deancas ficlet

Don’t think about Cas sitting somewhere by himself on a college campus just reading a book and Dean and a group of his friends walk by and Dean is just like,

“I bet I could get his number and a date in less than a minute.” And his friends are like, “haha, yeah right. He’s out of your league, Winchester. Novak’s don’t date. They just curve all the tests.” Then Dean goes, “I bet you $200 each. And I’ll even add in an extra bet that I’ll get HIM to kiss ME.”

So they take the bet and Dean just waltz over and sits down next to Cas and just smiles at him and says, “hey, sweetheart” then hands him his phone.

Seconds later Castiel just leans forward and kisses Dean on the lips and goes, “are you scamming your friends out of money with bets again? You know eventually they’ll figure out we’ve been dating for a little while.”

Then Dean just grins like, “And that’s when I’ll stop.”

Meanwhile Dean’s friends are just standing there in shock because what did they just see?

“Mornin’, sunshine.  Want some coffee?”  Dean nuzzles into Cas’s hair and breathes him in, tightening his grip on the angel’s waist, pulling him back against his chest  “I can drag my ass outta bed for a few minutes to go put some on.”

“No.  Thank you,” Cas grumbles, shifting to snuggle back against Dean.  His voice is sleep-rough and low, and Dean can’t get enough of it.  He tugs Dean’s arms tighter around him.  “We don’t have anywhere to go or anything to do today.  I’d like to stay here a while.”

Pressing kisses to Cas’s neck, nibbling his way around to his jaw, Dean finds himself grinning as he murmurs against Cas’s warm skin.  He’s perfectly content to stay here for as long as Cas’ll have him.  “Awesome.”

“What do you do at night?” Dean asks.

Cas snuggles in closer, lips almost touching Dean’s. “This.”

Dean grins. “And after I fall asleep? You don’t sleep. So what do you do?”

“Contemplate the meaning of life.”

Dean snorts a laugh. “You’re getting better with the sarcasm, Cas.” He leans his head back to yawn, then slides a leg between Cas’, burying his head in Cas’ neck where he likes to sleep.

Within seconds, he’s snoring, and Cas smiles into the darkness.

No, Cas doesn’t sleep.

He runs his hands over Dean’s back until the muscles relax.

He traces pictures between clusters of Dean’s freckles.

He lets the warmth of Dean seep into him until he almost feels like it’s his warmth, too.

He appreciates how pale Dean’s skin looks when the moonlight washes over it.

He counts Dean’s breaths.

And he listens all night to the drumbeat of Dean’s heart, pumping steadily.

Dean wakes up with the sun, curls into Cas and groans. “Mornin’, sunshine.”

Cas smiles. “Good morning, Dean.”

They spend a few minutes kissing lazily, soft and lingering kisses that have no agenda, before Dean speaks again. “So really, Cas. What do you do at night?”

“Nothing much,” Cas says. “Mostly just wait for you to wake up.”

Dean sighs, but seems to accept that answer, and pushes himself out of bed to start his day. Cas watches him for a moment before he gets up himself, smiling at the sweet secret he gets to keep to himself.

Happy Birthday Dean 

It was the tapping on his bedroom window that woke Dean. Normally he wasn’t a light sleeper, once he was asleep it took Sam pouring water on him to get him to wake. The tapping, however, managed to wake him. With a groan, Dean rolled over a checked the time. 5:56am. What the hell? He thought as he looked over to the window and saw yet another small stone hit the window. 

Hastily, Dean got up out of his warm bed and padded across his room towards the window. Looking down he bit back a smirk when he saw who was stood down on his lawn. With care, he opened his bedroom window.

“Really? Throwing rocks at my window? That’s cheesy Cas.” He called down to his best friend. “What are you doing here? It’s the ass crack of dawn.” He said to the sweater and scarf-clad figure of Castiel Novak. His best friend of fourteen years. 

“You have such a way with words Dean.” Cas called back with a shake of his head. “Hurry up and get down here, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“For little ol’ me? What’s the occasion Cas?” Dean asked as if he didn’t already know. It wasn’t every day that he turned eighteen. 

“Well, eighteen years ago today God decided the world hadn’t suffered enough so he gave you. Plagues and floods have nothing on your terrible taste in music and cheesy feet.” Cas said. Dean flipped him but still grinned. 

“I love it when you talk dirty to me Cas.”

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Coda 12x11

Sam’s trying to keep it together but it isn’t easy with Dean wandering off like a child, nothing even resembling a lead on the witch, and the metaphorical clock ticking so loudly that he can practically hear it. The television kept Dean’s focus for a while, but now he’s restlessly wandering around the motel room, complaining. Racking his brain for a game to pull up on his phone to keep his brother occupied, Sam entreats him to sit back down on the bed, but Dean shakes his head.

“I wanna go outside,” he says again.

“I need to keep working so we can get you…better,” Sam says, with a false note of confidence. “If you could just give me some time to research—“

“I wanna go outside,” Dean insists, like a child who wants to play. Sam’s trying not to snap at him when Dean’s suddenly present again with a pained lucidity in his eyes that Sam hasn’t seen for the past few hours.  “It’s too much being cooped up in here, Sammy, waiting for whatever I’m gonna lose next. I need some fresh air. I need to see the sky.”

Sam’s on his feet in an instant. It’s bad enough when Dean lets Sam lead him around, happy to be along for the ride and pleased with whatever simplistic answers Sam gives him. But at least in those moments Sam can pretend it’s a stranger wearing his brother’s body. These flashes of awareness are exponentially worse and Sam is determined to give him whatever he needs.

“Ok, Dean,” he suggests. “How about this?” He moves a chair into the motel doorway, propping the door open with it. It will leave him close enough to get a signal while he keeps one eye on Dean outside. The Impala is parked right at the curb and he leads Dean to it, hoping that the familiar sun-warmed feel of the hood will comfort him in a way that words can’t. Dean climbs onto the hood with his eyes trained on the clear blue sky. As Sam watches, Dean begins to relax, leaning back against the windshield. “You want your sunglasses?”

Dean doesn’t answer, just shakes his head no. Sam gets back to work.

The calm lasts about a half hour until clouds begin to move in, marring the blue with a promise of rain.

Dean clambers awkwardly down from Baby and comes to stand before Sam. “The ocean,” he says with no preamble.

Sam blinks up at him. “What about it?”

“I want to go see the ocean.”

“Dean.” Sam tries to keep his voice calm and gentle. “We’re in Arkansas. There’s no ocean here.”

“But I want to see it.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. That’s not something we can do right now.” Dean’s face begins to crumple, so Sam quickly adds. “I have an idea,” and that’s enough to elicit Dean’s interest. Back inside the room, Sam takes out Dean’s laptop and types ocean into Google image search. “How about you look at pictures of oceans and tell me which one you want to go see when we’re all done here?”

Dean’s already fixated on the blues and greens filling the screen and he reaches for the computer.

“Just click right here to make each one bigger.” Sam points to the trackpad and he’s treated to an eye roll from his brother that he finds equal parts jarring and reassuring.

“I’m not an idiot, Sam.”

You forgot your own name, Sam wants to say, but there’s no point in burdening Dean with that.

“Ok, Dean. Find the one you like best.”

Sam gets back to his research as Dean takes his assignment to heart. There’s a steady stream of clicking and muttering as Dean opens and then rejects photo after photo. Finally, he stands and brings the laptop over to Sam.

“This one.”

Sam smiles at him and takes a look to be polite. It’s a beach in French Polynesia with tropical waters as deep and blue as…

“Good job, Dean. I’m gonna call Cas, ok?”

Dean nods, never taking his eyes away from the screen.


On his way to meet Rowena, Sam pauses in the doorway. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he tells Cas, who is sitting on one of the beds.

Calmer than he’s been all day, Dean lies with his head in Cas’s lap. When Cas turns to say goodbye to Sam, Dean reaches out a hand to Cas’s cheek, angling his face so he can continue to stare up into his eyes.

Their first kiss isn’t dramatic.

It probably should have been.

It probably should have happened a million times before, with the two of them caught in an impossible life or death situation, staring at each other with that look like they don’t ever want to look anywhere else. It should have happened in the middle of a million close calls, with adrenaline pumping and fear of losing each other coursing through their veins. It should have happened when they came back to each other time after time, in the midst of insurmountable odds, desperately relieved to see each other, feeling like they can finally take a breath again.

Instead, it happens outside of a motel one morning, when the sky is still streaked with pinks and reds. Dean’s leaning on the Impala, laughing at his own bad joke, and Cas leans in and kisses that laugh like he wants to swallow it down and keep it inside him forever.

It’s not fancy. There’s no music or fireworks, time doesn’t stop, and Cas isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to do with his hands.

But it’s warm and familiar. He tastes like Dean, and Cas recognizes the solid wall of Dean’s chest against his even if he’s never felt it this way before. They sink into it slowly, soft and hesitant, but unbearably right.  

Cas doesn’t linger, pulls away sooner than he’d like, because he doesn’t want to freak Dean out more than he surely already has.

Dean looks surprised, yes, but he doesn’t look angry. It takes him a second, but his lips curl into a lazy smile, skin glowing in the early morning sun. He looks down, lashes dark against his creamy skin, and actually blushes.

When Sam opens the motel door, Cas knows the moment is over.

But that’s okay.

Their first kiss wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t huge or overwhelming, didn’t alter the course of the future.

But Dean slides into the Impala with an easy grace, smiles at Cas through the window as he says “See ya later.” And Cas knows he’ll have many more kisses. Kisses of all kinds.

But… imagine Dean is a Kindergarten teacher

And Cas volunteers as a recess/lunch supervisor

And Dean has been crushing on him all along, and always brings him coffee - just how he likes it - when he’s outside in the cold, and bakes cookies for the days Cas is working (oatmeal raisin, because Cas once let slip they’re his favourite).

And then some of Dean’s class come up to him when they’re making Valentines cards, and ask if he’s going to give one to Mr Novak, “Because you like him, right?

And Dean stammers, trying to explain “it’s not like that” but the kids insist and drag him over to one of the tables to help him make one.

And at lunch time, Dean is towed across the yard by three very excited five-year-olds and blushes furiously when he sheepishly hands Cas an oversized card that is drowning in glitter and multi-coloured, cut-out paper hearts.

And the little ones tug at Cas’s hands, looking sad, and ask “Don’t you have a card for Mr Winchester?  Don’t you like him back?” and Dean tries to mouth that it’s okay; to let Cas know that he doesn’t mind, though he thinks actually his heart might be breaking a little, because he always hoped…

And Cas blushes, reaching into his pocket and bringing out a small envelope which he hands to Dean.

And when Dean opens it, he finds just a simple piece of paper, with the words “I like other food, besides cookies.  Want to get dinner with me some time?” with a tiny heart drawn next to it.

And when he looks up, Cas is beaming at him, and he just knows he has a stupid, goofy grin on his own face, but he doesn’t care.

And three five-year-olds skip off across the yard, giggling, to play on the jungle gym.  Because Mr Novak and Mr Winchester are being all weird and smiley, and “eww, that’s gross.”

Speak and I'll Listen

Cas and Dean have been neighbors since they were six years old, the fact that Cas is deaf meaning little to Dean until an accident makes it all too clear. Valentine’s Day special.

Dean had lived across from Castiel since he was six years old. He still remembered when the Novak’s had moved in, and how excited he’d been when a little black-haired boy with a bee stuffed animal had tottered into the house after his mother. Because they’d been the same age, and as far as Dean’s six-year-old brain had figured, that meant he got to make a new friend. Dean had always been happy to make friends.

He’d begged his mother for days – from the arms of their couches and edges of countertops – to go and meet them. With Sam on her hip, she’d said, “no, not now,” leaving Dean to wander up to his room dejected and staring out his window at the blue house across the lonely road.

Until the weekend had finally arrived, at which point Mary had packed together a welcome basket, spurred John out of the garage, and held Sam’s hand as they headed from one side across to the next. Dean had been jumping with excited nerves, smiling with his new football held in his tiny hands.

Up the stone walkway to the porch and front door of the house, Mary had knocked, the group waiting with varying degrees of anticipation.

A thin, mousy, blonde haired woman had answered, looking them up and down in silent surprise that Dean had failed to notice. He’d been too busy trying to peek past her legs into the house, looking for the little boy he’d thought he’d invite to play out in the yard.

“Um, hello,” the strange woman had greeted. Mary had said some nice words, introduced them, and soon enough they’d been in the house. Gathered in the kitchen, Dean had looked between the adult’s legs with a vigorous kind of searching, hands flexing around the football. Until, finally being noticed by Mary, an explanation had been given.

“Dean saw your son, I think,” she’d said to the strange woman, a questioning smile on her bright face, as if to make sure she’d been assuming correctly. “He’s been bugging me all week to come over and talk to you so they could play.”

“Oh…” Dean had turned hopefully up to them, not perceptive enough to see that the blonde – her name was Amelia – had been fidgeting in unease, her voice hardly above a murmur. “Well…” She’d looked Dean up and down – at his ruffled blonde hair and dirt-smudged face. He’d been teaching Sam how to catch earlier, to little success. “I suppose that… that might be alright.”

Both Mary and John had been perplexed by her hesitance, but said nothing on it as she’d walked from the kitchen. Figuring that perhaps she was simply overprotective, they’d instead focused on stopping Sam from wandering under the bar chairs, getting him rounded up just in time for Amelia to return to the room.

She’d been bent over someone, hands on the small shoulders of the little boy walking ahead of her. He’d been gripping his bee stuffed animal, a look of nervousness painted across his delicate features as he’d looked the newcomers up and down. His black hair had been nicely brushed, no filthy spots on his clothes.

None of this had deterred Dean however, who’d bounded forward with a smile, successfully startling the other boy, whose blue eyes had widened in surprise.

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hear your heart | Deaf!Cas/Hearing!Dean AU

[1] of [2]

Dean first saw him in a coffee shop. It was a cliche and Dean goddamn knew it. He walked into the place, signed to Sam to ask what he wanted and caught the eye of a guy sitting near to the wall. His blue eyes bore into Dean’s and at first, Dean felt defensive. He and Sam had grown to ignore the stares. It had been so many years since the fire and this life was all that Sam knew. That didn’t stop people from staring at them when they were out. 

Go and grab a seat. I’ll bring this over. Dean signed.

Sam nodded and found a seat not far from Dean. Even now Sam wasn’t keen on being around hearing people on his own. Dean brought their drinks and went to sit down with Sam, all the while noticing that the guy was still staring at him. 

What is it? Sam asked. 

Some guy over there won’t stop staring. It’s like he’s never seen sign language before. Dean signed with a frown. There were millions of deaf people all over the world and yet it still seemed to weird a lot of people out. 

If it makes you feel awkward I can just lip read. Sam signed with a shrug. 

No, I’m not going to stop just to placate some judgemental asshole. Dean signed while he frowned. He’d always been protective of Sam and it had become more and more of a deal over the years. Dean was the elder one, the one to look after his younger brother. He never told Sam that another reason he was so protective was because of Sam’s deafness. Sam never thought of himself as different because he had never known any different. He’d hadn’t even been a year old when the accident claimed his hearing and he had no memory of a life before his lost his hearing. 

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“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.” 

12 x 06 CODA

Dean brings Cas to the next hunter gathering.

Fortunately, this one isn’t a wake. It’s just a party, an actual celebration, hunters getting together to tell tall tales and drink, to dance and hook up, to spend an evening in the company of people who get it.

He pulls Cas to a group he remembers from Asa’s funeral, all leather jackets and beards and gunpowder lingering on their skin.

“Dean Winchester,” one of them hollers, raising his beer bottle in salute. “Good to see you again.”

“Good to be here, man.” It’s still strange to have everyone looking at him like he’s some sort of celebrity, and he’s caught once again between embarrassment and pride. “This is Cas,” he continues.

Cas nods politely, but his smile drops when he sees the wide-eyed stares.

“Cas? As in Castiel?” One of the men asks.

“That’s right,” Cas says hesitantly, and Dean tenses, wondering what the reaction is going to be.

A slow and easy smile spreads over the face of the man who seems to be the leader of the group. “So this is your angel. Welcome to the club. Grab a drink.”

Dean huffs a sigh of relief, and they spend the rest of the evening having more fun than Dean can remember having in a long time.

When they get to the motel later that night, still a full day’s drive from the bunker, Cas doesn’t follow him into the room.

“What is it, Cas?”

“Nothing.” But he shifts his weight and stares at the ground, mouth opening, then closing again as he changes his mind.

“Talk to me,” Dean says, setting his bag on the hood of the car and giving Cas his full attention.

“Was that man correct tonight? Am I your angel?”

Dean isn’t expecting that question. He stares at Cas for a moment as his mind races.

Truthfully, those words have been echoing in his mind since the man said them. All night, as he joked and laughed with the other hunters, he had been too aware of Cas next to him, a magnet that moved when he moved, that pulled him back if he wandered too far.

And isn’t that the way it had always been? Haven’t they both sacrificed everything for each other over and over again? Wouldn’t they both die for the other in a heartbeat? And even if he’s never admitted it out loud before, Dean always feels better, more whole somehow, when Cas is there with him.

Dean thinks about the other hunters, how they never hesitate to grab love and connection where they can get it, how they say what they mean every moment of the day and never hold back affection, how they know that every second might be the last one, that there is no “maybe someday”.

Dean’s getting old enough that he knows “maybe someday” probably won’t ever come.

And in that moment, he doesn’t want to miss any more chances.

“Yeah, Cas,” he says, voice a little thick and nervous. “I guess you are.”

Cas doesn’t say anything, but those blue eyes have never looked so bright, and that goddamn smile of his shines through Dean with so much warmth he can’t stand it.

“C’mon.” Dean heads for the motel room, knowing that Cas, his angel, is right behind him

deancas drunk/fake relationship au

The first kiss is kind of a joke.

Castiel is at Charlie’s party and some guy is making fun of him for wearing a flower-print shirt, of all things.

“What are you, gay?” The guy asks, mockingly.

Castiel draws himself up and says, “Yes, I am.” He looks around and finds Dean, who he knows, but not that well, quite near him. He reaches out and grabs Dean by the elbow, because he’s had a few drinks and it seems like a good idea. “And this is my boyfriend. If you don’t leave me alone he’s gonna kick your ass.”

This is your boyfriend?” The guy asks disbelieving, taking in Dean’s sturdy boots, his old jeans, his plaid jacket, his broad shoulders. 

“Yes!” Castiel insists, “Look, see,” He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to Dean’s mouth. He knows it’s risky, he might get punched in the face. He’ll probably get yelled at, at the very least. He just hopes that Dean has enough mercy to wait until this guy is out of earshot.

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Prompt fill for Anon:  Dean and Cas date as teens, break up. Dean ends up dating someone that looks similar to Cas to replace him. Cas sees Dean after a few years. and the flood gates open again #Destiel

Dean stands in line, practically pressed shoulder to shoulder with the other customers waiting to order their coffee. He cranes his neck, attempting to see over the line, but he’s still four people deep. Looks like he’s stuck here a while.

He pulls his phone from his pocket and begins to idly scroll through his emails, when a low familiar voice cuts above the din of the coffee shop.

“Can I have a large chai latte please?” Dean’s head jerks up abruptly; he knows that voice, he’s sure of it. He cranes his neck, trying to get a better look at the guy currently talking to the cashier, but all he can make out is a tuft of dark hair and a long, pale neck. Dean racks his brain as he tries to recall where he knows that voice from, but as the man turns in profile, all doubt evaporates.

It’s Castiel. He looks a little older, a layer of dark stubble decorating his once smooth cheek and dark bags now ringing his eyes, but just as handsome as the last time Dean saw him.

Dean’s mouth goes dry as the memories of their time together come flowing back: their first kiss in the Theatre Club prop room, dancing outside the school gymnasium at homecoming because they hadn’t been allowed to attend together, the way Castiel had whispered his name the first time they’d made love in the back of the Impala. Every moment feels fresh and raw, as if they’d happened only yesterday and not eight years ago.

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Fixing Things

Dean hadn’t even noticed he was doing it at first. He just did it blindly and it never seemed to bother Castiel so he kept doing it. Fixing things. His lapel, his tie, his hair.

It’s the sort of simple, easy things he’s good at, the kind of things that show people he cares without him actually having to say it, the kind of things that take the bite out of his words when he says something stupid.
That’s what he’d thought anyway.
Now, he’s not so sure.

It was his fault, you see.
He told Cas to never change but he was the one who exploded time after time, taking it all out on the angel, picking him apart when he was angry, reaching for all the stupid things that he actually loved about Cas to use them as ammunition.

It started with the tie.
Dean always fixed Cas’ tie. It was their thing. Cas didn’t even frown anymore, he just kept talking about whatever new problem had come up in their lives. So, when Castiel hadn’t given any news for a whole week, even after Dean’s insistent calling, and then showed up like nothing was wrong, it began.
Dean scoffed when Castiel said he was there to help, his face blank but his insides burning with acidic bitterness and wrathful anger. Out of spite, and because hurting back when he was hurt was the only way he knew how to deal with these things, he’d snapped:
“What the fuck do you think you can help with if you can’t even tie your freaking tie?!”

After that, Dean never had to fix Cas’ tie again. Cas always showed up with it lined up and turned with the right side out. He pretended it didn’t matter, pretended he wasn’t being slowly eaten away by remorse, pretended on and on until he actually made himself believe it wasn’t that important anyway.

Then, came the trenchcoat.
Dean had been furious, absolutely furious. Cas had jumped in front of him during a hunt and got a knife to the chest. And sure, he hadn’t died and he was okay, but Dean was still shaking and mad beyond belief, so he’d spit it out:
“I don’t need some jerk that doesn’t even know his coat size jumping in front of me, thanks but no thanks.”

Cas had looked so broken and helplessly lost right then that Dean almost backed down, almost hugged him and apologized and pleaded that the angel didn’t do that sort of thing because he couldn’t take Cas getting hurt because of him again. But that was too much, too soon, and Dean was still trembling with the thought of losing Cas, so he turned his back and walked away.

The next time he saw him, Cas was wearing a trenchcoat that was far too small for his size, looking awkward and uncomfortable without the beautiful beige flowing behind him majestically. Dean swallowed hard and looked away.

He promised he wouldn’t say stupid things like that again because obviously Cas wasn’t getting that he didn’t really mean any of them, that he was just mad and horrible at dealing with all these emotions. So the hair thing came out of nowhere.
He had noticed that Castiel’s hair looked more tamed each day and it was confusingly strange that his chest actually ached slightly whenever Cas showed up looking impeccable. But Dean just accepted it as a fact - telling himself he just missed the old Cas, all ruffled and messy and completely oblivious to human appearances.

So, when Cas had walked into the kitchen one day with messy hair spiking every each way, Dean didn’t question why his heart burst and soared, beating irregularly, instead he just rushed close and put his hands on the dark, soft strands that he hadn’t touched in too long. He’d even smiled, huffing as he commented fondly, “your hair is a mess.”

But Cas pulled back like he’d been burned, frowning so hard that Dean crashed from his high almost instantly. His hands replaced Dean’s on his hair and he apologized softly, assuring Dean he’d fix it before turning away and disappearing.

That’s when Dean knew.
That’s when he knew for sure it had been his fault.

Now, here he was, days later, hovering in front of Cas’s door, hand raised, ready to knock. But he couldn’t find the courage to do it. What would he even say? Where would he start?
He dropped his hand for the third time, finally deciding to give up completely and try another day, even though he’d told himself the exact same thing yesterday and the day before that. He was about to turn away when the door abruptly opened. All of the sudden, he was faced with a rumpled, startled Cas looking at him like a deer in headlights.
“Dean? What are you doing here?”
And then, worried, hands rushing to fix his appearance, “I wasn’t expecting you, I’m not presentable. I’ll just-”

But Dean put his foot on the door, stopping Cas from closing it, and barged in confidently. That is, of course, until he was inside, staring awkwardly at Cas while the bewildered, hesitant angel stared back. And… well, maybe he was crazy but he wasn’t good with words so he just did what he always did, breaking the space between them, hands reaching to gently fix Castiel’s hair before running down his neck, gently correcting the askew lapels and tie before patting Cas’s chest and dropping his gaze.
“It’s okay. I like fixing it.”
Cas frowned, tilting his head like what Dean had just said didn’t make any sense.
“You do?”
Dean swallowed, biting his lip and looking back up, trying for a grin but failing.
“Yeah,” he muttered softly, hands still running down Castiel’s coat though it was already fixed, “I do.”

And he’d done what he’d come here to do, so he just brushed another stray strand of hair from Cas’ forehead and turned away.

After that, Cas was back to his rumpled, oblivious self and whenever Dean grumbled about how much of a mess he looked that day while fixing him, Cas tilted his head slightly and smiled like he knew some deep, ancient secret that no one else did.

And hell, maybe he did, because it was the angel that leaned over one day, his lips brushing over Dean’s in a soft, gentle kiss. At Dean’s startled, wide eyes, Cas had just smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Thank you, Dean.”

After that, it became a lot harder to fix Cas’ look. Whenever Dean tried, he always ended up doing worst. When he grumbled about it, all flushed cheeks and swollen lips, Cas just made fun of him and kissed him again.

Your Love is a Meme Though

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“Cas,” Dean sighed, running his fingers through his hair, “we can’t.”

“Dean.” The angel all but pleaded.

Dean sighed again and leaned back on the doorframe of his bedroom. They stood together in the cramped hallway, Cas’s sad eyes burning a hole in Dean’s chest.

“Look, Cas…We just can’t, alright.”

Can took a step into Dean so that they were only a few inches apart, his gaze intensifying. “Do not lie to me and say it’s because you do not want to, we both know that you do.”

Dean swallowed, throat suddenly dry. He could feel the heat from Cas’s body and breath and he knew he was instinctively swaying into it, seeking it out, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“Cas, I—“

“Our enemies already know, and have known, that my weakness is the Winchesters and the Winchesters have a weakness for me.“ He took a small exhale; “Dean, we are already family. I see no other reasons for you to be fighting a needless battle.”

“Yeah well, what if you leave, huh? Or what if you die, Cas. How could you expect me to go on if something happened to you?”

“Dean, you have done it before.”

“Barely! And it would be different if we… I mean… How could I after that, Cas?,” Dean downcast his eyes, “If I can’t even now… how could I after?”

“Dean,” Cas said again, softly, his hands reaching up to cup the back of the hunter’s neck. His voice was just above a whisper when he spoke, “do you not think it is the same for me?

They stared at each other for a long moment. Dean’s hands had somehow made their way to Cas’s shoulder. They stood there in silence, holding on to each other, Cas’s fingers were scratching soothingly at the base of Dean’s hair, making Dean go weak in the knees, draining all the fight left in him.

In sync, both sets of eyes flicked to each others lips. They were so close, Dean could just lean in and finally do it. His heart hammered away, every beat screaming yes yes yes yes. It was a lot. It might be too much.

“I don’t know if I can do it Cas,” Dean confessed.

Without warning, loud sound erupted through the hallway.

“DO IT!”

Cas and Dean both snapped their heads to look at the end of the hall, immediately tensed and ready for battle.

Sam was standing there, just holding his iPad out in front of him, letting a video of Shia LaBeouf yelling in front of a green screen play at full volume.


Dean was going to kick Sam’s ass for this, but Sam’s face actually seemed pretty determined. He nodded at Dean.

“Don’t let your dreams… dreams,” Shia LaBeouf commanded, the way his voice echoed around the hallway made him sound like he was God, pronouncing a holy order.

The video looped.

“DO IT!”

Dean surged forward and crashed his lips into Cas’s. Cas began kissing back almost instantly.

When they came up for air, Sam was long gone.

“Hey Cas,” Dean smirked, “wanna go do it?”

Cas rolled his eyes and pushed Dean into his room, shutting the door behind them.

The angel silently thanked meme Shia LaBeouf.

For @k6034​. Thank you so much!

Dean doesn’t know he’s in love with Cas when they go to the bar that night. He just drags his friend along with him when he goes out for the night, ready to shoot some pool and drink some beer.

Dean doesn’t know he’s in love with Cas when they laugh together at the bar, Dean telling Cas funny stories from his childhood. He just wants to relax, and it’s nice to remember the good times. It’s even better to see Cas smile like that. Like maybe he’s relaxed too.

Dean doesn’t know he’s in love with Cas when they move to the pool table. He just likes how strong Cas looks with his coat billowing behind him and that serious expression on his face. It’s just nice to have someone like that on his side. Someone he can trust.

Dean doesn’t know he’s in love with Cas when Cas pouts at missing shot after shot. “I understand the physics of this,” Cas tells him, “but I can’t seem to line the shot up correctly to achieve it.” Dean slides in behind him without thinking, because Dean’s a pro and knows he can show his friend the proper way to shoot.

Dean doesn’t know he’s in love with Cas as they bend over the table together, Cas’ solid body beneath Dean’s, their hands touching. But he does know that this feels different, that Cas’ face isn’t normally this close, that his own heart doesn’t usually pound this way.

Dean doesn’t know he’s in love with Cas as he keeps correcting Cas’ shot, curling closer and closer, forgetting that he’s supposed to keep space between them, that he shouldn’t hold his hand over Cas’ that long afterward.

But Dean knows he’s in love with Cas when Cas leans in and kisses him, soft and slow, lips curling up in a smile over Dean’s mouth, silently saying it’s about time, I’ve been waiting.

And from the look on Cas’ face when he pulls away, Cas knows Dean’s in love, too.

tiny little 12x04 coda with dean because reasons. also the end scene didn’t happen. it just didn’t. 

The motel rooms were cheap as dirt, but Dean wasn’t complaining. It wasn’t often he and Sam could afford to get two rooms. The walls might be thinner than paper, there might be at least thirty suspicious stains within Dean’s sight, there might be leaks and mould and grime and he still wouldn’t mind. He needed the space. Just for a little while.

It’d been two days since his mother left, and he thought he’d learnt almost as much about his her whilst she’d been gone. It still hurt. But he got it more.

There were so many things happening, and all of them hurt a little. Mom leaving. Cas leaving. Cas teaming up with Crowley. Arguing with Sam on the hunt, even though they were okay now. That kind of thing.

He was dealing with it. Slowly. It occurred to him that he could do with a little advice. Or perhaps just some good company.

Cas’s number seemed to dial itself.

“Hello, Dean.” Dean smiled a little into the mouthpiece. The familiar greeting comforted him, like a hand on his shoulder. Cas might come and go, but at least he didn’t ever change too much.

“Hey, Cas. How’s it going?”

“Not well. Well, perhaps it is. I don’t know.” Despite the fact that the topic in question was the devil himself, Dean huffed a little at the coherency of Cas’s reply.

“You wanna be a little less specific there, Sherlock?” Silence on the other end of the line. Dean almost heard Cas rolling his eyes.

The fact that Cas even picked up the call showed he was okay. But Dean still felt a little worried. He knew Cas could handle himself, knew that he wouldn’t take any crap from Crowley. Or Rowena or whomever else he ended up tagging along with.

He just didn’t want Cas to feel like he was cleaning up a mess he singlehandedly caused. Because he was cleaning it up, but it wasn’t his fault. Not all of it, at least.

“We haven’t heard anything to suggest that he’s moved from the very bottom of the ocean somewhere.” Cas spoke nonchalantly, as if this was a conversation he regularly had. What strange lives they led.

“Well, that’s good, right?”

“For the moment, yes.” Cas went quiet for a moment, obviously considering his next words. “I could probably come back to Kansas for a night or two, if you and Sam wanted?”

Dean had been expecting Cas to ask how he was. Then again, Cas knew him just as well as Sam. And odds were Sam had updated him earlier anyway.

Dean didn’t even have to think about his answer.

“Yes. Yeah, that’d be nice. God knows we all deserve a few days off…literally.” Cas didn’t laugh at that either, but he did smile. Dean heard it.

“Okay, I’ll see you at the bunker in a day or two.”

“Sounds good.”



“Speaking from experience, you are not an easy person to just leave.”

Dean didn’t know how to respond. But he knew it made him smile and he knew it meant Cas wanted to come home.

“Thanks, Cas. See you soon.”

“Goodnight, Dean.” They both spent a few moments just breathing into their phones, waiting for the other to hang up, before the dial tone starts up in Dean’s ear.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow,” he whispered, to no one in particular. Himself, maybe.

Cas was coming home. He and Sam were fine. And Mom…well, she just needed a little space. And Dean would give her that.

Dean unlocked his phone again to send one last text before going to bed. After all, he had a lot of driving to do tomorrow.

I love you too, Mom.

Love Notes

Dean is a retired vet just trying to get through his day to day struggles. But when a secret admirer starts slipping notes under his door, he finds himself caught up in a chase that, in the end, may be exactly what he needs.

Rated K for general audiences.

Love notes are one of those things that people get on television and in movies, not in real life, so Dean was pretty surprised when they started showing up under his shop door.

Initially he’d assumed it was a mistake. Someone who’d been in to pick up or drop off their car had dropped it and he hadn’t noticed it till the morning after. So he hadn’t opened it, instead deciding to leave it on the counter in case someone came looking for it. Sealed up in a red envelope, it’d sat for days, Dean eventually forgetting about it as it got covered with receipts and work orders.

Until another one showed up.

This had piqued his curiosity, Dean finally deciding to open them only to find personal versus addressed directly to him.

Mr. Winchester – Sometimes I try to count all your freckles. I never succeed.

Or so had said the second one. The first had been about his eyes, about how green they were, or some such nonsense. At least, that was what Dean had thought of it at first. He scoffed and remembered something about high school, the whole thing making him rather uncomfortable in an embarrassed kind of way. Mostly because he couldn’t imagine who would want to secretly admire someone like him. He was covered in grease and dirt a majority of the time, running a car garage as he did. What was there to see in that?

Plus, there was the whole veteran status, which left him in a state of perpetual after-work drinking, a habit he wasn’t too entirely proud of, but didn’t know how to kick.

Yet the notes kept coming. Regularly actually. Every Wednesday morning. To the point where Dean actually anticipated it, his stomach tightening in apprehension as he’d consider what those words would have to say and what color they’d be wrapped in. Sometimes it was short and sweet, others were maybe a sentence or two, but they were always pleasant. Always nice things.

Things that made him feel good for a minute or two.

Mr. Winchester – You should smile more often.

Mr. Winchester – Your dedication to your job is admirable.

Mr. Winchester – Sometimes you forget to brush your hair. I don’t mind.

Mr. Winchester – Your walk is aesthetically pleasing.

Mr. Winchester – Everything about you is aesthetically pleasing.

The notes were odd, really, but Dean couldn’t help being flattered. The attention put a soft spot in his day, something to look forward to. Something to push away the nightmares and the loneliness for a little while.

Mr. Winchester – You had a smudge of grease under your eye yesterday. I almost wanted to rub it off myself.

Mr. Winchester – I think about you a lot.

Slowly but surely, Dean found himself wanting to discover the culprit, his mind becoming more and more distracted with it all the time. It was apparently someone he saw regularly, likely a few times a week. Maybe someone at the grocery store. Or the gas station. Or who walked by his shop. He was soon watching everyone, foolishly thinking that if he spotted them, he’d just know. But the faces were less distinctive than he’d anticipated and his search began to only frustrate him.

Yet the notes kept coming.

Keep reading

Cas’ parents and big brother are out, so he invites his new boyfriend, Dean, over. However, Gabriel has to come back earlier than planned, but he’s not too worried of “interrupting anything” because he knows his little brother is a sweet, innocent, prudish little virgin, and there is no chance he’d let Dean know him in the biblical sense on their second date.

That’s why Gabriel is scarred for life when he walks in on the sight of Dean balls deep in Cas who’s currently laid out on the kitchen table, legs wrapped eagerly around Dean’s waist, moaning like a professional cockslut and not like Gabriel’s oh-so-pure baby brother who blushed at the mention of sex only yesterday.

Dean finding a picture of old Castiel, fem!Castiel, not knowing that this is Cas. And going on and on about her beauty.

“Holy shit Cas, who is this hot chick? Damnn.”

and the thing is, Dean would only be talking about her eyes. How blue they are, how he’s a sucker for blue eyes in general, how that beige coat just emphasises the BLUE in her eyes even more.

Dean writing an ode to the woman’s beauty, before Cas quietly says, “that’s me. Was me. This is my old vessel.”

Dean pausing immediately, “this is…you?” Because he realises that he basically spent the last 10 minutes describing, in excruciating detail, how hot his best friend is to his best friend.

Dean wanting to act casual about it and saying “Oh, man, great job. That’s a good vessel you picked. That’s. Um. Yeah. Good…good choice.”

Dean hastily adding, “Not that you, you know, did a bad job with your current vessel or anything. Jimmy’s great, like, in terms of, as in, body-wise. I mean, same blue eyes, right? Uh. And well-built, too. Sturdy. He’s, I mean you, you’re, you’re good looking now too. Um.”

Dean finally just blurting out “basically what I wanna say is that you’ve always been hot, cas.” before bolting the fuck out

Cas, still not having said anything other than the original clarification, just staring after him with confused comprehension, furrowed brow, squinty eyes, and a cocked head.

Sam accidentally witnessing this exchange and laughing till his stomach hurts.