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expectingtofly · 3 years

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Claire Novak's (Surprisingly) Not-So-Lame Day

this fic is written for @dean-has-great-taste as part of @starrynightdeancas' gift exchange. thanks sophie for organizing this, it was a lot of fun <33 and i hope you enjoy this, gen!!

*****

How did Claire find herself joining Dean, Cas, and Jack for an excursion to the mall?

Well.

Cas had texted her yesterday, with an extreme amount of emojis and emoticons that took some time to decipher, asking if she wanted to go shopping with him, Dean, and Jack. Apparently Jack needed new clothes and they needed a gift for Eileen’s birthday coming up, and maybe they could go bowling or something afterwards.

And normally she would’ve said no way because hanging out with old guys was lame and she didn’t like little kids, but she needed an excuse to get out of Jody and Donna’s weekend plans of cleaning out the garage. Plus, Kaia needed to study for a test—she actually enjoyed school, the weirdo—and had requested no distractions.

So that’s how she found herself sitting in the back of the Impala next to a carseat, listening to one of Dean’s old cassette tapes (which wasn’t too bad, but she’d never admit it).

“What’s that?” Jack asked, stretching against his carseat straps to jab at one of the pins Claire wore on her leather jacket.

“It’s the lesbian flag,” she told him. Cas looked back at them from the front seat, smiling.

“This one?” Jack pointed to the rainbow pin on her pocket.

“It’s the pride flag.”

Jack considered that for a moment before announcing, “I want one. And this one.” He pointed to the mothman pin on her lapel, then the big-eyed, green alien. “And this one... and this one, and this one.” (Alex said she had more pins than leather on her jacket, but sue her, she liked making her clothing her own).

Jack, it seemed, also liked… unique clothing. The kid was wearing rain boots even though the sun was out and overalls with embroidered flowers. He dressed weird, there was no way around it. But so did Cas, so there was probably no hope for him, poor kid.

“Okay,” she decided. “I know where to get you some.”

Jack beamed and swung his legs. “Don’t kick the seat,” Dean told him, and Jack pouted at him.

Claire was surprised Dean even let a carseat in his precious Impala. Pulling out her phone, she asked, “Can we listen to my music?”

Dean started to respond with a “Hell no,” but Cas spoke up first, “Of course.”

Dean spluttered as Claire connected to the bluetooth connector Sam had finally convinced Dean to install. The old man didn’t realize it was the 21st century, apparently.

“I wanna listen to Gaga!” Jack said, leaning over to look at her phone.

At first she thought that was some baby talk, then she realized Jack was into pop music. Ugh. But it would annoy Dean, so...

Leaning in conspiratorially with Jack, she let him scroll through her phone and choose which song to play. When “Born This Way” started filtering through the car, Dean groaned.

“Really?” he asked, sending her a glare in the rearview mirror. Mission accomplished.

Jack clapped along and Cas turned the music up louder. “Great choice, Jack,” he said.

Dean, for all his grumbling, didn’t turn down the music, and Claire caught him glancing at Cas, who tapped his fingers on his thigh to the beat. Dean looked like he was fighting back a smile and Claire rolled her eyes. Dude was so whipped.

When they parked at the mall, Cas grabbed Jack’s hand before he could sprint across the parking lot. “You have to look both ways,” he reminded him gently, and Jack nodded.

“Claire’s gonna buy me pins,” he said, jumping onto the curb.

“Yup.” Claire pat her jacket pocket. “Good ol’ credit card fraud.”

“Woah, now,” Dean started to protest.

“You and Sam are the ones who taught me!” Claire reminded him.

“We’ll pay for them,” Cas said, opening the door to the mall. Jack skipped inside, his rain boots squeaking on the tiled floor.

“We’re doing what now?” Dean asked Cas, taking his hand. Gross.

“Come on, Jack,” Claire said, catching up to the toddler. “Let’s go get you some style.” Over her shoulder, she called, “Meet up with you guys later.”

“Have fun!” Cas called.

“Don’t get kidnapped,” Dean added.

As they distanced themselves from the old geezers, Jack grabbed her hand, and Claire startled a little. “Do you like dinosaurs?” he asked.

Someone passing by gave them a smile, and Claire realized people probably thought Jack was her younger brother. She let him hold her hand anyway. “Sure.”

“What’s your favorite? Mine is the bon-ta-sore-us.” He sounded out the word carefully.

“Don’t know. What’s the one with the spiky horns?”

“Ti-ce-a-tops?”

“Yeah, that sounds cool.”

“That’s my second favorite!” He started jumping from one colored tile to the next. “And the T-Rex. That’s Dee’s favorite. And Dad likes the steg-a-sore-us.” He peered up at her. “Did you know he got to see dinosaurs? Right in front of him!”

“You know what that means, right?” He shook his head. “He’s super old. He’s basically a dinosaur himself.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “He’s a dinosaur,” he repeated in a hushed whisper.

“Yup.” Spotting Hot Topical, she headed that way. “You should tell him that.”

Inside the store, Jack let go of her hand to grab a stuffed cat. “Claire! Like yours!”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Yeah.” So, she still had the Grumpy Cat Cas had bought her. She wasn’t cruel enough to throw it away when the guy was trying so hard to make up for walking around in her dead dad’s body. Plus, the stuffed animal was kinda cute. Not that she was going to tell anyone that.

“Here ya go,” she told Jack, finding a box of pins at the register. She brought the box down to his level and Jack ran over to look inside.

“I want a Doc McStuffins pin,” he said, plunging his hand into the box.

“I don’t know if they have those.”

As they rooted through the box of pins, she heard familiar voices and looked up to see Dean and Cas walking inside.

“What are you guys doing here?” she asked.

“I like this store,” Cas said and Dean rolled his eyes. Among the pleather and black, Cas’ dingy old trench coat—over a Winnie the Pooh sweatshirt instead of a suit—and Dean’s ratty flannel and boots only looked more ridiculous. She took it back—even Jack dressed better than them.

“You guys don’t have to be in here,” she told them.

“What, we’re too old?” Dean asked defensively.

“Yeah, actually.”

Cas poked at a toy and it squeaked. God, could they be any more embarrassing?

“Dad!” Jack called, holding out a rainbow pin. “Look, they have soo many.” Cas joined Jack in going through the pins and Claire asked Dean, giving his outfit a meaningful look,

“Was the Army Surplus store too trendy for you?”

“Did they kick you out of Sephora for buying up all the eyeliner?“ Dean shot back.

Touché. In a truce, she held out a pin with the bisexual flag. She wasn’t really sure what Dean identified as, if he even gave it any thought, but guessed it was close enough. “For you.”

Dean rolled his eyes but took it. “I’m not weighing down my jacket with this crap, though.”

“No, ‘course not, that would mean having any sort of style.”

“Can I help you with anything?” asked an employee with two nose rings and jewelry up and down their ears— so cool. Claire saw the way their eyes flicked between them, probably thinking they made a weird group, and she took a step back, trying to silently communicate that yes, she was shopping with them, but no, she was not as lame as them.

“Just looking,” Dean told them.

“I like your drawings,” Jack said and the employee looked down at their arms which were littered with tattoos.

“Thanks.”

“My dad has a drawing. It’s Enochian.”

The employee—Wren, by the name tag—looked at Cas with new respect in their eyes. “Language of the angels. Sick.”

Cas looked pleased. “Thank you. It’s come in handy more than once.”

The employee went back to looking confused and, starting to walk away, told them to call if they needed anything.

“Do you want anything?” Cas asked Claire, and Claire looked through the box. She grabbed a pentagram pin and, seeming to copy her, Jack grabbed another one, clutching several pins already in his fists.

“You like bees, right?” Claire asked Cas, spotting a “Save the Bees” pin. She held it up for him.

Cas’ eyes brightened. “That’s a wonderful message.” He glanced back at Dean and frowned. “Dean, they’re not going to bite.”

Claire looked over to see Dean shying away from a few emo teens. “Look like it,” Dean muttered, joining them. Jack lifted up his hands, asking to be hoisted up. Dean set him on his hip and Jack showed him the pins he’d selected. He held a dinosaur pin to Dean’s collar.

“Do you want one, Dee?”

“He’s too lame,” Claire piped up. Not for the first time, she noticed the healed over piercing mark on Dean’s right ear and pointed to it. “Looks like he used to be cool, though.”

“Yeah, guess so,” Dean said dryly. His hand went to his earlobe. “Pierced it myself, in high school.”

“I think you’re still cool,” Cas told him, and Claire fake-gagged, making Jack giggle.

Cas took the pins to the cash register where Wren rang them up. Dean added the bisexual flag pin and Claire threw in a pair of spiky earrings, because, hey, they were paying.

“15.36,” Wren told them, dropping the pins into a bag.

“My dad’s a dinosaur,” Jack told them, trying to see over the edge of the counter. Wren raised an eyebrow, Cas looked surprised, and Claire stifled a laugh.

“Claire, help me,” Jack said, grabbing the bag from Cas as they exited the store. Moving to the side, Claire helped him attach the pins to his overalls. A smiley face, a pride flag, a grinning Stitch, a sunflower, a dinosaur, and the pentagram. The pins clacked as Jack tugged at his overalls, trying to look at them all. Overall, a chaotic look, but it kinda matched his vibe.

“Lookin’ good,” she told him, and Jack beamed.

“I’m like you!”

Alright, she wouldn’t take it that far, but, “Yeah, close enough.”

Cas attached the “Save the Bees” pins to his trench coat pocket and it ended up crooked. Rolling her eyes, Claire said, “Let me.”

She reattached the pin and stepping back to look it over, decided, “You could actually make that coat look cool if you added more stuff to it.”

Cas looked down at himself. “Thank you.”

“Nothing’s gonna save that sweatshirt, though.” Couldn’t let his ego get too big.

“Dean said he liked it,” Cas said, glancing back at Dean, who was shooting an evil eye at Claire. He quickly wiped it off his face and draped an arm over Cas’ shoulders.

“Yeah, it’s uh… Charming.” He guided Cas away from Claire. “Don’t listen to her, she still thinks sarcasm is a personality trait.”

“Screw you, old man,” she called. Jack skipped after them and she checked her phone to see Kaia had texted her: How’s everything going? They drive you crazy yet?

They’re so weird, she texted back. Then she added, They’re not too bad.

“Come on, Jack,” she said, hurrying to catch up with him, Dean, and Cas. “Let’s go get our ears pierced.”

“Yay!” Jack cheered. He grabbed her hand and tugged her down the mall.

“Woah, woah, you’re not doing that,” Dean protested like the wet blanket he was.

“You can get yours pierced too,” Claire told him, and he faltered,

“I don’t want, we’re not—“

“You know you want to.” She let Jack lead her away and Dean called after them,

“We're never bringing you shopping again!”

Grinning, she turned to shout over her shoulder, “You know you love me!”

#starrynightdeancas gift exchange #established dean/cas #claire novak #toddler jack #dadstiel #fic #spn #expectingtoflywrites #im gonna post this on ao3 as soon as i figure out a summary lol

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loudestcloud · 3 years

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While I was practicing my Enochian handwriting today, I thought about Cas teaching Jack how to write Enochian and made this little sheet. (please forgive my English handwriting btw, I know it's not great)

The large words are Cas so Jack could see the all the points and curves in the letters, The little scruffy ones is Jack trying his best and the pink is Cas' corrections.

The words are 'Jack' 'Castiel' 'Dean' and 'Sam'. (There was tape in the page behind this stopping me from writing smoothly so that's why, with Dean's name in Cas' writing, the N is a bit far apart from the rest) In Jack's spelling of Castiel, he put i twice but drew the first one very messy and some of the letters are a bit off. In his spelling of Sam, he used the letter H because in English it looked like an M and he got confused. The pink notation nest to the red sticker says 'Don't forgot the points xx' because I always forget to add the triangle points and I think Jack probably would as well. Lastly, the tick next to Sam's correct spelling is in a circle cos that's what my school did if you got it but needed help so it's how I mark things now

⬇️⬇️ Story that gose with this ⬇️⬇️

Some time passes and Jack managed to figure out all the letters to write Castiel's name. He was nervous so added a question mark at the end then asked his dad if it was correct. Cas was touched that Jack tried his name first. He told him it was very close and marked the page again, this time with small corrections and slid the note book back over to him again. Seconds passed before Cas realized that Jack was showing genuine interest in the language! He moved next to Jack, settings aside his work, added another sticker and wrote his name underneath where Jack had to show him all the little points and curves.

Temp edit: I am posting this at 2am without proof reading it so there will probably be spelling mistakes

Jack just wanted to know how to spell his name and Cas, not thinking about it much, asked if he wanted it written in Enochian. Jack got very excited about it, Cas happily wrote it at the top of the page and continued to do what he was doing before hand. Jack then wrote his name on his own under it, feeling very proud. He looked at the word for a moment then each letter individually. Underneath it, he wrote 'Ca', stopped and erased it. He didn't know the rest of the letters so he went off to find a book about it. When he came back to the table, Cas had graded his word and added a sticker. They smile at eachother and get back to work.

First task was just copying what Cas wrote. The words had to be ones that Jack wanted to write to keep him engaged in the task. Upon being asked he chose to stay on the theme of family. Dean was asleep at the other end of the table so he said the next word to write would be Dean's name next. Copying worked pretty good for Jack as he got to watch Cas' pencil as it moved and he could watch as the letters form on the page. This time, he wrote it perfectly, getting an '100%' sticker.

However, Jack wanted to try a word on his own again and to complete the set, that word was Sam's name! S ✓ A ✓ H × Woops. "I can understand the confusion, don't be discouraged." Cas said to him, "An M is actually written like this. It's like a 3 that's flipped and falling backwards." He wrote the correct letter above the mistake in his pink pen. Jack re wrote the word. S A M ✓. All fixed & Sticker achieved! Cas wrote the word under it as extra confirmation that it was correct.

Sam walks past and looks at the sheet. The 3 talked for a while about it and Sam said that he used to think H was M too when be started reading Enochian and that it's an easy mistake to make. Sam had came by because he needed to borrow Cas' research for a moment. While left alone, Jack decided to try and write a short sentences. He looked at the page, thinking of what to write when it hit him. 'Take the 'i' from Castiel, the 'a' from Dean, 'M' from Sam then add my name to it' he thought, 'and you get...'

I am Jack !

He stot up from his seat to go show Cas, knocking over his chair, startling Dean awake in the process. Jack caught Cas and Sam in the hall and showed them both. He was so bouncy that he couldn't hold the page still enough for them to read so Cas suggested they all go back to the table as the stickers are back there anyway as well as the pen he had been marking with. Upon arriving back they all saw Dean looking at the stickers. "Aren't they cool? Look how many I got today!" Jack said as he showed Dean his work, explaining the words to him. "That's my name up the top then Cas then yours. I didn't do any mistakes on yours! I messed up with Sam's but that's okay, 'M' is hard." Dean smiled and nodded as he listed to Jack talk, "I'm gonna get one more sticker if this is correct right?" Jack said and handed the book to Cas. He marked it and drew a little Bee just for fun. "You did so well you can have 2 and you can pick them yourself." Jack was ecstatic at Cas' words then, after some thought, picked the flower so the bee had a nice place to land. "The flower is pink just like the bee" he said as Cas placed the sticker down on the page.

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catyo90 · 3 years

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Wounded: Gadreel x F!Reader

You were driving on your way to the Men of Letters bunker, you were thinking to yourself on how crazy the world had turned. Angels had fallen, Demons were now helping and Metatron was fighting against you and the Winchester brothers. You sighed turning on the radio to the song “Heaven by Bryan Adams” played. Your thoughts wandered off to a specific angel, Gadreel.

You had met him when he still inhabited Sam’s body. You saw him kill Kevin. But even after all that you still felt bad for him. He was punished for letting Lucifer into the garden. But he always felt responsible for it, he wanted to redeem himself. But was never given the chance.

You wanted to give him that chance. He was now stuck on Earth like the rest until they found a way to return them to their home. Until that time came though you knew somehow you would help him find the right way to redeem himself.

The last time you saw him he was being forced out of Sam. Dean and Crowley left you to guard him while they discussed how to deal with him. You remembered him talking to you

“You killed Kevin, he was just a kid...he didn’t deserve that.”

“I will be honest, I didn’t want to...but I had to.”

“You had a choice. Gadreel. You just took the easier one.”

You sighed as you looked off the road into the deep woods of the northern lands, the sun was setting giving the trees an orange hue while the fall leaves scattered across the road. The sight was a beautiful one, views like that were worth fighting for.

You parked the car outside the bunker and saw Sam and Dean walk out to greet you. You smiled at them as they both gave you bear strong hugs. They were like brothers to you, hell they were now. You looked over their shoulder to see Cas.

“Cas...” You smiled bringing him in for a hug that at first made him stumble but he returned the hug making Sam and Dean chuckle a bit.

“What are you guys doing? You're leaving for a hunt?”

“Yeah..um some hearts missing from animals and humans losing their memory.”

You looked a little shocked as you looked at them.

“Well, that's…a new one.”

Dean looked over at Cass.

“See, she can look after Douchebag while we are gone, you can go back to leading your army.”

“Douchebag?”

“He means Gadreel.”

You looked at Cass and immediately looked at Dean and Sam.

“You caught him?”

“Yeah but he’s taken care of.” Dean said with a smirk.

“And what’s that supposed to mean Dean.” You said folding your arms and giving him a disappointed look.

“Actually no...Don’t. Just go.”

“Y/n...”

“No. Just leave. I’ll watch him you need to go help others. it’s what you do best....Sometimes.”

Dean sighed as he got in the car and shut the door calling out to Cass. Sam looked at you and whispered bringing a hand to your shoulder.

“You know why...”

“I haven’t forgotten. But that doesn’t give us the right to treat him like this. Kevin is gone but at least he is at peace with his mother.”

Sam sighed as you walked away into the bunker. You watched as Cass gave you a nod and you did as well seeing the three of them leave in the impala.

You walked down into the dungeon level of the bunker and stood outside the door. You wanted to see him but you were scared to see what Dean did to him. You took a breath as you grasped the handle and opened the door. You saw Gadreel in a chair in the middle of the room with his hands bounded and Enochian runes written on the walls. You saw his head hung down as if he were unconscious. You carefully walked up to him and kneeled in front of him seeing his arms had a few large cuts on them, you brought a hand to his chin lifting it up to see he wasn’t unconscious, and were greeted with his piercing green eyes meeting yours.

“Y/n...” He said his eyes slightly wider at the sight of you.

You gave him a sad smile at the sound of your name from his smooth voice. You saw a few cuts on his face, his lip was bruised and his nose had a large gash across it. You brought a hand to his cheek feeling sorry for what he had to go through. He brought his face closer to your hand enjoying the soft touch after so many beatings. You slowly brought your hand away and looked at the restraints on his body. They were digging into the skin almost enough to break the skin, without thinking you unlocked the restraints giving him a moment to adjust to the relief of them off.

"Y/n..."

"They shouldn't have done this to you."

"Can you blame them?"

"That doesn't make what they did right."

He gave a small smirk when he was suddenly taken aback by you hugging him. He brought his arm slowly around your upper back. You felt him lower himself away from the chair bringing your down to the floor with him. The sense of being cared about gave him an overwhelming sense of compassion. Something he hadn't felt in a long time. You couldn't help but clutch onto him tighter placing your head in the nook of his neck, you felt his other hand take in your bringing your hand to his lips. The softest kiss you had ever felt on your hand made you blush ever so lightly. You could feel the blood from his bruised lip smear on your knuckles.

The sight of him like this broke your heart. You felt him groan for a moment making you bring your head up. You saw the wounds on his face heal lightly from his grace. You were about to move away from him but a reassuring hand on your back made you stay.

"They will heal in time...Don't leave."

You nodded as he brought you a bit closer to him. The feeling of his strength and protection made you sigh with content. You brought a gentle hand to his back feeling a small bit of warmth from the middle, where you knew his wings would be if you could see them. The pain he must have gone through during The Fall made you shutter. But what Dean and Sam did was even worse, you knew the torture they did to him was not only physical but also mentally.

"Gadreel, would you let me go with you...If I let you go."

"I'm not on his side anymore. I want to help the Winchesters but they don't believe me."

"They might listen to you if I'm with you...They would never hurt me."

Those words made him feel a slim bit of hope wash over him. It had been so long since another trusted him. You stood up from him helping him up letting him lean on you as you scratched away the angel trap on the floor with your foot.

You brought him upstairs toward your own room carefully sitting him down on your bed. He groaned as the pain from his wounds still lingered. You turned to a small cabinet in the room and pulled out a medical bag you got from Castiel from a case long ago...at least it seemed long ago. You kneeled next to the bed overlooking his wounds, cleaning the blood away from his forehead.

"You are a good angel, you may have done some bad things but that was because you wanted to redeem yourself and to help your brothers and sisters."

He was about to speak but you brought a finger to his lips to shush him.

"let me finish." You said dabbing the wounds with some alcohol.

"You wanted to be trusted again. Not only by the Angels but also humans and...God. You've done everything for other people and not truly for yourself."

You wrapped the bandage over his knuckles and some on the deep cuts on his arms.

"You wanted someone...anyone to see the good in you. And you are...even if you don't believe you are. You are Good."

You cut the bandages and finished putting the medical supplies away you looked up at him with a small smile and suddenly felt his hands on either side of your face as he brought his lips to yours. You sat up on your knees bringing your lips deeper into the kiss. He brought his hands away to bring you closer into a tight hug pulling you up allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck.

"Only because of you."

You smiled as your hands messed with his hair as you gave him a warm smile. You leaned into him causing both of you to fall onto the bed making both of you chuckle as he held you tight. For once, you were glad the others were not around this time.

#gadreel #spnfandom #spn fic #angel #supernatural fanfiction #romance #female reader #reader insert #x reader

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castielle-deanna · 3 years

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Destiel fanfic masterlist

My Destiel fanfics in decreasing word count order:

Hold me tight or don't (Explicit, words: 37,677)

Tags: Canon Compliant up to 15x13 // First Kiss // Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker // Conversations in the Impala // falling!Castiel // New Relationship // First Time // Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent // Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love //Art Embedded //soundtrack

Summary: With Jack’s soul now back, the four inhabitants of the Bunker are working on establishing a new routine. Between hunts, God’s wrath hanging over their heads and Castiel’s dwindling grace, the angel is not particularly eager to mention his deal to the Winchesters. With everything that’s going on, allowing himself to be happy sounds impossible anyway, right? Wrong…

With art by the fantastic @lizleeships

“Why now?” The angel asked quietly, taking a small step back.

Dean's fingers tightened on the tie he'd been holding onto as if it was a lifeline. “You said we were real. I want to believe it.”

“Even if it ends in pain?”

“Cas, everything I do ends there, eventually. There is always a bigger, heavier, smellier shoe waiting to drop. Holding back in fear of it doesn't make it any smaller, lighter or... or... “

“Less odoriferous?” Cas offered.

“Is that even a real word?”

“It is, indeed.”

“Sometimes you sound like you eat dictionaries and Victorian novels for breakfast,” Dean shook his head, grinning.

My unintended (Explicit, words:10,202)

Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending // Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On // FUCK CANON! // Saving Dean Winchester - Retconning the finale - The fangirl business // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time Having Sex // Slow and Romantic Sex // Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester

Summary: At first, Castiel is ready to honour his part of the deal with the Empty, but then Jack shows up with distressing news...

With art by the fantastic @jeanne-de-valois

Cas heaves Dean into a bridal carry, struggling under his weight, but still he shifts slightly when Sam moves closer to help. He knows he needs to stop keeping Sam away, because it’s not fair, and it’s not what Dean wants anyway, but Sam accepts it and simply hangs back with a nod before he speaks again.

“I also know it’s not my business, but… do you think you could talk to Dean once he’s up for it? I’m not blind, or stupid. You two have to stop only holding each other like that when one of you is hurt or dead.”

Love me right (Explicit, words: 2,436)

Tags: Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Porn with Feelings // Dean Winchester Wears Panties // Light Bondage // Panty Kink // Wing Kink // Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester // Light Dom/sub // Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester // Light BDSM // Dean and Castiel watch porn then recreate it

Summary: Dean asks to be tied up - who's Cas to say no to that? Written for a prompt by @winchester-reload on Patreon: "Thee Pink Panties"

“I want you to tie me up,” Dean blurts out one morning, closer to being asleep than awake still. He has no idea if Cas is even in the bedroom with him - for once, the angel is not curled around Dean with his whole body, their limbs entwined to the point where they can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins, cliché as it is.

There’s no reply, so Dean lifts his head and blinks the grogginess away to look around. Cas is in the room, sitting cross-legged on the green couch by the wall with an open book in his lap but he’s staring at Dean with eyes so comically wide Dean would think it humanly impossible if he wasn’t seeing it with his own eyes.

“For fun,” Dean adds in hopes that Cas catches his meaning. The angel looks slightly less taken aback at that, but he still appears confused and tilts his head as if a slightly different angle would help with unraveling the mystery of Dean's words. “During sex, Cas.”

Rewind the exit (Teen And Up Audiences, words: 2,408)

Tags: Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair // Fix-It // Grief/Mourning // Angst with a Happy Ending // Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love // Grieving Dean Winchester // Grieving Sam Winchester

Summary: "Rewinding the exit wound, I'm holding on to you 'Cause I need words like anyone, and I need love like everyone With those words I'm strong enough, and I need love like everyone." (Rewind the exit by Volbeat) Obligatory 15x18 fix-it.

The Bunker is haunted. It's haunted by two faint apparitions of humanity who mostly pass each other by in the corridors like ships in the night, silent and distant.

Dean prays. Every morning, every evening, and most waking hours between the two, he prays. He doesn't know if Cas can hear him, but the faith that he can is all Dean has, so it has to be enough.

It's not enough. Yet Dean clings to it, because if he doesn't have that, he doesn't have anything.

Bite me (Mature, words: 1,407)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence // Vampire Dean Winchester // Mild Blood!Kink (comes with the territory) // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss

Summary: After Dean gets turned into a vampire during S06E05 - Live Free or Twi-hard, instead of going to Lisa's, he prays to Cas. Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Vampire!Dean having a Cas snack"

“I can get you through this, and then we’ll burn any other bridges as we get to them,” Cas says earnestly.

“That’s not how the saying… you know what, never mind. I don’t want to get through this! I told you to kill me!” Dean pushes Cas away, but the angel holds onto both of his shoulders to stabilise him until Dean shakes him off in defiance. “Fucking stubborn angel, why can’t you just do as you’re told?”

“Because I’ve decided to disregard stupid orders!” Cas shoots back, and his previous stoicism is gone entirely. His eyes flare faintly with the light of his grace as he shrugs off his trenchcoat and goes to work on loosening his tie.

I wanna get you back again (Mature, words: 1,176)

Tags: Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair // Canon Divergence // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss

Summary: Dean breaks into the Empty to save Cas. Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Come on and lay it down/I've always been with you/Here and now/Give all that's within you/Be my Savior"

“Am I wrong in assuming that our friend who has the fashion sense of a flasher wasn’t the only one in love?” Balthazar smirked.

“Huh?”

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Bit slow on the uptake, aren’t we? You know what, don’t answer that,” he shrugged, rolling right over Dean’s indignant splutter. “I’m talking about Castiel.”

“I know!”

“So which part of my question was confusing then?”

“Fuck you, Feather Boa, the Empty is trying to push me out and you want to chat?” Dean scoffed, trying to stomp his way past him.

“Your trenchcoated boyfriend is that way,” Balthazar said dryly, pointing to his left.

Forward is just the way ahead (General Audiences, words: 1,091)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor // Baby Jack Kline // Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent // Tattoo Artist Dean Winchester // Single Parent Castiel

Summary: Tattoo artist Dean falls for client. Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Cas getting tattooed by Dean (or the other way around)"

“So,” Dean began, “It’s a simple black design, correct? Four rows of symbols?”

“Yes. It’s actually a warding-slash-protection spell in Enochian, the language of Biblical angels. There’s… well, there’s a story to it,” Cas chuckled.

“Is part of that story that you were named after an angel?”

Cas’ chuckle changed into full-blown laughter. “Yes. I have to say I wasn’t expecting you to know that. In fact, all my siblings have angel names, except for Luke, but only because they wouldn’t allow my parents to officially name him Lucifer…”

Waffles or kisses (Mature, words:1,026)

Tags: Domestic Fluff // Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester // Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural)

Summary: Cas tries to make breakfast for Dean - it doesn't quite work out... Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Great British Bake Off contestants with fewer clothes and lots of flour!" I have nefariously tweaked the prompt to allow me to play in the canon!verse.

“You look like one of the Great British Bake Off contestants, but with fewer clothes... and lots of flour, what the hell are you even doing?” Dean guffaws.

“Is that Dean?” A slightly tinny female voice comes from somewhere underneath the bowls, and it takes a moment for Dean to recognise it.

“Hi Jody!”

“Am I on speaker?”

“Yes,” Cas says, rolling his eyes. Dean finds that his behaviour is not unlike Miracle’s after the dog got caught chewing Sam’s 3rd pair of slippers to shreds, and the comparison draws another laugh out of him.

“Hi, Dean,” Jody says warmly. “Nice to hear your voice, though it would be even nicer if you were the one calling, rather than hijacking a conversation between Cas and I…”

Dean ducks his head as Jody’s “mom voice” tries to work its magic on him. “I’m not hijacking anything! Can someone explain why my kitchen and my… Cas are head-to-toe covered in flour?”

“I was trying to make waffles for breakfast,” Cas replies barely audibly, looking down, shoulders drooping.

With those words I'm strong enough (Mature, words: 703)

Tags: Dean Winchester Deserves to be Happy // Dean Winchester's Birthday // Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Non-Explicit Sex // Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love // Dean Winchester Says "I Love You" // Pillow Talk // Dean Winchester Lives // fuck 15x20

Summary: It's Dean's birthday and Castiel doesn't waste a single second to wish him a happy one (Utter finale denial and slight sap below.)

“Where did you go, my love?” Cas asks, ruffling Dean’s hair, curling a longer-than-usual strand of it around his index finger.

“Thinking.”

“Uh-oh, that’s never a good thing,” Cas deadpans and Dean whacks his upper arm with very little force. “Ow.”

“Sarcastic asshole in one moment, drama queen the next,” Dean grumbles, and he fully intends to kiss it better, but before he could get around to it, he’s pushed onto his back and there’s a former angel of the Lord straddling him with a grin on his face.

Domestic (General Audiences, words: 462)

Tags: Domestic Fluff // Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Fallen Angel Castiel // Suptober 2020

Summary: Middle-of-the-night Destiel chat. Just a lightning-quick ficlet as my first and possibly only entry to Suptober 2020. The prompt was 'domestic'

“Of all the human things, the constant need to urinate is the worst,” Castiel complained as he slid under the covers with a yawn.

“The worst?” Dean huffed in sleepy amusement. “Being shot is worse. Broken bones. A toothache…”

“They are worse, but they are temporary. Urinating is permanent. I will have to put up with it for the rest of my life.”

#Destiel #Destiel fanfic #DeanCas fanfic #creativecaviar #fanfic masterlist #destiel masterlist #Destiel fic #DeanCas fic

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destielharlequinchallenge · 4 years

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The Destiel Harlequin Challenge Master Post: 2020 Mega Bang

Participants in the 2020 Destiel Harlequin Challenge completed an amazing 20 fics and 3 sets of artwork! You can learn all about those here!

Spectre (fic by a_dusky_gold, art by aceriee)

This whole thing… this was supposed to be a fucking farce. A way to keep Nicholas Vaught occupied until the deadline he’d given Dean would run out, and he’d still get the money to send Dad to the Town Hall rehabilitation for alcoholism, because that was the goddamned deal.

There were no such things as ghosts or magic or a Book of Life. Dean knows, okay? He wasn’t the Army’s goddamned Mystery Raider for nothin’; he knows history, he knows artifacts, and he knows that the Book of Life is an ancient myth that is about as real as werewolves or vampires.

And yet.

“The Book of Life,” the man had said. Dean can’t even remember his name.

Shit, shit, shit.

Dangerous Ground by Amethystaris

Special Agents for the Department of Diplomatic Security, Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester have been partners and best friends for three years, but everything changed the night Cas admitted the truth about his feelings for Dean. And when Cas was shot a few hours later, Dean felt his reluctance to get involved was vindicated.

Can a camping trip in the High Sierras save their partnership?

Honour Undressed by andimeantittosting

Among his friends, Castiel, Lord Milton is everyone’s confidant and, along with his trusted valet, the fixer of problems. But there is one secret Castiel has never shared: he is in love with his valet and has been for years.

Born in the gutters, Dean Winchester was assigned as Castiel’s batman in the war, and when Castiel travelled home to take up his title, Dean followed him as his valet. To assist Castiel, Dean is not above a little burglary or blackmail. But the one thing he wants for himself is Castiel’s heart.

When Castiel’s closest friends become the target of a blackmailer, certain truths come out. But while Dean determines to seduce Castiel, Castiel is adamant that he must resist, for if there is one rule a gentleman must follow, it is never to dally with his servant.

Havenport by BlueMasquerade

Castiel cleared space on his desk by the expedience of sweeping the previous contents to the side. He set the bundle down in the center of the surface and studied the knots in the rope before expertly untying them.

The book was old, its leather bindings cracked and crumbling. He carefully opened the cover to reveal the pages within, each hand cut, the edges beautifully deckled, the text written in pen and ink.

“This is written in ancient Enochian.” Castiel looked up, gaze narrowed. “Where did you obtain a book written in ancient Enochian?”

“Is that what it is? All I could tell is that it sure as hell isn’t English.” Mr. Winchester grinned, a dimple flashing in his cheek.

an aching in my heart by contemplativepancakes

When Dean’s best friend dies, leaving behind her daughter, Dean knows he has what it takes to give Claire the life she deserves. The problem is, they’re not related by blood, and Claire’s long lost uncle gets called to take her in. Castiel Novak was bad news when he was in highschool with Dean, and judging by his blue hair and tattoo sleeves, nothing’s changed. Castiel ran out on his family once before, and there’s no way Dean’s going to let that happen to Claire without putting up a fight.

Fools and Fate by Danica_Dust

Castiel Novak fled his coven to escape the rigid, predetermined Fate laid out for him within its confines. Desperate and alone, he took shelter in the city of Sacriloga, forsaking all magic and living off whatever he could steal. There, witches like Cas are hunted. They are feared. And they are burned.

When Jack, a young witch also on the run from his own coven, seeks out Cas’ aid, however, Cas finds that he cannot reject the boy, leaving him to his sure destruction. Especially after the newest visitor to Sacriloga makes his presence known: the legendary Hunter, Dean Winchester, who has been following Jack’s trail.

Sworn to the Men of Letters, Hunters live by one principle: thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. Dean’s path was never meant to cross with Cas', but a desperate stunt and a single mistake forces them into an impossible union—holy matrimony.

The war between the witches and the Men of Letters is an ancient one and Cas' most dangerous enemies bring a Fate worse than fire. Unable to ignore his growing feelings, yet powerless to change what he is, a choice must be made.

A suffocating Fate on one hand. A precarious freedom on the other. And in between, the kind of love that makes fools of us all.

Ozone by Deancebra

A young magic user who wants desperately to live. A jaded recluse who has forgotten what living means. They’re each other’s only chance.

Dean’s wild magic is killing him. The mage guilds have given up on him, and it’s only a matter of time before he dies in a spectacular, catastrophic bang. His only hope is an exiled wizard who lives in seclusion—and is rumored to have lost his mind.

The years alone on his hilltop estate have not been good for Castiel Novak. After the magical accident that disfigured him and nearly destroyed the village, he drifts through his days, a wraith trapped in memories and depression. Until a stricken young man collapses on his driveway, one who claims Castiel is his last chance. For the first time in fifteen years, Castiel must make a choice—leave this wild mage to his fate or take him in and try to teach him, which may kill them both. The old Castiel, brash and commanding, wouldn’t have hesitated. Castiel the exile isn’t sure he can find the energy to try.

A Demon Like Him by EllenOfOz

Dean Winchester doesn’t want to be a warlock. The idea of working in a lab, channeling demonic magic into enchanted batteries is not what he wants to do with his life, but it’s a dangerous opinion to have—his father was a powerful and well-connected warlock, and Dean is expected to follow the family tradition.

His only way out is to fail the demon summoning class—failure means expulsion from the Warlock College. Despite Dean’s best efforts to fumble the summoning, it works. Although not the way anyone expects.

Dean’s demon, Castiel, is an incubus, but also a powerful mage on a mission to rebalance the magic that is being stripped from Demonside by warlocks.

Dean must choose: fail out of his final exam and turn his back on becoming a warlock, or help Castiel and graduate. But he doesn’t count on how hot the incubus is, or how close they have become in just a few days.

A Working Relationship by fangirlingtodeath513

The homes that Castiel Novak designs for Angelic Houses are to die for. They’re pristine, perfectly designed and organized, and they’ve caused more than a few bidding wars. It’s the perfect job—he’s organized, good with math, and he’s able to pick up on design trends relatively quickly. The only thing that isn’t perfect? His obnoxious older brother, Luke. Castiel’s been vying for a position on a flipping team for years now, but Luke has never even considered it. When a lecherous gossip reporter overhears an argument, they receive an offer they can’t refuse.

They’re invited to compete on Flip Off, a competition where two people flip houses and compete for the highest profit. Castiel wants the leverage a win would bring him, but he also wants to prove himself. Enter Dean Winchester, a contractor with his own team and one that’s blissfully unconnected to Angelic Houses, allowing Castiel to prove himself without any help from the family company.

The undeniable attraction between them certainly doesn’t help matters, but Castiel is resolute in his decision to make a move only after they’ve finished working together. At least, that had been his plan until Dean made him an offer he simply couldn’t refuse.

Crashing In by followyourenergy

Castiel Novak is convinced he’s the last unwillingly single person in Lupine Cove. Even Gabriel, his perpetual bachelor brother, has found love. It’s probably because Cas leads the most boring life in existence. He’s a gay man living in a rented, one-room cottage in the same small coastal town he grew up in, just getting by as the owner of the same convenience store he was practically raised in. The most excitement he gets is chatting with the locals or maybe, if he’s unlucky, oversleeping and rushing to work. So when a baby is left at the Safe Haven drop-off at the local fire station, he takes the opportunity to step in for the child temporarily, at least until suitable parents, plural, can be found.

Life certainly gets more interesting.

And it gets even more interesting when a handsome man comes crashing—literally—into his life.

Make Me Believe by GhoulsnHalos

Ten years ago, Castiel Novak’s stepfather disowned him, taking from him his place as hereditary heir to the head of the Hunter and Warrior Guild. Now, he’s a self-made, and celebrated, master gem and metal smith. Castiel doesn’t believe that the God’s decide your soulmate. Until he designs what can only be a gift fit for his soul mate, who in contradiction to the etiquette, if not the laws of Neffroen, must be a man.

Dean Winchester is convinced that he is a lowly, dumbass, no magic hunter who couldn’t possibly be on the same social scale as a Novak. So, why is it when he spots the jewelled torc in Castiel’s shop, Dean develops an obsession over the neckpiece and its creator? It can't be anything to do with the will of the Gods, no matter what anyone says, because that's baloney and Dean's not into men.

When Castiel’s long-lost brother turns up and suggests he ought to challenge their stepfather and that Dean is destined to help Castiel rule the clan, Castiel takes some convincing. The real problem is Dean. Can Castiel with the help of family and friends convince Dean of his place by Castiel’s side? Can Dean play the part everyone expects of him to help Castiel regain his rightful place in society?

Shielded Heart by JuniperJones

Arthos, the Infinite City, is a place of alien wonders and indescribable beauty—and, most importantly for Dean, it’s also halfway across the universe from his abusive ex-fiancé. He came to the city desperate for a fresh start, but he finds himself downtrodden on a world of aloof alien beings with little hope of finding his place—and a good chance of being kidnapped or killed before he can even settle in.

At least until he is saved by an irresistible alien with piercing eyes and a seductive smile.

Castiel is the living embodiment of temptation, and he makes no effort to disguise his desire for Dean. But when his past threatens to drag Dean into a dangerous underworld, Dean discovers Castiel isn’t who he claims to be. After enduring so much suffering, can Dean bear to take a leap of faith with this mysterious alien? Can he trust Castiel with not only his life, but his heart?

Stumble and Fall by Kitmistry

Castiel was raised to do one thing: serve his country, whether that was fighting a war or becoming an expert spy. But when his lover is charged with treason and executed Castiel defects. He has evidence that can destroy the KGB’s entire spy ring in New Mexico, he has names of scientists involved with atomic weapons who send information to the Soviets, and he won’t stop until he has revenge.

Putting all his trust in the Americans, Castiel finds himself under the protection of U.S. Marshal Dean Winchester, who is too cocky and attractive for his own good, but at least seems to know what he’s doing.

When a routine transfer to a safehouse goes horribly wrong, Castiel and Dean narrowly escape with their lives. With the Marshals compromised and Castiel being framed for murder, he and Dean are on the run from KGB and law enforcement alike. They have no one to trust except each other, and nowhere to go that their enemies can’t reach.

The Shots We Don’t Take by MandalaRose

Still nursing the tatters of a broken heart and trying desperately to stave off the terror of his impending graduation, college senior Cas Novak decides it’s time to blow off a little steam. Not just any hook-up will do, however. The last thing Cas needs right now is a distraction. On the lookout for someone he can enjoy a steamy night of passion with before leaving them behind entirely, Cas thinks he’s found exactly what he needs in cocky university hockey star and well-known playboy Dean Winchester.

Dean is gorgeous, doesn’t date, and is the singular most infuriating person Cas has ever met. He’s the perfect one night stand...that is, until Dean decides he wants an instant replay of what was supposed to be a one-time event. Will Cas’ offer of friends, sans benefits, convince the arrogant love ’em and leave ’em hockey defenseman to find an easier score? Or will Dean wear down Cas’ defenses and lure the sexy nerd in the dorky trenchcoat back to his bed?

Bullets Over the Bayou (fic by mattzerella_sticks, art by dontbelasagnax)

Everyone wants Castiel Novak to quit the force, including Castiel. But he stays on despite the toxic work environment he’s surrounded by. Still believing he can do some good despite the many lines of red tape impeding him. Luckily, a pair of scissors by the name of Dean Winchester drops into his hands, and he finally feels like he can do some good.

Dean Winchester thought he would be in New Orleans for a day or two. Identify the body of his deadbeat father and then move on. No one knows he’s here. His mother and brother are blissfully unaware of the danger his father roped him into. With a parting gift of a journal, delivered to him the same day he received word about his father, Dean has become the target of a group of people who want him dead. The same people who killed his father.

Racing against the clock, can Dean and Castiel figure out what is so important about John Winchester’s journal that someone would kill for it?

Masquerade by noxsoulmate

It had begun as such a good plan; one that benefitted them both. And masquerading as Castiel Krushnic's boyfriend during the weeks of balls, galas, and charity events certainly was no hardship. With the impending end of their arrangement, though, Dean Winchester must admit that behind the mask of an aloof CEO lies a man he could fall in love with. Or maybe, he already has…

The Medium by raths_kitten

Detective Dean Winchester hates it when his Chief sends a medium to consult on his cases. But this time, the murder is closely linked to Castiel’s world and they both need to work together to solve it.

Any Semblance of Touch (fic by saltnhalo, art by c-kaeru)

1925, New York.

Dean Winchester’s life’s work is protecting the world from the supernatural relics that could destroy it. When an amulet with the power to control the tides is shipped to New York, he must intercept it before it can be used to devastating effects. This time, in order to succeed, he needs a powerful psychometric… and the only one available has sworn off the magical world altogether.

Castiel Novak’s gift comes with great risk. To protect himself, he’s become a recluse, redirecting his magic into museum research. But with the city’s fate hanging in the balance, and faced with the power of Dean’s charm and persuasion…

He can’t force himself to say no.

The Love of a Righteous Man by SargentMom573

Five years ago, Captain Dean Winchester defied his father, Senator John Winchester. With his brother Sam, and his spaceship Impala, Dean found his place among a ragtag fleet of pirates and smugglers. Their latest mission left him with a price on his head and a scar on his heart. When a surprise attack separated him from Sam and revealed a Sith weapon, he would do whatever it took to bring his brother back – even sacrifice his own happiness.

After Emperor Michael’s death broke the psychic link between them, Emperor’s Hand Castiel Novak spent years drowning his sorrows at the bottom of a barrel. Mostly sober, three years ago he found a new purpose as the Impala’s Chief Medical Officer, and Sam Winchester’s guide in the Force. And a good friend in the Impala’s gruff but kind Captain.

Dean and Castiel must work together to bring Sam home alive. But when Castiel’s last mission is exposed, will Castiel complete it and destroy any hopes Dean had for a family? Will Dean forgive Cas’ horrific purpose before it is too late? And give them both what they really want — the love of a righteous man.

SKID by spnsmile

Dean Winchester swore off love after getting dumped and fired from his job the same day. Badly drunk, he ended up balcony-hopping until a pair of hands snatched him inside a darkened room. But it's no hero, it's someone with deep voice whispering threats with a gun pointed at his back. Dean’s too drunk to deal with life but one good look at his hot assailant plus enough beer sold him to his accursed fate. The next morning, he found himself engaged to the most notorious leader of a powerful clan, Castiel Novak.

Married life in the compound for a month was not as blissful so when he could, Dean fought for that freedom. Castiel relented and as Dean tried to put the pieces of his normal life together, getting a bike messenger job and dealing with pain in the ass clients, he now also needs to deal with the dangerous presence of his very jealous and very protective husband watching over him.

Is his life ever going to get back to normal?

#2020 masterpost #destielharlequinchallenge #destiel harlequin challenge #destiel fanart #destiel fanfic #destiel

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hawkland · 3 years

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Destiel fic recs (round #4) + commentary

Time for another (mostly) Destiel fic rec round-up post before my bookmarks get out of control! This one’s a mix of longer and some shorter fics (or series thereof), no particular theme except I guess a lot of angst, hurting Cas, and all the other things that tickle my Id. Several Season 9 human!Cas divergence fics, plus some later season angst-fests and rewrites.

In the Shadow of your Wings by Enochian Things (Salr323) (52k) The first of two fics by this author which I absolutely fell in love with! Canon-divergence from the end of Season 11. Cas finds himself blasted to Naples, Italy by the banishing sigil in the bunker and he stumbles — almost literally — into a sexy, delightful Italian Man of Letters, Luca. When he makes his way back to the bunker and finds Dean still alive, he tries to confess his feelings but Dean panics and shuts him down. Cas goes back in Italy soon thereafter and ends up beginning a relationship with Luca, much to Dean’s chagrin. Meanwhile Sam is still missing and it turns out there may be some dangerous individuals who are out for Cas more so than even the Winchesters.

I loved everything about this fic so much - Luca is an amazing OC, the Naples and London locations are wonderfully evoked and took me straight back to places I’d been. The angst, the pacing, the plotting and the eventual Dean/Cas getting together are all amazing and this is definitely on my re-read in the future list.

The rest of my recs below the cut!

My heart is beating from me by Enochian Things (Salr323) (55k) The other fic by this author that I literally inhaled in one day! Season 9 Human!Cas canon divergence. It’s been months since Sam and Dean have heard from Cas, and when they do, it’s in the form of a wedding invitation. Cas is getting married to Daphne - the woman who “rescued” him and named him Emmanuel when he’d lost all his memories post-Leviathans. It seems Cas went back to her while on his own and they’ve rekindled their relationship...whatever it is. Dean just knows something isn’t right about her, so he sets out to investigate and try to figure out WTF Cas is doing before it’s too late.

This story is so, so good! The case Dean gets Cas to come along on is unique and provides a neat investigation subplot, but what’s so especially wonderful is the explanation the author gives of who Daphne really is — and why she’d been so cool about just having a strange man with no memories move in to be her “husband” (and then want to marry him for real a couple years later, after he’d vanished from her life!) In fact it’s so brilliant I’m basically accepting it as my Daphne headcanon from now on and I don’t want to spoil it. The fic is also great in exploring Cas still struggling with understanding human emotions, customs and etiquette, Sam is A Very Good Friend, and Dean is, well, Dean. (I’m just sad this author hasn’t written more SPN fics because what they have is just brilliant.)

The wilderness. by orange_crushed (8k) Wonderful, shorter Season 9 canon divergence fic by an author who consistently makes me happy. Human!Cas leaves the bunker with a few things to get off the ground from Dean and directions to connect with Garth...but he ditches that plan to try to find his way on his own. It’s wonderfully detailed about the basic struggles of survival, finding work, making ends meet and trying to make some new friends...and why it’s important for him to prove he can make it on his own before he’s willing to welcome Dean (back) into his life.

I Through My Window See by deHavilland (26k) This is an interesting one, written well before we had canon human!Cas in Season 9. Canon-divergence in which Cas remains human after they avert the apocalypse in Season 5. Sam and Dean set him up in an apartment in Sioux Falls and then...just kind of abandon him there. He spends most of a year just barely existing before a visit from Sam finally stirs him out of his inertia and depression, to eventually get a job and also start hunting on his own. This is an interesting read, if just to see an author exploring the idea of human!Cas abandoned by Dean a few years before it actually...ended up becoming canon! I love how Cas is written in this (it’s a story much like the next one on my list that I thought does an amazing, realistic job of capturing what depression feels like), but I do have some issues with Dean. It’s never fully resolved or explained why Dean was being such an ass so I honestly wasn’t totally sold on the ending - I wanted some more out of Dean, some more explanation or apology or something. It’s a story that would have been great to have a sequel from Dean’s POV but after all this time, that will just have to exist in my brain, I suppose! Still worth a read because it’s excellently written, Cas becomes totally bad ass again by the end and it’s always fun to read early SPN fic speculating on future developments.

I Shall Not Want by domesticadventures (20k) I found myself inhaling a bunch of wonderful short ficlets by this author the other day, but this is the one I had to stop at to rec. It’s another Season 9 divergence fic, of a sort - Cas is newly human, for the sake of the story there’s no Abbadon to worry about, Sam is healed...and Sam wants to move out and get on with his own life. Cas and Dean are both struggling with adapting to their new lives and it’s a hauntingly rich and stark portrayal of depression, inertia, and the slow healing process of accepting and adapting to change. I also liked that this story gives us a Dean who is a little more aware of his feelings for Cas and they both struggle to reach out to each other - for once it’s not sexuality causing a crisis of identity but all the other shit they are coping with.

Don't Sing Love Songs by ireallydidthistomyself (17k). I’m not normally a big fan of baby/toddler!Jack fics - I like the angst that he was forced to grow up too quickly, and in general I’m not big on kid!fic in fandom. This author’s work is a big exception to that. They’ve written several stories along a similar theme: Cas raising Jack on his own/in secret for years, Dean only finding them or coming back into their lives later on. But this is the version of that idea that really packed the most punch for me and was incredibly emotionally satisfying. Dean finds Cas after 6 years, where he’s kept Jack mostly isolated and safe from the world. But with Dean allowed back into his life, Cas may be inviting grave danger upon Jack as well. This one ripped my heart out but managed to make it all better by the end.

Better Ways to Kill Our Time by always_a_birthday_girl (8k) I don’t know why I torture myself reading Dean-in-the-Ma’lak-box AUs, but I do. I think because it’s pretty much my biggest nightmare/horror and for some reason it’s cathartic while terrifying? Anyway here’s one where Dean goes through with his plan, Cas crashes and burns for most of a year, until Dean finally starts doing what he promised he wouldn’t: praying to him. Cas figures out a way to communicate back and over the distance, they manage to have certain conversations they should have years before. It’s painful but lovely and there is a happy ending, so it’s well worth the read!

Time Flows Like Water and We're Drowning by triedunture (7.9k) A little break from the later-seasons stuff I (mostly?) read, featuring a seriously hot (but angsty) Cas/Endverse!Cas/Dean threesome. When Zacariah’s plan to show Dean the future doesn’t change his mind about taking on his “responsibility”, he sends Endverse!Cas back in time to try to convince Cas instead, showing him what he’s to become. I don’t think Zac expected it to turn into a threesome, but it’s hot and beautiful and sad and wonderful all at once.

hachikireru by vaudelin (23k) At one point I went on a wallow-fest of reading a bunch of sad 14x20-15x03 divorce-arc fics. Just to hurt myself more, I guess. I know this fic’s been recced around a lot (at least on fail_fandomanon) and I can see why! After leaving the bunker, Cas ends up in Sioux Falls to visit Claire. She’s busy tracking down leads to find Kaia’s killer and he decides to go along with her on one such hunt. But what they find is an unexpected supernatural threat targeting those with broken hearts. Well. I think you know where that might be leading. This is a wonderful casefic with lots of character moments between Cas & Claire and then Cas & Dean, working through their pain and angst and just...it’s a very satisfying read.

Moriah Codas: A Trilogy by Toomanyfandoms99 (11k total) A series of 3 shorter fics spinning off the events of 14x20, developing a slightly divergent universe the author’s written where Cas does have his wings back and has helped resurrect a few of the angels (Balthazar, Gabriel, and Samandriel in particular). This series is absolutely heartbreaking — Cas is completely broken by Jack’s loss, has “fallen out of love” with Dean after he was ready to kill Jack, and sees no way back to what he’d had and felt before. He’s determined to just let the Empty take him...but not until he and his assembled squad of “avenging angels” clean up the mess Chuck has created, smiting zombies and taking out super-powered monsters across North America.

Cas’s motorcycle gang/angel squad is so fucking awesome (I want a happy fic where they do this!) and this is BAMF!Cas at his finest. I just have to include a quote:

He set down the empty glass, and Gabriel said, “well, dearly beloved, we have gathered here today to kick some zombie ass. Since they have chosen to amass in Carthage, we are here to take out as many as we can without causing this town to flip the fuck out. Are we in agreement?”

“I expect,” Balthazar grinned, “a full-on bar brawl. Do not disappoint me.”

“Cassie, Driel,” Gabriel addressed the duo, “how are we with weapons?”

“I have enough machetes in a storage facility uptown to film a Jackie Chan movie,” Castiel said.

But it’s also utterly and completely heartbreaking, so don’t read this one if you need a happy ending. If you do read, check out the author’s other later-season coda fics and fic series as they are all really great.

to mend what is not broken by gothyringwald (2.6k) This last short one I’ve mentioned before, but I just have to rec it again! It was my gift for the 2021 Hurt Comfort Gift Exchange and it’s everything I wanted, and more. Sweet and caring Dean, wounded but still prideful Cas, and some lovely wing!kink/wing!care that pushes all of my button just right.

Anyway, that’s it for now as I think this is long enough. If you enjoy my recs, could you let me know? I try to not just list titles but give some commentary...as it helps me re-find stories I enjoyed the most, too!

#destiel recs #my fic recs #deancas fic recs #my destiel recs

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spiritclusters · 3 years

Text

Fic Review-1

This is going to be an ongoing series where I read, review, and generally fan about SPN fics that I've read. Because it's one of the deepest desires of my soul to discuss fics in detail with people, and fan and generally just be a nerd, like you would with a original story Unfortunally, I really, really want to do this with the authors, but I'm shy and reclusive, and don't feel comfortable doing so. So instead, I'm going to make a giant tumblr post to describe how much I love their work.

So, no crit in these reviews, just love

*If you have a recommendation for a SPN fic (gen, preferably), your own or someone else's that you want me to read and "review", please leave and ask or DM me. (<20k for now).

Today's victim: Karma's Gonna Come Collect Your Debt

Set: S13

Parings: gen

Length: 35k

Main character: Written to be Sam, but I would also argue Dean.

Summary:

Sam is dead. Dean isn’t processing.

And then Sam is not dead, Lucifer is there, and they’re suddenly on a deadline- thirty one hours before their single way home literally ceases to exist. Jack needs to be kept away from Lucifer, Sam needs to be kept away from Lucifer, they need to get thirty three people through a rift miles away, and that’s not even mentioning the fucking war currently being waged all over this- literally -godforsaken planet.

But Sam is alive, (alive, alive, Dean’s brother is alive), albeit having one continuous panic attack. This is fine.

(It is so, so not.)

(EVERYTHING BELOW THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS!)

Reasons You Should Read This:

You know those writers that actually manage to take trauma into account, while pushing forward the story and not allowing this to get buried? this is one of those.

Sam and Lucifer content is just. mm. It's horrible, and it's treated like it's horrible.

Dean's anxiety is actually shown

Dean is traumatized by what happened to Sam by the vampires. his brother's throat gets ripped open, and Dean isn't like "oh, we're okay" after Sam walks up alive again, he spends the entire fic stressed about it

The pacing is lovely, no detail is spared

Lucifer shows up at the camp and no one goes "he's in chains, ergo, he's no longer a problem." He is the Devil, and he is treated as the untrustworthy, snake-like creature he is.

Cas isn't powerless, and he's not stupid.

Mary isn't amazing, but she actually tries to have some form of a bond. Sort of.

LUCIFER TORTURING SAM FOR 180+ YEARS IS NOT IGNORED!

Gabriel isn't useless or just there to please fans, he actually does something

The Cage is talked about.

Jack learns about the Cage

Upon learning about the Cage, Jack decides he doesn't want to talk to Lucifer anymore.

Dean is not ignorant to what Lucifer's presence is doing to Sam, or what it has done to Sam in the past. The fic implies that while Sam probably doesn't talk about it to Dean (Because PTSD and it makes sense), Sam isn't unaffected by what happened to him.

Dean is overly paranoid about anywhere he goes, trying to make sure that it's safe. (Such a small detail, but it always, always pleases me to read it)

Dean and Sam actually have a bond, and it's so very present and so very, very enjoyable.

Sam kills Lucifer

No Michael possession!

Protective!Dean

Sam speaks Enochian, which always gets a win for me.

++My Analysis of the fic:

Writing style and why it works:

The writing is very authentic to how I think Dean's brain works. It's anxiety riddled, fast with worry, and clearly shows the depth of how much hunting has affected him. Dean's brain isn't...smooth is the only word I can think of for this, it's not point A to B like other characters are and that makes sense. The writing focuses deeply on reactions, the way words are spoken, and physical sensations. Especially for Dean, there's little to 0 regard on how he's feeling. Which is something I totally see Dean doing.

But the reason that this frantic, almost skittering writing works is because this is a situation that you'd be thinking like that. Lines cut out because Dean, trauma riddled, doesn't want to think about something. There's jumping and processing and "well, crap" moments. My favorite thing about this author's writing style? they are very much into show not tell, which allows the readers to draw their own conclusions, but also makes it a much more enjoyable experience.

The focus on time, especially given these circumstances, was a beautiful detail to add. It kept a sense of pressure on the writing, because everyone knows that we are on a time limit.

There's also a deep sense of secrecy between Sam, Dean and Cas and the others in the story. They have and share information between the three of them that no one else has, and that makes sense because they have been working together for years.

But because, Sam and Dean especially, they are aware of each other, the characters don't feel like strangers. They know each other, and have been living with each other for a long, long time, and you can clearly see that with how attuned they are to each other. It was beautiful.

Character portrayal:

One of my favorite things about how the characters are portrayed here is that Sam is visibly uncomfortable in Lucifer's presence. Sam was disgusted by Lucifer, and when we're told that because Sam still has residual grace left in him and he can kill Lucifer, Sam is horrified. Sam is allowed to be as trauma riddled as someone who went through that would be. It's beautiful.

I also really appreciate how Dean is allowed to be freaked out about Sam literally getting his throat ripped out. Dean is allowed to not be this perfect fearless older brother. Dean is human here. He's a person with struggles who is concerned about Sam and others, but Dean still feels distinct.

I will also forever appreciate how the characters interact here. Everything is so subtle. If they're soft, it's not blatant, if they hate each other, then it's angry staring, but nothing feels explicit, and I love that.

Small details that make me go "mm.":

Dean always checking the "safety" of a room when they enter.

Mary not knowing about the Cage or John telling Dean to kill Sam

Sam's body language when he's around Lucifer

Upon 1 (one) glance at lucifer, Sam is completely aware that the chains have no effect on Lucifer and tells Dean

(pale face, frantic eyes, mouth open in an agonized scream)

Dean not knowing Maggie's name

Favorite scene and why:

This was hard, but man, the scene where Sam and Dean lay down to get some rest after Sam comes back to camp with Lucifer, and they just...don't sleep. There's something about this scene that just is so...deeply and utterly horrifying. Because Sam and Dean are supposed to be safe, right?

Sam's alive, Dean's alive, they're close to each other, neither of them are injured. They're fine.

And yet.

Yet...they're not. And you can feel that. Dean is tense and not-sleeping, and Sam is tense and not-sleeping. And there's something just so deeply haunting about that scene and I just. My love. <3

Favorite quotes:

“No,” Jack shook his head. “Why do they hate you?”

“It’s in me Dean, oh, god-” (“I’ve got demon blood in me Dean, this disease pumping through my veins-”) Dean shuts his eyes against the unwanted memory that had risen unbidden to the forefront of his mind. He firmly shoves it away.

"And now Sam was somewhere. Probably having a panic attack. Dean needed to find him."

"Sam, I know you will, I know you can, this isn’t me doubting you I swear. But, man, you don’t have to. You shouldn’t have to"

He hadn’t, not since the Cage. Maybe he couldn’t.

Because Dean will make time, damnit, because Sam shouldn’t have to f--ing schedule his panic attacks-

Dean can’t see it, but he knows his brother well enough to read the tightness in his shoulders and shifts in his elbows under the jacket that tell him Sam’s pressing into his palm scar again.

Because Sam never got angry anymore... not since the Cage.

“Heyyyyy Cassie! You’re back! Thank Dad.” Dean turned to see Gabriel trotting up to them, a scowling Lucifer in tow. “Take im’, please, he’s all yours.” He said, motioning to the Devil behind him."

Over all, I think that the story is beautiful. please be sure to leave a kudos and a comment if you read, because this author is dear to my heart and deserves them.

link once more

Author tag or link: @widowronin, Огромное спасибо! :D

#fic rec #spn fic rec #hbo spn #sam and dean #sam and lucifer #sam and trauma #cage trauma #fic reviews

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banshee1013 · 3 years

Text

Fic - Uninhibited

Written for the @profoundnet Discord Server Valentines Exchange - Reunion round, and specifically for @annethecatdetective :)

Title: Uninhibited Rating: Mature Tags: Castiel/Dean, Canon compliant, S15 Spoilers, Witch Curses, Literally Sleeping Together, Fluff and Light Angst Word Count: 5787 Summary: On what appeared to be a routine hunt, Dean gets zapped by a witch's curse - and suddenly he has no qualms expressing his undying love for Castiel. It's everything Castiel has hoped for and never thought he would have. When Sam discovers the counterspell, reversing the curse seems like a no-brainer - but will it cause Castiel to lose the love he never thought he would have? AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29600769

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“Dean!”

Castiel runs and skids to a halt, falling to his knees in front of the prone form of his friend. Pressing two fingers to his forehead, he breathes a sigh of relief. Still alive.

His attention turns to the fleeing form of the witch. Raising a hand, he wills his Grace into it and clinches it into a fist. The witch freezes mid-stride, twisting against an invisible force holding him in place. With a jerk of his arm, Castiel propels the witch around and pins him against the nearest wall.

“What have you done to him?”

The witch laughs. “I’ve given him a great gift. You’ll see.” He flicks his wrist, a bolt of purple flying out and striking Castiel. It doesn’t hurt him but distracts him enough to loosen his grip, and the witch disappears.

Castiel utters a string of Enochian curses that would make Lucifer himself flinch. Nothing for it, and he has more important concerns at the moment, his attention returning to the unconscious hunter.

Even unconscious, he’s beautiful, Cas thinks with a pang in his chest, maybe even more so, the usual lines of care and strife stripped from his face. Castiel places a palm on his forehead and exerts a sliver of Grace, but it bounces back against his hand, as though hitting an impenetrable barrier.

But it must have done something, as Dean’s eyes begin to flutter open, his breath gasping as he regains consciousness. Seconds later, Castiel is hit by the full force of those green eyes as they meet his own, hazy and dull at first but sharpening quickly with recognition.

“Cas?” Dean rises and reaches for him, Castiel grasping his shoulder to help steady him. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

Castiel blinks. Of all the names Dean has called him over the years they’ve known each other, this one had never been directed toward him. He dismisses it as an aftereffect of just having regained consciousness. “Yes, I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

Dean heaves a visible sigh of relief — then suddenly there’s a hand behind his neck and Dean’s lips are pressed against his. The shock of the contact is quickly overcome by a growing heat beneath his skin, an involuntary moan escaping around their fused lips.

After a measure of time that Castiel cannot name, Dean pulls back and presses his forehead against his own. “Feeling much better now,” he says softly, his breath ghosting against Castiel’s lips and sending a shiver down his spine.

It’s everything Castiel has ever wanted and knew he would never have, and he desperately wants to relish the sudden reality of his desires coming to life before him, but the relevance of the witch’s last words rings in his ears. Castiel takes a deep breath and pulls back to catch Dean’s eyes. “Dean, tell me… what’s the last thing you remember?”

Dean frowns, his brows pinching together. “Uh… well, we followed the witch to this house. We’d split up to clear the rooms and…” He stops, eyes narrowing angrily as realization dawns. “Did that sonuvabitch get the drop on me?”

Castiel nods somberly. “Yes. I heard a shout but by the time I found you, you were already unconscious. I was able to pin the witch briefly but they escaped.” He sighs and looks down, unable to meet Dean’s eyes in light of his failure. “Unfortunately, I do not know what spell or curse was laid upon you. I attempted to heal you, but somehow I am being blocked from doing so.”

He is once again shocked when Dean places light fingers under his chin and lifts to look into his eyes. “Hey, it’s alright. Let’s go home and talk to Sam. We’ll figure it out.” Castiel’s breath stutters to a halt as Dean’s hand slides to his jaw, his thumb brushing his cheekbone before leaning in to kiss him again.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Dean says after he pulls back again, barely audible over the buzz in Castiel’s ears, then rises and offers a hand down to Castiel, pulling him to his feet.

“C’mon, babe. Let’s get outta here,” he says, smiling and squeezing Castiel’s hand, then guiding them to the door and out to the waiting Impala. Castiel glances down at their joined hands and wonders what he’s going to do now.

~~~ *** ~~~

“Sam! We’re back!” Dean announces loudly as he enters the bunker. “Who’s gonna bring me a beer?”

“Get it yourself!” Sam’s voice echoes from behind the stacks in the Library. Castiel wonders if he’s examining the books there, looking for an answer to the nature of the curse the witch placed upon Dean; Castiel having texted him about it as soon as they were on the road again.

Dean grumbles but there’s no real heat in it. He pauses in the Library and turns to Castiel, his hand raising to grasp his upper arm. “Want anything while I’m in there, sweetheart?”

Castiel, his throat dry and voice gone, shakes his head. Dean nods and smiles, his hand trailing down Castiel’s arm to his hand to give it a squeeze before pivoting on his heel and heading toward the kitchen.

As soon as he rounds the corner and is out of sight, Sam’s head pops from behind one of the stacks, his eyes wide. “Wow, you weren’t kidding.”

Castiel could only nod in agreement.

“So, what happened? Tell me everything,” Sam asks as he moves to sit at one of the tables in the Library, leaning forward and clasping his hands in front of him. Castiel takes the seat across from him and recounts the events from earlier in hushed tones to prevent Dean from overhearing.

Not that it was an issue; Dean shouts from the kitchen that he’s starving and going to make burgers and did they want any. Sam looks to Castiel, questioning; he nods and Sam yells back in affirmation before turning back, gaze unfocused over Castiel’s shoulder and forehead furrowed in thought.

“Purple light,” Sam muses. “Last time I saw that was Rowena using magic from Book of the Damned.” The unfocused gaze sharpens and focuses back on Castiel. “But you said the witch was male, right?” Castiel nods, and Sam’s lips purse. “I have no idea what happened to the Book — it wasn’t among her magic journals and items we took from her apartment.” He sighs. “I hope it hasn’t been recovered and used by whoever this was,” he continues, “but I’ll do some digging on that assumption anyway.” Castiel nods again, but his inner turmoil must be written on his face as Sam’s eyebrows raise in question.

“Cas… is there... something else?”

Castiel looks down at his clenched hands, noticing he’s been subconsciously wringing them. “I...I’m not sure what to do about his advances.”

Sam’s expression grows serious. “Has he been making you uncomfortable? How bad has he been? He hasn’t… propositioned you or anything, has he?” Sam pauses to swallow uncomfortably. “Or worse?”

“All he’s done so far has been pet names and kisses. And no, he hasn’t been making me uncomfortable.” Castiel takes a deep breath and squirms a little in the chair. This is not a conversation he ever expected to have with Dean’s brother, and he’s quite unsure how to broach it tactfully. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Sam’s expression is puzzled at first, eyebrows pinched in confusion — then Cas witnesses the metaphorical light bulb illuminating as his eyes grow wide. “Oh… OH!” His mouth spreads into a wide grin. “Well then, I guess this is your lucky day!”

Castiel feels the heat of a blush flashing across the back of his neck and across his face, his embarrassment warring with a sense of outrage. “Sam, no!” he hisses. “Dean is not expressing affection of his own volition. He’s been compelled!” Castiel drops his gaze to his hands, surprised to find them clenching again. “It wouldn’t be right to take advantage of his condition, regardless of my feelings for him.”

A snort from the other side of the table has Castiel glancing up from his hands to see a smirk on Sam’s face. “Believe me, Cas — those feelings are real.” The smirk dissolves as his jaw drops. “I wonder…”

His musings are interrupted by Dean breezing into the library, a plate in each hand. He sets the plate with a single burger in front of Sam, then swings around the table to sit next to Castiel, sliding the second plate with two burgers in front of himself. He leans over to drop a kiss against Castiel’s cheek as he grabs a burger off the plate. “Dig in, babe,” he murmurs, his warm breath brushing over the shell of his ear causing an involuntary shiver to rattle down Castiel’s spine.

Dean leans back and winks at him, grinning as he takes a big bite of his burger; and Castiel’s blush burns across his skin again. He grabs the remaining burger and takes a big bite in a vain attempt to distract himself from Dean’s uncharacteristically forward behavior.

God help him, he’s enjoying this new flirty, attentive Dean.

“So, what were you guys talking about?” Dean asks between bites, and Castiel almost chokes on his mouthful. Sam covers wonderfully, though.

“Just discussing the case,” he says. “Cas told me you took a hit. How’re you feeling?”

Dean’s grin widens. “Feelin’ pretty great, actually,” he says as he drops another wink at Castiel. “Cas says I was unconscious when he found me but I really feel fine now.”

Sam leans back in his chair and puts on an air of nonchalance. “So you don’t… feel any different? Anything strike you as being different at all?” He glances up at the ceiling. “Like, oh, I dunno, how you feel about Cas?”

Castiel’s head whips from where he’d been staring at Dean to gauge his reactions to Sam’s questions to Sam himself, panic at his directness crawling up his throat and causing his heart to play hopscotch in his chest. Sam has the audacity to wink at him, but then he startles and whips back around when he feels Dean’s hand take his own, his eyes widening as Dean raises it to his lips and looks directly into his eyes.

“Nope, I’m still totally hung up on this guy,” he says softly, lowering his hand and giving it a squeeze, then raising his free hand to stifle a yawn. “But I am pretty worn out.” He stands, pulling Castiel to his feet and wrapping an arm around him, holding him close; Castiel’s heart feels like it’s going to beat its way right out of his chest wall. “Think I’ll turn in. Can you handle the dishes, Sammy?” he asks, nuzzling Castiel’s hair and humming in contentment.

Sam, the terrible person he’s suddenly become, nods gleefully. “You bet! You lovebirds should hit the sack.” He stands, gathers the dishes, and heads to the kitchen, throwing yet another wink over his shoulder as he turns the corner into the hallway leading to the kitchen.

Dean finally pulls away from him and turns, leading Castiel towards the living areas — and presumably, Dean’s room. Castiel feels panic creeping up as they walk down the steps into the war room. He knows he should stop this — tell Dean the truth, that the witch’s spell is compelling these feelings from him. But he finds he is unable — or rather, increasingly unwilling — to say anything, and the guilt gnaws at him.

But — this is everything he’s ever wanted and never thought he could have. And Dean is the happiest Castiel has ever seen him. Should he really deny Dean — or himself — this happiness?

Haven’t they both suffered enough? Sacrificed enough?

The witch did say he had given Dean a great gift. Who was he to look this gift horse in the mouth?

But as they reach Dean’s door, the guilt forces him to at least say something.

“Dean.” Castiel pulls him to a halt and he turns to face him; Dean’s eyes, drooping with weariness, suddenly soften as he reaches a hand behind Castiel’s neck to pull their foreheads together, and closes his eyes.

“So, I know we haven’t really… y’know, slept together yet,” Dean says, his voice hesitant, uncertain, “and I know you don’t really sleep, but…” Then those green eyes open and meet Castiel’s, thumb stroking his cheekbone and taking his breath away again. “Could you… just stay with me? At least until I fall asleep?”

Just being with him, laying beside him, even if just to watch him sleep. It’s more than he’s ever had and ever thought he could. That wouldn’t be a violation, Castiel reasons, and nods.

“Of course, Dean.”

~~~ *** ~~~

A thin stream of daylight streaks through the skylight over Dean’s bed and strikes his head, the red and gold highlights in his hair sparkling in the light. Castiel can’t help himself, reaching toward the pillow next to him to gently run his fingers through it — not enough to wake him but just to watch the light dance — and wonders if sleep had broken the spell.

While Dean had only asked for Castiel to stay until he fell asleep, as soon as he’d laid nervously beside him — having stripped down to his boxers after Dean expressed confusion when he lay down on the bed fully clothed — Dean had turned into some form of human octopus, legs and arms curling around him and pulling him close, head on Castiel’s shoulder and nose buried in the crook of his neck. Dean was asleep moments later, Castiel reasoning that he must have been very tired indeed to have managed to do so over the jackhammer of Castiel’s heart.

So all through the night, he lay there, Dean’s warmth pressed against his body, his soft snores against his neck, and he argued with himself.

The spell is causing him to act like this — Dean would never want this, one voice in his head reasoned, while another argued, but Sam did not seem concerned — why? That was indeed a good question, and one he would need to address as soon as he could extricate himself without waking Dean.

But when Dean finally rolled over, releasing him… Castiel found it impossible to leave him. The thought of Dean waking up without him there — would he be sad? Disappointed? The spell might exacerbate his fear of abandonment… perhaps even give him nightmares. No, he couldn’t do that to him, not in his current condition.

Or so the voice in his head reasoned, the other voice moving down and settling uncomfortably in his stomach. He didn’t get up and seek out Sam — instead, he rolled over and curled against Dean’s back, pulling him close, and Dean sighed contentedly in his sleep and snuggled back against him.

If this is so wrong… why does it feel so RIGHT?

But of course, the feeling in his gut wouldn’t let him alone. Would Dean wake up and wonder what Castiel was doing in his bed? Would he be angry? Or worse, disgusted?

Castiel freezes as Dean’s eyes flicker open, the sunlight striking them and turning them verdant. His lips stretch into a soft, sleepy smile.

“Hey, good morning sunshine.”

Castiel releases the breath he’d been holding as Dean rises up on an elbow and leans to press that smile against his lips. The kiss was chaste but oh so sweet, and Dean sighs contentedly as he lays back down and stretches, the sunlight playing across his bare skin turning Castiel’s mouth dry.

He swallows and manages to croak out, “Good morning, Dean.” The lingering guilt bubbles up and he asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Like a million bucks.” Dean glances back over, his eyes wide. “Did you stay all night?” Castiel nods, timidly, worried over Dean’s reaction to the admission, but Dean’s eyes go soft. “I’m sorry, that must have been boring as hell.”

“No, it was very enjoyable,” Castiel blurts out and only an act of extreme control prevents him from slapping a hand to his mouth, but it is rewarded by a bright smile from Dean.

“Was it, now?” he teases, eyebrows waggling. “Do I have to worry about my chastity?”

Castiel feels the hot flush darken his skin and Dean must see it as well, bursting into laughter and pulling Castiel against him. “Just teasing, sweetheart,” he says, but with a wicked grin, he whispers into Castiel’s ear, “but for future reference, I’m down with somnophilia if you are.”

Castiel wonders if blood remains in any other part of his body, as it feels as though every drop has rushed to his face, and Dean laughs once more before kissing him again — not quite so chaste this time and leaving Castiel breathless when he pulls back, brushing his fingers through Castiel’s hair before settling on his jaw, thumb stroking his cheek.

“C’mon, sunshine, time to get up. I’m starving and in desperate need of coffee.”

Castiel nods dumbly, and with a final peck on Castiel’s lips, Dean rolls out of bed, pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt. After a moment to collect himself, Castiel follows suit, redressing in his suit and tie before pulling the trench coat back on, a feeling of resolve settling over him as he does so. He must talk to Sam as soon as he’s up today.

He turns to find Dean looking him over and sighing. “One of these days, I’m gonna get you to wear something else — even if it’s just here in the bunker.” The wicked grin returns as he comes closer, his fingers settling around Castiel’s tie and using it to pull him near. “Although the tie does have its uses,” he says softly before pressing another kiss to his lips, the tip of his tongue sliding along the seam.

Castiel’s resolve slips and with a soft sigh, his lips part for Dean’s tongue. Dean groans against his lips, his hand sliding from the tie to Castiel’s jaw, tilting his head and kissing him harder; then Castiel is being pushed backward and up against the wall, Dean’s hand moving behind his head to protect it while the other grasps his waist to pull him in tighter. The unmistakable hard line of his erection presses against Castiel and he gasps against Dean’s mouth. Dean hums and breaks the kiss, lipping down to Castiel’s neck and rolling his hips, eliciting another gasp.

Castiel pulls the final vestiges of his resolve together, managing to get his hands to Dean’s chest and weakly pushing him back. “Dean,” he pants, “we have to stop.”

The hurt look on Dean’s face is almost enough for his resolve to slip again, but Castiel holds on to it desperately, like a drowning man grasping a floating bit of wreckage. “Please… I have to talk to Sam.”

Dean’s face darkens. “Sam? It’s not like you have to ask his permission, Cas.” He steps back, arms crossed. “We’re both adults and it’s a free country. We can do what we want.”

Castiel sighs. “It’s not that, Dean.” He casts his eyes down so he doesn’t have to see the disappointment on Dean’s face. “It’s about the case yesterday.” Dean opens his mouth to protest and Castiel cuts him off. “Please, Dean. Just let me talk to Sam first.”

“Fine.” Castiel glances back up as Dean pivots on a heel and heads for the door. “Do what you gotta do. I need coffee.” He storms out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall as he heads for the kitchen.

Castiel leans back against the wall, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths to collect himself. Finally, he pushes away from the wall and goes in search of Sam.

~~~ *** ~~~

He doesn’t have to go far as Sam almost runs him over in the hallway, walking briskly from the direction of the Library. “Cas! What happened?” He grasps Castiel’s arm, eyebrows pinched in concern. “Dean just came stomping through the library on the way to the kitchen.”

“He, um…” Castiel searches for the words to explain that would invoke the least amount of embarrassment for them both. “He was very… amorous and I asked him to stop so I could talk to you before… well, anything untoward could happen.”

Sam at least has the decency to look startled before bursting into a gale of laughter, and Castiel bitterly wonders if Sam’s soul really was returned intact. “Oh! Well, that’s better than what I thought had happened!” His laughter dies down to a chuckle but his eyes are still dancing merrily as he clasps a giant palm onto Castiel’s shoulder. “I thought maybe the spell had worn off and he lost his shit when he woke up to find you in bed with him!”

Castiel’s ire diminishes and he nods. “That was my concern as well, but the exact opposite occurred.” His statement sends Sam into another round of chuckles, his hand dropping from Castiel’s shoulder as he bends over in his mirth, and Castiel sighs. “Sam, please. Can we focus on the issue now?”

Sobering, Sam straightens and nods, laughter still in his eyes but mercifully not on his lips. Clasping an arm around Castiel’s shoulder, Sam guides him back down the hallway to the Library.

“I’ve actually been up for a while doing some research and I think I’ve discovered what the witch did to Dean,” Sam says as they cross the War Room and into the library. The table where they had been sitting the night before was now strewn with books. He releases Castiel’s shoulder and picks up a nearby notepad, covered with Sam’s neat script. “I think it’s an uninhibiting spell.”

Castiel tilts his head in confusion. “Uninhibiting spell?”

Sam takes a seat at the table and gestures to the one across from him. Castiel sits, his hands clasped on the table in front of him. “So, last night when I asked Dean how he was feeling and he said how great he felt — remember what else he said?”

Castiel nods. “He said he was…” He pauses, feeling the blood rushing to his face again and amazed how the rest of his body continues to function with the continued lack of blood flow. “He said he was ‘still totally hung up’ on me.” His hands writhe together on the table in his embarrassment… but oddly, he feels a sense of lightness, a fluttering in his stomach as if a swarm of butterflies had taken up residence there.

Sam snaps his fingers and points. “Exactly!”

Castiel sits back in his chair and glowers. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say, Sam.”

“C’mon, Cas… think about it. When does Dean ever say he’s fine? Or admit his feelings for anyone, even me?”

Castiel begins to see where Sam is coming from, but still… “I see your point. But Sam…” He stops, eyes dropping and the fluttering in his stomach souring. “Dean does not care for me in that way.” The words are like ash in his mouth, the memories from last night and this morning like white-hot blades to his heart.

Sam snorts. “That is one hundred percent not true.”

Castiel’s head jerks up to shoot a glare in Sam’s direction, puzzled at his recent behavior. Sam is fully aware of his affections for Dean, and it is not like him to be callous or cruel, making light of other’s feelings, and yet… The look on Sam’s face gives him pause; his face is open and honest, and even… exasperated?

Could it be true? Is it possible Dean actually returns my feelings?

Just then, the stormcloud that is Dean rounds the corner of the hallway coming from the kitchen. “What’s not true?” he demands, setting his coffee cup roughly on the table before yanking out a chair and falling irritably onto it.

“That you’re not crazy in love with Cas.”

An involuntary squeak leaps from Castiel’s mouth as his head snaps towards Sam, eyes wide in panic at his bluntness. He cringes when Dean loudly scoffs.

“Well, that’s absolutely not true.” He turns toward Castiel and then visibly deflates, all earlier ire dissolving like salt in water. “Although I can see why you think I don’t love you after how I’ve been acting.” He turns in his chair and reaches over to take Castiel’s hands. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he says softly, raising Castiel’s hands to press a kiss into each one, then glances up through his lashes, that wicked grin returning and Castiel braces. “But please, the next time you don’t wanna have sex, don’t use my brother as an excuse.”

Sam, who had tipped back in his chair to watch the exchange, flails as he loses his balance and almost falls over backwards before recovering with a gasp, followed by a bellow of laughter — but Castiel barely notices, having completely forgotten the necessity of breathing.

“Oh my God, Dean,” Sam wheezes in between guffaws, “We absolutely have to get this curse off you.”

Dean’s eyes snap away from Castiel to Sam. “Curse? What curse?”

“The curse the witch placed on you, of course.” Sam sobers, shoving the notepad across the table, Dean snatching it up and reading as Sam continues. “You were zapped by a curse that removes your inhibitions…” He smirks. “Especially, it seems, the ones related to that river in Egypt you’re so fond of.”

Castiel turns a puzzled glance at Sam. “What does the Nile River have to do with this situation?” He sighs in exasperation as both brothers burst into laughter. “I don’t understand that reference.”

“I’ll explain it to you later, Cas,” Dean says, then sobering, turns his attention back to Sam. “So you’re saying this… curse… is making me love Cas?”

Sam shakes his head. “Nope. It’s just… finally… getting you to openly admit it and act on it.”

“Huh.” Dean sits back in his chair, his expression thoughtful, then turning resolute. “Then I say we leave it be.” He turns to Castiel, taking his hands again. “I don’t want to go back to being afraid…” He swallows, and continues, “Or being in denial of loving you, Cas.”

That metaphorical light bulb goes off in Castiel’s head. “De… Nile.”

Sam snorts and Dean rolls his eyes.

Then the lightbulb grows brighter. “You mean…” He can’t bring himself to actually say the words, the fear of being rejected — mistaken — too much for him to bear.

But Dean must know what he was about to ask, sliding from his chair to kneel before him, his eyes earnest and filled with honesty. “Yes, Cas. I love you. One hundred percent. One thousand percent.” Dean turns to glare at Sam over the top of the table. “And I don’t want to lose this. Ever.”

“You don’t have to, Dean.” Sam leans forward across the table. “You can choose to be honest with your feelings even after we remove the curse.”

Dean rises, pulling Castiel up with him and into a spine-popping hug. “I don’t want to lose this,” he whispers into Castiel’s ear. Then suddenly, and much to Castiel’s surprise, Dean pushes him back, hands clasping his shoulders. “Waitaminute.” His green eyes go wide, hope and disbelief at war in them. “D-do you… do you love me too?”

“Yes, of course. Hasn’t it been obvious?” Castiel’s eyes narrow in confusion. Is it possible Dean hasn’t been aware of his feelings? How absurd.

Dean sighs, pulling Castiel back into a hug, to his delight. “I guess I was blind as well as stupid.”

Castiel returns Dean’s hug, relishing the ability to finally do so without reservation. “Not stupid, Dean. Just stubborn.”

Dean pulls away enough to press a light kiss to Castiel’s lips, breaking it to press his forehead to Castiel’s. “Yeah, that sounds like me.”

Loud throat-clearing echoes in the room, and they snap out of their reverie, turning to Sam. “So, what do we do?” he asks.

Castiel turns back to Dean. “It’s up to you, of course,” he says, staring into those amazing green eyes so full of love, but becomes aware of a gnawing fear growing in his stomach.

If they reverse the spell, it’s entirely possible Dean will snap right back into his usual modus operandi — stubborn denial of his right to happiness, to love and to be loved in return.

But on the other hand, while Castiel wants Dean’s love more than anything else in this world, he wants it honestly — not coerced or forced.

“It’s up to you,” he repeats, “but I hope you choose to reverse the spell.”

Dean nods, eyes downcast. “I don’t wanna be a puppet. I want…” He pauses and takes a deep breath, the eyes meeting Castiel’s full of determination. “I will do this — feel this — honestly.” Another quick kiss and he turns back to Sam.

“Let’s do this.”

~~~ *** ~~~

Castiel paces the hallway outside the infirmary.

He walks to one end, pauses, walks back. As he passes the door, he pauses briefly and listens; but only for a second, the fear taking hold and pushing him to move again, to the other end of the hallway. Turn, repeat.

Each time he pauses at the door, the fear that he’ll lose Dean forever grows, burning in him like hot ash.

He had helped Sam gather the ingredients for the spell but could not bring himself to participate — asking Sam to question Dean after the spell was over and come to him personally to break the news to him gently rather than be there to witness it for himself.

It was cowardice, pure and simple. He admonishes himself for it — he should be there for Dean, come what may. But there are just some things he cannot bear, and having Dean reject him outright without a buffer is the greatest of them.

He almost has a heart attack when he hears the door to the infirmary open behind him. He pauses in his march, the fear choking him, rooting his feet to the floor.

“Cas?”

Dean’s voice, soft and almost timid, is the thing that finally loosens his feet; slowly, hesitantly he turns, his eyes rising slowly to see Dean at the doorway.

He swallows past the lump of fear in his throat. “Hello, Dean.” He takes a deep breath and straightens his shoulders, steeling himself for the inevitable. “How are you feeling?”

Dean walks toward him, steps echoing in the hallway. Castiel freezes as Dean stops in front of him; waits and tries to push down the anxiety as Dean stands silent before him.

“I feel…” Dean starts, then hesitates. He takes a deep breath, starts again. “I feel… good.” He smiles, shy but with a hint of the determination from before. Castiel’s breath catches as Dean reaches to take his hands.

“Please, Cas… have patience with me,” Dean sighs softly, staring down at their joined hands. “I remember everything… everything I felt from, y’know, before…” He pauses again, the struggle to overcome his barriers evident and Castiel has never been more proud of him. “It’s still there, but… I have work to do.” Dean looks up to stare into his eyes and it’s all Castiel can do to keep from collapsing from relief and joy — Dean may be struggling to express his feelings, but his eyes are full of all the love he’s currently unable to say.

But Castiel has no problems with expressing himself.

“I love you, Dean. I will wait for eternity for you to be ready, if that’s what it takes.”

Dean sighs in relief and leans forward to touch his forehead to Castiel’s. “It won’t take that long, I promise.”

EPILOGUE:

Rowena’s eyes flutter, the cloudy grey dispersing and returning to their usual hazel green. She breathes a satisfied sigh.

“Was the spell successful, my Queen? Did I do well?” She glances down at the slight young man kneeling before the throne, the black eyes somehow conveying hope of receiving her praise… or perhaps it’s fear of being the recipient of her displeasure. Eh, either is good.

“We’ll see,” she says, her voice lilting in exaggerated nonchalance, but she takes pity on the young demon. “But it looks promising.” She waves her hand in dismissal and the demon scurries away happily — or as happily as a soul condemned to Hell can be, she supposes.

She steeples her fingers, tapping the tips to each other in contentment. Promising, indeed.

The stools in the throne room catch her eye and she can almost see them sitting there, tense and rigid in each other’s presence. “FIX IT!” she had admonished them then, and it seemed like maybe they might have on their own — but she has always been impatient, and knows all too well the price one pays when they’ve waited until it’s too late.

She had been watching, and waiting, and growing more impatient with them but unable to act — even the Queen of Hell has her limits — until she encountered the young demon, a former witch fresh from the rack, and an idea blossomed.

Taking the young demon as her personal servant, she had instructed him in the spell that would loosen Dean’s inhibitions, cultivating him until she was sure of success, then laying a trail for the boys to follow. The spell went off without a hitch — well, except for the little idiot almost being caught by a surprisingly powerful Castiel. Who knew seeing the love of his life unconscious on the floor would elicit such a powerful response? She smiles slyly to herself, thinking of other fun ways she might prod that response from the angel in the future. Could come in handy.

A surge of pride overcomes her — she had been counting on Samuel, her all-too-short protégé, to pick up on the nature of the spell and find a counterspell for it, and she was so very proud of him — followed by a momentary stab of sadness. Oh, the things she could have taught him if it wasn’t for that pesky little tyrant Chuck!

A wicked, leering grin curls her lips. Of course, there was more to her plan than simply helping a hunter and an angel — both of whom at one time actively pursued her demise — find love and happiness. Fostering that love and devotion was the ultimate weapon for her revenge against Chuck. For she knew at some point in the near future, there would be a confrontation between him and the Winchesters — one didn’t need prescience to see it, it was clear as a bell to anyone with eyes — and an angel with an attachment to the elder Winchester even more profound than the original bond between them on their side would certainly seal Chuck’s doom.

Ahhh, but it is GOOD to be the Queen!

#destiel #fic #castiel #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #witch curse #fluff and angst

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thisisapaige · 4 years

Text

Motel Memory

(For Suptober20. Day 24 Prompt: Family Business. Word count: 3893)

This concept just kinda picked me up and ran away. Kinda tempted to turn it into a fully fleshed out fic. We’ll see. For now I better let it go into the wilds down below and over here on this Ao3 link.

Hard concrete was underfoot, a hot sun beamed down from overhead, and a dry wind whistled through the empty parking lot. Peeling green paint on the building’s walls revealed the faded blue underneath. Dark, dirty windows revealed little of what was inside. The buzzing neon sign, however, in large blinking letters said it all: Motel Memory.

The grey landscape, manufactured by artificial hands, and the dying plants which dotted the silent road, their thin branches about to break, were a fair indication that Castiel was not standing on the lakefront anymore.

Castiel was doing something there. What was it?

There was no life in this new place. The wind pushed back Castiel’s hair and coat but the trees remained still. The sign flickered but never went out. No matter how long Castiel waited, no cars passed on the road.

Castiel approached the motel entrance, his footsteps loud in the stillness. When Castiel opened the door and walked inside, a cheery bell announced his arrival. The merry jingle was a sharp contrast to the dusty, decaying lobby.

A blonde haired woman, somehow young and old at the same time, stood with her back to the door. She turned around at the sound. She stepped up to the counter, a wide bright smile on her face.

“Castiel, my dear,” she said, delighted, “I’ve been waiting for you!”

Still standing in the open doorway, Castiel asked, carefully, “For me?”

“Yes, yes.” She beckoned to Castiel as a signal to move further inside. “Don’t worry. You have a reservation.”

Castiel closed the door and stepped up to the counter. “I haven’t made any reservations.”

“Oh, no. You didn’t, dear.” The woman produced a book from under the counter. When she dropped it on the countertop, dust flew into the air. She opened the book to the last page and pointed at the final entry. “There you are. Right at the end.”

Castiel looked closer at the check-in book. An uneasy feeling swirled in his core when he saw his name. It was not his name as written in the language of humans but his true name in Enochian script.

“Who wrote this?” Castiel asked.

The woman shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just the clerk.” She grabbed a key off the wall behind her and held it out to Castiel. “Now I can finally close up shop.”

Castiel took the key, the cold metal smooth in his hand. “How long have you been here?”

“Since the beginning.” The woman placed a finger to her lips. “Actually, maybe before that?”

“Why?”

“Well, I had to take care of the family business, didn’t I?” She waved Castiel away, then pointed to the hallway on her left. “Enjoy your stay here at the Memory Motel. You’re the last client. Lucky you!”

“There’s no number on this key,” Castiel said.

“Oh, you’ll know which room is yours when you get there.” The woman waved Castiel away again. “Now go on, get.”

Castiel faced the hallway. He could not see through the dark. He turned back to the woman, ready to ask another question, but she was no longer there. It was as if never existed. In fact, once he stopped to think about it, Castiel realized he had not sensed any life from her at all.

Slipping the key into his pocket, Castiel walked down the hall.

Cas? Cas! C’mon, buddy, open your eyes!

Castiel looked behind him but all he saw was the dark.

Okay, but what did she do to him? Maybe--

Fucking witches, man.

Is he gonna be okay? Sam? Dean? Is he gonna be okay?

Castiel stopped at the end of the hallway. He scanned the area before him but he saw only garish wallpaper, wooden numbered doors, and endless shadows. There was no life.

But Castiel heard those voices, did he not?

He continued down the hall. Castiel was no expert but, in his experience, door numbers often correlated with the floor and location of the room. Castiel was reasonably sure he was on the ground floor but every door was labelled with various numbers, seemingly at random.

Voices sounded from the door numbered 118. One voice belonged to an older man, the other a boy.

“Watch out for Sammy,” the boy said. “I know.”

“All right,” the man said. “And if something tries to bust in?”

“Shoot first, ask questions later.”

Castiel tried the key on the doorknob. It did not fit but the door swung open at his touch. The room was dark, all the windows shut tight and the blinds drawn closed. A boy sat in a chair, his back to Castiel, utterly engrossed in the cartoons playing on the small television. Another boy, his small fingers curled around the barrel of a shotgun, pointed the gun at the open door. Castiel stopped short.

The boy did not shoot first.

“Who are you?” the boy demanded, voice shaking. “What are you?”

With the television providing the sole source of light in the room, Castiel appeared as the outline of a shadow to the boy. Castiel, however, could see the boy in the gloom, could see the familiar pattern of freckles across his cheeks, could see the determined glint in his eyes, could see, with perfect clarity, that he was face to face with a young Dean.

“A friend,” Castiel said, “one day.”

“One day?” The gun shook in Dean’s hand. “You’re not getting Sammy!”

“I won’t hurt him. Or you. Never again.” Castiel held his hands out, palms open. “I will watch over you.”

“Watch over me? What do you think you are? Some kind of angel?” Dean scoffed but he did lower the gun. “Yeah right.”

The expression on Dean’s face was exactly as Castiel remembered, back in that barn. “Good things do happen, Dean.”

Before Dean could reply, before Dean could close his mouth, Castiel took a step backwards and closed the door.

Uh, guys? Sam? Dean? Did he just shimmer?

I didn’t see anything.

Me either. But Jack does have the ability to see more than us.

Yeah? Well, see us a way to wake this asshole up. C’mon, Cas.

There was no life in the hotel hallway, just the swirling patterns on the wallpaper and the long rows of doors.

But Castiel heard those voices, did he not?

Castiel continued down the hallway, skipping a few doors, ignoring the shouting from some, the noise of pleasure from others. There was not a single sound coming from the next door he chose, marked 503. The key did not fit but the door opened for Castiel.

Dean stood from the table, a table covered in empty beer cans and bottles, swaying slightly when he faced the door. His face flashed from anger, to relief, then back to anger. That was where it stayed.

“Oh, nice,” Dean said, his voice heavy, “so you just flap off to-- what?-- get a new wardrobe or something?” He grabbed a bottle from the table and drank what was left of the liquid. He wiped his mouth and leaned against the table, staring at Castiel. “Since when did you use doors anyway?”

Castiel shut the door behind him and entered the room. “You’re angry.”

“Newsflash, Cas! I’m always angry.” Dean set the empty bottle on the table with the others and stepped right up to Castiel, pressing an accusatory finger to Castiel’s chest. “In case you forgot, there’s an Apocalypse going on. Sam’s not-- we’re not--” Dean swallowed. “Then you just flap off on your own.”

“You said you were happy on your own,” Castiel said. “At the time, I didn’t realize your penchant for hiding how you feel.”

“At the time?” Dean dropped his hand but did not step back. His eyes flitted back and forth as he searched Castiel’s face. “What are you talking about?”

“It will take a long time, but--” Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. The burn, the handprint, lay underneath. Castiel fought the urge to heal it. It was not time for that yet. “It will be okay. You will be okay.”

“Cas, what--”

Castiel closed the door behind him before Dean could say any more and before Castiel could say too much.

Damn it, Cas. I swear, you leave me again and I’m gonna drag you outta the Empty myself.

Dean, I hope you realize that Jack and I are coming with you.

Yeah!

No life. No life but--

But Castiel heard those voices, did he not?

Door 1219 was already opened when Castiel reached it. Kelly Kline, sitting on the edge of the bed, did not notice Castiel at first. She smiled down at her swollen belly, humming a soft tune. Castiel remembered hearing that melody before, the one about the itsy bitsy spider, because Kelly herself taught him.

“Castiel.” Kelly Kline’s radiance emulated from her eyes. Her happiness. Her goodness. Castiel had forgotten. “Is something wrong?”

“No. I, uh--” Castiel cleared his throat. “I wanted to ask you”-- he gestured from her head to her stomach-- “ask both of you. Are you well?"

“I think so. Considering everything, I mean.” Kelly gasped and smiled wider, placing a hand against her stomach. “He’s kicking again.”

Castiel sat beside Kelly and held out his hand. “May I?”

Kelly nodded and Castiel placed his hand on her stomach. Castiel smiled at the feel of it. He knew then that this baby would become something wonderful. He was correct but not entirely accurate. The baby grew into something more than Castiel could describe.

“Have you chosen a name?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah. I think I have,” Kelly said. “Jack.”

The baby kicked, eliciting a surprised gasp from Kelly.

“I think he likes it,” Castiel said.

“I think so.” Kelly laughed. “Castiel. I know he’s good. He is.”

Castiel removed his hand from Kelly’s stomach. He tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “You may be right.” He stood and placed a hand on the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

Kelly nodded, already humming to her stomach again. Castiel took one final look before he opened the door.

Cas. You gotta wake up, man. You know Dean’s a mess without you.

We’re right here, okay? You took care of me. I’ll take care of you.

Still no life. Just an endless motel hallway.

But Castiel heard those voices, did he not?

Though the voices sounded distant now.

The hallway appeared darker than before. Castiel blinked and the shadows moved closer. The doors he left behind had completely disappeared. There was nowhere to go but forward.

The next door he approached was labelled 1302. Castiel did not bother with the key.

Dean lay on one of the beds, fully clothed, on top of the covers. His eyes opened the instant Castiel entered the room. Dean sat up, his back straight and stiff, and stared at Castiel with wide, watery eyes.

Dean climbed out of bed and slowly, carefully, approached Castiel, never breaking his stare. “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

Castiel nodded. It was as good an explanation as any, considering Castiel did not have one at all.

Dean made a strange sound, like he had something caught in his throat. He made no effort to hide the tears which fell down his cheeks. Castiel reached out and wiped them away, but that only seemed to make Dean produce more.

“I’m sorry.” Dean turned his face and whispered into Castiel’s palm, “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

“You always save me, Dean.”

“Not this time.” Dean shook his head. “Not this time, Cas.”

Castiel pulled Dean into his arms. Dean sagged against Castiel, muttering apologies over and over again into his chest. Castiel held onto Dean because that was all he could do. Eventually, Dean quieted, his breaths slowed, and exhaustion weighed his body down. Castiel kept Dean from falling.

Wrapping one arm around Dean’s waist, Castiel pulled back the covers on the bed and set Dean down gently. Castiel tucked the blankets around Dean’s shoulders. After checking to make sure Dean was comfortable, Castiel turned to leave.

Dean grabbed Castiel’s wrist. “Don’t go.”

It would not take much to break free from Dean’s weak and sleepy grip but Castiel found himself returning to Dean’s bedside. Castiel knelt on the floor, letting Dean keep hold of his hand.

“Okay,” Castiel said, “but you should rest.”

“Can’t. Keep seeing-- keep seeing you--” Dean cut off with a shaky breath. “Miss you.”

“It will be okay.”

“Not without you, Cas.”

“Don’t worry.” Castiel squeezed Dean’s hand. “Good things do happen, Dean.”

Dean snorted. He burrowed further into the covers, his grip tight on Castiel’s hand. “Night, Cas. See you when I try to sleep tomorrow.”

After a short time passed, Dean’s hand went slack. He snored softly, the lines on his forehead smoothing slightly, and mumbled Castiel’s name.

Though it pained him to do it, Castiel let go of Dean’s hand. He stood at the door, watching over Dean’s sleeping form for a long time before he left.

You can’t just sleep your whole way through this apocalypse, buddy. Time to wake up.

Anything?

No. Nothing.

Castiel could hardly hear the voices. Castiel could see little more than one door at the time. He was in a hallway. He was in a motel. At least, he thought so.

Door 1415 opened as Castiel approached. Sam hovered in the room behind it, throwing a cardigan on the bed like it carried a disease. He sighed and pulled the elastic out of his hair, scratching at his head until his hair stood on end.

“Sam?” Castiel asked, closing the door behind him.

Sam jumped, then whipped around, shaking a finger at Castiel with each word, “Don’t you dare tell Dean!”

Castiel tilted his head, acting like he had not already. “Of course.”

“Okay.” Sam picked up his duffle bag from under the bed. “Well, we better pack up and, uh, never talk about this again.”

Castiel hummed. “Glasses suit you.”

“Cas! You--” Sam turned around, said glasses in his hand. Sam looked down at them. “You really think so?”

Castiel nodded.

“Huh.” After a moment of deliberation, Sam placed them in the bag. “Okay.”

“Sam, I know that wasn’t the best way to experience it but…” Castiel took a deep breath. “You seemed happy with a wife and a home.”

Sam shrugged, his back suddenly to Castiel. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You deserve that. You deserve to be happy.” Castiel turned the doorknob. “I’ll check us out.”

Sam faced the door. Castiel caught a glimpse of the shine in Sam’s eyes before he left.

When he closed the door, Castiel heard Sam’s faint, “Thanks, Cas.”

There’s gotta be something you can do. Rowena, you’re our last hope.

Last hope? Come now, Samuel, I should have been your first hope.

Well, you didn’t exactly have a physical body before.

Oh, I’d never let a small thing like that stop me.

Yeah, yeah, whatever. Can you fix him?

Oh, don’t worry, Dean. Your angel is in safe hands. This is very old, ancient magic. Only a very skilled witch could do this. Or reverse it. Luckily, I am a very, very, skilled witch.

So he’ll be okay?

It will take some time, but, yes my dear boy. Your father will be in tip-top shape in no time.

Castiel stepped into pure darkness. The hallway had to be there but Castiel could not see it. He knew there were voices, somewhere, echoing around him, but the words were hard to understand.

All Castiel could do was move forward.

The doors were all closed. The key did not fit them. Soon, the doors faded, becoming hanging numbers and vague rectangles rather than something tangible.

All Castiel could do was move forward.

Castiel smacked into something solid, something like a wall, but he could not see anything but the darkness. The key was knocked out of Castiel’s hand. There was no clink, no sound at all, of it hitting the floor. It fell through infinite darkness, lost.

All Castiel could do was move forward but there was nowhere else to go.

He turned around, leaned against the solid darkness and stared into the gloom.

There was no life here.

Why isn’t it working?

I don’t know! It bloody well should!

Just keep trying, Rowena. It has to work.

Cas. Please.

You dick. You asshole. You wake up right now! You hear me, Cas? I am not losing you again, you hear me?

But Castiel heard those voices, did he not?

The echoing sound of boots on a wooden floor approached Castiel. He made no effort to hide from whatever was coming his way.

The blonde woman appeared in front of Castiel. She held the key in her hand.

“You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?” she asked.

Castiel felt tired. He forced his eyes to stay open. “Figured out what?”

“This place.” She swept her gaze across the darkness before returning her attention. “This emptiness. This Memory Motel.”

“I suppose not.”

The women held out the key. Castiel did not take it.

“It’s all crumbling away,” the woman said. “All the worlds. All the realms. God is taking down every last one.”

“This is one of those worlds?”

“Something like that.” The woman still held the key. “Did you enjoy walking through all those memories? Did you find peace being able to right those wrongs and say goodbye? There were so many for you to choose from and yet, you went and spoke to all those humans. One in particular.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing, really. Just an interesting observation.”

Cas! Cas! C’mon, buddy, c’mon.

The woman looked up.

“You hear them, too?” Castiel asked.

“They are a very determined bunch of humans. And almost humans.” The woman stepped forward and took Castiel’s hand in her own. She pressed the key into Castiel’s palm. “Most people find their door on their own but I’ll help you. It’s right behind you.”

Cas!

Castiel!

Cas! Cas, please!

Castiel turned around. In the darkness, a faint glow in the shape of a rectangle appeared. He raised the hand holding the key. A doorknob made of light shaped before his eyes. The keyhole shone.

“You know,” Castiel said, “there is this human phrase I've learned: ‘my life flashed before my eyes.’ They say it happens when they have a near-death experience.”

The darkness shimmered and shook. The doorknob brightened.

“I may have heard that before,” the woman said.

“Is that what is happening to me?” Castiel stared at the key in his hand. “What happens when I open this door?”

C’mon, buddy, wake up. We need you.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” The woman was right behind him. There was no life here. “No one knows until they walk through.”

I need you.

“The thing is,” Castiel said, closing his palm over the key, “I do. It’s nothing. It’s darkness. It’s the Empty.”

There was no life here.

There was only Emptiness.

Castiel whirled around and thrust the hand holding the key toward the woman’s heart. His hand went right through her. The key clinked against the ground.

The woman grinned. Her face twisted and stretched into a grotesque caricature of a human. Shadows crawled across her face.

“Oh, Castiel, I’ll be back.” The woman’s human veneer dissolved, leaving behind an empty shadow. “You can count on it.”

Castiel!

Castiel heard those voices. He did.

He cast his arms wide and raised his face toward the voices.

“I’m here!” Castiel shouted. “I’m right here!”

The shadows scattered in the light.

“Cas! Cas.” A hand touched Castiel’s cheek, gentle and soft. “Open those eyes for me, buddy.”

The touch chased the remaining shadows away. Castiel opened his eyes, blinking himself back into reality. Sitting on the edge of the bed Castiel realized he was lying upon, Dean looked down at Castiel, lips quivering.

“Thank fuck.” Dean swallowed. “You had me worried there, buddy.”

“I heard your voice.” Castiel made a move to sit up. Dean was ready with a helping hand. At the foot of the bed, Jack, Sam, and even Rowena watched Castiel with wary eyes. “I heard all your voices.”

“Well,” Rowena said, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “I believe that this is another day of wonderful work from the most wonderful witch. I’ll be on my way.”

Sam grabbed Rowena’s shoulder before she could leave and gave her a sincere, “Thank you.”

Rowena fluttered her eyelashes as she searched for something to say. She settled on an eye roll before heading out the door.

“Cas!” Jack nearly leapt to Castiel’s bedside, his grip strong when he hugged Castiel from the side. “You’re okay!”

“Of course I am.” Castiel ran a hand through Jack’s hair. “I have to look after you, do I not?”

Jack squeezed Castiel tighter before letting go. His eyes were wet.

“Well, Jack,” Sam said, “I think it’s time we got some sleep.”

“Oh, I don’t need to sleep that much,” Jack said.

Sam raised an eyebrow, then glanced at Dean. He returned his attention to Jack, his stare steady. Dean did not seem to notice the significant exchange.

“But, uh,” Jack said, standing up and returning to the foot of the bed, “maybe I should now.”

“Good idea.” Sam wrapped an arm around Jack’s shoulders and led him out of the room. “Glad to have you back, Cas.”

Once the door closed behind Sam and Jack, Dean pulled Castiel into a tight, desperate hug. Dean trembled. Castiel could feel it all through his body. Castiel rested his hands on Dean’s back and waited.

“You gotta stop doing that,” Dean whispered into Castiel’s ear. Dean pulled back, just far enough to look into Castiel's eyes. “What happened to you?”

“I went somewhere. Somewhere else. Somewhere I had the opportunity to speak to people in my past.” Castiel licked his lips. He still did not fully understand what happened. He was still unsure if any of it was real, but he did remember how Dean grabbed his wrist and asked him to stay. “I saw you.”

“Huh. I don’t know how to take that.”

“That’s okay. I’m not sure I know how to take it myself.” Castiel ran a finger over Dean’s jaw. “Or the fact that you called me an asshole.”

Dean snorted, then broke out into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. “Dude. You swore.”

“I can do more. Uh, shit. Damn. Ass. Fuc--”

Dean cut Castiel off with a kiss. Dean took his time, his touch gentle and soft. Castiel opened himself to Dean, accepting anything he wanted to give, and taking anything he offered.

When they parted Dean smiled. “I am such a bad influence on you.”

“Not all bad,” Castiel said.

Dean sagged against Castiel, resting his head against Castiel’s chest. Castiel secured an arm around him and wrangled them both into the bed. Dean burrowed into Castiel’s side and closed his eyes.

Lying there, with Dean sleeping in his arms, Castiel could almost ignore the shadows creeping at the edges of the room. Almost, but not quite.

Castiel listened to Dean's steady breathing as he slept. Castiel listened to the footsteps passing by the bedroom door. Castiel listened to Sam's whispers to Jack.

There was life here.

Castiel heard their voices. He did.

He focused on the life around him.

The shadows receded.

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lizstiel · 4 years

Text

The Sword and The Shield [1303 words. PG. deancas ficlet/finale speculation. the power of love and friendship saves the day, etc. etc.]

When Chuck turns, he is nothing but fury and rage and a hateful righteousness that roots Dean to the spot on pure, animal instinct alone. His voice, usually so light, booms around them -- “Okay, you know what? I’ve had enough of this.”

Dean had known it would likely end like this. He spares a quick glance down the beach, where Jack is hauling Sam onto his feet, the weapon Billie fashioned for them hanging loosely from one red, shaking hand. On the other side of him Michael, wearing Adam’s face, is charging at them as fast as he can -- but Dean knows he won’t make it in time.

Chuck raises a hand, fingers poised to snap, and Dean, not knowing what else he could possibly do in this situation, just closes his eyes. The snap rings out like a clap of thunder, loud and definitive. Dean counts the seconds -- one, two, three. But nothing happens. He feels nothing. He cracks open one eye, and yes, here are his hands buried halfway in the sand. Here is his aching knee and the blood hot in his mouth.

He hazards a glance up, and sees that he’s surrounded by a vivid, humming light. All energy and focus and something that picks the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck to attention. It’s soft, and blue, and he thinks -- yeah, right there, in the light -- the familiar slope of tightly-held shoulders, the long stretch of his stupid coat fluttering in the wind and -- “Cas?”

It’s like looking directly into the sun, but there is his face, and his tired eyes, and the pull of his lips as he smiles slow and soft and sweet in that way that’s only ever meant for Dean. He’s insubstantial though, like a ghost -- Dean can see Chuck seething on the other side of him. His heart thunders in his chest as he remembers the black, consuming darkness of The Empty dragging Cas away from him not even a week before.

Chuck roars and raises his hand, as if to smite them both, but this version of Cas grabs him by the wrist before he can deliver the blow. He turns his eyes to his father, and says something low and heated in Enochian that surprises Chuck enough that he recoils. Dean is distantly aware of Michael, having now reached them, staring on in amazement just as Cas pushes Chuck away. He stumbles and falls back, swearing loudly.

Michael makes a soft, ruined sound, and when Dean turns to look at him he’s surprised to find what look like tears shining in Adam’s eyes. He’s covering his mouth with one hand, the other on his stomach, glancing between the shining light of Castiel and Dean in open disbelief.

Sam is there in the next instant, hauling him to his feet. Jack is seconds behind. They stumble away as Chuck rises, angrier now than they’d ever seen him. He glares into the light hatefully. “Oh, Castiel -- you were my biggest mistake.”

Castiel says nothing, just stands between his father and Dean, exuding defiance. It’s then that Michael says, almost breathless -- “He can’t touch you, Dean.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Dean snaps.

The archangel shakes his head, mouth working as he tries to decipher just what it is he’s seeing. “He -- Castiel -- when he pulled you out of Hell, Dean -- did he leave a mark? Some kind of brand?”

Dean’s stomach twists. He doesn’t like where this is headed. “I mean, yeah. But he healed it years ago.”

“No he didn’t.” Michael’s eyes are wide, all the light from Castiel reflected there. “Superficially, maybe -- but it stayed with you. With your soul.”

“This was never supposed to happen.” Chuck looks at his oldest son, lip curled in disgust. “None of this. He changed my story.”

“Wait, what?” Dean’s head feels like it’s going to split open. “What’s going on?”

“Dean, you’re The Sword.” Michael’s voice is soft. “My Sword, destined to be my vessel. It was written in the stars, in the tablets, in every story since the Beginning -- it was your destiny, God’s plan. But Castiel --” He stops, a small breath escaping him. “He changed it.”

“How?” Dean thinks he hears himself speaking, but he sounds small and foreign to his own ears.

“You’re The Sword -- but Castiel -- he became Your Shield.”

There is a moment, where all the noise and light seems to get sucked out of the world, where it’s just Dean in an infinite darkness with this sweeping, helpless feeling settled somewhere in his ribcage. He’s screaming, and he’s pleading, and then there is a light -- and that light wraps itself around him and makes him whole again. He’s crying, he’s begging this creature to help him, please God, help him, get him out of here -- and Castiel isn’t speaking so much as he’s showing Dean that yes, of course, he will protect him. He will always protect him. And then Dean is waking up in his coffin gasping for air and --

The present comes screaming back into focus, and Dean feels himself weaken at the knees. The light around him intensifies, the ghostly form of Castiel straightens at the spine.

“When he was alive…” Sam starts, but trails off, shaky and unsure.

“He could protect you himself -- but now that he’s gone,” Michael continues. He looks at Dean, sympathy etched into every line of his face. “This is the last piece of him on Earth -- the grace he left with you when you were saved.”

“He’s protecting you,” Jack says with all the wonder and amazement Dean feels echoed in himself, while what Jack doesn’t say hangs heavy in the air between them: one last time.

“And this?” Michael motions to Castiel, to Chuck. “This is stronger than even Him.”

Chuck bristles, and then -- “It might stop me for now, but it won’t stop me forever. The amount of grace he left is finite. You’ve got minutes, at best.”

“Yeah well,” Sam says from just behind Dean’s right shoulder. “We don’t need long.”

He raises the weapon Billie made them, a long, silver gun, to Dean’s shoulder - levels it there - and without a moment’s hesitation, puts a bullet in between Chuck’s eyes. There is a second where everything just stops - and then an ancient, terrible noise spills from between Chuck’s parted lips and they’re enveloped in a burning white light. It seems to go on forever, stars and suns and supernovas dying and being reborn in the time it takes for the world to return to them, but it does eventually end -- and when it does, they are staring down at Chuck’s lifeless body in disbelief.

“You did it,” Jack says half-sobbing. Already weak from their earlier battle with Amara, he crumples to his knees in the sand. Sam follows him, and they both laugh in that unhinged, breathless kind of way that borders on the hysterical. Michael stares at the hollowed out eyes of his Father, an incomprehensible emotion held in the set of his jaw. And Dean --

Dean watches Castiel, head tilted up towards the sun. His eyes are closed. Dean says his name very quietly, and then he’s knelt in front of him, soft around the edges. His light gutters and sparks. Dean knows he doesn’t have long. He wants to reach out and touch him, hold him here, keep him from leaving -- but his hands pass right through him.

“Please,” Dean says brokenly.

Castiel smiles, and reaches back to him, but stops just before touching his shoulder. His eyes have a faraway look about them. Without moving his mouth, Dean hears his voice from somewhere in the very center of him saying, I’m sorry, Dean.

The next moment, the light sparks one last time, and Cas is gone.

Dean closes his eyes.

#mine #my fic #deancas #destiel #spn #supernatural #um #i feel like this belongs in an anime and not spn but whatever #hey guys guess what #all i do is think about the end of this show #i need it to end #so i can have PEACE #jesus christ #anyhow

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walkingaline · 2 years

Text

King, Jack, Jolly

Hello, friends, and welcome back to the Crowley Reverse Resurrection Bang 2021!

This time, we have a heartwarming holiday story written by yours truly, almost by accident and with absolutely zero regret.

I had the chance to create a story starting from the incredibly sweet artwork of @droolovacoco. This is the masterpost to go and swoon over her brilliant creations, by the way. I have not enough words to praise her.

Special thanks to @raspberrymama for patiently going through this, and to @dmsilvisart and @demonologist-in-denim for running the bang. You’re all amazing.

You can also read this one on AO3, as usual.

Summary: when things in the Apocalypse World take an unexpected turn, Crowley finds himself in the role of begrudging caretaker. He must now look after Jack, who seems determined to carry his father’s torch by disobeying, causing mischief and riding a highly improbable "noble steed". Becoming an uncle will also force the King of Hell to confront memories and search for answers about himself.

Warnings: non, pals. It’s Christmas Eve, I need to be soft.

Relationships: gen.

Word count: 7,3K

The creaking wooden tables on the bedroom floor and the grey sky, hanging low enough to seem determined to crush whatever lies below the clouds, pair and drip in a distilled sense of claustrophobia. It wraps tightly around Crowley’s throat, forcing him to slide a finger between his skin and the impeccably tight collar of his shirt, a weak attempt to make some room for a breath.

It’s a helpless, futile human gesture. He wasn’t prepared to face that situation, he wasn’t prepared to be there. He wasn’t prepared to be, at all. Not anymore, not at this point. He had a plan and he was ready to execute it, but things, as they always do when the Winchesters are involved, went sideways.

If only Dean didn’t yell at Sam, Lucifer wouldn’t have found the spell before it was ready to be cast, thwarting their efforts. What followed was a blur of flailing limbs, punches, bites, and sharp pain. Crowley accidentally tumbled through the shimmering passage midair and had no time to head back in the fray. When he stood back up and tried, Castiel was hurled through it, crashing ruinously into the demon.

One, two, maybe three. In the mere seconds that Crowley spent to make sure that the wingless angel was still alive, the passage flickered and dissolved, sealing away the ashy theatre of angelic wars and trapping the boys in it.

They were granted no time to process that, though. A tidal wave of light and power shook the house from the foundations to the roof, a small earthquake rumbling below their feet. Cas and Crowley rushed inside, the angel devouring the stairs to arrive first to the makeshift delivery room.

Crowley stopped on the threshold and waited outside, not even knowing where that sudden discretion came from. And now, Castiel is walking to him, holding a newborn in his arms, looking terminally exhausted and questioning every step he’s made so far. He stares at Crowley, divided, opening and closing his mouth a few times, unsure about what to say, or how to do it.

“I need you to hold Jack,” Castiel finally declares in a rough tone, stopping too close to Crowley, but still holding the baby tight against his chest. “Just know that he is way more powerful than you could even imagine. If you try to take him away, he’s going to…”

“For God’s sake, Castiel, shut up and go bury that poor woman,” Crowley sharply cuts the ramblings of his unexpected companion. He doesn’t have enough patience left for that, and he’s not going to be bossed around by the most disheveled angel of the garrison.

With a distrustful grimace on his face, Castiel holds the baby for a moment longer, whispering something to him. Crowley can only catch his own name, and gibberish nonsense, since Castiel is speaking a form of Enochian that Crowley doesn’t know. Then, with all the clumsy, excessive care tinged with anxiety of someone who just became a father, Castiel deposits Jack in Crowley’s arms.

“Was that so hard?” Crowley scoffs, finally looking down at the cause of all that disarray. The baby looks absolutely unremarkable, much to Crowley’s disappointment: perfectly human down to every last bit. Well, except for the golden sparks chasing around his irises, and the power flowing around him, forming waves like static electricity around him.

Not that different from an old TV, Crowley considers. Sure, tapping firmly on top of this one might cause the end of the whole universe, but still.

And yet, that baby reminds Crowley of something. A different place, a different time… a different version of himself. Just like Fergus’s long gone son, Jack exacted his mother’s life while coming into this world, and just like him he shouldn’t be considered responsible for that, or for whatever mayhem ensued from his birth.

The boys may be gone, but so is Lucifer. And with the rift between the worlds sealed for good, isolating him in a world torn apart by Michael, and adding the Winchesters on top of that, the odds don’t seem to be in his favour. That truly might be the end of the Bringer of Light.

As for Crowley, it is likely that the entirety of Hell is on his heels, but that’s something he’s handled before. He can think of a plan while lulling that creature to sleep. For a moment, he evaluates Castiel’s choices, and surprisingly approves of them. With all that switching sides and conning allies, the bunch of plumes is considerably rising in Crowley’s appreciation.

With an atypical gentleness, Crowley pulls down the edge of the blanket in which Castiel wrapped the baby before hastily leaving, and he studies the most powerful creature of the universe as it opens and closes his mouth, echoing Castiel’s movements of just a few moments ago.

During his examination, Crowley is caught off-guard by a treacherous feeling creeping up through his chest: hope.

That baby, that presumably all-knowing, all-powerful baby, the embodiment of free will, chose Castiel as his parent. Despite his qualms on the whole angel-ness of the selection, Crowley can see the reason behind the choice. The closest thing to Lucifer, without the whole evil twist. A tad bland, but reasonable.

But right now, that bundle of phenomenal cosmic powers, is staring at the King of Hell, the ruler of evil, the pure quintessence of every vice and horror humanity ever conceived… and he’s yawning, blinking slowly at him. It wasn’t too long ago that Crowley was rambling about second chances and improving things… and now the thing that convinced Castiel to break away from the Winchesters is being happy and comfortable with him.

“Well, nice to meet you, Jack,” Crowley murmurs, a weak smile drawing back his lips.

When Cas is done with his sorrowful task, it’s nighttime. He had decided to dig Kelly’s grave by hand, almost without thinking about it. Her brief involvement with angels brought forth disastrous results, so to bury her properly and without heavenly interference felt fundamental.

Covered in dirt, sweaty and deeply fatigued, Castiel steps back into the room and freezes, unprepared to the scene that welcomes him.

Crowley is treading back and forth through the room, under the bright rainbow painted on the wall of the nursery, holding Jack between his arms. He’s staring down at the baby, barely acknowledging Castiel’s presence. For the first time since their paths crossed, Castiel recognizes something akin to serenity in Crowley’s being, and a doubt creeps at the back of his mind.

“It’s done,” he simply announces, seeing Crowley’s head moving towards him in the dim light of the house.

“About bloody time. Do you already have a plan?” Crowley asks, looking directly at the battered angel.

“Not really,” Castiel admits. He hasn’t had a chance to elaborate whatever happened until now, let alone planning ahead.

“Well, you might be in luck,” Crowley begins. “I have a place not far from here, but we can’t get there with that rusty thing you insist on driving. We’d be dead by the time the engine starts.”

“I don’t remember asking for your help,” Castiel says, now moving closer to Crowley. He tried not to raise his voice to not upset Jack, but his jaw is set in a hard line, his shoulders squared, as if he’s anticipating a confrontation.

“Castiel, if you want to be stupid and stubborn as usual, could you at least do so while we are not at the epicentre of the most enormous power spike to ever spike since the bloody Big Bang? Demons tend to be attracted to that sort of thing, and the source is right here.”

With a resigned sigh, Castiel reaches out, keeping his arms extended until Crowley deposits Jack there. He murmurs something to the baby, presumably hoping to prepare him for the teleportation, then makes a small hint to Crowley.

When they appear in what looks like the hall of a mansion, Castiel feels dizzy and nauseous, while Crowley immediately draws his hand away from his shoulders, hissing in pain and cursing between his teeth. Castiel would like to ignore it, but Jack starts wiggling in his hold, making it clear that he doesn’t agree with that decision.

“Are you alright?” he asks in a flat, annoyed tone.

“You bloody angels are always more trouble than it’s worth it,” is Crowley’s irked reply, which Castiel is ready to consider as an affirmative answer.

“We wouldn’t be in this whole situation if it wasn’t for you lot,” Crowley goes on, holding his wrist and glaring at Castiel. “You, Lucifer, and the rest of the feathered daddy issues collection, playing wars on the skin of us all! And that world is the bloody perfect result of it,” he concludes, increasingly angry, stopping suddenly as he looks at Jack.

“I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I have a plan,” Castiel tiredly tries to reassure Crowley. “It’s not like I wanted to be here, in any case.”

“And tell me, fly boy, where do you think you'll go, with every single demon and angel looking for you two? Back to the bunker, admitting that it’s not already raided and destroyed? In some poorly warded motel room?” Crowley asks in his usual taunting tone.

“I…” Castiel stammers, not knowing what to say. He feels powerless and overwhelmed. It makes no difference that Lucifer is no longer in their world. Crowley’s right. Whatever he faced, that was just the beginning. Plus, the idea that the bunker might be gone is… unsettling.

“Look, Castiel, face it. You and I have the same interests, once again,” Crowley presses him before the angel can even think about it. “Stay well away from demons, and shut the Gates of Hell. Working together is the most sensible decision,” Crowley finally cuts the preambles and puts his offer on the table. “I can keep us hidden for a considerably long while, and you can go looking for hunters willing to help us.”

“Why are you so preoccupied with closing the Gates of Hell? It’s the same offer you made to Sam and Dean before… before,” Castiel asks, a painful stab in his heart as he rethinks, for the first time, of the events of the very long day.

“I have my reasons. Why do you care? I’m offering to help. And I know better than trying to bridle a cosmic force for my interest again. Didn’t go well, last time,” Crowley remarks with a bitter laugh, recalling his brief attempt at parenting Amara.

For a long moment, Castiel stays quiet, his brows furrowed and a more worried than usual expression on his face. Then, at last, he nods.

“If I think that you’re trying to use us…”

“Cassie, sometimes I suspect you don’t really listen to me as I speak. Which is a shame, because I am fascinating. Come, I’ll show you around,” Crowley says with a shrug, snapping his fingers and turning on the lights of the place, revealing the ample entrance hall of a manor around them.

Getting used to Jack had been a smooth transition, if by “smooth transition” one meant pushing sharp-edged boulders up a steep slope covered in sandpaper and industrial glue.

Castiel, to begin with the first and most consistent of Crowey’s problems, turned overnight from an insufferable cock to an obnoxiously overbearing hen. That could have been bad enough, but it was just the start.

Of course, Castiel insisted that perhaps a mansion with heavy, dangerous and sharp ancient weapons and cursed items hanging from the walls, numerous flights of stairs and a rich collection of invaluable bottles of liquor might not be the best place to raise a baby.

Horrified by the implication of those observations, Crowley tried to convince the stray angel that his worries were probably unnecessary. Being Castiel a very reasonable being, there was no way to convince him.

After an apparent surrender, Castiel started to baby-proof the place in what he deemed to be stealthy ways.

It started with small things. He would stick rubber caps on the corners of 16th century desks and tables, which Crowley would remove. Then Castiel went for the tip of broadswords, sabres, and muskets. Rubber bands appeared on the perfectly ground edges of battle axes. Crowley patiently incinerated them, only to find them replaced with new ones in brighter colours.

The tension rose, but nothing seemed to happen. They kept up their rubber chess for a while, until Castiel clearly decided that Jack’s safety was well worth a bold statement.

When Crowley strolled past the armour outside his studio, to indulge in his customary nightcap, only to find said armour asphyxiated under two layers of bubble wrap, he ran out of the little patience he possessed. He stomped through the mansion until he found Castiel, and proceeded to yell at him for almost ten minutes straight.

Even Juliet sat down and followed the exchange with a certain interest, not understanding the events unfolding, but glaring at the insolent angel deserving of such an earful from her master.

This obviously didn’t make anything any easier.

The sentence “if you read the books I gave you, you would know that” became Castiel’s favourite refrain for excruciating weeks, introducing nearly every answer to Crowley’s question. There was no way to avoid the flat, grating voice of the angel, pointing out that Crowley’s curiosity was satisfied in the footnotes of page ninety-fuck of another of the books Castiel hoarded like some parenting-fearing dragon.

Crowley was invariably forced to retort, in growing degrees of impatience, that reading books about pregnancy when the baby is a month old and a legendary creature of unimaginable power might be useless, at best.

Castiel wasn’t convinced of it, clearly. Not until Jack threw a fit, unable to fall asleep, and pulverized half of his room, leaving around him a pile of ashes and a slightly toasted and definitely confused hellhound.

While Crowley was left mourning a cursed painting, two invaluable Persian carpets and comforting Juliet, at least the accident determined the end of the bubble wrap guerrilla, and he could finally remove the damn cabinet locks from his bar - without finding new ones in place the following day. A steep price, no doubt, but by then Crowley would have given almost everything to not have to wrestle some hideous piece of plastic just to pour himself a decent glass.

Right now, months after those sort of amusing events took place, Crowley is enjoying a Scotch and the momentary quiet, mulling over the current situation, trying to figure out a solution. The heavy clouds outside, promising snow, remind him of suffocating halls and dark omens, both things he would happily forget.

It’s been months since the boys have been trapped in the Apocalypse world with Lucifer, and, for the first time, Crowley is wondering if that truly will be how their story ends. They are skilled, resourceful, and they have a Mary with them… but the rift is closed. Hermetically sealed and gone forever, shutting every hope to reopen that connection.

If the scientific theories and old magic treaties are even close to being right, it would take anyone an incredible amount of luck to even find the right world. Maybe to find out that those angels succeeded where those of this world failed. Different world, different rules, after all, Crowley considers, a sudden bitter taste spoiling his dram.

Setting down his glass with an annoyed groan, Crowley goes to sit in his favourite armchair, the one placed by the large window in his studio. He might have given up on tailored suits, at least until they’re forced to hide, but comfort goods are never going to be short around him. He closes his eyes, enjoying the scent of the worn leather and the warmth of it, then tilts his head back, staring at the heavy snow falling outside as he reflects on the current situation.

For now, he can consider himself satisfied. He managed to send Castiel to meet Rowena, hoping that his mother will provide them with a spell, maybe from that disgusting but immensely powerful book she carries everywhere. Plus, if the pigeon meets the witch, this means he doesn’t have to, which is always a big plus.

Crowley needs to revamp the angel’s flame, in some way, and this might be the right fashion. He must make sure that the dismayed dove re-emerges from the obsessive, self-flagellating state in which he’s languishing. Castiel surely couldn’t have picked a better moment to channel his inner grieving widow and become even more inept than usual. Especially considering the fact that Jack, their absolute priority, most precious glimmer of hope to shield at all costs from the evil forces and all that, as well as the very reason why everyone ended in that inextricable jumble, still isn’t their only problem.

Castiel seems to have forgotten it, but he and Crowley still must keep up with various tasks: make sure that the spells are in place and adequately reinforced, for one. That alone is a chore that requires energy, time, focus and precious ingredients, which supplies are rapidly depleting.

Then, on the side, there would still be the small matter of keeping Hell at bay, since it’s now sinking in chaos, with no liege to hold demons in place. Kidnapping Lucifer’s son and bringing him there would be an excellent way to secure the throne, at least until the kid is old enough to harness his powers and fend for himself… which should be incredibly early, in case he needed to survive there.

The idea of Jack, alone in Hell, affects Crowley out of the blue. An unpleasant squeeze at the mouth of his stomach forces him to stand up. He then tries to focus on the white flakes that started falling just behind the double-pane, spell-and-bulletproof glass in an attempt to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling crawling up his spine. He wasn’t anticipating that outcome, but it’s time to acknowledge it: he has grown fond of the pest.

“Of course. Winchester to the bone,” Crowley maunders, retrieving his glass and emptying it in a couple of long sips, the slight burn of the alcohol doing nothing to soothe his mind. How vulgar. Appealing to his bloody better side and whatnot. And now, there he goes again, caring for one of them. The son of his nemesis, no less. Perhaps, Crowley speculates with a bitter smile, he shouldn’t have fought that hard to stay alive. He probably wouldn’t have, if he had known he was destined to become a glorified nanny.

As the snow keeps falling and starts gathering in a thick, white blanket that promises to hide everything that can be disliked about the world, Crowley concedes himself a moment to consider the question he’s been avoiding with a steady perseverance. When, exactly, did he start changing?

He knows the cure was a start, but that could not be considered the real beginning… or was it? Is he such a lost cause that even the little good that can come from him must be dragged out with curses and blood, as he’s chained somewhere? With a smirk, Crowley must admit that yes, it certainly seems to fit the idea he has of himself.

As if he’s being called to action, Jack provides Crowley with a much needed distraction from the troubling course of his thoughts. A sudden, loud crash coming from the boy’s room forces Crowley to draw a long, deep sigh and skip the much needed, long-awaited refill of his drink.

He abandons his glass on the coffee table, along with his hopes for a quiet night, turning his back to the ample window and heads for the kid’s room.

He quickly walks through the place, worried by the single crash not followed by other noises, trying to guess which sort of aftermath he will face this time. He even has reasons to be cautiously optimistic: the corridors are not filled with smoke. Plus, no glass seemed to shatter. As Crowley has learned at his own expense, those are both good signs and things for which it is appropriate to be grateful.

Opening the door, Crowley is quite surprised. The author of the noise was not Jack. Instead, Juliet seems to be the responsible. She’s currently pacing along the side of Jack’s crib, clearly displeased with the bars, whimpering and wagging the bushy stub of her tail. Sure enough, the tail of a massive hellhound is engineered to provoke the highest possible amount of damage, just like the rest of the creature, and the lamp and useless bottles of baby products on the floor seem to be the latest testimonies of the notion.

“Juliet. Down,” Crowley orders, more amused than vexed by the massacre of trinkets left behind by the hound’s aggravation.

In all fairness, Juliet seems to be about to obey, but Jack lets genetics win and decides to antagonize Crowley. He sticks a small arm through the bars of the crib, offering a frog from his zoo of stuffed animals to Juliet. In response, she springs back on her paws and accepts the invaluable token of friendship that’s been offered to her.

“I see,” Crowley says, rolling his eyes, “my mansion first, and now my dog? What will you claim next, kid?”

His question is ignored, but Crowley witnesses something he wasn’t prepared to see: Juliet, now using a carefulness that he has never seen before. It’s not everyday that one gets to witness how a hellhound operates her scalpel-sharp fangs to pick up a stuffed animal without damaging it, a split hair away from a baby’s minuscule fingers.

Crowley is aware that Jack is invulnerable (though Castiel might be better off not knowing how exactly he came to the conclusion, unless Crowley is ready for a new book-dumping), but that doesn’t seem to matter now. Juliet would rather die than hurt the kid, Crowley can tell that with no hesitation.

“Fine, you’ve proven your point. But we still agreed that you would leave me some quiet time to meditate over a nip… and you’re actively keeping that from happening. How are you going to justify yourself?” Crowley scolds him, leaning against the side of the crib and staring down at Jack.

The only answer he gets is Jack’s wide smile, plus a jaunty giggle. It makes Crowley absolutely sure that Jack is aware that he’s breaking his curfew, and he’s likely very proud of it.

“You,” Crowley grouches, bending down to pick Jack up, “have the same attitude of your father and godfathers, you know that?” he asks, lifting him up enough to have him eye-to-eye.

Jack’s giggle turns into a quick laugh, while he reaches down and tries to grab the crown depicted on Crowley’s shirt, forcing him to forget his annoyance.

“Not yet, Jackie boy. We should cultivate that attitude once you’re old enough… though bedtime is not negotiable. I hope you know that. This is just a little private party we’re having while Feathers is away,” Crowley remarks as he delicately leaves Jack free to roam the room before he starts fussing. He’s growing fast, much faster than a normal kid. He babbles and, unfortunately for Crowley and Cas, he’s already perfectly able to stand up and waddle about, just like he’s trying to do now.

“I bet your father would be the sort to put that on a bumper sticker, you know? Just the thing missing from that hideous heap of rust he insists on driving,” Crowley jokes, observing Jack steadying himself on wobbly legs. He dodders across the room, going for the small mountain of stuffed animals grouped in a corner and, as soon as he gets there, he drops facefirst on top of it with a soft squeal of delighted satisfaction.

“Ah, I see you inherited the hedonistic vein of your uncle Gabriel, too. Excellent choice,” Crowley appreciates, feeling somewhat relieved. For months now, Crowley has kept a close eye on Jack. He feared to spot signs of Lucifer manifesting in him, especially after that first accident. That child opened a portal between worlds before even being born and Castiel seemed far too busy being morose to notice anything. Luckily, so far it would seem that stuffies and toys are the only thing holding his attention, aside from Juliet.

Though, Crowley carefully ponders, that’s unfair towards the kid, isn’t it? To force him into expectations, to make him someone he might not be. Jack is already going to be defined by his powers for the rest of his life. The least Crowley can do, in his role of semi-affectionate caretaker and begrudging distant uncle, is lessen the burden he inherited by his father.

Isn’t that the least he owes to Jack, the first person who could see his essence and still decided that Crowley could actually be something more, something different? Shouldn’t he stop considering him just the son of Lucifer, or a capital to protect, much to his own advantage? As a matter of fact, he is fully caring for the boy… way more than necessary, too.

A gentle tug at the leg of his pants distracts Crowley and convinces him to look down. Jack is looking at him, offering him a stuffed bee, with a questioning expression. With a smile, Crowley sits on the floor, eye to eye with the pocket-sized nephim.

“Is that why you’re being fussy? You miss Feathers?” he asks, guessing correctly when Jack pulls the bee back against his chest and gently cradles it between his arms. Also, the kid should probably practice his lying skills, because the smile on his face gives away his very elaborate heist.

“Well, I surely don’t need you to turn this room into rubble and regret just because you can’t sleep,” Crowley declares. That said, he might also have just admitted to having a soft spot for that tiny creature. After all, Jack seems to have trusted him unconditionally since their very first meeting. Reaching out, Crowley takes the bee from Jack’s outstretched hands.

He carefully looks at it, then shakes his head, but with a soft smile on his lips. He looks at Jack, amused by his expression, and hands him back the bee. Jack tucks it safely under his armpit, then stares at Crowley with a questioning expression, clearly demanding an explanation.

“Cas is going to be back tomorrow, or in a couple of days, tops. I know you miss him, but believe me when I tell you that sending him away was the best option for all of us,” Crowley explains to Jack, suspecting that the kid understands every single word he says, although he might not know the context of the conversation, or why Cas had to be sent away from him.

“Fine, especially for me. But,” Crowley confesses, grabbing the pink stuffed bunny Juliet just brought over, “I’m sure that this happy chap will keep you excellent company. It might not carry you around, but I promise you, way less broody than him. And it didn’t rush in after you decided to channel your destructive tendencies,” he weighs in, swinging the thing in front of Jack. “Besides, weren't you a fan of the silent type?”

Jack pouts and furrows his brows as he holds the little bee tighter against his chest, in a clear rebuke of Crowley's offer. In response, Crowley only draws a short sigh.

“I see. Half angel and raised by a Winchester. Programmed to be faithful to the father,” he muses. Jack tilts his head, blond wisps of hair falling on his forehead. He's still sporting the disappointment he displayed a moment ago, but now he's probably trying to understand why Crowley sounded less than enthusiastic about those names.

“Oh, don’t you look at me like that. Like Cas hasn’t already drowned you in stories about Sam and Dean’s heroic attempts and sacrifices to save… well, more or less everything. I’m certain you won't go a single day without hearing some captivating tale starring the flannel-clad heroes.”

And just like that, Crowley is hit by the truth hidden in his statement. Sure, Jack hasn’t met Sam and Dean, but that doesn’t mean that he’s not going to carry them with him as he grows. Through the stories of Cas and Crowley. Through the gratitude of everyone who’s ever been saved by them. They are going to be kept alive, whether they are going to be back or not.

For the briefest instant, Crowley wonders what would be his legacy. The stories that Jack would hear, growing up without anyone interested in recounting his point of view. Would he be the villain of the story? Would he be a monster, looking for redemption, or a man trying to right all the countless wrongs he's done? Would he even be there, or would he be forgotten, just some nameless demon, the King of Hell and a nuisance that decreased and disappeared along the way? It would be easy to forget him. To forget what he did. A few years of making the right decisions cannot even begin to make up for centuries of deliberate misdeeds. Would he be forgotten like Fergus was?

In another rare epiphany, Crowley realises what lies behind the sense of uneasiness that has haunted him since he first cradled Jack between his arms. He recognizes the sticky hold and the haunting feeling of distant, unforgivable mistakes.

He was alone, like Jack is. He knows what it’s like to grow up without a family, without a mother’s love. He has been there, and the thing haunted him so badly that it almost cost him his throne and his life, centuries after he was turned into a demon… and yet, this didn’t keep him from being a horrible father, when he had the opportunity to be one, when the wound was still fresh enough.

Gavin’s need for love and attention did nothing but heighten Fergus’s frustration. He became entitled, seething with rage, simply because he didn’t leave. It would have probably been better if he did, like MacLeods seem so skilled at doing. And yet he stayed, and he knew that, in the beginning, he could do no wrong with Gavin. Everything was enough to have the boy looking up at him.

While tormenting Gavin, Fergus realised the horrible truth: it took almost nothing to be a decent parent. He just had to not do things: not beat him. Not yell at him. Just treat him like a person. And yet his mother couldn’t bear to do even that. She had decided to leave him.

Whenever he had the chance to do so, Fergus chose to inflict his decision to stay on Gavin, to have him pay for whatever inconvenience came from it, and mostly for doing what Rowena had refused to do. Selling his soul had been just a way to cut things short, Crowley admits, a sharp ache surging in his chest as he looks at Jack, smiling in delight as he hugs the stuffed bee.

And now, Jack decided to trust him, Crowley reminds himself once again, hanging on his thread of thoughts.

It was surprising, at first. Shocking, even. A baby who knows everything, who promised to Castiel a whole world turned into Heaven, without violence or war, chose to be picked up by the true personification of evil and depravity, apparently without the slightest hesitation. Talk about poor judgement.

Crowley would be lying if he denied that he wondered about it for a long time. He wasn’t expecting to be given another chance, especially since he had vouched to kill both the mother and the baby, and Jack must know.

Another high-pitched blab attracts Crowley’s attention, a second before Jack almost trips and plants his face against Crowley’s chest.

“Hold up, mate. You’ll need to look dignified once you grow up. Bear yourself like a proper universe-shattering force,” Crowley chides Jack in a gentle tone as he helps him to find his balance back.

Trying to prop himself up again, Jack grabs Crowley’s shirt, and a moment later Crowley feels something hard between the tiny hands and his chest. Looking down, he sees that Jack is now holding a golden crown, while the one on his shirt is gone.

“Well, that’s a very nice trick, boy,” Crowley appreciates, vaguely worried with the frightening notion of Jack already being able to materialise things from thin air without a spell to aid him, and apparently without even making an effort.

“Did you make this for yourself?” Crowley asks, reading clearly the mischievous joy in Jack’s eyes. He didn’t do it by accident, there was a plan behind the act.

Jack stares at him, then shakes his head and points at Juliet. “Jolly!”

Quicker than she’s ever been to answer Crowley’s calls, Juliet crawls on her belly to reach Jack, wagging her tail and trying to look as innocent as possible. It is indeed a difficult task to achieve, given the flaming eyes and the hellfire glinting through her ribs, or the inappropriately high number of sharp teeth, but it seems to work.

Jack devotes all the very short span of his attention to Juliet, and, grabbing the crown with both hands, delicately pushes it around her snout. Then, by some new blaze of magic, the crown flickers and enlarges, slipping just perfectly around Juliet’s neck.

“Ah!” it’s the satisfied statement made by Jack. He keeps his hand around the crown, almost hugging Juliet. Then, as per their very personal tradition, Jack starts to scramble and fumble, trying to gain his very unusual, much loved position.

Not even thinking about interfering with the delicate process, Crowley stays still, truly entertained by the laborious climb attempted by Jack. Juliet stays still, still happy by the new little friend in her life, ignoring the pinches and pulls of Jack’s hands.

At last, after a few seconds of struggles and efforts, Jack is finally sitting astride Juliet’s back, mounting a hellhound as his very own nightmarish stride. Overjoyed by the success of the little thing, Juliet carefully stands up, while Jack starts bouncing up and down to incite her to move around.

“You know… I’m pretty sure that, out of context and properly elaborated, this would make a wonderful additional line for the Apocalypse. Like a bonus track for those who read until the end,” Crowley reflects. “And there came the fifth horseman, half Adversary and half human, riding the herald of Hell… what do you say? Dramatic enough?”

Too busy burrowing his hands in the thick dark fur of Juliet’s back, Jack doesn’t care for Crowley’s words. Juliet, in turn, moves towards Crowley. The hellfire gleams gently in a dark red glimmer through her ribs, and the half-closed eyes tell Crowley that she’s definitely enjoying her new life as noble steed of Sir Jack of the secluded manor. Even the omnipresent smell of sulphur has faded enough to the subtle note of a stricken match, instead of a whole lake fuming and puffing.

As he lifts an arm to pet Juliet’s head, Crowley starts thinking again, this time about Jack, his new role, and the question that’s been nabbing at him for the past few weeks. Because of course Crowley knows that he was already going through some sort of change. He’s not an idiot, and he spent three centuries and more in the company of himself. He was aware that the cure triggered something, something that perhaps was already there, smothered under merciless brutality and kept hopelessly broken to serve a twisted purpose.

The imperturbable façade and his glacial propriety kept everything hidden, but Crowley had already started to question his role while battling Abaddon for the throne. He had started to wonder if he really wanted that bloody throne, and the resounding yes that he answered to himself, avoiding further investigation of the topic, was followed by the tiniest, almost invisible question mark.

Of course, he is determined to survive, he ponders as Juliet trots around the room and Jack’s laughter echoes on the high stone walls. It may be that he decided to change because he knew that, one way or another, the Winchesters were going to get him, so he could at least try to make them question their decisions. Fool them into thinking that he could be tamed and useful, if not one of them.

Jack’s euphoric prattle directed at Juliet’s shoulder blades raises one objection, though: the boys are gone. They’ve been for months. And yet, there he is, looking after Jack, helping Castiel - of all angels, the one who nearly had him killed - and even reaching out to Rowena with non-murderous intents.

Standing up to enforce bedtime for the little knight, Crowley tells himself that it may be time to accept that change doesn’t always come from where it’s expected.

“So… was dear mother useful, this time?” Crowley readily investigates, sitting in his faithful armchair while an exhausted Castiel crumbles on the couch, drained by his quest and the ultimate challenge of convincing a very excited Jack to fall asleep.

“Ugh,” Castiel groans, remembering his meeting with Rowena in a clearly not fond way. “She thinks so, but she wants access to the bunker’s library. Says that there might be a spell there.”

They ascertained that the bunker is still there, safe, sound and unscathed by innumerable attempts of getting past the impenetrable warding - a contraption that Crowley himself had several frustrating chances to test. And now, of course, Rowena is about to exploit the last remaining person in possession of a key.

“How wonderfully convenient. I hope you’re not considering…” Crowley begins, but Castiel cuts him short before he can finish evoking all the dire consequences of a possible agreement.

“We’re going there next week.”

Crowley glances at Castiel, and he can tell that there's something different about him. True, it looks like his brief mission and the long drive were extremely taxing. His hair would not even be chosen as a nest by a mentally ill crow, and his tie is so askew that it would probably be easier to just spin it around his neck and hope that it will stop in some more acceptable position… but there's more to it.

“Castiel…”

“Crowley, I know,” Castiel snaps, rubbing the base of his nose between his fingers and closing his eyes, “and I don’t think it’s a good idea, either.”

“Good, then what…”

“And don’t get me started on the idea of spending more time with her,” he goes on, shuddering at the thought.

Crowley smiles in his glass, knowing far too well what Cas is on about. “Ah. Bet that now our little Lucifer hunt doesn’t look that bad.”

“It was a much different kind of pain, but I never questioned the relationship between the two of you,” Castiel grunts, not wanting to admit that Crowley might be right.

“Try living with her, then you can complain to me. Tell me, did she hum "Flower of Scotland" to annoy you, too?”

“Do you even have to ask?” Castiel answers with a dramatic eye roll. “And she kept going on about wee Jack here and Samuel there...” the angel goes on, trying to imitate Rowena’s thick brogue and making Crowley almost choke on his whisky.

When the danger of bursting out in a fit of laughter finally subsides, Crowley solemnly sets his glass on the coffee table and looks at Castiel, with a new seriousness dawning on him.

“I need you to make me a promise, Castiel.”

“A… what kind of promise?” he immediately answers, straightening his back in response to the sudden shift in the atmosphere between them.

“You know me and my history. I have been to Hell. I have had Rowena living with me for months. I know pain, inside and out, and that couldn't compare to this experience. You must give me your word that you will never again, under any circumstance, try to imitate a Scottish accent.”

Crowley is extremely proud of himself for the flurry of expressions chasing one after another on Castiel's face, and he's surprised when the angel’s only reaction is a weak scoff, followed by a short chuckle.

“I'm sure my impression of your mother was not the most flattering.”

“It was atrocious. But, to think of it… you could try to make that in front of her. I'm sure she'll hate it. Maybe if you make her angry enough, she’s going to be quiet and try to set you on fire telepathically.”

“... can she do that?”

“She says she can, but I suspect that it’s all about being light-fingered and placing hex bags beforehand. By the way, did you check your pockets when you left?”

Castiel nods, his expression darkening at the memory of the last time Rowena was close enough to curse him. The following ones had been difficult days, for sure.

“Don’t you blame yourself for it, Castiel,” Crowley tries to cheer him up, looking down at the glass in his hand. “She’s done that to all of us.”

“I still don’t understand why man-made magic can impede an angel,” Cas mutters, pretending to not be impressed by how easily Crowley is able to follow his thoughts.

“I guess we both have scores to settle with our parents, then.”

A comfortable silence follows another couple of jokes, and it fills the room. The winter, freshly started, is offering the two unusual guests of the manor a mesmerizing show, with sudden gusts of wind lifting the powdery snow and drawing elaborate, ephemeral figures in the spotlights of golden light coming from the studio’s windows.

The warmth of the fire crackling in the fireplace is a familiar comfort, inviting them to spend just a bit longer in their seats, to watch the world turning into a winter marvel for another while, while the logs burn red and slowly turn to ash.

Crowley now knows for sure that Castiel is going to be alright. Hope might kill him, in the end, but for now? For now it sets him back on his feet, broken wings and all, and that's enough.

Hope might get him, too, in the end. Running with the good guys, letting Hell go to Hell, embracing his redemption right around the end of the year, watching the snow gather outside, like some kind of literary cliché. With the difference that, if he pulled out some holly or mistletoe, Castiel would start to list all the ways that they could harm Jack.

After all, Crowley tells himself, if it's not hope, it's going to be something else. An angel's blade. A spell. Maybe even a demon knife, or the blue tidal wave of angelic touch. He died once, he will die again. But no one said that he must be miserable as long as he's alive.

If his new life’s purpose comes from rescuing the boys and protecting a kid, he will gladly endure all the jokes he must endure once those two morons are back.

“Say,” Crowley finally speaks again, staring at his improbable counterpart in that once desperate, now hopeful mission, “would you care for a glass?”

The satisfied smile on Castiel's lips confirms Crowley's suspicions. He hasn't been the only one to keep tabs. Cas might actually be smarter than what Crowley believed.

“Why? I can't really taste it, and it takes me a considerable amount of alcohol to start to get drunk. Would you waste it like that?”

Castiel's question, clearly referring to the unspoken part of Crowley’s offer, is met with an annoyed shrug.

“Bloody Hell, Feathers. There’s no need to be this dramatic. What do I have to lose, after all?” Crowley says with a smirk as he stands up from his spot. “Let me find you a glass.”

Thank you so much for reading!

This wasn't supposed to be a holiday fic, but it somehow evolved into it. Crowley's journey from demon looking for redemption to accidental, genuine caretaker seemed to fit perfectly the need for reflection that sometimes accompanies us through the darkest time of the winter, and the beginning of a new year in sight could only seem fit for the new direction he decides to fully embrace.

I'm sure that Jack, Cas and Juliet would prove to be excellent companions for him, and that, Winchesters or not, the world won't be without one Team Free Will for long.

Happy holidays to one and all!

#of course it's about Crowley #uncle Crowley #Castiel #baby Jack #Juliet the hellhound #spn fic #holiday fic #sort of #my fics #walkingalinewrites #Crowley Resurrection Bang 2021

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