[A Supernatural episode where some sort of object from heaven has fallen into a specific town and it makes angels lose their inhibitions so there's like open angel fights in the streets, demands of worship from humans on pain of death, storms of frogs, that kind of thing. Sam naturally calls Cas to ask about it and he says he'll come check it out, but then when he learns what it's doing...]
Cas: Ah. Um. And Dean is with you?
Sam: ? Yes, man, obviously Dean is with me. [Exchanges a what the hell? look with Dean, who is listening]
Cas: (lying) I think....yes it would be better if I stay here. I need to....swap over the laundry.
Dean: [snatches the phone] Cas, will you just get the hell over here? People are dying! Your tighty-whities can wait. We can't even look at this thing without being arc of the covenant-ed.
Cas: (annoyed) Dean. The spell will affect me. I am still an angel.
Dean: I'm sure you can handle a couple of party drugs in your system. Get here. Now.
[Dean hangs up and turns to Sam]
Dean: What's Cas’s problem?
Sam: (puzzled, but not too concerned) I don't know. Maybe he's worried about losing his inhibitions?
Dean: Cas? Mr Uninhibited? The guy watched porn in front of us. He chats with people at the urinal. If he wasn't born into that coat, he'd have be letting it all hang loose from day one. What's he afraid of doing?
Sam: I don't know. He's weird. He's Cas. What I do know is [plot details].
[After Cas’s arrival he specifically avoids Dean wherever he can, which annoys Dean so he pushes to be the one to investigate the source with Cas (an abandoned warehouse full of demon guards, it's a stealth mission) while Sam takes the other side of the building. Throughout Cas’s time in town, he has stuck his hands into wet cement, followed a ladybug into the road without looking and almost caused a pile-up, and pulled Sam's hair 5 times when he put it in a ponytail, so Sam is glad to abdicate responsibility for him for a while. Cas is cagey, tense, and won't look at Dean. He keeps his hands shoved into his pockets.]
Dean: [faux-ingratiating, he's annoyed] So, how's your day been sunshine? Mine's been great, thanks so much for asking.
Cas: I didn't ask. [He speeds up a few paces to be ahead of Dean. Dean rolls his eyes behind Cas’s back.]
Dean: Yeah, I know. You haven't said more than 3 words at a time to me since you got here. Are you mad about something? Sorry to have interrupted your spa day, but the people of this town need our help.
Cas: [unthinking] I know. I always admire your willingness to help. Your expectation for me to do what I can has changed me for the better. [Stops. Tightens his jaw. He didn't mean to say that.]
Dean: [sarcastic, won't take a compliment] Gee, thanks, I bet you say that to all the girls.
Cas: I don't want the girls. [Visibly annoyed with himself, he starts striding off faster]. It's this way.
Dean: oh, really it's further down the corridor which has no turns, thanks Streetwise.
Cas: stop talking
Dean: oh, you'd like that wouldn't you, just shut up and look pretty, well, you know what, Cas-
[Cas whirls around, grabs Dean's arm and pulls him into a handy store room, cramped with machinery, just before 2 demon guards come past. Dean holds his breath watching their shadows pass under the door as the two demons chat:
Demon 1: don't you ever get tired of working overtime to get a couple of souls here and there? Don't you think-
Demon 2: For the last time, Loncus, I'm not joining your pyramid scheme scheme.
Demon 1: it's not a pyramid scheme, it's called multi-level marketing...[their voices fade out as they pass by]
Dean: (joking) I think Loncus is ready for a timeshare in Miami, what do you think, Cas? [Dean looks to Cas, chest to chest, relieved and ready to joke about the demons, but does a double take. Cas looks almost feverish, panting, straining to keep still, his eyes darting around Dean's face and sticking on his mouth before he tears his gaze away with effort]
Dean: ...Cas?
Cas: We should go.
[Cas moves to do so, but Dean bars the door with his arm]
Dean: I don't think so, Speedracer. You're going to talk to me first.
Cas: (very frustrated) Dean!
Dean: Cas. They're going to be coming back this way pretty quick anyway. [Cas silently concedes, ungraciously] Come on man, you've been acting like I've got leprosy all day. If I've done something, you gotta tell me, because I'm obviously too stupid to figure it out. What did I do?
Cas: (evasive) you haven't done anything.
Dean: I'm calling bull on that. This spell is supposed to bring out what you want to do if there wasn't any fallout, right? So either you're holding something back, or you've always wanted to tell me to stick it, and I don't think it's option B.
Cas: (begrudging) it's not option B.
Dean: great! We're getting somewhere. So what do you want to do, Cas? How can we get back to square? You want to hit me? You wanna cuss me out?
Cas: [frustrated laugh. He does not want to hit him.]
Dean: (excited to be getting somewhere, and frankly a little excited at the concept of being hit) Yeah? You want to beat me up? Take a swing, man, I don't care. If it'll get you out of this weird mood, you can do whatever you want to me. (Seeing Cas’s self control wavering, hyping him up) Yeah, that's it man. Hit me. Hit me. I've got a real punchable face, hit me, h-
[Cas interrupts Dean by stilling his chin with one hand, and kissing him softly. It's quick, and almost chaste if not for the flick of tongue at the end. Dean is stunned silent, which makes Cas a little smug]
Cas: that's what I want.
Dean: (dazed) oh. (recovering into flirty mode, starting to smile) that's all?
Cas: (with heat) no.
Dean: how about you do what you want, then?
Cas: If I did everything I wanted I think you'd die. I want to pour myself into you. I want to hold your soul in the cradle of my being, and stretch you over myself until I am all but consumed. I want to wrestle your spirit into submission and be commanded by your smallest will. I want to destroy you and recreate you with the care I lacked when I made you after hell infused into your every blood vessel. I want to overwhelm you with ecstacy until the only thought you can bear to have is repeating my name. I want to absorb every atom of you.
[A beat. Dean absorbs this. He doesn't know whether to be scared or horny.]
Cas: (a little self-deprecating, knowing it's an anticlimax) I also want to make out.
Dean: (relieved) yeah, yeah, making out sounds good. [They make out for a few seconds, then Dean pulls back] Wait, wait, this is you right? It's not like, implanted by the spell?
Cas: (flatly, he wants to keep kissing) what do you think.
Dean: (giddy) okay, great. [More kissing] Wait- we should probably go and find it though, right?
Cas: [biting down Dean's neck] Sam can handle it.
Dean: But what if-
Cas: [pulls back and looks annoyed/horny, his shirt half open, his hair a mess] [a beat.]
Dean: Sam can handle it. [Launches back into the kiss]
[Cut to Sam, fighting off like 5 demons with the other co-star of the episode (perhaps Garth). They only barely manage to win the day.]
[Outside the building, Sam and Garth have their case debrief, and Dean and Cas stumble out of the building partway through. They're very rumpled, and Dean has hickeys running up his neck. Dean and Cas have swapped ties.]
Sam: finally. What the hell happened to you guys? We were hanging on by our fingernails in there.
Cas: We were-
Dean: [interrupts with a wink to Cas] We were jumped by some demons. I was, uh, distracted.
Sam: I'll say - did one of them get your neck? Rookie error, Dean.
Cas: (deadpan teasing) yes, Dean. You were very sloppy.
Dean: [squawks of delighted outrage]
Sam: Whatever. How are you feeling now, Cas? Impulses under control?
Cas: I believe so. I am feeling very...satisfied.
Sam: (suspicious, but shrugs it off as Cas being Cas) ...right. Do you want to follow us to the Bunker in the truck?
Dean: Actually, how about you drive Baby this time, Sam? I'll ride with Cas. I want to see how it's handling, Cas said it was making some noise or something.
Cas: (confused) there's nothing wrong with-
Dean: (slowly, with raised eyebrows and eye contact so Cas knows he's speaking cryptically) I said, I want to ride with you.
Cas: oh! Yes, yeah, there's a problem with the- uh, the steering.
Dean: We might even have to pull over to get it all the way fixed.
Cas: (heated) Yes. I think that would be best.
[Dean clears his throat and looks away from Cas, tempted to kiss him again right there.] You just keep on going Sam, we'll catch up.
Sam: But-
Dean: [tosses keys to Sam while backing away to Cas's truck] Don't ride the brakes! [Scampers off]
Garth: (paternally magnanimous) Don't worry Sam, I'll ride with you, I got the bus. You won't be lonely. Hey - it's 5.45! The all-state yodelling competition will be airing on 808.213! Hoo boy! You and me are going to have more fun than two pigs at the slop factory!
[Credits]
Sam: [absorbs this with politely hidden dread] sounds great Garth.
[Post-episode stinger setting up big bad stuff, completely irrelevant to the events of this episode]
One day, sometime before Cas is a permanent-ish figure at the bunker:
After hanging with them and doing research for a few hours, Cas says his goodbyes like he always does and walks out.
Dean goes for a quick coffee break—only for Cas come stomping into the kitchen a few minutes later.
Dean grins. “Back so soon?”
“Dean, we seem to have inadvertently locked me inside the bunker with our last warding efforts…”
Dean opens his mouth, then promptly reddens, because what hits him first is a weird sense of relief. (Because of the thought: Cas—safe in the bunker—permanently.)
Dean clears his throat, forcing out a shaky laugh. “Whoops. Well, buddy, maybe that’s your Ace-of-Base sign to move in here for good.”
As far as jokes go, it’s a bad one, and Dean’s brain stalls. (Not that he’s going to keep Cas here. Of course not. Not unless he wants to stay.)
And then it hits him. Crap. Did he just... ask Cas to move in with him?
It’s not weird. It’s not. The bunker was always meant to be a communal hub. They need everyone on board.
It’s practical.
It’s… fine.
Cas wouldn’t even know to read into it. Not that there’s anything to read into.
“Su casa, mi casa—uh, I mean, mi casa is su casa…” Dean stammers, suddenly self-conscious.
Cas repeats the phrase to himself. “Mi casa, su casa…” His voice is soft. “My house, your house?”
Dean’s heart skips a beat.
And then, Cas looks up at him, dead serious, and says, “I suppose it would be practical. I could help out more often that way. Help keep an eye on your condition… and I did learn how to make the coffee in the coffee-maker.”
Dean freezes for a second, not sure if he’s hearing what he thinks he is.
Then, out of nowhere, something bright and overwhelming explodes inside him—like he’s been smote, like his insides are getting BBQ'd. His breath catches, and he laughs awkwardly, desperate to play it off, but it doesn’t go away. It’s like his whole chest is sizzling.
He can’t fight the way his voice comes out buoyant, goofy: “So, uh, it’s settled then. Welcome home!” Dean lifts his coffee mug up in an exaggerated toast.
Cas hesitates, before reaching for one of the empty mugs and clinking it against Dean’s, all faux-ceremonial.
I just think Cas should come home to the Bunker one day and head to Dean's room. He takes off his coat and showers and he's changing into something comfy he borrowed from Dean just once, so long ago, and he means to leave, really he does. But he's just so tired and sore and Dean's bed smells of clean sheets and fragnant little domestic things (Cas doesn't know how Dean makes the place smell so good) and he just ends up collapsing on Dean's bed. The memory foam mattress or whatever it is that Dean's always going on about really does feel heavenly and he finally breathes a sigh of relief and relaxes into the bed. He just lays there and begins scrolling on his phone, playing stupid silly games and texts Claire and Jack. And a while later, he gets enough energy to move and he just rolls over, switches on the TV, and reaches for the snacks Dean has stashed on the bedside table. (He knows where it is, he's seen Dean put it there). And he's chilling and watching trash TV and he doesn't even realise that he's fully relaxed for a good hour. For the first time ever, he's truly at peace and at rest. Finally his mind is silent too. He knows the Bunker is empty for now and he allows himself to fall into a pleasant lull this time. He ends up falling asleep watching the show after he wraps himself in the warm blanket.
Dean finds him like that when he comes home hours later and can't bring himself to disturb him. And he's so tired too. It's just one night. It's probably fine. He leaves the TV on but turns down the volume. And he just gets in bed besides Cas and they fall asleep under the same blanket. And when Dean wakes up, Cas is still asleep and his arm is holding his waist firmly. He's tucked into Cas and he feels warm and safe and he ends up sleeping just a while longer. More than his four hours.
And they do all this before confessing or holding hands.
seeing dean work on the impala gets cas so hard he frequently zaps inside to pretend he is the car but one day dean sees this and climbs in as well so he can give him roadhead in a car that's standing still but he asks cas to grab the steering wheel anyway
Ok but Cas hanging out while Dean works on the cars. He sits in the Impala and that's the only time he's behind the wheel. Dean will occasionally ask him to rev the engine to check if stuff works, otherwise it's quiet, quality parallel play (Dean working the car, Cas indulging in his hobby of Dean-watching).
So Cas is sitting there, hands in his lap, greased tank-top clad Dean popping hoods, screwing parts, lubing joints. He's cleaning a valve so intently that he scratches above his ear with a blackened hand and it smudges all over his hair and cheekbone. He's got a sheen of sweat that makes his eyes glisten. Tongue between his teeth as he looks for the right part on the tray. Huffing and puffing through the repair. And Cas. Well. He realizes he got hard probably twenty minutes ago
Meanwhile Dean's grateful that his mechanic's coveralls are folded down his hips so he can attempt to hide his own hard-on, and no, he's got no clue why Cas' unflinching blue gaze on him replacing gaskets is turning him on so much, but he is indeed losing his mind. Dean tries to escape under the car but he just lays there on the creeper at the realization he's now directly under Cas' ass
if dean had been told by cas that he loved him during a time that he was in a state to emotionally process it he would have spent five entire minutes trying to talk cas out of it
“I’m self sabotaging,” Dean says, pacing back and forth.
“Yes,” Castiel agrees. He is leaning against the table in the war room and has been watching Dean do this for the past eight and a half minutes. “You’re being such at the moment.”
“I’m narcissistic.”
“No more than most.”
“I hurt everyone I touch.”
“Not everyone.”
“Well-“ Dean flaps a hand, still not looking at Castiel. He hasn’t looked at Castiel once since Castiel said the words, and if this were anyone else in this situation it would worry him, but this is Dean, and he somewhat expected this. “Well, lots of people.”
“That’s alright. So do I. It’s our job.”
“Well, those aren’t people, Cas. I’m talking about people.”
Castiel opens his mouth, weighing the pros and cons of getting bogged down in semantics with Dean, and decides against it.
“Everybody hurts people sometimes,” he says instead. “It’s the nature of being alive. And,” he adds, because he also decides he can’t help himself. “I am an angel, not a human being. So by your metric, I am not people either.”
“You-“ Dean does look up at this, voice coming out in a squawk. “Of course you’re people! You’re Cas!”
Castiel’s heart swells and beyond even being in love with him, he is just in this moment extraordinarily fond of him.
“Thank you,” he says.
“Yeah, well.” Dean rubs the back of his head before getting back to it. He stops pacing at least, but starts gesticulating. “I die a lot, and it is a pain in the ass, every time.”
“You and I are about equal on that front.”
“You-“ Dean gives him a frustrated look, although Castiel knows he’s not really frustrated at him. “Did I mention I hurt people?”
“You’ve got a far better track record than Sam. Everybody Sam’s ever slept with or wanted to sleep with dies.”
“I-“ Dean considers. “Yeah. Okay. That’s true.”
“When we sleep together, the problem will be circumvented by the fact that whenever we die we seem to come back, so if we get it over with quickly, we should be fine.”
“We-“ Dean’s gaze snaps to Castiel’s. “When?”
“Yes,” Castiel asserts serenely. “When. If you like.”
Dean’s face works the way it does when he wants something incredibly badly, wants to lie about it, and can’t force the words out.
“You don’t have to make this so hard, you know,” Castiel tells him. “This can be very simple.”
“How?” Dean shouts. “How in- Cas, how in God’s name do you- God is after us, Cas, and- and the situation is fucked! Everything is fucked, all of the time! I am- I am fucked up, Cas! How do you- Christ, how do you even think-“
Castiel pushes himself off the war room table, takes Dean’s chin in his hand, and tilts his face so he can kiss him. Dean freezes under his lips, hands hanging in the air where he left them.
When Castiel pulls back, there is a light dusting of red across Dean’s freckles as Dean opens his eyes, and Castiel is hit with it once more, that overwhelming fondness.
“Like that,” Castiel answers simply.
Dean swallows.
“Okay,” he whispers, and rests his hands on either side of Castiel’s face so he can kiss him again.
If you do this with my fics, or anyone's fics, please know I HATE you. I hate you more than every troll comment, every "your writing sucks kys" comment, every "update soon" comment. I hate you. Other authors hate you. If you want my fic, you either WAIT for it or you pay me for it. And if you won't do one of those things, you don't deserve my fic or anyone else's.
All this does is tell me that you don't see me as a person. All I am is a content machine, and if I'm not working fast enough, you'll feed my writing into a different machine and gobble down whatever it shits out for you.
TBF this problem has been growing for a while. The rise of Generative Artificial Garbage simply makes it really, really stark.
just so my readers know, I DO plan to finish that fic and I DO NOT condone you pasting my work into the plagiarism machine to feed even more plagiarism. If you've done this, fuck you.
Do you ever get reminded of that one really intense longfic that you had every intention of writing and had meticulous notes and complicated outlines for but then something happened and you aren't in the fandom anymore and you still have the desire to write the fic but it's slightly hollow now because it's a good idea and you think it would have been a great fic but you haven't been in the fandom for literally years and you don't have that bit of passion for it that you did when you were writing it and have just a weird moment of nostalgia where you want to reread it but it never existed
Honest to god, post those notes and outlines to AO3. Some people will still enjoy reading it, or maybe someone will pick it up and write it because even if you are no longer in the fandom, your idea enthralls them.
Also as someone who picked up a long fic years after being out of the fandom I planned it for... You can still do it! It felt weird at first, for sure, hollow is a good description, but after a chapter or two... it feels like coming home, imo. You touch the things you loved and remember those parts of it all, you remember that you loved, at all. It's a different sort of nostalgia, and maybe a little bit of grief, sure. I get that there's plenty of reasons why someone wouldn't want to go back, but sometimes it's worth it imo. The long fic I wrote after being gone so long is actually one of my favorites I've ever written and certainly my favorite in that fandom. I don't know if that would be the case if I'd done it when I was still in the fandom.
Post-canon post-reunion post-reuinion-sex. Dean takes Cas out in the Impala for a drive for the first time since he got back a year after he was taken. Before Dean starts the engine he hesitates and gets a little shy and defensively says "don't laugh at me, okay? I need them." and he pulls a pair of plastic framed glasses out of his jacket front pocket and puts them on.
Cas does not stop staring at him, which Dean can only handle up to the first stop light. There's an heated blush on his face when he barks:
"Quit the surveillance Big Brother. Something wrong with my face?"
"You've aged."
"Jesus."
"It's a compliment. Your resourcefulness and resilience have allowed you to live past the time you were intended to by fate."
"You need to go back to charm school, Thermopolis. 'You've aged' is never a friggin compliment."
"It is. You've aged, and you're taking care of yourself."
There's a touch, light, to the side of Dean's face, tracing gently up under the gap of his glasses to caress his crows feet.
"Cas!" Dean complains, "I'm driving!" But he doesn't push his hand away.
"You're growing," Cas continues, sliding a long finger over Dean's eyebag, "You've lived." He taps the leg of Dean's glasses as he withdraws, adding, "You have defied God."
Dean tries very hard to follow the logic, feeling his face screw up as he does, but he's got nothing. "Huh?"
"Chuck's design for humans was faulty, amateur. There was much he did not account for. In creating the means to live, and live well, with the body you have been given, humanity has proven its superiority to God himself."
Dean scoffs, feeling a little shy again, "It's just glasses, Cas."
"The product of thousands of years of innovation. The work of thousands of people across millenia." Cas pauses for a moment, then asks, a touch breathless, "Can I tell you what I like to imagine?"
"Uh, sure?"
"I like to imagine, when I think of the work of other humans across all of time, that they were doing it all in service of you."
Considering this, Dean lets a Jeep turn onto the road in front of him. "Is it like a sex thing?"
"It's not a sex thing. It is the placement of my desire for you over the will of thousands. My love supercedes their true intentions, their ambitions, their circumstances. I am reappropriating their care to act as a vessel for the depth of my feelings for you."
"Hm. Sounds like a sex thing."
"It is not a sex thing."
"Okay, tell me this, then," Dean says, turning to face Cas at the next red light, "Do you or do you not want me to wear the glasses next time I suck you off?"
"...yes, I do want that."
"I rest my case. And hey - just a tip, from one flirt to another. Next time you want to bring up your hot librarian fantasy, or whatever, don't start by calling the other person old."
"It's not a librarian fantasy, it's a you fantasy."
"Yeah, yeah. Not like I haven't got you-fantasies of my own. How about this: I'll wear just the glasses if you wear just the trench coat."
"I think I could be persuaded," Cas says, and he's smiling, and Dean's smiling, and when he catches a glimpse of his own smile-lines in the rear-view mirror magnified through his glasses, he thinks maybe he gets it. They made it. They're alive. There's proof of it.
Suptober is a fandom creativity challenge every October. hosted by the wonderfully talented and super amazingly nice @winchester-reload! This year, she has been unable to host it [read her post here!]
But, like a swallow to Capistrano, my art-brain wants an art challenge in October and I love this one a lot. My friend @thepagemistress and I looked at Jackie’s older lists, pulled some prompts we liked, as well as added our own!
We made this list to use this October but we also wanted to share it with the fandom in case y’all still want to do Suptober as well! Jackie isn’t hosting it, and I lack the resources at this time to properly host it —
BUT - I personally still intend on using #suptober24 for my creations, and I encourage anyone who may use this list to also use that hashtag and so we can all engage with our stuff!
I won’t be able to reblog all the creations daily, but I’ll do my best to spread the amazing work this fandom does. I hope we all can still participate in this community event! (Not just art, but writing, gifs, and anything else besides A*I*).
He stretches on his bed, rolls on his stomach and smiles into his pillow that smells of fresh laundry. He feels comforted by his room, and the simplest event of finding his slippers right next to his bed.
On an off day like today, he usually puts on his robe and makes his way down the chilly hallways with only the sound of his steps and the faint buzzing of the generator for company.
Some days, like today, Cas is already in the kitchen. Dean makes eggs while he sits at the table munching on cereals. It’s just a habit he picked up from Jack; he can’t really tell what they taste like. Dean used to snap at the kid for the constant crunching in his ears so early in the morning - now he’s used to it. He sits across from Cas and eat his breakfast.
Every other day, Sam walks in and wants to talk about a weird dream he had and what it could mean. Rowena tells him he’s got a gift he needs to learn to control, but Dean is not sure there’s much to interpret about a cart full of expired food. Sometimes Sam talks about a case he heard about or an article he read.
Some days he says there’s case not too far from there, and he’s thinking of going ahead, check it out, see if it’s something up their alley. Some days Dean even agrees to let him go alone without putting up a fuss.
*
Today, Sam leaves and Dean asks Cas, “You sticking around for this one?” – back turned, eyes down, hands busy. Sometimes he doesn’t feel brave enough to do that either, so he just goes back to his room and hopes to find him there when he returns.
He makes his bed, carefully smooths out all the creases. He takes a long hot shower, humming a song he got stuck in his head, styles his hair, puts on some clean clothes.
Then he goes to the map room where Cas is usually squinting at Dean’s laptop screen. Not too long ago, he used to knock on his door and ask, “May I borrow your laptop?”; now Dean just leaves it around, and Cas doesn’t ask anymore. Dean doesn’t mind.
It’s curious – he uses only three fingers as he types, one index of his left hand and the index and middle finger of his right hand. Dean had been about to bring it up to Sam one time, but then he thought of all the things Cas knew about him and never mentioned and decided to keep this one about Cas for himself.
While they research, they’re quiet for the most part. Some days, the table between them is covered in books, in pizza boxes, in weapons, in blood. Some days, they argue and storm off and some days, Cas makes Dean laugh and Dean makes Cas do that face that Dean likes.
If he's had a long night, sometimes Dean dozes off with his head on his hand and his gaze in Cas’ general direction. Bitter thoughts drift him away, like, how Cas probably shouldn’t be there, and how this was never a place for an angel.
A titan of the sky, confined in a human body, squeezed on a chair in an underground box. How his skin must prickle, and his wings long to be stretched. How long it will be before he won’t take it anymore.
Dean doesn't like those days. He gets snappy and irritable and Cas leaves and it makes everything worse.
Most days though, like today, he looks like he's exactly where he's supposed to be and when he meets his eyes across the table, maybe even exactly where he wants to be.
Sometimes Dean relaxes a little too much and he’s woken up by the sound of the coffee mug Cas puts down next to the book he fell asleep on. His brain register a looming presence and his insticts tell him to jerk away, but before that can happen, there’s Cas’ hand on his shoulder, heavy and familiar.
Dean heart slows down, he sits up and drinks his coffee.
*
Today is peaceful, but Dean feels a little more alive, like on those blue early mornings on the road that make you regret stepping out of your car without a jacket and the smell of gasoline filling your nostrils seems stronger than it’s ever been.
Dean opens up the police scanner on Sam’s laptop and checks his texts. Most days there’s one from Jody who just wants to check in, like she’s patroling outside of their bunker. Today there’s one from Claire, replying to a text he sent her the night before.
you on a job?, he asked
no, just finished one, is what she wrote back.
He writes, come by for the w/e. Then adds, he wants to see you and sends attached a picture of Cas that he snaps on the spot without him noticing.
A few seconds later Claire writes back, just admit you miss me. And right after, ok. And then again, kaia wants burgers.
Dean grins and shots back, just admit you love my cooking
She sends a rolling-my-eyes emoji. Dean snorts and Cas looks up.
“Claire and Kaia are spending the weekend,” he explains.
"Good," Cas smiles and then says, “You should make burgers. She loves them.”
*
Some days Sam calls and says there’s nothing for them, and some days he calls and says there’s something for them.
Today Cas is typing away and Dean has just sat down with a fresh cup of coffee when Sam calls and it’s something.
Dean is not too bothered. Outside the weather is bad, but the place it’s nearby, the job seems easy and they can be home in time for dinner. And if they hit the traffic, well, Cas will be there. They will be fine.
He will roll down his window a little even if it rains and Dean will turn the radio on, and a familiar track will start in just the perfect spot, right before the chorus, and Dean will sing along quietly, tapping his fingers on the wheel, under the grey and the wet and Cas’ gaze, curious and slightly amused.
*
Cas asks again if they have everything, like he’s packing for a kid going to summer camp (Dean tells him), and takes one of the duffel bags from Dean’s hand without asking, and walks past him, like he’s used to carry Dean’s clothes and weapons. “Do you have your snack for the road?,” he asks, climbing the iron stairs and Dean stops in his track, glosses over the snarky suggestion that he’s the kid going to summer camp in the scenario, and instead actually wonders if he’s got time to run to the kitchen real quick, but then he shrugs, shoulders his bag and says “We’ll stop along the way.”
They can stop along the way, like they sometimes do. He will get a hot bagel and Cas will down half his coffee, and they will stand right outside the store, where they can’t get wet but they can breathe and hear the rain. And Cas will say – well, Dean can never anticipate what Cas is going to say, but that’s the good part.
*
Dean tells him to wait for him outside as he brings the car around but when he does, Cas is not there. Dean turns off the engine just as the first raindrops hit, hit, hit the windshield. Today there’s something different, he feels, in the familiar, comforting smell of the Impala, something fresh, new, something that whispers to him that he’s got the whole day ahead and all the time in the world after that.
By the time Cas gets out of the metal door, rain is falling heavily all over the roof and Dean feels nowhere on Earth, surrounded by water. Dean doesn’t hear the door shutting, but spots the blurry silhouette of a trench-coated figure approaching. He turns the key in the ignition and as the lights go up, he’s on Earth again.
Cas is unbothered by the rain, as he is unbothered by most natural events. He takes his time opening up the backseat door to toss the duffel bag in, before slipping in the passenger seat, trenchcoat soaked, hair dripping and raindrops running down his cheeks. Dean’s lips quirk up. Cas says, “I had forgotten a book.”
Dean doesn’t care. He says, “You should dry your hair,” but Cas shrugs, “There’s no need.”
Dean reaches towards the backseat to take a t-shirt out of his bag. He throws it on Cas’ head and starts rubbing his hair and he's so startled that for a moment just lets him.
“Dean,” he complains then and pushes his arms away, “I’m not a child,” he says. His face is red and his hair wild. Dean counters his annoyed look with a grin, “What?” he says.
Cas shakes his head, “Can we go now?”
But Dean is not ready yet. Sometimes, when he's alone with Cas like this, he feels something grip his insides and tug at him to say something.
He usually wants to say, I’m glad you’re here, but today he also wants to say, we could let Sam handle this one and just go for a ride, we could stop only when we get out from under the clouds and we could watch the rain from a distance and we'll be standing in the light, and if we’re lucky it won’t be too cold but if it is, who cares? You won’t be bothered by that and I won’t be bothered by that either cause you’ll be there, he wants to say aren’t we lucky? aren’t we lucky that you’re with me and I’m with you right now? and I have this feeling swelling in my chest, I don’t know what it is.
And I wish everyday was like this, exactly like this, but I’m not sure what this is.
But when Cas’s expression blends into confusion and he blinks, “Dean?”, he shakes his head.
They’re fine. With the whole day ahead and their whole lives after that. He feels like tomorrow he can have anything, but today – he likes today just the way it is.
“Just thinking,” he says, starting the car and taking the road, “Having a good day, is all.”
With the corner of his eye he can see Cas dubiously looking out at the pouring rain and back at him.
Dean meets his eyes and gives him a smile to see if he can prompt one in return without saying anything.
Cas’ lips twitch for a moment and then he smiles back.
_
*about Sam's dream: to my knowledge expired food in dreams mean unfinished business and stuff of the past we carry with us (sorry sammy i thought it was fitting - i had the same dream if that's any consolation)
“Well stay and love me then, damn it!” The words are tumbling out of his mouth, harsh and rushed and broken, before he realizes what they mean. Cas reacts immediately though, his eyes growing impossibly wider, his weak smile falling slack.
Dean’s chest feels cold suddenly. Hollow, draining like a sieve full of water. He shuts his mouth to keep more words from spilling out and takes a shaky breath through his nose.
“Dean, I-“ Cas starts, and despite himself Dean stops him again.
“If you love me,” he almost whispers, and the words set off a shower of sparks inside him despite the icewater. The walls shake but there’s an odd silence, one that seems to radiate from Cas. “Then stay. And love me. And- and let me love you.” His voice goes nearly silent on the last two words. But Cas must hear him, because he reels like he’s been struck.
“Y-you don’t have to do this-“
“Yeah, I do.” He’s done trying to stay silent, he hadn’t wanted to in the first place. “You can’t drop this on me and then leave me here, man, you can’t.”
Cas is silent for a moment, staring, and then he sniffles and swallows thickly, and croaks, “Dean, I don’t have a choice.”
“There has to be a choice! There has to be, isn’t that the goddamn point of all of this?”
There’s someone standing behind Cas suddenly. Dean freezes, and unlocks his gaze from Cas’ stare for just long enough to identify Billie. He doesn’t see Cas look but he can tell he knows she’s there too, from the sharp note of terror that hangs between them.
He carries on. “Damn it, Cas. There has to be a way. Whatever deals we make, whatever crap we pull, we always find a way. If you love me, and- and I love you, then there has to be a way.”
Cas opens his mouth to speak but before he can the whole world shifts. The Empty is rushing into the room, rearing and rippling in the doorway. Cas spins, reeling again, and Dean’s heart springs into his throat.
“Okay. I- okay.” Cas’ eyes are wild and frantic, jumping from Dean to the churning blackness behind him. Despite everything, Dean’s face splits into a grin.
“We can try,” Cas goes on, “but, Dean, if we can’t-“
Before he can continue Dean surges forward, closing the distance between them and pulling Cas into a kiss.
It’s messy and rushed, with too much teeth and far too little time, but it’s also sweet and glowing and perfect and Dean is high on it instantly. One of his hands finds the lapel of Cas’ trenchcoat while the other hooks behind his neck, pulling him inward and clinging desperately. Cas melts forward and Dean can feel the heat of his waning grace. It’s ringing holier than he’s ever felt it.
It’s over before the weight of twelve years can really crash down on him. He makes himself pull away, only because he knows he has to. His chest is warm and full but he can feel their moment of stillness waning, feel the building energy of the chaos around him. Cas makes a little noise of displeasure low in his throat, leaning minutely forward as if to pull Dean back in. Behind Cas, Billie is gone, and the Empty swirls with building vigor.
His hand goes to grip Cas’ shoulder. “Now. It’s gotta be now, Cas.”
Cas’ eyes steel. The two turn to face the writhing darkness together. His hand falls into Dean’s, and Dean grips it tight, feeling the icy shimmer of his grace under his skin. It melts after a moment and gives way to a very human warmth, and for a moment the Empty is nothing, not when he holds it against the immense love overflowing his chest, against the feeling of Cas’ hand in his own.
The Empty surges forward and, hand in hand, they run.
baby jack’s first word is not dada or papa it’s “dean” but specifically in the exact annoyed-yet-fond tone that cas always takes with dean. dean is just hanging out in the nursery, dusting or something, and he hears from the crib THEE most exasperated “dee!” in the world and it came from his one year old son
Sorry, but I had to…
Dean stared at the infant in shock for a few seconds, almost certain he’d imagined it. Jack was stood, clinging onto the bars of the crib to hold himself in place, staring at Dean over the top of it. His eyes were wide and innocent, his mouth open in a big, gummy smile. Then he tilted his head, reached out one chubby hand towards Dean and clenched his fist a few times. The sound came again.
“Dee.”
Dean dropped the duster and he was overcome with a mix of emotions. Pride that his son had just said his first word, smugness that that word was his name, and a kind of hopelessness that he had said it like that.
Dean walked over to the crib and scooped Jack up with a heavy sigh. “You’re lucky you’re so cute, you know that don’t you?” he said, poking Jack gently on the nose. The infant giggled and Dean couldn’t help the smile that he felt crawling across his own face. “Your daddy is never going to let me hear the end of this.”
Still holding the baby in the crook of his arm, Dean went in search of his husband. Cas was reading in his favourite spot on the sofa by the window. A fleece blanket covered his lower half and the sun’s rays made streaks of gold in his dark hair. He turned the page, apparently completely unaware of his sins, though when he noticed Dean come in he looked up at him with a beaming smile, as though there was nothing else on earth he’d rather see. As always, the sight made his heart stop, even after six years. Asshole.
“You’ve broken our child.” Dean declared, holding Jack out for Cas to take. Cas folded the corner of his page down and set the book aside, confusion spreading over his features as he pulled Jack towards him.
“Is he sick?” Cas asked, putting a hand to Jack’s forehead to feel for temperature. Probably worried that the cold he’d had a few weeks ago had been passed along.
“He’s defective. We should take him back to the factory, get him re-programmed or something.”
Cas started bouncing Jack on his knee, who began to gurgle happily, flailing his arms with the movement.
“Dean—” Cas began, but Dean held up a hand.
“No.” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at the love of his life. “You are not allowed to say my name anymore.”
“What on earth are you mad about?” Cas asked, but then Jack, who had apparently had enough of bouncing, decided to answer.
“Dee!” he said, and Dean watched as over the course of the next few seconds, pure delight spread over Cas’ face. It was infuriating.
“Oh, I see,” he said, not even trying to keep his tone neutral.
“Oh, do you see?” Dean mocked. “You’ve taught him to be mad at me!”
He had never before heard a one-year-old sound so exasperated. He didn’t know it was possible.
“Dean,” said Cas, in exactly the same tone. “Come sit with me.”
Dean huffed, but obeyed, dropping onto the sofa, pouting. His arms crossed. Cas twisted to lean against him and Dean automatically rested an arm around his shoulder. Jack took hold of one of his fingers and settled down for a nap in Cas’ arms.
“It’s not funny.” Dean grumbled as he pressed a kiss into Cas’ hair.
“It’s hilarious.”
“You’re a dick.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too,” Dean said, almost without thinking. Every time Cas said those words, every time, Dean made sure to say them back. He never wanted Cas to doubt it; even when they were fighting, even when they were bone tired and too exhausted to talk, even when Cas was finding amusement in corrupting their son with his damn attitude and that fond-yet-annoyed voice that never failed to pull Dean up short. “It’s just not fair. You’re gonna gang up on me now. I can’t handle two people judging me.”
Cas turned his head to kiss Dean’s neck as he snuggled in closer, careful not to jostle the baby. Dean could feel the smile.
everything’s going to be fine; dean is a worry-wart
–
“Everything’s going to be fine,” Sam says patiently.
“No, it isn’t,” Dean snaps, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nothing in our lives is ever fine.”
“Dean,” Sam starts, but Dean just waves him off.
“He could get hurt.”
“Yeah, he could,” Sam admits, stuffing a lore book in his bag. “But, so could I. So could you. That’s the job. Besides, it’s just a couple ghouls.”
“What if it isn’t just ghouls? The newspaper said one of the corpses was missing a head. That could be hoodoo.”
Sam snorts. “In Montana?”
“Okay, yeah. It’s probably ghouls.” Dean paces to the end of the table, unable to make himself breathe. All he can see is Cas sitting limp in April’s chair, and the terrifying split-second before Cas rammed an angel blade into Ephraim’s chest. “I just – he doesn’t have his grace anymore. He can’t just –” he waves his hands around “– you know.”
“He’s a good fighter.”
“He’s a lousy shot.”
“I was a lousy shot,” Cas says, coming into the library. “I’m markedly better than I was a few weeks ago.” He pauses for a second, then jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, should I go back out so you can keep talking about me like I’m not here?”
Sam splits a frown between them, then shoulders his bag. “I’m going to finish loading the car. You two just… whatever.”
The silence is horrible; finally, Cas sighs and says, “Look, Dean, I know you preferred me as an angel –”
“What? No, no way.”
“– but if I’m going to stay here, I want to pull my weight.”
“Cas,” Dean says, looking at his human clothes and his human slouch and his stupid, human bed-head. Everything inside him lurches; he thinks he might be sick. “This isn’t about you losing your mojo. I want you here, juiced up or not.”
Anger clouds Cas’ face. “You think I can’t take care of myself.”
“I think if you died I would fucking lose it.”
Once the words are out Dean wants them back; they seem to just hang there, making him obvious, exposing everything he’s kept buried for years. He turns around, leaning his hands on the table so he doesn’t have to look at Cas, but then Cas is standing behind him. He leans in close, laying a careful hand on Dean’s shoulder.
“I think this is the closest you’ve ever come to telling me.”
“Telling you what?”
“You know exactly what.”
“If you already know,” Dean says shakily, “why do you want me to say it?”
“If you say it I can do something about it.”
Closing his eyes, Dean takes a deep breath. “Like what?”
“I was thinking of kissing you, but only if you’ve finished shouting.”
Dean chokes out a noise; he can’t make himself move. Behind him, Cas huffs under his breath, then nudges at his shoulder and hip until he has to turn around. He catches his fingers in the front of Cas’ shirt; Cas leans in and brushes their lips together, holding Dean’s hot face in his hands.
“Come on,” he says, against the corner of Dean’s mouth. “We have to go kill some ghouls.”
Cas frowns against Dean’s left pec, eyes looking up at him from where he’s laying his head on Dean’s chest. He feels a hand card through his hair and rub at the base of his skull. He hums into the contact like a cat, closing his eyes in contentment as he feels Dean’s unabashed stare. He rolls off of his chest so they’re nose-to-nose, fingers brushing in the space between them as they lay on their sides.
“About what?” Cas asks.
“Anything,” Dean answers. “Before. When you were an angel.”
An angel. Cas feels his heart seize and his wingless back ache, but forces a playful smile to his lips. “You want to hear about dinosaurs and meteors and great cataclysms,” he teases. “I suppose… the beginning was violent, like breaking a bone again and again until it sets right—”
“No,” Dean cuts him off, fingertips pressed to his mouth. Cas looks at him curiously. “I mean, that’s cool—the beginning,” he says. “And I want to hear about all of that another time, but… you. I—I wanna know about you.”
sam had hoped that after the dust had settled, after jack and michael had caged god in heaven, that he would say something - anything - to tell them if he was okay.
the silence has been deafening.
sam remembers when they had finally restrained god and how he looked directly at dean, a smug smile on his face, and asked him where castiel was. he remembers how dean’s jaw had clenched, and how the speed at which he drew his gun and shoved it in chuck’s - god’s - mouth, shocked sam silent himself until michael forced dean back so they could seal the cage.
dean hadn’t said a word when jack told them he’d be back in a few days, how he had to help michael bring order again to heaven. he merely looked at his glass, swirling the remnants of amber liquid around before quietly leaving the room for another bottle.
he never heard jack tell sam that they were going to the empty to retrieve angels and work on rebuilding heaven.
the silence started the moment sam and jack found dean, back against the wall, crying into his hands and a bloody handprint on his shoulder.
sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen dean look so distraught. he does remember the last words dean spoke before he helped him up off the floor, the shaky way in which the words tumbled out on repeat:
areudirty
andulkaphoto
origamiaround
tangentwithtanner
kaledo-art
blakekathryn
prguitarman
annaxmalina
germansingergirl
kianamaiart
titsay
baratheonpilled
