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sinnabonka · 3 years

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PAUSE. REWIND. REPLAY.

inspired by this by @beingforcedtolivebadwriting

He drinks until he’s passed out on the floor. Drinks, watching the feed from the dungeon room on his laptop - he and Cas on screen, gravitating toward each other, two stars headed to destruction.

Cas’ voice, over and over again until the room blurs away, and the world narrows down to three words: “I love you”.

The one thing I want I know I can’t have -- on time, I know I can’t have it on time.

He only says it when it’s too late, when there’s nothing to be done about it. Afraid to hear the bitter truth. Dean was afraid too, he never knew what his own answer was going to be -- until it was too late, until no one was around to hear it, anyway.

Cas. Shards of his heart scattered on the floor.

Rewind. Replay.

I love you.

He pauses the tape, before it’s too late, while he still can pretend this is how it ends. I love you -- and Cas smiles, because this is how it’s supposed to be.

Love is a gift, you keep those. Proud. Precious. Not desperate and heartbreaking.

I love you. I love you. I love you. He’s never taken, he never leaves -- if Dean manages to press pause on time.

I love you.

“And I, you,” to the laptop screen, in the smallest of voices, because that’s all he gets for waiting too long. That’s what he deserves.

I love you.

And I, you.

Was it so hard to say? Just find the words, the simplest of them, and push them out, even if they wanted to stick to his teeth. Let them bounce and roll across the floor.

Let him know.

I love you.

A prayer. A blessing.

I love you.

A curse.

Now just words on a tape, no answer.

There’s a knife in Dean’s hand, still sporting Cas’ blood - it’s the only thing left of him, and if it wasn’t so heartbreaking, it would be telling that only things he left behind were so -- human.

Blood sigil on the door, blood on the knife, blood handprints on his jacket and --

Pause. Rewind. Replay.

I love you.

The hand trembles as the blade cuts into wood, soft and eager under the pressure.

That’s what teenagers do, cut each other’s names into trees. A heart, two names, and “forever.”

I love you.

Rewind. Replay.

I love you.

Because that’s all Dean’s got - his name carved into the tabletop and the “I love you.”

Three words which were supposed to be the beginning of something great.

Instead, they were the end of everything.

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shelikestv · 3 years

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"Yeah," Dean says, even the word punching the air out of his lungs.

His therapist, Nicole, glances at him with approval. He looks away. Part of him likes the feeling of finally getting this right. And part of him feels completely humiliated.

"Yeah, fuck..." he says again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I think I'm bi."

From the corner of his eye, Nicole is giving him an empathetic look, but luckily it's restrained and small. She writes something in her notebook, then sets it down on the desk beside her.

Dean's crying. God, when did he start crying? He's blinking up at the ceiling to try and will the tears away, but it's too late now, the dam is burst and she's watching him. Proud and empathetic and so fucking patient as if this isn't as shameful as it gets.

"It’s normal to get emotional," she says, calmly. "This is a big step."

He almost wants to believe her, if only he couldn't see his father's face in his head.

"I just..." he chokes. He stops himself and he can see the scars on his arms. The ones he's gathered slowly over the years. The ones that chiseled his skin with his name, his legacy.

"People like me," he says, voice cracking. "They can't just. . . change."

He pulls down his sleeves. She just doesn't understand. How could she?

(the rest under the cut)

"This was a bad idea," he says in a high pitched whisper, standing. He's got his fingers laced behind the back of his skull and the room feels white and spinning. He's got to get out of here. This place isn't safe. His eyes dart from corner to corner in the room. He sees the available exits... Windows, mostly, and he imagines crashing through, shards of glass etching more letters into his skin.

"You're safe," Nicole says and it sets him on edge even more.

The only exit he can't seem to find is the door. Where's the door?

She's standing by his side, now, eyes chasing his.

"Deep breaths."

Air. That's what's missing. He can't breathe.

Is he dying?

"Deep breaths, Dean. It's going to be okay."

Dean closes his eyes, tight. He forces himself to suck air into his lungs the way he watches Nicole do it. Deep inhales, long exhales.

He's never stood this close to her, even when he'd started the sessions a year ago trying to flirt heavily. Nicole had largely ignored his advances at first until she'd started calling it 'projecting.' The flirting had died down pretty quickly after that.

Now though, there was an entirely new feeling as she stood close. Vulnerability. Trust.

"I know you want to leave, but it says a lot that you haven't yet," she says calmly walking him through the breaths with her hand motioning against her own chest.

"Pretty sure I've left this office plenty of times over the past year, in case you didn't notice, Doc," he spat.

Nicole takes another deep breath for show, then sets a soft hand on his forearm.

"But you came back," she says gently.

Dean's head is still swimming, but the breathing is starting to calm him a little.

With a light squeeze, she drops her hand again.

"Do you know what that is?" she says.

Dean's crying still. He can't seem to stop, no matter how hard he tries.

"Stupid?" He asks, meaning it to sound like a joke, but instead it sounds so small. Like he's really hoping someone will tell him it's not true.

The room feels like a cage.

His knees are trembling.

Dean hates it. He hates the way his walls are starting to crumble and the way he's not sure who he is without them. Shame is burning in his chest and the windows still call for him to explode them to pieces the way he feels shattered right now. Pay it forward, right?

But he's learning. It's taken a year, but there's one thing he knows now that he didn't know back then--

it won't hurt forever.

Even when he's in what his therapist likes to call "crisis," he can recognize that. And that alone is something it's taken him a long time to learn.

He takes another deep breath.

It's at least ten minutes before he's breathing normally again. With help, he finds his way back into the chair. He wipes his eyes with the edges of his sleeves until they feel rough and dry.

He's tired. He's raw. But, somehow, he also feels lighter.

Finally, his brain has started to slow. It feels like a regular room again instead of a cage, afternoon sun warming the carpet in patches.

Nicole is steady and calm like an anchor, and Dean's always liked that. It's like he's not hurting her when he talks, even if his brain screams the opposite.

They sit in silence for a while. Dean wonders how something that felt so big could dwindle and die like a doused candle. Quick. Calm. Only the smoke left as the air clears between them.

He'd said it. He'd really said it out loud.

"Dean," Nicole says, hands folded across her lap. "That was really brave."

Brave.

Dean looks at the clock in the corner of the room, then to the far wall with light shining through the glass.

He lets out another breath.

Brave.

The room is steady. The space is quiet.

The windows aren't broken.

And, somehow for the first time, he realizes maybe he isn't, either.

#dean winchester #my writing #sorry to interrupt your regularly scheduled saileen 😅#i just felt the need to write this one #bi!dean #dean is bi #destiel #kind of #but we know that's where this is heading for him #evermorecastiel #starlightcastiel #bend me shape me #smiledean #chocolatecakecas #tw panic attack

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spnsmile · 3 years

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No one: Cas has no bedroom

Me brain: Cas shares room with Dean and he's just been kicked out

#thats initially how i read this lmao #destiel zone #destiel #shipper sam #no bedroom to storm off into #share a bed #cockles #sam ships it #spn15 gagreel #crying castiel #aww look at his face #misha collins #starlightcastiel

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livebloggingmydescentintomadness · 3 years

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title: the rhyme of salvation pairing: dean/castiel, background sam/eileen rating: T word count: 6k (complete) tags: fix-it, happy ending, begins at the end of 15x19 summary:

“Nothing human can exist in the Empty,” Jack replied, shaking his head. “It would just - spit you back out, and probably kill you in the process.”

“Then -” Dean pulled in a deep breath. Made his choice. “Then make me not human.”

***

“Not that this isn’t a touching little reunion,” the Empty bit out, yanking Dean’s head back to a harsh angle, “but all the go-getter attitude in the world doesn’t change the fact that Castiel belongs to me.” Its mouth spread in a sinister Cheshire smile. “He agreed to be mine.”

“Yeah, the thing about that is,” Dean said, and shoved back up on his feet, all in the same movement bashing his rocklike head into the Shadow’s stolen skull. It cried out and stumbled back. “I never agreed to it.”

Taking a deep breath, Dean turned and met wide blue eyes. “And he was mine a long time before he was yours.”

read on ao3

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inacatastrophicmind · 3 years

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Title: There’ll Be Peace When You Are Done

Pairing: Dean/Castiel and Sam/Eileen

Tags: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt, Pining, Fluff, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Grief/Mourning, Canon Compliant, Fix-It, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode Fix-It: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, this is a big fuck you to s15e20 Carry On, Happy Ending

Summary: “Do you really think that it’s possible to bring Cas back?” Sam asks in that tone that Dean hates because it means that his brother isn’t fully on board with something. “Jack didn’t really think that it could be done.”

“I don’t care,” Dean says, looking at his brother with determination. “I’ll bring him back home. I’m not gonna let Cas rot in the Empty. I’ll find him and I’ll bring him home. He deserves to be saved. He deserves to be alive.”

·····

Read on ao3

Tag list: @woefulcas @starlightcastiel @bend-me-shape-me

#Destiel #woefulcas #starlightcastiel #bend-me-shape-me #saileen #my writing #otp: i need you #destiel fic #there'll be peace when you are done

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wanderingcas · 4 years

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C’mon Inn destiel, 3k words. a commission for @jensenackhles, who had the most AMAZING prompt of “what if Dean and Cas stayed at an inn that kept making them go into each other’s rooms?”

. . . .

There is absolutely no way that Dean Winchester would ever stay at an inn. Much less a bed and breakfast. Breakfast should be a hearty plate of bacon and pancakes, not unsalted egg whites with freshly-picked garden vegetables piled on top of it. And especially not topped with garnish.

Dean full-out shudders when the innkeeper (an older woman in her fifties with greying, tied-back hair) explains the meal to him. And he would have gotten the hell out of dodge right then and there, too, if Cas hadn’t elbowed him sharply in his side.

“That all sounds wonderful,” his ex-angel partner says with a forced smile. “What time are you serving it?”

“Seven in the morning,” the innkeeper, Cherry, cheerily proclaims.

Dean grins at Cas’s horrified face. Serves Cas right for suggesting this inn of horrors in the first place. “Bright and early, huh?”

“Oh, yes,” Cherry says. “And don’t be surprised if you hear me down in the kitchen earlier than that—I wake up every morning at five, without fail.” She winks.

Dean is beginning to see why this inn has such an open vacancy in the first place, more than the fact that there’s cat wallpaper and decorations on every inch of the walls.

“That’s…” Cas works his jaw and forces a smile. “That sounds wonderful.”

Cherry beams. “Now, which room would you like: Tabby cats or Maine Coons?”

Dean resists an eye roll. “Whichever is fine.”

“And I’ll take the opposite,” Cas adds.

“Oh, you won’t—be staying together?” Cherry asks. At the shake of their heads, her face twists into a frown. “Oh dear. This inn is really for couples only. I know it sounds strange but it’s really better if guests are staying in the same room.”

Cas looks down at their bags with a face that Dean knows well: he calls it Cas’s if I don’t get into a bed and sleep right now I’m going to lose it expression. Dean leans forward onto the welcome desk and gives Cherry his sweetest smile.

“Listen, my friend and I—we’ve had a long day,” Dean says, “and all the hotels in a thirty mile radius are booked up for some god-forsaken reason—”

“The Big Ten Championships are in Columbus this year,” Cherry pipes in.

“Okay,” Dean says, teeth clenched in a smile. “So basically, ma’am, you’re the one who’s deciding if we’re sleeping in a car or a bed. Which one is it gonna be?”

Cherry looks between them. She sighs, and holds out two keys. “Second floor. The Maine Coon suite is right when you walk up the stairs and the Tabby suite is at the end of the hall.”

Dean’s shoulders sag in relief and he grabs the keys. “Great, thanks.” He yanks his duffel bag over his shoulder, along with Cas’s, ignoring his friend’s glare.

“Just, before you go,” Cherry calls after them, tentatively. “If you notice anything—well, strange. Just call me down here in the front desk.”

“Strange?” Dean repeats.

“Yes. Anything unusual.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Whaddaya mean—”

“We will,” Cas says impatiently, pushing at Dean’s back. “Thank you.”

“You think we should keep our eye out here?” Dean whispers to Castiel as they climb up the narrow staircase. “She seemed kinda freaked.”

“I don’t care if a Wendigo comes out of the closet,” Castiel replies, wincing at each step of his injured leg. “I just want to sleep.”

“Fine, you big baby.” Dean deposits Cas’s bag in front of the Maine Coon room and turns the key in the lock. “You can take this one.” He opens the door, switches on the light, and looks in horror upon the Maine Coon wallpaper and framed photos of various Maine Coon cats.

Cas he walks through the door, eyes wide. “Do you suppose this counts as something ‘strange’ to notify Cherry about?”

Dean snorts. “Well, you gotta appreciate a woman who knows what she likes.” He picks up a Maine Coon plush toy from the dresser and grimaces.

“If I wasn’t injured, I’d be tempted to salt and burn this room,” Cas groans, lying on the bed with mud-stained clothes and shoes and all, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Cas,” Dean gasps, dramatically covering the stuffed animal’s ears, “they can hear you.”

Cas narrows his eyes. “Dean, as much as I typically love your antics—right now, they are very irritating to me.”

“Which means you want me to—”

“Leave, yes.”

“Nice way to treat a guy who carried your bag all the way to your room.” Dean picks up his own bag, pointing to Cas’s leg wound. “I’ll be back to clean and dress that thing in the morning.”

“Fine,” Cas sighs, already turning over and pushing his face into the pillow.

After a moment of hesitation, Dean walks to the bed and pulls the quilt over Cas’s body. “You don’t want to catch a cold, idiot,” Dean explains to Cas’s questioning look as he tucks the blankets around Cas’s shoulders.

Cas rolls his eyes, but nonetheless says, softly, “Thank you, Dean,” as Dean shuts the door behind him.

. . .

Dean wakes in the middle of the night with a raging urge to pee. He blames it on the Gatorade that he chugged at the gas station after the hunt. He lays in bed for a minute, considering his options, and deciding that peeing where he sleeps would not be in his best interests.

Hauling his aching and bruised body out the bed, he scratches at his bare chest and stumbles to the door of the attached bathroom. He opens it, and—

Comes face to face with Maine Coon wallpaper.

He blinks into the dark room. Cas is snoring loudly on the bed, limbs flailed across the bed and head tilted back. Dean looks back at his own room, through the door of what he thought was the bathroom, then back at the bedroom.

“I’m dreaming,” Dean says to himself. “Either that, Winchester, or you hit your head a little harder than you thought on that damn hunt.”

He backs up, shuts the door, and goes to use the bathroom in the hallway.

Cas is running a fever when Dean checks on him the next morning. He peels the bandage away on Cas’s leg, and hisses at what he sees.

“Is it bad?” Cas asks, gritting his teeth in pain.

Dean examines the deep gash and the red splotchy skin around the edges of the cut, thinking about how to put it nicely. “Well, you’ll probably lose the leg.”

Wide-eyed, Cas grabs at his thigh. “What—”

“Nah, it’s just an infection. You’ll be fine.”

Cas flops his head back onto the pillow. “Has anyone told you that you have the worst bedside manner?”

“Maybe Sam, once or twice; but he’s a natural-born complainer.” Dean starts winding a fresh bandage around Cas’s leg. “You’ll have to rest up for a few days, get your fever down. No way we’re traveling while you’re like this.”

“That means we’ll have to eat—” Cas winces at the pressure of the bandage around his wound, “—inn breakfast.”

“There’s worse things, Cas. Like, for instance, having to amputate your infected leg.” Dean ties the bandage tightly for emphasis and smiles sweetly at Cas’s glare.

. . .

“Your friend won’t be joining you?” Cherry asks as Dean picks scones off one of the many plates scattered across the table.

“Uh, no. He’s feeling sick. Actually, I should be getting some food up to him, so I can’t really stick around.” Thankfully, Dean doesn’t say.

Cherry seems put out, but forces a smile anyway. “Oh, that’s fine!” She watches as Dean piles eggs on a plate (they’re scrambled with cheese, Cas’s favorite) and a few pieces of toast. “You didn’t notice anything strange last night, did you?”

Dean frowns at the lack of bacon on the table, or meat at all for that matter. “Strange?” he asks distractedly.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I just—I’m just wondering.”

“Nope, nothing strange.” He balances a plate on one hand and two mugs of coffee clutched in the other, giving Cherry a nod. “Thanks for the breakfast.”

He’s really focused on balancing the plates, so it could just be a matter of him not paying attention; but when he goes through the swinging door of the dining room, he only has to walk a few steps when he’s once again in the hallway, right in front of Cas’s bedroom door.

“Huh,” he says to the empty hallway. Making a point to investigate that later, he walks into Cas’s bedroom to give him his breakfast.

. . .

It keeps happening so many times the rest of the day that Dean can’t even chalk it up to distraction, or a concussed head, anymore.

He walks through his bedroom door to the hallway after a phone call with Sam only to find himself in Cas’s bedroom again. Cas goes to bed early that night, and ends up back on the porch where him and Dean were sitting, trying to get some fresh air. Dean walks through his walk-in closet door only to find Cas in the shower, who’s yanking the shower curtain around his body to shield himself.

“Something’s very wrong with this inn,” Dean says, sitting on the bed next to a dripping wet Cas.

“I didn’t even get a chance to condition my hair,” replies Cas, petulantly.

“Dude, you could have finished your goddamn shower.”

“How could I finish, when you walked straight into the shower curtain, Dean? Would you really like me to have continued washing my hair while you were—”

“Okay.” Dean holds up a hand. “Focus on the real problem here, Cas. This inn has something supernatural going on with it.”

Cas frowns down at his bare feet. He wiggles his toes a bit, and Dean instructs himself not to find it adorable. “Does this inn seem malicious to you?”

“No. More like it’s fucking with us.”

“Then there’s our answer.” Cas gives him a lopsided smile. “I hardly think a bed and breakfast that likes to play practical jokes is something worth fretting over, Dean. It’s just some harmless entity. I sensed plenty like it when I was an angel.”

Dean crosses his arms. “Well, I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like it because you presume everything supernatural is going to be dangerous.”

Dean opens his mouth to protest—closes it when he sees the smile in Cas’s eyes. “Fine,” he says. “But if it does anything to piss me off—”

“We’ll investigate it, yes, of course,” Cas says. “Can you please leave my room so I can continue showering?”

“No shower, only a bath,” Dean says, pointing to Cas’s injured leg as he stands. “I don’t wanna have to pick your ass off the floor when you slip and fall on that bum leg of yours.”

“Okay, mother,” Cas says with a roll of his eyes. Dean sniffs in annoyance as he turns the door handle and yanks open the door to walk into the hallway.

He meets Cas’s surprised eyes when he walks right back through the closet door of the bedroom. “Son of a bitch inn!” Dean barks.

. . .

Cas’s fever spikes in the middle of the night. Dean only knows this because when he goes to the bathroom to get himself a drink of water from the sink, he ends up in Cas’s room instead.

“Not again,” he groans, beginning to turn around, when he hears Cas’s rough voice call his name.

“Cas? The hell are you doing up?” Dean whispers in the dark.

“My leg, there’s—” Cas hisses, his words cutting off, “a lot of pain.”

Dean forces down the spike of worry in his gut. He flips on the bedroom light and walks to the bed, where Cas has burrowed himself deep into the blankets. Putting a hand on Cas’s sweaty forehead confirms his fear. “Okay, buddy, you’re burning up. I have Tylenol in my bag, just hang on.”

Cas nods, wincing as he adjusts his leg on the bed. Dean turns before his eyes linger too long on Cas’s pale face. He walks through the door to the hallway… only to find himself back in Cas’s room via the closet.

Dean grinds out a curse and tries again. This time, he makes it to the hallway, but instead of walking through his room, he finds himself in the middle of Cas’s bathroom. He stalks out to the bedroom and ignores the amused look on Cas’s face.

“Look, you goddamn house, I’m trying to get him some freakin’ painkillers!” Dean yells up to the ceiling. “I’ll be right back, so don’t get your panties in a bunch. Jesus.”

“I don’t think the inn has ears, Dean,” Cas says.

Dean points a finger menacingly. “Shut up and rest, and let me deal with this.” He shakes out his shoulders, takes a starting pose, and sprints through the door to the hallway before the house can realize what he’s doing. He continues running down the hall, like an idiot, to his bedroom.

“At least it’s providing you a shortcut,” Cas says sleepily from the bed as Dean walks through his bathroom, Tylenol in hand.

“This inn is an asshole,” Dean replies. “Sit up.” Parking himself at the edge of Cas’s bed, he hands Cas two small Tylenol tabs and a plastic water bottle he found at the bottom of his bag.

Cas eyes him as he drinks the water, his throat a long column as he swallows the pills. “Don’t make that face.”

“What face?”

“Your worried face. It makes me worried.”

“So your leg got clawed to shreds by a ghoul, you have an infection, and you want me to not be worried? Is that what you’re sayin’?”

Cas leans against the headboard, arms crossed. His eyes are glassy from the fever, but they still retain a fire of defiance. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Dean gusts a frustrated sigh. “You’ve barely been human for a month, Cas. I don’t want you pushin’ it.”

“Dean.” Cas lays a hand over Dean’s, and Dean represses a shudder. “I’ve been through worse.”

“Yeah. As an angel.”

“Being human doesn’t make me any weaker.”

Dean glares at their joined hands. “Yeah, whatever.” His thumb rubs over Cas’s knuckles distractedly. “You still can’t beat my ass at pool.”

“That doesn’t require strength, Dean. Simply skill.”

“A-ha!” Dean points triumphantly at Cas. “Last time you lost, you broke a pool cue and said it was the stupidest game in human history and now you admit that you were wrong!”

“Oh my god. I’m going to bed.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says as Cas rolls over, his back to him, “just say that again real quick. I’m gonna record you on my phone.”

“Dean, please. I could die of a fever tonight.”

Dean knows it’s a joke, but that annoying prick of worry pokes him again painfully in his chest. He stands and deposits the Tylenol bottle forcefully on the bedside table. “Take this in four hours, okay, drama queen? I’ll be back to check on you.”

Cas peeks over his shoulder at Dean. “Fine.”

They hold the gaze for a few heavy moments. The offer to stay with him is on the tip of Dean’s tongue.

“Just go to sleep,” Dean blurts, turning quickly on his heel. He shuts off the light before he leaves the room, and opens the door. He takes a steadying breath, and forces himself not to succumb to the pull of wanting to get into bed with Cas, holding that feverish little idiot to his chest until he sleeps off the infection.

But Dean’s resisting Cas’s gravity for years—so he resists the pull, and walks through the door.

Only to end up inches away from Cas’s bed.

They stare at each other, again, by the light of the moon spilling through those gaudy pink curtains. Dean works his jaw, trying to figure out what to say.

Cas finally shakes his head, and pulls the blanket up from his body; an invitation. “Well, we may as well do what the inn says.”

“Uh. Are you—”

“Dean,” Cas says.

With a grumble, Dean obeys, tentatively sliding into bed with Cas next to him. He clears his throat awkwardly as he settles in next to Cas, carefully not touching him, pulling the fluffy comforter up to his chest. They both lay next to each other on their backs, staring up at the ceiling.

“I have a thought,” Cas says into the dark.

“Did that hurt?” Dean asks.

“Shut up. I’m serious.” Cas takes a deep breath. “I feel as if the ultimate motive of this inn is to bring us together.”

“Okay.”

“So perhaps we should—I don’t know. Let it.”

Dean swallows a rock in his throat, and his voice is husky when he replies, “Uh-huh.”

Cas turns his head to the side to look at Dean over his pillow. “Do you understand?”

“Yeah, Cas, I’m not an idiot.”

But Dean doesn’t move. The fear won’t let him. And Cas sighs with the exhaustion only an ex-angel would have, saying, “Dean. My leg hurts very much, and I would like to sleep. Can we please just—cut the bullshit, as you would say, and you just—hold me?”

“You really are a grumpy bastard,” Dean says. The words come out gruff because of his nerves. He rolls over to push his chest into Cas’s back. He wraps one arm around Cas’s waist, and slips another under Cas’s neck. Cas grips Dean’s arms, and finally relaxes against Dean’s chest. Dean feels like he can die happy.

“I still think this inn is an asshole,” Dean mutters into Cas’s hair.

“You can burn it in the morning,” Cas says, placatingly tapping Dean’s arm where it lays across his chest.

And Dean may be imagining it, but as they drift off to sleep with their breaths moving in tandem, the walls sound as if they’re settling into a contented sigh, the buzzing energy of the house wilting into a dull murmur.

There is no way that Dean Winchester would ever stay at an inn.

But if it means holding Cas in his arms as he sleeps—maybe he’d do it again.

#destiel #destiel fic #everyone go tell tatiana how GENIUS HER BRAIN IS for this prompt #a huge thank you to #woefulcas #and #rauko-is-a-free-elf #for helping me beta this #and reading through it #starlightcastiel #inacatastrophicmind #fluff #bed sharing #spn nonsense #wanderingwrites #wandering writes

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sinnabonka · 3 years

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"It’s just you and me," Dean whispered, their too-big world narrowed down under the blanket to the things he longed for most.

Shelter. Home. Light.

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shelikestv · 3 years

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Chapter Eleven is up!

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester

[Tags: angst with a happy ending, memory loss, pre-season 10, canon divergent]

Chapter Summary:

He flipped over the remaining pictures one at a time--a final farewell. In the end, he was left with nothing but the white-canvassed backs creating a blank wall of white.

Start from the beginning:

[ This AMAZING Graphic Made by the incredibly talented @bluefirecas and a HUGE thank you shout out to my godlike betas: @donestiel and @sinnabonka. I couldn’t do this without them! ]

#the pull of us #destiel #destiel fanfic #starlightcastiel #smiledean

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bijoharvelle · 4 years

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still you are nowhere still you are nowhere nowhere in sight (x)

#spncreatorsdaily #spnedit #benny lafitte #dean winchester #denny #deanbenny #deanedit #bennylafitteedit #purgatoryking #starlightcastiel #benny x dean #my stuff #my gifs

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spnsmile · 3 years

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The chaotic duo that landed universe to universe until they ended up in the Empty (x)

actually just bunker wall

#spn season 15 gagreel #starlightcastiel #huntercorps #gagreel

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livebloggingmydescentintomadness · 3 years

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the rhyme of salvation

Destiel fix-it, rated T, 2k chapter three (the end!)

“Dean?”

The archangel’s heart leapt at the sound of his name in the real Cas’s voice, groggy and dazed and beautiful - but it was quickly followed by his stomach caving in and his nose exploding with pain under the Shadow’s fist and knee, respectively.

“Dean!”

“Don’t. Move. Castiel,” the Shadow snarled, holding Dean up on his knees with one hand fisted in his hair. “Or I’ll tear his wings off one at a time.”

“His - wings?” Rage, confusion, and disbelief wrestled across Cas’s face. He leaned off the edge of the throne, brimming with tension and white-knuckling the chair arms.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean grinned under his bleeding nose. Seeing Cas awake and alive (sort of) sent euphoria bubbling up from his chest to his brain, outweighing the pain until his fractured nose felt more like a papercut.

And hey, that was fucking cool: with a minor flex of power, Dean healed the broken cartilage and erased the blood from his face.

“We beat Chuck, Jack is God now, and he made me an archangel. Pretty sweet feathers, huh?” Yeah, he preened, flaring all his wings out to show them off, but like he was gonna have this kind of equipment and not show off for Cas?

Cas looked shocked and gutted at the same time. “And you… died?”

“Nope,” Dean said cheerfully. “Came to get you back.”

Taking a deep breath, Dean turned and met wide blue eyes. “And he was mine a long time before he was yours.”

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#starlightcastiel #campchitaquamemories #idk who wants to be tagged but i'll do y'all xD #destiel #destiel ficlet #mine #my fic #my writing #i'm really excited about this and i hope you are too!!#i like this a lot #lowkey made myself cry #please go apeshit all over my comments i'll enjoy it

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