Rated: T | AO3 link | Words: 1304 | Beta: None | Tags: Major Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort
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Sleep still did not come easy to them, even two years out. Dean accepted that it would be like this for a while, if not for the rest of their lives. Sleep remained elusive to all of them, but Dean could only speak for himself and as to what Cas told him when it came to reasons why.
Things experienced, things feared, things that will, at this point, never leave their mind and jump out when they close their eyes and let their guard down—no matter how good the day was—and remind them that while things are stable now, it wasn’t always. They will relive some of those moments when they least wanted to.
But still. It wasn’t all bad.
They learned, over time, how to handle those nights if either one of them woke up gasping for breath and shaking, reaching for the other. And, over time, the severity of the horrors lessened, but it didn’t make them any more palatable.
That night, it was Dean’s turn to lessen the pain.
Rated: T | AO3 link | Words: 1043 | Beta: None | Tags: Major Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Pining, Second Person POV
A special thanks to @fingergunsbidean and @louxisalhama
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There’s the desire to go over all the times you had with them and wonder if you should have said something, or not have said something, or did something, or should have held back something.
What if you had managed to say something at a different point in time with them next to you, would things have turned out differently?
Would both of you have changed and the loss would have been put on hold for a little while longer?
Was that one thing you had been holding close to you worth it?
Would that other person have benefited from what you had to say, but wouldn’t let out of your mouth?
At the time of withholding, your reasoning made sense. Fears of rejection and pain, not wanting to hurt someone yourself, lack of confidence behind your words because you had been told by others that they were wrong and all your feelings were not valid.
But once the person intended to hear those words leaves, the reasons seem superficial and easy to move past. You’re angry at yourself for not having the wherewithal to push past those small barriers and say what should have been said.
It could have made a difference.
Read more on AO3 [pictures embedded for extra pain]
How the hell did Cas get a photo of himself in a damn cowboy hat?
Rated: T | AO3 link | Words: 1751 | Beta: None | Tags: Major Character Death-description, but it’s okay because he comes back, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Canon Compliant
Excerpt
When Dean tried closing his eyes, the flickering remained, except the image was not of the two figures at the table with the computer, but the pyre as it burned bright and hot, sealing the permanence of what had happened.
Dean, feeling the small tendrils of panic start, opened his eyes to remind himself that the fire was the memory, and the motel scene was real.
But he couldn’t keep his eyes open forever, so he turned his head away from everyone obscuring his face. The panic still rose, and the anguish that came along with that image made Dean physically ache from the tips of his fingers and down.
Dean kept his eyes open as long as he could to take in the blue light, trying to use it to anchor him to the now and not the then.
Rated: T | AO3 link | Words: 2664 | Beta: None | Tags: Major Character Death, Alternate Universe, Demon Dean Winchester (not the one from season 10), Heaven & Hell, Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Missed Opportunities
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No one screamed, no one made a single sound. Castiel suffered in silence as they held him, and burned him into much-needed submission.
You don’t serve man, you don’t serve him. You don’t serve man, you don’t serve him. You don’t serve man, you don’t serve him. You don’t—
The mantra repeated over and over, filling the empty space left behind by the flames. It seared itself into Castiel, marking itself as inescapable. The words remained the only truth left in him with no room or energy to doubt it. It told him all he needed to know.
Castiel’s failing inner voice piped up, wanting to make itself heard, trying to form a question: Then who do I—
But the fire crashed over him again and the question couldn’t finish itself, its voice fizzling out completely.
You don’t serve man, you don’t serve him. You serve Heaven.
A horrible ending, a good ending, and a hesitant beginning.
15x09 Coda
Rated: M | AO3 Link | Words: 8,120 | Beta: @cuddlemonsterdean | Tags: [GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. Not too graphic, hence the “M” but I’m putting it anyway], Suicidal Thoughts, Insanity, Claustrophobia, Pining, Buried Alive, I Love You, Canon Compliant, Alternate Universe, Panic Attacks, Anxiety, Purgatory, Self-Hatred, Self-Doubt, Coda
--
EXCERPTS:
THE TRAP
[...] “Dean?” the voice called out, muffled, but terrified. Dean winced as he continued to press his forehead against it. It was too small, too scared, too unlike Cas that Dean in a stupid moment thought he’d locked someone else away.
He didn’t say anything.
“Dean, are you still there?” Cas’s voice got louder, filled with terror and confusion.
A sudden slam against the roof of the box forced Dean to pull his head back in shock.
THE END
[...] Closing the book, Cas slid it onto the end table next to him, “Just a bad dream.”
Dean rolled his eyes. There was no “just a--” with them. If it was a bad dream, then it was a bad dream, and--
“It’s bad enough to keep you up all night,” Dean said, frowning, “What was it about?”
Truthfully, he didn’t want to know, and he knew Cas didn’t want to tell, but, they both had figured out early enough into their new relationship that voicing what bothered them in that moment made it easier to deal with; bringing it out into the light did more good than shoving it back down and letting it fester.
THE BEGINNING
[...] It had been the closest Dean had gotten to saying it.
What makes you think he wants to hear it? The cruel voice continued, unrelenting.
Nothing. Maybe there was once or twice over the years they may have have been on the same page, but they weren’t anymore. Dean’s heart wasn’t as heavy after that quick purgatory adventure, but what was left unspoken hung over him, pressing into the back of his mind.
Read on AO3
Tag list below the cut
msg me if you would like to be added! I’m sorry if I forgot anyone!
Rated: T | AO3 Link | Words: 2,481 | Beta: @cuddlemonsterdean | Tags: Graphic depictions of violence (but it’s Leviathan so, really, who cares), Purgatory, Pining, Leviathans, Self-Reflection, Lies, Heaven, Dean Winchester Prays to Castiel, Prayer
Excerpt:
Two other Leviathans watched from the trees, and the one Cas had knocked out was beginning to stir. The two by the trees hesitated, looking apprehensive. They knew that stepping into the clearing meant a high chance of death.
I don’t know why I get so angry. I just know that I know that it’s just always been there—
The idle warmth from the last vestiges of grace began to billow into a fire, too hot and too intense every time Cas took a step this or that way. The heat mixing with the deep anguish brought on by Dean’s words, Cas’s vision spun for half a moment.
It took him a moment to realize he had been mumbling “Not now, don’t do this now” over and over to himself while Dean continued to talk. Cas also shook his hands wildly next to him out of desperation; he couldn’t afford to expel any more grace--
One of the Leviathan broke loose and charged at Cas.
Rated: T | AO3 Link | 2103 words | lightly edited | Tags: Pining, Texting, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
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The morning after the shit show, Sam wanted someone to talk to.
He spent a night walking halfway between sleep and consciousness then staring at his wall again. Eventually, thoughts that were tumbling around began to blur together, melting lines and crashing into each other. By the time morning came, Sam surviving those harrowing overnight hours, the monster in his head grew to an enormous size. Sam needed to relieve that pressure.
But he didn’t want to talk to Dean again. Sam didn’t want platitudes.
He grabbed his phone off the end table and typed out a quick message, not wanting to venture out of his room just yet:
Can we talk? Not feeling too hot
Sam fell back asleep waiting for a response.
Dean only slept because he knocked back a few bottles and kept his music on a low buzz to drown out any creepings thoughts threatening to invade his space.
His phone sat on the dresser, alone and abandoned, but not turned off.
Just in case.
The last messages:
There was a cardigan and glasses.
Wouldn’t swear
Nerd
If it wasn’t so serious, yes. Big nerd.
Anyone choosing to wear a cardigan should be treated as a threat
We’ve read the back of the book, we know what’s going to happen.
The fields burned, the land destroyed, the lovers left broken in the brown dirt.
And then it’s gone.
Makes you sad. All your friends are gone.
Goodbye
Goodbye.
-Richard Siken/ 'Snow and Dirty Rain'
Rated: T | AO3 Link | 834 Words | lightly edited | Tags:
Existential Angst, Pining, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
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Why did it have to be him?
Why couldn’t it have been some old asshole of an angel who just popped into the motel room, gave him the low-down on shit, and poofed away?
It was a question that Dean asked himself from time to time ever since they met Cas: Why did it have to be him. But, usually, the question would be asked whenever Dean had to take time for himself after being around Cas or found himself with his heart in his throat when realizing Cas went away again without letting them know where. It was a question that occurred every time Dean lost himself in daydreams, or regular dreams, only to snap back to reality with a guilty blush on his face. Why did it have to be Cas?
It was more of a vague question, one that Dean never intended to answer. The ‘why’ didn’t matter as much as the desired outcome Dean dreamed of. He was more exasperated than anything, along with a little bit of fear and anxiety surrounding the concept.
But now —
Now
The question came flying back at Dean like someone hurled a cinder block at his face. Why did it have to be Cas?
Answer: Because if it weren’t, nothing would have happened the way it was written to happen.
There wouldn’t have been another Angel who decided to follow a human instead of the pack. Several other candidates were willing to upend the establishment, but there was only one that would capture Dean’s attention to help lead that Angel astray. No one would have broken him out of Heaven so he could go find Sam. There would have been no one to help subvert Heaven and Hell’s plans for them.
It was when Dean thought about it even harder, piecing together all of the moments he had with Cas and their stories together, he felt his throat close up.
It was really all those times that Cas came back that gave Dean vertigo.
Archangel kills Cas, he comes back; Archangel kills Cas again, he comes back again; Absorbs souls, walk into the river, and explodes into monsters? Dean still finds him alive —
Stabbed, killed, wings burned into the ground, the tell-tale sign of an Angel gone forever: Cas still returns.
Once thought of as hopeful, maybe even poignant, Dean wanted to throw a fist into the wall just thinking about those times.
God was dangling Cas in front of Dean’s face, knowing Dean could never capture the prize, moving him into action, building sympathy and other near-crippling emotions every damn time —
The whole thing was entertainment. It was all a fucking soap opera for God, and everything that Dean felt develop over the years was nothing but falsity. ‘The human gets caught up in the whirlwind of love and love and fear and hope’ — that’s good television. That’s a good book: Dean chasing down the prize that will never be his, should he ever get over his own trepidations.
It was a cruel act for both of them.
Cas was put in front of Dean like a sparkling new toy, only to keep taking it from him and running it through the wringer just to watch Dean squirm and cry.
It wasn’t a tragedy.
It was trauma porn.
In the time it took Dean to drive from place to place in that little Kansas town, he figured it out, God’s words echoing in his head. It only took a minute to figure out what the two options were going forward:
If God were still around, still meddling, he’d have Cas taken away from Dean once more, just for the laughter. It was a well-practiced trick that fooled Dean every time.
If God wasn’t around, and that veil lifted, then Cas would leave on his own, realizing that he was only ever around these two because there was a hand pushing him. There wouldn’t be a reason to stay anymore.
Two nights after his revelation, Dean got his answer as Cas ascended to the door.
Move on.
That’s what they have to do now. No more theatrics -- no more anything other than moving on.
So, Dean parrots that back to Sam: We’re free to move on.
Only, there’s no passion behind those words, and Sam doesn’t take it to heart anyway. They both knew the truth: They were stuck in a pit with no way out. No past, and no future. Nothing to build off of that was really, indeed, ever theirs that could launch them into a future.
When Sam mentions Jess, Dean tenses, hands white-knuckled against the steering wheel. She was another toy — just one that didn’t last as long. She was just another player in God’s torture chamber as he got off on watching them suffer.
Dread filled Dean from bottom to top, turning his blood into ice.
It’s been fifteen years since Jess and Sam still carried the weight around with him.
How long was it going to take Dean?
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This was shorter than usual so I put the whole thing on here.
