It's Wednesday again, which means it's time for Writing Prompt Wednesday once more! This week's theme is "time traveler AUs."
What is Writing Prompt Wednesday?
Writing Prompt Wednesday is a feature I run on my Tumblr. Followers, readers and friends suggest themes for AUs, and I come up with a list of prompts based on the suggested them. Then, based on those prompts, anyone who wants to join in writes up a short story (or a long story, I guess) and posts it to Tumblr (or AO3, or wherever) and tags it Writing Prompt Wednesday!
This week, I chose this prompt:
There's this weird person who just keeps popping up in my life from time to time and helping me out, like in stupid little ways - suggests I take the interstate instead of the crosstown, and afterwards I find out I would have spent two hours in traffic, that kind of thing - and then they're gone again, and I've hit my patience limit - I HAVE to know who they are and what is going on AU
Dean can't remember the first time he saw him.
"Dean, don't put that block in your mouth."
Confused, Dean jammed the plastic between his teeth again and gnawed. The man took the toy and set it firmly aside. Tears welled in Dean's eyes.
The man sighed. "You'll thank me someday."
There has never been a time when he was a stranger.
The man looked the same as always, dark hair disheveled, blue eyes piercing, face lined with middle age. Though Dean had seen him periodically throughout his life, the man's appearance scarce changed. Only the thickness of his stubble and the brightness of his expression varied, sometimes clean shaven, sometimes scruffy; sometimes cheerful and happy, sometimes exhausted, eyes deep-set. Even his clothing was basically the same, well-worn jeans and loose t-shirts with logos Dean didn't recognize.
"Daddy said we shouldn't talk to weirdos," Dean said, putting himself between Sammy and the familiar man.
"I agree," the man nodded, and the gentlest smile overtook his features, brightened his eyes, made all signs of fatigue and hurt fade away. "That's why I'm going to walk you to school today." A large hand clasped Dean's small one and he felt safer instantly. The flesh was warm and calloused and reminded him of his dad's hand, just as comforting, just as gritty with oil and dirt. Dean never felt good walking to school with only his brother. It was a long trip, and as much as Dean wanted to pretend he was tough, he knew he was only a kid, that if an adult wanted to screw with him, he'd be nearly powerless to stop it. Stopping a grown up doing what they wanted might be beyond him, but that didn't matter – what mattered was that, if someone tried, Dean would protect his little brother. Sammy was only 4. If anything bad happened, it should happen to Dean.
"Dean," Sam piped up, looking in wide-eyed fear at the man.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean took his brothers hand and hoped he could, with a squeeze, convey half as much confidence and comfort as the strange man bestowed on Dean with a touch. "He's okay."
Something about him makes Dean trust him. Dean hardly trusts anyone, ever, yet this dude just fucking shows up out of the blue and bam, Dean does what he says, Dean believes him, Dean trusts him. It should be upsetting and disturbing to him, and yet it's not, and that's terrifying.
Dean's aching body struggled towards awareness.
Blue…so blue…so beautiful…
The man's eyes swam into focus and Dean groaned.
"Drink enough I start hallu...halo...hallusick...hallucinatoring'," Dean said in slurred tones. The world fuzzed out and his stomach roiled; he barely choked back vomit.
"I'm as real as you are, Dean." As if to emphasize the point, the stranger leaned down, got an arm under Dean's shoulders, and hauled him to his feet. "It's time for you to go home."
"If you say so," Dean grinned. Struggling, he managed an awkward step and nearly planted on his face. The man caught him, their chests pressed together, so warm, so strong, so comforting, and Dean grinned and brushed his lips over the stranger's, leaned harder into a kiss when the man didn't try to avoid the contact. "I like you."
"That's...that's good, Dean," the man stammered, shocked. Hey, the dude was reacting to something, he wasn't just dead pan! That was awesome, Dean didn't think he'd ever seen the guy phased by anything.
"I like you a lot," Dean repeated determinedly, hoping for something more in exchange. He wrapped an arm around the man's neck and planted a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss over his lips. "You're hot. And you're always helping me out. What the fuck is up with that?"
"Don't worry about it," managed the man. "It's not a big deal. Come on, we need to get you home."
"I'm gonna kiss you again," Dean giggled. The man tried to dodge this time, turning his head, but Dean was undeterred. Dean kissed rough-stubbled cheek instead, trailed his tongue back to pink lips, and licked at the man's mouth. With a faint moan, the man opened to Dean, and Dean's tongue lapped at sweet saliva, the kiss deepened, lengthened, desperate hands pawed at Dean's back, held him close, held him upright. When they broke apart again, there were tears thick in beautiful blue eyes.
"God, I miss you," whispered the stranger. The man sighed and raked a hand through his hair, mussing it worse than ever. Supported by only one of the man's arms, Dean nearly slumped bonelessly to the ground, only trembling muscles kept him from falling. "But we can't do this, not now, not yet. I'm taking you back to your dorm."
"Yeah, let's do that," Dean agreed, thoughts spinning out lewd, arousing fantasies of what he and the handsome older man could do once they had some privacy. "I'm totally down with that."
"Someday, Dean. Someday."
In his most desperate moments, when the man has just left Dean staring after him in blank incomprehension, Dean thinks he has a guardian angel – someone watching out for him, looking over his shoulder, making sure things don't go wrong in his life. That's obviously absurd. There's no such thing as God, or angels, or people who would waste any of their time looking out for someone like Dean.
"You should take mass transit today." Dean didn't even bother to turn around. After so many years, he knew exactly who would be standing behind him, offering help and support and instruction and guidance without any explanation.
"You gonna tell me why?" said Dean, exasperated.
"You have to trust me, Dean," came the flat answer.
"You gonna tell me who you are?" Dean asked insistently.
"You have to trust me, Dean," the man repeated with identical deadpan inflection. Dean mimicked the words, mouthing them exaggeratedly as the man spoke; he'd heard them before a hundred times, always said just the same.
With a sigh and a glance skyward, Dean pocketed his car keys. "Why do I listen to you?"
"Because you love me."
Speechless, Dean stared as the man turned and walked away, shocked that something so profound could be said so neutrally, confused that somewhere deep within him, his immediate instinct was to think, oh, yeah, that makes sense, of course I do.
"You'll be late if you don't get going," the man added, calling back over his shoulder.
Muttering disgruntledly under his breath, Dean pocketed his car keys and double-timed to the bus stop.
The man always knew exactly where to find Dean, exactly what to tell him. Though Dean has no direct evidence that the man's interventions have helped him, he knows, with absolute certainty, that they have. Try as he might to convince himself that his conviction is absurd, he's never been able to shake it.
"Today on the Crosstown, a five car pileup killed three, left four critically injured, and backed up traffic for hours."
Dean usually tuned out the buzz of the radio from the next cubicle over. He hated his job at the call center, he hated swallowing his pride to apologize to douche bags angry about corporate bullshit that was in no way Dean's fault, and he hated that fucking radio.
"And now, the weather."
No, no, when was the accident, where was the accident, would I have been involved in that if he hadn't told me to take the bus?
That made no sense. How could the man know? And why would he warn Dean of anything? The chances that this had anything at all to do with Dean were non-existent. It had to be the longest con in the history of the world, the most ridiculous prank anyone had ever thought to play.
It's not that. I love him.
Who would con Dean? Who would prank Dean? Who would go to so much trouble over the span of nearly 30 years? Who wouldn't age in all that time? Nothing about it made any sense.
I think he loves me, too.
Why didn't anything in his life make any fucking sense?
This time, for the first time, Dean has the advantage. This time, for the first time, Dean has seen the man when the man seemed completely unaware of Dean's presence. New job, new city, new neighborhood, and a whole slew of new faces, among which Dean has more than once spotted familiar messy dark hair, a familiar build, even a glimpse of familiar blue eyes. The wardrobe is different – button up shirts and slacks – but that can't fool Dean. He knows he's found his guardian angel at last.
And for the first time, Dean is waiting for him.
"Hey," Dean says brusquely as soon as the man walks into the coffee shop. The man comes here every day, first thing, and orders coffee. Not that Dean has been following the guy or anything.
He followed me first!
Up close, Dean notices a lot of subtle differences that hadn't been evident when he'd been trying to avoid discovery. The man looks younger, as impossible as that is, his cheeks less sunken, and though his hair is a rumpled mess, his cheeks are clean shaven, he's wearing a neatly ironed shirt and creased pants, and today he's even got a tie on. If Dean hadn't seen the man so many times, he might think he's looking at someone else entirely.
But it's not, that's definitely him.
If the man hears Dean's comment, he doesn't react, doesn't so much as glance in Dean's direction. The reaction instantly pisses him off. Sure, it's absolutely ridiculous that the man's sole focus Dean's entire life has been Dean, but that's how it's always been – every time Dean sees the stranger, he's there to talk with Dean, interact with Dean, help Dean. Now, to be completely ignored? To be treated as about as interesting as drying paint? Dean feels invisible, invisible to him, the only person he wishes would see him, and it grates.
"I said, hey," Dean repeats, reaching out to grab the stranger's shoulder.
"Excuse me?" the man blinks at him in utter confusion, and for an instant Dean doubts. Maybe it's not him. But no, it has to be. "I'm sorry, did I brush into you? I'm pretty distracted." There's a sweet smile to accompany those words, a bright look in eyes that look Dean up and down, an apology in every line of his expression, and not the least trace of recognition.
God, he's beautiful.
"Uh...no," stammers Dean. This is going nothing like he expected. "I just...I thought I knew you, but I guess I was wrong."
"Castiel," the man says. It's complete gibberish. Dean stares blankly. "That's my name. I'm Castiel. Now you know me."
"Oh, okay, um, Cas," Dean splutters. The man beams at him, watching expectantly. "Right, uh, I'm Dean. Dean Winchester."
It's him, but it's not him. I'm sure of it. How is that possible? What's different this time?
"Nice to meet you, Dean." The man says Dean's name as if he's sampling it, testing it, and judging by his cheery expression, he likes whatever he finds as it trips from his lips. "Look, this isn't a good time – I've got to get to the lab – but I finish at five. If you wanted to, you know, get to know me...more...we could meet up then."
"That'd be awesome," Dean finally finds some measure of suaveness and smiles back warmly, earning pinked cheeks from the strange man – from Castiel. He pulls his cell phone from his pocket. "What's your number? I'll text you and we can figure out a place to meet."
"013-555-4624," Cas supplies eagerly. "Gotta run!" He snags a coffee from the counter, tosses down his cash – he didn't place an order, the staff just made it, he must come in every day, must have come in every day for a long time.
Which means he can't have been in Lawrence, helping me out all these years. What the fuck?
Promptly sending off a text, Dean writes to his new – old – acquaintance, "hey it's coffee shop weirdo Dean nice to meet you." A chime sounds from Cas' pocket. Cas brushes by Dean as he heads towards the door.
"Wait," manages Dean in strangled tones. Cas turns, shoots an all-too-familiar look over his shoulder, frowning and pensive yet strangely caring, though why the stranger – he is still a stranger – should care about Dean is beyond him. "What kind of lab do you work in?"
"Temporal engineering," supplies Cas. "Which would make it especially ironic if I were late to work. I'll see you later, Dean."
"Yeah," mutters Dean as the door closes behind Castiel with a tinkling of bell. "Yeah, you will."
Placing an order, Dean slumps into a chair with a cup of coffee, thoughts racing. He doesn't have to be at work for two hours, and all he can think about is Castiel, all the times they've met over the course of his life, all the vague things Castiel has said to him, all somehow leading to this moment when they actually meet for the first time.
The bell rings, the door clangs shut, Dean takes a sip, and when he lowers his cup the chair across from him is being drawn away from the table and a disheveled, casually dressed older Castiel is taking a seat across from him.
"Looks like we finally met," Dean observes caustically, and the stranger who has haunted his life flinches.
"I'm sorry about that, Dean," says the man, heartbreakingly sincere. "Maybe it was cruel of me – cruel to you, to myself – but I had to be sure we met. Even after everything, I'd choose to do it all again, for the chance to be with you as long as I possibly can be, to keep you safe, to see you happy, to have you for even a few years."
"I don't understand," grumbles Dean. "And I assume you won't tell me if I ask?"
Am I going to die, Cas?
"I couldn't even tell you my name," Castiel says sadly. "How can I tell you what I mean?"
Do we ever get to be together?
"It's going to be okay, Cas." On sudden impulse, Dean reaches across the table, takes his guardian angel's hand, and earns a wide-eyed, teary look in return, more emotion than he has ever seen the man show.
Except for just now, except when he's younger, before whatever hurt him so badly happened.
No smile should look so agonized, so broken, as Castiel meets Dean's eyes from across the table.
It's me. I'm what hurt him so badly.
His phone chimes with a text.
Maybe I should leave now, be the stronger one, rescue him for once. Cas never needs to go through all of this if I don't respond.
"I'll see you tonight," Cas says, and Dean knows he means the other, younger version of Cas. "You have no idea how much I'm already looking forward to it. From the very first moment I saw you, Dean, there was something about you. Like you already knew me, like I already knew you. After never feeling like anyone I dated understood me...you just...got me, and understood, and it was wonderful. It felt a little like I was losing my mind, but it was also perfect."
"Cas..." Dean trails off helplessly. What can he possibly say?
"This is the last time you'll see me," Cas continues. Dean doesn't need to say anything. What is there to say, after so many years? "I mean, you'll see...me...but you won't see me. I shouldn't have come today, but I had to see you one more time. I needed you to know me, just once."
"I knew you all along," whispers Dean. "It was always you." The sad smile this comments earns makes Dean feel like weeping.
"Goodbye, Dean." Cas rises and turns towards the turn.
"Goodbye, Castiel," he says, a tear falling. The man freezes, his back tenses, his shoulders shake. Cas' pain and sadness clench around Dean's chest like a vise. Moving as if in a dream, Dean stands, moves to Cas, wraps his arms around that gorgeous, trembling form. With a choked sob, Cas turns to face him, throws himself against Dean, and mouths a kiss against his neck.
"I should never have done this, but I had to," Cas whispers into Dean's flesh, words blurred by tears until he can scarce be understood. "As much as it hurts, I couldn't imagine going my entire life without meeting you. It's been such a pleasure watching you grow up, Dean, protecting you in every way I could, even knowing that everything I did set you on a path whose ending was inevitable. It was selfish and callous and unfair, but I miss you. I miss you so much I can't stand it."
"Thank you, Cas," Dean murmurs in his ear, rubbing up and down his back, coaxing more tears from both of them. "You saved me over and over again. However long I have...I'm glad you were in my life. I'm glad we get to have this – that we'll get to have more – it's okay. I forgive you."
"Dean," sobs Castiel. Dean holds him close, and wishes he could do so much more for the man who has done so much for him. Yet, as surely as he knows that Cas has been helping him all along, he knows there's no preventing what's to come. There's no coming back from this. From this moment forward, his path is set. He could choose not to text the younger Castiel...but he could never do that to Cas, not after everything.
"I love you, my guardian angel," Dean mouths against Cas' forehead.
Beautiful blue eyes look up into his, lips come together, and bittersweet pleasure washes through Dean, leaves him aching and empty and sad, leaves him crying as he never has before in his life, tears streaking his cheeks.
"I love you, Dean," Cas breaths, breaking away, pulling free, turning from him.
How can my heart be breaking? I barely know him.
"Take care of yourself now," says Dean to Cas' back. "Please – for my sake if not for your own – take care of yourself, Cas." He has no idea if Cas hears him as the man walks stiffly away, pulls the door open and leaves to the clanging of the bell.
I'll never see him again.
Taking his phone from his pocket, Dean looks to his texts. It could have been from anyone – his brother, Charlie, Benny, his boss – but he never entertains the least doubt that it's from Cas.
It's like I can see the future. He chuckles at the irony, using the back of his hand to wipe his eyes as he looks at the message. Of course it's from Cas.
Castiel (8:48 am): Hey Dean! Too soon? My brother once told me if you text or call someone too soon, you seem desperate. But I don't want you to think I wasn't serious – I would like to see you tonight, if you're available – or, if you're not, sometime soon.
He stares at it, and knows – he could never not answer. He always answers.
Dean (9:03 am): Heya Cas. How about 6 at the Roadhouse?
In the time it takes him to shove the phone in his pocket, it pings again and he pulls it out to see the screen bright and a new text arrived.
Castiel (9:03 am): Great! I'll see you then.
Castiel (9:04 am): I'm glad I met you, Dean.
Dean stares at his phone for long minutes, as people come into the coffee shop, the bell chimes, orders are placed, the bustle of life goes on all around him, and Dean knows, in his heart, that in these moments he's sealing two fates.
And he sends the text anyway.
Dean (9:09 am): I'm glad I met you, too, Cas.
End note:
...writing this made me cry. Literally, tears streaming down my face writing that conversation between Cas and Dean. I hope ya'll enjoyed...as much as one can enjoy the feels.
Have ideas for Writing Prompt Wednesday? Want to get involved? Just want to get to be friends? You should consider following me on Tumblr - my username is unforth-ninawaters.
Epilogue, sort of
So a few people both here and on AO3 have asked me for some more of what happens next, and I wrote up an answer over on AO3 in a reply to a comment (cause over there, ya can reply directly to comments publicly!) that I wanted to share with ya'll here, too - hopefully it'll set your minds at ease (well, sort of) about just how much heartbreak this story actually reflects.
"Question: I'm dying (too soon?) to know what happened, though I know we're not meant to know."
Answer:
This IS a one shot, and I'll own I didn't completely think it through - don't know exactly what happens, but Dean's supposition is right - he dies young. I don't mind sharing what I DO know, though you're right - yes, it's supposed to be vague. :)
Basically, as I was imagining it, Dean and Cas fall for each other hard (I mean, how could they not, Dean already loves Cas and already knows him, sort of...). As I imagined it they get about 10 years together, so until Dean's about 40 and Cas is about 45. I'm not sure exactly what happens to Dean - I was debating between unexpected illness and catastrophic accident.
Meanwhile, Cas has been working as a temporal engineer his entire career. They've got a working prototype of a time machine. After Dean dies, Cas tries to use the time machine to save him, but whatever happened...he can't. (thus I'm leaning towards illness - the kind of thing that has been eating at Dean a long time and can't just be prevented or fixed by early diagnosis - probably something genetic and degenerative, such as Huntington's Disease, or maybe Lou Gehrig's/ALS; probably something that is weirdly exacerbating by being around Cas and all his weird ass science shit). So instead, Cas decides to use the time machine to give Dean the best possible life he can - protect him from things that would hurt him, keep him safe, make sure that even though Dean doesn't get many years, they're the best years they can possibly be. And, selfishly, gets them a bit more time together, even if Cas has to keep who he is a secret.
"Question: I was also wondering if all those times Cas visited Dean earlier on, if something bad had happened to him at that point. Like, when Dean was super drunk in college...was he abused that night? Is that a story he told Cas, so Cas did everything in his power to stop it?"
Answer:
...so...this question kinda gets at, in a nutshell, what drives me crazy about time travel stories. Basically: if someone travels through time, can they "change" things, or is time linear enough that whatever they "do" just gets incorporated? If Cas is going back and helping Dean, is it because Dean told him about that time someone tried to abduct him and Sam on the way to school, or is it that Cas has some kind of way to look through past events and know that if he doesn't intervene at that moment something bad WILL happen but in "reality" Cas intervenes "every time" so the bad thing has never ACTUALLY happened? This kinda thing gives me a massive headache, and I'll own I intentionally wrote the story in a way that enabled me to dodge having to explain it.
If I HAD to choose? I'd say Cas "always" helped Dean and the bad things were "always" prevented," probably thanks to technology that let Cas "see" what "would" happen if he didn't interfere. Because otherwise, by stepping in as much as he did, Cas would risk changing Dean's personality permanently, and then what guarantee that they'd fall in love when they actually met? And of course, "regular time" Cas doesn't know until after the fact - Dean would never tell him, except maybe right at the end - and future!Cas was very careful to never get his picture taken, and he was rarely seen by anyone relevant other than Dean. Sam might have an inkling? But if so he also kept his mouth shut.
In terms of specifics - the night of the college party, Dean would have spent the night outside drunk off his ass and gotten waaaaay sick, like hospitalization sick. He would have choked on that damn building block. A predator would have stalked and scared the crap out of him and Sam on the way to school (but not actually abducted or hurt them physically...). And Dean would have been involved in that car accident on the highway.
So...um...in conclusion...hope that helps a little?