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the-pen-and-the-angel-blade · 6 years

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Say Something

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A/N & Disclaimer: The song medley used was created as a tribute to Operation Underground Railroad, an organization whose mission is to rescue children from sex trafficking. The fanfiction has nothing to do with this. I have no affiliation with either GENTRI or O.U.R., nor do I own either of the songs used. I also don’t own “Supernatural” or anything involved.

It was always supposed to end like this. You’d known that all your life, from the very moment you had found out that more things existed in the world than humans…and that those things tended to want to kill the creatures that weren’t as powerful as they were.

But despite your understanding of this fact, it was a little hard to accept that you were going to die. Not so much because you were leaving life—to be honest, hunting often wasn’t much of a life to begin with—but because you were leaving the people you loved most in the world.

The fight had been quick and brutal. It hadn’t been so much that the demons had outnumbered you—though they had—but the fact that they were working with angels had severely crippled your side of the altercation. None of you had predicted that. Not Sam, who had been researching the case for days. Not Dean, who often had an instinct for these things. Not Cas, whose siblings they were and who knew them best, who had wanted to spare their lives if he could. And not you, who had thought you were an expert on demons, but who had clearly missed something here.

“I’m sorry,” were the first words out of your mouth when it was all over, when Cas had tried to heal you and hadn’t been able to because of some curse by one of the demons. When you lay there gasping through the pain, watching the three of them—your family—crowd around you.

“What? Y/N, why would you be sorry?” Sam stared at you with those puppy eyes of his, the ones that had convinced you to do all kinds of things for him in the past, from researching when you didn’t feel like it to making food runs. It had never taken much besides a look from those pleading eyes before you cracked, and he’d always used this to good advantage—though never, of course, to make you do anything you honestly didn’t want to.

“I should’ve…known…they were up to something…” you replied, voice strained, having to pause every few words to breathe. “They weren’t…acting like normal…demons.”

“You couldn’t’ve known that,” argued Dean, stiff and still as he looked down at you, his slightly trembling hand placed so gently on your shoulder, in an attempt to both comfort you and reassure himself that you were there. You remembered extending that same gesture to him when you’d first met, when he’d seemed upset. And you remembered how over time, your friendship had evolved, until you thought nothing of flying over to give him a hug when you finished with a successful hunt, or retreating to his arms when everything was wrong with the world and you couldn’t keep back the tears any longer.

You tried to shake your head, but quickly stopped, as it hurt too much. “I should have…though. All those things…we thought were weird…and I’m the one who’s…hunted demons my whole…life—” You were cut off by a fit of coughing, trying not to whimper as each hacking exhalation jarred your many injuries, and blood left your mouth to stain your fingers bright crimson.

“But you don’t know angels as well,” Sam pointed out when you finished, one of his large hands coming up to stroke your hair softly, to help you feel a little better.

“But I do.” Cas’ voice was even lower and more gravelly than usual, his face like stone. “I do, and I should have known.”

“No. Cas, you—if I’m…not to blame…then neither are you.” You frowned at the angel, who was staying further away than either of the others. You wanted to beckon him closer, to beg him not to avoid you in your last minutes on Earth. But some part of you, the self-conscious part, worried that maybe you’d done something wrong, or that he was angry at you, or that he simply didn’t care about you like you had thought he did. Of course you knew that was silly, because although his sometimes-rigid manner had taken some getting used to, the longer you had known each other, the closer you had become. And as the two of you had gotten better acquainted, he had softened toward you, the same as he had with the Winchesters, until he hardly ever acted like…well, like this anymore. You knew he had some affection for you, had seen it in the way he would smile at you when the two of you talked, the way you could occasionally make him laugh by indulging your shared love of puns, the genuine warmth in the hugs you gave one another.

But it was sometimes hard for you to remember that he cared, especially when he acted like this. And if you were honest with yourself, your unvoiced feelings for him made you more sensitive to his behavior than to that of the others. If Dean shouted at you, or Sam avoided you, you knew it was often because they were sad or worried. But when Cas went all angel-soldier…it hurt, even though you tried to stop it, tried to tell yourself it was his way of dealing with more emotion than he was used to handling.

So the way he was staying away from you now, when you were about to die, when this might be your last chance to see him, to touch him, was hard for you to stomach.

As a soldier for the ranks of Heaven, Castiel had seen awful things. Death had followed him like a dark cloud where he had fought, manifesting in an uncountable number of ways.

But the sight of you with your insides spilling out over the dirty carpet of a room in some nameless motel made all the other horrors he’d borne witness to seem to shrink into insignificance.

He had tried to heal you. Tried so hard it hurt, so hard his Grace had swirled and tumbled inside him like a storm. But it had been to no avail, and now you were lying in front of him with Death again at his back, ready to scoop you up and take you away.

Away from him.

Say something, I’m giving up on you. I’ll be the one if you want me to. Anywhere I would’ve followed you. Say something, I’m giving up on you.

He couldn’t help but feel he was hanging on by a thread as he watched you absolve him from blame. He wasn’t sure what it was he’d do if that thread broke. But he wanted to spare you the sight of it, of whatever pain he would show, whatever anguish would break free of his control. You were hurting enough as it was. You didn’t need to bear his burden on top of it all. And he knew you well enough to know that that was exactly what you would try to do, if you were aware of what he was feeling.

His feelings. They were strange at times, indecipherable, bewildering. Especially when it came to you. He’d learned to recognize much of what he felt for Dean and Sam. Brotherly love, respect, admiration, protectiveness. He knew they were his family, and that he would do anything for them.

But with you…it was something else. Many of the emotions were the same. But there were other layers there, ones that seemed different somehow. There was the same kind of interest he’d felt in April, for one. The kind where your touch made him shiver, caused his heart to pound and his breath to come short and fast. And there was a concern for your happiness that exceeded even what he had for the Winchesters. An awareness of everything about you that made him cover you with a blanket when you shivered in your sleep, or heal you immediately after a run-in with a monster, or go to get food if he heard your stomach growl. And there was the empathy that he had for you, the way he seemed to share your emotions. When you smiled, he smiled, and when you cried, he felt something inside of him break.

These and so many more things were in his head, in his heart for you. And although he was all but certain he had finally figured out what they meant, he hadn’t told you—hadn’t wanted to bring it up until he was positive. A declaration of love wasn’t something he could go back on, he was sure. After all, if you felt anything like these things for him, and he told you he loved you, and then he was wrong…that would hurt you. And that was the last thing he wanted to do.

So he had kept the idea of love locked inside, even when it had seemed he had to tell you, had to say something or it would burst out of him.

He had kept it to himself, and now it might be too late.

And I am feeling so small. It was over my head. I know nothing at all. And I will stumble and fall. I’m still learning to love, just starting to crawl.

He couldn’t help but blame himself, despite what you had told him. If he hadn’t underestimated his siblings…if he had known them better, or been less trusting… He knew that had always been one of his greatest weaknesses, although it was hard to see it as a weakness sometimes. Trust was a good thing, wasn’t it? He had always been someone who wanted to believe in the essential goodness of others, whether angel or human. There were so many out there who were good, who honestly wanted to be good. And how could anyone be happy if they went through their existence thinking everyone was out to get them? But at the same time, his experiences with Metatron, with April, with Zachariah, and others… His tendency to give second chances had landed him in trouble so many times, and yet he kept falling prey to it, over and over. And what was worse, it had never affected just him. He had hurt so many through his poor decisions. And now you were added to that list.

The fight played in front of his unseeing eyes again. He had been engaging with a demon, palm to its forehead, ready to smite. Then the next thing he knew, your scream had pierced him as the blade had pierced you, and he’d heard another demon chant quick words that chilled him to the bone as he had turned from the one he had been about to kill, ready to move to your side and protect you from whatever harm had been done.

He’d taken a hit then, distracted as he had been from the first demon. Its weapon had sliced into his ribcage, and he’d been forced to turn back and smite the creature before it did any more damage. Sam and Dean had also been quick to kill their opponents, and by the time the white light of his Grace had faded, the battle had been over. But he couldn’t stop thinking that if only he’d been quicker, or less ready to allow his rogue brother to live when he had appeared in the room right in front of Cas…if he had just done something better, just one thing, then you might not be where you were now.

Dying.

Say something, I’m giving up on you. I’m sorry that I couldn’t get to you. Anywhere I would’ve followed you. Say something, I’m giving up on you.

Another coughing fit shook you, and you couldn’t help making a small noise this time at the sensation of ripping, tearing agony it caused. Immediately, both Sam and Dean were closer, Sam stroking your hair again and Dean’s hand moving to hold yours. You gripped it tight, needing the support. and, as soon as you could breathe again, looked up at Cas. He was staring at you now, his face still unreadable. But you thought you could see pain in his eyes, and it was that—his pain more than yours—that prompted you to reach out your free hand to him.

“Cas…” you breathed, your voice weak now.

His breath seemed to catch, and his eyes shuttered for a second before he gave in, moving to take his place beside Sam, beside you, and taking your hand in his.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he responded, soft and low, and you gave him a tiny smile.

“It’s okay, Cas. I understand.”

He shook his head. “No, you—you don’t understand. There’s something I didn’t tell you, something I should have said a long time ago.”

You frowned, tilting your head slightly in invitation, a gesture you had picked up from him. “What is it?”

He took a deep breath. Then two. And then he closed his eyes. “Y/N, I…I think…I think I love you.”

You stared at him for a long moment, your mouth dropping slightly open. Out of all the things he could have said, that had been as far away from expected as it was possible to be. And you had no idea how to respond.

“R-really?” you croaked at last, and could have kicked yourself. You were dying, you reminded yourself harshly. You had so little time left, how little you didn’t even know, and here you were wasting time on disbelief. And yet it was disbelief that filled you. Cas loved you? Castiel, the Angel of the Lord, was not only in love with a human, but that human was you? Surely it was too much to ask. Maybe he just meant he loved you like a sister. And yet…

Cas was nodding, his eyes fixed on your face. You saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard, and maybe it was that that told you what you needed to know, or maybe it was the look on his face—one of mingled longing and fear.

He loved you.

He really loved you.

“Oh,” you breathed weakly, and, taking in a trembling breath, you held your arms out to him, and he scooped you up and cradled you against him.

“Y/N, Y/N,” he murmured, holding you as close as he could without hurting you, and as you clung to him, everything disappeared—everything but him. All your worries and fears, all your pain…everything.

Everything except, as you opened your eyes, the little girl—the Reaper—who now stood before you, her small hand reaching out for you to take.

In the arms of the angel, fly away from here, From this dark, cold hotel room, and the endlessness that you fear. You are pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie You’re in the arms of the angel. May you find some comfort here.

“Come on, Y/N,” she said, in a soft, high-pitched voice. “It’s time.”

You shook your head and held on more tightly to Cas. “No. Not yet.”

“Y/N?” It was Sam, his eyes wide with fear. “Who are you talking to?”

“What are you looking at?” added Dean, his eyes searching the area where your gaze was fixed, but clearly finding nothing.

“There’s a girl,” you replied, and your voice wobbled just slightly as you added, “A Reaper. She wants me to come with her.”

“No!” That was Cas, his face suffused with anguish, and he had turned now so that he could see the Reaper too—and it was obvious he could see her, because his look was directly on her. “You can’t have her.”

“I’m sorry, Castiel,” the girl said, her tone oddly gentle for a child her age. “But you know that’s why I’m here. You know it’s her time.”

“No,” protested Cas again, this time in a whisper, and clutched you more tightly still. “No. Please.” And somehow, his objections just made you that much more reconciled to the facts.

“Cas,” you said softly, and he pulled back just enough to look at you, the expression in his eyes one of utter agony. You felt a pang at that, wincing as your stomach rolled. You hated it when he was unhappy, and this…this was worse than you had ever seen him. But the calm resignation that had come from seemingly nowhere—or perhaps it was a part of the Reaper’s powers—persisted. “Cas,” you repeated, and he shook his head, as if he was able to tell what you were going to say. You continued anyway. “She’s right. I…I have to go.” It hurt to say it, but at the same time there was a sense of relief, as if you were giving in, not to the inevitable, but to something that would be better for everyone in the long run, no matter how much pain it caused now.

“Y/N…” Cas’ voice was thick now, as if he was on the verge of tears, and, looking at him, you could see that he was. You had never seen him like this before, and another throb shot through you—not physically, but emotionally. But you held firm.

“Cas, it’s okay,” you told him quietly. “Look, I…I don’t want to leave you. The last thing I want is to leave you. But…it is my time. And I’ll be happy in Heaven. I’ll be okay. I can see my family again…” The thought of that made you choke up, and you had to take a moment before you could continue. “I’ll get Ash to help me.” The boys had told you what Heaven was like, and you had known Ash from the Roadhouse, so you were sure he would pop in to visit you when you got there.

Cas, however, just stared at you. You supposed it was a good sign that he didn’t argue this time.

You turned to Sam and Dean, swallowing, and held out a hand to each of them. “Guys…it’s been great,” you said, trying to ignore the lump in your throat. “I…” It was difficult to say, but you managed it. “I love you both. You’re my family.” You bit your lip. “I hope you know that.”

“Of course we do, Y/N,” replied Sam, his voice just as clogged as everyone else’s was. “You’re our family, too.”

Dean nodded in agreement, and then added quietly, “Y/N…there’s gotta be something we can do. You can’t just…” He trailed off, apparently unable to say the word. You shook your head, but before you could speak, Sam gave Dean a look. It was one of apology, but also acceptance, and it made Dean subside. Instead of arguing further, he just leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your hair, closing his eyes. You closed your own, and then rested a hand briefly on his cheek, wiping away the single tear that had escaped. Then you turned to Sam and squeezed his hand.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded to Sam and Dean, then looked at the Reaper. “Alright,” you said, and reached for her outstretched hand.

Say something, I’m giving up on you. (In the arms of the angel … ) I’m sorry that I couldn’t get to you. (Fly away from here.) Anywhere I would’ve followed you. (You are pulled from the wreckage … ) Say something, I’m giving up on you.

“Wait!” It was Cas who spoke, and you looked at him with grief.

“Cas…I have to…”

He nodded. “I know,” he whispered, tears standing in his eyes. “I—I know. But…at least let me take you. You don’t need her.” He gestured towards the Reaper.

For a second, you were startled. Then you demanded, “Can you do that?”

“Yes.” He looked at you pleadingly. “I’m an angel. We can escort someone to Heaven just as a Reaper can.”

You thought about that. The idea was an appealing one. Instead of taking your first steps to Heaven with a stranger, you would be with Cas, whom you knew. Whom you loved.

And yet…

“No.” Your voice was barely audible, and you had to clear your throat and try again. “No… Cas, you’re hunted in Heaven. Half your brothers and sisters still want to hurt you. If you go now…you could get killed.” The very thought made your lungs seize up with panic, and you put your arms back around him.

“Y/N…if I can take you…” He shook his head, though his own arms held you tightly to him in return. “Wouldn’t it be easier for you?”

You nodded, leaning your head against him. “Of course it would. But Cas, we can’t risk your getting killed just to make things easier for me.”

“But…” he started, and you put a finger to his lips, smiling wearily at him.

“No, Cas. It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. And I do expect you to come and visit me, once things settle down. Once you’re not hunted. I can wait until then. I’ll have all the time in the world.”

He was silent for a time, radiating hurt and fear until all you wanted was to stay with him forever. But you knew you couldn’t, and at last he nodded. “Alright,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “Alright.”

You took a breath. Now that he had agreed, terror of your own was beginning to set in, but you steadfastly ignored it. “Thank you,” you said softly, looking up at him with gentle eyes and reaching up to caress his cheek, your arm seeming heavier all the time. Glancing at the Reaper, you swallowed. “There’s only one more thing I have to say,” you addressed her, and she nodded.

“Go ahead, then.”

“Cas…” He looked at you, and you held his blue eyes with your own for a moment, taking in the way they looked, the way his face looked, to carry with you until you saw him again. You turned your gaze to Sam and Dean for a long moment, giving them an apologetic expression of farewell, and they both smiled at you, though Sam sniffed suspiciously and Dean was biting his lip so hard it bled. Then you turned back to Cas. “I love you,” you said, and tugged on the back of his neck with your waning strength, until he bent and kissed you softly. You kissed back as well as you could, and there was a moment, just one endless moment, when you were perfectly, blissfully happy.

And then the kiss ended, and with one last look to them all, you closed your eyes and slipped out of your body, taking the little girl’s hand and beginning your journey towards Heaven.

And back on Earth, in that dark, cold, nameless motel room, Cas cradled the shell you had left behind in his arms, silent tears sliding down his cheeks, and whispered into your ear, “Say something…”

But you weren't there.

Say something … I’m giving up on you. I’m giving up on you.

#reader insert #castiel #castiel x reader #cass x reader #cas x reader #reader x castiel #reader x cass #reader x cas

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the-pen-and-the-angel-blade · 6 years

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Of Chocolate and Chick Flicks

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

This was a birthday fic for my dear friend soulofawinchester.

Coming home with your arms full of groceries, you dumped them on the table in the library and sighed in relief at the disappearance of the weight. Much better, you thought, and smiled as you pulled a bag from the pile. It was time to indulge your guilty pleasure.

Bag in hand, you went to the kitchen and opened it, spilling popcorn seeds into a pan. As you waited for them to pop, your thoughts slipped to the place they most liked to go, and you found yourself daydreaming about Dean—his voice, rough but so gentle, complimenting you; his eyes sparkling green and gold as he looked into yours; his lips, parted into that perfect shape, getting closer and closer to your own...

POP! Poppoppoppop! Pop!

You jumped a mile as the popcorn intruded on your daydream, and glared at it as if it were to blame. After a second, when your heart stopped tumbling around in your chest, you found it in you to relax, and even grin a bit at your own foolishness. It was hard, being in love with someone who you knew would never notice you that way. But at least the two of you were friends, and you could deal with that. Better to be his friend and relied-upon hunting partner than not to be around him at all. Even if...

Pop POP poppoppop! the popcorn insisted, as though desperate to get your attention, and you sighed, giving up on thoughts of Dean. Which, really, was probably a good thing. Waiting until your snack stopped shouting at you, you pulled it off the heat and dumped it into a bowl, preparing it just the way you liked it, and then took it to your room. There, you curled up on your bed, sliding a DVD into your computer and smiling as it began to play.

"Y/N?" You startled violently for the second time that day, though this time it was due to an actual person, at least. You looked up at Dean, trying to be annoyed that he'd interrupted you, but it wasn't much good, and you gave up after a second. You were about to answer when you realized that your movie was still playing, and you quickly slammed the computer shut.

"Yeah, what's up?" you asked, as casually as you could, cursing yourself for being so obvious. Where was your Slytherin subtlety?

Dean cocked a brow, looking alarmingly like Cas as he stepped into your room. "Just wondered what you were up to," he said, and took another step, eyeing the computer. "Whatcha watching?"

"Oh—nothing. I mean, just something I found in the store. It looked interesting," you replied, nudging the case further under the covers of your bed. Unfortunately, Dean caught the movement, and, with a triumphant smile, he pounced. There was a brief scuffle, but it ended with Dean getting a glimpse of the case, and looking at you with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

"Really?" he asked, and shook his head in mock disappointment. "Y/N, how could you? Watching a chick flick?"

Defensively, you hid the case behind your back, even though it was clearly too late. "I can watch whatever I want." Still, you hadn't missed the twinkle in his eyes, and it reassured you a little.

"I thought I taught you better than that, Padawan."

"Shuddup," you grumbled, dropping the case and crossing your arms. "Just because you don't like chick flicks doesn't mean I have to agree."

"But we have such similar tastes!" he protested with a grin. "How was I s'posed to know that you'd betray me like this?"

You rolled your eyes and tried to hold back a smile of your own. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. You don't like what I'm watching, you can go away."

"Oh, no," he said, plopping down on the bed beside you (and nearly giving you a heart attack in the process). "If you're watching it, I'm watching it, just so I can prove to you how awful it is."

"Deeeeeean," you complained. "I don't want to sit here listening to you talk through the movie!"

"Fine. I'll only talk afterwards."

You sighed. You still weren't sure you wanted to hear him disparage your favorite chick flick, but the lure of spending time with him was too great to ignore. "Fine."

"Fine."

Opening the computer back up, you pretended not to see Dean as he took a huge handful of your popcorn and copied your posture, leaning back against the headboard. Instead, you re-propped your pillow and rested your head against it, and were about to hit the Play button when Dean said, "Hey, hold up! I forgot something." Before you could answer him, he had disappeared, and you waited impatiently until he came back holding up a bag of your favorite, hard-to-find chocolate. You blinked at him, surprised, and he shrugged as he sat down and handed it to you. "Found it on my last supply run and forgot to give it to you," he explained.

"Oh. Um... wow, thanks," you replied, unsure what to say. This was exactly the kind of gesture he always made, and when he did, you never found it any easier to quash the part of you that hoped... but no. No, he didn't care about you that way. You only wished he did. He was just being a friend—after all, if you'd found something that he liked, you might've bought it for him. Then again, that was a bad example. You'd use Sam instead—sure, you would buy Sam a book he liked or something if you found it and knew he wanted it. In any case, though, it was a sweet thing for Dean to have done, so you smiled at him and repeated, "Thanks."

He had been looking at you a bit oddly, and for a second you almost panicked—had he figured you out?—but then the strange expression vanished, and he replied with a smile and a slightly gruff, "Sure, no problem," waving a hand in the air. "Now are you gonna start that movie?"

Realizing for the first time that you were exposing him to a chick flick—and by his choice, too! The ultimate teasing opportunity!—you smirked and nodded.

You woke later, alert enough to suspect that something was not quite right, though your groggy mind couldn't quite place it. Deciding it didn't seem important, you snuggled more closely into the warm surface supporting you, sighed drowsily, and nearly went back to sleep. Then you felt your pillow move, and frowned. Pillows didn't move... Blinking your eyes open again, you found that said pillow was gray, with plaid all around it—and there, it moved again! How strange... wait a minute. Plaid?

Sitting up suddenly, eyes widening, you found yourself looking into Dean's face, and your cheeks reddened. He smiled reassuringly at you, though you almost thought he was blushing slightly, as well.

"Mornin', sunshine," he teased, making your flush deepen.

"Dean—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Fall asleep?" He waved a hand again. "No worries, Y/N. You were tired. And I've been told I'm a good pillow," he added with a smirk.

You groaned. "You're never gonna let this go, are you?" you asked, though it was more or less rhetorical.

"Nope." He popped the 'P' and grinned at you.

Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair, wondering just how bad it looked. "What time is it?"

"Eleven," he responded, and you blinked. You must have been more tired than you'd realized—you'd slept for at least three hours! What was more, you were now wide awake.

"Well, that's helpful," you muttered, and sighed again.

Dean looked at you, raising a brow in question.

"I'm completely awake now," you informed him.

He nodded, looking thoughtful for a moment before he asked, "You wanna do something, then? Go for a drive, maybe?"

You brightened immediately at that. "Sure." You were always up for being in his Impala, even if you were only a passenger.

"Great. I'll get Baby out; you get a coat."

"What do I need a coat for?" you asked with a frown, and he grinned. "Didn't say we were just driving, did I?"

"What else?"

His grin widened. "You'll see." And he wouldn't say any more, however much you pestered and poked at him. You even tried to bribe him with pie, at which he seemed to almost give in, but then told you he could make his own pie. So you gave up, grabbing your coat and then following him out to the car, still hounding him to tell you where you were going.

Dean lay back on the hood of the car, his cheeks flushed with the February chill, lips moving as he silently named stars. His attention was caught by movement, and he looked over at you, a smile blossoming on his face as he considered your perfect features, which were currently turned upward, your eyes bright and wondering.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, his voice low, just a hint of Southern accent twanging in his words, as it did whenever he was feeling particularly emotional.

You turned to him, mildly surprised by the sudden question, and smiled as you took in his face. "Just having a Cas moment--thinking the stars are really pretty tonight."

He grinned. "You do sound like Cas. Or that stupid Hallmark movie we watched."

"Shuddup," you complained, giving his shoulder a shove. "And it wasn't a Hallmark movie."

"Sounded like one." Dean shrugged. "And that's the way you sound. 'Oh, the stars are so beautiful tonight!'" he mocked in a high-pitched voice, and then, at a lower pitch, "'Not as beautiful as you.'" He snickered, but his eyes were lit.

"Well, then, I guess you know what you're supposed to say next," you teased, elbowing him.

You expected him to give you a snarky answer. Instead, his eyes searched your face for a moment, tracing its lines, and then he flipped onto his side and sat up on his elbow. When he spoke next, his voice seemed full of a hidden meaning, something just under the surface that you couldn't quite manage to find. "Very beautiful." And then his hand had risen and was cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing your jaw.

You froze, unprepared for quite this level of acting, and then tried on a weak grin. "Just like that, yep!" Was your voice higher-pitched than usual?

Dean was still caressing your face, and seemed to have no inclination to stop. "And then," he said softly, "the romantic music would start, and I would lean closer...like this..." He demonstrated, slowly and--if you didn't know better, you would have said tenderly. "And your eyes would close...and then..."And now he was whispering right near your lips, so close you could feel his warm breath blowing over them, and you shivered, fighting every instinct that was screaming for you to move just a bit nearer. "...then...I would just lean forward...and..."

He was kissing you. Dean Winchester was kissing you. For a split second, your mind was a jumble of confusion, but then his lips coaxed a response out of yours, and one of your hands went up to rest on the back of his neck, pulling him closer; he obliged, and there was something in his kiss that made you almost want to cry, it was so gentle and poignant.

And it was over. He had pulled back, and was looking at you with eyes alight, a soft smile trembling at his lips.

"Then the credits would roll," he murmured, "and all the chicks in the audience would be sighing and thinking how cute we are."

"Yeah..." You grinned up at him. "But hey, we don't need validation, right? I mean, we know how cute we are already."

"You're cute," he corrected with a teasing grin in return. "I'm adorable."

You just laughed, and he bent down to kiss you again.

"So," you mused when he had let you go, "let me see if I have this right. Dean Winchester just used a chick flick to flirt with me."

"Oh, no. That wasn't the flirting part. The flirting was earlier, when I got you chocolate."

Suddenly something clicked into place, and you stared at him. "That was you trying to flirt—? Dean, you—you complete romantic! You bought me chocolate!"

He shuddered, as if you'd insulted him. "Hey, no using the 'R' word!"

"You are!"

"Only when I've got a beautiful woman to impress." His eyes were twinkling, but there was still tenderness in them.

"Flatterer." You pushed him again, and he just grabbed you and kissed you.

"Am not," he mumbled against your lips. "Besides, you never said you didn't like it."

"Yeah, well..." You shrugged, but you were too busy kissing him back to think of a good reply.

When he pulled away again, you sighed happily and entwined your fingers with his, cuddling against him. There was a short, soft silence, before he asked, "What're you thinking now?"

"More Hallmark movie stuff," you answered with a grin. "I don't think you want to hear it."

"Aw, I think I can handle it," he responded. "After all, I watched that dumb movie with you."

You ignored the gibe at your movie, smiling up at him and brushing his cheek. "Just thinking how lucky I am to have you."

"Not as lucky as I am," Dean retorted, his own grin wide and happy.

"Now who sounds like a chick flick?"

"Well, that was the point."

You snorted and relaxed, closing your eyes. "So, does this mean you don't object to chick flicks anymore?"

"In your dreams," he returned, running fingers through your hair. "And I'm not watching them with you anymore, either!"

"Aww..." You pretended to be upset, looking up at him and pouting. "C'mon, not even sometimes?"

"Nope."

"Not even if I made you pie?"

"Nope."

"Not even if I bought you chocolate?"

"Nope."

"Not even... for a kiss?"

For the first time, he paused, seeming to consider that. Then, "You offering?"

You giggled, feeling light and happy. "And if I am?"

He sighed dramatically. "I'll think about it."

By the end of the night, he owed you seventy-nine chick flicks and counting.

#dean winchester #dean #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #you x dean winchester #reader x dean winchester #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn fic

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the-pen-and-the-angel-blade · 6 years

Text

Locked In

Disclaimer: Don’t own anything. *sobs*

Setting: This takes place at some unidentified (probably never going to happen) point post S10 (although I don’t think there are actually any spoilers, so it could theoretically be set as an AU at just about any point after they find the bunker), where everybody’s reasonably happy, the Mark is gone, Cas is a proper angel with his own Grace again, and, at least at the moment, they’re just working normal cases… HOWEVER, the whole April fiasco didn’t happen. (In my head, it didn’t. I like my Cas clueless.) ’Kay?

A/N: Also, I know this is just about the most cliché cliché ever used, but it’s also one of my favorites, so… Yeah. Sorry to anyone who’s bugged by it.

Oh, yes, and please note that I am NOT A SLYTHERIN. I have essentially zero ability to be cunning or sneaky, so Dean and Sam’s skills in this area may seem a little off for this fic. Apologies.

(Speaking of Slytherins, I freely admit to having shamelessly, albeit by accident, stolen a book title from J.K. Rowling and adapted it to my own use.)

You sat in the bunker’s library, doing some research for the latest case. Cas had come to help, and all three of the boys were in various postures of industry, relaxed or not, around the room. You were feeling a bit “researched out,” and trying desperately not to let yourself get distracted by watching Cas—the way he sat straight in his chair, even after the hours spent in the same position; the way his lips pursed slightly and his eyes narrowed at the page as he read; the way he looked up at you and said your name…

Wait.

“Y/N?” he asked again, and you felt your cheeks heat up. You hoped he didn’t think too much about catching you staring.

“Hmm?”

“Do you have Shifters through the Ages?”

“Yeah. I’m reading it now. I’m almost done with the chapter, though. Can you wait a second, or should I hold off?”

"Can you give me just a moment with it? I need to check a fact.”

"Sure,” you answered easily, and he wandered over to you.

You twisted to hand him the book at the same moment that he leaned down, apparently intending to read over your shoulder. Then you both froze as your movements brought your faces much closer together than you had meant them to be. You could feel your heart hammering at his proximity, and you were fairly sure that your face was starting to redden again, as well.

After a long moment, you managed to gather yourself enough to squeak out a, “Here. Sorry,” and shove the book into his hand. He took it a little clumsily, and quickly sat down at the table opposite you, flipping to the index.

You watched his hands turn the pages for a moment, and then looked away, feeling awkward without a book in front of you. Your gaze caught Dean’s, and, seeing the glint in his eyes, you realized that he must have picked up on what had happened. You winced, forcing yourself not to groan out loud—you knew you were in for some teasing—and his grin got even wider. Then, much to your mortification, he gave you a wink.

You were ridiculously grateful when Cas plonked the book back down in front of you, although it didn’t escape your notice that he was careful to give your chair a wide berth, and that he then fled to his previous seat as fast as was possible without actually running, or, more likely, teleporting. You hoped that he hadn’t understood your reaction to what had happened. Maybe he was only embarrassed because he had sensed the awkwardness in the air or something. (The idea of Cas picking up on and reflecting others’ emotions was somewhat improbable, though he’d certainly improved at that skill since you’d met him; however, you were steadfastly ignoring the unlikelihood of your theory, because the alternative was that he had realized your feelings for him, and you didn’t want to think about that.)

Attempting to return to work, you tried to keep your eyes away from Dean. For some reason, though, his stare was magnetic, and as soon as he saw that you were looking at him again, he raised his eyebrows at you with that ridiculously knowing grin.

You hurriedly turned back to your book, but you were unable to concentrate for the rest of the research session.

A few days later, the four of you had driven out to Washington State to do some on-site work. The monster (or monsters? You weren’t sure yet) you were after was in Seattle. After arriving in the evening and spending the night at a motel, as per usual, you woke in the morning ready to do your job.

It was agreed over breakfast that you would split up. Dean and Cas were to go to one witness’s house, and you and Sam to another.

You were just about to turn the talk to other things when Sam said, “Guys… I know this is a little unconventional, but I think we should use public transportation today.”

You frowned a little, Cas tilted his head, and Dean just stared at him, apparently dumbfounded.

Sam sighed, obviously having expected this reaction, and elaborated. “Look, it’s weird and all, yeah, but there are a couple of advantages. First of all, it’ll make things easier on me and Y/N, so we don’t have to go kick around somewhere while we’re waiting for you two to be done and come pick us up. Also—”

“So we’ll drop you off, and you can take the bus after that,” growled Dean.

“Also,” Sam stressed, glaring at him, “I’ve heard that driving in Seattle is really hard. All these one way streets and dead ends. I just think it would be a lot easier.”

“And what if Baby gets stolen while she sits here in the parking lot?”

“Come on, Dean.” Sam’s eye roll was expressive.

Dean, however, was not to be swayed. “No.”

“I would like to use this ‘public transportation,’” Cas put in. “The buses I have previously traveled on were fascinating studies of humanity.” You looked over at him with a grin, and he returned it. If anyone else had said that, you would have thought it was a flimsy excuse, and that they really just wanted to bug Dean; knowing Cas, though, you were fairly sure it was the truth. Still, you wondered if the angel had finally learned how to tease, and was trying to mess with Dean. You had a sneaking suspicion that he was at least aware of the effect his words would have.

If Cas was trying to annoy the older Winchester, it was working, you noted, tearing your eyes away from the glinting blue ones across the table. Dean was glaring at his friend. “Well, fine, then! You three take the bus, and I’ll take Baby.”

“Dean, that’s stupid,” argued Sam.

“Sam has a point,” you interjected, half-entertained, half-exasperated by Dean’s stubbornness. “I’ve heard about Seattle driving being a pain, too. Not as bad as some places, apparently, but I guess it can get really confusing trying to navigate.”

“I don’t care. I’m driving. You all can come, or not.”

Sam stared at him for a moment in obvious aggravation, and then rolled his eyes again. “On your own head be it if you get hopelessly lost, then.”

In the end, you and Sam took the bus to the nursing home your first witness lived in, and Dean and Cas headed off in the Impala to question somebody else. After they were done there, Cas planned to bus to their next destination.

The first leg of your investigation didn’t yield much new intel. The elderly lady whose son had been killed was…not all there. If it hadn’t been for the police report and the body, you weren’t sure you’d have believed in a murdered son at all. As it was, your presence apparently confused her, as did your inquiries, which she didn’t want to answer. You finally gave up, after many glares from the nursing home staff, and headed back out to the nearest bus stop to catch your ride to the next person’s house.

As you boarded the bus, you looked around for an empty spot, and, somewhat to your surprise, spied Cas in the back. You quickly went to claim the corner seat next to him, and Sam followed, sitting on his other side.

“Hey, Cas!” you said. “Headed to your next place?”

He smiled at you. “Yes. I was not aware that we would be on the same bus.”

“Neither was I,” you said, returning the smile.

After a moment, Sam cleared his throat, interrupting just as you started to get lost in those azure eyes. When you turned to him apologetically, realizing you had forgotten about him, he was grinning. You tried not to think about why.

“How’s it going, Cas? You learned anything yet?” he asked.

The angel shrugged slightly. “Not a great deal,” he replied. “But it does seem likely that the situation is caused by…what we thought it was,” he finished, obviously remembering just in time that it wasn’t a good idea to talk about this sort of thing too freely in public.

“Figures,” you said with a sigh. “Oh, well. At least we’re going into this prepared.”

He nodded, and then asked, “What did you learn from your witness?”

You grinned wryly. “Nothing much. She was a little bit…confused. Seemed to think we were spies or something. She kept saying we couldn’t make her give anyth—” Your words broke off in a gasp as the bus hit a large bump while turning a corner, and you were flung sideways, essentially into Cas’s lap. Another bump threatened to send you flying out into the aisle, but you felt him catch you.

You found yourself sprawled against him, his arms locked around you, and you knew your cheeks were coloring. “S-sorry. Thanks,” you mumbled, and tried to get up. For a moment, his embrace was still tight, but then he appeared to realize that he was holding you and quickly relaxed his grip. You disentangled yourself and planted your backside firmly down in the other seat, watching the city pass by out the window until your blush faded, and only looking up to bid him a short, uncertain goodbye when he got off the bus.

You were so busy stewing in your own embarrassment that you didn’t see the way Sam watched the two of you and smirked to himself.

Incidents like this continued to happen throughout the next month. You finished the hunt and drove back to the bunker, then worked on some more cases, and nothing changed. Finally, Dean had had enough.

“Hey, Sam, powwow,” he said one morning, having caught Sam in the hall, on his way out to the kitchen.

His brother looked puzzled, but followed Dean into his bedroom anyway, watching as he shut the door.

“There,” the older Winchester sighed, and plopped himself down onto the bed.

“What’s up?” asked Sam curiously.

“This has to stop,” he announced. Then, off Sam’s look, he elaborated, “Cas and Y/N. They’ve been dancing around each other for weeks now. It’s driving me insane!”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Me, too,” he admitted. “I mean, I know Cas hasn’t ever had a romantic relationship or anything, and from what I’ve gathered from Y/N, she’s never really done much dating either, but still… It’s seriously getting ridiculous. And I think it’s been longer than weeks. I’m actually thinking more like six months, maybe longer, but I didn’t really notice too much before, and I don’t think it was this bad until about a month ago.”

Dean sighed, frustrated. “Well, either way, it’s gotten really annoying. I swear, if they don’t figure things out soon, I’ll lock them in a room together myself.” Then, as he realized what he had said, he felt as if the proverbial light bulb had clicked on over his head, and he couldn’t stop a wide smirk from spreading across his face. “Sam! How about it?”

Sam frowned at him. “How about…?” Then he appeared to realize what Dean meant, and looked horrified. “Dean! No! We’re not going to—”

“Why not?” Dean wanted to know. “It’s not like it’ll hurt anybody. We won’t leave them in a closet until they starve or anything, just long enough so that if we’re lucky, they’ll finally admit their feelings to each other.”

Sam was shaking his head even before Dean finished the sentence. “Dean, you’re crazy! You can’t just go around locking people in closets!”

“Ah, come on, Sam! If nothing else, it’ll be hilarious! And they obviously need a nudge in the right direction.”

“Dean…” Sam was either running out of arguments, or he was just speechless with exasperation. (Dean kind of suspected it was the latter.)

“Come on, Sammy, you owe me,” he wheedled.

“No, I don’t!” Sam protested indignantly. Then he sighed. “Anyway, what about Cas? He’ll be able to get out right away! And how would we even get them in there in the first place?”

“That’s why I need you,” Dean told him. “You’ve gotta be the smart one, who helps me fill in all the holes in my plan.” As he spoke, he could see reluctant interest dawn in Sam’s eyes, along with a familiar determination, and he grinned, knowing he had won.

His little brother had never been able to resist a puzzle.

Later that day, when Cas appeared, Dean decided it was time to put their plan in motion. The Winchesters had spent some time cleaning out a freestanding wardrobe in the storage area. Then—with what Dean felt was a real stroke of cleverness—they had used water-based paint to create a Devil’s Trap on the stone floor near the wall, moved the wardrobe into its center, and put down holy oil on top of the outer ring of paint. This way, they hoped, Cas wouldn’t realize that this was meant as a trap for him. Sam had also insisted they try lighting the oil-on-paint on a different part of the floor, to be sure the paint wouldn’t catch. (Though Dean was glad it hadn’t for the sake of the plan, he had also been slightly disappointed. It would have been really cool to see a Devil’s Trap made of fire.) To support the story they were going to tell the two of you, they’d added some writing in different languages on the back wall of the wardrobe (the translation via Internet was Sam’s job). Only after all this was done had they come back to the main part of the bunker and proceeded with their day as normal.

It was just after dinner when Dean heard the familiar flutter of wings.

“Hey, Cas,” he greeted the angel, without even looking up.

“Hello, Dean,” was the predictable response.

Trying to hold back his grin, Dean finished cleaning the gun he was on, and then stood. “So, Cas, you want to do a little more research for us? We haven’t gotten much farther since you left yesterday; we were busy all morning. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I need to talk to Sam.”

The angel nodded and chose a book from the shelves as Dean left, heading for the kitchen, where you and his brother were washing the dinner dishes.

“Hey, Sam,” he called as he entered the room. “Hey, Y/N.” Then, as Sam turned, he added meaningfully, “Cas is here.”

“Where?” you asked, finishing with the last dish and putting it away.

“Library,” said Dean. “But I was actually wondering if you could do me a favor before you go and help him or whatever you were planning to do.”

You shrugged. “Sure.”

Dean tried to hold back his smirk. “I was cleaning out one of the closets earlier today—well, not exactly a closet, but whatever—and I saw some German written inside the back wall of it. I was wondering if you could come down there with me, take a look?” He had carefully thought of this story, knowing that you spoke a little German. “It also had what I think is Enochian, and something that might be Russian, and another language or two. But maybe it’s all different translations of the same thing? I don’t know. Anyway, it would help a lot with the inventory if you don’t mind taking a few minutes. I’ll grab Cas to help, too.”

“Okay,” you responded, and Dean had to fight himself not to laugh in triumph.

“Hey, Sam, you wanna come?” he asked instead. “Who knows, your geekiness might help us out somehow.”

You followed Dean to the library, greeted Cas happily, and then, after another explanation to the angel, the four of you trooped down to the storage areas, where Dean led you to the wardrobe. Cas stepped into the small space, and you stayed nearby, intending to wait your turn.

“Go ahead, Y/N,” Dean said, handing you a flashlight.

You looked at him, a little confused. “Shouldn’t I wait until Cas is done? It looks a little squished in there.”

“You could,” he said with a shrug, “but it would be faster if you just went ahead. It probably won’t take you too long, right? And we do have research to do for the case.”

You hesitated. It wasn’t that you minded being in a small space with Cas, not at all. What you were worried about was that he would notice the effect it had on you. Still, you told yourself, like Dean said, it won’t be for very long. I can finish fast, right? Besides, if Cas heard that, he might wonder why I don’t agree… Might as well just get it over with.

Mind made up, you took a deep breath and squeezed into the wardrobe next to Cas.

You had just turned your flashlight on when the doors swung shut.

“What—” You whirled around (well, as much as you could do so in the tiny space) and knocked on the door. “Dean! Sam!”

“Oops.” Dean’s voice was exaggeratedly apologetic. “Sorry.” Then you heard him start to laugh.

“Sorry, Y/N. Sorry, Cas,” added Sam. He sounded more genuinely regretful than Dean, but his remorse apparently wasn’t enough to get him to let you out.

“Dean, I don’t understand,” Cas said from next to you. “Why have you shut us in?”

“Read the writing on the back. You’ll get it.” Dean chortled. “Guys, we’ll come back to check on you in a while!” This was followed by two sets of retreating footsteps, and the sound of Dean’s chuckles fading away.

Oh, you were going to kill them.

After a few minutes of fuming, you decided to try and escape. After all, surely a wardrobe couldn’t be too hard for an experienced hunter to break out of. You gripped your flashlight more tightly, hoping to use it to help you beat the doors down—but just then, an idea occurred to you.

“Cas,” you said, turning to the angel next to you with some difficulty, and trying to ignore how close he was, “can you just teleport us out of here?”

He had been strangely quiet all the time you were plotting the Winchesters’ murders, you realized suddenly, as you spotted the reason for his silence. He had apparently decided to take Dean’s advice, and was studying the strange symbols on the back wall intently.

“This is very difficult to read,” he said. “Sam and Dean seem to have had a source that was only semi-reliable when they wrote it. However, I believe I am beginning to understand what it’s meant to say.” He trailed off again, still looking at the symbols, and then added absentmindedly, “No, Y/N, I cannot teleport us out. They have placed a ring of holy fire around the wardrobe.”

You made a frustrated noise in the back of your throat. “Great. Figures.” Then you raised your flashlight again. You’d just use it to bash your way out, like you had been intending to do a few moments ago. However, another problem quickly surfaced: you couldn’t get much momentum when swinging your arm, since you only had a small space to move it in. Nevertheless, you began to hit at the doors, concentrating your strikes in one spot.

A few minutes passed in this way, and then, quite suddenly, one of your blows somehow managed to connect with something other than the wood in front of you.

“Ouch!” said Cas, sounding surprised.

You gasped. “Sorry! Sorry! Are you okay?” You had been whacking at that door with all the strength you could muster.

Even in the dimness outside the bright circle of illumination from the flashlight, you could see his smile. “I’m an angel, Y/N. I’m fine. Although it did hurt a little more than I would have expected; hence my exclamation. I apologize if I scared you.”

You winced. Of course. “No, that’s fine. I mean, I was just—I forgot you’re an angel, and, well, I was worried I’d hurt you—I mean, I didn’t forget you’re an angel, exactly, but I…” You forced yourself to clamp your lips shut before you could continue babbling.

Cas just kept smiling at you. “I believe I understand what you meant.”

You nodded weakly and, for lack of anything better to do, turned to the German written on the rear wall (you weren’t about to go back to trying to break out after that, even though you hadn’t actually hurt Cas). You tried desperately to ignore the way your heart was still pounding even though you had stopped your trying-to-knock-the-doors-down aerobics. Instead, you attempted to focus on the German, which was just a couple of short sentences.

Sag ihm einfach! Wir lassen Sie nicht heraus, bis Sie tun.

This, though there were a couple of mistakes, was obviously meant to say something along the lines of:

Just tell him! We won’t let you out until you do.

You felt your face heating up, in both fury and embarrassment. You’d been afraid it was something like this that had them locking you in with Cas, and here it was, confirmed. Obviously, Dean thinks it‘s hilarious to humiliate me. Why can’t he stay out of it? It’s none of his business anyway. And Sam! I wouldn’t have thought Sam would take part in a plan like this; he normally has more tact than— You were interrupted in your increasingly forceful mental tirade by a sudden, quiet, but very intense “Oh,” from Cas. Then he said it again. “Oh. Oh. I see.”

You looked over at him, surprised. “What? What do you see?”

He started, peered at you for a few seconds, then looked away, as if he were self-conscious. He must have forgotten that you could hear him, you decided. You were given more evidence in support of this theory when he mumbled evasively, “Oh, I—I’ve just figured out what they meant to write in Enochian, that’s all.”

You couldn’t help but ask. “…and?”

He shook his head, still not quite looking at you. “Nothing particularly important. A bit silly, actually.”

You sighed. “Mine was, too,” you said disconsolately, and fell silent again, kicking idly at the doors for something to do.

Time passed, slowly. Finally you perked up, hearing a noise from outside: Footsteps, then Dean’s gleeful voice. “Well? Can I let you out yet?”

Hearing the smugness in his tone made you angry again. “You’d better!” you threatened. “If you don’t—well, I’m already going to rip you apart the minute I get out of here! It’ll just be more merciful if you let me out now.”

Dean, much to your annoyance, just laughed. “Come on, Y/N. You think I’m scared of you?”

“You should be!” you snarled.

“Eh, whatever. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” he said, and you were cast back into your haze of mortification and rage. How dare he do this to you?! And how dare he dismiss you like that?! You were so livid with anger that you only half-heard him as he continued, “What about you, Cas? I take it you haven’t fulfilled your requirement, yet, either?”

“No, Dean,” answered the angel. “And I’m really rather annoyed that you have taken it upon yourself to interfere in what should be a private matter.”

“Come on, buddy! It’s been way too long!”

“I would request, if you want me to do this, that you stop hinting at it and let me do it in my own way,” returned Castiel, his old, flat tone in place.

You could hear the grin in Dean’s voice as he spoke. “You’re going to do it, then? Promise, Cas!”

The figure next to you was silent for so long that you wondered vaguely if he just meant to ignore Dean. Then he said quietly, “Very well. However, I am only complying with your demands because I, too, feel that it is past time for me to do as you’ve suggested.”

“Look, I don’t care how you do it, or why you do it. Just do it, already!” said Dean, and then added, “Bye. I’ll be back in another hour or so. You guys have your phones, right? You can call me if you need out before then—if you’ve done what you were supposed to.”

You heard his footfalls as he started to retreat again; he didn’t wait for you to confirm that you had your phone. You had calmed a little by this point, but you were still furious, and couldn’t stop yourself from calling after him, “Yes, Dean, we have our phones! Thanks for waiting for the answer to your question to make sure we’re not stuck down here for another hour unnecessarily! Oh, wait! This whole thing is unnecessary, anyway.”

Somewhat to your surprise, you heard Cas chuckle a little. You turned to face him again with a sigh.

“I’m really starting to dislike Dean,” you complained.

“I understand. I’m not too happy with him, myself,” replied Cas. Then it was his turn to sigh. “However, I suppose that I might as well get this over with. He and Sam are correct. I have waited too long to tell you.”

Suddenly, several things clicked into place in your head. You could feel your heartbeat and breath speeding up, but tried to remain calm. It wouldn’t do to get all excited if you were wrong. “Tell me what?” you inquired, hoping you sounded less worked up than you were.

“I… Well, I’m not entirely sure how to say this, but… Y/N, you are…a most extraordinary person, and…and I care about you a great deal…but I think that care is…more intense than might normally…er…” He shook his head and started again. “I understand if you don’t feel similarly about me, but… I think that I care for you…romantically.”

You tried to read his face in the dim light, hoping fiercely that this was really happening. It took you a moment, but you finally managed to croak out, “Really, Cas? I mean… I—I care for you, too. A lot. Romantically.”

The glowing smile that bloomed over his face made your stomach swoop. “Then would you like to…be my girlfriend? That is the correct term, is it not?”

You would defy anyone not to reflect that smile right back at him. “Yes, it’s right, and I’d love to.”

He pulled you into his arms, and put his mouth to your ear. “Good,” he breathed, and you shivered. Then, before you had time to say anything else, his hand was on your cheek, turning your face towards him, and he was kissing you.

Needless to say, you kissed back fervently.

A few minutes later, you agreed that you were done being in the wardrobe. Reluctantly, you dialed Dean’s number. You didn’t really want to talk to him, but it was the only way to get out.

He picked up with an interested, “Well?”

You tried to inject as much of your anger as possible into your voice as you answered, “All right, we’ve got it figured out. Come let us out. Now.”

“Forgive me if I don’t entirely trust a desperate woman, Y/N. What did he tell you?”

“We’re dating now, all right? Just let us out. I’m so sick of this stupid cupboard!”

You heard him whoop. He didn’t even bother to cover the phone as he hollered, “Sam! Sam, we did it!”

You heard Sam’s answer from a little ways away. “Oh, good. It’s about time.”

“Dean…” you growled warningly.

He laughed. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” Then he hung up without giving you time to talk any more.

You sat down on the floor, Cas following suit, and waited.

It took more time than you would have liked for Dean to make his appearance. You didn’t think it should have taken him twenty minutes to get down to the storage areas, but you supposed he had made a detour to celebrate with Sam or something. He finally showed, though, and you were more than ready to get out (although, admittedly, you and Cas had passed those twenty minutes very agreeably, alternately talking idly and kissing). When you finally heard Dean coming towards you, you were tucked against the angel’s side, his arms around you while you fiddled absentmindedly with the lapels of his coat. Realizing that the culprit was arriving at last, though, you jumped up.

“Dean! You jerk! I can’t believe you locked us in here!” you shouted.

“Cool down. It was just a little fun. And seriously, was either of you ever going to say anything, or were you just going to pine for each other forever?” he answered. You heard a hiss while he talked, and guessed that the holy fire had just gone out.

Sure enough, Cas was on his feet in record time, and then had wrapped you in his arms and teleported out of the wardrobe before you could blink.

Having taken a moment to adjust to your new surroundings, you then leaned up to press a kiss to your angel’s cheek before stepping out of his embrace and advancing on Dean.

“Whether we would have worked it out is, and remains, none of your business,” you said, hoping you sounded menacing. (Your ire had been softened somewhat by the new developments, but you had to keep up appearances, after all, or you’d find yourself in this kind of situation all the time.) “You and Sam shouldn’t have interfered—and boy, am I disappointed in him! I would have expected this kind of thing from you, but I would’ve thought he would be a bit more polite.” You took another step forward, and were pleased to see that he took one back. “You can go tell him that now…or I can rip you limb from limb. Your choice. And if you think I can’t take you…well, Cas is here, too, and he’s not best pleased either.” Another step forward, and Dean broke and scrambled for the door of the room.

“I’m going!” he called over his shoulder.

You grinned evilly as you watched him depart. Then you moved back over to Cas, and smiled up at him.

“Now, where were we?” you asked.

A week later, the Winchester brothers found themselves trapped in a closet.

“Y/N!” howled Dean. “Cas! This isn’t funny! Let us out!”

You smirked and laced your fingers with Cas’.

“Not just yet,” you answered, and went to watch a movie with your new boyfriend.

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the-pen-and-the-angel-blade · 6 years

Text

Tag to 12x09

A/N: Finally, another fanfic! Y’all thought I was dead, didn’t you? If, that is, there’s anyone left to read this. Hello? Hellooooo? *hears echoes*

Ahem. Anyway. Because it makes total sense to post a tag fic to an early Season 12 episode when we’re just about to start Season 14...oh well. Life happened, or I would have posted this earlier. It’s not a reader insert fic, just something that happened. And I read another tag to this episode/fix-it for the next that pointed out that Heaven isn’t Cas’ home anymore, and that was where I got that part...but I don’t remember what the fic was called or anything. Anyway. With all that out of the way...

Cas is silent on the way home.

Not completely silent. He speaks if he’s spoken to. But there’s something in his demeanor that’s just…wrong, and screams silence even when he’s talking.

But then, they’re all kind of quiet. After what’s just passed, Dean doesn’t think they can be blamed. Still, he eventually puts on music, in a desperate attempt to keep things normal.

It only serves to contrast with the nearly-tangible stillness in the backseat, and he just as quickly shuts it off.

When they finally reach the bunker, a very long seven hours later, everyone sort of scatters. The silence persists, and Dean’s about to go to his own room when he catches his mother’s eye. Something in her gaze halts him, and he waits as Sam heads off.

Mary sighs, her eyes lingering on the door Cas firmly closed as soon as he entered the room. “He needs you.”

Dean blinks. “What?”

“You heard me.” There’s a trace of “mom voice” in her tone, and he frowns slightly in surprise. Seeing his expression, she sighs again and looks away, losing the inflection. “I hurt him. I snapped at him, and I hurt him. And that’s on me.” She glances back at him again. “But anyone can see you two are close. He’d do anything for…well, I guess for any of us.” A flash of guilt crosses her face. “But Dean, I don’t think anyone else can help him like you can now. I just…” She holds his eyes. “It has to be you.”

He hesitates, looking from her to the door that blocks him from Cas as effectively as a brick wall. But somehow, he knows she’s right. Their angel has gone far too long without…well, without much of anything in the way of comfort from them, he realizes, guilt of his own pooling in his stomach. In fact…he can’t remember the last time he really listened to Cas, took care of him, even just made sure he was okay—okay for real, not the standard “I'm fine” that they’re all so used to spouting. He has a sneaking suspicion that it might have been that time the angel told him he might kill himself (and that thought makes a pit of dread open in him). Of course it’s not on purpose, of course he never means to hurt his friend, or to let him hurt alone. But somehow it always happens anyway. Somehow, there are always things that are more urgent, and he never gets around to checking on him.

Obviously things have gone on way too long like this, and now his friend is much more broken than he’d ever suspected.

And Dean can’t help wondering if he’ll be able to even come close to putting him back together.

Still, he has to try. He looks at his mom, wondering briefly if maybe it would be better if she went instead, despite his earlier thoughts. After all, Mary’s not so involved in all this. She may have snapped at Cas, but that’s minor-league stuff compared to everything he’s done to the guy who’s supposed to be his best friend. He cringes internally at the thought, and the memories that quickly follow. Maybe he shouldn’t be the one to talk to Cas. Because, as much as he hates the idea, out of all of them, he’s the one who’s hurt the angel the most.

But through all that, Cas still seems to lean on him, to…well…to need him. He doesn’t understand why his friend doesn’t just leave, after everything. But for whatever strange reason, he’s still there. So surely Dean owes him something for that. And if that “something” takes the form of going to talk him through his breakdown...he guesses that’s only fair. Cas has stayed with him through his troubles. Now it’s his turn.

So, giving Mary a nod, Dean crosses to the door of the angel’s room and takes a breath, swallows, before knocking gently.

“Cas?”

There’s no clear answer, but he thinks he hears a noise from inside, so he tries again. “Hey, Cas, buddy, can I come in?”

This time there’s a definite sound, and the hunter takes it as a yes. He pulls open the door and enters the room, closing it softly behind him. He doesn’t want any witnesses to the chick-flick moment that’s sure to ensue if he can help it.

Cas is sitting on the bed, his back to Dean. It almost looks normal, but something in his posture is still very wrong.

“Uh…how you doin’?” Dean asks lamely, biting his lip and wishing he could come up with something better. This is just one reason he hates conversations like this.

A shrug of hunched shoulders is the only reply he gets, and his stomach curls in on itself with nausea. This is so unlike Cas, and even though he knew before he came in that things were badly amiss, it’s one thing to have known it and another to see it again. He feels like he escaped drowning when the angel’s earlier speech ended, only to have been plunged back into horribly cold water as soon as he came into this room.

“Right. Uh. Thought you might like some company,” he tries again, and gets no response at all this time. “We could, uh, watch Netflix or something,” he adds. Cas still doesn’t answer.

If someone doesn’t do something soon, they’re both going to drown in this awful chill.

“Look, man,” he tries, taking a step forward. “I’m sorry about earlier. I just…”

The angel twitches, and Dean hears his breath catch. But he still says nothing, and the hunter can’t take it any longer.

“Talk to me,” he demands fiercely, crossing the rest of the room in two strides and kneeling on the bed behind Cas, grabbing his friend’s shoulders and trying to turn him around. The angel resists for a moment, and then, suddenly, twists on his own, throwing Dean’s hands and his balance off so he almost pitches sideways. Recovering himself, he stares at Cas, bewildered, concerned, and a little hurt by the look his friend’s giving him—one he hasn’t seen in years, brimming with anger and sizzling with angelic power. Maybe it’s his imagination, or maybe not, but Dean can almost feel the air between them crackling with Grace.

“You’re sorry?” Cas nearly growls, staring at him, something in his eyes making the hunter’s throat close with worry. “Are you sure about that, Dean? Because it seems to me that you throw that idea around a lot. And I’m fairly sure that if people are really sorry, they’re supposed to show it. Not go around doing exactly what they did again and again and again!”

“Cas—” he starts, but the angel continues.

“You know, if you’re really sorry, maybe you should think about me once in a while! Maybe you should stop putting me in positions where I take the fallout for whatever’s gone wrong this time. Maybe you should—should notice me, sometime when one of us is not at death’s door.” He scoffs, shaking his head, and is silent for a moment. Dean is, too, gaping at him, at a total loss for what to say. Then, abruptly, Cas’ anger disappears, to be replaced with a flash of sadness that Dean can tell goes bone-deep and beyond. This only lasts a second, and then it, in its turn, is replaced by a flat nothing. “But you care most about the people you love. About your family.” He stares at the hunter, his eyes dull, and somehow that hurts more than if he’d looked away, more than the fierce anger that was there just a moment ago. “I understand that. I’d just prefer it if you’d stop lying to me.”

That’s too much; it breaks through even Dean’s confusion. “I didn’t lie to you, Cas!” He chews his lip and amends, “Well, I guess I did about Gadreel.” Sighing, he goes on, “And I’m sorry about that, man. I really—”

But Cas is waving a hand in the air, in a gesture so unlike himself that the words dry up on the hunter’s tongue. “I’m not talking about that. I understand why you did that.”

“Then what?” He’s completely baffled now, and tries to think of other times he’s lied.

“I mean right before you went to face Amara,” Cas says. “I mean when I was reprogrammed and tried to kill you. I mean when I was trying to become God. I mean all the times you’ve told me I was family, or that I was…was like your brother.” A flicker of emotion passes over his face, and then it stills again. “Many of those were my mistakes, and you had every right to try to stop me in whatever way you needed to. But it gets…wearing. Being told something that’s not true over and over.” He shrugs. “Still, I understand why you do it.”

Dean sits speechless, mouth open, not even sure where to begin to begin. At last he croaks feebly, “Cas, how could you think I don’t mean that? You are my—”

“Don’t say family.” His tone is hard, brittle. He softens it, apparently with an effort, as he continues. “You don’t have to say it right now. There’s nothing you need to stop me from doing. I’m not about to destroy the world again. I’ll take care of whatever consequences come from killing Billie. And I’m not going to leave, either, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he adds. “I’ll still come when you call.” One shoulder rises in a slight shrug. “So you don’t need to say it.”

“What—Cas—” He shakes his head to clear it, wondering if maybe this is all some kind of nightmare. His brain is certainly foggy enough. “Man, you seriously think that?”

The angel just looks at him.

“But why?” Dean bursts out, his thoughts racing ahead of one another and tumbling out his mouth. “Cas, you’ve stood by us through thick and thin. You’ve…you’ve helped us with all of it. You’ve given up everything for us—”

Cas nods. “Which is why you don’t need to worry that I’m suddenly going to...to bail on you now.”

“I’m not—just—” he stutters, shaking his head. “That’s not what I’m worried about!”

“Then what is it?” The angel’s tone is level, almost polite.

So many words crowd into Dean’s head that he has to try too hard to get the right ones out. “Cas, you stupid—!” He stops, tries again. “You. Cas, I’m freaking—I’m worried about you.”

Cas sighs, sounding irritated. “Dean, we just went over this. You don’t have to pretend.”

“Oh, for—” He throws his hands up in the air. “I’m not pretending, okay?! What do I have to do to convince you?!”

And suddenly he’s being pinned by that glare again. “I don’t know, Dean.” The sarcasm in Cas’ voice is nearly painful to listen to, it’s so thick. “Maybe listen when I tell you I want to kill myself. Maybe check on me the next time you kick me out of the only place I have to call home, before the part where you need my help. Maybe stop taking everything that goes wrong in your life out on me.” His voice cracks ever so slightly. “Maybe stop choosing everyone else over me, every time. Except when I’m about to die, of course. Then you do something about it.” He stops talking. Swallowing, he takes a breath and his expression goes blank again, before he shakes his head and continues. “It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to try to make me believe you. In fact, I’d rather you didn’t. It’s easier that way.”

Yet again, the hunter is rendered silent by his friend’s words. His stomach is twisted in so many knots he’s not sure where it ends and the rest of him begins. Because the thing is, Cas is right. He knew it was bad. And, to be honest, he’d thought he knew exactly how awful a friend he was.

Apparently he’d been wrong.

Before he can voice these thoughts, though, Cas speaks again. “You should go get some rest,” he says coolly, as if nothing more has passed between them than a casual conversation. “I’m sure we’ll have a long day tomorrow.”

“Would you just stop that?” Dean half-shouts. “Just listen to me, okay?” He takes a breath, trying to get a grip on himself. “Look,” he says in a lowered tone, “I am…I’m a terrible friend, okay? I can’t—I can’t even explain how much I’ve screwed up here. Just…try to believe me when I say I need you around, Cas. You’re not just some—some thing I’m only worried about losing. I mean, I am worried about losing you—” he cringes a little “—but that’s because of you, not some…power or whatever.” Swallowing hard and biting his lip, he goes on. “And…yeah. You know what, you’re totally right. I—I don’t pay attention to you. And that is complete and utter crap of me. I always have all these excuses, but…” He shakes his head. “…that’s not good enough. So yeah, Cas. I…I screwed up bigtime. And I’m sorry.” After hesitating a second, he adds, “So…I can try and make it up to you, I guess. Not gonna lie, I’m not sure how. I mean, how do you even start with something like that? But…I’ll try. If you’ll let me.”

Something stirs in the depths of the blue eyes that are still holding his. But even his heartfelt words don’t seem to be quite enough. Cas shrugs. “If you’d like,” he says indifferently.

Dean presses his lips together, hard, not wanting to say something he’ll regret. He’s done enough damage. Finally he says, “Look. I get that you don’t believe me. But…” And he stops, because what else is there to say? It’s not like he can blame the angel for not taking him at his word. So instead, after a pause, he says, “Thanks. For, y’know, saving us. By the way.”

And to Dean’s surprise, that seems to be what puts a crack in the angel’s composure. He takes in a breath that trembles slightly, his gaze suddenly gaining a depth that wasn’t there before. “…you’re welcome,” he murmurs after a second, a real acknowledgment of the words, not the sarcastic phrase he voiced right after killing the reaper. Another pause, and he swallows, finally looking away. “Dean, I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. It was…I…” He falters, taking a deep breath, hunching in on himself a little.

The hunter bites his lip. “Cas, you don’t have to apologize. I mean…it was all true.” He shrugs. “It’s only fair you tell me what I did wrong. Not like you have to keep quiet and just take it all the time.”

Cas says nothing in response to that, but the glimpse Dean gets of his expression tells him all he needs to know of his friend’s feelings about that statement. He frowns and tries to catch the angel’s gaze. “Cas. You don’t have to take it.” He sighs. “I know I can be a jerk. It’s just…it’s something I’ve gotta work on, okay? But you should not have to put up with me acting like that to you. It’s not fair.” It’s his turn to look away, pressing his lips together. “You have every right to call me out on it, man. Okay?”

He hears another shaky breath, and there’s another silence. “Okay,” Cas agrees finally, and something in his voice makes Dean look back at him, a little sharply. He has to swallow hard as he sees the tears pooling in his friend’s eyes, his gaze spilling hurt, just as it was earlier.

“Cas…” His voice is quiet. To be honest, he’s not sure what to say.

Cas closes his eyes, apparently taking this as a rebuke. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, bowing his head so Dean can’t see his face anymore.

The hunter frowns, reaching out to set a hand on his shoulder. “No—Cas, that wasn’t what I meant. Look, you—you don’t have to be sorry…” He clears his throat uncomfortably. “Dude, you just…I just…” He shakes his head.

With another quivering inhale, the angel nods, a shudder rippling through him. He tenses, clearly trying to hold back the shakes, and Dean bites his lip, sighs, and gives up. Leaning forward, he pulls his friend into a hug. “Just…it’s fine, Cas, okay?” he mutters, holding him tightly.

There’s a moment in which Cas stays perfectly still and stiff in Dean’s arms. Then a small gasp escapes him, and he melts into the embrace, burying his head in the hunter’s shoulder, muffling the sobs that are wrenching his chest.

Dean winces, hating the sound of his friend’s cries, this sound that holds such pain. Cas is beaten and broken and suffering, and he didn’t notice or care enough to do anything about it until it got as bad as this. He really is a failure as a friend, he thinks bitterly. Along with everything else, of course.

Another shudder runs through the angel, and Dean is pulled from his train of thought. His focus back on Cas, he tries to school the ideas into their proper place, telling himself it won’t help anyone for him to spiral into that kind of reflection. Instead, he focuses on trying to give comfort, rubbing Cas’ back as he used to do for a young Sammy.

The angel is clinging to him now, clutching tight as if Dean might disappear. Or abandon him, the hunter adds acerbically in his head. He probably thinks Dean will leave him, just as he’s done so many times before.

Well, he won’t. Not this time. It’s in that moment that he resolves to do whatever is necessary to get his friend—his brother, he reaffirms to himself—back. To help him heal. And he can start by treating Cas like he does Sam, his brother by blood.

This has barely crossed his mind when he realizes he’s already started. His grip on the angel is firm, keeping him secure in his arms. He’s rubbing his friend’s back with one hand, just as he’s done for Sam so many times. This is a good beginning, and he’s glad that his big brother instincts have kicked in at least so far.

Despite all this, though, he can’t help but notice the sound of Cas’ sobs. They’re coming hard and fast, as if they’ve been desperate to escape him for a long time now—which they probably have—and each one hits Dean like an accusation, pounding the knowledge of his guilt into him. Each one makes him think of something else he’s done to hurt his friend, and he does the only thing he knows how to combat the pain for both of them, holding the angel even closer against him in an attempt to reassure. He’s not going anywhere. He’s going to make up for this. He’s going to treat Cas like he deserves.

Long minutes pass, and at last the weeping slows and then subsides. He can tell Cas isn’t in too much of a hurry to let go of him, though, and he allows the continuing embrace. If this is what his friend needs, this is what he’ll get. His own discomfort can wait.

“D-Dean?” he hears at last, the normally-gravelly voice sounding soaked and limp and unsteady.

“Yeah?” His reply is soft, hopefully soothing.

“I-I’m sorry.”

Dean frowns, smoothing an absentminded hand over the angel’s back again. “What for?”

“Everything.” Cas is muffled, but continues. “I-I shouldn’t have said all that. And I—” He stops, shivering, and then goes on again. “D-Dean, I—I couldn’t let you die. And I couldn’t let her die. She’s kind, and a good hunter, and a good woman, and she’s trying her best in a world she’s not used to and—and she’s your mother, Dean. How—how could I live with myself if I’d let her die? She’s—sh-she’s what you’ve wanted, what you’ve needed since you lost her the first time.” He swallows. “Isn’t she?”

It’s Dean’s turn to shudder. The thought of losing her… That was never, never what he intended when he made that deal. “Yeah,” he admits lowly. “Yeah, she—she is. But Cas—”

“P-please don’t tell me I should have let you die.” The angel’s voice is wobbling again, and he’s started to shake once more. “I c-can’t. I can’t, Dean. I’ve lost you before, and—and s-someday I’ll lose you again, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to see you, b-because Heaven—Heaven’s not my home anymore. And after what I’ve done…” His head shakes against Dean’s shoulder. “I j-just…I don’t know. So many of my brothers and sisters hate that I care about you, that I side with humans over them. And of course I’d t-try to get to you, but I don’t know what they’ll do, Dean, I don’t know what they’ll do to keep me from you!” His voice has risen now. “S-so can’t you see why I try so hard…to keep you alive? You and Sam, y-you’re…you’re my family, even if…” He stops, trailing off, and Dean feels his stomach turn again. He’s fairly sure he knows how Cas was going to finish that sentence. But the angel’s gone on speaking. “I just—I need you, I need you both, and I c-can’t—if you keep trying—” He’s cut off by a sob.

“Okay, Cas,” Dean murmurs, his hand rubbing the distraught angel’s back again. “Okay. Hey, it’s gonna be okay.” He sighs. “’M sorry, okay? I’m sorry I keep dying. I just…” He shakes his head and falls silent again.

Cas nods, and he seems to calm faster this time. Still, it’s another minute or two before he stops crying.

When he’s quiet again, Dean hesitates. “Hey…Cas?”

The angel makes a noise of acknowledgment.

“Look, man, I…I really do think of you as family. I don’t blame you for not believing me, because I’ve done a crappy job of showing it. But I do.” He chews his lip. “Just, uh…wanted to make sure you knew that.”

There’s a moment’s silence. Then Cas nods, though Dean can’t help but feel there’s not much enthusiasm behind it. He sighs and holds his friend closer, unable to help thinking again about just how badly he’s messed up.

“Dean?” The angel’s voice is soft and uncertain.

“Yeah?”

He takes a breath. “Thank you.”

Dean closes his eyes for a second, swallowing, suddenly hit by a wave of his own emotion. Then he nods. “Sure, Cas.”

Healing is a long process, Dean knows. But he hopes that eventually, with the help of the family he’s given everything to save, the family that’s now his own, Cas will find his way back to the person he used to be.

#cass #cas #castiel #dean #dean winchester #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #12x09 #spn 12x09 #tag #episode tag #supernatural #spn

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the-pen-and-the-angel-blade · 9 years

Conversation

me when i am mildly inconvenienced: thIS IS THE WORST THING THAT'S EVER HAPPENED TO ME

me when i am legitimately hurt/distressed: no no it's fine i've had worse

#yes this is me

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the-pen-and-the-angel-blade · 9 years

Text

Wasn’t the world supposed to end in 2012??? That was a good plan who fucked that up

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the-pen-and-the-angel-blade · 9 years

Photo

@soulofawinchester

Jensen Ackles Meme - Favorite Outfits (3/6)

➥ Tribune Broadcasting Party 2012

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the-pen-and-the-angel-blade · 9 years

Photo

HOLY COW THIS IS AMAZING

@soulofawinchester @hogwartsismyhometoo

Animation of Dean Winchester by: Carolina Lta / Little Morrison /My Crystal Horse

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the-pen-and-the-angel-blade · 9 years

Text

Dear Alan,

Many of us loved you, they might have known you from Love Actually or many other films, for me it was Harry Potter. I grew up with Harry and his adventures, I was there for the first book, I was there for the first film, you became part our lives. Every Potterhead loved you, probably most of us cried when Prof. Snape died and, I’m sure, most of us are crying right now. The news of your death is devastating and on behalf of many of us, I’d like to say : Thank you for everything. Thank you for being our Professor Snape, thank you for being the wonderfully complex character that many of us grew up with.

After all this time ?

Always.

Potterheads, please, raise your wands.

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the-pen-and-the-angel-blade · 9 years

Photo

Sean Biggerstaff (Oliver Wood) on Alan Rickman via Twitter.

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the-pen-and-the-angel-blade · 9 years

Note

maybe you could do a sister!reader one where you're just finding out that your sam and deans sister?

I can certainly give it a go! Do you want Cas in there at all? I’m definitely best at fluff...particularly Cas fluff, haha. :) So I could happily do a Cas x Sister!Winchester fic, but if you’d rather, I can keep it just with Sam and Dean/platonic with Cas/whatever.

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the-pen-and-the-angel-blade · 9 years

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Part of Your World

Author's Note: So here's the first of a fair few song parodies I have written. I've had a lot of fun with these.

Spoilers: Nope. Unless how to kill a vampire is a spoiler...

Disclaimer: I don't own "Supernatural" or any of the things or people from it, nor do I own "Part of Your World" or "The Little Mermaid."

Now, in case you have never heard this song, or if you need it for reference, here:

Part of Your World A “Supernatural” Parody of “Part of Your World” from “The Little Mermaid”

Look at this stuff! Isn’t it neat? Wouldn’t you think my collection’s complete? Wouldn’t you think I’m a girl, a girl who’s got everything? Look at this trove—treasures untold. How many wonders can one bedroom hold? Looking around here, you’d think, Sure! She’s got everything!

I’ve got Pop! dolls and posters aplenty. I’ve got blu-rays and blankets galore! Want an autographed shirt? I’ve got twenty! …but who cares? No big deal! I want more...

I wanna be where the hunters are. I wanna see, wanna see 'em fighting, Facing those vampires and—how do you kill them?—oh! slice! Watching TV you don’t get too far. Real is required for hunting, fighting, Trying to learn how to—what’s that word again?—ice! Out with the ghosts, Demons, and djinn, Out where you fight for right till you win! Not just to see— Wish I could be part of that world.

What would I give if I could live with these two brothers? What would I pay to spend a day with Sam and Dean? With what I’ve seen laid out on screen, bet I could be the queen of hunters! My pretending now is ending. I’ll write this scene!

And I’m gonna learn what the hunters know, Ask ’em my questions and get some answers! Why does salt keep the spirits gone after they burn? When’s it my turn? I wanna fight, Learn to be brave and save despite all! Not just TV; I wanna be Part of that world.

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the-pen-and-the-angel-blade · 9 years

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On Requests...and Cabbages and Kings

Okay. So I have a couple of things to say. :)

First, THANKS SO MUCH to everyone who’s liked my story so far! I’m so glad you enjoyed it!

Secondly, I have now allowed anon asks. I overlooked that before. Whoops!

Thirdly, about requests: I’ve never written per requests before, and I’m not sure how it’ll go. And, to be honest, when I’ve tried to write things on a schedule or that aren’t my idea before, it’s felt really forced. So here’s what I'm thinking. Maybe I should take a couple of test requests, with no guarantee that they’ll be done or when. If anyone doesn’t mind doing that, that is. Then, if that works out, I can take more requests.

SOOOO...if you have a prompt you’d like me to try out, with NO GUARANTEES, then please drop it in the ask box!

NOTE: I don’t do smut, nor anything triggering. If you’re not sure, feel free to ask, but don’t get mad if I say no, please! :)

#not writing #announcement #request #requests #thank you #asks #anonymous asks

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the-pen-and-the-angel-blade · 9 years

Text

Better Than Your Dreams

Title: Better Than Your Dreams

Pairing: Reader x Cas

Word Count: 8,715 (I make no apologies whatsoever ;) )

Setting: Some unidentified point in the future where things have settled down and the boys work pretty normal cases again. HOWEVER, Cas hasn’t had his pop culture education-by-heavenly-scribe, because his cluelessness is one of my favorite things about him.

Spoilers: A particular discovery in 8x12, "As Time Goes By"...but you'll probably know about this even if you haven't seen it, unless you've been fairly out of touch with the fandom.

Author’s Note: Thanks so much to Elle for being my Encyclopedia of All Things “Supernatural,” for providing me with a headcanon for the location of Cas’ room, and for helping me with Dean’s character—I’m so glad to have you, my dear Huntress! <3 Thanks also to my cousin, who had the original idea for this fic.

Disclaimer: “Supernatural” is not mine, nor is Cas, as much as I wish he were.

Your name: submit What is this? // <![CDATA[ function replaceAll(find, replace, str) { return str.replace(new RegExp(find, 'g'), replace); } function myHandler() { var input = document.getElementById("inputTxt").value; document.body.innerHTML = replaceAll('Y/N', document.getElementById("inputTxt").value, document.body.innerHTML); } // ]]>

Your friend's name (a friend who would cover for you if you had to lie to your parents): submit What is this? // <![CDATA[ function replaceAll(find, replace, str) { return str.replace(new RegExp(find, 'g'), replace); } function myHandler2() { var input = document.getElementById("inputTxt2").value; document.body.innerHTML = replaceAll('Y/F/N', document.getElementById("inputTxt2").value, document.body.innerHTML); } // ]]>

“You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” –Dr. Seuss

(Hey, you here?) you typed.

The answer came back almost immediately. (Yes. Would you like to play more?)

(Absolutely! :))

(Where were we? Do you remember?)

(We’d just gotten back to the motel.)

(Ah, yes.)

And the game started again. Your characters were on a hunt for what you had decided would be a werewolf-vampire hybrid, though they didn’t know that yet. Sam and Dean were absent in your RP, which, of course, was difficult. Usually you worked around that by pretending that they were in the bunker while you and Cas hunted on your own. Sometimes you added in little conversations with them, where you played Sam and Castiel91808 took Dean. But mostly you left them out, focusing on your own characters.

Y/N: *disgusted, I sit down on the bed in the motel room* I don’t know, Cas. We haven’t learned much of anything, have we? And the monster, whatever it is, is killing more people every day.

Castiel: *sighs* We have not learned a great deal, no. But don’t worry, Y/N. *sits down next to you* We will find out what this is.

Y/N: I sure hope so. *smiles up at you*

Castiel: *smiles back* We will. *takes your hand, squeezing it gently*

You paused, reading that last line. You found that your heart was beating much faster than it ought to be, considering the fact that this was role play, not to mention the nature of the gesture. It was probably just friendly, after all. That could happen, right? But maybe…maybe you should ask Castiel91808 about a possible romance? You weren’t sure. And you wanted things to be fair; would he want you to play as his favorite character, so he could get a chance at a love story? Did guys even do that? Should you offer, or wait to see if he asked? And if he wanted that, would you be able to play whoever he wanted you to? You didn’t want to play his love interest badly, since he played yours so well.

Uncertain, you decided, as you had before, to just keep your mouth shut. You didn’t want to make things awkward.

Y/N: Thanks, Cas. *grins at you*

There was a long pause. You frowned, but decided maybe he’d had to go do something, and pulled up a fanfiction to read while you waited.

After several more minutes, your computer dinged, and you went back to the messenger window and looked at his answer.

Castiel: (Would you be interested in a bit of romance between the characters? I am willing to do that, if you wish.)

You stared at the screen, hardly able to believe your eyes. Was he serious? Had he guessed about your feelings for Cas? You didn’t think you’d mind too much if that were the case, considering that he seemed not to be bothered by it. But you really wished you could know what he was thinking right now.

Finally, after a few moments of complete blanking out, you recovered yourself. If Castiel91808 was willing to do the romance thing, then why on Earth were you hesitating? Wasn’t this exactly what you’d wanted?

(Sure!) you typed, then hesitated, not wanting to seem too eager. You deleted it after a moment and replaced it with, (Sure, if you want. I mean, that could be fun. :)) You read over it again, gauging the feel of the reply, then decided that it was good, and hit “Enter” with trembling fingers.

Your breath was coming short as you waited for an answer. After what felt like an eternity, it came in.

(All right. :))

And then:

Castiel: Y/N…

You quickly put in your response.

Y/N: Yeah, Cas?

Castiel: I…I find that I care about you…very much.

Y/N: *looks away shyly, blushing* Really?

Castiel: Yes. *reaches out, putting his fingers under your chin and turning your face towards him, searching your expression*

Y/N: *smiling and blushing* I…care about you, too, Cas.

Castiel: *smiles widely* Really?

Y/N: Yeah. *smiles back*

Castiel: I am glad to hear it. *leans forward carefully to kiss you*

You had to stop typing for several minutes, as you were squeeing too much to reply. Finally, you were able to settle back down to the role play, and replied fairly simply.

Y/N: *kisses back*

Castiel: *breaks away and smiles down at you*

Y/N: *smiles back*

You felt like you should be doing more than just responding to what Cas did with something similar, but your brain felt a bit fuzzy from the kiss (you were conveniently ignoring the fact that it was a fictional kiss. It was certainly having the same effect on you as a real one might have).

Castiel: *a little uncertain* Was that…the correct thing to do?

You couldn’t help but smile at that. It was such a Cas thing to say—Castiel91808 had his character down exactly—and you found the angel’s cluelessness completely adorable.

Y/N: *smiles at how cute he is* Yes, Cas. It was. *blushes a little* I liked it…a lot.

Castiel: I did, too. *hesitates* Would you like to do it again?

Y/N: *blushes more* Yes, please.

Castiel: *kisses you again*

Y/N: *I kiss back, my hands going to his face, then arms coming around his neck*

Castiel: *pulls back after a moment* You are…a wonderful human being, Y/N.

Y/N: *smiles, blushing again* You’re amazing, Cas.

You hesitated, then added a small note: (Sorry for all the blushing. Too much? If it is, I can tone it down.)

The reply came back almost instantly. (No, not at all. Castiel thinks it is cute.)

Now you were blushing in real life, at the thought of Cas thinking you were cute. (Okay :)), you typed, and waited.

Castiel: Thank you. *presses his fingers to your cheek* That color is lovely.

Y/N: *I blush more, leaning into his touch, closing my eyes and smiling*

Castiel: *strokes your cheek*

Y/N: *contented sigh*

You were grinning like a lunatic at your computer. This was so much fun. And you were still feeling almost as if it were really happening, which made your head spin a bit.

There was a pause, and then the reply, (I apologize, but I need to go. Something has come up.)

You sighed unhappily, not wanting to give up the fluff when it had just started, but typed back, (Okay. Do you know when you’ll be on next?)

(Possibly not for a day, or perhaps two, unfortunately.)

Disappointed, you waited a moment, scolding yourself for being selfish, and then responded. (Okay. Too bad. :( I’ll try and be on as much as I can so I can catch you when you get back, ok?)

(All right.), he sent back, and then, (Goodbye. I will come back as soon as possible.)

(Bye), you answered, and then went to read fanfiction, keeping your messenger window open, just in case.

True to his word, Castiel91808 came back two and a half days later. Or rather, he came back about two days later, but you were out of the house. You returned and immediately checked your messages, finding, much to your delight, that his status was set to “Available” and there was a new message in your game.

(I can play again whenever you’d like.), it said.

You grinned broadly and sat down. (Hiiii! I hope you’re still here! I’m back now.)

(I’m here.), was sent a minute later.

(Yay! I’m so glad!) Then you added, a bit worried, (Is everything okay? You had to go pretty suddenly.)

(I’m fine. That happens occasionally, because of my work.)

(Oh, good. I’m glad you’re okay.) You really were. You might not have met him in person, but you were getting to know him reasonably well through the side conversations you had as you played. He reminded you quite a bit of Cas, which, you supposed, was probably why he could play the character so well. (What’s your work?) you added after a minute, curious.

There was a pause, and then he replied, (This and that. It varies.)

You were a little surprised—you had assumed, from things he had said before, that he had a steady job, but it sounded like he was more of a drifter. Maybe he was just trying to find the right job for him, though, or maybe, with the job market the way it was, he had bad luck.

(Oh, okay. :)) you said, not wanting him to think you were judging him.

(Have you had a good day?) he asked, and you responded, telling him about the classes you had gone to. You continued to chat for a while, talking about your lives. Then he suggested, (Would you like to play now?)

(Sure :)), was your immediate reply.

(All right :)), he typed back, and the game began again.

The fluff continued in between hunts, much to your joy. Every time Cas kissed you, you felt light-headed. Every time he complimented you, a smile bloomed on your face. It was absolutely ridiculous, because it was all fake, of course. But you loved it.

Before you knew it, several weeks had passed, during which you had managed to carve out some time for playing nearly every day. You were feeling closer and closer to Castiel91808, and he was on your mind more and more when you weren’t actually playing with him. You wondered what he looked like, if he really talked the way he typed (a bit formally), what his voice sounded like… And since he continued to remind you of Cas, it was becoming harder and harder to separate the two in your mind. You had to fight yourself because your brain kept trying to just call him “Cas.” The lines between reality and fiction were blurring, and you found yourself thinking of him as Cas more often than not, despite your attempts otherwise.

This, of course, was causing problems in your emotional state. Your feelings for Cas were leaking over onto your friend. No matter how many times you scolded yourself for this, you were discovering, much to your chagrin, that your heart leapt whenever you got to talk to him, even if you were just chatting as yourselves. It was typical, you thought bitterly, that the first person you might feel for romantically who was not a fictional character was still nearly as unattainable as one.

Crushes aside, however, the two of you were becoming fast friends, finding more and more things that you had in common, and talking more and more often as yourselves. The RP continued, of course, and you were always happy when it did, because that meant more fluff with Cas. But at the same time, you really enjoyed talking about other things with Castiel91808. He told you about his love of nature and interest in psychology, and you talked about your school and activities with your family and friends.

You were chatting one day about the movie you’d gone to the previous night (he hadn’t seen it, but didn’t mind spoilers, so you were filling him in on the plot) when you started to get irritated—which had been happening a lot lately—at the pace of typing. It was so slow! Real talking would be so much faster.

You sighed, resigning yourself to having to type everything, and went to write out another paragraph—and stopped, your eyes caught by the little symbol on the side of your screen: a “Call” button. The program you’d been using to instant message each other also made video calls.

For several frozen minutes, you stared at that button. Not only would it save you from getting carpal tunnel syndrome, which you were liable to do if this continued, but it would answer all those pesky questions that continued to revolve around your head. You would be able to see his face, and hear him. You’d get to talk as real people.

Fingers trembling, you typed out a question, and, not letting yourself think about it too much, hit the “Enter” key.

(Hey, do you want to really talk? We can make calls with this thing.)

Then you waited with bated breath for an answer.

Ding! went your computer, and your eyes flew to the new line of text.

(If you’d like to, I am certainly not against it.)

You couldn’t help the smile that broke out on your face. (Sounds good. Gimme a second :)) you typed, and then moved your mouse over to the “Call” symbol. Taking a deep breath, you pressed the mouse button.

The computer made a ringing sound, once, twice, three times…and a video popped up on the screen.

Your first thought was a garbled, CasrealCaswhathowwhat?! Then your rational side kicked in, telling you, Impossible. You felt that this was probably true. But then, how…?

Maybe, you decided, he was just somebody who happened to look (exactly) like Cas. Including facial structure. Or maybe he didn’t want you to know what he really looked like, so he was wearing a wig and colored contacts to try and hide it. You frowned, sensing something missing from that explanation, though your poor, shock-scrambled brain couldn’t quite pinpoint what. Then you came up with what seemed like a good solution: He was a superfan who felt so close to Cas that he had had plastic surgery to look like him, and dyed his hair and used the aforementioned contact lenses as well. Yes, you decided, that must be it.

It was at about this point that some distant corner of your brain noticed that he was looking back at you with interest—which made sense; you had wondered about him, so maybe he had also wondered about you—but also surprise…which made less sense. As if reading your mind, he spoke.

“I…had not realized that we would be able to see one another during this conversation,” he said, and you wondered frantically if someone could have vocal surgery, because he sounded exactly like Cas. Maybe it was possible, though you’d never heard of it before. Or maybe he just happened to have a similar voice, and had trained himself to sound gravelly like Cas did, and like the actor had.

“I—I…” You found yourself completely unable to form words, and simply gaped at him.

He sighed, looking faintly worried. “I apologize. This is not at all the way I had expected this conversation would go. As I said, I had not understood that you would be able to see me, so…I thought that you would not be able to tell who I am.”

That got a response out of you. Before you knew it, you had blurted out, “But you can’t be! I mean, you’re not real! I mean…”

He gave a tiny smile that was so very Cas that your breath caught. “I assure you that I am very real.”

“No…no, b-but…you’re not…” you stammered.

The guy who claimed to be Cas sighed again. “Would you like some evidence in favor of the idea?”

You nodded dumbly.

“Very well,” he said. “Give me a moment.” Then he left the screen.

You waited.

A few minutes later, he came back with another man in tow, and you felt faint. As if it wasn’t enough to have someone who looked and sounded exactly like Cas talking to you, he had now brought in a guy who could have been twin brother to Dean.

“Hey, there. I see you’ve met Cas,” said this new apparition, and you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped you, even though you had half-expected this, because his voice was exactly right, too. Right down to the slightest hint of a Southern accent.

You must have looked as dizzy as you felt, because Cas—not Cas, you told yourself firmly, but at this point, you only half-believed yourself—stepped forward, looking concerned. “Are you all right?” he asked, and you nodded, then stopped, because that worsened the room’s spinning.

You only vaguely heard the conversation after that. Dean—or his twin, or whatever he was—seemed to be saying something about a shock, and maybe the Cas man had put too much on you at once. Cas-not-Cas replied with what he’d told you earlier, that he hadn’t realized it was a video chat, and if he had he wouldn’t have agreed. Then the Dean guy said that he had been planning to tell the other guy to ease you into it and then ask to meet you, and (sounding affectionately exasperated, you thought, though you weren’t sure) that he might’ve known Cas’ lookalike would agree to something like this before he had gotten a chance to let him know that. The idea that this person who thought he was Cas had apparently wanted to meet you in real life made a new wave of dizziness sweep over you. You heard a voice say, sounding urgent, “Cas—can you zap to her? She looks like she’s gonna faint. You could heal her, right?” and then a different voice reply, “Yes, I think so,” and a noise that sounded like a bird. You had just wondered what a bird was doing in your house when you felt strong arms come around you, and a sensation like a huge windstorm blowing past you, while your stomach turned for some reason.

Then you were somewhere other than your house, staring up into the concerned face of the man who apparently really was Castiel, and that was too much for your tenuous grasp on your consciousness.

You woke, and immediately found yourself looking into that same face, which still seemed worried. Everything came rushing back, and you gasped and looked around frantically. You were most definitely not in your bedroom, where you had been before. You wondered if you had imagined the sudden trip somewhere else. Perhaps this was all some sort of elaborate joke…or maybe Castiel91808 was a psycho who had tracked you down and kidnapped you.

You eyed him doubtfully. He didn’t look crazy. And he hadn’t seemed crazy when you were talking to him online. But… How else could you explain the change in your location? Moments before your fainting spell, you had been sure that he really was Cas, and had transported you here instantaneously. But that couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. At best, this was a trick. At worst, you were about to be killed or something by two crazies who thought they were from a TV show.

Speaking of its being two people…where was the Dean lookalike? He didn’t appear to be in the room with you. You couldn’t decide if that made you nervous or relieved. On the one hand, that meant one fewer man to fight if necessary. On the other hand, it meant you were alone with the Cas guy.

Taking a deep breath and gathering every last scrap of courage you had, you blurted out, “Who are you?”

Not-Cas frowned. “I told you who I am. Or…I suppose I did not, but I was fairly certain that you had guessed. Was I mistaken?”

“If you mean the fact that you apparently think you’re really Cas, then no, you weren’t mistaken,” you said, trying to sound brave. “But since Cas isn’t real, that’s not gonna fly.”

He tilted his head and squinted, giving you that same look of confusion that you’d always found so adorable on the angel. Your heart jumped, and you wanted to scream at it.

“I don’t understand. What does flying have to do with my reality?” he asked, and you swallowed hard, feeling sick between the butterflies and the dread in your stomach.

“Look, I don’t know if this is a joke, or if you really think you’re Cas, but I want to know why I’m here,” you said, surprised by the fact that you hadn’t stammered yourself to a halt by now, or fainted again. Apparently you had more courage than you’d realized.

“He is Cas,” said a voice from the doorway, and you turned to see the Dean guy. Your breath hitched in fear—now there were two of them again—and you unthinkingly scooted back on the couch you were on, away from him.

A small sigh came from the Cas-looking one. “Dean, perhaps we ought to simply take her back home. She seems too afraid. I did not realize…”

His friend shook his head. “Nah, Cas. She’ll catch up. Just…show her some of your mojo.”

“I already did,” said not-Cas. “I flew her here. Surely if she were going to believe us, she would have done so after that.”

“Well, but she was gonna faint. I bet, now she’s awake, she doesn’t trust what she saw. Do you?” he asked, directing the question towards you, and your head shook automatically. You immediately wanted to slap yourself for encouraging him.

He grinned, looking as if he knew what you were thinking, and said to the other man, “See? Just give her another demonstration or two, and she’ll get it, I bet. From what you told me about her, she’s probably pretty smart.”

That gave you pause. Cas—no, not Cas, you thought desperately—had told him about you? You weren’t even sure what you thought about that anymore. Your mind was all jumbled.

The guy who was not Cas, no matter what you were starting to think, seemed to consider that. Then he said, “I believe she is, yes. And I suppose that it cannot hurt to try again to convince her.” He turned to you. “I recognize that you are afraid, and I swear to you that I will not hurt you. Will you allow me to try to convince you that I am who I say I am? If you don’t believe me after I’ve tried, I promise I will take you back home.”

You thought about this, and decided that even if he was lying, you probably shouldn’t say no; what if you upset him and he went wacko on you? You could only hope that he would keep those promises. You nodded weakly, and he seemed to relax slightly.

“Thank you,” he said. “Dean, do you have any suggestions as to what I ought to do?”

Dean’s twin looked thoughtful, then said, “Well, you could try zapping again. But maybe that’d be too much for her… What about the mind-reading bit? You said you can do that, right?”

Not-Cas nodded. “I can. Though I normally prefer to ask permission…” He looked at you again. “Will you allow me to enter your thoughts? You can control what you are thinking at the time, and I will not go any deeper than the surface.”

You figured this couldn’t hurt. After all, he couldn’t really do that—unless, of course, he actually was Cas. And if that was the case, you had nothing to worry about, because the real Cas wouldn’t hurt you unless you were a demon or something, which you knew you weren’t… You suddenly realized what you were thinking and shook yourself out of this crazy idea. Then you responded quietly, “O-okay.”

The man nodded and put two fingers on your forehead. You decided that if you were going to do this, you might as well do it properly. Just like you had done in “mind-reading” games as a child, you came up with the most random things you could. I like pizza, you thought. And purple-spotted elephants are lots of fun.

He did that head tilt at you. “I have not yet tried pizza, though Dean assures me that it is delicious. And I know for a fact that purple-spotted elephants do not exist. It would certainly be interesting if they did, however. I would like to see one, were that the case.”

You heard the Dean man snort, feeling your breath speed up and get shallow. How could he have—? It wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t possible.

His fingers were still resting on your forehead as he waited for an answer. You noticed with some horror that his touch was affecting you much more than it should, considering he was probably a mental case (maybe even a serial killer who was after fans of “Supernatural”) who had kidnapped you.

But was he? Either he had just made the most ridiculously accurate guess in the world, with the tiniest odds ever, or he had read your mind.

“That’s not possible,” you heard yourself say. And then—and you could have kicked yourself—“Do it again.”

A faint smile crossed his lips. “Whenever you’re ready,” he answered, and you closed your eyes, just in case something was somehow written on your face, and thought carefully: The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain. Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool? Luke, I am your father.

He had been looking progressively more confused throughout this litany. At the last sentence, however, his face cleared a bit, and he announced, “Dean has told me about that last one. It is from the Star Wars movies, correct?”

You gaped.

“And as for the rest,” he continued, “I fail to see why plains in Spain would have any more rain than any other location in that country. No new nations were created eighty-seven years ago. And I don’t understand why you are asking a sheep if it has any wool, as sheep do not speak.”

The other guy—Dean? Could it really be?—had started choking with laughter at some point during this little speech, and sounded like he was enjoying himself immensely. The guy who might be Cas was looking at you, apparently waiting for an answer. And you… You were looking from one to the other, mouth slightly open, unable to utter a word.

And then a giant of a man with a ridiculous amount of hair came wandering into the room, asking, “Dean, what’s so funny?”

And you couldn’t help but believe.

It was some time later before you were able to collect yourself. Dean had gotten control of his laughter after a little, and had explained things to Sam, who was now sitting on the floor, looking up at you on the couch (apparently his height was in his legs). Dean was lounging sideways in an armchair a few feet away. And Cas—Cas!—was sitting on the kitchen chair that he had been on since you woke up, watching you with an expression that seemed surprisingly soft for an Angel of the Lord.

It was all very surreal.

You were pelting the three of them with questions, which they answered good-naturedly. Did the supernatural world really exist? And they really hunted things that went bump in the night? Did salt and holy water actually work on demons? When Cas had to leave suddenly because of “his job,” was he hunting? What was it like? And then, having looked at your surroundings: Was this the Men of Letters bunker? (Having had an affirmative answer to that last question, you insisted they take you on a tour later, staring at the room around you with new eyes in the meantime. When you picked up the nearest couch cushion and examined it closely, fascinated even by that, Dean and Sam started to laugh, and Cas smiled. You looked up, and couldn’t help laughing at yourself, though you were still very interested.)

Gradually, your flood of questions slowed to a trickle, and then dried up, until—wonder of wonders—you couldn’t think of anything else to ask. It was at that point, when you had fallen silent for more than about ten seconds, that Dean glanced at Cas, a big grin stretching across his face, and asked you, “Hey, since you seem so interested, why don’t you stay with us for a while?”

You looked over at him, surprised, and said slowly, “I…I don’t know. I mean, I’d love to, but what would I tell my parents?”

Dean shrugged. Sam looked thoughtful for a minute, then suggested, “Tell them you’re staying with friends. It’s the truth.”

“Well, yeah, but if I don’t tell them who I’m with, or where…”

“Huh,” he said. “Uh, would you be able to get one of your friends they know to cover for you?”

You thought about that. “I…I guess so. I mean, maybe Y/F/N would do it. But I’d have to tell (him/her) something else…and I really don’t want to lie to (him/her)…”

Sam seemed to be thinking again. Then he said, “Well, maybe you could just tell them you’re going to (his/her) house, and leave (him/her) out of it entirely. I mean, do you think they’d call (him/her) or anything?”

“No,” you said after a second. “If they needed something, they’d call my cell phone. The only reason they would call Y/F/N would be if they thought something was up.”

Dean grinned at you. “Well, then, don’t let them think that.”

You hesitated, but then nodded. “I guess that’s the best option,” you conceded. Then you said, “But…hey, Cas, would you mind zapping me back to my house, so I can talk to them?”

Cas shook his head. “I will do so, if you wish,” he replied, and you smiled at him, heart fluttering when he smiled back.

“Thanks,” you said, and he nodded to you.

“You are welcome. Do you want to do it now, or wait?”

You hesitated. “Better get it over with,” you decided after a minute.

“All right.” He came over. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” you told him, and turned to Sam and Dean. “See you in a—” But then Cas’ fingers were on your forehead, making your heart beat quickly, and you were suddenly back in your bedroom at home.

You staggered a bit as you landed, and he reached out to steady you, mild concern flashing across his features. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, I think,” you said, regaining your balance, and trying valiantly to ignore the way your stomach had flipped as he had set his hands on your shoulders.

He didn’t let go for a long moment, searching your face, apparently trying to decide if you were telling the truth. (You suspected that he had picked up this habit because the Winchesters so often said they were fine when they weren’t.) Then he nodded and took his hands away, to your disappointment.

Come on, you told yourself. This is stupid. He’s an angel! He’s even less likely to have feelings for you than he was when he was this random guy on the Internet.

“Are you certain you’re all right?” you heard him ask, pulling you out of your self-scolding.

You nodded, smiling at him, unable to help thinking how sweet he was to be worried. “Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks.”

He smiled back a little, and then said, “I assume you would like me to stay here and wait for you?”

“Uh, yeah,” you responded. “Please.”

He nodded. “I will, then.”

“Thanks,” you grinned, and headed out of the room to talk to your parents.

Mission accomplished, you returned to your room to find Cas standing exactly where he had been before, looking around curiously. You shut the door, lest your mom or dad walk by to find you talking with a guy they didn’t know, or even see the two of you disappear into thin air, and then turned to find him looking at you.

“Did they believe you?” he asked.

You nodded. “I’m pretty sure they did.” Frowning a little, you added, “I hate lying to them. I wish I could tell them the truth.”

Cas smiled gently at you. “Honesty is an admirable trait,” he told you.

“Thanks,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm slightly.

He nodded, and then asked, “Shall we go, then?”

You nodded back. “Okay,” you said, and steeled yourself for his touch, hoping that that would help you control its effects. It didn’t, and you hoped your blush hadn’t gotten more obvious as his fingers once again fell on your forehead. Judging by Sam and Dean’s expressions as you arrived in the bunker again, though, it had.

“Did it work?” was all Dean asked, although you had been half-expecting him to comment on the color in your cheeks.

“Yeah.” You were hyper aware that Cas was still standing very close to you, even though his hand had slipped down to his side again.

“Great.” Sam grinned at you. “Why don’t we get you set up with a room?”

“Okay,” you answered, and followed him when he headed down the hall. Somewhat to your surprise, Cas trailed along behind, and Dean caught up with you as you left the room, too.

Sam led you to another hallway, with open doors leading off of it at intervals. “This is Dean’s room,” he told you, gesturing to the first one on the right, and then, pointing to the last one on the left, “That one’s me.” He grinned. “Cas doesn’t sleep, but he’s got a room anyway—this one around the corner.”

You nodded.

“So,” said Sam, “You can pretty much pick any one that’s not one of those. Feel free to explore them first.”

You looked at him in surprise, having expected to be assigned a room. The way he was talking, it felt more like you were choosing a permanent living space than a guest room that you’d use for a few days. “Uh…thanks,” you answered after a minute, and tentatively poked your head into the open doorway nearest you.

You were immediately in love. It was really old and dusty, and fairly bare, but the few furnishings there were were exactly to your taste.

“Can I have this one?” you asked Sam, and he nodded. You looked over to Dean, hoping he didn’t mind either, and were surprised to see a smirk playing on his face. You frowned a little, your gaze going back to the room, and then realized suddenly that it happened to be the one right across from Cas’. You blushed again, avoiding Dean’s knowing gaze.

“Thanks,” you told Sam quietly, and noticed that had a tiny bit of that same smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You hadn’t realized that the Winchesters could be so annoying.

The next few days were some of the best of your life. You got your tour of the bunker, and were enraptured by the extensive library of lore books, some of which you took to your room to peruse with fascination. You marveled at the map table in the main room, and watched the boys show off their skills in the shooting gallery (they really were as good as they seemed on the show). You introduced Cas to “The Princess Bride,” with much glee and reciting of lines along with the characters (to your delight, Sam and Dean joined in with some of this, including Dean doing a spirited rendition of the part where Inigo Montoya is fighting the six-fingered man, and both Winchesters acting out the scene between Vizzini and the Man in Black, with Sam as Westley and Dean as the Sicilian. They admitted, when pushed, that they used to enact the scene when they were kids. Watching them, you laughed until your sides ached). At one point, you asked the boys if they knew why the show had portrayed them in a different universe than this (that was after you were reminded of “The French Mistake” by a fanfiction you were reading). After some thought, Sam suggested that the people running the show might not know that it was all real.

“That makes sense,” you said. “But what about the actors? How did they get actors who look and talk and act exactly like you guys?”

Sam frowned. “Dean? Ideas?”

Dean thought for a few minutes, then shrugged. “Nope. I got nothin’.”

“Cas?” you asked, curious as to what he might say.

“It is a mystery,” he said gravely.

“Does it really matter?” Dean wanted to know.

You grinned. “You’ve got me there,” you admitted. “I guess it doesn’t. I was just wondering.”

The time passed quickly. It seemed like one minute you were taking the tour soon after your arrival, and the next, it was your last day. You wanted to make good use of that day. You thought about calling your parents to try and extend your stay, but you didn’t think they’d want you gone for any longer than you had already been. You were lucky that school had let out during the weeks you were getting to know Cas online, so that you had time off now.

On the morning of the day you were meant to go home, you woke fairly early, determined to take advantage of every second. You climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the kitchen, wanting to surprise your friends with breakfast.

You hummed as you got out bacon and eggs, and started some waffle batter. Cooking, you started to sing softly. By the time Sam got back from his run, your voice was normal volume, and you were really getting into it.

“Oh, what a beautiful mornin’, oh, what a beautiful day,” you sang. “I’ve got a beautiful feelin’ everythin’s goin’ my—EEE!” you shrieked, as the moose snuck up behind you and pinched your sides, tickling you.

He started laughing, while you glared at him, hands firmly on your hips, both as a sign of your annoyance and so that you could protect yourself quickly if he thought to do it again. After about ten seconds of this, Dean came flying into the kitchen, his gun in one hand, hair looking like a porcupine.

“Y/N? What’s up? You okay?” he demanded, bloodshot eyes staring wildly around.

Before you could answer, Cas appeared in the kitchen with a sudden fluttering of wings. “Y/N?” he asked, sounding alarmed. “Are you all right? I thought I heard you scream.”

“I’m fine…except for the part where Sammy here decided to scare me,” you groused, still glaring at the laughing Sam.

“I just—t-tickled her,” gasped the culprit, finally getting ahold of himself.

Dean shook his head and sighed in mock exasperation. “Really, Sammy? You got me out of bed for that?”

Sam grinned unrepentantly at him. “Early bird gets the worm,” he said.

Cas looked at Sam. “I don’t understand. Dean is not a bird…and he does not, to the best of my knowledge, want to have a worm.” His curious gaze moved to Dean. “Do you?”

Dean sighed, apparently somewhat exasperated. “No, Cas. I don’t.”

The angel nodded, looking satisfied. “That is what I thought. Also…” he trailed off.

“What is it, Cas?” You didn’t mind fielding his questions at all, and you could tell Dean didn’t want to just now.

“I was merely wondering…what is “tickling”?” he asked.

You stared at him. “Oh, you poor, deprived angel!” you said dramatically. “You don’t know what tickling is!”

“I’ll show you,” said Sam mischievously, and before you could do anything, he had poked your sides again.

“Eek!” you squealed, unable to help yourself. “Sam!”

Sam swept a bow towards Cas, as if he were an applauding audience. “And that, Cas, is tickling.”

The angel was watching with interest. “I see,” he said. “Like this?” He reached out and also poked your sides.

You squeaked, and Dean snickered.

“Great, Sam, now you’ve taught Cas to do it as well,” you complained.

Sam grinned at you. “My work here is done,” he said.

“Not quite,” Dean told him, and turned to Cas. “Watch this,” he said, and advanced on you.

You gave him a wide-eyed look, then backed away slowly. “Dean…don’t…” you pleaded.

“Dean, perhaps you should not—” Cas started, looking worried, but he was interrupted by your squeal and laughter, as Dean had backed you into a corner.

“D-Dean!” you gasped, between giggles. “St-stop!” All this achieved, however, was to make Dean tickle you more, and Sam come over to help. “Guys!”

Cas’ gravelly voice came through the sound of your shrieking. “I don’t understand, Y/N. You ask them to stop, yet you are laughing, and seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Dean stopped tickling you abruptly. “Yeah, Y/N,” he teased. “Why don’t you tell us if you’re enjoying yourself?”

You mock glared at him. Cas had put you into an impossible situation. If you said you weren’t having fun, he would tell the boys to stop, but if you told him you were, Dean and Sam would never let it go. “I…” you said, still gasping for air, and using that to stall for time. “I don’t…” You sighed after a minute, giving in. “Yeah, I’m having fun.”

“I am glad,” Cas announced, nodding seriously.

Dean laughed. “I knew it!” he shouted dramatically, and started tickling you again, as did Sam.

You giggled and squirmed, trying fruitlessly to break away, and through your blurry eyes, you saw Cas standing watching you with a smile.

Needless to say, breakfast burned, because you were all having too much fun to remember about it. You gave up and ate cereal instead, then volunteered to wash the dishes, since you had started making the breakfast, so it was kind of your fault. The boys, being boys, agreed happily to this plan and went off to do something or other. You started singing quietly again as you ran water into the blackened skillet and began to scrub at it.

“Oh, what a beautiful mornin’, oh, what a beautiful day! I’ve got a beau—” You broke off in a squeal for the second time that day, as, for the second time, a pair of hands poked at you. “Come on, Sam!” you said, laughing a little, mock scolding. “Really, it isn’t that fu—” You stopped, staring into blue eyes, which were watching you with a smile, but also a slight bit of anxiety. “C-Cas?” You cursed yourself for that stammer, and for the blush which you knew was spreading across your face.

“Yes, Y/N?” His smile faded, replaced by more concern. “Did I do that incorrectly?”

You shook your head. “No, Cas! You did it just right.” You smiled, wanting to show him you weren’t mad, and his expression lightened again.

“Good,” he said simply, and then he was tickling you like the boys had a little while ago. You started giggling again, unable to stop it. “C-Cas!”

He was laughing a little, too. Until now, you hadn’t heard him actually laugh, and it was a beautiful sound. “Yes?” he answered, stopping his fingers’ movement.

“Nothing,” you told him, and shook your head.

“All right.” He turned to leave, a smile still playing on his lips. Watching the smile, you tried very hard not to think about those lips. It didn’t work very well.

“Wait!” you blurted, before you could stop yourself.

He turned. “Yes?”

You hesitated, trying to think of something to say, and then asked a question that had been on your mind for a little while now. “Why did you start role playing? I mean, you already are yourself, and this is your life. Why would you want to play a game of it, too?”

“So that I could get to know the people who played,” he answered, and, for some reason, the way he said it made you blush a little again.

“Oh.”

He seemed to sense that you had more questions. “What is it?” he asked, blue eyes seeming to pierce through you.

“I, um… Well, getting to know the people seems like a good reason—I mean, you told me how into psychology you are—but, um…” You definitely couldn’t keep the blush away now. “Why…why did you suggest having a romance between our characters? I mean, you’re you, really. Didn’t it feel…weird?”

“Did it feel strange to you?” he asked, looking suddenly uncertain.

“No!” you said hastily, and then could have kicked yourself. You wanted to reassure him, of course, but you also didn’t want to give away how much you had actually liked it, nor the feelings you harbored. Not when he really was Cas.

He looked relieved, though. “I am glad of that.”

You looked at him in some surprise. “You are?”

“Yes.” He looked like he was hesitating, and then said carefully, “Perhaps I ought to explain. You see… Dean told me to suggest the romance. He said…” He frowned, apparently trying to remember, and then continued, “He said that it would be a sort of test, before ‘the next step.’”

You found your heart was beating very hard. “Next step?”

Cas nodded. “Yes. He did not tell me precisely what that was to be, but…the end goal was quite clear.”

“And…what was that?” you asked, almost whispering, trying not to hope too hard.

“I wished—wish—to have a romantic relationship with you. If…if that is what you want.”

For a long moment, you stared at him, feeling almost as shocked as when you first saw his face on your computer screen. Finally, you managed, “Me? Are you sure? I mean…I mean of course I’d love that, but…”

He smiled a little. “Yes.” His hand came to cup your cheek, and he looked a bit cautious, watching for your reaction, as he continued, “While I was talking to you on the Internet, I felt intrigued by you, and as we continued to converse, I began to feel…different. Dean tells me that those feelings are romantic in nature. And,” he continued, more quietly, “I must admit that when we were writing about kisses and such things, I wanted very much to try them in the flesh.”

“Me, too,” you breathed, and then he was leaning down, and gently pressing his mouth to yours.

It was everything you had written about and more. But the best thing about it by far was that it was real.

Cas helped you wash the rest of the dishes, stopping every couple of minutes to kiss you—which you certainly weren’t going to complain about, even if it did slow you down.

Of course, the problem with being slow, which you had been a little too…preoccupied…to foresee, was that the Winchesters knew how long it ought to take to wash dishes, and so when you had hit the fifteen-minute mark after you should have been done, they came in to see what was taking so long.

Naturally, they happened to walk in just as Cas was kissing you again. You were enjoying the sensation of his lips on yours, when you suddenly heard a noise from behind you. You leapt away from your angel and whirled around, seeing Sam staring at the two of you with raised eyebrows and a smirk, and Dean sniggering.

You sighed. “Hi, guys.”

“Hey, there. You seem…busy,” commented Dean, winking at you.

Sam added, “But not washing dishes like you said you were.” He grinned. “Still, looked to me like you were having a pretty good time.”

You blushed deeply, but were unable to help laughing as you said, “Be quiet.”

Dean and Sam both started to laugh as well. “In your dreams,” retorted the older Winchester.

You looked over at Cas to see what he made of all this, only to find him looking adorably confused again. “Why would Dean be quiet in your dreams—oh. Because you’re sleeping. Of course.”

That took you a minute to decipher, but it made you laugh. “Not exactly, Cas. ‘In your dreams’ is something people say when they mean that whatever you’re talking about will never happen. It’s like saying, ‘That won’t happen in real life, so it’ll only happen in your dreams.’” You watched his face to see if he understood, and then, remembering that he didn’t dream, added, “When people want something badly, sometimes they dream about it.”

Cas nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. “I see...” There was a pause, and then he announced seriously, “If I dreamed, I would have dreamed about you, then.”

You blushed again, a smile spreading across your face, both at what he said, and the utmost solemnity with which he said it. A statement like that would have been a mere flattery from anyone else. From Cas, who didn’t understand flirting and had no idea what effect his words would have, nor how cliché it was to say such things, it was a declaration that must be completely true. Ignoring Dean’s gagging sounds and Sam’s laughter, you put your arms around his neck. “I dreamed about you,” you told your angel. That was true, too. You had, too many times to count.

He smiled widely and leaned down to kiss you.

Separating after a few minutes, you found that the boys had apparently gotten bored of watching you kiss Cas. You weren’t at all surprised that you hadn’t been aware of their departure, even though they had more than likely made more noise than a herd of elephants—at least Dean probably had. Sam, you suspected, could go either way, depending on whether he was feeling mischievous or tactful. But it didn’t matter. You had discovered that the cliché you’d heard so often was very true. Kissing Cas, you wouldn’t have noticed or cared if the aforementioned herd of elephants had stampeded right past you, nor if you’d been put on the back of one of them and carried away, as long as he was with you.

He took your hand a little uncertainly, and you laced your fingers together. “You wanna go somewhere we can sit down?” you asked, and he smiled.

“If you’d like.”

You nodded, and he pulled you gently into the room with the couch that you’d been in the first day you arrived. Remembering how stunned you had been, you laughed as you sat down, snuggling up to Cas.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked curiously, pulling you close and starting to run his fingers through your hair.

Grinning, you answered, “Thinking about the day I got here. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather.” Knowing the look that would be on his face, and that he’d be opening his mouth to ask, you added, “It means…I was shocked.” Your grin turned a bit sheepish, and you added, “I think I picked that expression—about the feather—up from books. I don’t know that anyone actually says that.”

You felt his nod. “I see, I think.”

Your eyes, drifting aimlessly, found the same pillow you’d examined that first day right next to you, and you grinned again, running your fingers over it, contemplating the way you had inspected every stitch on it, hardly able to believe that it was real. This line of thought brought you to what you had been talking about with him a little while ago, about dreams. You had dreamed of him, and daydreamed, and generally gotten lost in fiction and in your role playing. And that had been wonderful. But you were finding, to your joy, that it did not even come close to the actual thing.

“Cas?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you’re real.”

There was a smile in his voice as he replied softly, “I am glad that you’re real, too.”

And you smiled, as well, as you sat up and kissed your completely real angel.

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