#profound net

As soon as Dean finishes his sentence—no, his declaration, he wants to clear his throat. He settles for swallowing while Cas stares at him, a mixture of curious and questioning, brow furrowed, cheeks pink. For a second, Dean pictures making good on his promise right here, or somewhere close by, pressing their lips together, unbuttoning that starched white shirt and pulling out the knot on that tie, tonguing his way up Cas’s neck, unexplored territory—

But instead he drags Cas to a strip club for an ill-fated attempt at a tryst that almost immediately goes sideways. Standing in the hallway, women glaring at them, he sees Cas cast in neon lights, collarbone exposed and tie askew, and wishes he’d made good on his imaginings.

For the @profoundnet/ProfoundBond100 Drabble challenge. Prompt: prophecy. It’s only 500 words over the 100 word limit so: basically I nailed it, gang. I nailed it. 

{on AO3}

Dean’s never been able to figure out what it is about the guy; sure, they’re stuck in the same open plan office suite, but it’s not like they share any interests. It isn’t clear if Novak even has any interests, or if he just plugs himself into a spare outlet in the server room to charge overnight. He’s nice on the eyes (and the ears, fuck), but he dresses like he works in the slide rule department for the Apollo program.

Still, Dean winds up next to him at all the Mandatory Company Fun events. Just kind of standing there, taking shelter from the fray with this vibey mystery nerd.

This time the Mandatory Company Fun is at a bowling alley, because God is dead, but there’s a full bar in the bowling alley, because He at least left a few nice things to His kids in the will. And, sure enough, Novak is holed up there, and he actually appears to be consuming an adult beverage, which blows Dean’s mind a little – though he couldn’t really tell you why. 

So he snags the next seat over and they awkwardly put a few away together, and then they much less awkwardly put away a couple more. This is around when Dean asks: “Your first name. Is it short for something?”

“Yes,” the guy deadpans. Dean scowls at him until he cracks and tries to hide the little resulting smile in his Scotch and soda, which is weirdly adorable. “It’s short for, uh. Castiel. ”

“Ouch. So’s your family super religious, or was your mom just, like, really into angel stuff?”

Novak looks up at him. “You’re the first person I’ve met who actually knows where it’s from.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean says. “Me and my brother kinda grew up in a cult. I know a lot of weird off-brand Bible shit.”

This is usually where the other person’s eyes go wide to accommodate all of the questions suddenly filling their brain, and Dean can relax into a 45 minute set of his greatest Wacky Endtimes Upbringing Hits. Instead, Novak says:

“You too?”

Dean stares back at him. “Yeah, man. Our mom died when we were both little and our dad dove into this whole Jim Jones Doomsday kinda thing. Followed this prophet dude around the country for pretty much our whole childhoods. Whole lotta guns and Jesus with an extra side of freaky.”

Novak (Castiel, poor S.O.B.) is sitting bolt upright, like this is the best news he’s heard in weeks. “Polygamist compound outside of Provo,” he rushes out, and actually slaps the bar. “My father was the prophet. My mother was the ninth wife.”

 “Well hey, I hear that’s a good wife to be,” Dean says. “Tenth, though? Forget about it.”

Cas laughs, a hard, real laugh (seriously, adorable). “You’re not wrong.” Then he looks away, deflates a little as the chuckles run out, starts to pick at the anemic lemon slice slowly bleeding out into his whiskey. 

“So how’d you get out?” Dean prompts, and it comes out soft.

Cas shrugs. “Oh, I didn’t, really. I was expelled.”

“Kicked you out of the nest, huh? You cheep too loud?”

“No. Cheeped too homosexual.” He does not look up to see Dean’s reaction to this information, just deepens his aggressions against the lemon. “My fiancée turned me in.” He pauses. “She was scared. She was sixteen, so she should’ve been scared.” Castiel stops messing with the lemon, actually picks up the glass for a drink.

“Yeah. My old man never caught me,” Dean says, when the glass goes back down, and Cas’s eyes (by the way: real blue) pop right back up. Dean shrugs with an entirely whiskey-induced nonchalance. “Not with guys, at least.” 

Cas leans over his forearms. “What made you leave, then?”

“Little brother. He grew a brain first, I guess.” 

Cas narrows his eyes, glances back at the room full of overpaid kid-genius engineers enthusiastically rolling gutterballs. 

“Well, Dean, if you were a late bloomer, you’ve certainly made up for lost time.”

So someone on the @profoundnet discord thought up this angsty prompt and let me loose on it.  This is also on my Ao3! 

WARNING FOR MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. THIS IS A 100% ANGST FIC

“What have you done?” Castiel demanded as he marched into Heaven. His voice boomed and could be heard all over Heaven. Inside personal rooms, souls stopped at the sound of heartbreak and rage and wondered where this unwelcome interruption had come from. Outside, Castiel stormed.

“Castiel,” Naomi smiled behind her desk, her hands clasped together.

“What did you do to him?” he snarled, fuming. Two other angels grabbed his arms. Three sets of eyes glowed blue as they fought, punches thrown, blades summoned and dropped. Castiel was wrestled into a familiar chair, shackled to it, and held down by the two grunts. “You won’t get away with this,” he threatened through clenched teeth.

“The decent thing to do would be to tell you everything,” Naomi said calmly as she got up from her seat and walked around the desk slowly. “I’ve already won.

“It started with a dream. Do you remember that night, two months ago, when you were… cuddling?” Naomi spits the word, her eyes darkening. “Dean had grown tired and you… You were too busy watching the end of his movie to protect him. Weren’t you? He fell asleep without you that night.”

Castiel struggled against his restraints. He had known that his relationship with Dean Winchester was frowned upon in Heaven. He had known that angels weren’t programmed or allowed to fall in love and yet…

“We visited him while you sat in the next room. We stepped into his dreams and whispered a single word and then we left, undetected by him and especially you .” Her lips curled up as she spoke, taking her slow steps toward him. “What happened next, dear Castiel?”

Dean had forgotten. What had happened next was the spell that had been uttered in Dean’s dream  tore into his mind.

“He forgot you, didn’t he?” Naomi mock pouted before grinning.

. . . . . . . . . 

At first, it hadn’t seemed like anything at all. Not to Cas. Dean’s lapse in memory only happened when Cas wasn’t in the room. He had been in the hallway when he’d heard Sam and Dean talking.

“Where’s Cas?” Sam had asked. “Dean?” “Who are you talking about?” Dean had answered, but it had to have been a joke.

“Very funny,” Sam scoffed. After a moment of dead silence, Cas froze in the hallway, waiting to hear Dean end the joke. “Cas… your boyfriend… wears a trench coat… backwards tie… very literal?” Sam tried.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about and I’m leaving,” Dean announced.

“You can’t be serious! What happened? Did you get into a fight?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sam! I don’t date. Period. I don’t socialize with anyone who even owns a trenchcoat. When have those ever been in style? Never? I’ll go get you some coffee.”

Once Dean had left through the other exit, Cas stepped into the library.

“Are you two fighting?” Sam asked, looking up at Cas with mild worry.

“No.”

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean grinned, passing Cas a coffee as he reentered the library. They shared a quick kiss and Dean leaned into it just long enough to soak up the sun before going back to his seat across from Sam.

“Uh. Hello?” Sam looked between Dean and Cas incredulously.

“Yes?” Dean asked as he opened his laptop to find a new case.

“What the fuck just happened?”

Dean looked over at his boyfriend of nearly seven years and exchanged a confused look. “Are you feeling okay, Sammy?” When Sam doesn’t answer, Dean fills in the blanks. “Okay, Sam, this is my boyfriend, Cas. Didn’t know I’d have to come out to you twice.”

“You said you didn’t know who Cas was five minutes ago.”

“What?” Dean had sputtered, looking hurt. Cas waited, having heard the same thing from the hallway. All eyes were on Dean. “I would never forget you, Cas,” Dean said seriously to Cas.

“I love you too, Dean,” Cas whispered, hiding his smile in his mug of coffee. . . . . . . . . .

It hadn’t been obvious to Cas that Dean forgot him while they weren’t in the same room because… well… They weren’t in the same room when Dean forgot him. Sam’s worry grew and still, Cas remained oblivious. He was blissfully ignorant, choosing not to bite into Sam’s concern. Until it got worse.

Cas had been pressed up against the wall, Dean’s hands in his hair and their tongues in each other’s mouths. Their lips crashed together as they pulled and pressed, aching to be closer and closer and—

Sam cleared his throat and Dean took a step back, a blush rising high in his cheeks.

“You said you were going to the store,” Dean said without turning around, his eyes still on Cas.

“You forgot to give me the keys,” Sam answered with an awkward smile.

Dean sighed and turned to face his brother as he dug in his pocket for the keys to the Impala. “Where are we going?” Dean’s hand came up with the keys and he spun them around his finger.

“You said you wanted to stay here with Cas while I just grabbed a few things at the store…” Sam said slowly, his eyes finding Cas’ over Dean’s shoulder.

“What? Stay here with who?”

Cas’ heart slammed to a halt in his chest, all of Sam’s claims of Dean’s memory loss screaming through him at once.

“Dean?” Cas asked behind him, but Dean didn’t respond.

“Hello? Sam? Who the fuck is Cas?” Sam took Dean by the shoulders and turned him around. “What’s wrong?” Dean reached out and stroked Cas’ cheek. “Cas, what happened?” . . . . . . . . . 

“Dean, something’s wrong with your memory.” Sam had said, watching as Cas and Dean held tight to each other’s hands.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean insisted.

“You’ve been forgetting Cas.” The look of shattering heartbreak in Dean’s eyes in that moment would have been enough to kill him if he was human.

“No.” Dean shook his head adamantly, tears forming in his eyes. “No, that’s not… That’s… You’re lying.”

“It’s true,” Cas said softly, his thumb wiping Dean’s tears from his cheeks. Dean turned his face to press a kiss into Cas’ palm as he continued to cry. “We can fix this if we know what’s happening.”

“Can I have a minute?” Dean asked, covering his face with his hands and taking a few deep breaths. That was the last time Dean had looked into Cas’ eyes. When Cas and Sam had walked back into the room, Dean was gone.

“Where the fuck am I?” Dean called loudly from another room.

Sam and Cas exchanged the same worried glance and ran to find Dean. “Sam?!” Dean threw his arms around Sam and hugged him tight. “Sam. I… Wait. Are you real?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Am I still in Hell or did I get out?” Dean patted himself down, lifting his shirt to check for the claw marks from the hell hounds. “I should look like a Thriller video reject.”

“Dean?”

“What?”

“You don’t remember getting out of Hell?”

Dean swallowed hard, paling slightly as all of his memories of Hell flooded him. He shook his head and clamped his mouth shut.

“You’ve been out of Hell since September 2008,” Cas tried. Dean didn’t respond or look in his direction. “I rescued you. I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition, ” Cas sobbed. “Dean, please!”

“Cas…” Sam faltered and looked from Cas to Dean. “An angel named Cas brought you out of Hell years ago…”

“Angels aren’t real.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“An angel named Cas,” Sam tried again. Dean blinked a few times as if returning to the present moment.

“Sorry, I zoned out. I must be tired. What’d you say?”

“Castiel. Cas. Angel. Best friend. Cas. Boyfriend. Cas,” Sam rattled off.

“Fine. Don’t talk to me.” Dean shook his head. “I think I need to go to bed. Good to see you, Sammy.”

So Sam had called Rowena and Cas had stormed into Heaven. . . . . . . . . .

“You and I both know how unnatural your fling is. It needs to end , Castiel,” Naomi said, picking up her favorite drill. Castiel squirmed and was immediately reminded of his restraints.

“It doesn’t matter what you do to me, Dean loves me,” Castiel fought. “He’s going to be cured of this.”

“It’s much too late for that to matter, poor dear Castiel,” Naomi smiled. “You walked right into your trap. Dean was just the bait.”

“No!” Castiel’s scream was drowned out by the whirr of the drill as it made contact with his vessel’s skull. The last word on his lips as he wailed in pain: “Dean!” . . . . . . . . .

“Cas,” Dean groaned as he resurfaced from his sleep. Rowena hovered at his bedside and Sam stood behind her. Relief filled the room as Dean sat up. “Where’s Cas? I just had the worst fucking dream.”

“I don’t think it was a dream,” Sam said softly.

“No. Too crazy to be real. I forgot him, Sam. God, I was so scared. I forgot the love of my life.” When Dean was met with Sam’s slow nodding, his eyes grew and his stomach turned. “No! Cas!” Dean whipped the blankets off of him and stumbled out of bed.

“I pray to thee, Castiel, please hear me! I need you! I need you! I remember you! I know you! Cas!” Dean screamed as he ran through the bunker.

The flutter of wings behind him made him spin, his relief swimming through him as his eyes land on his angel. Dean ran to Cas, closing the small distance. They were immediately wrapped in each other’s arms, lips landing on jaws, cheeks, noses, lips, anywhere and everywhere to just be connected. When the rapid fire kisses slowed, their lips found each other and settled. Dean’s hand tightened in Cas’ hair as he clutched his angel to him.

“Cas,” Dean breathed into Cas’ mouth.

Cas opened his mouth and a head-splitting screech came out. Dean didn’t have time to react. There was no time to untangle himself and cover his ears. There was no time to take a step away. The high-pitched scream tore through him.

Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head and he sagged in Cas’ arms. Blood dripped from his ears onto Cas’ coat. Cas lifted Dean bridal style, letting Dean’s head rest against his chest. With Dean in his arms, Cas finally noticed the bunker. The war room had exploded. Glass littered the tables and floor. Every alarm was going off, but the lights were all broken. The table was cracked in half, the chairs on their sides and tossed to the far side of the room.

“Nejsdpqd pvcns jbdutab? Cas! Nejsdpqd aijbfehapfndj fopc Dean?” Sam asked, all of his words muddled.

“Dean’s not okay. I hurt him. I hurt Dean. Help,” Cas begged. Sam covered his ears protectively.

“Owdjk iofe euofnoiwspc emds?” Sam tried again. Cas shook his head and held Dean closer to him. He bent his head so their foreheads touched. He tried healing, but it wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working?

“P’jec soinc tifos hescvuis!” Sam said before leaving the room in a hurry.

Cas tried to summon all of his powers. Heaven hadn’t taken them. Human languages had been removed from his vocabulary. He couldn’t understand them and the bunker was breaking, Dean’s ears bleeding because of the Enochian. His powers were fine. He was summoning too much to try to fix Dean. It was too late by the time Cas realized what was happening.

Summoning his power to heal his boyfriend had been the wrong thing to do. His true form filled Dean’s vision, between their connected faces. Cas withdrew immediately, but it was too late.

Dean’s eyes were gone, his jaw slack, ears bleeding, heart… stopped.

Cas fell to his knees, pulling Dean tight against him. Tears streams silently while he tried to breathe. Once he finally pulled air into his lungs, a scream louder than anything the human ear could register filled and exploded the bunker. Doorways cracked, every light went out, the entrance burst outward. Cas shook as he held Dean, his tears falling onto the quickly cooling skin.

There, he spots the label on the shelf that it contains call numbers BF100-BG600, and this book’s call number, which he scrawled hastily onto his hand after looking it up online, is BF204.5.S56. Dean glances through the stacks to make sure that he can turn the crank and look at the right shelf, and stops short when he sees one of his friends, Castiel Novak, with his nose buried in a book, standing right where Dean needs to move the shelf to. 

“Cas,” Dean hisses, and Cas looks up with a jolt. The book he’s reading is called Majestic Indolence: English Romantic Poetry and the Work of Art. Cas glances down at his book and then practically runs out of the other side of the stacks. 

Weird. 

But his mind is on his paper, so he turns the crank and the shelves creak as they slide across the floor. A short search through the right shelf reveals Young Children’s Existential Encounters, and Dean grabs his prize and heads out of the depths of the psychology section. He flips open the book and starts scanning the table of contents, hoping to figure out what chapter he needs most--

Dean finds himself sprawled out on the ground, book halfway across the stacks, and collapsed on top of him in a tangle of limbs is Cas. 

“Hi,” Dean says.

“You should watch where you’re going.” Cas pulls himself off of Dean and goes searching for both of their books.

“I’ll see you at Charlie’s tomorrow, right?” Dean asks, once they’re both separated and upright. 

“Show starts at eight?” Cas hands Dean his book. 

Dean nods.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” Cas disappears into the stacks without a goodbye, and Dean shakes his head. Cas is always weird like that. 

He’s just about to head to the circulation desk like he was trying to before their collision when he notices a piece of paper on the floor at his feet. It’s clumsily folded, just enough off-center that Dean can see a sliver of handwriting. He recognizes one hand as Cas’s neat cursive, and the other as their friend Charlie’s untidy scrawl. The two of them have English together, and Charlie’s told Dean that they pass notes a lot. It must have fallen out of Cas’s backpack or something when they collided. 

Dean bends down and picks it up, unfolding it all the way to reveal their conversation. He’s not gonna read it, just crumple it up and throw it away, but then he spots his name, and now he’s gotta read it. 

tell dean when you see him at my apartment tomorrow, Charlie’s writing says. 

in front of everyone? is Cas’s response. 

you can’t keep reading romance poetry around him and hoping he’ll take a hint. dean’s dense like a rock.

“Rude,” Dean mutters to himself, and then his brain catches up to what he’s read--

Oh. 

Oh. 

Dean refolds the piece of paper and puts it in his pocket. He’s looking forward to hanging out at Charlie’s apartment a lot more now. 

After all, Charlie had told Dean himself last week that he couldn’t keep making Cas playlists and hoping that Cas would take a hint. 

Dean groans as the bedsprings creak and the mattress sinks down. Since Cas is wrapped around him like a goddamn koala, he knows exactly who’s getting into his bed.

A very wiggly newly-minted four-year-old shoves himself into the bed next to Dean before putting his face right up into Dean’s, making him go cross-eyed.

“Good morning, Jack,” Dean says. “You’re supposed to be in your own bed. You keep telling me you’re a big boy.”

“I am! But you guys are boring.” Jack rolls his eyes and Dean mentally reminds himself to make sure Claire hasn’t been teaching him how to do that. “Wake up!”

“If you don’t go back to bed I’m going to tickle you.” 

“Noooo!!!” Jack rolls out of the bed and runs out of the room, tiny footsteps thunking down the hallway.

Cracktober “that’s no moose”

It was something he couldn’t ignore. He tried, oh he did, the moment those blue eyes were on him, the moment the electricity crackled in the air, he was lost.

The compulsion grew inside of him, stronger, ever stronger pushed him to admit what he kept deep. The intensity of this emotion, the way that it overwhelmed,  begged him to express the truth.

The words tumbled from his lips.

The prayer intended for only the one angel alone.

The compulsion remained, to tell Sam, to tell the world the one truth, though he buried it deep.