the Coat
The coat.
Characters: Dean W., Sam W. Bobby Singer, Castiel
Warnings: mentions of Character death, Angst, grieving, Mpreg
Summery: Dean Winchester didn't cry when he lost Castiel; but as he held the tattered tan trench coat, he couldn't help but remember what he had lost. Warning Character death, mentions of Mpreg in first chapter angst grieving. Resurrection I don't keep my characters dead.
Chapter 1: grief and Resurrection
It had been two long months since the leviathan. Two months since they had seen Cas. Dean hadn’t cried, when it first happened; Sam supposed he was in too much shock to believe it had really happened: Castiel, the Angel of Thursday, the one that “gripped him tight and raised him from Perdition,” was dead. Dean saw the old trench coat flouting in the water and fished it out. For a moment Sam thought he saw the beginnings of tears in his brother’s eyes. Dean would never admit it, but he loved the Angel; more than Lisa, heck, almost as much as he loved Sam. But he didn’t cry, Dean Winchester never cries. He just folded the forlorn old coat and placed it in the trunk of the Impala, with such care that one would think that it was the US flag that the President himself had given to them for their father’s funeral. But Dean didn’t cry.
It was months later when Sam opened the trunk and saw the coat when the youngest finally realized that the angel was gone. Sam never cried so hard in him life. It was like losing Dean to the Hellhounds all over again, except there was no body for him to bury; just an old tan trench coat that he clung to like his life depended on it. That was how Dean found him; curled up on the bed in their latest hotel room, clinging to the coat and sobbing uncontrollably. But Dean didn’t cry.
Four months gone by, and Dean hadn’t shed a tear. Whenever the subject of Castiel came up, he would get a far off glassed over look in his eyes, and quickly change the subject. Sam never said a word. He didn’t voice his fears as his gluttonous brother slowly stopped eating his favorite foods, opting only for a light sandwich; and even then he would only eat half. Sam watched and never said a word as his brother got thinner and thinner. Dean’s well rounded face soon became hollowed and his eyes lost their sparkle. There was only one answer: Dean was starving himself. But Sam remained silent hoping his brother would come out of his depression n. He didn’t.
In the end it was Bobby that voiced all of what Sam feared. Dean pulled up to the Salvage yard and cut the engine. He sat in his seat for a moment before getting out of the car. Sam followed him. Dean’s movements were sluggish and heavy; more so than yesterday. Bobby came out onto the porch and saw Sam. The older hunter smiled and huffed out a long breath of relief. Sam was better, not perfect, but better. The memories that flooded his mind and soul after the wall came down weren’t tormenting him as much anymore. That made the old hunter relax; that is until he saw Dean. It had been four months since he had seen the eldest Winchester, but what Bobby saw looked more like a ghost. Dean was pale; his once golden skin had bleached out to an alabaster white. It would have looked beautiful if it hadn’t been for the gauntness of his face and neck. The boy looked like he had been denied food and sunlight for weeks. But what really made the seasoned hunter blanch was the hollowness in Dean’s eyes; it looked as if he were a living corpse. Bobby wondered what could make him like that, until he saw the coat Dean held under his arm.
Bobby could see it now, all the reasons that the boy hadn’t grieved in front of them; Dean had a broken heart. The heart was a very frail thing, and by the looks of it, Dean’s had not only been broken, but it looked as if it was smashed into a million shards and ground into the dust.
“Hell, Dean,” the older man grumbled, “you don’t look so good.” when Dean’s gaze came up to meek Bobby’s, the old hunter could not help but shiver at the void in Dean’s usually sparkling green eyes.
“I’m fine,” Dean said, as he slowly walked up the porch steps and into the house. The first thing he saw was the kitchen. Bobby turned around to give the boy a sharp reprimand but stopped when he saw the look of profound sorrow on the young man’s face. The voidness in his eyes was gone only to be replaced by sorrow Bobby never thought a young man could feel. Then just as suddenly as it appeared it vanished. “I’ll be in my room,” he said over his shoulder as he walked up the steps.
Sam came to stand beside Bobby as they both looked at Dean’s retreating figure. Bobby looked over at Sam, with confusion and growing worry for the boy he thought of as his own son.
“How long has he been like this, Sam?” he asked. Sam looked back at the shorter man and the same fear showed in his eyes.
“Since Cas…” Sam paused, tears welling up in his eyes at the mere mention of the angel’s pet name. Sam took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Since he died; I don’t think Dean has gotten over it yet. He carries that thing around like a flag for a fallen comrade.” Bobby nodded.
“Sam that coat is all your brother has left of that angel,” Bobby said as tears pricked at his eyes too. He couldn’t even say his name yet without needing a tissue. Sam nodded. That was true; it was all they had left of him.
“Bobby, I don’t think Dean is over him yet. Every time he heard wings flapping he’ll perk up for a second then he’ll look worse than before,” Sam said, “and he started reading his Bible… the one we gave to him.” There was no need to say who he was, they all knew. Only one of them had ever carried around a Bible and read it too. “Our last hunt, we had to pose as priests, and Dean actually started spouting off verses in the Bible to the grieving widow. He wasn’t even hitting on her, or nothing. It’s like that part of Dean is gone; like it died with…Cas.” Now Bobby was really worried. When a Winchester, especially Dean, starts quoting the Bible willingly and not hitting in a widow, something was really wrong.
Dean clung to it, he wouldn’t let it go. It was the only thing Dean had left of Castiel. Every time Dean buried his face in it he could almost smell Cas; that hint of ozone and sea water. It brought tears to his eyes, but they never fell. Dean breathed it in and remembered the angel’s last words to him through his mind link. I am sorry, Dean. I should have listened. But those were not the words that brought the tears. No those words came before the souls, almost a week before Dean’s heart died in his chest but still kept beating just to make him feel more pain. Dean, you need to know that I am doing this not only for you but for our baby. Dean was going to be a father and it was gone because he couldn’t stop them from killing his Cas.
The tears started rolling down his face and once the dam broke, he couldn’t stop them. A knock came to him door, but he didn’t have the will to move nor did he have the strength to leave his tears behind his eyes again. The door creaked open and a long shadow was cast over him. There was only one person with that big a shadow: Sam. Sam walked into the room and saw Dean crying. In an instant he was by his brother’s side. That was all it took, and Dean finally broke down a cried; clinging to Sam for dear life, all the while clutching a tan trench coat, as he sobbed uncontrollably into his brother’s chest just as Sam had months before. This was how Bobby found them: sobbing over a tattered tan trench coat. Bobby joined them and hugged his foster sons close.
When Dean had finally stopped crying, there were no more tears left.
“He was going to have my baby,” Dean whispered. “It’s my fault they’re dead, Sam. It’s my fault. Cas didn’t deserve that. He should never have died!” Dean shouted, his face contorting against his brother’s shoulder as more tears found their way out.
Sam didn’t question the fact that Dean was in a relationship with Castiel; frankly they all knew. It wasn’t like Castiel could keep a secret. That and whenever they were alone for ten minutes, Dean came out of the room first looking for all his worth smug and proud, and Castiel would come out looking a bit more rumpled than when he went in with as satisfied small smile on his face. What he could barely wrap his head around was the fact he brother had carried the weight of not only Castiel’s death but that of their unborn child’s too. Castiel never made it a secret that he could have children, even in a very male vessel, but what he did keep secret was how the baby would be born. He had told Dean and Sam that it was very private and personal to an angel to have a baby, more so than to a human apparently.
“Cas was… pregnant when those things killed him?” Sam asked with a look of horror on his face. Bobby’s face was a perfect match after Dean nodded and more silent tears ran down his pale face.
“Sammy, I miss him,” Dean Sobbed, “I miss him so much!” Bobby and Sam held Dean while he cried over something that should have been put to rest months ago. Dean was finally starting to grieve.
In an old abandoned building lay the perfect body of the Archangel Gabriel, his once mighty wings a mere burnt impression on the floor. His body lay still. Then his had twitched. A brilliant radiant light filled the room along with the mighty voice that spoke these words: ARISE AND LIVE, MY ARCHANGEL. YOU SHALL HAVE NEW LIFE. DO NOT WASTE IT! And with those words the Archangel Gabriel breathed deeply into his once still lungs, as his eyes opened and filled with life. A single word passed his smiling lips as he stood and raised his gaze heavenward.
“Father.”
AN: well what do you think? it's my first spn fic so don't kill me.
Characters: Dean W., Sam W. Bobby Singer, Castiel
Warnings: mentions of Character death, Angst, grieving, Mpreg
Summery: Dean Winchester didn't cry when he lost Castiel; but as he held the tattered tan trench coat, he couldn't help but remember what he had lost. Warning Character death, mentions of Mpreg in first chapter angst grieving. Resurrection I don't keep my characters dead.
Chapter 1: grief and Resurrection
It had been two long months since the leviathan. Two months since they had seen Cas. Dean hadn’t cried, when it first happened; Sam supposed he was in too much shock to believe it had really happened: Castiel, the Angel of Thursday, the one that “gripped him tight and raised him from Perdition,” was dead. Dean saw the old trench coat flouting in the water and fished it out. For a moment Sam thought he saw the beginnings of tears in his brother’s eyes. Dean would never admit it, but he loved the Angel; more than Lisa, heck, almost as much as he loved Sam. But he didn’t cry, Dean Winchester never cries. He just folded the forlorn old coat and placed it in the trunk of the Impala, with such care that one would think that it was the US flag that the President himself had given to them for their father’s funeral. But Dean didn’t cry.
It was months later when Sam opened the trunk and saw the coat when the youngest finally realized that the angel was gone. Sam never cried so hard in him life. It was like losing Dean to the Hellhounds all over again, except there was no body for him to bury; just an old tan trench coat that he clung to like his life depended on it. That was how Dean found him; curled up on the bed in their latest hotel room, clinging to the coat and sobbing uncontrollably. But Dean didn’t cry.
Four months gone by, and Dean hadn’t shed a tear. Whenever the subject of Castiel came up, he would get a far off glassed over look in his eyes, and quickly change the subject. Sam never said a word. He didn’t voice his fears as his gluttonous brother slowly stopped eating his favorite foods, opting only for a light sandwich; and even then he would only eat half. Sam watched and never said a word as his brother got thinner and thinner. Dean’s well rounded face soon became hollowed and his eyes lost their sparkle. There was only one answer: Dean was starving himself. But Sam remained silent hoping his brother would come out of his depression n. He didn’t.
In the end it was Bobby that voiced all of what Sam feared. Dean pulled up to the Salvage yard and cut the engine. He sat in his seat for a moment before getting out of the car. Sam followed him. Dean’s movements were sluggish and heavy; more so than yesterday. Bobby came out onto the porch and saw Sam. The older hunter smiled and huffed out a long breath of relief. Sam was better, not perfect, but better. The memories that flooded his mind and soul after the wall came down weren’t tormenting him as much anymore. That made the old hunter relax; that is until he saw Dean. It had been four months since he had seen the eldest Winchester, but what Bobby saw looked more like a ghost. Dean was pale; his once golden skin had bleached out to an alabaster white. It would have looked beautiful if it hadn’t been for the gauntness of his face and neck. The boy looked like he had been denied food and sunlight for weeks. But what really made the seasoned hunter blanch was the hollowness in Dean’s eyes; it looked as if he were a living corpse. Bobby wondered what could make him like that, until he saw the coat Dean held under his arm.
Bobby could see it now, all the reasons that the boy hadn’t grieved in front of them; Dean had a broken heart. The heart was a very frail thing, and by the looks of it, Dean’s had not only been broken, but it looked as if it was smashed into a million shards and ground into the dust.
“Hell, Dean,” the older man grumbled, “you don’t look so good.” when Dean’s gaze came up to meek Bobby’s, the old hunter could not help but shiver at the void in Dean’s usually sparkling green eyes.
“I’m fine,” Dean said, as he slowly walked up the porch steps and into the house. The first thing he saw was the kitchen. Bobby turned around to give the boy a sharp reprimand but stopped when he saw the look of profound sorrow on the young man’s face. The voidness in his eyes was gone only to be replaced by sorrow Bobby never thought a young man could feel. Then just as suddenly as it appeared it vanished. “I’ll be in my room,” he said over his shoulder as he walked up the steps.
Sam came to stand beside Bobby as they both looked at Dean’s retreating figure. Bobby looked over at Sam, with confusion and growing worry for the boy he thought of as his own son.
“How long has he been like this, Sam?” he asked. Sam looked back at the shorter man and the same fear showed in his eyes.
“Since Cas…” Sam paused, tears welling up in his eyes at the mere mention of the angel’s pet name. Sam took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Since he died; I don’t think Dean has gotten over it yet. He carries that thing around like a flag for a fallen comrade.” Bobby nodded.
“Sam that coat is all your brother has left of that angel,” Bobby said as tears pricked at his eyes too. He couldn’t even say his name yet without needing a tissue. Sam nodded. That was true; it was all they had left of him.
“Bobby, I don’t think Dean is over him yet. Every time he heard wings flapping he’ll perk up for a second then he’ll look worse than before,” Sam said, “and he started reading his Bible… the one we gave to him.” There was no need to say who he was, they all knew. Only one of them had ever carried around a Bible and read it too. “Our last hunt, we had to pose as priests, and Dean actually started spouting off verses in the Bible to the grieving widow. He wasn’t even hitting on her, or nothing. It’s like that part of Dean is gone; like it died with…Cas.” Now Bobby was really worried. When a Winchester, especially Dean, starts quoting the Bible willingly and not hitting in a widow, something was really wrong.
Dean clung to it, he wouldn’t let it go. It was the only thing Dean had left of Castiel. Every time Dean buried his face in it he could almost smell Cas; that hint of ozone and sea water. It brought tears to his eyes, but they never fell. Dean breathed it in and remembered the angel’s last words to him through his mind link. I am sorry, Dean. I should have listened. But those were not the words that brought the tears. No those words came before the souls, almost a week before Dean’s heart died in his chest but still kept beating just to make him feel more pain. Dean, you need to know that I am doing this not only for you but for our baby. Dean was going to be a father and it was gone because he couldn’t stop them from killing his Cas.
The tears started rolling down his face and once the dam broke, he couldn’t stop them. A knock came to him door, but he didn’t have the will to move nor did he have the strength to leave his tears behind his eyes again. The door creaked open and a long shadow was cast over him. There was only one person with that big a shadow: Sam. Sam walked into the room and saw Dean crying. In an instant he was by his brother’s side. That was all it took, and Dean finally broke down a cried; clinging to Sam for dear life, all the while clutching a tan trench coat, as he sobbed uncontrollably into his brother’s chest just as Sam had months before. This was how Bobby found them: sobbing over a tattered tan trench coat. Bobby joined them and hugged his foster sons close.
When Dean had finally stopped crying, there were no more tears left.
“He was going to have my baby,” Dean whispered. “It’s my fault they’re dead, Sam. It’s my fault. Cas didn’t deserve that. He should never have died!” Dean shouted, his face contorting against his brother’s shoulder as more tears found their way out.
Sam didn’t question the fact that Dean was in a relationship with Castiel; frankly they all knew. It wasn’t like Castiel could keep a secret. That and whenever they were alone for ten minutes, Dean came out of the room first looking for all his worth smug and proud, and Castiel would come out looking a bit more rumpled than when he went in with as satisfied small smile on his face. What he could barely wrap his head around was the fact he brother had carried the weight of not only Castiel’s death but that of their unborn child’s too. Castiel never made it a secret that he could have children, even in a very male vessel, but what he did keep secret was how the baby would be born. He had told Dean and Sam that it was very private and personal to an angel to have a baby, more so than to a human apparently.
“Cas was… pregnant when those things killed him?” Sam asked with a look of horror on his face. Bobby’s face was a perfect match after Dean nodded and more silent tears ran down his pale face.
“Sammy, I miss him,” Dean Sobbed, “I miss him so much!” Bobby and Sam held Dean while he cried over something that should have been put to rest months ago. Dean was finally starting to grieve.
In an old abandoned building lay the perfect body of the Archangel Gabriel, his once mighty wings a mere burnt impression on the floor. His body lay still. Then his had twitched. A brilliant radiant light filled the room along with the mighty voice that spoke these words: ARISE AND LIVE, MY ARCHANGEL. YOU SHALL HAVE NEW LIFE. DO NOT WASTE IT! And with those words the Archangel Gabriel breathed deeply into his once still lungs, as his eyes opened and filled with life. A single word passed his smiling lips as he stood and raised his gaze heavenward.
“Father.”
AN: well what do you think? it's my first spn fic so don't kill me.