This is a high honor, Castiel thinks to himself, tearing through the darkest depths of hell in search of a single, mangled soul. The Michael Sword. No other angels were given this opportunity, to be chosen above all others to deliver from hell the righteous man, Dean Winchester.
This is a high honor, Cas thinks to himself, sitting in the passenger seat of a 1967 Chevy Impala, alongside the driver singing loudly to Led Zeppelin. Few others were allowed this opportunity, to sit in this very spot, to share this sacred space with Dean Winchester.
This is a high honor, Castiel thinks to himself, feeling the Empty surge to take him to an eternal sleep, seeing the tears in Dean’s eyes. There are tears in Cas’s eyes, too. A rare few have ever had this opportunity, to save Dean Winchester, to die for Dean Winchester, to be mourned by Dean Winchester.
@godstielsbody’s milestone creator event day one: beehaw (cowboys and bees)
There’s no denying it. Cas is the sexiest person at this costume party.
Dean has hardly been able to take his eyes off of him. The angel is practically glowing—not literally this time—in his costume, beaming as he stops to speak with Garth, hovering by the drinks. His smile is just infectious, with the creases at his eyes and the irresistible crinkle of his nose. And if that wasn’t already enough to knock the breath out of Dean, the black jeans he’s wearing certainly are.
Dean hadn’t anticipated this when Jack had begged them for a costume party after their Halloween was spent fighting actual monsters instead of dressing up as one. And once word had spread, a surprising number of their hunter friends had shown up, apparently having had the same experience.
At first it was just Jody and Donna and the girls who had been invited at Jack’s very insistent request.
Claire and Kaia were werewolves. While Kaia’s costume still has the Party City tag on the back, Claire’s was definitely handmade and incredibly accurate. Jody had just shrugged in her Despicable Me minion overalls—matching with Donna—when Dean gave her a questioning look. “She thought it’d be ironic. I’m just glad Alex and Patience got their vampire costumes at Party City, too.”
Word eventually got out to Garth, and he hadn’t even hesitated to load up Bess and the twins in their matching Addams Family costumes and drive over.
So they’re having a costume party. In November.
And Dean is thriving. He’s one beer and way too many pieces of candy into the evening, surrounded by people he loves, and he’s dressed up as a freaking cowboy. His stirrups clink as he practically bounces in his cowboy boots, tipping his hat at the compliments his costume earns. And he’s already mastered the twang on his howdy. Needless to say, it’s a hit.
But despite how great his cowboy getup is, his costume isn’t the best one tonight.
That award goes to Cas. Obviously.
Dean keeps catching the angel off to the side, hooking a finger in the belt loop of those tight pants, and tugging him in for a classic dark-corner-of-the-party make out session. He nearly lost his hat during the last round, knocked off of his head by Cas’s fingers winding in his hair. Totally worth it.
Because, as previously stated, Cas is the sexiest person here.
“Will you please stop saying that?” Sam says, exasperated as he sneaks another piece of candy in the pocket of his Han Solo vest, “He is dressed up as a bee. A bee, Dean.”
“Yeah, I know, Sam. I have eyes.”
And Dean is certainly making good use of them, scanning over the angel from across the room. Cas is helping Claire fix her costume makeup and fangs, turned so his back is facing them, so it’s a good view. “It should be illegal for him to walk around like that.”
It’s a good thing they’re not at a bar for this because Dean would be spending the whole night fighting people off his boyfriend. In the safety of the bunker, he can just enjoy the view.
“Like what?” Sam frowns, taking another sip of his drink. “He’s literally just a middle-aged white guy in a striped sweater.”
“I know, man. And it’s a cropped sweater. It’s awesome.”
Earlier, Cas’s sweater slipped off one of his shoulders and Dean nearly blacked out. And when he had reached up to help hang some of the orange Halloween lights around the bunker? Well, Dean tries not to think about the strip of tan skin he spotted since there are children present.
“It’s not even a sexy bee costume,” Sam says, nose still wrinkled in confusion, “He’s just a regular bee. With regular bee wings and a bee antennae headband. There’s nothing sexy about that.”
“Hey, if you knew anything about bee mating patterns, you wouldn’t be saying that.”
“Yeah, probably because I’d be too busy throwing up.” Sam’s frown deepens. “Do you even know about bee mating patterns?”
“I know about that bee’s mating patterns,” Dean says with a smirk and a wink.
Sam exaggerates a gag, turning to grab a swig of his beer. “Gross.”
“Whatever, man. You don’t see me saying anything about Eileen’s Princess Leia costume,” Dean says, motioning over to where Eileen, her space buns wrapped to perfection, is talking to Alex. Probably about her ASL studies based on the slow hand signs.
“Because she looks great!”
“Yeah,” Dean mutters, “She’s killin’ it.” The fact that she’s gone the whole night in her white boots with heels that high is impressive.
“Alright. Well,” Sam sets his bottle down, clearing his throat. “When she’s done talking to Alex, I’m gonna steal her away for a sec.” He turns back to Dean, his face serious as he point a finger at him. “If I run into you and Cas sucking on each other’s faces in a corner again, I’m gonna throw up on you.”
“You’re just upset that we’re stealing all the good make out spots from you and Eileen.”
“The threat still stands.”
“Whatever. You better stay out of our way.” Dean waves him off as Sam turns to walk away, quickly taking a detour to Baby Sam and Baby Cas.
Because it’s been too long since he’s looked at Cas, Dean stops to look for the angel. As soon as he spots him, his beer is forgotten on the table.
Cas is laughing at something Donna said, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows, revealing the miles of usually hidden skin on strong forearms.
Literal honeypot, Dean thinks, already knowing he’s doomed, but he’d gladly accept this fate.
Cas tugs at the collar of his sweater, which simultaneously reveals an extra shot of collarbone and an expanse of skin above the waistband.
Yep, gotta get some more of that. Dean straightens his hat and starts strolling over, making the most of his cowboy strut and mentally rehearsing the smoothest howdy he can deliver.
writing tag list pt. 1 (ask to be added or removed)
“That’s my husband,” Dean says at the reception, watching Cas dance with Claire, grinning so big his cheeks hurt. He fiddles with the ring on his finger. Sam calls him a dork. He doesn’t mind.
“That’s my husband,” Dean tells the trembling girl under his arm, beaming with pride as he ushers her out of the vamp nest. He covers her eyes as the entire building flares with angelic grace. The vamps don’t stand a chance.
“That’s my husband,” Dean shouts, pumping his fists in the air as Cas struggles to break the mechanical bull riding record at the local bar. Cas falls just short of Dean’s time. It may have been on purpose, but Dean doesn’t care as long as he gets a victory kiss.
“That’s my husband,” Dean says, spitting out blood with a smile. Some rogue British Man of Letters hovers over him, glancing at the door, the grip on his blade faltering. Someone screams out in the hallway. These guys don’t stand a chance either.
“That’s my husband,” Dean tells the cashier, leaning against the check-out counter as Cas takes a few preliminary steps in a pair of bumblebee rain boots. Dean gets a pair, too.
“That’s my husband,” Dean murmurs into the side of Cas’s neck, arms looping around his waist from behind, swaying in front of the bathroom mirror. He breathes in his husband, breathes in his home.
It first began with him walking into the kitchen and announcing, “According to my favorite One Direction songs, I’m an avocado.”
He made many more discoveries since then before moving on to involving the rest of his family. Dean hates to admit he got a little too into the “Which Dr. Sexy character are you?” quizzes.
One morning, Jack finds a “Which Taylor Swift era are you in?” quiz, and insists that Cas has to take it. Which is how they all end up around the kitchen table, while Jack dutifully goes through the questions for each family member. The questions are pretty basic so far.
Cas is in the middle of a long sip of coffee when Jack asks what his favorite color is.
Visibly interested, Sam perks. “Do you have a favorite color, Cas?”
Dean scoffs. “‘Course he does. It’s yellow.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. What are Cas’s favorite things?” Dean sets his mug down on the table with a loud plonk to count on his fingers. “Bees, honey, flowers, the sun. All yellow.”
Cas frowned. “Technically the sun isn’t yellow. That’s just how it’s typically depicted with your limited creations and perception of color.”
“Come on, babe. Who’s side are you on?”
“Obviously yours.” Cas rolls his eyes, although far too fond to seem annoyed. “And yellow is not my favorite color.”
“What?” Dean squawks, indignant, “What else could it be?” He stops short and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t tell me it’s a color that humans can’t perceive or something.”
Holding up his phone, Jack gives a solemn nod. “Buzzfeed won’t accept that as an answer.”
“No, it’s not that. Don’t worry.” Cas turns to look at Dean, his eyes crinkle with an indulgent smile. “It’s green.”
For a second, Dean frowns. Sure, Cas likes nature and leaves and crap, but what could beat bees? Cas’s gaze turns a little more pointed, blue eyes boring into green. And Dean falters.
Oh.
“Oh,” he says out loud, “You mean—you mean like…” He points up towards his face. His eyes.
Cas nods. “Of course.”
Dean’s cheeks grow hot, and he ducks his head, huffing out a short laugh. “I can’t believe you. You can see crazy angel colors, and I’m—my eyes are your favorite color.”
Cas’s eyes make their way over his face, taking him all in. If it weren’t for the softness of his gaze, Dean would think the angel is about to change his mind.
“You’re my favorite everything,” Cas says simply, in that devastating way he always says things.
Dean opens and closes his mouth. Because what can he say to that? What should he say to that? Definitely something nice, something eloquent, something that Cas deserves to hear. That can put to words the burning in Dean’s chest.
“Well…you know your eyes are my favorite color, too.”
Cas has the audacity to look surprised, blinking those wide blue eyes. “Really?”
“Yeah, ‘course. I’m really into that Jolly Rancher blue you got going.”
He snaps his mouth shut. What the hell just came out of his mouth? Jolly Rancher blue. Idiot.
But Cas’s eyes crinkle at the edges, something warm and fond. And he leans in and presses a kiss to Dean’s lips. “Thank you, Dean. I’m pleased to hear that.”
Well, maybe that was the right thing to say.
Sam clears his throat loudly, startling Dean out of whirlwind of thought. “Okay great, we like everybody’s eyes. Can one of you explain to me what these album eras actually mean?”
As Jack practically lays across the kitchen table to explain Taylor Swift’s entire discography, album by album, Dean leans over to rest his head on Cas’s shoulder.
ok but consider this: dean having to teach an angel about road rage
it’s sometime in s5, they’re going down the highway, just the two of them, dean driving and cas sitting in the passenger seat. the original purpose of cas’s visit long forgotten as they discuss dean’s ranking of the best burger joints in oklahoma
when a car cuts them off, driving all over the road, and dean has to jerk the wheel to avoid getting bulldozed, a protective arm moving in front of the angel. he honks, he curses, he yells about what the hell was that and how they shouldn’t even be on the road, they’re gonna kill somebody
and cas is just sitting there, eyes narrowed, a deep frown on his face. the air crackles with electricity, and the music on the radio turns to static
dean only frowns for a second before flinging an arm to grab cas. hey, no, no, knock it off, man. cas frowns at him, but the air calms and no cars blow up
no smiting other cars, no matter how crazy they drive. dean sighs. this is not a conversation he expected to have when he got up this morning. if someone pisses you off, you just flip them a bird or something
dean, i don’t have a bird
dean tries to hide his smile, he fails. no you do it like this. wait til we pass ‘em
they eventually catch up to the car at a stoplight. and that’s how dean, more giddy than he’s been in weeks, teaches a very confused angel to flip off other cars
@tootiredmotel’s 500 follower celebration day two: secret, “i need it”
It’s late. The motel room is dark, the only light coming from the sign outside. Just enough for Dean to make out the line of Cas’s jaw, the gleam of his eyes, the flash of teeth when he smiles.
The motel was low on rooms, so they could only get one with two queens. Sam is snoring in the next bed over. It’s the only real sound aside from the buzz of the neon No Vacancy sign outside. Well, that and Dean and Cas’s whispers.
They’re curled together in one bed, facing each other. The space between is quiet, warm. Their own secret place.
They’re whispering, talking about everything and nothing, feet tangled together up the covers, trying to keep quiet and not wake up Sam. Cas has a hand curled around Dean’s waist while one of Dean’s hands plays with the soft material of the angel’s shirt.
Dean’s never been happier.
It’s late, and he should be sleeping. Tonight is only a pit stop on their drive back home, and he has a few more hours of driving left.
But he can’t stop listening to Cas. He can’t stop grinning. He might have even giggled earlier, but he’ll never admit it.
After decades of denying himself, he thinks they both deserve a moment to indulge.
But he can’t really call this a simple indulgence. A moment like this, quiet and innocent, together.
Because he needs it. And he thinks maybe Cas needs it, too.
“Okay.” He manages to shuffle closer, closing the already small space between them. His cheeks hurt from smiling. “What if someone already possessed by a demon got anti-possession tattoo? Would the demon just be ejected or like somehow trapped?”
Cas frowns. “A demon would never allow that to happen, and even if there was a lapse in its control, a tattoo would take a long time.”
“Yeah, but humor me.” Dean stifles a yawn. “Hypothetically if that happened, what would it do?”
Headlights pass over the window, cutting through the curtains, lighting up the room for a moment. It glows behind Cas’s back, not quite touching Dean, protected in his shadow. It almost gives the illusion of a halo. For a second, Dean forgets about his question and stares.
Cas only smiles back, and for once Dean is grateful for the outside light giving him the chance to see everything. The curl of his lip, the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes and nose, the warm affection in his gaze.
“I would need more time to consider it. And you,” Cas says, leaning in to press a kiss to Dean’s lips, “need to rest.”
“No, I don’t,” Dean grumbles, but he doesn’t resist as Cas tugs him in closer, slipping an arm around his back.
“Yes, you do. You’re driving in the morning, and I would prefer not to get in a wreck.”
“Hey.” Dean shoves at Cas’s chest before tucking into it, pressing his nose into the hollow of his throat. “I’m a great driver.”
Cas rests a hand on the back of his head, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Of course, Dean.”
“And we’re finishing this discussion tomorrow.”
“Of course, Dean.”
The motel mattress sucks, too hard and too old with a sketchy smell, the kind that usually guarantees some impressive neck and back aches in the morning. And Dean is already prone to those now.
But he doesn’t care. He’s got an angel watching over him. The fingertips running through his hair trail down to the nape of his neck and linger, sending a pulse of grace through his tired muscles. Dean sighs, melting under the touch.
Nights at crappy motels used to be nothing new, nothing special. But here and now, he wouldn’t ask for anything else.
The sunroom is the last room left to be painted. Sam had suggested hiring someone to paint, but Dean insisted on doing it himself. This was his first real house—Cas’s first house—and he was going to do it right.
Cas reads a lot in the sunroom, so he chose the color—soft candlelight—a light yellow from the 2021 Colors of the Year collection. Dean couldn’t say he was surprised. It suited him.
They’ve only just finished cutting in the edges, and Dean already has paint all over his shirt. Good thing it’s an old one, from back when he thought it was cool to cut the sleeves off. Sometimes when he looks over at Cas, he catches him looking at the handprint on his shoulder.
Although he can’t really say anything since he keeps stealing glances at Cas, one of Dean’s old World’s Largest Ball of Twine shirts stretched across his shoulders. It’s a good look. And the worn pair of jeans Cas has on are definitely helping.
Dean isn’t looking when he goes to grab the paint roller, and he grabs the wrong end. He makes a face at the paint on his hand. That’s gonna be hard to wash off.
He starts to say something to Cas, but stops. Cas is looking at the handprint again. There’s a streak of paint on his cheek.
And that’s when Dean gets an idea.
He grins, ignoring Cas’s questioning gaze as he gets more paint on his hand and walks over to the angel.
Cas sighs. “Dean, if you put a handprint on my rear…”
He trails off as Dean pushes his sleeve up over his shoulder. The smile on Dean’s face faded as he concentrates, lining his hand up and carefully pressing it to Cas’s shoulder.
Stepping back, Dean smiles at his work. His own mark. His. The handprint on Cas’s shoulder a perfect replica of his own.
“Gotta stake my claim somehow. Now you’re mine, too.”
He meets Cas’s gaze and falters. The angel is staring at him with eyes wide and soft in that way that’s always disarming.
And then he grabs the front of Dean’s shirt and pulls him into a firm kiss. Dean startles into it but relaxes, pressing into him immediately. His arms wrap around the angel, hands sliding down to tug him closer, as Cas runs a hand up over the mark on Dean’s shoulder, gripping tight.
Cas draws back, ghosting his lips over Dean’s. “Was the wedding not enough?”
“Well, you’re a hot commodity, angel. I gotta do everything I can.”
Cas kisses him again. “I’ve always been yours, Dean.”
Dean flushes, but he doesn’t duck his head to look away, so Cas considers that a win. “Good. Yeah, uh, me too.”
Giving his arm a squeeze, Cas steps away and turns back to his side of the room, and Dean stifles a laugh.
Cas won’t be so amused later, but the yellow handprint on his butt is definitely worth it.
dean kisses him and, for a moment, castiel remembers what it’s like to be human again. his heart pounds, the air leaves his lungs. his ears ring, his senses dull until everything else fades away. all that’s left is dean. with his lips, firm but gentle against his, and his trembling hands holding the angel together. holding him up. cas’s legs shake, his knees threatening to buckle under him. he clings to dean like he’s drowning, he breathes him in like he’s suffocating and dean is the only source. it feels like his vessel is falling apart, it feels like his grace is singing, burning. this is what it feels like to fall
