The Long Game – 13×02 coda, ~800 words, angst
The beer’s almost empty, which is annoying.
The bottle dangles in one hand, the knife in the other, and Dean
stalks down the hall, heading back to the kitchen. He should tell Sam, let him
know the stupid kid’s gone all stab-happy-Bukowski. Then Sam can rush in with
his Dr Phil crap and smother the kid in stupid platitudes about rock bottom and getting through it. The two of them will probably have a good cry,
listen to some fucking Enya, then start moving
on, in all the ways that Dean can’t.There’s nothing to move on to. Dean’s future is lost in gritty, greasy, black smoke.
Dean stops, braces a hand on the cold, stone wall, and chugs
the last of the bottle. Screw telling Sam. He’ll figure it out. Kid wears his
damn heart on his sleeve, like an idiot.He’ll learn.
The beer’s gone now, and Dean’s already had four, but they’re
not really doing anything. Big surprise. He’ll have to make a detour to his stash
in the library on his way to his room.Mercifully, there’s an unopened bottle on the little table in
the corner. It’s cheap-ass whiskey, and it’s probably not gonna do much either,
but it’s what he’s got. He grabs the bottle by the neck and turns to go, but
the corner of the table catches his eye.Two sets of initials, carved with a pocketknife, only a few
weeks ago. Feels like a decade.The bottle thunks down on the table and Dean pulls back a
chair. He collapses, slumps back, and then realizes he’s still holding the
knife.There’s a lot of things he could do with the knife. But he’s
a coward – always has been – so he drops it on the table and starts sucking
down the whiskey.Gotta give Jack props on that score. He at least tried –
just went for it.Given the option though, Dean will always choose the slow
suicide.He swallows, swig after swig, 40-proof burning the back of
his throat like the acrid smoke of the pyre.He’d wanted to fling himself onto it. How fitting it would’ve
been, to end their story the way it had begun: one of them diving headfirst
into fire, searching for the other.But he hadn’t moved, couldn’t summon the energy. And before
he knew it Sam was there, using the same tone he always used with grieving
widows, the bastard.It’s been a half hour and the bottle’s half-empty. He tries
to focus back in on the table, but his vision’s a little blurry. He can’t
decide if it’s his head or his eyes that are swimming.Probably both. Score one for the slow suicide.
Dean’s always played it slow, though. Always assumed there’d
be time.Time to talk, work it all out together. Time to finally spit
out the words, instead of making a dumbass mixtape and hoping Cas has a decoder
ring for Dean’s cryptic fucking feelings. Time for Cas to carve his own initial
into the table next to Dean’s.The knife’s in his hand in he next instant, the point
digging into the wood. It’s too large, unwieldy, and it’s still covered in Jack’s
drying blood.Dean only gets halfway through a squarish-looking ‘C’ before
it slips, slicing into the meat of his palm.“Fuck.” His hand
flies to his mouth and he sucks on the cut. But it’s not too deep, and the
booze is dulling the pain, so he just leans across the table and yanks a few
tissues from the box. He crumples them in his fist, squeezing tight, then looks
up at the library’s high ceiling.“You can’t hear me. I know you can’t. ‘M not trying to
pretend.” Dean’s keeping his voice low, but in this space, it still sounds too
loud. “‘Kay, maybe I am.”He takes another pull from the bottle, then picks the knife
back up to keep carving.“But I prayed to God, to Chuck, and that was stupid. When
has he ever actually answered one of our goddamn prayers? I shoulda prayed to you. You always hear me.”The ‘C’ is finished now. Dean didn’t do a good job; the
lines are jagged and rough. He probably should’ve waited until he was sober.“I need you to come home. I can’t do this. I’m trying, and I
can’t. I just – I can’t. So come back to me.”The knife drops from his hand again, clattering against the
table. He’d gotten halfway through the ‘W’ without even realizing what he was
doing.He stands abruptly and reaches for the bottle, but it’s empty
now. Maybe this suicide’s not that slow after all.
Tag: destiel fanfic
Cas is a terrible patient.
In the ER he fights the nurse putting an iv into his arm. It takes her three tries, and in the end Dean has to hold him down.
He actually growls at the doctor who examines him. The doctor, a young blonde, actually laughs. “I know it hurts,” she says sympathetically, “but don’t fret. We’ll get that appendix out in a few hours. And you’ll heal up from the surgery in a week or so.” Cas only glares.
When the orderly tells Cas he can’t have a drink of water because he’ll be in surgery in less than an hour, Cas actually says, “Fuck you.” Dean shakes his head in wonder. Sam snorts.
In pre-op a nurse gives Cas something “for your nerves, dear.” When she pats his shoulder Cas tries to smack her hand away, but the drugs have already begun to slow his movements. He opens his mouth to speak–almost certainly to say something rude–but all that comes out is a grunt. “That’s better,” she says sweetly. Dean can’t hold in his laughter. Thankfully Cas is already asleep.
After the surgery–a successful surgery–Cas is groggy and sweet, and Dean kisses his fingertips and tells him he’ll feel better soon. He tries the same thing a few hours later, when Cas is more awake. Cas jerks his hand away and pointedly stares at the wall. Dean sighs.
Cas’s attitude does not improve when Sam and Dean bring him home the next day. The bed is uncomfortable. His pillow is too soft. His feet are cold. He wants chicken noodle soup, and all they have is minestrone. His stitches itch. There is nothing–nothing!–worth watching on Netflix.
Dean kills Cas with kindness. He brings extra pillows, a pair of thick socks. He sends Sam–who is ever so thankful to get away from the scratchy Cas–to town for more soup. When Cas slams the laptop shut in disgust, Dean walks to one of Cas’s bookshelves, finds his copy of The Fellowship of the Ring, and settles carefully on his half of the bed to read aloud. Charlie would approve, he thinks.
Dean is nearly done with chapter two–‘I will help you bear this burden, as long as it is yours to bear..’–when Cas says softly, “How do you do it?”
Dean’s heart leaps; this sounds like his Cas. He treads carefully, says lightly, “What, read this long without losing my voice? I used to read to Sam when we were kids, ‘til he got too smart and wanted to do everything by himself.” Dean grins.
Cas looks at his hands, bites his lower lip. “How do you deal with your body doing things you can’t control?”
Something breaks inside Dean’s chest. “Oh Cas,” he says, carefully pulling the fallen angel into his arms, “it’s–that’s humanity. I’m so sorry. It sounds ridiculous, but you’ll get used to it. And I’ll always be here, okay?” Cas’s breath hitches and Dean can feel the tears soaking through his t-shirt.
“We’ll get through this. I promise. In a few weeks we’ll start working out again, and pretty soon you won’t even think about it.” Dean rubs small, easy circles on Cas’s back. “We’ll have you beheading vampires in no time.”
Cas laughs softly. “Ow,” he groans. “Please don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
Dean smiles as he kisses Cas’s temple and settles him back onto his pillows. “Okay, angel. Rest. Heal.” He picks up the book. “Back to Middle Earth?”
Cas nods and closes his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. “Friends sharing a burden…”
Dean begins to read.
@yourewelcomeforbeingmyfriend …are you feeling better? Here’s a bit more fluff…and this one I wrote just for you! 🙂
I just couldn’t get this post by @k-vichan out of my head and it was driving me nuts so this happened.
“Dean, I want you to understand that this Nephilim business is urgent and an all hands on deck situation,” Cas says. “The angels approached me for help and I needed to do something.”
Dean stares resolutely at his desk. “You could’ve stayed with us and helped us if you wanted to so badly.”
“The angels are my family and I-”
“The angels are your family?” Dean asks, incredulous, finally turning to look at Cas. “We—me and Sam—are your family.”
“But you were—” Cas cuts himself off, glaring at Dean’s wall in frustration.
“What?” Dean stands, stepping into Cas’ personal space. “What, huh?”
“You said I was your brother.” Cas looks Dean in the eye like he’s challenging him. “You were lying.”
“No,” Dean shakes his head. “I definitely wasn’t.”
“I’m an angel,” Cas grits out. “I can sense when someone’s lying.”
Dean pauses in contemplation. He remembers the conversation in his baby, of course, and he has a sneaky suspicion that he knows what Cas is getting at.
“You’re our family,” he says slowly. “Am I lying?”
Cas is silent for a beat. “No.”
“Sam and I, we want you to stay with us, here. Am I lying?’
“No.”
“You’re like our brother,” Dean says, cataloging every shift on Cas’ face.
Cas narrows his eyes at him, and jackpot. Dean was right.
Dean swallows hard, hesitating for only a moment.
“I love you,” his voice comes out soft, almost a whisper. “Am I lying?”
“I— no.” Cas is visibly shocked. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m in love with you,” Dean rephrases, letting the breath he’d been holding in out.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Cas asks, face twisted in confusion.
Dean laughs bitterly. “Why? Because you keep leaving, that’s fucking why.”
“I thought—” Cas looks dazed. “I thought you didn’t want me here. I thought you were lying.”
“Well, clearly you were wrong, dumbass,” Dean grumbles.
“You were lying,” Cas retorts. “Dumbass.”
“Don’t ‘dumbass’ me,” Dean sputters. “Just, c’mere.”
Cas takes a step forward and Dean raises a hand, brushes his cheek.
“Stay, please.”
“Of course,” Cas mutters against Dean’s lips.
Downstream – ~1k, post 12.23 / pre s13, angst
The ocean is a flat plane of glass, and the boat doesn’t
cause a single ripple as it glides along the surface. Dean has no idea how they
managed to drift out so far, but somehow they’ve completely lost sight of the
shoreline. The only indication of the horizon is the thinnest, faintest line; a
stray hair caught in a watercolour canvas.It’s light out, the air around him a diffusion of pink and
gold and reflected back in the water’s mirror surface, but he can’t find the
sun. Perhaps it’s nearing dawn.Dean’s leaning back against the bow, hands behind his head.
The gunwales are kind of digging into his shoulders, but he’s smiling.His companion is silent and placid where he sits near the
stern. The light is catching the tips of his hair, setting off the dark with
glints of gold. Clasped hands hang between splayed knees.Dean inhales thick, salt air and lets his eyes drift closed.
“This was a good idea. We needed a vacation.”“You deserve it.”
Dean hums, contented. “You too. Hell, we’ve all been through
the ringer lately.”Cas nods. “I suppose we have.”
Their voices float easily through the air, but in the space
all around them it’s perfectly quiet, save the occasional soft, gentle slap of
water against the boat.“Seriously, we shoulda done this years ago.”
“When?” Cas asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “After
the apocalypse, but before the leviathan? Maybe between the Mark of Cain and
Amara?”“Anybody ever tell you you’re kind of a downer, Cas?” Dean
replies peaceably.“Once or twice.”
Another long and companionable silence stretches out between
them. They’ve been out here a while now and the sun probably should’ve risen,
but it’s hardly a concern: the glow of light around them is warm enough. In
fact, Dean could probably afford to take off his jacket, were he not far too
comfortable to move.“Dean. How long do you plan to stay out here?”
Dean cracks one eye. “What, you got somewhere to be?”
Cas’ answering smile is fond, and only slightly tinged with
sadness. “No.”“That’s what I thought.” Dean drops his eyelid.
“It’s just, there are things you need to do.”
Both Dean’s eyes open now, and he leans all the way up to
sit on the hard, wooden seat. The boat rocks and sways. “Yeah, Cas, there’s
always something. But you are cutting into our hard-earned relaxation time,
man. You keep this up, you can kiss that second date goodbye.”“This is a date?”
Dean gives him a look. “You take a lot of platonic pre-dawn rowboat rides?”
“I suppose not,” Cas says, and he casts his eyes out to the
water. “I’m just a little surprised.”“But not disappointed.”
There’s a faint blush dusting Cas’ cheeks. Maybe it’s just
the light. “No.”“Because you love me.” Cas’ eyebrows rocket up to his
hairline, and Dean shrugs defensively. “Hey, you said it, not me.”“Well, that’s
certainly true.”Dean’s gotta give him that one. “Touché.”
Cas is looking at him patiently, waiting.
Feeling rather like a third-grader forced to answer a
question he wasn’t listening to in the first place, Dean casts his eyes down,
suddenly intensely interested in the rough woodgrain below his feet. The fact
that the boat has no oars is a mild curiosity.“I dunno,” Dean shrugs. “Probably shoulda said it then. Guess
I just figured you knew.”“Because you’re always so open and honest with your
feelings.”That’s two points to Cas.
Dean plays for time a while longer, scraping his boots
through the coarse, black sand he tracked in from the beach. “Alright, well,
there it is. Better late than never, right?”This time Cas doesn’t bother trying to hide the heartache in
his smile.They sit in silence again, for minutes or maybe hours.
Eventually Cas looks left to the non-existent sun. “It’s probably time to go
back,” he says quietly.Dean shakes his head. “Nah. Little longer.”
“You have responsibilities, Dean.”
Dean scoffs. “What, you mean Rosemary’s baby?”
“He didn’t ask to be what he is.”
“He’s the literal
antichrist, Cas.”“Whatever he is,”
Cas says firmly, “good or evil, he needs someone. He needs guidance.”“He needs a bullet
in the neck.”Cas shakes his head. “You don’t mean that. He’s an innocent,
Dean. And he needs you and Sam, now that I can’t be there for him anymore.”Something flickers in Dean’s chest, like a moth beating against
his heart. He frowns, confused, and finds Cas’ eyes.The intent expression on Cas’ face gradually shifts to one
of resignation. He sighs softly. “You forgot again, didn’t you?”Dean jolts awake to a blaring car horn.
Sam is driving, the hideous sodium streetlights casting
harsh lines of shadow across his face when he turns to the passenger seat. “You
were talking again.”Dean doesn’t answer as he reacquaints himself with the deep,
aching chasm in his chest.Sam swallows visibly, shadows of raindrops on the windshield
like pockmarks on his skin. “Do you wanna talk about it?”Dean grits his teeth. “Yeah, Sam. There were these clowns.
Like thirty of ‘em, and they all kept piling out of this Volkswagon.” The lie
slides easy off his tongue.Sam throws up a hand in surrender. “Okay.”
Anger is easier. Anger is always easier.
Dean closes his eyes tight and tries to chase the soft,
pink-gold light of the ocean. He inhales Baby’s familiar leather scent,
desperate for a whiff of salt air.He tries to forget.
Cas is trying to fix breakfast when Dean falls in love.
They’ve always been together, even when they weren’t. They’ve always known that whatever exists between them is cosmic, is a fate not even they can refuse.
But it takes Dean walking into the kitchen and seeing Cas squinting at the toaster to really accept it.
“What are you doing?” Dean asks warily.
Cas just stares at the toaster, leaning forward slightly, all muscles tense like he’s ready to take flight. “Making toast.”
Dean isn’t sure whether he should be rolling his eyes or leaving the room quickly. He decides on continuing to investigate. “You don’t eat toast.”
Cas still doesn’t flinch. “You do.”
Dean nods. “Thanks for that. But why do you look like you’re at war with the toaster?”
Cas brushes the question away with a shake of his head, concentrating. When the toast pops up, he jumps, arms raising slightly in an almost defensive stance.
“What the hell, Cas?” Dean asks, finally irritated enough to let it show in his voice.
Cas moves to the toaster, still wearing an undershirt and boxers and looking nothing like the warrior angel he is. “I don’t understand why the toast pops out so aggressively. Maybe it’s a way for humans to get their blood flowing in the morning. But I don’t trust it.”
Dean pauses for a moment to let that sink in, then starts laughing, deep and loud guffaws from somewhere so deep it almost never sees daylight. And that’s when he falls in love.
He walks forward and accepts the plate of toast Cas is proudly thrusting toward him, and sets it on the counter.
“Don’t you want to eat?” Cas asks, face falling slightly.
Dean runs his hands through that messy, dark hair, then pulls Cas into his arms, locking his hands at the small of Cas’ back. “In a minute.”
Cas’ face lights up again when Dean kisses him.
Empty Spaces
Empty Spaces by schmerzerling
Rating: T
Word Count: 60,300
Summary:Dean is fine. The way he sees it, things are simple. He had a house and a family and food in his stomach, and now he doesn’t. And yeah, that’s a downer, but he’s not going to let that stop him from being fine, because he’s in control of the situation. He definitely doesn’t need anyone to save him. And it’s not like the weird guy with the nice butt from down the road is the knight-in-shining-armor type, anyway.
There are stories that put your through an emotional wringer by showing how unfair life can be, and then there are stories that make everything ten times worse by having characters accept their situation with a smile. This is the latter one. The fic starts with Dean bringing terminally ill John home from the hospital and becoming his only caretaker. The loneliness that envelopes him is only heightened by everybody else not giving a damn about John or Dean. Sam, Bobby, Ellen are all well meaning, but not really observant. After all, Dean never asks for help, he must be doing good, right? Dean’s so used to being neglected by everybody that he internalized it with gusto. And so, the slow descent into eating disorder hell starts.
This beautifully written, poignant fic has a phenomenal Dean’s voice – full of raw emotions and bitter, self-deprecating humor. The fic is a great example of showing not telling. Instead of describing anorexia and caretaker burnout symptoms, it immerses the reader straight into the mental trap that prevents Dean from caring about himself. The fic is very honest about depression and it may hit harder if you’re already suffering from it. But fear not, there’s also hope and climbing out of the dark hole of despair. When everybody left Dean alone, a stranger extended a helping hand and became the only person Dean could really count on. The tentative friendship between Dean and Cas blossoms slowly but surely, mostly because of Cas’ stubbornness. And while Cas has his own struggles, he’s the one who understands Dean the most. In the end, they save each other.
Fanworks inspired by this fanfic at destielfanworks (other fanworks by title)
Ahhhhhh, what a nice review!!!
The Law of Equivalent Exchange by awed_frog
Oh my god, this fic ruined me. There’s only a few stories (and a very minute few) that have reduced me to tears because of how beautiful they are, but this is definitely one of them. If you love reincarnation fics where Cas and Dean fall in love with each other over and over again through the ages, this is a must-read. And even if you don’t…it’s still a must-read. Because now all I want to do is just curl up and bask in the post-fic afterglow.
Firsts
ibelieveinthelittletreetopper:
scones-and-texting-and-murder:
A time stamp to A Little Company for @ibelieveinthelittletreetopper in honor of Tam’s first birthday. With art by the ever-amazing @cluelessakemi
***
At almost a year old Ellie has become so much her own person. She has a distinct little personality, with dependable likes and dislikes. She’s mastered the trick of dropping food from the high chair tray whenever old Sadie comes to visit, she can pull all the plastic containers out of the one un-babyproofed kitchen cabinet in a flash, and she has an endless love of being tossed in the air by Uncle Sam. She’s scared of the loud sound the garbage truck makes on Wednesday mornings, she hates staying still while they buckle her into the carseat, and she continues to rebel against the oppressive nature of socks.
For the most part she’s happy and healthy and Dean and Cas are endlessly entertained by her. (Except for the time she crawled over to one particular spot near the front window and spent fifteen minutes laughing at absolutely nothing. That night they’d put her to bed then run an entire battery of tests looking for evidence of anything supernatural. When they’d reported that to Jody, she’d spent fifteen minutes laughing herself.)
Despite her time in the hospital, her development has been nothing less than stellar. Dean tries not to brag too often, but honestly, it’s obvious that she’s a rather advanced baby.
The only thing she hasn’t done yet is walk.
Sure, walking by a year is just a rough guideline and it’s not like he’d be disappointed if it took longer, but seeing as she was early to teethe, roll, and crawl it just makes sense that she’d be an early walker too. Despite his best efforts, as the days tick down to her first birthday, she’s content merely to cruise around with a solid grip on the nearest piece of furniture.
When Dean tries supporting her under the armpits, she’ll happily march her knees up and down but as soon as he tries letting go, she holds her legs up in the air leaving him to hang on or essentially drop her. When he tries holding her hands and walking with her, she’ll take a few mincing steps before going boneless and collapsing to the floor.
“She’s not quite ready,” he tells Cas, who shrugs, unconcerned.
“She’ll be ready when she’s ready.”
Well, that’s the kind of nonsense platitude that Dean has no use for so he spends some time on Amazon reading reviews for push toys to determine which one might push her a little closer to readiness.
IM GONNA CRY!!!
Castiel
knows this. He’s familiar with it, has felt it before. Dean’s warmth, Dean’s
scent, Dean’s embrace.Although none
of their previous hugs were quite like this, that much Castiel has to admit.
This is the first time that they’re both
holding on to the other like there’s no tomorrow. And come to think of it, maybe
there isn’t, but as Dean’s fingers are all but forming bruises on Castiel’s lower
back from holding on too tight, Castiel doesn’t care. Doesn’t care what happens
next, only cares about the here and now.Because
he’s thought about this before. About home. About what home means to him.
Whether home is where he used to belong -up there in Heaven-, or down here on earth in an old
bunker that used to be the home of the men of letters.But this
simple gesture of affection helps him to find the answer at last. Home isn’t a
realm, or a building. Home is here, where Castiel’s heart belongs. Here where
Dean holds him close, and takes all the time in the world to do so, just this
once.Even though
he isn’t an expert, Castiel is aware that the average hug doesn’t last this
long. Knows that it’s a big deal when Dean runs his fingers through Castiel’s
hair. Knows that it’s special when Dean isn’t the first one to pull away, even
though they’ve been standing here like this for nearly five minutes.“Dean?”
Castiel whispers after a while, his chin still resting on Dean’s shoulder,
Dean’s breath hot against his ear. “Are you planning to let go anytime
soon?”Dean’s arms
tighten around Castiel in response. More minutes pass, and then Dean finally
answers the question for real, murmuring a single word against Castiel’s neck,
still not letting go.“No.”
Hi :) Just a random prompt (cos your writing is amazing) … It’s Dean and Cas’ first time and Cas thinks he’ll be bottoming because of Dean being a macho hunter, but Dean throws Cas on the bed and climbs on top of him, opens himself up and then rides Cas hard like a porn star ;) So pretty much hot awesome smut lol
First of all, thank you very much!! I’m glad that you think so 😀 Second of all, this is an excellent prompt so thank you so so much for sending it my way!! For some reason, I had some trouble writing it? I don’t know why, but I did, and it’s kinda short because I’m lazy and yeah. I’m very lazy. With all that being said, I hope that you like how it came out, and thank you again for sending it 🙂
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