#spnfanficfriday

[wayward-mikaelson]

If anyone needs me ill be studying this for science

[wigglebox]

2029

Sliding onto your dash with a late-night birthday fic for Dean “Soft Boi TM” Winchester! 

Rated: T | AO3 Link | Words: 1,681 | No beta/lightly edited | Tags: Birthday, Existential Crisis, Canon Compliant, Death, Talking about Death, Communication, No Smut, Implied Sexual Content

--

Twenty was an attainable goal; thirty was impressive; forty was a surprise--

Fifty was a miracle.

Dean stood out on the back deck of the cabin as everyone else laughed and talked inside behind him. The air was surprisingly warm in the mountains given the date, and the small breeze smelled like springtime, even at night. He didn’t need a jacket, and the drink in Dean’s hand kept whatever residual chill at bay.

It had been a long day, and now at the end of it, Dean struggled to keep his energy and spirits up. His brain began overthinking around dinner time, and pushed him into maximum overdrive once they began singing “Happy Birthday”. The same thought had kept repeating itself:

He wasn’t supposed to make it to fifty.

Out on the deck, Dean studied the remnants of his drink. Of all the things running through Dean’s head, the memory of him shuffling into a cold and wet tent in a Nebraska field pushed along by Sam came to him too vividly. A shiver ran down his back thinking about how the place smelled and felt; everyone’s eyes had followed him with every move he made. When he felt, black closing in on his vision and feeling as cold as ice, a bitter tang of metal coated Dean’s mouth.

He should have died at twenty-six.

Grimacing, Dean glanced at his drink before knocking the rest of it back, trying to get the metallic taste out of his mouth.

“Happy Birthday to me,” he mumbled, tilting his glass around and watching the lights behind him dance on the surface. The sliding glass door behind him opened, and Dean didn’t need to turn around to see who it was.

“Aren’t you cold?” Cas asked, the chatter inside louder now that there wasn’t a barrier.

Dean shook his head, still not turning around. He heard a sigh and then the glass door shut again. Cas sidled up to Dean and leaned against the deck railing as well, staring out over the dark backyard and over to the lake beyond the trees.

Cas waited a moment, throwing a glance over at Dean.

“What are we looking at?” he whispered. The corners of Dean’s mouth turned up in a small smile before running a hand over his face.

“Nothing. I just wanted some fresh air.” It was a vague dodge and Dean winced internally, knowing it wouldn’t pass.

Another brief pause passed between them before Cas shifted closer, their shoulders eventually pressed together.

“What’s wrong,” he asked, stern but still quiet.

If over the years, while running around trying to save the world, they learned to pick up on each other’s moods and inflections--then living together for nine years only expanded those skills ten-fold. It was hard to sneak anything by each other. On a rare occasion, Dean would find himself annoyed at that fact. There were some things that he wanted to keep to himself.

But he didn’t want to keep this to himself. Dean knew what would happen if he let those shadow thoughts come back into the light. Years of experience had slowly built his defense system.

“I think I’m having a mid-life crisis,” Dean answered, “And it’s weird because I feel like I already lived a lifetime and had this crisis multiple times already.”

“What’s a mid--”

“Basically realizing half my life is over and I’m speeding towards absolute death,” Dean explained, going back to playing with the glass. The words sounded stupid out in the air now.

He didn’t have to look to know Cas had a frown lining his face.

“You’re… afraid of dying?” Cas asked, confusion and amusement rolling into one blurred tone that made Dean’s words sound even stupider.

But he swallowed the small lick of embarrassment and pushed on, wanting to get it out before it got caught in his throat and was swallowed again--

“Yeah, and I don’t know why,” Dean answered, “I’m stuck between thinking I’m gonna keep coming back no matter what, or that I’m dead forever. Like--where am I gonna go? I’ve been everywhere. There’s no mystery anymore or anything to look forward to. What if we get separated?”

Turns out Dean did know why. He felt his cheeks beginning to burn, either with frustration or embarrassment, he didn’t know.

He finally looked over to Cas and saw the very frown he pictured. There was a hate for that frown every time Dean saw it, and guilt always kicked him in the head for causing it.

Staying silent, he took one hand and moved it over to Cas’s. Without hesitation, Cas accepted it, causing warmth to radiate up and throughout Dean’s body. There was a moment of heavy silence.

“I’m scared of the same things,” Cas eventually murmured, looking down at their hands, the frown still in place, “I wasn’t created to die. I mean--I was and I wasn’t,” he sighed, frustrated, “I wasn’t supposed to die like this. I don’t even know how my actual age affects me now, and I’m terrified every night when we go to bed that everything will catch up to me while I sleep--that I won’t wake up. And where do I go? Will you be able to go too?”

Dean tightened his grip on Cas’s hand, looking away off into the yard and over the trees to the lake. He didn’t want Cas to see the tears beginning to build.

They never talked about it. Nine years together and they’ve been careful to avoid the topic if at any time they came even close. It didn’t really hit Dean until the week leading up to his birthday that he was less than halfway to the end of his life--this new normal life he had. It was a kick in the face for someone facing a milestone celebration, but his brain couldn’t get off the damn subject: Where did ex-Angels go? Where would he go? There was no one around to ask anymore; they were buttoned up, closed off to Earth to deal with their own corner of the afterlife. Could strings still be pulled?

Whenever the hypothetical situation arose in Dean’s mind, playing out the scenario of him spending eternity somewhere without anyone he loved, unable to do anything about, he wanted to scream. Or what was worse? That, or being eviscerated into cosmic dust and blown to the far edges of the universe so no one could get their hands on him, Sam, or Cas ever again?

Would Dean even know if that happened? What would--

“Hey,” Cas’s voice cut through the snowballing thoughts in Dean’s mind while tapping on their hands with his free one. Dean looked down and saw how tight he was holding onto Cas, causing some parts of his hands to go white and red.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and released his hand, bringing it back to the empty glass, turning his gaze back to the lake.

There was another peel of laughter from behind them, and it ripped through Dean’s body with a sudden surge of annoyance. Frustration threatening to billow out of control, he put the glass on the railing and turned to walk towards the steps down to the yard. He wanted some quiet--

Before Dean could get far, Cas grabbed his wrist to stop him just beyond the light from the door. Dean went with the motion and allowed himself to be pushed against the outside siding of the cabin without any protest.

Cas crowded Dean’s space and leaned in, pressing his forehead against Dean’s, his mouth stopping mere centimeters away.

“We’re going to be fine,” he assured Dean, voice barely above a whisper but sounding so sure of himself. Tears were beginning to seriously threaten Dean’s pride at that moment. He couldn’t say anything but nod in agreement, his arms automatically winding themselves around Cas; Dean clung to him like a liferaft.

They stayed there for either a minute or an hour, Dean wasn’t sure, but he could feel the anxious buzz in his body calm in a short amount of time. He still had a small spike of dread, but when his worldview could get narrowed into only focusing on the thing right in front of him, Dean felt more grounded. Cas helped ground him a lot over the years; Dean doing the same to Cas. They were too good together.

That’s what Dean decided to focus on as he soon occupied himself with trying to chase Cas’s mouth for a proper kiss:

They were too good together, and they couldn’t be separated. No one would dare separate them. They were too good together, and they couldn’t be separated. No would dare--

“Stop teasing,” Dean eventually whined, leaning his head back against the cabin, pouting, “It’s my birthday. Be nice to me.”

Cas pulled back as well, eyes narrowed but a faint smirk growing on his mouth. He made to say something when he got cut off by a loud “Ha! Uno! Pay up!” followed by long groans and boos. Cas turned to the door, annoyance clearly building.

Dean kept his eyes on Cas and felt a smile want to form. All the shadows and dark thoughts that were starting to pull him down began to ebb. Dean kept repeating they were too good together, they were too good together, can’t separate us if you tried, and it was soon joined by another thought--said by a stern, small voice that Dean knew would grow by the end of the night:

Stop worrying about the ending and focus on what’s right in front of you.

Cas turned back just as Dean’s hands were starting to wander.

“Is the car unlocked?” Cas asked, keeping his voice low. Dean felt a sudden rush of warmth cascade over him hearing the sudden roughness lace Cas’s words.

“Yeah--yeah it’s parked by the--”

Cas didn’t let Dean finish the sentence before he backed off completely, took Dean by the hand, and led him down the deck stairs into the night.

Happy Birthday to him, indeed.

AO3 Link

tag list (let me know if you would like to be added or taken off!): @heliodean @wanderingcas @johnlockshire @brangaene @amirosebooks @spaceshipkat @super-powerful-queen-slayyna 

[peanutbutterjelly-pie]

Not According To Plan

Summary:  A fire truck, a smoky kitchen and an unexpected surprise are awaiting Dean after coming back home from work.

The last thing Dean expected to see after coming back home from work was a huge fire truck in front of his apartment building and his neighbors standing outside on the sidewalk in various stages of disgruntlement.

Dean leaps out of the Impala so quickly he almost forgets to turn it off and hurries over to the group of people as fast as possible, his heart nearly in his throat as his overly creative mind imagines the most horrible scenarios in a matter of milliseconds. “What happened?”

Several faces turn in his direction, most of them looking quite annoyed but thankfully not even the slightest bit worried or alarmed.

Small miracles.

Meg, their neighbor directly living across the hall, at last scoffs at him and shakes his head. “Why don’t you ask your boyfriend?”

Cas.

Dean’s chest clenches painfully as he suddenly notices his boyfriend not standing here with the others. Cas actually should’ve been home for hours, his shift at the police station having ended early, like every Friday.

So why --?

Before any disturbing pictures manage to invade his head, though, he spots Castiel a little on the side, sitting on a small wall with his face buried into his palms. He looks small and defeated, but thankfully perfectly alive.

“Cas!” Dean exclaims and instantly rushes over, his knees crying in protest as they hit the hard concrete when Dean kneels down to be on his boyfriend’s eye level. “Babe, you alright?”

Cas makes some incoherent noises into his hands, but otherwise refrains from elaborating.

“C’mon, Cas, talk to me,” Dean encourages him softly, laying one hand onto his thigh in a soothing manner. “You’re not hurt, right?”

Dean naturally is pretty sure he isn’t -- after all, neither the firefighters nor their neighbors would remain so calm if that seriously would be the case --, however, he wants Cas to say it out loud anyway.

Just to ease Dean’s mind.

As expected Cas’ head snaps up right away, his eyes wide. “No, no, of course not,” he reassures Dean hastily. “I’m physically unharmed. Please don’t worry about that.”

Dean smiles softly at him, already on the verge of whispering, “I will always worry because I love you more than anything in the world”, but in the end he only leans forward and presses a gentle kiss onto Cas’ lips. He’s not really keen on getting all emotional with so many people standing close by, but nevertheless he can’t help showing affection, especially after such an unexpected shock late in the evening.

“So, what happened, babe?” Dean wonders. “Why are our neighbors pointing the finger at you?”

“Because he burned your kitchen down,” Meg adds helpfully from the background, resulting in the people around her nod in confirmation.

Cas shoots Meg a dark glare, obviously highly displeased by such a public announcement, while Dean’s brows climb upwards as he stares at his boyfriend.

“You burned our kitchen down?”

Great.

Just great.

Cas, however, merely snorts. “It didn’t ‘burn down’,” he defends himself with the biggest pout in the history of pouts while at the same time using air-quotes like the adorable dork he is. “There was just a lot of smoke and the smoke detectors went off --”

He rambles on, about the device’s noises and how he tried to make it stop, how he utterly failed and the fire department showed up soon after, ushering every single resident outside into the cold, how they’re forced to stand around for over half an hour now ...

And meanwhile Dean simply feels a lot of things, but mostly it’s relief and gratitude for things not turning out as bad as they could have been.

“Cas, honey,” Dean eventually cuts into Cas’ rambles, “what were you even doing in the kitchen in the first place? You’re a terrible cook.”

Cas pulls a face. “I’m not ‘terrible’.”

Dean chuckles as he leans a little closer. “Babe, I love you and you have a lot of amazing qualities, but cooking is not one of them. Remember Thanksgiving last year?”

Cas starts to squirm at the reminder. “I just forgot I had already salted the potatoes.”

“And so you salted them twice.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

Dean smiles and doesn’t even give a damn that he probably looks inappropriately lovesick and dumb. After all, that’s what Cas is doing to him on a regular basis and he’s not ashamed to show it.

“Besides, I wasn’t cooking,” Cas picks up their earlier topic. “I was baking. And the pie turned out perfectly, thank you very much. You would have loved it.” He deflates a bit as he adds, “I just messed up with the oven’s timer somehow. So the pie ended as a piece of coal and the smoke …”

Triggered the alarm.

Sounds about right.

“Why were you even baking a pie on a Friday night anyway?” Dean can’t help wondering. “We could’ve baked one together on the weekend, if you’d have wanted to. Or we could’ve visited that cute little bakery around the corner and get ourselves some nice slices …”

Cas groans and buries his face in his palms again. “But it was supposed to be a surprise. For you.”

Dean already thought as much, yet his heart swells anyway. “Cas …”

“And I wanted to do it tonight before I would’ve lost my nerves or something,” Cas continues to rant. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. Months even. Hell, probably since the day I met you.” He scoffs. “And tonight I told myself to just do it. And I knew you wouldn’t appreciate grand gestures. Restaurants, candle light, flowers or even a frigging orchestra. That’s not you -- and frankly, that’s not me either.”

Dean can’t help a frown, wondering where the hell this rambling is even supposed to go.

“So I figured a homemade pie would be the best way,” Cas adds, not detecting the confusion on his boyfriend’s face. “A simple gesture, yet so powerful. I even got the recipe from your mother and she actually started to cry when I told her about my plan, so be prepared for that, you’ll probably get some teary phone calls tomorrow -- at least if everything goes according to plan -- well, not entirely according to plan because having the fire department showing up clearly wasn’t part of that -- I only aimed for the pie and the proposal and maybe some naked engagement activities afterwards, firefighters surely weren’t on the menu -- although, I have, of course, to confess that their uniforms are nice to look at and if you would ever consider borrowing one of these --”

While Cas continues to babble some nonsense, obviously a direct result of his nerves going downhill, Dean simply gapes at him with a slack jaw and a wildly hammering heart threatening to burst out of his ribcage.

Suddenly he’s aware of everything. Of Cas talking himself into a frenzy, of their neighbors suddenly leaning in interestedly, probably not having been aware of the reason of that little fire until now, of the firemen in the background barking orders, apparently ready to wrap everything up.

And just a second later Dean’s entire attention focuses on Cas alone.

“You … you …” His throat feels bone dry all of a sudden. “You wanted to propose?”

Dean feels like he’s been hit by a train. Granted, they’ve been together for about two years now and Dean pretty much knew Cas was it for him the first time he saw his gummy smile, they even talked about marriage a couple of times, particularly in the last few months, mostly jokingly about it and yet with a serious undertone, and still Dean feels completely unprepared for this.

“This is not how I pictured it to go,” Cas grumbles. “I got the pie and a ring in my sock drawer and an emotional speech, and instead now we’re sitting here, out in the cold, and I almost burned our apartment down, and all of our nosy neighbors are witnessing my failure --”

Dean doesn’t give him any more time to freak out as he presses his lips against Cas’ in the most sensual kiss of his life, happiness filling every inch of his being.

He had no idea how true joy felt until this very moment.

So when they eventually pull apart he beams at Cas and whispers against his lips, “Yes.”

Cas blinks, at first most likely wondering what Dean is even referring to, and it takes this wonderful idiot an embarrassingly long time to catch up.

“You’re saying yes?”

His voice is pure awe and wonder and Dean never loved him more.

“Of course I’m saying yes,” Dean emphasizes. As if there ever could’ve been a different answer.

Cas, however, doesn’t seem to understand Dean’s train of thought. “But … but this was a terrible proposal. Horrible.”

Dean grins. “It was perfect.”

Cas shakes his head. “But … the fire … the lost pie …”

“Cas, it’s you,” Dean states. “That’s all that matters. You could’ve asked me while sitting on the freaking toilet and I would’ve said yes.”

Anywhere.

Anytime.

There’s not a single doubt in Dean’s mind. This is it.

Just like he knew two years ago when Cas smiled at him for the first time.

“But … but …” Cas seems a bit lost, obviously highly overwhelmed that nothing went as scheduled. “I technically didn’t even ask you yet.”

Dean laughs, loud and happy. “Then hurry up, you moron. I can’t wait to be engaged.”

For a moment it appears Cas wants to argue some more, but then his features soften impossibly and he breathes, “Dean, will you marry me?”

Dean kisses him again, whispering “yes, yes, yes” into his mouth, feeling elated and giddy beyond words, and he doesn’t even give a crap as he suddenly hears enthusiastic cheering from behind him and their next door neighbor Mildred muttering, “Well, now I’m not even mad I missed my soap opera. This is way better.”

Dean actually has to agree with her on that one.

So when some time later they’re finally back in their apartment and Dean gets his ring at last which is immediately followed by the naked engagement activities Cas had been hoping for, Dean just knows he’s the luckiest guy alive.

Because he has an awesome fiancé in his arms, a silver band on his finger and a smoky kitchen.

Sounds perfect to him.

[angeltiddies]

We are.

It’s anger and tension and so much caring. It’s ‘who we are is out of our control.’ It’s narrowed eyes and broken voices and it’s all too much. It’s ‘was any of this real?’

We are. 

It’s tension broken like a lightbulb with lips pressed together. The palpable static of finally. It’s hands gripping hair and clothing and something real. 

We are. 

It’s softer and whole. It’s hands caressing, tracing the shapes of angel wings onto the solid back meant to carry the weight of them. It’s counting freckles and mapping them like stars. It’s savoring all that is tangible and warm and real. 

We are. 

It’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s --fuck-- just right. It’s sweaty and long overdue and frantic. It’s intimate and needy and grounding. The connection, angelic and human, is what holds them together, what keeps them fighting. Skin against skin, green eyes meeting blue ones, fingernails pressing half moons into shoulders and thighs. It’s a raging storm and rolling thunder and crashing waves and then--

It’s quiet.

“You asked ‘What about all of this is real?’ What do you believe now, Dean?”

It’s breathless. 

“We are, Cas. We are.”

[rozanovnas]

Lines Between Tattoos Chapter 15

As usual, header credit to the iconic @protectyourdarlings​

AN: I really sorta love this chapter and I'm really excited to hear what y'all think.  Seriously, every single comment and interaction on this fic makes my entire day, ilu all sm <3

Chapter Title: Under the Gun

Pairing: Dean/Cas

Words: 6064

Read from beginning

Read Chapter 15

Very short sneak peek since everything in this chapter is a spoiler lol:

“Dean, I miss you so much every single day,” the words are abrupt, as if pulled from him forcibly, and Dean can’t help but close his eyes, because it’s exactly what he wants to hear but things are just so damn complicated, “And every day I almost come by here, I almost come in and tell you I forgive you and we can make things work, and then I realize that if I did that, that it would just be opening me up to doing all this again.  Because what if you decide you aren’t worth my time again, or I’m not worth yours, or we don’t work?  I can’t do this again.”

Read the rest here!

[petrichoravellichor]

To the Sea

A short DeanCas ficlet for @didnt-survive-twist-and-shout: happy birthday. :)

Tags: Established relationship, fluff

*****

Cas furrowed his brow. “This isn’t the way to the I-80 East.”

“Pit stop.” From the driver’s seat, Dean grinned. “Besides, it’s not every day we get a case in sunny California.”

“Dean, it’s raining.”

It had been all week, ever since the two of them had arrived in Pacifica on Monday to investigate what had turned out to be a pack of djinn. Now it was Thursday, and the rain beat against Baby’s windshield as they drove down the freeway. 

Dean chuckled. “Figure of speech. Point is, we’re here, and I’m takin’ you to the beach.”

Cas regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled. “All right.”

They pulled into an empty parking lot by the sea. Dean switched off the headlights, turning the heater up high and the radio down low. “C’mere...”

Cas scooted till they were side by side, Dean’s arm draped loosely over Cas’s shoulders. Outside, the wind whistled against Baby’s frame as the rain pounded out a steady rhythm on the roof, but inside the cab was safe and warm. Cas rested his head against Dean’s and let out a contented sigh. “This is nice.”

Dean gave a quiet hum of agreement and pressed a soft kiss to Cas’s temple. “‘S perfect.”

They stayed like that for over an hour, breathing in each other’s presence and listening to the rain as the waves crashed against the shore.

[sunnymeddows]

Warm All Over

Despite glowing like the sun, Gabriel always ran cold. He chalked it up to it being dear ol' dad's anger at his leaving. Some sort of punishment or something.

It only got worse after Kentucky-fried fuckwit kept him in a dank cell in the Real Bad Place. Oftentimes Sam would find Gabe planted in front of the radiator in the kitchen, sipping hot coffee and bundled in a blanket, despite it being 70 or so in the bunker. Gabe always waved him off. "It comes with the warming of the planet," he'd say. Or some other excuse to get Sam to stop worrying, to stop looking at him with those sad eyes, the knit brow and pursed lips.

Then, late into the night one night, Sam found Gabe shivering on one of the couches in the sitting area reading by firelight, fingers trembling as he turned the page of a book he found that had been written in Enochian. Gabe cursed under his breath when he couldn't grip the old page and Sam frowned.

"Hey," Sam's husky, sleep-addled voice spoke softly.

Gabe startled and looked up, furrowed brows flattening and a smile appearing on his freckled face. A smile that didn't quite meet his honey-coloured eyes. "Hey there," he said. "What are you doing up?"

Sam lifted his glass of water into Gabe's view. "Was a little thirsty." He came around the couch and sat down, setting the glass on the coffee table. "You doing okay?" His glance was met with gold.

"I'm fine, Sam." Gabriel smiled that dim smile again. "Just... didn't know that angels wrote is all. Thought I was the only one."

A quiet greeted them, and Gabe knew he wasn't getting away that easily this time. He shivered again, his teeth making an audible clicking noise.

Then, a gentle warmth covered Gabriel frigid hands. He looked up and Sam's smile greeted him. His gray-green eyes stared at the back of Gabriel's hands as he massaged them in his own, larger ones. "You know," Gabe started, wanting to diffuse the quiet. "If you wanted to hold my hands you-"

"I could've just said so," Sam finished, gaze rising to meet Gabe's. "I know. I just... your fingers were kinda purple and... I know you're cold a lot, so." He shook his head as Gabriel went to argue. "You don't have to say anything. I just..."

Sam paused, eyes fixed on the knuckle he was rubbing warmth into and allowing Gabe to stare openly at Sam's tousled bed-head and the laughter lines on either side of his mouth. And the crinkling in the corners of his eyes. He had a shadow on his jaw and chin and Gabriel longed to reach out and rub just the pad of his thumb over the bump of Sam's beautifully defined cheekbone. Never in all of his days and years and millennia on this rock had he seen anyone so wonderfully beautiful and, taking the time now, he truly appreciated that Sam was in his life.

Before he knew what was happening himself, Gabe had inched forward enough to press his chilled lips to Sam's warm ones, the movement on his hands stopping for a moment.

A long moment that seemed to stretch into infinity. Then, gently, Sam's long fingers laced into Gabriel's and he kissed Gabe back, leaning forward into it. Softly, Gabe's hand caressed Sam's stubbly jaw, getting a shiver from Sam at the contact.

Soon, Sam was in Gabriel's lap, not needing words to convey years of doubt and longing to the other, hands finding warmth and comfort on their own as if they had been doing this forever. The fire flickered and went out, the only light the faint glow of the outline of Gabriel's wings wrapped around them both, the iridescent gold glowing and fading like fireflies on a muggy summer's night.

And Gabe was warm.

~~fin~~

And, because I'm cheesy, here's the title inspo:

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

Where Do We Go From Here?

a 15x03 coda

implied destiel

references canon character deaths

~800 words

Closing the door feels too big, like rolling a stone in front of a tomb. Cas knows leaving is right, but right has never been the same as easy, and this is no exception. So he doesn’t hesitate.

The click of the latch booms in his ears.

He stands outside, a breeze in his face. The air smells surprisingly fresh and clean. At first he looks around, mystified, but then he remembers--the world didn’t end for everyone a few minutes ago. Just for him.

“I don’t even have a car,” he says to no one. He does, but it’s still in town; they’d all been shellshocked by the loss of Rowena so he’d ridden home in the back of the Impala.

Home. Right.

He starts walking because he has nothing else to do. At first walking feels good--his muscles stretch, warm, ache. But after awhile it all seems pointless, so when he sees a fallen tree not far off the road he stops and sits.

He does not think about the demon wearing Jack’s face--using Jack’s voice--turning to ash in his hands.

He does not think about Rowena, a parody of Crowley’s words on her lips, falling into hell.

He does not think about Dean…letting him go.

He has nothing now, so he does not think.

At all.

**

Sam washes his hands.

Part of him knows Rowena’s blood is gone, that he washed it away hours ago. But still he scrubs, trying to wash away the horror, the ache, the guilt.

Sacrifice. She’d been a sacrifice, but less willingly given than forcefully taken. And what utter shit that this family be asked to sacrifice anything more.

The list of those lost starts to march through his head, but he stops it before it gets too far. Thinking about Mom and Dad, about Jack… He turns off the tap, runs wet fingers through his hair, trying to steady himself.

Inexplicably, he finds himself wishing he’d been able to build a pyre for Rowena. She’d become a hunter, in a sideways sort of way. She’d deserved the honor. She doesn’t deserve the horrors of hell.

She didn’t deserve a knife in her gut either, a voice in his head says.

“She made me!” he chokes, but he knows it’s a lie. She had asked, he had said yes. Not because of any prophecy, but because it had been the only way to save the world.

“I had to,” he whispers, and this, at least, is closer to the truth.

But there is blood on his hands. He turns the water on, he’s got to scrub the blood off.

**

Dean leans against the edge of the table, watching Cas go. For a moment he thinks about saying something--good luck, have a nice life, don’t let the door hit you on the ass--but he somehow manages to hold his tongue. He’s mad, but he’s not mean. Is he?

Whatever. Right now he doesn’t care.

He gets a beer from the fridge, hesitates, then puts it back. Not today.

On the way to his room the last few minutes replay in his mind, a never ending loop of stinging accusation and aching frustration. Words he wishes he could unhear and others he wishes he could unsay.

And why is it that “something” always seems to be you?

Now you can barely look at me.

I think it’s time for me to move on.

He’s sitting at his desk, unsure how or when he got here. He squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he could just wipe everything from his mind. The smile that grows on his lips is cold. “Wish granted,” he says to himself, reaching into his desk drawer for the bottle of whisky he’s got stashed there for just such occasions.

He ignores the glasses on his shelf, drinks straight from the bottle.

A few drinks later (or nine or ten, who’s counting?) Dean starts talking to the empty room.

“You left. Again. It’s what you always do when things get tough. You leave. I always thought it was just you being scared, or maybe it was just an angel thing, or maybe you just didn’t want to be too close to me anymore…” He stops and shakes his head, like an idea is stuck somewhere and he’s trying to shake it loose. “But it wasn’t!” He slams the bottle onto the desk, hard enough that a book falls off the corner and a framed picture falls face down, shattering the glass. Dean barely notices. “Everytime you left it was because Chuck was bored and wanted to stir things up. And me being worried about you, missing you…”

He covers his face with his hands. His last words are barely a whisper.

“Did that mean anything?”

**

Where do we go from here?

Where do we go from here?

The battle’s done,

And we kinda won.

So we sound our vict’ry cheer.

Where do we go from here?

--Joss Whedon, Once More, with Feeling (Buffy the Vampire Slayer 6x07)