可能有的亲看过我的另一个小甜文合集的无授权翻译贴～这边接下来发的全都是同一位作者的文啦》v《～我觉得她写的很棒！情节很可爱，没有太多甜腻腻的感觉，但是整个细节和人物心境的描写都微妙得非常恰到好处！
她的tumblr是noangelsinthegarrison，如果喜欢的话可以去关注她哦》v《～人也超好哒！

首先是之前发过的几篇吧。。。但是我存的时候把汤上的地址搞丢了，结果AO3的合集里又没找到。。。这里发一下作者的tumblr地址！如果有兴趣或者喜欢的话请戳这里反馈：
http://noangelsinthegarrison.tumblr.com/
她的汤页面也很棒哦》v《～
“亲爱的Castiel，也许你正急着逃离天堂，但我们仍希望你能听见我们。所以…喂，喂？”
Dean缓缓睁开眼，确定状况非常不幸。且不论他们掉进的是一个如何诡异的世界，他们似乎并不是和Cas被一起扔进来的。无论如何，好吧；他们也曾在没有Cas的情况下从比这更糟的状况中挣扎出来过。
Sam叹息着闭上眼胡乱地搓了一把脸。是的，这正是Dean恰巧也想做的。
“好吧，那么，有什么B计划吗？”在沉默地傻站了一会儿之后，Dean满怀希望地问，指望除了他自己的声音之外还能听到一些美妙的翅膀扇动的声音。
Sam睁开眼，Dean似乎能看到他的脑子转动得像个轰鸣的马达，然而在他有时间去好奇是什么该死的玩意儿让他失语之前，他感受到了一双强壮有力而又温暖的男性双臂搂着他的腰，把他紧紧拉向一个坚实的怀抱里。
“嘿帅哥，”有个声音在他耳边说道，Dean因这个声音而颤栗。这个声音里的某些部分那么熟悉，就好像，这几乎是个他熟知的声音，“计划A本来是什么？”
Sam鹿目圆睁地看着这个正紧紧抱着Dean的家伙，而此时Dean感到一双温热的手滑进他的衬衫，温柔地在他身上四处游走点火，于是他几乎跳着转过身。不论这货是谁，这家伙一定有很严重的私人空间问--
然后，Dean的大脑加入了Sam的“头脑当机俱乐部”。
这是Cas。但这显然又不是Cas。他看上去和他一样却又不一样，于是Dean颇为肯定地开口：
“你不是Cas。”他瞪着眼睛说道，然后那个男人笑着低下头看了看自己身上破旧的牛仔裤和可笑的蓝毛衣。
“不是，”他说，带着一个温暖的笑容抬头重新看向Dean，“他们把我的戏份和Seb一起推到了明天，所以现在我可以走了。”他重新迈了一步回到Dean的空间里，那么随意地把手臂搭在他肩上，就好像他根本没注意。Dean感到有些如鲠在喉，他意识到这似乎是这个Cas和“Jensen Ackles”相处的最完美而自然的方式。
当看到Dean没有能够用任何一种他期待的方式来回应，这个不是Cas的Cas微微皱了皱眉，用一种熟悉得令人心痛的方式偏了偏头，“你没事吧，Jen？”
Jen？Dean咽了口口水颠颠儿地点头，“啊，对。是的。我很好。非常好。只是有点儿累。”
他在发抖，他知道他是，但不是Cas的Cas只是专注地看着他，就好像并没有完全从角色中脱离出来一样，于是Dean稍微感到了一丝放松，并且开始试图无视这个男人的手臂搭着他的感觉有多棒。
“好～～～吧～！”不是Cas的Cas带着一个缓缓的笑容缩回身子，而马上Dean就为他压低声音说话的方式感到喉咙发紧，这听起来更像是他认识的某人了，“嗯，也许一会儿我能帮你放松一下。”
Dean的呼吸随着他的言语变得粗重，而这个男人笑得更开心了。Sam强忍着不发出震惊的尖叫，不是Cas的Cas把视线从Dean身上撕下来转向他。
“噢拜托Jared，别假装好像你从没见过比这更糟的好吗。”
Sam这会的表情很可能很苦逼，但Dean根本无暇顾及他怎么了。男人带着一个更加温和的笑容转向Dean，抬起一只手戳了戳他迅速升温的脸颊。
“说真的，Jen，”他说，声音突然严肃起来而颜色也正经起来，“你确定你没事吗？”
Dean点了头但那男人明显不买账，但他仍然放过了Dean，于是Dean在心里默默感谢了一下上帝的小小恩惠。
不是Cas的Cas叹了口气，用手指在脸上轻弹，就挨着他的脖子，于是Dean真心希望他没发现自己的心跳得有多快。
“我就陪你们走到这儿了，再见伙计们以及你们可疑的计划，”男人笑着说，环在他腰上的手臂轻微地收紧，“你回家还是吃晚饭？”
噢我了个去。Dean的脑子飞快地旋转，这听起来好像哪个假的他和这个假Cas过着某种又诡异又基的幸福生活。这他妈的听起来就好像他该回家吃晚饭一样。
“好的。”他的呼吸顿了一拍，他说了什么？这真的不是他本想说的话。
“好的。”不是Cas的Cas笑了，他熟悉的蓝眼睛里有太多感情，这狠狠击中了Dean，比朝着他的胃猛揍一发更有效。在他的肺能再次想起来如何呼吸之前，一对柔软的，干燥的唇覆上他的唇，Dean觉得他似乎再也不会呼吸了。它们贴着他的唇就好像它们属于那儿。就好像在这之前它们已经到过那儿无数次，并且今后还会到访更多。
当不是Cas的Cas微笑着结束这个吻时，他们仍然贴得很近，近到他们鼻尖相触。
“那么，一会儿见。”他低语着在他脸上印下一个纯洁的吻，并在放手前最后搂了搂他的腰，然后退后。
“明天见，大麋鹿！”他朝着Sam调皮地笑了笑，而直到他从视线里消失，Dean才看到他的兄弟抬起手笨拙地挥动。不是Cas的Cas退后几步与Dean对上目光，这诡异地让他想起他的Cas，直到他夸张地倾身敬了个礼然后转身。
Dean睁大了眼睛看着他直到他转过一个墙角，于是他的视线被徒留在了一片空气里。他非常努力地不去想为什么他没有叫住那家伙，不论出于什么原因。
Sam在他身后咳得昏天黑地，而Dean自不是Cas的Cas来了之后，第一次转身去看他。Sam举着手机一副嘲讽脸。
“所以，”他一脸怪相地说，“事实证明Jensen Ackles和Misha Collins是这种关系。”
“什么？”Dean心虚地反问。
“那个Cas的扮演者，”Sam说，指着手机上不是Cas的Cas的照片，“他叫Misha。并且你们在一起了，自从，”他再次低头看了一眼手机，“去年开始。”
“在一起，”Dean说，这词让他有点晕，尽管在Misha用那种方式亲过他之后这已经非常他妈的明显了，“我和那个假的Cas，”他的手有些颤抖地捋了一把头发，“这真是太他妈操蛋得可爱了。”
Sam抱歉地耸耸肩，他看Dean的方式让Dean真的不大想明白。
“得了吧，”Sam说，同情地看着Dean然后把他向几步之外的拖车们拉过去，“我们需要弄明白这里他妈的到底发生了什么，否则你就和那货过家家去吧。”Dean同意了，并且试图假装和真Cas过家家的想法完全不诱人，无视当他再次想起那些唇瓣在他嘴上停留的感觉时有多兴奋。
回家去见那家伙很危险，Dean有足够的自知之明来确定这点。他不用看他的Cas都知道人们会知道他有多渴望亲吻那双嘴唇。他不需要看到那双手都知道他的肌肤有多渴望因它们的轻抚触碰而颤栗。他不用看到那双手臂都知道在那对臂弯中会有多安心。
于是Dean和Sam钻进了Jensen的拖车，迫切地寻找解决方案。当Sam傻笑着指着被装裱起来的Jensen和Misha一起对着镜头傻笑，并且双臂紧紧缠绕在一起的照片，Dean皱了皱眉并且暗搓搓地小声抱怨。
“不管怎样，这货的名字可他妈的是叫Misha。”

And here's the original piece if you guys are interested in this！
Post it earlier but I lost the link of tumblr…so here's the author's mainpage if you like it！You can give your feedback here to noangelsinthegarrison！
Http://noangelsinthegarrison.tumblr.com
“Dear Castiel, who art maybe running his ass away from Heaven, we pray that you have your ears on. So… Breaker, breaker?”
Dean opens his eyes slowly but no luck. Whatever weird-ass world they’ve fallen into, they seem to have fallen into it without Cas. Which is fine, whatever. They’ve gotten out of worse scrapes than this without him.
Sam closes his eyes with a sigh and rubs his face frustratedly. Yep. That’s pretty much what Dean’s feeling too.
“Okay so, any plan B?” Dean asks hopefully after a minute of standing there silently, hoping despite himself that he’ll hear that tell-tale sound of fluttering wings.
Sam opens his eyes and Dean can see the gears in his head grind to a jarring halt and he only has a second to wonder what the hell’s managed to make him speechless before he feels a pair of very strong, very warm, very male arms wind around his waist and pull him tightly back against a very solid chest.
“Hey handsome,” a voice says in his ear and Dean shivers at the sound of it. There’s something familiar about it, like it’s almost a voice he knows, “What was plan A?”
Sam is staring wide-eyed at whoever it is currently holding Dean prisoner and when Dean feels warm, gentle hands slip beneath his shirt to stroke affectionately at heated skin he jumps and spins around. Whoever this dude is has some serious personal spa–
And then Dean’s head joins Sam’s in complete system error.
It’s Cas. Except it’s definitely not Cas. He looks the same and yet he doesn’t look the same and Dean’s pretty sure his mouth is hanging open.
“You’re not Cas,” he says with wide eyes and the man grins and looks down at his worn jeans and ridiculous blue sweater.
“Nope,” he says, looking back up at Dean with a warm smile, “They pushed back my scene with Seb until tomorrow so I’m free to go.” He steps back into Dean’s space and winds an arm around him so casually it’s like he barely notices. Something sticks in Dean’s throat at the thought that this seems to be a perfectly natural way for this Cas and ‘Jensen Ackles’ to behave.
Not-Cas frowns a little when Dean fails to respond in whatever way he’s expected to and tilts his head in a way that’s painfully familiar, “You okay, Jen?”
Jen? Dean swallows and nods jerkily, “Uh Yeah. Yes. I’m fine. Good. Tired.”
He’s rambling, he knows he is but Not-Cas just looks at him fondly like that’s not entirely out of character so Dean relaxes just a little, and tries to ignore the way this man’s arm around him feels kind of nice.
“Okaaay,” Not-Cas drawls with a slow grin, and Dean’s throat tightens at the way his voice lowers, sounding more like the one he recognises, “Well maybe later I can help you relax.”
Dean’s breath catches audibly and the man’s grin widens. Sam lets out some kind of strangled squeak of surprise and Not-Cas tears his eyes away from Dean to roll his eyes at him.
“Oh please Jared, don’t pretend like you haven’t seen worse than this.”
Sam’s face is probably a picture of mortification right now, but Dean is too busy trying to process what’s happening to turn and look. The man turns back to Dean with a gentler smile and lifts one hand to touch his rapidly heating cheek.
“Seriously Jen,” he says, voice suddenly serious and eyes kind, “You sure you’re okay?”
Dean nods and the man clearly isn’t buying it, but he lets it go all the same and Dean thanks God for small mercies. Not-Cas sighs and lets his fingers stroke softly down his cheek to rest tenderly against his neck and Dean really hopes he can’t feel how fast his heart is beating.
“I’m gonna head off then, leave you guys to your suspicious plans,” the man says with a small smile, arm around his waist tightening slightly, “You gonna be home for dinner?”
Oh son of a bitch. Dean’s head is spinning, there is no way fake-him lives with fake-Cas in some kind of weird, gay, domestic bliss. Like hell is he going to be home for dinner.
“Sure,” he breathes and what? That’s really not what he’d meant to say.
“Okay,” Not-Cas smiles and there’s so much emotion in his familiar blue eyes that it knocks the wind out of Dean more effectively than a blow to the stomach. Before his lungs remember just how to take in air, there’s a pair of soft, chapped lips pressed against his and Dean feels like he’s never going to breathe again. They linger against him like they belong there. Like they’ve been there hundreds of times before and will be there a hundred times more.
When Not-Cas pulls away it’s with a smile and he’s still close enough that his nose is nudging Dean’s.
“See you later then,” he murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss against his cheek and giving his waist a final squeeze before letting go and stepping back.
“See you tomorrow, Pada-Moose!” he grins playfully at Sam and out the corner of his eye, Dean sees his brother raise his hand in an awkward wave. Not-Cas walks backwards for a while, holding eye contact with Dean in a way that’s weirdly reminiscent of his Cas, before he salutes exaggeratedly and turns.
Dean watches him with wide eyes until he turns a corner and he’s left staring at an empty space. He tries very hard not to wonder why he didn’t tell the dude to back off at any point.
Sam coughs awkwardly from behind him and for the first time since Not-Cas arrived, Dean turns to look at him. Sam holds up his phone with a grimace.
“So,” he says with a grimace, “Turns out Jensen Ackles and Misha Collins are kind of a thing.”
“What?” Dean asks weakly.
“The actor who plays Cas,” Sam says, gesturing to the spot Not-Cas had been, “His name’s Misha. And you’ve been together since,” he looks down at his phone again, “Last year.”
“Together,” Dean says, the word sending him reeling even though it had been pretty damn obvious by the way Misha had kissed him, “Me and fake Cas,” he runs a shaky hand through his hair, “What the ever loving fuck.”
Sam shrugs apologetically and there’s something in the way he looks at Dean that Dean really doesn’t want to analyse.
“Come on,” Sam says, taking pity on Dean and steering him towards the collection of trailers a few feet away, “We need to find out what the hell’s going on and fast, or you’re gonna be playing house with the guy.”
Dean agrees and tries to pretend the thought of playing house with the real Cas is completely unpleasant and ignores the treacherous feeling of excitement at the thought of feeling those lips on his again.
Going home to the guy would be dangerous, Dean has enough self-insight to know that for sure. He doesn’t need to look at his Cas and know what those lips would feel like pressing eagerly into his own. He doesn’t need to look at those hands and know what they’d feel like stroking goosebumps into his skin. He doesn’t need to look at those arms and know what it’s like to feel safe in them.
So Dean settles with Sam inside Jensen’s trailer and searches desperately for a solution and when Sam smirks and points out the framed picture of Jensen and Misha smiling goofily at the camera with arms wrapped familiarly around each other, Dean just frowns and grumbles darkly under his breath.
“What the hell kind of name is Misha anyway.”

同样没有存原文的地址。。。戳这里反馈！
http://noangelsinthegarrison.tumblr.com
“你真他妈的棒。”Dean在他身后的某处如此说道，Cas从他正坐着的地堡里的旧沙发上转过身来。Dean靠着门框，手里拿着一瓶廉价的威士忌，调笑地看着他。
Cas佯怒地一笑并翻了翻眼睛，“你也是，Dean。但我认为也许你该去睡觉了。”
“不--”Dean哀鸣着看着Cas站起来，伸过手架起他的胳膊开始把他往外带，“别啊你听我说，我查过了！”他抓住搭在他手臂上的手，温热的手指缠进Cas的指缝，这让Cas感到脸颊充血，他希望Dean没有注意到他几乎因此而沉醉。
他踉踉跄跄地把Dean带到卧室，当Dean放开他的手时，Cas试图用困惑皱眉的表情掩饰他更加臊红的脸（他试图不去想失去那些手指带来的无情的温暖有多么冷），并因此而感到更加兴奋。
“我查过字典了，Cas！”他吃吃地笑着，看起来自豪得有些可笑，于是Cas忍不住笑出声来。
“你在说什么，Dean？”他问，微笑着看着Dean翻开字典用手指在纸页上划过一个个词条。
Dean清了清嗓子抑扬顿挫地念道，“Awesome：令人非常难忘或赞叹不已的激动人心的感觉；极度的印象深刻；鼓舞人心的。”Dean抬起头欢快地对他笑着说，“这正是你！”
Cas低下头无声地轻笑，“你喝醉了，Dean。”他说着，轻轻摇头，抬起眼看进Dean眼里。
Dean只是再次清了清喉咙并提高了音量，“同义词！”他读着，Cas再次笑出声来，走上前去让他安静，推着他坐到床边。
Dean看起来有点惊讶，之后又为这态度的突然转变而感到一丝疑惑，但很快愉悦的笑容爬上他的嘴角，他伸出一只手一把握住Cas的手腕，把他拉向自己让他坐在自己身边。Cas很乐意坐在他身边，非常努力地试图不要为Dean轻微摇摆身体的方式而笑出声（并且希望Dean不要注意到他突然在Dean的手指触碰下加快的脉搏）。
“同义词，”Dean重复道，他一手握着Cas的手腕，一手横过字典用Cas的手指着下一个词，“攫夺呼吸的，令人赞叹的，极好的。”
Cas的鼻息随着Dean从大部头的字典里抬头并与他视线相交而变得急促，他的拇指温柔地摩擦以感受涌动在Cas皮肤下的脉搏。
然后Dean微笑着，这次是个柔和的抿着嘴的笑容，然后他向前倾身就着这个动作和表情轻轻在那人微微发红的脸上轻触一吻。
“你真棒。”他叹息着低语道，那么轻柔得近乎虔诚，像是吐露一个秘密，Cas感到它们流窜过他容器的每条脉络，渗进他借来的荣光里，令他沉醉晕眩。
很快Dean面带笑意地坠入梦乡，他带着小雀斑的脸颊靠在Cas的肩膀上；而当他在第二天清晨醒来，他发现当他的床垫上有两个重量时睡起来会更舒服。

Ashamed of taping this, but I didn't know how to check the link with the tumblr client for phones the days earlier...but I've learnt now! So I can post the original link of tumblr for the works after this one!
http://noangelsinthegarrison.tumblr.com
“Miss me already?” Jensen greets as he answers the phone. He’s standing in the middle of the cereal aisle, frowning at the wide range of choices in front of him and wondering again why Misha insists on trying something different every week. He’s losing track of what he hasn’t had yet.
“Yeah so we’re out of kale,” Misha says, without preamble, and Jensen rolls his eyes.
“Uh, noooo,” he says slowly, “There’re two bags in the fridge.”
“No, there aren’t,” Misha says firmly and Jensen frowns.
“Yes there are. I checked before I left.”
“Well yeah they were there then. But now they’re not.”
Jensen blinks slightly.
“Mish, I’ve been gone literally,” he checks his watch, “fifteen minutes. There’s no way you just ate all that.”
He hears Misha sigh, a little sheepishly, “Well no. I didn’t exactly… there was a mishap.”
Jensen groans, “Mishaaa. What the hell kind of – actually you know what? Don’t tell me.”
Misha chuckles a little over the line, and Jensen sighs, “The kitchen better look exactly how I left it when I get home.”
“Depends what you mean by exactly…”
Jensen closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He counts to ten and tells himself that in all likelihood, Misha’s exaggerating to wind him up. He takes a breath.
“So,” Misha says and Jensen opens his eyes and throws the nearest cereal into the cart, “kale?”
“No,” Jensen says firmly, “I’m not enabling whatever it is you’re doing.”
“I’m trying to eat healthily!”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have wasted the two perfectly good bags we had at home!” Jensen snaps, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
There’s a silence for all of three seconds before Misha responds.
“I want a divorce.”
Jensen snorts, “We’re not married.”
“Well not anymore we’re not!” Misha answers, petulantly, and Jensen snorts again.
“Good to know the survival of our fictional marriage rests on whether I supply you with kale.”
“Obviously,” Misha says, completely deadpan, “You’re the hunter-gatherer. If you fail, I really am forced to look elsewhere for a more sufficient mate.”
Jensen rolls his eyes, “Wow I’m so glad I fictional-married you,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his tongue but smile creeping slowly onto his face, “You’re so romantic.”
“What am I supposed to do if you won’t provide for me, Jensen?” Misha cries, and Jensen can imagine him flinging himself dramatically back against the couch cushions, “What’s a poor, helpless househusband to do?!”
“How about not destroying the house while I’m out ‘hunting and gathering’!” Jensen replies, grinning, “Maybe I’m the one who needs a ‘more sufficient mate’.”
Misha huffs indignantly and Jensen laughs loudly, startling a couple of unwary shoppers next to him.
“Hey,” Misha says thoughtfully, and Jensen feels the familiar sense of whiplash he gets from Misha’s sudden change of tone, “If we actually did get married, would we change our names to Cockles?”
“No.” Jensen says firmly, but he’s still grinning and he knows Misha can tell.
“Yes we would,” Misha answers, and Jensen knows he’s grinning too.
“You’re a weirdo,” Jensen says fondly, “Now go tidy the kitchen.”
“Will you get the kale?”
“No.” He says firmly, and hangs up.
He shoves his phone back in his pocket and sighs with a laugh.
Five bags of kale later he heads to the checkout, smile still stubbornly in place.

“Uh, hi Cas. Can I come in?”
Cas frowns, “You are in, Dean.”
Dean huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes, shutting the door behind him, “Yeah I guess I am. Look buddy,” he says, excitement teetering dangerously close to nervousness now that those blue eyes look at him so intently, “I just wanted to apologise. For earlier. I was, uh,” he rubs the back of his neck and moves forward, “That was out of line, man.”
Cas sighs and stands up, turning away from Dean and shrugging, “You’ve nothing to apologise for, Dean. It’s not your fault I believed Sam’s prank.”
“No, but,” Dean wishes he’d planned this out a little better, “I shouldn’t have – I mean I – son of a bitch, Cas, you should just tell me when I’m being an oblivious asshole, you know.”
Cas turns to look at him then, almost nervous, shoulders hunched as if bracing himself. He looks like he’s not quite sure what to say and Dean steps forward before he can figure it out.
“Hey, uh, I know I said the apple thing was bullshit,” he says, reaching into his pocket to curl his fingers around what he’d spent the last half hour looking for, “but I thought I could show you something that actually works?”
Dean reaches a hand out towards him and opens his palm. Cas looks at the small, perfectly white flower in Dean’s hand for a long moment before looking back up at Dean, his head tilted.
“That’s a daisy.”
Dean rolls his eyes, “Yeah. You know what daisies do?”
“Not much,” Cas says, still frowning, “Although I believe they can be used as a potherb – ”
“Cas,” Dean whines, closing his eyes briefly, “Look, I planned a whole thing here. Will you please just let me tell you about the damn daisy?”
Cas closes his mouth guiltily and nods, and Dean sighs. He takes another step until he can take one of Cas’s hands in his free one, and turn Cas’s palm upwards to place the daisy there. Cas’s breathing sounds shallow from this close and Dean gives his hand a small squeeze before he lets go.
“Well, legend has it that if you’re unsure about how your – ” Dean coughs, “How someone feels about you, you should pull off the petals one by one. And for each one you say ‘he loves me’ or ‘he loves me not’ and whichever one falls on the last petal is the one that’s true.”
Dean thanks whoever’s listening that Sam isn’t in the room right now. He’s a hundred percent sure that he’s blushing like a teenager and he knows this is cheesy as hell but the way Cas is looking at him… Well, Dean kind of feels like he’s losing his grasp on the balloons in his chest. There’s still wariness there, a slight sadness that suggests Cas is half expecting this to be another cruel joke or thoughtless rejection, but there’s hope there too and a tentative spark of understanding.
Cas’s hands are shaking a little when he reaches down to pull off the first petal, and his gaze rests unwavering and wide-eyed on the flower in his hands, but Dean doesn’t take his eyes off Cas’s face. Cas’s voice is low and quiet as he recites the words and he’s moving slowly enough that it’s clear he’s nervous about reaching the last one.
Dean has to make a conscious effort not to bounce up and down on his feet as he watches. He knows what the last one will be, he counted the petals meticulously to make sure this would work out, but time is moving slowly enough that’s he’s beginning to second guess himself; starting to worry that he’d counted wrong or that Cas doesn’t actually feel the same at all or that they’d be ambushed by a pack of rabid werewolves before he even reaches the end.
Cas’s breath hitches.
He stares at the last petal for several seconds before he plucks it off and cradles it in his palm.
“He loves me,” he says, and looks up.
Dean is looking back through his eyelashes, heart struggling wildly against the threads keeping it grounded, and he really hopes Cas gets what he was trying to say here because he really doesn’t think –
Cas kisses him. And Dean lets go of his heart strings altogether.

搬过来了!!!楼主辛苦了<3 我才不会说我又重头看一遍了呢

楼主辛苦了好棒啊啊啊啊啊啊啊

o(≥v≤)o~~好棒楼主求继续

tumblr地址：
http://noangelsinthegarrison.tumblr.com/post/81115603294/dean-im-not-sure-if-this-will-get-to-you-or-if
Dean，
我不确定你是否会收到这封信，或者你是否会愿意读它，毕竟你不认识我，但我想你该知道，我觉得你很美。
Cas
*
“Dean？”
“嘿，Sammy，”Dean眨眨眼，放下手上的信，“猜猜这是什么！”Dean听到电话的另一头传来一声模糊的叹息，想象着伴随着这声叹息的白眼，他脸上的笑容扩得更大。“什么？”
“我有一个粉丝了！”
Dean几乎能听到Sam的表情有多婊，“Dean，每晚都有很多人为你挤在门口，这真的不是什么新闻。”
“不，我的意思是说一个真正的粉丝！他给我留了一张字条以及一切！”
Sam停顿了好一会儿才找回舌头，“…啥？”
Dean笑得那么开心，那么专注地盯着那封信，以至于走路的时候几乎撞倒他摩托旁的一个孩子。他停下步子，靠在墙上，呼吸着湿润的空气，这让他由衷地兴奋，暖意直到脚趾。“我不知道，哥们儿，我正要从剧院离开，门卫塞给我这张纸，告诉我有个穿着一件'丑爆了的破风衣'的家伙让他把它交给我！”
“噢是吗？”Sam这会儿听起来有点儿兴趣了，“上面说了什么？”
“他觉得我很美！”Dean眨了眨眼，睫毛轻轻扇动，Sam笑着就好像他能透过声音看到电话那头的哥哥的样子。
“哦好吧，所以他明显是个疯子。”
Dean对此嗤之以鼻，“闭嘴，凑婊杂，我就是这么可爱。”
Sam再次笑出声来，而Dean忍不住再次想到要是加利福尼亚离伊利诺意斯没这么远就好了。
“哥们儿，说真的，你其实觉得这家伙可能是个特级怪咖，对吧？”
Dean的笑容有点僵硬，他从那封短信里抬起头，“为什么？因为他觉得我很棒？”
Sam叹了一口气，“不，因为他为了一个他以前从未见过的家伙写了一封短信交给门卫转交！谁会这么做啊？”
Dean再次低头看信，用拇指蹭过信底的落款，“也许他人不错呢！”
Sam叹气，“是啊，”他说，心力交瘁疑虑重重，“也许。”
“你怎么说都行。”Dean皱着眉挂断电话，突然觉得有些窝火。他把纸条扔到地上，用外套紧紧包裹自己。
然而他只走出了五步，就倒回去把纸条捡了回来。
*
Dean，
上一次我给你写信，是在我看了一场我的兄弟让我去看的表演之后。但这一次，我来看表演完全是出于我自己的意思。我一直以为花时间看芭蕾对我来说是个太过漫长又沉闷的煎熬，但我发现我已然完全为你神魂颠倒。
Cas
*
“让我开门见山地说吧，”扬起眉毛，脸上带着玩世不恭的痞笑，“在我强行拉你去看了一场很棒的芭蕾表演之后，你已经在这几个月里再次去看了不止三次芭蕾表演了，但你竟然还给那个迷人的领舞男孩儿写了情书？”
Cas叹着气瞥了一眼他的兄弟，“你并没有强行拉我去，Balthazar，别这么自夸。而且它们不是情书。我只是…很欣赏他的工作。”
Balthazar对此很不屑，“Cassie，如果你欣赏一个人的工作，你会在表演结束的时候鼓掌，或许还会向你的朋友提起并称赞。而不是把几百几百的美元花在芭蕾表演上，也不会写小纸条让保安转交。你现在做的这些，这叫迷恋。”
Cas脸红了。Balthazar当然是对的，这毫无疑问。而这真的很可笑，他知道的。在过去25年里他一直和Balthazar争论，试图说明芭蕾有多无聊多假，而改变这一切的只是一个美丽的男人，他有着晶莹的绿眼睛，脸颊上星星点点地洒着一些可爱的雀斑，而Cas如此为之着迷。这很疯狂，一点儿也不像他，Cas只要一想起他就怦然心动，但他的兄弟说的没说。
他对Dean Winchester无可救药地着迷。而他甘之如饴。

here is the link:):
http://noangelsinthegarrison.tumblr.com/post/81115603294/dean-im-not-sure-if-this-will-get-to-you-or-if
Enjoy the story^^<3
（by noangelsinthegarrison）
Dean,
I’m not sure if this will get to you, or if you will even care to read it as you do not know me, but I thought you should know that I think you are beautiful.
Cas
*
“Dean?”
“Hey, Sammy,” Dean grins, staring down at the slip of paper in his hands, “Guess what!”
Dean hears a crackly sigh from the other end of the line and grins even harder when he imagines the accompanying eye roll. “What?”
“I have a fan!”
Dean can almost hear the bitchface, “Dean, you have people crowding the stage door every night, this really isn’t news.”
“No, I mean like an actual fan! He left me a note and everything!”
There’s a moment’s pause while Sam processes the words, “…What?”
Dean is grinning so hard and staring so intently at the note that he almost knocks a kid right off his bike. He stops walking and leans against a wall, breath clouding in the air in front of him but excitement warming him all the way to his toes. “I don’t know, man, I was just leaving the theatre and the door guy gave me this slip of paper and told me some dude in an ‘ugly-ass trenchcoat’ left it for me!”
“Oh yeah?” Sam sounds interested now, “What’s it say?”
“He thinks I’m beautiful!” Dean flutters his eyelashes and Sam laughs as if he can see him.
“Oh okay, so he’s clearly a lunatic.”
Dean huffs. “Shut up, bitch, I’m adorable.”
Sam laughs again and Dean wishes again that California weren’t so far from Illinois.
“Dude, seriously, you do realise this guy is probably a class-A weirdo, right?”
Dean’s smile slips a little and he looks up from the note, “Why? Because he thinks I’m good?”
Sam sighs, “No, because he left a note with the door guy for a guy he’s never met! Who does that?”
Dean looks at the note again and runs his thumb across the signature along the bottom, “Maybe he’s just a nice guy!”
Sam sighs. “Yeah,” he says, longsuffering and unconvincing, “maybe.”
“Whatever.” Dean frowns and hangs up, suddenly annoyed. He drops the note to the ground and wraps his coat tighter around himself.
He only makes it 5 steps before he’s turning round and picking it back up again.
*
Dean,
The last time I wrote you a note it was following a performance my brother made me attend. But this time I attended all on my own. I always thought ballet would be a rather tedious use of my time, but I find myself utterly captivated by you.
Cas
*
“So let me get this straight,” Balthazar says, eyebrows raised and amused smirk on his face, “after having to forcibly drag you to that bloody ballet; you not only go again, 3 times in as many months, but you’re also writing love notes to the hot male lead?”
Cas sighs and glares at his brother, “You did not forcibly drag me, Balthazar, don’t exaggerate. And they’re not love notes. I just… appreciate his work.”
Balthazar snorts. “Cassie, you appreciate someone’s work, you clap when it’s over and maybe recommend it to a friend. You don’t spend hundreds of dollars on ballet performances or leave notes with security guards. What you have is a crush.”
Cas blushes. Balthazar’s right of course, there’s no denying it. And it’s ridiculous really, he knows it is. He’s spent the last 25 years arguing with Balthazar about how dull and pretentious ballet is and all it takes is one beautiful man with green eyes and a galaxy of freckles scattered across his cheeks and Cas is hooked. It’s crazy, and out of character and makes Cas’s heart flutter in his chest at the thought of it, but his brother is right.
He has a crush on Dean Winchester. And he’s so screwed.

*
Dean,
It has been brought to my attention that this is not considered socially appropriate. I’m sorry if I have made you feel uncomfortable, I only wished you to know that I never had any interest in ballet before I saw you. My brother thinks it’s pathetic, how incapable I am of looking away from you, but he also thinks obscenely low V-neck shirts are still in fashion so I tend not to listen to him.
Cas
*
Dean leans against the wall next to the stage door and laughs, a familiar warmth seeping up from the note, through his fingertips and up past his ribs to the tips of his ears. He swipes his thumb softly over the signature like he always does and wonders again who ‘Cas’ is.
He’s smart, Dean knows that much from the way he writes, and he must be relatively wealthy. Tickets to the ballet really aren’t cheap, after all. He has at least one brother who Dean likes to think is older, as Cas talks about him with the same fond exasperation that Sam talks about Dean.
He doesn’t know much about people, that much is clear from his formal, awkward way of writing, but he’s also the kind of person who takes the time to make a complete stranger feel good about themselves. So he’s kind, and Dean can’t help but hope that innocence never fades.
He’s funny too, though Dean suspects that part is unintentional. He has a quiet kind of humour that’s so inexplicably endearing that Dean feels ridiculous about it, and it’s while he’s laughing softly that his agent (and incidentally his best friend) appears next to him, draping a heavy arm over his shoulder and startling Dean into stuffing the note quickly into his pocket.
“Hey brother, what you grinnin’ about?”
“Nothing,” Dean says a little too quickly, “Just happy the last show went so well.”
Benny laughs and draws him closer, pressing a loud, exaggerated kiss to his cheek, “Congratulations, Twinkletoes.”
Dean shoves him away with a snort, “You’re just jealous you can’t dance for shit.”
Benny rolls his eyes, “Yeah,” he drawls, “but luckily for my bank account, you can.”
“Aw,” Dean bats his eyelashes at his friend, “You always say the sweetest things.”
Benny shoves at him, grinning, and they start the short walk to the hotel around the corner. They don’t talk much, but Dean finds himself enjoying the quiet. He fingers the note in his pocket gently and wonders whether he’ll ever hear from Cas again.
“So, Washington next week. You ready to say goodbye to Chicago?”
Dean stubbornly ignores the sudden ache in his chest and nods. He listens to Benny tell him about his rehearsal schedule for his next show and tries not to think about why the small slip of paper feels a little heavier than it did before.
*
Dean,
Is it ‘creepy’ of me to fly across the country just to see you on opening night? Balthazar seems to think so. I apologise if I come across as a ‘stalker’. I will not apologise, however, for thinking this performance even better than your last. You tell a story better than any writer ever could, Dean. I am honoured to have witnessed it.
Cas
*
“Oh my God, I thought Balthazar was exaggerating.”
Cas glares up at his oldest brother, “Hello to you too, Gabriel, please come in.”
“Oh-ho!” Crows Gabriel, flinging himself onto the couch and stretching out with his feet flung unceremoniously across Cas’s lap, “A comedian now, are we?”
Cas pushes his feet off and sighs, “What are you doing here, Gabriel?”
“What, I can’t pop in and see my baby bro on a Saturday night?”
Cas just stares, impatiently.
“Fine,” Gabriel rolls his eyes, “Balthazar told me you flew to Washington in February. To see a ballet. And that now you’re sulking because you can’t go to California until June. To see another ballet.”
“I’m not sulking,” Cas says, petulantly and Gabriel snorts.
“Yeah, okay. Except you have unwashed dishes still on the table, no tie, and your ridiculous coat is on the floor in the hall.” Cas puts down the paper he was grading and sighs. Gabriel’s face softens a little. “What’s going on, Cas?”
Cas blushes and lets his head fall back against the sofa, “It’s opening night tonight.”
Gabriel nudges his thigh with a foot, “You’re talking about Mr Tall, Hot and Flexible, right?”
Cas groans and covers his face with his hands, “He’s so flexible, Gabriel, it’s ridiculous.”
Gabriel laughs and nudges Cas’s thigh again. Cas bats his foot away half-heartedly and turns to look at him.
“His name’s Dean. And he’s really stupidly attractive, and when he dances, he feels it, you know? And it makes me feel like I know him, even though I don’t. He makes me feel like… like he’s dancing just for me.”
Gabriel rolls his eyes, “Wow you’re overdramatic when you’re horny.”
Cas glares again, “That’s not what this is, Gabriel.”
Gabriel holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I know. It’s just… you’re really not sounding like you right now, you know? Cas, you’re writing this guy love notes.”
Cas is going to kill Balthazar, “They’re not love notes!”
“Cas,” Gabriel’s eyebrows almost disappear into his hair, “Why don’t you just wait at the stage door? You know normal people don’t travel across the country just to leave a note.”
Cas sighs again and looks away from his brother. He remembers that night in December, giving the note to the doorman and leaving with his head down. He remembers turning around again, the thought of this being Dean’s last night making him brave, and rounding the corner to see a handsome, broad-shouldered man press a kiss against Dean’s freckled cheek, an arm flung familiarly around him.
Cas had walked straight back home, determined for all of three weeks that he wouldn’t bother looking up where Dean was going next.
“He has a boyfriend,” Cas says eventually, and tries to believe he doesn’t care.
“So why leave the notes at all?”
“Because the notes aren’t for me.” Cas snaps, and Gabriel looks confused, “I’m not writing them in the hope that he will somehow fall in love with me. This isn’t some ridiculous scheme to get him into bed.”
“Then what the hell is it, Castiel?”
Cas shrugs and leans his head back against the couch again, “I just want him to feel good about himself, you know? I just… he deserves to know he matters.”
Gabriel sighs and shakes his head. He stands and pulls Cas up with him.
“Alright, Casanova, I’m getting you out of the house.”
He ruffles Cas’s hair like he used to when they were kids and Cas pushes his hand away with a smile, “No,” he says firmly, but they both know he’s fighting a losing battle, “I have hundreds of papers still to grade.”
“Yep and you won’t be able to concentrate properly until you’ve got some food in your belly and some fresh air in your lungs.” He drags Cas out into the hallway and shoves his crumpled coat into his arms, “And if I hear one more mournful sigh over Mr. McDreamy, I’ll follow you to CA next month and tell him about the time you got drunk and – ”
Cas throws a scarf at his brother’s face as he pulls on his shoes, but he still follows him out of the door with a grin on his face.

*
Dean,
I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to opening night this time, I had approximately five million papers to grade and apparently wanting to attend a ballet performance in San Francisco was not a good enough excuse to ignore them. After seeing you tonight I find myself stubbornly disagreeing. You make an incredible prince, Dean.
Cas
*
Dean grunts in frustration. He just can’t get enough turns into this damn pirouette. He takes a long drag from his water bottle and starts the music again from the top.
He loves dancing at this time of night. It’s quiet, everyone else having gone home hours ago, and Dean appreciates the peace that comes from dancing alone. It winds him down for the night, not having to dance for anyone else, not having his movements dictated and scrutinised. It’s freeing. Relaxing. And Dean feels happiest when he can just close his eyes and let the music take him where it wants.
As the music reaches a crescendo, Dean throws himself from a grand jeté through into a pirouette and he’s so immersed in it he doesn’t even hear the door open.
“So who’s Cas?”
Dean stumbles.
Benny is standing with his arms folded, leaning against the barre and smirking.
Dean coughs and rubs the back of his neck, “Who?” he asks, not meeting Benny’s eyes.
Benny holds up a handful of notes and raises his eyebrows, “Cas.”
If Dean weren’t already flushed from dancing, he’s pretty sure he’d be blushing like crazy right now. He scowls at his friend and strides over to snatch the notes out of his hands. He frowns down at them and smooths the creases out. Damn Benny and his massive, clumsy hands.
“What the hell, dude! These were in my wallet!”
“You left it at my place last night. Just bein’ helpful.”
“By going through it?!” Dean snaps, taking his wallet from Benny a little more forcefully than necessary, and putting the notes carefully back inside.
Benny raises his hands, “Alright well, someone’s a little touchy.”
Dean glares up at him again and starts to stretch, more to avoid eye contact than anything. Benny sighs.
“Dean, come on. She’s obviously not a nobody.”
“He,” Dean corrects, almost without thinking.
“What?”
“Cas is a he,” Dean risks a look at his best friend and sighs, “and I don’t know who he is. I’ve never met him.”
Benny’s eyebrows climb even higher, “And yet he writes you love notes?”
Dean really does blush at that and his foot nearly slips right off where it rests on the barre, “They’re not love notes, man. He just… appreciates my work. And he leaves these little notes with the doorman whenever he sees a show, that’s all.”
Dean stares intently at his own feet as he leans down to press his hands to the floor and refuses to think about how much more the notes mean than that.
“Right,” Benny drawls, “That’s all. Dean, you have 11 notes from this guy in your wallet. When did this even start?”
Dean sighs and straightens up, leaning next to Benny against the barre, “Almost a year ago now.”
Benny lets out a low whistle and Dean lets his head fall back against the mirror behind them.
“He just…” Dean swallows and closes his eyes. He just what? Why does he carry the notes around with him? Why does he feel so warm every time he’s handed a new one? “He sees me.”
He can feel Benny’s eyes on the side of his face. It’s pathetic, he knows. It’s not even like he has a bad life. I mean yeah, he doesn’t see his little brother as often as he’d like and travelling around all the time means he doesn’t have that many friends, but he’s never been bothered about that before. He’s successful in a job he loves and he travels the country with his best friend by his side, so he doesn’t understand why all of a sudden these notes make him feel like he matters for the first time in his life. Why he reads them instead of talking to his brother whenever his dad doesn’t make it to one of his shows. Why stroking a thumb across the three letters at the bottom makes him feel connected to this guy somehow.
Benny claps a hand against his shoulder and when he opens his eyes he can see concern written all over his friend’s face. But he doesn’t say anything, just squeezes his shoulder and leaves, tipping his hat playfully at him on his way out, and Dean is so insanely grateful that he smiles all the way home.
*
Dean,
I have never been a fan of Romeo and Juliet, I find it overdramatic and unrealistic. But once again you have made something that should have been unremarkable into something beautiful and captivating. I think I will come back on closing night.
Cas
*
It’s weird, Cas thinks, how his life is exactly the same as it always was and yet he feels so different. He’d always considered himself a relatively content person, with brothers he’s close with and a job he enjoys. He used to let the days slip past him in pleasant routine, dinner with Balthazar on Friday nights, lunch with Gabriel on Tuesdays and Thursdays. On Saturdays he’d send an email to Anna to check that everything was okay and the rest of the weekend would be used for grading and lesson planning.
He always thought he was happy like this, and he doesn’t understand how his life has gone so suddenly from content to not enough without any of his daily routines changing.
Except he knows exactly how. Now, instead of enjoying weekends spent reading and talking to his sister, he itches for the time to pass, watching the dates roll by too slowly until he can see Dean again. Now, sometimes when he wakes up in the morning he rolls over to look at the empty side of the bed and wonders what it would be like to be in love. To have someone there who’d make him giddy with smiling too much, and happy instead of this restless kind of longing.
And if this person always ends up looking like Dean, Cas tries not to think about it. Except he can’t stop thinking about it. Even as his brothers start practically throwing people at him, blind date after blind date with eyes not the right shade of green or cheeks too clear to find constellations across their skin.

*
Dean,
Sometimes I wonder if you ever even get these notes or whether I’ve just been writing to no one all this time. I’ve lost count of how many notes I’ve written now and how many performances I’ve seen, but I know it was 2 years ago today that I first saw you. I hope you know that watching you means a lot to me, and that what you do brings people joy.
Cas
*
“Hey, Your Majesty. Got a minute?”
“Deano!” Charlie shouts and Dean laughs as he moves his phone away from his ear, “My favourite handmaiden! What the hell dude, it’s been like… a million years!”
Dean snorts, “It’s been 3 weeks at most, you weirdo.”
“Yeah well maybe I was talking in Narnian years.”
Dean frowns, “That makes no sense.”
“Yeah well, your face makes no sense.”
Dean chuckles. He’d bet his car that Charlie’s pouting right now. “If you’re done making witty comebacks, you think you could do me a favour?”
Charlie lets out a dramatic sigh, “Depends. Does it involve me getting up?”
Dean grins and flops down onto his couch, “You got your laptop on hand?”
“Duh.”
“Then no.”
“Okay then,” Charlie agrees, “What d’you need?”
Dean bites his lip for a second, running his fingers over note number 23, and clears his throat.
“D’you think you could find someone for me? His name’s Cas, C-a-s, but I’m guessing it’s short for something?” There’s a pause where Charlie doesn’t say anything, so he keeps going. “He’s a professor somewhere in Illinios, probably Chicago. And he has a brother called Balthazar and at least one more brother but I don’t know his name. And he wears a trenchcoat.”
The silence that follows only lasts a second before Charlie starts giggling.
“You slept with a professor? Dude that’s hot.”
Dean flushes and almost chokes on his own spit, “I didn’t sleep with Cas!” he splutters, but Charlie only laughs even harder. “I didn’t! Seriously Charlie, I’ve never even met the guy okay? Shut up!”
“Okay, okay!” Charlie says through her laughter, “Don’t get your tutu all in a bunch, I’m looking.”
And bless her, she does look. And she doesn’t ask any more questions even though Dean knows she’s dying to. And when she calls him back a couple of hours later she sounds genuinely sorry that she couldn’t find him.
“I’m sorry, Dean. There are a lot of schools in Illinois and I really can’t get very far with only ‘Cas’ to go on.”
Dean sighs and runs a hand over his face. He figured. “Okay, yeah. I get it. Thanks anyway, kiddo.”
“No problem, Natalie Portman.”
Dean groans and hangs up with a laugh. He starts ‘Swan Lake’ in 2 months and he fucking hates it. I mean sure, the money’s good and it’s Broadway so there’ll be a shit load of casting directors there but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. It’s one of those shows where the female lead gets all the good bits and he swears, for the millionth time this month, that one day he’s going to put together a male-led production.
*
Dean,
I think Swan Lake would be much improved by having you playing every role. Just something you might like to suggest to the director.
Cas
*
‘The Nutcracker’ is weird. He thinks it would probably be quite a confusing story to begin with but he’s pretty sure his lack of understanding stems from his inability to look away from Dean. Even more so than usual, that is.
There’s something off about him today, and it took a while for Cas to notice. His lines are still long and elegant and the shapes he makes as he flies his way around the stage are still mesmerising in their fluidity, but there’s a tightness around his lips that isn’t usually there. His brow is furrowed just a little, and sometimes Cas thinks his shoulders lie a little stiffer than they usually do.
He’s sad about something and Cas feels a pang of sorrow in his chest. He thinks about running a comforting hand through his hair to sooth the lines on his brow and kissing the corners of his mouth until his downturned lips stretch wide in a smile. He thinks about wrapping his arms around him and feeling him relax against his chest, the tense line of his shoulders loosening a little under Cas’s fingers.
But Dean has someone for that already and Cas feels his chest tighten at the thought.