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28 February 2010 @ 02:42 pm
February drabble dump, "squeeeee" edition  

Dean/Castiel, overdressed

"You can't go in there like that."

"Why not?"

"You're overdressed. That coat of yours doesn't exactly scream bike rally, you know."

"I didn't think it mattered what I look like."

"Oh, for crap's sake..."

"No, I understand. I suppose I have been a little... monochromatic."

"You're lucky those clothes havent gotten up and walked away. How is it that you don't stink, Cas?"

"I don't sweat."

"Right. Let's get you something else to wear."

They hit up an army surplus store first. A pair of khakis, a camouflage shirt, but when Cas stepped out of the room he looked so much like a Green Beret Dean wanted to salute. Not going to cut it with a group of Hell's Angels who were very likely actually from Hell. So they went elsewhere.

There was a leather outfitter at the local mall. The problem there was that Cas could put on a spiked collar and a studded jacket with tearing cloth and multiple zippers, and he looked like a Calvin Klein model. Dean wanted to beat him over the head.

Finally it was just a matter of getting him a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. It was as casual as he could possibly get. If he didn't look dressed down in this, it just wasn't possible. Dean sighed as Castiel changed in the bathroom. This was a disaster.

Then there were broad shoulders and strong arms with muscles pressed against thin cotton, dark hair and eyes against bright white, long forever legs, tight torso, and Dean's mouth actually, physically, went completely dry.

"Will it do?" Cas asked, sounding beleaguered.

Dean nodded dumbly and swallowed a few times. "It--- it'll do," he said, and followed Cas out the door, wondering why in the hell his hands were itching.


Dean/Castiel, six months later

The minute Lucifer was destroyed, the angels disappeared.

The body of Jimmy Novak crumpled to the ground, lifeless. A man named Nick woke up traumatized, penitent, and wandered away alone. A man whose body had hosted an archangel rotted away; another came back to himself alive, if not recovered. It was as though someone had flipped a switch and everything celestial vanished from the earth.

They brought Jimmy's body back to Amelia, who cried and buried him. There was a hardness in her, though, and Claire looked at Dean and Sam with hate in her eyes. They'd learned the hard way that even if the body approaching them had been alive, the man they'd loved was long gone.

And Dean and Sam returned to the road, to monsters, to saving people and hunting things. The two of them. Alone.

"Strange, isn't it?" Sam said one night. They were drinking beers by the side of the road. They'd even made a fire, like a pair of cowboys, and were sitting, like neighboring bumps, on a log.

Dean rounded his lips and blew a foghorn sound across the rim of his beer bottle. "Guess it is."

"But we can't go home again." Sam leaned over, tossed a stick into the fire and watched it snap. "And Cas is gone."

Dean shuddered at the sound of the name. He didn't say anything. Three had become two again and that was it. There was nothing to say.

And then, six months to the day after Lucifer had disappeared into a puff of fire, there was a figure outside the window, standing by Dean's car.

Dean tore out of the room and ran barefoot across the gravel. The stinging of his feet were a glorious reminder that this was no dream.

Just as blue eyes came into bright focus, he came to a halt. "How?" was his first word. Then, "Why?"

Both answered in a single phrase. "I asked to come back."

"You--" Throaty, hoarse. His arms reached out, touched skin. "You're not wearing your coat."

Eyes swept downward at the white shirt, black tie. "This is what I was buried in."

Dean laughed, and tears rolled into his mouth. "That's morbid as hell, Cas."

Castiel took a long breath. "I've missed hearing that nickname," he said.

Dean choked on his own words. He moved forward. And six months of emptiness were swallowed up in an embrace.


Dean/Castiel, one year later

The scar on his stomach says it. The knives of the demon king and the angel prince, tearing into him in tandem. The very last flaring out of his grace, the one pure divine belief in the life and light of the earth that had burned through the heart of Heaven and earned humanity a new lease on life-- all of that is now simply a line of raised, red flesh.

Dean kisses it reverently. "Hard to believe it's been a whole year, huh?" He's smiling against the scar, unable to contain his delight. He got everything he wanted, after all: His brother back, his world spinning on, and best of all his companion there with him, human and real, until death claims them both to peace.

Castiel ruffles his fingers through Dean's hair. Unlike Dean, he has lost something. But if he is sad, he never shows it; every moment that would have been tedious to him as an angel is precious now, and he feels the feathering touch of Dean's lips against his stomach in a way he'd never felt before. "It feels like a thousand years ago," he says. "It feels like it never happened. Like I've always been right here."

Dean crawls up his body to kiss his mouth. "That's where you're staying from now on."

"For a whole year?" Castiel's learned to smile, and when he does, Dean feels it in his whole body.

"For a thousand."

Sam/Dean, slow dance

The diner is loud and crowded, even at this late hour. The jukebox glows pink cords of light. Dean leans on it, shoves a quarter in, and picks an Aerosmith song. "Angel." He always liked that song, and he's not going to stop liking it just because he's got a couple of real angels hanging around these days. The only angel he cares about is sitting in a booth waiting for him, and it's the same angel he's been riding with and hunting with for years now. He turns and locks eyes with him.

And they're standing in a room alone, the soft strains of the melody beginning to fill the air. Sam's face is muted in the soft light and his smile is just barely there. Dean walks over and reaches out his hand. "Dance, Sammy?" The smile widens and a full, rich, strong body brushes against his. Sam's arms circle his waist. He returns the favor. They start to sway.

"You're such a sap," Sam comments, but he's grinning as Dean sits back down. His cheeseburger's overflowing with fat and flavor, and Dean takes a big bite, then grabs a handful of french fries as he's still choosing. Sam makes a face and looks down at his grilled chicken. It's much more civilized, but much less fun. Under the table, his foot caresses Dean's ankle.

Dean fits perfectly into the crook of Sam's shoulder, and his arms wrap around Sam's back finding familiar spots to rest and touch. He inhales, and the scent of Sam, clean and warm, fills his nose and lungs. He's safe here, and he knows that Sam will always be there, a wide open circle of arms and a gentle smile. From angels and devils and whatever may come after them, they keep each other safe. Safe, warm, and loved.

They eat in silence for a time. Then they discuss the case they're working on. Sam brings out his laptop. He slides into Dean's side of the booth to show him the documents he's saved from the previous day's research. They're pressed together, side by side on the small bench. Sam takes in a sharp breath. Dean lays a hand on his knee and they look at each other.

Their faces are so close now. The music is reaching a swell and peak, and there is no force in the world that can stop the magnetism between them. Dean closes his eyes and feels the heavens bearing down on him until Sam's lips seal over his, hot and sure. They're wrapped up in each other now, head to toe. Everything they need is here, in the music, the dance and the kiss.

"This is a good song," Sam says, and his voice breaks a bit. "Sort of thing that makes you want to slow dance." He's flushed.

Dean squeezes his knee. "I was just thinking the same thing."


Dean/Castiel, this thing between us

It's been getting harder to deny for a long while now. Every time they lock eyes, it takes them a little longer to break away. Every time their bodies brush, in the breathless madness of a hunt or the intensity of a confrontation, it slows down time. Dean catches himself looking at Castiel's mouth, thinking about dragging his lips slowly along the line of it, grazing his teeth across the swell of Castiel's lower lip. He looks at Castiel and thinks he must be thinking loudly enough for an angel to hear. His heart's a low thudding drumbeat in his chest.

And Castiel has touched him lately, just in small ways. A hand laid on his shoulder, there too long. A hand reaching out to his in sympathy. At one point, when Dean was badly hurt, Castiel had picked him up and carried him with some strength borrowed from heaven, and half-conscious, Dean had buried his head in the crook of Castiel's neck and felt the tightening of his throat as he swallowed, hard. Nervously. Dean had wanted to run his thumb up the side of that sensitive neck, fix his mouth over the bulging Adam's apple that bobbed as Castiel gulped. He'd wanted to feel the prickle of stubble under his lips. And then he'd passed out.

Now under the moon he met Castiel by the car. The radio was pumping out a song he didn't know. One of those new songs, probably sung by a bunch of unshaven stoners wearing eyeliner. But the line he heard as he walked up to Cas was so prescient, Dean got the chills.

"We're going to figure this out," Castiel said.

"Nn-hn." Moonlight on Castiel's face. Dark hair glowing almost white with the reflection of it.

"This thing between us." He was half-quoting the song. It made Dean grin. "Whatever it is."

"You don't know what it is?" Dean's laughter got stuck on the lump in his throat. He backed Cas up against the car, laying one hand on the spot where the Impala's black paint reflected the full moon in perfect detail.

Castiel's voice was guttural. His gaze was fixed on Dean's mouth. "I have an idea."

"Then you know it's dumb to fight it." Dean's voice wasn't much better.

Castiel nodded mutely. Dean ran his fingertips down the line of Cas' jaw, across his lips. He could feel Cas swallowing again, trying to take in air and understanding. Dean's own nerves were on edge, but he knew how to soothe them.

His shoes shuffled forward on the gravel to stand on either side of Cas' feet. Their bodies came into sudden, flushed contact. "No avoiding it," he murmured, and then his mouth was on Castiel's, hot and demanding. The body beneath his stiffened, then relaxed, and Castiel's hands rose to grip Dean by the arms. Dean fell into him as surely as gravity. The moon poured liquid light into the spaces between them, sealing them up tight and binding them.

There was nothing left to figure out, to deny or to avoid. All that was left was to embrace it.


Sam/Gabriel, this thing between us

It is so weird. No matter how Sam tries to wrap his brain around it, it just comes out all weird.

So the Trickster turned out to be an angel. And he's a pretty damn powerful angel at that. An archangel, apparently. One Sam had actually heard of. And after a bit of persuasion he does come around to the feeling that even if he is sick of the fighting, his brothers really do deserve to be put on ice for a bit longer, if only to piss them off. So he's shown up, and he's hung out, and he and Dean sing along to music in the car while Sam and Castiel sit in the back seat looking vaguely peeved together, and for all the tension there Sam and Castiel find they really do get along. They prefer the more measured approach. To think before acting. Let Dean and Gabriel be pranksters together. They're made for each other.

Except now Gabriel is here, in Sam's room, kissing him and touching him and pushing him against the wall. And it feels right. And Sam can't figure out why.

"What are you..." His words are pushed aside by intense kisses, by brushes of skin against his. "Gabriel, this is..."

"Inevitable," Gabriel answers for him, and skims lips down his neck. "Unavoidable."

"But you and I, we don't even..."

"We should." A rush of fabric and a cold draft and Sam is without his shirt.

And maybe he's right, maybe they should, because God knows they do nothing but bicker when they do talk, but the bickering feels good, it fills Sam with electricity and gives him enough indignant energy to go on when he fears the despair will eat him alive. And sometimes they watch Castiel be serious, or Dean be goofy, and they find themselves sharing a smile. And is that ever awkward.

Awkward not because they don't get along but because they do. Because they work with each other. They're completely different, nobody would ever see it coming, but Gabriel's the light and life he's been missing, and Sam clutches it close now. This thing between them has been building silently for so long, it's long past time it found voice.

It finds Sam's voice. Sam clutches Gabriel close and looks him in the eyes, deep eyes that see so much, and the word he says is "Yes."
panda: SPN: jimmy bedhead and tshirtpandatini on February 28th, 2010 08:46 pm (UTC)
dean playing dress-up with cas is epic love. also misha in jeans and a tshirt, nom nom.
Tiptoe39: idk mishatiptoe39 on February 28th, 2010 09:07 pm (UTC)
i may or may not have been thinking about that very icon when i wrote that. :D