Fic. "a funny little thing." pg-13.
Title: a funny little thing
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s)/Pairing: Dean(na) x Castiel (in a female vessel)
Written For: the SPN Femslash week on tumblr
Word Count: ~1900
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine!
The air bites at her bare shoulders, the smell of ash permeating the wind that whips around her. A soft flutter displaces the air beside her and out of the corner of her eye she catches the rough, tan edge of a familiar trenchcoat. "Hey Cas." The angel looks over, her arms heavy and still at her sides. Her hair still curls at her ears, soft brown waves fallen out of the pearly barrette clipped at the back if her head. Deanna smiles, feeling loose from a hunt that hadn't gone wrong. Salt and burn those fuckers, that was the Winchester way. And Sam had picked up some beers and pizza, just waiting for her back at the motel. Her mouth twitches up at the corner and and stays there, and she looks over at Cas. Who was supposed to be there an hour ago, for fuck’s sake - Deanna doesn’t expect her to drop everything and come flying, but would it have been so hard to let them know she was busy instead of saying she’d show up? She scratches off a bit of dirt crusted under her chin and says "Found God yet?"
Castiel frowns immediately and doesn’t answer. Okay, yeah, so that was a little too sensitive for just a throwaway jibe. She was never going to find God anyway because the bastard was gone - Deanna still wasn’t sure she believed in God, anyway, regardless of the presence of angels. The annoying fuckers probably popped out of little celestial eggs. But Cas is different than the rest of them, and Deanna feels shitty about snapping just because she had been a little late.
"Didn't think so," she says, because that’s a hell of a lot easier to say than sorry.
"I don't intend to stop looking," Cas tells her, voice hard. It’s easy to forget that there is an angel there, wearing a soccer mom, but when Cas speaks like that, all rumbles and rich velvet with that dusty, ancient tremor, Deanna is struck - always - by a visceral reminder of just how inhuman Cas really is. She looks unsure for a half second before narrowing her eyes and saying "I thought you needed my help with a hunt. Did you call me down here just to disparage me?"
"Jesus, Cas, way to make me feel like a bitch. We did need your help, we thought," Deanna tells her, leaning against the big shovel stuck in the ground that she'd used to dig up the remains. She’d grabbed it from the front porch of the house, because they’d parked the Impala too far away to go grab something quickly from the trunk. The ghost had been someone named Norman Busbee; and he had been one fucked-up orthodontist in his life, killed by his second wife because he’d paid more attention to his pet chickens than to her. Seriously, Deanna wonders, why did they have to get all the crap cases. Ghost obsessed with chickens, that banshee in the swamp a few weeks before. The goddamn apocalypse. Real fucking peachy to be a Winchester. She doesn’t want do have to go back to the house; metallic chickens with big, white stones polished to a dull shine for eyes. And they roll in the sockets. Christ. There’s a garden shed right by the gravesite, though, so she’ll just stow it back there before she left. She shrugs at Cas. “"But, uh. No demons. Just a ghost. Guess the intel was wrong. We took care of him pretty quick. Sam’s already back at the motel.” She taps the fresh dirt once with the toe of her boot, then pulls up the shovel and slings it over her shoulder. Cas doesn’t move - of course - so Deanna just starts walking. “You coming?” she calls, glancing back over her free shoulder.
The way Cas scrunches up her nose in bemusement is one part “what the fuck is this human saying” and one part fucking adorable and it really isn’t helping the hate-crush Deanna is already sporting. But she starts walking, quick efficient strides that crunch across the dry lawn. Deanna slows, just a little, slipping into a stroll so that Cas can catch up.
She throws the shovel into the shed and then they walk back to the Impala - there because Sam left had had decided to walk to their motel, which was only a few blocks away, yeah, but still. Deanna opens the door preemptively, because no way is Cas going to zap them anywhere, not when her baby’s right there. “Get in,” she says, when Cas continues to stand there. She climbs into the driver’s side and after another few seconds of hesitation Cas gets in beside her. Deanna nods at Cas and starts the car, pulling out of the driveway, the headlights flashing on the weird, metallic chickens set around the house. Seriously. Deanna is going to have nightmares about those fucking chickens.
She turns down the music a little and pulls out her cell phone, pushing the few buttons to speed dial Sam. “Hey,” she says into the phone, “it’s Dee.” Cas gives her a look she interprets as ‘if you talk on the phone and drive you are going to die,’ and she gives one back that says ‘fuck you, you can fix me with your angel magic.’ Cas’ expression doesn’t change, so she’s not sure the sentiment took. “Cas finally showed up,” she says, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “Yeah, I know. I told her. She’s with me now - we’re coming back. You better not have eaten all the pizza.” Sam immediately starts to apologize, because oh, he forgot to pick it up. “Whatever,” she says, hoping he can hear the disgust dripping from her words. “Cas and I are going to go pick up burgers. You better leave me a beer.” She hangs up and wedges the phone into her front pocket.
”I don’t need to eat,” Cas reminds her.
”Yeah, Cas,” Deanna says, “you’ve told me. More for me, then.” They drive until Deanna sees some place with a drive-thru. She orders two burgers and a large fries. It’s tempting to go back and eat in front of Sam, just to show him not to forget the fucking pizza again, but even if Norm the chicken guy hadn’t been a tough ghost, it’d still taken some energy to dig up his bones, so on a lonely stretch of road between the greasy burger place and the motel she pulls over.
They lean against the Impala, looking towards the road. There are enough stars out to see, so she grabs a burger out of the bag and hands it over to Cas. Who doesn’t take anything of course, but just holds it up awkwardly, looking at the sky. It’s not really a funny situation, but it makes Deanna grin anyway, and she knocks her shoulder against Cas’. “Hey,” she says. You’re beautiful, she thinks. I don’t know if I can do this, she thinks. I want to kiss you but there’s ketchup smeared on the side of my mouth and I’m going to get it on you, she thinks, her heart clenching at the soft curve of Cas’ neck, the plumpness of her mouth, the crisp, white shirt belted at her slim waist. She says “Can you hand me a fry?”
She pushes her bra strap back up her shoulder and watches Castiel dig in the bag. She holds the fry up too high and instead of grabbing it, Deanna just opens her mouth and lets Cas push it inside. The tips of her fingers - neatly trimmed, with clean painted white tips - hit her lips and Deanna tries very, very hard not to let the really inappropriate sound she wants to make slip out. Cas wipes her fingers on her other sleeve.
”Are you cold?” Cas asks. “It seems... brisk.”
”Is that really your idea of small talk?” she asks, reaching into the bag to grab another fry. Her arm grazes Cas’ chest. “I’m fine,” she says after she swallows. “A little cold’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Cas nods and looks back up at the sky. An old truck passes by a minute later, breaking the easy silence as it rattles down the road. Deanna finishes her burger and starts on the second. Cas isn’t much of a talker anyway, so it’s not like the silence is awkward, but it’s laced with something. There’s a tension that Deanna feels, like a pressure in her throat, at the base of her spine. She wonders why, since the hunt was over, Cas decided to stay.
”You want a fry?” she asks, pulling one out and holding it under Cas’ nose.
”No,” Cas says, shaking her head. They’re so close that Deanna can feel her hair move.
”Come on,” she says, shaking it a little. “Just one.”
Cas looks over at her and Deanna gives her an encouraging look. It’s just one damn fry, after all. Cas opens her mouth, wide, and Deanna swallows and when she drops the fry, it’s a goddamn accident, she swears.
Cas has a really great tongue, it turns out, and she runs the flat of it against Deanna’s finger, sucking it into her mouth until the last knuckle. The wet point of her tongue finds the soft skin between fingers, and it’s really good and even though she touches one of Cas’ molars it’s okay because holy fuck it’s good and why is it her finger in Cas’ mouth and not her tongue?
”I dropped the fry,” she says, stupidly, trying to regain some measure of control. Cas sucks once on her finger, hard, and then lets Deanna pull it out.
”I don’t need to eat,” Cas reminds her again, and there’s something in her expression that’s curious and soft. It’s probably romantic, some part of Deanna’s brain she associates with Sam tells her insistently, but the only thing she wants to say to Cas is “I really want to do you.” So she doesn’t say anything at all. She reaches out and touches Cas’ hair, and it’s really soft, and something inside her folds up as she pushes it behind Cas’ ear.
”We should go,” Cas says, looking away. And it’s evasive and almost human, and Deanna thinks that kissing Cas wouldn’t be so bad, not really, it might even be great, fucking amazing, and if there wasn’t a fucking apocalypse going on, goddamn but she would do it. She would do it. And maybe Cas wouldn’t push her away. Deanna knew she wouldn’t, even if she likes to pretend that Cas doesn’t care about her.
”Yeah,” she says. Maybe it’s colder suddenly, she doesn’t know, but she rubs the goosebumps on her arm and opens the car door. Cas is looking at her, head tilted, and Deanna sighs. “You have to go?”
Cas nods. “All right. Good luck, then. With your, uh.” She makes a half-hearted motion with her arm, cocking her head. “Your search or whatever.”
”Thank you,” Cas says, and then she is gone. Deanna throws the food bag into the back seat and starts the car. She turns the music up and sings along, pulling out onto the road. There’s cold beer waiting for her in the room, and she knows she’ll see Cas again soon.
Thanks for reading; feedback always appreciated!
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s)/Pairing: Dean(na) x Castiel (in a female vessel)
Written For: the SPN Femslash week on tumblr
Word Count: ~1900
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine!
The air bites at her bare shoulders, the smell of ash permeating the wind that whips around her. A soft flutter displaces the air beside her and out of the corner of her eye she catches the rough, tan edge of a familiar trenchcoat. "Hey Cas." The angel looks over, her arms heavy and still at her sides. Her hair still curls at her ears, soft brown waves fallen out of the pearly barrette clipped at the back if her head. Deanna smiles, feeling loose from a hunt that hadn't gone wrong. Salt and burn those fuckers, that was the Winchester way. And Sam had picked up some beers and pizza, just waiting for her back at the motel. Her mouth twitches up at the corner and and stays there, and she looks over at Cas. Who was supposed to be there an hour ago, for fuck’s sake - Deanna doesn’t expect her to drop everything and come flying, but would it have been so hard to let them know she was busy instead of saying she’d show up? She scratches off a bit of dirt crusted under her chin and says "Found God yet?"
Castiel frowns immediately and doesn’t answer. Okay, yeah, so that was a little too sensitive for just a throwaway jibe. She was never going to find God anyway because the bastard was gone - Deanna still wasn’t sure she believed in God, anyway, regardless of the presence of angels. The annoying fuckers probably popped out of little celestial eggs. But Cas is different than the rest of them, and Deanna feels shitty about snapping just because she had been a little late.
"Didn't think so," she says, because that’s a hell of a lot easier to say than sorry.
"I don't intend to stop looking," Cas tells her, voice hard. It’s easy to forget that there is an angel there, wearing a soccer mom, but when Cas speaks like that, all rumbles and rich velvet with that dusty, ancient tremor, Deanna is struck - always - by a visceral reminder of just how inhuman Cas really is. She looks unsure for a half second before narrowing her eyes and saying "I thought you needed my help with a hunt. Did you call me down here just to disparage me?"
"Jesus, Cas, way to make me feel like a bitch. We did need your help, we thought," Deanna tells her, leaning against the big shovel stuck in the ground that she'd used to dig up the remains. She’d grabbed it from the front porch of the house, because they’d parked the Impala too far away to go grab something quickly from the trunk. The ghost had been someone named Norman Busbee; and he had been one fucked-up orthodontist in his life, killed by his second wife because he’d paid more attention to his pet chickens than to her. Seriously, Deanna wonders, why did they have to get all the crap cases. Ghost obsessed with chickens, that banshee in the swamp a few weeks before. The goddamn apocalypse. Real fucking peachy to be a Winchester. She doesn’t want do have to go back to the house; metallic chickens with big, white stones polished to a dull shine for eyes. And they roll in the sockets. Christ. There’s a garden shed right by the gravesite, though, so she’ll just stow it back there before she left. She shrugs at Cas. “"But, uh. No demons. Just a ghost. Guess the intel was wrong. We took care of him pretty quick. Sam’s already back at the motel.” She taps the fresh dirt once with the toe of her boot, then pulls up the shovel and slings it over her shoulder. Cas doesn’t move - of course - so Deanna just starts walking. “You coming?” she calls, glancing back over her free shoulder.
The way Cas scrunches up her nose in bemusement is one part “what the fuck is this human saying” and one part fucking adorable and it really isn’t helping the hate-crush Deanna is already sporting. But she starts walking, quick efficient strides that crunch across the dry lawn. Deanna slows, just a little, slipping into a stroll so that Cas can catch up.
She throws the shovel into the shed and then they walk back to the Impala - there because Sam left had had decided to walk to their motel, which was only a few blocks away, yeah, but still. Deanna opens the door preemptively, because no way is Cas going to zap them anywhere, not when her baby’s right there. “Get in,” she says, when Cas continues to stand there. She climbs into the driver’s side and after another few seconds of hesitation Cas gets in beside her. Deanna nods at Cas and starts the car, pulling out of the driveway, the headlights flashing on the weird, metallic chickens set around the house. Seriously. Deanna is going to have nightmares about those fucking chickens.
She turns down the music a little and pulls out her cell phone, pushing the few buttons to speed dial Sam. “Hey,” she says into the phone, “it’s Dee.” Cas gives her a look she interprets as ‘if you talk on the phone and drive you are going to die,’ and she gives one back that says ‘fuck you, you can fix me with your angel magic.’ Cas’ expression doesn’t change, so she’s not sure the sentiment took. “Cas finally showed up,” she says, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “Yeah, I know. I told her. She’s with me now - we’re coming back. You better not have eaten all the pizza.” Sam immediately starts to apologize, because oh, he forgot to pick it up. “Whatever,” she says, hoping he can hear the disgust dripping from her words. “Cas and I are going to go pick up burgers. You better leave me a beer.” She hangs up and wedges the phone into her front pocket.
”I don’t need to eat,” Cas reminds her.
”Yeah, Cas,” Deanna says, “you’ve told me. More for me, then.” They drive until Deanna sees some place with a drive-thru. She orders two burgers and a large fries. It’s tempting to go back and eat in front of Sam, just to show him not to forget the fucking pizza again, but even if Norm the chicken guy hadn’t been a tough ghost, it’d still taken some energy to dig up his bones, so on a lonely stretch of road between the greasy burger place and the motel she pulls over.
They lean against the Impala, looking towards the road. There are enough stars out to see, so she grabs a burger out of the bag and hands it over to Cas. Who doesn’t take anything of course, but just holds it up awkwardly, looking at the sky. It’s not really a funny situation, but it makes Deanna grin anyway, and she knocks her shoulder against Cas’. “Hey,” she says. You’re beautiful, she thinks. I don’t know if I can do this, she thinks. I want to kiss you but there’s ketchup smeared on the side of my mouth and I’m going to get it on you, she thinks, her heart clenching at the soft curve of Cas’ neck, the plumpness of her mouth, the crisp, white shirt belted at her slim waist. She says “Can you hand me a fry?”
She pushes her bra strap back up her shoulder and watches Castiel dig in the bag. She holds the fry up too high and instead of grabbing it, Deanna just opens her mouth and lets Cas push it inside. The tips of her fingers - neatly trimmed, with clean painted white tips - hit her lips and Deanna tries very, very hard not to let the really inappropriate sound she wants to make slip out. Cas wipes her fingers on her other sleeve.
”Are you cold?” Cas asks. “It seems... brisk.”
”Is that really your idea of small talk?” she asks, reaching into the bag to grab another fry. Her arm grazes Cas’ chest. “I’m fine,” she says after she swallows. “A little cold’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Cas nods and looks back up at the sky. An old truck passes by a minute later, breaking the easy silence as it rattles down the road. Deanna finishes her burger and starts on the second. Cas isn’t much of a talker anyway, so it’s not like the silence is awkward, but it’s laced with something. There’s a tension that Deanna feels, like a pressure in her throat, at the base of her spine. She wonders why, since the hunt was over, Cas decided to stay.
”You want a fry?” she asks, pulling one out and holding it under Cas’ nose.
”No,” Cas says, shaking her head. They’re so close that Deanna can feel her hair move.
”Come on,” she says, shaking it a little. “Just one.”
Cas looks over at her and Deanna gives her an encouraging look. It’s just one damn fry, after all. Cas opens her mouth, wide, and Deanna swallows and when she drops the fry, it’s a goddamn accident, she swears.
Cas has a really great tongue, it turns out, and she runs the flat of it against Deanna’s finger, sucking it into her mouth until the last knuckle. The wet point of her tongue finds the soft skin between fingers, and it’s really good and even though she touches one of Cas’ molars it’s okay because holy fuck it’s good and why is it her finger in Cas’ mouth and not her tongue?
”I dropped the fry,” she says, stupidly, trying to regain some measure of control. Cas sucks once on her finger, hard, and then lets Deanna pull it out.
”I don’t need to eat,” Cas reminds her again, and there’s something in her expression that’s curious and soft. It’s probably romantic, some part of Deanna’s brain she associates with Sam tells her insistently, but the only thing she wants to say to Cas is “I really want to do you.” So she doesn’t say anything at all. She reaches out and touches Cas’ hair, and it’s really soft, and something inside her folds up as she pushes it behind Cas’ ear.
”We should go,” Cas says, looking away. And it’s evasive and almost human, and Deanna thinks that kissing Cas wouldn’t be so bad, not really, it might even be great, fucking amazing, and if there wasn’t a fucking apocalypse going on, goddamn but she would do it. She would do it. And maybe Cas wouldn’t push her away. Deanna knew she wouldn’t, even if she likes to pretend that Cas doesn’t care about her.
”Yeah,” she says. Maybe it’s colder suddenly, she doesn’t know, but she rubs the goosebumps on her arm and opens the car door. Cas is looking at her, head tilted, and Deanna sighs. “You have to go?”
Cas nods. “All right. Good luck, then. With your, uh.” She makes a half-hearted motion with her arm, cocking her head. “Your search or whatever.”
”Thank you,” Cas says, and then she is gone. Deanna throws the food bag into the back seat and starts the car. She turns the music up and sings along, pulling out onto the road. There’s cold beer waiting for her in the room, and she knows she’ll see Cas again soon.
Thanks for reading; feedback always appreciated!