thewayhouse

[thewayhouse]

'Honey Makes Me Sick' - Pt. 3

Castiel x Dean - -> Chapter list here <-

-> Destiel -> Hurt / Comfort - slightly suggestive -> ! CW ! : Alcohol abuse, internalised homophobia (hinted at) -> 1.6K words -> Authors note at the end

'Honey Makes Me Sick'

Chapter Summary: After a drunken Dean spills his guts a little too much one night - Cas is determined to understand what he meant, whether it was real.

Castiel had managed to slip away from the woman, stumbling with some excuse about a phone call. It was bad, but he guessed she’d heard worse lies before; she let him go. His first instinct was to try and find Dean again, he really didn’t feel like tracking him down twice in one night. Besides, he didn’t know what Dean was so upset about, he’d been healing him, isn’t that a good thing? Though, Cas thought, it could also have been him bringing up Dean’s alcohol consumption that bothered him. Either way, Cas was sure he was in the right. Stepping back out into the daze of the strip club, the angel marched through the crowds searching for Dean. To his dismay, Dean had vanished. Letting the cool breeze of midnight hit his face, Cas strode out into the parking lot, where he’d assumed Sam was waiting for him. 

“I’m not letting you leave, Dean!” Sam’s voice echoed in the darkness, raising his voice at his older brother, whom he had caught and cornered beside Baby. “This has nothing to do with you, Sammy!” Dean tried shoving his brother’s shoulder, attempting to push him away. Sam stood still. “We need to talk about this-” “We don’t need to talk about shit,” he used his finger to emphasise his point. “But you need to start minding your own damn business.” The angel couldn’t hear much else; they’d seen him walk out and stopped talking. “Dean-” he started, unsure of how he was going to direct this conversation, but he needed to try. Dean, however, wasn’t having it. The harsh smell of beer and whiskey flowing out from his mouth once he spoke, “You… you, angel.” He laughed, though it wasn’t light hearted, “You need to fuck off- go and like, fly away with those big chicken wings of yours.” “I’m not going anywhere, Dean.” “‘Course, ha, ‘course you’re not. You never fucking leave me alone!” Castiel was trying his best to not be hurt by the hunter’s drunken outrage, but he felt his heart pulling down, sinking further in his chest. “Do you really want me to leave?” “Okay, Cas, don’t listen to him, he’s drunk-” Sam tried to interject their conversation. “Yeah! Yeah I do! You’re always ‘round, even when you’re not- you-you’re alway in m’ head man!” Cas tilted his head, unsure about what Dean meant by this, “You think about me, is that you mean?” “I don’t fuckin’ know, man. You’re making it sound gay.” Sam sighed, rolling his eyes, “Dean, don’t.” “I don’t understand.” “Cause you never understand! You don’t understand anything- fuck I don’t even understand it! These, these, things.” He gestured to his chest, a motion that made it look as though something was sprouting from the middle, almost right where his heart was. Sam placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, stopping him from speaking any further, “C’mon man, let’s get you back to the motel.”

Dean dreamt that night, something generally unusual for him. He dreamt of him, and Cas… him and Cas. They drove around in the impala, and Dean had been entirely sober, and Cas was singing along to Dean’s favourite song with him, and Dean couldn’t keep his eyes off his favourite angel. His Angel. They drove and drove until the sun had set, and when they stopped, they found a motel. But not a dusty, old, cheap one like they usually do; no this one was nice. Having room service and fully working heaters type nice. And they ran into their room, once given the key, and they locked the door behind them. And they turned up the music once more, and they danced. They danced together, in the dimly lit room, holding hands, holding each other. And when they were too tired to dance, they stripped off their heavy clothes and they lay. They lay on their bed. Their bed. And they talked and they laughed, and they laughed, and they laughed until their stomachs were sore. And they got under the covers because it was cold. And because it was cold they slept close and tight next to each other. And they slept, and they slept well, holding each other the whole night long. And when Dean woke up, he woke up. And he wasn’t in that nice hotel, and his stomach didn’t hurt from laughter, and when he looked to his side, his angel wasn’t there. And he knew, it was just a dream.

 .  .  .

Morning had come, but last night Cas had decided, for one last time, to heal Dean’s liver and hangover during the night. He wanted to speak to Dean this morning, unaffected by alcohol for once. “Morning sleepyhead,” Sam spoke, chippy as ever, to his brother who had just turned the corner into the kitchenette. “Morn’” the just-awoken Dean grumbled. His white singlet was just form-fitting enough for it to not slip off his shoulders, his tattered, blue checkered pants dragging across the dusty motel floor as he shuffled towards the fridge. Running a hand through his scruffed hair, he yawned, and decided on having a singular apple for breakfast. Before he could take more than two bites however, he was interrupted by a certain somebody appearing out of thin air. “Hello, Dean,” Castiel nodded at him and smiled, then turned to the other Winchester still sitting at the table, “Sam.” He nodded back, having gotten used to feeling like a third wheel between the angel and his brother. He remembered one time when the brothers had jokingly asked him which of them was his favourite, and he’d responded “Dean” without any further hesitation. Sam drank a lot that night. 

“I’d like to speak with you, alone, Dean.” He grumbled, his gravelly voice consistently sending a shiver down Dean’s spine. “I’m not moving, you two go find a spot.” Sam insisted, not looking up from his laptop. He’d figured as much, hence why Cas was already making way to one of the bedrooms in the motel, assuming Dean would follow him. He was correct of course, and he shut the door behind them once they were both inside. “What do you want, buddy? This about last night, ‘cause I’ll say sorry for yelling at you but nothing else.” He paused before continuing, “I don’t really remember what happened, but I feel fine, so I don’t think I drank too much… right?” “I healed you, Dean.” “Right! Because you do that. I remember now - What the hell, man?” Dean’s sarcasm didn’t fare well with Cas. “You don’t want to be healed?” “I don’t want to be babied-” “Being helped isn’t being ‘babied’, Dean.” He’d cut Dean off before he could say anything more; this was his turn to talk. “You said some things last night that I want you to elaborate on. You were drunk, but your words were true, I’m sure.” His blue eyes pierced through Dean’s skull, instantaneously weakening his defences. “You said you think about me a lot, but you don’t understand why,” he paused, letting Dean think back to last night, “I want to know why.” “Oh come on man, I was drunk.” “And?” “And well-” Dean paused, he wasn’t 100% where he was trying to go with this, or honestly how he would defend himself. It was true. He thought about Cas a lot. The part that wasn’t true was that he didn’t know, because he did know. It’s just that he wasn’t happy with the truth, he was ashamed of it, he didn’t want to ever have to say it out loud. Saying it out loud would make it real. 

The silence began to overwhelm Cas, he needed an answer from him. Pushing Dean against the wall with a thud, he glared the hunter down, trying to intimidate the answer out of him. Though, it did not intimidate Dean. Not. At. All. In fact, he had a very different reaction. One might call it a very positive reaction to Cas roughly pinning him to the wall. Dean struggled, trying to rip Cas’ hands off him like his life depended on it, or at least his dignity. His semi-hard on was beginning to become noticeable through his pyjama pants. He felt sick, anxiety oozing through his veins. Panic shot through him. Arousal marching its way through his nervous system. Too many things happening at once. He shoved back at Cas, the Angel didn’t budge. “Talk to me, Dean.” Those piercing blue eyes stabbed at the hunter's heart, he felt weak at the knees. The speechless Dean stood there, shaking under Cas’ looming presence. His mouth opened and shut, opened and shut, daring himself to speak but never being able to. “Dean.” Castiel noticed the fear running through the other man, the overwhelmingness of the situation for him. He took pity, only slightly, and backed off of him, taking a step back so he could breathe. It was then when Cas looked down and saw the slight bulge protruding from Dean’s crotch. Though social cues were a mystery to him, he understood human anatomy, he knew what that meant. Silently, he tilted his head back up to make eye contact with the hunter once again. Oh. Once it had clicked for the Angel, he disappeared. 

Dean stood there still backed against the wall, unmoving. He let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding and hung his head. What had just happened? Did Cas know? What was he meant to do from here? His mind swirled with anxieties and confusion. Pushing himself off the wall was a struggle, his limbs stiff, but he needed to go wash the whole conversation off of him. Silently closing the bathroom door behind him, he got undressed and turned the knobs for the shower. He let the cool water engulf him, take over him, cleanse him - until he couldn’t think of anything but the water trickling down his back. Maybe he could deal with his earlier situation whilst he was here too. 

Author's note

Heyyyy, sorry this has been a while. A lots been going on (did I say that last time?) and I lowkey forgot about this. I'm trying to, well, not forget. Anyway, here it isssss, the third part! none of my stuff is beta read so enjoy reading simply what my mind first thought of :33

-> divider made by @/benkeibear

[thewayhouse]

[thewayhouse]

Destiel Masterlist updated :3

[thewayhouse]

'A Rough Night With Empathy'

Castiel x Dean

-> Destiel -> Hurt / Comfort -> ! CW ! : Homophobia, referenced suicide, internalised homophobia. -> 3.1K words -> Author's note at the end -> Also on Ao3

'A Rough Night With Empathy'

Summary: After a depressing case, Dean struggles to stop thinking about how much he related to the ghost they'd hunted, but he can't figure out why. The stress turns into alcohol, and a nightmare, and a plea for Castiel to help him. But with Cas' unconditional care and kindness towards him, it sparks even more thoughts that spiral to an answer that Dean battles to come to terms with.

It had been a late night for Sam and Dean, the stars speckling the pitch black sky being one of the few sources of illumination aside from the odd streetlight. The motel they were staying at was on the side of a quiet country road, isolated from the rest of the town. Crickets’ songs filled the silence that surrounded the brothers, small cracks heard in the distance from a bonfire happening on a neighbouring property. The fire reminded them of the hunt they’d just finished. Another burning of a corpse, nothing too spectacular, but it hit the brothers harder than expected, especially Dean. A young boy, barely an adult. Cause of death: suicide.

They’d been able to talk to his mother about his life, trying to gauge why his spirit stuck around, why it was full of malice. He’d been such a “charming young man, full of hope” as his mother had described them. Though it was difficult to talk to her, her words jumbled together and spit mixed with tears flew from her mouth if she tried too hard to accentuate something. Eventually, she went outside to get some air, leaving Sam and Dean with her husband, the boy's father. He was jsut as difficult to talk to, but not for the same reason. Apparently, he “had it coming,” and that he hoped his son could “repent even in death for the way he turned out.” The boy had taken his life because he was gay, clearly it wasn’t taken well by his parents.

Dean couldn’t take his mind off it. Not when they finished the hunt; not when they got in the car; and now, not when they'd gotten to the motel. He was bothered by it, big time. Of course for obvious reasons like uncaring parents, blatant homophobia, and such a preventable death of someone so young; sad stuff, sure. But something stirred in Dean as he shuffled about the kitchenette with his beer in hand, watching Sam set down their black duffle bags, having made him drag them in from Baby. It felt like… empathy, and specifically empathy. Anyone could sympathise with what the kid had gone through, but it was more than that for Dean. It was frustrating beyond the norm. It was personal. He didn’t even know this kid, why the fuck was he feeling this bad?

'It's not like I'm gay or anything' he thought '-not that there's anything wrong with that, and hey, who can't appreciate a fine looking man when they see one?' Dean paused, caught a little off guard by his own thoughts. 'It doesn't make me gay to like looking at attractive guys, does it?' He felt his heart slow to a pain-stakingly slow pace; loud, strong thuds pulsing in his ears. For a moment it felt like he stopped breathing, he had found men attractive before, and he'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about... having a fun night with some of them. But it was all fantasy to Dean, nothing he could bring himself to act on, because if it stays in his head then he stays straight - right?

He took a swig from the bottle in hand and tried hard to forget about it, plopping himself down on the dusty green couch and turning on the TV, ready to be mind-numbingly bored by whatever was on at this time of night. Sam ignored him. He had a feeling he was in a grouchy mood and didn’t want to get involved in it, so he left Dean to his own devices as he made his way to bed, crashing out almost instantly.

A few hours passed and Dean was asleep on the couch, empty beer loosely clutched in his hand, snoring away. That peaceful slumber didn’t last long enough for the hunter though. He turned and shuffled and groaned, rolling around on the couch like a pig in mud. His breathing soon became erratic and his arms and legs began twitching involuntarily. He shot up from his sleep with a gasp for air, drenched in a cold sweat, and almost dropping his beer to the ground. The hunter coughed into his elbow, his throat scratched up from hyperventilating. 'For fucks sake', he thought, he couldn’t even escape his worries in his sleep.

Although tense and aching, he pushed his body up from the couch. It was a less than pleasurable place to bunker down for the night, so Dean placed his beer bottle onto the coffee table in fornt of the couch and trudged his way over to an actual bed.

Before he could bring himself to go back to sleep however, an overpowering urge to pray came over him. Praying? Seriously? It felt moronic to him, he only prayed when he was desperate or when they needed divine assistance with a case; specifically from Cas. But, in the current state he was in, drunken and jittery from the hunt, he definitely classed as desperate. He needed that divine assistance to fall asleep and stay asleep. He needed Cas. Sighing, mumbling a curse to himself under his breath, he prayed:

“Oh Castiel - you dorky little guy - you need to come down here. I need you here, man. I feel stupid for saying this, but I can’t sleep and I just- I need you. So… yeah, if you hear this, please, come down here. Thanks- er, Amen.”

He ran a trembling hand over his face. The whole praying thing was still fairly new to him and it felt odd, and left him vulnerable. He didn’t like that. Castiel was fast to respond to Dean’s prayer, and within the minute, the angel appeared at the foot of his bed.

“Hello, Dean.” The low, scratchy voice of the angel cut through the silence of the night, and brought momentary relief to the hunter's ears. The sound never ceasing to put him at ease.

“Hey, Cas…”

“I heard your prayer. You can’t sleep? Did you want me to-” Castiel moved forward towards where Dean sat on the bed and reached out his hand to touch his head, attempting to knock him out with his Grace. Dean put up a hand, halting him.

“No, no, you don’t need to do any of that, I just… I don’t really know why I called you here,” he admitted. The smell of alcohol reached the angel and he guessed this was just a random, drunken call. Cas nodded and stepped back, signalling he was going to leave again, Dean wasn’t going to have that. In fact, he looked panicked at the idea of Cas leaving him. His eyes widened and he quickly went to stand up from the bed and reach out towards Cas, begging him not to go.

“Wait! No, uh, don’t go. Please.” Cas paused and titled his head, Dean was acting strange, stranger than usual. Of course it could just be the alcohol in his system, but Castiel knew that Dean could easily handle his liquor and wasn’t one to get clingy when drunk. It was odd to see him like this, so desperate for company instead of pushing it away as per usual. Intrigued, and not wanting to miss this opportunity of seeing a different side to his best friend, he stayed. Dean let out a long breath that he was holding when he realised Cas had listened to him. He slouched back down onto the creaky motel bed and rested his head on the headboard, closing his eyes as he spoke, his voice cracking.

“I think I just need someone here with me. Someone to, I don’t know, stay a while.” Cas nodded and sat down on the end of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under the added weight.

“I’ll watch over you.” Usually that sentence would annoy Dean, he thought it was, mildly put, creepy - the idea that someone was watching him while he slept. With anyone else it would send shivers down his spine and put him on high alert, but not with Cas. He felt more at ease now that the angel had decided on keeping watch through the night, more secure, something that was a scarcity with his kind of lifestyle. Dean nodded, thankful, yet he didn’t lay down to sleep. He just sat there, silently, holding and fidgetting witth the covers with his shaky hands from the earlier nightmare, like he wanted to say something else.

“Is something wrong, Dean?” Castiel bowed his head down, trying to make eye-contact with the nervous man in front of him. “You’re shaking, are you cold?”

“No, I’m not cold.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Just-” Dean wasn’t sure if he wanted to disclose what was keeping him awake. He looked up, meeting the angels piercing blue eyes, glinting with the moonlight that trickled in through the blinds. Dean couldn't help but admire them for a moment. 'Gorgeous...' he thought to himself before refocusing on the conversation.

“I’m fine,” is what he decided on. Cas didn’t like that answer, “You’re clearly not. You’re not sleeping and you’re shaking. I can see it in front of me, Dean, I’m not stupid.” The hunter scoffed, attempting to play off his skittish behaviour. 'Damn him and his observations.' His mouth opened to speak again, but finding the words to explain what was going on was a herculean task. How could he explain something that he didn’t even have an answer for himself? So he settled for the vague answer of, “I had a nightmare.”

Castiel’s gaze softened and Dean noticed he hated it. He felt weak and useless for being rendered so afraid by something that isn’t even real; he hated being pitied. What most made him irritated however, was that of all people to see him like this, it was Cas. Obviously he brought it on himself, he’s the one who called him down in the first place, he was silently regretting it. 'This is what I get for praying.' He refused to make eye contact again.

“What was it about if I may ask?” The angel treaded lightly with his words, understanding the fragile state the other man was in right now. His heart twinged at seeing his best friend so vulnerable, but he couldn’t help but feel prideful? He was honoured that Dean had reached out to him of all people when he was feeling down. It was shameful, to feel this elated by someone coming to him in their desperation, but Cas couldn’t push it away. Dean trusted him to see him like this, to ask him for help, and to know that Cas could help him. Dean trusted him, and that thought would keep Cas elated for the next few days. He quickly snapped out of his thoughts when he saw Dean looking back up at him tentatively. Dean’s hand rubbed the back of his neck and he tried to straighten his back, like he was bigger and better than whatever he was about to say. Clearing his throat before he began, Dean answered.

“It was kind of about this case we did today.” He spoke slower than usual, as though he wasn’t even sure what he was going to say until he said it out loud. The angel waited patiently for him to elaborate, not taking his kind, drooping eyes off of him. Dean swallowed the lump that’d formed in his throat before continuing, “There was this kid, and I mean- I don’t even know him, so it’s stupid that I’m even feeling this way- but-” He started choking up on his words, but he forced his tears down, not wanting to make a mess over something he thought was so small.

Castiel instinctively shuffled closer to Dean, now sitting on the edge of his bed right next to him. He let one of his legs drape over the side while the other curled up so he could sit comfortably and still face Dean, and he moved his hand towards Dean’s shaking ones. It was just a light touch, but it had calmed Dean significantly, at least that’s what Castiel had gathered by Dean’s hands halting their shakes as soon as Cas had touched him. Though for Dean, it was more of a shock. It short-circuited his brain for a moment, and all he could do was stare at the angel with his eyes wide and mouth agape.

He knocked himself back into the moment though as soon as he felt heat creep up onto his cheeks. Must be from the nightmare, blood rushing to my head, yeah that’s it. He reassured himself as he attempted to refocus on what he was saying.

“He’d killed himself,” Dean paused, “In all honesty I think it’s the parents fault.” Castiel remained quiet to let Dean explain further, to give him space to vent his frustrations. “The father’s an absolute ass, and the mum, well she just didn’t help either. Sometimes ‘ts worse to do nothing about a situation than being apart of it yourself.” He rolled his eyes and scoffed at the idea of bystanders in such a situation, “I don’t get it- I just don’t- how could you be so hateful, and towards your own child no less! I just can’t help but empathise with the kid.” He hung his head, shaking it, he couldn’t believe the absurdity of some people. Castiel hummed and thought Dean’s words over for a while.

“What did you have a nightmare about then?” His gravelly voice made Dean look back up again, “You said you empathised with him, why?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Dean.” Castiel shut his snarkiness down immediately, he’s here to help him, and he can’t do that with Dean being resistant. He mumbled an apology and took a deep breath.

“I don’t know, Cas. I don’t know why I empathise with him." That was a partial lie, he had an inkling, but by god did he hope he was wrong. Surely, it was something else, like he understands the difficulty of being a teenager or something... definitely. "I think it’s just… I get it. Parents not understanding things and feeling hopeless about it.” Dean, for a moment realised what he was saying and how ungrateful he sounded. Looked up to his father so much, but everytime he thought about him for too long an arrow of resentment shot into his chest. John just never understood Dean. He understood how good of a hunter his son was, and how he credited himself for raising him like that, but he didn’t understand Dean. Who he was, what he liked, nothing. Sometimes Dean wished that he couldn’t remember his father or his influence, that he could just wash it all away and start afresh. It was never that easy though, was it?

Castiel watched the emotions stir in Dean’s eyes as he tried to explain his thought process. He was making sense, it was all very reasonable, but it felt like he wasn’t getting straight to the point. Dean was trying to avoid saying or thinking about something and Cas’ curiosity got the best of him.

“You feel hopeless about people not understanding things about you.” He repeated, making sure that that indeed was what Dean was telling him. The hunter nodded. “Let me understand then, Dean.” The angel squeezed Dean’s hand in reassurance, “I don’t want you feeling like you can’t be yourself.”

“Since when did you get all lovey-dovey, Cas?” He chuckled, glancing down at their hands, the heat returning to his face as he realised that - he didn’t hate it. In fact, he was mesmerised. Watching the skin glide over the tendons as the angel moved his hand smoothly over his, holding them with something akin to reverence. Dean couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so gentle around him, let alone touch him so gently. 'Fuck- no...' His thoughts were leading him to very unplatonic scenarios now, he hated that he was having them at such an innapropriate moment, but the way Cas was touching him made him feel things he wished he wouldn't feel.

He closed his eyes for a second, wanting to forget about all the pressures of the world, and all the pressures of himself; and just let himself bask in the care of an angel, focusing solely on the warm circles that Castiel rubbed on the back of his hand. It was beyond comforting, something so small overwhelming him so much - he felt water pricking beneath his eyelids. He was succumbing to his emotions, exhaustion making it harder for him to resist. He yielded.

Cas was taken aback at first, hunter had given way to all of his strength, slumping his head onto Cas’ shoulder. Luckily, he responded quick enough and steadied both himself and Dean, moving his second hand to Dean’s back, holding him in place. “Dean-” He was lost for words, never had he seen this man so vulnerable before, it sent alarms into Cas’ mind and his grip on Dean tightened out of instinct to protect. He spoke softly, lowering his head to whisper into the crying man’s ear. “Dean, hey, what’s wrong?” Dean’s back shook and a quiet sob was made in response, “Please, talk to me.” Castiel gently pushed Dean backwards, helping him sit up straighter, so that they could speak eye to eye. His hand lingered on his arm, stroking up and down soothingly.

In between sniffles, attempting to regain composure, Dean’s mouth opened and closed and opened and closed again. “Take your time, Dean.” He ran his fingers through Dean’s hair, moving it out of his face so he could get a better look. His face was flushed and puffy and wet from crying, worse than he’d ever seen it. He assumed it was even the worst it’d ever been. He shifted his hand down to his cheek, holding the red skin tenderly, as if careful not to break a porcelain statue. His thumb wiped across the underside of the hunter's eye, taking with it shining tears.

Dean’s breathing slowed, eventually to the point where the only tears left were excess ones. Cas didn’t let go of his face though, nor his hand, he needed to remain close to him, to make sure he was okay. This didn’t seem a problem to Dean, tilting his head further into his palm and his own hand holding onto Castiel’s wrist, scared he would stop. Of course, he would never do that; he would never leave Dean in a state like this alone.

He hung his head, eyes scrunching harder like them being closed wasn’t enough. He took a deep, shaky inhale, the crisp midnight air hitting the back of his throat. “What is it, Dean?” Cas asked, cautious of what the answer might be, but whatever it was, he was going to be here for Dean, always.

“I think I might not be straight, Cas…”

Author's Note:

Heyy, sorry I've been on a bit of a hiatus, lots of shit has been going on. But I should be back to writing more again! The next chapter for this shouuullllddd be coming out soon, but we'll see. Fingers crossed. Hope you're all well in the mean time!

(also in case of any confusion, I use '...' for thoughts, and "..." words being spoken!)

-> divider made by @/benkeibear

[thewayhouse]

a writing competition i was going to participate in again this year has announced that they now allow AI generated content to be submitted

their reasoning being that "we couldn't ban it even if we wanted to, every writer already uses it anyway"

"Every writer"?

come on

[thewayhouse]

Heyyy, so, I know I've been on a bit of a haitus as of late and I really apologise for it kind coming out of nowhere. I've had stuff going on in my life and also a decent amount of art / writing block too.

BUT I am back and will (hopefully) be posting again. I have some stuff in the works so I'll probably post something soon. I have ALSO started a new art blog !! So it would be kind of slay if you could check that out.

New art blog -> . . @thewayhouseart . .

Thanks for your patience! Love yall, and I'll see you all soon :3

[thewayhouse]

i love you "bad" fanfiction. i love you "cringe" fanfiction. i love you "overdone tropes". i love you fanfiction that was created not out of a need to perform or give people something to consume but out of pure love and passion for what you are writing.

[thewayhouse]

[thewayhouse]

STOP BEING SELF CONSCIOUS ABOUT YOUR CREATIONS STOP SECOND GUESSING WHAT YOU REALLY WANNA DO STOP DEBATING IT'S WORTH. LET YOUR ART SERVE YOU INSTEAD OF THE OTHER WAY AROUND

[thewayhouse]

want to write. no energy to write. will do that tomorrow - tonight, I read :33

[thewayhouse]

'Honey Makes Me Sick' - Pt. 2

Castiel x Dean - -> Chapter list here <-

^ moodboard for the chapter [not the whole story]

-> Destiel -> Hurt / Comfort -> ! CW ! : Alcohol abuse, internalised homophobia (hinted at) -> 1.6K words -> Authors note at the end

'Honey Makes Me Sick'

Chapter Summary: Castiel decides it best to not immediately run after Dean after he stormed away from their arguement. However after three hours of indulgence, Dean is found by Cas and Sam. Unfortunately for Dean, that feeling returns to him, just as Cas does. Always.

The fire crackled behind Castiel, casting a shadow in front of him, the shadow of a lonely man. His throat tightened at having seen Dean cry; at having seen Dean cry because of him. He looked back at the coffee table which held two empty beer bottles and one half-drunken. Well, not anymore. Striding over, Cas took one big swig of the beer. He knew it couldn’t affect him, but hell, it was worth a shot.

He knew that Dean needed his space, but that couldn’t stop him from frantically pacing around the motel, worrying that Dean might do something reckless. Of course, he could always just teleport to wherever Dean was, but that would make things worse right now. Dean needed a moment to collect himself. Castiel walked into the room that Sam was sleeping in, not bothering to knock or announce that he was coming in. “Sam, Dean’s gone,” the man woke up with a jolt, shaking his head, trying to shake off the drowsiness. “What?” he rubbed his eyes, “what’s wrong, Cas?” “Dean-” “What about him?” “He’s gone. Are you even listening?” The angel sighed, though it wasn’t Sam’s fault, he’d just woken up. “Gone?” He sat up on the bed, moving his legs to dangle off the side. A wince escaped him, he still hadn’t fully healed. Castiel moved over to his side quickly, lightly tapping his chest; his grace working magic on Sam’s torso which was riddled with werewolf claw marks. The hunter grunted, he wanted to be able to heal on his own without constantly relying on Castiel to heal him. “It’ll make things more difficult if you’re injured,” Castiel spoke, taking a step back from him, “I was going to heal you whilst you were sleeping anyway.” “What?” “Dean asked me to. But getting back on topic, he’s gone.” Sam rolled his eyes, but then stood up when he heard the latter. “Well, where is he?” “Don’t ask stupid questions, Sam.” Cas retorted, walking out of the room, with Sam following close behind. “But to answer, I don’t know.” He grabbed his phone off the kitchenette’s counter, “we had an argument and he ran off.” Cas couldn’t meet his eyes, looking anywhere but Sam’s.

“An argument? About what?” “We need to focus on finding Dean.” Cas decided to completely ignore Sam’s question, thinking it best be left unanswered. Sam was aware of Dean’s drinking habits, in fact he’d brought it up to him many times before, but time and time again, he was immediately shut down. Eventually he started pestering Dean about it less and less, even if it worried him still the same. “He’s probably just gone for a drive, Cas.” Sam wasn’t as panicked as the angel, he walked into the kitchenette and poured himself a glass of water from the silver tap, “he’ll come back eventually. Don’t stress so much.” He tried reassuring him that Dean was okay, but deep down he didn’t really know. Dean has a long history of going out and doing reckless shit when he’s not in the right headspace, but he was sure that those days were behind Dean, back in his youth. He’d probably just gone out to a bar or strip club, or to a random parking lot to sit in Baby, or to a diner. Yeah, those were his most likely options, thought Sam.

Driving along down the highway, Dean clenched his fists around the steering wheel, like he was trying to break a branch in half. The vast expanse around him, shrouded in nightfall, the only illuminating source being from Baby’s headlights; he felt surrounded, like the darkness was blanketing him - no, suffocating him. He pressed his foot down on the pedal harder. The trees passed him by one after the other, looking more like dark figures than any flora; they all blended together after a while. A shaky breath left his mouth, trying to stay focused on the road, and nothing else. The line up of trees alongside the asphalt gradually stopped, and Dean entered the more commercial and suburban area of the town they were staying in. 

Turning his indicator on, Dean turned into the parking lot of a strip club. His usual scene; maybe the familiarity of the environment would help put his mind at ease. Plus, the extra booze couldn’t hurt more than it already has, right? The faint pink and blue lights dimly lit up the inside of the building. He ordered a whisky at the bar, deciding to treat himself. Slumping on one of the old leather couches, about two rows back from the main stage. He watched the girls perform, beautiful, all of them; but something wasn’t sitting right with him, and he couldn’t pinpoint what. He ordered another drink.

“Dean- what are you doing?” “Sam?” Dean turned around, almost spilling his drink on himself when he did. He had been sitting, watching, thinking, and drinking for almost three hours now, but to him it only felt like three minutes. “How’d you find me?” Sam cocked his head to the side. Really? It was a stupid question, he didn’t know why he bothered asking. Of course Sam’s first thought was to find Dean at a strip club. “Hello, Dean,” a voice from behind Sam; the last voice that Dean wanted to hear right now. His body went stiff as he took a long sip from his glass before looking back over. Castiel wanted to comment on Dean still drinking this far into the night, but he knew it would ultimately make thighs worse at this moment. “You should come back to the motel, it’s late,” he said instead, “you need to wake up early tomorrow.” “Why?” Dean grunted. “To interview that family, have you forgotten?” “Oh, right.” It had slipped his mind, he was too preoccupied with… other thoughts. He didn’t really know what time it was, and if you asked him what state he was in, he probably couldn’t tell you. This was partially due to the alcohol, and partially the fact that they were constantly on the road; keeping track of where they were felt a little pointless to Dean. “Well, you and Sammy can go tomorrow.” He spoke, turning his back to both of them to watch the dancers, “I’ll finish off my night here.” “Seriously, man?” Sam walked around and stood in front of the hunter, blocking his view. “Get out the way, Sammy!” He opened his mouth to speak again, but the look in his brothers’ eyes was too familiar to his liking; the drunkenness. He stood back, glared at him, and walked out of the premises. 

Dean grumbled under his breath and brought the glass up to his lips, emptying the remaining liquid. Castiel was still standing behind him; caught between following Sam back to the motel or staying with Dean. In all honesty this wasn’t really his scene, in fact he couldn’t think of another place that he least wanted to be in, but Dean was here, so Cas was too. He walked up beside the man, unsure what to say, he sat down on the chair next to him. He glanced at Dean, then at the performers on stage. A weird feeling settled in his stomach, one he was unfamiliar with. He looked down at his hands in his lap, twiddling his fingers together, as if they were cogs turning trying to make his brain work. “Uhm…” he cleared his throat before he continued. “Did you want to talk?” “Not really.” Dean didn’t look at Cas when he spoke. His eyes were sunken, staring transfixed on the scene in front of him, or so it looked. “Actually, yeah.” His head turned with a slight sway, his neck not fully supporting the turn, looking at Castiel next to him, he raised his hand slightly and pointed; his elbow still resting on the side of the rundown leather arm. “You.” “Me?” “Yes, you.” Dean’s hand started swaying around a bit, betraying his inability to cover up his drunken state. “You need to stop entering my mind, man.” Castiel tilted his head, confused. “I’m serious, dude! Like c’mon, invasion of privacy.” “I’m not entering your mind, Dean.” Cas said truthfully, “I only do when you ask. So I haven’t in a while.” “Well… you gotta stop, cause it’s weird,” his words began to slur into one, “you’re in there at weird times.” “What do you mean by that?” The hunter looked over his shoulder at the performers once more, a sigh escaping him. When he made eye contact with Cas again, he couldn’t bring himself to look away; but he also couldn’t bring himself to say a word.

“Heya boys!” The tension was cut when a performer that was walking the floor came up to them, “what can I do you for?” As she spoke, she grabbed Cas’ tie playfully and slowly brought him forward. Her auburn hair draped over her face as she leaned in for the men to hear her over the music. Looking over, Dean could see Cas’ eyes widen, clearly uneasy. His eyes flicked over to Dean, almost asking him for help, he’d frozen. Dean wanted to keep up his usual playfulness, he needed to; for his pride and dignity or whatever. So, in the spirit of keeping things light, he handed the lady a bill. “Have fun tiger,” he winked at Cas, and the lady dragged him off with her by the tie. Dean watched as they walked away together. As soon as he knew they wouldn’t look back at him, his lips faltered, his smile fading. As much as that was all in jest, it felt wrong. A creeping feeling swirled its way through his stomach, up his spine, and pierced his chest. Jealousy? No, that didn’t sound right to Dean, however much it felt right. His chest only tightened more, his stomach hollowing out, when he realised he didn’t know who he was jealous of. Of Castiel, for getting a dance from the attractive woman; or of her, for being able to spend time with Cas.

Author's note

Heyy, hope you enjoyed this second part!! I'm actuall having a blast writing it. Sorry it didn't come out sooner, but my studies have started back up again for the year. This might mean that things will start coming out slower - but I'll still keep writing!

Oh also! If you didn't see, I'm on ao3 now! All of my writing will be posted there as well - formatted differently though, as ao3 stories usually are, but still the same content. I wont be posting any of my art there though.

As always, let m eknow if theres any scenes you want me to add into this; or just if you have any requests in general! At the time of writing this, my reqests are OPEN; but please please rq through asks! Hope y'all are having a great February :33

-> divider made by @/benkeibear

[thewayhouse]

In the middle of writing pt.2 of 'Honey Makes Me Sick' !! Will possibly be uploaded tonight?

Also thinking of drawing a few scenes / frames from each pt of the fic. I already have a few ideas in mind of what scenes, so we shall see...

[thewayhouse]

๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ Castiel Masterlist ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖

Here I will store all of my Castiel works, Castiel related works, and Castiel art work.

-> A Slight Miscommunication 𓂃🖊 -> Castiel x gn!Reader -> fluff, kissing, miscommunication trope Summary - Castiel and you had been dating for a while now - at least that what Cas thought. You assumed you were simply close friends, but your gestures and kindness meant more to the angel than you had realised... on ao3 as well

[thewayhouse]

@transnaturalweek Day 6: Trans Moments

↳ Dean Winchester and SPN Scenes That Make Me Say Hmmmm...

[thewayhouse]

๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ Destiel Masterlist ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖

Here I will put all of my Destiel works, destiel related works, and destiel art work.

-> Honey Makes Me Sick - Chapter List 𓂃🖊 -> Hurt/comfort, angst !CW! alcohol abuse, internalised homophobia (implied), suicidal ideation (implied) Summary - Castiel is determined to help Dean, he can't keep watching him drink himself to death; he loves him too much for that. Dean on the otherhand is more worried about why he feels the way he does around Cas, it feels so right to him, but he wants it to stop - anyone but him. On tumblr and ao3 -> both links in the chapter list

-> A Rough Night With Empathy 𓂃🖊 -> Hurt/comfort !CW! internalised homophobia, homophobia, referenced suicide -> On Ao3 aswell Summary - After a depressing case, Dean struggles to stop thinking about how much he related to the ghost they'd hunted, but he can't figure out why. The stress turns into alcohol, and a nightmare, and a plea for Castiel to help him. But with Cas' unconditional care and kindness towards him, it sparks even more thoughts that spiral to an answer that Dean battles to come to terms with. On tumblr and ao3

[thewayhouse]

︶꒷꒦︶ ๋࣭ ⭑ 'Honey Makes Me Sick' Chapter List ๋࣭ ⭑︶

!! CW - alcohol abuse, internalised homophobia (implied), suicidal ideation (implied) ^ content warnings so far

Castiel is determined to help Dean, he can't keep watching him drink himself to death; he loves him too much for that. Dean on the otherhand is more worried about why he feels the way he does around Cas, it feels so right to him, but he wants it to stop - anyone but him.

-> Chapter one 𓂃🖊 tumblr ao3 Summary- In a desperate attempt to help Sam, Dean prays to Castiel for him to help him. Turns out Sam isn't the only Winchester that Cas is determined to help; Dean doesn't know how to handle being cared for, let alone cared for by Cas...

-> Chapter two 𓂃🖊 tumblr ao3 Summary- Castiel decides it best to not immediately run after Dean after he stormed away from their arguement. However after three hours of indulgence, Dean is found by Cas and Sam. Unfortunately for Dean, that feeling returns to him, just as Cas does. Always.

-> Chapter three 𓂃🖊 tumblr ao3 Summary- After a drunken Dean spills his guts a little too much one night - Cas is determined to understand what he meant, whether it was real.

-> Chapter four coming soon...

-> divider by @/strangergraphics

[thewayhouse]

✦　a modern adam　⁺　.ᐟ

a sephiroth-centric oneshot. religious trauma. vent work. tw: suicidal ideation, religious trauma, self-cannibalisation. any muslims that may be offended, just continue scrolling. there is no hatred towards islam here, it is just me venting about my experiences as an ex-muslim through writing. an extra note! this work does not reflect my perception or headcanons of sephiroth, he just so happens to be my muse for this vent work.

masterlist　|　ao3

There was no god. Not in the abandonment he felt. Not in the silence of the mosque. Not in the stillness of the morning prayer. Certainly not in the stirring in his chest that kept tugging him towards something greater, something beyond.

If he were to open his mouth and denounce faith, denounce the religion that raised him, the sharp words on his tongue that he was taught to speak upon entering the bathroom, upon beginning to eat, upon laying down to sleep—would there then be something left for him upon the hill which he so desperately wanted to climb? Would there then be anything left of his dying organs, his beating heart, his imminent doom. His unavoidable mortality. The mortality that clawed at him, at every pore, that insisted on a sacrifice—a sacrifice that would be made to him, for him, of him. What then would freedom be like? Could he then lay any claim to any such freedom, any sense of liberation, or would he be weighing the shackles heavier than they were? Would such a thing be worth the scrutiny, the threats, the constant looking over his shoulder?

To denounce a faith? Easier than he thought. To denounce a people? Easier said than done.

Sephiroth's fingers traced over the trigger. Mindless. Cold as the blood that would pool beneath him should he choose to pull it. Basics, basics, all of it. There was not that much to misunderstand or ignore. To choose or to exist.

The stray black feathers that littered the floor were only then disrupted by small paws, scurrying through them to jump up onto the silverette sitting at the edge of the bed. The cat mewled, its movements clingy and desperate—unsure how to climb its owner but determined do so nonetheless. Sephiroth picked it up, holding it close to his chest. The purring that erupted from the small creature was enough to hook his heart and pull the tears into his eyes.

It did not have to be so complicated. He could by all means reach into his own chest and rip out the beating heart that he so loved to pretend he did not have, and he could by all means pretend at the puddle that he was the ice, pretend at the saints that he was the sinner, pretend at the sheep that he was the wolf. For all the world, he could have been. But what he asked himself then gave him the pause he so desperately needed. Would then the ice, the wolf, the sinner—grieve as much as he were? For a life that he clung to as if it were his own, for a people that he seized as if he were one of them, for a place he begged for as he belonged to it?

He did not need to know the answer. He held the cat instead of the gun. That was, perhaps, enough for now.

But eventually, he knew he would have to approach the altar and give it. To feast himself on the flesh that held his bones together, to take his sin within himself and hope the acids in his stomach could act as the hellfire that would purge him of it. And he would be the god that oversaw it. That thought alone was enough to make him gag on the metal filling his mouth, but something soothed his mind.

He would be Allah for himself. He could. And he would be his own Muhammad and his own Jibril and his own Qur'an, and he would consume himself over and over so that it would be Allah's purity he took in himself and his sins that he burned so that maybe one day, one day he could look up to the sky and see the aurora borealis carry him up to the stone steps of heaven, and heaven would not be a garden but further torture for the houri may take to his flesh too and feast on his organs, but they could not open him up, they could not, for then they would see the filth and sins that built him up and even they would be so repulsed by his grime that he would be cast down only for the cycle to repeat again. An ouroboros of neverending creation and destruction, of vice and virtue, wolf and sheep, sinner and saint, ice and puddle.

And to exist outside of this cycle, he could not bear, because it was all he knew, and all he'd ever known.