#sothra

[snarkymonkeyprime]

2.) Dean is a lifeguard on the beach, and is the only one close enough when a blue-eyed novice tries to surf but gets hit hard by a wave and goes under. CPR may be needed. — avidffreader

Dean leaned back in his chair, squinting behind his sunglasses.  Not the busiest day given the fantastic weather.  A few people; mostly just sunbathers.  A few families dipping their toes in the calm surf.

And one lone surfer trying to paddle out.

Dean frowned, zeroing in on the guy.  He didn't exactly look sure of himself.  He had a longboard but didn't seem to understand how to use it.  He wobbled as he righted himself before the board flew out from under him, dunking him in the surf.

Dean smirked, shaking his head.  Well, that was a lesson learned.  He kept his eye out for the board and breathed a sigh of relief when the pale blue item popped up.  What didn't pop up, though, was the surfer.

He didn't waste much time.  He whistled sharply for Jo, his partner, and all but lunged off his tower.  Thankfully, he found the surfer quickly, nearly passed out as he struggled against the pull of the waves.

Dean drug him back to shore, the man a sodden weight on his shoulder.  He dropped the man, noting the slack jaw.  He frowned and touched the man's neck, noting the faint pulse.  But his chest wasn't rising.

He began rescue breaths and after three blows, water gushed from the man's mouth; unfortunately, into Dean's.  He sputtered, hacking as the man rolled over, vomiting up sea water.

"You okay?" he asked, wiping his mouth.

The man rolled back, blue eyes bright under the sunlight.  "Angel?" he rasped.

Dean grinned.  Either the sea water had fucked with the guy's throat or he had one sinfully deep voice.  "Nope.  Just your friendly neighborhood lifeguard."

The man squinted and touched his mouth.  "You kissed me."

"Rescue breaths," Dean corrected.  He grinned.  "I can kiss you for real, though.  Say, over dinner?"

The man on the beach continued to squint a second longer before relaxing into a shy smile.  "I'd like that."  He sat up, groaning.  "Least I can do to thank my rescuer."

Dean's humor faded a bit.  "Right.  You bet."  He held out a hand, covered in sand.  "Dean."

The man shook it, still carrying that shy smile.  "Castiel."  Squeezing Dean's hand, he leaned in and murmured, "By the way, you took too long to get to me.  I had to pretend to fall at least five times."

Dean cackled.  "You shit!"

Castiel grinned.  "Had to make you work for that kiss, after all."

[snarkymonkeyprime]

CCTV Shenanigans, Part III

Castiel spent nearly ten minutes with his face planted in starchy fabric before he finally managed to gain enough energy to sit upright.  Still irritated that Dean had gotten into his hotel room, he dialed his director in France, wondering how he was going to frame this additional cost without looking like an alcoholic.

Bobby's voice came over the line, gruff and tired.  "Novak.  Been waitin' for a call, you ass."

He never knew how the American had managed to climb so high in the ranks of international police but he was thankful for the man's rough honesty.  He would do anything for Bobby and likely Director Singer knew it.  He was also the only one in Interpol who believed Castiel could bring Dean in on his own; something he was very adamant about.  Not that he was opposed to sharing a collar with anyone but . . . well . . . it was Dean.  Dean was his.  And he knew, if anyone heard him say that, they'd think the wrong thing -- which might actually be the right thing at this point -- so it was simply better for everyone on God's green earth that he do this alone.

Speaking low, he relayed the day's events, leaving out Dean's sticky fingers in his mini-bar.

"You sure it was him?" Bobby asked.

"Yes.  He let the camera see him clearly; same as always."  And he winked and blew a kiss and I'm trying my damnedest not to read into that.

"Hrn.  Well, not surprised.  The good ones always get cocky.  This one's been runnin' since he was . . . what was it?  Nineteen?"

"Mmhmm.  Over ten years now."

Bobby sighed.  "Well, at least you know he's there."

"What makes you think he'll stay?" Castiel asked, brow furrowed.  He glared at the candy bar wrapper on the floor, wanting to smack Dean.

"'cause you're there.  All these bastards?  They zero in on one agent.  I've seen it before.  They get their jollies yanking you around."  He chuckled.  "Trust me, he's gonna be there as long as you are."

Castiel's phone beeped and he scowled.  "If you think so," he muttered.  He said his goodbyes, switching over to the new call.

"Cassie, love; are you free for dinner?"

Oh, Balthazar, the detective inspector.  His eyes landed on the ruins of his mini-bar and he nodded.  "Uh, yes.  Yes, I am."

"Splendid," Balthazar purred.  "I'll be 'round to collect you, love.  Think of it as a . . . working dinner, yes?"  He chuckled, the sound almost filthy in comparison to Bobby's laugh.  He hung up before Castiel could respond.

Staring at his phone, Castiel sighed again.  Well, better than a spoiled mini-bar, in any event.

[snarkymonkeyprime]

*vibrates*  Holy Dark is now updated!  

[snarkymonkeyprime]

To give ya'll an idea of the tone of Soulfire, here's a sample of dialogue:

"Dean Winchester.  I see you're without your customary shovel."  Castiel smirked, taking a seat and leaning back in the wooden chair.  He took the bottle of water from Balthazar and uncapped it, lifting his brows.  "Or, am I a pitstop on your way to a new salt and burn?"

Dean grit his teeth and slammed his hands down on the table between them, annoyed when Castiel didn't even react to the motions.  "Look, Poindexter; you mess with this shit, you're gonna get your ass handed to you.  So keep your goddamn Scooby Doo gang out of our way."  He leaned back, sneering.  "You don't even know what the fuck you're dealing with."

Castiel's eyes narrowed and he responded coldly, "I know far more than you could ever hope to, Winchester."

Balthazar sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.  "Dean.  Cassie.  Please quit swinging your impressive cocks everywhere.  It's unsightly."

"Shut up, Bal!" they snapped in unison.

Sam chuckled.  "Wow.  Less than five minutes this time.  I owe you a drink, Balthazar."

"Traitorous ass," Dean muttered, pointedly not look at Castiel.

[snarkymonkeyprime]

The world's ending; I was productive!  A Warrior's Rest is updated!

[snarkymonkeyprime]

Soulfire; premise

I swear, this is the last one of these I'll do in a while.  Maybe.  Maybe not.  I should shut off all information inputs because they keep feeding me ideas.

There are two factions in the world of the supernatural; the Hunters, who get things done and the Men of Letters who talk about getting things done.

Castiel is a Man of Letters and ten years ago, grew tired of reading about the supernatural and decided to take a more active role in preventing the worst of the worst from taking place.  Granted, he didn't care for the brutality of the Hunters so his work became that socially acceptable form of ghost hunting in that he trapped what he hunted, researching all he could regarding every spirit, demon, and creation that dwelled in the dark.

This often had him running across Hunters through the world.  Namely the Winchester brothers; Sam and Dean.  Dean got under his skin immediately.  An arrogant, brash, aggressive, handsome man who was everything Castiel never could be.

And the Winchesters were no friends of his, often warning him away from what they termed risky business.

Still, he was drawn to Dean and with unerring accuracy, often knew exactly where the Winchesters were.

And then there were the dreams.  Plaguing him since childhood, dreams of light and booming voices.  Sounds he could almost perceive.  Things that constantly flittered in and out of his sight.

But that's hardly anything to worry about now, especially when he's about to make the discovery of his life!  A possessed statuary in a long-abandoned cemetery has supposedly been stalking the streets.  If he could capture it and decipher it's makeup, perhaps he could find a new way to prevent possession.

But thing go horribly wrong, horribly fast and Castiel begins to understand just what Dean's been warning him away from all these years.

Doesn't mean he wants to admit it to the sexy bastard.

[snarkymonkeyprime]

All right, I opted to write fluffy something set in A Warrior's Rest rather than angst for kiriei.  :D  Keep in mind, the core story is being told from Castiel's POV; these time stamps, however, I'll likely do from Dean's.

Dean hadn't yet figured it out.  Why it was that Castiel wanted to move into his drafty cabin when he had such a warm, inviting home directly in town.  The few times he'd tried to ask the man, Castiel would merely smile and walk away.  Which had Dean seriously questioning the fairy-man's sanity.

And frankly, he questioned his own one winter morning.  He'd barely woken up, still groggy, feet freezing as he padded his way down the hall.  He grumbled to himself when he heard Castiel humming and singing wordlessly, his deep voice almost musical in the early hours.

He paused in the hallway, leaning his shoulder into the wall, smiling faintly.  He couldn't understand a damn word the fairy sang but it was beautiful.  Sweet and pleasant, sounding like the sunrise as it crested a mountain.  Full of wonder and life, the song of the forest. 

He rubbed his forehead, more awake now as he sighed and shifted, leaning his head back against the hard, aged wood.  He couldn't figure out why but it almost hurt to hear such sweetness.  In all his years hunting the supernatural, he never knew fairies could sing.  Or sing so gorgeously.

He didn't want to interrupt, or even let Castiel know he'd heard even a second of it but before he could clear his throat, he heard Castiel chuckle.

"Dean, you needn't hide."

He did clear his throat then, rubbing his sleep-mussed hair, barely looking at the other man.  "Sorry," he muttered.

"You needn't apologize.  Sierra wanted a song this morning."

"All right."  He stopped, squinting at Castiel.  The other man returned the incredulous look with a warm grin.  "Uh, Sierra?" Dean prodded.

Castiel stepped back from the kitchen counter, pointing to the furry ornament now on said counters, happily slurping up something that splashed all over the place.

A furry ornament with very noticeable markings and huge-ass paws.

"Jesus Christ, Cas!  You brought a fucking cougar into the house?!"

Lifting a brow, Castiel reached over and patted the cub's head, earning a purring, popping yowl as it plunked itself down and rolled onto its side.

"Sierra came to me this morning.  Her mother died.  Just last night.  A . . . thing found her.  Sierra was frightened but knew a . . . fairy lived here."  He leaned over her, crooning and trilling, placing a quick kiss on her head.  "So, she lives here now."

"The hell she does!" Dean barked.  

Two pairs of eyes turned dark looks on him.  One creature burped a a snarling yowl, the other sniffed imperiously.

"Dean.  I don't believe you have a say.  Sierra lives here now."

Rubbing his face, fully awake, Dean groaned.  "Cas, I can't have a goddamn wildcat in my house!"

Castiel came around the counter and slung his arms around Dean's shoulder, smiling warmly.  "Our house.  Remember?"  

He ran his fingers through Dean's hair, instantly calming him.  He wouldn't have been surprised to learn the little stinker used magic on him.  A few years ago, that'd prompt a knife blade and a spray of blood.  Feeling that certainty jab into his gut, he shook a little as his hands settled on Castiel's waist.

Castiel's expression softened and nuzzled Dean, breathing in slow.  "You aren't him, any longer.  Remember?  You live here, with me.  This is your home.  This is your life."  He kissed Dean softly, trilling low and deep.  

He gave up then, leaning into Castiel's embrace.  "You're such a shit," he muttered into the man's shoulder, breathing in the scent of coffee and wildflowers.  Dead of winter and the guy smelled like a damn meadow.  Asshole.

The fairy chuckled, rubbing his back.  "Come.  I've made breakfast.  And you can meet Sierra."

"She's an overgrown housecat," Dean grumbled, though he let Castiel lace their fingers together and lead him toward said monster.

Dean scritched her forehead and Sierra squeaked, rolling onto her belly and mouthing eagerly at his fingers.

Yeah, I officially make bad decisions, he decided as he scooped her up wandering into the living room to join Castiel on the couch.  Bad decisions for sure but . . . damn.  Why did it feel like home the more he made them?

[snarkymonkeyprime]

CCTV Shenanigans, Part II

As promised!  Next installment.  :D

After hasty apologies and a fresh cup of coffee, Castiel spent the next few hours in Balthazar's office, going over what was stolen.  He didn't, however, miss the sly smirk on the other man's mouth.

Dammit, Dean.  He wanted to throttle the thief.  He'd come close to capturing the other man three years ago.  To the point of having the bastard in handcuffs.  He should have known that it had been too quick and clean.  And Dean had been so goddamn at ease sitting in his office.

He'd stepped away for fifteen minutes; at the most.  He'd been after Dean ever since, always at least two steps behind.  It rankled him to no end.  And now the asshole had mocked him on camera.

"You, uh, are the only one who's actually arrested him; yes?" Balthazar murmured.  He was grinning again, his eyebrows lifted high, fingers drumming against the photo of Dean winking.

Castiel frowned.  He stood, crumpling his coffee cup and chucking it into the bin near Balthazar's desk.  "I'm going to contact my director; I'll be back in an hour or so."

He walked back to his hotel, grumbling under his breath.  He had to catch Dean.  That little . . . sly . . . brazen . . sexy -- He almost tripped on the sidewalk when he thought that.  Shit.  That was the other problem.  Dean was beyond gorgeous and had a grin that turned Castiel's knees weak.  The fucker.

He pushed open the door to his hotel room, immediately noting the broken seal on the mini-bar, the tiny bottles of liquor lined up neatly on the table above.  He sighed in irritation, stomping over. The note was hardly a surprise.

Agent Novak.  Tell them to keep that Scotch Whiskey on hand.  Shit burns nice.  Oh, and those pants?  Nice choice.  I like the view.

Castiel whined and stuffed the note in his back pocket.  Great.  Great.  Little shit had been in his hotel room.  And by the empty bottles, managed to ring up a cool hundred in unallowable expenses.

"Fuck my life," he muttered, before falling face first onto the bed.