#littlebottombaby

[adorkablejensen-blog]

could I be Team Free Will in your family? xx

Of course, hun! <3 And please let me know when you change your URL so I can apply the change :) Thank you.

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[envydean]

Sams hazel eyes? xx

Yep! 

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[savingchesters]

promo (5/12)

mutuals, favorites, +follows

grangerwinchester

dorkyassbutt +f

jarpadz +f

sammysfire

littlebottombaby

[sassenach-kiss]

Dean is in the shower, singing along to whatever song you chose, when cas, still very confused on human behavior, decides to step in the bathroom and sing along. You can end this with fluff or smut either or is nice (:

(I made this into an au since I haven’t really dabbled in canon since my breakup with spn and then it just kind of took a wild turn into what-the-fuck-did-i-just-writeville. hope it’s still alright!)

The water pressure in the showers isn’t the best, but anything feels amazing after a day in the mines, especially a double shift. As if eight hours a day wasn’t enough, Dean has been covering for Dad’s drunk ass for over two weeks. Sixteen hours hunching in a tunnel and shoveling coal into transport carts isn’t exactly his idea of a dream come true, but they can’t afford to lose Dad’s paycheck. They’re barely scraping by as it is and whatever credits are left after their weekly room and board bill is put into savings so Sam can study in the city instead of staying in this shithole for the rest of his life.

Coal dust is hard enough to scrub away after eight hours. After sixteen hours, it turns to cement. The black lines remain in the fine creases of his hands even after Dean scrubs them raw. He stands under the shower for much longer than everyone else scraping his nails over his body and scrubbing the dust out from under them, then doing it again and again.

The harsh, artificial smell of the soap hides the stink of the mine. Dean is thankful that Sam will never have to smell it- the dirty, burnt stench that he can never seem to get out of his nose. The tenements smell like piss and stale ale and the town smells like ash and sweat. Only miners know the blanketing smell of the coal, the migraines breathing it gives you, and the way it seems to choke you and fill your lungs until you feel like you’re going to die.

Dean shakes his head and snorts, rubbing a soapy hand under his nose until all he can smell is soap. He scrubs his hands through his hair and the water spraying over his body goes black.

A door slams somewhere as the last wave of miners leave and Dean is left alone. The sound of water smacking tile and Dean’s feet shuffling against the shower floor fill the room, echoing off the walls and filling the silence. Dean begins to hum quietly as he massages soap into his scalp, reveling in the sensation of washing away the last traces of the day’s work. Thoughts of dinner float into his mind and his stomach growls, eager for the hard bread and thin soup distributed to the mining families of Lawrence.

The water runs clear now, but the stall is too warm to leave. Dean’s clothes are all the way in the next room locked up in his locker and the last thing he wants to do is walk across all that cold air with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Just five more minutes,” he mumbles to himself, holding his hand palm up in the spray and watching the water pool in it before dripping down his arm.

Dean’s absentminded hums gradually form themselves into words and before he knows it, he’s singing at the top of his lungs. The shower room as great acoustics and the bar of soap makes a surprisingly good microphone to belt the song into.

Halfway through a halfway decent rendition of third verse, the door bangs to the shower building slams shut. Dean frowns and stops singing, lowering the bar of soap and cocking his head to listen.

“Hello?” he calls. “Anyone there?”

The only response Dean gets is the thrum of the water on the floor. He shrugs and scrubs the soap on his leg, quietly picking up where he left off. His stomach is grumbling in earnest now and the water is losing its sharp heat.

By now, Dean knows just what his voice echoed back at him sounds like and when he hits the fourth verse, something is wrong. There’s another layer to the lyrics that shouldn’t be there and Dean turns off the water this time to listen.

“Who’s there?” he demands. He’s met with silence and the heavy thud of his heart.

Hesitantly, Dean turns the water back on and quickly washes off the rest of the soap. It’s nothing, he tells himself. You’re just overtired. Imagining things. He sings loudly now, like the volume of his voice will make up for his lack of confidence.

Every childhood horror story Dean has heard comes creeping back, dragging old fears behind them like broken legs. Monsters in the mine that ate miners who ventured too deep, nymphs in the woods who stole women that ventured too far from the town, river witches that bewitched children who stayed out after dark. Dean knows that they’re all urban legends spread by the overseers to  scare their employees into following safety protocol, but that doesn’t stop his hand from shaking when he turns off the water.

Dean grabs his towel from the hook outside the stall and rubs it through his hair before wrapping it around his waist. He curls his hand around the curtain and stops, thinking about how the melody of the song seemed to carry on for a few more beats after he stopped singing.

“Stop,” he snaps to himself. This is ridiculous. He’s not a five year old afraid of the monster under his bed, he’s a grown-ass man who’s late for dinner.

Dean yanks the curtain aside, steps out of the stall, and almost runs right into the legs of a man sitting on the wooden bench that runs the length of the shower hall.

The man doesn’t belong in the shower building, that much is certain. Though the suit he’s wearing is rumpled, its expensive and freshly laundered. His hair is damp from the moisture of Dean’s shower and it curls against his forehead right above the bluest eyes Dean has ever seen. If Dean was close enough to smell him, he’d probably smell like money.

“What the fuck,” Dean manages. The words sound choked.

“You have a very nice voice,” the man says like its the most normal thing to sit outside a stranger’s shower stall and sing along with him. “I enjoyed your song.”

“What the fuck,” Dean says again, voice stronger his time. “What the fuck?!”

The man stands and tugs his suit jacket down, smoothing out the wrinkles with impossibly long fingers. He backs Dean against the wall and leans close, eyes piercing Dean’s.

Dean’s throat clicks when he swallows.

“Do it again,” he whispers.

“What?” Dean says. Instead of sounding like demanding like Dean intended it to, his voice is breathless. He clears his throat and says again, “What?”

The man cocks an eyebrow and drops his icy blue gaze to Dean’s lips. “Sing for me.”

Dean comes to his senses and shoves the man back. He has the nerve to look offended.

“No,” Dean snaps. “Sorry buddy, but I’m not gonna sing for some perv who gets his rocks off listening to people showering.”

The warm air of the shower room goes cold and the hair on Dean’s arms stands up when the man smiles. It’s only now that Dean sees the edge of a thin ring of tattooed sigils peeking out from his collar. 

Shit. An angel, and not just any angel at that. A Novak.

Fear shoots through Dean and he blurts, “Please, I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know. Please, I have a brother, Sam, I need this job, I-”

The angel claps a hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezes, filling Dean’s body with warmth. Dean gasps when his shoulder begins to burn where they touch.

The angel’s smile widens. “Sing for me, Dean.”

what is this you ask? I have absolutely no idea. Do not ask me. I don’t know what happened either. I think Cas just heard Dean singing while he was walking by and was like “Woah, I know this song. I’ve heard it in my dreams. This is my mate.” Only Cas kind sounds like a serial killer. I dunno, man. I dunno. 

send me destiel au prompts because of reasons

[dandelioncas]

could i be lucifer in your family? xx

of course, sweetie :)

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