#bunker!fic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23237389/chapters/61579048

Part 3 of A Shadow in the Valley - Sequel to Inferno

Crucible - A Far Cry 5 Fanfic

After the world ends in a rush of fire, Rook finds himself trapped in a bunker with a man he intends to kill.

It is seven long years.

#84 - “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Cas finds Dean in the garage, his footsteps following the beat of the music currently blasting from the wireless speakers Dean installed a few months ago.

He’s bent in half when Cas rounds the corner, his upper body deep in the trunk of the car. Cas is so busy staring at the strip of Dean’s skin where the back of his shirt has ridden up—and trying his absolute hardest to not let his gaze travel further—that it takes him a moment to figure out what’s wrong with this picture.

“Is that my car?”

Dean smacks his head on the trunk, a string of curses falling from his mouth. “Dammit, Cas. What did I say about creeping up on people?”

Cas wants to say that Dean was too busy shaking his ass and singing his heart out to have heard him whether he’d bothered to announce himself or not. But of course—

“My apologies, Dean. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Dean waves a hand at him, turning to dig in the toolbox on the bench next to him.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks, the picture of Dean covered in grease, wearing shorts, and bopping his head to the music filtering throughout the room, one that he’s finding hard to process. Dean is in his element here, and Cas almost regrets disturbing him, the happiness radiating off the man both foreign and yet entirely, wholesomely overdue.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re doing your best Danny Zuko impression.”

Dean’s laughter echoes around the garage, and it’s the best thing Cas has heard since he fell.

“Cas, I know I’ve said this before—but don’t ever change.”

Cas rolls his eyes, walking further up to the Continental so he can rest his hip against the door. “I’ll try my hardest not to.”

“Good.”

The word is wrapped in a layer of smug satisfaction that makes Cas’ stomach flip. Shaking it off, he leans down to look at what Dean is doing.

“Is that—”

“You bet your ass it is,” Dean cuts in, glancing up and grinning at him.

Cas stares down at the custom weapons deck Dean is currently installing into the trunk of the Continental. It’s not dissimilar to the one in the Impala, and Cas can already see a hollow that would be perfect for his angel blade. He’d discovered fairly quickly that hiding things up the sleeve of his trenchcoat didn’t work as well as it did back when he still had his Grace. He smiles fondly at the memory—Dean had laughed then, too. But something about Dean’s laughter always fills him with warmth, and somehow he knows that even when Dean is laughing at him, he’s not really laughing at him.  

“Why are you doing this?” Cas asks, and Dean blushes, looking away.

“You’re human now, Cas. You can’t rely on your Grace as a weapon anymore. I know Sammy’s been teaching you how to shoot a gun.”

Dean’s hedging, and truthfully, for all his skills as a hunter, and for all the masks he can wear and the lies he can tell, Cas has always been able to tell when he’s keeping something back.

“So why can’t I just keep my gun in the Impala?”

“Because.” Dean sighs, reaching for his phone so he can lower the volume of the music. “You’re a hunter, you’re gonna be hunting with us now.” There’s a pause as Dean looks up at Cas, question in his eyes, and Cas nods hurriedly, baffled that Dean could think for a moment that he would rather be doing anything else. “Right. So. Any hunter worth his weight knows you gotta have a good weapons store hidden in the trunk.”

“Dean, I don’t understand…”

Dean huffs, shutting the trunk with a snap and turning so he can lean back on it. Cas stares at his profile, admiring the lean length of it propped up against his car. Yes, he thinks, soaking it in. This is good.  

“I figured since things have calmed down now, what with most of the fallen angels being rounded up, we could take a little road trip. Go find your Grace.” Dean looks hesitant, and Cas aches to reach for him, to tell him how fast his heart is beating at the implication of those words.

“And you’d leave Sam the Impala?” Cas says it like it’s just a small thing, but it’s not, and they both know it.

Dean looks torn, but only for a second, shrugging it off as though he’s already had this conversation with himself at least a few times. “Yeah,” he nods once, sharply, before relaxing into a fond smile. “The damn Moose is way too big for anything the Men of Letters have got stashed in here, anyway.”

Cas lets that sink in for a while, watching as Dean picks up a wrench and starts turning it over in his hands. Evidently the silence is too much for Dean.

“Look. The world isn’t ending—

“For the moment.” Cas cuts in, eyebrow raised and a small smile tugging at his lips.

“—there isn’t some big bad evil after us right now—”

“That we know of.”

“—and yeah, okay, you lost your Grace, but we’ll get it back—”  

“So you keep saying.”

“—and—wait, what is that supposed to mean?” Dean whirls to face him, but Cas is too busy biting his lip to hold back his laughter to answer. Apparently Dean’s happiness has been wearing off on him.

Dean chuckles, shaking his head and pointing the wrench at him. “You know, you’re lucky you’re cute, Cas.”

Cas beams.

“You think I’m cute?”

Dean rolls his eyes and pops the trunk back open—weird, meaningful, unexpected conversation apparently over.

“Get outta here, asshole.” Cas turns to leave, making it halfway across the garage with butterflies trembling so hard in his stomach he’s practically bursting with it, this foreign sense of giddiness taking over him. “Oh and Cas?” Cas stops and looks back over his shoulder at Dean leaning with his palms braced on the back of the Lincoln. They stare at each for a moment, Dean’s eyes searching Cas’ face. Whatever he’s looking for, he apparently finds. “You know maybe, maybe we only need to get one room while we’re away.”

Cas’ breath catches in his throat, and he reminds himself that he does actually have to keep breathing now. Dean looks hesitant again, but this time, he keeps Cas’ gaze, a steely determination shining in his eyes.

“I’d like that, Dean.” Cas replies eventually, the words quiet, far quieter than the pounding of his heart, far quieter than the words that are banging against the walls of his head. “I’d like that a lot.”

Dean nods, satisfied. “Good.”

Cas stares at Dean a while longer, wanting to immortalise this moment, praying to a God he lost faith in long ago that Dean will get to continue being this happy. And then, realising that now he can be the one responsible for Dean’s happiness, he turns and leaves the room.

#205 - ‘You are strangely comfortable’ 

The first time Dean falls asleep on him, Cas tells himself it’s an accident.

They’re sat side by side on the couch in the bunker, Sam clattering away on his laptop white noise in the background.

“I don’t think that’s medically accurate, Dean,” Cas says, as he always does, when Dr. Sexy is done diagnosing his latest patient with a case of a some-disease-no-one’s-ever-heard-of.

“Whatever, Cas,” comes Dean’s standard reply. “I’m not watching it for the patients.” And Cas is left to ponder on that, as usual, wondering what it is that Dean’s trying to say.

They’ve danced to this tune before, Dean making offhand comments with a look in his eyes that Cas is still struggling to understand. But the dance is cut short tonight, Dean’s eyes drooping in Cas’ peripheral where usually they’re shining with mischief. Cas shifts, moving closer to Dean to nudge him and suggest he go to bed, when Dean’s head unexpectedly falls to his shoulder. Cas freezes, every muscle tensing, until Dean exhales, the sound deep and comforting.

Cas glances up to see Sam smiling smugly at him over his laptop, and he glares, indignant. Sam has the grace to swallow his smile down to a raised eyebrow of bemusement, and satisfied, Cas relaxes. He settles back, a soft sound getting caught in his throat when Dean follows him down, nestling further into the space between Cas’ shoulder and jaw.

He’s too hot, his trenchcoat is bunched uncomfortably around him, and it turns out that now that Cas is human, Dean is way heavier than he looks, but Cas still thinks that he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

The second time, Cas is only fairly certain that it’s an accident.

Dean’s hurt pretty badly on the hunt, so even after Sam’s patched him back up, Cas maintains that he’ll stay and watch over him. Sam excuses himself from the room with an over-dramatic hair flip, muttering under his breath about “getting their shit together.”

And then Cas is left, kneeling worriedly by the side of Dean’s bed, watching his chest rise and fall and cursing himself for not being able to heal him.

“Hey Cas,” Dean groans, and Cas starts, unaware that Dean was even conscious. “What’d I tell you ‘bout watching me sleep?” Dean peeks an eye open. “You look pretty beat yourself.”

“I’m fine, Dean.”

Dean looks unconvinced, the patented Winchester eyebrow of ‘sure, bro, whatever you say’ rising at him. Cas huffs. “I can’t sleep. Every time I shut my eyes, all I can think about is…”

Dean blindly reaches a hand out towards him, and Cas is startled when his fingers clench in his sleeves and start tugging.

“Get up here, then.”

“What?”

“Well you can’t watch me all night and I sure as hell can’t stay awake much longer, so take your stupid trench-coat off, and get your ass over here.”

It’s only once Cas is lying stiffly next to Dean above the covers, his mind racing, that he manages to blurt out. “You think my trench-coat is stupid?” And just because he can’t see Dean rolling his eyes, doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know he’s just done it.

“Go to sleep, Cas,” Dean says. He rolls over until his head is resting on Cas’ chest. “There, now you’ll be able to feel it if I stop breathing, so you can stop watching me.”

Cas is too stunned to protest, and eventually he falls asleep to the rhythm of Dean’s breath tickling across his chest.

By the tenth time, Cas is sure that Dean falling asleep on him is most definitely not an accident.

It’s only after Dean willingly sits in the backseat with him and lets Sam drive the Impala, drifting off with his head conveniently lodged under Cas’ chin and Sam’s gloating smile glinting at him in the rear-view mirror, that Cas starts to question it.

They’re back in Dean’s bedroom now, ostensibly watching a film that Dean had insisted Cas had to see.

“Dean?” Cas looks down at the top of Dean’s head that’s currently resting on his chest. “I thought you wanted to watch this movie.”

“Hmm?” Dean makes no effort to sit up. If anything, he simply presses himself nearer to Cas, adjusting to get comfy. “No, wanted you to watch it. I don’t need to be awake for that.”

And Cas drops his head back with a huff, deciding that if Dean wants to shamelessly use him as a pillow, who is he to argue. Aimlessly, he buries a hand in Dean’s hair, rubbing gently at the back of Dean’s head. Dean lets out a small moan, and Cas smiles down at him, his expression fonder than he’d normally allow, safe in the knowledge that Dean can’t see it.

“I didn’t know humans purred,” Cas says after a while, warmth spreading through him when Dean’s chuckle rumbles across his chest.

“Cas, shh. I’m trying to watch the movie.”

“Really? I thought you were sleeping?”

Dean does raise his head at that, glaring at Cas in a way that reminds him of an affronted kitten. His hair’s all sticking up from where Cas’ hand has been in it, and all Cas can think is how he wants nothing more than to ruffle Dean up in other ways.

“It’s kind of hard to sleep when my pillow keeps making smartass comments,” Dean grouches, dropping his forehead down to Cas’ sternum.

“Ah, is that all I am to you now, a pillow?”

“It’s not my fault that you’re strangely comfortable,” Dean mutters into Cas’ chest, so quietly that Cas barely hears him. From the warmth now radiating off the back of Dean’s neck, Cas summises that that had probably been Dean’s intention.

Dean sighs heavily, before pushing himself up and off of Cas.

“Dean?” Cas questions, but Dean’s back is turned to him now, and Cas can practically hear the walls in his head slamming themselves back down. Cas shuffles up behind him, looping his arms around Dean’s waist and dropping his forehead to Dean’s shoulder. “You know,” he murmurs. “You’re pretty comfy too.”

Dean snorts, rubbing a hand down his face. “Man, we suck at this.”

And Cas has to smile at that, ruefully thinking back on all the times that they’ve been here, on all the times he’s woken up and been met by Dean’s shuttered expression that was always shimmering with something just out of reach.

But he gets it now, gets what Dean’s been doing and he’s not ready to just let it go.

“Come back to bed, Dean,” Cas says, hesitating before dropping a barely-there kiss to Dean’s shoulder. He feels Dean hesitate too, feels the shudder that shivers it’s way down Dean’s spine. But then Dean is turning in his arms, pushing him backwards and wrestling him back into position—Dean’s head back on his chest, only this time Dean’s pulling his arms around him, tucking himself into Cas’ embrace.

“Is this…this okay?” Dean asks. Cas can feel how tense he is, so he tightens his arms around him once, before relaxing, his palms drawing soft, slow circles across Dean’s back.

“Yes, Dean,” he murmurs, dropping his chin to rest on the top of Dean’s head. “It’s perfect.”

And for the tenth time, Cas lets Dean fall asleep on him, safe in the knowledge that this time, when Dean wakes up, Cas won’t be letting him go.

At first, neither Dean nor Sam question this: Cas gets a couple of books out of the library, sets himself up in front of the big telescope every night, and does his thing. Cloudy or clear sky, Castiel is in his nook with a cup of tea and his huge-ass telescope.

And then the observatory nook becomes a kind of nest.

Small, largely unnoticeable things end up making a home there first–a leftover mug here, a blanket there, but then pillows start appearing. And Dean’s sweatshirt. And another blanket. And a small collection of harlequin romance novels, alongside Hawking’s Brief History of Time (Castiel seems to get almost a vicious pleasure from going through the latter with a highlighter and pencil and scoffing at the majority of the text). 

Summary: When Dean can’t stop thinking about Cas, he decides to spend time with him. Dean soon learns that Cas likes pop music, which he finds cute. Fluff and romance ensues :)

Rating: E (for enormous amount of fluff )

Word Count: 665

Some hunters like frills

Request from anon: Can you do one where the reader lives in the bunker with Sam and Dean and she comes into the library one morning in a really pretty sundress. Dean goes on a run so Sam can have alone time with her. Sam then tells her all the things he loves about her and that he has a crush on her. Then smut? Thank you so much! You are amazing and deserve all the followers you have and more! <3 xo

Author’s Note: First of all, oh my god you are so sweet! Secondly, this is a very cute idea and I hope I do it justice!

Story time: “Hey have you seen Y/N?” Sam asked, trying to sound nonchalant as he wandered into the bunker’s library. Dean looked up smugly and took a sip of his coffee. Sam tilted his head like he was waiting for an answer. “Dean?” He pressed and crossed his arms in anticipation. “Sorry Sammy I haven’t seen her this morning.” Dean finally responded with glee written across his face. “I think I heard her go through the door early though.” He offered almost choking on his coffee as he giggled a little. Sam was looking at his brother as if he’d grown a second head. “What’s up with you this morning?” Sam asked, smiling at the man opposite him; he didn’t often get to see Dean like this. “You know what else I heard this morning Sammy?” Dean asked like he was ready to deliver the punch line to the best joke he had ever heard. Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I don’t know Dean. What?” He bit as Dean wagged his eyebrows suggestively. “You know Sammy, you should really learn to close your door if you’re planning on making such a ruckus around coffee o'clock.” Dean’s eyebrows continued their suggestive dance as he watched his brother's face pale with realisation. “Especially if you are going to be so specific with hour happy noises.” Sam had never seen Dean so smug, and he was gob smacked at the glint of pride in his brother’s eyes. “Have you heard of privacy?” Sam asked incredulously, his face going from white to red in the second he realised he had admitted to everything Dean had insinuated. “Aw come on Sammy. It’s a natural thing. But you know what would be more natural and less frustrating?” Dean laughed and donned the air of the wise older brother; Sam flopped down in defeat, knowing he was never going to hear the end of this. “Oh come on Dean!” Sam almost whined, trying to ignore the fact that he felt like he was fourteen again. “Uh uh Sammy my boy.” Dean tisked his face turning strangely serious. “You gotta tell her man! You pine after her for months and ignore Miss April for imagined scenarios and you still haven’t made a move!” His tone had switched entirely, to frustration with his little brother. “Dean it’s nothing. You just misheard!” Sam jumped on the offensive, not ready to talk feelings with the ‘No chick flick moments’ guy. “Sam come on man. Don’t deny it. You’ve got a thing for Y/N. You’ve just gotta do something about it no-” Dean lectured and Sam just sat with his cheeks bright red, until the opening of the bunker door distracted them both. “Good chat Sammy…” His voice trailed off, his speech over, and looked disappointed; Sam just looked relieved.

“Yeah, no, exactly...”

A knock at the door brings Dean and Cas’s attention away from each other, the pair looking towards the doorframe where they’re seated on Cas’s bed. 

“I’m going to bed, guys. Happy new year.”

Dean frowns. “What?! C’mon Sammy, you’re not gonna stay up till midnight? How old are you?”

“Dean... it’s 3am.”

“Oh.”

Sam smirks. “Yeah... oh. Night, Cas; happy new year.”

“Happy new year, Sam.”

Turning back to Cas, Dean grins lopsidedly, kissing the words out of his mouth as the angel attempts to continue their previous conversation. When he pulls away, Castiel’s eyes flutter open, brows raised as he hums. “What was that for?”

“Happy new year, you dork.”

Smiling, Cas leans in for another, sighing as their lips meet.

Dean made pancakes. Sam wasn’t sure Dean had ever made them pancakes. And he didn’t just make pancakes. He made them from scratch. He made bacon to go with them. He even scrambled some eggs as well. Sam wasn’t sure what the occasion was because they hadn’t come any closer to dying on yesterday’s hunt than any other recent hunt—which was very close. 

Dean hummed Zeppelin as he flipped the pancakes like he’d been doing it for years. Sam stood in the kitchen drinking a bottle of water and wondering if the witch they’d taken out had actually warped them into an alternate dimension, because seriously pancakes.

Dean wasn’t even dressed. He was in that fuzzy robe they found in the bunker and in a pair of slippers. This was definitely the result of a spell. Sam turned around and went to the library to see if he could figure out what was happening.

Twenty minutes later, Sam had found zero answers. He watched as Castiel shuffled down the hall toward the kitchen, like a zombie. He too was in a fuzzy robe and slippers. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were only half open.