Fic: Destiel
Title: Destiel
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Crack, silliness, mpreg, organs
Word Count: 868
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: In which Sam is an Uncle and everyone has gone mad
AN: Comment!fic written for spacefragments posted here because I was told it should be.
Sam had almost gotten used to the idea of a pregnant angel, a pregnant male angel his brother had impregnated. In some way which he isn't thinking about for his own mental well being.
He'd gotten used to that. It wasn't like Castiel had looked pregnant after all. Sam just figured all the...stuff was all happening in his original form. The one that lived in another dimension, far away, where it couldn't burn people's eyes away. He'd assumed that one day there'd just be a new, smaller sort of person that was, in some way, a strange mixture of Dean and Castiel. Who the hell knew how nephilim biology worked anyway?
He hadn't expected - he really hadn't expected - to be dragged into the bathroom by Dean some random assortment of months later to find.
"Oh dear God."
"Many parts of it are not visible in this dimension," Castiel says quietly from where he's standing by the sink. He looks tired and dishevelled. More dishevelled.
Sam doesn't want to think about other parts. There are more than enough parts here as it is. He tries to stop looking at it, but he's not sure that he can.
Dean makes a worried noise. "Should he be see-through? I mean that's not bad is it? That I can see all his...insides?" Dean looks like he's about to reach out and pet the huge mass of suspended organs, gloop and electric blue light. Sam makes an abortive attempt to pull him away, which turns into some sort of horrible full-body twitch when Castiel turns to look at him.
"The fusing of our separate natures was complicated," Castiel reassures Dean. "A being of flesh and an ancient wavelength of celestial intent and energy do not mix easily."
Dean's leant over the bath, fingers close but not touching, like he's afraid to break the squidgy sac of gelatinous horror that the organs are floating in.
"I thought the nephilim would look..." Sam flounders for something that isn't an insult, something that doesn't in any way contain the words 'less gross.' "More like us."
"I'm not designed for...gestation," Castiel explains. Then he goes quiet, while they all watch Dean and Castiel's child gradually ooze his way from one side of the bath to the other. "I think our child wanted to be equal parts of us."
"He's awesome," Dean says, in a weird, awed sort of voice.
Castiel very quietly moves closer to Dean's shoulder.
Sam stares at them both.
*****
Dean calls him 'Destiel.'
Sam thinks that's a stupid name. But Sam has no say in the matter now Dean's gone insane.
When Sam gets back from buying breakfast he discovers that Dean has somehow managed to get Destiel into a Metallica t-shirt. He's slowly oozing his way out of one of the arm holes. Sam thinks he can hear the slow, squishing, squidging noise of a nephilim objecting to hard rock. Or maybe he just thinks the material is tasty - who the hell knows. Eventually the shirt is just a soggy, slimy mess on the carpet, and Destiel is a foot away. A slow, undulating disc of organs, luminescence and electricity. Like the world's most terrifying jello mould.
Sam's half convinced that the lungs are looking at him.
When Dean gets back, he pulls a face at the soggy t-shirt and then his child, who's oozed a good four feet away and is now slowly and curiously trying to absorb one of Dean's boots into his body. Possibly even on purpose.
"Hey, Cas, he didn't like his t-shirt."
Castiel drifts over towards where Dean is very carefully retrieving his boot from among his son's internal organs and various gelatinous insides. He's muttering something about how shoes aren't good for him and to keep them away from his vulnerable organs.
"It likely has trouble keeping its form at this temperature. Perhaps it would be more comfortable if put in the freezer for a brief period."
"We're not putting him in the freezer," Dean says stiffly.
Castiel's wearing his helpful face. "It would be -"
"Kids don't go in the freezer," Dean snaps, and that's clearly the end of the matter.
Sam keeps changing channels and concentrates on the TV, and ignores absolutely everything.
Especially the slimy boot that gets tossed in the trash.
*****
Destiel doesn't sleep. It takes after its...mom? dad? other dad? So when Sam gets up in the middle of the night for a glass of water, the Eldritch Horror that is his older brother's new baby is sitting - pooled - in the middle of the kitchenette. Sam very nearly steps on it.
He watches the organs slowly float into different configurations while he empties a glass. He doesn't miss the way his nephew has sucked his way across the floor towards him.
"It's not you," Sam says quietly, feeling like an idiot in the silence. "You're just weird."
Destiel is holding one of Sam's ankles with one of its little body-tentacles, squishing and gently electrocuting his skin in a way that feels like a cry for attention, or an awkward and alien attempt at affection.
It occurs to Sam, that he may actually be an Uncle. An Uncle to something that's half angel.
He immediately feels like a complete and total bastard.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Crack, silliness, mpreg, organs
Word Count: 868
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: In which Sam is an Uncle and everyone has gone mad
AN: Comment!fic written for spacefragments posted here because I was told it should be.
Sam had almost gotten used to the idea of a pregnant angel, a pregnant male angel his brother had impregnated. In some way which he isn't thinking about for his own mental well being.
He'd gotten used to that. It wasn't like Castiel had looked pregnant after all. Sam just figured all the...stuff was all happening in his original form. The one that lived in another dimension, far away, where it couldn't burn people's eyes away. He'd assumed that one day there'd just be a new, smaller sort of person that was, in some way, a strange mixture of Dean and Castiel. Who the hell knew how nephilim biology worked anyway?
He hadn't expected - he really hadn't expected - to be dragged into the bathroom by Dean some random assortment of months later to find.
"Oh dear God."
"Many parts of it are not visible in this dimension," Castiel says quietly from where he's standing by the sink. He looks tired and dishevelled. More dishevelled.
Sam doesn't want to think about other parts. There are more than enough parts here as it is. He tries to stop looking at it, but he's not sure that he can.
Dean makes a worried noise. "Should he be see-through? I mean that's not bad is it? That I can see all his...insides?" Dean looks like he's about to reach out and pet the huge mass of suspended organs, gloop and electric blue light. Sam makes an abortive attempt to pull him away, which turns into some sort of horrible full-body twitch when Castiel turns to look at him.
"The fusing of our separate natures was complicated," Castiel reassures Dean. "A being of flesh and an ancient wavelength of celestial intent and energy do not mix easily."
Dean's leant over the bath, fingers close but not touching, like he's afraid to break the squidgy sac of gelatinous horror that the organs are floating in.
"I thought the nephilim would look..." Sam flounders for something that isn't an insult, something that doesn't in any way contain the words 'less gross.' "More like us."
"I'm not designed for...gestation," Castiel explains. Then he goes quiet, while they all watch Dean and Castiel's child gradually ooze his way from one side of the bath to the other. "I think our child wanted to be equal parts of us."
"He's awesome," Dean says, in a weird, awed sort of voice.
Castiel very quietly moves closer to Dean's shoulder.
Sam stares at them both.
*****
Dean calls him 'Destiel.'
Sam thinks that's a stupid name. But Sam has no say in the matter now Dean's gone insane.
When Sam gets back from buying breakfast he discovers that Dean has somehow managed to get Destiel into a Metallica t-shirt. He's slowly oozing his way out of one of the arm holes. Sam thinks he can hear the slow, squishing, squidging noise of a nephilim objecting to hard rock. Or maybe he just thinks the material is tasty - who the hell knows. Eventually the shirt is just a soggy, slimy mess on the carpet, and Destiel is a foot away. A slow, undulating disc of organs, luminescence and electricity. Like the world's most terrifying jello mould.
Sam's half convinced that the lungs are looking at him.
When Dean gets back, he pulls a face at the soggy t-shirt and then his child, who's oozed a good four feet away and is now slowly and curiously trying to absorb one of Dean's boots into his body. Possibly even on purpose.
"Hey, Cas, he didn't like his t-shirt."
Castiel drifts over towards where Dean is very carefully retrieving his boot from among his son's internal organs and various gelatinous insides. He's muttering something about how shoes aren't good for him and to keep them away from his vulnerable organs.
"It likely has trouble keeping its form at this temperature. Perhaps it would be more comfortable if put in the freezer for a brief period."
"We're not putting him in the freezer," Dean says stiffly.
Castiel's wearing his helpful face. "It would be -"
"Kids don't go in the freezer," Dean snaps, and that's clearly the end of the matter.
Sam keeps changing channels and concentrates on the TV, and ignores absolutely everything.
Especially the slimy boot that gets tossed in the trash.
*****
Destiel doesn't sleep. It takes after its...mom? dad? other dad? So when Sam gets up in the middle of the night for a glass of water, the Eldritch Horror that is his older brother's new baby is sitting - pooled - in the middle of the kitchenette. Sam very nearly steps on it.
He watches the organs slowly float into different configurations while he empties a glass. He doesn't miss the way his nephew has sucked his way across the floor towards him.
"It's not you," Sam says quietly, feeling like an idiot in the silence. "You're just weird."
Destiel is holding one of Sam's ankles with one of its little body-tentacles, squishing and gently electrocuting his skin in a way that feels like a cry for attention, or an awkward and alien attempt at affection.
It occurs to Sam, that he may actually be an Uncle. An Uncle to something that's half angel.
He immediately feels like a complete and total bastard.