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desdemonasarahmckenzie · 8 months

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Lights, Parrot, Action

3000 words of silly and sweet dean and cas. rated T for language. ft. a parrot named jimmy (no relation to novak) and sam winchester, unimpressed. for @toshikosato <3

They’re having a rare day off. Dean has spent most of the afternoon in the garage, and he’s about to check the new taillights when all lights go out. He freezes in place, feet on the ground and most of his body leaning in through the open window.

“What the hell?” he mutters. His hand is still on the ignition, and he turns the key. He pops back out and checks the taillights. “Hey, at least you’re working now.” The light is weirdly dim, but it’s a step up from no light, he supposes.

He’s not particularly worried – the Bunker is an old building. It is a little strange that the emergency lights didn’t kick in, but no need to panic. He pats his jeans for his phone, until he remembers he left it to charge in his room. “Alright, be right back”, he tells his car, and resolutely switches off the ignition. The garage goes back to pitch dark. He’s faced worse, he can definitely handle his own home in the dark. He feels his way towards the door, treading carefully, but it doesn’t take long before he stumbles over his own toolbox which he left out on the floor like an idiot. He yelps, stumbles forwards in complete darkness, and a flash of sharp pain shoots up through his right wrist when he hits the concrete floor. God damn it.

“Help”, he wheezes to nobody. He was alone in the garage before, and he’s alone in the garage now. His wrist is already starting to swell and it feels like his hip got pretty bruised too. He tries to flex his fingers, check for damage, but pain keeps flaring up and he grits his teeth. Alright, that’s not good. He stays on the floor for a while, just feeling the ache in his wrist and hip and even his elbow, a little bit. No one’s coming to help him. “Always gotta be your own hero”, he mutters and attempts to stand up. The darkness is dizzying and he’s a little alarmed by the fact that his eyes haven’t started to adjust at all. Like, that’s not normal. He manages to exit the garage and follow the railing all the way across the balcony and towards the stairs. He knows roughly where the stairs are. Roughly. But he’s not taking any risks.

“Sam?” he calls out. “Cas?”

No response. Alright, now he’s actually starting to get a little worried. He yells again, louder. It just echoes against the tiled walls. Slowly, he feels his way forward, clinging to the railing, and when he reaches the stairs he descends them one agonizing step at a time. He’s cradling his right wrist, feeling a little sorry for himself. It's not like anyone can see him. But really, how is he supposed to flip burgers with his left hand only? He’s gonna have to ask Cas to do it and Cas never gets it right, is somehow too meticulous and too careless at the same time. He could ask Sam, but even Dean can see how it would be unethical to ask a vegetarian to handle raw meat. Although it’s not like Sam is squeamish or anything. The guy decapitates vamps left and right. And blood is not vegetarian. Oh, man, if Sam got bitten by a vampire… he’d have to drink whatever the plant equivalent to blood is, and that wouldn’t cut it, Dean doesn’t think. He is so caught up in his musings that he lets out another yelp when something flies over his head, low and menacing, and it takes him a couple of seconds to regain his composure and call out the culprit.

“Damn it, Jimmy!”

“Hello Dean”, croaks a voice from somewhere above him. “Hello Dean. Hello Dean.”

“You almost gave me a frigging heart attack”, he mutters.

“Frigging heart attack”, Jimmy parrots back. There’s a whooshing sound as Jimmy the parrot (no relation to Jimmy Novak) flies off to wherever he’s off to. No, really. Cas claimed that the store named him Jimmy, and that he couldn’t think of a better name anyway. “Frigging heart attack. Hello Dean, frigging heart attack.”

“You got night vision or something?” Dean yells after him as he flies away and leaves Dean alone again. The stupid fucking bird never liked him anyway, and Dean’s cool with that. He’s also cool with Cas having a pet. One hundred percent. Cas is his own person who can make his own decisions and if he wants a bird, he can get a bird.

Jimmy the bird hates Dean, tolerates Cas, and adores Sam, so yeah. The last few weeks have been a lot.

Dean crosses the room without any more incidents, and even remembers the half-step down into the corridor. He still can’t see a single thing, and it doesn’t really feel natural. And where the hell are Cas and Sam? He needs to get to his phone, so he trudges on, fingertips tracing the cool tiles on the wall. He strains to see if his other senses have become heightened. Isn’t that what happens when you go blind? But no, he still can’t see, smell or feel a damn soul. Other than Jimmy, who occasionally swoops down over his head. Whether he has a soul or not is debatable. Actually, he should ask Cas about it. Cas can see souls, can’t he? Cas probably has night vision too, Dean thinks, and it perks him up, because that’s awesome.

“Cas!” he shouts again, and crashes into something very solid. “Shit!”

“Dean?” There’s a pair of hands gripping his arms, but Dean still can’t see a damn thing. The voice, however, he’d recognize anywhere. That voice could probably wake him from a coma. “Dean, are you alright?”

“Frigging heart attack!” Jimmy croaks. “Frigging heart attack!”

“Jimmy had me worried.”

“I’m fine”, Dean says, lifting his left arm to cling to hold on to Cas. “He just scared the shit out of me. He still hates me, man.”

“Still hates me, man”, Jimmy agrees. Dean leans forward a little bit. Something is definitely wrong. He can sense Cas, even smell him, but by now his eyes should definitely have adjusted to the darkness and he should be able to see something. A silhouette, a shadow, anything.

“Did I go blind?” he asks, panic creeping up. What if it really is just him? “Cas, am I blind?”

“I don’t think so. I can’t see anything either, but I think it’s a spell. I’ve been calling for you and Sam but I couldn’t hear a sound until I walked into you.”

Cas’ voice is grounding and gives Dean something to orient himself after. And hearing he probably isn’t blind is a relief.

“So that’s why you didn’t – aw, fuck, please don’t –” Cas is sliding his hands down to grab his injured wrist and Dean tries to fend him off.

“Oh, I’m sorry”, Cas says quickly and lets go of him fully.

“No!” Dean exclaims, reaching out to blindly grab on to him again. He gets hold of a tie, and a sturdy chest, and this feels really inappropriate. “Come on, just–” he feels his way all the way down to what he hopes is Cas’ right hand, and he doesn’t… hold it, exactly. But he grabs hold of it, in what he hopes is a businesslike, platonic way. “My right hand is kinda fucked up.”

He can hear Cas inhale sharply.

“What happened?”

“Stumbled over my toolbox on my way here”, Dean admits sheepishly.

“Because you left it in the middle of the floor for anyone to trip over?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Cas can’t see him but Dean still rolls his eyes. “Wait, are you sure you can’t see anything? Don’t you have X ray super ultra night vision?”

“… Usually”, Cas replies dryly. “That’s why I think this is a spell.” Dean can feel himself grinning.

“Oh yeah? You can’t see a thing?” Dean waggles his eyebrows at Cas and gets no response. He sticks out his tongue, and nothing. “Hehe.”

“Dean, whatever you’re doing, please stop.”

Despite his hurting hand, Dean can’t stop grinning. Throws in a wink for good measure.

“If I stop, will you fix my hand?”

“Of course.”

They’re still standing closer to each other than is probably necessary, but hey, it’s not like anyone can see. In a weird way, Dean feels like the darkness has his back. Maybe it’s a spell, but it can’t be that sinister if it still lets them talk and touch.

He holds up his right hand and kind of guides Cas’ left hand to it.

“Um. Ow, yeah, this one.”

Cas feels his way around the warm skin and Dean is holding his breath, for some reason. It’s just Cas, this isn’t weird, he thinks. It’s just Cas, doing Cas stuff.

The glowing grace barely manages to penetrate the darkness. What’s usually a bright glow is now dull, like a few tired rays of sun behind a cloud of smoke. But it works. The pain melts right out of his fingertips.

“There.”

“Thanks”, Dean mumbles, and he feels funny in a way he hasn’t in ages. Jittery. Cas hands are still gripping his and before he knows it he’s laced their fingers together. He gives Cas’ hand a little squeeze. “So I don’t lose you.”

“So I don’t lose you”, Jimmy taunts, and Dean’s heart almost stops in his chest again.

“Fuck off!”

“No, YOU fuck off.”

“Don’t talk to Jimmy like that”, Cas interjects. “This is why he doesn’t like you.”

Dean tugs Cas closer, irrationally angry at this bird.

“Whatever. Have you seen Sam, by the way?”

“No.”

It’s like they’re… locked in a closet together. No, that came out wrong. It’s like they’re two normal guys. Men. Holding hands, under the cover of darkness. He cringes for a moment and tries to withdraw, but Cas won’t let him, and it has to be a goddamn spell, because he can feel tiny shivers trying to break out. He won’t let them, but they’re there, and that just doesn’t make sense. The relief flooding through him when Cas tugs at him doesn’t make sense, either.

They work their way through the western side of the Bunker, hands still linked. Overhead, Jimmy is terrorizing them with a litany of Hello Deans and Fuck offs. Inside Dean lives Jimmy’s evil twin and he’s fluttering and squirming and trying to break free. But Dean has to focus. They have to find Sam. He wonders, briefly, if Cas is affected by the handholding at all. Cas can appear stone-faced and distant but it’s easy to tell what he’s thinking when you know how to read him, and Dean’s pretty fluent. He just wishes he could see him.

“Hello, Jimmy”, Cas says, and Dean guesses the bird has found its way to Cas’ shoulder.

“Where are Dean-and-Cas”, Jimmy says, and Dean’s eyebrows shoot up.

“You’ve been talking to Sam!”

“Where are Dean-and-Cas.”

“We’re right here. Where’s Sam?” Dean demands.

“Fuck off. Hello, Dean.”

Cas snickers.

“I’m sorry. It’s funny.”

“I still hate him. And the feeling is mutual”, Dean mutters.

“The feeling is mutual”, Jimmy agrees.

“Anyway”, Dean continues, trying to talk over the stupid bird, “Sam’s probably in the library.”

“You’re probably right”, Cas says loudly. Dean bites his lip and with his free hand, he mimes shooting the bird. It’s only moderately satisfying.

“The feeling is mutual”, Jimmy repeats, and Dean wishes the bird would just shut up. For once in his evil, feathery life.

“Alright, you little– fucking hell!”

Dean’s walked into the map table, bad hip first. He doubles over, pulling Cas with him.

“What’s going on? What happened? I can’t see anything!”

“Nothing, I just walked into the fucking table.”

“Fucking table”, Jimmy rattles off. “The feeling is mutual. Hello, Dean.”

Dean takes a deep breath and starts counting backwards from two hundred. He doesn’t get very far, but still.

“Talk to me, Dean”, Cas says, voice laced with frustration. “Since I can’t see what’s going on. Are you hurt?”

“It’s just my hip, it’s nothing.”

The silence that follows sounds suspiciously like someone starting to count down from two hundred.

“Dean”, Cas says evenly. “Did you injure any other body part in the fall?”

Dean scoffs.

“The fall. I couldn’t see a damn thing, I fell over, end of story. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“I don’t like to see you hurt”, Cas says like he’s trying to explain something very simple to someone who refuses to hear it.

“Good thing you can’t see me, then.”

Cas pulls his hand out of Dean’s grip, and he’s suddenly feeling very alone and a little bit cold. His hand feels empty. He nervously wipes his palm on his jeans with the feeling of having fucked up.

“Cas, where did you go?” he asks faintly. For all he knows, Cas finally gave up and left him.

“I’m right here.”

Hold my hand again, Dean thinks. Just take it. He swallows his pride and the nervous lump in his throat and maybe it’s a good thing they can’t see each other.

“Cas… alright. Could you please do something about my hip.” He imagines being old. He imagines himself at 70, asking Cas the same thing. It ignites something within him. He imagines being 70 and not having Cas by his side. Even thinking it feels wrong.

There’s a careful hand on his elbow, and Dean guides it down to his hip. And it could mean nothing, but Cas hands on him feel really nice. Dean takes an unnecessary step forward, which puts them chest to chest, and sighs as Cas lets a little bit of grace slip under his skin. I could get addicted to this, he thinks.

“All healed up.” Cas’ voice is rough and very, very close. He’s practically speaking into Dean’s ear. It’s not enough, Dean decides, and slides both arms around him, definitely emboldened by the darkness.

“Is this okay?” he asks quietly. He guesses the way Cas puts his arms around his shoulders is a “yes”, but he’d still like verbal confirmation. “Cas?”

“Sorry, yes”, Cas murmurs. “I was nodding.”

Dean smiles, and he wants to know if Cas is smiling too, and the only way to find out is to feel for himself and well, in this position it only feels like the logical course of action, so he leans in and their noses brush and Cas sucks in a deep breath and –

“The feeling is mutual!” Jimmy screeches. “The feeling is mutual! Fucking table!”

“Yeah, but what does it mean–”

Dean gets the absurd urge to put himself in front of Castiel in order to hide him from Sam, whose voice is alarmingly close.

“Sam!” he exclaims, coughing a little. “Learn to fucking knock or something.”

“Dean? Oh thank god. I thought I was the only one left.” He sounds relieved. “I’ve been calling you, asshole. Why didn’t you pick up?”

“I don’t have my phone on me.” He can feel his knuckles whiten with how hard he’s gripping Cas’ trenchcoat and he’s one hundred percent sure he’s red in the face and he’s never been more grateful for no light.

“Well, have you seen Cas anywhere?”

“I’m here.”

“Fucking table!” Jimmy insists, from somewhere near Sam. “Fucking table. Hello Dean.”

“What?” Sam says.

“I, um. I walked into the fucking table.” For some reason it’s coming out like a lie.

“The feeling is mutual!”

“Jimmy, please be quiet”, Cas mumbles and something clatters to the ground. A chair falling over, maybe.

“Oh. Oh. I mean don’t let me interrupt whatever– whatever this is. But you should know that um. I accidentally let out a box full of Kirrisar. They’re harmless, but they seal you in a temporary darkness. Kinda like an isolated bubble? That’s why we couldn’t hear each other across the Bunker.”

“Are you saying we’re in each other’s bubbles right now?”

“Yeah.”

“So the power isn’t really out?” Cas asks.

“Um, nope.”

“Well, how long will it last?”

“I’m not sure. 10-12 hours?”

Dean’s hand slides down to grip Cas’. Okay. That’s manageable. He isn’t entirely sure how they’re gonna do the whole burger flipping thing in the dark, but they’ll manage.

“Fucking table!”

“Can you shut up about the table?” Dean yells.

“Fuck off!”

Sam’s sigh echoes through the room.

“It took me days to get him to stop saying… you know what.”

“What, ‘motherfucker?’“

“What, motherfucker!” Jimmy squeals, with no respect for intonation.

“Dean, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Don’t repeat that!” Dean yells over Jimmy’s gleeful “I’m gonna kill you! Hello Dean! Fucking table! I’m gonna kill you!”

“You’ve broken my parrot”, Cas groans.

“What, motherfucker!”

“Jimmy, please…”

“Alright”, Sam interjects. “I’m gonna try to get a hold of Eileen, see if she’s ever encountered Kirrans before. Maybe she can help, I don’t know. You two… actually, don’t tell me, just. On the table? Jeez.”

Dean’s face is on fire, but there’s a thumb stroking the back of his hand.

“Shut up, Sam. It’s not what it sounds like.”

“The feeling is mutual!”

“Well”, Sam says with a cough. “At least there’s that.”

“We’re just holding hands!” But Sam seems equally uninterested in staying around for that. Dean and Cas both stand completely still until Sam has fully left their bubbles. When Dean’s certain they’re back to being isolated, he sags against Cas’ shoulder.

“Jesus”, he mutters. “Cas, I really don’t like your bird.”

There’s a mouth on his, shutting him up, and oh. That’s nice. “But um. I really like you.”

This time, he can feel the smile against his cheek.

“The feeling is mutual.”

Dean holds on to the lapels of the trenchcoat and he can feel himself grinning too. He wants this at 36. He wants this at 50. He wants it at 60, 80, 100. Under the cover of darkness and in broad daylight. He can’t wait to see Cas, and he says as much. Cas laughs, low and warm, and maybe Dean’s other senses are heightened after all because he feels it all over, and it feels even more intoxicating than the grace did. It feels right.

#to read #destiel #spn #fic rec #man i've had this open in a tab for a year meaning to read it #it sounds so good!

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