dean!sleeping

I assume that whats *actually* going to happen is that we are going to see Dean grieving irreparably for 5 episodes, broken, inconsolable, empty, missing his everything, and then when Castiel reappears they will pat each other on the shoulders, fist bump, and say something like “Glad you’re back, bro,” and “me too, bro.”

But imagine what it *could* be:

–Castiel embraces Dean, like he always does, desperate, wrapping him up, hiding in his body.

–At first, Dean is just happy, just the same look he had when Castiel hugged him before he went to fight the Darkness.

–But Castiel doesn’t let go, and after a moment, Dean just… he *breaks*. The same way he did when he was wrapping Castiel’s body. His face breaks, and his body breaks, and he buries his head in Castiel’s neck.

–“Thought you were gone,” he says, so quietly. Castiel wouldn’t be able to hear him, if the sound wasn’t rumbling against his chest. “I thought…”

–“I will always come back to you, Dean. Always.”

–“But I thought…”

–“Always.” Like a growl. Castiel holds him tighter, more possessively.

–“Ok Cas. Ok.” But Dean still doesn’t let go.

–After that, Dean hovers around Castiel in the bunker. He doesn’t let Castiel out of his sight. He touches his elbow to help him up and down, when he sits in a chair or stands. He touches the small of his back when he goes in or out of a room. He sits on the arm or back of whatever chair Castiel sits on. Or on the floor, at his feet. He is always touching Cas, always. Some part of him, his hands, or his knees under the table, or his back against Castiel’s legs when he sits on the floor.

–All day, Dean is touching Cas. All day, Dean can’t stop watching him.

–Castiel understands. He lets him.

–Dean follows Castiel into his room, in the evening, when Castiel goes there.

–“But you don’t sleep,” Dean says, when they are inside and his hand is on Castiel’s waist and Castiel has closed the door behind them.

–Why has he never asked about this before? Almost a decade, and Castiel has never slept, and has never watched over him, after he asked him not to, and he never asked what Castiel does, in the night, before.

–Why has he never asked? Why? “What do you do, in the night?” Hand still on Castiel’s waist.

–Castiel looks at him. “I read. Or I listen to music. The tape that you made me…”

–Dean blushes

–“The tape that you made me. Or I rest, and release some of my grace, to power the wards of the bunker.”

–“You do that?”

–Castiel nods, solemnly. “Or I extend it to… check on you and Sam. To make sure you are ok. If you are having a nightmare, and I am… extended in that way, I stop it.”

–“That’s what you do, every night?”

–Castiel nods again. “Every night.”

–Dean looks at the floor. He shifts nervously on his feet. He knows what he wants, but he doesn’t know how to ask for it.

–Castiel understands. Dean has been touching him all day. Dean was afraid that he was gone, and that he wasn’t going to come back.

–“You can sleep here, tonight, if you want to.”

–Dean looks up at him quickly, almost startled, and his eyes are big and green and round and wet.

–“Ok, Cas,” he rumbles. His voice is like big gray stones rolling over each other.

–He doesn’t have his pajamas but he would have to let go of Cas to go get them. So he doesn’t. He toes off his shoes, his socks. He pulls off his jeans, and his flannel, while Castiel watches him, sincerely. Until he his just in his boxers and his tshirt.

–Castiel has not taken his eyes off him.

–Dean blushes, looks away. Rubs his hand on the back of his neck.

–“You too,” he says, looking at the ground, and then, still not looking Castiel in the eye, starts to tug at Castiel’s trenchcoat.

–Until Castiel understands, and shrugs it off. And his suitcoat, his tie. His overshirt, his pants.

–He stands there in front of Dean, in his white boxers and his white undershirt. His eyes are so deep where they look at Dean. So full of emotion. He reaches out and takes Dean’s hand. He raises it to his mouth. He presses a kiss to Dean’s knuckles.

–“Ok, Dean. Ok.”

–And when Dean hears his voice he crumbles, crumbles into Castiel’s embrace again, like he did in the morning. His face is wet. “Cas,” he says. “I thought you were…”

–“Shh, Dean. I know. I know, love.” And he lifts Dean, gently. Dean wraps his arms around Castiel’s neck, though Castiel only carries him a few feet. To the bed.

–He lays Dean down, so gently. He lays Dean down and climbs in after him.

–Dean turns so he can face Castiel’s chest. He buries his head there, again. “Cas. I thought you were….”

–“I know, Dean. I know. It’s OK. I’m here.” Castiel kisses the top of his head. “It’s OK. I’m here. I will always come back to you. Always.”

–“I thought… I had to dress your body, Cas. I had to…”

–“I know. I know, Dean. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

–Dean hiccups. “I thought… Don’t leave me again, Cas. Please. Not ever again.”

–“Never again, Dean. I promise.”

–Dean cries for a while longer, but Castiel holds him tight to his chest. He presses soft kisses into his hair. His thumb rubs circles into the small of Dean’s back.

–“I’m here. Dean. I’m here. I promise.” He keeps repeating it until Dean stops crying. He keeps repeating it until Dean falls asleep.

–Castiel doesn’t sleep. He holds Dean. He soothes him every time is face twitches in his sleep. He holds him and he kisses him softly, and he keeps him safe.

–And even after Dean is asleep, even when it is the full dark of the night and when it is beginning to flower with dawn, he repeats it, over and over. “I’m here, Dean. Never again. I promise.”

catfruits  asked:

Okay, so, I'd love to read a little something by you set in a world where Lavender made it out of the Battle of Hogwarts. Maybe not okay, but alive?

Once upon a time, Lavender had wanted everyone to look at her. She had been the kind of kid who put on dramatic plays for her stuffed animals, for any visitors to the house, and for any neighbor or passersby she could snag from the front yard.

Dating Ron in sixth year had been fun, most of all because everyone had kept sneaking glances at her. She had heard her name in curious whispers and she had grinned and giggled into Parvati’s shoulder.

Everyone was looking now, or pretending not to. She heard the whispers– oh it’s that poor Brown girl. Can you imagine, if it was your daughter, if it was you? Oh and she was so pretty before, too–what a pity–almost makes it worse, doesn’t it?

“You know Professor Lupin was a werewolf?” Hermione said, ten minutes into a very awkward lunch she had asked for in an equally awkward letter.

Lavender pushed a sauteed carrot through a little puddle of pasta sauce. “I think everyone heard about that one. Someone told the papers, or something, right?”

“Er, yes,” said Hermione. “Snape did. Which is what I– I mean, it’s related. Oh, I wish you’d gotten to talk to Remus about this. He was a lovely man.”

“Not as lovely as Lockhart,” Lavender said and she and Hermione spent a moment in wistful remembrance. “God, I feel old,” Lavender said.

“Anyway, Snape,” said Hermione. “Snape and Lupin. When Lupin was at school, Snape would make him a potion that would… tame him, on full moons. He could just curl up in his office and sleep by the fire. If you’re interested, I’m trying to learn how to brew it myself.”

Lavender shook her head. “We’re not friends,” she said. “Never have been. So why are you doing all this?”

Hermione looked like she was trying to say “we’re friends,” but she couldn’t get it out. “I was there, once, when Lupin turned without the potion. I was so scared. I thought we were going to die.”

“Afraid I’ll sniff you out on a dark night?” Lavender said, face twisting as she sank back into her wicker chair.

“No, I–” Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, and all the hesitation was making Lavender more and more uncomfortable. Even at eleven, Hermione had bulldozed through things. She didn’t waver. “I was so scared, but I think it was even worse for him. It hurt, but he looked so scared, too, I–”

“I know how it feels,” said Lavender, very quietly, and Hermione snapped her mouth shut. Lavender took a big sip from her tea. It was still steaming– it had not taken long to exhaust small talk, between the two of them.

Hermione cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m trying to do the right thing. I’m trying to make amends. I’m trying to– make things better. Do you want this?”

Lavender put her mug back down, shaking out scalded fingers, and said, “Yes.” Then, because her mother had raised her right, she said, “Thank you.”

“That sounds like a weird conversation,” said Parvati, whose door Lavender went and knocked on after she and Hermione had split the bill with the precise-to-the-Knut math of the vaguely acquainted and recently employed.

Lavender kicked through the fall of autumn leaves that had collected in front of the porch swing. “She was trying to be nice, I think.”

“She’s not very good at it,” said Parvati.

-

Her father wept. He tried not to but he was a crier, always had been.

“You were so brave,” said Lavender’s mother, cupping her cheeks in her warm hands and not even flinching at the scar tissue under her palms. “We are so proud.”

Lavender’s mother was a Muggleborn, daughter of a math teacher and a door-to-door salesman (“now there is a profession that requires some magic,” her grandfather used to tell her).

Her father was a wizard and he was trying hard not to cry, bending down to pet the dogs weaving between all their ankles. Lavender bent down, too, scratching behind Fiddlestick’s floppy ears while Mopsy cleaned her cheek forcefully. “Hey,” she said, and her father looked up, trying to firm his wobbly chin.

“You know I’m proud of you, too,” he said, trying not to tremble on it. “I just…” He reached out to squeeze her knee gently. “You did everything right. You did everything good. I’m so proud of you, chickadee.”

“I know,” she said, and she did. He was a Gryffindor, too.

-

It took Hermione more than a month to figure out the potion sufficiently well enough that she’d let Lavender try it. She was founding a non-profit for nonhuman rights, too, after all, as well as doing a fair few local speaking gigs, petitioning the Wizenagamot on a half dozen issues, getting an advanced degree, and supposedly, at some point, sleeping.

It took more than a month, so Lavender spent another night locked in her parents’ newly fortified cellar. She didn’t remember much, but she woke up with her throat sore and her nails ragged. The door was gouged from the inside. She wondered if she had been screaming. She wondered if that’s what the howls were. She felt like screaming, maybe, a little.

The door cracked open the moment the moon had dropped down below the horizon, outside. Her mother came in with a tray of her favorite breakfast foods– danishes and boiled eggs, steaming hot cocoa with the barest splash of bitter coffee in it.

Parvati came stomping down the stairs after her. “Graceful,” said Lavender. She winced at the roughness of her voice.

“Look who’s talking,” said Parvati. “Up, c'mon, eat your breakfast. We’re doing midnight manicures. Your dad says he’ll let us doll up his nails, too.”

The next full moon night, Lavender locked herself in the cellar again. “It should be safe,” Hermione had said. “It should. I mean, I’ve done all the tests. I followed all the instructions. It should work.”

Lavender didn’t remember, because she never remembered– she didn’t recall the cellar door unlocking and opening after ten minutes of post-moonrise silence. She didn’t recall Parvati Wingardium Leviosa-ing a comfy chair down the stairs, or her sitting down and pulling out a stack of Witch Weeklys, nor did she remember curling up on Parvati’s fuzzy button slippers and going to sleep.

But she did remember waking up in the morning, her cheek pressed into a soft pillow. She was tattered under a thick blanket, but she was human and looking upward at Parvati’s slack, sleeping face. Her dark plaits tumbled, curling, over the soft pink polka dots of her pajamas.

Lavender pulled herself up to sitting, stole the open Witch Weekly, and waited for Parvati to wake up.

-

“You’re going to be alright,” Professor Trelawney said and she wasn’t even looking at Lavender’s palm, just holding her hand tight in her cold fingers. “You’re going to be happy. You’re going to be fine. People are going to love you and stand by you and we will be there.”

The tower room was just the same as Lavender remembered it, down to the spicy-sweet tea and Trelawney’s big blinking eyes. Lavender squeezed her hands back. “I love you, too, professor.”

“You know, I think you can call me Sybil. It seems the time for it.”

Dean and Seamas’s housewarming for their ugly little first flat was a crowded mess, but the afterparty wasn’t. Lavender and Parvati came by with paint swatches, opinions, and hangover remedies. They ate greasy Chinese food on the floor, because it was about as comfortable as the couch.

They came back the next week, and the next. Parvati conjured a crackling fire in a big fruit bowl Dean’s mother had given him and they all sat around it like they were back at Gryffindor Tower’s hearths, procrastinating on homework.

On nights like that they sometimes talked about Hogwarts, but most of the time they didn’t. Dean had started drawing again and he walked them through his notebooks– his sisters, caricatures of the customers he dealt with in Ollivander’s wand shop, the snarky little comics he’d always scrawled in the edges of his notes. Parvati told them about the Auror trainees’ antics, going ut on their first field missions with their mentors. “All bravado and caffeine,” she said. “Bunch of show-offs.”

“So you fit in well, then?” Dean said.

“Nah, that’s Lav,” Parvati said. Dean and Seamas glanced warily at Lavender, but she just giggled and reached for another potsticker.

Seamas was considering going back to school. “Hermione’s been badgering me about it,” he said. “Says I have a talent for pyrotechnics, and there’s a whole major for fire magics at Brinxley.”

“What about you, Lav?” said Dean. “You still thinking about vet school?”

“What?”

“Oh, uh, that’s the Muggle word. Veterinarian– a medimagizoologist?”

“The schools aren’t too interested in a werewolf as a student,” Lavender said, shrugging.

“Not that that stops Hermione from showing up on the doorstep with half-penned anti-discrimination lawsuits she wants Lav to star in,” Parvati said.

“When does she sleep?” said Dean.

Little children asked about it in the street sometimes. “Mum, why’s her face like that?” “How come she’s walking all funny?”

Sometimes their parents turned to Lavender with eager bright eyes in the grocery store line, expecting her to answer. (“I got hurt, but I’m okay now.”) Sometimes they shushed their kids and gave her little apologetic half-smiles, glancing away from the raised lines of scar tissue. Sometimes they pulled their children closer to them and crossed to the other side of the street.

Harry Potter had a godson. Teddy Lupin was four the first time Lavender met him, just outside Gringotts. Teddy clung to Harry’s pants leg, peeking past his godfather’s hanging robe. “Why’d her face do that?” he said and Harry dropped a hand down into Teddy’s hair, which was bright green.

“She’s just like your dad,” said Harry.

“Puppy,” Teddy whispered, eyes wide with joy, and his skin shifted until scars stood out stark on his smiling chubby cheeks.

Lavender bit her lip and sank down to her knees in the street, holding out a hand. “Why aren’t you handsome, chickadee. What’s your name?”

Once, Lavender had wanted everyone to look at her.

She hated stories that told you to be careful what you wished for. Were you not supposed to want things? Was that the answer? She was nearly twenty two and she could make things fly with a few whispered words. She had lived through her seventh year at Hogwarts, had stepped out into that battle with her wand out and her eyes open. She had woken up–hurting, wounds tended, poison in her veins–to Parvati sleeping on Sybil’s shoulder at her bedside.

She had cried when they told her about the lycanthropy. She had cried over her bunny because a fox had gotten to it. Both times it had been with her face buried in Parvati’s shoulder and Parvati’s hands stroking her hair. She wished and she wanted– animals that never left you, bodies that never betrayed you.

Once, Lavender had wished that everyone would look at her, and now they were. Everyone was looking– so Lavender held Parvati’s hand in the grocery store at midnight, because they had both been craving green apples. Everyone was looking– so Lavender curled her hair and pinned it up, wore tank tops and little skirts on any day hot enough that she could get away with it, laughed aloud in public spaces. Everyone was looking– so Lavender knocked on Hermione Granger’s door one evening and asked, “What would it take to get me into magical vet school?”

Hermione had her bushy hair all tied back and a quill behind each ear. “A lot. There’s some statutes we’ve got to fight, and even if we can handle that you’ll still be under intense scrutiny for years.”

“I can work with that,” said Lavender, and Hermione grinned.

When Teddy marched down the aisle with the rings, his hair was a shimmering swirl of pink and purple to match the flowers woven into Parvati’s braids and Lavender’s curls.

The honeymoon would be short–a week in magical Paris in the townhouse of a Beauxbaton girl they’d befriended fourth year. Lavender had more medical textbooks packed into her luggage than anything else. Parvati’s bags were lined with half-finished reports that she’d owl to Auror headquarters from a rumpled Parisian morning, getting croissant crumbs in the bedsheets.

But for now the hall was filled with pink and purple blooms, white candles, familiar faces. Hermione stood in a violet bridesmaid’s dress, and Dean and Seamus in matching ties at Parvati and Lavender’s respective backs. Padma was luminescent with joy over Parvati’s shoulder. She had taken Lavender aside that morning for a short quiet walk in the mist and told her, “I know tonight’s what makes it official, but I’ve thought of you as my sister for years.”

When Lavender leaned forward and kissed her wife, her father burst into proud tears in the front row. He was a crier, always had been. Lavender buried her face in Parvati’s shoulder, smiling so hard she thought she might come apart. Her scars creased and puckered in her dimples, and she was beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

Harry Potter’s to do list
  1. Hand in auror evaluation report for Dennis Creevey (Due last month, might actually need to start on that today)
  2. Reschedule curse break lecture
  3. Buy a housewarming gift for Ginny and Luna
  4. Ask out Draco sodding Malfoy because Seamus Finnigan hereby swears to Merlin’s dirty underpants that he will imperio you to kiss him if he catches you staring at his ass one more time without doing anything about it.
  5. Tell Seamus to stay the fuck away from my to do list, and I don’t stare at Draco’s ass thank you very much
  6. Stop lying to myself and my amazingly handsome friends and admit that I have a giant gay crush on the kinda sexy blond ministry potion master
  7. Murder Dean in his sleep because I do not have a crush on Draco Malfoy I hate him (besides, you’re the one who called him sexy, maybe you should ask him out)
  8. I only appreciate his aesthetic from an artist point of view, I wouldn’t leave Seamus for anyone, he’s way too cute
  9. Tell Dean to stop crushing on his husband on my to do list because just looking at the two of you gives me diabetes already
  10. Draco Malfoy
  11. Fuck off Fred
  12. Draco Malfoy
  13. You too George
  14. Tell Ron he’s the most amazing auror partner/best friend/brother from another mother evahhhh because he just faked your terrible handwriting and asked Malfoy out for you
  15. I hate you
  16. Love you too Harry

Dean falls asleep with Cas’ fingers sliding over his back. It’s become a ritual, Dean flopping down on the bed, Cas sitting down next to him to massage the day’s ache out of his muscles. But inevitably, the massage turns to a tender caress as Dean slips into sleep, Cas’ long fingers gliding instead of digging. Dean doesn’t seem to mind.

Dean drifts in and out of consciousness, enjoying the security in the weight of Cas’ hand. But he never notices the patterns Cas is drawing, the careful design Cas creates as he connects Dean’s freckles in invisible lines.

Over the countless nights they spend like this, Cas creates an entire night sky over Dean’s body, drawing constellations into that expanse of skin. He builds a universe all his own, creates the stories that go along with each figure, great legends of bravery and undying love.

Dean lies there, softly snoring, sometimes smacking his lips, completely oblivious.

Until one night, he doesn’t.

“What’re you doing, Cas?” Dean mumbles into his pillow.

Cas is caught so off guard that he just answers honestly. “Drawing constellations.”

Dean doesn’t bother to lift his head out of his arms. “Feels like you know what you’re doing. Have you done this before?”

“Yes,” Cas answers, relieved that Dean doesn’t sound shocked or angry.

After a few seconds, Dean rolls to his back, giving Cas his bare chest and stomach. “And what are these constellations?” He’s groggy, but still amused.

Cas grins, then drags his finger over a cluster of freckles on Dean’s rib cage. He starts talking, telling Dean his made up stories. Dean laughs, a deep rumble that tickles into Cas’ fingers and works its way up Cas’ arm and into his chest.

“This is what you do when I’m asleep? Should I be worried that you not only have my freckles memorized, but that you’ve turned them into a solar system?”

Cas’ stomach sinks. “I’m sorry. I suppose it is a little strange.” He pulls his hand away, embarrassed and a little nervous.

Dean leans up and grabs it, pulls Cas’ hand back down to his chest, right over his heart. “I was just teasing, Cas.”

Dean pulls him down into a deep kiss, turning so that they are both on their sides, totally tangled in each other.

Cas sighs into Dean’s mouth with relief that he can go on living in the magical galaxy that is Dean Winchester.

Cuddle buddies

Originally posted by out-in-the-open

Pair: Dean x Reader (kind of)
Warning: none
Summary: Dean and the reader have an established relationship… as cuddle buddies. 


A small whimper escaped your lips as you stretched your muscles out, waking up. The room was pitch black and cold; the only warmth you got was from the strong body next to you, holding you dangerously close. 

Not ready to wake up yet, you turned over in Deans arms and nuzzled closer to him, resting your face in the crook of his neck; smiling when his arms wound tighter around your body. 
“Y/N” Dean whispered, lazily dragging his fingers over your skin, causing it to erupt in goosebumps.
“Not ready yet” you croaked, your voice a little more hoarse than usual. 
“Okay” he whispered, back closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of your body pressed against his. 

You and Dean had been sleeping together for almost two months now. But that was it. You didn’t have sex or kiss or really do anything else, you just slept together. It all started one night, you two had fallen asleep together on the couch, watching some movie, and when you woke up you played it off as nothing until he told you it was the best sleep he had ever had in his life. 

“C’mon, Y/n” Dean begged, grabbing your hand and pulling you back to the couch. 
“Tell me that wasn’t the best sleep you’ve ever had” he pressed. 
“I’ve had… better” you mumbled, leaning back into the couch. 
“Y/nnnnnnnn” he taunted, knowing that you were lying through your teeth. 
“Fine! It was the best nap I have ever had, so what?!  It’s weird, Dean. We aren’t sleeping together anymore.”
But Dean being Dean means he usually gets what he wants, and that started your addiction for sleeping together. 


“I can’t go on this hunt!” you sighed, plopping down in one of the chairs in front of Sam and Dean. 
“Why?!” Dean asked, looking baffled. 
“I think I have a-” you sneezed into the tissue in your hand. 
“a cold” you finished, sighing. You had a small fever and had been sneezing since you woke up. 
“Shit” Dean sighed, “alright, well, we’ll keep you updated. We should be home in a few days, it looks like a simple vamp nest.” 
Grabbing his bag, Dean pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
“Bye kid” Sam smiled, giving you a pat on the back as they walked out the door. 

The first night was the worst night. You had grown so used to Dean’s warmth, no matter how many blankets you had nothing was ever enough. It had taken a strong dose of NyQuil and some Tylenol PM to put you to sleep; even then, it was a pretty rough sleep. 
You woke up early, before the sun had even come up and texted Dean 
I didn’t sleep for shit last night, come home. 
To which he responded:
Me either. We’re working on it, sweetheart. Should be home in the next few days. Just hold out for me. 

You had spent the most of that day soaking in a bath and eating tomato soup. You made sure that you staying in your actual room, not wanting to take the risk and exposing Dean’s room with your germs. 

The next day, you were really spent. You had no energy to do anything, so you just took your medicine and watched movies in and out of consciousness. Sam and Dean had both left you a few voicemails, telling you how the case was going and just keeping you updated which you greatly appreciated. 

By the fifth day, you felt better, having read that if you cut up white onions and place it around the home, especially in the room of the sick person they somehow absorb the bacteria and viruses and rid you of your cold. 

Even though you had been feeling better, you still were exhausted. You had no idea how awful sleeping was without Dean there to keep you warm and safe. 
Sitting in the library, you were reading a few lore books you had found in the basement of the bunker when they brothers walked in.
“Y/N” Deans voice called out for you as he dropped his duffel bag on the floor. 
“Yeah?” you asked, stepping out of the library and looking at him. 
“My room. Now, we’re taking a nap” his tone was so assertive and demanding, it turned you on a little bit.
“What was that about?” you asked Sam as Dean had disappeared down the hallway. 
“He hasn’t slept since we left,” Sam chuckled, winking at you. Rolling your eyes, you followed Dean down the hall and into his room. 

It was dark, just how the both of you needed it to be. Slipping your jeans and bra off, you climbed into bed with dean and softly moaned at the feeling of his arms around your waist. 
“Fuck, I missed you” you whispered, cuddling your head into his chest. 
“I missed you too, sweetheart” Dean sighed, running his fingers through your hair, basking in the feeling of you back in his arms. 

It’s something he was planning on saying all night but had been trying to hold in simultaneously. Now he says it, like breeze.

“Stay here tonight.”

Castiel turns around and looks at him. Dean thought he’d never see him again, but he’s back. Alive and real and Cas. Dean feels like he’s been constantly out of breath ever since Cas returned that morning, suddenly on the doorstep of Dean’s motel room.

Dean can’t quite seem to settle, unable to keep his eyes from Castiel. One moment, and he could fade.

“Why?” Castiel asks, curious more so than confused.

“Because,” Dean manages, “…because you’ve been gone, alright? You were dead, and we…. I thought we would never see you again. And I-” Dean’s voice falters. He walks over to Castiel and stands in front of him, his eyes gliding over his face. Every inch of him is real, solid, not like the dreams he’d been having. 

Sam and Dean had been getting separate rooms ever since Dean was awake for hours every night and just paced around the room aimlessly. When Dean slept, he’d been having dreams of Castiel being alive and he’d wake up and realize it wasn’t real. He’d rather not sleep than go through that every single night. But this, he wasn’t going to let this be a dream as well.

“Take off your coat, come on.” When Cas just frowns again, Dean does it himself. He slides the beige coat from Castiel’s shoulders and drapes it over the back of a chair.

“Dean, I’m fine with sleeping in the other motel room.”

“I’m not.” Dean rasps. “Please, Cas, don’t go.” Having Castiel around is worth sharing his emotions for. “Not again.”

Cas looks down. He looks different without his trench coat, more human. Maybe he is, in fact, a little more human. Castiel said he isn’t sure, and it’s how he’s been acting all day. Insecure. Dean can feel it whenever he looks at him, and that’s also what scares him.

“I’m sorry.” Castiel looks up to him. “I tried so hard, Dean, I tried so hard to live. For you, for Sam. I tried to stay with you and I failed.  I didn’t come back with a win for you.”

“Cas-” Dean grabs his shoulder, solid and real and warm. He looks in Castiel’s blue eyes and realizes how much he’d actually missed him. “Listen.” He begins unsteadily. “You coming back is a win for us, you hear me? You being here is enough.” Dean’s hand slides from Cas’ shoulder. “It’s all I wanted. And that’s why I want you to stay here tonight.”

“I don’t think I’m following.”

“Come on, Cas! What if you leave tonight and I come into your room tomorrow and you’re gone? What if something happens and you- you are gone for good? What if you die? What if- what if I can’t…” Dean curls his fingers into a fist. “What if I can’t let you go again?”

There’s something in Castiel’s eyes that change. It’s surprise, mostly, surprise and confusion and something Dean only recognizes from very few people in his life.

“The last thing I want is to leave another time,” Cas says. “And I- I understand now.”

Dean nods, suddenly empty where words should be, and swallows.

“Then stay. Come on, bed’s big enough.”

As Dean undresses in the darkness, with Castiel on the other side of the bed, Castiel suddenly speaks.

“Dean?”

Dean turns around, with his shirt almost off but still hanging on his neck and arm. He can’t see Cas’ face, but he can hear his breathing.   

“Yeah?”

“I love you, too.”

13x02: Dean is John

Fairy Goddabb (and team) coming at us, waving his wand and textualising that Dean is John in a season all about fathers… Forget hail Mary’s I’m giving hail Dabb’s this year.

In 13x01 we got Grieving!Dean, canonically upset and nihilistic over the loss of Cas and Mary and the others. First every time though was Cas.

In 13x02 we are now seeing the fall out from this. Namely that he is mirroring both John’s life long grief over the loss of Mary, the grief that led him to act towards Sam and Dean in a way that led them to have so many issues that they are now overcoming, and also mirroring season 1 Sam through his grief over Jess.

We have already seen Dean drop to his knees next to Cas’ body just as Sam did at Jess’ grave and Mary did over John’s body and we had the scene where Sam pulled Dean back from Cas just as Dean pulled Sam back from Jess.

I then said here that I was expecting at some point mirroring of the scene from 1x02 where Dean offers to let Sam drive to take his mind off Jess (check!) and references to Dean not sleeping (check! - the “you were hallucinating sheep” conversation) but to get them both in 02 was fantastic :)

x x  Honestly, I want to keep a checklist of these things… I am so overjoyed!

Next is 1x04′s:

Sam “I’ve gotta find Jessica’s killer, it’s the only thing I can think about”
Dean “All that anger, you can’t keep it burning over the long haul, it’s gonna kill you”.
Sam “How do you do it?”
Dean “We help others, it makes it more bearable…and killing as many sons of bitches as we can”

Perhaps next week? In 13x03? When they go out to help someone else on a “normal” MOTW hunt? Who knows, I can hope. I can’t help NOT hope given we’ve been given so much else so far on my wishlist in such timely order. 

So anyway, yes, it’s established that Dean is GRIEVING. He is a MESS. He’s also perfectly mirroring both Sam in season 1 after Jess’ death and John his whole life after Mary’s death.

I wonder what could possibly be the link here? Hm. 

Originally posted by castielsprofoundbees

*we just don’t know*

So then yes, Dean is mirroring John. THIS IS NOT TO SAY DEAN IS LIKE JOHN. You can mirror someone without being exactly LIKE them. Look at Jack mirroring all of TFW. It’s just a way to expose a storyline and emotional motivations for someone’s actions. OK? I am not saying that Dean is John. It’s just a link to the story of the past to show the story of now and how parts are mirrored to be ADDRESSED and SUBVERTED.

This then makes total sense when we look at Dean’s interactions with Jack. Yes he is harsh and struggling with him right now, the cause of Cas’ death, the potential big bad, because he’s grieving and a mess. Just as John was. 

THIS IS A SEASON THAT WE ALL SAID WOULD BE ALL ABOUT FATHERS.

There is going to be so much symbolism around John in this season and frankly seeing Dean mirroring him makes me so HYPED because this means we really should see some amazing exposition of Dean’s feelings towards John and himself in relation to John and I cannot help but hope for CLOSURE on this now. 

Then we have Jack who is a huge mirror for Sam. Sam who was the reason Mary died, though of course it not through his own fault. Mirror wise, Dean is John and Cas is Mary, Jack is Sam. 

Original story: John/Mary - Sam.
Season 13: Dean/Cas - Jack.

Still with me? OK.

So now we need to see this subverted. The ORIGINAL STORY.

Where Dean and Sam’s lives were ruined and turned upside down by all this, by the yellow eyed demon and Lucifer’s plan, by Heaven’s orders. 

The terrible original story of how everything started seems now to be mirrored and subverted into a (potential) end (but at least a later story) where everything is ‘fixed’. 

In the original story everyone was manipulated. Mary and John were manipulated into falling in love (versus Dean and Cas who fell in love DESPITE Heaven and everything against them). Sam and Dean were fated to be the vessels of Michael and Lucifer but they chose free will.

Everyone tried to manipulate Sam and Dean down a certain path. Their whole lives were a manipulation up to the point they chose Free Will. 

Now JACK has to choose FREE WILL thanks to their guidance and help. Through mirroring them and their story and through them helping him choose the righteous and free path.

Originally posted by godshipsit

He has to be the catalyst and mirror to subvert this story, to allow the metaphorical John and Mary (Dean and Cas) to LIVE and have a happy ending. For the metaphorical Sam (himself) to NOT grow up into the demon blood arc, and for the real Sam to move past this, accept the past and move onto a brighter future, to let go of his guilt over it by helping Jack past this too. For Jack to do just as Sam did do in the end in season 5 and fight back thanks to support from his family.

Jack’s story is a chance to subvert all the horrors of the start of the story for Dean and Sam, but first their story has to be mirrored for this to work.

This is what we are seeing happening. This is the set up.

I AM A BALL OF FLAILING EXCITEMENT FOR WHAT IS TO COME!

It takes Cas weeks to make the mixtape.

He has to wait until Dean and Sam are sleeping, and he spends that first night just figuring out how Dean’s old boom box works.

And of course, all the music he has to choose from in the bunker already belongs to Dean, which he didn’t think about beforehand, so he has to spend another several nights making a list of all the music Dean already owns, then researching to find music to add to Dean’s collection.

And then it takes another few nights to settle on exactly the right songs, every single one chosen for a reason, a reason he hopes Dean will understand.

Buying the music and actually recording each song onto a blank tape is the easiest part of his endeavor, though it’s just as time consuming as the rest. It’s another week of stolen nights, hiding in a corner of the bunker he hopes they never use, pushing buttons over and over until he has a tape full of songs he hopes Dean will love.

“Here” he finally says, thrusting the tape at Dean the first second they’re alone.

He’s a little nervous, but he can’t stop the proud smile on his face. Surely Dean will love this as much as Cas loves the tape Dean made for him.

“What is this?” Dean’s staring down at the tape like he’s confused, even though it’s clearly labeled, and Cas’ nerves kick into high gear. Did he do something wrong?

“It’s-it’s a mixtape. Like the one you made me. I picked all the songs myself.”

Dean looks up to meet Cas’ eyes. “Did you use my tapes?”

Cas shakes his head. “No, I bought new music you didn’t already own.”

It takes a moment, and Cas isn’t sure what Dean’s facial expression means, but then he’s being pulled into Dean’s arms. He lands against Dean’s chest with a thud, has to pull his own arms out of Dean’s tight hold to hug him back.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean murmurs, so close to Cas’ ear that his breath tickles.

“You’re welcome, Dean.”

Dean leads Cas to his bedroom, where they can listen to the songs Cas has chosen.

Where they can listen and laugh and be alone together.

Castiel remembers Dean telling him how creepy it is when he watched him sleep. He’s not sure this still applies now that they frequently share a bed but he hasn’t worked up the courage to ask yet. If the answer is yes then at least this way he can claim ignorance if Dean ever catches him.

Because he can’t help it. Angels don’t need sleep and while Castiel does keep himself busy most of the time while Dean sleeps, he can’t stop himself from indulging every now and then. 

Like now. They are at a motel, a case recently wrapped up but too late in the evening for Dean to want to move on yet. Moonlight shines through the lace curtains on the windows, creating patterns of glowing light on Dean’s skin, interspersed with marks left by Castiel just hours earlier. 

Castiel reaches out, tracing along those marks with his fingertips, too soft for Dean to stir at his touch. The light makes him appear ethereal, but the warmth of his skin is so painfully human. Dean would rage at him for saying as much out loud but Castiel is always aware of just how fragile Dean is compared to him, how little it takes to hurt him. 

Castiel should know. He shudders, forcibly pushing that thought from his mind. He focuses on Dean again instead, the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest, the calmness in his expression. 

Dean is rarely this calm, even in sleep, but sharing a bed with another person sometimes helps. Dean would say it was the sex that calmed him, which is right in a way, but it’s really the intimacy. It makes him feel safe.

He looks… not younger this way, but less burdened. The lines of his face are softened, mouth slack and slightly open. Something in Castiel’s chest tightens at the sight of it. He likes that Dean lets himself relax so completely in his presence. He certainly hasn’t earned this kind of trust but he gets it anyway and he’s grateful for it. 

Suddenly, Dean stirs. Castiel’s fingers halt their journey across Dean’s skin as he cracks one eye open, eyeing Castiel suspiciously.

“Were you just watching me sleep?” he mumbles, voice thick. 

“…No,” Castiel lies blatantly. 

The corner of Dean’s mouth quirks. “No?”

“….Maybe.”

“Okay.” Dean’s eye closes again. “Well, have at it.”

Castiel swallows. “You don’t think it’s creepy?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says. “But it’s fine. I don’t mind. Just don’t wake me up.”

Which is all but a ringing endorsement coming from Dean Winchester. Castiel smiles to himself, suffused with a kind of warmth only Dean can bring him.

“I won’t,” he promises.

Dean hmms in response. It’s only a few moments before he drops off into sleep again, breath deepening and evening out. Unable to resist, Castiel leans in and presses a kiss against his temple. 

Whiteboard. Destiel, canon!verse, 1.3k. 
When you fail to say the words, there’s always the option to write it down.

For a while now, there has been a whiteboard in Dean’s room.

Cas often sees Dean use it; to organize clues for cases that he and Sam can’t quite solve, and to write down reminders, or to simply rearrange his thoughts. And, on rare occasions, to draw silly doodles to help him get his mind off of whatever supernatural disaster is next on the agenda.

Currently, aforementioned board is empty though, and Cas stares a hole in it, sitting on Dean’s bed, arms wrapped around his knees, his chin resting on his hands. Dean is there too, right beside him, lying on the other side of the bed, his back to Castiel, his shoulders tense. There might as well be some sort of invisible wall between them, and Cas absolutely hates it. Hates it whenever they fight like this, and what makes it even worse is that Dean refuses to talk. Whenever they have an argument he’ll snap at Castiel, once maybe twice, but after that, it’s usually the silent treatment.

And it makes Castiel feel powerless every time, because how can you fix something when you don’t even get a chance to plead your case?

Dean isn’t sleeping, Cas can tell from his breathing, harsh and uneven. Which must mean that Dean doesn’t like this either, and just like that, inspiration strikes.

“Dean?” Cas mutters quietly, but not unkindly.

A grunt from the other side of the bed.

“I know you’re angry, I know you’d rather not talk, but I thought that maybe…” Castiel pauses, trying to figure out which words to choose. “I thought that maybe we could write it down.”

There’s a huff from Dean, and Cas doesn’t know what to make of that, but he refuses to give up now. Slowly, he gets up from the bed, shuffling towards the whiteboard. He picks up one of the markers, a blue one, and starts writing.

He hears Dean move on the bed, probably getting up as well, and that’s what Cas had been counting on; Dean’s curiosity getting the best of him.

When Cas is done he puts down the marker, his eyes scanning the message one last time.

‘I apologize for what I did yesterday, I’m sorry I went after those rogue angels by myself without telling you. I didn’t want you to get dragged into my problems, and I feared it wasn’t safe for you to come with me. Which you would have, had I told you before I left.’

He hears a muffled sigh behind him, and he’s surprised to see Dean already standing right there. Dean rolls his eyes as he reads the message, but his face relaxes, and the green of his eyes is softer now. After a long moment, he theatrically picks up a marker as well, the green one, giving Castiel that face that says 'do we really have to do this?’

But Dean does it anyway, and writes a reply, the Dean Winchester way that Cas knows so well.

'I want you to drag me into your problems, you idiot, it’s not like I don’t drag you into mine. PS: you forgot to apologize for the part where you almost got killed. PPS: fine, apology accepted. Don’t ever do that again.’

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Dean had always thought that a good quality comforter was the most luxurious thing to wake up under. But ever since he started waking up like this, his thoughts had changed entirely.

As sunlight gently peeked through the curtains, shining a cautious soft beam of light over the queen sized bed, Dean felt Castiel’s large, black wing loosely drooped over his body. The feathers were softer and warmer than anything a comforter could ever get him, large enough to cover his upper body and part of his legs. He smiled lazily. The feathers brushed against his bare skin as he stretched and moved around to shift closer to its owner.

Castiel lay on his back, his other wing stretched out over the edge of the bed down to the floor, his naked body exposed, blankets kicked aside in his sleep. Dean looked at him from under the wing, his fingers automatically gliding over soft raven feathers and smooth lines, known little bumps and the thicker parts. 

Castiel looked peaceful. His lips were slightly parted as he slowly breathed in his steady rhythm of sleep. Dean lay there for a while, observing Cas as he let the warmth and softness of the feathers embrace him. He caressed he feathers still. Dean had been mesmerized by them ever since Castiel first exposed them. They were huge, majestic, and radiated a power Dean couldn’t compare with anything else. 

And yet, they looked gentle and fragile when Cas injured them and Dean picked out the ruffled feathers. Castiel had taught Dean how to groom them and use the preen oil, an activity Dean found himself to enjoy, often compared with soft chatting. Sometimes a movie would be playing in the background as they sat on the floor and Dean plucked feathers, pressing kisses in the crook of Castiel’s neck. 

Sometimes, Dean would take it a step further with his massages, out to get the little whimpers and groans from Castiel. He’d ended up with a panting, desperate Castiel several times, Dean’s hands full of feathers and his own body filled with arousal.

He loved it all. The quiet moments, the loud ones, the moments when Castiel held Dean with his wing or when they lay on the couch, curled up together with Castiel’s wings wrapped around them. Dean couldn’t get enough of them.

Castiel muttered softly and stirred, his eyes opening slowly.

The wing draped over Dean fluttered and shifted in Dean’s fingers. Cas turned to look at Dean, blinking the sleep from his eyes. The angel smiled.

“Morning sunshine,” Dean whispered and his own lips curved as well. Castiel made a soft noise and shifted closer. He stretched his wings for a moment, then covered Dean with his right one again and pulled him closer with the wrist of his wing.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel muttered, his primary feathers rustling. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” he answered and pressed a sloppy kiss to Castiel’s unshaven jaw. “How couldn’t I, hm?” He slipped his fingers into the pack of feathers carefully, and Cas smiled again.

“You seem to enjoy my wings a lot.” They moved again.

“I think they’re beautiful, you know that.”

Castiel shifted and pulled his wing in, gesturing his head. Dean understood and he got up so Cas could slide his wing under Dean. As soon as Dean sank down into the feathers, Castiel pulled him closer.

Dean’s naked body pressed softly against Cas, covered by the angel’s wing and casting a shadow over their faces.

Dean kissed Castiel’s jaw again, pressed a few more kisses down his neck and shoulder.

The wings replied to the touch, shifting and shuddering when Dean softly nibbled on the skin.

“It’s rare for an angel to show his wings this… casually.” Castiel spoke, his voice still thick with sleep. His eyes were closed again, enjoying Dean’s kisses. “It’s only for… special occasions. And special people.”

Dean looked up and feathers softly brushed over the back of his head and Cas looked back. He softly rested his hand on Dean’s waist. “You’re special, Dean.”

Dean didn’t know how to reply, shy suddenly. He smiled a coy grin and pecked Castiel’s lips.

“Think I’m glad about that.” He muttered, shifting back into the feathers. This was how Sunday’s had to feel, he thought. Calm and peaceful and warm and right.

He found Castiel’s hand and tangled their fingers together.

“Maybe we should get up for some coffee soon. I’m sure Sam’s already awake.” Dean whispered, his eyes closed.

“Probably,” Cas answered. “Just- not yet.”

Dean hummed in agreement and gently slid his free hand through the silky feathers. He didn’t want to think about the case they were working on or the monsters they had to fight. Not yet. Just a few more minutes.

Cas stands by the bed, watching Dean sleep. It had been a difficult day for his hunter–two humans had died. Dean always takes it personally when they can’t save everyone. It is good to see him sleep, even if the sleep is somewhat restless.

Ever so slowly, hesitantly, Cas crouches. He brushes his lips across Dean’s cheek. He sends a spark of his grace with the kiss, hoping to give Dean a measure of peace. Cas himself is filled with a longing so intense that he nearly cries out.

“Cas.”

Dean’s voice is husky with sleep, and soft. His eyes are still closed, and Cas wonders if he’s just talking in his sleep. Cas isn’t sure if he should stay or fly away.

“Cas,” Dean says again, eyes fluttering open. “Why do you only kiss me when I’m asleep?”

Cas freezes.

Dean smiles sleepily. “Next time try it when I’m awake.”

Belong To Me

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 853 (almost not a drabble but it is so hush :P)

Warnings: Dean being an ass.

A/N: You voted for prompt, gif and character. Here are what I came up with for the winners.

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

You hated the fighting. This was the way it had always been and you knew it wasn’t going to stop for a long time. You and Dean had been friends for years before either of you had dared to let anything happen between one another. You loved him so much it hurt and you had no doubt in your mind he felt the same about you, even if he had never said the words. You also doubted he ever would, but that wasn’t why you had fought.

Dean tried to push you away, just like he always did. In the beginning he had flirted with other women, never once taken it beyond that but just enough to make your blood boil with jealousy. Once he had realized he was only hurting you and not chasing you off he had stopped. Then the bossy period had started. Him telling you what to do, which hunts you could go on and what your role would be. Again your blood boiled but those times with anger. A few screaming matches had occurred and you had run off to handle whatever monster problem you were having at the time on your own. After Dean had almost lost you on one of those hunts he had changed his tactics again. Those were the games he was playing at now. Shutting himself down, not letting you in. Not even when you knew he was hurting more than ever. His mom were back in your lives and that was a lot for him to deal with. A few months ago he would have told you about it, but not anymore. Now Dean told you it was none of your business, leaving you in tears to come home smelling like a brewery each night. Each time he left it got harder and harder to watch the door close between you, but you were determined in proving him wrong. Even if you could no longer fall asleep in his bed alone anymore. Even if you sat on the couch in one of Dean’s t-shirt with silent tears streaming down your face until you could no longer keep your eyes open and you fell asleep.

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Third Wheel

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: angst, a little self-loathing, self-doubt, depressive thoughts (?)

Word count: 787

Summary: The reader feels like the third wheel and makes a harsh decision.

A/N: I hope you guys like this and if you do please please please leave some feedback.

Sam and Dean Winchester would die for you. They would die for a lot of people. If there was the tiniest chance that they could save someone, risking their lives would be the least of their worries. They we’re the most selfless people you had ever met.

But there was one thing. One specific thing that could make them into the most selfish person you had ever come across. You had seen it happen multiple times.

Dying for someone, that they could do. But living without one another? That’s where their selflessness came to an end.

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