destiel ficlet

I’m trapped at an all day work meeting event/conference thing. I find stuff like this to basically be torture? Like I can’t focus on info presented like this, I can’t sit still, and basically I can’t believe it took me 30+ years to put together that I juuuuust might have ADD. So on the drive here I got to thinking, there’s no way I can use my phone but usually no one cares if you write on a note pad - it looks like taking notes - and I quickly threw together an idea for a Destiel ficlet. It’s epistolary and I don’t have time to transcribe it, but I’m going to post the first two pages in a moment…I hope people like it… (I hope people can read my handwriting…)

“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.

AO3

They all knew that Castiel didn’t sleep, so he wasn’t sure why the Winchesters had given him a bed.

Or an entire room, for that matter.

It was a gesture that he appreciated, however, to be given a space all of his own in the midst of a place that the Winchesters called “home”. It meant more to him that he thought he could possibly put into words, though he had tried on a few occasions before.

Castiel blinked when his phone showed an empty battery signal on the screen and reached over to the desk to plug it in before it died and ended his game of Tetris before he was ready for it to end.

Unfortunately, the charger that usually rested on the nightstand was missing, and it only took a few moments for Castiel to realize that he’d left it in the kitchen that morning before they’d headed out for the day.

He could have easily used his grace to simply appear in the kitchen with just a thought, but he enjoyed the sounds of his footprints echoing throughout the bunker as he walked down the long hallways, and so he slowly walked his way into the kitchen.

The bunker was dark during the night with all the lights turned off - not that it mattered for him, but it felt different than it usually did during the day.

To his surprise, when he arrived in the kitchen, it wasn’t empty.

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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.”

Even though he had Cas back from purgatory, Dean still had the occasional nightmare. He was used to the usual nightmares about the random pieces of shit they ganked every other week, but these nightmares were different. He had spent a whole year looking for Cas even though he had a way out of that awful place. The things he experienced while searching for his angel were not easily forgotten.

It pained both Sam and Cas to see Dean wake up in the middle of the night, sweating bullets, with a need to physically touch Cas in some way - a need to make sure this Cas is real, home.

When it happens for a fourth night in a row, Cas enters Dean’s room. He crawls into the bed and wraps his arms around a thrashing Dean. He whispers, over and over, against the back of Dean’s neck, “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”

Dean finally startles awake and turns quickly to face Cas. His breathing is heavy, sweat is making his hair stick to his forehead, and his voice is the most uncertain Cas has ever heard it, “Cas?” Dean swallows and reaches a hand up to caress Cas’ cheekbone, “Is it really you? Are you really here?”

Cas smiles as he presses a light kiss on Dean’s hair-matted forehead, “I said always, didn’t I?”

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.

AO3

This is what happens when you get deep into Yuri on Ice and still have a place in your heart for Destiel so here’s some ice skating + Destiel


“Oh my god. Look! Is that who I think it is?”

“Who?”

“Right over there! On the ice rink!”

Dean rubbed his hands together briskly as he half-listened to the conversation that was getting louder from directly behind him in line. He frowned at the hole he’d just noticed in one of his knitted gloves - but they were something he’d quickly picked up at the dollar store, so he couldn’t be too upset over cheap quality.

“I don’t know what you’re -”

“I swear to god, Anna. Use your eyes and tell me that’s not him.”

The skate rental line wasn’t as long as he’d been expecting, but Dean had already been standing in the cold air for five minutes with nothing to do for entertainment but eavesdrop. Trying not to show he’d been listening in, Dean casually looked over his shoulder until he had a good view of the people currently skating on the rink. There were a few families slowly dragging each other along the ice, plenty of couples holding hands and laughing, a few people racing around the rink, and one lone skater doing a very impressive spin in the center that eventually slowed to a stop.

“Oh, I think… I think you’re right…”

The voice that had previously seemed to doubt her friend apparently belonged to a redheaded woman that was almost directly behind him.

“Told you.” Dean saw the blonde woman smirk out of the corner of his eyes. “What the hell is Castiel Novak doing here?”

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Day one of November ficlet prompts [here]

First Kiss

His palms were sweaty, like they always are when he’s nervous, and he shakes his leg under the table because he gets restless. Something under his skin itches and he sneaks a look at Cas. The angel’s scruffy and aching from their latest hunt, a rouge angel killing anyone who was devoted to God, massacring churches because he felt betrayed by his father.

The hunt had hit pretty close to home for Cas, and he wasn’t just worn out, but he was also hurting. Dean kind of hurt too.

“Cas,” Dean says.

The angel turns to him and they lock eyes. His mouth is stuck firmly in a numb frown and the bags under his eyes are heavy and dark.

“You okay, buddy?”

Dean’s a coward. He knows that something is wrong and he knows that Cas should talk about it. Winchesters don’t talk, though. It’s just a way of life. So Dean makes sure Cas knows he understands his pain. He acknowledges that the angel is hurting, but he doesn’t do anything about it.

Dean wants to break this cycle.

“Don’t say you’re fine, because you’re not,” Dean speaks, and he hopes that his eyes say what his mouth isn’t. It’s okay to hurt. I’m here for you.

Cas gives him a tight lipped smile. “I’m okay, Dean.”

But he’s not and Dean knows it.

I’m here for you. Please, open up. Tell me what’s wrong. I want you to rely on me, I want you to need me like I need you.

“Hey,” Dean says softly. He scoots his chair closer to Cas. They’re in the library, surrounded by books and time and magic. “You can talk to me.”

Cas turns his face away. Don’t hide from me. 

“I’m okay, Dean.”

“No, you’re not.”

Without thinking, he reaches his hands out and tips Cas’ chin back towards him. He lets his fingers linger on rough stubble, on a firm jaw. Cas freezes at the touch and so does Dean.

“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean says. He doesn’t really know what he’s saying, but he hopes it brings comfort to the angel.

Cas swallows and Dean feels it from where his fingertips still touch his skin.
It’s Cas who leans in and lets their lips brush first.

It’s a tentative kiss, careful and slow. Dean sighs lowly, contently. The touch is chaste and soft and slow and perfect. A hand comes up to cup Dean’s jaw.
When they part, Cas’ face is so close that he can see the wrinkles by his eyes and the creases in his chapped lips. 

“I can hear you,” Cas says, “I hear you ache when I hurt, Dean, I hear it all in your prayers.”

Dean feels his palms sweat more with the nerves and the shame for everything Cas must have felt through their bond.

The hand on his face brings him back along with Cas’ gentle shushing. “No, no, Dean. Don’t feel this shame. Thank you.”

He kisses Dean again.

“Cas,” Dean sighs against his lips. It’s short again, but sweet. “Cas, I don’t want you to hide from me.”

“I know,” the angel says quietly, “I know.”

Every year Sam asks for one thing, nowadays.

“Dean, what I want for Christmas is for you to get your fucking head out of your ass.”

“Happy birthday to me. Hey, Dean, I really really want a puppy and for you to ask Cas out this year.”

“Happy new year, guess what I wished for, Dean. That’s right! Please stop staring at cas and make a move, now.”

“Happy Hanukkah! It really is ruining my life Dean stop staring at him. I think you’re drooling.”

Prompt from the lovely @teacass! college, a group of friends organise Christmas dinner before they all go on Xmas break. There’s a mistletoe somewhere & of course Cas and Dean get caught up under it. This is a slight variation of your prompt and made me really emotional?? 1k. 

There is a high probability Charlie Bradbury is responsible for the mistletoe hanging in the doorway of Dean Winchester’s kitchen.

She has avoided Castiel’s eyes ever since he unknowingly walked underneath it, sending a peal of laughter around the party. Dean walked up next to him, pitching the laughter into an “ooh!” accompanied by a sea of upturned faces. Looking up in kind, Castiel saw the offending plant, heard Dean’s hard swallow – he saw it too.

His regard for Dean is not a party joke. It’s also not common knowledge; he doesn’t know most of the people here. If he makes a big deal out of this, it will only raise suspicion, so he rolls his eyes and plants a kiss square on Dean’s mouth as though it’s nothing. Then he walks away, gets a beer from the fridge, and flicks the bottle cap in the sink, his back to the room.

He’s loved Dean for six years, since Castiel’s family moved to Kansas and Dean nearly stabbed Castiel with a pencil when a transformer blew during homeroom. Dean sat with him at lunch and gave him a ride home to apologize, and became a fixture in Castiel’s day. Castiel ran track; Dean was on the wrestling and baseball teams and copied Cas’s notes when he daydreamed in class. Dean ate dinner at Castiel’s house as often as his own, and they sometimes fell asleep and woke up wrapped around each other. They double-dated for prom. Castiel watched him dance with Lisa over Meg’s shoulder, face hot when Dean caught him staring and didn’t look away. They stayed like that the rest of the song, and Castiel thought, impossibly, that Dean felt the same way about him. 

But Dean and Lisa were crowned prom king and queen minutes later. Dean kissed her in front of everyone. Castiel chose an out-of-state college and doesn’t come home except for Christmas.

Dean isn’t in love with him, and the only time Castiel will ever get to kiss him has just happened, a throwaway holiday tradition in front of drunk college seniors.

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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

12x12 Coda

They pushed into the bunker.  Castiel made his way to the kitchen while the rest of the Winchesters watched where he disappeared through the door.

Sighing, Dean closed his eyes for a moment.  He had only about a minute to shoo everyone.  This could get ugly.  Dean licked his lips before spinning around to look at his brother.

Lifting his hands in a surrender and arching one eyebrow higher than the other, Sam donned a smirk.  “Hey, yeah, I’m heading to bed. Have fun.”  He walked toward the hallway.

Biting the inside of his cheek and trying to push down the blush that was traveling to his cheeks, Dean turned to his mother.  

She had a softer smirk. It was awkward, but she lightly punched his shoulder and offered a stiff nod.  “Go get ‘im, tiger.”

Dean couldn’t stop the blush that time.  His eyes prickled and burned with the intensity of the blush as he watched his mother slip down the hallway, too.

He wasn’t sure how ‘under control’ it was when Cas returned.  In his hands were 4 bottles of beer.  “Hey, I thought…”  He trailed off.  He looked around the empty room; a tiny confused twitch set off between his eyebrows.

“I thought maybe we should go to bed early.”  Dean wrung his hands a little.  He stared at his fingers.

“Oh, okay.”

Dean didn’t see it; he was too transfixed on his own hands, but he heard the clatter of the bottles on the table.  He waited.  Or he anticipated.  Or he worried.  He wasn’t sure what to do.  There was more to this.  It was heavier than it needed to be, than it used to me.

There was more that needed to be said.  He opened his mouth but ended up closing it again.  Everything had always went unsaid and suddenly it wasn’t.

Cas was going to die and he said it.

Where Dean was still looking at his hands, he saw Cas’ hand come close to his own.  It was close enough that Dean could feel its warmth. 

Dean’s breath caught.  He peeked up at Cas.

Across from him, Cas was staring at their hands.

Maybe unsaid was their thing.  Maybe he didn’t have to say.  At least, not yet.

He looked back down at their hands.  With a huge breath in his lungs, trapped there by a lump in his throat, Dean took Cas’ hand in his own.

Dean wasn’t sure how long they stood their like idiots, barely even holding hands.  

Breaking the silence, Cas’ voice sounded much louder than the whisper that it was, “We should go to bed.”  He began to let go of Dean’s hand, ending the moment.  

Ending their moment prematurely in Dean’s opinion.

Tightening his grip, Dean shoved the lump in his throat to the side.  “How about the same bed, buddy?”  GOD, did he really say it like that?  That was horrible.

But it did the trick.  Cas’ hand relaxed into his.

That night, they slept, all curled around each other, all balled up in their own universe.  A profound, little universe they’d carved out of the rest of the world.

It didn’t smell like food, but it sure as hell smelled like home.

Grunting coming from Cas’s room makes Dean stop in his tracks. He turns on his heel and creeps on his tiptoes to the door. It’s open wide, presenting its brightly lit inside, Cas sitting alone on the bed. Fully clothed and all, thank fuck.

Actually, he’s more than fully clothed. Much, much more. Dean slips into the doorway, arms crossed, no longer worried the guy will notice him. He’s too busy trying to force what must be the fifth or sixth sock on his left foot.

There are black hems of trousers coming out of his jeans and at least two different colors of plaid collars peaking out from beneath three layers of wool and Dean doesn’t doubt there is a number of invisible to him layers in there as well.

Cas grunts again as he gives the sock a strong yank, but instead of giving in, the fabric slips out from between his fingers and the force sends his palms plunging right into his own jaw. A mixture of a growl and whine escapes his mouth.

Dean bites down a chuckle. “Last time I checked the heating was working.”

Cas doesn’t take eyes off the sock sadly hanging off his toes. “Inside—yes,” he says, resuming his mission. “Outside it’s still frigid.”

“Yeah, that’s why we haven’t gone out in over a week,” Dean agrees. “So what exactly is it you’re planning?”

“I’m going out,” he replies, to which Dean rolls his eyes. “To a store.”

He finally manages to pull the sock on, he swings his legs back and forth in a tiny, triumphant dance.

Dean’s eyebrows snap together. “We’re stocked up on everything.”

Cas jumps off the bed and grabs his coat.

“We’re out of tea,” he informs Dean as he passes by him and into the corridor.

“Just this morning I saw at least twenty boxes in the cupboard,” Dean says, following him to the stairs. “They can’t all be empty.”

“They’re not, but the pear and honey one is all gone.”

Dean lifts his eyebrows. “You sure pear and honey is worth walking out into that snow hell outside? What happened to the low temperature intolerance?”

“It’s worth it,” Cas replies with confidence.

“If you say so.” Dean shrugs. “Or I could just make hot chocolate.”

“No, thank you,” Cas says, reaching out for his boots at the bottom of the stairs.

“Okay. Tell me, though, where are you gonna get boots this size?” Dean smirks, pointing to the thick wrapping on his feet.

Cas glances to his feet then back to the boot in his palm, distress blooming on his face.

He ends up peeling off two pairs of socks before he manages to squeeze his feet into the boots, but, at last, he succeeds and starts climbing the stairs, slowly, movements restricted by all of the layers.

“Good luck!” Dean bellows after him before the door shuts close.

Dean shakes his head and sinks in the chair. Gotta admire the bravery, Dean isn’t peaking a tip of his nose outside until the world chills with the whole The Day After Tomorrow gig.

He leans back and opens a book but before he can get through the first page, the door swings open and closes with a thump. At the top of the stairs appears a figure that looks more like a snowman than Cas.

“That was quick, Frosty” Dean teases, as Cas tries to shake off the snow covering nearly every inch of his body.

Cas blurts out some words through the chatter of his teeth, but all Dean gets is, “Honey?”

Dean can’t hold back a small smile. “What did you say, uh—sugar?”

Cas narrows eyes at him from over the railing. “I asked if hot chocolate tastes good with honey.”

Hot blush creeps up Dean’s cheeks. He tries to cover the embarrassment with a chuckle.

“Probably,” he says, getting up. “Let’s find out. Catch me in the kitchen.” He begins to walk out but then he turns and jerks his fingers at descending Cas, black coat turned all white, hair wet from thawing snow, a few inches of soon-to-be pulp and puddles. “No snow allowed,” he barks and leaves Cas to it.

There’s a sound of defeated stomping of Cas’s boots carrying behind him, then grunting as the guy wrestles the boots off.

A long, distraught wail makes Dean pause.

“Dude, you alright?” he calls over his shoulder.

“I wet my socks,” Cas whines. “All of them!”


Accidentally inspired by this comic

[More winter drabbles]

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.

Tears On My Pillow

AO3 Link

Dean is drunk. No, not drunk exactly, just…buzzed. He has to concentrate pretty hard on unlocking the door to the bunker and on not falling headfirst down the staircase. The whole place is silent and still, and it fills Dean with relief. After his conversation with Cas, short as it had been, he’d had to go. Had to get out of there, because the crushing guilt of everything he’s done would have sent him over some sort of edge if he’d stayed.

He told Cas he could stay the night. But come morning, before Sam wakes up, then he has to leave. He secretly hopes Castiel leaves before he wakes up too - or maybe that he’s already left - because he can’t face saying goodbye. Asking Cas to leave was the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, and it still makes his chest clench in pain as he recalls it. The pained, crushed look on Cas’ face as Dean says the words, the words he had to just come out with so bluntly because if he tried to say it in any other way he would have just broken down crying and confessed everything to the ex-angel and begged for his help.

He stumbles down the hall, trying not to knock anything over or wake anyone up. He wants to be alone. Alone with his pain and guilt, alone with the knowledge of what he’s done to his brother, inviting that angel in without his consent; alone with the resignation of asking the best friend he’s ever had to fend for himself in a world he doesn’t belong in and can’t find his feet in. He knows Cas is struggling with his newly human body. His little speech in the bunker earlier on had proved it. He had tried to smile, tried to brush off everything that happened with April, but there was a strange sense of melancholy that had settled around the former angel, one he either couldn’t or wouldn’t shake off.

Dean casts a glance at the closed door to the room he assumes Castiel is in. He isn’t sure, and is still clinging to the hope that it’s only him and Sam in the bunker now, but he sure as hell isn’t going to knock on the door to find out. He couldn’t lie to Cas about why he needed to leave, so he had to stay as far away from him as possible. Awkward questions would be his undoing, and God knows Cas is the master of those.

He turns the doorknob to his own room and stumbles in, not bothering to turn on the light. He kicks off his shoes and strips off his outer shirt and jeans, leaving his boxers and t-shirt on and trying to keep himself upright. Damn, maybe he’s drunker than he thinks. He grips the edge of the dresser and turns to climb under the sheets, achingly desperate to pass out and just not think any more. But once he turns, all thoughts leave his mind and he just stares, open-mouthed, at the sight before him.

Castiel is asleep in his bed.

For half a second, Dean swears his heart stops beating. He casts around the room in rising concern, wondering if he’s stumbled in to Cas’ room in his inebriated state but no - everything that should be there is. His iPod, John’s journal, the wall of weaponry, the half-empty bottle of Jack… he’s in his own room, and Cas is in there too. Jesus fuck, now what is he supposed to do?

He half considers waking Cas up, asking him what the hell he’s doing and kicking him out into his own room. It would be like kicking an injured puppy, and Cas definitely didn’t need any more kicking when he was down. He’s never been this low before, and Dean can’t bring himself to add to it any more than he already has. He could wander across the hallway and sleep in another room - it wasn’t like they were short on space. He wanted to be alone, after all. Didn’t he?

Or, he could do what he does next. His legs move of their own accord and he approaches the bed. Castiel is lying on his side, on Dean’s side of the bed, facing the wall. Dean leans over, just to check Cas is actually asleep, and almost overbalances and falls on top of him, the whiskey in his veins not playing fair. Cats is definitely asleep, but he doesn’t look peaceful. One hand is scrunched in the sheet, the other pillowing his face, and his brow is scrunched up in consternation. His dark hair is a mess, and he’s still wearing the t-shirt he had on earlier. And are those tear tracks on his cheeks…? Fuck. Dean isn’t sure, and he isn’t waking Cas up to ask. The bed is big enough for both of them, he can just slide under the sheets, turn away, and nod off. He and Sam have shared enough beds in the past, it isn’t weird.

Except that he and Cas have never shared a bed. They share a ‘profound bond’, which seems to get stronger as the days go by no matter how hard it’s tested, but sharing a bed is a new one. Dean lifts the corner of the covers and cautiously slides into bed, mindful of moving around too much and waking his friend. Castiel should at least be allowed a good night’s sleep before Dean casts him out into the world, alone.

That thought was painful, and Dean cuts off that line of thinking with precision.

He settles down on his back and firmly closes his eyes, refusing to look at the former angel. He wanted to pass out, to go to sleep and not have to think about Cas leaving. Them sharing a bed would inevitably mean a tough conversation in the morning, unless Dean could fake sleep well enough for his friend to slip out thinking he was unnoticed. He listens to his own breathing, then Cas’, then his own again, and can feel himself starting to drift when a noise, soft and barely audible, cuts through the silence.

“Dean…please…”

And Dean freezes. His whole body goes rigid and he can hear his heart pounding in his ears. That was Cas speaking, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. It was distressed, and Dean wasn’t sure if Cas was crying in his sleep. The body next to him shifts, curling in on itself more, and Dean’s heart aches. Another whine leaves Cas’ lips and Dean can’t take it any more. He shifts onto his side and reaches a hand out towards his friend, his fingers finding his clothed shoulder and squeezing gently in an eerie mimic of the handprint on Dean’s own shoulder. Cas tenses, then relaxes minutely, still asleep but far from at peace. Tiny tremors quake through him, and Dean moves a little closer, his chest almost against the other man’s back. It felt strange to think of Cas as a mere man now, not the angelic force of nature he once was, and Dean swallows through a tight throat. Cas shifts again, snuffling a little in his sleep and it definitely sounds like he’s crying. Dean isn’t sure what heartbreak feels like, but it can’t be very different to this. His eyes burn, and he gives in: he pulls Cas close against him, wraps an arm around his waist and moves his other arm above both their heads to stroke Cas’ hair. It seems to soothe the former angel and he huffs out a deep, shuddering breath, one that Dean unconsciously mimics.

Cas could stay, couldn’t he? He can talk to Ezekiel again in the morning, figure something out. Cas doesn’t have to leave; he can’t let Cas leave. Castiel has put himself in danger for Dean and Sam so many times that throwing him out just can’t be the right thing to do. His drink-fuelled mind crashes through one idea after another, searching for a solution, and even though he fails to settle on one he knows he can’t let Castiel go. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Cas is relaxed against him, warm and soft in his arms, and Dean allows himself to settle back into the pleasant haze of near-dreamland he had been in before Cas’ words drew him out. His eyes close, his mind still wild with thoughts of angels and heaven and trench coats and bright blue eyes…

He wakes up slowly the next morning, on his back with his head pounding and tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. It takes him a moment to realise why he feels so shitty, and why he’s asleep on the wrong side of his bed. Then, with the force of a wrecking ball, it all comes screaming back and his eyes fly open of their own accord. Cas, Cas had spent the night with him in his bed, and Dean really needed to talk to him before he woke up and left. He turns, a hand outstretched to grip the ex-angel’s shoulder and shake him awake, but his hand finds empty air. He blinks, takes in the smoothed down sheets and fluffed up pillow, and the total absence of any of Cas’ meagre things and his throat tightens. Tears burn behind his eyes and he draws in a deep, shaky breath before collapsing back down onto the bed and letting himself cry quietly, his hangover mixed with his raw wave of emotions overwhelming him and breaking down any walls he has left.

Cas is gone.

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.

The first fight they have after they are officially together surprises Dean. He isn’t even aware that Cas is angry with him. Sure, Cas has been a little quiet all day, but that isn’t so unusual that Dean had worried. It catches him totally off guard when Cas finally turns to him as they are undressing for bed, crosses his arms, and sticks his chin out.

“Are you going to apologize?”

Dean opens and closes his mouth once before answering. “What?” It’s all he can come up with, because he honestly has no idea what’s going on.

“You don’t even know you forgot, do you?”

“Forgot what?”

Cas narrows his eyes accusingly. “You forgot that I’ve been living with you for exactly one month today.”

Dean shakes his head. “Cas, you’ve been in and out of the bunker since we found it. You stayed here a long time before we got together.”

“No,” Cas uncrosses his arms and balls his fists at his sides. It’s not remotely threatening, just a way to ease his frustration, and Dean has to hide a smile at his pissed off angel. “Living here. In your room.”

Oh.

“Was I…were we supposed to celebrate that?”

Cas sticks his chin out even further. Dean’s never seen him truly pout before, and it’s partly completely adorable and partly ridiculous, and Dean loves both sides. “Don’t humans celebrate things like that?”

Dean lets his smile show. “I guess they do.”

“You forgot,” Cas says again, a little softer now that the fight’s gone out of him.

Dean watches as Cas pulls on one of his old t-shirts, his dark hair sticking up everywhere. His blue tie hangs over the back of Dean’s chair, and his angel blade hangs with Dean’s weapons.

“Hey,” Dean says, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Cas. Cas doesn’t hug him back, but he does rest his chin on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know this was a big deal.”

Cas sighs heavily and scoots a little closer, and Dean knows he’s won.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” he tells him. “Really glad you’re with me.” Dean doesn’t have to try at all to sound like he means it. Everything he feels is right there in his voice.

Cas nods and finally hugs him back. “Let’s go to bed,” he smiles.

“You’re really cute when you’re mad,” Dean grins as they lie down.

Cas snuggles into Dean’s chest, nose rubbing against his neck. “Shut up.”

I want a Destiel assassin AU where Dean and Cas are both hired separately to kill Trump.

They run into each other, literally, on their way to kill him.

They are constantly pushing each other out of way and arguing about who gets to kill him.

Eventually the tension grows so much that Cas pushes Dean into a wall and kisses him roughly.

They agree to work together to quickly kill him and then go on to have great sex.

They end up as a happy married couple in a Trump-free world.

Be My Boyfriend

[ao3]

“Dean, be my boyfriend!” Castiel hissed.

Dean’s attention was pulled away from Charlie (who snorted into her drink) when Castiel grabbed his arm.

“Uh,” Dean said, feeling like he was missing out on some vital information. Castiel’s wide eyes were a little too bright and his cheeks were flushed with pink, indicating that he was probably a little bit drunk, though that still didn’t help clear up the situation.

“Come here!” Castiel dragged Dean by the arm across the crowded room until they stood in front of a short brunette who Dean thought was named Meg. Castiel wrapped his arm around Dean’s waist and squeezed him to his side.

“I told you!” he told Meg triumphantly. “I have a boyfriend!”

Meg looked Dean up and down incredulously. “You’re dating Dean Winchester?”

Starting to catch on, Dean put a possessive arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “Yeah, he is. Got a problem with that?”

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