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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 his gaze 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.
[originally posted at http://whynot.dreamwidth.org/34007.html |
comments]
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 his gaze 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.
[originally posted at http://whynot.dreamwidth.org/34007.html |
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this is amazing, the atmosphere, the imagery, cas and dean. the dynamic of the whole story is just... something else, in your writing. you can feel it, and that a whole lot.
so yeah, again, you're amazing, this is amazing, etc etc
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"That," says Cas, "is the sixty-four toilet paper roll question, isn't it?"
I can't tell whether I should giggle or cry or try to do both. Would it be "ciggling"? Or "grying?" Or is it lulz and weep, wulz? I'm wulzing right now.
But seriously, you've got the cadence of their conversation just down to a "T" it kills me -- all the little ways Cas and Dean are vulnerable to each other, and Cas's disaffected/endlessly amused persona being such a front for how much he doesn't like that he needs now, human contact as much as he needs food and T.P.
...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.
I. Seriously. The tone you strike on this, how they talk around everything by seemingly talking about everything in existential terms, contrasted with all the little concessions they make to keep living in a world that could care less. Just. Hi. Yes. I'm totally a fan, if you can't tell.
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I LOVE CROATVERSE!THEM, DAFNAAAAA THEY ARE SO RESIGNED BUT STILL RUNNING to, from, away
Thank you very much <3
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here are some noises about this story
AAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHH
"Hey, Dean," Cas says. "Look, I--"
--and then he leaves.
JASK:OLDHFDJFDSLF
CROATVERSSSSSE. ODI ET AMO, DAMN YOU.
jkldfjsdfGUUUUUUUUYS.
Dean breathes out, and the smoke blurs the outlines between them.
I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE AND I APPLAUD IT. I hope you can hear the applause over the noise of all this weeping.
Re: here are some noises about this story
INSPIRED BY YOU
THEY'RE LIKE:
GAAAAABBYYYYYY <33333
THEY'RE SO TIRED, RIGHT, BUT THEY CAN'T STOP, CAN'T LOVE, CAN'T HATE, CAN'T STAY STILL, can't have the past, CAN'T HAVE THE FUTURE aaaaaaa
Thank you :D
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And basically what I am saying is that I want moooooore. All the time croatverse Dean/Cas. This is so perfect and they are so harsh and beautiful and you are not your own I DIED. PERFECTION, seriously.
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I AM SUPEREXCITED ABOUT YOUR VID!!! omgggg, that is one of the first songs I associated with Castiel. I'm so happy to hook you (and anyone! XD) up with Supernatural songs whenever I can.
GIRL, I WANT MORE CROATVERSE DEAN/CAS TOO. THERE SHOULD BE A WHOLE VERSE, where S5 is reworked and croatversefied.
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I wasn't focusing on that specific aspect of Dean's characterization in this fic, but my croatverse!Dean in general doesn't want to blame himself for Cas's fall though maybe he does, not that he tells anyone. So that probably leaked through.
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If Dean and Cas were mine, I think I would just keep them in a cozy bedroom and let them have stoned sex all day long. <3
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How I wish they were yours. XD
Thank you! And YES, APC! Some of their songs are so Supernatural, I can't even.
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All the best of a 5.04 universe.
Loved it.
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Thank you!
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really i have nothing more articulate to say tonight, but ow.
and i love me some croatverse.
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Thank you!
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Thanks!
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And then that last scene was like a kick to the chest.
THE BIBLE PAGES, THE VERSES, LASS HOW PERFECT YOU ARE A GENIUS MY EYES ARE LEAKINGGGG <333333 those verses and End!Cas, jfc.
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PS re: the zombiepocalyse: I found a prezombiepocalypse Cas poem. it is about holy places and drugs and it's by Carl Phillips. soooo going on the Gid later tonight :D
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I wonder how the rest of S5 would have gone down in croatverse. If just Sam showed up to the convention. Or if just Dean and Cas did (OMG BECKY WOULD FLIP). Or if in 5x15, they end up working together because it's Bobby on the line here, and it starts out a little awkward, but then omg it is just like the old days and Sam and Dean have missed each other soooooo much, but in the end they still separate, for maximum manpain.
And while I'm brainvomiting at you, HMMMMMM, should the non-croatverse Dean/Cas be the post-5x16 using-each-other comfort pity sex. Should it be at some indeterminate time post-5x02 where they talk around their role in starting the Apocalypse. I bet after one particularly stressful night, Cas zaps them both to some beautiful place halfway across the world. Ooooh, pseudovacation fic!
Speaking of poetry, I can't tell if this (http://community.livejournal.com/theysaid/1709640.html) is Sam or Dean POV. I think Sam?
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*flails all over allllll of this*
btw I am listening to manu chao for sassymix purposes right now XD how is it that there are QUITE A FEW songs that I want to put in there? They are so Desaparecido and Clandestino!
BECKY WOULD FLIP AAHAHA
but oh god SO MUCH PAIN THERE. the only thing that would make the "croatverse doesn't get samndean back together" AU okay is that day they get together again where they miss each other soooo muuuuch. REUNIONFIC. it would be like Eurydice kind of (I told you about that one at some point, don't remember if you've read it but omgflail). SO DOOMED, SO IN LOVE. awww.
Pseudovacation fiiiic! I LIKE. I also like the post-5.02 idea.
ohhh that poem. wow. I hadn't read it before. reading like the first half, I am with you, it's a close call. I think Sam, for the voice and the contemplation - I mean the voice is pretty not Dean. Which one of them is more preoccupied with childhood and growing up? Sam feels closest to childhood still, I would guess. but Dean definitely says this:
I just want you
to not talk about the weather or the next president or all the children
even though I love the children we spend so much time outside
their world just looking in, the brothers and sisters and friends
and cousins, thinking Once life was that simple
GOSH. what a good poem. and good for them!
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OMFG PERFECT. I wish I were on my laptop right now, I would dig something up. I am so excited for Sassy mix.
This (http://maskedfangirl.livejournal.com/33973.html) is the only Sam-centric croatverse fic I've come across that isn't AU. Well, maybe it's a little AU. It is kind of reunionfic. But also kind of... you'll see.
Well, I'm thinking the pseudovacation happens after 5x02. Maybe Cas takes Dean too literally again, or maybe they're talking about the God search and Cas takes him to where God isn't. Maybe Cas takes Dean along on a God search! Like, when it turns out he needs human blood to open some mystical door or something XD.
...omg.
MAYBE THIS IS WHEN DEAN GETS TO FIND OUT WHAT HUNTING IS LIKE IN OTHER COUNTRIES. MAYBE THIS IS THE PERFECT EXCUSE TO WRITE SPN/TRESE (http://tresekomix.blogspot.com/2006/04/trese-4-complete-story.html) CROSSOVER FIC.
Yeah, I kind of wanna say this is a poem about Sam's push and pull re: the hunting life, and Dean. Sort of about his disillusionment with what he's running to and what he's running from?
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Thanks for reading!
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love it though!! :D
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