Fic: "The Minnow Would Be Lost," SPN, Dean/Castiel, PG-13.
With all apologies to Sam, I really need a Dean/Cas icon, don't I?
Watching "Lucifer Rising," I really began hankering for some filler fic where Dean and Cas have wild sex all over the waiting room. That is not what this is. LOL. Stupid looming Apocalypse... it got in the way!
Title: "The Minnow Would Be Lost"
Author: monimala
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating/Classification: PG-13 for language, filler fic/AU, Dean/Castiel, slash
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not making a profit. Some of the dialogue is lifted directly from 4x22, "Lucifer Rising."
Summary: 950 words. An alternate take on Dean and Castiel's last "green room" scene from 4x22.
The weigh station, Purgatory, Zachariah's eternal green room… whatever they want to call it, it reminds Dean of a high-class hotel suite. So frou-frou that you're scared of getting dirt on the carpet or dropping ketchup on the upholstery. And they've thought of everything, haven't they? Cold beer, burgers, even the offer of a hot babe to keep him pacified. There must be something seriously wrong with his wiring to turn down both Ginger *and* Mary Ann… or seriously right.
Dean's beginning to realize just how much he hates being trapped in the Scorsese version of a Bible story. The Last Temptation of Dean. All sordid dealings and sex and people with accents that do *not* fit with stories of angels and eternal damnation. But Sam's life is at stake here, the whole *world* is at stake here, and he doesn't care how many wishes Zach wants to try and fulfill, he's not selling his soul for a chance to bang Tina Louise.
He picks up one of the burgers, almost debating taking a bite of it. But maybe that'll just keep him here forever, like Persephone and her pomegranate seeds. And then there's a hand on his shoulder, yanking him around and slamming him against the wall. Cas. Cas clapping his hand over his mouth and staring at him in a way that means "don't move; don't make a sound." Dean couldn't even if he wanted to, because Castiel's grip is like iron, and his palm more effective than any gag. His heart lurches when Cas pulls out a serrated knife, and it's the stupidest thing to think that Castiel's about to kill him, but for a split second that's exactly what he assumes. And then Cas is slicing open his own arm. Pulling away and using his blood like finger paint on the pristine white wall.
He banishes Zachariah to the Phantom Zone or wherever with a few haphazard strokes of angel mumbo jumbo. He tells Dean they don't have much time. But, holy crap, Dean suddenly feels like they have all the time in the world. Cas *woke the fuck up*; he bought a goddamn clue. And that's the best news Dean's had all day. Like maybe he's got a shot now. To get to Sammy. To stop Lucifer. His fingers close around Castiel's, and he doesn't even care about the blood; he squeezes tight, and gasps out a hoarse, "I didn't mean it, man. I didn't mean it when I said I was done with you."
"Yes, you did, Dean," Cas says. "And that is why I've come. We have to find Sam *now*. We have to stop him from killing Lilith."
"But Lilith's going to break the final seal!" he points out.
He's never heard Castiel sound as urgent, as *human* as he does right now. "Lilith *is* the final seal. She dies, the end begins," he snaps, fiercely.
Oh, Hell. Literally. Dean's whole body feels numb, and all he's aware of is that he's still clutching Cas' hand like it's a lifeline. And at any other moment, he'd probably have to question his masculinity, but right now, he's got the most insane shit on his mind. Nothing and everything. Fear. Gilligan's Island. "I never understood that show," he says, aloud, even as Castiel's brows pull together in confusion. "I couldn't understand why the Professor was so goddamn smart he could make a radio out of coconuts, but he couldn't patch up a hole in a boat. That's where we're at now, ain't we, Cas? We can't patch the hole."
The pop culture might be lost on him, but the metaphor isn't. Castiel tilts his head, staring at him with understanding. "We will try, Dean," he assures. "We will try with our last breath if we must."
"That's the hell of it, Cas… out of the two of us, I'm the only one breathin'," he laughs, shaking his head.
All of a sudden Cas is untangling their fingers, and raising his red-stained palm to Dean's face. His fingers cradle Dean's cheek and his thumb brushes across his lips. The faint coppery taste of blood sends a zings through his system, and angel blood probably isn't all that much better for a person than demon blood, but he doesn't pull away. It feels like a benediction. A blessing. He's not sure where he stands on God anymore, but he still believes in Castiel.
Then it's not blood he tastes, but the cool pressure of Cas' mouth. It's only an instant, but it feels longer. Like his first kiss. All nerves and sweaty palms and thinking he's found what he wants to be doing for the rest of his life. "Your breath *is* my breath, Dean Winchester," Castiel murmurs, simply.
Oh, man.
He'll be damned if that isn't the most romantic thing he's ever heard.
Of course, given the timing of it, he's pretty sure he's about to be damned anyway. Dean wants to grab Cas and kiss him back. He wants an hour to figure out if that makes him gayer than Christmas or just into getting his freak on with the Heavenly Host. But they don't have an hour; they don't have the luxury. So he just grasps the folds of Cas' coat and says, "Come on, let's go beat this thing."
They vanish in a flash of light, with the faintest flutter of wings.
And Dean is really glad that Zachariah didn't figure out what would really make him toe the company line. Not Ginger. Not the best damn burger in the world. Not even pie. Just Cas by his side, and the promise of saving Sam. That's enough. That's a fighting chance.
--end--
September 6, 2009
Watching "Lucifer Rising," I really began hankering for some filler fic where Dean and Cas have wild sex all over the waiting room. That is not what this is. LOL. Stupid looming Apocalypse... it got in the way!
Title: "The Minnow Would Be Lost"
Author: monimala
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating/Classification: PG-13 for language, filler fic/AU, Dean/Castiel, slash
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not making a profit. Some of the dialogue is lifted directly from 4x22, "Lucifer Rising."
Summary: 950 words. An alternate take on Dean and Castiel's last "green room" scene from 4x22.
The weigh station, Purgatory, Zachariah's eternal green room… whatever they want to call it, it reminds Dean of a high-class hotel suite. So frou-frou that you're scared of getting dirt on the carpet or dropping ketchup on the upholstery. And they've thought of everything, haven't they? Cold beer, burgers, even the offer of a hot babe to keep him pacified. There must be something seriously wrong with his wiring to turn down both Ginger *and* Mary Ann… or seriously right.
Dean's beginning to realize just how much he hates being trapped in the Scorsese version of a Bible story. The Last Temptation of Dean. All sordid dealings and sex and people with accents that do *not* fit with stories of angels and eternal damnation. But Sam's life is at stake here, the whole *world* is at stake here, and he doesn't care how many wishes Zach wants to try and fulfill, he's not selling his soul for a chance to bang Tina Louise.
He picks up one of the burgers, almost debating taking a bite of it. But maybe that'll just keep him here forever, like Persephone and her pomegranate seeds. And then there's a hand on his shoulder, yanking him around and slamming him against the wall. Cas. Cas clapping his hand over his mouth and staring at him in a way that means "don't move; don't make a sound." Dean couldn't even if he wanted to, because Castiel's grip is like iron, and his palm more effective than any gag. His heart lurches when Cas pulls out a serrated knife, and it's the stupidest thing to think that Castiel's about to kill him, but for a split second that's exactly what he assumes. And then Cas is slicing open his own arm. Pulling away and using his blood like finger paint on the pristine white wall.
He banishes Zachariah to the Phantom Zone or wherever with a few haphazard strokes of angel mumbo jumbo. He tells Dean they don't have much time. But, holy crap, Dean suddenly feels like they have all the time in the world. Cas *woke the fuck up*; he bought a goddamn clue. And that's the best news Dean's had all day. Like maybe he's got a shot now. To get to Sammy. To stop Lucifer. His fingers close around Castiel's, and he doesn't even care about the blood; he squeezes tight, and gasps out a hoarse, "I didn't mean it, man. I didn't mean it when I said I was done with you."
"Yes, you did, Dean," Cas says. "And that is why I've come. We have to find Sam *now*. We have to stop him from killing Lilith."
"But Lilith's going to break the final seal!" he points out.
He's never heard Castiel sound as urgent, as *human* as he does right now. "Lilith *is* the final seal. She dies, the end begins," he snaps, fiercely.
Oh, Hell. Literally. Dean's whole body feels numb, and all he's aware of is that he's still clutching Cas' hand like it's a lifeline. And at any other moment, he'd probably have to question his masculinity, but right now, he's got the most insane shit on his mind. Nothing and everything. Fear. Gilligan's Island. "I never understood that show," he says, aloud, even as Castiel's brows pull together in confusion. "I couldn't understand why the Professor was so goddamn smart he could make a radio out of coconuts, but he couldn't patch up a hole in a boat. That's where we're at now, ain't we, Cas? We can't patch the hole."
The pop culture might be lost on him, but the metaphor isn't. Castiel tilts his head, staring at him with understanding. "We will try, Dean," he assures. "We will try with our last breath if we must."
"That's the hell of it, Cas… out of the two of us, I'm the only one breathin'," he laughs, shaking his head.
All of a sudden Cas is untangling their fingers, and raising his red-stained palm to Dean's face. His fingers cradle Dean's cheek and his thumb brushes across his lips. The faint coppery taste of blood sends a zings through his system, and angel blood probably isn't all that much better for a person than demon blood, but he doesn't pull away. It feels like a benediction. A blessing. He's not sure where he stands on God anymore, but he still believes in Castiel.
Then it's not blood he tastes, but the cool pressure of Cas' mouth. It's only an instant, but it feels longer. Like his first kiss. All nerves and sweaty palms and thinking he's found what he wants to be doing for the rest of his life. "Your breath *is* my breath, Dean Winchester," Castiel murmurs, simply.
Oh, man.
He'll be damned if that isn't the most romantic thing he's ever heard.
Of course, given the timing of it, he's pretty sure he's about to be damned anyway. Dean wants to grab Cas and kiss him back. He wants an hour to figure out if that makes him gayer than Christmas or just into getting his freak on with the Heavenly Host. But they don't have an hour; they don't have the luxury. So he just grasps the folds of Cas' coat and says, "Come on, let's go beat this thing."
They vanish in a flash of light, with the faintest flutter of wings.
And Dean is really glad that Zachariah didn't figure out what would really make him toe the company line. Not Ginger. Not the best damn burger in the world. Not even pie. Just Cas by his side, and the promise of saving Sam. That's enough. That's a fighting chance.
--end--
September 6, 2009