deancas drabble

tbh I’m still waiting on a coda that hypes up jealous!dean big time

Like all of them getting back to the bunker and Cas is taking the trench off and Dean sees a piece of paper fall out of the pocket. He goes to pick it up and freezes when he reads the print on the front. Mick Davies. British Men of Letters. 

“You kept it?” he snarls at Cas.

And Cas looks confused at Dean’s tone but just answers, “Yes. I thought it would be wise in case we ever need to contact them.”

“We don’t need help from those assholes, Cas!” Dean yells and stalks away, crumbling the card in his hand. Later when he’s in his room, he tosses it in the trashcan and burns it.

And Dean thinks that’s the end of it until the next day when he finds Cas in the library researching the British Men of Letters.

“Cas, we are not working with those assholes! Did you see what the did to Sam?”

“I’m not recommending it, Dean,” Cas replies evenly. “I just thought it best to be prepared should it ever become necessary. And Mick said-”

The name rolls off Cas’s tongue and Dean sees red. “Oh. Mick, huh? We’re on first name basis now, are we? Well that’s just great.”

Confusion tilts Cas’s head and squints his eyes and it is not cute right now. “Dean is everything all right?”

“Of course!” Dean shouts, jumping to his feet. “Why wouldn’t I be thrilled about you getting all buddy-buddy with middle-aged Harry Potter?!” Dean turns on his heel and marches out of the room.

Of course, Cas is still struggling to understand sarcasm, Dean’s brand in particular, so he continues researching and is more and more fascinated about the history of the Men of Letters, which he happily relates to Mary, Sam, and a very bitter Dean.

A very bitter Dean, who answers all of Cas’s questions for the next two weeks with “I don’t know, why don’t you go call your boyfriend, Mick?”

So Cas… does… and then reports his findings to the Winchesters and Dean is ready to fucking explode every time Cas says “Mick said…” or “Mick thinks…”

Mick this. Mick that. Mick, Mick, Mick.

Dean spends a lot of extra time in the garage throwing tools and glaring at engines.

I reckon you could finish me off without breaking a sweat…


And did Cas really not sweat? He had to. Dean tried to think back to some hunts when Cas got a bit roughed up, tried to focus his memory on Cas’s forehead, the column of his throat, which was so long and smooth up until where his stubble-

Not the point, Winchester!

And one day they’re in the middle of a hunt and they’re stumped, exhausting all of their resources and Cas begins, “I could call M-”

And that’s it!

“WE’RE NOT CALLING MICK!” Dean screams and Mary and Sam’s eyes go wide.

“Why not?” Cas pouts.

“Because I don’t want his fucking help, Cas!”

“But his library is far more-”

“I don’t fucking care!” Dean yells. “You are not calling him, Cas, and that’s final!”

Cas’s eyes narrow and, yeah, definitely not cute this time. He gets to his feet. “Are you giving me an order, Dean Winchester?”

“Yes, Castiel, I am!”

Cas turns level eyes to Sam who just nods and takes his mother’s hand. “We need to go.”

They’re gone in seconds, leaving Dean to single-handedly face the fury of an angel of the lord. 

“You are being irrational and I want to know why,” Cas says.

“I’m irrational?” Dean scoffs. “You want to get in bed with the enemy! Literally!”

And there’s that damn head tilt. “I have no intention of sharing a bed with the British Men of Letters. I don’t sleep, Dean.”

Dean slaps his hands to his face, groaning and somewhere in the back of his mind, just begging Cas to smite him and end this all. 

“Dammit, Cas, that’s not… that’s not what I meant.”

“You are referring to sexual intercourse then? Because I also have no interest in engaging with the organization in such activities.”

“Cas, you’re killing me here,” Dean says weakly, exhausted at the sheer amount of oblivion coming from this ancient creature. “Why do you want to work with them?”

“You told me to.”

“When the hell did I-”

“You’ve been telling me to call Mick for the last two weeks.”

Dean blinks, trying to remember when he had lost his damn mind in the last two weeks- “Cas, I was being sarcastic!”

“Oh.” Cas looks calmer now. “So you didn’t want me to actually call Mick?”

“No, Cas! I don’t want you to even think about that fucker!”

“Why not?”

“Oh for the love of- HE WAS FLIRTING WITH YOU!”

Back to confused. “When?”

“When we rescued Sam! Oh, Jesus Christ, Cas. Sweat! The way he looked at you after you said you didn’t sweat.”

“Humans find the inability to perspire sexually appealing?”

“No, you idiot, you are sexually appealing!”

Dean is so frustrated he can’t even process what he just said until something lights in Cas’s eyes. It’s a bit dazed and disbelieving and… hungry? 

“You find me sexually appealing?”

“I-I-I w-what?” Dean stammers.

Cas takes a step toward Dean. “You said I was sexually appealing.” 

“What? No! I-I- I meant him - Mick - he-he finds you, ugh, se-sex, um, appealing. He finds you appealing.”

The light dies and Cas frowns. “Oh. So you don’t?”

Dean has to make a big decision then. To lie or tell the truth. To play it safe or take a chance.

And, well, when has Dean Winchester ever played it safe?


Blue swarms on Dean until he can’t see anything because Cas’s face is too close and something soft brushes Dean’s lips. They kiss and Dean wraps his arms around Cas’s waist, diving into this moment and locking the angel in place with him. 

When they separate Cas is grinning and Dean is too dizzy to see the teasing angel. “You were jealous,” Cas breathes.

“Took you long enough to figure it out,” Dean slurs and wonders if it’s possible to get drunk off of kissing because he’s showing all the signs of a good buzz.

“Actually, Mick told me last week.”

And there it goes. “Cas! What the hell!”

“You were confusing me,” Cas argues. “You were angry all the time but you wouldn’t talk to me.”

“So you’ve just been fucking with me this entire week?”

Cas’s fingers card calmingly through Dean’s hair and Dean gets the suspicion he’s being treated like an angry cat. “My apologies, Dean. Can we go back to kissing?”

Dean has half a mind to deny Cas but Cas’s other hand is hovering just over his ass and who the hell is he trying to kid?

“Fine. But we’re gonna have a long talk about your pen pal later.”

But that talk comes several, several hours later.

Oh look I accidentally wrote a shitty drabble again oops my bad

Dean chuckles as he watches Castiel taking a shot at the bar with Charlie. The two of them leaning into each other and whispering. Cas listens contently, shooting a glance over at Dean, who nods at the angel. Charlie pats Cas on the shoulder, before turning him around and pushing him towards Sam and Dean.

He walks with determination across the room, abruptly halting in front of the booth the two hunters were sitting at.

“What’s up buddy?” Dean looks up from his beer.

Castiel puts his hands on the table, leaning forward toward Dean.

“Dean, do you like my trench coat?”

Dean shoots a confused look at Sam, who laughs into his beer.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I do Cas. It’s a-a nice on you.” Dean nods with a genuine smile, feeling his cheeks flush red.

“Do you know what it’s made of?” Castiel inquires with a serious tone.

Dean reaches for the beige trench coat, his fingers feeling the material.

“I dunno Cas. What?”

Cas proceeds to tell Dean the most smoothest pick up line he’s ever heard. Dean’s heard a million, he’s told a million, but the one that slips out of Cas’ mouth has the hunter blushing so profusely.

“Boyfriend material, Dean.”

Sam tries to cover up his laugh with a cough, as he watches Dean’s face turn ten shades of red.  The hunter fumbles with his words, Castiel’s eyes focus on Dean waiting for a response.

“I-I, um. Cas, can I buy you a beer?”

Castiel’s face relaxes, realizing his pick up line worked. He nods with a smile that has Dean’s heart thumping right out of his chest.

“Yes, Dean. I would like that.”

“I love you.” The words come out of Dean’s mouth as naturally as the feeling has been built over the years.

There are no fireworks. The world doesn’t stop on its tracks. Sparks don’t fly.

It’s like the whole universe is long adapted to this truth; voicing it is equal to wind hitting ocean water - there’s some disturbance, but the components don’t change. Things don’t change much at all. The current will always be there, sometimes slow and calm, others wild and feral, but it’ll never waste away.


“I loved you first.” Cas says earnestly.

The world does stop a little this time.

I keep seeing that Destiel hug and the phrase “touch starved” showing up on my dash. So this happened.

At first, Dean doesn’t notice how often Cas is hugging him. Cas hugs him when he realizes he’s still alive, hugs him when they get Sam home, hugs him after their next particularly close call…it’s all appropriate and normal. Dean doesn’t notice that there’s something more to it until Cas is hugging Dean hello and goodbye every time he sees him.

“Hey, Sam? You notice anything different about Cas lately? About how…friendly he’s gotten?”

Sam laughs and shakes his head in that way that says you deal with him, he’s your angel, but all he says is “Cas is seeking a lot of human contact. I think the term is touch starved.”

Dean spends the next few days mulling that over more than he’ll ever admit. Touch starved. Is that what’s making Cas cling a little more? A little longer?

The next time Dean sees Cas, he’s holds on a little tighter. He wants Cas to be happy, wants him to know that he’s there for him. Cas sighs a little and stays pressed against him until Dean ends the hug. It’s actually not so bad, Dean decides. Cas is warm and solid, and Dean likes the safety and reassurance of the gesture.

Soon, they are not only hugging all the time, but touching each other on the arm when they talk. Dean slings an arm around Cas as they walk down the street. Cas bumps into Dean with his shoulder as he slides into the diner booth next to him. Neither of them feel the need to pull away if they accidentally brush against the other.

And finally, Cas timidly stretches his hand across the seat of the Impala, palm up, a clear invitation. Dean takes a deep breath, lets it sit there for a while as he considers. Then carefully, like he’s afraid Cas’ skin might burn him, he laces his fingers through Cas’. It’s a simple touch, only a small part of their bodies connected, but something warm and soothing spreads through Dean’s insides. After that, he holds Cas’ hand at every opportunity, glaring at Sam and daring him to make some sort of joke. Sam never does.

Eventually, they’re on Dean’s bed, watching a movie. It never occurs to Dean not to just slide up against Cas, and he goes without a fight when Cas scoots down and pulls Dean completely in his arms. The movie plays on with neither of them watching. By the time the credits roll, their legs are tangled, Cas’ hands are stroking Dean’s hair, and Dean has his face buried in Cas’ shoulder.

Maybe they were both a little touch starved.

And maybe they don’t have to be.

“Cas, you got your ears on?”  Dean squeezed his eyes shut, whispering to himself as he paced the treeline.  “Cas, come on… I need you, man.” 

“Who are you talking to?”

Opening his eyes, Dean sighed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled at Mary.  At his mom.  “Just wait, mom.  You’ll see.”


Dean spun on his heels, finding himself nose-to-nose with Cas.  He didn’t have time for words before he was in Cas’s arms, nearly crushed by the strength of the angel’s embrace.  “Hey, Cas,” he whispered, letting himself lean into it.  He let himself bury his face against Cas’s neck.  

“You’re alive.”  Cas was near tears as he clung to Dean, his fingers gripping the hunter’s shirt.  

“I’m alive.”  Sighing, Dean forced himself to pull back ever-so-slightly to look at Cas, let himself get lost in that breathtaking blue for a moment, as he had so many times over the years.  “How did you find me?  I don’t even know where the hell I am.”

Cas smiled, sliding to Dean’s shoulder.  “Well, we do share a more profound bond.” 


Turning, Dean took a step back from Cas, smiling proudly.  “Mom… this is Castiel. Cas….  He’s… He’s my…” He paused, looking at Cas, his hand still gripping the angel’s arm.  “Angel,” he finished.  “Cas, this is my mom, M–”

“Mary.”  Cas stepped out of Dean’s grip, making his way toward Mary.  Smiling, he reached out for her hand, squeezing it gently.  “It’s good to see you again, Mary.”

Again?” Dean’s brow drew together in confusion.  “What do you mean again?” 

Mary looked to her son and sighed, a gentle, sweet smile tugging at her lips. When she smiled, Cas could always see where Dean’s beautifully charming smile came from.  “Castiel came to visit me sometimes.  He let me know my boys were okay.  That they had a guardian angel watching over them.”  She squeezed Cas’s hand, and touched Dean’s cheek with the other.  “That my boys were loved.  By so many, and so much, but by no one more than him.” 

“I watched you rake leaves,” Castiel says one day.

Dean lifts his head to look at him in bewilderment. He’s seated cross legged on the bed of the motel room he and Sam are staying in, cleaning his guns to pass the time. With Sam gone to the library he’s left alone with Cas, who stands only a few feet from the foot of the bed.

“What?” Dean asks, not sure he heard right.

“At Lisa Braedon’s house,” Cas clarifies, and suddenly it’s like a dam bursting. “You were raking leaves, and I was there, even though you couldn’t see me. I watched you because I-” he breaks off. “I don’t know why. But I did.”

Deans nods quietly and places his gun in front of him, giving his full attention to Castiel. He’s not sure where this is coming from and not sure where it’s going, but Cas speaks as though he’s been holding it in for a long time, so the least he can do is listen.

“When we were in Purgatory, it killed me to be separated from you. I heard your prayers every night, and every night I had to force myself not to fly to you. I thought it would get easier, but it only got harder.” Cas breaks eye contact in favor of staring at his shoes, and closes his eyes. He’s shaking now.

“Do you have any idea,” his voice is quiet and broken. “how hard that was? How much that hurt? To hear the man you raised from Hell reach out to you every night and be unable to go to him?”

Cas opens his eyes. Dean draws in a breath, unaware he had stopped breathing.

“And then when I was under Naomi’s control-” Cas sounds like he’s scarily close to tears, and Dean feels the need to pull him into his arms, to tell him he doesn’t have to say anything he doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t, because Cas has decided he should. “For my training, she… she made me kill copies of you. Thousands of them, Dean. All of them were you.”

In a remarkably human gesture, Cas lifts the heel of his hand to his eye and takes a deep breath. “Every. Single. One of them,” he shakes out.

“At first I begged for her not to make me do it. And then I cried when I realized I had no other choice. I threw up after the first time, and then it took me hundreds of times to stop crying. After that I was just… dead inside.”

Cas is talking a mile a minute at this point, but he stops and finally meets Dean’s eye, dropping his hand to his side. Dean’s heart breaks at the sight of him. He looks so small and sad, and even though Dean knows he’s millions of years old, he looks young. His eyes are wide and scared.

“And-and then-” he cuts himself off, unable to continue. When he speaks he looks right at Dean, and his voice has slowed down and dropped to a whisper.

“I watched you rake leaves.”

Dean is off the bed in an instant, and it only takes him two strides to reach Cas. Then he takes his tear-streaked face in his hands, pulls him forward, and kisses him. Hard.

cardiologist!dean, nurse!cas ;u;

“Nice deep breath in for me, Cas.” Dean says, moving his stethoscope steadily over Castiel’s chest. “Breathe out and hold it.”

He sighs, dejected. Cas is still tachycardiac, and he still has no idea why.

“Okay, Cas, you can dress up.” Dean concedes. Castiel follows the instruction quietly. 

Dean’s known something’s up with him from the moment he first knocked on his office’s door a week ago, announcing the hospital appointed him as Dean’s secretary during Charlie’s leave. He was clearly antsy, not taking long enough breaths, and had cold hands as he handed over his personal file.

Dean got worried instantly. Maybe more than truly necessary, after all, Cas is a first-year nurse intern who was probably just nervous about the new job - especially since Dean is, no pun intended, the Dean of Medicine. Nonetheless, he still asked if he’d mind a check up, and turns out Dean was right to worry. As of their first consultation, Cas had uneven, 120 heartbeats per minute at rest.

He immediately ordered an EKG, which to his surprise - and relief - came back with no abnormalities. Before pinning Cas’s prior condition on First-Day Nerves, Dean did another physical just to be sure, and once again, his heartbeats are wacky.

“I gotta say, Cas, I still don’t know what’s going on.” Dean flops down on his chair, frustrated. “You’ve been experiencing any of the symptoms we talked about?”

“Not really.” Castiel responds evenly and sits on the chair across from Dean.

Dean ponders.

“Well, your history is excellent, so there’s not so much reason for alarm, but I do suggest we try a Holter Monitor. It’s a small device that’ll record your heart’s activity for 48 hours. It’s free of risks and will help us decide if we need more tests.” Dean explains. “I don’t know, this little guy only seems to misbehave when I try and get close to it, so maybe if we get you wired for a few da—”

Dean stops.

Is it him or Castiel’s… blushing?

Suddenly, his own words hit him. ‘This little guy only seems to misbehave when I try and get close to it’.

Dean’s eyes widen. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I never meant to make you uncomfortable, Cas, and look, if you want to report me, I’ll totally understan—”

“No!” Castiel exclaims. “You didn’t… make me uncomfortable. You’ve been perfectly professional. It’s just…”

“What?” Dean presses.

“I… like you.” He says so quietly Dean almost misses it, and if Cas was blushing before, now he’s basically on fire.

Dean releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

He couldn’t deny his own heart skipped a few beats when the beautiful nurse intern he’s been delaying his lunch-time just to see cross the cafeteria showed at his door.

“Well,” Dean says, trying not to sound as giddy as he feels, “I guess we’ll have to ask human resources to change your position.” Castiel looks mortified. Dean rushes to explain. “—Because it would be incredibly unethical of me to keep being the boss of someone I want to ask on a date so bad.”

Dean can swear the smile on Castiel’s face could light up the entire sky.

One year later, they’re standing on an altar, and Cas’s heart is racing again.

This time, Dean knows better.

There are some things Dean and Sam just don’t talk about. Things that would be weird or uncomfortable, things that can be ignored for the sake of keeping the peace. Sam never mentions the folder of kinky porn he found on Dean’s laptop. Dean never mentions the stress relieving facial mud mask and bath oils Sam keeps under his sink. And they never talk about Cas.

Sam doesn’t mention it the first time Dean makes a dirty joke, and Cas blinks at them in confusion.

“But Dean, last night you said you very much enjoyed when I-”

Dean starts talking over him, cutting him off, and Sam pretends not to have noticed anything strange.

Sam doesn’t say anything when he hears them through Dean’s closed door one night, relaxed laughter floating down the hallway into Sam’s room, followed soon by not-so-relaxed moaning. Sam just shuts his door, then invests in some noise canceling headphones.

Sam doesn’t tease them when Cas starts wearing Dean’s t-shirts around the bunker. The old faded cotton shits, with pictures of Dean’s favorite bands, are just a tiny bit too big for the angel, but he looks so happy in them that Sam can’t find the heart to even make a joke.

Sam keeps it to himself when he notices the two of them always sitting on the same side of the booth in diners and restaurants, their arms pressing against each other and disappearing under the table, where they are no doubt holding hands. Sam orders dessert so they can sit a little longer.

And Sam doesn’t say a word the morning Cas comes into the bunker kitchen, hair wild and mussed, a beaming smile on his face and a silver ring on his left hand. He just gets up, finds Dean in the garage where he is working on the Impala, and wraps his older brother in a hug. Dean’s cheeks flush, but he simply nods when Sam finally pulls away.

And that gesture is enough. There are some things they don’t need to talk about.

Heart to Heart

“Sam, may I ask you something?”

Sam looked up from his book to find Cas standing at the head of the table. He looked concerned. Or distressed. Or upset. Perhaps it was all three. “Yeah. Of course.” He gestured to the empty chair beside him. “What’s up, Cas?”

With a heavy sigh, Cas sat down. His brow was drawn together. His hands refused to lay at rest. “Where’s Dean?” It was more of an afterthought; clearly not the question he had for Sam.

“Uh, grocery run, I think.” Sam closed his book and set it on the table. “What’s goin’ on, Cas? What’s wrong?”

Again, Cas sighed. “You… You’ve been in love, haven’t you?”

Sam’s eyes widened, and he sputtered out sounds that couldn’t quite be put together in a sentence. “Uh… What? I mean. Yes. Yeah. Yeah, I have, Cas. But what… Why?”

Cas ignored Sam’s question, and persisted with his own. “What does it feel like to be in love with someone?”

A soft smile tugged at Sam’s lips. He huffed out a laugh, and settled back in his chair. “It, uh… It feels like there’s butterflies in your stomach. You hate being away from them for too long ‘cause you start to miss them. They’re the first thing you think about in the morning, and the last thing on your mind at night.

“You want to put their well-being before your own. You… You want to see them happy and okay, no matter what. Hearing their voice makes you smile. Seeing them after being away makes your heart skip a beat.” He paused and sighed, letting a wistful smile pass over his face. “Being around them makes breathing feel easier… Makes the world seem brighter.”

Sam fell silent, and Cas remained quiet for a long while. He let Sam’s words swirl through his brain, and rattle themselves into a rational thought. Finally, he leaned forward. “Sam?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“I believe I’m in love with Dean.”

“You’re not my brother.”

One moment Castiel had been gazing out of the Impala’s window, calm and at ease as he watched trees, and houses, and the other cars that were passing by. The next, Dean broke their comfortable silence to drop a bomb that instantly made Castiel feel nauseous and cold, his head turning so fast that it made him feel dizzy as he looked at Dean. 

All of these feelings, emotions that should be entirely too human for an angel to even feel them, were an unpleasant reminder of how far Castiel had fallen for this man. Dean’s eyes weren’t on the road, they were already on Castiel, and as soon as he had Castiel’s attention, he elaborated.

“I said that to you, a while ago, that you were our brother. It was a lie, Cas.”

He remembered it, them having a similar moment in this very car, just the two of them. It was months ago, at a time when the end of the world had seemed closer than on the average day. And even though Castiel’s feelings for Dean undoubtedly crossed the line of ‘brothers’, in Dean Winchester’s book, that was the most important title that someone could earn. Which is why Castiel had tried to ignore his disappointment at the term, because it at least meant that Dean cared deeply about him, and the angel could appreciate that for what it was.

But to hear him taking it back now, supposedly because the world hadn’t ended and Dean had only said it because he’d wanted to make Castiel feel better at the end of everything… That was possibly more agonizing than being stabbed with an angel blade.

“I see. I understand, Dean.” Castiel replied, almost mechanically, attempting to turn off his emotions, not wanting to give away how much this was truly affecting him. “You assumed that we were all going to die soon, and you saying it was a source of comfort for me back then, even if it isn’t true.”

Dean slammed the brakes so abruptly that Castiel had to hold on to his seat, then parked the car at the side of the road.

Castiel stared at him, wide-eyed. Dean was staring right back, conflict in his eyes, indicating that he was fighting some kind of internal battle.

“Look man, if I’m not going to say it now, I will never say it.” Dean muttered after a brief silence, speaking to himself rather than addressing Castiel, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath before looking Castiel in the eye again. “You’re not my brother, because you’re… You’re something else.”

“Your friend.” Castiel supplied coolly, not sure where this conversation was going. “I hope you at least consider me a friend.”

“Yes, of course I do!” Dean blurted out loudly, his tone bordering on hysteric. “Don’t ever think that you’re not my friend, or not part of the family. Sam thinks of you as his brother, it’s just that for me you’re also… You’re it. For me… You’re it. ”

Castiel blinked at Dean, stunned. Dean blinked back, not moving either. Did Dean mean…

“Oh…” Castiel whispered, praying that he wasn’t reading this wrong. “You mean I’m… it?”

Dean nodded, looking nothing short of relieved, those eyes that Castiel admired lighting up. “Yeah…”

“So by it, you mean…” Castiel didn’t finish that thought, but timidly reached for Dean’s hand.

When Dean welcomed it, calloused fingers covering Castiel’s slender ones, the angel cracked a smile.

“I’m not your brother.” He stated, his eyes never straying, holding Dean’s.

With a gentle smile, Dean leaned closer, experimentally pecking Castiel on the lips once he was close enough. Castiel rewarded him with a peck of his own, right at the corner of Dean’s mouth.

Dean smirked, already crawling to Castiel’s side of the car.

“No, Cas. You’re not.”

It’s Cas’ smile that really gets Dean.

Sure, he makes dirty I’m-having-sex-with-an-angel jokes to Sam, who just rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He tells the woman at the dry cleaner’s that he just can’t resist a man in a suit, and she laughs, only looking a little jealous that she doesn’t stand a chance with either of them. He ignores Jody when she teases him affectionately, teasing her right back and telling her that he just can’t handle a woman like her and was forced to settle for Cas.

But truthfully, it’s Cas’ smile.

Dean can’t resist it.

It’s rare, Cas’ smile. They don’t have a whole lot to smile about these days, and Cas isn’t particularly effusive anyway. But every now and then, Dean will tell a lame joke, or he’ll catch Cas’ eye as he’s drumming loudly on his steering wheel, and there it is. Bright blue eyes shining brighter than the clear sky, full and slightly chapped lips spread wide over white teeth, lines crinkling his face in all the right ways to make him look both adorable and sexy.

And Dean’s fucking lost in it. Instantly. Every damn time.

There’s so much purity and joy in Cas’ smile. So much happiness. Things Dean never gets to have. So he latches onto Cas’ smile like it’s oxygen. Let’s the bright light of it chase away all the shadows hanging over him.

Right now, Dean is burrowing into Cas’ neck, trying his hardest to stay asleep even though his angel is poking him in the ribs, murmuring him awake.

“Cas. I’d sell my soul for you, I would. But I’m going to kill you myself if you don’t give me ten more minutes of sleep.” He presses a kiss into Cas’ skin to take the sting out of his words, and he feels Cas’ expression change.

Dean knows Cas is smiling, knows that if he opens his eyes he’ll get to see the only thing he has worth looking at, and it’s so unfair. Because if Cas is smiling, Dean can’t keep his eyes closed, can’t stay asleep.

“Cheater,” Dean says, leaning up on his elbow to drink in Cas’ face.

Cas only smiles wider, pulls Dean down for a kiss, neither of them closing their eyes.

On a scorching Thursday afternoon, a somber 8-year-old student sits by the grass and watches the other kids have fun at the playground, untouched bowl of cereal in his hands.

“Dean, are you all right?”

The boy looks up at his science teacher, then back at the kids, making a nimble gesture with his head. He knows he doesn’t have to explain himself - soon enough, he won’t even be coming to this school. His dad already started showing the signs they’re close to moving again.

“Perhaps you should finish your lunch inside. It’s too hot to be eating out here.” The teacher suggests.

“I like the sun.“

When it’s silent, the boy thinks the man is finally gone.

“Very well,” The deep voice startles him, and when he looks to the side, his teacher is sitting right next to him. "You know, all this sunlight is actually made out of tiny little light specks called photons.” 

The boy looks down at his lunch. “Like cereal is made out of grains?” 

"Exactly. But unlike cereal grains, these light specks take thousands and thousands of years to reach us.”

“But yesterday in class you said it only takes eight minutes.”

The teacher smiles. “I see you were paying attention.”

The boy dips his head, blushing. He really likes the science class, but he doesn’t want to be a nerd. His dad always says brains without brawn is like a gun without ammo - you can’t kill monsters with it.

“You’re right, Dean, light does take eight minutes to reach Earth from the sun’s surface, but that’s only the last leg of a long, arduous journey that started deep inside the sun. It’s almost like when you have something very important to say to someone, and you hold it inside yourself for a long time to perfect it before it actually makes out of you and reaches their ear.”

“Except… I never really say it.” The boy says, downcast.

“There’s nothing wrong in taking your time to perfect it.” The teacher replies. 

They sit in silence for a moment. 

“Dean, do you know what happens to some of the light specks that never reach the Earth?” 

The boy shakes his head.

“They travel across the universe, getting to see planets, stars, and even entire galaxies. But the ones that end up here,” He bops the tip of the boy’s nose, “are the truly lucky ones.”

The boy can’t contain the laughter that escapes him. 

When he goes back to the motel that day, he digs up everything he can about stars and photons. He goes back to school on Friday, eager to share his new knowledge with the science teacher, but he’s nowhere to be found. On the following day, John starts packing up. Dean never saw him again. 

Or so he thinks.

Dean tells Castiel he loves him on a scorching Thursday afternoon. 

Cas’s been pent up on restoring the garden they found at back of the Bunker last month, and that’s where Dean finds him.

“Heya, Cas.” 

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel replies warmly, watering the Forget-Me-Nots he planted just a week ago. They’re growing beautiful. 

“Can we talk?” Dean asks, blood pounding in his ears.

“Of course.” Castiel puts the watering can aside and regards him with soft eyes.

Dean opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He’s been working on this for months, and now he’s stuck. He can’t even remember the words anymore.

“Dean?” Castiel asks, expression growing worried, and Dean feels a wave of panic rise in his gut - this so not how he wanted this to go.

A sun ray flickers through the cracks of Cas’s hair, and before Dean knows it, he’s blurting out, “Photons!” 

Castiel tilts his head.

“They… they’re the elementary particles of light, and—” Dean swallows. “At the sun’s core, all these badass nuclear collisions produce them as gamma rays, which is the most energetic…” The enthralled look on Cas’s face has Dean losing focus for a moment. He’s sure Cas already knows all this, but he’s still staring at him like a kid learning something for the first time. “…the most energetic type of light. If it wasn’t for the sun’s inner layers where they get bounced around for a long-ass time, we’d all be deep-fried extra-crispy. By the time they reach the surface, most of them are visible-light photons, the kind that won’t… deep-fry us.”

Dean closes his eyes, taking a huge breath. “That’s kinda how I feel about you. Cas, this feeling, it’s nuclear. It’ll always keep getting bounced around my 50 layers of bullshit, and trust me, it’s gonna take a long time for me to be able to get out how bad I—” Need you. Want you. Love you. “But no matter what I say or do to show how much you matter to me, that’s not even scratching what’s going on inside.”

When Dean allows himself to open his eyes, Cas is staring at him with a fondness that almost hurts to look at.

“I’d like to kiss you right now, if that’s all right.” Castiel says.

Dean gawks, then blurts out an euphoric laugh. “Hell yeah.”

Cas’s lips taste like coming home.

“I’m sorry, I wish I’d said this earlier.” Dean pants, “But I wanted to make it perfect, and—” 

“There’s nothing wrong in taking your time to perfect it.” 

A memory close to Dean’s heart makes him chuckle.

“What?” Castiel asks.

“Nothing, you just reminded me of someone.”

“Then tell me all about them.”

Right there, among billions and billions of photons, Dean holds Cas close and talks about the one teacher that ever looked at him like he was worth believing in.

Heaven may have ensured he wouldn’t recall any of the times he took different shapes to visit the Righteous Man, but as the sunlight makes Dean’s face glow like it’s echoing the brightness of his soul, Castiel thinks that if he’d been Dean’s science teacher, he would’ve told him the exact same things.

Anonymous asked: i wasn’t gay but then i kissed you in front of some homophobes to piss them off and now im kinda gay au uwu

Author’s note: I got this one in my inbox this morning, and I was kinda thinking about it at work, and then I sort of just, yeah…

“Yo, Winchester! You’re seriously still hanging out with Novak? What if he rubs off on you? You could end up being just like him, and your spot on the football team won’t be enough to save your popularity.”

Dean was gritting his teeth, both hands gripping the armrests of his seat, knuckles turning white. Next to him, his best friend Castiel was slowly shaking his head in silent warning.

It was supposed to be a fun night out, just him and Cas at the movies like friends did on Friday nights. So what were the odds that Alastair and his obnoxious group of minions happened to be sitting two rows behind them at the cinema, throwing insults at Cas every five seconds.

“I’m not gonna take this any longer, he’s been doing this for months now.” Dean hissed under his breath, swiftly approaching a breaking point. “We’re seventeen, not seven! It’s about time they start acting like adults.”

“Please don’t, Dean.” Castiel all but begged, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “They’re never going to stop anyway, and do I need to remind you that there’s five of them and two of us? You’re going to get hurt if you go over there. Or worse, they’ll get back at you Monday at school when they catch you alone.”

A whistle from behind them.

“Oooh, look at that, the boyfriends are touching.” That was unmistakably Gordon’s voice, Alastair’s most lethal partner in crime.

Dean’s blood was boiling. This had happened too many times already… Ever since Castiel had come out six months ago, he’d been pestered by these homophobic asshats for no reason, and Dean was more than done with it. The code that Dean Winchester lived by was a simple code: One; don’t touch my little brother. Two; don’t hurt my best friend. The fact that Cas always claimed that it was ‘fine’ and that he’d learned to ignore it, wasn’t good enough for Dean. Someone like Cas deserved to have a carefree life without having to deal with this unnecessary bullshit.

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Cas doesn’t mean to find it.

He wasn’t looking for it, and he certainly didn’t mean to invade Dean’s privacy. Dean had asked him to grab a few DVDs from the large chest at the foot of his bed, determined to give Cas a night of pop culture education, and there it was.

The small box is simple, but beautiful, made of wood carved in gorgeous and intricate patterns, stained dark, and gleaming in the lamplight. Cas picks it up to examine it more closely, to appreciate the artwork of it. When he realizes it opens, he’s looking inside before he realizes it isn’t an appropriate thing to do.

Instantly, Cas feels a rush of affection for Dean. In the box are memories- pictures of his parents, pictures of him and Sam when they were teenagers, old concert tickets, old letters, and several small trinkets.

And then Cas sees it, one corner peeking out from where it’s buried at the bottom of the box. A picture of Dean with Cas. It’s a candid, from sometime at Bobby’s house, and Cas has no recollection of it being taken. But there it is. In a box full of things that are special to Dean.

Cas has to keep looking then, has to know if there is more of him in this box, his fingers searching like he has no control over them. He finds a pretty gemstone, one that Dean probably picked up at some tourist attraction, that might not having anything to do with him, but it is the exact color of his blue eyes. He finds a sketch of angel wings, huge and powerful looking, and surprisingly accurate. And he finds a scrap of material that he knows, without a doubt, is from one of the many times he’s ripped and repaired the trenchcoat he favors.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice is soft, almost nervous. Cas looks up to find him hovering, cheeks flushed as he sees what Cas is holding.

Finally certain, and more desperate than he’s ever been in his entire existence, Cas stands up and pulls Dean’s face to his.

Dean doesn’t struggle, doesn’t even act surprised. He just sinks into it, kisses Cas back with the same force.

Later that night, Cas steals the DVD they put on but didn’t actually watch, and starts his own box.


They’re close to wrapping up their second soul eater case when Dean finally works up the nerve to ask what’s been pestering in his brain ever since they left Michigan.

“Hey, um—” He sees Sam’s head snap up from across the table, but keeps his eyes fixed on his laptop’s screen. “Back when you said me seeing dead you was ‘comforting’, what’d you mean?”

Sam frowns, then sighs. “I guess I was glad the soul eater didn’t make you see things you’d have a hard time telling apart from reality, y’know?”

Dean scoffs. Yeah, right.

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BUT imagine this:

Breakfast at the bunker. Sam, Dean, Cas, and Mary, all of them happily chatting while they’re enjoying their food, meanwhile Cas appreciating his mug of freshly brewed coffee as he watches them fondly.

Then once they are all ready to start the day, Sam leaving for his morning jog, Cas leaving to check out a possible lead on Lucifer, which leaves Dean and Mary.

And Mary staring at Dean once they’re alone, slack jawed, eyes wide, a silent “oh” falling from her lips.

Dean raising his eyebrows at her, not sure what she’s getting at, and asking “What? Is something wrong, mom?”

And Mary taking a deep breath before shaking her head, her face gradually melting into a knowing smile. “No, it’s just, I only realized just now… You and Castiel, the way he looks at you… That’s the exact same way your father always looked at me. I know that times have changed, you could’ve honestly told me about the two of you.”

Of course followed by Dean nearly choking on his last bite of leftover food, his cheeks on fire, because they’re not dating, thank you very much. 

That is to say, not yet.

you know what we need more of?

wedding/romantic comedy au’s where dean is sam’s best man, and cas is a member of jess’ wedding party

and everything seems to go wrong in the days leading up to the wedding and dean and cas have to play damage control…

but they hate each other and spend most of the time arguing about whether the ribbons on the flowers are purple or “they're lavender, dean.”

and the whole thing is like a train wreck of dominos as dean and cas scramble to get everything ready, and they almost get in a car crash, nearly get arrested for taking the wrong cake from the bakery, almost lose the flowers out of the sunroof of cas’ goofy - “it’s a hybrid, dean” - car

but somehow they manage to get sam and jess down the aisle, completely unaware of all the chaos

and at the reception sam is glowing as he pats dean on the shoulder and says how he and cas “make a good team.”

and dean is about to protest, but then he sees cas out of the corner of his eye twirling jess around on the dance floor and laughing as he simultaneously trips over his own feet, and dean exhales sharply and runs a hand over his mouth to cover his smile.

yeah. yeah we do.

“I don’t understand tattoos,” Cas says. It’s a random and unexpected statement, out of the blue, but Dean’s used to that from Cas. He glances down at his chest, still bare from just getting out of bed, the anti-possession tattoo sticking out on his skin. “I understand your tattoo, of course,” Cas continues, “but I don’t understand ones that are purely decorative.”

Dean shrugs. “Some people like the art of it, I guess. Self-expression or something.” Cas stares in that way he has as Dean thinks for a moment, then speaks again. “And I think most people get them because they mean something to them. Remind them of something or someone important. Mark an occasion. Whatever.”

“Like they want to be permanently marked with the things they love,” Cas says, somewhat to himself, as he ponders Dean’s words.

"Exactly,” Dean says.

It isn’t mentioned again, and Dean promptly forgets the conversation.

It’s months later when it’s brought up again.

“Would you ever get another tattoo? One that was just for you?” Cas asks.

The Impala is on a busy street, stopped at a red light next to a tattoo parlor. Cas is peering through the window, and Dean rolls his eyes affectionately at his weird mind.

“I never really thought about it. But I guess. Maybe. Depends on what it was.”

Cas nods absently, still staring at the shop.

“Why?” Dean pries. “You thinkin’ about getting one?

Cas doesn’t answer, and the light turns green. Dean pulls away without giving it too much thought.

Again, it’s months later before it’s brought up another time.

They’re fighting a demon, one that unexpectedly showed up outside their motel for no reason other than it heard the Winchesters were there, and foolishly thought it could take them. Dean’s not really struggling with this fight, and he’s just about to pull his knife and finish the guy off, but Cas is suddenly there between them.

Cas is fierce, in protective mode, all electric grace and wings as he takes the demon out with almost no effort at all- just the wild look on his face he always has when Dean is threatened.

“Uh, thanks, Cas,” Dean says automatically, unable to really mean the words. He’s too busy staring at Cas.

Cas’ wings are green.

Dean recognizes that color green. He sees it in the mirror every morning. And he’s sure as hell that Cas’ wings weren’t always that same color.

“What, uh…um, that’s…” Dean’s stammering, unsure of how to ask his question, unsure of what his question is.

Cas looks embarrassed, which is so unlike him that Dean almost laughs. “I decided to change the color of my wings. It’s much the same as a human getting a tattoo.”

He doesn’t need to say anything else. Dean remembers their conversation about tattoos meaning something, about the art being about something or someone important. Marked with the things you love.

It takes a second to sink in, takes another second (or several) for Dean to gather up the courage to say what he’s feeling. “They’re beautiful, Cas.”

Their eyes meet, Cas’ full of surprise and hopeful joy, and Dean feels himself smile.

“I guess we have some things to talk about,” Cas murmurs.

“I guess we do.”

Dean takes a deep breath, then leans in and kisses him instead.

The Password

“I don’t know, dude,” Cas said, borrowing his roommate’s turn of phrase.  “Maybe it’s titties4life67.  Have you tried that one?”

Dean made a face.  “It’s not titties4life.”

“Plus the 67.  For your car.”

“It’s not that!”

Cas shrugged and continued to look under the messy stack of books and papers on Dean’s desk for a Post-It note with Dean’s password on it.

“I told you, I didn’t write it down.  I’m smarter than that,” Dean groused.

“Why don’t you just call the IT desk and have them reset it?  Oh, ew!”  Cas flicked away the wadded up tissue he’d inadvertently picked up.

“Don’t freak out.  It’s just snot.”

“Oh, double ew!  I’d rather it be the other thing.”

Dean half smiled as he tried to guess his password to his student account again.  “Well, it could be the other thing.”

Cas made gagging noises and wiped his hand off on Dean’s shirt.  Dean let him.

“What’s the last thing you remember when you made it?” Cas asked, flipping through a thick, heavy textbook about the properties of materials.  He didn’t know how engineering majors could deal with such boring topics.

“Well…I know I wanted to make it something that I wouldn’t forget over the summer.”

“Well done,” Cas said dryly.

“Shut up.  I mean, like, something intrinsic that wouldn’t change from year to year like my favorite song or movie.”

“So like, your car, your mom, your weird obsession with your little brother?”

“I do not have a ‘weird obsession’ with my little brother.”

“Little bit,” Cas replied and looked behind Dean’s monitor.

“Maybe it’s like…something…”  Dean’s fingers tapped lightly on the keys as he thought.  Suddenly…he remembered.  And he blushed hard.  “Oh, I remember now.  It’s fine.  Thanks for the help.  You can go back to your desk…”

Dean looked up after successfully logging into his account.  Cas was standing still, staring at a square blue sticky note.  Dean blanched.  He had written down the stupid password.  And stuck it behind his monitor.  And Cas had found it.  And was looking at it.  And was comprehending its meaning.  Maybe.  Maybe not.  CJN could stand for anything…

“You love me?” Cas asked, looking bewildered as he looked at Dean.

Dean stuttered over finding a consonant that would form a word that would get him out of this.  Nothing was coming to mind.

“C-C-CJN stands for…Cheese…Jell-O…N…n…nachos.  Cause you know.  I like food so much.”

“Unh-hunh.  So…why are the numbers after it the day we met?”

“Whaaa?” Dean’s voice was a little high pitched.  “That’s not—who would even remember the day we met?” he asked, making what he knew must be a ridiculous face.

“It was Orientation Day freshman year,” Cas said.  “It’s not that hard to remember.”

“It’s, um, it’s just a coinci—dence!”  Dean’s voice squeaked at the end when Castiel sat sideways on his lap.

“Dean.  Would it make you feel better about me knowing your password if you knew that I loved you too?”

Dean stared wide-eyed at Cas for nearly a full minute, trying to process if his roommate and longtime crush was just trying to make him feel better or if he really…

Cas’ hands were resting loosely behind Dean’s neck, his fingers laced together.  He seemed completely comfortable to be sitting in Dean’s lap, and his eyes were focused, but undemanding, as they looked into his.  Tentatively, questioningly, Dean raised his arms to circle Cas’ waist, one hand resting on his hip—molding so perfectly it was like Cas’ body had been designed to fit his.

He finally found his wits and his voice and said, “It would help.  I mean, I obviously have to change it now that you know; it’s been compromised.”

Cas smiled.  “You can change it to CJNlovesDHW.  And use today’s date for the numbers.”

“That’s a very good password.”

“I thought so.”

“Compromised though.”

Cas let out a little laugh and slightly rolled his eyes.  “Fine.  You sit there and think of a new password, and I’ll…”

Cas trailed off and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Dean’s in what might be the sweetest first kiss ever.  At least it was in his opinion.

Behind him on Dean’s desk, a blue sticky note read, IloveCJN*8242013.

cassammydean asked: OKAY soulmate au where you see colour after eye contact: Cas is a famous best selling author and he’s promoting his book (or something idk), so he’s talking to a crowd of people and suddenly his world is in colour and a lot of his fans pretend to be his soulmate and a Cinderella type situation ensues or something. 

Author’s note: *forever a sucker for soulmate AUs*

“Ready to rock, little bro?”

Breathe in, breathe out… It won’t be that bad, no one is going to bite you… Castiel mentally encouraged himself before curtly nodding at Gabriel.

Gabriel was his older brother as well as his manager, always coming up with these peculiar stunts that pulled Castiel right out of his comfort zone.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” He answered, hastily running a hand through his hair, even though he had no illusions that the simple motion would be enough to fix that untamed mess.

A handful of deep breaths later, and his anxiety was gradually making room for determination. Gabriel pointed him to the exit of the bookstore’s staff room, the very room that Castiel had been pacing back and forth for thirty minutes straight now. Surely it couldn’t be that hard, surely it had to be easy as-

While Castiel was still busy giving himself a silent pep talk, Gabriel already pushed the door open, and squeals and whistles filled the air. Cameras flashed, and people were cheering, Castiel’s name echoing through the room. Gabriel shot him a wicked grin, leading Castiel onto the small stage that was set up there just for him.

“There’s hundreds of them, it’s a good thing we picked a huge-ass store. Make me proud, Cassie!” Were Gabriel’s last words of encouragement before he patted Castiel’s shoulder and took a few steps back.

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