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cloudy_ficTitle: Twitfics VI
Author: CloudyJenn
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairings: multiple pairings
Rating: R
Word Count: 14,000+
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. I am making no profit from this fanfiction.
Warnings: General Season 5 Spoilers/Vague Season Six references
Summary: Too many for one summary. Supernatural characters doing things!
Author's Notes: A sixth collection of ficlets from my twitter. Most of these are longer ficlets. None of them contain explicit references to Season Six (and please no spoilers in comments!). Also, having read this over before posting, I realize there's a lot of total crack here. Oh and because it's been months since the last time I posted a twitfic collection, I am only mostly certain none are repeats. Like 95% sure, so please forgive me if I accidentally reposted a ficlet in here. Enjoy!
Getting Settled
It's not that Dean doesn't like sleeping with the guy. But he's so used to being alone in bed that it's impossible to get comfortable. He tosses from one side to the other, punches the pillow, drags the blankets up and down. Basically makes a nuisance out of himself until finally Castiel heaves a sigh and presses a hand to his chest.
"Please stop," he says and he manages to not sound annoyed. "What's wrong?"
"I'm uncomfortable," Dean confesses, but doesn't want to elaborate. They have enough of an uphill climb without Dean adding his weird sleeping issues to the mix. He doesn't want to tell Castiel to scram because he really wants him there. But he can't just lay on him. Not without feeling like he should be doing something and he's too tired for 'something'.
"Would it help if I left?"
Dean's opinion on the matter is stronger than he imagined. He grabs Castiel's arm and pins it down, as if stapling him to the bed.
"No. Just...this is...just laying here side by side is annoying."
Castiel suddenly turns onto his side and drapes an arm over Dean's waist.
"Is this helpful?"
It is, in fact, not helpful because it makes heat flash low in his belly and sends the wrong message to his groin.
Well, not the wrong message, but an ill-timed message.
"No," Dean says, pushing Castiel's arm off. "Isn't there a way we can be comfortable in bed without touching?"
Castiel considers him for a long moment.
"You did not complain when I touched you before," he says carefully and Dean snorts.
"That's ‘cause my dick was in charge. But I'm tired and I just want to sleep."
Understanding lights in Castiel's eyes and a shy pleased smile catches at the corner of his mouth. The heat travels north to Dean's chest, but he ignores it.
"I may have an idea," Castiel says. "Stand up."
It's the last thing Dean wants to do, but if it'll get this sorted out faster, he's willing to make the sacrifice. Not without grumbling, of course, but still.
Once he's up, Castiel shuts his eyes and appears to be concentrating. A quiet moment passes and then another.
"Cas?"
Whoosh.
Gigantic brown wings burst out either side of Castiel's body. The right one narrowly avoids punching Dean in the balls and he hops away with a yelp.
"Shit, Cas! Warn a guy!"
Castiel looks a bit dazed by the process. "I wasn't sure it would work," he says thickly.
Once the initial shock of exploding feathers wears off, Dean finds himself staring at the wings he's only seen as shadows. They are a deep brown, nearly black, with flecks of lighter brown and gold scattered throughout. They move and squirm on the bed like big weird pets.
"What...seriously, what?"
"I thought you could lie on one of them. That way we could touch without touching and I've heard they are comfortable."
Dean narrows his eyes.
"Who's been lying on your wings?"
"Not my wings," Castiel says with a huff, as if the notion of someone besides Dean touching his wings is ludicrous. "Other angels'."
"Right. So you want me to sleep on your wings."
Castiel nods and begins plucking at them, fluffing up the feathers into what Dean assumes Castiel believes to be a more comfortable resting area.
"Yes, please," he says and well, Dean can't refuse a 'please'.
"Fine," he mumbles.
He approaches the bed cautiously as Castiel spreads out the right wing. The nutcracker, Dean thinks to himself. It does look sort of comfortable, like they'd be soft and warm.
"They won't harm you," Castiel says with a lilt of amusement in his voice.
"Shut up," Dean says and to punish Castiel, he flops down on the wing without warning.
Castiel makes an interesting sound.
It's a cross between a cry of surprise and the low growling noise he makes when Dean bites his earlobe.
Very interesting.
"How's this?" Dean asks as he turns on his side to face Castiel. The wing is large enough that Dean can't feel the bed at all and he lays his head at the top wing joint, which drags another odd whimper out of Castiel.
"Strange," Castiel says breathlessly. He's on his side as well and after a moment, he drags the other wing over top of Dean, sealing him into a little cocoon of feathers.
"Are you warm enough?"
God, yes. The feathers are warm and soft. So much nicer than the hard springs sticking into his back or the rough motel sheets against his skin. He's safe and tired and he feels his eyes slipping closed already.
"Yeah," he mumbles. Castiel's fingers twists into Dean's, but otherwise their skin doesn't touch at all. The insistent heat in his groin fades finally and he thinks he hears Castiel's grumbling something just as he drops off into sleep.
When he wakes up in the morning, it's to Castiel's mouth on his neck and Castiel's hand down his pants.
"Cas?" he slurs, his body responding before his mind even stands a chance.
"Bad plan," Castiel pants against him. "Feathers as sensitive as skin."
It must be really bad if Castiel can't even form proper sentences, but then his hand squeezes and Dean's thoughts veer off in a totally different direction.
They'll worry about sleeping arrangements later.
~~~
Avatar
Misha hands the cone to Castiel. "Try this."
Castiel looks very uncertain, but trusts his originator enough to take a bite.
"Oh," he says in surprise. "It's already gone."
Misha grins. "You like it?"
"What is the purpose of it?" Castiel asks even as he takes another bite.
"Some things don't really have a purpose and that's their purpose."
It doesn't make sense to Castiel, but so little about Misha does, so he just nods and presses closer to him as they walk down the midway.
~~~
Disagreement
They find Jensen in his trailer.
"Are you nervous?" Castiel is fidgeting more than usual, smoothing his coat down over and over.
"No," he says, but Misha knows it's a lie.
Instead of calling him on it, he knocks on the door. Jensen's smile when he answers is wide and happy and almost immediately replaced with confusion.
"Hey?"
"Hi," Misha answers. "My avatar wanted to meet you."
Castiel holds out his hand, like Misha taught him, but he seems unable to speak. In fact, his expression reminds Misha of a young child being confronted with a giant pile of presents under the Christmas tree. An unpleasant emotion curls in his stomach.
Surprise blooms across Jensen's face. Misha enjoys the way it brightens his eye color to a startling bottle green.
"You spend time with your avatar?" he asks even as he shakes Castiel's hand and mutters a quick 'nice to meet you.'
"You don't?"
Jensen shrugs. "He's kind of a dick."
And just like that, Castiel's awe evaporates.
"No, he isn't."
Jensen and Misha both turn to him, each with raised eyebrows.
"He was to me," Jensen says cautiously. "But we only met the one time."
"Dean can be difficult to deal with," Castiel says in a stern defensive tone, "but that is only because of how much trouble he's experienced in his past."
Misha knows for a fact that Castiel wants to beat the hell out of Dean sometimes, but he thoroughly enjoys watching him defend Dean's honor from a bemused Jensen.
It also makes that niggle of jealousy ease a touch.
"Well, okay, but he doesn't have to take it out on me," Jensen argues. "I didn't write him."
Misha herds them both into the trailer and sits alongside Jensen while he bickers with Castiel about their missing fourth party. It's extremely entertaining listening to their calm, but vehemently stubborn reasoning.
If Misha ever meets Dean, he's going to have to buy him a drink.
~~~
Help Wanted (This one was inspired by the ad seen here above the one circled in yellow)
"What's that?"
"One of those forms for personal ads," Dean says absently.
Sam reads over his shoulder. "Dude, the trench coat guy again?"
Dean looks up with glazed eyes. "He never came to the bar again...I have to know, man."
Sam rolls his eyes.
**********
Sam slams the door shut. "Well, that's one more misguided pervert from your collection of trench-coat wearing losers."
Dean is too busy moping in the corner to answer.
**********
Every trench coat he passes catches Sam's eyes.
"Stupid Dean and his stupid trench coat obsession," Sam mutters as he follows a dark-haired man through the supermarket.
"You are following me," the man suddenly says when they reach the dairy aisle.
Sam doesn't even try to play it cool.
"Yeah, look, were you at Salem's two Fridays ago?"
The man's expression remains blank. "Yes."
"D'you remember a loud-mouthed guy, little taller than you, brown hair, leather coat?"
Trench coat guy's pupil dilate slightly. "Yes."
"Thank God. He wants to talk to you." Sam rattles off Dean's phone number. "Please, before I kill him."
**********
When Sam gets home, Dean's nowhere to be found. "Dean?"
The living room, kitchen, dining room...all empty.
"Dean?"
Then he spots it. On the stairs, discarded.
The trench coat.
Followed by a pair of pants and a shirt...some boxers...Sam blinks.
"Well, okay then."
~~~
First
"You're telling stories," Gabriel says.
Castiel tries very hard not to stamp his feet in frustration. As it is, his wings twist and snap on his back.
"I did! I did fall asleep! I sat under our Father's tree and I slept. I had a dream."
Gabriel snorts. "Good angels don't lie."
"I'm not lying!"
"So what did you dream about then?"
Castiel scowls. "I'm not telling you."
Gabriel shrugs.
"Suit yourself, liar."
Castiel huffs and looks away. Who cares what Gabriel thinks. Castiel knows he slept and he knows he dreamt. A senseless dream about an odd aggravating human named Dean, yes, but a dream nonetheless.
He stands and takes flight.
Maybe Raphael will believe him.
~~~
Not Fun
"Dude." The distance retreats from Dean's eyes as he swivels his gaze from the stripper to Sam's face.
Sam hides his smile.
"Were you just daydreaming about Cas?"
Dean glares. "No. Shut up."
Sam waits half a beat.
"You wanna go home?"
Dean can't hide his relief. "Yeah."
**********
"Did you enjoy your 'boy's night'?" Castiel asks carefully, as if afraid he got the term wrong.
Sam snickers. "I think Dean would have liked it more if the stripper wore a trench coat," he says before flouncing up the stair.
Castiel frowns at Dean.
"I don't understand."
Dean's eyes trail down Castiel's body.
"C'mere," he says, grabbing Castiel's hand and dragging him towards their bedroom. "I wanna teach you how to do something."
~~~
Finding Humor
"I'm concerned about humor."
Dean pauses with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. He bites his bottom lip to avoid laughing. Normally, he wouldn't bother, but Castiel looks so damned troubled about it.
"What do you mean?" Dean manages to ask in an even tone.
"Now that I'm living a somewhat human life with you and Sam, I've come to understand just how important humor is to humans."
Dean chews his sandwich while exchanging a look with Sam. He really hopes Castiel isn’t going to start telling knock-knock jokes.
"Are you worried we don't think you're funny?" Sam asks. "Because that's not true."
Castiel frowns.
"You find my misunderstandings humorous," he corrects. "But angelic humor is very different than human humor. I wish to find something human that I find humorous. Something we can share."
Dean listens as Sam begins cataloguing certain movies and books that Castiel might enjoy, but he's not really hearing him. Instead, he's contemplating Castiel. Of all the things to be worried about, Dean thinks. He wouldn't call Castiel particularly funny, but Dean can't remember ever being bored in his presence.
But Castiel has done more for Dean than he can even comprehend. And if he wants to laugh, well, they'll just find him something to laugh at. This calls for a trip to the video store.
**********
They start with Jackass.
Over Sam's strong objections. He thinks Castiel will be disgusted, but Dean argues that angels are brutal creatures and that physical pain would amuse them.
Turns out, they're both wrong. Castiel is mostly just confused by the show.
"They want to be in pain?"
"No. It's more like they want to do stupid shit just because they can," Dean explains.
At Castiel's perplexed expression, they switch out the DVD for a copy of Looney Tunes. That hits slightly closer to home when they get a slight smile at the half dead dancing frog. Sam, on the other hand, is practically rolling on the floor. So, even though they don't quite catch Castiel with it, Dean figures it was worth it.
"I liked that more," Castiel says at the end of the DVD. "But I believe much of the cultural context was lost on me."
"Yeah," Sam says, his voice a bit hoarse. "You might have to wait until you learn the culture a little more."
Castiel's only been living with Dean and Sam for about three months. After the apocalypse and everything that happened since, it'd taken quite awhile for Dean to admit he wanted the angel to stay. But he finally did and although Castiel spends much of his time in Heaven, he comes back to Dean every night and for the first time, he's actually bothered to learn a bit about human life outside of hunting.
"I see," Castiel says, sounding forlorn.
"We can keep trying," Dean says as he puts on one of his personal favorites, Blazing Saddles.
Unfortunately, Castiel's reaction is as lukewarm for it as it was for Looney Tunes. An occasional smile, mostly when Dean laughs and Castiel is watching his face.
Dean's having trouble keeping his eyes open by the time the movie ends and Sam's snoring on their bed. But Castiel is alert and focused.
"Cas?"
"Go to sleep, Dean. I want to continue researching."
"It's not homework."
"I know," he says as he changes the DVD to a collection of stand-up comedians.
"Whatever."
Dean drags Sam to his own bed and then returns to dive into the bed he normally shares with Castiel. One last look shows him Castiel sitting on the edge of his chair, staring intently at a short balding guy telling really bad jokes. As he drops off, he thinks to himself that he hopes Castiel doesn't find the comedian funny.
Something wakes him. He's close to sleep, still half dreaming. There are voices talking nearby. The words filter into Dean's head, but they don't really make much sense.
You're Emanuel Ravelli?
I am Emanuel Ravelli.
Well, no wonder you look like him. But I still insist there is a resemblance.
Heh, heh, he thinks I look alike.
Dean hears a soft noise and as he drifts off again, he manages to identify it.
Castiel laughing.
When he wakes up again, it's to full alertness. Dean turns over and sits up, rubbing at his eyes and trying to figure out why he woke up. The TV is still on and Castiel is in the same position he was before. It's some kind of black and white film. He listens for a minute.
Well, art is art, isn't it? Still, on the other hand, water is water. And east is east and west is west, and if you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce, they taste much more like prunes than rhubarb does. Now, uh... Now you tell me what you know.
Shock rolls down his body when Castiel stuffs his hand against his mouth to try and muffle his laughter. Not quiet polite chuckling. Full throated deep belly laughs.
Dean stares at him.
"Cas?"
Castiel mutes the TV.
"I'm sorry, Dean. I was trying to be quiet."
"What the hell is that?"
"It's a film called Animal Crackers. I found it on one of the channels after the comedian DVD ended."
Dean looks at the TV again and realizes he actually does recognize the people on the screen. It's a Marx Brothers movie. Castiel unmutes it and they start watching. As every scene passes, Dean grows more confused. He can see the humor, but not a lot of it makes any sense to him. But Castiel grows more and more tickled until Dean's not watching the movie at all, but rather watching his nerdy stoic angel lose it.
Sudden realization pours over Dean.
"It doesn't make sense," he murmurs.
Castiel mutes the movie again. "What?"
"Breed with the mouth of a goat," Dean says.
"Dean?"
"You're an angel," Dean says excitedly, pleased he finally understands. "Your whole life is about rules and order. The natural order that God set up and anything that doesn't make sense..." Dean grins. "You like nonsense."
Castiel raises an eyebrow at him and then turns back to the movie, letting the sound fill the room again. For a time, he's quiet, but then Dean catches the corner of his mouth twitching.
"That would certainly explain my attachment to you."
Dean throws a pillow at his head.
~~~
How Angels Do It
Castiel pulls him up and presses his forehead against Dean's cheek, sighing happily.
"What are you doing?"
"Expressing affection."
"Gotcha."
~~~
The Like Button
Sam's snickering takes Dean's attention off the latest episode of Dr. Sexy.
"What are you looking at?"
"I made Cas a facebook last night," Sam says.
"What?"
Joining Sam at the table, Dean flips the laptop around so he can see the facebook page for one Castiel Winchester.
"Ha," Dean says.
Sam shrugs. "Close enough."
Most of the info is expected~sex: male, current city: sioux falls and most importantly, Dean thinks smugly, relationship status: in a relationship.
"So why're you laughing?"
"Check his latest wall post."
Clicking over, Dean sees that Castiel went on a 'liking' spree the previous night. The first post reads "Castiel Winchesters like God, Jesus, Flying, Heaven, Forgiveness, Grace, Quiet Churches, Worship, Scripture and Having Sex in Cars."
Dean nods.
"That sounds about right."
~~~
Never mind
Dean types a message and hits send. Seconds later, Castiel is pushing him against the wall.
"You suck at sexting," Dean pants.
"I could leave if you prefer typed words to this," Castiel say as he parts Dean's legs with his knee and thrusts forward. Dean leaves off the complaints after that.
~~~
Good Mistake
Dean nearly choked, seeing Castiel walking into the diner with a bouquet of red roses and big envelope with Dean written on it.
"Whoa, hey, what the fuck is this?" Dean asked as Castiel set the roses down on the table and slid into the opposite side of the booth.
"Flowers. And a card."
"Yeah, but...is this a date? Do you think this is a date?"
Castiel frowned and narrowed his eyes at Dean the way he did when Dean said something particularly confusing.
"I never said it was a date."
"But the flowers...because I don't. I mean, we don't," Dean stuttered, shifting uncomfortably. "Not that...okay, it's not like it's..."
The bewildered look in Castiel's eyes deepened and there was just the slightest head tilt.
For reasons passing understanding, that tiny motion is Dean's undoing.
"I'm not a good boyfriend, okay? I'll forget things and treat you like shit and I don't give a damn about flowers. I suck at romance and you'll probably regret getting involved with me, okay?"
Castiel blinked.
"Okay."
"But I've tried everything in the world except just fucking you and none of it’s worked, so screw it," he declared. "I'm in love with you."
Castiel's mouth twitched.
"I love you too, Dean."
There's a moment of silence. Then Dean let out a long held breath.
"Alright then." He looked at the roses and snorted. "Dude, flowers?"
"I didn't get them."
"You didn't?"
"You should read the card."
Dean grabbed the card and opened it, his eyes growing wide as he read it.
You're an idiot. This is me smacking you upside the head. Thank me when you see me. TOMORROW MORNING. -Sam
~~~
Purple
Dean narrowed his aquamarine eyes, moss colored flecks flashing as he peered at Castiel's sapphire orbs.
"I hate this fandom," he grunted.
~~~
Rescue
She dives into the lake and drags him back out.
"But you...you were dead," he sputters, confused and nearly senseless with pain.
"Shhh," Anna whispers as she flies up, her grace covering him, protecting him from the fire and seeping in to heal his abused soul.
Just before he blacks out, Sam wonders if this glorious feeling was what Dean felt with Castiel all those months ago.
~~~
Very Logical
“I think in this case, you’re the ego, I’m the Id and dearly departed Jimmy is our superego.”
"What do you mean?"
Castiel sounds distracted. Probably by the goose bumps rising along his arms now that Misha's evacuated him from his button down.
"Well," Misha says as he neatly folds the shirt and adds it to the growing stack of his mental deficiencies. "The ego keeps balance between the goody-two shoes superego and the horn dog, Id. This presumably keeps people from murdering and pillaging and the like."
A ripple of concern passes over Castiel's features, but is chased away by the feel of Misha's fingers gathering the edges of his white cotton undershirt.
"Now, we've allowed our superego to be blown to kingdom come by a fake Archangel I can only assume represents my general college experience. So basically, ego is too weak to do anything, but roll over and take it from dear old Id."
Misha sweeps the shirt up over Castiel's head and off his body.
"In other words, this is going to be exceptionally dirty."
~~~
Scuffle
Castiel sits down the instant he arrives in the bedroom he shares with Dean.
"Are you okay?" Dean asks, alarmed by the way Castiel's coat hangs off his shoulders at an odd angle and the wild disarray of his dark hair.
"I've just had a fight with Geliel," he says, plucking absently at his coat, his expression troubled. "He doesn't care for my living arrangement."
Indignation brings Dean to his feet and he glares down at Castiel, hands on his hips.
"What the fuck does that mean? Since you live with me, he...what, beat you up?"
"He didn't 'beat me up', Dean," Castiel says in a tired voice. "He couldn't possibly; I'm far more powerful."
The thrill of arousal Dean feels at those words is both inappropriate and distracting. With effort, he shoves the feeling away.
"But you look like you've been brawling," Dean says, his tone harder now as he contemplates the implication of one of Castiel’s angels attacking him. "What gives the fucker the right to attack you? I swear to God, Cas, I'll summon his ass down here-"
Castiel stands and puts his hand over Dean's mouth.
"Hush," Castiel commands as he starts pushing Dean towards the bed. "Geliel is like a human child and I was forced to deal with him through action rather than words. I was successful. There is no need to worry."
When Dean's legs hit the bed, Castiel presses on his knees, wordlessly asking him to lay back and once he does, Castiel climbs in after him.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Dean asks again.
Castiel burrows into Dean's side, his face hidden in Dean's neck and he nods.
"Now I am."
~~~
Household Concerns
When Sam barges into his brother's kitchen, he finds Dean standing at the refrigerator, staring at small piece of white paper held to the door by a Chevy magnet.
"What's that?" Sam asks. He doesn't see Castiel and he can't hear him moving around upstairs. Sam must have missed him before he took off for work.
"A list," Dean says as he slides the paper out from under the magnet. "It's a bunch of shit Cas wants me to do."
Sam walks over to peer over Dean's shoulder. Sure enough, the list is a bunch of chores scrawled in Castiel's tidy handwriting.
Clear leaves from gutter
Purchase milk, bread and Canola oil
Fix leaky sink in downstairs bathroom
Move the extra boxes from the office to the garage
Take out the trash
"Dude, he fucking left me chores," Dean splutters, his cheeks red with what Sam expects is slight embarrassment.
He decides to take mercy on him.
"Well, look at it this way," Sam says, slinging an arm around Dean's shoulders. "He told you to take out the trash, so he's obviously the chick."
The tension in Dean's body relaxes and a smile quirks the corner of his mouth.
"Fuck yeah, he is."
~~~
Mine
The new angel, some hairdo named Ezekiel, invades Dean's personal space.
"I find you very intr-" But he stops mid-sentence, sniffing lightly. His brown eyes snap to where Castiel stands, rage lining his features.
"Forgive me," Ezekiel says. "I did not know you'd been marked."
And then he disappears. Dean whirls on Castiel. "Marked?"
"Of course," he says without embarrassment as he stalks over to Dean. "And now I wish to do so again."
Turns out, Dean's okay with that.
~~~
Clumsy Success
Dean's drunk. So fucking drunk it's hard to tell the difference between his own hand and the wooden surface it's laying on. Castiel is pressed close to his side, glaring at anyone who gets too close to Dean and it sparks an idea in Dean's booze-addled brains. An idea involving Castiel and sex and there's a part of him that doesn't like the idea. A part trying to warn him about something, but Dean doesn't care because Castiel is warm and near and Dean wants.
"Hey," he suddenly blurts.
Castiel turns to him and frowns.
"Yes, Dean?"
Dean likes the way Castiel's mouth curves downward, disapproving, but oh-so expressive. He likes that he's learned to read Castiel, that he can see Castiel's discomfort, his confusion and most of all, his protectiveness.
Dean leans into Castiel and reaches up to touch his face, suddenly fascinated by the line of his jaw.
"Dean?"
Right. The sex. Dean's eyes fall onto Castiel's mouth. What he needs is a good pick-up line. His pick-up lines are fool-proof.
The perfect one springs to mind.
"Are you from Heaven?" he slurs, but then his memory fails him. For a split second, Dean panics.
Then he says the first thing that comes to mind.
"Because I've got an erection."
It's not even true. He's too drunk for that, but he needs Castiel to understand the sex part of the pick-up line. The part where Dean will definitely get an erection as soon as possible and then use it on Castiel because he's from Heaven.
Or something.
"You're exceptionally drunk," Castiel says slowly as he tries to look at Dean's fingers stroking his moving lips.
"So? I'll get not drunk soon and then we can make erections," Dean says.
"I'm not sure that's a good idea," is Castiel's utterly fucking bizarre answer because Dean is certain they've done this before. In his room, in the car, in a closet, on a cloud-
Wait. What?
Dean frowns at this mental hiccup.
Then the part of his mind that warns him about shit finally gets through.
They haven't had sex. Those were just pleasantly explicit dreams.
"Fuck me," Dean says as realization sets in.
Castiel leans into his touch.
"Are you certain?"
"Huh?"
Dean reviews the last few moments and while he may have sobered slightly with his horrible not-real sex discovery, he's still drunk enough to let caution go along its merry way.
"Hell, yeah." He pauses before adding, because erections really are necessary, "Tomorrow."
"Very well," Castiel agrees.
He goes back to his glaring and Dean falls asleep with his forehead on Castiel's wrist.
He wakes up the next morning confused, still half drunk and with Castiel's mouth on his jaw.
It's a very good day.
~~~
Role-play Gone Wrong
Dean sidles up to the hot guy with the piercing blue eyes.
"You come here often?"
The man frowns. "It's me, Dean."
"God, you suck at this," Dean sighs. "Let's just go have sex."
~~~
Visiting the Past
They really only knew each other for a couple of years, their whole time in middle school, so it's not like the guy was the love of Dean's life, but he was Dean's best friend and his first kiss and when Castiel never wrote to him after Dean's family moved away, even though he promised so fervently that he would, it really sucked. Sam likes to tease Dean that Castiel's childhood betrayal was the reason Dean couldn't keep a man longer than a couple of dates and while Dean tells him to fuck off most times, when he watches his latest one-night stand searching around for his underwear while making empty promises to call, Dean sometimes wonders if Sam isn't right.
Because see, the thing is, Dean's never really liked anyone the way he liked Castiel. Mainly because the way he liked Castiel was really the way he loved Castiel and yeah, they were just childhood sweethearts, but Castiel was the first and Dean never really figured out how to clear out that space for someone else.
But life is good anyway. Dean's got a good job, a (mostly) good brother, an overly active social life and this stupid stray hound that turned up on his front porch last year and never left. What more could a man ask for?
It's what Dean's thinking to himself while he sits on said front porch stroking the top of Zep's head and watching Sam's car pull into his driveway. The way Sam bounds up to the porch makes him far more the puppy than Zep ever thought about being.
"So hey guess what?"
"You finally decided between Jess and Gabriel," Dean ventures.
Sam's badly concealed surprise is amusing.
"No, what? What the hell, man? What does that mean?"
Zep glares at Sam and flaps his long ears, obviously annoyed at the intrusion into his personal petting time with Dean.
"Uh huh, right." Dean picks up Zep's lazy head and puts it on his lap. "Your pretend secret is out. So what's really up?"
"No, hang on-"
"Sam."
An annoyed huff is Dean's reward. He grins. Sam isn't the only Winchester brother that can break balls about fucked up romantic problems. Dean may be caught in a time capsule when it comes to his love life, but at least he's not an indecisive bisexual caught between two very different suitors.
"Fine," he grunts. "I was going to invite you on my school trip, but fuck you."
"Oh, don't cry so hard, Samantha," Dean says, kicking Sam very gently in the shin. "Where's the trip to?"
"KU," Sam says. "It's at the Lawrence campus."
Dean's memories grip him tight. A large two story home, the only house his father ever owned. A creaky wooden wrap-around porch where Sam and Dean played for hours, the giant oak in the yard casting moving shadows across their young faces. A new neighbor boy with a mop of brown hair and pensive blue eyes. And the flickering red flames that chewed their home into ash.
"I don't know, Sammy," Dean says. "It's been years."
"Yeah and you never went back and I thought." He shuffles from one foot to the other, looking at his shoes rather than Dean's face. "I thought it was time you did."
Dean's first inclination is to refuse. Lawrence holds some good memories, great ones even, but each and every one is tainted by the death of his mother and the loss of his closest friend right when Dean needed him most.
"I don't think-"
"C'mon, Dean," Sam says, eyes off the ground and staring intently into Dean's, his expression earnest and pleading. For reasons he would likely not understand, reasons involving complicated and irrational concerns for Dean's emotional health, having Dean make this trip is very important to Sam. "You've never been the type to back down from something like this."
The only thing worse than seeing exactly how Sam's trying to manipulate him is being unable to stop himself from falling for it.
"Fine."
**********
Sam is a professor of history. American history and folklore, to be precise. The conference he's attending is the ultimate geek summit for Honors kids and as such, Sam will spend most of the weekend stuck in educational panels and long-winded lectures.
Dean is a mechanic. His presence is in no way required for anything conference related and therefore, he plans to spend his weekend getting shit-faced in hotel bars and hooking up with inappropriately aged college boys.
"Dude, you have to at least visit the house," Sam complains as he digs in his suitcase for a new tie.
"House burnt down," Dean says, his attention fully on the TV channels he flips through.
"Not completely. I told you that. Here," Sam says, handing Dean the tie. A good ten years blown on higher education and the boy still can't tie his own tie. Dean grins. Always needing big brother around to save his ass. He stands and wraps the tie around Sam's neck.
"They rebuilt it," Sam continues. "You really should go and look at it. Try and...you know, bury the past."
Dean's smile fades. "Already did that."
"Yeah? Then how come you can hardly talk about Mom? How come you're still waiting on a letter that's never coming?"
It takes all of Dean's will-power not to strangle Sam with the tie. Even so, he pulls it rather too tight as he finishes the final knot.
"Drop it, Sammy."
"No, I won't drop it," Sam bitches, looming over where Dean throws himself back on the bed. "I'm tired of watching you flinch every time I want to talk about Mom. I'm tired of seeing you go through guy after guy because you can't let go of Cas. You need to go and just say goodbye, okay? To both of them."
Dean ignores Sam's little speech, at least visibly. Inside, he's churning with anger and old hurts, but he refuses to give Sam a reaction. He keeps his eyes glued to the stupid cartoon playing on the screen and waits until Sam gives a disheartened little sigh and turns to leave.
"I'm serious, Dean," he murmurs at the door. "Go today or we'll go tomorrow, but either way...you need to move on."
Maybe so, but Dean doesn't move from the bed for the next three hours. Nor does he really see what he's watching. All he can do is think about the past and wonder yet again if Sammy has a point.
**********
The only reason Dean finds himself driving down the street where he grew up is because Sam mentioned coming here tomorrow. If Sam's that intent on Dean looking at their old house, Dean sure as hell won't be doing it with Sam whimpering in the background. The idea that looking at a pile of wood and nails will help erase the past is ridiculous.
But if going will shut Sam up, then Dean's willing to admit to a small measure of curiosity. If nothing else, it'll nice to replace the image of a sagging burning heap with whatever's been built in its place.
It's late afternoon by the time he turns the Impala onto their old street. Warm yellow sunbeams filter down through the trees and the speckled blotches of light remind Dean so strongly of his childhood that he has to brake momentarily to stare at them, half his focus on the present and half playing a broken reel of fifteen year old images.
A blaring horn from behind him drags him fully back to the present and down the street to the very last house.
Dean's surprised by how little it’s changed. The home's been almost entirely rebuilt and the outside paint is green rather than the cream he remembers, but otherwise, the shape is exactly the same as his memory. Perhaps smaller, his mind enlarging the memory with each passing year, but essentially the same. Dean pulls into the empty driveway and sits for a long time, letting the engine idle as he carefully aligns his memory with what his eyes are showing him.
A sudden eagerness to feel the wooden planks of the new porch under his feet prompts Dean to finally switch off the engine and climb out of the car. It occurs to him that the new homeowner might not be too pleased to find a giant black car taking up the driveway, but Dean can't imagine he'll stay long. Just a quick peek in the window and a moment to look out over his yard and he'll be gone.
He only makes it as far as the steps when he hears the rumble of an approaching car turn into the driveway behind him.
"Damn," he mutters.
With great effort, Dean drags a friendly smile on his face, hopes to hell the new owner isn't a hard-ass and turns around.
The past faces him.
"Can I help you?"
Dean's legs feel numb. The years have darkened his hair from brown to nearly black and shaped his scrawny teenage frame into that of a man. A man hidden under a bulky trench coat and blue suit, but decidedly stronger and leaner than what Dean remembers. And even if he couldn't be sure from the shape of his face, the curve of his mouth, Dean would know those eyes anywhere. Just like the house, they've changed so little Dean's actually shocked. They're the exact same thoughtful compelling blue.
"Cas?"
Recognition changes Castiel's polite confusion into shock. The bag he'd been carrying, a dark briefcase, falls to the ground and his hand clenches into a fist once, twice and then eases. Just like Castiel always did when he was nervous or upset.
"Dean? I don't understand. Why are you here?"
Oh god, but his voice has changed. Deepened into something rough and sweet, a tone that strikes at the base of Dean's spine and shivers up through his body.
"The house," Dean says vaguely, waving behind him. "I was in town. Thought I'd just...you know, swing by."
He hates that it's awkward. It never was before, even before they really knew each other and Castiel was just this weird little kid who peeked over the edge of the Winchesters' bushes to peer at the boys next door. They'd adopted him so quickly, absorbing him into their family unit with an ease Castiel never seemed to enjoy with his ultra-religious family.
"I see," Castiel says quietly.
"What are you...I mean, you still live...?"
Dean points next door, unable to quite believe that Castiel still lives in that same house after all these years.
"No." A faint trace of red hints along Castiel's cheeks. "This is my home now," he says, nodding to the Winchester's old house.
"You bought this house?" Dean asks, surprised and confused by the odd feeling of warmth he feels at the realization. "Why?"
It takes Castiel a few moments to answer, moments where his blush deepens and both hands curl into tight fists Dean can't help wishing he could ease under his own hands.
"I was happy here," Castiel finally says.
Dean can't help himself. He surges forward a few steps, the badly healed pains of his childhood welling up into words he can't hold back.
"Then why didn't you ever write to me?" Dean demands. "If you were so happy, why'd you just disappear off the face of the planet without any warning?"
"I disappeared?" Castiel says, anger climbing into the sharper features Dean can't quite get used to. "You moved away and I never saw you again. I sent you letter after letter and you never responded to me." Castiel's anger is spiked with hurt and it presses against Dean's chest so hard he can't get a good breath. Castiel has to peer up into Dean's face, still shorter than Dean, but closer than before and he lets the full brunt of his disappointment settle on his expression.
"You left me," Castiel says in clipped tones.
"I didn't," Dean argues. His own anger evaporates immediately, leaving in its place only the compulsion to remove Castiel's pain. "I wrote you all the time, but you didn't write back, I thought...I just thought you'd forgotten me."
"How could I..."
Castiel's words trail off. His eyes narrow and his gaze shoots off to the side as he obviously ponders just what the hell happened to them all those years ago. When his realization hits, Dean can see it clearly unfold across his features. The explosion of anger that follows at its heels frightens Dean in its intensity.
"I should have known better," he growls. "My uncle never liked you. He didn't like me spending time over here."
The less said about Castiel's uncle Zachariah, the better. Dean remembers him as an oily car salesman type who glared at Dean and made snide remarks about his nephew that made Dean's blood boil. But he never stopped Castiel from visiting the Winchesters, sometimes staying for hours or even days at a time.
"So what are you saying?" Dean says slowly. "Your dick uncle stole your letters?"
"I don't know, but possibly. The only reason he didn't stop me from coming over here was because my mother wouldn't let him," Castiel says. "But if she didn't know about the letters..."
"Fuck me," Dean murmurs, his own realization hitting heavy and hard, the enormity of all those years missed, all the time mistakenly believing himself abandoned pooling in his gut.
Castiel's eyes widen slightly.
"You didn't forget me?" Dean asks, ignoring Castiel's reaction.
He steps closer to Dean, close enough to touch and gives him that shy sweet smile that only ever belonged to Dean.
"Of course not," Castiel says. "You're difficult to forget."
Dean snorts and without giving himself time to think about it, reaches down to link their hands, hooking his forefinger around Castiel's thumb.
"Of course I am," he says with confidence he still doesn't have, confidence Dean thinks he'd like Castiel to teach him again. But false or not, it still earns him another smile and for that, Dean would pretend over and over, until it became real.
"Would you like to come in?" Castiel asks, ever polite.
Dean smiles.
"Yeah, I really would."
Author: CloudyJenn
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairings: multiple pairings
Rating: R
Word Count: 14,000+
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. I am making no profit from this fanfiction.
Warnings: General Season 5 Spoilers/Vague Season Six references
Summary: Too many for one summary. Supernatural characters doing things!
Author's Notes: A sixth collection of ficlets from my twitter. Most of these are longer ficlets. None of them contain explicit references to Season Six (and please no spoilers in comments!). Also, having read this over before posting, I realize there's a lot of total crack here. Oh and because it's been months since the last time I posted a twitfic collection, I am only mostly certain none are repeats. Like 95% sure, so please forgive me if I accidentally reposted a ficlet in here. Enjoy!
Getting Settled
It's not that Dean doesn't like sleeping with the guy. But he's so used to being alone in bed that it's impossible to get comfortable. He tosses from one side to the other, punches the pillow, drags the blankets up and down. Basically makes a nuisance out of himself until finally Castiel heaves a sigh and presses a hand to his chest.
"Please stop," he says and he manages to not sound annoyed. "What's wrong?"
"I'm uncomfortable," Dean confesses, but doesn't want to elaborate. They have enough of an uphill climb without Dean adding his weird sleeping issues to the mix. He doesn't want to tell Castiel to scram because he really wants him there. But he can't just lay on him. Not without feeling like he should be doing something and he's too tired for 'something'.
"Would it help if I left?"
Dean's opinion on the matter is stronger than he imagined. He grabs Castiel's arm and pins it down, as if stapling him to the bed.
"No. Just...this is...just laying here side by side is annoying."
Castiel suddenly turns onto his side and drapes an arm over Dean's waist.
"Is this helpful?"
It is, in fact, not helpful because it makes heat flash low in his belly and sends the wrong message to his groin.
Well, not the wrong message, but an ill-timed message.
"No," Dean says, pushing Castiel's arm off. "Isn't there a way we can be comfortable in bed without touching?"
Castiel considers him for a long moment.
"You did not complain when I touched you before," he says carefully and Dean snorts.
"That's ‘cause my dick was in charge. But I'm tired and I just want to sleep."
Understanding lights in Castiel's eyes and a shy pleased smile catches at the corner of his mouth. The heat travels north to Dean's chest, but he ignores it.
"I may have an idea," Castiel says. "Stand up."
It's the last thing Dean wants to do, but if it'll get this sorted out faster, he's willing to make the sacrifice. Not without grumbling, of course, but still.
Once he's up, Castiel shuts his eyes and appears to be concentrating. A quiet moment passes and then another.
"Cas?"
Whoosh.
Gigantic brown wings burst out either side of Castiel's body. The right one narrowly avoids punching Dean in the balls and he hops away with a yelp.
"Shit, Cas! Warn a guy!"
Castiel looks a bit dazed by the process. "I wasn't sure it would work," he says thickly.
Once the initial shock of exploding feathers wears off, Dean finds himself staring at the wings he's only seen as shadows. They are a deep brown, nearly black, with flecks of lighter brown and gold scattered throughout. They move and squirm on the bed like big weird pets.
"What...seriously, what?"
"I thought you could lie on one of them. That way we could touch without touching and I've heard they are comfortable."
Dean narrows his eyes.
"Who's been lying on your wings?"
"Not my wings," Castiel says with a huff, as if the notion of someone besides Dean touching his wings is ludicrous. "Other angels'."
"Right. So you want me to sleep on your wings."
Castiel nods and begins plucking at them, fluffing up the feathers into what Dean assumes Castiel believes to be a more comfortable resting area.
"Yes, please," he says and well, Dean can't refuse a 'please'.
"Fine," he mumbles.
He approaches the bed cautiously as Castiel spreads out the right wing. The nutcracker, Dean thinks to himself. It does look sort of comfortable, like they'd be soft and warm.
"They won't harm you," Castiel says with a lilt of amusement in his voice.
"Shut up," Dean says and to punish Castiel, he flops down on the wing without warning.
Castiel makes an interesting sound.
It's a cross between a cry of surprise and the low growling noise he makes when Dean bites his earlobe.
Very interesting.
"How's this?" Dean asks as he turns on his side to face Castiel. The wing is large enough that Dean can't feel the bed at all and he lays his head at the top wing joint, which drags another odd whimper out of Castiel.
"Strange," Castiel says breathlessly. He's on his side as well and after a moment, he drags the other wing over top of Dean, sealing him into a little cocoon of feathers.
"Are you warm enough?"
God, yes. The feathers are warm and soft. So much nicer than the hard springs sticking into his back or the rough motel sheets against his skin. He's safe and tired and he feels his eyes slipping closed already.
"Yeah," he mumbles. Castiel's fingers twists into Dean's, but otherwise their skin doesn't touch at all. The insistent heat in his groin fades finally and he thinks he hears Castiel's grumbling something just as he drops off into sleep.
When he wakes up in the morning, it's to Castiel's mouth on his neck and Castiel's hand down his pants.
"Cas?" he slurs, his body responding before his mind even stands a chance.
"Bad plan," Castiel pants against him. "Feathers as sensitive as skin."
It must be really bad if Castiel can't even form proper sentences, but then his hand squeezes and Dean's thoughts veer off in a totally different direction.
They'll worry about sleeping arrangements later.
Avatar
Misha hands the cone to Castiel. "Try this."
Castiel looks very uncertain, but trusts his originator enough to take a bite.
"Oh," he says in surprise. "It's already gone."
Misha grins. "You like it?"
"What is the purpose of it?" Castiel asks even as he takes another bite.
"Some things don't really have a purpose and that's their purpose."
It doesn't make sense to Castiel, but so little about Misha does, so he just nods and presses closer to him as they walk down the midway.
Disagreement
They find Jensen in his trailer.
"Are you nervous?" Castiel is fidgeting more than usual, smoothing his coat down over and over.
"No," he says, but Misha knows it's a lie.
Instead of calling him on it, he knocks on the door. Jensen's smile when he answers is wide and happy and almost immediately replaced with confusion.
"Hey?"
"Hi," Misha answers. "My avatar wanted to meet you."
Castiel holds out his hand, like Misha taught him, but he seems unable to speak. In fact, his expression reminds Misha of a young child being confronted with a giant pile of presents under the Christmas tree. An unpleasant emotion curls in his stomach.
Surprise blooms across Jensen's face. Misha enjoys the way it brightens his eye color to a startling bottle green.
"You spend time with your avatar?" he asks even as he shakes Castiel's hand and mutters a quick 'nice to meet you.'
"You don't?"
Jensen shrugs. "He's kind of a dick."
And just like that, Castiel's awe evaporates.
"No, he isn't."
Jensen and Misha both turn to him, each with raised eyebrows.
"He was to me," Jensen says cautiously. "But we only met the one time."
"Dean can be difficult to deal with," Castiel says in a stern defensive tone, "but that is only because of how much trouble he's experienced in his past."
Misha knows for a fact that Castiel wants to beat the hell out of Dean sometimes, but he thoroughly enjoys watching him defend Dean's honor from a bemused Jensen.
It also makes that niggle of jealousy ease a touch.
"Well, okay, but he doesn't have to take it out on me," Jensen argues. "I didn't write him."
Misha herds them both into the trailer and sits alongside Jensen while he bickers with Castiel about their missing fourth party. It's extremely entertaining listening to their calm, but vehemently stubborn reasoning.
If Misha ever meets Dean, he's going to have to buy him a drink.
Help Wanted (This one was inspired by the ad seen here above the one circled in yellow)
"What's that?"
"One of those forms for personal ads," Dean says absently.
Sam reads over his shoulder. "Dude, the trench coat guy again?"
Dean looks up with glazed eyes. "He never came to the bar again...I have to know, man."
Sam rolls his eyes.
**********
Sam slams the door shut. "Well, that's one more misguided pervert from your collection of trench-coat wearing losers."
Dean is too busy moping in the corner to answer.
**********
Every trench coat he passes catches Sam's eyes.
"Stupid Dean and his stupid trench coat obsession," Sam mutters as he follows a dark-haired man through the supermarket.
"You are following me," the man suddenly says when they reach the dairy aisle.
Sam doesn't even try to play it cool.
"Yeah, look, were you at Salem's two Fridays ago?"
The man's expression remains blank. "Yes."
"D'you remember a loud-mouthed guy, little taller than you, brown hair, leather coat?"
Trench coat guy's pupil dilate slightly. "Yes."
"Thank God. He wants to talk to you." Sam rattles off Dean's phone number. "Please, before I kill him."
**********
When Sam gets home, Dean's nowhere to be found. "Dean?"
The living room, kitchen, dining room...all empty.
"Dean?"
Then he spots it. On the stairs, discarded.
The trench coat.
Followed by a pair of pants and a shirt...some boxers...Sam blinks.
"Well, okay then."
First
"You're telling stories," Gabriel says.
Castiel tries very hard not to stamp his feet in frustration. As it is, his wings twist and snap on his back.
"I did! I did fall asleep! I sat under our Father's tree and I slept. I had a dream."
Gabriel snorts. "Good angels don't lie."
"I'm not lying!"
"So what did you dream about then?"
Castiel scowls. "I'm not telling you."
Gabriel shrugs.
"Suit yourself, liar."
Castiel huffs and looks away. Who cares what Gabriel thinks. Castiel knows he slept and he knows he dreamt. A senseless dream about an odd aggravating human named Dean, yes, but a dream nonetheless.
He stands and takes flight.
Maybe Raphael will believe him.
Not Fun
"Dude." The distance retreats from Dean's eyes as he swivels his gaze from the stripper to Sam's face.
Sam hides his smile.
"Were you just daydreaming about Cas?"
Dean glares. "No. Shut up."
Sam waits half a beat.
"You wanna go home?"
Dean can't hide his relief. "Yeah."
**********
"Did you enjoy your 'boy's night'?" Castiel asks carefully, as if afraid he got the term wrong.
Sam snickers. "I think Dean would have liked it more if the stripper wore a trench coat," he says before flouncing up the stair.
Castiel frowns at Dean.
"I don't understand."
Dean's eyes trail down Castiel's body.
"C'mere," he says, grabbing Castiel's hand and dragging him towards their bedroom. "I wanna teach you how to do something."
Finding Humor
"I'm concerned about humor."
Dean pauses with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. He bites his bottom lip to avoid laughing. Normally, he wouldn't bother, but Castiel looks so damned troubled about it.
"What do you mean?" Dean manages to ask in an even tone.
"Now that I'm living a somewhat human life with you and Sam, I've come to understand just how important humor is to humans."
Dean chews his sandwich while exchanging a look with Sam. He really hopes Castiel isn’t going to start telling knock-knock jokes.
"Are you worried we don't think you're funny?" Sam asks. "Because that's not true."
Castiel frowns.
"You find my misunderstandings humorous," he corrects. "But angelic humor is very different than human humor. I wish to find something human that I find humorous. Something we can share."
Dean listens as Sam begins cataloguing certain movies and books that Castiel might enjoy, but he's not really hearing him. Instead, he's contemplating Castiel. Of all the things to be worried about, Dean thinks. He wouldn't call Castiel particularly funny, but Dean can't remember ever being bored in his presence.
But Castiel has done more for Dean than he can even comprehend. And if he wants to laugh, well, they'll just find him something to laugh at. This calls for a trip to the video store.
**********
They start with Jackass.
Over Sam's strong objections. He thinks Castiel will be disgusted, but Dean argues that angels are brutal creatures and that physical pain would amuse them.
Turns out, they're both wrong. Castiel is mostly just confused by the show.
"They want to be in pain?"
"No. It's more like they want to do stupid shit just because they can," Dean explains.
At Castiel's perplexed expression, they switch out the DVD for a copy of Looney Tunes. That hits slightly closer to home when they get a slight smile at the half dead dancing frog. Sam, on the other hand, is practically rolling on the floor. So, even though they don't quite catch Castiel with it, Dean figures it was worth it.
"I liked that more," Castiel says at the end of the DVD. "But I believe much of the cultural context was lost on me."
"Yeah," Sam says, his voice a bit hoarse. "You might have to wait until you learn the culture a little more."
Castiel's only been living with Dean and Sam for about three months. After the apocalypse and everything that happened since, it'd taken quite awhile for Dean to admit he wanted the angel to stay. But he finally did and although Castiel spends much of his time in Heaven, he comes back to Dean every night and for the first time, he's actually bothered to learn a bit about human life outside of hunting.
"I see," Castiel says, sounding forlorn.
"We can keep trying," Dean says as he puts on one of his personal favorites, Blazing Saddles.
Unfortunately, Castiel's reaction is as lukewarm for it as it was for Looney Tunes. An occasional smile, mostly when Dean laughs and Castiel is watching his face.
Dean's having trouble keeping his eyes open by the time the movie ends and Sam's snoring on their bed. But Castiel is alert and focused.
"Cas?"
"Go to sleep, Dean. I want to continue researching."
"It's not homework."
"I know," he says as he changes the DVD to a collection of stand-up comedians.
"Whatever."
Dean drags Sam to his own bed and then returns to dive into the bed he normally shares with Castiel. One last look shows him Castiel sitting on the edge of his chair, staring intently at a short balding guy telling really bad jokes. As he drops off, he thinks to himself that he hopes Castiel doesn't find the comedian funny.
Something wakes him. He's close to sleep, still half dreaming. There are voices talking nearby. The words filter into Dean's head, but they don't really make much sense.
You're Emanuel Ravelli?
I am Emanuel Ravelli.
Well, no wonder you look like him. But I still insist there is a resemblance.
Heh, heh, he thinks I look alike.
Dean hears a soft noise and as he drifts off again, he manages to identify it.
Castiel laughing.
When he wakes up again, it's to full alertness. Dean turns over and sits up, rubbing at his eyes and trying to figure out why he woke up. The TV is still on and Castiel is in the same position he was before. It's some kind of black and white film. He listens for a minute.
Well, art is art, isn't it? Still, on the other hand, water is water. And east is east and west is west, and if you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce, they taste much more like prunes than rhubarb does. Now, uh... Now you tell me what you know.
Shock rolls down his body when Castiel stuffs his hand against his mouth to try and muffle his laughter. Not quiet polite chuckling. Full throated deep belly laughs.
Dean stares at him.
"Cas?"
Castiel mutes the TV.
"I'm sorry, Dean. I was trying to be quiet."
"What the hell is that?"
"It's a film called Animal Crackers. I found it on one of the channels after the comedian DVD ended."
Dean looks at the TV again and realizes he actually does recognize the people on the screen. It's a Marx Brothers movie. Castiel unmutes it and they start watching. As every scene passes, Dean grows more confused. He can see the humor, but not a lot of it makes any sense to him. But Castiel grows more and more tickled until Dean's not watching the movie at all, but rather watching his nerdy stoic angel lose it.
Sudden realization pours over Dean.
"It doesn't make sense," he murmurs.
Castiel mutes the movie again. "What?"
"Breed with the mouth of a goat," Dean says.
"Dean?"
"You're an angel," Dean says excitedly, pleased he finally understands. "Your whole life is about rules and order. The natural order that God set up and anything that doesn't make sense..." Dean grins. "You like nonsense."
Castiel raises an eyebrow at him and then turns back to the movie, letting the sound fill the room again. For a time, he's quiet, but then Dean catches the corner of his mouth twitching.
"That would certainly explain my attachment to you."
Dean throws a pillow at his head.
How Angels Do It
Castiel pulls him up and presses his forehead against Dean's cheek, sighing happily.
"What are you doing?"
"Expressing affection."
"Gotcha."
The Like Button
Sam's snickering takes Dean's attention off the latest episode of Dr. Sexy.
"What are you looking at?"
"I made Cas a facebook last night," Sam says.
"What?"
Joining Sam at the table, Dean flips the laptop around so he can see the facebook page for one Castiel Winchester.
"Ha," Dean says.
Sam shrugs. "Close enough."
Most of the info is expected~sex: male, current city: sioux falls and most importantly, Dean thinks smugly, relationship status: in a relationship.
"So why're you laughing?"
"Check his latest wall post."
Clicking over, Dean sees that Castiel went on a 'liking' spree the previous night. The first post reads "Castiel Winchesters like God, Jesus, Flying, Heaven, Forgiveness, Grace, Quiet Churches, Worship, Scripture and Having Sex in Cars."
Dean nods.
"That sounds about right."
Never mind
Dean types a message and hits send. Seconds later, Castiel is pushing him against the wall.
"You suck at sexting," Dean pants.
"I could leave if you prefer typed words to this," Castiel say as he parts Dean's legs with his knee and thrusts forward. Dean leaves off the complaints after that.
Good Mistake
Dean nearly choked, seeing Castiel walking into the diner with a bouquet of red roses and big envelope with Dean written on it.
"Whoa, hey, what the fuck is this?" Dean asked as Castiel set the roses down on the table and slid into the opposite side of the booth.
"Flowers. And a card."
"Yeah, but...is this a date? Do you think this is a date?"
Castiel frowned and narrowed his eyes at Dean the way he did when Dean said something particularly confusing.
"I never said it was a date."
"But the flowers...because I don't. I mean, we don't," Dean stuttered, shifting uncomfortably. "Not that...okay, it's not like it's..."
The bewildered look in Castiel's eyes deepened and there was just the slightest head tilt.
For reasons passing understanding, that tiny motion is Dean's undoing.
"I'm not a good boyfriend, okay? I'll forget things and treat you like shit and I don't give a damn about flowers. I suck at romance and you'll probably regret getting involved with me, okay?"
Castiel blinked.
"Okay."
"But I've tried everything in the world except just fucking you and none of it’s worked, so screw it," he declared. "I'm in love with you."
Castiel's mouth twitched.
"I love you too, Dean."
There's a moment of silence. Then Dean let out a long held breath.
"Alright then." He looked at the roses and snorted. "Dude, flowers?"
"I didn't get them."
"You didn't?"
"You should read the card."
Dean grabbed the card and opened it, his eyes growing wide as he read it.
You're an idiot. This is me smacking you upside the head. Thank me when you see me. TOMORROW MORNING. -Sam
Purple
Dean narrowed his aquamarine eyes, moss colored flecks flashing as he peered at Castiel's sapphire orbs.
"I hate this fandom," he grunted.
Rescue
She dives into the lake and drags him back out.
"But you...you were dead," he sputters, confused and nearly senseless with pain.
"Shhh," Anna whispers as she flies up, her grace covering him, protecting him from the fire and seeping in to heal his abused soul.
Just before he blacks out, Sam wonders if this glorious feeling was what Dean felt with Castiel all those months ago.
Very Logical
“I think in this case, you’re the ego, I’m the Id and dearly departed Jimmy is our superego.”
"What do you mean?"
Castiel sounds distracted. Probably by the goose bumps rising along his arms now that Misha's evacuated him from his button down.
"Well," Misha says as he neatly folds the shirt and adds it to the growing stack of his mental deficiencies. "The ego keeps balance between the goody-two shoes superego and the horn dog, Id. This presumably keeps people from murdering and pillaging and the like."
A ripple of concern passes over Castiel's features, but is chased away by the feel of Misha's fingers gathering the edges of his white cotton undershirt.
"Now, we've allowed our superego to be blown to kingdom come by a fake Archangel I can only assume represents my general college experience. So basically, ego is too weak to do anything, but roll over and take it from dear old Id."
Misha sweeps the shirt up over Castiel's head and off his body.
"In other words, this is going to be exceptionally dirty."
Scuffle
Castiel sits down the instant he arrives in the bedroom he shares with Dean.
"Are you okay?" Dean asks, alarmed by the way Castiel's coat hangs off his shoulders at an odd angle and the wild disarray of his dark hair.
"I've just had a fight with Geliel," he says, plucking absently at his coat, his expression troubled. "He doesn't care for my living arrangement."
Indignation brings Dean to his feet and he glares down at Castiel, hands on his hips.
"What the fuck does that mean? Since you live with me, he...what, beat you up?"
"He didn't 'beat me up', Dean," Castiel says in a tired voice. "He couldn't possibly; I'm far more powerful."
The thrill of arousal Dean feels at those words is both inappropriate and distracting. With effort, he shoves the feeling away.
"But you look like you've been brawling," Dean says, his tone harder now as he contemplates the implication of one of Castiel’s angels attacking him. "What gives the fucker the right to attack you? I swear to God, Cas, I'll summon his ass down here-"
Castiel stands and puts his hand over Dean's mouth.
"Hush," Castiel commands as he starts pushing Dean towards the bed. "Geliel is like a human child and I was forced to deal with him through action rather than words. I was successful. There is no need to worry."
When Dean's legs hit the bed, Castiel presses on his knees, wordlessly asking him to lay back and once he does, Castiel climbs in after him.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Dean asks again.
Castiel burrows into Dean's side, his face hidden in Dean's neck and he nods.
"Now I am."
Household Concerns
When Sam barges into his brother's kitchen, he finds Dean standing at the refrigerator, staring at small piece of white paper held to the door by a Chevy magnet.
"What's that?" Sam asks. He doesn't see Castiel and he can't hear him moving around upstairs. Sam must have missed him before he took off for work.
"A list," Dean says as he slides the paper out from under the magnet. "It's a bunch of shit Cas wants me to do."
Sam walks over to peer over Dean's shoulder. Sure enough, the list is a bunch of chores scrawled in Castiel's tidy handwriting.
Clear leaves from gutter
Purchase milk, bread and Canola oil
Fix leaky sink in downstairs bathroom
Move the extra boxes from the office to the garage
Take out the trash
"Dude, he fucking left me chores," Dean splutters, his cheeks red with what Sam expects is slight embarrassment.
He decides to take mercy on him.
"Well, look at it this way," Sam says, slinging an arm around Dean's shoulders. "He told you to take out the trash, so he's obviously the chick."
The tension in Dean's body relaxes and a smile quirks the corner of his mouth.
"Fuck yeah, he is."
Mine
The new angel, some hairdo named Ezekiel, invades Dean's personal space.
"I find you very intr-" But he stops mid-sentence, sniffing lightly. His brown eyes snap to where Castiel stands, rage lining his features.
"Forgive me," Ezekiel says. "I did not know you'd been marked."
And then he disappears. Dean whirls on Castiel. "Marked?"
"Of course," he says without embarrassment as he stalks over to Dean. "And now I wish to do so again."
Turns out, Dean's okay with that.
Clumsy Success
Dean's drunk. So fucking drunk it's hard to tell the difference between his own hand and the wooden surface it's laying on. Castiel is pressed close to his side, glaring at anyone who gets too close to Dean and it sparks an idea in Dean's booze-addled brains. An idea involving Castiel and sex and there's a part of him that doesn't like the idea. A part trying to warn him about something, but Dean doesn't care because Castiel is warm and near and Dean wants.
"Hey," he suddenly blurts.
Castiel turns to him and frowns.
"Yes, Dean?"
Dean likes the way Castiel's mouth curves downward, disapproving, but oh-so expressive. He likes that he's learned to read Castiel, that he can see Castiel's discomfort, his confusion and most of all, his protectiveness.
Dean leans into Castiel and reaches up to touch his face, suddenly fascinated by the line of his jaw.
"Dean?"
Right. The sex. Dean's eyes fall onto Castiel's mouth. What he needs is a good pick-up line. His pick-up lines are fool-proof.
The perfect one springs to mind.
"Are you from Heaven?" he slurs, but then his memory fails him. For a split second, Dean panics.
Then he says the first thing that comes to mind.
"Because I've got an erection."
It's not even true. He's too drunk for that, but he needs Castiel to understand the sex part of the pick-up line. The part where Dean will definitely get an erection as soon as possible and then use it on Castiel because he's from Heaven.
Or something.
"You're exceptionally drunk," Castiel says slowly as he tries to look at Dean's fingers stroking his moving lips.
"So? I'll get not drunk soon and then we can make erections," Dean says.
"I'm not sure that's a good idea," is Castiel's utterly fucking bizarre answer because Dean is certain they've done this before. In his room, in the car, in a closet, on a cloud-
Wait. What?
Dean frowns at this mental hiccup.
Then the part of his mind that warns him about shit finally gets through.
They haven't had sex. Those were just pleasantly explicit dreams.
"Fuck me," Dean says as realization sets in.
Castiel leans into his touch.
"Are you certain?"
"Huh?"
Dean reviews the last few moments and while he may have sobered slightly with his horrible not-real sex discovery, he's still drunk enough to let caution go along its merry way.
"Hell, yeah." He pauses before adding, because erections really are necessary, "Tomorrow."
"Very well," Castiel agrees.
He goes back to his glaring and Dean falls asleep with his forehead on Castiel's wrist.
He wakes up the next morning confused, still half drunk and with Castiel's mouth on his jaw.
It's a very good day.
Role-play Gone Wrong
Dean sidles up to the hot guy with the piercing blue eyes.
"You come here often?"
The man frowns. "It's me, Dean."
"God, you suck at this," Dean sighs. "Let's just go have sex."
Visiting the Past
They really only knew each other for a couple of years, their whole time in middle school, so it's not like the guy was the love of Dean's life, but he was Dean's best friend and his first kiss and when Castiel never wrote to him after Dean's family moved away, even though he promised so fervently that he would, it really sucked. Sam likes to tease Dean that Castiel's childhood betrayal was the reason Dean couldn't keep a man longer than a couple of dates and while Dean tells him to fuck off most times, when he watches his latest one-night stand searching around for his underwear while making empty promises to call, Dean sometimes wonders if Sam isn't right.
Because see, the thing is, Dean's never really liked anyone the way he liked Castiel. Mainly because the way he liked Castiel was really the way he loved Castiel and yeah, they were just childhood sweethearts, but Castiel was the first and Dean never really figured out how to clear out that space for someone else.
But life is good anyway. Dean's got a good job, a (mostly) good brother, an overly active social life and this stupid stray hound that turned up on his front porch last year and never left. What more could a man ask for?
It's what Dean's thinking to himself while he sits on said front porch stroking the top of Zep's head and watching Sam's car pull into his driveway. The way Sam bounds up to the porch makes him far more the puppy than Zep ever thought about being.
"So hey guess what?"
"You finally decided between Jess and Gabriel," Dean ventures.
Sam's badly concealed surprise is amusing.
"No, what? What the hell, man? What does that mean?"
Zep glares at Sam and flaps his long ears, obviously annoyed at the intrusion into his personal petting time with Dean.
"Uh huh, right." Dean picks up Zep's lazy head and puts it on his lap. "Your pretend secret is out. So what's really up?"
"No, hang on-"
"Sam."
An annoyed huff is Dean's reward. He grins. Sam isn't the only Winchester brother that can break balls about fucked up romantic problems. Dean may be caught in a time capsule when it comes to his love life, but at least he's not an indecisive bisexual caught between two very different suitors.
"Fine," he grunts. "I was going to invite you on my school trip, but fuck you."
"Oh, don't cry so hard, Samantha," Dean says, kicking Sam very gently in the shin. "Where's the trip to?"
"KU," Sam says. "It's at the Lawrence campus."
Dean's memories grip him tight. A large two story home, the only house his father ever owned. A creaky wooden wrap-around porch where Sam and Dean played for hours, the giant oak in the yard casting moving shadows across their young faces. A new neighbor boy with a mop of brown hair and pensive blue eyes. And the flickering red flames that chewed their home into ash.
"I don't know, Sammy," Dean says. "It's been years."
"Yeah and you never went back and I thought." He shuffles from one foot to the other, looking at his shoes rather than Dean's face. "I thought it was time you did."
Dean's first inclination is to refuse. Lawrence holds some good memories, great ones even, but each and every one is tainted by the death of his mother and the loss of his closest friend right when Dean needed him most.
"I don't think-"
"C'mon, Dean," Sam says, eyes off the ground and staring intently into Dean's, his expression earnest and pleading. For reasons he would likely not understand, reasons involving complicated and irrational concerns for Dean's emotional health, having Dean make this trip is very important to Sam. "You've never been the type to back down from something like this."
The only thing worse than seeing exactly how Sam's trying to manipulate him is being unable to stop himself from falling for it.
"Fine."
**********
Sam is a professor of history. American history and folklore, to be precise. The conference he's attending is the ultimate geek summit for Honors kids and as such, Sam will spend most of the weekend stuck in educational panels and long-winded lectures.
Dean is a mechanic. His presence is in no way required for anything conference related and therefore, he plans to spend his weekend getting shit-faced in hotel bars and hooking up with inappropriately aged college boys.
"Dude, you have to at least visit the house," Sam complains as he digs in his suitcase for a new tie.
"House burnt down," Dean says, his attention fully on the TV channels he flips through.
"Not completely. I told you that. Here," Sam says, handing Dean the tie. A good ten years blown on higher education and the boy still can't tie his own tie. Dean grins. Always needing big brother around to save his ass. He stands and wraps the tie around Sam's neck.
"They rebuilt it," Sam continues. "You really should go and look at it. Try and...you know, bury the past."
Dean's smile fades. "Already did that."
"Yeah? Then how come you can hardly talk about Mom? How come you're still waiting on a letter that's never coming?"
It takes all of Dean's will-power not to strangle Sam with the tie. Even so, he pulls it rather too tight as he finishes the final knot.
"Drop it, Sammy."
"No, I won't drop it," Sam bitches, looming over where Dean throws himself back on the bed. "I'm tired of watching you flinch every time I want to talk about Mom. I'm tired of seeing you go through guy after guy because you can't let go of Cas. You need to go and just say goodbye, okay? To both of them."
Dean ignores Sam's little speech, at least visibly. Inside, he's churning with anger and old hurts, but he refuses to give Sam a reaction. He keeps his eyes glued to the stupid cartoon playing on the screen and waits until Sam gives a disheartened little sigh and turns to leave.
"I'm serious, Dean," he murmurs at the door. "Go today or we'll go tomorrow, but either way...you need to move on."
Maybe so, but Dean doesn't move from the bed for the next three hours. Nor does he really see what he's watching. All he can do is think about the past and wonder yet again if Sammy has a point.
**********
The only reason Dean finds himself driving down the street where he grew up is because Sam mentioned coming here tomorrow. If Sam's that intent on Dean looking at their old house, Dean sure as hell won't be doing it with Sam whimpering in the background. The idea that looking at a pile of wood and nails will help erase the past is ridiculous.
But if going will shut Sam up, then Dean's willing to admit to a small measure of curiosity. If nothing else, it'll nice to replace the image of a sagging burning heap with whatever's been built in its place.
It's late afternoon by the time he turns the Impala onto their old street. Warm yellow sunbeams filter down through the trees and the speckled blotches of light remind Dean so strongly of his childhood that he has to brake momentarily to stare at them, half his focus on the present and half playing a broken reel of fifteen year old images.
A blaring horn from behind him drags him fully back to the present and down the street to the very last house.
Dean's surprised by how little it’s changed. The home's been almost entirely rebuilt and the outside paint is green rather than the cream he remembers, but otherwise, the shape is exactly the same as his memory. Perhaps smaller, his mind enlarging the memory with each passing year, but essentially the same. Dean pulls into the empty driveway and sits for a long time, letting the engine idle as he carefully aligns his memory with what his eyes are showing him.
A sudden eagerness to feel the wooden planks of the new porch under his feet prompts Dean to finally switch off the engine and climb out of the car. It occurs to him that the new homeowner might not be too pleased to find a giant black car taking up the driveway, but Dean can't imagine he'll stay long. Just a quick peek in the window and a moment to look out over his yard and he'll be gone.
He only makes it as far as the steps when he hears the rumble of an approaching car turn into the driveway behind him.
"Damn," he mutters.
With great effort, Dean drags a friendly smile on his face, hopes to hell the new owner isn't a hard-ass and turns around.
The past faces him.
"Can I help you?"
Dean's legs feel numb. The years have darkened his hair from brown to nearly black and shaped his scrawny teenage frame into that of a man. A man hidden under a bulky trench coat and blue suit, but decidedly stronger and leaner than what Dean remembers. And even if he couldn't be sure from the shape of his face, the curve of his mouth, Dean would know those eyes anywhere. Just like the house, they've changed so little Dean's actually shocked. They're the exact same thoughtful compelling blue.
"Cas?"
Recognition changes Castiel's polite confusion into shock. The bag he'd been carrying, a dark briefcase, falls to the ground and his hand clenches into a fist once, twice and then eases. Just like Castiel always did when he was nervous or upset.
"Dean? I don't understand. Why are you here?"
Oh god, but his voice has changed. Deepened into something rough and sweet, a tone that strikes at the base of Dean's spine and shivers up through his body.
"The house," Dean says vaguely, waving behind him. "I was in town. Thought I'd just...you know, swing by."
He hates that it's awkward. It never was before, even before they really knew each other and Castiel was just this weird little kid who peeked over the edge of the Winchesters' bushes to peer at the boys next door. They'd adopted him so quickly, absorbing him into their family unit with an ease Castiel never seemed to enjoy with his ultra-religious family.
"I see," Castiel says quietly.
"What are you...I mean, you still live...?"
Dean points next door, unable to quite believe that Castiel still lives in that same house after all these years.
"No." A faint trace of red hints along Castiel's cheeks. "This is my home now," he says, nodding to the Winchester's old house.
"You bought this house?" Dean asks, surprised and confused by the odd feeling of warmth he feels at the realization. "Why?"
It takes Castiel a few moments to answer, moments where his blush deepens and both hands curl into tight fists Dean can't help wishing he could ease under his own hands.
"I was happy here," Castiel finally says.
Dean can't help himself. He surges forward a few steps, the badly healed pains of his childhood welling up into words he can't hold back.
"Then why didn't you ever write to me?" Dean demands. "If you were so happy, why'd you just disappear off the face of the planet without any warning?"
"I disappeared?" Castiel says, anger climbing into the sharper features Dean can't quite get used to. "You moved away and I never saw you again. I sent you letter after letter and you never responded to me." Castiel's anger is spiked with hurt and it presses against Dean's chest so hard he can't get a good breath. Castiel has to peer up into Dean's face, still shorter than Dean, but closer than before and he lets the full brunt of his disappointment settle on his expression.
"You left me," Castiel says in clipped tones.
"I didn't," Dean argues. His own anger evaporates immediately, leaving in its place only the compulsion to remove Castiel's pain. "I wrote you all the time, but you didn't write back, I thought...I just thought you'd forgotten me."
"How could I..."
Castiel's words trail off. His eyes narrow and his gaze shoots off to the side as he obviously ponders just what the hell happened to them all those years ago. When his realization hits, Dean can see it clearly unfold across his features. The explosion of anger that follows at its heels frightens Dean in its intensity.
"I should have known better," he growls. "My uncle never liked you. He didn't like me spending time over here."
The less said about Castiel's uncle Zachariah, the better. Dean remembers him as an oily car salesman type who glared at Dean and made snide remarks about his nephew that made Dean's blood boil. But he never stopped Castiel from visiting the Winchesters, sometimes staying for hours or even days at a time.
"So what are you saying?" Dean says slowly. "Your dick uncle stole your letters?"
"I don't know, but possibly. The only reason he didn't stop me from coming over here was because my mother wouldn't let him," Castiel says. "But if she didn't know about the letters..."
"Fuck me," Dean murmurs, his own realization hitting heavy and hard, the enormity of all those years missed, all the time mistakenly believing himself abandoned pooling in his gut.
Castiel's eyes widen slightly.
"You didn't forget me?" Dean asks, ignoring Castiel's reaction.
He steps closer to Dean, close enough to touch and gives him that shy sweet smile that only ever belonged to Dean.
"Of course not," Castiel says. "You're difficult to forget."
Dean snorts and without giving himself time to think about it, reaches down to link their hands, hooking his forefinger around Castiel's thumb.
"Of course I am," he says with confidence he still doesn't have, confidence Dean thinks he'd like Castiel to teach him again. But false or not, it still earns him another smile and for that, Dean would pretend over and over, until it became real.
"Would you like to come in?" Castiel asks, ever polite.
Dean smiles.
"Yeah, I really would."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-11-01 10:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 03:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-01 01:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 03:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-01 01:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-01 07:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2010-11-01 03:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 03:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-01 04:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 03:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 03:29 am (UTC)These are win!
Date: 2010-11-01 05:00 pm (UTC)Re: These are win!
Date: 2010-11-23 03:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-01 05:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 03:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-01 05:37 pm (UTC)(but I still want to see Cas dealing with puppy!Dean. XD )
no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 03:32 am (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2010-11-01 05:46 pm (UTC)Thanks for brightening my day.
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Date: 2010-11-23 03:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-01 06:51 pm (UTC)Yay for wing kink!
Avatar and Disagreement were fun! I never thought of a Castiel/Misha pairing but I am now.
When Sam gets home, Dean's nowhere to be found. "Dean?"
The living room, kitchen, dining room...all empty.
"Dean?"
Then he spots it. On the stairs, discarded.
The trench coat.
Followed by a pair of pants and a shirt...some boxers...Sam blinks.
"Well, okay then."
Ah! A perfect match! LOL!
Dean's eyes trail down Castiel's body.
"C'mere," he says, grabbing Castiel's hand and dragging him towards their bedroom. "I wanna teach you how to do something."
Oh Dean!
"You're an angel," Dean says excitedly, pleased he finally understands. "Your whole life is about rules and order. The natural order that God set up and anything that doesn't make sense..." Dean grins. "You like nonsense."
"That would certainly explain my attachment to you."
Dean throws a pillow at his head.
LOL!
"I could leave if you prefer typed words to this," Castiel say as he parts Dean's legs with his knee and thrusts forward. Dean leaves off the complaints after that.
Hell yeah!
You're an idiot. This is me smacking you upside the head. Thank me when you see me. TOMORROW MORNING. -Sam
LOL! Oh Sam!
Ah! Rescue was so sweet! Anna/Sam for the win!
"Now, we've allowed our superego to be blown to kingdom come by a fake Archangel I can only assume represents my general college experience. So basically, ego is too weak to do anything, but roll over and take it from dear old Id."
Misha sweeps the shirt up over Castiel's head and off his body.
"In other words, this is going to be exceptionally dirty."
I love wheh smart people talk sexy.
"He didn't 'beat me up', Dean," Castiel says in a tired voice. "He couldn't possibly; I'm far more powerful."
The thrill of arousal Dean feels at those words is both inappropriate and distracting. With effort, he shoves the feeling away.
Castiel being a BAMF is so sexy and hot!
"Are you sure you're okay?" Dean asks again.
Castiel burrows into Dean's side, his face hidden in Dean's neck and he nods.
"Now I am."
Ah! Now that is sweet.
And then he disappears. Dean whirls on Castiel. "Marked?"
"Of course," he says without embarrassment as he stalks over to Dean. "And now I wish to do so again."
Turns out, Dean's okay with that.
Mm. Who can blame him?
LOL! Drunk Dean trying to put the moves was so funny but at least he decided to wait till he was sober first.
Visiting the Past was bittersweet but I loved how Dean and Castiel reunited . How touching!
I just love happy endings!
no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 03:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-01 07:06 pm (UTC)*has been laughing for minutes*
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Date: 2010-11-23 03:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-01 09:38 pm (UTC)Thanks so much!
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Date: 2010-11-23 03:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-01 09:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 03:55 am (UTC)But at any rate, I'm glad you enjoyed! Thank you!
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Date: 2010-11-01 10:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 03:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-02 01:09 am (UTC)*Your brain is awesome*
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Date: 2010-11-23 03:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-02 05:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 03:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-02 05:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 03:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-02 06:30 am (UTC)Jackass? Seriously? And Blazing Saddles OMG! That would so be Dean’s favorite comedy!
ROFLMAO at Cas’ likes! And Sam’s floral headsmack! And the purple prose!
I like Misha’s logic. *nodnod*
Possessive!Castiel, unf!
"So? I'll get not drunk soon and then we can make erections" *dies*
And the last one…I loved that before and I love it now!
no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 04:02 am (UTC)So yes, thanks for mentioning these little bits; I appreciate hearing what you liked! :)
no subject
Date: 2010-11-02 10:46 am (UTC)Your twitfics never disappoint, they're always so awesome and diverse. They're such an awesome mix of feelings and situations and stories, and I'm always left craving more.
I can't really point out a favorite, they're all so good, even if the last one left me kind of breathless and happy. :)
Thank you for sharing!
no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 04:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-02 06:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 04:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-03 12:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 04:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-03 11:00 am (UTC)Dean narrowed his aquamarine eyes, moss colored flecks flashing as he peered at Castiel's sapphire orbs.
"I hate this fandom," he grunted.
LOVE. =D
no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 04:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-05 02:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 04:07 am (UTC)/losing her mind
No, but really, thank you!
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2010-11-08 12:55 am (UTC)*DIES*
i love the last story. such a sweet ending.
no subject
Date: 2010-11-23 04:08 am (UTC)