Destiellll
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Summary
After a less than lucky encounter with a witch, Dean is thrown back in time to 2008. Not only that, but he's also thrown into his younger self's body. Not knowing what to do, or how to get back, he decides to play along with what he thinks he did the first time around. Luckily, he's not the only one from the future. Cas is in the same boat, and they decide to do things right this time around; stop the apocalypse before it begins.
But changing the future is tricky business, and keeping it a secret from everyone else is hard when your brother knows you too well and you're in a time where descripting your relationship with said brother as having 'trust issues' doesn't even begin to cover it.
Will Dean and Cas save the world? And if they do, what will it cost them?
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“Okay, I’m going to ignore your incorrect opinion on licorice for now.” Dean pulls his phone from the pocket of his pajama pants and starts loading up an app.
“An opinion cannot be correct or incorrect, Dean. That completely defeats the purpose of an opinion—”
“Hush, Cas,” Dean thrusts his phone, open to Letterboxd, into Castiel’s hands. He doesn’t linger on the way their pinkies brush, on how Cas’s massive palms completely dwarf his phone, or on what those massive hands would feel like grabbing his hips.Totally not.
Dean clears his throat. “You’re getting a crash course in the objectivity of human media consumption.”
---Or: Castiel takes a deep dive into The Objectivity of Human Consumption; Dean lovingly refers to it as Cas Being a Little Shit and Rating Everything.
Double or: Who would have thought that Dean Winchester needed to be fingered by his best friend of the past decade to finally understand how much his relationship with his sexuality truly matters.
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One must pity the human who taught Castiel the meaning of the word rape. This is probably their fault.
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Written for the @/spn-summer-rapecation bingo card prompt: under the influence. -
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"Damn it," Dean coughs, turning his head to spit out another mouthful of blood. "This isn't…going…like I planned."
"So the reckless, renegade cowboy riding into the valley of death thing wasn't the plan?" Cas asks, his tone clipped with annoyance.
"No, the recklessness went perfectly," Dean says, breathing more easily now that his lungs aren't quite so restricted by the mangled remains of his thoracic cavity. "I wanted to deliver some cool line when we got back, though. About gripping you tight and raising you from perdition. But that doesn't work so well when I can't fucking breathe."
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“My name is Castiel. I’m an Angel of the Lord.”
There’s a beat of silence. And then when Dean can find his voice,
“What the fuck?”
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Cas answers Dean's prayers one night.