#out of all moody and miserable vampires who miss being human etc etc

[hopecel]

Who am I supposed to love?

[ourcorny]

charactersssss (a constant wip)

annie morris … twenty-five. currently haunted by her paintings and doodles. how embarrassing! waitress, artist, medicated for an illness she doesn’t has. is actually just from a bloodline of cursed female creative types. more info can be found @tghluck. (fc: mary elizabeth winstead)

edward ainsley … sixteen years old, is actually fifty-seven, vegan vampire. utterly disliked by his vampiric peers due to his being turned into a vampire in his youth, rendered sixteen years old for life. has a tendency towards alcoholism in order to silence his cravings for blood since he deems vampirism altogether unethical. more info found @pastytwat (fc: craig roberts)

robbie moore … fifty. always one of those too big for his own boots kinda guys – one of the ‘i’m jumping ship as soon as hit eighteen’ types. that’s what he did, and that’s when he absolutely fucked it. ran his mouth too loud for too long and ruined any chances he had anywhere he went. robbie is a writer but his unwillingness to compromise with his work leaves him unable to find any real place in the industry. an absolute self publishing expert. to pay the bills he’s an english teacher but there’s no real passion for it. he came back to his hometown after struggling his way around the country and settled down in a marriage with his high school sweetheart that turned sour quickly. the pair never had children and were heading to a painful divorce when his wife passed away suddenly. years down the line and he’s still trying to wrap his head around it. jesus fuck this guy. (fc: marc maron)

tara shaw … thirty-four. owner of SHAWSPB, an independent publishing company ran (run? past tense…? it’s confusing) by one tara shaw, someone who needs to work on her social skills. as it seems, you can actually only reject so many people so many times before it bites you in the ass. more specifically (and more accurately), you can only reject so many people so meanly after you fire the companies’ reader because they’ve let one too many trashy reads out of the slush pile and you have to start wading through the heaving thing yourself. opening manuscripts seemed well and good and safe enough because all you’d be facing is words that were crappy in a worst case scenario, until late one night, you stumble upon something that a sour faced rejectee (yes, one that landed themselves with a personalised handwritten and very specific rejection from the woman herself) gets their pages in the pile. tara opens it and finds that it’s no story at all. it’s a string of nonsense – words that don’t exist, script she’s not sure she’s ever seen before, but transfixed on the page, tara shaw reads the thing front to back and the second she puts the papers down is hurtled into the space time continuum, left to float around in there til something grounds her back into the real world, when or wherever that is. it’s an act of karma, or something, and whenever she lands she pukes her guts out because that’s what that kind of thing does to the human body apparently. (fc: natasha lyonne)

genevieve walsh … seventeen. was made fun of in year six for choosing to go to an all girl’s catholic secondary school, her classmates saying that she would end up a lesbian. she did, though it was unrelated to her formal teaching. very unrelated. she has too much going on and is too moody for her own good. extra info can be found @genegrieve. 

morrigan kenny … age unknown. bringer of the apocalypse. wanders earth with her way too long hair (it collects twigs and mud) looking for someone to spend the rest of the end with.

alex … thirty-odd (undisclosed actual age) years old. she is yet to learn to do her taxes, and is for all intents and purposes: a con-woman. arguably not an ethical profession, charging the old and the gullible for exorcisms and that of a supernatural variety while having no knowledge of the subject. but a girl’s gotta make a living — volunteering yourself for stand up gigs at the same place night in night out with little to no compensation doesn’t provide much. she’s a kind person, if you ignore the conning, and is decent to talk to. will give away any information. whoops. (fc: jenny slate)

lou webster … seventeen. modern prophet. refuses touch with good reason (skin on skin means she see the other person’s skin melting off, right to the bone). regularly sees the end of the world and it gives her stomach aches. (fc: natalia dyer)

liv o'dell … twenty-nine. screaming messy would probably win the lottery (the luck of her) if she ever tried it, multiple time accidental murderer. makes no sense. is rude. is annoying. has a surprisingly sweet daughter (kitty). more info @heavyroads 

betty cloverfield … a twenty one year old motormouth who can’t hold down a single thing she’s meant to. she happens to have recently induced some type of magenta sensitive dissonance in her sensory processing that she can’t shake. it’s speculated by many that she’s taken one too many poppers and it’s taken its toll. (fc: kat dennings)

aiden ryder … seventeen years old. the angstiest, quietest idiot with four fully charged portable chargers to hand at any moment you will ever know. heavily associated with @optimistsclub​ (fc: jack kilmer)

mert james ... 21. a children’s author, the writer and illustrator of the BEWARE GIANT CREATRUES series. he has many reasons to not want to leave his house and most surround the obvious images conjured in the phrase hatemyself1999 — hate myself (explanatory) and 1999 (dexter ‘mert’ james’ birth year. also self explanatory once you know this fact). all that said, he does in fact leave his house. teaches drums to kids. none of them practise and it makes him insane. in a running circuit of bands where none of the members are committed. that, or he’s misjudging their commitment and giving them nothing when they do in fact care and then he is the dick. music snob, deadpan snarker, karma houdini, middle child syndrome, world of cardboard, can’t get away with nuthin, i coulda been a contender!

lazyguts / victoria ... suicide/eating disorder mention. i’m writing her through ages 17-19 and here’s the brief overview/context: lazyguts lost all of her friends the year before she went off to university as a result of her total withdrawal [causes being a) her brother attempting to kill himself (he survived but it’s very confusing to grieve a hypothetical especially when you’re not supposed to talk about it) and then b) her already struggling with food issues getting worse worse worse. these two things alone are not the reasons as no one else explicitly knows about them, but the adverse effects of these things combined make her difficult to be around/hard to maintain a friendship with her. all very tragic, but still happens. uno].going to a uni where she doesn’t know anyone seems like the best move. she does. she makes friends with a girl called olivia and they become mad close very quickly. this lasts maybe two months until lazyguts starts locking herself away in uni room and doesn’t see much of anyone at all. she has to drop out on mental health reasons just before the end of her first year. she moves back home and lives miserably and very solitary. she and olivia have long lost touch by this point. a few months later she sees an in memoriam post up on olivia’s social media from some of olivia’s friends saying how tragic the loss is, etc/ olivia had killed herself. the post had said something about a project for the close friends of olivia and she tentatively sends a message despite having never really known the girl. anyway, after quite a few ‘exaggerations’ and then a few straight up lies, she ends up super into the friend group of olivia’s based on the lie of being a long-time friend of hers. she’s not sure why the lie comes out nor why she keeps it going. it’s something to cling onto so she does. best way to put it is she’s very dear evan hansen about it, lying lying lying lllyyyinng. eventually she’s caught out but we’re not there yet (fc: odessa a’zion)

dale knox ... 30ish. painter/decorator. info literally not ever written out before. he’s lovely and in a constant state of stress! affiliated with @fullyfungi (fc: aidan turner)

lenny gata ... 26. lonely funeral poet. followed by a select few of the unknown dead #irl after an accidental latin spell read out at a graveside (not her fault, literally not her fault - she read this out in good faith). caught ignoring them/walking them to their homes depending on the day. (fc: aubrey plaza)

millie matthews ... 17. half part antichrist. the other half is her twin sister (#MISSING). currently, unfortunately, sadly, disappointgly, worryingly, being tracked down.

more tbaaaaaaaa thank you thank you

[shittyelfwriter]

Nightmare

Pairing: Unrequited Castiel x fem!reader, established Dean x reader!sister, Sam x reader!other sister

Word count: 8.3k, one-shot

Summary: Your sisters had made a deal to save Sam and Dean. You had made another deal, with Crowley’s help, to save your sisters. No one had seen it coming when you went missing, but even less had they expected to find you as a shadow of your former self.

Warnings: Usual spn levels of angst, trauma, demon deals, etc.

A/N: Sort of sourced from an old rp I did, and loosely off of Nightmare by Halsey. Another song fic, literally no one is surprised anymore (oof.) I’ve been extremely sick this week as I’ve been working on this, so apologies in advance if it isn’t as coherent as I think? Also apologies since tumbles apparently took away the line break feature and I’ve yet to find a way to fix that. I’ve made an attempt at line breaking in the meantime, we’ll see how it goes. 

More of my writing (masterlist)

You’d just been so desperate.

There hadn’t been a lot of time to think through what you were doing—there never was with this sort of thing, was there? All you knew is that your sisters had sold their souls for those Winchester boys, and now they owed theirs as debt. You weren’t surprised, exactly. It was just like them to sacrifice for the men they loved, and who loved them in return—they had done the same for the girls before, right? It was a stupid mess, but serious.

And with three days left before their time was up, and no other viable options on the table, you knew what you needed to do.

Oddly enough, you weren’t the type to have enemies. Of your sisters, you were the most polite, and quiet. Innocent, if you wanted to put it that way. For all of your connections to Sam and Dean, you weren’t hated in the supernatural world—if anything, monsters knew not to cross you because if anything happened to you, they’d be shooting themselves in the foot. You only believed in hunting when necessary; preferring to help creatures find ways to live without killing humans. Oftentimes you vouched for the odd vampire, or demon, even angel from time to time—which was perhaps why you were so close with Cas.

Well, close was one word for it. Rumors ran amuck that you two were hopelessly in love—but you weren’t in a relationship, by any means, nor romantically involved. You were very close, and yes you were pining after him, but you refused to ruin what the two of you had because you had a crush.

So it was surprising when you’d called Crowley for a reason other than a case. You didn’t exactly trust the King of Hell, but he had taken a shining to your wit and intellect. Perhaps he even had a soft spot for your well intentioned naïveté—or at least, that’s what he’d told you once before.

“Isn’t it more like you to ask Feathers for help with something like this?” The demon had asked you, and you’d looked down at your shoes, clearly distraught.

“We’re a bit past that point, Crowley. Don’t get me wrong,” you added, looking resolute. “I know better than to ask you to pardon my sisters. There’s a balance to this sort of thing, when you’re trading in souls.”

“Then what exactly are you here for?” He’d asked, and seeing your expression his face had fallen. “Oh no. Really?” Seeing tears jump into your eyes, he sighed. Be it far from him to be compassionate, but he really did have a terrible soft spot for you. “Dearest, I can’t let you do that. You know that, don’t you?”

“Please,” you asked, begged if you were honest. “I know it’s one soul for two, but…I mean, from what Cas has told me, I have a high quality soul.”

“He’s not wrong.” That was reassuring, somehow. Crowley circled around you, assessing you. “Of your sisters, you’re the most untainted. The Winchesters have a way of defiling those around them—your being more removed has done you good. You don’t drink, smoke, gamble, fornicate—still a virgin, which is a near miracle. And that’s coming from a demon.” You swallowed uncomfortably, shifting on your feet. Crowley came to stand in front of you again, his hands behind his back. “Sam and Dean had a heavy price on their heads, which transferred to your sisters when they renegotiated the deal. All of that on you would be…brutal, to put it lightly.”

“I know.”

“And you’re willing to take that on?”

“I don’t have any other choice.”

“You could let them do the time, wait for the boys to save them—eventually.”

“Not if I can help it.”

Crowley squinted at you. “You’d really sacrifice yourself for them?”

You let out a sad little laugh, shrugging. “Why not? I’m the only one who doesn’t have someone to live for.”

He seemed concerned by your statement, frowning and taking a step closer. “I know Castiel for one would disagree with that heavily.”

“Castiel is my friend,” you said, your voice breaking on the word. “Nothing more, nothing less. Taylor and Ariel have Sam and Dean in their lives, they deserve to have that. I want them to have that, and I’ll do what I need to to keep them all safe.”

“Your soul for theirs?”

“Yes.”

The King of Hell turned over your answer for a moment, the silence weighing on you considering how he’d turned you down at first. “On second thought, I do have a proposition for you, Y/N,” and you could tell by the look on his face it wasn’t going to be pretty.

In the end, you agreed to Crowley’s terms. “What will you tell Castiel?” He asked, and you knew he was concerned about the angel coming after him for brokering your demise.

“I won’t,” you said, resolutely. “I’m not going to tell any of them. They don’t need to know.”

 “Dean it’s been six weeks. Six weeks, and nothing from Y/N.” Your middle sister, Ariel, stood at the map table in the war room, staring her boyfriend of the past few years down with tears in her eyes. “This isn’t like her, Cas is worried out of his mind even though he won’t admit it—”

“I know!” Dean admitted, running a hand down his face. “I know, and you know that we’ve been doing everything we can to try and find her. Cas has been back on angel radio, Sam and Taylor have been working with Rowena to try and track her, but that didn’t pan out.”

“Rowena said something is tainting Y/N’s energy,” your youngest sister, Taylor offered from her seat next to Sam. “It’s impossible to track her the way she is now, whatever that means.”

“I think we all know what it might mean,” Dean said, and Ariel and Taylor immediately began to protest when they were cut off by a deeper voice in the doorway.

“Y/N can’t be a demon.” Cas looked much worse for wear than usual, more disheveled, with red rimmed eyes that if he weren’t an angel might suggest he’d been crying. But he did seem exhausted through and through, so maybe he actually had been crying. “We’ve been over this before, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah. Her soul is too pure, to become a demon she’d have to commit a heinous crime and none have come up on our radar that have anything to do with anyone who looks like her.” Dean slumped into a seat, clearly frustrated. “I just don’t know what to do, man. Y/N is incredibly intelligent, and capable—if she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be.”

“It doesn’t exactly help that Crowley isn’t picking up his phone,” Sam pointed out with a meaningful look.

“You think he’s hiding something?” Ariel asked, and Sam shrugged.

“I’m just saying. Y/N went missing around the time your deals were due, and seeing as you haven’t been collected by hellhounds, and she’s nowhere to be found—”

“Don’t say that.” Cas’ gritted tone garnered everyone’s attention. His hands were in fists, a furious and heartbroken expression on his face. “If she were in danger she would have prayed to me, I know it. She promised me, and Y/N doesn’t break promises.”

“But what if she chose to be in danger?” Sam asked, saying what everyone was thinking but was too afraid to say. “We all know she used to say that if any of us ever did anything too pigheaded, she’d trade herself for us in a heartbeat. We were so down to the wire, trying to find a way to save Ari and Tay that maybe we forgot that she’d promised that.”

Everyone fell into a miserable silence. They all knew it felt like the truth, but none of them liked it. Cas turned around and stormed from the room, up the stairs to the front door.

“Cas?” Dean called, concerned with his attitude but not surprised. He knew how close the two of you were, how much this must be tearing Cas apart. “Where you going, buddy?”

“To keep my promise. To bring Y/N home,” Cas snapped, but there was a catch in his voice that betrayed his emotion. He slammed the bunker door on the way out, and considering how heavy it was it made quite the clatter. Ariel and Taylor both cringed, exchanging glances, and Sam sighed.

“We should keep an eye out for unusual demon activity,” he said, and they all knew what he was saying.

“On it,” Dean replied, already on his way to the computers. If they were facing the truth, then maybe it would be easier to find you.

As much as your family and the Winchesters cared about you, this was perhaps hardest on Castiel.

He’d believed what he’d told them: that if you were in danger, you would have reached out, called, prayed to him, anything. Maybe you withdrew from your siblings, but not from him. He was usually exempt from your moody phases, always an exception to your rules. This time, being shut out had him worried much more than he would have anticipated. And it made him wonder how badly you were in trouble, if you hadn’t prayed to him.

He didn’t want to believe what the others were saying. He didn’t want to even think, let alone believe that you would have sacrificed yourself without coming to him for help first. It was tearing him apart to think you’d been so afraid, that even now you could be suffering the full force of two Winchesters worth of torment—and all because he hadn’t realized you were pulling away until it was too late.

It was driving him frantic, leaving him chasing his own tail trying to find any scrap of information as to where you were. And now that that had failed, he was moving onto the next phase: direct action.

He found demons. He tortured them, trying to get them to talk, to let slip where you were. They seemed afraid of him, but not more than they were of talking. Three died before they gave up something he could work with: the address of an abandoned hotel in Chicago, and the promise that Crowley would try to stop him.

“I hope he does,” Cas growled out, smiting the demon in the chair it was tied in before whirling, picking up his angel blade from the table and heading to Chicago.  He needed someone to take his anger out on, in big swinging punches, and Crowley was seeming more and more like the right face to make a punching bag.

Of course he’d called Sam and Dean and the girls. Of course he’d told them to get the dungeon ready, just in case. Either he was bringing Crowley back, or…he didn’t like to think about the other option. But when he reached the abandoned hotel, saw the penthouse windows lit up from the sidewalk below, he knew he was going to have to prepare himself for the worst case.

Not that it made that any easier.

He was surprised to find the bottom floor unguarded. Finding the elevator out of order, he ascended the staircase of the hotel, his apprehension rising with each floor. As he reached the penthouse, he drew his blade and approached the door—surprised to find it open, cracked ever so slightly.

“Castiel.”

It was like a dream, or some sort of reverie the way your voice carried out from the room. Music to his ears, how clear and unharmed your voice sounded. He felt his vessel’s heart skip a beat, his pulse rising as he pushed the door open with his free hand. Maybe this was all just a misunderstanding. Maybe you were okay, almost dared to let himself hope. Almost.

You stood there, in the middle of the room. It seemed lived in, as if you’d been there for a few days. But your back was to him, and you were examining something in your hands, something he couldn’t see. The energy in the room was all wrong, he couldn’t sense your soul—that bright ball of beautiful flame that he always found himself mesmerized by. No, the air felt static, and heavy—there was a demon nearby, and everything in him was clawing to find an answer that meant it wasn’t you.

“Y/N,” his voice was relieved; he just couldn’t help it. After weeks of searching, he was weary of missing you, of being afraid for your life. Seeing you in front of him unscathed was a mercy he hadn’t thought he’d be afforded.

But then you turned, and your face was all wrong. His angelic eyes were horrified to see your face, not glowing softly with the radiance of your soul, but hollowed out into the thing he’d feared most.

“Took you long enough,” you said, your voice still normal sounding and a little amused. It was like you were mocking him, that he’d thought you’d be alright. “What’s wrong, Cas. Aren’t you happy to see me?” You smiled, and it was earnest, filled with the happiness and love that normally greeted him. But then you blinked, and your eyes went black.

“Y/N, what have you done?” Cas asked, his world shaken. It felt like everything had gone upside down, that nothing made sense. He’d grounded himself with you, and now you were the inverted version of yourself. He didn’t know which way was up.

You could sense his confusion, could see it in his form that you could finally look at unharmed. “They always did say that you were handsome, and I wondered how much was true,” you admitted, casting your blackened gaze along his true form. “It used to make me jealous.” A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “You are altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you.”

You quoting verse at him was already twisted enough, but Song of Solomon was a particularly low blow; as if you were mocking his affection, the love you shared but never spoke of.

“Why.” It was a simple question, but it seemed to puzzle you as you came closer, stopping when you were a foot in front of him. He longed to reach out, to pull you close and reassure you everything would be alright, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Not now.

“Why do you think?” You were so calm, so at peace with what you were that it was unsettling. Normally demons were full of anger, venom, spite. But you still seemed like you, if not a bit faded out. Like your personality had been switched from color to black-and-white. “I had no other choice, Castiel. It was either them or me.”

“Why you?” He asked, anger creeping into his tone. His chest rose and fell, barely contained emotion showing itself physically. “Why should you be the one to bear their sins?”

“Why not me?” You asked, tilting your head. You blinked, and your eyes went back to their normal color. It was like nothing was wrong, it was just him and you. “You’ve thrown yourself into danger for us without a second thought many times before, Cas. Why is my doing so worthy of questioning? I did what I needed to do, to protect those I loved.”

“Loved,” Cas clarified, and you smiled sadly, the emotion not reaching your eyes.

“Demons don’t love, do they?”

“Neither do angels,” he countered. “And yet…” His eyes lingered on your face, searching for anything that gave away this was a trick, that you were really you. Your gaze softened, something almost like emotion behind them as you realized the intention behind his trailing off. It made his grace want to reach out to you.

“I’ve missed you, Cas,” you whispered, and he believed you had. He believed that you believed you had. But he knew that like this, you couldn’t properly miss anybody.

“I miss you too,” he replied, unmoving when you set a hand to his cheek. It felt wrong, when you touched him, which was so wrong itself. All he’d wanted for weeks was you to come back, to comfort him. Now that you were, it felt terrible. Your face darkened at both his words and lack of response.

“You should be more grateful,” you said, withdrawing your hand. All sweetness had left you, your tone cold as you took a step back. For the first time, he realized you were holding an angel blade. His relief could have cost him his life, and he wouldn’t have even seen it coming. “I could have been dead, or worse.”

“Isn’t this worse?” He demanded, irritation creeping into his voice. You could see it, the anger rising behind his eyes, the celestial in him spurred to action by your behavior. You saw his wings flutter angrily, but there was a conflict in them—like he knew he was angry, but they had a mind of their own and still wanted to embrace you. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“Oh, Cas,” you singsonged, holding your blade behind your back with both hands and swaying from side to side. You were grinning again in spite of yourself, far from aware of how manic your mood changes were. “Do your wings always reach for me like that? Was I just too blind to see it?” His lips turned downward in frustration, and you knew you’d hit a nerve. You faked a gasp. “Is it possible your true form is more forward with your feelings than your vessel? Fascinating—especially considering how little you give me of yourself.”

“I give you more of myself than I do to anyone else.” Hearing him be so firm was even more arousing than usual, and you felt your own wings aching to come forward, to mingle with his despite the contrast of their essence. “I stay with you while you sleep when you ask for it, my arms wrapped around you, keeping you safe. I protect you on every hunt, at every opportunity. I put your safety above my own in all things, and I always answer your call, whether it be in prayer or over the phone.”

“Which I’m assuming is why you’re so offended I didn’t call,” you finished, noting how wound up he was. You rolled your eyes, sighing and abandoning your stare down to return to packing a bag at the end of your bed. “I didn’t need you to save me, Castiel. Not this time. I needed you to let me go.” You looked over at him, sadly. “I still do. There’s nothing for you to save here anymore, angel. And I’m sorry it had to end this way—really I am. But this is the end of the line for us.”

“No. No, I refuse to believe that,” He argued, raising his voice. “The Y/N I know wouldn’t give up so easily. She wouldn’t just surrender to becoming”— he looked you up and down—“this.”

“A demon,” you pointed out, seeing his expression sour at the words. “You can’t face it, can you? That this is what I am now?”

“I won’t,” he growled, staring at you, rage behind his blue eyes. “I won’t accept it, because I’m going to make it right. And once I’ve done that, Crowley will pay.”

“Crowley only did what I asked,” you said, crossing your arms. “I asked him to intervene, he didn’t have to, but he did. I owe him everything.”

“You don’t owe him anything, Y/N!” Cas said, clearly exasperated. “Look what he’s done to you!”

“Made me stronger,” you said, calmly. “Erased my weakness, given me something to do while serving my time—well. My sisters’ time.”

Cas seemed ready to snap, like he was about to boil over and was afraid he’d take it out on you. “Enough of this,” he said lowly, striding forward. You didn’t attack, allowing him to grab your wrist. “I’m taking you home.”

“I don’t want to go home.” You refused to move, feet planted firmly.

He narrowed his eyes at you, cocking his head. “Do I look like I’m asking?” He said, all sass, and you hated that desire pooled in your stomach from the fiery look he was giving you. Despite that, you forced a firm glare.

“I’m not going back. Not to the bunker, where they’re going to look at me the same way you are right now.”

“We—“ He sighed, rolling his eyes before fixing you with a clear gaze. “We care about you. We want what’s best for you, Y/N, I know you know that deep down.”

“And what’s best for me, Cas?” You asked, arching a brow at him. “To go ‘home’, have you lot try to ‘cure’ me? Go back to being a pathetic little girl, who pines after you like a puppy who’s master only comes home when he needs something from her?” That hurt him, you could see it in his face. “No, fuck that. I’m done being the child of the group. I’m done letting you make a fool of me, like you have all these years.”

“I’ve made a fool of you?” Cas nearly hissed, rounding in on you, so close you were practically nose to nose. His eyes were furious, hurt. “No, little girl, you’ve been making a fool of me all this time. Making a laughing stock of me to my brothers and sisters, who spurned me for my weakness—my weakness for you.” 

“Why should they? It’s not like you’ve ever acted on it.” If you’d had the ability to feel your emotions, you would have been crying. “All this time, Castiel. First Dean and Ariel, then Tay and Sam. Everyone around us finding love, and yet with everything we’ve been through, we stay the same.” You tried to shake his hand away, but he wouldn’t let go. “Was it me? Was I the problem? Because back when I cared, I sure thought I was. Something must have been wrong with me, that you wouldn’t want me despite what we share. But then I realized that maybe you just needed someone who cared no matter what. A little more than a friend, a lot less than a lover.”

“Enough.” He shook you a little, the look in his eyes far more emotional than you would have expected. “I’m not having this conversation with you the way you are right now,” he told you, and you scoffed.

“Please, any other time I’d be too shy to talk about it.”

“Which is incidentally why I don’t bring it up,” Cas said, exasperated.

“So you admit you don’t want to talk about it, right.”

He stopped and stared at you. “And I thought you were impossible when you’re human,” he muttered.

“Surprise, surprise,” you said with a wink, and he sighed. “You gonna let go of my arm yet? Crowley will be back from an errand any minute and I doubt he’d like to see you with your hands on the merchandise.”

“Would you stop talking about yourself like that.” He pressed his lips together, as if he didn’t like what he was about to say. “I know you have an issue with self-loathing to begin with, but this is taking it to an unhealthy place.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You think this is cause I hate myself? No, Cas. Maybe I finally loved myself enough to get out. To stop pining over you, and grow the fuck up.” Your eyes went black, and you saw his anger boil up again. “This is what I’ve chosen to be, and I don’t owe you, or anyone else, a goddamn thing.”

“Is that your final answer?” He asked, and you reached for your blade with free hand. He clutched your wrist tighter, a warning.

“Yes.” He was clearly dissatisfied, but you could tell he wasn’t about to give up. He was about to say something else when slow clapping sounded behind the both of you. Cas turned, revealing Crowley in the doorway—clearly entertained.

“Bravo, Y/N, you him occupied long enough for me to show. Told you it wouldn’t be hard.” He stepped into the room, Cas already bristling. He was shielding you with his body, you realized, finding that funny—but something deeper within you began to worry. Crowley hadn’t mentioned hurting Cas. Was that what this was about?

“You,” Cas said, nearly a snarl, but Crowley waved him off.

“Oh come on. We’re past that by now, aren’t we? You know as well as I do that we both have a soft spot for Y/N. I did what I was asked, save the holy wrath for someone who actually deserves it.”

“You made her a demon,” Cas pointed out furiously. “I think that warrants a bit of wrath.”

“Yes, and she’s lucky she got the easy out. I had to pull some strings to make that happen—do you have any idea the kind of torture that was lined up for Sam and Dean?”

“I’m taking her with me.”

“You’re really not.”

He really was though, because exactly 17 minutes later he was leaving the room, a bit bloodied and bruised but with Crowley pinned to a chair with your angel blade, and you unconscious, slung over his shoulder. Crowley was shouting after him, promising all sorts of foul repayment for his interference, but at that point Cas didn’t care anymore. He was far more concerned with the apathy you’d found in your new state of being—because that didn’t come naturally to a demon, and it made him think something was wrong with the way you’d been turned.

When you awoke, you were handcuffed and chained in the dungeon of the bunker, a dim overhead light making you squint. The last thing you’d remembered was that you’d had Cas pinned to the ground, your blade at his throat as Crowley had yelled at you to finish him. But it all went blank from there. What had happened?

“It’s not important,” came a familiar voice from the corner, and your stomach churned at the idea that your thoughts had been combed through. You noticed Cas there for the first time, sitting in the semi dark, his forearms resting on his knees with blue eyes fixed curiously on you. “What matters is that you’re home now.”

“You’ve made a big mistake bringing me here,” you threatened, but Cas merely sighed.

“Dean’s already spoken to Crowley. We’ve given him something he wants—an item, not a person,” he clarified, seeing your interest. “While he’s still annoyed about the fight we had, he’s letting it rest for now.”

“How long have I been out?” You asked, tilting your head and groaning. You felt lightheaded, dizzy, out of sorts and you knew it wasn’t from whatever had knocked you out. You looked about the room for what could be the cause of your pain, when your eyes fell on the series of needles on the table. You groaned. “Really, Cas? Blood therapy?”

He didn’t answer, but it didn’t seem to matter when the door opened and Dean, then Sam came in.

“Where are the girls?” You asked, your tone again, too normal. It was like nothing was wrong, like everything had just been a bad dream. Only the cuffs and chains around you were a sign that something was amiss, your eyes flickering to black reminding them all that this was real. That you were the nightmare.

“Somewhere out of your reach, for now,” Sam said, picking up a needle. “Is it time, Cas?” He asked, and Cas nodded. “Good.” He came over to you, and even though you struggled he still managed to get the needle into your neck. It felt like your blood was on fire, and you were freezing all over at the same time. You hissed angrily, thrashing about as much as you could.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said, near begging. But neither Dean nor Sam seemed to be in the listening mood.

“Back in an hour?” Dean said to Cas, and again, Cas nodded. You growled in frustration, kicking your feet.

“Talk to me, dammit!” You demanded, but neither brother paid you any mind as they left the room, closing the door behind them and leaving you alone with the angel again. Your head lolled to the side, and you looked at him. You were bleeding from your nose, eyes their normal color but red rimmed, with your bottom lip split from your fight earlier. “Please,” you begged, near whimpered. “Please, just let me go. I don’t wanna go back to what I was before. I don’t wanna go back to being that miserable.”

Cas’ expression shifted to some kind of emotion for the first time since you’d woken, guilt and sadness marring his features. “Did you really hate it all that much?”

You couldn’t reply, your returning humanity hanging heavy in your throat. He got up, and you felt your pulse quicken as he took slow steps towards you. One, two, three. A finger lifted your chin.

“I don’t understand,” he said, voice low, scanning your face—your true face, which was beginning to faintly shine with the light of your soul again, just barely; like a flickering lightbulb. “How did he turn you? I see no signs on you of a sin large enough, no spot on your soul dark enough to warrant your demonic nature. What did he do to make you this way?”

You blinked, eyes heavy with tears. “I’d rather die then tell you anything,” you said angrily, turning your face away and out of his grasp.

“Maybe you feel that way now. But it will pass.” You hated him in that moment, in his surety that he could bring you back from the place you’d begun to feel was safer than your own home—the dark depths of what you’d become. You tugged at the chains again, trying to escape against the odds. You knew there was no getting out. All of you had kept Crowley in this dungeon before, for weeks at a time. All you had was hours, you weren’t even sure how many; but by the feeling in your head, you assumed you were around halfway finished.

“You might as well relax,” Cas said, grunting as he took a seat again. His blue eyes fixed on you the same way they had before, with patience and wariness. “We’re going to be here a while.”

He was right. It was a good five hours before your treatment was nearly done. The boys had been coming in and out on the hour, dosing you and giving you a scrutinizing look before leaving you with Cas, in silence. Your hatred for their coldness has begun to fade into a lonely sadness every time they ignored you—a sure sign of your humanity returning, which only made you more miserable.

One last syringe remained, and this one Cas had insisted on giving to you himself. He came to stand in front of you, your face layered with a sheen of sweat, your hair clinging to its edges. “Please,” you begged brokenly, and it wasn’t clear if you were begging him to stop, or to give the last dose. He paused, looking into your eyes. He could see the shine of your soul beginning to stabilize, but something beneath was ebbing darkness, the source of your demonic energy. Your core wound. His curiosity got the better of him, and knowing that you wouldn’t tell what had caused you to succumb to your fate, he set a hand on your head—stepping into the memory of it.

Just like now, you were strapped into a chair. He was viewing you from the front, as he had been in the dungeon, but you didn’t see him. Instead, your eyes seemed fixed on something behind him. No, someone.

“This will only work if you believe what you’ve done to be a truly heinous sin,” Crowley explained, holding up a vial of inky liquid in front of him between two fingers. “Think you can do that, love? I know you don’t have much to go off of, but—”

“I know what will work.” You sounded resolute, but Castiel could see your pulse hammering with fear, worry. The look in your eyes spoke of regret, sadness, and pain.

“Right then.” Crowley opened the vial, tipping its contents out into the air. It was like a smoke, slithering towards you, a whisper behind it. It wound and coiled around your body like a snake, grasping at your throat. There was no external noise, but inside your head a voice spoke, discordant and echoey.

“What have you done to be worthy of calling yourself a demon?” It questioned, and your eyes slipped closed, tears slipping down your cheeks.

‘I have desired the undesirable. I have longed to love that which is not made to be loved, but to be venerated. I have wished to belong to that which cannot be understood by my own nature. I have loved an angel, with all my heart, and body, and soul, and in doing so, I have defiled his divinity—tainted his light.’  

The smoke hesitated a moment, then snuck into your mouth and nose, making you writhe in pain. When it stopped, your eyes opened, pitch black, your pained expression empty, vacant.

“Y/N.” Crowley said your name, spurring you to awareness, and you looked up at him with dark, oily eyes. He smiled.

“Welcome home.”

Cas took his hand off your head, finding you gasping for air. He felt similarly breathless himself, taken aback by what he’d seen. All the same, it only redoubled his resolve, and he reached for the last syringe, plunging it into your neck. You let out a blood curdling scream, chains biting your wrists as the antidote burned through you, the last of the demon in you washed away. You fell silent for a moment, stunned and in too much pain to think clearly, before a sob overtook you and your head fell to your chest. The emotions were so very much, after feeling so little.

“Y/N,” Cas breathed out your name like a breath of fresh air, relieved beyond belief to see the last of that ghastly face fade away, replaced in full by your soul. He reached out out of instinct, to caress your face and smooth your hair aside, but you whimpered and pulled away. When you looked up, there was so much fear in your eyes it nearly stopped his vessel’s heart.

“Y/N?” The door to the dungeon flew open, Sam and Dean rushing into the room. “Cas?” Dean demanded, wanting to know if it had ended well.

“She’s okay,” Cas assured him, his eyes not leaving yours. “The cure worked.”

“Thank god,” Sam sighed in relief, and he and Dean both came forward to help you, checking you with salt and holy water before undoing your chains, apologizing profusely all the while.

“We couldn’t take any risks,” Sam explained. “We had to get you back, understand?” You’d nodded weakly, and Dean had pointed out how exhausted you looked. Sam picked you up, carrying you upstairs to where your sisters were waiting to help you recover from your ordeal. As he carried you out of the room, you saw Cas talking with Dean, shame weighing heavily on the angel’s shoulders. He glanced up and your eyes met for a moment, guilt all over his face before you hid yours against Sam’s shoulder.

You didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to act after what Cas had seen in your mind.

It had been four days since you’d been cured. Four days, and you still hadn’t spoken to Cas. 

The others had all thought that the moment you’d had a shower, had a proper meal and maybe a good long cry, the first thing you’d want to do was take comfort in Cas’ presence. It’s what you normally would have done, anyway—maybe even before the crying part, since he usually was your shoulder to lean on.

But you hadn’t. You’d given your sisters an explanation, a half apology for what you’d done but you’d stood your ground that you believed it to have been the right choice. Everyone, Sam and Dean and your sisters all made you promise that you wouldn’t sacrifice yourself like that again; that you’d trust in all of you to find a solution, together. You’d agreed, just because you were too tired to argue anymore. You felt weary all the way down to your soul, just wanting to sleep for the sake of getting away from all your thoughts and emotions. So you did. And when anyone asked you if you’d like them to call Cas, that it wouldn’t be an issue, you’d quietly reply that no, that wasn’t necessary thank you.

“You don’t have to hide from him,” Ariel told you, sitting at the end of your bed. “I know that going through what you did, with him there must have been strange—maybe even embarrassing. But Y/N…you know by now that there’s nothing you can do to shake Cas’ faith in you.”

“He never stopped believing we’d bring you home.” Tay was in the doorway, offering you a smile. “We were all afraid that maybe you were gone for good, but he wouldn’t even consider it.”

“Cas cares about you, Y/N,” Ariel agreed, and you felt your pulse quicken, stomach twisting itself in a knot. “He loves—”

“Do you think I could have some time to myself?” You blurted out, fresh tears in your eyes. Ariel seemed disappointed, exchanging a look with Tay before smiling softly.

“Of course.”

The silence was too heavy, after they left. You rolled onto your side, picking at the blanket, your eyes stinging. The blanket was one Cas had bought you for your birthday; something to make the bunker feel more like home. It was soft, with silk edges, and was a particular shade of blue that usually comforted you. But now, it made you want to break down completely. You got up, swiping angrily at your tears with the back of your hand before tearing the blanket off the bed, folding it hastily. You couldn’t handle any reminder of Cas, not then. The way you felt reminded you of all the times he’d been dead, when you couldn’t handle the idea that he wasn’t coming home to you. You wondered if he’d felt that way. You wondered if he felt anything, at all.

You knew he did, and you knew that the doubt was your despair talking. Because as much as you’d been avoiding Cas, he’d made no effort to come to you either, and you knew why. You felt so, so extremely guilty, broken, that he’d seen your deepest fear, and that it was something that reflected so poorly on him. It wasn’t his fault that you felt like you’d been a weight around his ankle, continuously pulling him back down to earth since you’d met. Your guilt was your own, it had nothing to do with him—but it did make you ashamed, and want to hide yourself away. Which is what you were doing now, you realized, looking down at the blanket in your hands. Hiding yourself away, pushing away any vestiges of his affection. They’d told you your soul had returned, but if that were true, why was there a gaping hole in your chest where your heart should have been?

You sat down on the edge of the bed, clutching the messily folded blanket to your chest. You just didn’t see a way out of this, a way where he could forgive you for viewing your relationship with him in such a negative light. You pressed your mouth and nose into the blanket to stifle your noises as you broke down into sobs, screwing your eyes shut as your shoulder shook. This was too much. All of it was too much, and you wished you could go back to just nothing.

Until you felt a hand on your head, you looked up and found a familiar pair of blue eyes on your face. He was looking at you with such sadness that your breath caught, choking on your sobs. “I-I’m so s-s-sorry,” you cried, and the hesitance about him melted away. He knelt in front of you, pulling your blanket out of your arms and setting it on the bed beside you. He opened his arms, and you wrapped yours around his neck, burying your face against his shoulder. “It’s not like you think, I promise,” you told him, and you felt his hand rest on the back of your head again. “Do you hate me?” You asked, in barely a whisper. It had been your biggest fear from the moment he’d seen inside your mind in the first place.

“No, I don’t hate you. How could you think that?” He asked, breath warm against your ear. You could have sworn he was about to cry as well from how thick his voice was with emotion. “How could you let yourself think that you caused me to fall?”

“I…” you stammered, looking for the right words to convey your contriteness. “I suppose it is a bit arrogant of me, to assume,” you began, but he cut you off, turning his head to look you in the eyes.

“No, Y/N,” he said, and you realized there were tears in his eyes. “How could you let yourself feel that kind of guilt, over me? Over something you didn’t do? My multiple fallings out with Heaven…they came from me trying to redeem my own failings, not from you dragging me down to you.” You should have been embarrassed, sitting there with your arms round his neck, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, much too close for casual conversation; but you weren’t, and this wasn’t. It was for the first time like a wall had been fully brought down between the two of you, all reservations set aside. You weren’t afraid to say how you really felt, not anymore.

“I know that,” you admitted, sniffing softly. “I know that you chose to leave all of that behind, that I shouldn’t take the gravity and free will of that decision away from you. But on the other hand…” You bit your lip, turning the words over in your mind to make sure you had the sentiment right before sharing it, fresh tears pooling in your eyes at the brutal honesty of it all. “There has always been this pull between us, even before we became close in the way we’ve become accustomed to, in the…the friendship we’ve had. Castiel, I…I’ve loved you from the first time we met. And so for me, our friendship has always been convoluted, mixed up with my feelings for you into this guilty, one sided thing where you don’t realize how deeply I feel for you, and meanwhile, I’m burdening you with a love you never asked for. Never chose.”

“Didn’t I choose you?” Castiel replied, bumping your nose with his own, raising your gaze back to his. “Don’t I always come back to you, always you over anywhere else on this earth? Always you, when the choice is mine. In making a place for myself here, rather than in heaven, I have always found it preferable to be at your side.” It was true, when he said it. It made what you’d said to him before, in Chicago, weigh even heavier.

“All this time, Castiel. First Dean and Ariel, then Tay and Sam. Everyone around us finding love, and yet with everything we’ve been through, we stay the same.” You tried to shake his hand away, but he wouldn’t let go. “Was it me? Was I the problem? Because back when I cared, I sure thought I was. Something must have been wrong with me, that you wouldn’t want me despite what we share. But then I realized that maybe you just needed someone who cared no matter what. A little more than a friend, a lot less than a lover.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to push away the thought of what you’d said when you hadn’t cared about the consequences. But you could tell, by the way that his hand came up to hold your face, that he’d heard you anyway. 

“It makes it easier,” you confessed, mortified as you realized a truth you hadn’t even let yourself admit yet. You sighed shakily, eyes fixed on his tie and unable to meet his. “To believe that I’ve been hurting you, by pulling you down. Because if I believe that—if I believe that I’ve trimmed your wings with my love—then it’s easier to understand why you wouldn’t want me. It being my fault is easier to live with than just…not being enough.”

“The only way that’s correct is that the reason you and I haven’t had what your sisters and Sam and Dean do isn’t just because of me,” he said, raising an eyebrow at you. But he was smiling softly, and you could feel your pulse in your fingertips from how hard your heart was beating.

“Oh?” You managed, quietly. Trying not to look at his lips was harder than usual when you were this close and personal.

“It’s also because you’re both incredibly stubborn, and incredibly shy when it comes to romance. I didn’t want to push you too quickly, and for me, the waiting wasn’t a problem. I’ve waited much longer for much less.” You supposed that were plenty true, considering how he experienced time on a cosmic time scale rather than a human one. “But it was never because you weren’t enough, and definitely not because you trapped me.” He tilted his head, trying to catch your gaze. “Why do you feel like your love is such a cage? It’s been my safe place, my succour, but never a confinement.”

“Because angels aren’t meant to be loved, are they?” You said, and you saw the comprehension in his eyes. “Let alone love someone back. I shouldn’t have let myself feel what I did, should I?”

“I thought we’d set aside that kind of thinking after the apocalypse,” he said, and you sighed.

“It was easy to say that I had. Hard to stop, especially when this is new territory and I’m afraid to hope for more. Hoping for more felt selfish.”

“Y/N.” He caught your chin and finally brought your eyes to meet his. It was becoming too much again, too real. Too close to having it all, and you wanted to draw back again, fight your own feelings. But he was looking at you, and this time you felt like you were the center of his world for the look in his eyes. “It’s not entirely true that angels can’t love. It’s more accurate to say that until recently, no angel has ever tried.”

That nearly stopped your heart. “And...some angel did try?” You asked, cautiously, skirting around the real question. Humor crept into his eyes. 

“Yes.”

“And...did they succeed?”

“Almost too well, I’d say,” he replied, sighing and looking up at the ceiling, playing along with your little game just to keep you comfortable. “But of the risks that this particular angel has taken, daring to love is perhaps the one he regrets the least.” He pressed forward, closer into you, and your knees came to rest on either side of him. “You need to hear me say it, don’t you?” He said, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he squinted playfully at you, and you felt tears pricking your eyes again.

“Only if you mean it,” you replied, with a soft smile.

“Don’t you know that I do?” You felt his hands circle your waist. Goodness his hands made you feel tiny sometimes, and you liked it. His breath was warm on your lips, the blue of his eyes so soft and eager just for you. “Every time I’ve stayed, held you all night. Every time I’ve cradled you to me, every time I come when you call. It’s all there, you just didn’t want to hear it yet.” Perfectly sculpted lips pressed gently against yours, a ghosting of affection to lead the words you’d needed for so long. “I love you, Y/N,” he said, words soft against your mouth. “And by now, I know that I always will.”

The last little bit of your reserve melted, fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him in. “I love you too, Cas,” you reassured him, between breathless kisses. You knew you didn’t need to say it; that he was the one that could read your mind and heart like an open book. But it was all out there now, the rest of it being told in touch, no more unspoken feelings between you, no more wondering ifs to keep you up at night.

When your sisters and Sam and Dean came to find you later, they found you both tangled up in the blue blanket, your face tucked into the crook of Cas’ neck—but the expression on his face in the dim light from the lamp beside him told them everything they needed to know.

You were really yourself again, for the first time in a long while.

Tag list is currently open, feel free to request being added!

@netflixandcastiellll @splendidcas @bkwrm523 @imamotherfuckingstar-lord @joanne-egberp @willowing-love @samanthasmileys @consultingfanboy @castielspahdehrah @gryffindorable713 @miss-spnm0mma @blushingjared @grace-for-sale @mrswhozeewhatsis @a--1--1--3 @mertwintinyhouserealtor