BucketOfLi
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Summary
When Dean gets fatally hurt on a hunt, Cas heals him and sacrifices his grace in the process, leaving him human. Navigating guilt, anger and trauma while adapting to a new status quo is causing them both to lash out at each other. With Sam trying to help them figure everything out they slowly begin to understand and trust each other again—when something happens that terrifies Dean to his very core, and makes him realize Cas might hold a different place in his heart than he thought.
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At eighteen, Castiel Novak thinks he’s an adult. The X’s on his hands at the music venue say otherwise. So does the bartender who shuts him down with, “I don’t think so, kid,” when Castiel asks for his number.
He keeps coming back anyway. For the music. Not the bartender, of course.
Bookmarked by BucketOfLi
06 Jun 2026
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Summary
Dean Winchester buys a feral angel off Craigslist as the ultimate 'don't fuck with me' accessory. Cas is supposed to be a status symbol attack dog, the definition of 'fuck around and find out', complete with teeth, claws, intimidation factor and all. Instead, he just seems like a very pissed off, very horny beast, desperate to pin Dean down the second the cage door opens.
Now Dean's stuck with a growing problem - he might be enjoying this way more than he should.
Series
- Part 2 of Xev3n's Entries for Restraintstiel
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Summary
In the weeks after Cas' death, right up until he comes back, Dean manages to convince himself that Cas' confession wasn't romantic. Because if Cas meant it romantically- he would've. He would've kissed Dean, right? If Cas meant it That Way and he knew that he was going to die, he would've pulled Dean in for one final kiss, right?
He would've let Cas kiss him, Dean thinks. It's the least he could do, after all.
Wait. Shit. Did he want Cas to kiss him?
(Or: Dean watches too many movies and tries to give Cas an "in" to kiss him after he comes back- just to confirm the nature of Cas' confession for himself, of course. He tries not to think about it too hard.)
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Summary
There’s an incubus on the prowl at a goddamn gay club in Wichita.
In which it’s November again and Chekhov’s gun still hasn’t been fired.