Coming to you on September 3
Dean Winchester’s Best Work
Written by @sam-wilsons-couch with art by @demetriustheangel
Characters: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Yggdrasil-Freeform, Michael, Adam Milligan, Gabriel, Raphael, Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy, Bobby Singer, Karen Singer, Jody Mills, Donna Hanscum, Charlie Bradbury, Mentioned Mary Winchester, Mentioned John Winchester
Ships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Implied Michael/Adam Milligan
Tags: No archive warnings apply, Alternate Universe- Urban Fantasy, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Fluff & Angst, Angst with a happy ending, Angel Castiel, Writer Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester has Huntington's Disease, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Anticipatory Grief, Conversations involving terminal illness and death
“Tonight, Dean Winchester is supposed to get infected with an aggressive pneumonia and die within the next three days.” Castiel tries to draw in some air into his lungs and chokes on his own breath. He coughs for a good minute. It is too human.
“After his death, I am supposed to be finally free. I can finally go to sleep. Forever.” Castiel wipes at his eyes, harshly, the skin on his cheekbones burning under the grazing pressure.
“This is not fair. A life like the one he has led is anything but fair. I, falling in love with him in both our time of dying, is not fucking fair. But I love him so much. I love him so much.”
Castiel is an almost twenty-billion-year-old angel whose job is to comfort terminally ill mortal beings as they approach their death. He has one last case to deal with before he will be retired into eternal sleep. Dean Winchester, a forty-two-year-old writer with Huntington’s disease, happens to be that case.
Excerpt: The first event that marks his straying from the path he’s followed for almost twenty billion years occurs when he concocts a brand-new dream to drag Dean into. In his defense, Castiel has produced dreams for previous duties countless times before, and he had no idea that Dean’s subconscious mind would be so incredibly sharp, enough to make him falter.
It starts off simple: A beach at nighttime with a chilly breeze accompanying a bioluminescent ocean ahead of them. This is Castiel’s go-to setup, and most people take it as nothing more than a regular dream, but for Dean, it is magical. Even in a dream, the man is full of awe as he sits down on the sand, stretching his legs in front of him. The bottoms of his jeans are already folded up under his knees. The ocean’s waves sweep at his bare feet, covering them in glowing blue. Castiel mimics Dean as he sits down next to him.
Dean’s eyes gleam with wonder, a soft smile stretching like a lazy cat on his lips. The lines next to his eyes deepen, making Castiel’s breath catch in his throat when he gazes at Dean.
‘It’s only a dream I made to give him a little bit of peace,’ Castiel desperately tries to keep in mind. The exhausted part of his brain does something akin to rolling its eyes at him at that, all while signaling to pull the stick out of his ass and relax for once.
A beautiful dream possesses the strength to brighten a human’s entire day, even capable of providing solace during times of significant distress. Perhaps he can allow himself, as well, to spread his toes in the sand and let the ocean lap at his feet this one time. Maybe waste a moment or two here and there staring at the gorgeous man next to him.
After a few moments of comfortable silence, Dean turns to him. He grins at Castiel, happy and free. Castiel's heart twists inside his ribcage like a wounded animal.
“Hey, Cas? Can I ask you something?” Dean's voice is softer than the wind caressing them, and Castiel is surprised he can even hear him.
It is also alarming that Dean is asking him questions in the dream he created. This is a significant deviation from the script. Most people do not ask questions in dreams; they only listen.
Before Castiel can stop himself or mend the situation, he hears himself saying, “Yes, Dean. You can ask me anything.”
Dean stares into his eyes for a second.
“What is it that you really do, Cas? I mean, you said you were here to help me. And I know for a fact that ever since I first saw you in my dream, m-my symptoms have become less frequent.” Dean takes a deep breath when his voice starts to shake.
“I mean, I know, my disease… It-it’s getting worse. And, even when the symptoms do get pretty heavy, I don’t feel so bad. I’m not so scared anymore. Not since I met you. So, what is it that you do, Cas?” Dean repeats.
In a moment of panic, Castiel wants to break the dream and vanish into thin air. He wants to wipe the memory of this dream from Dean's mind altogether.
But anyone would find that lying or omitting crucial things from Dean—when his face is so sincere and soft—is an extremely difficult, if not an impossible, feat. Especially for Castiel who, as a general rule, is remarkably susceptible to gorgeous, terminally ill men.
