#looking for my crowley applications welcome | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

a-nice-and-interpretive-fanzine · 3 years

Text

[ID: A cream-colored banner that says "A Nice and Interpretive Fanzine: essays and art about the meanings we've found in Good Omens." There is a photo of a book page with a key on it behind the banner text. The photo source is rosy_photo on Pixabay. /end ID]

A Nice and Interpretive Fanzine: Information Masterpost

Welcome!

This is a zine for those of us who love the subtle, complex work that is Good Omens, and who’ve enjoyed the thoughtfulness of the fandom as people interpret how the many moving pieces of the story come together, creating a slightly different meaning for each of us.

To put it simply, it’s a book full of the fandom’s own analysis and commentary about the Good Omens TV show, enhanced with illustrations from our brilliant artists.

This zine is analytical in the sense that all the writers are expressing their own nonfiction thoughts and feelings about the show, rather than writing fanfic, but it is not meant to be heavily academic. Anybody who likes to pick apart the series and discuss it should be able to enjoy it.

The zine will contain essays by fans who are passionate about analyzing and interpreting different parts of Good Omens - the characters, the plot, the writing techniques for the book and script, the cinematography of the TV show, the popular content of the fandom itself. Accompanying these essays will be black and white illustrations from our artists.

How are you organizing this process?

May 1-May 15: Everyone submits their application to do writing or art through a Google form. Behind the scenes, I’ll be setting up a separate email and Discord.

May 16-20: Applicants will be screened during this time.

May 20: I’ll email everyone to let them know the outcomes of their applications. The final participants will get a link to the Discord server for the zine (totally optional, of course).

May 21: If there’s any clarification or solidifying of ideas that needs to happen, I’ll contact you and discuss with you by this point. This is also when artists will be matched up with essays.

May 22 to August 14: This will be a period of just working on our essays and art. The Discord chat and Tumblr will be there for support and for exchanging ideas!

August 15: Participants need to email their full works to the zine’s email address by this date. No special formatting is needed; I’ll do that in InDesign.

August 15 to August 31: I’ll be putting the zine together in InDesign.

September 1: Preorders will open.

September 30: Preorders will close.

October 1: The zine order will be placed!

October 15: Assuming all goes well with printing and shipping, the zines will be shipped out in waves starting on this date. If the printing or shipping from the manufacturer is delayed, then shipping will just start ASAP.

Writer Application HERE Artist Application HERE Asked and Answered Questions on Tumblr The Fanzine's Page on Twitter

Read below for more detailed information about the zine in a Q and A format!

What are the specifications for the zine contributions?

For writers, I’m starting with 3k words or fewer per essay (approximately 10 pages at the size of this book). This depends heavily on how many participants we actually get, so it may change!

For artists, I’d be looking at black and white works, 300 DPI, 5.5 x 8.5 inches or smaller. If your art is supposed to fill up the entire page (i.e. no white space), please make it a total of 5.75 x 8.75 inches with nothing too important around the edges to account for bleed during the printing process.

Can I submit an essay to this zine if I’ve already posted it on Tumblr?

Not as you’ve already posted it. We don’t want to just copy/paste the exact thing that hundreds or perhaps even thousands of people have already read.

However, it IS fine and maybe even a good idea to take the same thought from your post and refine it, preserving your same thesis. For example, a lot of Tumblr posts are just us fans jotting down 5 or 6 paragraphs of random thoughts at 2 AM, but some of them are really cool thoughts! Expanding them and turning them into a bona-fide Essay would make those posts into excellent zine chapters. And you can copy small pieces of your own language as long as the whole thing isn’t just pasted word-for-word.

How long do essays have to be? Is there a limit?

With the number of writers we have, I've calculated that each person should ideally keep their essay to about 6000 words. There is wiggle room.

There’s no real minimum for your contribution; some analytical ideas are really good but can be expressed concisely, so it’s okay if your essays only come out to a few pages typed. For reference, with our book size, a page is about 300 words.

What happens if the zine sells a lot and you end up not only breaking even, but turning a profit?

It’ll go to charity. While I’ll ask the participants what they want to do for certain if we do make enough money, my suggestion will be donating it to Alzheimer’s Research UK in honor of Sir Terry Pratchett.

I’m not really comfortable calling this a “charity zine” up front since I simply don’t know if it will raise a significant amount. For the most part, I just want the thing to physically exist, which means breaking even, and don’t want to make it more expensive for buyers than it needs to be to afford the printing costs.

What kinds of essays are you talking about? What could be included?

In short, any analytical thoughts about the Good Omens TV show - and possibly even the fandom as it interacts with the show - are possible inclusions for the zine.

To expand a bit, think about the meta posts you see floating around Tumblr. Often these involve analyzing characters, or picking up on patterns in the plot. Sometimes fans use their own background knowledge to write posts about the significance of certain costume choices or the way music plays into each individual scene. Some posts examine the ways the series approaches gender, while others might discuss ways that the characters present as neurodivergent. That’s how diverse the pool of possibilities is for subjects in this zine.

How does art come into this?

Images will be black and white, to match the bookish mood of the project overall. Images can range in size from a half page to a full page.

I’m planning to talk to the artists and authors and loosely pair artists with essays that appeal to their personal interests.

I know how to illustrate a story, but how do I illustrate an essay?

There are infinite answers to this! I’ve seen some beautiful symbolic artwork in the fandom already (e.g. a number of takes on Aziraphale munching on an apple with Crowley in snake form curving around him), and there are tons of symbolic motifs to draw from, but these are not the only options. An artist illustrating an essay about cinematography, for example, could draw a well-known scene from an alternative angle. An essay about Heaven as a capitalist corporation could be illustrated with a cartoon of Gabriel giving some sort of excruciating PowerPoint presentation. A character analysis could be accompanied by a simple portrait. And on and on. I’m not interested in limiting the possibilities by trying to make a list, but just know that there are many and you don’t have to make it complicated if you don’t want to.

If the writers can reuse their essay ideas, can artists reuse their drawings?

Similarly to the writers, if you already have an interpretive drawing that you’re in love with, artists can use the same ideas and the same fundamental composition that is present in their own existing work. However, it has to be redone in some significant way. Whether it’s taking something you drew in 2019 and redrawing it using an updated style, taking a sketch and turning it into a lined and shaded piece, or redoing a full-color drawing so it presents more strikingly in black and white, it shouldn’t be identical to the thing you’ve already posted.

So how are you choosing participants here?

It’ll be based on what people are interested in writing about (or illustrating). I’ll be looking for people who are passionate about their essays, but I’ll also be looking for variety. It all depends on what people want to offer, so I won’t know for sure what it will look like put together until everyone’s application is in.

For artists, I’ll be trying to figure out whose style looks like it would adapt well to illustrations in black and white, and also who demonstrates an interest in the same subjects as the writers.

If we don’t get a lot of applicants, I’d love to simply include everyone, but I can’t commit to that without knowing for sure how many people are involved.

Do I have to use a formal writing style to participate?

No. You should use a style that makes your thoughts and ideas as clear as possible, but as long as it’s understandable, you can also get a little artistic with it. You can “write like you speak,” though perhaps in a more organized way. You definitely don’t need to worry about stylistic rules like not using the first person. This is not academia.

Is this zine going to center only on Crowley and Aziraphale?

That remains to be seen! It depends on what ideas show up in the applications. There will be a lot of the ineffable partners for sure, but whether the whole zine will center on them or whether there’s plentiful stuff about other characters will depend on what the participants suggest.

Do we have to agree with all your personal interpretations of Good Omens to be in the zine?

No! In fact, I’m assuming that a number of essays will contradict each other, too, and that’s perfectly okay. The zine is a sampler of fan interpretations meant to inspire, not instruct. It’s not “Here’s a fan-made guide on how to understand this TV show,” it’s “Look at all these moving parts and how many meanings we can find in them. What does it mean to you?”

However, there are some basic rules and assumptions by which I’m working here.

I don’t personally have the energy to include essays that are highly critical (“negative”) in this zine. It’s analytical but also meant to be fun.

I’m pretty focused on the TV adaptation. This isn’t “no book analysis allowed” but just that the essays will end up being weighted toward subjects that apply to either the TV show or both the book and the show.

Each writer should focus on making their own points over disproving other fan interpretations. If you’re writing in an expository style, it’s normal for the essay to contain rebuttals to opposing ideas, but these should be minor supporting points, not the heart and soul of your essay. For reference, I’d say the majority of meta I see floating around on tumblr would follow this rule just fine.

Essay ideas that seem to contain bigoted or exclusionary sentiments will not be accepted (no TERFy stuff, for example).

What kinds of editing will go into the zine? Are you going to argue with us about the contents of our writing?

While I might ask you to elaborate on certain points in your writing or clarify your thoughts about your subject, I’m absolutely not here to ask you to change the thesis, opinions, or headcanons on which your writing is based. If I really have a problem with your initial idea, I’ll tell you that up front and politely decline the contribution.

While formatting the zine, I’ll make minor edits if I think I see a typo or misspelling, something small and obviously unintentional. As with any other zine, your content won’t be changed without consulting you.

Is this a SFW zine?

Yes. If people want to discuss sexuality in a theoretical way, like erotic subtext, that would be allowed. There are canon references like Newt and Anathema’s moment under the bed that might come up, too. But there will be nothing explicit, and since these are essays instead of stories, there will be no “action” going on between characters. Let’s just say sex isn’t a forbidden topic, but it will be like discussing it in English class.

As for other topics that could make the zine NSFW, like gore or extreme language, I don’t think they will be an issue. Some dark topics, like abuse by Heaven and Hell, may be discussed, but they will be warned for, and these are not stories, so you aren’t going to see violent actions playing out.

Will there be any “extras” like charms or stickers?

I’m not sure yet. I’m most inclined to keep it simple, because of the nature of the zine, but would be open to including some bonus items if there’s an artist who’s really passionate about it.

With that said, I am pretty committed to making a hardcover edition of the book available, in addition to the standard softcover version.

You’re doing this with only one mod?!

Yes. I personally find it easiest. While I’ve worked on multi-mod projects in other domains and adore all of my co-mods, it’s a little bit different when it’s a project with this many moving pieces that includes real-life components like printing and shipping. Though there are a lot of individual things to be done, I am experienced with all of them, so it’s less overwhelming to just take on the whole project. That way, I know exactly what needs to be done and when, and there are no issues with assigning tasks.

What qualifies you to run this zine?

The résumé answer: in fandom, I successfully solo-modded a large not-for-profit zine in the past, the @soulmakazine2018, and while I can’t speak for the whole fandom, it definitely seemed to be well-received. <3 In real life, I’m a case manager and this involves coordinating and communicating with a lot of different people including my 100-person caseload, budgeting services, and filling out all kinds of paperwork on the fly, all skills that can be imported into zine work.

The practical answer: well, I’m the one who decided to start this project, so if you like the sound of it, you're stuck with me. I say with encouragement and enthusiasm that if you’d like to do a different take on a commentary zine, you should absolutely do it.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #fanzine #good omens zine

90 notes · View notes

lightforthedeadvine · 3 years

Text

Title: How to Fall in Love When You’re Dead (A guide by Dean Winchester)

Author: @lightforthedeadvine – Anwamane_13 on AO3

Written for: @localwhiskeylez

Gift Exchange: @destielsecretsanta2020

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Castiel/ Dean Winchester

Word count: 11.905

Rated: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

AN: Wow, I can't believe it's done! I really hope you like it, @localwhiskeylez! Sorry for any typos, English is not my first language. Merry Christmas!

How to Fall in Love When You’re Dead (A guide by Dean Winchester)

How Dean Winchester realizes that the love of his life is his best friend and, being the moron that he is, it only happens after he's already dead.

INTRODUCTION

This article seeks to help the reader to solve unfinished business during their life on Earth. It is an observational interventionist study, based on the author's life. Some angels and demons were injured during the execution of the study, but the fact only serves as a background to illustrate the situations in which the author found himself and are important for the understanding of the facts.

1- When you’re still alive, be emotionally constipated.

Cas dies and Dean can’t get up, can’t look anywhere except at his wings, frail and broken shadows engraved on the ground. This is it. This time Cas’ death is for good. Dean isn’t ready for this, he can’t deal with this, he needs to get up and pretend he’s not there, kneeling on the ground next to his best friend’s body. His mind is empty and too full at the same time.

The thing is, Cas has died before, but Dean had never been left with his body to deal with. It makes his death more real somehow. So, he wraps the body with the old curtains, and he refuses Sam’s help. He doesn’t need anyone right now. They burn Cas, a hunter’s funeral. Dean listens to Sam trying to explain to a confused Jack that it’s time to say goodbye, but he can’t say anything. The flames are high and Dean can’t stop thinking that Cas deserved so much better than this. In the back of his mind there’s something he should have done, something he should have said, some way he could have showed Cas how appreciated he was. But Dean is not sure what it is, and he doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to feel anything, or rather, he can’t look at what he’s feeling too closely, or he’ll lose it.

Later, he loses it in booze, he punches the door until his knuckles bleed, he hates everything, he yells at Sam, he wishes he’d had kept Cas’ coat, so he could keep it in the Impala’s trunk, like before. He’s not sad, he’s furious. Stupid angel, getting himself killed like that. Stupid, stupid angel. Sam, the giant girl that he is, wants to talk, but Dean snorts and refuses to acknowledge anything that resembles a chick flick moment.

He doesn’t cry.

2- When someone tells you he loves you, don’t say anything.

“I love you”, Cas says, and he puts his bloodied hand on Dean’s shoulder. He pushes Dean to the floor, and when the Empty comes, Cas has a slight smile on his lips. He looks… in peace, almost. Angelic. And then he’s gone.

Dean thinks “why didn’t he tell me about the deal” and “this can’t be real” and “I need him to come back”. He looks at the wall and there’s nothing there indicating that his friend, the best friend one could ever have, just vanished through it.

Dean’s mind is running so fast he can barely keep up with it. Cas’ ‘I love you’ keeps ringing in his ears, playing in the back of his head, like a broken record. Dean is astonished. He had no idea. He didn’t know. He feels that this ‘I love you’ was very different from the ‘I love you, all of you’ Cas said when Crowley saved him from dying poisoned, with Dean, Sam and Mary not knowing what to do, how to stop Cas‘ death. Dean knows Cas meant a whole different thing this time; he could see it in Cas’ eyes. This time Cas meant the love kind of love. Dean had no idea an angel could even feel this kind of love. But if he knew, would it have changed anything? It’s not as if Dean would say it back, it’s not as if he deserves this love, an angel’s love. For fuck’s sake, it’s ludicrous.

Dean said nothing, he just kept shaking his head no and saying dumb things like ‘what are you talking about’ and ‘don’t do this’. He said nothing meaningful in Cas’ last moments, nothing his best friend could take with him to the Empty to justify the sacrifice he was making. He wonders if Cas thought he didn’t care, but probably not, because the stupid angel has always seen the best in him; something Dean is not even sure it’s there.

Cas said he loved Dean. And Dean didn’t say anything. He has no idea what he could have said, but he should have said something. Anything. Cas gave his life to save Dean’s, and Dean just stood there; just let him go.

His cell phone rings but Dean has no idea how to answer it. He looks at the wall again. He can’t speak right now, he’s not even worthy of speaking right now. Dean puts his hands on his head, cover his eyes, tries to leave the world outside for a while longer. His head, his heart, his whole being hurts.

This time he cries. This time Dean sobs.

3- After losing someone you care about, live the rest of your life pretending you’re ok with it.

Miracle jumps on the bed and Dean holds his dog close for a while, taking comfort from his furry best friend. They grew very attached to each other, and so far, no one has come to claim the dog, so Dean is confident he’ll be able to keep it for good. He gets up, getting ready for another day of Sam making breakfast, going for a run, maybe calling Eileen or Jody and Donna. Dean will walk Miracle, maybe. Watch old reruns, make pancakes, even though Sam will complain one shouldn’t eat breakfast food for lunch, and have a tasteless salad, as always. Dean doesn’t care, Miracle will help him with the stack of pancakes. He still needs to finish filling the job application on his desk, but he’s not in a hurry. He has all the time in the world, right? No one is controlling them now, and Jack sounded like he’d let things run free.

When Sam mentions Jack and Cas, Dean says they should keep on living, because that’s what Jack and Cas would want them to do. The truth is, he doesn’t want to talk about it, so he shoves a huge piece of pie into his mouth. He knows Jack is around, in every drop of rain and every wind, and inside and out of the bunker, like he said… but Dean’s almost sure they’re never gonna see him again, and he misses the kid. As for Cas… Dean has no idea what the Empty’s like, but an eternity of nothing sounds like an endless punishment worse than hell, and once again, he can’t help thinking that Cas deserved better. Before he can think how much he misses his best friend, he decides to focus on anything other than the dull ache inside him every time he thinks of Cas’ sacrifice. Cas died so they could live, and they’re gonna live, dammit.

Sam pushes pie into Dean’s face and hearing his laugh makes Dean think that everything is gonna be alright, eventually. His baby brother’s laugh is one of the things that keeps him going these days. He’s grateful for that. Content, if not happy.

4- A crucial point for doing something after being dead is dying. So… die.

This one is hard to explain.

Dean doesn’t want to die. But as it is, death comes in the most stupid way possible, and he doesn’t want to fight anymore. He’s tired. He doesn’t want Sam to call an ambulance, because it’s not gonna work and he doesn’t want the kid to get his hopes up. The rusty thing inside his lungs hurt like a motherfucker, it’s getting hart to breathe and his mind is fuzzy.

Sammy, he thinks. Sammy’s the most important thing here. Dean needs to tell his little brother how much he loves him, because he knows he hasn’t said it enough. He needs Sam to know he’s always been the most important thing in his life, ever since John put baby Sam in his arms inside a burning house and told Dean to protect him. He needs Sam to know that Dean doesn’t regret being Sam’s mother, father, old brother and friend; he doesn’t regret not having a childhood because he knows, he knows, he gave Sam one; at least the best he could. Dean needs Sam to tell him he’ll be alright; that Dean can go in peace; that Sam will get a life for himself after this.

4.1 - Ignore any mention of your best friend and give only a small smile when being told he’s not in the Empty anymore;

‘Cas helped’, Bobby says. Jack made this incredible Heaven for everyone and Cas helped. Bobby arches one eyebrow when he mentions Cas, and Dean pretends he doesn’t notice. He smiles slightly, comforted by the fact that his friend is not in the Empty anymore. He hoped, no, he knew Jack would set his chosen father free, but somehow, he never asked him. He doesn’t know why. He could say he was in some kind of daze, caused by the shock of everything that had just happened, but… it’s not an excuse; he should have asked Jack about Cas, and he didn’t. Sometimes Dean is really stupid.

4.2 - Spend forty something years driving and waiting for your brother to join you in the afterlife.

Suddenly, Baby is there.

Although time moves different in Heaven, it’s a bit, well, a lot strange that right at the end of the long road, probably the Axis Mundi, Sam is there in the fucking bridge, as if he’d been waiting for Dean. Has Dean just spent forty years driving? Really? What about Mom and Dad? Why didn’t Dean go see them? What about Ellen and Jo, probably right there inside the Roadhouse, where Bobby was… why didn’t Dean get inside? What about Cas? Isn’t it strange that Cas wasn’t there to welcome him to the afterlife? And… Dean didn’t do anything except wait for his brother for four decades? This is surreal.

The happiness he fells when he hears Sam’s voice, though, is indescribable. Somehow, he knows time has passed and Sam had a life, a fucking normal apple pie life, and Dean is so, so grateful his brother got to have that. As for him, he can finally stop worrying about the kid. Sam has always been Dean’s everything, and now it’s as if… his work is done.

“Eileen and I… it didn’t work; she… was traumatized, I guess. Being around a Winchester was more dangerous than any monster,” Sam says when they’re in the car, returning home, wherever the heck ‘home’ is. “And Dean’s mother… she got pregnant; we hadn’t planned anything. She, um… didn’t know I was a hunter, so I kind of… I retired, started working as a paralegal. But we were too different, it didn’t work anyway, and she left when Dean was fifteen.”

“Dude, you named your kid after me?” Dean is all smiles.

“Dean Robert Winchester,” Sam says, proudly. “A great kid. Preferred his ink on his right arm.”

“You didn’t raise him as a hunter, did you?”

“Hell no,” Sam snorts, “but here and there a hunter came looking for advice, and… the kid was smart, figured there was something strange going on. And on his sixteenth birthday a shapeshifter moved to our backyard, so…”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“What about the bunker?” Dean wants to know. If Sam worked in a law firm, what happened to the bunker?

Sam suddenly looks uncomfortable. “I, um… I gave it to Jody, Donna and the girls. They did a great job over the years, built a really big net, organized the branches… Claire and Kaia, they’re, like, top hunters in the country now.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Dude, that’s great, but…”

“I couldn’t do it, Dean,” Sam says in a hurry, earnest. “It wasn’t the same without you. There was no one else. I was alone, and I… I just couldn’t.”

Dean pretends he doesn’t feel a pang in his chest at hearing how bad it was for Sam. But hey, heaven or not, he’s not gonna start a sharing and caring scene with Sam now, right? “What about Miracle?”

“Lived for twelve years more, was Dean’s best friend.”

“Dude, I’m never gonna get used to this. You named your kid after me. Wow, I mean… I know I’m important, but… didn’t know you couldn’t live without a Dean in your life,” Dean jokes.

But Sam is serious. “I really couldn’t.”

“No chick flick moments, Samantha,” Dean tries to lighten the mood, because, shit. He expected Sam to miss him, of course… but not like this.

Sam appears to take the bait. “Jerk.”

Dean laughs. “Bitch.”

5- In Heaven, pretend you’re not looking for your Angel best friend.

Mary and John live not far from the Roadhouse, just like Bobby said. Their house is a replica of the Lawrence house, the one that caught fire. Dean thinks it’s creepy that Mary ends up living in the same house in which she died, but hey, she seems happy. They both do.

“So, dad, how did you get this house? Not that I remember much of it, but me and Dean, we went back there for a case,” Sam asks, eyeing Mary, because well, she was the ghost that lived there. She just smiles quietly at him. “From what I can see, it seems just like the old one.”

John looks different. At peace. The lines on his face seem softer, leaving him with a younger appearance. Mary’s presence did this, Dean can’t help thinking. Having a forever with the love of your life can do this to a person. Not that Dean knows from experience since he’s never had a… never mind. Lisa was never the love of his life, and Dean doesn’t want to think about her; still hurts.

His father’s eyes radiate happiness. It’s a bit strange, in a good way. “We were together in our private heaven,” he tells. “But I confess, it was a little boring, because it never changed. Then they came,” he shrugs, “and everything changed.”

“They?” Dean asks.

Mary smiles. “Mostly, Jack. He came and… we had a serious talk. It was never his fault, how I came here. He was distressed, and I pushed too hard.” She holds John’s hand. “Jack said we shouldn’t be separated from the ones we loved, because there is space for everyone. So he opened all the doors, fixed all the bridges, and suddenly our friends, family… they were all there. We started to build a heaven where we could all live together…”

“And Cas suggested it would be a good idea if we lived in our old house,” John finishes. “He built this for us exactly as we remembered it.”

Dean arches his eyebrows. Cas? Since when is his father on a nickname basis with Cas? “You know him? Cas?” he can’t help asking.

“Of course he knows Cas,” Mary laughs. “he’s Jack’s right arm. Everyone knows him.”

“And where is he?” Dean asks.

Mary shrugs. “Around,” she says enigmatically.

Okay. Dean frowns a little. A guy dies and his best friend doesn’t come to greet him? Then he changes the subject, because really? Not a pleasant thing to think about.

-------

Ellen and Jo are still in the Roadhouse by the time Dean gets back there. Sam stayed behind with their parents. But Dean suddenly needs to see everything and everyone. As if he has already lost too much time. And, maybe he has, driving through the Axis Mundi, waiting for Sam. But hey, now he has all of eternity, right?

“So, how does it work? This heaven?” he asks, while Ellen pours him a one more shot of Johnny Walker.

“We just… live. We do what we want and see who we want. When Cas built this place for us, ‘cause I said I preferred to work; you know me, I’m no woman to sit still… anyways, he said that the things we’ve always wanted to do, but it was never the right time…”

“Or…” Jo smiles, standing beside her mother, “we were always busy killing the next monster… well, these things, we could do them all now, you know? And… it’s freeing, really.”

“Cas built this place” Dean repeats like a parrot, not really paying attention to what they’re saying. “You mean my friend, Cas.”

Ellen raises her eyebrows. “Do you know any other Cas?”

“Nope.”

It’s annoying, really. Cas built the Roadhouse for Ellen and Jo? That’s great, they more than deserve it, but… he didn’t take the time to see Dean when he arrived?

------

Things are starting to get ridiculous.

Dean has visited and met a lot of people since he arrived. And apparently, since Jack decided to rebuild heaven, Cas has:

a) Built a house for Bobby and Karen, and the woman was delighted by his manners. Such a handsome and polite ‘boy’.

b) Found Charlie’s mother, Gertrude Middleton, they had a teary and wonderful reunion and now they live together by the mountains, where the internet (in Heaven? Huh…) is better than any other place on Earth.

c) Rescued Kevin from ghost-life. The boy spends his days playing cello and going on dates with Channing. Linda Tran is around too.

d) Eileen died on a hunt a few years after Dean. Cas found her parents and she finally found her happy ever after with them.

e) Gave back Pamela’s eyes, and the psychic went traveling around the heaven-world, eager to seeeverything.

So, it’s Cas this, Cas that, blah blah blah. Dean is getting annoyed.

Oh! On top of that, Kelly Kline apparently sees him a lot. In fact, she sees him more than she sees her own son, since Jack is always busy being the almighty and all. How does Dean know? He finds Kelly by chance while walking around, and as soon as she greets him, she asks “Have you seen Castiel yet?” with a knowing smile. He hasn’t, of course. And then she wastes no time telling him how wonderful Cas is for helping Jack with the heaven thing, since her son is young and has a lot to do. Apparently, Cas and Kelly spend a lot of time together, talking. Dean changes the subject and leaves as soon as he can. He is not jealous, of course. Of course not.

Dean is not only annoyed now. He’s a little hurt. As if his friendship didn’t really mean anything for the angel. Part of him thinks it’s stupid, because Cas loves him, he said so, didn’t he? But his absence is telling. Somehow, Dean knows Cas doesn’t want to see him. He just knows.

6- When you see him, try to talk about the elephant in the room, even if he clearly doesn’t want to.

It’s a bit strange, this heaven Jack has created. Because now time seems linear, and Dean has no idea how this happened, since it went by so fast before Sam arrived. But now there are days and nights and an endless string of people Dean wants to see and spend time with. So much, that he has no idea where he’s supposed to live, but he doesn’t ask anyone. He sleeps at his parent’s house, or Charlie’s place, or at Bobby’s. It’s a wonder he sleeps at all, because he really doesn’t need it; he’s dead, they all are. But they eat and drink and sleep, and they have long, long talks, like a never-ending party with all the burgers, pies and beer Dean could ever want.

It’s great.

Also, it feels a little bit… empty.

So, Christmas comes. Apparently, this is a special time in heaven too. There’s a party at the park and Dean finds himself in charge of the cheeseburgers. He’s there, by the grill, flipping the patties and making sure they don’t burn. Then Dean sees him.

He’s standing by the lake. Different clothes, the dark jeans and blue t-shirt look so unusual for him, but Dean would recognize that head of dark hair anywhere. Cas is not looking at him, he’s talking to a couple, an open smile on his face, so different from the burdened expression he always wore. Dean forgets about the grill and everything else. He just walks towards him, his heart thundering in his chest and a million questions in his head.

“Cas!” he calls before he reaches him, arms opening to hug him, and Cas turn his head, his very blue eyes wide and …

Oh.

There’s no immediate recognition in those eyes.

It’s not Cas. It’s Jimmy Novak.

Dean’s arms fall. “Jimmy,” he says, just to make sure. He deflates like an empty balloon.

“You’re… Dean, right?” Jimmy says, and shit, Dean should have never had mistaken him with Cas. His eyes are exactly the same, but Cas’ eyes sparkle when they look at Dean, and Jimmy’s just… don’t. And the voice, there’s no way this… generic, normal voice could ever belong to Cas. Even his relaxed posture is completely different than Cas’.

“Yeah. Dean Winchester,” he says, because now he has to make small talk with the guy, and he really, really doesn’t want to. His chest gives a funny pang looking at him, and Dean thinks of Claire, for the first time really understanding what she went through whenever she looked at Cas and thought of her father. Dean is looking at one, wanting to see the other, because they look the same but they’re so, so different, and it’s just...disappointing doesn’t even get close.

“It’s good to see you, Dean,” Jimmy says solemnly. “Is your brother well?”

“Yeah, he’s… around.” Dean says, looking around, already knowing he won’t find Sam here, because his brother found Bobby’s library and, the big nerd he is, he must be reading somewhere, even though they don’t hunt anymore. “But there’s so much lore here, Dean!” he’s said, eyes sparkling.

“That’s great,” Jimmy says, and then he frowns a little. “Where’s Castiel?”

“How the hell will I know?” Dean lets out, the he looks at Jimmy apologetically. “Haven’t seen him.”

Now Jimmy looks a bit uncomfortable. “Oh, I’ve just put my foot in my mouth. It’s just that – that Castiel was always thinking about you when we were sharing my – my -” he gestures at himself.

They’re both saved by a burning smell.

“The burgers are burning, you idjit!” Bobby screams from somewhere, and Dean just looks at Jimmy, gives him a yellow half-smile and leaves, relieved. He never loved the smell of burning burgers so much.

----

It’s late, everyone has gone home. Dean doesn’t have a home to go to, and he really doesn’t care about it right now. He’d be there alone, anyway. He has no idea how much time has passed since he came here, and it’s a bit disorienting. He’s sitting by the pond, where he saw Jimmy earlier. He’d be drinking right now, if he thought it would help him forget. Can you get drunk when you’re dead?

He’s not an ungrateful bastard. He knows he’s in heaven, and it’s – it’s just great, something he’d never thought he’d have. And wow, his family and dearest friends are here with him, and things couldn’t be better. He’s grateful for everything, and if Jack were here, he’d hug the hell out of the kid. Um… deity. Almighty. Whatever. Still, he’s one third Dean’s son, so he’ll call him kid if he wants to.

The thing is, somehow, he wants more. More than eternal happiness, and he feels a bastard for not being satisfied with eternal bliss. But he misses having something to worry about. He misses the bunker. Shit, he even misses hunting, even though thinking about his last hunt gives him chills. But most of all, he misses having Sam, Jack and Cas by his side, the four of them against the world. He misses Cas’ eyerolls, his deadpan lines, his lack of notion about personal space. His hand on Dean’s shoulder, eyes solemn, glistening –

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Before he knows it, Dean is half-keeling on the grass. “Cas, buddy, you got your ears on?” he prays, like he did so many times before. “I – I hope you can hear me, that you’re alright, that you’re happy now that you’re back home.” He sighs. He has no idea what to say. “I never thought I’d get a chance to pray to you again, but here I am.” Taking a deep breath, he forces himself to go on. “I miss you, man. And – and I know you’re avoiding me… I mean, I know I was a dick to you for so long that maybe – maybe you don’t wanna see me? You could… at least come and say goodbye, you know? I hear you see and help everyone and you never, never come to see me. And I have no idea why.”

A bark makes him look around, and suddenly a light brown, furry dog jumps on his arms. He half-falls sitting on the grass while he hugs his companion from long ago. “Miracle!” he greets the dog, and his heart feels lighter already just for seeing him.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean turns his head so fast his neck hurts a little. “Cas,” he breathes. “You’re here.”

“Yes, um…” Cas gestures at Miracle. “I found your dog.” He’s dressed as always, white shirt, black suit, tan trench coat, tie askew. He looks awesome. He’s a few steps away, and he doesn’t come closer. The smile he gives Dean doesn’t exactly reaches his eyes; not that Cas smiled a lot. But he’s looking at Miracle now, like he’s avoiding looking at Dean. ”I hope all is well with you…?” he says lamely.

“All is – “ Dean sputters, disbelieving. “That’s what you have to say?” he closes the distance between them, stopping a few centimeters from Cas. “Where the hell have you been? I arrived here ages ago, and you haven’t come to see me.”

“Bobby was here to greet you.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen Bobby, Mom, Dad, Charlie, Jo, Ellen… even Jimmy freakin’ Novak. Everyone except you.”

Cas opens his mouth and starts to shrug, then aborts the movement, still looking at Miracle, perched on a log. “You don’t need me, Dean. You already have all you wanted. I made sure you have everything you could possibly want; everyone you love is here. Why should I come?”

“What the fuck do you mean?” Dean’s not sure he should be swearing in heaven, but hey, he was brought here like this, so they’ll just have to deal with him this way. “Because we’re friends, asshole!” he says, exasperated. Then, quieter, “because I missed you.”

“It’s not of import, you’re with your loved ones now.” Cas says, awkwardly. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well, and – “

“Stop it, Cas,” Dean says, frowning. This is not how he expected their reunion to be. “What’re you talking about? I missed you man, every minute of every day, and – “

Cas finally looks at Dean, and he looks so sad Dean almost pinches himself to make sure he’s awake. “Jack had just rescued me from the Empty and he asked if I wanted to see you, and – “

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you were brought back and you didn’t come to us?”

“I saw you, Dean. You were happy. Eating pie, laughing with Sam. And I decided to step aside and just let you have the life you deserve. You and your brother together, like it was before heaven and hell came into your lives.”

Dean throws his hands in the air. “You’re an idiot, Cas, come on! Is that why you never came?”

Cas shrugs. “I know we angels gave you a lot of sorrow, and you have no idea how much I regret everything my brethren and my father put you through.”

Dean huffs a breath. “Not your fault.”

“Yes, it was. I was one more pawn in the game at first ,but I became the one closest to you. And every time I tried to do something right, I just brought you more grief,” Cas rambles on, “and if I had just stayed away, maybe things would’ve been easier. All the mistakes I’ve done… all the times I let you down…”

“That’s bullshit, Cas. What the fuck are you talking about? Since when I, we, didn’t want your company?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Dean, I didn’t want to burden you anymore. I thought that… it was better that I stayed gone, and…eventually you and Sam would be alright.

“Oh, that’s so like you, Cas! Deciding things about my so-called wellbeing without telling me! Is this how you show you love me? Staying away?”

Dean’s eyes widen. Where the fuck did that come from? What the hell happened to his tongue?

Cas’ breath hitches and he looks at the ground, and even in the dark Dean can see his cheeks turning pink. Such a human thing…

“Dean,” Cas says, and shakes his head. “Don’t.”

Dean knows what this is about. He feels guilty already, because the last time they saw each other, Cas spilled his heart on the damn floor and Dean just stayed there, looking. “Don’t what, Cas?” he asks softly.

“You don’t have to say anything about… that. I said my piece, I… I spoke my truth. That truth still stands, it will always stand. Part of the reason I said it was because I thought… that I wasn’t coming back. But here I am, and here you are and, and I know how you feel. Rather, I know how you don’t feel. So, you don’t have to say anything, or do anything. It’s okay. Only… it may take some time before I fell less… mortified in your presence.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say. Cas has practically just said that the – the love thing was true. Is true. Well, Dean was the one that started this particular subject, the asshole that he is.

“Cas…” he knows he needs to say something, even if it’s not what Cas maybe would like him to say. “I had no idea you even could feel like that. I’m not, I’m - “

“If you’re going to say you’re not worth it, don’t bother. I stand by what I said, and every word is true. You’re the best human being I have ever known, and I’d like that you at least give me the courtesy of believing in my words.”

Dean is speechless. Once more, Cas is spilling his guts and Dean is silent. He’d kick himself in the ribs if he could. His courage had dropped to the floor somewhere, but he finds it. “Was it my silence that made you leave? That made you do that? ‘Cause if it was, it’s on my top five worst mistakes.”

“It was to save your life. I couldn’t let Billie take you.”

“So you made me watch the Empty take you instead,” Dean deadpans.

“I had to. It was that or letting you die, and I couldn’t let her hurt you and do nothing. I’m expendable, Dean. Always have been. In heaven, on earth. But in that moment, I mattered.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean shakes his head. “You’ve always mattered to me. And coming here and not seeing you? Knowing you were around the whole time? It was a shitty move, Cas.”

Cas opens his mouth to say something, but he suddenly stops. He closes his eyes and frowns, as if hearing something. “I’m needed elsewhere,” he says. “I have to go.”

“What, now?”

“Yes.”

Cas was never a specialist at Goodbyes. Curiously, Goodbye was the last thing he said before he died.

There’s a bright light, a white-blue bright thing that starts on Cas’ eyes and grows, grows until all Dean can see is light. Cas is not there anymore, but there’s a huge beam floating against the night sky. Dean can see the tips of two huge, white wings coming out of the white-blue light. The words “multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent” comes to his mind and he knows that he’s looking at Cas’ true form. Even though it’s probably wise not to look directly at it, Dean can’t turn away and, well, maybe one of the perks of being dead is that he can look all he wants and his eyes are still working. Cas is awesome.

Now Dean is truly speechless. He’s never seen something so wonderful in all his life/death. In awe, he sees Cas going higher and higher, and he murmurs, more to himself, “Don’t take too long to come back, Cas.”

“I won’t,” he kind of knows, halfway between his head and his chest. What he really hears is a high-pitched sound that he knows it’s Cas’ true voice, but now his ears don’t bleed and he can understand what he’s saying. Wow.

The last thing he wonders before Cas goes up so fast that he looks like a comet, disappearing in the starry sky, is how can someone so fucking amazing like that can have such a low opinion of himself.

7- Pretend you’re ok with the fact that you never see him anymore. Eavesdrop every conversation to try to get a clue of his whereabouts.

“There’s some kind of rebellion up north,” Jack says. “Castiel was called to help with it.”

“Why didn’t you go with him?” Sam asks.

They’re in the bunker, of all things. Cas hasn’t come back, but here and there he comes to see Dean in his dreams, and at first Dean thought it was a regular dream, until Cas told him that the bunker was ready, and if he wanted to move there, he could.

And there was a freaking awesome replica of the bunker up the hill; the only home Dean ever remembers besides Baby, minus the dungeons and the endless corridors. But the important parts are there: the war room, the kitchen, bedrooms, library, garage, Dean’s cave. Sam decided to live there with him, and it’s been a week – or is it a month? Hard to keep track of things here – when Jack finally came to visit. He asked for a homemade burger, of all things, Dean’s homemade burger, and before he started, Dean was going to ask him if he wanted chili sauce with it. So, he isn’t eavesdropping, he’s not a gossip kind of guy. But Jack and Sam are talking in the war room, and when he hears Cas’ name, Dean stops before they can see him.

“Because the rebellion is about me, partly, Castiel thinks it’s not wise that I go. I trust his judgement.” Jack says. “Some angels think I’m too young to rule the universe.”

“You are pretty young,” Sam snorts.

“Well, there’s the fact that some of them still resent Castiel because of his past actions. It’s hard to forget he said yes to the devil, and I’m afraid an angel’s memory is endless. Theirs certainly is.”

“He did that so I didn’t have to,” Sam says, regret in his voice.

“Of course he did.” Jack’s voice is laced with amusement. “Everything Castiel did since he rescued Dean from hell was to protect him; then you two; and, in the end, me too. He’s the most human angel I’ve ever known; he has a heart. That’s why my mother chose him to protect me.”

“He wasn’t always like this.”

“Oh, I know, he was a dick, Dean told me. Like all the other angels here. I’m trying to teach them how to think for themselves, but it takes time. And every time a group decides I’m too young to rule, or Castiel is still unreliable, or both, he goes there and tries to convince them to come back.”

There’s silence for a while, and Dean is caught between wanting to step inside or waiting to hear more about Cas.

“I suppose I should be glad,” Jack goes on. “If they decide to go against us, it means they’re starting to understand free will. If Castiel changed, so can they. Although, he’s always had an incentive, which they lack. Anyway, Castiel is good at convincing them; even if he’s my father, he wouldn’t be my commander if he wasn’t a good strategist.”

“Nepotism, huh?”

“Not at all. I offered to turn him into an archangel, since there’s no one left… but he insisted he wanted to remain a seraph. He’s very down to earth, so to speak.”

“Will he be alright?” There’s worry in Sam’s voice. “Won’t they get… I don’t know... violent?”

“Oh, don’t worry. He can handle them. Besides, if they kill him, I’ll just bring him back.”

“What the fuck?” Dean almost yells, finally going inside. “You’re just gonna let him die? What the fuck, Jack? Dying hurts!”

“So, you were eavesdropping, Dean,” Jack laughs. “and yes, I want chili sauce in my burger.”

“You knew I was here?” Dean knows his face must be comically red now, but he doesn’t care.

“I know everything,” Jack simply says, “and Bobby Singer was teaching me about pranks and sarcasm the other day, so I decided to do a little test.”

“With me,” Dean deadpans.

“Yup!” Then Jack says, more serious. “He won’t die here, Dean. I have his back.”

-----

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to embarrass you,” Jack comes to the kitchen when Dean’s doing the dishes, after dinner. Sam is… somewhere under a pile of books, probably.

Dean just shrugs.

“I know you worry about him,” Jack continues, “I worry too. But Castiel is very, very old. And wise. He may not have always known what he was doing in the past, but he knows now. He’s in his element. You should see him in battle,” there’s pride on Jack’s voice. “he’s spectacular.”

Dean thinks of Cas’ true form and the way he gives every bit of his focus in a fight, and well, he has to agree with Jack, Cas fighting in heaven must be something to behold.

“He went furious when he knew you were going to die; he spent ages complaining about how you were supposed to have a long and happy life. And then he built this part of heaven for you himself. But… dying young was always in the cards for you, Dean. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Dean shrugs again. “I’m happy now. And I didn’t want to have gray hair anyway. Been there, done that, didn’t like it.”

“Are you, really?” Jack asks. “Happy?” He looks genuinely worried, like he doesn’t already know the answer.

“If you know everything, smartass, why do you ask?” Since Jack knew about the chili sauce before Dean said anything, it stands to reason that he knows every freaking thing inside Dean’s head, right? “And stop reading my thoughts.”

“So, stop projecting them everywhere,” Jack arches one eyebrow. “You make it really difficult not to listen. And when I ask if you’re happy, it’s not because I want to know. It’s because I want you to know. There’s a lot of things you already know but you don’t realize. Not yet.”

“Like what?” Dean is getting annoyed by this enigmatic version of the kid.

“Oh, you’ll get there,” Jack pats his shoulder solemnly. “You’ll get there. Now, how about getting a job, so you and Sam don’t get too bored?”

-----

The job Jack found them was as “newcomers’ advisors”. Apparently not everyone is okay with dying. Hunters are particularly difficult to come to terms with the idea. So Dean, Sam, Eileen and Bobby help them getting used to it.

Mostly, they talk. They show them the neighborhood, explain how heaven works. Help building their houses, finding their loved ones, keeping track of family that’s still on Earth, things like that. It’s something to do, and Dean’s glad to have this to fill his days. Like Ellen said, he’s a hunter; he can’t stay home and do nothing but an endless string of family and friends’ reunions. The boredom would kill him if he wasn’t already dead.

It’s a good thing Jack has been doing here. Heaven residents are organized in teams and they have work to do. If they want to, of course. No one is obligated to do anything they don’t want to. But there’s still a lot to build in heaven, it’s a huge place after all, so there’s work for everyone. People who’s been dead the longest and lived isolated in the eternal loop of their private heavens, have a little more difficulty adapting to changes; but they have literally all the time in the world. Feeling useful does wonders for Dean. Life goes on as it should. Well, not life, per se, but still a good one.

Cas never comes. He keeps appearing in Dean’s dreams here and there, and they talk about nothing and everything, like they always did. Sometimes, he watches Dean fishing, standing on the pier by his side; other times they just drink beer and talk side by side inside the Impala. Dean misses seeing him in person, though. He can’t exactly feel when Cas touches his shoulder, or when he pats his back. Well, he can, but it’s a muffled sensation somehow, the ghost of a touch.

And it’s not enough.

8- When confronted with the fact that he’s more BAMF that you had realized, pretend you’re neither impressed nor slightly turned on.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says one evening, when he is in Dean’s cave watching Doctor Sexy reruns.

Dean raises his head to look at him and – Whoa!

Cas is in a golden armor, holding a huge sword, expression solemn. He… glows. Like, there are little sparks of light floating around him. And his wings… wow. Huge, beautiful black wings, making him officially the most amazing creature Dean has ever seen.

“Cas!” he says dumbly, and he can’t stop staring. He has the vague notion that he needs to close his mouth, but he’s in too much of an awe to do it.

“I need your help,” is all Cas says, and he puts his hand on Dean’s arm and –

They’re outside, in the bunker’s rooftop, which is an awesome place to be, because Cas built it on a hill, the sky seems so close and you can see the lights of people’s houses down below. It’s almost as if you’re suspended between heaven and Earth.

“You alright?” Dean asks when Cas winces a bit after they land.

“Just a minor scratch.”

“Lemme take a look,” Dean says, his hands already on Cas’ shoulders, looking for a way to take the armor off him.”

“We don’t have time. We need to go to hell.”

Dean blinks. “Come again?”

“Rowena, she sent me a message. Apparently, the rogue group of angels that didn’t want to follow Jack, joined with a group of her demons who were showing… discontentment with her leadership. They’re wreaking havoc down there and Rowena’s having a hard time controlling everything.”

“So heaven will help hell. Huh.”

Cas shakes his head no. “Not heaven. Just me. No other angel would follow me down there. But, as you see, I’m a bit hurt and I can’t go on my own. I was thinking that maybe you and Sam could help me.”

“What about Jack?”

“I can’t contact him now. He’s in the Empty again.”

“Why???”

“We need archangels, Dean. Heaven is too big, and we need someone with power enough to contain everything while others rebuild. I – I can’t do everything alone, and… we need someone with more power, who’s not Jack, in case he needs to be away for a while. And I – I don’t want more power. We already know how I acted when I had more power than I could deal with. More pride than compassion.”

“Come on, Cas, that wasn’t you,” Dean reasons.

Cas gives him a curt and serious nod, like he’s saying, “I don’t agree and I don’t want to go on with this subject.” But what he says is “Jack went there to try to find and rescue Gabriel. He won’t be back anytime soon. Will you help me?”

------

Of course Dean will help him. And so will Sam, Eileen, Bobby, Mary, John, Rufus, Ellen, Jo. Some of them are a bit worried about going to that place – well, it’s hell. But they don’t shy off a good fight, and most were already missing their old hunter’s life, with the absolute lack of things that go bump in the quiet nights around here.

9 - Here is the part where you have an epiphany and see that, even dead, you’re still emotionally constipated, and you fell in love with him.

“Cas, wake up. Please.”

Dean holds Cas’ head between his hands, but the angel’s eyes remain closed. He doesn’t need to breathe, so there’s no way for Dean to be sure he’s alive. Rowena said he is, but still, the lack of movement in unnerving.

“You sure you can’t help him?” he practically roars at her. “Isn’t there anything you can do? What kind of witch are you?”

“The dead kind, dear,” Rowena answers drily. “I still have my powers, but they obviously don’t work here.” She looks around. “I’m amazed I was even allowed to enter this place. It’s… a little on the ordinary side.”

Since there was no one with enough power to open a portal for them, they lay siege in hell the old, fashioned way. Cas knew a backdoor, but it was, of course, guarded. Half the group came in from the front and the other half from behind. A few more hunters, recruited at the last minute, formed a group of twenty something people. Cas, the badass he was, came in from above, breaking everything on his way (“Just as I did when I rescued you, Dean,” he said).

Of course, things went wrong. Of course. None of the hunters died, because first: they were already dead and, second: every single one of them had killed demons before.

The angels were a whole different thing. Sam and Dean went straight for them, no time to waste. Despite their experience in dealing with them, these ones were more than dicks: they were angry dicks. “Winchester,” one of them snarled, as if it was an insult, and their attack was fierce and fast. But Sam and Dean knew a lot of fighting tactics and, little by little, they made their way towards the throne room.

Rowena was nowhere to be seen, but behind a huge, closed metal door, Dean heard her yelling “Take your angel hands off me!”

After a while, the group of hunters dealing with the - now dead - demons joined them and, together, they start getting rid of the angels. Dean didn’t know the repercussions of killing an angel in hell, and frankly, he didn’t care. It was hard to believe the dicks were together with the demons in a plan to restart, once more, the freaking apocalypse. Again. One more time. But it was true, Cas had told then on their way here. Besides being dicks, they had no imagination. Getting rid of them was long overdue.

Sam kicks the metal door when they hear a whooshing sound.

Inside, Cas has Rowena in his arms. Around them, several dead angels. She looks a little dizzy, her head on his shoulder. He looks a little winded, and he gasps “We need to leave,” before disappearing in a beam of light. Dean and the others need to go back the way they did: going up seven levels of steep stairs.

When they arrive back in heaven, Dean has no idea where Cas and Rowena went, but on a hunch, he goes to the bunker. Rowena is sitting at the war room, elbows on the table, red hair in disarray, head in hands. She looks shaken.

“Cas?” is all Dean asks.

“In your room,” she answers.

So, here they are. Cas is on Dean’s bed, still in his armor. Dean has no idea how to remove it, and he’s afraid to move him.

“One of the angels had a blade near my throat,” Rowena’s voice trembles slightly. “Castiel started to talk to him, trying to convince him to let me go. The other came from behind and he didn’t duck in time.” She opens her hand and shows them an angel blade, dirty with something slimy, silvery and shiny, almost like mercury.

Angel blood. Cas’ real blood.

“It didn’t go all the way in,” Rowena says. “I think he collapsed as soon as we got here. When I came to myself, we were on the floor. I helped him get to your room. He closed his eyes and…” she trails off.

Dean nods slightly. “Cas…?” he tries again. But Cas is still like a marble statue. All Dean can think of is that Cas was already hurt when they went to hell, and on top of that he was stabbed, and now he – he shakes his head to send the dark thoughts away. Cas can’t die here, can he? Dean has just killed a couple of angels a few hours ago, but they were in hell. Do angels die in heaven?

“Dean?”

Jack’s voice is like music to Dean’s ears. The young man stops by the door, all wide eyes. He approaches them slowly, staring at Cas. When he gets close, he puts a hand on Cas’ chest and closes his eyes. For a few seconds they just stay there, completely still, as if suspended in time, but Dean’s heart is aching inside his chest, so he knows this isn’t a nightmare.

“There,” Jack says. “I closed all the wounds.”

“All the wounds?” Dean asks, dumbfounded. “As in, a lot?”

“Too many,” Jack answers. “Angels fight aiming to kill, never to just hurt. But he’s going to be alright now.”

“He’s still not waking up.”

“The damage was in his true form, no less. He needs some time to recover, to replenish his grace. He’ll wake up, Dean. He’ll be alright.”

Dean can’t hold an angry huff. “Stupid angel. He had to go and help Rowena and put himself in danger like that.”

Jack shrugs. “He always felt at least partially responsible for what happened to her. After I brought him here, they kept in touch.”

“So like Cas,” Dean shakes his head. “The idiot’s born in heaven, a badass commander, but he has to go and make friends with the sorry ass humans, he rebels, falls, sacrifices himself a handful of times… befriends a witch queen of hell, almost dies – again – in a mission to save her because he feels he owes her something.” “And who told him he was responsible for her death, asshole?” his mind offers.

“You know Castiel. Always happy to bleed for someone.”

“Jack, get out of my head!” Dean snaps.

Jack raises his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Hey, it’s not my fault that you were thinking of Cas saying he was ‘always happy to bleed for the Winchesters’. Your thoughts are all over the place, very loud, I should add. If you don’t control them, they just fly to my head. For example, right now, you’re thinking I’m an asshole, and also wondering what you’ll do for the rest of eternity if Castiel dies.”

“Fuck, Jack, come on!”

Jack blinks and suddenly Cas’ armor is gone. He’s in his old attire – suit, tie, trench coat. Then he puts a hand on Dean’s arm and squeezes a little, forcing him to raise his head and look at him.

“Castiel will wake up. I promise. But the thing is, you shouldn’t be worrying about what you’re going to do if he dies. Rather, what you’re going to do if he lives. He’s here, Dean, and so are you. What are you going to do with it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, man.”

“And that,” Jack gets up and looks at Dean sadly, “Is why Castiel’s greatest joy so far was just in the saying, not in the having. You’ve wondered why he thinks so little of himself… but have you ever given him any reason to think otherwise, Dean?”

Jack just disappears in the air, one moment here, the other gone.

Dean feels like he’s just been punched.

-----

A day and a night come and go, and still Cas sleeps. Dean never leaves his side. Sam comes, offers him soup, then beef jerky, then a beer. Dean refuses everything. It’s not as if he needs to eat.

“Dean – “ Sam starts.

“Not now, Sammy,” Dean closes his eyes. “I know you’re worried, and I appreciate it, but I can’t.”

“Jack said… um… that I should leave you alone, that you have a lot of thinking to do. So, if you need anything, I’ll be in my room.”

Dean just nods and Sam goes.

The room is dark except for a bedside lamp, projecting shadows on Cas’ face. Looking at him, Dean shakes his head again. Stupid angel. Beautiful, beautiful creature that came into Dean’s life more than twelve years ago and saved him so, so many times. Someone Dean can count on. Someone he can’t live without.

Wait.

He can’t live without Cas. Even if he’s technically dead, spending heaven-life without him is something Dean can’t conceive.

Shit.

Suddenly, everything is so clear that Dean doesn’t understand how he could be so dense. All this time, and his stupidity let him spend his life thinking he was unworthy of love, when in fact… he was loved by the most awesome person that ever existed. And he loves this person back just as much.

He does, doesn’t he? He has always – shit, he has always loved Cas back, and why the fuck did his stupid brain not get to this conclusion before?

Yep. It’s official. He’s a moron.

Jack knew, of course. That’s what he meant when he said Dean had a lot to think about. Even Sam, he probably knew too, judging from the faces he made whenever Dean and Cas started one of the many bickering sessions they had. Or one of the staring contests. Meg, Crowley, all the times they, and so many others, implied there was something between Dean and Cas, and Dean thought they were just trying to piss him off.

He spends a long time thinking, not realizing he has one of Cas’ hands between his. It’s like a twelve-year film is passing inside Dean’s head. Long stares, small touches, soft and private smiles, stupid choices, sacrifices… it was all there for anyone to see, but Dean was blind, how could he be so blind? Cas’ love for Dean was written in everything he did since forever.

Dean, on the other hand… looking back he can see, clear as day, the many, many times he was a dick to Cas. He never gave him a reason to stay, then complained because he left, even if he never stopped him from leaving. He never let Cas feel appreciated. He hardly ever thanked the guy for saving his ass. He doubted him; he blamed him; he kicked him out of the bunker when Cas was human and vulnerable. He doesn’t deserve Cas’ love. Cas could do better.

But the thing is… he has Cas’ love, and what he’s going to do about it? Because, on the other hand, Dean can also see the trench coat that spent ages in the Impala’s trunk. He can see his bloody hand punching a door when Cas was dead. He can see himself spending almost a year looking for Cas in Purgatory, and refusing to leave without him. So many, so many small things that he always labeled as friendship, but now is so, so clear it was... so much more.

“Cas,” he closes his eyes. “Hear me. Please.” He’s praying, taking a leap of faith here, and he hopes it will work. “You need to wake up. See, I have something to tell you, but you need to be awake for that, ‘cause it’s very important and… it can change everything. I need you, so please, please – “

“Hello, Dean.”

10- Tell him how you feel. Live/die happily ever after.

They’re on the bunker’s rooftop again. It’s becoming Dean’s favorite place.

Rowena has gone back to hell, once her lackeys got rid of all the bodies. Jack went back to the Empty, they’re negotiating Gabriel’s release. Sam, as soon as Cas woke up, remembered he needed to visit Mary and John asap.

So, Dean and Cas are alone.

They’re sitting on the rooftop, feet dangling, and Dean has a beer in his hands, more to have something to hold and ground him than for drinking.

“Cas, “ he starts. But he has no idea what he’s going to say. Rather, he has, but he doesn’t know how to say it.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas’ profile, illuminated only by the moonlight, almost shines. Everything about him seems to shine, like he’s so beautiful and perfect inside that the light can’t help but spill to the outside. Technically, he knows that’s Jimmy’s face. But it’s so different from Jimmy’s. The hair in disarray, the so very blue eyes with a hint of silver, the perpetual frowny face… and the guttural voice. Traits that make Cas unique, traits that no one else has. For Dean, Jimmy’s face is ordinary. Cas’ face, he can’t get out of his head. Now that he knows.

“You said you had something to tell me,” Cas says. He’s not looking at Dean, and there’s a slight tremor in his voice, almost as if he’s afraid to know what Dean has to say.

Dean clears his throat. Here goes nothing. “When you died… the last time you died,” he starts.

“Dean, please,” Cas almost begs. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“What if I want to talk about this?” Dean blurts out.

Cas cocks his head to the side. “Dean?”

“It made me think, Cas. What you said, it made me think. But… I didn’t want to think. Because… it hurt. It hurt so much that I put a lot of stuff on top of it, shoved a lot of things under the rug so I didn’t have to see what I’d wasted.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Bear with me. You will.”

Cas only nods, but his eyes are a little anxious, a little wide.

“Then the freakin’ metal bar came. I didn’t want to die, you have to believe me. But – bit I didn’t want to live like that either. And I didn’t see a way to change. I was looking for a job, already knowing how it’d be. The empty feeling inside me, just like when I was with Lisa and Ben; I had an apple pie life, I had a family, a job… and inside me there was this void they couldn’t fill.”

“I thought you were happy,” Cas murmurs.

“Yeah, sometimes I’m good at pretending. But listen to me, I’m not finished yet.”

“Okay.”

“So, when the metal bar went straight to my lung, I knew that the little time I had to live… I didn’t want to waste it in a hospital, I needed Sam to know that he was my everything. He was, Cas, because that’s the way I was raised, that was drilled and imprinted in my head when I was four. And, I had to tell him that, and if they took the bar off, I’d probably die without him knowing it. I didn’t fight because I wanted to die. I just made a choice, and it was to let my brother know that he didn’t have to stay with me in the bunker forever, he could have a life. A normal one. I took him off from his apple pie life fifteen years ago, I needed to put him back.”

“Dean, this is… Sam was devastated. He’s have stayed with you, not out of obligation, but because he loves you.”

“I know, Cas. I know. But I was dying, man. My thoughts were all scrambled. I’m telling you this because I’ve given it a lot of thought, and you’re the first one I’m telling this. You’re probably the only one who will know this, ever.”

“I’m honored by your trust in me,” Cas says solemnly.

“Yeah, yeah, better late than ever, right?” Dean says, a little self-deprecatingly. “But listen. There’s more.” He takes a deep breath. “Some things you told me that day stayed with me. That I wasn’t the killer I saw in myself. That I was good. That everything I did was for love. But… now I realize that all that love, it was never directed at someone that should’ve gotten it the most, because he loved me when I didn’t love myself.”

“Dean, what – “

Dean raises his hand to make Cas stop talking. “The thing is… When you said those words to me, and I didn’t say anything… I should’ve said something. I should’ve. Even if it was just ‘you’re important to me, Cas, don’t go’. But I’m a coward and I didn’t say a thing, and you were just gone. I blinked, and you were gone, and I knew I’d never see you again.”

“I didn’t say it to be reciprocated, Dean. I said it because I had just had an epiphany and I was so happy for finally understanding that I could just say it, because it was the truest thing inside me for a long, long time. I realized that and… I had to let you know. But I wasn’t expecting anything from you, I didn’t want that burden on your shoulders. I didn’t want you to think you owed me anything.”

“But I did, Cas. I do. I owe you my life, more than once. I owe you my humanity and I owe you never giving up on me, even when I gave up on you. I’ve reached to the conclusion that I owe you everything that remains good inside me. And – and then you left and I – why did you have to sacrifice yourself like that?”

“It was out of utter despair, Dean. We were in a situation that we had no way of winning. And I… I looked at you, and your face, so devoid of hope… and you were beautiful’ you were Dean Winchester! I held your soul in my hands a long time ago, and from that moment on, everything changed, Dean. I wanted to fight it at first, but it was useless. That was something my powers could never do, and for all the free will I had fought for, this one thing, what I felt for you, what I feel for you, is the only thing I have no free will over. And in that moment of – of desperation, I knew I would give my life for you again and again if I had to.”

“Cas…” Dean says, amazed. He can’t even begin to understand the love this timeless creature, this angel that was been around since the beginning of time, feels for him. It’s beyond his comprehension, but in Cas’ eyes he sees that every word is true. This love, this seemingly enormous thing that made Cas defy heaven and every order that Chuck, Naomi, Zachariah, Uriel, Raphael and everyone else ever gave him, it’s too much for Dean’s ordinary human mind to understand. But he wants it.

“I was… I was so used to you always being around that I didn’t realize that whenever you were gone, every time, Cas… you took part of me with you.”

Cas’ eyes widen. “Dean…?”

“You said I deserve to be happy. Then you built this – this heaven for me with all I could possibly want, but Cas… I could never, I can never be happy here - ”

“Dean, don’t,” Cas starts. “Please.”

“- not without you,” Dean goes on. “Never without you. You can put everything and everyone here, you can build me a bunker, a palace, I don’t care. If you’re not here, it will never make me happy.“

Dean inches closer, until his face is so close to Cas’ that he can see his long lashes and his blue, blue sparkling eyes. “So, I’m telling you… that thing you said, back there, that you couldn’t have? You can have it, Cas. It’s yours. It has been yours for a long time, but I was too stupid to realize.” “But Dean, how can you –“

“Shut up, Cas, don’t spoil the moment.”

“But I – “

“Shut up, Cas,” Dean’s voice is laced with fondness.

“But you – “

“Dean loses his patience, just a little. “Cas! For Jack’s sake!” Then he adds, softly, “I’m trying to kiss you here, so unless you really, really want to stop me, just. Shut. Up.”

Cas snaps his mouth shut.

Dean closes the distance between them and his lips touch Cas’, briefly, softly. There’s no electric current, fireworks, sparks flying, like in the paperback novels Dean will deny forever that he reads once in a while. There’s only this indescribable happiness. There’s this sense of “this is it” inside his head. Cas is it.

They come apart slowly, and Dean looks at Cas’ eyes, which are bright and moist, and Dean smiles, knowing that these almost tears are of happiness. The same happiness he feels, knowing that finally, finally Cas won’t go any other minute of his life without knowing how much he is loved. Because he is.

“You’re my best friend,” he whispers, “and you’re it for me. So, if you want, we can, maybe… spend all eternity together?”

Cas smiles, the kind of rare smiles that scrunches his nose and wrinkles the corner of his eyes. The smile Dean has never seen in him, except when they’re together, laughing. “I’d like that,” he says. “A lot.”

“Alright,” Dean murmurs, going for another kiss.

They have all the time in the world, and they’re not in a hurry, so the kiss doesn’t end anytime soon, and morphs into another one, and in so, so much more. The moon in shining up in heaven’s sky, but Dean knows it’s a pale comparison to the shine in Cas ‘eyes.

--- --- ---

About the author

Dean Winchester was born on January 24, 1979 to John and Mary Winchester in Lawrence, Kansas. He died on November 19, 2020. He is the couple's first child, four years older than his younger brother, Sam. He is named after his maternal grandmother, Deanna Campbell. Dean was raised as a hunter by his father, after his mother’s death. He lived the life of a nomad, eliminating several monsters, ghosts, evil spirits and demons, and saving a lot of humans. He also played a crucial part in Apocalypse I, Apocalypse II, the Darkness Apocalypse and in Chuck Shurley’s (AKA The Almighty) demise. He also killed Adolf Hitler. Currently, Dean lives in Heaven, sector 24 – A, with his partner, his brother and his dog. He works as a Newcomers' Advisor. Mail can be sent to PO box KAZ 2Y5.

----

Epilogue

Snippet of life in Heaven.

“Sammy, take this.” Dean shoves the little booklet in Sam’s hand.

They’re in one on the many gatherings and parties around here. This time, is for Bobby and Karen’s vows renewal. Everyone is there, everyone is happy, dancing, smiling. Dean sees Sam in a corner, surreptitiously looking at Eileen, on the other side of the room, talking to Cas.

Sam picks the booklet. “How to fall in love when you’re dead,” he reads. “A guide by Dean Winchester.” He looks at Dean, frowning. “Did you… write this?”

“Dean shrugs, cheeks reddening. “Cas helped. But I did most of the work.”

“Wow, Dean,” Sam’s face shows his astonish.

“I mean… I figured this could help other people to solve their… unfinished business, you know? I solved mine,” he says, looking at Cas, who is talking to Eileen using ASL. He’s really amazing. “If I solved mine, a lot of people can, too. Just – just don’t read it near me, or don’t ask me anything about the things I wrote there. It’s… I still don’t like chick flick moments, okay?”

“You don’t fool me,” Sam smiles, holding the booklet close. “I know you’re a big sap.”

Dean clears his throat. “I know you’re still in love with Eileen, Sammy. So, go and talk to her. Things are different here, but just because we literally have all eternity in our hands, it doesn’t mean we have to waste it.”

Sam looks at Eileen again. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m… I’m gonna read this, and talk to her.”

“You do that. But maybe you’ll want to skip the part where things got really steamy at the bunker’s rooftop."

“Ewww, Dean! Come on! I did not need to that information!”

“I’m just kidding, Samantha, don’t get your panties twisted. ‘Cause, if I’d have to write about all the times things got steamy between me’n Cas since we got together, this would probably be R-rated.”

Sam slaps Dean’s shoulder, but he’s laughing.

“Ew, not again, jerk!”

“Bitch.”

------

“Did you give your book to Sam?” Cas asks.

Dean rolls his eyes. “It’s not a book, Cas.”

“It’s about us. For me it’s a book, and you’re not changing my opinion about it.”

They’re close, facing each other, and somewhere there’s soft music playing. Dean doesn’t even notice when he and Cas put their hands on each other’s waists.

“Dean, I… um… I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something,” Cas says, serious.

“Shoot.”

“Jack wants to build a new section in heaven, and I volunteered. And I, um… I need your assistance.”

“Sure,” Dean says. “What is it? A new bible camp?” he jokes.

“A beach.”

Dean frowns. “Did I hear you saying a beach?”

“Yes. Like… um… the Bahamas.”

“But… why do you need my help to make a beach?”

“I don’t need your help with the beach part. But I… I was thinking that maybe, if you want, you could um… build a cabin there. And…” Cas’ cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink. “And of course, I’d have to go there and inspect it. And we would be… you know… alone. You and me. With no other angel or human soul around.”

Oh.

Dean arches his eyebrows. “Castiel Winchester, I didn’t know you had a devious side.” He widens his eyes. Oops.

“Winchester?” Cas’ eyes, if possible, are even wider.

It’s Dean’s time to blush. “Yes, um… if you want to. But if you don’t, it’s – “

“Dean. I’d be honored.”

“Yeah?”

They’re swaying slowly, almost dancing together without even realizing it.

“Yes,” Cas says. “Would you be too embarrassed if I kissed you now?”

“Nah,” Dean smiles. He looks around. Every one of his extended family and friends is there. “They’ll all probably read the booklet, anyway. Besides, the only one that didn’t know we were boyfriends without the fun, was little ol’ me.”

“Good,” Cas says, kissing Dean, the kind of soft and unhurried kiss that leaves no doubt of the love behind it.

Dean kisses him back, his chest almost bursting with joy, with love. And, in his lips, Dean tastes the forever that awaits them.

THE END

--- x ---

#destiel secret santa 2020 #15x20 fix it

67 notes · View notes

quillyfied · 4 years

Text

Mega Good Omens Fic Rec Post 5

What up, it’s back!

77 carefully-curated titles for your perusal today! As always, the fics are broken into the following categories: Jaunts through History/Canon, South Downs, Post-Apocalypse, Bus Ride/The Night Before/Heaven and Hell, AU/UA, Just Soft, Touch-Starved/Body Worship/Wings, Bonus, and H/C /Whump/BAMF. I don’t read smut fics but sometimes there are sexual elements to the stories and sometimes you get invested and then suddenly the author drops a smut chapter, so warnings where applicable.

Mega GOmens Fic Rec Post MASTER

LET ME KNOW IF A LINK IS BROKEN OR MISATTRIBUTED AND I WILL FIX IT RIGHT AWAY.

JAUNTS THROUGH HISTORY/CANON

1. Get Thee To A Nunnery – Owenjones (T, the one where Aziraphale is put in a nunnery and needs a bit of a rescue. More or less Ineffable Wives time, but warnings for Aziraphale being forced into a female corporation against his will, that’s pretty icky (three guesses for who the offending Archangel is). Crowley is posing as a little lady known as Julie D’Aubigny, which, if that rings no bells, you should Google her immediately and then go into this fic cackling like I did. Very sweet, a fun little adventure!)

2. Bibliophilia – @wingedspirit (G, the one where Aziraphale has a book nemesis and Crowley always seems to have the perfect book as a gift, what a coincidence. This is so funny, you guys, seriously. We stan ONE (1) oblivious angel in this house. And when Aziraphale finally catches on, it’s so cute, I can’t even. I cannot EVEN. Go read it right now immediately.)

3. The Heart Goes To Heaven, The Head Goes To Hell – Dekkles (T, the one where Crowley has intentions of making an angel Fall and it kinda…backfires. Guys fair warning, this one’s version of Hell is really gross, if you’re squeamish tread very carefully bc WOW it can get a bit graphic. Y’know what’s also gross? The PINING (obviously not gross in the same way but the pining is awfully feelsy and part of it does happen in Hell). Watching this Crawly go from an honestly nauseating portrayal of Hell to watching Aziraphale and kinda awkwardly twitching in his light is so delightful and I hope for more in the future (though maybe less visions of Hell, I will be so glad if and when the fic leaves that place because yikes).)

4. i like this place (it feels spooky) – @asideofourown (G, the one where Warlock manages to convince Nanny and Brother Francis to take him to a haunted house and it’s so cute. You guys. It’s SO cute. You really get a feel for little Warlock’s personality and how he sees things (and he sees ALL). Just a really cute “family” outing, really, and someone gets spooked at the end and it’s not who you think!)

5. Doubt the Stars are Fire – LilithReisender (T, the one where Aziraphale bails Crowley out of prison and they spend time together in an Italian villa. This one has cool history bits, really fun banter, and Crowley actively on the job while trying to pretend he isn’t on the job. It’s a delight, and it’s just getting started! Jump on this bandwagon, folks, it’s great!)

6. The Hellfire Club – @amarguerite (NR, the one where greater measures are taken to make sure Aziraphale isn’t promoted back upstairs. This one is so hilarious, you guys, I can’t even tell you which bit is my favorite. And the cherry on top? Wing grooming! (I can also tell you that something highly unpleasant happens to Sandalphon, if that sweetens the pot for anyone.) If you have a Thing for Crowley and Aziraphale being melodramatic and overacting, then stay put, friends. Also continue reading this list, there’s a few more that’ll catch your eye later on.)

7. The Immortal Look – MickyRC (G, the one where Crowley puts Aziraphale in some kohl and it’s awesome. A written entry for the Prince of Omens DTIYS, and even independent from Prince of Omens this fic is a winner, in my book. Crowley going dewy-eyed over Aziraphale’s looks in any capacity is always My Jam and this fic really goes for it.)

8. Merry & Bright – @peppervl (G, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley go undercover as a married couple in the Regency. You like fem!Aziraphale but don’t see it often enough? SIT DOWN, FRIENDO. Not only does this have a lovely Miss Fell for us to fawn over, but it’s a Miss Fell in possession of a fortune and surely in want of a husband, according to prim-and-proper London, and who better to help her out than one Mr. Crowley who happens to need some help on a temptation? Fun, romantic, and with a cute little twist at the end I shan’t spoil but you should really stick around for.)

9. Putting the Endearment in Dear – @joyandotherstories (G, the one where Aziraphale starts calling everyone “dear” just so he can also call Crowley by endearments. This one is sweet and a little sad and has the softest possible ending, y’all don’t even know. Read it, the point in time where Aziraphale doesn’t have to hold back his mountain of endearments anymore is a sight to behold.)

10. Between the Lines – cyankelpie (G, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale’s feelings are known but not spoken, at least not directly. This one is a historical jaunt where they have a lot of double-meaning conversations (and Crowley is very rightly lost through a lot of it, poor dear), and it aches, you guys, it just hurts. Not finished yet as of this review but WHEN IT’S DONE—I’m sure it’ll be worth it. Hot dang.)

11. No Matter How the Stars Align (They Make Me Think of You) – silentsonata (G, the one that covers stars that Crowley and Aziraphale have met under. Every once in a while there’ll come along a fic that shakes the ground as it walks. I understand the Big Bang events usually churn these out, and there are quite a few on this list, but this fic here? A masterpiece. Pitch-perfect in every way, just a stunner. I want to tell y’all to pay special attention to certain chapters but they all took my breath utterly away and it would be unfair to single any out over the rest, the whole work is a monument. Just beautiful.)

12. Too Wise to Woo Peaceably – purewanderlust (T, the one that’s five times they see “Much Ado About Nothing” throughout history. I love me some “Much Ado,” personally, and this fic knows what it’s on about. Wonderfully romantic and ends with the single most perfect conversation, I swear 2 someone. Hits right in the feels.)

13. Just Another Sword Fight – DemonicGeek (NR, the one that’s a 5+1 about Crowley swordfighting. If you’re here because Aziraphale taking on the role of the swooning maiden to Crowley’s dashing hero makes you, in fact, be the one swooning, say hello to your new best friend. If you like to follow all that up with Aziraphale taking charge when needed, I might suggest building a home here, because ABSOLUTELY that’s what you’re getting.)

14. A Few More Rescues – @poetic----nonsense (T, the one with, predictably, a few more rescues. If the previous fic had you reeling and begging for more, welcome to the buffet, children. These are some really fun rescues by Crowley on behalf of Aziraphale, and they’re unconventional and historical AF (especially the bit with the dragon) (you bet your sweet keister there’s a bit with a dragon). This fic is so much fun and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.)

15. Floriography – Frenchmeister (T, the one where Crowley doesn’t get flower language. The premise is, Crowley slept through a large chunk of the Victorian era, so he doesn’t know what Aziraphale keeps trying to say as they work at the Dowlings’ estate raising Warlock. He does know that the philodendron is a menace, no matter what it’s supposed to mean. Funny and nerve-wracking and so, so sweet.)

16. The Interplay of Illusion and Magic – SoulJelly (T, the one where Aziraphale tries to join a magicians’ society. This one has some delightful history and Aziraphale trying to perform sleight of hand magic to get in a secret magicians club and a surprising twist near the middle, all told; it’s a lot more exciting than I initially thought it was going to be (I was just expecting some fluff and that was not all I got; it’s always a good day when Crowley has to come to the rescue).)

SOUTH DOWNS

17. There goes the neighborhood – @bestoftheseekwill (G, the one where Crowley’s retirement peace is threatened by construction. If you’re here for Crowley wiles, anti-capitalism, and flashes of protective Aziraphale, get ready to take a load off because this is primo.)

18. Teatime Revelations – Cardinal_Daughter (T, the one where God invites Herself over for tea. This one is strained and it’s emotional and it’s all the softer for it. Aziraphale being quiet and protective while Crowley has a come-apart in the face of God is iconic, tbh; pretty sure this fic inspired a lot of my own portrayals of the GOmens God, looking back on it. A wonderful and light-hearted take.)

POST-APOCALYPSE

19. Lose a Kraken, Gain an Angel – MistressKat (T, the one where Hastur has an expected friendship. This fic has everything—Hastur being a sympathetic character, the Kraken, Crowley pining after Aziraphale, the Antichrist, and is hilarious from start to finish. A fun and tonally accurate diversion, please read.)

20. Something Old, Something New – shippityshipship (G, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale are involved in weddings. Short and hasn’t updated in a while but still excellent reading, I find; great characterization, some fun OCs, lovely atmosphere, oblivious pining while everyone else thinks they’re dating, it’s amazing.)

21. The difficulty with disposable demons – @areyougonnabe (T, the one where Eric the disposable demon shows up and it’s a madhouse in Crowley’s apartment. This is a really funny take on what happens to the disposable demons and why they are the way they are, and with the added bonus of driving Crowley up the wall and some mild miscommunications with Aziraphale that are all sorted out in the end.)

22. Care and Keeping – @arcafira (M, T, the series where Crowley is shedding and Aziraphale tries to help. Not rated M for anything violent or sexual, really more of a T than an M but there is a bath scene and a lot of self-loathing. There’s a lot of convincing Crowley to let Aziraphale care for him and a lot of working through Fall-related issues, but it leaves off in a wonderfully hopeful place.)

23. The Clockwork Days – redwinehouse (T, the one where the world’s ending again. There are many fics that have tackled possible sequels to Good Omens and this is one of the more tonally accurate ones, I feel; it’s very tongue-in-cheek and matter-of-fact, and the little twist at the end was a genuine surprise to me. Whack in plenty of mutual pining and a Bentley that has had it up to HERE with these idiots and you’ve got a recipe for a good little story.)

24. don’t leave me here alone – Elvendork (T, the one where Crowley asks for holy water again. This one is a tense argument, right up until it isn’t, and absolutely delectable, really. If you’re a fan of Aziraphale bringing up hellfire to go toe to toe with Crowley on the issue, BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUP, this one is dunking itself into Soft Town with that accelerant to really drive it home.)

25. The Next Time We Wed – seashadows (T, the one where a mix-up leads to marriage. If drunken mistakes and their aftermath is what you’re after, welcome to the party, folks, because this one’s a whopper. Can people pine while being married to each other? The answer is yes. Can it have a soft ending? Also yes. Can it include the mothers of such characters as Anathema and Newt being wonderful characters in their own right? The answer, incredibly, is yes.)

26. You Can’t Un-See A Dog – @holycatsandrabbits (T, the one where Crowley is summoned and there’s shenanigans afoot. I won’t talk too much about the plot of this one bc I don’t want to spoil it but suffice it to say that this one is hilarious and has some especially gratifying Ineffable Husband silent communication at play. If your entire reason for existence, like Crowley’s, is seeing Bastard!Aziraphale at work, then bunk down here, friendos, you’ve arrived.)

BUS RIDE/NIGHT BEFORE/HEAVEN AND HELL

27. Crowley, Big Bad Demon, Can Keep His Cool Around His Crush – @edennovik (T, the one where Crowley…well, see title, and then immediately disregard. Crowley cannot, in fact, keep his cool around his crush. Crowley is doing the opposite of keeping his cool around his crush. Crowley is a ball of anxiety and screaming pining gooey mess and Aziraphale might just like him anyway.)

AU/UA

28. If Not Now, When – @ineffablefool (T, the one where trans café worker Crowley strikes up a conversation with fat pretty Aziraphale. Listen. Y’all know ineffablefool. Y’all know he is a force that cannot be stopped or reckoned with, when it comes to Soft Fat-Postive Asexual Romance. So I do not say this lightly when I say that this is possibly his masterwork. There is a lot of good, good content in his catalogue but the emotional work put into this makes the whole thing stand straight up and resonate. It’s tender and respectful and handles conflicts of gender and sexuality with grace and gentleness and oh no I’m tearing up pls send help I’m DROWNING—).

29. Trip the Light – @summerofspock (M, the one where Aziraphale falls in love first. M for a sex scene near the end of the fic, second half of Chapter 17, so keep an eye out for that if you’re sensitive to it. Oh, y’all. This one goes through canon and a few scenes outside of it and the recontextualizing of those scenes as Aziraphale hopelessly in love and Crowley as oblivious is amazing. Even more amazing: once Crowley finally catches on and then it becomes Aziraphale once again in his role of holding back. Guys. Y’all. My DUDES. I am in the throes of agony. It’s so good.)

30. one love (only for you) – @weatheredlaw (M, the one that’s a vague Snow White AU. It’s truly unfair how poetic and romantic this one is, how lovely. It has fantasy elements and ridiculous vengeful brothers and soft, soft boys in love. A sweet little way to spend an afternoon, tbh.)

31. in the house we remain – @commodorecliche (M, the one where Crowley’s a ghost in the house Aziraphale has bought. M for masturbation, weird ghost sex, and a harrowing backstory for Crowley; if you’re squeamish about sexual things and not good at gauging how to skip them, or if you can’t stand abuse stories, I would pass this one up. Y’all. Y’ALL. So thoroughly upsetting, this one; the horror elements are real but so is the romance and it’s a beautiful balance of the two. What’s wild is how believable it is; it could easily have been a story about Aziraphale just becoming obsessed with and romanticizing a dead person who used to live in his house but it feels like an actual love story, with Crowley learning how to trust Aziraphale, as well, despite their planar incompatibility. The ending is so unbelievably sweet. And there’s art now! There wasn’t, when I first added it to the list! Huzzah!)

32. pop! goes my heart – @areyougonnabe (E, the one that’s a Music and Lyrics AU. E for a sex scene near the end of Chapter 6 that’s a bit difficult to skip, since there’s a couple of relevant paragraphs after it that set up the next chapter, but if you’re up for the challenge, godspeed. First things first: this fic has ORIGINAL MUSIC RECORDED BY THE AUTHOR AND IT’S AMAZING. Music and Lyrics is one of my personal favorite romcoms, and what’s been done with it is not only accurate to the actual music industry, but accurate to the characters, as well. It’s such a fun story, adapted well, and the writing style is just charming. Fantastic!)

33. For the First Time in Forever – @nicnacsnonsense (T, the one that’s a Frozen AU. I am excited for this one, y’all. The adaptation is already so much fun and it’s only going to get funner. Aziraphale as Elsa and Crowley in an Anna-adjacent role (but not actually bc no incest) is amazing, the Olaf stand-in outshines the original, and the emotional toll is already pretty high. Absolutely worth a read.)

34. Sailor’s Omens – NeverNooitNiet (G, the one where Crowley’s a pirate and Aziraphale is his prisoner. There’s a touch of historical homophobia but that doesn’t matter much out at sea, really. If the boys being clever and bickering and also one-upping beloved series antagonists is something you enjoy, welcome to the party, friends. It’s a good old-fashioned piracy romp that’s sure to satisfy.)

35. Pomegranate Seeds – @nicnacsnonsense (G, the one that’s a Persephone and Hades AU with Aziraphale as Hades and Crowley as Persephone. This one has a unique tone and is also romantic as all get-out; throw in genderfluid Crowley, love at first sight, and Aziraphale being a sweetie, it’s a story well worth its salt, imo.)

36. Laws of Gravity – @brightwanderer (T, the one where Aziraphale invents pining for Raphael. Listen. I think we all know at this point that brightwanderer, or Atalan on ao3, has earned her clout as a GOmens fanfic heavyweight. She didn’t NEED to write an awkward and earnest Raphael trying to go incognito as Crowley into the Garden of Eden. She didn’t NEED to write about how incredibly awkward Aziraphale is while heels over halo in love. She didn’t NEED to have an engaging plot and a wonderful twist on the Temptation of Eve and also the most awkward and obvious besotted angels in the universe. But she did. And we are blessed. So go partake.)

37. Incubus!Crowley – GenericUsername01 (G, T, the series where Crowley is a sex demon and we get to see what that means. This fic threads the very specific needle I personally enjoy where sex is an element of the story and has bearing on it, but the story doesn’t have any actual sex scenes in it. I love this writer’s style and where they take Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship; I love the view of Hell in the first bit; I love all of it, really. A+++.)

38. Everyone But You – @summerofspock (M, the one where Crowley is hired to seduce an angel. M for some saucy makeouts and some post-coital afterglow but nothing explicit. If y’all like stories where a conman is hired to do a job and starts to have complicated feelings about it, especially if those feelings are falling in love with his mark, then here you go. It’s amazing as all heck and hilarious to boot; Crowley learning what falling in love is like is always a treat but omg. Poor Aziraphale. And the most DELIGHTFUL resolution, my goodness.)

39. In Mixed Company, or the Corporate Retreat of Heaven and Hell – @theoldaquarian (M, the one where Heaven and Hell have a joint corporate retreat every so often and Crowley and Aziraphale are doomed. M for some adult themes but nothing explicit. Y’all. TheOldAquarian must be stopped. They cannot continue to be so funny and engaging. They cannot continue to have the most corporate and hilariously mundane depiction of Heaven and Hell. They are a MENACE who, in the space of one fic, has packed all the pining of the ages in so tightly that when it finally bursts free, my shoulders physically relaxed and my spine uncoiled. This fic in particular is too much and too wonderful. I really must protest.)

40. Loosely Ballroom – marginalia_device, @mortifyingideal (T, the one where Aziraphale is a professional dancer and Crowley is a contestant on a show with him (for American viewers, think Dancing With the Stars). This fic is so good and so funny and so achingly in-character. I love Crowley as the washed-up old star trying to kick his career back up, I love Aziraphale as the put-upon dancer on his last legs, and I love that they’re both the victim of a studio gimmick and then decide that malicious compliance is their best bet. It’s still early in the fic (…at over 40k words wow it’s gonna be a monster and I’m ready), but it’s going to be so good already, I can just tell. There’s already some art for it floating around by naniiebimworks for the interested.)

JUST SOFT

41. Repeat the Sounding Joy – @allonsy-gabriel (G, the one where they decorate a Christmas tree. This is a short and sweet look at what the holidays are like for an angel and a demon post-apocalypse and it’s so adorable, you guys. Crowley having FEELINGS and Aziraphale being fussy about his decorating, it’s just a treat.)

42. The Nesting Habits of Angelus Principalum – @obaewankenope (NR, the one where Aziraphale nests and is gently protective. This fic is quiet and understated and so unbelievably romantic without being over the top about it; it’s a quiet coming together that creeps up on you, much like how the realization of Aziraphale’s nesting habits creeps up on Crowley. A lovely little thing.)

43. we’ll get there fast and then we’ll take it slow – @tonyhawksmovingcastle (E, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale wind up faking a relationship on a couple’s cruise. E for Chapter 7, which is completely skippable without ruining any plot. This one gets a double whammy for both engaging plot and wonderful OCs that add to rather than distract from the story. Fake dating is fun enough but when you’re fake dating and also being wingmanned by well-meaning possibly supernatural sapphics, while also having fun in the tropics, it’s a recipe for a good time all around (at least for the audience). So lovely and sweet and that moment when Crowley and Aziraphale finally get together is magic.)

44. Road Trip Games and Love – rgfalso (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale go on a road trip together. This one almost takes place in real time, and has the most intense and emotional back-and-forth while these poor saps try to work out the Thing between them without actually talking about it for as long as inhumanly possible. Of course there are lots of road trip games, and of course those road trip games are a vehicle of conveyance for what they’re actually trying to say, and cue all the misunderstandings in the world. It’s frustrating and cathartic and amazing and the end especially is so, so sweet.)

45. The Most Stylish Wedding of AZ Fell and AJ Crowley – @leapoffaith1489 (T, the one where Aziraphale is determined to discard tartan for the wedding. Y’all. Omg. If relatively low-stakes cute wedding shenanigans are your thing, welcome home. If Aziraphale being pleasantly surprised is your thing, welcome home. If Aziraphale working through minor insecurities is your thing, welcome, truly, home. Featuring a lovely cast of side characters and a soft-as-butter plot.)

46. The Newlywed Game (Not What You’d Think) – @heavenslittlehellion (NR, the one where a game of drunken truth-telling goes a little farther than anticipated. Hello, welcome to the emotional gut-punch fic, you’ve arrived. The only thing that saves this from dunking into the last category on this list with the other h/c and whump fics is how low-stakes it is and how soft it is when they get past the unpleasant bit. People who love theories on what the Fall felt like, welcome to the table.)

47. On the Road to Love – Mizmak (G, the one where Crowley enters a motor rally race with the Bentley, with Aziraphale as navigator. While there’s great fun in Crowley and Aziraphale needling each other, there’s greater joy in their friendship and tenderness towards the other (and asexual bed-sharing fans, rejoice). It’s a fun concept all around and definitely worth the read.)

48. Mr. Fell’s Bookshop ficlets – @holycatsandrabbits (G, T, the series where Mr. Fell has regular customers and they love the place as much as they love its weird and eldritch owner. For folks who love seeing the Ineffable Duo through others’ eyes, this is a fun series to scratch that particular itch, and has spawned a number of spin-off fics, unless I’m mistaken. It’s a relatively low-stakes series, for people wanting something like that these days, too.)

49. Quiet Reflection – @shinyopals (T, the one where they have to duck into a church to avoid demons. If the phrase “spicy Jesus crackers” holds any appeal whatsoever, go read this fic immediately. It’s heartfelt and hilarious and really that’s all you can ask for in a good fluff fic. Also Crowley being held. Really, that’s all any of us want from life.)

50. Deck the Halls – forthegreatergood (G, the one where mistletoe should really not be this hard to get a hold of. Y’all you simply MUST stick around for the hijinks in this one. They are manifold and hilarious. Does it end in makeouts? Possibly. You’ll just have to read it, won’t you?)

51. The Secret Dress – GlitterSkullFairy (G, the one where Crowley has a secret wedding dress. This one is very dramatic and sad…and then Aziraphale pops in. Like with all things concerning these two, it immediately takes a turn from there. If putting Crowley in pretty dresses is a thing you enjoy, have a seat and enjoy the show, it’s a softy.)

52. Well…That’s New – @almaasi (G, the one where Crowley doesn’t realize he’s in love. If oblivious Crowley is more to your taste, this is the one for you. Takes the concept “what if Crowley was in love but didn’t realize it” and runs with it for all it’s worth. Hilarious and sweet and wonderful.)

53. serpent, serpent-bearer – @elsajeni (G, the one that’s about horoscopes. I realize the Soft section of the rec list is for things that are Soft but hhnnngkk you guys. This one is so cute. My heart can’t take it. They’re so gosh darned precious, with their newspaper and their horoscopes and their welcome invasion of each other’s personal space.)

54. If Only You Were Mine – @somethingscarlet13 (G, the one where Crowley gets so drunk he can’t remember who Aziraphale’s husband is, just that he’s married. This is a little sugar shot for your day, folks—short, sweet, silly, and did I mention sweet? It is so worth having a giggle at drunk Crowley’s expense, please do read it.)

55. Cupboard Love – @copperplatebeech (T, the one where Crowley is a cranky snek. I would also highly recommend this for folks who enjoy Madam Tracy, especially Madam Tracy being utterly unaffected by being face-to-face with the supernatural and cooing over things like the wonderful lady she is. Fun and a little silly and a lot adorable.)

56. affirmation, appreciation – pearlwaldorf (G, the one where Aziraphale helps someone in need a little differently than expected. This one has Aziraphale taking on the persona of an interested male party looking to pick up the spirits of a woman on the tail end of a messy divorce and Crowley understanding but still getting a little jealous. It’s so sweet and so lovely, both what Aziraphale and Crowley do for this poor woman and how Aziraphale reassures Crowley afterwards. Top notch.)

57. Forget-Me-Not – @dietraumerei (T, the one where Crowley gets amnesia. Not as dramatic as others, he just loses 200 years and it’s temporary, but it’s ever so sweet, watching Crowley fall back in love with the modern world and be gobsmacked that he and Aziraphale are finally together. There’s a lot of reassurance and tender sweet nothings thrown about and I’m pretty sure I developed a heart condition just from reading this, it’s too good.)

58. They Shake The Mountains When They Dance – @copperbadge (T, the one where Crowley finds Aziraphale’s scar. Operating on the theory that Aziraphale was injured in the War in Heaven and that’s why he clutches his leg and limps when he’s discorporated, this is the sappiest, sweetest rumination on the subject I have ever read. Crowley gets so protective and defensive, and Aziraphale is so gentle in talking him down. On the whole, it’s just wonderful and so, so cute. Omg.)

59. Familiar Care – ginger_mosaic (G, the one where the Ineffable Dads have to take their snabies in for medical help. This comes from the Wiggleverse, which on the whole I cannot strongly recommend enough, but this fic in particular centers around the most delightful OC veterinarian who handles Crowley and Aziraphale’s strange family very well. There’s also a fun twist at the end, so absolutely keep reading to find out what that is. And also, immerse yourself in adorable snake baby shenanigans, because they are the best sort.)

TOUCH-STARVED/BODY WORSHIP/WINGS

60. Rituals (or the Seven Layer Bean Dip Approach to Sex) – SleepySelfLoathing (T, the one where no seriously metaphysical angel/demon sex is super weird. Fans of truly esoteric ethereal/occult mating rituals rejoice, for this is your new home. It’s abstract but no less beautiful for it, I think; the imagery and emotional accompaniment are all lovely, even if they don’t meet conventional human romance standards. You can really tell that it means a lot to Crowley and Aziraphale, the ways they show how much they love each other. A weird and delectable little dish, by all accounts.)

61. Under Pressure – @copperplatebeech (M, the one where Crowley steals kisses. M for sensuality and body worship but nothing too explicit; also could be construed as dubcon kissing, for those of you sensitive to that. Hhhgkk y’all. Crowley thinks he’s being sly getting away with smooching Aziraphale throughout history while they’re both drunk off their rockers but does not count on Aziraphale actually remembering, and then once the Apocalypse is done with and they’re On Their Own Side and Can Aknowledge These Things…well. They do. Crowley is a mess and Aziraphale is a mess and they love each other so much. The writing is so tender and I’m CRYING.)

62. London Calling – forthegreatergood (G, the one with slow-burn wing grooming. There’s so much crammed into this bad boy and it balances it admirably—Crowley’s relationship with Aziraphale, Crowley’s relationship with Hell, Crowley thinking about retirement, Crowley getting preemptively banned from a certain European country for being a pest outside of its consulate, Crowley losing his cool over getting to touch Aziraphale’s wings. Humor, aching tenderness, the kind of longing that feels like a high, quavering violin note, tension and release. A beautiful piece.)

63. Elmie’s Ineffable Fireplace Fics – @almaasi (G, M, M, the series that is completely unrelated except for the physical and also figurative appearances of warm fireplaces. M for sensuality but nothing explicit. The first two are mainly short fluff; the third is a long Regency-esque AU with some gender and sexuality shenanigans on top of Real Danger and Intrigue. True to the writer’s promise, all three fics are pretty comfortable and warm, even if the third has some action and tension. They’re absolutely lovely, imo.)

64. The Hands Applauded (And This Was No Sin) – @ticketybye (G, the one where Crowley as a preoccupation with Aziraphale’s hands. Deals with both touch-starvation and touch-aversity in the same fic and weirdly enough it works. The fic is heartbreaking but it has a good resolution and that’s important.)

65. Moult – @sameoldsorceress (T, the one where Aziraphale molts and Crowley doesn’t. This is typical wing-grooming fare…right up until it isn’t. I won’t spoil the twist but rest assured that there is absolutely a twist. Other than that, it’s supportive and sweet and lovely and lord knows we all could use some of that right now.)

66. never get to heaven on a night like this – RestlessWanderings (G, the series where the Ineffable Wives are touch-starved and pining. The only reason this fic goes here instead of in Jaunts Through History is because especially in Crowley’s side of the story, the touch starvation is so horrifically visceral I very nearly bought myself a weighted blanket out of sympathy stress. They are both so afraid and so desperate for a bit of connection, the pining is absolutely ridiculous. And it helps that there’s worldbuilding there that’s both thematically appropriate and interesting to read. Engendered by lesbianism and catholic guilt, I believe the author said, and in this case what a delicious combination with an absolutely amazing ending.)

67. Strength in Modesty – flandersmare (T, the one where Aziraphale has a secret wardrobe. Y’all. I have a special love-hate relationship with clothes and my body and this fic somehow felt very soothing on both of those fronts. Corsetry is front and center, and it’s all very well-researched and well-presented. The story is so quiet and understated and is really told through excellent sensory details. The ending about broke my heart for tenderness. It’s a double love letter to Aziraphale and to fashion throughout history and I love it.)

BONUS

68. Tales of the Them – @lyricwritesprose (G, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale are the Them’s godparents, too. This is such a fun series, with a lot of stories that are not just funny in bits, but also meaningful. For fans of the Them and people who like stories about children that aren’t dumbed-down or grimdark.)

69. Stans in High Places – @doomed-spectacles (G, the one where there’s someone in the Earth Observation department keeping an eye on Crowley and Aziraphale. Another take on the angel(s) in charge of Earth Observation, this time featuring a singular angel called Grigori, and boy is he a cutie. His friendship with fellow angel Pravuil is also blossoming and sweet throughout, and the amount of innocent cuteness throughout is just spectacular. What an adorable story.)

70. Anthony J Crowley, Retired Demon and AirBnB Superhost – @theoldaquarian (G, the one where Crowley turns his flat into an AirBnB. Told as if reading a comment section, it is hilarious and paints a horrid picture of what interacting with Crowley—and Aziraphale!—is like for normal humans. I can’t give you any more details than that, you are just going to have to read it and laugh your head off about it like I did.)

71. A Guide to Fame for the Enterprising Demon – @asideofourown (T, the one where Crowley writes a book and accidentally becomes a queer icon. This is…so funny. And so sweet. And like most fics where human bystanders try to piece together what’s happening and come away with completely wrong conclusions, it’s utterly charming. You almost start rooting for the internet conspiracy theorists trying to unearth what exactly Crowley is from his (presumably) evasive or strange answers to interview questions.)

72. Hell Of An Angel – WaitingToBeBroken (T, the one where everyone thinks Crowley is a mafia family. This one is funny in a dramatic irony way; the way that every narrator in this is CONVINCED that Crowley is A. a family of redheads that all look eerily similar, and B. extremely dangerous, is entertaining all on its own. It helps that the writing is smooth and the characters are all fairly engaging, too. A fun little diversion for your day.)

H/C /WHUMP/BAMF

73. the only one i want – @qorktrees (T, the one where Crowley needs some convincing. The hurt in this one is real, folks. But so is the comfort. At last steps are taken to assure Crowley of how much he is wanted, of how much his love is cherished and his touch desired. If you cry while reading this, congrats and welcome to the club, we are all miserable touch-starved fools here.)

74. Always One More Time – boughofawillowtree (T, the one where Aziraphale has remaining psychological scars from Heaven. This one is tough, y’all, real tough. Aziraphale has a couple of abusive flashbacks and intrusive thoughts and his anxiety flaring up is a constant, so people sensitive to that should take heed. That said, this is a very healing fic, with a lot of underlying hurt that floats to the surface. But throughout Crowley does his best to be patient and understanding and even with a disagreement, it remains gentle and loving throughout.)

75. Smote and smitten – @nohaijiachi (G, the one where Aziraphale is a badass and we are ALL here for it. Screaming Hastur, briefly-sentient flaming swords, Aziraphale being amazing, and starry-eyed Crowley are all the ingredients chosen to make a wonderful little fic, and we are all grateful for it. What a guy, that Aziraphale.)

76. Nearly Romeo and Juliet – bisexual_dumbass (T, the one where Crowley’s hiding his panic attacks. This one hurts, friends. This one has miscommunications and fear and boundary communication, all while being so tense even the gentlest touch will snap something. It’s got learning to take care of yourself and value yourself and live FOR yourself. It is very important and I hope a lot of you read it because gosh dang.)

77. Pigeon Girlfriends With A Long Preamble – SleepySelfLoathing (T, the one that’s exactly what it says on the tin. This fic has it all: humor! Torture! Terrible humans! Wrathful Aziraphale! Pain and suffering! Tenderness and care! Pigeon girlfriends! The Hurt and the Comfort are present in about equal measure, but fair warning that what Crowley is made to do just before his rescue is more than a little disturbing, both to readers and especially to Crowley.)

#good omens #good omens fic recs #mega gomens fic rec list #mega fic rec list #whoof #probably take a break for a bit #then start work on six and seven's reviews #and maybe start on compiling eight #why do y'all write so much fic #why is it all so good

149 notes · View notes

trashmenofmarvel · 4 years

Text

It’s finally happened! I hit 2000 followers!

Now it’s time to give back to all of you who have shown me so much love and support in my writing endeavors. I can’t wait to read and share your hard work.

Welcome to the trash pile! Here are the rules for the challenge:

1. Choose your favorite trash man. Even though this is a Marvel blog, I’ll accept a trash man from any fandom. What is a trash man, you ask?

Trash man: a person considered undesirable by polite society [being a trash man is a state of mind, any gender is applicable]

Trash men include villains, antagonists, anti-heroes, dirtbags, “bad guys,” misunderstood bastards, and any character you want to write dark.

2. Your content can be any genre. Fluff, smut, angst, dark, whatever. It can involve OTP’s or OC’s or Readers. It can also be character-centric with no romance at all.

3. Nothing is off limits. But please be courteous to the other residents of the trash bin and tag your warnings accordingly. I’ll know if you don’t because I’m reading everything.

4. The format. No word limit, but please use a Read More for longer entries. Can be drabbles, one shots, social media AUs, part of a series, whatever your little heart desires.

5. Choose your prompt. Send me an ask with the category and number (i.e. Song #4).

6. Two participants per prompt. Can be the same character. If the prompts fill up, I will add a new category to choose from.

7. Due date: March 31st, 2020. Make your faves suffer on the day of the year most people don’t think exists AKA my birthday.

When you’ve posted your entry, tag me and add the tag #trashman2kchallenge

Bonus: Loved this challenge so much you want to do another entry for another trash man? Do it. I want that garbage bin so full the neighbors complain and we attract raccoons.

Prompts below the cut:

Dialogue:

1. “You’re gonna regret this. You know that, right?” @kilyra (Ward Meachum)

2. “It’s only a matter of time before you see my point of view. And I have all the time in the world.” @saiyanprincessswanie (Brock Rumlow)

3. “Why are you so stubborn? Do you not have a sense of self-preservation at all?” @wheresarizona (The Mandalorian), @kilyra (Frank Castle)

4. “You want to try that again, sweetheart?” @i-write-things (Jesse Dark/Alex Knight)

5. “This is gonna hurt you a lot more than it’s gonna hurt me.” @xbuchananbarnes (Erik Killmonger)

6. “You yearn for things you cannot comprehend.” @lavish-witchling (Crowley)

7. “Sure you wanna do that, kid?” @stargazingwithcassidy (Negan)

8. “Test my patience at your own peril.” @kitkatd7 (Loki)

9. “Keep it up; you’re just proving my point.”

10. “You shouldn’t put your faith in me. In the end, you will only be disappointed.” @fallencommodore (James Norrington)

11. “That’s only making it worse, you know.” @phantomas67 (Alex Krycek and Bucky Barnes)

12. “Welcome back. Did you really think you could escape?”

13. “Guess you were right about me after all.” @nekoannie-chan (Brock Rumlow)

Tropes:

1. Enemies to Lovers @wolveria (Cad Bane)

2. Bed Sharing @beneaththeblacksails (Draco Malfoy)

3. Fake Marriage

4. Fake Dating

5. Forbidden Romance

6. Escort Service

7. Fuck or Die @daaeleira (OC/Steve)

8. A/B/O

9. Arranged Marriage

10. Stockholm Syndrome

11. Lima Syndrome

12. Soulmate Marks

13. Hot for Teacher

Songs:

1. Criminal – Britney Spears

2. Heathens – Twenty One Pilots @phantomas67 (Alex Krycek and Bucky Barnes)

3. COPYCAT – Billie Eilish

4. Look What You Made Me Do – Taylor Swift @loveyourcrookedneighbour (Quentin Beck)

5. Lurk – The Neighbourhood

6. Sally’s Song – Amy Lee

7. Sing To Me – MISSIO

8. Survivor – 2WEI

9. Victorious – Panic! At The Disco

10. Toxic – 2WEI @wolveria (RK800-60/Reader)

11. Emperor’s New Clothes – Panic! At The Disco

12. You Belong to Me – Cat Pierce

13. bury a friend – Billie Eilish

#trashman2kchallenge #writing challenge #my challenge #my writing challenge #marvel challenge #reader challenge

97 notes · View notes

the-queer-dungeoneer · 5 years

Text

Not Alone (Crowley x Fem!Reader) - Ch. 1/?

Characters:

Reader, Crowley, Aziraphale, Gabriel and likely more once we get into the thick of it

Relationships: Crowley x Reader, Aziraphale x Reader, Crowley x Reader

POV: First-person

Warnings: Talks about loneliness, but otherwise n/a

Word count: 1082

*gif is not mine and neither are any of the characters or source material!

Y/N = your name

Y/N/N = your nickname

Y/L/N = your last name

H/C = Hair color

E/C = Eye color

F/C = Favorite color

A/N: This one is gonna be a slow burn folx. But any story worth reading doesn’t give away all of the good stuff right off the top! Right?

Seriously though, this is my first fanfiction and I really hope you enjoy it. It has made me really happy to work on. I have several more chapters in the works. I don’t know how often I’ll be updating it yet, but I hope this makes you happy!

Lots of love! - TQD

September 2018

Aziraphale’s bookshop had become quite the haven for me during my undergraduate studies. It was quaint and always quiet; due mostly to the fact that he scared off any customer that attempted to enter. He even tried to push me out the door until he realized I only needed a quiet space to read and had no money on hand to buy anything -- you know, college being prohibitively expensive and all.

I had found his shop by happenstance, but it seemed to be fate as there was no café near my small apartment that was quiet enough to work in. During my first few visits, I just browsed the shelves, picked up a novel, read it for a few hours on his window seat and then put it back exactly where he had filed it before. At first, I was worried that entering, but not buying anything would irritate him. However, I soon realized that he would prefer it if all his customers were that way. By my third visit, he introduced himself.

“Hello, Miss. Ummm…”

“Y/N” I offered, “My name is Y/N, but you’re welcome to call me Y/N/N if that’s too long,” I said, quite sheepishly. My name being as long as it is would often warrant questionable looks and I was having enough trouble making friends as it was.

“If your mother named you Y/N, then that is what I shall call you. It really is quite beautiful.” His eyes offered the most welcoming look I had received since moving to London. It was like a breath of fresh air. “My name is Aziraphale, it’s lovely to finally get acquainted.”

“Likewise, Aziraphale. Your name is also beautiful. It’s very unique.”

“Oh heavens, you are quite sweet,” he responded with a blush. “Well, seeing as we have now been properly introduced, might I interest you in a cup of tea? I’d love to know more about you as you seem to be a voracious reader like myself.”

I accepted almost immediately. It had been ages since I’d made friendly conversation with someone else. We talked about our favorite authors and genres to start. He seemed to find my love of The Divine Comedy amusing, which was an opinion I had never come across.

“I just think that Heaven and Hell would be much different.”

“Well tell me what you imagined!”

“Oh no, it’s silly, maybe another time.” He responded, brushing off my request.

We chatted like this for hours. I came to learn that some of his favorite things to read are ancient cookbooks. I never thought it could be that entertaining, but he explained to me that he enjoyed adapting the recipes and trying them out with modern twists. Our conversation then shifted to food. We gushed about the different restaurants we had been to and he gave me several recommendations to try. Before we knew it, it was ten o’clock.

“Oh my gosh,” I sighed, “I am so sorry I’ve stayed in your hair this long. I should let you close up shop.”

“Well seeing as I locked up three hours ago when I got up to start another kettle of hot water, I’d say you haven’t been in my hair at all.”

“Oh – I hadn’t noticed,” I responded with surprise. I don’t think I had been this taken with a conversation in months, maybe years. “Well, I should still be getting home. I have an essay to submit. I’ve been working on it for a few weeks now, and I need to finish it up and turn it in to my professor’s office in the morning.”

“An essay?” he inquired with excitement, “Whatever is it about?”

“Oh! Well if you’re truly interested, I’m writing about the practical applications for creative arts as a form of healthcare. I know it seems a bit out there, I just think it’s important. But everyone has their own opinions, so I understand if you think it’s silly…”

“My dear, that doesn’t sound silly at all!” He exclaimed. His enthusiasm filled me with quiet relief. Maybe I had finally found a friend in this new city. “I would simply love to read it – if you’d let me of course! It sounds fascinating.”

I thought about this a moment. I couldn’t decide if he was just encouraging me out of kindness or if he actually wanted to read my work. I scanned his face, but his blue eyes were filled with nothing but sincerity.

“Alright,” I conceded, “I’ll bring it in once I get it back from my professor.”

“Splendid! I cannot wait!”

His innocent and unmetered excitement made me feel, oddly enough, very hopeful. He seemed a rare breed of person in the current social climate. It was not often someone was so open about themselves and truly cared about the interests of others, especially those they had only seen and a handful of times and met mere hours earlier.

Feeling content with how the evening had played out, I wished him well and headed for the shop door. However, just as I pushed it open and heard the little bell chime, Aziraphale called back out to me.

“Y/N, my dear, are you going to walk home by yourself? It’s dreadfully dark outside. Please, allow me to escort you.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to impose on your evening any further. It’s just a few blocks. I have walked back at this hour loads of times. You really don’t need to trouble yourself.”

“Oh no, I am a gentleman, and a gentleman would never let a lady put herself in danger.”

His comment was endearingly archaic. I carried pepper spray on my keychain and felt that I was much more likely to win a fight than this portly bookstore owner. I couldn’t deny, however, that not having to walk home on constant alert sounded nice.

“Well, I suppose it would be rude of me to deny your code of ethics then, wouldn’t it, sir?”

“Quite, mademoiselle,” he smiled warmly, “May I?” He asked, offering me his arm.

I took it quickly, and we walked together back to my tiny apartment continuing our lovely conversation. I normally wouldn’t allow someone who was virtually a stranger to know where I lived, especially considering I lived alone. Despite this, something in my heart told me I could trust him. It was the same feeling that told me I would be visiting the bookshop much more often.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens x reader #crowley #good omens crowley #good omens aziraphale #crowley x reader #aziraphale x reader #fanfic #fanficton #reader insert

180 notes · View notes

acedesigns · 5 years

Text

Pinky Promise [Good Omens: Crowley X Reader]

Word Count: 5538

A/N: Hahahah, here’s a long one! Who says I only write short stuff.

Warnings; Near-death, one swear word, minimal editing

Panic was starting to build up. There were too many digits on the bill you were trying to look at. It was shaking too much because of your hands. There was no way you could afford to pay this off with the savings you had. No, you needed to get another job. One that was more stable than the one you had now.

It took hours to fill out the same application over and over again. They all wanted you to put in information that your resume already had. It was infuriating. Then, you didn’t hear anything back. Not even for a single interview. Your parents told you to go to different places and ask if they were hiring. That was a sure way to get blacklisted by their HR departments, but if they weren’t going to contact you in the first place, what could it hurt?

There weren’t any Help Wanted signs in any of the stores you passed by. After getting rejected a few times, you dejectedly walked down the streets. Cars whirled by you causing gusts of wind to trip you up. Sighing, you looked one last time at any of the stores, hoping, praying that one of them was hiring.

Then, you saw it. It was a piece of paper with handwriting. In the fanciest calligraphy you’ve ever seen, were the magical words. Help Wanted.

Quickly, you crossed the street. One car honked at your carelessness. You raised a hand in an apology and safely made it to the other sign. You pushed on the door to the shop. A bell chimed announcing your entrance. Immediately, the smell of old books met your nose. You felt a warmth spread inside of you at the thought of working in a bookshop, where you could read for hours on end.

“Excuse me?” you called out to the seemingly empty bookshop. “Is anyone here?” You dug through your bag and pulled out a folder containing your resume. “I saw the Help Wanted sign out front and I was wanting to apply.”

A blond man wearing spectacles popped out from behind a bookshelf. In his hands was an ancient-looking book. He gently closed it and made his way over to you. He was wearing a blue collared shirt, brown vest, and a bowtie. All of which looked to be several decades old. At least they were newer than the book.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m the owner of this bookshop.”

“You’re Mister Fell?”

A weird sort of smile formed on his face. It was as if he was trying to hide the fact that there was an inside joke hidden in that name. Then, he nodded and stuck out his hand. “Yes, that’s me.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m [Y/N],” you said and gripped his hand to shake it.

“So, you are here to apply for the position!” he noted. “Please, come this way!” Mister Fell guided you towards the back of the bookshop. He told you to take a seat on the couch, while he sat in a chair near a desk covered in papers. “Now, I will be having to go on holiday for a while. A bit of a situation has come up, so I need someone to watch over my shop. I will check in from time to time, but for the most part, you’ll be on your own. You won’t have to sell anything, in fact, I prefer you don’t. You can work whatever hours you please, the more inconvenient for the customers, the better. Do anything to make sure the customers do not purchase any of my books!”

“Uh,” you were at a loss for words. This was perhaps the strangest retail sort of position you’ve ever heard of. Basically, have horrible customer service, don’t meet a quota, and do whatever you want. It sounded like Heaven. “I can handle that.”

“Wonderful! Now, many of these books were very difficult to procure, so they must be watched over with the utmost care,” Mister Fell noted. “I do have a very specific filing system for many of these, so if you feel must read them, please put them back exactly where you found them.”

You glanced around. There was no logical filing system you could think of. Still, you nodded your head indicating that you were fully capable of doing it.

“Now, as far as the pay,” Mister Fell paused for a moment. “I can pay you two-thousand pound a week.” You choked. Tears built up in your eyes. You hacked as you tried to clear your airways after swallowing you spit down the wrong pipe. “Oh dear! Are you alright?”

“F-fine!” you gasped. “Two-thousand a week?”

“Yes, is that alright?”

“Mmhmm,” you nodded your head quickly. Suddenly, you straightened up and handed over your resume to him. “This is my experience. My references are on the bottom.”

“Oh, thank you!” Mister Fell looked at you and gave a warm smile. “Though, I was just going to actually hire you. With you being the first one to apply, it must be ineffable that you work here.”

“A-are you serious?” you stammered no believing your ears.

“Yes, my dear.”

A sudden weight had been lifted from your shoulders. This was a freaking miracle. Not only was the job seemingly laid back, but it paid better than anything you could have imagined. A knot formed in your throat, begging for you to cry. But you refused to in front of this stranger.

“Thank you, Mister Fell. You have no idea how much I need this,” you croaked out.

"You’re quite welcome,” he said in a soft voice. “When could you start?”

“Right now, to be honest,” you laughed nervously.

"Perfect!” He stood up and clapped his hands. “I actually must leave tomorrow, so this is a bit of a miracle!”

Work did indeed start the next day. It was the only day you actually bothered to show up for an eight-hour shift with the shop open. You wanted to become more acquainted with the books and the customers. Most of the customers simply browsed the books having stumbled in while window shopping. Though, there was one collector that made your stress levels soar sky-high. They were insistent on buying some sort of prophecy book. You were honestly afraid Mister Fell would fire you if you sold it.

"It’s cursed!” you blurted out. “I can’t have you buying that book. I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but everyone that has come to purchase this book has met their most untimely demise! It’s part of the curse of knowing what the future holds! Please, I beg you, don’t buy it!”

The man looked at you with shock. He placed the book down and left the bookshop with a ghostly white complexion. You rushed towards the after him and locked it. You flipped the sign to close and sighed.

The shop was empty and the books were all resting in their places. Not a single one left that shop that day. You had a job to uphold, one that paid well, and you were going to do your best to make sure not a single book of Mister Fell’s sold.

“The book is laced with a deadly poison,” you said when a customer was examining a book in a glass case you brought from home. “We’re still testing the other books to make sure it didn’t contaminate the others.” The customer sped out of the shop.

“It’s reserved,” you told a customer and put a reserved sign on the book. You had printed off hundreds of reserved signs and started placing them near every single book. You smirked with pure joy at slamming down the signs in front of the customers. They each jumped in shock and left the store with a grumble.

There were times, however, when a schoolchild would enter your shop. You felt bad for having to deny them from buying a book. It only happened a couple of times before you brought some old books from home and set up a kid’s section. Those were the only books you would sell to the customers.

One day, when you were unusually bored, you started to examine one of the prophecy books. It was old but had a distinct binding. This was fairly interesting. When you opened it, it had a sort of handwriting that you could easily mimic. Then, the idea hatched in your brain.

It took several months, but you were able to create a near-identical duplicate to the original. It took some trial and error, but it worked. You placed the duplicate out in the shop to sell to the unwitting customer. You never did claim it was actually an original copy. In fact, you made it clear that it was the First Duplicate Edition in small writing on the front. That way, you were covered and the shop was covered.

Eleven years had passed since your unstable financial situation. Now, you were living fairly comfortably in a flat near the bookshop. The flat was close enough that you could keep an eye on the store from your living room window. You didn’t ever bother leaving and searching for another job. This job gave you a freedom that nothing else could have.

The door to the shop opened and the bell rang. You hurried out to the front to greet the customer into your lair of duplicated books. Then, you froze when you saw who it was.

“Mister Fell!” you called with a warm smile. “It’s been so long!”

He smiled at you, “Hello, [Y/N]! It has been quite a while, hasn’t it?” He looked around at his bookshop and a confused expression formed on his face. “What are all of these books?”

“Oh, uh,” you cleared your throat nervously. “I knew you didn’t want to sell your books, so I duplicated some of them and started selling those.”

There was a bark of laughter behind Aziraphale and a man with red hair and dark shades approached you. “Now that sounds like something my kind would do. Is this your little shop keeper, Angel?”

“Yes, they are. Crowley, this is [Y/N]. [Y/N], this is Crowley…My associate.”

“Oh, hello. It’s nice to meet you.” You reached your hand out towards the taller man.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he purred and brought your hand up to his lips. A rush of heat poured into your cheeks. You looked away quickly from the man and took a step back.

“Crowley! You’ll scare them!” Mister Fell scolded.

You cleared your throat and looked wards Mister Fell. “Should I put the kettle on?”

“That would be splendid!”

You rushed towards the back and quickly started boiling the water. While it has been a while, you remember Mister Fell had a thing for hot cocoa with plenty of marshmallows. As for Crowley, you hadn’t the foggiest idea. You’d come to that when the water was done.

“What are all of these signs?” You glanced over and saw Mister Fell holding a reserved sign. “Did you sell my books?” The look of fear in his eyes nearly made you laugh.

“No! I put those there so the customers would stop trying to buy them,” you said with a grin. You walked over to another sign you made that read Single and Ready to Mingle. “This goes to the books that are for sale, the duplicates and books I had at home.”

“So,” Crowley appeared out of seemingly nowhere. The corners of his mouth were pulled up into a wide smirk. “Are you single and ready to mingle?”

“Uh,” you froze. How the Hell were you supposed to respond to that? The whistling of the kettle saved you. Quickly you turned your attention away and started to make Mister Fell’s hot cocoa. Crowley chuckled and ignored the glare Mister Fell sent him. “What would you like, Crowley?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” he muttered and flopped himself down onto the couch. His right arm stretched along the back of the couch.

You nodded and handed Mister Fell a mug with white angel wings, something that looked like it came from a novelty store. “Thank you, my dear,” he smiled at you.

“It’s still a bit hot,” you warned him right when he was about to take a sip of the cocoa.

Mister Fell brought the mug away from his lips and gave a shy smile. “Right. Why don’t you sit with us, [Y/N]?”

You glanced at the spaces available. Mister Fell was in the sitting chair. The only spot was next to Crowley on the couch. His arm was draped around the back. With a light blush, you nodded and sat on the edge of the couch.

“How has the shop been since I’ve been away?”

“Fine. We’ve had some shady customers come in that were very insistent on buying the books. They hinted that I’d get hurt if I didn’t sell the books to them,” you started off while looking up at the ceiling. “I ended up selling them some duplicates I created.” You chuckled lightly. “Of course, I made sure to add in some errors in the books.” Crowley snorted in amusement.

“Oh? What were those errors?” Crowley looked at you with a smirk.

“I may have added a prophecy on their untimely death,” you said rather proud of yourself. Crowley burst out laughing causing you to grin. Mister Fell, on the other hand, gave you a look of horror. “What? They threatened me. I should get to have my fun.”

“Yes, well,” he cleared his throat. “After eleven years, I can say I am finally back from holiday,” Mister Fell informed you.

“Oh,” you hummed and looked down at your hands. “Welcome back.”

“Of course, you may still continue working here! I do like how you’ve managed to not sell a single one of my books in my time away. No matter what tactics you may have used.”

The corners of your mouth twitched into a bright smile. “Thank you.” You looked up at Mister Fell. “How was your holiday?”

“Oh, it was fine,” he took a sip of cocoa. “Crowley and I actually helped to raise a child as his Godparents. That’s why the holiday was so long.”

"That sounds nice!”

Crowley snorted. “Turned out to be a waste of time.”

“Anyways,” Mister Fell hurried to change the subject. “We will be here for the next few days. You should take a holiday, yourself. Do the things that you like! I won’t need you back here until Sunday.”

“Oh, are you sure?”

“Of course!”

“Live like tomorrow’s your last day,” Crowley grumbled under his breath.

“Yes,” Mister Fell agreed. Though, there was some sorrow in his face and voice. He ran his finger along the lip of his mug before bringing it up to take a sip. Something was wrong, but you didn’t know what or how to ask. “Enjoy your holiday.”

“Right,” you nodded and stood. “I’ll get going then. You uh…Enjoy your week.” You started to walk off but paused mid-step. You turned around towards Crowley. “It was nice meeting you, Crowley.”

“Likewise.”

With that, you left your bookshop and made it across the street to head into your flat. Once you were in your living room, you happened to glance out your window to see Mister Fell and Crowley leave the shop as well and speed off in an old Bentley.

“How odd,” you murmured.

It had been a couple of days. It was, in fact, Saturday. That last day of your holiday. You had spent most of the time working on your duplicates or reading. Those had become your hobbies and what you enjoyed doing the most. Though your hand was cramping and your eyes had grown weary from staring unblinkingly at the books.

You stood and walked over to your window and gazed over the streets of Soho. Your heart stopped. There was a glowing coming from the inside of the bookshop. It was a sort of glowing that flickered erratically. Something that looked like a fire.

The door to your flat slammed open. Air rushed in and out of your lungs as you sped out of the building and towards the shop. Your fingers were already dialing 999 on your cellphone and speaking hurriedly to the emergency operator. The doors to the shop were unlocked and you slammed your way inside. An inferno was ablaze.

“Mister Fell?” you screamed over the roar of the fire. “Mister Fell? Are you here?!” The heat grazed your skin and the smoke clenched around your lungs. Still, you pushed further in, determined to find your employer. “Mister Fell?” You started crying in panic. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The books you have protected for so long were all catching aflame. “Mister Fell!”

Your vision was getting blurry. You could hear sirens in the distance, but you couldn’t leave without your employer. Finally, you collapsed onto your knees. Gasping for air, you looked around once more before everything faded to black.

For some reason, your lungs both stung and were completely fine. You could remember an intense heat, but at the same time, you weren’t sure if it was real or just some weird dream. You opened your eyes and saw a dull gray ceiling. It wasn’t your own ceiling.

Looking around, you noticed you were on a bed of black silk sheets. Definitely not your bed. You sat up in a state of confusion and looked around for any sort of sign as to where you were.

“There must have been a fire,” you said not sure of yourself. “Otherwise, how did I get here?”

Your legs moved to the side of your bed and you stood. You padded your way out the door and looked around. Then, you saw two people sitting on a couch.

“Mister Fell?” you asked.

Crowley turned to look at you and, with a relieved look, said, “Oh, [Y/N]! I was wondering when you would wake up.” Mister Fell elbowed him in the side with a scowl. “I mean, hello again.”

“Hello, Crowley,” you said in a tone that almost sounded like you were asking a question. “Would you mind telling me where I am?”

“You’re at Crowley’s flat,” Mister Fell spoke. It wasn’t as sing-songy as usual. “He found you unconscious in the bookshop and brought you here to rest.”

“So there was a fire?” you asked with a frown. Tears would have built up in your eyes if they weren’t already so dry.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, Mister Fell,” you sniffled. “I should have been there to stop it.”

Mister Fell glanced over to Crowley awkwardly and sighed. He walked over to you and placed a stiff hand on your shoulder. “It’s not your fault. At least you didn’t get hurt. Still, you should rest until I get back. Err…When Crowley gets back, I guess.”

"Right,” you nodded your head. “I still think I’m a bit off.” That or Mister Fell was acting far too strange. You didn’t know Crowley that well, so you couldn’t tell if he was acting off, too.

“You are more than welcome to sit on the couch or lie in bed,” Crowley piped up and glanced at Mister Fell for some sort of reassurance. Mister Fell shrugged his arms.

“I think I’ll go lie down,” you muttered not too sure of yourself.

“Right, well, Crowley will be back by this evening. Hopefully,” Mister Fell added. “He’ll see you then.”

“Okay,” you nodded your head. “Thank you.”

Everything was confusing.

The evening had rolled around and you had woken up about an hour prior. You needed to gain your bearings or perhaps you were just bored. You left the bedroom and looked around his place. It was pretty minimalistic. There were a few decorations here and there, but nothing too major. A lot of what he did have was vintage. What, with the Bentley, you guessed Crowley had a thing for the early 1900s.

Eventually, you situated yourself on the white couch. You somehow managed to find a remote to the television and turned it on. The news was playing. Apparently, there were conflicting reports on what had happened yesterday. More things were confusing.

Apparently, some kids made it to the American Tadfield Air Base. There was no clear reason as to how they made it past the security or why they were there. Oddly enough, charges weren’t pressed against them or their parents.

“What happened yesterday?” you muttered, but most of your memories from the day prior was a blur.

The door to the flat opened. You looked over your shoulder and saw Crowley entered. Quickly, you turned off the television and focused your direct attention on him. He glanced over at you and straightened up ever so slightly.

“Nearly forgot you were here,” he grumbled and sauntered his way over to the couch. “Mind if I rest here for a bit before taking you back? It’s been a long day.”

“I don’t mind,” you uttered quietly. He flopped down and leaned his head backward. “Um…I…Thank you for saving me.”

He rolled his head to look over at you. “You’re welcome. Couldn’t just let you burn to death. Though, I suppose there wasn’t actually a fire.”

You blinked. “There wasn’t?”

“Nope,” he popped his P. “Bookshop’s still there.”

“How?” you started and sighed in frustration. “Sounds about right for what I can actually remember from yesterday.”

“What do you mean?”

"I have conflicting memories. Like, I was in a fire, but at the same time, I wasn’t. It doesn’t make sense.”

“A lot of things don’t make sense,” Crowley said. “Let’s just be glad the world didn’t end.”

“Was it supposed to?”

“Not if it wasn’t in the ineffable plan.”

“Right.” You didn’t know what to do with that bit of information. Then again, you didn’t really know what to do with a lot of what Mister Fell said. Crowley must be in the same sort of group. That’d make sense with them being friends. “Are you okay, though? You look tired.”

“I suppose I am,” he sighed. “Do you know what it’s like being kicked out of a place you’re supposed to belong? What’s supposed to be your family? Twice?”

A frown formed on your face. There was a melancholy in his voice. It made your heart clench. “No, I don’t suppose I do,” you whispered. Crowley sighed to himself. “I can’t imagine how awful that would be. I’m sorry, Crowley.”

“It’s not bad the second time. They weren’t great either. Still, makes you wonder where you actually belong.”

That you could understand. “I think that makes you human, Crowley,” you muttered. “We’re all trying to find our place. Sometimes, it hurts. It hurts a lot. I…I didn’t really have a place before I met Mister Fell. I was close to being homeless, actually. But he offered me a job on the spot. And,” you felt yourself getting choked up. “I’m so sorry, Crowley.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why are you crying?”

You wiped your eyes furiously. “Because it’s sad.”

“For me.”

“I can cry for you!”

“You don’t even know me.”

“You’re friends with Mister Fell!” you protested. “That’s enough to know that you’re a good person.”

“I’m not a goo--,” he started. He must have realized he wasn’t with what he considered his family and couldn’t hide who he was. “Yeah…Maybe.” You turned to fully face Crowley and stuck out your hand. Your pinky was sticking up in the air. Crowley watched with bewilderment. “What are you doing?”

“You’re my family now. You and Mister Fell. I won’t kick you out. It’s a pinky promise. If I break it, you cut my pinky off.”

“Isn’t that a bit much?”

“No. It isn’t.”

With a sigh, Crowley hooked his pinky with your own. “Alright, fine. It’s a pinky promise.”

A few months have passed since you’ve made the pinky promise with Crowley. Mister Fell, or as you found out was actually Aziraphale, had kept you working at his shop whenever you pleased for the same pay. It was also a fantastic way for you to become better acquainted with Crowley.

He would always be so kind towards you, at least when he wasn’t being mischievous and cheeky. One day, he threw you over his shoulder and dragged you out of the bookshop. Aziraphale would have stopped him if you weren’t dying from laughter. He placed you in his Bentley and, without a word, took off through the streets of Soho.

“Where are you kidnapping me to?” you asked through a fit of giggles.

“It’s a surprise,” he smirked over at you. You rolled your eyes and turned on some music. Play the Game started to blast through the speakers of the Bentley. Crowley cursed under his breath, but you otherwise ignored his odd behavior while humming along.

It took a good forty minutes of driving until Crowley pulled over. The sun was starting to set over the horizon. Both of you got out of the Bentley and started to trek through some grass. Crowley wouldn’t hint at all as to where he was taking you. He’d only smirk and come up with some ridiculous story, “We’re going to fight the Kraken on land in a pit of fire.”

Finally, he stopped. There was a telescope set up and pointed up at the heavens that were just starting to sparkle in the darkening sky. Light pollution didn’t exist this far out, so each new star shined brilliantly. A gasp of awe escaped your mouth.

“This is amazing, Crowley,” you uttered and kept your head facing up towards the sky.

“I figured you’d like it,” Crowley said while adjusting the telescope. You glanced towards him and your breath hitched. He was wearing a genuine smile. It was one of the only times you’ve seen that on his face. He looked at you with that smile and your heart leaped. “Come and look.”

Slowly, you approached and peered into the telescope. The cosmos was breathtaking. It was as if someone spilled a bowl of sugar into a black bowl and lit it up with magic. Glittering specks were everywhere. There was no possible way you’d ever get to see this in the city.

You pulled away and looked at Crowley. “Thank you for bringing me out here.”

“Of course.” He placed a hand on your shoulder and leaned down to your level before pointing out different constellations and naming them all for you.

There were days where Crowley would have you join him and Aziraphale for lunch at the Ritz. It always amazed you how they were able to simply walk in and a table would magically be available for the three of you.

Other days, he’d drag you away from Aziraphale talking about his latest book acquisition to go feed the ducks. Crowley claimed that it was very important that you specifically feed the ducks, otherwise they’d spontaneously sink to the bottom like a lead balloon.

Crowley’s spontaneous visits had gotten to the point where you found yourself coming into the bookshop nearly every day. Though, there was one day where you had come down with something. The light made your eyes hurt. Everything made it seem like your head was just one second closer to imploding. You decided that you couldn’t get out of bed that day.

At about 2:35 in the afternoon, there was a hammering sound on the door to your flat. You tried to ignore it, but the hammering only grew more intense, more desperate. Groaning, you trudged your way through your bedroom and to the door. The blanket around you loosened on your way. Slowly, you opened the door and looked up in shock at seeing Crowley standing there.

“Are you okay? You weren’t at the bookshop,” Crowley was slightly disheveled as if he ran all the way from the bookshop, up multiple flights of stairs, and passed your door, realized he missed your door, and ran back to your door to where he was currently standing, making slightly disheveled an understatement.

“Headache.”

“Oh.”

You stood there in silence for a moment or two before you were finally able to form a coherent thought past all of the pain. “Want to come in?”

"Sure, thank you.” You stepped to the side and shut the door behind Crowley. Crowley instantly took your arm and led you to your bedroom. “Stay here, I’ll get you some water and medicine.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he gave you that smile again. Instantly, just a bit of the pain went away because of that look.

You found that if you didn’t show up to the shop as usual, Crowley would be at your door ready to place nurse again. It made you feel happy, but you still went to the bookshop ready to see him.

The bell rang and you looked over with excitement. Instantly, you scowled seeing it was a certain redhead. It was just another customer that was going to be fooled by a duplicate you created.

“Waiting for Crowley?” Aziraphale appeared next to you and blew over his hot cocoa.

You jumped and stared at him. A blush was forming on your face faster than you cared to admit. “N-no! Why would you say that?”

“I am not completely oblivious, [Y/N],” Aziraphale said with a sparkle in his eye. “I can tell you have feelings for him.”

“Sh-shut up!” You crossed your arms and turned your attention to a book nearby. “Don’t be ridiculous.” The door opened. “Crowley!” you greeted almost right away and instantly regretted it by the sly look Aziraphale gave you.

Crowley gave a small smile, one that always made your heart flutter, especially since they were rare compared to his smirks. “Hello, [Y/N]. You feel alright? You look rather red.”

“I’m fine!” you squeaked and hurriedly walked over to a customer and snatched a book out of their hand before rushing to the back. Aziraphale chuckled at your reaction while Crowley looked at you with confusion.

Taking a deep breath, you placed the book on the desk Aziraphale had moved in for you. It was one that you had yet to make a duplicate of, so you were glad you got it out of the customer’s greedy hands. Still, you wouldn’t be able to focus on studying it. Your thoughts kept on racing back towards Crowley.

“[Y/N]?” You jumped and turned to see Crowley entering the back. He looked concern, though you could never be sure with those damn sunglasses. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Y-yeah,” you nodded. “Thanks for checking.

“You’re a shit liar.”

“Am not!”

“When you lie to me, you are.”

You pursed your lips into a thin line. He was right. Crowley could always read you like an open book. You didn’t know what it was, but he always seemed to know what you wanted.

“Customer’s all left,” Crowley noted before moving to sit on the couch. He patted the space for you to sit next to him, much like the first time you met. Like last time, you hesitated before sitting next to him. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?”

“You know that pinky promise?” You hummed a yes in response. “I’m not going to hold you to it.”

A sort of dread and shock filled your body. “Why not?!”

“Because there’s something I need to tell you,” Crowley said and refused to look at you. “I’m not going to force you to stay friends with me once you find out, alright?” You opened your mouth to protest, but Crowley cut you off. “Just let me finish.” Silently, you looked at him to continue on. “I’m a demon. A demon from Hell. Well, not from Hell anymore. They kicked me out. So I’ve been kicked out of Heaven and Hell.” Crowley lifted a single hand to his sunglasses and paused. “Just know that I’d never hurt you.” He hesitated for a moment or two before he slid the sunglasses off his face. He turned to look at you with serpent-like yellow eyes.

You inhaled sharply when you saw them. They were gorgeous, unlike anything you’ve ever seen. They also held so much emotion in them it almost overwhelmed you. Fear, hope, anguish, and something more loving were pouring out of him.

“Please say something,” he croaked.

Taking a deep breath, you finally spoke, “I made a pinky promise with you, Crowley.” You grabbed his hand that wasn’t holding his sunglasses and intertwined your fingers with his. “I am not going to break that promise.”

“You’re not scared?”

“No.”

“Why not? Humans are supposed to be scared of demons.”

It was your moment to hesitate. But when you looked into his eyes, you saw the same emotion that you felt for the demon before you. “Because I love you.”

Crowley grabbed you and pulled you towards him. His arms tightened around you as he held you close to him. “Thank you,” he muttered repeatedly. “I don’t think I could handle losing you. I love you so much.”

323 notes · View notes

ditherwings · 4 years

Text

Magic Trick—A Good Omens Secret Santa Gift Fic

This is my belated GO Secret Santa gift for @hardly-functioning-morals! I’m sorry it’s late, but hope you like it!

Sorry about the odd formatting; I had to post this on mobile, and it came out a bit wonky. I expect I’ll cross post this to AO3 once I have a chance, and clean it up. My account there is bastet_in_april.

***

Magic Trick

by bastet_in_april (ditherwings), for hardly-functioning-morals

Aziraphale had always developed fascinations for peculiarly specific bits of human culture, and Crowley usually enjoyed indulging even the ones that he found a bit odd. What was the draw in Regency-period silver snuff boxes, for instance? It wasn’t as though Aziraphale had any particular use for them--he didn’t use snuff, and so had no reason to wish for a dainty container as a means to carry the stuff about in a pocket. Crowley saw little interest in collecting ancient leather-bound first editions with cracked spines and dusty pages, either. He didn’t read, he liked to insist, and, if that was a lie, then surely glossy coffee table books full of remarkable photos were more his style.

Still, Crowley loved to indulge Aziraphale’s fascinations. He enjoyed the excitement on his face as he examined a new find for his bookshop, turning the pages carefully with gloved hands. He loved the surprise on Aziraphale’s face when Crowley present him with a beautifully engraved little snuffbox, with mother-of-pearl inlay. He loved the way Aziraphale would expound on the delights of a new patisserie shop, and the way his eyes would roll up ever so slightly at the ecstasy of a perfectly prepared piece of nigirizushi.

Stage magic, though, was where Crowley drew the line.

It had happened while Crowley was asleep. In 1871, an up-and-coming stage magician named Alexander Herrmann parted ways with his brother Carl, in order to establish his reputation via a solo act. While Carl continued to tour Europe, Alexander headed for London.

In 1871, Aziraphale was still an angry, terrified recluse. It had been nine years since his fateful meeting with Crowley in St. James’s Park. He hadn’t seen Crowley since their argument, and he wasn’t sure whether he was more likely to dissolve into tears or shouting if he saw Crowley again, or, frighteningly, if he didn’t. So he stayed in his shop, fretfully conditioning old leather bindings and being increasingly curt with the few customers who dared cross the shop’s threshold. Perhaps the neighborhood noticed. Perhaps it was a concerned neighbor who thought that odd Mr. Fell really ought to get out of that dusty old shop more often who slipped the advertisement under the shop’s door. Perhaps it was simply a paperboy who’d been paid a bit extra to distribute the fliers. Perhaps it was chance. Perhaps it was ineffable.

Regardless, Aziraphale picked up the flier and was charmed and arrested by the image of the thin man with the goatee and curling mustache, dressed smartly in a black tailcoat and brandishing a magic wand. “Herrmann the Great!” it proclaimed. “Master of the Magical Arts! Now Performing at the Egyptian Hall!” The man was surrounded by whirling petals, playing cards, and doves in flight, and comically outlandish cartoon demons peered from the edges of the playbill to marvel at the magician.

Helpless, Aziraphale’s first thought was that this was exactly the sort of show Crowley would love--a perfect chance to see humanity’s remarkable capacity for imagination at work, while the demon snarked and snickered into his hand at the feats of “magic,” from where he sprawled into his seat. Aziraphale crushed that thought down into something small and sad, like a crumpled ball of paper, and tucked it neatly away. He took a deep breath. There was no reason not to attend the show on his own. He couldn’t hide in his shop forever, as the world continued to move around him. And perhaps Crowley would have the same thought, and Aziraphale might yet see him in the crowd at the Egyptian Hall, heckling the performer and downing expensive wine.

So it was that Aziraphale found himself in a packed theater, its ceiling bedecked with pseudo-Egyptian frescoes complete with strings of artistic renderings of hieroglyphic text (having resided in Egypt for a time during the Ramesside period, and categorically unable to resist reading anything with words on it, if it was within view, Aziraphale was rather bemused to find that the hieroglyphs on the column to the left of him read, “your mother keeps house with water buffalo, and your father smells of lotus root”). Aziraphale was disappointed not to spot a familiar shock of red hair, or a distinctively sauntering gait, amongst the theatergoers.

The crowd buzzed with excitement as Herrmann took the stage, looking theatrically dapper in a tailcoat and tophat, and slightly malevolent, with his goatee and curled moustache like a villain from a penny dreadful. He produced a deck of cards, seemingly from thin air, fanning them out in flourishes, conjuring them from audience members’ pockets, and then turning them into an explosion of colorful ribbons that streamed through the air. Aziraphale felt himself get drawn into the show, as pieces of set dressing--grand fruit trees, ruby-colored lamps, even a burbling fountain--appeared in puffs of incense-scented purple or green smoke. The crowd gasped in wonder or shock, as Herrmann unveiled each new wonder. He produced a dove from a woman’s evening glove, making her laugh with delight. To the surprise of the crowd a rabbit leaped from his tophat, after he tapped it twice with his wand. The onlookers erupted into delighted laughter, as the conjurer tried and failed to convince it to return to his hat, finally turning it into a monogrammed handkerchief, instead. Aziraphale marvelled quietly at the ingenuity of humans, to create miracles of their own. This was so different from the times he had witnessed angelic miracles being performed before crowds of humans. That had been a thing of terror, each witnessing mortal made small and helpless before the gaze of Michael or Gabriel. The magician, conjuring marvels and wielding powers the crowd did not comprehend, instead welcomed them into the experience with humor and charm, sharing the wonder of it with them, and delighting in their reactions.

Aziraphale thought again of Crowley, and bit his lip.

The magician waded a bit further into the crowd, pulling a shiny coin from behind a boy’s ear, and offering him the prize. He paused before Aziraphale, and doffed his silk top hat, offering it to Aziraphale, “You, good sir! Look into my hat! Can you confirm for the crowd that it is empty?” Aziraphale stood, peering into the hat, before agreeing for the rest of the audience that it was empty, and an ordinary hat, as far as he could perceive. “Thank you! Now I see by the lines of care and worry upon your brow that something troubles you, so I have the spirits to deliver a wonder to set your heart at ease. The imps and spectres have told me that what you fear shall not come to pass! Now, reach into this empty hat, and see the wonder the demon has delivered as a sign!”

Aziraphale reached into the silk hat, and felt his hand close around a smooth, round shape. He pulled forth a perfect, shining red apple.

***

Mrs. and Mr. Device were celebrating their anniversary by going on a short trip to the seaside, and needed a babysitter to look after six-year-old Magrat. Adam and the Them had each been given due consideration as potential sitters, but it was nearing end-of-term at school, and university applications and exams were making the teens look increasingly unglued. While Madame Tracey might be trusted with a small child, both parents agreed that Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell (retired) was a last resort, only in case of impending apocalypse, option. So, after some deliberation, and after Anathema’s cousin had begged off due to plans involving concert tickets, the professional descendant (retired) and witch (current) rang up Crowley’s mobile.

Crowley always sounded hunted when he answered his mobile, as if he were a bit worried about whose voice might be on the other, but was pretending at nonchalance. “Yeah, who’s this?” he asked. “Anathema Device,” Anathema answered.

“Book Girl!” Crowley exclaimed, relaxing. He’d attended her wedding, and known her for years, but some nicknames stuck. She rolled her eyes.

“Are you and Aziraphale free on Thursday evening? Newt and I are going on a day trip, and need someone to look after Magrat while we’re away.”

“And you thought you’d ask a demon to babysit?”

“I thought I’d ask my friend. Don’t pretend you don’t adore babysitting her. She told me that you read her stories, last time, and did all the voices.”

“What can I say, she’s a little hellion. What’s not to love?” Crowley hummed thoughtfully. “Give me a moment.” There was a pause in which Anathema could hear Crowley having a murmured conversation with Aziraphale, before Crowley lifted the mobile again, voice coming through clear and audible. “Sure, we can take her for the day. You two kids go have some fun.”

Anathema breathed a soft exhalation of relief. Promise secured, she began to let Crowley know exactly what he was in for.

***

Magrat Device did not want a babysitter. She was very certain that she should be allowed to stay up late on her own, thank you very much. She knew how to work a microwave, and had her parents on speed dial, and wouldn’t eat ice cream for dinner (honest!).

Her parents disagreed, which was why Crowley and Aziraphale were currently poring over a takeout menu, on her parents’ couch, trying to determine what one might order in to feed a six year old.

Anathema and Newt had named their daughter Magrat because Anathema knew the value, to a growing child, of being able to read one’s name in a book. Newt was pleased that this book, at least, while full of witches, fools, kings, and mistaken identity, did not involve an apocalypse.

It wasn’t that Magrat didn’t like spending time with Crowley and Aziraphale. The last time they had babysat her, they had gone to the park and Aziraphale had showed her how to feed the ducks, and Crowley had gotten her an ice cream, and then they had gone home and read from her favorite book--the one that had her name in it. But, the thing was, that had been when Magrat was five. Now, Magrat was six, and that was different. Six was grown up. Six year olds didn’t need babysitters, because six year olds weren’t babies.

“What would you like to eat, dear girl?” Aziraphale asked. “Is a curry too spicy? Or would you like some of the smoked trout and quiche from that lovely little cafe down the street.”

Magrat scowled, shoulders hunched up near her ears. “I don’t want anything to eat.”

“You’re a growing child. Can’t you try to eat something?” The angel looked pleadingly at her. “It’s alright if you don’t finish it, but I shouldn’t like to think of you going hungry.”

Magrat shook her head stubbornly.

“Tell you what,” Crowley said. “How about we order a sampler of a few things, and if anything piques your interest, you can try some of it. If not? Well, we’ll just leave the leftovers for your parents--save them having to cook tomorrow.”

When the takeaway arrived, it smelled enticingly of saffron, spices, butter, and fresh bread. Magrat stubbornly turned away, even as her stomach growled.

“Right,” Crowley decided, clapping his hands and straightening up out of his artful sprawl. “I know you don’t want to be babysat. Why would you? You aren’t a baby, and babysitting just sounds a bit demeaning. Or painful. The thing is, though, we aren’t just your babysitters, Magrat.” He tilted his head down to meet her hazel-colored eyes. She could just catch a glimpse of his bright yellow ones beneath the dark lenses of the sunglasses. “You’re a witch, so we’re your magic babysitters. Like when Hagrid took Harry Potter to Diagon Alley for school supplies.”

Magrat came slowly out of her slouch, considering this. “You’re not magic, though,” she argued. “Not like wizards, or witches, anyway. You’re an angel and a demon. You don’t have magic wands, or pointy hats, or cauldrons. You don’t pull rabbits out of hats. You might as well just be boring old regular babysitters, like Wensleydale or Auntie Sue.”

Aziraphale perked up, looking triumphant. “Oh, you think so, do you?” he asked. “Find me a hat, my dear, and we shall see!”

Crowley groaned. “Oh, angel, please not that. If she wants a rabbit, just miracle one up! Don’t you remember what happened last time? This is going to end in cream cake stains and tears--mostly mine--you mark my words.”

Aziraphale smiled serenely. “Nonsense, my dear. Now, Magrat, a hat, please?”

Magrat pulled a baseball cap from where it had been tossed onto the end of one of the umbrellas in the stand by the door. “It’s not the right kind,” she said.

“Oh, any hat will do. Now, I want you to check that it’s empty.” Magrat reached into the hat, feeling only the canvas material it was made from. “It’s empty,” she confirmed, interested in spite of herself.

“Right, now I need a magic wand.” Aziraphale looked around himself, as if expecting one might conveniently appear. It didn’t, so Azirphale snatched up a fork from the bag of takeaway on the table. He puffed out his chest, and cleared his throat theatrically. “Abracadabra expecto patronum bibbity bobbity expelliarmus!” The angel tapped the slightly rumpled baseball cap three times with his magic fork, and then picked it up and put it on his head. He wiggled his fingers, his eyes theatrically wide.

Magrat leaned forward, despite herself. Crowley covered his face with his hand.

With a dramatic, “Ta da!” Aziraphale whipped the cap off of his head and presented it to his audience. “One rabbit, as ordered!”

There was a pause. Aziraphale looked into the still-empty hat with bewilderment. Magrat and Crowley, however, were unable to tear their eyes away from the furry, bewhiskered little bunny rabbit that was perched comfortably amidst Aziraphale’s fluffy curls. His little pink nose twitched.

Slowly, Aziraphale’s eyes turned upwards towards his hairline, and he yelped, and made a grab for the rabbit, which leapt off of his head acrobatically and right onto the table, upturning the dish of eclairs, sending them flying through the air.

“What did I tell you?” Crowley asked, snapping his fingers. The eclairs settled back onto the plate on the table. And the rabbit was rather confused, but ultimately pleased, to suddenly find itself in the middle of a heavily guarded and carefully fortified garden of prize-winning vegetables (inciting wrath and suspicion of sabotage in the gardener, when he discovered the ensuing damage).

“Mmphghhahaha,” a peculiar half-strangled noise escaped Magrat’s mouth, like the first bit of water springing through the crack in a dam, presaging the deluge. She laughed until she had tears running down her face. Aziraphale, his face softening from bewildered shock to delight and fondness, laughed with her. Crowley, despite himself, let go of his second-hand embarrassment to join them.

The real magic trick, Aziraphale would explain to Crowley after the angel, the demon, and Magrat had finished their dinner, and demolished a respectable number of chocolate eclairs, was not pulling the rabbit from the hat. The real magic was surprise, wonder, and laughter.

#good omens #fanfiction #good omens fic #GoodOmensSecretSanta #aziraphale #crowley #stage magic #ineffable babysitters

36 notes · View notes

hekate1308 · 5 years

Text

Definition, Fictober #24

Prompt number: 24, “Patience... is not something I am known for.”

Fandom (AU if applicable): Supernatural, Dean/Crowley AU

Rating: G

Warnings/Tags: No warnings apply

”So when do we get to meet him?”

“Who?” Crowley asks immediately because there is no one for Gavin and Fiona to meet. He wouldn’t even be in regular contact with his son if his daughter-in-law didn’t insist on Sunday family dinners.

“Your young man” she says, her eyes sparkling. “Gavin told me.”

Of course he did because there are no secrets between his son and his wife. Then again, this is Crowley’s own fault – he should never have mentioned Dean. “He’s not my young man.”

“And when did you last voluntarily visit the cinema before he came along?”

“Dean wanted to see the newest Star Trek film.” It’s the wrong thing to say of course – they immediately start grinning.

“Star Trek, Father, really?”

He carefully contemplates his next words. “Anyway we’re not… romantically involved.”

Now Gavin looks utterly baffled. “You aren’t?”

“We’re… friends” he says, being painfully aware that he sounds rather juvenile and that he of all people is not the kind of person who makes friends and keeps them.

And aside from all of this – he would actually welcome Dean Winchester in his bed any time.

Only that Dean has given him no indication that he would enjoy that.

“I just didn’t think you were one not to close the deal” Gavin says pointedly.

“Patience is not something I’m known for” he agrees.

“So what’s the problem?”

“There is no problem. We’re friends.”

“Father, you see each other multiple times a week, you have dinner together most of the time, you watched a movie for him, he fixed your car just because he could – sure sounds like dating to me.”

It does to Crowley too, but then, he has no experience with either relationships or friendships. Even Gavin was the product of a short-lived fling. “You seem strangely preoccupied with my relationship status. How’s work?”

Gavin snorts. “Subtle, Father.”

“Subtlety doesn’t work on you.”

“Imagine that” Fiona mutters “Must be hereditary.”

He glares at her. She doesn’t react.

He already knew his son had chosen the right woman to marry, but it was still nice to get confirmation.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So, how was your family dinner?” Dean asks the next day. They’ve decided to meet up during their respective lunch breaks.

He looks at the professor. Dean always asks after Gavin and Fiona; he was very supportive of his decision to accept their first invitation to dinner. “The usual”.

“Aren’t we communicative today” Dean smiles in the way that never fails to lighten up Crowley’s entire life (the first time he realized, he was rather dismayed, but by now he’s gotten used to his heart speeding up).

“They want to meet you” he suddenly says.

He had no idea he was going to.

“Oh?” Now Dean’s smile is growing even brighter, which is not something Crowley thought was possible. “You told them about me.”

“I might have mentioned you”. He decided that’s the best approach, lest Dean realizes how much their friendship (friendship, only ever friendship) means to him.

“I’ll be happy to meet them, then” Dean says as if it’s not a big deal.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And so Crowley turned around and told that idiot off, it was awesome” Dean finishes another anecdote that proves how hopelessly gone on him Crowley is, and if Gavin’s expression is anything to go by, it’s as painfully obvious as he fears it is.

Fiona is obviously enchanted with Dean, but then Crowley has yet to find someone who isn’t. People just gravitate towards him. Hell, even Crowley himself, who normally prefers to just have a quite day after a busy day and go home, simply had to introduce himself to the beautiful man at the bar.

“Father” Gavin mutters while Dean is thankfully distracted by Fiona, “You’re staring.”

He knows he is. But then, he can’t imagine someone more worthy of being looked at.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When it’s time to say goodbye, it’s pretty clear that Dean will from now on be included in all invitations.

“It was so nice to meet you” Fiona says drawing Dan into a hug.

“Same here. About time, too” he turns to Crowley. “After all we’ve been dating for, what? Five months now?”

Crowley would answer but finds himself struck speechless for the first time in his adult life.

“I think so” Fiona says brightly. “At leas he started mentioning you then.”

Dean just grins.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean is driving, of course, and they end up at Crowley’s apartment. He’s not quite sure how to breach the topic when Dean pushes him against the wall and starts to kiss him profoundly.

He doesn’t explain; instead when he pulls back he just says “I wasn’t sure but figured it out tonight.”

Crowley decides that for once in his life, he doesn’t need to understand everything that’s happened, especially since Dean is busy leading him to the bedroom.

Explanations can wait.

#spn #my writings #drowley #fictober19 #dean winchester #crowley

11 notes · View notes

thecomicsnexus · 5 years

Text

A serious house on serious earth

ARKHAM ASYLUM: A SERIOUS HOUSE ON SERIOUS EARTH DECEMBER 1989 BY GRANT MORRISON, DAVE MCKEAN AND GASPAR SALADINO

SYNOPSIS (FROM DC WIKIA)

Back in the 1920s, Amadeus Arkham witnessed his mother's descend to madness and as an adult, he became the architect and first administrator of Arkham Asylum, a mental institution dedicated to help the criminally insane and prevent them from being taken into the regular penal system. Arkham renovated the family manor into the asylum following his subsequent inheritance of the property after his mother commited suicide.

In the present, on April 1, Commissioner Gordon informs Batman that the patients of Arkham Asylum have taken over the building, and will murder the staff unless Batman agrees to meet with them. Among the hostages are a young woman named Pearl, who works in the kitchens; the current Administrator, Dr. Cavendish; and Dr. Ruth Adams, a therapist. The patients are led by Black Mask and Joker, who kills a guard to spur Batman to obey his wishes. Two-Face, meanwhile, has degenerated even further into madness as a result of Adams' well-intentioned therapy; she replaced his trademark coin with a 6-sided die, and then with a tarot deck of cards rendering him incapable of making simple decisions such as going to the bathroom.

Batman is forced into a game of hide and seek, and told he has one hour to make his way through the maze-like corridors and find a way out before his old foes are sent to find him. Batman fights his way through Arkham and his own subconscious, fighting some of his most dreaded enemies until he reaches a secret room high in the towers of the asylum - a room left unchanged from the days when the property served as Amadeus Arkham's childhood home.

Inside, Dr. Cavendish is dressed in a bridal gown and holding a straight razor to Dr. Adams' throat. He is revealed to have been the one to orchestrate the riot. When questioned by Batman, he prompts him to read a passage marked out in Amadeus Arkham's secret diary.

The hidden room turns out to have been Elizabeth Arkham's bedchamber. For many years she suffered delusions that she was being tormented by a supernatural creature, and would call to her son to protect her. However, Amadeus had suppressed a memory when one day, he finally saw the monster that tormented her - a great bat, a spectre of death. Subconsciously, he had chosen to block the truth of the events, but in the dairy, it is clearly explained how he used a pearl-handled straight razor from his pocket to cut his mother's throat and free her from her suffering. He then blocked out the memory and attributed her death to suicide. Years later, his wife and daughter were murdered by one of his former patients, a serial killer named Martin "Mad Dog" Hawkins. The tragedy brings back the memory of killing his mother and a traumatized Amadeus puts on his mother's wedding dress and takes out the pearl-handled razor. Kneeling in the blood of his family he vows to bind the evil spirit of "The Bat", which he believes inhabits the house, through ritual and sorcery. He continues his mission even after he is incarcerated in the Asylum himself; he scratches the words of the binding spell into the walls and floor of his cell with his fingernails until the day he dies.

Discovering Amadeus Arkham's journals, the razor and the dress, Cavendish begins to believe himself to be the one destined to continue Arkham's work. On April 1, the date Arkham's family was murdered, he lures Batman to the asylum. Believing Batman to be "The Bat" itself, Cavendish accuses him of feeding the evil of the house by bringing it more insane souls. Grappling with Batman, Cavendish drops the razor, and Adams picks it up. Reacting instinctively, she slashes it across Cavendish's throat, killing him.

Batman returns Two-Face's coin back from Dr. Adams, stating that it should be up to Two-Face to decide his fate. Two-Face then declares that if the coin lands scratched side up they kill Batman, otherwise they let him go. Two-Face flips the coin and declares Batman free. Batman leaves the Asylum and the inmates peacefully return to their cells, except for Two-Face, who looks at the moon and it is revealed that the coin landed scratched side up.

REVIEW

This is a very complicated book to review. It’s a Morrison!

Let’s go with my notes here, the very first thing we learn about the asylum is that you must be mad to be there. I think people in general are afraid of mental institutions because of this very thing. If you are there, who knows you are insane and who doesn’t? I think there is some kind of irrational thinking about being in asylums, that you might “catch it”.

In the first scene that Amadeus describes his mother, she was eating beetles, because the beetle represents rebirth, this means his mother already died and was “reborn”. It is later defined that being mad is being reborn in a world of magic, terror and symbolism. This will be the visual theme for the whole book (plus one other thing we will taker later).

These events happening in April’s Fools have a meaning inside the story, as Amadeus killed “Mad Dog” on April 1st. Many things happen around this date and it seems to be pretty much how we measure time. But Joker doesn’t know this. In this case we may think he is running the asylum, but it is doctor Cavendish that is planning everything. Although the Joker wants the Batman to stay where he belongs (since he is mad, he belongs in the asylum).

Amadeus starts talking about people in the glass, in reflections, it makes us think that he can hear voices or laughs through the glass. In the end he sees his mother (the madness in him, in his blood). I do think there is one more application for glasses (later). The important thing is, Amadeus felt “at home” after seeing the glass people. (at home = insane).

So what about those psychiatrists, if you are in this house you have to be mad. To be honest, doctor Ruth didn’t seem particularly sane in her methods, but I am pretty sure she is insane by the end of this story.

Amadeus has several foreshadows in his diary about the Joker or clowns. It is actually about japanese clown fishes. He later realizes they represent Pisces = symbol of trial and initiation = Death and rebirth. (Rebirth = becoming insane). It didn’t help that Amadeus met Aleister Crowley, and probably got even more obsessed with symbolism and dark magic.

So, at the heart of this story, Amadeus finds his wife and daughter killed by “Mad Dog”. While looking at the horrible scene, he starts looking for his daughter’s head, until he finds it in the doll house, looking back at him. I am not sure if this was intentional, but throughout the book, you will see that “panels” are usually very rectangular in shapes of windows, or similar to the windows outside the asylum. This makes me think that, because someone is looking at him through the windows of the doll house. We are seeing the story through windows. Now... which windows? The windows of the asylum (from outside the house)... or the windows of the doll house (inside the house)? In one case we are insane and in the other one we may not. (There is another detail about the outside world, however, we’ll cover it later).

Mad Hatter says “The apparent disorder of the universe is simply a higher order, an implicate order beyond our comprehension”, then we read “the asylum is a head that dreams us all into being”. You may think that perhaps we are making them crazy, if the head is us. But I leave this to you to decide.

“Arkham is a looking glass”. You can go through the looking glass if you are Alice, you can join the inmates.

In the end, what made Cavendish do all this, is reading Amadeus diary and finding out that it was a bat that tormented his mother. And that is why Amadeus put her out of her misery. So in his last year in the Asylum, managed to prepare a ritual to put an end to the bat.

Closing the story, Batman says that “sometimes it’s only madness that makes us what we are, or destiny”. This is actually true for the Joker in this story (depending on who you believe).

Now the twist of the story is that Batman’s fate is decided by the coin. When the coin turns scarred, Batman leaves the Asylum. Now, it should be the opposite, but a few panels before that, Batman tells the Joker “you are all free”. He is not exactly telling them to leave. They are free in the asylum, because the asylum is their home. So when they say goodbye to Batman, he goes to “the other asylum”, until he can no longer cope with the world, in which case he will be welcome at a serious house on serious earth.

I am pretty sure I missed a lot of symbolism and recurring imagery throughout the book. This book is a good one to have in both, print an digital. The art itself looks different on a screen (at the same time, you can zoom or add brightness in a screen).

This is a very disturbing story that happens to be Morrison’s first work for Batman. It’s a different point of view on what is being insane, on the Joker, and certainly on what role Batman has in this cycle of death and rebirth. Is Batman defined by madness? Is Batman tormenting the insane?

It’s one of those stories that do not have a definite review. You can keep on analyzing the thing and you will never finish.

Dave McKean works very well with his style here, but Gaspar Saladino, a veteran of the industry, should also get credit for his work on lettering each character in a different way.

By the way, the scene at the GCPD has no colors. The outside world has no colors. Because it’s not home. I still think Morrison just wants as to go mad.

I give this book a score of 10 and you should definitely read it at night, next to a candle and a mirror.

#dave mckean #gaspar saladino #arkham asylum #batman80 #batman #modern age #comics #review #1989 #joker #arkham

3 notes · View notes

butiaintgonnaloveem · 6 years

Text

Tiff’s WTF*ck Challenge

Hey friends!

I’ve been feeling pretty disconnected - less reading, less reblogging, less interaction - since my job change and having less time to spend around here, so why not fix that with a writing challenge?! Yes? Yay!

One of my old favorite sources of internet humor is Sleep Talkin’ Man. And your assumption is correct, he talks in his sleep. His wife started recording him and posting the clips online and it’s hilarious.

SO - for this challenge, I’ve collected some of the absurd, inappropriate, foul, and funny quotes from that delightful fella and now challenge you to incorporate it into your SPN fanfic.

Rules:

Send your quote request as an ASK ONLY please so that I can keep track.

You can write for any SPN character, my preference is Sam and Dean, but you do what feels right.

Any genre/pairing/trope is welcome, just make sure you tag it appropriately!

One writer per prompt.

Fics will be due by July 1. I’ll post the masterlist just before I go to ChiCon.

Use the tag Tiff’s WTF Challenge to help me track your fic

Yes, you can combine it with another challenge, yes, you can have an extension if you ask for one, yes, it can be part of a series.

No, there is no word limit or max. However, you must use the “read more” feature if longer than 500 words.

Ready? Okay.

“This is my story. It starts with me. And it ends with me. And everything in the middle is about me. Greatest fucking story ever written.” @acreativelydifferentlove

“You really are life’s wet patch. An embarrassing little stain that no one wants to admit to...or sleep on.”

“I shit gold, piss silver, and puke bronze. I don’t need a medal to tell me how fucking awesome I am. Got that, bitches?” @ellawinchester1993

“I’d rather peel off my skin and bathe my weeping raw flesh in a bath of vinegar than spend any time with you. But that’s just my opinion. Don’t take it personally.” @torn-and-frayed

“You’re gonna have to shave your pubes. It’s like fighting an army of permed spider legs down there, and I’m gonna lose. I’m gonna lose.” @deansbabygirl01

“Fuck! If I don’t get to the motherfucking flower show, I’m gonna fucking kill someone!” @frejahertziswritingthistime

“Why don’t you call back later, and we’ll see whether we can get the world to revolve around you.” @whispersandwhiskerburn

“I’m gonna have a great day...Don’t you fuck it up.” @roxy-davenport

“This little tampon went out, this little tampon stayed home. This little tampon had an applicator, this little tampon had none. This little tampon’s covered in...poop. WRONG HOLE, PEOPLE! Wrong hole.”

“Oh! It’s a poltergoat. A poltergoat! You can’t see em, but you find all your clothes chewed. If you listen carefully, you may hear a ghostly baaaahhhhh. Poltergoat! Baaaahhhhh.”

“Ghosts going bump in the night. Clumsy fuckers.” @quiddy-writes

“I’m like a vulnerable fawn in the woods. One that happens to carry an uzi, ninja throwing stars, and a motherfucking bazooka.” @winchesterprincessbride

“Now I’m going to ask really nicely for you to un-fuck this situation.” @mandilion76

“There was so much blood! Oh, there must have been at least five llamas. Totally unprovoked attack by those puffins. I managed to clip their wings. This is llama turf.”

“Well that’s just great. Peanut butter in my crack. Goddamn it.” @saxxxology

“I’ve written your epitaph. Yup. I did it early. You wanna read it? ‘Here you are, lying dead. Ha ha ha ha ha.’” @sixtysevenandwhiskey

“It’s growling. Shhh, it’s growling closer...It’s an angry thing, a big angry thing. It likes cabbage, though.” @helloimsensitive

“Hey! You killed my velociraptor, dickhead. That’s so unfair. You do realize how hard it is to find one of those ‘round here, don’t you?”

“Sure you can have my phone number. It’s like having a direct line to God. But better. Because I answer.” @internationalmusicteacher

“How do blind people know they’re done wiping? How?” @mrsbatesmotel53

“I’m sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now. But if you’re not my mother, you can leave a message. Beeeep.” *Bonus points for not using Crowley* @soullessdemontrap

“If she sends me one more fucking smiley face emoticon, I’m gonna shove that keyboard so far up her ass, she’s gonna have to tweak her nipples to force quit.” @kayteonline

“I need someone else to help me catch ghosts. Cause we’re going out to kick seven shades of spiritual shit. Yeaaaah. Ghose kickers! Free floating vapor? Free floating fucker, more like. Come on, let’s get em!” @ravengirl94

“I wanted a shark with laser beams, and I got a manatee with a Maglite. For fuck’s sake, get back in your hole and get it right.”

“If honesty’s the best policy, and the truth hurts, then you’d better call an ambulance, cause you’re not gonna like the stuff I’m gonna fucking say.” @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog

“Goddammit! Where’s my bazooka? I put it on the ground, expecting it to be there when I come back. Have you been tidying up again, cause I really would like my bazooka back. I don’t know where you put things. Jesus! Cannot just leave anything alone, can you?” @atc74

“It’s Captain Fluffer! Hero to teenage boys.”

“You’re right, elephants in thongs are not something you see every day. Enjoy it.”

“Back off Robin. Batman is my bitch now. You’re just a bitch’s bitch, bitch.” @seenashwrite

“OK, so that’s your weekend homework. Go home and slap grandma.”

“Your singing can wake the dead. So shut the fuck up. I don’t want any zombies dropping their jazz hands all over the fucking place. Alright? Just shut it.” @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms

“Just put the fucking cow’s head on the pavement and walk away. Leave it alone, stop playing with it. It’s just a head. Ooooh, it’s got it’s eyeballs in still.”

“Happy Birthday! It’s a dead puppy!...Now listen, you: You didn’t specify a live puppy, you just said you wanted a fucking puppy! Jesus you’re spoiled. Now go take it for a drag.”

“I’m losing faith in humanity, one faked orgasm at a time.” @lipstickandwhiskey

“I’m sorry, but not knowing what a horcrux is is a deal-breaker to me. Deal with it, muggle-fucker.” *Bonus points for not using Charlie* @notnaturalanahi

“Vampire penguins? Zombie guinea pigs? We’re done for...done for.”

“It’s amazing how you can smell so bad, but still be alive.”

“Harder is NOT a good safe word.” @lifelovelaughangell123

“Buffalo wings? Are you insane? Those cows can’t fly. It’s a lie, I tell you. A fucking lie.”

“Scales. Must have scales. And razor claws. I want some feathers. And a goggly thing on its head. Yeahhh. Dinochicken. Awesome! I feel like a god. All right, what’s next? Guineapigasaurus. Bring it on!”

“Garlic cheese! Double death to you, you lactose intolerant vamp man!”

“God, you whine like whale song. But a lot less eerie and beautiful and more, well, fucking annoying.” @silencethroughwords

“Dance for me, go on. Oh, you were! I thought you were having a spaz attack...Doofus.”

“Leave my gnomes alone. They’re MY gnomes, living in MY house, doing MY gardening, and they’re happy. Look at their fucking smiley faces. Can’t you see how frickin’ happy they are? Who are you to judge me?! Go on, gnome, cut the grass. Good gnome. Good gnome.” @the-winchester-gospels-and-cas

“You can’t drop them. You can’t set them on fire. You can’t feed them to crocodiles. You can’t let them play with fireworks. I mean...kids: what the fuck?!” @ellen-reincarnated1967

“You know, with you you you, it’s all me me me. Well fuck fuck fuck fuck you you you.” @rizlow1

TAGS: For participation and signal boostage!

@mogaruke @feelmyroarrrr @kayteonline @seenashwrite @notnaturalanahi @mrswhozeewhatsis @deathtonormalcy56 @kittenofdoomage @jpadjackles @supernatural-jackles @luci-in-leather @babypieandwhiskey @idreamofhazel @impala-dreamer @sis-tafics @littlegreenplasticsoldier @ultimatecin73 @mrsjohnsmith @mandilion76 @boxywrites @sherrybaby14 @sylverminx @there-must-be-a-lock @deandoesthingstome @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog @ceeceewinchester @kathaswings @dr-dean @roxy-davenport @avasmommy224 @moonlitskinwalker @docharleythegeekqueen @is-this-you-manning-up-sammy @quick-act-supernatural @frick-you-im-a-princes @charliebradbury1104 @blacktithe7updates @klaineaholic @ilsawasanacrobat @ayeeitsemry @hexparker @quiddy-writes @ravengirl94 @donnaintx @rubynationwins @someday-once @winchesterprincessbride @manawhaat @anotherwinchesterfangirl @acreativelydifferentlove @luci-in-trenchcoats @whispersandwhiskerburn @lipstickandwhiskey

#Tiff's WTF Challenge #spn writing challenge #spn fanfiction #writing prompts #spn writing prompts

59 notes · View notes

mygoddessmusings · 6 years

Text

Circle Series 5 - Ethics

Hello! Welcome to the fifth post in the Circle Series! You can find the introduction and prior posts of the series here. The next planned posts to wrap up the series will be centered on ritual: holidays and other sacred times, the whats and whys of ritual, and ritual structure. But before we get into all that, it seems appropriate to dedicate some time to thinking about ethics in Goddessia, so we have a framework for ethical decision making, both in our lives and in a ritual setting.

"The Earth is a living, conscious being. In company with cultures of many different times and places, we name these things as sacred: air, fire, water, and earth. ... To call these things sacred is to say that they have a value beyond their usefulness for human ends, that they themselves become the standard by which our acts, our economics, our laws, and our purposes must be judged."

-Starhawk, The Fifth Sacred Thing

From the Ground of all Being Up

Something that sets Goddessia apart from many of the major world religions is that there is no set of rules regarding right behavior or decision-making, no "Ten Commandments" or Eight-Fold Path. Although there have been some guidelines and rules of thumb proposed, which we will explore in a moment, Goddessia operates on the assumption that women don't need to be prescribed rules on what to do: with participation in Goddessia and understanding of the core concepts of Goddess spirituality, ethical decision-making will grow naturally out of that understanding. Rather than rules, the precepts and guidelines that have been offered by Goddessians are "statements that can be used to sum up Goddess ethics."1 They are descriptive, rather than prescriptive. They're reminders we can check-in with if we need a little extra guidance in making a tough decision. The two foundational concepts from which all other core concepts and common beliefs of Goddessia arise are:

Immanence/Pantheism - The universe, the earth, and everything in it are alive, imbued with sacredness. Goddess is the “soul of nature.” She is present in all things, including you and me. Or, to look at it from another perspective, we are all present in Her. She is embodied in the Universe, and each individual, from an atom to a black hole, is like a cell or organ within her be-ing.

Interconnectedness - All beings and forces in the body of the Goddess are connected through a web of relationship and energy. In this web, we co-create the world with Goddess. In Buddhism, to which Goddessia owes a debt for this concept, this is sometimes called “dependent co-arising.” In World as Lover, World as Self by Joanna Macy describes it like this: “[…] things do not produce each other or make each other happen as in linear causality. They help each other happen by providing occasion or locus or context, and in so doing, they in turn are affected. There is a reciprocal dynamic at play. Power inheres not in any one dominating entity, but in the relationship between entities.”

Reverence for the Earth, celebration of the seasonal and lunar cycles, positive valuation of the female, and belief in reincarnation (metaphorical or literal) all have their roots in the immanence of Goddess. The concept of magic, flows from the idea of interconnectedness, that we can and do have an impact on the web of life around us, and that with the conscious application of will and energy, we can, to a certain extent, control the type of impact we have and the results of that impact. Goddessian ethics also flow from these two concepts.

If Goddess is present in all beings, and we are all connected to each other, what does that mean for how we treat others, human and non-human? What does that mean for how we treat the earth? For the institutions we do and do not choose to participate in? How does that affect our judgments of right and wrong, and what sorts of responsibilities does that put on us to right wrongs that we see?

Advice and Touchstones - Goddessian Guidelines

The primary ethical precept you will come across in Goddessian Paganism, and Paganism more broadly, is the Wiccan Rede, commonly phrased "An it harm none, do what thou wilt," or, in plainer English, "if it harms none, do what you will." The word "rede" means advice, and the Rede is a shortened version of a much longer poem you can find here. As the name suggests, this came to Goddessia from Wicca, but the concept predates Wicca. The founders of Wicca were likely influenced by Aleister Crowley's Book of the Law, the central sacred text of Thelema, which states "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law . . . . . Love is the law, love under will," which was in turn influenced by older maxims, such as “love and do what thou wilt" from St. Augustine’s Homilies on the First Epistle of St. John. 2 This is what can be described as a utilitarian approach to ethics: rather than declaring that certain actions are good or bad, it is the context and outcome of an action (whether it results in harm or not) which determines its ethicalness.

While Goddessia does not have simple rules on behavior (do this or don't do that), when we truly integrate principles of interconnectedness and immanence into our worldviews, it calls us to (a) honor the fact that we are not alone in this life and consider how our actions affect those around us, and (b) serve, or, at least, refrain from harming, the other sacred beings we share this biosphere with. Therefore, "if it harm none, do what you will," is an apt, if simple, description of the core of Goddessian ethics which arise out of immanence and interconnection.

Criticisms have been made of the Rede as an ethical guideline. Some argue that the Rede does not go far enough: simply "not harming" is not strictly-speaking a call to do good. For example, if person A is harming person B, while we stand by and do nothing, it seems on the surface that, since we are not doing harm to person B, that's good enough, and we are not called to any further action. However, I believe if we consider our actions more deeply, by refraining to intervene in a situation we have the power to intervene in, our inaction is allowing the perpetuation of violence against Person B, and therefore, in order to do no harm, we are called to intervene. This applies not only to one-on-one acts of violence, but also systemic forms of violence, such as poverty, racism, and misogyny. Others argue that the Rede is too lofty of a goal: it is impossible to live in the world and do no harm. Simply living involves at minimum the consumption of plant life, and possibly also the consumption animal life; this is true of all creatures in some form. One can reconcile this by reasoning that it is necessary to do so to avoid causing harm to oneself and others through starvation, and it is only harmful if done in excess beyond need. That being said most of us get our food from industrial agriculture and factory farming, which does harm to the environment, and when we consider the working conditions of many who work in these industries which we support, the issue becomes more complex still. The advice to do no harm, then, can seem left in the dust - there is no no-harm option. However, the rede may still be used as an ideal, a call to consider how to do the least harm, when no harm is not an option.

Still, if the Rede seems overly-simplistic or anxiety-inducing in its scope as a guideline (and remember, these are guidelines and descriptions, not rules), we might instead consider Carol Christ's Nine Touchstones of Goddess Spirituality:

"Nurture life.

Walk in love and beauty.

Trust the knowledge that comes through the body.

Speak the truth about conflict, pain, and suffering.

Take only what you need.

Think about the consequences your actions for seven generations.

Approach the taking of life with great restraint.

Practice great generosity.

Repair the web."

On her touchstones, Christ writes:

"In my life, I have discovered nine touchstones that can help to translate the mythos of Goddess religion into an ethos, a way of ethical living. A touchstone is different from a principle or a commandment. Like a beautiful pebble on the shore of the sea, a touchstone is discovered by attending to the concrete. It does not derive from a source outside ourselves, but rather is discovered within the web of life. A touchstone can be consulted for guidance, but it does not tell us precisely what to do in any concrete situation. A touchstone is one among many. Ethical guidelines can never be reduced to a perfect and complete list. They are relative to the situations we live in. New touchstones can be added as they are discovered. Those that have outlived their usefulness can be discarded."3

Christ's touchstones all grow out of the core concepts of immanence and interconnection. Recognizing the presence of Goddess in all life and our deep interconnection to each other calls us to nurture life and to honor those who do the vital work of helping life grown and thrive, be they parents, healers, gardeners, or activists. Acknowledging the presence of Goddess around us calls us to "appreciate the infinite diversity of all beings in the natural world.. and to sense that everything wants to be loved," what Christ calls "walking in love and beauty." Trusting knowledge that comes through the body is a form of defiance against the patriarchal "ethos of domination" that has been at the core of western culture for centuries. Rather than giving over our spiritual authority to priests or gurus, we stand in the power of Goddess-within, and we test everything against our own experience and trust the knowledge that comes through the body. Trusting knowledge that comes through the body, "we feel our own joy and suffering, and the suffering and joy of others and the earth body," which means we cannot live in denial of the conflict, pain and suffering that takes place in the world. Acknowledging the interconnected web of life, encourages us to consider the consequences of our actions, not just on ourselves but on those around us and those who will come after, which in turn encourages restraint, taking only what we need. When we relate to Goddess as our mother Earth who provides all we need to live, we can also embody her generosity, not just materially, but also in our relationships with ourselves and others. "Generosity begins with ourselves ... as we recognize our strengths and forgive our limitations, we can begin to approach others with a generous spirit," looking for the good in others, rather than allowing situations to become polarized, us versus them. And, finally, in acknowledging the web of life, we must also acknowledge that the bonds of the web are being broken by the violence taking place in the world. To transform our personal relationships and cultural institutions through the practice of the other touchstones is to repair the web and "work to establish greater harmony, justice, and peace for all beings on earth." 4

Suggested Exercises:

Harm None - Do your best to stay mindful of your actions and words, and deeply consider "Does this harm none?" If you find there is harm being done, endeavor to abstain from the action for the rest of the week, to see if you can do without it. If you find you cannot do without it (eg. you need to drive a CO2-producing car to work), try considering it through one of the touchstones above (eg. "Am I taking only what I need?" "Is there any way I can repair the web?").

Nurture - Before going to bed, ask yourself, "what did I do today to nurture life?"

Walk in Love - "Everything want to be loved. Us sing and dance, make faces and give flower bouquets, trying to be loved. You ever notice that trees do everything to git attention we do, except walk?" - Alice Walker, The Color Purple. When you approach a living being, from a blade of grass to a person, consider that each being wants to be loved.

Knowledge Through the Body - Practice checking-in with your body throughout the day, if necessary, using a centering meditation or doing a physical activity such as stretching, walking or yoga. What knowledge is coming to you through your body? Do you need more sleep, water, or food? What are your senses telling you about the place you’re in or the people you’re with?

Speak the Truth about Suffering - Pick an issue, societal or personal, and commit to speaking openly and truthfully about it when it comes up.

Generosity - Practice being generous with yourself and others. Try giving others the benefit of the doubt. When you or others make a mistake, endeavor to respond with the same kindness and forgiveness you would show a close friend or loved one.

Repair the Web - "As this day dawns in beauty, we pledge ourselves to repair the web." When you wake up in the morning, recite this part of Carol Christ's Morning Blessing. "This song moves us out into the world, naming the beauty of each day dawning as the inspiration of our desire to increase the possibilities of joy and beauty in the world through individual and communal ethical action."5

Touchstones - Try coming up with your own set of touchstones. Judith Laura offers the following: "Seek knowledge. Revere wisdom. Be joyful. Know pleasure. Love one another. Protect life. And live in peace." Consider your own guiding principles and ideals, as well as the interconnected web of life, and the immanence of Goddess in the universe. What are your foundations for making good decisions? Write them down in a place you can reference.

With the exception of the last one, I recommend doing each exercise for at least a week to give yourself plenty of time to experience, experiment, and reflect on the effects of the exercise.

Happy Exploring!

Next: Post Six - Sacred Times

Sources

1 Laura, Judith, "Goddess Ethics"

2 Mankey, Jason, "The Rede of the Wicca"

3 Christ, Carol, Rebirth of the Goddess, p. 166

4 Christ, Carol, Rebirth of the Goddess, p. 167 - 169

5 Christ, Carol, She Who Changes, p. 240

#circle series for beginners #goddess spirituality #goddessia

1 note · View note

illuminating-dragons · 6 years

Text

In Name

Summary: With Chuck and Amara made up, Sam, Dean and Cas decide to take a vacation. But on their way back, they find a case, and it hits close to home.

Note: Sequel to In Vain (on AO3 only)

Word Count: 10, 810

Dean looked up in shock as the dark and light clouds intermingled. There was a rumble, and he was standing in another place, with Sam and Cas beside him.

“Dean?!”

Sam grabbed him first, hugging him tight as he could. Dean patted his back. “Okay, Sammy. Okay.”

And somehow it was, after all. Somehow Amara and Chuck…they’d decided not to fight. They’d decided to be family instead. And Dean had somehow convinced them to do that.

That was pretty awesome.

So was the next moment, when Sam let go of him and Cas dragged him into a kiss that sent his head spinning. He clutched at Cas’ coat to stay upright, but Cas pulled him closer.

Dean broke away at last. “Oxygen, babe, oxygen.”

“Irrelevant.”

It was almost as hard to breathe now, clutched against Cas’ chest. But that didn’t really matter. He was alive, he was with his family…amazing.

“Um, can we have a group hug?”

Cas let go of Dean just long enough to drag Sam in too. “Of course.”

“This is a lot of hugging,” Dean complained.

“You admitted it about the chick-flick moments, dude. You can’t go back from that.”

Dean could feel Cas’ laugh, and he could barely manage a muttered ‘shut up’. Barely wanted to, honestly.

Something in the air shifted, and Cas stopped laughing. “Father.”

Dean looked up. Chuck was there, Amara beside him. They were both smiling hugely.

“Wait, I thought you guys were going to like…bond and stuff,” Dean said, confused.

“We did. Three millennia.” Amara looked more relaxed than Dean had ever seen her. She was wearing a bright flowered dress now, her nails multicoloured and her hair up in a bun.

“It’s only been five minutes,” Dean replied.

“Well of course!” Chuck looked surprised. “We just went to another dimension. We’ve got a lot of work to do here. I didn’t want to leave you in the lurch here.”

“Wait.” Sam looked at Dean. “What did happen?”

Dean thought about how to explain it best. “They’re family.”

“Oh. Okay, great!” Sam smiled at Chuck, and nodded a bit nervously to Amara. “I’m happy for you.”

“Sorry about trying to kill you, Sam.” Amara looked genuinely regretful.

“Eh, it’s alright. It’s happened.”

Dean pressed his lips together. “Not funny, Sammy.”

“It’s hilarious.” Sam grinned at him.

“Children,” Chuck scolded.

Amara looked at Cas next. “And nephew…I didn’t want to damage you, did I—”

“No. You never touched me. Lucifer kept any reverberations from my Grace.”

“Assbutt wouldn’t have had to if he hadn’t worn you to prom.”

“Lucifer will be dealt with,” Chuck promised. His voice was softer than Amara’s. “I caused a great deal of his problems, and I let him run amuck. He will be punished, but when that is done, if he seeks forgiveness he will be granted it.”

“I don’t mind.” Dean was shocked to hear that from Sam.

“Wait, really?”

“Is he ever going to be able to hurt me or my family again?” Sam asked.

“No.” It was Amara who said that, and Chuck nodded.

“Then I don’t care. Just make sure of that.” Sam paused. “Please.”

“We can do you one better,” Chuck said. He reached towards Sam. Sam tensed, but allowed Chuck to touch his face. Dean saw the hurt bleeding out of his brother, saw him calm. Sam pressed a hand to his stomach, stared at Chuck in wonder.

“You needed to be healed, Sam. And I’m sorry it didn’t come sooner.”

“That’s okay,” Sam managed. He was trembling now, but smiling, and Dean’s heart ached. He hadn’t seen Sammy smile like that in years.

Amara reached out to Cas. “Here, nephew. Your wings are hurt.”

There was a flash of light—so bright Dean couldn’t look—and Cas stood tall, looking as surprised as Sam. “Thank you, Aunt.”

“It’s the least I could do, Castiel.”

“We’ll deal with Heaven too, Cas.” Chuck looked more relaxed now. “Your brothers and sisters will understand what you have done and why, and they will welcome you home. You won’t be living there, though.”

Cas looked stricken, but Dean’s heart was pounding. Did Chuck mean…

“You’re welcome to visit, but I have a very important mission for you. I believe two men need a guardian angel. Can you follow orders this time, Castiel?” Chuck’s eyes were dancing, and Sam laughed.

“I think Dean needs him more than I do.”

“Neither of you are good at taking care of yourselves,” Cas contradicted him. “I’m happy to guard you both. I will follow orders, Father.”

“It’ll be great to have you Cas.” Sam smirked. “And you can have Dean’s back. Or have him on his back.”

Dean blushed. “Damn it, Sammy, you can’t just—”

“Seven years. Seven years, Dean.”

“To be fair I was dead for some of that time,” Cas pointed out.

“And we were in Purgatory.”

“See I figured that would help. Just you, Cas, Benny and endless woods.”

“Not to mention endless monsters.”

“We have to go,” Amara interrupted. “Heaven is calling, as is Hell.”

“Right, sister, of course.” Chuck put his hand on Cas’ shoulder for a moment, and father and son shared a long look. Cas drew in a sharp breath.

“You should tell them.”

“No, you go ahead. You deserve to.” Chuck stepped back and took Amara’s hand. “Farewell, Team Free Will. We may see you again.” The two dissolved into clouds again, and this time Dean watched as they went into the sky once more.

Sam let out a huge breath. “That was…wow.”

“Awesome,” Dean agreed. “Cas, what did he tell you?”

He was struck by the light in his—boyfriend? Lover?—his Cas’ eyes.

“My Father has decided to return some people to Earth.”

Dean’s heart started pounding. “Some people?”

“Your family. Your friends. Several other innocents who have died.”

“R-really?” Sam’s smile grew bigger, somehow.

“Yes. It will take time, and some…negotiation with the Reapers. But they will return.”

“They’re coming back?” Mom was the first one who popped into Dean’s head. And Bobby, Charlie, Kevin, Ellen, Jo, Ash…

“Yes, dearest. All of them.”

Dean couldn’t speak. He pulled Cas and Sam into his arms, and let the relief of the Darkness’ presence being gone, of not having the Mark, of the world maybe, maybe being safe for the first time from powers beyond their pay grade.

“So you’re good with the group hugs now?” Sam asked, his voice muffled.

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk.”

When they pulled apart at last, they looked around themselves properly for the first time. Dean recognized it—it was a road about forty-five minutes outside of Lebanon. Baby was there too, parked and gleaming in the sunshine.

“Let’s go home,” Dean said. “We’ve got work to do.”

“Sammy, we’re back!”

Sam looked up from the catalogue. “In the library!”

It was four weeks after the sun was saved, and Sam had made a decent amount of progress. Going through the Bunker’s catalogue and making sure that they still had all the books (and that they were where they were supposed to be) wasn’t so hard, but digitizing the books was taking longer. It wasn’t just that finding a good scanner and filling out enough fake credit card applications that he could buy one (and then drive two hours to pick it up) took time, but he kept getting distracted. There was so much new information here, and some of the books were so interesting that he ended up reading several chapters instead of scanning the pages.

Not that it really mattered. The others would be here soon, and Sam knew that Charlie for sure would be really into this part.

It still blew Sam away that people were really coming back. But it was happening; Cas had gone to visit Heaven once a week, and each time he reported on the progress with bringing their family back. To their surprise, Billie had agreed to let it happen. The real trick was balancing the energies of souls leaving Heaven. Cas had attempted to explain until Sam and Dean had begged him to stop.

In the end, the solution was just to have two people come back at a time. It wasn’t just their family; there were other people coming back (Sam wanted to know how they were going to explain that, but Cas asked, and the response to that hurt his head even more). So it would take time, but Chuck promised that by the end of six months, their entire family would be home. They had a list of names, and a letter signed by all of the returning saying they were happy to come home, yes they knew everything, and that they didn’t want to hear any damn apologies.

(That particular statement had been bolded, underlined, circled and initialed by all).

So the three of them had been a little bit at a loss the first few weeks. Sure, it was great to sleep in and watch crappy Netflix (and good Netflix) and finally get around to organizing the Bunker, but something stopped them from getting too deeply into any project.

For the first time, they could plan projects and know that people were going to be there to help contribute. And there were no major bad guys to deal with, either. In fact, the supernatural world had been very quiet lately (Crowley had called late one night and muttered something about Hell being back under control, and Rowena chimed in that the ‘Mega-Coven’ was finally getting off the ground).

Dean’s solution was to start setting up rooms. He’d cleaned Kevin and Charlie’s room and bought them some updated geek gear, and set aside rooms for the other people coming home who’d never seen the Bunker. Cas had been darting in and out with groceries, making sure they were fully stocked. He’d also disappeared into the store rooms a few times, and apart from a couple of crashes there’d been a lot of progress. There were now neat notecards for three shelves of artifacts. Only seventy-five to go, but they’d be there to take care of that.

And so were the others.

Dean and Cas came in, holding hands. Sam still wasn’t used to that; he was partly sure he was dreaming. But it was real, Dean and Cas were smiling and happy, very much in love, and there was so much less eyesex. And Cas had even soundproofed their room after that one time.

“What you reading?”

“Treatise on church use in hunting,” Sam said. “Looks like we weren’t the first to take advantage of sacred ground to kill a ghost.”

“Probably the first to kill a racist possessed truck though, right?”

“So far, yeah.” Sam put the book down. “So what did you two get up to?”

Dean opened his mouth and Sam inserted hastily “that I want to hear.”

“Child,” Dean sniffed. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Yes you do.”

Dean shrugged. “Whatever. We mostly just drove, and we had an idea.”

“We want to go for a road trip, Sam.” Cas said. “One without a hunt. Dean was telling me about the times you went as young adults, and they sound fun. I’m also eager to see more of the country than several thousand Biggersons.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Sam ignored the disappointment in his chest. Some quiet might be nice, after all. “Where are you thinking?”

“Well, obviously we want to be home for—well, when everyone starts to come back. So not far. Maybe down to California? Go to the beach?”

“Yeah. I can give you a list of great places there.” He’d travelled a lot with Jess the summer before their fourth year.

“Cool. Go start packing, I’m making burgers.”

“Oh. What?”

“Do you not want to come?”

“I thought you meant you and Cas. Like a…a romantic trip or something.”

“And leave you alone? Sammy, you won’t get fresh air if we leave you.” Dean smiled fondly at Cas. “He’s like a puppy. He forgets how doors work.”

“Bite me.” Sam straightened the treatise. “I don’t know, I just thought…”

“We need a Team Free Will trip before we do anything else.” Dean’s face softened. “It’s been a rough few years for all three of us. It’d be nice to have a break.”

“Sounds good.” Sam stood. “So burgers?”

“Yup. And fries. I got some potatoes and I’m gonna make some from scratch. Now go get packed. We’re gonna leave early tomorrow morning.”

Cas smiled at the desk agent. “Two rooms, please.”

It was nearing sunset, and they’d finally found a hotel. Cas had rejected every motel they’d driven by. This was a vacation, not a hunt, and they weren’t staying anywhere that didn’t have at least three stars.

If Cas had his way, they’d never stay in a motel ever again, but Sam and Dean had their habits.

“That’s our last two,” the woman said cheerfully. As she was cutting the keycards, her eyes looked over to Sam and Dean. “Are you three reporters?”

“No,” Cas replied politely. “We’re just on vacation.”

“You didn’t look like reporters,” the woman admitted. She handed him the keys. “But that’s all that’s been in today.”

“Really? What about?”

The woman leaned forward. “Well, it’s kind of sad, actually. There’s been two deaths in Joshua. It’s not far from here, but it’s such a little town there’s nowhere to stay there.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Cas said. And he was, for more reason than one. “Why all of the media interest in this tragedy?”

“There hasn’t been a murder in Joshua. Like, ever. And two so close together?”

Cas swallowed. “Has this been on the news?”

The woman handed him a newspaper. “The first one happened last week, and the second was three days ago.”

“Thank you.” Cas took a glance at the first few paragraphs. He fought the urge to slam the paper down, to burn it.

This was supposed to be a vacation.

When he rejoined the brothers, he was tempted to say nothing. But of course, Dean could tell something was wrong.

“What is it Cas? Not enough rooms?”

“No, no. Come on, they’re next door to each other.”

“How next door?” Sam asked.

Dean glared at him. “We’re not that loud.”

“I didn’t say you were loud. I said I could hear you.”

Cas let his thoughts wander as they bickered. Perhaps it was only a serial killer—well, serial was three, so a double murderer. Perhaps there was nothing supernatural about it.

But as they’d been driving he’d felt a bit of a tug in his Grace, a warning. He’d prayed about it, and his Father had answered for once. It hadn’t been helpful.

Let it happen, Castiel.

Because that, of course, wasn’t mildly terrifying at all.

Threats to come up to Heaven and demand answers hadn’t provoked his Father, but there was no further information.

Cas knew he was being selfish. He just wanted to be able to relax with his mate and his best friend. To spend some time with them in peace after all of the forces that had tried to pull them apart. Apparently that was asking too much.

When Dean put a hand on his neck, he jumped.

“Babe,” Dean said seriously. “Can we go inside?”

Cas realized he was frowning at a hotel door. Sam looked concerned.

“Sorry.” He swiped the key and entered.

It was a nice room, clean with two queen beds. Cas put his bag down and Dean did the same.

“Can I have my room key, Cas?” Sam asked softly.

“In a second, Sammy. Cas, what’s wrong? Did the desk lady say something to upset you?”

Cas took Dean’s hand. “No, dearest. Well, she did, but not intentionally.”

“Cas…”

Cas handed Dean the newspaper. The article was splashed all over the front page, and Sam stood over Dean’s shoulder to read it.

“Well that sucks.” Then Dean read the article again. “Wait a minute.”

Cas groaned. He wasn’t a very good hunter, but even he’d noticed the pattern.

“That looks like a woman in white,” Sam said. “Look; both men’s bodies were found by the highway, leading out to an abandoned house.”

“It may not be,” Cas said. “The desk agent says there hadn’t been a murder in fifty years. Isn’t that odd for a woman in white?”

“Not necessarily.” Sam was now deep in thought. “They don’t have to kill all the time. Maybe there aren’t a lot of unfaithful dudes in this town.”

Dean noticed the trouble in Cas’ face. “Cas? What’s wrong? This is just a ghost, we’ve done this a lot.”

“I was hoping we would be taking a vacation.” Cas sighed. “I didn’t want the supernatural to intrude upon that.”

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to, honey.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Cas got himself under control. “We can’t allow people to suffer when we can help.” He touched Dean’s face. “Besides, I want to practice hunting more anyways.”

Sam laughed. “You did a pretty decent job last time, Cas.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with this, Cas? You look worried.”

He’d promised not to lie to Dean anymore. “I feel like something is going to happen. Something bad.”

“Has your—has Chu—has anyone said anything?”

“He told me to let it happen. Which means that it can’t be that bad, because he promised you two would be okay. Perhaps it’s just going to end up with one of you injured. Again.”

“Yeah, but my angel can heal us,” Dean said with a grin. “Remember? It won’t be like before.”

That made something in Cas’ heart unclench. All those years of sitting helpless as Sam and Dean suffered, unable to heal them fully, unable to shoulder their pain…those were over too.

Adjusting to good things was sometimes just as hard as adjusting to bad.

“You’re right. Joshua isn’t far from here, and we’ll have a couple of days before we have to drive home.”

Dean grinned. “Exactly. It’ll be good to get an old-fashioned one under our belts, anyways.”

Cas tried to be positive through the rest of the night, eating room service and watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine before Sam went to bed. Dean was tired, and they exchanged only a few kisses before he fell asleep.

Cas had no need to sleep, and as he held Dean against his chest he looked up at the ceiling. Father, please answer me. Please don’t make me lose them.

There was silence for a while, and then: let it happen, Castiel.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Grant.”

Dean was sitting on a porch in Joshua, feeling much more awkward than usual. He’d gotten used to dealing with grieving people over the years, though it was never easy. But this man’s grief was radiating from him with an intensity Dean had never seen before.

“I appreciate the condolences, Mr. Novak.” Eric Grant was in his early sixties, but Dean guessed that without grief weighing him down, he wouldn’t look a day over forty-five. Far too young to bury a child.

“So you were sent by which paper again?”

“It’s a blog, actually. My brother likes to write about California small towns, and he’s always hated the fact that crimes go cold in small towns because of lack of interest.”

Mr. Grant sighed. “My wife died when my boys were young. It’s always been the three of us. I thought it always would be.”

“And your son James was the first…the first man who died?”

“Yes. He was such a good kid. Always loved tinkering with things.” There was a momentary expression of pride on his face. “He got out of here, you know. Made it all the way to college. But he came back to visit me and his brother every chance he could.”

“Did he ever have a girlfriend?”

“No, but he’s had a few boyfriends.” Eric looked him in the eye. “Got a problem with that?”

“No sir,” Dean promised. “I’ve got a boyfriend of my own.”

Eric relaxed. “I never had a problem either. Some people in this town did, but they came around eventually, or I knew the reasons why.”

“Was he dating anyone…recently?”

“Nope. There’s not a lot of out people around here, and James was here all summer. He broke up with his last boyfriend a few months ago because he wanted to come home, and Buck didn’t want to follow.” Eric’s eyes filled with tears. “And he came home to…”

Dean winced. “His story will be told, sir. And I promise the answer will be found.”

“I appreciate that.” Eric rocked back in his chair for a minute. When he’d regained composure, he said, “may as well get it over with. What do you want to know about Tyler?”

“Tyler Thompson?” Dean asked in surprise. “Did you know him?”

Eric narrowed his eyes. “Of course I do. He is—was—my younger son.”

************

“So Tyler changed his name when you got married?” Sam asked. He and Cas exchanged a look.

Rita Thompson was wrapped in a too-big robe, holding a too-big mug in shaking fingers. She was still crying, she hadn’t stopped since they’d come in the house. Her daughter slept in a bassinet on the counter, arms around a purple dog.

“Yes,” Rita answered at last. “I didn’t want to change mine, and he respected that. But he said he wanted to—he wanted to show the world he was mine. So he was Tyler Thompson, and our daughter has my name.”

“Tyler sounds like a great guy.”

“He really was. He was the best man I’ve ever known. He was always so gentle, but strong too. He could lift me over his head, and that’s high.”

Sam had noticed the doors when they came in; he hadn’t had to duck. “Did he build this house?”

That brought a small smile. “He just adjusted all the doors. He was six-five. He said he was sorry when Jill was born—she was almost eleven pounds, and he was worried she’d inherited his height.” The tears were still flowing, slow and steady. Sam remembered crying like that after Jess died, endless tears for three days while Dean took care of him. After that, he lost the ability to cry that long.

“Rita?”

Sam looked up. Another man had just come in the back door, a little bit shorter than Cas. Cas tensed beside Sam as the stranger pressed a kiss to Rita’s cheek.

The newcomer looked at them coldly. “I swear to God, if you’re reporters—”

“Isaac, don’t. They’re…they’re nice.” Rita patted his arm. “I promise.”

Isaac still didn’t look friendly.

“We can leave, if you want,” Cas offered. “I understand you need time as a family to grieve.”

“Family?” Isaac’s stared at Rita. “Did you tell them?!”

“No,” Rita whispered. “I didn’t.”

Then Isaac seemed to deflate, sagging against the counter with his arm around Rita. “Guess I kind of did.” He glared at the two of them. “Don’t you fucking print this.”

“Print…what?” Sam asked.

Rita took Isaac’s hand. “We were all together. The three of us.”

“Oh.” Sam took a second. “Did you change your name too, Isaac?”

“No.” Isaac half-laughed. “Obviously we couldn’t all get married. And it was easier for Rita and Tyler; I have some…unpleasant family members. They wouldn’t like it if I suddenly married a man, and even Rita’s not right for them.”

“I offend their racist sensibilities,” Rita explained. “ ‘Indian’s only one step up from a black woman,’ apparently.”

Sam hadn’t even noticed, but now that she’d pointed it out he noticed the high cheekbones, the narrow brown eyes, the darker skin.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Isaac.”

Isaac just nodded. He laid his cheek against Rita’s hair and closed his eyes.

“Did anyone know about you three?”

“We’ve tried to keep it quiet for Isaac’s sake,” Rita answered. Jill started to fuss, and Rita reached over, resettled the dog. “But Tyler’s dad knew, and some of my friends.”

“Have you ever been publicly affectionate?” Cas asked.

“Not really. Hugs, and that, but like I said, we’ve been quiet about it. Why do you ask?”

To Sam’s surprise, Cas told the truth. Well, part of the truth.

“Sam’s brother is my lover. He’s here as well, and…it’s always a risk, you know?”

“Don’t worry about that around here,” Isaac said. “My family lives a ways away, and I don’t even think they’d be violent. The only reason I don’t tell them all to go to hell is that my dad would never let me see my mom again, and she’s sick. I don’t want to lose what time I have left with her. But you’ll be okay.”

“Thank you.” Cas shook hands with both of them. “Do either of you need anything right now? Other than to be left to grieve in private?”

Rita trembled and closed her eyes.

“We’re alright,” Isaac said hoarsely. “At least we will be.”

Sam took out one of his new cards. “Let us know if you need anything at all. We’ll probably be around a couple more days.”

When they got outside, Sam took a deep breath, but the weight of Rita and Isaac’s grief still lingered. He was about to ask Cas what he thought about this development, when he got a text from Dean.

They’re brothers.

I know.

Now what?

Cas laid on the bed, newspapers spread out around him. There were only four newspapers in a twenty-mile radius, but they carried plenty of local gossip. But apart from an interesting article about a local beekeeper association, there was nothing relevant to him.

Dean was sitting on the floor (he’d protested but Cas had really needed the full bed, if only for a moment), and he was on the phone with the morgue.

“Alright yes, I understand. Thank you for your time.” Dean hung up and sighed. “Tyler and James were both found with their shirts open, and the wounds are consistent with Woman in White victims.”

“But neither of them cheated?” Cas said.

“James didn’t have anyone to cheat on,” Dean confirmed. “I know dads don’t know everything about their sons, but they seemed really close. And Sam’s pretty damn sure about Tyler too. He had a wife and a guy.”

“Then perhaps these men were simply killed by some sort of serial killer. Rita and Isaac mentioned trouble with Isaac’s family.”

“Did some checking on Facebook for them. They were all miles away at a family reunion. Guess Isaac didn’t make the cut.” Dean’s jaw clenched. “Could be someone else, but…”

The hotel door opened to Sam, his laptop under his arm and holding a takeout bag. “I stopped by the diner,” he explained. “They actually had a Cobb salad.”

“Any luck at the library?”

Sam took out his salad and tossed the rest of the bag to Cas. “A weird kind of luck. But here’s the thing—I went to the scene too.”

“Sam!” Dean stopped unwrapping the burger. “That could have been—”

“I’m not with anyone, Dean.” Sam didn’t seem riled. “And I didn’t go to the scene of the bodies, just along the road. And EMF readings…it was going bonkers. There’s been ghost activity down there for sure.”

“So maybe it’s a vengeful spirit,” Cas theorized. “Perhaps it has something to do with their father?”

Sam shook his head. “I still think it was a Woman in White, but…kinda different. When I was at the library I went pretty deep into the weeds, and I think I found her.” He opened his laptop. On the screen was a picture of a woman in late 19th century clothes.

“Her name was Prudence Jennings. She lived a couple of towns over. In 1891, her children were reported dead, and her death day is the same date.”

“So you think it’s the classic Woman in White scenario?” Cas asked. “She killed her children because her husband was unfaithful?”

“Yeah, but get this. I went into the archives, and man, those people save everything. If I was actually running a blog I’d want access. But I found Temperance Morris’ diary. She was Prudence’s sister—”

“Those names are made up, right?”

Sam ignored Dean. “Temperance wrote that her sister’s husband wasn’t fond of women, even if he’d given her two children. She hinted that maybe Mr. Jennings was sleeping with…well, a man.”

“Ah. That’s more complicated.”

“Is it?” Sam asked. “I mean, it’s still murder-suicide because of infidelity. And there were cases back in the 30s and 40s in this area of Woman in White activity. At least there were murders of men, and some of them were…uh, ‘known homosexuals’”.

Cas winced. “So she’s going after unfaithful gay men.”

“Yeah. The last one was in Joshua in 1951, and it was a man who was out. Apparently it broke his partner’s heart when he went missing.”

“That’s still a long time between kills,” Dean said. “Maybe another hunter wasted her?”

“I don’t think so,” Sam said. He took out John’s journal.

Cas scowled.

“Dad—he wrote about this case. It’s just a small paragraph, but it mentioned Prudence’s sister, that’s how I got onto the journal. He marked it possible Woman in White, but he marked it cold too.”

Cas leaned back. They’d only had the one conversation about John, and he was still a touchy subject. “Is that possible? For Women in White to stop?” Your father cannot be trusted.

“She could have moved on, maybe? That would be really hard, but maybe she got up the courage to go home with her children.”

“So let’s say it is Prudence. Why did she go after Tyler and James? Neither of them have been unfaithful.”

“But they’re both men who have been in relationships with men,” Cas said. “And Tyler is married to a woman and carrying on a relationship with a man. Even if the three are in agreement…”

“That might be enough.”

“So there hasn’t been anyone gay or unfaithful in this town since the 40s? Is that even possible?”

“We’ve got to rule it out, I guess. There definitely haven’t been any murders.”

“This seems fake.”

“How cynical you two are,” Cas said.

“Are your angel senses telling you anything?” Dean asked.

Cas rolled his eyes, but he nodded. “I believe the records in this town are honest, and I don’t sense anything odd. But I’m still getting used to having my powers again, and some of what I sense isn’t making…sense.”

“What, exactly?”

Cas reached out again, like he’d been doing for the last two hours. “I believe there is a ghost, and they have…they have a grudge. But that’s all I know. I’m sorry. I can go fly out.”

“We might need you for something else,” Sam said. “If it is a Woman in White, we should do our best to lure her out. And that means someone queer needs to cheat on their partner.” He smiled at Cas and Dean.

“Do you think that’ll work?” Dean asked.

“I promise I won’t do anything to betray you, Dean,” Cas said gently. “I will only go as far as absolutely necessary. Do you know where Prudence’s house was, Sam?”

“Yup. It’s right along the road I drove earlier. There’s not much left of it, but that’s fine. It’ll work for what we need to do. If you’re going to be the bait, Cas, why don’t Dean and I run out there earlier? That way we can wait there for you.”

“Alright. Should we do this tonight?”

“May as well. We should start heading home soon. And it might give the families a little bit of closure.” Sam bit his lip, and Cas knew he was remembering the grief in the Thompson house. Closure wouldn’t help that family for a long, long time.

“I’m going to take a shower before we go,” Sam announced. He got up and headed to the bathroom. The minute the water started running, Dean grabbed Cas’ hands.

“Babe, are you sure this is going to work?”

“Well, it will not if this ghost is not a Woman in White. But we may still attract the ghost. Don’t worry, Dean, we’ll be home in time to greet your family.”

“That’s not really what I’m worried about. I mean…will it count as you being unfaithful to me?”

“I told you, only as far as necessary, Dean.”

Dean sighed. “Have we even been—have we been together long enough?”

By now, Cas was fluent in Winchester, particularly the Dean variety. “You mean more to me than anyone else living, Dean Winchester. I love you deeply. Any act against that would be a great betrayal. I’d deserve to be killed by a ghost were I unfaithful.”

Dean’s breathing was still a little bit shaky, but he nodded. “Sorry. I guess I…I guess I still need to hear that. I love you too.”

Cas pulled Dean into his arms, wishing away his anger. It was no good to Dean right now. “You know, if you’re worried that the Woman in White might need convincing…”

Dean smirked. He was out of his shirt in a minute, which conveniently was right when Sam came out of the bathroom.

“FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!”

“THIS IS OUR ROOM, ASSHAT.”

Sam just slammed the bathroom door shut.

Dean laughed, and the pressure in Cas’ chest loosened. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Are we there yet?”

“Sammy, I swear to Chuck—”

“Shouldn’t you be swearing to Amara?”

Dean glared at his little brother. “I can swear to whatever cosmic sibling I want, bitch.”

“Jerk. Are we there yet?”

“No. This is what happens when you only take backroads.”

They hit another bump and Dean swore, apologizing to Mr. Grant’s car quietly. Women in White liked highways, so the only way they could drive to the Johnson house was along old backroads and used-to-be-backroads.

“Are we—”

“Sam. I will eat you.”

“Not that. Are we moving too quickly?”

Dean glanced at Sam. “You were the one who said go.”

“I was. But…but now I’m not so sure.”

Dean drove around a pot-ditch. “I know.” There was something off about this entire case, more so than the orientations of the victims. “But it’s supernatural, so it’s our gig. And if it isn’t a Woman in White, at least we’ve got it narrowed down. And if something goes wrong, we have my Cas.”

“Oh my Amara. My Cas, eh?”

The old Dean would have told Sam to shut up. The new Dean just blushed.

“I’m happy for you,” Sam said. “Just so you know.”

“Thanks.” Dean remembered just before they left, that look in Sam’s eyes when they talked about the trip. “You realize that Cas loves you too, right? Not the same way that he loves me, but he cares about you a lot.”

Sam was quiet for a second. “Thanks.”

“You know you’re still important to both of us. That hasn’t changed.”

“You sound like divorced parents.” Sam still wasn’t quite smiling. “I know, but it felt like…I don’t know. As much as I wanted you two to be together, before we were both his friend. And now I…I don’t want to be in the way.”

“The only time you’re in the way is when we’re having sex,” Dean said bluntly. “And we’ve got to be more careful about where we bang, but Sam, you’re family. To both of us. We don’t want you gone. We kinda just want you to start respecting socks on the door.”

“Gross.” But Sam was smiling now. “I can do that.”

“Good. End of conversation.” Dean rolled his eyes. “We don’t want you around, the idea.”

A few minutes later, Dean spotted the house. He stopped the car and got out. Sam followed him.

“We’re here, Sammy.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You’re such a—”

Sam grabbed his arm. “Quiet. Just in case.”

Dean nodded, forgetting Sam couldn’t see him. Then he tapped Sam’s arm in affirmative. There was a theory in the hunting community—when dealing with a Woman in White, don’t make too much noise at her house. It could lure her back, which kind of went against their plans with Cas.

Instead, Dean took out his phone and texted Cas.

We’re here, babe.

The response came a moment later.

I love you.

Dean froze. “She’s with him, Sam.”

Sam immediately quickened his pace. Dean followed, the shotgun bouncing against his back. It’s just a Woman in White. Cas will be fine.

The house was in much worse shape than Constance’s—it was barely held together. The only part that actually looked like a house was just off the sagging porch. The moon was coming out now, and Dean saw Sam motion towards it.

Carefully, the two of them eased their way onto the porch and through the gaping hole where a door must have been. The room was covered in dust, and there were sticks of old furniture, but other than that it was empty.

“I wonder why this place hasn’t been torn down yet,” Dean muttered.

“It was lived in until about fifty years ago,” Sam whispered.

In the distance, Dean heard a familiar rumble.

“There’s Cas.”

**********

Cas had thought it might be harder to find the Woman in White.

Sam and Dean had left a few hours before, and he’d spent those hours alone in the hotel room, waiting for darkness to fall. Finally, just after sunset, Cas got into the Impala and drove back to Joshua.

He could feel the grief of the little town as he approached, and he grimaced. That was one of the unpleasant parts of his powers—before he’d met Dean, the emotions of humans had moved him to pity, but had never assaulted him in this way. His time spent human had given him a chance to feel how horrible grief could be, and now it was compassion, not pity, that moved his prayer.

“Father, help these people find hope again. And let us give them justice tonight.”

He continued driving out to the highway, slow enough that he could see the empty fields passing by. His phone pinged twice, and he answered the texts quickly—‘see you later’. That would tell Dean that he hadn’t encountered the ghost yet.

And then, ten minutes after his last text, he spotted her. A woman wearing a thin white dress and an even thinner shawl stood by the side of the road.

Castiel pulled over. “May I help you?” he asked.

“Can you take me home?” the woman asked. Her form flickered, just a bit. Definitely a ghost.

“Of course. Can you give me directions?”

The woman approached the car slowly. As she got settled, Cas’ phone went off.

He texted I love you, and put the car in drive.

“Who were you talking to?”

“My boyfriend,” Cas replied. “Where am I taking you?”

The woman was quiet, only speaking to give directions. But as they drove her shawl came off and her skirt hitched up higher and higher. Cas shot her a couple of what he hoped were meaningful looks.

“Why were you alone?” he asked her.

The ghost looked at him. “Does it matter? I’m with you now.”

The words could have been seductive, a temptation to forget the past and concentrate on the present. Instead, the words were dull, dropping into the silence of the car.

Cas smiled encouragingly. “Are we nearly there?”

“Just the next bend.”

Something was wrong. This woman wasn’t trying to be seductive at all. Even the baring of her skin had been done with great reluctance. But she was a ghost; Cas could tell. Everything here pointed to a Woman in White, so what was the missing piece?

****************

“Sam, get down,” Dean hissed. The Impala wasn’t that close, but Baby’s headlights were powerful, and the last thing he wanted was for the Woman to jump them early.

“How much further down do you want me, Dean?” Sam hissed back. He was crouching, his back to the window, frowning at the EMF reader. There was only faint beeping coming from it.

“Where are the children?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know. There’s no second floor here. And I’m not sensing anything…”

“Did they…maybe they only appear when their mother comes home?”

“No idea.”

Dean ground his teeth in frustration. The entire house felt strange, and it was starting to get to him. He wanted to call out for Cas, to warn him, but what was there to warn him about? ‘Oh, we’re ghost-hunting, and I have a bad feeling?’

Through the window, Dean saw the Impala in the moonlight, driving up the long path to the house. Dean let out a deep breath. Cas was here now, and he had the ghost lady with him. Now they just needed to waste her…

*********

Cas could see the house up ahead, and he knew Sam and Dean were there.

“This is your home, yes?” he asked the woman.

He turned to her, half-expecting her to try and kiss him, or something. Anything to assuage the worry in his mind. To his shock, he saw that the woman was crying.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. And her face was changing, her form shifting into a different woman, with black curly hair and a million freckles. Cas shrank away from her, suddenly afraid for the first time.

“I didn’t want to,” the woman sobbed. “He made me. I’m sorry!”

And she shoved at Cas.

The car went flying into the air. Cas struggled to hold on to the steering wheel as the Impala rolled three times. It landed right side up, but the doors were badly mangled. Cas could tell he was bleeding from several places, but nothing too serious.

The ghost was gone from the car. When Cas managed to look outside, he realized that he was in a wide field. Even with his keen eyesight, he could hardly see the house.

Sam. Dean.

And with that thought, the house burst into flames.

********

The crash sent them both to their feet. Dean cried out in horror as he saw the Impala flip in the air, soaring over to the next field.

“What the hell?”

“I’m sorry!”

Dean whipped around and saw a ghostly woman standing there. But she wasn’t wearing white; instead, she wore modern clothes and her hair hung past her elbows.

“You’re not Prudence,” Dean said stupidly.

“I’m sorry!” the ghost gasped again. “I’m sorry. You need to run! He’ll get you!”

“Who?” The woman started to wail. Dean watched in horror as the ghostly figure was dragged across the room, shrinking as she did. The last light of her went into a jar.

Someone picked up the jar.

Dean raised his gun; Sam was beside him.

The figure snapped their fingers, and a strange glow came into the room.

Dean nearly dropped his gun.

John Winchester stood in the room with them.

“Dad?”

Sam was still trying to catch his breath. Their father was standing there, not quite solid, still dead for sure. Sam had enough experiences with people coming back from the dead to tell by now; there was something about their shadows.

“How?” Dean asked.

John shrugged. “Well, you boys set me free, after all. Good job, opening a Gate to Hell.”

Sam almost wanted to say, wow, are you behind a few years, but John beat him to it.

“But that was you getting started, wasn’t it?” John’s eyes were cold, and when he stepped closer Sam couldn’t help but flinch.

“Dad, what’s going on?”

“I thought I’d bring you boys on a little trip down memory lane.” John held up the jar. “Woman in White, that was the first case I sent you on together, remember? Right before your pretty girlfriend burned, Sammy?”

Sam felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. “You killed—you killed those boys?” Don’t think about Jess, don’t think about Jess.

“Two brothers in a little town, both abominations of love.” John advanced on Dean. “Seemed about right.”

Dean shot, but John dodged the rock salt. “Dad, just fight it. Hell fucked you up, this isn’t you talking.”

John laughed. “You really believe that, Dean? I’m touched.”

Sam fired two shots into John’s head. The ghost dissipated with a snarl, and Sam ran to Dean’s side.

John reappeared a second later on the other side of the room. “Hell just removed my filter, sons, and now I’ve got a chance to do what I should’ve done myself.” The hate in his eyes when he looked at Sam pierced him like a knife. “You abomination, you killed your mother. Good thing your girlfriend died before she found out what you were.”

“Don’t you fucking dare say that to him!” Dean fired off a shot, but John reappeared by the windows. “He didn’t have a choice, and he’s a better man than anyone gave him credit to be.”

“You’re a great judge of character, aren’t you Dean?” John’s eyes glittered. “I gave you one job, one job. And you turned out to be just as much a monster-lover as your brother. Fucking an angel, really? Bad enough you’re a faggot.” He raised his hands. “You two disappoint me. Your mother would be ashamed of you both.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Shame you’ll never find out.”

John snapped his fingers, and the room burst into flames. “Hellfire,” he said conversationally. “Seems appropriate for you two.” He tossed the jar into the centre of the room, the trapped ghost glowing brightly. “Go on, try to get out.”

Sam looked around desperately. The smoke was already thick, and Sam coughed. His lungs remembered this feeling, heavier and darker than breathing normal smoke. We’re going to suffocate before we burn.

Dean was already on the ground, hacking. Sam raised his gun and shot at where John had been a moment before, but he heard the shell crack off the window.

“Pathetic.” That was his father’s voice. “Pathetic little freaks.”

Then the smoke and flames vanished, gone as if they were never there. The room was still bright, and it took Sam’s eyes a moment to adjust. It was the Impala’s headlights, the familiar beams lighting up the room.

A figure stood where the windows had been a second before.

“Ualolina Nolil.” Cas’ blade was out, his eyes glowing blue. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Dean was bewildered, still coughing as Sam pulled him to his feet. Cas stood deadly still, eyes locked with John’s.

“Get out of here, you—”

Cas waved his hand and John went crashing into the wall, hitting it solidly.

“I asked you a question,” Cas growled, and Dean shivered. Cas had never sounded quite so…vengeful. “How dare you harm them? You are not worthy to look upon them, let alone judge them!”

John struggled to his feet. For a second his face softened, and he looked scared. “Dean? Sam? I’m sorry boys. This vengeful thing—it’s fucked me up. You were right.”

“Oh, no.” Cas was across the room in one stride. He grabbed their father and slammed him against the wall again. “No, John. You don’t get to pretend with these men anymore.” He punched him across the face.

Dean couldn’t do anything except stare.

“Let me go you fucking freak!”

Cas punched him again. “You used your sons. You abused them. You left them to die, and you betrayed their trust. Your wife’s death is no excuse for you to become the biggest monster in their life.”

“I did my fucking best!” John swung at Cas, but he blocked it easily.

“Your best would have been to understand the wrongness in your own brain, your broken spirit. You could have loved them. Instead you let your loyalty to a dead woman blind you to the children you had living, who needed you, who needed guidance and safety and love! List all the excuses you want, but the moment you decided to bait a shtriga with your children, you forfeited any forgiveness.”

“What?” Dean croaked.

John looked scared now, and he struggled violently against Cas’ hold. Cas held him impossibly still. The angel looked over at Dean, a deep sadness in his eyes tempering the fierceness in his face. “You didn’t know, dearest?”

“Know what?”

“Tell them, John.” Cas ordered. “Tell them what you did.”

“Go to hell. I didn’t do anything wrong! If Dean had been where he should, it would have been—”

“You left your sons alone, late into the night, when you were hunting a shtriga. And Sam was asleep. What would have happened, John, if Dean had stayed in the room and fallen asleep?”

“He was on the job!”

Dean felt cold all over. “I was ten,” he whispered.

“You were old enough to do your job!”

Sam leapt forward and landed a blow on John. “You motherfucking asshole! You—”

But he got cut off when in a burst of strength John threw both Sam and Cas off. Sam fell hard, and even Cas was thrown back.

He’s not going away, Dean realized. Cas could keep hitting him, but something was tethering John to Earth.

I want him gone. We need him gone.

Then Dean figured it out.

He sprinted outside. Baby was badly dented but the trunk looked okay. Dean yanked it open and dug around until he found what he needed. He spared one last glance at the object before running back inside.

Sam was back on his feet, leaning against the wall as Cas grappled with John.

“Hey, John!” Dean shouted. He held up his father’s journal.

Everyone stopped moving. Dean clicked his lighter and held it up.

“Dean!” John’s face softened again. “I’m sorry, son. I am. I fucked up. But you’re still my boy. I love you. Give me a chance!”

“Sorry, Dad.” Dean lit the papers; they caught like kindling. “I couldn’t save you. It’s not my job.”

John started screaming, his ghostly figure coming apart.

Sam raised his gun, emptying it until John vanished. The journal’s cover was still smoldering.

“Dean?” Cas was beside him now. “I can finish it.”

“Do it,” Dean whispered.

A burst of fire came from Cas’ hand, and the journal turned into ash in an instant.

Dean took a deep breath. John was gone.

Cas caught Dean before he collapsed. Sam was across the room, sinking to his knees.

“I will take you both home,” Cas whispered. But he had one thing to do first. He summoned the jar, and examined the spirit inside.

“That’s not Prudence, is it?” It was Sam’s voice, but…but not really Sam.

“No.” Cas cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. “This is the spirit of a girl named Marie. She died a year ago in a car crash. I suppose he found her and forced her to work. He was a more experienced spirit.”

Cas unscrewed the cap. “Go to Heaven, Marie. You are free now, and forgiven for your crimes.” By him at least, but he had a feeling that his father would be understanding.

“Come here, Sam.” Once Sam had gotten close enough for Cas to touch his arm, he flew back to the Bunker.

“The Impala…” Dean mumbled. He was shaking against Cas now.

Cas snapped his fingers. “She’s in the garage, Dean. I will fix her completely tomorrow. Right now you and your brother need my care.” He hesitated for a moment—it wasn’t really finished, it was messy—but he got Sam to his feet. “Follow me.”

Cas led both brothers down the Bunker halls, past his and Dean’s room, past Sam’s room, past the library.

“Where’re we going?” Sam mumbled. The younger Winchester was pale, and his eyes were just…empty.

Cas opened the door at the end of the hall. “In here.”

The room was just as he’d left it; stuffed with pillows, blankets, and soft chairs. It still needed a few touches, but it would do for now.

Dean lifted his head from Cas’ shoulder. “This—this feels like you.”

“It’s my nest,” Cas explained. “Well, a nest. I thought it would be nice to have a place to relax for our family. For all our family. Sam, lie down please. I’ll take a look at your head.”

Sam obeyed silently, choosing the nearest pillow pile and sinking into it with a quiet sigh. Cas removed his trench coat and helped Dean lay down as well. He touched two fingers to Sam’s head, healing the brewing concussion and developing bruises.

“Are you injured, Dean?”

“Just bruises,” Dean mumbled. His skin was cool when Cas touched him, and he didn’t respond to Cas’ worried surge of Grace.

Cas stepped away and grabbed the two biggest, warmest blankets he could see, and spread them out over the brothers. “You’re both in shock,” he whispered. “Can I get you anything?”

“Come here?” Dean whispered.

Cas laid down between the two. He was expecting Dean’s embrace, but Sam’s arms winding around him and Dean together was a bit more of a surprise. The big man was clinging to them both, and he was shaking now too. Cas pressed his lips together.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I had no idea.”

Sam had started to cry, tears pouring down his face without a sound. Dean wasn’t crying, not yet, but he was nearly there.

“I promise, you are safe from him now.” Cas took Dean’s hand in his. “You’ll never have to see him again.”

Dean’s whole body went rigid. “Wait—what about—Impala—”

“In the garage, Dean,” Cas reminded him, rubbing his thumb over Dean’s knuckles. “She’s good as new.”

“No, that’s not—” Sam’s eyes were wild with horror. “Is that—is that a tether too?”

Then Cas understood, and his heart broke again. “No,” he said. “No, I promise it isn’t.”

“How d-do you know?”

“I couldn’t feel your father in the journal because it wasn’t a very strong tether,” Cas explained. He rubbed Sam’s shoulder, trying to warm him up. “Usually when a ghost remains, it’s through a stronger pull. I am not sure why he was able to hold on for so long; it might have something to do with his sojourn in Hell. But there is nothing of him in the Impala, or even that leather jacket. You’ve made those objects a part of your lives, not his. The last traces of him are gone now.”

Sam let out a huge, shuddering sigh, and Cas could hear the sobs building in Dean’s throat. He moved so he was laying on his back, the brothers on either side of him. “Let it go,” he said. “Let him go.”

Dean had his face in Cas’ shoulder, and Sam was still reaching over to Dean, so he was pressed against Cas. Cas wondered if he should move, let the brothers grieve alone, but when Cas tried to get up Sam clung to him.

“Stay?”

“Of course.” And Cas did, through the long hour of tears, murmuring reassurance as best he could, his heart aching as Sam admitted how broken he felt, as Dean screamed silently with rage and pain. And when the brothers fell asleep at last, Cas stayed awake, protecting their dreams from the nightmares that tried to crawl in. Not his boys. Not this time.

When Sam woke up he felt lighter, better than he had in ages. He stretched, and saw Cas looking at him in amusement.

“What’s so funny?”

“You snore.”

“I do not!”

“Yes you do.” Dean was standing at the door to the…nest, it was the nest. He had a tray of breakfast. “Only once in a while, but when you do it sounds like a chainsaw in heat.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Sam sat up and took his plate. As he dug in, he saw Cas glancing between him and Dean.

“What is it, babe?” Dean asked at last. “You’re freaking us out.”

“How do you feel?” Cas asked.

Sam looked at Dean. “We’re…I think it’s going to be okay. We’ll be okay. That wasn’t easy…” he could still feel his father’s hand slamming into his head, still hear the hurtful words…but there was distance now. “But it’s a bit easier to live with him hating us than trying to…”

“Than trying to figure out if he loved us,” Dean finished.

“You both deserved better.”

“We have plenty.” Sam said. “We have our home, and a family who loves us.” Then he sat bolt upright. “What about the families? We need to tell them why James and Tyler died.” He took out his phone. “I’ll call Rita.” He dialed the number, trying to figure out what to say. How could he explain that her husband had died because of Sam’s family?

“Hello?” It was a man’s voice. It should have been Isaac, but it didn’t sound quite right.

“Hi, this is Sam. We spoke yesterday.”

“We did? I was in a coma yesterday man, I don’t think it was me.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. “Tyler?”

“Hi. Oh, are you the blogger? Rita, baby, was the blogger dude’s name Sam?”

There was a quick shift. “Hi Sam.” That was Rita’s voice, breathless and happy. “Yes, he woke up, isn’t it wonderful?”

“Woke up?” Sam stared at Dean and Cas.

“Yeah. Looks like you and your partners weren’t necessary. The explosion was ruled to be accidental.”

“Rita...” Sam had no clue what to say. “I thought Tyler wasn’t…going to make it.”

“It sure looked like that. He and his brother were in bad shape; that old Jennings place was a death trap waiting to happen. They shouldn’t have been anywhere near there, right, honey?”

“Yes, honey.” Tyler’s voice had a laugh in it, and Sam blinked hard.

“Well that’s great to hear. I…well, you lose hope in this job sometimes. I’m glad to be proven wrong.”

“Me too.”

Sam heard a baby crying.

“Sorry, Sam, I’ve got to go. Baby’s demanding food. Mr. Grant will probably call your partner Dean later on.”

“He’ll be glad to talk to him,” Sam said. “Have a good day, okay? All of you.” He hung up and stared at Cas and Dean.

“They’re okay?” Dean asked.

“Rita said they’d recovered from being in an explosion at the Johnson place,” Sam replied. “Apparently they were both in comas yesterday, but they’ve woken up and they’re home.”

“But—” Cas stopped himself. “What a miracle.”

“You think?”

“Yes.” Cas looked overwhelmed. “I suppose my father answered my prayer.”

Sam remembered the grief-stricken house of the day before. “I’m glad.”

Dean nodded. “Hang on, what day is it again?”

“They’re coming tomorrow,” Cas replied.

Sam caught his breath. He’d almost forgotten. Tomorrow, their family was starting to come home tomorrow.

“Then we’ve got time for a drive.” Dean stood. “Sammy, want to go?”

“Sure.” Sam looked at Cas, but the angel shook his head.

“I have some business in Heaven. I will return when you’re finished.”

A few minutes later, Sam was in the passenger seat of the Impala, and Dean was gunning the engine and roaring down the highway. Sam looked at his brother, and was struck by the way he was sitting. His shoulders were looser, his eyes were bright, and when he smiled at Sam, there was no guilt in them. There was no sense of failure.

Sam rolled the window down. “How fast do you think we can go?”

Dean laughed. “Sammy, let’s find out.” He hit play on the cassette, and AC/DC started blaring.

********

Cas landed in Heaven’s throne room, and the first thing he saw was that the name should really be ‘thrones room’. Both his Father and Amara were sitting on elegantly carved chairs; Father’s looked mahogany, while Amara’s looked like marble. They weren’t, of course, they were carved pieces of pure energy, but Cas supposed they had to look like something.

Both deities looked worried. “How are Dean and Sam?” Amara asked.

“Mending.” Cas considered the two. “Which one of you brought James and Tyler back?”

“I did,” Father said. “Amara dealt with the details.”

“I thought so.”

“What do you mean, nephew?”

“People with comas aren’t sent home the morning they wake up.”

“Even when they’re perfectly healthy?” Amara exclaimed.

“They’re not supposed to be perfectly healthy.”

Amara shrugged. “Oh well. Food for thought. That was easier, and their families missed them.”

Cas smiled, but it faded quickly. “Where is John Winchester?”

A wave of anger poured from the thrones, and Cas shuddered.

“He is in Hell,” Father said. “Crowley has promised to continue what you started, Castiel.”

Cas thought of the demon—infuriating, treacherous, but fiercely loyal to Sam and Dean Winchester in his own way—and smiled. “Good enough.”

“Amara, would you give us a moment?” Father asked.

“No, Father. I am not angry with you.”

Father blinked. “Oh. I was sure you would be.”

“Did you kill James Grant and Tyler Thompson?”

“No. But I knew who did it, and I knew your path would lead you there. I warned you as best I could.”

“You were right to let it happen. I would not wish the pain of that encounter on Sam and Dean…but they needed to see for themselves. They needed to lay him to rest seeing what he truly was. They got their answers, and I hope that will help them move forward.”

“I suppose you’ve gotten your own answers, Castiel.”

Cas thought of that long year of desperate searching, all the painful years of seeing everything he trusted and believed in questioned, missing, broken…but in the end, someone who found their courage and came back.

“Not yet, Father. There’s still some time.”

Father looked hopeful.

“I know that you care,” Cas said, and there was an all-too-human lump in his throat. “That’s all I need for now. I’m lucky, I suppose—Sam and Dean know their father didn’t.”

Father nodded. “Thank you, Castiel.” He cleared his throat. “On that subject, I think two people can come back today. Amara figured out a way to balance the souls more efficiently.”

“Crowley was a good teacher,” Amara said with a grin.

Cas beamed. “And it will be the two we discussed? Are they…aware of what’s happened?”

Father nodded. “They both know. They’re ready.”

“Of course they are. I can escort them back, if you like?”

Father nodded. “Go ahead, Cas. And know that I…I will work to be worthy of your faith.”

“I’ll try as well, nephew. Your faith is inspiring.”

Cas bowed to them both, and left the room.

*********

Dean parked Baby and leaned back in the seat with a sigh. Sam was half-asleep in the passenger seat—kid looked more relaxed than Dean had seen him in years, and a relaxed Sam was a sleepy Sam. Not Dean, though—he was wide awake, and every breath felt easy. He shook his brother’s shoulder. “C’mon, Sammy. We’re home.”

Sam blinked. “I wasn’t asleep.”

“Need a nap?”

“Dude, you nap too!”

“No, Sammy, I power sleep in short bursts. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.” Sam got out of the car. “That’s why you need nap music.”

Dean was about to retort when he heard wings flapping. Smiling, he got out and came face to face with his Cas. “Hey babe, great timing.” He kissed Cas, delighted by how easy it was to kiss him at last. “How was Heaven?”

“It was nice.” Cas had the glow he always got when he walked on holy ground, and his eyes were soft and fond. It had been ages since Dean had seen him like that. “I brought back gifts.”

Dean didn’t understand, but Sam sucked in his breath. “Do you mean—”

“My father and aunt were able to begin this process early,” Cas confirmed. “Your parents are back.”

For one stuttering heartbeat Dean was afraid again. Had Chuck not understood? Didn’t he know?

Then he heard a fondly muttered “hello, idjits,” and Dean spun around.

“Dad!”

Bobby stood in the garage’s door. He came towards them with his arms open, and Sam got to him first, Dean only a step behind.

“Alright, sons. Alright.” Bobby patted Dean’s head. “I’m here.”

Dean hugged Bobby as tight as he could. For a minute, he forgot everything else. Their dad was here, and he was the first to come, and they could have the rest of their lives together in a world where there wasn’t an annual apocalypse.

But then Bobby let go, and Dean saw behind him a blonde woman with a plaid shirt and a silver charm bracelet, with a smile that Dean had almost forgotten.

“Mom?”

#spn fanfiction #destiel #team free will #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #john winchester bashing #team goddamnit john verse #original characters #post S11

2 notes · View notes