that-autistic-writer

Excerpt: “Dean, there’s more,” Cas says, interrupting his wretched thoughts. More? Dean doesn’t think he can handle more. It's bad enough they slept together. “I think you should go, Cas,” he says, hating that his voice breaks. “Put your regular meat-suit back on ’cause we got real work to do, so let’s just pretend this never happened.” He swallows. “‘This kind of distraction, it’s–” He huffs humorlessly. Simply put, this is something that can’t happen again. “I can’t do that,” Cas’ soft but stern tone cuts Dean off. “You can’t what? Put on your meat-suit, or pretend it didn’t happen?” “Both.” “Are you telling me you’re stuck in that?” Dean’s heart can’t take much more of this. This isn’t Cas. “It would appear I’m stuck, yes. Temporarily.” Cas gently clears his throat and bows his head slightly, loose hair falling over slender shoulders, eyes glancing away to focus on some dust bunny across the floor. “For about nine months. Well, to be more accurate, less than that at this point.” “Why? You waiting on a power-up to make the change?” Dean asks suspiciously and despite everything, with a degree of concern. He is so blindingly angry that he didn’t even think that something could be wrong. “You cursed or under some spell?” “Dean,” Cas says forcefully, looking up at him, unfamiliar hazel eyes boring insistently into his own green ones like it'll make Dean understand the meaning behind the words better. “Nine. Months.” “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Dean wracks his brain trying to figure out what kind of curse has a time restriction on it like that. Cas takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and murmurs, “I’m pregnant.” The room falls silent. Everything goes still. All Dean can hear is his own shuddery breathing, and then the floor shifts beneath his feet and his vision goes fuzzy around the edges. Before he can fall, small hands cup his elbows to help keep him upright. The unexpected touch shocks him back to the present. It figures that just when his life was on a trajectory toward something a bit more normal, where there were no more eldritch monstrosities and apocalypses to thwart, when he might've been able to finally admit out loud how he truly feels about one very misguided, but beautifully faithful fallen angel… it all falls apart with two words. “Well, mazel tov,” he says, yanking his arms away and taking a step back. Bitterness, jealousy, anger, and all of these other ugly feelings begin a riot in his gut. “You even know whose it is, huh? I mean, it’s been a couple months.” He doesn’t think he can stand on his own two feet anymore so he sits down heavily on the edge of his bed, sinking into the memory foam a little. “How many guys..? Forget it. I don't think I wanna know.” Cas moves closer and scoffs indignantly. “I only had the one night, with one person,” he asserts. “You."