#Jessie writes Destiel fic
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Written for the Perfect Pair Bang! 10.5k
Art by @hectatess
I
It was with a sore shin and a broken model P-51D Mustang that Dean began to consider he wasn’t quite ready to be a foster parent.
He’d thought he was. He was sure of it. After the weeks and months of stress and social worker visits and forms and a lot of cleaning on Dean’s part, he and Cas were as ready as they would ever be to foster.
But here he was, balancing on one foot with an impertinent 8-year-old glaring up at him even though she was the one who’d kicked him , and Dean was not going to yell .
He wasn’t .
“Krissy,” he said, instead, through gritted teeth. “What did we say about kicking?”
“ We didn’t say anything. You said don’t do it. But I say you can’t tell me what to do.”
She geared up to kick him again and Dean could swear he was going to have to fight this child but luckily Cas swooped in, scooping her up from behind.
They’d learned that a vertical lift was only giving her legs more range for the kicking, so he lifted her bridal style, his arm coming all the way around her knees to keep them from flailing out.
That didn’t stop her from squirming, her body bucking like a fresh-caught sea bass.
“Lemme go, lemme go. ”
“This is something called ‘cause and effect’,”Cas explained calmly. Or as calmly as someone could while holding a struggling child. “It’s where something happens – the cause – and something else happens – the effect.”
She clearly was not listening but Cas wasn’t known to pass up a teachable moment.
“Can you guess what the cause was here, Krissy? To lead to the effect of me holding you like this?”
“Yeah, Krissy , what would be your guess?”
“Dean,” Cas admonished. Dean just scowled at him, rubbing his shin pointedly.
Krissy still struggled but her movements were getting weaker as she tired herself out. It was moments like these Dean really appreciated the meaty strength of Cas’s arms.
She breathed heavily, her face going from rage to pout.
“Why am I holding you, Krissy?” Cas asked again.
Krissy crossed her arms, her mouth screwed up with the clear intention of never answering Cas’s question.
Cas sighed and sat down pretzel style on the floor right where he was standing. He adjusted his hold on her, centering her more in his lap: less of a restraining hold and more of a comforting one.
She continued to pout, crossing her legs from where they hung over the edge of Cas’s, but she made herself comfortable in his lap. She seemed to resign herself to this parenting even if – to her anyway – Dean and Cas weren’t her parents.
Which was shitty but she wasn’t exactly wrong. Dean and Cas were foster parents – brand spanking new ones. They’d only been approved a little over a month ago and Krissy was their first placement.
Dean and Cas had been together for forever it felt like. Married six years this coming October. They’d always talked about kids but neither of them knew how to do it. A surrogate? Overseas adoption? Both of those options felt so… wrong for them. Not wrong in general but–
Dean had lived in a boy’s home for a while as a kid. It wasn’t quite the same as foster care but, as a kid, to be in a community with adults that cared for you when you didn’t know where your own father was or when he was coming back was really important for him. And to meet kids going through the same thing helped him feel less alone.
He’d told Cas all this and Cas had immediately agreed. Cas’s own childhood had been less tenuous, more stable, but he’d lived in a big family with many siblings with an ever rotating group of friends so the energy of a foster home appealed to him in a big way.
So they’d applied. And it had taken… a long ass time.
Dean had been assured that it would have taken a long time for any couple and it wasn’t that they were a same-sex couple or that he was a mechanic or there was a history of alchoholism in his family that was making it take so long but their home had never been cleaner than when Dean had been obsessively scrubbing every surface waiting for the verdict to come in.
And it came. And they were approved. And then they were foster parents.
And there was Krissy.
Dean watched Cas bite his lip and he knew he was holding back from calling her ‘honey’ or ‘sweetheart’. They’d been warned about overly familiar nicknames and how it was more likely to put off newly placed foster kids than endear the kid to them. But Cas was a sappy fuck. And so was Dean but Dean didn’t currently have a child in his lap.
“Krissy,” he started instead. “Are you going to answer me?”
Krissy sucked her lips into her mouth, shaking her head. Her arms were still tightly crossed.
God, but she was a little shit.
That was fine. Dean could be a little shit, too.
He grunted, planting himself on the floor in front of his husband, wincing as his jeans made contact with the forming bruise on his shin from Krissy’s incessant kicks. He configured his legs so they bowed out around the two of them so he could get in nice and close.
And then poked her.
Not hard. Just a little tap on her knee. Just to pick at her.
She scowled at him. He poked her elbow. She kept scowling. He poked her forehead, her hip, her wrist, her ear, her thigh, her neck. He was needling at her: not quite tickling, but nudging. If there was anything Dean knew how to do, it was be relentlessly annoying.
Her scowl started twitching around the seventh poke. Her shoulder came up to her ear when Dean poked her neck and he could swear he saw a smile. He knew he’d won when she let out a giggle after he poked her in the ribs.
He smirked, the only amount of gloating he’d allow himself for successfully manipulating an 8-year-old.
“So, Krissy? You know why Cas is holding you?”
She scowled again but her arms were much less tightly crossed. She was more slumped into Cas’s chest, relaxed out of her temper tantrum.
“Is it because I broke the plane?”
Cas shook his head, his face solemn. “No, though I didn’t like that.” He adjusted her in his lap again. If Dean were to guess, he’d say Cas’s legs were falling asleep. “The cause was you acting out with violence. I’m not going to punish you for accidentally breaking something, but I will do what I can to keep you from hurting other people.”
Krissy wouldn’t make eye contact. Her brows were furrowed in anger and her cheeks were red, but her lower lip trembled.
“I didn’t mean to break it.”
Cas squeezed her a bit. “I know, honey.”
Dean smiled at him. Cas scrunched his face at him like ‘Yeah, I know I slipped, shut up.’
Krissy let herself be squeezed, glancing up at Dean before looking away again. “Dean looked mad.”
Cas shrugged. “That’s just his face.”
Dean’s expression twisted in offense. Cas blew him a kiss, tilting his head in Krissy’s direction.
Dean sighed, scooching closer across the floor.
“I wasn’t mad, Krissy. Just worried. You know how much Cas likes his planes.”
She nodded, looking more upset.
He reached forward and put his hand over hers. “But you didn’t do it on purpose. And getting defensive and kicking me wasn’t the right thing, right?”
Krissy shrugged. He didn’t know if she agreed with him or if she just didn’t know what defensive meant.
But fuck him, he wasn’t a child psychologist. He didn’t know how to explain it better.
So instead, he stood up, picking Krissy out of Cas’s arms and throwing her over his shoulder. She shrieked, but in a way that was more of a giggle than an objection. He couldn’t help but smile at it.
“Now, I’m gonna go clean up some plane parts. But my leg is super hurt. So I think I’m gonna need someone to help me.” He bounced Krissy a bit on his shoulder, making her giggle again. “You know anyone like that, lil girl?”
Krissy sighed, like Dean was really putting her out, but she didn’t push away from him. For Dean that was progress. “I guess I can help.”
“All right!” Dean crowed, he put her back on the ground. “You can pick up all the little pieces and put them on the table. I’m too old to stoop over like that.”
She scowled at him but there was a twinkle in her eye.
They only ended up keeping Krissy for a couple weeks – her dad’s case being kicked out of court and further placement no longer being needed – but she was their first real taste of what it was like being parents.
After she left and Cas was holding Dean in their bed, his arms keeping Dean close to his chest, Dean knew he missed her. Dean missed her too. But they’d get another kid.
Dean hoped they were ready for it.
[Continue Reading on Ao3]
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A fic where Cas is dating someone and Dean is jealous thinking he loves Cas's girlfriend because they explains the jealous. Explains why he hates when they kiss or even touch near him. He hates when she clings to Cas and whispers into his ear and makes him laugh. He hates when she says she's tired and goes to Cas' room and comes out wearing his clothes. He hates when Cas runs his fingers through her hair mindlessly and she stares at him like they are so in love and when Cas meets her eye he smiles and kisses her. He hates it so much he eventually makes a scene and someone has to talk him down to explain he wasn't in love with HER but with HIM and he is like...wait what has he been thinking. And he has a bi panic realizing he has been imagining himself in her place in Cas's arms and not himself with her.
And then spends the fic knowing he is in love with Cas but he cant say shit cause Cas actually looks happy and figured Cas isn't into dudes anyways so why ruin a relationship. And it's just both of them pining over eachother until there is a big outburst....you know I could write this but I'm way too lazy.
#im listening to jessies girl and now i gotta find a fic#someone link me if you know one!#spn#destiel#if you write it tag me I WANNA READ IT#wormstachewrites#fic idea
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New tag game from my beloved @howlinchickhowl !! Tagged by her and also our sweet friends @gardenerian and @tellmegoodbye and @iansfreckles 💞💞💞
Name: Jessie
Century of your birth: 20th
Timezone: EDT
Go-to coffee order: I usually just get black coffee, and I go for a light roast if I can. I get a mocha if I'm feeling spicy though.
Do you have a pet? Yes, my cat who is my best friend. I love her more than anything.
Do you have a personal motto? I find myself saying "it could be worse" a lot of the time when I'm struggling, and I know that's something that many people do not find helpful but I have always found it helpful.
Last vacation: Lol, Ohio in June.
Next vacation: London weeeee
Dream vacation: I've realized I don't have a dream vacation! There are so many beautiful and exciting places I want to visit. I would be happy visiting any of them as long as I have time to explore and indulge in the culture.
A short-term goal: Get the dads fic edited and posted. It is thiiiis close to being done, I swear.
A lifetime goal: Just fucking comfort, man. I wanna be doing things that make me happy, whether for money or not, and I wanna be comfortable doing them.
Last show you watched: Bob's Burgers!
Next on your to watch list: Our to-watch list is so long. Hm. I'm not sure what we'll move on to next.
Last thing you read: Psalm 40:2, a destiel fic that's shattering me to pieces as I go (the "vast and cosmic yearning" tag got me)
Something you're excited to read: When DAD is completed, I am jumping on that shit so hard.
Funniest thing on the internet today: Pfffff hahahah
Something you're struggling with right now: Ugh. Work.
Something hopeful: My writing brain seems to be doing good things these past few days.
Tagging @gallavictorious @unbridgeabledistances @whatwouldmickeydo @greggster @celestialmickey @arrowflier if you guys are up for it 💜
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Engineering the Future
Hi everyone! So this is my second Supernatural fic, the first one I cross-posted here on Tumblr, though I have written a couple of other things on this wonderful series. So here’s the thing: this is a bit of a project that I’ve been working on to keep myself writing even when I feel like I have nothing to say.
So here’s the deal: I’m going to write one one-shot per episode. Multiple friends say that I’m driving myself to drink, but so far it’s been fairly smooth sailing. If you guys have any ideas about certain episodes, I’d be happy to hear them, but know that I’ve got a list of prompts for three quarters of the episodes, so I may not write your prompt. But I’d love to hear your ideas. Just, no Wincest or Destiel because I honestly don’t ship either of them (no hate please, it’s just the way I feel. And no, I don’t hate anyone who does ship them). Just brotherly love here!
This chapter is tagged to episode 1x01, Pilot. Hope you all enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. This is a work of fiction based on characters from The CW’s Supernatural, created by Eric Kripke.
To completely plagiarize someone else, “Being his real brother I could feel I lived in his shadows, but I never have and I do not now. I live in his glow.” Who said that? Why was his relationship with his brother so important? Doesn’t matter. This isn’t about him. This is about them, and the moments we don’t get to see.
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Dean had imagined this day since that balmy July evening when a rickety tin door had slammed shut and seemingly separated his family forever.
Depending on his mood, there were several different scenarios that would play out. When he was at the bottom of his third bottle, he would imagine showing up at his front door, having him open the door, stare at him, then shut it again without a word. The second bottle was kinder, allowing them to pass on the streets, perhaps nodding at each other before the one went on with his normal life, leaving the other to thank a God that he didn’t believe in that he had at least seen him one last time. The first bottle didn’t give him enough hope to even attempt to dream up a reunion with his little brother.
The fourth bottle was Dean’s favourite. He would get an excited phone call and drive all the way to Stanford just so that Sam could tell him he was getting married face to face. They would settle into a table at some hoity-toity bar or into a booth at some frou-frou café and would talk as though no time had passed. The natural lighting would fade to black and neither of them would move. Topics of conversation would wax and wane until they found themselves in the same companionable silence that graced the majority of their childhood together.
Sam would eventually sigh sadly and mutter something about having to be in court early the next morning, to which Dean would make a crude joke that would have Sam blushing behind the ears as he laughed. Dean would walk him to his car and deal with the chick-flicky hug bestowed upon him by a drunk and/or over-caffeinated Little Brother. As they pull apart, Sam would get all shy and red again as he stammered through saying that he hoped Dean would be his Best Man (because screw this Brady kid that introduced the happy couple). Dean would laugh, hug his brother, completely deny the tears in his eyes, and say “Who else could fill those shoes, bitch?”
Dean would hang around in California for a couple of months and relish in being stationary for the first time since he was four. He would meet Jessica, automatically start calling her Jessie, and plan a small bachelor party for Sammy and his college pals before taking his kid brother on a kick ass, blow out ‘Brochelor’ party in Vegas to make up for every birthday, Christmas, and any other calendar holiday that they had missed out on. On the day of the wedding he would straighten out his brother’s tie, all the while denying that he had asked the guy at the store how to do so. He would give the kid the picture of Mom that he carried around in his wallet with the explanation that she needed to be there with him on this day. He would stand up next to his little brother during the ceremony, give the most awesome speech ever written during the reception, and dance with his new sister-in-law when the time came.
While he and the other, less important guests waved the happy couple off (he had even given them the Impala to borrow for their honeymoon road trip up the Pacific Coast Highway) he would get a phone call from Dad, saying that he had finally pinned down the son of a bitch who had killed Mom, and that he needed his son there with him. Dean would hotwire a car and go. He’d stand side-by-side with his father as they ganked the sucker, turn, and shake his father’s hand before walking away from the life.
He’d stand hat in hand on Sam’s doorstep when they returned from their honeymoon, praying that his baby brother still had room for his older, less intelligent but far more handsome brother in his new married life. Sam would laugh and pull him into a hug, ensuring him that of course he would always need his big brother. After all, he and Jessie apparently hadn’t come home from their month-long vacation on their own, and this kid was gonna need a really cool uncle to bitch at when his/her parents were giving them a hard time. Any nephew of his was gonna be educated in the ways of the Impala, rock music, and the Dean Winchester Scale of Burger Perfection. Any niece of his would also be educated in these things, but he would need to be there more for Sam when the boys came snooping around, because what was more intimidating than two guys over 6-feet tall who had marksmen’s abilities?
Dean would maybe become a cop, or a mechanic, or maybe even a firefighter, but one thing he would do for sure is protect his family. He’d gank any evil bastard that came within a thousand miles of that two story, white picket fenced house on Normal Boulevard.
Maybe he’d settle down, maybe not. All that was important to him was that his Sammy was happy.
That was all that would ever matter to him.
So, when it came down to it, Dean would have traded everything he had for it to have not happened like this. Never like this.
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Sam had imagined this day since that first night alone at Stanford.
At first, he’d dreamed that Dean would show up, kick his roommate out, and curl up in the twin bed approximately six feet away from him. Dean would go to the registrar and apply to the school and get in, obviously, because his big brother was a genius. He’d probably take engineering, because Dean could do things with machinery that Sam could never have dreamed about. They’d watch each other’s backs on and off campus, and when one of the dorm rooms ended up being haunted, they’d take care of it, as though they had never been off the job. Dean would go on to open his own body shop, while working side projects like helping to rebuild homes for people who lost them in fires or natural (and supernatural) disasters. Sam would become a kick ass lawyer and help the law protect people. He’d help Dean on the weekends at the shop or with the houses, because they were brothers and why wouldn’t he? They’d still go out and watch the stars when they could, and they’d make sure to go to the first game of every season for the Jayhawks. They’d make a weekend of it. Just Sam, Dean, and the Impala. Of course, Jess would be fine with it. She’d love Dean as much as he did, because what wasn’t there to love? Eventually, he and Jess would get married and Dean would be his Best Man (even though Brady would throw a fit about it, but Dean was right, he was better off without douchebags like Brady in his life), then go on to be the best uncle to the kids they would have. Dean would meet a nice girl and they’d settle down too, and soon it would be Winchester Weekends, filled with barbeques and Little League games and dance recitals and tinkering with the Impala while drinking a cold one together and hiding from their wives and kids.
A few months in, the dream changed. One of the kids in Sam’s classes had a brother in the military, who surprised her by showing up during lecture wearing his fatigues and announcing that he had been honorably discharged and was staying home for good. She’d broken down into tears and hugged him until the professor had just wiped his eyes and dismissed the class, claiming that he didn’t want to bring the room down by talking about the Battle of Yorktown in 1781.
Sam started imagining that something similar would happen to him. Dean and Dad would kill the thing that had killed Mom, then Dean would stroll right into his Economics class wearing his torn jeans, steel toed boots, band shirt and leather jacket (the uniform of one of the longest living hunters out there, and the youngest to boot), acting as though he owned the joint. Sam would launch himself into his brother’s arms, not even minding that that cute girl Jessica sat only a few rows behind him, and bury his face in his brother’s shoulder to hide his tears. Dean would clasp him around the back of his neck and whisper that he and Dad had gotten the damned thing, and that he was quitting the life. Dad would keep hunting with Uncle Bobby, Pastor Jim, and Caleb as back up when needed, but he was out.
Dean would help him hook up with Jessica, because he had seen the way they looked at each other, and Dean couldn’t stand the lovesick puppy dog eyes anymore, then the rest of the daydream would stay the same. Engineering, lawyering, cars, court cases, house building, Jayhawks, star gazing, the Impala, wives, kids, all culminating in the two of them sitting side by side at some Old Folks Home, the lines between what they knew and what the world knew blurred by old age and one too many hard knocks to the head courtesy of any one of monsters of the week that they used to hunt. They’d sit on the front porch, drinking whatever alcohol they could get their hands on, loudly debating the proper way to kill a wendigo (Sam would say iron because he knows his big brother’s mind is fading and he needs him to stick around a while longer because Jess was already gone and he wasn’t quite ready to go and he doesn’t want to be left alone, not again).
No matter which scenario he dreamt up (defending Dean in court, forcing him into retirement when a werewolf gets the better of him and his left leg is basically useless so Sam brings him home with him, or even something as simple as Sam just picking up the phone and asking him to visit (because it’s DEAN, and there’s nothing he won’t do for his little brother, and Sam knows it), there was one common thread that remained the same, and that was that the time they had spent apart held no consequences. They would just fall back into being brothers, knowing that if they were back to back or side by side they would be fine.
That’s why, when Dean bursts through the bedroom door and drags him out of the burning brownstone, Sam couldn’t bring himself to fight at full strength. Dean was there. As much as Sam wished it had been any other scenario he had dreamt up (and not the nightmare that had been plaguing him for weeks), he knew that his big brother was there. And since when had there been any problem that Dean couldn’t solve? He could’ve been an engineer, after all.
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SPN Asks 30, 61, 4, 33, 12, 16, 25, 66? (Adjust that one question to season 15!) xoxox
4: Which is your favorite episode?
Oh this is so hard! It depends on what mood I’m in? Like If I wanna sob, Swan Song or the season 8 finale. If I wanna laugh, Yellow Fever, Fan Fiction, The French Mistake, Mystery Spot...SO MANY.
12: Who is your favorite angel?
You asked this one purely so I could gush right? Because CASTIEL! Cas is flawed, not perfect, sometimes more human than angel, but he does what he does for love first and foremost every time. Even if he strays from the path, and he has, he’s always started out wanting to do the best for the people he loves. He’s genuine and kind and loving and honestly there is no angel better than Cas. Gabriel is a close second for me.
16: When did you start blogging about Supernatural?
I guess shortly after I finished binging it back in September. Then maybe a month later I was like “I need to write fic” and now we’re going to a Con because I’m down the rabbit hole.
25: Do you think Destiel will become canon in season 9? (Regardless of whether you want it to or not)
Honestly I don’t know. I don’t think the CW would “allow” it after all this time because they kind of suck, but I’m not sure. I would enjoy it if it felt genuine, but after so many years of people shipping it and it not happening, idk if that’s possible.
30: Do you have any friends off of the Internet that watch Supernatural?
Yes! My sister, Melanie, and my cousin Jessie. :D
33: Do you like AU fanfics?
ALL THE AUS! I’m a slut for them!
61: If you were at a Con, what would be a question you would ask?(can be any of the actors)
Oh god this is hard too! I think I would ask Jared, Jensen and Misha something they would like to do, whatever it may be, that they haven’t done yet.
66: Just a random confession you have regarding the show/Asker makes up their own question.
The people to blame for me getting into Supernatural to begin with are YOU, @remember-me-forever-silent-angel and @veroinnumera :D
Thanks love!
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forgot all prayers (of joining you)
15x08 coda, 2.2k (Ao3)
The portal was only going to stay open for twelve hours.
There was no time for this.
Nothing mattered, not the feelings that came back to Dean – fear, relief, yearning (always the yearning) – not the logistics of how the fuck they were supposed to find some obscure fucking flower in all of purgatory. Not the anxiety or hope of seeing Benny again. Not even leaving Sammy a note.
There was no time for this.
He left Sammy a note anyway when he couldn’t get him on the phone:
Gone to Purgatory with Cas to find a flower for the spell Michael gave us. Don’t touch the portal. Or my beer.
-Dean
Sam was probably fine. He had Eileen to take care of him and he had her to take care of. They could entertain themselves until he and Cas got back.
They weren’t being paired off like animals on the ark. That was a weird thing for Dean to think.
There was no time for this.
Dean and Cas stepped through the portal, close but not touching. Not even a casual brush of sleeves or Dean putting a hand on Cas’s shoulder to steady him. Dean’s hand flexed while he fought the impulse. He wasn’t allowed to do that right now. Not that he wanted to – he wasn’t thinking about it. It was just different than what he was used to.
Like Cas healing Dean without touching him. Dean hadn’t thought he’d associated being healed with the warm and calloused pressure of Cas’s hand until it wasn’t there. His skin stitched closed but it felt like something was missing. Like he wasn’t actually healed. Not really.
There was no time for this, goddammit.
Benny was waiting for them on the other side of the portal.
“Thought this might be you, brother,” he said, devilish smile half quirked on his face, his impromptu purgatory weapon slung over his shoulder. “Welcome back to my humble abode.”
Dean couldn’t help it: he smiled. He reached for Benny, bringing him into a hug. Benny laughed into his shoulder, his own hands coming up to clap Dean on the back. He smelled to Dean like dirt and sweat and monster blood. Which, of course, meant he smelled a lot like Benny and even more like freedom.
He pulled away and Benny clapped him again on the shoulder before turning to Cas. He didn’t extend a hug or even a hand but he did nod. “Castiel. Glad to see y’all found your way back to each other.”
The way that was phrased made Dean go slightly hot and slightly itchy. Benny saw them better than most, having seen them in Purgatory. He’d seen Dean frantic with worry for Cas, praying and searching for Cas for an entire year. He’d seen them by that river.
But they didn’t have time for this.
“Sorry to say, Benny,” he started. “But this isn’t a personal call.”
“Wouldn’t think it was,” Benny said, his cajun drawl really very comforting. “Not that I don’t love having y’all here but purgatory doesn’t really love having y’all here. A beacon went up as soon as that portal opened” He gestured at the portal and above but Dean didn’t see any kind of beacon. Maybe it was just for monsters. “I got em all before you could come through and I’ve been guardin’ it for ya.”
Dean couldn’t help but grin again. “Kind of you.”
“Ain’t no thing,” he answered back, casually. “Just let me know what you need.”
“Just,” Cas said, speaking for the first time and looking warily at the portal. “Maybe a bit farther from here.”
Dean nodded, looking away when Cas turned to look back at him. Benny looked between them with narrowed eyes.
Dean clapped his hands together to punctuate the moment. “Let’s walk and talk.”
Dean told Benny about the situation upstairs. Well, was Purgatory downstairs from Earth? Sideways? Whichever. He gave him the news on the ground.
Benny nodded along, grunting in confirmation at various points, and then, when Dean was done, Benny gestured between Dean and Cas. “So what’s the deal with this?”
“ Nothing ,” Dean said, maybe a bit more exasperatedly than he needed to. But he was tired of the questions: Sammy asked about it, then Rowena called it a ‘tiff’. It was fine. Well, it wasn’t fine, but it wasn’t anyone else’s business. “It’s not important,” he said instead which sounded, if possible, worse. “Let’s just focus on this fucking flower, okay?”
Benny shrugged. “You say so, brother. But I already know where this flower is.”
Dean spun to look at him. “What, really?”
Benn nodded. “Yes, sir. And I’ll get it for you. But you boys,” he gestured between Dean and Cas again. “Are staying here.”
Dean snorted. “What, and let you go off alone? No way.”
“I’ve been alone for a while, now, cher. I know how it works. It’s safer for me to go alone than have you two coming along with me, attracting every monster we pass. Better for you two to stay put.”
Cas started to protest, too. “I don’t know if–”
Benny held up a hand and, amazingly, Cas fell silent. “My house, my rules. We’re far enough from the portal now that you shouldn’t meet too much trouble. At least for long enough for me to get this flower and come back. But if you do–”
“Don’t worry,” Dean interrupted. He pulled out his purgatory blade that he’d been keeping safe in his bedroom at the bunker. “I’ve got us covered.”
Benny grinned. “That’s my boy! Now you two sit tight.” His smile turned more into a smirk. “Maybe you can work out whatever’s wrong between ya. Lord knows being back in the place where we searched for his feathered ass for an entire year should help.” He looked meaningfully at Dean until Dean’s ears turned red. Then he winked. “Back in a shake.”
He trotted off, whistling as he went, and leaving Dean and Cas standing together, avoiding eye contact, and unsure where to go from here.
Dean cleared his throat. “Look, man, if we’re just waiting around, we don’t both need to be here.”
“I’m not going to leave you here at the mercy of every monster in spitting distance by yourself,” Cas answered, firmly, but not looking at Dean. “But you’re right, we don’t both need to–”
“I’m not leaving you either, pal.”
Neither of them knew what to say after that.
Dean sighed, heading for the nearest tree and plopping down against it. He hadn’t brought a flask – hadn’t thought he’d needed one – so he pulled out his blade and started sharpening it against a rock, just for something to do.
Dean watched in his peripheral vision as Cas hesitated before making his way over to Dean’s tree and sitting down next to him, back to the bark, close enough to help defend him but not close enough to touch.
So close and yet so far. Dean hated that expression.
There was time for this now. Nothing but time. Dean could think about this. He could remember being in purgatory the last time and being able to focus on nothing but finding Cas, getting to Cas, being with Cas. Even before he knew there was a way out, Cas was his priority. If he was going to spend the rest of forever in purgatory, he’d be damned if he couldn’t do it with Cas at his side.
But Cas was at his side now. But not totally. Not all the way. Not like they’d been.
But Purgatory had done a lot to fix what was broken in them before. Maybe Benny was right: it could do that now.
“I wasn’t expecting you to come back,” Dean said, eyes fixed on his blade. “You sounded like you were serious about moving on.”
“I was,” Cas answered, voice gravelly. No nonsense. “When I said that, I had no intention of ever coming back.” His voice was flat and inflectionless, sounding like it had when Dean had first met him in that barn all those years ago. That didn’t make it hurt any less. “Things change.”
Dean nodded. Things change . Like Chuck comes back and Lilith comes back and the world is ending again. The world is always ending. They’ve never been allowed to just be.
Except here.
“I was surprised to see you, is all,” Dean continued. “When I got back from my hunt.”
“Your hunt,” Cas repeated. No inflection. No curiosity. Just affirming Dean had been on a hunt.
“It wasn’t a fun one,” Dean said, not knowing where he was going but needing to say it. “Ran into an old friend.”
Cas grunted.
“I say friend,” Dean continued, voice strained. “He was a little different than that. He was a hunter. Dad loved him: best fighter he’d ever seen. Lee.” Dean swallowed. “I had to kill him.”
The silence hung on those words. Dean’s grief. His exhaustion. Dean wasn’t even sure Cas was listening.
But then Cas spoke, softer than he’d been before. “I’m sorry, Dean.”
Dean let out a gasp, half laugh, half broken sob. “Yeah.”
Dean had forgotten how real and close emotions were when he was here. When he was this close to Cas. When there was nothing between them but time.
He wasn’t saying any of this right. His words weren’t working. He couldn’t make his mouth cooperate.
But maybe…
I loved him . Dean thought. But not like a thought for himself. A thought for Cas. He prayed and the prayer was the words Dean couldn’t say. I loved him and that scared me. And I resented him because he was a better son for my dad than I was and I hated him because he loved me back and I didn’t know what to do with that. And I hate him now because he hurt me. He made me feel like we could be okay, that everything could be okay. That I could leave the life and open a bar and sing rock songs in front of a crowd of people who will cheer for me. That they could cheer for me and this other guy being together and being happy. He made me want these things and think I could have these things and then he made me kill him. And I can’t have those things. And I don’t know how to deal with that.
Dean didn’t know if this was working. He didn’t know if this would be enough of a prayer for Cas to hear him. But he couldn’t stop.
It hurt. I was so knocked down, and then I saw you, back at the bunker. I saw you came back home. And I didn’t know what to do with that either. Because I am so goddamn lucky to have you in my life, Cas. I’m so happy and lucky that you’ve put up with me for so long. When you told me you were done, I was expecting it. I’ve been waiting for you to be done with me for years. Because I don’t deserve you.
Dean swallowed, tears welling up in his eyes. He felt weak and cowardly not being able to say these things out loud. Even now after everything. Even here, in purgatory, which was kind of like their place. Cas deserved to hear them out loud.
Dean took a deep breath, leaning his head back against the tree and closing his eyes, his blade gripped loosely in his lap, forgotten.
There is no excuse for what an asshole I’ve been to you. Telling you I was pushing you away so I had a reason when you finally left isn’t enough. Telling you I had to keep you at arms distance because I was afraid what would happen if I got too close isn’t enough. I took out my grief for mom and my anger at Chuck on you and you didn’t deserve that. You deserve so much better – better than me, better than this garbage world, better than any of it.
But I love you too, Cas. And you deserve to know that. Not just when one of us is dying. Not just when I tell you we’re family. But for real. Owning a bar together real.
I’m sorry for never telling you that. I’m sorry I can’t say it out loud now.
I’m sorry I’m not good enough. I’m sorry I’ve never treated you like you deserve.
I’m sorry I’ve pushed you away. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you go.
I’m sorry you’ve shown time and time again that you’ll give anything for me and I haven’t shown you the same.
I’m sorry about Jack. I’m sorry about the angels. I’m sorry about your grace. I’m sorry about God.
I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry
Dean’s thoughts were interrupted by Cas’s hand moving on his, turning his palm face up so he could hold it in his.
“I’m sorry.” Dean said, his voice a grunted whisper.
Cas didn’t say ‘I know’ or ‘It’s okay’.
He didn’t say ‘I forgive you,’ or ‘I love you, too’.
He squeezed Dean’s hand. ‘I hear you’, said with a clasping of fingers rather than a movement of lips.
Dean opened his eyes and turned to look at Cas. Cas, for the first time in months, was looking back.
Dean felt like he could breathe again. He was healed.
They had nothing but time for this.
It was a start.
#s15#15x08 coda#Jessie writes Destiel fic#Oops I wrote a thing#I have never had the impulse to write a coda before but you know what? It had to be done
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Aromatic Adjectives Need Not Apply
Castiel was an Alpha, despite what everyone always guessed upon meeting him. He was tall, and he had the stern and imposing profile, but, to most people, those Alpha traits were where it ended. He had a lithe, runner’s frame, with trim waist and thick thighs. “Child-bearing hips” he’d been told. Though, obviously, no children would be born of him.
This scuffling man, though. He was… round. Potentially child-bearing. And Castiel was sure his true mate wasn’t either of the other two men.
Or Castiel is an Alpha that doesn’t believe in true mates but sniffs one out anyway. 4.3k [Ao3]
Art by @castielangeldelaguarda
Castiel immediately knew two things upon walking out of the campus library.
The first was that there was some underclassman roughhousing taking place down on the lawn. These ‘fights’ were one of the more distasteful things this university had to offer. They were unfortunately common and even encouraged: a way for up-and-coming Alphas to exercise some of their aggression and for Betas and even Omegas to test themselves against the (Castiel always rolled his eyes) dominant gender. To Castiel, it always seemed like a school sanctioned excuse for bullying but he was just a grad student; there wasn’t much he could do.
The second thing he knew was that his true mate was somewhere in the nearby scuffle.
Castiel, as a rule, didn’t believe in true mates. That he was biologically programmed to mate with one person, a specific person he didn’t even get to pick, for the rest of his earthly life was a concept he simply couldn’t entertain. It wasn’t something he was ever going to bother himself over so it wasn’t even worth the mental brain space of belief.
But his true mate was there, whether Castiel believed it or not.
He could smell it in the air. There was no comparable smell, no aromatic adjective that could define it. It smelled like green, but not like plants. It smelled like light but not like fire. It smelled like… righteousness. But that was too pretentious for Castiel to even process.
He followed it with haste, but not as urgently as someone who thought their true mate might be having their face beaten in. He was in too much shock at the existence of a true mate to think about anything else.
It was a small scuffle, at least, which made the selection of who Castiel might be smelling fortunately narrow. Three guys, two of whom were clearly big Alphas preying on the third.
Castiel sighed a bit, his steps speeding up only to spare this third guy more pain. Because it looked like the third guy was going to be Castiel’s true mate.
Castiel was an Alpha, despite what everyone always guessed upon meeting him. He was tall, and he had the stern and imposing profile, but, to most people, those Alpha traits were where it ended. He had a lithe, runner’s frame, with trim waist and thick thighs. “Child-bearing hips” he’d been told. Though, obviously, no children would be born of him.
This scuffling man, though. He was... round. Potentially child-bearing. And Castiel was sure his true mate wasn’t either of the other two men.
Castiel cleared his throat, the deepness of his voice startling the three men on the ground, as it usually did. People usually expected Castiel’s voice to be higher than it was.
“I think that’s enough,” he said, not quite using his Alpha voice but not leaving room for argument, either.
Apparently there was room for argument, because one of the Alphas – a younger looking guy with floppy, dust-colored hair – sneered up at him from his rather undignified position on the ground. “Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”
“You too prissy to come down here and fight in the mud with us?” said the other one.
Castiel felt his face go stormy and opened his mouth to use his real Alpha voice, when the third and final guy snorted from his feet.
“What, Chet, you’re gonna tussle with this guy? He would tear you apart.”
Castiel looked down at him, a little shocked. The third guy had a giant purple bruise covering the right side of his face and there was blood dripping from his nose straight down his chin, but he looked perfectly at ease. He’d rolled himself to a sitting position, legs folded pretzel style, and he leaned back on his arms like he hadn’t a care in the world.
Chet, the blond guy with the crew cut, went slightly red in the face, but he avoided the third’s eyes. Now that Castiel could get a look at him, he was roughed up as well. Gravel clung to his hairline and his jaw had almost no skin left on it. Ashy hair’s left eye was swelling like crazy.
Castiel looked back at the third where he pulled at the string of his red hoodie, casual as anything.
“I think that actually can be enough for the day,” the guy said, nodding decisively. And he moved to stand up, groaning as he got his to his feet, his bulk moving with him.
When he was standing, Castiel finally got a good look at him. A lot of what Castiel had seen on the ground was still true. He was wearing jeans and converse sneakers, a ratty and now bloodstained hoodie on top.
And he was fat. A more generous person may have said chubby, but there was no denying this guy was as full-bodied as they came. He carried it well. He was tall – maybe as tall as Castiel himself - and his legs bowed out like they were straining under the weight of his upper half, but he still carried it well. He looked like him being fat didn’t matter. Like he couldn’t care less about it, that he knew he was still hot. Which Castiel was also just now noticing he was.
The guy ran a hand through his hair, unflattening the sandy strands from the scuffle, and straightened the thick framed glasses on his nose. The glasses didn’t look any worse for wear, despite the face they’d been sitting on looking like it’d been hit with a brick. He had to know Castiel was watching him but he didn’t bother wiping the blood away, letting it drip over his mouth. He blew out a breath through parted lips and tiny drops of blood came spraying out. Castiel recoiled.
The guy winced but still didn't move to wipe the blood away. “Sorry about that.”
He turned to the two still on the ground so that Castiel was left looking at his back. “You guys good?” he said, his voice just this side of goading. “Need help?”
“Fuck you, Winchester,” the non-Chet guy said.
The guy – Winchester – just chuckled.
“Come on, guys,” Winchester said, spreading his hands. “It was fun, but–”
Chet growled – an undeveloped sound from a kid who was maybe just over 19. “Don’t talk to us like some pump-and-dump Omega bitches, man.”
Castiel watched Winchester’s shoulder’s change, rolling back from their relaxed posture into a tenser, more battle-ready position. Castiel took an automatic step back, preparing for another fight to break out.
But all Winchester did was growl “Watch it,” in a deep and dangerous sounding voice that Castiel was not expecting.
He had assumed, upon first approach, that this man was the true mate he’d scented. But he’d mostly assumed that because he didn’t give off the overaggressive Alpha vibes he’d gotten off of the other two, and, well, Castiel himself was an Alpha. And in the three seconds between finding out true mates were real and that he had one and meeting the three men, he hadn’t considered that two Alphas could be true mates.
But Winchester had just used his Alpha voice. And his scent had intensified. And all of it confirmed that he was not just an Alpha but an Alpha who was Castiel’s true mate.
“Oh,” Castiel said.
Winchester turned to wink at him but Castiel watched as his nostrils flared. And he froze, eyes widening.
Chet took a step forward and Winchester whipped around with the headiest growl Castiel had ever heard.
It was so primal, so visceral, that Chet and not-Chet’s knees buckled on impact, both of them folding to a more submissive position.
In the back of Castiel’s mind, he was considering for the first time that perhaps these boys weren’t actually Alphas. The rest of Castiel’s mind, however, was intently focused on Winchester in front of him. His right arm extended, palm turned back in a protective barrier between Castiel and the two other men. His left fist up in an aggressive display as if the growl weren’t enough to keep even the meanest predator at bay.
A strip of skin was exposed between the top of his jeans and the bottom of his sweatshirt. This wasn’t as relevant to the rest of the presentation but it caught Castiel’s attention and held it nonetheless.
There was a low rumble in Winchester’s chest, like he was building up to another growl. But all he said was “Go.”
Chet and not-Chent went, scrambling across the grass and tumbling over each other in their haste to get away.
Winchester held his position, watching them leave, until they turned a corner around a building and were out of sight.
He then turned to Castiel, grin spread wide. “Hi, I’m Dean.”
Winchester – or, Dean, Castiel supposed – still had blood all over his face. His cheek was still purpled and he had grass caught in the short bristles of his sandy hair.
Castiel looked him over for a long moment: long enough for Dean to messily wipe his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, the blood completely unnoticeable against the burgundy fabric. Castiel wondered in an offhand way if that’s why he wore it.
Instead of asking, he said, “Hello, Dean.”
Dean grinned wider. There was even more blood in his teeth.
Castiel reached into one of the deep pockets of his overcoat and pulled out a half-full plastic water-bottle. He offered it to Dean.
Dean raised an eyebrow and Castiel fought a blush.
“To rinse out your mouth,” he explained, his embarrassment making his voice even deeper.
Dean’s eyes lit up in understanding and he took the bottle with another bright grin. “Thanks.”
He took a deep pull from the bottle and swished it around before spitting it out on the grass. Castiel’s face scrunched in disapproval, despite the fact that this was why he’d offered it to Dean in the first place.
Dean, at least, seemed to notice how gross he was being, because he winced before coughing into his fist and turning back to Castiel. “Can I get your name?”
“I’ll tell it to you, but you can’t keep it,” Castiel said, before wincing. “That’s a joke,” he started to explain. “About fairies….”
There was half a second of an awkward pause before Dean rumbled a bit in a laugh. “I get it. It’s funny.”
Castiel’s cheeks heated up again. “Right,” he cleared his throat. “It’s Castiel. My name.”
Dean nodded, his smile yet to flag, and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Castiel.”
Castiel was reluctant to take Dean’s hand (He’d just watched him wipe his bloody face with his sleeve, who knew where his hands had been?) but he gamely reached out to take Dean’s hand. The hand of his mate.
Dean yanked his hand back before Castiel could make contact though, looking horrified.
“Oh, my God, no, you can’t touch that. I’m disgusting.” He held up his hand like it was evidence in a murder trial. He then looked down at his hoodie and the near-invisible blood crusting on it. “Ah, shit, oh fuck.” He blew out a breath then mumbled. “This is not how this should go.”
Castiel cocked his head, lowering his hand with no small amount of relief. “How what should go?”
“Meeting my true mate,” Dean groaned. “There should be more–” he gestured with his infected hand, “fireworks or rainbows or whatever.”
Dean looked so disgruntled that there were no fireworks or rainbows or whatever and instead just two men, one of whom was dirtied and bloodied from fighting on the lawn, that Castiel couldn’t keep back a fond smile. “Dean, it’s okay.”
Dean snorted. “It’s not, but I can get there. Hang on.”
Dean reached for the back of his neck, pulling his hoodie off over his head. He knocked his glasses off so he had to pick them up off the ground.
“Why am I still wearing these?” he asked himself in an undertone before shrugging and putting them back on.
He used his hoodie to wipe off the remainder of the dirt and blood on his face, shaking the grass out of his hair. He glanced questioningly at Castiel, holding up the water bottle, and when Castiel nodded in assent, poured some water out on the cleaner sleeve and started rubbing down the crusted stuff along his hairline.
It was one of the most efficient displays of impromptu cleaning Castiel has ever seen.
When Dean was finished and mostly filth free (a truly impressive feat without a mirror) he balled his sweatshirt up, casting a hesitant look at Castiel.
“Can you just– gimme a sec.”
Dean jogged to the dorm building just off the quad, his red t-shirt riding up as he ran, and wound up to throw his balled up sweatshirt through a second floor window.
Castiel watched him, startled, as Dean jogged back, grinning and tugging his shirt down over his belly.
“Wanna go for a walk?” Dean asked brightly. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a travel sized hand-sanitizer which he used liberally on his hands and forearms.
“Was that your room?” Castiel asked, still trying to process the flying grime-encrusted sweatshirt.
Dean shrugged. “No. But I know the guys who live there and they should be fine. I’ll text them.”
Castiel shook his head. “It’s not Chet is it?”
Dean snorted, shaking out his hands to help dry the hand sanitizer. “No. Fuckin Chet....”
Castiel found himself smiling back and bit his lip, turning his body. “Yes, let’s go for a walk.”
Dean grinned, practically skipping to Castiel’s side, his bulk moving surprisingly well.
Dean pulled his phone out and typed up a text before he forgot. Castiel let him do this, waiting to speak until he put his phone away.
“So I haven’t seen you around before,” Castiel started, unsure where else to begin.
Dean shrugged again. “‘s a big school.”
Castiel scrunched his nose, shoving his hands in his overcoat pockets. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dean said, shooting him a wink.
Castiel rolled his eyes.“We’re true mates,” he said, comfortably blunt. “Why am I just now catching your scent?”
“I transferred up this semester,” Dean answered, also happy to be blunt. He picked at the wrapper of the now empty water bottle he was still holding. “Did three years at a community college, but I could only take specific credits here. So I transferred.”
“Oh, thank God,” Castiel said, letting his shoulders slump a bit in relief. “You’re not a freshman. I was worried.”
Dean snorted. “No, not a freshman.”
Castiel nodded, but squinted his eyes. “But still…” he began again. “Semester’s been happening for six weeks already.”
Dean’s eyebrows furrowed and he reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man. This was my first fight?”
Castiel nodded, accepting this answer. Alphas’ scents amplified when they were behaving aggressively.
“Well, I guess that’s impressive, in itself,” Castiel allowed. “It’s unusual for Alphas not to drop their hands as soon as they arrive on campus.”
Dean was quiet for a moment before turning to Castiel with an incredulous look on his face. “Do you mean gloves? Drop their gloves?”
Castiel sighed, exasperated. “Yes. It was supposed to be a hockey metaphor. For fighting.”
“No, I got that,” Dean said grinning. “It was cute.”
Castiel flushed again. He scowled.
“What about you, though,” Dean asked, making the plastic of the water bottle crinkle. “Doesn’t look like you fight.”
Castiel startled before he realized Dean had probably picked out the Alpha in his scent. Even still, this was maybe the first time someone had assumed he was an Alpha without Castiel telling them.
“I don’t,” Castiel admitted.
“So then how’s it fair you can make blanket statements about what ‘Alphas’ do?”
Castiel scowled again. Dean just kept smiling at him.
“Well, you did fight this time.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Chet and Lincoln were asking for it.”
Castiel’s face soured. He didn’t care for that excuse.
But Dean rushed to correct him. “No, like, they were literally asking for it. They’re both betas and, I don’t know, wanted to improve their rep?” Dean rolled his eyes. “I didn’t really get it. But they asked me to tussle so I said sure.”
Castiel looked Dean up and down, humming to himself.
Dean raised an eyebrow. “You think they picked me because they thought I was an easy target?”
“No, I wasn’t thinking that,” Castiel said honestly. “Although, those glasses do give you a certain vulnerable look.”
Dean scoffed, taking off the glasses and pointing at his face. “20/20 vision, baby.” He put the glasses back on. “I’m a programming major. These filter out the blue light so I don’t give myself a migraine staring at screens all day.”
Castiel hummed again, in acceptance this time. “Practical.”
Dean huffed a laugh. “Thank you.”
Castiel smiled. “No, I was actually thinking it was unwise to challenge you. Because you’re so much bigger than they are.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “You calling me fat, Cas?”
“Yes,” Castiel answered automatically and Dean laughed. Castiel’s face was still warming that Dean had called him ‘Cas.’ “But also you have a rather big persona. You are bigger than them, but you also act bigger.”
Dean’s mouth screwed up to the side. “Thanks?”
“You’re welcome.”
Dean dropped his chin to his chest, exhaling a laugh.
They turned on the pathway to cross in front of the administration building and Dean excused himself for a moment to throw the empty water bottle into the plastic recycling bin.
“You didn’t want to keep that, did you?” Dean asked, jogging back up. “I didn’t think of it until I already threw it out but it’s not cool for me to throw out your stuff.”
Castiel smiled at him. “It’s fine, Dean. I’m just glad you recycle.”
“I’m environmentally conscious as fuck .” Dean said, pumping his fist.
Castiel laughed. Dean grinned.
“Would you like to get coffee?” Castiel asked, curling his hands in his pockets.
Dean straightened, his eyes lighting up. “Yeah. Yes. Let’s do that.”
Castiel smiled and started walking off campus to his favorite local coffee shop.
Castiel gestured for Dean to order first. Dean did so with no apparent self-consciousness, ordering a caramel macchiato, a pressed sandwich, and a muffin. When the cashier asked if there would be anything else, Castiel stepped in front of Dean, ordered his own loose leaf tea, and then paid for the entire order.
Dean looked very put out by that. “That’s not fair! You shouldn’t have paid for me, I got so much more than you did.”
Castiel shot him a smirk, tucking his change back into his wallet. “I invited you. I’m the Alpha. I pay.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m the Alpha, too.”
Castiel blinked. “Oh. Right.”
He didn’t know how he could have forgotten. Hadn’t he just watched Dean wipe blood and dirt from his body? Hadn’t he just felt the force of Dean’s Alpha voice against those two other men?
Not the first but certainly the heaviest awkward silence fell over them like a physical press.
Dean put his hands in his pockets. “Is that something we’re gonna have to talk about?”
Castiel shook his head, automatically. And then reconsidered. “Perhaps we should.”
Castiel gestured to the attendants behind the counter, alerting them that he and Dean were taking a table and their order should be brought out to them. The attendants nodded in understanding and Castiel turned to find a place to sit.
There was an empty two-person table just off of the entrance in front of the window. Castiel made for it, taking a seat without a fuss.
When he was seated, he looked at Dean, who was looking back at Castiel with something like appreciation.
“Okay, I get it now,” he said, resting his elbows on the table.
Castiel frowned. “Get what?”
“How you’re an Alpha,” Dean explained. “I mean I could smell it, obviously but–” he gestured at Castiel as if to encompass the non-Alpha-ness look of him.
There was the aforementioned hips and thin frame, but how Castiel dressed didn’t help, he was sure. He preferred turtlenecks and oxford shoes, his ankles exposed by the fitted chinos he favored, over any brusque and “masculine” Alpha wear.
Castiel folded his hands, raising an eyebrow in a signal for Dean to continue.
Dean gestured at him again. “Right, and then you do that. Your Alpha eyebrow. And you just casually commanded the whole room so we could get this table.”
Castiel blinked. “The table was open.”
“Except for the three people who were about to take it before they saw your domineering ass.”
Castiel tilted his head. He hasn’t noticed anyone else.
But then, he guessed, that supported Dean’s point.
He hummed to allow the point.
Dean grinned. Then frowned.
“So how is this gonna work?”
Castiel tilted his head the other way.
Dean flexed his shoulders, gearing himself up for the conversation. “We’re true mates, right? So… we’re gonna be together?”
This was the most nervous Castiel had seen Dean. He felt his protective instinct rear up in a way he’d never experienced before. He leaned forward and took Dean’s hand on instinct alone.
“This is a date,” Castiel clarified, watching as Dean’s shoulders untensed even while a blush rose to his cheeks. “I asked you on a date. We’re going to date more, probably.”
He squeezed Dean’s hands. “I can’t guarantee where the dating will go. I’ve never had a true mate before. I’ve never even heard of them in real life. So we’re just going to take this as it comes. Are you okay with that?”
Dean looked from their joined hands then back to Castiel. He immediately changed their grip so Castiel’s hands were held in his.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” he said, a challenge in his tone. “But I’m an Alpha. So you can’t talk to me like I’m some wilting flower. And you can’t think you get to make all the decisions and shit. I’m gonna have something to say about it. Are you okay with that ?”
Tips of Castiel’s brain rejected the firm hold Dean had on him. It wanted to square up against Dean, to assert dominance.
But the rest of Castiel marked the glint in his eye. Caught the turn of his wrist and the cock of his head. All of it was a tease. A challenge, but a tantalizing one. It invited Castiel to play along.
Castiel had never been one for roughhousing play.
But with his true mate – with Dean – he was considering it.
“I can…” He looked down at their tangled hands, how they kept circling and gripping and never letting their skin lose contact, before looking back up at Dean, his own challenging smirk bending his face. “...perhaps be okay with that.”
Dean’s grin was a knife across his face, so different from the genial look of their meeting. It filled Castiel with that same rightness, the same sense of ‘yes, true mate’ but now with a sense of curiosity. A sense of wonder. A sense of wanting to know more.
Their orders arrived. Castiel attended to his tea – pressing the leaves back to pour the steeped water into his mug, adding honey and stirring with a deliberate unaffectedness he’d cultivated.
Dean, meanwhile, devoured his food and coffee without discernment. He had his whole sandwich and muffin swallowed almost simultaneously. It was as impressive as it was disgusting, yet Castiel was oddly charmed. Surely it was the happy and satisfied scent Dean was giving off now that he’d been fed. Castiel couldn’t think of any other scenario where he wouldn’t be repulsed by such a display.
But he was beguiled. And once he’d eaten, Dean did take some time over his macchiato instead of chugging it like an animal. So there were some things to be redeemed.
They talked over their drinks, getting some baseline stuff out of the way. Castiel was a grad student. Dean had a brother. Castiel was an orphan. Dean was raised by a single mother. Castiel liked bees. Dean liked old muscle cars.
By the time both of their mugs were empty, they knew they had to give up their table. But Castiel wanted to know more.
“Here’s my phone number,” he said taking a pen from his pocket and writing it on Dean’s hand.
Dean smiled down at it but nudged Castiel with his shoulder. “You could have just plugged it into my phone.”
Castiel nudged him back. “Yes. But now, you can look at my number on your hand and think of me for the rest of the day.”
Dean smiled wider.
“That’s some pretty soft shit for an Alpha, Cas.”
Castiel smirked like danger, letting what Dean had called his Alpha Eyebrow make his point. “We’re redefining Alpha shit, Dean.”
Dean ducked his head, suddenly shy again.
They were redefining Alpha shit, indeed.
“We should do this again sometime,” Dean said.
They both knew full well they would be doing this again sometime. Again and again for the rest of their lives, probably.
But the way Dean said it was like that challenge again. It was with pride. Like he knew Castiel would say yes but not because they were true mates. But because he trusted that Castiel liked him.
And he did.
Castiel looked Dean over in an obvious up and down that made Dean’s ears turn pink. There was a dare in his eyes. A proposition in the tilt of his head.
Castiel met it with a smile. “I look forward to it.”
#deancasreversebang#dcrb#Aromatic Adjectives Need Not Applu#oops I wrote a thing#Jessie writes Destiel fic#omegaverse#Alpha/Alpha#chubby!Dean#fat Dean#chubby dean
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Just got back from Star Wars Episode IX: Rise of Skywalker and I’m having trouble articulating my feelings but, luckily, Dean and Cas talked about it in my fic On the Line, so I’m going to let them talk about what I thought:
Spoiler alert for Rise of Skywalker, obviously:
“COWARDS!”
“Cas-”
“No, Dean, this is BULLSHIT. They had everything set up - Poe asked Finn to be his co-general - and they’re not gonna let them kiss? They let REY KISS THE GUY WHO’S DONE NOTHING BUT TORTURE, MANIPULATE, AND ABUSE HER WHO IS ALSO AN ACTUAL MURDERER but showing a kiss between two men in a healthy relationship is too far?”
Dean sighed, reaching for Cas’s hand as they walked away from the theater. “Censorship, dude. You know how it is.”
“Right!” Cas threw his other hand up but let kept the one Dean was holding still, lacing their fingers together. “If Disney wasn’t so worried about China showing their movie, they may have done the right thing. But No, Disney needs China’s money. It’s always about money. CAPITALISM IS THE ENEMY OF ART!”
Cas was screaming in the parking lot at this point. Dean glanced around warily, but chuckled under his breath.
“I thought the beard was excessive,” Dean said, a grin tugging on his mouth.
“THEY GAVE POE A BEARD!” Cas shouted, squeezing Dean’s hand like he was rewarding him for the observation. “Hur duh hur, let’s give Poe a relationship with this random female on an alien planet. Then people won’t think he’s gay,” Cas said, in a mocking, vaguely Mickey Mouse-ish voice. Hearing him make his voice go so high set Dean cackling. “COWARDS!” Cas screamed again but he was smiling.
Dean squeezed his hand.
They separated at the impala, Dean going around to get in the driver’s side.
Once both doors were closed, Cas took Dean’s hand again on the seat between them.
“I liked the movie,” Cas told him, his voice soft and jarringly bright.
Dean blinked. “Yeah?”
Cas nodded. “I mean I’ll have to pretend for the rest of my life that the Rey and Kylo kissed never happened - and it didn’t affect literally anything else in the movie so they could have cut it entirely, it lifts right out! - but everything else was good. Oscar Isaac and John Boyega are both very handsome.”
“I’m handsome,” Dean grumbled.
Cas lifted their linked hands up to his mouth to kiss Dean’s knuckles. “Did you like seeing Harrison Ford?”
Dean’s scowl melted into a grin. “Yeah, that was awesome.”
Cas hummed.
#I have no idea what this is#On the Line#Destiel#Jessie writes Destiel fic#Oops I wrote a thing#what is this#why did I do this
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One Hell of a Pilot
Written for Sunny for Fandom Trumps Hate 2019. Star Wars: the Force Awakens au. 9.8k (Ao3)
They slaughtered them all. CSTL-918 had watched them do it. He’d watched and he’d done nothing.
There was blood on his helmet. He looked through the red-tinted film over the eyepiece, throwing the world into crimson streaks. Or more streaked in crimson than it was already, the other Stormtroopers systematically taking down the assembled villagers.
Not just rebels. Villagers. Citizens. Innocents.
CSTL-918 wasn’t sure, really, what exactly ‘innocents’ meant. But he was learning. It wasn’t someone who deserved this. Did anyone deserve this? Had EZKL-108 deserved his death, the blood on CSTL-918’s helmet his last mark for an uncaring First Order? Would CSTL-918 deserve his?
He didn’t raise his blaster. He didn’t shoot. He didn’t defend. He just stood there, defecting in his inaction and condemning those assembled with the same inaction.
The world was on fire.
He tried to steady his breathing on the shuttle back to the main naval ship. He admittedly hadn’t worn the Stormtrooper armor for long but surely it should have been easier to breathe in these helmets. He shouldn’t have felt like his chest was constricting. He shouldn’t have felt so hot and dizzy.
Nothing helped.
Everything felt too loud and too close. He could feel the grit of the sand from Jakku making its way through the gaps in his armor, grating against his hips and neck. The stomping of the other Stormtroopers, marching and shouting, set his brain ringing.
The resistance pilot was being pulled off the shuttle, his jaw set in defiance. As he came into the carrier, CSTL-918 watched as his green eyes widened, his jaw going slack as he craned his neck around, trying to take in the breadth of the carrier. Was he in shock? Was he planning an escape?
The pilot had taken action. He’d shot directly at Michael, no hesitation. No restraint.
CSTL-918 found it even harder to breath.
He shuffled as fast as he could to a quickly emptying shuttle, nodding half-heartedly at the soldiers making their way past, blasters clutched in their hands.
Once assured he was alone and out of sight, he took off the helmet, glad for the relative dimness of the shuttle. His breathing eased, but not enough. He was left holding his helmet in his two hands, gripping it tightly as he worked to slow his heart, take in the air. He couldn’t look down at his helmet. He couldn’t bear to see EZKL-108’s handprint left there.
This had been their first mission. They had come up in the First Order together. And now he was dead.
He’d died so easily. So carelessly. So unspectacularly. He was just there one moment and gone the next.
What did any of this mean? What was any of it even for ?
“CSTL-918.”
CSTL-918 turned his head, his shoulders coming back into a soldier’s posture, even while his chest still heaved. Captain Naomi Phasma stood behind him, cape draped over the shoulder of her chrome suit and blaster held at rest in her hands.
“Submit your blaster for inspection,” she told him, her inflection at once flat and commanding.
CSTL-918 turned away from her, working to compose himself. “Yes, Captain.”
“And who gave you permission to take that helmet off?” she asked, a hint more assertion in her voice.
CSTL-918 paused, taking a moment to shove down his sudden rage and fear. “I’m sorry, Captain.”
“Report to my division at once.” Then she turned and left him alone again in the shuttle.
Her division. That meant reconditioning.
They wanted to make him compliant. Make him obedient.
Rage welled up again. Stronger than he’d ever experienced. More rage than he’d ever needed before.
He put the helmet back on. He would report to the Captain’s division. But that’s not all he would do.
The cell door whooshed open and CSTL-918 marched through, holding his blaster at rest. His posture was intentional if totally uncomfortable. He fought to keep his breathing slow as he approached the Stormtrooper appointed to guard the prisoner.
He glanced at the pilot long enough to ensure he wasn’t so badly damaged he couldn’t walk on his own. He knew what Michael did to people – to rebels. Luckily, the pilot looked a little worse for wear, a little rough around the edges, but still capable of escape under his own steam.
If CSTL-918 could get them that far, that is.
“Michael wants the prisoner,” he told the guard.
The guard nodded and released the pilot from his restraints. The trust and obedience was implicit. What reason did this Stormtrooper have not to believe him? Stormtroopers never lied. They didn’t have reason to. It wasn’t how they were programmed.
The pilot watched his restraints come loose, his eyes coming back to CSTL-918 with suspicious resignation. He knew something was off but he also knew there was nothing he could do about it.
CSTL-918 sent up a vague hope that the pilot would trust him by the end of this. He needed him on his side.
The pilot swayed as he stood, just the slightest bit before he got his feet back under him. CSTL-918 reached out as if to steady him, only realizing when he was halfway there that that was not proper Stormtrooper behaviour. He turned the reach into a restraint, putting the pilot’s hands in handcuffs for the walk to see ‘Michael’.
The pilot didn’t fight. He didn’t make it easy for CSTL-918 and his jaw was so stiff it had to have hurt, but he allowed himself to be guided out of the cell, squinting into the brighter light of the corridor. CSTL-918 reluctantly put his blaster to the pilot’s side.
It wasn’t charged. There was no power that could have forced the blaster to go off at any time it was pointed at the man. But CSTL-918 still felt sick with it.
He only made it down a hallway and a half before he pulled the pilot into an abandoned alcove.
“Listen carefully: you do exactly as I say,” CSTL-918 leaned as close as he could, pitching his deep voice so low it could barely be picked up by the helmet’s modulator. “I can get you out of here.”
The shock and distrust in the pilot’s face did not inspire CSTL-918 with hope that they could get this done quickly. “What?”
CSTL-918 put down his blaster, freeing both his hands. He put one hand on the prisoner’s arm, half to reassure him and half to keep him there. With the other hand he pulled off his helmet.
The pilot’s eyes widened as he took in CSTL-918’s face. If he had to guess, this man had never seen a Stormtrooper remove his helmet before.
That was deliberate. Once a Stormtrooper removed their helmet, the illusion of uniform conquer was shattered. Removing his helmet, especially in the presence of a rebel, was nothing less than treason.
CSTL-918 instinctively turned to the hallway to see if anyone was coming. Not that it mattered: what he was about to do was far more treasonous than a helmet removal.
He leaned again to get close to the pilot. “This is a rescue. I’m helping you escape.”
He took a deep breath, letting it sink in for just a moment that he said those words. That he was doing this. There was no going back.
Then he moved on. “Can you fly a TIE fighter?”
The pilot looked down at his Stormtrooper armor and then back to his face. “You’re with the resistance?” he asked, clearly trying to make sense of what was happening.
They didn’t have time for that. CSTL-918’s voice was a little short when he spoke next. “What? No, I’m breaking you out.” He leaned forward again, gripping the pilot’s arm, speaking with more urgency. “Can you fly a TIE fighter?”
“I can fly anything,” the pilot told him, smugly, his face brightening despite the exhaustion and blood that stained it.
CSTL-918 could feel himself slump a bit in relief, a small smile taking his face.
The pilot’s mouth opened in a smile back before he was, again, taken by confusion. “Why?” he asked, firmly. “Why are you helping me?”
CSTL-918 took a breath and straightened his shoulders.
There were so many answers he could give, all of them true.
‘I admire your courage and action and you don’t deserve being imprisoned here.’
‘I’ve seen what being a Stormtrooper is and I don’t want it. For the first time in my life, I have wants.’
‘I’m afraid. Not only for my own life but for what I’ve been complicit in means for the galaxy.’
What he actually said was, “Because it’s the right thing to do.”
The man in front of him, sandy-haired and blood-streaked, bruises forming along his stubbled jawline and under his eyes, surveyed him for a moment before coming to a conclusion. “You need a pilot.”
That was also true. “I need a pilot.”
The pilot smiled at him, nodding, seeming to believe him for the first time. Something released inside CSTL-918 and it was like he could hear the tension draining from him.
“We’re gonna do this,” the pilot promised, one of his eyebrows arching up, his eyes bright and mischievous.
CSTL-918 nodded back, nervous but also excited. “Yeah?”
The pilot thumped him on the chest of his armor, both hands still locked together. “Hell yeah. You get me to a TIE fighter, I’ll get you off this imperialist garbage cruiser.”
CSTL-918 smiled shakily with another firm nod, reaching up to replace his helmet on his head.
As the defecting Stormtrooper’s helmet went on, so did the pilot’s mask of exhausted defiance.
Together, they made their way out onto the carrier floor.
Read the rest on Ao3!
#Destiel#Oops I wrote a thing#Fandom Trumps Hate#Jessie writes Destiel fic#Star Wars au#Very late but before deadline!#Hell yeah
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Asexual Supernatural MiniBang 2019:
He’s a Little Bit Country by JessJesstheBest with art by Tiki ( @never-used-ever)
"Tell me what we’re doing here today, Clarence.” Castiel shifted on his feet, moodily, but answered her in a grumble. “We’re putting on a concert benefit for Planned Parenthood.” “Right! And why is that?” “Because this country is run by a monster who is trying to take away the reproductive rights of women and we need to raise money to continue to fund our program which helps women have agency in their own bodies."
Or the one where Castiel, as part of planned parenthood, puts on a joint punk and country benefit concert where he meets Dean Winchester, the handsome country enthusiast who is also an asshole.
“This is by far the weirdest musical lineup I have ever seen…”
Meg snorted, reaching as far as she could on her ladder to make sure the sign was hanging straight. “You’ve never been to Bonnaroo, have you?”
Castiel hummed, tilting his head in allowance. He hadn’t ever been to Bonnaroo but he had heard about it. Any festival that had Phish on one stage and Cardi B on another was definitely going to be weirder than anything they were putting on.
But still…
“I guess it’s just weird to me because country music is usually so insular,” Castiel continued, eyes up at Meg where she was at the top of the ladder he was holding for her. “I mean, they have their own awards show. The regular Grammys and AMA aren’t good enough for them. They need special awards for their special jesus and banjo music.”
Meg looked down at him with a reproachful frown but her eyes danced with laughter. “Clarence, we talked about this. This is a unity concert. You can’t be mean to literally half of the guests.”
Castiel huffed grumpily. “Still not sure why we even needed –”
Meg groaned, and climbed down off the ladder. She reached up to clap both her hands on his shoulders. She was normally much shorter than him but she was wearing her platform combat boots for today’s event so her eyes were level with his nose.
“Tell me what we’re doing here today, Clarence.”
Castiel shifted on his feet, moodily, but answered her in a grumble. “We’re putting on a concert benefit for Planned Parenthood.”
“Right! And why is that?”
“Because this country is run by a monster who is trying to take away the reproductive rights of women and we need to raise money to continue to fund our program which helps women have agency in their own bodies.”
She tweaked his nose. “Got it, bud!” Castiel couldn’t help but smile a little, even at the diminutive gesture. “And how do we get those funds in this podunk ass college town?”
“Colleges are liberal,” Castiel argued, his jaw stiff.
Meg flicked his ear. “No no no. We went over this. College students do not have the kind of money we need. We need to appeal to the townies. What do townies like?”
Cas ducked his head, the toe of his own combat boot grinding into the gravel. “Country music.”
“Theeeere ya go.” Meg patted him on the cheek. He couldn’t help but preen a little at the praise, even if he wouldn’t let Meg know it. “Besides!” she continued. “A lot of country music is totally anti-establishment. Half the songs are about the labor movement! I’ve told you about the Welsh miners uniting with the queer community and–”
“Yes, yes, the Dulais valley. You cry every time you tell me about it.”
Meg nodded, her eyes, indeed, watery. “It’s just so moving .”
Castiel chuckled, bringing up his own hands to pat Meg on the cheek, much like she had. “Yes, I believe it is. And I know you’re right.” He sighed. “I’m just having trouble accepting that I’ll have to suffer through a night with the type of people I spent all of my teen years staying away from.”
Meg pouted at him, bringing him in close so she could rub his back. “I know, sweetie. Revolution demands we make ourselves uncomfortable. That’s just how it is.” She pulled back and smiled at him. “But don’t worry: I’ll be here with you the whole time.”
Castiel blushed, rolling his eyes. “I know what you’re doing,” he told her. “And your dominatrix powers won’t work on me. I’m asexual, remember?”
Meg laughed, reaching up to tweak his nose again. “They already have worked, Clarence. And you know as well as I do that domming doesn’t have to be sexual. Look at how well I just calmed you down.”
Castiel frowned petulantly but kept himself tucked to her side. She laughed at him, reaching up to ruffle his hair.
“They don’t pay me the big bucks to be a shitty Dominatrix, Clarence.”
“They don’t pay you for that at all, anymore,” Cas pointed out. “You’re paid to organize this shit now.”
“Yeah, but it did pay for these boots.” She grinned down at her platformed boots. The buckles were rose gold. “Well, indirectly. One of my clients bought them for me.”
Castiel wrinkled his nose. He was all about free sexual expression but whenever Meg brought up whatever the Allos™ got up to, it still skeeved him out.
“Right,” he said. She grinned at him, a little evilly. He pulled away from her, rolling his eyes again, and fixed his denim vest. It was his only concession to the theme: adding blue denim to his outfit. The arm holes were frayed, it was studded, and there were more patches and safety pins visible than fabric, but it was still a denim vest.
Meg had made no concessions to the theme. She still wore her same fishnets, connecting the top of her boots to the bottom of her cuffed denim shorts. She wore a torn Pussy Riot crop top under a torn leather jacket. Her hair was in a top knot, showing off the severe undercut and the anarchy symbol tattooed on the back of her neck.
She looked great. Not exactly what one would expect from a community youth organizer – even one for Planned Parenthood – but really great.
As he looked her over, she was looking at him, evil smirk still on her face.
“For someone who’s here to bitch about half of the festival’s attendees, you sure do look like you’re dressing to impress…”
Castiel scowled, his lip ring poking out with his bottom lip.
He had dressed mindfully, not knowing what would go best with the denim vest as he rarely wore it out (he liked tank tops that could show off his massive back tattoo) so it did kind of look like he was trying harder than normal.
He’d settled on torn black skinny jeans (obviously, even if it was August) and a purple muscle tee cropped to just below his belly button under the vest. The shirt also repped iconic queer punk band, The Queers, because, although he was following theme, he didn’t want anyone to mistake him for a heterosexual.
“Who would I impress with this outfit?” Castiel asked, deliberately poking his finger through a hole in the collar of his shirt.
“Not just the outfit,” Meg said, crossing her arms. “You’ve got your stars on today.”
Castiel touched the corner of his eye, reflexively. “I do these every day.”
“But not on your hands. ”
Castiel grimaced. He had, in fact, stenciled stars onto the backs of his hands that morning. They went from his fingers and trailed halfway up his forearms.
It was, admittedly, a lot for an event he said he hadn’t cared about.
“I got carried away…” he said, turning his hands over to look at the pattern. He did really like the way it looked. Maybe he’d get something tattooed in this pattern… “I feel weird whenever you can’t see my back tattoo. I think I tried to compensate.”
Meg laughed, bringing her hand up to trace over the stars across Cas’s cheekbone. “I like the asymmetry today,” she told him, lightly tapping at the triangle of stars next to his left eye. The right eye only had one.
“Thank you,” he said, before grabbing her hand and gently pulling it away. “But please don’t smudge them. It’s just eyeshadow.”
Meg laughed again, bringing her hands back to herself. Her phone rang.
“Yeah,” she answered it, eyes narrowing in preparation. She was in charge of the whole event: she’d been putting out a lot of fires.
He watched her nod and hum and roll her eyes occasionally before sighing and hanging up. “I gotta take this. You mind being the welcoming committee?”
Castiel grimaced. He was said to be many things, but welcoming was not one of them.
“I know, sugar,” Meg said in response to his face, scrunching her nose in sympathy. “But you don’t have to do anything but direct people to the stage and thank them for coming.”
Castiel grunted, still scowling, but Meg took that for the acceptance it was. She smirked, kissing him on the cheek, and walking backstage to figure out whatever needed figuring out.
Castiel sighed, turning toward the fence that separated the audience bit of field from the regular, non-audience bit of field. There was a reason the townies liked country music: the university was in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Fields were the cheapest and easiest venue for a concert.
There was a $10 recommended donation for entry but in practice it was ‘pay what you can.’ The vendors, too, were contributing a portion of their proceeds to Planned Parenthood, so even if most guests paid less than $10, they were still netting a decent amount, especially considering the crowd slowly filtering in through the gate.
Castiel was happy on Meg’s behalf about the turnout but the masses of people converging on him definitely stressed him out.
“Hi!”
Castiel spun, startled, to see a chipper-looking redhead in a flannel shirt smiling up at him.
“Uh, hi.”
“Hi!” she said again, smiling wider now that he’d returned her greeting. “Are you with Planned Parenthood?”
“Oh. Yeah,” Castiel said, forcing himself to smile. “Sorry, the concert’s going to start over that way–”
“Oh, no, I know. I wanted to ask you something else. I heard Maddie and Tae were coming?”
Castiel frowned, trying to think of who Maddie and Tae could be.
The redhead must have taken Castiel’s frown as a denial. Her face fell. “They’re not coming? But they would be perfect–!”
“Charlie no, come on,” said a man standing just behind Charlie that Castiel hadn’t noticed. “They suck so much. They’re barely even country.”
Castiel frowned harder, not caring for his tone. He had given her the hint he’d needed though: Maddie and Tae = country artists.
“Actually, they will be performing tonight,” Castiel said, casting a dark look at the man. He too was wearing flannel, though he’d taken it a step further and also put on a cowboy hat. Castiel fought not to roll his eyes before turning back to the girl. “When we reached out to them, they were very excited to support our message, being huge feminists and all.”
The girl, Charlie, smiled brightly again. “I know! They’re awesome.”
The guy snorted behind her. Castiel turned to him again, murder in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, do you have a problem with strong women spreading the word of feminism? If so, you are definitely at the wrong event.”
Cowboy Hat did roll his eyes, clearly not having the same restraint as Castiel. “Come on, man, it’s not about that. They’re just glorified pop stars pretending to be country.”
“Well I should hope so,” Castiel said coldly. “What you call ‘real’ country music is a misogynist institution that fights to maintain the white-centric heteronormative status quo of the south. Every person who likes ‘real’ country is a backwoods hick who voted for Trump and has never even met a gay person in their life."
Charlie sucked in some air through her teeth. “Okay, maybe we–”
“No, Charlie, let him talk.” The guy pulled his shoulders back and crossed his arms and it was at this point that Cas realized if his combat boots didn’t have a slight heel, this man would be taller than him. “I want to hear more about what this narrow-minded asshole thinks of country music. I’d love to get his opinion on Mellencamp, Garth Brooks, Willie Nelson. You know – those backwoods hicks.”
Castiel scowled. He didn’t know anything about any of those artists. was confused as to why this guy would bring them up.
“What? Nothing to say to that? I’m sure you’ve got something to say about the Dixie Chicks.”
“Yes,” Castiel jumped on this, grinning that he had something to say about it. “They’re performing tonight! They’re always looking for chances to perform since being blacklisted from the country community after speaking out against–”
“George W. Bush, I know,” the man said, rolling his eyes again. “You don’t get bonus points for knowing about one of the hottest controversies in music history.”
“I don’t need your fucking bonus points,” Castiel spat, “I was making a point that the industry of country music rejects anything that might be at all progressive .”
“Well, we weren’t talking about the fucking industry ,” the guy spat right back, taking a step toward Castiel. Behind him, Charlie grabbed his arm with a reproachful, ‘Dean’
“You think the punk industry is free from sin? What about the Casualties and Front Porch Step? Pwr Bttm? How do you defend punk fans defending sexual assault?”
Castiel felt his face heat up in anger and embarrassment. He, of course, knew about the sexual assault scandals by those bands but, seeing as he and his friends soundly rejected bands once they showed to be harboring abusers, he didn’t think about them much.
It still begged the question, “Where are you pulling these facts from?”
The guy – Dean – grinned viciously. “I’m a sociology major with a minor in music. Just because I've lived in one town my whole life doesn't make me an idiot. I know at least TWO gay people.” He reached behind him for Charlie’s arm and pulled her forward. “Meet Charlie. Lesbian and my best friend.”
Charlie looked embarrassed, either on behalf of her friend, Castiel, or herself, but she smiled and reached a hand forward to shake Castiel’s.
Castiel shook it, dully. “Castiel.”
“Dean,” the guy said, smugly, not bothering to extend his hand. Castiel shot him another nasty look.
“Thank you for coming,” Castiel said, through his teeth. Dean winked.
Charlie laughed, pulling her hand back and punching Castiel on the shoulder. “We’re gonna be best friends. I can tell.”
Castiel rubbed absently at his arm where Charlie punched him. “Right,” he said.
Both Dean and Charlie grinned.
“Well… I should,” Castiel jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “I should see if Meg needs anything. Her event. Very stressful. You get it.”
Dean nodded, still smug. Castiel grit his teeth.
“Find us later!” Charlie told him, again smiling.
Castiel smiled back, reflexively, even though he knew he wasn’t going to find them. He liked Charlie – it wasn’t her fault her friend was a jackass.
Read more on Ao3
#He's a Little But Country#ASMB#ASMB 2019#Oops I wrote a thing#Jessie writes Destiel fic#punk!Cas#ace!Cas#Country!Dean#I should care more about tagging this but I don't
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“Well, can I scam you?”
Dean’s spoon was frozen, forgotten, halfway between his bowl and his mouth.“
Did you just ask if you could scam me?”
“Yes.” The guy said, cool as anything. “Can I scam you?”
Or the one where Cas is a scam caller and Dean just keeps intercepting his calls. 23k
You don’t really plan for these things.
Dean had just been eating cereal at the cracked linoleum kitchen table his grandmother had had since before his mother was born. He was only at his grandmother’s house in the first place because he was out of milk at his own. That was an advantage to staying in the town you grew up in.
Gramma Deanna’s phone started ringing on the table next to him. She’d left it there while she’d gone out to the garden or went to take a shit or whatever she was doing. Dean hadn’t been paying attention. He flipped the phone over, curiously looking at the caller ID.
It looked local. Probably a spam call.
Dean answered it just in case.
“‘Lo?” he asked, his mouth still half full of Cap’n Crunch.
There was a pause before a deep male voice said “Hello. How are you today?”
The pause and the deep sexy voice immediately made Dean sure this was, in fact, a spam call.
“You a robot?”
There was another pause. This time Dean could pick up the note of surprise in it. “No.”
“Oh, cool.” Dean took another bite of his cereal and talked through it. “What’s up?”
There was another pause. Dean was beginning to suspect the spam caller guy had never actually expected Dean to pick up. “Oh, well...” he cleared his throat and jumped into what sounded like a script. “I’m calling because your IP address has been compromised. I’ll just need you to get in front of your computer so we can get your account fixed up.”
Dean snorted. ‘IP address has been compromised?’ “Yeah, sure. Just one question, though.”
“Yes?”
“You really couldn’t think of a better lie?”
The other end was nothing but silence.
Dean smirked. “I’m just wondering. Because, like, my IP address being compromised is kind of the stupidest thing I can think of. How would that even happen? What does that even mean?”
Dean took another bite of his cereal, revelling in how the obnoxious crunching must sound over the phone line.
“It’s just kind of weak is all,” he finished, milk dribbling out of his mouth.
There were a couple more beats of silence where Dean was sure the other guy must have hung up. He pulled the phone away from his ear to see if the call had been disconnected.
But, no. He and spam guy had been on the call for two minutes, eleven seconds.
He put it back to his ear in time to hear the guy ask, “Why did you answer?”
Now it was Dean’s turn for a surprised pause. “What?”
“If you knew this wasn’t a legitimate call, then why did you answer?”
Dean shrugged, knowing the guy couldn’t see him.
The truth was, he wasn’t really thinking about it. Dean was there, eating cereal at 10am on a Tuesday in his grandmother’s kitchen, and the phone had started to ring. He hadn’t had anything else going on. There was no harm in it.
He was bored.
But that sounded kind of pathetic.
“Thought maybe I’d have some fun at your expense,” he answered.
“What expense?” the guy said. “Talking is no expense to me.”
Dean frowned. “Well, you’re not accomplishing your goal.”
“My goal?”
“Your goal of scamming my elderly grandmother,” Dean said, getting himself a little fired up. “Yeah, my sweet old Gramma D. I’m keeping her from getting scammed. It’s why you called and you’re not accomplishing that. I’d call that an expense.”
The guy hummed, as if granting Dean the point. Dean let himself feel smug for a second before the guy spoke again.
“Well, can I scam you?”
Dean’s spoon was frozen, forgotten, halfway between his bowl and his mouth.
Did he just ask if he could scam me?
“Did you just ask if you could scam me?”
“Yes,” the guy said, cool as anything. “Can I scam you?”
“Um,” Dean started, feeling truly baffled. “I mean you can try?”
“Great,” the guy said, a certain amount of satisfaction in his voice. “You need to get in front of your computer.”
Dean sucked in air through his teeth. “Ooh, yeah, that’s still a problem. I’m not at my place right now. I’m at my grandma’s.” He took a large, obnoxious bite. “Eating cereal,” he continued with his mouth full. “So it’s not like I could get up and leave.”
“Okay. I will call you tomorrow morning, then.”
“You don’t have my number,” Dean reminded him.
“I’ll call your grandma, then.”
Dean snorted. “I don’t live with my grandma. I probably won’t be here to pick up.”
“Why are you there today?”
“I was out of milk.”
Now the guy snorted. Dean was a little surprised; it was the most unprofessional thing he’d done on the call so far.
“I’ll call tomorrow morning.”
“I might not answer.” Dean reminded him. “My grandma definitely won’t.”
“I’ll take my chances. Have a good day, Mr. Campbell.”
Not knowing what else to do, Dean hung up. He hung up before he could say anything else. Like how it was Winchester, actually: Campbell was his mother’s maiden name. Or that Dean actually had to be at the shop earlier tomorrow, so he definitely wouldn’t be at his grandma’s eating breakfast at 10am. Or to ask him, ‘Hey, what the fuck?’
Not that any of those things actually mattered. This had just been a weird spam call. It would turn into one of Dean’s weird and hilarious stories he could tell at the garage or at family events. He could tell everyone how he’d saved Gramma Deanna from one of the freakiest spam callers he’d ever spoken to.
It’s not like Dean would ever talk to him again.
Read the rest on Ao3
#DCBB#DCBB 2019#On the Line#Oops I wrote a thing#Jessie writes Destiel fic#please if nothing else click on the read more so you can see my sassy cereal boy#my artist is so good omg
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Hey Baby (Uhh, Ahh)
Written for Lissa for Fandom Trumps Hate, Timestamp for “Nobody Puts Baby In a Corner”, 3.7k (Ao3)
Dean bounced on his toes, shaking out his arms in a useless attempt to increase blood flow to his fingertips. The blood flow was fine: it was the rampant anxiety that was making his hands tingle.
He watched the monitor backstage, trying to distract himself with some of the biggest names in wrestling having their moment – talking about the previous night’s match and setting up the challenges in the coming year.
Dean had actually gotten to see Wrestlemania the night before. He wasn’t featured – wasn’t even a name on the wind – but he’d been invited to watch the match the night before his debut on the main roster. And boy had he watched.
He’d brought Sammy to watch with him, childishly wanting to show off for his little brother. He was a part of it now. He was a part of this thing that they’d both loved. They didn’t love it the same – Sam would never audition to be a wrestler – but you couldn’t just turn off the wrestling groupie inside of you.
Now Sam was sitting off to the side, elbows on his knees, watching Dean pace.
“You’re ready for this, Dean,” he reminded him, not for the first time. “You’ve got momentum. You’ve trained for it. You’re ready.”
“Yeah, I know, Sammy,” Dean answered with a snort. “You can take the kid gloves off, it’s fine.”
Sam rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the monitor as Dean jogged in place.
Someone shorter than Dean came up to hip check him. “Hey there, butternut.”
Dean was already smiling when he turned to her. “Charlie.”
She grinned. “You’re on deck, babycakes. This match is ending and then we’re going on commercial, letting the youngins duke it out a bit, and once we’re back, you’re on.”
Dean nodded, his heart rate picking up the slightest tick. “Yeah, thanks, Charlie.”
Her grin softened in sympathy and she patted his arm. “You’re gonna be great.”
“Why do people keep telling me that,” Dean muttered. Charlie, laughed, punching him in the shoulder and sauntering off.
“Who was that?” Sam asked, his eyes still following the little redhead down the hall.
“One of the techies,” Dean told him. “Sort of assigned to me in my move, makes sure I go where I need to.” He grinned. “And a huge lesbian so don’t even try.”
Sam shook his head, scoffing. “I wasn’t, shut up.”
Dean grinned wider.
“Befriending her is still worth it, though, if you’d like. She’s lovely.” Came a voice, coming from a different hallway than the one Charlie had just left down. “Hello, Dean.”
Dean immediately flushed. “Castiel.”
Cas smiled, gently with his lips closed, inclining his head toward Dean. He was wearing his trench coat wrapped around him, actually tied at the waste to fend off the chill of the A/C they pump through the backstage. When he goes out to the ring it’ll be gaping open, showing off his amazing abs and the tiny little trunks he wears to wrestle. Dean was very familiar.
They’d met a couple times before, though not in any official capacity. An interview once. Party of a mutual friend. They’d only been officially introduced that week to go over script and choreography.
Because Dean was moving up from NXT. He was coming to the main roster: to Smackdown, officially. And a match with Castiel was gonna get him there.
Sam cleared his throat. Dean jerked, gesturing to him.
“Castiel, this is my brother, Sam. Sammy this is Castiel.”
“The Angel,” Sam said, coming out of his chair to shake Castiel’s hand. “It’s good to meet you. I’ve been following you.”
Castiel raised an eyebrow.
Sam flushed. “I mean your career! I’m a fan. Not a stalker fan but–”
Dean cracked up. “He knew what you meant, man.” Dean turned to Castiel, his eyes dancing. “It kills me that no one else knows you’re funny.”
“I’m not funny,” Castiel told him, but his eyes were also bright with humor before looking back at Sam. “But I was messing with you, Sam. I’m sorry,”
Sam shook his head, waving off the apology. “No, don’t be, it’s fine. You’re fine.”
“Yeah, he is,” Dean said, under his breath. Cas looked over at him, his mouth tilted in a smirk. He clearly heard him.
Well, Dean wasn’t wrong. And he wasn’t going to apologize. He winked.
Castiel smirked more, actually showing some teeth.
Sam rolled his eyes. “The longer we talk, the less angelic you seem.”
Cas turned to Sam, flicking his eyebrows once in a ‘Well…’ sort of way. Then he transformed in front of their eyes.
He lost the smile, his face smoothing out into an expressionless mask, his eyes going from bright amusement to simmering righteousness. He was a couple inches shorter than Sam, the big tree, but the way he held his body, his shoulders, he was looming.
“Read the Bible,” Castiel said, his usually gravelly voice coming out even deeper and more threatening. “Angels are warriors of God. I’m a soldier.”
Sam visibly shuddered.
Castiel smiled, his shoulders slumping again. he lifted his hands and tilted his head, as if acknowledging invisible applause.
Dean almost gave him some. Almost. That was extremely hot.
“That’s where my storyline is angling now that I’m heel, anyway.” Castiel said, as if he hadn’t just brought them to church, almost literally, with that performance. “I was thinking about doing some rebranding when I turn face again. Being the Seraph instead of the Angel.”
“Sounds like a font,” Dean told him, a little dumbstruck, still.
Castiel frowned. “Yes, I feared that too.”
Sam let out a little hysterical giggle, immediately covering his mouth.
“Okay, it’s almost curtain,” Charlie said, popping her head back in. “Dean and Castiel, with me. Sam, you’ve got a seat right up front.”
Sam cleared his throat, his mouth twitching. “Thanks.” He turned to Dean, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Break a leg.”
Dean snorted. “I’m supposed to lose.”
“So lose really cool.” Sam shrugged. “Make a splash or whatever.”
“Fuck outta here,” Dean said, shoving his hand off his shoulder, but he did move in for a hug. “Thanks.”
Sam squeezed him back, clapping him on the shoulder again as he pulled away.
They turned to Charlie and Castiel, both of whom were looking seconds away from ‘awwing’ out loud.
Sam reached forward to shake Castiel’s hand. “Good to meet you. Really,” he said, before letting go and heading toward the entrance to the floor.
The three of them watched him leave for a moment, Dean getting more and more nervous with every step Sam took away from him.
But the moment passed quickly and Charlie was corralling them both into following her to the entrance stage.
“So your brother,” Castiel starts, the two of them walking side by side. “Older or younger?”
“Younger,” Dean sighed.”But he’s so stupid tall nobody believes me when I tell them that.”
Castiel grinned. “No, I believe you. He suffers from puppy face.”
Dean barked a laugh. “Puppy face?”
“Yes. It’s not a baby face because he doesn’t look young . But when he talks to you he looks kind of excited, adoring, and wholesome. Like a puppy.”
Dean laughed again, his ears going pink thinking about it. “He is actually pretty wholesome. He’s in school to be an environmental lawyer, you know.” Dean lets out another laugh, softer this time. “Kid wants to save the world.”
Castiel hummed, his mouth serious but his eyes looking at Dean with a certain fondness.
Dean cleared his throat. “You got family?”
“No one close by,” Castiel said in a complete non-answer. “I have considered getting a pet, though. With this job, however…”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “You don’t spend too much time at home.”
Castiel hummed again, a noise of displeasure this time.
“Cats can’t take up too much work,” Dean continued. “You could get a cat. You just have to make sure someone comes in to clean the shit box if you’re away for too long.”
Castiel chuckled, eyes on the ground, smile quirking his lips. “I can certainly look into it.”
They arrived at the entrance stage, the light from the thirty foot high projection screens illuminating the back with a dull glow.
“Cue music,” Charlie said into her headset. The sound of wings flapping projected to the audience. Screams went up.
Castiel turned to Dean, his trench coat now untied and Championship belt on full view. He was sporting a wider smile than Dean had yet seen. “See you out there,” he told him.
Dean nodded but Cas had already turned away, pushing through the curtain to a gothic choir singing him to the rapture.
Dean let out a shaky breath, turning to the monitor set up just inside the door. Cas’s gait was confident and severe, stepping toward the stage with the deliberateness of a preacher walking to the pulpit.
He stepped into the ring, only deeming to duck his head to get through the ropes, but otherwise standing tall and firm. He discreetly grabbed a mic from a ref and brought it to his face, not saying anything. Just letting the audience feel his stare.
The audience booed. Well, half of them did. He was a heel; it was his job to be hated. But he was too damn lovable, he only got half the people in the stands to play along.
When the crowd had finally died down enough – not all the way, this was still a wrestling match, but enough – Castiel spoke, mouth very close to the microphone, in his deepest, most carrying gravel.
“Did you miss me?”
Cheers and jeers and boos and woos. Castiel’s face didn’t even twitch.
“How could you have missed me?” Castiel tilted his head, taunting the audience. “I didn’t go anywhere.” He spread his one arm wide. “I was champion before, and I’m champion now. No weak wrestler could take this from me.”
More noise from the audience. Castiel wasn’t as showy as some of the other wrestlers but he knew how to rile up a crown.
“I’m here, on Monday Night RAW, because I can be. Because,” he pointed out to the crowd, focusing on some lucky individual up in the stands. “You want me to be. I am the best wrestler here. We had an entire night to figure it out and last night, at Wrestlemania, I came out – I came back – with my belt.”
He pulled the belt off, raising it slowly above his head, the volume of the crowd rising with his hand.
Castiel’s presence was unlike anyone else on the roster. He didn’t saunter. He didn’t sneer. He just stood in the middle of the ring and told his truth. Like fact. Like he knew what was best and you’d just better listen.
It was captivating as hell.
“Your precious Gordon couldn’t keep it from me,” he said. “None of your supposed champions. No one who has ever been on this stage has ever had what it takes.” He pumped his fist in the air, firmly, the belt grabbing the light and throwing it back. “No one could challenge me. I dare any of you to come up here and try.”
That was Dean’s cue.
Well, the music was Dean’s cue. Four notes on a harmonica before the guitars came in, playing a vaguely rockabilly but mostly rock riff. Dean took one more deep breath before stepping out from behind the curtain onto a stage lit up with rushing colors of pink, blue, and purple.
He walked out with swagger, sweat dripping from beneath his cowboy hat but his face all cocky smiles and finger guns.
He didn’t get the same response as Cas – he was still new – but there were more people than he expected pumping their fists to Dean’s music. Screaming his name.
He had a pretty significant following already from NXT but… this was the big leagues. This was Monday Night RAW. To make his prime time debut during the Monday Night RAW after Wrestlemania was how you knew things were happening. This is where shit got real.
People were excited to see him. He was excited to see them. His nervousness melted away and he became more and more the cocky cowboy.
The last few feet, he took a running start at the ring, rollind between the ropes and popping up.
He knew the commentators now were giving the audience back home all his details. His name. His background. How they thought he would do in the big leagues. But the audience at home wasn’t Dean’s concern. He had to connect with the audience around him.
He walked around the ring, pointing at the assembly and subtly pulling a mic from a ref on the sidelines, before stepping to the middle of the ring, thumb hooked through one of the belt loops on his jeans.
He recited his opening to the largest crowd he’d ever performed in front of.
“I’m Baby Del Mar and I think y’all are mighty fine.” Dean almost stumbled. Hundreds of voices were speaking with him. He channeled the enormous grin threatening to take over his face into an arrogant smirk. “It’s time for ass-whooping” He turned and stabbed a finger in Castiel’s direction. “ He’s next in line?”
Screams went up. Wolf whistles and cowbells. Someone had smuggled in an airhorn.
They had to have known he was coming – the WWE didn’t keep many secrets – but they were reacting as if nothing so shocking had ever happened in their lives.
“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, his gruff words cutting short the people carrying on around him. “Did you say your name was ‘Baby?’ ”
Jeers from the audience. Dean wasn’t sure if it was at Cas or at him.
“I’m sure I’ll have you crying like one by the end of the match,” Cas continued his face stoic. It was more effective than any sneer or leer could have been.
“They call me baby because everyone loves me,” Dean said, spreading his arms to receive praise from the audience. And, remarkably, there was praise to be received. “And they’re gonna love me even more when I beat you, Angel.”
Dean was supposed to say his name. Was supposed to spit the word ‘Castiel ’ like it was gristle stuck in his teeth.
Dean took a… flirtier approach.
Castiel raised an eyebrow. The most emotion he’d shown in his face since he walked out. “Is that so?”
Dean winked and went off script. “Don’t worry. You’ll like it. I’m–” Dean had to cut himself off, the crowd had gotten too loud. He took the time to lick his lips. “I’m sure by the end of this, you’ll love me too.”
Cas’s face didn’t break again but for the slight creasing at the corner of his eyes,his eyes themselves bright and humorous. He was smiling. As much as he could while in character.
“We’ll see about that.”
They wrestled.
Dean lost.
It was incredible.
At one point, when Dean had broken out of Castiel’s Cupid Chokehold and stood looming over him where Cas was sitting on the ground, getting his bearings, the audience had taken up a chant.
“ Baby’s gonna kiss you. Baby’s gonna kiss you. ”
Dean had grinned, turning to pump his fist at the crowd.
He was the bisexual cowboy. Everyone knew that.
But to have people chanting…
Dean thought that may have been the happiest moment of his entire life.
And it just kept getting better.
Once Dean had been pinned, Castiel’s arm raised and belt secure, Dean pouted in the ring. Acting the baby. It was his thing.
And Castiel had turned to him and winked. Which was not his thing.
He was out of eyeline of the camera so no one saw. He maintained his eerie angelic persona.
But Dean knew.
Dean got backstage first, falling bodily into his brother’s waiting arms, both of them laughing and jovial.
“Dean that was amazing!” Sam crowed, slapping every inch of Dean he could reach. Dean was no longer wearing his shirt or his cowboy hat and was sticky with sweat but Sam didn’t seem to care. “I can’t believe you just threw your hat away.”
Dean smirked, feigning a shrug. He hadn’t gotten permission to give that hat away but “They’ll get over it.”
Sam laughed again, shaking his head. “You’re insane, man. But, damn, what a good match.”
“I agree,” came Castiel’s voice where he’d just joined them backstage. He was even smiling – a soft and crooked thing. “You’re quite the performer, Dean.”
There was nothing soft about Dean’s answering smile as it shone brightly out of his face. “Thanks, man! It felt really good being up there.”
“It always does,” Castiel said, his smile widening at Dean’s response. “And I think we worked rather well together.”
“Oh, fuck yeah, dude. It was just like,” Dean gestured back and forward with his hands, bringing them up to his head and making an explosion sound with his mouth. “Right?”
Castiel laughed, softly. “Exactly what I was thinking.”
Dean turned his grin to Sam who was also looking at Dean with more fondness than anyone over 30 should receive. “It was good, right?” He asked Sam. “Did it look as good as it felt?”
Sam nodded, slapping Dean on the shoulder again. “Yeah, man, it looked real good. I had it recorded so we can watch it tomorrow.”
Dean pumped his fist then frowned. “Why can’t we watch it tonight?”
Sam rolled his eyes, though he was still smiling. “I have an early call tomorrow. I need to go to bed .”
Dean frowned again. They were the headlining event so the night was technically over – he could hear the rustling of and shouts of the crowds as they made their way out of the arena. But... he was still super keyed up: he wasn’t ready to go home yet.
“If your brother needs to leave,” Castiel chimed in, his shoulders curved in a little, his head tilted, inquisitively. It was a weird posture on someone wearing a pair of trunks and nothing else. “the two of us could get dinner?” He smiled his soft smile again.“I’m not quite ready for the night to be over, either.”
Dean perked right back up, his chest swelling. “Yeah. Yes! I could use a burger.”
Castiel huffed a quick laugh. “I could always use a burger.”
“Awesome.” Dean was bouncing on his toes again. “Okay so… we should shower?”
Castiel nodded. “I would say, yes. Shower. Then burgers.”
“Great!” Sam said bringing his hands together in a clap. “So, Dean, I will see you at the hotel?” Sam raised an eyebrow. Nothing salacious but Dean knew what he was implying.
He blushed, clearing his throat. “Yeah, Sammy, I’ll see you at the hotel. You good to take a cab or–”
“Oh, no, I’m taking a cab,” Sam’s grin turned more wicked by the second. “I think you’re gonna want to introduce Castiel to your baby.”
“You have a baby?” Castiel asked, his head cocked (adorably) again.
Sam just winked, clapping Dean on the shoulder again. He reached forward with his other hand to shake Castiel’s. “Really good match. Great meeting you. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon.”
Castiel shook back, nodding in acknowledgement, still looking mildly bewildered but too polite to press the point. “I look forward to it, Sam.”
Sam nodded, his stupid hair bouncing around his ears, and he clapped Dean once more on the back and made his way out.
“Your baby?” Castiel asked again.
Dean chuckled. “My car. You’re gonna love her.”
Castiel huffed air out through his nose in a surprised kind of laugh but gestured with his arms for Dean to proceed toward their locker room.
They showered in the unselfconscious way of two athletes, despite whatever sexual tension might be going on. They kept up a steady stream of chatter through the whole process: How was living in Japan? (Dean) What’s it like being so close with your brother? (Castiel) What’s the best burger joint in town (They had a rather intense debate about this, though a smile was never too far from either of them.)
They took the elevator down to the parking garage below the stadium – reserved exclusively for the talent. Dean hung back so he could watch Castiel see his baby for the first time.
Castiel turned his eyes from Dean, a smile still on his face and turned toward the car. He barely paused, going immediately for the passenger door and waiting for Dean to unlock it.
Dean frowned. “Nothing? I don’t get a low whistle? Not even a ‘wow’? This is my pride and joy here, Cas.”
Cas blinked, his eyes a little startled.
It was then Dean realized he’s never called Castiel ‘Cas’ out loud before now. Only in his head.
Well, that was embarrassing.
Before Dean could apologize, though, Cas was responding, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’m sorry, Dean, I don’t know very much about cars. I didn’t need one to get around in Japan and I haven’t really picked up the habit of driving since.”
Dean put a hand to his chest, dramatically betrayed. Really he was just relieved Castiel didn’t call him on the over-familiarity. “Blasphemy! No wonder they made you evil.”
Castiel chuckled, awkwardly adjusting the grip on his gym bag. “They’re actually talking about turning me face soon.” He shrugged. “Not much more you can do with the ‘dark angel’ storyline.”
Dean snorted, leaning forward to his rest his elbows on the roof of the car. He knew it made him look casual and just a little bit deviant. He’d struck the pose a lot. “So no more hellfire and brimstone?”
Castiel smirked, bringing up a hand to tap on the door handle, not quite as bold as Dean as to lean bodily on the car. “I’m afraid so.”
Dean hummed, peeling himself off the car with a flick of his keys. “‘S too bad,” he said, sticking the key in the lock. He waited for the lock to click open before he continued. “I do like a bad boy.”
Dean took a minute to revel in the mildly shocked but definitely pleased look that came over Castiel’s face before he jerked the driver’s side door open.
“Get in the car,” he told him with a wink. “We got burgers to eat.”
#Destiel#oops I wrote a thing#Fandom Trumps Hate#Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner#Jessie writes Destiel fic#WWE au#I should care more about tagging this but I don't
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Groundhogs in Sweaters
PBExchange gift for @gemoedstoestanden! 2.4k (Ao3)
“You ever think about what our lives would be like if the monsters looked like how they were supposed to?”
Sam frowned, marking his place with his finger before lifting his attention from the book he was reading. “What do you mean?”
“Like fairytales,” Dean continued. “The monsters in fairytales are never like how they are in real life. Wouldn’t it be cool if they were?”
Sam’s mouth twitched, his elbow coming up to the table so he could lean closer to Dean. “Like what?”
“Dragons, for one.” Dean snorted, petulantly. “They just looked like people! Garbage. I want a big fuckin lizard. With wings! He could be my new steed.”
Sam snorted back. “I’m telling the impala.”
“Don’t you dare!” but Dean was still smiling, delighted by this exercise he’d started. “Witches, too. Screw spells that need ingredients and body fluids.” Dean shuddered. “Why can’t there be magic wands? Wands are way cooler than bones of saints and all that shit.”
Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “And you called me ‘Dumbledork’?”
“It’s just more sanitary, Samantha!” Dean threw a napkin at him, kind of ruining his point about cleanliness. “And people would probably not get as dead.”
Sam shrugged, allowing the point. “Sure. There’s always gonna be bad beings who want to hurt people, though, Dean.”
Dean grimaced, throwing another napkin at Sam. “Whatever. At least if I had real genies instead of frickin djinn, I might get real wishes. And Robin Williams is awesome.”
Sam barked a laugh. “Interesting you’d go for Aladdin over I Dream of Jeannie. ”
Dean lifted up his hands in a ‘what can you do’ kind of way. “Listen: Barbara Eden was hot in her day and I’ll catch a rerun when it’s on. But Robin Williams is forever.”
Sam laughed again in what Dean took as agreement.
“We deserve some freaking wishes by now. And a freaking dragon friend.”
Sam cleared his throat to dislodge some of the chuckles still coming out. “We have another kind of winged friend,” Sam mused. “You can try and make Cas your steed.”
Dean wasn't sure what kind of expression he made, but it must have been really something for Sam to throw his head back and laugh like that.
After that conversation with Sam, things got a little bit weird around the bunker.
To start with, Dean kept having to shoo mice and squirrels outside. It wasn’t super uncommon to find rodents–-they were underground and the bunker had been uninhabited for decades before the Winchesters got there. And they did mostly like to hide in dusty cleaning cabinets or disorganized storage rooms. The weird part was that the squirrels and mice and occasional rabbits Dean had to wrangle outside were all wearing tiny clothing.
Dean really should have found this more odd than he did. Truth was, he barely spared it a second thought. Yeah, animals were wearing clothes now. He’d seen weirder.
But it didn’t stop there.
There was also a lot more fruit in the bunker kitchen. This, in itself, wasn’t a huge red flag. Sam was still a health freak and the brothers had gotten better about keeping healthy food in the house for Jack now that the kid was (mostly) human.
The weird part was the food looked… inviting.
As a rule: Dean didn't eat apples unless they were baked into a pie. He thought the skin was waxy, the shape of the apple fit oddly in his mouth, and the simultaneous wetness and dryness of the fruit just made the whole eating experience very unpleasant.
(He was not wrong about these things.)
The apples in the bunker in the past few days just looked really delicious, though. Dean couldn’t explain it. So he ate them.
They weren’t amazing as foods go – Dean would still choose a baguette over an apple as his side at Panera – but after eating them, he weirdly had more energy. It was like a full night’s sleep. But only sometimes.
If he ate an apple at night, it actually helped him sleep. If he ate an apple at night before a hunt, he could swear his eyesight got sharper.
When he tried to tell Sam about the weird apples they’d gotten, Sam just tried to tell him that eating healthy meant you got healthier and that’s why Dean had been feeling so good.
And Dean might have believed him if it weren’t for the last thing.
Dean had just been innocently washing his face in his room.
He looked up in the mirror and winked at his reflection. “Hey, good lookin.”
“I’d tell you to ‘hey yourself’, but you literally just did.”
Dean jumped, eyes darting around.
It had sounded almost like Cas’s voice but Cas was supposed to be on a beer and pie run.
“Uh, hello?”
“Haven’t we already gone over customary greetings?”
Dean was still startled even though he was ready for it. There had definitely been a voice.
And it sounded like it was coming from the mirror.
Dean blinked at his reflection. The reflection blinked back, completely like normal.
Dean thought about waving his hand in front of it to make sure the mirror still worked, but he felt like that would be perfect ammunition for mocking if the mirror really was talking to him. So he refrained.
Instead, he said, “Uh, mirror mirror on the wall?”
“Real original, Dean.”
Yup, it was the mirror.
“Any follow up questions or do you just enjoy hearing yourself talk?”
Dean snorted and crossed his arms, a little offended.
“Any reason you can talk now? And why you’re kind of an asshole?”
If a mirror could have lungs, Dean would have sworn it had sighed. “I’m a magic mirror. It’s kind of in the job description to be judgemental. How else could I tell ‘the fairest of them all’?”
Dean tilted his head in acceptance. “Okay. But could you always talk? Why do you sound like Cas?”
“Well your angel, Castiel, enchanted me. Don’t you think you would have known you had a talking mirror by now if this wasn’t a recent development? I feel like you talk to your reflection a lot.”
Dean shifted on his feet, scowling. “You don’t know me.”
If the mirror had eyes it would have rolled them. “Okay, Dean.”
So that just left the question of why Cas had enchanted the mirror.
“Did Cas do something to the fruit in the kitchen?” Dean asked the mirror. “And is he why I found a groundhog in a sweater in my shower yesterday?”
“Probably,” the mirror said, bored. “I can’t say for sure – I’m magic but I’m not all-knowing. All I know is that Castiel enchanted me for a reason. That reason might have also made him do weird shit like that. He’s a weird dude.”
“That’s what I said!” Dean blurted before lowering his voice. “It’s really funny to hear you roast Cas when you sound like Cas.”
“I could go back to roasting you if you think that would be more appropriate.”
“Ha, no. No, it’s okay. In fact I think I’m just gonna–” Dean pointed at his bedroom door, making a hasty retreat.
He could hear the mirror call him a coward as he left.
Dean walked into the war room right as Cas was closing the door to the bunker.
“Hey there, pal,” Dean said, watching amused as Cas struggled to carry his giant grocery bags down the spiral stairs. “Need some help?”
Cas glared at him, already having made it down the stairs.
Dean grinned, walking forward to relieve Cas of one arm of groceries. Cas sighed, the relief of having some of his burden lifted obvious.
“Thank you,” he said, grudgingly.
Dean just winked. “Let’s get these to the kitchen.”
Castiel hummed in agreement, turning down the hall before waiting to see if Dean was following him. Dean trailed behind, watching Cas for any strange behavior.
If the mirror was right and Cas was doing all this weird stuff around the bunker, he would be acting differently, right? At the very least he’d be watching Dean to see how Dean responded to his new mirror friend.
And, if Dean was being picky, Cas did seem a little jumpy.
Cas was more delicate in setting his bags down once they reached the kitchen. Dean dropped his heavily on the table, making the cans in the bags rattle ominously.
Cas glared at him again. “You’re lucky the eggs weren’t in there.”
Dean shrugged.
Cas rolled his eyes, before turning to pull the fridge open, moving things around to make room for their new groceries.
Dean watched him, removing things from bags and putting them on the counter in Cas’s reach.
He was trying to be unobtrusive, waiting for an opening until he could ask Cas about the mirror, but Cas was doing everything wrong.
“No, Cas, why would you put bread in the fridge? Are you trying to dry it out?”
Cas turned, already frowning at Dean. “Cold temperatures preserve food for longer.”
“But it makes it taste worse, man.” Dean snatched the bread out of his hands, putting it in his designated bread drawer next to the oven. “Don’t mess with a good thing.”
He paused, thinking that that was a good a segue as anything.
“Speaking of,” he started, turning to lean his hip on the counter, crossing his arms. He was going for casually inquisitive rather than accusatory. “Any reason my mirror gave me attitude this morning?”
Cas froze, his arm halfway to the fridge weighed down by an entire case of beer. Or it would have been weighed down if not for friggin angel strength.
He turned to Dean with wide eyes. “Your mirror was mean to you?”
Dean rolled his eyes, his mouth quirking up. Of course that was the part Cas was focusing on.
“Not that mean, Cas. No meaner than Sam. I just meant why was it talking to me at all ?”
Cas shrugged, moving things in the fridge around so he could fit the case in. “I thought you might like it.”
Dean just blinked, waiting for Cas to continue.
Cas sighed, his shoulders slumping. Before closing the refrigerator door and turning to Dean.
“I heard you talking to Sam. About how monsters are supposed to be versus the reality.”
Dean frowned, the conversation coming back to him. He remembered only talking about monsters. Nothing weird had happened with monsters recently.
“Obviously, there’s very little I can do about how monsters work,” Cas started, lifting up his arms in a weak presentation of his current state. “Gabriel may have been able to, once upon a time, but he’s dead and I do not have the power of an archangel.”
“Okay…” Dean said, still misty on what Cas had done. And why.
“I still wanted to give you some fairytale things, though,” Cas said, looking sheepish for the first time. “And in my research, I’ve found fairytales have helpful wildlife. And magic fruit. And–”
“And talking mirrors.” Dean chuckled, wiping his mouth with his hand to disguise his amusement. “Were those animals supposed to be cleaning?”
Cas nodded, his shoulders slumped, sure Dean was making fun of him.
Dean reached forward, clapping him hard on the shoulder. “It’s great, buddy. Really. Very cute.”
Cas blushed. Dean didn’t even know he was capable of blushing. He grinned.
“But hey,” Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder again before pulling back and walking around to the table. “Where’s my magic makeover? Or my random musical numbers?”
Cas made a noise of discontent, glaring at Dean as he followed him to the table. “I’ve already told you I’m not powerful enough for illusions that big, Dean.”
Dean grinned, leaning over the table to get right in Cas’s face. “Well, what about a magic kiss? ‘True love’ garbage and all that.”
Cas turned red again, avoiding eye contact. “I think we both know the concept of true love’s kiss is fallible. For one, heaven’s system of love matching is largely defunct, so true love is truly subjective, and for another the practice of kissing someone when they are incapacitated – magically or otherwise – is highly–”
“Cas.” Dean was leaning even closer to Cas now, watching the panic in his eyes fade to suspicion. And then wonder. “Do I look magically incapacitated right now?”
Cas met his eyes, searching. “No…?”
“So would you say I’m fully consenting to my true love kissing me right now?”
Cas swallowed. “I–”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Just kiss me, Cas. Christ.”
Cas hesitated for just a second more before leaning in, cupping Dean’s jaw in his hand, and pressing his lips on Dean’s.
After which Dean immediately turned into a frog.
“How the hell does that even work?!” Dean meant to say, but instead just ribbeted since he was, you know, a frog.
“Shit!” Cas waved his hands helplessly over Dean’s amphibious form. “I forgot about this one. I don’t think I did it right.”
“You think?!” Dean croaked.
“It’s fine, Dean. Another kiss should turn you back.”
Dean ribbited again, more out of temper than anything.
Cas picked him up, gently, and placed him on the table before leaning and and putting his lips to Dean’s pointed, froggy mouth.
Dean blinked and he was human again, sitting on the edge of the kitchen table, gasping.
“What made you think that was a good idea?!” Dean choked, putting a hand to his chest. He was a little overwhelmed by everything.
“I found a list of fairy tale tropes on the internet,” Cas said, face creased in utter humiliation. “I didn’t really think it through.”
Dean huffed a laugh as his breathing evened out. “Well, you undo the mojo on that one immediately. Because I want to kiss you again, this time without shrinking into a body covered in mucus.”
Cas’s eyes widened, like he was astonished Dean would even consider kissing him again.
Dean rolled his eyes, snapping and waving his hands in a ‘hurry up’ type motion. “Let’s go, un-mojo, I’ve been waiting years for this.”
Cas didn’t look like he did anything but Dean felt like he could feel a subtle change in the air. In any case, Cas grabbed Dean’s face with both of his hands to kiss him again and Dean did not turn into a frog.
Even without the magical shape-shifting, it was still a life-changing kiss.
#Destiel#oops I wrote a thing#PBExchange#Crack#Jessie writes Destiel fic#How am I even supposed to tag this?#For you Floor!#The original title was 'Choose Your Own Fairy-tale'#lol
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“Dr Sexy, no!”
“How can you watch this?” Castiel asked, feet in Dean’s lap. “You’re a surgeon! This show has to offend every medical sensibility you have.”
Dean scoffed. “Why do you think I became a doctor?” He pointed emphatically at the screen. “That sexy motherfucker.”
Castiel rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes. I’m sure it wasn’t your caretaking nature or your pathological need to fix things at all.”
Dean shushed him, leaning forward and clutching Cas’s feet to his chest as a particularly tense conversation on screen picked up.
“You switched the samples, Gregory!” Dr. Sexy snapped at his intern, his voice whispered and fierce. The music in the back was heavy with strings. “That woman could have died and for what?”
“I’m not going to apologize for protecting you.” The character that Castiel had never seen before but assumed was Gregory responded, tearfully but equally as fierce. “You are the best goddamn doctor in this hospital. Without you I–” He cut himself off.
Castiel sensed something gay afoot.
Dean apparently did, too. “Holy shit… is this.... Are they really…”
Cas had no idea. He didn’t even have any context for this scene other than the snatches of dialogue he’d caught between paragraphs of his book. He didn’t know what samples had been switched or what woman could have died or how any of this affected Dr. Sexy.
All he saw was a young intern looking at Dr. Sexy with stars in his eyes. And Dr. Sexy – a character Castiel and everyone had assumed all this time was straight – was staring softly back.
“No matter what happens in this hospital, Gregory,” Dr. Sexy said, approaching slowly. “Nothing will take me from you.”
Dean was smacking blindly at Cas, eyes glued to the screen. Cas gave him his hand and Dean clutched at it desperately
“How can I be sure of that?” poor Gregory asked in a whisper.
Dr. Sexy took poor intern Gregory’s face in his hands and said “Because I love you.” then kissed him.
Dean shrieked.
“Oh my God! Oh my god they did it. Oh my God. After thirteen seasons we have bisexual Dr. Sexy. We have a bisexual surgeon.”
Castiel couldn’t feel his fingers from how hard Dean was clutching them but he just looked over fondly. “Dean, you’re a bisexual surgeon.”
Dean punched him with the hand that wasn’t currently arresting Cas’s and shushed him as the good doctor pulled away, delivering a monologue that was melodramatic enough to do justice to the name of Dr. Sexy.
Castiel didn’t pay attention to the rest of the scene, too busy watching Dean’s face as all his dreams came true.
#spnhiatuscreations#oops I wrote a thing#Destiel#long post#me? Indulgent? Never.#Jessie writes Destiel fic
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SPNMBB 2019: “Bold Defiance” by JessJessthebest, art by deli (deliciousirony)
You, Bold Defiance?” Dean rolled his eyes. “You are so predictable.”
Castiel had been operating as ‘Bold Defiance,’ evil super-villain, for most of his life. It was the same thing, day after day: scheming, magicking, and getting inevitably foiled by The Guardian: the city’s acting superhero and Castiel’s childhood rival, Anna. It was a comfortable if not altogether productive routine. The periodic kidnapping of journalist, Dean Winchester, didn’t hurt. But what happens when one side actually wins? What does a person do when the person who opposed them, the person who defined them, is gone?
Castiel’s prison cell wasn’t very interesting.
He guessed it was more interesting than the usual cement cell. His, at least, had children’s paintings on the wall and a large comfortable chair.
But when you spent most of your life in a small room with very little enrichment, it didn’t matter how pretty the pictures on the wall were. It was boring. So boring it became exhausting just to be there.
Castiel wasn’t going to be there much longer. His latest escape plan was already underway. But still, sitting in that chair, looking at the television with the news of The Guardian’s latest victory was sucking the life right out of him. He sat on the floor against the wall, just for a change of pace.
He wasn’t expecting his cell door to bang open, the warden bolting in, but he wasn’t altogether surprised either.
“Where’s the fire, Warden?” he asked her, mouth quirked in amusement.
Her eyes landed on him, her face souring even while her shoulders slumped in relief. “You shouldn’t be out of the eyes of the guards, inmate.”
Castiel scoffed. “You’re no fun.”
The warden sighed, coming into the room to stand in front of him, her arms crossed.
Castiel remembered when she’d first been appointed warden. He’d been here longer than almost everyone else in the prison, landing here when he was only a toddler. One might question why anyone would allow a child to live at a prison, even if that’s where his escape pod happened to land. Castiel had never questioned this, as he’d never known anything else, but he’d met some other inmates who seemed horrified at this information.
Castiel guessed they might have kept him here because they had no idea what else to do with him. Where the hell do you put a toddler who landed on earth with a pair of huge black wings?
“I’ve got a present for you from The Guardian,” the warden said, shaking the small box in her hand. She opened it in front of him, pulling out a watch that had been nestled inside. She read the tag that hung off the end. “‘To count every second of your 85 Iife sentences.’ Hmm.” The warden’s face creased in disapproval. “Didn’t think she was much for gloating.”
“How rude that Guardian is,” Castiel commented, idly. His wings traced circles in the dust on the floor. “I don’t even want that gift. You should keep it, Warden.”
The warden went from examining the watch to eying him suspiciously.
Castiel shrugged, his wings slumping in his evident boredom. “I don’t need a watch to keep track of how long I’m in here. It takes away from my constant dissociation.” He leaned his head against the wall, looking pitifully at the tv screen mounted at the top of his cell. “It’s only the thought of this Guardian Day ceremony that’s even getting me through.”
The warden hummed, still suspicious, but she put on the watch. “I can’t help but feel like you’re taking everything about this far too well. You’re up to something.”
Castiel slumped farther against the wall, making himself into the absolute picture of pathetic boredom. “Come on, Jody. You know me! Would I ever be up to something?”
The warden snorted before schooling her expression. “That’s Warden to you, inmate.”
Castiel rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah yeah, and I’m ‘Bold Defiance’.” Castiel actually did the air quotes to express to the warden the depth of his contempt. When he looked up at her, only half of the imploring innocence in his eyes was feigned. “But remember when we weren’t?”
Jody shook her head, her eyes sad. “You can’t be both Bold Defiance and Castiel at the same time. You have to choose which one you want to be.” She held up her wrist. “Thanks for the watch.”
He watched her leave his cell, the door slamming behind her, feeling more than a little bit guilty over her part in his escape plan.
She had more faith in him to be a good guy than anyone else ever had.
He hated disappointing her.
But a villain’s gotta villain.
It all started when Castiel was born.
Well, not really. He had a good couple solar cycles with his parents on his home planet. He’d learned to walk and talk and fly from the comfort of Garrison 401. The details of that time for Castiel were hazy: the only kind of memory coming through a warm fuzziness that hit him square between his wings.
Of course, then the collapse happened. Castiel was far too young to understand at the time, but his planet and, in fact, every planet in their solar system was being sucked into a black hole. Nothing was explained to him. He was just wrapped in his wings, given an egg, and dropped into an escape pod that went careening through the cosmos only to land on his new home planet of earth.
Of course, he wasn’t alone. Other children from other planets were saved and sent away. Why, the planet right next door to Garrison 401 had a representative on earth, same as Castiel. In the very same country. In the very same city .
It was difficult for Castiel not to resent Anna: prodigy of IKWYDLS 49. They were refugees of the same disaster. They were a similar age, size, allienness. Sure, Anna didn’t have wings, but she could still fly. And yet, everyone loved her. They loved her and they hated Castiel.
Part of that could be due to the fact that Castiel had grown up in a prison and, by chance or fate or whatever machinations worked to make Castiel’s life the way it was, Anna had landed on the property of one of the richest families in the country. She was well cared for – adored. Castiel was tolerated.
Castiel did have some things Anna did not, however. For one: he had his intellect. Anna had super strength and laser vision and speed and accelerated healing but she didn’t have the strategic mind of a Garrisonian.
Nor did she have Jack, the former egg that Castiel had been given upon his evacuation. Everyone on Castiel’s planet was given a fledgeling companion to help take care of them as they developed. A “minion” in villain terms. Castiel disliked referring to Jack as his minion – regardless that he performed all of the duties of a minion, it seemed kinder to call him a companion. He was a Garrisonian, same as Castiel, but without wings and with the power to heal. They were the nursemaids of the planet. Castiel was forever grateful for him.
Although, having a smaller person follow him around everywhere – even when, as a gesture of good will, he was released from the prison and sent to school – wasn’t a super great way to make friends. It just helped to further isolate him.
Not that he could ever begrudge Jack for that. Even if Jack hadn’t been able to heal him, he would treasure him for his companionship.
Castiel was bullied, to say the least. But Castiel had massive and powerful wings. And Castiel had magic, as undeveloped as it was. And Castiel had a small companion that would literally die for him.
So Castiel defended himself. And that made him the bad guy.
And Anna fought back. Which made her the good guy.
She was The Guardian.
So, Castiel, sick of being judged and scorned and pushed around became Bold Defiance.
And so the city had their narrative.
“You can scream all you want, Winchester,” Castiel said, stroking one of his many crows. “I'm afraid no one can hear you.”
“Not screaming.”
“You might be thinking: Defiance! How did you escape from your inescapable prison cell?”
“I’m really not.”
“Well, it just took some brain power. Some deception. Some cunning.”
“Five bucks says you just used one of your magic watches.”
Castiel’s wings flicked in irritation – enough to startle his crow and make her fly away.
He had used a magic watch. The watch he’d given Jody had a cloaking spell on it, making her temporarily look like him. When all the guards had tried to capture her and put her back in Castiel’s cell, he took the watch and cloaked himself as her. Then he’d simply walked out.
But he couldn’t let Dean know that.
“How do you do that, anyway? Doesn’t magic not work in contact with metal?”
“They’re plastic watches,” Castiel answered automatically. Dean smirked. Castiel scowled. “And anyway, it wasn’t a watch. I mean the magic was– it was very impressive and–”
“You can’t lie to me, man, your wings give you away.”
Castiel scowled harder, concentrating on keeping his wings still. Dean’s eyes danced. “You only think you know me.”
Dean snorted, absolutely no stress in his posture. He was tied to a chair, hands behind his back and legs strapped to the floor. He was surrounded by sigils and creepy things floating in jars and unnaturally attentive wildlife all focused on him. Cats and dogs and crows and foxes and squirrels and ravens and several species of insect all watching him like, at one word from Castiel, they’d ruin Dean’s day. And there was absolutely no fear in the green of Dean’s eyes.
“You, Bold Defiance?” Dean rolled his eyes. “You are so predictable.”
Castiel didn’t like the way Dean said his name. It wasn’t quite like Dean was mocking him – knowing he went by an invented name and speaking as if just saying the name was humoring him. He kind of said it like how Jody said it. Like he wanted to call Castiel something else.
Castiel folded his arms, narrowing his eyes at Dean. “I’m not sure how you can claim to find me predictable when I’ve managed to ambush you dozens of times. If I’m so predictable, couldn’t you avoid getting abducted?”
Dean shrugged, his shirt pulling tight across his chest as he pulled on his restraints behind his back. “I probably could. I never really tried.”
“You never–”
“Boss!”
Castiel whipped toward Jack where he was standing in the corner, worrying at the string on his scrubs pants. He gestured to the giant countdown clock.
The ceremony was about to begin. It was time to call The Guardian.
Read the rest on Ao3
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Six Sentence Sunday
secThe game is simple: writers, post 6 sentences of something you’re currently working on (then tag 6 other blogs to do the same).
I was tagged by @lanaserra which is omg so sweet.
I’m currently writing my DCBB but I don’t think I’m allowed to share anything from that so instead I’ll post six sentences from a fic that’s part of my Ace SPN Mini Bang which has already been art claimed so it’s probably fine.
“I’m sorry, do you have a problem with strong women spreading the word of feminism? If so, you are definitely at the wrong event.”
Cowboy Hat did roll his eyes, clearly not having the same restraint as Castiel. “Come on, man, it’s not about that. They’re just glorified pop stars pretending to be country.”
“Well I should hope so,” Castiel said coldly. “What you call ‘real’ country music is a misogynist institution that fights to maintain the white-centric heteronormative status quo of the south. Every person who likes ‘real’ country is a backwoods hick who voted for Trump and has never even met a gay person in their life."
I don’t have a posting date for this baby yet but keep an eye out for “He’s a Little Bit Country” by JessJesstheBest on Ao3!
I’m so bad at tagging because I don’t wanna leave anyone out and I don’t think any of my usual tag list are writers. @ozonecologne? Maddie can you hear me?
Whatever. If you want to do this do it and then tag me like I tagged you. I can edit this post later.
#Writing is hard#Challenge Accepted#Jessie Writes Destiel Fic#Finding six sentences is hard#I couldn't just cut Cas off in the middle of his rant that would have been rude
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