for @destielmonth day 5 prompt: anniversary. Happy 5th y'all
In the dead of night, he woke with a start. Lungs gasping for breath and blood roaring in his ears. The dream had started just as it always did; the hallway and fear of their impending deaths. Strong hands guiding him along, practically dragging him towards the dungeon. A room that was home to nightmares, let alone dreams.
I made a deal... The price was my life.
Gasping into the dark, Dean looked around the room as his eyes tried to adjust to the dark. The subdued shapes around the room were out of focus and misshapen. For just one moment, he was back there. Back in the disparity. As he struggled to return his breathing back to something akin to normal, Dean groggily felt around his bedside table for his glasses; a byproduct of old age and one too many concussions.
The one thing I want... it's something I know I can't have.
The grayscale room became focused, the only light source coming from the moon outside the window. He wasn't there. He wasn't back in the room that had haunted him for two years with memories of tear-stained confessions, creeping oblivion and anguish.
The dream, like most of his dreams, had played out in memories. Jumbled up vignettes of a day he wished he could forget but was cursed with remembering for the rest of his life.
Happiness isn't in the having, it's in just being. It's in just saying it.
His head began to swim with the onslaught of memories, twisting their way under his skin and rotting down to the bone. Dean could feel his breathing become more rapid and his chest constricted again. The beginnings of a panic attack, that was what his therapist had told him. Panic over the thought of being back in that room.
As a loud gasp escaped his lips, he felt the terror subside. A strong, warm arm wrapped around his waist. The skin was tanned and warm and alive because he wasn't back there. He wasn't back there. He wasn't-
"Shhh. It's okay." A sleep-filled voice said in the dark. Dean closed his eyes, letting the sound wash over him. "Dean, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here." Cas said, moving closer to wrap himself around Dean's body, the warmth of his naked chest seeping into Dean's own.
He was right. He was here. They weren't back in that room. They were safe.
They were safe in the small but cosy bedroom of their cabin. A place far away from Lebanon. A place by the lake so Dean could fish and Cas could grow a garden. A place where they could grow. Grow old together.
"I dreamt that we were back there... y'know... that day. Like I was reliving it all over again." Dean said in a small voice. The fear still thrummed under his skin, the worry that this too could be a dream. He'd wake up and be back on the cold dungeon floor. All alone.
"I know. We're not back there though, we're here. We're both here. We're not going anywhere." I'm not going anywhere. He didn't have to say it, Dean could hear it in his voice. "I was worried that you'd have this dream again, especially considering what day it is." Cas said, his careful hands soothing Dean's breathing.
November 5th. It had been two years.
Two years to the day that he'd lost Cas. It would take another six months to get him back. Cas had stormed Hell for Dean, gripping him tight and raising him from Perdition. Dean, in return, had fought his way into the Empty. He had saved Cas just like Cas had saved him.
"Dean, we're not back there." Cas' words washed over him, dancing across his skin and filling his body with warmth "We're here. Right here, right now, this is real. We're real."
What about all of this is real? We are.
Wrapped up in Cas' arms, Dean's breathing evened out. They were real. In the cosy bedroom of their cabin, with Jack sleeping peacefully down the hall, they were safe.
Sinking further into Cas' embrace, Dean said the words he'd wanted to say back then. "I love you."
He'd said hundreds of times since then. He had said into the dark, praying that Cas would hear him. He'd said it as he'd ripped Cas from The Empty's clutches. He told Cas that he loved him every single day and he would never tire of being able to say it.
The first time that Dean sees him, he is scared shitless.
A thing that is strong enough to drag him out of hell and fry Pam's eyes out? Yeah. He's scared shitless, alright. But he's still a Winchester. And his daddy taught him not to show creatures his fear. “They feed on it, son”, he'd say.
So Dean stares straight ahead and he cocks his gun and he hopes that the trenchcoated thing can't read the terror in his face. It can't. Yet.
Eventually, he'll learn to recognize and navigate even the smallest details of Dean's facial expressions. But right then, as he walks down that barn, all Castiel sees is the stunningly bright soul of a stupidly stubborn man shooting at him.
Two.
The first time the angel makes Dean laugh, his cheeks hurt for half an hour. Castiel doesn't seem to understand what's so funny, so Dean gives up on trying to explain.
Three.
The first couple of times he flirts with Cas it's a joke. The next few is testing the waters. The next hundred times is just pathetic. But he can't manage to stop himself.
Four.
The first time that Dean prays to him, he doesn't know what else to do. It wasn't faith that made him do it, as Cas had thought. It was desperation.
After that, it becomes a nervous habit. Like biting his nails or pacing the room as he takes a call. Thinking out loud to the angel helpes him untangle the convoluted web of thoughts that would otherwise run amok inside his brain.
He never tells Cas how much it soothes him when he answers. Or how he pours himself an extra drink when he doesn't.
Five.
The first time Dean lets himself stare a second too long into those ocean blue eyes, his mind short-circuits a little. Somehow his mouth waters and dries at the same time, he's paralyzed by the heat in that stare, and suddenly all that exists is blue and warm and Cas and want.
If his brain stops working every time Cas looks at him for more than two seconds for the next ten years, that's just a coincidence. Nothing to be alarmed about, and certainly not something Cas needs to know about. Yet.
Six.
The first time Dean sees Cas' angel form, he's a demon himself. His brain short-circuits even harder as he immediately imagines how hot the angel/demon sex would be.
Cas doesn't need to know about that either.
Seven.
The first time Dean jerks off smelling the dirty trenchcoat Cas left behind, he cries immediately afterwards.
He doesn't pray while still crying.
Eight.
The first time they go to Purgatory, Dean wrecks the place just to find him. The second time, he wrecks himself.
Both times he does find his angel. So, it's worth it.
Nine.
The first time Dean loses Cas, it damn near breaks him.
Ten.
The first time Dean hears Cas say “I love you”, it does break him.
One.
The first time Dean kisses his angel after rescuing him from the Empty, it pulls him back together again.
He's scared shitless. And it's bloody and sweaty and fucking perfect. And Cas deserves to know. So.
Two.
That is first time Dean tells Cas that he loves him too.
We‘re late, but we‘re back! Just one prompt per day this year, let‘s see how it goes. :) We‘ll adjust the rules and all in a bit, just wanted to get the prompts out ASAP.
**Quick rules: **
You can participate on all days or just a select few.
You can post up to a month late, but please don‘t post early.
will not be doing all days, will try to do as many as I can though !!
2 of my favourite art things is drawing cas draping his wings around dean and drawing characters from live action shows in a silly goofy cartoon art style
Cas made the mistake of washing his hands in the motel sink, which took all of a minute – plenty enough time for Sam and Dean to start arguing again.
deancas, post-Tombstone s13 au, first kiss, angst and fluff
Cas made the mistake of washing his hands in the motel sink, which took all of a minute – plenty enough time for Sam and Dean to start arguing again.
"You're not going," Sam was saying as Cas exited the bathroom.
"Like hell I'm not." Dean had put his boots back on and was reaching for his barn jacket.
Sam stood as tall as Cas had ever seen him do, using his height to loom over his brother not quite threateningly, but not quite benignly either. "Stay here and rest. There's no reason for you to become this monster's snack. Jack and I can handle it."
Jack, bless him, was already standing at the door. Dean glanced around Sam for a second. Jack gave him a timid wave.
Dean glared back up at Sam. "You think just 'cause my memory's fucked up I don't remember how to shoot a gun or wield a machete? Or stab something? I'm fine." He tried to plow past Sam and Sam blocked him.
"We. Will. Handle. It," Sam said, face stony. "You're not coming with us." He pointed at Cas. "He's in charge until we're back."
With that, he stalked out the door, Dean's keys in hand. Jack looked to Cas; Cas gave him a quick nod and the worry in Jack's expression lifted slightly as he squared his shoulders and followed Sam.
Dean kicked one leg of the small table near the window and scrubbed his hand through his hair. "Guess it should be comforting to know he's still a bitch."
"Sam is not–"
"I know, I know." Dean flopped onto one of the beds and glared at the water stains on the ceiling. "Seems like most witches have continued to be a whole pain in the ass, so that's fun."
"He may not be as worried about your memory loss issues as he is the part where you were recently tossed down a flight of stairs," Cas mentioned.
Dean winced, as if he'd forgotten about his skinned elbow and the giant bruise on his hip, and maybe he had. He didn't seem to have any retention of memories since around the time Sam and Lucifer fell into the abyss with Adam and Michael to the point where their errant witch in question had hit him with a spell less than a day ago. On the bright side, Dean seemed to know himself generally; to hear Sam tell it, their last run-in with a memory obliterating witch had been somewhat more horrific, though of course Dean couldn't recall that either. He kept glancing at Cas with an expression of surprise, disbelief, and unfettered happiness, a combination Cas found somewhat inscrutable.
It also just…made Cas's heart heavy.
He took off his trench coat, slung it over the back of a chair, and perched beside Dean on the bed. "Wouldn't hurt you to try to sleep a little. It's been a very long couple of days."
Dean made a grouchy, unwilling noise.
"We should know if Sam and Jack were successful almost immediately. That may take a while, regardless." Cas looked over and caught Dean staring at him with another of those difficult to parse expressions.
"Yeah, yeah." Dean looked away, a mild flush across the tops of his cheeks. Several minutes passed with only the sounds of traffic passing on the nearby highway to keep them company. "You ever learn anything about the Three Stooges?" Dean asked out of nowhere.
Cas quirked an eyebrow at him. "Only what you've shown me. There was one where three women pretending to be widows bashed them over the heads with champagne bottles."
Dean grinned with the tip of his tongue sticking out from between his teeth. "Classic. The local access channel's gonna show a good one tonight – it's one with Shemp, so your mileage may vary, but there's a skeleton in it."
"Does the skeleton elevate the humor?" Cas squinted.
"Yes," Dean said definitively, bouncing off the bed to grab the remote and turn on the room's rather dinged-up television.
The skeleton didn't make the Three Stooges funnier as far as Cas was concerned. He was about to voice this opinion, only to discover Dean had eased down onto a pillow and was asleep next to him on the mattress. In the tv's flickering blue light Dean's eyelashes were black and delicate as spider silk. Cas didn't trust himself not to touch him if he didn't curl his hands closed to keep them still.
He made himself watch the rest of the programming, until the channel's midnight sign off, complete with waving American flag. He clicked off the television and sat in the relative darkness, listening to Dean breathe and increasingly anxious that they'd heard nothing from Sam or Jack.
He flinched when Dean gasped. No – Dean sobbed. Cas looked down and was about to brush Dean's shoulder, but Dean woke up first, sitting up like he'd been flung out of a nightmare. His wide eyes met Cas's and he gasped again.
"Did it work?" Cas asked, thinking the witch's spell must have been lifted. "Do you remember?"
Dean's face crumpled. He was off the bed and into the bathroom, door slammed behind him, before Cas could utter another syllable.
In a minute, Dean opened the door and crept back out. He landed on the edge of the bed taking tremulous breaths.
"Dean?" Cas asked, as calmly as he could.
"No," Dean said in a miserable tone. "Memory's not improved."
Cas sagged. "I'm sorry."
Dean rubbed his face with both hands. "Yeah. Me too."
"We could call Sam."
"Like you said. It's probably just taking longer than expected. Ain't that always the way."
"Almost always," Cas said, smiling small as Dean smiled small too. His anxiety ratcheted up a notch as Dean seemed to deliberately drop his gaze. "Are you all right?"
"Sure," Dean lied.
Cas waited.
Dean blinked a few times, like his eyes were burning. "Hey, um. I know I'm missing a few, several, years. But could you… I dreamt something." He glanced at Cas and away again quickly. "I'd driven out a two-lane country road. What else is new, right? I get to this field with a lot of wildflowers blooming. Real pretty. There's an old windmill by a creek."
Dean was trembling, just a little.
"I think. In the dream." Dean swallowed. "I think it may have been a memory? The palms of my hands were covered with ashes." He looked up at Cas, eyes glossy with unshed tears. "Could you tell me who died?" he whispered. "'Cause I think…I think someone I loved must've died."
Cas's throat had closed, sorrow choking him like a garrote.
Dean said, "Please, man. Just. Please."
It took Cas a moment to find words. "Your dream, the drive to that field, may have been from when I was dead."
"You mean after the, um, what did Sam call them? The Leviathan?" Dean frowned.
"Lucifer killed me, again, several months ago," Cas said slowly. "And I was asleep in the Empty. Jack woke me up."
Dean shook his head, clearly not understanding. Thing was, Cas didn't know how to explain it to him – so much time had passed since Sam went to the cage. They'd all endured so much pain and loss and trauma. Cas just barely understood how Jack's powers had manifested, or why, to wake Cas; he was grateful, of course, to be alive, but living with grief was trickier, and he had a terrible, sinking realization that Dean had perhaps grieved his last death far more than he'd imagined.
When Cas didn't say anything else, Dean shook his head again and wiped his eyes. "You're okay now, right? Jack brought you back and you're all healed up?"
Cas found that his chest hurt right where Lucifer's angel blade had pierced through, some dull echo of the murder, but he said, "Yes. All better."
Dean chuffed a watery laugh. "Well. Good. Good for Jack." He looked away, lips pressed together like he was trying to keep from crying more. He took a couple of long, shaky breaths and stared at the wall. "I think," he started. Pressed his fist against his mouth. "I think I missed you something awful."
He didn't look at Cas. A few tears raced down his face.
Cas thought suddenly, for the first time in many years, of Anna, and of her telling him that feeling would get worse. He'd experienced that truth over and over, and yet at this moment, his emotions were so much more enormous than he'd ever believed possible – as huge as his angelic form, brimming with so much blinding light that felt like it might pour out of him if he as much as moved an inch in any direction.
I love him, he thought, looking at Dean. I am in love with him: a startling distinction, equally true.
"Dean," he started to say.
Dean collapsed into the space between the bed and the wall.
Cas reached him in a millisecond, mind white with fear. "Dean."
"Ow." Dean let himself be sat up into Cas's arms. "How'd we… Why'm I on the floor?"
"You fainted." Cas helped him back up onto the bed.
Dean rotated his arm around. "Gonna break this fucking elbow one way or the other, I guess." He saw Cas sitting practically atop him and blinked. "Hey. Remember that time we watched twelve westerns in one weekend?"
Cas gawped at him. "Do you remember that?"
"Yep." Dean rubbed at his hip and grimaced. "That reminds me, we need to buy you a real cowboy hat some day."
"Do we," Cas said.
Dean nodded. He hadn't moved away, but something shy came into his expression. "I think the spell's been lifted." He seemed transfixed by whatever he saw on Cas's face. "But you probably guessed that."
This must be whiplash, Cas thought. His whole body ached with it. "We should call Jack and Sam, see if they're okay." He knew that was the proper thing to suggest; his eyes stung.
"Yeah," Dean's voice was quiet and near and he made no move to go fetch either of their phones. He did, however, raise his hand to Cas's jaw, to rub his thumb back and forth beneath Cas's eye softly. "Hi, Cas."
Hello, Cas thought; it's me. It's you. We're here. He couldn't speak any of it. But Dean's mouth was on his then, gentle and warm; Cas kissed him back and hoped that said it all.
100-word drabble for day 19 of Destiel Month: fantasy
(Read on AO3)
"I can't do this, Cas. It's too hard. You're asking too much of me, man. “
“Dean, you agreed you'd do this for me.”
“Yeah, but when we said we'd take turns fulfilling each other's fantasies, I figured you'd wanna do something kinky with me. Y'know, leather or lace or whatever. Not... Not this.”
“We agreed, love. I dressed up like Dr. Sexy for you. Now it's my turn. And I want you to do this for me.”
“Yeah but... Isn't there something else I could do for you instead? Anything else?”
