Comment fic spam post: Supernatural 1
I've been spending a lot of time in comment_fic and comment!fic memes recently. With remix coming up again (Dude!) I thought I'd post some of the fics that I'm happier with to give a wider choice to my remixer.
None of them has been beta'd so the grammar etc is a little slapdash in some places *facepalm*. Also mostly untitled.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Dean, Castiel.
Warnings: epic celestial battle
Spoilers: Season 4
Word Count: 246
Disclaimer:I own nothing, I get no money. This is purely for entertainment purposes
Author's Note: written for the comment fic meme on spn_castiel.
Summary: The war between heaven and hell.
On this plain, unhindered by the physical restraints of his human form, he is not blundering in the dark. He does not rely on flesh against flesh, clumsy punches and drawing blood. Everywhere his gaze falls, demons die screaming. Their cries echo in his ears as he extends his wings out.
Of course, there are those who do not fall - the more powerful, the true demons, as opposed to those who were turned by the pit. Everything has a beginning, but even as they crawl towards him, the old ones, the strong ones, he does not fear them.
By his side, wielding a sword gained through blood and tears, Dean Winchester stands. Castiel takes care of the small fry, the insignificant majority and leaves him to dispose of those which need a little more work.
A ray of demonic light, hard and cold, rushes towards them, and he furls his wings around the pair of them, feeling Dean lean in to him.
“How many left do you think?” he asks. Castiel considers it carefully for a moment.
“They will keep coming,” he says, calm and still, as always. There is no darkness, despite their shelter, Castiel’s grace glows enough to illuminate the pair of them, and he can clearly see the almost feral grin on Dean’s face.
“Let them come,” he murmurs.
So Castiel unfurls his wings once more, and they stride forward. He extends his arm forward and the sea of demons parts before them.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Dean, Castiel.
Warnings: hints of crack
Spoilers: Season 4 up to 4x16
Word Count: 706
Disclaimer:I own nothing, I get no money. This is purely for entertainment purposes
Author's Note: I think the prompt was Castiel has his vessel's dreams. Written pre-4x20 and with no knowledge of that episode.
Uriel was gone and, as much as he was a ‘dick’, as Dean would say. He was the only person that Castiel had ever talked to much concerning anything.
Even if he had been alive he probably wouldn’t have mentioned this, though. It was too strange, too wrong, too human. Castiel wasn’t sure what the feeling he had when he thought about what might happen if he told another angel about this. It might have been wary.
So he had ended up sitting on the end of Dean Winchester’s bed, staring at the cheap desk that stood against the opposite wall. If he concentrated, he could see all the tiny particles that made it up, he could see the bacteria that coated the surface, the layers of fingerprints that covered it. In this form his sight was good enough to see that much at least. The complexity of it was enough to distract him, until Dean woke up and swore sleepily.
“We really need to talk about personal boundaries…” his charge muttered, “and privacy.”
“I am sorry, Dean.” He allowed himself to turn around to look at the human. Dean was blinking blearily and staring at him. On the other bed Sam, still there for once, turned over with a sigh that might have been a word and settled into REM. Castiel had made sure he would not wake up. It was almost too much to tell Dean, to tell his brother… who was growing further away from humanity every second, would be unthinkable.
“So… got another seal you need saving? Another demon you need torturing? Or are you just here to try and get us killed?” Dean asked, pulling himself upright.
“No…” Castiel told him. He did not apologise, he had already done so. “You dream of hell,” he said instead. It was a statement of fact. He had seen Dean’s nightmares first hand. He had pulled him out of them, and Dean would not be human if he could forget that.
“Yeah,” Dean said, fully awake, “not the sort of thing you forget in a hurry… what’s this about?” The hostile look on his face was not exactly unexpected, but Castiel asked the next question in spite of it.
“What else do you dream about?” Dean stared at him for a long moment before casting a look over at Sam, still fast asleep.
“You know…”
“No, I don’t,” Castiel responded and he observed in puzzlement as Dean opened and closed his mouth.
“Pie… girls, more girls. Just the usual really,” Dean said with a shrug. “What’s this about, Cas? Coz in case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve been a bit busy lately, what with the coming apocalypse and all.”
Castiel turned away, to stare at the desktop again.
“I have been… dreaming,” he admitted. He hesitated a few seconds, but his superiors did not appear, no one struck him down, he was not called away. “I think they are my vessel’s thoughts. I do not… they make no sense.”
“Dude, they’re dreams,” Dean said with a chuckle. “They’re not supposed to make sense. I once had one where this girl... well, you probably don’t want to know that.” He paused before changing the subject abruptly. “I didn’t think you slept.”
“We don’t. But while I am here, my vessel is sleeping. Sometimes I…”
“You spy on his dreams?” Dean asked, outraged. “We have really got to talk about privacy.”
“Sometimes there is a woman,” Castiel said, wondering why he felt a little lighter than before. He had not been aware of anything weighing down on him. “She laughs a lot.”
“Cas… I’m not sure you should be telling me this. I mean, they’re his dreams, right. This accountant-guy.” Dean waved vaguely at the back of Castiel’s head and the angel turned around and caught his gaze.
“And sometimes she is gone, and he is alone. He is falling.” Castiel was talking more to himself now. The words were slow and thoughtful. “He cannot fly.”
“Not really a human ability… we don’t have wings,” Dean answered, but he did not sound as flippant as before.
“And sometimes…” Castiel paused, “there is a giant talking llama.”
Dean blinked and opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Characters: Dean, Castiel. Dean/Castiel (I know, I know - slash in spn, I've never done that before)
Warnings: weird... paper!kink (no, really, I kid you not)
Spoilers: Season 4 - 4x02
Word Count: 1287
Disclaimer:I own nothing, I get no money. This is purely for entertainment purposes
Author's Note: Another from the meme on spn_castiel. Prompt: Angel's skin cannot be touched without their permission or by people with impure thoughts.
The first time, Dean gets blasted half way across the room and Sam is on his feet and glaring in a way that wouldn’t be so fucking scary if there wasn’t an undercurrent of ‘I have demon powers’ to it.
Dean gets up and brushes himself off, not really noticing the puzzled look on Castiel’s face and commenting that he didn’t think he had said anything that bad.
There is a wing beat, and Castiel is gone.
*
Sam is not present the next time. In fact, it’s just a routine ‘I was bored’ visit (or that’s what Dean calls them in his head, the ones where Cas just turns up out of nowhere - no warning, no reason but not entirely unwelcome). He goes to shove the angel’s shoulder, but exhaustion and alcohol make him miss so his hand slides to hit the bare skin of his neck.
The reaction isn’t as bad as before. He doesn’t go flying, but he does pull his hand away as though burnt.
They both look down at the skin of his hand, which is red and sore, then up until their eyes meet. Dean is opening his mouth to ask a question when Castiel disappears again.
“Wish he’d stop doing that…” Dean mutters to himself, sucking on his finger to try to numb the aching pain.
*
Sam doesn’t mention the burns, although he must notice them. It becomes another of a long list of things that they don’t acknowledge.
Then they are summoned half way across the country to another seal and they make it there just in time to see some Demon or other make the earth crack open in front of them. There are strange sigils painted all around in what looks, and smells, like blood.
Castiel stands in the centre of it all, blazing like Dean has not seen since he first met the man… angel. But it’s not enough. The pit is sucking like a hungry black hole, and the edge is approaching the angel’s feet. As they watch, the nimbus surrounding him sputters and dies and he falls.
Dean’s moving before he even realises what’s happened. Sam will take care of the demon (another thing they will never talk about) and it’s up to him to save the angel. He wonders, as he reaches the edge of the abyss and has to grab a tree root, when they started dividing it up - saving people and hunting things - so that he does one and Sam does the other. He dismisses the thought though, as he drops to his stomach and catches sight of Castiel hanging on below.
“Why don’t you just fly out?” he asks, reaching down even as he speaks. Castiel looks up at him calmly.
“He bound my movement,” he says, as though this is perfectly normal and not one of the most worrying things Dean has heard in a long while. He reaches up, and there is strain evident on his face. His fingers are a centimetre from Dean’s and they both strain a little further.
The root that Dean is holding onto is growing loose, but there isn’t really time to worry about that, or what’s at the bottom of the hell pit, but he does hope that Sam finishes the demon off quickly.
“You’re not going to burn me again, are you?” he yells over the howling of the wind.
“No,” Castiel says, and Dean would swear that the angel hadn’t raised his voice a decibel, but he still hears it as clear as day.
“Good.” They strain that extra bit and manage to grab hold of each other’s hands. Dean’s pulling and Castiel is pushing and they’re both breathing heavily by the time they make it onto horizontal ground again. Dean’s about to leap to his feet when the wind dies down and the silence is deafening. Sam yells that it’s over in a voice that doesn’t sound quite his own. But that is a problem for later.
Their hands are still touching as they lie on the ground, and the warmth of it is pleasant. Dean doesn’t move for a moment except to breath, his thoughts move swiftly from one thing to another. Seconds later he is pulling back his hand again with a startled cry.
Sam rushes over, but there is no explanation forthcoming from angel or brother.
They break the binding spell, set Castiel free and then they are on the road again.
*
When Castiel next shows up, Dean is waiting for him. Sam’s out getting pie (lots of pie… any kind, who cares as long as it’s pie?) so the room is almost silent except for the over-loud tick of the clock.
“Why did you burn me?” he asks, not looking up from where he is cleaning his guns. He could do the task blindfolded (had a couple of times when he was younger and his father was bored) but he’s not really in the mood for a staring match with an angel.
“Our skin cannot be touched without our permission,” Castiel said calmly.
“Right…”
“Or…”
“Or what?” Dean asks.
“We cannot be touched by those whose intentions are… impure.”
“But demons touch you all the time.”
“They are not human.”
“Oh…” Dean pauses the steady rhythm of his hands again before starting it up twice as rigorously. “That’s got to suck.” He doesn’t say that it makes sense, he doesn’t apologise. “Not even if you want them to…”
“No.”
“Right.” By the time Dean has picked up the next gun, Castiel is gone.
*
The apocalypse is coming, the demons are winning and his brother’s still sneaking off to flex his demonic mojo, but Dean still has time to think about Castiel’s revelation… pun fully intended.
The next time they meet, they don’t talk about it. Castiel is reporting that another seal has been broken, they are another step closer to hell on earth. Dean’s trying to ignore the fact that he’s supposed to stop it, and he begins to play with a piece of paper Sam had left lying around, scribbled annotations and equations covering it.
He’s just moving it around, when an idea occurs to him. They are sitting opposite each other on the dilapidated motel beds, and Dean’s not sure whether this is a real meeting, or one of those dream meetings they have. He doesn’t really care.
He rolls the sheet of paper up and rests it, ever so lightly, on the back of Castiel’s hand. There is no reaction: it doesn’t go up in flames, Dean is not struck down by a stray bolt of lightning. He smirks.
Slowly, he begins to draw it backwards and forwards over the angel’s skin, watching Castiel’s face intently as he does so.
He can tell when Castiel notices. His words halt for a moment, and Dean allows his smirk to grow into a fully fledged smile. The angel shudders.
Moving closer he lifts the paper to Castiel’s face, running it down lightly from his ear to the tip of his chin before dipping down to the collar of his suit.
He draws the paper away and Castiel’s gone moments later, leaving Dean alone and a little bit too aroused considering nothing had happened.
*
“Dean.”
He walks into the room to find Castiel standing in the centre of it, staring at him.
“What is it?” he asks, sipping at his coffee.
“What you did… with the paper,” the angel begins.
“I remember,” Dean admits, trying not to let on exactly how often he remembers and why.
“It was… not unpleasant.”
Dean’s fairly certain that’s all the invitation he’s ever going to get, but he’s more than willing to accept.
Title: Midnight
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Characters: Dean, Castiel. Dean/Castiel
Warnings: angst... drinking, slash
Spoilers: Season 4
Word Count: 685
Disclaimer:I own nothing, I get no money. This is purely for entertainment purposes.
Summary: future!fic. After the war is over Dean and Sam choose to forget what happened and have normal lives. Castiel finds Dean in a bar...
Author's Note: Originally posted in comment_fic.
“Have we met?” For once the words weren’t a chat up line, but a valid question. Dean Winchester sat at the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey and looking sorry for himself. His life was crap, his girlfriend left him, his brother was barely talking to him and he was pretty sure that if he turned up to work tomorrow with another hangover then he would be fired.
He downed the whiskey anyway and turned back to the man next to him. He could swear that he had never seen that face before, but there was something familiar about the man, and his coat and his hair, and the whole situation.
“No, we have not,” the man said simply, but he was still watching Dean, as though trying to memorise him. He looked the guy up and down: suit that had seen better days, loosened tie, battered trenchcoat, probably a tax accountant or something. Just what he needed.
The bartender poured him another whiskey.
“Are you happy?” the other man asked, and Dean almost jumped at the question. Random men in bars were supposed to agree with you that women were unmanageable and life was shit; they were not supposed to ask you questions that you did not want to know the answers to.
“I’m ecstatic,” he announced, “which is why I am in a bar, drinking myself into an early grave. What do you think?”
“I think that you made an incorrect decision.”
“And what would you know about it?” Dean demanded, glaring at him. The man just shrugged, looking down at his own beer, but not drinking it.
“I’m sorry,” he said, more to the beer than Dean, but loud enough to be heard.
“For what?” The man just shook his head.
*
Dean wasn’t sure how it had happened. One moment he had been in the bar drinking with the weird guy next to him, the next they were outside and Dean had the guy pressed up against a wall and they were moving against each other in a frenzy. Lips slid messily over lips and hands were fumbling with fastenings and Dean could have sworn he was straight, but somehow this all felt familiar as well.
It was quick and desperate and Dean found words coming out of his mouth that he didn’t quite understand. Requests for forgiveness and curses to God that didn’t seem quite right.
When it was over and the pair of them leant back against the wall, one of the guy’s hands came to rest on his shoulder and suddenly Dean was sober again.
“What time is it?” the man asked, his voice still a little breathless. Dean glanced at his watch, feeling far less awkward than he had thought he would.
“Almost midnight…” he replied, and he could feel the man stand up straight. He withdrew his hand and Dean felt the loss as an almost physical ache, as though some connection he had not been aware he was missing was suddenly stolen away again.
“Goodbye, Dean.”
“Goodbye, -” There was a name on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t quite say it, which didn’t make any sense, because he had never met the man before, and he’d never found out his name. But then again, he’d never given him his either.
He turned to ask, but there was the sound of beating wings and a rush of air, and when he looked around the stranger was gone.
He walked home alone and collapsed into bed, and when he woke up in the morning he didn’t remember a thing.
*
“Castiel, you must stop doing this. The Winchesters made their choice in the end. You must abide by their decision.”
“He is not happy.”
“He is happier than he would have been had he remembered. He is no longer your responsibility. Do not go back tomorrow night.”
“Perhaps I will not… if he seems content.” It was left unspoken that Dean Winchester never seemed content.
“Are you doing this for him, or for yourself?”
Castiel did not answer, but turned his face towards earth.
-
None of them has been beta'd so the grammar etc is a little slapdash in some places *facepalm*. Also mostly untitled.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Dean, Castiel.
Warnings: epic celestial battle
Spoilers: Season 4
Word Count: 246
Disclaimer:I own nothing, I get no money. This is purely for entertainment purposes
Author's Note: written for the comment fic meme on spn_castiel.
Summary: The war between heaven and hell.
On this plain, unhindered by the physical restraints of his human form, he is not blundering in the dark. He does not rely on flesh against flesh, clumsy punches and drawing blood. Everywhere his gaze falls, demons die screaming. Their cries echo in his ears as he extends his wings out.
Of course, there are those who do not fall - the more powerful, the true demons, as opposed to those who were turned by the pit. Everything has a beginning, but even as they crawl towards him, the old ones, the strong ones, he does not fear them.
By his side, wielding a sword gained through blood and tears, Dean Winchester stands. Castiel takes care of the small fry, the insignificant majority and leaves him to dispose of those which need a little more work.
A ray of demonic light, hard and cold, rushes towards them, and he furls his wings around the pair of them, feeling Dean lean in to him.
“How many left do you think?” he asks. Castiel considers it carefully for a moment.
“They will keep coming,” he says, calm and still, as always. There is no darkness, despite their shelter, Castiel’s grace glows enough to illuminate the pair of them, and he can clearly see the almost feral grin on Dean’s face.
“Let them come,” he murmurs.
So Castiel unfurls his wings once more, and they stride forward. He extends his arm forward and the sea of demons parts before them.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Dean, Castiel.
Warnings: hints of crack
Spoilers: Season 4 up to 4x16
Word Count: 706
Disclaimer:I own nothing, I get no money. This is purely for entertainment purposes
Author's Note: I think the prompt was Castiel has his vessel's dreams. Written pre-4x20 and with no knowledge of that episode.
Uriel was gone and, as much as he was a ‘dick’, as Dean would say. He was the only person that Castiel had ever talked to much concerning anything.
Even if he had been alive he probably wouldn’t have mentioned this, though. It was too strange, too wrong, too human. Castiel wasn’t sure what the feeling he had when he thought about what might happen if he told another angel about this. It might have been wary.
So he had ended up sitting on the end of Dean Winchester’s bed, staring at the cheap desk that stood against the opposite wall. If he concentrated, he could see all the tiny particles that made it up, he could see the bacteria that coated the surface, the layers of fingerprints that covered it. In this form his sight was good enough to see that much at least. The complexity of it was enough to distract him, until Dean woke up and swore sleepily.
“We really need to talk about personal boundaries…” his charge muttered, “and privacy.”
“I am sorry, Dean.” He allowed himself to turn around to look at the human. Dean was blinking blearily and staring at him. On the other bed Sam, still there for once, turned over with a sigh that might have been a word and settled into REM. Castiel had made sure he would not wake up. It was almost too much to tell Dean, to tell his brother… who was growing further away from humanity every second, would be unthinkable.
“So… got another seal you need saving? Another demon you need torturing? Or are you just here to try and get us killed?” Dean asked, pulling himself upright.
“No…” Castiel told him. He did not apologise, he had already done so. “You dream of hell,” he said instead. It was a statement of fact. He had seen Dean’s nightmares first hand. He had pulled him out of them, and Dean would not be human if he could forget that.
“Yeah,” Dean said, fully awake, “not the sort of thing you forget in a hurry… what’s this about?” The hostile look on his face was not exactly unexpected, but Castiel asked the next question in spite of it.
“What else do you dream about?” Dean stared at him for a long moment before casting a look over at Sam, still fast asleep.
“You know…”
“No, I don’t,” Castiel responded and he observed in puzzlement as Dean opened and closed his mouth.
“Pie… girls, more girls. Just the usual really,” Dean said with a shrug. “What’s this about, Cas? Coz in case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve been a bit busy lately, what with the coming apocalypse and all.”
Castiel turned away, to stare at the desktop again.
“I have been… dreaming,” he admitted. He hesitated a few seconds, but his superiors did not appear, no one struck him down, he was not called away. “I think they are my vessel’s thoughts. I do not… they make no sense.”
“Dude, they’re dreams,” Dean said with a chuckle. “They’re not supposed to make sense. I once had one where this girl... well, you probably don’t want to know that.” He paused before changing the subject abruptly. “I didn’t think you slept.”
“We don’t. But while I am here, my vessel is sleeping. Sometimes I…”
“You spy on his dreams?” Dean asked, outraged. “We have really got to talk about privacy.”
“Sometimes there is a woman,” Castiel said, wondering why he felt a little lighter than before. He had not been aware of anything weighing down on him. “She laughs a lot.”
“Cas… I’m not sure you should be telling me this. I mean, they’re his dreams, right. This accountant-guy.” Dean waved vaguely at the back of Castiel’s head and the angel turned around and caught his gaze.
“And sometimes she is gone, and he is alone. He is falling.” Castiel was talking more to himself now. The words were slow and thoughtful. “He cannot fly.”
“Not really a human ability… we don’t have wings,” Dean answered, but he did not sound as flippant as before.
“And sometimes…” Castiel paused, “there is a giant talking llama.”
Dean blinked and opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Characters: Dean, Castiel. Dean/Castiel (I know, I know - slash in spn, I've never done that before)
Warnings: weird... paper!kink (no, really, I kid you not)
Spoilers: Season 4 - 4x02
Word Count: 1287
Disclaimer:I own nothing, I get no money. This is purely for entertainment purposes
Author's Note: Another from the meme on spn_castiel. Prompt: Angel's skin cannot be touched without their permission or by people with impure thoughts.
The first time, Dean gets blasted half way across the room and Sam is on his feet and glaring in a way that wouldn’t be so fucking scary if there wasn’t an undercurrent of ‘I have demon powers’ to it.
Dean gets up and brushes himself off, not really noticing the puzzled look on Castiel’s face and commenting that he didn’t think he had said anything that bad.
There is a wing beat, and Castiel is gone.
*
Sam is not present the next time. In fact, it’s just a routine ‘I was bored’ visit (or that’s what Dean calls them in his head, the ones where Cas just turns up out of nowhere - no warning, no reason but not entirely unwelcome). He goes to shove the angel’s shoulder, but exhaustion and alcohol make him miss so his hand slides to hit the bare skin of his neck.
The reaction isn’t as bad as before. He doesn’t go flying, but he does pull his hand away as though burnt.
They both look down at the skin of his hand, which is red and sore, then up until their eyes meet. Dean is opening his mouth to ask a question when Castiel disappears again.
“Wish he’d stop doing that…” Dean mutters to himself, sucking on his finger to try to numb the aching pain.
*
Sam doesn’t mention the burns, although he must notice them. It becomes another of a long list of things that they don’t acknowledge.
Then they are summoned half way across the country to another seal and they make it there just in time to see some Demon or other make the earth crack open in front of them. There are strange sigils painted all around in what looks, and smells, like blood.
Castiel stands in the centre of it all, blazing like Dean has not seen since he first met the man… angel. But it’s not enough. The pit is sucking like a hungry black hole, and the edge is approaching the angel’s feet. As they watch, the nimbus surrounding him sputters and dies and he falls.
Dean’s moving before he even realises what’s happened. Sam will take care of the demon (another thing they will never talk about) and it’s up to him to save the angel. He wonders, as he reaches the edge of the abyss and has to grab a tree root, when they started dividing it up - saving people and hunting things - so that he does one and Sam does the other. He dismisses the thought though, as he drops to his stomach and catches sight of Castiel hanging on below.
“Why don’t you just fly out?” he asks, reaching down even as he speaks. Castiel looks up at him calmly.
“He bound my movement,” he says, as though this is perfectly normal and not one of the most worrying things Dean has heard in a long while. He reaches up, and there is strain evident on his face. His fingers are a centimetre from Dean’s and they both strain a little further.
The root that Dean is holding onto is growing loose, but there isn’t really time to worry about that, or what’s at the bottom of the hell pit, but he does hope that Sam finishes the demon off quickly.
“You’re not going to burn me again, are you?” he yells over the howling of the wind.
“No,” Castiel says, and Dean would swear that the angel hadn’t raised his voice a decibel, but he still hears it as clear as day.
“Good.” They strain that extra bit and manage to grab hold of each other’s hands. Dean’s pulling and Castiel is pushing and they’re both breathing heavily by the time they make it onto horizontal ground again. Dean’s about to leap to his feet when the wind dies down and the silence is deafening. Sam yells that it’s over in a voice that doesn’t sound quite his own. But that is a problem for later.
Their hands are still touching as they lie on the ground, and the warmth of it is pleasant. Dean doesn’t move for a moment except to breath, his thoughts move swiftly from one thing to another. Seconds later he is pulling back his hand again with a startled cry.
Sam rushes over, but there is no explanation forthcoming from angel or brother.
They break the binding spell, set Castiel free and then they are on the road again.
*
When Castiel next shows up, Dean is waiting for him. Sam’s out getting pie (lots of pie… any kind, who cares as long as it’s pie?) so the room is almost silent except for the over-loud tick of the clock.
“Why did you burn me?” he asks, not looking up from where he is cleaning his guns. He could do the task blindfolded (had a couple of times when he was younger and his father was bored) but he’s not really in the mood for a staring match with an angel.
“Our skin cannot be touched without our permission,” Castiel said calmly.
“Right…”
“Or…”
“Or what?” Dean asks.
“We cannot be touched by those whose intentions are… impure.”
“But demons touch you all the time.”
“They are not human.”
“Oh…” Dean pauses the steady rhythm of his hands again before starting it up twice as rigorously. “That’s got to suck.” He doesn’t say that it makes sense, he doesn’t apologise. “Not even if you want them to…”
“No.”
“Right.” By the time Dean has picked up the next gun, Castiel is gone.
*
The apocalypse is coming, the demons are winning and his brother’s still sneaking off to flex his demonic mojo, but Dean still has time to think about Castiel’s revelation… pun fully intended.
The next time they meet, they don’t talk about it. Castiel is reporting that another seal has been broken, they are another step closer to hell on earth. Dean’s trying to ignore the fact that he’s supposed to stop it, and he begins to play with a piece of paper Sam had left lying around, scribbled annotations and equations covering it.
He’s just moving it around, when an idea occurs to him. They are sitting opposite each other on the dilapidated motel beds, and Dean’s not sure whether this is a real meeting, or one of those dream meetings they have. He doesn’t really care.
He rolls the sheet of paper up and rests it, ever so lightly, on the back of Castiel’s hand. There is no reaction: it doesn’t go up in flames, Dean is not struck down by a stray bolt of lightning. He smirks.
Slowly, he begins to draw it backwards and forwards over the angel’s skin, watching Castiel’s face intently as he does so.
He can tell when Castiel notices. His words halt for a moment, and Dean allows his smirk to grow into a fully fledged smile. The angel shudders.
Moving closer he lifts the paper to Castiel’s face, running it down lightly from his ear to the tip of his chin before dipping down to the collar of his suit.
He draws the paper away and Castiel’s gone moments later, leaving Dean alone and a little bit too aroused considering nothing had happened.
*
“Dean.”
He walks into the room to find Castiel standing in the centre of it, staring at him.
“What is it?” he asks, sipping at his coffee.
“What you did… with the paper,” the angel begins.
“I remember,” Dean admits, trying not to let on exactly how often he remembers and why.
“It was… not unpleasant.”
Dean’s fairly certain that’s all the invitation he’s ever going to get, but he’s more than willing to accept.
Title: Midnight
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Characters: Dean, Castiel. Dean/Castiel
Warnings: angst... drinking, slash
Spoilers: Season 4
Word Count: 685
Disclaimer:I own nothing, I get no money. This is purely for entertainment purposes.
Summary: future!fic. After the war is over Dean and Sam choose to forget what happened and have normal lives. Castiel finds Dean in a bar...
Author's Note: Originally posted in comment_fic.
“Have we met?” For once the words weren’t a chat up line, but a valid question. Dean Winchester sat at the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey and looking sorry for himself. His life was crap, his girlfriend left him, his brother was barely talking to him and he was pretty sure that if he turned up to work tomorrow with another hangover then he would be fired.
He downed the whiskey anyway and turned back to the man next to him. He could swear that he had never seen that face before, but there was something familiar about the man, and his coat and his hair, and the whole situation.
“No, we have not,” the man said simply, but he was still watching Dean, as though trying to memorise him. He looked the guy up and down: suit that had seen better days, loosened tie, battered trenchcoat, probably a tax accountant or something. Just what he needed.
The bartender poured him another whiskey.
“Are you happy?” the other man asked, and Dean almost jumped at the question. Random men in bars were supposed to agree with you that women were unmanageable and life was shit; they were not supposed to ask you questions that you did not want to know the answers to.
“I’m ecstatic,” he announced, “which is why I am in a bar, drinking myself into an early grave. What do you think?”
“I think that you made an incorrect decision.”
“And what would you know about it?” Dean demanded, glaring at him. The man just shrugged, looking down at his own beer, but not drinking it.
“I’m sorry,” he said, more to the beer than Dean, but loud enough to be heard.
“For what?” The man just shook his head.
*
Dean wasn’t sure how it had happened. One moment he had been in the bar drinking with the weird guy next to him, the next they were outside and Dean had the guy pressed up against a wall and they were moving against each other in a frenzy. Lips slid messily over lips and hands were fumbling with fastenings and Dean could have sworn he was straight, but somehow this all felt familiar as well.
It was quick and desperate and Dean found words coming out of his mouth that he didn’t quite understand. Requests for forgiveness and curses to God that didn’t seem quite right.
When it was over and the pair of them leant back against the wall, one of the guy’s hands came to rest on his shoulder and suddenly Dean was sober again.
“What time is it?” the man asked, his voice still a little breathless. Dean glanced at his watch, feeling far less awkward than he had thought he would.
“Almost midnight…” he replied, and he could feel the man stand up straight. He withdrew his hand and Dean felt the loss as an almost physical ache, as though some connection he had not been aware he was missing was suddenly stolen away again.
“Goodbye, Dean.”
“Goodbye, -” There was a name on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t quite say it, which didn’t make any sense, because he had never met the man before, and he’d never found out his name. But then again, he’d never given him his either.
He turned to ask, but there was the sound of beating wings and a rush of air, and when he looked around the stranger was gone.
He walked home alone and collapsed into bed, and when he woke up in the morning he didn’t remember a thing.
*
“Castiel, you must stop doing this. The Winchesters made their choice in the end. You must abide by their decision.”
“He is not happy.”
“He is happier than he would have been had he remembered. He is no longer your responsibility. Do not go back tomorrow night.”
“Perhaps I will not… if he seems content.” It was left unspoken that Dean Winchester never seemed content.
“Are you doing this for him, or for yourself?”
Castiel did not answer, but turned his face towards earth.
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