#the great fic writer scavenger hunt

[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane's Girl

Part Two | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: Merle Dixon being Merle Dixon, Shane Walsh isn’t great either tbh

Word Count: 1K

Author’s Note: So it's been a hot second (writer's block is a bitch), but I really love this idea and apparently a lot of you guys do too! Thanks for all the love on the first part, all the comments and reblogs have meant the world to me. I really cannot believe how well the first part of this fic was received lol. Let me know what you guys think of this one, if you want to be added to the taglist, or just want to ask me a question.

Extras: Playlist

Daryl is, if anything, a man of his word. He agreed that he’d stay the hell away from Shane’s girl, so that’s exactly what he did. It wasn’t difficult; he is almost always on a hunting trip to keep the ragtag group of survivors fed and when he isn’t, Daryl can be found in his tent taking care of his crossbow and bolts. And since Merle hasn’t spoken a word to you since the little incident in camp, your path just hasn’t crossed his.

That is until his crossbow bolts go missing one morning. 

Daryl rips his tent apart in an attempt to find his missing arrows. A steady stream of expletives escape his mouth as he shuffles through Merle’s belongings, hoping that his older brother just so happened to take his bolts and stash them with his possessions -- it certainly wouldn’t be the first time that Merle took something of his and claimed it as his own. 

After about thirty minutes, Daryl lets out a frustrated sigh. If his bolts aren’t in here, that means someone in camp took them and that could lead to some issues. After the incident with you and Merle, Daryl hasn’t just kept his distance from you -- Daryl has isolated himself further from everyone at the makeshift camp. 

He’s not an idiot and he picked up on everyone’s apprehension in respect to the Dixon brothers since the first few days in camp. That seems to have only gotten worse after Merle’s decision to make a scene in the middle of camp. It doesn’t seem to bother the older Dixon brother; however, Daryl cannot stand how many eyes seem to focus on him whenever he makes an appearance in camp nowadays. Because of this, Daryl has made his trips to camp scarce -- only making his way there to drop off more provisions and supplies. He keeps his head down, he doesn’t speak to anyone, and he doesn’t cause problems.

However, Daryl does take the time to observe the camp and its occupants whenever he’s there. He takes mental notes of who casts him concerned looks. Lori and Carol will stop scrubbing laundry and round up their children every time they see him make his way to the RV. He notices Dale’s eyes narrow every time he enters the RV and how he races to check all of their supplies as soon as he’s stepped foot out of the vehicle. As opposed to popular belief, Daryl has never taken anything from the RV; however, he has left his fair share of scavenged nuts and berries and a handful of animal carcasses in order to keep the camp fed. He’s painfully aware of Shane glaring at him from atop Dale’s RV. He tries to ignore it, but he can’t help the way that it makes his skin crawl. And, against his better judgment, he finds himself keeping tabs on you. It wasn’t a conscious decision at first, but, as time has passed, he’s found his curiosity towards you shifting into what Daryl can only describe as protectiveness.

And that’s how Daryl finds himself awkwardly walking up to you as you scrub laundry against a washboard. You don’t seem to notice his presence as he approaches. He shifts on feet before clearing his throat, in an attempt to grab your attention. Your head shoots up and your eyes widen as they spot him standing in front of you. Daryl is prepared to turn heel and run in the other direction based on your reaction until a smile spreads across your face. You push your hair out of your eyes and drop the laundry in your hands into the basin in front of you before speaking. 

“Hey, Daryl. What’s up?”

“Ya know if Shane’s around?”

You move your head to look left, then right. Your eyes scan the camp before they land back on Daryl. You shrug your shoulders.

“Don’t know. I’m not his keeper.” 

Daryl releases a breath through his nose at your words. It’s the closest anyone in camp has come to making Daryl Dixon laugh as far as you know and it fills you with pride. You wipe your hands on your jeans and stand up from your position over the basin.

“I may not be Shane, but I might be able to help you.”

“Somebody took my crossbow bolts. Couldn’t find ‘em this mornin’.”

You immediately turn and start walking toward the RV. Shane had told you he was busy this morning with ‘inventory’ this morning. He already took your knife and pistol this morning, so you wouldn’t be surprised if you also found Daryl’s arrows. You explain this to Daryl as he walks behind you. If Merle was here, he’d be laughing at the younger Dixon brother. 

‘I leave you alone and you’re already following ‘er around like a lost puppy dog, little brother?’  

Daryl tries to shake off Merle’s voice echoing in his mind. He watches as you enter the RV and waits as he hears you rustling through the supplies. A few moments later you emerge with a handful of crossbow bolts. 

“I take it these are yours?”

Daryl nods and mumbles a quick thank you as he takes the arrows from you. He quickly counts them, ensuring that he’s gotten all of his property back.

“Do you make them yourself?”

He nods his head again, eyes still focused on the bolts in his hands.

“Could you show me sometime?”

Daryl looks up at you, his head cocked to the side slightly. He’s a little dumbfounded. He wasn’t expecting you to take an interest in his craftsmanship. Hell, he wasn’t expecting you to continue speaking to him after you found his arrows. Thrown off by your actions, Daryl simply says that first thing that crosses his mind as you look at him with an expectant expression.

“Sure.”

Taglist: @darylsl0ver @minervadashwood @hotgirlsshareaccounts @taterbbbug @dreamtofus @youcantstandit @ajlovesdilfs @prettywhenibleed @luvsvnlqt-things @evie-beanie @strnqer @marina-isabella @lissanovak @elissanatok @1tsk1tty @moejoeflow @ceoofdisappointment @jewellthebooknerd

[wynnyfryd]

💡 🎨 for the fanfic writer ask game? 💕💕💕

💡How many WIPs do you currently have?

actual answer i just gave out loud to myself when i saw this question: ha HAAAAAA hahaha. ha. heh heh. aahhhh

correct answer: i have one wip, which is the trailer park steve au, and i have like 30-50 abandoned wip docs, my favorite of which is just labeled ‘soup’

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

oooh, that’s a great question! @i-will-regret-this-later recently made me fanart of steve thinking about the river styx which i LOVED, but in the interest of getting myself some good fluff, i’m gonna go with the scene of eddie standing on a table and regaling a crowd while drinking spiked hot cocoa at a christmas bazaar in the holiday fic i wrote last year, The Great Scavenger Hunt of 1986 (which, side note, was the one and only podfic i ever recorded and now @messessentialist just says ‘calamitous’ to me all the time lmao)

fanfic writer ask game

[andimeantittosting]

So, this was originally started in February 2017 for Round 5 of @mittensmorgul‘s Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt and promptly fell by the wayside in favour of real life nonsense and other projects. I finally did get around to finishing it, and while I'm a little embarrassed at how long it took to write what is ultimately a short fic, I'm happy to be able to share it.

Many thanks to wetkitchenpaint for beta reading.

Birds of a Feather (AO3)

Dean is thrilled to share all his favorite human indulgences with Cas, until he realizes that Cas is falling. Clearly, the only solution is to introduce him to healthy things, intellectual things, Sam things. Too bad Cas prefers Dean things.

"You'd better have left me some hot water," Sam bitches. He's the last one back to the motel, having spent the day interviewing witnesses, rather than down at the sheriff's office with Dean and Cas. They've both taken their turns in the surprisingly awesome shower already.

Dean holds up his hands. "Don't look at me, Cas was in there way longer than I was." In fact, he'd only just emerged from the steamy bathroom right before Sam came in, and there are still droplets in his hair, that Dean is absolutely not captivated by.

"Wait, do you even need to shower, Cas?"

"Dean was going on about how great the water pressure was," Cas shrugs. "I wanted to try it out for myself."

"Right," Sam says. "Dean, don't corrupt the angel with your freaky shower fetish." He disappears through the door, only to emerge a moment later, clad in a towel, and looking perturbed. "Uh, Cas? Want to tell me why there are feathers in the drain?"

---

They're in a diner that might once have had a deliberate retro vibe going on, but which now just looks old. The food smells amazing, though, and Dean surreptitiously jerks his finger towards the burger a waitress has just placed in front of a trucker who's hunched over the counter, sky-high with toppings, and with perfect golden brown fries and onion rings on the side.

"I know what I'm getting."

Sam gives him a look that clearly states, You're going to have a heart attack by the time you're forty, Dean. He looks to Cas to back him up, but Cas is staring consideringly at the architectural wonder of a burger.

"I think I'll have one, too," he decides, and both brothers look at him in surprise.

"I didn't know you were eating these days." There's a hint of a question in Dean's tone.

Cas waits perhaps a beat too long before answering. "I haven't been. But I believe circumstances have changed enough that I may be able to enjoy food again, without tasting the molecules. I would like to try it."

"What do you mean, circumstances have changed?" Dean demands, "What-" He cuts himself off as the waitress approaches, notepad out and ready to take their orders, and the subject is dropped for the time being. It's worth the niggling itch in the back of his mind to see Cas inhale the burger with gusto, which he does, after removing the pickle, which he declares unsettling.

"I can see why you enjoy this so much," he informs Dean solemnly.

"You know, Cas," Sam tries, "If you want to eat human food, there are a lot of healthy, delicious options, too."

"I'll keep that in mind, Sam," Cas promises, not sounding as if he has any intention of doing so. He pops his final onion ring in his mouth and licks the grease off a finger, and Dean's brain short-circuits.

"Uh, napkin," he manages, shoving one at Cas, as if he or Sam have any room to talk to Cas about table manners.

"Thank you." Cas wipes his hands on the napkin instead, and Dean ignores the part of himself that is disappointed.

It's as they're shuffling their way out of the diner that Dean happens to glance back towards their booth. There are three fluffy white feathers on the bench where Cas was sitting.

"Hold on." He makes a show of patting his pockets. "Think I dropped my phone." Dean hurries back to the booth and gathers up the feathers with a frown. In the parking lot, he passes them over. "Everything alright, Cas?"

---

"Y'know," Dean says, a couple days later, in a different diner. He points his fork at Cas. "Now that you're eating, again, you should really try some pie. You haven't had it before, have you?"

"No, I haven't."

"Well, you're in luck. We ate here last time we came through this way, and the pie is to die for." He rolls his eyes heavenwards in apparent ecstasy, and Cas can't help smiling at him fondly. Sam shakes his head, but Dean catches Cas's look and grins. "So you'll have some?"

Cas glances down at his empty plate, where he just finished devouring a reuben and a heaping stack of fries. "I don't know if I can manage a whole piece," he admits.

"So we'll share," Dean offers, while Sam's eyebrows make a valiant escape attempt. He nudges Cas with his elbow. "C'mon, split a piece with me."

"Very well," Cas agrees, indulgent. They chat quietly about their case, until the waitress, a woman in her fifties who looks like she could take any of them in a bar fight, arrives to bus their plates.

"Anything else I can get for you boys?" She asks, balancing the stack of dishes on her forearm.

"A slice of that strawberry-rhubarb pie, if you don't mind," Dean requests with a charming smile.

"Sure thing, honey." She turns to Sam.

"I'll just have a coffee, thanks."

"One coffee. How about you, sugar?" she asks Cas.

"Oh, uh, I'll have what he's having," he fumbles, nodding towards Dean. "Um. But just one. With two forks." There was a time when he couldn't blush, but he's pretty sure he's bright red, now. Dean is shaking with suppressed laughter at his side, and Sam shoots his a consoling glance across the table.

The waitress pats him on the shoulder kindly. "You got it, sweetie."

The pie is, indeed, delicious, once he gets over his embarrassment, and Dean seems pleased to let him take the lion's share.

"I can't believe you're sharing your pie." Sam looks far too amused at his brother's expense.

"Shut up. Cas deserves to enjoy the good things in life."

"You just like that he likes the same things you do."

"That's because I've got awesome taste, Sam. Tell him, Cas."

"It is very enjoyable." Cas smiles as Dean offers him the last bite. "Thank you."

"Oh my god." Sam rolls his eyes, grinning. "Only you would corrupt an angel with pie, Dean."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Dean says, but he's distracted by an itch at the back of his neck. Reaching back, he discovers a piece of down that's gotten stuck between his collar and his skin. He twirls it idly between his thumb and forefinger, watching Cas scrape the last of the sticky filling onto his fork, and pop it into his mouth.

Cas looks over, feeling Dean's eyes on him. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't ask if you wanted the last bite."

"Nah, it's okay, man. I'm glad you liked it." He slips the feather into his pocket, determined to think about it later.

---

Dean can put two and two together, and the final straw comes when he wakes up to a face full of loose feathers. His explosive sneeze wakes Cas, who is dozing beside him on Dean's memory foam mattress.

"Mmph," Cas says, barely cracking his eyes open. "Whrrmmi?"

Correctly parsing the question as, "Where am I?" Dean replies, "You're in my room, buddy. We must've fallen asleep watching the show." Dean had spent the evening introducing Cas to the joys of his favorite trashy telenovela via a marathon rewatch, but the comfort of the mattress, combined with the exhaustion from a long day of driving must have caught up with them at some point.

"Good," Cas mumbles, already letting his eyes drift shut again. Within seconds he is snoring quietly, a small feather wafting gently downwards to settle on Dean's pillow. Dean, on the other hand, is wide awake. Cas is falling, and he realizes with a sinking heart that it is entirely his fault.

---

When Cas finally shuffles into the kitchen several hours later, Sam is freshly back from his run, and Dean is prepared. “Guess I'll start on breakfast,” he remarks casually, as if he has not spent the whole morning racking his brains for ways to slow Cas's fall. So far, this is his best idea. “How'd you two feel about egg white omelets?”

Sam's eyes nearly bug out of his head, and he chokes on his water. Dean watches him surreptitiously slip a flask of holy water out of his pocket.

Cas wrinkles his nose. "That sounds bland," he opines.

"I'm not possessed, Sam." Dean scowls. "And it's not bland, Cas. It's healthy." He feels the urge to cross himself for such blasphemy. "Sam eats them all the time."

Sam's eyebrows are ascending steadily into his hairline, and Cas continues to look skeptical. Dean crosses his arms, spatula and all, across his chest.

Mouth twisting in amusement, Sam offers, "They really are tasty."

Finally Cas relents. "Very well. I'll try this egg white omelet."

"You won't regret it," Dean promises.

---

Cas regrets it."I'm sorry, but I think I would have preferred the molecules," he informs Dean, as he picks at the rubbery scraps on his plate.

"I'll finish it." Sam reaches for Cas's plate, and Dean slaps his hand away.

"He needs to eat," he insists around his own tasteless mouthful of egg whites.

"I don't need to eat yet," Cas argues. "Sam you can have my eggs." He passes over his plate, ignoring Dean's attempts to protest while swallowing.

Mouthful gone, Dean demands, "What do you mean, 'yet'?"

Cas doesn't answer, pushing away from the table to refill his coffee mug. Dean frowns.

"Are you sure you should be having so much caffeine?" he asks. "What do you mean, 'yet', Cas?"

---

"What are you watching?" Cas asks several days later, poking his head into the room they have repurposed for watching tv.

"Nothing!" Dean fumbles for the remote, but not before Cas catches a glimpse of The Passions of Santos on the screen.

"Another telenovela?" Cas's face lights up. "I'll join you."

"Nope. No, no, actually no." Dean finally manages to switch away from his show. "I'm not really watching this. I just flipped to it during the commercials." He conveniently ignores the glare of the Netflix home screen. Cas narrows his eyes at him.

Dean clears his throat. "Anyway, I was about to watch this," he scrolls to a documentary on Machiavelli that Sam's been going on about for weeks. "You can watch too, if you want."

Cas is giving him a quizzical look, that he pretends not to see. "Can we make popcorn?"

Dean rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "Sorry, no popcorn. I bought rice cakes, though. I'll just go get them. You sit tight."

Although Cas watches the documentary with an expression of polite interest on his face, it's clear that he isn't enjoying it. Who can blame him? The narration is as dry as the rice cakes, which are quickly discarded. Cas had nibbled on one, while watching Dean cram one in his mouth and promptly choke.

"It's like eating cardboard," he'd complained around a mouthful of crumbs.

Cas had gently set his aside. "Maybe we can feed them to the squirrels."

They'd settled in to watch the movie, but forty-five minutes in, Cas makes a noise of impatience and grabs the remote, pausing on an uncomfortable close-up of the narrator's face.

"Hey, what are you stopping for?" Dean asks. "Come on, let's power through this." The sooner they turn the show back on, the sooner it will be over.

"Dean," Cas chides. "Why are we watching this?"

Dean chuckles weakly. "You're not enjoying it, huh?"

Cas's look of scorn could give Sam a run for his money. "It is poorly filmed, badly narrated, and wildly historically inaccurate."

"It's not that bad, is it?" Dean asks placatingly. He wilts under Cas's gimlet eye.

"You're not enjoying it either," Cas points out calmly.

"Fine, you're right." Dean deflates. "It's awful. Sam has terrible taste."

"You're the one who insisted on watching it." Cas navigates back to the main menu, while Dean grumbles under his breath. "Is this what you were watching when I came in?" He clicks on Santos, settling comfortably back into the couch, close enough to touch Dean, who is frozen in dismay.

"Cas," he tries, but Cas shushes him.

"Quiet, Dean. I need to catch up."

Sure enough, when they turn off the t.v. so Dean can make dinner, and Cas departs with the bag of rice cakes to gift to the neighborhood rodents, he leaves behind a drift of white feathers. Heart in his throat, Dean gathers them up with gentle hands, cursing himself for being so careless. He can't drag Cas down with his trash. He just can't.

Dean agonizes all through cooking and eating dinner – some quinoa-based monstrosity that Sam practically inhales, and that Cas merely picks at. He racks his brains all through washing the dishes, and turns in early to toss and turn on his divinely comfortable mattress, trying to come up with a solution. The way he sees it, it's pretty clear:

That Cas is falling.

That it's happening whenever Dean convinces him to share his greasy food, or his trash t.v., or his stupid, self-indulgent creature comforts.

That Cas has no interest in being steered towards healthy food, or Sam's nerdy shows; and

If Dean can't convince him to try those things, then he has no way of stopping Cas's fall.

---

With no idea how to convince Cas to slow his introduction to humanity's more corrupting elements for his own good, Dean takes to avoiding him instead, leaving him to Sam's tender mercies. Maybe Sam will be a good influence on him – a better influence than Dean at any rate. As luck would have it, cases are thin on the ground, so there's lots of time for Sam to work his magic. So far, it's not working. He knows, because Cas has got in the habit of sleeping until Sam comes in from his morning run, sweaty and cheerful, and encouraging Cas to join him next time. Cas turns him down every time.

"You should go with him," Dean encourages him one day, from his place at the stove, and Cas whips around to stare at him, which, fair, Dean hasn't said more than a handful of sentences to him in the past week. He clears his throat, ducking his head back over his cooking. "Be good for you. Don't be a lazy ass like me."

"You're not a lazy ass, Dean." Dean can hear the frown in Cas's voice.

"Yeah, well," he grumbles.

Avoiding Cas has been easier said than done. For starters, there's the betrayed looks Cas has been shooting him whenever they do happen to be in the same room. For another, there's the way Dean misses him with a gnawing ache that is ridiculous to feel over someone who is living just down the hall. He's bad for Cas, he reminds himself; he just drags him down into the muck. He can spend time with him again once Cas is out of danger of falling.

That's all well and good, until the night he steps into the kitchen for a late-night snack and spies Cas sitting alone and eating Ben and Jerry's out of the tub. He beats a hasty retreat before Cas can look up and see him, and stomps off in search of his brother.

He finds Sam doing chin-ups in the Bunker's well-equipped, if dated, gym. "Sam," he barks, when he's at the highest point. Infuriatingly, his brother doesn't even startle. "Why the hell did I just see Cas eating an entire pint of Cherry Garcia?"

Sam lowers himself slowly. "Concerned about his figure?" He does another chin-up, smirking. "Maybe he's heartbroken about something."

"Sam!" Dean snaps, not at all in the mood to be ribbed by his brother. Sam rolls his eyes, and lets go of the bar, dropping neatly to the floor.

"Why do you care?" He asks, picking up a hand towel to mop his face. "You can always buy more ice cream if he eats it all." He picks up a water bottle and squirts it directly into his mouth.

"Not the point," Dean growls. "You're supposed to be introducing him to your nerdy, salad-freak ways, not letting him give himself diabetes or-or a heart-attack!"

"Dude," Sam says. "You were the one who was all about introducing him to junk food. 'The finer things in life,' you called it. And I'm pretty sure angels can't have heart attacks."

"Sammy," Dean says, his voice breaking open, "he's falling."

"What?" Sam instantly turns serious.

Dean rubs a hand over his mouth. "It's my junk food. And my crap t.v. And every stupid thing I like to indulge myself with. I just wanted him to enjoy himself, but every time I introduce him to some more of my trash-" he throws his hands up. "Feathers."

"He's losing feathers?" Sam asks, and Dean can tell he's wishing there were some sort of WebMD for angels. But he doesn't need that, because Dean's already figured it out.

"Which is why," he explains, "you need to get him into your Sam things. Y'know, healthy things, classy things, intellectual things. Stop me from dragging him down into the human muck."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "You know my things are human things, too, right?"

"Shut up," Dean mutters.

"Look." Sam holds his hands up placatingly. "Right now, Cas isn't interested in my things. But maybe if you go talk to him-" he trails off, letting Dean fill in the rest.

"Fine," he grumbles, because he knows Sam is right, dammit, and now Dean's gonna have to do it. He's going to have to explain to Cas that he wants him to eat salads, and go on runs, and watch boring documentaries because he's worried about Cas's health.

"Good." Sam pats him on the shoulder, and Dean half-heartedly swats his hand away. "I'm gonna shower and then go to bed. Don't get in a shouting match."

---

Cas looks up with a tentative smile as Dean enters the kitchen. "Hello, Dean. Would you like some ice cream?" And yeah, it's a little melty, and Cas has been eating directly out of the carton, but damned if Dean doesn't need some comfort food if he's going to have this conversation. He does fetch his own spoon, even though Cas offers up his, because that is a road too far.

He eats two spoonfuls of the cool treat, before reluctantly discarding his spoon in the carton and squaring his shoulders. "Cas," he says, voice weighty, "we need to talk about the feathers."

"Oh." Cas sets his own spoon aside and absently runs his tongue over a spot of melted ice cream that's caught on his upper lip. Dean nearly has heart palpitations. "You can use them for spell ingredients. I don't mind."

"Jesus, Cas." He blows a breath out through his nose. He's very carefully stored all of Cas's dropped feathers in a box in his room, precisely so they won't get mixed up in any spells. "I don't want to use them-" and now Cas looks mildly offended, like Dean thinks his feathers might not be up to snuff. "I want to know why you're dropping them at all."

"Oh," Cas says, as if it's the most casual thing in the world. "I'm falling."

Dean gapes at him. "You-you're falling. That's great, that's just-" He pushes out of his seat to pace a few short, sharp steps away, and then back, scrubbing a hand over his face. He takes a deep breath. "This is because of me. Because of all the human things?"

Cas considers this. "Yes," he concludes, and isn't that a blow to the solar plexus. But then he continues, "Or at least, that's a large part of my motivation."

"Your motivation?" Dean squawks, suddenly lost.

Cas stands, too, examining his face in that too-intimate way that he does, and Dean can feel his cheeks heating under that steady gaze. "Dean," he says, gently, "I am falling voluntarily."

At that, Dean thumps back down into his seat. "So, you've chosen this?" He asks in a dazed voice.

"Yes," Cas confirms, resuming his own seat, close enough that their knees are brushing.

"And the feathers?"

"The method I've chosen is a gradual process. The feathers shed faster as I enjoy human things. I enjoy the things you've introduced me to."

Dean glances off to the side. "They're just a few measly creature comforts."

"And I enjoy your 'creature comforts' very much." The overly solemn way Cas repeats Dean's words makes him huff a laugh, looking back up into Cas's smiling face.

"Alright, alright." He shakes his head. "You sure you want this?"

Cas's countenance is shining and open. "Yes, Dean."

"Okay." Dean runs his tongue over his lips, glancing curiously at Cas when he sees that his gaze is tracing the same path. "I'm just gonna need a minute to recalibrate, here. I thought you were dying, man."

"Not dying." Cas shakes his head. "Living."

There is a bubble of warmth spreading in Dean's chest. "There, uh, any human experiences you particularly want? I can help you out." Cas says nothing for a long moment, and when Dean looks up at him, he is once again studying Dean's mouth closely. "Uh, Cas?" he asks, licking his lips again, butterflies erupting in his throat.

Cas meets his eyes. "May I kiss you, Dean?"

He gets as far as, "Yeah, uh-" before soft lips are pressing against his and there is down in his hair. In the morning, Sam will be confused to find a trail of feathers leading from the kitchen to Dean's room, but right now, Cas is warm, and solid, and so very human in Dean's arms, and hey, at least they don't shed any clothing until they reach the bedroom.

"I like this," Cas says when they break apart to breathe, and Dean grins against his neck, as he urges his arms upwards so he can shed his shirt. "I like this very much," he says when Dean has removed his own shirt and is nibbling at his jawline. Then it's a breathless litany of "Dean, Dean, Dean," as Dean finishes undressing him, and shoves him onto the bed, and proceeds to go down on him with every ounce of skill he possesses, because if Cas wants human experiences, then Dean is going to damn well give him the best human experience he can muster.

He moans, achingly hard, when Cas tugs on his hair, and then, without warning, Cas is coming in his mouth, and it was quick, but that's okay, because Cas is new to this, and he sighs something that sounds suspiciously like I love you when he comes, and then Dean is crawling up his body, shoving his own pants out of the way and rutting against his hip, mouthing, "Me, too. Me, too," against his jawline, until he comes with a strangled cry.

When he rolls onto his back, the room is a mess of feathers.

---

The last of the feathers fall a few weeks later, when an otherwise dubious motel gives Dean the chance to introduce Cas to Magic Fingers. Sam takes a room well across the building from them, but neither Dean nor Cas has any regrets.

"I'll have what he's having. But just one. With two forks." - This is an actual thing my brother-in-law said, the second time ever that I met him. (Well, he said "she," because he was with his then-girlfriend, but close enough.) It remains one of the funniest things he has ever done.

The Passions of Santos, is a fictional telenovela from Jane The Virgin. I am endlessly fascinated by the made-up TV shows that exist within actual TV shows, and I one hundred percent believe Dean would be into Santos.

[mittensmorgul]

Would you ever consider doing TGFWSH again? I know it's a lot of work, so totally understand if that isn't going to happen, but it was a lot of fun. Hope your day is going well, btw :)

Aah! Hi! I’d love to be able to do it again, but I don’t see it happening in the near future... It’s starting to look like my Real Life is going to be potentially upheaved in the next year or so. Nothing terrible, just that we’re seriously considering possibly moving in the next year or so, and *glances around house I’ve lived in for 12 years while accumulating a large house worth of ~stuff~ and cries a lil bit because there is too much stuff to ever move*

So I’m really hesitant to start a big undertaking like that again, not knowing how long I might be able to sustain it, or how much free time I’ll have to devote to it.

But I’m gonna throw the idea out to anyone else who might be interested in starting it up again (or starting up something similar). For anyone who has no idea what we’re talking about:

http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/tagged/the-great-fic-writer-scavenger-hunt/chrono

It was a weekly fic writing challenge that we started during the s12 winter hellatus, that lasted maybe five weeks before I became a total failure and the whole thing just sorta fell apart... It’s harder to keep up with these sorts of things than you’d expect :P

But seriously, if anyone does decide to start a challenge like this, please let me know! I’ll signal boost it, and probably participate when I can. :)

[quiescentcastiel]

Round 4 of @mittensmorgul‘s Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt. This week’s tropes were “Love Makes You Dumb” and “Sam is stuck awkwardly playing the Third Wheel.”

1) I actually wrote something serious? 2) It’s post the end of season six/early season seven. 3) I have to admit, what I wrote kinda only brushes the tropes required. 4) The song is “I Can See For Miles” by The Who.

“I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles.”

His footsteps slowed down the rhythm in his head to play in time with his walking. Miles. Step. And. Step. Miles.

Step. The betrayal hadn’t even crossed his mind until it was too late. How long had it been too late? How long had Dean played the part of the fool? Since the Apocalypse, since Heaven, since Hell? Who was Castiel anyways but a supernatural being with bonus orders, agendas, and rules. And.

Step. The dusty road was as open as the cloudless sky it lay below. A pleasant if humid morning had broken into a sweltering afternoon that was complicated by a strange breeze. Every breath of air was filled with a thin layer of dirt that stuck to Dean’s skin and infiltrated his lungs. Miles.

Step. Despite all cautions, his conscience had become ruled by the dream of loyalty and trust. His thoughts, that now belonged not to his mind but to his heart, hadn’t been his own since Hell. Nor had anything really. Nothing had been his own; Dean owed his present life to the angel, and Cas had taken it with him on the way out the door. It was as if someone had used a paring knife to whittle away at an already broken carving of a man. And.

Step. The sun was blazing down on him, and he was desperately wishing for just a sliver of shade. But he was exposed out here by the roadside; there was no cover from the rays of light that callously illuminated everything in their path. They were somewhere in the South, evidenced mostly by the heat, but also in part by the run-down religious relics: the half-shredded crosses whose white paint was all but gone and the signs proclaiming every doom except the ones that had actually come to pass. Miles.

Step. It wasn’t all on Dean though. Cas had been fooled too by his belief that he could save Heaven and save humanity and stay by the Winchesters’ sides. He was a war general who hadn’t figured out that sometimes the hard choice wasn’t doing the right thing, it was leaving your friends behind when they no longer wanted to follow you. ‘I do everything you ask. I always come when you call,’ he had said, and despite any doubts about their relationship, Dean could feel exactly what emotion was sweeping off Cas in that moment. ‘Well I’m calling you now Cas. Are you here? Are you coming?’ The answer, of course, was no. Still, the trenchcoat lay in the back of the Impala like a haunted object waiting for its ghost to return. And.

Step. Sweat stained Dean’s shirt. What few trees existed out here looked as though they were begging for a reprieve from the sun, but the sky was too washed out to seem cool. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to think of deep oceans and crystalline pools and raging icy rivers, but the only image his mind could conjure was that of Cas’ sad, blue eyes as the angel promised to redeem himself to Dean. Miles.

Step. He was a fool and had been blinded by his feelings. Everyone turned on him eventually. Everyone left. How had he ever convinced himself that Cas was any different? And.

Step. In the end, it had to be that what this all really came down to was that he couldn’t see anything at all. Miles.

“Hey! Dean, hey!”

Dean snapped out of his daze and looked up at Sam who was standing fifty feet ahead of him.

“Dude, c’mon, I’ve been waiting for you to catch up for the past mile and a half!”

“Oh. Sorry.” Dean sped up until he was walking next to Sam. A bright red gas can swung lightly in his brother’s hand, and the layers of Sam’s clothing were fighting a loosing battle, finding themselves pooling around his waist.

“Why are you walking so slow?” Dean slowed down again as he caught up to Sam, and they both continued down the long, empty road.

“I was just...” Thinking about Cas. “Admiring the scenery.”

[cosmicstardustcastiel]

Crumpled Pages

Written for the Great Fic Writer’s Scavenger hunt by @mittensmorgul

Contains Season 11 and 12x09 spoilers

Season 4 time line post 4x18 Monster at the End of this Book: 

Dean felt bad for ditching Sam in their crappy hotel room without a ride, but he had still been asleep….and really Dean had never had any intention of bringing him along for this short trip. He scribbled a short note on the hotel stationary that he’d back in a few and he slid into the Impala. He thought Chuck might be able to give him some answers to what was going on with his brother, or what might happen with Lucifer. If he knew and wasn’t telling them…Dean would get his answers one way or another. Screw what Castiel, Asshole of the Lord said about him being a prophet and being protected. Cass didn’t care about them. He only cared about Heaven’s mission. Well, Dean’s mission was to protect Sam.

As he walked up the cracked sidewalk of the tired-looking house Chuck lived in, he figured he probably knew he was coming, prophet and all. He knocked, his knuckles wrapping against the wood lightly. No answer. Dean sighed impatiently, shrugging his denim clad shoulders with nervous energy. He knocked again, this time with an enclosed fist. Nothing. Screw it. He slipped his lock picking kit out of his pocket and made quick work of the flimsy door lock, wincing as the door creaked loudly on its hinges. As he walked in, the living room was empty of Chuck. It was, however, littered with manuscripts, crumpled pages, and empty liquor bottles. Dean closed the door behind him, calling Chuck’s name softly. He was heading to check the kitchen when he felt a crumpled page crush under his boot. On a whim he picked it up and pulled it back as flat as he could. His eyes skimmed the words, wondering if this was new information that could help them fight Lucifer. The first sentence he read made him turn pale.

Dean sat in the backseat of the little blue four door sedan, his eyes afraid to make contact with his best friend sitting next to him. Castiel had not asked why he chose to sit beside him but when Dean’s hand slid across the seat and he laced their fingers together in the dark, the Angel could feel his longing like a punch to his gut. Something was wrong. He watched the hunter stare at their interlocked fingers, their eyes joining for only a moment, before Dean tore his eyes away. His regrets would drown him if he let them before the night was over. He would regret not telling Castiel he lo..”

Dean threw the page on the ground. “What the fuck is that shit?!” Dean yelled to an empty house. “What the Hell!” He stared at the offending paper on the floor, strangely tempted to pick it up and read it again. That could NOT be right. He had just seen Castiel, somewhat douchey servant of Heaven, here yesterday. Why would he be in the car with them when he could fly…Why would Dean EVER be in the backseat of said car? And why the FUCK would he be holding Cass’ hand?! If Chuck could see the future….

Dean spun around in a circle, wanting to pick up pages and burn them…or read them. Suddenly he heard a flutter of wings and the Angel in question appeared before him.

“Hello, Dean. Why are you in Chuck’s home while he is away?” Castiel said as he titled his head.

Dean backed away, head spinning. How far in the future could that page be? A day? A week? Wasn’t that kind of sudden for that much escalation of a relationship? RELATIONSHIP? No. Nope. Uh uh.“Oh! I was just leaving. Yeah. Totally. Just….leaving.” Dean crushed the page under his boot as he scurried out of the house, eyeballing the Angel like he thought he was going to mount him from behind. He actually walked backwards part of the way to the Impala, staring at the backseat like it had betrayed him. He slid into the driver’s seat and peeled off without so much as a goodbye to the Angel standing in the doorway, looking perplexed. Castiel tilted his head then came back inside, trying to decide what Dean had come here for. He stopped and looked to the floor, the toe of his dress shoes nudging the crumpled, crushed paper. Dean had touched this. He could sense that. He scooped it and gently unfolded it, laying it on Chuck’s desk and smoothing it out.  He read a paragraph toward the bottom.

Dean stared in horror as the Reaper’s corpse hit the ground, dead by his best friend’s hand.

“Cass, what have you done?”

Castiel stared back, his eyes wide with shock, fear, or anger. Dean could not tell.

He looked to the bloody Angel blade as if it had done the deed. “What had to be done. You know, this world, this sad, doomed little world…It needs you. It needs every last Winchester it can get and I will not let you die. I won’t let any of you die….” Castiel’s eyes were wide and wild. Pain pierced through them to stare down Dean, who was staring wide eyed with wonder at the fallen Angel. “and I won’t let you sacrifice yourselves. You mean too much to me. To everything….”Castiel’s voice broke with emotion as he stared into Dean’s eyes. Dean blinked back tears at the emotional confession.

Castiel grumbled to himself…”Well, that doesn’t sound like me.”

From the top of the stairs, Chuck cleared his throat as he walked down, smiling softly at the Angel. “I wouldn’t read any more of those pages if I were you, Castiel. I’ve always heard it’s not too good to know too much about one’s future. You know what they say, God has a plan.” Chuck went to take the paper from Castiel’s hand but he was gone in a flutter of wings, the page left abandoned on his cluttered desk.

“I DO have a plan, but those two are going to drag this thing out way longer than necessary….Idiots.”

����gp��ָ

[lunellumcas]

This is for @mittensmorgul‘s Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt, round one.

Tropes:

There’s Only One Bed and Castiel (for whatever reason) wears different clothes.

Set in season seven after Cas takes Sam’s Hell memories. Almost canon compliant but where Dean actually visits Cas at the hospital, plus Cas is a little less comatose and Dean is a little less mean.

He’s asking for you, she says. Even in his sleep.

Dean doesn’t know why he even answered the phone. Maybe because they had dick on Dick and he needed a distraction, but he regrets it as soon as he hears Meg’s jeering voice. Your angel needs you, she says. And I need a break. And just like that he’s on his way to Indiana.

Meg meets him outside of Cas’s room to brief him.

He normally just lies in bed, she says. He’s practically comatose most of the time so even you should be able to handle it. He’s not asleep. You’ll know if he is because if he’s asleep, he’s having nightmares. I mean, I’m pretty sure the nightmare thing is all the time. But when he’s awake he can stop the screaming. When he’s asleep, he can’t.

And that’s not all, of course, because it’s Meg and she likes to hear herself talk.

You better fuckin’ watch him, she continues. I did not sit here on my ass playing nurse for however many weeks just so you could fuck it all up.

And more.

If he wakes up, do what he says, she commands. Because if you don’t he will bolt, and if he bolts, you will not be able to find him. My advice: don’t let him out of your sight. He’s a danger to himself.

Why do I care, Dean mutters.

Meg just laughs. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be here, she says, disappearing with a smirk.

Dean walks into Cas’s room to see him spread out on the bed. Well, she wasn’t lying, he thinks as he makes his way to the only chair in the whitewashed little room. Comatose is looking to be pretty accurate. Cas doesn’t react when Dean whips his coat off and carelessly drops into the chair. He doesn’t react when Dean puts his feet up on the bed. He doesn’t react when Dean starts whistling Zeppelin songs in what’s obviously an effort to annoy him into consciousness.

Dean finally settles down to take a good look at the man. His eyes are closed and he’s as still as stone. It would look downright scary if it weren’t for the sweater: bright pink with a white heart stretched tight across his chest. Some sort of ploy to spread Valentine’s cheer, Dean thinks. Or a sick joke of Meg’s. Or maybe it was to make Cas happy. As it is it just looks sad. Dean can see a trench coat sticking out from under the pillow, one end of the belt trailing down the white sheet to where it’s clutched tightly in Cas’s hand. It’s the only indication that he’s still alive.

Hours pass with Dean watching. Cas just lies there like he’s in some sort of trance he can’t be bothered to snap out of and Dean just sits in the chair at the foot of the bed, checking his watch. It’s not until his watch hits midnight and he gets up to take a walk that Cas shows any sign of awareness.

Stay, Cas says, his voice strong and commanding but his eyes still closed, and Dean is half surprised into stillness and half of a mind to walk out anyway. But something makes him stay. Maybe the fact that he drove all night to get here. It would be a waste of time to leave now, he thinks. He should be getting answers. Or something. But to be honest, he isn’t quite sure what the questions are.

You okay? He manages to grind out, one eyebrow cocked like maybe he doesn’t even care. But Cas isn’t looking at him anyway. He just giggles instead, fucking giggles, and Dean is so not dealing with this right now. He huffs out a sigh and turns, but when he steps towards the doorway he finds it suddenly blocked by a sweater-clad angel. The sweater really makes the tax accountant trench coat look imposing by comparison, Dean thinks, and then he remembers that he’s supposed to be keeping Cas calm, and this is definitely not that.

Alright, I’m staying, Dean says, turning back to the chair.

Sleep, Cas says. Get in the bed.

Dean frowns. In what bed, he says, and despite his best efforts his tone is definitely belligerent.

There’s only one bed, Cas says evenly.

Dean grumbles but removes his boots and outer shirt and gets on the bed, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. Suddenly Dean feels movement and opens his eyes to see Cas sitting next to him. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me, he groans. But when Cas stretches out his fingers saying, sleep, Dean lets him touch them to his forehead.

Dean wakes hours later to Cas screaming. The angel is squished beside him in the cramped bed, clearly asleep. His eyes race back and forth beneath their lids and his hands stretch open on reflex as his screams turn to anguished cries.

Before Dean can react, Cas grabs him.

Dean, Cas says, clutching at Dean’s chest, his fingers scrabbling for purchase, bunching the soft fabric of Dean’s t-shirt under his rough hands, pulling Dean towards him with all the strength of a desperate celestial creature until Dean’s chest is pulled all the way onto Cas’s body and his head is smashed against the angel’s cheek, where he can feel the angel’s tears in his hair and the painful rhythm of his heart keeping time with the Dean Dean Dean spilling frantically from his lips.

Dean lays there, frozen, afraid to wake Cas and afraid to leave him alone in his dream. He doesn’t dare pull away but he doesn’t dare relax either, waiting for Cas to stop sobbing at whatever he’s seeing.

He thinks, I didn’t know angels could cry, and then he sucks in a breath through his nose, letting Cas’s familiar scent remind him that this is someone he used to know, someone he spent nights missing, someone who has always had a hand on his life, on his body, on his soul even when he couldn’t see or feel it.

This is just that but weirder, he thinks, and then he lets out the breath and realigns his body carefully, bringing his lower half to line up against Cas’s, shifting his torso to release the arm that got stuck underneath him when Cas pulled him in.

Dean, Cas cries, his voice higher than Dean has ever heard it, higher than Jimmy’s even.

Dean doesn’t stop. He has to do something, so he keeps moving his arm. Up up up, towards the sounds that slip like knives into his chest with every shaking breath Cas turns into his name. He’s careful to keep his arm in contact with Cas’s chest as he extracts it, so Cas knows, if he’s even aware of this at all, that he’s not going anywhere. Dean snakes the arm up Cas’s chest, letting his hand drift slowly upward until his fingers reach the bare skin of Cas’s neck and finally come to rest in his hair. Dean pets his hair gently as he burrows closer to Cas, pressing their cheeks together until his mouth is right up against Cas’s ear.

Dean, Cas continues, and it sounds painfully unsure.

I’m here, Dean replies in a whisper, not so much resting his cheek against Cas’s as he is trying to meld them together through sheer force of will.

They lie there for a long time, Cas shaking and almost rocking as he sobs, Dean clutching Cas to his body like if he can just hold him tightly enough he won’t be able to move well enough to hurt.

The moonlight ghosting through the window illuminates the scene to the music of

Dean, Dean, Dean.

I’m here, I’m here.

I’m here, I’m here, Dean pleads, louder and louder, his eyes screwed up in concentration or pain or both as Cas’s voice grows hoarse and his throat works furiously to keep up his mantra of Dean, Dean, Dean.

I’m here, Dean cries, tears beginning to leak out of his own eyes as he searches Cas’s open mouth and contorted face and blank half-lidded eyes for hints as to what he’s supposed to do.

Cas, he whispers, his voice breaking as he threads both hands into Cas hair and looks into blue eyes that are no longer sleeping but not quite awake.

Cas, he whispers, as he cradles the angel’s head and carefully sits up, propping himself against the lone pillow.

Cas, he whispers, pulling his angel gently to rest against him as he presses his lips to his forehead and lets his tears fall to mingle with the ones already tracking down Cas’s cheek.

I’m here, Cas replies, a whisper so soft it’s just a breath and Dean thinks he might have imagined it except when he opens his eyes Cas has taken his hand and secured it between his own on a sweater-covered chest that is rising and falling in sleep.

Dean’s tears continue to make their way down his face, slower now as he sinks into the bed. The tension he didn’t even care that he was holding slips out as sleep and love and Cas seeps into his bones and he lets it, drifting off in the light of the moon and the music of two heartbeats like one whisper: Dean Cas, Dean Cas, Dean Cas.

[wigglebox]

TGFWSH - Round 2

For @mittensmorgul ‘s “The Great Fic Writing Scavenger Hunt”

TROPE: I Don’t Want to Ruin Our Friendship

SPN ELEMENT: “they think it’s witches but HOOBOY IT’S DEFINITELY NOT WITCHES witches would’ve been a cakewalk compared to THIS…” 

When a leggy, blonde, young woman comes to little Kent Connecticut, the town notices. They notice every time someone or something comes along because the town is so small.

She frequents the house on Macedonia Brook Road, the home of a very well known, very reclusive billionaire. People have their thoughts and beliefs of course but for the most part, they just chalk it up to that guy being a sleazeball and having affairs while his wife leaves for the day.

It’s a town of secrets to be sure.

But one day, the sleepy town was awoken to blaring sirens, tearing off into the early morning hours through town. They parked outside the mansion at Macedonia Brook and wheeled out a person on a gurney. Curious onlookers lurked and watched.

Then the rumors started

I heard she walked in on Mr. Wales and that blondie, and the blondie went ape shit

Well I have it on good authority that Blondie didn’t like how many questions that that servant was asking about her.

What if that servant decided to go to Mrs. Wales with all this information? Maybe that’s why she killed her.

The days went on, with Blondie spending her days inside the house and the town went back to its normal silence. Blondie didn’t go to the grocery store, and she only spent her nights in a small cottage near the small mountains. No one talked to her, and she didn’t talk to anyone else.

Three weeks later, Mrs. Wales died.

There were no blaring sirens this time around. The coroner’s office came to collect her, and once again neighbors pooled at the bottom of the driveway. Mr. Wales wasn’t seen, Blondie was standing in the front door seeing the corpse off.

And that’s when rumors of witchcraft start.

The Kent Witch became a local lore for months. Sightings of Blondie scaled down but people swore they saw her wandering the dark streets at night. A lot of people believed she moved from her cottage to a cave in the mountains shared with Connecticut and New York. Other’s claimed she flew, seeing her at night hopping from tree to tree. As the months went on, more deaths happened in the town. They were people that were somehow connected to the Wale’s residence. Reasons like heart attacks and strokes were given but the town knew that The Kent Witch was to blame.

It got to the point where an online publication picked it up in “National Ghost Stories”. Castiel stumbled on while poking around on Dean’s laptop one night. They all looked up some more on The Kent Witch and were baffled they couldn’t find more about that area or this mysterious being.

So off they went.

It was a tense ride from Pennsylvania to Connecticut. For the past few weeks, Dean and Cas were getting into more and more spats while out on hunts. Dean first snapped at Cas for going after a ghoul on his own, then the following week Cas reamed Dean for using himself as bait for a nest of vampires. It was annoying Sam to no end, which is why he volunteered to sit in the backseat on the ride up, stretched out and sleeping. The whole car ride was only filled with the dull tones of music.

The tension between the three matched the tension in Kent when they arrived. It was the middle of summer but no one was swimming in the falls, no one was hiking, and no one was sucking down ice pops outside the general store. It felt like a ghost town.

Their first visit is to Mr. Wale’s residence, coming face to face with Blondie herself. She is nice enough, invites them in for tea, saying they weren’t the first investigators to come poking around this place. Cas and Sam sit and talk with her as Dean wanders around the room, looking for hex bags.

Dean got as far as the back mudroom before he realized the house was too big with too many places to hide the hex bag.

They leave, annoyed and disappointed. That night is spent at the motel and Sam goes off to get pizza. Cas and Dean ignore each other.

The next day, they go out and disperse to talk to people of the town. They all heard different stories. It’s the blonde woman for sure but she lives in this cave, but also by the river. She can fly, but no wait she just walks through the trees. She’s actually a ghost, she preys on men, she’s a witch possessed by a demon, except no she’s just a plain ol’ dangerous witch and Mr. Wales sold his soul to her.

It was a mess that all three of the boys really needed to wrap their head around.

Dean broke into Mr. Wale’s place when the old man seemed to get into Witch Blondie’s car and snooped around for a couple hours. There were no hex bags that he could find, no coins, no alters, no anything.

Sam and Cas went to break into Blondie’s cottage, a direction they were pointed to by only some of the residents of the town. It was clean with crocheted doilies and teacups. They overturned tables and peaked in cupboards and under floor boards. Nothing witchy was found.

While Dean is about to leave Mr. Wales’ residence, he notices a vase with the Tulpa sigil engraved all around like a pattern along with other things. He almost misses it because the vase is so busy and it’s in a room with various collectible from around the world.

Cas wants to go off into the woods by the river on his own while Sam heads back to the motel to do some more research. When Dean gets back to the motel and updates Sam, he’s livid Cas is off on his own.

The town is stirring again, the sun is setting and whispers of the witch are running around.

She has control of the police, it’s why they haven’t done anything.

Those three investigators will be the next target mark my words

When do you think Mr. Wales will die?

Night falls and Dean and Sam are visited by three State Troopers. They seize them and hold them down while a more haggard version of Blondie comes through.Her skin was pale an yellowing with splotches on her face. Her hair was covered in twigs and dirt caked her fingernails. She wore a simple black dress and black shoes. She pointed at Sam and Dean and they are instantly under her power.

Back at the woods, Cas finds the cave. There are candles and an alter with strange sigils he’s never seen before. It made no sense to him. The set up looked more like someone’s idea of what a witch would have rather than what he’s actually experience. He hurried back to the motel to tell Dean and Sam.

They aren’t there.

But Cas stumbles on their notes about Tulpas and instantly knows where to go.

Back at the Wales residence, there’s a light on. Blondie answers the door, with Mr. Wales up at the top of  the entry stairs protesting Cas’s late call. Cas doesn’t care and pushes himself in. Before he could ask the question, Witch Blondie and the state troopers along with Sam and Dean break into the house. Real Blondie faints at the sight of her twin and the state troopers go after Mr. Wales who flees upstairs.

Cas is busy fighting Sam and Dean off which isn’t too bad since they are being controlled by a fake being. He manages to throw them off while storming through the house, looking through all of Mr. Wales’ valuables. He manages to find the vase and he smashes it, knowing that solves only half the problem.

Dean managed to recover from the fight first and lunges after Cas. They fight and fight, and it’s clear that this is just weeks of tension bottled up with whatever the witch put on Dean. Cas finally is able to knock him out and find Witch Blondie who is sucking some life force thing out of her counterpart on the floor.

Cas remembered how she didn’t like fire according to the townsfolk and he grabs the lighter from Dean’s pocket. It wasn’t much fire but it does the trick as she backs into a corner. Cas grabs the curtain near them and smashes a hurricane lamp into it, catching it on fire. He throws it at the Witch and she burns up.

The spell is broken.

Dean Sam and Cas get out with Blondie before the police come to and call for backup. They don’t even know if Mr. Wales lived.

They later find out that Blondie was a new caretaker for the Wales family due to their failing health. She is so shaken by what happens she packs up and leaves with Sam Dean and Cas and they drop her off at a bus station.

The townsfolk, satisfied that the witch is seemingly gone with the crime scene that happened, happily retire the Witch lore into history.

A few nights later, with Sam pointedly giving them some space, Dean finally opens up to what’s been driving their spats. He was so nervous of something bad happening to Cas something irreversible now that he’s human with them. Finally, Dean says he doesn't want to ruin their friendship, but he has feelings for Cas that he can’t always place on the sidelines and makes him more scared of something happening to Cas. Dean doesn’t really know how to say I Love You, so Cas beats him too it, cuts Dean’s rambling off, and straight up kisses him.

[silverskyy]

Round One

For this round of @mittensmorgul​‘s Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt, the elements to be included were “There Is Only One Bed” and “Castiel (for whatever reason) wears different clothes”. I still can’t believe I sat down and wrote this OOC mess.

We set our scene in that perfect universe where Charlie is alive and the Winchesters aren’t in prison and Lucifer is only brought up on alternating Tuesdays when Sam goes to therapy (does he have a therapy dog? someone needs to get on that headcanon). Where’s Mary? She’s at a resort, enjoying the Krav Maga lessons and spending her evenings online catching up on history. The time for the Battle of Kingdoms has come upon us once again, and this year everyone is able to participate, yay!

Enter Dean, Handmaiden to the Queen and one of her chief strategists. He’s been studying the battle plans for weeks. He’s got this shit in the bag.

To the left of Dean is Sam, long-suffering brother and common knight. He’s mostly here as moral support/cheering squad. He has snacks. His is 100% not planning to surreptitiously bring his phone and hide it behind the Gatorade.

To the right is Castiel, former Angel of the Lord and current confused baby LARPer. He is holding a chainmail shirt tentatively up to the frowning woman before him, part of the pile of clothing she’s dropped on the flimsy plastic table.

“I’m supposed to wear this?” he asks slowly. Still dressed in his customary ill-fitting suit (the trenchcoat having been deemed too warm for the muggy June evening), he resembles a run-of-the-mill business man unceremoniously transported to another century and desperately trying to get his bearings. It’s a striking parallel for his general interactions with humanity.

“This your first time in Moondoor?” the woman asks after snapping her bubble of pale blue gum. None of the boys know her name and by this point are too afraid to ask.

“I--yes.” Castiel feels it would be prudent to not mention that he’s not entirely certain what Moondoor is. Excited and insistent are good adjectives to describe Dean and Charlie in the time preceding this event; coherent is not. Mostly he’s just glad to be included in whatever the upcoming battle is about.

The woman snorts the word noob, which shakes Dean out of his daydreams of glory. How dare she insult Cas?? He glares, to no effect. The woman continues, “Castiel Winchester. You’re marked down as a Knight of the Moon, one of the Queen’s personal guard. This is your official outfit as part of said guard. You wanna play, you put it on.”

“I see,” Castiel lies. He grabs the rest of the clothing and quickly backs up behind Sam and Dean. They brought him here, they can handle the rest of the interaction with humans.

“You two I know,” the woman interrupts. Sam closes his mouth and Dean bristles again. “Sam and Dean. Knight and Handmaiden. Your tent assignments are here.” She slides forward a thin red folder, emblazoned with Charlie’s symbol. “Rules and schedule are included. Try not to start any fights until tomorrow.”

Sam quickly snatches the folder and grabs his brother with his other hand, dragging him away before the annoyance on his face can become verbal. If he learned one thing at Stanford it’s that you never get into an argument with the person in charge of paperwork. Castiel hurriedly follows.

“So where are we sleeping?” Dean grumbles after a few moments, pulling out of Sam’s grasp. He plucks the folder away before anyone else can check and quickly flips through the papers. His eyes narrow. Uncaring about their position (in the middle of the opening thruway, surrounded by orcs and elves and bustling humanity), he stops. This can’t be right.

“This is so unfair.”

It’s the third time Charlie has heard the muttered phrase in the past half hour. She blearily opens her eyes, picks up an M&M, and throws it at her Handmaiden, who for some reason is awake and polishing his sword’s scabbard with unhealthy intensity. It connects against his head with satisfying force for its size. He looks up. “Either tell me what’s wrong or stop griping so I can sleep.”

“Sam gets to share a bed with Cas!” Dean’s face is comically distraught, and if Charlie didn’t know how much of a Big Deal Cas is to Dean she’d laugh. She pauses. Considers. And laughs anyway.

Dean grimaces and throws the offending candy back. Charlie manages to duck and it thuds against the tent wall. “You’re not helping.”

“And you’re overreacting. They aren’t sharing a bed, they don’t even have a bed! They’re sharing a tent, because they’re both knights and need to be stationed together. At least they’re not with strangers.”

Dean falls back onto his cot, a luxury granted him from his position as Handmaiden. “The tent’s small though, their bedrolls are probably really close. And Cas is a restless sleeper, he might roll into Sam’s space.”

A moment passes, then “Charlie!” Dean’s upright again, eyes wider than ever. His heart feels like it’s dropped into his stomach. “They could be unconsciously spooning right now!”

There’s nothing to be done but check for himself. Dean scrambles to his feet and pushes through the tent flap, leaving behind Charlie, who considers following for a moment but decides it’s not worth putting on pants (not much is). She can always ask Sam for the humiliating details in the morning.

Dean dashes across the camp, dodging the few merrymakers still up and about at this late hour. The knights’ section is nearby and it takes him less than a minute to find Sam and Cas’ tent. A faint shine emanates from slits around the flaps, indicating the occupants are not, in fact, asleep yet. Dean doesn’t notice, too caught up in horrible images of horror.

“What are you doing?!” Dean shouts as he bursts into the tent. If Sam and Cas had been asleep, this would have been the moment Dean got instinctively attacked by two hair-trigger warriors and found himself pinned to the ground with a knife against his throat in the time it took his eyes to adjust to the darkness. It would have been embarrassing and lead to Dean getting the stink eye from his family for at least three weeks.

Fortunately Sam and Cas are not asleep, nor are they spooning. Unfortunately the sight that greets Dean is much worse.

“Ghah,” Dean chokes. His face feels hot. His everywhere feels hot. Did someone sneak a space heater in here? Is he having a stroke?

“Dean,” Cas says, turning to face the opening. It puts his leather-clad body in profile and Dean chokes again. “Why are you here? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”

Absolutely nothing is wrong. Castiel, former Angel of the Lord and current sexual bane of Dean’s existence, is wearing leather. And chainmail. And a sword that hangs by his hips so naturally it’s a taunting example of seductive competence. Dean takes a second to curse himself for not getting Cas into medieval cosplay earlier.

“...I’m going to leave.” Unnoticed until now, Sam unfolds his legs and gets up, grabbing his unopened duffel as he slips out the door. He shudders as he makes his way to Charlie’s tent. Knowing something will happen and having to see it take place are two very different things. He’s going to be dealing with the knowledge of another confirmed Destiel kink for months.

Back in the tent, Dean has finally stopped gaping. He steps closer and grabs his boyfriend’s hands. “You up for sharing a bed tonight sunshine?”

Castiel raises an eyebrow and glances at the two bedrolls, comfortably far apart on either side of the tent. “There aren’t any beds here, Dean. If you’re referring to sex though, you know I'm always amenable.”

He plans to continue that thought, bringing up their relative public location and the need to rest before the battle in the morning, but before he can Dean lunges forward, arms wrapping around Castiel’s waist and mouth pressing against his own. And, well...Castiel has always found it hard to say no to Dean.

“You’re so hot Sir Castiel,” Dean mumbles as they stumble to Cas’ side of the tent and sink onto his bedding. He refuses to explain what he means by that, but he also makes Castiel keep his bracers on all night and Castiel gets the idea. It seems their costume drawer will be getting another outfit.

They both miss the morning strategy meeting.

Castiel still doesn’t know what Moondoor is.

He definitely wants to come back next year.

[baredwolf]

Sacrifice

Prompt: I don’t want to sacrifice our friendship/Witches! (not witches) - TGFWSH Week 2 | Fandom: Supernatural | Pairing: Dean/Castiel | Rating: M

A/N: I decided to respond to the prompt with a poem! This is Castiel’s perspective, and he’s a sap. I bet he’d actually write this and read it to Dean later when they’re a disgustingly sappy couple (and Dean would totally like it, he’s a sap too. Gross).

There are some things that are worth it And others that are not Yet somehow when it comes to you I tend to lose the plot

Our friendship is the only thing That matters much to me But now this curse has come about Those witches got to me

It would be quite straightforward though If I could sacrifice Our friendship to relieve this ache You could just fuck me (twice)

I feel without a single doubt How to undo this curse Yet witches are nowhere around And it is growing worse

My skin is heated warm, itching A need I cannot scratch The remedy so simple, but It cannot come to that

My friend you must not leave my side Your absence makes me cry In pain and need I cannot quench Alone, although I try

At last, I think you understand Although still I do not My friend, it should not come to this For you I’ll bear the lot

The cursed object has made me A slave to its demand The only cure is sex and so This curse has forced my hand

I might choose death, left on my own If you were not willing Yet you seem to want this too, a Fantasy fulfilling

Your hands are gentle as they glide So cool over my skin I cannot help myself: I moan I yield and let you in

The act itself is rushed and fast Practical to a fault And soon I cool and breathe once more In my tears I taste salt

And when you have held me closely In our own private world And you have given me soft words, I find myself then bold

I risk it all: everything I bet it all on this I draw you close and taste your mouth My fate sealed with a kiss

But you: oh you are willing! How? My hopeless heart I blame You kiss me back, again, again You plainly feel the same

[gallavichfanficlibrary]

hiya babes, do you know of any fics where ian is the one to make a grand gesture, not the other way around? or just some good fics about ian doing some good acts of service type stuff for mickey? preferably post s10 or s11!! i’m just super sick of the shameless writers making mickey do all of the heavy lifting when it comes to lovey stuff in the later seasons. thanks!!

We do love a grand gesture! With either Ian or Mickey making it — it’s all about the love! But sometimes it seems to us that people are quick to overlook all the ways Ian has been showing his love for Mickey in the show. To get our point across, we’ll link this meta about Ian’s love languages, a great meta about "Ian fell first but Mickey fell harder" phrase and another one about Ian’s ways of showing love.

And here are some fics with Ian pulling out the stops:

I didn't kill him...did you? - Now, they were married. For real. [..] Nobody could get between them now. Not even Terry fucking Milkovich. And he was trying pretty fucking hard, too.

My Evermore - After five years of marriage, Ian wants to do something extra special for their anniversary so with the help of his family, he sets Mickey on a scavenger hunt through the city where they fell in love.

sideways - Ian attempts to make amends. Mickey tries to stay strong.

i love you so (i’ll eat you whole)  - 5 times ian uses the love languages + 1 time mickey reveals his.

One of a Kind - A couple of months after their wedding day, Mickey breaks his fingers on his left hand, and has to go to the hospital. The doctor who is treating Mickey is homophobic.

And a couple of AUs that include acts of service:

Paragraphs - Ian has an opportunity to be a reading tutor for ex-convicts. He meets one in particular that catches his eye.

You deserve good things - Mickey has been out on parole for a year and is finally feeling good about himself--feeling free. However, he soon discovers how easily everything can all come crashing down around him when a new parolee walks through the door.

Cubicle Wars - As a seasoned security expert, Mickey has protected all kinds of high-end merchandise, but he never thought his cubicle, or his heart, would need protecting too.

There are also a few on this list for you to check out as well.

[andimeantittosting]

This is for @mittensmorgul‘s Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt - Round 4.

Number One Best Brother (ao3)

Sam had thought it was bad when Dean and Cas were fighting, but somehow they're even more ridiculous when they're not.

Sam Winchester deserves a medal, he decides. Number One, Best, Most Patient Brother for All Eternity, or something, because this. Well, this.

Honestly, it had been bad enough when they were fighting, what with their ridiculous silent treatment, and painfully transparent sniping, and Sam stuck in the middle like some overgrown child of divorce. But then they'd made up, and the situation between Sam's brother and his boyfriend best friend angel has attained stratospheric levels of ludicrousness.  

"Um, are those two alright?" A witness had asked him just that morning, when Dean and Cas had been so absorbed in their whole soul-deep staring thing that they had seemingly forgotten the interview they were there to conduct.

"Way to be unprofessional, guys," Sam had chided them afterwards on their way back to the car.

"Sorry," Dean had said, not looking sorry at all, walking so close to Cas that their shoulders bumped every few steps.

They spend the afternoon trying to research, but get nowhere. Cas hasn't turned a page in ages, distracted, if the words he's mouthing are any indication, by counting Dean's freckles. Dean is at least pretending to read, but when his boot connects sharply with Sam's shin, he realizes with dawning horror, that Dean is trying to play footsie with the angel.

"Right," he says hurriedly, "I'm gonna go grab us a pizza."  

Sam is not expecting Dean to push abruptly away from the table, snatching his car keys from Sam's hands. "I'll come with you."

"I didn't want to say this in front of Cas," Dean says, as they slide into the car, "but I think I'm under some kind of love spell."

Sam's eyebrows go up. "A love spell," he repeats. "To make you fall in love with Cas?"

"Shut up," Dean mutters, concentrating way too hard on pulling out of the motel parking lot. "Okay, yes. I can't stop looking at him, or touching. I can't concentrate on anything when he's in the room. Even now, I keep wanting to turn this car around and go running back to him, so yeah, a love spell."

How is this my life, Sam wonders, because there are levels of denial, and then there is Dean Winchester, and Sam is just done.

"Look Dean," he sighs. "I know you don't do feelings, or whatever, but have you considered that maybe you're just in love with Cas? All on your own, no magic or hoodoo involved?"

Sam is expecting many things, scoffing denial, anger, the sudden blare of the radio to drown out the need to talk. What he's not expecting is the incredulous look Dean shoots him, as if Sam's suddenly been reduced to the intellectual capacity of an eight-year-old.

"Yes, Sammy," Dean speaks slowly, as if explaining himself to a toddler. "I know I'm in love with Cas. I've known for years. Which is why I know that this is not normal. I know what being in love with Cas feels like, okay?" He pulls up in front of the pizza place, and parks, but makes no move to exit the car. Finally, he bursts out laughing. "You thought I didn't know? Gotta give me some credit, Sam. Have you ever considered maybe you're in love with Cas? Well, no shit. Do I need to tell you that I'm pretty sure Cas has been whammied, too?"

Sam thought back over the past couple of days, and yeah, maybe Cas's behaviour had been strange. His social awkwardness, and devotion to Dean notwithstanding, Cas was rarely dumb. "Well now that you mention it."

"You seriously didn't notice?" Dean scoffed, climbing out of the car. "Dude's been acting weirder than me."

"The two of you are always weird," Sam retorted, following his brother towards the smell of tomatoes and cheese. "But, uh, you know he loves you, too, right?"

Dean snorts. "Sure, Sammy. And I'm a ballerina." He shakes his head, pulling open the pizza place's door.  

Sam definitely deserves a medal.

[mittensmorgul]

Hey Mittens, is your great fic scavenger hunt still going on? To be more precise, can I still submit a story for round 1?? Yeah I know, I'm extremely late to the show. Actually I didn't intend to write a story at all, but the idea wouldn't let go of me. So now I have a story...

Ah! Hi! I’ve actually been meaning to make a post about this... I’m gonna borrow your question to get a little bit of TGFWSH housekeeping taken care of here.

I’ve been playing catch-up with my entire life for the last few weeks, and I’ve just been swamped. I still have two weekly wrap-up posts to make, including reading and reblogging all the submitted stories for both of those rounds. I’ve sort of put the whole thing on temporary hiatus at least until I’ve had a chance to catch up.

That said, I consider all the previously posted rounds to be open in perpetuity. If you see one of the prompts and have an awesome story for it, PLEASE WRITE IT! Then let me know, so I can read it, flail about it, and add it to the appropriate masterlist. 

I’ve been trying to come up with a slightly different sort of challenge for future rounds, but I will always welcome new stories for any of the previous rounds. Most of the reason I started doing the challenge in the first place was to prove just how many different stories you can tell based on the same trope; that nothing’s “stale” or “cliche” if you take that trope and make it your own. They’re cliche for a reason, basically. :D

So yes! Absolutely! Please do write for any of the prompts you like.

I really need to budget out a half a day to read everything from rounds 5 and 6. I AM ISSUING A FORMAL APOLOGY TO EVERYONE WHO’S WRITTEN A STORY I HAVEN”T REBLOGGED YET! I swear it’s still on my to do list. I haven’t forgotten...

[mi6-cafe]

End of Year Survey Results

Thank you to everyone who took the end of year survey! We had forty total respondents, 55% of whom joined the Cafe community from 2015-2020, and a whopping 45% of you who came to us in 2021!  

Favorite events from the past year included 007 Fest, WIP Wednesdays, Discord readalongs, Festive Fandom Fiesta, and watch parties. 

Popular requests included more collaborative events, more introductions between fandom creators, and more how-to workshops. We will be starting an introduction tag game and we have a couple of exciting collaborative event ideas planned, including the Riverhouse Remix event! The workshops are strongly dependent on people wanting to host; if you have a skill you would love to teach others, let us know. We also look forward to involving a lot more people in Supportive Sunday recs later this year as well. 

On a technical note, we got some feedback that tumblr’s tracked tags aren’t working right, so from now on we’ll request everyone who wants a reblog to make sure to at the @mi6-cafe​ directly so it will show up in our notes. 

We also asked everyone for fun moments during Bond fandom, and we want to share those with you now! 

Fun fandom moments/highlights from this year 

No particular moment, but I loved seeing new people join our community this year!

Someone whose writing I adore offered to beta read for me. I'm a newbie writer, a total nobody in the fandom. I feel incredibly lucky and grateful to have their support.

I'll get back to you when I remember (winning fest is definitely one!)

First Fest, what a blast!

Joining 007 fest, and not simply wondering "what just happened?!" There was stress, but it was also fun, the most productive I've been in years, and apparently since. The atmosphere of everyone together on it was brilliant

I dunno i just had a really good time overall during 007fest and it all felt extremely well put together!

all of it!  you guys are hilarious, and there are some wonderful moments of laughter.  the fest was great and watch parties, readalongs, and reading all the amazing stuff you guys create is fantastic!

I joined fandom this year, so—meeting everyone!

the awakening and expansion after NTTD opened was very exciting. there are so many years between each bond film so those phases are very precious. 

Not specifically. The Cafe and fic writers have been the catalyst for me to become more involved in fandom in general (via Tumblr and Ao3). I’ve been reading fic for years but never got as involved in supporting content until I joined this fandom mainly due to the passionate, kind, and organized community I’ve found. So my highlight is really seeing each month’s event/Supportive Saturday and interacting with members of the fandom. Thank you all for your hard work this year!

Just got into it this year and I really like seeing the wip Wednesday snippets! It just has such a positive, fun, industrious vibe. Like yeah we wanna see your drafts and things when they're not perfect so we can cheer you on!

How KIND everyone has been welcoming a new comer!

Fest was really fun this year.  I ended up doing a lot of "art" for the scavenger hunt and that was fun.  I missed the AU prompt table.  I was writing ID basically all year and interacting with readers on that which was fun.  But really, it was collaborating on ideas for Fest things.  Oh, and I heard my story being read at readalong which was surreal

When we did Quiplash randomly that was SO fun!! I also have so many fun moments from just talking to people in the slack, it was so nice and funny <3

We love you, Bond fandom! You are a creative, energetic, amazing community, and we are so grateful to be modding for you at the MI6 Cafe!  

[quiescentcastiel]

*AC/DC screech* BACK IN CRACK!!! (ok that sounded better in my head. also it’s actually fairly canon-ish) (side note: suck it metatron)

Round 5 of @mittensmorgul‘s Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt pairs the tropes “Birds of a Feather“ and “Dean Winchester Blames Himself For Everything Ever“

Dean reached out to Cas who was standing, hunched shoulders shaking, in the middle of the bunker’s kitchen.

“We can get through this,” he said, “It’s not like you haven’t been human before, right?”

“But this is it now.” Cas’ voice was rough but barely above a whisper. “I’m human now, until I die.”

“Cas…” Dean gently turned Cas around to face him, but the angel couldn’t meet his eye. Sighing, Dean instead acted upon what he couldn’t put into words and enfolded Cas in his arms. Cas’ trembling became more pronounced, and his sobs echoed throughout the kitchen.

In the days following, both Sam and Dean did their best to acclimatize Cas to being human again and make him feel comfortable. Neither Cas nor Dean spoke about what’d happened that day.

A week had passed by since Cas turned human, and he still couldn’t seem to figure out how to work the bunker’s coffee maker. When he went to see if Dean would give him a hand, Cas found him in his bedroom, laying on his bed with his headphones on. He didn’t open his eyes, even when Cas called his name a couple times.

Cas walked over to Dean and gently laid his hand on Dean’s shoulder. In an instant, Dean’s eyes flashed open, and he had Cas’ wrist in a tight grip. But as he realized who it was, Dean relaxed and pushed his headphones down to rest on his neck.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Naw, it was my bad,” said Dean, sitting up and shifting over to the edge of the bed. “I should know better than to listen to music loud enough that I can’t hear who’s sneaking up on me.”

“What were you listening to?” Cas asked, now unsure if coffee was a good enough excuse to bother Dean.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“No, just Yes.”

“Who?”

“No, not the Who, Yes,” Dean insisted. He looked up at Cas who wore a mask of consternation, and his face split into a wide grin. “I’m sorry, buddy. It’s not fair of me to play Who’s On First with a man who doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

Cas realized that Dean had just been messing with him, and he sighed. “There’s so much I don’t know... so many human customs and such. I just-”

“It’s ok, Cas. Here, I’ll teach you.” He patted the bed next to him. “Your first lesson’ll be on good music.”

Cas sat next to Dean, not close enough that they were touching but enough that the air between them seemed to tingle. Dean placed the headphones over Cas’ ears.

“The band’s name is Yes. Here, lemme start the song from the beginning.”

They fell into a sort of routine of daily ‘lessons’, as Dean jokingly called them. He played Cas his music, made him read various books, and showed him all sorts of movies. Hell, Dean even took him shopping to get a new wardrobe filled with flannel and second-hand jeans.

Cas hung out with Sam too, but they found that they didn’t have quite as much in common. Cas groaned and complained the few times that Sam had tried to wake him up for a morning run, and Sam could only grimace at Cas’ unhealthy taste in food.

There was one thing neither Sam or Dean had quite touched though, and that was hunting. The brothers had hit a few small cases without him, always hurried along by Dean who didn’t like leaving Cas alone in the bunker too long, despite Sam arguing that some space would do him good. Cas had never asked to come along, though he’d been perfectly willing to let Dean teach him how to shoot and tell him all the ways to kill ghosts.

A couple months after Cas turned human, Sam found a case in a small town a couple of states over.

He explained to Dean; “Some guy took a nosedive into a port-a-potty, died, then a couple hours later was reported robbing a dispensary the next town over.”

Dean’s ‘disgusted’ face was growing stronger and stronger.

“Sounds like a shape-shifter,” said Cas who had just walked into the room.

“That’d...” Sam looked up, surprised, “that’d be my guess.”

Dean, still thinking about dying in a port-a-potty, gave a little shudder and turned to Cas.

“Hey... you wanna come along?” he asked. It was sudden and un-thought-through, and they all knew it.

“I... I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Sure you are,” said Dean. “Anyways, hunting’s always a good way to get back on your feet.”

Sam’s voice was less confident. “Shifters are usually a pretty small case, I suppose.”

Cas gave them a tentative smile. “Alright.”

Much to Sam’s chagrin, Cas and Dean sang along to Dean’s rock tapes all the way to the case. After they’d arrived, they checked into a motel late at night and all immediately crashed.

Sam was the first one to wake up the next morning, but he was loud enough getting up that he woke everyone else up too. Once dressed and in their fed suits, they all stopped into a small diner for some breakfast. Both Cas and Dean ordered a cheeseburger, while Sam got a fruit smoothie.

“Guys,” Sam complained, “burgers aren’t a breakfast food!”

Dean rolled his eyes, and Cas said, “As far as I’ve learned, anything can be a breakfast food.”

“Yeah, if you want to die at 40.”

Cas frowned. “Anyways, if you’ll excuse me, you two were taking too long in the bathroom this morning, and I needed to use it.” He got up from the diner booth and walked off.

After watching Cas step into the bathroom, Sam immediately turned to Dean.

“Don’t you think it’s strange how much Cas is like you now that he’s human?”

Dean scoffed. “He’s not like me! I mean, maybe we have some same interests, but that’s because what I like is cool.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Hey,” said Dean, “just because you’re jealous that he’s not into your healthy green crap doesn’t mean this is about me.”

“He’s exactly like you!” Sam exclaimed.

“We’ve been hanging out; he’s probably just picking up on some of my habits.”

“He’s practically imitating you.”

Dean looked meaningfully over Sam’s shoulder to signal to him Cas’ return, but whispered fiercely at the last minute; “No he’s not!”

Cas slid into the booth next to Dean, and Sam smiled innocently at him. “So Cas, you’ve been human a little while now; you’ve experienced some human things.” Sam waited for Cas’ nod, flicked Dean a condescending look, then continues with, “so what’s your favorite song?”

Cas, appearing completely ignorant of what’s going on between the brothers, considered for a moment before replying. “It’s a tie between Zep’s Ramble On and Traveling Riverside Blues.”

The smile on Sam’s face widens. “Favorite food?” he asked.

“Pie!” Cas answered immediately.

Dean frowned. He could see he was loosing this argument, so he decided to ask his own questions. “Favorite kinda car?”

“The Impala, of course!”

“Well,” that was a dumb question, “obviously! How about you’re favorite color?”

Cas tilted his head a little. “I kinda like pink.”

“See!” Dean jumped on this. “He’s nothing like me.”

Sam raised an eyebrow and said nothing more than, “Uh-huh.”

“Dean?” asked Cas. Fortunately, the waitress interrupted Cas with their orders, and nothing more was said.

Sam was right; the case was a small one. Shapeshifters could sometimes be tricky, but this one was stupid enough that the boys were able to track it to an old warehouse pretty quickly. They all split up in hopes of being able to ferret out what was currently an 80 year old man.

But after looking around for a couple minutes, none of them could find any sign of the shifter. Sam, Dean, and Cas all met back up in the middle of the warehouse.

“Did you see him?”

“No.”

“You, Cas?”

“Not a sign.”

“Dean! Sam!” Cas yelled, limping around a stack of boxes.

Immediately, Sam and Dean drew their weapons and stepped back from the first Cas.

“Oh, Cas,” Dean groaned. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t’ve made everyone split up; I just figured that this shifter wasn’t quick enough to pull this. Hell, if I hadn’t made you come along with us you wouldn’t be in this mess. It’s all my fault.”

He looked up at the first Cas who said, “Dean... It’s all good.”

He looked over at the second Cas who said, “It’s not your fault, Dean. It’s mine.”

Dean whirled around and shot the first Cas.

“Dean?!” protested Sam.

Cas, the real one, said in a small voice, “How did you know?”

“Cas, you’re just like me; You blame yourself for everything.”

After they got back home, Dean went to talk to Cas. He found him sitting at the table in the kitchen, looking tired.

“Here we are again,” Dean said, the first reference to that night that either of them had made. Cas looked up, a small smile on his face. Dean sat down opposite him. “I should’ve been more careful with your life. You’re human now, and I could’ve been wrong.”

“You were right though; I am too much like you. I just thought that, being human now, if I was more like you, I wouldn’t be such a burden.”

“Cas...” Dean sighed. “You know I care about you no matter who you are.”

“It’s just the last time I ended up here in the kitchen I just felt so different, so out of place. I thought if I was more like you, you wouldn’t want me to be an angel again. I lost my grace because of how much I love you, and I’m not turning back.”

Dean spoke quietly, “Of course I love you too, Cas, no matter what. But I don’t understand, are you saying it’s my fault you lost your grace?”

Cas’ eyes widened. “It’s not your fault, Dean. I did it for you. I made my choice; I want to be human so that I can be with you, so I don’t have to watch you grow old without me.”

Dean smiled and took Cas’ hand in his. They were very much alike.

“You weren’t lying about pie being your favorite food though, right?” Dean asked. Cas just laughed and shook his head.

[cosmicstardustcastiel]

Let Sleeping Moose Lie

My entry for Round One of the Great Fan Fiction Scavenger Hunt: Round One

Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel

Pairing: Suggestive Beginnings of Dean/Castiel

“There is only one bed,” Dean said with wide eyes as he took in the sparse hotel room with it’s typical accommodations, except the distinct lack of a second bed. 

“I heard you the first three times Dean. The hotel was booked.” Sam said with a sigh as he threw his duffel bag on the floor..   

“I’ll say it again. There is only ONE bed, and three of us. Have you forgotten how to math, Sammy?” Dean growled out, glancing over his shoulder nervously at Castiel. He’d been decidely human for only a few months and this was the first hunt they’d all gone on together since then. Dean had wanted to give him time to adjust but Cas was insistent he was ready to start hunting again. 

Dean could still not get used to the lack of a trench coat. It hurt his soul a little to see Castiel wearing a hoodie. It was decidely not nearly as intimidating as the trench coat but Cas had to ditch the trench coat when he became human and Dean hadn’t asked him what happened to it. Seeing Cas in converse and a hoodie made him look less like a millenia old Angel and more like a hip dad jogger. Dean was going to buy the nerdy little guy a new coat as soon as he had the chance. 

Castiel looked nervously at the bed and bit his lip, shuffling his feet on the ground. “I got quite accustomed to sleeping on the floor at the Gas N Sip. It would be no sacrifice to sleep on the floor here so you and Sam can have it, Dean.” 

Dean gritted his teeth, biting back the guilt he was still feeling over Castiel’s previous homelessness. "It will be fine, Cas. We can all share. It’ll be like one big slumber party, except with three grown dudes…” Dean sighed out as he rolled his eyes. “We can braid Sam’s hair, have a pillow fight, and tell ghost stories.”

 "I’m sensing sarcasm…“ Castiel said with a quirk of his eyebrow, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

 Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as if in prayer. "Yes, Cas, sarcasm. It’ll be fine, though. Maybe at least you don’t snore like Sam.”

 Sam crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “Like you’re such a great bed sharer. You kick in your sleep, like a damn mule.”

 "I really can sleep on the floor…“ Castiel mumbled out timidly. Dean shut his eyes again and took a deep breath. Cas’ self-confidence had been shot to Hell since he became human. He wasn’t used to him being so soft spoken. He would do almost anything to have his self-confident Angel back.

"Damn it, Cas. You’re sleeping in the bed. You can sleep between Sam and I, because I apparently kick…” Dean said as he dragged his feet to the bathroom, tired from the day’s work.

When he came out, Sam took his turn. Dean had changed into his typical baggy plaid pajama pants and t-shirt. He sat down on the only chair surrounding the scarred up cheap, laminate table shoved into the corner of the room. He looked over to watch Cas. He was staring at the TV, sitting in the middle of the bed with his legs criss-crossed. Cas leaned over and rested his head on his fists while he watched and Dean sighed. How could the little dorky guy be so cute…Cute? What. No. Not cute.

 When Sam came back changed, Castiel slid off the bed, grabbed his bag, and took his turn in the bathroom. Sam sat down on the left side of the bed and fiddled with his phone. “You sure you’re okay to share? I can go get some blankets from the desk and make a pallet on the floor. One of us can sleep down there.” Sam decidely did not make eye contact with his clueless brother.

 Dean looked over at Sam with overly wide eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be okay? Totally, absolutely okay with sharing a bed with you and Cas. Why?”

 Sam bit his lip and shook his head at his phone, amused. “No reason.”

 When Castiel walked out of the bathroom, Dean’s nails dug into the table top. He had on black cotton pajama pants that hugged his hips and a grey t-shirt that looked like it was taunting him by defining every muscle in the ex-angel’s chest. Dean felt eyes on him and Sam was smirking and putting his eyes back to his phone. The older brother glared at Sam and then looked back to Cas. There was absolutely nothing inappropriate about his sleeping attire, except that Dean was used to layers, lots of layers, separating Dean from Castiel’s body.

 Dean tried not to hyperventilate as they all crawled into bed. Dean put his back to Castiel, who was lying in the middle of the bed on his back. He laid himself right at the edge of the bed, as far away from Cas as he could get without falling off. It didn’t take long for Sam, in all his annoyingness, to fall straight asleep and start snoring. Dean sighed and he felt Castiel fidget at his back.

 "Cas, you still awake?“ Dean whispered in the dark, knowing the answer.

"Yes, Dean. Sam is a very loud snorer,” Castiel said with a sigh in his gravelly voice.

“I told you. This is what I’ve endured for years…” Dean said with a soft laugh, rolling over onto his back and looking over at Castiel, their eyes locking for a moment then looking over at the snoring figure shaking the bed. The space was tight enough that their arms brushed unavoidably.

 "I’m sorry you have to share with us both, Dean. I know it’s very…uncomfortable this way.“

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "It’s no big deal, buddy.” Suddenly Sam kicked his leg and Cas was shoved into Dean’s side. “Shit!” Dean hissed as he scooted to the very, very edge of the bed.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Castiel pushed against Sam’s leg, which was now straddled across half the mattress. “Okay, I see now why Crowley calls him Moose. Damn. I can’t get him to move. I miss my Angel strength.”

 "Asshole said I was the one who kicked…“ Dean grumbled.

"I’ll just…” Cas got on his side with his back to Sam and almost curled into the younger WInchester, trying to give Dean the space he knew he needed. Sam elbowed Castiel in the face and Cas huffed. “You know what…I’m sleeping on the floor.” Cas sat up and went to crawl down the bed when Dean grabbed Castiel’s ankle through the hem of his pants.

 "Cas,“ Dean growled out, "I believe you have spent quite enough time sleeping on floors because of me. Get your ass back up here and lie down. It’s fine.” Castiel looked at Dean and scowled as he came back to lie down as close to Sam as he could. Dean was tempted to tell Castiel his intimidating face was less intimidating without the threat of smiting but he thought better of it. Sam then sprawled out more, flinging an arm over Cas’ chest. Cas gave a strangled plea for help to Dean. Dean kicked Sam in the shins hard, but he didn’t budge. “Friggin moose… I’ll rescue you…Hold on.” Dean grumbled, prying his brother’s arm off of Cas. “Come on. Just scoot over here by me. It’s totally fine. Sam’s going to smother you if you don’t.”

 Cas scooted over closer to Dean and Sam settled down, keeping his appendages to himself. Castiel sighed and stared at the ceiling, and Dean opened one eye to watch him, since he was now turned to face him. Tomorrow they would find a damn hotel with two beds. At least Cas was a considerate bed sharer, unlike Sam, who Dean was considering smothering with a pillow as his snores increased in volume.

“If I smother Sam with a pillow, will you help me bury the body?” Dean whispered, winking at Cas as he laughed.

“It won’t be the first body I have helped you bury, Dean…"Cas said with a serious face.

 "What a special friendship…” Dean snickered. Castiel smiled at Dean, his eyes wide with sleeplessness.

 "You have a lot of trouble sleeping don’t you? I can’t imagine how weird it is….“

 "Exceedingly….weird. Being human is much different than I imagined…” Castiel said with a sigh.

 "Yeah, it’s a big ball of awkward alright…Damn it Sam!“ Sam again kicked out and shoved Castiel right up onto Dean’s side, and Dean scrambled back in a panic, landing in a heap on the floor, looking up at Castiel like he was the culprit.

 "Dean!” Cas whispered as he peered over the side of the bed, his disheveled hair making Dean grin despite himself.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes and Sam’s snoring increased. “You know what, grab the cover and pillows. Screw, Sam. We can both sleep on the damn floor. Less chance of injury by hooved mammal.”

Dean arranged a little nest of blankets and pillows and he and Cas fell quickly to sleep. When they had settled down and fallen asleep, their limbs reached out for one another unconsciously. Dean’s arm snaked around Cas’ waist and Castiel’s hands gripped onto the front of Dean’s shirt, seeking familiarity and comfort. Sam cracked his wide awake eyes open and grinned. He crawled down to the end of the bed, snapped a photo as blackmail…or proof for the two idiots, then he stretched out across the mattress he got all to himself. Win Win situation all around. Never let it be said Sam couldn’t act.

@mittensmorgul

I'm late to the party but wanted to finish it regardless :)