switchoffthestars



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    Cas’s fingertips held in his own, Dean brings the angel’s hand to his mouth, and presses his lips to Cas’s weathered knuckles.

    It’s just a thank you. It’s just a way of saying thank you.

    Of saying 'thanks, I know that having to do this shit all the time must annoy you, and I know that for some reason you’ve chosen to worry about me and I’m sorry that you have to, and also, I appreciate it.'

    It took Dean years not to resent the help of Cas healing him. But slowly the resentment melts into tolerance, and again into thankfulness. And every time Cas touches Dean to heal him, he starts saying his thanks by repaying in touch. It starts with grazing his lips against Cas's knuckles, squeezing his hands, kissing the soft skin of his wrist.

    It’s a way of saying thanks. And, he guesses, sorry.

    Of saying, 'Sorry for scaring you. I don’t know how me being hurt could scare you like it always seems to. But it always seems to. And that scares me.'

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    24 Oct 2022

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    “I think we should have a garden,” Cas says.

    Dean looks up from his beer. He hasn’t had that much to drink, but Cas still has a vague look of unreality about him, a splash of living color that doesn’t fit in the bunker’s echoing stillness. Dean didn’t hear him coming. A lot of the time, Cas is so unobtrusive it feels like Dean has the bunker to himself, with Sam away.

    Dean shakes his head to clear it. “A — garden?” he repeats.

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    23 Sep 2022

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    “How the fuck do you know my name?” Dean hisses.

    The man doesn’t look scared. He is watching Dean like there is nothing else worth watching, lips a little parted, eyes a little soft. And blue. Real blue, like the ocean on a postcard.

    The ice spreading down Dean’s spine makes him shiver.

    “I suppose you could say I’m your guardian angel,” the man murmurs. His breath fogs pale between them. All of him is unnaturally warm, like Dean’s touching somebody with the sun sewn up beneath their skin. “I have known you, Dean Winchester, for a very long time.”

    *

    Dean meets an angel who says he's from the future. It all gets a lot more complicated from there.

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    07 Sep 2022

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    “Take me,” Dean says. He doesn’t have to think about it. “Take me as your vessel, Cas.”

    *

    or: Cas is cursed into an endless sleep. Dean offers himself up as his vessel while they try to break it.

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    04 Sep 2022

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    "Fine, whatever. Love you too, asshole. I hope you enjoy your walk home with your stupid, grainy bread. Taking Nature's Own a little too much to heart, but sure," Dean tells him, flashing him a sarcastic smile and swiveling around in the aisle to march away. He throws out something over his shoulder, careless and barbed. "I'm not paying for that shitty cardboard." 

    Dean's three aisles over when he realizes what, precisely, he said. Thankfully, when he comes to this conclusion, he's holding a box of poptarts, so when he fumbles and drops them to the floor, it's not a huge mess. He stares down at the slightly dented box of Brown Sugar Poptarts, and he has a very swift and very unshakeable crisis right there and then. 

    Love you too, asshole. 

    No, no, no. Why would he say that? Why would he do that? In the middle of the goddamn grocery store while arguing about bread? That's not—that can't be how it happens. That can't be. 

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    30 Aug 2022