May 18, 2021
~*~just a birthday boy and his nougat~*~
happy 4th birthday jack!
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~*~just a birthday boy and his nougat~*~
happy 4th birthday jack!
hello hello requesting deancas rollerskating date :3
deancas rollerskating date! don't remember where the vibes came from for this one, but i'm going to write it, for you my beloved cherry-vamp <3
----
When Dean was 4, his mom took him to the Kansas State Fair.
Sammy stayed home with Dad.
Dean remembers feeling a vicious sense of satisfaction over that, over that one. When the baby cried, when Dad yelled, when Mom wouldn’t hold his hand because she was too busy balling her fists up, until her knuckles were white. It was better when it was just the two of them.
“Dean. Are we supposed to share this? I think it’s almost finished.”
Dean blinks, looks down at the bright blue slushie Cas asked if they could share. “Huh?” He looks up at Dean. And it feels like he’s looking up because there’s blue light behind him in a halo that seems to poke holes through his hair. His eyes are the same color, staring out at Dean.
“I was about to finish our drink.” Our. That feels meaningful, doesn’t it?
His voice comes out even more gravelly than Cas’. “Yeah. Yeah, sure, it’s all yours. That much food coloring is going to make you sick, though, you know. Turn you into Violet Beauregarde.” He smiles.
“I don’t think it will. There’s a reason this vessel held me for so long. It’s very strong.” Cas nods, slightly, too serious.
Dean’s eyes lock onto his lips. They’re pink and full, tilted slightly up with his chin. Pretty lips. Prettier than he probably even knows, Cas doesn’t pick up aesthetic attraction. He looks on the inside.
Dean picks up attraction. He picks it up very well. “You wanna hit the rink?”
“I’d be glad to.” Cas reaches over and folds Dean’s hand in his own. His brow furrows. “My first skating experience.”
God. He can’t breathe like this. “You’re going to like the couples skate,” he manages to say, pushing away from the table they’d been sitting at. Carelessly, Cas throws the cup away.
“We’ll fit in, then,” Cas says, stumbling over one of his feet as he tries to push away from the wall.
Dean’s pretending he’s not anxious, wondering where Sam is. Cas grabs onto him twice just skating over to the entrance. It sure is a distraction. His hands are always a goddamned distraction. Whether they’re pressing half moon nail marks in his back or closing on someone’s neck-
Dean’s skating gets too stiff and he pushes himself to let loose a little. “Oh, come on, Cas. Do better.”
“Dean, this is- this is that music you like.” Cas white knuckles the side of the rink.
It’s Taylor Swift. Debut album. Like a little bit of light emerging from the cracks in a doorway, Dean starts smiling. So much in him, only a little bit put out to be seen.
Cas sees it. The particular way he has, perceptive and good enough to strip Dean naked. Metaphorically. “Do you want me to ask them to put on your Britney Spears? I doubt you could skate over to the song booth without falling over.”
Cas scowls, pushing his hair behind his ears. Christ. And he’s taken off the trenchcoat, too. Dean’s in hot water. “I can do this.” Stubbornly, he lets go of Dean’s hand and pushes away from the wall.
It’s not smooth, by any means, but it’ll do. Dean does some glide thing- he doesn’t know, the only reason he’s any good is because roller skating was the thing of the month, dating in high school in the winter seasons.
“Nice focus. Make sure to look up sometimes,” Dean teases.
“If I look up,” Cas says through gritted teeth, “My feet won’t go where I want them to.”
Just for fun, Dean closes his eyes. Skates blind.
Sightless, he can feel everything. The hair tickling the back of his neck. A bit of damp sweat on his arms, all the way through his body. He’s missed shit like this, where it pulls him back down to Earth.
Cas is still trying the funny little push-glide thing, making his way over to Dean. “Did I ever tell you about the time I went to a place like this and forgot my shoes?” Dean asks.
“No. Dean, would you-”
Without blinking, he laces their fingers together and keeps telling his story. “It was my birthday. I was turning- I don’t know, 11? 12? Not old at all, in the grand scheme. Had this girlfriend, Fiona, and she asked her mom if they could take me to the bowling alley for the day.”
He toes the ground to slow down, conscious of how careful Cas is trying to be. “I had never been bowling before. I didn’t have any money. I don’t think I had even gone out for my birthday since I was 6 or something.”
Cas’ face falls still and he slows down even more, pulling Dean over to the wall. “She’s just taught me how to bowl. I’ve gotten my first strike, eaten half of a large pizza, and I’m asking for ice cream,” he says, all quiet now that he’s close to Cas’ ear.
“I walk out of there with bowling shoes on.”
They must make a funny pair. Cas has taken the trenchcoat off but he still looks so- fuck, Dean thinks he’s beautiful. Christ. “The pretty girl working the bowling alley yelled at her boyfriend to get me back there before I ran off with them for good.” Dean chuckles. The lights around the room feel like 4 AM lights, but it’s only late afternoon. Plenty of time for the pleased feeling in his chest to wear off in time for his nightly sleeplessness.
“Fiona started crying. Her mom pretended they didn’t know me. And that is the story of how I got dumped the first time.”
Cas leans to put his cheek on Dean’s shoulder. There’s a buzz in the air. He feels uncontrollable. He would be reckless, but Cas has spent all this time out on the rink and he’s latched on to Dean. It wouldn’t be- he wouldn’t like himself if he just let him go.
“My first date was with you,” Cas tells him.
Dean plays with his fingers. “Jesus Christ. Heaven should have unlimited hot chicks for their angels to date.” Cas’ eyebrows rise.
Dean shrugs. “Guess it’s my job to be your hot chick, then.”
“Thank you for taking me here.”
“I shoulda got you flowers. A nice bouquet. I shoulda introduced you to a steakhouse somewhere.” He steals a glance at Cas.
“It’s enough that it’s just the two of us, I believe.”
A dangerous creakiness enters Dean’s chest. Yeah, it’s the two of them. He’s finally fuckin’ got someone who wants just the two of them.
—dean winchester
It was a nice touch 🖤
I’ll never shut up about this 🖤
Tag list below ✨
🌻 CONGRATULATIONS ON THE FOLLOWER MILESTONE!! It is so well deserved.
🍃🌼💚🌸🌱
For the content creators, I'd like to submit @fellshish and @lila-tom.
thank you!!! 💕✨ they've been added 🥰
celebrate with me!
blend, a human cas in the bunker fic
HELLOOOOOOO DESTIEL AND CASGIRL COMMUNITY! I bring you yet another human cas fic! don’t worry- this time, it’s not canon compliant. still introspective though :) thanks to Ems @iheardyourprayer for the invaluable beta work!
in actuality, writing this (about 1.7k words) all i set out to do was write something where 1. Cas was barely hanging on to his will not to confess his love, 2. Dean lends him pajamas that have that warm from the dryer feeling, and 3. there is some shaky, glitter-full moment where Cas shuts his eyes and digs his fingers into his palms and wishes with everything in him that Dean loves him back. was feeling raw as hell when i started this.
i will tell you i guess that. it’s not anything more than pre-slash. if you want me to, send an ask to my inbox prompting a sequel, i’ll be happy to fill it.
read the fic
He has no body to bury, nor ashes to burn. His angel is gone.
And that is all.
Dean needs to go find Sam and Jack. Needs to meet up with them and form some sort of plan to fight Chuck. If that’s even possible now.
He gets into his car, good ol’ Baby who’s always been there ever since he can remember. His eyes are puffy and he feels a headache building behind his eyes. He drives and it’s only once he’s there does Dean know where he is.
He’s at a meadow, the one with tall green grass and a windmill. The very same one he sprinkled Cas’ ashes over not so long ago. Cas... Mindlessly, he walks out into the middle of the grass, barely hearing it crunch underfoot. From there, he can see an overgrown garden, a cluster of green vines and leaves, and the brook, now barely a trickle. Nevertheless, it’s peaceful. Just as he first found it less than two years ago.
The grass calls to him, a barely-there whisper telling him to lay down. He does, the grass a cool pillow under his head. Dean blinks, once, twice, three times. Then the tears fall once again, and he curls into ball, trying to contain the anguish within him. He feels comforted, just almost, but he also mourns the loss of a home that he will never have.
inspired by @calamitysong's post
we see the angels
something about how jack’s family once could have been an ancient garrison. and instead it is a collection of mortals.
___
Jack- has seen the cross around Sam’s neck. His father has told him about the stained glass windows carved in his face. Jack doesn’t worship anything.
Neither does Dean. Not that he’s seen.
Like McDonald’s arches, there are crosses dripping off of churches in the middle of America. Jack doesn’t really look at them, most of the time, he’s playing the alphabet game with himself to calm down his mind, because driving sometimes makes him nervous, and if he reads he gets carsick so games are always-
Anyway. They seem especially loud, today, these Roman Catholic and Presbyterian and Protestant churches. Dean doesn’t turn the radio above 20, and lets Jack be quiet. He’s the one Jack brought- he doesn’t worship anything. He’s like Jack, in that way. “We can drive through somewhere for food and then turn around, if you want,” he offers.
“No.” Jack shakes his head, frowning at the floor. He’s so- obvious. “I want to see.”
And see he does. He sees pews all along the floor and dirty water fountains at the door, facing a pristine set of stained glass windows.
Jack takes a deep breath. “Do you want-” He bats Dean’s hand away.
“Can we just sit down? I want to feel it.”
Dean lets him in first. “Feel what?” he replies softly.
Oh. Right. Jack has barely told him anything. “Dad told me that the angels were his family. And I read- I read that you could talk to them if you were in church. So I wanted to say hi.” He looks up. “They’re up there?”
He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel. If it’s supposed to be some special thing, or if it’s just the faith that they’re out there. Dean turns to him and very suddenly holds on tight, arms around Jack. “Oh, Jack.”
He’s missing something. Jack treasures the hug, feels himself flush with gratefulness and hangs on just as tight. “What?” His cheek is squished against Dean’s shoulder.
“You know, we’re your family? Sam, Cas, they’re your dads? They’re family.” Dean cranes his neck to look up, too.
“And you.”
“And me. So- the angels were your family.” He knows how old they are supposed to be, but he can’t even really- thousands of years is a long time. Is Jack not old enough to be with them yet? “But not all of them are around anymore. I’m going to let your dad- explain.” His voice shakes a little.
“They’re not out there anymore? Not listening?” Jack says softly. Dean shakes his head. Oh. Jack closes his eyes.
He could have been so small in comparison. He did this on his own, half afraid of the answer he’d get. He’ll ask his dad when he gets home. But for now, he leans on the one right beside him.
There’s no ancient hum in empty pews anymore. But there is Jack, and there is loud music echoing in the Impala on the way home, and long talks with his three, mismatched dads.