Ok, here are a few ways hellers can win (are you listening Robbie, my beloved?)
Angel Dean - someone is fucking with the timeline, trying to make it so Dean and Sam were never born (bonus points for human Chuck for consistency). Dean asks (in Jensen's words) to tap back in. Jack makes him an angel. This is where it gets fun. They can recast Dean in the time period by giving him a new vessel. He befriends Mary and sneaks around to hunt with her and keep her safe. When she tells Dean angels watch over him, it's because she knew Angel Dean. John initially hates him because of his closeness with Mary but then catches him sneaking around with Cas. He freaks out but comes around and Dean gets a relationship with his Dad as a person and ultimately grudging respect. Dean would know everyone from the series so you could bring in Rowena and Crowley and a Meg and all the angels. He could also give his parents ideas (the mix tape, the family business, etc.)
The Cas Twist - Dean is in the Empty (bonus points if that fucked up Heaven was The Empty). He begins to tell a story to someone we assume is the Shadow but the twist is its actually Cas. He tells him about John and Mary. At the end he tells Cas that he realized they have what John and Mary had. That he loves him. Please come home
The Heaven Loop - John and Mary are still in the original locked Heaven reliving their memories. Dean, with Cas's help, is trying to help get them to break the loop. Insert cool Westworld vibes.
Will any of them happen? Probably not. Would I read the fuck out of the fan fic? Yes. Someone write these and tag me. 😆
ROBBIE I KNOW YOU ON THIS HELLSITE. get your ass over here you genius you.
also, beloved - 'someone write these' like we aren't gonna. pfft.
for writing prompts i'll send two depending on your mood: for something fun and fluffy, summer vacation/road trips? for something heart wrenching and angsty, how cas reacts to dean's nightmares about losing him?
The sound of Dean's screams raises the tiny hairs on Cas' arms, gooseflesh sprinkling across his skin. He abandons the cup of hot cocoa he was warming in the microwave, and quickly scurries down the hall, stocking feet landing softly on the wooden floor.
Dean's knotted in the sheets, head lolling on the pillow. Tears stream down the sides of his face.
"No, please. Cas, please come back. Don't you--" the words turn into a hoarse, ragged sob, the pitch of Dean's voice ratcheting higher as his throat works with emotion.
"Don't you even think about it, don't you dare leave me."
Cas stands in the doorway with trembling hands. He wants to wake Dean up, gently rouse him from the nightmare, but his sudden realization of what Dean is seeing in his dreams has him rooted to the ground.
They haven't talked about it since Cas got back.
They had the emotional reunion kiss, and the "I love you -- of course I love you, too" that Cas still can't think about without the feeling of soaring -- like there are still wings attached to his back. But Cas never thought to ask Dean about the aftermath of that night.
When he spilled his heart on the floor, thinking those words of love would be his last.
Cas had been okay with that. Accepted it.
Watching Dean's pain now, he's not feeling so sure about his choice. The guilt pools in his chest, heavy iron weighing on the ribcage.
Dean's sobs grow louder, like they're cleaving his body in two. "What am I supposed to do now?" it's a broken whisper, and it slices through the sinews of Cas' heart, tearing it into small shattered pieces.
"Please come back. I keep waking up, and you're gone. Please come back," it's practiced now, a litany. The chant of mourning, slow and bitter cadence of Dean's syllables reverberating on Cas' ear drums.
The dirge of a funeral march.
Cas counts the minutes in his head, estimating how many of them Dean spent saying these words while he was gone. His heart squeezes as he tallies them.
Too many.
Dean's body jerks to a sitting position, startling Cas out of his mental mathematics.
"Wha-?" Dean tugs on the collar of his sweat-soaked t-shirt, rubbing a knuckle into one eye. "Cas, that you? Why are you in the hall?" He flips on the lamp on the nightstand, blinking as his eyes adjust to the light.
Cas looks at the little spikes of Dean's hair that stick in opposite directions. Lines from his pillow run across his cheek, cutting through the sprinkle of freckles.
He's beautiful.
"I'm sorry," Cas says quietly.
Dean's eyebrows wiggle together in sleepy confusion. "S'okay," he mumbles quietly, patting the spot next to him. "C'mere."
Cas tucks himself under the covers, and Dean slings an arm around his waist, pulling him close. His shirt is still a little damp, the warmth of him radiating on Cas' back.
"You don't even know why I'm apologizing," Cas mutters to the wall.
"Doesn't matter," Dean says, nuzzling the back of his neck. "You're here."
"Your nightmares, Dean." Cas whispers sadly. He twists his body despite Dean's grumble of protest, turning to face him.
Dean bumps their noses.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi," Cas says back, before continuing, the words tumbling out quickly:
"I should have thought about it. What that would feel like for you."
Dean shuts him up with his mouth. "Stop," he murmurs against his lips.
"I'm used to bad dreams," Dean says, cupping Cas' jaw in his palms. "It was the good ones that hurt, when you were gone."
Cas stares at him, puzzled. Dean nuzzles his face into Cas' neck. "That's what the nightmare was. I would dream you were here. Then wake up, and you weren't. Like a hole in my gut."
Cas drops a soft kiss on Dean's hair, not sure what to say.
He goes with "I'm sorry" again. The words feel flat and meaningless.
Dean hugs him.
"Just be here. And real. When I wake up."
Cas thinks to himself that they should probably talk about it more, but Dean's nimble fingers seem to have other plans.
They don't sleep for a while.
When they do, the only sound Cas hears in his ear is the soft buzz of Dean's happy snore.
The cold cocoa tastes just fine when warmed by their morning coffee.
Cas watches Dean flip pancakes.
"I wont leave again," he says softly.
Dean looks at him, something wet shining in his right eye. "Okay," he says.
They're here, and they're real.
It's enough.
drinking tequila, send me an ask (or a writing prompt)
I may have missed the tequila prompt window, but if not: rainy summer day Dean and Cas.
(Also, your poems are fantastic and I hope you continue to share. Even if they aren’t SPN-related, I doubt I’m alone in wanting to read more.)
Castiel's wings sparkle in the rain.
Dean stares at them, mouth agape with wonder. For a brief second, he completely forgets that the surprise summer shower has ruined the hours of hard work he spent preparing the picnic that's now a sopping wet mess on the ground.
Dean was going to do it as a celebration of the six month anniversary of Cas' return from the Empty, but the immediate memory of that night changed his mind, quick.
Cas' bedraggled form showing up on the bunker doorstep, Dean greeting him with equally bloodshot eyes, bleary from hours spent emptying bottles of liquor and shooting errant bullets at the walls.
Cas hadn't managed a word, collapsing into his arms like a frail, wet autumn leaf. Dean carried him to his bed unceremoniously, more akin to a bag of sand than a bride over the threshold.
The night itself was spent sleepless. Cas pressed into Dean's neck, his dry sobs echoing in his ears. He'd held back his own waves of grief to comfort him, stroking the angel's hair.
When he grazed a hand over his back, Cas winced, a tremor running through his body.
"I'm okay. They'll grow back," he whispered. The sound of it was so broken it immediately plummeted Dean's heart into the pit of his stomach.
"Sweetheart..." was the only word Dean could manage after Cas, in a series of shuddering breaths, explained the extent of the damage to his celestial wings. A scar left behind by the Shadow as penance for Cas' escape.
Dean's fists twitch menacingly just thinking about it.
So, no. Dean's not really dying to remember that.
And that's why they head to the park on a random Thursday and Dean absolutely forgets to check the fucking weather forecast beforehand.
He spares a moment of mourning for the soggy slices of cherry cheesecake, having foregone his beloved pie for what he knows to be Cas' favorite, despite Cas always letting Dean pick the dessert.
He watches a bird feast on the wet hunks of bread, doused by the streams of rain pouring from the sky, their glittering strands like glowing streamers in the sunlight.
At least someone gets to enjoy it, Dean sighs despondently before turning to Cas.
And seeing them.
They're still not back to full capacity, little tufts of regrowth sprouting along the joints, the lines of the feathers uneven and ragged. But the raindrops dancing across their surface reflect the sun in myriads of dazzling lights, tiny rainbow prisms filling in the gaps the Empty left in its campaign of destruction and ruin.
Cas' face is turned up to the sunlight, eyes closed against the water streaming down his cheeks.
Wetness clings to his lashes when he turns his gaze on Dean.
Cas smiles, tentatively.
It's the first smile Dean's seen in weeks that's not tinged by sadness or fear.
Embarrassingly, this leads to Dean bursting into tears like a damn thirteen year old girl.
Cas is at his side immediately, arms holding him tight. Dean tries to steady the breaths ricocheting through his ribs, his stubble catching on the wet cotton strings of Cas' soaked gray t-shirt.
"Fucking stupid," he mumbles into the indentation of Cas' clavicle, shame flowing out along with the warmth of his breath.
"Nothing about you is stupid," Cas says quietly.
Suddenly, there's something surrounding Dean's body, a small bit of shelter from the rain.
Oh.
Dean strokes a feather gently with a finger, fist of his other hand knuckling at his eyes.
"Why can I see them?" he says, and dammit his voice is hoarse from the crying.
Cas gently tugs them both down to the ground, managing to arrange Dean face to face on his lap easily, like he's some sort of rag doll.
"I don't know," he remarks. "Maybe they want you to. It appears they have a mind of their own."
Dean blinks up at him. "Huh. Castiel, Angel of the Lord and his Wayward Wings." he cracks, the lump in his throat slowly dissolving. "Sounds like a weird graphic novel."
Cas rubs his back a little, like he knows Dean's trying to joke himself past the tears.
'I'm sorry it took so long," he says. Dean jerks his head up quizzically.
"To get home to you," Cas clarifies. His chin dips.
Dean shakes his head tightly. "Should've gotten to you first," he mumbles, the pricks back in his eyes again, sonofabitch.
Cas bumps his forehead to Dean's.
"Shhh," he whispers.
The rain stops, and Dean can see the clear blue of the sky through the spaces in Cas' wings.
Cas follows his gaze. "They'll heal," he murmurs.
Dean thinks the words he wants to say - "So will we."
He pulls Cas close instead, letting his lips do the talking.
The wings glisten around him, bits of light winking across the feathers like they understand.
Is there one word that can describe it? The feeling of the air being punched out of your lungs.
Because that's how it felt, when he saw them.
Towering black pillars, unfurling slowly to fill the space. Sunlight glinting off the feathers in luminous rainbows. An oil slick reflection mirroring the shine of every star in the sky, not in their natural alien glow, but in living, breathing color.
If Cas was a celestial wavelength of light, his wings were a constellation, the footprint he left on the pitch of night when he fell to earth.
When he gave the wings up, for Dean.
For love.
"I don't miss them."
Cas tells him this every time Dean whispers the quiet question.
But Dean sees it in the sad slope of Cas' shoulders, the yearning curve of his spine. He notices the involuntary flex of bones that ripples down Cas' back when a bird soars overhead.
And so, Dean -- being Dean, decides to find a solution.
It's not much.
It may not even be worth the price of Dean's aching fingers and the new scars he's accumulated from being just a hair too careless with the sharp points of the needles.
Nevertheless, it's finally finished. The product of many quiet hours, hunched over skeins of yarn on the kitchen floor while newly-human Cas' slumbering breaths fill the air of Dean's bedroom.
Dean fans the shawl out on the table, looking at his own handiwork with an ever-self-critical gaze.
The black yarn is soft. It'll feel nice on Cas' skin.
Comforting, Dean decides hopefully.
He touches the little flecks of shimmering silver thread running through the inky dark with his finger, tracing their swirling pattern.
Not quite the multifaceted blaze of a perfect rainbow, but it'll have to do.
Dean taps the cap of his pen on the card, still grasping for the right descriptor.
Maybe they don't need to be fancy.
Awesome, he writes in careful letters. Just like you.
He tucks the card and the shawl into a bright yellow gift bag.
Cas' features are confused when Dean hands it to him a few hours later.
"What's this for?"
Dean smiles. "Just because," he says softly.
Cas reads the card.
He tugs out the shawl. Happiness illuminates his face.
Dean's lungs deflate, and his brain finally pinpoints the explanation.
"Cas," he whispers, closing the space between them.
Writing prompt: nerf gun battle! (I had this written as a note in my phone with no further context lol)
Oof.
The foam pellet bounces off the top of Dean's head, Jack's triumphant "Got you!!!!" ringing in his ears.
He knows Cas only requested the "epic battle" for his Father's Day gift to appease their son, but Dean's the one who's really starting to feel like the martyr in this nerf gun war.
Not that this is unusual for him, he supposes. Grinning and bearing it is what Dean does.
Well.
What he did, anyway. Before they saved the world, and dragged Cas out of the Empty, and he drilled into Dean's head (like he does every day, actually) that he was better than all of his hangups and preconceptions.
That Dean's well-practiced cycle of self-sacrifice and resentment didn't actually constitute living a life.
Dean pauses for a moment to rub what is surely going to turn into a lump on top of his noggin. At least the kid's got aim.
He sighs, trudging up the hill behind the bunker, eyes darting for the next onslaught of bright green missiles. He's already going to have at least four new bruises, not to mention the ache in his knees from crouching to stay out of sight.
Blue eyes watch him from the bushes.
"Hello, Dean." Cas says brightly, shouldering the orange toy shotgun.
Dean swivels to point the barrel of his plastic weapon at Cas' sternum. "You know it's not an ambush if you announce your presence, right?"
Cas smiles warmly. "I wasn't going to shoot you."
Dean raises an eyebrow. "Not really how you win, sweetheart."
Cas frowns, peering at Dean's face. "You're not having any fun," he murmurs.
The seep of guilt is instantaneous, pouring into Dean's chest and choking the insides of his throat. "Sure I am," he says, injecting the words with cheer.
Cas tilts his head, that little bird-like gesture that always gives Dean the fuzzies in the pit of his stomach. He tugs on the bottom of his threadbare AC/DC t-shirt. "Dean, this is my part of the celebration. You don't have to participate if you aren't enjoying yourself."
Dean guffaws, but the laugh feels as fake as the pellets in his gun. "Erhm. No, I'm great. This is great, Cas."
It's not great. His bones ache, and his ass hurts, and he is fucking tired. Dean's been shooting guns for over thirty years, and the last thing he wants to do is play pretend at a job he recently left behind, forever. But saying that -- even thinking about it, feels selfish.
Cas is watching him knowingly. Dean frowns.
"Thought we talked about you digging around in my brain," he says, a little accusing.
Cas' mouth twists slightly to the left. "I don't have to," he says softly. "It's written all over your face."
Dean's shoulders sag. "Jack wanted this..." he starts, but Cas interrupts him.
"No, Dean. I wanted this. And yes, because I knew Jack would enjoy it -- but also because I'm enjoying it too." His gaze is tender. "But you aren't."
Dean sighs. "Don't want Jack to be disappointed," he mumbles, feeling like a failure.
Parents don't just do what they want. He thinks about John, the seep of ice in his belly expanding.
Cas gently brushes a piece of grass from Dean's hair, smiling softly. "Love's not a transaction," he murmurs. "Jack will understand."
Dean blinks at him.
Cas smiles. "Go inside," he says nudging Dean firmly with a palm on his back. "Take a bath. Ice your knee. We'll see you in a few hours."
When Jack bounds in for Dean's portion of the evening -- pizza and video games on the couch -- he doesn't say a word about Dean's disappearance from the nerf gun battleground.
Instead, he looks at Dean with shining eyes, and tells him he loves him before swiftly stuffing his face with two slices of pizza at once.
Cas gives him an "I told you so," eyebrow raise as he slides in next to him on the other side.
"See," he whispers, his warm breath tickling Dean's ear. "You don't have to do a thing to keep us." He squeezes Dean's knee and dumps a forkful of salad on Dean's plate despite his protesting groan.
Dean starts to realize that love may be about 'just being,' after all.
drinking tequila, send me an ask (or writing prompt)
OKAY I HAD AN IDEA AND I NEED TO SAY IT SOMEWHERE *puts on clown outfit*
Alright so we know that in the prequel we will have Dean as a narrator apparently. But who is he telling the story to??
In the very last scene of the show, after the story is told, we see Dean sitting on a porch in Heaven with Cas and they comment on John and Mary's story blah blah blah and then Dean grabs his hand and says something along the line of "But at least I have you now after everything that happened" and then Cas craddles Dean's face, leans close and says "But I'm not real". Dean blinks and says "What did you say?" and Cas says "I said I love you" and Dean snaps back into "reality" and they kiss etc etc.
Then Cas says that he's going inside and Dean stays out for a bit looks around with kind of a weirded out look and then goes in the house too.
CAMERA ZOOMS OUT AND BOOM WE HAVE ESTABLISHED THE SPN SEQUEL WHERE DEAN'S HEAVEN IS NOT REAL AND HE NEEDS TO GET OUT !!!
I've been thinking about this all day Im not crazy I swear🤚
oh ooh ohh oh oh ooh I mean this prequel as a backdoor into the post-finale season of SPN Is something I LIVE FOR OK, and I totally love the idea of Dean's heaven NOT being real (I have this very deep INSANE dive I did on here where Bobby is actually his reaper, don't ask I am SO unwell).
would also explain why Misha keeps...talking about his Cas voice on Cameo.
and absolutely great question like WHO are you telling the story to Dean (of course it's Cas! Who else would it be. Clearly not Sam, amirite oh wait is it too soon.).
**though I am also a Jackles should use my post-finale WIP Angels Dont Fear the Reaper as his next project script truther because...I just think Dean would look good as Death (and he has eyeliner in the fic so..society).
What's a fan fic moment that stuck with you/haunts you?
Definitely when Dean circles the little "B" in 4LW . Also the kitchen moment in that fic (if you see my blog on your dash at all you know I am unwell about kitchens), and probably every single library interaction really.
So Says the Sword is a fic that's carved on my body like an enochian sigil. I really like specific small details about it, one being Cas trying to save a little bird every day and failing until Dean brings it inside to take care of its broken wings. There's something so soft and quietly heartbreaking about that part of the story.
Jimmy's letter in @bichaoticdean's Patient Love, and the star imagery that's used in that fic generally are stuck to my feet like gum (affectionate).
The game "Story Time" in @doctorprofessorsong's Strong and content I travel the open road is something that makes me both smile and sob. Very lovely detail that is CUTE but hurts at the same time. Perfection.
The descriptions of Dean's prayers to Cas in purgatory, and just honestly the entire AMBIENCE of @omittedcastiel's you ran off with it all lives in my brain rent-free. If you are a purgatory aficionado like yours truly, RUN (no pun intended LMAO) to that fic. it's beautiful, and touching, and heartbreaking (my comment on this fic was 5 pages I am going to stop talking about here now lest I commit a similar crime).
this line from @fellshish's The Jensen Mistake, which is a hilarious romp (that will also hurt you. beware.) "He’s just a Texas man, standing in front of occult ingredients and hoping he got the SPN timezone right."
the list has this emoji: 🤩 epic texting content. the good place! cactus! $64k for the Trevor project. omg INCREDIBLE NEWS!!!!! you're doing great, I personally just sent him this so like, as always. things could be much worse -
also, destie your Dad (70 straight man) is my new heller king. GOOD. FOR. HIM. same hat.
