Listen, imagine Eileen sneaking out of Sam’s room at night to go to the bathroom or something and steps out into the hallway in one of Sam’s shirts only to see Cas trying to quietly leave Dean’s room while wearing one of Dean’s shirts and they both just stare at each other awkwardly for a few seconds before trying to muffle quiet laughter and now they have a late night club where they talk about life and gossip about the Winchesters in sign language

such relief

Dean kisses Castiel for the first time under the fluorescence of a gritty gas station light. 

Dean kisses Castiel for the first time under the fluorescence of a gritty gas station light. They are bruised and bloody, the stench of burning flesh still clinging to their shirts. Sam is inside the store, buying beer and toothpaste.

He doesn’t quite know how it happens— one moment he is leaning against the Impala, waiting for the tank to fill. Cas comes around the car to join him, and then Dean is leaning in, one hand curling into Cas’s coat and the other coming up to cup his jaw, tilting it just right. Cas moves in front of him for a better angle. His mouth is warm.

And then, as quickly as it started, it’s over, and Sam is leaving the store, shooting Dean a confused look as he all but lurches away from Cas. They get in the Impala without a word, but Dean’s eyes drift to Castiel’s in the mirror probably more often than is safe. He can barely fight a smile for a week afterward.

Dean kisses Castiel for the second time in a shitty motel outside Rexford, Idaho. There’s a tension between them. It hangs in the air and is solidified by the small bundle of Castiel’s belongings that he places on the far bed.

Dean is fluffing the pillow when he turns to face Castiel, leaning in with a certainty he didn’t know he had. And Castiel kisses him back, hard, his hand on the back of Dean’s neck, keeping him there. Dean can sense his sadness. Confusion. It makes his chest ache.

They don’t talk about it in the morning. Dean drops Cas back at the Gas n’ Sip. It feels all wrong. Words rest unsaid on the tip of Dean’s tongue— come back, he longs to say. Stay. He doesn’t. He lets the sound of the passenger side door echo in silence. With a tight smile and a wave, he is gone.

They come together, briefly, in quiet moments, in tense moments, when everything is too much, when everything is too little. Still, it’s not enough. Dean dreams of blue eyes and wakes up in a cold bed. His phone is always in the corner of his vision; every time it buzzes his heart leaps in his chest. Most of the time it’s not what he’s hoping for.

One night in the bunker after a particularly brutal case, Castiel finds his way to Dean’s room. Dean is sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. Castiel kneels beside him.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says.

“You’re wrong,” Dean replies.

“We were out numbered. We had no chance. We couldn’t have saved her.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Castiel says, and he reaches for Dean’s hands, pulling them away from his face. Dean’s eyes are sad and tired. Castiel cups his cheek, swiping his thumb along the freckles there, and leans in.

Later, at some point in the late night or early morning, as he lies next to Castiel, Dean whispers, “Don’t leave.”

And Castiel doesn’t.


“Dean,” Cas says, “happy Pride month.”

And Dean, closeted and careful Dean, freezes and stares at him, open-mouthed.

“Wh- how’d - why would you say that?” he says, half-curious, half-defensive, and definitely leaving no halves for anything as ridiculous as hope.

Cas frowns. “Because… I’m proud of you. That… is what Pride month is for? Being proud of people? I haven’t… misunderstood?”

Dean’s non-existent hope is shoved away, and he snorts and shakes his head, and laughs.

“Nah, Cas,” he said. “Pride is for… you know, like, gay pride.” 

Cas’ eyebrows rise. “Oh.”

“Or - no, well, anyone who’s not straight, actually. Pride month is about not-straight people being proud of who they are.”

“Oh,” says Cas, again. And then he says, “Well - happy Pride month to both of us, then.”

And he walks away. Dean’s mouth is still hanging open thirty seconds later.

Tale as old as time...

…True As It Can Be

A Destiel Reverse Bang Project by delicious-irony and whelvenwings

“Growing up in a small town in Kansas, Dean learned from a young age that there was only one rule that couldn’t be broken, one place he couldn’t go - through the forest, to the long-abandoned Angel’s Hollow. But when Sam disappears, Dean’s left with no choice but to follow his brother’s tracks through the dangers of the wood; little does he know that the most dangerous creature of all lurks not among the trees, but in the Hollow itself. Dean sets Sam free, at the cost of his own liberty - and, bound by magic, resigns himself to living out the rest of his days in the Hollow, at the mercy of the being within. The angel of Angel’s Hollow, however, has a story - is a prisoner, too, as much as Dean is. Only one thing can free them both - but it is impossible. For, after all: who could ever learn to love a beast?”

Story on AO3

Art on AO3

Dean slowly realizes that Castiel’s vision is deteriorating. 

Or maybe it had never been all that great.

At least, his vessel’s vision isn’t great and all of that squinting Castiel does isn’t just squinting for the sake of squinting. Dean figures Jimmy may have worn glasses or contacts in his life that Cas had never bothered utilizing for whatever reason. 

He needs to hold his cell phone screen up closer to his face - then back - and then close again while trying to read text messages, all the while squinting.

Dean took him to the movie theater once just for the hell of it and had sat in the back row while Castiel had spent the whole time squinting and asking Dean which character was currently on screen,effectively sucking the fun out of that evening. 

Eventually, after enough evidence, Dean drags Castiel to an eye doctor because as adorable as they are, the squints were apparently a sign of visual impairment and not a constant state of confusion or suspicion.

Sure enough, Cas is blind as fuck and how he’d been getting around all these years is a miracle in itself.  

The doctor sets Cas up with a nice set of bold, black rims not too long after (which, first off, hell yeah) and Castiel actually fucking gasps when he slips them on and sees Dean clearly for the first time. 

“You’re beautiful.” Castiel murmurs, reaching out a hand to gently brush at the freckles along the bridge of Dean’s nose. 

Dean blushes profusely and gives an attempt at a sputter, but doesn’t say anything when Castiel stares at him in awe the entire ride home.

pure & simple

The first time Sam sees Dean and Castiel kiss, it’s just like any other day in his life.

The first time Sam sees Dean and Castiel kiss, it’s just like any other day in his life. They’ve been at the bunker between hunts, and are in town to do the week’s shopping.

All three of them are walking down the street. Dean and Cas are just ahead of Sam, walking in step, their shoulders brushing. Sam trails behind them, letting them choose which stores to walk into. 

 Soon, they pass the grocery store, and Sam definitely needs to go in there. 

“Hey, guys, I’m gonna stop in here!” He calls ahead to them. They turn their heads around, nodding in affirmation. He passes them and opens the door, wincing at the bell that jingles at his arrival. He steps into the store, turning around when he doesn’t hear Cas and Dean follow.

When he turns around, though, he finds that they are both still outside. They are standing close together, and they seem to be having a serious conversation. They both have rather dark, focused expressions, and Sam starts to wonder if he should go out there to break up what could be an oncoming fight. But then Cas laughs and Dean smiles, and they start to pull away from each other. Dean reaches out at the last moment, catching Cas by the wrist and pulling him in. They kiss briefly on the lips. It’s not a peck, but it’s chaste and quick, and definitely practiced. Sam can tell it’s not the first time they’ve done it, and honestly, he’s not surprised. Those two have had something going on for a long time, and he is glad they’ve finally got around to acting on it.

 Dean comes in then, and Sam gives him a brief smile before turning to go find his favorite brand of lettuce so he can start eating salad again.

Not Yet

“Are you in love?”

“Not yet,” says Cas.

“What’s - what’s that supposed to mean?”

Cas considers him.

“It’s just,” says Dean, “I kinda - you made me think like you’d say yes, man. I really thought -”

“You misunderstand me,” Cas says. “Or perhaps I should have answered more completely. I… am falling in love with you, currently. But I am not yet finished.”

“Finished?” It’s put an end to the look of hurt in Dean’s eyes, at least. Now he just looks confused.

“Well,” says Cas. “In love is something that sounds final. An end point, a… goal. But I am not at the end point yet. I can’t be, because every day I fall for you… more.” He clears his throat. “I notice something new about you, or you say something you’ve never said before, or you say something you have said before. The things that make me love you deeper are very diverse in nature.”

Dean, by this point, looks struck dumb. Cas continues, to fill the space.

“So I’m not all the way in love, not yet. I don’t know if I ever will be. But I am falling in love with you, Dean. All the time.”

Dean likes it. Cas can tell by the way he smiles down at his hands, as though at a joke, like he can’t believe it.

“Ask me,” Dean says. Cas doesn’t waste time pretending not to understand.

“Are you in love?” he asks.

Dean smiles.

“Not yet,” he says.

Because I met @purgatoryjar in Hamburg and she is beyond awesome, as is the city. (seriously though guys go give Elena all the love ever because she is fantastic and totally deserves it… she even illustrated this little fic JUST LOOK AT HER AMAZING ART!)

There are two dancers who salsa in front of the Kunstalle. They twist and spin and fall out of their holds like the joyous amateurs they are—always with smiles on their face. They learn together; stopping deliberately to demonstrate a new move or step behind their partner, pressing too close as they move the other’s hips with their hands. Lips brush against earlobes in whispered instruction. Fingers squeeze encouragement. They own an ancient boom box that plays homemade CDs of current pop music.

They dance every Sunday evening, long after the curators have gone home and the tourists have ventured off into pubs and biergartens. It’s only them and the trains, then; the deliberate push and pull of bodies contrasted with sluggishly-moving metal. The soundtrack is a mechanical clunking overlayed with Pitull. This is the only time the green-eyed dancer will ever admit to listening to Pitbull.

The sun sets and bathes everything in gold, and the pair mistakenly crash into each other, dissolving into huffed, out-of-breath laughter. They’re drawn together by tethers no human can see. “Hi,” says one, grinning as he pushes dark, sweat-curled hair behind an ear.

“Hello,” the other answers with a similar smile.

The blue-eyed dancer spins out and they start all over again.

^^once again, this beautiful piece was done by @purgatoryjar​. Go love on her!

phichit chulanont: hamster king, fashion extraordinaire, ready to kill a man

In which Mary notices Dean and Castiel (self-indulgent drabble set somewhere in the beginning of season 12)

The Winchesters, Mary, and Cas are working a case together, and they split up. Cas and Dean go to finish off a nest of vamps while Mary and Sam resolve things with the locals.

They meet up at a shitty 24 hour diner at some ungodly hour of the night, and Mary is so engrossed in conversation with Sam that she almost misses the way Dean’s hand hovers at Castiel’s lower back as they enter the diner. Almost.

“Finished ‘em off real good, huh, Cas?” Dean says with a tired smirk once they’re seated, nudging the angel with his shoulder.

“Yes,” Cas agrees, opening his menu.

Sam orders a coffee and Dean glares at him so he orders a soup too. Castiel gets the same thing that Dean gets.

“You need to eat?” Mary asks.

Castiel shrugs. “It’s a habit, now.”

And Mary notices the way that there is almost a foot and a half of empty space on Dean and Cas’s side of the booth that they’re not using. She notices the way their arms touch from shoulder to elbow.

“So,” She says to Sam, later, when they are alone, “Dean and Cas?”

“Oh,” Sam scratches the back of his neck. “It’s, um, complicated, I think.”

And Mary nods, because, yeah. Isn’t it always?

Dean being hit by a love spell, and seeing Cas first - and falling for him, magically.

And Sam’s ready to hold his brother back from any embarrassing behaviour, anything he’ll regret later - but Dean handles it like a pro. He keeps his hands to himself - barely pats Cas on the shoulder to say goodnight, barely says a word out of place, as they sit in the bunker and try to figure out how to break the spell. There’s a feeling, sometimes, when Dean looks at Cas… a feeling of something deep moving beneath the surface, of a powerful emotion - but Dean keeps it perfectly in check.

“How are you doing that?” Sam says. “Is it a weak spell?”

Dean, jaw clenched - fire in his blood, burning alive - shakes his head slowly. “It’s strong,” he says. I’ve got practice, he almost adds.

Cas comes to see him that night, late. Dean’s awake, of course, researching in his room, laptop glowing brightly. He jerks his head up sharply when Cas knocks at the door, always alert.

“Cas,” Dean says. “Come in.”

“You’re sure? With the spell, it won’t be too…” Cas pauses, awkward. Dean shakes his head.

“It’s alright,” he says - and then makes the first and only mistake that the spell pushes out of him. “I’m used to it,” he adds.

They both pause. Dean stares at Cas in a kind of paralysed silence - unable to believe that now, now, after all these years of quietness, he has twisted a little of his feelings into words.

“I would ask you how it feels,” Cas says, eventually. He’s standing half-inside the door, tense. “But I believe I know already.”

There’s a moment of utter noiselessness - but to Dean, to Cas, it’s the loudest few seconds of their lives. Understanding crashes into them both; without words, louder than words, with eyes alone, they tell each other everything.

It turns out, the only thing needed to break the spell is a single kiss.

They make sure the spell is completely broken, though, by not leaving it at one.

Diners in the Early Hours

Based on this tumblr post

Castiel is a waiter who is too tired after working all night. The Winchesters come to the diner for a meal after a hunt. It’s 1:30 AM. What could go wrong?

Read it on AO3!

Castiel was about two seconds away from using the apple pie on the counter as a pillow. After his second 8 hour shift in a row, working in an “open 24 hours!” restaurant at, he checked his watch, 1:34 in the morning, a pie pillow didn’t seem like the worst thing ever. He still had about an hour and a half left on his shift, and his manager had ducked out nearly an ago on a “smoke break”. No one would probably even notice if he was asleep. Sure, Chuck was over in the corner booth, but the twitchy writer came in every night and Castiel knew he took a good hour on one cup of coffee. He had just served him half an hour ago, and by the looks of the mug Chuck had already topped it off with the small bottle he kept in his jacket. It wouldn’t even be that bad, he thought dreamily. It has a nice, soft crust and a sweet filling…             

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Something about Fate

Dean decides to go to a new psychic in town - just for the hell of it, of course - with his roommate Castiel, and doesn’t get the reading he was expecting.



“Hey, Cas, have you ever been to a psychic?”

Dean watched as Castiel looked up from his book with his eyebrows pinched together.

“No.” A pause. “Why do you ask?”

Dean shrugged.

“Garth texted me. Apparently there’s one in town that he went to yesterday and he’s obsessed. He said she really knows her stuff.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow before returning his attention to the textbook he had sprawled across their kitchen counter, so he could eat and study at the same time - a sight that was not all that uncommon in their apartment.

“Psychics don’t exists, Dean,” he said, matter-of-factly, as he turned the page. “People who claim to be psychic are scammers hoping to draw in the desperate or the gullible. Garth is the latter, I’m afraid.”

“Hey, he’s not -”

“Remember when Gabriel told him that stop signs with a white rim around them were optional?”

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled out a stool on the opposite side of the counter from his roommate.

“Duh, Cas. I know that they aren’t legit. Everyone does. But at the very least they’re supposed to be super good at reading people and then you essentially pay them to tell you what their first impression of you is.”

A small smile crept its way across Castiel’s face.

“I could tell you that for free, you know.”

Dean flipped him off as he got up and pulled out an apple from the refrigerator, not even bothering to look back as he did so.

“Whatever. I think it could be kind of cool.”

“Then by all means…” Castiel wrote something down in a notepad and flipped to the next page. “I think you should do it. I have free time tomorrow if you’d like to find this psychic then.”

Dean tossed the apple between his hands.

“You’d come with me?”

“Of course. I would never miss the opportunity to witness someone predicting your death.”

Castiel laughed as Dean flipped him off again.

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Supernatural but where everyone is alive and it’s Christmas time and the Winchesters decide to do it right for once.

And Cas has been around more and more lately and him and Dean have started to figure themselves out. It’s not official yet or anything but for now it’s enough. It’s good.

So they invite Jody and Donna and Claire and Alex, and Sam and Cas putter around the bunker and clean up while Dean mans the kitchen.

Around 5 pm there’s a knock on the door, and Dean practically trips over himself, his socks slipping on the newly clean floor.

Jody and Donna stand on the front step, and just behind them, Claire and Alex. He smiles widely at all of them, ushering them in. Jody hugs him first, patting him on the back a little too heartily, then Claire gives him a radiant smile, and he briefly squeezes an arm around her shoulders. “Hey, kid,” he says.

They sit down for dinner and Sam can’t stop smiling and Dean’s foot keeps bumping Cas’s under the table.

After dinner, after they all have had a few drinks in them, (not the girls of course, come on. They aren’t that irresponsible) Donna comes up with the brilliant idea of having a dance party. So Dean rolls his eyes but gives in, of course he does. He goes into his room and finds his old boombox and turns on the Christmas tunes. Then, he sits back and watches as his friends— his family— make complete fools out of themselves. First, Sam takes Jody’s hand, and they fuck around for a while, trying to get the beats right (it’s a waltz) but they end up giving up and just skipping around like idiots.

Then, a slow song comes on, and Cas meets Dean’s eyes. Oh no, Dean thinks, because he’s not exactly in the mood. But Cas’s eyes are pleading, and he moves to stand over Dean, holding out his hand, palm facing up.

“May I have this dance?” He asks softly. His face is already flushed from dancing, and there is happiness fluttering around in his eyes, lifting the skin of his face. He looks good. And goddamn, everyone is watching them, so Dean has to say yes.

“Of course, Cas,” Dean mumbles, taking Cas’s hand and pulling himself from the chair. Dean takes one of Cas’s hands in his, places the other one on Cas’s waist, and pulls him close. They look at each other, smiling, and it’s nice.

Later, Dean falls back onto the couch beside Jody, and she puts her hand on his arm.

“I’m really happy for you, Dean.” She starts, and he just really can’t help the soft smile that he knows is forming on his face right now. “You two really love each other. I can see it.” And Dean just keeps smiling at her, and he is still smiling when Donna goes to get the donuts, and they all tuck in.

Cas sitting and reading a book in the bunker’s library - not for business, but for pleasure. He’s lost in the story.

Dean coming in and walking up behind Cas quietly, meaning to surprise him. Cas doesn’t notice, his focus on the story too complete for anything to bother him.

Dean reaching out his hands, meaning to pinch Cas’ shoulders suddenly, and make a loud noise at the same time - just to give him a bit of a shock, see what happens when an angel jumps.

Dean’s hands softening at the last moment - and before he knows what’s happening, the pinch becomes a gentle squeeze. It’s careful and caring, both. He’s the one who’s shocked - at himself, at this impulse to be affectionate. And Cas is turning around to look at him with wide, happy eyes.

“Good book?” Dean says, to cover the moment. His hands haven’t moved. Cas reaches up, and presses his palm to the back of one of them.

“Very good,” he says. “You should read it some time.”

Dean awkwardly patting Cas’ shoulder and heading off on his way.

His hands tingle for the rest of the day.

this is literary gold. 

posted for @whelvenwings because it made her cry. 

“holy shit, cas. dean has fried chicken in his hoodie." 

 cas frowns, glancing at the unconscious dean winchester curled up in the front seat. 

 "why should i care? i don’t eat." 

 ”‘cause i’m driving,“ sam shifted his hands on the wheel, his eyes staring hungrily at dean’s hoodie pocket. "and you are the only one who can reach them." 

 "all right,” cas sighed, “fine." 

 "hell yeah,” sam grinned. “i’m hungry." 

 cas leaned forward to poke dean. 

 "get off my chicken, bitch!” dean says, half-consciously assuming that its sam, as his hands lazily slap his brother. 

 "ahh!!!!“ sam screams, as the impala swerves. "what the fuck!" 

 dean snuggles back up into a ball. "get your own damn nuggets, sam." 

 sam frowns. they aren’t even nuggets…? 

 "try again,” sam whispers to cas, after a minute. 

 "no!“ cas snaps. "dean almost murdered us both!" 

 "if i don’t eat that chicken, cas, i swear to god,” sam met the angel’s eyes in the mirror. “i’ll eat you myself." 

 a look of horror dawned on cas’s face.

First Impressions



Castiel works as a teller at his local bank, and Dean is a new mystery customer that brings in a wad of cash and crumpled singles once a week to deposit into his account.

Working as a bank teller was definitely a unique and interesting experience - and one that Castiel generally enjoyed.

Of course, there were always the customers that raised hell when they walked through the door, complaining about incorrect overdraft fees or loan interests, but for the most part, the people were pleasant and Castiel didn’t mind plastering a smile onto his face for five or six hours at a time.

He and the other tellers had their favorite customers that they always talked about, whether for the entertainment factor, or because they genuinely liked them.

There was the nice old woman who always updated the teller on her grandson’s theater career; the middle aged man who generally arrived drunk and so sure that he was a millionaire even though he wasn’t; the college-aged girl who came in with a different hair color every time; and a younger man who kept trying to convince the teller that he was haunted.

Yes, Castiel was sure that he’d seen it all - and then one day, Dean Winchester came through his line.

The moment Castiel looked up as the new face approached the counter, he was thrown off. Sandy and deliberately coiffed hair framed a perfectly symmetrical face that he was sure he’d seen on a famous statue in some museum or another. Soft green eyes blinked at him with an even softer smile as he leaned forward against the counter and tilted his head.

“Hey,” the man said, his voice almost as smooth as the marble his arms were resting against.

“Hello.” Castiel cleared his throat and smiled, praying to God that it looked natural. “How can I help you today, sir?”

The man pulled out his ID and slid it across the counter.

Dean Winchester, it read.

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