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'Threw You The Obvious' - SPN - Dean/Cas
Holy shit, the last time I really wrote non-subtexty actualfax Dean/Cas fic (ummm, Jimmy!Cas, at least) was in FEBRUARY, lolol. Aww, ship, I've missed you. I shouldn't be so surprised that all my Dean/Cas-for-real fics are croatverse fics, huh. This next one is no exception. Guys, guuuuyyys, why is there not a whole croatverse spin-off, omfg.
The prompt was "shotgunning". I wrote it for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
emerald_embers for Five Acts. I tweaked it some, reposting it now. The title is from A Perfect Circle's "3 Libras" which is so ridiculously croatverse Dean/Cas, it hurts.
Threw You the Obvious
Supernatural. Dean/Cas. R. Warning: drug use.
5x04verse. "Dean looks down the barrel of a gun as Cas sits on a crate and breaks up the weed." ~1300 words
Neither of them says anything when Cas darkens the doorway of Dean's cabin. Cas just leans, and Dean looks up at blue eyes gone hazy and cynical months ago. He continues cleaning his gun, and Cas crosses his arms and tips his head to the side, patient like a challenge.
Dean says, "What, are you stoned?"
"Actually," says Cas, and holds up something green and pebble-sized between thumb and forefinger.
"What's that."
"It's my last nug.” Then, “You busy?"
"Why?"
"Well,” Cas shrugs. “It's my last nug."
+
Dean looks down the barrel of a gun as Cas sits on a crate and breaks up the weed, separating out the stems and seeds. He's more focused rolling a joint than he is engaging with most things anymore. All I know is that I know nothing. Which Greek fucker said that? Was it Confucius? One of the guys who wore powdered wigs? Dean remembers not long ago when Cas would get that same look on his face telling him yes, these are Enochian sigils, no, this is more powerful than a Trickster.
Cas takes out a pocket Bible, and asks, "Got a knife?"
Dean nods at the collection between them, and Cas takes one of the smaller ones, opens the Bible to "Corinthians, chapter six," he says, and cuts out a small rectangle from the page. "I've been saving this one."
"You don't say," Dean replies airily. "Now I really feel all honored and shit."
"Good for you.” Cas drops the weed onto the word of God. “I just feel that second one."
+
Dean's guns are clean and his knives are sharp. They're all pretty damn clean and sharp, but Dean wants something to do, otherwise he'd have nothing but Cas to focus on.
He polishes a knife. In his peripheral vision, Cas lifts the joint to his lips, tongue darting out to wet the paper.
"Light it," Cas says, offering the finished product to him. "First hit goes to our fearless leader."
Telling Cas not to call him that hasn't done a damn thing in months, so Dean just lights the match, puffs, puffs, inhales, and lets it slide.
They pass the joint back and forth, and Cas tries to start a round of "remember when?" but Dean just says, "Cas," and Cas stops. Instead, Cas complains about Chuck being a douche with the TP again, and Dean counters half-heartedly that it's for the best, but the truth is he wants more toilet paper too. Toilet paper has become like the weather; everyone's affected by it, everyone has an opinion on it. I hear we'll get some next week. They should send out another salvage mission soon. Dean can name a dozen things they're in short supply of off the top of his head, and he mentally charts places they haven't looted yet, makes a list of things he can trade with that other camp up north.
"Stop it," Cas says.
Dean looks up, the edges of his eyes all fuzzy and warm. "Stop what?"
"Just relax."
Dean barks out a laugh.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and picks up Cas's Bible, flips through it. A lot of the pages have little rectangles cut out of them.
"Hey," Dean says, and his voice is squeaky with held smoke. His arms feel light, but his heart is heavy, and when he looks up at Cas, he finds himself snagged on the curve of collarbone peeking out of his shirt. "Hey," Dean tries again. "What's Corinthians chapter six?"
"Corinthians, chapter six, verse nineteen." Cas wets his lips. "Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God?" He smiles mirthlessly, and then he fucking winks. "You are not your own."
Dean holds the joint out to him. "Uh-huh. Well, God and the Holy Spirit’s fucked off. Whose are you now?"
"That," says Cas, "is the sixty-four toilet paper roll question, isn't it?"
+
The joint's getting down there, and Cas says, "The thing is--"
"I hate it when you start sentences like that," Dean announces. "It's like, 'I am about to say some arrogant prick thing, I know better'."
"Sometimes I do."
"You're full of shit."
"At least I recognize that I am."
"...Fuck you."
"The thing is," Cas says, "we're always playing 'remember when' even when we say we aren't."
Dean leans back, raising his eyebrows. "That so?"
"Oh, all the time." Then Cas says, "Watch," and stands up as he takes another toke. Cas comes closer, and Dean realizes in slow motion what's going on, doesn't do anything when Cas straddles him, doesn't do anything except will his heart to beat softer. He's got dry mouth pretty bad. Cas smells like the morning after a party, but from this angle, in this light, he still looks like the angel who sidestepped prophecy for him, sort of, almost. The angel who defied Heaven and died for it, who came back. The whites of his eyes are pinkish, but his irises are the same bright blue, and his hair, grown long, falls across his forehead and curls around his ears. Smoke trails out one corner of his mouth, and then Cas tips Dean's chin up, and kisses him.
Dean closes his eyes, sucks in the smoke. There is a moment of paralysis, of Dean's hand on Cas's thigh and Cas's lips on his, warm, chapped. No tongue. A moment between moments that aims to linger. Their foreheads bump together, and Cas trails his fingers up Dean's jaw to cup the back of his head. Dean breathes out, and the smoke blurs the outlines between them.
"You'll notice," Cas says, "that I didn't say 'remember when'."
He holds the joint out to Dean, who puts it out against the wall and tosses the roach on the table, and then he pushes Cas down to the bed.
+
Cas's ribs show every time he arches his back. He's grown so thin; they all have. They slither out of their clothes and wrap around each other, relieved for it, but even as Dean licks his way down Cas's neck, he can't escape the creeping dread. What is the point of this, what is the point of anything? Then Cas says his name in that crackly familiar way, and Dean kisses him harder.
"You do remember this," Cas slurs against Dean's shoulder. He's fucking Dean from behind with slow, hard thrusts as Dean tries not to make a sound. "You remember this," Cas says, wrapping his hand around Dean's hand around Dean's dick, "but sometimes you wish you don't."
+
Dean dresses. Cas seems content to lie around naked with his cigarette.
"What next in the life of the benevolent despot?" Cas asks. "Gank some croats? Kill the devil? Save your brother?"
"Don't you talk about my brother," Dean says, and is surprised at how calmly he said it.
"You want to finish this?"
He looks over, and Cas holds up the crushed joint. Got some hits left on it, seems like. Cas raises his eyebrows expectantly, cigarette dangling out the side of his mouth. His hair is damp. His cheeks are pink. So are the other places on his body where Dean bit and scratched. Dean’s body bears similar marks, new bruises over old scars. All of Cas’s scars are new.
"Well?" says Cas.
Dean says no.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three. Cas’s face is passive, stoned and shuttered. "More for me."
"Seems so," says Dean. "I gotta go. You, uh...”
"Just sit here and look pretty?" Cas offers.
Dean rolls his eyes. He grabs his gun, his knife--
"Hey, Dean," Cas says. "Look, I--"
--and then he leaves.
The prompt was "shotgunning". I wrote it for
emerald_embers for Five Acts. I tweaked it some, reposting it now. The title is from A Perfect Circle's "3 Libras" which is so ridiculously croatverse Dean/Cas, it hurts.Threw You the Obvious
Supernatural. Dean/Cas. R. Warning: drug use.
5x04verse. "Dean looks down the barrel of a gun as Cas sits on a crate and breaks up the weed." ~1300 words
Neither of them says anything when Cas darkens the doorway of Dean's cabin. Cas just leans, and Dean looks up at blue eyes gone hazy and cynical months ago. He continues cleaning his gun, and Cas crosses his arms and tips his head to the side, patient like a challenge.
Dean says, "What, are you stoned?"
"Actually," says Cas, and holds up something green and pebble-sized between thumb and forefinger.
"What's that."
"It's my last nug.” Then, “You busy?"
"Why?"
"Well,” Cas shrugs. “It's my last nug."
+
Dean looks down the barrel of a gun as Cas sits on a crate and breaks up the weed, separating out the stems and seeds. He's more focused rolling a joint than he is engaging with most things anymore. All I know is that I know nothing. Which Greek fucker said that? Was it Confucius? One of the guys who wore powdered wigs? Dean remembers not long ago when Cas would get that same look on his face telling him yes, these are Enochian sigils, no, this is more powerful than a Trickster.
Cas takes out a pocket Bible, and asks, "Got a knife?"
Dean nods at the collection between them, and Cas takes one of the smaller ones, opens the Bible to "Corinthians, chapter six," he says, and cuts out a small rectangle from the page. "I've been saving this one."
"You don't say," Dean replies airily. "Now I really feel all honored and shit."
"Good for you.” Cas drops the weed onto the word of God. “I just feel that second one."
+
Dean's guns are clean and his knives are sharp. They're all pretty damn clean and sharp, but Dean wants something to do, otherwise he'd have nothing but Cas to focus on.
He polishes a knife. In his peripheral vision, Cas lifts the joint to his lips, tongue darting out to wet the paper.
"Light it," Cas says, offering the finished product to him. "First hit goes to our fearless leader."
Telling Cas not to call him that hasn't done a damn thing in months, so Dean just lights the match, puffs, puffs, inhales, and lets it slide.
They pass the joint back and forth, and Cas tries to start a round of "remember when?" but Dean just says, "Cas," and Cas stops. Instead, Cas complains about Chuck being a douche with the TP again, and Dean counters half-heartedly that it's for the best, but the truth is he wants more toilet paper too. Toilet paper has become like the weather; everyone's affected by it, everyone has an opinion on it. I hear we'll get some next week. They should send out another salvage mission soon. Dean can name a dozen things they're in short supply of off the top of his head, and he mentally charts places they haven't looted yet, makes a list of things he can trade with that other camp up north.
"Stop it," Cas says.
Dean looks up, the edges of his eyes all fuzzy and warm. "Stop what?"
"Just relax."
Dean barks out a laugh.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and picks up Cas's Bible, flips through it. A lot of the pages have little rectangles cut out of them.
"Hey," Dean says, and his voice is squeaky with held smoke. His arms feel light, but his heart is heavy, and when he looks up at Cas, he finds himself snagged on the curve of collarbone peeking out of his shirt. "Hey," Dean tries again. "What's Corinthians chapter six?"
"Corinthians, chapter six, verse nineteen." Cas wets his lips. "Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God?" He smiles mirthlessly, and then he fucking winks. "You are not your own."
Dean holds the joint out to him. "Uh-huh. Well, God and the Holy Spirit’s fucked off. Whose are you now?"
"That," says Cas, "is the sixty-four toilet paper roll question, isn't it?"
+
The joint's getting down there, and Cas says, "The thing is--"
"I hate it when you start sentences like that," Dean announces. "It's like, 'I am about to say some arrogant prick thing, I know better'."
"Sometimes I do."
"You're full of shit."
"At least I recognize that I am."
"...Fuck you."
"The thing is," Cas says, "we're always playing 'remember when' even when we say we aren't."
Dean leans back, raising his eyebrows. "That so?"
"Oh, all the time." Then Cas says, "Watch," and stands up as he takes another toke. Cas comes closer, and Dean realizes in slow motion what's going on, doesn't do anything when Cas straddles him, doesn't do anything except will his heart to beat softer. He's got dry mouth pretty bad. Cas smells like the morning after a party, but from this angle, in this light, he still looks like the angel who sidestepped prophecy for him, sort of, almost. The angel who defied Heaven and died for it, who came back. The whites of his eyes are pinkish, but his irises are the same bright blue, and his hair, grown long, falls across his forehead and curls around his ears. Smoke trails out one corner of his mouth, and then Cas tips Dean's chin up, and kisses him.
Dean closes his eyes, sucks in the smoke. There is a moment of paralysis, of Dean's hand on Cas's thigh and Cas's lips on his, warm, chapped. No tongue. A moment between moments that aims to linger. Their foreheads bump together, and Cas trails his fingers up Dean's jaw to cup the back of his head. Dean breathes out, and the smoke blurs the outlines between them.
"You'll notice," Cas says, "that I didn't say 'remember when'."
He holds the joint out to Dean, who puts it out against the wall and tosses the roach on the table, and then he pushes Cas down to the bed.
+
Cas's ribs show every time he arches his back. He's grown so thin; they all have. They slither out of their clothes and wrap around each other, relieved for it, but even as Dean licks his way down Cas's neck, he can't escape the creeping dread. What is the point of this, what is the point of anything? Then Cas says his name in that crackly familiar way, and Dean kisses him harder.
"You do remember this," Cas slurs against Dean's shoulder. He's fucking Dean from behind with slow, hard thrusts as Dean tries not to make a sound. "You remember this," Cas says, wrapping his hand around Dean's hand around Dean's dick, "but sometimes you wish you don't."
+
Dean dresses. Cas seems content to lie around naked with his cigarette.
"What next in the life of the benevolent despot?" Cas asks. "Gank some croats? Kill the devil? Save your brother?"
"Don't you talk about my brother," Dean says, and is surprised at how calmly he said it.
"You want to finish this?"
He looks over, and Cas holds up the crushed joint. Got some hits left on it, seems like. Cas raises his eyebrows expectantly, cigarette dangling out the side of his mouth. His hair is damp. His cheeks are pink. So are the other places on his body where Dean bit and scratched. Dean’s body bears similar marks, new bruises over old scars. All of Cas’s scars are new.
"Well?" says Cas.
Dean says no.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three. Cas’s face is passive, stoned and shuttered. "More for me."
"Seems so," says Dean. "I gotta go. You, uh...”
"Just sit here and look pretty?" Cas offers.
Dean rolls his eyes. He grabs his gun, his knife--
"Hey, Dean," Cas says. "Look, I--"
--and then he leaves.
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also the idea of Cas tearing his Bible apart like that makes me DDDD:
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:DDDDDDDD:
CANDY-FLAVORED DOOOOOOOM
Where else can Cas get thin-enough papers AND petty revenge in one convenient package?
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OH GOD THAT EXACTLY.
He probably has a whole stack of them. In case he runs out of ironic verses to use.
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THANK GOD!!!!!!!!! I've been waiting for more Dean/Cas fic from you in what it feels like forever!
Which Greek fucker said that?
Socrates! :D
"Corinthians, chapter six," he says, and cuts out a small rectangle from the page. "I've been saving this one."
*speechless, awed at your intelligence*
Cas drops the weed onto the word of God. “I just feel that second one."
The beauty and weight of your prose is killing me!
Cas smells like the morning after a party, but from this angle, in this light, he still looks like the angel who sidestepped prophecy for him, sort of, almost. The angel who defied Heaven and died for it, who came back.
I started crying. Great, I started crying.
new bruises over old scars. All of Cas’s scars are new.
Oh, Cas!
"Hey, Dean," Cas says. "Look, I--"
--and then he leaves.
*more hopeless crying*
How do you manage to make me cry so hard, when I read your End-verse Dean/Cas fics? How? ;_;
You're born to write in this verse. You're born to write Dean/Cas in this verse. Period.
(and I almost missed this on DW, so I'm gonna add you on LJ too)
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CROATVERSE DEAN/CAS GIVE ME SO MANY FEEEELIIIINGS
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But honestly, I don't know what is with your End-verse Dean/Cas fics that makes me cry so hard - it started with "Heaven sent you downstream" and it continues. I may shed one or more tears when I read good 5x04 fics, but yours get me sobbing. Noisily. Uncontrollably. It's horrible. :(
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<3333333 I'm sorry for being happy that I made you cry. I swear I mean it with the best of intentions! Yeah, I guess Uno is on hiatus. Hopefully the stars will align and she will come back to make us cry again when S6 starts.
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But seriously, I want to read some life-affirming, positive fics this season, something with happiness, loyalty, relief, that'll make me laugh, feel brave - uplifting fics. Which is weird coming from me (I'm probably incapable of writing anything but angst), but I seriously think I can't stand another angst-ridden season. "The End" was brilliant, but it was more than enough - if they come up with another ep as bleak, I think I'll raise my hands to heaven and go Dean: "we're done".