Notes: Title taken from the Cinematic Orchestra song, To Build a Home

Two years later.

Dean wakes screaming. It’s not an uncommon occurrence these days. Cas grabs hold of him, pulling him tight against his chest until he stops struggling. He’s gained more than a few bruises and black eyes this way, but he won’t leave Dean to just ride the ( Read more... )

Sam and Charlie come back from the bunker’s P.O. box two weeks later with an envelope. It’s crunched up in Sam’s uninjured hand, white knuckled. Cas can see it, poking out through his fist as he comes in the door. He knows by looking at Sam’s drawn face exactly who it’s from. He tries to wait, let Sam open it up in his own time, but he can’t. ( Read more... )

Notes: There's an instance of homophobic language towards Charlie in this chapter. If that's something you can't deal with skip the paragraph that begins "He revives on the fourth shot"

“Before we start, I wanna apologize in advance.”

“It’s cool, Dean.”

“Things are probably going to get pretty personal.”

“I’ve got this.”

“If it gets too ( Read more... )

It’s like coming out of a dream. He’s disorientated, confused. Vague hints of the past few days swirl around his head, just out of reach and getting further away with every blink. He stops trying to trap them, takes in the situation around him. Sam collapsed and wheezing against a tree, Cas on his knees, throat bared, the First Blade snicking at ( Read more... )

They find Dean in Brown County State Park, surrounded by pieces of what might once have been a spine. They’re not naive enough to put their faith in it being of animal origin.

“Boys.” He stands up, dropping a handful of what look like guts.

“Dean…” Cas’s tone is a strange amalgamation of pity and horror. He might not be fully powered up, but he ( Read more... )

He materializes in a bar in Chicago. It’s a Wednesday night and it’s packed to the rafters with college students. For a few seconds they think Dean’s appearance is a trick, staged for their benefit. It doesn’t take long for them to realize otherwise. Dean still has the Blade in one hand and the dirk in the other and he sweeps them out in a wide ( Read more... )

Dean expected to get some satisfaction out of Metatron’s death. Okay, he didn’t think the heavens would open, confetti would fall and all would be well with the world, but he at least thought he’d be able to stop thinking about killing the sonofabitch. Maybe that’s the problem. He didn’t kill him. Crowley and his fucking pet hellhounds did. He ( Read more... )

Metatron teleports them to a sprawling oak somewhere in the south of France.

“Here. This is it. I swear.”

It’s something, certainly. Dean can feel the crackle and hum of angelic energy even from yards back.

“Where are we?”

“About twenty miles outside Carcassonne, France. I needed to make sure it ended up somewhere you wouldn’t stumble across it ( Read more... )

Notes: Please don't hate me.

Everything is motherfucking perfect. Well. Almost.

“I’m sorry, Baby.” Dean croons, as he strokes her steering wheel. “This is gonna hurt.”

He guns the engine, getting her up to top speed and then he yanks the wheel around, launching the car into a ditch. For a brief second she flies, and then she lands with a scream ( Read more... )

“DEAN!”

Hands grab at him and he fights back for a moment before blinding pain erupts across his face and chest. He howls, flicking open eyes he hadn’t even realized were closed. The illusion snaps. He’s in the bunker and there’s a knife, dropped on a counter from which great gouges have been torn.

“Get him downstairs.” Cas’s words throw him into ( Read more... )