Write First Then Read | Posting on April 18
Fic by MittenWraith
Art by dmsilvisart
Dean spent his life split in two-- the Dean who showed up to work every weekday to give his students the tools they'd need to grow into their best selves, and the Dean who spent the rest of his time actively involved in the fandom for his favorite tv show. Elementary school guidance counselor and prolific author of slash fiction didn't seem like compatible realities. It was easier to keep those two halves neatly locked in their own boxes. Or he'd thought it was, until he met the adorable librarian at his new school. There was just something about Cas that broke through all of Dean's defenses.
Cas had chosen his career path for his own happiness. Fostering the love of stories and storytelling in his students was fulfilling, but he kept his own fanfic writing to himself. His online fandom life was the one thing he reserved purely for his own enjoyment, even if the price of that enjoyment was complete anonymity in the fandom. Or it had, until the new guidance counselor joined the staff at school and gave him a reason to question everything.
Meanwhile, online... Impala67 and FicFeathers, long time friends and beta readers for one another, were pushed to question what exactly their relationship was, and whether it could survive without the anonymity they'd both always insisted on. Of course it all had to blow up right before their draft deadline.
Keep reading for a sneak preview!
Dean slogged through his morning routine. Staying up well past two in the morning to write the end of the fic he’d been working on for months now had probably not been the greatest choice, in retrospect. He’d set his personal draft deadline months ago, though, when he’d landed this new job. It might not have been due for claims in the NealEm Pinefest until the end of September, but he didn’t want to have to deal with the pressure of feeling his way around a new workplace while rushing to finish his fic.
Plus it wasn’t like he could casually explain the obsessive hobby weighing heavily on his mind to his new coworkers. Yeah, in my spare time I write novel-length gay fanfiction about two dudes from a pulpy horror tv show.
Yes, he knew there was nothing inherently wrong with writing slash fanfiction for his favorite show, nor with his particular television genre preferences, but he also knew he’d have a difficult enough time being accepted as a male guidance counselor at an elementary school as it was. There’d apparently already been a few objections to his hiring, but Principal Baker had tried to tell him that it had more to do with parents missing the retiring Missouri Moseley than a specific objection to Dean himself taking over her old position.
“We’re a close-knit school,” Mildred had assured him the week before during his final interview at the Edlund School, after she’d convinced him to call her Mildred instead of Principal Baker. “We’re like a family, and sometimes we find it difficult to let go when someone’s decided it’s time to move on. Everyone will warm up to you once they get a chance to know you, Dean. I have every confidence in you. You’re gonna fit right in.”
Dean had tried to give her his best smile as she continued their tour around the rest of the school, but he’d already been overwhelmed. Fitting in at work had been pretty low on his priority list for the last few months. Higher up the list of things to worry about had been sending out a ream of job applications, moving halfway across the country, uprooting his entire life, and settling in to a town where the only people he’d really known had been Sam and Rowena. And even they were still a half hour away. At least Dean had his online community and the Pinefest to keep him feeling connected. If only his entire fandom crowd actually lived in suburban Maryland, secretly disguised as all his new neighbors he’d barely had a chance to meet yet. Or better yet, as his new coworkers. That was probably hoping for too much.
My Art Masterpost for my first of three Dean/Cas Pinefest stories. I ended up claiming another of @desiraelovesdestiel‘s fics, it’s like I’m drawn to them :)
Together since college, Dean and Castiel have an idyllic life. Cas is a successful writer and Dean is making a name for himself as an artist. Even after a decade of marriage under their belts, Dean and Castiel are just as in love as the day they were married.
But when their Uber is hit by a hit and run driver, Castiel winds up in a coma, only to wake up with no memory of the last twelve years of his life. The last thing he remembers is being next in line to take over the family business, and all but engaged to a woman. Now Castiel has to reconcile what he remembers, with what is. Despite his fear, Cas finds himself drawn to Dean, the beautiful man who looks at him like Castiel invented the stars.
Over the course of one snowed-in weekend, Castiel learns a lot about himself, and his relationship dynamic with Dean. The most important thing being that Dean Winchester is, without a doubt, his past, present, and future.
Keep reading for a sneak preview!
“Castiel, what year is it?” Meg’s question startled Dean back to the present as his husband murmured the words that confirmed what he already knew. He thought he might vomit.
“2006.”
Meg skittered her gaze to Dean. “I’m going to page the doctor again, he must still be stuck in surgery.”
“Why? What is going on? What aren’t you telling me? ” Castiel asked when Meg stepped out to try and find out where Dr. Roche was.
“Cas…” Dean searched Castiel’s wide blue gaze, hoping to find one speck of the warm affection that his husband always openly had for him. Instead, he found impatience and fear.
“Just tell me what’s going on.”
“Cas, it’s 2019. You broke up with Daphne thirteen years ago and we’ve been together ever since,” Dean said it slowly, watching as Castiel processed his words with disbelief etched on his handsome face.
“Get out.” The words were growled out and Dean’s heart shattered at the look in his icy-blue gaze.
“But Cas…”
“GET. OUT.”
“Dean, perhaps you should step outside, for just a moment,” Dr. Roche, suggested soothingly, having walked in on the tail end of Castiel’s outburst and Dean could only nod, feeling numb as he staggered towards the door.
Dean stumbled outside of the hospital room, throat so tight with tears that the mere act of swallowing burned like fire. He fell back against the wall, the cool surface welcome as he slid down to the floor. Forearms braced on his knees, Dean leaned his head back and closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He needed to not be a mess the next time Cas saw him. He needed to be good.
Dean lost track of the time he sat against the hospital walls. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and dug out his cell phone. He’d texted his brother Sammy after the doctors had rushed in. He’s awake. He knew when Sam read the message, he’d be grabbing his husband Gabriel and hightailing it to the hospital. Castiel Novak-Winchester, husband and love of his life, had just woken up from a three-day coma with no recollection of their life together. What the fuck was Dean going to do?
I was lucky enough to be able to participate in @deancaspinefest this year, as a last-minute artist for @imthatpeculiarone’s awesome Dear Dean. Not only is Jess an incredible friend, but she’s a wonderful author, too. And it was a privilege to be involved with her work as both a beta and an artist.
This is my first time posting for anything like this, I'm not an established artist, and I had less than 24 hours to get this done before the cut-off. So I’ve just gone with my most familiar medium, and didn't really have time to colour it properly. Hand-drawn graphite and digital media.
Another set of artwork that I did for the Dean/Cas Pinefest 2020!! I'm also very proud of this! Many thanks to my lovely fic partner dark3rainbow for writing a gorgeous fic about teenage Dean/Cas and for always cheering me on.
what stays (and what fades away) | Posting on April 26
Fic by dothraki_shieldmaiden
Art by skeletonsinzeeclost
Cas Novak's life is perfect. He has a job that he loves and friends who support him. Most importantly, he has his husband, Dean Winchester, and his two adopted children, Claire and Jack. With them, nothing could ever go wrong.
That is, until he starts having flashes of a life that isn't his and meets someone who shares his husband's face but not his personality, someone who insists that he's someone, something, different altogether. Cas' life shatters when he's dragged into a world that he doesn't belong to and doesn't understand.
Dean Winchester's life was already shattered when he lost Castiel.
Keep reading for a sneak preview!
“There were problems,” Dean settles for saying.
And because Sam can never leave anything alone, he immediately asks, “What kind of problems?”
Dean rakes his fingers through his hair. He can’t handle this right now; not when Cas is still unresponsive. “I don’t...Just problems Sam. Jesus.”
His head hurts. His whole body hurts, but he concentrates on his head. Concentrating on anything else would be too much at the moment.
Cas had looked so goddamn happy in that kitchen. Dean hadn’t really known that Cas could smile like that, wide and gummy, eyes sparkling. He hadn’t known that when he’s truly happy, Cas’ whole body relaxes into a grin, like even his goddamned elbows are in on the joke. He hadn’t known that that kind of joy could find a place on Cas’ face.
His thoughts are interrupted by Jack’s bright cry of “Cas!”
Dean’s eyes fly to Cas’ bed. The angel in question sits up slowly, eyes flicking around the room, never settling on any one place for longer than a few seconds. Finally, he meets Dean’s eyes. Dean’s heart has just enough time to hammer at the confines of his ribs, before Cas’ eyes slide away.
Jack’s grin could dim the sun as he reaches out to Cas, no doubt to assess the levels of damage. All four of them--Dean, Sam, Eileen, and Jack--freeze when Cas flinches away from Jack’s touch.
“Dean?” Jack calls, eyes darting nervously to him.
Dean tries to put on a good face for Jack, but the look he gets from Cas sends a bolt of foreboding through his body. It settles, hard and mean, in the pit of his belly. Something’s not right. He can taste it in the air. Cas sits up and looks around the room like he’s never seen it before.
Something is wrong.
“Cas?” Sam must realize it too; he’s using the soft voice that he always uses with victims and their families. “You alright Cas? You back with us?”
For one, eternal second, the world hangs on Castiel’s answer.
Then, with a final sigh, Cas delivers the death blow.
“I don’t know.” He locks eyes with Dean, speaking directly to him. “I’ve never met any of you before in my life.”
The Curious Case of Cuthbert Sinclair | Posting May 2
Fic by EllenOfOz and MalMuses
Art by somethingaboutnoodles
The murder, the case, the mystery… Dean Winchester, agent of the Men of Letters, lives for it. But when his colleague Cuthbert Sinclair goes missing while investigating a string of murders, Bobby assigns the case to Dean, as well as assigning him a new partner. Much to Dean's irritation, he'll have to carry the dead weight of an inexperienced, probably over-pampered and arrogant lordling. But Castiel defies his every expectation.
Recently returned from war, Lord Castiel Milton is haunted by demons of his own. Together, they could be everything that each has longed for...and that society won't let them have.
But people are dying all over London, and what Cuthbert Sinclair uncovered is just the beginning.
Keep reading for a sneak preview!
Dean approached the corpse. He had a good stomach for smells, which was quite essential in his profession, but this alleyway was making him queasy. The victim was sprawled across the cobblestone, ungainly, eyes still open.
A slight sigh escaped Dean, and he tried to school his features into professional calm. This part was always sad, working out the first steps: who they were, what family they had, who loved them. Parts of his job, Dean loved with a fiery passion. This...no. He’d lost too many people himself to ever take joy in this part.
And this body in particular...quite right, that Singer hadn’t sent some of the younger lads. They shouldn’t have to see one of their own in this state.
Pulling at the legs of his pants to gain some flexibility, Dean crouched down on the ground, resting a hand on his knee. He didn’t care for being amongst the dirt, but that was what bathwater was for. He was far from squeamish. He was about to ask the constable to begin moving everyone away, when a commotion at the mouth of the alleyway caught his attention.
The bumbling watchmen and nosy neighbors were pushed aside. Overhead, the gas street lamp sparked outrageously as it was knocked, lighting the alley brighter with a sudden flare as a man, Dean’s own height bar perhaps an inch, shouldered his way through the bystanders. His boots cracked loudly across the cobbles, and the unbuttoned tan coat over his suit flapped dramatically as he strode toward Dean, single-minded. The glow of the lamp highlighted strong, angular features and uncombed hair—though whether that was from the hour or habit, Dean was uncertain—and startling, vivid blue eyes that stripped down everything around him in silence.
“Lord Milton,” the constable greeted, apparently knowing his peerage better than Dean did, damn it. “Good to see you back in London, sir.”
The gentleman merely gave a brief nod, dismissive, before heading on past him, toward Dean. “Good evening, Mister Winchester. I believe you were expecting me?”
If his looks were unexpected, his voice was astounding. Dean cleared his throat, shaking away some genuinely ungentleman-like thoughts, and reminding himself who this spoiled little rich boy actually was. “Milton,” he responded, not deigning to shake the hand that was offered, or use the title that he should. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to get your hands dirty. I do hope that’s not too upsetting for you, m’lord. You could always go back to bed, if this is a little much.”
Castiel Milton, all wide shoulders and distinctly disgruntled expression, didn’t look like he’d be quite so easy to put off. “Mister Singer directed me to be here. I suggest we get on with it.”
The constable made a small choking noise, before backing away. “I’ll get the boys to clear everyone out, sirs,” he said, backing away quickly, suddenly much keener on being elsewhere.
To See and To Protect | Posting on April 23
Fic by spnsmile
Art by AngelTortured
Dean Winchester, a stripper/hooker with a magnetic penchant for trouble, gets identified as a Super Recognizer, people who can memorize a face for years even in disguise after seeing it once. He didn’t know it’s a thing, but when FBI Agent Castiel Novak comes knocking at the club he works on with his ink-blue eyes and unhinging smile, Dean knows he’s in for the haul. Except Dean’s a hooker and only an asset, a tool used by the force. Castiel will never love him, but still who would not fall in love with a guy who keeps saving him?
Castiel has been overly protective of Dean Winchester, curiosity at first, and then sympathy gradually turning to something else. But Officer Novak doesn’t let his emotion cloud his judgement. Except whenever Dean is in danger.
Or that story in a world of crime and psychos, Dean gets a personal guardian FBI agent always watching him.
Keep reading for a sneak preview!
…son of a bitch…
Calm down, you got this…! You don’t have to tell him squat about a thing you didn’t do… calm down… you’re the victim here… just—
“Yeah, I did it.”
Fuck.
“Excuse me?” the gravelly voice, if possible, got even deeper.
Dean licks his lips. If he could be honest with himself, he’d be throwing the pent-up rage he’s keeping since getting arrested but a more reasonable side of his brain reminds him to put his head down not because it’d do him good, but because he’s with the police.
Those guys licensed to kill kind no one trusts. What more, FBI? Must’ve done bat shit today to get the Feds involved. Dean mentally wills himself to calm down. He got this. Nothing like finding a guy on the bed with a gun under the pillow in his experience. Nothing like a man dead on the floor… his body begins to tremble.
Fuck.
Breathe…
Steeling his resolve, his pulse erratic, he shake his head a little and takes in a lungful of air, eyes shutting close. Better get this over with. Say it…
Your grave.
“I did it.”
“You… did?” the officer sounds a little tentative, more suspicious even.
“Yeah.” Dean huffs, head bowing down.
He’ll eat you now, he’ll pin it to you. Tell you it’s the answer he wants to hear. Like the rest of them. Now it’s another record. Another jail time. Like you need more.
“Who are you protecting?” in control, gruff and authoritative. It resonates in the closed-off room with heavy crescendo that prickles the back of his neck.
“I’m not protecting anyone. Check my records—I only got a sibling all the way in Seattle. I’m on my own. Alone.” It doesn’t bite as it used to. He’s coped.
“Doesn’t have to be a family member.”
Dean swore internally, fist closing. “I know I’m gorgeous, man, but I’m not the home type. Hooker on the resume’s occupation, right?” Dean sinks a little on the chair, eyes fixed at the edge of the table. “You got a nice job, buddy, better do it some justice.”
“If you let me. I will.”
The hell’s that mean?
“It starts by looking me in the eyes.”
“Couldn’t wait after three days on my bail, agent?”
“I am not interested with any social acquaintances at the moment but your full cooperation. You are currently obstructing an investigation by claiming you own the gun found in your possession on 10th of March, current year at exactly 11:10 in the evening. You were also found in a location far from your profile’s residency and work area with no reason to be there—”
“Right.” His jaw tightens. His body cold. “Guess you don’t know what the word ‘hooker’ means?”
“Are you also aware that the gun was used for another crime?” the voice says tersely.
“I—” his pupils dilate, his throat dry, breath hitching. “N-no…”
“Dean?”
Dean snaps a look at the officer. He isn’t used to being addressed by name when under interrogation and an FBI agent at that. He finds a pair of forget-me-not blues rounding at his face. By the looks of it, he isn’t the only one surprised judging by the sparks there.
“Uhh…” Dean sweeps his eyes slowly at the gorgeous agent’s I.D hanging by his neck. Novak.
