Castiel! at the Disco

New Username: casatthedisco

calcium_yeah — Sat, 29 May 2010 09:41:20 GMT

I'm just in the beginning stages of rolling this out, but I've got a new journal over at casatthedisco in order to better reflect the name I actually use in most of my fandoms: Castiel at the Disco. I'll still be checking my f-list over here for now, but when I get around to posting more fic it will probably be at the new journal. If anyone is not on my f-list, but has been following my continuing fic, I will post in this journal to let you know when I've started writing again. Everyone on my f-list is more than welcome to friend my new journal, and I will certainly be adding you guys back once I start actually putting content up. (Actually, I have a feeling I'll more than likely be adding people on my f-list, PMing them to explain who I am and to ask to be added back, and hoping I don't lose everyone in the move.) Don't worry if you're in the middle of reading old fic though; I won't purge and delete this journal as I don't feel like bringing all of my old fic over, I don't want to screw up any archiving that's been done on comms I post to, and it's really just easier to be able to check my complete f-list here and not try to re-join moderated comms.

Sample Post

calcium_yeah — Tue, 11 May 2010 01:17:13 GMT

This sample post is being used to create anonymous livejournal comments that I plan to insert into my Johnny Weir/Evan Lysacek fic.

Comment fic: Supernatural/Leverage, Dean/Eliot, Cowboys

calcium_yeah — Thu, 29 Apr 2010 08:31:20 GMT

Prompt: Leverage/Supernatural, Eliot/Dean, cowboys

Original Location: http://community.livejournal.com/comment_fic/79602.html?thread=18286834#t18286834

Summary: Dean Winchester goes to drown his sorrows in a bar, stumbles into a Team Leverage con, suspects Eliot is not human, and pretends to be Eliot’s boyfriend (to the amusement of everyone but Eliot).

Part 1: Mexico

“I’m telling you, ever since that damn movie came out you can’t be a gay cowboy without looking like kind of a dick.” Dean raised his half-empty glass of Jack Daniels to accentuate his statement. His goal for the night no longer involved getting smashed beyond oblivion though, so he was careful about how much he actually drank.

After sitting back long enough to get a handle on the back-story Eliot and his people were selling, he had fallen effortlessly into his role as Gavin’s Boyfriend, playing off of Eliot’s drawl, stressing his own Midwestern accent, and acting like they were just a couple of cowboys out for a good time.

He had picked up on who among the group were in on the con and who among them were marks. Eliot, who was calling himself Gavin, seemed to be working with the bartender Alice, the British woman who was supposedly his stepsister Sarah, and the doctor who’d been sipping ginger ale and aggressively avoiding the bottle of gin next to him all night. The doctor was named Nick or Rick or Dick or something like that, but it didn’t really matter. Dean didn’t put much stock in anyone’s names being real anyway considering his “boyfriend” had been “Hardison,” “Eliot,” and “Gavin” over the course of about 20 minutes.

The more Dean watched, the more Dean realized there was somebody else communicating with Eliot, Alice, Sarah, and Nick. He didn’t know if it was a psychic link or simple human tech, but there were moments were they’d all subtly react at the same time—a smirk, a frown, maybe an exchange of glances. They were definitely getting intel from somebody who wasn’t in that bar. Maybe somebody calling the shots, maybe just somebody feeding them information.

The hefty man with his arm draped over Sarah’s shoulder laughed the hearty laugh of a mark who didn’t question the sudden coincidences that brought certain people into his lives. Dean laughed along with him, then winked at the chubby redheaded woman who hadn’t taken her eyes off of him that night. She definitely wasn’t in on the con—and if she was, she was damn unfocused.

“Doesn’t stop him from wearing the cowboy hat though.” Dean placed his hand on top of Eliot’s head and gave it a gentle tap. Eliot’s smile was tight and he didn’t bother trying to hide the murderous glare he was shooting in Dean’s direction. He could feel the other man tensing up and Dean laughed to himself wondering if he was just worried Dean would follow through on his promise to stroke his hair like the big doll that he was.

The rest of the group had taken his addition to the mix in stride, but Sarah was kind of brilliant at it. She’d introduced him to the two Chinese men beside her in what could have been perfect or horrible Mandarin for all Dean knew, then she’d asked Hefty to play nice because Dean could be her future brother in law. Dean had eaten the whole thing up, curious about what was going on, and intrigued by how well everyone was adapting to his presence.

Everyone but the man who was stealing opportunities to shoot death glares at him, of course.

Even Dean wasn’t sure why he was being so casual about taunting a man who clearly knew how to handle himself in a fight and who seemed a good pick for not being all human. It was reckless for sure, but then again so was getting so drunk that he couldn’t handle a fight with a duck if it came at him, and he’d been ready to do that not long ago.

More than anything, it was probably being asked to leave earlier. Dean was the hunter, the mystery-solver—he was the guy calling the shots and getting civilians out of the way. If anything, he was kind of offended that Eliot hadn’t recognized that in him.

Jerk.

He went ahead and ran his fingers through his hair.

Criminal 2/? (Dean Winchester/Neal Caffrey)

calcium_yeah — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 09:36:53 GMT

Title: Criminal (Part 2 of ?)
Author: Castiel! at the Disco (a/k/a calcium_yeah )
Rating: R
Fandoms: Supernatural, White Collar
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Dean Winchester/Neal Caffrey, allusions to Neal/Kate
Spoilers/Warnings: None/Nothing you wouldn’t expect from a rated R fic.
Disclaimer: A collection of people own Supernatural, White Collar and their characters. I own nothing.
Notes: Not sure why this was suddenly so easy to write, but I'll take what I can get. Cross-posted to sn_crossovers, sn_slash , and whitecollarfic .
Summary: Dean checks into a New York motel using an identity created for him over four years ago by the best forger, counterfeiter, and general white collar criminal Dean has ever known. That criminal? Well he’s happy to see that identity is still in use. Chapter 1: A Phone call. Chapter 2: Backstory!

Neal was a picture of effortless cool, and he’d probably spent hours figuring out how to pull it off. His hat was tipped over his eyes, blocking the setting sun, as he leaned against the brick exterior of a West Village coffee shop. He wore a pale gray suit, white shirt, and black tie—all immaculately smooth—and the only thing that looked out of place to Dean was the bulge at the bottom of his pant leg. Dean thought maybe Neal had finally taken the hint and started packing.

He certainly got in enough trouble to make it worth his while.

After Dean had gone to Neal for work a few times, got to know him well enough that they both became a bit less over-protective about their big illegal secrets, Dean became more casual about hiding his weapons. John was always paranoid about sharing information, and even with other hunters he was always wary, but when he and Dean took separate trips, Dean fell into his own patterns. There was a certain camaraderie that Dean felt when he did business with people like Neal. The guy might not have been out to make the world a better place, but he was damn good at what he did and he never asked Dean too many questions.

So when they met out in Philadelphia for some heavy fake identity work, and Dean popped open the trunk of the car he was renting, he didn’t even try to keep Neal from seeing the hunting paraphernalia stored there.

Neal had look disturbed when he’d seen the guns Dean carried on him; not scared, or worried, or even uncomfortable—he just didn’t look like he approved.

“You alright?” Dean had eyed him, looking for a sign that the other man was going to freak out and call off their transaction or say something about what he’d seen, but Neal was too much of a professional to let what he’d seen make a difference, and he was too smart to slap on a smile and pretend he hadn’t been bothered.

“Just not a fan of guns.” Neal turned his palms up as if to say ‘eh, what’re you gonna do, that’s life’ before pointing to the cash Dean had pulled out of its hiding place. “I am however a fan of your frequent need for new identification. And believe me, you’re going to be a fan of the I.D. that I provide you.”

And that’s what Dean liked, that Neal didn’t concern himself with why Dean always needed this new identification, or even with who this older man was in the pictures that Dean supplied for John’s I.D.

They’d done business this way for a while, Dean visiting the tri-state area when John was on another job. Over time, they started to meet at more social places, if cheap diners and bars could be considered social. Neal always looked a bit out of place there because for all he was an expert at subterfuge, he had always trained to blend in with the ritzy and the upper-class.

Neal had actually been recommended to Dean by a very ritzy, very upper-class young lady with whom they’d both had a passing acquaintance. Dean had traveled to Connecticut to take down an angry spirit haunting her family’s vineyard. Everyone else in the family talked themselves into believing the whole ordeal had some rational explanation, but Esme, she wouldn’t deny what had happened—at least not to him. They’d had an amazing night as Dean killed some time before heading to meet John in Virginia, and Esme explained that she knew exactly what she'd seen when he'd shot that spirit full of rock salt and eventually destroyed the remains trapped under a tool shed. Just as sure as she wasn't in denial about what she'd seen, she was sure that people who knew these things couldn’t take the risk of acknowledging that to other people.

“It disturbs your life, you can’t live normally after that; it’s easier to ignore it.” She’d spoken as if this wasn’t the first ghost she’d faced down and Dean had gotten the impression that her family had the kind of long and troubled history that people used to craft legends around.

She knew the truth about what out there though, even if she chose to live her life as if she didn’t, and it was freeing to talk to her about things that he couldn’t ever talk about. It wasn’t just about monsters; it was about everything that happened when the fight wasn’t going down. It was long roads, and no home, and no real identity outside of his father’s car. He told her that his name wasn’t really Paul Rodgers, but he’d been using the name so long he probably wouldn’t bother renewing his real I.D. and would just stick with being Paul.

Esme had been engaged in their conversation the entire night, but the mention of fake I.D.s brought a shine to her eyes. Did Dean actually use fake I.D.s so regularly? No, it’s not like she was going to report him to police or anything; he’d saved her life. It’s just…she’d met a guy at one of her family’s wine tastings, and there were rumors about this guy—counterfeiting, securities fraud, art theft, racketeering—things that the police had never proven. But he was talented—very talented, Esme assured, and Dean got the idea that she wasn’t just talking about his forgery skills.

So it was that Dean was introduced to Nick Halden.

Dean looked the guy up before following up, but there was too much conflicting information to get a good idea of what his deal was. Dean took that as a good sign that he knew how to cover his tracks. The interactions between Dean and “Nick” were brief and fruitful; with Neal appearing to be so into the work he was doing that Dean was almost envious.

Neal never acted like a guy engaged in criminal activity. The guy seemed to have an underlying layer of fun pushing out from under his skin. He’d smiled when he told Dean that some fake credit cards and FBI badges would be like color by numbers for him, and he’d seemed damn proud of that fact. Dean was just grateful that his dad had approved of the work when he’d seen it and patted Dean on the back for finding a new source on his own. So yeah, sometimes Dean had a chance to be proud too.

Dean wasn’t sure how John would have taken to Neal if he met him in person. The few times they’d met, “Nick” had exhibited his usual professional charm, with Dean raising an eyebrow at the overt friendliness bordering on flirtation. He didn’t think the guy was actually flirting with him, but he seemed to fall so hard into this persona designed to win people over that he always seemed like he wanted to take you to bed. He’d wink at the end of a joke, or slip innuendo into the conversation, and he had a habit of looking at people as if he wouldn’t mind stripping them down—at least that’s how Dean felt.

The only thing that assured Dean he wasn’t being sized up for a tongue bathing were Nick’s frequent mentions of a girlfriend. They’d only spoken a few times, but on each occasion he’d pointed out that he made a similar card for his girlfriend, or that his girlfriend would help him get his hands on the special paper he needed for a document, or his girlfriend was waiting and he couldn’t stay long.

It was that girlfriend who blew the cover on Neal’s real name.

Dean and Neal had done business five times at that point when Dean called with emergency request for a reproduction of an African statue, modified with a secret compartment. Dean was prepared to come into the New York area when Neal asked him to meet as far away from the area as possible.

“I have to worry?” Was Dean’s only question, leaving it unsaid that he was asking if he should be looking out for police on the other man’s heels.

“Not at all.” Neal responded and left it at that.

When they met at a halfway point between their locations, at a KFC in Washington, D.C., Dean gave Neal photographs of the clay zebra that Neal needed to replicate, as well as the specs for the required size and shape of the compartment to be hidden in the animal’s belly.

With business out of the way, the conversation shifted to Neal’s taste in art and Dean’s lack thereof while they dined on chicken and potato wedges.

It was over a Little Bucket Parfait that Neal mentioned he and his girlfriend were having a disagreement. He didn’t elaborate.

Five minutes or so passed, and it was in the midst of an exchange on the scam (as Dean called it) of found-art and other “piles of discarded crap,” that Dean noticed the dark-haired woman watching them from the back of the restaurant. He pretended not to have noticed her, but quietly asked Neal if he’d been followed. Neal looked confused and Dean filled him in on their audience.

“Look at us. Wouldn’t you look at us?” Neal laughed it off and spun around to see who was watching them, frowning when he saw her. He turned back around to Dean and slumped into his seat with a sigh. “Kate.”

“Kate?” Dean asked, then noticed out of the corner of his eye that she had gotten up and was heading their way.

“Remember that girlfriend I told you about?” Neal said, just as Kate arrived at their booth looking upset. She only looked away from Neal for a moment, glancing at Dean, who kept his expression as uninterested as possible. She looked at Neal for a few seconds before deciding to speak.

“I’m sorry about…Keller.” Kate fidgeted with her nails, clearly uncomfortable and unsure of what else to say for fear of making things work.

“So am I, Kate.” Neal responded with a smile that didn’t look nearly as convincing as he could have made it look and Kate sighed, leaving a silence to hang between them until Neal continued. “That’s a long drive you just took for four words.”

“Can we just talk about this alone for a minute.”

“I think I’d rather be with him right now,” Neal nodded in Dean’s direction and Dean worried that he was about the get dragged into the middle of something he wanted nothing to do with. Neal turned back to him as if he was about to continue their conversation, but Kate tried to pull him up.

“It’s not about being with him, it’s about the job. He needs someone with some finesse, you know how he is.”

“I’d rather know how Dean here is.” He shook off her hands. “Dean, other than trash art, what do you think of the other forms of found art?”

“Dude, that conversation sounds so boring I’d rather leave you two to it.” Dean moved to stand up because he knew this woman wasn’t going to just go away and Dean didn’t want to get caught up in the drama of their little lovers’ quarrel.

“Then we’re done here.” Neal looked at Kate and didn’t even pretend he was talking about anything but her.

“Neal, wait,” Kate reached out to stop him and he shook her off, moving towards the door a few steps behind Dean. “Don’t leave with him.”

Dean listened to see if he would make it clear that they weren’t actually leaving together, but the following silence made it obvious that Dean was being used as some kind of leverage to make her think twice about whatever they were arguing about, and Dean wasn’t going to get involved with whatever game they were playing at.
"Are you coming back?" Kate asked and Neal responded with a quick "I always come back" before turning away one last time to follow Dean outside.

Dean held the door for Neal as he exited, raising an eyebrow at him, “Neal, huh?”

Neal kept his gaze ahead as they walked through the parking lot, only turning his head slightly to peek at Dean, “I’ve known her longer; she gets the real name.”

Three days later, when Neal drove down to drop off the completed statue in person, Dean still called him Nick until Neal finally said “we both know that’s not my name.”

“I call a man what he likes to be called.” Dean answered, ignoring all the times in his life he’d called his little brother 'Sammy' in defiance of Sam’s wishes.

"Fair enough," Neal smiled, stroking the mane of the clay zebra one last time before handing it over. "I like to be called Neal."

Fic: Greetings!

calcium_yeah — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 06:55:39 GMT

Title: Greetings!
Author: Castiel! at the Disco (a/k/a calcium_yeah)
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Supernatural
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Disclaimer: A collection of people own Supernatural and its characters. I own nothing.
Notes: SPOILERS in the sense that this is based on the brief preview clip for the February 11, 2010 episode, available here and here.
Summary: A short piece where I add a Dean/Cas tint to a preview clip for Thursday’s episode.

Castiel grimaced as he watched the naked man clasping Dean from behind and shaking him around. This was their handshake, he knew this and it would have appeared odd if he intervened. Still, he was becoming rather uncomfortable with the idea of anyone else’s naked body pressed up against his former charge.

“Help!” Dean shouted, but he seemed to be directing this request towards Sam, who was visibly baffled about what to do. Sam saw that Castiel wasn’t stepping in, and the naked guy was Cupid after all, so Sam assumed it was probably normal that he…did whatever he was doing.

When Cupid released Dean, the hunter was only able to indulge in a brief moment of relief before seeing the man tromp across the room towards Cas. Dean shuddered for the angel, knowing what was coming next. With a look of disturbed sympathy, Dean watched Cupid grab Cas into his arms.

“This is Cupid?” Dean asked, unsure if he should be trying to put a stop to the over-affectionate man-greetings. It wasn’t so much that he had a problem with naked men hugging him, or even naked men hugging Cas while he watched, but Cupid wasn’t exactly his type, and the bubbly joy was just plain off-putting—not to mention he didn’t feel right having Sam see him that close to another naked man.

Castiel’s eyes were begging for the hug to end, but he maintained a casual voice as he conversed with Dean, as if they were discussing the habits of a friend’s pet dog.

When Cupid headed towards Sam, Dean jumped out of the way and headed to stand beside Cas in the safe zone newly reserved for people who had gotten their hugs and wouldn’t be getting any more.

It had become kind of an instinct anyway, running to stand beside Cas when he was mildly weirded out. Who’d have thought that the stoic nerdy pretty boy angel would’ve become an anchor of sanity and normality for Dean?

“This is their handshake.” Castiel finally explained, clearly uncomfortable.

“I don’t like it.” Dean hunched in on himself, trying to back away from the hug occurring across the room, wanting to curl up against Cas to get away from it, but restraining himself.

“No one likes it.” Cas chimed back, and if those words had come from Dean they would’ve been a code. They would’ve been a message to tell Cas that he didn’t like it either, that he didn’t want anyone’s body pressed against his beside’s Castiel’s. But from Cas it was just an opinion that was as good as fact. Cupid’s handshake sucked.

Cupid let out a satisfied sigh, leaving Sam behind him and heading towards the men who were discussing his handshake. Cas licked his lips, preparing himself to address the man professionally and to ignore the nudity that had somehow become a significant matter in his time on Earth, while Dean couldn’t keep his eyes above Cupid’s waist.

Cupid’s naked, naked waist.

How in the world had Dean gotten into men again?

Cas cleared his throat and Dean averted his eyes, glancing towards the angel next to him and he was suddenly reminded that, oh yeah, that's how.

Mmmm...the warmth of Dean/Castiel

calcium_yeah — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 06:14:11 GMT

dc_fireplace: A Seasonal Celebration of Dean/Castiel

Criminal 1/? (Dean Winchester/Neal Caffrey)

calcium_yeah — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 08:35:49 GMT

Title: Criminal (Part 1 of ?)
Author: Castiel! at the Disco (a/k/a calcium_yeah )
Rating: R
Fandoms: Supernatural, White Collar
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Dean Winchester/Neal Caffrey
Spoilers/Warnings: None/Nothing you wouldn’t expect from a rated R fic.
Disclaimer: A collection of people own Supernatural, White Collar and their characters. I own nothing.
Notes: This is the only thing I've been motivated to write. I expect it to be a casually continuing series cross-posted to sn_crossovers , sn_fic , and whitecollarfic .
Summary: Dean checks into a New York motel using an identity created for him over four years ago by the best forger, counterfeiter, and general white collar criminal Dean has ever known. That criminal? Well he’s happy to see that identity is still in use.

Dean was always suspicious of ringing motel room phones. Anyone who knew enough to track him to the room should’ve also known enough to call his cell phone. He knew that the ringing couldn’t just be ignored though, because if he didn’t pick it up it would turn out to be the child of some possessed woman in the next room, or Sam in trouble and trying to cover for the fact that he was calling Dean.

It couldn’t be the latter this time, because Dean could hear Sam in the bathroom showering off whatever bodily fluids a hobgoblin expels when beheaded. Still, he knew enough about the horror movie that was his life to know that not answering was probably a bad idea. He took a deep breath, finished reassembling the gun he’d been cleaning, and picked up the receiver.

“Yeah.” Dean’s voice was rough when he answered the phone, not just because the cold New York air was wreaking havoc on his throat, but because he wanted to make it clear to whoever was on the other end of the line that he was damn busy and that they’d better have an important reason for calling.

“Well dammit if it isn’t really you.” The caller’s amusement was evident in his voice, and it worried Dean more than any threats or screaming would’ve ever worried him. Dean’s first thought was that the angels might have tracked him down somehow. He tried to remember if there had been any missionaries posted in the vicinity of where he and Sam were staying, but no one particularly religious looking came to mind.

“I think you might have the wrong room.” Dean tried to play it cool, draw out some information from whoever was on the other end of the phone. The angels wouldn't really need to dick around on the phone with him if they knew where he was, but that didn't mean he wanted to be too free in sharing information with whoever this was.

“You have no idea who this is, do you?” The caller’s voice softened, and while Dean never did credit himself as much of an expert in reading emotions, he’d have said there was a definite hint of regret underneath the humor. “It’s been a long four years.”

“Four years?” Dean repeated the other man involuntarily. Who hadn’t Dean seen in four years that would’ve had the ability to track him down like this? Dean could hardly remember what he'd been doing four years ago. Then again, it had been 44 years on his end, so who could blame him if he drew a few blanks here and there? Alzheimer’s had nothing on four decades in hell when it came to screwing with a man’s memory.

“Yeah, a long four years. Glad to see Derrick Burdon is still in the rotation after all these years, otherwise I would’ve had kind of a hard time finding you.” The more that the other man spoke, the more that his voice started to sound familiar. Dean was starting to get vague memories of short black hair and blue eyes. “I would’ve called sooner, but I figured you’d prefer not having records of a guy like me ringing you up from prison.”

Prison.

Prison.

It was like a secret password.

When that voice said the word prison, he might as well have shouted out the name Neal Caffrey.

It didn’t take more than five seconds after that for 44 years of fog to drift away, leaving Dean with a clear image of the man on the other end of the line. It was an image in motion, seen up close from below. That black hair came into clearer focus, spilling out into waves over a pale forehead, bouncing in and out of those blue eyes. Bright blue eyes that were open wide, with a look of hunger and insanity. Dark eyelashes that never seemed to blink. Eye contact that never seemed to end.

Dean felt it like he was there again, back on the floor of some art dealer’s office, asking himself what the hell he was doing. Scared and wanting more and in pain and enthralled all at the same time.

Dean’s heart had been beating in his ears all those years ago, and it was beating in his ears now.

It had been even longer than four years; he hadn’t seen Neal since he’d gotten Sam back from Stanford. He remembered trying and trying and trying to call. Sam was going to be on the road for good and Dean wanted his little brother to get his new IDs from the best. Neal never had answered, and it was with dread that Dean did an internet search not sure whether he was more scared of finding information than not finding anything. He had been both disappointed and relieved to read that Neal had been convicted for bond forgery, and he'd resigned himself to working on the IDs himself.

He hadn’t even thought about this man in years...he hadn’t thought about a lot of people in years. It was like his father went missing, he'd reconnected with Sam, and life and hunting had rushed at him in a way it never had before. For all the angels and demons and angry spirits, in that moment a phone call from Neal Caffrey felt like the most surreal thing Dean had encountered.

“Fuckin' a,” Dean stuttered out a breath.

“Yeah, I missed you too.” And this time, when he heard the amusement in the other man's voice, he could picture the smile that went along with it.

Fic update.

calcium_yeah — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 00:28:46 GMT

Special note for anyone waiting for fic: I expect to have all of my lost fic re-finished and up for ~~Halloween!~~...um, sometime in the near future? I was definitely motivated by wanting to have my expected stories up by the time I start working on NaNoWriMo (Chess MP). Of course, I have an episode of White Collar sitting on my Tivo and I'm scared to watch it because the main guy is seriously cute and I'm scared I'll instantly want to write him into something as soon as I get a sense of his personality. Sigh. Poor Dean Winchester is already set to be paired up with Jax from Sons of Anarchy, Jack from Torchwood, Guy of Gisborne from Robin Hood, and a whole plethora of other people once I finish up my promised fic. The boy's going to be busy.

Yay for Castiel, Yay for Flash Drives.

calcium_yeah — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 03:45:41 GMT

Congratulations, Castiel, on being voted 2009's Most Welcome New Character on Television Without Pity. (And congratulations to me for finding an earlier version of some of my fic on a flash drive! I won't have to completely re-write them from scratch, and that is awesome.)

http://www.televisionwithoutpity.com/show/tubey_awards/tubey_awards_2009_characters.php

Tubey Awards 2009: Characters

Most Welcome New Character

Winner: Castiel (Supernatural)
TWoP Staff Pick: Castiel (Supernatural)

Broken computers suck.

calcium_yeah — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 17:53:22 GMT

I'm making a quick post from my mom's computer because mine decided to die out on me right after the season 5 premiere last night--I couldn't even participate in late nate squeeage! Anyway, I just wanted to let anyone who's waiting for fic know that it will now be delayed, since I don't have access to my documents and I don't even have a secondary computer at my house. Hopefully my mom will be able to fix my computer and I'll be able to get to what I have written, otherwise I'll have to start from scratch (not to mention figure out what in the world I'm going to do without everything on my computer).

Brothers With Bad Timing – Part 1b of 2 (Dean/Castiel)

calcium_yeah — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 07:13:07 GMT

Title: Brothers With Bad Timing – Part 1b of 2
Author: Nikki Loza (a/k/a calcium_yeah )
Disclaimer: A collection of people own Supernatural and its characters. I own nothing.
Rating: R
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel.
Warnings: None.
Summary: Just as Dean and Cas start to realize their mutual attraction, Sam develops a case of bad timing.
Notes: Written for newt_slash . Request was for a fic where Cas and Dean are just about to act on their feelings but keep on getting interrupted by Sam. After a couple of times Sam realizes what’s going on starts mischievously trying to time his interruptions. Had to rewrite the second part (with the majority of attempts/interruptions), then realized I might as well post the first part now.

After stepping out of the shower, Dean wiped off most of the excess water dripping off of him, but he was still wet and wrapping a towel around his waist when Castiel opened the bathroom door.

“Jeez—.” Dean started to exclaim, but cut himself off and just shook his head. “I think it freaks me out even more when you use the door.”

“I arrived in the living area. The mirrors are fogging over…” Castiel shifted his gaze downward for a moment when Dean readjusted his slipping towel. “You take very hot showers, Dean.”

Dean looked at the angel in disbelief, allowing a few moments of silence to emphasize his expression of are you serious? before asking, “Did you just look down?”

“I heard you singing about the ‘heat of the moment.’” Castiel looked around the bathroom, noting that Dean and Sam had already removed all but two bars of courtesy soap.

“You did! You totally tried to check me out when I moved my towel.” Dean lifted both of his hands to point at Castiel, but his palms were turned up so the gesture came off more as if Dean were giving an explanation than making an accusation.

“Dean, if I wanted to see you naked, I could have simply arrived a few moments earlier.” Castiel pointed out.

“But how would you know when to show up without peeking in for just the right moment?” Dean only pointed one finger this time, but he still looked more like he was guessing the answer to a riddle than accusing Castiel of anything.

“I sense. I do not look.” Castiel clarified.

“You tried to look just now.” Dean responded, but Castiel remained silent. “Silence really isn’t helping you out here.”

Castiel made a point of looking down and keeping his eyes directed at Dean’s left hand, where he was ensuring the towel stayed closed. The angel then raised his eyes slowly until he was looking into Dean’s once again. “I believe that we are beyond denials at this point, don’t you?”

“Heh.” Dean huffed awkwardly in what was meant to be a laugh. He wasn’t sure what to make of Castiel’s forwardness.

The angel stood in the open doorway, watching Dean’s face, and not for the first time Dean wondered if he could read his mind. It looked as if he was trying—Castiel’s eyes intently watching his own—and Dean wondered how long he would stand there waiting for Dean to do something.

“I feel like you’re waiting for me to do something.” Dean unconsciously gripped his towel tighter, and he felt his own heart pounding in his chest. Why could he hear his own heart? Something was happening here. Something was definitely happening here. He licked his lips and saw Castiel’s eyes follow the path of his tongue.

Why is he watching my tongue?

“Did something happen?” Dean asked, looking over Castiel to see if he looked any more mussed than usual, but everything was in place. His hair was all over the place, but it was out of his face, and Dean had a clear view of the angel’s eyes, which were obviously roving up and down, taking in the sight of Dean standing damply in the middle of the bathroom.

“No more than usual.” The angel responded, eyes not meeting Dean’s as he spoke, and Dean started to get an idea of what the angel had been waiting for. Remembering their last conversation, Dean realized that Castiel had put himself in a position to prove just how attracted to him the hunter was, showing up somewhere he couldn’t really hide it. If that was the case, then Cas was doing a damn good job, because Dean could feel the blood rushing south and the towel wasn’t keeping any secrets.

“You’re just gonna stand there, aren’t you?” Dean lifted his chin, making his words seem like a challenge.

“I am.” Castiel finally met Dean’s eyes again, and the hunter saw that his pupils were definitely larger than they needed to be in this light. Even if the angel had just set out to prove how attracted Dean was to him, he was damn sure giving himself away in the process.

“And what if I just leave?” Dean shrugged, “What if I don’t feel like standing around being stared at.”

“Then you would need to pass through this exit.” Castiel pointed out with the tiniest of smiles. “Where I am standing.”

Dean tilted his head, squinting at the angel blocking his exit, and took two steps forward to place his bare feet two inches in front of Castiel’s dress shoes. He lifted a hand, placing it on Castiel’s hip and pushed softly, as if to move him out of the way, but the angel did not budge. Instead, Castiel mirrored Dean’s action, placing a hand on Dean’s hip, squeezing gently instead of pushing.

It felt to Dean as if the steam that had been slowly dissipating was now building up all over again. The air was thick, breathing was a labor, his skin was hot, and he felt light-headed. When he breathed in hard enough, his chest brushed up against the angel’s coat, and he felt oddly excited by the contact. His mind flashed a quick image of himself rolling around naked, wrapped in Castiel’s trenchcoat, rubbing it on his body....

And full attention!

Already knowing what he was going to see, Dean glanced down at the tented front of the towel wrapped around his waist. Castiel must have been waiting for Dean to look down, because as soon as he did, Cas tapped the towel, and it fell from around Dean’s waist, landing in a circle around Dean’s ankles.

“Point taken.” Dean didn’t even know if Castiel had been trying to prove a point, but he was standing there with his dick staring back up at him as a clear message that he wanted to bang this angel.

Castiel appeared more enthralled with examining Dean than anything else, and he ran a finger through the water droplets resting on Dean’s stomach, swirling in patterns that may have been a mimicry of artwork or angelic language for all Dean knew. The hunter was actually distracted from the building pressure in his groin, as his stomach warmed where the angel’s fingers passed. Dean could have sworn that even more steam rose where the angel’s finger made contact with the water on Dean’s body.

“Dammit, Dean, how is the mirror steamed up in here? Are you taking a shower with the door open? Because I can do without ever walking in on that again.” Sam’s voice seemed to echo in from the motel room’s main living area, and Dean jumped backwards at the interruption.

The angellically discarded towel was still wrapped around Dean’s feet, but Castiel caught Dean when he started to fall. One hand cradling his head, the other on his lower back, Castiel returned Dean to his feet. Cas allowed the hand Dean’s on back to wander lower as the hunter regained his balance, but only permitted himself a moment before disappearing before the younger Winchester brother reached the bathroom.

Sam stepped into the bathroom and found his naked brother bending over the pick up the towel at his feet. “Whoa, okay, not done.” Sam spun on his heel and left the bathroom in the same motion that he’d entered it.

“No, Sammy. Not done.” Dean grumbled as he finished drying off.

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Sam and Dean had gone through two hunts before Castiel showed up again. Unfortunately, when he arrived he was cowering several paced behind Zachariah, head bowed and eyes averted from the brothers’ direction.

The two hunters and the two angels stood on either side of the Impala’s hood in the dirt driveway of a now un-haunted house in southern Nevada, and after the requisite arguing and banter, Zachariah launched into a speech that went largely ignored by Dean, who kept glancing over at Cas.

Finally, Zachariah sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, do you two need to take care of your unfinished business before we can finish talking about how to stop Lucifer?”

“I don’t hear us talking.” Dean’s eyes darted back to the elder angel’s face, using sarcasm and anger in an attempt to cover up the fact that he hadn’t even been paying attention to anything other than Castiel. “It’s just more of you being a dick about something you started.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you didn’t want to hear my advice on how not to get yourself killed.” Zachariah smiled and looked to the ground, shaking his head. He drew a circle in the dirt with his foot, keeping his voice casual as he spoke. “No one said you couldn’t enjoy yourself, Dean. We want you happy, and we want you safe.”

Sam felt as if he was eavesdropping on a private conversation, the way the angel was talking only to Dean, especially when he realized that Castiel hadn’t looked their way since arriving. He shuffled awkwardly, and his movement must have grabbed Zachariah’s attention, because the angel looked his way and his smile grew larger. Man, that was creepy.

“You know what would make me happy?” Dean spoke up, drawing Zachariah’s attention away from his brother. “Next time you have news for me, you go ahead and send Cas, ‘cause I’m done with you.”

“That is not Castiel’s place. If I have a message, I will deliver it myself. You should appreciate the perks that we have already allowed you.” Zachariah leaned in, stage whispering so that everyone standing in the driveway could just barely hear what he was saying. “Especially when it comes to Castiel.”

Dean gritted his teeth, and he fought the urge to look over at Castiel again. “So your place is telling me something about Lucifer? Start talking, delivery boy.”

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On the drive back to their room, in the midst of a heated argument about the end of the world, Sam remembered that he’d meant to ask Dean about some of Zachariah’s more personal comments. “And what was that whole bit about perks? The angels allowing you perks?”

“Pretty sure he’s talking about me being alive.” Dean kept his eyes on the road, happy for the excuse not to look at his brother during this conversation. “After that corporate mindfuck he put us in, he did point out that I get to travel the country in a badass classic car.”

(He’d also noted Dean’s tendency to ‘fornicate with women’, but Dean didn’t want to bring that up and give his brother the chance to notice that he hadn’t been doing that so frequently anymore.)

“But he said it had something to do with Castiel.” Sam pointed out, watching his brother’s face for a reaction.

“Basic angel dickery—I don’t know.” Dean looked irritated and uncomfortable, like he wanted to change the subject but couldn’t think of a way to do it without it being obvious.

“Yeah, but this sounded like something specific—like something you’d know about.” Sam leaned in towards Dean, not hiding the fact that he was studying his brother’s face. “You two have been acting weird for weeks now…you didn’t make some kind of deal to keep them from punishing him for helping us out, did you?”

“Those fucks should know better than to give me that kind of ultimatum,” Dean’s voice was no louder than it had been, but his words were almost cut off when he spoke—a sharpness giving away his underlying anger.

“I’m sure they’ve done it with me. I know they’re not beyond it.” Sam wasn’t sure if pointing this out would incense his brother more, or make him realize that the angels’ behavior was something they were already used to; he spoke in a soothing voice and hoped for the latter.

Realizing that Sam was trying to calm him down, Dean became aware of his own over-reaction to the idea that the other angels would threaten Cas as a way to manipulate him; the anger in his own words about something that hadn’t even happened had taken him off guard, but he recovered as quickly as possible.

“Cas is a perk for them.” Dean spoke in a calmer tone. “He’s the best chance those assholes have of keeping me in line.”

“Is that why that other angel brought him along? To make sure you didn’t just tell him to fuck off when he showed up?” Sam asked, and Dean frowned about the fact that his brother had caught on to the other angels’ use of Castiel as some kind of carrot on a string before he did.

“Probably.” Dean answered.

“Hmmm.” Sam turned to face forward again, and Dean was relieved not to have his brother’s attention so hyper-focused on him. Sam watched the scenery become rural then residential then industrial as they neared their latest motel. When they pulled in to the parking lot, he finally verbalized what he’d been thinking. “So they basically use Cas as your pacifier.”

“My pacifier?” Dean always paid close attention when parking, and it was probably the only thing stopping him from giving Sam an outright what the fuck are you talking about face.

“Yep.” Sam nodded, pretty sure this was an accurate description. “You start to bitch and complain, they bring out Cas to shut you up. He’s your pacifier. Or your blankie.”

Dean finished parking, turned off the car, then turned to look at his brother seriously. “Sammy, you get exactly one time to make that comparison.”

“But it fits.” Sam did a horrible job of pretending not to understand Dean’s problem with the analogy.

“You know what else fits? Your laptop in the sink the next time you call Cas my damn pacifier.” As they exited the car, Dean pointed at his brother to let him know he meant business.

“But blankie’s okay, right? Is it just the sucking thing you had a problem with?” Sam laughed, and Dean muttered a few curses, but Sam was already jogging ahead towards the room, knowing from experience that his long legs and the fact that he was carrying the room key were probably the only things standing between his laptop and a cold wet night.

Part 1a Here

Brothers With Bad Timing – Part 1a of 2 (Dean/Castiel)

calcium_yeah — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 07:10:30 GMT

Title: Brothers With Bad Timing – Part 1a of 2
Author: Nikki Loza (a/k/a calcium_yeah )
Disclaimer: A collection of people own Supernatural and its characters. I own nothing.
Rating: R
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel.
Warnings: None.
Summary: Just as Dean and Cas start to realize their mutual attraction, Sam develops a case of bad timing.
Notes: Written for newt_slash . Request was for a fic where Cas and Dean are just about to act on their feelings but keep on getting interrupted by Sam. After a couple of times Sam realizes what’s going on starts mischievously trying to time his interruptions. Had to rewrite the second part (with the majority of attempts/interruptions), then realized I might as well post the first part now.

Dean reached for his gun as soon as the bed shifted with an added weight to the left of where he was laying. His muscles remained tense even when the angel spoke.

“This is...odd.” Castiel’s voice was steady, though he was visibly vibrating along with the motel bed.

Watching the angel’s eyes glaze over as he stared open-mouthed at the ceiling, Dean relaxed again, rolling his eyes at his new companion’s habit of appearing beside him in this manner. He should have known, as soon as Sam left to restock on salt that Castiel would appear while his brother was gone.

“You enjoy this.” Castiel slid his fingertips from side to side, feeling the vibrations travel up his hands.

“I enjoy…?” Dean’s first instinct was to look down at himself to make sure he wasn’t laying around with a subconscious hard-on or something. He’d actually been taken by surprise a few times when his mind had been focusing on other things. He’d be relaxing after a hunt, warm summer day, laying on the beach, and bam, he’d be at risk for indecent exposure without even realizing it. Sam would hit him, ask him what his problem was, and Dean would swear he didn’t notice, but his brother would just roll his eyes and tell him to cover it up. This time he wasn’t even remotely subtle in looking down, but he was satisfied to see that his jeans were still flat–or at least curving out in a relaxed manner.

“The vibrations.” Castiel responded, and his voice was a reminder that Dean probably shouldn’t be laying there looking at his own crotch with an angel in the room.

“Oh,” Freckles camouflaged Dean’s blushing well enough as he realized that Castiel hadn’t been referring to Dean enjoying his presence on the bed beside him. He turned his gaze towards the poorly tiled ceiling, until his attention was drawn to a portion above the bed that looked to be a risk for a nasty concussion. “Kind of used to enjoying it by myself though.”

“Lately, yes, I have noticed you enjoying it by yourself.” The angel looked at him from the corner of his eyes. “Am I affecting your enjoyment? You seem to be shaking along just as well as you were before I joined you.”

“No, apparently this thing was built for two.” Dean answered.

The bed shook steadily, and Dean and Castiel lay there beside each other in silence, both of them keeping their eyes intent on the ceiling. The Winchester brothers had once again selected a room with two queen sized beds, so there was a decent amount of space between the hunter and the angel, and Dean used this as a justification for why the two of them laying there wasn’t weird. Almost three minutes after Castiel’s last words, Dean crossed his arms over his chest defensively, then uncrossed them a second later to roll on his side to face his bed-mate.

“Did you just imply that I’m not getting laid?”

“Is that something you believe I would imply, Dean?” Castiel smiled softly, and it was so brief that it would have gone unnoticed if it hadn’t shown up in contrast to Castiel’s otherwise neutral expression, and if it hadn’t shown up at a time when Dean was particularly attentive.

Dean frowned at the angel curiously, while Castiel continued to stare unblinkingly at the faulty ceiling. His tie remained firmly fastened, suit remained unwrinkled, and his ever-present trenchcoat had spread out around his legs. He had even kept his shoes on, and he would have been the picture of uptight professionalism if he weren’t laying beside Dean in a crappy motel room on a vibrating bed. “If we’re gonna start noticing things, you know what I’ve noticed?”

Castiel titled his head, looking at Dean with somewhat divided interest as he was still taking in the sensation of being bounced around on the mattress.

“You only like popping into bed with me when Sam’s not around.” Dean pointed an accusing finger at Castiel’s nose, coming just short of poking him in the face, and the angel somehow looked directly at it without crossing his eyes.

“Do you feel that Sam is being left out of something?” Castiel asked, blue eyes staring back at Dean in what appeared to be genuine confusion.

Dean pulled his hand back and looked at the angel for a moment. It was hard to tell sometimes what Castiel understood, what human behaviors and interpretations were foreign to him. Unsure whether Cas was really confused or just avoiding Dean’s accusation, Dean decided to leave no room for confusion, breaking it down for the angel as if he was explaining something on a hunt. “Okay, I got used to you having no concept of personal space. But if you know it’s weird to pop up in bed with me when Sam’s here, then why don’t you think it’s weird to do it when he’s not?”

Castiel scrunched his eyebrows, and he squinted curiously at the hunter beside him. “Much of what I know about what is considered proper behavior, I have learned from you.”

“And what? I was in bed with women when Sam wasn’t here so you somehow think that translates to your…appearing acts?” Dean tried to think over their interactions, tried to remember sending a message to Castiel that the angel should hop into bed with him, but everything started to take on a double-meaning when he thought about it in that light, and he couldn’t think about the two of them exchanging a look of concern without it feeling like I want to lick you better in retrospect.

Moving in a fluid rolling motion that seemed unaffected by the vibration of the bed, Castiel shifted onto his side so that his entire body was facing Dean. He looked over Dean’s face for a few seconds before speaking. “When I would arrive beside you and Sam was sleeping, you appeared nervous, and you sat up. When I would arrive beside you and Sam was not present, you remained lying in the bed. It appeared appropriate for me to lie beside you, but only when you were alone.”

Dean blinked several times, trying to process what the angel lying beside him had just said. He had gotten used to waking up with Castiel sitting in his bed, and really only freaked out about it when Sam was there because he didn’t want his brother to wake up and start ragging on him for having a man in bed with him.

“So you were...trying to figure out when it was okay to be close to me?” Dean asked just as the magic fingers came to a stop. Castiel appeared to be contemplating a response, and without the mechanical background noise, Dean felt as if the silence was filled with the awkward knowledge that he’d gotten entirely comfortable with Castiel’s appearances in his bed.

“I was.” Castiel responded simply, and then he blinked for what might have been the first time since his arrival. Dean looked him over, tussled black hair to scuffed black shoes, trying to figure out what was going on in the angel’s head, or heart, or soul–whatever it was that angels had. But before he could wrap his head around a question or a response, he heard the rustling of plastic bags outside the door and knew that Sam had returned from the store.

By the time the younger Winchester brother walked in, he found Dean lying alone on the bed farthest from the door, looking up at the angel standing beside it, and judging by the silence, Sam was pretty sure that whatever they’d been talking about, they didn’t want him to hear it.

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Dean smiled back at the waitress, then turned his attention to the French fries she’d just placed in front of him. When he’d finished shaking on salt and ketchup, he popped five fries into his mouth and looked up to see Sam watching him with his mouth hanging open.

“Really?” Sam’s head was tilted so far forward in an attempt to convey disbelief that his hair was almost dancing on his upper eyelashes.

“Rfely whgt?” Dean spoke while still chewing, the still-solid ends of the fries hanging out of his mouth.

“You’re not hitting on her?” Sam watched the fries reduce in size as his brother chewed them into his mouth, ending up with a smear of ketchup across his mouth.

“On who?” Dean licked all of the ketchup off in on go, seemingly without thinking about it. Sam was kind of impressed.

“Our waitress.” Sam pointed over his shoulder. “Melanie? She made a point of making sure you had a nice view of her name tag.”

“Didn’t notice.” Dean looked over towards the booth where the top-heavy waitress was now standing. He shrugged. “Guess she’s not my type.”

“D cup. blonde, not your type. Right.” Sam nodded as if making note of this information.

“Apparently I am maturing, Sammy boy.” Dean smirked at his brother. “Why don’t you go for it, I’m sure she’d settle for close seconds.”

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“Sam is out.” Castiel announced his arrival from behind Dean, who was on his way to grab a bottle of Sprite that Sam had placed on the dresser before they decided to get something to drink (and eat) at that diner instead.

“Those are some angelic powers of observation there. Next thing you’re gonna tell me the walls are puke green.” Dean spun around to indicate their less-than-attractive surroundings.

“More the shade of mashed peas.” Castiel looked around the room. “Perhaps if the person vomiting had eaten peas.”

Dean looked at the walls again and noted that the angel was correct, “Sam’s on a date.”

“Yes, Melanie Freeburn.” Castiel nodded, and Dean shook his head because of course he knew who she was, the same way he’d known where Sam had been when he sent Dean off to find him with Ruby.

“Freeburn, huh? If that last name’s not a warning.” Dean shrugged off the fact that Castiel had this information. It wasn’t as if he was omnipotent, even if he liked to act as if he was when it was convenient. Dean twisted the cap on his bottle of soda, then failed to jump out of the way fast enough as foam sprayed over his face and t-shirt. “Damnit, Sam!”

They had called a truce on prank wars a long time ago, but that didn’t stop either of them from trying to screw each other over in little annoying ways here and there. The main thing that actually pissed Dean off was the fact that they’d been gone for at least an hour, yet the can had still been shaken up enough to get him soaked. That had to be magically enhanced carbonation.

He placed the dripping bottle back on the dresser where it had been sitting, then picked at his shirt, which was sticking to his chest and wet in spots. He mumbled to himself about how lucky Sam was that he had done that with a clear soda. The shirt was a dark gray that would have stained with a dark cola, but as it was it was just sticking to him annoyingly, so he pulled it off and used it to clean his face off.

When Dean lowered the damp t-shirt from his face, he was reminded that he had an audience, as Castiel remained standing where he’d first blinked in. However, the angel’s face was no longer neutral, the corners of his mouth turned slightly down. There was sadness in his eyes, eyebrows seeming to drape over them in two black frowns. He was staring at the handprint seared into Dean’s arm.

Dean looked down at the mark himself, and opened his mouth to make a sarcastic comment to lighten the suddenly somber mood, but couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead he shrugged and walked over to his dufflebag to grab a new t-shirt.

The silence was what some would call oppressive, and Dean wanted to put some fabric between that silence and the sight that had apparently caused it. He grabbed the first shirt he reached, a Stanford t-shirt that used to belong to Sam. Sam had almost thrown it out when he came to the conclusion that he was never going to have what he liked to refer to as a normal life, but Dean thought it would help them blend in on university campuses.

“I didn’t...mean to do that.” Castiel spoke to the back of Dean’s head again, and Dean was starting to feel like he was in a damn soap opera every time Cas did that, so he turned around.

“Hey, you said it yourself—gripped me tight and raised me from perdition. I’ve gotten worse.” Dean put his arms through the bottom of the shirt, and lifted his arms to pull it over his head, but Castiel was suddenly by his side, pushing Dean’s arms back down, and peering closely at the scalded skin.

“Wait.” Castiel’s eyes seemed to brighten to a paler shade of blue as he looked over the hand-shaped mark, then fading back to their usual shade. Cas sounded defeated when he spoke. “I can’t take it away.”

“It’s fine.” Dean tried to back away, but the angel held him steady.

“I wish that I could have brought you back without such a cost.” Castiel raised his eyes from the scar, looking up to meet Dean’s gaze. The hunter had that feeling that he was saying more than the obvious with those words, and the depth of it made him uncomfortable. Sometimes it was better just talking about the physical scars.

“No, Cas, it’s fine.” I like having it. It’s...” Dean tried to make it clear that he wanted to leave the subject alone, but he couldn’t even talk about why he didn’t mind having the image of Castiel’s hand burned into his arm without entering more uncomfortable territory. “I just like having it.”

Castiel nodded, placing his hand over the scarred skin. There was an obvious disparity between the handprint scar and the flesh and blood hand. These fingers the angel was using now, they were thicker, and slightly shorter, the palm not quite as wide.

“I almost expected that it would fit.” Castiel kept his hand in place, looking at the area that remained uncovered by his hand.

“It’s not Jimmy Novak’s hands that pulled me up.” Until a few seconds before those words came out of his mouth, Dean hadn’t even thought about Jimmy since that night in Pontiac when the guy gave himself up to save his daughter. Dean actually laughed a bit bitterly at his own ability to forget that Cas was riding around in someone else’s body. He moved to shake himself free again, and Castiel let his hand fall away this time, allowing Dean the space to put his brother’s old t-shirt on. “It doesn’t fit because you’re wearing some poor bastard around and it wasn’t his hands that pulled me up.”

“I thought it might have changed.” Castiel looked at the right hand that he’d been calling his own–blood and dirt under the nails, veins poking out closer to the surface when he was scared or excited or angry. He turned the hand over and examined the lines of the palm before lowering it to his side. “This became so much more than a vessel, I thought—”

“What do you mean ‘more than a vessel’?” Dean looked over the body that he’d associated with Castiel since the angel had introduced himself in a shower of sparks and deflected gunshots. From the hair to the clothes, to the somewhat chapped lips, everything looked the same.

“You were there, Dean. He gave this body to me permanently, he can’t come back.” The angel slid fingers over his jacket-clad forearms, watching them with fascination. “I thought this body—these hands—might have adapted to my presence.”

“That was…but why? Why would you need to keep his body?” Dean watched the angel look over the body that he was inhabiting, apparently for good. “Were those orders?”

“No, Dean, that was me.” Castiel stopped examining himself, and returned his full attention to Dean, who gulped an attributed it to how thirsty he had been. He shook his head and walked back over to the dresser to take a drink from the settled bottle of soda.

“So you picked a guy who was married with a kid?” Dean looked down at the bottle as he spoke, until he realized that he was just tilting it around trying to see if it would catch Castiel’s reflection. He put the bottle down.

“There was a lot more to Jimmy Novak than his wife and child. This was a man who needed more from life, who wanted to make a sacrifice, who felt–.”

“I’m not buying it,” Dean interrupted, looking up at Castiel again. “I mean Uriel and your dick of a boss, they’re riding around in these bald, middle aged men, who may or may not have had families, but who aren’t really inspiring them to hold on to those bodies forever. You pick this guy–young, good looking, fluffy head of hair,” Dean flicked his hand in front of his forehead to imitate Castiel’s scruff of hair, “ Just seems a little convenient.”

“There is nothing convenient about this. In my search for a vessel, I was called by a righteous man who was willing and able to do the job. Your sexual attraction to his body would not have been a concern at that point.”

“Fair enough.” Dean nodded. “Was my alleged attraction to that body a concern when you decided to take it over permanently?”

Castiel made a snorting sound that could have passed for a laugh if one did not know exactly how they were produced. “Alleged.”

“Yeah, alleged.” Dean was beginning to get offended. “Last time I checked, I pretty much go after someone when I’m attracted to them. And I haven’t exactly been trying to get in Jimmy’s pants, have I?”

“My pants. They’re my pants now, Dean.” Castiel looked as if he were going to step towards Dean, but his attention was instead drawn to the motel room’s door. Dean followed his gaze and a second later he heard Sam’s key-card in the door. “And the last time I checked, you would not try to get into pants if you did not know who they belonged to.”

Castiel ensured he got the last word before Sam opened the door. Sam appeared surprised by Castiel’s presence, but didn’t have time to react as the angel immediately launched into a report on a professor in New Mexico who needed their assistance. He wished them luck and disappeared as soon as he was done, quickly glancing at Dean one last time before blinking away.

Sam glanced at Dean too, but his brother just rolled his eyes and said they’d better get some sleep before heading out to New Mexico. Sam wanted to ask if everything was okay, but knew that Dean wouldn’t talk to him unless he wanted to. It didn’t seem to be a big deal anyway. As muffled as their voices had been Sam was pretty sure he’d barely avoided walking in on his brother and Castiel arguing about pants.

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Part 1b Here

A Scene About a Hunter in a Pretty Tie

calcium_yeah — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 00:21:39 GMT

Title: A Scene About a Hunter in a Pretty Tie
Author: Nikki Loza (calcium_yeah )
Rating: PG
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel. Preslash.
Spoilers: 4x17 “It’s A Terrible Life”
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1,305
Summary: Dean Smith meets Castiel during “It’s A Terrible Life.” Cas tries to give him a push in the Winchester direction.
Notes: I’m in the middle of writing two longer fics, and wanted to take a break and do something simpler, so this is a short scene for mrstotten . X-posted to

deancastiel .

Out of habit, Dean checked his Blackberry when he stepped off of the elevator, still rolling his eyes at the IT guy and his lame attempts at picking him up. He’d never regretted spending so much time at work, but it sucked to realize that a socially awkward giant in a yellow polo shirt talking about his dreams was the closest he’d come to social interaction in a while.

He thought about going to a bar after work, or even just to that salad place around the corner. Maybe he’d meet a nice woman who didn’t want to engage him in conversations about ghosts and vampires. Or at least if she did, she’d be nice to look at while she did it.

Dean flipped through his emails as he walked to his office, navigating by memory, and avoiding other people by the sight of their shoes. He was at the door to his office when he realized that one of those pairs of shoes had been walking in sync with his own, and he looked up to see a man wearing a beige trenchcoat over a dark suit and tie.

The man looked him over for way too long, mouth hanging open, in a manner that made Dean look down at himself to see if his pants were open.

“Business wear suits you.” The man said seriously, and Dean was tempted to laugh at the pun, but it didn’t seem that the man was aware of it, and he didn’t want to encourage what seemed to be another bad attempt at flirting.

“Is it the tie?” Dean sighed, trying to determine why women weren’t flinging themselves at him with such frequency.

The man tilted his head, squinting at Dean curiously, but not responding and it made Dean nervous.

“Seriously, guys keep on hitting on me today—is it the tie?” Dean picked his tie up, and the man looked down at it for a moment before looking back up in confusion.

“I’m not sure what you mean. It’s colorful. I’m used to…” The man seemed to change his mind about finishing his sentence, and pointed to his own dark blue tie instead. “I’m used to darker clothes.”

“Right. Well. This is awkward.” Dean laughed, scratching his head before shrugging it off. “I’m sorry, it’s been a weird few days. Can I help you?”

“I believe you can. May we speak in your office?” The man’s voice was flat, but his eyes were almost too wide, looking at Dean with an intensity that creeped him out. Dean stepped to the side to put some distance between himself and where the other man stood beside his office door.

“I’m not sure that I’m the person to speak with. Are you sure you’re in the right department?” Dean tried to recall if this was somebody he was supposed to know, but he didn’t look familiar. The guy’s hair looked like he’d just gotten out of bed, and everything about him was slightly off—like he’d just been fired from Accounting and he was out for revenge. Dean looked over him, half expecting to see a shotgun sticking out from under his coat.

“No. I’m here to speak with you.” The man looked at the plaque with Dean’s name and title on the office door, then back at Dean.

“I’m sorry? Did we have a meeting?” Dean looked around, raising his hand to signal for an assistant, but nobody was paying attention.

“I would not have been able to arrange a meeting.” The man became slightly less composed, looking around the hall. “Your boss can’t know that I’m here.”

“No offense, buddy, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to take appointments with people who tell me not to tell my boss about something.” Dean moved to walk away, but the man grabbed his wrist. Dean looked down at the hand gripping him, and he tried to pull away, but his assailant didn’t budge.

“Of course you’re good at following orders now.” The man mumbled under his breath before sighing and opening his jacket to reveal a pistol and a knife. “We need to talk, Dean. Alone.”

A wave of déjà vu washed over Dean, but the sight of the weapons was more pressing; he knew something had been strange about the way this guy had approached him.

“Please.” The man tilted his head at the office door, pulling Dean towards it.

“Hey, that’s fine, we’ll just step inside, and we’ll talk about whatever you want to talk about, alright?” Dean opened the door, and when they were inside, the man let go of Dean’s wrist and reached for his phone. Once he’d received it, he made quick work of drawing a symbol on the inside of the door in what appeared to be blood, though Dean didn’t see him bleeding.

Dean was internally bemoaning the damage to his door when the man spun around and pulled the gun out.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dean jumped back, bumping into his desk, and reaching back to balance himself. “I don’t know who you are—”

“You call me Cas.” The man said evenly, walking towards him, gun remaining at his side.

“Okay, Cas. Cas, why don’t you put the gun down?” Dean was at an angle, leaning back away from Cas. He lifted his hands in front of him, trying to placate the crazy man who kept walking towards him until their shoes were almost touching. Dean was surprised when Cas placed the gun in Dean’s right hand.

“This is yours.” Cas sandwiched the gun between their palms, pressing it in so that Dean felt the full weight of it as the other man spoke. “It has been modified, filled with rock salt. Keep it with you. If anything seems strange, you are to use it. You seem more comfortable with following orders now. Please…follow these.”

“Right.” Dean nodded, thinking that this was damn strange as far as he was concerned. Maybe this was a guy trying to commit suicide like the others, but too scared to do it himself. Was he just setting Dean up to shoot him?

“I would help you if I could. Even this is a risk.” Cas lifted his free hand to clasp Dean’s shoulder, and Dean tried to jump backward again, but he only succeeded in sliding backward until he was sitting on the desk. Cas looked into Dean’s eyes, and Dean was pretty sure all he saw there was Dean being absolutely freaked out. “Your instincts are there. Pay attention to them. Be safe.”

Cas sighed before letting go of the gun, stepping back slowly, as if expecting Dean to attack him. That was Dean’s instinct. Point the gun. Pull the trigger. Cas stood there, not saying anything, as if he was waiting for it.

Dean’s mind was all over the place, unsure if he should just call security, if he should shoot the guy, if this was some kind of a test.

“You’re a hunter, Dean. Hunt.” Cas said before disappearing from where he was standing and reappearing next to Dean so fast that Dean couldn’t even register what had happened.

Dean spun to his right and pulled the trigger. He watched as a white powder exploded from the gun, and a hole ripped through Cas’ trenchcoat directly over his heart. Dean hadn’t even had time to aim, and he’d hit the guy in the heart. Except Cas remained standing, as if the force of being hit hadn’t even affected him. Even if the gun really was just filled with rock salt, it should have done something, right?

“What the hell?” Dean panted, wondering if he was having a panic attack.

“Guess again.” Cas smiled for the first time during their conversation, and Dean was hit with that wave of déjà vu again.

I love when Misha gets Twitter happy...

calcium_yeah — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 03:50:19 GMT

Misha makes my day when he goes on his little Twitter parties and my phone keeps buzzing with his updates. And since Misha himself twittered that this propaganda film should be circulated, although my F-List is quite small, I will do my part for you select few and fulfill my duties as one of his minions.

In contemplating Misha's awesomeness, I realized that I want him to get a spin-off when Supernatural finishes.
He's an angel who doesn't know which of his fellow soldiers to trust...out to find his missing father while fighting the forces of evil...Misha Collins stars in...Garrison. I seriously want this to happen.

Comment fic: WWE RPS, CM Punk/John Morrison, superstition

calcium_yeah — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 01:29:09 GMT

Title: Untitled Punk/Morrison Comment Fic
Author: calcium_yeah
Fandom: Wrestling
Pairing: CM Punk/John Morrison
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The boys own themselves, and a collection of people own their characters. I own nothing.
Summary: Morrison walks in on Punk licking his hand and proceeds to flirt. That's basically it.
A/N: Response to comment_ficcomment_fic prompt :WWE RPS, CM Punk/John Morrison, superstition, so it's obviously short. Cross-posted to violentpretties.

Punk was licking the knuckles of his hand for the third time when John walked into the otherwise empty locker room. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, trying to cover-up what he’d been doing, and trying to hide his face in embarrassment.

“You’re facing Mark Henry in….” John lowered his sunglasses for a moment to check the clock on the wall, “eighteen minutes and you’re in here cleaning yourself?”

“I wasn’t cleaning myself. I’m not a cat.” Punk turned his back to the other man, pretending to adjust his trunks and hoping that Morrison would let it go.

“You just taste that good, huh?” John sounded amused.

“You’ll never know, will you?” Punk smirked over his shoulder and, after seeing that the other man was still heading his way, he turned his attention to brush some non-existent substance off of his arms.

“I’m sure I taste better anyway.” John slipped past Punk to lean against the lockers that the other man was facing. Strands of dyed black hair obscured Punk’s vision when he tilted his head down trying to avoid John’s gaze, but he could still see John’s fingers drumming on his rhinestone studded pants.

“Seriously, I just walked in on you making out with your hand. Is this some kind of straight edge loophole, where you get into freaky situations with yourself in public or—”

“Come on, I wasn’t making out with my hand. It’s just a superstition thing.”

John straightened up a bit and Punk regretted that he seemed to be even more interested. “Superstition? CM Punk is doing something because of a superstition? I thought luck was for losers?”

“It’s not a big deal. It’s just this thing where you lick your fist before you hit someone—” Punk sighed. “It’s just something I do before some of my matches.”

“You ever do it before a match with me?” Curiosity was evident in John’s voice and Punk peeked up, confused for a moment.

“Probably, yeah.”

“So if you hit me in the face, I probably got a nice mouthful of your spit, huh?” John almost looked smugly pleased with himself, but perhaps it was the giant sunglasses douching up his expressions.

“Whatever gets you off, buddy.” Punk finally straightened up to face Morrison head-on. “Look, it’s just a ritual I kind of stick to out of habit. It’s not like I believe in it.”

“I don’t know, you’re doing pretty well for yourself. Maybe it works.”

“I work. That’s why I’m doing pretty well for myself.” Punk crossed his arms in front of himself.

“Still. Couldn’t hurt.” John licked the back of his own hand.

“Yeah, maybe if you figure out how to do it right you’ll get to win a world title.” Punk laughed, trying to get himself into a more aggressive mindset before his match.

“You’re the expert,” John held his left hand out in front of Punk’s face, like royalty waiting for a peasant to kiss his ring. “Why don’t you show me how to do it right?”

“If I put my mouth on your hand, you’d never let me leave.”

“Maybe I won’t let you leave either way.” John quickly reached out, placing his fingertips on Punk’s waist just to the right of his Straight Edge tattoo.

Punk glanced down at where the other man’s hand rested on his side. “You keep flirting with the wrong people like this, you really are going to need some good luck.”

“You saying you’re the wrong person to flirt with?” John kept his right hand on Punk’s waist, but he started to lower his left hand from where he’d been holding it out, and Punk caught the other man’s arm just above the elbow to hold him in place.

Punk ran a thumb along John’s knuckle. “The right way to do it is you lick right here three times.”

“And what does it do besides get your hand wet?”

“It’s a superstition,” Punk shrugged, “Put whatever meaning on it you wanna put on it.”

“I think…if I lick my hand three time before a match, then you’ll lick me three times after the match.”

“Well, you have a match later. Go for it and see if it works.”

</div>

Dean/Castiel Type to Movie - Personal Space

calcium_yeah — Sat, 18 Apr 2009 01:39:50 GMT

Dean Winchester is a Furry Blue Puppet (Response to Sam Winchester is a Furry Blue Puppet )

calcium_yeah — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 03:27:24 GMT

After reading a post by

So, naturally I decided to take her question to heart and submit for your consideration the idea that Dean is the monster at the end of the book. It makes sense that Sam, in his effort to become strong enough to fight the big bad monster, would become a monster, but as the original post presented that idea, I chose to explore other ground.

If we look at the season as a book, then we’re thinking of the monster at the end of the season, which makes the most sense. But if we read (perhaps a little to deeply) into the fact that the Supernatural books written by Chuck each corresponded with an episode, then we can assume that there was a monster at the end of this episode—presumably in Chuck’s vision.

I don’t believe that it was Zachariah as Chuck’s reaction to Zachariah when he woke did not indicate that the angel was the monster. Chuck said he had to warn Sam and Dean, and I assume that he would not have said that to the monster.

Chuck’s comment that he was going to kill himself could hint that he plays an active part in what’s coming, and that perhaps is the monster, but Zachariah saying that they would just bring him back goes well with the idea that he will remain a passive prophet.

Having the monster be Castiel could work, perhaps if it were a result of him choosing Dean over his orders, but I foresee Castiel remaining an ally.

So, let’s work with the idea that the monster is Dean; that for all the juxtaposition of Sam with the demon Ruby and Dean with the angel Castiel, Dean is actually the one who is going to be the monster that needs to be stopped.

In some ways, Dean is the one who is frightened and trying to stop Sam/the reader from getting to the end of the book. We had Sam’s words in the episode:

Dean: It frustrates me when you say such reckless things.

Sam: It frustrates me when you would rather run than fight.

Sam wants to get to the end of the book, Dean doesn’t think they’re ready for what they’ll find there—perhaps Dean is the Grover in this scenario and Sam is the reader, busting through obstacles to get to that final fight. There has been spec that Sam is being built into the perfect vessel for Lucifer, but if we think about Dean’s actions in hell after the first 30 years/3 months. The first seal had already been broken, the angels were laying siege to hell to get Dean out, and Dean spent another 10 years/1 month learning to be an expert torturer. Perhaps hell had a reason for not putting Dean back on the rack when their purpose was accomplished—maybe they saw something in him. By this time, word had to have gotten down to his area of the pit that angels were seeking him out, and maybe Alastair and company wanted more than to make sure that Dean’s soul wouldn’t be in any shape to take Lucifer on.

Maybe the demons leading this whole thing, upon realizing that the angels would succeed in getting Dean out, had a contingency plan making Dean Lucifer’s ideal vessel. Uriel wanted to let Alastair kill Dean, but it could be that Dean did not quite retain as much of his demonic nature as they expected he their plans for him were seen as dispensable.

Of course, the demons assuming that Dean was a lost cause for them does not mean that he was; and our assumptions about Sam’s blood drinking and his motives and what it’s doing to him doesn’t mean that his path is as dark as we expect.

But in order for the Grover metaphor to work, I wonder if our idea of “monster” needs to change. We had a lot of drama with Sam’s discovery of his demon blood, and his views on monsters changing—seeing Madison as a victim of something that was done to her, the rugaru before he transformed. We may just receive confirmation that Dean, who’s been frickin resurrected from hell, is not as normal as he likes to think he is, and that may help him stop the apocalypse/Lucifer.

Dean told Sam earlier in this season that if he didn’t know him he’d want to hunt him. In the book, Grover was in awe at the reader’s ability to overcome obstacles—how could we be so strong? The way Sam was so strong. And it was our pressing through that got Grover to see the truth. So, for the metaphor to work, Sam’s efforts would have to make Dean see the truth. It looks as if Sam’s efforts are bringing them towards the confrontation, not just with Lilith, but with Lucifer and perhaps it will be at this point that we find out just how Dean was the monster at the end of the book.

And because I’m a Dean/Cas shipper, I have to wonder: would Dean consider himself a monster if some of Castiel’s grace had transferred to him during their exit from hell as much fic would like to speculate? He wouldn’t be entirely human, and he’s made it clear that things that are non-human are not alright with him, but his experience with Anna before she was re-winged, and his growing connection with Castiel have given him a different perspective on things.

Think about Grover’s reaction at the end of that book—he was embarrassed that he’d been so scared. It makes me wonder if the “monster” is really so bad.

Of course, this is all an elaborate stretch of the imagination and, even though I’ve written it in just a few minutes, probably way too much analysis of the contents of a classic children’s book that happens to share the title with this episode, but I loved everything about this last episode and wanted to write something connected with it. And, of course, make badly fauxtoshopped fan-art:

bellajayd , I've decided to totally ~~steal her idea~~ pay tribute with a response proposing an alternate theory about The Monster at the End of This Book, albeit one that is a bit more of a stretch. SPOILERS up to 4x18.

She posed the question, of course, of who is the monster at the end of the book.

Argh, I should've watched 4.18 last night. Stupid sleep.

calcium_yeah — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 14:05:10 GMT

Last night, I decided to save episode 4.18 of Supernatural for the weekend since I hadn’t slept for about 2 days and I wanted to go to bed. Seemed like a good idea until I went to check my F-list this morning and saw many mentions of how awesome the show was and realized that I wouldn’t be able to read everyone’s thoughts and make comments and exchange ideas and blah blah blah.

So now I’ve got to wait until lunch and watch the show online because I’m like a frickin addict—not for the show, I actually have incredible self-control for the show because it’s like Christmas/Chrimukkah/Festivus/whatever where the suspense and wonder is actually enjoyable (excluding 4.16, which I was ready to jump on like it was Jensen’s face or something). No, I’m an addict for seeing what everyone thought; I don’t know how overseas folks who have to wait for the show do it.

Comment fic: Supernatural/Leverage, Dean/Eliot, Mexico

calcium_yeah — Mon, 30 Mar 2009 02:02:32 GMT

So, my comment fic turned into something way too long for a comment, and I still didn't get around to actually making it what I wanted it to be, but here it is:

Location: http://community.livejournal.com/comment_fic/24149.html?thread=3910997#t3910997
Prompt: Supernatural/Leverage, Dean/Eliot, Mexico

Update to note with more detail that this is crossover slash between Dean Winchester (a hunter and saver of people from Supernatural) and Eliot (a fighter and con artist out to help people from Leverage) originally posted on the comment_fic community.

“Who doesn’t have warrants in Mexico? If we start avoiding places because we’ve got warrants we’ll never leave the house.” Dean’s ears perked up at what sounded like a southern twang approaching from the hallway to the back of the bar, but he kept his eyes focused on the amber liquid in his glass, pretending not to hear a conversation that was probably supposed to be private.

“Alice…” He could hear the change in the man’s voice, southern twang replaced by something more controlled--tense. “I thought we were supposed to be closed.”

“This customer had money.” Dean could see the woman bounce, a little blonde who had looked very pleased when he plunked five twenties down on the bar and asked her to keep the scotch flowing.

“Haha, yeah” The man’s laughter was fake and Dean wondered again at the emptiness of the bar, which he’d originally decided not to sweat because he was pretty well armed. “You know, I’m real sorry about all this, but we’ve got a private party coming in. Why don’t you take this whole bottle—on the house?”

The man tried to take the bottle of scotch from the woman’s hands, but she yanked it back and the two of them began mumbling at each other, a mix of ‘give it’ and ‘we don’t give things away’ until the man grabbed the bottle so fast that Dean wondered if he was human.

“You know where I could get a good monte cristo?” Dean looked quickly between the two of them, but they were both looking at him as if he’d told them the truth about why he was in the bar trying to block out his memories in the first place. There was no evidence of demonic nature in either one of them, but he repeated for good measure. “Christo?”

“Um…no.” The man pushed his hair back off of his face and Dean wanted to ask him what the deal was with that look, but he’d just come off of a hunt and wasn’t exactly in the mood for a fight. “Look, buddy, there’s a bar down the road, full of girls that’ll be more than happy to help you through whatever’s bringing you down.”

“Not really what I’m in the market for tonight.” Dean’s smile was visibly pained as he contemplated the fact that after everything with Anna he hadn’t been in much of a mood for random hookups. Or relationships. Or anything outside of a drink and whatever he could salvage of his connection with his brother…maybe even his connection with Cas.

“Gay bars. There are lots of gay bars.” The blonde perked up, turning her head to look at him from the corner of her eye and quickly pouring a bit more scotch in his glass. In Dean’s peripheral vision, he could see the man give her an eye roll that could rival one of Sammy’s.

“Point is,” The man switched on a practiced smile and Dean recognized it as one he’d use on a family he was trying to get out of a haunted house, “We’re closed. Now I get that you’ve got something going on, but you’re not gonna resolve that here.”

“Well maybe I just like the company.” Dean reflected the other man’s smile back at him, getting tired of being treated like someone too stupid to know something shady was going on.

“Oh, that’s so sweet.” The girl chimed in, hugging the bottle of scotch to her chest.

“Alice... Alice,” the man raised his voice until the girl took her eyes off Dean and her face shifted into a pout at whatever she saw when she looked over Dean’s shoulder. “Why don’t you see how far along our guests are…I’m thinking they’re about fourteen minutes away. And lock that front door while you’re at it so we don’t have to deal with this again.”

The girl twitched her nose, looked between the two men and snaked her hand out to grab the bottle back and take it with her as she left.

“Alright, I don’t want any trouble, but more importantly, you don’t want any trouble.” The man’s hair bounced as he spoke and Dean laughed at the absurdity of this guy trying to intimidate him.

“Not looking for any trouble. I know, how ‘bout you throw in some tequila with that scotch there. Got a thing for those Mexican drinks.” Dean took a slow sip and reveled in the narrowing of the other man’s eyes.

“It’s time for you to go.” The man dropped all pretense of courtesy, on guard now—maybe he thought Dean was a cop, maybe a blackmailer. But Dean was a hunter, and that meant he’d investigate when something wasn’t right.

“You a hunter?” Dean made full-on eye-contact for the first time that night.

“A hunter?” The man paused, squinting at Dean and obviously trying to adapt to whatever this new angle was.

“Yeah, do you hunt?”

“No. I don’t hunt.” The man was visibly irritated.

“What do you do?” Dean shifted around, resting his elbow on the bar, but keeping his left hand in a position to grab the knife in his waistband if necessary.

“I own a bar.” The answer was too sarcastic and Dean laughed.

“You’re about as much of a bar owner as I am an FBI agent.”

The man’s lip lifted into a sneer, raising his voice a bit as if warning someone hidden nearby, “This some kind of a set-up?

“Sounds like the words of a man who has something to worry about.” Dean saw when the man moved to lunge, and he was fast enough to jump to the left, but the man switched his trajectory and was still able to grab him by his jacket. “Looks like the moves of a man who does more than own a bar.”

“Who are you?”

“Name’s Dean,” he answered, wondering if this man, or this creature, had heard of him—wondering how far spread the news about him had truly spread, figuring that a last name wouldn’t be necessary if his assailant was in the loop. “But, I’m not the interesting one here. What are you?”

“Name’s Hardison,” the man paused and the tiniest of smiles crossed his lips before he continued, “But you can call me Eliot.”

“Didn’t ask who you are, I asked what you are.” Dean tried to punch Eliot in the ribs, but his arms were both grabbed before he made contact. “You’re pretty fast.”

“You’re pretty armed.” Eliot nodded down and Dean saw that his shirt was raised enough to show the handle of one of his knives and the butt of one of his guns.

“Like I said.” Dean eyelids lowered and his words came out in almost a growl. “I’m a hunter. What. Are. You?”

Eliot squeezed Dean’s wrists and he quirked an eyebrow at the hunter. “I don’t know what this is about, but there’s a five year old girl who’s gonna get screwed out of a new heart if I don’t get you out of this bar in three minutes.”

“What is that? Some werewolf thing?”

“Werewolf? What the hell are you…goddamnit! Stall him!...agh, fine. Look, I need to go back there and be the owner of this bar for the next two hours—”

“You some kind of psychic?” Dean twisted around, but he wasn’t able to get Eliot to release his grip.

“This is going to be a disaster,” Eliot sighed just as the bartender rushed back in from the back hallway and unlocked the front door for a group of four men and two women.

“Ah, Gavin,” a British woman on the arm of an overweight older man giggled as she walked towards them, “My step-brother could find a pretty boy in the middle of Antarctica.”

Eliot leaned in slightly, attempting to make Dean’s captive position look less adversarial. “Yes…I sure can.”

“Gavin’s boyfriend likes scotch!” The blonde noted happily from behind the counter and Dean looked over to see her nodding happily.

“Don’t really think he’s gonna go along with this.” Eliot hissed barely audibly and Dean realized that he must have been communicating with at least one of the other people in the room.

“Of course I do!” Dean shouted a bit too loudly before leaning in closer and dropping his voice to a whisper, “I’m gonna stay here, and I’m gonna find out what you are and what you’re up to.”

“Whatever, just don’t go trying to sell the boyfriend thing too hard.” Eliot whispered back.

“And miss the opportunity to run my fingers through that hair of yours?” Dean smirked, keeping his eyes on Eliot, but he could hear choking laughs coming from several people in the room.

Comment Fic - WWE/Leverage, John Cena/Eliot, domestic

calcium_yeah — Sun, 29 Mar 2009 23:21:36 GMT

So, I just posted my first comment fic and I'm copying it here for posterity or whatever:

Location: http://community.livejournal.com/comment_fic/3743.html?thread=48287#t48287
Prompt: WWE/Leverage, John Cena/Eliot, domestic

Update to note with more detail that this is crossover slash between John Cena's onscreen wrestling persona and Christian Kane's character of Eliot on the show Leverage, originally posted on the comment_fic community.

It would happen every month or so, John would get a text message letting him know that Eliot was in the same town. It was easier to keep track of the wrestler’s schedule than to know where Eliot would be on any given day. John couldn’t call him the ‘construction worker’ or the ‘bounty hunter’ or the ‘animal trainer’ because Eliot always danced around the question of what it was he did for a living.

The bruises and scars to rival his own made John lean towards bounty hunter.

Eliot never came to Massachusetts, never came to John’s home—said the whole thing felt too domestic, would make him feel like a jerk for not stopping by more often if they were really in some kind of relationship. So the two of them stuck to hotels around the country and around the world.

It was in Cincinnati, Ohio that John first learned Eliot was from Kentucky. He told John that he’d been there to help an old high school friend—or an old high school sweetheart—an old fiancée, really.

It was in Cincinnati, Ohio that Eliot told John that he kissed someone else and it felt like cheating—that until then he’d never thought about who John was with, about who he himself was with, but that he realized that the kiss had been the first he’d had with someone else since they met. Eliot didn’t ask John if he thought Eliot had cheated, just told him that he didn’t want anyone else—didn’t want John to want anyone else.

Neither man initiated sex that afternoon; they hung out and watched a baseball game and Eliot left before John went to wrestle at a house show that evening. It was awkward and silent and John wondered if something good had just been ruined.

Tired, sweaty, and with muscles sore, John came back to find Eliot in his hotel room, surprised for only a moment that the other man had gotten in. John dropped his duffle bag to the floor beside the door and Eliot moved from where he sat on the bed to meet John by the door, pressing their hips together and backing the wrestler up against the door.

Eliot placed his hands on either side of John’s head, letting his thumbs stroke the edges of his hairline as he ground upward with his hips.

“You got some free time coming up?” Eliot’s words were slow and deep, bringing out an accent that often remained hidden like the talents that allowed him to access another man’s hotel room with apparent ease.

John placed his hands on Eliot’s hips, pushing him down and forward until they had to take turns breathing in and out for lack of room to move. It took a moment before John remembered to nod and whisper out the words “Wednesday…Thursday….”

“Mmmm,” Eliot’s hair fell over both of their shoulders as he leaned in to speak centimeters away from the taller man’s neck. “Well why don’t I stop by?” He softly bit the corner of John’s jaw, catching a piece of skin between his teeth and pulling gently.

“Yeah? We gonna bake some cookies? Pay some bills?” John tried to joke, but the last word came out as a moan when Eliot licked a stripe along the area he’d just marked.

“Oh, we’re not getting domestic.” Eliot lifted his head to nuzzle the side of John’s face, “We’re just getting more of this.” And he thrust up once more, remaining on his toes when John gripped him tight, reveling in the sensation and thinking that more would be great.

I wish I had the energy to write my full Supernatural 4.17 ep review.

calcium_yeah — Fri, 27 Mar 2009 03:09:37 GMT

Seriously, the show just left me with this amazing feeling. And then I think of the drama and Dean/Cas goodness that was last week and it's insane how two such different eps can have me in love with the tone--looking at the endings alone, how do I love them both so much?

Not even writing the review yet, but I need to make notes to myself just to remember what I want to talk about tomorrow. Mostly my renewed love of Sam, motivational speeches, the AU fanfic-ness of the episode, and why I'm cool with who gave the motivation and who didn't. Cut for spoilers in case anyone F-listed me and hasn't seen the ep.

Sam. Oh my...Sam. I can't remember ever not being massively drawn to Dean, but today just brought out so much Sam love it'll probably what I talk about most of all. The way he said "vampires" on the elevator, his face when all that blood splattered him, the way he wanted Dean to take off and go hunting with him, the way he went Office Space on the phone, "Did you just call me 'Sammy'?"...see, I'd be here all night.

Zachariah. I like. I like the actor, I like what he had to say. Even spoiled, I didn't realize it was an angel that put the boys there until he touched Dean's head and we got "What the hell? Why am I wearing a tie? My God am I hungry." It made total sense as soon as I realized it was an angel--reaffirm why Dean was doing this (and now that I think about it, there could have been a nice moment for Sam to remember what it was to hunt the way they did before the demon power thing became such a big part of the equation, but I'm guessing they don't want to deal with Sam's motivations right now). They're hunters because it's who they are, wouldn't be happy doing anything else. I loved that. And I had to transcribe that kickass motivational speech from Zachariah:

Most folks live and die without moving anything more than the dirt it takes to bury them, you get to change things, save people, maybe even the world—all the while you drive a classic car and fornicate with women. This isn’t a curse, it’s a gift, so for God’s sakes, Dean, quit whining about it. Look around, there are plenty of fates worse than yours. So, you with me? You wanna go steam yourself another latte? Or are you ready to stand up and be who you really are?

The Dean/Castiel shipper in me of course wishes it were Cas who got to motivate Dean and get him back into the fight, but I can't be mad at their use of this new angel as it worked really well--and we did get a nice Cas mention as we learn that Zachariah is his superior (I'll tell myself that Cas didn't want to dick around with Dean's memories and his feelings for Dean once again had his sympathies being questioned.)

Bob, Ellen and Jo are Dean's family? Sam was engaged to werewolf Madison and her phone number was to an animal clinic? Dudes came over to LJ for research on that stuff, lol. Seriously, if there's not some AU fic about Dean Smith and Sam Wesson over the next week then I don't know what's going on.

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Dean/Castiel friending mem.

calcium_yeah — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 17:10:32 GMT

Thought I'd post a copy of my response to this Dean/Cas friending meme:

Name: Nikki Loza a/k/a calcium_yeah
Age (optional): 25
Location: NYC
Describe yourself in 3 words or less: day-dreamer, passive, obsessive
Why do you love Dean/Castiel?: At a time when Sam and Dean hit a rough patch in their relationship, Castiel arrived to provide Dean a counterpart to Sam’s Ruby, but the Sam/demon and Dean/angel metaphors were never heavy-handed and we were allowed to make the comparisons ourselves. The show has been giving us this building affection; Dean is Castiel's path to understanding humanity on a different level, while Castiel has become someone who Dean at least subconsciously feels he can rely on--his savior. Dean believes in Cas and he’s hurt when he thinks the angel isn’t there for him. Both Dean and Cas were soldiers, following the orders of their fathers, trying to save the world when their support systems are being knocked away, both are ripe for hurt and healing. That and they make a very pretty couple.
Favorite Dean/Castiel moment/s:
Spoilers up to 4.16:
Finally hearing Castiel tell Dean "I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You."
Castiel telling Dean “For what it’s worth, I would give anything not to have you do this.”
Castiel appearing with the tiniest of smirks after striking Alastair with lightening.
Castiel confiding in Dean in the park that he too has doubts.
Castiel's gaze dropping away when he saw Anna kiss Dean.
Uriel telling Dean “He has this weakness, he likes you.”
When Dean first calls Castiel “Cas”.
Dean waking up with Cas in his bed.
Castiel's first appearance when he tilts his head at Dean and says “You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”
What is your contribute to this fandom (writer, iconmaker, vidder, fanmixer, etc)?: Writer.
Other pairing/s:
Spn: Bottom!Sam/Top!Dean as a first time (not big on established relationship fic), Dean/Jensen, Sam/Ruby (not a fan of them per se, but I generally think of them as a couple when writing), Dean crossed over with a whole plethora of hot guys from other fandoms.
Other fandoms: Spike/Lindsey (Angel), Parker/Hardison (Leverage), Chuck/Dan (Gossip Girl) [If you actually are interested in the complete list, check out my profile.]
Journal locked/public?: Public.
Friending policy?: Open.
Anything else?: I’m so glad that 4.16 has been bringing new people into the ship-dom! When I saw all the D/C fic popping up, I watched the end of 4x01 and was inspired to catch up with the show after being 2 seasons behind, now it’s my #1 show and D/C are my first OTP in a while.

Supernatural 4x16 Episode Review

calcium_yeah — Fri, 20 Mar 2009 03:31:51 GMT

CY on Supernatural 4.16:

[Comparing my pre-show speculation based on the Tivo description to my immediate post-show reaction.]

I’m thoroughly spoiled, so assume that my post will reference SPOILERS as far into the future as they are available.

Wherein I talk about the episode’s big reveals, Dean/Cas, Sam’s views on his brother and himself, the lack of Sam and Dean, the use of Castiel’s nickname and more.

Wondering whether you’re interested in what I have to say? Maybe it’ll help knowing:

I’m a Dean-girl, Dean/Castiel shipper, and I hate it when Sam and Dean are in conflict. I love Bobby and think Ruby serves a good purpose. I speculate a lot based on spoilers, am generally more enthusiastic or curious than critical, I tend to go on a bit, and I may use R-rated language once in a while.

Pre-Show

Tivo’s description of 4.16:

“On the Head of a Pin” – Castiel and Uriel ask Dean to use the torturing skills he learned in hell to extract information from Alastair, Dean’s world is shattered when Alastair reveals shocking information.

What I’m looking forward to: I’m expecting to be blown away by the shocking information. I’m thinking it has something to do with Sam being addicted to demon blood which I think is coming up in the next few episodes—or this one actually, since there was that clip of him cutting and drinking off of Ruby in one of the promos, so it’s more that Dean and Bobby’s intervention is on it’s way in a few episodes. (Actually, now that I think about it, I’m really looking forward to the episode that’s basically AU fanfic where Sam and Dean think they’re office workers who don’t know each other, but they turn to hunting anyway because they’re just naturals at it—I expect awesomeness from that one.)…anyway, yeah the information could be about what he was preparing Dean for in hell, something about John, or of course what’s really happening to Sam in the big picture. I doubt that he would have information about what the angel’s plans are for Dean (so dreading that it’s going to be really bad, but hoping that if it is that will give Castiel the impetus to choose Dean over his orders).

On the Dean/Cas note: The preview clip with Cas standing behind Dean looks like it’s going to be a rewind material, and I expect that this is really setting up to be a turning point episode leading to Castiel saving Dean from going too far down the torture path, thus picking Dean over his brethren and going up against Uriel. Don’t know if that’s all happening in this episode, probably not because I think this is where Anna shows up and Cas tells her he’s considering disobedience. I’d prefer if he were confiding in Dean again, but I have a feeling it’s about Dean so he can’t really do so at that point.

Sam and Dean: I don’t want to ruin the anticipation by checking the promos again, but I don’t think there were even any scenes with Sam and Dean together, and I don’t think there’s even a hunt—a real myth-arc heavy episode. Is the myth-arc stuff when all the growing distance between the brothers is more apparent? It would make sense since it’s the root of their conflict. I hope they have some decent time together at the beginning of the ep at least. That promo shot of Cas by the empty motel beds makes me wonder though what the context was. It’s not like he would be unable to find them if they weren’t hidden by hex bags or something, right? So, that has to be after giving orders or something…but it looks so much like he came there and they were both gone.

Real life/fangirl note: A really cool girl I work with said she didn’t think our lovely male leads were all that hot. I was shocked—shocked!, but I told myself it was only because she didn’t watch the show. I mean, even if you don’t watch for the eyecandy, how can you not acknowledge the hot?

Post-Show

My expectation of what would be ‘big’: Of course, the thing that I thought was going to be a big the insane development actually turned out to be something I’d seen in a promo a few days ago. Still pretty big news and the source of that amazing Dean/Cas scene at the end.

Dean’s destiny:

Needed? We just got back from needed! - Dean

Seems like everyone’s dying these days. - Dean

You know, it’s your professionalism that I respect. – Alastair

Ruin the one real weapon we have? – Anna

It’s not blame that falls on you, Dean, it’s fate. - Castiel

Of course we don’t know how Dean is supposed to stop Lucifer (more on that in a moment), but we seem to have gotten the answer on why Dean was pulled out of hell—when he spilled blood in hell, he was the first seal, so he was resurrected as the only one who could stop Lucifer. Jensen Ackles in that final scene—I thought that he was good with the moist eyes when he was telling Castiel that he wouldn’t like the man who came back from torturing Alistair, and with the lip quiver just before he turned around and saw that Alastair had broken free, but that final scene where he was just hurt, with the fate of the world in his hands, it was one of the most moving I’ve seen on this show. He sounded like a scared child barely able to speak through his stuffed nose and puffy lips.

Sam’s views on Dean, and on himself:

I’m stronger than that now, now I can kill. - Sam

Castiel’s face said it all. I knew about the demon blood drinking going on, but actually seeing Sam outside of that context turned out to be much worse. It was like watching a different person and the show’s handled that development well with this episode as kind of a capping point. I don’t know how next week’s AU episode is going to work—it seems like it’ll be a bit comedic, but that could be jarring after watching Sam this week. I kind of hated when he showed up and saved Cas from the reverse-exorcism and apparently killed Alastair because it just gives more fuel to his idea that Dean’s not strong enough, and that only his demon powers can save the day. I hate to see Sam looking at Dean as weak, and it overpowers my disappointment in him trolloping on down to the dark side.

When the scene transitioned from Sam drinking Ruby’s blood to Dean torturing Alastair, I started looking at the episode as having this theme of our heroes both turning to the darkside in different ways—Dean not wanting to go near it, but ultimately doing as he was asked (he was pretty good at taking orders growing up) and Sam telling himself that he was doing the right thing, but showing all the signs of a delusional addict. When Pam said last week that if Sam thought he had good intentions he was kidding himself, I didn’t think much more of it than when everyone else said he was messing with bad stuff. But seeing him tonight just made it clear that he really is lying to himself at this point, justifying something that he just wants to do. I really hadn’t even bought that idea before this episode.

The Uriel reveal:

Uriel’s the funniest angel in the garrison, ask anyone. - Castiel

“Lilith is not behind this, she wouldn’t kill 7 angels, she’d kill a hundred.” - Alastair

“It’s strange how a leaky pipe can undo the work of angels when we are supposed to be the agents of fate.”- Castiel

“I only killed the ones who said ‘no’.”- Uriel

For the majority of this episode, I thought Anna was behind the murders, the way she showed up just after the pipe’s screws started turning, the way Castiel said the devil’s trap couldn’t have broken, and the way Sam said it wasn’t a demon. I can’t believe Uriel tried to take out Dean—not cool, man, you said you were beginning to like the guy. Robert Wisdom’s face when he was talking about Lucifer was a great bit of acting—the scene reminded me of Dogma with the “you sound like Lucifer, man!” exchange—the whole speech was so fallen angel it was perfect. When I’d seen clips of Cas and Uriel fighting, I’d assumed it was going to have something to do with Castiel disobeying, I didn’t even think of Uriel as anything but following orders. Thinking back on their conversation in It’s the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester, where Castiel told Uriel that he was close to blasphemy with his bitterness about humanity, his reveal speech was nicely foreshadowed. Pretty depressing though.

John in hell: At first I thought this was Alastair’s big surprise, until the rest of it came out, but it was just like another hit to Dean’s already fragile self-esteem and they picked it up at the end with Dean saying “Well I guess I’m not the man either of my dads wanted me to be.” It just added another level of pain to the news.

Angel-heavy episode:

I think maybe our father isn’t giving the orders anymore, maybe there is something wrong.- Castiel

I expect if one isn’t big on the angels, this was not a good episode for you as they seemed to be on way more than either Sam or Dean. I love Castiel, and was into Uriel as a contrast until he was revealed to be Mr. Trick to Lucifer’s Mayor (yay for Season 3 Buffy references!), but even I noticed that the episode was severely lacking in Sam and Dean. They got some amazing scenes, although it’s easier for me to notice the ones that Dean had as I’m so disappointed in Sam, but each of them had major developments happen. Still, those major developments seemed to be sprinkled throughout an episode filled with Castiel, Uriel and Anna. It was odd and I imagine that this is what some people felt when Sam was only in a few seconds of In the Beginning. It wasn’t as obvious to me there, perhaps because of the time travel device. I hope that the lack of Winchester doesn’t cause a lot of bitching throughout fandom though because I like the myth arc stuff and don’t want people turning against it.

Castiel’s nickname: I did not like Anna using the nickname. It seems odd coming from an angel, even if she’d been living as human. I love when Dean uses it, and I had lots of lovely moments listening to him saying “Cas” tonight, and I’m fine with Sam using it, but it was just weird having Anna do it.

Dean/Cas:

Castiel: My superiors have begun to question my sympathies.

Dean: Your sympathies?

Castiel: I was getting to close to the humans in my charge. You. They feel I’ve begun to express emotions, the doorways to doubt, this can impair my judgment.

Fuck, this was an amazing episode for those two. Cas kept getting saved by people who were not Dean, but this had to be the top episode for them as a ‘ship, to the point that I need to bullet-point this.

§ Dean’s “You can’t ask me to do this, Cas. Not this.” Dean turned to Cas for help, for understanding of why he didn’t want to torture Alastair, he expected Cas to know why he didn’t want to and it felt so personal when he asked.

§ “I want to talk to Cas alone.” Dean is becoming to see Castiel as someone to trust, to rely on.

§ We got the reveal that fic authors have been speculating on: Castiel’s revelation that his judgment was being questioned and he was basically demoted because he was expressing emotions towards Dean. That alone would have been great, but there was more.

§ “For what it’s worth, I would give anything not to have you do this.” Castiel just cares so much, and it didn’t sound like an angel not wanting for anyone to have to do that, it sounded like Cas not wanting Dean to do it. Excuse my language, but fuck was that awesome. It was like the most romantic line reading Misha could give it.

§ Cas being the first one who Dean saw when he woke up in the hospital.

§ “You need to be more careful.” “You need to learn how to manage a damn devil’ trap.”

§ “He was working against us.” Something about Misha’s line reading there combined with the look on his face—I can’t get what it is, but it just stood out to me. If anyone actually reads my ramblings and gets what it was, please tell me.

§ When Dean asked “Is it true? Did I break the first seal? Did I start all this?” I just wanted Cas to go hug him.

§ When Dean said “Well then you guys are screwed. I can’t do it, Cas. It’s too big. Alastair was right, I’m not all here, I’m not strong enough. Well I guess I’m not the man either of my dads wanted me to be. Find someone else. It’s not me.” I just wanted Cas to say he believed in him, just to show that somebody believed Dean was strong enough, especially in the face of Sam’s earlier comment.

§ This episode is screaming for a coda, the way it ended with Castiel sitting beside physically and emotionally broken Dean’s hospital bed with Sam nowhere in sight.

“Sister”: I noted that Cas called the dead angel at the beginning “sister” where the prior references to “brothers” seemed to enforce the idea that angels were genderless. This seems like something worth noting for fic authors if they want to stick with canon.

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Fanart: Dean/Cas Theme: Confused

calcium_yeah — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 23:14:07 GMT

My first piece of Dean/Cas fanart. I guess you could call it a banner. SPOILER warning: made from screencaps from 4.15. Original screencaps provided by ina_ami .

I realize that I could have used a much more confused picture of Cas, considering the wealth of material in this scene alone, but he looked so adorable here I just went with this one.

Northbound Countdown 10/10 (Dean/Misha, Dean/Cas)

calcium_yeah — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 03:56:29 GMT

Title: Northbound Countdown 10/10 (a/k/a 3.11.2009, 1 Day until SPN returns from break!)
Author: Nikki Loza (a/k/a

calcium_yeah)
Disclaimer: A collection of people own Supernatural and its characters. Misha owns himself. I own nothing.
Rating: R
Fandom: Supernatural/RPS
Genre/ Pairing: Slash. Dean/Misha. Contemplation of Dean/Castiel.
Spoilers: Takes place post-4x11 Sex and Violence.
Warnings: WIP written live over 10 days, so you may wish to wait until the end if you would like the full, edited version. Thoughts of angel porn.
Notes: Now that the story is finished, I will be cleaning it up, fleshing it out, and just generally making it better, so if anyone has been reading and wants to know more about something or would like to see an aspect more developed, please let me know. (And If anyone ever wants to make a break fly by, force yourself to write a story in chronological order everyday—it’s so hard!) Thanks to anyone who commented, especially shion_kun for commenting on most of the chapters.
Summary: Sam and Dean get out of town. 10 day Dean/Misha countdown to Supernatural's return from winter break.

Dean slipped into the passenger seat and after a standard cursory check to make sure it was actually Sam on the driver’s side (because he was a hunter first and foremost), Dean looked straight ahead, pretending he hadn’t noticed the look of open expectation on Sam’s face.

Dean focused on putting his seatbelt on, making an extra effort to keep his eyes from looking at his brother.

“We’re gonna talk about this.” Sam stated firmly, but he seemed to accept the silence as they drove south east out of Massachusetts.

Dean played with his cell phone, eyeing Misha’s phone number in his phonebook, eventually deciding not to delete the contact after scrolling up and down over it for fourteen minutes.

He wondered if Misha had called the police after they left, if he’d called his friends back and told them more about what happened. He knew that he and Sam would have to make that their next mission—two guys running around looking like them? Especially after they’d been reported dead back when Lilith destroyed that police station. The whole thing reeked of shape shifters, but when they’d looked Jensen and Jared up, the identities went back more than the few months that Misha had known them, so Dean didn’t know what to think.

“You think we’d flag at any checkpoints trying to cross the border to go to Vancouver?” Dean finally turned to look at Sam and saw that his brother’s knuckles were white from clenching the steering wheel, while his face just looked tired—mostly in the eyes where Sam looked like he wanted to go to sleep. “Whoa, you look like hell.”

Sam frowned and looked over at Dean for less than a second before returning his eyes to the road.

“Poor choice of words, right?” Dean slumped down into his seat, assuming that Sam was trying to figure out their situation and get his head around everything he just saw, and whatever Ruby told him; Dean was kind of disappointed because it meant that Sam wasn’t going to let him pretend nothing happened. Sure enough, when Sam spoke, he went right for the heart of the matter.

“Why don’t you look like hell, Dean? Why do you look like everything’s fine?”

Dean shifted in his seat, hating how distant Sam’s voice sounded because it meant he probably had a whole line of questioning prepared.

“Takes a lot of stress to mess with something this pretty.” Dean tried to joke, but even he knew it rang hollow.

“I’m serious, man, are you just being you and acting like none of that just happened? Do you just not care? Maybe you think it was fine trying to screw an angel’s vessel under false pretenses. I can’t tell anymore. You take months to tell me what’s going on with you. Ever since you came back—”

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to whine about torturing people in hell or anything.” Dean snapped, everything Sam said under the siren’s spell still sitting like a sub-layer of skin just under the surface since they’d lied to each other and pretended that they were okay.

“Why would you whine about it, you liked it, right?” Sam snapped in return. “Probably all set to go back. Screw the apocalypse! Dean Winchester wants to get himself thrown back into hell!”

“You think…with everything I can’t even put into words…that the pit was some kind of boot camp that I can’t wait to revisit?” Dean hissed before suddenly shouting; the sound of his raised voice was overpowering in the small confines of the Impala. “Demons don’t even want hell, Sam! Did your girlfriend explain that to you when you were all over some dead girl’s body?”

“Actually, she did, not during of course.” Sam responded bitterly to his brother’s jab about Ruby, but he took a breath and softened his tone. “And you’re right, I don’t know. The same way you don’t know what it means for me to have demon blood in me and not be able to change that, but you for damn sure try to tell me how to deal with it.”

“But did anyone stop by and give you advice on how you should handle me when I came back? Because I got a message point-blank--stop you, or the angels will.”

“Threats, yeah--and you still want one of them so bad that you’re willing to take advantage of some random guy who you think might have been his vessel!”

“Sorry I’m not quite around to banging monsters yet.”

Sam banged his hand on the steering wheel and swerved onto the shoulder of the road, stopping the car underneath a tree.

“This! This is what I’m talking about. I’ve tried, Dean. I’ve had faith-- since before I ever had a reason to believe in anything than the things that we hunt.” Sam shook his head and stared at the roof of the car for a moment before returning his sights to Dean. “I’ve tried to live a normal life, I’ve tried hunting, I’m trying to help stop the apocalypse and yet I’ve still got angels telling me I’m dirt. We spend day after day in this car only to end up here with you looking at me exactly the way they do. And I get it, okay, someone pulls you out of hell, you’re gonna put some stock in what they say. But now you’re like obsessed with this guy, giving him nicknames, fooling around with what you thought was his vessel—you tell me you slept with Anna and I can’t help but wonder if that was just you trying to take a step to what you really wanted. I don’t know who you are anymore, I don’t know what you want.”

Dean let Sam’s words sink in for a moment until it clicked for him that he actually knew what he wanted. “Maybe I just want to enjoy what’s left of my life before I get killed trying to stop the inevitable. You still think we’re going to make it to 60? I guess technically I’ve made it to 70, right? But as far as time here on earth—if God exists and if he ordered Cas to pull me up out of hell to stop this thing, or for whatever, then I figure any hope we have is on its last legs. Who are we, Sam? A couple of hunters—we’re supposed to help stop an apocalypse. You think those powers that old yellow eyes gave you are gonna save the world? I don’t. Cas told me a story once about his brothers dying. Angels dying in this war, Sam. We’re not winning this. And when hell makes its way on up here, there’s not gonna be any happy moments, any joy. So, what I want is to have that. I want to just want to say ‘fuck it’ and have that before the world is just a giant rack with all of us taking turns being off and on.”

“And you think Castiel’s going to make you happy?”

“I wanted Misha. He made me think of Cas. Past that,” Dean shook his head and hunched in on himself defensively, bouncing his right leg hard enough that Sam felt it in the driver’s seat, “I’m not thinking past that. ”

“And you’re not worried about what those thoughts are going to mean when your angel shows up.”

“That’s the funny thing about Cas—he’s a little more focused on Lilith running around popping seals like bubble wrap. And funny enough, he actually has faith that we can win this war. He’s like you that way; hoping right down to the last minute.”

“So, if you’re into Castiel and he’s into the war, what are you going to do about that happiness you’re trying for?”

“Huh.” Dean grunted. “We’ll see how things go in Vancouver.”

Bonus Epilogue Dialogue a/k/a If Had Written the Dean/Cas follow-up:

“This vessel’s name was Daniel and…his soul has already passed on.” Castiel straightened the cuff of his trench coat, watching Dean relax his grip on the gun as the hunter awoke more fully and registered the angel’s presence “Your…new friend does bear an uncanny physical resemblance to him though.”

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