Fics: Trees and Faith | Shiver
For the not-so new newbies, remember when I asked for prompts so I could bribe you? It took me a long month but I finally got off my lazy bum and started 'em. Meh. We're extending the holiday season. Here are the first two. Hopefully, the rest to follow soon.
For: evilrobyn Trees and Faith. G. SPN| Dean, Castiel.
“You like Christmas trees?” Dean asks the silent angel beside him.
Watching the streams of hot breath curl from the vessel’s body freaks Dean out a little bit. Castiel's so still. He's so stiff at times, like someone wearing tight and itchy clothes, someone uncomfortable in their own skin. It isn’t easy to forget that he's dealing with a supernatural being and Dean's thankful for that.
Walking through the cold streets of a one motel town, talking about the apocalypse and watching the twinkle and glow of the illuminated Christmas lights adorning homes and trees--talk about surreal.
“It is art. Like a song or a painting, colors and light arranged to be pleasing to the eye,” is all Castiel says.
“Thought they were pagan?” Dean speaks with a hint of challenge.
Castiel’s brow furrows. “Such things cannot be restricted by the limitations of man. God is everywhere--in everything, Dean.”
Dean has nothing to say to that.
Castiel smiles, solemn and a little bit enigmatic. The angel is clearly ready to say something he knows will mess with Dean’s mind.
“He is in you.”
--------
For: bloodyfire Shiver. PG. SPN.| Dean, Sam, Castiel
“These temperatures are not healthy for humans,” Castiel says from his perch on the front seat, staring at them as if they were an attraction at the zoo.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean mutters angrily as he shivers trying to burrow more deeply into the leather of his baby and maybe steal a little bit more blanket from Sam who glares at him as if he knows what Dean’s planning. “Fucking snow.”
“Are you gonna complain or ask for help?” Sam hisses in his whiny bitch voice that even sub-zero temperatures can’t cure, unashamedly cuddling up to Dean‘s side for more heat. Like when he was seven and the heater’d gone out in the room during a snowstorm.
“I’d rather freeze,” Dean grumbles.
One good thing about losing all feeling was that Sam’s elbow registers as barely a nudge.
Castiel looks at them mournfully, as if they’re stupid little kids and he’s the babysitter who’s only getting a buck an hour to deal with them.
Then there’s a tickling sensation, feathers across Dean’s face, his throat, and arms, and various other places that Dean refuses to admit to (and he knows this because he’s a kinky bastard who loves kinky women and feathers during sex is actually pretty tame, but fun).
Dean would’ve jumped and dislodged the pocket of heat he and Sam managed to keep in the backseat of the Impala on some unnamed road where his baby had stalled out during another bad snowstorm that had snuck up on them in the middle of nowhere, but he was too cold and Sam would’ve killed him and used his guts to keep his feet warm like in that Star Wars movie.
Except Sam is squirming too.
“What the hell, Cas?” Dean doesn’t squeak, he demands manfully.
“Keep still,” the angel commands them. “My wings will provide you with sufficient warmth.”
Now that he’s said it, the inside of the Impala is actually becoming warmer by degrees. Dean’s frozen limbs are tingling, coming back to life.
Sam and Dean share a look.
Dean’s says: Dude, this is so freaking gay!
Sam’s is more like: OMG! Angel wings! How kewl! (According to Dean‘s interpretation, that is.)
Dean opens his mouth to say something lewd and inappropriate.
“I swear to God, Dean, you say something stupid to piss off the angel and I will toss you into the fucking snow myself,” Sam is pissy and cold and very serious.
Dean decides that a nap is just the thing for conserving and generating heat.
For: evilrobyn Trees and Faith. G. SPN| Dean, Castiel.
“You like Christmas trees?” Dean asks the silent angel beside him.
Watching the streams of hot breath curl from the vessel’s body freaks Dean out a little bit. Castiel's so still. He's so stiff at times, like someone wearing tight and itchy clothes, someone uncomfortable in their own skin. It isn’t easy to forget that he's dealing with a supernatural being and Dean's thankful for that.
Walking through the cold streets of a one motel town, talking about the apocalypse and watching the twinkle and glow of the illuminated Christmas lights adorning homes and trees--talk about surreal.
“It is art. Like a song or a painting, colors and light arranged to be pleasing to the eye,” is all Castiel says.
“Thought they were pagan?” Dean speaks with a hint of challenge.
Castiel’s brow furrows. “Such things cannot be restricted by the limitations of man. God is everywhere--in everything, Dean.”
Dean has nothing to say to that.
Castiel smiles, solemn and a little bit enigmatic. The angel is clearly ready to say something he knows will mess with Dean’s mind.
“He is in you.”
--------
For: bloodyfire Shiver. PG. SPN.| Dean, Sam, Castiel
“These temperatures are not healthy for humans,” Castiel says from his perch on the front seat, staring at them as if they were an attraction at the zoo.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean mutters angrily as he shivers trying to burrow more deeply into the leather of his baby and maybe steal a little bit more blanket from Sam who glares at him as if he knows what Dean’s planning. “Fucking snow.”
“Are you gonna complain or ask for help?” Sam hisses in his whiny bitch voice that even sub-zero temperatures can’t cure, unashamedly cuddling up to Dean‘s side for more heat. Like when he was seven and the heater’d gone out in the room during a snowstorm.
“I’d rather freeze,” Dean grumbles.
One good thing about losing all feeling was that Sam’s elbow registers as barely a nudge.
Castiel looks at them mournfully, as if they’re stupid little kids and he’s the babysitter who’s only getting a buck an hour to deal with them.
Then there’s a tickling sensation, feathers across Dean’s face, his throat, and arms, and various other places that Dean refuses to admit to (and he knows this because he’s a kinky bastard who loves kinky women and feathers during sex is actually pretty tame, but fun).
Dean would’ve jumped and dislodged the pocket of heat he and Sam managed to keep in the backseat of the Impala on some unnamed road where his baby had stalled out during another bad snowstorm that had snuck up on them in the middle of nowhere, but he was too cold and Sam would’ve killed him and used his guts to keep his feet warm like in that Star Wars movie.
Except Sam is squirming too.
“What the hell, Cas?” Dean doesn’t squeak, he demands manfully.
“Keep still,” the angel commands them. “My wings will provide you with sufficient warmth.”
Now that he’s said it, the inside of the Impala is actually becoming warmer by degrees. Dean’s frozen limbs are tingling, coming back to life.
Sam and Dean share a look.
Dean’s says: Dude, this is so freaking gay!
Sam’s is more like: OMG! Angel wings! How kewl! (According to Dean‘s interpretation, that is.)
Dean opens his mouth to say something lewd and inappropriate.
“I swear to God, Dean, you say something stupid to piss off the angel and I will toss you into the fucking snow myself,” Sam is pissy and cold and very serious.
Dean decides that a nap is just the thing for conserving and generating heat.