majestic_duxk (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
majestic_duxk) wrote2015-02-01 10:34 am
majestic_duxk) wrote2015-02-01 10:34 am
Entry tags:
- art,
- attribute: au,
- attribute: family,
- attribute: fluff,
- attribute: mild angst,
- attribute: soulmate!au,
- challenge: gift fic,
- character: benny lafitte,
- character: castiel,
- character: dean winchester,
- character: gadreel,
- character: michael,
- character: ruby,
- character: sam winchester,
- character: samandriel,
- fandom: supernatural,
- fic exchange,
- gift exchange,
- kink: crying dean,
- kink: hurt/comfort,
- kink: marking,
- kink: no sex,
- kink: soulmates,
- media: markers,
- my fic,
- pairing: cas/dean,
- pairing: ruby/samandriel,
- pairing: sam/gadreel,
- rating: g,
- status: complete,
- warning: depression
Fic: Floral Arrangment
Pairing: Dean/Cas, Sam/Gadreel (minor), Samandriel/Ruby (mentioned)
Rating: G
Kinks and Warnings: Fluff, Hospitals, soulmate!AU, AU, Mild Angst, Soulmates, Depression
Summary: Dean’s getting older and his wrist cuff is still empty. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have a soulmate; just that he hasn’t met them. But he doesn’t care about that. He has a full and fulfilling life. Doesn’t he?
a/n: this was for the dean/cas Christmas exchange. I am grateful that my recipient liked it, as I read their prompt incorrectly!
--oo—
"Do you believe in fate?"
The blue eyed boy stared at him intently. Dean plastered a cocky grin on his face, throwing an arm around the boy’s bony shoulders.
"Of course I do, Cas! Otherwise how can we meet?"
--oo--
Dean woke with a start. Rubbing a hand down his face, it came away coated with sweat. It had to be sweat, because Dean Winchester didn’t cry. Turning on his side, Dean sighed.
It was that dream again.
It wasn't that it was a bad dream. It wasn't filled with terror, as some of his dreams were. With fire, and maniacal laughter, and eyes that never closed. It wasn't even close to being a nightmare. Not really. But it was melancholic. It always left him feeling lonely and complete.
And every time he had that dream, his eyes turned to his wrist. Where, if he could see it, his soulmate band would still be empty.
Not that it would fill overnight. He wasn't a fool. But each and every time there was nothing. There was always nothing.
Despite the semi-frequency of the dream, he’d never gotten used to it. Every time, something about it, the intense eyes? The certainty of the boy? Made him feel… lacking. Incomplete.
A glance at the clock showed 6am. He'd have to get up soon, so he may as well start on the day. Throwing back the covers, he winced at the muffled yip and whispered an apology to the white chihuahua who was glaring at him from the floor.
"Sorry, Adonis."
Adonis offered him a disgruntled sniff, but curled up happily enough in the bedding on the floor.
"And what if I was going to make my bed this morning, huh?"
Adonis treated that with the disdain it deserved, wagging his little tail and huffing as he settling in deeper.
Who needed a soul mate anyway, Dean thought as he softly stroked Adonis' ear.
--oo--
Dean didn't believe in soul mates. So he didn't have a better explanation for the empty wrist band that started to fill in once you met your one. It didn’t mean that soul mates existed.
At least, not for him.
His little brother Sammy met Gadreel at college. Sam told him there were fireworks when he first laid eyes on Gadreel. His wrist itched and ached, and when he looked there was a little shadow which formed into a book (which made sense, since they met in the library. Sammy was always a nerd). It was the first of the many that would start to fill their soul bands.
One drunken night Sam had confessed he hadn't been totally sure it was Gadreel. He and Samandriel (who thankfully went by Alfie. One Sam was enough) had met Gadreel and Ruby at the same time. Somehow all four had ended up in the study corner of the library - and they all got that tingle.
Dean was really fucking grateful it wasn't Ruby. She was one of the most annoying people he had ever met. Pushy and bossy. Why she seemed to think she could tell Dean what to do was a fucking mystery. Unfortunately, Sam and Gadreel still hung out with Ruby and Alfie. Soul family or something. It made Dean sick, to be honest.
(Not that he was jealous. That wasn't it at all.)
--oo--
It would be easier if people didn't make such a big deal about it.
Here he was: Dean Winchester. 35. Flower Delivery Man (what? he got to ride motorbikes for a living. And if that wasn't just a childhood dream come true...). Older Brother. High School Drop Out. Great Cook. Dog Owner. Allergic to Cats. Sings with a Band.
Currently single.
And more to the point, with no mate in his past. No death. Not even a split – after all, just because someone was your soul mate didn’t mean things were perfect. You still had to work at it. And though it reflected on the couple, there was understanding: life circumstances, when you met, even personality. And these… divorcees wore their partially filled cuffs with pride. They were alone through choice.
Dean hid his empty band.
He didn’t always. There wasn’t any point: only someone with an empty band would hide it. And it wasn’t that he wasn’t ashamed of his status - he wasn't - but he was damn pleased that the fashion of covering one's band came in.
He couldn’t help chuckling. It always came down to dick pics, didn't it? When a conservative politician's soul mark filled in and looked remarkably like an erect phallus (of course in official reports it was... fuck! Dean couldn't even remember what it was described as, but it was totally a dick), well, he'd quickly started a foundation of some sort to normalise soul band coverings.
So Dean had gratefully gone along with the flow. He’d bought a set of plain black leather cuffs and tried to ignore the whole thing. Because it wasn’t that he cared about what people thought. But he couldn’t deal with the pitying looks were the worst. And the assumption that there was something wrong with him. That he was bad, or defective.
Dean knew he wasn’t bad. And he was pretty sure he wasn’t defective. What he was, was lonely. When he was younger he’d had a revolving door and plenty of bed warmers. But now he couldn’t remember the last someone was in his bed. It was… months? Maybe years. It wasn’t like it would be hard to find someone. There were girls (and guys) who liked to walk on the wild side. Fuck a guy who had an empty soulband. Who was lacking.
So Dean had stopped. The meaningless fucking made him feel empty. Soulless even, if one liked to make shitty jokes like that.
So he’d bought a new bed and got a dog.
Sam had been disproportionately pleased, which pissed Dean off no end. It was none of his fucking business!
When Dean invited him round to meet Adonis, Sam had taken it as an invitation to talk.
"I know you're lonely-"
"Am not."
"But I’m glad you’ve stopped. I can't image you'll find your soulmate in some... some seedy bar."
Dean had been a little too drunk that night.
"Why the fuck not? Haven't found 'em anywhere else. And anyway, Sammy. Maybe there's no one for me..."
Dean couldn’t remember how the night had finished. Although he had a vague memory of threats, he couldn’t remember what he'd said. But that was probably for the best, if the way Sammy hadn’t mentioned his soul mate since then was any indication.
--oo--
Dean rubbed his wrist. It was always painful thinking of the past. And that dream. That damn dream got to him every fucking time.
His wrists always ached after that dream, but today they seemed to itch.
He looked at the wrist cuff.
Of course nothing would change. It will still be a blank canvas beneath.
This was ridiculous, Dan thought. He couldn't remember the last time he'd obsessed so much on the whole soul mate thing.
"Stupid dream," he said out loud. Then, he couldn’t help himself. Making sure no one was around, he unbuckled his cuff, fingers fumbling, until finally he threw it down.
Blank. It was blank.
“Who the fuck cares?” he muttered to himself, determining to put the whole sorry mess out of his mind.
--oo--
That was easier said than done.
Dean dreamed the same dream every night for the next week. Consequently, he spent the entire week feeling... Off. Angry and distressed and not at all happy with the world. Despite his best game face, everyone noticed.
His boss, Benny, even commented.
"Cher, I hope you're not glaring like that when you deliver flowers."
Dean snorted. "I'm a fucking professional, Benny. I save my sweetest looks for friends and family."
Although Benny didn't look convinced, he still sent him out on another delivery. It wasn't like he actually had any other drivers.
--oo--
Dean's final delivery was at the hospital. It was always a bit of an unknown. You never knew if the flowers were congratulations on getting better or giving birth, or a you’ve lived a long life and this is farewell.
Dean hoped this was a happy flowers delivery. The lily and rose arrangement was gorgeous – all pinks and oranges. But it didn’t really indicate what it was for. Ah well.
“And once more, into the fray.”
--oo--
“Room 3.14, huh,” Dean smiled to himself. For some reason he got sent there a lot. It was generally for a good thing, but sometimes not. He looked at the name it. It was weird. Carefully he schooled his expression into polite professionalism and knocked on the door, announcing, “Flowers for Mr Novak”.
He waited the requisite ten seconds before knocking again, and settling in for the long 45 seconds wait. He stared at the lily arrangement before knocking a third and final time. As he was on the cusp of turning to leave the flowers at reception, the door opened and he was faced with a room full of grief and anger.
Dean really wished he’d only knocked twice.
“Who are you?” the words were fired at him.
Dean didn’t like the tone, but he’d been around hospitals enough to answer readily. “Dean, from Benny’s Blooms. I have a delivery for a,” Dean looked at the card. “Mr Cas… Casti- … Mr Novak.”
No one picked him up as he tripped over the name. The man stopped glaring at him and turned his glare on the room. “Is this someone’s idea of a joke? We’re turning off the fucking ventilator and you send him flowers?”
The only sound in the room was the steady beeeeep beeeeep of whatever Castie… Cas was hooked up to. Dean looked at the ceiling. This was really fucking uncomfortable, and his wrist was aching. He really wanted to leave.
“I’ll just… ah…”
Before he could drop the flowers and back out of the room, the door was slammed behind him. Dean shuffled to the side as the man continued to rant at the room. Dean’s eyes flittered around, and he saw a dark haired woman let out a small gasp.
“Michael!”
The ranting didn’t stop. Fuck, Dean didn’t want to be there.
“Michael.
The woman’s voice was insistent, and the man – Michael – paused, gathering himself to turn on the woman.
“Hannah –“
She held up a hand. “Michael. Look.”
Dean now noted the steady beep of the machinery had changed. Instead of the steady, mechanical beat, a frantic sound filled the room. The man on the bed was awake, gasping for breath. Wide eyes seemed to sweep the room. Dean really didn’t want to be here.
“Congratulations,” Dean blurted out, thrusting the flowers into Hannah’s hands. He quickly left, wanting nothing more to do with the drama.
He didn’t stop until he reached his bike, where he stopped and laughed.
“That was weird,” he decided, as he idly scratched at his cuffs.
--oo--
That night the dream changed.
Cas looked at him sadly.
“You don’t believe in fate.” While Cas was still the same, Dean had changed. He looked… he looked pretty much as he did now. Except for his soul bands. Flowers graced his wrists.
“That’s not fair!” Dean yelled at him. “I did believe! For thirty fucking years I believed and you never came. It was you – you let me down! I’ve been here all along and where were you? Why didn’t you come? Why?”
He was sobbing without realising it. Great, gasping breaths, with tears dripping down his face. He turned away as he buried his face in his hands. He felt Cas walk towards him, but before he reached him, Dean was awake, tears still streaming down his face.
--oo--
He called in sick.
“Allergies,” he croaked at Benny. He hoped it would explain the swollen eyes, should anyone see him. “I’ll be out a few days.”
Benny expressed concern but didn’t argue. Dean never took days off, so there was no reason to think he was lying now. Turning his phone off, he threw it at the dresser. He contemplated his next move and fed Adonis before he crawled back into bed. Tears started again, and Adonis curled up next to him, warm and real against his back as Dean scratched at his cuff.
--oo--
Days passed. He only got up to relieve himself and feed Adonis. If the dog hadn’t been there, he probably wouldn’t have gotten up at all.
He just wanted to hide from the world for a few years.
He fell asleep scratching at his cuffs.
--oo--
The blue eyed boy didn’t talk to him that night. Just looked at him sadly.
--oo--
Four days later a loud banging woke him, but no matter how much he ignored it, it didn’t go away. Finally, he wrenched himself from his blanket cocoon, greeting his visitor with a snarled, “What?”
His little brother stood there, floppy hair a mess, eyes wild with distress. Gadreel stood behind him.
Dean blinked. Why was Sammy here? And why was he looking so…
“Sammy! Sammy, you ok?”
Sam just stared a moment, before pulling him into his arms. “Am I ok? Fuck, Dean! What about you! I’ve been trying to call and you didn’t answer, and Benny said you’ve been away sick and…”
Sam had to breathe and Dean interrupted.
“Sammy! I’m ok. Didn’t Benny tell you? Allergies. They’ve been…”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Dean! You don’t have any allergies! If you did you’d have had an attack, I don’t know, at least once in the last thirty one fucking years!”
Sam’s voice had been steadily rising, and Gadreel’s soft hand and voice pulled him down. “Sam, on the doorstep?”
Sam growled and pushed past Dean. Gadreel offered him a lip twitch. “He’s been worried.”
Dean snorted. “I didn’t ask him to.”
Before he could tell them to leave, Sam was dragging him back inside. “You stink,” he said bluntly. “Have a shower and I’ll see if there is anything even remotely like food in here.”
Dean wanted to argue. He was a grown man. And the older brother. It was his house and his life and…
“Please, Dean?”
And he was a fucking pushover when it came to his brother.
“Feed Adonis,” he growled on his way out.
--oo--
He didn’t want to admit it, but he did feel better after a shower. He took his time, hoping Sam would just leave, knowing he wouldn’t. When he finally dragged himself out, his bed had been made and clean clothes were piled neatly on top. Freaky, that’s what it was. He was perfectly capable of looking after himself.
Grumbling under his breath, he entered lounge, only to be met with the sight of Sam curled up on the sofa, Adonis curled up on him, pizza boxes, beer, and…
“No Gadreel?”
Sam glanced up, eyes serious. “He went home. He offered to stay, but I know you’re not going to talk if he’s here.”
Dean didn’t blush, but he did look away. It was true. He’d rather not talk at all, but a Sam on a Mission was hard to deny.
If he had to put up with a concerned little brother, there were probably worse ways to deal with it.
Dean didn’t notice when he started scratching his other wrist.
--oo--
Two hours later and Dean wasn’t so sure. Sam had been all worry and sincerity and care and Dean was so fucking sick of it. AndSam was still talking. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world for this.
“Dean, you need someone in your life. I mean, you’re not…”
“I have Adonis,” Dean interrupted. He was pretty sure they’d covered this already. And his wrist was still fucking itchy, even after the shower.
Sam cocked his head and stared meaningfully at the dog curled up in Sam’s lap.
“What sort of conversations can you have with a dog, Dean?”
“Better ones than with you”,” he retorted.
Sam scrubbed his hand over his face. “I… I’m just worried about you, Dean. We’re all worried about you. And then you just disappeared…”
Sighing, Dean moved to sit next to his brother. “I’m sorry, Sammy. I just needed a few days to myself.”
Sam nodded but didn’t look at him. “I just need you to be ok.”
Dean put his arm around Sam. It definitely wasn’t a hug, but Sam still snuggled down. Adonis stretched across both their laps.
--oo--
Turning up for work the next day, Dean was ready for a fight. Benny didn’t even raise an eyebrow, just gave him a list of deliveries and sent him on his way. Dean hoped that would mean it was in the we will never talk about this ever basket. Dean was wrong.
It was lunch time and Dean’s guard was down.
“You’re brother saw you then, cher?”
Dean’s mouth was full of burger.
“Bnny! Wuhufuk?”
Benny smiled toothily, and there was a hard look in his eye. “You need time off, that’s fine, brother. But don’t you lie to me. We can’t help you if you we don’t…”
“I don’t need help!” Dean interrupted with a growl. He started scratching at his wrist. Fuck, he was developing a nervous tic out of all this as well. Just what he needed. He balled his hand into a fist, refusing to touch it, but the itching got worse. “Jesus fucking Christ! I’m a grown man! I can look after myself.”
Benny’s disbelief was palpable.
“You know what, Benny, fuck you.”
Benny's eyebrows lowered threateningly. But then he took in Dean. The defensive posture, the hunched shoulders, the tight mouth. Taking a deep breath, Benny tried to get his thoughts together, but Dean beat him to it.
“Fuck, man. That was outta line. ‘M sorry, Benny. I just…”
Dean actually didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like him to lose his shit like that. He was just so over everything.
“Maybe I should just head home.”
Benny just kept staring at him. Not sure what to make of it, Dean turned on his heel, but was stopped by Benny’s voice.
“One more delivery brother, then you can go wherever you want.”
Sighing, Dean turned back. Of course he’d do it now. Benny was his friend, but also his boss. Who he’d just told to fuck off.
“Fine. See you tomorrow.”
--oo--
Back to the hospital, he noted with a sigh. He’d felt edgy when he left the shop – so much so he was very careful to stay on the speed limit. He’d delivered too many flowers to the people affected by crashes to not be careful. Imagining Sammy having to come and identify his body? Dean shivered. It was not a good thought.
So he’d relaxed into the driving, and weirdly, the closer he got to the hospital, the better he felt. Which made him feel likes shit. What kind of freak gets off on going to the hospital? Thank Christ he was going home after this.
Glancing at the delivery card, he had to laugh. Back to room 3.14 which started this mess. Flowers to the same person even. Oh well. Get in and out. Hopefully there wouldn’t be anything… weird… like last time.
Dean practised the name a few times, until it rolled smoothly from his tongue. Yep. This time he’d get it right.
As he approached the door his wrists started aching. Fucking things. He hadn’t even realised they’d stopped itching until the pain started. Taking deep breaths he focused. He had one delivery, and then he could go home and curl up on his bed with Adonis and Dr Sexy. Carefully he schooled his expression into polite professionalism and knocked on the door, announcing, “Flowers for Mr Castiel Novak”.
He waited the requisite ten seconds before knocking again, and then the long 45 seconds before knocking announcing a third time.
As he was on the cusp of turning to leave the flowers at reception, the door opened and he was faced with a room full of people. But all he saw was a pair of blue eyes.
--oo--
There were people everywhere, but Dean didn’t see them.
He knew those eyes.
He'd fallen in love with those eyes.
“Cas?”
Noise started up again, but it was like hearing through water. Nothing existed but the man on the bed. Dean walked not even pausing as someone took the flowers out of his hands.
Dean walked until Castiel Novak – his Cas - extended one hand. It was only then that Dean stopped.
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s easy!” A voice piped up behind him.
Dean blinked, trying to clear the fog to locate the new person, but he - Cas - responded with a sharp, “Everyone out.”
Later Dean couldn’t remember what happened. His only memory was of a deep, beautiful voice, and Cas peremptorily holding out his hand.
And Dean taking it.
--oo--
At the first touch, Dean felt a hot flash run through his body. And then his wrist started to burn. He went to pull his hand away, but Cas grasped him tightly and wouldn’t let go. Dean could only watch as Cas’s band started to fill. There was a puckered wound down Castiel’s wrist which filled with the stem of lilies (Dean knew one day he would get the story behind that). As he watched, a mass of blooms formed. The pain in his wrists peaked and then dropped, even as the last petal filled in. Dean’s eyes stared at his leather clad wrists.
They were both silent until the itching stopped.
Cas gently disengaged his fingers, grasping Dean’s hand in both of his. His fingers teased at the leather clasp of his cuff.
“May I?”
Dean could only nod and watch as nimble fingers worked at the buckles. As Cas’s fingers fumbled, Dean felt a cold ball of terror in his chest. He’d done this before. This was all going to fail. It was all wrong. Dean would never be that lucky. Dean would never meet his…
The cuff over fell to floor, revealing a mass of blooms, in shades of pink and orange.
“The first delivery,” Cas told him, laughing nervously.
Dean rolled his eyes. As if he didn’t remember. Plus, they were on the table next to Cas. A little wilted, but still good. Dean felt some pride in Benny’s Blooms. He had to laugh at himself. Here he was, sitting with his motherfucking soulmate and thinking about work. And didn’t that just smack of avoidance.
He took a deep breath and wracked his brain for something to say. He wanted to say something. Something clever. Something that would make Cas fall in love with him as deeply as he’d fallen in love with Cas. But he had nothing. He was just… overwhelmed.
Cas pulled Dean’s arm up, looking at their mark. When he looked back at Dean, he smiled. “I guess that’s it for now. We’ll need to do more to fill it.”
As Dean said nothing, Cas’s smile fell from his face. His hand retreated and Dean stopped thinking and just did, grabbing at the fingers. He pulled Cas’s hand towards him, feeling something release as Cas moved his body, until their entwined fingers lay on Dean’s lap.
“What the fuck is wrong with me. Why didn’t I recognise you? I’m so broken I can’t tell my fuckin’ soulmate when I see him. You have an excuse, being unconscious and all. So what was wrong with…”
“Dean…”
Cas’s voice interrupted his word explosion. The smile appeared again. He rubbed Dean’s wrist softly, then looked into his eyes.
“Dean…”
Dean didn’t think he’d ever get sick of that voice.
“Do you believe in fate?”
Dean’s startled response was lost under Cas’s lips.
Rating: G
Kinks and Warnings: Fluff, Hospitals, soulmate!AU, AU, Mild Angst, Soulmates, Depression
Summary: Dean’s getting older and his wrist cuff is still empty. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have a soulmate; just that he hasn’t met them. But he doesn’t care about that. He has a full and fulfilling life. Doesn’t he?
a/n: this was for the dean/cas Christmas exchange. I am grateful that my recipient liked it, as I read their prompt incorrectly!
--oo—
"Do you believe in fate?"
The blue eyed boy stared at him intently. Dean plastered a cocky grin on his face, throwing an arm around the boy’s bony shoulders.
"Of course I do, Cas! Otherwise how can we meet?"
--oo--
Dean woke with a start. Rubbing a hand down his face, it came away coated with sweat. It had to be sweat, because Dean Winchester didn’t cry. Turning on his side, Dean sighed.
It was that dream again.
It wasn't that it was a bad dream. It wasn't filled with terror, as some of his dreams were. With fire, and maniacal laughter, and eyes that never closed. It wasn't even close to being a nightmare. Not really. But it was melancholic. It always left him feeling lonely and complete.
And every time he had that dream, his eyes turned to his wrist. Where, if he could see it, his soulmate band would still be empty.
Not that it would fill overnight. He wasn't a fool. But each and every time there was nothing. There was always nothing.
Despite the semi-frequency of the dream, he’d never gotten used to it. Every time, something about it, the intense eyes? The certainty of the boy? Made him feel… lacking. Incomplete.
A glance at the clock showed 6am. He'd have to get up soon, so he may as well start on the day. Throwing back the covers, he winced at the muffled yip and whispered an apology to the white chihuahua who was glaring at him from the floor.
"Sorry, Adonis."
Adonis offered him a disgruntled sniff, but curled up happily enough in the bedding on the floor.
"And what if I was going to make my bed this morning, huh?"
Adonis treated that with the disdain it deserved, wagging his little tail and huffing as he settling in deeper.
Who needed a soul mate anyway, Dean thought as he softly stroked Adonis' ear.
--oo--
Dean didn't believe in soul mates. So he didn't have a better explanation for the empty wrist band that started to fill in once you met your one. It didn’t mean that soul mates existed.
At least, not for him.
His little brother Sammy met Gadreel at college. Sam told him there were fireworks when he first laid eyes on Gadreel. His wrist itched and ached, and when he looked there was a little shadow which formed into a book (which made sense, since they met in the library. Sammy was always a nerd). It was the first of the many that would start to fill their soul bands.
One drunken night Sam had confessed he hadn't been totally sure it was Gadreel. He and Samandriel (who thankfully went by Alfie. One Sam was enough) had met Gadreel and Ruby at the same time. Somehow all four had ended up in the study corner of the library - and they all got that tingle.
Dean was really fucking grateful it wasn't Ruby. She was one of the most annoying people he had ever met. Pushy and bossy. Why she seemed to think she could tell Dean what to do was a fucking mystery. Unfortunately, Sam and Gadreel still hung out with Ruby and Alfie. Soul family or something. It made Dean sick, to be honest.
(Not that he was jealous. That wasn't it at all.)
--oo--
It would be easier if people didn't make such a big deal about it.
Here he was: Dean Winchester. 35. Flower Delivery Man (what? he got to ride motorbikes for a living. And if that wasn't just a childhood dream come true...). Older Brother. High School Drop Out. Great Cook. Dog Owner. Allergic to Cats. Sings with a Band.
Currently single.
And more to the point, with no mate in his past. No death. Not even a split – after all, just because someone was your soul mate didn’t mean things were perfect. You still had to work at it. And though it reflected on the couple, there was understanding: life circumstances, when you met, even personality. And these… divorcees wore their partially filled cuffs with pride. They were alone through choice.
Dean hid his empty band.
He didn’t always. There wasn’t any point: only someone with an empty band would hide it. And it wasn’t that he wasn’t ashamed of his status - he wasn't - but he was damn pleased that the fashion of covering one's band came in.
He couldn’t help chuckling. It always came down to dick pics, didn't it? When a conservative politician's soul mark filled in and looked remarkably like an erect phallus (of course in official reports it was... fuck! Dean couldn't even remember what it was described as, but it was totally a dick), well, he'd quickly started a foundation of some sort to normalise soul band coverings.
So Dean had gratefully gone along with the flow. He’d bought a set of plain black leather cuffs and tried to ignore the whole thing. Because it wasn’t that he cared about what people thought. But he couldn’t deal with the pitying looks were the worst. And the assumption that there was something wrong with him. That he was bad, or defective.
Dean knew he wasn’t bad. And he was pretty sure he wasn’t defective. What he was, was lonely. When he was younger he’d had a revolving door and plenty of bed warmers. But now he couldn’t remember the last someone was in his bed. It was… months? Maybe years. It wasn’t like it would be hard to find someone. There were girls (and guys) who liked to walk on the wild side. Fuck a guy who had an empty soulband. Who was lacking.
So Dean had stopped. The meaningless fucking made him feel empty. Soulless even, if one liked to make shitty jokes like that.
So he’d bought a new bed and got a dog.
Sam had been disproportionately pleased, which pissed Dean off no end. It was none of his fucking business!
When Dean invited him round to meet Adonis, Sam had taken it as an invitation to talk.
"I know you're lonely-"
"Am not."
"But I’m glad you’ve stopped. I can't image you'll find your soulmate in some... some seedy bar."
Dean had been a little too drunk that night.
"Why the fuck not? Haven't found 'em anywhere else. And anyway, Sammy. Maybe there's no one for me..."
Dean couldn’t remember how the night had finished. Although he had a vague memory of threats, he couldn’t remember what he'd said. But that was probably for the best, if the way Sammy hadn’t mentioned his soul mate since then was any indication.
--oo--
Dean rubbed his wrist. It was always painful thinking of the past. And that dream. That damn dream got to him every fucking time.
His wrists always ached after that dream, but today they seemed to itch.
He looked at the wrist cuff.
Of course nothing would change. It will still be a blank canvas beneath.
This was ridiculous, Dan thought. He couldn't remember the last time he'd obsessed so much on the whole soul mate thing.
"Stupid dream," he said out loud. Then, he couldn’t help himself. Making sure no one was around, he unbuckled his cuff, fingers fumbling, until finally he threw it down.
Blank. It was blank.
“Who the fuck cares?” he muttered to himself, determining to put the whole sorry mess out of his mind.
--oo--
That was easier said than done.
Dean dreamed the same dream every night for the next week. Consequently, he spent the entire week feeling... Off. Angry and distressed and not at all happy with the world. Despite his best game face, everyone noticed.
His boss, Benny, even commented.
"Cher, I hope you're not glaring like that when you deliver flowers."
Dean snorted. "I'm a fucking professional, Benny. I save my sweetest looks for friends and family."
Although Benny didn't look convinced, he still sent him out on another delivery. It wasn't like he actually had any other drivers.
--oo--
Dean's final delivery was at the hospital. It was always a bit of an unknown. You never knew if the flowers were congratulations on getting better or giving birth, or a you’ve lived a long life and this is farewell.
Dean hoped this was a happy flowers delivery. The lily and rose arrangement was gorgeous – all pinks and oranges. But it didn’t really indicate what it was for. Ah well.
“And once more, into the fray.”
--oo--
“Room 3.14, huh,” Dean smiled to himself. For some reason he got sent there a lot. It was generally for a good thing, but sometimes not. He looked at the name it. It was weird. Carefully he schooled his expression into polite professionalism and knocked on the door, announcing, “Flowers for Mr Novak”.
He waited the requisite ten seconds before knocking again, and settling in for the long 45 seconds wait. He stared at the lily arrangement before knocking a third and final time. As he was on the cusp of turning to leave the flowers at reception, the door opened and he was faced with a room full of grief and anger.
Dean really wished he’d only knocked twice.
“Who are you?” the words were fired at him.
Dean didn’t like the tone, but he’d been around hospitals enough to answer readily. “Dean, from Benny’s Blooms. I have a delivery for a,” Dean looked at the card. “Mr Cas… Casti- … Mr Novak.”
No one picked him up as he tripped over the name. The man stopped glaring at him and turned his glare on the room. “Is this someone’s idea of a joke? We’re turning off the fucking ventilator and you send him flowers?”
The only sound in the room was the steady beeeeep beeeeep of whatever Castie… Cas was hooked up to. Dean looked at the ceiling. This was really fucking uncomfortable, and his wrist was aching. He really wanted to leave.
“I’ll just… ah…”
Before he could drop the flowers and back out of the room, the door was slammed behind him. Dean shuffled to the side as the man continued to rant at the room. Dean’s eyes flittered around, and he saw a dark haired woman let out a small gasp.
“Michael!”
The ranting didn’t stop. Fuck, Dean didn’t want to be there.
“Michael.
The woman’s voice was insistent, and the man – Michael – paused, gathering himself to turn on the woman.
“Hannah –“
She held up a hand. “Michael. Look.”
Dean now noted the steady beep of the machinery had changed. Instead of the steady, mechanical beat, a frantic sound filled the room. The man on the bed was awake, gasping for breath. Wide eyes seemed to sweep the room. Dean really didn’t want to be here.
“Congratulations,” Dean blurted out, thrusting the flowers into Hannah’s hands. He quickly left, wanting nothing more to do with the drama.
He didn’t stop until he reached his bike, where he stopped and laughed.
“That was weird,” he decided, as he idly scratched at his cuffs.
--oo--
That night the dream changed.
Cas looked at him sadly.
“You don’t believe in fate.” While Cas was still the same, Dean had changed. He looked… he looked pretty much as he did now. Except for his soul bands. Flowers graced his wrists.
“That’s not fair!” Dean yelled at him. “I did believe! For thirty fucking years I believed and you never came. It was you – you let me down! I’ve been here all along and where were you? Why didn’t you come? Why?”
He was sobbing without realising it. Great, gasping breaths, with tears dripping down his face. He turned away as he buried his face in his hands. He felt Cas walk towards him, but before he reached him, Dean was awake, tears still streaming down his face.
--oo--
He called in sick.
“Allergies,” he croaked at Benny. He hoped it would explain the swollen eyes, should anyone see him. “I’ll be out a few days.”
Benny expressed concern but didn’t argue. Dean never took days off, so there was no reason to think he was lying now. Turning his phone off, he threw it at the dresser. He contemplated his next move and fed Adonis before he crawled back into bed. Tears started again, and Adonis curled up next to him, warm and real against his back as Dean scratched at his cuff.
--oo--
Days passed. He only got up to relieve himself and feed Adonis. If the dog hadn’t been there, he probably wouldn’t have gotten up at all.
He just wanted to hide from the world for a few years.
He fell asleep scratching at his cuffs.
--oo--
The blue eyed boy didn’t talk to him that night. Just looked at him sadly.
--oo--
Four days later a loud banging woke him, but no matter how much he ignored it, it didn’t go away. Finally, he wrenched himself from his blanket cocoon, greeting his visitor with a snarled, “What?”
His little brother stood there, floppy hair a mess, eyes wild with distress. Gadreel stood behind him.
Dean blinked. Why was Sammy here? And why was he looking so…
“Sammy! Sammy, you ok?”
Sam just stared a moment, before pulling him into his arms. “Am I ok? Fuck, Dean! What about you! I’ve been trying to call and you didn’t answer, and Benny said you’ve been away sick and…”
Sam had to breathe and Dean interrupted.
“Sammy! I’m ok. Didn’t Benny tell you? Allergies. They’ve been…”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Dean! You don’t have any allergies! If you did you’d have had an attack, I don’t know, at least once in the last thirty one fucking years!”
Sam’s voice had been steadily rising, and Gadreel’s soft hand and voice pulled him down. “Sam, on the doorstep?”
Sam growled and pushed past Dean. Gadreel offered him a lip twitch. “He’s been worried.”
Dean snorted. “I didn’t ask him to.”
Before he could tell them to leave, Sam was dragging him back inside. “You stink,” he said bluntly. “Have a shower and I’ll see if there is anything even remotely like food in here.”
Dean wanted to argue. He was a grown man. And the older brother. It was his house and his life and…
“Please, Dean?”
And he was a fucking pushover when it came to his brother.
“Feed Adonis,” he growled on his way out.
--oo--
He didn’t want to admit it, but he did feel better after a shower. He took his time, hoping Sam would just leave, knowing he wouldn’t. When he finally dragged himself out, his bed had been made and clean clothes were piled neatly on top. Freaky, that’s what it was. He was perfectly capable of looking after himself.
Grumbling under his breath, he entered lounge, only to be met with the sight of Sam curled up on the sofa, Adonis curled up on him, pizza boxes, beer, and…
“No Gadreel?”
Sam glanced up, eyes serious. “He went home. He offered to stay, but I know you’re not going to talk if he’s here.”
Dean didn’t blush, but he did look away. It was true. He’d rather not talk at all, but a Sam on a Mission was hard to deny.
If he had to put up with a concerned little brother, there were probably worse ways to deal with it.
Dean didn’t notice when he started scratching his other wrist.
--oo--
Two hours later and Dean wasn’t so sure. Sam had been all worry and sincerity and care and Dean was so fucking sick of it. AndSam was still talking. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world for this.
“Dean, you need someone in your life. I mean, you’re not…”
“I have Adonis,” Dean interrupted. He was pretty sure they’d covered this already. And his wrist was still fucking itchy, even after the shower.
Sam cocked his head and stared meaningfully at the dog curled up in Sam’s lap.
“What sort of conversations can you have with a dog, Dean?”
“Better ones than with you”,” he retorted.
Sam scrubbed his hand over his face. “I… I’m just worried about you, Dean. We’re all worried about you. And then you just disappeared…”
Sighing, Dean moved to sit next to his brother. “I’m sorry, Sammy. I just needed a few days to myself.”
Sam nodded but didn’t look at him. “I just need you to be ok.”
Dean put his arm around Sam. It definitely wasn’t a hug, but Sam still snuggled down. Adonis stretched across both their laps.
--oo--
Turning up for work the next day, Dean was ready for a fight. Benny didn’t even raise an eyebrow, just gave him a list of deliveries and sent him on his way. Dean hoped that would mean it was in the we will never talk about this ever basket. Dean was wrong.
It was lunch time and Dean’s guard was down.
“You’re brother saw you then, cher?”
Dean’s mouth was full of burger.
“Bnny! Wuhufuk?”
Benny smiled toothily, and there was a hard look in his eye. “You need time off, that’s fine, brother. But don’t you lie to me. We can’t help you if you we don’t…”
“I don’t need help!” Dean interrupted with a growl. He started scratching at his wrist. Fuck, he was developing a nervous tic out of all this as well. Just what he needed. He balled his hand into a fist, refusing to touch it, but the itching got worse. “Jesus fucking Christ! I’m a grown man! I can look after myself.”
Benny’s disbelief was palpable.
“You know what, Benny, fuck you.”
Benny's eyebrows lowered threateningly. But then he took in Dean. The defensive posture, the hunched shoulders, the tight mouth. Taking a deep breath, Benny tried to get his thoughts together, but Dean beat him to it.
“Fuck, man. That was outta line. ‘M sorry, Benny. I just…”
Dean actually didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like him to lose his shit like that. He was just so over everything.
“Maybe I should just head home.”
Benny just kept staring at him. Not sure what to make of it, Dean turned on his heel, but was stopped by Benny’s voice.
“One more delivery brother, then you can go wherever you want.”
Sighing, Dean turned back. Of course he’d do it now. Benny was his friend, but also his boss. Who he’d just told to fuck off.
“Fine. See you tomorrow.”
--oo--
Back to the hospital, he noted with a sigh. He’d felt edgy when he left the shop – so much so he was very careful to stay on the speed limit. He’d delivered too many flowers to the people affected by crashes to not be careful. Imagining Sammy having to come and identify his body? Dean shivered. It was not a good thought.
So he’d relaxed into the driving, and weirdly, the closer he got to the hospital, the better he felt. Which made him feel likes shit. What kind of freak gets off on going to the hospital? Thank Christ he was going home after this.
Glancing at the delivery card, he had to laugh. Back to room 3.14 which started this mess. Flowers to the same person even. Oh well. Get in and out. Hopefully there wouldn’t be anything… weird… like last time.
Dean practised the name a few times, until it rolled smoothly from his tongue. Yep. This time he’d get it right.
As he approached the door his wrists started aching. Fucking things. He hadn’t even realised they’d stopped itching until the pain started. Taking deep breaths he focused. He had one delivery, and then he could go home and curl up on his bed with Adonis and Dr Sexy. Carefully he schooled his expression into polite professionalism and knocked on the door, announcing, “Flowers for Mr Castiel Novak”.
He waited the requisite ten seconds before knocking again, and then the long 45 seconds before knocking announcing a third time.
As he was on the cusp of turning to leave the flowers at reception, the door opened and he was faced with a room full of people. But all he saw was a pair of blue eyes.
--oo--
There were people everywhere, but Dean didn’t see them.
He knew those eyes.
He'd fallen in love with those eyes.
“Cas?”
Noise started up again, but it was like hearing through water. Nothing existed but the man on the bed. Dean walked not even pausing as someone took the flowers out of his hands.
Dean walked until Castiel Novak – his Cas - extended one hand. It was only then that Dean stopped.
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s easy!” A voice piped up behind him.
Dean blinked, trying to clear the fog to locate the new person, but he - Cas - responded with a sharp, “Everyone out.”
Later Dean couldn’t remember what happened. His only memory was of a deep, beautiful voice, and Cas peremptorily holding out his hand.
And Dean taking it.
--oo--
At the first touch, Dean felt a hot flash run through his body. And then his wrist started to burn. He went to pull his hand away, but Cas grasped him tightly and wouldn’t let go. Dean could only watch as Cas’s band started to fill. There was a puckered wound down Castiel’s wrist which filled with the stem of lilies (Dean knew one day he would get the story behind that). As he watched, a mass of blooms formed. The pain in his wrists peaked and then dropped, even as the last petal filled in. Dean’s eyes stared at his leather clad wrists.
They were both silent until the itching stopped.
Cas gently disengaged his fingers, grasping Dean’s hand in both of his. His fingers teased at the leather clasp of his cuff.
“May I?”
Dean could only nod and watch as nimble fingers worked at the buckles. As Cas’s fingers fumbled, Dean felt a cold ball of terror in his chest. He’d done this before. This was all going to fail. It was all wrong. Dean would never be that lucky. Dean would never meet his…
The cuff over fell to floor, revealing a mass of blooms, in shades of pink and orange.
“The first delivery,” Cas told him, laughing nervously.
Dean rolled his eyes. As if he didn’t remember. Plus, they were on the table next to Cas. A little wilted, but still good. Dean felt some pride in Benny’s Blooms. He had to laugh at himself. Here he was, sitting with his motherfucking soulmate and thinking about work. And didn’t that just smack of avoidance.
He took a deep breath and wracked his brain for something to say. He wanted to say something. Something clever. Something that would make Cas fall in love with him as deeply as he’d fallen in love with Cas. But he had nothing. He was just… overwhelmed.
Cas pulled Dean’s arm up, looking at their mark. When he looked back at Dean, he smiled. “I guess that’s it for now. We’ll need to do more to fill it.”
As Dean said nothing, Cas’s smile fell from his face. His hand retreated and Dean stopped thinking and just did, grabbing at the fingers. He pulled Cas’s hand towards him, feeling something release as Cas moved his body, until their entwined fingers lay on Dean’s lap.
“What the fuck is wrong with me. Why didn’t I recognise you? I’m so broken I can’t tell my fuckin’ soulmate when I see him. You have an excuse, being unconscious and all. So what was wrong with…”
“Dean…”
Cas’s voice interrupted his word explosion. The smile appeared again. He rubbed Dean’s wrist softly, then looked into his eyes.
“Dean…”
Dean didn’t think he’d ever get sick of that voice.
“Do you believe in fate?”
Dean’s startled response was lost under Cas’s lips.
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xx
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one of the things I have really enjoyed about the fic exchanges is exploring ideas I wouldn't.
When I take prompts from the kinkmeme, they are generally porny as all hell, but it's nice to create something else, that I know at least one person will read.