Wheew, almost all the fics are up now and it’s halloween, y’all! I hope everyone’s enjoying themselves.
We were lucky enough to get a prize from @delicious-irony. She’ll make some awesome art for our winner, whom I’ve chosen through a random number generator.
The winner is @whichstiel! Congrats!
To end this all, I just want to say a massive thank you to everyone who’s participated. I’ve had so fun and made several new friends. I’ve read some of the works and they’ve been great, and all the art is amazing. I’m so happy to have been a part of this and I hope that you are too! Kudos to everyone!
Warnings/tags: College/university au, first kiss, friends to lovers, pining, bullying/trauma mentions
@destielhalloweenminibang time!
It’s time for the annual Halloween masquerade party and Castiel has run out of excuses not to meet his online crush/unrequited love target Dean. But did Dean dress up as an angel just to insult him? He must remember those nights they spent awake with Castiel pouring his heart out of all the horrible, trauma-filled memories he associated with halos and wings, right?
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Hoo thank you all people, like, so many, this was an absolute treat
Graphics I put together for @casdeaniscanon‘s fic, You’ve Got It Bad, Clarence, for the @destielhalloweenminibang!
Word count: 4065
Summary:
Dear Mother… Let me tell you our story. Castiel Krushnic is eighteen years old and in desperate need for… something more. His parents - Michael and Daphne Krushnic - passed away, leaving him and his sister Hannah to grieve with the rest of the family. When Uncle Crowley’s birthday makes an appearance, Castiel and Hannah join the other Krushnic’s for a nice lunch at Papa’s Pizzeria. Little did he know that one slip up would change his life forever. Or perhaps that was fate? Who knows.
“Ah,” Cas piped up, as they pulled up to a red light. “You are referencing the Charles M. Schulz comic strip series that features a young boy with an unhealthy attachment to his blanket and a bullied child with an ineptitude for football.”
For a moment, Sam and Dean just stared at Castiel, unblinking.
“Fucking Metadouche,” Dean finally muttered.
Team free Will finds themselves back in New England as they travel to Lyndon, New Hampshire to investigate at the infamous Spooky land. Boasting a haunted mansion, zombie paintball, and a corn maze, the carnival-fun vibe of the Halloween themed park is a playground for teens and horror lovers alike. When some of the patrons start disappearing from the attractions, it is up to the boys to figure out if these people left on their own or if something more supernatural is happening.
Author: @apocalypsecastiel
Artist: @p-b-and-cas
Word count: 1298
Summary: I first encountered them stood over the body of my mistress, but I won't hold that against them. At least not the calm one, the jury is still out on the flannel one.
Summary: Dean’s never really minded that he hasn’t found his witch. It’s just easier to ignore it and try and get some affection in his cat form. He wasn’t expecting the blonde toddler to be a budding witch or for the man in charge of her to be a possible match.
Summary: Castiel hates Halloween, so being roped into working in costume at a pumpkin patch has him seething in misery. And now, of all things, the object of his unrequited crush is walking toward him, and Cas is praying the costume will hide him just a bit longer. ao3
Art is by the wonderfully talented @delicious-irony (delicirony on AO3)!
Summary: Dean and Cas had just managed to beat the buzzer, sparing themselves from this trip devolving into some god forsaken holiday special - casting away a particularly nasty vengeful spirit with just hours to spare. The only creatures out to get him this Halloween would be confined to the silver screen within his and Cas’s Tacoma motel room. More excited about a monster movie marathon than a grown man should be, Dean turns to Cas with a grin as wide as a jack-o-lantern, absent-mindedly running his fingers over the angel’s face to wipe away some residual ectoplasm from their hunt.
Or, How Dean and Cas Learn Life Lessons Through Monster Movies.
Tags: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Charlie Bradbury, Halloween, Canon Compliant, Except Charlie’s alive, Charlie Lives, movie marathon, Movie Violence, Pining, Cuddling, cuteness, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Candy Binging, Eye Sex, small touches, Motel room, the exorcist, Let the Right One In, Demons, Vampires, Slasher, destielhalloweenminibang, Destiel Halloween Mini Bang, First Kiss, Fluff
Read on ao3.
Art link.
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Seven shades of autumnal dusk pour through the Impala’s windows, vibrant hues of tangerine and violet painting themselves across the dashboard as the engine hums to silence. A satisfied sigh rises from his lungs through his lips when Dean sees it - the Red Box vibrant against the beige brick of the local Gas N Sip. He and Cas had just managed to beat the buzzer, sparing themselves from this trip devolving into some god forsaken holiday special - casting away a particularly nasty vengeful spirit with just hours to spare. The only creatures out to get him this Halloween would be confined to the silver screen within his and Cas’s Tacoma motel room. More excited about a monster movie marathon than a grown man should be, Dean turns to Cas with a grin as wide as a jack-o-lantern, absent-mindedly running his fingers over the angel’s face to wipe away some residual ectoplasm from their hunt.
“Dean,” Castiel’s voice shakes as he shudders from the unexpected touch as a calloused hand grazes over the height of his cheekbones. He clears his throat as if to compose himself as he unlatches his seatbelt. “I am sorry, but I still do not think I quite grasp this tradition. Your brother and yourself have been hunting evil things for so much of your lives - since you were children, really. Surely these films cannot be pleasurable to watch? I mean, the inaccuracies alone must be irritating enough to-”
Castiel is not allowed to finish his thought, as Dean’s fingers have once again migrated towards his face, this time pressing flush with the angel’s mouth. “Cas, buddy, you’ve gotta stop overthinking everything.”
With his mouth covered, Castiel’s eyes are forced to do the talking. And the way they roll back in his head is some special effects wizardry, truly. Dean knows his interruption is deemed not good enough.
And so, the hunter begins to mumble. “The truth is - me and Sammy - we didn’t get to…” As he searches for the right words to explain, Dean’s eyes bore into Impala’s odometer, reluctant to meet Cas’s gaze, ever intently turned towards him. “Growing up for us was different than most. Christmas was usually without a tree and sometimes without presents. The Easter Bunny - well that one always just gave us the creeps. And you know, turns out, trick-or-treating across a motel? Kind of a bummer.”
As Dean guardedly guides Cas down memory lane, the angel finds himself closing his eyes, only for a second or two. It was easier to imagine that way. Reality gives way to a scene of his mind’s making, of the two brothers clad in cobbled-together costumes going door to door, rewarded with loose cigarettes and pens instead of the traditional treats typically associated with the holiday. Ever brief, and yet, the moment is its own kind of Hell. The daydream makes Castiel wish he still wielded the power Heaven once afforded him. That he could bend time and space, just a little bit, for the younger Sam and Dean, giving them one decent memory of pillowcases filled to the brim with the stuff of dentists’ nightmares.
The smell of leather and the sound of the driver’s door opening pull Castiel’s attention back to the present. Their “B.M. scene,” as Marie would call it, was moving from the Impala’s interior towards its exterior. The angel rounds the car quickly to to take his place at Dean’s side as the hunter leans against the familiar steel. Without thinking, Dean rests a hand on the angel’s forearm, as if he was competing for Cas’s attention.
He never was.
When Dean speaks again, his breath turns into clouds in the cool air.
“Cas, no matter where we were - we could always scrounge up a few bucks to spend on stuff to make our teeth rot. Every October 30th, the sun’d go down, we’d binge on junk food til we were near puking and we’d watch whatever scary movies we could find on TV. And every year - well, almost every year… There were those couple of years at Stanford where Sam had other plans - Dad and me would swap a few six packs for the sweets - but anyway, still, it doesn’t matter where we are, no matter what mess we’ve managed to find ourselves in that year - it’s one tradition we’ve tried to keep going.”
Dean pauses and pictures his geek of a brother halfway around the world in some place that didn’t have the decency to recognize that cheap costumes and sugar comas were sacred, damn it. “I know it’s stupid. But stupid don’t mean it’s not fun.”
Even though he has lived amongst mankind for nearly a decade, Castiel knows he still struggles with many of the subtleties of what it means to be human. But even he can tell that by the look in the hunter’s eye and the way his voice catches when he talks about Sam not being here - Dean’s feeling a bit blue about the whole thing. Not that Sam was being negligent - he was dutifully attending that conference in Mumbai alongside Charlie, hoping to “up his tech game,” as he so eloquently put it. But he is gone and Dean feels his absence. Castiel may not understand the appeal of blood and gore and terror when it seemed like they were always knee-deep in those things in real life to begin with, but he did understand one thing, loud and clear: this tradition was important to Dean. And Dean was important to Castiel, so he would try his best to be a satisfactory substitute.
He calls no attention to the minor miracle that Dean has opened up and adequately expressed his feelings with very little prodding. Instead, he shifts the conversation to more pressing matters. “I am on junk food duty, correct?”
And Dean? Well Dean can’t help letting out a chuckle as his words leave Cas’s mouth. He might be a benchwarmer, but damn if he wasn’t stepping up to the plate. “Nothing with any nutritional value, you got it?”
Castiel nods seriously as he accepts the assignment, walking towards his former place of employment with fierce determination. Dean moves to make his selections for the horrors that lie ahead, yelling one last critical piece of information just before the glass door shuts behind the angel.
“DON’T FORGET THE PIE!”
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Castiel did not forget the pie. They simply didn’t have any. The display case had nothing but three empty silver tins and a sign that apologized for being sold out. And so he searched the store’s shelves for other pastries stuffed with filling.
“Dude, for the record, Fig Newtons are not pie,” Dean says sternly, looking down at the florescent yellow box with unbridled disgust.
Apparently, Castiel’s definition of what fulfilled the criteria for the hunter’s favourite dessert was far too liberal for Dean. The freckle-faced man continued to wear a pout as he rummaged through the plastic bags before deciding on an acceptable treat: an oversized, pumpkin-shaped sugar cookie, encased in a thick layer of supremely orange frosting. It was the sort of splurge purchase a seven-year old would plead with an exhausted parent at the checkout counter to make on their behalf. Dean takes a bite, the corners of his mouth turning upward as his sweet tooth is, momentarily, satiated.
Castiel would be happy with this - watching Dean eat himself sick on foods designed for children - but he knows the hunter has other things in mind. And so just after he hangs his trenchcoat on the room’s solitary hanger (Dean, for his part, has thrown his leather jacket on the massive bed taking up the majority of the room’s square footage), he asks the question he knows Dean wants to answer.
“So, what horrors await us?”
Crumbs of cookie fall from Dean’s lips as he answers, snickering (perhaps already from the sugar high) as he holds three cases. “Demon, vampire, or just one really fucked-up dude?” The hunter has taken up residence on the shag-carpeted floor, his back pressing up against the bed. “Best seat in the house,” he insists, his laptop set up in front of him. Cas slumps to the ground to give the movies a good lookover, making space for himself next to Dean amongst his varied treats.
“Well, since this is my first time,” Cas begins, wondering why Dean forcibly gulps at that precise moment, “why don’t we start off in my comfort zone?”
Dean grabs the movies out of Cas’s hands, his fingers lingering against the angel’s for perhaps a moment or two more than wholly necessary. “Exorcist it is.” Dean smirks. “Glad you didn’t buy anything green.”
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Who’s Captain Howdy?
Dean turns to assess Cas’s interest in the film just as Chris MacNeil asks the fated question. He’s got his right hand hovering over his lips, those lithe fingers bent and crooked as he thoughtlessly begins to bite at his nails. He takes a moment to appreciate the view - Cas captivated, surrounded by half-empty bags of potato chips and discarded candy wrappers (which Dean had most certainly not demolished entirely on his own). Beautiful. Suddenly, Dean’s cheeks feel warm and his pulse begins to pick up its pace. Beautiful. He couldn’t say it out loud - especially not now, not here, not doing this - but he lets himself think it, looking at the film as reflected back in unwavering blue eyes. Cas is beautiful.
“I am concerned for the well-being of this Regan character. Ouija boards really aren’t taken seriously enough.” The statement comes out in a hushed tone from Cas, as if he would be disturbing some other patron watching the movie. Dean tries, he really tries, to suppress the laugh as it bellows forward from his diaphragm. But the thing is, Cas is sitting there, knees huddled together, eyebrows quirked ever so slightly down towards his nose, nervous. And it’s just too much - Dean can feel the joy reverberating within pleading with him to get out.
“Did I do something wrong again?” Cas asks, turning his attention away from the screen for the first time as Dean chuckles softly. Collecting himself, Dean finds himself studying the angel’s face. Those two perfect lines running in parallel across Cas’s forehead. The way his nostrils flare ever so slightly as he makes his inquiry. The sharp angles of his jaw, the way in which that jaw was dusted with a five o’clock shadow no matter the hour. The sincerity of those eyes - nearly navy in the darkness of the room. Those lips, the way in which they draw Dean’s eyes towards them now like they had so many times before. Dean knows Cas asked him a question and he’s struggling to remember what it was. Suddenly, Regan MacNeil isn’t the only one struggling with possession. The hunter shakes his head quickly, as if that is the secret to ridding himself of the thoughts that seem to flood his mind and body all at once without his permission, abrupt and all consuming.
A shy smile creeps across his face as Dean lets his forehead drop to the angel’s shoulder. When the words come out, Dean is certain of one thing: someone or something else is definitely holding the reins.
“Nah Cas. This - this is all right.”
Reluctantly, Dean lifts his head. This will not be another one of those, Dean tries to convince himself. Not another night filled with stolen glances and inadvertent touches and all those things that made Dean die a little bit. Get a grip, Winchester. Watching scary movies inches away from another guy, from a friend, from your best friend, really - that’s as wholesome as it gets. Right?
During the time Dean takes to have that conversation with himself, Cas has turned his attention back towards Linda Blair’s unfortunate plight. The rest of the film passes on without incident, save for Cas’s colour commentary.
“Oh dear. With a crucifix?!?”
“That Pazuzu sure has a mouth on him.”
“They really should have consulted some hunters on this - a devil’s trap would have been far more effective than many of the methods as adopted by these two clergymen.”
Those moments are treasures Dean allows himself to keep.
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As someone with his fair share of parricide in the rearview mirror, Cas had to admit: he didn’t understand where Michael Myers’s bloodlust was coming from. Even Lucifer’s motivations were more nuanced - pride in his own power, seething hatred for the “hairless apes” - than this masked psychopath hellbent on terrorizing that nice lady from the yogurt commercials. The movie’s villain seemed to share that same fixation as so many preachers in their pulpits - punishing the minor indiscretions at which his Father would not, in actuality, bat an eye. Premarital sex and getting stoned weren’t exactly foreign concepts to Chuck. Or to Cas, for that matter.
It was not as if the angel was some stranger to killing - neither was Dean. And yes, perhaps some of that bloodshed had been more righteous than others - but still, there was something … distasteful about the antagonist’s motives. Cas gets so caught up in his internal diatribe that he didn’t notice the ominous score once again revving up, didn’t notice that pallor face lurking in the background.
At precisely that moment, the boogeyman lunges forward.
At precisely that moment, Cas lunges into Dean’s lap.
Without thinking, Cas buries his head into Dean’s shoulder, eyes closed tightly.
“Tell me when it’s over?” Cas pleads timidly into soft flannel smelling of sweat and cedar. He knows the words aren’t the sort a grown man should mutter to another due to some unwritten code Dean seemed to know by heart. Cas has watched apocalypses come and go, has seen cities burn and heroes fall. A slasher flick from the seventies shouldn’t have him running for cover. But when that cover is Dean’s body, unflinching from the contact, well, Cas feels a lot of things more powerful than embarrassment. And though bearing false witness against another is a grave offense, since he’s actually scared, it’s not really sinning to curl up a little closer to Dean.
Castiel was sure he had died and gone to his own personal Heaven as Dean cradled him. When the hunter’s fingers begin to comb through his hair? A plane of existence better than Heaven must have been invented, because Cas … Cas is on a cloud beyond nine.
“It’s okay Cas,” Dean whispers. “John Carpenter ain’t known as the Horror Master for nothing.” Cas lifts his head, somehow convincing his legs that yes, they did need to shift off of Dean, that no, taking up permanent residence within the hunter’s thighs was not an option. Was it? He is expecting some sort of sarcastic smirk to adorn Dean’s face; he knew that particular teasing expression all too well. But all that meets him is honest to God comfort. Cast in the light of computer screen, Dean’s face looks soft, his jaw relaxed, no tension carved across his forehead. Cas lingers in the ease pouring from those emerald eyes, refusing to turn back towards the screen.
“Dean…” he mutters, their eyes still aligned.
“Yeah Cas?” Dean responds, shifting his body slightly, as if to say the angel had his full attention.
Cas clears his throat. He does not know if it’s the adrenaline coursing through him (from the movie, of course) or the fact that his body seems insistent to hold onto the visceral memory of how perfectly he seemed to fit into Dean, but Cas feels bold. He slips his right hand into Dean’s left, articulating his plan in terms of survival.
“If I’m going to make it through this, I don’t think we should split up. That seems to end poorly for these characters.”
Dean flashes a smile, sweet and small, a single nod his answer.
After the credits have finished rolling, their fingers are still intertwined.
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October 30th, 2009
“Damn it Sammy. The classics are all gone. Who knew the good folks of Sheboygan had such impeccable taste?” Dean shouts out across the video rental store while juggling DVD cases and several varieties of Skittles. Maybe this was their punishment for springing Lucifer free, Dean thinks.
Sam makes his way back from the small foreign film selection armed with his choice. “You know Dean, there are movies worth seeing released after 1983.”
Dean responds to the retort with a blank stare. “It ain’t Halloween without John Carpenter, Samuel.”
It wasn’t enough to have to listen to the same five cassettes over and over. It was as if Dean comprised a list of his desert island movies as well, perfectly content to watch the same ten films for the rest of eternity. Not that that stopped Sam on his Quixotic quest to expose Dean to new things. “Here - I heard this one’s good. Been meaning to see it. I think you’ll like it. It’s got vampires.”
It’s not that Dean is some anti-intellectual who couldn’t keep up with subtitles. And, after all, he was the one who had introduced Sam to manga and anime. But traditions weren’t times to expand your horizons. So when he looks down at the not quite English scrawled across the case, he makes his evaluation clear in a single word.
“Pass.”
While Sam is competing for the distinct honour of the world’s most exaggerated eyeroll, Dean notices a kid putting a copy of Evil Dead back on the shelf. Once again, Bruce Campbell saves the day.
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“Damn it,” Dean mumbles under his breath as the window pops up, informing him his battery has fallen below the ten percent threshold. “Gonna have to find an outlet if we wanna keep this going.” The movies. Keep watching movies. That’s what I mean.
But, if he’s being totally honest, that’s not all Dean wants to keep going. It started out innocent enough - keeping up the tradition was hardly a mere pretense. And yet, they found themselves back where they had been so many times before - where all semblance of personal space seemed to collapse. But before, those moments were brief and encumbered - eventually one of them forced themselves to turn from a held glance or a lingering touch.
But not tonight.
Tonight, maybe it could be more.
And just like that, the space between his own lips and Cas’s is the most interesting thing. Dean lives in thrall of that space for only a moment. A chill snaps him out of his fantasy, brought on by a horror that has nothing to do with creatures that go bump in the night. What if Cas rebuffs his offer, calls it a night? What if everything Dean had thought and felt and convinced himself was mutual was nothing but a work of fiction?
The speed at which Castiel moves towards the walls of the room searching for an outlet helps to cast aside some of Dean’s doubt.
Eventually, a source that is bed-adjacent is deemed the winner. And so the men awkwardly shuffle towards the bed, performing a strange little dance to situate themselves what they imagine to be an appropriate distance from one another, neither willing to surrender to their presumptions. What they had found curled up next to each other on the carpet - the comfort they had let themselves have - it suddenly seemed so hard to emulate. But when they attempt their fourth maneuver to achieve the impossible - casual, relaxed and enough distance to leave room for Jesus - Dean decides he’s had enough.
“Ugh, fuck this.”
He begins to shove the covers of the bed down, propping his pillow up against the headboard, settling himself beneath the sheets. He moves the computer to his lap before giving a directive so clear, even the angel can’t misinterpret it. As his palm thumps the space beside him, Dean lets out a breath, smooth, steady and sure.
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Castiel’s lithe fingers slowly twist through the laces of his dress shoes as his mind tries to process what is happening. He’d really only felt the need to put what it was that he and Dean had into human terms since losing his grace. Before, a more profound bond seemed to suffice to describe their relationship status. But there were some things about being human that seemed to stay with Cas even after he found himself once again fully imbued with all of his angel mojo. And one of those things was a pestering need to know what he really was to Dean. A friend? A brother? Or something else that those terms couldn’t hope to get at?
So as Castiel slides his legs beneath the low thread count sheets of this perfectly forgettable motel room that he suddenly wants to memorize each and every detail of, he’s wondering if tonight he will finally get his answer. After all, Dean had never invited him to share a bed with him - this particular piece of furniture had always been off-limits. But maybe now, maybe finally, maybe more? But as soon as he begins to hope, to look for answers in that language he and the hunter seemed to speak through glances, he notices Dean’s eyes are transfixed on the screen, having slipped the final movie in. Dual titles flash across the silent black screen. Their words seem to be a plea and giving permission.
LÅT DEN RÄTTE KOMMA IN
(LET THE RIGHT ONE IN)
Cas had long ago learned (through a lengthy, tequila-drenched lecture) that there is some line between cool vampire movies and lame vampire movies established in Dean’s head. Even fictional vamps shouldn’t sparkle, Cas remembers the hunter insisting. But the criteria Dean had drunkenly established seemed inept at getting at what was going on here. And so Cas has to settle on his own feelings on what he’s seeing - strange, beautiful, macabre. The muted grays of Scandinavian skies. Endless expanses of snow interrupted only by blood. In fact, the only colour that seemed to exist in this grayscale world was that saturated red - running down porcelain necks, splattered across the white of landscapes.
Blood had power.
The thought pulls Cas away from the movie once more, back into his own body. Remembering how it first felt to experience the beat of this heart. How that rhythm seemed to be mastered by none other than the man sitting flush to Cas right now. How Cas’s heart seemed able to speak so many things to him. How he wondered if Dean’s could do the same. And so, as Eli and Oskar mutter their first words to one another, Cas drops his head to Dean’s chest. The angel lets his fingers tiptoe up the muscle of the other man’s thigh, feeling Dean’s blood, listening to what his heart has to say.
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Dean is at a loss. First with this movie - the one Sam had suggested they watch all those years ago in Wisconsin, the one Dean chose out of some twisted sense of nostalgia and missing his geek of a brother. For a film about bloodthirsty hellspawn, there is less violence and more introspection than he would have imagined. It’s not that he doesn’t like it - he actually does - it’s just- there’s all these quiet scenes and during those he notices little things. Like how Cas seems to be inching closer and closer. Like how he smells of honey and cinnamon even though he was only a voyeur to Dean’s sweets orgy.
When Cas’s hand finally comes to rest on a decidedly non-platonic portion of Dean’s thigh, the hunter isn’t sure what to do. And so Dean tries to occupy his thoughts with anything but what the angel’s touch is doing to him in this moment. He thinks about the movie, about moral ambiguity and monsters. How the humans seem to have as much blood on their hands as those rocking fangs. It makes him think about Benny - about how he did a whole lot of good even though he wasn’t sporting a soul. About all the times he himself has killed - sometimes in cold blood. About how he sympathizes with the little vampire girl. Dean thinks about Buffy. How would she react to Eli? The Chosen One did kind of have a track record of letting certain vamps off the hook. How she seemed to adopt a more nuanced approach towards slaying once her heart dumbly made her go and fall in love with a supernatural creature.
Dean looks down at the muss of dark hair pressed into his shoulder. He thinks about his own dumb heart and his own supernatural creature that could do no wrong that’d keep Dean away permanently.
Focus, Winchester. On anything but him.
As if by divine intervention, it’s at precisely that moment, when Dean is trying to banish blue from his worldview, that Eli reminds Oskar, the human hopelessly in love, that she’s not a girl. She’s not human, despite their connection.
It’s at precisely that moment Dean’s heart skips a beat.
The absence, the void - it is a beautiful sound.
It is a beautiful nothingness that Castiel can hear. He speaks its language and knows what it is trying to say.
And he responds in full, nuzzling his nose against Dean’s neck, as if to reassure him that he would forever love the idea of human because of Dean.
And would forever love this human.
When the film finally ends, when Eli and Oskar go off into the night, accepting the life they can and will have with one another, Dean closes the computer screen. Cas lifts his head from Dean’s chest to look at the time, the red illumination a rare break from the darkness that now makes so much of the room imperceptible. It’s past midnight and nothing has changed back into a pumpkin. Real. Not a spell, not a wish granted whose time has run out. His eyes lock on Dean’s, shimmering green even in the now near pitch black. Their constancy, the way Dean does not turn - it feels like an invitation.
And so, rather than speaking of his lack of need of sleep, rather than making some excuse to tear himself away from the little home he’s made in the curves of Dean’s body, Castiel acts.
He closes that distance - one that was so small and immense all at once - his lips softly landing on Dean’s own.
Cas’s very human heart races when Dean kisses back, his lips firm - a lingering sweetness still palatable.
It only lasts for a few seconds. They are the most precious seconds of Castiel’s long life. His eyes open just in time to catch the way Dean’s eyelashes are fluttering, the way the corners of his lips turn up nervously, ecstatically.
“Happy Halloween, Dean,” the angel huffs, the heat of his breath cast against Dean’s cheek.
Summary: On Halloween cases were simple. Groups of teenagers visit haunted places to get a rush. Little did they know their harmless trip often became real danger and Sam and Dean had to clean up behind them. This Halloween, though, Dean wants Cas to come with him but, as always, things don’t go as well as expected and they lose each other. They have to cope with themselves and it slowly starts to drive them crazy.
Summary: Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story “The Tale of the Carnival Ghost.”
Tags: There are no tags/warnings as to avoid spoilers, but bear in mind this is a G-rated story based on a tween “scary” television show. It’s all in campy good fun.
Read on ao3.
“Really, Dean?” Sam said, using that tone of voice. “That’s your costume?”
Dean looked down at his jeans and leather jacket and back up. “It’s James Dean. It’s an awesome costume.”
“It’s what you wear every day.”
Dean shrugged. “I’m awesome.”
“You could at least do the hair then,” Sam said with a roll of his eyes.
“It’s not long enough. We don’t have all shampoo commercial hair.”
Sam just gave him an unimpressed look and Dean pulled the flask from his jacket pocket and took a swig. He offered it to Sam who looked at it like it might be poison for a moment, but then accepted it. He took a short swallow and then fell into a coughing fit. Dean just grinned as he watched his baby brother still try to act cool around him. It was even more difficult to do when he was wearing blood-spattered surgical scrubs that were too short at the ankles.
There was a short rap on the motel door and Sam crossed the room to answer it. His girlfriend, Tracy, smiled when she saw him and wrapped her arms around his neck for a kiss. Dean tried not to notice exactly how short the skirt on her slutty nurse costume was. When he finally pulled his eyes away from her ass, he realized he had been unsuccessful as both Sam and Tracy were staring at him. He smiled.
“Nice costume, Tracy.”
“Thank you,” she replied with a wry smile. “I like yours too.”
“What costume?” Sam asked with exasperation.
“He’s James Dean,” Tracy said.
Dean indicated Tracy with a hand as he gave Sam a vindicated look. Tracy gave Dean a wink and Sam spotted it.
“Don’t encourage him,” he groused.
Tracy stood on her tiptoes and kissed Sam’s cheek. “Come on, we’ve got a full night of fun ahead of us, and neither of you better crap out on me in the morning. This is a test, Sam. My parents will not be impressed if you can’t party all night and then take a solemn walk through a graveyard in the morning.”
“Like you do,” Dean said with a laugh as he grabbed the Impala’s keys.
“This isn’t some weird tradition that only my hometown does, Dean,” Tracy said indignantly.
“Yeah, okay. Let’s go play with some dead people.”
Tracy huffed and glared at him. Dean grinned and headed out of the motel. He heard Sam whisper behind him, “This is why you don’t encourage him.”
***
Sam, Dean, and Tracy arrived at downtown Orilla del Rio just past nine o’clock. The carnival was in full swing with lights flashing on hastily constructed rides, clanging and alarms drawing attention to scams masquerading as games, and the smell of fried foods and oil heavy in the air. Dean eyed a stand advertising corndogs, fried pickles, and deep fried chocolate chip cookies. Sam’s POS plastic car breaking down was the greatest thing to happen to him this Halloween. Usually he flipped a coin for a straight or a gay bar and then hung around until someone picked him up. Driving his little brother almost three hours so he could meet his girlfriend’s parents and participate in the slightly foreign concept of stretching Halloween into a three day event called Allhallowtide was turning out to be an enjoyable inconvenience.
Dean was a little concerned that he might end up being a third wheel, but the trio quickly expanded as Tracy’s friends and siblings joined them. Dean was nearly twenty-five, but he was immediately transported back to that ten year old feeling when carnivals were awesome and not lame. He rode the rickety rides that relied primarily on generating G-forces to be fun, and ate greasy, caveman-satisfying food that threatened to make reappearances on said rides. He cheered on the crocodile wrestler and laughed his way through the fun house while Tracy and her friends (and Sam) screamed in terror every time a clown fell down from the ceiling on a thin wire.
It was just past midnight and officially All Saints Day when Tracy asked Sam to join her on the Tunnel of Love ride. Several others in their group paired off to join them. Tracy’s younger sister shyly asked Dean if he would go with her. He shot a panicked look at Sam who was just barely stifling his mirth, and then managed to mumble something about carnival food going straight through him and needing to find a bathroom. Then he made a run for it. The last thing he wanted to do was be trapped in a tiny boat on rails in the dark with an amorous fifteen year old.
Once he was out of sight of the group, he bought a funnel cake and found a relatively deserted corner of the carnival near the back of the Ferris wheel. He sat down on a large black case with thick black cables running out of it and regretted getting powdered sugar on his snack as he was immediately dusted in the fine, white powder. He people-watched as he chowed down and soon found himself focusing on a young man standing on the fringe of the excitement. The man was watching a teenager try to knock down some old-timey looking milk bottles with a ball to win a cheap stuffed animal for his girlfriend. He looked a little wistful as he watched the girl be handed a disfigured, neon pink teddy bear. He didn’t appear to be with anyone, and he never checked his watch or phone so Dean assumed he wasn’t waiting for anyone either. He was tall with dark hair and a lithe figure under a tan trench coat. His costume was either Constantine or a flasher. The man turned slightly and Dean saw the suit and tie. Constantine then. Slightly disappointing.
Dean crammed the rest of the funnel cake into his mouth and dusted his hands and coat and jeans off as much as possible. He headed over toward the guy, determined to be a Good Samaritan and fellow human being and say hi. It had nothing to do with the fact that the guy was hot. Dean was just that good of a person.
“Hey,” Dean said as he got close enough to be heard without shouting over the loud hum of the whirring machines.
The man looked over at him and blinked large, sad blue eyes at him. Dean was taken aback for a moment by the sheer beauty of the man’s gaze. It wasn’t just the mesmerizing depth of color; it was the melancholy emanating from them, which was practically divine in its starkness.
“Hello,” the man replied softly.
“A-are you okay?” Dean asked, his voice suddenly hoarse and cracking. He cleared his throat and wished he’d bought some water to wash down the funnel cake. “Are you okay?” Dean tried again, this time sounding more like himself.
The man smiled and the sadness bled out of his eyes and was replaced with subdued excitement and a pleased expression.
“I am now,” the man said, flirting with him if Dean wasn’t mistaken.
Dean smiled, pushing down that weird feeling he’d had a moment ago as they entered more familiar territory. “I’m Dean,” he said, offering his hand.
The man looked at it for a moment, and then took it in his. His hand was cold, but soft.
“My name is Castiel. Most people call me Cas.”
“Well, I’m not ‘most people,’” Dean said with a wink and a smirk, “but I’ll call you Cas.”
The man laughed softly and then bit his lower lip. It drew attention to how pretty his lips were. He seemed to realize what he was doing and stopped, but he didn’t seem upset that Dean had noticed. However, as the silence stretched on, their burgeoning attempts at flirting turned slightly awkward.
“So, uh,” Dean started, trying to break the re-formed ice. “I saw you eyeing that girl’s teddy bear. You want one?”
“Oh, no,” Cas said. He smiled and looked over Dean’s shoulder. “I want the bee.”
Dean turned and saw what might have been a bee—it was yellow and black and had more than four limbs—hanging from the side of a booth of a shooting game. Dean turned back to Cas with a cheeky grin.
“I got you, man.”
Dean nodded his head toward the game booth and Castiel followed him out of the shadows. Dean paid the man in the striped vest five dollars for three shots with an air rifle. Of course, it took five targets down to get the bee, which meant Dean had to pay for another round. Fortunately he was a good enough shot that ten dollars was all it took to make Cas’ eyes light up even more as Dean handed over the stuffed bumble bee. Castiel smiled brightly at him and Dean rubbed the back of his neck as he looked down to hide his blush. He wasn’t usually this nervous around—anybody. But Cas had an innocence about him that made him look at everything with wonderment. Dean couldn’t help it that he found him ridiculously endearing.
They wandered away from the games and Dean was happy to follow Castiel down to the barns. He didn’t even mind the pungent smell of farm animal as he followed Cas around and watched him coo over the chicks and rabbits and ponies. He even “aw-ed” at the uncute animals like sheep and billy goats. The pygmy goats were freaking adorable, he could admit that, but the big ones just looked like they were plotting something.
Dean had hoped to avoid the cows and the pigs, but Cas took him by the hand and led him inside. He would have followed Cas anywhere to keep the simple joy he felt by holding his hand. It was also really amusing to see the giant set of balls on the massive male hogs. He’d never seen a pig so freaking big before.
They exited the barns still hand in hand, the bee tucked up securely under Cas’ other arm. They walked through the bustling crowds which hadn’t thinned a whit despite the late hour. Everyone, including the kids, made the trip to the cemetery in the morning.
“Hey, Cas?”
“Yes, Dean?”
“Does your family do the whole Day of the Dead thing?”’
Cas cocked his head in question.
“The going to the graveyard and like, having a picnic breakfast with their dead relatives thing.”
“Oh, that. Yes, of course. Everyone who grew up in Orilla del Rio participates regardless of whether or not they’re Catholic or Hispanic. It’s kind of become like Christmas in a way—everyone goes along with the activities even if they don’t believe in the spirituality behind it.”
“Ah. I see. So do people just pick random gravestones, or…?”
Cas chuckled. “No. Pretty much everyone in town knows someone in the Cementerio por la Orilla.”
“Is everything by the Orilla?” Dean asked with a laugh.
“Pretty much, actually.”
“Oh.”
They walked a few more paces. “What’s an Orilla?”
Cas chuckled. “It’s like a shore. Or, the bank of a river. This town stretches out about a mile along the river, though only a few hundred yards from the bank. It’s an unusual set up, but pretty much every property is near the bank.”
“I guess there’s not a problem with flooding then?”
“No, not that I know of. My family has lived here for several generations and there’s never been a record of a flood.”
“Hmm. So, you’ll be going to visit your relatives come morning, then?”
Castiel’s smile faded a little. “In a manner of speaking. There are a lot of Novaks in the cemetery. We’re watched over by a large marble angel erected by some rich relation in the early nineteen hundreds.“
“Sounds pretty badass.”
“If one likes angels, I suppose,” Cas said cryptically.
Dean didn’t like the look on Cas’ face, so he gave his hand a little shake to get the faraway look in eyes to dissipate. It worked as those bright blue eyes focused on him.
“Are you hungry?” Dean asked, realizing that funnel cake was four hours gone now. In theory he’d be eating breakfast in a couple of hours, but he wasn’t sure if he would have much of an appetite in a graveyard.
“Not really,” Cas replied.
“Oh.”
Cas looked over toward the end of the fair and then back at Dean. “Will you go on the Ferris wheel with me?”
“Of course,” Dean said with a grin.
They walked hand in hand toward the big wheel with blue and green lights alternating along its spokes. Dean was pleased that Castiel’s hand felt warmer. They waited in the short line for a few minutes and Cas just stared up at the slowly turning wheel like he was in a trance. When it was their turn, Dean started to dig out his pass card from his pocket.
“I have a ticket,” Castiel said, his voice oddly distant.
He handed the ride operator a small, red tear-away ticket like the kind usually used for raffles. The ride operator looked at the small ticket and handed it back.
“That’s not a ride ticket,” he said.
“Here, I’ve got two,” Dean said and handed over the plastic card that was loaded with fair credit. The man scanned the card and let the two of them get into a car by themselves. The wheel incrementally moved them higher as it stopped and started to offload and load more passengers. Eventually it was turning smoothly and at its pinnacle giving them a rather stunning view of the city lights lining the dark snake of the river. Cas was pressed against his side and Dean had no qualms about wrapping an arm around his shoulders and drawing him closer. Castiel sighed contentedly and leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder.
The wheel turned and turned and Dean was lulled into a soothing daze. He lost track of time and it was only when the inky blackness of night began to turn a deep violet on the eastern horizon that he became aware that they must have ridden for over an hour without interruption. The ride operator was being very kind not to bother them. Dean turned his head and pressed his lips against Cas’ soft hair.
“Looks like we’re going to have an amazing view of the sunrise,” Dean murmured.
Cas shifted against him—stiffened slightly—but then he turned into Dean’s body and clung to him more tightly.
“Did you know,” Cas’ soft voice blended into the night, “that the Ferris wheel they used to have at the carnival didn’t have cage seats?”
Dean shook his head. “Did not know that,” he said with a quiet chuckle.
“They used to be just seats with a bar that folded across the front. There was so much space people could turn completely around in them and stand up. Teenagers got yelled at all the time.”
“I can believe it.”
“A couple people even fell out.”
“Really?”
“Yes. One fell onto the spokes and was able to be rescued. One fell out near the bottom and didn’t get hurt. They didn’t decide to change it to a caged seat Ferris wheel until after someone died.”
Dean’s arm tightened his hold around Castiel.
“Someone died?”
Cas nodded. “No one’s really sure why he stood up. Whether it was a dare or something scared him. Or…he did it intentionally. But he fell out right at the top and died instantly when he hit the ground.”
“That’s awful.”
Cas nodded. “Yes…”
“Did you know him?” Dean asked carefully.
“He died a long time ago. At least thirty years or more.”
“Oh.”
The horizon was lavender with the barest hint of pink. Castiel sat up suddenly and looked Dean in the eyes. He smiled kindly at him and cupped his cheek tenderly.
“Thank you. For spending tonight with me.”
Dean blushed furiously, unable to muster a response. He wished he could duck his head and break the intense eye contact, but Cas’ hand held his chin up and prolonged the intimacy as the rising sun created a halo around Cas’ head. Cas started to lean forward and Dean closed his eyes. Castiel’s lips barely ghosted over his, but he felt more alive in that moment than he ever had before in his life.
The next thing Dean was aware of was the jerking halt of the Ferris wheel as his car came to a stop at the bottom. The ride operator opened the door.
“Hey, guy,” the man said, “the carnival’s closing down for the Walk.”
Dean looked at the man, feeling a little fuzzy. He processed his words and turned back to look at the seat next to him. A misshapen black and yellow bumble bee sat next to him. In a fog, Dean climbed out of the car. The man made no comment that Dean exited the car alone. It took a few moments of aimless wandering in the pale light of dawn before he remembered where he was supposed to meet up with Sam, Tracy, and her family. All of the ride and booth lights had been turned off and the grounds were eerily silent.
Dean met up with Sam and the Bells by the gate to the south parking lot. Tracy’s family was chattering cheerily in a mixture of Spanish and English as they worked out who would go in what cars and who had to carry what when they got to the cemetery. Sam had his arm around Tracy’s shoulders (who had changed into a more modest dress for the morning’s activities) and smiled at Dean.
“Where’d you get off to?” Sam asked.
“Um.” Dean still felt like he was walking through a hazy dream. “I went to the barns.”
“The barns?” Sam asked. “I thought you hated animals.”
“He probably got shot down,” Tracy teased him gently. “He spent a ton of money trying to win her a stuffed bee and she totally bailed.”
Dean looked down and saw the bee in his hands. He hadn’t realized he’d taken it with him.
Sam and Tracy were laughing at his expense, but he didn’t mind. Sam noticed his lack of response and let go of Tracy to step closer to him. He put a hand on Dean’s shoulder.
“Hey, Dean, are you okay?”
Dean looked up and met his brother’s eyes. He managed a small smile.
“Yeah. I’m okay. Just a little sleepy I guess.”
“I told you to take a nap,” Sam said, accepting the excuse.
“You did, Sammy.”
“Don’t call me Sammy,” he whispered fiercely but it was too late. Tracy was already looking between them with a happy expression.
“You call him Sammy?” she asked, voice pitched just a little too sweetly.
“Don’t start,” Sam grumbled.
Dean and Tracy laughed and they all walked toward the Impala with a couple of more Bells in tow. The ride to the cemetery was less than ten minutes, but they had to park a ten minute walk away since everyone in town was converging on the same place. Dean and Sam watched slightly agape as a long parade of townspeople filed down the road to the cemetery dressed in colorful clothing, some wearing painted masks. It wasn’t a silent affair by any means or particularly somber, but the reverence for the departed was palpable. They followed the Bells through the gates of the cemetery and branched off with them when they made for the plot that was the final resting spot for many of their relatives.
Dean and Sam hung back as the Bells began to erect an altar and lay out food and drink to tempt the spirits to come down and hear the family’s prayers. Dean had brought along the stuffed bee because he’d heard from Tracy’s brother that their mother’s sister who had died when she was four was buried there. He wasn’t sure when would be a good time to ask where the little girl’s grave was, so he let them do their thing and looked around.
The cemetery was a huge sprawling thing at the end of town and was actually quite far away from the river despite its name. He supposed even hundreds of years ago people knew better than to bury their dead too close to their water source. Tombstones of every shape and size and varying shades of grey dotted the browning grass covering the gently sloping hills. About fifty yards to his left, he spotted a large stone angel silhouetted against the rising sun. Dean put a hand on Sam’s shoulder.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
Dean walked down the winding path that led to a section of the cemetery that was surrounded by trees and looked to be the original cemetery before it had to be expanded. The wrought iron fence was rusted and bent in several places. The grass grew taller here and many headstones were broken and crumbling. The names and dates had been worn away on some of them.
Dean walked carefully through the grass, doing his best to avoid stepping on an actual grave. When he reached the marble statue, he was stunned to find that it towered over him by a good five or six feet. It stood on a three foot pedestal, so the statue itself had to be nine or ten feet tall. It had large wings spread over a collection of grave markers and a face streaked with green lichen tears.
Dean searched for some of the newer-looking tombstones, and found them on the other side of the angel, behind one of the wings. He stepped into the shadow of the great statue, losing sight of Sam and the Bells as he did so. There he found a plain headstone with a very old, dried out daisy chain hanging haphazardly from one side.
Castiel Novak
July 10, 1959 – November 1, 1982
Beloved brother and son
An angel recalled to Heaven by God
Dean did some quick math in his head. Twenty-three. Castiel had been younger than Dean when he had died. He knelt down next to the grave and propped the little bee up next to the marker. He put his hand on the tombstone.
“I’m glad I got to spend the night with you too, Cas.” Dean smiled sadly and patted the stone. “See you next year, buddy.”
Dean stood up and turned. He started violently and did his best to swallow his heart back down his throat. Standing—floating—before him was Castiel. Or a semblance of Castiel. He was mostly translucent and the angel was visible behind him. Castiel smiled and it filled Dean with dread.
“You can see me now,” a whisper of wind that resembled Cas’ voice said.
Story: Fake Pumpkin Pie
Author: grandpamisha
Graphic: knowmefirst
Summary: Husbands Dean and Castiel Winchester are making preparations for their first Halloween together. But not all is what it seems.
For @destielhalloweenminibang
AO3 Link here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8366428
It was a long walk to get to Dorothy and Charlie’s. The frigid wind whipping around his legs and sliding down the back of his neck was bad enough, but having his transmission bite the dust that morning was just the icing on an otherwise horrible day. Now there was the party he was expected to show up at. He was in a bad mood and having a hard time shaking it. If he showed up ready to bite people’s heads off, his friends would be pissed and then it would be ages before anyone wanted to spend time with him or invite him anywhere again.
The wind picked up, howling through the trees and making him tug the collar of his coat tighter around his neck. Sam had told him to wear a scarf, and he had staunchly refused. He was now regretting that. His ears ached and thanks to the cold wind giving him a pretty stead case of goosebumps, his nipples were painfully hard. And not in the pleasant kind of way either. He turned the corner onto Maple and the wind cut down by half, blocked by the enormous houses he had to walk past.
His best friend Charlie and her girlfriend, Dorothy, had bought one of the big Victorians at the end of the block 2 years prior. He loved the house; it was freaking amazing, but some of the others on this stretch of road were a little bit…creepy. Most of that was due to neglect, of the houses themselves and also of the grounds surrounding them. One house in particular stood out from the rest. It was large with a massive covered porch, turrets, and wooden shingles on the roof. It was a deep purple, eggplant in color, with black trim. If he had to peg a house for a movie about witches to be filmed in, it would be that one. For the entire 2 years that he had been driving or walking past the place, there had been a “For Sale” sign in the front yard. Dean always wondered about the type of person or family that would be interested in buying such a house. It really was beautiful, if you got past the dark windows, the gnarled remains of vines that crept up the front and sides of the place, and the myriad of dead trees all over the property. Plus there was the rumor that there was a private cemetery in the backyard. As far as creepy went, this place was off the charts. And yet somehow, it still had its charm.
Just a few weeks earlier, as he had driven past, he’d noticed the “For Sale” sign now had a shiny new sticker slapped across the front. “SOLD,” it declared. Huh. So someone or someones had bought the place. He’d mentioned it to Dorothy, who of course mentioned it to Charlie. The last he had heard they were planning to go down and introduce themselves to their new neighbors. He was hoping tonight to find out if the people that bought it were like a real-life version of the Adams Family.
When the house came into view, he stopped to look up at it. It was surrounded by an old, black iron fence with a waist-high gate that wasn’t currently latched. It creaked eerily as it rocked back and forth with the wind. It wasn’t slamming though. Just slightly moving. That told him how heavy it must be. He reached out and pulled it shut. No need for it to slam it and scare the new owners. Some of the debris had been cleared from the driveway and on either side of the brick path that led up to the porch. He saw what looked like rocks under a dead tree near the garage. Those he hadn’t noticed before. It slowly dawned on him what he was looking at though. The cemetery wasn’t out back. It was right here! He looked up at the house again, seeking out any kind of life that might linger within. There was a figure in an upstairs window. A woman, from what he could tell, with long hair. She seemed to be softly backlit, so he couldn’t make out any features or even tell if she was looking at him. So it was probably a family that had moved in. Cool. This neighborhood could use a few more families.
Charlie and Dorothy lived in a large, sunshine yellow Victorian at the end of a dead-end road. Beyond that was forest. Being that it was the end of October and all the trees were naked, the view reminded him of something out of Sleepy Hollow. He’d never been brave enough to venture into the woods, and the idea of going now, on Halloween night, was enough to make his skin crawl. He shuddered and quickly hurried up the path to their house. Inside the music was playing loudly. He opened the door and stepped in, smiling at all of the people in costume. Charlie insisted every year the Halloween party be themed, and this year was the Prohibition Era. Women were dressed in elegant gowns, men in 3-piece suits, and the music playing was jazzy and pretty good. Dean slipped his wool overcoat off and carefully smoothed down his windblown hair. He enjoyed the themes usually, except that one year when Dorothy had wanted to do an anime theme. He had finally settled on Naruto because they weren’t letting him attend unless he was in costume. This though? This was pretty damn awesome. First things first, it was time to put his coat away. Then, socialize.
It was like taking a step back in time as he looked around. Women were in ’20s style evening gowns and flapper dresses, and nearly every guy in the place looked like a gangster. He, on the other hand, had dug really far back into his attic to locate his great grandfather’s steam trunk. Much to his delight, there had been a mint-condition tux in there. He had seen pictures of the man looking dapper in it. Even better, it fit pretty well. He’d needed to get it taken in just a little but even the seamstress had been impressed with how well it fit, and she had complimented him repeatedly on how good he looked in it. Later he had found her number tucked into one of the pockets. As flattered as he had been, he wasn’t interested in her, and the number was transferred to the nearest garbage can he’d found.
The only thing missing was a top hat. If his great-grandfather had owned one, it wasn’t in that trunk. But really, it was Halloween and the suit itself was authentic, so having the hat didn’t mean all that much. His shoes were pretty close to authentic too. He looked good, and he knew it. Eyes drifted in his direction, some in simple recognition and others with interest. Of course he knew the moment Charlie spotted him. She squealed with delight and came running over. Seeing his friend in a flapper dress was interesting. Neither she nor Dorothy were exactly feminine, and honestly he had expected one or both of them to be dressed in suits. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight.
“You look so good! Where did you get this tux? It looks authentic.” She took a step back to look over the entire outfit. “Like, really authentic.”
“That’s because it is authentic. It belonged to my great grandpa Campbell. It was in an old trunk in my attic. This was what he wore to parties back in the early part of the century. I found old tintypes and some postcards from when he was young. Younger than I am now. There’s a beautiful photograph of some ball he attended in 1927, the middle of the Prohibition Era, and he was dressed in this.” Dean smoothed a hand down the front of his tux before reaching into an inner pocket. He pulled out the photograph and handed it to her.
“That’s so awesome! I can tell you’re related; there’s a very strong family resemblance. It’s almost eerie. Who’s the woman on his arm? Do you know?” she asked as she handed it back. He shook his head, tucking it carefully into his inner pocket once more.
“No, no idea. Only details on the back are the year and that it was the Hoffman Autumn Ball. I don’t know where it was held either.”
“Still, that is pretty darn cool. And her dress is beautiful. She was beautiful. I bet she was stunning in her day.” Charlie sighed. “I’m so glad I chose this theme this year. Everyone looks so wonderful. I had to visit a dozen different vintage shops just to find clothes that would fit me and Dory. Sizes vary quite a bit between how they were labeled back then and how they’re labeled now. The first dress I bought didn’t fit over my hips and the second one I tried was too tight in the chest, and I’m not all that big. I finally just decided to buy clothes big and then have them tailored. For both of us. Worked better that way because Dory’s hips are a little wider than the men who wore trousers back then. But she looks really good.”
Charlie turned around, scanning the room until she found her girlfriend. Dorothy looked sharp in her suit. She was talking to a man Dean didn’t recognize and gave a nod in their direction when Charlie waved. A moment later she was walking over with the man.
“That’s our new neighbor, Castiel. He’ll be taking over for Doctor Shurley, the pediatrician. He bought the big purple place,” Charlie said. Dean perked up hearing that.
“Oh yeah? You know, there’s a graveyard in the front yard of that house, right? It’s not in the backyard.”
“Yes. Apparently, he’s a direct descendent of the original family and got wind that the house had been for sale for a while, so he decided to bring it back into the family. I think he said it belonged to his great grandfather? Or great, great grandfather? Something like that. I’ll let him tell you.”
Dorothy arrived with Castiel, pausing to give Dean a hug.
“I’m so glad to see that not only did you make it, but you found something that fits with the theme. You look great. Where did you get your outfit?” she asked.
“It belonged to my great grandfather, actually. It was in a steam trunk in my attic, along with his World War II uniforms and some other stuff,” Dean replied.
“You look sharp.” Dorothy motioned towards Castiel. “Dean, meet Castiel, our new neighbor at 1313 Maple. He bought the big purple house.”
“That’s what Charlie was telling me.” Dean turned to face the other man. Damn, he was gorgeous! The brightest blue eyes he had ever seen in his life were looking up at him with interest. He pushed the immediate feeling of attraction aside and offered his hand along with a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you, man. I noticed you’ve been working quite a bit on the outside. How’s that coming along?”
“I wanted to clear away as much humus and debris as possible before it got any colder. It’s time consuming, but the property has proven to quite interesting. And it’s nice to meet you as well, Dean.”
Dean felt a shiver slip down his spine at the sound of the man’s voice. Not only was he incredibly attractive, his voice was sexy as hell too. He found himself staring into the man’s eyes, positive that he’d never seen that shade of blue before, and Castiel was staring right back. When Charlie cleared her throat next to him, he startled and dropped his eyes and the hand he was still gripping Castiel’s with.
“So, uh, when you say interesting, are you referring to the cemetery in your yard?” he asked. Castiel smiled and nodded.
“Yes. I’d heard rumors there was one in the backyard, but it wasn’t. It’s in a corner of the front yard. I’m debating on leaving it or contacting the city to see if they will relocate them. There seem to be about 8 graves in total, but I’m not finished removing all of the vines and weeds.”
“There was a body buried here when we moved in. Out back. The family buried their son back in the mid 1800s after he died of Typhoid. He was about 3. So sad. It’s all on public record. When we came across the headstone, we went and researched it. His name was John Perchant and his parents were interred over at Mt. Auburn cemetery, in a family mausoleum, so we paid to have him moved there. It didn’t feel right that he be here and his family be there without him,” Dorothy explained.
“Mmm, yes, that is the situation I am debating on. If it were a single grave, I’d consider doing that, but it’s quite expensive to move so many. I’m hoping the state will foot the bill, but I need to look into the matter further,” Castiel explained.
“I can ask my brother for you. He’s a family lawyer, but he might know something on those laws, or know someone that does,” Dean offered. Castiel smiled again, and maybe it made Dean’s heart beat just a little faster.
“I would appreciate that, thank you. Apparently it was quite common to bury your loved ones on your own property back then.”
“And slaves. Those will often be unmarked graves,” Dean said. Castiel’s eyes opened wide.
“Slaves?”
“This is the South. There’s a slave cemetery not far from here. Last body interred there was in 1898. It reached full capacity, and the state stopped any further burials after that,” Dean explained.
“How do you know so much about this, if you don’t mind my asking?” Castiel tilted his head as he awaited an answer.
“Oh, Dean here is the high school history teacher and county historian.” Charlie spoke up first. Castiel had seemed interested, even if only in getting to know someone new, but now he seemed even more so. Dean wasn’t quite sure how to read him.
“High school history? You must have your hands full then.”
“I teach AP American and European history, so it’s not all that bad. Most of my kids pay close attention,” Dean shrugged.
“Fascinating. So, tell me, what do you know of this area?” Castiel asked.
As Dean launched into a description of the town over the last several hundred years, Charlie took Dorothy by the hand and led her away. People came by on and off, saying hello or joining their conversation briefly but for the most part they were left alone. Dean preferred it that way. The more he got to know Castiel, the more he liked him. Shame the guy was married though. Suddenly he remembered the woman he’d seen in the window of the house earlier. He felt guilty for even thinking Castiel might be interested when he had someone waiting at home for him.
“So, how come your wife didn’t come with you tonight? Is she not the partying type?” he asked. Castiel frowned, and the way he cocked his head in confusion was adorable.
“I’m not married. Why would you think that I have a wife?”
“I saw a woman in one of the upstairs rooms when I was walking past. White dress, long hair. I couldn’t make out much more than that. I thought…” Now it was Dean who was confused. He was certain he had seen a woman in the window.
“You’re certain you saw someone in my house?” Castiel was walking towards the parlor just off the living room that was currently serving as the coat room. Dean didn’t even realize he was following until they were both grabbing their coats.
“I know I saw a woman. Clear as day. I even stopped walking to look up at her. I thought a family had moved into the house.”
Castiel was alarmed by that.
“I live alone, Dean. I am not married, I have no children, and my nearest relatives are in Illinois. No one should be in my house. I should go and check on that.”
“I’ll go with you. If someone is in your house, it’s not safe to go in there alone.”
Castiel’s expression softened, and he gave a small smile.
“Thank you. We should tell Charlie and Dorothy that we’re leaving though.”
Dean was in agreement so after they had told their hosts what was going on, they started on the trek to Castiel’s. The temperature had dropped and the wind was howling even worse than earlier.
“You didn’t drive tonight?” Castiel asked, turning up the collar of his own coat as they headed into the wind.
“My transmission went out. I’ve been putting off replacing it because of how expensive it is. My car is a classic, so all the parts are pricey. I put it off long enough that it finally cracked. I’ll be putting in a new one next weekend though. It’s been ordered. I’m on foot until then, unless I borrow my brother’s car.”
“What do you drive?” Castiel asked.
“A ’67 Chevy Impala. She was my dad’s. He passed her down to me when I turned 18. She’s my pride and joy,” Dean replied proudly.
“She sounds beautiful. It made no sense for me to drive half a block, so my car is in my garage. I just have a jeep.”
“Hey, jeeps are pretty cool. Removable top?”
Castiel nodded. “I love that in the summer, but I hate it in the winter.”
“I bet.” Dean stopped when they reached the house. Castiel opened the gate and motioned for Dean to follow. They both paused to look up at the house.
“Which window?”
Dean pointed out the one he’d seen her in. It was dark now.
“That’s my bedroom.” Castiel looked at Dean for a moment before heading up the path to the door. Dean quickly followed.
“Be quiet when you open the door. And listen for anything that sounds out of place,” Dean whispered. Castiel nodded as he slipped the key into the lock. Once the door was open he stepped silently into the house. Dean did the same. They stood for a long moment just listening, but it was hard to hear much inside the house when the wind was howling loudly outside. Castiel moved over to a lamp near the window and flipped it on. Very quickly they checked the house, splitting up to make sure no one got past either of them if indeed someone was in the house, but every room stood empty. They made their way back down to the living room, where they stripped their heavy coats off and Castiel hung them on a coat rack near the door.
“Can I offer you a drink? I have tea, coffee, beer…” Castiel was busy going through the list of things he had available, not looking at Dean, whose eyes were wandering over the furnishings and meager decorations.
“Wait a minute…” Dean took in the room, with its antique furniture, ornate fireplace, and chandelier. It was all so familiar…
It clicked for him suddenly, making him gasp in surprise. Castiel turned to look at him.
“What is it?”
“I’ve seen this room before!” Dean looked at him for a second before looking around again. He pulled the picture he’d shown Charlie earlier from his inner pocket and handed it to the other man.
“This…is my house.” Castiel seemed as surprised as Dean felt.
“That’s what I thought. It says Hoffman Ball on the back.”
Castiel turned the photograph over, arching one eyebrow as he read the year and the words beneath it.
“Hoffman was my mother’s maiden name.” He turned it back over and studied it more closely. “This is the same furniture.”
“Did it come with the house?” Dean moved over to the red settee near the fireplace and ran his hand over the wood trim. It had roses carved into it and was quite lovely.
“It was all in a room in the back, covered in drop cloths. Some of it had to be thrown out but some of it still had good bones, even if the fabric was sort of gross. I had this one reupholstered because I thought it was a beautiful piece. The tables and such were still good. The lamps are originals as well, though I rewired them myself. I’m in the process of rewiring the entire house. It’s all very outdated.” Castiel was still looking at the photograph as he walked over to where Dean was standing. “I believe this was my great, great aunt standing next to this man.”
Dean saw him pointing to the woman his great grandfather had his arm around.
“What was her name?”
Castiel chewed for a moment on the inside of one cheek before he went into motion. “I think I have it written down on paperwork in my office. Follow me.”
He left the living room, heading down a hall, and Dean hurried after him. They turned into a room on the left and Castiel turned the switch on the wall, flooding the room in warm light. More chandeliers.
“They’re all real crystal. I’ve left them because they’re quite lovely as well as expensive.” Castiel explained as he crossed the room and went to a desk. It seemed out of place against the vintage flowered wallpaper and elegance of the chandelier. Bookcases lined every wall of the large room but only about a third of them were filled. Once upon a time this must have been the library. Castiel had seated himself behind the desk and was fishing around in one of the drawers, so Dean sat in one of the chairs opposite him.
“Ah ha!” The man cried as he pulled a stack of papers out. He set them on the desk and began rifling through them.
“These are documents on the house, its history, and on the graves outside. Apparently this house was built by my great, great grandfather, Emmanuel Hoffman. He married a woman by the name of Rose and started building the house. Apparently he was rather wealthy, so he had the money to hire a company to come in and help him build it. That was the first tragedy to occur on the property that is documented. One of the workers fell off the roof and died. After that, things went smoothly. Every few years Emmanuel added on to the house. The last room was added in 1913. He and Rose went on to have 3 children. That lived. According to this, of their surviving children they had a daughter Olive, who was born in 1900, a son William born in 1902, and a daughter Annaliese born in 1905. Emmanuel was a successful lawyer. Rose was a popular socialite. Apparently this house has seen a lot of parties in its time. The last party to be held here was the Autumn Ball in 1927.” Castiel pushed a piece of paper across the desk, and Dean picked it up to read it.
“Cas, this is a death certificate.”
“The lady that sold me the house said that in 1928 Annaliese died here. She committed suicide.”
Dean read over the document before leaning forward to snag the photograph Castiel had laid on the desk. He turned it so he could look at the woman again. Long hair, coiffed in perfect waves that cascaded down her shoulders, a bright, happy smile on her face. The way she leaned into Dean’s great-grandfather told him that they had known one another, and probably quite well.
“I think they were seeing each other. Romantically.”
Castiel looked up from another document he’d been reviewing to see Dean studying the people in that photograph again.
“They did look rather intimate there.”
“My great-grandfather, his name was Frank Campbell. He married Clara Fitzgerald in 1928. So I’m a little confused about this.” Dean really didn’t understand how Frank and Annaliese knew one another.
“Well-” Castiel was interrupted by a loud thump from the second floor. Both men looked at the ceiling for a long moment before looking at one another again.
“I’m certain we’re alone here.”
“Yeah, I even checked under beds and in closets. There’s no one else in here but us,” Dean said.
The house was huge but old, so the floorboards creaked. No one would have been able to sneak around so easily that they both would have missed someone hiding. He set the picture on the desk and got to his feet at the same time Castiel did. Another thump, this time directly above them, spurred them both into motion. Castiel headed out of the room and in the direction of a back set of stairs. Dean was right his heels. As they reached the second floor they heard the sound again. It was coming from a room on the right. The one Castiel had said was his room. He ran to the door and threw it open. Dean was there a few seconds later and saw as Castiel turned the old fashioned switch on the wall. The room was empty, save for a floorboard that had been pulled up.
“What the hell?” Castiel moved slowly across the room to peer into the empty space in the floor.
“You didn’t do that?” Dean asked. Castiel shook his head.
“No, I like the original floors, and none of the boards were rotten so nothing needed to be replaced.”
It looked like there was something inside the narrow space, so Dean squatted and reached down into it. He shuddered at the spider that ran over his hand before the tips of his fingers brushed across something.
“What is it?” Castiel leaned over as Dean pulled a box out of the space.
“Let’s find out.”
He stood up and carried it over to the bed. The room smelled amazing, like the cologne Castiel was wearing and the scent of whatever fabric softener he had used to wash his bedding. He was acutely aware of how close the man was standing as he found the latch on the front of the wooden box and flicked it into the open position.
“So this was Annaliese’s.” Castiel breathed the words out as Dean lifted the lid. He saw the initials on the inner lid, engraved in a very elegant font.A.H.
“Look at these.” Dean pulled a stack of letters out and handed them over. He saw the book at the same time Castiel did.
“Is that…”
“Yep, definitely a diary,” Dean said as he lifted it out. Again the initials were monogramed on the cover. While Castiel began looking through the letters, Dean opened the diary.
“These all seem to be written by an F. Campbell,” Castiel murmured as he skimmed over each new letter he opened.
“Which leads me to believe that they were in a relationship,” Dean said.
For several minutes both men read in silence. Castiel was on the 5th letter in the pile before he gasped.
“Dean!”
Dean looked up from the diary.
“What?”
“Oh my God, my family were criminals!” Castiel looked up at him, his blue eyes wide with shock.
“What exactly were they into?” Dean was curious. So far the diary had just proven to be the ramblings of a rich, bored socialite.
“Apparently my great-grandfather was a bootlegger!” Castiel pointed to the letter in question. “And your great, great-grandfather was who he was avoiding. He was a police officer? Alexander Campbell of Lawrence, Kansas, was investigating the purchase and sale of whisky and other prohibited libations, or so this says. According to these letters his son Frank was friends with my great-grandfather, William, who went by Bill. They attended college together and apparently Frank spoke often enough of Bill that it raised his father’s suspicions that they were into illegal activities. Alexander ordered Frank to keep an eye on the family, to get in close and let him know anything he happened to discover. Except it sounds like he started having feelings for Bill’s sister, Annaliese, who went by Anna. He confessed everything to her.” Castiel handed over the letter he had just been reading. “I think he fell in love with her.”
Dean scanned the letter quickly before turning back to the diary and jumping further ahead.
“It would seem that she was in love with him too, except it went a little further than that.”
“Further how?” Castiel inquired.
“Well, the last few entries made it seem like she was in a great deal of pain emotionally. She was scared and angry, and very hurt.” Dean flipped to the last entry. “Fuck…”
“Oh…” Castiel read the words over his shoulder. “Oh my…”
“This…” Dean shook his head sadly. “It was so avoidable. Sounds like my great, great granddad was a great big bag of dicks.”
“So Frank and Anna fell in love and wanted to be together, but his father forbade it, because of what Anna’s father and brother were doing with selling alcohol. He wouldn’t let his son be with the woman he loved more than anything in the world.” Suddenly Castiel was leaning heavily against his side, his head coming to rest on Dean’s shoulder. “That’s the saddest thing I think I’ve ever heard.”
“And good old Frank got her pregnant, and still his father wouldn’t let them be together. Rather than follow his heart, he listened to his father. This entry was on the day Frank and Clara married. It was September of 1928. The ball was Halloween the year before.” Dean found himself leaning into Castiel in return. It was depressing and shameful knowing that politics and a ridiculous need to not tarnish the Campbell name was the reasoning behind denying 2 people in love their happiness.
“I find that I am more distraught than I thought I would be,” Castiel murmured. Dean’s arm came up around him and rubbed his shoulder gently.
“I’m going to ask my grandfather what he knew about this. I’m ashamed. There’s a huge picture hanging in his house from his parents’ wedding. I used to ask him about it when I was a kid because for 2 people who were just married, I expected them to look a lot happier. If anything, they both looked incredibly miserable. Especially Frank. Guess now I know why.” Dean shook his head as he reached back into the box and moved a few things around.
“Wait, what’s this…” He took his arm back and reached down to pick up a delicate linen handkerchief that was knotted. Something heavy rested in the middle.
“Let me see that for a moment,” Castiel reached out to accept the small bundle and went about carefully unknotting the fabric while Dean rooted around in the box some more.
“What does ‘third floor, under the window seat’ mean?” He had found a piece of paper with words written in Latin. If he hadn’t taken the language in college he might not have known what it said. Castiel had finally opened the handkerchief, revealing a pocket watch that was tucked inside.
“Who is Fredrick Campbell?”
Dean looked over at the watch.
“Uh, that would be my great, great uncle. Frank’s younger brother and the way my grandpa talks about him, the black sheep of the family. Why would she have Fred’s watch? That doesn’t make sense at all.”
“I have no idea. I’m mildly confused here myself,” Castiel admitted. The sound of someone crying seemed to drift into the room. Both men cocked their heads and listened. Outside the winds continued to howl, but the crying wasn’t coming from out there. It was coming from inside the house.
“Dean, this is unnerving.”
Castiel sounded scared, and Dean felt the need to protect him. He moved closer and rubbed gently at his back. Hearing random crying was setting his nerves on edge too, and maybe standing close was for his benefit, too. No one had to know that. The crying grew louder.
“I-I’m going to take a look real quick.” Dean hoped he sounded brave because he certainly didn’t feel it. Slowly he stepped away and moved towards the door. Taking a deep breath, he poked his head out of the room and looked down the hall.
“Do you see anything?” Castiel whispered.
“No. Hall’s empty.” Dean replied after looking in both directions. The crying seemed to have moved though and now it sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a staircase at the end of the hall. “Come on, let’s go check out the 3rd floor.”
“Are you crazy?” Castiel hissed.
“That note says 3rd floor, under the window seat. Is there a window seat somewhere upstairs?” Dean turned to look back at the other man. Castiel had stripped off his jacket and tie. He was standing there wearing a waistcoat over a white dress shirt and looking even sexier than before. It wasn’t fair.
“Well, technically yes, but it was partially taken apart. I have plans to restore it eventually.”
“Show me. I want to see if there’s something hidden there.”
Castiel frowned before finally nodding. He led the way to the stairs. The crying seemed to have moved up the stairs to the third floor and stayed ahead of them as they made their way up.
“Is that…,” Castiel shook his head. “That’s crazy. I don’t believe in ghosts.”
Dean licked his lips but didn’t say anything. He knew ghosts were real. He’d been seeing them since he was a little boy.
“Where’s the window seat?”
“In here. It gives a lovely view of the front yard and street beyond.” Castiel replied and led Dean into a large room where there was a bay window with a partially deconstructed seat beneath it. Dean took a moment to look out the window. Sure the view was nice, but one thing he noticed right away was that he had a view of the cemetery in the front yard. He turned his attention to the seat itself. It must have been beautiful when it was first installed.
“This really doesn’t need a whole lot of work. Strip the wood, add a nice veneer, some cushions, it would be a great spot to sit and read,” Dean commented as he studied the area. Why would there be a note in her box directing them up here? It didn’t make sense.
“Dean, look at this.”
Castiel was crouched down in front of the seat, his fingers running over the rough wooden panels. There were two sets of initials carved into the wood.
A.H.
F.C.
“Hmm.” Dean crouched down, mirroring the other man’s position, and ran his fingers over the letters. “Wait.” He found a small groove in the board and lifted. It came right out.
“Oh! How did you know to do that?” Castiel asked as he reached into the space under the seat.
“One too many suspense movies,” Dean laughed. Castiel joined in for a moment before he began taking out the things he was finding inside the wall.
“What are all of these?” He wondered as he handed everything over to Dean.
“I’m betting this bag contains more love letters. And this bag, it has fabric in it.” Dean was opening up that one, saving the letters for later and carefully pulling the fabric out.
“At first I thought you were pulling out a wedding gown. What is that?” Castiel had another box in his hands. It seemed that Annaliese was a bit of a hoarder.
“It’s a christening gown.” Dean lifted the material up carefully. It was moth eaten and partially destroyed by years of mold, but still identifiable.
“For her baby,” Castiel concluded.
“Yeah. Shit. Do you think she was pregnant when she died?” Dean asked.
“I have no idea. There’s nothing in the documents for the house about that.” Castiel pointed to the bag of letters. The bag itself had been destroyed in part by age and mold. “I’m not sure how well these have fared. Maybe there are clues in them.”
Dean laid the gown out on top of the seat and together they started going through the letters.
“I can’t make out most of this. The ink bled and the paper is so decayed.” Castiel sighed as he opened yet another unreadable letter.
“The ones in the center are clearer. Oh…shit…Cas, look at this!” Dean’s eyes widened as he read the letter. He handed it over. “Can you read Latin?”
“No, sorry. What does it say?”
“Shit, this…” Dean ran a hand through his hair and looked at the letter that Castiel was holding. “I don’t think the baby was Frank’s.”
“What? That doesn’t make sense.” Castiel was growing more confused by the second. The crying could be heard again. He tensed and Dean’s hand came to rest on his arm.
“Hold on a sec. I think she’s trying to reach out to us.”
“What? Who, Annaliese?” Castiel was skeptical. Dean didn’t blame him. Most people were. Instead, he decided to address the spirit directly.
“Annaliese? We’re family. Well, yeah, sort of. We’re here to help. I can hear you, and if you want me to, I can see you too. I saw you earlier tonight, in the window. I know you’re trying to tell us something important.”
The crying grew louder and Castiel shivered as the temperature in the room suddenly dropped.
“It’s my fault!” A woman shouted, though it sounded like the voice was coming from the other end of the house. It was clear enough that even Castiel heard it. His blue eyes widened, and he moved closer to Dean.
“Was that…her?”
Dean nodded. “Yes, it was.” He turned to survey the room. She was close but not showing her face.
“What was your fault? Tell us.”
From the far corner of the room a figure dressed in white stepped forward. Long, red hair flowed down over slim shoulders. Pale skin and large, hazel eyes belonging to a beautiful, yet haunted young woman were what they were greeted with. She was definitely the same woman from the photograph.
“Annaliese?” Dean asked, looking directly at her.
“You…can see me?” Her eyes widened slightly.
“Yes, and you are a lovely young woman,” he replied. Her smile was sad.
“It must be All Hallows Eve then, when the veil is the thinnest.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind one ear and looked down at the items laying on the floor. When she saw Castiel, she smiled.
“You. You woke me.”
Castiel’s eyes widened, and he looked to Dean.
“What? I did this?”
Dean patted his arm but kept his attention on the girl.
“You were waiting for someone in the family, weren’t you?”
She nodded. “There were others that came, but I chased them away. They didn’t belong here. After papa sold the house, there were so many others. He wanted this place forgotten. For me to be forgotten. I thought I had been. Then Castiel came back. I knew he was blood the moment he walked through the door, but he couldn’t see me or hear me. I tried to let him know I was here.”
“Of course you did. And it’s alright now because I’m here to help. What happened? Do you remember?” Dean asked.
She frowned for a moment before looking past them and out the window again.
“I fell in love with the wrong man. My mother said it would be my undoing, and she was right. I ruined everything.” Tears slipped down her cheeks but she wasn’t sobbing like before. Everything about her was so sad, so melancholy. It broke Dean’s heart.
“I only know part of the story. You were in love with Frank, but you got pregnant by someone else, and then what?”
Her eyes snapped over to Dean, her brow furrowing in what looked like disgust.
“Frank?! You think I was in love with Frank?!”
Dean looked to Castiel, whose own expression of confusion matched his.
“Well, yeah? You were standing in the picture with him.”
Annaliese snorted and cocked her head as she pointed to the letters.
“It was not Frank I was in love with. I was trying to help Frank. It didn’t work out for either of us.”
“Ok, now I’m really confused. Why don’t you start at the beginning? Fill me in on everything?” Dean asked. She sighed and after a moment knelt down on the floor in front of them.
“You might not like this,” she warned.
“Try me,” Dean said.
“Alright.” She pursed her lips and looked thoughtfully over at another corner of the room for a moment before she started talking.
“My father built this house, did you know that?”
Dean and Castiel both nodded.
“It’s a beautiful house. When I heard it was up for sale again, I hurried to make an offer. I wanted it back in the family again,” Castiel said.
“And I thank you for that. My father, he served in the World War. Alexander Campbell did too. They were best friends. Used to joke around that when their kids were all old enough, they were going to marry them off to one another. When my papa came home from the war, he was a different man. Where once he had been jovial and loving, he became cold and distant. I missed him, even after he came home. Olive married as soon as she was old enough and left. Only Billy and I remained. I was ok with that. There were expectations of a Southern lady. I did everything that was asked of me by my parents. I befriended another lady, Ellie Lewmont. Sweet as a peach, she was. I brought her around to meet my family thinking maybe my brother might like her. She sure liked him. The feeling was not mutual though. However, she caught the eye of Fred Campbell. She was very pretty, with honey blonde hair and big blue eyes, and he courted her very briefly before he was proposing. I didn’t think the match was right but my mama told me to hush, that it was none of my business. They married in May of ’27. I was Ellie’s maid of honor. Frank was the best man. They were married 2 months before she came up pregnant. She lost the baby. The next pregnancy didn’t fare any better.”
Castiel could hear the sadness in her voice. She still sounded far away, and he could barely make out her figure sitting before him, but the pain and heartache she felt were almost palpable.
“I sat with Ellie a lot. She was so very upset. I loved her like a sister, you see. And I betrayed her. I doubt she knows that though.” She sighed and shook her head.
“Ellie stopped leaving the house. Fred, he had a bit of a reputation. He was a playboy, and before Ellie there had been quite a few women. I heard rumors that even after they had married there were still others he took to his bed. He flirted. Oh, lordy did he flirt! He was a charmer, that one. Just after Ellie lost her second baby, Fred turned his sights on me, but I was not an easy conquest. Not for him or any man. Frank defended my honor. He warned his brother about pursuing me, that it might cause animosity between our families, but Fred never did mind his father. Not like Frank did. By February I found it difficult to resist his advancements. Ellie still wouldn’t come around. She had lost another baby, and her illness was quite profound.”
Dean nodded. “I remember hearing stories. She managed to have a child finally. A boy, sometime after 1930. He grew up and married the daughter of a senator or something. I think his name was James Campbell.”
“I’m happy she finally got her wish,” Annaliese said.
“So what happened with Fred? He continued to pursue you?” Castiel asked. She nodded.
“That he did. By May, a year after they had been married, I knew I was in love with him. That was about the time I learned Frank’s secret.”
Dean glanced at Castiel before looking at her again. “His secret?”
“This is the part you won’t like.” She shook her head and to both men she appeared almost frightened.
“Trust me when I say, it won’t matter anymore. They’ve all passed on, and the sins or tribulations of the past are not visited upon the sons, as the Bible would have you believe.” Castiel spoke softly, reassuring her that it was alright to tell them.
“I’m not so sure about that. Anyway, Frank, he was a good man. Did what his daddy told him, acted how his mama told him to. He was a gentleman through and through. I wish I’d fallen in love with him instead. Maybe then our families would have remained friends.” She tilted her head as she studied both men. When her gaze settled on Dean she asked “You say you’re family as well?”
“Frank was my great grandfather. He had a son, Samuel. Samuel had my mother, Mary. She had me and my brother Sam.” Dean explained. Annaliese’s smile was one of surprise and of pain.
“Frank…had a baby? I am quite surprised by that. I hope he was happy though. I remember his wedding. It was a rather unpleasant affair.”
“They didn’t look happy in their wedding picture.” Dean agreed. She snorted.
“That’s because they didn’t love each other. Frank never wanted Clara. He was in love with someone else.”
“You?” Castiel guessed.
“Heavens no!” She twisted her hand together nervously as she looked at the letters on the floor again. “Those weren’t from Fred. I wrote correspondence with Frank because he was scared. I was his only friend. The only person that accepted him, besides my brother. He was a good man.”
“I have no doubt of that. I met him a few times when I was really little. He always doted on us kids,” Dean said.
“And he would have too, that’s the kind of person he was.” She seemed insistent on making sure they knew what a good man Frank had been.
“He wasn’t in love with a woman, was he?” Castiel suddenly blurted out the words. Annaliese’s eyes widened. The realization dawned on Dean. No wonder Frank wrote home to his father so often about his friend, and why it raised the man’s suspicions about the Hoffman family. He seriously doubted that suspicion actually had anything to do with bootlegging. Alexander Campbell had learned his son was queer, and he blamed Bill.
“He was in love with Bill.”
“My brother was a good man! He obeyed the laws and took care of his family! I loved him; Olive loved him, everyone did!”
“Annaliese, it’s alright. It’s ok that he was in love with Frank,” Dean said, keeping his tone soft.
“It doesn’t bother you?” She was confused by their lack of shock or anger.
Dean chuckled and scratched nervously at the back of his neck.
“Nah. I mean, I like men too. There’s nothing wrong with me. There was nothing wrong with Frank or with Bill either.” He was aware that Castiel was staring at him, but he was too scared to look back.
For a long time she just stared at him, as though he were a puzzle she were trying to figure out.
“I must admit, I like men too. Exclusively, as in I am not attracted at all to women.” Castiel added. Her gaze fell on him with the same penetrative stare.
“You…you can just say that now? Can you show that love out there? In public?” she asked.
“For the most part, yes. Some people still might have an issue with it, but it’s legal for people of the same sex to get married now, and to adopt children. Took a long time for those laws to change, though,” Dean replied.
She seemed to mull his words over for a long time before she spoke again.
“Frank and Bill, they were born at the wrong time.”
“A lot of people were,” Castiel said.
“I believe you are right,” she agreed.
“So, what happened with Fred?” Dean wanted to get to the bottom of the story, to find out why she was still trapped here in the house.
“Oh, well, though he had loved many before me, I was the one he pledged his love to. We made plans, to run away together. I didn’t even care that I was hurting my best friend, I was so in love with him. And I knew he loved me too. I made a mistake though. I got pregnant.”
“Well, that was as much his fault as yours. You can’t take all the blame.” Castiel told her.
“This is true, but men were not held accountable such as women for such indiscretions. Who the father was didn’t matter. What mattered was that I was with child, and I was unmarried. It was a disgrace that my parents wanted to keep hidden. So…they did. I heard talk about the house for a bit that Alexander was accusing my father of being a bootlegger. It was true, but no one in this area cared, until I turned up pregnant with his son’s child. My parents were so humiliated. I was locked away for a while in my room. Then I was moved up here. My baby, he was born right here in this room. My papa called in a doctor who took my son away as soon as he was born.” Her hand went absently to her belly. Even in death she had the soft bloat of a woman having just had a baby.
“They just took the baby away.” Dean was shocked. Times had changed, and for that he was quite glad.
“I just couldn’t go on after that. It was too much. I made a rope from my bed sheets the morning after my baby was taken from me and ran it up through those rafters.” She pointed to the ones above them. “Took my own life. There was no point in living if I couldn’t have my baby.”
Dean wished he could take her in his arms and hold her, to soothe the pain that poured off her in waves.
“Let me see what I can find for you, ok? I’ll see if I can’t find your son for you.”
She smiled sadly and looked at the letters again. “You know, he left those for me after I died. I don’t know what’s in them.”
Castiel looked down at the letters. Maybe they held some clues. Too bad he couldn’t read them.
“They’re in Latin and some are so far gone, they’re unreadable.”
“Frank, he taught Latin. We wrote in it so others wouldn’t have as easy of a time being nosey and reading our letters,” She explained.
“Only a few seem to have been from Frank. The rest seemed to have come from Fred, and they’re in English. They were written after your death though. Let me see what I can find out real quick.” Dean gingerly lifted the stack of letters up again and began opening them one by one. He’d thought time had sealed the letters shut but it seemed that Fred had closed them up. He scanned the contents of each letter, reading what he could, skipping over sections where the ink had faded or time had damaged the writing.
“He professes his love in each one of these, and for a very long time after you died. I don’t think he ever got over you.” He said. Her breath caught and he realized she was crying again.
“I shouldn’t have left, he needed me…”
“I’m sure he’s still waiting for you, just in heaven now,” Castiel said.
“Oh, I’m sorry, it looks like he demanded to know what your father had done with the baby. He checked every orphanage for Kansas, Missouri, Oklahoma, and Tennessee, but no baby showed up during that time, so he went after your father, threatened to expose him and the apparent lie that you had died suddenly in your sleep of natural causes, and to alert his father that Emmanuel was indeed dealing in alcohol. He included a newspaper clipping mentioning your death. That’s weird because didn’t the papers for the house list her death as a suicide?” Dean looked over at Castiel who nodded.
“I have the papers downstairs that say that you killed yourself.”
“I don’t know why he would have lied, other than at that time, it would have ruined the family name. Where is my child? Did he ever learn what became of him?” She was desperate to know.
“He…didn’t make it. Apparently he had trouble breathing at birth and died within a few hours of his delivery. He was buried in a pauper’s grave up at the slave cemetery where your father knew no one would look.” Dean was still sorting through the letters. “This one was posted September of 1949. It appears to be the last one. Fred wrote that your father had died and the house was up for sale. He wanted to buy it, but Olive was in charge and she wouldn’t sell it to him. Your mother couldn’t stay after losing you and then him. He mentioned his son James who was born 2 years after you had passed away, and he mentioned Ellie’s illness getting worse before she passed away in 1938. He never remarried. Says here, his heart belonged to you and that when he died, he hoped you would be reunited again in heaven where you would be with him and your son again.”
Annaliese burst into tears. “My baby, I need him. I don’t know how to get to Fred…”
“Hey, I know where he’s buried. Fred was going to your son’s grave every single year. I can…move him. Here. Put him to rest where he belongs, in your arms. You’re here on the property, right?” Dean asked. She nodded eagerly.
“I know exactly where I am buried. I watched the men as they dug my grave. You would do this for me?”
“Of course. No one deserved to go through what you, Frank, Bill, and Fred all did. But if I can help you find your true love again, I’ll do it.” He gathered up the letters. “I think these belong with her too, don’t you?” He directed the last part at Castiel who nodded in agreement.
“I’ll go with you. We’ll do it together.”
“No. I’ll find the baby-”
“Paul. His name was Paul.” Annaliese interrupted. Dean smiled and nodded.
“I’ll find Paul, you find Annaliese’s grave. When I get back we’ll put him with his mother where he belongs.”
Castiel reached over and placed his hand over the one Dean was holding the letters with.
“Thank you. If we do this all now, we might be done before sunrise.”
Dean groaned as he got to his feet. His knees ached and he had more to do before the night was over.
“I’m going to head up to the cemetery. Can I borrow your car?”
Castiel got to his feet and fished a set of keys from his pocket.
“I have shovels in the garage.”
“Then let’s do this.” Dean was determined to bring this family the rest they rightfully deserved.
It had been a long and unusual night for Castiel, and that was putting it mildly. He had met Dean, had felt drawn to the man actually, and he was under the impression that the feeling was mutual. Mentioning the woman in his house though had been rather alarming, but having Dean come home with him? Definitely the most unique way he’d ever gotten a man to come back to his place and were the circumstances different, he’d possibly have the man bent over, sweating and screaming his name. But no, they were dealing with a ghost, a sad, lonely woman that wanted to be reunited with her child and the love of her life. He couldn’t imagine being in her place, but if he had it within him to help her find peace, then he would do whatever it took.
The temperature had dropped and it was difficult to dig in the dark with a coat on but to take it off would for sure earn him a bout of pneumonia, so he kept it on. Just to be on the safe side, though, he had changed into a worn out pair of jeans, long sleeve tee shirt, and a thick flannel. He didn’t want to get his suit any more messed up than it was. He’d dug out his Carhart coat from the back of his closet, and now he was a bit toowarm. There was a steady stream of sweat sliding down his back and pooling along the waistband of his underwear. His hair was plastered to his head and oh, lovely, now it was starting to drizzle.
He could sense Annaliese nearby but without Dean around, or maybe it was because they were outside, he couldn’t actually see or hear her anymore. The anxiety she felt was still there though, cloying in the frigid night air. When his shovel finally struck something, he stopped to wipe the dirt away. It was a box.
“Not opening that up til he gets back,” he muttered. Dean still hadn’t returned. He supposedly knew which grave the child was buried in, but a lot of the markers for the slaves were just numbers or occasionally a few words rather than a name. He sat down on a fallen tree stump that kept him just a bit more protected from the howling winds and waited. It was a half hour or so later before he saw headlights coming down the street. He wanted to sob with relief when they turned into his driveway. A few minutes later Dean was crossing the yard, something small and wrapped in a blanket was cradled in arms.
“You changed.” The first thing he had noticed as he got to his feet was that Dean was no longer in his tux. He wore jeans, dirty in the knees now, and a heavy canvas jacket.
“I wasn’t digging in my ancestor’s clothes. It felt wrong.” Dean stopped in front of him.
“Is that…” Castiel’s eyes were locked on the bundle. The blanket looked clean and new.
“Yeah. I, uh, stopped and bought a little blanket on my way there. It felt wrong to bring him back without one. He was buried with one but it disintegrated.” Dean pulled the blanket tighter around his little bundle. It was so small…
“I didn’t open the box. I reached it, but I couldn’t bring myself to actually open it.” Castiel looked up at him. He could see the understanding in Dean’s eyes.
“Yeah, this was hard enough. I might have nightmares for a long time to come. I’m not really looking forward to this part,” Dean admitted. They approached the grave together. Dean could see Annaliese standing on the other side, her eyes locked on the blanket. Though the wind whipped around their heads, her hair remained still.
“We’re going to lay him in your arms, where he belongs, ok?”
Her eyes lifted to meet his own and he could see the tears there. She nodded and watched as he handed the bundle over to Castiel and hopped down into the grave. The wood was dark, something more expensive and ornate than simple pine, and the lid was heavy. It took the better part of 20 minutes and his fingers going numb before he was able to finally break the lock and wedge it open.
“Oh…”
Despite the time that had passed, Annaliese looked so peaceful lying there, her hands folded neatly in her lap as though she had simply been taking a nap. The curls that had been added post mortem looking fresh as the day they’d been done. To anyone not looking too closely, she appeared to be sleeping, just poised on the edge of wakefulness. The darkened tips of her fingers and the slightly sharper edge of her cheekbones told the truth. A high ruffled dress covered the ligature marks that were no doubt on her neck.
“How is she not…” Castiel looked around, not seeing her, worried that he might offend her.
“I think that with her father’s status and wealth, he paid extra for her embalming to be done carefully, and for everything to look like she was just sleeping. I think it hurt to see his youngest child like this, knowing he’d never see her alive again.” Dean shook his head sadly as he considered the pain and misery that the Hoffman family must have endured. He turned to Castiel and held his arms out. Once he had the baby again, he laid him gently in his mother’s arms.
“Oh…my sweet angel…” Annaliese cried. Dean looked up to see her, surprised to see her holding a blanket to her chest. A tiny hand poked out of the top and wrapped around her finger.
“He’s so perfect, he looks just like Freddie…” Her breath hitched and when she looked up, her eyes were filled once more with tears. “Thank you.”
Dean felt the lump in his throat and gave a brisk nod before carefully closing the casket once more. With help from Castiel, he climbed out and they started filling the grave back in.
“Is she still here?” Castiel asked once the last clump of dirt had been put back.
“I don’t see her, or feel her. Doesn’t mean she’s gone though,” Dean replied as they carried everything back to the shed.
“I am exhausted.” Castiel felt it down to his very core. He was bone weary tired. Dean nodded in agreement.
“Me too. I don’t think I’ve ever stayed up this late. At least, not since college.”
Castiel pulled his phone out to check the time. The sun was high so it was definitely after 6. He gasped when he saw it was actually after 7. No way was he going in to work today, and most likely neither was Dean.
“It’s after 7. Do you plan to go in today? Will you be able to function?”
Dean shook his head as they headed for the house.
“No, I’m a zombie. I’ll call in, take a sick day. I rarely ever do it. Charlie will probably cover my class today. She’s one of the subs that fills in. I’ll tell her I’m not well. No way am I letting her know what we did here tonight!” Dean gave a nervous chuckle as he followed Castiel into the house.
“Well, I know I need a shower, and I’m sure you do as well. And a few hours of sleep. I’m calling in to my office as well, letting them know that I won’t be in. You are welcome to stay. I’ll give you a ride home once I’m sure I won’t kill us both by being behind the wheel.” Castiel was stripping out of his coat, groaning with how badly his body ached. Dean stepped forward to help him out of it.
“You’re sure? I don’t want to impose.”
“Dean. Really? This isn’t exactly how I expected my night to go but honestly, since it has, I’m glad you were here with me. I might have up and sold the house and never returned were you not at my side. I appreciate your presence this evening. More than you might ever realize.” Castiel spoke earnestly. He wanted to say more, to tell Dean that he hoped they could continue to be friends, and maybe even more than that. Despite their families’ connection, he just really liked the man.
“You love one another.”
Dean spun around to see Annaliese standing a few feet away.
“What? No, we just met tonight.”
She smiled and stepped forward. The baby still cradled in her arms appeared to now be sleeping. He was no longer the scattering of bones that he had to collect bit by bit from an unmarked grave, but was all rosy cheeks and pale skin. A light dusting of dark blonde hair at his crown must have come from his father, Fred. He was a beautiful baby.
“But you care for him. As my brother cared for Frank. I can see it in the way you look at him, and the way he looks at you. It is obvious that you want more between the two of you than simple friendship,” she said.
“Dean, is she still here? I thought this was helping her to pass on.” Castiel looked around but he no longer saw or heard Annaliese. He moved closer on instinct and Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
“She is. She’s actually just giving me some advice.”
“Oh? What kind of advice?” Castiel asked.
Annaliese smiled knowingly. “Don’t be afraid to love him. He deserves to be happy, and so do you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. One step at a time.” Dean smiled and winked at her. Her laughter was cut off and her eyes suddenly widened as she looked past him.
“Freddie…” She moved past where Dean and Castiel stood, reaching out for something even Dean could not see. There was a crackle of electricity and suddenly she was gone. The charge in the air that lingered when she was around suddenly disappeared.
“She’s gone now, isn’t she?” Castiel looked around, but it felt different somehow. Quieter.
“Yes, I believe her love came to take her home. They’re reunited once more, as a family,” Dean replied. Castiel slumped against him, the exhaustion catching up to him once again.
“It’s so bittersweet. I feel terrible that this happened to them, but I am happy that they found their way back to one another.”
Dean hummed an agreement before taking him by the hand and leading him towards the stairs.
“Dean?” Castiel’s stomach did a flip the moment Dean took his hand. At the bottom of the staircase Dean turned back to look at him.
“She gave me some good advice.”
“And what was that?”
Dean smiled. “She sensed that we are attracted to one another, and she says we deserve happiness. She knew that I wanted for us to be more than just friends.”
Castiel smiled wide. “You do? I-I want that too.”
Dean tugged his hand until Castiel moved closer. “I like you, Cas. I’d like to take you out on a real date. Grave digging and laying spirits to rest isn’t my idea of a good first date. So how does Italian food and conversation that doesn’t include our dead relatives sound? Maybe this Friday?”
“I would like that. Also, I have tickets for next Wednesday for an art exhibit, if you’re interested. Black tie, but you don’t have to wear that tux.” Castiel was close enough now that their chests were pressed together. Dean slipped an arm around his waist to hold him there.
“That sounds good too. But first? I need this dirt and sweat washed off. And I need a decade’s worth of sleep.”
Castiel leaned in to press a soft kiss against his lips. “Then come on, gorgeous. I need that too.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
An hour later, after showers and calls in to their jobs, they curled up together in Castiel’s bed, wrapped in one another’s arms, their sleep was peaceful and blessedly free of any dreams.
Title: His Wings Like Night
Author: Kit Moore (@gayamericanoutlaw)
Artist: @k6034
Rating: PG-13
Length: 4100 words
Pairings: Dean/Cas
Warnings/tags: warnings: some gore and swearing (“b**tard,” “SOB”), tags: historical AU, first meeting AU, injury, angsty Dean, Halloween (of course!)
It’s 1899. Spiritualism is in full swing, demonology is big business, and October 31 – Hallowe’en – is a drunken revel night. Paranoid ex-demonologist Dean Winchester seals himself and his brother inside his house every Hallowe’en night…but his plans for quiet are shattered when a winged man, injured in a demon attack, turns up on his doorstep in need of help. So much for keeping your head down.
Title: The True Meaning of Halloween
Author: bluebellsandcocklesshells
Artist: lotrspnfangirl
Rating: G
Summary: Castiel is miffed that Dean changed their usual Halloween bash plans at the last minute to take his daughter trick-or-treating. It turns out not to be such a bad night after all.
Tags/Warnings: domestic fluff; kid fic; past Dean/Lydia; mild panty kink
Author: whichstiel
Artist: lotrspnfangirl
Word count: 10.8k
Summary: Dean and Castiel infiltrate an extravagant couples-only Halloween party at the invitation of the party’s host who has been receiving mysterious threats. They patrol the party for hex bags and dark altars, interview suspects, and Dean happily scores a lot of free food. He just wishes he could score with Cas.
Read Crazy Hex Girlfriend on AO3
Art is at lotrspnfangirl graphics.
This story was written for the Destiel Halloween Mini Bang. Enjoy and Happy Halloween!
Story by @Feathers750 Art by @Bluebellsandcocklesshells
Title: He Was real
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural
Pairing (s): Dean Winchester/Castiel
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 3936
Warnings/tags: Ghost story, based on a Jon English Song,
Summary: It’s just Dean and his motorcycle on the misty road. Until he picked up a lost soul, Cas was real – Dean was sure he was real…
Title: The Reign of the Dead
Author: @alxdiamond
Artist: @k6034
Summary: Once a year, the dead of Lawrence Township rise from the grave and claim the streets from dusk to dawn. It’s a night when laws of man and God have no meaning, and the living spend it hiding behind barred doors and shuttered windows. But when the love of Dean’s life dies unexpectedly and well before his time, Dean braves the supernatural chaos for a chance to see Castiel again.
