driftingcas

your body is a playground of insecurity
your carousel mind won’t stop spinning

He died on a cold day. He’s not quite sure why he felt so cold. Perhaps it was the snow that dusted the windowsill like icing on a cake. Perhaps it was his old body’s fault; too frail to heat itself. Or perhaps it was the absence of his family around him.

Dean had died three years earlier, a year older than Sam was when he died. Cas had left the second Dean flat lined: one second he was gripping Dean’s age spotted hand with its paper skin, the next he was gone, all that remained of him was a solitary black feather.

Sam understood. Dean and Cas had always shared a more “profound bond”. It didn’t make burning Dean’s ashes any easier. There was beer, of course, even ex-hunters deserved a traditional send off. But there was no one to share the beer with.

In fact, there was no one to share beer with ever again.

Sam wasn’t bitter. He had resigned himself to being alone long ago. Even when he and Dean quit the job, Sam never gave himself the right to fall for someone. They may have left the ghosts and monsters behind, but Sam could never outrun his demons.

The three years alone were… Well, lonely. Sam lived in his memories, watching Dr Sexy MD on the television in the bunker, reading up on obscure monsters with no intention of ever hunting any of them. He would hold his friends in his heart as he slept, the comfort of meeting them again soon making his isolation easier to bear.

He banished all thoughts of where he would go when he died. Refused to even entertain the possibility that he would go to hell. He focused on the good he had done during his life; prayed every night to whoever was listening to please, please, please accept him into heaven. There were so many people he missed…

Sam knew, about a week before, that he was going to die. So he admitted himself into an old person’s home. He refused to have his corpse rotting in the bunker, and he left specific instructions in his will to have all his possessions left to charity, and his body to be cremated.

It was peaceful at the end. Of course, his lungs rattled and weezed, his heart struggled to pump his blood around his body. And it was cold, so very, very cold. He wasn’t struggling enough to draw attention from the nurses, however, and so he left this world alone.

He died quietly, slipped of the face of the earth with a soft sigh. He left, not with a bang, barely even a whimper. The next (day/week/month/year?) however long was blurry, and confusing, to say the least. A lot of bright light and white and things that hurt your head to think about.

Eventually it ends, and he’s alone in a green meadow. Of course. Even in the afterlife he is alone. He huffs out a laugh. It’s ironic, he muses. His whole life he waits to be reunited with all those he lost, and when he finally gets to heaven (if this place is, in fact, heaven) he is all alone.

And a field! How is he going to spend an eternity alone in a field? Surely he will go insane. Maybe that’s for the best. Perhaps if he goes crazy he’ll begin to hallucinate, the people he loves can become tangible in his head.

He is lying in the grass, staring at the clouds in the blue sky when they flop down beside him. He is almost afraid to turn his head to the side, afraid to see who, or what, it is. Afraid to find out he has already gone mad, and there is no one there: it was all a figment of his imagination.

An index finger enters his field of vision, pointing up at the sky. A soft voice interrupts the silence. A voice he hasn’t heard in 55 years. A voice he’d recognize anywhere.

“That one looks like an engagement ring. Y’know, the thing you never gave me?” Her voice is teasing, Sam can hear the smile in it.

He turns his head, grinning. His hand reaches out to touch the spun gold spilling from her head. His eyes drink her in. She is, if possible, more radiant than the last time he saw her, and he can tell from what he can see of his hand in her hair that he is once more in the body of 22 year old himself.

“I missed you.”

They whisper it simultaneously, and for the first time in a very long time, and despite the impossibility of it all, he feels alive.

renaissance au where dean is the most famous european artist who uses the professional name michelangelo; and one day all of his inspiration is just gone, and then he meets castiel, who seems to be sculpted by the hands of god himself to be dean’s muse

castiel starts posing for him and dean just can’t get enough of him and soon all the faces on his most famous paintings are castiel’s slightly changed face, and all of the men he sculpts have castiel’s body, and his sketches of the perfect human are based off of castiel’s proportions

dean falling more and more hopelessly for castiel and thinking it’s unrequited but then castiel calls him silly and they end up spending a week in bed, mostly cuddling and kissing but dean would never admit it

castiel’s face being admired by art critics and casual viewers for centuries and the love of dean and castiel being regarded as the love that was revolutionary to european culture

circles (a supernatural ficlet)

i suppose this is an idea of how it could end - with the boys last words here being their first words ( "goodnight sam" and "do i have to") on the show. i suppose this is an idea of how it could end, but i hope it’s not.

tws for sadness and death and stuff

When it was over, Dean couldn’t bring himself to feel relieved, because to allow himself to be relieved would involve picking himself apart, picking apart the past five years since the angels fell and everything changed, turning his entire being inside out and opening himself to the world for the first time in forever. He couldn’t feel it because even though he knew the battle was won, there was something roaring inside his chest, crashing against his rib-cage, screaming for something that Dean couldn’t - or didn’t want to - name.

It would be too much, so instead he stood silently, fingers curved around the angel blade. The sharp metal had become an extension of his arm and to let it go so suddenly would be like losing a part of himself, like exposing his cracked wounds whilst they are still raw.

He stood still -unable to do anything else - until, around him, things started moving again. When the first of his angels - one of the Turned whose name he could not recall - limped past him (with his bare chest carved up so much, so intricately, that Dean was almost mesmerized by its pattern) he was spurred into action.

Dean began to walk, with the blade tucked into his belt and hands hanging by his sides awkwardly - he was so used to having too much to do, that his hands could not remember how to relax anymore and they keep curling into loose fists.

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the first time castiel meets dean winchester is when dean is barely seventeen. they’re on a werewolf hunt, and dean is wearing his long hair proudly; his face is marvelous in the light make up he likes to apply. ‘you’re a beautiful man’, says castiel simply after arriving to where they are. dean turns sharply to look at the angel, 'what did you say?’ sharp in the air. castiel disappears, and erases the memories of his presence.

***

the second time castiel meets dean winchester is when dean is twenty four, and on one of the first hunts after reuniting with sammy. looking at dean, he can see the strain that’s put on his chest and his trouble with breathing. he can see everything. castiel doesn’t say anything to dean. he’s going the right way.

***

the third time castiel meets dean is after dean sells his soul for sam’s life. 'my life was never mine anyway’, explains the green eyed hunter to his brother, and both sam and castiel look at him with sadness. castiel decides not to appear. he is watching over dean’s soul, and this very soul is going to be hurt by things worse than dean’s lived on earth, and this soul is going to be saved.

***

the fourth time castiel meets dean is in hell, where he raises the hunter and rearranges his body piece by piece into a work of art. dean has to be pleased, he decides.

***

the fifth time castiel meets dean is when he is demanded to appear, because apparently not even the righteous man can perceive an angel’s true form. 'what are you?’, the hunter asks and gets the routine answer of 'the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition’. castiel gets a stab in the chest, but then dean asks if it was castiel who remade his body, and after seeing yes, there’s a spark of trust and gratefulness in dean’s eyes. it is enough for castiel.

***

the one hundred twenty third time castiel meets dean is the morning he wakes up beside him. dean wakes earlier and looks at castiel with wonder. 'you are a beautiful man’, castiel says, and dean only smiles. his eyes shine.