To draw a map of a child’s mind.

Doctors sometimes draw maps of other parts of you, and your own map can become intensely interesting, but catch them trying to draw a map of a child’s mind, which is not only confused, but keeps going round all the time. There are zigzag lines on it, just like your temperature on a card, and these are probably roads in the island - for the Neverland is always more or less an island.
Peter Pan and Wendy, J. M. Barrie (Chapter 1).

Written: 7-9 June 2013, for princess aleera's birthday.

Pairings: None (except Dean/Castiel/Sam friendship)

Rating: M, for a little gore at the start

Genre and tropes: Baby fic, bunker fic, fallen Castiel, human Castiel, domestic fluff, post season 8

Word count: 6k.

Spoilers: Assume knowledge through to the end of season 8.

Summary: They come across an abandoned newborn, on a case. Sam assumes Dean will put her up for adoption. Any minute now... right? (Also known as, I can’t help it, I have father!Dean feels this week.)

Warnings: Gore (canon-level violence) resulting in an orphan.

AO3 link.

“I thought their eyes couldn’t focus so young.”
Dean’s finger reached out, traced across the baby’s cheek, earned a small noise.
“Guess nobody told her that. Wants to get you all figured out - don’t you, darlin’?”
There was a lazy ease to Dean’s voice when he spoke to her that brought out the drawl, the one he usually kept hidden under the sharpness of the job, of being the tough guy with the world on his shoulders. It did strange, uneasy things to Sam’s gut - some not-quite-right feeling that he couldn’t place.

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O, brave new world!

an epilogue to season 8

Alonso: Arise, and say how thou camest here.
Miranda: O, wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
That has such people in’t!
Prospero: ‘Tis new to thee.
The Tempest, William Shakespeare (Act V, Scene 1).

Written: 18-22 May 2013.

Pairings: Dean/Sam, Castiel/Dean, Castiel/Dean/Sam.

Rating: Explicit.

Genre and tropes: Wincestiel, episode coda, fallen angels, human Castiel, hurt/comfort.

Word count: 9500.

Spoilers: Through to (and especially for) the finale of season 8.

Summary: “Are you okay?” Sam put in, and Dean was fiercely stupidly grateful because he couldn’t ask it himself.
“I,” Castiel said, and he sounded so fucking lost. “Metatron was lying.”
“Oh, y’think?” Dean snapped out, and snatched the phone from Sam. “Where are you?”
“I’m not,” Castiel said, and, “I don’t know. Dean, everything is written in Italian, and I should be able to read it but I can’t remember most of the words and I can’t feel the Earth’s magnetic field or where the equator is or this vessel’s negotiations with gravity, Dean, I don’t know where I am.”

Warnings: None.

AO3 link.

Say how thou camest here.

Everything was very clear suddenly, as Dean hustled Sam outside, crouched with him in the lee of the Impala: clear in a way that Dean had almost forgotten. Sam was his, fierce as iron: the clutch of his hands in Dean’s jacket, the shake in his voice when he said Dean’s name like it was the only word he knew, the warm solid weight of him against Dean’s side. What was that they said - if you love somebody set them free, and they might even come back? Sam was sagging against him, coughing and groaning, but he was leaning on Dean and happy to do it, for as long as he needed it. For the first time in - hell, years - there was no crap between them, none of the push-pull and how-could-you and anger. Brothers again, and that was more important than anything. And they were going to be okay.

Then Heaven began to fall.

Dean couldn’t leave either of his men alone for five freaking minutes.

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Mole End

Written: Friday 9 May 2013.

Pairings: None, although there’re several could-be-preslashes lurking about.

Rating: G

Genre and tropes: Angstfluff. Shh. It’s a genre. Also, bunkerfic, reading to sick people, hurt/comfort, and the idea of home.

Word count: 2200.

Spoilers: Episode coda to 8x21.

Summary: The bunker doesn’t really feel like home right now. Dean is restless, Sam’s a mess, and Castiel just won’t heal. Until one day, for no obvious reason, he begins to get better.

Warnings: None.

Notes: Just in case anybody doesn’t recognise it, the book in question is The Wind In The Willows.

AO3 link.

In her last text, Charlie asked how things were going back here at the hobbit hole. Coming from her, that’s... well, sweet, because Dean knows what she means by it, only just now Dean isn’t entirely sure it won’t be a grave instead.

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Angel: So that's everything, huh? No weapons, no friends, no hope. Take all that away, and what's left?
Buffy: Me.
Buffy, S02E22.

Written: Thursday 2 May - within an hour of watching the episode!

Pairings: Castiel/Dean preslash.

Other characters: Slight sightings of Charlie and Sam.

Rating: Teen.

Genre and tropes: Hurt/comfort, preslash, a little fluff, bunkerfic, Castiel being grouchy.

Word count: 2k.

Spoilers: Assumes knowledge of 8x21 ("The Great Escapist").

Summary: Let's just say it picks up directly from the end of the final scene, Dean makes more stew, and there is some discussion of the nature of angels.

Warnings: None.

AO3 link.

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whit merule

Entries tagged with season8