Fic: Play On (Dean/Castiel, PG-13)
Title: Play On
Author: bellajayd
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Dean/Cas, Sam
Spoilers: Well . . . there’s an Apocalypse going on?
Warnings: Language, epic fluff. Observance of traffic laws.
Disclaimer: This is all a beautiful lie, but let me tell it anyway.
Word Count: 1,300
Notes: A slice of sweet birthday cake for my lovely aisling_door.
Summary: If music be the food of love, play on. (The one where Castiel picks the music, Dean tries to propose, and God’s a fangirl/boy/thingamabob.)
Okay. Okay. Dean was going to do this. He was totally going to fucking do this. He cleared his throat, tightened his knuckles around the Impala’s steering wheel and looked over at his angelic passenger - who was staring right back at him. “So, Cas . . . how about them Yankees?”
Shit. He was such a coward.
“I believe the inhabitants of the northern United States are experiencing a bout of severe winter weather, Dean. It is concerning.”
“ . . . Right. All that snow, it’s rough on cars.” Dean swallowed dryly, and slowed down as they approached a stop sign. And if Dean was surreptitiously observing the angel with a few discreet sideways glances then he would have seen Cas smile approvingly. But Dean wasn’t looking at anything except the road in front of him.
He casually flicked on his left hand turn signal.
Yeah.
The angel had him pussy, wait, no - cock, not yet - wing, blackblackblack enough to smother his nightmares, yeah- whipped and following traffic laws. Fucking awesome. Next, he’d be following the speed limit.
Ha! Dean Winchester following the speed limit, if Sammy were in the car and not snoozing away at the motel then he’d say that it was a sure sign the Apocalypse really was at hand.
A car horn beeped behind him and Dean gave a startled huff, “Damned impatient drivers in this town.”
“Yes,” Cas frowned thoughtfully and continued on in a firm tone, “they should not be rushing you.” Dean heard the distinctive “pop” of a flat tire come from the car behind him as he pulled away from the stop sign.
Heh. Sometimes it was nice to have an angel on your side.
“Dean you’re very quiet. Are you alright?”
And sometimes it sucked, ‘cause there was no hiding ‘nuthin from an angel - especially, his angel. Dean’d been getting off easy all these years with Sam and he’d never realized it. Nosy little brothers were one thing, psychic angels that were obsessed with his well being were a whole new and terrifying kettle of fish. Still, it was a nice feeling to know that someone cared about him who wasn’t obligated to do so just because they were related.
“Dean?” Castiel moved a hand to rest gently on Dean’s wrist, unintentionally setting off sparks of something racing through his blood.
Right . . . right . . . when someone asked you a question you were supposed to answer and not stare at ‘em like a love struck dope. “I’m good, Cas.” An honest smile pulled at his lips attesting to his statement’s truth and the angel ran a thumb over the pulse point in Dean’s wrist before settling into his seat and smiling back.
Come on, Winchester -you survived forty years in Hell, raised the anti-Christ well enough that he’s trying to stop Armageddon, and have managed to successfully convince Bobby that you like his heartburn inducing chili - you can definitely do this.
“Hey,” he cleared his throat, “you . . . um,” man up! “you know what we need is a little music.” Dean was sure that his heart was going to thump right out of his chest any minute now and Cas was looking at him curiously as if he was waiting for Dean to continue speaking.
Shit.
“What I mean is, Cas, why don’t you pick out something for us to listen to?”
For a few moments, absolute silence thundered through the car and Dean felt a cold sweat break out across his brow. Oh . . . Please, God. Please! What if Cas doesn’t -
“Dean,” the angel’s low voice acted as a soothing balm to the hunter’s apprehension, “Yes, I would like to choose what we listen to.” And with that Dean found the courage to look away from the road and meet Cas’ gaze.
Thank you.
Castiel had understood - his angel heard what he really meant to say and . . . and Cas’d said, yes! Joy strummed through him, evenly matched by the happiness he could actually see radiating from Cas, because those blue eyes were turning impossibly bluer as he stared into them until they burned so brightly, they shamed the Caribbean.
He tore his eyes away before he crashed them into a tree, but he could still feel the warm heat of Castiel’s regard lapping against his cheek. “There’s, uh, a box of tapes under your seat ‘cause radios don’t work so well around you.”
There was a rustling sound and he saw Cas pull out a badly beaten and cracked tape that his Dad had loved because it was one of the last things Mary had given to him, and like all things John loved it had been destroyed by ‘ole Yellow Eyes - this time when he’d t-boned the Impala with a truck.
No, no . . . he didn’t want to start off this thing with Cas by having to explain that yet another part of his life was wrecked because of Hell. “Hey, Cas not that one, it broke when -“
But Dean was too late and the angel had already popped the mangled tape into the deck. His shoulders tightened in anticipation of the shrieking static about to blast out of the speakers when, instead, the melodic tones of the Byrds singing Turn, Turn, Turn rippled through the car.
Clearly.
Without a hitch, skip, or bump.
Hell, he’d heard live concerts that sounded worse . . . and it shouldn’t have been possible. With wide eyes and a lightened soul, he looked over at Castiel who was smiling and staring contentedly out of the window at the passing scenery.
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven
Dean took a deep breath and extended a shaking hand across the leather seat where it was met and gently held by his angel.
A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time for love, a time for hate
A time for peace, I swear it's not too late
He took a deep breath and then let it out, and got down to the business of driving them back to the motel before dinner got cold and he had to deal with Sammy’s bitching.
Thank you.
And as they passed a speed limit sign, Dean slowed down.
The End.
Author: bellajayd
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Dean/Cas, Sam
Spoilers: Well . . . there’s an Apocalypse going on?
Warnings: Language, epic fluff. Observance of traffic laws.
Disclaimer: This is all a beautiful lie, but let me tell it anyway.
Word Count: 1,300
Notes: A slice of sweet birthday cake for my lovely aisling_door.
Summary: If music be the food of love, play on. (The one where Castiel picks the music, Dean tries to propose, and God’s a fangirl/boy/thingamabob.)
Okay. Okay. Dean was going to do this. He was totally going to fucking do this. He cleared his throat, tightened his knuckles around the Impala’s steering wheel and looked over at his angelic passenger - who was staring right back at him. “So, Cas . . . how about them Yankees?”
Shit. He was such a coward.
“I believe the inhabitants of the northern United States are experiencing a bout of severe winter weather, Dean. It is concerning.”
“ . . . Right. All that snow, it’s rough on cars.” Dean swallowed dryly, and slowed down as they approached a stop sign. And if Dean was surreptitiously observing the angel with a few discreet sideways glances then he would have seen Cas smile approvingly. But Dean wasn’t looking at anything except the road in front of him.
He casually flicked on his left hand turn signal.
Yeah.
The angel had him pussy, wait, no - cock, not yet - wing, blackblackblack enough to smother his nightmares, yeah- whipped and following traffic laws. Fucking awesome. Next, he’d be following the speed limit.
Ha! Dean Winchester following the speed limit, if Sammy were in the car and not snoozing away at the motel then he’d say that it was a sure sign the Apocalypse really was at hand.
A car horn beeped behind him and Dean gave a startled huff, “Damned impatient drivers in this town.”
“Yes,” Cas frowned thoughtfully and continued on in a firm tone, “they should not be rushing you.” Dean heard the distinctive “pop” of a flat tire come from the car behind him as he pulled away from the stop sign.
Heh. Sometimes it was nice to have an angel on your side.
“Dean you’re very quiet. Are you alright?”
And sometimes it sucked, ‘cause there was no hiding ‘nuthin from an angel - especially, his angel. Dean’d been getting off easy all these years with Sam and he’d never realized it. Nosy little brothers were one thing, psychic angels that were obsessed with his well being were a whole new and terrifying kettle of fish. Still, it was a nice feeling to know that someone cared about him who wasn’t obligated to do so just because they were related.
“Dean?” Castiel moved a hand to rest gently on Dean’s wrist, unintentionally setting off sparks of something racing through his blood.
Right . . . right . . . when someone asked you a question you were supposed to answer and not stare at ‘em like a love struck dope. “I’m good, Cas.” An honest smile pulled at his lips attesting to his statement’s truth and the angel ran a thumb over the pulse point in Dean’s wrist before settling into his seat and smiling back.
Come on, Winchester -you survived forty years in Hell, raised the anti-Christ well enough that he’s trying to stop Armageddon, and have managed to successfully convince Bobby that you like his heartburn inducing chili - you can definitely do this.
“Hey,” he cleared his throat, “you . . . um,” man up! “you know what we need is a little music.” Dean was sure that his heart was going to thump right out of his chest any minute now and Cas was looking at him curiously as if he was waiting for Dean to continue speaking.
Shit.
“What I mean is, Cas, why don’t you pick out something for us to listen to?”
For a few moments, absolute silence thundered through the car and Dean felt a cold sweat break out across his brow. Oh . . . Please, God. Please! What if Cas doesn’t -
“Dean,” the angel’s low voice acted as a soothing balm to the hunter’s apprehension, “Yes, I would like to choose what we listen to.” And with that Dean found the courage to look away from the road and meet Cas’ gaze.
Thank you.
Castiel had understood - his angel heard what he really meant to say and . . . and Cas’d said, yes! Joy strummed through him, evenly matched by the happiness he could actually see radiating from Cas, because those blue eyes were turning impossibly bluer as he stared into them until they burned so brightly, they shamed the Caribbean.
He tore his eyes away before he crashed them into a tree, but he could still feel the warm heat of Castiel’s regard lapping against his cheek. “There’s, uh, a box of tapes under your seat ‘cause radios don’t work so well around you.”
There was a rustling sound and he saw Cas pull out a badly beaten and cracked tape that his Dad had loved because it was one of the last things Mary had given to him, and like all things John loved it had been destroyed by ‘ole Yellow Eyes - this time when he’d t-boned the Impala with a truck.
No, no . . . he didn’t want to start off this thing with Cas by having to explain that yet another part of his life was wrecked because of Hell. “Hey, Cas not that one, it broke when -“
But Dean was too late and the angel had already popped the mangled tape into the deck. His shoulders tightened in anticipation of the shrieking static about to blast out of the speakers when, instead, the melodic tones of the Byrds singing Turn, Turn, Turn rippled through the car.
Clearly.
Without a hitch, skip, or bump.
Hell, he’d heard live concerts that sounded worse . . . and it shouldn’t have been possible. With wide eyes and a lightened soul, he looked over at Castiel who was smiling and staring contentedly out of the window at the passing scenery.
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven
Dean took a deep breath and extended a shaking hand across the leather seat where it was met and gently held by his angel.
A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time for love, a time for hate
A time for peace, I swear it's not too late
He took a deep breath and then let it out, and got down to the business of driving them back to the motel before dinner got cold and he had to deal with Sammy’s bitching.
Thank you.
And as they passed a speed limit sign, Dean slowed down.
The End.