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deancaspinefest · 10 days

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Congratulations to all of the incredible artists and authors who participated in the eighth round of the Dean/Cas Pinefest!

Over the past month, 34 authors and 23 artists teamed up to share a collective 1,420,869 words of pine-filled fic and 117 works of art. The talent and artistry of this fandom absolutely floors us every year, and we're so happy that you're all still here sharing your wonderful creations with us 🌲

With that in mind, we'll definitely be back for more! An official announcement for the 2025 Pinefest -- our ninth year -- will come sometime in July. Follow us here on Tumblr to make sure you don’t miss out on any details!

Under the cut, you’ll find links to every fic & art masterpost from the 2024 round, and you can also check out the collection on Ao3. Make sure to let the authors and artists know how much you enjoyed their creations with a like, kudos, or best of all, a reblog, rec, or comment!

following the light

One Drop, when What You Need is the Ocean

Of Dust, Gunpowder and Holy Water

Books, Pies, and Roommates

A Fairy Tale Cliche!

All in Honesty

Another Kind of Memory

Not our kind of thing

Different Currencies

In The Dog Days

Whatever Makes You Happy

Significant severe

all that we intend

Something Happening Somewhen

Two Princes

Broken (The Worst Is Over Now)

Well, I Never Been To Heaven

The Reel Deal

A Fabulous Evening's Apocalypse

Foxfire

Super Double Bus

Suddenly I See

Lavender Fireflies

Heartland Flyer

Something Blue

Wouldn't It Be Nice

If Only You Return to Me

all out to sea

Dear Father

Opposites Distract

Faking It?

Given to Fly

Take The Long Way Home

A Glacial Pace

All caught up on this year’s crop of pine? There are 694 more works of art and 219 more fics to be found in the previous seven Pinefest rounds -- and if you're into numbers, you can find a full breakdown of this and past year’s stats here!

Until next time… happy pining!

#destiel fic #deancas fic #destiel art #deancas art #deancas masterpost #destiel masterpost #deancas pinefest #pinefest 2024 #dcpf 2024 #destiel challenge #deancas challenge #deancas fanfic #destiel fanfic

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casblackfeathers · 4 months

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The Stars Will Remember

fic by @casblackfeathers & art by @diminuel

Being a hunter was all Dean knew ever since his mother had been killed by a demon when he was four. Hunting, offing monsters, and then jumping to the next case was his life. Then he met the most alluring and breathtaking omega he had ever seen and spent the next five years loving the hell out of Cas, their life together filled with the domestic lovey-dovey stuff Dean had never thought he would dig so much. When a simple salt-and-burn goes sideways, it ends up with Cas’ memories stolen from him. Dean is left to pick up the pieces of the life they built together, his ‘make it up as he goes’ strategy to prove to his mate that Dean’s still worth a damn, his only chance at getting Cas back. He’s done a shitty-ass job at keeping Cas safe before, but he will pull out all the stops now to woo his mate again and stir the memories Dean knows are still there buried deep inside Cas’ mind.

Genre: amnesia, established relationship, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, alpha!dean, omega!castiel, hurt!castiel, protective!dean, romance, case fic Pairing: Dean/Castiel Rating: Explicit Word count: 60k

READ ON AO3

#destiel #fanfic #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #destiel fic #deancas fic #my writing #The Stars Will Remember #screaming crying throwing up!!!#I'm so excited about this #diminuel's art looks so freaking awesome😭😭

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naughtystiel · 3 months

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The Heartbreak Hotel | 19.6k

To say that Dean was unhappy would be an understatement. The past two years had been hard for him and he was stuck in a depressive limbo. On the day of his forty-fifth birthday, he found a business card lying on the pavement outside of a cafe. The problem was, there wasn't much on it; a name, a slogan and a phone number. The phone number that he found himself dialling as he sat in his car.

Now that he had a room booked, it was time to go and check what he got himself into. Would the Heartbreak Hotel turn out to be exactly what he needed all along?

#its finally here!!!#destiel #deancas #spn #destiel fic #supernatural #castiel #dean winchester #destiel fanfic #deancas fic #deancas fanfic #spn fic #spn fanfic #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #vmart #vin.txt

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sheepstiel · 5 months

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so I wrote a tiny fic in which dean prepares cas for his date with nora in episode 9x06 with some intricate chapstick rituals. can't let your buddy kiss a girl with chapped lips, huh? It's basically 2.6k of unresolved sexual tension. just buddies helping each other out by staring at each other's lips. you can read it here :)

#i haven't written fic in so long so i'm a little rusty #shout out to victoria angelsdean for beta-ing this one and especially for dealing with my punctuation mistakes <3 #deancas fanfic #destiel fanfic #sheep writes

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miriel-elenna · 2 months

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Dean didn't expect to make it three years.

Hell, let's be honest, after all the bullshit of his entire life, he hadn't expected to make it to the wedding, a wedding, any wedding. He'd given that dream up years ago, because no one in their right mind would look at Dean Winchester and think, yeap, that's they guy I'm gonna marry.

Lucky for Dean, Cas was crazy. Crazy like a fox. Which worked just fine since Dean wasn't exactly on his rocker either.

Dean was determined to not take any day, any second, for granted. He had plans. Schemes, even. He was gonna rock Cas' socks clear off.

It all started before the sun came up. For once, Dean was the early riser, too excited for the day to sleep too much. The February morning dawned clear and cold as Dean snuck around their house, quietly pulling things out and setting things up.

The breakfast nook was set up just so, the sunny yellow table cloth, flowers in a vase, and a new, leather-bound journal carefully placed beside Cas' plate, a honeycomb decorated pen clipped to the cover.

By the time Cas rolled out of bed, the coffee was already made and the bacon had just finished cooking. Dean poured batter into the Death Star waffle maker, one of their awesomer wedding gifts, as the floorboards creaked, announcing Cas' entrance into the kitchen.

Dean turned around, Cas' coffee mug in his hand, the special one from Jack that only a parent could love. Cas' eyes were still sleepy but soft as he looked at what was waiting for him.

Dean grinned and held out the steaming mug, "Happy anniversary, sweetheart."

Cas smiled and took the mug, taking a slow sip and then setting it down on the counter behind Dean. He reached up and placed his hand on Dean's cheek, drawing Dean into a slow, tender kiss.

"Good morning, my love," Cas said, voice still rough with sleep. They kissed again, impossible to stop at only one. "Happy anniversary," Cas murmured as two kisses turned into three, four, five.

The waffle maker beeped, time and space re-asserting themselves.

"Don't want the waffles to burn," Dean mumbled, before diving in to steal one last kiss from Cas' smiling lips.

Cas hummed and leaned back before Dean could steal another. "Wouldn't want to waste all of your hard work." He grabbed the plate of bacon off of the counter and took it to the table.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled with a grin. "Just save me some of the bacon this time, okay?"

"I make no promises," Cas said around the crunch of smoky, salty, meaty perfection.

"Love you too, asshole," Dean laughed, the sound of Cas' chuckle music in his ears.

The rest of the day went off without a hitch, Dean and Cas trading surprise gifts. When Dean went out to his wood shop to do a little work, soft new work gloves were waiting on his bench. A sturdy leather messenger bag, the White Tree of Gondor worked into the flap, was hanging on the hook by the door, a replacement for Cas' old, threadbare foraging bag. New boots were sitting by the back door when Dean came in for lunch, black and shiny and almost too nice to wear outside. Cas was wearing the belt that Dean had left coiled in the drawer, with that gaudy purple "Cowgirl" belt buckle leftover from their bachelor party, the one that matched the pink buckle stored in Dean's top drawer.

Dean might've had to open that belt up, get down on his knees, and indulge in a little afternoon delight right there in the kitchen. It hadn't been part of the plan but who gave a damn. The sight of Cas above him, panting, eyes closed and face flushed as he came down, was worth a little detour.

Or a long detour. Whatever. It was their anniversary, they could fuck if they wanted.

Dinner was candle-lit, because Dean was a romantic, goddamnit. The pot roast had been braising low and slow for most of the day and Cas had made the best cherry pie that Dean'd ever eaten.

Soon enough they were lazing on the couch, lamplight golden around them, watching the fire in the fireplace flicker and spark.

"I have another present for you," Cas said as his fingers combed slow and lazy through Dean's hair.

"Well ain't that lucky, cause I've got another one for you, too," Dean drawled.

Getting up from the couch was hard, but Dean'd been waiting for weeks to unveil this last gift.

The bundle he pulled out from its secret hidey hole in the back of the closet unfurled into a long leather coat, soft as butter and lined with wool.

"Oh, Dean, it's wonderful," Cas said. He pulled a box out from behind his back and they traded bundles.

Dean set the box down and lifted the lid carefully off. His eyes went wide when he saw what was inside, and he couldn't help bouncing and clapping his hands, just a little.

"Is that what I think it is?" Dean asked, voice a little breathless and a touch giddy.

"I'm afraid I've played right into your cowboy fetish," Cas said with a long-suffering sigh. He reached around Dean and pulled the cowboy hat out and placed it on Dean's head. It fit perfectly. Of course it did.

Cas' arms were secure around Dean's waist and he dropped a kiss on the back of Dean's neck. "I love you, Dean."

Dean turned in his arms and kissed him soundly on the lips. "I love you, too. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

He pulled out of Cas' arms and grabbed his wrist, tugging him urgently toward the bedroom. "Come on, buddy. I've got a cowboy to ride."

Cas groaned, but followed quickly behind him. "I've created a monster."

The hat, of course, stayed on the whole time.

Now posted to AO3 as Three Year Gone

#supernatural #destiel #deancas #deancas fanfic #destielvalentineexchange2024 #destiel fanfic #what can i say it's their third anniversary and im inspired #spn #miriel writes

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dcwildwestfest · 8 months

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Mod's "Most Wanted" - Destiel Western Recs

Howdy! Here are a few fic recs to get you in that Wild West spirit! 🤠

The Shawnee Trail | emmbrancsxx0 (@valleydean)

In 1887, Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak lead a peaceful life in Lawrence, Kansas. Dean and Sam are stagecoach messengers for Wells, Fargo and Castiel is the town doctor. When Castiel's patient, Kelly Kline, knocks on their door one night about to give birth, she asks for the Winchesters and Castiel's help in protecting her son against one of the west's most notorious outlaws. To fulfill that promise, the men set out on a journey full of shootouts, trouble with the law, gambling, and an important discovery: Dean and Castiel really need to define the nature of their relationship.

Hunter's Caress | Ltleflrt (@ltleflrt)

Castiel Jameson won't rest until the outlaw who murdered his brother faces justice, and Dean Winchester is the only man alive who can help him track the villain down. Some say Winchester is a cold-blooded killer himself; others say he'd been wronged his whole life. All Castiel knows is that the desire glinting in Dean's green eyes is even more dangerous than he is. Castiel fights to keep his mind on business, but during the long nights on the trail with the dangerously handsome hunter he finds himself dreaming of yielding to Dean's illicit kisses and losing himself in lawless passion. Dean Winchester is about to hang when Castiel saves his neck with his crazy plan. But dying might be better than spending day and night playing nursemaid to such an infuriating city slicker. He appreciates the stubborn detective's desire for justice, but he'd appreciate Cas a lot more if he'd stop being a lawman long enough to just be a man. He certainly has all the right equipment. Dean aches to run his fingers through Castiel's dark hair, yearns to know how Castiel's golden skin will feel against him. And before the coming of the next dawn, Dean vows to teach him the pleasures and sweet rewards of a Hunter's Caress.

Wheat Fields and Jars of Light | krisham, violue (@violue)

It's the mid-1880s. Grieving the loss of his twin brother, Castiel Novak is on a journey across Kansas to search for those responsible for his death. By horse, by carriage, by foot, he won't stop until he's hunted them down and gotten his revenge. What he finds, though, is that nothing in the world is quite what he thought it was.

Vagabonds | chevrolangels (@chevrolangels)

Dean is a sheriff in a tiny town in Colorado, restless and unsatisfied with his life. It's not like what he's read about in the dime novels since he was little, capturing dangerous outlaws and being the last word of the law. More like tossing the town drunk in a cell to sober up when they get a little too rowdy. But Dean's chance comes when a thief rolls through their town. He pursues the thief, which puts him right into the path of Emmanuel, a notorious outlaw. When he is captured by the outlaw and his gang to be held for ransom, Dean starts off on a journey he could have never envisioned, and learns that perhaps there's more to Emmanuel than meets the eye.

West (series) | Xela

Dean/Castiel set against the backdrop of the Wild West. In which Dean and Sam are Outlaw Hunters, and Castiel is a religious man.

4:08 to Tombstone | zuzeca (@lyresnake)

When minor outlaw Dean Winchester's beloved brother ended up on the wrong side of a robber baron with yellow eyes and a sadistic streak, Dean never expected to wind up in the Arizona Territory’s most notorious prison: The Pit. Nor did he expect, after years on the rack, to be sprung by former Federal Marshal and man of the cloth, Reverend Castiel Milton. Now, on the run from corrupt lawman Warden Alastair, the two men must learn to trust each other, or hang. When Castiel, lesser seraph of the Lord, descended into Hell to help rescue the Righteous Man, he never expected to be unwillingly cast in Dean Winchester’s repressed bisexual cowboy fantasy.

Sign-ups for the DeanCas Wild West Fest open September 6th!

Check out the official rules, guidelines, and schedule here!

#dwwf #deancas wild west fest #fic recs #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #western au

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heller-castiel · 1 year

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Holy Palmers’ Bloody Kiss (10k)

It’s nice, getting to take care of his family, getting to heal his family. Dean’s always been looking out for everyone else, was raised for it, bred for it even, and he’s made his peace with that. Held his baby brother in his arms and he knew what he was made for, going to sleep in beige hotel rooms stained in dark browns and reds with a baby in one hand and a revolver in the other.

He’s never gotten to offer healing, saving, before. It’s the first time since he was a kid that looking out for family didn’t mean guns and death and revenge.

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfic #dean winchester #castiel #deancas

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abi-cosmos · 1 year

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destiel fic library

Hi! I'm abi, and I like to bend canon to suit all my whims and fancies.

I’ve finally done a masterpost of all my fics so far, everything is Castiel/Dean Winchester but as always: check the tags.

I mostly write canonverse, drowning in angst, and preferably explicit.

Always a happy ending.

15k+:

finale fix-it set after 15x19 > conversations with you (M)

dean is cursed by a djinn > this bitter nightcall (E)

castiel is human, but they aren’t on speaking terms; two person love triangle set in s9 > salt & iron (E, written for DCBB ‘22)

AU 15k+:

coffeeshop au; librarian castiel is tasked with fixing up his dad’s bookshop, and barista dean from next door helps > the barista and the bookshop (E, written for Pinefest ‘23)

serial killer au; sam is dead and dean needs a place to rest up, he answers a ‘roommate wanted’ advertisement stuck to the window of a coffee shop and meets professor castiel > like ivy (E, written for DeanCasHorrorfest ‘23)

one-shots:

cas gives dean a shoulder massage > touch-starved (M)

flirting behaviour > dean and cas play nsfw scrabble (M)

post-confession reunion > kissing is the most fun dean winchester can have without taking his clothes off (but it’s better if he does) (E)

collections/series’:

dean gives cas the mixtape > dean and cas - mixtape collection (G,M,E)

various smut > spoiler alert: they fuck (E)

g: general m: mature e: explicit

#destiel #destiel fanfic #deancas #deancas fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic writers #abi pins #destiel smut #destiel angst #ao3 writers

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amaranthhiding · 24 days

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Indeana Jones and the Tear of Pele

My fic for the Dean/Cas Reverse Bang 2024 that I've been pouring my heart and soul into for the last few months.

Art by Aggiedoll

Castiel POV

"So…," Dean bridged the gap of their sudden silence. "What's on your bucket list?"

"What?" Castiel asked, wondering what would happen if he simply gave in to his fingers' itching desire to reach out and slide over Dean's arm. Now that he'd gotten another brief taste of it, the urge to feel, to sense, to touch was so much harder to rein in, lighting up the nerves in fingertips that were his alone again after all the time he'd spent locked into his own mind without any control over this body.

"Not in general," Dean clarified nothing whatsoever. "I sure hope you ain't gonna kick the bucket any time soon. Or, like, at all. I just mean while we're here."

Castiel had to admit that standing so close to Dean really impacted his ability to focus, celestial being or not. He could only make half a sense out of this string of words. If he didn't know any better, he'd think Dean was covering some kind of nervousness with the way he kept interrupting himself by adding more sentences. Only that there was no discernible thing for him to be nervous about. There was nothing but them and the open sea.

Dean POV

The frog chirped and hopped away with one long leap. Running on intuition more than any logical reasoning, Dean pushed aside the fern that the animal had disappeared behind, uncovering an opening in the ground. He pulled out his phone and activated the flashlight, shining down into what seemed to be a steep, narrow tunnel leading down into pitch black.

He hated narrow fucking tunnels. A small part of his brain still seemed to be functional enough to have his phone send Sam his coordinates with a brief 'Just in case'. Then he stowed the device back in his pocket and covered his face in his hands, dreading what came next.

Cas, he reminded himself. He was doing this to get Cas back.

Words: 32,679 Rating: Explicit Tags: Canon Universe, Post-Season 11, Beach Vacation, Fantasy Adventure, Humor, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fallen Angel Castiel, Castiel's True Form, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Dean in Denial, Dean Makes Up Excuses for Touch, Castiel Uses Sarcasm, Slow Burn, Castiel Goes Missing, Castiel and Dean Save Each Other

Link to Fic Link to Art

Reblogs are much appreciated! <3

Taglist under the cut.

@samsrowena @suninjang @typicalrowena @jomybeloved @thefandomsinhalor @butch--dean @fanficlounge @cocklesdestielfiction @destielficbasket @romachebella

If you'd like to be added/removed from my taglist for Destiel and/or Samwena content, let me know in a reblog, reply, or personal message. :)

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casblackfeathers · 11 months

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Strawberry Moon

written by @casblackfeathers

As a child, Castiel used to fall asleep with his mother telling him bedtime stories of the prophecy she had foreseen for him — how the Strawberry Moon would one day reveal the familiar he was destined to be with. However, it’s been twelve years since the heart-wrenching day Castiel last saw the one he hoped was meant for him, and at twenty-eight, with his magic quickly dwindling, he knows better than to keep believing in such foolish dreams. Castiel's resolve falters with the return of his long-ago teenage crush, Dean. The familiar’s evergreen eyes and rainbow aura are still as captivating, but his past is shrouded in mystery, one that could hold the answer to what drove them apart all those years ago. Maybe the peculiar tabby cat who seems to have taken a liking to Castiel is what it takes to make Castiel believe in the moon with shades of pink again.

Genre: Romance, fantasy, magic, witches/familiars, fluff, angst with a happy ending, reunion au, modern setting Pairing: Dean/Castiel Rating: Explicit Word count: 85k

READ ON AO3

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #deancas fanfic #deancas fic #dean winchester #castiel #my writing #Strawberry Moon

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naughtystiel · 6 months

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the last step is the hardest part | 14.5k

Dean and Castiel had been flatmates for almost six years now, but in the past eleven months things started to change. Technically nothing out of the ordinary, but the touches and glances just didn't feel like ones shared between friends anymore. Or maybe Dean was just reading too much into it and those weren't hints at all?

A BIRTHDAY GIFT FOR @malicmalic <3

#Destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #deancas #deancas fic #deancas fanfic #castiel #dean winchester #spn #spn fic #spn fanfic #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #vmart #Vin.jpg #Vince writes

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sheepstiel · 10 months

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"Those fish are like. Staring. For realsies."

The Jensen Mistake by @fellshish

Reverse French Mistake. Jensen Ackles travels to the Supernatural universe because he hates the season 15 finale and wants to save Dean's life. Okay fine, and fix Destiel.

I had the incredible honor to illustrate Jensen telepatically communicating with his fish for my favorite bedtime story by @fellshish as a commission :)

#deancas fanfic #destiel fanfic #sheep draws #does this count as rpf? 😄

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dcforts · 7 months

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[Steve and I]

5.9k. S09E06 fanfiction gap but Cas has a flat. Domestic, light angst. theirprofoundbond - thank you for all the work that you've done to help me with this one and all the kind words and you gifted me with. Read on ao3

Steve signed the lease a little over a month ago. It’s a second-story one-bedroom, in a building that is just two narrow flights of stairs, flickering ceiling lights and dirty carpets.

Cas doesn’t tell Dean that, he just gives him directions and points to a parking space out front. When the Impala quiets down, Dean doesn’t ask any questions and Cas is grateful for that. He fishes his keys from his pocket and leads him inside.

He says, “It’s a good neighborhood,” as they climb up, because that’s what you’re supposed to say. It’s what his landlady said when she led him up the first time, maybe to distract him from the cracks in the walls and the smell of laundry detergents coming from the laundromat next door.

He says that, even if Dean knows better than anyone that you can’t really be safe, no matter where you are, and even if it wouldn’t really make a difference for Cas who, grace or not, could still kill a man in the blink of an eye.

Dean follows him inside, past the little entryway and into the living room.

Cas turns on the lights and walks across the dusty carpet and around the coffee table to get to the window and open it. The cold evening air brings in noises from the street and allows him to breathe more easily. For a moment, in the dark and the musty air, it felt like being underwater.

Dean says, “Hey, it’s not bad,” only a beat too late. He looks around, nodding to himself. “Yeah. Nice, uh, couch.”

It’s a simply distributed space; if one drew it from above, it would resemble a square, divided up into uneven boxes facing each other in pairs. On one side the living room and the bedroom, and on the opposite one, the kitchen and the bathroom. Dean could tour the whole thing in fifteen steps or fewer if he so wished.

It seems even smaller with him in it now.

“Everything here came with the apartment,” Cas says.

It’s not exactly true. In the kitchen, on the wall just behind the fridge, there’s a complimentary calendar that he got from a shipment of energy drinks. Cas brought it home and hung it there, because Steve needs to pay attention to what month it is and what day it is—he has rent to pay, shifts at work, bills and deadlines.

Cas painted wards and sigils on walls and floors; Steve covered them up with dull paintings and soft carpets.

Nora gave Steve a succulent that sits on the windowsill of his bedroom. Cas only remembers to check on it when he is in bed, and he turns on his side. Most of the time, he’s too tired to get up again, says to himself he’ll do it in the morning, then he forgets again.

Cas doesn’t care about furniture; he doesn’t care about things. About the old couch that groans when you sit on it, about the low batteries in the TV remote. He doesn’t care about the dust in the empty flower vase on the shelf or the light in the bathroom that goes out sometimes.

Steve does. When he comes home after a ten-hour shift, the couch does not help his stiff and aching back. When he gets up at night to go to the bathroom, he has to be careful not to trip over things in the dark. Steve minds about furniture, about having hot water, a working washing machine and a window that opens all the way.

Cas doesn’t care about having a home, but Steve does, so now Cas has an address and a mailbox.

Steve needs so many things, some days Cas can barely keep up.

Dean is still standing there and seems unsure what to do. Cas can’t bear the sight of him in the apartment. This wasn’t something he’d ever planned on seeing, but nothing had gone according to his plans today.

He puts down the keys he realizes he’s still clenching and goes back toward the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?” he says, because that’s what you’re supposed to say when you have people over at your apartment. He’s seen it on TV plenty of times.

He stands in front of the open fridge and scans the shelves—the carton of eggs, the half-eaten burrito, the jar of grape jelly—and says, “I only have water.”

“Water is fine,” Dean says, his voice a little strained.

This entire situation must make him as uncomfortable as Cas is. He’d followed him to the threshold of the kitchen and it looks like he’s feeling larger than he is, one shoulder pressing against the door frame. His gaze wanders over the surroundings: the beige walls, the bowl of bananas and oranges on the table and the teaspoon on the edge of the sink.

That morning Steve had used it to stir his coffee and then forgot to wash it. He was distracted because he was checking his mail. He collects it at night, but sometimes he’s too tired to look at it before bed and he leaves it for the morning.

Dean doesn’t comment on any of it. “Are you alright?” he asks, as Cas hands him a tall glass with his bandaged hand.

“It’s just a cut.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Dean says.

Cas walks past him. “I’m fine.”

He goes back to the entryway to take off his shoes and put them away and he feels Dean watching him from around the corner. He senses that he has no intention of letting go of the conversation.

“That angel—he came for you, didn’t he?”

Cas sucks in a breath. He’d known the question was coming; he’d spent the silent journey over dreading it and wondering how much Dean had heard of his conversation with Ephraim. He really doesn’t want to talk about what he said; he doesn’t even want to think about it.

“Because you’re in pain,” Dean adds.

Cas keeps his eyes on the ground and wonders if Dean is thinking about that night not that long ago, when he’d confessed how much guilt he was carrying. I might kill myself.

“He was mistaken.”

Dean doesn’t buy it. “So you’re fine. We’re gonna leave it at that?” he insists.

Cas fixes his eyes on the pea-green wallpaper in front of him. “Ephraim is gone and I’m tired. I’ve got work in the morning.”

“Right, yeah,” Dean says, sounding weird again. He shifts on the spot, looks down at his water. “I should, uh—”

Cas doesn’t meet his eyes but he says, “You can stay. The couch is a pull-out.”

Dean says okay, then, even though there’s a motel room already paid for with all his stuff in it. He says okay, even though the living room window doesn’t have blinds or curtains to keep the light out and Cas has no spare pillow.

Cas goes over to the couch and starts removing the cushions.

“You don’t need to do that,” Dean says, but Cas doesn’t stop maneuvering the coffee table out of the way.

“You have a long drive tomorrow.”

And there’s that.

There’s a big blinking neon sign on the other side of the street that paints Cas’ bedroom walls in red and pink and purple. Cas rarely bothers with turning on the lights in this room. The landlady promised to get Steve some heavy curtains, but she hasn’t come back yet. Cas doesn’t mind. One night the sign was down for maintenance, and he had trouble falling asleep without its constant shifting colors.

He’s looking for clean sheets while Dean uses his little bathroom, and then all of a sudden he’s standing in the doorway, as if hesitant to come in for some reason. He’s only in his jeans.

“Do you have a T-shirt I could borrow?”

Cas goes to the dresser where Steve keeps his T-shirts—he’d paid ten dollars for a pack of three—and picks a dark one for Dean. He smells of the shower gel with the tropical fruit on the bottle.

Cas got it because the ads say it will nourish and soften his skin and Steve’s skin gets dry when it’s windy. He also has shaving cream in the cabinet, a razor, a toothbrush, a box of bandaids. Sometimes Cas stops and looks at Steve in the mirror and asks himself if he’ll ever get used to it, to being this, just this. Sometimes he lies in bed and watches the ceiling change colors and wonders how long he will need to wait before he stops feeling fragile.

“Do you want me to take a look at that?” Dean asks, gesturing with his chin to his bandaged hand.

“I’ll do it,” Cas says and he knows this rejection will unnerve Dean more than his refusal to talk. He reminds Cas of a bug bumping against a window, but Cas isn’t ready for him to take a look inside yet, let alone come in.

Dean clenches his jaw for just a moment, then lets it go. Cas follows him to the living room with clean sheets in his arms and makes the pull-out bed while Dean pokes around in his kitchen, with the excuse of getting another glass of water. Cas hears him open cabinets and pull out drawers. It seems like it didn’t take him long to make himself at home.

Cas isn’t sure he likes that.

Maybe it’s because it still hurts. When he got to the bunker, he’d thought that he had nothing to worry about anymore, and what he had gone through since the fall had just been a rocky journey to get back home. He wasn’t alone, he had simply been misplaced, but now he could rest.

He’d been naive. Dean had made it clear that he didn’t belong there, and it was a confusing truth he had to learn to accept. And yet, it still hurts. He’d thought it didn’t anymore; he’d thought the bitterness had left him but maybe it doesn’t happen like that. Maybe it lingers and lingers. You think it’s gone, but it’s not. Maybe he won’t ever be rid of it.

Cas thought he had been hurt before. For sure, he had felt sorrow and disappointment.

But the open wound inside his chest is a crater, and it’s swallowed him, and he has to make his way back out and he’s not sure he’s there yet.

He’s exhausted though, especially tonight, with the things Ephraim said still ringing, true and inevitable, in his ears.

Dean pops his head through the kitchen door. “Do you cook?”

“Occasionally.”

“Really?” He sounds surprised. “What d’you make?”

“Eggs.”

Steve likes eggs in the morning, with coffee—two sugars. But not orange juice. It makes his stomach burn for hours. He breaks and scrambles one egg in a pan with butter and pepper. Some days, Steve is so tired the eggshell breaks in small pieces and the kitchen gets dirty, and sometimes he wakes up late and rushes through the door. He eats a donut at work—but only the pink kind. The chocolate ones have a weird aftertaste.

“That it?”

“I have lunch at work, and I buy something for dinner on the way home.”

And if he’s too tired to stand in line or doesn’t feel like eating anything, there’s always peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Dean nods thoughtfully.

Cas thinks he’s passed some sort of test, but maybe not with the highest of grades, because Dean adds, “You— I mean, you’re eating enough, right?”

Oh, so he does worry.

Cas thinks of that time he’d had expired food and stayed awake the whole night: his stomach cramping, face pressed against the cool surface of his bathroom tiles, dreading the next wave of nausea, thinking he was going to die, his thumb hovering over Dean’s name in his contacts more times than he feels comfortable remembering. Wishing to hear his voice.

Not calling.

“I think so,” Cas says.

Dean slips out of his jeans and sits on the edge of the bed that groans under his weight.

Cas should go and take care of his hand. Steve needs to sleep; he has tomorrow’s opening shift. New products to shelve and customers to serve. Usually at this time of night, Steve has already turned in.

But when he starts for the bathroom, Dean says, “Hey, wait,” and Cas has no choice but to stop, because Dean is here now, in the middle of his living room, and Dean unbalances everything.

“You don’t wanna talk about it—that’s fine. I just wanna say that whatever Ephraim told you, you don’t need to listen to him. You got a good thing going here. You got a job, you got a place for yourself. You got a chance to get out. Like, really get out.”

Something colors Dean’s voice that makes Cas suspicious. He doesn’t want to start a conversation, but he can recognize when Dean’s trying to say something without saying it.

“I have a responsibility toward my kind. Even if I can’t do much, I should try.”

“I know,” he says, but he’s fidgeting. “It’s just too dangerous out there right now. You said it yourself: after what happened with Metatron, angels are all over, looking for you.”

Cas holds his gaze and doesn’t say anything. Dean blinks one too many times. There’s something he’s not telling him, Cas knows.

“I’m just saying,” he starts again, and goes on as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “I get that you want to make things right, but maybe you can wait a little longer?”

His words hang in the air. Cas studies the way Dean’s eyebrows arch over his eyes, the tight lines around his mouth. He’s still convinced he can hide things from Cas, maybe now more than ever, but Cas sees him. Dean always forgets that.

“What is it?” Cas finally asks, fixing his gaze on Dean.

That’s all it takes. Dean sighs and it’s as much as a confession.

“Crowley said there’s no reversing the spell,” he says then, and he looks like he’s bracing himself for Cas’ reaction.

Somehow though, it doesn’t come as a blow. It doesn’t hurt him, it doesn’t shake his world. Cas registers Dean’s words and he surprises himself by thinking that he’s not broken by them.

He never expected that it would be easy for things to go back to they were.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t go back,” he reasons. “We can still find a way.”

“So you wanna go back.”

Cas is taken by surprise, not so much by his words, but by the way Dean blurts them out, almost as if they had escaped before he could control them—urgent, as if he could be directly affected by his choice. Cas can’t understand what difference it makes to Dean if Cas is on Earth or not, when he’s the one who sent him away in the first place.

“I don’t want to be trapped,” he says, a kind way out of a reply, and he feels his good hand close in a fist. This is not where he was supposed to be, where he was born to be.

Of course, he doesn’t want to leave Earth—not forever. Even back when he’d thought he was closing the Gates of Heaven, he was leaving because he had no other choice, and coming to terms with that was one of the hardest things Cas had ever done.

Dean acts as if he doesn’t know that, and maybe he really doesn’t. But Cas is still in pain and won’t clear that up for him; he won’t show himself needy of his company and his time.

“Yeah, no, I get that,” Dean says, but he sounds like he got the opposite of what Cas was trying to say. Cas won’t correct his misunderstandings. Not tonight. He’s feeling weak enough.

Cas leaves the room; there is not much else to say.

The springs of the mattress Dean is sleeping on groan whenever he moves.

Cas hears him from his bedroom. They groan and groan and groan. It makes it impossible for Cas to relax enough to fall asleep, even though he’s exhausted and the wound on his hand has started throbbing again.

He’d disinfected it and wrapped it in clean bandages, but he doesn’t have any painkillers, so he grinds his teeth and hopes it’ll be morning before he realizes.

The mattress groans and groans and then, when Cas resigns himself to the fact that he won’t get any sleep, the sound suddenly stops. Dean could have managed to fall asleep but somehow Cas doesn’t think that’s the case. The hair on the back of his neck stands up when he hears Dean’s footsteps coming toward his bedroom.

There’s a moment of silence and Cas doesn’t dare turn around. Then the bathroom door shuts and he lets out a breath.

The toilet flushes a few moments later, the door opens, and again, silence.

Cas frowns, rolls onto his back to find Dean standing there, just a dark silhouette in the door in the purple light—still behind that invisible wall that won’t let him cross the threshold.

“Dean?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” he says, “Sorry, uh, I can’t sleep on that bed so…”

The neon blinks in pink and Cas notices Dean’s wearing his jeans again. The thought of him slipping into the night, and Cas finding nothing but an empty apartment in the morning, has his heart pounding in his chest.

“You can sleep in here,” he says, and his voice sounds broken and loud.

“Uh, you don’t ha— I’ll be fine on the floor with just an extra blanket or something.”

The color in the room changes again. Dean wasn’t going to leave. Cas is confused by his emotions; his heart won’t behave, his ears start ringing, his insides burning. He didn’t want him here in the first place, so why does the thought of him going away hurt so much?

“I don’t have an extra blanket,” he says in the end, and then scoots over and gives him his back. “It’s late,” he adds and hopes it’s enough to end the conversation.

“Alright,” comes Dean’s voice, and then there is the sound of footsteps, his jeans hitting the floor and then the comforter is lifting, the mattress sinking.

Cas still can’t relax. Not when he can feel the tension in the room, Dean’s body rigid on the bed and his intakes of breath telling him that he’s getting ready to speak.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

“Cas?”

Cas had thought he wanted an apology from Dean more than anything.

He thought about it at night, imagined what he would say if he called, if he wrote it in a text message, if he showed up at his door. But when Dean says, “I’m sorry,” right there and then, Cas realizes he doesn’t need it anymore. He has forgiven him already.

“I know I let you down,” Dean says, “I should be here for you.”

And Cas had thought about what to say to him a million times. To make him feel worse, to spike his guilt, to reject him completely.

He can’t do it. He’s never wanted to be one of the things Dean blames himself for. He won’t be one of them tonight, either.

There’s an open wound inside his chest, but telling Dean how much he’d hurt him would only make it deeper.

He says the only thing that feels true. He says, “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not okay though, are you?”

Cas doesn’t know if he can find the right words to explain how he feels.

He rolls onto his back, fixes his eyes on the ceiling and watches it as it changes: red, purple, pink, and red again.

He tries, “I’m not myself.”

Dean shifts on his spot and now he’s looking at him. Cas can feel his gaze and knows Dean is frowning.

“What do you mean?” It comes as a whisper, worry bracketing each of his words.

“I don’t know who I am.”

“You’re Cas,” Dean says with a familiar high note of stubbornness and confusion.

That’s probably what does it. Cas’ lips start trembling, his eyes prickling. There’s a sudden lump in his throat, his chest starts hurting, and then there are hot tears spilling from the corners of his eyes, rolling down his temples and disappearing into his hair. The tickling sensation on his skin and in his nose is not entirely unpleasant, but he has to keep swallowing and can’t bring himself to talk.

Dean sees all of it. He stays absolutely still but when he speaks, every word is soaked in a softness that makes him feel even closer than he is.

“You’re still an angel. Without grace, okay, but that doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change who you are,” he says, and he sounds like he knows for sure.

Cas knows this is hard on Dean. To see his tears and to know that this time he can’t say what he usually says: I’ll take care of it, I’ll figure something out, Let me handle this. Because tomorrow he’ll be gone. He’ll hop in his car and drive away, and nothing will change that. So he can’t take Cas' burden now, like he always tries to do, like he does with everyone else.

“You’re still you,” he keeps going. “And you know, I really meant what I said earlier. You are doing one hell of a job, managing all this on your own. Being human sucks. Like, truly, sucks. Of course you hate it.”

Dean’s words have a tentative lightness to them and Cas knows he’s trying to cheer him up so he makes an effort to smile. He takes a deep breath and glances at him.

“I don’t hate it,” he says, his voice still a little broken. “I just… want my grace back. I want to feel like myself again.”

Cas doesn’t look away from him and doesn’t move a muscle, not even when Dean says, “Okay,” and reaches out with one hand to rub away a tear on his temple. The touch is unexpected, and Cas eyes’ close on their own for a moment. Dean is serious now. “We’ll get it back.”

In Dean’s eyes Cas finds something that, incredibly, resembles understanding. Does he understand? Is he comparing Cas’ grace being ripped from him with the bite of the Hellhounds tearing him apart? Is he thinking of Hell consuming his soul? Is he thinking of losing Sam?

Cas doesn’t know, but somehow the understanding is there, and there’s no need for him to say more.

“I’ll start looking as soon as I get back, okay?” Dean says.

Cas nods and his tears are replaced with a calm certainty: that Dean is here, that he himself is not completely lost, that there’s a possibility to feel whole again. He doesn’t even remember how he could have thought everything was so hopeless.

“Okay,” he says, and worries that he will feel silly and ashamed once Dean turns around again, and the moment will be gone. But Dean stays where he is. He settles down on his side with his head on his arm because the only pillow is too small for the both of them.

“You’ll be alright,” he says, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing once. Next to Dean, Cas believes it.

Slowly, Dean’s breathing evens out. The rhythm is so familiar that Cas' body relaxes to it. He has lost count of how many hours he spent in a dark room with this sound, back when he used to watch over him while he slept.

Cas lets out a deep breath and closes his eyes. Then he feels it—a touch on his shoulder again, Dean’s fingertips on the fabric of his sleeve, then the same featherlight touch of a knee against his bare thigh, right below the hem of his boxer shorts. No real pressure, just a light contact, but it starts a gentle prickle that travels through Cas’ body and fills his chest and limbs. He’s never felt anything like it.

Cas keeps his eyes closed and his body still and he falls asleep like that, thinking that Dean has never been close to him like this before. Whether it’s chemistry or instinct, maybe it’s now and it’s here, because somehow humanity makes him more accessible, more recognizable to Dean: the warmth of his skin, the smell of his body, the beating of his heart.

And so maybe there is, at last, something Cas can be grateful to Steve for.

It’s not quite morning when Cas wakes up. He doesn’t need an alarm. Even when Steve gets a day off, Cas still wakes up very early.

He doesn’t like lingering in bed for too long, because his mind gets busy with thoughts and memories, and he has to occupy his hands to make them go away. But Steve needs his rest on his days off, so Cas stays under the blanket until his bladder or his stomach start complaining.

This morning, his limbs feel heavy and his nose is stuffy, and he can’t remember why.

He reaches out to grab his phone and check the time, and it’s the hand with the bandage that reminds him what happened the day before.

It reminds him that this morning is nothing like every other morning, that there’s someone lying next to him, and that someone is Dean. He can feel the heat of his body warming his back.

He sits up on his side of the bed and only then dares to look over his shoulder. Yes, Dean is still there, asleep on his stomach, one arm bent under his head, Cas’ shirt stretched over his shoulders.

Dean probably senses his gaze, because he opens his eyes and looks back at him, his signature morning pout on his lips.

Cas thinks he must make quite a sight; with the window behind his back, he must be just a silhouette against the weak morning light, his hair sticking up, his clothes wrinkled.

He wants to speak, but he’s forgotten the first thing people usually say to each other in the morning.

Dean’s brain must still be foggy because he doesn’t comment on the fact that Cas is just staring at him. After a moment, he blinks and yawns and lets out a mumbled “You got a really nice bed,” as if it isn’t just a mattress and a metal frame.

“Thank you,” Cas says, and only then remembers that what he was supposed to say was, Good morning.

It’s too late now, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

“What time is it?”

“Five-thirty.”

Dean smiles in bliss. His eyes are glassy. “I haven’t slept six hours in a long time.” He yawns again. “You getting up?”

“Yes, but you can stay longer,” Cas says. “I’m going to get dressed.”

Dean nods and rubs his face and then follows Cas with his gaze while he gathers things around the room.

“I’ll be up in a sec. I’m gonna make you eggs,” he says.

He’s pulled Steve’s pillow to his side and made himself comfortable again, stretching his legs and taking up space. Cas can’t resist turning to watch him from the door. He looks like a dream in the early morning light.

Dean’s eyes are still on him and Cas suddenly feels exposed, with his bare thighs and calves. He’s seen Dean in various states of undress plenty of times, but he’s not sure Dean’s ever seen him, and he doesn’t know what it means that he’s watching.

“Okay,” Cas agrees. After last night, it’s an easy concession to make. The corner of Dean’s mouth quirks up, and Cas feels himself mirroring him.

Dean is a great cook. Cas has heard him boast about it in the past, but this is the first time that he’s tried his cooking.

His eggs are good, more savory and less runny than his, and they come with toast.

“I never have toast with my eggs,” Cas comments.

“What’s with all the bread, then?”

“It’s for PB&J.”

That makes Dean snort a laugh. He’d moved the bowl with the fruit to the counter next to the sink and poured coffee into two mismatched mugs. Now, he sits across from him and digs into his plate.

He’s already dressed, shoes on too. Cas doesn’t mention that he’s still wearing the T-shirt he borrowed. He’s pretty sure the black one he had on before is still where he left it, on the hook behind his bathroom door, and he wants to keep it that way.

The time is running out and he doesn’t know how to convince himself there’s no point in wishing it could stop.

“You can use bread to do lots of things,” Dean is saying. “Ever had French toast?”

Cas shakes his head.

“Alright, I’ll make you some next time.”

“Next time?” Cas repeats, almost losing his grip on the mug he’s bringing to his lips.

Dean puts down his fork, picks it up again, avoids his gaze. “I just thought— It’s not that I want to bring the bad guys to your door, obviously, but maybe I could slip out here sometimes. I’d be careful.”

Cas' face must be asking, Why?, because Dean rushes to add, “Just, you know, to see how you’re doing.” He massages one of his thighs out of nervousness, then in a light tone, he says, “First thing, I’m buying you groceries, replacing that couch, and fixing the light in the bathroom.”

Cas puts down his coffee mug, anger rising in his chest. “No.”

Dean hadn’t expected that. His face crumbles all at once, showing hurt and confusion. “Wh—?”

“You can come here, but as a friend. I don’t want a caretaker.”

“What?” he exclaims in disbelief. “I didn’t say that.”

“I’m serious, Dean.” Cas clenches his jaw; this is the last thing he wanted. “I don’t need your pity and I don’t need you to parent me.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “That’s not what I meant!” he says, raising his voice. He gets up and circles around his chair, taking a moment to calm down. “Jesus, Cas, I don’t wanna be your parent. I know you don’t need me, I just—” He sighs, frustrated, shakes his head. “I— I didn’t mean that,” he says, looking up at him like he does sometimes when he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

Cas knows that look. It takes all the fight out of him. Without the anger, all that’s left is the knowledge that Dean might come back and this might not be the only morning they spend in this kitchen. It’s an unbearable thought, difficult to grasp—almost as difficult as it had been to imagine Dean here before yesterday. “Well then, in that case, it’s fine, I’d like that,” Cas says, and Dean deflates in front of him like a balloon.

Cas takes the dishes to the sink, gives them a quick wash. He wonders what happens now.

“Are you leaving right away?” he asks, sneaking a glance over his shoulder.

“Nah, I can give you a ride to work,” Dean says casually. And then, in a different tone, he adds, “Go on, go brush your teeth and get your jacket.”

Cas throws him a look, his mouth already open in protest, but Dean is grinning at him. “Just kidding.”

Cas rolls his eyes.

The ride is quiet and the closer they get, the sadder Cas feels.

It’s a dull pain that presses down the corners of his mouth and makes him clench a fist, irrationally resenting green lights and empty roads, pedestrians that wait on the sidewalk instead of crossing and slowing them down.

Dean talks about getting Cas a car and doesn’t seem to mind or notice that Cas barely responds. He’s probably just doing it to fill the silence. He stops in front of the entrance, and Cas doesn’t expect him to, but he turns off the engine and gets out to say goodbye.

He lingers in front of Cas, his eyes wandering from him to the Gas-n-Sip windows, to the gas pump, down to the asphalt, up to Cas again.

Cas is no fool; he knows that it could be a long time before they see each other again.

“Let me know if you see any of the angels,” Cas says to stop that line of thought. “They may despise me, but they know we need to work together.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean says, a wrinkle in between his eyebrows.

“Say hello to Sam for me.”

Dean sets his jaw and doesn’t say anything, and Cas feels there’s something there he doesn’t know. But they’ve run out of time. He takes a step forward and hugs him.

Hugging him as a human is different. It’s warmer, for one thing. Cas feels his own breath pushing his chest against Dean’s, his heart picking up the pace. And then there’s the scent of him. Cas can’t resist leaning his head into the crook of Dean’s neck, to feel his warm skin against his cheek, breathe him in.

Dean’s hands come up after only a moment to rest under his shoulder blades. He lets Cas hold him for longer than he thought he would.

“Hey,” he says then. “You can call me anytime—you know that, right?”

Cas nods, takes a breath, and steps away.

Dean seems sad now. He flashes a smile, but it’s not genuine. He looks like he’s about to say I’m sorry again. Cas wishes he wouldn’t, and thankfully he doesn’t.

Instead he says, “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Cas tries to smile, too, but he thinks it comes out all wrong. “I’ll see you soon.”

"Yeah,” Dean says, now walking backward. “Buy me a pillow, will you?” He points and flashes another of his fake smiles. He gets to the car door. “Toothbrush, too.”

“Okay,” Cas says.

The door opens with a creak.

Dean looks at him over the roof.

“Have a good day at work.”

“Have a safe drive.”

Dean gets in and Cas bends to look at him through the passenger window.

Dean’s not smiling anymore. He’s sighing, and when he notices Cas, he leans over to roll the window down.

“I’ll be back.”

Cas knows Dean believes it. “You know where I live.”

Dean’s lips stretch in a grin that doesn’t show in his eyes.

The Impala starts rumbling and vibrating under Cas’ fingers still on the window frame. He holds up one hand in an aborted wave, Dean does the same. Cas lets go of the car and the wheels start rolling.

In a moment, he’s gone.

And Cas would stand there to watch the car disappear from his view, but Steve needs to open the store, turn on the cash register, make a few calls, start the coffee machine.

And on any other day, Steve would do that without thinking about Dean. Steve wouldn’t ache for him, wouldn’t long for him.

Cas isn’t sure he can do that anymore—shut himself away. As he wipes the counter and organizes the coins, he almost doesn’t remember how he did it before.

He knows then that there is no going back, because Cas and Steve have something in common now.

They’re both in love with Dean.

#deancas #destiel #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfic #destiel fanfic #what can i say #this took A WHILE #but im glad it's out now #weirdly im not even sick of it even if i've read it more times than any other things i've ever written

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allmystars-i · 2 months

Text

Who’s That Fucking Nerd?|| Explicit || 6280 words

Author: allmystars

“Tell me again what this job’s about?” Dean asks, popping another chicken nugget in his mouth as Sam chops an avocado for his rabbit’s delight. Fucking salad.

“Uh, it’s a start up with this genius young CEO. The guy’s got like three PhDs or something, and they’re doing really good work.” The enthusiasm in Sam’s voice doesn’t fool Dean into not noticing that Sam didn’t actually answer the question.

“Yeah, so the guy’s your wet dream, but what’s the job?”

Or,

The one where Castiel is Sam's boss and Dean has no boundaries.

Link to Fic

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rough Sex, Choking

Tags: AU, Modern Setting, Castiel is Sam’s Boss, Mechanic Dean, Smut, Interrupting Sam Winchester, Zoom Call

#destiellove #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #dean and cas #castiel #cas loves dean #supernatural fanfiction #destiel fanfic #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanart #deancas fanfic

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