Artist Name: dudewheresmypie I Artist Social: @dudewheresmypie on Tumblr
Writer Name: aeli_kindara I Writer Social: @gravelghosts on Tumblr, aeli_kindara on on AO3
“You would think the marks might lose their permanence,” Cas muses, “with the reversal of my death.”
It's just dirt — just grains of soil, scorched black against dusty brown. They should scuff and scatter with time. Meld with everything else.
Dean could test it with the toe of his boot. He doesn't. Each feather is still perfect; the arch and sweep of Cas’ wings.
He remembers hefting Cas’ body from the center of them. One arm under his shoulderblades, one under his knees. Sure left a permanent fucking mark on me.
--from tracery (or: five times dean saw cas’ wings, and one time he didn’t) by aeli_kindara
Itching to get your hands on the rest of this story & art collaboration? For a limited time only, you can grab your own gorgeous copy of To Hell + Back: A Destiel Anthology now from February 14 through February 28, 2021 at our pop-up shop here!
Do hurry, because after February 28, 2021, 11:59 PM PT, this book will never again be available! This 3lb brick of Destiel goodness, featuring 80+ creators, is filled with stories, comics, poetry, full pages of art, and podfics! This is an exclusive anthology celebrating Dean and Castiel’s legacy—truly a keepsake you will not want to miss! Ships April 2021.
dudewheresmypie replied to your post: I don't think 'Arrow' is too bad. Sounds like a...
I thought they were trolling and then I remembered they named their daughter Justice
Right? And also Jensen is best friends with a guy who named his kid Sheppard, and one who gave his kid Anaximander as a middle name. So, I mean, did we really expect normal names?
DeanCas Wizarding World!AU
Note: While this does not contain spoilers for Fantastic Beasts, it does use an element of the Universe from the movie.
“Dean? Dean! Dean Michael Winchester, do not take one more step, young man!”
“I’ll be okay, Momma!” Dean barely slips through his mother’s fingers, lanky nine year-old body darting through the open door and into the open, overgrown yard. “I gotta go help!”
“Dean, don’t you dare—!”
He sprints through the cornfield.
Knowing his mom will take too long with Sammy to catch up—and have an even harder time finding him amongst the tall corn—Dean pushes himself until his Momma’s hollering is background noise to the yelling of the people at the Novak’s. There’s the fire car there, and men shouting at each other for more water, and the house burning up like on the fourth of July.
Dean throws himself into the fray.
“What—hey, watch where y’r—”
“Here, gimme a bucket!”
“Ain’t that Mary’s boy—?”
“I can help! Dad, tell ‘em! I can—”
“Get outta here, son!”
But the buckets are too heavy and the adults are pushy and strong, and Dean soon finds himself at the edge of the Novak’s previously perfectly neat property, frowning at the way the grass and dirt is all torn up all over the place. Come to think of it, the house is burning, but it sure looks broken up besides. Chewing his lip, Dean frowns and leans to the side, barely catching a glimpse of further destruction. Whatever it was that destroyed the Novak’s house, it’s still out there.
Dean allows himself a minute to feel all-encompassing fear prickle down his spine before he sets his shoulders and slinks around the back, grabbing a rock to keep behind his back just in case. “H-Hello?”
Whatever the thing is, it tore up all the Novak’s fields, too.
Dean approaches with caution, then; calling out lowly and holding so tight to his rock his knuckles turn white. He follows the main vein of destruction: a four foot deep, two foot wide ditch ripped into the earth. “Hello? Who are you—”
Dean whirls around when something snaps behind him. “A-Anyone there?”
When silence greets him, he keeps going. He goes past the Novak’s property and onto the Delaney’s following the destruction that veers into the small wood beside them. There are trees ripped out of the ground and snapped in half, and it’s hard to climb over them all in the dark. Dean’s just grunting after having pulled himself over a big one when he hears the crying. “Who’s there?” he demands.
The sound cuts out immediately and the boy feels his heart race. “I-I don’t wanna hurt you,” he says. “I swear. I just—” Holding the rock with both hands, now, he stumbles into what used to be a clearing, now totally levelled. There’s a boy curled in on himself, with wide, bright blue eyes and stringy dark hair. His face is streaked with dirt and there are smudged track all down his cheeks.
The Novak kid.
“Oh,” Dean says, half relieved, half disappointed. “It’s just you.” He walks forward. “Hey, have you seen—”
Dean stops dead. Not because the monster shows up or he’s frozen to the ground or anything… no, it’s the boy, sitting there. Castiel? Dean remembers that he’s got a weird name—religious family, Momma had said; best to stay away from them with their fire and brimstone—but he doesn’t ever remember him looking like that.
Like something out of a nightmare.
The kid’s eyes have rolled back in his head, glowing a golden white while the rest of him stretches and blurs like he moved in a photograph. He starts dissolving into angry black dust, lit in the middle with blue fire as he rises up above the ground in a cloud of vicious greyness. Dean holds tighter to his rock.
And that’s what does it; the cloud bears down on him, knocking him to the ground and the rock from his hands at he yells, tears springing to his eyes. He suddenly really wants his Mom. Groaning through his grasping sobs into the dirt, Dean crawls as far away as he possibly can. He flinches and curls into a ball when the thing that is also Castiel roars and throws around huge trees like they’re toothpicks.
And suddenly it… stops.
Trembling, Dean peaks up from where his head had been buried in his arms, eyeing the other on the other side of the clearing warily. He’s careful not to make any sudden moves; just like when he approaches the stray dog that comes around sometimes. Holding his scratched up hands in a gesture of peace, he swallows thickly. “C-Cas—um. Cas?”
The boy has his face buried in his knees. He’s shaking like a leaf.
“Cas?” Dean tries again.
When the other looks up, he’s frozen.
Dean takes nervous, abortive steps. “You’re okay,” he murmurs, keeping his voice soft like he does with Sammy. “You’re okay. I won’t hurt you. You’re okay.” He gets right up close to the boy and gives a ragged exhale. “C-C’n I sit?”
Cas curls further into himself.
“S’okay,” Dean murmurs. He puts on his best brave smile. “Just gonna sit. Look.” He sits. “What, um, what’s the matter?” But instead of answering, Castiel only reaches out a hand. His arms and hands are scarred from what Dean knows is a whip, and he still he gently touches two fingers to Dean’s forehead. He frowns, and sniffles, and when Dean next looks down, all the scratches dotting his skin are gone. “Woah.” A smile—real this time. “How’d you do that?”
Cas shrugs, biting his lip. He looks like he gonna cry again.
“I-Is that why you’re hurting?” Dean asks. “’Cause your Momma and Daddy think you’re a witch?” Dean’s own Momma had been talking about Mrs. Novak raving about evil and witches and the devil one night when he’d supposed to’ve been asleep.
Blue eyes squeeze shut and Dean’s heart squeezes with them. “Wait…” he murmurs. “Are you a witch?”
Cas looks away.
“Wow.”
“…W-Wow?”
Cas’s voice is small and scratchy, and Dean is touching his shoulder before he can think better of it. The other boy flinches, but doesn’t turn again. He looks… shocked. Confused.
“Yeah,” Dean grins. “I mean… you can do magic.”
Cas sniffles and wipes his runny nose on his dirty sleeve. He shrugs and there’s pink in his cheeks. “I-I guess.”
“Hey, can you do something right now? Somethin’ magical?”
Biting his lip again, Castiel furrows his brows and looks around, finally staring at a crushed white daisy in the dirt. Narrowing his eyes and looking vaguely like he’s gonna poop, Dean watches in utter amazement when the thing straightens up out of the ground, plucks itself, and moves to hover right in front of Dean’s face.
“Awesome,” the boy in question whispers.
Cas blushes again. “Um. Thanks.”
“Shoot,” Dean mumbles, carefully picking the stem from its position in mid-air. “I wish I could do magic.”
“Y-You do?”
“Yeah, ‘course! I could curse my enemies! And help my friends! And be rich for Momma and Daddy and Sammy! You can do tons of stuff with magic.”
“…Really?”
“Yeah! You’re real lucky, Cas.”
Castiel licks his lips and looks out towards his burning house, biting the inside of his cheek. “I don’t feel lucky.”
“Did you, um. Did you…?”
A nod. “Th-They kept h-hurting me. I can’t control it, even though I try. I-I try and force it away. But sometimes it just…” He swallows thickly, and there are tears in his bright, big blue eyes. “They’re dead, aren’t they?”
Dean doesn’t answer, mostly ‘cause he doesn’t know.
“I know they’re dead,” Cas continues. “I can feel it right…” He presses his hand to his chest and shakes his head. “I killed them.”
“Not on purpose!” Dean replies. “You said it yourself, you can’t control—”
“Still my fault,” Cas mutters. “Still my hands. Besides, I’m an abomination. And if you like magic, you’re one, too. Everybody says that and everybody knows it.”
Dean frowns. “Well everybody’s wrong,” he throws back. “Magic is good, and you’re good, and screw the people who hurt you just because you’re better than them. You can come live with me n’Sammy.”
Castiel whirls around, and underneath all the grief and shame it’s plain on his face that he doesn’t dare hope.
“You’ll come live with us,” Dean says with all the authority he can muster. Then, shyly, he holds out the daisy. “Here, this is yours.”
“Oh.” Cas eyes the flower and lowers his eyes. “Y-You can keep it.”
“Really?”
Cas nods, once and bashfully. “Yeah.”
“Wow, thanks!” And just like in the storybooks, he leans over and kisses Castiel right on the cheek. Clearing his throat as he pulls away, cheeks blotchy and red, he licks his lips. “Um. I’m Dean, by the way.”
dudewheresmypie replied to your post: You should have just stayed and stared at him the entire time you ate/alternatively stayed there and played on your phone the whole time and claimed your space. but rly wtf man 🙄
i was totally gonna do that... unfortunately i’m non-confrontational emotional wreck and way too timid to stick up for myself. :/ but i’ll totally do it if it happens again
DeanCas Coda to 12.06: Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox. Special thanks to @dudewheresmypie for that line.
There’s a buzzing against his thigh, and Dean barely has to do acrobatics to fish the damn thing from his pocket. One look at the Caller ID makes him light up from the inside out. “Uh, sorry, I gotta—”
Jody smirks at him as he all but trips out of his Tim Horton’s chair, cursing the Canadians and their weird obsession with this dumbass Dunkin’ Donuts wannabe. What’s wrong with swivel chairs and goddamn diner booths? Making a huge show of clearing his throat in an attempt to cover his beet red face, Dean nods awkwardly at his mom and Sammy before stumbling towards the door.
“Cas?” Even to his ears, he sounds breathless and excited, but he barely has time to be embarrassed because Cas is murmuring his hello Dean, and Dean is a total goner.
“Hey,” the hunter smiles. He makes his way across the parking lot and leans against his Baby’s side. “What’s up, Sunshine?”
“Crowley’s an ass,” Cas sighs. “I honestly wonder how Hell hasn’t banded together to kill him yet.”
“Yeah, sounds like him.”
“How’s Jody? Claire texted me about the Radiohead concert but you didn’t answer your phone last night. I assumed—”
“Cas, I’m in Canada.”
“Canada?”
“Yep.”
“As in: The Great White North, Canada?”
“Manitoba,” Dean affirms. “Any longer and I’m gonna start saying ‘eh’ and ‘aboot’.”
“But you must be enjoying the real maple syrup.”
“I wish,” Dean scoffs. “No time. We’re grabbing breakfast somewhere quick and then heading back. We, uh… we were at a gathering. For a hunter. Some crazy shit went down.”
There’s a pause. “Crazy, like…?”
“A demon,” Dean sighs, pulling his hand down his face. “And it turned out Mom knew him, and Jody slept with him, and his best friend killed him.”
“...Dean, I’m sorry—”
“S’fine,” Dean brushes off quickly. “We can… talk about it later?” Because they do that, now. They lay down pressed together and speak real words that matter.
“Of course,” Cas replies. “I have so much to tell you.”
Dean’s voice turns quiet: “Yeah, me too.” A beat. “So, uh… guess what I found out? Turns out, me n’Sammy are pretty damn famous. We got quite a reputation: Sam Winchester, living Lucifer condom, and Dean… the guy who made an angel fall. Turns out you’re pretty famous, too: Castiel: the angel who fell for humanity. Who fell for,” he swallows thickly, “for me.”
“I did,” Cas says. “But clearly our Northern neighbour’s sources have been greatly biased: there is so much more to Sam than having been Lucifer’s vessel.” There’s noise then, and the phone slides against what sounds like Cas’s shirt. There are deep reverberations through the speaker before Cas is sighing in annoyance into the other’s ear. “Dean? I’m so sorry, I have to go; Crowley is being insufferable again.”
“’Course. Yeah. Um—hey,” Dean mumbles, quick and under his breath. He bites his lip and squints at the blue sky, heart hiccupping in his chest when Cas’s tinny yeah? filters through.
It’s still hard to say, sometimes, when he’s outside a Denny’s or—or a fucking Tim Horton’s and not cuddled up in bed or on the brink of death. It’s something he’s trying to get used to… because Cas? Cas deserves to know every minute of every day, and Dean will spend whatever time he has left trying to do that for him: “Love you.”
Cas’s voice turns soft and sweet, and Dean can imagine his angel blushing and smiling like he always does when this comes up, fidgeting like he’s constantly surprised by it. Dean’s heart aches.
So, I read a post that put forth the hypothesis of angels as black holes, and then I saw this piece of fanart and now I’m a mess because what if, in some parallel universe, Dean is an astrophysicist who specializes in black holes. And the thing is, he’s kind of considered a quack in his field, because though he does amazing work, he’s convinced they have a consciousness. Which like, paired with that one time he got really excited and went on about his crack theory that angels are black holes in a tumblr ‘ask a NASA astrophysicist’ Q&A, pretty much the entire field thinks he’s some religious fanatic who’s off his rocker.
Everyone but Elon Musk.
Now, it should be noted that the CEO of SpaceX really doesn’t give a shit if Dean thinks black holes are angels or tightly-packed balls of magic confetti... he just wants to mine them; precious stones, metals, gases, scientific data: you name it, he’s interested. And Dean is just crazy enough for the job.
Of course, Sam and Jess and Mary and Lisa try and convince him to stay Earth-bound, but the opportunity to clear his name is too sweet and a month later, he’s training to become an astronaut. Which sucks because flight simulators are the worst, but it’s worth it.
And then he’s hurtling at breakneck speeds towards a fucking black hole.
In hindsight, it’s a pretty stupid plan, so Dean makes peace with himself in the split second before impact... but instead of being crushed to death, he ends up pretty okay. I mean, his entire spacecraft kind of flew into pieces around him, so he’s banged up with no comms and no way out, but he did it.
And there’s definitely something there.
There’s a presence that’s a lot more kind and warm and curious than Dean was expecting, pushing on his own consciousness and suit and there are colours and stars and then everything in all of creation is laid out before him and collapses and reforms and there are strings of it and they flicker and explode and Dean’s heavy and light and he’s big and too small and too much and he can feel wetness coming out of his nose and ears and momsammydadlisabenblueblueblue--
castiel.
That’s what he’s left with when he suddenly opens his eyes in his descent craft, slowly making his way back to the ship. Comms come online and Dean’s heart doesn’t slow down. The mission is seen as historic and successful... until it’s discovered that the descent craft didn’t record anything but static, and Dean can’t remember a thing. He falls asleep feeling bereft.
That feeling follows him around even after he’s Earth-bound again.
They do tests on him, try and hypnotize him, make him go to therapy, but nothing brings those memories back. The mission is labeled a failure. Dean is still a quack. He’s tired a lot these days, and so he sleeps.
That’s when he begins talking to The Guy. Castiel. Castiel is an awkward man about Dean’s age who stalks his dreams every night. At first, he’s a new, weird constant in the background... but the more time passes, the bolder he gets, and soon Dean doesn’t sleep without having a vivid dream centering around the weird little dude. Cas. They become friends.
Castiel says he’s an angel. Or, at least, an angel as far as a black hole is an angel. He likes celestial body more than either of those two terms, but says that ultimately, he’s a multidimensional wavelength of light and sound with a huge mass.
When Dean tells his girlfriend, Lisa, this, she keeps an eye on him.
Castiel has a pretty, bright smile and his eyes are blue. He doesn’t know the meaning of personal space, and Dean, against all odds, finds he kind of likes that. Cas is smart and sweet and eager to learn, and Dean starts looking forward to bedtime.
Lisa frowns when he becomes eager to fall asleep.
Castiel says that if he really wanted to, he could choose to collapse in on himself, to fold himself into a tiny human form. But, he says that the process is painful and dangerous and almost never works. Others have tried. There’s a 98% rate of failure. Bad odds. He stares at Dean after that and Dean stares right back.
Dean doesn’t know why, but despite the dangers, he wants Castiel to try.
Dean sleeps excessively now and Lisa begs him to go to therapy. She stops letting him hang out with Ben. Dean stops talking about Cas.
In his dreams, Castiel kisses him and Dean kisses back. It feels like cheating.
Lisa leaves him. Dean has been sleeping a lot and been distant and been not going to work so he loses his job. She tries to stay as long as she can, but Dean gets it; he’s no good for her or Ben. Mom and Sammy are worried, too. But Dean is sad and upset and Cas can help, so he stops taking his meds and keeps sleeping.
He’s roused by a storm in the middle of November, frowning when he wakes because for the first time in a year and a half, Cas wasn’t in his dream. He wonders if the meds are finally working.
Then there’s a knock on the door.
Dean grunts and rubs his eyes and tries to ignore it but it happens again; someone pounding on the door over and over again. Finally, he grunts and shuffles to the entrance of his tiny house.
And on his porch stands Cas, scratched up, exhausted and rubbed raw. He’s wobbling on his shaking limbs, and covered in goosebumps from the rain and cold and the fact that he’s not wearing anything to cover up. His nose is bleeding and his eyes are blue.
WAYS TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE (even if you don’t live in the US)
Okay, so I’ve been speaking to one of my law-school friends about how to best help out in the aftermath of this disastrous election (because I feel literally useless as an expat)... and she has told me that the best thing to do is provide financial support. Trump is going to defund Planned Parenthood, and other organizations are gonna lose money quick. So, if you can spare a couple of bucks:
Planned Parenthood (sexual and reproductive healthcare)
the American Civil Liberties Union (”works to defend individual rights and liberties guaranteed by the Constitution”)
the National Association for the Advancement of Coloured People (works to “ensure the political, educational, social, and economic equality of rights of all persons and to eliminate race-based discrimination.”)
Lambda Legal (“the nation's oldest and largest legal organization working for the civil rights of lesbians, gay men, and people with HIV/AIDS.”)
the Southern Poverty Law Center (“a non-profit organization that combats hate, intolerance and discrimination through education and litigation.”)
Random Acts uses funds for targeted projects. They’ve helped immigrants, those living in poverty, and also run campaigns for certain causes.
HERE IS A LIST OF OTHER ORGANIZATIONS THAT NEED YOUR HELP
I know a lot of us feel helpless, but financial support is a thing everyone is gonna need (and can be done remotely). You don’t have to give a lot---I know that I’m a full-time student so I don’t have a lot of wiggle room, but if every one gives a little bit, we can make a huge difference.
This is how we fight Trump; not through violence, but by being there for each other and letting him know that, no matter how much he attempts to divide us, we’re a united people, and we reject his bigotry.
“So, you’ll never guess what happened to me today.”
“What?”
They do this now; sit on separate beds, miles away from one another, and talk. It’s uncomfortable—Dean’s face is always hot where it’s pressed against his phone, and Cas’s voice is a ghost of itself over the tinny line, but they make do. This isn’t the first time they’ve been apart and it won’t be the last. A little time apart is healthy, right?
That’s hard to remember when, ridiculously, all Dean wants is to have someone hold him.
“The wiccan I thought was a witch—Beth, you remember me talking about her? She gave me her number.”
Silence.
“Uh, Cas? You there?”
“I’m here.” Dean frowns at the far-away sounding response, listening intently to the rustle of fabric as Cas settles and re-settles on whatever starched motel bed he’s found himself for the night. The angel still doesn’t need sleep, but apparently, having his own space is the only way he’s managing to stay sane on his weird little roadtrip thing with Crowley (which Dean is totally not bitter about, by the way). “Um…” Cas clear his throat. “What will you do with it?”
A frown. “Like, what’ll I do with the number? Nothing. Why,” he asks, cautious. “Do you… think I should call her?”
They haven’t had time to talk about it. Between Amara and Chuck and Mom and Lucifer, Dean’s barely had a second to wipe his ass, let alone have a Grown Up Conversation about where exactly he and Cas stand. They touch a lot, and they kiss a lot, and sometimes they fuck, but they’ve never actually said the words dating or relationship. Not that Dean’s necessarily complaining; that shit’s always ended in tears, but… he kind of thought he and Cas were on the same page for this.
“…If you want to call her,” Castiel finally says. “You should.”
Dean grits his teeth. “Wow, Cas, way to make a guy feel special.”
The freaking angel has the gall to sigh on the other end. “What are you talking about.”
“What’m I—” the hunter cuts himself off, shaking his head as his hands turn to fists. “I thought we were both knew what we were getting ourselves into, here, but I guess not. I guess I didn’t get the goddamn memo.”
“Excuse me? You’re the one who told me about a woman giving you her phone number!”
“Yeah, Cas!” Dean exclaims. “I told you about my day. I shared something with you because I thought it was something we could laugh about—haha isn’t this so hilarious because I’m 100% committed to you. But here you are fucking telling me to call her so I guess I really missed the mark on that one.”
“Dean—”
“No. You’re always wanting me to talk? Fine. This case was so fucked Sam and I had to down six fingers just to stop fucking shaking. I was so friggin’ stubborn a social worker thought I was flirting when I went to her office to kill her, and I was so fucked up over the mom thing, I almost fucking lost Sam. A kid fucking died because I wasn’t there. Hell, the only light at the end of the tunnel was one kid got away safe, and Mom texted me back, but even though I get why she left she’s still gone. You’re still gone. And I know, okay; I’m an asshole who doesn’t treat you half as good as I should, but jesus I thought we both knew what we were doing, here.”
“Dean,” Cas says weakly.
Dean stubbornly wipes a hand down his face, taking the moisture on his cheeks with it. “Fuck, I just… I fuckin’ miss you, man. But if this ain’t gonna work out, you tell me, here and now, because I don’t think I can—” his breath hitches and he swallows the rest of his sentence, biting his lip in an attempt to keep it together. How the hell did this happen?
“Dean, I’m not—I don’t—” Cas’s breath rattles through the speaker, and Dean’s chest turns cold. “…I’m sorry about your case,” the angel finally says. “I’m sorry about your mother. I’m sorry I misunderstood, but I.” He pauses, collecting himself. When he speaks next, his voice is a low croak. “I don’t want to overstep. I don’t want—”
To get kicked out again, Dean’s mind finishes. He feels his heart sink.
“Listen to me,” he says—firm, brooking no argument. “You can’t overstep. Cas, I-I want you here, for every beginning, middle and end of every day. I wanna fuckin’ make you breakfast in the morning and go to sleep with you at night, and I want people to stop giving me their numbers ’cause I can’t help holding your hand while we’re on cases. I just…”
“Me too,” the angel murmurs, suddenly all sweet and shy.
Dean bites his lip, ducking his head in a nod while his ears flare red. “Um,” he mumbles. His heart is gonna crack his ribs for how hard it’s pounding. He licks his lips. “So, uh, find that SOB so you can come home, huh?”
Cas is smiling so bright, Dean can practically hear him over the phone. “I will,” he says.
