It's not exactly the same, and I know these Clairebell specials are basically ads, but also, it's almost the same as my epilogue fic! Claire going to see Bell at her home, the rose bushes in the garden, Bell cooking a meal, the egg yolk??? I swear if Claire pulls out the shoes in the last special, I will have an aneurysm.
Summary: Betty and Jughead finish their Prom dance that was interrupted by the auteur. Post-5x01.
She should tell him, but she won’t—at least, not tonight. And oh, she knows it is selfish—she knows the risk. He could find out from someone else, and that would be so much worse. But in his arms like this, dancing in their living room, the house still and quiet around them—she wants this perfect moment. She wants to savour it.
this is why you need to comment on fics, y’all it gives you more insight to the ‘vers AND gives the author ideas!!! some of the best fics start out as round robins on tumblr or comment plot bunnies. thank.u @captainbuddha , thanks for the review, it made me smile
LDWS Drarry Drabble #1: Asking for the Impossible (PG-13)
Malfoy was there. He was waiting on Platform 9¾ just as he had done at the start of every previous year, only taller now, and perhaps graver. And as expected, Narcissa was fussing over him, her fear and concern palpable.
Harry wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, honestly. But for totally unrelated reasons he was wearing his invisibility cloak and standing nearby. The cloak was necessary: returning to Hogwarts was one thing; allowing himself to be besieged by masses of adoring fans was quite another. He’d had quite enough of that in Diagon Alley, thank you very much. And the Malfoys drew no crowds. They were nearly isolated in their little corner of the station. Standing near them, Harry could rest assured no one would come too close and accidentally trip over him. It was all perfectly innocent, really. But it meant he couldn’t help but overhear Narcissa’s entreaties to Draco.
“You will try to make friends with Mr. Potter, won’t you, dear?”
Harry thought that was asking a bit much, and Draco evidently agreed. “Don’t ask for the impossible,” he replied, looking simultaneously embarrassed and irritated. “He hates me. The best thing for me to do is to stay out of his way.”
“But he saved your life! He must feel something other than hatred for you.” Harry wasn’t sure exactly what he felt toward Draco, but conceded hatredmight no longer be it. Narcissa moved closer and lowered her voice, though Harry could still hear her. “And I know you’ve wanted to be his friend for ages.” Harry was stunned to see Draco grudgingly nod in response. “This could be your chance. He may not have the same romantic inclinations as you do—” Harry barely kept himself from falling over— “but surely he’d rather not spend this last year at Hogwarts fighting. He must be tired of all that.”
Narcissa was right about that, yes, but surely she was mistaken in the rest of it. Romantic inclinations?
What on earth?
Harry was spared further revelations by the arrival of the Hogwarts Express. He moved away but he couldn’t help wondering whether Draco would take his mother’s advice. More worryingly, he had to admit to himself that the idea of Draco having romantic inclinations towards him didn’t seem as objectionable as it ought to.
Harry arrived at the compartment his friends had saved only to find that Draco had gotten there ahead of him. Watching him dither at the doorway, clearly nervous and looking ready to bolt at any minute, elicited more sympathies than Harry had ever thought he could have towards a Malfoy.
Perhaps this could be a chance for both of them, Harry thought, but Draco looked like he was about to turn around and walk away. Harry would have to make the first move.
Alright then. So be it.
He took off his cloak and held out his hand.
Notes:
I recently wrote a few drabbles for the 2017 Last Drabble Writer Standing contest and now that the contest is over (congratulations @ravenclawsquill !) I am free to post them :)
The prompt for week one was The Hogwarts Express, and the associated drabble had to be <499 words in length.
Thanks to @bixgirl1 for the terrific beta and to @nike-ravus for general encouragement!
You can also find this drabble on AO3: Asking for the Impossible
So I posted the 5th chapter of my Supergirl fic The Cape in the wee hours of Monday morning and forgot to post about it on here.
I’m sorry it’s been so long since I updated it, but you can expect more regular updates now. I’m actually hoping to finish it by the end of August.
Let me know what you think, and as always, my ask box is always open for whatever you want to put in there, requests, comments, questions about literally anything (I specialize in Supergirl and Wynonna Earp but will literally answer any question that is in there), hell you can even send me hate (I won’t appreciate it, but I will respond with some super heavy sarcasm and call you out on whatever you’re saying).
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Characters: Peggy Carter
Additional Tags: imaginary science, peggy is a BAMF in all things, steve's blood
Summary:
She had laid careful misdirection about flying home to England to see her ailing grandmother. And then she had turned and walked away from the job she loved and her small handful of friends and a woman who was neither her cousin nor in need of the kind of help the secretary might have thought.
There are exactly twenty-two cassette tapes in the shoebox under the passenger seat of the Impala. There have been exactly twenty-two cassette tapes in that box since Dean was twenty-five and bought a copy of Abbey Road and Combat Rock from a record store in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Most of the tapes were John’s, inherited right alongside the Impala, the soundtrack of a life on the road: Motorhead and Lynyrd Skynyrd; Black Sabbath and The Kinks; there’s even some Springsteen in there that Dean is pretty sure belonged to his mom before everything went to hell. Dean (and even Sam) can pick some of them out without even looking: Kashmir’s label has worn off from being handled so many times; Back in Black has a noticeable chip in the left corner; Heaven and Hell is weirdly heavier than the rest. Dean’s lived by this music; driven back and forth across the country to the sounds of those tapes. There are exactly twenty-two cassette tapes in the shoebox under the passenger seat of the Impala, until one day, there are exactly twenty-three.
ao3
Dean discovers the twenty-third tape on a Tuesday evening in May. The weather is turning swiftly towards summer; there’s a heavy golden glow hanging in the air from the setting sun, it smells like earth and light when he steps outside the bunker, climbs in the Impala, and rolls down the windows. It’s almost eighty still and it’s the perfect weather for grilling up some burgers, and that’s exactly what he’s gonna do. Dean’s got a smile on his face as he heads to the grocery store. There’s a lot to celebrate. The Mark of Cain is long gone, Cas is human (of his own choice) and more relaxed than Dean’s ever seen him, Sammy is not in any kind of danger or trouble (in fact, when Dean headed out the kid was happily geeking out over some boring shit in the Men of Letters archives). If they kept a kept a tally (which they would never do for fear of calling down catastrophe) it would proudly declare that IT HAS BEEN [37] DAYS SINCE OUR LAST LIFE, DEATH, OR HELLISH FATE SITUATION. That’s something to be damn happy about.
On the way to Trader Joe’s, Dean listens the steady rumble of the engine. He drums his fingers on window ledge, reviews his mental grocery list, and smiles at nothing. He’s been doing that a lot lately: smiling at nothing, humming even, bouncing on the balls of his feet, laughing. It’s partially because there isn’t some arcane brand on his forearm making him want to kill everything in sight, but it also has a lot to do with the fact that he kissed Cas for the first time thirty-seven days ago.
They were bloody and exhausted, sweating, and covered in ash in the wake of the ritual that cured Dean, laying grace against the mark, cleansing his soul of the curse. They were lying there, tears in both their eyes, on the floor of the dungeon. Cas had laid his fingers against Dean’s cheek, a whisper of a touch, and Dean had closed his eyes, overcome with Cas’ gentleness, letting it radiate through his whole body.
He didn’t run away like he had some many times before, afraid, embarrassed, undeserving. Instead, for the first time, Dean let himself lean into Cas’ touch. Unhindered by bloodlust, everything else flooded to the surface—affection and relief and gratitude—it was all right there in front of him. For the first time in a long, long time, Dean felt alive. Miraculously, fully, alive, and, buoyed by that heady sensation, he reached out for Cas, when so many times before he had flinched away. Dean laid a heavy, shaky hand against Cas’ hair and he smiled through a broken cheekbone and a bloody mouth. Cas’ eyes shown bright and full and so damn relieved, so damn happy. He leaned forward, and Dean met him half way and it was the most fucking amazing, wonderful moment that Dean had ever had in his whole life.
So yeah, on this bright sunny evening in early summer, Dean has a lot of things to be happy about, and a pretty sizable chunk of those things include Cas: Cas at his side, Cas in his bed, Cas smiling more, Cas frowning less, Cas stealing his clothes, Cas drinking coffee, Cas holding him at night. Dean is almost forty but he feels so light, so airy, he swears sometimes he could fly.
He whistles his way through the grocery store. Loading his cart with ground chuck and freshly baked burger buns, sweet potatoes and bell peppers and onions, tomatoes, cheddar cheese. He grabs a pineapple and some blueberries (for pancakes tomorrow), remembers to grab the granola and Greek yogurt Sam asked for, and the Orange-Mango juice that Cas is crazy about. He waits in line, making funny faces at the toddler in the cart in front of him and making small talk with her mother. He pays and loads everything into brown paper bags and then into the trunk. He twirls the keys around his fingers and slides behind the wheel.
“Time to get home, Baby,” he says, patting the wheel.
It’s at that moment, on this beautiful Tuesday evening in May, with the sun shining and the Impala loaded down with groceries, that Dean decides what his ride home needs is some tunes. He reaches into that old shoebox ready to let chance decide what he’ll listen to, expecting something familiar, but his hand grabs a tape that he doesn’t recognize.
He at first thinks that Sam’s tried to sneak some Indie crap into his sacred space, but when he pulls out the tape, the writing across the front is not Sam’s messy scrawl, it’s the sharp, slightly slanted lines that belong to Cas. All in capital letters, precise and pointed, the label reads FOR DEAN.
Dean’s heart jumps immediately to his throat, where it beats much faster than normal. There is a rubber band wrapped around the tape to keep a folded piece of paper attached. With trembling hands, Dean removes the rubber band and unfolds the paper. He half expects it to be a track list, but what he finds is Cas’ tightly packed writing filling the page from top to bottom.
“Dean,” it reads, “please, play the tape and read along.” The ‘and’ has been underlined enough that Dean can see the glare that Cas would use to punctuate if he were speaking aloud.
Dean turns the tape over in his fingers, bites his bottom lip. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, about to jump. His palms are damp and he shakes his head.
“Nut up, Winchester,” he mutters and he shoves the tape into the deck.
It takes a few seconds to start playing, but when it does, Dean can’t help it, he laughs; it’s a strange, strangled, wet laugh. Fucking Jason Mraz. Really, Cas? Does that make Dean Colbie Caillat? He shakes his head bemusedly, and rubs his eyes before he reads what Cas wrote:
“1. I would like to think that the reason that I included this song on this tape is obvious, but, in case that it is not, I wish to make it abundantly clear how lucky I feel to be in love with my best friend. You are the dearest and best friend that I have ever known in all my incredibly long life, to share not only this profound bond, but also the deep and abiding love that I feel for you is a gift that I had never hoped to experience, never thought to experience, and I am incredibly grateful to have the privilege of loving you as our relationship has evolved to include numerous forms of love: friendship, camaraderie, family, and romantic affection.”
“Jesus Christ, Cas, you can’t just say shit like that,” Dean grips the steering wheel, realizing that’s probably why Cas wrote it down.
It continues like that, for every song on the tape, Cas has written a note explaining why it’s there, what it has to do with him and what it has to do with Dean and, most importantly, what it has to do with the two of them together. The notes are earnest, they’re heartfelt, and they keep Dean oscillating between muffled laughter and silent tears.
Dean listens and he reads; he follows along right down the line.
“2. Given that we did, quite literally, find love in the most hopeless of places (I’m referring to Hell, though a case could also be made for Purgatory and some rather difficult situations on Earth) and times (the Apocalypse comes time mind), I thought that this song was apt. I don’t know that I have ever told you this (indeed, I know I haven’t, fearful of how you would react), but I loved you the first time I beheld you, Dean. Your soul shown so brightly amongst the desolation of that place, and when I held you in my grace I was changed fundamentally from the being I once was. I have never felt so close to another.”
Dean has to wipe his eyes and sniff, “C’mon, man.”
When he hears the third song, he laughs.
“3. I understand that you have a deep, abiding (and partially clandestine) love of Taylor Swift. I was hard-pressed to choose amongst her many works (all of which are quite catchy). This, however, seemed most appropriate as one of your most admirable qualities is your ability to ‘shake off’ the burdens that the world and fate have presented to you, and continually find beauty and joy in spite of hardship.”
“4. Dean, I would very much like to hold your hand every day for the rest of my human life. Nothing would bring me more happiness than to share this and other simple pleasures with you.”
“You’re such a damn sap, Cas,” he mumbles, wishing Cas were with him, wishing he could hold his hand through this, rub his thumb against Cas’ palm, press a kiss against his knuckles.
Boyz II Men sings “I’ll Make Love to You” as the fifth song, and Dean rolls his eyes and smiles when Cas uses his notation to basically quote the whole damn thing, with particular emphasis on holding Dean all through the night.
Dean is chuckling to himself when he flips the tape.
Elvis is in sixth place:
“6. Dean, I could not help but fall in love with you, with the beautify of your soul, with the strength of your character, with your capacity for love and you abidingly loyalty, with your laugh and your smile, with your stubbornness and your passion, with your compassion, with your capacity for forgiveness and your willingness to give all that you have to those you love. I did not know at first that that is what I felt for you, others realized it long before I did, and they did, in fact, try to stop me from falling in love with you. They tried many, many times, but no one could ever break that bond, Dean. You and I, we are stronger when we are together, the ties that bind us are far greater than any scheme or machination that they have yet to concoct on any realm of existence. And I will continue to love you and fall in love with you every day”
Dean thinks about Zachariah, about Naomi, about Cas hiding in Purgatory, and Dean’s own bullshit. He thinks about all the crazy, stupid shit that’s come between them and all the stupid, crazy shit they’ve overcome, and it’s suddenly crystal clear how many times Dean has fallen in love with Cas, with his gentle hands and fierce spirit, with his strength and faith and determination; how he has always, always been there when Dean needed him.
REO Speedwagon comes on next.
“7. I feel this song encapsulates much of what I’ve experienced in the past few years. It was difficult to ‘hold back’ how I felt for you, even more difficult to express the depth of the affection that I carried for you in a way that I thought you would accept. I am happy that we no longer have to ‘fight this feeling” but can, instead, embrace it.”
When One Direction comes on Dean is startled into a laugh.
“8. Despite the inherent paradox in the lyrics, I thought of you when I first heard this song. It seems so often you undervalue your worth, undervalue that which makes you truly beautiful, and it pains me (and also Sam and all those who care for you) to see you be so unaware of and so cavalier with your person. You are the most beautiful soul I have ever beheld and I wish you could see how I see you. You glow Dean, you are ethereal, you are the sun.”
Chicago is next with “Just You’N’Me,” and for the second time, Cas, uses his allotted space to basically quote the entire thing (“You are my love in my life, Dean, you are my inspiration”). “You Make Me Feel So Young” follows (“I have never known what it was to be young, to feel youthful, or carefree. For something as old as I, literally older than dirt, youth seems a alien sensation, but, when I am with you, I feel a sense of wonder and excitement that I have never before known. I see things differently, I experience things differently, and for the first time. It is a gift.”)
The last song plays “A Thousand Years” and Cas writes simply: “I have loved you with all that I am, and will continue to do so as long as even a part of me exists in this, or any, universe”.
When the tape stops, Dean is left in silence. There are tears on his face and his heart is a slow, steady, painful beat in his chest. He feels overwhelmed, filled to the brim, shaking, and all he can say is “Christ, Cas.”
He wipes his eyes, clears his throat, and heads for home.
*
He doesn’t bother unloading the groceries when he gets there. He just scrambles out of the Impala, and moves like a man on a mission, quick and purposeful and a little faster than normal.
Sam is exactly where Dean left him, hair a little messier and notebook a little fuller, still buzzing with scholastic energy. He looks up when Dean comes in.
“Hey, Dean, guess what I found in the—” he frowns, “Where are the groceries?”
“Trunk,” he tosses Sam the keys, “Change of plans: we’re orderin’ in tonight.”
Sam frowns more deeply, “Um, okay…everything all right?”
“Where’s Cas?”
Sam’s frown starts to take on a worried edge, “I think he’s in the kitchen. Dean, are you sure that you’re—?”
Dean stalks off towards the kitchen while he answers, “Totally fine, dude. Unload the groceries and order some pizza or something.”
Sam mutters a reply that Dean doesn’t make out; he doesn’t really care presently.
Cas is, in fact, in the kitchen, rooting through one of the cabinets near the stove.
Dean’s heart swells and his fingers tingle with nervous energy.
Cas doesn’t turn around, but Dean can hear the smile in his voice.
“Dean, you’re back,” he pulls a box from the very back of the cabinet, “I was just about to make some tea would you like—” he turns, pauses, and tilts his head, “Where are the groceries?”
Dean rolls his eyes. How is that the biggest issue right now? How awesome is it that that’s the biggest issue right now? Can’t they tell he’s having a goddamn moment?
“I need to talk to you,” Dean says. His voice comes out much gruffer than he intended. Cas’ forehead furrows, but he permits Dean to grab his wrist (smooth warm skin, and strong tendons beneath Dean’s fingertips) and allows himself to be dragged away.
Dean tugs Cas along in his wake and neither of them speaks until Dean pulls them both into Cas’ room and closes the door behind them.
Cas stands before him, increasingly concerned, tension in his shoulders and a worried frown on his face. He’s gonna get wrinkles, Dean thinks, how goddamn lucky is he that he gets to see that happen. Apparently Dean’s bemused smile does nothing to decrease Cas’ preoccupation because he starts forward as if he’s going to lay a hand on Dean’s forehead, not to heal, but to check for fever. Affection washes over Dean in a wave of warmth. He intercepts the gesture, holding up the tape. Cas drops his hand and takes a step backwards.
“Cas, what is this?” Dean asks, tone serious.
All of the tension leaves Cas’ body for a second, Dean can actually see all the puzzle pieces slotting into place in Cas’ mind as he works out Dean’s behavior in response to the cassette in his hand. He touches the back of his neck and shuffles on his feet, suddenly nervous.
“It’s a mix tape.”
“Cas,” Dean says, voice low, “why did you make this?”
Cas frowns, blinks several times, and then stands straighter, “I was speaking with Claire last week, texting actually, and she commented upon the changed nature of our relationship.”
“Of course she did,” Dean quips. She was probably damn sassy about it too.
Cas’ mouth twitches, “Yes, well, she said that all we were missing now was a letterman jacket and a mixed tape to be a complete cliché.”
Dean barks out a laugh, “The whole angel and human thing wasn’t enough for her?”
There’s definitely a smile on Cas’ face now, “Apparently not.”
“Kids, man,” Dean shrugs.
“Well, I suppose this caused me to reflect,” Cas continues, “I obviously have no letterman jacket to give to you—”
Dean interrupts, “Woah, if anyone’s giving anyone a letterman jacket it’s gonna be me.”
Cas rolls his eyes, “—obviously neither of us has a letterman jacket to give the other, but I was given to understand that mixed tapes were common in courting practices among young people of your generation.”
“Courting practices?” Dean repeats, torn between amusement and wanting to hide his face in his hands. He’s being courted by a former angel who has actually thought about how he would have wooed Dean in the early 90s.
“So I asked Charlie to help me because it is surprisingly hard to make a cassette tape,” he continues, “have you considered updating the sound system in the Impala?”
Dean glares, “Really, Cas?”
He shakes his head and grins, “I suspected as much. Charlie was all too happy to help me actually produce the tape. When I told her what I wanted to do she responded with, what she referred to as a ‘velociraptor screech’, which actually bore very little resemblance to the vocalizations of a velociraptor. Charlie helped me with the mechanics, but I chose the music and I, uh, wrote the note.”
They stare at one another for a moment. Cas shuffles on his feet again, and Dean is held in thrall, overwhelmed by the gesture of it all, by all the things that Cas said in that note, by the contours of his face, by the fact that Cas is here with Dean, and, if what he said is true, always will be. It’s a heady feeling, makes Dean’s eyes sting and his throat tighten.
“Did you, uh, like it?” Cas finally asks uncertainly.
That’s apparently all Dean needs to move.
“Cas, that was the cheesiest,” he takes a step forward, “corniest,” he’s in Cas’ space, “dorkiest,” he pulls Cas into his chest so that they are flush together, and Cas freezes for a moment in the warm embrace of Dean’s arms, “sweetest fucking thing that anyone has ever done for me in my entire fucking life.”
Cas licks his lips and hesitantly brings his arms to wrap around Dean’s waist, “So you liked it, then?”
“I fucking loved it,” Dean swears into the warm, tanned skin of Cas’ neck. He kisses him just beneath his ear, “Thank you.”
The final bit of tension in Cas’ shoulders melts away, he rubs a soothing circle against Dean’s side, “I meant all that I said,” he assures, pressing a kiss into Dean’s hair.
Dean buries his flushing face more firmly into Cas’ neck, “No song has yet been written in a human tongue that could encapsulate the way that I feel for you.”
Dean’s eyes burn and he holds Cas tighter.
“Nothing could ever come close to expressing what you have given to me,” he pulls them apart so that Dean is forced to look at him, wide, watery eyes and all, “all that I feel,” Cas wipes his thumbs against Dean’s cheekbones, catching the tears, “when I am with you.”
“Cas,” Dean tries, voice thick.
“I love you, Dean Winchester,” he says with such warmth in his eyes and voice that Dean feels that he’s drowning in it. Cas leans forward and he presses their mouths together. It’s gentle, slow, and Dean feels it from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. It’s like sunlight, warming him all over, deep into the core of him. He’s breathing heavily, shaking, overcome.
When they come up for air, Cas rests their foreheads together, holding Dean’s shaking fingers in his own steady ones, cradling them against his chest. Dean can feel Cas’ heartbeat against his knuckles.
“What do you want, Dean?” he asks, voice rough, but tone so, so tender. Dean could say he wanted to go on a picnic, and Cas would walk out of this room and pack a damn basket without a second’s hesitation.
Dean knows he could ask for anything, anything at all, and what comes out of his mouth is heartfelt, “Lie down with me?”
Cas smiles, presses a kiss against Dean’s lips, “Of course.”
He pulls Dean gently by their linked hands and settles him down on the bed. He undresses Dean reverently, carefully. He removes Dean’s shoes and his shirt, he undoes his belt, and slides off his jeans, he takes of Dean’s boxers, freeing his slight erection. Cas brushes a hand through Dean’s hair and kisses his mouth, soft and lingering. Then Cas undresses himself, quickly, purposefully, while Dean watches. He has tan lines from running and working in the garden: the toasty brown of his torso ends just below his belly button, and a swathe of milky skin extends to just above his knees. When they are both naked, Cas settles onto the bed, turning on his side to face Dean, who reaches out for him.
They’ve had sex before, and it’s awesome, every time, because it’s Dean and it’s Cas and they’re together, which is inherently awesome. How could it be anything else? Even when Dean accidentally trips over his own jeans while giving a strip tease, and face plants into the bedframe and Cas has to bandage his head in between some awkward explanation to Sam, even when one or the other of them is too tired to get it up, even when Cas says something that makes Dean laugh hysterically right when things are getting hot and heavy. It’s always awesome.
Cas asked Dean what he wanted, and all Dean wants right now is to be close to Cas, to feel him, to know he’s there.
When they comes together, it’s slow touches and kisses. It’s Dean tracing the shape of Cas’ body: his face and his shoulders, his back, his stomach. It’s Cas laying worshipful kisses, gentle and wet against Dean’s skin, interspersed with endearments. He presses them against Dean’s eyelids, his collarbone, his chest. Cas works Dean into hardness, slow and steady strokes of his hand around Dean’s cock that send heat, electricity running through his nerves, coiling low in his belly. Dean does the same for Cas. The first touch of their cocks together, hot, velvety skin and pulsing heat, is almost too much for Dean. Cas twines their fingers together, working over them both, climbing to that precipice together. Cas’ mouth is warm against Dean’s, his tongue smooth and wet. They’re sweating; Dean’s eyes burn, their hearts beat frantically. Dean can’t look away and Cas can’t either, they watch each other, eyes locked. They jump over the edge together and when they come down from that high, sticky and sated, Dean has tears in his eyes, running down his cheeks. He takes shuddering breaths, while Cas pulls him close, wraps him tight and safe in the circle of his arms, and presses kisses to the top of his head.
“Shhh,” he murmurs, “shhhh.”
He hums a song that Dean doesn’t know but he feels the love in it down to the very marrow of his bones.
Dean has to work his mouth several times before he’s able to get anything out past a shaky sob, but he finally manages, with his eyes closed tight, and Cas’ heartbeat just beneath his ear, “I love you, too, Cas.”
Cas tightens his hold on Dean, pulls him closer, as close as he can. It hurts a little bit, but Dean doesn’t mind.
“I know, Dean,” he sounds so sure, so certain, “I know.”
*
Dean doesn’t keep the twenty-third cassette tape with the others. He keeps it and Cas’ note in his room, in the top drawer of his desk, next to a picture of his mom.
When a month later, Dean decides to make good on his Mark of Cain bucket list and take a nice long vacation, he makes sure to move the tape to the car. The Carolinas should be fucking gorgeous this time of year. It’s just him and Cas on the road; Sam is gonna meet them at Myrtle Beach next week (“get all the loud sex out of the way before I show up, please.” Dean makes no promises). Dean loads their duffels in the trunk just after dawn, stores some snacks and the cooler in the back seat. Cas brings two steaming cups of coffee for the road. Dean starts the Impala and smiles at Cas, who is still a little bleary eyed.
It’s the twenty-third tape that Dean pushes into the tape deck just before they pull out of the garage. Cas smiles at Dean and takes his hand. They hit the road to the sound of a love song.
*
Cas’ mixtape for Dean
1. “Lucky” Jason Mraz & Colbie Caillat
2. “We Found Love” Rihanna
3. “Shake it Off” Taylor Swift.
4. “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” The Beatles
5. “I’ll Make Love to You” Boyz II Men
6. “Can’t Help Falling In Love” Elvis Presley
7. “Can’t Fight This Feeling” REO Speedwagon
8. “What Makes You Beautiful” One Direction
9. “Just You 'N’ Me” Chicago
10. “You Make Me Feel So Young” Frank Sinatra
11. “A Thousand Years” Christina Perri
