well SINCE it's leap day and women can propose, i need a ficlet immediately
First thing in the morning, he still had to remember who he was now.
He had gotten used to the big muscles, the over-six-foot frame, the fact that he took up more than his half of the bed. And still, every morning when he woke up, he thought that was still him. And then reality would set in; yes, maybe they defeated Thanos and saved the world. But the Titan had ripped the serum right out of him, putting him back where he started.
Steve tried to roll over quietly, his joints cracking as they moved for the first time. Nicoletta was still sound asleep next to him, her hand slightly outstretched toward him. That always surprised him in the morning too - that she still wanted to be with him. His lungs protested the movement and the chill from the extra February day, and even if he tried to suppress it he was sent into a loud coughing fit. When it finally passed he sat at the edge of the bed, both to catch his breath and to hope that he hadn’t woken up his partner.
“You okay?” Nicoletta’s voice was soft as the morning light. The mattress creaked slightly as she got up, coming to rest her warm hand on his back.
“Yea, yea I’m fine.” he said, his voice extra low. “Sorry I woke you, Nicky.”
“I was semi-awake anyway.” she said, moving to wrap her arms around him and lay against his back. Before, when he had enhanced senses, he could tell when she was lying. Now, he just had to trust that she was telling the truth. He rested his hand on hers, enjoying the touch. “Do you need some tea?”
“I’m okay.” he said, rubbing her hand. She made a noise that said she didn’t believe him, scooting closer to him. “Don’t want to be a burden first thing in the morning.”
“You’re not. Ever.” she said, moving around so he could see her. “Is that what you think?”
He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant even though his heart was hammering in a way that wasn’t due to his cardiomyopathy. “I just know things are different now.”
“Your body may be different, but you’re still my Steve.” she said. Her accent was slightly thicker, which meant she was extra serious about what she was saying. He put his hand on her cheek, looking into her honey brown eyes.
“You still love me?” he asked. He tried to make it sound like he was joking, but it came out serious.
“Always and forever.” she said, reaching out and tapping his nose with her finger. “Don’t forget it.”
“I may sometimes.” he said cheekily, this time actually sounding like he was kidding. She sat up a little straighter then, her face changing as she thought of something.
“Well then, I have something for that.” she said, crawling back over to her nightstand. Steve wondered what it would be this time: a supplement? a spell from her mom’s neighbor again? But instead she came back with a little box. The shape of it seemed familiar, but he didn’t dare think it.
“Whatcha got there, Nicky?” he asked. He could hear his pulse in his ears, and hoped he’d be able to hear her over it.
“I know this is unconventional, but...well, we’ve never really done things by the book, have we?” she asked. She opened the box, showing an ornately carved silver band. She must have gotten nervous, because she started speaking in Romanian instead of English. “Steven Rogers, I something loved you something something something and-”
“English, baby.” he interrupted, his cheeks already cramping from smiling. She took a breath and nodded.
“I love you. And I’ll love you forever.” she said carefully. “Marry me?”
“Of fucking course I will.” he said with a laugh, the moment giving him a surge of adrenaline that let him grab her and pull her back on the bed with him, his lips eventually finding hers in a searing kiss. She giggled, pulling back just enough so she could lean her forehead against his and slip the ring onto his finger. Maybe it was unconventional, but he was still happy. Stupid happy.
Plus, he’d already been shopping for rings anyways. This would just move his timetable up.
IT’S HERE!!! Kinda :-p I’m cheating and splitting this into two parts. Narratively, I swear it makes sense!! But yes. My 29th fic is officially posted. My 30th (part two) will post next weekend, so keep your eyes peeled. I’m really looking forward to that part! It’s gonna be a lot of fun. Many thanks to @powerfulweak for the beta!
Summary: Cas is a food critic with his job on the line. He's got to find a new hook to draw it readers or get cut from his paper. Fortunately for him, a slice of pie from an unknown cook has just given him the perfect idea.
Read on AO3 || Part of this challenge
“Would you like a refill on your water?”
The waitress standing patiently beside his table had dark, straight hair that hung loose around her face. She looked to be in her late twenties. A surreptitious glance at the badge on her upper right chest said her name was Madison.
“Yes, please,” Cas said, his shoulders slumping forward, tired but grateful. It had been a long week and he still had to face his editor at the paper in an hour to discuss his latest piece. It was not a conversation he was looking forward to.
The ice clinked together in his glass as the fresh water from the pitcher poured over the individual cubes, forcing them to shift and settle.
“So,” Madison said with a smile, holding the pitcher up in her right hand while her left rested on her hip. “What do you think of your burger?”
Cas wasn’t in the mood for conversation, but strongly felt that no server should ever be treated poorly simply because of his bad mood.
“It’s adequate,” he responded with a small smile. When Madison’s eyebrow quirked and she straightened a it, clearly ready to defend the food, Cas rushed to qualify.
“I mean, I’m enjoying it very much. It’s actually much better than many burgers I’ve had in similar establishments.” He paused, aware his words were still sounding condescending despite his best effort to the contrary. No wonder his readership was so small, if this was all he could come up with.
For her part, Madison’s lip was curling up somewhat at a corner, clearly aware of Cas’ discomfort and amused by it rather than offended. Thank goodness for small miracles.
“Sorry. You could say I eat food for a living,” Cas said, trying to explain. “I’ve had a lot of burgers. Some crappy, some extremely high-end gourmet. My standards are pretty expansive. That said, this burger is far from the crappy end of the scale, and in terms of a quick stop for lunch, is currently making me very happy.”
Madison burst out with a bright laugh, bending backwards slightly at the waist, but still expertly keeping the water pitcher level. Cas couldn’t say he blamed her. He felt his ears warming ever so slightly, but was glad she clearly wasn’t insulted.
“You eat for a living? That sounds like my kind of life. What are you, a food critic?”
Nodding reluctantly, Cas kicked himself. He hated mentioning his job while eating out. It almost invariably led to assertions that he just had to try this or that followed by long winded arguments about how he should review the place.
Instead, Madison just gave him a full blown, cheeky grin.
“Lucky for both of us then that you came in this week instead of last week.”
Cas’ curiosity was piqued by the unexpected response.
“Oh?”
“We just got a new head cook. It’s about damn time too. If you’d ordered a burger last week off of Gordon? It would have tasted like shit and you would have written a scathing review on principle alone. Fortunately, you and your discerning palate came in this week. The new guy is loads better.”
Cas chuckled. “I’m grateful for good timing then.” At the mention of time, he glanced over his shoulder at the kitschy clock on the wall and winced, feeling his neck tightening back up again. He had less than fifteen minutes left to finish eating and pay before heading to his meeting with Crowley.
“Oh dang, I’m sorry,” Madison said, scrunching her forehead and glancing over at the clock herself, clearly reading his body language. “I’ve talked your ear off and you probably have places to be. Enjoy the burger. Unless you think you want something else, I’ll go ahead and get your check ready.”
Some of the tension left Cas’ upper body. “Please, thank you. Unfortunately, I have a meeting with my editor. Sadly, my job isn’t just eating food.”
Madison’s expression smoothed out again and she huffed another laugh as she left him to his meal. Cas appreciated her attitude. Food service was a difficult business, but Madison seemed to take it in stride well and made a point of connecting with guests without pushing. Best of all, she paid attention to their needs, whether explicitly stated or not. Professional experience had him guessing she had been in the industry for at least five years. It was hard to pick up that level of attentiveness without spending ample amount of time face-to-face with patrons.
And besides, it really was a good burger. Cas hadn’t lied, he’d eaten better, but it was probably among the best considering the quality ingredients and set up the diner would be limited to. The fries were a surprise as well. Clearly fresh cut instead of frozen and seasoned with something he couldn’t quite place.
As soon as Cas had taken the last bite, plate completely clean, Madison reappeared with the check and a small take away container, which she set down next to his elbow.
“I’m really not interested in dessert.”
“Yes you are,” Madison said. “It’s on the house. Don’t worry, I’d have talked you into it anyhow if you weren’t in a time crunch. Trust me,” she said, her eyes twinkling, “you won’t regret it.” Not waiting for him to argue further, Madison gave him a wink before turning on her heel and walking away.
Cas counted out his cash, making sure to leave a tip big enough to not only cover the standard twenty percent, but also the cost of the pie in case it came out of Madison’s wages. He didn’t begrudge the extra.
His meeting with Crowley went about as well as expected.
“Readership is down, Castiel. Without more subscriptions, I can’t argue for more contracts with advertisers. Do I need to remind you again that this place runs on those contracts?
Cas fought the urge to roll his eyes. The discussion was hardly new. What came next was.
“Look. According to surveys, you’re the least read element of the paper. Most people don’t even know who you are. Either come up with some kind hook to get people reading within the next week, or I’m cutting you.
Glad, not for the first time, that he had the ability to work mostly from home, Cas left the office. His stride was long but jerky as he headed towards his car. Yanking the door open, he dropped into the driver’s seat.
Almost instantly, a sweet, sugary smell filled his nose. Craning his neck around to the backseat, he realized he’d forgotten about the dessert Madison had given him.
After dealing with Crowley, something indulgent felt very appealing.
Reaching back, Cas grabbed the styrofoam to go container and popped it open to find a slice of typical apple pie sitting innocuously inside.
At this point, Cas didn’t care if the thing and previously been frozen. He just wanted to wipe out his lingering interaction with his boss in the way only food could do. Grateful for the fork Madison had been thoughtful enough to provide, he dug in.
As his mouth closed around the first bite, it wasn’t just the flavor that hit him, it was a wall of memories.
In his mind’s eye, Cas was ten years old again, sitting at the kitchen table in his best friend’s house after school. Mrs. Winchester moved around the room in a comfortable familiarity as she sliced a fresh pie, putting a piece on a plate for him and Dean and Dean’s little brother, Sam.
The scene was achingly nostalgic, representing almost every afternoon of Cas’ early school years until he and Dean were in the fifth grade.
That November, right after Halloween, the Winchester house had caught fire. Mrs Winchester hadn’t made it out.
Dean’s father had packed up his sons and left in the middle of the night. Cas had been devastated. He had no way of contacting his best friend. But it went deeper than that. His own mother had died when he was still an infant and his father had always been remote and distant. Growing up, Cas had spent more time at the Winchester’s than he had in his own home. The many meals he’d eaten at Mary Winchester’s table had inspired his love for food.
When she died, Cas felt like he’d lost his family too.
And he’d never had a pie that came close to matching the ones eaten in that kitchen.
Until now.
It was heaven in a styrofoam container, and Cas was more than a little disappointed when he realized it was gone. Still, it had done a great deal to bouy his spirits and feel a sense of optimism about coming up with an idea that would satisfy Crowley.
Turning his key in the ignition, he went home to brainstorm.
Cas’ best thinking usually happened while running. The monotone slap of shoes against the pavement helped clear his head. Since he did consume quite a few calories in his line of work, he figured he could justify running as a work necessity and refused to feel guilty for doing so during hours when Crowley would say he was, “on the clock.”
As he ran the familiar path, he let his mind wander. Try as he might, he couldn’t focus on the assignment Crowley had given him.
What kind of catch would draw in readers? High end dining was overdone and impractical, allergy friendly might work, but Crowley would wave it off as a fad. Most actual fads didn’t really seem to take root in their corner of the world. The one fancy frozen yogurt joint that had opened, closed again within six months.
Lebanon wasn’t a big city. People wanted something that reminded them of home, with the convenience of not having to actually cook.
Involuntarily, Cas’ thoughts drifted back to the slice of pie. That was what people around here wanted.
Feet stuttering on the pavement as he rapidly slowed his momentum, Cas grinned. He turned back towards home, outlining a basic concept for his new strategy. And he knew exactly where he wanted to start.
It took Cas a week to get Crowley to finally sign off on his idea. Reviewing roadside diners registered as too plebeian and mainstream for the Glasgow-born editor, and Cas was no Guy Fieri. He’d finally gone straight to Meg, the paper’s owner and close friend, even though he knew it would do him no favors with his immediate supervisor.
“You’d better hope this works, Clarence,” Meg warned. “Much as it pains me to admit, Crowley’s right about readership. If your numbers don’t go up, don’t expect me to back you up if he decides to lay you off.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Cas said, his voice flat and barely suppressing an eye roll.
Crowley was right about one thing, though Cas didn’t agree that it was about his readership. Diner/Dive reviews weren’t new. It would hardly shake up the audience Cas was aiming for. But reviewing the diners as a whole would merely be incidental in the venture. Cas was counting on his twist to really draw in his numbers.
Madison’s eyes brightened when she saw Cas back in a booth, far later than he had hoped.
“You’re back!” she said, smile genuine as she walked up to his table, pad and pen already handy. “I guess ‘adequate’ can sometime hit the spot, huh?”
She stood casually in front of him, one hip cocked to the side, and her shoulders dropped. There was a twinkle in her eye and Cas knew it wasn’t a dig at his fumbled and impromptu critique, just friendly teasing. He appreciated that. The world of food could be surprisingly intense and just like with anyone who shared their creation with strangers, sometimes it was hard to take honest feedback.
Castiel smiled in response. “It can indeed. And while I will enjoy another burger, I have to admit, it was the pie that brought me back. I would actually love to feature it in an official review, and hopefully meet the person who baked it?”
Madison’s smile dropped. “Shit, really?”
That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting.
She must have read the confusion in his furrowed brow.
“The guy we had behind the counter when you came in last week has already moved on. Unfortunately, we’ve got Gordon back. The owner made him stick with Dean’s recipe for burgers as a condition of his rehire, but he’s a crap baker. I’m afraid all we’ve got today is a thawed lemon merengue. Trust me when I say it wouldn’t be good for either of us if you decided to review it. And I will save you the pleasure of meeting Gordon.”
Cas was so stunned over the revelation that the very first review he’d lined up for his new hook was a bust that he almost missed a crucial detail in Madison’s explanation.
“Wait. What did you say the name of the new cook was?”
“Gordon? Or Dean? Dean was the guy that was here for about a week and a half before he split. Said he never stayed in one place too long. Just liked to fill in where he was needed until he wasn’t needed anymore. And apparently there was something about Lebanon in particular that had him out faster than normal.”
Cas thought for a minute that his body had forgotten how to breathe.
“What was Dean’s last name?”
“Winchester. Like the gun.”
Castiel’s world stopped for a moment as another flash of memory overtook him, the image of a small, freckle faced boy with an infectious grin filling his mind’s eye.
Madison leaned forward, her dark hair falling over her shoulder as she reached out a hand tentatively towards Castiel as she peered down at him.
“Hey. You ok?”
He looked back up at her, blinking hard.
“You checked out there for a second.”
“Madison, do you know where Dean was planning on heading next?”
She straightened up, her expression of concern flattening out to a more neutral tone as she processed the question. She narrowed her eyes, clearly trying to recall what Dean might have said to her.
“I think he was headed west on 36 towards Denver.”
Cas smiled at her, wide and gummy, feeling lighter than he had in years.
He stood up and pulled ten dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to her.
Holding it up, she cocked her head to the side. “What’s this for? You haven’t even ordered anything yet.”
Cas continued to grin as he waved off her attempt to hand it back. “It’s a tip for the tip. Thank you. I have a pie maker to find.”
As he headed back out to his car, Cas ruefully noted he’d have to adjust his pitch to Crowley, but he didn’t think it would be a problem. This was exactly the unique hook that the man would eat up.
Sequel to Baggage Claims! Oh lord, do I really only have two days left!? I gotta get cracking on that new fic!
Summary: After high school, their lives had gone in different directions. Now Cas was working on a project and Dean was thrilled he wanted him on board. But would he still once he knew Dean was who he'd come to the convention to ask?
Read on AO3 || Part of this challenge
“Dean!” Charlie griped as she pushed into his room. “C’mon, dude! We’re totally gonna be late for our own panel. Don’t think I won’t tell Chuck it’s your fault.”
Dean glanced over to the door as he lay on the bed where he’d collapsed after he’d gotten back to the room. Seeing the irritated expression on her face, he grinned at the fiery redhead. Dean had known Charlie for a couple of years now and she’d basically become the little sister he’d never known he’d wanted.
Trying to shake himself from the haze he’d fallen into, he pushed himself up into a sitting position.
Charlie looked at him more closely and grinned. “Hey! Looks like TSA actually came through and got you your bag back, huh? Good thing too. I lost a bag once and it took like a month to get it back.”
Dean frowned in confusion before following her line of sight to his shirt.
“Oh, yeah. It’s sorted out. Got my stuff back. I just changed.”
“Great. You’re all pretty for our panel. That we are about to miss. So get your butt moving.”
“Yeah, yeah, Your Highness. I’m coming. I’ll remind you, I didn’t want to do this to begin with. I’m perfectly fine with missing the panel.” His stomach churned and he realized, in a way, he was even more eager to miss the panel now than before. Nevertheless, he followed her out the door and down the hallway, lost in his own thoughts.
How would Cas react when he realized Dean was actually Jensen Ackles?
He’d already been nervous about showing his face on a stage. He’d done a good job so far of keeping Jensen Ackles and that life separate from his own. Now that he was linking Jensen’s name to a face, that was likely to change.
He loved acting. Hell, he’d been doing it his whole life, both at home and at school. Cas probably remembered Dean, the popular kid, always center of attention. But Dean had hated it. It had always been just another act. One Dean had kept up with because it was what was expected of him.
Just like playing baseball had been. Acting had been the trade off. He’d played ball because his father expected nothing less than for Dean to be a star. Acting had been his one rebellion. The one thing he’d taken for himself.
Restricting himself to voice acting gave him his anonymity, but it also dramatically limited his opportunities when the big studios wanted a well loved face to tie to the character.
The project Cas had talked about though, sounded amazing. It was exactly the kind of work he’d always wanted to do. And Cas wanted him. Or Jensen at least.
“Geeze, Dean. You’re a million miles away. It’s not gonna be that bad you know?” Charlie eyed him with concern as they waited for the elevator.
“Huh?” Dean asked articulately.
“You see? Dude, lighten up. It’s not like the panel’s going to be on the national news or anything. Maybe a really die hard fan will be able to recognize you from a tumblr gif set. Not like your life is really gonna change.”
“Oh,” Dean huffed a laugh. “Sorry, Charlie. I wasn’t thinking about the panel. Well, not really.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow. Dean knew the look well enough to know he was expected to keep talking and there would be consequences if he didn’t.
“Somebody was talking to me this morning about a possible project. It sounded really cool. Small independent kind of gig. But the basic description was exactly the sort of thing I wanna do, ya know?”
Charlie’s other eyebrow rose to match the first as the bell chimed behind them to signal the arrival of their elevator.
There were a few other people inside the car, the badges around their necks identified them all as convention goers. Charlie looked at them warily before turning back to Dean.
“And they talked to you about it? Why?”
To anyone else, the question might have seemed insulting, but Dean appreciated Charlie’s attempt to separate Dean from Jensen.
“He’s actually an old buddy of mine. Ran into him down in the lobby. Recognized the shirt he was wearing.” Dean tugged at the material covering his chest.
Charlie’s eyes widened comically as she put two and two together. “So, wait, you actually knew the guy that grabbed your bag?”
“Yep. Went to high school together. Apparently we’re both still using freebies for luggage.”
“Well, I guess that was convenient. Does he know who you are?”
One of the girls next to her, short, with very straight blonde hair, looked over her shoulder and narrowed her gaze intently on Dean as though tuned into the fact the he might be someone worth knowing.
She quailed after a pointed, “Do you mind?” from Charlie.
Dean grimaced. “No.”
Charlie pursed her lips and studied Dean. She opened her mouth to say something just as the elevator reached their level and the doors opened. Glancing at the busy lobby, she sighed instead. “Well, I guess he’s about to find out. Come on, tiger.”
Dean smiled uneasily. “Wrong feline. I’m a lion remember? And a cowardly one at that.”
Charlie just smirked, but to Dean’s satisfaction, seemed willing to let the conversation drop as they worked their way through the crowd to the door that would take them behind the stage as they awaited their introductions.
He was glad of the reprieve, even if he knew it was temporary. He wished what he’d told Charlie had been entirely true. He knew calling Cas an old “buddy” was generous. After all, they’d rarely interacted. But Dean had always been aware of Cas’s presence. He’d lost count of the times he’d tried to work up the courage to even talk to the guy. He knew Cas had come to every single play and every game. He’d started looking for him in the crowd, thinking of him as a good luck charm.
It was true that Dean was often surrounded by people in high school, but it really made him feel more isolated and vulnerable. Very few of those people were his actual friends. And it made it harder for Dean to know who liked him and who liked being seen with him.
Dean had never figured out how to approach the cute boy in his art class with the open, blue eyes and the tousled black hair. It hadn’t helped that among the other things Dean had been hiding from all but those chosen few, was the fact that he was bisexual. While Cas hadn’t been the first boy he’d been attracted to, he was the first that made Dean want to act on his attraction. But Cas had never approached him, or showed any real interest in him.
“Dude,” Charlie said in a loud stage whisper, digging her elbow into his ribs. “Focus. We’re about to be introduced.”
Dean’s attention snapped back to the present. He realized at some point, Charlie’s girlfriend Dorothy had joined them and had linked arms with his friend. Both girls were eyeing him with identical expressions of concern. Charlie was right, he needed his head in the game. It had been years since he’d been out on an actual stage, but he was still an actor, he could do this.
Charlie rolled her eyes. “Stop it.”
“What?”
“You aren’t getting into character here. Relax. Be yourself. Answer the questions you want, bullshit your way around the ones you don’t. Not that hard. Besides. We’re all going out there together. Lob something off to me if you can’t deal.”
Just then, Gabriel was calling them all out one by one. Charlie went first, tossing a bolstering smile over her shoulder as she did, then Dorothy, and the rest of the cast. Finally, it was Dean’s turn.
As far as Gabriel was concerned, Dean was Jensen. No one here outside of Charlie and Dorothy knew Dean’s real name.
And Cas, he reminded himself with a smile as he stepped out onto the stage.
The room wasn’t nearly as big as he’d been afraid it would be, but there were still probably three hundred people packed into the space - some standing in the back when they couldn’t find a seat. He found himself scanning the crowds like he used to do in high school, looking for that one face - his lucky charm.
He felt the band of nerves around his chest ease as he spotted Cas about halfway back, on the aisle near a pillar. He took a deep fortifying breath. This was just like high school, and with Cas in the crowd, he could do anything.
After settling into that thought, the rest of the panel went by almost in a blur. He was surprised by how much fun he had. Most of the hour was spent bantering back and forth with his cast members. Since the majority of their dialogue had been recorded separately, Dean hadn’t had much opportunity to hang out with the rest of the crew aside from Charlie and Dorothy. It was a good group and he enjoyed the overall dynamic. The way they took a question and bounced it among themselves, often incorporating the audience made it feel more like a giant game of improve, with the audience just an additional player. Halfway through, Dean completely forgot to be nervous and his smile was genuine.
As soon as the panel was done, the cast was hustled off stage for autographs. Dean felt his nerves start up again.
He’d actually expected the autographs to be easier. Interactions were brief and he wasn’t as worried about photographs or video leaking onto the internet. But he also knew Cas would be in the line somewhere. And now he knew Dean was Jensen. Would it make a difference? God he hoped not. For both Dean and Jensen.
Professionally, he was genuinely interested in the film Cas was working on. Personally, he really hoped Cas was still willing to take him up on that offer for lunch. He felt his hand stray to the card in his pocket more than once as guests came up for his signature. He was actually kind of amazed at how long the line was.
Still, he hadn’t spotted Cas yet.
He tried hard to stay focused on the fan in front of him at any given moment, not wanting them to think they had less than one hundred percent of his attention. If his eyes scanned the line automatically between people, he couldn’t really be blamed right?
Autographs had already lasted for about an hour and the line was starting to thin. Dean could see the end of it, but still, he hadn’t spotted Cas yet. His stomach twisted. Cas had changed his mind. Either he didn’t want Dean on the project, or he was upset that Dean hadn’t been straight with him about his identity that morning. Cringing at his own earlier cowardice, Dean forced himself to stop looking. He’d get through this, spend the rest of the day in his hotel room wallowing, and maybe convince Charlie and Dorothy to go out to a bar with him later that night.
Finally, he reached the last person in line. He looked up and took in the tousled bed head, blue eyes, and shirt he’d been wearing himself not four hours ago. Blinking in surprise, he felt a genuine smile spread across his face.
“Hey, Cas! I was starting to wonder if you were gonna make it.”
Belatedly, Dean realized he’d openly acknowledged knowing Cas in front of his handler and several stragglers. His smile faltered a little as he glanced over at his handler, Tiny.
“Hello, D-, Jensen,” Cas said, clearly catching the flash of panic in Dean’s eyes as Cas started to address him by his real name. Dean felt his shoulders drop in relief and his mouth twitched a bit more up at the side in an effort to convey his gratitude.
“I was really hoping to see you again, Cas,” Dean said, feeling no rush. There was no one behind Cas and he didn’t have another panel to get to. “My friend Dean said you wanted to talk to me about a voiceover opportunity?”
Cas smiled back at him, thankfully rolling with Dean’s continued attempt at a cover. “Yes, Dean led me to believe it was something you might be interested in. I’d ask you to lunch to talk about it, but I have plans with an old high school friend,” Cas said, a glint of humor in his eye.
Dean warmed at the description of “friend,” and was grateful Cas didn’t seem upset by his omission. “Surely your friend would understand, I mean, c’mon, it’s a chance to have lunch with the elusive Jensen Ackles. How could you be expected to pass that up?”
Dean knew he was flirting, but it felt more like an automatic gesture, a nervous reaction. Not that he didn’t want to flirt with Cas. Hell, he’d been interested in the guy since sophomore year. But what he was doing now felt more like that guy he’d been back in high school than who he was right now. That face that he’d put on for the rest of the world. He wanted to be himself with Cas.
“I suppose you have a point,” Cas said, pausing slightly and tilting his head at Dean a little curiously, “but I think I’d really like to try and find a way to do both if possible.”
Dean relaxed, and, for the first time since he’d sat down for the autograph session, Dean breathed easily. “I think I’m good with that,” he said.
Cas smiled widely, crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes that Dean found fascinating. “What time do you think you’ll be free to go?” he asked, looking around at the rapidly emptying hall. Dean was pretty sure the next panel had already started.
He glanced down at the watch on his wrist, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Wait, is it really already after one?” He looked up at Cas. “Uh, I guess, are you hungry now?” he asked, wracking his brain for places the convention staff had recommended to eat.
“I could eat. Are you allowed to leave now?” Cas asked.
“Yeah, the only thing I was here for was the one panel and the autographs. Only did that much cuz I lost a bet to Charlie. I’m telling you man, it’s not a game of chance when you’re dealing with the Queen of Moondor and a twenty sided die.” Dean shook his head, repressing a slight shudder.
Cas laughed, one eyebrow raised and an arm extended, gesturing towards the exit. “Shall we then?”
“Lead the way,” Dean said.
In the end, they wound up wandering the streets for another hour, talking and periodically stopping to check the menu outside various restaurants. Finally, it got to the point where Dean just couldn’t take it anymore. He was starving.
His eyes lit up when he spotted a Five Guys on the corner. Ok. So it wasn’t exactly the classiest of joints, and might not be the most conducive environment for a business meeting, but at that point, he didn’t care. And a burger sounded fantastic.
He turned to Cas to try and plead his case, when the other man visibly sagged, “Oh thank God,” he said, eyes glued to the sign above the restaurant.
He turned to Dean with wide eyes and asked plaintively, “Do you mind if we just eat here?”
Dean laughed, “Dude, I was seriously about to ask you the same thing.”
Grinning, they walked inside and placed their order, picked it up at the counter and sat down.
Outside of the setting of the convention, where Dean had constantly felt the pressure of being Jensen, he was happy to see that talking with Cas was as easy as it had been that morning, before his secret had been revealed.
At first, they steered clear of business, continuing the conversation they’d been having on the hunt for lunch, which included a lively debate on which Star Trek was the best, comparing book to movie versus for Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones, and just about any other nerdy pop culture topic they could find in common.
Eventually though, the topic of Cas’s project came back around.
“Almost every major animated film released nowadays is computer animated,” Cas explained. “And I love the medium, but I hate that the traditional hand drawn illustration seems to have been the victim. They’re two completely different forms of expression. I think there’s room enough for both in the cinematic sphere.”
Dean tended to agree, but he could tell this was something Cas was passionate about and wanted to hear what the other man had to say without interrupting, so he just nodded his head encouragingly.
“The style that I’m envisioning is different than what is common in more mainstream media. The storyline itself is a little darker. An angel and a human trying to navigate a tenuous relationship as they debate the value of heaven, humanity and free will. I want the visual to fit that. I’m thinking a lot of angles - something reminiscent of a Picasso, but more proportionate,” Cas said, taking a napkin and drawing on it almost unconsciously.
Dean nodded again, intrigued.
“So?” Cas said, looking up, nervously twisting the napkin he’d just illustrated in his hands. “What do you think?”
Dean blinked, realizing Cas was finished and actually wanted Dean’s opinion on the concept, not just whether he was interested in being part of the project.
“There are only two voices through the whole thing, correct?”
“Yes, the angel and the human. Everything else is made up of the forces of evil surrounding them. I want their communication to be different to stand out. I guess, maybe, show how much they understand each other.” Cas seemed to realize he’d shredded the edge of the napkin and put it down. “All the other characters will be heard through grunts, growls, squeals, and the like,” he shrugged, “I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to make those noises on my own or use special effects. Since that can be created, cut and timed after the animation is complete, it’s not as critical a decision as the two voices.”
“Have you thought about changing the animation style for the heroes too?” Dean asked. “You know, like, keep the Picasso look for the the grunts,” he grinned at Cas and raised an eyebrow. To his delight, his poor joke earned him a snort and shake of the head, “and use a more flowing style for the heroes? That could set them apart both visually and audibly and you wouldn’t be so dependent on light and color for it.”
Cas pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side, “How do you mean flowing?”
Dean picked up the abandoned napkin and pen and made his own sketch, leaving the base Cas had drawn, but incorporating almost calligraphic lines to soften the sharp edges.
When he was done, Cas looked at him, his eyes narrowed and evaluating. “That’s not a bad idea, Dean. Have you ever considered looking at the artistic side of animation?”
Dean blinked, his head pulling back slightly before he blinked again, looking off to the side. He’d never done anything with the art classes he’d taken in school, but it was still something he enjoyed fiddling around with. Besides, he was around art and animation all the time in his professional life. Hell, he’d even fiddled with a few storyboard ideas he’d never had the guts to show anyone. He knew he wasn’t completely terrible. But to be an artist? One who actually had a hand in the final product?
“Not really, man. I mean. I doodle on the side. A little, but just for fun.”
Cas leaned forward in his seat, resting both forearms on the table, angling his body and lowering his voice as though about to confide a secret. Dean had to lean forward a little more himself just to hear it. ”Dean, I, well, I looked through your bag a bit,” he hesitated before rushing to say, “I was just trying to find some kind of identification, I swear! I wasn’t trying to snoop, but, well…” he fixed Dean with a laser stare, pinning him to his chair. “I saw your sketchpad, Dean.”
Dean felt the blush rising to his face. He wasn’t sure what he was embarrassed about, especially if Cas had seen his art and still asked him if he’d thought about animating, but there were some thing in that sketchpad that he’d never talked about. In some ways, it was his form of therapy.
“What would you think about coming on to this project in a larger capacity than just a voice actor?” Cas asked.
Dean’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious, man?” he asked incredulously. “You told me this morning that this was your baby. We haven’t seen each other in almost twenty years and you wanna trust me with this?”
Cas shrugged. “It’s not a light decision, no. But I’ve seen a sampling of your work - both vocally and artistically. I asked your opinion and you gave me genuine feedback that I feel will truly improve the end product. And honestly? The idea of singlehandedly animating a full length film on my own has been pretty daunting.” His mouth turned up at the corner in a wry smile. “Besides, I’m not really sure who’s doing whom the favor here. It would be a much larger commitment time-wise on your part and I can’t guarantee a huge payout at the end of it. Indie animation doesn’t exactly bring in the big box wages.”
He had a point. Dean wasn’t sure what to think. The idea of being able to do something visually artistic was appealing. It attracted him in a way he hadn’t thought it would. But he would have to make sure he could still pay his bills. He needed to keep his name fresh in the field too, or he wouldn’t have any work to come back to once Cas’s project was finished.
“If we can sit down and work out a contract and schedule that still lets me take on outside voice jobs, I’m in,” Dean said.
He couldn’t deny that a small part of his rushed decision was the realization that his increased involvement would allow him to spend more time getting to know Cas, the way he’d always wanted to do back in high school.
They talked about the movie a little more, but both agreed business could wait until they had a contract in place and were back in front of Cas’s storyboard. Dean realized his fries had gone stone cold. Glancing at his watch, he realized they’d been at their table for a solid two hours. He looked up at Cas and tossed a thumb over his shoulder towards the door.
“What you say we ditch this joint and head back to the hotel?”
Cas promptly snorted at the unintended innuendo and Dean felt another blush rush to his cheeks. “Oh, c’mon, man. Cut me some slack. You know what I mean. I don’t care what we do - hell, the convention is still going for another few hours. We could catch another panel if you want,” he winced as he thought of the convention. Cas had probably paid a lot of money to attend. He’d been personally staggered by the ticket prices.
To his relief, Cas just chuckled, as he stood up, ready to leave, and a little smile on his face. “Don’t worry, Dean. The only panel I was really interested in seeing, I got to attend.”
Dean stood as well and looked down as he rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah?” he said, suddenly and inexplicably feeling shy. “Was it what you hoped for?”
This time Cas let out a shout of laughter as he walked towards the door.
“I’d say I got more than I bargained for. Now come on and let me ask all the questions I’m dying to know about my favorite voice actor, but didn’t dare ask in a room full of people.”
Dean grinned as he followed Cas out into the warm sunshine, “Oh yeah? Like what?”
Cas grinned wickedly and Dean was suddenly sure about the question that was coming. “Like why the hell you had a vibrator in your bag.”
Dean waggled his eyebrows and clapped Cas on the back.
“I was a boy scout, Cas. You know what they say - always be prepared!”
Not going to lie or sugar coat it. THIS is my favorite story that I’ve written. Hands down. And I wrote it in about 8 days. It started as a 3K prompt and ended up over 30K. If I ever commissioned art for a story, it would be this one (actually. I’ve TRIED to commission art for this story, it fell through.) The gorgeous title banner was made by the lovely @swlfangirl, who might love this story as much as me. :)
Summary: There’s conflict in heaven. Michael is arguing that the children of earth are too favored by their father. That they have done nothing but cause war and strife, practically destroying the world God had carefully crafted for them. Another faction argues that mankind is still young. Yes, they are brash, but they will learn. There are signs of goodness that sprout up all around them. Michael argues these are tangible things only - too easy to destroy with the darkness that lies in every man. It is decided an emissary will be chosen to go down to earth. They must find some proof that humanity has good in it.Castiel is sent on a mission to find this proof. What he finds instead might end up being so much more.
Read on AO3 || Part of this challenge
The argument was old, stretching back at least a millennia. At least this round of it. The core of contention went back much further, it’s beginnings originating with Lucifer and his followers before they were banished from Heaven. Now Michael had taken up the mantle, arguing against humanity; against their Father’s clear favoritism for creatures that caused, to Michael’s mind, only war and chaos.
“They want nothing more than to destroy each other - the more creatively, the better,” he argued passionately.
“But they have such great capacity for good in them as well,” Anael countered.
“A teaspoon of goodness, the only purpose served by which to give them means to assuage their guilt over their crimes. And they aren’t content just to annihilate each other. They’re taking the rest of our Father’s creations along with them. How many more species have to die out before they’re satisfied?”
“The platypus is still doing fine,” Gabriel said as he leaned casually against a tall white pillar, ankles crossed and smirk evident. He rarely seemed to take these debates seriously, but he always participated nonetheless.
Michael sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, taking a full ten seconds before turning to face his fellow archangel. “I’m glad that Father’s little indulgence to your whim is surviving the onslaught of humanity, but I think you’re failing to see the bigger picture, my brother.”
Inhaling deeply, Michael stiffened his shoulders, as though fortifying himself against the response to what he was about to say.
“Humans have clearly squandered the gift our Father has given them. They have proved to be unworthy of free will. This little experiment must come to an end. I think it is time we move forward with our Father’s prophecy.”
Anael and several of the other angels in attendance gasped, a few shaking their heads in denial that such a proposal had even been suggested.
Gabriel stood up, all traces of his smirk wiped from his face. “What prophecy is this, brother?” he asked, his voice flattened and void of the general amusement he was so well known for.
“You know very well the prophecy I speak of, Gabriel.”
Gabriel raised his eyebrow, cocking his head slightly at his older brother. “If you’re referring to the Apocalypse, then I don’t know that it was so much a prophecy as a contingency plan. I don’t believe humanity is as so far gone as you would like everyone to believe. So long as there is hope, I think they deserve a second chance.”
“A second chance?” Michael exclaimed, disbelief lining his voice, his wings twitching to the point that Bartholomew, the angel standing closest to his left, had to move out of his way to avoid being buffeted in his righteous fury.
“Father has given them a second chance. He forgave them for eating the forbidden fruit, he forgave them for selling their own brothers into slavery, and finally, he forgave them for killing his own son made flesh. And yet they use this forgiveness as an excuse to forge even greater war. Even amongst those who claim to share the same faith! They twist his words to their own meaning. What good can come from this? What right do these creatures have to free will? What right have they to the highest place in our Father’s heart?”
“What right do they have? That’s just it Michael. That’s what you’ve never understood. Our father gave them the right to fail. To fall down and get back up again. And I know you can’t see it, but they do. They get back up again over and over. Their right is to keep trying.” Gabriel’s wings were taut, quivering, as he faced off with Michael. Rarely did he allow himself to get so riled up, but his brother had pushed him too far this time. Threatening the apocalypse? Only their Father had the authority to decide to set that in motion. Michael had forgotten his place and it was humanity that would pay the price if Gabriel couldn’t talk him down.
Michael’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You have such faith in them, brother,” he sneered. “Then let them prove themselves one last time. It is two thousand years since our Father sent them their last chance at redemption. Though many celebrate it on earth as we speak, they have forgotten what that offer truly meant. Now they will have one final chance. A chance not sent by our Father, but a chance offered up by man.”
“What are you playing at, Michael?” Gabriel asked, backing off a step, his wings, no longer twitching, but still spread wide and wary.
“We will send an angel among them,” Michael held up his hand as Gabriel opened his mouth to argue. “It will be an angel we both agree on. One that has kept himself neutral in this disagreement of ours.”
Gabriel narrowed his eyes and tilted his chin upwards slightly. “Very well, what will this angel’s task be?”
“This angel must bring back proof of humanity’s ‘potential’ as you put it. It must be something that no one can touch, but can be held by an angel.”
Gabriel frowned, trying to find the loophole. Such a task wouldn’t be easy, but it shouldn’t be impossible either. “How long will this angel have to look?”
“I think the season of Advent should prove long enough. That gives the angel in question twenty-six earth days to complete their mission. Given that almost a third of the human population claim this is the time of year for peace, it shouldn’t be too difficult, now should it?”
Michael gave Gabriel a small smile that felt more like a trap than a promise. Internally, he cringed at the short time frame, but he knew that if he could be allowed to find the right angel to carry out the mission, it would be more than enough.
“Very well, but since you’ve laid out all the details for this grand scheme, perhaps you’ll give me the honor of choosing the lucky sap who has to carry it out?”
Michael nodded, “Of course, Gabriel. Remember though, you must choose someone we will both approve of, one who has kept neutral of these discussions.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it, Michael, I’ll play by your rules here. I think I’ll nominate,” Gabriel’s eyes skimmed the room. Most of the host was present, many supporting all sides of the argument and many who remained undecided. He was looking for one pair of dark wings in particular. Finally, he spotted the angel he wanted, on a ledge about halfway up the wall, where he could easily see the proceedings, but not necessarily be noticed. Gabriel’s smile widened. “I’ll nominate, Castiel.”
A murmur ran through the room and Gabriel saw Castiel stiffen, his wings spreading as though his first instinct was flight, and then drawing in on himself as if he was trying to shrink from view.
Michael’s eyebrows shot up, clearly wondering at Gabriel’s choice. It couldn’t be denied that Castiel had refused to choose sides, it was no secret that he often voiced sadness that any issue should cause division amongst the host. Michael would not be able to publicly find fault with his brother’s selection. Nonetheless, he narrowed his eyes, searching Gabriel’s face for sign of deception or subterfuge. He found none.
“Castiel!” he called, not bothering to look towards the ledge where Castiel still perched, hoping in vain not to be noticed.
Gabriel saw Castiel’s shoulders sag for a moment in resignation before he seemed to pull them back and square his chin. Ever the soldier. But Gabriel knew there was more to Castiel than that. He was counting on it.
Castiel spread his ebony wings, the blue highlights catching in Heaven’s reflected light, and with no more than one flap to launch himself, gracefully glided to the floor to stand next to Michael.
“Yes, my brother?”
“Castiel, I know you have witnessed the exchange between Gabriel and myself,” Michael began.
Gabriel was certain he saw the tiniest movement of Cas’s head, a slight lifting of his eyebrow that gave away his amusement at what Michael termed an “exchange.”
“I did,” Castiel responded, clearly not willing to jump into the request, despite knowing what was coming.
“Do you understand what this task would entail?”
“For an angel to go to earth,” Castiel paused slightly, letting the true weight of the command fall on both participants. No angel had been to earth for over a millennia. Gabriel himself had been one of the last. “This angel must somehow retrieve proof that humanity is worthy of the gift of our Father’s son and his sacrifice. This proof cannot be something physically tangible, but it must be something that can be held by an angel.”
“And do you understand that you have been chosen as this angel?”
“I do.”
“And do you understand that in this task you must be impartial to both sides, seeking or failing without prejudice towards either Gabriel or my opinion?”
“I do.”
“Do you understand what will happen should you not find proof?”
“You will have determined it enough evidence to bring about the apocalypse, destroying humanity, and likely dividing the forces of Heaven against each other in the meantime.”
Michael’s gaze narrowed on the last detail and he examined Castiel shrewdly. A muscle in his jaw flexed, and his face showed that he was beginning to wonder if Castiel was really as neutral as he’d originally thought.
“Very good. You have twenty-six days in which to complete your task. You may do so however you wish.”
Castiel nodded. He needed no preparation. He was a soldier and he would obey. Spreading his wings, he leapt downward through the barrier that divided the world between the earthly plane and Heaven, the reverberation of such an action creating a wave not unlike a sonic boom, and a light like a distant supernova. On earth, it would merely sound like thunder and appear as an exceptionally bright star guiding those who might be lost on an otherwise star-less night.
He continued, pushing through Earth’s atmosphere as it attempted to buffet him about, turbulent and disturbed by the unrest in heaven. Clouds blocked his vision and he allowed himself to fly on instinct alone. He had no concept of where to start, so any place he landed felt just as likely as another.
He was halfway through a particularly dense cloud bank when something pulled him sharply to a stop.
It was as though he’d hit a brick wall going a hundred and fifty miles an hour. If Castiel had been mortal, he would have been killed instantly. But there was nothing in front of him. Dazed, Castiel looked around him, trying to pinpoint what had blocked his path and prevented him from continuing his journey to Earth. Hovering, he cocked his head to the side as he looked at the swirling eddies of condensed water around him. He knew that just beneath him, this water would be falling in the form of a terrific blizzard. Visibility below would likely be just as bad as it was in the cloud itself. It was unlikely Castiel would be able to see whatever it was that stopped him.
Then he heard it.
Softly at first, as though hesitant and unsure. Pure notes, filled with sadness, hope, longing, and love drifted up towards him. They filled Castiel’s mind with a joy he hadn’t felt since the host had been one, whole, together and singing in harmony at all the wonder of his Father’s creation.
He closed his eyes, letting the sound twist around him, so real he could almost feel it. But it was too faint. Too far away. He needed to find the source.
The notes snaked around his wrists, his feet, and pulled.
Unaware of what precisely had happened, Castiel felt himself falling, plummeting towards the earth, a cacophony of other sounds filling his mind as he came closer and closer to the throbbing pulse of humanity.
The sounds of machinery, discordant with the sounds of pain from the sick, lonely and dying. The sounds of rushing, of people always having somewhere to be, something to do, and no time to think about the marvels around them. There were sounds of laughter, sounds of families saying “I love you,” but these were drowned out by everything else.
The sounds exploded in Castiel’s head and he couldn’t think clearly. He clung to the thread of the first sound, shutting his mind out to everything else, shutting his mind even to the host, who had been in his head always.
Finally, it was quiet, but now the first sound was dying out, fading and vanishing into nothingness. Castiel’s only tether was cut, and he plummeted the last hundred feet or so to earth with no direction, eventually landing with a forceful THWUMP into a large snow bank outside a small house. He registered a door opening and a large figure illuminated by the light behind him before Castiel’s world went dark.
I could not have picked a worse night or time to post this. I get that. but I had not ability to do anything about it earlier.
This was my first DCBB. I absolutely cannot take full or even most credit for this story as I co-wrote it with the lovely @cliffnotesofanerd. It was fun collaborating - especially when people tried to guess who was responsible for what. I give all the kudos to her for the smut. It is good smut, I just can’t write it :). Generally speaking though, I wrote the parts from Cas’ POV and she took on Dean. And if I didn’t already appreciate a well dressed man before...
Summary: Business is tanking, and Cas is facing the very real possibility that he may lose his livelihood as a tailor. Can one client, no matter how attractive, really make a difference?Written for the Dean/Cas Big Bang 2014
Read on AO3 || part of this challenge
manip by @cliffnotesofanerd
Dean’s fingers hovered over the keys of his laptop as his eyes scanned the page in front of him, disbelieving.
“...give him the message his perversions are not welcome...”
“...do you really want this man touching you?...”
“...let your money talk and take it elsewhere...”
A flicker of indignation kindled in Dean’s chest. So that’s what the man at Men’s Wearhouse had meant when he’d said, “Don’t listen to Yelp. Novak is the best tailor in the city.”
“If I hadn’t already decided to go there,” he muttered in irritation at the needlessly vitriolic reviews, “you can be damn sure I’m going now, just to spite you chucklefucks.” He plucked a Sharpie from the cup by the desk and scrawled the address on the back of his hand. If memory served, it wasn’t far; if he didn’t mind carrying the garment bag while he walked over to pick up Bailey, he could stop by between the Pattersons and the O’Neils.
Bailey was the lethargic corgi of F14 on Chester Avenue. Her owners had incorrectly hypothesized that if she got some more exercise, she’d perk up; as far as Dean could tell, her sedate waddle had not become any more energetic in the few weeks he’d been walking her. She was, however, waiting eagerly at the door as he unlocked it, and greeted him with a single polite bark.
“Hey girl,” he said, stopping briefly to scratch her behind the ears. She wiggled her tail-less rear end in canine glee. “You ready for walkies?”
He took her leash down from its hook, replacing it with the garment bag in the meantime, and Bailey grunted in approval as Dean led her out into the hallway, locking the door behind him.
Bailey was in rare form this morning. Dean grinned as she trotted next to him on stubby legs, tongue lolling out one side of her mouth. Maybe the budding spring weather was all the dog had needed. Dean knew it certainly improved his mood to see green emerging on the tips of the branches, and to forego at least a few of the layers the frigid weather had forced him to don during the past several months.
Bailey wasted no time taking care of business, and her trot did not last for long before she resolutely flopped to the ground, nose on her forepaws as she looked plaintively up at Dean. Dean frowned. He’d leave a note to have the Pattersons take her to the vet, just to make sure nothing was causing her discomfort. He’d had enough experience with longer dogs to know that spinal issues weren’t uncommon.
“C’mon, Bailey. Up you go. Home’s right there. You want jerky?”
Bailey’s ears perked up at the familiar bribe.
“That’s right. Jerky jerky,” Dean said temptingly. He’d given up on not sounding ridiculous ages ago.
It was enough to coax Bailey back to the apartment building and onto the elevator, though she whined as Dean tugged at the leash to head down the hallway, eventually giving in with clear reluctance. Thoroughly concerned now, Dean scribbled a quick note to let Mrs. Patterson know before tearing off a bit of Bailey’s favorite treat and tossing it to her. “Good girl,” he crooned as she wolfed it down, her appetite clearly unaffected. “I’ll be back later,” he promised her, glancing at her water dish before lifting the garment bag from its hook and slipping out the door.
The tailor’s shop was three blocks away. Dean shifted the garment bag over his shoulder so it wouldn’t catch on his backpack as he squared his shoulders.
“Right. Off to see Mr. Novak.”
There was a head of carefully tousled dark hair bent over a newspaper at the counter as Dean pushed at the door. It immediately looked up at the tinkle of the bell, and Dean stopped in his tracks.
Oh, shit. He was hot.
“Good morning,” the man said with a polite smile that made Dean swallow. “Can I help you?”
Dean stared. The man behind the counter raised an eyebrow before Dean realized he was waiting for a response. “Yes! Yes, I…” He brought the garment bag around in front of him, laying it gently on the counter. “My brother’s wedding is the day after tomorrow,” he said, focusing carefully on the zipper of the garment bag as he undid it, “and I let things go a little last minute.”
“I see,” the man behind the counter said, eyes flicking upwards from the suit on the counter to touch Dean’s briefly. Dean was treated to a glimpse of blue before the gaze focused back down on the suit. “Let me guess: hemming and pressing?”
“Well, it’s brand new, I don’t know if it needs to be pressed,” Dean began, but the look the man shot upwards at him was so scandalized that he nearly swallowed his own tongue. “Yes. Pressed. And the arms are long.”
“It’s off the rack, of course the arms are long,” the man mused as he lifted the suit on its hanger, letting the plastic of the Men’s Wearhouse garment bag fall away. He paused. “What I mean to say is, you’ve got a bit of shoulder to you,” he said in a less critical tone, meeting Dean’s gaze and holding it, “so any jacket that fits you in the shoulder is bound to be long in the arm. Especially this label.” He jerked his head at the suit. “Let’s see you in it. See what I can do.”
Dean blinked. “So you’re the tailor? Not, like, his son?”
The man was already halfway to a curtained corner of the shop; he looked over his shoulder, brows drawn in a nonplussed furrow. “Of course I am.” He turned, thrusting his hand forward as Dean stepped closer. “I’m Cas. Cas Novak.”
Dean grasped the offered hand, unable to quell the tiny thrill at the touch. “Dean Winchester. Pleased to meet you.”
Pure 100% crack. Also Sabriel heavy. This was a special fic for @trekchik :)
Summary: Sam and Dean wake up one morning...as minions. To top it all off, another strange minion shows up while they're trying to figure out what's going on. Will they be able to change back?
***Special note: The AO3 version has minion translation in hover text. I used an actual Minion dictionary. Those things exist in this world.
Read on AO3 || Part of this challenge
Dean woke up slowly, not processing at first that anything was different. His body was in that blissful state between waking and sleep where everything was perfect. They’d just finished a hunt and had at least a few days back at the bunker. Maybe more. Things had been blessedly quiet lately.
Rolling over onto his back, Dean stretched, realizing something felt funny with his mattress as he did so. It was almost as though the motion was too smooth; no angular shoulders pushing against the mattress, more like he was turning in water.
Confused, he blinked his eye open.
Wait.
Eye?
Dean sat up abruptly and looked down at himself. What he saw was not himself.
He moved his arms and the thin, yellow, tube like things in his lap moved at the same time. In a panic, he tried to scramble off the bed, only to discover his legs had become short stumps that were hardly functional for getting him anywhere quickly. Eventually, he managed to land with athump on the floor.
And there was another shock. His head only came up to the edge of the bed. Getting back in would be interesting. Deciding to deal with that later, he rushed to the door, having to jump a few times before he could reach the handle to open it.
Glancing cautiously into the hallway, Dean made sure the coast was clear before scampering down to the bathroom, where there was a full length mirror.
Finally reaching his destination, it was with some trepidation that he stepped in front of the glass to get his first look at the damage this curse, or whatever the hell it was, had caused.
He stared.
He looked like a damn thumb with skinny little arms and legs. His skin was as yellow as a Simpson, he only had one eye, over which was an odd monocular goggle. And what the hell, he was wearing friggin' overalls.
Dean shut his now only eye against the sight and groaned. He wracked his brain trying to think of something he could have done that would have caused this.
The last case had been a simple salt and burn. In and out. They hadn’t run into a witch in over a year. He supposed he could have brushed up against something in the bunker. They were still finding new artifacts all the time. Only last week, Sam had nearly sat on a freaking rabbit’s foot someone had just left lying around decades ago. Fortunately, Cas had caught him just in time. He hadn’t been anywhere new in the bunker lately though, so he wasn’t sure what they might have missed in the main rooms.
A thump from the hallway quickly brought him back to attention. He tried to hurry towards the shower stall to hide, discovering as he did that his new body made him very top heavy. He ended up falling on his face twice and was only halfway to the stall when the door opened.
He stared in shock at another creature that looked very much like him.
"Po ka?” he said. Wait, what? What the hell had he said? He’d been trying to to say, what the hell. He’d only gotten the first word out before he realized that he apparently no longer had control over his own mouth.
"Dee?” the other creature said tentatively.
Dean looked more closely at the creature in front of him. This one had two eyes, and was significantly taller than himself, but he (it?), was wearing the same goggles and overall combination. Understanding flickered through his mind as he looked at the creature’s wide, almost puppy like stare.
"Sa?” he managed to get out. The closest approximation to his brother’s name he seemed likely to get. “Luk at tu!”
"Luk at tu!” the creature, who was in fact Sam, repeated back. Dean rolled his eye. This was not going to get them very far. Motioning to Sam, he walked out of the bathroom. They needed to check on Cas. If he’d been transformed too, they’d really be in trouble.
As Dean stepped back into the hallway, Sam crowding close behind him, he noticed a warm, familiar aroma floating down the hall. He raised his face appreciatively and took a deep whiff. He wasn’t sure how he was smelling anything. His perusal in the mirror hadn’t indicated a nose of any kind, but he wasn’t going to complain. If Cas was able to make coffee, there was a good chance they were in luck and he hadn’t been affected.
He and Sam toddled down the hall towards the enticing lure of caffeine and, hopefully, answers.
They reached the doorway of the kitchen just as Cas, blessedly still in human form, turned towards them. He stopped in surprise, his eyebrows shooting straight to his hairline and damn, even in a moment like this, Dean could appreciate Cas’s tousled bed head. Not that he’d ever said anything about it.
“Cas!” he said. Well it was about damn time. At least he was able to say something right.
“Dean? Sam?” Cas asked hesitantly, confusion clear in his voice.
"Bello,” Sam said, waving sheepishly from behind Dean. Dean just rolled his eyes.
“What happened?”
Dean frowned in response - or whatever approximated a frown on a face with only one eye - but didn’t say anything. There wasn’t much point. He had no idea what would come out of his mouth, but it wasn’t likely to be whatever he meant. Apparently Cas didn’t need Dean to answer to understand him though.
“I suppose you don’t know.”
Dean huffed and crossed his arms, turning to face a the wall. It was hard to admit, but he was embarrassed for Cas to see him like this.
“Bi do,” Sam said, his tone so apologetic, Dean could only assume he’d said “I’m sorry.”
Cas opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by a loud banging at the door. A look of consternation passed over his face as he held up his hand to Sam and Dean, cautioning them, rather pointlessly, to stay out of sight.
Both Sam and Dean positioned themselves so they could see the door without being seen themselves, peering around as Cas pulled it open.
“BEE DO BEE DO BEE DO!!” came a shrill voice. Another creature resembling Sam and Dean came careening through the door, three flashing lights attached to his head. He ran in zig zags and circles so fast Cas had no hope of being able to catch or stop him. Sam and Dean toppled out from their hiding place in shock.
Suddenly, the new creature stopped in the center of the room, a shit eating grin lighting up his face. “Bello,” he said.
Dean remembered Sam saying the same thing earlier. Given that it at least sounded logical, he was going to assume the yellow thing in front of him had just said, “hello.”
Right. Dean had had enough.
He stalked up to the little yellow minion and shoved right into his face. “Po ka tu,” he spat.
The thing in front of him looked at him seriously for a brief second before its face split into a grin. From there he devolved into a snicker before crashing to the floor and rolling in outright laughter.
Right. Whatever or whoever this thing was, Dean didn’t trust him and it was clear he wasn’t going to be any help to them.
Eye narrowed, he stalked over to Cas and grabbed a handful of the flannel pajama pants he was wearing at the knee - which just happened to be the highest point on the former angel that he could reach. With an impatient tug, he started marching Castiel towards the library. Sam could deal with the new guy.
Dean, too busy muttering under his breath, missed the look of deep affection Cas aimed in his direction.
Sam didn’t. Neither did their unusual guest who sighed dramatically, leaning back so far that his hands dragged on the floor, and rolling his eyes. Sam looked at the creature more closely, his eyes narrowed. Like Dean, he was suspicious of him - at least, he assumed it was a him, it was hard to tell honestly - but he also recognized he might the one most likely to have the answers to what was going on. After all, he was a creature like themselves, who had managed to find them just after their transformation, and, who ever he was, he seemed remarkably unfazed. So far, he didn’t seem like he posed much of a threat, and antagonizing the newcomer wasn’t likely to get them anything they needed.
Straightening up, the creature looked at Sam, laughter subdued to a mischievous grin. “Me want banana!” he exclaimed.
Sam frowned. Well, that sounded fairly straight forward at least. He turned towards the kitchen, indicating for the creature to follow.
A quick search of the areas of the kitchen he could actually reach showed him they didn’t have any bananas, but they did have something he thought might work as a substitute.
“Bable?” he asked, holding out an apple to the stranger.
Clearly it wasn’t sufficient. Rather than taking it, the creature wrinkled his face, stuck out his tongue in disgust and waved Sam away with his hands. “Gelato!” he said with enthusiasm.
Sam frowned. He knew they didn’t have any actual gelato, but whatever this language was, perhaps that’s not what he was asking for at all.
The other creature rolled his eyes again. Pointing at the table, he turned to Sam and said, in what was obviously a command, “Chasey!” He then pointed to the space in front of the refrigerator.
Catching on, Sam moved to grab a chair from the table and placed it in front of the fridge. He turned to look at the other creature questioningly.
He grinned at Sam before poking him in the chest and then pointing up at the top of the chair. “Tu a key!”
Sam grinned back and climbed quickly on the chair, waiting for more instructions. To his surprise, the other creature scrambled up next to him...and kept climbing. Sam braced himself as the newcomer danced about on his head.
A vacuum hiss above him told Sam, the creature had opened the freezer. Sam heard an, “ahahaha HA!” as a container of ice cream whooshed past him, barely clipping his goggles, before landing with a solid thump on the floor. The weight disappeared from Sam’s head as the creature jumped off to roll across the floor before scampering back to his find.
He looked down at it, back to Sam, down, and back up again. Sam couldn’t help but snicker. It really was pretty funny. He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t completely freaked out. He should be. He should be in the library with Dean, trying to find a solution to whatever this was. But there was something about this new guy that made him feel like whatever this was would work itself out and he should be having fun rather than stressing over it. He couldn’t explain it, but he decided to roll with it anyway. He still didn’t sense that their guest was any threat.
“Pop pop?” the creature asked.
Sam turned towards the pantry and pried the door open from the bottom. Fortunately, the popcorn was near the bottom. Holding it up, he smiled when the creature grinned and nodded enthusiastically. He was starting to get the hang of this.
While they popped the popcorn, the creature dug through the drawers for two spoons. Sam watched him curiously. The next time the creature was looking at him, he pointed to himself and said, “Sa!” He pointed at the stranger and raised an eye expectantly.
The stranger just chuckled and shook his head, hopping up to grab the popcorn as he walked past Sam, his arms now full of food. Sam hurried to follow, wondering where they were going.
The library, as it turned out. The creature peered cautiously around the corner as though hoping to avoid being seen. Looking at Sam, he widened his eyes, let out an exaggerated, “shhhh!!!” and tiptoed into the room to a vantage point behind a bookshelf where they could see without easily being seen.
“para tu,” he said, handing the popcorn to Sam.
“Tank yu,” Sam said, setting down next to his new friend, wondering what they were doing.
“Dean, it’s really not so bad you know,” Cas’s voice filtered back to them. Sam shifted a little and realized he now had a perfect view of Cas and Dean attempting to research.
Dean didn’t respond to Cas’s comment verbally, but his one-eyed glare clearly spoke volumes to Cas.
“I know that this will require an adjustment, and the language barrier might be...frustrating...at first. But we’ve certainly handled worse. It’s very likely this is only temporary.”
Sam heard a huff from Dean and the creature at his side snickered. He shot a wary glance at the visitor. He received a grin that wasn’t evil, but most definitely one that seemed to be anticipating something. He pointed to Cas and Dean and whispered, “Cassee boy baboi.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Underwear...” he muttered. He stopped and looked to his right, blushing furiously. That was not what he’d intended to say.
His neighbor broke into a fit of giggles. “Buttom,” he said, almost incoherently through his laughter.
Sam frowned. “Tatata bala tu,” he said.
The creature wiped tears from his eyes, shaking his head in disagreement.
Their conversation was cut short by the sound of Cas talking to Dean.
“No matter what happens, Dean, I’m not going anywhere. I chose to stay when Heaven reset. I gave up my failing grace rather than taking the cure. I did it because I wanted to stay with you. Do you really think something like this would make me leave?”
Sam could see Dean looking sadly down in his lap and he realized that’s exactly what his brother thought. Apparently so could Cas.
“Dean,” he sighed, “I’m not sure how much more I can do to show you that you are worth it. You are worth everything. And while I will admit that if whatever this is is permanent, I will miss many things about your previous form, there are a few advantages to this shape. It will be far easier to cuddle when you sneak into my room at night, for example.”
And wait, what? Surely Sam had heard that wrong. But, no. While Dean was glaring up at Cas, the corner of his mouth was twitching and there was no heat in the look.
Cas chuckled. “I know. I’m not supposed to call it cuddling. My point still holds. I will be with you no matter what.”
“Milaliloo ti amo,” Dean said, looking surprised at himself for speaking. It was almost as if he’d said what he was thinking out loud without realizing it.
Cas’s gaze softened and he replied, “Me too,” before leaning over and kissing Dean on his forehead.
There was a loud snap and Dean turned back into his original form.
“Woah,” he said, looking at Cas. “What just happened?”
Cas smirked, “It would appear that whatever altered your form has been released.”
Dean’s face flushed bright red. “Wait. Did you understand what I just said?” he asked hesitantly.
Cas’s face split into a wide smile. “Dean, it took me years to be able to properly understand you. Now it doesn’t matter what language you speak or if you speak at all. I will understand you.”
Dean hesitated and looked down. “So, did you mean what you said?” he asked.
Cas’s smile didn’t diminish, he just reached out to grasp Dean’s hand. “Yes. I love you, too.”
Sam was happy for them. He really was. It was about time they got their shit together. But there was a small problem. He still looked like a giant yellow thumb.
He turned to glare at the creature next to him. “Po ka?” he asked.
The creature just giggled and said, “Muak, muak!”
Sam was no longer amused. His gaze darkened and he folded his arms over his chest.
The creature darted forward and placed a loud, smacking kiss right on Sam’s mouth.
SNAP.
Sam’s perspective changed quickly as he suddenly jumped from two and a half feet tall to his usual six foot four. He blinked, looking down at…
“Gabe?” he asked in surprise.
“Hey Sasquatch. Miss me?” Gabe asked, waggling his eyebrows.
Sam smiled. “Yes, actually. Cas mentioned there was a chance you were still alive, but we hadn’t heard from you. We weren’t sure if it was true or not.”
Gabe looked taken aback that Sam was actually happy to see him, but he covered the reaction quickly. “Well, never fear, your archangel is here.”
Sam’s brow furrowed. He cocked his head and looked at the angel in front of him. “Not that I’m complaining. And I guess I’m not surprised at the shape shifting thing. It is your M.O., but why? What was the point? There’s always some lesson with you.”
Gabe grinned again and Sam was surprised he hadn’t recognize that look of mischief, no matter the shape of the face.
“The spell had to be broken by a kiss or a confession of love. We managed to get both. It’s about time those goofballs wised up, don’t you think?”
Sam looked over his shoulder at their brothers, currently wrapped in each other’s arms and completely oblivious to the fact that Sam and Gabe were in the room at all.
“Ok, fair enough, but why me too?”
Gabe flashed him a wickedly lopsided grin before cracking, “Helloooo, Trickster?”
Sam just laughed, leaning down and snatching a kiss of his own, enjoying the look of pleasant surprise on the angel’s face.
Catching the trickster off guard and enjoying it himself? Yeah. Totally worth it.
This was meant as a post fic time stamp for @shellygurumi‘s Angels and Ammo fic, but it can still be read on its own if you haven’t yet given yourself the pleasure of reading that story :)
Summary: The war is over and Dean and Cas can finally be together. (post World War II)
Read on AO3 || part of this challenge
Cas woke up to a tuft of familiar hair tickling his nose, and bright sunlight streaming through the window. The heavy breathing of the man tucked into his side confirmed that Dean was still asleep. Cas tightened his grip at Dean’s waist, not enough to disturb the other man, just enough to convince himself this was real. The war was over and they were both safe at home - their home. He glanced around at the boxes that were still scattered over the bedroom. There was still a lot of unpacking to do. He had no intention of tackling any of it today.
It was his first day of leave. He hadn’t seen Dean in over a month and he fully intended to take advantage of sharing the same space as his lover once again. He’d had enough separation during the war with communication often unreliable and neither sure if the other man was dead or alive at any given moment.
Now America was at peace again. There wasn’t the same need for soldiers anymore. They’d both served their country and fought back evil. Cas knew there would always be more evil, but they’d both played their part. Dean’s enlistment had ended four months ago. Cas’s commission lasted until the end of the year, but in the meantime, they had made plans for their future, together.
Dean, at Castiel’s urging, had taken advantage of the G.I. Bill and enrolled at Ohio State University. For the moment, he was fulfilling the requirements to progress on to the upper college, but Cas knew Dean was hoping to study mechanical engineering, having tinkered with and become fascinated by the many new machines that had been developed for the war effort. He had also found a part time job in an auto shop in the meantime to help support his half of the rent.
Dean and Cas had discussed the possibility of Dean moving into the veteran’s housing closer to campus, but the demand was already so great, the University was already having trouble meeting it. Besides, that would have meant more years apart, hiding what they were to each other far too often.
As soon as Cas’s decommissioning went through, he had a job lined up in Dayton as a test pilot. The world was changing and new advancements were coming out every day. Cas relished the idea of being at the forefront of all that. Being the first to taste the sky in a new way.
Dayton and Columbus weren’t exactly right next door, but Dean and Cas had both agreed a bit of a commute was worth it if they came home to each other.
In his arms, Dean stirred, flipping over to face Cas’s chest and burying his nose in the older man’s neck without opening his eyes.
“Mmmmm,” he mumbled incoherently. “What time is it? Gotta go to work today.”
“Too early,” Cas said, smiling. “Besides,” he glanced towards the open window and the sun spilling in, “it’s pouring down rain outside. You don’t need to go out in that.”
He felt Dean smile against his chest.
“Raining, huh?”
“Buckets,” Dean still hadn’t opened his eyes. “Can’t you hear it?”
Dean cracked one eye and looked up at Cas. “You know, I think I can. It sounds horrible. Might even be flooding. What do you suggest?”
Cas pursed his lips as though thinking. “Have we unpacked the skillet your mother gave you yet?”
“Yep. In the cupboard next to the stove.”
“I think you should make banana pancakes. Then we should eat them in bed.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Eating in bed? Commander, that doesn’t sound very responsible.”
Cas stretched long and lazy, like a cat, letting his legs drag slowly against Dean’s. He smiled when he felt the younger man shift against him in response.
“Call it the perks of being an officer - at least for a little longer. I hereby deem that it is not in fact Thursday morning. It is in reality a Saturday. It’s raining and I have no intention of doing anything other than laying here next to you.”
“And eating banana pancakes,” Dean added, grinning.
“We’ll call that a prelude. There are, after all, other things we can do laying down.”
Cas felt the world spin as Dean suddenly flipped him onto his back and leaned in for a deep, heady kiss.
“Welcome home, Cas,” he murmured as he began to move away.
Cas pulled Dean back down to him and together, they proceeded to ignore the world outside.
This was a quiet little drabble I did for a challenge. It was required to be SHORT, which is hard for me. I rarely write under 3.5K. When I wrote it, I had a whole continuing backstory, but it has long since been lost to the depths of my brain.
Summary: Written for the destiel ficlet challenge. Prompt: Person A and Person B are forbidden from being together but does that stop them.
Read on AO3 || part of this challenge
Dean stuffed a fresh loaf of bread into his saddlebag on top of the few changes of clothing he’d packed. He wouldn’t need much. And he certainly didn’t want any of the fancy court finery. It would do him little good. He glanced around his room one more time to see if there was anything else he had forgotten. Satisfied, Dean closed the flap of the bag and looped the leather thong over the catch to make sure it stayed shut.
Stealing quietly, from his room, Dean slipped down the halls. It wouldn’t do to be spotted this night. From down the corridor, he could still hear the revelry and the merry making. Ironic, that the party was for him, yet no one seemed to notice that he’d gone missing over half an hour ago. Even his supposed fiance hadn’t noticed his disappearance. Given Michael’s typical level of self absorption, Dean wasn’t all that surprised. His father, King John, would be spending the evening fawning over Michael, far too busy politicking to notice his eldest son and heir’s absence.
Only one person in that ballroom was likely to notice Dean had vanished.
As if to prove his point, when Dean reached Baby’s stall in the royal stables, Sam stood leaning against the door.
“Don’t try and stop me, Sam. I’m leaving. Tonight.” He moved past his brother, throwing Baby’s saddle over her back and deftly cinching the girth before attaching his saddle bag.
“I figured. And I wouldn’t even think about stopping you. Just...are you sure? This isn’t something you can take back, Dean. You do this and you forfeit the crown. And it won’t go to me. You know who it will go to next. And if that happens, this war will only become more bloody.”
“I have to take that chance, Sam. Find a way. You would make an amazing king. You’re smart, smart in a way Father never could be. I’m just his tool. His blunt little instrument in war and I can’t be that anymore.
“I know you two don’t get along, but you have to make him see. I’ve tried. I can’t. I never could. And now it’s too late. I can’t marry Michael. You know that. If I stay...if I stay, I won’t be able to tell him no.”
Sam sighed. “I know. Just promise you’ll be careful. You do this, and you’re both going to be hunted for the rest of your lives. Do you know where you’re going to go?”
Dean hesitated, unsure how much was wise to tell his brother about his plans. He didn’t want to put him in any more danger than he already would be. But what if his brother needed him? There were two people in this world Dean would readily die for, would trade his soul for. He was getting ready to ride towards one of them, but in doing so, he would be leaving one behind.
“Karthartirio. Not far from the border. I have a contact there that’s found us a small, isolated cabin. We should be safe.” He paused again before deciding. “If you need to find me, contact Benny. He’s a baker in the first town across the border. Tell him you’re looking for the sword and the angel. He’ll know how to reach me.”
Sam nodded, his eyes bright as he reached forward to pull his older brother into a tight hug.
“End this war, Sammy,” Dean whispered. “I know you can find a way.”
Dean pulled out of the embrace and, without looking back, threw his leg over Baby’s back and nudged her forward into a trot until they reached the stable doors. He glanced around cautiously before breaking into a full gallop, eager to be out of sight.
He pushed Baby as quickly as possible, wanting to put as much distance between him and the castle as he could before his absence was inevitably discovered. His heart began to beat wildly the closer he came to the river and the forest that lined its edge.
He’ll be there. He has to be there. He promised, Dean repeated to himself like a mantra.
As the treeline became clearer, and Dean began to make out individual trees, he found himself scanning their shadows desperately. He slowed to a quick walk as he approached the edge, his heart ready to shatter if he didn’t see that familiar shade of blue soon.
A motion caught Dean’s peripheral vision and he turned to the right. There, standing next to a charcoal gray stallion almost as familiar to Dean as Baby, stood his prince, his sapphire eyes burning through the darkness.
“Cas,” he breathed, sliding from the saddle.
Cas was in his arms in an instant. “Dean. You’re here.”
“God, Cas. Of course I’m here,” Dean said before pressing a desperate kiss against the soft, inviting mouth of his beloved.
“I wasn’t sure,” Cas whispered as they pulled back, foreheads still touching. “I thought you might change your mind. That maybe…”
Dean leaned forward to capture Cas’s lips again. “Cas, nothing would change my mind.”
“But you’re leaving Sam.”
“I’ve told Sam how to contact us if he needs me. And there’s always a chance this damn war between our kingdoms will end. I have faith that Sam can find a way. He’s always been the smart one in the family. But you? God, if I’d stayed, Father would have married me to Michael. The merger with Archanjel would have very likely been enough to destroy your kingdom. Not only would we not be able to be together…”
Dean closed his eyes against the nightmare that had plagued him since his father had told him of his upcoming nuptials. Cas, dead on the ground before him, killed in battle as Dean’s family tore his apart. “I need you, Cas,” he said brokenly
“You have me, Dean,” Cas said quietly, with the strength Dean had always admired in him. “We’re together, and we’ll stay together.”
Dean smiled. “Yeah?”
“Yes. Now come on. We need to make the border before sunrise.”
Both men mounted their horses and set off, eventually arriving at a small, well worn cabin. It was far from the luxury either prince had been raised in, but in each other, they had everything they needed.
It would be another two years before the world, or the war of their childhood, reached them again.
