I love it here!!
imagine writing probably one of the greatest, most intense, most insane slow-burn love stories on modern television, but deciding last minute to completely throw it (and 15 seasons of story arcs and character development) out the window because it’s gay
That famous scene from Cinderella III featuring Prince Langa and King Kaoru
Langa would definitely slide down the banister on his skateboard rather than jump out of the window
367,923 hours.
3:00am
15,330 days.
When his wakes, it’s with a sense of vague confusion—eyes fluttering open, brow furrowed, lips dry and pursed—dark but for the light coming through from the hallway. It feels too early, or maybe it’s late? Sleeping underground, time moves in feelings instead of colours. Red numbers stand tall on his bedside table—human precision at its finest—but Dean has learned that small hours like these bleed together like the stuff from a gaping wound.
He didn’t have a nightmare.
No sweats or sore muscles. No raw throat. His heart is beating just fine. Steady. His knee aches and the beginnings of arthritis plague his fingers.
Even without windows, the dim spilling into the room—from the door, from the clock—is reminiscent of every roadside shithole he’s ever stayed in. Light clings to the blankets as if on the verge of annihilation, greedy in the way it outlines every crease and curve. There’s no danger; no feeling of being watched or hunted. On the other side of the bed, Cas is cradling his sprained wrist to his chest. The dim gathers in his hair and sweeps across his cheek and Dean thinks, faintly, of Exodus and Mesopotamia. Of temples and offerings. Of an angel in the shape of a man.
“Dean?”
Cas’s eyes struggle to stay open. He reaches out with his hurt hand and there’s drool on his chin, and the word sweetheart is pushing against Dean’s tongue. He says it. Reaches until they’re tangled together, heads resting on the same pillow. Cas’s finger traces the apple of Dean’s cheek even though his eyes are closed. “Time s’it?” he slurs. His voice is rumbly; warm honey over toast.
“Late,” Dean breathes.
If there’s a second half to that conversation, it never happens; Cas drops off again with a hum and a hand over Dean’s heart. It’s weird, how human he is, now. How fragile. Dean gathers the breadth of him to his chest and breathes. Bites back a smile when Cas’s dry feet brush against his own. When he wheeze-snores. He presses a kiss to Cas’s sleep-slack mouth and settles in again.
367,923 hours.
3:15am
15,330 days.
I love you, Dean thinks into the non-space of their pillow, until he mouths the words, then whispers them. He’s pretty sure there must be better ways to spend the early hours of your birthday, but he can’t think of any right now.
42 turns around the sun—who’da thought he’d see that many?
If he listens hard enough, Dean thinks he can hear Cas’s heartbeat. The steady cadence of his breath. He wonders if it’s normal to feel so much for another person; to run the gamut of loud and quiet love until he’s spilling over with it. He decides he doesn’t care.
42 turns around the damn sun.
The first time Dean and Cas get married, they do it on a whim. They’re passing by the townhouse and they’ve got half an hour to spare, so why not?
When they get back home, Sam and Jack are both devastated that they didn’t get an invite - Eileen finds the whole thing too funny to care - so that’s how their second wedding happens. It’s small ceremony in the woods behind the bunker, with Eileen officiating (she’s not a pastor but it’s not like any of this is legally binding) and Sam and Jack as best men to Dean and Cas respectively.
The third wedding comes about when they’re visiting Jody and the girls and Claire gets a wind of it.
“Wait,” she says, gesturing at Jack, “Wonder Boy gets an invite and I don’t? How is that fair?”
So they throw another ceremony. It takes place a couple of days later, because Donna wants to be there and needs to take time off, and this time they do it in a church because why not? Jody ropes everyone but Dean and Cas into cooking a feast for the occasion, though Dean ends up helping out more than most of them, and they buy bottles and bottles of cheap sparkling wine so they can keep toasting well into the night.
It takes another year for them to get married again, when on their first anniversary Dean notices that their rings aren’t looking so great.
“That’s what we get for being cheap,” he says. “We should probably invest in something higher quality if we want them to last.”
“If we get new rings, does that mean we need to get married again?” Cas muses.
Dean grins. “Well, they do say fourth time’s the charm.”
“They do not-”
Dean cuts him off with a kiss. “Yes, let’s get married again.”
And that’s it. For a few years.
Then, on what turns out to be their last hunt, Cas gets into some serious trouble. They rush him to the hospital, where he is declared clinically dead for a minute. Dean stays at his bedside after and he is there hours later, when Cas finally wakes up.
“That’s it,” he tells Cas. “No more hunts. Someone else can pick up our slack, I don’t care, I’m not losing you again.”
Cas holds out his hand, smiling weakly when Dean takes it in both of his.
“They said you were dead,” Dean continues, not even caring that his voice has choked up or that tears are now freely streaming down his cheeks. “If we’d arrived at the hospital a few minutes later…”
He stops. He doesn’t want to even contemplate that. What matters is that Cas is with him, injured but alive, and that Dean will bring him back to their home as soon as he’s better.
“We’ll have to get married again,” Cas says.
Dean blinks. “What?”
“The vows say ‘til death do us part’. I died. We’ll have to do it again.”
“We don’t have to-”
“Dean,” Cas cuts in, smiling fondly. “Will you marry me again?”
Dean smiles back. Raises Cas’ hand carefully, leaning in to kiss his bruised knuckles. “Yeah. Yeah, of course I’ll marry you. As many times as you want.”
happy “the great gatsby is now in the public domain” day to all who celebrate
LET THE SLASH COMMENCE!
jensen’s little blink-and-you’ll-miss-it bug eyes when jared says “i think we’re gonna go out with a bang” sure is something isn’t it
you talking about retiring? you? ; or dean’s unfulfilled life.
I developed a squishier style and it makes me really wanna give cas a big ol kiss on the cheek
