Rated: G | AO3 link | Words: 2044 | No Beta | Tags: Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Post-Canon
Summary: Farmer Reynolds from up the road is a grumpy old man who hates "city folk". Dean and Cas learned to avoid him when they can, but while taking a walk one day, Dean sees the man needs some help (despite his stubbornness).
EXCERPT
The man’s face, now and angry purple-red, made him look like he was an inch from keeling over. His dog had gone inside at some point to escape the heat.
Dean sighed and pointed at Miracle with a quiet “stay” before heading up to the old man.
“Do you need help with that?”
Something clanged off the engine and fell to the ground and Reynolds swore.
“Not from the likes of you.”
Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes.
“We aren’t contagious.”
Reynolds laughed and spat again.
“Never said y’were,” Reynolds said, yanking on something else. “But city folk got soft hands and I don’t need y’breakin’ it more.”
Dean frowned as he watched. Was “city folk” a euphemism?
“I’m not from the city.”
Reynolds laughed and looked over to him. Dean wished he didn’t. The man looked grotesque in the sunlight with sweating pouring from his bald head and cap.
“Y’got a pretty face, new clothes and shoes, and livin’ with another man. You’re city folk.”
Dean sighed as another piece of metal fell from the tractor.
“I can a hundred percent guarantee you I am not from the city, and I do actually know a thing or two about fixing engines,” Dean pointed out, wondering why he was trying so hard. Half of him wanted to turn around and leave Reynolds to it, hoping he didn’t have a heart attack.
But the guy was beginning to shake and was probably overheating. Reynolds was probably close to getting heatstroke.
Rated: T | AO3 link | Words: 2,447 | Beta: @crab-full-of-rocks | Tags:
Domestic Fluff, Christmas, Bad Cooking, Established Relationship, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Human Castiel (Supernatural)
Third fic for @winchester-reload‘s winter writing challenge.
Cas tries to make a special Christmas drink — but his bad luck streak in the kitchen continues.
--
Excerpt:
Cas panicked for half a second before remembering that pre-packaging the spices was a suggestion, not a requirement.
Sighing, annoyed with himself regardless, Cas unscrewed the lid of the cinnamon sticks. Or, at least he tried to. Something prevented it from turning the final quarter it needed — almost like a rock had gotten wedged in there. Frowning, he turned harder, face growing hot over the heat of the stove and simmering cider. It smelled great with the oranges at least.
With one final yank, the top unscrewed. But Cas’s hands, slightly sweaty while working over the pot, nearly dropped the glass jar.
He saved it just in time for nine of the cinnamon sticks to plop into the mixture instead of just four.
“Shit,” he mumbled to himself, agitation growing. This was supposed to be easy.
Rated: T | AO3 Link | 2103 words | lightly edited | Tags: Pining, Texting, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
--
The morning after the shit show, Sam wanted someone to talk to.
He spent a night walking halfway between sleep and consciousness then staring at his wall again. Eventually, thoughts that were tumbling around began to blur together, melting lines and crashing into each other. By the time morning came, Sam surviving those harrowing overnight hours, the monster in his head grew to an enormous size. Sam needed to relieve that pressure.
But he didn’t want to talk to Dean again. Sam didn’t want platitudes.
He grabbed his phone off the end table and typed out a quick message, not wanting to venture out of his room just yet:
Can we talk? Not feeling too hot
Sam fell back asleep waiting for a response.
Dean only slept because he knocked back a few bottles and kept his music on a low buzz to drown out any creepings thoughts threatening to invade his space.
His phone sat on the dresser, alone and abandoned, but not turned off.
Just in case.
The last messages:
There was a cardigan and glasses.
Wouldn’t swear
Nerd
If it wasn’t so serious, yes. Big nerd.
Anyone choosing to wear a cardigan should be treated as a threat
This was inspired by this beautiful artwork done by the talented @winchester-reload, a commissioned piece for @ltleflrt.
Rated E | 2151 words | AO3 link | Unbetad | Light bondage, lingerie
When Cas gained the confidence to take the reigns into his own hands, Dean learned to love new things he’d never thought he’d be into before.
When Cas first took out the blue tie he hadn’t worn in a year, a shiver of excitement ran down Dean’s spine. It was something they talked once or twice but never acted on. But they had a motel room all to themselves with no neighbors or brothers in sight. The air was thick with humidity and heat despite the downpours outside their window and beating on the roof of their room. They had the sliding glass door open to let in some sort of breeze but none came. It was like they were in some sultry, summer dome. Cas and Dean didn’t care to go spelunking in the woods and nearby caves for the witch that brought them out to upstate New York, and decided to take the day for themselves.
So why not be a little creative?
Dean already packed one of their favorite things for the trip: the pink, lacey, highly artsy lingerie panty that he ordered online from Victoria’s Secret. He had Cas next to him while he browsed the computer. It was a joint effort and consensus. They had to be careful with them though. Not that they were dCascate, but if Cas even had a hint Dean was wearing them outside their bedroom then it was hard to keep hands off each other. That was a dangerous game to play, but sometimes in public it could be fun.
They were in the middle of breakfast at a diner that morning when the skies opened up in a desperate attempt to kill off the heat wave. Dean had the pink lingerie on, and deliberately wore a pair of pants slightly too big. He intentionally left his wallet in the car just so he could get up from the table mid-meal so Cas would see a small flash of pink. The rest of the meal was so tense, they couldn’t even make eye contact.
But, Mother Nature decided to grant them a reprieve and the rain came cascading down in a consistent tropical downpour that gave them a perfect excuse to not go find the witch. Dean had intended the lingerie as a means of motivation to get the job done fast that day, kill the bitch and get down to brass tacks. However, no hunt would be done that day.
There was no long build up, but judging by the dark look on Cas’s eyes as they got back in the car and drove back to the motel, they didn’t need it.
They were barely through the door when they were already going at each other, Cas’s hand scrambling at Dean’s belt and fly, barely a breath between them. Their heavy breathing matched in time with the rain surrounding them in a weird way. Dean let Cas travel wherever he wanted. Truth be told he was ready to go since the moment he woke up.
Lips traveled across jaw, neck, collarbone -- hands moved from Dean’s waist to under his shirt, breaking their contact for only a moment for it to come off. The belt fell to the floor with a dull thump and Dean didn’t even realize when his pants got there either because Cas had moved back to his mouth. Between harsh whispers of I love you and Fuck me now, Dean was pushed towards the bed, stepping out of the last of his clothing.
Cas didn’t follow. Instead, he pulled himself away and wandered over to his overnight bag, pulling out the damn tie.
Dean, on his back and propped up on his elbows, watched with his heart racing. The lingerie was already slipping off, not having enough room to fit both Dean’s body and his hard on. He already felt debauched and they hadn’t even done anything yet. The rain outside picked up, now a complete sheet of water. The smell of wet leaves and grass and a summer storm mixed with the humidity and anticipated sex.
Cas kept his eyes on Dean as he moved back to the bed. Dean, without having being told anything, scrambled backwards up to the pillows, threw them off the mattress, and grabbed a vertical bar on the headboard with each hand. His body was stretched out now, but not uncomfortably. Cas stood next him, taking in the sight while remaining completely dressed. Redness had crept up to his cheeks, giving away his composure.
Dean himself felt completely exposed and relished in it. A small wiggle of the hips against the bedspread, and the lingerie slid slightly down further, revealing more of the prize.
“What are you waiting for?”
Cas’s eyes snapped back to Dean’s face and he smiled.
The tie was long enough to wrap around Dean’s wrists and the two bars between his hands while still staying secure.
“Does that feel okay?” Cas asked, breathless. His face was fully flushed now, and Dean loved it.
Dean gave an experimental tug on the restraint and nodded. Instead of talking, he only bent his legs and let them drop open slightly. They’ve waited long enough.
It took Cas no time to disrobe, making it more a utilitarian task rather than voyeuristic. Clothes on the floor, lube in hand, and eagerness now getting the better of them, Cas climbed on top of the bed and moved Dean into a position he wanted.
It was strange for Dean. He wanted to reach out and touch the man in front of him but he couldn’t. All he could do was watch what was being done to him and feel. It felt strange, but incredible at the same time. At this age, he didn’t think sex would hold anymore surprises for him but here he was, tied to a motel bed with women’s lingerie on with a man who used to be a cosmic entity about to rail him. Life was full of surprises.
Skin on fire, and nerves shot, Dean couldn’t contain the moan that bubbled up when Cas pulled the lingerie down and off of one leg. Everything felt too much. The helplessness of not being able to use his arms or hands had Dean already at the brink. They’d have to do a round two because this one was going to go fast.
Cas didn’t touch Dean’s cock at all like he usually did in the beginning, making Dean whimper in frustration. Cas leaned over while his fingers sank into Dean and kissed him, either to shut him up or for reassurance.
The rain, a distant rumble of thunder, and both of their heavy breathing merged together in Dean’s mind as Cas continued to work him. It was rare Dean could get off with just fingers alone, especially if he couldn’t touch himself but in this case, he felt like he was nearing the edge too fast.
“Hey,” Dean mumbled tearing himself away from Cas’s mouth, “You gotta speed it up, I’m losing it down here.”
Without a word, Cas pulled back. He looked close too, and that delighted Dean. Legs pushed up, Cas settled squarely between them, slipping in without a breath from either of them. Cas went all the hilt, and Dean sighed with relief. He tried pulling his arms down to hold onto Cas but they remained where they were.
Right.
Dean was completely at Cas’s mercy. He couldn’t move his own hips to go faster, he couldn’t grip Cas in any way, and he couldn’t work himself in tandem with Cas. Another bolt of fire rippled down his body as Cas started working slow and rhythmically, matching the mood of their surroundings.
The storm outside was nearing them, and Dean saw a faint flash of lightning and heard a distant rumble of thunder bounce across the mountains around them. It was all so much.
When the wind picked up, so did Cas’s speed. At one point, he shifted his angle slightly and pulled almost all the way out, then sunk back in, hitting just the right spot. Dean couldn’t help the noise that erupted from him. Cas grinned, more wicked than before, and did it again. And again. And again.
Fast, fast, fast, slow. Fast, fast, fast, slow and deliberate. At one point, Cas stayed in and just circled his own hips. Dean closed his eyes at this point, overwhelmed. He could feel himself about to boil over but he wanted it to last so much longer.
Cas must have sensed Dean was close because he dropped the slow part from his routine and picked up the pace. Dean heard him trying to contain the moans and groans that would usually come during a hard fuck like this. It was a habit Cas had that Dean wanted to break.
Suddenly, a large crack of lightning and an earth shattering boom erupted around them. It was all too much.
Dean started to babble, muttering fuck me, fuck me, fuck me over and over again, spliced between intermittent whines. Eventually the words turned into close, close, close, and Dean arched his back slightly, trying to get closer. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t think -- he could barely talk.
The bars rattled behind him as he tried hard to break free so he could touch. The fear that he wouldn’t be able to come without being helped along was growing inside. He practically had one foot over the edge but didn’t know how to completely fall.
Cas seemed to sense this and leaned back over Dean, but this time went over to his ear.
“You look gorgeous,” was all Dean heard before he was pushed off the cliff.
His orgasm hit him so hard, he actually thought he’d black out. His legs shook and his wrists twisted against the fabric as wave after wave hit him. It wasn’t usual for him.
Dean looked down in the midst of the fog and saw it was a dry orgasm. A new trick for him. The waves kept hitting, and Cas watched, breathless and disheveled as well.
Just when Dean was about to ask, Cas read his mind and went back in, slower this time. Dean couldn’t breathe and he felt millions of miles away from his own body. The crazy thought of wanting to just melt in Cas and become one person raced across Dean’s mind like a comet before disappearing. Another random thought of thunderstorms and flowers raced by as well and burst into fireworks behind his eyes.
Finally, as Dean heard and felt Cas come inside him, everything shattered.
His back arched as high as it would go and he clamped his legs around Cas in a vice grip as he finally came in one explosive final act.
Cas leaned back, eyes closed and tiling his head up, trying to catch his own breath as Dean eventually let go of him. His legs felt like rubber.
The storm outside still raged on, the wind finally catching up and blowing heavy drops of water onto the motel carpet.
It was then Dean realized how sore his arms actually were.
Words wouldn’t come to him, so he summoned the strength to knock Cas’s side with one of his knees to get his attention. Cas opened his eyes and looked down, eyes sparkling and face flushed. It was an amazing sight and Dean wished at that moment he had a photographic memory.
Dean wiggled his fingers at Cas and without hesitation, Cas leaned over and untied the man beneath him.
Arms free, Dean felt the burning ache immediately in his shoulders and upper back, reminding him of his age. There were angry red marks around his wrists, and he didn’t realize that his fingers were tingling with renewed blood flow. But all that just blurred with the delightful aching across his body.
Cas had been watched him carefully the whole time as he regained use of his upper extremities.
“Was that okay?” Cas asked, hesitant.
Dean could only laugh as a response, shifting his hips slightly. He still felt so raw.
Cas took that as a yes, smiled, and gave Dean a quick kiss before stumbling off the bed to close the sliding door. His legs looked wobbly as well.
It was then Dean realized that the lingerie never was fully taken off, but dangling on his ankle. Had it been there the whole damn time and he hadn't noticed? It would have been rubbing against Cas’s back the whole time.
Smiling, Dean rolled over, trying to also get out of bed. A chill had entered the room from the rain and he wanted a shirt. However, as soon as his feet hit the ground, his legs gave out. Dean caught himself on the edge of the mattress with his sore arms, and started laughing again.
Written from anonymous requested smut prompt #109. (send me one!) There was no 109 so I combined #100 and #9:
#9 “Try to stay quiet, understand?”
#100 “What are you doing in my bed?"
Rated: Explicit | ao3 link | 2112 words | unebta’d (lightly edited) | Dean/Cas | Consensual Somnophilia, Sexual Frustration, Semi-Public Sex
Cas was going absolutely crazy.
It was taking them almost two weeks to get to the bottom of multiple ghost haunting in one New Mexico town. History revealed that a serial killer had a bit of fun back in the old days and the newly First Selectman had enough of the nonsense.
But there were so many ghosts.
And there was only four of them.
And Cas was losing his damn mind.
They were called by a local hunter who only went by the name Paul. He knew the land like the back of his weathered hands. But, Paul couldn’t handle it on his own, managed Sam’s contact info and sent an SOS.
All three of them then piled into the Impala and drove themselves down, expecting a hunt that would last at most three or four days.
It was now day fifteen.
Instead of paying for a motel, they were staying at a ‘cabin’ near the site. Paul billed it as a hunter checkpoint that can fit plenty but it was nothing more than shack. It was hot, had no air conditioning, and was cramped.
The living room and the bedroom was only separated by one small partition. The fold out couch was on the other side of the thin wood. The man had two full beds already in place in the ‘bedroom’ section of the house for other hunters to stay in. They flipped a coin and Dean and Sam won the beds. Cas won the tiny fold out bed in the living area, and Paul got the ratty couch on the other side.
It was tight. It was hot. It sucked.
When they went on a hunt with Sam, they had no problem slept separately but that was a short amount of time so Cas could control himself. But, he was only a year into the human thing and urges and emotions still haven’t settled down in. The longer he went without, the more agitated he became.
Worse of all, Dean knew it.
He had been smiling as they worked in the hot sun, digging up remains when he caught Cas staring, or would wink if he caught Cas’s eye during dinner. It was absolutely maddening, and Cas didn’t know how much longer he’d last.
Turns out, he can last sixteen days. By the time everyone was in a deep sleep that night, Cas’s frustration hit its peak.
That day was particularly scorching, and the setting sun didn’t do much to help. The cabin was stifling even with the windows open. Paul had a small oscillating fan in front of the opened window by the door, but all it did was provide some white noise. Turned out, that’s what Cas needed.
Over the course of the two weeks, his ability to sleep had almost dwindled to nothing. It they kept going along without any skin to skin contact, Cas was just going to jump Dean right in the middle of the desert.
Cas made his decision as one a.m. ticked over on his phone. The surge of self confidence overwhelmed any doubt or hesitation he had remaining in his body. He slipped out of his makeshift bed, slow and careful so he didn’t creak the rusted frame or the floorboards underneath him.
Thenfan blew hot air into his face as he rounded the small partition. Cas could already feel his heart pumping fast, his skin itchy with heat as he saw Dean’s shape underneath the thin sheet.
The beds on the other side of the partition were small, but Cas was going to make himself fit. Almost as if Dean knew it was going to happen, he had fallen asleep by the edge of the mattress, snoring softly with his arm dangling over.
Sam was facing the opposite way towards the other open window. Cas didn’t know how heavy a sleeper he was and only hoped the fan going full blast would mask any sounds.
The sheet was half off as the heat was more than enough of a blanket. Cas wanted to stay standing, taking the sight of Dean stretched out peacefully before him but he knew he didn’t have the time.
As quiet as he could and hardly breathing, Cas made his way over to the bed, and eased himself in.
He’s woken Dean up like this many times before, but never had there been other people so close. They had to be very, very quiet. Suddenly, it seemed like a very bad idea.
But he was already here, and Dean was already moving, dragging his arm back up to turn over to greet whatever new presence just arrived. His eyes opened slightly, still heavy with sleep.
“What are you doing in my bed?” He asked, barely above a whisper. Cas kept a straight face.
“You know why.”
Dean flashed a dopey, sleep-lined smile before turning back over, pressing his backside against Cas.
Cas almost groaned, but choked it back. The pressure felt so good even if there were layers of cloth between them. He didn’t fully grasp how much he needed this until now. Cas grabbed Dean’s hips and pulled him even closer. Dean whined with the movement and Cas moved his hand up to Dean’s mouth, leaning forward.
“Try to stay quiet, understand?” He breathed, scared to speak a word.
Dean nodded, and pushed his hips back again, grinding against Cas. They both needed this.
The fan was able to drown out any soft fabric movements from the sheets as Cas slowly worked Dean’s pajama bottoms down, grateful he was already commando underneath. Minimal effort was minimal risk.
Cas couldn’t move his own clothing down without propping himself fully up on the bed, which he was scared would protest with his added weight on it. Instead, Cas shimmied his hips enough that the bottoms rested on his upper legs, giving him enough access.
Their skin was hot, and Cas could practically feel Dean’s heartbeat through his chest. The challenge of staying silent and the fear of being caught was both enthralling and terrifying at the same time.
He only intended to move himself against Dean, dry and rough. It was the option that made the least amount of noise and that required the least amount of preparation by either of them. But, as Cas pushed his hips forward, his cock slipped at a different angle than intended, and he felt something warm and slippery.
Cas, confused, slipped his hand down. Dean had almost stopped breathing, back tensing up.
Dean had done some preparation before hand. Somewhere between getting back to the shack, a shower, and crawling into his bed, Dean found time to loosen himself up and give Cas enough leeway to dive straight in.
The sheet moved as Dean lifted his leg slightly, angling his hips back. Cas gripped Dean’s thigh automatically, but still only moved to tease, circling and brushing again the intended target.
Dean pushed his face into his pillow to muffle a groan of frustration. Cas propped himself up on his elbow just enough to lean over, his lips brushing Dean’s ear.
“You were planning this all along.” It was a statement, not a question. Dean nodded, his movements becoming more frantic, seaking some kind of relief. But every time his hips wiggles back, Cas did as well.
Dean’s face was hotter than the air around them when he emerged from the pillow, hair sticking out at odd ends. He was fully awake now, staring straight ahead, trembling. Cas looked as well, and saw Sam still facing the window, “Don’t make a sound, we don’t want to wake him up,” he teased, still circling his hips.
Dean mumbled something under his breath, hardly audible over the fan. Cas, still next to his ear, nipped his earlobe and kept circling.
“I didn’t hear that.”
“I’ve been waiting a week,” Dean whispered, turning his head slightly so Cas could see his fully flushed face, eyes wild.
Without another word, and suddenly feeling more in control than he had for two weeks, Cas lowered himself down, and pushed himself in all the way. He was slow, agonizing them both but making Dean quake more with frustration.
Cas bottomed out, lowered Dean’s leg, and they just stayed there, breathing. They had to keep their breath under control, and Cas’s head was spinning with the lack of oxygen He dipped his head so his forehead pressed against Dean’s sweaty neck and inhaled as much air as he could before exhaling as slowly as possible without passing out. Dean’s skin broke out in goosebumps, despite the heat. Cas was dimly aware that Dean was trying to fuck himself on Cas’s cock, clearly annoyed with the lack of pace.
Cas was torn between wanting to draw it out to punish Dean for the longest blue balls torture ever, but wanting to get it over with quick so they could get back to bed without anyone realizing what had transpired.
Cas found himself moving unconsciously, hypnotized by the tight heat he’d been craving for days. Something he could have gotten a week ago had he the balls to take it. Instead he pushed himself to such a desperate state, he didn’t know how long he’d last now.
They moved together, front to back, hip to hip. At one point, Dean covered his head with his pillow and Cas heard a few choked off whimpers as he continued his agonizingly slow pace. In, slow drawback, in again while continuing to move his hips in at every angle he could — it was torture for both of them.
Dean began working himself, trying to get to the end but Cas knocked his hand away. Dean released a frustrated groan into the room and they both stopped, frozen.
Sam shifted in his sleep, still facing the window. They watched, holding their breath, waiting for him to fully turn over and see what exactly was happening but he never did.
Cas was still scared to start moving again, instead staying inside where he was, trying to get his heart under control. It was all too much.
Dean didn’t want to wait however and began squeezing around Cas, moving his hips himself, noise be damned.
Accepting that there was no way he had the willpower to hold out, Cas allowed Dean to finally work himself with the same speed that Cas set.
Cas dug his fingers into Dean’s hips, feeling himself now sprinting towards the edge. He pressed his mouth against the nape of Dean’s neck, trying not to give them away. In front of him, he heard Dean babbling under his shallow breath. Cas was sure the words were fuck me, fuck me over and over again. He couldn’t place how loud it was due to the blood roaring in his own ears.
He was at the edge now.
Dean came before him, muscles spasming around Cas, his legs shaking and moving against the fabric. He made no noise though, only sharp, inconsistent exhales, the sheet covering his mouth.
Cas tightened his grip on Dean’s hips and held them tight against his own, feeling the other man shake against him. Their skin was red hot now and slick with sweat. Cas wondered if they could melt together. It felt like they were close to doing just that.
He snapped his hips once, twice, and finally felt himself let go completely.
Dean still rocked lazily against Cas, unable to help himself. Cas didn’t want to leave. The high of release was releasing into his bones like sedation. He felt his eyelids grow heavy as he stayed in Dean, still holding him close.
“Hey, you have to go back,” Cas heard the words but they felt distant, unimportant —
An elbow dig into his side Cas jolted back awake, almost shouting. Dean was halfway turned to him, looking like a delightful mess.
“You have to go back,” Dean repeated.
And so Cas did. Dean couldn’t help the quiet moan when Cas finally pulled all the way out. Cas was sad to go and leave the sight before him but Dean was right. He couldn’t stay.
He gave Dean a quick kiss before he turned away and slid out of the bed. He almost fell with how shaky his legs were. Boxers and pajama bottoms back in place, he moved back to his own bed as quietly as he left it.
The next day, as they were all leaving the diner after a fairly normal breakfast, Sam grabbed Cas by the arm and held him back.
“Next time, we can skip the damn coin toss and you two can just have the beds.”
Smut prompt request by @orangecreamsicle2-blog #13 on both mobile/desktop:
“I really don’t care. You still look hot and I’m trying not to kiss/fuck you senseless right now.”
Rated: M/E | AO3 Link | 2380 words | lightly edited | AO3 tags:
Alternate Universe - Police, Police, Quick and Rough, Barebacking, Slurs, Homophobic Language, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
The goal? Basic drug bust.
The problem? The drugs and the Big Daddy dealer resided inside a traveling carnival that hit all the major drug towns in Michigan.
The carnies don’t expect to meet well dressed, business-like white men in a Staples parking lot to pass the goods off. Instead, they expect to meet a guy who is on his last dollar and wants some relief or wants to push drugs for some extra money.
Dean looked at himself in the mirror while D.V. T. F. did their thing, getting their own gear in ready. He drew the short straw this time and wound up looking like an idiot.
Cas glanced over to him a few times while he pulled his vest on, and Dean wished he didn’t. He had dirty jeans on with about a hundred holes in them. They put some eye-makeup on to make it look like he hadn’t slept in days, messed up his hair, gave him a ratty shirt with two zip-up hoodies to throw over it. Some fake bruises littered his neck and collarbone which made it look like he frequently got into fights. It was sad. Dean would speak with the guys in Faraway all the time who looked like this, and now he was impersonating them in a cheap parody. The worse was the small amount of whiskey which was pressed into the skin behind his ears. He smelled like his father.
[fic inspired by spoilers of what the 300th episode will be about. also inspired by following conversations with @elizabethrobertajones and @postmodernmulticoloredcloak here and here ]
The town knew something happens at the intersection of 191 and Aa Road.
The old farts who took their afternoons at the Midway Co-op drinking swill that passed for beer would tell you that the weirdos first came during Roosevelt’s era. At first, no one paid attention to them. But after Roosevelt bit the dust and his vee-pee took the mantle and dropped The Big One on Japan, the rumors swirled they had brought the secret military weapons testing to their happy little town. Radiation fears spiked, and soon people were popping iodine tablets like they were candy.
But one of the kids, who rode his bike out to 191 and Aa, saw something that then switched the rumors from secret military testing to an alien invasion.
Three men popped out of nowhere. One of them, levitating just an inch off the ground but enough for Bobby Joe to see. He hid in the corn stalks, watching the men comment on the levitating man’s ability. The man then lowered himself to the ground, laughed, and slapped another’s back in jest.
That night, Bobby Joe had nightmares of a pale man, gliding effortlessly across the tops of the corn, like a silent stalker of the night. He could easily reach Bobby Joe’s window at the farm house. His teeth were large, pointed, and gleaming white. His eyes slid to a midnight black, and a third one sprouted in the forehead. The fingers melted at the tip, making five go down to two. The alien creature tapped on the window, but Bobby Joe wouldn’t let him in. The alien would unhinge his jaw, and scream but the only sound to come out was a tea whistle.
Bobby Joe had that nightmare for quite some time.
That man was also never seen again in town.
The alien rumors stuck for a while as no one wanted to go back down to that intersection, sometimes taking wide berths to specifically avoid it.
The summer of 1949 changed everything.
One sweltering night, as the town struggled to cool and eyes stayed open against the thick air, a little girl named Emily started behaving strange.
A girl no older than eight decided to take a wandering stroll in the dead of night. She knew how to slip out of her window and climb down the tree with ease. She herself didn’t know where her feet decided to take her, but she had a guiding voice. Later, when asked, she would say the voice said it was God’s angel, but the town knew better.
Emily walked from her family’s farm on 833, down to the intersection with 833 and Aa Road, then up to the intersection of Aa and 191.
The building at the intersection looked like a grain warehouse but little Emily and the voice in her head sat on the picnic table, and watched the building. Any passerby would have taken note how the blackness of the night made poor Emily’s eyes look solid black as well.
Emily sat until faint bruising blended into the night sky on the horizon behind her. She lifted herself off of the picnic table, walked to the field of corn behind her, and collapsed into a deep sleep in the dirt.
After a morning of frantic searching, rescuers finally found her in the ditch. They rushed her to the town doctor who couldn’t find anything wrong with her. Her blood pressure, breathing, and responses were all normal, but she just couldn’t wake up.
A day went by, followed by two, and then by the end of the week, Emily received a visit from everyone in town who gave her parents all the prayers and wishes they could tolerate.
But Emily wouldn’t wake up.
At least when people were watching.
Three nights out of the week she was supposedly catatonic, she slipped from her bed and took the journey up to 191 and Aa Road, staring at the building for hours. Instead of sleeping in the ditch, however, she’d make it back to her bed right before her parents and brother woke up to check on her.
Two weeks into her deep sleep, Emily’s family received a visit from two men. Two strange men. One was dressed like a priest, but Emily’s mother later recalled to Mary Smith up the road that she could have sworn she knew all the priests from Smith Center down the road.
One was a priest, the other was a priest in training. They had a suggestion to help Emily. Emily’s father kindly pointed out they went to the Methodist every Sunday, and prayed their little hearts out and it didn’t seem to be going his little girl a lick o’ good.
But the priests insisted.
That night was the hottest one in Lebanon yet, but the priests closed the windows anyways.
Upstairs in Emily’s room, the air was stale and thick with the scent of near death. The priest, Father Francis he called himself, closed her window as well. The family watched with apprehension etched in their bodies, like a rabbit ready to spring out of danger.
Father Francis and his assistant who simply called himself Redwood, set down a briefcase on Emily’s writing desk, and opened it.
Johnny, Emily’s brother, caught sight of some of the papers in the briefcase. They were written in a language he’s never heard spoken at church. But, he pushed it away as them merely being Catholics, and Catholics were a strange bunch.
Then they pulled out the leather straps.
Emily’s father made for the bed, but Redwood held him back with surprising strength.
“Don’t son, it’s for her best interest, and yours. You don’t want her flailing about.”
“You’re tying down my daughter like some damn psycho retard!” Her father yelled in Redwood’s face, but Redwood kept the family at bay. Despite being on the scrawny side, the man had a strength to him that seemed unmatched, even by three people.
The leather ties weren’t normal ties, Johnny realized as he watched from behind his father. They had strange markings on them, some he saw on the ruffled bits of paper in the briefcase. There were crosses, stars, and squiggly marks that put a chill in Johnny’s blood.
“Are you going to kill her?” Johnny’s voice broke through his father’s angry grunts, and they both stopped and looked down at him. Redwood’s eyes were sympathetic as he reached down and ruffled the kid’s hair.
“We’re going to save her.”
Emily’s mother, in a near faint as she watched, finally broke her silence.
“What are you, some kind of faith healer?”
Father Francis, finishing the tightening of straps against the headboard looked up and shook his head.
“We aren’t healers. We’re expellers.”
Francis turned to Emily, and the family watched as her eyes burst open, a slick black covering her normal green eyes. Her mother screamed, then fainted.
“You’re not going to win, Demeter,” Emily rasped, her voice like sand paper against wood. Johnny cringed at the horrible sound, hiding further behind his now frozen father.
Francis didn’t engage with whatever thing Emily was now. Instead, he opened a small book, and flipped through the pages, causally and at ease.
“Demeter! You and your friends will die!” Emily screamed, laughing and pulling a the restraints. The laughter sounded just as bad as the speaking voice, and Johnny now blocked his hears, and closed his eyes. Whatever that thing was didn’t belong in their house.
Francis, or, Demeter, only smiled and shook his head, “I don’t listen to low level demons. You’re worth nothing, you’ll be nothing.”
Emily stopped laughing, and only started to scream. The scream raised the hairs on Johnny’s neck, and made his teeth grind. His father stood still, and Johnny imagined his face staring in horror as his demonic daughter screamed in pain or terror. They both didn’t notice the woman who fainted behind them.
The screaming bubbled, and soon, blood was coming out of Emily’s throat. Francis moved faster now, grabbing a flask, and a holy cross.
“Most glorious Prince of the Heavenly Armies, Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in our battle against principalities and
powers, against the rulers of this world of darkness, against the spirits of wickedness in the high places,” Francis shouted above the disgustingly terrible screams pouring out of Emily’s throat.
“Exorcizámos te, ómnis immúnde spíritus, ómnis satánic potéstas, ómnis infernális adversárii, ómnis légio, ómnis congregátio et sécta diabólica, in nómine et virtúte Dómini nóstri Jésu --,” Francis stopped as Emily ripped against the restraints more powerfully, her face screwed up in pain, like someone was sticking her back with a hot poker. Francis threw water on her in small doses, and the water burned holes through the fabric of her night shirt. She started to scream again.
“Stop it! YOU’RE KILLING HER!” Emily’s father screamed back, but Francis and Redwood ignored the family, their eyes trained on Emily in concentration.
“Chrísti, eradicáre et effugáre a Dei Ecclésia, ab animábus ad imáginem Dei cónditis ac pretióso divíni Ágni sánguine redémptis. Non últra áudeas, sérpens callidíssime, decípere humánum génus, Dei Ecclésiam pérsequi, ac Dei eléctos excútere et cribráre sicut tríticum. Ímperat tíbi Deus altíssimus, cui in mágna tua supérbia te símile habéri ádhuc praesúmis; qui ómnes hóminess vult sálvos fíeri, et ad agnitiónem veritátis venír!”
The room fell silent in a flash, and Johnny’s ears rang.
He didn’t know how much time passed before he finally had the courage to look around his father’s back and at his sister’s bed, but by the time he did, Francis was collapsed at the desk chair, and Redwood had let go of the family, and had lit a cigarette. Johnny forced himself to turn his head, and look at his sister. She was still locked into her bed by the leather straps, but her face was no longer lined with the dark presence of the devil. Her breathing was hard, labored, but the color had returned to her skin.
“Is she alive?” Johnny wondered out loud to the room.
Francis nodded, “She’ll be alright. Get her some water and food. I imagine it’s been a while since she had either.”
“What -- what was that?” Johnny’s father also wondered, unable to take his fearful eyes off his daughter.
“That, my young man, was a demon. We think she was possessed back when you found her in the cornfield a couple weeks ago.”
Francis’s words hung in the thick air of the room.
“Possessed? Demons? That makes -- Father, I’m sorry, but that makes no sense.”
“You believe in God don’t you?” Redwood asked, sucking on the end of the butt, causing a considerable length to disappear.
“Well, yes but --”
“There’s good, and there’s evil. We deal with the evil. You can’t believe in God and not believe there are forces that want to work against him. It’s basically in that book of yours up at that Methodist church.” Redwood explained cooly, stamping the cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe.
“But -- but no th-that makes --” Johnny’s father couldn’t get his sentence out, but Johnny himself took Redwood at his word. It made sense in his simple brain. Why else would they always go to church? To keep the evil away.
“If we go to church, and pray, then how come this still happened?” Johnny asked, fearful the thing might come back.
Francis glanced at Redwood who shrugged and lit another cigarette, “Because, my dear child, God can’t keep an eye on everyone. But we have something that can help.” He reached into a pocket in his robes, and pulled out four necklaces. They had small burlap sacks on them, painted with a hollow star and a circle around it, “Wear these at all times. Your family was marked, and that demon might be back again.”
“I thought you killed it,” Johnny whined.
“We’re not killers, we’re expellers.” Redwood responded.
Emily’s family thanked the strange men and watched them as they walked back up 883 and took a right onto Aa Road.
Emily returned to her normal self, and the town praised it as a miracle.
It was only after Johnny and his big mouth talked about what happened to his friends, and Johnny’s father who had a few beers at the Midway Co-op told the dark tale of what happened that night, did the town start to understand what those strange men were up to.
The years went on, and Johnny stayed in Lebanon, making sure none of the strange nonsense happened again. At some point, a couple years after the incident with his sister, the strange men weren’t seen again.
Johnny himself started to research what he saw that night, and he saw a world he didn’t like too much. He closed those books, put them away, and never thought of that crap again until he was near 80 years old, sitting at the Midway Co-op much like his late daddy did, sipping on a beer. He watched, like most days, as a black chevy Impala drove up and down 281 in town.
One time, the car stopped at the co-op for gas and snacks. The man was tall, had ‘that damn hippie hair’ his father used to say. He seemed normal enough, but Johnny didn’t think he’d ever see that man in priest clothing.
But there was no mistaking that him, and the other men and sometimes a woman they drove around with came from that intersection at 191 and Aa Road.
[couches can be fun. explicit, dean/cas, bottom!dean, top!cas, unbetad, inspired by a conversation with @mittensmorgul and her couch tags]
--
Dean got bored.
When Dean gets bored, he gets ideas.
When Dean gets ideas, he sometimes does things he shouldn’t.
Drunk, one night, Dean had one of his ideas.
Cas and Sam were in bed, long past his own bedtime as well, but he was having a little party. He didn’t remember what he was celebrating only that he was actually justified in getting drunk. Maybe it was someone’s birthday.
Dean sat in the armchair, starting at the wall above the new TV. It was a wonderful wall: strong, sturdy, probably good for fucken if they were into wall fucking but that could get old real fast, besides who would hold who up? They were basically the same size and --
Focus.
The wall.
Some color would look nice on that wall. But what would he put? A picture? Maybe. But he didn’t have too swell of an eye for art. That’s Sam’s thing and Sam was only allowed in The Cave if Dean allowed him to be. Sam putting art up would be an open invitation for him to be there all the time.
The wall needed color.
Dean shifted in the recliner, but carefully. He still had a bruise on his shoulder and knee where he and Cas took a tumble the other day. Fucking on a recliner proved difficult sometimes for men their size. The biggest issue: Dean putting his full weight into Cas, and causing the recliner to do what it’s supposed to do when full weight is thrown into it, and reclines. But, with the men causing the weight to be so top heavy, the recliner reclines too much and they just wind up naked and bruised on the concrete floor.
He probably should have gotten a couch, but they were more expensive than these recliners. He wanted recliners. Dean knew he could get a couch with recliners in them but the best ones were near a thousand bucks. No bueno.
The wall was boring. Why didn’t he turn the TV on? The TV cost as much as a couch with recliners did. It was a couch or a TV and the TV is pretty sweet.
But a couch would be too.
A couch with recliners. A hybrid couch.
Dean finished his beer, and launched himself out of the recliner, the idea coming to him like a fastball to the face. Why didn’t he think of it before? It solved both problems facing him at that moment. But, just in case Sam invited himself into The Cave, Dean had to hide this idea of his.
He just had to find the spray paint.
**
Dean never made it back to his bed, instead passing out on the recliner after his work was done.
He dreamt of beaches and warm breezes that accompanied the warm sun. White sands covered his feet as he relaxed in a leaned back chair, a cold bear in the sand. The sky matched the water with a brilliant display of blue. The water, tropical, hid bright fish under the surface with a wide array of colors. The palm trees behind him swayed with the gentle wind, causing shade to sometimes cover Dean, cooling him off just enough before he went back to baking in the sun. There was no sound other than the gentle crash of the waves. Not another soul in sight.
“What is that?” A voice broke through the calm.
Dean felt the heavy weight of sleep lift off his chest and his eyes popped open.
The first thing he saw was Cas, but the angle was wrong. He was laying on his back still but he was facing the door to The Cave instead of the TV. His back was fully flat against whatever it was he was sleeping on with his head cushioned by something underneath.
Cas looked at Dean, and pointed a finger at Dean
“When did you get that?” He asked again, bewildered. Dean felt as confused as Cas because he didn’t know what he was talking about. His pants? The blanket covering him?
Dean raised his left arm to stretch but found he was blocked by something. He was actually pressing his shoulder against it. He turned his head and was met by a squishy, brown suede cushion.
Sitting up with a sudden jolt, he looked around. His head hurt, his mouth was dry, but he couldn’t focus on the hangover. The sight around him was too strange.
He was laying on a couch, a large, comfy couch that belonged in a rec room like The Cave. It was long enough to fit Dean with some room at the end to stretch, and then the couch formed an L with a longer chaise-like extension.
“I -- have no clue.” Dean mumbled, trying to get his bearings. He knew he drank the night before, but he was pretty sure he didn’t go out and buy a fucking couch.
The recliners were completely gone. Dean turned his head slowly, not to irritate his headache too bad, and saw the rest of the room was how it was supposed to be. The only thing out of place was the TV which was turned on an angle towards the door.
Cas walked over to it, still in his pajamas. Dean felt a pang of guilt he didn’t go and sleep in the actual bed last night but the view was still nice. But Cas didn’t pay any attention to Dean, instead turning the TV even more, investigating the wall behind it.
“Dean, what the hell did you do?”
“I don’t know man, my head hurts and I’m still have asleep. Did I punch the wall or something?” He didn’t. His hand didn’t hurt.
Without another word, Dean eased himself off the oh my god it’s so comfortable couch and shuffled over to the wall. Behind the TV was a symbol that looked familiar but he couldn’t place. The spray paint was dry and a horrid bright green color with small drips extending the paint more downward than it had any right to.
Oops.
“I don’t remember actually doing that but I remember thinking about doing that. I don’t know why I painted that though,” Dean leaned closer, “I have no clue what that is either.”
A whisper of a memory took form in the back of his mind but he paid no attention to it.
“Well, we should clean this up. The color isn't great and that symbol is giving me the creeps.” Cas said, already turning away from it.
They got a bucket of soap and scrub brushes and got to work. But, as soon as Cas took his brush and took a swipe at the symbol, Dean heard a rush of wind behind him. He turned just in time to see the beautiful couch gone, replaced by the arm chairs.
“Wait. Cas wait, stop.”
Dean managed to find the can of paint sitting next to the TV stand. He grabbed it, covered his face, and painted back what was taken off. The rush of wind came back and this time they watched in awe as the couch came back.
The symbol’s meaning came back to Dean in that moment.
“I think I willed a couch into existence.”
The sentence hung in the air, stupid and confused.
“You… made a Tulpa couch?”
Dean nodded. Cas shook his head, turning away. Dean could hear the stifled laughter. He was close to the giggles himself. He’s had stupid ideas before, he’s done stupid things while drunk before, but never has he willed a piece of furniture into existence.
They kept it.
A short discussion followed their realization of the truth behind the symbol of the wall. They figured, at least for the day, they could keep the couch. It wasn’t like Dean had thought of a monster or anything dangerous.
So they kept it. And they fucked on it.
They had to be quick, because Sam would be back from his run and breakfast soon, but that wasn’t a challenge.
The couch drew to fit both men as Dean went from riding, down to crouching face down. He liked riding but he also liked fast and dirty, to the point his head fogged up and all he could do was make incoherent noises.
The best part, as he dissolved into butter, moaning obscenities into the soft cushions, was when Cas would lose all thought as well. This prompted Cas to drape himself over Dean’s back, wrap an arm around his middle, and go hard. Sometimes, like this time, mouthing the back of Dean’s neck turned into nipping his flesh, leaving marks that wouldn’t leave for a few days. Those were the best part
and
the secret to getting it done fast.
This time, when Cas latched himself to Dean’s back, and Dean felt the teeth graze the delicate skin on the back of his neck near his jaw, Dean came harder than he had in quite some time. He felt his knees and elbows push further into the cushions, and at one point his forehead went down too. He breathed in the fabric, a long groan erupting from deep in his throat. He felt everything on his energized skin.
Cas, for his part, seemed just as lost. He circled his hips as he too came during Dean’s aftershocks, tightening his grip around Dean’s waist.
The couch felt good. Why didn’t he fucken buy one sooner?
The couch was also now a mess, Dean not even thinking about that possibility. But almost as soon as he wished the mess gone, it disappeared. He laughed again as Cas collapsed onto the cushions next to him, out of breath.
“Take it easy old man. Don’t want you having a heart attack on me.” Dean teased. He was out of breath too.
Cas whacked him lightly on the shoulder before leaning his head back , resting fully on the couch.
“This is nice. This was a good idea.”
“I wish we could keep it.”
“Me too. It’s easier doing this here than on that recliner.”
Dean mumbled some sort of agreement. He felt his eyes growing heavy now that the adrenaline was wearing off. They had to get up and fix things and get rid of the damned couch before Sam got back but he just felt so heavy and the couch felt like sleeping on a cloud.
A soft wuft of air against the back of his shoulder, and Dean turned slightly to see that Cas was already dozing off, breathing deep. It looked like a nice thing to do. He was all spooned up, on a comfy fucking couch that his very own mind picked out, and what the hell -- just take a quick nap. Dean was a light sleeper, he’d hear when Sam got back.
So he closed his eyes, and sleep took him to Beachland again where the white sands draped across his feet and the bear stayed cool in the shade of his chair. The palm trees rustled with the gentle wind and the sound of waves were like a lullaby. This time, however, Cas joined him. He too sat in a chair, a beer parked in the sand next to him while he flipped pages in a book. His legs splayed out from his board shorts and his bright green and pink Hawaiian shirt glowed in the sun.
It felt like paradise.
But the sound of waves were getting louder. Dean looked over to them but they looked just as normal as they did before. But soon the sound seemed almost doubled, layering itself.
This time, he also smelled a faint coconut scent blended with some type of flower or grass baking in the sun.
The sounds and smell woke him from his nap. Confusion overtook him as he still heard waves in The Cave, and the smell lingered.
He untangled himself from Cas’s arms and peered over the edge of the couch, almost bursting out laughing at the sight.
A medium sized sandbox somehow found a home at the edge of the couch on the floor. In it, the white sand that looked like the sun was still shining on it, even though it was indoors. There were miniature chairs that would fit maybe a squirrel, and tiny palm trees no bigger than Dean’s hand.
He couldn’t tell where the waves were coming from, but he was grateful that water didn’t actually fill the room.
Dean nudged Cas awake, and Cas saw the sandbox as well. A smile, but regretful smile graced his face.
“Maybe we should get rid of that symbol before you fill this room with the ocean.”
