Couple of drabbles to dump
Asked for a few prompts on Twitter and got more than a few. I'll be dumping the drabbles into this post as we go.
When the case is over, when the investigations and the interrogations are followed up and followed through on, when the girl's been saved and the body's been burned, after all of that, there is the last night. The last night sometimes eased with alcohol, sometimes soothed with sex, but in the end they come staggering back to the same place. Same ratty motel room. Same exhaustion. Same story ending just to have another one begin.
What keeps them going? How do they get up on that next morning and say, it's time to start all over again? Why, after nearly dying a thousand different ways, after escaping the scrutiny of police and the confused looks of those who didn't even know they might have been victims of a nightmare, do they say "Let's do it one more time"?
The answer is a pulled-pork sandwich for breakfast. Greasy diner food to ease a hangover. The answer is looking out the window and seeing a house that didn't burn down, a child who is still in one piece. They go on because of the few thank-yous they get, because of the wideness of the road that calls to them, because of the wail of the electric guitar on the stereo. They go because it's a 12-hour drive, and that's a lot of time for talking, for sharing, for realizing they're just where they want to be. And they go because there's someone next to them who knows what it's like, and who will always, always be there.
Sam enlists Castiel's help with Christmas decorations. Not because he needs help putting anything up, but because sometimes these things are two-man jobs, and Dean will only be out so long interviewing the DA's daughter about her father's ghastyly disappearance. So time is of the essence. Castiel watches Sam the whole time, amused at how he bounces around the room with childlike energy. The tension of what they've been doing, the destiny they've been running from, is nowhere to be found.
"He's going to love this." Sam says every time he opens another shopping bag full of strings of lights, tinsel, ornaments. He must have spent two hundred dollars on this, Castiel calculates. Not their money to begin with, of course, but so very telling nonetheless, that he'd go to this trouble for things that they can't keep or recycle for next year. These ornaments, this tree, all of this goes up for one night only, and that's enough to keep Sam going gangbusters the whole day long.
Castiel admires it. He finds something wonderful in the light in Sam's eyes, the flush in his features. And as he steps onto a chair to hang mistletoe in the doorway ("A ward against demons?" he'd asked and gotten a full-throated laugh in response), he thinks he might have liked to be born a human and feel this way.
"Cas?" Sam has come to stand next to him.
"Oh." Castiel drops his hands. He's been standing there, arms up, lost in thought, for the better part of a minute. "I'm sorry, I got sidetracked."
"It's cool." Sam looks at him criticaly. "Where were you, man? You looked a thousand miles away."
Castiel chuffs out a soft laugh. "I was right here," he says.
"Right." Sam cocks his head. "Standing right here under the mistletoe like you were waiting for someone to come kiss you."
Castiel frowns. "I don't under--"
Soft lips choke the sound from his. Castiel looks up and can see nothing but Sam's face, the fringe of his hair casting a curtain around them both. His eyes give up and close, and for a long moment there's nothing but energy flowing into him, humanity and affection, everything he's ever wished he could be and feel.
Their lips part with a soft pop. Castiel licks his lips nervously.
"You should watch where you stand," Sam says, and his voice is husky.
"I think--" Castiel has to fight for the courage to speak. "I think I'll stay right here."
His hands fly out to catch Sam's jacket. He needs that humanity again.
When the case is over, when the investigations and the interrogations are followed up and followed through on, when the girl's been saved and the body's been burned, after all of that, there is the last night. The last night sometimes eased with alcohol, sometimes soothed with sex, but in the end they come staggering back to the same place. Same ratty motel room. Same exhaustion. Same story ending just to have another one begin.
What keeps them going? How do they get up on that next morning and say, it's time to start all over again? Why, after nearly dying a thousand different ways, after escaping the scrutiny of police and the confused looks of those who didn't even know they might have been victims of a nightmare, do they say "Let's do it one more time"?
The answer is a pulled-pork sandwich for breakfast. Greasy diner food to ease a hangover. The answer is looking out the window and seeing a house that didn't burn down, a child who is still in one piece. They go on because of the few thank-yous they get, because of the wideness of the road that calls to them, because of the wail of the electric guitar on the stereo. They go because it's a 12-hour drive, and that's a lot of time for talking, for sharing, for realizing they're just where they want to be. And they go because there's someone next to them who knows what it's like, and who will always, always be there.
Sam enlists Castiel's help with Christmas decorations. Not because he needs help putting anything up, but because sometimes these things are two-man jobs, and Dean will only be out so long interviewing the DA's daughter about her father's ghastyly disappearance. So time is of the essence. Castiel watches Sam the whole time, amused at how he bounces around the room with childlike energy. The tension of what they've been doing, the destiny they've been running from, is nowhere to be found.
"He's going to love this." Sam says every time he opens another shopping bag full of strings of lights, tinsel, ornaments. He must have spent two hundred dollars on this, Castiel calculates. Not their money to begin with, of course, but so very telling nonetheless, that he'd go to this trouble for things that they can't keep or recycle for next year. These ornaments, this tree, all of this goes up for one night only, and that's enough to keep Sam going gangbusters the whole day long.
Castiel admires it. He finds something wonderful in the light in Sam's eyes, the flush in his features. And as he steps onto a chair to hang mistletoe in the doorway ("A ward against demons?" he'd asked and gotten a full-throated laugh in response), he thinks he might have liked to be born a human and feel this way.
"Cas?" Sam has come to stand next to him.
"Oh." Castiel drops his hands. He's been standing there, arms up, lost in thought, for the better part of a minute. "I'm sorry, I got sidetracked."
"It's cool." Sam looks at him criticaly. "Where were you, man? You looked a thousand miles away."
Castiel chuffs out a soft laugh. "I was right here," he says.
"Right." Sam cocks his head. "Standing right here under the mistletoe like you were waiting for someone to come kiss you."
Castiel frowns. "I don't under--"
Soft lips choke the sound from his. Castiel looks up and can see nothing but Sam's face, the fringe of his hair casting a curtain around them both. His eyes give up and close, and for a long moment there's nothing but energy flowing into him, humanity and affection, everything he's ever wished he could be and feel.
Their lips part with a soft pop. Castiel licks his lips nervously.
"You should watch where you stand," Sam says, and his voice is husky.
"I think--" Castiel has to fight for the courage to speak. "I think I'll stay right here."
His hands fly out to catch Sam's jacket. He needs that humanity again.