This is a little something I came up with as a celebration and a thank you on Ao3 after I recently reached 100 user subscriptions there. The idea was to take a poem I'd written when spn ended and build a fic around it!
For this first part, just a very short introduction to the overall plot idea.
Thank you so much for being here, I appreciate all of you so so much, this community is what keeps me motivated to write and it's just been such an incredible two years creating and sharing stories in this fandom. To many more years to come!
~oOo~oOo~oOo~
Dean's hands felt numb as he stared at the words.
The piece of paper crinkled in his grip, his knuckles white.
We are, you are, and so is this love.
He knew he shouldn't have read it, but he hadn't been able to avert his eyes.
He knew he shouldn't have read it, but it was too late now, far too late.
And yet in the end, I'll know all this was real. We are, you are-
This was Cas' handwriting.
Cas had written this.
All this was real. We are, you are, and so is this-
"You want to know what's real?", Cas had said to him once. "We are."
Those words had never left him, had lingered like a brand in Dean's mind.
And here they were again, those words immortalized in black pen on white paper, in the angel's handwriting. This piece of paper that had looked so unassuming, so innocent where he picked it up from the floor under the war room table.
How should Dean have known that in picking it up, his world would shatter around him.
His eyes flit frantically across the crinkled page, his eyes catching on words, phrases, nothing but a collection of letters in ink, powerful enough to make his hands shake and his heart thump wildly within the confines of his chest.
Secrets. Hope. Bond. Care. Feel. Love.
Love.
Dean tore his eyes away, his gaze unfocused after being ripped out of its intense stare so violently.
His hand curled into a fist by his side, the paper rustling too loudly in his ears as it succumbed and bent under the pressure, crumpled into a tightly clutched ball.
He didn't feel his feet moving as he slowly made his way down the corridor.
He didn't hear the sound of the knock as his knuckles met the door.
He didn't wait for an answer as he entered.
YOU ARE READING
There are no words (to be spoken of this)
ФанфикDean's hands felt numb as he stared at the words. The piece of paper crinkled in his grip, his knuckles white. He knew he shouldn't have read it, but he hadn't been able to avert his eyes. He knew he shouldn't have read it, but it was too late now...
