SPN_J2_Xmas | Ficlet and graphics for kiraesque
Title : Greenhouse Gases and Other Worldly Woes
Rating : PG-13 (For language)
Pairing : Dean/Castiel
Summary : Global warming, apocalypses, randomly appearing angels - Dean's a bit overwhelmed.
It's hot most days, the air so thick it gets hard to breathe. Dean's sweating, the gleam on his forehead mixing with a thin trail of dirt when he rubs his hand over his face. Hunting gets more tiring with the months that seem to be passing faster than the old trains rushing through broken down towns.
They're somewhere between Missouri and Arkansas, on their way back from a case in Little Rock that nearly left Dean without the skin on his face. No matter how many times the lesson is repeated he can't seem to get it through his thick skull that there are some spirits you just don't wanna piss off. Or so Sam says, anyways.
The hot summer day is even worse now than ever, especially when he's tucked underneath the car working on her sweet but aging undercarriage. Dean sometimes wonders if the heat is some kind of sign of the impending apocalypse, but it's not worth voicing and risking getting Sam started on the woes of global warming.
"Fuck greenhouse gases. Only green gas I've ever seen comes out Sam's damn ass." He says out loud, laying back on the ground to stare up at the small piece of metal that's beginning to rust.
"Actually, Sam has a point about greenhouse gases."
The voice comes out of nowhere, and because Dean's luck is just that fantastic he ends up jumping and hitting his head square on the muffler.
"Goddammit Castiel, I told you not to do that," he crawls out into the glaring sun, his eyes squinting to look up at the angel.
He's dressed in the same trench coat, it's tails worn down from travel and war. The lines under Castiel's eyes make him look impossibly tired, like he's forgotten what sleep is. The black dress pants are faded at the knees, tinged a light shade of green from kneeling in what must've been grass. Dean knows he still prays, even now. Though quiet and alone, sometimes when Castiel returns Dean can see the difference, the way his shoulders are less tense and he breathes easier.
The angel seems tall as a sky scraper from where Dean lays, but then again that could be because he just experienced some head trauma. Castiel hunches next to him, the corners of his mouth barely turned in what could be a smile if he let it grow.
"Jesus, Dean. You've got a baseball on your head."
Dean can only smile then, let out a loud laugh that is intoxicating in the air.
"What?" Castiel asks.
There's scruff growing across his chin, little prickles covering the smooth skin beneath. Dean reaches up, runs his fingers through, feeling each little hair. "Why Castiel, you took the lords name in vein. I'm so proud of you!"
They just stare at each other for a while, Castiel looking like he's filled with an awful sort of dread until finally he laughs. Really, truly, opens his lips and laughs. It's the most unique sound he's heard before, deep like whiskey but light like a feather.
"Guess you're rubbing off on me." He says, smiling as their lips meet and they kiss like the world's not close to coming to an end, like global warming doesn't exist and the summer heat doesn't mean anything at all.
Personalized variation
Note : I just got this today and kind of went with it. I hope you enjoy it and that you had a wonderful holiday season :)
Rating : PG-13 (For language)
Pairing : Dean/Castiel
Summary : Global warming, apocalypses, randomly appearing angels - Dean's a bit overwhelmed.
It's hot most days, the air so thick it gets hard to breathe. Dean's sweating, the gleam on his forehead mixing with a thin trail of dirt when he rubs his hand over his face. Hunting gets more tiring with the months that seem to be passing faster than the old trains rushing through broken down towns.
They're somewhere between Missouri and Arkansas, on their way back from a case in Little Rock that nearly left Dean without the skin on his face. No matter how many times the lesson is repeated he can't seem to get it through his thick skull that there are some spirits you just don't wanna piss off. Or so Sam says, anyways.
The hot summer day is even worse now than ever, especially when he's tucked underneath the car working on her sweet but aging undercarriage. Dean sometimes wonders if the heat is some kind of sign of the impending apocalypse, but it's not worth voicing and risking getting Sam started on the woes of global warming.
"Fuck greenhouse gases. Only green gas I've ever seen comes out Sam's damn ass." He says out loud, laying back on the ground to stare up at the small piece of metal that's beginning to rust.
"Actually, Sam has a point about greenhouse gases."
The voice comes out of nowhere, and because Dean's luck is just that fantastic he ends up jumping and hitting his head square on the muffler.
"Goddammit Castiel, I told you not to do that," he crawls out into the glaring sun, his eyes squinting to look up at the angel.
He's dressed in the same trench coat, it's tails worn down from travel and war. The lines under Castiel's eyes make him look impossibly tired, like he's forgotten what sleep is. The black dress pants are faded at the knees, tinged a light shade of green from kneeling in what must've been grass. Dean knows he still prays, even now. Though quiet and alone, sometimes when Castiel returns Dean can see the difference, the way his shoulders are less tense and he breathes easier.
The angel seems tall as a sky scraper from where Dean lays, but then again that could be because he just experienced some head trauma. Castiel hunches next to him, the corners of his mouth barely turned in what could be a smile if he let it grow.
"Jesus, Dean. You've got a baseball on your head."
Dean can only smile then, let out a loud laugh that is intoxicating in the air.
"What?" Castiel asks.
There's scruff growing across his chin, little prickles covering the smooth skin beneath. Dean reaches up, runs his fingers through, feeling each little hair. "Why Castiel, you took the lords name in vein. I'm so proud of you!"
They just stare at each other for a while, Castiel looking like he's filled with an awful sort of dread until finally he laughs. Really, truly, opens his lips and laughs. It's the most unique sound he's heard before, deep like whiskey but light like a feather.
"Guess you're rubbing off on me." He says, smiling as their lips meet and they kiss like the world's not close to coming to an end, like global warming doesn't exist and the summer heat doesn't mean anything at all.
Personalized variation
Note : I just got this today and kind of went with it. I hope you enjoy it and that you had a wonderful holiday season :)