Good to You by surlybobbies (katie)
3.3k AU, deancas, background sam/eileen
Excerpt:
Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus. I didn’t hit on you last night, did I?”
Cas paused.
“I hit on you?”
“You suggested we get married.”
It had been a sweet proposal, if a little silly: Sam had gone to the bathroom, and in his absence Dean had taken to staring open-mouthed at Cas’s profile. It was then that he’d asked, in all his drunken courage, “You ever think about marrying me, Cas? Swear I’d be good to you.”
Tags: Sharing a bed, friends to lovers, in vino veritas (drunken confession), domestic fluff, happy ending, alternate universe
A/n: Written for the @deancastropefest! Love this fest because I can go hard on all the tropes I love without feeling embarrassed. :P
My submission for the @deancastropefest Mid-Winter 5k is here! It’s angst that gets hot and heavy. Feelings certainly involved. Read it on AO3.
Tags: canonverse, angst, porn with feelings, porn with plot, first time, hurt/comfort, Castiel is falling, and there’s nothing Dean can do about it
Summary: “Whatever choice I make, it always seems to be the wrong one. You are infuriating, and so quick to judge. Do yourself a favor and just tell me to go,” Cas says, “You’ve done that before.”
Notes: This one goes for @charlie-minion, who gave me the prompt years ago. You've inspired me to be brave and unapologetic about doing what I love. The wall slamming is for you, baby.
My eternal love and gratitude to fellow scorpios @amyoatmeal and @campchitaquamemories for beta reading this for me and being a constant source of support, especially in the middle of the night when I google proper English words for 'sport suit track pants'.
Special thanks to the mods for being the most chill. You're wonderful, we love you!
To anyone who reads this, thank you. I hope you enjoy it.
Preview under the cut.
Water is fluid, soft, and yielding. But water will wear away rock, which is rigid and cannot yield. As a rule, whatever is fluid, soft, and yielding will overcome whatever is rigid and hard. This is another paradox: what is soft is strong. -- Lao-Tzu
When Dean turns the light on, the bunker greets them with soft electrical humming in the walls. Their footsteps echo in the heavy silence as they make it down to the library and Dean cannot wait to finally shut the world out for a few hours from the solace of his bedroom. It was a rough hunt and a long drive, and the nagging headache makes a reappearance despite the couple of Advil he popped before their ride back. His bruised knuckles throb and his back cries for the comforts of the memory foam. He turns to mutter ‘g’night’ to no one in particular when Sam clears his throat uncomfortably.
“Well, I’m going to take a shower and turn in,” he says briskly, voice sounding tired and remarkably fed-up, “so you two can go ahead and figure out whatever it is you need to figure out.”
He fixes Dean and Castiel with a stare. Dean avoids so much as glancing at the angel, but he is pretty sure they both glare at Sam in unison.
“I don’t care what you do. Yell at each other, throw some punches, have a heart-to-heart or fucking kiss and make up,” Sam emphatically throws his hands up, then gestures between his brother and the angel. “I can’t possibly listen to any more of your bitching. Suck it up and fucking deal with it, or the next case we find, I’m working it with Garth.”
Castiel rolls his eyes. Dean feels it rather than sees it, his attention focused on studying the blood stain on his jeans. Clearly frustrated, Sam runs his uninjured hand through his hair, and for a second it looks like he wants to say something else, but quickly changes his mind and settles on a noncommittal sigh, heading in the direction of the showers with his duffel bag over the shoulder.
When the sounds of his footsteps recede, the library drowns in silence. Neither Dean, nor Cas are willing to start talking, but neither of them make a move to retreat to their respective bedrooms. Dean randomly picks up some of the books cluttering the table when he hears the noise of a chair being pulled out and clothes rustling. Taking a glimpse at the angel, he finds Cas sitting in the chair, arms folded on his chest. He is looking at Dean now, left eyebrow raised expectantly.
Fuck that eyebrow, Dean thinks. Fuck the day those nasty witches decided making human sacrifices was a fun way to spend their weekend. Fuck the day Dean was born, for that matter.
When an impending blizzard threatens to keep Dean and Castiel snowed in, Cas suggests they travel somewhere warmer. And it's summer in the southern hemisphere, right?
Dean doesn’t have to wander far before he’s stopped short, breath catching somewhere in his chest as he catches sight of a familiar tan coat, messy wind-blown hair, the moon lighting up Cas’s face, making him look every bit as ethereal as the angel who walked into a barn all those years ago, sparks flying around him. He’s a little more touchable now, though, and Dean’s fingertips itch with the need to reach out; it’s always been hard to resist touching Cas, to push and pull and hold onto him, but it’s even harder to resist now that he’s allowed.
