Supernatural
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Cereal Box Philosophy
Author: azulittle
Rating: PG
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Warnings/Genres: AU, fluff, humor
Disclaimer: Belongs to CW, Kripke et al.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Of all the things Castiel would do for Dean Winchester, helping the man abduct his brother's new couch was not on the list.
Words: 1,015
::Cereal Box Philosophy::
The sealed Woodwraiths scream as the hunters and townsfolk set them alight. Exhausted but fiercely determined men and women holler their locations and successes as night slips towards day. Dark, acrid smoke hovers over the tops of the glowing forest.
Castiel has his cell in hand before more than two notes of Dean's customized ringtone can play.
"Hello, Dean."
"I need your help," Dean says without preamble, voice oddly loose and slurred.
Unease shivers through the vast spread of Castiel's grace. The last time his human partner had called him for help, the man had been six and half minutes away from exsanguination at the hands of a nest of vampires-and, before that, Mercyville and the white-eyed Archdemon. This is why the most fundamental core of himself silently rebels whenever he receives orders that take him away from Dean Winchester.
"Where are you?" he demands even as he sends a fragment of his intent hurtling down the connection cleaving Dean's soul to his grace. The human's hunt should have been a simple one, just another salt and burn.
"Relax, babe. I'm at Sam's. Everything's fine."
Castiel nudges around the bond, fluttering a light touch against his beloved's soul and the Hell-chains still sunk in impossibly deep, before allowing that, yes, Dean seems unharmed.
"But, dude, his new couch? I need you to help me kidnap it. It's the most fucking comfortable thing ever. It has to be the work of the devil, seriously. We just need to get it alone and then you can Stockholm Syndrome this bitch." Dean makes a muffled noise that borders on utterly indecent. "Don't be jealous, Cas, but I think I’m in lust. Threesome, yes? No?"
"Dean, are you drunk?"
The warm, rich chuckle made tinny and delicate by the phone's small speaker fills Castiel with a sweetly restless warmth. He cradles the phone closer to his cheek and wallows in the distant presence of his human charge, even as most of him monitors the fires and quietly snuffs stray sparks and cinders.
"'m not drunk. Sleep deprivation sucks. I hate hunting Freddy Kruegers. Sonuva bitch knew I was close to finding his grave. No sleep for-" A loud, drawn out yawn cuts off his words. "Almost seventy-two hours, now. But I got 'im. You should praise me."
"You did very well. Good job," Castiel intones fondly. "Now sleep, Dean."
A muzzy groan of annoyance carries through speaker.
"Can't. Hit that point where I'm so tired that I can't drop off. So, ménage à trois with Sammy-boy's couch?"
"I'm not assisting you in doing unseemly things with your brother's furniture."
"Spoilsport. You know, it's practically mine anyway. As the older brother, all of Sam's things belong to me by default. It's in the Constitution."
The angel chuffs out a soft laugh. "I believe Constitutional scholars would disagree with you."
"Not if they're older brothers."
Castiel can almost see the tired, impish smile curling Dean's generous mouth. His fingertips itch to trace the giving contours of that much adored expression. He has not raised his Voice to join his siblings in some time for all his songs now breathe of Dean Winchester. There should be guilt and shame in that, but all he can feel is fierce joy.
"Sleep, Dean."
"Mmm, no. Don't want to now."
"Dean."
"Hey, I think he, like, knows, you know?" Something infinitely fragile moves beneath Dean's sleep-slow words. Castiel edges more of his focus into the fragment still loosely coiled around the reassuring pulse of Dean's soul.
A muted glow presses at the uneven lip of the mountain range to the east. More groups of soot-streaked men and women emerge from the forest as the inhuman screams begin to fade. Those too old or young to go into the woods have set up rickety tables supporting portable coffee and hot water makers as well as an assortment of pastries. All of them have spent the long night doing their part to protect the town.
"Who knows and about what?"
"Sam and us." Dean's voice barely carries over the insubstantial connection between their phones. What face is he making now? Castiel wonders.
"I see."
The fact that Dean has kept their relationship a secret close to his heart does not bother Castiel in the least-so long as his beloved does not suffer for his silence. The anxiety that rolls through the man at the thought of his family's judgment is enough to have Castiel's grace flare up in protective aggression at a nebulous enemy.
"Yeah, he's being all weird and, I don't know, supportive-like, it's only a matter of time before he breaks out with the rainbow T-shirts and pins. I'm gonna have to punch the kid in the mouth if he does. And those gooey, puppy-eyes he keeps giving me… I don't know, man. It's creepy. He hasn't really said anything, but he's been leaving this open conversational space. And Jess, don't get me started on her."
Dean ends his mumbled, nervous tirade with another messy yawn. Castiel imagines smoothing the pads of his thumbs across the delicate skin of the human's eyelids and gently kissing him into dreams.
"I adore you," Castiel says, filling his imperfect voice with all the support the hunter never wants to hear in words.
"Dude!"
The angel knows the expression on Dean's face at this precise moment: scandalized, annoyed and grudgingly happy. The way he blushes and blusters while wearing this look makes Castiel all the more eager to draw it out.
"I want to be by your side," Castiel continues, closing his form's blue eyes. He knows Dean cannot feel the emotions he floods their bond with, not as long as the man lives, but his soul lights up and sings a wavering note back through the angel's grace.
"I'm hanging up, seriously."
"I want you. All of you."
A sharp, breathless sound fills his ear before the line cuts off.
"Goodnight, Dean," he says to the silence on the other end and presses his mouth to the warm screen of the cell phone.
Next : Through the Woods
End Thoughts: None, no thoughts here. The fluff killed everything. Bleargh.
X-posted to deancastiel |
Title: Cereal Box Philosophy
Author: azulittle
Rating: PG
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Warnings/Genres: AU, fluff, humor
Disclaimer: Belongs to CW, Kripke et al.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Of all the things Castiel would do for Dean Winchester, helping the man abduct his brother's new couch was not on the list.
Words: 1,015
::Cereal Box Philosophy::
The sealed Woodwraiths scream as the hunters and townsfolk set them alight. Exhausted but fiercely determined men and women holler their locations and successes as night slips towards day. Dark, acrid smoke hovers over the tops of the glowing forest.
Castiel has his cell in hand before more than two notes of Dean's customized ringtone can play.
"Hello, Dean."
"I need your help," Dean says without preamble, voice oddly loose and slurred.
Unease shivers through the vast spread of Castiel's grace. The last time his human partner had called him for help, the man had been six and half minutes away from exsanguination at the hands of a nest of vampires-and, before that, Mercyville and the white-eyed Archdemon. This is why the most fundamental core of himself silently rebels whenever he receives orders that take him away from Dean Winchester.
"Where are you?" he demands even as he sends a fragment of his intent hurtling down the connection cleaving Dean's soul to his grace. The human's hunt should have been a simple one, just another salt and burn.
"Relax, babe. I'm at Sam's. Everything's fine."
Castiel nudges around the bond, fluttering a light touch against his beloved's soul and the Hell-chains still sunk in impossibly deep, before allowing that, yes, Dean seems unharmed.
"But, dude, his new couch? I need you to help me kidnap it. It's the most fucking comfortable thing ever. It has to be the work of the devil, seriously. We just need to get it alone and then you can Stockholm Syndrome this bitch." Dean makes a muffled noise that borders on utterly indecent. "Don't be jealous, Cas, but I think I’m in lust. Threesome, yes? No?"
"Dean, are you drunk?"
The warm, rich chuckle made tinny and delicate by the phone's small speaker fills Castiel with a sweetly restless warmth. He cradles the phone closer to his cheek and wallows in the distant presence of his human charge, even as most of him monitors the fires and quietly snuffs stray sparks and cinders.
"'m not drunk. Sleep deprivation sucks. I hate hunting Freddy Kruegers. Sonuva bitch knew I was close to finding his grave. No sleep for-" A loud, drawn out yawn cuts off his words. "Almost seventy-two hours, now. But I got 'im. You should praise me."
"You did very well. Good job," Castiel intones fondly. "Now sleep, Dean."
A muzzy groan of annoyance carries through speaker.
"Can't. Hit that point where I'm so tired that I can't drop off. So, ménage à trois with Sammy-boy's couch?"
"I'm not assisting you in doing unseemly things with your brother's furniture."
"Spoilsport. You know, it's practically mine anyway. As the older brother, all of Sam's things belong to me by default. It's in the Constitution."
The angel chuffs out a soft laugh. "I believe Constitutional scholars would disagree with you."
"Not if they're older brothers."
Castiel can almost see the tired, impish smile curling Dean's generous mouth. His fingertips itch to trace the giving contours of that much adored expression. He has not raised his Voice to join his siblings in some time for all his songs now breathe of Dean Winchester. There should be guilt and shame in that, but all he can feel is fierce joy.
"Sleep, Dean."
"Mmm, no. Don't want to now."
"Dean."
"Hey, I think he, like, knows, you know?" Something infinitely fragile moves beneath Dean's sleep-slow words. Castiel edges more of his focus into the fragment still loosely coiled around the reassuring pulse of Dean's soul.
A muted glow presses at the uneven lip of the mountain range to the east. More groups of soot-streaked men and women emerge from the forest as the inhuman screams begin to fade. Those too old or young to go into the woods have set up rickety tables supporting portable coffee and hot water makers as well as an assortment of pastries. All of them have spent the long night doing their part to protect the town.
"Who knows and about what?"
"Sam and us." Dean's voice barely carries over the insubstantial connection between their phones. What face is he making now? Castiel wonders.
"I see."
The fact that Dean has kept their relationship a secret close to his heart does not bother Castiel in the least-so long as his beloved does not suffer for his silence. The anxiety that rolls through the man at the thought of his family's judgment is enough to have Castiel's grace flare up in protective aggression at a nebulous enemy.
"Yeah, he's being all weird and, I don't know, supportive-like, it's only a matter of time before he breaks out with the rainbow T-shirts and pins. I'm gonna have to punch the kid in the mouth if he does. And those gooey, puppy-eyes he keeps giving me… I don't know, man. It's creepy. He hasn't really said anything, but he's been leaving this open conversational space. And Jess, don't get me started on her."
Dean ends his mumbled, nervous tirade with another messy yawn. Castiel imagines smoothing the pads of his thumbs across the delicate skin of the human's eyelids and gently kissing him into dreams.
"I adore you," Castiel says, filling his imperfect voice with all the support the hunter never wants to hear in words.
"Dude!"
The angel knows the expression on Dean's face at this precise moment: scandalized, annoyed and grudgingly happy. The way he blushes and blusters while wearing this look makes Castiel all the more eager to draw it out.
"I want to be by your side," Castiel continues, closing his form's blue eyes. He knows Dean cannot feel the emotions he floods their bond with, not as long as the man lives, but his soul lights up and sings a wavering note back through the angel's grace.
"I'm hanging up, seriously."
"I want you. All of you."
A sharp, breathless sound fills his ear before the line cuts off.
"Goodnight, Dean," he says to the silence on the other end and presses his mouth to the warm screen of the cell phone.
Next : Through the Woods
End Thoughts: None, no thoughts here. The fluff killed everything. Bleargh.
X-posted to deancastiel |