#hywar writes

[hywar]

Working on finishing my Deanjimstiel Incubus fic for NaNoWriMo.

I just crossed the 200k line. Not really looking forward to editing this...

[hywar]

Imaginary!Cas Part 2 (Part 1 here)

Despite his hatred, Dean couldn’t help but think about Cas sometimes. Like when he was cooking pancakes for Sammy’s breakfast and get them to be just the right shade of golden brown and puffiness, like Castiel had always managed to do so easily. Or when he went for walks in the woods and tried desperately to piece together what had happened all those years ago, where he had actually gone and how he could fail to remember so much about such an important night. The more years passed, the more conflicted he was; Castiel was illogical. He couldn’t possibly exist, no one else could even see him and it was more than likely Dean had somehow managed to imagine him into existence. But…it just seemed so real, sometimes, like the pancake memory or how Dean could have sworn some stuff went missing in his room after mom died, and he’s pretty sure the cops or his dad wouldn’t have taken anything.

            By the time he turns thirteen, Sam has outgrown his own imaginary friend phase. It comes quickly – one day Dean had casually asked his little brother to come eat dinner after he and Adam were done playing (if there was one thing Dean understood it was having your imaginary friend’s existence questioned, so he always made sure to acknowledge Adam’s existence) and all of a sudden Sam snapped at him.

            “I’m not playing with Adam, Dean!” He’d said, with all the anger and contempt an eight year old (going on nine in a few short months) could muster up. He’d looked at Dean like he had all the answers figured out, and Dean felt his own heart plummet – had Sam been abandoned, then, too? “Adam isn’t real. Imaginary friends are for kids, and I’m not a kid anymore.”

            Dean froze, not quite sure how to react. He knew, of course, that imaginary friends weren’t real, but to have it put so plainly by his younger brother made him realize how irrational his focus on Castiel really was. He could remember reaching out and touching Cas, could remember the silkiness of his tie and the sound of his voice…but he didn’t exist, just like Sam said? He didn’t exist, because no one else could see him and because he disappeared and because…

            “So, what, Adam left?” Dean asked, hoping against everything that maybe that’s the truth – maybe Adam, like Castiel, existed and then left, and maybe there’s some weird explanation in all of this that’ll make everything make sense.

            “He didn’t leave. He was never here to begin with – that’s what imaginary means, Dean. I made him up, like a game, ‘cept now I’m too big to play that dumb game anymore.”

            “Right,” Dean said, chewing his bottom lip and nodding in agreement. Maybe that was the answer. Just…pretending Castiel was nothing more than a game, that him leaving was actually a reflection of Dean growing up instead of Dean being abandoned. Maybe Sam had the right idea. It certainly couldn’t be worse than Dean’s ‘just hate him forever’ plan. “Yeah, well, since you’re all big now, come get the plates for dinner. We’re having mac and cheese.”

            That was the last time dean had a chance to bring up the topic of imaginary friends. Now, at 23, it just wasn’t one of those things you brought up in daily conversation – not when you didn’t have kids, anyway, and when all you did for a living was work to put your brother through college. At 23, Dean was already balancing taking care of his not-so-little brother (who insisted he didn’t need anyone to take care of him anymore, but that didn’t stop Dean from cooking whenever he could and making sure the kid had enough money to pay for clothes that actually fit after his stupid freak growth spurt and money for the ridiculously expensive textbooks he needed) along with taking care of their constantly drunk father and working his two jobs.

            Right now he was a full-time cop and part time mechanic, though the latter was a recent endeavor. Last year he’d been a part-time barista, and the year before that had seen him as a part-time cashier. The cashier gig hadn’t paid enough, though, and Dean had been too tired and didn’t smile enough to last long at the coffee shop. Bobby didn’t care if Dean smiled or not – his head was pretty much always hidden by the car he’s working on, anyway – and he was willing to let Dean work some crazy hours as long as he got all of his repairs done on time and right.

            Dad had gone off the deep end after mom died, and nothing anyone could say or do made him any better. There’d been a few times when Dean thought they were in the clear – when dad would stop drinking for a stint and swear that he was going to get his life back on track. He’d find a job at some sketchy dump of a place and he’d keep it for maybe a month or two before he’d fall back on his old ways and Dean would be left to support the family again. He’d learned how to take care of Sammy and how to keep child services off their back, and once he was old enough he started stealing food and doing small jobs for whatever cash he could scrounge up. They moved a lot and they stayed in whatever motel was cheapest, at least up until Dean could have an actually job and then they managed to get a small apartment with one bedroom and a ratty pull-out couch that they made into their home.

            Nearly 18 years later, and Cas was nothing more than a vague memory. Dean remembered Cas, of course he did, but it was getting easier and easier to shove those memories to the side and replace them with the stories he was told. Castiel was a childhood fantasy, just like Adam was to Sam. Castiel wasn’t real. Maybe Dean had wandered into the woods and gotten lost, and maybe he had slept under a tree or some bullshit like that, and maybe he really did just forget about all of it. Trauma or some crap, Dean didn’t care what it was called. The point is, it could have happened, and nowadays that was enough. It made a hell of a lot more sense than some partially invisible dude breaking into his home, stalking him, kidnapping him, and then some other dude showing up out of thin air and bringing him back home. And it hurt a lot less than thinking said invisible dude had just abandoned Dean, even after promising not to leave and saying that they were a family. Yeah. It was just a lot simpler to pass Castiel off as a fantasy, a fantasy that deep down Dean wasn’t so sure he hated anymore.

            And it’s not like he had a lot of time to really think about Cas, anyway. He had started making a point of not thinking about Cas after Sam and Adam, and now it was nearly second-nature. Pancakes weren’t weird to eat anymore and he didn’t jerk awake whenever he heard the whisper of the wind in the trees at night. On days like today, when his alarm had failed to go off so he’d missed out on grabbing his daily morning coffee before heading to the station, Castiel never crosses his mind. Days like today have been happening far too often, lately – Dean really needs a new alarm clock, the one he had had a plug and cord that needed to be positioned just right or the damn thing would come unplugged and Dean wouldn’t get a wake-up call. Sam had given him a bitch-face after the third time it happened and insisted that, really, it wouldn’t kill them to put some money towards something Dean actually needed instead of something Sam wanted. But Dean refused – they weren’t spending a lot on wants, anyway, nearly every cent went to things like rent and food and loans and school supplies. And with Sam not working (Dean’s wish, he wanted his little brother focused on school), money was tight and Dean really wasn’t sure if they could afford a new alarm clock.

            Today he’s out on the street, conflicted about his lack of coffee. On the one hand, he’s tired as hell. On the other, he’s standing by a lamppost and the sun is so hot he can feel his skin burning. He’s trying to find speeding cars for his partner to pull over, and by the first half-hour he’s sweaty and squinting. There’s no shade around, and he’s pretty envious that Benny gets to sit in the air conditioned car, waiting for Dean to give the signal and radio the exact car he should be going after. By now, four hours into his shift, they’ve pulled over six cars – enough to warrant taking an early lunch, Benny says, grimacing when he pats Dean on the back of his damp uniform.  

            They normally grab lunch together – there’s a little diner in town that makes the best damn apple pie Dean’s had since mom died, and their burgers are good enough for Benny to agree to making it their regular meeting spot. It probably helps that it’s not the normal cop hangout, either – that’s the diner across town, closer to the precinct and nearly always filled with off-duty cops. It’s not that they don’t like their coworkers, but sometimes it’s nice to go somewhere where they don’t know everyone, somewhere where work is out of sight and out of mind. Benny motions to go walk over to the place, considering it’s no longer than a five minute walk and the parking area is terrible, but Dean shakes his head.

            “Dude, you head on over. There’s no way I’m making anyone deal with this stench, not if I can help it. It’s fucking gross out here.” Benny nods and walks backwards on the sidewalk as he mock-salutes Dean.

            “Sure thing, partner. I’ll make sure to grab you a slice of pie, so long as you make sure to get your ass back here to pick me up.” Dean nods his agreement, grateful that Benny’s the kind of guy that doesn’t mind eating alone. His last partner, Aaron, had been annoying as hell to work with – he’d ask Dean to go to the cop diner every damn day, and he’d complain and act all hurt whenever Dean denied him or told him he had to work his other job. Aaron wasn’t a family guy, as he made clear time and time again, and after a few too many comments about how Dean should tell Sam to ‘start pulling his own damn weight and get a job or take a hike,’ Dean had put in a request to be reassigned. In the end, Aaron had actually ended up transferring – some family member had died and left him their house, and he’d decided to move up there. Dena couldn’t’ say he was sorry to see him go, not even when he was initially intimidated by his new partner. Benny had quickly proven himself to Dean, and by the end of their first day he was sold on the guy being a better partner than Aaron ever was. While tough out in the field, Benny was a teddy bear with friends, laid back and joking and honestly a breath of fresh air compared with all the other cops Dean had worked with.

He doesn't want to keep Benny waiting for long, even though he knows the guy wouldn't really mind taking a slightly longer lunch break, so he hurries through his shower and is back out the precinct in record time. His hair is damp and sticks to his forehead, but at least it's not sticky from sweat and he'd managed to change into his spare uniform so his clothes aren't tacky against his skin. It's enough to make him feel a hell of a lot better about the tedious start to his day, enough to make him whistle lightly as he goes down the stairs leading from the entrance of the precinct to the sidewalk.

            He's too busy thinking about his rumbling stomach and the hopefully still warm apple pie waiting for him across town to pay attention to where he's going, his eyes focused on the ground as he fishes around in his pocket for the keys to the car. He sees the shiny black shoes a split second too late, head turning up just in time for him to slam into the chest of a guy who'd been just standing on the street. Dean's first thought is irritation – who the fuck just stands in the middle of the sidewalk like that? Sure, yeah, he should have been paying better attention, but seriously? That was a dick thing to do – if you're gonna just stand there, at least move to the side or something, don't block the walkway while you're staring down at your phone or whatever.

He doesn't know how to describe his second thought – shock, maybe, or panic? No – not really, really it's more like a mild fear, as his eyes drift up and take in the dress pants and tan trench coat, the messed up tie that still sits crooked on his neck, even though Dean's hands haven't tugged at it for a good seventeen years. He takes a step back and tries to look away, to see if anyone else has noticed the appearance of what looks like Dean's childhood best friend. He can't seem to make himself do it, though, as if looking away from Castiel would make him up and disappear again. Not like it would matter, though, because really, it'd be better if Cas vanished again. Seeing Cas as a kid? That was just having a strong imagination. Seeing Cas now, as an adult? That was insanity. That was the kind of thing that would get Dean kicked off one of the few jobs he actually enjoyed doing, that would fuck up the entire life he'd been building for Sammy and send everything down the shitter.

“Dean,” Dean startles and tries to take another step back as the gruff voice confirms the fact that yes, this is actually Cas – not just some imposter, no, that's the same voice he still remembers singing him to sleep and promising to take care of him.

“The hell-” Dean chokes out, before finally making himself look away. No one's walked through Cas – in fact, people seem to be giving them a pretty wide girth. And considering the looks they're getting are irritation (probably for standing in the center of the sidewalk, something Dean had only just gotten angry about himself) instead of fear or worry, Dean's pretty sure that Cas isn't some figment of his imagination. Either that or people are irritated at the crazy man walking down the street, which, while not very compassionate, Dean could also kinda see as happening.

A hand grabs one of Dean's arms, tugging him forward. Dean tries to throw his weight backwards to prevent himself from moving forward, but the strength he remembers providing him with a security blanket is now being used against him, until Dean topples forward and hits Castiel's chest. Cas' arms encircle him, caging him in and pressing a little too hard against his back, a hug made weird due to its unreciprocated nature.

“Dean, little one-” Cas mumbles into Dean's hair, fingers clutching at his uniform desperately. Dean flushes as he realizes he's being hugged to some guy's chest not only out in public, but nearly directly in front of the precinct, too.

            “Not so little anymore, man,” Dean says as he tries to extract himself from Castiel's tight grip, “mind letting go?”

“What?” Castiel asks, grip tightening. Dean grunts in discomfort, the angle he'd been forced into when Cas grabbed him is both awkward and uncomfortable, his back hunched over and his head resting on Cas' shoulder, Cas' mouth pressed into his hair. He can only imagine the hell he's gonna get if some of his coworkers come out and spot him like this – Benny'd probably have a field day, if he wasn't across town, though that hardly means he won't hear about this before their shift is done. “You – you've never asked me to let go, little one, why would you-”

            “Seriously, man, fucking let go of me. And stop calling me 'little one,' Jesus, I'm taller than you now.”

            He can practically feel the disapproval radiating from Cas as his grip loosens until Dean can lift his head off of the man's shoulder. He can't move too far, Cas hands just relocate to grip his waist, his thumb rubbing circles against Dean's hipbone in a way that has him tensing and trying to back away.

            “What's gotten into you? It's me, Dean, Castiel. Your Cas.” Dean almost laughs – as if he could forget Cas. No, no matter how hard he tried he had the feeling he'd never forget his stupid imaginary friend. His mind sputters to a near halt. Imaginary friend – except apparently not so imaginary, because even though no one could see Cas before, it was pretty fucking obvious by the way some teenage girl had just eyed the guy up that he was anything but invisible now.

“You – you aren't real, though. I made you up. How is this-”

            “I assure you, little one, I am very real. You did not make me up.”

            “No one else could see you,” Dean points out, “but you seem pretty fucking visible now.”

            “It would not have been convenient for others to see me before. They would have tried to get in our way, as Gabriel did. Now, it is far more convenient to remain visible.”

            Dean blinks. Then, he lets his eyes stray down Cas' form again, trying to find some difference in the man before him and his childhood friend. There – there are none. It's been eighteen years, but Dean would swear on his badge that Cas hasn't aged a damn day – well, maybe there's a slightly older look to his eyes, a deep-seated exhaustion that seems to have faded slightly since Dean first crashed into him, but other than that? Cas hasn't aged. That’s – that's not fucking possible.

His hands move of their own accord, and before Dean knows it he's trying to pry Cas' fingers off of his hips. He swears he hears a clap of thunder, even though the day was sunny and clear, his suspicions confirmed when a few bystanders turn to stare worriedly at the sky, undoubtedly wondering if they'd made a mistake trusting the morning weather forecast.

            “Let go of me,” Dean repeats, when he finds he can't so much as shove a finger between Cas and his pants.

            “I don't understand,” Cas takes a step forward, ruining any semblance of distance Dean had managed to create, “It's me, don't you remember your Cas?”

            “Yeah, I fucking remember you,” Dean nearly shouts, managing to stop himself when a few people falter and turn to look at him, clearly expecting him to provide them with entertainment and a fun story to tell when they get home from their boring, dead-end jobs. Dean won't give them that much satisfaction, although he's pretty sure he and Cas have already made for a pretty interesting story. “Far as I'm concerned, though, you're not my Cas. My Cas-” Dean starts and stops, almost barreling through and saying that his Cas was imaginary, his Cas was just for him to see, but that's a level of crazy he doesn't want associated with him – and besides, he's got bigger things to address, “My Cas stopped being, well, mine, about eighteen years ago, when he up and vanished. You're just Castiel. And I would still really appreciate you fucking getting your hands off of me, because I've got places to be.”

            He started looking past Cas sometime around the start of his speech, staring steadfastly at the empty bit of sidewalk stretching along the side of the cramped buildings, where tiny blades of grass were starting to poke through the holes in the concrete. When he draws his attention back to Cas, he stiffens and stops his hands from trying to pry his fingers off of him.

            Cas' eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open, whether from shock or what Dean doesn't know. The hands on Dean's hips go lax, enough where Dean can shimmy his way out of Cas' hold and take a few steps back. Cas just stares at him, immobile and mouth still wide open – Dean almost wants to press his finger to the guy's jaw and push it up for him, but having just gotten away he doesn't really want to initiate contact with Cas again. Instead, he swallows and awkwardly feels around for his keys.

When Cas still doesn't say or do anything, just stares at Dean with this almost horrified expression, Dean mumbles a quick 'good to see you're, you know, alive, I guess, bye, man,' and stumbles towards his car, fumbling with the door a few times before finally succeeding in getting it open. The whole time he expects Cas to walk up behind him – he's not sure if he's relieved or upset that it doesn't happen, that he manages to get into the car without incident.

            By the time he's speeding over to Benny, he's managed to shake off some of the tension the encounter had left. He hadn't seen any cops walk by, which was good – maybe no one saw, and this would just be one more Cas-related thing that Dean would be able to brush aside and pretend was all in his head until, eventually, he forgot about it.

            For now, he had bigger things to worry about – like how pissed Benny was gonna be that Dean was late, and how his pie was going to be cold and soggy by now.

[hywar]

Writing Masterpost

Completed

The Seraph - Dean/Castiel, Octo!Castiel. (135K)

Stark-Rogers Industries - Steve Rogers/Tony Stark (50k)

Concrete Walls - 10th Doctor/Jack Harkness (1.6K)

One With None - America/England, America/Russia (7k)

Half Blind - General HiNaBN (drabble, <1k)

Tumblr Ficlets

Spider!Cas - Dean/Castiel (5K)

Serial Killer!Cas Part One Part Two - Dean/Castiel, human!Cas, omega!Dean, alpha!Cas (1.9k)

The Breakup - Past Dean/Castiel, Dean/Lisa (2.9k)

Imaginary!Cas Part 2 - Imaginary Friend(?)!Cas, toddler/young!Dean, canon character death (2.6K) (General fic, no romantic pairings right now)

Adoption - Dean/Castiel, Catboy!Cas, Alpha!Cas, (3.8k)

Happy Birthday, Cas! - Dean/Castiel, Falling!Cas, Human!Cas, Proposals (4k)

Currently Working On

Incubus -Castiel/Dean/Jimmy, Creature!Cas, Creature!Jimmy (190K)

Part 3 of Serial Killer!Cas (0k)

Part 3 of Imaginary!Cas (0k)

Part 2 of Adoption (0K)

Backburner

Robot!AU - Castiel/Dean/Michael/Ezekiel, A/B/O Verse (2k)

Sacrifice!AU - Dean/Castiel (2k)

Angel Zoo!AU - Dean/Castiel (2k)

Apartment Suitemates!AU - Castiel/Dean/Jimmy, A/B/O Verse (3k)

Homeless!Cas - Dean/Castiel (2k)

The Ring - Dean/Castiel, A/B/O Verse (3k)

[hywar]

At his age, Dean really didn’t mind skipping over birthdays. It was hard to keep track of, anyway, with all the times he had died – his aging had been frozen during all those times, so should he really consider himself a year older on the same day or what? It was just confusing, and he was honestly happy to ignore his age and the inevitable weakening of his bones. It was the same with Sam, though with Sam Dean at least tried to do something – whether it be give him some gas-station gift bag or, with their newly acquired bunker kitchen, bake him a cake. Sam appreciated it, he thought, though he always told Dean it wasn’t really necessary and that he was okay with just focusing on whatever case they were working on.

            Cas was different, though. Or, at least, Dean figured he should be. Slowly losing his grace and soon to be a new human, Cas had never celebrated a birthday. Dean had mentioned it in passing, trying to see when exactly Cas would even celebrate such a thing – it had been useless, ultimately, because Cas had insisted that he’d just been born on a Thursday and left it at that. Angels didn’t celebrate birthdays or the passing of time, he’d told Dean, and thus Castiel had never had nor celebrated a birthday.

            Dean had quickly given up on that line of inquiry, and had started researching Jimmy Novak’s background instead. After all, a vessel’s birthday was kinda close to what Dean wanted, and it just so happened that Jimmy actually was born on a Thursday – August 23, 1979. It’s the best Dean can come up with, and with Cas slowly becoming human…well, it seems only fair that Dean help him start celebrating human things, like birthdays and Thanksgivings and everything else.

            Oddly enough, it hadn’t taken much convincing on Sam’s part – the second Dean had brought up celebrating Cas’ birthday, his brother had given him a raised eyebrow and a short, curt nod, agreeing to help find something decent enough to give Castiel as a gift and to help distract the angel from staying in the bunker while Dean worked in the kitchen.

            They’d started talking about the birthday plan a full month before the actual date, and it still took forever to figure out what to get him. Cas was, as Dean and Sam soon found out, impossible to shop for. Part of it was because it was hard to go out anywhere without bringing him along – Dean didn’t want to have the poor guy feel excluded, especially when he already felt like crap for slowly losing his angel mojo, and there was no way to explain why Dean and Sam would be going somewhere that Cas couldn’t come. In the end they’d wound up having to do it separately, which had defeated the whole purpose of ‘maybe together we can figure something out.’

            Now, though, it would hopefully all pay off. There were a few wrapped presents and bags on the table – they’d done a little more this year than they did for each other, mostly because Cas had never experienced anything like this and Dean wanted to make sure it was good for him and that he knew he was still appreciated by the Winchesters. They weren’t going to abandon him the second he became ‘useless’, and hopefully this would help prove that. Sam had managed to find some hunter-themed things, hoping that would serve as a welcome to the lifestyle – some plaid shirts, new boots, a knife they’d found in one of the weapons rooms of the bunker, and a large and well-used book of lore he’d bartered for from one of Bobby’s contacts.

            Dean had taken a different approach, one that now felt foolish and stupid. Cas would hate his gifts, especially in comparisons to Sam’s – honestly, Dean was tempted to pull his stuff off of the table and just add his name on when Sam gave him his small pile. Sam wouldn’t call him out on it and Cas would probably never know, but something about it just felt wrong and besides, Dean had no idea what he would do with the stuff if he didn’t give it to Cas.

            Dean’s pile looked smaller than Sam’s, mostly because his stuff wasn’t actually all in a pile. The largest box contained a new, long trenchcoat – one that looked more like what Cas had worn back when they first met, instead of the smaller one he’d taken to wearing recently. He’s not sure if Cas will appreciate it, maybe he actually likes the new coat, but Dean hopes for the best. A smaller box sits on top, with a wallet stashed with various types of fake I.D. – a license and a social security card, mainly. He’d thought about putting some fake credit cards in, too, but he had the feeling Cas wouldn’t appreciate the concept of stealing and would probably be insulted. The rest of Dean’s stuff is hidden in his jacket pocket, where it will wait until Dean can see if he can either muster up the courage to act or if he’s just gonna bury them in his sock drawer and pretend he’d never had the thought to begin with.

            In one pocket, Dean has a small velvet box. There’s a plain silver band inside, the ring engraved with ‘For my angel – DW’ on the inside. Dean had started to regret the engraving almost immediately after getting it – what if Cas hated it, what if he thought Dean was making fun of him? But it was too late, and he didn’t have the money or courage to buy another ring. The other pocket has a new set of I.D., with the last name of Winchester instead of Novak.   

            He and Cas had only been together for six months. It’s hard to remember that, sometimes – it feels like they’d gotten together so much sooner, but in all actuality it’d taken a near miss on a case and a yelling match to get Dean to cave and kiss Castiel on his stupid mouth. He’d reared back, of course, an apology springing from his lips as he tried to backtrack and salvage whatever bit of friendship he could get from Castiel, but the angel had just dragged Dean back and kissed him again. They hadn’t had sex for another month after that – the fight had left too many wounds and Dean didn’t want to get their relationship off to the wrong start. If there was one thing that would be worse than never having had Cas like this, it would be having him for such a brief moment and then losing him because he’d been stupid and hadn’t waited when he knew he really should have. Already, Dean can’t help but think that it’s probably stupid and way too soon to spring something like marriage on Cas, even though Dean has to wonder if the actual significance of the gesture will even mean anything to the angel. Hopefully, if he does work up the courage, Cas will understand immediately. There’s no way Dean’s going to have the strength to make his vocal cords work enough to explain to Cas how marriage proposals work.

            He’s just finished the burgers when he hears the door to the bunker drag open, Sam announcing their arrival as he and Dean had previously discussed. The table is set as well as it ever will be, three plates and their accompaniments sitting in one corner while the gifts take up the other end. Between the gifts and plates Dean has set the assortment of food he’s been working all day to prepare – it’s way too much for three people and he knows Sam is going to give him a face because it’s all unhealthy, but it’s a birthday and Cas was still figuring out what kind of foods he liked. He’d only recently gotten to the point where he could taste food without complaining about the individual molecules taste, and while that had (and still did) worry Dean because it served mostly to remind them all of how Cas was rapidly falling, it was at least convenient right now. He’d made two small sheet cakes – a vanilla and a chocolate – with each split into half so that they could figure out what combo Cas preferred. Dean figured it would work out for the best anyway – he’d always preferred chocolate with chocolate, while Sam liked vanilla with chocolate, so he’d have to have made two cakes anyway. There’s an apple pie, too, and a carton of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream in the freezer (the only thing he knew offhand that Cas liked) as well as a carton of vanilla. He’d made burgers for dinner, of course, because at least this way Sam couldn’t say that they hadn’t had an actual meal all day, and because Cas had constantly expressed his love of Dean’s burgers. He shoves the hot burgers onto a plate and walks out to set them on the table, sliding them into place beside the plates holding the burger dressings and buns. Sam is staring at the table in wonder, blocking the door so Cas can’t see in – giving Dean an extra few seconds to prepare if he needed them, which Dean is thankful for. He waves his hand to Sam to get him to move and Sam nods his head, moving away so Cas will be able to see everything when he walks in.

            Dean’s pretty sure he stops breathing sometime around when Cas walks in and he sees blue eyes widen. Cas’ eyes scan across the table in wonder, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion, and all Dean can focus on is the pounding beat of his heart and the slightly clammy feeling of his hands as they wipe against his pants. He stays rooted to his spot as Cas walks closer, close enough to peer at the messily-iced cakes. He’d only been able to find a tube of red icing at the grocery store, even though he’d wanted either a dark blue or a green. Those were colors he knew Cas would like, but hopefully failing to find a good icing color wouldn’t impede on the night. The vanilla cake is much neater than the chocolate cake, its message a simple ‘happy birthday’. The chocolate cake, however, has some slight discoloration from where Dean had to hastily wipe away some writing. Now, it only says ‘Castiel’ on it, with a rather crappy line drawn under his name. Dean hopes the thick line is enough to cover the fact that he’d started writing ‘Winchester’ without thinking, catching himself only after he was halfway through.

            Cas reaches a hand out, running his fingers along one of the shiny wrapping paper covered boxes, before he looks back up at Dean. “Dean? What is this?”

            “What’s it look like, man?” Dean asks, gesturing to the table as if Cas had somehow missed it.

            Sam rolls his eyes, “it’s a birthday party, Cas. Dean – we – whatever, Dean thought, because you’d never really celebrated a birthday before, it’d be nice if you-“ Sam’s words die on his tongue as Cas swiftly strides over to Dean and hugs him, Dean’s arms still outstretched as Cas digs his fingers into the hunters shirt. After a beat of panic, Dean lowers his arms and wraps them around Cas, patting him on the back and shifting to hide his smile in Castiel’s hair.

            “Uh, right-“ Sam says, shuffling about awkwardly, “food’ll get cold, though, guys, might wanna save the, uh, you know, for later?”

            Dean laughs as Cas pulls away, though one of Cas’ arms remains wrapped around Dean’s waist and Dean keeps his own arm hooked over Cas’ shoulder. “C’mon, man, made some burgers for dinner, how’s that sound?”

            “It sounds wonderful, Dean,” Castiel says, nodding his head with such solemnity Dean has to bite down another laugh.  

            They eat dinner in relative silence. Most of the sounds come from Castiel, who still hasn’t learned to mask his satisfied moans whenever he takes a bite of his burger. Sam huffs and sometimes rolls his eyes at the sounds, but Dean can’t help but smile, preen and occasionally brush his foot against Castiel’s. Every once in a while the angel will pause to ask them some question – if this was why the brothers had been fidgety lately, because apparently Cas thought something was wrong and was now relieved to find that wasn’t the case, and how they’d decided what day was his apparent birthday when he knew he hadn’t been helpful to Dean in that regard. When Dean tells him it was Jimmy’s birthday Cas gets a little quiet, and it takes a minute for Sam to make a wise-ass comment about the stupid amount of food to get the night back on the happy track.

            They debate what to do after finishing their burgers – Dean argues that typically people eat cake and then do presents, but Sam and Cas both agree that they’re way too full right now to eat anything else, so they settle on having Cas open his presents first. Dean swallows and tries to hide his nervousness at the new plan – he hadn’t thought about this before. If Cas opens his presents now, and it proves to make things awkward…they’re going to have to sit and be awkward while they eat cake, or maybe Cas wouldn’t even want to eat cake with him and he’d ruin the night, and then he’d be left with two stupid cakes and a pie to remind him of his failure and –

            Sam graciously decides to go first, mostly because Dean doesn’t make any move to get his presents off of the table. Cas gives them both shocked looks when he realizes all the brightly wrapped gifts really are for him, and he’s quick to tell them how unnecessary all of this was, to which Sam and Dean brush him off and tell him that ‘that’s what family does, man.’ Dean hopes neither Cas nor Sam notice how his voice catches at the word family, and he hopes to himself that he’ll be able to use that word to describe the three of them beyond tonight.

            Cas doesn’t stop smiling as he opens Sam’s gifts, each gift ending with Cas thanking Sam again, and once more Dean thinks he’s woefully unprepared. He holds each of the shirts up to admire them and runs his fingers over the slightly off-colored pages of the text with clear admiration, and it takes Dean clearing his throat to make Cas realize that there were actually two more boxes on the table. Dean gives Cas the big one first and he keeps taking as many deep breaths as he can to steady his ever-increasing nerves.

            In the very least, Cas likes the coat. He nearly overturns his chair in his haste to get up and pull his current coat off, throwing it to the floor carelessly. Sam laughs as Dean moves to help Cas get his arms through the new coat, ignoring the tags for now – Dean had left them on on the off-chance Cas actually told him how much he hated the coat, although he guesses that’s not much of a concern now. Cas is beaming by the time they have the coat fully on him, and Dean runs his fingers down along the lapels as he takes in the much more familiar sight. This coat is definitely more Cas, it’s longer and the shade is closer to that of his old coat. Cas thanks him profusely as he slides back into his seat, his old coat forgotten in favor of the new one that Cas keeps smoothing down and running his hands over.

            Dean’s pretty sure he almost bites through his lower lip when Cas picks up the smaller box and opens it. He smiles down at the brown leather wallet and gives Dean a grateful look.

            “Uh, you gotta – open it dude, you gotta open it.” Dean says, scrubbing a hand along the back of his neck. Cas nods and moves to do so, flicking the wallet open and staring at the small I.D. cards resting in the slots.

            “I figured, since you already had an FBI badge, it’d be good if you had some other stuff to go with it, you know?” Dean rambles, glancing at his shoes instead of Cas. He peeks up once, in time to see Cas run his fingers along the name on the newly-printed license. Dean had debated what to put for a long time – Novak had seemed like the logical choice, but he wasn’t sure if Cas would like the constant remind of Jimmy, whose fate was a constant question that plagued Castiel’s thoughts at night. But after two weeks of trying to figure out something that fit, and coming up with only Novak and Milton (which had to be similarly written off – if there was one thing Dean figured that would be worse than being reminded of your host’s death, it would be that of your angel sister), Dean had been forced to cave and hope that Cas wouldn’t be too bothered by the familiar surname.

            “Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, his voice slightly off as he closes the wallet back up again and shoves it into his pocket. Dean swallows once more and goes to stand up, tensing his shoulders as he drags up the last of his courage and strength. He takes the few steps separating him from Cas and grabs the angel’s shoulder, squeezing it softly.

            “You, uh, you don’t like it, huh?” He asks, startling a little as Cas whips his head up.

            “I’m very grateful for this, Dean, of course I am!” Cas insists. He makes to stand up but Dean presses him back down, grateful that Cas lets him instead of fighting against Dean and standing up anyway. Sitting down seems like the preferable option. At least sitting Cas meant that if things went badly, Dean could quickly make a hasty retreat – he’d leave Sam to fix the mess and cut the cake, damn it, so Dean could drink his embarrassment away and hope that Cas decided to just pretend none of this happened.  

            :My stuff seemed kinda skimpy, huh?” Dean continues, one hand groping about his coat pocket as he grabs the tiny box.

            “Not at all, Dean,” Cas assures him, “I prefer this coat much more than the one I had-“ Cas trails off as Dean drops to his knee, one eyebrow raising in confusion. Dean keeps one steady hand on Cas’ knee for a moment, needing the familiar anchor, but he has to take it off so he can open the box when the time comes.

            “I, uh,” Dean says, blinking a few times to clear the panicked spots from his vision. He swallows one last time, figures ‘fuck it, it’s now or never,’ and looks up at Cas’ unwavering stare. “I didn’t want to leave this one out on the table, you know? Thought it’d be best to do it right and proper.”

            “Dean?” Cas asks, his eyes flickering between Dean and the tiny box he’s just pulling out into sight. Sam’s at a slight sight disadvantage, having sat back down on the other side of the table, but Dean knows he doesn’t need to see the box to know what Dean’s planning on doing – there’s only so many reasons to get down on one knee, after all. He’s pretty sure he hears Sam mutter something, maybe his name or some other short word, he’s not sure, but he ignores it in favor of Cas.

            “Look, man,” Dean says, rubbing his fingers along the smooth black box and over the tiny shining clasp, “I know we’ve only been together-together for six months, now, but to me it feels like we’ve been something for six years. I love you, and I’m gonna keep loving you, I know that – and I was thinking maybe, hopefully, you’d agree to throw those damn I.D.’s in the trash and get some Winchester ones, instead.” Dean stutters over the words in his haste to get them out, flicking open the tiny box and holding it with slightly unsteady hands as he waits for Cas to respond.

            He’s met with silence, and that might be worse than the direct ‘no’ he’d feared. Silence – is that even an answer? Cas is just staring at him, staring at the ring, and Dean feels more exposed and vulnerable than he ever did in Hell. He starts to lower the box, sensing the rejection in the silence, licking his lips in preparation to figure out some way to backtrack and maybe figure out some way he can pass things off as a joke.

            He stops when he feels fingers wrap around his wrist, holding his hand steady and keeping him from pulling the box back into his pocket. This time Cas actually does shove his chair until it tumbles back onto the floor, as he moves to kneel right in front of Dean, bringing the box down with him until it’s resting between them on Dean’s legs. One of Cas’ fingers skims along the smooth metal band, Cas’ eyes staring at it with an unfathomable expression, before Cas looks back up at Dean, leans forward, and kisses him soundly.

            Dean’s confused sound gets muffled in the kiss, and he barely hears the scraping of Sam’s chair moving back over the sound of his own blood pumping through his veins. When Cas pulls back Dean is left gasping, confused and still holding that damn box with that stupid ring.

            “Yes, Dean,” Cas says, his answer simple and unwavering. “Yes-“

            Dean cuts him off, kissing Castiel again as he fumbles to get the stupid ring out of the tiny hole it’s nestled in and onto Cas’ fingers. He has to break the kiss so that he can look down and see what he’s doing, having accidentally tried to jam it onto Cas’ middle finger instead of his ring finger, and he huffs out a slight laugh as both his nervousness and stupidity collide. Cas laughs with him, a soft and breathless sound, as he holds his hand up and helps Dean to slide the band into place. When they lean forward to kiss again, Dean hears the unmistakable sound of clapping and then the faint sound of a phone camera going off. He shoots Sam the middle finger in retaliation, before letting his hand rest against Castiel’s face instead.

            It takes Sam five minutes to get them off the floor and back onto their chairs, and between the time it takes him to get a lighter and light the candles on one of the cakes they’re already back to kissing each other. By the time Cas blows out his candles they’re half burned and dripping wax onto the frosting.

            They find out Cas likes chocolate cake with chocolate frosting the best, which Dean cites as proof that Cas will make the best damn husband ever. The Novak I.D.’s are thrown out before the night is over, Dean giving a whoop of celebration when the trash can lid slams down over the pieces of plastic. Cas is quick to ask about their replacements, and Sam rolls his eyes when Dean winks and pulls out the last present he’d kept in his pocket. When they slide them into the wallet Sam makes a gagging sound, but Dean can’t bring himself to care because Cas is kissing him again and it’s the best damn feeling in the world.

  Cas doesn’t find the engraving until months later, when he reluctantly takes the ring off to wash and shine it. He’s meticulous about keeping the outer ring clean and shining, but the recent case has left a crust of blood around the rim of the ring and the only way to get it completely clean is to remove the ring. By now, Cas is completely human – the changes had happened slowly, starting with feeling hunger and falling asleep and ending with what Cas described as ‘an intense stabbing pain followed by an echoing sense of nothing’. He insisted he was okay whenever Dean asked, and he always accompanied the verbal response by rubbing at the ring on his finger. Dean had only just recently gotten a matching one, a steady weight on his hand that he was in the process of getting used to.

            At first, Dean doesn’t know what’s wrong – he just notices Cas sitting at the edge of their bed, a dirty cloth in one hand the ring in the other. The ring is held at eye level, though Cas’ eyes are too unfocused to be staring at it.

            “Cas?” Dean asks, stepping into the room and joining Cas on the bed. He looks to see what had caught Castiel’s attention and remembers the inscription – he’d forgotten about it in the excitement of Cas saying yes, and now he’s not sure what to say.

            “Oh,” Dean exhales, unsure of what comfort he should offer.

            “When you had this inscribed,” Cas starts, trailing off. Dean doesn’t need him to finish to know the question.

            “You were still an angel,” he confirms, nodding his head.

            “And now?” Cas asks, his eyes taking on a slight shine to them. Dean moves and turns Cas towards him, forcing the ex-angel to make eye-contact with him.

            “And now, you’re still my angel. You saved me. That’ll never change. You’re still Castiel, and I still love you, and I’m still gonna love you fifty years from now.”

            “But I’m not an angel, anymore, Dean.”

            “No, you’re not,” Dean says softly, taking the ring from Castiel’s finger and sliding it back into place. “You’re my husband.”

[hywar]

Serial Killer!Cas Destiel AU

Previous Part

            Before Dean Winchester, Castiel had never really spent much time on the idea of being caught. It wasn’t that he was cocky – though, reflecting back on it, he supposes he was a little cocky. But, really, he just never bothered to think about what would happen or why he’d get caught to begin with. It seemed pointless – he should enjoy his life while he was still free, rather than waste time worrying and wondering about something that hadn’t even happened and that may never happen at all. Worrying would only serve one purpose, as far as he was concerned – it would make him more prone to making mistakes and slipping up.

            That had been pre-Dean. Once that perfect little omega cop sauntered onto one of his crime scenes, all bets were off. Suddenly being arrested was all Castiel could think about, as Dean started to plague his every thought. His Dean, his mate, his perfect little omega – Dean needed him. Getting his ass thrown into prison would result in a terrible life for Dean, something his mate just didn’t deserve. No, Dean deserved a stable mate, someone who was always around to care for him – not someone who’d been thrown into maximum security with no chance of parole or visitations. His every kill carried with it the weight of his fear, though he hoped he had enough control and skill to keep it from showing. Every day carried with it numerous questions – was this it? Was this the one that was going to get him caught? Was this the one where he left enough of a trail for the police to find him? What would Dean do? Who would take care of him? How would Castiel find his redemption if he was kept locked away from the shining light he was meant to polish and maintain?

            When he finally took Dean, the fear seemed to lessen – then again, so did his killing habits. He simply didn’t have the free time, not when he had a needy omega in his house. Castiel had brought Dean to a small cottage he’d been fixing up and maintaining; the place was far enough off the raider where he was confident no one would stumble upon him or Dean. It’d been touch and go at first, as he’d had to linger around his car while he stripped Dean down and tossed anything traceable away from them, but once they were speeding down the road Castiel was sure he’d made the right choice. He’d tied Dean to his bed before the omega woke up, knowing that the new surroundings and upcoming changes would serve to confuse his mate and make him prone to struggling.

            He didn’t like having Dean all tied up. Well, he did – his dick especially did – but that was different. He didn’t want him tied up all the time. No, he wanted Dean to be able to sit on his lap while they ate their meals. He wanted Dean’s head to rest on him while Castiel petted his hair and read the newspaper. He wanted Dean straddling him as they kissed, and he wanted Dean to help him fix his tie in the morning just to tug it off a few minutes later while they stumbled their way towards their bed. None of that could happen when Dean was tied into place and unable to do anything more than sit up on the bed, and it pissed Castile off.

            Unfortunately, there was simply no other choice. At least, there was no other choice at the time. He had to wait for Dean’s suppressants to wear off – then, the omega would be able to register Castiel as his mate and he’d stop fighting him so much. Not to mention, Dean would finally be able to go into heat, allowing Castiel to claim him as his mate. Then Castiel wouldn’t have to worry so much about his mate wandering off and leading Castiel on a wild chase to track him down.

            Tied up, Dean put up a constant fight. He was always yelling and tugging at his restraints, digging the metal into his skin hard enough to break through the skin. It always made Castiel freak and panic, until eventually he’d swapped the cuffs out after Dean had fallen asleep. The metal and chains were covered in cloth; soft and thick enough where Dean’s constantly pulling tugging wouldn’t further damage his skin. Dean hadn’t been pleased when he woke up, much to Castiel’s chagrin – shouldn’t his mate be happy that Castiel was keeping him from hurting himself? – but it at least stopped him from cutting his skin open anymore. Everything wound up being a fight with Dean – even something as simple as eating. Castiel had to force him to chew and swallow every bite, leaving him exhausted by the end of every meal time.

            Then, finally, Dean’s suppressants wore off and he went into heat. Even if Castiel hadn’t been waiting for this moment for what felt like forever, there was simply no way he’d ever have been able to deny Dean’s frantic begging. Sure, his mate had tried to bite his tongue and ignore Castiel at first, but Castiel had sat and waited by their bed until Dean caved and asked him to sit by him. It was a slippery slope from there, and soon Dean was begging Castiel to help him. Castile had fucked him hard and often until his heat ebbed away, and by the end of it there was a firm imprint of Castiel’s teeth in Dean’s neck, a claim that marked the omega as his and bound them together.

            After that, Dean was far more docile. Or, in the very least, he was resigned – Castiel wasn’t sure which, but at this point he’d accept either. It was at least a pleasant change from Dean yelling and hitting him, and given enough time Castiel knew Dean would come around to love him. They were meant to be together, after all.

            At least, it would have come around, had everything not gone to complete and utter shit. He’d only stepped out to get groceries – such a stupid, mundane thing, really, but the weather had been windy and terrible and Castiel knew he shouldn’t go out. But what was he to do? They were running low on food, and he wouldn’t have Dean going hungry, not when he was only just starting to eat of his own accord. Besides, the weather was only supposed to get worse over the next few days, so really, Castiel had had no choice in the matter. He’d tugged at his hat numerous times throughout the outing, but with his hands laden with bags it was impossible to keep the damn thing on him and it’d wound up being blown away by a strong gust of wind.

            Here, perhaps, Castiel was a bit too cocky. He thought he had got away – the hat blew off and he’d practically dove into his car, shoving the groceries into the back and peeling out of the parking lot. He thought he was fast, but the off-duty cop in the parking lot had apparently been faster. There’d been a few moments of peace when he got back home and untied Dean (because even now, he still didn’t quite trust his mate not to wander off if left alone) and they’d started to put away their groceries together. It was everything Castiel had ever wanted, up until he noticed Dean’s eyes widening and his mouth start forming unsaid words. He’d turned his mate towards him and tried to coax him into talking, his hands framing Dean’s face just as the door to their cottage slammed open and cops stormed in.

            He’d fought, of course. He fought to keep his hands on Dean and to keep the cops off of both of them, fought to get them out of the cottage so that they could hide away somewhere until this all blew over. He fought harder when they’d started pulling Dean away from him, desperate to get their filthy alpha hands off of his mate. Dean whimpered, their bond making him want to stay even as he yearned for his freedom, and with the amount of cops tugging at them there’s ultimately nothing Castiel can do.  

            Dean is gone, and Castiel is locked away. His mate isn’t even allowed to visit him, despite the many times Castiel had yelled and screamed that it was inhuman to keep them apart. Dean was an omega, and an omega couldn’t be without their alpha – not as long as the alpha was alive, anyway. It would lead to rejection, which would cause Dean’s health to slowly deteriorate. He would lose the will to eat and move around, until eventually he dehydrated or killed himself. All they had to do, Castiel screamed, was let Dean stay with Castiel. Then he would be fine, health-wise, and Castiel wouldn’t be so worried that something terrible was happening to him.

            The officers ignored him, other than when they tried to interrogate him. They were desperate, desperate for any sort of information on his many victims, but Castiel remained tightlipped. The only way he’d tell them anything, he said, was if they let him see Dean again – and any information eh gave would be directly proportional to how much Dean time he got. If Dean came to live in his cell, he’d gladly start talking – though, of course, he’d have to spread the information out. He couldn’t give them everything and have them take Dean away the second he was useless, after all.

            Finally, one day one of his many annoyers came in with a smirk on his face. Castiel doesn’t think much of it, not at first – the man often smiled when he thought he had something that would make Castiel talk. So far, none of it worked.

            “Wanna see your mate?” The man sneers, and Castiel’s head snaps up. Okay. So the man has his attention now, that’s for sure. They’d finally caved, then, they were going to give Castiel back his mate in exchange for the supposed comfort of his many victims’ families. It was stupid, on their part – Castiel was getting a living, breathing mate back. They weren’t getting anything. None of his kills were coming back to life. It didn’t matter if he admitted to killing them or if he showed them where some of their remains were stored away.

            “I want him in here,” Castiel says, gruffly, as he stands up. “I want to touch him, not just to see him. I want him with me.”

            The man’s smile gets a little more pronounced, sending a small sense of worry through Castiel. He’s far too happy to be someone who is, essentially, giving in to a serial killer.

            “You’re not gonna be able to touch him,” the man says, shaking his head. He opens the hatch to reach Castiel’s hands, binding them and then he bends down, opening the door to gain access to his ankles and repeating the treatment, shackling the prison and making walking a much more arduous task. Castiel isn’t sure why any of this is necessary – what do they expect him to do, knock out one guard and somehow then manage to get past the rest, get through the locked doors and the guard dogs posted at the main entrance of the prison, and then steal a car or something so that he can drive to safety?

            “Then you’re not gonna get much,” Castiel retorts, giving the main a smirk of his own. He’s never bothered to remember the guard’s name, though he knows he’s been told it numerous times.

            “Oh, I think we’ll get more than you think.” Castiel bites the inside of his cheek to keep from frowning as he’s lead back into his normal interrogation room.

            Later, Castiel will know that this is the first sign something is wrong. Visitations weren’t done in interrogation rooms – even if they were planning on having Dean visit him in cop, official-business ways. It’s too small, there’s barely enough room for Castiel and the guard, let alone for Dean’s built form.

            His next sign is when they continue to restrain him. He’s shackled and tied, bindings digging into his ankles, wrists, stomach and neck, keeping him from moving so much as an inch. His head is locked into place, so that his eyes are forced to stare at an old and bulky television that the guard clicks on. It rattles to life, dust falling off from the button as the guard pulls back, and the sound of static briefly floods the room. Then the display flickers on, flashing black a few times before settling on a black and white picture.

            It’s a security feed. Castiel would know that grainy footage anywhere, though, as he squints, this one seems to become a little clearer, like the camera was moving closer or focusing in.

            He quickly comes to understand why they have him restrained. There, in the center of the room on the television, tied to a chair much like Castiel is, is Dean. His shirt is off and his biceps are flexing as he heaves in desperate breaths, his head turning as he glances around the room. Castiel can see his muscles working to try and free him, tugging against his bindings angrily. These binds glint, reminding Castiel of the metal he’d previously used on Dean.

            “No,” Castiel snarls, forgetting to maintain any of his uncaring attitude, “no, you leave him out of this, he’s an omega-“

            “Right now, he’s your omega,” the guard smiles and pats Castiel on the head, ignoring the snarl he gets in response, “although, I don’t think that’ll last for much longer.”

            Castiel pales, eyes widening as he stares at the screen in horror. Kill him. They’re going to kill Dean, and – and it was all his fault, he’s not there to protect his mate and he has no idea where they’re keeping him. Even if he gets out of here right now, he’d never be able to find Dean before they finished.

            “Oh, don’t worry,” the man laughs and settles in on a chair beside Castiel, “we’re not planning on killing him, though I’m sure that’s what you must think. How would that look, really, a dead omega cop? ‘Sides, I’ve heard he’s actually pretty good at what he does, when he’s not being taken hostage and forcibly mated. Nah, we’re just gonna…fix things up for him, make his life a little better.”

            Castiel snarls again as the guard leans forward to invade his space, his mouth breathing nasty hot air against Castiel’s ear. “Tell me, Castiel,” the guard purrs, beads of saliva falling from his mouth and landing on Castiel’s face as he talks, “have you ever heard of bond severing?”

[hywar]

            This whole thing is stupid, as far as Dean is concerned. He’d only gone to help Sam pick out his own damn catboy – his stupid little brother had been talking nonstop about getting one ever since he’d found a house of his own. It’d been a childhood fantasy of Sam’s, but Dean had been adamant that they lived in a ‘no pets’ household, and not even Sam’s pouty face would change that. Now, though, Dean didn’t really have much of a leg to stand on, though that didn’t stop him from bitching the entire drive down to the adoption center. It didn’t help that they were in Sam’s stupid car, some new environmentally friendly thing that made Dean yearn for the familiar rumble of his beloved Impala.

            Sam had cut off that line of complaining fairly quickly. After all, it had been Dean’s decision not to take the Impala – that car was his baby, and there was no way he was getting it covered in cat hair and the leather seats gouged from claw marks. Dean just takes his complaining into a different direction, constantly asking if they’re almost there like the five-year-old he really is. Every time Sam grumbles and tells him to grow up Dean rolls his eyes and shoots back with “well, why the hell am I going, anyway?” It’s a fair question, Dean figures – he has no interest in catboys, he doesn’t understand why Sam can’t just pick out his own damn pet. But Sam had been so excited and he’d smiled and given Dean those stupid puppy dog eyes, and before Dean knew what was happening he was getting in his brothers car. Stupid weakspot. He’d do damn near anything to keep his brother smiling like that – even if it meant spending his Saturday at a smelly adoption center waiting for his brother to decide what catboy he was going to take home with him.

             When they get there, it’s nothing like what Dean had expected. Dean had figured the place would be like a traditional pet store, with cages lined up against a wall and sad little eyes looking at you through glass or bars or whatever. He should have figured Sam wouldn’t go to a place like that, though – instead, they get to what looks like a large farm. There’s a gate blocking the place off from the main road, with a little speaker system that Sam has to speak into to get the door to open so that they can slowly roll their way down the stupidly long dirt driveway. There’s a dogboy on the porch, its sandy-brown ears perking up as the car stops. It lifts its head up and woofs, before lazily settling back down on the porch and falling back asleep. Dean can’t help but snort.

            “Some guard dog,” he huffs out. Sam rolls his eyes but nods, shutting the engine off and stepping out of the car. The dog doesn’t lift its head again, not even when the house door swings open and a smiling blonde pops out, skipping down the steps and waving to Sam and Dean.

            “Hi!” She says, her eyes flickering over to Dean briefly before settling back on Sam, roving along his body in a way that makes Dean uncomfortable. Sam shifts and gives her a slightly-strained smile, and Dean is happy that he’s at least not the only one uncomfortable here. “I’m Becky! You must be Sam, right? Here to look at the catboys?”

            “Uh, yeah,” Sam says, rubbing one hand along the back of his neck as he steps closer to Becky. He reaches out and shakes her hand, and her smile grows impossibly wider, “Sam Winchester. This is my brother, Dean,” he says, gesturing towards a scowling Dean. Dean nods his head in acknowledgement but makes no move to get closer to the girl.

            “Brothers,” she says, nodding to herself, “great! Well, come on then, let’s go take a look at the cats. As you know, owning a catboy is a serious commitment – don’t settle just because you want to go home with one today. Besides, I have to make sure my babies go to a good home – maybe we could set up a time to meet, one on one, so I could check out your place and make sure you’re a good-“

            “Woah,” Sam laughs, nervously, “Yeah, okay, I get it. Can’t have just anyone adopting, I’m sure you get all kinds of crazy people coming around here. But, uh, can we maybe take a look before we set up any, uh, meets?” Becky frowns for a brief second, before her face flickers back into what appears to be her normal wide smile.

            “Of course!” She says, nodding her head enthusiastically, “of course – here, they’re right here in this barn. It’s a little too hot for them to be outside today, but if you happen to have a fenced in yard that would be great. Most of these guys love being outdoors. We keep them all together, mostly, but if you’re not happy with any of the guys in here let me know. We have some alphas in rut and some omegas in heat that we keep separate, and you can at least take a look at them and see if you wanna come back when they’re back in with the regular crowd,” She doesn’t wait for a response, instead pushing open the large barn doors and ushering them both inside. Dean takes his last deep breath of fresh air, knowing that he’s probably going to be in here for a good couple of hours.

            “Well, feel free to take a look around,” Becky says, waving her hands around the barn, “I’ll try and stay out of your way, but I’ll be right over here if you happen to need anything.” She flashes them another smile before settling down in a chair near the entrance, grabbing a book from the table beside her and flipping it open.

            The barn is huge. There are blankets and scratching posts and beds spread everywhere, along with all sorts of things for the catboys to climb on. There’s a trowel of water near one wall, with a few cats lazily lapping up the water. Most of the cats are lounging about, piled together in massive clumps on the blankets or curled inside one of the beds. A few have climbed the posts all the way to the top, and are now staring at Sam and Dean from their perch while they clean themselves. Sam starts walking around, his loud steps waking some of the cats and making them pick their heads up to glare at him. They don’t seem impressed with having strangers in their home, and Dean wonders whether this is a regular occurrence for them. He’s not sure how anyone is supposed to tell what the difference is between the alpha cats and the omega cats – he knows from Sam that the alphas are typically bigger and less inclined to listen to commands, but they’re cats. What the hell do you command a cat to do, anyway? And most of these guys look young, too young to tell what they’re supposed to be. He supposes for Sam it doesn’t really matter – if it did wind up being an omega, he could always get it fixed. Otherwise he’d have to get it an alpha, and Dean is really hoping his brother is not looking to get into the catboy breeding business.

            The first cat to approach them is a girl with a mixture of blond and brown coloring. She brushes along Sam’s legs until he bends down and starts petting her, arching into his touch with a slight smirk on her face. Sam seems pretty interested in her, and for a second Dean thinks maybe they’ll get out of here a lot faster than anticipated. Then another cat walks by, a boy a lot smaller than the girl, and he tries to brush against Sam’s side. The female cat hisses and raises her sharp claws to bat at the cat, and Sam immediately withdraws.

            Sam wasn’t planning on getting another pet any time soon, but he didn’t want to write off the possibility from the start. Besides, if the cat was this unfriendly with the cats she had grown up with, there was no telling how she’d be with anyone Sam invited over. He wanted someone a lot more friendly and affectionate. Dean groans and watches as Sam stands back up and walks away from the cat, smiling at little at the fact that the female looks pretty pissed off at having lost his attention.

            The process repeats four times. Each time, Sam will bend down and start petting and examining a cat, and each time he’d lose interest and start looking at the other cats around him. Dean can’t tell if he’s just having a hard time picking or if none of them have managed to truly capture his attention, but he’s really not game for spending another weekend looking.

            “Well?” He asks, gruffly. His hands are shoved in his pocket and his eyes are watering from the cat hair. His allergies aren’t normally this bad, but in a room with so many cats he’s found that it’s a lot worse. Sam doesn’t answer him, instead focusing on another catgirl that had decided to investigate them.

            Dean doesn’t even notice the catboy at first.  It’s hard to, with so many cats prowling about, all focused on either ignoring or investigating the new intruders. And it’s not like this was the first cat to brush past him to get to Sam – they all seemed to sense that Dean wasn’t even remotely interested in them, and none of them deigned him worthy of bestowing their attention on.

            So when this catboy brushes against him, Dean ignores it. He doesn’t even glance down, not until he feels claws dig threw his jeans and make contact with his skin. Then he jerks and curses, glancing down at the ground where a larger than normal catboy is sitting, with one hand’s claws hovering in the air from where he’d been batting at Dean.

            “The hell?” He says, taking a step back from the catboy. The thing eyes him carefully, tail swishing behind him as he watches Dean step back. Its black ears are nearly hidden in his messy hair, and his blue eyes are bright enough where Dean’s sure you’d be able to spot this guy in the dark. He’s wearing more clothing than any of the other cats, a tan trenchcoat and a dirty white shirt coupled with too-big dress pants, a worn tie sloppily tied into place. Some of the catboys are wearing collars with their names on them – this one has his name embroidered in the tie, the black lettering standing out against the blue material. Castiel. Dean waves his hand towards Sam and tries to shoo the cat away. “Go on,” he says, “That’s the guy you wanna convince, over there. Leave me alone.”

            The cat gives him an unimpressed look and suddenly stands up, making Dean take another step back.

            None of the other cats had bothered to stand, but then, Sam hadn’t really given them a reason to. He’d always bent down to their level, but apparently refusing to do that was a good way to get a face full of irritated cat. Castiel is tall, taller than Dean would figure a catboy would be – aren’t they supposed to be housepets, not six-foot something grown adults?

            Dean squeaks as Castiel prowls closer, claws digging into Dean’s clothes as he presses against the man and shoves his head against Dean’s throat. He feels a faint snuffling as the cat sniffs him, and then a huff of breath bats against his throat. He stays frozen as Castiel starts rubbing against him, a faint purring sound reverberating through his chest.

            “Uh, Becky?” Dean calls, cursing internally that he has to ask for help, that he can’t fend off a stupid cat, “some help over here would be great.” Castiel starts lapping at his throat, his rough tongue making Dean grimace with distaste. Great, now he’ll need to shower when he gets home, too.  

            “Oh!” Becky says, darting over to them quickly. She moves to grab Castiel, which ordinarily would be humorous – a small girl like her trying to tug a much larger creature off a grown man – but this is Dean and it’s not so funny when it’s him the damn cat has latched on to. “Oh, I’m so sorry – he’s not normally like this, he doesn’t normally go near people at all. Castiel, stop it! Get off!”

            Castiel hisses and tries to step forward, making Dean panic and slide back. His foot catches on a blanket and with a curse Dean falls back, Castiel still clinging to him and falling with him.

            His back throbs with pain but Castiel doesn’t seem to have even noticed the impact, instead shifting so that he’s fully on top of Dean. His claws dig further into his clothing, just starting to cut into Dean’s skin, and he’s moved on to start licking at Dean’s face.

            “Ugh, seriously,” Dean grumbles as his hands try and lift the stubborn catboy off. Castiel’s purring falters and he lets out a small hiss, his fangs nipping at Dean’s ear and his body pressing even closer. “Sam! A little help, here? Get this fucking thing off of me, damn it.”

            “I’m really sorry!” Becky keeps saying, “I swear, he’s never done this before, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him go near anyone, not even me!”

            “Yeah, look,” Dean grumbles, glaring, “I really don’t care, just get him off of me.”

            “Right, yes, sure-“ Becky leans over and tries to wrap her hands around Cas, getting nothing more than a hiss for her troubles. Castiel digs in deeper, and now Dean’s pretty sure he actually is bleeding from the damn claws.

            “Okay, hey, stop!” He nearly screams. “Fuck, man, you’re making it worse.”

            “I’m sorry!” Becky repeats, though Dean has to say – she doesn’t sound very sorry at all. No, she sounds kinda happy and relieved, and it’s really pissing Dean off.

            When his brother starts laughing, Dean goes from being pissed off to furious. “Are you fucking kidding?” he asks, “you find this funny?”

            “Sorry,” Sam waves his hand and gestures towards Dean, “it’s just, I know how you feel about cats. You’ve gotta admit, it’s kinda funny.”

            “This isn’t funny!” Dean snaps back, “claws fucking hurt, man!”

            Castiel meows and at least he seems slightly apologetic, as his claws retract a fraction. Dean lets out a sigh of relief.

            “Come on, man,” he says, and jesus, how is this his life? Trying to talk a cat into getting off of him, really? Yeah, sure catboys could understand and speak a little, but that didn’t make this any less weird. “How about you get off me, now, huh?”

            Castiel purrs and licks at Dean’s face again, before leaning in to nuzzle at him.

            “Oh,” Becky breaths out, “oh dear, oh – uhm-“

            “What?” Dean says, perhaps a little too sharply but hey, he’s got a heavy catboy on his chest and his face and throat feel sticky from his rough tongue leaving saliva everywhere.

            “It’s just-“ Becky stops again.

            “What?”

            “Well,” she takes a breath, “well, Castiel here is – he’s an alpha.”

            “And?” Dean asks, rolling his eyes as the catboy pressing his face back against his neck, his nose nudging against Dean’s chin and making his head lean back.

            “And that’s – that’s not how alpha cats treat humans, I’m afraid. He’s, uh, scentmarking you. Like he would an omega cat.”

            Dean’s eyes widen and he resumes his efforts to get Castiel off of him, cursing when all it does is make Castiel dig into him and start hissing again. “You’re fucking kidding – I’m not even a fucking cat, get this thing off of me-“

            “I’m sorry!” Becky says, but she doesn’t even try to get Castiel off of him, “He’s never done this before!”

            “Yeah, heard you the first time!”

            “I’m not sure I can get him off!”

            “Are you kidding? He’s your damn cat!”

            “Well, legally, yes. But Castiel’s never even come near me. As soon as he was old enough to leave his mom he did, and he’s never expressed interest in any of the cats since then – not even when they go into heat. I’ve tried getting him adopted out, but as you can see it hasn’t really been effective. And he’s so much older than all of the other cats here,” she laments.

            “Look, this isn’t my problem. Get your damn cat off of me.”

            “And if I don’t find him a home soon, well, I’m just not sure I’ll be able to afford to keep him here. He’s so large, after all.”

            “No!” Dean protests, just as Sam starts laughing again, “No way, I am not buying your damn cat. Not interested, no way, just get him off of me. I don’t care if you have to kick him out onto the streets or what, I’m not taking him.”

            Castiel hisses and nips at Dean’s throat, the action making Dean still in his movements. Catboys have sharp teeth, and that’s a sensitive area – he’d rather not have a pissy cat cut into an important vein, thank you very much.

            “Please?” Becky clasps her hands together, even though Dean’s head is tilted back far enough where he can’t see her, “please? You don’t even have to buy him – I’ll give him to you, free of charge, just please take him? He needs a home!”

            “I thought you had to have personal meetings?” Sam asks, narrowing his eyes. “And Dean doesn’t have a yard; he lives in an apartment building.”

            “That’s fine!” Becky says, quickly, “Castiel here is just so picky, I’m sure you’ll be a great owner for him. Just, please, take him!”

            “I’m not taking-“

            “Dean,” Sam says, putting on his best pouty-little-brother voice. “Come on, he seems friendly enough-“

            “He’s got his damn demon claws digging into my flesh, Sammy! Not nice!”

            “Yeah, because people keep trying to grab him. He’s probably just scared! And he’s old, Dean, no one else is gonna want to look past the little kittens.”

            “So why don’t you take him?”

            “Because he apparently has decided he likes you!”

            “Yeah, and I’m not about to encourage that!” Dean protests.

            “That shouldn’t really be a problem,” Becky insists, “he went into rut recently, so you’ve got some time to get him to stop with that behavior. Just make sure to be consistent-“

            “I don’t want a catboy!” Dean insists, “I’m not a pet person, my apartment is small, I’m barely home-“

            “You only leave to go to work,” Sam points out, “you could, you know, start putting in normal hours at work instead of staying overtime all the time, and then you’d be home. And I can always stop by if you need help, Dean-“

            “Why are you encouraging this? We came here for you!”

            “Yeah, but I think I want to keep looking,” Sam says, “wanna make sure I make the right choice, you know?”

            “Yeah, I do, that’s why I don’t want a damn cat!”

            “Please, Dean?” Sam bends down and runs a hand through Castiel’s hair, ignoring how the cat moves away and presses closer to Dean, “look at him, I’m sure he’ll be no trouble at all. Cats are independent, man, and it’d give you some company now that I’m gone.”

            “Maybe I like being alone,” Dean protests, weakly, knowing already that Sam can tell he’s lying. He’s been lonely ever since his stupid little brother had moved out, even though he’d said he was ‘celebrating his freedom’. The apartment was small, but it still sucked to come back to it and sit alone. “I don’t want a cat,” he says. His protests are weaker as Castiel kneads his shoulder before laying his head down.

            “He’s free,” Becky repeats, “I can even give you some food and stuff, to get you started.”

            Dean squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. Fuck. “Fine,” he grumbles, immediately regretting his decision once the word was out. Becky squeals and claps her hands together loudly, making Castiel hiss and raise his head back up, his ears tilting in irritation.

            “Oh, that’s great, thank you so much! I’m sure you won’t regret it! I’ll go and grab some things for you, and meet you out by the car!”

            “Wait!” Dean says, but Becky has already hurried out the door. “Damn it,” he grumbles. “Okay, Castiel, come on. You’re coming home with me, I guess.” Castiel purrs loudly and nuzzles Dean’s throat again. “Which means you have to get off of me, man, come on now.”

            Castiel lets out an irritated puff but complies, kneading Dean’s shoulder a final time before tumbling off of him and onto the floor. He barely gives Dean any space when he gets up, standing up and following close behind as they make their way to the car. By the time they get out there Becky is already waiting, a cardboard box full of supplies in her hands. She shoves it towards Sam and smiles, “Maybe you can come back and take another look later? I can call you and let you know when we get another litter-“

            “That’s okay,” Sam says, quickly, “I’ll take a look around, and I’ll probably be busy helping Dean out, now. I can always call and set up another appointment, yeah?”

            “Of course,” Becky says, slightly glum, “sure, please do. Enjoy your new catboy,” she says to Dean as she backs away from the car and goes to stand on the porch.

            Dean nods and gives her a phony thanks in response before opening the backseat of the car. Sam puts the box of supplies in on the floor and they usher Castiel into the car. He narrows his eyes and glares at Dean, who finally throws his arms in the air.

            “Fine, don’t get in the damn car,” Dean grumbles, stepping aside and opening the passenger side door. He slides into the car and curses when Castiel follows him, climbing onto his lap before he has a chance to shut the door. “Aw, hell no, man. You’re in the backseat, get off of me.”

            Castiel shakes his head and proceeds to get comfortable, tail swishing about before it ultimately curls around Dean’s legs. His head rests on Dean’s shoulder, and he moves it occasionally to brush against Dean.

            When Dean looks over, Sam is shutting the door to the backseat and he’s biting his lip to keep from smiling.

            “Not a word,” Dean mutters, as one of his hands lifts up to rest against Castiel’s back. It’s just more comfortable, he tells himself, even though he gets out a loud purr in response to the action.

            Sam doesn’t say a word for the drive home, though that doesn’t stop him from occasionally glancing over and fighting to hide a smile or a laugh. Dean glares at him each and every time he catches him, but he never moves his hands off of Castiel and by the time they get home Castiel’s eyes are closed and Dean is snoring.  

[hywar]

If Dean Winchester was absolutely certain about anything, it was what he loved. It probably helped that the list was so short – his little brother, his car, pie, and, of course, Castiel Novak. A blue eyed brunette Dean had met working at his uncle Bobby's mechanic shop, with a beat up car that made Dean cringe every time he thought of Cas driving it. Cas, with his constantly skewed blue tie and too-big suit and trench coat that he insisted was proper attire for absolutely everything, from grocery shopping to anniversary dinners. Cas, a part time professor and full-time artist, who could create such vivid scenes with a paintbrush that Dean would swear he'd sold his soul in exchange for the skill.

Cas was perfect. He was everything Dean ever could want in a person, and for some strange reason he and Cas had actually managed to stumble their way into a committed relationship. One car repair turned into four, which turned into Dean giving Cas his cell number in case the mess of a car actually broke down somewhere, which turned into Cas calling him when his car really did break down on a back road. Dean had rushed out of his apartment, not even bothering to turn off the Dr. Sexy marathon airing on TV, and together they'd wound up calling a tow-truck to tow the car back to Bobby's. Dean wasn't working that day, and Bobby wouldn't hear of him taking on overtime when he had other people waiting for work to do, so Dean had wound up taking Cas out to lunch while they waited for the verdict on his car. Much to Dean's dismay, the problem was small and cheap enough where Cas decided to pay to have it fixed instead of marking the car off as a loss and looking into some safer and more reliable transportation. Much to his delight, however, that one lunch with Cas snowballed into movies and coffee and dinners at home. That wreck of a car was possibly the best thing to ever happen to Dean, if he was being honest with himself.

It might also have been the worst. Nowadays, Dean would probably go so far as to say it definitely was the worst – and it had been for eight years, ever since Cas stumbled his way out of his life just as easily as he'd come into it, with nothing but a hastily-scrawled 'You'll find someone else. I'm sorry.' left in his wake.

Dean had panicked, of course – what was he supposed to do when he came home from work an hour late, fretting about what to cook for dinner and whether Cas would be too busy grading papers to even want to sit down for a meal tonight, and all he found was an empty driveway? An empty everything – empty dresser drawers and bookshelves and an empty side of the sink, everything that Cas had brought he'd taken back with him. He hadn't even left behind a stray sock, and he'd gone so far as to clean the paint off the side of the wall where he'd smudged it two days ago. Dean had tried to remember if that was the reason Cas would leave him, but he was pretty sure he hadn't gotten mad – he'd laughed, if he remembered right, at the bashful face Cas had made when he realized he'd flung the paintbrush a little too hard and sent flecks of paint flying onto the cream walls.

He'd thought about why a lot. He thought about it all that night, in between calling Gabriel and Balthazar to see if they'd heard from their little brother, and to beg that they call him the second that they did. In between calling Cas, as hopeless as that would be, and leaving messages on his voice mail that he knew Cas would never listen to – Cas never checked his voice mail, he'd just leave the icon on the screen until Dean would start getting the 'mailbox full' recording and he'd force Cas to sit down and empty it out, which normally just meant hitting the 'delete all' button and being done with it. He'd thought about it when he couldn't sleep at night, when all he could do was stare at the empty side of the bed and clutch at the sheets where another pillow used to be, because Cas had even taken that with him.

When Gabriel finally got back to him, it was a month later. He'd barely stayed on the phone – long enough to tell him that Cas was alive and to apologize, long enough to hear Dean's voice catch as he tried to ask the millions of questions that had been plaguing his thoughts – where is he, why'd he leave, what did I do, how do I fix it, is he coming back? But not long enough to hear any of those questions – when Dean asked, his response was a dial tone. When he called back he couldn't get through. It took another two months for Balthazar to finally pick up his phone, and that conversation was just as brief – barely anything about Cas, just that he was okay and that Dean should really stop calling and another apology that made Dean break down and start swearing, not even stopping for a breath until another dial tone pierced through his rant.

He'd stopped calling them after that. He tried Cas a few more times – on Cas' birthday, when he'd left a message. On their anniversary, when he'd been too drunk to remember if he'd left one or not. On Dean's birthday, when he knew what to expect and had hung up the phone before the prerecorded message could even finish playing. That was the last time – last because he'd thrown his phone at the damn wall, listened to it crack and stomped on it just to make sure. He'd gone out the next day to get a new one, and he hadn't bothered to add Cas back into his phone book, even though he knew the number by heart and kept accidentally typing it in.

It was a few years later that Sam finally gave him the advice he'd been needing – move on. No sugar-coating, not anymore, no 'it'll be okays' or 'you deserve better'. Just the cold, hard truth – move on with your life. Cas is gone. And he isn't coming back. And you need to stop living your life waiting for him to come back, because he's not. Just move on, Dean, it's been years.

It took another year for him to actually feel like he'd taken that advice, when he started dating again and didn't look at everyone and think about how they compared to Cas. When he stopped saying yes to lunch because the girl had blue eyes or the guy had just the right amount of stubble, when he stopped freezing up every time his phone rang and a unfamiliar number lit up the screen.

It took another four years for him to end up where he is today – in a new house across town, a place he'd gotten shortly after entering his long-term relationship with Lisa Braeden, a single mother who was so devoted to her child she sometimes forgot to do nice things for herself. Dean had fallen into parenting like a fish to water, raising Ben like the son he'd always wanted. They went to baseball games and Dean taught him everything he could about cars, and when Ben got into fights with his mom it was Dean who defused the situation and made things better again. Lisa had loved his small rented townhouse, though they'd both agreed that it needed to be sold. For Lisa, it wasn't big enough for a growing boy to run around in. For Dean, it wasn't possible to ignore the painful ache that went through him every time he saw someone sitting in the chair Cas had claimed as his own, and sometimes it was hard to fight back the urge to shove Lisa's hair products off of Cas' side of the bathroom sink.

Things got easier when they moved, though. They'd found another house big enough to suit their needs and in a good school district and Dean had finally felt like he'd taken his little brother's advice. He'd moved on. There were no more reminders of Cas everywhere he went, no more reasons to remember what was or to think about what could have been. He was happy.

In hindsight, it made sense that Cas would reenter his life as messily as before. This time it isn't a mechanics shop. It wasn't any of the millions of ways Dean had thought about during those long four years when he'd still clung to the hope of Cas returning – there was no deep, cracking voice on the other end of a phone call, no man knocking on his door with flowers. There was just Dean, stressed and tired after finding out that his usual coffee place was so jammed he'd never make it to work on time, so he'd walked to the smaller shop down the street that seemed like it never got enough traffic to stay in business. Dean, squinting at the board for prices because he already knows he's just gonna get a large black coffee, because he doesn't trust any of these guys to be able to perfectly make his coffee like Benny's shop does and he doesn't want to get his hopes up this early in the morning. Dean, ordering his coffee and pulling out his wallet to pay only to feel someone grab his arm and tug him back, a familiar gruff voice saying, “I've got it.”

There was just Dean, whose heart stopped and started so fast he thought he was about to have a heart attack. Just Dean, whose fists clenched up and whose fingers dug into his jeans to keep from punching the man beside him. Cas ordered something – probably some weird tea thing, because Cas had never been a big coffee drinker, and Dean had walked away without so much as a thank you.

Cas followed him, of course, standing beside Dean as they waited for their drinks to be placed on the counter, and when Dean found a hand gripping at his jacket again he didn't have to think before he was shoving it off, glaring at Cas with all the pent up anger and resentment he'd built up over the past eight years.

Where were you, he wanted to ask, wanted to demand an answer. How could you leave, how could you go without so much as a word, without a fight or anything? He doesn't ask, though, doesn't really want to know the answer. It doesn't matter. It hasn't mattered in years.

“I'm sorry,” Cas says, his hand hovering in the air, fingers twitching as they fight to stop from brushing against Dean again. He tries not to think about how weird it is – Cas had always been touchy feely, ever since they first went out to lunch and he'd kept their feet brushing together. He'd never held himself back. Dean had never given him reason to.

He tries and fails not to get angry. Another apology. How many has he heard in these past eight years? How many of them were about Cas? Too many. Always too fucking many. Dean doesn't respond – he can't think of a way to. There's no forgiveness, no way to acknowledge just how poorly an I'm sorry and a coffee made up for eight years of this. He's thought about what he'd say to Cas ever since he left, conversations changing from I'm sorry, take me back to I hate you you fucking bastard, and now it seems like none of them hold the weight and sincerity that Dean needs.

“Can we talk?” Cas asks, and Dean snorts. The barista calls out a large black coffee and Dean reaches for it, ignoring how his fingers grip above the sleeve and the heat seeps through the cup.

“No.” Dean says, “we can't.” It's final and flat and everything Dean thought he'd never have the strength to do – he's done it, he's moved on, it's over.

“Please?” Cas tries again, turning towards Dean and ignoring the barista, this time calling out an earl gray tea. “I really want to talk.”

“Yeah?” Dean looks at him, looks at him for what really is the first time in eight years. He takes in the dark bags under his eyes and the new wrinkles and the messy hair, the stubble that's starting to look a little more like a beard than a few days without a shave. He looks at him and compares him to the memory of Cas his brain has kept stored for years, and he's not sure if Cas has changed or if his perception is truly that warped. This isn't the same man. It can't be. This isn't the perfect human that Dean couldn't imagine living without, those aren't the same lips that curved into a gummy smile after Dean kissed him. These hands aren't covered in multicolored specks of paint. The only thing that remains is the tie, still backwards and skewed and looking like it'd been quickly put on after a hasty encounter. There's no urge to fix the tie. Dean tries not to think about what that means.

“I'm sure you do,” he says, instead of the fuck you he wants, “I wanted to talk, too. Eight years ago.”

Cas withdraws, his hand falling to his side. “I know,” he says. “I thought I was doing what was right.”

“Yeah? And now?”

“Now I've realized I was wrong. I've been trying to find you for years, Dean, your numbers changed and your brother won't talk to me for more than it takes to figure out who I am-”

“Are you expecting sympathy? You're fucking unbelievable, man -”

“That's not what I want! I just – I was wrong, Dean, I thought I was doing us both a favor and it took me far too long to realize that all I was doing was hurting us both. I can't live without you, I don't want to live without you-”

“How many years did it take you to realize that?” Dean asks. He's proud of how his voice doesn't waiver, how his eyes don't sting and how calm he's sure he is, standing there with his coffee cup burning his fingertips and his foot tapping impatiently against the ground. “How long until you realized you should have stayed? How long until you realized you should have fucking talked to me, instead of leaving me a note and running like the goddamn coward you are?”

There's a mother and child behind him, the mother clearing her throat angrily and gesturing to the eight-year-old clinging to her hand.

“Four years.” Cas says, softly, “I – there were four years, when I at least thought that you were happy, but then I realized...if I'm this miserable...and I listened to the messages you left-”

“Four years ago. I left those messages four years before you decided to listen to them.”

“I know, but-”

“It took you four years to realize that we had something great, that we could have been something great, if you'd just gotten your head out of your fucking ass.” The mother coughs again, this time a little louder, nudging her way past Dean to grab a hot chocolate and mocha.

“I'm sorry-” It's like a mantra, and it's all Dean can do not to burst out laughing at how empty those two words have become for him. Void of all meaning, at least when they're put into context of Cas.

“But you know what, Castiel?” Dean waves his hand up, the coffee sloshing dangerously close to the lid. He takes pride in how Cas stiffens at the use of his full name, something Dean hasn't said since the man first walked into his life, “I guess I'm not as big of a dick as you are. So you know what? I'm gonna give you some advice – advice that I wish someone had given me eight fucking years ago, but I guess you're just luckier than I am. Move on. There's nothing left here, there's been nothing left here for years now, and the only thing left for you to do is move on with your damn life.”

When he turns to leave he nearly plows into the scowling mother. He ignores her as easily as he ignores Cas calling his name, and by the time he's outside he feels like he's seconds away from crashing.

The small bell above the coffee shop door chimes to announce his leaving and slams shut. Dean makes his way back towards where he parked the Impala. He doesn't feel the need to look back, doesn't bother paying attention to the dozen or so different sounding footsteps of the people around him. The sun is shining and there's a bird chirping from somewhere – there, above him, perched on an old-fashioned streetlamp and flapping it's wings about as it shifts and darts along the curve of the pole. His phone rings and he picks it up, balancing his coffee on the hood of his car so he can unlock the door while he presses the phone to his ear with his shoulder.

“Dean,” Lisa's voice, tinny and distorted but still her, comes through the speaker, “Ben's at a sleepover tonight. What should I pick up for dinner?”

Eight years ago, a deathtrap of a car rattled its way into Dean's life. It may have been the best thing of his life. It may have been the worst. He's still not sure.

[hywar]

Chapters: 1/5 Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Garth Additional Tags: Octopus Castiel, Tentacles, Tentacle Sex, Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Castiel, Dominant Castiel, Bottom Dean, Creature Fic, Minor Character Death Summary:

Ever since the seraph were discovered, there's been one rule society has had to adapt to: stay out of open water. Powerful, determined and aggressive, the octopus-human creatures are in a league of their own and have no qualms with taking what they want and attacking what they don't. Now, children learn to swim in man-made lakes and beaches are deserted save for researches and the fool-hearted.

Dean Winchester is neither of those things. But a hunt has brought him and Sam, his brother, to one of the many abandoned beaches, where Dean is left with no choice but to take refuge in the water. He should be safe, he thinks, he doesn't go too deep - just deep enough to hide himself and to deter his pursuer.

He forgot just how fast the damn things could be, and how determined they were once they had their eyes on something.