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Nostalgia

Rated: G | AO3 link | Words: 1253 | No Beta | Tags: Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fear, Nostalgia, References to The Empty, Human Castiel (Supernatural)

Summary: On a drive out of Chicago, the boys stop at an old familiar barn on the outskirts of Pontiac, Illinois. Ideally, it'd bring back fond memories. But for Cas, he's still struggling with the last memory he had of the place.

EXCERPT

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” he said to Dean, glancing over to him.

Dean ignored Cas as they passed by some traffic cones left by the side of I-55.

Cas reached over and tapped Dean on the arm and Dean finally turned to face him.

“Take exit 197,” he instructed nodding at a sign they were coming up on.

EXIT 197

PONTIAC

FLANAGAN

1 MILE

Cas hadn’t been paying much attention to the signs, but now he understood why Dean suddenly took interest.

Nodding, Cas moved over to the travel lane as they passed another field, and a sign that indicated the exit was half a mile away. A knot began to form in his stomach.

“Take a right at the end of the ramp,” Dean said as Cas slowed down.

“I know where to go.”

Things looked different on the ground versus how Cas originally came into the area — and at night, with his eyesight now nothing special, things did look exceptionally foreign — but he still knew where to go.

“Do you think it’s still there?” he asked.

Dean sat back in his seat as they headed down Route 116.

“I hope so.”

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Cemetery Boys

Rated: G | AO3 link | Words: 1,270 | No Beta | Tags: John Winchester Being an Asshole, Physical Abuse

Summary: Cemeteries are calm and peaceful and the perfect place to escape to when your father comes home in a bad mood.

EXCERPT 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam slip back into their room as soon as their dad walked through the door.

John didn’t see it as he turned his back to unload the gas station paper bag full of alcohol, pop tarts, and three frozen dinners.

Dean didn’t blame Sam — it was only two in the afternoon and John had been in a bad mood all day. The newly bought six-pack of beer was unlikely to help.

But if both of them fled to the bedroom then John would probably just get pissier. Instead, Dean stayed on the couch watching some trashy daytime TV show as he tried to remain still and quiet.

“Don’t you have homework,” John asked as he grabbed a package of pop tarts.

Dean didn’t turn his head as John scootched between the sofa and armchair, both well worn with use over years in the small cabin they had for a couple of months.

“Finished it,” Dean answered, throwing out a small shrug. Someone was now shouting on the TV, but Dean wasn’t listening to it.

The two of them got into an argument the previous night and Dean’s arm still hurt with how hard John grabbed it to throw him in the bedroom. Dean didn’t really want to look at the man. He did, in fact, finish his homework. It probably wasn’t done correctly — he did hate algebra — but it was done.

“Did you really finish it or are you just saying that so you can watch this shit?” John asked, taking a large bite out of the pop tart. Dean’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

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Meaning

Rated: M | AO3 link | Words: 1195 | Beta: None | Tags: Lazy Mornings, Domestic Fluff, Valentine's Day Fluff, Post-Canon

--

Sleet tapped on the window in the early morning hours, joined by a gusty wind that whistled as it passed by the cabin, all signaling a miserable mid-February day ahead.

Dean laid on his side, eyes trained on the small strip of early morning light visible through a gap in the drawn curtains, dull and gray, filtered from the storm clouds outside. Pressed against him, Cas still slept, taking deep breaths that coaxed Dean back into a shallow sleep every few minutes. Cas created the extra warmth needed where the pellet stove in the adjacent room couldn’t reach, developing a bubble of contrast to the winter weather outside.

Several times Dean had wanted to turn over to face Cas, but the energy wasn’t there. He also didn’t want to get the day going just yet. So long as he remained still, so did time, so did space.

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After the War

15x19 Coda fic

Rated: T | AO3 link | Words: 1304 | Beta: None | Tags: Major Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

--

Sleep still did not come easy to them, even two years out. Dean accepted that it would be like this for a while, if not for the rest of their lives. Sleep remained elusive to all of them, but Dean could only speak for himself and as to what Cas told him when it came to reasons why.

Things experienced, things feared, things that will, at this point, never leave their mind and jump out when they close their eyes and let their guard down—no matter how good the day was—and remind them that while things are stable now, it wasn’t always. They will relive some of those moments when they least wanted to.

But still. It wasn’t all bad.

They learned, over time, how to handle those nights if either one of them woke up gasping for breath and shaking, reaching for the other. And, over time, the severity of the horrors lessened, but it didn’t make them any more palatable.

That night, it was Dean’s turn to lessen the pain.

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red

15x18 coda fic

Rated: T | AO3 link | Words: 1043 | Beta: None | Tags: Major Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Pining, Second Person POV

A special thanks to @fingergunsbidean​ and @louxisalhama​

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There’s the desire to go over all the times you had with them and wonder if you should have said something, or not have said something, or did something, or should have held back something.

What if you had managed to say something at a different point in time with them next to you, would things have turned out differently?

Would both of you have changed and the loss would have been put on hold for a little while longer?

Was that one thing you had been holding close to you worth it?

Would that other person have benefited from what you had to say, but wouldn’t let out of your mouth?

At the time of withholding, your reasoning made sense. Fears of rejection and pain, not wanting to hurt someone yourself, lack of confidence behind your words because you had been told by others that they were wrong and all your feelings were not valid.

But once the person intended to hear those words leaves, the reasons seem superficial and easy to move past. You’re angry at yourself for not having the wherewithal to push past those small barriers and say what should have been said.

It could have made a difference.

Read more on AO3 [pictures embedded for extra pain]

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just you,

Rated: T | AO3 Link | Words: 1109 | lightly edited | Tags: New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, New Year's Fluff, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant

[This is a fic inspired by something I wrote in 2009. On AO3, you can read “Chapter 2″ which is that original piece] [Photo by Kew Li Wen on Unsplash]

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The midwestern winter eased up enough for Dean and Cas to sit out on the porch on New Year’s Eve for the fireworks.

The cold still made itself known, but Dean pulled out extra blankets and a couple of hand warmers, just in case the old man with the fireworks fumbled with the matches in the dark again like before. Last year, they started a half-hour late. Unfortunately, the new setting meant they couldn’t dress down as much as they did in previous years when they sat in the dayroom, heat jacked up to the point they didn’t need much other than the feeling of warm skin on warm skin.

In early autumn, as people cleaned out their sheds and garages for winter hibernation, Dean and Cas scored a well-loved living room furniture set, including a comically wide lounge chair. As they decided their New Year’s strategy, they pulled the lounger out to see how it’d fit on the porch, deciding it was their best bet. They could both lean against it comfortably, provided legs settled on top of legs and they didn’t mind a small overlap of shoulder (they didn’t).

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tag list below cut [hmu if you wanna be added]

@wanderingcas @johnlockshire @heliodean @brangaene @super-powerful-queen-slayyna @amirosebooks

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paralysis, n

I don’t know which is worse — knowing what i want and not being able to get to it, or not knowing what I want at all

- David Levithan

Rated: T | AO3 Link | 1259 words | lightly edited | AO3 tags: No Archive tags,  End of the World...again, Speculation, Canon Compliant, I mean as canon compliant I can get writing for a season that hasn't happened yet, First Kiss, I Love You, Realization

For the first time in a long time, probably in all of Dean’s time, it truly felt like

End Times.

Dean didn’t know how they got out of that boneyard -- he wasn’t even a hundred percent sure he was the one who drove back. It was either him or Cas since Sam’s shoulder was busted.

They went from facing down whatever monstrosities God (ever the bastard) sprung from the ground to sitting in silence in the bunker’s kitchen. Dean did remember the panic they had when they got back, slamming the door behind them and running for the paint, vandalizing the walls and doors with every sigil they could think of apart from Angel warding. It’s not like there were many Angels left to mount an offense anyways.

The bunker looked ransacked, and the only place without lines, circles, and symbols everywhere was the kitchen.

Cas sat across the table from Dean, looking just as despondent as Dean felt. Sam leaned against the counter, scrolling furiously through his phone.

No service, no internet, no cell anything -- everything was cut off.

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Little Things

A Good Omens fic

Rated: T |  AO3 Link  | 1367  words | Beta’d by @kaeos_tennyo on twitter and @astraadastra 

AO3 tags:  Sharing a Bed, Realization, Took a couple thousand years but he got it in the end

It was the little things — it was always the little things.

When created in a vast space of nothing, nothing to look at and hardly anything to touch, the little things were treasured. When you lived for thousands of years and have seen all manner of human activity, the little things helped create the memories that Aziraphale carried at all times.

A new little thing was looking up out of the kitchen window and seeing Crowley hunched over the flower beds in the back garden, surrounded by colors that stood out against the wardrobe of black. Aziraphale expected wings to come out to protect Crowley from the sun, but they never came. Not like Crowley could get burned anyway.

Aziraphale knew that Crowley talked to the plants, but in the past, he didn’t speak with kindness. But now, on the nice days when Aziraphale had the window opened, he could hear the hushed conversation with the flora. Muttered words of encouragement, astonishment on a good grow, and sometimes, little conversations of day-to-day life or a story from one of their adventures centuries ago.

Story on AO3