The most recent round of the Profound Exchange was run last November over on the Profound Bond discord server. The theme was Masquerade. We hope you enjoy these lovely works! (header by @foxymoley)
What Happened in Wishek by prolixdreams for sarasaurusrex
One More Night by ratafia for JustAnn42
Behind the Mask, Between the Lies by insomnia for kellydean
Incognito by foxymoley for BinJLG
Like a Cat to Water by chrysalisdreams for lunavva
The Weight of a Promise by saltnhalo for shealynn88
Under the Mask of Dreams by MaggieMaybe160 for waywarded
Every year at Halloween by JustAnn42 for DaddyGracelessAngel
The Wendigo by sarasaurusrex for MaggieMaybe160
Barakoa by foxymoley for LeafZelindor
Passing Ships by LeafZelindor for Pen_and_Paper
Profound Dreams by DaddysGracelessAngel for ratafia
At First Dance by TobytheWise for insominia
Masks by BinJLG for Huntress79
Let the Spectacle Astound You by turningthepages for Eliza_Sugarcane
Revelations by shealynn88 for chrysalisdreams
A Rose For Your Breath by cannaduh for AmethystShard
Un Ballo In Maschera by Huntress79 for nickelkeep
Leave it at the door by Eliza_Sugarcane for blueeyesandpie
The Sweetest Victory by AmethystShard for prolixdreams
Secrets Stolen by nickelkeep for Pimento
The Heroes of Port Angeles by blueeyesandpie for deliciousirony
Discord on One Level is Harmony on Another by foxymoley for turningthepages
Letting the Mask Down by LeafZealindor for canadduh
Pairings: Dean/Cas, Charlie/Dorothy
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 7300
Warnings: Idiots in Love.
On Ao3
Written for @pimentogirl as part of the @profoundnet Profound Bond Discord Server Exchange: Masquerade. I hope you enjoy, Pimmy <3
Preview:
Cas’ suitcase stood next to the door, packed for a weekend trip. Naomi was sick, and while their relationship was strained at best, Cas thought it would be best to go see his mother. Dean paced next to the luggage, trying to figure out a way to keep his best friend from suffering for the weekend.
“Dude, you said Gabe and Michael were going to be there. Why make yourself miserable?” Dean pouted at Cas.
“Mother isn’t well, and as much as she dislikes who I am and what I’ve done with my life, I’ll honor her quote-unquote ‘dying wish.’” Cas made finger quotes. “Besides, this way, when she really does go to kick the bucket, I can say that she didn’t die last time as my excuse for not showing up. I won’t feel an ounce of guilt.”
“You might end up regretting that.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest and huffed out a breath. “Okay, no, I know you wouldn’t. But why be miserable?”
Cas finished throwing his phone charger and a couple of small items into his backpack. He slung the bag over his shoulder and crossed the room to stand in front of Dean. “I appreciate your concern, Dean. I really do. But just like you’re loyal to Sam, I’m loyal to my family. Even if I hate the matriarch.” Cas looked down at the ground for a second before throwing his arms around Dean’s neck and pulling him into a tight hug. “Have a good weekend, okay?”
“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Dean hesitated before wrapping his arms around Cas, unaware of where the sudden, but very much wanted affection came from. “I don’t have any huge plans. I’d much rather make sure you’re supported.” He fought to keep from melting into Cas’ arms, to keep from letting his best friend know how he felt. “Say the word, and I’ll come with.”
“I think it’s better this way, Dean.” Cas pulled out of the hug, his eyes briefly locking on Dean’s before falling to his suitcase. “I’m sure I’ll be back by Sunday. Unless she somehow actually dies. But I’m not that lucky.”
Dean wrapped his arms around himself, already feeling cold from the lack of his roommate pressed against him as Cas walked towards the door. “Drive safe, call me if you change your mind and need me.”
“Of course, Dean.” Cas opened the door and walked out, softly closing the door behind him.
Dean waited a few moments before stepping away and heading back towards his room. Something felt wrong, like Cas was saying a permanent goodbye, but Dean couldn’t figure why. He pulled out his phone and called up his other best friend, Charlie.
After a couple of rings, her chipper voice picked up. “Thanks for calling Charlie’s Fact of the Day Telephone Line. Today is Sunday, November 17th, 2019. If you want today’s fact, say Yes. If you want to talk to an operator, say operator.”
“Charlie.”
Read the rest on Ao3.
This is for @leafzelindor, one of the very best people in the fandom, for the Profound Bond Gift Exchange. ♥
The day Dean met Castiel, the asshole Anthropology professor trying to steal Dean’s lecture hall with his freaky masks and artifacts, he never thought things would end up here. What started as a heated argument eventually became mutual respect. And from mutual respect they slowly found mutual attraction.
Five years later, Dean finds himself happy. He still teaches performing arts at the local college, he still works on cars, he still has his beloved cats, but now he’s also got himself a loving husband. Once in awhile, Dean sits back and wonders if this is all a dream. But then Cas steps into the room, kisses his forehead, and hands him a steaming mug of coffee and Dean just knows this is real.
“Thanks, babe,” Dean murmurs, smiling up at his husband, taking his favorite Star Wars mug. Eponine's tail flicks around Cas' shoulders, brushing his ear and making him chuckle.
“You’re welcome, Dean,” Cas says back, taking a second to reach down and pet Random Numbers before heading to the kitchen to start their breakfast.
Dean watches him go, a small smile on his face, his chest filled with warmth. He’s not sure life gets any better than this.
for the @profoundnet Gift Exchange! This fic is for @specsofwings
Read the full fic on my Ao3!
Dean steps out of the Impala and looks up at the mansion before him. Every window is glittering, the entrance open and bright, welcoming. As he walks up the steps, he fits a black masquerade mask to his face and ties it with the black ribbon.
Inside, every room is filled with masked beauties. People in tuxedos and ballgowns mingle, eat, and dance. Skirts twirl on the dance floor as they are spun. Rock music flows through every room and every person. Laughter, conversation, and flirtations add to the music. Everyone is anonymous, protected.
Dean makes his way through the strangers, making his way toward the ballroom. His eyes search the crowds, but he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. He stands off to the side, watching as the couples gracefully waltz and tango to the classic rock. Two women in full ballgowns take turns dipping and twirling the other, stealing kisses and dancing cheek to cheek. A man in a green mask lifts another in a white lace mask in an elegant movement, their eyes locked together, nothing but trust between them. A woman with her lips painted in gold dips a man low, those lips grazing his before lifting him back up and resuming with her leading him. Right next to them a man with a top hat and a woman with a feathered mask laugh as they miss a step before falling right back into the correct pattern. There are all kinds. Everyone is allowed. Everyone is safe. Everyone is joyous.
Dean’s gaze drifts up from the masses and finds an angel at the top of the Cinderella staircase. He’s dressed in a black tuxedo with a dark blue tie. The tie matches the mask. Curling over the top are raven-black feathers. Dusting his jaw is dark stubble. His hair is the same dark brown, almost black, and it’s wild. He could have just stepped out of a tornado. Dean’s heart stutters. Cas.
He watches, his mouth dry, as Cas descends and walks through the dancefloor, people twirling around him. He’s untouchable. It’s like watching an action film where the hero walks through a room, the things around them exploding under gunfire while they remain unscathed and undisturbed.
Cas reaches Dean and stoops into a bow before taking Dean’s hand and pressing a kiss into his knuckles. “Hello, Dean,” Cas whispers.
When Cas straightens, he keeps Dean’s hand in his. He takes a step backward and Dean takes a step forward. They are swept into the dancing mass. Cas pulls Dean tight against him and they stand, their hands clasped, arms poised, noses touching, breath mingling.
“I can’t dance,” Dean admits. He feels breathless this close to his angel.
“Follow my lead,” Cas says, his sapphire eyes sparkling. Dean is swept up, the other dancers melting into the background as his feet keep pace with Cas’ practiced steps.
“How did you know it was me?” Dean asks.
“I would know you from across any room. I would know you from galaxies away. You have me captivated, Dean. No mask will change that.” Dean can feel Cas’ heart beating against his. He swallows hard. “How did you know it was me?” Cas asks back, his hand tightening on Dean’s.
“How could I not know it was you?”
“Trust me and relax,” Cas says. Dean nods once and Cas dips him low. No other beings on the planet exist. The world is just Cas and his hand on Dean’s lower back. His eyes are intense and refuse to look away from Dean’s.
“Cas,” Dean breathes. When Cas brings Dean back up, they don’t continue dancing. They stand still in the middle of the ballroom, chest to chest. Dean takes his hand from Cas’ shoulder and cups his jaw gently before leaning in. Their lips press together, Cas immediately kissing back. They drop each other’s hands as they wrap themselves up in the other’s arms.
“Wake up,” Cas whispers urgently into Dean’s mouth. “Dean, wake up.”
Summary: To solve a case, the team, including Charlie, have to attend a masquerade ball. Both Dean and Cas are the most vocal ones against it, even call it “stupid”, which everyone else just finds adorable in a certain kind of way. Cause they all know the real reason behind their reluctance.
written for @nickelkeep for the Profound Bond Exchange: Masquerade. Enjoy!
I wrote this for this year’s Profound Bond Gift Exchange!!! The theme was ‘Masquerade’!
Title: The Wendigo
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21522769
Ship: Destiel
Word Count: 3568
Warnings: PTSD trauma, parental abuse trauma
Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, past physical/emotional abuse, PTSD, Trauma, Injury, Healing, Happy Ending, Fluff, First Kiss, more Fluff, Supportive Sam
Summary: Dean has a lot of baggage from his childhood. Castiel wants to help, if Dean will let him.
Beta-ed by @cozibizzle
The Wendigo
Dean was injured. Not enough to threaten his life, but certainly enough to gripe about, especially as it was making Sam fuss unnecessarily over him.
"Would you stop already? I'm fine," Dean snapped. He was sitting on a moth eaten couch in an old cabin—one of their dad's from a lifetime ago, or so it seemed. Dean's jacket sleeve was bloody and frayed, and he had snow in his hair. Sam and Dean were both flushed from the cold.
Sam glared at him incredulously. He tossed the first aid kit on the ground at Dean's feet and stalked away.
Dean felt a sick satisfaction at making Sam mad—it eased his own pain somewhat—but it didn't last. Shame washed over him as soon as Sam left the room, and the burning pain in his arm increased tenfold. Dean shut his eyes.
Sam and Dean came to this cabin once when they were kids. John was hunting a wendigo, but it got away. When Sam and Dean heard about similar deaths happening in the same stretch of woods, they had to come.
At least the wendigo was finally dead, Dean thought. What was one burnt forearm compared to that? Hell, they even saved the girl this time. Dean would call that a win any day. He was just tired, in pain, and he'd never wanted a drink so badly in his life. He'd apologize to Sam later.
A rush of wintry air blew Dean's thoughts away as the cabin door opened.
Dean looked up in surprise at the messy haired, trenchcoated figure of Castiel. He looked severe—although he always sort of looked like that.
"Hey, Cas," Dean said, dropping his voice.
Castiel shut the door. "I got your message," he rumbled.
"Yeah, well, you're late," Dean grunted. "Party's over. We killed it."
Castiel looked Dean over. He didn't seem to have heard a word Dean said. He was staring at Dean's singed sleeve.
"The campers are fine, by the way," Dean added, but when Castiel only squinted harder at his arm, Dean sighed and added, "I'm good." He shifted his arm to prove it and doused the resulting pain with a rough smirk. "Why don't you go check on Sam?"
Dean could have kicked himself. Why did he have to be such an ass? He stared Castiel down, anything to avoid looking at the cabin.
Castiel seemed immune to Dean's rudeness, however. He strode over to the couch and sat down beside Dean. Despite feeling suddenly numb, the pain in Dean’s arm doubled when Castiel touched it.
Dean hissed, making Castiel look up. For a moment they made eye contact, and Dean felt his own gaze harden.
Castiel didn't flinch. He maintained his hold on Dean's arm and said, "Take off your jacket."
Dean eyed him, feeling a kick of defiance. What would happen if he refused? The impulse faded however, and he began taking off his jacket.
Castiel didn't help at all, even though Dean was sure he looked like an idiot trying to wiggle out of his jacket with only one functioning arm. It was cold in the cabin, but it felt good on his burned arm. Finally he was free and returned his arm to Castiel.
Castiel's hands were warm and surprisingly gentle as he rolled up Dean's sleeve. The burn was worse than Dean thought. He regretted pushing Sam away, and yet he knew he was doing it again to Cas by being so rude.
"Can you heal it?" Dean asked, only to break the silence.
"Yes," Castiel said softly. "But it will hurt."
A sound from the hallway made both Dean and Castiel look over. Sam was watching them with what Dean thought was entirely too much understanding.
"Hello Sam," Castiel greeted him.
"Hey Cas," Sam replied, although his eyes were on Dean.
"What?" Dean grunted.
Sam sighed. "Nothing."
Dean glared at him, then at Cas, and said, "Just do it."
Castiel eyed Dean curiously, and Dean had to fight the urge to take his arm back. Why did Castiel have to look at him like that? It made Dean feel weak, and he didn't want that. Not there, in that cabin, with Sam's knowing gaze burning into his soul.
Without warning, pain shot up Dean's arm. The wintry air inside the cabin vanished, and it felt like all the bones in his arm had been replaced with white hot rods. He swore and grabbed onto the couch. Just as Dean was sure he would retch from the intensity of the pain, it was all over.
Dean leaned back on the couch, panting. "God dammit, Cas," he said weakly.
Something in Dean's voice made Castiel's gaze soften. Dean shut his eyes again and just focused on breathing.
It was only when Castiel shifted slightly that Dean realized he'd been gripping him, not the couch. Dean pulled his arm away reflexively. It didn't hurt anymore. He looked it over and was surprised to see his arm whole and intact. Fresh, white skin was stretched over the burn, which now looked several weeks old.
"That will fade with time. I'm sorry I couldn't do more."
Dean's expression softened. "It's good, Cas. Thanks." He flexed his hand, wishing Castiel would look somewhere else.
"Well, I'm turning in," Sam said quietly, an undeniable note of relief in his voice. "Do you want the bed, Dean?"
"No," Dean said a little too firmly.
Sam sighed again. "Alright, well, I say we head out in a few hours. Get some sleep. See you later, Cas."
"Goodnight, Sam," Castiel replied.
Dean didn't look at Sam as he walked into the back bedroom. He was gazing at the blue veins under his healed skin.
"So," Dean finally said, "are you gonna poof away now or what?"
Castiel looked surprised by the question, and it reignited Dean's shame.
"If you want me to," Castiel said simply.
Dean suddenly felt uncomfortable with himself. He couldn't stand sitting still. He got up and walked to the empty fireplace. He could feel Castiel's eyes on him as he examined an old iron poker.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"Is this you?"
Dean turned to see Castiel holding a picture frame. There was a circle of dust on the side table from where it had sat dormant for decades. The picture showed a young boy holding up a fishing line with a large bass on the end. He was glowing with pride.
Dean went numb again. It was a strangely calm feeling. He walked over to Castiel, took the picture out of his hands and placed it back on the table. His eyes were set.
Castiel stared at him. "Dean?"
"What, Cas?"
"Did something happen to you and Sam?" Castiel's brow furrowed.
Dean thought about the question for a while. Finally he walked back to the fireplace and said, "I told you, we hunted a wendigo.”
"But… you prayed for my help. Why?"
Dean didn't respond.
"You and Sam clearly handled it fine on your own. Why did you need me here?" Castiel sounded pensive.
Without the pain in Dean's arm, he could feel something else aching. Stinging. Trapping his body to the floorboards of the old cabin like a rock. Dean wished Castiel hadn't healed him. He felt shaky. He shouldn't have drank all the whiskey the night before.
"Dean."
"I told you."
"You told me you were hunting…" Castiel was starting to sound annoyed now, but Dean cut him off.
"...a wendigo." Dean turned to look at Cas. He knew he'd have to do it eventually. Dean watched as Castiel's annoyance turned to concern. Dean must have looked as exhausted as he felt.
Dean sighed and knelt down at the fireplace. He took some wood they'd collected earlier and began making a fire.
"We hunted a Wendigo, Cas. Fifteen years ago. It got away. So we came back here to finish the job," Dean said. His voice was gruff and worn. He could feel Castiel squinting at him.
"What happened?"
There was no point feigning ignorance. Dean balled up some newspaper and began stuffing it under the wood before continuing. "Dad took us here when we were kids," he explained. "Sam had been hunting for about a year, and I think the thrill had worn off. He didn't want to come. It pissed my dad off so much,” Dean smiled. “Sam, he… he was a natural." Dean paused to grab more newspaper. "I wasn't. I followed my dad's every rule, and still… I had to work twice as hard as Sam. So dad said, 'fine, stay here and pout' and he took me out into the woods, alone. Now I was pissed at Sam, too.” Dean struck a match slid it under the wood. “He was just… so different from dad and I. Without even trying. You know dad, he… he never disciplined Sam like he did me." For a moment it looked like Dean hadn’t meant to say it. He bent down and blew on the flames, causing smoke to rise in serpentine spirals between the logs. He kept fiddling with it until the papers were in flames. "So Dad and I went hunting the wendigo."
"But… you didn't find it?" Castiel asked carefully. He assumed a single wendigo wouldn't be able to escape two hunters, especially not John Winchester and his son.
Dean watched the embers slowly eat the newspapers, reflecting gold in his eyes. It was cold in the cabin. Dean could feel it on his arms and face, on his frostbitten nose and ears, but it felt like someone else’s body, and the warmth growing in front of him provided no relief.
"No, we found it." Dean said, then added, "I found it."
Dean could hear a silent question hanging in the air, but Castiel didn't say anything.
"The missing campers were there,” Dean said quietly, “Well, half of them, anyway. All dead, except one. The wendigo was eating her."
For a moment, only the sound of the crackling wood filled the cabin. Dean was inexpressibly grateful for the silence.
"She was still alive. She was just lying there… gurgling… staring at me. And I…" Dean watched the flames consume the last of the old newspaper—an article about a missing blonde haired girl. "She died like that. Staring at me. I had the flare gun, but I didn't…" Dean stopped.
Castiel looked at him. Dean was outlined by the glow of the fire, his face hidden in shadow. After a long silence, Dean spoke again. His voice was shaky—Castiel had never heard a more terrible sound.
"I froze," he said simply, "and the wendigo got away. God, dad was pissed." He gave a wounded laugh. "He came running and saw me standing there. I'd never seen him so mad."
Castiel frowned. "But you were just a child. Surely he didn't blame you."
"Oh, he blamed me. I let the thing go, Cas," Dean explained, but the certainty in his voice was hollow. He stared into the flames, absentmindedly rubbing his healed arm. "We burned the campers, or what was left of them. The girl, too. And when we got home," Dean smiled darkly, "Dad, he… he whooped my ass." He tried to laugh again but the sound came out like a cough. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes, letting the orange light of the flames envelop him.
"He beat you?"
Dean nodded. "Yup. Worst one of my life. I couldn't aim a gun for a week."
"Does Sam know?" Castiel asked quietly.
Dean sighed. "Yeah. I mean, he was in the next room. He knew. Dad never laid a hand on Sammy, but…" Dean trailed off. He wiped his eyes with his palm. "It got better after that. Dad didn't… I mean, he found other ways of dealing with us." When Dean looked at Castiel, Castiel looked upset, hurt even. Dean thought he knew why. Dean got to his feet at last and brushed himself off. "The John you met, or watched, I guess, that wasn't my dad. The John who was destined to marry my mom, that wasn't my dad."
For some reason, it was these words that made Dean unable to go on. He shut his eyes, willing himself to keep steady. He would have given all the whiskey in the world to keep it together, but half of him wanted to stick his arm into the fire again and burn off the memory—burn off his fate, his curse.
It took a few minutes for Dean to collect himself, but finally he wiped his eyes and moved back to the picture frame on the side table. He picked it up. Etched on the back was a date some thirty years earlier. Castiel watched him sadly.
"This was the John you knew,” Dean told him. “The John he was supposed to be."
Dean was suddenly filled with the desire to throw the picture across the room. He wanted to know that satisfaction. To destroy it. To punish it. Instead he put the picture face down in the dust.
Despite everything that had happened at the hands of his father, the thought of John gave him strength enough to look at Castiel. Or maybe he just wanted to punish himself further. Either way, when his hazy green eyes met Castiel's blue seas, Castiel reached up and touched Dean's arm. Castiel hadn’t moved since Dean started talking. He’d barely said a word. But it seemed that Castiel was finally unable to stand by while Dean suffered alone.
Dean knew what about to happen seconds before Castiel touched him, but he didn't do anything to stop it. Castiel's warm, surprisingly gentle grip found Dean's arm, and Dean felt hot tears slide past his eyelashes, burning his frostbitten cheeks.
"You know…" Dean said, his voice choked, "The first thought I had when that girl looked at me? I was grateful.” He tried to laugh. “Grateful that Sam stayed behind. That I was the one who found the wendigo." Dean wiped his eyes with his free hand. He didn't know why he was still talking. Distantly he heard Castiel get up. "I was grateful that it was happening to me, and not Sam."
Dean looked at Castiel and, without a word, Castiel pulled him into his arms. Dean wanted to run, to fight, to do anything but stand there and sink into Castiel's embrace, but he couldn't move. He lowered his face into Castiel's shoulder and felt a warmth that no flames could provide. It pushed the cold off his skin, purging him of sin and putting him back in his body. He put his shaking arms around Castiel. For a moment, he felt no pain. His tears flowed freely but there was no shame. Dean knew what it meant, and he felt sick with himself. He wiped his eyes once more and pulled away.
"Cas… I can't," he said. He didn't expect Castiel to understand. He expected Castiel to look hurt. He expected to feel the guilt and shame he knew he deserved.
But Castiel did understand. He looked at Dean, still standing much too close to him, and asked, "Why not?"
Dean stared at him, unsure what to say even though he knew the answer. It was because he, too, was a wendigo, masquerading as the human being it once was. Consuming others to stay alive, letting people die just to hold onto that cursed life—Dean was no different. He knew his only relief, his only redemption, his fate, would be that of fire and brimstone.
At last, Dean rasped, "Because you deserve better."
Castiel looked so tired and incredulous that it reminded Dean of Sam. "Dean," he said firmly, "I don't want better. And neither should you."
Dean wanted to sink back into Castiel's warmth, even if it felt like condemning Castiel to his own fiery curse.
"Dean."
Dean looked at him and his mind went blank. It was bliss. He knew it was selfish, it was wrong, but he'd never wanted anything so badly in his life. He felt Castiel’s hand move down his arm. He felt Castiel’s fingers intertwine with his. Castiel was so close his nose could have brushed against Dean’s.
“If you and Sam have taught me anything,” Castiel whispered, “it’s that people don’t often get what they deserve. You didn’t deserve any of that. You don’t deserve the fate you’ve been given.” Castiel’s eyes were like a whirlpool, capturing Dean’s and not letting them go. “You deserve to be happy,” Castiel said firmly. “So… if you tell me what you want, I’ll give that to you. I want… I want you to be happy.”
Castiel’s gaze felt like an endless ocean, washing over Dean. After what seemed like a lifetime of silence, Dean nodded. He gripped Castiel’s hand and leaned against him, taking comfort in their closeness. "Okay."
Castiel looked relieved, and Dean knew that he understood that answer when he felt Castiel take him by the hand. Dean was grateful he didn’t have to say more. Together they sat on the couch, the glow of the flames dancing over them, and Castiel took Dean into his arms. Dean was surprised at how readily he succumbed to it. It was like coming home. He leaned into Castiel and closed his eyes. Castiel kissed Dean's head, and Dean felt an inhuman warmth flood him. He didn't think he'd ever known anything like it. It was like basking in a warm sea, each wave another beat of Castiel’s heart.
Dean didn't remember falling asleep, but when he woke up he thought he was dead. He was enveloped in such warmth and comfort that he couldn't possibly be alive. There was no pain, only the heavenly smell of Castiel’s familiar musk and the feeling of his body breathing gently against Dean’s. Surely this couldn’t be Earth—This couldn’t be a place where demons and monsters roamed and where Dean hunted them.
It was only the realization that they were covered in a blanket, and that neither of them had gotten up to get a blanket, that told Dean he had to still be alive. Sure enough, as he came to he heard Sam packing up the Impala outside.
It was light out and the fire had burned itself to embers, glowing faintly through the lumps of blackened wood like a burnt corpse.
Dean and Castiel had slept through the night, far longer than a few hours, yet Sam hadn't woken them. He’d put a blanket over them. It was a musty, old blanket with holes, but he knew it was the best Sam could find.
Dean felt Castiel stir. Castiel opened his bleary eyes to look at him, and Dean felt himself smile. He didn’t feel like speaking yet, so he kissed Castiel's cheek. Castiel didn't move away or say anything, but Dean felt Castiel smile. They lay like that, cheek to cheek, both awake but not speaking, just laying in each other’s arms.
The front door opened and Sam came inside from the cold. There was no mad scramble to get up, but Dean felt himself go red in the face despite the fire being out.
"Hey," Sam greeted them, his voice gentle and earthly. "I got everything packed up so… whenever you're ready."
Dean could tell Sam was eager to leave the cabin, but suddenly Dean didn't feel the same way.
Dean looked over at Sam. "Thanks, Sammy."
Sam paused, taken aback. Dean hadn't called him that in a while. Sam looked between Dean and Castiel's tousled heads and smiled, and Dean knew he was forgiven. Hell, if Sam was still with him, ready to kill wendigos and fight their fate, maybe Castiel would be alright, too.
Sam walked back outside to let Dean and Castiel get ready to leave. It was cold in the cabin without the fire, but Castiel was like a beacon of warmth, always a few inches from Dean. They didn’t speak much, but the silence was nice, Dean thought.
When Dean was ready to go, he asked, “Are you going to…”
“‘Poof away’?” Castiel smiled slightly.
Dean smiled back.
“Do you want me to?”
Dean’s smile softened. “No.”
Castiel stepped closer to Dean, looking relieved again. “Then I won’t.”
Dean knew Castiel would have been happy to just stand close to Dean forever, but Dean suddenly found himself wanting more. He leaned in and, when Castiel didn’t back away, when they were so close they could taste each others’ breath, Dean kissed him.
Dean wouldn’t have believed Castiel’s lips could be so soft. Castiel kissed him back, feeling Dean’s lips gently, curiously, and Dean felt all of his fears and insecurities wash away. The cabin was suddenly warm again and Dean’s mind drifted pleasantly into space.
It was over all too soon, but neither were in any rush to go anywhere. Dean hovered over Castiel’s lips, breathing in his scent.
Finally, Dean smiled. “There’s room in the Impala. If your wings are tired, this is.”
Castiel smiled back. “They are. Very tired.”
Dean chuckled softly. He put his arm on Castiel’s back and walked out of the cabin with him. The winter’s day was bright and tranquil. The woods were free of wendigos and more beautiful than Dean had ever realized. His boots crunched over wet, melting snow, burying the ash and rubble from many decades ago.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
My PB! Exchange fic for @mishka-the-angel-of-saturday
I hope you LOVE it as much as I loved writing it 😘
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: T+
Word Count: 15k
Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, AU - Coffee Shops, Human Castiel, Hunter Sam Winchester, Solo Hunter Dean Winchester, Friends to Lovers, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Aftermath of a Case, Love Confessions, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Fluff
Summary: Unable to continue being 'just friends' with his best friend and longterm crush, Castiel is over the moon when it turns out Dean has been trying to hide the same feelings for just as long and is more than happy to go on a date with him. He just has to get his latest work conference out the way and then it's nothing but tuxedoes, masks and a lot of catching up on what they've been missing.
But Castiel quickly discovers that Dean is not the man he thought he was, living a life that Castiel could never have imagined. Their friendship is surely left in tatters, to say nothing of their budding romance when it transpires that all this time Dean has been wearing a mask of a very different kind.
