Collection of Destiel

Where The Story Takes You

"I'm too tired to smile." Dean huffed out as slouched farther down in his seat. "I slept like shit last night and all day I've been walking around with a migraine the size of a six-wheeler."

"That is rather unfortunate." Castiel kept his eyes warily across Dean's features. "Do you want me to stop telling you about my day?"

"Nah, babe. Keep going." Dean's eyes rose and met Cas' with his smile that he saves just for his husband. "I want to hear how it went."

"Well," Castiel's eyes lit up as he hunched across the table and told the events of his day. "The hotel I stayed at last night was pretty fancy for a meager book signing. I found it quite unsettling because I didn't know if I would be covered by the money I would make today. But it was outstanding the amount of people that showed up. A young girl asked me if I was writing another and when I said I was, her eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning."

"That's awesome, Cas." Dean's migraine started to ebb away as he found himself lost in his husband's joyous tone.

"Then I met a young woman who is also in the works of writing a children's book. We went for coffee after the signing was over and I gave her advice! Advice, Dean! As if I knew what I was doing! It was a miraculous experience. Talking with her about writing for children made me feel like I was accomplished."

"That's 'cause you are." Dean stood from the kitchen table and came around to pull his husband up into a bone crushing hug. "You are one hell of a writer and everyone knows it."

Cas started to sniffle against Dean's neck as he gripped his husband with every muscle in his body. "It's because of you, you know? Last year I didn't even want to continue writing. But you made me keep going and now I have you to thank for all of my success. I love you so much."

"I don't think I am the only one you have to thank."

As if pure coincidence, their five year old daughter came barreling into the kitchen with pen strokes marking up her arms. Her face scrunched up in a soon-to-be whine as she glared her fathers down. "Dad! The stupid pen won't write on the paper!"

"Is that so?" Castiel pulled back from Dean to bend down and look over all the pen marks on his daughter. "But it will write all over your arms?"

Her face melted into embarrassment. "Yes..."

"Is this a magical pen?" Dean bent down beside Cas and took his daughter's arms softly in his hands.

Little Mary's eyes lit up with a smile. "Yes! It's magic!"

Castiel couldn't help but chuckle with the shake of his head. "That's no excuse, Mary Winchester-Novak. I want you in the tub in five minutes and washing these marks off. You know you are not allowed to write on yourself."

"But Dad!" Mary's plump bottom lip peeled down as she widened her eyes. "I was tryin' to be a writer like you and you told me that stories take you places and the story took me all over the place and all over my arms!"

Dean tried to hold in the laughter but it burst from his lips in a squeak. "Honey-"

"Mary." Cas was better at hiding his smile as he drew his brow in a fatherly way. "That is also no excuse. A story travels through paper, or some other material that is not your arms. And before you bring up Uncle Benny's tattoos I want to say that that doesn't count as an excuse for a girl your age. Keep the stories on paper."

"Ok." Sighing in defeat, Mary hunched her shoulders and quietly made her way to the bathroom with her figurative tail between her legs.

Dean let out bursts of laughter as he fell against his husband and shook them both to the ground. "Jesus, she really is your daughter."

"That is not funny, Dean." But Cas had a grin cracking along his face as he wrapped his arms around Dean. "It happened one time and that was only because I ran out of notebook paper and the idea was too good to let go."

"As I remember, it was a sharpie you used and you had a sentence written on your arm for about a week after." More laughter erupted from Dean.

Cas playfully scowled at him. "And that is one of the most famous lines from my book, so you have no room to talk."

"Alright, babe, whatever you say."

"Anyways she is most certainly a Winchester. Those puppy dog eyes almost worked."

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