[FIC] - Bleeding Through
Author: phaelsafe
Rating: PG-13ish
Genre and/or Pairing: Destiel
Spoilers: season 7
Warnings: character death (nothing that isn't canon), angst
Word Count: ~3100
Summary: Castiel helps Sam and Dean retrieve a camera that takes unusual pictures.
A/N: This starts out pretty cracky and then does its own thing. Forgive me. Prompt was 'camera' and the lyrics are from 'Every Day is Exactly the Same,' by NIN.
"I can't remember how this got started
But I can tell you exactly how it will end."
“You have a talent for pissing off creatures that are designed to be emotionless,” Sam says, pressing his lips into a thin line of disapproval.
Dean folds his arms over his chest and quirks a skeptical brow at his brother. “Supposedly, Sam. Supposedly designed to....” The meaning behind Sam’s accusation suddenly sets in, and Dean throws his hands into the air. “What? I didn’t do anything!” He thinks his words through, bobbing his head along with his internal thoughts. “This time,” he amends.
“Dean...” sighs Sam.
They glare at each other as they stand in the middle of the shop-lined street. The town is small, and it's well after midnight. Other than the occasional passing car, there's no one else around.
“‘Cause Cas has never up and disappeared on us without reason before.” With an exaggerated shrug, Dean rolls his eyes and adds, “He’s busy, and we can take care of this ourselves. It’s just a camera and a few not-so-spooky pictures. There was no sign of any curse or magic, at least none that I could find when I came through earlier. No supernatural tampering of any kind. What’s the big deal? It’s not like the photographer is going to jump around a corner, take your picture, and steal your soul.”
Bad choice of words. Dean grimaces, his eyes darting over to Sam.
Sam allows the tactless comment to slide, throwing only a brief glower of warning in Dean’s direction. “Just call him back. And be nice, please?” he pleads as he turns back to examine the studio before them. The owner did a good job of updating the storefront: it's inviting without being too pretentious. Although, it does look out of place next to the surrounding mom-and-pop.
“I wasn’t-” Dean angrily cuts the air with his hand as he tries to defend himself. He realizes the effort is futile and instead just clenches his fist in frustration. “Fine, whatever,” he says, his voice falling into a drawl that sounds far too bored to be even remotely serious before intoning "O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head -- as is a winged messenger of heaven,"
“Did you just-” Sam stutters, whirling around, his brows flying up in astonishment. “You did! You just quoted Shakespeare!”
"What? I did attend high school on occasion," Dean grouses.
The range of emotion that plays across the younger Winchester’s face is impressive, and Dean thinks a new record for how many facial muscles Sam can distort in the space of thirty seconds has been set. To celebrate the momentous occasion, he tries to mimic the expressions, at least until Sam finally settles on a scowl that falls halfway between scorn and petulance that Dean doesn’t even pretend he can try to emulate.
“Did you just-” comes a deep voice from behind Dean. He turns on his heel to find Castiel standing in his personal bubble with his head cocked to the side and eyebrows drawn together in confusion. He ignores the gasped "Cas, don’t do that!" as he searches Dean’s face before eventually asking “Did you just recite Romeo and Juliet to me in a prayer?”
Dean clasps a hand to his chest like that will quell the erratic flip-flopping of his heart as it attempts to flee from his ribcage.
Sam clears his throat and adds, “Yeah, the creepy, stalking, mushy love part.”
"How ironic," Dean says without a trace of sarcasm.
It's Sam's turn to look confused, and he tries to puzzle it out. Shaking his head in defeat, he asks, "How is that an example of irony, Dean?"
"I think Dean is suggesting that it's ironic that you would make a joke about him being a creepy love-sick stalker when everyone knows that I'm the one who-"
Dean holds his hands up to interrupt Castiel. "Okay, seems like Heaven's lost a Deadpool. Moving on."
Castiel considers Dean's words. "I don't understand that reference," he announces, his eyes searching the street as though he expects to find people watching them.
"But that's still not an examp-"
"Hey," Dean growls, "moving on."
A crash distracts them from the matter at hand, and they look at each other -- there shouldn't be anybody in the building at this time of night. Castiel grabs the Winchesters and shifts them through the locked door.
They find themselves in a small reception area with chairs lining the walls on either side of a large desk. Several photo albums are arranged neatly on top of a coffee table. A wall divides the waiting area from the rest of the studio, and there is an opening on either side of the desk wide enough to allow customers to pass through to the back.
"Where is it?" comes a rough voice.
Dean and Sam go through one door while Castiel goes through the other.
A tall black man and an even taller burly white guy have someone cornered against the canvas backdrops hanging on the opposite side of the room. It's hard to tell with the bad guys in the way, but Dean thinks he catches sight of a short, dark-haired woman.
"Oh, fuck off, assholes. I've got too much to do around her to be bother-" the victim's words are abruptly cut off as the white guy picks her up by the throat and slams her against the wall.
"Hey!" hollers Dean. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"
Caught off guard, they turn liquid black eyes toward his voice. The woman takes advantage of this, bending her knees and drawing them in close to her torso before she slams her feet into the her assailant's chest, knocking the demon over. He loses his grip on her, and she drops back to the ground, staggering. Just as she regains her balance, the other demon lunges for her; she is quicker, and she darts out of his reach.
The studio lights obscure anything beyond the brightly illuminated staging area, but she still manages to dash in the direction of the hunters. She just barely avoids tripping over the leg of a tripod in her path, and Sam catches her. He twists, trying to offset her forward momentum, and tosses Ruby's knife to Dean at the same time.
Dean chances a cursory look at Castiel. The angel nods in return and they advance on the demons. Castiel smites the first demon quickly enough, but Dean takes a few hits before he manages to plunge the blade between the ribs of the second.
Sam escorts the woman over as Dean cleans the gore off the knife by wiping it on the dead creature's shirt. He looks up at her as she steps back into the circle of light. She is short -- her head barely reaches the hunter's chest. Black hair falls to just below her chin, and she is wearing dark-rimmed glasses. There is a ring through her septum, and metal glitters along the edges of her ears. She has on t-shirt which features a cartoon character from the '80s, faded blue jeans, and heavy steel-toe work boots.
"Great," she says, scowling at the havoc wreaked upon her equipment. "I don't think that blood is going to come out, and those drapes cost hundreds of dollars." She kicks the nearest body.
"Anyway, I'm Athena, and thanks for rescuing me!" she acknowledges brightly and holds her hand out to Dean. He shakes it; she has a strong grip. The bangles on her wrist clink against a spiked bracelet.
"I'm Dean," he says, then points at his brother and the angel. "That's Sam, and he's Cas."
"Like the goddess?" Sam asks?
"Yup!"
"Are you-" Sam gestures vaguely "-a goddess?"
Athena turns calculating eyes to Sam and replies, "My girlfriend said something along those lines last night."
Dean snorts, then glances at Sam and Castiel as he stands up. "You don't seem terribly scared of these guys," he says in as neutral a voice as he can manage. "Or, you know, surprised to see us."
Castiel takes a step forward. "Dean, she is not a demon."
"Naw, man, I went to art school in New York City! Not a lot scares me," she says with a shrug. "I also kind of knew you were coming." Noting the disbelieving looks they're giving her, she says, "Come on, I'll show you," and turns around.
Athena leads them back to the front desk where she unlocks a cabinet. She removes a camera and several photos, then places the items on the counter. "I took these photos," she says, shoving the images toward the group, "with this camera." The camera she holds up looks like any other camera. "This is a Nikon D80, an average, run-of-the-mill digital SLR model. We bought it for pretty cheap at an estate sale. Thought I was getting a great deal, except the images it takes never look like what I see through the viewfinder.
Athena looks at Castiel, curious. "Are you really an angel?"
"Yeah, he is." Sam says casually, though his brows shoot up when he rifles through the photos. They are still shots of Dean and Castiel killing the demons. One has Cas standing over a body, a band of light circles the crown of his head and black, shadowy wings arch away from his shoulders. He passes them to Dean before asking the photographer, "How does this work, exactly?"
Removing the cap, Athena aims the lens at Castiel. "Well, you just point and click, but the view screen is busted -- have to transfer them to a computer or print them out -- and it works in both manual and automatic modes," she says as Dean leans into the frame. He plasters a goofy grin across his face as she presses the shutter release.
"The result is never consistent though. Sometimes I get these weird emotive portraits, and sometimes I get depictions of the future. I was doing family shoot once and got a picture of the husband messing around with his secretary. The wife was not happy. That was awkward," she explains as she climbs onto the stool. They listen intently while she plugs the SD card into the correct slot.
"Needless to say, I don't use it for customers anymore; although, ever since that jerk-ass wrote the article about me scamming with supposedly 'photoshopped' images, people come around asking about it. Nothing but trouble ever since -- Dumb and Dumber came in just before closing, offered a lot of money for pictures taken with that camera, then asked if they could pick them up late. They're the reason I'm still here."
"So, if it's such a bother to you, mind if we take it off your hands?" asks Dean, reaching for the device.
A noise breaks from Sam's throat. "Dean..." he cautions.
"Dude, it's okay," she answers, but then she hesitates, scanning the camera over before nodding. "I suppose that's fair, considering how you just saved my life. Besides, I'd rather deal with fixing my reputation from one disgruntled wannabe journalist than fight off hell-spawn over a camera I can't use." She drops the it into Dean's waiting palm. "I'm going to report that stolen in the morning though, you know. Cover story."
"But, if you ever figure out how to replicate that," Athena nods at the camera and clicks the mouse a few times before she finishes her remark, "I want in on the patent." Her eyes go wide, and she breathes out, "Oh...."
Sam stiffens. "Oh? Oh, what?"
"Promise to hire me as your photographer if you two ever decide to get married!" she says, ecstatic as she points between Dean and Castiel.
"Wait... what?" Sam asks again. He turns to find Dean biting his lip sheepishly. Castiel looks confused again.
She taps another button and the printer sounds off. When it's finished, Athena snags the picture from the tray, turns it around, and slides it across the desk to Sam.
"This," he admonishes, spinning to face the other hunter. He flicks a hand at the image of Dean and Castiel mid-coitus and asks, "This is why we're still getting separate rooms?"
"Uh, yeah," Dean groans and swipes a hand down his face. He turns serious eyes toward Athena. "You're going to delete that, right?"
"Hell, no! This is awesome! Interspecies, blasphemous gay love!" She looks back at the computer screen and murmurs, "And I thought the students at school came up with weird stuff...."
Castiel tilts his head. "What kind of stuff?"
Athena looks at the Winchesters. They seem to be stuck in some kind of argument involving nothing but body language. She hops down from her chair and sidles around the counter. While Sam and Dean gesture wildly at each other, Athena stretches up onto the tips of her toes. Castiel still has to lean down so she can cup her hand around his ear and whisper into it.
As she drops back onto the balls of her feet, Castiel looks down at her sharply and straightens his posture. "That's- not physically possible. Even the archangels couldn't pull...," he trails off, bewildered. "Humans certainly are creative creatures."
Dean wheels around and grabs a handful of trench coat. "Okay," he says, pulling Castiel toward the door. "Let's not corrupt the angel further, please."
"Bit late for that, isn't it, Dean?" Sam throws out. He smirks when Dean ducks his head to hide his reddening cheeks.
Athena clears her throat and points her thumb over shoulder. "Uhm, what should I do about Thing One and Thing Two?"
"We can take care of them," Castiel offers.
"I can break the lock on the back door too. Make it look like they broke in," adds Dean.
As they walk back into the studio, Castiel looks perplexed. He says to Athena, "I don't think angels count as a species.
She raises a brow, challenging his claim, but Dean places his palm over Castiel's mouth.
"Quit nerding out. We've got work to do." His expression turns to disgust, and he jerks his hand away, wiping it on the angel's coat. "At least I'm not the one teaching him how to be childish in public, not-naming-any-names, Sam."
Castiel smiles serenly while Sam gapes at Dean, too dumbfounded to respond.
~~~~~~
It's been a few weeks since they retrieved the camera, and Sam is still snapping away at anything and everything. They have a standing agreement: Sam deletes any photos relating to Hell in order to protect his 'wall', and Dean let's him keep the camera. Since Dean has decided he wants nothing to do with the whole debacle, Castiel has offered to remove any harmful pictures.
Currently, Sam and Castiel are sitting at Bobby's table poring through the contents in the 'images' folder. Sam gives the angel a hearty clap on the back, and Castiel tenses, looking alarmed by the gesture, but he relaxes when the hunter elbows him in the ribs and proceeds to snicker at something on the computer screen.
Dean rolls his eyes. He is sprawled across the couch, staring at the ceiling. They're supposed to be searching for Crowley.
"I thought you were going to hand that off to Bobby," Dean wonders out loud.
"What in the world would I do with something like that?" Bobby asks in exasperation. "It'd be like surgically removing an appendage from your brother anyhow."
~~~~~~
"Oh!" Sam says out of the blue one day while searching for a new case. The chair grates across the floor as he leans over to dig through his duffle bag. "Dean, I made this for you."
Watching TV from the bed, Dean looks over, perplexed by the notion. They don't really do gifts these days. The need to keep out of sight of the authorities and the leviathans keeps them from carrying too much beyond their weapons and a few changes of clothes.
And after Bobby died, they stopped bothering to set up anything that resembled a "home base."
Sam's grin is easy and broad as he taps a foil-wrapped package against Dean's head, snapping the older hunter from his thoughts.
Dean snatches the box away and shakes it gently. He looks up at Sam with a suspicious set to his jaw. "What is this?"
"It looks like a present, Dean," Sam offers in his best Castiel voice as he flops down on the unoccupied part of the bed.
Scowling, Dean casts a sidelong glance at his brother before shoving at him none too playfully. He lets it slide, attempting to keep up pretenses and whatnot. "Thanks a lot, Captain Obvious. But why?"
Exaggerating a shrug, Sam orders Dean to just open the present.
As he clears away the shiny paper, Dean reveals a thick powder blue book. His eyes narrow. "Really, Sam, scrapbooking. Isn't that a bit domestic?"
Sam chuckles. "Don't be such a jerk."
With a grumble about Sam being a bitch, which earns him a smack upside the head, Dean opens the book.
It turns out to be an album, and he thumbs through the pictures of him, Castiel, Sam, Bobby; all their friends and family. Everyone is laughing and smiling.
Dean doesn't get sentimental as he flips from page to page -- any filter he once had on his emotions has been so thoroughly stripped away that his feelings are just too much -- until he comes to a photograph of himself lying in the grass next to Castiel. Their fingers are entwined and Castiel is curling into the hunter as Dean presses a kiss to his temple. "This is kind of weird, looking at pictures of things that never happened," he says as he traces the image of the angel's smile.
"Whatever happened to that?" Sam asks, pointing to where the amulet hangs from Dean's neck.
"You don't remember?" When Sam shakes his head, Dean grits his teeth and adamantly does not think about why his brother can't remember. He ignores the intense flare of hurt at yet another reminder of everything they've lost and moves on to the next set of photos. He should've seen it coming; that was the beginning of the end. "No big deal, really. I tossed it out back when Castiel lost his faith."
Sam drives his thumb into the scar across his palm and gives Dean another brilliant smile. "Well, I'm glad you like it."
"There is no love here and there is no pain
Every day is exactly the same."
Rating: PG-13ish
Genre and/or Pairing: Destiel
Spoilers: season 7
Warnings: character death (nothing that isn't canon), angst
Word Count: ~3100
Summary: Castiel helps Sam and Dean retrieve a camera that takes unusual pictures.
A/N: This starts out pretty cracky and then does its own thing. Forgive me. Prompt was 'camera' and the lyrics are from 'Every Day is Exactly the Same,' by NIN.
"I can't remember how this got started
But I can tell you exactly how it will end."
“You have a talent for pissing off creatures that are designed to be emotionless,” Sam says, pressing his lips into a thin line of disapproval.
Dean folds his arms over his chest and quirks a skeptical brow at his brother. “Supposedly, Sam. Supposedly designed to....” The meaning behind Sam’s accusation suddenly sets in, and Dean throws his hands into the air. “What? I didn’t do anything!” He thinks his words through, bobbing his head along with his internal thoughts. “This time,” he amends.
“Dean...” sighs Sam.
They glare at each other as they stand in the middle of the shop-lined street. The town is small, and it's well after midnight. Other than the occasional passing car, there's no one else around.
“‘Cause Cas has never up and disappeared on us without reason before.” With an exaggerated shrug, Dean rolls his eyes and adds, “He’s busy, and we can take care of this ourselves. It’s just a camera and a few not-so-spooky pictures. There was no sign of any curse or magic, at least none that I could find when I came through earlier. No supernatural tampering of any kind. What’s the big deal? It’s not like the photographer is going to jump around a corner, take your picture, and steal your soul.”
Bad choice of words. Dean grimaces, his eyes darting over to Sam.
Sam allows the tactless comment to slide, throwing only a brief glower of warning in Dean’s direction. “Just call him back. And be nice, please?” he pleads as he turns back to examine the studio before them. The owner did a good job of updating the storefront: it's inviting without being too pretentious. Although, it does look out of place next to the surrounding mom-and-pop.
“I wasn’t-” Dean angrily cuts the air with his hand as he tries to defend himself. He realizes the effort is futile and instead just clenches his fist in frustration. “Fine, whatever,” he says, his voice falling into a drawl that sounds far too bored to be even remotely serious before intoning "O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head -- as is a winged messenger of heaven,"
“Did you just-” Sam stutters, whirling around, his brows flying up in astonishment. “You did! You just quoted Shakespeare!”
"What? I did attend high school on occasion," Dean grouses.
The range of emotion that plays across the younger Winchester’s face is impressive, and Dean thinks a new record for how many facial muscles Sam can distort in the space of thirty seconds has been set. To celebrate the momentous occasion, he tries to mimic the expressions, at least until Sam finally settles on a scowl that falls halfway between scorn and petulance that Dean doesn’t even pretend he can try to emulate.
“Did you just-” comes a deep voice from behind Dean. He turns on his heel to find Castiel standing in his personal bubble with his head cocked to the side and eyebrows drawn together in confusion. He ignores the gasped "Cas, don’t do that!" as he searches Dean’s face before eventually asking “Did you just recite Romeo and Juliet to me in a prayer?”
Dean clasps a hand to his chest like that will quell the erratic flip-flopping of his heart as it attempts to flee from his ribcage.
Sam clears his throat and adds, “Yeah, the creepy, stalking, mushy love part.”
"How ironic," Dean says without a trace of sarcasm.
It's Sam's turn to look confused, and he tries to puzzle it out. Shaking his head in defeat, he asks, "How is that an example of irony, Dean?"
"I think Dean is suggesting that it's ironic that you would make a joke about him being a creepy love-sick stalker when everyone knows that I'm the one who-"
Dean holds his hands up to interrupt Castiel. "Okay, seems like Heaven's lost a Deadpool. Moving on."
Castiel considers Dean's words. "I don't understand that reference," he announces, his eyes searching the street as though he expects to find people watching them.
"But that's still not an examp-"
"Hey," Dean growls, "moving on."
A crash distracts them from the matter at hand, and they look at each other -- there shouldn't be anybody in the building at this time of night. Castiel grabs the Winchesters and shifts them through the locked door.
They find themselves in a small reception area with chairs lining the walls on either side of a large desk. Several photo albums are arranged neatly on top of a coffee table. A wall divides the waiting area from the rest of the studio, and there is an opening on either side of the desk wide enough to allow customers to pass through to the back.
"Where is it?" comes a rough voice.
Dean and Sam go through one door while Castiel goes through the other.
A tall black man and an even taller burly white guy have someone cornered against the canvas backdrops hanging on the opposite side of the room. It's hard to tell with the bad guys in the way, but Dean thinks he catches sight of a short, dark-haired woman.
"Oh, fuck off, assholes. I've got too much to do around her to be bother-" the victim's words are abruptly cut off as the white guy picks her up by the throat and slams her against the wall.
"Hey!" hollers Dean. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"
Caught off guard, they turn liquid black eyes toward his voice. The woman takes advantage of this, bending her knees and drawing them in close to her torso before she slams her feet into the her assailant's chest, knocking the demon over. He loses his grip on her, and she drops back to the ground, staggering. Just as she regains her balance, the other demon lunges for her; she is quicker, and she darts out of his reach.
The studio lights obscure anything beyond the brightly illuminated staging area, but she still manages to dash in the direction of the hunters. She just barely avoids tripping over the leg of a tripod in her path, and Sam catches her. He twists, trying to offset her forward momentum, and tosses Ruby's knife to Dean at the same time.
Dean chances a cursory look at Castiel. The angel nods in return and they advance on the demons. Castiel smites the first demon quickly enough, but Dean takes a few hits before he manages to plunge the blade between the ribs of the second.
Sam escorts the woman over as Dean cleans the gore off the knife by wiping it on the dead creature's shirt. He looks up at her as she steps back into the circle of light. She is short -- her head barely reaches the hunter's chest. Black hair falls to just below her chin, and she is wearing dark-rimmed glasses. There is a ring through her septum, and metal glitters along the edges of her ears. She has on t-shirt which features a cartoon character from the '80s, faded blue jeans, and heavy steel-toe work boots.
"Great," she says, scowling at the havoc wreaked upon her equipment. "I don't think that blood is going to come out, and those drapes cost hundreds of dollars." She kicks the nearest body.
"Anyway, I'm Athena, and thanks for rescuing me!" she acknowledges brightly and holds her hand out to Dean. He shakes it; she has a strong grip. The bangles on her wrist clink against a spiked bracelet.
"I'm Dean," he says, then points at his brother and the angel. "That's Sam, and he's Cas."
"Like the goddess?" Sam asks?
"Yup!"
"Are you-" Sam gestures vaguely "-a goddess?"
Athena turns calculating eyes to Sam and replies, "My girlfriend said something along those lines last night."
Dean snorts, then glances at Sam and Castiel as he stands up. "You don't seem terribly scared of these guys," he says in as neutral a voice as he can manage. "Or, you know, surprised to see us."
Castiel takes a step forward. "Dean, she is not a demon."
"Naw, man, I went to art school in New York City! Not a lot scares me," she says with a shrug. "I also kind of knew you were coming." Noting the disbelieving looks they're giving her, she says, "Come on, I'll show you," and turns around.
Athena leads them back to the front desk where she unlocks a cabinet. She removes a camera and several photos, then places the items on the counter. "I took these photos," she says, shoving the images toward the group, "with this camera." The camera she holds up looks like any other camera. "This is a Nikon D80, an average, run-of-the-mill digital SLR model. We bought it for pretty cheap at an estate sale. Thought I was getting a great deal, except the images it takes never look like what I see through the viewfinder.
Athena looks at Castiel, curious. "Are you really an angel?"
"Yeah, he is." Sam says casually, though his brows shoot up when he rifles through the photos. They are still shots of Dean and Castiel killing the demons. One has Cas standing over a body, a band of light circles the crown of his head and black, shadowy wings arch away from his shoulders. He passes them to Dean before asking the photographer, "How does this work, exactly?"
Removing the cap, Athena aims the lens at Castiel. "Well, you just point and click, but the view screen is busted -- have to transfer them to a computer or print them out -- and it works in both manual and automatic modes," she says as Dean leans into the frame. He plasters a goofy grin across his face as she presses the shutter release.
"The result is never consistent though. Sometimes I get these weird emotive portraits, and sometimes I get depictions of the future. I was doing family shoot once and got a picture of the husband messing around with his secretary. The wife was not happy. That was awkward," she explains as she climbs onto the stool. They listen intently while she plugs the SD card into the correct slot.
"Needless to say, I don't use it for customers anymore; although, ever since that jerk-ass wrote the article about me scamming with supposedly 'photoshopped' images, people come around asking about it. Nothing but trouble ever since -- Dumb and Dumber came in just before closing, offered a lot of money for pictures taken with that camera, then asked if they could pick them up late. They're the reason I'm still here."
"So, if it's such a bother to you, mind if we take it off your hands?" asks Dean, reaching for the device.
A noise breaks from Sam's throat. "Dean..." he cautions.
"Dude, it's okay," she answers, but then she hesitates, scanning the camera over before nodding. "I suppose that's fair, considering how you just saved my life. Besides, I'd rather deal with fixing my reputation from one disgruntled wannabe journalist than fight off hell-spawn over a camera I can't use." She drops the it into Dean's waiting palm. "I'm going to report that stolen in the morning though, you know. Cover story."
"But, if you ever figure out how to replicate that," Athena nods at the camera and clicks the mouse a few times before she finishes her remark, "I want in on the patent." Her eyes go wide, and she breathes out, "Oh...."
Sam stiffens. "Oh? Oh, what?"
"Promise to hire me as your photographer if you two ever decide to get married!" she says, ecstatic as she points between Dean and Castiel.
"Wait... what?" Sam asks again. He turns to find Dean biting his lip sheepishly. Castiel looks confused again.
She taps another button and the printer sounds off. When it's finished, Athena snags the picture from the tray, turns it around, and slides it across the desk to Sam.
"This," he admonishes, spinning to face the other hunter. He flicks a hand at the image of Dean and Castiel mid-coitus and asks, "This is why we're still getting separate rooms?"
"Uh, yeah," Dean groans and swipes a hand down his face. He turns serious eyes toward Athena. "You're going to delete that, right?"
"Hell, no! This is awesome! Interspecies, blasphemous gay love!" She looks back at the computer screen and murmurs, "And I thought the students at school came up with weird stuff...."
Castiel tilts his head. "What kind of stuff?"
Athena looks at the Winchesters. They seem to be stuck in some kind of argument involving nothing but body language. She hops down from her chair and sidles around the counter. While Sam and Dean gesture wildly at each other, Athena stretches up onto the tips of her toes. Castiel still has to lean down so she can cup her hand around his ear and whisper into it.
As she drops back onto the balls of her feet, Castiel looks down at her sharply and straightens his posture. "That's- not physically possible. Even the archangels couldn't pull...," he trails off, bewildered. "Humans certainly are creative creatures."
Dean wheels around and grabs a handful of trench coat. "Okay," he says, pulling Castiel toward the door. "Let's not corrupt the angel further, please."
"Bit late for that, isn't it, Dean?" Sam throws out. He smirks when Dean ducks his head to hide his reddening cheeks.
Athena clears her throat and points her thumb over shoulder. "Uhm, what should I do about Thing One and Thing Two?"
"We can take care of them," Castiel offers.
"I can break the lock on the back door too. Make it look like they broke in," adds Dean.
As they walk back into the studio, Castiel looks perplexed. He says to Athena, "I don't think angels count as a species.
She raises a brow, challenging his claim, but Dean places his palm over Castiel's mouth.
"Quit nerding out. We've got work to do." His expression turns to disgust, and he jerks his hand away, wiping it on the angel's coat. "At least I'm not the one teaching him how to be childish in public, not-naming-any-names, Sam."
Castiel smiles serenly while Sam gapes at Dean, too dumbfounded to respond.
~~~~~~
It's been a few weeks since they retrieved the camera, and Sam is still snapping away at anything and everything. They have a standing agreement: Sam deletes any photos relating to Hell in order to protect his 'wall', and Dean let's him keep the camera. Since Dean has decided he wants nothing to do with the whole debacle, Castiel has offered to remove any harmful pictures.
Currently, Sam and Castiel are sitting at Bobby's table poring through the contents in the 'images' folder. Sam gives the angel a hearty clap on the back, and Castiel tenses, looking alarmed by the gesture, but he relaxes when the hunter elbows him in the ribs and proceeds to snicker at something on the computer screen.
Dean rolls his eyes. He is sprawled across the couch, staring at the ceiling. They're supposed to be searching for Crowley.
"I thought you were going to hand that off to Bobby," Dean wonders out loud.
"What in the world would I do with something like that?" Bobby asks in exasperation. "It'd be like surgically removing an appendage from your brother anyhow."
~~~~~~
"Oh!" Sam says out of the blue one day while searching for a new case. The chair grates across the floor as he leans over to dig through his duffle bag. "Dean, I made this for you."
Watching TV from the bed, Dean looks over, perplexed by the notion. They don't really do gifts these days. The need to keep out of sight of the authorities and the leviathans keeps them from carrying too much beyond their weapons and a few changes of clothes.
And after Bobby died, they stopped bothering to set up anything that resembled a "home base."
Sam's grin is easy and broad as he taps a foil-wrapped package against Dean's head, snapping the older hunter from his thoughts.
Dean snatches the box away and shakes it gently. He looks up at Sam with a suspicious set to his jaw. "What is this?"
"It looks like a present, Dean," Sam offers in his best Castiel voice as he flops down on the unoccupied part of the bed.
Scowling, Dean casts a sidelong glance at his brother before shoving at him none too playfully. He lets it slide, attempting to keep up pretenses and whatnot. "Thanks a lot, Captain Obvious. But why?"
Exaggerating a shrug, Sam orders Dean to just open the present.
As he clears away the shiny paper, Dean reveals a thick powder blue book. His eyes narrow. "Really, Sam, scrapbooking. Isn't that a bit domestic?"
Sam chuckles. "Don't be such a jerk."
With a grumble about Sam being a bitch, which earns him a smack upside the head, Dean opens the book.
It turns out to be an album, and he thumbs through the pictures of him, Castiel, Sam, Bobby; all their friends and family. Everyone is laughing and smiling.
Dean doesn't get sentimental as he flips from page to page -- any filter he once had on his emotions has been so thoroughly stripped away that his feelings are just too much -- until he comes to a photograph of himself lying in the grass next to Castiel. Their fingers are entwined and Castiel is curling into the hunter as Dean presses a kiss to his temple. "This is kind of weird, looking at pictures of things that never happened," he says as he traces the image of the angel's smile.
"Whatever happened to that?" Sam asks, pointing to where the amulet hangs from Dean's neck.
"You don't remember?" When Sam shakes his head, Dean grits his teeth and adamantly does not think about why his brother can't remember. He ignores the intense flare of hurt at yet another reminder of everything they've lost and moves on to the next set of photos. He should've seen it coming; that was the beginning of the end. "No big deal, really. I tossed it out back when Castiel lost his faith."
Sam drives his thumb into the scar across his palm and gives Dean another brilliant smile. "Well, I'm glad you like it."
"There is no love here and there is no pain
Every day is exactly the same."