Ever since Cas fell, his dream was to work at a hospital. Dean wasn’t sure what Cas saw in the white walls and bleached-clean smell, but if it made Cas happy, he sure as hell wasn’t going to stop him.
It took a few years, a few well-placed phone calls and some serious fraud to get Cas recognised as an actual person by the law, but in the end, Cas had completed medical school and found a job. He only worked a few shifts at first, part-time, pay quite low. It didn’t surprise Dean, though, as Cas quickly became popular; a well known and loved nurse at their local hospital.
People said hi to him on the street, nodding, smiling, thanking Cas for his part in their recovery. Eventually, as Dean overcame his hate of hospitals, he’d come and meet Cas at the end of his shift. Sometimes, he’d bring several plates of cookies, soft oatmeal ones for the elderly, choc-chip for the kids, nut-free for Mrs Grant, who was allergic. People began to call their greetings even if Cas wasn’t with him after that.
One day after work, Cas skipped his usual routine and lingered nervously whilst Dean cooked dinner, paper worker clutched tightly in his hand.
“Cas? What’s wrong? What’s that you got there?” Dean asked.
“Dean, at the hospital today, a woman died in childbirth,” Cas took a deep breath. Dean waited for him to continue, eyes silently urging him to go on. Dean knew cases like these could have Cas feeling down for days. Talking about it helped. “She didn’t have anyone. Not with her, not in her paperwork.” Cas’ eyes were moist.
“Baby, it’s okay, You know nothing could be done. These things happen. It sucks, but they happen,” Dean said, drying his hands and letting Cas bury his face in Dean’s shoulder.
“Dean, she had her child. Emily, she said. She called her Emily. The baby is in the hospital right now, they’re looking for someone to adopt her,” Cas said, looking up at Dean. “We could take her in.”
The thought sent a simultaneous spike of warmth and nervousness through Dean. They’d imagined it, sure. The pitter patter of small feet, raising a child together, taking care of another life. It was a lot of responsibility. Were they ready? Was Dean ready?
“I have the adoption papers, Dean, I- I thought if you wanted it, we could do this. I think we’d do well. Raising a child together.”
The adoption process was long, taking several weeks to complete. There were a lot of background checks, tests, talks. Of course, it went a bit faster with a such a young life at stake, the hospital not being equipped to handle raising a baby for too long. They got it. In the end, they got it.
They brought little Emily home that day, to her new cot and her new room, and to the surprise of both Dean and Cas, she didn’t cry all too much. Dean was surprised to hear Cas singing Led Zepplin’s Ramble on, slowly, quietly to her that night. Dean didn’t even know Cas liked that song.
It became a sort of ritual for them, after dinner, they would bathe little Em, and Cas would sing her to sleep, whilst Dean watched them from the doorway, happiness blossoming in his chest. This was his beautiful husband and precious child, and he would do everything in the world for them.
It was a frosty morning in early December when the accident happened. They were driving to the supermarket, for froot loops, of all things, because apparently, Cas had a craving. It all happened in such a quick flash. Skidding tires, Cas’ grunt on the impact, Emily screaming, Dean hitting his head on the windshield.
When he came to, the passenger side was crumpled from the hit, Cas limp and unconscious in his seat. Emily was still screaming. An ambulance could be heard. It was probably a block away. The rest of the events were a blur in Dean’s mind, as he faded in and out of consciousness. He remembered being hurled onto a stretched after Cas was already being driven away with the man who hit them. They were both in critical condition. Dean was too out of it to protest.
Dean awoke to the sound of beeping machines and bustling nurses. The now familiar hospital came into focus at the same time as the memories began to slowly sort themselves out in his brain. He sat up too quickly, the pounding in his head growing stronger, a steady drum beat in time with his racing heart.
He barely registered the nurse trying to push him back down, telling him to lay back down.
“Cas? Is Cas okay? Dammit get off me! Where’s our daughter? Is Cas okay? Where the hell is Cas?” The nurse didn’t have to say anything, Dean could see it in her eyes. “No. No. This cannot be happening.” Dean muttered, and profanities spilled from his mouth. “This isn’t happening. Fuck.”
They kept Dean in the hospital for another two nights to monitor his concussion. Dean spent them curled up on his hospital bed, Em cradled in his arms. When they finally released him, he didn’t know what to do with himself.
The house felt empty without Cas. His things still lay scattered around the lounge room, kitchen, bathroom, as if he would come in at any moment and everything would be back to normal.
But things weren’t normal. The funeral was in a few days, and Cas was gone. Cas was gone. Dean repeated this in his head every day, trying to sink it into himself. His brain seemed to refuse to come to turns with it.
The worst were the nights. Emily couldn’t fall asleep without her song, and Dean couldn’t get the words past his throat. He choked on them whenever he tried to sing, tears spilling down his cheeks. This was Cas’ thing. He did this. It felt wrong, strange, and god how he missed Cas.
Emily seemed confused at why he cried when he was meant to sing, and so neither of them got any sleep. How was one meant to sleep when the love of your life died? It was months of grief and anger before Dean recovered. It was a sunny day, the kind Cas liked. It finally seemed to sink into Dean he was gone at that moment. He was gone, but he could do this. He was going to raise there daughter and move on. For Cas. For them.
I hate when I ask people to send me photo of my favourite dick and they send a photo of their honky donk when I really wanted a photo of Richard speight jr
And it hurts to know
That even though I fell for you
Felt my wings burn and crumble
To ashes around my grace-less body
Fighting, fighting
For you, against my brothers
You still don’t love me
Like I love you
And it hurts even more to know
That despite that
I love you ever harder
"Cas! Stop watching Netflix and get your ass to bed!" "I'm coming, Dean!" Cas' low, husky voice called from down stairs. Man, Dean was gonna kill Sam for showing the ex-angel Netflix. The three still hunted, albeit rarely, settling down into a calmer life. Sam was finishing his law degree, Cas had bees outback, much to the chagrin of Dean, who was on his way to become a fire fighter. "Cas!" "Hello, Dean," the angel said from the door way. "Come 'ere," Dean said, sitting up from where he was sprawled in the covers. "You're gonna be tired again tomorrow if you keep watching crap all night." "/Dean/, I was watching a documentary on bees. That's hardly "crap"," Cas said with a shake of his head as he stripped down to his boxers. "Well come here and document me," Dean said with a wink. "Dean," Cas groaned. "That was terrible." "You still want this, though," he grinned, gesturing to himself. Cas rolled his eyes and climbed into bed, instantly pinned down by Dean. He found lips pressed against his, a hungry tongue licking, searching for entrance. Cas looked up, finding green eyes staring intently into his, making desire curl low in his gut. "Dean," he gasped, upon which the hunter took the opportunity to slip into his mouth. Cas groaned when he felt Dean's arousal press against his leg. Dean kissed down to the angel's neck, finding the pulse point and sucking his claim for all to see. "Dean wait a sec-" he started, causing Dean to look up. "Everything okay, baby?" Dean asked, concern filling his voice as he looked up, holding himself up above Cas. "Dean-" and he was sneezing, face scrunched up as his whole body jerked forward. He hit Dean square in the face with his forehead, causing the other man to jump back. Dean flayed his arms, searching for something to hold onto as he fell off the bed. There was a stunned second of silence, and then Cas was laughing. "Not funny, Cas," Dean pouted, pulling himself up. "I think that was quite amusing, Dean," the angel replied. "Hmph." Dean buried his face in Cas' neck. "What a mood killer." "You should have seen your face though," he replied, running a hand through Dean's hair, curling up with Dean still pressed up against him. A half hearted "shut up" is what he got in reply, as the two drifted off to sleep. Based off a prompt I saw on Pinterest
Gabriel enjoyed the little things in life, which is probably why he opened a small flower shop. Why would a millennial old archangel do that, you ask? Gabriel was done with his brothers fighting. Done with it all. You can imagine his surprise when Sam Winchester came into the store one day. They both stood stunned for a minute unsure of what to say, each searching the other's eyes. Gabe was the first to break the silence, offering a flower to "the moose that stole my heart". Years later, Gabriel wandered down the windy path, letting the rain slowing run down his face. The scent of the grass wrapped around him, flowers swaying in the wind. For once in his life, he didn't care about those flowers; only the ones he held in his hands. He placed them gently on the ground while whispering a soft "for the moose that stole my heart".
Cas couldn't see any other way to describe Dean. He was beautiful, and that was that. Cas lost count of the number of times he was enthralled by those eyes. They were green like the warm, life filled water of a pond in mid July. And Dean's lips, his soft, pink lips, they were the equivalent of rose petals amongst a sea of dry leaves. Cas loved to see Dean's skin, to trace constellations amongst the freckles with his eyes, or better yet, his hands. They were sprinkled like fairy dust over Dean's back, his nose, his arms. Cas knew every single one. Cas loved to see Dean's beautiful hands, too. The same hands that sliced and maimed and killed, covered in grime, blood and sweat, muscles bulging, could chop vegetables with careless ease, or cradle a child, a precious new life, with such care. Cas also thought it was beautiful when Dean talked about Sam or his music or Baby. Dean's eyes would light up, warmth and happiness radiating from deep within, like the glow of burning embers. It was a completely different glow to when Cas worshipped Dean's body. Then, his eyes would burn with a hungry fire, eager to claim and devour as Cas worshipped every inch of Dean's body. Cas would kiss and bite and lick till not an inch of Dean hadn't see his attention. Dean thighs and neck and chest would be left covered in marks, so the world knew who he belonged to. Dean was beautiful, and in Cas' mind, that was that.
Dean waking in the middle of the night, fingers and toes freezing because Cas is wrapped in the blanket like a burrito
Dean having to pry the blanket from Cas, who just groans in his sleep and grips it tighter
Dean being shoved to the edge of the bed because Cas is in the middle of it, spread eagle. Cas didn’t have to share a single bed with a growing moose as a child.
Sam arguing that “it’s absolutely not healthy to sleep on that many pillows, Cas”
Dean pretending to be offended that Cas doesn’t find him a suitable enough pillow
Dean caving and buying a second blanket because he’s “damn sick of freezing his ass off every night”
Cas and Dean tangled together under the covers, sharing warmth and so close they’re breathing each other’s air
Honestly, this man is amazing. As he’s told us, he didn’t have the easiest childhood, but as an adult, he has created charities, campaigns, and of course, GISHWHES. Misha has brought people together, inspiring others to do good and make the world a better place one random act of kindness at a time.
I’m so happy to be part of the fandom and even know that this man exists, I hope you have a great birthday, Misha!!
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