Castiel Requires Quarters
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Castiel Requires Quarters
Author: Maychorian
Characters: Dean, Castiel
Category: Gen, Humor of the crack variety
Rating: PG13 (one bad word)
Spoilers: Through the S4 finale.
Summary: Those things are gross, dude.
Word Count: 460
Disclaimer: Tragically, they continue to not belong to me. :(
Author’s Note: For faryfly's birthday. (And sooo late, omg.) I didn't forget! Her prompt is at the end.
Castiel Requires Quarters
"Dean, I require quarters."
They had been just walking along, chatting at cross-purposes as they usually did. Dean had gone off on a bit of a rant without quite meaning too (Castiel seemed to bring that out in him) and before he'd realized it, the angel was several feet behind him, apparently snagged. Now Dean turned and saw his companion standing next to a bank of vending machines, somehow managing to fidget without actually moving.
Dean turned back, already rolling his eyes. This was getting to be a bad habit. "Dude, again? I thought you were going to try to kick this."
"Quarters, Dean. You must have some."
Dean grumbled and dug in his pockets, reluctantly moving back toward his angel. "I feel like such an enabler. It makes me feel dirty. Do you like making me feel dirty?" He paused. "Don't answer that."
Castiel merely held out his hand. Dean gave him a handful of change, and the angel turned to a machine and began feeding coins into the slot before making his selection.
Dean watched him with what he was never going to admit was a fond smile. When Castiel took his side in this clusterfuck they called the Apocalypse, Dean had been vaguely worried. Well, not so vaguely worried about Castiel being killed by archangels, hunted by demons, misunderstood by the hunting community. Those had been very specific worries.
He had been non-specifically worried about the corrupting influence of a dirty world on the purity of an angel. Castiel was halfway to fallen already, and Dean hadn't wanted him to go the rest of the way if it was possible to avoid it. Not just because they could really use all the powerful supernatural allies they could get in this fight, but also because...Dean just didn't want that to happen.
He'd worried about wrath, pride, gluttony, lust, all the awesome vices that made his life so worth living. He'd worried about seeing new shadows darkening Castiel's eyes, the disillusioned look of one who had seen too much. He'd worried about his friend's faith and curiosity and compassion beginning to fade under the relentless throb of worldly pressure.
But he'd never even thought about this one.
"Dude, you know I like a lot of really weird food. But those are gross."
Castiel grunted, ripping open the packaging of his treasured treat, and stuffed an entire Twinkie into his mouth at once. Then he made an obnoxious little noise of bliss and licked a blob of creme filling off the corner of his mouth.
"You do not know what you are missing," he pronounced with all the gravity of a judge.
"Yeah, I'll take your word on that one."
And they went on their way.
(End)
Prompt from faryfly: Aw, I'd love a ficlet! Can you make Castiel get addicted to soda or some kind of junk food? :) (But not like Sam/demon blood/junkie addicted, just like every time he comes to earth he's got to grab one whatever.)
Title: Castiel Requires Quarters
Author: Maychorian
Characters: Dean, Castiel
Category: Gen, Humor of the crack variety
Rating: PG13 (one bad word)
Spoilers: Through the S4 finale.
Summary: Those things are gross, dude.
Word Count: 460
Disclaimer: Tragically, they continue to not belong to me. :(
Author’s Note: For faryfly's birthday. (And sooo late, omg.) I didn't forget! Her prompt is at the end.
Castiel Requires Quarters
"Dean, I require quarters."
They had been just walking along, chatting at cross-purposes as they usually did. Dean had gone off on a bit of a rant without quite meaning too (Castiel seemed to bring that out in him) and before he'd realized it, the angel was several feet behind him, apparently snagged. Now Dean turned and saw his companion standing next to a bank of vending machines, somehow managing to fidget without actually moving.
Dean turned back, already rolling his eyes. This was getting to be a bad habit. "Dude, again? I thought you were going to try to kick this."
"Quarters, Dean. You must have some."
Dean grumbled and dug in his pockets, reluctantly moving back toward his angel. "I feel like such an enabler. It makes me feel dirty. Do you like making me feel dirty?" He paused. "Don't answer that."
Castiel merely held out his hand. Dean gave him a handful of change, and the angel turned to a machine and began feeding coins into the slot before making his selection.
Dean watched him with what he was never going to admit was a fond smile. When Castiel took his side in this clusterfuck they called the Apocalypse, Dean had been vaguely worried. Well, not so vaguely worried about Castiel being killed by archangels, hunted by demons, misunderstood by the hunting community. Those had been very specific worries.
He had been non-specifically worried about the corrupting influence of a dirty world on the purity of an angel. Castiel was halfway to fallen already, and Dean hadn't wanted him to go the rest of the way if it was possible to avoid it. Not just because they could really use all the powerful supernatural allies they could get in this fight, but also because...Dean just didn't want that to happen.
He'd worried about wrath, pride, gluttony, lust, all the awesome vices that made his life so worth living. He'd worried about seeing new shadows darkening Castiel's eyes, the disillusioned look of one who had seen too much. He'd worried about his friend's faith and curiosity and compassion beginning to fade under the relentless throb of worldly pressure.
But he'd never even thought about this one.
"Dude, you know I like a lot of really weird food. But those are gross."
Castiel grunted, ripping open the packaging of his treasured treat, and stuffed an entire Twinkie into his mouth at once. Then he made an obnoxious little noise of bliss and licked a blob of creme filling off the corner of his mouth.
"You do not know what you are missing," he pronounced with all the gravity of a judge.
"Yeah, I'll take your word on that one."
And they went on their way.
(End)
Prompt from faryfly: Aw, I'd love a ficlet! Can you make Castiel get addicted to soda or some kind of junk food? :) (But not like Sam/demon blood/junkie addicted, just like every time he comes to earth he's got to grab one whatever.)