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'Personal Space Invasions' - SPN - Dean, Cas, Sam - PG
Like a big FUCK YOU to recent non-events, LJ has been runnething over with Castiel:
1) CASTIEL COMMENT-THING PARTY. Come on in, the water's fine! Full of angel cooties, just like we like it. Just one of those underwater angel cootie parties, you know how it is!
2)![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
gid_hanasheh - If you have ever wondered, "So what if deancastiel but poetry?" then here is your answer.
A nice side effect of #2 is getting me to poke around for more of Arkaye Kierulf's poems. Spaces is pretty breathtaking. Then I poked around people's poetry saves on delicious, and found 'Maybe I Need You' by Andrea Gibson, which gave me chills.
Anyway, here is one of the things I wrote for the aforementioned Castastic shindig. The prompt was "Castiel gets cursed/blasted with hug!pollen/trickstered into needing hugs ALL THE TIME or else he'll die." Then I fucked it up because I am completely inept at keeping crack separate from angst. I am not as sorry as I should be.
Personal Space Invasions
Supernatural. Dean, Cas, Sam. PG. Spoilers for 5x14. ~1000 words
Dean is on hug detail tonight, and all he can think about is Sam. "I can take care of myself," Sam said before he left, but Sam always says that. It's the end of the world and Sam is going after demons, and Dean still can't get Sam's bloodstained mouth out of his thoughts, the way Famine had screamed, the stink of sulfur.
Takes a monster to know a monster, maybe. Takes one to gank one.
My brother is not a monster, he thinks worriedly.
"Dean."
And Dean looks down at Castiel, who is half-draped upon him, his usual coat and tie and blazer hanging on a nearby chair. Dean leans back against the headboard, and lifts his eyes to Jeopardy on TV. A woman asks, "What is citric acid?" and he knows that Cas is looking at him like he's reading Dean's thoughts again. Dean doesn't mind it so much anymore. Maybe he's getting too used to it. Dean thinks that life would be a lot easier if he could read his brother's thoughts even half the time these days.
"You're tense," Cas says, before reaching up and brushing his fingers against Dean's temple, and he feels the warm shiver of grace bloom across his skin, seeping into his mind and into the darkened cracks, like unexpected sunlight.
"You don't hug very well when you're tense," Cas says.
"Fuck you, hug slut," Dean replies, but he shifts down closer anyway, until Cas can comfortably rest his head in the crook of Dean's shoulder, and together they watch Alex Trebek announce the daily double.
+
Two towns back, no one hugged Castiel for five whole minutes and he didn't die, so everyone figured the trickster was probably bluffing. Off Team Free Will went on their separate missions -- Cas to find God, Sam and Dean to find the devil, their separate not-so-excellent adventures.
They weren't even ten minutes en route before Cas materialized in the backseat, breathing in harsh gasps and blood trickling from his nose, and Dean nearly ran them off the road.
"Dean," Cas managed, with obvious effort, and Dean jerked the Impala to a stop, the clumsiest pulling-over of his life, and nearly kicked Sam in the face as he scrambled into the backseat.
"Dean, woah!" Sam yelled, then, "Cas, are you--?" Then, "Shit," and so on. There were a lot of things to yell, but Dean didn't waste his breath on any of them; just dove straight for Castiel, tackling the angel against the backseat, knocking the wind out of him, making him cry out in pain, in relief, and Dean felt Cas's arms around him, gripping tight, a sound ripped from Cas's throat halfway between a sob and a moan.
"I got you," Dean rasped. "I got you, it's okay," lying there in the backseat in a tangle of limbs and quickened heartbeats, maddened panting, melting into each other with relief. Cas's fingers would leave bruises on Dean's shoulder and the back of his neck, and Dean relished the pressure of it, the proof of life. His own arms were ironclad around Cas's waist, fists bunched in his coat. Dean rested his head on Cas's chest and realized he was shaking, unless it was Cas shaking, unless it was the car humming around them as Sammy climbed into the driver's seat and eased them back onto the road, smooth as anything.
"I can't--" Cas choked out. "I can't--" and breathless, bleary, Dean lifted his hand to touch Castiel's mouth, a gesture here meaning 'shut up' and 'it's okay', and they fumbled and shifted around all awkward in the backseat until they found the least uncomfortable position. It involved Dean's cheek pressed against Castiel's neck, how warm he was; it involved Cas's fingers in Dean's hair, his other hand curled around Dean's arm, which was still wrapped around the angel, taut, tense.
"You guys okay?" Sam asked.
"I'm fine," Cas said.
Dean said, "Just drive."
+
Sam returns some time past midnight, dirty and bruised, and Dean's heart rises to his throat. "Sammy? You good?"
"I'm good," Sam says vaguely. A passing glance at them, and then his brother disappears into the bathroom.
Dean hears the shower turn on, and then he exchanges a look with Cas.
When Sam comes out of the bathroom, he heads straight for the empty bed and collapses onto it, moaning holy shit does he ever hate demons, goddamn. Dean banters back and forth with him, interrupting Cas's attempt to engage Sam in a real conversation about the next apocalyptic omen, but Sam is distracted and distant and eventually claims exhaustion. "I am ready for some fucking sleep, guys," Sam sighs.
Castiel untangles himself from Dean's arms, and slips into Sam's bed.
"What's up," Sam mumbles into his pillow, already drifting.
"I've been hugging your brother for hours," Cas says. "I'm giving him a break."
Sam mumbles something Dean can't hear, then lifts his arm and Cas shifts closer. His brother drops his arm around the angel, and then contracts, clutching Castiel to his chest. Being hugged by Sam is a little like being vacuum-sealed. Cas doesn't seem to mind, though. With his head tucked under Sam's chin, he looks like a child, content to be engulfed.
Dean keeps the TV on low volume, and when he finally hears his brother snoring, he looks over and meets Cas's eyes.
Cas shakes his head, and Dean breathes out in shaky relief: no demon blood in Sam, no taint of hell in his little brother, who is definitely still his little brother, and not a monster at all. Fuck. It tires Dean to feel this grateful. It's too much, it implies too much.
My brother is not a monster, he repeats and repeats, so caught up in the silent litany that he doesn't realize Cas is no longer in Sam's bed until he feels his own bed dip.
"Dean," Castiel whispers, and Dean says his name too. The angel slides under the covers, and Dean turns towards him, already reaching out. Already pulling Cas to him, this routine of fitting together; Dean knows exactly where his arms go, and Cas knows exactly where to rest his head, and - just like that - they are knotted together, again.
"How long do you think before this hug curse wears off?" Dean asks.
"We'll have to wait and see," Cas replies, and Dean closes his eyes.
1) CASTIEL COMMENT-THING PARTY. Come on in, the water's fine! Full of angel cooties, just like we like it. Just one of those underwater angel cootie parties, you know how it is!
2)
gid_hanasheh - If you have ever wondered, "So what if deancastiel but poetry?" then here is your answer.A nice side effect of #2 is getting me to poke around for more of Arkaye Kierulf's poems. Spaces is pretty breathtaking. Then I poked around people's poetry saves on delicious, and found 'Maybe I Need You' by Andrea Gibson, which gave me chills.
Anyway, here is one of the things I wrote for the aforementioned Castastic shindig. The prompt was "Castiel gets cursed/blasted with hug!pollen/trickstered into needing hugs ALL THE TIME or else he'll die." Then I fucked it up because I am completely inept at keeping crack separate from angst. I am not as sorry as I should be.
Personal Space Invasions
Supernatural. Dean, Cas, Sam. PG. Spoilers for 5x14. ~1000 words
Dean is on hug detail tonight, and all he can think about is Sam. "I can take care of myself," Sam said before he left, but Sam always says that. It's the end of the world and Sam is going after demons, and Dean still can't get Sam's bloodstained mouth out of his thoughts, the way Famine had screamed, the stink of sulfur.
Takes a monster to know a monster, maybe. Takes one to gank one.
My brother is not a monster, he thinks worriedly.
"Dean."
And Dean looks down at Castiel, who is half-draped upon him, his usual coat and tie and blazer hanging on a nearby chair. Dean leans back against the headboard, and lifts his eyes to Jeopardy on TV. A woman asks, "What is citric acid?" and he knows that Cas is looking at him like he's reading Dean's thoughts again. Dean doesn't mind it so much anymore. Maybe he's getting too used to it. Dean thinks that life would be a lot easier if he could read his brother's thoughts even half the time these days.
"You're tense," Cas says, before reaching up and brushing his fingers against Dean's temple, and he feels the warm shiver of grace bloom across his skin, seeping into his mind and into the darkened cracks, like unexpected sunlight.
"You don't hug very well when you're tense," Cas says.
"Fuck you, hug slut," Dean replies, but he shifts down closer anyway, until Cas can comfortably rest his head in the crook of Dean's shoulder, and together they watch Alex Trebek announce the daily double.
+
Two towns back, no one hugged Castiel for five whole minutes and he didn't die, so everyone figured the trickster was probably bluffing. Off Team Free Will went on their separate missions -- Cas to find God, Sam and Dean to find the devil, their separate not-so-excellent adventures.
They weren't even ten minutes en route before Cas materialized in the backseat, breathing in harsh gasps and blood trickling from his nose, and Dean nearly ran them off the road.
"Dean," Cas managed, with obvious effort, and Dean jerked the Impala to a stop, the clumsiest pulling-over of his life, and nearly kicked Sam in the face as he scrambled into the backseat.
"Dean, woah!" Sam yelled, then, "Cas, are you--?" Then, "Shit," and so on. There were a lot of things to yell, but Dean didn't waste his breath on any of them; just dove straight for Castiel, tackling the angel against the backseat, knocking the wind out of him, making him cry out in pain, in relief, and Dean felt Cas's arms around him, gripping tight, a sound ripped from Cas's throat halfway between a sob and a moan.
"I got you," Dean rasped. "I got you, it's okay," lying there in the backseat in a tangle of limbs and quickened heartbeats, maddened panting, melting into each other with relief. Cas's fingers would leave bruises on Dean's shoulder and the back of his neck, and Dean relished the pressure of it, the proof of life. His own arms were ironclad around Cas's waist, fists bunched in his coat. Dean rested his head on Cas's chest and realized he was shaking, unless it was Cas shaking, unless it was the car humming around them as Sammy climbed into the driver's seat and eased them back onto the road, smooth as anything.
"I can't--" Cas choked out. "I can't--" and breathless, bleary, Dean lifted his hand to touch Castiel's mouth, a gesture here meaning 'shut up' and 'it's okay', and they fumbled and shifted around all awkward in the backseat until they found the least uncomfortable position. It involved Dean's cheek pressed against Castiel's neck, how warm he was; it involved Cas's fingers in Dean's hair, his other hand curled around Dean's arm, which was still wrapped around the angel, taut, tense.
"You guys okay?" Sam asked.
"I'm fine," Cas said.
Dean said, "Just drive."
+
Sam returns some time past midnight, dirty and bruised, and Dean's heart rises to his throat. "Sammy? You good?"
"I'm good," Sam says vaguely. A passing glance at them, and then his brother disappears into the bathroom.
Dean hears the shower turn on, and then he exchanges a look with Cas.
When Sam comes out of the bathroom, he heads straight for the empty bed and collapses onto it, moaning holy shit does he ever hate demons, goddamn. Dean banters back and forth with him, interrupting Cas's attempt to engage Sam in a real conversation about the next apocalyptic omen, but Sam is distracted and distant and eventually claims exhaustion. "I am ready for some fucking sleep, guys," Sam sighs.
Castiel untangles himself from Dean's arms, and slips into Sam's bed.
"What's up," Sam mumbles into his pillow, already drifting.
"I've been hugging your brother for hours," Cas says. "I'm giving him a break."
Sam mumbles something Dean can't hear, then lifts his arm and Cas shifts closer. His brother drops his arm around the angel, and then contracts, clutching Castiel to his chest. Being hugged by Sam is a little like being vacuum-sealed. Cas doesn't seem to mind, though. With his head tucked under Sam's chin, he looks like a child, content to be engulfed.
Dean keeps the TV on low volume, and when he finally hears his brother snoring, he looks over and meets Cas's eyes.
Cas shakes his head, and Dean breathes out in shaky relief: no demon blood in Sam, no taint of hell in his little brother, who is definitely still his little brother, and not a monster at all. Fuck. It tires Dean to feel this grateful. It's too much, it implies too much.
My brother is not a monster, he repeats and repeats, so caught up in the silent litany that he doesn't realize Cas is no longer in Sam's bed until he feels his own bed dip.
"Dean," Castiel whispers, and Dean says his name too. The angel slides under the covers, and Dean turns towards him, already reaching out. Already pulling Cas to him, this routine of fitting together; Dean knows exactly where his arms go, and Cas knows exactly where to rest his head, and - just like that - they are knotted together, again.
"How long do you think before this hug curse wears off?" Dean asks.
"We'll have to wait and see," Cas replies, and Dean closes his eyes.