💚💙Good Things Do Happen💙💚

Let's all rep our favorite doomed gays this month-

COME AND READ BOHEMIAN RAPHSODY!

Which world will you choose to visit this round?

Artists, authors, and beta readers are now welcome to sign up for the third round of the @destielaureversebb! Come join us for another exciting year full of space opera, pirates, sports heroes, vampires, naughty priests, and who knows what else! We also have a fun and fabulous discord for all participants including discussion/hype threads for every collab, writer and artist resources, and a very enthusiastic cheer squad :)

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Your mod team for Round 3 is @friendofcarlotta, @hawkland,  @wanderingcas, @farenmaddox and @valdelion.

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+ Both designs

Gonna, bundle Val and @theorangedeath together since they're both legends asking for #7 :D

CW ahead for blood and injury, happy reading folks!

---

“Dean, if I die-”

Dean’s heart about stops right there, it's a good thing they aren't actually driving anywhere, just using Baby for some much-needed cover, otherwise that sentence might have sent them into a ditch.

“No. No, stop-” Against his own words he continues digging through the first aid kit- What do you even use to patch up an angel that can't heal? “Stop talking like that. You're gonna’ be fine.”

Cas doesn't look convinced, still propped up against the door where Dean hastily left him. It's Dean's fault for splitting up, he should have known that those demons wouldn't just abandon their base as soon as the Winchesters rolled into town.

“We're gonna’ fix you up, brand new, I promise.”

The angel huffs but stays otherwise silent.

“Okay, okay, here’s what we're gonna' do-” He reaches for Cas’ shirt, using his pocket knife to cut away the fabric, “Fuck.”

Cas’ chest is a mess, just like the rest of him- God, the one time demons try to be original, and they manage to Macgyver a homemade IED, complete with shards of broken angel blade that fly out and embed themselves into poor fucker that trips it. Deadly for humans and celestials alike.

He's a little mad he hadn't thought of it first.

There's so much happening that Dean can't even pin down where to start, he just knows that one of these wounds made Cas twist and shout in pain when Dean first got to him.

“Tell me where it hurts,” He pulls a set of tweezers and some disinfectant from the kit- Cas might heal up once the metal is gone, but he still doesn't want to risk an infection, “And be specific.”

“Ribs.” Cas wheezes, and Dean wants to scream ‘more specific!’, then he twists a bit to his right, showing off the bloodied side of his shirt.

Dean lifts it up carefully and, yep, that massive hunk of weaponry halfway through his skin would do it.

“Yikes,” He thinks he could get it out cleanly, but it's not gonna be pleasant for either of ‘em, “This is going to hurt, okay?”

“I was under no impression it would be pleasant-” Cas grits his teeth and groans in pain when Dean gently prods at the shard, “Dean?”

Dean carefully pinches the top of the metal, “Yeah?”

The glare Cas gives him is otherworldly, “Just get it over with.”

The first chunk comes out with a scream from Cas, and it doesn't get much better from there- The only silver lining surrounding the next half hour of pulling and half-hidden tears is that, once the metal is out of the wounds, they start to slowly close on their own.

By the end of it all, Dean's hands are cramped and shaking- tips of his fingers sliced from a few stubborn pieces he had to pull out himself- and Cas has gone pale, keeled over in his seat, head resting on Dean's lap.

At some point Dean's hand finds Cas’ sweaty, matted hair, and starts raking through it, using it as proof that his friend is still, well, still here.

Cas isn’t really talking, still riding out the waves of pain while his body knits itself together.

“You did so good…” He whispers, Cas letting out a little whine as a few tendons snap back together with a wet, painful noise, “Don't worry, you-” he swallows thickly, “You did so good.”

The angel turns his head to look at Dean out of the corner of his eye, a faint smile on his face.

Garth and Benny/ Geanie and Betty (yeah, I’m still thinking about Betty 😂)

No. 8, 13, or 22 (some variety if you want it funny or whump)

Dealer’s choice on choose who’s injured

Ah, my weak spots, the werepires and Suphernatural, my God...

---

Betty likes to think that she’s kept a pretty level head on her shoulders considering the goddamned Winchesters didn’t tell her she was being used as a glorified battering ram to get into this nest.

No, she barely even shouts when the name “Dean” eventually flashes across her phonescreen, accompanied by some god-awful sound that she hasn’t been able to figure out how to change (Dean says it’s an old-timey car horn and that it’s funny because Betty’s also old? Betty thinks it’s a fucking nuisance).

“Hey, Betty, you get into the nest ye-”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME I WAS YER’ FUCKING BAIT!?” Of course she’s in the nest, that’s the only reason she picked up the phone, she’s standing next to the dead bodies of vamps that might’a been her kin in another life, and this devil wants to know if she’s in? “Deanna Michelle Winchester you’ve got some ‘splaining to do.”

The line is silent for a beat, “I told you my middle name out of boredom, not so you could chastise me like a disappointed nun.”

“Explain.” Betty moves deeper into the nest, shifting her phone into her left hand so that her right hand is free to swing her blade.

“Fine-” Deans probably rolling her eyes on the other end of the line, “We've got this hunting pal, she was tracking this nest around and then sorta dropped off the map.”

Betty winces, carefully opening up the door to the kitchen, “Chief I hate to be the bearer of bad news but she's probably-”

“She's not dead.”

“Lotta’ confidence you got in this gal,” The house is eerily quiet except for the sound of her boots on the floorboards, seems like all of the vamps came out to greet her, “Why couldn't you come look for her.”

There's no response and Betty thinks she hears Sam whispering something to her sister.

“Dean?”

“...It's a full moon.”

“So it is.”

“And we don't know what they fed her so…”

Betty scoffs, “Ain't like your friends is a werewolf, Cher.” There's another pause, “No.”

“Betty, listen-”

“You sent me to pick up a were for you!?” If there's a werewolf in here, it's probably in the basement, “The sun is rising, come get her yourself!”

“But if you get bit you won't turn, I've done the turning thing, it ain't pleasant!"

“You think I don't know that?” There's a suspiciously placed throw rug in the middle of the kitchen for no reason, and Betty isn't surprised when she kicks it aside to see a trap door, “If she rips my throat out I'm clawing my way out of purgatory so I can tear you apart myself.”

“Thank's Betty, you're the best.”

“Bras ma chu, Winchester.” She ends the call and shoves her phone back in the pocket of her jacket, already preparing the earful she's going to give her friend when this is all over.

Two steps into the basement Betty can already smell the tang of blood, thick and overpowering, but it doesn't smell human. She hopes Dean won't be disappointed when presented with the corpse of her friend. Honestly, it's rare enough for a nest to take another creature hostage instead of killing it outright, whatever happened to this hunter-turned-werewolf…. Well, she probably didn’t deserve it.

“Shit…” She reaches the bottom of the stairs with a heavy, un-beating heart, “Shit, that's a lot of blood.”

The basement is a concrete room with a sliver of a window far out of reach, showing the first peek of the morning light, with a floor that’s absolutely stained red. Betty wants to take off her cap, out of respect for the Winchesters friend, but a low rumbling noise from the far corner stops her.

There's something in the shadows, held in place by a shiny chain, its eyes flash dangerously as Betty takes a cautious step forward, hands where the other person can clearly see them. It's not a vampire, Betty can smell that much, and those chains holding it- her, Betty also realizes- in place look like they're silver. Maybe she should have taken this friend of the Winchesters more seriously.

“Hey there, Cher,” Betty never drops her weapon, even when she crouches down what she deems a safe distance away, “Okay, here's what we're going to do- Merde-”

The werewolf snarls and lunges from the corner, the chains stopping her about a foot away from where Betty planted herself. She doesn't look much like a hunter, all wiry limbs and wrinkles that look suspiciously like smile lines, but Betty doesn't doubt that some of the blood she's doused in isn't her own.

“Easy there,” She tries not to show unease, there's no way she'll keep a handle on this situation if the werewolf thinks she's running this show, “I don't wanna’ fight you.”

The were smiles, showing off a few dropped fangs but nowhere near the amount Betty would expect to see from someone coming off their own little moonshine rendez-vous, “Heard that one before, pal.”

“The Winchesters sent me to wrangle you,” Betty, very carefully, leans forward, not even sure if the smell of the impala is even noticeable anymore under all the other vamp blood- From the way the werewolf wrinkles her nose after taking a careful whiff, she assumes not, "Believe me or not, I'm supposed to leave here with you, alive.”

The werewolf seems to consider this for a moment before offering up her chained wrists, “As soon as I'm out of these I'll be able to claw your eyes out.”

“You can certainly try,” Betty takes hold of the restraints, “Silver, nasty business-" then snaps them clean off, letting the pieces crumble to the ground, “You hurt?”

“Nope,” She staggers up to her feet, “Are you?”

“Nah, it takes more than a nest to hurt me.”

The were cocks her head a bit, “See, I would believe that, but you have a gosh darn knife sticking out of your leg, so.”

“I do?” Sure enough, someone's best pocket knife is handle-deep in the side of her thigh, she didn't even notice it, “Well, shoot.” She yanks it out and tosses it off to the side, earning a raised eyebrow from the werewolf, “What?”

“Nothin’,” The were looks at the knife for a bit longer before shrugging, “Name's Genie Fitzgerald IV, you can just call me Genie.”

“Betty Lafitte- You sure you ain't hurt? That's a lotta’ blood you got on ya’.”

Genie grins wickedly, “Please, this isn't mine. I don't bite humans but I'll certainly bite some handsy vamps.”

Betty can't help it, she pauses climbing the stairs to laugh- Not at the werewolf, far from it, she's laughing at the poor sons of bitches who thought they could take on this apparent force of nature.

“Ya’ know, I think me and you are gonna’ get along swell.”

CHEESE DO YOU WANT FRIES WITH THAT OR-? ___ Watching a newly human Cas crumple to the ground after running head first into a metal pole was as panic inducing as it was comedic.

Listen- Years of the Winchester brothers laughing at each other's misfortune, Scooby-Doo cartoons, and questionable coping mechanisms has trained Dean to laugh at any/all bodily injury not obtained on a hunt.

Unfortunately that means Cas continues to stay on the ground for about 15 seconds before Dean realizes something’s wrong.

“Shit-” He weaves under the mess of pipes and beams that litter the space above his head- The ones that he’d been so careful about not cracking his skull on but had neglected to warn Cas about, “You okay?”

Cas is flat on his back, staring up into blank nothingness, and even in the dim basement lighting there’s a very clear red mark right above his eyebrow.

“Cas?”

The newer human blinks slowly, once then twice, before slowly turning his head towards Dean's voice, “Why are you shouting?”

“I’m not-” He takes a breath, letting his words echo off the walls and back towards them, and drops down next to Cas, “I’m not shouting.”

Cas winces, “It’s- It’s unnecessary.”

“I’m not shouting, I promise.” 

The mark on Cas’ forehead is already starting to swell, there’s no blood or broken skin, but the former angel flinches away then makes a pitiful noise in the back of his throat when Dean lightly touches the wound.

“That’s gonna’ be a nasty goose-egg,” He laughs again, but this time it’s forced, “How are you feeling? Headache?”

“Yes.”

“Your ears ringin’?”

“Yes.” Cas’ eyes focus and unfocus on Dean’s general vicinity, obviously working overtime to put together what he wants to say next, “We should consider making this room less hazardous.”

“Yeah buddy, we’ll put pool noodles on the pipes right away,” He holds up his hand, about arms length from Cas’ face, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Cas’ answer is quick and confident, “Six.”

“Dude… I don’t have six fingers.”

“Of course you do,” Cas smiles widely, like he’s divulging some fantastic wisdom, “Humans have up to ten fingers, ten, Dean.”

“Yeah, but-”

“I know you have ten, I re-attached them myself-” He sloppily raises his arm, pointer finger extended, and moves to tap Dean’s palm, frowning when he misses by a mile, “Hmm.”

“And you did a great job with that, man,” Dean bends over, trying to arrange Cas in a way that will make him easier to haul to his feet, “Wanna’ try standing up?”

“Not particularly.”

Dean already has Cas’ arm around his shoulder, “Great; Three, two, one-” 

You’d think the floor was made of ice from the way Cas nearly keels back over several times on his way up, and he almost brains himself on the piping again, but eventually Cas is standing on his own two legs- albeit leaning heavily on Dean.

“I had… so many fingers- My true form…” Cas trails off as Dean starts their slow journey towards the exit, one hand reaching over to cup the top of his head to prevent any more damage, “But humans…. I advocated for an 11th finger to dictate one's dominant hand but it-” he sways a bit, “It was disparaged.”

“You always talk this fancy when you’re concussed?” The last time he’s heard Cas talk so… formally, well, he was getting regular lobotomies.

“I’m not sure…” Cas squints at him a little, “I don’t mind the head injury.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Cas nods, then winces, “Yes, it means I get to see two of you.”

Ya' ever wanna protest AI through a SPN sticker? WELL NOW YOU CAN!

We've also got a new art board!

Pushing Whumpee's head down to make them stare at the floor and keeping them in the uncomfortable slumped posture

Oho, this was so fun to put my own spin on, mighta' taken some creative liberties but oh well... CW for blood and general SPN stuff, hope this is good for you Jenny o7

---

“Hey, Cas…” There’s a burning in Dean’s ribs when he breathes, an ache that goes too deep to be ignored, “I think we’re lost.”

The angel doesn't reply right away, just keeps unevenly dragging the two of them through the underbrush. Dean thinks he’s supporting his own weight, he’s not really sure, he hasn’t been able to feel his foot since those demons got the drop on them back at the cabin.

‘Routine poltergeist’ his ass. 

“Cas…”

This isn’t the worst place to be lost, honestly it looks right out of Dean's dreams, a lake as smooth as glass, stars filling the otherwise unlit sky, a sandy beach that backs up to woods thick with cedars and hemlocks. But they lit that cabin piled with demon meat suits up almost an hour ago and Dean’s starting to feel the cold in his bones.

“Cas-” They stumble and Dean wheezes out a cough, “Can we take a breather?”

He really just wants to lay down and nurse the wounds Cas refuses to heal.

The angel turns to him and, wow, have his eyes always been so blue? Maybe it’s just the splatters of red across the bridge of his nose that’s really making the color pop.

“We need to keep going.”

Cas is hurt too- He’s pretending he isn’t but Dean can read him like a book, and he saw that demon stick Cas with a weird looking pole before Cas’ angel blade found a new home in its sternum, he’s hurting too.

“Just a quick break,” Dean’s not begging, he’s not, “We’re both hurt.”

“I’m sorry.” Cas stumbles forward a few more steps before his resolve begins to sway. Dean can see the moment of acceptance in Cas’ eyes, when he decides to stop, when he decides that they’re not going to drop down into the dirt and instead hauls both of them out of the bushes and onto the sand, “I- I’m sorry.”

“‘S okay.” Dean drops down to his knees, looking towards the surface of the lake and feeling a detached sense of awe. 

There’s worse places to rest for a while.

“I can’t heal my vessel.” Cas is on the ground next to him, chest heaving, “They- they warded me-” He lifts up his shirt and it’s hard to tell exactly what he’s showing off through the blood; It looks like there’s a shape underneath it all, formed from split, bubbling skin.

A brand, Dean’s brain provides.

“I can’t heal you.”

Dean reaches out to ghost his fingers over the wound, “What’s it doin’?”

“It’s-” Cas swallows, looking up at the sky for a moment, looking like nothing more than a man from Illinois begging to be something more, “It’s a trigger. I tried to use my grace to heal you, Dean, I swear but-”

The edge of Dean’s vision is starting to get a bit hazy.

“I could feel myself leaving.” The angel looks frightened, it doesn't suit him, “I think it will separate my true form from my vessel once I use my grace.”

“That sucks.” The ache in his ribs has spread to the rest of his chest, “Think I could use some healing right about now…”

The world shifts a bit then suddenly stops, when moved to stop him from face planting into the sand, Dean can’t say.

“I want to heal you.” There’s a hand in his hair, it’s comforting, “I don’t know…”

Cas trails off and Dean focuses on the feeling of Cas holding onto his hair- His knees hurt and his back is slouched at an odd angle and the beach is so thin that Dean’s hands are nearly in the water, but that doesn't matter.

“If I told you not to look back, would you listen?”

What kind of a question is that? Of course he would, he’d listen to Cas even if it killed him.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas,” Why does his mouth taste like copper? “I’d listen.”

“Good.” The hand in his hair tightens and his head is forced downwards and- despite the promise he just made- he tries to lift it back up to ask what the angel is up to, only for it to be shoved back down.

The hand in his hair hurts now, it’s too tight, too hot, there’s heat radiating off of Cas in waves and it hurts, it’s blinding- 

He’s firmly pushed forward enough that he needs to brace his hands on the shore just to stay upright, back screaming in protest. He didn’t even realize he’d tried to look at Cas again. 

His own face is staring back at him from the surface of the lake, bloody and battered, lip split, and then there’s Cas.

Maybe it’s the concussion talking but Cas damn near has a halo above him, reflecting in the water brighter than the stars. His eyes too, are glowing, and his hands-

The water ripples from a breeze Dean doesn't feel and all he sees is wings, wings, wings-

Gone is Jimmy Novak, now there’s something new, something so vast even the lake can’t fully catch its reflection. In the corner of Dean's eyes it burns, so bright he knows it’d be the last thing he ever saw, but in the water it’s clear.

“Hey, Cas.”

A skeleton smiles sweetly back at him, framed with the mane of a lion, then the antlers of a stag. The rings of Saturn wrapped around its wrist bones, a rib cage filled with birds Dean’s only ever seen in museums, and wings.

There’s something wrong with them, they’re barren and, in some places, just bone. But they’re spread wide, they’re touching his shoulders, they’re scraping heaven itself, they’re beautiful.

His head is so foggy from blood loss, from the sheer drunkenness of this moment, that he doesn't realize how close he is to turning towards the light till he’s forced back to the ground with those painfully gentle fingers.

Thank you to all our incredible creators this round for the Destiel AU Reverse Big Bang! We had an amazing number of teams successfully post this year, resulting in 2,455,203 words of Destiel fic in 74 stories & banners, 196 art pieces, and one video edit! Below the cut you'll find the full list of this round's collaborations. And if you missed out participating, have no fear and stay tuned: sign-ups for the 26-27 edition of this bang will be opening later this month! So watch this space for announcements, tell your friends...and artists, start getting those AU ideas fired up!

Your mod team: @friendofcarlotta, @faren, @wanderingcas, @hawkland and @valdelion

It's odd, saying your fate is "set in stone"- If anything, one can hope it's set in glass, then it can be broken in case of emergency....