#i like seeing anxious fellas just. finally snap back at others. doesn't even have to be at the right time(like i'm saying here with basil)

[misty-wisp]

me: okay. i gotta. i gotta draw basil not completely unhinged and/or fucking pissed. i gotta be accurate to his actual character for once.

also me, the minute i pick up my pencil: oops

[liron-ao3]

It's not that Dean doesn't like Castiel. It is more of an I-swear-on-my-mother's-grave-I'll-kill-him kinda relationship. Because the thing is, Castiel set up Dean's little brother Sam and his stepsister Rowena and it isn't that Dean could say it out loud, but he is worried. To say the least.

Rowena has a power over Sam that makes Dean's stomach flip. She conjures sappy smiles on Sam's face and makes him follow her like a love-drunk puppy. She's a witch, Dean is convinced, but he tries hard not to mention that in Sammy's orbit. He heard the whole that's-a-misogynistic-term speech when Sam was dating that Ruby chick and Dean knows that his brother would only cling closer to the Scot if he knew that Dean thinks that his fiancée is straight from hell.

So Dean grits his teeth, swallows his tongue, and plays nice around her, even going as far as agreeing to be his brother's best man. He will still be there when Sam comes running with his heart broken and with his tail between his legs.

Castiel, on the other hand? That man he can hate in abundance. Not that he has ever met him, but honestly, he has to be Lucifer himself if he thinks their siblings to be a good match.

Dean can picture him vividly—a leer on his face, sweet-talking people into feeling safe and then smiting them with the snap of his fingers. That man has to be evil incarnate and Dean won't pussyfoot around him. No way!

***

"Play nice," Bobby grumbles when they enter the venue for the rehearsal dinner.

"I am nice," Dean hisses back.

"Sure you are," his surrogate father says and makes a beeline for Ellen and Jo on the other side of the room.

Dean shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and scans the room for the man he is sure he will recognise immediately. But no one really sticks out from the crowd that is well-dressed and mostly speaking in different kinds of British accents. Family of the bride, obviously.

Dean feels a little underdressed until he spots a man in an ill-fitting suit, draped into a trenchcoat. He is standing next to a redheaded, slim woman, who Dean would probably try to get on the backseat of his Impala if he wasn't set on finding that Castiel guy, sweet talk him today and wreck him tomorrow. Unless Sam does the wise thing and cancels the wedding, which seems less and less likely by the minute. Rowena's spell seems to become stronger day by day. Dean hardly recognises his ever-worrying, self-loathing brother anymore, with all the grinning that goes on on his face.

Maybe Dean is an asshole, but he has pulled Sam from the edge too many times to count. This is too good to be true. Happiness doesn't find a Winchester. Not in his experience.

Dean walks to the other side from where the redhead smiled over to him. Maybe she can point him to the object of his hate. She tilts her head to the side when he comes closer.

"You must be Dean," she says, stretching out her hand. Dean is taken aback by her knowledge.

"How did you…?"

She shrugs. "I know nearly everyone in this room. And the only two men Sam ever mentioned were his brother and Bobby who I assume is the fella over there."

Dean looks in the direction she is nodding to. "Yeah. Sam always had more female friends."

"I think that's what Rowena likes about him. He's sensible."

Dean huffs. "Yeah, I bet she likes that he's soft for her."

"He makes her very happy," the man says and his voice does things to Dean's insides he doesn't want to nurse right now. He needs to focus on his anger. Arousal isn't helpful.

"If you say so," Dean grunts.

Anna furrows her brow. "Are you okay, Dean?" she asks concerned.

"Yeah, just not really convinced about this whole wedding business. Don't you think it's too fast?"

The man tilts his head to the side and Dean starts seeing the family resemblance. "I think that they complement each other very well. I would have expected Sam's best man to see that, too."

Dean can't really argue with that. "I don't know her well enough to judge. I just know that my brother is a different person now."

"And you don't like that?" the woman asks. Hell, Dean doesn't even know their names and spills all the beans, probably making an ass of himself.

"He's my brother. I know him better than anyone and this—" He gestures in the engaged couple's direction. "This isn't the man I raised."

Two pairs of eyes move to the tall men and back to Dean.

"You mean a happy man?" the woman asks.

"No. I mean…" Dean should have kept his mouth shut. They don't know Sam, his dark thoughts, the forced smiles, the brave face. Dean knows it all or at least well enough to know that the chuckling man on the other side of the room is a stranger to him. Okay, maybe Dean is a bit overdramatic. He knows Sam laughing, pulling pranks. But life had been shitty to both of them and the only people they could always rely on were the two of them.

Yes, their circles have widened over time, with Jody and the girls, Charlie and Dorothy. Still, happiness isn't really part of their lives. They might get glimpses of it, but…

"You mean what? That our sister isn't good enough for your big shot lawyer brother?" the man asks.

Dean freezes. He sometimes forgets that Sam isn't little Sammy anymore. That he's one step away from leaving his old life behind, and with it his big brother, probably.

Dean scans the people in the room, mainly the bride's family and he swallows hard. Yes, he's the odd one out. He only owns a single suit, so he couldn't wear it tonight. Is it that? Is he jealous? Or anxious to lose Sam?

He looks back at the bride and groom. Sam presses a kiss into Rowena's hair. From afar, they are a cute couple with the difference in height and the unconventional age gap.

Dean bites the inside of his cheek and tries to unclench his fists. It isn't working.

"She's way out of his league," he hears himself say, not knowing where this is even coming from.

"That's what you said, Anna, the first time you met Sam," the man chuckles.

Anna? Oh, that's the future sister-in-law Sam raved about and Dean thinks he wants to set him up with. Well, that probably flew out of the window a minute ago.

"I didn't, Castiel. I said I was surprised that she went for someone younger. That's all."

Dean's eyes shoot up. That's the man? The man, who he built up as the bogeyman who would get familiar with his fist? A fucking baby in a trenchcoat?

The whole house of cards that Dean has built up over weeks is threatening to collapse. Dean's throat tightens and he pops a button on his polo shirt, but to no avail. He meets Castiel's eyes for a moment, the other man squinting at him as if he could look deep into his soul.

"Are you okay, Dean?" he asks and sounds concerned.

"Yeah. Just need some air," Dean all but spits and heads for the door.

He props himself up on the roof terrace's balustrade and tries to sort through all his contradicting feelings. He hates it. It's all him. His fear to be left behind, for the only constant in his life to leave, like everybody else who has ever meant something to him. He's jealous and the realisation hits him hard.

Yes, he doesn't know Rowena, but Sam does. Well enough to want to marry her. Sam, who thought he was too toxic for a real relationship. Dean always told him that this was bullshit. And now that his little brother is finally listening, Dean acts like a jaundiced ex? Fuck!

"There you are," a too-familiar voice comes from behind. "I thought you left me hanging, man."

Dean chuckles. "I have to lead the bride to the altar, right?" He ruffles Sam's hair. His brother glares at him, but without heat.

"Wanna come in? I'd like to introduce you to Rowena's best man."

"Who's that?"

"Castiel."

Dean's eyes sink to the floor. Of course, he is. "Already met him."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you already snubbed him."

"Nah. I wouldn't embarrass you in front of your new family." It's enough that Dean embarrassed himself.

"Most of them are kind people," Sam says carefully. "And after tomorrow, Rowena is your family, too."

Dean works his jaw. It's a bit difficult to look at Sam, now that he realised that he's never given his fiancée a real chance.

"You'll be here in California, and I'll be back in Kansas. We'll be lucky if we see each other on Christmas."

Sam squeezes his shoulder. "You could move here, Dean."

The older brother shakes his head. "I don't belong here, Sammy." Another squeeze. "And I can't afford to take off so much to drive over." And soon you'll be too busy to fly back to where everything feels small and like past, he adds in his head. He puts on a smile nonetheless.

"Samuel?" Rowena calls from the entrance. "Dinner starts in five."

Sam smiles over to his future bride. "I just need a minute, mo ghràdh."

"Mo what?"

"It's Scottish Gaelic for 'my love'."

Dean raises an eyebrow and chuckles. "You really got it bad, huh?"

"I wouldn't marry her if I didn't."

Dean pats his back. "I'm happy for you man." He's surprised that he means it.

***

Dinner goes fine and Dean has a nice conversation with Anna, who is seated next to him. Luckily, she's not of the resentful kind. Still, Dean is feeling out of place. Their found family is so much smaller than Rowena's real one with all the siblings and cousins from both sides of the pond. And this is only the rehearsal.

As soon as dinner is done, Dean excuses himself and flees to the hotel. A real one that Sam was kind enough to pay. It makes Dean feel only smaller and not good enough.

He takes a shower and walks out on the balcony, just a towel slung around his waist. He can hear the waves hitting the beach nearby and seabirds screeching. He gets why Sam moved here, why he won't come back. It still stings.

Dean did everything in his power to get him so far and he can't bring himself to regret it. But he's still angry. Maybe he is anger, plain and simple. He's been angry since his mother died and his father gave a shit about giving his sons a home. This anger will probably never go away. It's good that Sam found happiness, Dean muses. At least one of them should.

There's movement on the balcony next door and despite the separation wall, Dean can see the trenchcoat clad arms propped up on the railing. What are the odds?

"Castiel?"

There is a long pause and then comes, "Dean?" This gravelly voice doesn't fail to move him. If Dean didn't decide to scratch the term 'witch' for his future sister-in-law, he would wonder if her stepbrother might be a witcher, too.

"Yeah. Not into parties?"

There is another pause, probably filled with a head shake Dean can't see. "I don't like crowds of people. And my family is, well, my family. I love them, but it's complicated."

"I get it," Dean says, although he probably doesn't.

"You seem to have cooled down a little," Castiel states matter-of-factly.

"Was it so obvious?"

Castiel laughs and the sound vibrates into Dean's heart, churning it in delicious ways. "You looked as if you were out to kill someone."

Dean chuckles. "I kinda was."

"Why? And who?"

Dean swallows hard. What he would give for a beer right now, but he had way too much of that red wine already. Maybe that's why he answers, "You." There is a long moment of surprise that Castiel doesn't seem inclined to break, so Dean adds, "I built up this story in my head that Rowena bewitched Sam and you were at fault because you brought them together."

"And now?"

Dean shrugs his shoulders. "I only want Sammy to be happy."

Castiel hums on the other side of the separation. "Why are you sounding so sad then?"

A flare of anger rises in Dean's chest. The man doesn't know him. What gives him the right to state something like this?

"Blow me, Cass!" he grinds out. That guy is getting under his skin. Why, he doesn't know. Maybe because he's right.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

The retort comes quick like a shot and Dean is struck speechless for a way too long moment. Castiel starts chuckling.

"You're an asshole!" Dean grumbles.

"An asshole who gives good head, though," Castiel says smugly.

Dean groans. No, he won't think of these sinful lips wrapped around his cock. No way, José.

"Is that an offer?" his mouth asks without his consent.

"I'm not a one-off kind of guy, Dean."

Dean wishes he wouldn't have to lie if he said he wasn't either. Is there an expiration date for that stamp if you haven't got laid for more than a year? Probably not.

The silence stretches into an eternity until Castiel quietly says, "Good night," leaving Dean alone in the pale moonlight.

***

Rowena looks beautiful and Sam smart. Dean manages to get through the whole wedding ceremony and his best man speech without a single glimmer of jealousy. Bobby looks at him approvingly and Ellen whispers into his ear that his mum would have been so proud of him.

Still, Dean finds himself on the balcony once again. His thoughts need space to swirl around him. There's a lot to process on this fine day—his brotherly/parent-like love, his own loneliness in a room full of people, the strange stares that Castiel and he have been sharing the whole day…

He presses the palms of his hands against his eyes, hoping to force back the sting of tears building up in them. A warm hand lands on his shoulder, startling him. "You've done well."

Dean chuckles without mirth. "Can't remember when anyone said something like this about me." He bites his lip, hard. Why did he say that? To a complete stranger nonetheless. Castiel doesn't comment on it, though, and Dean sighs in relief.

The music coming from the party changes to something slow and Castiel asks, "May I have the next dance?"

Dean turns his head and stares at the outstretched hand for a very long moment. He has never danced with a man before. Not without a beer bottle in his hand and for sure not a slow dance. But he feels a pull to this man, who he hated with all his guts just a day ago. A man with kind eyes, a shy smile, and a patience Dean isn't used to.

He takes the offered hand and Castiel's smile grows wider, just like Dean's heart. Castiel pulls him slowly into his arms, lets him settle against him, and rewards Dean's head leant against his own with a gentle brush over his back.

Dean shivers at the tender touch and bites the inside of his cheek in a last attempt to keep back the tears welling up in his eyes.

"It's okay," Castiel says. "Let go. No one will see it."

And Dean does. In the arms of a stranger under the Californian moon. He doesn't shake off the tender hand carding through his hair, or the strong arms holding him upwards. He lets out the sobs he's been holding and allows Castiel to brush away his tears before their lips meet in a gentle kiss. He smiles at Castiel bashfully afterwards.

"It's okay," Castiel repeats.

Dean chuckles. "Is it? Crying like a baby in a stranger's arms?"

"Crying like the big brother, who raised a wonderful man and has to let him go to live his own life. Crying like a lonely man, who hasn't been touched intimately for ages."

Dean furrows his brow. "How?"

Castiel smiles at him with so much warmth that Dean feels like welling up again.

"Sam loves you. He talks about you all the time. It felt like I knew you before we even met. And the rest? Let's say, kindred souls recognise each other."

Dean huffs a laugh. "You're good, man."

Castiel smirks at him. "And you're a good man, Dean Winchester," he says and leans in for another kiss.

Maybe, Dean muses, Castiel is magical after all.

[recklessrex]

The prompt: 14 using Scar and Persi (it doesn't need to be canonically with ur fic, to avoid spoilers, I'm just curious to see them on different situations :]

“Can you explain why my phone is up there?”

The first thing Persimmian was aware of was that the sky was a rather pleasant shade of bright blue. A couple of puffy clouds here and there. Very pretty.

The second thing she was aware of was the warm, familiar weight at her side, tucked under her right arm. A quick instinctual mental assessment (thin, tall, scruffy fur, on the right he's always on the right) instantaneously identified it as her best friend Scaramouche.

The third thing she was aware of was that her left side was cold. No warm, familiar weight.

"Scar…"

The warm, familiar weight on her right shifted and settled. She wiggled her shoulder to nudge him awake.

"Scar."

"Hh?"

"Where's Crash?"

That got Scar's attention. He lifted his head. Seeing no silver spotted tom on his friend's other side, he propped himself up to look around.

"I gotta bettah question for ya," he said.

"Hnh?" grunted Persi, still staring at the pretty sky.

"Where da fuck are we?"

Persi peeled her eyes away from the pleasant blue sky and puffy clouds to take a look around. They were laying in some sort of small field behind what looked like a suburban neighborhood. Rows of rundown houses with small back gardens lined three sides of the field. The fourth side was bordered by a highway.

"Where the fuck are we?" she asked.

"S'what I'm askin' you" Scar answered, rising into a kneeling position.

"I know. I mean I don't know. Shit," Persi's mind raced. The sensation was almost comforting to her. It meant she was finally properly awake. Her thoughts were always going a mile a minute.

But none of her thoughts right now could tell her where they were or how they'd got there.

"What'd we do last night?" she wondered as she sat up.

"Well we still have all our clothes on, so we prolly di'n't fuck," said Scar, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to say. He was good at straight-faced teasing.

"Fuck off," Persi scolded softly, her mind elsewhere. She stood up and looked around some more. No sign of Crash. That's not good. Probably. She narrowed her eyes. Her ears went back. Her tail flicked back and forth, its long fur swaying.

Scar stood up next to her, eyeing his oldest friend. He knew what she looked like when she was thinking. It usually didn't take long. He looked around too, hoping to spot his other best friend laying in the grass some meters off, but no luck. Even with only one good eye he could tell they were alone in this field.

Persi could vaguely remember a party. She clung to that memory and worked to expand it. She's been there with Scar and Crash. Of course, that part was easy, they went everywhere together. The party had been mostly lame, but there had been booze. She remembered sitting on a sofa and laughing about something with the lads, beer in hand. She thinks it was beer. She didn't remember leaving.

"So what we doin', boss?" Scar's voice cut into her thoughts.

"We left the party without Crash, apparently," she said aloud, frowning. It didn't answer his question, but it was the thought she was having at that moment, and she knew what he really wanted was to hear her thoughts.

"Oh yeah, I remember, the party!" exclaimed Scar, snapping his fingers in triumph. Then he realized how the rest of that sentence went.

"Why da fuck would we do that?" he asked.

"I don't fuckin' know!" answered, frustrated and starting to worry. Scar was worried too, but Scar could shrug it off a lot easier. Sometimes it just pays to be calm about shit, even bad shit.

"Oi, Crash!" Persi called, hoping if he was in or near one of those houses he might hear her.

"Crashie!" echoed Scar "Where ya at?!" But they got no response.

"Maybe he like, was already passed out when we left or something," Scar thought aloud after a moment. It was the only thing he could think of that made sense.

"Ah yeah, maybe. I guess," agreed Persi. Then suddenly a thought came to her, one that should have come much sooner. Resisting the urge to smack herself in the face, she reached for her phone.

"Oi, where's my phone?!" she cried in alarm.

"I don't fuckin' know" shrugged Scar.

"You still got yours?"

He checked.

"Yeah."

"Call Crashie," ordered Persi.

Scar dialed Crash's number.

Ring

Ring

Ring

Oi, you've reached a badass. You know I'm badass cuz I'm Australian. Aw yeah! Leave a message!

That was a new one.

Scar hung up and opened the text messenger.

Crashie, dude, where you at?

He dialed again.

Ring

Ring

Ring

Oi, you've reached a badass. You know I'm ba-

Scar hung up. Shit.

"No luck?" Persi asked.

"Nothing," he said. "I texted him." Then he had a thought.

"Hang on I'ma try yours," he said.

They both listened close, but neither could hear Persi's ringtone within earshot.

After another attempt to call Crash, and a couple more unanswered texts, Persi decided they should head to one of the suburban streets bordering the field to get their bearings. As they walked, Scar kept trying Crash's and Persi's phones, and they both occasionally called out,

"Crash!"

"Yo Crashie!"

"Oi! Where are ya mate!"

No response.

It turned out they hadn't traveled far from the party. They didn't recognize the street they came to at the edge of the field, but a quick Google Maps of the street name put it just three blocks from the address of the party, which was still saved in Scar's phone.

They headed off in that direction, hoping to retrace their steps, and possibly even find Crash asleep on the sofa. When they reached the party, or rather where the party used to be, they let themselves in, and made a search of the premises. They properly started to panic when all they found was trash, empty booze containers, and drunk jerks passed out in various locations around the house, none of them an Aussie silver bengal named Crashendo.

The stench of drunk farts and stale booze was getting to Persi. Exiting the house to stand on the lawn she took a deep breath of semi-fresh air and tried to get a grip on her thoughts. She was out of ideas. They needed to find Crash. They needed some sort of plan. Dammit. She was a decision maker, a tactician. She thought on her feet. She didn't do plans. Crash is the planner, she thought forlornly.

Scar joined her on the lawn, phone in hand.

"Maybe we can at least find your phone," he said, his voice totally even, as if nothing was wrong. But his clenched jaw and anxious eyes told a different story. Persi was grateful for Scar's calm sensibility under pressure.

He may not be the most educated fella, but damn if he ain't the only one with a brain sometimes, she thought, allowing herself a small affectionate smirk at her friend before worry wiped it from her face again.

"I don't really give a fuck about that," she growled, "but go ahead." It was a lie. Worry was making her argumentative. She wasn't sure how finding her phone would help find Crashie, but Scar never had an idea that turned out to be useless. She trusted him.

He started to turn back into the house as he dialed, but something stopped him in his tracks.

Persi's ringtone.

From outside somewhere…

They both looked around them intently, ears twitching back and forth, trying to pinpoint the sound. It went to voicemail. Scar dialed again. It seemed to be coming from… above them?

They looked up. There, on the roof, tucked into a corner where the main roof met an alcove, laying next to two phones, asleep under the pretty blue sky and puffy clouds, was Crash.

"Oi!" called Persi, "Crash!"

"Crashie! Eyyy buddy!!"

"Crash! Wake up!"

"Ey!"

Persi picked up an empty beer can from the lawn and tossed it at her sleeping friend. He grunted and stirred, then sat up, looking thoroughly bewildered.

"Crashie!" shouted Persi.

"Persi!" echoed Crash, looking down to find where her voice was coming from, the confusion leaving his face instantly when he spotted his best friends.

"What's up?" he asked with a smile, and without a single trace of irony.

"You are, looks like," answered Scar, straight-faced.

Persi's worry had evaporated, to be replaced with intense irritation. How in the hell had he... No she didn't want to know. And how was Scar not even surprised?

She pinched the bridge of her snout where it met her eyes. If she was honest with herself, she shouldn't be surprised either. Why couldn't she have normal friends? She glared up at Crash.

"Can you explain why my phone is up there?” she inquired flatly.

"Boss, I can't explain why I'm up here," he answered as he collected both phones and stood up.

"Well den get da fuck down ya idiot!" laughed Scar.

"Get the fuck down 'ere!" growled Persi in agreement, her accent bleeding through in her frustration. "D'you have any idea wot we been through? Get your arse down 'ere!"

"Can't say that I do, boss," drawled Crash as he slid on his arse down to the edge of the roof, where he gracefully jumped off. And not-so-gracefully landed hard on his feet with a soft thud, forgetting to bend his knees to absorb the impact and nearly falling over.

"Ow," he muttered.

"Y'alright?" chorused Persi and Scar.

"Yea I'm good," said Crash, brushing imaginary dust from his wrinkled jumper. "So what've you two been up too?"

"Well first of all, we wake up in middle of a fuckin' field…"

Scar and Persi continued to fill Crash in on the morning's events as the three best friends started out for home. They quickly ran out of things to say as it turned out it hadn't been terribly eventful after all, just nerve-wracking, so they switched to other topics of conversation. On and on they walked, laughing and shoving each other and chatting about nothing in particular.

Persi put an arm around each of her friends, Scar on the right, Crash on the left, both warm, familiar weights against her sides. The sky was blue and pretty, and everything was right in the world.