i want to play a game. jensen ackles, for years you have made homophobic jokes about your straight coworker both on set and on stage, publicly denied the existence of destiel and a queer reading of the fictional character you played, and profited off the very fans you scorned.
in your hand is your cell phone. five years ago you had the filming of season 15 episode 18 recorded to this device. the episode where destiel - which you spent so long vehemently denying - goes canon.
around your wrist is a shackle securing you to the inside of your 400k oven. post the video to your twitter, or face the heat.
lies pay well. but only the truth will set you free.
“Ah, c’mon, Cas! I could patch it up, no one'll ever know!”
“Dean,” Castiel says, walking over to his boyfriend with an exasperated look on his face. “I don’t care how good of a ‘craftsman’ you are,” he says with air quotes around the word, “we need our deposit back, and the landlord said ‘no nails.’”
Dean sighs and rolls his eyes, knowing he can’t defy his love- but that doesn’t mean he can’t have fun with it. “Alright, you downer. How am I supposed to hang up all our picture frames, huh? That one of you in the cowboy hat needs to be shown in all its glory.”
It’s Castiel’s turn to roll his eyes. “I don’t know, Dean; be creative.”
Castiel later regrets his choice of words when he returns from the grocery store to find all of their framed photographs dangling from the ceiling fan by his own ties, but shakes his head fondly nonetheless, certain more than ever that Dean Winchester is the one.
****
If anyone else wants a short fic, feel free to dm me/comment 2 or 3 word prompts & I will write a short, fluffy destiel fic just for you!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
This is my fic about what would happen if *I* wrote 15x20. Beware, there is a LOT of angst, but there is also a LOT of fluff- you just have to get there!
Fic under the cut!
After defeating literal God , Dean still isn’t satisfied. He doesn’t ask Jack to bring Cas back right away because part of him feels like he doesn’t deserve him, doesn’t deserve his love; he doesn’t want to disrupt Cas’s peace. But then, Jack leaves, turns into the rain or whatever the fuck, and he loses his chance. He tries summoning Jack a few times, but all that appears are a few golden feathers, and, one time, a nougat bar. Eventually he stops trying to reach him, and looks for another way.
He’s happy for Sam and Eileen, really, truly; but a part of him makes him grind his teeth, and even lash out at them both- it eventually drives Sam to move out of the bunker to live in an apartment with Eileen.
Dean always regrets that last fight.
He spends the first week after Sam moves out in a drunken despair, finally, truly alone with his thoughts. He doesn’t eat. He can’t sleep. He loses weight and gains eye bags, and neither ever return to normal after that.
But, even then, on his own, he searches for a way to get Cas back. It’s the only thing he can think about. The only thing he cares about for years . He studies witchcraft. He looks into the Book Of The Damned. He goes through literally all of the files in the bunker, all the boxes he and Sam never got around to unpacking before. He looks through it all, and finally, after five years of grief, he finds what he needs.
Well, he doesn’t know if it’ll work, there’s not exactly an instruction manual. But his cobbled together mix of about 13 spells and a sacrificial altar seem like the best option he’s had in half a decade. So, he tries it.
Dean takes a swig from his current bottle, draining yet another flask of whiskey, before tossing it aside and grabbing his lighter and knife. He chants, moving in a circle around his pyre, slicing his hand and dropping blood into each of the seven bowls for different spells he has laid out.
He finishes his chant as he sets fire to the offering at the center of the circle, and doesn’t feel anything at first. Then all at once there’s a sharp pain in his chest and he crumples to the ground, eyes rolling back into his head. He feels himself- well, not really himself, more like his soul, or his essence- whisking at the speed of light through the universe and beyond.
Eventually, he comes to an abrupt stop in a pitch black corner of the galaxy. Dean emits a soft glow, and isn’t really there at all, and certainly isn’t what you would call alive or in this plane of existence , but he doesn't give it any thought. He just searches for what he came for.
It takes hours- or years, he isn’t really sure time exists here- but he finally, finally sees his angel. He reaches out to him with his being, with his heart and soul and everything he has, and allows himself to sink into Castiel’s soul. He merges with him, and plants the thought, Wake up, Cas. Come home.
Castiel jolts awake, opening his eyes for the first time in five years. “Dean.” It’s his first thought, his last thought, his every thought, so he says it. Something compels him to stand, to draw his angel blade, and to slice his own throat, letting his grace pour out and filter through the air into nothingness. Then he feels a hitch in his navel as his essence is collapsed like an imploding star.
He’s traversing through galaxies, through lightyears of space and time, and eventually finds himself rocketing into consciousness in the last room he was ever in, in the bunker. He isn’t fully awake or aware, but he feels something warm leave him, and he stirs, almost falling back asleep on the cold floor. But then there’s a groan, and a desperate, hopeful, disbelieving, half-broken whisper of a whimper of “Cas?”
Castiel’s eyes snap open, and across the room from him, he sees Dean, unshaven, too thin, a little older, and definitely worn by the world, but still Dean nonetheless. Castiel smiles, tears coming to his eyes. He pushes himself up as Dean scrambles to a stand and rushes across the few feet between them, tacking Casitel into a hug with such force he stumbles backwards.
“Dean, how-”
But Castiel’s question is lost, as Dean finds his lips with his own. It’s a kiss of desperation, of longing, of over a decade and a half of yearning and wishing and praying to unhearing gods; it’s a kiss of tenderness yet full of passion, of things left unsaid for far, far too long.
“Cas, you stupid son of a bitch,” Dean pants, pulling back from Casitel and leaving him gasping for breath, his tongue burning with the taste of alcohol. “I love you. Of course I love you. I’ve loved you for so long, I don’t know what not loving you feels like.”
He grabs Castiel’s face between his hands, and Castiel’s heart pounds in his throat, blood rushing in his ears.
“Don’t you ever leave me again,” Dean says, voice trembling, eyes full of tears that pour down his face.
“I can’t imagine ever wanting to.” Castiel kisses Dean, then pulls him into another hug, touching their foreheads together and looking into those green, green eyes. “This is exactly where I want to be.”
Switched to @bisexualrowena 's destiel spotify playlist & 'say something' just murdered me (also i fixed his hair line) ((also also, trust the process))
Switched to @bisexualrowena 's destiel spotify playlist & 'say something' just murdered me (also i fixed his hair line) ((also also, trust the process))
Switched to @bisexualrowena 's destiel spotify playlist & 'say something' just murdered me (also i fixed his hair line) ((also also, trust the process))
Switched to @bisexualrowena 's destiel spotify playlist & 'say something' just murdered me (also i fixed his hair line) ((also also, trust the process))
Switched to @bisexualrowena 's destiel spotify playlist & 'say something' just murdered me (also i fixed his hair line) ((also also, trust the process))
Switched to @bisexualrowena 's destiel spotify playlist & 'say something' just murdered me (also i fixed his hair line) ((also also, trust the process))
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Hey! If you want something fluff-filled with a side of angst, maybe check out my Tiny!Dean fanfic?
SUMMARY:
Dean, Sam, and Castiel go up against a witch- and Dean gets cursed with a mysterious purple powder, and is now only 3 inches tall.
In which Castiel and Sam are protective, Dean is scared and hurt, and Destiel is out of control.
Updated: TODAY Words:6937 (so far) Chapters:6/?
Look at the first chapter under the cut
Dean
“TAKE THIS YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Dean yells as he punches the witch in the face. Sam is knocked out cold, Cas restrained by holy fire. And Dean’s gun, loaded with witch killing bullets, is uselessly lying across the room. This witch was prepared, Dean would give it that.
And another punch.
The witch stumbles at the blow, spitting out blood, and Dean winds up for yet another swing just as the witch acts. He swipes a leg out, knocking Dean flat on his back. Before Dean can react, a purple, sparkly powder falls over him and he hears the witch muttering an incantation before he seizes in pain and everything goes black…
Castiel
“DEAN!” Castiel yells as he sees the hunter fall. He has to do something. He has to help. He has to save Dean, and Sam- he has to get out . Castiel looks around, frantically calculating what he can use to escape. He almost doesn’t hear the sound of rain- barely a drizzle, but it will do. Castiel looks at the rafters directly above him and uses his grace to gouge a hole in the roof, allowing rain to spill down on and around him.
The holy fire fizzles out, and Castiel surges toward the witch who notices Castiel too late- just as Castiel plunges his angel blade directly into his heart. Castiel barely notes the blood seeping onto his hand, his coat, and merely tosses the witch’s body aside in favor of looking over to Dean- who is gone.
“Dean?!” Castiel calls. He dematerializes his angel blade and scans the room. Sam is still slumped against the wall with a gash on his head- unconscious, but not in immediate danger. Could the witch have transported Dean somewhere? He could be anywhere. There is some powder still on the ground. If Castiel gathers some he can study it and maybe tell-
Castiel’s thoughts are cut off by a minuscule groan he can only hear due to his grace-enhanced hearing. He looks down to where he heard the noise come from and scans the ground. And then he sees, there, right where he would have stepped next, a three-inch-tall Dean .
Dean
Dean groans and covers his ears instinctively at the loud rumble- it only makes his headache worse. And boy, does he ache- everywhere . Hell, he hurts in places he didn’t know he could hurt, and he’s hurt in a hell of a lot of ways. To top it off, he can feel the wetness of blood on the back of his head from where he hit it when he fell, and knows he probably has a concussion. Whatever it is.
He is about to open his eyes when he feels something very, very large shifting to his right. He feels warmth getting closer, and it’s only then that he realizes how cold he is. That son of a bitch could have done anything to him, and the something next to him could be friendly- or it could be about to kill him. But Dean is not one to go down without a fight.
Dean stills himself, waits for the Thing to stop moving, then springs to action. He pulls his knife out of his pocket and leaps to his feet in one fluid motion, digging the blade into the area of the Thing closest to him. The Thing doesn’t react, and Dean takes a moment to take in how big it is: a solid, black mass a few feet taller than him...but it keeps going, up and up for miles, up to a mountain of tan, and, so many miles up, is…
“Cas?”
Castiel
Castiel sits cross-legged on the floor next to Dean, a little wary, watching him carefully. When Dean says his name, Castiel nods, and feels a pang as Dean stumbles backwards at the movement, stumbles back in fear .
“Dean, it’s alright-” Castiel begins, raising a hand to attempt to comfort the hunter, but Dean shouts, still a tiny noise, and covers his ears as he sinks to the ground.
Castiel freezes immediately, and adjusts his voice accordingly. He whispers, “My apologies. You are safe, Dean: the witch is dead.”
Dean doesn’t seem comforted by the information. On the contrary, Castiel watches as Dean trembles, face buried in his arms, knees to his chest, breathing rapid and erratic.
Dean is having a panic attack.
Castiel’s mind works rapid-fire, trying to figure out a way to help Dean, some way to give him comfort. He realizes he, in and of himself, is probably adding to Dean’s anxiety ten-fold just by being there. He can sense with his grace that Dean is hurting, and that he is terrified, and, above all, cold . Humans were not built to be this size, and the floor of the witch’s cabin is unforgiving, hard concrete, and it is Autumn to top it all off. Dean needs warmth .
Castiel whispers, even lower than before, “Dean, I am going to put my hand around you now. You are extremely cold, which will make your heart beat accelerate at a dangerous pace- I wish to prevent this. Is that alright with you?”
Castiel sees Dean stiffen even more as he speaks, and notes a barely visible, tiny nod. He raises his right hand before remembering it is covered in blood. He cleans it in a second with his grace, and proceeds to ever so slowly lower his hand to cup around Dean. He can feel Dean’s shivers against his fingertips, and Dean never looks up, but slowly, slowly, his breathing becomes more normal.
Once his panic subsides, Castiel feels Dean shifting so as to be further encased in the warmth of Castiel’s palm.
“Thanks, Cas,” Dean mutters, and Castiel only barely catches it, even with his enhanced hearing.
