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Keep it polite, friends, but donât be afraid to say your piece. It may not change anything, but itâs still worth a âhey this was handled really rudely.â Itâs also worth giving Tommy & Lou some official kudos for being enjoyable. In a separate message!
hey if you're trans in the us i love you. hey if you're queer in the us i love you. hey if you're a person of color in the us i love you. hey if you're a woman in the us i love you. hey if you're disabled in the us i love you. i love you i love you i love you
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happy pride to those who are still figuring out their queer identity and haven't decided on or chosen not to use any labels. your experiences and feelings are valid and you belong here. you are worthy of celebration
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Warnings: Explicit sexual content, heavy angst, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced suicide, torture, self-harm
Tags: Redemption arcs, slow burn, Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent, Domestic fluff, mutual pining, s13 canon divergent, dysfunctional family, angst with a happy ending, Castiel whump, kid fic
Summary: Â Â Â Castiel swore to protect Jack at all costs. If that means taking him away from the dark dungeon of the bunker and away from the harsh words and hands of Dean Winchester, then so be it. Castiel takes Jack and runs. He finds them a safe town, a battered rental house, a little job and a little life. He wants Jack to have a normal childhood; to grow up safe and loved, not in a windowless basement.
   Dean tracks them down, of course. He begs forgiveness, of course. Redemption is a long, slow road. Itâs paved with ginger cats and broken-down Hondas, stolen kisses and dusty libraries and bathroom repairs. Dean and Castiel find themselves growing closer in the haze of domesticity. Dean moves from sleeping in the car, to the sofa, to Castielâs bed. Itâs not easy to carve out a place for themselves in a world that doesnât always want them.
   But strange things start to happen in the home theyâve made. Neighbors complain of shadows in the night. Monsters appear that donât belong. Coincidences line up. Wherever peace and happiness try to grow, there are adversaries who would snuff it out. The love holding their family together just might be the last weapon they have against the evils of the world.
@angelfishofthelord you're so creative! You do so much for the fandom with your edits, stories, videos, etc and your thoughts on the angels inspire me!
@angelfishofthelord you're so creative! You do so much for the fandom with your edits, stories, videos, etc and your thoughts on the angels inspire me!
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, torture, self-harm and suicidal ideation
Tags: Canon-divergent s13, domestic kid fic, complex family dynamics, rural americana, mutual pining, dadstiel, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, slow burn, redemption arcs
Posting Date: October 25, 2023
Summary: Castiel swore to protect Jack at all costs. If that means taking him away from the dark dungeon of the bunker, and away from the harsh words and hands of Dean Winchester, then so be it. Castiel takes Jack and runs. He finds them a safe town, a battered rental house, a little job and a little life. He wants Jack to have a normal childhood; to grow up safe and loved, not in a windowless basement.Â
Dean tracks them down, of course. He begs forgiveness, of course. But redemption is a long, slow road. Itâs paved with ginger cats and broken-down Hondas, stolen kisses and dusty libraries and bathroom repairs. Dean and Castiel find themselves growing closer in the haze of domesticity. Dean moves from sleeping in the car, to the sofa, to Castielâs bed. Itâs not easy to carve out a place for themselves in a world that doesnât always want them.Â
But strange things start to happen in the home theyâve made. Neighbors complain of shadows in the night. Monsters appear that donât belong. Coincidences line up. Wherever peace and happiness try to grow, there are adversaries who would snuff it out. The love holding their family together just might be the last weapon they have against the evils of the world.
Excerpt: Castiel takes his lunch break outside whenever the weather allows. He always intends to spend it reading one of the libraryâs newest additions. Usually he ends up watching other creatures instead.
Birds flit back and forth in the courtyardâs ill-kempt bushes. Interesting insects crawl between the boards of the picnic table. A woman a few blocks down is walking her fluffy, prim little dog on a pink leash when Castielâs phone buzzes. He hopes that itâs the bank calling him back to say there was a mistake, actually, the check has come through. But no: itâs a text from Sam.
âYou and Jack doing okay?â
The midday sun bakes the back of Castielâs neck, rising a ring of sweat around the collar of his polo shirt. The library dress code is business casual. Heâd Googled what that meant after his interview, and then he and Jack had frantically made a trip to the local Goodwill to scrape together a weekâs worth of work clothes for him.
Jack had found a dinosaur cup for fifty cents, though, so the outing had been successful by more than one standard.
Castiel had almost picked out a flannel. The well-worn, faded, familiar stripes caught his eye from the hanger in the menâs row. Fondness and bitterness blended in a strange way in Castiel's grace until Jack caught him staring and asked, âDo you want that one, too?â
âWe canât afford it,â Castiel had blurted out, turning away, because by then it was their turn to check out.
He stares at Samâs text message. Above it are a long stream of others, most unanswered. Itâs not Samâs fault. Heâs just stuck working damage control. Castiel taps back an answer.
âYes.â
Itâs not a lie. A few moments pass and Castiel doesnât put his phone away. He watches a brown-striped bird peck at the remnants of someoneâs french fries on the ground. A reply pops up on his screen.
âCan you tell me where you are?â
Castiel frowns, chews his lip. His break is almost over. Heâs got to work on re-filing the historical nonfiction (F through K) when he goes back inside the library.
He texts back, âNo.â
If it was up to him - if there were fewer variables in this nasty equation - the answer might be different. He doesnât want Sam trying to visit so he can peer in on their little life thatâs trying to grow into the shape of something human. He doesnât want pitying glances or offers of help.
Least of all does he want Dean to know where they are. Dean has no right to that.
The phone burbles a reply:
âOkay. Let me know if you or Jack need anything. Talk soon.â
Castiel stares down at the washed-out screen in the warm glare of sunlight. His bittersweet moroseness feels out of place in such fine weather, butting up against the scalding green of the garden. He gets to his feet and drags his vessel back inside the library.Â
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"I'm going to tell the baby that they are pretty. My mom never told me I was pretty. Not even once. Even if the baby is ugly, I'll tell them they are pretty."
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