messy sketch missives from the chronic pain dean wip

the beginning of chapter 3 [an overview of the accident that landed Dean in his current predicament]:

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Tricky thing, memory. Slippery-sharp, jell-o with razorblades in it. The moments before the crash have seeped back into his damaged neurons across the crawling span of thirteen years. Lucky thirteen. 

He lies in bed early Sunday morning, drenched in panic sweat. The accident lives in him, bodily, dormant, like malaria. Every so often, the fever burns brand new. 

The semi-truck cab came out of nowhere. Dad, at the wheel, hadn’t seen it. Sam, in the front passenger seat, hadn’t either. An infernal alignment of circumstances: as the Impala cruised toward a soon-to-be green light, a string of fully burdened 18-wheelers hid the unloaded truck accelerating into the red in the righthand lane. 

Dean thinks he might’ve seen it. Flashes, in the gaps between vehicles. The physics don’t work out, but that doesn’t stop his guilty conscience. Nobody is sure what the driver was trying to do. Shithead told the insurance people he believed there was a dedicated turning lane, which was an outright lie. More than likely, he was distracted. Whatever the reason, the end result is the same. 

It’s true, what they say about time slowing, pre-collision. The atmosphere went out of the car, replaced by a numb, mute expanse of suspended motion. There, the universe forked. 

To anyone watching, it happened instantaneously. Dean had enough time to think, almost leisurely, Oh. He’s going to hit us.

He remembers Sam turning to look.

Coming to you on September 28

Last Call, Second Chance

Written by @blackhorsedances with art by @stonelions

Rating: Teen and Up

Word count: 7083

Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel Novak 

Ships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Benny LaFitte/Garth Fitzgerald IV 

Tags: No archive warnings apply, AU/Modern, Bartender Dean Winchester, Forensic Auditor Castiel Novak, Dean and Cas Use Their Words, Dean and Cas become friends, Low Angst 

Summary:  A chance recommendation takes middle-aged and newly-unemployed Castiel Novak to The Pirate’s Den where the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen serves him the best burger he’s ever eaten. As he and the man talk, he reflects on how stark and narrow his life has become.

Dean Winchester’s cutting his last tie with this little town at the end of his shift. His car is packed and he’s ready to see where the open road leads. The thing is, this guy that just came in looks like Dean feels: beat-down by life, sad, and scruffy. He needs a good meal and some good cheer, and that’s kinda Dean’s specialty.

They talk, they laugh, and they connect. When it’s time for last call, will they go their separate ways, or will they take a second chance?

Excerpt: “Thinking again?” Dean’s voice is calm, even, and the undertone is friendly.

Castiel snorts. “Yes. I’ve been told I overthink things.”

“An overthinker, huh? Well, Rodin, that offer of coffee and a listening ear is still open. If you, uh, wanna talk, that is. I mean…you seem like a nice guy, so I’m guessing your employer–uh, former employer, sorry man–must be a real piece of work.”

“You don’t know that, Dean. I could be a ‘real piece of work’,” he accentuates the words with the air quotes that delighted Dean earlier, and Dean laughs, “as you put it. I could be a serial killer, for all you know.”

Dean shrugs. “Well, I suppose I could go find you some Corn Flakes…”

Castiel laughs, helpless, caught in the gleam of Dean’s eyes.

The staff table is roughly the size of the large tray Dean handles so expertly. There is a chair angled in the corner next to the swinging kitchen doors, and a chair angled in the corner at the back of the first booth. The space does not look large enough for two tall men, even though Castiel has lost weight. “Are you sure about this, Dean?”

Dean just laughs. “Here. I’ll just,” he pulls the table out away from the chairs and into the aisle, “yeah. Slide on in there, and I’ll…Well, hell. That sounded different in my head.” Dean blushes, rubs a hand down the back of his neck.

i think as a writer, the older you get and the more you read, the more you realize there are very few actual truly bad ideas. which is a relief. but! the other thing you learn is that stories live and die on the execution and ha ha. lemme tell you. unfortunately. there are lots and lots of bad ways to execute an otherwise fine idea

i've reblogged this before to say the same thing but i think it bears repeating that crucially, if you do execute an idea and feel like you got a less than stellar result....... you can do it again. remix. mashup. v 2.0. take another run at it.

the majority of writing is the process, anyway

first run at the latest version of the fellas i'm trying to write... (thick silver fox cas and disabled chronic pain dean)

how about an excerpt from chapter 1 nobody asked for

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Furnace-hot, Cas moves in next to him. “Do you want me to take over so you can sit? Forgive me, but... I can see you’re in pain.”

Which sends Dean's hackles up instantly. Old habit. Bitchy one, too. Miles long resentment of people telling him what he is and isn’t capable of, based on their assessment of how he has to live his own trashfire life. “I’m good,” he bites out, clipped.

“I... Fuck.” Cas rounds down on himself, somehow both pathetic and adorable. “That was the wrong thing to say to you.”

“No. No, it’s just...” Fermented bitterness bubbling up, the toxic slime of having to defend his competence to abled-bodied looky-loos harbouring a bunch of stupid assumptions. “It’s a sore spot. I’m sorry. You mean well, but... I got this.” He offers up a placating, close-lipped smile.

Cas sighs. Nods. Doesn’t straighten out. “Let me explain. I know you’re capable. Clearly,” he says, looking around the whole room, as if Dean’s spotless kitchen is indicative of anything other than an OCD streak. “But, I’m a massage therapist, and I work primarily with people who are in pain. I know it when I see it, and sometimes I... overstep.”

Massage therapist? Dean gawks, again. What kind of wet dream is this guy? That has to be awkward as hell for his clients. Mr. Huge n’ Handsome with his gigantic mitts all over the tenderest body meats? Jesus H. Christ. “You feel people up for a living, huh?” Dean teases.

Turns out they can both say stupid things. 

Cas reaches for his beer and gives him a cold (massive) shoulder. “Not that kind of massage." There’s resignation in it. Like every loser asshole he’s ever told about his work has made the same godawful joke.

“You’ve... You’ve heard that one before.” Dean, defeated, notices a splotch of oil he missed when he last sponged the stovetop. 

“At least you haven’t said anything about a happy ending.” Blue eyes cut sidelong at him. “Yet.”

oh the new MUNA album is full of bangers damn

no really if you're gay and you like pop...........

*distorted shoegaze plays on a distant radio*

"You cannot argue that the wave comes in by design, every molecule prearranged, over and over in the quintillions and onward into infinity. Some things are inevitable. The wave itself, the motion of gravitational pull, warps and bends. Physics! Physics is inevitable. But the unique arrangement of matter means predestination is a trap. Forces you cannot resist are in play, but in the meantime, you chose... a cheeseburger, and a beer. A specific beer, full of specific microbiomes. Imagine a god so bored they engineered existence down to which cell went where in every creature’s body, and when! 

Even god has other things to do than set infinite dominoes in infinite patterns. Only a machine would bother. God cannot be a machine, I don’t think. Well, maybe, but it’s a little bit pat. We’ve seen that one. Or you have, I don’t watch as many films as you do.

Anyway, the wave. The point is, god is not matter. That’s something god isn’t, because god would never be shit, right? Everybody wants a go on earth but they forget about all the shit. So, god isn’t matter. God is the rules that govern matter. The why and how and where, not the what. God is the wave. Destiny, too, but the truth is, destiny is mutable. The wave has to encounter a shore: more variables. 

Maybe god is how variables interact over the long-term expanse. Or maybe god only put things on their axis and set it all spinning and fucked off to do it again. 

Well, it’s all speculation anyway, isn’t it. Do you want another beer?"

Art masterpost for "Coaxial Evisceration" by @stonelions for the @deancasreversebang!

I think this DCRB is the first time I've submitted digital art for a reverse bang (I'd previously done a linocut for @deancas-stabfest last round they ran), and I couldn't be more pleased with my partner stonelions' incredible work! Link to Fic Art and details/discussion under the cut: