He’d love to feel her soft thighs against his cheeks he’d love to feel the warmth and wetness on his lips and face. He’d love the taste of you always moaning into you as he eats you “taste s’ good angel” and he’d slide his long fingers inside you, pushing up against your spongey walls asking “is tha’ the spot baby? Hm? Right here yeah?” And he’d take your clit into his mouth sucking hard. He’d beg for you to come in his mouth “cum fo’ meh angel, ‘mon” and you would shaking and tightening your fingers in his hair, he’d love the slight burning pain he’d get from it. He’d love to hear you moan his name because it sounds oh so pretty rolling off your tongue. When he’s finally finished he’d give your sensitive clit a kiss, pulling his fingers out and licking them clean. Resting his head on your belly before saying “think yeh can give meh one mo’?”
Environmental Communications describes their project as “[looking] at Los Angeles Architecture with a big ‘A’ which for us included the environment around the architecture…We almost created a new kind of environmental photography which was quite inclusive, showing the context of things. That was what we were all about. We examined the images with combined-eyes, both academic and artistic seeing everything in context. This became the basis for our integrated approach to understanding the “integrated” environment.”
Founded in the summer of 1969, EC was a multi-disciplinary media collective developed by a group of architects, photographers, academics, and psychologists in Southern California. Through film, booklets, exhibition design, and most notably, 35mm slides, EC was able to create and maintain a historical archive of a newly postmodern Los Angeles that continues to endure today.
You smiled as the angel approached you, sliding into the booth across from you. “Hello, Castiel.”
“I’ve missed you.”
Your heart couldn’t help but flutter. The angel was one of the cutest specimens you’d ever met and the way he moved through life… it was kind of like that scene in Bambi when he tries to cross the frozen pond. Awkward and adorable and it made you want to wrap him up in your arms and protect him. “I’ve missed you, too.”
Castiel smiled at you. Reaching across the table, he rested his hands on yours. “I am unsure why you request to meet at restaurants, though. Neither of us requires nourishment.”
“Well, neither of us require romance, but we like to indulge in it together, don’t we?”
At that moment, the angel’s phone rang. Leaving one hand resting on yours, he reached into his coat and pulled out the device. “Hello?” He was quiet for a moment. “Dean now is not… what do you mean, at the restaurant?”
At that moment, you noticed two large men in suits coming towards you. One was holding a cellphone to his ear.
“This restaurant,” the man said, taking the phone away from his ear and hanging up.
Cas had withdrawn his hand from yours, putting his own phone in his pocket. “Dean. Sam. What are you doing here?”
“Look, we gotta talk about this latest hunt you sent us on,” Dean said. He slid into the booth next to Cas, leaving Sam standing awkwardly. You gave him a nod, allowing him to scoot in next to you.
“What’s wrong?” Cas asked.
“Turns out the town’s already taken care of their were-problem. So what’s with the wild goose chase?”
‘Because I was hoping to have a few days without having to deal with you.’
You snorted slightly at Cas’ internal reasoning. You gave him a small smile.
At that moment, the waitress appeared. “I see our party’s grown. What can I get you?”
“Burger and fries,” Dean said. “Thanks.”
Sam and Cas ordered water while you indulged in a stack of pancakes. Once the waitress disappeared into the kitchen, Dean turned his gaze to you. “Who’s this?”
“This… is Y/N.”
You laughed slightly. “I’m–”
All eyes turned to Cas, whose own eyes were slightly squinted, questioning if he’d made the right decision.
“Holy crap,” Dean said slowly. “Never thought I’d see the day when Wings here would have himself a lady friend.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Sam said, holding a hand out to you.
“Same,” you said, shaking his hand. His grip tightened ever so slightly, causing you to look up. You gave him a small smile as you slipped your hand out of his.
“So how long as this been happening?” Dean asked.
“We’ve been seeing each other for about five months,” Cas said. (You were touched that he’d remembered.)
“Five months? And we’re just now hearing about it? What the hell, man?”
“Y/N prefers our relationship to be… private.”
“Well, well,” Dean said, shooting you a wink. “What sort of things do you two do that requires privacy?”
“You do realize that defeats the definition of ‘privacy’, right?” you asked.
“Well, this was certainly… an evening,” you said as the four of you walked out of the diner. “I can’t say it was the most enjoyable, but hey, it wasn’t the least.”
“Aim for the middle-ground, that’s what I always say,” Dean said.
“At least you know where you belong.” You turned to Castiel. “I’m going to head back. Feel free to come over when you get done with these two.”
Cas nodded, giving your hand a small squeeze. The Winchesters watched as you disappeared.
“It’s nice that you found a girl, Cas,” Dean said. “Really. And she’s an angel, so she gets your whole lifestyle.”
“She’s not an angel,” Sam said.
“What do you mean?”
Sam turned. “Cas, you… you do know she’s a demon, right?”
“She’s a what?!”
“It’s not that big of a deal,” Cas said.
“The hell it isn’t!” Dean turned to the angel. “So, what, you’re trying to get some info out of her? Playing a long game, keeping her under your wing until you get what you need?”
“No, Dean. She and I are in a legitimate relationship.”
“But she’s a demon!”
“And I love her!”
The Winchesters stared at Cas, unsure what they’d heard. “You…”
“Yes, Sam. I love her. I know she’s a demon and I know that I’m an angel, but that doesn’t mean anything. You know some of my brothers fall far from the ‘angelic’ nature you would expect. If there can be less-than-good angels, why can’t there be good demons?”
“No, Dean. Don’t try to explain anything to me. Y/N and I are good together and I have absolutely no intention of leaving her.”
“And I especially don’t want to hear anything from you, Sam.”
Takes place after the events of 12x12 “Stuck in the Middle With You”.
Castiel has been in love with Dean ever since he first laid a hand on him in Hell all those years ago. But finally, painfully, he realises Dean will never return his feelings and forces himself to move on. Dean misses the presence and attention of his angel, and comes to some realisations of his own.
Castiel has known it all along, if he’s honest and admits it to himself. That Dean doesn’t harbour the same feelings for him that he does for the hunter. He still isn’t exactly proficient in the complexities of human communication, but this time he had been as plain as he was able to be, and still Dean had failed to respond to him. If telling his friend that he loved him in what they all thought were his last moments didn’t make Dean confess it back, then nothing ever would. For a fleeting moment, Castiel had tried to convince himself that it was because Sam and Mary were there, but that line of thought trailed off as he realised that if Dean was unable to admit his feelings in front of his family then it was unlikely they were particularly strong anyway.
Dean’s love for him is a platonic one, the kind you have for your brother or a parent. It isn’t the romantic, all-consuming love that Castiel suffered from and now the angel has his proof. He has spent years hoping, wondering, even sometimes convincing himself that he saw something reflected in Dean’s glittering green eyes, but now he has his answer - and as painful as it is, at least it’s something tangible.
Something final that he can cling onto, suffer through, and move past. But god, the suffering Cas is feeling now is staggering, incomparable; he feels like his heart is being torn from his chest, like his soul - if he had one - is shattering one piece at a time. He loves Dean more than he can admit, even to himself, and how he’s going to be able to be around him after that rejected confession is something Cas hasn’t got an answer for just yet.
And why the hell would Dean love the fallen angel? What is there to love about Castiel? He has lied to Dean, betrayed him, done unspeakable things in the name of God and heaven…Dean probably sees him now as damaged, jaded, something to take pity on. Wait…Is that why Dean keeps him around? He pities him?
That thought brings a fresh wave of agony, and Castiel leans forward to vomit again into the toilet bowl, collapsing back against the cool tiles when his stomach just can’t expel any more. He’s still coughing up black slime, his skin is still raw and burning, and his insides feel like someone is going at them with sandpaper. He had been OK for a while, on the journey home. Had felt almost normal. He had excused himself the moment they had got back to the bunker, first to his own bedroom then the bathroom when he realised how ill he truly felt, and has now been locked in solitude, alternating between vomiting and trying not to hyperventilate, for over an hour. His skin is wet with sweat, his clothing soaked, and he can’t stop shaking. He remembers when he last felt remotely ill, when his stolen grace was fading inside him, but this is another level entirely. He’s violently sick again, and trades sitting back against the wall for lying down on the bathroom floor, his overheated cheek against the cool tiles, and tries to hold in a fresh wave of tears. If Dean saw him now…
He hears a door slam from deep in the bunker, raised voices, but can’t find the energy to even sit up let alone go and see what’s happening. Sam and Dean are probably arguing, and Mary is probably trying to placate them. Castiel is more than familiar with their family dynamics now; his family dynamics he supposes, after the events of today. He truly does see himself as a part of their family - the words ‘Castiel Winchester’ run through his mind and he huffs out an almost delirious giggle at the thought - but the worry dragging gently at him is that Dean only said what he did because Castiel was dying. He tries to reason with himself, pain, discomfort and distress clouding his logic, and only comes to conclusions that cause him further pain and upset. He should really think about this stuff later, when he’s feeling better, when he’s had a chance to talk to Dean…
Fuck. He has to talk to Dean. He doesn’t have to mention what he said, when he feverishly confessed his love, but he’ll have to talk to the hunter at some point, he can’t just ignore him for the rest of his life. He could leave, he supposes, sitting up suddenly to spit more black bile out into the toilet and collapsing again with his head spinning - but isn’t that a cowardly thing to do? To leave, to run away? He doesn’t fucking know, all he knows is that he’s hurting, in every way possible, and he want it to just stop. A knock at the door draws him back to reality just enough for him to turn his head and focus as the bathroom door swings open.
“Cas? You OK? Oh God, Cas!”
Sam’s expression immediately drops to one of intense concern, and he kneels down beside the fallen angel, sliding his hands under Castiel’s shoulders and helping him to sit up. Cas slumps back against Sam, the back of his head hitting the bone of Sam’s shoulder with an unpleasant crack, and he tries to catch his breath.
“‘M fine, Sam. Just…taking longer than I thought…to get back to normal…”
“Cas, are you sure?” Sam’s voice is laced with worry. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No…” Cas knew he should feel embarrassed, lying collapsed in Sam’s arms the way he currently is, but he can’t find it in him to care. “Just need to wait it out…”
“Let me get you some water,” Sam manoeuvres Cas until he’s leaning against the wall; the angel lets his eyes fall shut and listens to the sound of a tap running, then Sam is pressing a perspiring glass of water into his feverish hands. “Try and drink it slowly.”
Castiel complies, feeling a little better with each sip. He supposes he’s dehydrated from all the vomiting - another pesky human affliction he will never be able to get used to. He wants to ask Sam how Dean is, but at the same time doesn’t want to open the door to any potentially awkward discussions, not in his current state. However, in true Castiel style, his brain doesn’t always have control over his mouth.
“Dean?” Sam seems surprised, but then the narrowing of his eyes makes Cas think he knows exactly what the angel means. “Dean’s fine. He was really worried about you; we all were. Are. You look dreadful, man.”
“You try getting stabbed with the Lance of Michael and see how you feel,” Cas gripes, dragging himself into a better sitting position and trying to wipe sweat from his brow with his even sweatier palm. “In fact no, don’t. I wouldn’t wish this affliction on any of you.”
“Not even Dean?” Sam teases lightly, sitting down against the opposite wall to keep Cas company for a while. “I’m sure he’s deserves it once or twice.”
“No…” Cas’ voice grows soft with contemplation. He isn’t in any mood to joke. “Especially not Dean.”
To his horror, his eyes fill with tears and he can’t react fast enough to wipe them away, and they spill unchecked down his cheeks. He scrubs at them savagely, eyes burning with embarrassment now as well as pain, and hopes Sam won’t say anything. That, of course, doesn’t go his way either.
Sam is silent for a while, alternating between watching the angel and playing with nonexistent fluff on his jeans. His next words cement the truth that Castiel already knew; any tiny glimmer of hope he still held onto is completely and irrevocably destroyed.
“I’m so sorry, Cas. We all thought he felt the same, we really did. I’ve thought for years that the two of you…you know, would end up together. I thought-”
“Don’t, Sam.” Cas’ voice breaks and another flood of tears stream down his cheeks. He drops his head, chin almost on his chest, and gives in to the grief. “Please. Don’t. I can't…I just can’t.”
He doesn’t care any more if Sam is watching him, if he’s in the room, or what he thinks of him. He doesn’t have the energy to fight any more, and the sobs that have been threatening him since they returned to the bunker now burst out of him and he’s powerless to control them. The glass of water splinters on the ground beside him and he drops his head into his hands; the tears start and they won’t stop. The angel cries for what feels like forever, barely feeling Sam’s arm come around his shoulders, barely hearing the empty words of comfort whispered into his ear; everything he thought his future would eventually be had been smashed to pieces in front of him, and Sam has confirmed it all. Dean doesn’t love him; he never has.
Minutes tick towards hours, and Castiel just can’t stop crying.
You’re about to go against everything you believe, but it’s for your family.
Holding your violently shaking hand up you knock twice.
He opens immediately and you walk in.
“(Y/N) it is amazing to see you!” he exclaims and embraces you. You feel wrong in his arms but you return the hug. It’s time to be charming.
“It is well to see you too,” you force out and pull from the hug. Victor gestures for you to sit so you plop down in a leather chair before his large desk. Victor sits down at his desk and you clear your throat.
“I’ve come to negotiate,” you say.
“I’ve figured, there is so other reason you would come to see me. So (Y/N) what do you want, but more importantly what are you willing to give?” he inquires and you swallow the growing lump in your throat.
“Lift the dead or alive order on Jace, allow Clary and Jocelyn Fairchild to leave when they please, let Downworlders back in, let me stay here for as long as I wish, take weight in my guidance, and overall just don’t be a jerk,” you demand somehow keeping your voice clear.
“In return I will do as the Clave wishes.” Victor gives a cunning smirk that makes you stomach twist. “Oh and this deal with the Clave happens on my terms. I’ll do what they ask but they will have to have my permission for every action they take after.”
He slides an angel binding document across the desk, one he’s had prepared ever since the Clave discovered your powers.
“For my family,” you utter under your breath.
He hands you a pen and you sign.
Chris is going to be so angry.
“Thank you (Y/N) Branwell for your dedication to the Clave.”
Alec finds you exactly twelve hours later in his room crying.
You became especially close to Alec in your time at the Institute, he’s like a big brother to you.
“(Y/N) what’s wrong? Why are you crying? Aldertree lifted the dead or alive warrant on Jace! And he’s allowing Downworlders back in!” Alec exclaims happily.
“He also lifted the lockdown on Clary and Jocelyn and has decided he will listen to my guidance,” you add somberly and look up at Alec.
He understands what you did instantly.
Alec comes to sit next to you and you lean into him.
“Oh (Y/N) why?”
“I did it for you, for Jace, for Clary, for Izzy, for Magnus, and for Simon. Alec I did it for my family.”
Tears start running down your face as Alec wraps you in his arms.
“At least I’ll get to stay here with you,” you whisper. “I’ll be with my family.”
“And we’ll be here for you,” he promises.
In these next months you’ll need them.
Alec let you cry yourself to sleep and then he carried you to Chris.
Chris then sequestered you in your room.
When you wake up Chris is waiting. He’s cradling you and petting your hair.
“I know you’re probably angry,” you murmur.
“I am but not at you.”
“Chris you know what I did,” you state.
“What you did was the most selfless thing anyone could ever ask of you. Just tell me one thing (Y/N),” Chris utters.
“Ask away,” you say.
“Was it him?”
“Yes it was him and yes it will be his.”
“Chris don’t, please don’t blame yourself for not keeping a closer eye on me. I chose to do this. Chris I just need you to stay with me.”