case from him and dragging it inside.

Chapter Two: Confrontations >

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

for @bend-me-shape-me 's SPN advent calendar 2020. prompt: phone calls and late night texts.

Cas isn't a serial texter.

And Dean's a-okay with it.

But for all that's worth, they sure seem to have a ridiculous amount of emotionally significant conversations via, or starting off as, texts. And most often, in the middle of the night.

*

>>> hello, dean. [12:07 am]

Dean jolts up at the sound, realizing he fell asleep still wearing his headphones, with the laptop on his lap (and a new episode of The Good Place playing) and rolls his eyes at himself, hitting pause before he can see what’s happening (because he has good reflexes, and because screw spoilers that’s why) and rummaging for his phone.

At this hour of the night, it has to be something important.

It doesn’t really strike him that Mechanical Engineering majors whose only other selfprofessed skill is air guitar aren't exactly the frontline warriors for midnight emergencies.

Cas's name shows up when he squints at the too-bright screen, and he sits up a little straighter.

<<< hey [12:09 am]

<<< you OK? [12:09 am]

The response is immediate.

>>> do you have peanut butter? [12:09 am]

And as if it's an afterthought, Cas adds.

>>> yes, I'm fine. how are you? [12:10 am]

Dean blinks.

<<< peachy. peanut butter? [12:10 am]

At least this time the response takes a while. Dean wonders if Cas realized it was midnight, and not exactly a time to run inventory on your best friend's stash of condiments.

>>> I ran out. [12:12 am]

Dean sighs, unable to help smiling.

It's not like he's a stranger to Cas's weird cravings when he's high. (There'd been this one time with pie and a traumatized Gas 'N Sip cashier that still sits heavy on Dean's conscience.) But he doesn't think Cas is supposed to be high right now — Dean's usually either invited or informed by an unspoken rule — which just means this is regular "jelly, not jam"-Cas, at his core a weird, persistently sleep-deprived economics major and astronomy nerd, that Dean may or may not have had a crush on for an embarrassingly long time, and who's also prone to grammatically perfect texting, deadpan, Disney references, and bluntness when the occasion calls for it.

<<< pretty sure i have some [12:14 am]

>>> :) [12:14 am]

>>> I'm coming over [12:14 am]

*

And weird as it may sound, that had turned out to be the night Cas told him he was gay. Said it had been a revelating moment, unprecedented and wholly unexpected — and apparently revelations come in pairs because it had been followed by an intense need for peanut butter, and the rest, he explained emphatically, was history.

Dean had just snorted, congratulated him, and brought out the fancier plates for sandwiches — shipped in from home instead of a sale at Target — all the while, repeating to himself in a loop, that this changed nothing between them, nothing at all, and Cas having the capacity to be attracted back to him didn't mean that he ever would be (or for hell's sake, he'd scoffed at his traitorous chick-flick-nonsense brain, is.)

*

The second time had been early — way, way too early and it was by pure chance that Dean was awake to respond at six friggin' am on a Sunday. Like, that’s practically nighttime. 

Goddamn stupidly-fit running-freak.

Dean picks up his phone blearily, tongue in cheek as he clicks on it.

>>> I miss you [6:28 am]

>>> I'd* miss you [6:29 am]

Dean's stomach twists, and he's not sure if it's in a good way, or a bad way, or what-the-sincere-fuck-are-you-talking-about way.

<<< what [6:32 am]

<<< wtf are you talking about? [6:32 am]

Nothing.

<<< cas? [6:33 am]

<<< dude [6:34 am]

<<< cas???? [6:34 am]

Dean swears at his screen, more queasy than irritated. He can't stop fidgeting, so gives up on lying down altogether and hoists himself to his feet. Better to get his friggin' toothbrush since he's already up, and now definitely awake. Cas was so paying for this later.

He comes back, mouth mint-fresh in theory but still tasting awful and of fear and dread, and practically sags when he sees his screen blare with two messages from Cas.

>>> sorry, I had to make a call. [6:42 am]

>>> I'm not taking the job. [6:42 am]

*

And that's how Dean finds out about Michael (Cas's oldest brother, entitled asshole) inviting Cas to join his and Lucifer's (second oldest, bag of dicks) firm the year he graduates — invite, of course, being a loosely used word here for expecting it blindly (out of some crap he calls 'loyalty') and being readily willing to manipulate him into it.

And it's how he finds out that Cas turned them down.

"It's not who I am anymore." Cas had repeated, third time probably, and surer than before, and Dean had nodded earnestly before realizing Cas couldn't see him through the phone, and humming his affirmation instead. "And if I go back there, I'm never getting out again."

Dean'd swallowed.

"I don't want to." Cas had said, voice trembling. "I am — my own person here. It shouldn't be like this but this is the first time I have autonomy, Dean. Here is free will, and here are you. I don't — I can't. I'm not going to let them take it away."

"Good." He'd sounded shaky to even himself. "Don't."

"Yes." Cas had promised. "I'm not going."

*

And eventually they'd moved past the heavy talk into why-didn't-I-hear-about-this-before territory, Dean being righteously annoyed at his best friend for keeping something so huge from him, and Cas making lame (but probably valid) excuses in the name of not knowing how to explain the situation until he knew himself what he was going to do, because Dean may've been the first person he'd confided in about the insane fuckery that been his childhood and adolescence, but that still didn't mean he'd understand this, broken and convoluted.

And then Cas had nicely segued himself out of Dean's target of irritation and added, "They asked Gabriel too, by the way."

"And?" Dean didn't ever have much care for Gabriel (third oldest brother, cares about Cas, still a jerk) but Cas shared an apartment with him, so he had to face him plenty.

"He's running off to Miami."

And Dean had thrown his head back and laughed until Cas had smoothly added, "And I was wondering if you would consider moving in with me." 

At which point, of course, he'd started coughing instead, because holy shit, it actually made sense (Sammy had left for Stanford two months back, and Dean lived alone in a space that had probably been two big even when there were two of them) and might actually happen, but Dean wasn't really sure how much longer he'd be able to hide his crush, sharing a friggin' kitchen with the guy.

*

The third time's after their first date.

(Because, well. It happened.

It happened with Dean leaning across the breakfast table to prove to Cas his bacon was superior (to cookie friggin' crunch, because goddamn is Cas a dork) and Cas taking a bite with their eyes fixed on each other's, and Dean turning red when Cas licked his lips and then, just like that, Cas swearing under his breath (definitely filed for later pondering, that bit), grabbing Dean, and kissing the living daylights out of him.

And Dean had kissed back with everything he had, hands cupping his face, and nearly melting in his arms - but then they'd separated for air and Cas had had an apologetic look on his face and when Dean had tried to lean in to kiss it away, he'd received half a smile and a shake of his head.

"Let's do it the way we're supposed to."

And Dean had known immediately what he'd meant. Let's not fuck this up by becoming best friends and roommates who sleep together. Let's...play safe.

"Okay. Uh," he'd rubbed the back of his neck. "Would you like to go on a date with me?"

"Thursday." Cas had promised with twinkling eyes, though Dean had already known he was going to say that since he knew Cas’s week at least as well as he knew his own, and two days and an anxious half of a thursday later, they went on their first date. Burgers and beer, and Led Zepp, and hands held in the Impala. Four hours later, they were back, and in their respective rooms, and Dean couldn't stop thinking about Cas.)

When his phone vibrates, Dean reaches for the bedside table.

It's at least midnight, it feels like he's been in bed for ages, and the only reason he isn't asleep is because all his brain seems to be capable of at the moment is thinking endlessly about the date. Fortunately, he's not the only one — although he's better at hiding it (practise, he'd say) because his heart is in his mouth the moment he reads Cas's text.

>>> I think I'm falling in love with you [11:43 pm]

>>> already. [11:43 pm]

Dean is very grateful for autocorrect as he types back with too-excited thumbs and a racing heart.

<<< so much for doing it the regular way cas mosby [11:44 pm]

>>> in my defense, it's been years. [11:44 pm]

<<< that part i get [11:44 pm]

<<< me too [11:44 pm]

<<< but youre supposed to wait three days before calling dumbass [11:45 pm]

Jesus, he'd never expected to blush cause of texts, but here they are.

>>> I'm texting. [11:46 pm]

And he guesses he'd never expected to giggle (he's alone there, sue him) cause of them either, but Cas apparently exists to prove him wrong about himself.

<<< good for you [11:46 pm]

He sends, biting his lip, and then lies in the silent darkness for a couple of minute, devoid of text notifications entirely, thinking uneasily — before he gives up.

They're idiots, sure, but nobody is this dumb.

<<< so when the fuck are you coming over then [11:50 pm]

>>> on my way <3 [11:50 pm]

And thinking about the lightening speed of that reply and the fucking heart emoji is enough to sustain him the entire one minute it takes Cas to get there, gently opening Dean's door, and climbing into bed — fitting in Dean's space like it's been made for him, and kissing him in greeting after leaving his phone on the table next to Dean's.

*

As it goes, with the confessions and the midnight cravings (and the grocery lists that keep getting piled onto through the day, and random pickup lines Cas decides are perfect to send Dean daily once he's found a website for puns, courtesy of Claire, and of course, pictures of Grease, which clog Dean's cloud in dozens whenever the ridiculously cute cat does something even slightly out of routine, god bless her lazy soul) Cas might just be a texter.

But Dean's pretty sure he's more than okay with it, so it doesn't really matter.

[whelvenwings]

who will fall beside you, if you fall

Dean Winchester's been loved in a lot of different ways throughout his life. He was shaped by that love, changed by the expectations and hopes and hurts of the people he cared about. He learned fear and silence and caution. But Castiel's confession, free of expectation, might undo those lessons.

Tags: Fix-It Fic, Endgame Castiel/Dean, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Minor Lisa/Dean Snippet and Minor Cassie/Dean Snippet, John Winchester’s A+ Parenting, Fallen Angel Castiel Word Count: ~4k

“If you’re angry, you could just tell me,” Dean said. “God knows I’d get it.”

He glanced to his left and right before crossing a road, his eyes lingering on the faces nearest him, as though he were looking for someone.

“Cas, just talk to me.” The words were so quiet that no human but Dean himself heard them. He was still watching around him, waiting, but nothing happened.

He put his hands into his pockets again. Walked with his shoulders set a little lower.

“It’s not…” Dean muttered, a broken-off answer to a thought inside his head. “Just – I don’t know what you want me to do. Can you hear me thinking about you? ‘Cause it’s all the time, man. I don’t know what to do. Last time I saw you, you told me… but now you aren’t even…”

He rounded a corner and began to cross a small parking lot.

“If you’d just come here. You could tell me what I’m supposed to do. All I want is…” Dean’s eyes searched the backs of the cars he passed as if their number plates were esoteric texts with all the answers, all the things he needed to say. He breathed out. “I don’t know how, man, I don’t know what to do.”

Read the whole thing below the cut!

Dean was three years old and not quite steady on his feet, still, when his father took him outside to help shovel the snow. In his coat and hat he was a little duffled-up sweetheart, to whom nothing particularly bad had ever happened.

Red-cheeked and grinning, he left small bootprints in the snow.

“Come over here, Dean.” John stood behind Dean and lowered the shovel down to Dean’s height, so that they could hold it and move the snow together. Dean pressed his lips together and frowned as he followed his father’s movements. John’s coat smelled like smoke and the outdoors. They moved one, two, three, four, five big shovel-fulls.

“That’s enough for one day,” said a voice from the porch – Mary, smiling down at the two of them. John carefully lifted the shovel out of Dean’s reach, standing up to his full height. They’d managed to clear just a short stretch of the path that led up to the house.

“But Mom, there’s loads more!” Dean said, pointing to the rest of the pathway.

“Your dad can clear that. You need to come in and have some lunch,” Mary said. “Come on.”

Dean looked up to his father with wide eyes, but John put his hand on the top of Dean’s head and ruffled it so that his hat almost came off.

“Listen to your mom, Dean. In you go.”

Dean’s eyes travelled from his father’s face to his mother’s.

“There’s your favourite for dessert,” Mary said, coaxing him with a little smile.

“Yes!”

Dean made a sudden break for it towards her, running down the path he’d just helped to clear. After the crunch-crunch-crunch of the snow, the cleared pathway was hard under Dean's feet. Hard, and unexpectedly slippery.

“Whoa, there,” said John, as Dean felt his balance go, his feet skidding out from under him – and suddenly he was being lifted, one hand on either side of him. John pulled him up out of the fall, and set him back down in thick snow.

Dean blinked. It had all happened very fast.

“Next time,” John said, giving Dean a little push indoors, “I won’t catch you. You’ve got to learn, Dean.”

–––––

And now Dean was eleven years old and trailing after his father down a quiet midnight street, with a sleepy little brother in tow.

“Dad… are we nearly at the motel?”

“Nearly.”

He’d pay for that question later somehow, and Dean knew it, but because he’d asked there was a new purpose in John’s step. They didn’t stop at the liquor store that Dean knew John had been weighing going into. Walking past it, Dean felt a little break of relief in his chest. They’d get out of the cold sooner, and Sam could get to bed.

“Dean?”

Dean turned his head to look at his brother, keeping walking. Sam was wearing Dean’s coat, swimming in it, the hood pulled up and the elastic tight so only the round circle of his face was visible. It was nearly funny, but they hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and the humour was shaved off everything.

“Come on,” Dean said.

“I’m cold.”

“I know.” Dean cast a glance forwards at his father’s back. He lowered his voice. “It’s okay. Just a little bit longer.”

Sam made a miserable face. Their breaths were puffs of air between them. Underfoot was the hiss and crunch of melting, slushy snow.

“Can I have soup when we get there?”

“It’s late, Sammy. We’ll have something in the morning.”

“But I can’t sleep when I’m hungry…”

“Okay.” Dean cast another worried look towards his father, and then made a meaningful face at Sam when he looked back around. “I’ll find something. I think we have some of that apple juice left over.”

“That’s cold,” Sam said, but he’d quietened his voice, too. “And a drink.”

“You didn’t know?” Dean said, making sure his face was completely straight.

“Know what?”

“That’s the best part,” Dean said. “Cold drinks make you warm up faster.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, and Dean cursed internally. Every day Sam got a little smarter and a little harder to keep happy.

“That’s not true,” Sam said.

“It is,” Dean promised. “You’ll see.” He thought for a few seconds, and then said, "Maybe we can heat up the apple juice."

“Keep up, boys,” said John’s voice, from too far away. Dean realised he must have slowed down as he’d talked to Sam, even though he’d been trying to hold a steady pace. He reached for Sam’s hand, turning his head at the same time to call back to his father – and as he did so, he felt his balance betray him. His feet slipped in the slush, and in a rush he was a jumble of elbows and knees hitting the ground in all the wrong places.

For a second he sat still, assessing the damage. Nothing broken.

“Are you okay?” Sam said, the dish of his face looking pale and worried above Dean.

“I’m fine… ugh.”

“Get up,” John called, and when Dean turned his head to look, he saw that his father was turning away to keep walking. Dean scrambled to his feet, hands out for balance. His hip ached – he’d landed on it.

“I’m alright,” Dean said to Sam, pulling on a smile. “Let’s go.”

He hurried after John, making sure Sam was beside him, going as fast as he dared until they were right behind their father. His knee was starting to throb, too, and he kept it off his face carefully, because Sam was still glancing up at him.

“Saw you reach for your brother when you were falling,” John grunted. “Don’t do that. If you two’re on your own and both of you go down, you’re both dead. If Sam’s still up, he can go for help.”

“I wasn’t –” Dean tried to say.

“Don’t do it,” John repeated, more forcefully.

They walked on in silence.

––––-

And now Dean was twenty-one years old and stepping out into the brisk air of a winter evening, with his head a little light from the drinks he’d had in the bar at his back.

“Come on,” Cassie said from beside him, her eyes bright with laughter. “You can tell me.”

“Hey, we’ve been through this,” Dean said, as they began to make their way down the street, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“As if you could,” Cassie said.

Dean glanced over at her smile, and thought about the way the shifter he’d taken out earlier that day had looked at him, right before he’d swung the blade through her neck. He swallowed hard.

“I might,” he said, and held his arms a little out from his body. “How long can I contain this much raw aggression, you know?”

“Stop," Cassie said, nudging him with her shoulder. “Seriously, okay, just tell me what your job is.”

“Is it really worth your life?” Dean asked, putting on his most serious face.

“You’re really trying to tell me you’re, what – a spy? A fed?” Cassie asked. “C’mon, you can’t expect me to believe that. With that face?”

“Hey,” Dean said, mock-offended, as they passed closed-up stores and parking bays. “What’s wrong with my face?”

“Nothing,” Cassie said, “that’s literally the problem. The FBI don’t hire people who look like you, do they? This is real life, not HBO.”

“Okay,” Dean said, his face working not to look too pleased. Underfoot, the pavement was shiny with ice. Dean started to walk a little slower. “So, if this isn’t the face of a fed, what is it the face of?”

“Mmm. Radio show host?” Cassie laughed when Dean threw her a look. “Well, c’mon, how am I supposed to know? Third date and you still won’t tell me?”

“Just trying to keep the mystery alive,” Dean said, faking an absent kind of tone in the hope that Cassie would drop the subject. The sidewalk was getting more and more treacherous, each of his steps sliding just a little.

“The mystery is too alive,” Cassie said. “It could die a bit. I’d be okay with that.”

“Whoa… careful.” Dean’s foot slipped out from under him, and he only managed to keep his balance by grabbing onto a parking meter that happened to be close by.

“Easy, big shot.” Cassie watched him start to move again, even more tentatively. “Wouldn’t wanna lose the deal with HBO if you fall on that perfect face.”

There was an edge of hurt to her tone of voice, and Dean jaw tightened. Was he ever going to tell her, he wondered. Surely not. She’d hate it. Spending time with Cassie was like visiting a parallel universe. That world didn’t have room for monsters under the bed.

And so Dean kicked them back underneath as hard as he could, and smiled at Cassie, and held out his hand.

Cassie looked down at it, and then back up at him.

“Really?” she said, a smile waiting at the corners of her mouth.

“It’s slippery,” Dean said, and wiggled his fingers temptingly.

“Yeah,” Cassie said with a laugh, pushing his hand away, “it is, asshole. That’s why I’m not letting you take me down with you.”

––––-

And now Dean was thirty-one years old and watching a soccer game, gloves on, hat on, clapping along with the dark-haired woman next to him.

“Come on, Ben!” called Lisa.

“Like we practised, okay, kid?” Dean added, and watched Ben’s face relax into concentration as he placed the ball for his free kick, just a yard outside the penalty box.

“You practised free kicks with him?” Lisa said to Dean, sounding like she was holding back a laugh. Dean glanced down at her; she had her eyes on her son, but there was a little smile on her face.

“A couple times,” Dean said. “He asked.”

“That’s sweet. And I thought you two just watched TV and ate too much pizza together.”

“We do that too,” Dean said. “When I have a say in it.” He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them up. On either side of Lisa and Dean, also at the edge of the soccer pitch, were other parents all waiting on Ben to take his kick. They were standing on wet grass, a few of them stamping their feet to keep them from going numb.

Ben took a short run up, swung his leg, made contact. The ball sailed high, dipped – and the goalie caught it neatly.

“Next time,” Dean called out when Ben’s face fell, and gave him a clap. The game played on.

“God, it’s cold,” Lisa said.

“You want my coat?”

Lisa looked up at him, her big brown eyes soft.

“You’re cute, you know that?”

“... Right.” Dean smiled awkwardly. Lisa’s would-be compliment hung in the air, sounding more incongruous the longer Dean stood tense and unmoving.

Lisa reached out, and put her hand on his folded arms.

“You wanna order in, tonight?” she said lightly. “Or I could make fajitas.”

“I can cook,” Dean said. “I’ll make burgers.”

“Mmm. Twist my arm.”

Some small burst of relief, there. Dean’s expression eased. He put his hands in his pockets, lifted his chin, as though remembering the role he was playing. Who he was, now.

He shifted his feet – and felt his right foot slide, almost right out from under him. He steadied himself, hands out to the sides, looking down at the grass.

“Careful,” Lisa said.

“Jesus,” Dean said at the same time.

“Come here,” Lisa said, holding out her hand.

Dean smiled.

“It’s all good,” he said, reaching out and giving the hand a squeeze, and then letting go quickly.

“Can’t have the head chef breaking his arm,” Lisa said, her hand still out.

“It’s fine, really.”

“Dean, would you hold my hand?”

“We’ll both go over,” Dean said.

“Mm-mm. I’ll hold you up.”

Her expression allowed no argument. Unwillingly, Dean allowed her to loop their arms together, Lisa pinning Dean to her side and turning back to the game, calling out to support Ben as he went for a tackle. Dean stood quietly. He was having to lean down ever so slightly so that Lisa could keep his arm tucked under hers.

He tried very hard not to move. Just the smallest slide of his feet and he’d be over and he’d take her with him. Every muscle in his legs was clenched, forcing himself not to slip.

After just a minute or so of stiff silence, Lisa sighed.

“Okay,” she said, “you win.”

She let go.

––––-

And now Dean was forty-one years old and walking down a street in Lebanon, Kansas, on legs that still felt a little new. The cold air was harsh; he took in a deep breath.

He went to cross the road, and a car gave a screech as it swerved suddenly to avoid him. The driver made a few different gestures at him through the window, and Dean held up a hand in apology.

It was easy to forget that things didn’t part and make way on Earth like they had done in Heaven.

“Couldn’t fix that for me, could you?” Dean said aloud. “Not that I’m not grateful for the ticket home, Cas, but Heaven had its perks.”

Silence. Dean kept walking, with only the slightest slump to his shoulders and crease on his brow. Lebanon was wearing snow like a big white coat. Dean’s boots crunched in it when he stepped off the gritted path to let a mother with a stroller go by.

“I should probably stop expecting to see you round every corner, huh,” he said. “Been a week now. And I keep wandering around thinking you might show up just ‘cause I’m looking.” Someone passing gave him a slightly frightened look and a wide berth as he walked by, talking to himself. Just another thing no one had much noticed in Heaven: the prayers. Dean frowned, and ducked his head. Tucked his hands in his pockets.

He walked quietly for some time.

Long enough for his hands to come back out of his pockets, and his shoulders to lose their self-conscious hunch. Long enough for the hurt in his eyes to seem nearer the surface.

“Might not even have been you that got me out of Heaven,” Dean said, his tone quiet, as though picking up the thread of a half-finished conversation.

A pause, in which he walked. Passed by other people, made no eye contact. Dean meandered a little as he went, as though his mind were elsewhere.

“If you’re angry, you could just tell me,” he said. “God knows I’d get it.”

He glanced to his left and right before crossing a road, his eyes lingering on the faces nearest him, as though he were looking for someone.

“Cas, just talk to me,” he said. The words were so quiet that no human but Dean himself heard them. He was still watching around him, waiting, but nothing happened.

He put his hands into his pockets again. Walked with his shoulders set a little lower.

“It’s not…” Dean muttered, a broken-off answer to a thought inside his head. “Just – I don’t know what you want me to do. Can you hear me thinking about you? ‘Cause it’s all the time, man. I don’t know what to do. Last time I saw you, you told me… but now you aren’t even…”

He rounded a corner and began to cross a small parking lot.

“If you’d just come here. You could tell me what I’m supposed to do. All I want is…” Dean’s eyes searched the backs of the cars he passed as if their number plates were esoteric texts with all the answers, all the things he needed to say. He breathed out. “I don’t know how, man, I don’t know what to do.”

He swallowed.

“It feels like I have to do something, though.”

He kept walking.

“Or, I don’t know. Maybe I just want to.”

He breathed out.

Emotions were crossing his face, too fast to catch one alone, too swift to parse. He looked down at his feet, watching where he stepped.

“If I had what I wanted,” he said, “you’d be here.” After a pause, he rolled his eyes. “I’m sure that’s news to you. Like, wow, right? Not as though I’ve ever asked, after all.” Another silence, and then he said, “But you know, I – it’s not that I just want to… fix it, or… finish things off. It’s not… I’m not…” He pressed his lips together, smiled wryly. “Jesus. I hope you can’t hear this. I’m not making any sense. I’m just trying to say, I want you here, man. I want you here to stay.”

A little flicker of light seemed to touch Dean’s eyes.

“You could stay now,” he said, “right? You could actually stay. If you wanted to. And we could…” He stopped. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

A car drove by, and the child in the backseat stared out the window at him. Dean blinked back to reality.

“We didn’t have time to think about what we wanted,” he said into the quiet of the parking lot, when the car had passed and he was walking again. “All this time. Or maybe you did. But I didn’t.” He looked upwards, towards the iron sky. “And now there’s time, Cas, and all I’m thinking about is you.” He looked down. “I said that already.”

He moved on, stepping out the other side of the parking lot and onto the sidewalk.

“I remember you said that the… the thing you want, you can’t have.” Dean took in a breath and let it go. “I don’t know why you thought you couldn’t. Whatever it is, man, you deserve it.”

His feet carried him onward.

“You gotta be sick of hearing me talk at this point. But I just…” Dean’s eyes glanced over the snowy Lebanon street in front of him, and he crossed the road. “I just want you here. Maybe I should take a damn hint.” His voice strained, hurt betraying the attempt at levity in his tone. “But you said… I keep thinking back on what you said. About how you feel. And I, uh. You know. If you’d just let me…”

Dean lifted his hands, a little helplessly, into the air as he walked, as though wanting to give something invisible to someone who wasn’t there. He dropped them awkwardly, his expression creasing.

He was circling back around towards the mall, his footsteps pointing him towards home. He looked heavy, weary. The lines on his face were deep, and his eyes were unfocused, lost in thought.

The people around him paid him no attention. He was just part of the crowd. They swirled across his path and around him, irrelevant to him, not seeing him. Except –

Dean came to a sudden stop. His gaze sharpened.

Twenty feet away from him, standing completely still, was a figure. Not struggling with carrier bags or strollers or wallets and keys like the other shoppers going into and out of the mall. Utterly stone still.

Tall, almost as tall as Dean. Wearing a long coat. Brown-haired. Impassive.

Watching Dean as though waiting for him.

And Dean visibly blossomed. His mouth fell slightly open, his shoulders loosened, one hand reached out unconsciously.

“Cas?” he said, disbelieving – and Dean saw a slight smile appear on Castiel’s face, and the angel slightly raised one hand in greeting.

Warmth touched Dean’s eyes, rising up as though from a great depth. He began to move, at first taking care on the slippery sidewalk. But his feet hurried him, and he was walking fast and then he was almost running, caution forgotten, eyes on Castiel’s.

It was when he was only a few steps away that his foot hit a patch of black ice. His arms went out, struggling to balance him – Castiel moved forward, one hand out – Dean reached for him on instinct, grasping his arm, his body relaxing in obvious expectation of Castiel being able to pull him upright –

But Castiel’s weight tilted along with Dean’s, and the ground gave them both a hard and cold welcome. There were some muttered ooohs from people passing by, and a few of them came to awkward stops nearby.

Dean landed hard on his back, head hitting the cement. He stared for a moment up at the sky. It had all happened very fast.

He sat up, and saw Castiel kneeling beside him, inspecting his own hands.

“Fuck,” Dean said. He put a hand to the back of his head. No blood.

“Are you okay?” said someone behind Dean, and he waved them off.

“All good,” he said, seeing in his peripheral vision that the people who’d stopped to look were moving on. He looked at Castiel. “Are you… you’re…”

Castiel stopped staring down at his hands, and looked at Dean instead. His blue eyes searched Dean’s face. Under his gaze, Dean smiled – a smile that grew on his face from a tiny brightness in his eyes until his whole face was alight with it.

“It’s you,” he said. "Damn, Cas, it's really you."

“It’s me,” Castiel confirmed. His voice held a recognition of Dean’s smile, a reciprocal warmth.

“You’re here.”

“I heard you,” Castiel said.

“You heard me? Just now?”

“Yes.”

Dean nodded. He was breathing a little fast. His gaze searched Castiel’s face, partly seeming to be looking for something, partly seeming already to have found it. People were stepping around them to get inside the mall.

“It’s good to see you,” Dean said.

Castiel smiled too, at last.

“But you know,” Dean added, “you could’ve just appeared right next to me instead of a whole freaking mile away on a slippery sidewalk. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

“Ah.” Castiel, still on his knees beside where Dean was sitting, dropped his gaze. “That was, in fact, not under my control. Jack sent me down here. After I asked him to do something for me.”

Castiel looked down at his hands again, and this time Dean looked too. His expression broke into slight surprise when he saw red on Castiel’s palms, at the sight of the blood – and then the surprise came in a second, deeper wave, as realisation hit.

“Cas,” he said.

“Just a graze,” Castiel said calmly.

“But you – you’re – that’s not supposed to happen,” Dean said. He reached out, and took Castiel’s hands in his own, inspecting the little scrapes on the skin. “You can’t get hurt like this.”

“Well,” Castiel said, “I can, now.”

“But you’re…” Dean stared at Castiel, seeming suddenly caught in consternation.

“Staying,” Castiel finished for him.

Wide-eyed, still sitting on the sidewalk, Dean took this in. Something light crossed his face, then anger, then confusion.

“I heard you,” Castiel reminded him. Dean stared at him.

“What I said?”

“Yes.”

“About staying?”

“Yes.”

“And you… you want that?”

Despite the hustle of people around them, the crunch-crunch of their boots in the snow and the harshness of their voices, Dean and Castiel might have been the only two people in the world when Castiel said,

“Yes, Dean.”

“So, but – before, in the bunker, with the Empty, when you said – the thing – the thing you said you wanted –”

Castiel looked down at their hands. Dean’s holding Castiel’s.

Dean tightened his grip.

“Just that?” he said, his voice sounding thick.

Castiel said nothing, words seeming to fail him.

They stared at each other. Hands in hands, touching, Castiel bleeding. Dean didn’t let go.

“It’s yours,” Dean said roughly.

“You mean…” Castiel’s eyes were suddenly wide. “You mean that you…”

“Since pretty much day one. I just never thought you’d want that from me.”

The world moved past and around them. They didn’t notice. Castiel was radiating happiness in every body line, though he was unmoving. Dean was watching him as though afraid he might disappear in the space of a blink.

"Is this real?" he said. "My head hurts enough for it to be real."

Castiel nodded.

“You’re really staying,” Dean said.

“As long as you’ll let me.”

After enough time under the steadiness of Castiel’s gaze, it seemed finally to sink in for Dean – the truth of it, the reality of it. Dean breathed out.

He swallowed. He looked down.

He smiled.

“We should get home, then,” he said.

Castiel didn’t say anything, but he gave a nod made small by emotion.

“Oh. I’m sorry, though,” Dean said, his eyes catching on Castiel’s small injuries now that he was looking down again. His thumb lightly touched the place where blood was drying on Castiel’s palm. “If I’d known I wouldn’t have run at you.”

“It’s fine,” Castiel said, getting to his feet and pulling Dean up with him, their hands not letting go.

“I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Don’t be,” Castiel said, his blood on Dean’s hands, and still holding them. “Don’t be.”

[huggybearsunshine]

Should I Go? II

[Part 2] Everyone is just trying to be supportive as Dean works through a lot of complex feelings. Not sure if some trigger warnings apply cause I stay pretty positive about it but let me know if I need to add something to this description.

“Dean told Cas what?” Eileen’s eyes lit up as she sat on the bed frozen in glee.

“He said he loved him- Right in front of me,” Sam reiterated.

“And you think it was romantic,” Eileen spoke while her hands moved in tandem, “Not like a family type thing? Cause I swear if you get my hopes up-”

“It did not seem platonic in the least…” Sam replied, sinking onto the bed and letting a puff of air push from his lungs, “Breakfast is gonna be insane tomorrow…”

“If they even make it to breakfast,” she smirked.

As if the information had just dawned on him, Sam’s eyes widened, “They’re going to be even worse this way, aren’t they?”

Eileen’s hand signed a quick Probably before they settled into their bed and began the process of dozing off.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice rasped out the name, but was surprised to find himself in his room alone.

He lifted his phone from the bedside table and laughed before rolling over onto his back.

11:00 am.

He hadn’t slept that late in his life.

Sitting up, he could see the Angel’s trench coat on the floor and he smiled to himself, stretching his arms and legs before reaching for his boxers.

He grabbed a t-shirt from a drawer and a clean pair of jeans, slipping them on before making his way toward the kitchen.

“There he is,” Eileen grinned as he entered, noting that Dean only had eyes for the Angel in the corner.

“Hey guys,” Dean spoke off-handedly as he entered further into the kitchen.

He crossed to the coffee machine where Cas just so happened to have stationed himself, leaning against the counter sans trench coat and suit jacket.

“Didn’t mean to sleep in…” he greeted him quietly as he poured himself a cup.

“You looked like you needed it,” Cas’ eyes warmed, “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Thanks,” he replied with a quick kiss to the other man’s cheek.

Cas’ face lit up at the show of affection and an ‘Aw’ escaped Eileen’s lips.

The hunter glanced at the other two quickly before returning his attention, “Wanna go for a walk?”

“I’d love to,” Cas nodded sweetly.

“Cool,” Dean nodded toward the others, “We’ll be back in a bit.”

He took Cas’ hand and led him from the room and out of the bunker.

They found a somewhat clear path in the trees and walked comfortably for a short time before either would say a word.

“I wanted to talk about us,” Dean started with a slight shake to his voice, “You know, we uh… kinda… didn’t… last night.”

“Dean, I hope you don’t regret-”

“I don’t,” he stopped, turning Cas toward him, “I really don’t, okay? That’s not what this is.”

“Okay,” Cas nodded, “What is this?”

“That’s what I want to talk about… What last night means… you know… for our relationship, I guess,” Dean cringed at himself.

“Oh,” Cas nodded, looking slightly guarded, “Okay.”

“I don’t know what you think of all this… I mean, we said we wanted everything, right?” Dean started cryptically.

“We did,” Cas nodded.

“So I guess I’m asking what everything means to you ‘cause to me…” Dean looks into his eyes pleadingly, “It means- Damnit… I’m not good at this…”

“If I may?” Cas’ eyebrow raised slightly as he ducked his head to catch the hunter’s eye.

“Please,” Dean sighed, resting his hands on Cas’ shoulders as his own found a home on the hunter’s hips.

“I want to drink coffee with you every morning and watch you sleep at night. I want movie nights and breakfasts. Hopefully more of what happened last night?” Cas’ tone rose in question at the end, and Dean laughed, “I love what we are, Dean,” he rubbed his thumb under the hem of the hunter’s shirt, “Other than that, I don’t have much experience to draw on to even know what I want…”

“Most of that’s stuff we’ve always done,” the hunter smiled fondly.

“It is,” Cas agreed, “Dean, I just want you.”

“You say it like it’s so simple…”

“I suppose it is for me,” the Angel smiled.

“I’m gonna get there,” Dean shifted and swallowed.

“I know you will,” Cas pulled him closer, placing a chaste kiss to his lips, “I have no problem waiting.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Dean huffed.

“I would wait centuries for you,” Cas touched his cheek, “I have.”

“Cas…”

“I love you, Dean…” the Angel leaned his head against the other man’s own, “Exactly as you are.”

“I love you too,” the tension released from his body as he wrapped himself around the Angel tightly, then quietly, “You want to know what I want?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas breathed out.

The hunter’s hand moved up the back of his neck and into Cas’ hair, pushing another soft sound from the Angel’s lips.

“Want you to be happy with me,” he hushed, “Wanna be yours… you to be mine…”

“I am yours,” Cas replied earnestly, “I’ve always been yours.”

“I don’t want to be bad at this, but I know I’m gonna be,” he pulled away to look Cas in the eyes, “I want to promise you I’m gonna try my best…”

“You put too much pressure on yourself,” Cas held his gaze with authority, “I think if we are going to do this, we need to be equals.”

“You’re right,” Dean nodded, “I’ll… work on that.”

Dean’s body shivered against Cas, and his head tilted in concern, “You look chilled.”

“It’s fucking freezing,” Dean laughed.

“Let’s head back then,” he took the hunter’s hand and they began the trek back home, “I wish I’d worn my coat…”

“You’d let me wear the trench coat?” Dean asked with a playful grin.

“Of course,” Cas looked confused, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, just seemed special,” he shrugged lightly, a hint of a blush creeping in.

“I guess it is…” Cas acknowledged, “I don’t think I would offer it to anyone else…”

“Huh… Trench coat privileges…” Dean responded proudly with a gentle smirk before they carried on the rest of the way in a comfortable silence broken only by the sounds of birds and twigs snapping beneath their feet.

“Hey,” Sam nodded as Dean entered the Library alone a little later, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, um… we need to talk,” Dean gripped the back of the chair as he approached, looking almost forebodingly at the thought of sitting in it.

“Okay,” Sam looked caught off guard by this, but he readied himself.

Dean reluctantly dropped into the seat and fixed his nervous eyes decidedly onto his brother across from him.

“I didn’t mean to have all that happen in front of you yesterday…” Dean’s gaze wavered and his eyes dropped to something safer, “Um… there’s a lot that happened I didn’t tell you about… a lot in general, I guess, that I didn’t tell you about…”

Dean adjusted awkwardly in his seat and his eyes darted around, Sam guessed to map out a possible escape that he thankfully chose not to take as his eyes settled once again onto Sam.

“I’m really wanting to do right by him,” Dean blurted and immediately rolled his eyes at himself, having jumped further into what he planned to say than he meant to, “I wanna be with Cas, Sam… I guess I’m wanting to know what you think of that, but also, if you don’t like it, you can go screw yourself.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth tugged upward and a dimple sunk in next to it, “Dean, I’m glad you told me, and I just want you guys to be happy…”

“Wouldn’t that be a change of pace,” Dean scoffed but a small grin took its place as he lost himself in thought.

“So I gotta ask…” Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, “Have you always… I mean, is it just Cas or have you liked other guys before?”

“I uh… no, yeah, there was um… one other, but I never acted on it, and Dad made it pretty obvious how he felt about that kinda thing just ‘cause he had an inkling of it…” Dean looked outwardly uncomfortable at the turn of the conversation so Sam didn’t push for more.

“Well, Dad was wrong about a lot of things,” Sam replied with a tight lipped expression, “But the family who’re here, all love you- and Cas.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean cleared his throat, emotions raw and closer to the surface than he would like, “Thanks, Sammy.”

———————

A/N: @spuffy-destiel I love this! I’ve never had a tumblr bestie so the position is yours! Your appreciation for all the heller madness I create really makes my day! Sadly I can’t comment back because this is a secondary account and tumblr hates me and won’t allow it for some reason! Hope you enjoy!

[scones-and-texting-and-murder]

Bookends

(This story was originally written for and published in the DeanCas Anthology back in 2018. )

Word Count: 2223 Rating: General ao3 link

Cas pulls as close to the door as he can, checking the rearview mirror to make sure he isn’t blocking traffic as he waits for Dean to get out of the car. Before heading inside, Dean ducks his head back in to smile at him. “I’ll get us some coffee.”

Instead of driving away, Cas stays there, watching until Dean pulls open the diner door. Leaning heavily on his cane, he shuffles more than walks, his bow-legged gait made stiff by the arthritis that wracks his joints. Cas waits until he’s safely inside, then pulls past the open handicapped space Dean stubbornly refuses to use, and finds an empty parking spot.

Cas’s car is boxy and utilitarian, and Dean often proclaims that he wouldn’t be caught dead behind the wheel of something so ugly. Cas plays along because giving up driving had been Dean’s toughest concession to age, but as his vision deteriorated and his reflexes slowed, it had become an unavoidable sacrifice. With replacement parts for the Impala harder and harder to come by, Dean had finally agreed to keep her stored safely away in their garage. Cas knew it pained him to see her shrouded under a tarp, her motor idle and useless, but Dean would rather enshrine her in pristine condition than risk one more run-in with a light pole or curb.

With his ugly car parked, Cas crosses the lot to join Dean inside. While he’s aged as well, aged to the point that nobody questions the two of them together, he’s been spared many of the maladies that Dean’s combat-wrecked body has endured, and he moves with relative ease. The best they can figure is that the grace he’d had on and off over the years left his body with a certain resilience to the passage of time. Cas can’t cure Dean as he once could, can’t ease the aches or slow the aging process, but he can use his own comparatively good health and mobility to take care of him.

Inside, Cas navigates past the hostess stand to find Dean at their usual booth, chatting with their usual waitress. The two of them go to this diner religiously each Sunday morning, where the pews are scuffed burgundy vinyl booths and the altar is the breakfast buffet with the generous senior discount. As always, Dean has maneuvered himself across the bench seat to make room for Cas to sit beside him. His cane rests against the wall in easy reach, the simple carved wooden handle belying the fact that the base unscrews to reveal a bayonet-like tip. It’s never been wielded as a weapon (although Dean uses it, still sheathed, to poke at aggressive pigeons who muscle in around their favorite park bench), but that potential made it “badass” enough to overcome Dean’s resistance to using it.

To Sam’s everlasting chagrin, Dean has kept all of his hair, and it’s turned a stunning silver. The crinkles around his eyes have deepened, meeting the roadmap of lines that cross his face. His shoulders are stooped, his joints are stiff, and Cas thinks he’s never been more beautiful. After so many seemingly certain ends, so many years assuming Dean would die young and bloodied, the fact that he’s living out a full, lengthy life is an unparallelled blessing. Cas marvels at the gift of days that have unfolded into decades, granting them time he never dreamed they’d have together here on earth.

As Cas settles into the booth, he smiles and greets their waitress.

“Two for the buffet?” she confirms as she pours their coffee. Cas doesn’t even have to check to know that she’ll leave Dean’s at a little more than half-full so he can lift it without the tremor in his hands sloshing it over the brim.

They drink their coffee quietly, simply enjoying the ritual of being here. Dean peers at the laminated card that lists the specials, even though he never orders off the menu.

“Shall I?” When Dean nods, Cas gets to his feet. “Any requests?”

“You know what I like,” Dean says, leaning over to swat at Cas’s butt.

Picking up two plates from the warmer, Cas slides them along the metal counter, filling them in tandem as he traverses the buffet. Pancakes are too difficult for Dean to get on a fork, but the crisp waffles are good. Bacon he can pick up and eat, and Cas uses the tongs to place precisely two strips on his plate. If Dean wants more, he can get up and get it himself.

Dean can argue with Cas’s choices, but they’d had a hell of a scare a few years back. Cas will never forget the look on Dean’s face when their phone rang in the middle of the night, alerting them that Sam had been taken to the hospital in an ambulance. They’d rushed there themselves, Cas driving in silence, knowing that nothing short of seeing Sam with his own two eyes could reassure Dean. Thankfully, it had been a mild heart attack and, after spending a few days in the hospital, the discharge plan called for cardiac rehab and an appointment with a nutritionist. With Sam’s release imminent, Dean had relaxed enough to crow at the irony. “Don’t either of you try to tell me what to eat ever again. Mr. Organic Produce is the one lying in the hospital bed while my pork-rind-fueled ticker is going strong.”

Still pale, Sam’s brow furrowed with resignation. “I’m beginning to think you can’t die.”

Dean jabbed a finger in his direction. “You don’t get to go first. We have a deal.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam lifted the hand without the IV in a mock salute.

“That’s more like it,” Dean said. “Speaking of which, I need a snack.”

Cas helped him up and they walked to the elevator that would take them to the cafeteria. As they waited for it to arrive, Dean pulled Cas into a hug. Cas left a hand on his shoulder when they stepped apart again. “All right?”

Dean nodded, his green eyes shining with tears. “I’m glad you’re here.” Cas started to respond, to remind him that there was nowhere else he would be, but Dean cut him off. “I know you know. But I wanted to say it anyhow.”

Cas noticed a change after that. Dean was still the same stubborn mule Cas had fallen in love with, but he gradually became more willing to let Cas help. And somehow, Cas loved him even more for it. He loved seeing the slow-blossoming acceptance that came when Dean stopped seeing Cas’s help as a sign of weakness.

Now, standing in front of the steaming trays of food, Cas considers what else to add to their plates. He bypasses the cauldron of oatmeal (they eat that at home most mornings) and continues along the buffet. There’s a tremendous satisfaction in being allowed to care for this man who has done so much for so many and asked for so little in return. In fact, Dean has now embraced this new role so fully—no longer questioning what he deserves, or grudgingly accepting help, but full-on enjoyment of being doted on—that Cas has to be careful he doesn’t get lazy. There’s nothing Cas would rather do than settle Dean in front of a sunny window, snug in the recliner for Cas to wait on like a pampered cat, but he knows that sort of inactivity would do Dean’s joints and his heart no favors. So he watches Dean’s diet and insists on them taking slow walks after breakfast when his energy is highest.

Their neighborhood is a mix of young and old and everyone knows the two Mr. Winchesters who circle the block on days when the weather permits. The kids on bikes and scooters know to give them a wide berth, their parents warning them that the old men need the entire sidewalk, but they call out their hellos as they go by. They’re friendly with everyone except the woman who lives on the corner. Dean is convinced she’s a demon, but Cas suspects his distrust of her stems more from the fact that she seems immune to his charm. (Whatever the reason, he’s had to talk Dean out of chalking a devil’s trap inside her mailbox more than once.) They chat with their neighbors about the weather and the score of last night’s ballgame, and it’s so painfully normal that Cas sometimes feels his throat tighten up at the wonder of it all.

When Cas returns to their booth, Dean examines his plate. “They outta bacon?”

Cas cuts the waffle into manageable pieces and peels the wrapper from the muffin before sliding Dean’s plate over. “You know the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says. “You just like to look at my ass when I get up.”

They eat in congenial silence with Dean methodically working his way around his plate, eating everything heartily, even the fruit. Sitting next to him, Cas can easily scoop up any bites that miss his mouth, plucking them from Dean’s lap or his shirt.

“You two good?” The waitress asks when she comes to refill their coffees. “Need anything?”

Dean swallows the bite of muffin he’s working on, and rests his hand on top of Cas’s. “I’ve got everything I need right here. An actual angel, this one.”

She nods agreeably. “I can almost see his halo.”

Cas has learned that an old man can say just about anything and receive an indulgent smile in return. When Dean references angels or demons or the apocalypse, people assume he’s speaking in metaphor and they’ll nod pleasantly. Sometimes he’ll do it purely for effect, telling rambling tales from their past for the sheer enjoyment of being able to speak openly. He can’t always keep the details straight, but Cas is there to remind him. Some days, though, he seems to lose where he is in time, and there’s nothing Cas can do for that. Cas has taken to keeping a watchful eye on him in the late afternoons when he likes to doze on the couch with their one-eyed black cat curled up on his chest. Cas stays close in case he wakes from his nap agitated, calling for Cas, wanting to know where Sam is. Cas helps him to sit up as the cat springs down and scurries away.

“Don’t go,” he says again and again, and Cas takes him in his arms, assuring Dean that he’s here and reminding him that Sam is safe at his own home. He holds him until Dean shakily dismisses it all as just a bad dream.

The unfairness of it overwhelms Cas, and each time he’s left filled with wrath. These final years should be spent in well-earned peace, but instead Dean seems cursed with reliving his most frightening memories, traumatized anew by old, familiar fears. If Dean’s mind is destined to slip, why can’t it be toward blissful forgetting? What Dean has endured goes beyond what any human should; to ask him to bear it again is nothing short of cruel. But it’s a torture chamber created in his own mind, and all Cas can do is sit helplessly by, doing his best to ground Dean and bring him back to the present.

Cas looks at Dean’s empty plate. “Did you want to get some more?”

“Nah.” He’s full and happy and it’s time for their walk.

The waitress arrives to clear their plates. As he does every week, Dean asks if she needs to see his ID for the senior discount. As she does every week, she pretends to consider it before leaving the check. “You boys take your time.”

“Tip her well,” Dean says, leaning in to supervise Cas as he signs the bill.

“I always do,” Cas assures him.

When they’re ready to leave, Cas stands next to the banquette, waiting for Dean to retrieve his cane and slide himself to the edge. Using a combination of the cane and Cas’s extended arm, Dean hoists himself upright, groaning a little. Cas keeps a firm hold on him until he’s steady on his feet. Dean still dresses in layers, but these days it’s because he gets chilled easily. He favors heavy knit cardigans and as long as Cas gets the zipper started for him he can tug it up or down as needed. Cas checks him for crumbs then together they walk through the other tables crowded with families. They continue by the hostess station where a woman is wiping down menus. “See you next week,” she calls as they pass.

Cas steps forward to push open the door, and stands holding it. “Watch your step,” he says as he always does, pointing toward the raised metal threshold of the doorway.

Using his cane to steady himself, Dean shuffles his way over it, then stops to lay his hand on Cas’s cheek. His knuckles are gnarled, the skin of his palm is dry and warm, and Cas feels the same flare of awe go through him as he has since the moment he first found this glorious soul in the depths of hell.

“I am the luckiest man who has ever lived,” Dean says.

Cas kisses his palm, then takes his arm to help him on his way.

[quillquiver]

another chapter of this deancas wedding/honeymoon!fic. thank you @we-all-deserve-to-be-saved for the prompt! 

Castiel is not a morning person.

He likes lying in bed until he’s sore with it, stretching out on the memory foam like a king languishing among his pillows. He likes rolling over onto on a cool patch of sheet, and cuddling into the covers, and hooking his toes over the end of the mattress. Castiel likes holding Dean. Being held by him; tucked up against his chest or with a palm half-sunk into his boxer-briefs. Pressing kisses to neck and shoulders and the line of his hair.

Castiel likes the liminal space he occupies in the moments between sleep and wakefulness, where everything glows. It’s warm and wonderful and he draws it out for as long as possible, the minutes dragging along by way of tender touches. It reminds him of the peaceful parts of angelhood.

So, Castiel is not a morning person.

…But he can become one, for Dean.

Dean likes romantic gestures; not all of them—he isn’t the type of man who likes receiving flowers or chocolates or candlelit dinners. But picking up his favourite beer when Cas notices they’re running low, or staying up late to watch a movie despite being exhausted—kissing him, washing his hair, holding his hand, sitting with him while he works on the Impala… wearing women’s lingerie: these are all things Dean appreciates. Small things. Quiet things.

Cas knows that this is a gamble.

The alarm on his phone barely has the opportunity to buzz before he’s turning it off, carefully sliding out from between the covers. It’s dim, and Cas allows himself a moment to run his hand through the mess of his hair and dig his toes into the soft carpet. A breeze is coming off the water.

God, he hates early mornings.

“Where you goin’?”

Dean’s voice is slurred and muffled. He blindly reaches out and Cas meets him halfway, tempted into cuddling for just a moment longer. “Go back to sleep, Dean,” he murmurs, gently brushing over the pillow lines on his cheek.

“Mmm, w’sss hap’nin?”

“Bathroom,” Cas supplies, depositing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Dean’s reciprocation lags with exhaustion.

Dean frowns. Struggles to open his eyes. “Y’okay?”

“I’m fine,” Cas says. “Go back to sleep.”

“’Kay,” Dean mumbles. “C’m back.”

Cas melts like fallen ice cream on hot concrete.

He carefully extracts himself from their bed, padding into the other room and closing the bedroom door. The sun is beginning to paint the first impressions of light on the horizon; the water is calm—it’s going to be a beautiful day.

Castiel calls for room service.

He orders pancakes and waffles and eggs and sausages, lox bagels, a bowl of fresh fruit, mimosas. An espresso and a latte because Dean would never ask for it himself. “And would you mind putting a rush on this?” he murmurs into the receiver. “I know it’s early, but we’re newlyweds and I’m trying to surprise my husband.”

Cas has learned that the newlywed excuse goes a long way anywhere, but works especially well when paying outrageous amounts of money in a fancy hotel. He expects they’ll also leave the champagne bottle.

Despite the fact that Cas is pretty sure it’s considered impolite to do so, he moves the small table and chairs from the balcony and makes a nest on the marble floor out of spare blankets and colourful pillows from the couch. He tries to mitigate the potential mess by laying down some of their many extra towels. Room service knocks, Cas pulls on a robe, and then the smell of coffee and food starts rousing Dean from bed. Cas pushes the food cart—complete with opened champagne bottle—to the door of the balcony before entering the bedroom.

Dean has kicked off all the covers and is sleeping on his stomach.

There is no moment of thinking about what he wants to do—what he’s allowed; Cas moves without conscious thought, peppering kisses from Dean’s ass all the way to the nape of his neck and then lavishing his attention on his particularly freckled shoulders. “Mmm… smells good.”

“Breakfast,” Cas says.

“S’early.”

“I want to take you on a date.”

Dean’s eyes flutter open. “Now?” he asks, caught between sleep and incredulity.

Cas leans over and presses a kiss to his mouth. “Mm.”

“Sweetheart…” He whines. Cas feels himself start to smile. Dean doesn’t use pet names often, and more recently he’s taken to doing so while complaining; as if the verbal confirmation of his affection will bend Cas to his will. It was laughable until it became endearing—because Cas is sweet on him, and there is no one else Dean feels comfortable whining to.

“Your life is one hardship after another,” he agrees solemnly. Cas slides back down Dean’s body and nips his left asscheck. “Come on. Up.”

“What, we’re not even gonna—”

“After breakfast, Dean. Just come. Please.”

Dean rolls his eyes and grumbles about a different kind of coming. “Man, s’not even light out yet.” As Cas moves to get Dean his robe, he’s caught around the waist and pulled between bowed legs. “C’mon,” Dean needles, nuzzling at him until the robe parts. “A little nookie, a couple more hours of sleep… we can go on a date later.”

“Or we can go on a date now.”

Dean pulls away and looks up at Cas, narrowing his eyes. Cas smiles down at him beatifically, running a hand through his hair and tracing the shell of his in the way he knows turns him to putty.

“…You’re lucky I love you.”

“Yes.”

Dean continues to grumble to himself as he slides out of bed and towards his duffle, frowning when Cas catches his hand. “No need to get dressed.”

“But you said—”

Cas holds out his robe. “Follow me.”

Dean slips the thing on as they pad into the main room, his eyes immediately drawn to the food and coffee. He gives a low whistle. “Damn, Cas. We expecting company?”

And suddenly, the entire thing seems incredibly stupid. Cas dragged them both from the warmth and comfort of their marriage bed on their honeymoon to look at the sun rising, a thing that happens and has happened every single day since the Earth started turning. He did this knowing that neither of them get to sleep like this, or be alone like this, or touch like this—this much and this openly. He doesn’t even know if Dean likes sunrises; if this is one of those things that’s romantic in the wrong way.

“I know you like breakfast,” he says, instead of dragging Dean back to bed.

Dean eyes the set-up outside, turn around and… blushes. Is blushing, down his chest and all the way to the tips of his ears. “So this is, uh—you got up and did all this?”

Cas feels colour rise to his own cheeks. “I didn’t cook,” he says. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Dean echoes. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “So, uh, take me on a date, stud.” He looks nervous, Cas thinks, which is ridiculous and relatable all at once. Outside, the rising sun paints swathes of pink and orange across the horizon.

“…Right,” Cas says. “Yes. I will… do that.” He gestures to the balcony. “Please sit.”

They get settled with coffee, for the first time maintaining a respectful distance between them. It’s oddly hurtful, and the longer they remain apart the more awkward Cas feels. He’s practically shaking out of his own skin when he suggests they go back inside. “You’re tired,” he says. “We should just go back to sleep.”

“Wait, why?” Dean frowns. He has foam on his upper lip. Cas wants to kiss it away.

“You’re not having fun,” he continues. “And this was silly, anyway. We should just—”

“Who says I’m not having fun?”

“Dean—”

“C’mon, man, you gotta—” Dean cuts himself off. Shakes his head. “I’m not cut out for this stuff: dates, romance… you gotta know that by now. And I haven’t been with anyone long enough to, y’know, even get to the part where we’re mushy and shit. But… it’s not because I don’t want to. I mean, flowers and chocolate? Not my thing, but you know me, Cas. A-And we’re in love, right?”

Cas swallows thickly. He nods. “I’m in love with you.”

Dean’s huff of laughter is steeped in nerves. “Well, good,” he says. “’Cause I’m kinda crazy about you, too. So—so, why shouldn’t we have a sunrise picnic on the balcony at the fuckin’ Ritz?”

“We should, if you’re enjoying myself.”

“Hell yeah, I’m enjoying myself. Are you?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Drink your damn coffee.”

Cas stares at him for a moment before scooting closer. He wraps an arm around Dean and tugs, relaxing when over six feet of freckled hunter is suddenly plastered to his side. “Okay,” Cas breathes. “Good. This is good. I love you.”

“I love you, too, you loser.”

They come together more softly than usual, tentative in a way they haven’t been in a long time as they kiss. Eventually, Dean gets pulled onto Cas’s lap and shrugs out of the top of half of his robe. “Gonna need to work up an appetite to finish all that food,” he murmurs. He ducks down to suck and bite at the spot on Cas’s neck that makes him weak in the knees.

Cas snorts. “Very subtle.”

“So, uh…” Dean bounces his eyebrows like a lecherous old man.

Cas’s stomach growls. “Can we postpone the exhibitionism until after we eat?”

“There’s no one around!”

He’s smiley when Cas kisses him.

“What would you like for breakfast?” Dean opens his mouth and Cas rolls his eyes. “Besides me.”

“That’s mighty presumptuous of you, Castiel.”

Cas narrows his eyes. “I know you.”

“Yeah.”

It comes out much breathier than probably intended, and Cas can’t be expected not to kiss him. When they drift apart and Dean says, “Little bit of everything?” Cas gets up to make him a plate.

“Man,” Dean sighs, stretching out on the pillows. “This honeymoon thing is awesome.”

Cas hands him a plate piled high with bacon and eggs and pancakes and grins.

It really, truly is.

[dcforts]

[like today]

ao3

Dean wakes up without a weight on his chest.

He stretches on his bed, rolls on his stomach and smiles into his pillow that smells of fresh laundry. He feels comforted by his room, and the simplest event of finding his slippers right next to his bed.

On an off day like today, he usually puts on his robe and makes his way down the chilly hallways with only the sound of his steps and the faint buzzing of the generator for company.

Some days, like today, Cas is already in the kitchen. Dean makes eggs while he sits at the table munching on cereals. It’s just a habit he picked up from Jack; he can’t really tell what they taste like. Dean used to snap at the kid for the constant crunching in his ears so early in the morning - now he’s used to it. He sits across from Cas and eats his breakfast.

Every other day, Sam walks in and wants to talk about a weird dream he had and what it could mean. Rowena tells him he’s got a gift he needs to learn to control, but Dean is not sure there’s much to interpret about a cart full of expired food. Sometimes Sam talks about a case he heard about or an article he read.

Some days he says there’s case not too far from there, and he’s thinking of going ahead, check it out, see if it’s something up their alley. Some days Dean even agrees to let him go alone without putting up a fuss.

*

Today, Sam leaves and Dean asks Cas, “You sticking around for this one?” – back turned, eyes down, hands busy. Sometimes he doesn’t feel brave enough to do that either, so he just goes back to his room and hopes to find him there when he returns.

He makes his bed, carefully smooths out all the creases. He takes a long hot shower, humming a song he got stuck in his head, styles his hair, puts on some clean clothes.

Then he goes to the map room where Cas is usually squinting at Dean’s laptop screen. Not too long ago, he used to knock on his door and ask, “May I borrow your laptop?”; now Dean just leaves it around, and Cas doesn’t ask anymore. Dean doesn’t mind.

It’s curious – he uses only three fingers as he types, one index of his left hand and the index and middle finger of his right hand. Dean had been about to bring it up to Sam one time, but then he thought of all the things Cas knew about him and never mentioned and decided to keep this one about Cas for himself.

While they research, they’re quiet for the most part. Some days, the table between them is covered in books, in pizza boxes, in weapons, in blood. Some days, they argue and storm off and some days, Cas makes Dean laugh and Dean makes Cas do that face that Dean likes.

If he's had a long night, sometimes Dean dozes off with his head on his hand and his gaze in Cas’ general direction. Bitter thoughts drift him away, like, how Cas probably shouldn’t be there, and how this was never a place for an angel.

A titan of the sky, confined in a human body, squeezed on a chair in an underground box. How his skin must prickle, and his wings long to be stretched. How long it will be before he won’t take it anymore.

Dean doesn't like those days. He gets snappy and irritable and Cas leaves and it makes everything worse.

Most days though, like today, he looks like he's exactly where he's supposed to be and when he meets his eyes across the table, maybe even exactly where he wants to be.

Sometimes Dean relaxes a little too much and he’s woken up by the sound of the coffee mug Cas puts down next to the book he fell asleep on. His brain register a looming presence and his insticts tell him to jerk away, but before that can happen, there’s Cas’ hand on his shoulder, heavy and familiar.

Dean heart slows down, he sits up and drinks his coffee.

*

Today is peaceful, but Dean feels a little more alive, like on those blue early mornings on the road that make you regret stepping out of your car without a jacket and the smell of gasoline filling your nostrils seems stronger than it’s ever been.

Dean opens up the police scanner on Sam’s laptop and checks his texts. Most days there’s one from Jody who just wants to check in, like she’s patroling outside of their bunker. Today there’s one from Claire, replying to a text he sent her the night before.

you on a job?, he asked

no, just finished one, is what she wrote back.

He writes, come by for the w/e. Then adds, he wants to see you and sends attached a picture of Cas that he snaps on the spot without him noticing.

A few seconds later Claire writes back, just admit you miss me. And right after, ok. And then again, kaia wants burgers.

Dean grins and shots back, just admit you love my cooking

She sends a rolling-my-eyes emoji. Dean snorts and Cas looks up.

“Claire and Kaia are spending the weekend,” he explains.

"Good," Cas smiles and then says, “You should make burgers. She loves them.”

*

Some days Sam calls and says there’s nothing for them, and some days he calls and says there’s something for them.

Today Cas is typing away and Dean has just sat down with a fresh cup of coffee when Sam calls and it’s something.

Dean is not too bothered. Outside the weather is bad, but the place it’s nearby, the job seems easy and they can be home in time for dinner. And if they hit the traffic, well, Cas will be there. They will be fine.

He will roll down his window a little even if it rains and Dean will turn the radio on, and a familiar track will start in just the perfect spot, right before the chorus, and Dean will sing along quietly, tapping his fingers on the wheel, under the grey and the wet and Cas’ gaze, curious and slightly amused.

*

Cas asks again if they have everything, like he’s packing for a kid going to summer camp (Dean tells him), and takes one of the duffel bags from Dean’s hand without asking, and walks past him, like he’s used to carry Dean’s clothes and weapons. “Do you have your snack for the road?,” he asks, climbing the iron stairs and Dean stops in his track, glosses over the snarky suggestion that he’s the kid going to summer camp in the scenario, and instead actually wonders if he’s got time to run to the kitchen real quick, but then he shrugs, shoulders his bag and says “We’ll stop along the way.”

They can stop along the way, like they sometimes do. He will get a hot bagel and Cas will down half his coffee, and they will stand right outside the store, where they can’t get wet but they can breathe and hear the rain. And Cas will say – well, Dean can never anticipate what Cas is going to say, but that’s the good part.

*

Dean tells him to wait for him outside as he brings the car around but when he does, Cas is not there. Dean turns off the engine just as the first raindrops hit, hit, hit the windshield. Today there’s something different, he feels, in the familiar, comforting smell of the Impala, something fresh, new, something that whispers to him that he’s got the whole day ahead and all the time in the world after that.

By the time Cas gets out of the metal door, rain is falling heavily all over the roof and Dean feels nowhere on Earth, surrounded by water. Dean doesn’t hear the door shutting, but spots the blurry silhouette of a trench-coated figure approaching. He turns the key in the ignition and as the lights go up, he’s on Earth again.

Cas is unbothered by the rain, as he is unbothered by most natural events. He takes his time opening up the backseat door to toss the duffel bag in, before slipping in the passenger seat, trenchcoat soaked, hair dripping and raindrops running down his cheeks. Dean’s lips quirk up. Cas says, “I had forgotten a book.”

Dean doesn’t care. He says, “You should dry your hair,” but Cas shrugs, “There’s no need.”

Dean reaches towards the backseat to take a t-shirt out of his bag. He throws it on Cas’ head and starts rubbing his hair and he's so startled that for a moment just lets him.

“Dean,” he complains then and pushes his arms away, “I’m not a child,” he says. His face is red and his hair wild. Dean counters his annoyed look with a grin, “What?” he says.

Cas shakes his head, “Can we go now?”

But Dean is not ready yet. Sometimes, when he's alone with Cas like this, he feels something grip his insides and tug at him to say something.

He usually wants to say, I’m glad you’re here, but today he also wants to say, we could let Sam handle this one and just go for a ride, we could stop only when we get out from under the clouds and we could watch the rain from a distance and we'll be standing in the light, and if we’re lucky it won’t be too cold but if it is, who cares? You won’t be bothered by that and I won’t be bothered by that either cause you’ll be there, he wants to say aren’t we lucky? aren’t we lucky that you’re with me and I’m with you right now? and I have this feeling swelling in my chest, I don’t know what it is.

And I wish everyday was like this, exactly like this, but I’m not sure what this is.

But when Cas’s expression blends into confusion and he blinks, “Dean?”, he shakes his head.

They’re fine. With the whole day ahead and their whole lives after that. He feels like tomorrow he can have anything, but today – he likes today just the way it is.

“Just thinking,” he says, starting the car and taking the road, “Having a good day, is all.”

With the corner of his eye he can see Cas dubiously looking out at the pouring rain and back at him.

Dean meets his eyes and gives him a smile to see if he can prompt one in return without saying anything.

Cas’ lips twitch for a moment and then he smiles back.

_

*about Sam's dream: to my knowledge expired food in dreams mean unfinished business and stuff of the past we carry with us (sorry sammy i thought it was fitting - i had the same dream if that's any consolation)