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queen-rowenas · 3 years

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@tootiredmotel’s 500 follower celebration day one: blue, “i can’t believe you”

Jack has discovered Buzzfeed quizzes.

It first began with him walking into the kitchen and announcing, “According to my favorite One Direction songs, I’m an avocado.”

He made many more discoveries since then before moving on to involving the rest of his family. Dean hates to admit he got a little too into the “Which Dr. Sexy character are you?” quizzes.

One morning, Jack finds a “Which Taylor Swift era are you in?” quiz, and insists that Cas has to take it. Which is how they all end up around the kitchen table, while Jack dutifully goes through the questions for each family member. The questions are pretty basic so far.

Cas is in the middle of a long sip of coffee when Jack asks what his favorite color is.

Visibly interested, Sam perks. “Do you have a favorite color, Cas?”

Dean scoffs. “‘Course he does. It’s yellow.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. What are Cas’s favorite things?” Dean sets his mug down on the table with a loud plonk to count on his fingers. “Bees, honey, flowers, the sun. All yellow.”

Cas frowned. “Technically the sun isn’t yellow. That’s just how it’s typically depicted with your limited creations and perception of color.”

“Come on, babe. Who’s side are you on?”

“Obviously yours.” Cas rolls his eyes, although far too fond to seem annoyed. “And yellow is not my favorite color.”

“What?” Dean squawks, indignant, “What else could it be?” He stops short and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t tell me it’s a color that humans can’t perceive or something.”

Holding up his phone, Jack gives a solemn nod. “Buzzfeed won’t accept that as an answer.”

“No, it’s not that. Don’t worry.” Cas turns to look at Dean, his eyes crinkle with an indulgent smile. “It’s green.”

For a second, Dean frowns. Sure, Cas likes nature and leaves and crap, but what could beat bees? Cas’s gaze turns a little more pointed, blue eyes boring into green. And Dean falters.

Oh.

“Oh,” he says out loud, “You mean—you mean like…” He points up towards his face. His eyes.

Cas nods. “Of course.”

Dean’s cheeks grow hot, and he ducks his head, huffing out a short laugh. “I can’t believe you. You can see crazy angel colors, and I’m—my eyes are your favorite color.”

Cas’s eyes make their way over his face, taking him all in. If it weren’t for the softness of his gaze, Dean would think the angel is about to change his mind.

“You’re my favorite everything,” Cas says simply, in that devastating way he always says things.

Dean opens and closes his mouth. Because what can he say to that? What should he say to that? Definitely something nice, something eloquent, something that Cas deserves to hear. That can put to words the burning in Dean’s chest.

“Well…you know your eyes are my favorite color, too.”

Cas has the audacity to look surprised, blinking those wide blue eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah, ‘course. I’m really into that Jolly Rancher blue you got going.”

He snaps his mouth shut. What the hell just came out of his mouth? Jolly Rancher blue. Idiot.

But Cas’s eyes crinkle at the edges, something warm and fond. And he leans in and presses a kiss to Dean’s lips. “Thank you, Dean. I’m pleased to hear that.”

Well, maybe that was the right thing to say.

Sam clears his throat loudly, startling Dean out of whirlwind of thought. “Okay great, we like everybody’s eyes. Can one of you explain to me what these album eras actually mean?”

As Jack practically lays across the kitchen table to explain Taylor Swift’s entire discography, album by album, Dean leans over to rest his head on Cas’s shoulder.

“You’re my favorite everything, too.”

— writing tag list (ask to be added or removed)

@deanolantern @adammlligan @alex-is-a-boy-b-tch @bixlasagna @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie @butchnatural @castiel-for-lunch @castiel-is-a-cat @castielfolklore @castielsbeeslippers @nightmaredean @skelington-cas @deanwinchesteradjacent @destieldisaster @destielfactory @donestiel @donvex @dstiel @ensignabby @expectingtofly @feraladoration @fireghost-x @galaxies-of-the-heart @galaxycastiel @garthedbutspooky @himitsubana @ialwaysordericedcoffee @im-sam-fucking-winchester @lalisfandoms @lateral-org @llamasdumpsterfire @witchdean @mrswatermelon @ne8ula @nightandwinedestieljail @okamigamer1 @organicpurplepants @prime-catra @ragingdeansexual @starsdahb @spookynightdeancas @takemetotheworld @tearsofgrace @top13zepptraxx @van-dynex @winchester-novak @wormstacheangel @writtenmemxries @zeffiroh

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thigholstercas · 3 years

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for @tootiredmotel 500 follower celebration (congrats!) | day 4: regret

if there is anything i regret is not saying it

#destiel #destieledit #spnedit #spn #supernatural #deancas #tootired500 #words of mine #i wanted to participate at least in one #edits

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magickastiel · 3 years

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day one of @tootiredmotel's 500 follower celebration!

✨ prompt one: blue | tattoo | "I can't believe you" ✨

Dean can’t stop looking at it.

Even as Castiel Novak talks in a dry, amused tone about the time Sam broke the printer and got in an argument with everyone in IT Support. Even as Sam retaliates by regaling them with the story of Castiel rudely spitting out black pudding entirely on reflex when breakfasting with British clients. Even as Bobby pours them all drinks and settles them in the living room.

Castiel Novak has a tattoo.

It’s not an earth-shattering revelation by any means, but every time Dean tries to focus on something else, his eyes are drawn back to Novak’s ankle. He’s wearing loafers with no socks on (usually douchey, Dean thinks, but he pulls it off annoyingly well) so he’s got a good view.

It’s a sprig of lavender, elegantly designed with flowing lines and just a hint of colour.

It’s a nice, pleasing design to look at.

But Dean’s damaged mind is wailing a warning alarm that shakes his eardrums. It’s too soft, too feminine, too...obvious.

Castiel Novak is gay.

Sam knows that, Bobby knows that. Dean definitely knows that.

So, a small tattoo of a flower really isn’t breaking any boundaries here.

Dean shakes himself and drags himself back to the conversation. He even manages to laugh along while Bobby tells them about his and Rufus’ latest escapade and chips in a comment or two. Castiel seems to relax into the couch and shifts, crossing one leg over the other. Dean doesn’t look.

He’s doing fine until Sam speaks. Because of course he does.

“Dude, didn’t know you had a tattoo.”

“Oh.” Castiel looks down at his ankle like he’s never seen it before. “Yes. It’s...lavender.” He laughs and sets both feet back on the floor. “Obviously.”

Sam keeps talking because apparently Dean’s didn’t raise him to mind his own business. “Did you get it because it’s a queer symbol?”

Dean chokes on his whiskey and his throat burns almost as hot as his face. “I-is it?!”

“It is actually.” Those blue eyes focus on him for the second time since he came through the door and he feels pinned in the chair. “You...didn’t know that?”

“No! Why would I know that?” Dean answers far too quickly.

There’s a pause. Bobby drinks from his own glass a little too loudly. Sam’s eyes dart between them with far too many questions on the tip of his tongue.

Dean’s face burns hotter than his throat. “So, that’s why you got lavender then? ‘Cuz it’s gay?”

Sam huffs. Bobby sighs.

Castiel Novak just looks amused again. It’s an irritatingly good look on him.

“No, that was just a perfect coincidence.”

He takes another sip of his whiskey before delivering the killer blow.

“I chose lavender because the first boy I ever kissed once gave me a bunch of wild lavender.” He smiles and Dean feels like someone paused his lungs. “It didn’t work out, of course – just a fling. But it was a very life affirming time. I wanted something to remind me of that whenever I felt like it wasn’t worth fighting to be myself.”

“Huh, cool.” Sam says and Bobby shrugs like it’s incredibly normal to have a gay guy sat on his couch in a thousand dollar suit with a girly tattoo on his ankle.

Sam drains his glass, stretches and stands. “I think we better head off. Gotta look over the papers before the meeting in the morning.”

“Yes, of course.” Castiel finishes his whiskey and sets the glass carefully on the table.

“You sure you won’t stay here?” Bobby asks Sam but is still polite enough to glance at Castiel to make him feel included. “Wouldn’t be any trouble to make the space - ”

“Nah, it’s ok.” Sam claps him on the shoulder. “The firm booked us two suites for as long as we need.”

“And my family are notoriously difficult to get money out of, so we should make the most of it.” Castiel smiles and shakes Bobby’s hand. “Thank you for your hospitality. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a better chilli.”

Bobby puffs up with pride. “Anytime. So long as you’re doing good by Sam, you’re alright with me. And good to meet an old friend of Dean’s.”

“Yes.” He turns and Dean’s engulfed in blue again. “It’s good to see you again, Dean. Perhaps we’ll be seeing a bit more of each other while I’m here.”

It’s a perfectly innocent thing to say. No one bats an eyelid at it. Dean sweats under his flannel.

He reaches out to shake Castiel’s hand and is taken back fifteen years.

He remembers the sharp chill in the dusk air, he remembers the annoying pimple on his chin, he remembers his hand quivering around slender green stems. He remembers the heady scent in the air as he passed a bunch of wild lavender to a blushing seventeen year old Castiel Novak.

“Y-yeah.” Words stick in his throat, like they always do. “Yeah, maybe.”

____________________________________________________________

all of these are from the same story but hopefully they make sense alone too 💖

read the other parts: one | two | three |

#tootired500 #destiel fic #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #deancas #spn fic #mine: seventeen again #mine #supernatural

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tootiredmotel · 3 years

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4x07 + Do You Want to Know a Secret?, The Beatles

for my follower celebration! day 2: secret

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tootiredmotel · 3 years

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4x01 + 15x18 + Mr. Blue Sky, Electric Light Orchestra

for my follower celebration! day 1: blue

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tootiredmotel · 3 years

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on the correlation between weariness and bravery

to finish off my follower celebration! free space bonus day! based on @faithroad 's prompt "sleepy" which I turned into dean pining. mid to late seasons, no empty deal, happy ending.

2.5k words — read on ao3 or below

Dean kinda regrets not making Sam drive. Kinda.

Sam is the one who insisted on hauling ass and making it back home tonight. Sam is not the one with the fucked-up ankle. He's the one who should be sitting at the wheel at 3 am, struggling to keep his eyes open, instead of sprawled out in the backseat snoring like a damn tractor.

But no. It’s Dean driving. And it’s 'cause he wanted to sit next to Cas. 'Cause the hunt was bad and the wolves were good, and one of them had Cas by the neck at one point, and Dean–

Well, that werewolf is dead now. And Cas is fine. But Dean just… needs him close. At least ‘til they get home.

(He's also the one driving 'cause he's the best damn big brother on the face of the Earth, okay?)

If he’s being honest with himself, Dean always wants to sit next to Cas. But they have a routine by now; Dean drives, Sam sits shotgun, Cas in the back. Dean usually doesn’t fight it. Enforces it, actually.

Tonight he let that change. He asked Sam to sit in the back. There's more to it than just the close call though, and if Dean let himself think about it for more than a second, he'd know why. Deep down, he does know why.

Dean is scared. He's scared of losing Cas and he's sick of almost losing him, of the constant scares now that his grace is low and he's not as invincible as he used to be. If something were to happen to Cas (again), and Dean didn't spend every second with him that he could…

He doesn't want to think about it. He's too tired for that right now.

In fact, that’s probably all it is. Yeah, that's it. The hunt was long and crappy and they've barely slept, and Dean is too exhausted to hold himself back. Too sleepy to force his desires down, to pretend that he doesn’t want…

That he doesn’t want.

He allows himself a glance in Cas’s direction. He's looking out the window, laying his head on his trench coat which is bundled up against the door, his right arm tucked underneath. His suit jacket and tie are on his lap and he’s holding them there with his left hand. Dean wants, so badly, to reach over and take it, interlock their fingers without a word, as if that were a normal thing for them to do.

As sleepy as he is, Dean still has half a mind not to. His fingers flex on the wheel.

He drives for another half hour.

---

When Dean finally stops the car and shuts off the ignition, Sam feels it. He jolts awake and steps out in silence. Ungrateful bitch.

He didn't even say it out loud, but Dean takes that back. It was such a long hunt.

He lets his eyes close and drops his head back. He feels heavy. His whole body aches. He doesn’t realize how quickly he’s drifting off until he’s startled by Cas’s voice, soft, a gentle melody in the quiet space of the garage.

“Dean, you should get to bed.”

Cas, in his weird part-angel part-not state, doesn’t really need to sleep. Dean looks at him; the right side of his hair is sticking up in all directions, his eyes are smiling at him though his lips are not, the top of his dress shirt is unbuttoned–

Dean looks away. Swallows.

He lays his head back again. "Not like I've never slept in Baby before, Cas."

“Dean, I’m sorry.”

That makes Dean’s head turn, brows knitted together.

“What for?”

Cas looks genuinely regretful, facing Dean but not making eye contact. Instead, he looks downward, to Dean's legs. “Your ankle. If my grace were–”

“Don’t.”

It’s not a scold. There’s no bite in it. Dean just hates it when Cas blames himself, and how goddamn often he does. Cas meets his eyes.

“Just don’t, man,” Dean pleads.

Then he smiles at him, and Cas smiles back.

“Alright,” Cas says, gathering his things, “But you are not sleeping in the car, Dean. I'll help you, it's the least I can do."

And there he goes again, belittling himself. Dean doesn’t really have it in him to argue any further; he'll get it through Cas's thick head one day that he's worth more than what he can do. One day.

(Right now, Dean does kinda wanna get to his bed. It's been a while and he hopes it still remembers him.)

Dean pulls himself up and out of the car with effort, wincing when his right ankle– the fucked-up one– gets a bit too much weight put on it. Cas walks over to his side of the car, putting on his layers again on the way.

He'd never admit it, but Dean's skin is buzzing in anticipation, waiting. Cas will hold him up by his waist. Dean’s arm will be around Cas’s shoulders. Maybe Cas will grab his hand as he helps him walk to the–

Nope. None of that happens.

Instead, Dean gets swept off his feet, and then Cas is carrying him. Bridal style.

Dean tends to forget that the guy still has his strength.

In any other circumstance, Dean would probably be embarrassed. But there’s no one around, he’s utterly exhausted, and in Cas’s arms, he feels weightless. He settles, wrapping his arms around Cas’s neck.

Mistake. It brings their faces so much closer together, and now Dean can't look away. The curls behind Cas's ear, the slope of his cheekbone, his perpetual stubble… he's so close, and Dean is shamelessly drinking him in. If he surged forward a couple of inches, his nose would touch Cas's jaw. That's how close he is, and when is Dean ever going to get any closer? He rests his head, getting comfortable.

Cas looks straight ahead, weaving through the bunker halls with practiced ease, and he's blissfully unaware of Dean's staring. This is probably creepy, Dean realizes, so he closes his eyes.

---

The next moment Dean consciously registers is when his head hits the pillow.

"I tried not to wake you."

Dean fully opens his eyes and Cas is by his bed, still standing only half upright. There's a sheepish smile on his face as he straightens up.

"'S alright." Dean rubs his face and sits up to at least take his shoes off, and Cas takes a single step back. "Thanks," he says, and he feels like it's nowhere near enough for what Cas just did, but he can't think of anything better so it'll have to do.

Cas just smiles, tight-lipped.

"What're you gonna do?" Dean asks, unlacing his boots, and looking up at him. He's still at arm's length. Always at arm's length.

"I don't know." Cas puts his hands in his coat pockets. Dean wishes he'd let himself be comfortable. This is his home too. "Read. Maybe watch something on the Netflix."

Dean chuckles. He still calls it that after the one phone call they had when Dean told him to step away from it.

"Something funny?"

It's a genuine question. Dean pulls off the second boot and stands. Still with a smile on his face, he says "it's nothin'."

And then they're just standing there. Dean thinks maybe he wasn't being that creepy earlier, after all, ‘cause this? This is normal for them. Staring at each other in silence as if the silence will speak for them. Like, perhaps, if he looks at Cas long enough, at his eyes, his lips… Cas will know what Dean wants. Or maybe Dean's wants will vanish.

Dean will take either. He hopes for both just as strongly.

Cas breaks his gaze and says "I should go. Get some rest, Dean."

In that split second, as Cas turns to leave, Dean realizes two things.

One, neither of the things he's hoping for are going to happen. Cas isn't going to magically know what Dean wants, and this yearning, this constant clench deep in Dean's chest whenever he's around Cas, isn't just going away on its own.

Two, extreme exhaustion doesn't just weaken the physical and cognitive defenses. It also shatters the emotional ones into a million pieces.

He's never been so tired and he's never felt so brave.

Before he can stop it, Dean's hand darts out and grabs Cas's forearm.

Cas looks down at it, then up at Dean, then back down. "What's wrong?" He asks, worried.

"Nothin', just…"

Dean's mouth is dry, and he's fighting his eyelids to stay open. He knows what he wants to say and fuck he wants to go to sleep. So he just gets it over with.

"You don't have to go."

Cas looks back up at him, confused.

"You can stay if you want. Here."

Cas squints. "I'm not planning on leaving the bunker, Dean."

"No, I–"

Dean smiles and hangs his head because he can't help it. Because Cas just being Cas makes him smile, and he can't ever help it, much less now that he's completely given up. He lets his hand slide lower and lower down Cas's arm until he's lazily holding on to his fingers.

"I mean, here here. With me."

"Why?" Cas looks down at their entangled fingers and he's so confused. Jeez, this couldn't be any more difficult. "What do you need?"

"Nothin', fuck, Cas, I just want you to. I– I want you –" Dean steps closer, taking Cas's hand in full, interlocking their fingers like he wanted to do back in the car and since always. "–to take off that stupid coat, and that stupid jacket, and those stupid shoes, and anything else that you want–"

Cas looks less confused by the second, thank fuck. Dean feels like he's about to collapse on the spot, but he needs Cas to understand.

"–and I want you to lay down in that goddamn bed."

Dean is pleading at this point. He's about to fall over, and Cas firmly holding onto both his hand and his gaze feels like the only thing keeping him upright.

Cas stares at him with an expression that Dean can't quite decipher, but the confusion is gone. "With you," Cas says. Not asking. It's like he's completing Dean's sentence, and in a way, he is.

"With me," Dean says, for good measure.

He's not expecting much. He's not even expecting Cas to say yes. The way Cas keeps looking and looking and looking at him with that squint, chapped lips parted and brows furrowed, Dean isn't sure if he's trying to make up his mind, or read Dean's. The longer he does it though, the more Dean is convinced he's going to walk out that door and not talk to him for at least a month.

Dean starts to let go of his hand and is about to tell him that the choice is his, because of course it is.

Cas doesn't let him. He pulls Dean to him by that same hand and whatever short distance remained between them is gone.

Dean's brain is lagging. Buffering and loading like a desktop in '98. But when the bar finally fills up all the way, he wraps his arms around Cas's waist, and kisses him back. Cas's hands are on his face, snaking their way up to Dean's hair, and fuck that's heaven. Better than.

As many times as Dean has imagined and even dreamt of this, there's one thing he never could've foreseen: how hungry Cas is. His lips move like they're running out of time (they're not), he pulls Dean ever closer like he's going to float away (he's not), and his tongue explores so eagerly, like this is the only time he'll ever kiss Dean (it's not, if Dean can help it).

Hell, they're gonna have to do this again, 'cause right now Dean is running on fumes. He just doesn't have it in him to return all of Cas's fervor and enthusiasm and passion, to kiss him the way he deserves. Cas seems to pick up on that, how hard Dean is trying and probably failing miserably.

"You're tired," he says, barely pulling away, forehead to forehead and nuzzling his nose against Dean's.

Dean drops his head on Cas's shoulder, buries his face in the crook of his neck. "Yeah. 'm sorry," he mumbles into it.

"No, don't be."

Cas wraps his arms around Dean's shoulders and hugs him, holds him, stroking the hair at the back of his neck with his fingertips. Dean leaves a soft kiss on Cas's neck and hugs him even tighter, arms wrapped around him, under the stupid coat and jacket. He inhales deeply; Cas smells like honey and a thunderstorm, and Dean fucking loves it.

He feels himself drifting off again and pushes himself off of Cas. He needs to change. He needs to fall into bed. He needs to sleep for at least a week.

But there's one thing he wants, more than anything.

"Stay, Cas. Please."

Dean doesn't think he's ever seen Cas smile at him so bright.

"Of course, Dean."

---

Dean wakes up the next morning– well, day – and Cas is still here, on the right side of the bed. Dean is half laying on top of him, actually, arm around his torso and head on top of his chest. Cas has one arm underneath Dean and wrapped around him, his hand on Dean's left shoulder, where it belongs. He's drawing circles on it with his thumb.

He's playing that candy matching game on his phone with the other hand.

"Mornin'."

"Afternoon," Cas corrects him. "It's 3:27 pm."

Dean chuckles, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. "Shit."

"You needed it." Cas locks his phone and sets it down on the nightstand. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, did you–" Dean finally looks at Cas, propping himself up on his elbow. The hand that was on Dean's shoulder, Cas puts under his head. His arm flexes. He looks content. Blissful. He's not wearing a shirt, just the sweatpants that Dean gave him the night before (which is slowly coming back to Dean now). His hair is even messier than usual, and shit he looks good. Really good.

…What was Dean gonna say.

"Um–" right, he gulps, "–did you stay here the whole time?"

"Yes."

"Playing that game?"

"And some others."

"And you never left?"

"Of course not."

Cas smiles, and Dean's heart skips a beat. Then Cas licks his lips and those electric blue eyes give Dean a once-over, and Dean wonders how the fuck he's even still breathing.

Then Cas's smile falters, and he gets that confused look again, searching Dean's expression. "Do you... want me to le–"

"Never," Dean answers instantly.

Cas's smile is back. He reaches up, cupping Dean's face, and Dean shuts his eyes as he leans into it. When he opens his eyes again, Cas is looking at him like he can't get enough, like he's waited forever for this. Dean knows the feeling.

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean," Cas says softly.

And that's when Dean finally kisses Cas, kisses him like he deserves, with the endless bounds of love and desire that, for years now, he's been holding back and pushing down with all he's got.

Now he puts all he's got into showing Cas how much he's worth, and they don't leave Dean's room for the rest of the afternoon.

---

fic taglist: ask to be added or removed! <3

@doyouhearthedestielsing // @all-or-nothing-baby // @the-boy-kings-crown // @the-moon-loves-the-sea // @casismymrdarcy // @youcaneven // @zorelle // @spooky-floral-cas // @emeraldcas // @lilcasx // @oh-in-italics // @theehauntedhusbands // @knifelesbianjo // @shakespeareintellectualbadass // @stressedtaco // @aniridescentdreamer // @mishacase2003 // @spookymixtape // @hauntedrederadean // @ciderdean // @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie // @autumncastiel // @pumpkinspicedeancas // @one-more-offbeat-anthem // @wormstacheangel // @spookydestielnightandwine // @spoookycastiel // @deanolantern // @ghostlynatural // @heres-to-evil-skanks // @evermoredeancas // @ghostfacersnatural // @fanged-cas // @hauntpdf // @justcastiel

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tootiredmotel · 3 years

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promise

some saileen sweetness for my follower celebration! day 4: "is that a threat?"

1.3k words — read on ao3 or below

Eileen makes up her mind during a hunt.

It's not one big wow moment that puts the thought in her head, like in the movies. It's one little thing after another, and none of them are really new or groundbreaking, but each moment further confirms how she feels and what she wants, and she eventually arrives at a conclusion.

It starts just after she stabs the djinn, when Sam– previously in a headlock– shrugs it off of him and stands up straight. He's covered head to toe in gunk and blood. He has a bruised ankle and probably a broken rib or two. He's completely out of breath from wrestling the djinn, but he shoots Eileen a questioning look, asking if she's okay. Eileen thinks she could look at this man and be looked at by him for the rest of her life, and she'll never stop getting the wind knocked out of her.

She nods as if to say yeah, I'm good, and Sam wastes no time rushing over to the victim. He begins helping him down, with little to no regard for his own pain and exhaustion. He'll complain later, she's sure of it, once Ruben is home safe and sound and it's just them in Eileen’s car. But for now, he's laser-focused on making sure the job gets done and gets done right. That's commitment, purpose, and it's one that Eileen shares with him; it’s a purpose that she can picture herself fulfilling with Sam at her side until the hopefully-not-so-bitter end.

She starts seriously considering it as she watches Sam carefully tend to Ruben. They were lucky; the djinn only had him for about a day and he doesn't appear to be terribly harmed. He's mostly conscious at this point, so Sam crouches in front of him on the ground, probably to explain the situation. She starts cleaning up the mess and gathering their things as Sam talks to him, all sympathetic looks and comforting touches. She's never known anyone as good, as kind.

Later, when they drop Ruben off at his building, Sam walks him to the door. The guy looks wrecked– his dream was apparently one in which he didn't lose his family at the border– and Eileen watches from the driver's seat as Sam hugs him. That man is all heart, all 6'5" of him.

Yeah. She's positive.

Sam gets back in the passenger seat with an exhale. He's still all gross and exhausted, but somehow, he's also the most handsome he's ever looked.

"What?" He asks, noticing her staring.

Eileen clicks her tongue and shakes her head, as if regretful. "You need to stop being so awesome."

Sam visibly chuckles, caught off-guard. "Me? Awesome?"

"Yeah. It's gotta stop."

He laughs in full, dropping his head. His hair falls in his face and his dimples make an appearance, and Eileen has never been more sure of anything in her life than of the thing she wants to say right this second.

Sam shifts in his seat, making sure he's facing her head-on. "Can I ask why?"

"You just have to," she says in all seriousness. "Or else I'm gonna have to marry you."

Eileen watches carefully as Sam's smile falters, but never really leaves. He's studying her expression, probably trying to figure out if she's kidding or not. When Eileen keeps her gaze locked on his, his eyebrows shoot up in pleasant surprise, and if he were speaking, he’d be asking wait, really?

Eileen nods slightly. Yes, really.

"Is that a threat?" He finally asks, and he's still blinking in a bit of disbelief, but the smile is completely back. "Or a promise?"

Eileen is the one caught off-guard now, but she plays it off with a shrug and says: "You pick."

Sam wastes no time in cupping her face with his hands and meeting her halfway, slamming their lips together. He scoots closer, kissing her with a passion that Eileen had never known before him. It's fast and intense at first, but the longer the kiss lasts, the slower and more tender it becomes. He's caressing her cheeks and all the way down to her shoulders, while Eileen pulls him closer by the shirt and holds on to his waist.

Again, he's gross right now. Like, really gross. They both are, all sweat and dirt and djinn stink, but it's still a perfect kiss. They part and rest their foreheads against each other, terrible breaths mingling together into a stench that would make any sane person back away. But fuck, Eileen is on cloud nine right now, and she couldn't care less about any of that.

Sam eventually pulls away, caressing her jaw with his thumb to get her attention.

She looks up at him, and there are tears brimming his eyes. With his hands, he signs "Promise.”

---

It's years before they finally get around to it. In between establishing a hunter network, renovating the bunker into a safehouse for hunters and friendly creatures alike, and helping to raise Jack when they can, free time to plan a wedding is sparse.

But Sam Winchester keeps his promises.

One morning while cooking together in the bunker kitchen, Eileen knocks over a spatula without noticing, and it ends up under the counter. Sam figures she’s gonna need that (since she’s in charge of the pancakes), so he walks over, taps her waist so she’ll know he’s there, and kneels down to get it.

He’s on one knee as he hands it to her, and in that split second, he realizes… It's been pretty quiet lately. Calm. They’re not hunting as often, they’ve got a good team helping in the bunker; there’s never been a better time.

As she takes the spatula from him, he squeezes her wrist. With her full attention on him, he smiles up at her and signs “Marry me?”

Eileen breaks out into a grin but rolls her eyes like she always does when Sam is being ridiculous. (He does it on purpose, usually, if only to see that smile on her face.) She pulls him up to his feet by his collar and then pulls him down to kiss her, before signing “Yes.”

They decide to do it small, a gathering of close friends at Garth's farmhouse on St. Patrick's Day. But, of course, because of the same hunter network they’ve spent years establishing, the news of the wedding spreads way too fast and far too wide. Pretty much every hunter and person (human or otherwise) that Sam and Eileen have ever made friends with shows up on the day, regardless of whether they received an invite. They end up moving the wedding outdoors at the last minute to make space for everyone, and it's a lot rowdier and messier than they pictured, but it's happy. It's really happy.

(Cas and Dean's was nothing like this. They retired early on to be Jack's parents 24/7, and because they weren't very active in the network, their wedding was actually a small gathering of their closest friends. Lucky bastards.)

Amara Herself comes down to officiate. Garth's twins are the flower boys, and Jack is the ring bearer. Dean is Eileen's best man, while Cas is Sam's. However, it's Dean who walks Sam down the aisle and hands him off to his bride, because it just makes sense. (And no, he's definitely not crying a little.)

When Sam finishes signing his vows and failing to not tear up; once he's done talking about how finding someone to share his life with seemed impossible, but that changed when he met Eileen; once he's said he'll always be there for her to come home to, because she taught him what home feels like; once he's reassured her that he'll always be her partner…

She grins and responds with something he honestly should've seen coming.

"Is that a threat?"

---

fic taglist: ask to be added or removed! <3

@doyouhearthedestielsing // @all-or-nothing-baby // @the-boy-kings-crown // @the-moon-loves-the-sea // @casismymrdarcy // @youcaneven // @zorelle // @spooky-floral-cas // @emeraldcas // @lilcasx // @oh-in-italics // @theehauntedhusbands // @knifelesbianjo // @shakespeareintellectualbadass // @stressedtaco // @aniridescentdreamer // @mishacase2003 // @spookymixtape // @hauntedrederadean // @ciderdean // @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie // @autumncastiel // @spookynightdeancas // @one-more-offbeat-anthem // @wormstacheangel // @spookydestielnightandwine // @spoookycastiel // @deanolantern // @ghostlynatural // @heres-to-evil-skanks // @evermoredeancas // @ghostfacersnatural // @fanged-cas // @hauntedstan89 // @faithroad // @justcastiel

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theedorksinlove · 3 years

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@tootiredmotel follower celebration | day 4 ➝ regret

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theedorksinlove · 3 years

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@tootiredmotel follower celebration | day 3 ➝ reunite

let me bottom-line it for you. i'm not leaving here without you. understand?

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queen-rowenas · 3 years

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@tootiredmotel’s 500 follower celebration day two: secret, “i need it”

It’s late. The motel room is dark, the only light coming from the sign outside. Just enough for Dean to make out the line of Cas’s jaw, the gleam of his eyes, the flash of teeth when he smiles.

The motel was low on rooms, so they could only get one with two queens. Sam is snoring in the next bed over. It’s the only real sound aside from the buzz of the neon No Vacancy sign outside. Well, that and Dean and Cas’s whispers.

They’re curled together in one bed, facing each other. The space between is quiet, warm. Their own secret place.

They’re whispering, talking about everything and nothing, feet tangled together up the covers, trying to keep quiet and not wake up Sam. Cas has a hand curled around Dean’s waist while one of Dean’s hands plays with the soft material of the angel’s shirt.

Dean’s never been happier.

It’s late, and he should be sleeping. Tonight is only a pit stop on their drive back home, and he has a few more hours of driving left.

But he can’t stop listening to Cas. He can’t stop grinning. He might have even giggled earlier, but he’ll never admit it.

After decades of denying himself, he thinks they both deserve a moment to indulge.

But he can’t really call this a simple indulgence. A moment like this, quiet and innocent, together.

Because he needs it. And he thinks maybe Cas needs it, too.

“Okay.” He manages to shuffle closer, closing the already small space between them. His cheeks hurt from smiling. “What if someone already possessed by a demon got anti-possession tattoo? Would the demon just be ejected or like somehow trapped?”

Cas frowns. “A demon would never allow that to happen, and even if there was a lapse in its control, a tattoo would take a long time.”

“Yeah, but humor me.” Dean stifles a yawn. “Hypothetically if that happened, what would it do?”

Headlights pass over the window, cutting through the curtains, lighting up the room for a moment. It glows behind Cas’s back, not quite touching Dean, protected in his shadow. It almost gives the illusion of a halo. For a second, Dean forgets about his question and stares.

Cas only smiles back, and for once Dean is grateful for the outside light giving him the chance to see everything. The curl of his lip, the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes and nose, the warm affection in his gaze.

“I would need more time to consider it. And you,” Cas says, leaning in to press a kiss to Dean’s lips, “need to rest.”

“No, I don’t,” Dean grumbles, but he doesn’t resist as Cas tugs him in closer, slipping an arm around his back.

“Yes, you do. You’re driving in the morning, and I would prefer not to get in a wreck.”

“Hey.” Dean shoves at Cas’s chest before tucking into it, pressing his nose into the hollow of his throat. “I’m a great driver.”

Cas rests a hand on the back of his head, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Of course, Dean.”

“And we’re finishing this discussion tomorrow.”

“Of course, Dean.”

The motel mattress sucks, too hard and too old with a sketchy smell, the kind that usually guarantees some impressive neck and back aches in the morning. And Dean is already prone to those now.

But he doesn’t care. He’s got an angel watching over him. The fingertips running through his hair trail down to the nape of his neck and linger, sending a pulse of grace through his tired muscles. Dean sighs, melting under the touch.

Nights at crappy motels used to be nothing new, nothing special. But here and now, he wouldn’t ask for anything else.

— writing tag list (ask to be added or removed)

@deanolantern @adammlligan @alex-is-a-boy-b-tch @bixlasagna @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie @butchnatural @castiel-for-lunch @castiel-is-a-cat @castielfolklore @castielsbeeslippers @nightmaredean @skelington-cas @deanwinchesteradjacent @destieldisaster @destielfactory @donestiel @donvex @dstiel @ensignabby @expectingtofly @feraladoration @fireghost-x @galaxies-of-the-heart @galaxycastiel @garthedbutspooky @himitsubana @ialwaysordericedcoffee @im-sam-fucking-winchester @lalisfandoms @lateral-org @llamasdumpsterfire @witchdean @mrswatermelon @ne8ula @nightandwinedestieljail @okamigamer1 @organicpurplepants @prime-catra @ragingdeansexual @starsdahb @pumpkinspicedeancas @takemetotheworld @tearsofgrace @top13zepptraxx @van-dynex @winchester-novak @wormstacheangel @writtenmemxries @zeffiroh

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theedorksinlove · 3 years

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@tootiredmotel follower celebration | day 2 ➝ secrets

why does this sound like a goodbye? because it is. i love you.

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magickastiel · 3 years

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DAY TWO OF @TOOTIREDMOTEL’S 500 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION! 🥳

✨ prompt two: sunset | secret | "I need it" ✨

Sunset was Dean’s time.

Sammy had eaten and was happily doing his homework. Dad was out, god knows where and gone until the early hours.

Sunset meant Dean had time to himself.

The walk to Honorfield Academy took nearly an hour but he didn’t mind. He lit a cigarette on the way, the smoke drifting away to nothing in the yellow dusk. He tucked himself into his dad’s leather jacket as the air cooled. Soon, the sidewalk fell away and he was wandering along a dirt path, long green grass springing up either side of him. Birds darted overhead, silhouetted by the fading light, heading back to their nests.

Dean was happy to be leaving his.

He came to a stop on the hill, grass almost bronze in the orange light. From there, he could see the top floor of Castiel’s dorms.

He didn’t have to wait long.

There was the snapping of a twig and gentle footsteps and Castiel emerged from the trees, messy haired and smiling.

Dean’s stomach swooped.

“Hello, Dean.”

The boy came to a stop in front of him, a touch closer than he should. He opened his mouth and then wrinkled his nose.

“You’ve been smoking.”

“Oh.” The dumb smile on Dean’s face slipped. “Yeah.”

Cas shrugged. “Ok.”

He moved past Dean and slipped off his blazer, tossing it onto the grass and gracefully sitting down, folding his legs neatly. Dean plopped down next to him, feeling untidy in his worn jeans and thrifted t-shirt. He watched Cas watch the sun dipping behind the roofs of the Academy.

“You shouldn’t, you know.” Cas said suddenly, quiet and serious, still staring at the sky.

Dean almost jumped. “What?”

“Smoke.” Those all-seeing blue eyes locked on him and Dean squirmed.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Ain’t really got the funds for it - ”

“It’s bad for you.” Cas cut across him. “It can make you really ill.”

Dean looked away, eyes racing to find something to settle on. “Yeah, I know. I got people relying on me, can’t get ill.”

He did jump when Castiel’s warm hand touched his shoulder. “Not just for them. For you too.”

He laughed. “Right. Yeah.”

“Dean.” Cas spoke so firmly, he couldn’t stop himself turning to look. “I mean it.” His gaze caressed his cheeks, his lips, his shoulders. “You’re just important as they are.” Dean had to fight the urge to argue. “More important to me.”

“T-that’s just ‘cause you ain’t met Sam.”

Cas smiled and let his hand drop from his shoulder. “I suspect you would still be more important to me.”

Dean couldn’t fathom it. Why would someone prefer him to brilliant, bright Sammy? The kid was all knowledge and wit and sass. He was the best person Dean knew. If Cas met him, he was sure he would love him too. A part of him, selfish and bitter, hoped that Cas never met Sam.

He swallowed, dropping his gaze to the ground. He was leaning hard on his right hand, palm pressed into the dirt. Cas mirrored him, palm cushioned by the silk lining of his school blazer. Dean’s fingers twitched. He brushed the dark fabric with his fingertips and glanced up at Cas. The other boy was watching him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. He said nothing.

Dean took a breath and brushed the silky lining inside, so close he could feel the warmth of Cas’ skin.

He waited for another wave of bravery to overtake him or for his mind to drag him away.

But instead, Cas closed the gap for him.

It wasn’t holding hands, Dean reassured himself. Their fingers just tangled together a little, weaving in and out of each other like the lattice top of a homemade apple pie. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

No responsibilities, no cares. With Cas, he wasn’t Dean the eldest son, or Dean the mother, or Dean the weird dumb kid.

At sunset, he got to be Dean.

________

all of these are from the same story but hopefully they make sense alone too 💖

read the other parts: one

#tootired500 #deancas #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #destiel fic rec #spn fic #mine: seventeen again #supernatural #mine

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magickastiel · 3 years

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DAY FOUR OF @TOOTIREDMOTEL’S 500 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION! 🥳

✨ prompt four: cassette & regret & "is that a threat?" ✨

it's the final day! congratulations gen & thank you for hosting this amazing celebration! let's have all three prompts in one as a lil treat 🥰

Dean pressed his hand against his pocket again.

It was still there.

He cleared his throat and fidgeted. His leather jacket creaked against the seat of the Impala.

Across the street, the front door of the high school opened and light spilled out. A giggling group of his classmates stumbling down the steps, holding onto each other.

He watched them for a while, wondering what it was like to have friends like that.

Grief pricked the back of his eyes. Grief for the friends he'd already forgotten at high schools far away. Would Cas end up one of those nameless faces for Dean to mourn?

He rubbed a hand over his face and checked his watch, blinking a few times to clear his vision. Nine o'clock.

He opened the door and stepped out.

He checked his pocket again.

He walked as casually as he could to the alleyway next to the school. He dragged his fingers along the chain link fence, fingers cold and trembling.

"I thought you would be at the party."

He jumped. Castiel wandered towards him, looking almost the same as usual even though he was out of his stuffy Academy uniform.

Dean laughed. Cas' face scrunched.

"What?"

"Dude, even your normal clothes look like you're going to a wedding or something."

He looked down at himself. "It's just a white dress shirt and navy pants." He huffed as Dean continued to laugh. "I fail to see what's so funny."

"Nothing, nothing. It's just…just so you, man. Like, everyone else is wearing jeans and stuff but here you are in your pressed shirt and designer pants."

"If you’re going to mock me, I'll go back to the party."

Dean stopped laughing immediately.

“No, don’t!” He grabbed at his arm. “Sorry, ok? I was just...I was being a dumbass. Just ignore me. You look...” He swallowed hard. “You look really good.”

He huffed again but in the moonlight, Dean thought he could see a faint hint of pink on those ridiculous cheekbones.

“Go on then.” Cas said, crossing his arms.

“What?”

“You’re the one who wanted to meet.” He said, voice low as he took a step closer.

"I thought...well, this is it, huh?" Dean tried to subtly wipe his clammy hands on his jeans. "End of the project. You ain’t gotta put up with me any more."

"I suppose you could think of it like that." Castiel said patiently, still fixing him with that unwavering gaze.

He leaned back against the fence, arms crossed over his slim torso. Dean tried not to notice how his blue eyes looked almost ethereal in the cool moonlight. He also tried not to notice how his lips parted slightly, his breath fogging the air between them.

Dean stepped back and pressed himself against the hard wall behind him, focussing on the sharp pain of the brick digging into his back. It was probably marking his dad's leather jacket. The thought of his father smothered the butterflies in his stomach in lead.

His fingers itched to light a cigarette but he'd left them in the car. Castiel didn't like the smell of them. He'd had a piece of gum too because he'd thought that Castiel wouldn't like the taste of them either.

You’re so dumb, Winchester. You're a stupid, desperate sissy. You should be at the party. You should be getting your hand in Amanda Heckerling's bra. Not out here with -

“Dean?”

Castiel was staring at him again. It really wasn’t fair, Dean thought, that someone could have that sort of face. Those big eyes, those pink lips, that mussed mop of dark hair and those sharp cheekbones that were almost as sharp as the pale collarbone Dean could see a glimpse of, illuminated by the pearl moonlight.

“Dean, are you alright?”

Maybe I'm just jealous. Maybe I just wanna be him.

Castiel stepped forward, concern wrinkling his brow.

"Dad's moving us on.” Dean blurted. “This is the last time I'll see you."

Castiel blinked, almost starting in surprise. "Oh. That's…" He trailed off, looking uncharacteristically unsure. "How...how do you feel about that?"

Well, that was a question.

“I don’t...” His hands shook as he checked his pocket again. Castiel followed the movement with his eyes and moved even closer.

Dean’s eyes were drawn immediately to the fullness of Cas’ lips, pink and slightly chapped. He should’ve looked away, should’ve got back in the car and returned to the motel where his father was packing.

“Dean?” He watched Cas’ lips traced his name.

He blamed the glug of whiskey he'd had from his flask on the drive over, he blamed the lust for nicotine thrumming under his skin. He blamed the heavy warmth of Castiel's hand on his arm.

He surged forward. Cas let out a noise of surprise when Dean’s mouth crashed into his but he clung on quickly, fingers curling into Dean’s shirt and pressing his warmth into his cold chest.

Dean buried his hands in Cas’ hair, wild and dark. Cas’ tongue licked his bottom lip and Dean let him in. Cas’ jaw was hard under his fingers, his hips lithe and sharp under his palm. His tongue was hot and sweet in his mouth -

Somewhere up the street, a door slammed. They both leapt apart, wide-eyed and panting.

Cas sagged against the chain link fence, fingers curling around the metal. Dean wanted to tease him for it but knew he didn’t look much better.

He was exhilarated and terrified and so alive. It was like someone had just injected adrenaline into his heart.

Across the cramped alleyway, Cas was still watching him; his hair even wilder than before, lips even pinker. Dean stared at them again.

“If you keep looking at me like that, Dean Winchester,” He began, voice rumbling like a summer storm. “I’ll have to kiss you again.”

“Is that a threat?” Dean said weakly, with all the swagger he could muster. “Or a promise?”

Cas smiled. But it slipped away quickly. “I don’t think I should.”

“What? Why?”

“You’re leaving.”

Dean had conveniently forgotten about that.

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

The frown returned to Cas’ face and Dean wanted nothing more than to get rid of it. “When?”

“Tonight.” Dean felt his chin tremble. “Now.”

If Dean cried on the drive back to the motel, that was no one’s business but his.

As he pulled into the parking lot, he pulled himself together.

There was a light on in their motel room. His father’s stumbling shadow filled him with nausea and Sam’s filled him with guilt. He shouldn’t have gone out at all. He should’ve been in, looking after Sammy. He always got upset when they had to move on. He should be inside looking after his baby brother not out with -

Dean sniffed and clenched his jaw.

He was being ungrateful - sat out in the parking lot while his family waited for him. He had responsibilities and he was lucky he had been allowed out at all. He didn’t usually get to say goodbye to his friends.

He squared his shoulders and slid out of the car.

He was almost at the door when he delved into his pocket for the room key and stopped dead. His hand touched plastic and his heart suddenly felt too heavy to be inside his body.

He pulled the cassette out of his pocket.

Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx

He’d spent all Thursday evening on it. Dad had been out drinking, Sammy had been fast asleep in their room. Dean had sat there for hours, stopping and starting the tape, recording it perfectly just so he could give it to…

It was stupid anyway, Dean thought, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. It didn't matter that he forgot. Cas didn’t even like Led Zeppelin.

But he said he’d listen to it. For me.

He thought about binning it or pulling all the tape out from the shell. He didn’t want to look at it, didn’t want to remember why he made it.

Or who he made it for.

But he kept it anyway, tucked in his pocket, warm and safe as the car rumbled on to the next motel.

Maybe he’d get rid of it then. Maybe he’d be ready to give it up.

Maybe.

all of these are from the same story but hopefully they make sense alone too 💖

read the other parts: one | two | three | four

#did i nearly cry writing this?#of course i did my deangirlism is incurable #dean winchester #castiel #spn fic #destiel fic #deancas #destiel #mine #mine: seventeen again #supernatural #tootired500

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magickastiel · 3 years

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DAY THREE OF @TOOTIREDMOTEL’S 500 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION! 🥳

✨ prompt three: reunite | handwrite | “about last night” ✨

Sam leaves the bar like the traitor he is.

Dean fidgets in his seat. Why did Castiel have to take the seat opposite? Why did he have to come on this trip at all? And why does he look so damn good?

There’s no need for any of it.

Dean takes a sip of his lukewarm beer for something to do. Castiel keeps staring at him.

“What?” Dean snaps, almost dribbling beer down his chin.

“Nothing.” Castiel shrugs but doesn’t stop. “I suppose I am still getting used to seeing you again.”

“Yeah.” Dean snorts, shoving one of Sam’s abandoned fries into his mouth and wincing when he remembers he ordered sweet potato not regular. “Quite the reunion.”

“You’re not happy?”

“‘Course I’m happy. Why wouldn’t I be happy? Got a decent job, got good friends, a successful brother - ”

“I meant about me being here.”

“Oh. Right.”

One of Castiel’s eyebrows lifts slightly and Dean squirms. “You answered rather...defensively.”

“I am happy.” Dean says through gritted teeth. “You were always like this, always goddamn questioning me - pushing me! Just...stop, ok?”

Castiel sits back in his chair, arms crossed and eyes hard. “I 'pushed you'? Into what, exactly? Because if I recall correctly, you kissed me.”

Dean slams his hands down, making the family at the next table jump. His face burns as he hisses, “Oh, you just had to bring that up, didn’t you?! You been waiting to say that all night? Just had to wait for Sammy to go, huh? You probably think I should be thanking you for not telling him! Well, I ain’t gonna!”

“I wouldn’t expect you to!” Castiel glares, jiggling his leg under the table. Dean barely resists the urge to kick him in the shin. “I have been discreet because I know it’s the right thing to do! I’m not here to - to...out you!”

The anger Dean feels dissipates into panic. He looks around wildly. What if the family at the next table heard? He doesn’t know them but what if they tell someone who does know him? What if -

“Dean.” Castiel says, his voice returned to his normal deep calm.

“What?” He tries to have an attitude but it’s already gone.

“I didn’t mean...” He sighs and props his elbows back on the table. “I didn’t want this to be unpleasant. I hoped that seeing me again would be a good experience for you. Something that brings back good memories.”

“Yeah, it...” It does. “It’s kind of a mixed bag, you know?” He rubs the back of his neck and tries not to think about the feel of Castiel’s hair between his fingers or the scent of smoke on his father’s leather jacket.

“That’s understandable. I feel the same.” Dean must look confused because Castiel gives him a small smile and explains. “The short time we were...friends...forced me to confront my sexuality. There was no avoiding it, no pushing it aside. And while that was a good thing in the long term...” He drags a hand over his face, suddenly looking weary. “After you left town, things were difficult for me.”

“Why? Did someone find out?” Dean asks, trying not to sound too panicked. “Did they give you shit for it?” He can imagine Castiel’s snobby classmates bullying him not only for being gay, but for dating a boy as poor and weird as Dean.

No, not dating.

“No, no, nothing like that. It was me, really. All of my suffering was internal.” Castiel smiles again but it just looks sad this time.

“Right.” Dean feels awkward. “Sorry?”

“Not your fault.” He says and sounds like he means it.

Dean takes another swig of beer and lets his nerves settle. “We were kinda confused, huh?” He chuckles, remembering his fake swagger and ‘bad boy’ attitude. “Being a teenager’ll do that to you, I guess.”

“And now?”

Castiel is doing that thing again where it feels like he’s slicing through all the bullshit in Dean’s mind and seeing the one thing he doesn’t want to share.

He swallows. “And now what?”

“Are you still confused?”

Dean thinks about his hands shaking the first time he took a guy back to his apartment, thinks about getting a text from him in work the day after and hurriedly deleting his number. He thinks about how he still has to drive two towns over to even consider speaking to a guy in a bar.

He thinks about the terror that consumes him when he imagines telling Sam and Bobby.

He thinks about what John Winchester would have said.

“I - uh...” He tries to laugh. He can feel Castiel’s eyes on him, patient and soft. “I suppose I am, yeah.”

Castiel’s hand twitches on the table, like he’s about to reach across. Dean tenses, wishing he could just let him. He waits to panic.

But instead, his leg nudges Dean’s under the table and after a second, he relaxes into the warmth. Cas feels solid and strong against him. It feels like companionship, like he understands. Like he can help.

Dean can’t meet his gaze. His eyes trace the label on his beer bottle over and over.

“That’s ok.” Cas says so quietly and gently Dean almost feels like crying. “We’ll figure it out.”

Dean decides to believe him. Just for tonight.

all of these are from the same story but hopefully they make sense alone too 💖

read the other parts: one | two

#tootired500 #deancas #destiel #destiel fic #spn fic #dean winchester #castiel #mine #mine: seventeen again

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