#dean/cas + empty chairs

[shallowseeker]

Cas & the chair at the head of the table

==The chair breaks==

When Dean breaks a chair in 14x18 Absence, it's that three-part play on the word absence again: (a) Castiel's absence from the partnership both emotionally [Empty deal] and in terms of decision-making/trust, (b) Jack's absence of soul, and (c) Mary's absence in death.

The cabin they're standing in is dilapidated. Broken down. The breaking of the chair symbolizes the symbolic breaking of the marriage. It's the dissolution of the happy family as essential parts of it die and the rest splinters apart.

///

==When Cas is absent, this chair position is featured==

This is a chair position that has been associated with Cas before, when he died in 12x23 All Along the Watchtower-13x01 Lost and Found.

It's the head of the table. Cas's head is literally pointed at the empty chair in death. Dean's hands tenderly brush it as he walks past it.

///

==Mended bonds: Cas rejoins the table==

After season 14's Absence, although we see Cas in the library and at the war table, we do not see him fully rejoin the kitchen table until 15x09 The Trap. Here he retakes this adjacent, head-of-table "partner" position again:

///

==The kitchen table in day-to-day bunker life==

Images by TVTechGeek

[NOTE: Yes, before you say it--all of TFW sits here sometimes. Usually, they sit across from one another when they're eating dinner. And Dean, for example, took the helm position when Jack died.

But the kitchen seating arrangement with respect to Cas is still conspicuous here in seasons 14-15 for the ordered sequence I've noted. There is a symbolic relation to the empty chair and its association with Cas's previous absences. There's a weight to when and where Cas rejoins the table with respect to Dean-Cas as a unit.]

///

==After Cas dies, the kitchen table features very little==

After 15x18 Despair, Cas is gone. Interestingly, after Cas leaves, although the kitchen itself is shown, even to illustrate the daily rhythms of the finale, the kitchen table is not shown again. The war table and the library are favored.

In the finale, Sam is shown cooking, and Dean is shown grabbing toast, and Dean is even shown doing dishes. That's it. The table does not feature.

(Most of the denouements take place in Sam's domain: the library.)

///

==Empty chairs, pizza boxes, missing pizza man==

So, what else is conspicuous about Cas & chairs? Well, the empty black chair of the dungeon in 15x18 is certainly conspicuous, but the 15x20 finale, despite having no Cas, has a peculiar abundance of empty chairs and pizza boxes.

Six months after Castiel's death, the empty spaces in Dean's room are filled by pizza boxes. ("The missing pizza man.")

On entering Dean's room, we see our first empty chair, the one by the couch.

And an empty pizza box.

This position calls to mind Dean's prayer scene from season 8's Remember the Titans. In that prayer scene, Dean sits on the "Cas" side of the bed as he prays towards the Cas-shaped lamp (you know--the tall one--reminiscent of the one he dances with in The Heroes' Journey). As the prayer ends, Dean glances over his shoulder towards the empty chair and laments Cas's absence.

It seems that this chair position in particular is a chair Cas would favor, and it especially represents the early days of their domesticity in the bunker.

Another conspicuous thing is those shirts draped over the green bench. The couch features a plaid shirt, plus a camo shirt (and tan rag?) that is decidedly not Dean’s style. It hearkens to army fatigues. Is this another ghost of the soldier (Cas?)

The only other thing this could be is a callback to Mary and Jack re: AU earth, but it seems more like a symbol of Dean and Cas.

That the army shirt & tan fabric are draped near an old phone seems another nod to Cas, the absent soldier. Since Lucifer’s cruel trick, Dean has been waiting for Cas to call.

///

And the second pizza box is simply...on Cas's side of the bed. Like a bedside table. This pizza box is inexplicable. One's weird, but two's a pattern. This pizza box is also in the frame with another empty chair.

Cas's side of the bed features the fan of domesticity, a Cas motif, as well as the tall Cas lamp. And now, we have another Cas motif: the pizza man.

SAM: "If Cas were here--" DEAN: "He's not."

//

#cas + chairs #spn motifs #dean/cas + empty chairs #shal meta #spn finale #spn absence #spn remember the titans #spn the heroes journey #cas + pizza man #dean/cas + pizza #the pizza man and the meat man

[hauntedpearl]

nov 5 is anniversary dinner at the winchester household but it's like..no one talks about it. everyone gets together but they pretend like it's because it's just. you know. a regular coincidence! we're just hanging out! we didn't even look at the calendar! they're all laughing too loud and forcing jokes and being overly casual about it.

dean gets real quiet when there's a break in conversation or when he's alone. cas gets this look in his eyes like he's not where he is. if they can't bear to be separated on the day, well. no one has to know. or even if they do, no one mentions it. so they eat one handed and they hold hands under the table until their knuckles are turning white and they're just standing pressed together when they're supposed to be doing the dishes and they DON'T talk because they still can't figure out how to sometimes and today is definitely the day that is sometimes. and if they get hugged extra tight when everyone leaves, well. they don't mention it. they're grateful but they don't talk about it.

the first year, it's almost a wake in the house. well, there was no house then, but there was the bunker, and it was home. but yes. it was almost a wake, disguised as a celebration. they'd all crowded around the map table, sitting in chairs and on the surface and trading stupid stories and playing boardgames and throwing scrabble tiles at each other because that's not a fucking word, dean and then even when they'd tired of the act, they just sort of sat together and drank and said nothing like it was agreed upon beforehand that they weren't gonna let dean and cas be alone and dean had been so grateful he didn't know what to do with it. it was like this grief wasn't supposed to be there, you know? but it was. it was. and there was no ignoring it. but you couldn't let it drown you so you did what you could.

the year after that is more of the same, though the house had emptied before midnight . and yes there was a house by then. and a porch swing and deck chairs and kitchen windows and her gardens and retirement, even though dean didn't think he'd ever get used to the taste of that word in his mouth. dean woke up that year with a pit in his stomach and he'd panicked because cas wasn't there, cas wasn't touching him, cas was gone , gone, gone, but then he'd blinked his eyes open to see that cas had just curled away from him in the night, was still here, sleeping, soft and open mouthed, and dean could touch him without straightening the bend in his elbow and he did and he tugged until they were pressed together again and he'd closed his eyes and sighed. cas went somewhere far away during the day, and dean thought he was going to suffocate in the house because he didn't know how to bring him back, to make him aware of the ground under his feet. but then his family was there, filing into the house somewhere around noon, in groups of twos and threes. they brought food and wine and movies and they pulled at the arms of the men who'd turned hollow-eyed until something like light slipped back into them.

it's the third year now, and the dishes are drying on the rack and the house is emptied of its guests and the quiet is just a little bit more bearable than it was the year before but somehow that feels like enough, because dean's not drowning and neither is cas, even if the water pulls at their legs, and that's a damn win in his book. dean checks the locks on the doors and the windows of his house and brings cas an afghan, drapes it over his shoulders, pulls him close until he's lying back against dean's chest on the couch. and they turn on the tv and it's the kind of shitty programming that comes on when it's after halloween and not yet christmas and it's pushing 2 am on the oven clock, but it's good white noise, and sometimes cas laughs and dean feels it against his chest, in his bones, and he thinks that's all it's about anyway. that laugh's kind of the point of everything. so he sighs and hooks his chin on Cas' shoulder and doesn't say how scared he is, sometimes, even now, or how he doesn't want to close his eyes tonight, because he's not sure what he'll wake up to tomorrow and doesn't say that there's something stinging the back of his eye even if there's no reason for it. instead he just slips his fingers through Cas' and buries his nose in cas ' hair and breathes. and well, isn't that a miracle.

#nov 5th FEELINGS POSTING #is this fic it's not it's a headcano. #headcanon #destiel #IM SORRY #doe is talking again #IM SORRY BC IDK WHAT IM DOING

[angelsdean]

yea see the thing abt "dean being throw into the wrong wall" is that. well first of all, he's not. he's thrown to the correct wall the problem is that he falls the wrong way. from how cas throws him, he should fall with the handprint (left) shoulder down onto the floor. but because of the shot having to show the handprint bc like. that's thee whole Point, he falls on his right shoulder so the left is facing up. which is what leads to all the fuckery of it seemingly like he ping-ponged to the opposite wall. but everything else abt the shot shows he's against the correct wall. he looks left, to where cas is still standing and looking down at him. dean looks to the right where the chair is and the empty appears on that back wall. cas looks straight ahead at the back wall and smiles at the empty. the empty leaps and takes cas and billie then disappears into that back wall again. dean looks in shock at that wall. then he's left sitting there in despair and the chair + back wall are to his right. i drew a whole diagram with stick figures. i've taken second by second screenshots of that bit for various edits. my eyes have been all over that scene and he does not fall into the wrong wall, he just falls on the wrong shoulder

#vic.txt #spn 15x18 #destiel

[waynes-multiverse]

Plastic Hearts – Part 23

Pairing: Director!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader

Series Summary: Los Angeles, 1985. Y/N’s a young actress without any success, hopping from one failed audition to the next until one desperate mistake brings her to her breaking point. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, is a grade A asshole and washed-up director at the end of his career, known for his godawful slasher movies in the 70s and his love for blow, booze, and women. Lost in the toxic Hollywood life, their paths cross when one hopeless little wrestling show changes their trajectory.

Chapter Warnings: +18, language, smut, fluff, angst, quiet hurt & a touch of heartbreak

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Oh, you'll hate me again for ending it like this. Have fun, guys 😂

<< 22 || Spotify Playlist || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

23. Every Breath You Take

“More?” Dean offers the half-emptied wine bottle and holds it over Y/N’s glass as they sit around the dinner table. The actress throws him a raised look with a little smile playing on her lips.

“Are you trying to get me drunk? You don’t have to. I’m already sleeping here,” she points out in amusement.

“Yeah, but when you’re buzzed, you let me do more shit.” The green-eyed director smirks.

“Ew, Dad!” Claire groans next to him. “I’m right here. This is why I don’t wanna do family dinner with you guys.”

“This was actually a nice idea,” Y/N says with a smile so bright it shows her dimples. “Thanks for cooking tonight. Perfect way to start our last week of filming.”

Dean’s heart stings slightly at her words, but he covers it with a tight smile. The last three weeks passed by rather quickly, and each week, he grew more worried, more nervous, more depressed, and more anxious. This was it. Seven more days before it all imploded. Six more nights before he might not see her again.

He has been wracking his brain, trying to come up with solutions to save the show – to keep her. Cas and Jo are out on fairs, networking with networks and showing their tape to other producers in hopes of getting picked up by someone else, still without any success.

“So, uh, any plans so far? Heard some of the girls are going to auditions, looking for other jobs,” Dean notes and nurses his beer. He doesn’t hold it against them. It’s the business, after all, and everyone’s trying to survive and find their next paycheck.

Y/N bobs her head and sets her wine glass down. “Yeah, actually. I was thinking about taking your advice and going to New York for auditions. I like the idea of doing theater or maybe even a musical.”

Dean forces a supportive smile on his face and hides the heartbreak in his ribcage. “Yeah, you should. You’d be great at it.”

“But, uhm, for now, I’m actually driving to San Diego in a few days for an audition for a musical. I’m not gonna get it, but I figured it’d be fun,” she tells him, and even though she downplays it, Dean can see the excitement sparkling in her eyes.

“Oh, c’mon, why wouldn’t you get it?” he encourages her. He promised himself he’d always be her cheerleader, no matter his own feelings on the subject. He’s trying a new thing these days – it’s called being less selfish.

But God, he hopes she gets it. San Diego is a lot closer to LA than New York.

Y/N snorts into her glass, chuckling. “It’s a Sondheim musical, Dean. I’m not expecting to get it. It’s just good practice.”

“Aiming high, huh?” Dean laughs despondently and takes a big gulp of beer to choke down his tears.

Dammit, Dean thinks. He wishes he could call the dude and tell him what a great woman and actress Y/N is. He’d be lucky to have her in his production. Maybe the director could bribe him to hire her? Would that take things too far?

“How are you gonna get down there?” Dean’s eyes drift to the leg in a cast that rests on a chair next to him.

Y/N gives him a shrug of her shoulders. “I don’t know. Take the bus?”

“I’ll drive you,” he says with a swig of his beer. See? Supportive. He’s really proud of himself, although he wishes he were a lot drunker right now.

“Ooh, uh, Claire, I borrowed two dresses from Alex for you. I put them in your room. You need to pick one for your Winter Formal,” Y/N tells his daughter with a bright smile.

But Claire shakes her head with teenage defiance. “I don’t need a dress. Jack and I are going ironically.”

Dean’s brow furrows in confusion as he blinks at his kid. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Claire rolls her eyes in response and groans. “Ugh, Dad, you’d think for someone who lived through counterculture, you’d understand.” With that, she gets up from the dinner table and takes her empty plate to the kitchen sink.

“I know what she means,” Y/N mumbles nonchalantly.

Dean’s bewildered gaze darts to her. “Really? What?”

Y/N coolly shrugs her shoulders as she sips on her wine before she sighs defeatedly. “Fine, I don’t know. I just wanted to sound cooler than you,” she admits with a cute smile.

Dean snorts a laugh. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

“I’m going to bed. Good night! Don’t be too loud!” Claire yells before the door to her room slams shut.

Dean watches Y/N as she leans back in her chair with a blissful sigh and empties her glass. She has pretty much spent every night at his place since the hospital. At this point, the director has gotten so used to it that he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if one night she didn’t. Why can’t it stay this way?

He never thought he’d be someone who wants to have family dinners every night.

“Too tired for dessert?” he asks with a wiggle of his eyebrows and his signature smirk.

Y/N laughs lightly. “I wish one of these days you’d offer me actual dessert,” she quips.

“Like what? Chocolate cake? Pie? I’d actually love some pie. Maybe we should get one for tomorrow night,” Dean muses, chuckling.

Y/N grins mischievously at him and leans her elbows on the dinner table, resting her chin in her palms. “Maybe you can eat pie off of me.”

Dean curls his lips, his cheeks blushing at the idea alone. His dick seems to like it, too. “God, I love… your brain,” he quickly corrects his course before the wrong words slip out.

And it’s not like it isn’t true. While Y/N hasn’t been able to act and tumble around the ring, she’s been coming up with storylines and basically coordinated matches for the past three episodes. She’s also constantly by his side and mans the booth with him. If Dean didn’t sleep with her and like her, he’d actually be scared she’s coming for his job. She’s pretty much directing at this point, and he just lets her because, well, did he actually ever care?

But his declaration is only a small part of the truth, the full truth being that he loves more than just her damn brain and has for a long while. He’s been trying to say the words for weeks now, started and stopped a hundred times, and tried to pack his feelings into a coherent sentence that honestly shouldn’t be more than three words long.

However, those are some big three words. Monstrous for Y/N. And deep down, Dean knows she might feel like he does, too, but can’t admit it and doesn’t know what the hell to do with it. To her, this little arrangement between them is nothing more than friends who fuck. Only Dean’s aware that they’re actually in a deeply serious relationship, which is maddeningly ridiculous.

But hey, if he keeps his mouth shut, they might make it another five years like this without Y/N running away, so that’s something.

Dean then rises from his seat and offers his hands to Y/N. Her leg is still in a cast, so she has been wobbling around on crutches or hopping clumsily across a room. It’s pretty darn cute.

“Thank you,” Y/N says gratefully as Dean helps her up and slings her arm around his neck before he fully hoists her into his arms. She giggles as he carries her into the bedroom. “You don’t have to do this every night, you know. I can walk just fine.”

“Says you, but truth is, you’ve never seen yourself walk on these things. It’s pathetic,” he teases her and plops her carefully down on the bed.

He flings off his shirt and removes his jeans and underwear as Y/N unbuttons her blouse. The mattress dips as he climbs into the bed and helps her discard her pants. It’s routine at this point, but Dean has really started to cherish the stability. Every morning when he wakes up and smiles at her, he loves knowing that he’ll fall asleep right next to her at night all over again.

Gently, he spreads her legs and slots between them. His lips find hers in the moonlit dark and kiss her with deep affection and burning love, always pouring his whole heart into each kiss and hoping one of these days it’ll stick.

Grabbing a condom from the nightstand, he rolls it over his throbbing length and positions his dickhead at her entrance, slipping into her tight channel till she’s full of him. Her lips part as the same little gasp escapes her that he hears every time he enters her. He loves hearing that noise almost as much as he loves to hear the big one when she comes and the medium ones in-between.

Sometimes, Dean makes her come before, but on nights like these, when she’s already had half a bottle of wine, he rather works quick. While wine makes her louder and more daring, it also renders her quite sleepy.

“Fuck,” she sighs and closes her eyes with a euphoric smile, her pussy gripping his cock tight as she clenches around him. “You’re always so good at that.”

Dean smiles amusedly. Wine makes her chatty, too. “I haven’t even done anything yet, sweetheart,” he remarks.

“Well, I guess I just-… I just love your cock,” she says bluntly and grins up at him. “And those lips.”

See? Wine.

“These ones?” Dean asks teasingly and leans down, pulling one of her nipples between them till she squirms.

“Uh-huh, yes…” she moans softly and cards her hands through his hair, causing a groan to pass his lips. “And that tongue.”

“This one?” Dean lets his tongue roll over that same nipple till it peaks, feeling her arch her back underneath him.

“Yes, and God, those hands and fingers…” she almost whines.

“Those two?” Dean snakes a hand between their bodies, two of his fingers finding her clit and drawing tickling circles.

There’s no more strength left for words. She bites harshly down on her bottom lip and nods vividly. Her cunt clutches him tightly, eliciting a giddy chuckle from him. He loves making her squirm.

Three more squeezes, and he knows he has to move before she grows impatient. He knows her well by now, knows every little detail about her, and loves that he does. They haven’t even been able to do half the things he wants to do to her due to her current injury and inability to move (or bend) as freely.

And yet, he’s still not fucking bored, not in the slightest. He keeps waiting for it, but it never comes.

On the contrary, he appreciates the feeling of knowing someone so deeply and intimately as he knows Y/N. She has become a part of his soul, and he doesn’t know if he could ever cut her out without severely hurting himself. He’s not sure if he could survive a wound this deep.

“Dean, please…”

That was the fourth – like clockwork.

Dean manages to thrust twice before loud punk rock music shakes the walls and drowns out every noise in the entire house. Hell, the whole neighborhood can probably hear it.

Frustrated, his head drops momentarily to Y/N’s shoulder as the actress snorts a giggle. He can feel her body and cunt trembling around him, but not for the reason it should.

“Claire!” Dean shouts angrily. “Turn that fucking music down! Y/N’s trying to sleep!”

“No, she’s not!” his kid yells back through the wall and the unbearable music. “I know you guys are having sex! I don’t wanna hear anything!”

“We’re not having sex,” Dean barks and watches as Y/N gapes at him in sheer playfulness.

“Wow, you lie like that to your kid?” she teases him.

“What d’you want me to say? ‘I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m inside of her now’?” Dean retorts wryly, making Y/N burst into uncontrollable laughter as she snorts into his shoulder. “Can you please stop laughing while I’m trying to fuck you? My soldier’s already retreating.”

But Y/N only laughs harder at that, tears streaming down her cheeks as Dean’s lips purse with a sigh through his nose. She then exhales a deep, long breath, trying to calm herself. He’s seen her do this very move a hundred times during an acting scene.

She clears her throat and tries to force a more serious look onto her features. “How about a little Russian motivation?” she says in her infamous accent and smiles when his cock twitches in agreement. “Maybe some oral manipulation, yes?”

“Oh, fuck yeah.” Dean grins and leans down to capture her lips. “God, I love yo… your pussy,” he quickly corrects himself once more. That was a close one.

Alright, don’t look at him like that and don’t judge him. He’s trying. He really is.

But Jesus fucking Christ, he loves living these days. Who knew his forties would be the best time of his life?

With a big yawn, Y/N rubs her eyes and stretches her arms over her head. The shower in the main bathroom is running with Dean already in it. She grabs her crutches and hops to the window, opening the blinds to let some sunlight in.

She takes a deep breath and enjoys the morning silence for a moment, her gaze drifting out the quiet neighborhood. It has never been this peaceful in the motel. The last three weeks, she has really appreciated waking up in Dean’s bed. She knows she’s probably overstaying her welcome at this point, but he hasn’t kicked her to the curb yet, so she hasn’t been in a hurry to return to the motel, either.

He was right – the memory foam mattress is fucking heaven, especially with a broken ankle.

All in all, she imagined being benched for the show would be a lot worse than it is. Dean’s done a great job of incorporating her anywhere outside of the ring. She’s helping with storylines, training, directing, producing – really anything that could use a few tweaks. The green-eyed director is unfashionably nice to her. Maybe it’s the sex or their friendship or a combination of both. Either way, she’s grateful for him.

However, there’s this tiny voice inside her head that keeps telling her there’s a reason why Dean’s been so nice, and it’s not just the sex. It’s certain kisses and touches and looks – especially the looks – that make her believe there’s something lying underneath the surface. An iceberg so gigantic it could sink the Titanic. Whenever she catches his clandestine gazes from her periphery, there’s this inexplicable feeling that creeps through her veins.

Her peace is disturbed when excessive knocking and an uninterrupted ringing of the doorbell draw her attention to the front door. A part of her expects to find her best friend behind it. Only Jo could be this ruthless and obnoxious.

Y/N hurries to the door as fast as she can, which isn’t fast at all, considering she’s on crutches. Everything is just awkward and slow these days, but she’s been practicing moving around in hopes of joining the show again for the final episode. Billie and Donna have been helping her, too.

But as Y/N opens the door, she’s not greeted by the familiar blonde but by a brunette stranger instead. The only similarity the woman shares with Jo is that she’s incredibly hot and angry, too.

“Can I help you?” Y/N asks with a look of bewilderment, although she shouldn’t be surprised to find a mad woman on Dean’s doorstep.

“I’m Lisa Braeden. I’m looking for my daughter,” the woman says, somewhat impatiently.

Oh.

“Uh…”

Y/N stumps for a moment, eyeing the woman in front of her closely. So, this is Claire’s mother. Dean’s ex. She tries not to feel insecure around her, but it’s hard, considering the woman is a bombshell with perfect curves and flawless features. And if she looks like that now, Y/N wonders what she must’ve looked like seventeen years ago.

The actress suddenly feels very exposed in only the director’s flannel. Truthfully, she looks like she just crawled out of a gutter. Maybe it’s the fact she has just woken up and is sporting major bed-head, but Lisa probably thinks Dean took in a homeless person. The cast and crutches don’t help, either. And then, Y/N wonders why a part of her cares at all what the brunette thinks and reminds herself it’s not a competition.

“Dean? Dean!”

Her voice carries a certain amount of panic that’s probably uncalled for. Yet, it helps. The shower turns off, and not a minute later, Dean stands next to her with only a towel wrapped around his waist, his broad chest still glistening with droplets of water.

He does know how to make an entrance.

Dean’s brow is deeply creased when he takes in the woman at the door, lacking a sense of recognition, however. “What the fuck is all that noise?”

“I’m the fucking noise,” Lisa replies dryly. “I’m here for my kid.”

“Oh…” Dean stumps as well. Then, he swallows thickly and gives her a nervous smile. “Hi, uhm, I’m Dean Winchester.”

“I know who you fucking are, you moron,” Lisa huffs, shaking her head. “You got me pregnant. Where’s Claire?” When neither Dean nor Y/N answer, Lisa rolls her eyes and waltzes past the two inside the house. “Claire!”

“Sure, come on in,” Dean mutters under his breath and shares a wide-eyed look with Y/N, hoping for some guidance.

The actress eyes him up and down, pensively licking her lips. “Maybe you should get dressed.”

With some pants and a shirt on, Dean and Y/N have retreated to the kitchen and sip quietly on their cups of coffee while Lisa and Claire scream at each other. It’s a classic mother and teenage daughter battle. Claire fights for freedom, while Lisa fights for control.

“I had sex with that woman seventeen years ago. Now she’s in my house, yelling at my kid,” the director voices his thoughts out loud, a hint of trepidation shimmering in his green eyes.

“Yup, life has a way of catching up with you. Kinda learned that this year,” Y/N notes with pursed lips and sends him a smile. “But hey, they’re your family now. Kinda nice, right?”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” Dean huffs with a bitter look and watches Y/N place her mug in the sink.

“I should probably go. Leave you guys to figure this out,” Y/N announces, one hop on a healthy foot away from walking out the door. “I’ll call a cab.”

“No, don’t! You can’t leave me here alone with them,” Dean pleads, the sheer panic and desperation visible in his eyes and audible in his voice. His gaze bores into her. “C’mon, I need you. This is one of those, you know, friendship moments. Like abortions and getting over coke addictions.”

Y/N lets out a small sigh. How could she leave him after everything he’s done for her? She basically has no choice but to stay and help him through this. “What d’you want me to do? Mediate?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Dean shrugs helplessly. “I just know I’m gonna say all the wrong shit at the wrong time. Please. I don’t wanna lose my kid. Help me.”

As she catches his gaze, there’s that inexplicable feeling creeping through her veins again. This time, it even tugs on her heart.

“Okay, uhm, alright. I’ll stay,” she promises him, offering him a small smile of comfort.

Unbeknownst to her, though, Dean comes close to saying the three ominous words once more. It’s getting harder every day to keep them inside. How long does he have until he bursts? He feels like a ticking time bomb.

“Maybe we should all sit down and talk?” Y/N suggests as soon as Claire has stormed into her room and slammed the door in upset.

“About what?” Lisa barks, half-annoyed as she rests her hands on her squared-off hips. “She’s been lying to me for months.”

“Okay, in my defense, she told me you were crazy,” Dean explains with an innocent shrug.

“I don’t care if she told you I beat her and locked her into the basement. If a kid has run away from home, you call their mother,” Lisa retorts furiously.

Dean purses his lips in defeat for a moment, especially when Y/N seems to agree. She’s kind of his moral compass, but he’s not ready to accept his loss yet. “Well, you didn’t call me to tell me you were having a kid. My kid,” he argues and knows it’ll probably backfire. He can tell by Y/N’s frown.

“Oh, excuse me for not calling the guy who didn’t stay for breakfast,” Lisa counters with an eye roll.

Dean’s brow furrows, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s what happened.” Granted, he’s been high for two decades now.

“I asked if you wanted pancakes. You said, ‘No, thanks, but that was fun.’ And then you got into your car and bolted, never to be seen again,” Lisa recalls, frowning.

“Uhm, that sounds like it was a long time ago,” Y/N interjects in his defense, chuckling nervously. “He’s a different and more mature person now.”

Dean’s heart swells to twice its size. It’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about him. Although, he can tell she only said it to win Lisa over. She’s a good actress, making even him believe her words. But she’s helping him, so it’s the thought that counts.

“Thanks for the input. Who are you again? Are you his fucking maid?” Lisa arches a brow at her, eyeing her up and down.

“No, she’s not my maid,” Dean replies fiercely but then doesn’t know what else to say. Girlfriend? Lover? Friend? Nothing sounds right. “She’s my, uhm, she’s my actress. She’s my… You know, she’s… She’s Y/N.”

At that, Y/N’s brow draws together in the middle with a tilt of her head. Dean surmises that answer probably sounded even weirder.

“Yeah, I can see you’ve changed so much.” Lisa scoffs sarcastically and folds her arms over her chest, her patience running low.

Y/N subtly clears her throat, deciding to step in. God knows the director needs all the help he can get. “Okay, uhm, it doesn’t really matter who I am,” she says and shares a look with Dean, who anxiously chews his bottom lip raw. “What matters is that Dean has really connected with Claire over the last few months. He’s enrolled her in high school, she has joined AV club, she’s got a really nice and sweet boyfriend.” Dean grimaces at that last part, but Y/N skillfully ignores it and continues, “They’re going to Winter Formal tonight.”

“Yeah, I’m chaperoning,” Dean announces proudly. “This dance is very meaningful to her.”

Lisa snorts a laugh, clearly amused. “My kid does not go to dances.”

“Yes, I do!” Claire suddenly stands in the middle of the living room with the brightest smile. It’s freaky, really. She gleefully holds up the two dresses Y/N brought over last night, feigning her excitement. “Which one should I wear?”

Lisa and Dean disagree on the dress choice, but when Y/N sides with Lisa, Claire takes the hint and quickly disappears back into her room.

“It’s just one night, and it will give you two some time to catch up. Figure this out,” Y/N advocates suggestively.

“Yeah, what she said,” Dean agrees and clears his dry throat, wishing he had a bottle of booze in his hand to calm his nerves. Man, in stressful situations like these, he does miss coke sometimes. But fucking Y/N has been a great substitute, so maybe he’ll just do that as soon as that crazy woman leaves his house again. “Look, I get that you’re angry. But I’m really trying here, okay? She’s doing great at school, I gave her a curfew… I wanna make up for lost time,” he explains sincerely. Y/N sends him a proud smile.

“Fine, one night, but tomorrow we’re leaving,” Lisa relents with a sigh. “I’m not gonna indulge this fucking father-daughter fantasy,” she huffs and then finally storms out of the house.

Y/N exhales a long sigh of relief. “Well, that went better than expected.”

“You think?” Dean checks insecurely. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done if Y/N hadn’t been here to support him. “You’re coming tonight, right?”

Surprised by the request, Y/N’s brow meets her hairline. “You want me to go to your daughter’s Winter Formal with you?”

“Yes, obviously,” Dean states matter-of-factly and blinks at her. “You can’t leave me alone with that woman.”

Y/N heaves another sigh as she looks at him. “Okay, fine,” she surrenders.

Sitting on the bleachers of a fully decorated gym, Y/N realizes she has kind of missed high school. At least, everything used to be much simpler back then. Your crush would ask you to go steady, you’d say yes or no, and then you’d be broken up shortly after prom.

Adulthood is complicated. People are complicated. And love is goddamn unfathomably complicated.

“It’s so weird seeing her with her first high school boyfriend,” Lisa notes with a small sigh next to her. “I still remember her drawing with crayons. Now, she’s running miles away, lying, and making out with a boy.”

“Yeah, teenage romance is a lot more intense,” Y/N says, chuckling softly.

“She won’t wear a dress to my wedding. Refused to. Screamed bloody murder,” Lisa says thoughtfully. “But after spending a few months with her estranged father, she suddenly puts one on.”

“People are complicated,” Y/N reiterates her earlier sentiment.

Claire is complicated. Dean is complicated. And Y/N? She might be the most complicated of all.

“My fiancé is not,” Lisa says, a delicate smile playing across her lips. It’s enough to show her happiness. “I always used to date these guys that would run so hot and then completely cold the next minute. I never knew where I stood. It was exhausting.”

“Yeah, I get it…”

Y/N’s eyes drift to Dean as he chats with one of the other dads by the buffet. She doesn’t know what the director wants from her. She doesn’t know what their relationship even is. One minute, it feels epic, like a love so legendary it should only exist on the silver screen. And the next minute, it feels trivial, like it should’ve never existed at all.

But Dean’s not the problem. Deep down, she knows what that creeping feeling in the pits of her stomach is. And she knows she’s not ready for it. Truth is, Y/N has no idea what she wants and feels lost. Because if she admits one thing, it’d mean the end of another. If she stays in LA for a guy, what would that mean for her career? She doesn’t want to end up like Jo. She’s finally about to have it all, only to realize both at the same time are a mere dream.

And worst of all, even if she did know what she wanted, she’s doesn’t know if she deserves it.

“So, what d’you do, son?” an older man next to Dean asks. He’s already balding and gray, as is the scruffy beard he’s sporting. His suit jacket with a name tag that reads “Chaperone” looks a little worn and sleazy, too. The director figured he’d be one of the oldest dads here, so this guy comes as a pleasant surprise.

“I’m a director of a women’s wrestling show,” Dean replies and takes a sip from the fruit punch. None of the kids have spiked it yet, which is quite the disappointment. What’s happening to today’s youth, huh? “And you?”

“Oh, nice.” The man nods with a smile and pulls out a business card from his suit jacket, handing it to Dean. “Bobby Singer. I own a small chain of strip clubs, although my wife Ellen would probably like me to tell you I’m a small business owner.”

“Got it.” Dean chuckles and glances at the card in his hands. “Bobby’s Body Shop. Oh, hey, I know this one! ‘Where the girls are hotter than the asphalt,’” he quotes the club’s tagline proudly, grinning. “I’m there all the time! Actually got one of your girls in my show.”

Bobby chuckles. “Well, next time you’re there, ask for me. I’ll get you a discount.”

“Thanks.” Dean smirks. And Cas claims you can only network on the fucking golf course. “Oh, hey, you should catch one of our shows. It’s our last one this week. It’s pretty badass. We’re over at the old gym in Watts.”

“Alright, I’ll see you there,” Bobby says with a smile.

Dean’s eyes then drift to Y/N on the bleachers. Last time he checked on her, she was still chatting with Lisa, but the brunette has since left. And as he glances at her now, Y/N has found herself encircled by a group of horny teenage boys, causing his brows to draw together and meet in the middle. They’re like fucking vultures.

“Shoo!” Dean barks sternly at the young men as he approaches the group and watches them scurry away with their tails tugged between their scrawny legs.

With an amused smile, Y/N arches an eyebrow at him. “Glad you’ve decided to join me. It was getting crowded. I’ve turned down about twenty offers to dance.”

“Look at you, you little heartbreaking cougar,” Dean retorts with a teasing smile. “You’re gonna turn me down, too?”

“I have a broken ankle. Did you forget that part? I can’t dance,” Y/N replies.

“Oh, c’mon, that never stopped you before. ‘Sides, I’ve got two working legs and can’t dance, either. So, what d’you say, huh?” Dean holds out his hands for her to grasp.

“Fine,” Y/N relents and grabs his hands, hopping to her feet. “Let’s do some awkward swaying.”

“That’s the spirit.” Dean laughs and rests his palms on her hips, helping her stand as she locks her arms around his neck.

“Is that what you had in mind?” Y/N asks teasingly as she looks up and meets his gaze.

“Kinda.” Dean dips his head and catches her lips, deepening the kiss with his tongue slipping inside her mouth.

“Dean,” she scolds him softly with blushed cheeks and a giggle that surely won’t keep him from doing shit. “There’s people here. Teenagers.”

“So? It’s nothing they wouldn’t do,” Dean remarks mischievously. “And no one’s here that we know. Claire’s caught us like a million times already, and Lisa doesn’t care. C’mon, we never get to do those things in public,” he appeals with a wiggle of his brows.

“Alright,” Y/N surrenders with a small sigh and a smile, tiptoeing up on one foot to press her soft lips back on his. She feels him breath into the kiss, cherishing every second of it. His hands wander from her hips to cup her cheeks, causing her to almost topple over as he forgets that he’s been steadying her. “Whoa, Dean!”

Her giggle interrupts the kiss as she tightens her grip around his neck before he moves his hands back to their place on her hips, offering her support again. She leans her head against his chest, and he rests his chin on her crown.

“Sorry, got carried away there for a moment,” he apologizes with a snicker, pecking the top of her head gently.

“Yeah, that happens with you sometimes,” she teases and buries her head deeper into his shirt. “Your heart’s beating really fast. Are you on something again?”

Dean wants to say it’s love, but that sounds too fucking cheesy.

“Nope, still clean,” he replies instead and doesn’t take offense in her question. “Just nerves, I guess. There’s something I wanna tell you,” he says and licks his lips, swallowing thickly.

Y/N looks up and finds his green eyes, her brow knitting in curiosity. But there’s a perceptive shimmer in her orbs, and Dean knows she can already anticipate what’s coming next. Judging by her shift in weight, he can tell she doesn’t want him to say it out loud.

“Shit, uhm…” She squeezes her eyes shut and fumbles for an excuse. Dean gives her a plethora of time to find a believable one. “I have to go. I promised the girls we’d work out a plot for the finale together tonight, celebrate our last week.”

Dean’s lips quiver but manage to find a smile. “You sure?”

Reluctantly, Y/N still nods and lets out a tense breath. “Yeah.”

It feels like dancing around a big, pink elephant between them. Both of them pretend it’s invisible, although it’s painfully not. It’s even roaring or hooting or whatever the fuck elephants do.

“Alright, I’ll drive you to the motel,” Dean capitulates with a resigned nod.

“No, uh, stay,” she tells him and clumsily hops back to the bleachers to grab her crutches. “I’ll get a cab. You should spend your night with Claire. Figure things out with Lisa.”

“Okay,” Dean caves once more but then grabs hold of her, pulling her to his lips. The kiss is fervent and heated and desperate. So fucking desperate. “One for the road,” he says with a painful smile as he draws back. He doesn’t want to admit that it might be the last one they have shared.

Y/N’s look tells him she feels the finality, too. It’s the epilogue of the best book he’s ever read. The end credits of his favorite movie. The final episode of a show he loved.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly with a hesitant lip bite and a harrowing swallow.

“Don’t be. Have fun, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dean says and sends her one last weak smile before he watches her walk away with an aching heart.

24. Don't Dream It's Over – May 4

Honestly, even my cold, cold heart weeped at the end there. Poor Dean 😢💔 But as you can guess from next week's title, we're not done yet 😉

TAGS:

Everything Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus

Everything Dean: @SnowAyumi

#plastic hearts #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester imagine #director!dean winchester #director!dean winchester x actress!reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #jensen ackles #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles characters #dean winchester au #supernatural au #glow au #dean winchester reader insert

[dcwildwestfest]

The Prodigal

By FriendofCarlotta | @friendofcarlotta Art by aggiedoll | @romachebella

Coming to Ao3 on April 18th, 2024

Rated E | 19,500 words | No Archive Warnings Apply

Dean Winchester travels the wide-open country, looking for bounties to collect and doing odd jobs to make ends meet. Usually, he rides with his brother Sam, but they’ve had a falling-out and now Dean’s all by himself — until he meets Cas Novak, a preacher’s son in search of his missing father. Cas believes his notorious outlaw brother Luke knows something of their father’s disappearance, so he asks Dean’s help in tracking Luke down. Dean figures there’s no harm in helping out, and he might earn himself Luke Novak’s bounty into the bargain. All Dean needs to do is keep a lid on his growing feelings for Cas. (aka Free to Be You and Me, rewritten as a Western)

[Keep reading for a sneak preview!]

When they locate the sheriff’s office, they find the jail cell empty and the lawman tossing playing cards into his hat, which is sitting upside down on a chair across the room. A couple of Wanted posters are tacked up on the wall, edges curling up in slow rebellion where the glue’s gone too dry to hold them.

“Afternoon,” Dean says, with a nod and a tip of his finger against his hat brim. “Slow day?”

The sheriff shrugs, unperturbed at having been caught slacking off. “Every day’s a slow day ‘round here, brother.”

Cas pipes up from next to Dean with a breathless, “It’s an honor to meet an esteemed colleague. Being a man of the law myself, I mean to say. It’s an honorable profession, albeit a—”

“He’s new,” Dean says, desperate to cut off Cas’ nervous rambling before it rouses even this sleepy small-town lawman’s suspicions.

The sheriff emits an acknowledging grunt, eyeing Cas dubiously. “Name’s Lafitte. How can I help y’all ‘esteemed colleagues’?” He grins at them, sun glinting off a gold tooth.

Dean arranges his face into an expression of pained concern. “Our town’s preacher went missing some weeks back and we’ve reason to believe the outlaw Luke Novak is the one who took him.”

Lafitte’s eyes flick back and forth between them. “Where did y’all say you were from? Gotta be a mighty big place, to be able to spare both the sheriff and a deputy so’s they can chase after a preacher.”

Damn it all. Lafitte is much more shrewd than Dean expected a small-town lawman to be. “Hatsville, Missouri,” he improvises. “New town. Lots of railroad money.” Cas seems inclined to weigh in as well, perhaps to expound on the various attractive qualities of the fictitious Hatsville, so Dean hurriedly changes the subject. “About Novak. Heard he mighta passed near here recently. That true?”

The sheriff weighs him with a lengthy glance before he allows, “True enough. Didn’t come through Jubilee, but they say he robbed a train no more’n three miles from here. Most excitement we had in town was that no-account drunk Walt, claimin’ he met Novak on the trail and got his poker winnings taken. You ask me, it’s likely as not Walt stole the money in the first place. Wouldn’t be the—”

“Where can this Walt be found?” Cas asks, with the eagerness of a man who’s new to the hunt and getting a taste for it. Dean bites down on a smile.

Lafitte regards Cas with some disfavor, obviously not best pleased at having had his account interrupted. “Chances are, he’s at the saloon, trying to talk his way into a bottle of whiskey on credit he ain’t got.”

A man with information they need, desperate for a drink — hard to do better than that. “Much obliged,” Dean tells the sheriff and, with another tip of his hat, leads the way back outside. Somewhere down the street, high above the low-slung rooftops, the town clock strikes two.

#dwwf #deancas wild west fest #supernatural #spn #destiel #deancas #fic promo #dwwf 2024

[sailorsally]

looking at pics of misha from burcon with his hair being on the longer side for the first time in a while and thinking about Cas' hair getting long for the first time after he got back from the empty and became human. Thinking about Dean moving around their small kitchen at their half run down but well loved lake house, looking for the scissors he put somewhere. He grabs a folding chair and fills a spray bottle with some water in the sink and brings everything out to their tiny porch. He sets it all up and lets Cas know.

Cas comes out shirtless and barefoot, wearing Dean's old pyjama bottoms, a towel thrown across a shoulder, lazily drying his hair with its corner. For a second the setting sun paints his torso in warm orange and Dean's heart skips a beat because of how gorgeous Cas looks. He sits down in the chair Dean has set up for him and let's Dean work on his hair. Dean starts small, shyly trims a curl, then another. Cas doesn't move, his eyes are fixed on the lake in front of their house reflecting the sunset. Dean works, takes off more and more hair. The circle of black hair surrounds Cas' feet gently planted on the wooden floor and for a moment Dean is reminded of the Empty & he almost cuts Cas' neck. Cas winces & Dean apologies and hides his joy (Cas is alive!) in the crook of his own neck.

When he's done, he cleans Cas' neck with the damp towel and brings out the mirror. "Here, have a look", he offers. Cas studies himself in the mirror and Dean can't stop thinking about how normal he looks checking himself out. And then about how Cas is human now. And then about how Cas chose to be human. For him. And then he wants to cry and scream and kick except he feels like a 100 year old oak planted deep in the soil, unmoving. Then he feels strong arms enclosing him in a hug and he can hear Cas' rumbling against his ear, "Thank you, Dean. I look good" and by god he is right, he does look good. So what is Dean supposed to do? Other than kiss him. And kiss him he does.

#girl help i have caught feelings once again #spn hcs #ficlet #sort of i guess #to write #maybe #destiel #spn #Destiel fic #destiel fic let

[deancaskiss]

what your lips taste like

Kiss #23 - A kiss that tastes of the food/dessert they are eating.

50 types of kisses masterpost. Series also available on ao3.

Summary: Of all the things Dean was looking forward to, watching a Western movie by himself from the comfort of his bed with a secret midnight snack of Tiramisu was top of the list. What Dean hadn’t been expecting was a certain angel sneaking into his room to eat his dessert, only to get caught in the act. And he certainly hadn’t been expecting Cas to have a sweet tooth. But maybe tiramisu wasn’t the only sweet treat that Cas might be interested in. Only one way for Dean to find out… by offering Cas one more taste.

Word count: 1,818 (continued under the read more). Also posted on ao3.

The benefit of being the one who stocked the Bunker’s kitchen with food meant that Dean had the advantage of buying himself midnight snacks. The downside? Having to hide them before they got stolen and eaten by a Sasquatch and a Nephilim. Hence why he’d been coming up with ever increasingly clever places to hide snacks and desserts.

But today, Dean was quite proud of himself. He’d gone to the store early that morning, remembered to get honey for Cas, cereal for Jack, and fresh fruit for Sam, and then managed to sneak a tiramisu for himself into the mini fridge in his room without anyone seeing.

That tiramisu had been motivating Dean all day as he cleaned the Impala and continued inventory with Sam. Reshelving books in the library, which had been strewn out across the tables from weeks of cases, was only made easier by thinking of his plans of watching a Western movie in bed and eating that tiramisu by himself.

Evening bled into night as Dean flicked books at Sam just to annoy him, and Sam retaliated by blowing dust into Dean’s eyes. Dropping the final book into place, Dean yawned exaggeratedly and nodded towards his room. “Think I’m gonna hit the hay for the night,” he said, before belatedly realizing the library seats that had been occupied were now suspiciously empty. “Hey, have you seen Angel and Angel Junior recently?”

Sam shook his head, scrubbing his eyes tiredly. “Think they wandered off an hour ago? Not really sure.”

Deciding Cas and Jack could very much take care of themselves, Dean used the opportunity to slip out of the library, sneaking into the kitchen on the way to his room to snatch a fork.

Oh, he could already taste that rich coffee flavor on his tongue.

What a good night this was going to be.

Swinging open his bedroom door with a fervor that could only be fueled by anticipation of dessert, Dean stepped into his room, humming AC/DC under his breath…

And froze.

The fork clattering to the floor.

Dean stared…

And Cas stared back, a deer-in-headlights look crossing his face as his eyes darted to Dean and then flittered away.

“Dean,” Cas mumbled around a mouthful. Of tiramisu.

The dessert was sat on Dean’s desk… half eaten.

And there Cas was, sitting in the chair at the desk, with a streak of cream across his cheek. Eating Dean’s tiramisu. In Dean’s room. As if Cas belonged there.

Dean’s eyes darted from the demolished tiramisu to Cas, and back to the dessert again. “What the actual-” Dean started to sputter.

“I can explain,” Cas rushed out, quickly pushing away from the desk. That embarrassed look was still darting across his face, eyes cast down as a red flush graced his cheeks.

Dean crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe and raising his eyebrow at the angel. “Oh, this oughta be good,” he said, gesturing at Cas in a ‘well, go on, talk’ kinda way.

Cas fumbled for a second, glancing back at the dessert he’d stolen before guiltily looking over at Dean. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but then floundered. No words came out.

It was the first time Dean had ever seen Cas speechless. Actually, scratch that. The first time he’d ever seen Cas at a loss for words, and the first time he’d ever seen Cas actively choosing to eat.

A tug of pity yanked in Dean’s gut, and he softened. “All you had to do was ask, you know. Woulda shared it with you,” Dean muttered, moving into the room and knocking Cas’ shoulder with his own.

The touch seemed to spark something in Cas, because the angel jerked backwards and deflated; shoulders sagging in shame. “Dean, I’m sorry, I-”

But Dean cut him off. Grabbing the half-eaten tiramisu, he snagged Cas’ sleeve and tugged them both down onto the bed. “You’re here now. Might as well share it.”

Cas shook his head, immediately making a move to get off the bed. “No, Dean, no, I can’t. Why aren’t you angry? I stole your dessert. I didn’t ask. I only meant to take a bite…”

Cas looked helpless. Utterly lost.

Dean felt a tug on his heartstrings for the second time since he’d laid eyes on Cas in his room.

That was a good question. Why wasn’t he mad?

Because… because it was Cas. Because if there was anyone he’d share a movie night and midnight snacks with… of course it would be Cas.

Rolling his eyes fondly, Dean tugged on Cas’ sleeve again. “Sit down and share this with me before I change my mind,” he teased, making room for Cas on the bed.

Shaking his head again, Cas muttered, “No, I’m not having another bite.”

Something in Dean’s brain twinged, and an idea sprung to mind. A very risky idea. A very risky, very dangerous idea.

But if Cas was already here, eating his dessert, knowing there was a risk of being caught… what was one more bold move in the grand scheme of things?

“Oh?” Dean said, flickering his gaze up and down Cas’ body before deliberately picking up the fork Cas had been using. “What about one more taste then?”

Slowly, Dean dragged the fork down into the dessert, making sure to get each layer of the tiramisu. He caught Cas’ eye, making sure to raise his eyebrow deliberately as he carefully and intentionally brought the fork up to his lips.

The taste of coffee and cream burst across his palate as he ate the forkful of tiramisu. Taking his time, he chewed slowly, making sure to savor the delicious flavor and warmth of cocoa powder and mascarpone, never taking his eyes off of Cas as he pushed the tray with the dessert to the other side of the bed.

Swallowing with a show, watching Cas break their eye contact to follow the movement of his Adam’s apple, Dean grinned. Leaning forward towards where Cas was perched on the end of the bed, Dean made a show of dropping his gaze down to Cas’ lips before dragging back up to Cas’ eyes.

“One more taste?” Dean asked again. The offer was clear. But Dean let it hang in the air between them. Letting Cas process what was happening, giving the angel a chance to bolt if Dean had read this all wrong.

Cas’ gaze flickered to Dean’s lips, then he was nodding, imperceptibly at first, and then more obviously. Shifting forwards slightly, Cas made a noise in the back of his throat, cut himself off, then looked at Dean and murmured, “Yes.”

Surging to close the gap, Dean caught Cas’ lips with his own. Cas let out a startled huff of air against Dean’s cheek and he pressed closer into Dean’s touch.

Starting the kiss out slow and simple, Dean traced Cas’ mouth with his own, giving Cas just the barest hint of sweetness on his lips. Cas hummed softly, and Dean felt a shiver cascade down his spine.

Gliding their lips together, Dean slipped one hand down to snag Cas by the waist, drawing him in closer. The new angle made it even easier for Dean to trace Cas’ lower lip, first with his own lips, and then, slowly, with just a hint of tongue.

Now it was Cas who was shuddering, letting out a little gasp and parting his lips.

Using that to his advantage, Dean slipped his tongue into Cas’ mouth.

Cas was quick to chase Dean’s tongue with his own, tracing the sweet taste of mascarpone cream. The touch was warm and delicious, and Dean felt himself letting out a shaky breath this time.

Cas broke the kiss with a little huff of laughter, and the sound was enough to have Dean seeing stars. Yanking Cas by the lapels of his trenchcoat, Dean pulled him back into the kiss with his own lips parted as an invitation. Cas immediately took it, licking past Dean’s lips and into his mouth.

The kiss tasted like tiramisu; coffee and sweet cream and rich cocoa all at once. Cas was chasing the flavor of the dessert, while Dean was savoring the flavor that was distinctly Cas.

Dean let Cas take the lead; let the angel trace his tongue over the roof of Dean’s mouth, curving along the back of Dean’s teeth before gliding along Dean’s tongue.

Sweetness mixed with intoxication, and Dean couldn’t stop himself from meeting Cas’ fervor. The more Cas leaned in, the more Dean tugged him closer. The more Cas let out little gasps and stuttered breaths, Dean felt a moan catch in the back of his throat.

The last traces of tiramisu were licked away by Cas, and yet, Cas didn’t break the kiss. Instead, the angel nudged his nose against Dean’s cheek, wordlessly surrendering control to Dean.

Pulling back a fraction so he could draw in a sharp breath, Dean slowly melded their lips together again, just barely catching a hint of coffee on the tip of Cas’ tongue. And then Dean was taking his time, kissing Cas deep and slow as if there was nothing else in the world except for this kiss. There was still a sweetness lingering on Cas’ lips, but maybe that had nothing to do with the dessert at all.

Breaking the kiss felt like sweet torture, and Dean couldn’t stop himself from leaning back in and pressing fast and chaste kisses to Cas’ lips, as if that could make the moment last longer.

When Dean finally pulled back, putting the smallest amount of space between them, Cas looked utterly wrecked. His hair a mess and his pupils blown wide with desire. His cheeks tinged and his lips swollen red. There was still a streak of marscapone left on his cheek, and Dean shifted forwards, pressing his lips to skin and licking away the cream.

Cas’ breath caught in his throat, his voice deep and thick as he gasped, “Dean.”

The word hung in the air between them, and Dean darted his eyes down to the forgotten dessert. Without a word, Dean picked up the fork and snatched another piece, offering it to Cas with a little smirk. “More?”

Glancing at the fork, Cas shook his head. Hand reaching out, fingers wrapping around Dean’s wrist, Cas guided the fork to Dean’s mouth, and the angel’s eyes lingered on Dean’s lips—kiss swollen and gleaming.

Dean got the hint, opening his mouth and letting the tiramisu melt on his tongue. Cas’ eyes never wavered from Dean’s lips, the angel swallowing thickly when Dean deliberately licked his lower lip, leaving a trace of mascarpone cream at the corner of his mouth.

“Well?” Dean teased, raising an eyebrow at Cas when he’d finished the piece of tiramisu.

Closing the gap between them, Cas’ lips hovered over Dean’s as the angel murmured, “Maybe one more taste.”

#destiel #dailydestieldelights #spn #supernatural #becauseofthebowties #useranny #useralison #userda #usermoogs #userdorksinlove #userbon #spxcekya #emeraldcas #feathersforcas #greatcometcas #thisisapaige #archervale #scottstiles #inacatastrophicmind #usertabitha

[wanderingcas]

since ao3 is down and we're all suffering here's chapter 1 of my destiel lighthouse keepers fic (not the prologue. that's a secret)

title: where there is darkness pairing: dean/cas summary, written badly, because i did this in 2 minutes: Cas is trying to escape his past by taking a job as a lighthouse keeper. Little does he know the love of his life is waiting for him there. Historical au. Gay sex later. Just read it.

Chapter 1

 1949. Autumn.

The bus drops Castiel off on the outskirts of Kittery, just over the bridge connecting Maine and New Hampshire’s borders over the water. He watches the bus as it hisses, lifting its aching joints and meandering down the windy highway 101. 

Castiel decides to stand for a long moment, staring out into the empty field.

Behind him is Kittery Foreside, the center of town: beyond it, the harbor, with the lighthouse just a speck in the distance. It’s a clear afternoon, not quite twilight, so he was able to track the dot through the window as they crossed the bridge. 

But now, he’d rather stare at the field and the deep blue of the sky as the sun sets. 

In his left hand is the official letter detailing his new job. In his right, a leather suitcase containing everything he now owns (three outfits, one wool sweater, a toothbrush—and a stack of letters, stained in the left corners where he dropped them accidentally into a puddle). 

He watches a seagull’s trajectory as it lands on the fence post, scratching at a wing with its beak.

A lighthouse keeper—arguably an insane job to take, considering he has no experience. But the sailing portion on his resume (from a handful of times he sailed at his family’s lake house as a boy) seemed to set him apart from the rest of the applicants. And the job was going to put him exactly where he wanted to be: away from society. Away from people.

Taking a sharp breath, he turns on his heel, and follows the road to the town center, street lights illuminating the pavement in the twilight. 

There’s only one hotel that took his reservation at such short notice; as he fills out the registration form, the bellhop eyes his lack of luggage suspiciously. 

Swallowing a nervous lump in his throat, Castiel takes the key from the woman at the front desk. “Do you have any recommendations for somewhere to eat this time of night?”

“Only thing open on a Wednesday night is the Roadhouse, sir,” the woman says as she files his paperwork behind the desk. She shoots him a smile. “It’s good food, though. Place is almost as old as the town itself. I recommend the lobster rolls, personally.”

“Thank you, uh…”

“Bela,” she replies. 

“Bela,” Castiel repeats. “Can you tell me which direction to go?”

Pulling out a map, Bela splays it on the counter, uncapping a pen. 

The Roadhouse is clear on the other side of town, across yet another bridge. The amount of islands that the area is divided into baffles Castiel. It’s well past dark when he arrives, pushing the door into the warm embrace of the diner. 

A rush of nostalgia hits him as he realizes it’s similar to the one in Boston that he frequented, just a couple of blocks from the parish—their similarities extend even to the paraphernalia on the wall. Whoever owns this diner seems to have an obsession with John Wayne, just like the ones in Boston. 

“Be one sec!” a waitress calls as she flies past him, a tray of drinks balanced on her shoulder. “Just pick an empty one!” 

Dutifully, Castiel slides into a chair by the window, setting his cold hands on the table. He glances around at the buzzing diner; there are more people than he expected, considering that the town seemed to already close its eyelids as the sun went down. A family with two whining toddlers are crammed into a booth in the corner, another taking up multiple tables shoved together, kids running around and chasing each other as their parents snap at them to sit down and eat. Other tables are filled with men in fishermen’s overalls and boots, a group of women poking at their plates of food, babies in their arms. 

One baby, held by a woman in a plaid dress, coos and holds out his hands towards the plate. The woman smiles down at the baby, kissing the top of his blonde head.

Castiel’s heart constricts and he looks away before the familiar tears can prick at his eyes.

“Whaddaya havin’?” 

Castiel whips up his head at the same waitress from before, blinking. “Oh. I don’t have—”

“Ah, damn it, I didn’t give you a menu did I?” she says with a roll of her eyes, pulling out a plastic one from underneath her arm and setting it on the table. “Sorry, the dinner rush is crazy on Wednesdays. You wouldn’t think it, my brother had the big idea to make Wednesday the day we offer crab at market price, so everyone’s goin’ nuts.” 

Castiel stares down at the menu, feeling a little shell-shocked, and realizing he hasn’t had a proper conversation with someone for weeks—especially not someone so energetic. “Should I not order the crab, then?” he asks, solemnly. 

“Not order the—?” She lets out something closer to a snort than a laugh, smacking his arm. “Oh, you’re yanking my chain, huh? No, order the crab if you want, damage is already done. I’ll just give you a minute, okay? Oh, and name’s Jo, if you need to yell at me across the room.”

Before Castiel can reply, she’s already walking away at a quick pace, ponytail swinging. 

He orders the lobster roll when she finally comes back around to his table twenty minutes later; when he explains it was on Bela’s recommendation, Jo scoffs, “And you trust her?” She waves a hand at his raised eyebrows. “Whatever, she’s right, actually. Lobster was fresh caught this morning, too. Any fries with that roll to keep it company?”

Castiel nods, handing the menu back to her. “And an iced tea.” 

She takes the menu, narrowing her eyes. “Say… if Bela gave you the recommendation, does that mean you’re staying at the inn?” 

Castiel sucks in a breath. The lines he rehearsed are already slamming into his head like a film playing too quickly. “Yes. I just got into town.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, welcome! What brings you to Kittery?”

“A job.”

When Castiel doesn’t elaborate, Jo leans in, smile conspiratorial. “And what job would that be?”

Castiel considers lying. But he already has enough lies to keep track of. “Second assistant keeper at Whaleback Lighthouse.” 

Jo’s eyebrows shoot up her brow, and she says, emphatically, “Oh. The stag light, out on the harbor? Really?”

“I don’t seem the type?” Castiel jokes weakly. 

Jo doesn’t even try to hide the way her eyes scrape up and down his suit and trench coat, more tax accountant than sailor. “No, actually. Not at all.” 

“I’m trying a career change.”

“Uh-huh.” 

“I have sailing experience.”

Jo purses her lips. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

It was beginning to feel like he was interviewing for the job all over again. Castiel crosses his arms on the table and stares her down as intimidatingly as he can: the same stare he gave the children when they forgot lines of their catechisms. “Is that all?”

“Hey,” Jo says, hands raised, “just making conversation. I’ll go put in your order.” 

Castiel watches as she makes her way to the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder at him as she goes. There’s a small window where the orders are passed between the kitchen and whoever is at the counter: Castiel can see Jo talking to another man through it as they glance intermittently at Castiel. 

He scrubs a hand over his face and curses under his breath. Lying would have been the better option.

The news spreads like wildfire: from Jo to the cook to other patrons in the diner to an older woman at the till. They all stare at him with curious glances, sizing him up. When Jo delivers his lobster roll, Castiel can barely eat it, his stomach is so twisted up in knots.

Someone is going to ask questions; investigate. Or, worse, someone is going to recognize him from the papers. His suitcase is still at the hotel; he could run back to his room, grab it, get out of town. He could just ditch the suitcase altogether if it weren’t for the damn letters. He curses himself again for not putting them in his pocket. He begins to fish out his wallet, fingers shaking as he pulls out a few bills because he can’t just add dine and dash to his list of offenses, but the walls are also closing in and everyone’s looking at him and—

A man appears beside the table. Castiel stares up at him, eyes wide, hands hidden under the table.

He’s wearing waterproof overalls and gumboots, like the rest of the fishermen types at the adjacent table. He scratches his beard and narrows his eyes as he sizes up Castiel. 

Castiel wonders if he could take him in a fight. Based on Castiel’s lack of fitness and the size of this man’s arm, his guess is a resounding no.

“You the new keeper at Whaleback, huh?” he asks. 

Castiel wills his voice not to shake. “Yes.”

The man stares at him for another long moment, frowning, scratching at the dark beard peppering his jawline. Finally, he sits down at the chair across from Castiel, leaning toward him. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Castiel asks, frowning. 

The man shakes his head. “Just… watch yourself out there. Okay? Place isn’t exactly… normal.”

Something akin to cold water rushes down Castiel’s spine, extinguishing the fire of anxiety freezing his limbs—people aren’t wary of him. They’re wary of his new place of occupation. He almost laughs with relief. 

“I can manage,” he says, placing the bills back into his wallet. “Thank you.”

“No, see, there’s—” The man blows out a gust of air. “The Principal Keeper, you see. He ain’t right in the head.” 

“I’m sorry, who even are you?” Castiel snaps.

“Cole!” 

Both Castiel and the man turn their heads in time to see the older woman from the register approach and cuff Cole over the back of the head. “Spreading rumors again, huh? Got nothin’ better to do?” 

Cole crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair with a scowl. “Not rumors if they’re true, Ellen,” he mumbles.

“Then the next thing you can gab about is how I kicked your ass across this diner and out onto the street,” Ellen snaps, smacking at his shoulder. “Go on, get up and join your buddies, you good-for-nothin’.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Cole rises, then points his finger at Castiel. “I mean it, okay, guy? Just watch yourself around that psycho.”

“That’s enough out of you,” Ellen growls, shoving his back as he goes. She hooks a thumb over to the table of fishermen. “Ignore those superstitious idiots. They latch onto a Jonah in town and don’t stop talking about it.”

“A Jonah?” Castiel asks.

“That’s what they call anyone who’s bad luck enough to stop them from getting a catch.” Ellen shrugs a shoulder. “But they’ve had the best fishing around here in decades since Dean Winchester rolled back into town from the war, so it’s just prejudice.” She nods down at Castiel’s plate. “Lobster roll no good?”

Castiel blinks down at it; he’d forgotten the food in front of him. “Just haven’t had the chance to try it yet.”

Smile sympathetic, Ellen nods over to the counter. “If you want, we can move you over there. Then the eyes of the town will be on your back. Easier to ignore.”

Despite himself, Castiel’s lips quirk up into a grin. “I like that idea.”

With a wink, Ellen scoops up his plate for him, holding it aloft as she weaves through the tables. “Sorry about them,” she says over her shoulder to Castiel as he follows. “You’re not exactly the first keeper this year to come into town for the job, so they’re just a little excitable.”

Castiel slides onto the stool at the counter, frowning. “I thought the job just opened up last month?”

“Oh, it did.” Ellen rounds the corner to the other side of the counter, depositing Castiel’s plate. She quirks her lips, thinking for a moment. “You’re the fourth, I think.”

Castiel gapes. “Fourth?”

“This year, at least.”

“I…” Castiel works his jaw to find the words. “Did they—are they…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, too absorbed in the image of his body splayed out onto the rocks as an ending to this story.

“Oh—no,” Ellen scoffs, waving a hand. “They didn’t die. It’s a dangerous job, but people don’t die… often. No, these men quit after a few months. One didn’t even last a week.” 

Because she keeps glancing at his plate, Castiel picks up the lobster roll and takes a bite. Perfectly salted lobster and toasted bun explodes flavor in his mouth. He makes a mental note to thank Bela profusely for the recommendation. 

He realizes, two bites into his food, that he forgot to pray.

He frowns, wiping his face with a napkin, inwardly chastising himself. That kind of thing doesn’t matter anymore.

Jo skips up to stand beside Ellen, placing her empty tray down on the counter. “What are we talking about?”

“Don’t listen to her about it, either,” Ellen tells Castiel firmly, taking the tray. “Jo’s got fanciful notions about the sea.”

“Oh, we talking about Whaleback?” Jo’s eyes glint mischievously as she leans forward to say to Castiel in a lowered voice, “It’s haunted, you know. That’s why all those keepers quit. Only the Winchesters stay there ‘cause they got used to the ghosts by now.”

“I see,” Castiel says slowly. 

“But, hey, kudos to you for trying it out,” another voice says, patting him on the shoulder. Castiel balks at the man who’s suddenly appeared next to him, a hand offered in greeting. “I’m Ash, Jo’s brother, Ellen’s reluctant son. Nice to meet ya.”

Castiel rubs his temples and sighs. “This is beginning to feel like a circus.”

“Let me give you the skinny,” Ash says, pushing back his hair that’s somehow short in the front and long in the back—something Castiel can barely get his mind around. “Lighthouse used to be totally normal, right? Besides the normal rumors that lighthouses just always have. Daddy John Winchester and little brother Sam Winchester looked after it while older brother Dean Winchester was off fighting the Nazis—he came back and that’s when things started getting weird.” 

Weary from traveling and the overall conversation, Castiel decides to tuck into his lobster roll, hoping that if he doesn’t reply, they’ll all go away. 

“Tell him what happened with his uh, uh—what do you call it?” Jo asks, snapping her fingers.

“Oh, yeah! Dean’s agoraphobia,” Ash says. “Shifts at the lighthouse are usually 25 days on, 4 days off, right? Well, Dean stopped going to shore more and more, until he just stopped leaving the lighthouse altogether. Don’t think that kid’s been out since—what? ’47?”

“Of course he has,” Jo says with a roll of her eyes. “He stopped coming to the mainland when his dad died last year, remember?”

Castiel lifts his head at that one. “He died?”

“Yeah,” Ash says, shaking his head. “John Winchester—he was the Principal Keeper for, what, twenty years at least. Fell over the railing on a clear day. Since then, people keep sayin’ they see weird things—like a woman in a white dress walking up and down the landing, lights flickering on and off during a power outage… Weird things like that. But people are jumpy after the war, they need something to talk about. Get their minds distracted.”

Castiel sipped at his water, mulling over the information. “Who was on shift with Mr. Winchester when he fell?”

Jo grimaces, exchanging a look with Ash. “Dean was in the kitchen when it happened. Saw his dad falling past the window.” 

“He’s Principal Keeper now,” Ash adds. “So you’ll be serving under him. Sam Winchester is the first assistant. And Adam, their half brother, still in high school—he helps out from time to time, picks up shifts if Sam needs it. But now, with you here…” Ash lets out a chuckle. “Well, as long as you last, anyway.”

Castiel takes another long gulp of water, wishing it was beer so he could calm his jangling nerves. “The Coast Guard didn’t tell me I was walking into a situation.” 

Ellen, who stayed on the sideline of their conversation, comes back to lean against the counter. “Officially? You’re not.” She points her finger at Castiel. “Loyalty runs deep in this town. No matter how weird Dean gets, he still fought for this country and he’s done a lot of good for the town since. So any sideways look or word against him, and people will sooner run you out of here than take your side. Got it?”

Castiel sets down his iced tea. He nods. “I got it.”

“Good.” Ellen leans back, arms crossed. “That all being said—if you last after a shift, be sure to visit here while you’re on shore, okay?” 

“Yeah,” Ash chimes in, “we’re placing bets. So last at least two shifts so I can stay low, okay?”

“Or at least three,” Jo adds. She nudges his elbow on the counter with her own. “Don’t worry, champ, I got faith in ya.” 

Incredulous, Castiel scoffs into his water. “Yeah. Right.”

The bell to the diner door rings, heralding a group of sweaty children in baseball uniforms and their parents. The sudden flood of people distracts Ash and Jo long enough for Castiel to finish his lobster roll in peace. When he’s done, he places a ten dollar bill, enough to cover the meal and then some, beside his plate as he shrugs on his coat, winding around the crowd clamoring for a seat to sit.

He hunches his shoulders against the damp shock of cold, blowing warm air into his hands. Living in Boston was cold, but not like this: here, the very air feels hostile, stealing your breath to toss into the harbor’s winds. Castiel paces down the main street, past the dark windows of a flower shop, antique store, and a movie palace. At the end of the road, nudged up a slight hill, is a drug store—and a payphone tucked in beside it. 

It’s a bad idea. He knows it’s a bad idea. But then he thinks of the letters in his suitcase, and the answer is made for him. 

Picking the phone off its cradle, he dials for the operator and asks to make a collect call to Boston, fighting the tremor in his voice. 

The line trills once. Twice. Castiel’s palms spring sweat despite the cold. On the fourth ring, the receiver is picked up. 

“Hello?” 

Hearing his sister’s voice releases the vise that’s constricting his chest. “Anna,” he chokes out.

There’s a long silence on the other end. Then: “You have to be kidding me.” 

“I know I shouldn’t be calling—”

“I told you not to. I’m hanging up.”

“Just—” Castiel clutches the phone tight to his ear, his body a taut string. He can hear forks clinking in the background on Anna’s end. They’re probably having dinner. “How is she?” he asks, unable to hold the words back. “Her and—”

“They’re fine,” Anna says with a sharp sigh. “Listen, someone could be listening in. It was stupid to call. Don’t do it again.” She pauses. “You get in okay?”

“Yes.” Castiel closes his eyes against the sudden tears that spring into his eyes. “I start the job tomorrow.”

“Good.” Anna’s voice is gentler as she adds, “They’re fine, little brother. Just—don’t call again. Okay?”

“Okay.” Castiel can hear a familiar laugh over the line. He quickly slams the phone back into the cradle; an instinctual reaction. 

Panic, fear, sorrow—it all mounts in his chest as he stumbles away from the payphone, blindly down the road. His feet find their path away from the downtown, toward a cluster of trees and green overlooking the harbor. 

The lighthouse is on now, its lens bright and twirling across the water like a ballerina suspended on a string. Castiel follows the movement as he breathes unsteadily, desperate to catch his racing heart.

Eventually, as it always does, his pulse slows. The fear, the panic—it all leaves his body like water trickling off a ledge. Regret and shame remains, pooling sourly in his gut. 

The water below is dark, murky. It would be so easy to get lost in, with one step in the wrong direction. 

He stares at the lighthouse for a moment longer. Then, with a straight back, he turns away and walks back toward the town.

****

As with most things in his life, Dean has a love-hate (but mostly hate) relationship with this lighthouse. 

It’s easy to take care of on sunny days and clear nights, but it’s grueling during a storm or fog. Sun shines through the window in the midday, providing warmth, but it’s ever-loving cold the rest of the time. 

It provides him with shelter from the outside world. 

But it traps him in, like a caged animal. 

Love, hate—day in and day out. And right now, standing against the railing of the balcony with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips and the wind whipping at his back, it’s hate.

The light’s ready for the dusk that’s beginning to settle on the harbor. Dean’s cleaned the lens and brewed the meths. He turned on the tap, set a match to the mantle. The routine is so familiar, he could do it in his sleep. The light rotates behind him, illuminating his back briefly before turning its watchful eye to the rest of the harbor. 

Bright, dark. Bright, dark. Around and around like a carousel. 

Him and this lighthouse go way back, like a bad relationship that he can’t quit. When John moved him and Sam to Kittery and started work on this light, Bobby would bring Sam and Dean to visit during the fortnightly supply runs. Every visit was like a further punch to the gut to remind him of what he’d lost. It wasn’t like the light they’d all lived at when Dean’s mom was alive, with a cozy house that always smelled like freshly baked bread. This was a cold, sterile environment that smelled like three guys living in close quarters. And John—

He could barely look Dean and Sam in the eye when they visited. 

After a few months at Whaleback, John seemed to relax into the work and his smile came more easily, but Dean would smell the whiskey on his breath.  

After a while, Bobby stopped taking Sam and Dean at all.

The lighthouse took John and swallowed him whole. During his brief few days of shore leave, he’d just sit with a bottle at the table. Dean came to dread it, since it meant that the money he’d squirreled away in the coffee can on top of the cupboard would inevitably be pilfered for booze money.

Dean doesn’t know why he’s thinking about all of this, or about John. Maybe it’s because of where he’s currently standing. 

Muttering a curse, Dean pulls the zippo out of his pocket and lights the cigarette.

“Got you.”

Dean turns as his brother comes onto the walkway, collar popped and hands deep into his coat pockets. His cheeks are already pinched red from the cold. 

Dean adopts an easy posture, arms settling on the railing as he leans back with a grin. It hides the bitter taste of nostalgia still on his tongue. “I said I wanted to quit, not that I was going to quit.”

Sam rolls his eyes, then joins Dean at the railing. “Light all set?”

“Yup. Everything’s good. Go get some shut-eye.” 

“I thought it was my shift tonight.”

Dean shrugs a shoulder. “Not tired. I can take the whole night.”

“You took the whole shift last night, too,” Sam says with a frown. “What about that chamomile tea Bobby brought last week? Did you try that?”

“Not drinkin’ a flower. I’ll sleep the old-fashioned way.”

“Clearly that’s not working.”

“I’ll take the shift tonight.” Dean levels his brother with a stare. “Okay?”

Lips twisted into a frown, wind sweeping at his hair, Sam suddenly looks like a younger snot-nosed version that had that same miserable look when Dean tried to tell him that Dad volunteered himself for a double shift that month. Before the Coast Guard took over during the war, things were more relaxed—less regulated. John was able to take all the double, triple shifts as he pleased, drinking himself stupid with all the bootlegged liquor in the cellar. 

It always upset Sam, when their dad didn’t come home. He was a sensitive kid. 

Just like all those years ago, Dean’s heart is punched out with a desire to make that frown leave Sam’s face.

“You wanna sneak back with Bobby tomorrow when he comes for the supply run? Go see Eileen? I can cover things here.”

Sam rolls his eyes with a scoffed laugh. “That’s a pretty terrible first impression to make on the new keeper Bobby’s bringing in.”

Fuck. Dean had forgotten about that. “That’s tomorrow?” he asks with a wince. 

“Yes, and we need him to last more than a week, unlike the last guy. Otherwise the Coast Guard is not going to let us have a say in who comes or stays anymore.”

“Last guy was a pansy,” Dean grumbles around his cigarette. 

“You punched him in the face, Dean.” 

Dean glares out at the thin line of the distant shore and doesn’t reply.

“Since you’re a vet, they’re taking it easy on us,” Sam continues, “but Bobby was talking to someone up in a higher rank the other day and—I think this is our last chance.” He clears his throat. “Your last chance.”

“The hell you mean?” Dean asks, drawing up to a straight back. “They’re gonna sack me?”

“Move you, I think. To a solo light on the shore.”

Dean throws up a hand. “Well, fine. Let them. What’s the problem?”

There’s that miserable look again. Sam won’t raise his head as the unspoken words hang between them. Dean stays silent, challenging Sam to say it. 

“You know what the problem is, Dean,” Sam quietly says. 

Yeah. Dean knows. He knows that without Sam, Dean at a solo light would probably end with him hanging from the rafters. 

Blowing out a drag of smoke into the wind, Dean hunches back over the railing. “I’ll try,” he concedes. “But if he’s a dumbass—”

“Then I’ll train him,” Sam interjects. “You don’t even have to be in the same room as him. We’ll put him on the early morning shifts, make him sleep in the afternoons.”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Make him stay in the service room listening to the radio.”

A grin forming on Sam’s face, he adds, “Tell him that shore leave is ten days instead of four so he stays off the lighthouse for longer.” 

“Yeah, the Coast Guard won’t notice that.”

“Whatever it takes for you to cohabitate with this guy, I say we do it,” Sam says with a shrug. “Get creative.” 

Dean makes a move to flick the stub of his cigarette away; Sam grabs his arm to stop him. “I just cleaned the gallery, Dean.” With a scowl, Dean tosses it into the ocean instead.

Sam runs a hand through his messy hair and sighs, the disapproval evident in his frown. “Need anything before I go down to the bunks?”

“Nah. Get some sleep, Sammy.” Dean gives his brother a smack on the chest in dismissal. “I’ll wake you for the morning shift.”

“Okay, but actually wake me this time. Don’t let me sleep in until nine.”

Dean taps out another cigarette from the carton he fishes out of his pocket. “No promises.” 

“And let me actually make breakfast tomorrow, too!” Sam calls before he disappears through the door.

“I would if your eggs weren’t shit!” Dean barks back. His words are snatched up by the wind. He turns back toward the ocean, clicking the lighter as he holds it up to the cigarette butt. “Seriously, who raised you?”

Blowing out another puff of smoke, the cigarette still caught between his teeth, Dean eyes the shoreline. Their new keeper is probably staying at Bela’s place, if it’s still even running. The inn nearly went under last year after her parents declared bankruptcy. He ran with her a few times in high school before he cut town—she was sharp around the edges. Misunderstood. Just like him. 

He remembers the new guy’s resume. It had stood out to him among the rest, mainly because he seemed the least qualified. Didn’t make sense at all why the Coast Guard chose him as the new rookie, when five men before him—way more experienced, to boot—didn’t last.

No family, no money. Maybe that’s why they took him. That’s better, for these stag lights—bunch of single men with no families means there’s a better chance of them staying. It’s why the Coast Guard is itching to get a new keeper for the light, what with them eyeing recently married Sam, and Eileen, who’s in the family way.

It would make more sense for Sam to leave, get a position at a light with a house. Where he could see his family every night. 

What Sam and Dean used to have, before Mary died.

Dean runs a hand down his face, letting out a curse. Whatever the word is for wishing for a time that he can’t get back to, ever—that’s what tonight is. Memories he didn’t ask for turning around and around in his head like a wheel. That’s what the sea does when you look out into it: shimmers back at you, showing you what you want to see. And sometimes what you don’t. 

The door behind him creaks open again. With a grumble, Dean lets out a breath of smoke, a reprimand on his tongue for Sam to get the hell to bed. 

A bang echoes through the air. 

Dean drops his cigarette in surprise, whipping around to face the door. It yawns open, mercilessly blowing in the wind, banging against the side. Dean strides over to it and pulls it firmly closed before it breaks one of the windows. 

The lens, green and opaque, flashes across his eyes; he squints as the light rotates away. Turning back to the railing, spots dotting his vision, he sees a shadow. 

One taller than him, broader; stumbling toward the railing with a groan. 

Dean closes his eyes, briefly; chest constricting. A trick of the light. It happens.

“It’s haunted!” one of the failed keepers had shouted as he stuffed his clothes into a carpetbag, stumbling down the stairs. “This place is fucking haunted!” 

But that keeper had got it wrong—it wasn’t the lighthouse doing the haunting.

It was the person inside of it.

#where there is darkness #destiel lighthouse keepers au #destiel #THE HACKERS WILL NOT WIN #HERE'S SOME GAY STUFF

[kaleldobrev]

The First Butterfly

Pairing: Castiel/Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Cas bond over your current interest in butterflies

Original Prompt: Requested by anonymous | Hey, I just found your blog and it's so pretty! I really like your writing^^ Could I please request something for Castiel x female reader, where maybe they're not on hunts and they're just taking a break, and maybe he sees her reading something like a book about butterflies or something like this and he starts talking about them and it's just fluff? Thank you in advance ^^

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Cursing (1x), Lots of fluff, Dean bothering you (but lovingly like a brother cause he's bored)

Authors Note: I haven’t written Cas in such a long time, but I missed writing him | I hope this is as fluffy as you were hoping my sweet anon friend! | If you want to request something, just send me a message! | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

It’s been a little over a week since you and the boys have been on a hunt, and you could tell that Dean was starting to get a little stir crazy despite your best efforts to keep him entertained with various ideas of things he could do besides bother you.

“Are you sure there’s nothing? Not even a vengeful spirit?” Dean asked you, taking a seat across from you in the War Room, propping his feet up on the table.

You looked up from your book - a book that you’d been trying to read for the past week. You gave Dean a look, a slightly annoyed look. “If there was a case Dean, don’t you think I would have told you guys?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He agreed. You nodded, and then went back to trying to read your book, keeping your finger on the edge of the page. “It’s just, it’s never been this quiet.” He said after a few moments of silence between the two of you. You looked up at him with that same annoyed expression you had given him earlier.

“I call that a good thing.” You said, looking down at your book again. You turned the page, finally able to read something new.

“I just really need to kill something.” Dean said banging a fist onto the table, the action making you jump in your chair. “Shit.”

“Sorry.” You closed your book with a firm slap, quickly getting up from your chair. “Where ya goin’?” He asked, watching as you started walking away from him.

“To my room!” You stated, loudly. “And with my door shut!” You emphasized.

For about the last hour you had finally found some peace in your room; actually being able to read more than one page - something you hadn’t been able to do due to the distractions Dean had caused you. As much as you loved the man, you wished he had taken some of your advice and did things to keep himself occupied during this weird break you and the boys have had. Despite loving hunting, having a break was something that was a rarity; and it was times like these in which you cherished it.

Lying in bed there was a soft knock on your bedroom door. You let out an annoyed groan, expecting it to be Dean on the other side. “Go away Dean!” You stated, only briefly looking away from your book.

“It’s…me.” A small amount of relief had entered your body at that moment, happy to know that it wasn’t Dean on the other side of the door but in fact Cas. “May I…May I come in?”

“Yeah you can come in.” You said, closing the book in front of you. As much as you had wanted and tried to read the book in front of you for the past week, Cas was someone that you hadn’t seen or spoken to in about two weeks - so for you, this took precedence.

“What’s up?” You asked as Cas walked into your room, closing the door behind him.

“Nothing. It’s been quiet.” He stated, standing awkwardly next to your door.

“Nothing on angel radio uh?” You asked, sitting up now.

He shook his head. “No.” He said simply.

You patted an empty spot on your bed. “Come sit.”

He smiled at your gesture, sitting down on the edge, very much away from the spot that you had touched. As he sat down he eyed the book that you had been reading and picked it up, the smile on his face grew a tad. “I remember when He made the first butterfly. It was truly a sight to behold.” He said opening the book.

For the past week you had been trying to read a book about butterflies, a subject that you had found yourself quite interested in as of late; not really knowing why. “I bet it was.” You said, watching Cas turning the pages of the book. “I haven’t read much, but, I’m really enjoying the book. What makes it interesting, at least to me, is that it tells you a bunch of different things about the various butterfly species around the world. Their habits, characteristics, what makes each of them special in their own unique way.”

“Do you have a favorite?” He asked, looking up from the book to look at you. He had stopped at a page talking about common species of butterflies found in Kansas - a page that you had bookmarked.

“The Red Admiral.” You smiled. “It’s the most common butterfly species to be found in Kansas. And one of the most unique things about them is their diet. Did you know that they love fermented fruit?”

Cas smiled. “That is quite interesting. I didn’t know that.” He said, lying. Of course he knew that fact, but that wasn’t something he was going to disclose to you. For the first time since he had known you, this genuinely seemed like a subject that you were truly interested in, and he wasn’t about to seem like a know-it-all, or seem dismissive when it came to this particular interest of yours.

“Do you have a favorite?” You asked. You knew that Cas had lied to you, but you didn’t care in that moment that he did because you were happy that he was humoring you in your interest.

“The Protocoeliades kristenseni. But, I have to say, I’m a little bias.” He chuckled to himself.

“How so?” It was a species that you hadn’t heard of before, despite your reading.

“They’re the oldest species of butterfly.” He stated, you nodded understanding. Sometimes you had forgotten how old Cas really was; until moments like these had taken place.

“I can see why you’re bias.” Your tone joking.

“I can probably say the same for you when it comes to the Red Admiral.” His tone now joking too.

You shrugged. “What can I say? Kansas as grown on me.”

“It’s honestly so hard to believe that there is over twenty thousand butterfly species in the world.” You said, you and Cas were now lying in your bed now; yourself underneath the covers and him on top. Cas chuckled at your comment. “What?”

“It’s humorous to me that you find that unbelievable but yet you hunt monsters, things that people do not believe in.” When he had said it out loud, it did in fact sound funny.

“When you put it that way…” you trailed off. “Makes it funnier coming from you. An angel of all things.”

“So, if you were around when the first butterfly was created, what did God originally call them?” You asked. “Did you and the rest of the angels get a vote? Or was it one of those things where he wasn’t taking any suggestions?” You turned on your side now, propping up your head with your hand and elbow.

“We, we didn’t get a vote no.” Cas said, smiling, trying to hold back a small laugh. “It wasn’t…it wasn’t up to us. But, I think Joshua did have some say. He was the gardener after all.”

“So it was always butterflies?” You asked.

“Essentially yes.” He said. “Buterfleoge, but it’s just Old English for butterfly today.”

“So, if it ain’t broke don’t fix it uh?” You said, Cas looked at you confused. “Meaning, why change the name if it makes sense.” You explained. “Butterfly doesn’t make sense though. I mean, I hate to say this but, was God…high when he named them? I mean, no butterfly looks like a stick of butter. And I know for a damn fact that butter wasn’t around yet either when he created them…or named them.”

“Jesus.” You were amazed. “I didn’t think you would actually do it.” You said.

“It’s not that difficult.” He said, as he started playing with his fingers.

“You named every single species of butterfly like it was nothing. That’s…that’s pretty impressive.” And it was. There was over twenty thousand species and Cas was able to name them all in less than 15 minutes, a feat that you didn’t think he would be able to pull off.

“It’s just as impressive to me as when you name every single Queen song like it’s nothing.” He said.

“You can thank Dean for that weird talent I have.” You stated. “Being in the car with that man every day for years will do that to you. Because of him, I know every single band from the 70s and 80s along with all of their members past and present, along with the names of all of their songs. Including, all the lyrics to said songs. Helps when he listens to the same albums over and over and sings along.”

“What got you interested in butterflies? I’ve never seen you read about them before?” Cas asked, he was now underneath the covers with you now, his trench coat hung neatly on the coat rack in your room in the corner.

“I don’t know. I just…for some reason I found myself really into them lately.” You said honestly. You had found butterflies interesting when you were younger, but it wasn’t a subject that you hadn’t delved deep into until recently. “I guess, I guess I really never had the time to look into anything that had interested me because of hunting.”

“Because it’s something that you were born into.” He stared, and you nodded.

“Yeah. While other kids were playing Barbie’s, talking about unicorns and butterflies and I was learning how to hustle pool and how to load a gun.” You were born into a family of hunters, kind of similar to the way Sam and Dean had been.

“I’m sorry.” His apology sincere.

“It’s not your fault. And, I know it seems like I’m complaining about my childhood but, my parents really were good people. Did the best they could.” For a while, you were mad at your parents, mad that they had raised you the way that they did - never letting you get the chance to be a normal kid. But in their own strange way, they raised you that way so you would always be able to protect yourself no matter what.

You had fallen asleep, your head leaning on Cas’ shoulder. The two of you had been talking for hours, and between the actual time and the amount of talking the two of you had done it had started to wear you out. Cas knew that you had wanted to talk to him more, talk to him about everything that you had learned so far from your book, but for the life of you, you couldn’t keep your eyes open. And as you talked about the Monarch Butterfly, your eyes had started to grow heavy. You had tried to fight it, and Cas saw that. As much as he had wanted to try and keep you up, he knew that you needed the sleep. The life of a hunter was tough, and not getting a lot of sleep was a part of the job. That is why he let you drift off into dream land so you could get that sleep that you needed.

He decided to stay there in bed with you. He wanted to enjoy the peacefulness of watching you sleep, something that he had always found fascinating to watch when it came to humans. He had only hoped that you were dreaming of butterflies. With a kiss on the top of your head, he shut his eyes too; not to sleep of course, but to just let them rest as he waited for you to wake up.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @beansproutmafia @queenie32 @deanwanddamons @missy420-0 If you'd like to be on a tag list, let me know!

#castiel x reader #castiel x you #spn #supernatural #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #cas x you #cas x reader #reader insert #female reader

[xofemeraldstars]

chuck won truthing cause I can't stop thinking about it:

• all the times dean says this + the one time he said this directly to chucks face + in the future chuck showed sam they got turned during a vamp hunt:

• dean in the "new and perfect" heaven living down the road from john

• "bobby" telling dean how cas is out of the empty and helped rebuild "heaven"

• talking of bobby they put him in a rocking chair...

• dean is once again on the road. alone.

if anyone wants to add stuff it's more than welcome and I'm ready to rage 😌

#chuck won truthing #spn #dean winchester #rant.txt #all morning this has been stuck in my brain. had to let it out <3

[thewxtchwhowrites]

Positions

summary: Cas and Dean are tired of you and Sam feeling something for each other and not saying anything, that is why they decide to leave you alone in the bunker while they decide to go hunting. Perhaps that way you and Sam decide to realize what you really feel for each other.

Word Count: 1024 words

Characters: Sam Winchester x reader.

Warnings: sensual dancing, sam winchester (obviously), sit on top (is this a real warning?), touching, mention of an erection.

A/N: This was the first one-shot I uploaded to this platform, if it has errors, I'm sorry since my native language is Spanish and not English.

A/N 2: Yes, I'm reuploading the one-shot because it was originally on my main blog, I still have to accommodate the new version of this one-shot.

Two men, an angel and a woman. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, you met the Winchester brothers in a somewhat peculiar case, a witch who murdered unfaithful men, Donna recommended you and that was when you met them you saved their lives, after they were captured by the witch.

The Winchesters owed you one.

Sam was the one who made the invitation that if you didn't have a place to stay, you could stay in the bunker with them and Castiel.

There were many empty beds, why not have another fighting partner?

Your sister had died a year ago, in a solo hunt that went wrong. Over the months you became good friends with them, you hunted together, shared movie or series references and told funny hunting stories.

But Dean was not a fool, you had been in the bunker for a few months and he could see how Sam was starting to develop feelings for you, as well as you for him. The way Sam looked at you, the tone he used to talk to you with, sometimes he seemed to be grooming himself more than usual, it was pretty obvious.

And also the fact that every time you both investigated a case and either of you found the answer, the atmosphere turned as he called it "Fluffy."

It was morning, Sam was already sitting checking his laptop, a new hunting alert was in progress. Second victim found read the headline of the story Sam was reading from an online newspaper.

"Good morning, Romeo, did you find something?" Dean smiled as he sat next to Sam with a beer in his hand. Sam cleared his throat, ignoring the new nickname that his brother had given him for a few months.

“Well get this, we have a case of bodies turning up in alleys with strategically placed marks in the back, of what it seems to be satanic cults.” Dean wrinkled his face, as he listened to his brother’s words.

Satanic cults?

Bodies with strange wounds?

That was totally their thing.

Or probably not, maybe it’s just a psychopath who roams that town.

You walked over to the table to start breakfast and listened to the awkward dialogue Cas and Dean were having.

“Well, this seems like a case that Cas and I can handle, right Cas?” Dean nodded as he read the local news, Castiel was confused.

He wanted you and Sam to be alone in the bunker, maybe in that way you two would finally declare your love and the atmosphere would stop being fluffy.

“That’s right Dean. You two will have time to…study.” Castiel spoke a little uncomfortable, he was trying to sound natural but you could tell that Dean wanted him to lie. “You two are going to help us from here...”

You looked at each other, Dean quickly got up from his chair to get his things and get out of there as soon as possible.

Hours had passed, Dean called saying that they would go to the widow’s house to investigate if the murdered man had enemies, or perhaps was involved in shady matters. You were mumbling the Ariana Grande song “Positions” the slow and reverb version in your room. You love this song.

And then you thought why not go sing this song to Sam? Maybe he laughs a bit, it would be an original way to declare your love. Sam has been a little distracted.

He’s probably still doing research.

You took the headphones off the cellphone and turned up the volume, put it on a nearby table. He looked at you and just smiled, then turned his eyes back to the old book and when the music started playing.

“Really, Ariana Grande? Wow…" He put his hand to his chest, surprised staring at you. Then you put your hands on the table.

"Heaven sent you to me…”

You winked and pointed at him as you approached the table.

“Boy, I’m tryna meet your brother on a Sunday…then make a lotta love on a Monday…”

He let out a laugh, but he wouldn't stop looking at you.

“Never need no, no one else, babe…”

His eyes were wide open, watching you dance and running your hands over your body, to the rhythm of the music. Sam swallowed nervously and began to smile, as you approached, closing the space between you and him, you ran your hand through Sam’s hair, while you sat on top of him.

“Something you want to tell me y/n?” Sam kept looking at your lips and then into your eyes, he began to put one of his hands under your shirt to touch your skin and with the other he took your face to kiss you, but you stopped it.

"I thought the lyrics of the song were very obvious…Sam Winchester” you whispered, when his lips were going to meet yours, you heard a clear throat coming from the door, it was Dean.

"Dean…" Sam said surprised as he took his hands off you. You just smiled, you felt ashamed like Sam to be discovered this way. 

He knew Dean would come up with one of his funny lines to embarrass him.

"Doing anatomical research, Sammy?” Dean smiled victorious at his plan, it's just that Dean was sorry he had come at the wrong time.

There is the funny phrase you and Sam thought, and you slowly got up off him.

“Hi. Dean.” You said while adjusting your shirt. “How was the hunt?“

“Yes. He was a road demon, he lied about his dealings and killed people before the ten-year contract expired.” There was a silence.

Cas appeared and knew the situation was awkward, he whispered something into Dean’s ear and Dean just nodded while smiling boastfully.

“I think I’ll be making dinner…” you said almost in a whisper looking at the boys and going to the kitchen. “Cas, will you come with me?”

“I will go find a book in my room…” Sam got up from the chair trying to hide his erection and left, but not before you saw how Dean followed him with a big smile.

#sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester one shot #supernatural one shot #supernatural oneshot #supernatural x reader #supernatural #thewxtchwhowrites

[supernaturalfreewill]

"What if—what if I just go there.... now?" Cas asked, looking earnestly between Sam and Dean.

Dean shifted in his chair, gesturing with a hand vaguely. "And say what? You can't just show up at her house without an explanation," he explained to the angel. "It's... creepy."

"But I need to see her. So, we come up with an explanation," Cas said, his brow furrowing. He looked at Sam as if for ideas, but Sam was just watching him with a vague smile on his face. The angel began to pace the length of the room again. "I'll tell her that I need to talk to her. Urgently. And—"

"That's what cell phones are for Cas," Dean pointed out through a bite of his sandwich.

"Well, I'll say it's about something I couldn't say over the phone," Cas improvised.

"And when she asks what that is, you're gonna say what?" Dean pressed him, clearly skeptical.

The angel glared back at Dean with a heavy brow.

"Don't shoot the messenger! Geez!" Dean said, throwing his hands up.

"What if," Sam shrugged, "what if he just tells her the truth?" he suggested.

"What—just show up at her door and when she pulls it open say, 'Hi, I'm in love with you'?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he said, smiling. "Why not?"

Dean thought about it momentarily. "It's not the worst idea we've had," he murmured, glancing at the angel.

Cas, however, was beginning to feel sick with nerves. "This is a bad idea," he said, going wide-eyed. He sat heavily down on the nearest chair. "What was I thinking? I can't do this. Even just seeing her I can hardly speak..."

"You can," Sam reassured him. "And you won't regret it, Cas. Trust us."

Cas gulped, still nervously, but looked somewhat reassured.

Dean stood up and laughed gruffly. "Yeah, for some unknown reason, she seems to really like your feathery ass. Makes no sense to me but—" he shrugged and walked out with his empty plate. The angel looked back at the younger Winchester.

"You can do this," Sam said.

Cas took one more deep breath, and with the rustling of his wings, he was gone.

#cute af cas #nervous!cas #adorbs #castiel x reader #supernatural #spn reader insert

[nescaveckwriter]

Somewhere In The Sunshine 🌻

Line: Failed Rescue 😱 will be in bold

A/N: YAY! Yet another one done for @jacklesversebingo 🐞 well this one broke my heart, I'm not even kidding, this is heartbreakingly sad, grab a tissue or two🤗💕🩷 sorry in advance.

Warnings: Some language, angst, heartbreak, blood gore, violence, mention of being taken hostage, death.

Characters: Dean Winchester x Female Reader, Mentions of Sam, Cas and Crowley.

Cover: Created by me. Also images from Pinterest and Canva.

Words:1440

His heart racing, the sweat on his forehead, evidence of the nightmare he once again had, sitting upright, and without even looking to your side, his hand starts searching for your warm little body, a habit, whenever he had a nightmare, but then soon he realizes the nightmare he just had, was about you, and the damn failed rescue attempt.

Getting out of your shared bed, now pacing up and down, tired of the way he feels and damn tired of the emptiness he feels in his chest, its been months since the three of you attacked that vamp nest.

Shaking his head, as if it will remove the memories, the love and the sorrow, but it doesn't, if anything it only makes it worse, every time he tries to lay down and get some shut eye, he starts dreaming of you, your laugh, your sarcastic little come backs, the way you'd dance in the kitchen while cleaning and listening to the music you loved so much, the way you'll tease him, walking around with only his plaid shirts hugging your curves, the way you'll let a  giggle escape, whenever he threw his arms around you, and starts kissing the nape of your neck, the way you'll turn around and look at him, with passion dancing in those pretty eyes, the way, you'll pout your lips when you really want him too kiss you, the way your hands will messily go through his hair as the passion ignites more, the way  your body will be all tangled up with his till dawn, the way your sweet voice greets him early morning, placing little kisses on his lips , the way your fingers will linger on his face, saying how much you loved each and every freckle, the way you'd describe, the green in his eyes its between forest and emerald green, with just a tad bit of hazel in them, near the iris, you'd say, with that sweet, flirty, mischievous smile, revealing the way your little smile lines, curved

But all those loving memories soon gets replaced with what happened that dreadful night.

Falling down at the side of your bed, taking ahold of your pillow, it still has the scent of your hair, breathing it in deeply, as if he can breathe you in once more, holding on too it, as if its you, fighting back the tears mixed with anger, guilt and the image of your lifeless body in his arms.

 It was supposed to be a easy hunt, in and out, the three of you have done these hunts hundreds of times, and that morning when he and Sammy planned the hunt, he would've never thought it'll be your last. 

The two of them, met you on a case in Kansas, while a ghost where hunting your newly rented apartment, at first you didn't believe in such thing's as monsters and ghosts, but you soon learned there's way more of them out there than you'd ever could think. So you started to learn all you can about the lore, and then the three of you met up, on a windigo hunt a few years ago, and it didn't take long for him too tell you, about how he felt, the two of you were madly in love, so the day he asked you to move in, you said yes without hesitation. You were the only sunshine in his life, the only glimmer of hope.

While the three of you, checked out the vamps hiding place, you somehow got lost in the woods, before you could do anything the vamp's hand squeezed around your neck, lifting you up in the air, you tried screaming but, no words came out, try kicking and punching, but the only thing you'll be able to touch was the air, between you and this creature.

He tied you down to a chair, you tried to wiggle your way out, but he just beat the crap out of you, leaving your face a bloodied pulp, he forced you to make a call, to Dean too tell him you've been taken, the vamp's plan along to get the Winchester Brothers, and trap them as well.

The distraught stare on Dean's face when he saw you, head hanging slightly, blood dripping on too your legs, your once tied-up hair, now messily framing your face, once you looked up, he gasp for air, as e saw your pretty face beaten, he balled his fist's, shouting now ''hey freak, you want me? come an get me'' 

The vampire came from the dark corner, storming down on him, Dean just gave him a mischievous smile, as he dug out from under the creature's fist, pushing that wooden stake through his back, with all his strength he arranged it, piercing his heart, the creature tumbled down to the ground,  Dean just left him there, running towards, where you were sitting, untying you, placing his left arm on your back, and the right under your legs, cradling you, the only words you got out ''Dean, look out'' as another man came running in, catching a glimpse of Sam, fighting two off outside.   

He quickly placed you down, getting ready to fight this other vampire, he whispered ''Stay with me sweetheart, I'll get you out of here.'' you just nodded, making your way to a stand, preparing yourself, to fight in case, there were more, where in honesty you hoped there won't be, your body, was aching, and to tell you the truth, you were tired, wanting to go home, and to fall asleep in Dean's arms, but first the three of you had to get out of this sticky situation.

Making your way over to, the deceased vampire, removing the wooden stake, sliding it too Dean, he gestures you a thank you, as he drove it through the creature's heart, but it was in that moment, when you heard an unfamiliar voice from behind you ''You took my brothers, from me Winchester, now I'll take someone from you'' before Dean could race towards your position, the man behind you smiled, as he shifted that blade through your spine, revealing the blood stained silver in the front of your shirt, you dropped down too the floor, tears streaming down your cheeks, the blood pooling in front of you, hearing a loud bang, as Sam shot him, just to get him away from, Dean bolted towards him, driving the stake through his heart, screaming ''NO''  

He collapsed down to you, ''Sweetheart, stay with me'' cupping your cheek, you place your hand over his, your voice barely audible ''I love you'' 

He smiles, ''I love you too, but you can tell me that when your better okay?''

A weak look on your face, ''Baby'' he places a finger on your lips, his voice concerned ''save your strength'' as he inspects you, realizing you don't have much time, his voice heavy with emotion, ''I'll get Cas, I'll ask Crowley, but baby, I.. I'll l have you in my arms again soon okay''

Trembling from the coldness, running through your body, your voice low, shaky, ''No Dean! I don't want to come back, half a person, you need to let me go, I will be somewhere in the sunshine, smiling down at you, waiting for you, alright'' sobbing now frantically, ''let me go, please''

Dean sat there destroyed, tears wetting his eyes, he can't say the words, he just nods, going down tasting your lips for the last time, as he kisses you, he feels your last breath rushing over his lips, he breaks down, balling now as he holds your lifeless body in his arms, rocking forwards and backwards, knowing this will be the last time he'll be able too hold you. Unsure of how long Sam stood there, eyes glazed with wetness, knowing his brother lost the love of his life. 

They gave you a proper hunters funeral, so many people came, some friends, some just other hunters and some, just people you saved, Dean couldn't say much at the funeral just that ''he loved you very much'' the weeks there after was torture, he kept thinking you'll come running towards him, jumping in his arms, but nothing, he was all alone, well he had Sammy, and Cas, but he didn't have you. 

As he sits there holding the pillow, taking notice, that its morning, he glances through the window, recalling your last words again, like every morning, a little smile tugging at his lips,'' I will be somewhere in the sunshine'', giving him enough strength to pick himself up from the ground, and get ready to go save a few more people. 

#somewhereinthesunshine #jacklesversebingo23 #nescaveckwriter #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #spotify #jared padalecki #jensen ackles x reader #sam and dean #dean winchester imagine #Spotify

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Day 13 - Flirt

“Refill, sugar?” the waitress trilled, leaning over the table so her cleavage was perfectly in line of sight. Or would have been, had Castiel bothered to raise his eyes from his phone.

“No thank you,” he murmured politely. “Dean, look at this.” He passed his phone over to the hunter. “I think I've found our witch.”

“Oh, witches are yesterday's news,” the waitress said, determined not to be ignored. “So dark and gloomy. I'm going as a mermaid this Halloween. Hair down to here, all curvy and sparkly and – ”

“The bill, please,” Dean interrupted.

The waitress pouted, but retreated to the counter.

“If she'd batted her eyes at you any harder, those fake lashes would have fallen in your coffee,” Dean grumbled

Castiel tilted his head to one side. “I don't understand that reference.”

“She was flirting with you, Cas,” Sam said helpfully.

“Oh. I didn't notice.”

“Dean sure did,” Sam chuckled. “What's the matter, Dean? Jealous that she didn't flirt with you?”

“She's not my type.”

“What? Young, blonde, pretty, stacked. What's not to like?”

“The bill, sir,” the waitress tossed a slip of paper at Dean. “And if you decide you'd rather hang out with a mermaid, sugar...” She tucked a second paper in the angel's pocket, and mimed 'call me'.

Dean tossed some money on the table – just enough to cover their meal, plus an insultingly small gratuity. Sam and Castiel trailed him out the door. As they crossed the parking lot, Castiel retrieved the paper from his pocket and studied it curiously. “Is this another flirtation?” he mused.

“That's a damn sight more than flirting, Cas. That's a brazen attempt at seduction.” Dean snatched the phone number from Castiel's hand and ripped it into tiny bits which he scattered to the wind.

“That's littering, Dean.”

“Sue me,” Dean said and stalked off without so much as a backward glance.

“Sam?”

“Yes, Cas?”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Sam patted the angel's shoulder. “No, Cas. Dean's just being a dick. You know, it's not too late to go back inside and get her phone number.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Never mind, Cas,” he said.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean greeted as Castiel entered the kitchen. “Coffee?” He waved the pot questioningly.

“Yes, please,” Castiel replied as he took a seat.

Dean leaned over the table until their foreheads almost bumped and deposited a steaming mug close to Castiel's hand.

Castiel wrapped both hands around the mug and breathed in the enticing aroma before taking a cautious sip. “What is it about coffee that makes its molecules so pleasing?” he wondered, taking a second, deeper swallow. By the time Dean had stuffed the last of the bacon in his mouth, Castiel's mug was empty.

“Refill, 'sugar'?” Dean trilled, with a wink and a light touch that caressed the angel's shoulder.

Sam's head popped out from behind a newspaper in time to see a funny look cross Castiel's face.

Call me, Dean mimed after refilling the mug. He turned away, setting the pot back in it's holder before calmly sauntering out of the room.

“W-was... was that a flirtation?” Castiel sputtered.

“I don't know,” Sam said, shaking his head from side to side. “It could have been... but, then again, sarcasm is equally likely.” Sam shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“I see.” Castiel sat quietly sipping his coffee for a few minutes, before suddenly pushing his chair back and rising to his feet.

“Where are you going, Cas?” Sam asked, already knowing the answer.

“To speak with Dean.”

“I'm not sure that's a good idea.”

But Sam's words fell on empty air. Castiel was already halfway down the hall.

He didn't bother knocking.

He burst into Dean's room with such force that the door crashed back against the wall, cracking the plaster. A second bang slammed the door shut again.

Dean looked up from from where he was seated at the end of the bed, a partially assembled gun held in his hands. He dropped a cleaning rag to the floor, but showed no other reaction to the obviously angry angel's rude intrusion.

“What was that?” Castiel demanded.

“What was what?”

“Don't play stupid. You know very well what I mean.” “Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Why don't you spell it out for me, Cas.”

“In the kitchen... Was that a flirtation, Dean?”

“Would you like it to be?”

“You're making fun of me.”

“No,” Dean admitted quietly. “I'm not. I'm really not. Answer my question, Cas. What if it was a flirtation. How would you respond to that?”

The fear in Dean's green eyes was obvious as he waited for a reply.

Castiel found himself at a loss for words, his silence lasting so long that Dean carefully set the gun aside and rose to his feet, retreating to the far side of the room.

“Never mind,” Dean muttered. “Forget it. I'll just –we'll just – Let's pretend this conversation never happened.”

“I don't like ambiguity,” Castiel finally responded, advancing step by slow step. “I don't 'get' flirtations or sarcasm. I prefer honesty. Directness. What I'd do, how I'd feel, if –if – I truly believed you were interested in me, wanted me... the way that I want you...” The last few words were spoken so softly they almost were inaudible. As they trailed off into silence, Castiel stood as still as a statue, and let his eyes do the speaking for him.

Dean closed the distance between them and drew Castiel into a tight embrace. His lips were warm and tender as they connected with the angel's: negating the need for any further words, nurturing the hope that shone in Castiel's eyes, erasing the fear that had clouded his own.

“Is this direct enough for you, 'sugar'?” Dean whispered as their lips finally parted.

“Yes,” Castiel breathed, and leaned in for another kiss.

#suptober #suptober23 #suptober23 day 13 #destiel #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester

[beansandsprouts]

Sweet Confessions

Dean Winchester x gn reader

Summary: After you nearly die during a hunt, Dean finally realizes exactly what he feels for you.

Warnings: descriptions of physical injury, mentions of blood

You'd been fading in and out of consciousness, catching bits and pieces of conversation. You couldn't really process anything, but you did very clearly remember seeing Dean sitting in a chair by your bed, head in his hands, shoulders shaking, whispering something you couldn't make out.

You'd dreamed while you were out. Dreamed about your old memories. Memories of hunts, memories with the boys, memories from before you became a hunter, it was like you were reliving your life.

Your eyes cracked open, the light making you wince. You were in your room, in your bed. You groaned and sat up, hissing in pain.

You lifted your shirt to see your abdomen wrapped in bandages. You kind of remembered what happened. You remembered going into the werewolf packs hideout. You remember fighting them. You remembered the pain when one of them tore your stomach open. You remembered seeing the blood seep through your t-shirt, and subsequently falling to the floor. And you remembered hearing Dean shout your name before losing consciousness.

Your room was empty, and the bunker was quiet. You swung your feet off the side of the bed and carefully stood up, legs shaking a bit. Slowly, you made your way out to the main room.

The boys were talking about a possible hunt out in Maine when you wandered into the library. Cas noticed you first.

"What are you doing out of bed?" He asked gruffly, standing quickly.

Dean and Sam whipped their heads around to see you leaning against a bookcase. You could see the flash of relief on their faces to see you conscious before the panic of realizing where you were set in.

"What the hell y/n?" Dean rushed over to you, his hands coming to hold you as you leaned against him instead of the bookcase.

"No one was around." You mumbled.

"So call for us, you shouldnt be out of bed."

Suddenly your legs gave out from underneath you, thankfully Dean caught you quickly.

"This is exactly why you should be in bed." He scolded as his arms came underneath you to lift you in a princess carry.

"I'll take her back to her room, you guys figure out the hunt." He called behind him.

"You're a pain in the ass, you know that?"

"Mm sorry."

He glanced down at you, feeling his heart skip seeing your head resting against his chest.

He gently set you down in bed, setting the blankets over your legs. He raised his hand to brush against your cheek.

You looked at him in shock of the gentleness he was showing. He was never rough with you per say, but he was never exceptionally gentle.

"Are you ok?" You asked. There was a look on his face that you could quite place.

He seemed to snap out of whatever daze he was in, "Yeah yeah I'm fine. I should be asking you that." He chuckled.

"I'm fine, just tired. And hungry." You smiled sheepishly.

"Let me get ya something then."

Later that day Sam, Cas, and Jack left for the hunt in Maine. Leaving you and Dean alone together.

Dean was attentive, bringing you food and water, bringing his laptop and books into your room to sit with you, insisting on helping you to the bathroom though you were sure you could do it yourself. Every once in awhile you would catch him staring at you with this indiscernible look on his face.

On the third day, just after you'd both had lunch, he cleared his throat.

"You uh, you scared us you know."

"I know, I'm sorry." You murmured.

"It's ok, it's not your fault. I just..." he trailed off.

"What?"

"I guess it was kind of a wake up call," he chuckled, "It kind of opened my eyes to some things."

"What do you mean?" You asked, starting to grow nervous. What if he felt like you were slowing them down? You were less experienced than they were, maybe they wouldn't let you hunt anymore.

"I um. Well. Fuck this is hard to say," He covered his face with his hands, "I'm not the feelings type. You know that. But almost losing you...well it made me realize that..."

"That...?" You prompted.

"That...I...like you..."

"Gee Dean, thanks. I would hope so after nearly a year of hunting together." You said sarcastically.

"No that's not-I mean yes but-fuck why is this so hard?"

"Take your time."

"Can it princess." He glared at you.

You giggled. Princess had been a sarcastic nickname from when you first met, you two had butted heads at first, but now the term was more affectionate.

"What I'm trying to say is I like you a lot more than I thought I did."

"So you're telling me that, what, we're like good friends?"

"No! No. Fucking hell. I want to like...be with you." He groaned.

Your eyes widened, "Be with me?"

"Yes. I want to like, do that stupid soft stuff. I want to hold your hand and go on dates and fucking buy you flowers and..."

You had started to grin while he was babbling, "And...?"

"And...I want to kiss you." He clenched his jaw, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. He was avoiding your gaze.

"Listen," he continued, "You don't feel the same. I get it. I'm not the most emotionally available. Nothing has to change-"

"Dean you're an idiot."

He lifted his eyes to meet yours, "Huh?"

"Come here and kiss me you big ol' dumbass." You grinned.

His face lit up and he grinned as he got up from his chair to lean down and take your face into his hands, he looked at you for a moment, taking in the way you looked up at him expectantly before leaning down to brush his lips against yours.

"Kiss me like you mean it." You mumbled before reaching up to fist your hands in his shirt and pull him closer.

And so he did, he kissed you. He kissed you like he'd been waiting to do it his entire life, cradling your face in his hands.

He pulled back to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours.

"Wow."

"That good huh?" You grinned cheekily.

"That good." He confirmed, his voice low, a wide smile on his face.

"You liiiiiike meee." You teased.

"I do. And it's your problem now princess, because you let me kiss you and now I'm never gonna stop."

He leaned down to kiss you again, still smiling as he did.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester #supernatural #fluff

[jenanigans1207]

Me, who hasn’t even gotten to s15 yet, writing a fix-it fic? More likely than you think!

—

“I made a deal with the empty,” Cas whispers to the space between him and Sam. “I offered it my life in place of Jack’s. And the empty agreed if it got to take me the moment I felt true happiness.” Cas steadies himself to say the words for a second time— the words he never even thought he’d say one time. “I knew that we were out of options and that if I summoned the empty, I would be able to take Billie with me so that Dean would make it out. So I— I told Dean that I love him.”

The sharp breath Sam takes this time is tinged with so much sadness that it’s tangible.

“Fucking hell.” Sam mutters, shaking his head and ignoring the longer pieces of his hair that fall into his eyes. “Now I’m mad at you. Fuck, no wonder Dean took it so much harder this time.”

“I never intended to tell him how I felt, Sam. But it was the only way for him to make it out alive and I— I needed him to survive. That was the only thing that mattered.” Cas doesn’t regret it, even now. He knows that he’d do it a million times over if it was still the only way to save Dean and he’d never regret it. “And I know it’s not something he wants, which is why I had assumed that he would simply try to erase any memory of that night, so he’d never have to deal with a confession such as that.”

When he looks up, Sam is pinching the bridge of his nose and staring down it at Cas. True to what he’d said a moment ago, he does look mad at Cas, but not in the same way that Dean had looked mad at Cas before he’d stormed out earlier.

“For the fact that you know Dean as well as you do, you sure don’t seem to know shit about him when it relates to you.” Sam mumbles, finally dropping his hand with a sigh. “Okay, listen. I won’t speak to Dean’s feelings— not because I don’t know them but because Dean’s already going to kick my ass for telling you all that I’ve already told you and even I know that his feelings are something he should tell you. But I will tell you this: Dean blames himself for everything bad that’s happened to you. He blames himself for you falling, for every ounce of blood that’s on your hands, and every hard time you’ve had in the last twelve goddamn years. That shit keeps him up at night, trust me.”

“Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for Dean, to some extent.” Cas replies. “But that doesn’t make it Dean’s fault. They were all my decisions.”

“I know that. And you know that. But Dean? Trust me, Cas, he’s put everything that happened to you high on the list of reasons he hates himself. And it’s a long ass list.”

“I know it is.” Cas mumbles.

“So you must understand that not only did you tell Dean you love him— something he wouldn’t have reacted poorly to, by the way— but you used it to— to die. Literally you made loving Dean the cause of your death, you realize that, right? And I know, Cas, I know you didn’t mean it like that. But to Dean and his fucked up brain, he got you killed. The one thing he’s never been able to tolerate and he is now the direct cause of it.” Sam explains and it’s so stupid, it’s so stupid—

But it’s exactly how Dean’s brain works and Cas knows that.

And that’s fine, sort of, because he still wouldn’t change the fact that he confessed to save Dean. He didn’t have time in that moment to think about how it would mess Dean up and a messed up but alive Dean was better than the alternative so that was fine. What wasn’t fine, however, was the fact that Cas never thought about it after. Now that he’s back, now that he’s had time to see how Dean reacted and how he handled Cas’s death, he still hasn’t spent any time to think about the role he played in that or the ways he could have made it worse. And that is unacceptable.

Cas sighs and deflates in the seat. He feels like his strings have been cut, like there isn’t an ounce of fight left in him. He feels like he could simply sit here, glued to this chair, for the rest of eternity.

The thing is— Cas isn’t unaccustomed to messing up or hurting Dean. He’s not inexperienced at crossing lines he both does and does not see. It’s not new for him to let Dean down or betray him. But this— this is something else entirely and they all know it. Because Sam is right, Cas is one of very few people who has been gifted Dean’s trust. He knows that and has spent twelve years cherishing that fact on a daily basis, grateful and awestruck that he had been given something so beautiful and precious. He knows that he has been granted insight into Dean that nobody else, not even Sam, gets. That he has been the only one that has been able to get through to him sometimes.

He has been indescribably privileged to be this close to Dean at all, let alone for this long. He knows that, it’s the greatest blessing of his eternal life and he knows with an unbridled sort of certainty that nothing else will ever honor him in the same way, nothing else will ever even come close.

And through one careless remark, one remark made out of an attempt to deflect his own shortcomings, he has shattered twelve years of a bond that has held strong through everything else. He has laughed in the face of the greatest gift he has ever been given and he was too blinded by his own shortcomings to even realize he was doing any of this.

“I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?” Cas asks, looking ruefully at Sam.

Sam’s smile and huff of a laugh in response is sad and a little amused. “Yeah,” He says after a minute. “You have. But like I said, Dean’s never been one to deny you second, third, or even fiftieth chances.”

“I’ve never hurt him like this before.” Cas points out.

“Nobody has ever hurt him like this before.” Sam remarks, and it’s clear that he doesn’t mean the statement to hurt, but it does anyways. “But that’s because he’s never cared about anybody like this. The way he is with you, Cas it’s— he never has been and never could be that way with anyone else. Whatever you two have, it’s completely irreplaceable.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s unbreakable,” Cas says dejectedly.

Sam stands up then, walking around the table to clap Cas on the shoulder in the way the Winchesters always do when they’re trying to be heartfelt or encouraging. It’s the closest they come to physical affection when nobody’s life is immediately on the line and it helps Cas feel a little better.

“Cas, if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that Dean will never let you go now that you’re back. He could spent the rest of his life spitting mad at you, and he’d still do it from no more than five feet away. When he comes back— and he will— he’ll be mad and he’ll be hurt, but he’ll be right here. You’ll have a chance to fix this.” It’s encouraging and terrifying in the same moment but Cas is grateful for Sam’s vote of confidence nonetheless. “Just don’t ask me how to fix it, because I sure as shit don’t know. You two have never gone about things in a way I can understand.”

Cas looks up at Sam, meeting his gaze. “Thank you for your insight, Sam.”

“Just remember,” Sam’s hand slips off of his shoulder. “There’s a reason that Dean cares as much as he does and takes your death as hard as he does. And the reason sounds a lot like something you said to him.”

“I thought you weren’t going to tell me how Dean feels.”

“I’m not.” Sam answers as he heads towards the door. “I’m just hinting at it. It’s different.”

He swings through the doorway and around the corner before Cas has a chance to say anything else.

#literally I have no excuse for this #I’m on s10 #but I’ve read so many goddamn fix its #that I just want to write my own now #it’s cathartic somehow #destiel #deancas #spn #supernatural