For @profound-boning because I keep bullying her into writing fics for me. So have some dadstiel + dean in glasses.
Fun fact: babies love glasses.
Dean and Cas weren’t aware of this bit of trivia until Claire came into their lives. Dean picked her up for the first time and nearly combusted with the sweet smile the blue-eyed girl gave him before her fat little fists came up to wrap around his frames and pull them from his face.
And it became their Thing. Any time Dean was holding Claire, he lost his glasses to the little girl. She liked to wave them around or chew on them and occasionally throw them at the cat.
Cas warned Dean he shouldn’t let her get in that habit. And sure enough Claire was soon ripping glasses off the face of anyone who was in arm’s reach of her.
The first time Claire breaks Dean’s glasses, Cas gives what Dean assumes is an “I told you so” look. But he’s not sure. He can’t see.
He goes through a few more pairs in the course of their first year with Claire before it’s decided that it would be easier to switch to contacts.
Fast forward a few years, Claire is in first grade. She grew out of her glasses-wrangling phase a while back but Dean’s grown so accustomed to contacts he doesn’t switch back. Plus, he no longer looks like a total loser at work wearing goggles over his glasses.
But one day Claire gets sent home with a note from her teacher. She’s having difficulty seeing the board even from the front row.
Dean and Cas make an appointment with the eye doctor for the next week. They reassure a nervous Claire that everything will be fine but their little girl will leave that doctor’s office in tears.
“I don’t wanna wear glasses!” she cries when they get home. “I’ll look ugly!”
“Oh, honey, no,” Cas says and strokes her hair. “You’re beautiful and glasses won’t change that.”
“Garth wears glasses and all the other kids make fun of him! What if they tease me too?” She starts to cry harder.
“Isn’t that the funny kid with the sock puppet?” Dean wonders and promptly shuts up when Cas shoots him a look. “Hey, look, kiddo. No one is gonna make fun of you for just wearing glasses. There’s nothing wrong with them. They’re just a tool to help you see. And if someone does say something, sock ‘em in the-”
“Dean.” Cas dropped his angel blade without a second thought and fell to his knees next to Dean, who was trying to keep himself upright. There was a dark stain on Dean’s flannel, and it grew bigger as they watched.
“Fuck, it’s-” Dean began, panting heavily. Before he fully collapsed, Cas caught him in his arms and pulled him closer. With a worried glance to his face, Cas opened Dean’s flannel and flipped the fabric aside. Dean’s stomach was stained with blood, the wound open and wide and dirty. Cas had seen and felt many wounds, and he instantly realized the severity of this one.
“Alright, I got you.” Cas breathed and tried to hold Dean up. Sam knelt down with them and stared at the mess.
“Can you fix it?” He asked with wide eyes.
“Not in the normal way, it’d only stop the bleeding.” Cas felt Dean’s forehead— it was sweaty and warm. Dean’s eyes were on him, but they were glazy and out of focus.
“Cas…” He muttered, his eyelids slowly shutting.
“I’m here, come on, stay with me!” Cas’ blood-stained hands were shaking as he hoisted Dean up. He quickly hovered his hand over the wound. Dean gasped and his stomach clenched under the blue light warming up quickly— his hand gripping onto Castiel’s coat, legs shaking.
As it cleaned the dried blood from Dean’s skin, Cas allowed himself a few seconds to think. He already knew there was only one way to heal Dean and make absolutely sure he didn’t die. The idea of Dean dying made Cas’ mind stagger. “We… we needda get him back to the bunker, right now. I— I need to share my grace with him.”
Dean wants to wake up with Cas pressing his face into his chest, muffling a grumpy protest at the early morning—hair in wild locks on his naked skin so close that Dean could press his lips into them. He wants to pull Cas close and trace patterns on his back, or gently nudge his side until he’d start squirming and chuckling, still half asleep as he’d roll off Dean’s chest, only to snuggle closer a moment later.
They’d let the early morning air pass through the open window and Dean would go to put on some old songs, just to sprawl himself back on the bed and talk with Cas interrupted with slow kisses and touches until one of them forces the other to go make coffee.
Instead, he wakes up alone, his bed too big and empty. No window to open, no music to play, no Cas to kiss.
He groans, one arm over his eyes, stretching as he tries to remember what day it is and what shit they’d gotten themselves into now. He doesn’t want to think about Cas as he gets up and dresses, but he does. He always does.
He does when he stands in the bathroom brushing his teeth and his eyes fall om Cas’ toothbrush. He does when he’s making food and he hopes Cas will like it. He does when they’re together, he does when they’re not. It’s not as if he wants to—he tries to distract himself in any way he can, but it’s difficult not to think about something if you try really hard to not do it. He tried to drown the worst, dirtiest thoughts with porn but he’d end up groaning out Cas’ name, the busty girls on screen forgotten, and later he’d wash off the guilt and embarrassment in the shower, knowing those images of Cas were there to stay.
It’s hard to focus when they’re together and Dean just wants to hold his hand or touch his cheek or kiss his frown. It’s hard because Cas’ stare is so intense it makes Dean blush and he jokes about it, but it’s just for show- it’s all just for show. His tough façade is soon to fall, he knows, it can’t last forever. It’s already crumbling at the edges.
And then one day Cas comes stumbling in the bunker out of nowhere, and Sam has already gone to bed so it’s Dean’s task to catch Cas’ heavy body in his arms. Cas has been drinking- and knowing Cas, it must’ve been a lot before he got this affected. He’s slurring and his eyes are foggy. He probably also doesn’t realize that he’s clinging onto Dean.
So Dean drags him up to his room as Cas complains about the destruction of the earth and how horrible his body feels and Dean gets him onto his bed with a few encouraging words.
“He’s so stupid.” Cas breathes as Dean works him out of his coat and loosens his tie. “So damn stupid.”
“Who is?” Dean asks, focused on getting Cas’ shoes off.
Cas kicks off the other with some struggle, then sinks into his sheets and closes his eyes, rubbing his forehead.
“I’m in love with a dumbass, Dean. He sucks. I love him.”
“Oh.” Dean swallows, staring at the man on the bed and he feels all warmth drain from him. He tries to think of something he should say, anything, but his throat is dry and his mind a terrifying darkness. “Okay.”
He steps away, knowing he needs to get out here soon. When he’s at the door, Cas speaks again.
“I’m in love with an asshole, can you believe it, Dean?”
Dean doesn’t reply. Back in his room, he strips down to his underwear and crawls into his bed. It feels like he’s drunk himself but in the worst kind of way. The all-I-can-do-is-be-miserable-and-cry kind of drunk. Tears wet his pillow and he has to bite his hand to quiet his sobbing. His shoulders shake uncontrollably. He cries like a child, but his mother isn’t there to calm him down.
For hours he lies awake, staring at the ceiling with tears drying on his cheeks. When the clock has passed 4 a.m., he knows there’s only one way to get over this. He feels nervous, scared, embarrassed, like a sinner going to a priest.
Forgive me Cas, for I have sinned.
He stumbles out of bed, feet cold on the floor. He doesn’t bother to put on socks.
It’s been… forever since my last confession.
The hall is dark, but Dean knows where to go.
I fell in love with an angel. I fucked up.
Dean almost bumps into Cas. He’d been making the trip through the hall in the opposite direction and is now standing right in front of Dean in the dark.
“Oh.” He says, and by the way he’s holding himself, Dean can tell he’s not drunk anymore- at least not as much. He doesn’t know if angels have hangovers.
“I-” Dean begins. “What are you doing here?”
Dean tries to make out Cas’ features. His shirt his open, exposing his chest. Dean is glad that it’s dark.
They seem to form one shadow in the darkness, standing so close Dean can feel Cas’ body heat.
“I shouldn’t have called you a dumbass.”
“Or an asshole.”
Dean needs a moment. His heart speeds up before he fully understands what’s going on. This time, Dean really doesn’t know what to say.
“What were you doing here?” Cas asks when Dean doesn’t reply.
“Confessing.” Dean manages before he finds Cas’ hand in the dark. Cas doesn’t have night vision, because his kiss lands at the side of Dean’s mouth. They laugh and find each other’s face with their hands, try again and succeed.
Dean pulls Cas along back to his room and into his bed, not letting go.
He wakes up with Cas pressing his face into his chest, muffling a grumpy protest at the early morning—his hair in wild locks on his naked skin so close that Dean could press his lips into them.
I was thrust into a world
where limits do not exist.
It is cruel and unforgiving,
Forced to be someone I’m not
but somehow fundamentally built,
I am expected to carry this burden,
and along with it, the guilt.
Days turn to weeks,
and months to years.
This life is not mine,
no, I will not shed my tears.
I do my duty in hopes of release,
to return to the life I once knew.
“This ain’t a duty, it’s your life.”
It’s no gift, it’s a big Screw You.
I’ve been caught in the line of fire,
and it looks like I won’t be going home yet.
I’ve given everything I have
through my own blood and sweat.
What more do I have, what more can they take?
This burden is far too heavy,
I feel that I may break.
This is who I am now;
But I’m not sure I’ll make it out alive.
To think Advanced Placement was tough,
this is more than I can survive.
I lost my youth to this calling;
I wanted something different, something more.
And now my time here is finished;
always beware the effects of war.
Mother don’t you mourn me;
for I am finally going home.
It’s to a place where I belong,
where I no longer aimlessly roam.
I now carry no burden
or with it, any fear.
Just look to the heavens when you’re sad,
and know that I’ll be near.
@opossumonster asked for/I suggested creating a list of the destiel/supernatural blogs I follow. Tagging @unicornhash-blog for the heck of it. After nearly two hours (or possibly three) of sorting through all the blogs I follow, here is the result.