Two months ago, the world didnât end.
But for Dean Winchester, who fully expected to sacrifice not just his life but his very soul in order to stop Amara? The celebration has been clouded by the disappearance of his best friend, Casâthe friend heâd started to realize meant more to him than heâd been willing to accept until now.
The last anyoneâs seen of Castiel was when he was banished from the bunker by Toni Bevell. The Brits swear they donât have him. Neither Heaven nor Hell claim to know of his whereabouts. All of Deanâs calls, texts and prayers to the angel have gone unanswered, and Dean canât help but worry that a "Winchester win" has once again come at a terrible price.
One day hope finally arrives in a lead from an unexpected if not always trustworthy ally. However finding Cas might end up being only the first step in saving himânot simply from the forces holding him captive, but from the prison of his own mind.
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As Dean approached the galley, he saw the light on there already, meaning he wasnât the only early bird up and about today. His mood brightened with a momentary spark of hopeâCas rarely slept, and when he was around the bunker, he usually enjoyed hanging around in the kitchen to read or watch cat videos and shit all night on one of their laptops. But Deanâs bubble of hope burst when he saw it was just his brother, sitting there in his sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt, chugging a disgusting-looking green smoothie. Sam was no doubt ready to head out on his morning self-imposed torture sessionâthat is, a five-mile run looping around the bunker to Lebanon and back.
Kid seriously had to be the devilâs vessel if he found that kind of physical torment enjoyable.
âHey,â Dean grunted at his brother.
Sam looked up from his laptop at Dean and nodded. âHey. Youâre up early.â
âYou too. Couldnât sleep?â
âRarely do.â
Yeah, that was something they had in common. âAnything up?â Dean asked on his way to fill the coffeepot with water.Â
âNot really. Just restless, I guess. I found a case, maybe. Not that I was looking for one,â Sam added quickly. âBut while I was searching for any signs of Cas, or Lucifer, I came across a news story about some strange deaths in Wichita. Itâs not far from here, andââ
âIf you wanna go hunt whatever it is, go for it,â Dean cut him off. âTake mom. I know sheâs itching to get out of here and do somethinâ other than stare at our ugly mugs all day.âÂ
âDeanââ
âNo, Sam. I mean it. Until I know where Cas is, I just canât. My headâs not in the game.â A distracted hunter was a dead hunter. That was the rule their father had drilled into them as soon as they each could carry a weapon, and learn about the things that went bump in the night being real. A week ago, Dean had let Sam talk him into going on a âmilk runâ hunt to clear out a small vampire nest near Toledo and heâd nearly lost his neck thanks to not fully concentrating on the job at hand.
âOkay, I get it.â
âDo you?â Dean snapped. âCas has been missing for two months, Sam! We have no idea where he is, if he evenââ
Dean cut himself off. He couldnât say it. Not out loud.
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Since a traumatic incident six years ago, Castiel Novakâs face has been disfigured by a scar. Heâs resigned himself to being someone people can barely stand to look at, let alone love.
Except his heart doesnât seem to have gotten the message. When Dean Winchester takes over the convenience store down the street from Castielâs bookshop, Castiel falls helplessly in love with his new neighbor.
To make matters worse, Castielâs sister Anna is also interested in Dean. Believing that Dean could never love him, Castiel decides to help Anna win his heart instead.
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âHey,â Dean says. âSorry, I didnât mean to startle you. Just⊠wanted to say hi.â
âOh. Hi,â Castiel says, one hand fluttering nervously down his face and across his hair in an attempt to ensure heâs looking presentable. The tips of his fingers catch on the ugly, jagged ridge of his scar, and he remembers that âpresentableâ stopped being an option six years ago. He clears his throat and arranges his face in the polite mask of a consummate customer service professional. âAnything I can help you find?â
âUm.â Dean looks uncertain now, as though itâs a question he wasnât expecting â despite the fact that itâs easily the most predictable question one could be asked in a bookshop. âI donât know. I was just gonna browse, I guess.â
This is the point in a customer interaction where Castiel would usually withdraw, because âIâm just browsingâ is universal bookstore code for âleave me the fuck alone.â But Dean doesnât give any sign of wanting to walk away. Instead, he simply hovers in front of Castielâs armchair, eyes gliding aimlessly (and somewhat helplessly) across the shelves to his right.
âWhat sort of things do you like to read?â Castiel finds himself asking, because itâs impossible not to take pity on a grown man who is capable of looking so bashfully lost.
âAnything,â Dean says. One of his hands flies to the back of his neck, rubbing at it. Thereâs something terribly endearing about the gesture â perhaps the fact that it makes him look like a boy whoâs been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
Belatedly, it occurs to Castiel that itâs his turn to speak. His prolonged silence appears to have made Dean nervous, because heâs speaking again, a little too quickly to be altogether natural. âI know that sounds stupid. Like those people who say they like all kinds of music â which I donât, by the way, just to be clear. Big classic rock fan. Zeppelin, the Stones. Metallica too, which I guess is classic rock these days and fuck, thatâs kind of depressing. But, yeah. Anyway. Pretty much anything. Love Vonnegut and Kerouac, but Iâve read just about all their stuff. Iâll read sci-fi, horror, mysteries⊠actually, I guess I should say I read all kinds of fiction. Non-fiction kinda puts me right to sleep. My brother, Sammy, heâs a big fan though. Crazy about true crime for some reason.â Dean blows out a heavy breath. He abruptly seems to realize heâs scratching at his neck and lowers his arm back down, fingers twitching as if unsure what to do with themselves now. âYou probably didnât need to know all that, huh?â
âNo, this is helpful,â Castiel says, getting up. âIâll show you the layout of the store so you can see which shelves you might be most interested in.â
Somehow, Deanâs shyness makes him feel more at ease. When he first laid eyes on Dean, he thought someone as handsome as Dean must be a smooth and confident conversationalist. But he doesnât seem to be, and somehow, that makes it easier for Castiel to hold up his own end of the conversation.
Or maybe itâs just that Dean doesnât know how to talk to someone like Castiel. He wouldnât be the first one.
When Dean Winchester met Castiel Novak in college they were both headed for amazing things: Dean was a rising star in the art world while Cas was a promising medical student. Now, thirteen years and one marriage later, none of those dreams have come true. Cas works twelve hour shifts as a nurse while Dean works as a mechanic, his art supplies wasting away in a dusty room. With his marriage to Cas on rocky ground, Dean starts to feel like he made a mistake all those years ago.
A chance encounter and a hasty wish land Dean in another world -- one where his art career is skyrocketing him to fame and fortune... And one where he never married Cas.
Now Dean has to make a decision -- whether to go back to Cas and his mundane life, or whether to stay... and lose Cas forever.
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Just to the side, off hospital property, a street vendor has set a table up. A very familiar street vendor.
âYou,â Dean snarls, almost jogging in his haste to get to the man. The vendor looks up from his phone, a smirk spreading across his face when he sees Dean. Not even Deanâs hand shooting out and grabbing the front of his shirt can dim his superior expression.
Aware of the eyes on him, Dean avoids slamming that smug face into the table, but itâs a struggle. âYou,â he repeats, giving the vendor a little shake. âYou did this.â
âAfraid youâre going to have to be more specific bucko,â the vendor drawls. âIf it was your wife or your sister I knocked up, then honestly, they should be grateful. And even though you are a stud, youâre not really my type, soâŠâ
The last word is elongated into a monstrosity of syllables. Deanâs resolve to not punch the vendor is growing thinner and thinner by the second. His knuckles crack with the strain of holding himself back.
âThis,â he finally spits, dragging out the pendant from underneath his shirt. âYou gave me this and told me some bullshit story about how it could grant wishes.â
âHm,â the vendor says, making a big show of pondering. He even taps his chin with the tip of his index finger, the absolute fuckwit. âDoesnât seem so much like it was bullshit, now does it?â
For just one moment, Deanâs brain is wiped blissfully blank. He doesnât even have the background noise of static to distract him. Thereâs just⊠nothing, but then reality intrudes in the form of someone laying on the horn when the person in front of them lingers for a split-second too long at a green light.
âYouâre insane,â he finally says, bringing his brain back online. âThereâs no such thing as⊠AsâŠâ
The vendor raises one supremely smug eyebrow. âNo? Then explain why your husband just treated you like the annoying kid at a high school reunion.â
Furious, Dean clenches his jaw. He starts and immediately slaughters at least half a dozen sentences. The truth... The awful truth that he can't admit to himself is that there is no rational explanation. Not even his most far-fetched notions explain the phone call, Cas and Megâs behavior, and the disappearance of his wedding ring.
It's been years of watching Dean and Cas dance around their feelings and at this point, Sam's losing hope that they'll ever take that step and talk things out already. One well-placed spell from Rowena makes Dean and Cas incapable of not talking, but even that doesn't get them together. Will Sam ever be able to help the morons he's forced to live with get together already, or is he destined for a life of perpetually being stuck between them as some sort of bizarre marriage counselor that neither seems aware the other also talks to?
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"It's just so painful," he laments a few days later to Rowena, both more than a little drunk in the Bunker's library, Dean and Cas having already gone to bed (unfortunately in different rooms). "They're justâŠso obvious to everyone except each other. How don't they realize?"
"Noo, why should they? It's not like all of Heaven and Hell figured it out before them or anything."
"I just don't get it. I mean, Dean's eyes are always practically glued to Cas' eyes or lips or his butt and he still hasn't picked up on the fact that there might be something a little weird about that if they really were 'just friends'?" Sam's drink sloshes violently in his glass as he gestures around the room, agitated. "Cas only gets an excuse because he hasn't even been on Earth for a decade, but somebody as old as him should probably at least have an idea what all those feelings are, right?"
"Aye, the poor dears don't have a brain cell between them when it comes to matters of the heart, it seems," Rowena says sagely. "They can be more than a little daft when something doesn't involve killing or dying or cryingâŠ"
"They're so hopeless," Sam agrees miserably, burying his face in his hands to rub at his forehead and push his hair behind his ears. "I have to live with them so it's just constant. I-I don't know what to do anymore."
Rowena's quiet for a long moment before she hums to herself. "There might be some way to get their heads out from within their tushiesâŠ"
He looks up at that, though judging by the twinkle in the witch's eye, he's gonna regret listening. "What do you mean?" he asks warily anyway, blaming the alcohol for him even consideringâŠwhatever it is Rowena is going to suggest.
"Well, all it takes is a wee spell or two and those two will be singing like canaries."
"About their disgustingly sappy love for each other?" Sam guesses, but the witch just smirks.
"About everything. Anything that comes to mind." Sam stares at her blankly, but Rowena doesn't seem to notice. "Oh, I imagine it wouldn't be more than but a few days before certain thoughts come out and certain feelings are revealedâŠ"
"RowenaâŠ"
"Don't tell me you've changed your mind? It's not like there are all that many ways to get those two to sit down and talk about their feelings, Samuel."
Sam considers it, his drunken mind unable to see why this might be a bad idea beyond Dean getting pissed off. Then again, Dean gets pissed if he sees something green on his plate, so Sam's not all that concerned. "What's the cure?"
Rowena's smirk widens, nearly splitting her face in two. "True love's kiss."
Almost a year to the day, and Castiel is still sick. After months of blackouts and near misses, Dean has managed to find a way to quell the spells and drag Castiel back from the proverbial abyss. However, when Castiel progressively gets worse and Dean's voice is no longer enough to keep him conscious, Dean sets out to find every faith healer in the country, in the hopes that one of them might shed light on what's happening, and how to prevent it.
Only, Dean and Castiel find out more than they bargained forâand that the solution, apparently, has been right under their noses the whole time.
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He takes the right, barely tapping the brakes. At the first clear patch of shoulder, Dean pulls off and slams the truck into park, shuttering the engine. He kicks the door open, rounds the engineâyanks the passenger handle so hard that he fears it might break. Hands to Castielâs biceps, Dean helps him out of the seat and into the grass, just before Castiel turns to dead weight in his arms. Keeping him upright is a featâgetting him backed up against the side panel is a miracle.
âHey, hey,â Dean rasps. He pats Castielâs cheek, searching for Castielâs eyes in the dark. âHey, look at me, okay? Touch me, heyââ He takes Castiel by the wrist and maneuvers him, forcing Castiel to touch the warm cotton of his T-shirt. Limp, Castiel holds on. âHey, IâI know youâre in there. Youâre always in there, alright? Just hold on to me.â
Castielâs head lists forward; Dean presses him into the quarter panel with all of his strength. âWhen we were,â Dean begins, a little too brittle, a little too rough. âWhen me and Sam were teenagers, we went to this⊠this canyon in Georgia. Dad said it was the Grand Canyon, but we werenât even in the right part of the country, but weâwe didnât wanna fight him on it, âcause he actually took us somewhere, yâknow?â He smiles, fighting back the tremble in his fingers, the ache in his heart. âAll the runoff from the farms gouged out a canyon in the middle of nowhere, and it was just soâŠâ
He stops to look down at his tennis shoes, so worn that he can almost see his toe poking through. âSam thought it was the greatest thing ever. IâShit, I barely remember it, but every once in a while, heâll still talk about it, like the week before we werenât chasing a ghoul across the entire fucking state. But I remember looking at it, and I thoughtâŠâ He tightens his grip. âFor once, I felt calm. Like I was⊠small, and like my problems didn't matter. Picture it.â He sucks in air, slow, like it might spur Castiel into breathing. âWater cutting through the clay. The green of the trees growing around the tops of the canyon walls. A river. Babbling brooks.â
Dean shakes his head, fighting a laugh. âYou hear the water?â
Silenceâthen, a breath, and the weight piled on Deanâs shoulders threatens to bury him in the grass. Castiel blinks, his mouth forming around a word Dean canât hear. âHey, hey,â Dean hushes. He clasps both sides of Castielâs neck, thumbs pressed to his Adamâs apple as he swallows. âHey, you with me?â
âItâs loam,â Castiel croaks, and Dean lifts a brow. âMost of the soil in southern Georgia is composed of sand and clayââ
âOkay, not what Iâm concerned about.â He swallows around the knot in his throat. âSeriously, you wanna give me a geology lesson, any other time. Now, are you good?â
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Lavender Fireflies Camp is possibly Castielâs final chance to mend his troubled relationship with his daughter. After an ugly divorce and a nine-to-five job that only further distanced him from Claire, his sister â Anna â suggests spending two weeks camping with Claire. Castiel sees this as his opportunity to bring his daughter closer to him.
He had not anticipated meeting a charming firefighter on the first day and becoming instantly enchanted by Dean. Still, Castiel canât help but feel disappointed when Dean seems to change his mind about them.
Usually, the hippy, kumbaya shit that Sammy digs so much is a hard pass for Dean. But coming to Lavender Fireflies Camp wins big brownie points for allowing him to spend time with his brother and his daughter Emma.
The last thing Dean expects to happen is to find sex on a stick and everything his dreams are made of in the guy with messy dark hair and blue-as-fuck eyes he meets there. Dean is immediately smitten. Too bad that being a jump-the-gun kinda guy, the first thing Dean assumes is that the redhead camping with Cas is his wife. Then he makes everything a fuckton more complicated for everyone, yâknow, Winchester style.
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Deanâs jaw dropped before he looked up to see Castiel holding his hands up like he was scared of blowing something up. One of his palms was covered in purple paint as he met Deanâs gaze, wide-eyed. Dean stared back, shocked, with his jeans completely ruined and a purple handprint on his shoulder.
The first chuckle left Dean unbidden, but the sounds kept coming until he was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes and his head thrown back.
When he had calmed down, wiping away the tears and gazing back at Cas, the manâs face was a ridiculously cute combination of mortification and fondness, and something warm filled Deanâs insides. âGee, Cas, warn a guy first before spilling all over him.â
Castiel exhaled a surprised chuckle. âSeriously, is this really the time for a lewd joke?â
It was a relief that the innuendo had been what Castiel had picked up because Dean was feeling kinda winded for giving the guy a nickname practically right off the bat.
Trying to shake off his nervousness, he gave Cas a cocky grin and raised his shoulder in half a shrug. âNot for nothinâ they call me a bisexual disaster,â he said, for some reason, feeling the need to put it out there, to lay his cards on the table.
If he were expecting some kind of judgment, he would be sorely mistaken because Castielâs smile seemed to grow impossibly wider. âThen that makes two of us. Bisexual and a disasterâŠâ He looked over at the mess they had made. âBisaster?â the dork added.
Yeah, Dean wasnât a love-at-first-sight kinda guy, but Castiel was testing that theory.
Dean is 24 years old, and a quiet night at a California dive bar turns into a near death experience turns into a trip through time thanks to the stranger he meets in the bar. When he lands in the bunker twenty years into his future, he finds out who the stranger is â and what his relationship is to Deanâs own older self.
Deanâs not sure what he thinks about this at first, but when Cas takes him back to his own time (accompanied by the older Dean, who is determined to make sure that nothing they do in the past screws up their lives in the future), he gets to know the angel, and he gets a glimpse at a future he never wouldâve dreamed that he might be able to have.
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In the cool evening air, Dean looks around. Heâd left the Impala back parked at the dingy motel where heâd rented a room, but heâs not quite ready to call it a night. He opens his remaining beer and looks down the street to see if thereâs another bar nearby that might be worth checking out, but before he can make a decision he hears the door to the bar he has just left open behind him. And he knows, he just /knows/, that it isnât some other random patron headed home.
âWhat the hell is this, huh?â Dean asks, âSomething about ânot interestedâ youâre not getting?â
And then the guy says his name.
âDean,â the man begins, and Dean gets it.
âOh, lemme guess, my dad tell you to check up on me?â Dean asks. He doesnât wait for an answer, just begins to walk, knowing the man will follow. Heâs a hunter, obviously. Explains the build, and the suit that is only meant to pass muster at a brief glance, like the fake police badge or FBI creds the guy probably carries. Dean shouldâve clocked him from the start.
And for some reason John had thought that Dean needed checking up on. That he couldnât be trusted to go it alone, nevermind the fact that he had finished the hunt his dad had sent him on two whole days ago and had yet to receive any new case coordinates from John.
To Deanâs surprise, he hears a laugh behind him. He stops, and now he does turn to face the guy again.
âNo,â the man says. âIâve lost count of how often Iâve been told Iâm bad at following orders, but even if that wasnât the case, I wouldnât follow your fatherâs.â
âOh yeah? Then how do you know my name?â Dean demands.
âYou left your wallet on the bar,â the man replies, holding it up. Itâs definitely Deanâs: worn black leather, secondhand from his dad, containing a meager number of bills and at least three fake IDs tucked behind a real oneâ well, real first name, although it gives his surname as Campbell, just in case.
âOh,â Dean says, wondering for the second time that night if he has misjudged this guyâs intentions. Maybe heâs just a normal businessman trying to do a good deed for the day and return a lost wallet, despite the walletâs owner being an absolute weird freak toward him. âThanks.â
The man offers the wallet out to him, almost gently, like heâs proffering a bit of food to a scared, stray dog, and Dean steps forward to take it. âItâs your birthday,â he says, and before Dean can ask, the man explains, âI saw it on your ID. On one of them, anyway.â Dean nods. âHappy birthday,â the guy says. âI shouldâve bought you a beer.â
Everything seemed so easy when Castiel landed a job in Lawrence as a literature professor at Kansas University. He even found a place to stay with his cousin in Topeka, less than thirty miles away. But the daily commute quickly gets on his nerves and he begins looking for a little room in town. When he finally lucks out on a house, it comes with a catch. His mysterious landlord/housemate works and lives in Topeka during the week, and will only be in Lawrence for the weekend while Castiel is back at his cousinâs to honor a promise he made.
When Dean walks into his favorite pie shop, the new sales assistant takes his breath away. Steve is gorgeous, and part of the ownerâs family. Dean doesnât even mind that Steve picks up Gabrielâs stupid moniker for him. After all, Deano has one syllable more, and Dean will do anything to hear Steveâs voice just a little bit longer.
Though, as breathtaking Steve might be, he isn't Angel. If only Dean's book-loving best friend for over a decade weren't a mystery in himself â a guy who Dean has only met online, but who has slowly taken his heart away. And it seems that Dean isn't alone in his feelings.
When the lines blur and fantasies merge three guys into one, disappointment and heartbreak seem to be inevitable.
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âDude! You did what?â
âI found you a new roommate,â Sam explained and Dean knew his brother was rolling his eyes. âAs you asked me to.â
âYeah, I heard you,â Dean muttered. âAnd well, I did, but duh? Did you take the first one that came along?
The silence at the other end of the line was enough of an answer.
âSeriously? The first one? You pick the first Tom, Dick, and Harry that walks into my home?â Dean couldnât believe it. âYou didnât evenââ
âHis name is Castiel. And heâs nice,â Sam cut in, defending himself.
Nice?
Before Dean could interrupt him, Sam continued, âSo, get this, Castiel is actually in the same predicament as you are. He lives in Topeka, but teaches at KU and heâs already fed up with his daily commute to campus.â
âCastiel? What a mouthful of a name is that?â Dean grumbled.
âAs far as I know itâs the name of an angel,â his brother answered calmly, taking none of Deanâs shit.
âAngel?â Dean huffed while another Angel came to his mind. Shaking his head to clear the thought away, he went on, âYou telling me the guy is some religious weirdo?â
Sam laughed and Dean could literally hear another eye roll. âDonât worry. I donât think that should be a problem. Quite the contrary. He seemed very interested in our library. Or, more precisely, /your/ part of the library.â
Dean huffed. âThatâs most of it anyway, dude.â
Groaning, Sam ignored him and went on. âI donât think he realized how obvious he was when he skimmed through the titles of your collection of gay pulp.â
âHey, it ainât gay pulp, not all of it,â Dean protested.
âPulp, romance, literature â whatever. You canât deny itâs kinda gay.â
Dean laughed before teasing, âJust kinda?â Even though his brother couldnât see him, he wiggled his brows.
âHow would I know? I havenât even touched half of it,â Sam backpedaled and Dean laughed even louder. âSomehow I need to keep my sanity,â his brother shot back.
Then it hit Dean. âWait, you showed this guy, thisââ
âCastiel,â Sam offered helpfully.
âWhatever,â Dean snapped. âYou showed him the library?â
âDean, he lives there now. Of course, I showed him around. Besides, how do you think I should have hidden the shelves in the living room? Youâre not very subtle with your interests.â
Subtle? Dammit, it was his home, for fuckâs sake. âStill, the library? And you let him stay? Alone at home?â
âYes, because thatâs what happens when you rent your house, dude.â Dean could see his brotherâs bitchface in his mind. âDo I need to remind you that you were the one who asked me to take care of the viewings?â
âGoddammit, Sammy,â Dean grouched. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before giving in, âYeah. Sorry. I did. But that didnât mean that you decide who lives with me.â