two supernatural ficlets (both dean/castiel) for the alphabet meme
Mm. Okay. These are like, one total angst and one total crack. No, I can't do the thing in between.
Title: Absolution
Rating: PG13 I guess
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Words: 1012
Summary: “Bless me, for I have sinned,” he mouths, his voice barely a whisper, as he mirrors Castiel’s position and kneels in front of him, “it’s been… I’ve never confessed before”.
Spoilers: Ideally set after On The Head Of A Pin, even if not really specific spoilers for that one. But it takes that one into account.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is surely not mine and I probably couldn't do it better than they do.
A/N: for wandersfound who wanted Dean/Castiel and atonement. I'm afraid I got carried away. IDK if a confession done like this is complete blasphemy but I mean, you've seen the pairing. *hides* Also, I couldn't manage to check whether Dean said he ever confessed so if in canon they ever said he did... well, let's just pretend he didn't. Or at least, I checked but couldn't find it.
This? This is sick. Could be the sickest thing Dean ever did, and it’s quite the prize. Probably what would be going to buy him a ticket straight to the pit, if only he wasn’t doing this with a freaking angel of the Lord’s approval. But the Apocalypse is near, he doesn’t want and wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else and he will go through with it. It’s not like he has ever done this and will ever do it again anyway. If he’s alive a week from now, that goes unsaid.
“Bless me, for I have sinned,” he mouths, his voice barely a whisper, as he mirrors Castiel’s postion and kneels in front of him, “it’s been… I’ve never confessed before”. No father, it wouldn’t do. His lip trembles, his hands stay still at his sides, the fact that they’re both completely naked making him even more nervous. He raises his head and meets blue eyes staring into his own, and wonders why do they need to do this at all. It’s not like Cas doesn’t know already.
“Go ahead,” Castiel nods, not looking remotely surprised. The voice is rough and soft at the same time, low, almost sounds like a caress; Castiel’s hand rests slightly on Dean’s bare shoulder and Dean shivers. “Start from the beginning.”
“When… when there wasn’t enough money around… sometimes I stole some books for Sam when we were in school. I was thirteen.”
For a second, the grip is tighter.
“Go ahead.”
“I’ve never paid any taxes.”
“That’s hardly a sin when you don’t actually have an income or produce wealth, Dean.”
“Well, yeah, I sustained myself all my life on false credit cards.”
The hand trails a bit until it rests in the crook of his neck and grips there.
“Go ahead.”
“I had sex outside marriage with approximately forty girls. About six were virgins, I think.”
“Do you really think this is something we care about, as long as it was consensual?”
“Fine. Two were married.”
“Go ahead.” The hand grips even harder and Castiel comes closer. Dean doesn’t dare opening his eyes, which fell shut around sin number two.
“I accidentally killed… some people and probably… some… entities not really deserving it.”
Castiel’s breath dances over the shell of his ear. “Go ahead. And Dean, with your job, that is hardly sinning. I would not say that it’s as much of a sin as… Led Zeppelin being your favorite group, but in the great scheme of things it’s not that far from it.”
“Dammit, now that was the one I wanted to keep for last,” Dean tries to joke, but the sarcasm dies when his voice cracks. Pity. The way Castiel pronounced Led Zeppelin would have been worth of more than one smart comeback on his part.
“Why don’t you get to what really matters?”
He shivers as Castiel’s hand goes behind his neck. He shivers. He feels cold.
“I curse a lot.” The grip is stronger.
“Dean. Please. Do you think he’s that easily offended?”
There’s silence.
“I sold my soul.” Saying why and to whom isn’t really necessary. The other hand grips his other shoulder where his scar is.
“You don’t say that it was an act of love though. Wrong, but still. Go ahead.”
Dean’s voice is barely audible. “I caved in. I said yes. And I didn’t last half of the time…”
“Thirty years is a long time. And?”
“And. I… I tortured them for ten years, what else? You know it, Cas. You’ve seen it, right?”
He fights a tear threatening to spill down his cheek.
“True. I did. But you didn’t tell me, you know. Have you ever told anyone other than Sam?”
Dean shakes his head and he really feels like crying. “I’m doing it now, right?”
He keeps his eyes closed.
“Before we go on… I’d ask you to forgive me.”
Dean’s eyes snap open and meet Castiel’s deadly serious stare again. It goes straight to his soul or so it seems and Dean’s frame shakes as soon as Castiel’s hand covers the scar on his shoulder.
“Me? Forgiving you?”
“The order was late, but maybe I could have come sooner. Or maybe even spared you the last ten years.”
“This is nonsense. I don’t have any business…”
“You do.”
The voice is as serious as the stare. Dean doesn’t think it could get more serious.
“Hell… well, okay, fuck, oh, anyway, I mean, yeah.”
He wants to say that not doing it would be pretty much ungrateful since Castiel did bust him out after all, but he can’t find the voice to speak more.
“Is there anything else you wish to confess?”
“I never… never paid any speeding ticket I got,” he answers, a lump forming in his throat, feeling just ridiculous. It was the first thing that came to mind.
“That’s all?”
“That’s… all.”
“Then,” Castiel says drawing closer, his hand not on the scar crawling up to cup Dean’s cheek, “Dean Winchester, I absolve you from your sins in name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.”
There’s silence for maybe a minute.
“That’s… that’s it? Nothing I need to do to… atone it?”
“I think you’ve done enough. And don’t say it doesn’t work like this. I’m no priest and I doubt that a number of prayers would make you feel better. Not that you’d say them anyway.”
“Yeah. Guess… I guess not. I didn’t tell… about…”
Castiel looks at him and Dean sighs, not needing to hear the answer; lips which are impossibly soft and rough at the same time cover his own. He gives Castiel access as his tongue slowly traces Dean’s lips, soft like a feather’s touch. Dean just rests his hand on Castiel’s hips and draws his naked form closer, skin warm and strangely unmarred even if it should be scarred at least in a couple of places.
He feels a weight lifted from his shoulders; you’re forgiven, Castiel whispers into his ear when they part, and Dean melts against him.
End.
Title: God's Ways Are Mysterious And Ineffable (Or How The Prophet Chuck Learned It The Hard Way)
Rating: PG13, utter crack
Characters/Pairing: Chuck, Zachariah, implied Dean/Castiel
Words: 983
Summary: If Chuck Shirley (or better, the prophet Chuck, thank you very much) ever felt mocked by his own writing, well, this time is a winner.
Spoilers: For 4x18, The Monster At The End Of This Book.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is surely not mine and I probably couldn't do it better than they do. Even if at this point this isn't that far from canon.
A/N: for lasamy who wanted Dean/Castiel and dare. This? Is 100% crack. If you're a devout Catholic, you don't think that God has a sense of humor and likes trashy novels and believe in everything Leviticus says, I strongly advise to skip this one. Also, random abuse of Keith Urban. I actually like him, so that you know.
Castiel lifted his weary hand in order to reach Dean’s cheek, bringing it closer, with a slowness which Dean found absolutely and utterly and unjustly unnerving, so much that he could not wait a second more. He took the hems of Castiel’s trench coat (he couldn’t help thinking that it really was similar to Columbo’s, and Dean had watched enough of that show to be sure of it) and met Castiel’s mouth with a warm, wet kiss…
Damn.
If Chuck Shirley (or better, the prophet Chuck, thank you very much) ever felt mocked by his own writing, well, this time is a winner.
His fingers itch to write what happens next, but he doesn’t dare. He just doesn’t dare. He reaches for a beer, muttering in disappointment when he realizes the can is empty. Then he tries hard not to curse.
He wonders if there’s some way around it. Fuck. Not likely, when the last vision you had is Dean and that freaking angel in the Columbo trenchcoat fucking more or less like bunnies, and may God forgive him for comparing one of His angels to a rabbit. And he saw all the details, too. It’s impossible for him to have seen the wrong thing. He really doesn’t hallucinate this kind of thing.
Dammitdammitdammit.
Zachariah, last and first time he saw him, said not to censor anything; but Chuck doesn’t know if it applies in this case. The problem is, what he saw wasn’t that far from the same kind of stuff some of his most dedicated fangirls write (fine, they write Sam/Dean, but the whole angels arch is still unprinted, after all; he’s sure that a lot of them would be all over angel-on-human sex like locusts, and he realizes that it isn’t a fair thing to say regarding your fans, but his head can’t come up with better metaphors at the moment). Chuck thinks that he could name at least a couple of screen names who would write some excellent porn out of it, especially because Chuck’s strong point always was het porn more than gay porn. Or slash porn, as they say.
Chuck’s cheeks redden in shame as he re-reads the last sentence; they feel on fire. He stands up and grabs another beer. Also, he doesn’t get what’s wrong with it, but there’s a bit that doesn’t sound like it’s his own doing, like he took it from some other place like a song or a movie or something and he wouldn’t want to get sued out of anything. Who knows which one is it though.
“I just don’t dare,” he says aloud to no one, “I just don’t. I mean, I can’t…”
“What’s that you don’t dare writing?”
Chuck almost chokes on his first drink and glares at Zachariah, who has appeared just in front of his computer. Damn, he feels Dean’s pain with the whole angel perched on your shoulder thing, except that he hopes that he and Zachariah never come to… well. Better not think about it.
“That. I mean, you said write. And alright, I do. I mean, I do. Really. My job, right? But… that. I can’t. This… just… not! It’d get probably censored! I’d even make it become… canon. And you’d get girls writing fanfiction out of your freaking gospel!”
“Talk less and let me see.”
Chuck shrugs and Zachariah scans the page, nods a couple of times and then comes closer and pats Chuck on his shoulder a couple of times. Chuck doesn’t really like that knowing smirk.
“Prophet, don’t fear. If that’s what you’re supposed to write, then go write it. It might actually help correcting a couple of those… misunderstandings we got across. You know, Paul, Leviticus, that whole thing. I suppose you can’t do nothing about the shrimps, but well. If people don’t get it, they don’t get it. That said, no one’s going to punish you. Everyone on the rack knows that Castiel likes Dean Winchester more than he lets on. We really don’t mind that much, as far as it doesn’t interfere with his mission or cloud his better judgment. But if it’s part of His plan then we’re not allowed to question it. His ways are mysterious, after all. And ineffable, too. Also, He wouldn’t want you to see something that does not happen.
“But… the… the fangirls!”
“Well, they will help you spread His word. See it like that. Stop fussing around and do your job, prophet. Also, I have to strongly advise you to change that last line.”
“What?”
“Believe me, Dean Winchester would kill you way sooner and faster than God ever would care for if he ever found out that you described him kissing Castiel with a line from a country song. And Keith Urban, of everyone.”
Zachariah is suddenly gone and Chuck takes his head between his hands. Damn. Damn. Damn. How could he ever quote Keith Urban of everyone? He shakes his head, deletes met Castiel’s mouth with a warm, wet kiss and changes it with there was a breathtaking clashing of mouths and lips, crowned with a sigh of longing and then he stands up again.
He retrieves his beer and takes a breath. Fine. Fine, he thinks as he drinks. If God wants him to write dirty, filthy and detailed porn between Dean and Castiel, he will. It’s not like they don’t look pretty together anyway, right?
He sits in front of the screen again, silently praying God to spare him eventual threesomes because one thing is reading some of that Wincest fanfiction (hey, it’s flattering, to a degree) once in a while and another would be writing it himself along with a freaking angel in the mix and he starts typing. After all, if it’s the word of God, his publisher will have to print it someway. When and if he finds the money, of course, but that's not his problem.
End.
Title: Absolution
Rating: PG13 I guess
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Words: 1012
Summary: “Bless me, for I have sinned,” he mouths, his voice barely a whisper, as he mirrors Castiel’s position and kneels in front of him, “it’s been… I’ve never confessed before”.
Spoilers: Ideally set after On The Head Of A Pin, even if not really specific spoilers for that one. But it takes that one into account.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is surely not mine and I probably couldn't do it better than they do.
A/N: for wandersfound who wanted Dean/Castiel and atonement. I'm afraid I got carried away. IDK if a confession done like this is complete blasphemy but I mean, you've seen the pairing. *hides* Also, I couldn't manage to check whether Dean said he ever confessed so if in canon they ever said he did... well, let's just pretend he didn't. Or at least, I checked but couldn't find it.
This? This is sick. Could be the sickest thing Dean ever did, and it’s quite the prize. Probably what would be going to buy him a ticket straight to the pit, if only he wasn’t doing this with a freaking angel of the Lord’s approval. But the Apocalypse is near, he doesn’t want and wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else and he will go through with it. It’s not like he has ever done this and will ever do it again anyway. If he’s alive a week from now, that goes unsaid.
“Bless me, for I have sinned,” he mouths, his voice barely a whisper, as he mirrors Castiel’s postion and kneels in front of him, “it’s been… I’ve never confessed before”. No father, it wouldn’t do. His lip trembles, his hands stay still at his sides, the fact that they’re both completely naked making him even more nervous. He raises his head and meets blue eyes staring into his own, and wonders why do they need to do this at all. It’s not like Cas doesn’t know already.
“Go ahead,” Castiel nods, not looking remotely surprised. The voice is rough and soft at the same time, low, almost sounds like a caress; Castiel’s hand rests slightly on Dean’s bare shoulder and Dean shivers. “Start from the beginning.”
“When… when there wasn’t enough money around… sometimes I stole some books for Sam when we were in school. I was thirteen.”
For a second, the grip is tighter.
“Go ahead.”
“I’ve never paid any taxes.”
“That’s hardly a sin when you don’t actually have an income or produce wealth, Dean.”
“Well, yeah, I sustained myself all my life on false credit cards.”
The hand trails a bit until it rests in the crook of his neck and grips there.
“Go ahead.”
“I had sex outside marriage with approximately forty girls. About six were virgins, I think.”
“Do you really think this is something we care about, as long as it was consensual?”
“Fine. Two were married.”
“Go ahead.” The hand grips even harder and Castiel comes closer. Dean doesn’t dare opening his eyes, which fell shut around sin number two.
“I accidentally killed… some people and probably… some… entities not really deserving it.”
Castiel’s breath dances over the shell of his ear. “Go ahead. And Dean, with your job, that is hardly sinning. I would not say that it’s as much of a sin as… Led Zeppelin being your favorite group, but in the great scheme of things it’s not that far from it.”
“Dammit, now that was the one I wanted to keep for last,” Dean tries to joke, but the sarcasm dies when his voice cracks. Pity. The way Castiel pronounced Led Zeppelin would have been worth of more than one smart comeback on his part.
“Why don’t you get to what really matters?”
He shivers as Castiel’s hand goes behind his neck. He shivers. He feels cold.
“I curse a lot.” The grip is stronger.
“Dean. Please. Do you think he’s that easily offended?”
There’s silence.
“I sold my soul.” Saying why and to whom isn’t really necessary. The other hand grips his other shoulder where his scar is.
“You don’t say that it was an act of love though. Wrong, but still. Go ahead.”
Dean’s voice is barely audible. “I caved in. I said yes. And I didn’t last half of the time…”
“Thirty years is a long time. And?”
“And. I… I tortured them for ten years, what else? You know it, Cas. You’ve seen it, right?”
He fights a tear threatening to spill down his cheek.
“True. I did. But you didn’t tell me, you know. Have you ever told anyone other than Sam?”
Dean shakes his head and he really feels like crying. “I’m doing it now, right?”
He keeps his eyes closed.
“Before we go on… I’d ask you to forgive me.”
Dean’s eyes snap open and meet Castiel’s deadly serious stare again. It goes straight to his soul or so it seems and Dean’s frame shakes as soon as Castiel’s hand covers the scar on his shoulder.
“Me? Forgiving you?”
“The order was late, but maybe I could have come sooner. Or maybe even spared you the last ten years.”
“This is nonsense. I don’t have any business…”
“You do.”
The voice is as serious as the stare. Dean doesn’t think it could get more serious.
“Hell… well, okay, fuck, oh, anyway, I mean, yeah.”
He wants to say that not doing it would be pretty much ungrateful since Castiel did bust him out after all, but he can’t find the voice to speak more.
“Is there anything else you wish to confess?”
“I never… never paid any speeding ticket I got,” he answers, a lump forming in his throat, feeling just ridiculous. It was the first thing that came to mind.
“That’s all?”
“That’s… all.”
“Then,” Castiel says drawing closer, his hand not on the scar crawling up to cup Dean’s cheek, “Dean Winchester, I absolve you from your sins in name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.”
There’s silence for maybe a minute.
“That’s… that’s it? Nothing I need to do to… atone it?”
“I think you’ve done enough. And don’t say it doesn’t work like this. I’m no priest and I doubt that a number of prayers would make you feel better. Not that you’d say them anyway.”
“Yeah. Guess… I guess not. I didn’t tell… about…”
Castiel looks at him and Dean sighs, not needing to hear the answer; lips which are impossibly soft and rough at the same time cover his own. He gives Castiel access as his tongue slowly traces Dean’s lips, soft like a feather’s touch. Dean just rests his hand on Castiel’s hips and draws his naked form closer, skin warm and strangely unmarred even if it should be scarred at least in a couple of places.
He feels a weight lifted from his shoulders; you’re forgiven, Castiel whispers into his ear when they part, and Dean melts against him.
End.
Title: God's Ways Are Mysterious And Ineffable (Or How The Prophet Chuck Learned It The Hard Way)
Rating: PG13, utter crack
Characters/Pairing: Chuck, Zachariah, implied Dean/Castiel
Words: 983
Summary: If Chuck Shirley (or better, the prophet Chuck, thank you very much) ever felt mocked by his own writing, well, this time is a winner.
Spoilers: For 4x18, The Monster At The End Of This Book.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is surely not mine and I probably couldn't do it better than they do. Even if at this point this isn't that far from canon.
A/N: for lasamy who wanted Dean/Castiel and dare. This? Is 100% crack. If you're a devout Catholic, you don't think that God has a sense of humor and likes trashy novels and believe in everything Leviticus says, I strongly advise to skip this one. Also, random abuse of Keith Urban. I actually like him, so that you know.
Castiel lifted his weary hand in order to reach Dean’s cheek, bringing it closer, with a slowness which Dean found absolutely and utterly and unjustly unnerving, so much that he could not wait a second more. He took the hems of Castiel’s trench coat (he couldn’t help thinking that it really was similar to Columbo’s, and Dean had watched enough of that show to be sure of it) and met Castiel’s mouth with a warm, wet kiss…
Damn.
If Chuck Shirley (or better, the prophet Chuck, thank you very much) ever felt mocked by his own writing, well, this time is a winner.
His fingers itch to write what happens next, but he doesn’t dare. He just doesn’t dare. He reaches for a beer, muttering in disappointment when he realizes the can is empty. Then he tries hard not to curse.
He wonders if there’s some way around it. Fuck. Not likely, when the last vision you had is Dean and that freaking angel in the Columbo trenchcoat fucking more or less like bunnies, and may God forgive him for comparing one of His angels to a rabbit. And he saw all the details, too. It’s impossible for him to have seen the wrong thing. He really doesn’t hallucinate this kind of thing.
Dammitdammitdammit.
Zachariah, last and first time he saw him, said not to censor anything; but Chuck doesn’t know if it applies in this case. The problem is, what he saw wasn’t that far from the same kind of stuff some of his most dedicated fangirls write (fine, they write Sam/Dean, but the whole angels arch is still unprinted, after all; he’s sure that a lot of them would be all over angel-on-human sex like locusts, and he realizes that it isn’t a fair thing to say regarding your fans, but his head can’t come up with better metaphors at the moment). Chuck thinks that he could name at least a couple of screen names who would write some excellent porn out of it, especially because Chuck’s strong point always was het porn more than gay porn. Or slash porn, as they say.
Chuck’s cheeks redden in shame as he re-reads the last sentence; they feel on fire. He stands up and grabs another beer. Also, he doesn’t get what’s wrong with it, but there’s a bit that doesn’t sound like it’s his own doing, like he took it from some other place like a song or a movie or something and he wouldn’t want to get sued out of anything. Who knows which one is it though.
“I just don’t dare,” he says aloud to no one, “I just don’t. I mean, I can’t…”
“What’s that you don’t dare writing?”
Chuck almost chokes on his first drink and glares at Zachariah, who has appeared just in front of his computer. Damn, he feels Dean’s pain with the whole angel perched on your shoulder thing, except that he hopes that he and Zachariah never come to… well. Better not think about it.
“That. I mean, you said write. And alright, I do. I mean, I do. Really. My job, right? But… that. I can’t. This… just… not! It’d get probably censored! I’d even make it become… canon. And you’d get girls writing fanfiction out of your freaking gospel!”
“Talk less and let me see.”
Chuck shrugs and Zachariah scans the page, nods a couple of times and then comes closer and pats Chuck on his shoulder a couple of times. Chuck doesn’t really like that knowing smirk.
“Prophet, don’t fear. If that’s what you’re supposed to write, then go write it. It might actually help correcting a couple of those… misunderstandings we got across. You know, Paul, Leviticus, that whole thing. I suppose you can’t do nothing about the shrimps, but well. If people don’t get it, they don’t get it. That said, no one’s going to punish you. Everyone on the rack knows that Castiel likes Dean Winchester more than he lets on. We really don’t mind that much, as far as it doesn’t interfere with his mission or cloud his better judgment. But if it’s part of His plan then we’re not allowed to question it. His ways are mysterious, after all. And ineffable, too. Also, He wouldn’t want you to see something that does not happen.
“But… the… the fangirls!”
“Well, they will help you spread His word. See it like that. Stop fussing around and do your job, prophet. Also, I have to strongly advise you to change that last line.”
“What?”
“Believe me, Dean Winchester would kill you way sooner and faster than God ever would care for if he ever found out that you described him kissing Castiel with a line from a country song. And Keith Urban, of everyone.”
Zachariah is suddenly gone and Chuck takes his head between his hands. Damn. Damn. Damn. How could he ever quote Keith Urban of everyone? He shakes his head, deletes met Castiel’s mouth with a warm, wet kiss and changes it with there was a breathtaking clashing of mouths and lips, crowned with a sigh of longing and then he stands up again.
He retrieves his beer and takes a breath. Fine. Fine, he thinks as he drinks. If God wants him to write dirty, filthy and detailed porn between Dean and Castiel, he will. It’s not like they don’t look pretty together anyway, right?
He sits in front of the screen again, silently praying God to spare him eventual threesomes because one thing is reading some of that Wincest fanfiction (hey, it’s flattering, to a degree) once in a while and another would be writing it himself along with a freaking angel in the mix and he starts typing. After all, if it’s the word of God, his publisher will have to print it someway. When and if he finds the money, of course, but that's not his problem.
End.