#deancas ficlet

[kerryweaverlesbian]

for the prompts! 9&13 combined 👀👀

(From this post) (also here's the last one I did).

Castiel had escaped to the empty kitchen at the earliest opportunity as soon as the number of people in the map room had exceeded 8. He doesn't mind crowds, he quite likes them outside - the warm, hurried rush of humanity is quite endearing - but he'd become accustomed to there being a maximum of 4 in the Bunker, including him, so it feels almost claustrophobic to have more, even somewhere as large as this.

He's not surprised that Dean came to find him two hours in, though he is a little surprised that it took him so long.

"There's just so many of them," Dean complains, a little muffled against Cas's shirt, "I think the fuckers are multiplying. I turn around, there's two of them, I look again, there's five."

"The creation of a new prophet is a cosmic event. I certainly would have noticed," Cas says, mildly. He strokes soothingly down Dean's back with one hand, and takes a sip of coffee with the other. Dean grumbles and blindly pushes the coffee mug away from his head when it brushes against him, squeezing into Cas tighter with the strong arms around his waist.

"How many prophets does one god need? There's not that much interesting stuff that happens in the world. And more importantly, why the hell do they have to come here?"

"You invited them."

"Kevin invited them!"

"Because you told him to."

"Well, the kid needs more friends! He can't just hang out with you, me, Sam and Garth for the rest of his life. Anyway, it's definitely working out, I haven't even seen him for over an hour."

"I think he went to his room."

"What?" Dean pulls his head back from his embrace, appalled.

"He said he wasn't feeling up to it."

Actually, he'd muttered stupid Dean, stupid Bunker, stupid prophets, I wish none of them had ever been born, fuck my life, this is the Andover middle school dance all over again as he'd loaded his arms with chips and stormed out of the kitchen in the opposite direction to the gathering, but Castiel's powers of extrapolation had been improving over recent years.

"Then who the hell is this party for?" Dean complains, but he doesn't resist when Cas pulls him back to his nuzzled in position. He likes having Dean here, choosing his company as the antidote to others. Dean belongs in any place that brings him comfort, and Cas is lucky that in his arms is where Dean frequently finds it.

"It appears to be for 47 strangers who are better at getting along than we are." Then he tips his head. "48."

"What?" Dean squawks, pushing back from Cas's chest with alarm.

"They're multiplying."

Dean laughs, "You're an asshole."

Cas agrees with a hum. "You like that about me."

"Sure do. Get over here."

Dean's kiss is lingering, sweet and tender, and Cas's chest glows with it. It takes a second for Cas to open his eyes after, and he's treated to Dean's warm, relaxed grin.

"I guess I better go get rid of them so we can all stop hiding, huh?"

"That would be wise," Cas agrees, but tugs onto Dean's outer shirt when he starts to turn, "You've got..."

He smooths fixes the front of Dean's hair where it'd got smooshed in his impromptu snuggles with gentle fingers, then brushes his thumb over Dean's eye crinkles with affection on the way down from it, since he was in the area. The warmth in Dean's gaze when Cas meets his eyes again cannot be overstated, matched only by the feeling in Cas's own heart. He gets kissed again, and would've been happy to continue that way all through the party, but then there's a crashing noise from the direction of the war room, followed by laughter, which wrenches Dean's attention away.

"That's it," Dean says, untucking his gun from the back of his jeans, "I'm clearing house. Two minutes, tops, and we're free and clear."

Cas wishes him luck as he , and 30 seconds later there's the sound of a gunshot and Dean's voice authoritatively saying "Y'all better haul ass out of my house right now or the next one's hitting a body!", then the desperate scrambling of 47 people scrambling out of a single door.

In 30 seconds less than Dean's suggested timeframe, the place is empty but for its regular inhabitants again. Cas smiles into his coffee cup. They don't need anyone else to be happy.

@hauntedpearl hi Doe!!!! thank you for the prompts!! which were: Pressing their face into the other's neck, hiding from the world and brushing away an unruly lock of hair. I had been working on a Jo/Bela for this one but it wasn't working, and this one suddenly came to me in a vision this morning. So sappy. They love each otherrrrr. PS Sam's hiding in the armory lol. Not one of them likes big parties.

#deancas ficlet #destiel #I lorve them #gun violence #(< just in case. Dean doesn't actually shoot anyone lol.) #cawis creates

[hornystiel]

chipped coin

1,6k, mature (i guess), early seasons destiel

so jackles and ida @chapeldean reminded me about the whole 'dean in cas' coat' thing and i wrote this in one go.

Dean’s rummaging in the pockets of the trench coat he’s currently borrowing from Cas in chance to find something like, you know, change, like what normal people are carrying with them in their pockets. 

Cas appears to be some kind of bird who likes shiny things, because his pockets have everything but the money Dean needs to buy himself a can of soda at 3 am from the vending machine outside of their motel room. Their room. 

Jesus, when did it become two rooms and not for Dean and Sam even, but for Dean and Cas, and Sam. Well, it’s not always like that, sometimes they still stay in one room because everything's packed and they don’t have any spare money or a working credit card with them. Except why the fuck Cas even needs to stay with them at night? And sleep in Dean’s bed. He’s a fucking angel, he doesn’t even need sleep. 

Not that Dean minds. Not really. 

Shiny rocks, a piece of glass (not sharp, thankfully), a cap from a beer Dean likes and tried to give to Cas a few times, some kind of a keychain in the shape of a cat? It’s cute though. Still no money.

Dean’s getting cold because he only slipped into Cas’ coat and currently wears only that, boots, and his batman boxers he managed to win from under Cas who was blissfully zoned out after fucking him into the creaky bed they share today. But once Dean took the coat and put it on, the look on Cas’ face became nothing but predatory. Dean’s sure if he lingered for a bit before leaving - they’d be having round two right now. 

Dean’s ass is still sensitive and he still feels, well, Cas’ come leaking out of him a bit. That should really be very gross, Dean’s sure he should feel gross. 

He doesn’t and that’s kind of concerning. 

He touches the bite mark on his neck and feels his cheeks heating up, even in the chilly parking lot. 

Castiel was intense the minute he appeared in Dean’s life, but Dean didn’t really think he would be so into marking him in every way possible. Although, the handprint on his shoulder should have given him some ideas. Dean coughs a little, trying to will his brain to stop translating the direct feed of Cas sucking hickeys on his hips half an hour before.

Right. He’s still thirsty, that was the reason he left the room in the first place. Not to contemplate. 

They are just fucking. Just fucking, just sharing a room, just talking for hours about everything and nothing, just grabbing a bite in shitty diners when Cas pops up out of nowhere right when Dean thinks it would be nice to make him try this new weird-looking pie and see that adorable frown make an appearance again, the apocalypse fuckery hanging somewhere in the background for once. 

Dean digs faster, in an attempt to overrun his own thoughts. How deep are those pockets? Finally something circle-shaped is in his hands and he brings it to the neon light to the left of him to see what it is. 

It’s the coin, a piece of it chipped a little, a tiny hole piercing it close to the ridge. 

Dean remembers this coin. 

He was boredly playing with all the change he had on him during their pitstop in one of the bars on their way to another state, Cas sitting on the opposite end of a small booth, looking ragged. Rebel angels have tough days. 

Dean noticed this coin and said Hey, look. This one is like you. Castiel squinted at the coin and mumbled Useless and broken? Dean huffed and went Not like the others and still kicking. 

He placed it in Cas’ hand and said that this one is for good luck. Castiel frowned but took it. 

Dean thought he threw it away or lost it a long time ago. But it’s still here. In Dean’s palm again. An angel who wields the destinies of the whole civilisations is carrying a chipped coin for good luck given to him by a hick human. 

Suddenly he isn’t really thirsty anymore. 

He puts everything back into the pockets and quickly goes back to their room. 

Cas is still sprawled on the bed (more and more human things in his arsenal, one day he’ll use this arsenal of adorable/annoying lethal quirks to kill Dean dead), but once Dean closes the door, he sits up and looks at Dean. 

Forget the pain in his ass, Dean wants to ride this ruffled creature into the sunset of a better future. 

“Dean, I advise you to take the coat off, because I’m not sure I can control myself when you are wearing it and I know you must be tired.”

“Aw, for a possessive bastard you’re such a gentleman.” Dean chuckles and without taking the trench coat off climbs on top of Cas’ naked thighs. “What, afraid you’ll fuck the Righteous Man too good he goes out of commission?” 

Castiel growls and tugs Dean closer, crushing their mouths together, hands roaming all over his body as if they were separated for a decade instead of thirty minutes tops. 

“It’s just…the more traces of me you have on yourself, the more I…” Cas hides his face in Dean’s shoulder, his movements slowing but not losing intensity, a hand crawling to the handprint, hidden under the coat. 

“Tell me.” Dean’s lost all of his brain cells on the way here, he wants to hear how much he breaks Cas’ restraint, he wants to know the moment Cas started thinking of this coat as a part of him, he wants to know whether it’s the first time Cas even feels this way and if so he doesn’t want to share this knowledge with anybody else. Man, they are both possessive as fuck. 

“I want to keep you to myself,” Cas whispers, unsure, and Dean moans, slowly grinding into him, starting to pull the coat off his shoulders, but Cas stops his hands. Holy fucking shit.  

“You were mine to rebuild, mine to bring back to life, mine to protect,” Cas lifts his gaze to Dean and strokes his jaw. “Now you’re mine to love.” 

If Dean ever wondered what the perfect example of “fuck around and find out” looks like in real life - well. He’s experiencing it now. 

“Shut up,” he tells Cas because he isn’t ready to start fucking crying during the most mindblowing kinky sex he isn’t even fully having right now. 

Cas opens his mouth to argue and probably tell him more insane shit that will rewire Dean’s mindframe forever and ever, so he shuts him up himself with kisses. After they’re finally done making out, Cas, the stubborn bastard, opens his mouth again.

“Was what I said wrong? You asked me to tell you.” 

“No, it’s just…” How can he even begin to explain everything that’s happening in his brain right now? That Cas just voiced Dean’s own feelings he’s too afraid to even start rationalizing in his own mind? Let alone talking about them. The thought that Cas doesn’t know what he’s talking about doesn’t even cross his mind. He knows they both feel the same and both are greatly inexperienced in just being in love. Cas being an angel, Dean being a hunter and both of them being fuckups. 

“You are thinking too much. I don’t require your answer, Dean, that’s not why I said it.” Cas touches his neck, shoulders, stomach, thighs. Feather-light strokes of his long fingers relax Dean gradually. “Just let me take care of you sometimes.”

 And Dean lets. 

The coat stays on, like a wall, shielding what they have from the rest of the world. Dean imagines that it’s Cas’ wings that envelop him and keep him safe. 

They take it slow this time, Dean rocking on top of Cas like he has all the time in the world, Cas’ hands are firm but still gentle, supporting him when he gets tired. He’s so beautiful underneath him, all black unruly hair, dark stubble and eyes only for Dean. 

Dean kisses him and kisses and kisses until his lips get numb and scratchy from all the licking and biting. 

Cas talks to him, quiet and intimate, and, dammit, Dean ends up crying after all. But he feels so, so much lighter, he feels like there’s light streaming from all the scars on his body. 

When they are cleaned up, Dean digs in the pockets of Cas’ coat again, Cas curiously watching from the bed, clad in boxers and Dean's t-shirt. Dean kinda gets why Cas jumped him when he walked in in his trench coat earlier. The t-shirt…is doing things to him too. 

He finds the coin again, takes it, threads a thick rope through the tiny hole in it and tugs the ends. Then goes to Cas and motions for him to bow his head. 

Cas looks puzzled for a second and then a tiny warm smile spreads on his face when he thumbs the improvised amulet on his neck. 

“Just uh. For it not to get lost in your giant ass pockets.” Dean’s scratching his head and fidgeting like a dumbass. 

“Thank you Dean,” Cas catches Dean’s restless hands in his and just holds them, “Thank you for taking care of it.” 

Thank you for taking care of me.

One day Dean will say it back outloud. 

#destiel #destiel fic #destiel ficlet #deancas #deancas fic #deancas ficlet #thisisapaige #spxcekya #becauseofthebowties #usermoogs #anztag #spncreatorsdaily #hashtag writing

[angelsdean]

Dean grumbles playfully as the hat is shoved on his head, the elastic band snapping lightly as his family scrambles away to get a photo of him feigning a pout.  

Then, strong arms wrap around him, pulling him into the familiar warmth that feels like safety and home.

"Happy birthday, Dean," says Cas, though not for the first time today. That first time was whispered softly upon waking this morning, sunlight streaming in through parted curtains, as they cocooned around each other in their bed.

Dean blushes all the same. A little bashful, a little embarrassed. His cheeks are probably flaming. He's never been one for attention like this. He's never really had birthdays like this, until recently. But he's getting better at all of it. And every day it gets easier to accept that this is really his life, that he gets to have this — love, family, home. Everything he's ever wanted.

"Thanks, Cas," he says softly, dropping any residual reluctance and letting himself smile, glowing cheeks be damned.  

The camera clicks and then the rest of his family rushes in for hugs and more pictures.

Today, he's forty-four and life feels good.

♡  Happy birthday, Dean !! You are so loved. #deansbirthdaybash ♡

#deansbirthdaybash #chocolatecakecas #deancas ficlet #destiel ficlet #destiel art #deancas art #dean's bday #myart #myficlets

[stillwinchester]

They're in the Dean-Cave, watching some TV show about preparing the wedding. The couple is choosing the cake. They tried chocolate and vanilla flavours, and now they taste the lemon one.

“Come on! Why is it always the wedding cake?! We would have the pie on ours!” shouts Dean, focusing on the screen. Cas gives him a confused look. What did he just say?

“We?” he asks, but Dean ignores it, talking about the pie details.

“Yeah! You know, the fancy one. Three-tiered pie, crusty, five flavours, you can even put these little dudes on top... A little masterpiece! And definitely not a cake!”

Cas is looking at Dean, surprised. Of course, he dreamt about something like this many times, but he knew Dean doesn't feel the same way. It might be a nice thought, but it's impossible to come true. He had to mean his wedding with someone else, of course, not with Cas.

“And we would have beer. Not just champagne!” adds Dean.

“It would be outdoor. A warm Saturday in May or June. I would choose gardenias and peonies,” says Cas slowly. He doesn't know why. Maybe he just wants to be a part of it. A part of the beautiful dream. But this is the moment Dean realizes what he said before. He looks at Cas back and opens his mouth. No word escapes it first. They're just staring at each other, like many times before.

“I would fix your bow tie,” he whispers eventually, continuing this weird game between them.

“I would kiss the groom.”

They don't know who closes the gap, but Cas thinks that the kiss is worth sacrificing the most wonderful wedding cake in the world and having pie instead of it.

#i didn't write anything for ages! #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #cas #deancas ficlet #destiel ficlet #destiel fic #my writing #mine

[naughtystiel]

NO ANGEL | 3k

A stranger comes to Castiel after a mass to ask for help with regaining control. Temptations will come; and there will be times when we fail.

warnings: blasphemy

#destiel #destiel ficlet #destiel fic #priest!cas #deancas ficlet #deancas fic #spn #spn fic #spn ficlet #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural ficlet #vin.txt #vince writes #vmart #fleabagnatural #castiel #dean winchester

[hauntedpearl]

woven out of the silence

for @justcastiel's 2k celebration. just cooked up a little something, very vaguely incorporated faith into it. Elliot, you are such an incredibly talented wonder of a person and I hope you enjoy this!! <33 (sorry for writing the same little story in fifty different ways but whatever this was kinda fun!)

This is how it happens—

He builds you a house. He builds you a deck. A pier. 

He tells you he wants you to be free. 

Stretch your wings, he says. Feel the breeze, Cas. 

He turns the house into a home. Fills it with things. Says, Our Place. 

Says, Our Kitchen Table. 

Says, Our Garden. Our Lake. Our Porch Swing. 

Ours, Ours, Ours.

You bring him rocks from the lakeshore, and he takes them.

Careful, you tell him. They're old.

He puts them in a jar. Sets it on a shelf. 

Touches it with a smile when he passes by. 

You bring him a flower, and he puts it in your hair. Rests his fingers there. 

Says, Looks good on you. 

Says, Looks good. 

He prays to you, still. 

Sometimes at his bedside, arms crossed over the mattress. 

His knees creak when he straightens, and your grace reaches for him.

It wants to hold him. It wants to soothe his aches. It wants an excuse to brush against his soul. 

After all, it is a part of you. 

You worry. 

There is nothing you can give him. 

You worry. 

He has given you everything. 

You worry. 

Where is his happiness, in this home that is yours? 

You worry. You worry. You worry. 

This is how it happens— 

"I don't know that you will be happy" you say to him. "Here. With me." 

"What the hell are you talking about?" 

He isn't as quick to anger as he used to be. Still, a frown marrs his features. He sounds—puzzled.

"I have nothing to give to you," you say. "I am not what you've wished for." 

And you would know. You've seen his wishes wrapped in wishes. 

You've seen him. 

He is still frowning when he says, "I don't care about all that. I just — I need you." 

You do not doubt him, but you ache for him, all the same. 

You care about him. 

You love him. 

That is all it has ever been. 

You love him. 

"You've given me everything you have," you say. 

See reason, you plead wordlessly. Want something. 

"You gave me this life." 

He lowers himself to his knees at your feet. Spreads his arms. 

"You stitched up my soul" 

He is kneeling — in supplication. In plea. In prayer.

He is kneeling, and you cannot bear it. 

He folds his hands around yours. Holds them to his heart. 

He doesn't owe you for this. 

Does he know? 

He does not owe you. 

"I am no God," you tell him.

I will not take, not like this, you think. Not from you. 

When he laughs, it sounds almost bright.

When he laughs, you want to flinch. 

"No," and he is smiling. "I love you." 

This is how it happens— 

You have a beating heart, and it thunders in your chest. 

I love you.

Your grace surges in your veins, heats your skin. 

I love you. 

There, the echo of revelation. 

I love you. 

This is how it happens— 

Your not-quite-human knees buckle.

You see — You see Him.

You're looking into the face of the divine. 

And It is soft skin, wrinkled. Lined. Dotted with freckles. 

You're looking into the face of the divine. 

And It is smiling, still.

He tugs you closer. 

Your knees scratch against this altar of wood and nail. 

"I brought you back to me," he says. 

"I built you a home," he says. 

"I keep your gifts," he says. 

"How could you not know?" 

His eyes, searching. Shining. Shifting. 

Emerald, Jade, Peridot. 

Summer green & gold. 

His love looks a lot like his guilt. 

It looks a lot like his fear. 

How could you have known?

Men build temples for the Gods they fear. 

They only ever seem to build tombs for their lovers.

How could you have known?

This is how it happens —

With you on your knees. 

With him on his. 

Fallen, falling. 

His fingers in the bowl of your fists, holding tight. 

"This is our life," he says.

Our Place. Our Kitchen Table

Our Garden. Our Lake. Our Porch Swing

Ours. Ours. Ours.

"And I want it. All of it." 

His lips on your knuckles, soft. Your gasp, softer, still. 

A never-tilting world, on its side.  

Your grace bends towards him, the stalk of a flower in search of her sun.

Your wings curve around him, the shield to his sword.

You want this, too. Every bit of it. 

Does he know? 

He must. He must. 

This is how it happens —

"Dean," his name melting sugar on your tongue. 

Dean — your charge, once. Your friend, always.

Your— Your Dean. 

He loves you.

He loves you.

Tugs you closer, still. 

Says, "I mean it. For— for as long as you'll have me." 

And you love him. 

You love him.

That's all it's ever been. 

What else is there to say, then, for you? 

He holds his faith close to his chest. 

It beats a rhythm against the backs of your palms. 

He holds it there for you. Because of you. 

Your Dean. 

Haloed in the falling light. 

Smiling, still. 

Happy. 

This is how it happens—

His mouth against yours, sweeter than his name.

His pulse a-flutter under your palm.

"Yeah?" he says, the syllable pressed into your skin. 

"Yes," you say. 

You love him. 

"Yes."

Mutuals I would literally die for who helped me w this stupid thing: @casgape @meatmensch @subbynesnej @millicentmarva THANK YOU ILY MWAH!!! and @chapeldean thank you sooo much for putting up with my whining yesterday <333333

Taglist:

@suckeggsinhell @castielsupernatural @vegancas @deancaskiss @cyncity2000 @lookforanewangle @belagirlrights @xdeansangelx @destieldisaster @jacobglaser @heartcastiel @sleepycas @thebaffledking @cassiterite @angelsdean @pajamadean @capellacas @castiellesbian @oddityofstars @sing-little-bird @milfmommymary @quicksilver-castiel @one-more-offbeat-anthem @laurelcas @twoheadedcas @butterscotchdean @naturallyathief @aturnoftheearth

#justcastiel2k #doe's writing #deancas ficlet #destiel ficlet #idk how to write poems but if i knew this would be one so like i guess this is a proem? whatever that means #usermoogs #spn ficlet #CONGRATULATIONS ELLIOT YOU DESERVE ALL THIS LOVE AND MORE MWAH <33333333 #feathersforcas

[doctorprofessorsong]

Oops.

I accidentally wrote 1,000 words of pure angst.

Excerpt:

It's the good dreams that break him. Dreams of an open road before him and an angel beside him. 

Dean’s never slept well but the echo of Cas' last words before the dark sludge extinguished the bright star in his life seems to make it decidedly worse. 

Because the one thing Dean thought he couldn't have-

Well, now Dean dreams about the things he always wanted and couldn't voice, and it's worse than the memory of what was. Waking up to find his bed - and his heart - empty like some sort of bottomless chasm is a torture more complete than anything Hell ever threw at him.

Dean rolls to check the clock. 

3 am. Nothing good has ever happened at 3 am. 

3am is a time for angry words and drunk fights, for tired dead eyes haunting the hallway of a hospital, for burnt coffee and back alley blowjobs and the soft wail of the souls that haunt this world - both living and dead ones.

Perhaps it's right, then, that it's a time where Dean’s ghosts dance across his mind, twirling mirthlessly in the silent ballroom of regret. 

#spn #supernatual #destiel ficlet #deancas ficlet #destiel #deancas

[milfjensenackles]

unhinged

1.4k words | read it on ao3

This fic is an early Valentine’s Day gift for my beautiful girlfriend @breedablejensenackles and it is inspired by the way we originally started dating. 

Castiel makes a Hinge account. Dean is pissed about it.

Dean is going to kill Sam.

Recently, Cas has been asking a lot of questions about ‘human mating rituals’, as he so subtly puts it. Sam, as a result, decided to set Cas up with his very own Hinge account. Dean was furious about it, which only made Sam more willing to help Cas.

“What do you care, Dean? Cas is allowed to have a little fun sometimes, too.”

Dean huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. Sam and Cas are sitting at the kitchen table together, picking the photos and answering the questions that would attract the right people.

Cas looks up at Dean with a small smile that he reserves just for him. “Maybe you should make one, Dean.”

Dean musters the ugliest look he could manage. “Over my dead body.”

Sam shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

Dean huffs again, but no one paid him any attention. It’s not like they knew why Dean was so upset. Dean barely understood it himself.

Recently, Dean has been seeing Castiel in a different light. Things that he normally might find annoying were now endearing. Dean loves when Cas rolled his eyes at his jokes. Dean loves the focus and concentration it takes for Castiel to learn something new about living as a human. Dean loves just spending time with Cas, no matter what it is they’re doing. Dean loves a lot of things about Cas, and it scares the shit out of him.

It didn’t help that Cas came out as gay a few weeks ago. Dean didn’t even know angels could have a sexuality.

“What do you think of this guy, Dean?” Castiel says innocently, shocking Dean out of his self-imposed spiral.

Dean squints to get a better look at the small phone screen. Pretty normal looking guy. Nothing special. He says as much to Cas.

Cas rolls his eyes. “I ‘did a match’ with him,” he furrows his brow, “Is that the correct phrase, Sam?”

“You matched with him, Cas.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Well, I think it’s a great idea to go out to a bar or a coffee shop or whatever with a stranger,” Dean interjects, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

Cas frowns. “Thank you, Dean. I appreciate your support.”

“I wasn’t being—” Dean starts to reply, but then decides against correcting Cas, “No problem, man.”

---

Dean’s phone beeps from his pocket. He unlocks it to see he has an unread message from Cas.

Cas: I think I’m going to go.

Cas left for a case in Nevada with Jack a couple of days ago. Father-son bonding, Castiel had called it. Dean wondered if Cas meant to send the text to Jack. Castiel was still struggling to get the hang of technology.

Dean: Go where?

Cas: On the date with the man from the website.

Cas: You said it was a good idea.

Dean put his phone down and took a deep breath. Cas. On a Hinge date, of all things. He couldn’t stomach it.

He imagines Castiel being charmed by a faceless man. He imagines the man flirting with Castiel. He imagines the man reaching for Castiel’s hand, and Castiel allowing it. He imagines the man leaning in to kiss Castiel…

No.

He can’t let this happen.

But what other choice did he have?

Dean: Or you could let me take you on a date instead.

He stares at the message. He lets it sit there, taunting him. He can’t actually send that, right? He doesn’t want to ruin the carefully crafted friendship he and Cas have, one where they don’t address their feelings whatsoever and dance around anything that might send them tipping right over the edge of something that Dean is too terrified to consider.

Dean walks over to the wall of his bedroom and smacks his forehead against it. The action doesn’t provide any clarity, and only serves to worsen the headache he’s developing.

Dean stares at his phone again.

He grabs his coat from the hook by his bedroom door, yells to Sam that he’s going for a walk, and stalks outside into the cold.

As soon as he’s away from the bunker, he pulls that damned phone back out of his pocket and rereads the message he wrote. And he presses send.

He then promptly throws his phone ten feet away from him to avoid facing what he just did.

He stands there near the front door of the bunker, staring at his now most likely broken phone sitting on the black asphalt of an empty road. I can’t believe I just did that, he thinks to himself. I just ruined everything.

Dean realizes that he has to actually pick up his phone if he wants to know what Cas has to say. He grabs it, avoiding eye contact with the screen like it might kill him if he so much as blinks in its direction. And then he starts walking.

He must have walked ten miles by the time he hears another beep. At least that’s what it felt like. He slowly lifts his phone up and unlocks it.

Cas: I would like that, Dean.

Dean’s face splits in half with a grin. It doesn’t even feel real. Maybe it’s not, his brain supplies. He sends another message to Cas to convince himself otherwise.

Dean: I hope you understand how serious I am. I’m taking you on a date. It’ll be way better than that creep from Hinge.

Cas: You’re much better than any man on that website.

Dean is giddy. He’s never been able to describe himself that way, but nothing else fits the way he’s feeling in this moment. He asked Cas out. Cas said yes.

---

Dean is watching a movie when Cas and Jack get home.

Cas walks through the door, and immediately stops in his tracks the second he sees Dean.

“Hey,” Dean says softly.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean pats the spot next to him on the couch. “Wanna join me?”

Cas nods minutely and slowly floats over to where Dean is seated. Dean can tell that he’s nervous.

“I won’t bite,” Dean says with a smirk.

Cas rolls his eyes and looks away, but Dean can tell that he’s smiling.

Cas sits on the opposite end of the couch from Dean. Dean stands up and moves to sit right next to Cas, their knees touching.

“Is this okay?” Dean asks.

Cas nods in answer. Dean leans over and reaches his arm across the back of the couch, brushing his fingers against Cas’ shoulder. The tension slowly leaves Castiel’s body as he allows his shoulder to fall against Dean’s chest. Dean looks down at Cas, who is entirely too focused on the movie that Dean no longer cares about. His chest constricts when he realizes just how much he wanted this. Something he thought he could never have.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, loud enough to regain the angel’s attention.

Cas lifts his head to meet Dean’s eyes. “Yes?”

Dean’s eyes flick down to Castiel’s mouth. It would be so easy to…

“Come here.”

“I’m right here, De—” Castiel is cut off by Dean pressing their mouths together.

Dean can tell Cas doesn’t know what he’s doing, so he traces Castiel’s jawbone back until he’s able to gently cradle the back of Castiel’s skull and press closer into his body. As soon as he does that, Cas responds in kind, opening his mouth just enough to allow Dean to slide his tongue against Cas’ bottom lip. Castiel sighs at the contact and slips his arms around Dean’s hips. They move together in tandem, Castiel matching Dean’s every push and pull. Dean thinks to himself that he’s never been happier than in this moment.

But then Cas pushes Dean away.

“Cas, Cas buddy, I’m so sorry, I just—I’ve wanted this for so long. I shouldn’t have done that. I’ll just go.”

Cas grabs Dean’s arm before he can get up from the couch.

“We haven’t even gone on a date yet, Dean. We’re doing this entirely out of order. At least, according to what Sam told me.”

Once Dean catches up with what Cas is saying, he kisses him again, if only to get him to shut up about his brother. “Don’t listen to Sam ever again.”

Whatever Cas says next is muffled against Dean’s lips. Castiel doesn’t mind.

#sarah #deancas ficlet #destiel ficlet #destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #spn fic #supernatural #spn ficlet #lauren writes

[outofthecavern]

Destiel Drabble. Dean just sleep already!! Pure fluff.

“Dean, You should go to bed.” 

Dean’s eyes flic from the TV to Cas, then back at the TV when he realizes he’s looking at him a little too long. 

“I’m fine, Cas.”

Castiel frowns and tilts his head slightly. Dean’s eyes are red, dark, and he blinks more than usual as he fights the exhaustion. His grace reaches out to him, wanting to soothe Dean’s aches. 

“Why don’t you want to sleep, Dean?” 

“I just don’t, okay?” Dean snaps back. He sighs and rubs a hand down his face, shoulders dropping in a silent apology for his anger. “I just… I don't want to be alone right now, okay?” 

“I’ll stay with you,” Cas says like it’s the easiest thing in the world and Dean looks at him again. Dean searches Cas’ face, trying to find an ulterior motive but all that looks back is the sincere blue of Castiel’s eyes. 

“Okay,” Dean says and shifts to lie down on the couch, hesitating before placing his head in Castiel’s lap. Cas grabs the blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over Dean’s frame. 

Cas settles his hand on Dean’s side, and the weight, no matter how light, of his hand on Dean’s body is a comfort Dean doesn't want to push away. His eyes close, and in the twilight zone between sleep and wakefulness he swears he can feel the weight of feathers down his side. 

Castiel no longer pays full attention to the movie, glancing down to watch Dean sleep. His lips, soft and full, are spread open just a little as he breathes in deep. Long lashes caress the freckles of his cheeks, and Castiel thinks he’s fallen in love all over again. 

After a while Dean shifts in his sleep, turning himself on his other side and nuzzles into Castiel’s hip. “Cas…” he mumbles, and Castiel has to keep his grace from bursting the lights in the room.

“I’m here, Dean,” Castiel murmurs back and Dean relaxes again. 

Cas knows when Dean wakes, he can feel it in his grace, but Dean doesn’t move. He wants to stay inside the cocoon of Castiel’s wings as long as he can and crawl into the warmth of his grace. 

“I love you,” he whispers after a while, half hoping Cas didn’t hear and half hoping he did. He knows Cas heard him as his hand settles into his hair. 

“I love you too, Dean.” 

#Destiel #cavern drabble #cavern fic #fluff #fluff fluff fluff #I love them so much #dean winchester #castiel #dean winchester loves castiel #castiel loves dean winchester #spn #supernatural #deancas #destiel drabble #spn fic #deancas fic #deancas ficlet

[blue-eyed-cutiepatootie]

Love is the Point of it All

Wc 1420, mostly sappy, partly angsty, established destiel 

Read on ao3 or below

For the prompt “If you don’t stop singing, I will walk straight out into the blizzard” submitted by @pinkislouder <3

The warm air stirred by the ceiling fans on their screened in porch combined with Dean’s rough, rumbling singing lulled Cas in and out of a doze. Yesterday Dean had revised their outdoor to-do list but the heat advisory issued this morning stopped him in his tracks. After listening to Dean lament about all the chores they really needed to work on that would be too risky to do under a heat advisory, Cas took the breakfast dishes out of Dean’s hands. He placed them in the sink, ran some water over them, ignored Dean’s insistence to actually wash them right then, and pulled Dean into a firm kiss.

“Dean, this is actually a blessing. We’ve worked hard all week. Let’s just rest today.” Another peck. “Enjoy each other’s company.”

So they’d made iced tea, stripped down to their boxers, and retired to the porch. After reading for a few hours Cas was pleasantly drowsy. His book hitting the floor and his head falling down to his chest woke him with a start. Dean reached over and squeezed his hand.

“Want me to stop singing? You look like you’re about to conk out.” Dean had started out reading too, but had switched at some point to practicing on his guitar.

“Dean, if you stop singing, I will walk straight out into this heat advisory.” Cas rumbled, his voice thick with sleep. Dean chuckled warmly. “Well, we can’t have that.” Dean resumed singing softly and Cas drifted off with a smile on his face.

“Dean, if you don’t stop singing, I will walk straight out into this blizzard!” Cas raised his voice in frustration as he got up from the couch, blankets falling to the floor. Crossing the room to the kitchen he thought about all the places Dean dragged him to today before the blizzard finally hit. 

Dean had roused him from bed too early and insisted they enjoy the small tourist town while they could. Their outing included many things that Cas would have typically enjoyed, but today he had really just wanted to curl up on the couch with a book…and Dean. But when they returned Dean immediately started working on dinner, and instead of letting Cas help to improve his cooking skills like he normally would, Dean had waved him away. Of course, Cas was happy to finally sit down and read…only for Dean to start singing loudly to the radio. Normally, Cas loved Dean’s singing. Loved that it signaled he was happy. But today everything he normally enjoyed seemed to grate on his nerves. 

“You dragged me all over town today, and now that we’re home you won’t even let me enjoy my book!”

When he finally reached the kitchen, the sight greeting him stopped him in his tracks. The table was already set with plates, silverware, and several candles. Dean stood in front of the stove, eyes widening, smile falling. Shit. Cas needed to backtrack and quickly before Dean internalized his harsh words and blamed himself for Cas’ irritable mood. 

Dean swallowed, “Sorry. Dinner’s ready. Sorry I ruined your evening.” He gave the pasta one last stir and switched off the radio before moving to the table. He untied his apron, laid it over his chair, and pulled a small box out of his pocket. 

“Dean, wait,” Cas said softly, reaching out to touch Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry-” Dean shrugged him off, set the box on the table, and blew out the candles. Before Cas could say anything else Dean walked down the hall and their bedroom door closed softly. 

As the smoke from the candles drifted up towards the ceiling, Cas felt his irritation melt away, only to be replaced with dread. Of course they’d had arguments before. But this one felt different. It hadn’t even really been an argument. Cas couldn’t recall a time when Dean hadn’t risen to the occasion to have an argument. This time he’d just let Cas’ angry words settle and seep into him. Well, that simply wouldn’t do. 

Cas filled both plates with the pasta dish that Cas could now see was the first dish Dean had ever taught Cas how to make. He pulled the bottle of sparkling juice Dean had bought earlier today out of the fridge and set it on the table. He hung Dean’s apron up on the hook by the stove. Pausing by the table he picked up the box and opened it. 

Cas closed his eyes and cursed. Tucking the box in his own pocket, he softly made his way to the bedroom. The door creaked open to Dean seated on the floor, his back resting against the bed, his head in his hands. 

“Dinner’s getting cold,” Cas called softly from the doorway.

No response.

Cas crossed the room and knelt on the rug in front of Dean. He took a deep breath.

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Cas whispered.

He let his apology hang in the air, knowing if he pushed it would be worse.

Several minutes went by before Dean sniffled, sucked in a shaky breath, and lifted his head. His eyes were red, tear tracks streaking his face, and he wouldn't meet Cas’ gaze.

 “Cas I messed his whole thing up. Today was supposed to be about you. I had planned all these things you like. I mean, I know you, I know you like them. But I didn’t even think- I didn’t even notice that you weren’t enjoying them today. I mean I knew you wanted to read when we got home but I was so nervous and excited that I messed that up too. I was going to ask you to marry me but how can I even do that when I can’t see you’re unhappy.” Dean wrapped his arms tighter around his knees.

“I’m not unhappy-” Cas started, but Dean interrupted with a scoff. “Okay, I was irritable today but that doesn’t mean I’m unhappy. And especially not that I’m unhappy with you. With us.”

Dean finally looked Cas in the eye. “But I messed up.”

“You were nervous.”

“I was really nervous.”

“Then here, let me.” Cas pulled the box out of his pocket and reached for Dean’s hands. Dean’s eyes widened and he pulled away, slightly shaking his head. Cas gently took his hands and pulled them towards himself. 

“Dean, my heart, will you marry me?”

Dean closed his eyes again. “Cas how can we-”

“Sweetheart. Today was one day. I also didn’t let you know clearly that I wasn’t enjoying myself. I let it build until I snapped at you. Neither of us are perfect. I love you so much and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. We’ll continue to make mistakes but we’ll work through them together.” Cas paused and Dean nodded.

“Because we love each other. Love is the point of it all and I choose to love you every day.”

Fresh tears fell down Dean’s face and Cas pulled him into a hug. Muffled into Cas’ sweater, Dean said “I love you so much, too, Cas.”

Rubbing Dean’s back in soothing strokes, Cas asked, “So is that a yes or a no?”

Dean pulled back, wiped his tears with his sleeve, and snatched the box from Cas. He opened it and slid the ring onto Cas’ finger. 

“That’s a yes,” Dean whispered against Cas’ lips. 

Their dinner went cold…

Cas’ eyes fluttered open. Warm air continued to be stirred by the ceiling fans but instead of Dean singing, Cas was serenaded with the sounds of birds and insects and water lapping against the sand and wind rustling the grass. Sweat beaded on his forehead and chest, probably what roused him. The screen door to the house creaked open and he heard Dean try to close it as quietly as he could.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Dean smiled, handing Cas a glass of water and a homemade strawberry banana popsicle. “Here, hydrate. How was your nap?” Dean asked as he sunk into the chair beside Cas with his own popsicle. Cas reached out and entwined his fingers with Dean’s.

“I dreamed we were happy and in love.” 

“Then it was a good dream,” Dean said with a grin. Cas pulled Dean closer and pressed a sticky strawberry banana kiss to his lips.

“It's more than a dream,” Cas said, and kissed Dean again. “I love you.”

Dean’s grin widened. “I love you too, sweetheart.” 

#liv wrote a thing #destiel ficlet #deancas ficlet #this ficlet refused to let me take a nap i hope you enjoy it <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

[hornystiel]

lies + touch

“It won’t work, stop.” Dean doesn’t even look up, too focused on the maps and reports of the last croats/demons combo special attack. 

“Your majesty…(Dean’s eye twitches) I’m not doing anything.” Yet hangs heavily in the air. Castiel is circling closer to the end of the table, where Dean is holed up, frowning. 

“You’re trying to provoke me and that won’t work. Don't you have some orgy to attend to?” Dean finally lifts his gaze and sees how loosely the shirt is hanging on Castiel, exposing the bite mark on his shoulder. He knows this one too well. He averts his eyes, the numbers jumping on the crumpled paper. 

“Oh no, today I have a private call,” Cas whispers in Dean’s ear, suddenly very close and here. 

A moment later they’re making an absolute mess on the table, Dean leaving even more trails behind, convincing himself that it doesn’t mean anything and failing like every time before. 

#dreamydrabble #destiel #destiel fic #destiel ficlet #deancas fic #deancas ficlet #spn fic #endverse #crawling up here from the mental hole i'm currently in to drop this bye #hashtag writing

[angelsdean]

The first summer post-Chuck, bursts like a ripe tangerine--bright and sweet. Everything feels brand new. The sun beats down white-hot and swelter, turning Dean pink and dotting him with new freckles despite the frankly horrific amounts of sunscreen Cas diligently rubbed into his skin with his large, skillful hands, kneading Dean’s flesh like dough, unmaking and remaking him with every touch.

They spend a lot of time outdoors now. Cas is still hungry for light after months spent in the pit of the Empty. Months that felt like an eternity, asleep at the ever expanding edge of the universe. And years of living underground didn't do Dean any favors either. They're both a little wilted, starved for sunlight, but they're making up for lost time now, growing upwards, turning their faces to each other, their own private suns.

"C'mon, sweetheart, you got flowers to water and I've got a deck to build," Dean says, leaning over the back of Cas's chair where the angel sits at their kitchen table. He kisses him, upside-down, and stays there for a moment, just grinning against Cas’s lips.

"Put the hat on, please?" Cas murmurs. It's an old argument. A bit, really. And Dean rolls his eyes, huffing, before snagging the floppy sunhat off the table.

"Fine," he groans, dragging it out. "For you, darlin'." They kiss again, little pecks, Dean still upside-down. One, two, three. Then out they go, hand in hand, matching sunhats and all, into the bright summer morning.

for @deancaskiss​‘s DRABBLE DAY 1 PROMPT: SUMMER 

#myfics #myficlets #dreamydrabble #deancas ficlet #destiel ficlet

[stillwinchester]

They're getting ready for bed, when Dean stops next to the drawer. He pulls a little box from it.

“I have something for you,” he says to Cas.

“What's that?”

Dean sits on the bed next to Cas, and opens the box. There's a simple silver ring.

“It belonged to my mom. I'd like you to have it. I'm not sure if it's big enough, but...”

“Why don't we get it a try?” asks Cas, interrupting, and Dean nods. He grabs Cas' hand on his own, and he's sure as hell the ring is too small, but somehow it fits perfectly on Cas' finger.

“How...?” he asks surprised.

“I might have helped it a little bit,” chuckles Cas, and Dean rolls his eyes. Of course, his angel boyfriend is using his mojo.

Dean's brushing Cas' knuckles, too much afraid to look him in the eyes.

“Dean, is that engagement ring?”

“Umm... I...”

“Sorry, I didn't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, it's not that! I just...” Dean, finally, has the courage to look at him, “I thought about it more as a wedding ring.”

A small smile appears on Cas' face.

"Yes, I do," he whispers, before leans for a kiss.

#destiel #deancas #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #ficlet #fic #destiel fic #destiel fluff #deancas ficlet #spn fic #my writing #mine

[naughtystiel]

a little something I wrote for @macy2me 's birthday! <3

The watch on Dean’s wrist told him that his date was already fifteen minutes late. God, it had taken him so long to actually grow a pair and finally ask the guy out. But now, as he leaned on the hood of his Chevy, he wondered if maybe he got stood up. It couldn’t be, could it? He was good looking and his self esteem was pretty high, but in that moment he started to doubt himself big time. Perhaps, because for once he actually cared, he really really wanted to go on a date with the man who apparently didn’t give a fuck about being late.

Of course, he could walk up to the door and knock like a normal person would do, but no. His stubborn ass stayed on the freshly polished surface of the car. When he looked up, dark clouds started rolling over the horizon like fog on the water. Soon he would have to get back in the car so he wouldn't get soaked, but he just wanted to greet his date first without having to awkwardly climb out of his Baby.

Just as he was seriously contemplating walking up the stairs and pounding his fist on the door, begging not to be ditched, somebody appeared in front of him. His breath hitched when the man trapped him between the V of his legs, basically pinning his ass against the car.

“Hello, Dean.” that whisky soaked voice called, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. Fuck, he looked good. The leather jacket was probably quite warm for the summer’s evening, but it did wonders to his shoulders. Combined with thick stubble and curls that kept being tousled by the breeze, the combo made Dean’s knees weak.

“You’re late, Cas.” He managed to breathe out, not sure what to do with his hands that just itched to launch themselves on the guy’s body.

“Sorry about that.” A small smile appeared on his face and he reached inside his jacket to pull something out, “I was getting those for you.”

When Dean glanced at what Cas was holding, it was a tiny bouquet made out of wildflowers, mainly poppies and cornflowers that were the same shade of blue like his eyes. Well, he definitely didn’t expect that. In fact, he had never gotten any flowers from anybody. Any kind of annoyance or self doubt he had felt a minute ago vanished like morning frost.

Carefully, Cas put the flowers in Dean’s front pocket and for a second it felt as if they were about to go to prom together. Then, Cas’ hands rested on his chest and smoothed down the moss green plaid he was wearing. His fingers might have brushed his nipples a bit and Dean tried his best not to squirm. How was he supposed to survive the date if technically it hadn’t even properly started yet?

But no, Cas wasn’t finished. He pulled out a flower that was stuck behind his own ear and started tracing Dean’s cheek with it. The petals vere delicate and almost tickled his skin, but combined with Cas’ heavy gaze? Christ, he swallowed hard and his lips parted, ready to say something, anything, but for once his usually cocky self was suddenly lost for words.

Apparently satisfied with his doing, Cas put the flower behind Dean’s ear before his hand slid down to his neck. “Gorgeous.” He stated like it was a well known fact and Dean could feel his cheeks heat up from the compliment. There was something so mesmerising about how confidently Cas moved and Dean wanted to be molded with those skilled fingers until he was just a daft, sedated puddle.

Something wet and heavy made an impact with the car’s hood and they both looked down to see the first drop. Then, another. There were a few seconds gaps in between them until they picked up and suddenly it started to pour down. Dean’s first instinct was to jump into the car, but when he tried to move, Cas’ strong thighs kept him in place. When he gave Cas a puzzled look, the man only grinned that almost childlike smile before pulling Dean in for a kiss.

For a split second his whole body tensed up, but then he relaxed, deciding that he should just go with it. Soaked clothes be damned, he didn’t care. The contrast between the cold wet drops that were running down their noses and Cas’ soft warm lips as they kissed was more thrilling than he could have anticipated. As it got more heated, he could feel Cas’ growing erection rubbing against his own. Fuck, how was he supposed to last longer than a few minutes when Cas was kissing him like a starving man?

Finally, he remembered that his hands were still uselessly resting on the car, so instead he gripped Cas’ hips and pulled him even closer, the friction bringing them both a wave of pleasure judging by the guy’s low moan. Cas’ hands were suddenly underneath Dean’s plaid that was clinging to his body like an octopus, but Cas fought hard, wrestling with the cloth until his cold fingers made contact with Dean’s nipples that were as hard as his cock.

It was almost embarrassing when he whimpered after Cas trapped his bottom lip between his teeth. Regretfully, he had to pull away to catch his breath. They were panting heavily, their foreheads rested against each other.

Suddenly, there was a huge blinding flash that made Cas’ eyes look like electricity got trapped in them. A low rumble followed shortly after, almost making their bodies tremble.

“Fuck, a thunderstorm?” Dean said loudly, but it still sounded like a bare whisper compared to the force of rain hitting everything around them.

Cas looked up, exposing his neck, drops were running down the tanned skin like a waterfall. It took all Dean’s willpower not to launch himself and stick to it like a leech. As if the man could read his mind, he licked his lips and gave him such a lustful look that made Dean’s cock ache with want.

“I had fun, but I think it’s time we take this inside.” He said, pulling Dean towards the door. When they got inside, they shook their bodies like dogs that tried to dry themselves off. God, it was so ridiculous he couldn’t help but laugh. Cas joined him and together they tried to wrestle out of their soaked clothes. Before Cas dragged him into a bath filled with hot water and bubbles, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The single cornflower was still somehow stuck behind his ear and maybe it was all the giddiness and endorphins, but yeah. In that moment, he felt gorgeous.

#destiel #destiel ficlet #destiel fic #deancas #deancas ficlet #deancas fic #dean winchester #castiel #spn #spn fic #spn ficlet #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural ficlet #vin.txt #vince writes #vmart #drabble.txt

[hauntedpearl]

but, dear, cling close to me

2k, Gen, Fluff

The first time they have a fight, it is over something silly. Dean storms out on him, his heavy footsteps echoing in the empty house. Castiel stares after him, his heart in his throat, and doesn't ask him to stop. To stay. He doesn't think Dean will come back, either.

It startles him, then, when he hears the roar of the Impala just as the sun sets the horizon on fire. The creak of the driver's door opening, the slam of it falling shut. Footsteps coming up the porch stairs. He hastens into the living room just in time to see Dean lock the door behind him. Castiel watches him, panting, as he toes his boots off, drops his keys in the yellow bowl with the crooked rim that Cas made them.

His face is hard, still. Jaw set, eyes flinty. He doesn't meet Castiel's gaze, makes for the kitchen on steady feet, shoulders curving away as he passes him.

But he's here. He's here.

"You came back," Cas says. His voice is filled with surprise.

Dean turns to him, then. Almost rears back. His eyes dim and his jaw slackens. He looks — hurt.

"And where else would I go, huh?"

Dean's arms lift in a mockery of a shrug. He would sound caustic, if not for the faint tremble in his voice that Castiel notes. He doesn't know what to do with it.

The Bunker, he wants to reply. Home. But that wouldn't be true. The Bunker isn't home for either of them. Hasn't been for a while, now. It is just windowless walls of metal and concrete, underground. It is what it was once meant to be and nothing more.

Shelter, not home.

No, for better or for worse, this is home now. This kitchen with the cracked windowpane that needs fixing, still. The living room, cluttered, with its faded couch and thrifted pillows, Cas' pottery and Dean's books. The garden out back, whose soil is staining Cas' fingertips.

"I don't know," Cas says, and he knows it's the wrong thing to say just as he does. He wants to take it back, but he can't.

He doesn't know how to talk to Dean. Not anymore.

Maybe he never did.

Dean heaves a breath, eyes trained on Castiel, and Cas thinks he feels so impossibly far away.

There is too much crowding the air between them. Too many things unsaid, too many wants unsatisfied. Too many prayers unanswered. Castiel wants to reach Dean through all this, split the fog with his hands. But he doesn't know how.

There is something unnamed brightening Dean's eyes as they flit over Cas' face, the breadth of his chest. His damp, bare feet.

Then, he huffs. Turns away. Says nothing.

The silence echoes. The world darkens. The sky turns the shade of a bruise.

Castiel heads upstairs to wash the scent of the earth off his fingertips.

~

That night, Cas lies in bed on his side, back to the door. He listens for a croak. A chirp. A buzz. Something.

But the night is too cold. Too quiet.

He counts his breaths as they pass his lips, watches the seconds hand of the old-fashioned clock on his bedside table as it moves.

He isn't as startled as he thought he would be when the door to his room opens. When Dean pads in, and the mattress dips as he settles at the foot of the bed. He can almost feel the scratch of Dean's fingernails on the sheets.

Dean says nothing, just sits there. Watches him sleep. Breathes in this space that he doesn't often breach. Castiel keeps his eyes closed and breathes with him.

It is easier, with Dean here.

His thoughts are syrupy with sleep, and not for the first time, he wonders if he should leave. Go back to the bunker until he finds a place he can carve for himself in this world. (It would be easier, this time, in some ways. Harder in others.) He wonders if Dean keeps him here, chains himself to Castiel, out of a misplaced sense of obligation. Of pity.

Castiel doesn't want Dean's pity.

He just wants Dean.

Even if it is as he is now — angry and cold and quiet.

But he doesn't know what Dean wants. Dean doesn't tell him. And selfishly, Castiel waits, not willing to push him farther away.

Castiel waits, the weight of hope heavy in his chest.

~

He wakes to the soft caress of sunlight.

He blinks his eyes open. The sky in his window is lightening, the purples and pinks dissolving into nothing.

It is early — for him, at any rate — but there is a smile fighting his yawn, curving his lips upwards. He pushes himself up on an elbow, rolls his neck.

Finds that he is surprisingly well-rested.

He turns over and sees the top of Dean's head peaking over his mattress, the tips of his hair turning rose-gold in the sunlight.

Cas leans towards him and sees that he's slumped on the floor, leaning against the bed. The morning light falls over his face in strips, paints half of it golden. His freckles stand out in the light, a galaxy of them scattered across his skin. His eyelashes feather over the curve of his cheek.

He is beautiful here, asleep and uncaring. So very beautiful.

And Castiel loves him. He loves him so much that he aches with it.

He swallows, throat dry. Ignores the rapid thudding of his heart. Stretches his fingers towards Dean, watching as they hover over the lines carved into his temples, the corners of his eyes.

He is so tempted to touch them, to learn their shape.

Instead, he sets his palm on the ball on Dean's shoulder. His curled pinkie sits under the edge of the collar of his t-shirt.

"Dean?" he says, softening his sandpaper voice. Shakes him a little.

Dean flinches, then groans at the twinge in his back, and Castiel winces in sympathy.

The bones in their bodies are tired. Cas has learned that much, if nothing else.

Dean blinks himself awake, rubs the grit out of his eyes with his fingers. Smacks his lips together. And all the while, Castiel leaves his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Morning, sunshine," Dean says, even now. Even when he's angry, and there are bags under his eyes, and tension in the skin of his temples. Even when he fidgets where he sits on the floor, not looking at Cas.

"Good morning, Dean," is his reply, like always. He squeezes Dean's shoulder before letting go. Sits up. Curls his fists in his lap. He feels soft, in the morning, like this. Soft, and small, and so very sad.

What are you doing here? he wants to ask. Why did you sleep on my floor?

Instead, he watches, quiet, as Dean stretches and groans. Then lifts himself onto the bed. Settles into the same dip in the mattress as the night before.

They sit across from each other, not quite looking at each other, and Cas feels his skin crawl. His eyes are starting to sting. He tilts his face up to the ceiling and blinks to keep them dry.

"Fuck," Dean swears, and Cas closes his eyes. "Fuck, this is stupid. I'm so fucking stupid."

Castiel's only warning is the rustle of the sheets before Dean's body slams into his, arms wrapping around his shoulders in a vice like grip. It is only instinct that keeps them upright, Cas' broad frame managing to brace them somehow. His arms wind themselves around Dean's waist.

"I'm sorry," Dean says into his shoulder, tightening his grip. Their hearts race against one another under their thin, cotton shirts. "I'm sorry I was being an ass. I'm sorry I left. And—"

Here, he gulps, and the air around them tenses like it's waiting for more. But then, Dean just sighs. Buries his face in Castiel's shoulder.

"Just — Okay. Yeah. I— Yeah."

He's nodding against Cas' shoulder. And somehow, that — that's enough. That Dean is holding him. That he says Okay like he's bracing himself and like he's said what he wants to, all at once.

Cas holds him back. Thinks he's starting to see past the fog, in the clear light of this morning. Thinks he's beginning to understand.

It settles something in his chest, this revelation. Loosens the pressure around it.

"I hate fighting with you," he mumbles as he closes his eyes and presses his face into the crook of Dean's neck. Breathes.

He is allowed this, for now.

"Me, too, Cas," Dean says, a palm coming up to cradle the back of Cas' head. "Me, too."

~

They eat their breakfast on the deck out back, sitting on the stairs next to each other, their knees knocking together, plates in their laps — French toast and scrambled eggs, Cas' share of it drenched in honey.

The morning feels quieter. Calmer. Nicer.

Or, maybe, it's just Castiel. He doesn't know. Doesn't think he particularly cares, either.

He is beginning to learn their language, his and Dean's, dissonances and all. And it's setting the hope in his chest alight. He is almost buoyant with it.

Then, Dean sets his half-finished breakfast aside. Dangles his elbows from his knees, presses the palms of his hands together, bows his head. Supplicant, almost. Like he's praying.

Cas watches him, his pulse jack-rabbitting. Sets his own plate aside and turns, when he notes the slight tension in Dean's shoulders. He wants to quell the rising tide in his chest but he can't. He can't.

"What is it?" he makes himself ask when Dean is silent for too long. He's surprised his voice is as steady as it is.

"I...," Dean swallows. He tilts his gaze up to Cas'. His eyes are summer-green and gold and Castiel can't look away.

"I won't leave you. Ever. I'm always going to come back, Cas," he says, and it is a promise. It is a promise and it sets the fire in Cas' chest roaring. "Even if I'm pissed off as hell, even if I say stupid shit that pisses you off enough to kick me out....I—I'll still come back here. As long as you'll let me, I'll stay. I'm not going anywhere."

Castiel swallows. Searches Dean's face for something. Something, something.

Something.

When he asks, "Why?" his voice buzzes, thick and sweet.

Dean looks at him with an exasperated fondness that is familiar. He shakes his head, gaze lifting to the sky a moment before it lands back on Cas. Almost as if to say, Why do you think?

But, Castiel waits him out. He wants Dean to tell him. He wants to know, wants to be sure.

The smile slips off Dean's face, but it is replaced by an expression that is softer. More tentative. Almost shy.

Castiel feels a little like he's flying, a little like he's falling.

"Because," Dean gulps, licks his lips. "Because this? Us," — a palm moving in between their bodies, folding the whole world into the space there—, "This is it. This is home."

Oh, Cas thinks. Oh, Oh, Oh.

Then — "Alright," a gasp, a blink. Fireworks in his chest, his throat. "You can stay."

"Yeah?" Dean says, and he's grinning, eyes bright and joyful, and Castiel wants to say, Idiot. Goddamn Idiot! "Good."

Emboldened, Castiel leans forward. Rests his forehead against Dean's collarbone. Dean stills, for a moment, but then he lets him. He lets him.

When Cas slides his palm into Dean's and slots their fingers together, Dean holds fast, curling his hand into Cas' touch.

Castiel brings his free hand up to Dean's neck, holds him close. Breathes him in.

"I love you," he says, because he can't hold it in. Because his chest feels so full. Because he wants to say it again. To let Dean know. "I always will."

Dean sighs, then. Shifts so he can hold Cas better. Closer.

There's a dry press of lips to the warm skin of Castiel's temple.

"I know, sweetheart," Dean says, and there, in those words, in the softness of them where they touch Cas' skin, is everything. "I know."

#destiel fic #fanfic #deancas ficlet #doe's writing #spn fic #okay see if this is stupid don't at me #i spent like too much time on this but atleast it was fun? #i'm sorry i write the same thing in fifty different ways i just think it's neat when they do love confessions for the first time #uhhhh oh yeah lmk if you want me to add you to the tag list. like in the rb/notes #OKAY BYE

[dcforts]

[some other time]

Why didn’t he say it some other time?

The question won't leave Dean alone. It descends on him like a suffocating fog, then it takes a shape and sits by his bed every night, follows him down the hallways of the bunker and finds him in all the corners where he tries to hide.

Why didn’t he say it some other time?

It shouts at him under the spray of the shower.

He wipes the condensation from the mirror and wonders, Why didn’t he say it that time on that hunt? Fighting and running and catching their breaths. They had come so close to death and now they were covered in blood, smeared in mud, their chest heaving, but safe. Cas had pulled him up from where he was lying on the ground, his warm hand and searching eyes, always making sure he was alright.

"I’m fine, Cas," Dean had said, laughing a little, "Let’s get out of here."

It had been a good night, a fun hunt. He could have said it then, as they walked back towards the Impala, just the moon to tell them where to step. Dean with his arm around his shoulders, teasing him about the way he’d swung the machete. He'd said he wished his job was always like that and he’d seen Cas smile, even in the dark.

He could have said it then.

Why didn’t he say it then?

It demands his attention when he stops at a red light.

Dean taps his fingers on the steering wheel waiting for the green and wonders, Why didn’t he say it that time in that diner? Five in the morning, grey skies beyond the windows, a few sporadic cars in the distance and a lazy dripping sound coming from the coffee machine. No one else.

Sam had been in the restroom for three, four minutes. He could have said it then.

They were sitting across from one another, and they stayed in silence, listening to the old song coming from the old radio. They stayed in silence in the coming of a new day. Cas had kept his hands on his side of the table, his legs tucked under his seat as the shadows had changed and disappeared over his features.

The world had been still and quiet. It was just them.

Why didn’t he say it then?

It whispers to him while he’s having breakfast.

He rakes his scrambled eggs with his fork and he thinks, Why didn’t he said it that time Dean had caught him climbing the iron stairs?

“Going somewhere?”

Meeting his eyes all the way from the landing, Cas had been reassuring, “Just out for a walk. I’ll be back soon.”

“’Kay”, Dean had said and added, like a fool, “Making burgers tonight.”

Cas hadn’t pointed out the information was hardly relevant to someone who didn’t eat, but he’d said, “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Stayed by the railing a little longer before turning his back, just to watch Dean nod and fumble for words that he didn’t have.

He could have said it then.

Why didn’t he say it then?

Why hadn’t it happened on the countless rides, the movie nights? Why not in a graveyard, lighted by a burning corpse? Why not in Purgatory, why not over the phone?

He could have said it in the middle of a fight, after a laugh, above the music of Dean's usual tapes. As he held his gaze, as he healed his wounds, instead of goodnight on his bedroom door.

So many moments, the perfect moment. It seems so clear now.

He could have said it anywhere but there, anytime but then.

Everything would have been different.

Why didn’t he say it then?, Dean thinks.

Dean thinks, Why didn’t I say it then?

#deancas #deancas ficlet #destiel #destiel ficlet #angst #15x18 coda #post 15x18 #<1k #hey sorry hello im back #spncreatorsdaily #destiel fic