SPN: Molt
*hangs her head, somberly and solemnly handing over her parchment and pens* I can't believe I wrote this. *sighs* Anyone who knows me knows why. *grumbles as she hands in her writer-badge*
Set somewhere in late Season 5, after the start, but before Point of No Return. I personally see it around the time of Swap Meat, but whenever, seriously. Major, seriously HUGE thanks to 27_jaredjensen for her coaching on congested talking. ^-^ Also, if you turn on closed captioning during the show, or view the Season 5 Companion Guide, it's not Cas as a short for Castiel. It's actually Cass. Go figure.
totally stellar and amazing banner made the totally amazing and stunning thruterryseyes . *is incredibly humbled*
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It had started so innocently, Sam mused.
Castiel had been with the brothers when Dean had declared if he didn't sleep, they were more likely to wind up around a pole than anything else, and had firmly pulled into a motel. Cas had argued, though with a lack of his usual vigor, and Sam had a feeling it was more for appearances sake than any actual argument.
Sam had seen Castiel dozing in the back the last few miles, and he knew he was feeling the gritty-eye implication that his body was throwing a temper-tantrum to a lack of sleep. So he had backed Dean, throwing his duffle carelessly on the floor by the bed and flopping with a total lack of grace face-first on to the bed, groaning wearily.
"I really don't know about this."
"Cas, seriously. Stay up. Sleep in the Impala. Sleep on the floor. Sleep in a chair. Sleep in the tub. Hell, sleep in the bed, I don't care. But I'm human, Sam is human on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and we're both tired. We need sleep, okay? Coffee in the morning, but sleep now. Stay, go, I don't care." Dean's voice was gruff and gravely, and Sam winced at the tone.
"He's right Cas."
"What was that, Sam?"
Right, the comforter. Sam sighed, pushed himself upright and dug a hand into his hair, pushing it away from his eyes. "Dean's right, we need to crash. I know you don't need sleep, but you're welcome to stay. Either way, quiet. In about ten minutes, we'll both be dead." Dean snorted from where he was yanking off his boots, and Sam shrugged. "Maybe five for you."
"Yeah, whatever." He shrugged off his overshirt, slid his belt from their loops, and burrowed under the blankets, jeans, socks, undershirt and all. "In or out Cas. Sam, you showering now or crashing?"
"Sleep man." Sam didn't waste any time in stripping, yawning loudly as he followed his older brother's example and made a nest out of his own bedding. "I call dibs on the shower in the morning though."
"Bull shit, that's mine." The words were already slurred, and Sam flicked off the lamps, fighting to keep his eyes open. He heard the rustle of wings, and assumed Castiel was leaving.
About an hour later, a yelp from Dean's bed jolted him awake. "Cas, what the hell?"
"I am tired, and you implied the bed was a good place to sleep. Sam had taken his entire bed, so I assumed I was to share with you."
Sam snickered, flopping an arm over his eyes. "God, you two…"
"Shut it Francis. You, angel-boy. Keep your hands to yourself." There was rustling, sheets moving, and the bed creaked in protest before the noise settled down.
"Very well."
The words came from a distance, and Sam surrendered to the sleep that was pulling at him.
There was something tickling his nose, and Dean wiggled it, frowning as he shifted, burrowing deeper into the pillow. The sensation faded, and he was drifting again, so close to sleep, when the sneeze that had been threatening busted loose, followed rapidly by several of it's siblings. "Dabbit." His mind blearily offered an image of tissue box to his left, and he pawed roughly at the night stand, grunting in victory when he felt the rough box. "Yahtsee."
He blew his nose, dumped the tissue over the edge of the bed, and burrowed back down, letting sleep pull him along.
Until his eyes started itching.
With a growl that brought his attention to the tickle in his throat, Dean sat up, scrubbing at his eyes as he fought back yet another sneeze. What the hell? Within a few minutes, he gave up all pretenses at sleep, grumbling as he fumbled again with the tissue box, trying to clear the congestion that had quickly taken up shop in his sinuses, which was odd, considering the sheer amount of snot trying to escape in copious amounts.
That wasn't including his eyes, which itched badly enough, he was contemplating yanking them out and scrubbing them around in a bowl of rock salt. Burn, yes, but it would stop the itching. He blew his nose loudly again, flinching as the light came on. Apparently, he woke up Sam. He scrubbed at his eyes one last time before trying to suck back the mucus in his nose, coughing as it set off the tickle in his throat. "'Sup Sabby? You okay?"
"Did you molt or something over there?" Disbelief was strong in Sam's voice, and Dean cracked an eye, startled to find himself in a sea of white.
"Da hell?" A sneeze interrupted him, and he growled low, fishing out more tissues.
Cas cleared his voice, perched sheepishly at the foot of the bed. "I apologize…I did not realize that my lack of grace would be so…prevalent."
"Eh?" The congestion was annoying as fuck, and Dean tried again to clear it, hurtling the snotty tissues in a fit of frustration.
There was a rustling sound, like when Castiel left, and Dean blinked blearily at him…nope, angel still in the room. Sam had left his bed though, holding up something white with a look of awe and amusement. Dean blinked through the wateriness in his eyes, frowning. "'sat a feader?"
"Yup."
"Caz?"
Sam nods. "Yup."
"Fu…" he trailed off, holding a Kleenex to his nose as the sneeze warned. "HHHH-HIJSSHSHK!"
"Bless you."
"Tadgs." He threw the tissue to the floor, flopped back as he groaned. "Dabbit Caz."
The angel shifted his wings, wincing as more white feathers drifted to the motel floor. Sam couldn't help but notice the faint look of embarrassment and shame that filtered through the vessel's eyes, and he sighed.
"Cas, take my bed." He grabbed the trashcan from the bathroom, started gathering up the giant white, silky feathers.
"I'm not sure I understand." Yeah, there was that tone of shame in Castiel's voice; Sam had years of practice of picking up that tone.
"Dean's allergic to feathers." Another loud, messy sneeze, and Dean groaned, huffing out a breath in annoyance, and Sam smothered his chuckle. "Take my bed, I'll clean this up, crash with him."
"Do way id hell Sabadta. You cad seep od the foor."
Sam raised a brow, shook his head. "Wow, that was clear. I'll make you sleep on the floor, idiot. Get some sleep."
It didn't take long to gather up the mess, and he tied off the bag, setting it outside their door to minimize it bothering Dean. He really didn't know why…if Castiel kept shedding, it wouldn't make much difference, but it made him feel accomplished. He made his way back to the beds, pausing to gingerly straighten a few of the feathers that he could barely make out in the glimmers around Castiel. He could see them, could tell there was something out of alignment, and he could really only chalk it up to the demon blood in him. He sighed, running calloused fingertips over the feathers before tucking the blanket back up around Castiel.
He turned to the other bed, and smirked, Dean already surrounded by a mess of white tissue balls, sprawled on his back as he tried to snore through the congestion. Sam plucked the feather sticking out of Dean's collar, shook his head.
It was going to be a really, really long day.