Years ago, while investigating a missing teenager, Dean made an account on a blogging platform in the hopes of tracking down the monster that took her. He’d planned to delete the app once they wrapped the case, but one thing led to another, and the next thing he knew he had a surprisingly popular blog on his hands.
Over the years, he’s become kind of dependent on the outlet his “Circlr” community affords him, especially when going through hard times.
Hard times like now. Because Cas just came back from the dead, and he’s already taking off again to raise Jack in Washington where he’d died not so long ago, hoping to give the kid the time and space he needs to get a handle on his volatile powers.
Feeling abandoned and rejected, Dean needs pocket friends more than ever.
Cas, meanwhile, has no idea how to raise a teen. Luckily, the internet has directed him to a blogging platform full of helpful advice, recipes, and semi-anonymous people to befriend…
Link to fic | Link to art
Pairings: Dean/Cas
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, References to Depression, References to Suicidal Ideation
Thanks for the prompt, anon! I hope you enjoy, and I’m sorry it took so long for me to fill. You can also read here on Ao3 💚
Deus Ex Caschina
Dean/Cas | 2k words | Mature
When Dean and Sam get into a bad situation on an impromptu hunt near the Cuevas Ranch in New Mexico, Dean calls on Cas for help.
There’s something whistling out in the desert; a shrill, two-note call that starts high and ends low and makes all the hairs on Dean’s forearms stand on end.
Even knowing that whistling back is the worst possible thing he could do, he feels the impulse ricocheting through his body. He tamps it down. Hard. Presses his lips together and waits for the compulsion to pass.
Beside him, Sam has gone stock-still, eyes sharp and jaw tense as he scans the dark for some sign of the — well. Whatever it is.
Why he thinks he’s going to be able to see a damn thing beyond the fire-lit edges of their camp is a mystery, but Dean doesn’t bother to mention it. More likely than not, he’s not even thinking that far. A lot of the time, Dean knows, it’s less about having any real hope of success and more about the need to feel as though you’re at least doing something. Anything at all.
Because really, when it comes down to the cold hard facts? They’re helpless out here.
Sitting ducks, waiting for whichever desert-dwelling monster has been picking off the local horses — and most recently, an extremely unfortunate veterinarian — to stop toying with them like a cat batting a mouse from one side of a room to the other.
They’d found the case entirely by accident. Had been passing through New Mexico on their way back to the bunker when Dean had heard a familiar voice while waiting for his order at the Watrous Coffee House. He’d glanced toward the door, scanning faces, and found Cesar Cuevas talking with an older guy in dusty flannel.
Within the hour, he and Sam had been sitting in the kitchen of Jesse and Cesar’s ranch house going over the scant clues the retired hunters had managed to pull together in the days since a local vet — a well-liked guy named Petey — had been found on the edge of the neighboring acreage with his insides on the outside.
It’s not a lot.
Like the three horses which had suffered similar fates in the week before Petey died, there wasn’t any sign of a fight. No scuff marks in the ground to suggest he’d been dragged there after.
The local cops determined pretty quickly that the remains were in line with those left behind by a mountain lion and closed the case.
"Because of the missing spinal columns," Cesar had explained, his nose crinkling up in disgust. "Cougars tend to go for that first, and Petey and the horses were all… well. You get the idea."
"So what makes you think they're wrong?" Sam asked.
"Besides the fact that they're cops?" Jesse had snarked back, and Dean snorted. "No bite or claw marks, no paw prints, no scat, for starters."
"And this," Cesar added, handing over a long chunk of glittering stone. It only took Dean a moment to realize why it seemed familiar.
"Fulgurite?" he'd asked, handing it off to his brother, and Jesse and Cesar had nodded. "Any lightning storms lately?
"Not in months. And we found these at every site."
"Any idea what it means?"
"No clue."
"And that's all you've got so far?" Sam had asked, and the pair had nodded.
"Yup," Jesse said. "That's all."
That was six days ago, now, and though they've found a little more evidence, they're still stumped. Hence the camp out. Dean wasn't keen on it — camping isn't his bag on a good day, let alone when there's something eviscerating everything it can get it's hands on in the area — but after days of dead ends, and two more dead horses, they're beyond the point of putting it off.
Staring out past the creosote and cactus that edge their campsite, and knowing full well that he'd have just as much luck with his eyes closed, Dean listens for some other sound that might tell him what they're dealing with. Where it is.
Nothing. Just the distant pop of a car backfiring, and the tiny blinking lights of a plane flying east to west overhead. He's ready to give up when the whistle comes again.
Hiiiiiiiigh-low.
Shrill and sharp. It seems to come from somewhere straight ahead, and Dean strains to see. Strains and strains until his eyes start to sting.
He needs to blink.
…why the fuck can't he blink?
He tries to tell Sam, but his jaw feels wired shut. His tongue heaves against nothing, unmoving in his mouth as if pressed flat by some invisible force. He can’t speak. Can’t move.
He has the brief, panicked thought that he might not be able to breathe, but it passes. His lungs expand. Deflate. Expand.
Whatever is doing this, it doesn't want him dead.
Yet, he thinks, and the panic sets back in, dialed to eleven. It doesn't want me dead yet.
Thanks to the way they're standing, he's only peripherally aware of the side of Sam’s face, but it seems that he is experiencing the same problem. Great. Awesome.
Another whistle. Dean's skin prickles head-to-toe. Itches, like he's brushed up against fiberglass. His vision blurs as his eyes water with the agony of it, of being so goddamn itchy that he can't think, but utterly incapable of doing anything about it.
Another whistle.
Closer, now, but this time it's behind them. A little to the right.
Suddenly, the fact that there was never any evidence of a struggle makes a lot more sense. It's not that the thing is fast, or even particularly sneaky. It’s just been doing this. Rendering its victims incapable of fighting, moving, making a sound.
If they were anyone else, they’d be screwed right now.
If they were anyone else.
Cas, he prays, grateful beyond words for the angel on his shoulder and his freshly-reinstated wings. We’re in a bit of a situation here, buddy.
Another whistle.
Closer, still.
Another.
Then;
SNAP.
A wet crunch and a sound like a hose unravelling.
Cas, I really fucking hope that's you, Dean prays again, trying not to let himself imagine that a spinal column might make that sound if it were being yanked out of a living creature.
A whistle. Distressed gurgling.
THUD.
Footsteps crunching closer, and—
"Dean," Cas strides into his view, concern etched into his brow, his face spattered with blood. The wet droplets reflect the crackling fire, making him glitter in a way that should not be hot, but somehow really is. "That creature was about to kill you. Why didn't you call me sooner?"
You said you wanted to spend the week with Jack, Dean prays. I didn't want to interrupt Heaven stuff.
Cas frowns. Reaches out to touch Dean's jaw. His body floods with warmth as Cas' grace works whatever paralytic agent he'd been afflicted with from his system, and though he's been able to breathe the entire time, he sucks in a breath. Relaxes his muscles that feel as though he's been tensing them for a solid hour.
Fuck, he's gonna need a massage tomorrow. He can already tell he's gonna be feeling it in about three hours.
"'Heaven stuff' can wait. And Jack is God. He has plenty to occupy himself when I'm on Earth."
"Yeah, I know. I just… I feel like I've been monopolizing your time since you got back, that's all."
"It's not monopolizing my time when you're the person I wish to spend my time with," Cas reminds him. "Besides, I thought we agreed that if I was taking time off from hunting, you would too? You were supposed to be driving straight back to the bunker. I would have stayed to make the drive with you if I'd known you'd be putting yourself in danger."
"We were driving back. But then we ran into Jesse and Cesar, and they told us about this thing that had been— look, it's a long story, okay? And hey, you saved the day. So, y'know. All's well that ends well."
Cas huffs and crosses his arms. Unfortunately for him, Dean thinks the display is more cute than it is imposing.
"I'd prefer you didn't need saving in the first place."
"Well, yeah, obviously," Dean tells him. He glances over his shoulder. "What was it, anyway? Thing had a killer freeze ray."
"I'm not entirely sure," Cas admits, and Dean steps forward, pulling his sleeve down over his hand and wiping the dark blood off of Cas' cheek.
"But you killed it," he says.
"I did. It was projecting its intentions rather strongly. It was going to eat your spine, and then most of your organs. I couldn't allow it to live."
"My hero," Dean tells him, then, a brainwave; "Deus ex Caschina."
He grins wide, and Cas rolls his eyes. Waves a hand to zap the rest of the blood away. Dean takes that as his cue to properly express his appreciation.
"Thanks, sweetheart," he says.
Try as he might, Cas can't keep the displeased frown on his face when Dean pushes into his space and kisses him. He does still manage to sound huffy when he says you're welcome, Dean, but the tilt of his mouth softens the bite.
"So, is Jack expecting you back upstairs tonight?" Dean asks, nipping lightly at his lip. "I'd kinda like to repay you for the assist. Get on my knees, say a prayer of thanks, maybe get my mouth on your—"
"Sam!" Cas blurts out, and Dean leans back, making a disgusted face, before he realizes what Cas is saying. Unwinding his arms from around Cas' shoulders, he turns to look at his brother as Cas makes his way over to him. He's still stock-still, eyes wide and pleading as he stares into the middle distance somewhere beyond Dean's shoulder.
"Oops," Dean grimaces. "Forgot we weren't alone."
"He started praying," Cas says by way of explanation, and boops Sam in the middle of his forehead. "My apologies for the delay, Sam. I was… momentarily distracted."
Stretching out his jaw, Sam shakes his long limbs as if to make sure they're all still functional.
"It's fine," he tells Cas, nice as pie, before turning a glare on Dean. "Maybe next time make sure everyone is alive and functional before you start macking on your boyfriend."
"We actually decided on 'partner'," Dean corrects him, mostly just to be annoying, and Sam narrows his eyes.
"Really?" he says flatly.
Dean knows he's just pissy about the whole left-in-a-frozen-state situation, but Cas — wonderful, badass, occasionally too literal for his own good Cas — moves back to stand at Dean's side, and Dean knows, immediately, that he's about to tell Sam why they settled on the term. He wishes he were filming the reaction, but there's no way he'd be able to get his phone unlocked in time.
"Yes," Cas says proudly. "Partners. Like cowboys, but married."
"You're not married," Sam says, incapable of well-actuallying no matter the circumstance, and— here comes the kicker, Dean thinks.
"We got married in 2013," Cas says. Matter of fact. Like Sam's forgotten something everyone knows. Sam's eyebrows rise high enough that they somehow seem to clear his forehead.
"What?"
"Admittedly, we weren't in a romantic or sexual relationship yet, and it was mostly to ensure that if I were to wind up in hospital as a human, Dean would be able to visit me without any difficulty. Though obviously now we can both acknowledge that we were very much in love with one another at the time."
"What?"
Dean whistles. High-low. It does the trick, snapping Sam out of his stupor, and after his snap-reaction of fear dissipates, Dean clears his throat. Points toward their campsite.
"Hey, uh… maybe we should pack all this up, head back to the ranch before it gets too late? I know the uh… the thing is gone, but the insects are not. So…"
"I can't believe you got married without telling me," Sam says.
"Oh my god, it was over a decade ago, get over it," Dean says.
Sam does not laugh.
"Dean."
Groaning, Dean throws his head back.
"Listen, when we do it for real, or like… renew our vows or whatever? You'll be the first to know."
"We can do that?" Cas asks.
"Yeah, I mean. People do it all the time. Why, d'you— do you want to?"
"I'd like to," Cas tells him.
"Okay. Let's do it. Maybe Cesar and Jesse will let us do it on the ranch."
"Are you two serious?" Sam asks.
"What?"
"Just like that, you're engaged now?"
"We're already married, Sam," Cas tells him, squinting. "Did you not understand what I said earlier?"
Rubbing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, Sam pushes out a hard breath, and shakes his head, and seems to let it go.
"Congrats," he says finally.
"If you're wondering what to get us for a present," Dean says, pulling Cas alongside him toward the camp, "I hear waffle irons are always a good choice."
[written for this prompt game]
[posted here on ao3 as imogenbynight 💚]
Dean knows Sam noticed his eyes bleeding when they were fighting Bloody Mary, but Sam hasn't asked why. Dean spirals as he wonders what that means.
Toledo is three hours in the rear view, and Dean still has dried blood flaking at the edges of his fingernails. Itching under his collar.
He desperately needs a shower, but getting out of town before more cops arrived at the trashed antique store was a whole lot higher on the priorities list than stopping to wash up, and he'd had to settle for wiping the worst of it from his face with an ancient KFC wet wipe and a wad of napkins as he'd steered the car toward the interstate with his other hand. He's been fantasizing about hot water and a fresh change of clothes ever since. Now, as he glances down at the dashboard, he silently thanks his baby for the excuse that her near-empty fuel tank is giving him.
"Almost outta gas," he says aloud when he takes the next exit ramp, and in his periphery he sees Sam flinch at the sound of his voice. "You mind filling the tank while I hit the head?"
"Yeah, sure."
It's the first time either of them have spoken in hours.
The Mixtape Book Club Podcast Track 13: Space Gays is now live!
Strap in and come along with @malmuses and @ellen-of-oz to chat with @thevioletcaptain about this out of this world trope!
The main fics we discuss in this episode are are:
The Dark Side of the Moon by Imogenbynight (@thevioletcaptain)
https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034794
The Parts of Our Sum by Annie D (Scaramouche) @no-gorms
https://archiveofourown.org/works/846542
Untethered by @thetwistedwillow
https://archiveofourown.org/works/24042442
skies of powdered gold by @casfallsinlove https://archiveofourown.org/works/51100911
As always, see the post on the mixtapebookclub.com for a larger list of recommendations.
You can listen to the Mixtape Book Club podcast on our website, http://mixtapebookclub.com, or on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Stitcher, and most other popular podcasting apps. Enjoy!
Do you love Supernatural? Are you a fan of Dean and Castiel, and their relationship? Do you enjoy reading Destiel fanfiction? This is the podcast for you!
You can find our Mixtape Book Club Ao3 collection here, containing the stories we’ve discussed on the podcast so far.
A warning: Adult themes and swear words are mentioned in this podcast.
When the angels stop falling and Castiel makes his way out of the trees, he finds himself alone and oceans away from the Winchesters. For once, Dean flies to him.
⭒
I read the most amazing piece of work a few days ago.
I know this already is on a few favourite's lists but please, if you haven't already, go and read Après by imogenbynight.
It is bleak and crushing, a fog that won’t stop rolling in. Like the ash that is left behind after another town is razed. Like the skin of those lost; faded and dull.
Red might be the color of blood and fire, but both mean life as much as anything else. Red is flushed cheeks. Flowers in window-boxes. Wine and song and sunsets. Red is everything that war is not.
No, he thinks as he steadies his gaze on their lead plane and presses the button on his interphone. Red is far too great a color for War.”
“Castiel’s heart pounds hard as he thinks to himself; this is worthy of the color red.”
hey! can i ask you what that fic is you mentioned in your tags 👀?
Hey! I'm truly terrible at keeping track of fics because I read for hours in a row and don't bookmark anything, but if I remember correctly that one is this one There are Many Things by imogenbynight
I need to reread it though since all I remember is what I wrote in the tag, that Dean kept coming back and the Gas n Sip manager asked Cad about Dean a lot and worried about Cas :3
If anyone has any other recs around the early s9 fanfic gap please send them over <3
Edit: oh there is also this one i liked recently (but it's angst) : and the moment passes by @good-things-do-happen-dean
