deancas-fic

The Tadpole

“N-no!  Sam, don’t!”

“Relax.  It’ll be fine.”

Dean paused as he was rolling up the hose in the backyard.  Why the flowers needed to be watered when it was supposed to rain on Wednesday was a mystery, but if he disobeyed a direct order from his father he’d be watering the flowers with his tears.  Plus, if the flowers did die his mother would be sad.

The flowers were now thoroughly soaked, which was why Dean was standing on the flagstones by the spigot, rolling up the hose, and could only hear his little brother and his best friend, Cas, talking on the other side of the tall privacy fence.

“But, we’re not supposed to.  We’ll get in trouble.”

“We won’t.  I just wanna watch it move.”

“But…it feels weird,” Cas said, sounding like he was near tears.

Dean creased his brow.  What were the two of them doing?  He finished winding the hose and walked over to the fence to listen in.

“It’s bigger than it was,” Sam said.  “And it’s wiggling more.”

“Because you keep touching it!”

Dean pulled back and raised an eyebrow.  What the—?  Sam was only ten years old, and Cas was nine.  There was no way they were talking about what it sounded like they were talking about…was there?  But at that age kids were curious, and they hadn’t been taught that more than just strangers and adults weren’t allowed to touch them there.

“Ew,” Sam giggled.  “It’s all slippery.  Come on, feel it.”

“I-I…I don’t know, Sam.”

“Come on, don’t be a baby.  Just touch it.”

“O-okay…”

“Hey!”  Dean swung open the fence door, half-expecting to find one or the other with their shorts around their knees staring at…their neighbor’s koi pond?

“Dean!” Sam hissed in exasperation, still very much clothed where he squatted next to Cas by the pond.  “You scared it away!”

“Scared what away?”

“The tadpole!”

“We’ve been watching them since they were eggs!” Cas chimed in.

“Ohhhh.  Is that what you guys were talking about?”

“Yes,” Sam replied.  “What did you think we were talking about?”

“Uh…nothing,” Dean replied feeling sheepish and a little bit like maybe there was something to the stereotype that fourteen year old boys could only think about one thing.  “Anyway, you guys need to stop torturing that thing and come inside.”

“We’re tor-tur-ing it?” Cas asked, his voice wavering with tears again.

“Wha—?  No, no.  You’re fine, Cas.”  He pulled the boy in close to his side for a hug.  “It’s Sam, the boy with the demon blood over there.”

“Hey!”

“Come on, devil child, Mom was making cookies for her bunko group.  Maybe we can wrangle some out of her.”

“Sweet!”

Sam jumped up and ran for the house.  Rather than scamper after his best friend, Castiel was content to walk into the house—holding Dean’s hand.  Dean was always amused by the little boy’s attachment to him.  He was much cuter than his totally uncute, annoying little brother.

Inside the house smelled like chocolate chip cookies and peanut butter cookies.  Peanut butter was Sam’s favorite, so Dean was pretty certain they’d be able to finagle a couple since his mother had probably made them for him.  Sometimes he wished his favorite were cookies instead of pie.  It was almost impossible to get a free slice of pie that had been baked to be given to someone else.

“Oh, Castiel,” his mother said with a bright, fond smile.  “I didn’t know you had come over.”

“We were looking at the tadpoles!” Sam said helpfully as he eyed the trays of cookies.

“Hello, Mrs. Winchesser.”

Dean repressed a smile.  Cas still hadn’t mastered their last name even though his mother had been his kindergarten teacher for a whole year.  Plus he was in fourth grade.  It seemed like it was time for that particular speech impediment to have corrected itself.  But Dean still thought it was cute.

“I promised him cookies, Mom,” Dean said.  “Don’t make me a liar.”

His mother gave him a look.  “You are impossible and I don’t know why I put up with you,” she said—as she served up two warm cookies for each boy.

Dean helped Castiel onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter and sat beside him as Sam clambered onto the stool on his other side.

“Both of you boys are terrible.  I wish you could be more like Castiel,” she said with faux-wistfulness.  Or perhaps it was real.

“Nah,” Dean said.  “You wouldn’t want an angel and you know it.”

Mary gave him a smile and then looked at Castiel, who had chocolate smeared around the corners of his mouth.

“Do you see how bad he is?  I bet you don’t want to marry him anymore, do you?”

Dean rolled his eyes and ignored the vague warmth blooming just under his skin.  His mother had told them the story of Castiel asking for his hand in marriage a few years ago when he’d still been in her class.  She liked to tease him about it on occasion, but he was certain Cas wouldn’t remember what she was talking about.

“Oh, I do,” Castiel said.  “But my mom said I have to wait until I’m older.”

That vague warmth turned into a full on sensation of his face going up in flames.  He stared at the little boy and Sam groaned.

“Gross!  Why would you want to marry Dean?  He’s so annoying!”

“You’re annoying,” Dean shot back, pathetically, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Hmm,” his mother mused, “your mom’s right.  You are a little young right now.”

Castiel nodded sagely.  His mom repressed a laugh and wiped Cas’ face clean with a napkin.  “Sam, why don’t you and Cas go play in your room?”

“Okay.  Come on, Cas,” Sam said.  “I wanna show you my new Iron Man—”

“Doll,” Dean said smarmily.

“Action figure!”

Cas and Sam left the kitchen and Dean turned to his mother.

“Mom, you shouldn’t—”  He cut off as she handed him a spatula.  He obediently began to help her move the warm cookies from the baking sheets to a cooling rack.  “You shouldn’t encourage Cas like that.”

“Why not?  You might marry him one day.  You don’t know.”

“Mo~om…” Dean groaned weakly and leaned his arms on the counter.

“He is a very determined little boy and he knows what he wants.  I wouldn’t underestimate him.”

“Yeah, but, Mom.  You just said it.  He’s a little boy.”

Mary hummed.  “He won’t be forever.”  She gave him a wink.

Dean let his head fall onto his arms with a thud.

Moonlight slides across his skin and glints on every drop of blood that covers him. He smells like rot and death. Blood always smells so foul in such large quantities. The chances of being caught here are high, but he has to be here. He has to come back.

Dean opens the back door and brings him a warm, wet towel. There’s a frown creasing his face unpleasantly. Castiel stands in silence as Dean begins cleaning him. After a moment he stops wiping moving, just holding the towel in his hands. It’s soaked in blood.

“How long before he have to move?” He’s not angry. He never is.

Castiel could whine for how guilty he is, putting his mate through this. “We should be packed by morning. I can drive if you need sleep.”

Dean nods and grabs his hand. The blood is sticky between them, but he knows Dean doesn’t mind.

“Only a hundred more miles, Cas. We can make that drive in a day. Even if we gotta take back roads to dodge checkpoints.” Dean smiles and squeezes his hand.

Castiel smiles, he can feel that his teeth are still sharp. Pieces of flesh are still stuck between them. He knows Dean is right. They can make the drive. Then they’ll be safe.

5

One day Sam leaves his phone in class, Castiel finds it and texts Dean, from then on they start to hangout a bit, getting closer and closer, until Cas realises he’s fallen in love with Dean Winchester..and he’s fallen in love with him too.

Through It All

galacticfantasies asked: Can you do #37 for Destiel?

certainly! number from this list. newly human!cas. sorry this took eons. title from an Oak Ridge Boys song.

324 words, rated T, {ao3}

It had been a rough hunt; the kind they tried to forget but never quite managed. Four dead before they found the connection. Another three dead before they could stop the ritual. They’d stopped the coven (fucking witches, man) but that meant six more bodies. The salt and burn had taken hours, and it was well after dawn when they made it back to the motel. Dean immediately collapsed face first on the bed closest to the door. Sam called the first shower, and Cas was too tired to argue. He eased down onto the couch, muscles unused to being sore. He flipped on the TV for the noise and landed on an old country gospel show. He watched as Johnny and June sang “Old Rugged Cross,” Elvis belted “How Great Thou Art,” and Jim Reeves told of a place “Where We’ll Never Grow Old.”

“Whatcha watchin’, Cas?” Dean asked.

Cas wiped his face and turned to give him a small smile. “Sorry. I’ll change it.”

“Don’t. I mean…” He turned to watch him sit up. “It’s kinda nice.”

Cas nodded and lowered the remote. He felt a tear roll down his cheek, and he couldn’t hide a sniffle.

“Cas? You okay?” He nodded again, not wanting Dean to see his tears. “Hey. C'mere.”

He considered shaking his head no then thought better of it. He stood, and Dean met him halfway, pulling him into a hug. They stood clutching each other, swaying slightly to the music.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asked after a few songs, “Wanna dance?”

Cas huffed a laugh and pressed closer, smiling into Dean’s shoulder. “You know I can’t dance.”

“You’re not doing so bad.”

They swayed until the shower stopped. Dean pressed a kiss to Cas’s cheek just as Sam opened the door.

“There should be plenty of hot water left…” He stopped short, looking them over. “Everything all right?”

Dean looked at Cas, who gave a short nod. “Yeah, Sammy. We’ll be okay.”

“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.

“Are you sure we can’t just go home and watch a movie?” Dean grumbles.

“You promised,” Cas says, tugging on his arm insistently. “And I’m making new friends here, Dean. I want you to meet them. It’s been very good for me.”

Dean sighs. He doesn't do meetings, or clubs, or get-togethers or whatever. Especially ones where the punch is just punch. But he also doesn’t know how to say no to Cas for very long.

He lets Cas knock when they get to the door with a brightly-colored handmade “QSA” sign taped to it. A girl with fiery red hair answers, squealing when she sees Cas and pulling him into a hug.

“This is Charlie,” Cas says with a smile.

“What up,” she says with a wide grin, grabbing Dean’s hand and shaking vigorously. “Aromantic homosexual, nice to meet you.”

Dean smiles back and opens his mouth to respond, when Cas answers for him.

“Dean’s straight,” he says quickly. “He’s just here with me as a friend.”

“What?” Dean says, blinking at him. “No I’m not.”

Cas frowns at him. “Not what?”

Straight,” Dean says. He’s confused as fuck, because everybody who knows him knows – he's sure Cas knows – doesn’t he? How could they have lived together for almost a year, known each other for two, without Cas knowing? He doesn’t really make a big deal out of it, sure, but he doesn’t exactly hide it, either. He turns to Charlie instead.

“Bisexual,” he says. “And I have no idea what aromantic means.”

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I read about the de-aged!Dean episode and got excited

“So, if you’re Sam,” Dean folded his arms, scrutinising his younger brother who was now twice the size of him, “Where’s dad?”

Sighing, Sam averted his gaze, running a hand through his long hair before he looked back at Dean. It had taken ten minutes for Sam to make Dean believe that he was, in fact, Sam. The concept was a struggle for fourteen year old Dean, who knew Sam as a snot nosed, little kid who followed him around like a puppy. The guy towering above him, with way too long hair, wide shoulders, and a freaking giant- the idea of him being Sam was downright weird.

“Uh,” Sam swallowed, “He’s not here at the moment. On a hunt,” he offered with a weak smile.

“Okay,” Dean shrugged, finding that plausible. In 2014, Dean and Sam were old enough to do shit without John watching over them. Still, it kind of sucked that Dean was stuck with an older Sam who he hardly recognised; at least with his father, he would look more like the man he knew from his time frame.

“I’m-” Sam took a step back, looking freaked out by the situation, “I’m gonna call Cas.”

“Who the fuck is Cas?” Dean retorted.

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Dean being entirely overwhelmed after their wedding and Cas can’t help but enjoy the sight of it.

“We’re married.”

Cas sighs as his boyfr- no, husband, repeats those words for the eighth time in a minute.

“Yes, Dean.”

“We’re married, Cas.”

“Yes, Dean.”

They’re in a rusty cab, on their way to the hotel they’re staying at for the night before they go for their honeymoon, because who the hell needed a shiny, black limousine anyway?

“I mean, I can’t believe we went through that. Crap, we’re married!” Dean chimes at the top of his lungs, with a bright beam spread on his lips.

“Yes, Dean,” Cas says once again with a smaller smile, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t at least twice as happy as Dean was.

“Hey, driver, we’re married!” Dean calls out happily.

A rough chuckle escapes from the front seat. “I can see that. Congratulations.”

“Thank you!” Dean replies.

“So, where you two headed for the honeymoon?” the driver questions.

Dean opens his mouth again to answer, doofy grin still plastered on, but Cas beats him to it. “Uh- The Maldives. My husband here likes the beach.”

“Hell yes, your husband does. And so do you,” Dean adds.

Cas just stares at him fondly and kisses him after that.

So there was a discussion yesterday about ace!cas (and how great it is) and how I really wanted to write a long!fic of it in the future. But then last night the idea was still swimming in my head, so I’ve wrote a ficlet to wet my appetite until I have the chance to write a longer fic. Enjoy!

It had been hours. Well, it had probably only been a few minutes, if that, but it felt like hours to Dean. Stuck in what felt like a time freeze, they both stared intently at one another, Cas fiddling with the sleeve of his ugly, oversized sweater, as Dean waited for what he now realised to be an inevitable no.

“You don’t want to date me,” Castiel finally spoke, eyes wide and throat clicking.

“Er,” Dean chuckled awkwardly, “Pretty sure I do, else I wouldn’t have asked.”

The reply didn’t seem to appease Cas, who merely shook his head and kept his distance, “You may think that you do, but you don’t.”

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okay but au where dean goes deaf in one ear.

it was due to angels, probably. sons of bitches had too many things to say and not the right types of voices to say them, and they blew out dean’s right ear drum. it sucks (especially on hunts) and he’s pissed, but he can deal. at least he didn’t go completely deaf.

and it upsets cas that the angels would do that to dean, but he discovers that it has it’s advantages, too. one day he’s sitting shotgun in the impala with dean driving and singing his music obnoxiously loud, and as he looks at dean he feels like he can’t possible contain all that he’s feeling. the way the sunlight catches dean’s profile and makes the edges of his hair look gold and his eyes shine like emeralds. how he drums along on the steering wheel to his favorite songs and sings like he doesn’t care who’s listening. 

while dean turns his head in preparation of making a left turn, cas leans toward him and whispers into his deaf ear “i love you, dean winchester.”

it goes on like that for awhile, and it helps cas cope with the thought of unrequited love. he’ll be sitting on dean’s right, or standing behind him so he can lean forward towards dean’s deaf side, and he’ll use these stolen moments to whisper the things he only wishes he had the courage to tell him where he can hear. “you’re beautiful.” “i wish i could stay.” “everything about you is perfect.” “you’re all that i want.”

but then one day, he slips up. it’s a stupid mistake, but it was bound to happen eventually. 

he’s sitting on a park bench on dean’s left, the two of them waiting for sam to finish up his research at the library, as they’ve already gotten done interviewing all the witnesses. dean is in a good mood that day; all chatter and “hey, do you think sam would let us order pizza tonight?”

and cas is all smiles as he listens to dean speak, more than happy to let the man talk. while dean in looking down at the notes in his lap he took from the interviews, cas murmurs “i would like to kiss you.”

when dean looks up, startled, he all too late realizes his mistake.

“what?” dean breathes. “what did you just say?”

cas curses himself in his head. dean’s left ear is his good ear. stupid, stupid, stupid.

“nothing,” cas says, willing his voice not to quiver. he looks at the ground and thinks to himself, this is it. he’s messed up and now dean is never going to want to see him again.

there’s a moment of silence in which cas tries not to shake and to keep his tears at bay as what feels like the weight of everything he feels for dean comes crashing down on him. a moment of silence before he hears dean say “cas?”

cas looks up, and suddenly there are lips on his, and he realizes he never knew what happiness was until this moment. dean’s lips are soft and slightly chapped and absolutely perfect, and cas has no idea how he spent so many years of his existence without this wonderful man here to hold in his arms.

that night, when they’re naked and tangled up under the scratchy sheets of their motel room bed, cas rolls over and whispers into dean’s good ear the same words he told him that day in the impala: “i love you, dean winchester.”

dean’s whole face softens before he says “i love you, too,” with a reverence that could only equal cas’. cas takes dean’s face in his hands and kisses him sweetly, and it seems as though all the stars in the universe have somehow aligned for the man and the angel, and this is it, this is heaven.

quick fic #5

They get stuck in traffic after they drop off Sam.  Castiel doesn’t know exactly where they are, nor does he completely understand the intricacies of traffic jams, but he does know that most people stuck in unmoving traffic for what could potentially be hours tend to become very frustrated very fast.

Which is why Cas is staring at Dean, who’s bobbing his head to the music and playing imaginary drums.  

“You’re in good spirits,” he observes.

Dean waggles his eyebrows as he delivers a drum solo. “Yup,” he says, his lips smacking on the ‘p.’

“Why?”

Dean just grins.  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re stuck in traffic.  That man in the car beside us has been yelling obscenities and honking his horn for the past half hour.  It is also extremely warm.  I understand that this isn’t a particularly pleasant experience.”

Dean wraps up his song by dropping his imaginary drum sticks in midair.  “Well,” he says, after he’s turned down the radio, “I’m happy.”

“Oh,” Cas says.  He finds himself smiling.  “I’m happy that you’re happy.”

Dean gives him a long look.  “Yeah.  Yeah.  You know.  I mean - Sam’s back there - “ - he thrusts a thumb behind them - “going to fancy lawyer school again and completing his transformation into the biggest fucking nerd the world has ever seen, and - and I’m with my best friend, who’s healthy.  And happy.”

“Me?” 

“Yeah, dumbass.  You.”  Dean’s voice is affectionate.  Cas revels in the warmth.

A comfortable silence falls.  Dean doesn’t turn the radio back on.  The man in the car to Dean’s left keeps honking.

Eventually, Cas asks, “Are we going back to the bunker?”

Dean looks at him, eagerness suddenly lighting up his face.  “I dunno.  Are we?  What do you wanna do?  I mean, we’ve got the whole world to explore.”  His face falls a little bit.  “Well, we’ve got the whole continental US anyway.”

Cas thinks about it.  Dean inches the car forward.  

“Seriously, Cas,” Dean says after a short pause, more quietly.  “We’ve got no cases lined up.  Our bags are in the trunk.  We could do whatever you want.”

“Anything?”

“Anything, bud.”

Cas smiles, a little sadly.  “I just want to be with you, Dean,” he says honestly.  He thinks it might be possible now, with no apocalypse on the horizon, with no little brothers’ opinions to be scared of.  He wants it - but Dean has to want it too.  “What do you want?”

Dean’s mouth has fallen slightly open.  He stares at Cas, and only breaks his gaze when the car behind them honks.  He drives forward, swallowing visibly in the silence that follows.  When he’s driven as far forward as he can, he puts the car in park very slowly.  Then he turns his head to look at Cas.  He clears his throat.  “I -uh.  I want the same.”  Slowly, he reaches up to touch Cas’s cheek with the tips of his fingers.  They skate over his jaw before clutching the back of Cas’s neck.  “Seriously.  Anywhere you go, Cas.  I’m with you.”  He smiles shakily.

Cas’s own lips start to tremble, but he can’t prevent himself from smiling.  “Even outside the continental US?” he teases, voice rough.

There’s no hesitation.  “Anywhere, for you.”

Cas kisses him.  Dean’s hesitation is gone.  He kisses back with eagerness, even pulling back once to laugh.  

“I mean it,” he says, grinning against Cas’s lips.  “I’d get on a thousand planes for you, Cas.”  He draws back and searches Cas’s eyes.  “So what’s it gonna be?  Barcelona?  Rome?  Fuck.  Guam?  I don’t care.”

Cas shakes his head, drawing Dean back in and kissing him once, open-mouthed, before saying, “The bunker.” 

Dean laughs.  “Home?”

“Home.”

Prompt from the lovely rachesduncan: Cas gets really into knitting or crocheting and he starts making cosies for everything in the bunker. Dean and Sam both find it really weird (although Dean secretly thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world)

read it here on AO3

Click click click click. Dean ground his teeth together, and cast a furious glance towards the corner of the library.

Click click click click. He caught Sam’s eye; his brother rolled his eyes, looking equally annoyed.

Click click click – pause. Dean looked up hopefully. Perhaps Cas was done for toda–

Click click.

“Dammit, Cas!”

Over in the corner of the room, Cas put down his knitting needles with the air of one readying himself for a fight.

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prompt by thatweirdgirljess: quarterback!Dean being in love with headcheerleader!Castiel since freshman year. Cas being afraid of just being one of Dean’s flings and repeatedly turning Dean down, until the day Dean is tackled pretty badly and kinda just lays on the ground not moving… Cas abandons his team and runs out onto the field to check on him

Castiel was in the middle of telling his squad that they had to perform to their best today and ignore the rival cheerleading team that were being petty and trying to goad them, when Dean came into his eye line, standing there on the edge of the crowd waiting for Cas to finish. As always, especially before a big game, Dean had a cocky smile on his face, hands in his jacket pockets as he winked over at Castiel.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes back at him, Castiel finished off his speech, hoping that it would give out some motivation. By the bored looks on the other cheerleaders’ faces, Castiel kind of doubted it. Though he was the head cheerleader, many people always felt the need to unhelpfully tell Castiel that he didn’t, in fact, have much ‘cheer’ in him. Castiel could only assume that he’d gotten the role for his leadership skills more than anything else, though he often second guessed himself there too.

“Hey,” Dean greeted him with a grin when Castiel took the few steps towards him.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel smiled, fiddling with his cheerleading jacket, a nervous habit he always seemed to pick up when he was near Dean, much to Cas’ annoyance, “So,” he ran a hand through his messy hair, “It’s the big game.”

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Ol' Blue Eyes
ao3

Dean is a painter, both the artistic kind and the kind that paints houses, he only really makes money doing the latter, but what can you do. He meets Castiel one day when he literally turns his world upside down. Castiel, this passionate professor of comparative literature at the local university who nearly walks right into Dean’s ladder while walking with his nose in a book. Dean luckily hears the guy coming, he’s muttering to himself and he kinda scuffs his feet while he walks, and shouts at him to watch out. It’s too little too late and they both end up on the ground, Dean on top of Cas, the can of paint- “White on White,” Dean recalls- upended on Dean’s head and splattered all over Castiel’s clothes and, most tragically, his book. 

He apologizes profusely to Dean who shrugs it off- “Hazard of the job, what can you do?”- and helps Castiel to his feet. Castiel smiles sheepishly all while cradling his tarnished book. Dean offers to make it up to him, politely disregarding Castiel’s complaints that it was completely his own fault, and asks Castiel to lunch the following day at a little book shop cafe that they both coincidentally frequent with the promise that he will purchase Castiel a new book. 

The date- though Dean swears to his brother, Sam, that it’s no such thing- goes off without a hitch. The conversation goes smoothly and Cas accepts the new book with only a little protest. It’s at that small little table in the coffee shop, the surface stained with the evidence of a coaster-less establishment and the leg that’s a little too short so the table wobbles every now and then, that Dean notices the color of Cas’ eyes. They’re blue, but he can’t figure out what blue. He cycles through the paint chips in his mind, he’s memorized them all, trying to find the best one. At the end of their meal, Dean gives Cas a hug and, trying one of the paint chip names on for size, says, “See you later, Ol’ Blue Eyes.” Cas’ face screws up in confusion, but Dean laughs and walks away. 

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anonymous asked:

Sam gets cursed with the ability to read thoughts and Dean and Cas' thoughts are beyond dirty towards Eachother although neither of them know what the other is thinking hahaa

I want him to shove that stupid blue tie into my mouth and fuck me into the mattress until I can’t walk properly.

Sam choked violently on his drink and stared at Dean in horror. His brother was casually eating a slice of pie and occasionally glancing over at Castiel. The angel in question wasn’t doing anything in particular and Sam looked between the two of them before figuring he was hallucinating. There was no way this was that curse. No one deserved that. No one. Sam waited a few minutes and after he didn’t hear anything else he shook it off. It was some kind of auditory hallucination and Sam wasn’t a stranger to that.

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prompt by mynameisbruni: coffee shop!au

It’s strange what sights you see in the hospital at early hours in the morning- the people who are in A&E who’ve done some weird shit because they’re drunk, high, stupid, or a combination of them all, the families out in the corridors worriedly biting their nails, the nurses and doctors who look like they’re fighting to keep awake and withhold their patience when yet another visitor talks to them like they’re shit.

Thankfully, Dean finds refuge in the coffee shop. The place is empty besides a couple that are in the far corner and Dean tries not to pry into their business; there’s pretty much only one reason why they’d be here at this time of the morning and with the hushed whispers and clutched hands across the table, Dean knows it’s not good news.

Dean takes his coffee to the other side of the room, wrapping his hands around it as he waits for it to cool down. He hopes the coffee will keep him awake, all of his excitement is slowly starting to teeter onto exhaustion and he hopes the coffee will do the trick.

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1.9k episode coda. dean’s headspace warnings. (ao3)

Dean shuts his bedroom door a little more forcefully than he intends to after dinner and immediately rests against it.

He lets his head fall back and his eyes close as he takes a couple deep breaths, just trying to collect himself. Trying to remember how to breathe without worrying that someone else in the room knows how hard it is.

Cas has his grace back and they’ve been dancing around it all night.

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2

LOST + FOUND

Author: flightlesscas l Artist: lostloona l dcbb15

On the day of supposed celebration for Dean’s graduation, he was involved in a car crash. Parents dead. Sam hooked on drugs. And Dean didn’t even get a scratch on him. Six years on, Sam was back on his feet, ready for law school with his girlfriend in tow. On the other hand, Dean felt like he hadn’t done anything with his life; he pretended the impala wasn’t sitting in his garage; there was no girlfriend on his arm; the degree was forgotten in the bottom of his wardrobe. Most importantly, he still found himself feeling a little too responsible for everything that had happened in the crash. Sometimes, it felt like he was barely holding on by a thread. 

And then in came Castiel, slowly but surely turning everything into question. And then some.

Coming 26th Nov

motivation

Just two more pages, Dean thinks to himself. Just two more pages, and then he’s done with this essay and this course and he doesn’t have to think about unreliable narrators or motives in Wieland; or, The Transformation ever again. Why the hell did he even choose this course to begin with? He loves to read, but when he has to analyze what he’s read, he always feels under-qualified to do so and always feels like everyone else has a lot more to say than him. When he’s forced to write essays, that feeling only grows; he’s been stuck on page three out of five for the last hour, and he’s got nowhere past the writing block. He’s simply stuck.

Frustrated, Dean massages his temples and makes an attempt to re-focus on his essay, for the hundredth time. It doesn’t work; he can’t think of anything else to say, and besides, he doesn’t particularly care. Maybe he could just… not finish the essay today? It’s due by midnight, but maybe he could take today to relax, regroup and just send it late and claim technical problems? Skipping the course altogether isn’t an option, but his essay doesn’t have to be perfect. Dean just wants to be able to graduate.

Dean’s still massaging his temples and glaring at his laptop when someone walks to his table. Dean straightens immediately, because he’s been sitting in this coffee shop for three hours, and he finished his one pitifully small cup of coffee ages ago. The barista probably wants him to gather all his notes and pens and leave, so that there’ll be more space for other customers.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dean starts to say, but then he stops when he really notices the barista. The guy is pretty young, probably around Dean’s age, and almost illegally handsome. His hair is nearly black, and his blue eyes are enhanced by the glasses sliding down his nose. There are a few earrings hanging from his ears, and the more Dean stares, the more he forgets what he was supposed to say.

“How’s your essay coming along?” the barista asks, and Dean frowns.

“How’d you know about that?”

“Lucky guess?” the barista says. “And you have the face of someone who is three minutes away from a migraine.”

Dean snorts. “Got that right. This essay just doesn’t want to be written.”

The barista smiles, and Dean feels butterflies in his stomach. Swallowing, he says, “Ah, sorry, you probably want me to leave.”

“What? No, not at all,” the barista says. He gestures around. “Plenty of tables still left. You can sit in peace. I just came to ask if you wanted a refill.”

Dean blinks. “I didn’t know refill was included in the price.”

The barista winks and fills Dean’s coffee cup anyway. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Dean smiles back, a bit nervously. Flirting with guys still makes him uncomfortable, even if he doesn’t live with his homophobic father anymore. He can still hear John Winchester’s disapproving voice in his head every time he notices a cute guy.

“Thanks,” Dean says, determined to ignore the voice. “So, do lots of students come here to write essays?”

The barista grins. “I may have cheated a little. I think you’re in my literature class.”

“What? Really?” Dean asks. “With professor Crowley?”

“Unfortunately,” the barista nods. “I’ll be sure to never make that mistake again. I’m Castiel, by the way.”

“Dean Winchester,” Dean says, and because he’s got the excuse, he gives Castiel his hand. Castiel takes it, smiling, and they shake hands. A jolt of excitement goes through Dean, and he briefly thinks that he definitely wants to hold Castiel’s hand again.

“So, what’d you write about?” Dean asks.

“Gender roles in The Monk,” Castiel says.

“Ugh, that sounds way more interesting than my essay.”

“It’s not a competition,” Castiel assures him. “What’re you writing about?”

Wieland,” Dean grimaces. “I hate it. And I’m stuck.”

Castiel glances at the clock on the wall – it’s ten past six. “Well, you’ve still got… five hours and fifty minutes before the deadline. You’ll make it.”

“I’ve got two pages to go,” Dean groans. “Maybe I should just give up.”

Castiel raises his brows. “Why on earth would you do that? You’re nearly done.”

“Still two pages left,” Dean reminds him. He takes a sip of his coffee – damn, it tastes great. “And I’ve got nothing to say.”

“Well, then, just expand on what you’ve said before.”

“Ugh, yeah, maybe.” Dean sighs. “This whole essay is just so… annoying. And there’s nothing to motivate me to finish it. I just hate it.”

“Nothing to motivate you?” Castiel muses. Then he smiles, softly, and Dean’s heart trips over itself. “Well, if you finish your essay before we close at nine,” Castiel says, “I promise I’ll take you out on a date and pay for everything.”

“You’d… what?” Dean stares at him, shocked. “You’re kind of cocky, you know?”

Castiel simply grins. “But it works, doesn’t it?”

Dean can’t help but smile in return. “It does.”

“So, is that motivation enough?” Castiel asks.

“I, uh…” Dean swears he’s not blushing. His cheeks are just warm. “Definitely. Can, can I pick you up after your shift?”

“If you’re finished with that,” Castiel says, nodding towards Dean’s laptop.

“I will be,” Dean promises.

He’s never finished an essay faster in his life. It’s not perfect, and he gets a C for it, but the uncountable number of dates he scores with Castiel more than make up for it.