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miraculousluvbug · 3 years

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WINGLESS | Ch. 7

***New to Wingless? Start at Chapter 1!

CH. SUMMARY: After Chat learns Ladybug told Rena her identity, Plagg's solution is simple: tell someone he's Chat Noir so they're even! Duh.

Unbeknownst to the three wicked stooges, Paris’s favorite cat boy sat perched upon a rooftop adjacent to the mansion, ogling the interaction between his father, his trusted assistant, and his absolute least favorite person in the entire world.

Next to Hawk Moth, of course.

As they tittered and conspired in the darkness, Chat Noir narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t help but find the whole thing . . .

Shady.

“Claws in.”

Plagg whizzed out of the ring and looked up at his holder with sad kitten eyes. Adrien avoided making eye contact, practically drilling a hole into the ground with the intensity of his glare. He hugged his knees to his chest and picked at his shoelaces.

“That was pretty rough, kid.”

Adrien sniffled and roughly smeared away his tears with the back of his hand.

“I was hoping her explanation would make me feel better, Plagg.”

Adrien hugged his knees tighter.

“But it made me feel so much worse.”

“Oh, Adrien,” Plagg crooned, shoulders drooping. He hesitated for only a second before flying to Adrien’s shoulder and nuzzling his holder’s neck.

“She doesn’t want to know me, Plagg. Am I really that bad?”

“Not at all. I already told you that no other Chat Noir could be you. I meant it. You’re the best Chat Noir I’ve ever had.”

Adrien’s sniffles quieted, but the tears persisted. He had no idea how to stop them now that they had started. With gut-wrenching envy, Adrien watched the person he hated most engage in chit-chat with his father as if it was the most casual occurrence. The man even went as far as sharing whatever was on his tablet, a feat Adrien had been trying to accomplish since before he could remember. His father always claimed to be private, unwilling to share any kind of imperfect designs with his own son.

But there Lila was. Conversing with his father more than he himself had in the past week.

And Ladybug had given her most sacred secret to Rena Rouge.

Was he invisible?

He felt so small.

Lost at sea.

A blip in the turbulent waters that no one knew was missing.

He was a boy overboard with no life raft. And no one knew to look for him.

His soul was cold and his heart felt numb.

“You know what?” chirped Plagg suddenly, snapping Adrien out of his spiral. “Ladybug is the new Guardian, right?”

Adrien nodded hesitantly. Where was he going with this?

“What’s her only rule?”

“We can’t know each other’s identities.”

Plagg hovered in front of Adrien’s eyes and flipped onto his back, making a show of nonchalance. If this was gonna work, Plagg had to make the kid think it was kind of his own idea. “Who can’t know each other’s identities?”

Adrien was unamused. To him, Plagg was beating a dead horse.

“Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

Plagg popped open one eye. He didn’t need to open both for Adrien to see the blatant impishness in them.

“So Ladybug and Chat Noir can’t know each other’s identities. What about . . . other people?”

The blonde ball of despair perked up, hair bouncing into his eyes, though they immediately narrowed at his Kwami’s scheming.

“But Master Fu--”

Plagg interjected, “--who isn’t the guardian anymore.”

Adrien blinked.

Kwamis, Plagg was so close to convincing his kid to be selfish for once. He just needed a push! A hefty, premeditated shove off the Fu-forsaken cliff!

“It’s like I’ve always said. Beg for forgiveness, not for permission.” Plagg folded his little paws across his chest, floating right up to Adrien’s nose. Adrien went cross-eyed trying to maintain eye contact. “Ladybug told Rena. So the question is: who’s Chat Noir going to tell?”

“It’s--” Adrien spluttered. “It’s risky, Plagg!”

“And so is being depressed,” Plagg snarled back, surprising Adrien. “Any other person gets minorly inconvenienced and akumatized, who saves them? You--” the Kwami jabbed a paw into Adrien’s nose “--and the bug. But you or Ladybug get akumatized, who saves you?”

Plagg saw the cogs turning in Adrien’s head. He briefly speculated who his kid might choose. Nino would be the obvious choice. He wasn’t as close to Kagami any more, but telling her the secret that had broken them apart would certainly be one hell of an apology. It could even, say, potentially repair what the secret had fractured.

There was also the off chance Adrien might choose Pigtails, who coincidentally doubled as Ladybug. Plagg would have to raid the Agreste kitchen for popcorn if that happened.

“If . . .” Adrien began.

Yes? Plagg internally coaxed.

“If I were to choose someone . . .”

Come on, Adrien.

“I think it would be . . . Nino.”

Yahtzee.

Plagg clapped his paws together over and over, rousing Adrien from his feet like a drill sergeant. “All right, then! Let’s go, let’s go! Hustle, bell boy. We’ve got places to be!”

Adrien reached into his pocket and pulled out a squishy triangle, letting loose the most intoxicating aroma Plagg ever did smell. It circled the pair and made Plagg salivate. “Don’t you want this first?”

Did I really forget about camembert? Plagg wondered incredulously.

“I--” Plagg scrambled for an excuse to atone for the touchy-feelies interfering with his one true love, but he came up short. “Of course I want that!”

Adrien smiled fondly at his Kwami and threw the camembert into the air. Not one to miss a beat, Plagg zipped and caught the cheese in his mouth, devouring the thing in one fell swoop.

“Now we can go!” said Plagg, belching remorselessly. Naturally.

Adrien chuckled. When he opened his mouth to say the transformation phrase, however, he faltered. Was he really going to do this? It . . . It felt disobedient, like he was betraying Ladybug. But could she really hold it against him, if she had needed to do the same?

Would his partner reveal herself to be a hypocrite?

The budding consequences of revealing himself to Nino weighed so heavily on his shoulders that he wasn’t sure how he would manage batoning into the air once transformed. The aptitude for disappointment just felt so tangible to him, as if it were physically chaining him to the rooftop, a meaty claw so solidly wound ’round his ankles it threatened to pierce his skin.

The thought that Nino might hate him for keeping the secret in the first place made home in Adrien’s cerebral cortex, further immobilizing him. It pulled up a chair and opened the morning newspaper like it was meant to be there, meant to remind him that not everything was just simple. Straightforward. Without fallout.

A tender paw touched his cheek, wiping away a runaway tear.

“Kid,” whispered Plagg. His eyes were misty.

Is that . . . because of me? Because he cares about me?

Holding his gaze a moment longer, Adrien uttered the words that once changed his life forever and seemed to be forever following him with new and improved ways to spice up his routine.

“Claws out.”

The energy washed over him like a cold shower, springing him into action. The need to move, to run, to fly nipped at his heels and before he knew it, he was vaulting to his best buddy’s.

If Adrien was honest, telling Marinette, his dearest friend, was his first instinct. He gripped that realization like it would fly away at a moment’s notice, at the slightest spook (he was on the precipice of truly understanding what his good friend Marinette really meant to him). But he had heard from Nino that Alya and Marinette were holed in for a “girls’ night,” so . . . Nino was the next best thing.

Nino was far from second place, however. Sharing the burden of his greatest secret with the guy who got mad at Gabriel Agreste on Adrien’s behalf was like a breath of fresh air. More than that, it was like Adrien would finally be able to steady his head above the tide.

(Telling Marinette would have been like sprouting gills and uncovering the mystery of the sea up close and personal, but Adrien didn’t want to unpack that particular conclusion yet.)

Wasting no time, Chat Noir landed nimbly on Nino’s apartment balcony and tucked his baton back into place. Giving himself just one more moment before life as he knew it was spun upside down--for better or for worse was yet to be determined--he raised a gloved claw to the sliding glass door and timidly knocked.

Nino’s balcony wasn’t decorated like Marinette’s. A few bikes of various sizes loitered against the railing, collecting dust. A few helmets hung limply from their handlebars, occasionally shifting to and fro in the passive wind. Chat could discern by the light-up training wheels which bike belonged to Nino’s little brother, Chris. The bike--which Chat realized must be new since his last visit--sported black spots against its red frame.

Chat shook his head fondly.

Someone obviously developed an appreciation for the bug after their last akumatization. But as the evening breeze softly twisted the helmet, the vision before him melted him into a puddle of endearment. Nino’s kid brother apparently also had a thing for Chat Noir.

The evidence?

A black helmet topped with an acid green paw print and two plastic cat ears to boot.

Un-fur-tunately, as much as the sight was incredibly thera-paw-tic, it also made his heart throb. His body ached for a larger family, from head to toe and down to his bones.

Adrien didn’t dream often in his sleep, but when he did . . . Oh, when he did, he was blessed with visions of him entering a cozy one-story home (his) and immediately being greeted by giggling and the blinding smiles of three faceless children (also his).

While his hopelessly romantic heart yearned for Ladybug to be his other half in that tender fantasy, lately his subconscious had a habit of inserting a particular blue-haired classmate. It baffled him at first, but he figured seeing her family photo that one time during Animan in addition to experiencing the Dupain-Chengs’ bolstering hospitality personally as both Adrien and Chat Noir made Marinette a safe space for his lonely imagination.

Whoever she married would be one lucky bastard, that was for sure.

The curtains behind the glass door swept dramatically to the side, revealing a bewildered Nino in Rena Rouge-themed pajamas.

“Chat Noir?!” he exclaimed. The glass between them muffled his voice.

A quick scan beyond Nino told Chat that his friend was home alone, but he knew he needed to be certain. “Are you home alone?”

Nino paled before realizing that a superhero asking that question wasn’t as bad as some random adult looking for an easy target. He exhaled, chuckling nervously. “My family went to the ice rink, but skating’s so not my jam.”

So he stayed behind. Good. This was gonna be a piece of cake! Adrien pointed at the door handle and raised his eyebrows in question.

“Oh, right. Sorry, dude!”

Nino clambered to unlock the door and wrenched it open. The smell of broth and herbs hit Adrien square in the nose. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since lunch. “What brings you here? An akuma?”

Stepping over the threshold, Chat tried to make sense of Nino’s question. Why would he come to a civilian if there was an akuma? “No, no akuma, Nino.”

“Oh, good, ’cause I-- Dude, how did you know where my room is?”

If Chat weren’t there to reveal his identity, he might have had a heart attack over accidentally bee-lining to Nino’s room like he’d been there before. He probably would have said something fishy like “In a house like this, it’s a given!” But he didn’t have to make up some ridiculous excuse. He wouldn’t ever have to lie to his best friend.

Never again.

“Because . . .”

Nino eyed Chat expectantly. His room was a mess. He really wasn’t expecting any visitors and his laptop was still open, his music and film ideas scrawled onto random pieces of notebook paper and scattered across his desk like a madman. Or an artist. Was there really a difference?

“Because . . .” Chat began once more.

Oh, gosh. This was it. He was going to do it. He was going to do the thing! He was alone at sea and no one from the boat had noticed him falling overboard. But maybe, just maybe Nino was the Coast Guard. Maybe Nino would throw him a buoy.

“Because claws in.”

Nino’s entire body went rigid. Crap, crap, crap!

“No, wait--!” Nino shouted, closing his eyes instinctually and reaching for Chat Noir. He had to pull him away from his laptop’s camera field! Had to get him out of sight! Why did he choose now to share Paris’s most coveted secret?!

But . . . he was too late.

The light had already dimmed behind his eyelids by the time his hands were closed around--

“Adrien?” Nino whispered, peering up at his best friend. The duckling he had sworn to protect and teach the ways of life was standing where Chat Noir should be.

Adrien smiled and opened his mouth to respond, but a high-pitched laughter rang out and the joy he felt was quickly replaced with sheer terror.

Nino grinned sheepishly.

“Uh haha, you remember my girlfriend Alya who I sometimes Skype with while working on scripts?” Clumsily, Nino rubbed comforting circles into Adrien’s arms as if he could rub away the embarrassment.

“You said you were home alone.”

“Actually, I said my family went to the ice rink.”

Adrien’s eye twitched.

Plagg, who couldn’t have foreseen this turn of events, hovered off to the side and figured if he didn’t move, he could pretend he was invisible.

Sure enough, Adrien craned his head to find an unhinged Alya screeching like a fox (he had seen a video of them laughing once on YouTube; they were so adorable!) from Nino’s computer screen. Behind Alya was a familiar cork board of friends and, well, lots of himself. The walls were pink. She was at Marinette’s like Nino said she would be.

Adrien had expected gasps. Finger pointing. A million questions. What he hadn’t expected was Alya laughing like he was the butt of a joke.

After a good minute of cackling and awkward waiting from the boys, Alya sighed and wiped a tear from her eye. Then she spoke, a dazed smile on her lips.

“I cannot wait to strangle that Hawaiian-shirt-loving Master of Unnecessary Manipulation.” Her words were completely contrasted by the amusement in her voice.

Adrien tried not to faint.

-----

We're now caught up with AO3 here on Tumblr (AO3 is where I first started posting this). Yay! :D Also, was anyone expecting Rena to be there? 😌I wasn't. 😳 Follow me for updates and check out my Instagram where I post art!

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team-free-will-oneshots · 5 years

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Picture Perfect

Title: Picture Perfect Request: Can I request a Cas x reader imagine where instead of Mary getting stuck in the Apocalypse world, the reader gets stuck instead. But their time in the Apocalypse world is very traumatic and when they’re rescued (and let’s pretend Michael doesn’t get to their world), everyone tries to help them recover but they only get worse and they have severe hallucinations so they run away and Cas barely manages to convince them to come back. Like major angst with a bit of fluff at the end? -anonymous, and Since you said you need fic inspiration, can you write a Cas x reader fic where the reader loves taking Polaroids and takes one of Cas? -anonymous Pairing: Castiel x Reader Warnings: PTSD, angst, mentions of torture, angst, canon-typical violence, angst, oh did i mention angst?? Word Count: 4,042

note; hey hey this request rly inspired me so i hope u like it!! also i changed it from hallucinations to more of a flashback because that’s just how the story kinda flowed, hope that’s okay! hope u enjoy!

“Cas! Over here!”

The angel turned just as you snapped the photo, capturing the confusion etched into his brow and the puzzled squint of his eyes. You grinned as the camera spat out the polaroid, and you shook it absentmindedly as Cas walked across the room and sat next to you.

“What is it?” he asked, and you showed him the photograph as the picture slowly developed. It wasn’t saturated yet - just a faint, grey hint of Castiel’s face peeking through the bleeding shadows.

“A polaroid! I got this the other day, and thought my first photo should be of something I love,” you informed him cheerfully, holding out your camera to him as you explained. A small smile pulled at his lips as he took the camera from your hands, turning it over curiously in his own.

“Perhaps I can take one of you, as well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, and you ducked your head abashedly as you tucked your hair behind your ear.

“I gue-” Your response was cut off by the click of the camera. “Hey!” you protested, though you couldn’t restrain the laugh that bubbled from your lips. You clambered into his lap, feeling his arms circle your waist as you snatched the photo from him, wincing as it developed.

“You could’ve given me some warning!” you scolded. “I look horrible!”

“I think you look beautiful,” Castiel informed you, tone solemn despite the smile playing on his lips. You couldn’t help but return it before you leaned in and pressed your mouth to his. His body curved around you, his skin warm on your own as his tongue sought yours. He tasted of rain and smelt of the forest as you leaned into him, melting into his embrace as the world around you seemed to crumble away…

Castiel swallowed as he stared down at the polaroid in his hand, his grip so tight the edges were crinkling beneath his knuckles. His jaw was taut as he set it back in the scrapbook in front of him, sealing it down with tape that had long since lost its grip. It had been your idea to make it - the black leather book was packed with polaroids the two of you had taken during your time together, secured to the pages with peeling masking tape and embellished with pressed leaves and flowers twisting through the empty space. The date each photo was taken was carefully printed at the top of the page in black ink.

The angel carefully placed the book back on your desk - the spine was worn from his opening it so often, and the last thing he wanted was for it to fall apart in his hands. The two of you might add to it yet - at least, that was what he told himself; the alternative was too painful to even consider.

It had almost been a year since he’d last seen you, before you’d found yourself trapped in the Apocalypse world Michael had destroyed. Sam and Dean had all but given up on you for the first few months, but Castiel refused to entertain such notions; the idea of a life without you was impossible to imagine. But the days were piling up quickly, each feeling like an eternity to the angel, even with the many millennia he already had under his belt. And with each day that passed, the chances of your survival grew smaller and smaller.

Cas could only hope that Jack had found you - the Nephilim had followed you into the Apocalypse world a few months ago, after a failed rescue attempt conducted by the Winchesters and himself. He busied himself nowadays with aiding Sam and Dean in their quest to replicate the portals Jack had managed to open, but sometimes, it all became a bit too much. It was these times that he retreated to your room in the bunker, leafing through your scrapbook as he laid on your bed and breathed you in. He found himself here a lot lately.

Hopefully, he’d soon be able to soothe himself with your actual presence.

“Cas, you ready?”

Sam’s voice was gentle but firm, and Cas looked up to the door, nodding slowly. “Yes. Yes, I am.” Sam offered him a tight smile as he left. Before following him, Cas spared a final glance to the scrapbook before retrieving the polaroid he had held earlier, slipping it into the pocket of his trench coat before following in Sam’s footsteps.

When he reached the library, he saw Rowena sitting nearby with a spellbook whilst Lucifer was bound with his neck sliced open, spilling tendrils of glowing archangel grace into the bowl below. Dean’s eyes met Cas, and the Winchester set his jaw as he nodded his greeting.

The portal opened, a rift tearing through the air and bleeding a golden glow that danced over the floor and illuminated the dust motes dancing lazily through the air.

“We’ll find them,” Dean said. Cas exhaled shakily.

“Yes. We will.”

---

You gasped as you were tossed back into your cell, bloodied fingernails clawing at the stone as you scrambled towards the door before it could close. Michael’s henchman laughed before slamming it in your face, and you heaved dry sobs as your shaking palms met cold steel. You leapt back like it had burned you, retreating to the corner and drawing your knees up to your chest as you tried to breathe. You weren’t physically harmed, not anymore - Michael always made sure to heal you at the end of your daily “meetings” so that you wouldn’t die on him before the next one. You weren’t sure why he hadn’t killed you yet - you thought it was quite clear you had no information to offer him.

Seemed like the sadistic bastard just liked to torture you.

Eight months and twenty-four days - that was how long it had been since you’d seen your friends, your family, Cas. You’d long since given up hope of seeing them again, and you could feel your memories of them fading no matter how tightly you clung to them. Their laughs, their hugs, even their faces were being distorted and replaced by the horrific days you spent here. You could finally imagine what Sam had experienced when he was locked in the cage with Lucifer and your world’s version of Michael.

You’d feel sorry for him, but it was impossible for you to look to the past when your present always seemed to drag you away, tainting your treasured memories with the taste of blood and the echoes of your screams.

The cold air bit your skin, and you could catch a glimpse of the night sky through the barred window far above your head. You shivered, huddling into yourself, trying to steal what little sleep you could. You barely managed five minutes before the nightmares had you screaming again. After a few failed attempts, you hauled yourself to your feet and began to pace.

Yes. That was good.

Your heart was pounding, but at least you could attribute it to movement now, and not the heavy weight of what was to happen to you again come morning. The tears on your cheeks dried as you focussed on the tread of your footsteps. Loose stones bit the soles of your feet, but the pain was nothing compared to that which you’d already encountered. You couldn’t escape it, even in these small moments of reprieve. In some ways these moments were worse - you had nothing to entertain you but imaginings of what was to come.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The sound of your heartbeat bled into the sound of your footsteps, and eventually, you could feel your eyelids growing heavy.

I should sleep, your brain whispered. You nodded uncertainly to yourself, folding yourself back into your corner. Before your eyelids fell shut, you found yourself staring at the picture perfect sight of the trees, just visible amongst the darkness outside of your window.

A half-smile curved your lips as you remembered Castiel’s hand in yours, a camera in your hand as you snapped a photo of him in the forest near the bunker before collecting some nearby wildflowers to press into your scrapbook.

Your smile fell as you leaned into sleep, while the bright wildflowers melted into puddles of blood, and the click of the camera morphed into the snapping of bones.

---

“What do you mean, ‘they’re not here’?” Castiel demanded, and Jack’s expression was apologetic.

“I couldn’t help them - I tried for months, I swear, and when I joined these people… I thought we might stand a chance,” he said, nodding towards the rebel base surrounding him. It hadn’t been easy gaining their trust, but Bobby had given him a chance when he dropped Mary Campbell’s name, and he’d proven himself ten times over. “But Michael slaughters anyone who approaches his compound. It was a suicide mission. But I’m getting stronger, so we’re planning another rescue mission, and this time I think I can take him!” he added fervently. Castiel mulled over Jack’s words for a few moments.

“So they’ve been trapped with Michael? All this time?” he asked, and Jack nodded tentatively. Castiel’s jaw tightened, while Dean ran his hand over his face in the background. Sam’s eyes flashed with despair - he knew all too well what kind of torture archangels were capable of. Castiel tried not to dwell on that for too long.

“We need to save them,” Cas said, voice hard and eyes harder. Jack nodded.

“And we will.”

Castiel’s hands clenched into fists by his sides, and Dean clapped him on the back reassuringly.

“Kid’s right. We’ll get ‘em back, Cas. We won’t leave till we do.”

Dean’s voice was uncertain, but Cas pretended not to notice. His hand fell to his pocket, and he dug through the stiff fabric until his fingers closed around the crumpled polaroid. He squeezed it desperately.

I’m coming, Y/N, he thought. I’m coming.

---

Footsteps. Shouting. Screaming.

You jolted awake, expecting the noise to dissolve with your dreams, but as you blinked the sleep from your eyes the sounds only grew louder. Your breath caught in your throat as you heard the approaching footsteps grow closer.

“No,” you whispered. Your voice was hoarse and your tongue drier than sandpaper, and you clambered to your feet as you ran to the door, straining to peer through the crack along the side. They couldn’t be coming for you - not yet, it was too soon!

It was hard to see outside - the lighting was dim, but the darkness was broken by sudden strikes of light that lasted for only a few seconds before fading. You heard the sound of bodies hitting the floor, skulls cracking against concrete. Your heartbeat hastened, and your palms were slippery against the door as you pressed closer. The metal was cold on your face, digging into your skin as you pressed your eye closer to the slim opening.

“Where are they?!”

That voice… you recognised that voice. But you’d never heard it so angry, so acidic with rage. Your breaths were coming in short, sharp gasps as your eyes widened at the unfolding scene. A tall figure slammed one of Michael’s henchmen against the wall, growling something you couldn’t decipher before slamming something between their ribs. You caught sight of a glint of silver - an angel blade.

Another shard of light scattered over the walls as the henchman screamed. The figure stepped back, and the corpse dropped to the floor with a heavy thump. All fell quiet as the figure turned to your door - you still couldn’t make out their face.

They took a step forward and you threw yourself backwards, crawling towards your corner, fear flooding your veins as readily as blood. Some part of you knew there was no need to fear; the enemy of your enemy was your friend. But fear seemed to be the only emotion your body was capable of producing anymore, and so you buried your face in your knees and did the only thing you could.

You waited.

There was a murmuring of voices outside, a brief pause broken by the clinking of metal, and suddenly the door was creaking open. It scraped over the floor, grating against the stone with a rasping sound that made you wince.

You heard footsteps urgently approach you, felt them vibrating across the floor, and you didn’t realise you were shaking until a firm, gentle hand was clasping onto your shoulder. You flinched, and it was quickly removed.

“Y/N. Y/N, it’s me. You’re safe.”

You dared to spare a glance, blinking a few times before the face came into focus. Your mouth opened, but your mouth was too dry to form words. You swallowed, and your voice came out as a pitiful croak.

“Cas?”

Castiel nodded, eyes heavy with concern.

“Yes, it’s me. Are you hurt?” he asked, and you could detect the anger lying under his worried tone. You found yourself shaking your head, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good. I’m going to help you up now, alright?” he murmured. You nodded, and suddenly his arms were around you, lifting you to your feet like you weighed no more than five pounds. Your legs were shaking, but they held. Though he removed his touch, Cas kept one hand hovering at your back, ready to catch you if you fell.

You waited for him to lash out, to hit you, for his face to shift into Michael’s as it was revealed that this was all a cruel joke meant to torment you - but he didn’t. Castiel’s eyes, though weighed with distress, remained his own. Even so, you didn’t dare allow yourself to relax.

“Let’s get you home, alright?” he said, and you nodded.

“Okay,” you managed. Cas shed his trench coat, draping it over your shoulders before offering you a hesitant smile. You didn’t return it, but let him guide you from the room.

Fresh air hit your face for the first time in months. The wind made your eyes water and you pulled Cas’s coat tightly around you, opening your mouth to eagerly gulp down the sweet-tasting air. Trees loomed over you, casting long shadows that leached the scenery of its colour. The sky was heavy with swollen clouds, pregnant with rain that had yet to fall. Castiel ushered you to a bus, guiding you to the back and shielding you from the curious stares cast your way.

You idly looked out the window as the bus roared to life, watching the scenery blend into a blur of green and grey as the bus stuttered along the rough dirt trail. Castiel’s presence beside you felt neither comforting nor frightening; you felt numb, too afraid to hope for fear it would be snatched away from you.

Cas shot you anxious glances, but didn’t say anything until you were back in the bunker. The once-familiar library might as well have been an alien planet - something from a dream you’d had long ago that had long since faded from your mind, leaving only a whisper of sentimentality tugging at the corners of your thoughts.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Cas suggested, and you jumped at his sudden closeness. He stepped back, raising his hands non-threateningly. You let the tension seep from your shoulders and waited until your heart stopped pounding before you nodded.

“Okay,” you weakly replied. The angel helped you bathe, and once you were clean and snug in your pyjamas, he took you to your room. You immediately crawled beneath the covers, drawing them up to your chest as you vaguely remembered the last time you’d laid here. Cas had been with you, and you’d been pressed snug against his chest.

Cas was here now, too, but he’d taken a seat in the armchair across the room; your hands fisted in cold, empty sheets. You were a shell of who you used to be - you could feel it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, nor try to fix it.

“Can I get you anything?” Cas fretted. “Food? Water?”

You nodded, and Cas promptly disappeared, returning a few moments later with some crackers and a glass of water. “Here… I wanted to get you more, but Sam said we shouldn’t overload your system…”

You nodded again, accepting the plate and nibbling on the edge of a cracker. The salty taste flooded over your tongue as it crunched under your teeth, and was easily the best-tasting food you’d had in… well, eight months and twenty-four days. You inhaled the meal, taking small sips of water between each bite.

“Thank you,” you managed, glancing up at Cas and offering a ghost of a smile. He nodded, shifting closer to perch on the end of your bed.

“You’re welcome. I… I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through, but… you’re safe now,” he told you.

“Where’s Michael?” The words slipped from your tongue without thinking, and you saw Castiel’s face twist in pain at the fear still lingering in your tone.

“He’s not here - he’s trapped in the Apocalypse world. He can’t hurt you,” he promised, and you nodded, letting his soothing words wash over you like honey.

“Okay.”

Cas paused, eyes meeting yours for a moment before darting away. “I know Sam and Dean would love to see you,” he said eventually, and you felt a flicker of recognition at the names. “Would you feel comfortable with that?”

You shrugged, and Cas licked his lips in thought before standing up and leaving the room. When the door opened again, two familiar people appeared in his absence.

“Hey, Y/N. How’re you feeling?” Sam’s voice was practically dripping with pity, and you ducked your head.

“Fine.” Your voice cracked. No one mentioned it.

“It’s good to have you home,” Dean said. “For a while there, we weren’t sure we’d get you back.”

“Dean!” Sam chastised, but you shook your head and looked down as you fiddled with your blanket, fingers tugging at the loose threads.

“Me either.”

Someone sighed. You didn’t look up to see who.

The mattress dipped and the springs creaked. That made you look up.

Sam was sitting at the edge of your bed. “Listen… I get how you must be feeling. Trust me, I get it. If you ever want to talk about it…”

Talk about it.

It?

Your brain couldn’t quite process his words, until it suddenly could, overwhelming you with an onslaught of memories.

Pain. Laughter. Screaming. Pleading. Crying. Bleeding.

Torture.

‘It.’

“Y/N? Y/N!”

Dean. His voice was close, and he drew you from the prison of your mind. You gasped, hand flying to your cheek where you found the slick dampness of tears. You raised your hand in front of you, startled to see that your fingernails had been biting into your palms hard enough to draw blood. They stung, but you barely noticed. You swallowed, glancing around the room frantically. It was so small, so cramped, you felt like you couldn’t breathe, and suddenly you were back in that cell and-

You jumped to your feet, all but flying out the door. Startled looks were shot your way as you sprinted up the stairs and flew into the night air. You gulped it into your lungs, chest heaving with sobs that ripped from your throat and crippled you - you collapsed to your knees, swallowing and forcing yourself to slow your breathing.

The fluttering of wings had you glancing up, and you saw Castiel standing a few paces away, face creased with concern.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” he asked, getting to his knees before moving closer - the last thing he wanted to do was intimidate you. You exhaled shakily.

“I- I can’t-”

“It’s alright - you’re safe now. What can I do?”

“Don’t make me go back,” you begged, blinking back the salty tears that stung your eyes. “Please…”

“I’m not making you do anything,” he promised. “But I would really like it if you came back inside. The bunker is your home - there’s no safer place in this world. Nothing can hurt you there,” he said, and you shook your head frantically.

“No, I can’t, I can’t,” you whispered, wringing your hands as you fought back another round of sobs. Cas nodded, the epitome of calmness despite the concern in his gaze.

“Okay. Can you tell me why?”

“It just- it makes me think of that- place,” you hissed, and Cas closed his eyes, sighing.

“I’m sorry. But it’s not that place, alright? You’re safe here. You were happy here, once,” he reminded you, and you tightened your jaw, avoiding his gaze.

“That all seems like- like so long ago… I can barely even…” you trailed off. Cas nodded sympathetically.

“I know - but you can find that again. You can be happy here again,” he told you, and you fell into an uncertain silence. An idea seemed to strike him, and his hand shot to his pocket, where he withdrew what looked like a crumpled piece of paper.

“Here - do you remember this?” he asked. You took the paper from him, surprised to find it thick and glossy under your fingers. You unfurled it, and your heart leapt to your throat at the sight of the polaroid. It was you - a half smile on your face, eyes averted from the lens. Tears pricked your eyes at the memory.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I remember.”

Cas smiled. “You have a whole scrapbook of these, remember? Do you remember the day we spent in the forest, collecting flowers to press?”

The forest.

Your mind flashed back to the looming trees outside your cell window, the most beautiful sight you’d had access to then, but a horrible nightmare now. You felt yourself start to panic, but when your eyes met Castiel’s, you found yourself finding another memory in his eyes.

“The wildflowers,” you murmured. “We-we collected wildflowers.”

He smiled. “That’s right,” he encouraged. “And then, we came back to the bunker. Your home. And we put all those happy memories in one place.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember. And I remember you spilling glue all over the table, and Dean- Dean got so mad.” You giggled despite yourself, and Cas smiled warmly. “So we had to find that shitty masking tape that barely even works and use that, instead.”

Cas chuckled fondly at the memory, nodding. “Yes. The scrapbook is still in your room - would you like to come and see it?”

You hesitated. “I’m not sure…”

“That’s alright,” Cas assured you. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But I think it would do you some good to be around your friends. The bunker is still your home.”

You exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” you agreed, and Cas beamed, extending his hand and helping you up. You brushed off your pyjama bottoms, teeth worrying at your lower lip as you looked up at the angel. “Can-can I hug you?” You stumbled over your words, but Cas nodded, eyes warm.

“You don’t have to ask,” he told you, and you stepped into his arms, hands resting lightly on his shoulders as he held you to his chest. You expected to feel trapped, afraid, but instead, you felt safe and protected in the arms of your angel. Leaning into him, you buried your face in his shoulder, breathing him in as he ran his hand lightly up and down your back. Your arms wound around him, and you squeezed yourself to him, his firm body a physical barrier between you and the fears that had threatened to overcome you. When you pulled away, the warmth of the hug remained as a glowing, soothing presence in your chest.

“Let’s go inside,” he coaxed, and you found yourself nodding. His hand found yours, and for once you didn’t flinch at the movement, instead twining your fingers with his. He squeezed your hand lightly, and you felt him brush a kiss across your temple.

This might not have been the picture-perfect reunion Castiel had imagined during those long months, but the fact remained; he had you back, safe and sound. And he wouldn’t trade that for the world.

__________

Forever tags: @babygirloreo @calaofnoldor @stealingheartsswift13 @lmpala97 @sebastianshoe @81mysteriouslyme @castieliswatchingoverme @spnlovr73 @kina666 @liviaolivia

Cas tags: none! lemme know if u wanna be added!

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