Sam is about to take a sip of his coffee when Castiel suddenly appears in the kitchen, walks straight toward Dean at the table and drops a jacket onto his lap.

Dean flinches instantly. “What the hell, man?”

“You need to wear this,” the former angel orders with a determined expression, obviously not impressed by Dean’s bewildered face.

“Uh … what?”

Sam takes a closer look and notices that it’s the jacket Dean bought for himself a few months ago with a big smile on his lips, calling it ‘fucking perfect’. From then on he wore that thing every other day.

Until a couple of weeks ago when Dean and Castiel finally got their shit together over a bowl of popcorn during a movie marathon, with Sam right next to them, apparently totally forgotten.  They exchanged kisses and love confessions (well, at least Castiel did – Dean just stammered awkwardly and blushed a lot) and Sam fled the scene hastily.

After that it was suddenly Castiel who wore the jacket all the freaking time and Dean tried his best – and failed spectacularly – to hide his pleased face. Castiel even left his beloved trench coat behind for this (although he compensated this by wearing it in the bunker instead, sometimes even during mundane tasks like cooking or cleaning).

And until this morning that didn’t change.

“You’re … you’re giving it back to me?” Dean asks, confused.

“Yes, I do,” Castiel states, glaring at the garment on Dean’s lap as if it personally offended him.

“Oh.” Dean still seems puzzled about this, but there is some nervousness in his gaze as well. He lowers his head and asks tentatively, “Did … did I do something wrong?”

Castiel tilts his head. “No, of course not. Why would you say that?”

Dean frowns. “Why are you giving it back then?”

“You’re supposed to wear it. Just for a few days.” When Dean still keeps silent, Castiel adds, “It doesn’t smell like you anymore. You need to change that!”

He sounds as if this is an unacceptable fact he wouldn’t tolerate any longer and Sam can’t help but chuckle quietly.

Dean just blinks a few times before Castiel’s words finally reach his brain. “Oh,” he whispers, a mild flush spreading across his cheeks. “Um … okay.”

Castiel nods, obviously satisfied with that answer, and strides out the room with his mission accomplished.

And Dean just watches him leaving the room, smiling fondly, and puts the jacket on immediately.

“Well, usually I don’t enjoy doctor’s visits but I quite like this one.”

Dean smiles warmly at his daughter in front of him who’s got a shiny stethoscope pressed on his chest, a look of adorable concentration on her face.

“Stop talking, Daddy,” she hisses reproachfully. “I can’t hear your heart.”

Dean’s lips twitch upwards. “Sorry.”

Mary watches him warily for a second before she finally goes back to her task. She slides the stethoscope over his bare skin and Dean suppresses a shiver because of the cold metal. The instrument is the real deal, a gift by Castiel’s brother for her 7th birthday. Gabriel is always more than eager to spoil his niece with the nicest stuff he can find and – most importantly – to win the ongoing war with Sam for the “best uncle ever”-award.

A sudden movement in the kitchen grabs Dean’s attention. Castiel appears next to the coffee maker out of freaking nowhere and throws an amused glance in their direction, chuckling quietly. His blinding smile makes Dean’s chest feel all warm and fuzzy.


Dean blinks and turns his focus back to Mary. “Yes, honey?”

“Are you okay?” She looks slightly concerned now. “Your heart just jumped.”

Dean hesitates a moment but then he starts to smirk, ducking his head. “Well, yeah … That happens a lot around your dad.”

He trains his eyes back on Castiel who shakes his head fondly, a light blush on his cheeks.

But Mary just snorts. “You’re so sappy.”

Her voice however sounds affectionate.

And Dean only shrugs, grinning. “I know, honey. I know.”

And even odder, when Mark and Kieran had come into the library, Kieran had gone immediately over to Max and picked him up, delighted by his blue skin and his tiny horns.

Max had stuck his hand into Kieran’s wavy hair and pulled. Kieran had just laughed. “That’s right, it changes color, little nixie-like warlock,” he said. “Look.” And his hair went from blue-black to blue in an instant. Max giggled.

“I didn’t know you could do that on purpose,” said Mark, who had always thought of Kieran’s hair as a reflection of his moods, uncontrollable as the tides.

“You don’t know a lot of things about me, Mark Blackthorn,” Kieran said, setting Max down.

Alec and Magnus had exchanged a look at that, the sort of look that made Mark feel as if they had reached a silent and agreed-upon consensus …


Lord of Shadows, Cassandra Clare


I can’t–damn it, I can’t do this. he cried out. He shook his head with two fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose.
I’m losing it. Sense, sleep - everything. I look at you, I look at you and the whole world unravels. Give up on you? God, how? You’re all I know.
—  Beau Taplin // The September