“Check this out.” Sam turns the laptop toward Cas, who blinks at it curiously. “The ESO’s got some incredible photos. They just uploaded a series of open clusters, and some of them are mind-blowing.”
Dean snorts from the bed, the remote control pointed at the TV like a weapon. Fifty channels, plus free HBO, and nothing’s on? How is that even possible? “You wanna show him mind-blowing? Look in my bookmarks under ‘pole dancing championship’.”
There is a moment of silence, tense enough that even Dean manages to tear his eyes away from what must be Telemundo. They’re speaking Spanish and just broke out into a dance routine. This is why the American media sucks.
“Cas? Dude, you okay?”
“This image,” Cas says quietly, eyes clouded with weariness and a thousand sleepless nights. Adapting to the routines of humanity hasn’t been kind to him. “It’s —”
“It’s…” Sam cranes his neck and squints at the monitor. “The Pleiades. Probably the most recognizable cluster there is.”
“Why do you even know that? No, seriously, how does that shit affect our lives at all?”
“Shut the hell up, Dean.”
“Sandalphon.”
Cas stares at the screen, eyes soft, lashes dipping with what can only be pain. He reaches out to touch — something Sam’s yelled at him for doing countless times — and gently places his fingertips upon it, treating it like the most precious gift he’s ever received. And it might be. The Winchesters have never been much for gift-giving, which is a shitty life to introduce Cas into. Normal people get gifts all the time. The last thing Dean gave him was a stick of gum.
God dammit.
Dean rolls out of bed and pads over, resting an arm carelessly over the back of Cas’s shoulders. “Say again?”
“Sandalphon, my old general,” Cas says, tilting his head. “This is… She was a brilliant tactician. She led the first battalion against Lucifer during the First War.”
Sam exhales softly. “What happened?”
“She… decided that Lucifer’s way was right. She Fell.”
An awkward silence stretches between them, an eternity before Sam clicks on the next picture. Cas expels a breath like it physically hurts him to hold it in.
“Chazaquiel.”
They go through maybe forty pictures of open clusters, which Dean still really doesn’t understand, Cas naming each of them as a brother or sister — “Penemue, Amaros, Arkas, Kochab…” — before they come to an image that is, admittedly, breathtaking. Dean lets out a low whistle and nudges Cas’s neck with his arm, fingers brushing the worn fabric of Dean’s old ACDC shirt, a bit too big over Cas’s thin shoulders.
“That one fucking rocks,” he says, and nudges Cas again. “Who’s that?”
Cas sucks in a shuddering breath and leans to rest his head on Dean’s stomach, fingers reaching out once more for the monitor.
“Well, these here have Buzz Lightyear on them. And these, these ones have Hello Kitty. You can pick whichever one you want.”
Dean stared, clutching at his side and breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his neck. “Cas, dude. I don’t need Band-Aids. I need some angel mojo, pronto.”
The angel furrowed his brow. “This is common procedure. You have an injury, you get your pick of Band-Aids. It’s protocol.”
He held out the two boxes, voice deep and menacing as his eyes stared into Deans. “Now you pick: Buzz Lightyear or Hello Kitty. I won’t ask again.”
Dean ground his teeth, removing his hand from his side to see it dripping in blood. He shuddered and reapplied the pressure, exhaling loudly and wiping his forehead, leaving four long lines of red across his face.
“Look, Cas,” he tried to keep his voice as steady as possible through clenched teeth, “I know you’re a bit new at this, but have you ever been a guardian angel before?”
Cas frowned and stared back through tightened eyebrows. “I was previously assigned to children between the ages of three and six. My superiors relocated me on the basis of… aptitude.”
His frown deepened. Dean chose not to press the subject, as he was beginning to see dark stars dance in front of his eyes.
“Okay Cas. In the adult world, injuries are generally a little bit more pressing than what a Band-Aid would warrant.” He spoke as gently as he could, his voice a few octaves higher than normal. “I’m going to need you to angel me up some healing power for this gash wound right here in my side. Do you see it?”
Cas nodded. “Yes, I see it, Dean.”
“Do you think you can fix it?”
Cas stared intently at Dean’s side, then gently grasped his hand, now soaked with blood, and removed it, replacing it with his own. In a flash of white light, the slash was gone and Dean let out a sigh of relief. Picking himself up, he grabbed Cas’s hand and hauled him up off the floor.
“Great, now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He snapped, turning away and gingerly feeling his stomach for residual effects.
“Dean, you’ve forgotten something.”
Dean turned warily.
“Would you like a strawberry or lemon lollipop?”
I AM CRYING RIGHT NOW, OMFG.
Dean’s eyes clouded over a little, and he turned back to meet the Angel’s wary gaze. He pursed his lips, agonising the movement, before opening his mouth to speak. His gravelly tone filled the empty warehouse, deep and quiet, echoing around the cold cement and tin.
“Are you knitting?” Dean asks when
he finally realizes what Cas is doing.
He’s just walked into the war room,
where Cas sits with Dean’s computer open and a frown on his face. His hands are
full of blue knitting needles, three different skeins of yarn, and something
small Dean can’t fully see.
“Yes,” Cas answers absently. He
squints at the screen, then back at the thing in his hand.
Dean knows he has to say it. Or at least, he knows he has to say something. For his own sake, and for Castiel’s sake. He just doesn’t know how to say it. They’ve already wasted so much precious time by ignoring their feelings, and Dean knows that it has to stop. But Dean isn’t good with words, never has been…
He watches as Cas makes coffee. Human Cas is quite grumpy in the mornings, therefore making coffee was one of the first things that Dean had taught the former angel when he had moved into the bunker. Not just for Castiel’s sake, but also for Sam’s and Dean’s; a grumpy Cas is never a very cooperative Cas.
Dean pretends he’s doing research for a case while he waits for his coffee, but he has hardly paid any attention to the big dusty book that is lying in front of him on the kitchen table. Instead he’s restless, because that tiny voice in the back of his head keeps telling him that this is the perfect moment to have this conversation with Cas. Sam is out on his morning run, and for now it’s just the two of them.
Dean watches as Castiel opens the cabinet over the sink to get two mugs. He looks ruffled, his hair is untamed and he is wearing some old sweatpants and a faded shirt that he’d borrowed from Dean. Ruffled, but adorable. And Dean wants to tell him, so bad. Wants to tell him that he doesn’t just want Cas to be his friend. That he needs him to be more than that. That he wants to wake up next to Cas every day… But he lacks the courage. Dean Winchester, who has fought demons, ghosts and the devil himself, is too scared to confess his feelings to his best friend.
“The coffee is almost ready, Dean.” Cas announces in a raw voice that is still laced with sleep.
He turns around to glance at Dean. The small smile that Cas offers him is a big gesture, considering that Cas isn’t exactly a happy camper until it’s at least around noon.
“That’s awesome, Cas…. Thanks.” Dean responds quickly before avoiding Cas’ gaze again, pretending to study his book.
Dean’s attention was pulled away from Charlie (who snorted
into her drink) when Castiel grabbed his arm.
“Uh,” Dean said, feeling like he was missing out on some
vital information. Castiel’s wide eyes were a little too bright and his cheeks
were flushed with pink, indicating that he was probably a little bit drunk,
though that still didn’t help clear up the situation.
“Come here!” Castiel dragged Dean by the arm across the
crowded room until they stood in front of a short brunette who Dean thought was
named Meg. Castiel wrapped his arm around Dean’s waist and squeezed him to his
side.
“I told you!” he told Meg triumphantly. “I have a boyfriend!”
Meg looked Dean up and down incredulously. “You’re dating Dean Winchester?”
Starting to catch on, Dean put a possessive arm around
Castiel’s shoulders. “Yeah, he is. Got a problem with that?”
Castiel just barely slips out the door into the hallway and turns the knob as he closes it so the latch doesn’t make a sound. The light is always on in the hallway, and Dean always wakes up if too much of it pours into his room, so Castiel has mastered the art of slipping through the smallest space possible.
He breathes a sigh of relief once he’s in the hallway.
A small voice to his right lets out an amused laugh. He turns to see a particularly tiny woman wearing a very large plaid shirt and nothing else. Well, he supposes she could be wearing shorts under the shirt. It really is very big on her.
“You must be Castiel,” she says rather loudly, mispronouncing his name just slightly.
He walks over to her with a finger to his lips.
She puts her hand over her mouth in embarrassment before signing, I’m deaf.
Castiel mouths an “oh” before dropping his head and laughing. He then pops his head back up fast and mouths, “Are you Eileen?”
She nods eagerly and signs, You’ve heard about me?
Sam has mentioned you a few times, he signs back. He says you’re a very good hunter.
Her face lights up. You’re damn right I am. Still, that’s very sweet of him.
So, are you two…? Castiel looks back toward Sam’s room and then down at Eileen’s shirt.
Eileen’s eyes widen in embarrassment. He’s asleep. I was just going to the bathroom.
I was heading to the kitchen for a cup of tea. Would you like some?
Is there caffeine in it?
Not at 4 in the morning.
Eileen smiles and gives him a thumbs up before moving past him toward the bathroom. Castiel watches her go for a second before it hits him.
He looks down at his plain black t-shirt and too-small boxer briefs and wonders if Eileen could tell that these clothes aren’t his. And that he came out of Dean’s room instead of one of the countless other extra bedrooms in the bunker.
By the time Eileen pads into the kitchen, Castiel has two mugs ready with decaf teabags in them and he’s standing at the stove staring at the pot so he can pull it off the burner before it whistles.
It’s only a minute longer before Cas pours the water into the mugs and takes a seat across from Eileen at the kitchen table.
You’re an angel, aren’t you? Eileen asks as her tea steeps.
“Daddy hasn’t gotten laid in weeks because of you. No he hasn’t. No he hasn’t,” Dean coos to his one month old daughter who is sprawled out on the changing table, baby talk and all.
“Dean!” Cas scolds.
“Well it’s true! She can’t understand me, anyway,” Dean defends, fastening the diaper finally and leaning down to plant a nice, wet raspberry against the baby’s chubby, little tummy. “Who’s a little cockblock? You are! Yes, you are. Just the cutest, little cockblock in the world…”
Castiel is at Charlie’s party and some guy is making fun of him for wearing a flower-print shirt, of all things.
“What are you, gay?” The guy asks, mockingly.
Castiel draws himself up and says, “Yes, I am.” He looks around and finds Dean, who he knows, but not that well, quite near him. He reaches out and grabs Dean by the elbow, because he’s had a few drinks and it seems like a good idea. “And this is my boyfriend. If you don’t leave me alone he’s gonna kick your ass.”
“This is your boyfriend?” The guy asks disbelieving, taking in Dean’s sturdy boots, his old jeans, his plaid jacket, his broad shoulders.
“Yes!” Castiel insists, “Look, see,” He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to Dean’s mouth. He knows it’s risky, he might get punched in the face. He’ll probably get yelled at, at the very least. He just hopes that Dean has enough mercy to wait until this guy is out of earshot.
Dean being hit by a love spell, and seeing Cas first - and falling for him, magically.
And Sam’s ready to hold his brother back from any embarrassing behaviour, anything he’ll regret later - but Dean handles it like a pro. He keeps his hands to himself - barely pats Cas on the shoulder to say goodnight, barely says a word out of place, as they sit in the bunker and try to figure out how to break the spell. There’s a feeling, sometimes, when Dean looks at Cas… a feeling of something deep moving beneath the surface, of a powerful emotion - but Dean keeps it perfectly in check.
“How are you doing that?” Sam says. “Is it a weak spell?”
Dean, jaw clenched - fire in his blood, burning alive - shakes his head slowly. “It’s strong,” he says. I’ve got practice, he almost adds.
Cas comes to see him that night, late. Dean’s awake, of course, researching in his room, laptop glowing brightly. He jerks his head up sharply when Cas knocks at the door, always alert.
“Cas,” Dean says. “Come in.”
“You’re sure? With the spell, it won’t be too…” Cas pauses, awkward. Dean shakes his head.
“It’s alright,” he says - and then makes the first and only mistake that the spell pushes out of him. “I’m used to it,” he adds.
They both pause. Dean stares at Cas in a kind of paralysed silence - unable to believe that now, now, after all these years of quietness, he has twisted a little of his feelings into words.
“I would ask you how it feels,” Cas says, eventually. He’s standing half-inside the door, tense. “But I believe I know already.”
There’s a moment of utter noiselessness - but to Dean, to Cas, it’s the loudest few seconds of their lives. Understanding crashes into them both; without words, louder than words, with eyes alone, they tell each other everything.
It turns out, the only thing needed to break the spell is a single kiss.
They make sure the spell is completely broken, though, by not leaving it at one.
deancas coda somewhere awkwardly between/alongside 12.09 and 12.10 (nsfw-ish, 3.5k) – husbands fighting; filling in the
gaps between the episodes
“I’m beat,” Dean says into the silent car, as soon as
they pull in.
After they met up, Dean had said he was keyed up, wired,
couldn’t stop his hands from jittering as he walked. Been cooped up for too
long and felt now, he said, like the Duracell bunny. Wasn’t gonna sleep for a
month, he’d said, and glanced over at Castiel with a soft, sad curve to his
mouth that Castiel had missed desperately and wanted badly to kiss.
Then had come Billie, and now Dean is, apparently, beat.
They’ve been sitting side by side for five hours without
speaking, interrupted only by Mary fiddling with the radio, asking if anyone
minds her turning the station over. Sam tilted his head against the passenger
window and slept as they came through Atwood; Dean sat, rigid-spined and tense,
his hands curled together in his lap, the whole way back. He didn’t look over
once.
“Daddy hasn’t gotten laid in weeks because of you. No he hasn’t. No he hasn’t,” Dean coos to his one month old daughter who is sprawled out on the changing table, baby talk and all.
“Dean!” Cas scolds.
“Well it’s true! She can’t understand me, anyway,” Dean defends, fastening the diaper finally and leaning down to plant a nice, wet raspberry against the baby’s chubby, little tummy. “Who’s a little cockblock? You are! Yes, you are. Just the cutest, little cockblock in the world…”
Dean finally gets up the courage to ask out the cute boy who works the reference desk in the library. When he’s rejected however, he assumes it’s because Castiel simply isn’t interested. Until they find each other in the middle of a blizzard, Dean learning that maybe Castiel’s rejection stems from something entirely different than disinterest.
Rated T for adult themes.
Dean supposed he was kind of cute.
Okay, maybe that was a lie. He was really cute. With the disheveled, dark brown hair, and those big, big blue eyes. There were slight bags beneath them, like the skin hooked up over his high cheeks bones, and his lips pulled into these delicate, pretty points. Yes, Dean had spent a considerable time watching the other boy, taking in such features. He spent a considerable amount of time at the library anyway, being an English major, and Castiel spent a considerable amount of time behind the reference desk, where he worked. It seemed only natural that they run into each rather often, or so Dean had reasoned upon realizing he saw Castiel almost every day.
He didn’t come to the library just to see those blue eyes however. That’d be ridiculous.
Biting his lip, he watched as Castiel ran someone through the computer, no doubt looking something up, his mouth muttering out an explanation as the clueless student asked more questions.
Dean sighed.
“Why don’t you just go talk to him?” Charlie muttered in his ear, Dean starting before turning to look at her. She was standing behind him, arms crossed over her chest as she cocked a knowing eyebrow.
“Yeah, okay,” Dean frowned, not appreciative of his friend’s suggestion. Charlie worked at the library too, at the front desk, and sometimes joined Dean after her shift ended, the two of them studying some before heading back to their respective dorms.
“I’m serious,” she persisted, flopping down in the chair beside him. “What’s the worst that could happen? All he can do is say ‘no.’”
“That is the worst that could happen,” Dean grumbled out, looking down at his textbook as his teeth ground together. The idea of talking to Castiel, or maybe even asking him out, not only put his heart a-flutter, but sent a kind of hesitant fear down through him. He didn’t want to be rejected, and would take silent watching over that any day.
“So you’re just going to stalk him for the rest of however long you’re both going here?” Charlie sighed. “Wow, what a trade-off.”
“I don’t even know if he likes guys, okay?!” Dean hissed rather violently. “I don’t know anything about him, actually.” This realization was a rather glum one – an inevitability of staying distant.
based on an actual coffee shop i witnessed (don’t worry it’s deancas just from another perspective) ao3
“When you said you wanted to go out I didn’t think you meant to Starbucks,” Lisa groaned as Aaron stopped them outside the coffee shop. “You have a problem, seriously.” Aaron rolled his eyes and pushed the door open, the bell overhead chimed weakly, the sound of it drowned in the excited buzz of the store.
“Shut up, you weren’t doing anything anyway.” He hooked his arm through her’s and tugged her into line. It was long, so long that they had to crane their necks to make out the menu.
“Aaron, I don’t even drink coffee.” Lisa withdrew her arm and crossed it stubbornly over her chest. Aaron snaked his arm around her waist and drew her close to him.
“Get a tea, then. Or a cake pop.” Lisa huffed and fixed her eyes on the menu. She absentmindedly tucked a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear. The line shifted a little and the counter became more visible along with the assembly line of baristas working tirelessly to fill the orders of the caffeine starved morning rush. Aaron’s shoulders relaxed as he zeroed in on his favorite barista.
“Why are you smiling?” Lisa eyed him curiously, as Aaron tore his eyes away from the barista with the light brown hair and broad, powerful shoulders. He feigned nonchalance.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lisa’s eyes narrowed, clearly not convinced. They moved forward in the line and Aaron sucked in a quick breath. The barista, Dean, as his nametag said, was right there on the other side of the counter. Looking at his tanned skin and the way his long eyelashes fanned out under his brows as he focused on making some complicated order made Aaron’s mouth go dry.
Castiel Novak has
spent his entire life behind the camera.
He’s photographed
pretty much everything, from rambling hills to city lights, ancient
brickwork and colossal heights.
Be it Times Square
or the Taj Mahal, Cas is eager to capture every wonder of the modern
world, compress the most picturesque places into a 50 mm lens.
That doesn’t explain
why he is currently sitting in a “photography for beginners”
class. Cas has been studying the difference between sharpen and fade
since he was old enough to pick up a camera, dream of one day holding
the Colosseum in the palm of his trembling hand.
He doesn’t want to
collaborate with bored college kids who can’t even tell the
difference between various Instagram filters.
Apparently, Cas
needs to “expand his portfolio” and “broaden his horizons”,
just because he’d sooner photograph a beach at sunset than take
candids of models.
Clearly, Naomi (his
stern faced professor), has no idea what she’s talking about.
Cas has always been
a firm believer that photographers should connect with
their subjects on some level, and he’s never really found that in
anyone, be they friend or lover.
Until
now.
It’s not like he
planned on developing a huge crush within five minutes of his first
class, but god; Cas is already itching to photograph the green eyed
stranger who just flopped down beside him.
Forget mountain tops
and the Mediterranean, this boy is the most beautiful creation that
Cas has ever seen. He’s certain that there are galaxies behind the
cracks in his chassis, an entire shuddering ocean under freckled
skin.
“Hi,
I’m Dean,” he says, and that’s it, Cas is completely gone,
hell-bent on reading the stories between Dean’s shoulder blades,
catching the stars as they fall from his eyelashes.
"For a star to be born, there is one thing that must happen: a gaseous nebula must collapse.
So collapse.
Crumble.
This is not your destruction.
This is your birth." -n.t. ArtistCredit
01. Be Mine-The Heavy
02. Second Chances-Gregory Alan Isakov
03. Everlasting Light-The Black Keys
04. What I'll Do-April Smith
05. Turn Off The Lights-Panic! At The Disco
