#greatbigbagoftricks

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greatbigbagoftricks

“...Heaven is green grass and red striped tents.” He doesn’t know. He can’t speak with conviction. He’s never walked in God’s kingdom, but there is a tightness in his throat that he can’t deny. 

“Or-”

He has to stop, to swallow. To close his eyes. Dean’s expression softens. He smiles.

The closest he ever came to Heaven on Earth. To true happiness. 

Ghost Adventures Meme: (not accepting)

@greatbigbagoftricks

Dean, is in fact pumped. 

Cas? Does not look nearly as pumped. 

“C’mon, angel.” He can feel Cas’ eye roll. He hates being called angel. Dean puts his chin on his shoulder.

There’s a murmur, throat clicking, words working over soft lips as a head is bowed.

"Praying, Gabriel? Father can't help you now."

That dark head lifts, lips twisted up into a sneer. 

"Why, pardon the pun, in God's name would I pray to Dad? Not exactly what you'd call reliable."

The angel’s answering smirk is cut short, mouth falling slack and open as the angel blade is slammed into its vessel’s back with more force than strictly necessary, forced through between ribs. 

The vessel hits the ground. It’s been three long days. 

If you’re watching this, I’m dead. 

They make it through the video the first time. Four rings. Four horseman. Keys to the change. A plan. Hope. Gabriel gives Dean the one thing he’d never thought he’d find again. 

Hope. 

The second time he tries to watch it, counting down the hours until they leave for Detroit, he can’t make it past that first line. 

If you’re watching this, I’m dead. 

Dean hurls the laptop at the wall and sits with his head in his hands, until they get into the car. (On the way, he makes Sam promise that he and Cas will try and get out of the life. Be happy together.)

He says yes because it’s the right thing to do. Because Sam went to hell for him. Because Cas fought his brothers for him. Because Gabriel died for him. For the few brief seconds that he’s falling, Dean finds peace. He finally did something right. 

But nothing is ever that easy. And he is subjected to hell in the purest sense of the word, trapped between furious archangels. 

When he’s first freed, he doesn’t care. About anything. Until Death erects a flimsy wall in the back of his head and shoves his soul where the sun doesn’t shine. 

Then Dean cares. About everything. 

Years old grief hits him fresh, it leaves him choking on it. Screaming at God in the middle of a junkyard. 

“It ain’t right! He did everything you wanted! He put humanity first! He protected us from Lucifer, and you let him die!”

His voice echoes hard on steel, and Dean clenches his fists, and lowers his voice. 

He’s never gonna get used to the whole angel healing thing. Because about two hours ago, he was choking breaths out through broken ribs after being thrown through a third story window by a pissed off poltergeist. 

Now he’s completely fine, three shots of JD and two beers in, feeling like the whole world is made of warm caramel. 

It’s awesome. 

Sam and Cas are across the booth, pressed in close but neither one of them exactly smiling. Dean is...well, Dean is sprawled across Gabe, trying to stifle laughter into his sleeve. 

“I asked...I asked Cas if he was a receiver...”

Horror Starters: (Accepting)

Sam is going to kick the ever living shit out of him. If he doesn’t end up getting fired for this, that is. That’s why he doesn’t call him. Doesn’t say a goddamn word, because Sam has some old college buddies in town, a pretty blonde who stopped by the hospital, and they’re all going out for drinks for Halloween. 

Dean and Gabe? They’re breaking Cas out of the hospital for Halloween. 

Dean stands watch outside of the Impala while Gabe bundles Cas out of his scrubs and into Dean’s old Metallica shirt and a pair of sweats. They’re a little big, but it’s better than wearing Gabe’s clothes and looking like the Incredible Hulk. 

They hit the road after the sun sinks down, everything painted in orange and black. It feels fitting. 

Gabe fiddles with the radio and Dean slaps his hand, but they still end up on a station playing Monster Mash. 

Cas is small and quiet in the backseat, but there’s a smile tucked into the corner of his lips like he’s hiding a smile. 

There’s a park with a carnival set up inside of it, bright lights and bursts of noise. Dean worries it might be too much for Cas, but Gabe takes one look at him, and the two have a hell of a silent conversation before Gabe faces front again. 

“He’ll be fine.”

Dean doesn’t miss the way Cas and Gabe are magnetized, how they drift together when they walk. And he sure as hell doesn’t miss the way Cas’ pale hand slips comfortable and confident into Gabe’s and is held tight. 

He knows what Naomi did to Cas. Knows the ways she twisted him up and tried to ruin him. It warms something deep and dark inside his gut to see Cas trust someone enough to hand himself over. 

Nobody deserves that trust more than Gabe. 

They weave between brightly colored booths, and somehow end up with a plastic pumpkin that gets loaded down with candy. Dean downs a beer to settle his stomach, thoughts always trailing back to Sam. 

He buys a candy apple with butterflies in his stomach. Slips behind a booth while Cas and Gabe are occupied by the petting zoo, Cas’ expression serene. Dean swallows, and he takes the picture before he can talk himself out of it. 

Lashes lowered, stubble dusted throat bared, shiny slick red candy apple sliding against his lips. 

God help him, he likes the picture. He feels sexy, something he didn’t think possible. He thinks of Sam looking at him, looking at that picture, and there’s no shame stirring in his belly. 

Dean doesn’t send a text with it, just the picture. He can’t think of anything to say that won’t make him sound needy or attention starved. 

They walk around until the carnival shuts down. They get Cas back in bed before dawn, though he refuses to give up Dean’s shirt, or Gabe’s jacket. 

Gabe tucks him in and whispers words Dean does his best not to hear, picking loose strands of hay from his hair. 

It’s a good night. A good little family he’s built for himself. 

He’s gonna need a minute. Or about a thousand of them. 

The paper bag crinkles between his fingers, dotted with grease. Inside that brown paper is a freshly fried, freshly iced donut, dusted with crumbled pieces of candied bacon. 

And a whole bunch of answers. 

A porn collection with a literal ribbon. Another donut. Various dumb trinkets over months. All left on the threshold to his church, like some kind of cat leavig mice on the porch. 

All Gabe. 

Of course, he’d known that at the time. But he hadn’t know that ‘Gabe from church’ would end up being ‘Gabriel, fucking archangel of the Lord’. 

Yikes, his life was something. 

He’s watched Sam pray to Cas about a million times. It doesn’t make him feel any less silly for closing his eyes and clasping his hands in his lap.