Castiel is exactly where Dean imagined he would be as soon as his wandering hand only found an empty and cold spot on the bed beside him. He steps into the kitchen, Castiel is there, sitting at the table, head hanging low, he is looking at his hands in a gesture Dean can recognise, and see what it’s behind it, if only for the times he has looked down at his own hands afraid to find there the blood that covered them in the nightmares that disturb his sleep. He sits down in front of Cas.
“You wanna talk about it?” There is no use in asking the angel if he is okay, because he can see the answer to that question written all over his features. Castiel looks away from his hand, his eyes focusing on the wall instead of meeting Dean’s, he shakes his head without a word. “Okay.” He doesn’t say anything else, he struggles to find his words, he knows there are few things he can say to ease Cas’ pain, it’s hard to live with all that blame on your back, but it ain’t easier to shake it off either, he knows it well.
He reaches out slowly, like Cas would ever shy away from his touch, and closes both his hands over Cas’, squeezing them tightly before bringing them closer to his face, he kisses his knuckles, before nuzzling against them. It’s acceptance, like Cas has accepted him with al his faults and virtues; love, like Cas loves him; a promise to be there, like he knows Cas will always be. He closes his eyes, Cas frees his hands from Dean’s grip to cradle his face, Dean opens his eyes again, Cas is finally looking at him, those blue eyes understand what he isn’t saying out loud, he can see it clear.
4.8k, destiel, AU (just after college), fake relationship, Jo & Dean friendship
Dean has been excited for months to go on vacation with his best friend, Jo. But as they post their pics on the trip, people back home keep commenting about what a great couple they are, and it’s starting to make things awkward in their friendship. In front of a sunset backdrop by the Eiffel Tower, Dean decides to take things into his own hands, and manufacture a picture of a “real” romantic moment with someone who definitely isn’t Jo. Only thing he needs to do now is find someone willing to pretend to be his partner for a picture…
“Ugh. Don’t even tell me what she said.” Parisian sunlight was reflecting off Dean’s sunglasses. It was too hot to wear a jacket, and he felt strangely exposed walking up the avenue with just a t-shirt and jeans on. Beside him, Jo was walking with her eyes on her phone, silently scrolling. Dean waited a few seconds, and then said impatiently,
“Well,
tell
me, then.”
Jo made a little noise of annoyance and scrolled back up on her Instagram feed to the picture the two of them had posted earlier that day, grinning into the camera with Jo’s arm slung around Dean’s shoulders.
“She said,
oh-em-gee you lovebirds are so cute together.
”
“Oh-em-gee?”
Jo held the phone out for Dean to see. Under the pic, Dean could see the comment Jo had read out next to the handle
lisa_baeden.
“How many times do we have to tell her,” Dean said.
Their cases usually start with someone dying or going missing, only this time, what draws Dean and Sam to a small, secluded town is the mysterious appearance of a woman after thirty years. What starts as a simple crossroads demon case spirals out of control as Dean slowly loses himself to the case, plagued by nightmares and hallucinations of monsters and shadows that stalk his every waking and sleeping moment. Things only get more complicated when Castiel shows up, worried about the brothers.
Between dealing with the Mark of Cain driving him crazy and a town that hides an ancient secret, Dean has to take things into his own hands and stop the ghosts that are hunting him once and for all.
Pairing: Destiel Rating: Teen & Up Tags: Baking, med student!dean, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Friends to Lovers, Stress, Stress Baking, friend gatherings and cake eating, Fluff, supportive friends WordCount: 2,017 Summary: Castiel comes home to a stressed Dean baking a lot of cakes. So, he decides that a gathering of friends is the best way to keep Dean’s mind off everything and it comes with a bonus extra Castiel has been waiting on for years.
Castiel hangs up his trenchcoat to the smell of something delicious baking in the kitchen. He breathes in deeply and smiles. His roommate, Dean, bakes a lot, which is great for his taste buds but not so great for his eating habits - Cas is definitely smelling an extra run this week.
“Dean, I’m home!” he calls into the house and makes his way into the kitchen in socked feet. He expects baked goods on the counter and Dean in the living room reading when he doesn’t hear an answer, or maybe Dean will be oven watching. What he doesn’t expect is the kitchen counters to be lined with baked goods from cookies to layer cakes and cupcakes, more bowls of frosting than Cas thought they had bowls and a very harried and flush-faced Dean mixing frantically with his back turned to the door.
Congrats on 1.5k! In regards to the song prompt, for angst, “I Don’t Mind” by The Greeting Committee, although if you don’t like that one, I also propose “Elise” by The Greeting Committee, it’s very destiel and could lead to some soft sweet moments!
Thank you! I chose “I Don’t Mind,” and was inspired by the lyrics “I heard it snap, it kind of sounded like you’re never coming back.”
“It’s a gift. You keep those.”
Dean sits at the dining table, a glass of whiskey in front of him and the bottle not far away.
Why had he said that? It would have been so easy to just take the mixtape back, now that Cas has listened to all the songs Dean had wanted him to listen to. But he’d insisted that Cas keep it, like it was something special, like it has meaning that it doesn’t.
(It does.)
He knocks the rest of the whiskey back and pours himself another glass, restless frustration burning beneath his skin. He’s already too many shots past driving, though, so there’s no chance of going anywhere, no chance of escaping the thoughts that circle round and round in his head.
“Dean?”
Dean’s head snaps up. His movement knocks the whiskey glass, amber liquid spilling up the side and sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Fuck, how much has he had to drink?
Castiel steps closer to the table. There’s something in his hands, cradled delicately, and as he gets closer, Dean realizes what it is.
That damn fucking mixtape.
“What, Cas?” he bites out, far too harshly but at this point, he’s too drunk to care. There’s fire burning through his veins, and he’s fucking angry. Angry at Cas, angry at the world, angry at himself.
Cas takes a half-step back, his blue eyes wide, a tiny frown of concern creasing his brow. “I—is this a bad time?”
“Just spit it out,” Dean growls, staring him down across the distance between them. He feels agitated, that same agitation that he knows is best released by fighting or fucking, and—well.
Castiel shuffles his feet, then takes a deep breath. “I was researching mixtapes, and the Google told me that… some people show their affection through them. Many films have used them with romantic connotations, and I—I suppose I was just wondering…” He looks down at the mixtape, then meets Dean’s gaze again, hesitant and vulnerable. “Why did you tell me to keep these?”
Dean opens his mouth, then closes it again.
He doesn’t even know where to start processing all of this—all he can hear in his head is the pounding rhythm of:
Cas knows. Cas knows. Cas knows.
But there’s nothing to know. Dean Winchester is a ladies’ man, and if he was making a mixtape for a girl he was interested in then sure, it might be romantic, but this?
It’s not like that. He’s not…
He finishes his glass of whiskey, slams it back down on the wood with more force than he’d intended to, and scrapes his chair back from the table. The agitation in him, the fire, it doesn’t have anywhere to go. Faced with a question like that—one that could tip the balance, if he’d just admit…
Dean Winchester does what Dean Winchester does best, and closes off.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he snarls, incredulous. “You came here to ask me why I told you to keep that because, what? You think I wanna get in your pants? Think I’ve got some kind of dumb fucking schoolgirl crush? I don’t know what you angels got up to in Heaven, but I’m straight, Cas. I’m not interested in you, or—or any of that shit.”
The look on Cas’s face.
Fuck, it hurts. But he can’t back down now. Can’t admit, not even to himself.
“But—“ Cas starts, and Dean slams his fist on the table before he can continue.
“Stop, Cas!” he shouts, and his voice cracks but he ignores it, pushes on. “I don’t—I’m not in love with you, or whatever the fuck you think is going on here. That shit there?” He points at the mixtape, and Castiel looks down at it too, as though he’d forgotten he was holding it. “It’s not a love letter. It’s simply because your taste in music fucking sucks, and I’m trying to educate you. That’s all. Are you done with this bullshit now?”
Castiel doesn’t look up.
He’s just as closed off as Dean, now, but in an entirely different way, his shoulders tense and gaze fixed on the mixtape. His knuckles turn white with how hard he’s gripping it, as though he’s barely keeping himself together, and Dean aches.
The silence between them stretches out, still ringing with Dean’s angry, defensive words, and then—
Snap.
Castiel grips each half of the mixtape in his hands, holding it hard enough to break skin, then carefully places the two pieces onto the table. The sound of plastic on wood is deafeningly loud, second only to the sound of Dean’s own blood rushing in his ears.
“I understand,” Castiel says quietly, and he only meets Dean’s gaze for a second, but it’s so full of raw anguish and grief that Dean takes a step back, as though Castiel’s pain is a physical force.
What has he done?
By the time he can process that look, or try and come up with any sort of response, apology, anything—
Cas is already gone.
And Dean is left alone with his whiskey, and with the broken remains of the best chance he’s ever had of admitting how he feels about Cas.
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