Round-one

Is Bed Sharing Altruistic?

Part One of the Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt

In a rare twist of fate, Castiel was actually in the same vicinity as the Winchesters when another mass hunter’s gathering was announced. Evidently other hunters had no problem with networking. According to Mary, the gatherings happened at least once a month, with plenty of hunting tips, advice for hospitals that would look the other way with injuries and, more importantly, plenty of free beer.

While Dean still preferred to keep his distance, Sam rather enjoyed the few gatherings they’d manage to attend. In part because the guy geeked out over any transfer of knowledge, and in part because a certain Eileen was often present as well.

“Besides,” Sam argued as he packed his duffel, “It would be nice for other people to meet Cas for a change, being an angel and all.”

Dean glared. Sam had a good point. “Fine,” he muttered, before turning to Cas, who merely watched their conversation with confusion, “But we’re going to get you in some new clothes before we go.”

“Why?” Castiel tilted his head, protectively brushing his white and blue striped tie.

“Cuz we want you to come off as relatable,” Dean rolled his eyes, “And you aren’t doin’ that looking like an accountant. So.” He gestured vaguely with his hands in an attempt to make his point.

Castiel opened and closed his mouth, trying to come up with something to say before meekly poking his head into Sam’s closet instead. Sam chuckled, setting down a shirt he was folding. “You’ll have better luck wearing Dean’s stuff.”

With a very serious expression, Castiel emerged from the closet with a nod and wordlessly made his way into Dean’s room.

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Tread Softly

destiel, PG-13, 2.1k

Written for Round One of The Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt by @mittensmorgul
Prompt: There Is Only One Bed (trope) + Castiel (for whatever reason) wears different clothes

This started out cracky & light but then ended up so fluffy and kind of as a love letter to Misha’s thighs #sorrynotsorry

AO3 LINK


“I just don’t see why this is necessary,” Castiel said, fussing with the lace-trimmed skirt of the champagne white taffeta dress he was currently wearing. “Or why it couldn’t be you or Sam.”

“I told you, Cas.” Giggle. “The bridal store didn’t carry anything off the rack in mine or Sam’s size.” Snort. “And you know we’ve tried to draw the ghost out in other ways but they didn’t take.” Snicker. “Sorry buddy.” Chortle. “I promise I’ll be the bait next time.”

“I would appreciate it if you tried a little bit harder to contain your laughter.” The petulant tone in Castiel’s voice was the last straw, and Dean burst out in laughter.

“Come on Dean, not cool,” Sam said, throwing a sympathetic look at Castiel. The effect was somewhat marred by the fact his lips were twitching as he tried to contain his mirth.

“Just look at him,” Dean managed to say in between gasps and wheezes. “Oh fuck my stomach hurts.” He tried to catch his breath.

“Serves you right,” Castiel grumbled, thoroughly unamused. “Let’s just get this over with. Sam, my veil, please.” He held out his hand for the white accessory.

Sam gave it to him, and then went over to his laptop to check if the hidden cameras they’d placed inside the chapel were running. They both ignored a still recovering Dean, who was wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes.

“Okay, all the cameras look fine, and it’s-“ he checked his watch. “Ten to nine. Showtime, Cas. Good luck.”

“Yeah Cas,” Dean said, clapping the ex-angel on the back, “I’m sure it’ll go fine. You’re the prettiest bride I’ve ever seen – dude won’t know what hit him.”

Oh if looks could kill, and if Castiel still had his grace, Dean would be a small pile of dust on the floor. Or possibly sprayed into little pieces all across the walls and ceiling.

“I will remember this, Dean. And I have a very long memory.” With that, Castiel stalked off without another word.


Ganking the ghost turned out to be a piece of cake. It had fallen for Castiel’s disguise easily and had revealed the location of the special object that kept it tethered to the human world (a brooch of a blue delphinium flower, obviously meant to be the ghost’s “something blue”). The brooch was swiftly torched by Sam, vanquishing the ghost before it could really cause much damage to any of them.

Afterwards, the three returned to the motel they were staying in (the only one in the small town), ready to call it a night. Castiel’s dress was torn at the right sleeve and caked with dirt at the hem, but otherwise had it held up remarkably well. Good quality fabric, Dean found himself thinking.

Their rooms (they had enough money now to get three singles) were at the end of the hallway past the check-in desk. When they entered, the girl at the registration desk - ‘Jeanine’, her nametag read - actually squealed, clapping her hands and looking very excited.

“There you are! You look beautiful! How was the wedding?”

The three were stunned in the face of so much enthusiasm.

“Um…” Dean stammered. “Good, it was…good.” He realized (too late) that he’d been holding Castiel’s arm, and abruptly let go.

“Brilliant! We haven’t had a wedding in town for ages! So good you were able to find a dress in Maggie’s store,” Jeanine continued, oblivious to their bewilderment.

“Yeah, um, great. Thanks. Look, we’re very tired, so we’re just gonna…” Dean gestured towards their rooms, and the three started moving again. But Jeanine jumped in front of them, holding out a hand to stop them.

“Wait! We’ve got a surprise for you!”

Dean did not like the sound of that. In their line of work, surprises usually had teeth or claws and tended to be quite painful. It had given him a healthy dislike of them.

“Our owners just love a good romance, and y’all looked so cute picking out a dress they wanted to do something special for you,” Jeanine continued, her eyes sparkling. “And of course we wanna show the world that we are 100% gay friendly and we support all forms of love, so if y’all could leave a good Yelp review, that’d be awesome!”

Dean gave Sam a look as if to say, ‘is this going where I think it’s going?’

“So we’ve moved the two of you-“ she gestured towards Dean and Castiel, ”to the bridal suite - free of charge of course! Surprise!”

If Sam didn’t value his life as much as he did, he would have commented on the way the blushes on Dean and Castiel’s face matched perfectly. As it was, he slapped his hand across his mouth to stop the giggles from escaping.

“Wow…you really didn’t have to do that,” Dean managed to choke out. His face was rapidly reaching dangerous levels of purple.

“It’s just that we’ve, uh, decided to wait, to, uh, you know.” Dean’s hands flailed uselessly. He couldn’t even finish that sentence - it would end him.

“Oh!” Jeanine’s face fell and she looked contrite. “I’m so sorry, we had no idea!  It’s just that we already rented out the two other rooms to new guests, and now we’re completely full…” Her eyes were downcast and she looked almost close to tears.

Dean just wanted this whole moment to be over so he could start erasing it from his memory. Which was the only reason (thank-you-very-much) he spoke up and said, “Look, it’s fine, we’ll somehow manage to keep our hands off each other.” He even managed a smile at Jeanine and someone should give him a medal for that. “Where is it?”

“Wonderful!” As if it had never left, the smile was back as Jeanine produced a key from her pocket. “It’s just down that hall, the last door on your left.” She pointed towards the hall on the right of the hall Sam would be sleeping in.

“C’mon Cas let’s go,” Dean grumbled. He grabbed the key from Jeanine’s hand and started walking in the direction she’d pointed at.

“Dean.” Castiel spoke up for the first time this entire disaster of a conversation, which made Dean realize he hadn’t even seen the his reaction to all this yet. When he looked at Cas (expecting to see a really pissed off, glowering ex-angel) he only saw faint embarrassment and…shyness?

“What about our bags?” And that was it. No protestation, no comment on the current situation, nothing. Just Castiel being his practical self.

“Oh, we already put them in the room; hope you don’t mind.” Jeanine beamed at them, and behind her, Sam gave them both a thumbs up. Dean nodded stiffly, grabbed Castiel’s elbow and started dragging him towards the room.  The sooner he could get away from Sam’s unbearably smug face and Jeanine’s chipper attitude, the better. He’d get his revenge on Sam later.

Walking into the room, the first thing he noticed was that it…wasn’t that bad, actually. No heart-shaped bed, no pink wallpaper or pillows or anything. The color scheme was centered on soft blue tones mixed with a splash of aquamarine in the accessories. It was tastefully decorated, and the bed looked like it might have a memory foam mattress, a theory which Dan could not wait to test out.

He let out a sigh of relief, feeling calmer already. “At least it doesn’t look like a bridal magazine threw up on it,” he said, earning a grimace from Castiel for his colorful choice of words.

Dean gestured towards the bathroom. “Go ahead and shower first. Out of all of us, the ghost got you the worst.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re okay, right? Nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises?”

“Yes, Dean, I’m fine.” Castiel’s tone was fond, and he looked slightly exasperated yet pleased by Dean’s concern. He didn’t move towards the bathroom, though. Just turned around and put his back to Dean.

“You’ll need to help me with this dress,” he said. “It was not made to be taken off by oneself.”

Dean suspected Castiel didn’t realize quite how true that was, and he suddenly felt nervous. But he could hardly refuse to help him, so he walked up to Castiel and reached for the row of buttons that started at Castiel’s upper back.

The buttons were small and there were many of them. The taffeta was slightly slippery, and Dean was not used to such a delicate task, so it took him longer than it probably should have. Inch by inch, Castiel’s tanned skin was exposed, revealing just how well he kept his body in shape. Dean rarely had the chance to see Castiel like this, and he couldn’t help but let his hands linger here and there, brushing over the lace trimmings and ghosting over the skin beneath.

Dean was so focused on his task, he’d failed to notice the silence between them. As he took care of the last button and slowly released the material, he became aware of the change in the atmosphere. It was heavier than before. Expectant.

“There, all done.” The words came out soft and husky. Dean took a step back and could not stop himself from admiring the view. He was only human, after all, and he’d dare anyone to look away from Castiel grabbing the fabric with both hands and pushing it down over his hips,  shaking them a little to help the dress slide down easier.

A soft moan escaped Dean’s lips as those thick, muscled thighs were revealed. He longed to run his hands over them, to caress, squeeze, worship.

A low chuckle made him snap his eyes back up to meet with Castiel’s, who was casting a knowing look over his shoulder at him. No use in trying to hide what he’d been looking at, then.

“See anything you like?”

Dean could never resist a challenge like that. Whatever could be said about him, he always gave as good as he got.

“Maybe.”

He wasn’t into the dress though, not really; it wasn’t even the right size. But the quiet confidence with which Castiel wore the garment, the way the fabric had felt under Dean’s touch and the way Castiel’s hands had smoothed over it…Dean was a tactile man, always had been, and it was impossible for him to stay unaffected in the face of such sensuality.

“Then touch me,” Castiel said simply, turning around to face him and opening his arms in an invitation Dean was powerless to resist. Two paces forward brought him into Castiel’s personal space, stepping on the dress still pooled at Castiel’s feet.

He raised his hand but stopped just short of touching Castiel, suddenly unsure again. They stood there, frozen, for five, six, seven heartbeats.

As always, Castiel saved him from his indecision. He pulled Dean against him, snaked an arm around his waist, and met his lips in a slow, deep kiss. Dan could only whimper in response to the way Castiel so effortlessly took control of the kiss. Castiel’s arm around him tightened at the sound, and his hand came up to cup Dean’s cheek.

This was so very different from the few stolen kisses they’d shared in the heat of the moment after a hunt in the last few weeks. They hadn’t talked about it at all, and of course Sam had no idea yet. Honestly, Dean sometimes felt that they had no idea what they were doing.

But in this moment, Dean felt them teetering on the edge of something new, something more. And though he was ashamed to admit it – never would out loud - it scared him.

“Cas…We can’t….” he moaned brokenly against Castiel’s lips. “I’m not…”

Castiel broke away and shushed him with a finger, gently rubbing it over his reddened lips.

“I know. Not here, not now. It isn’t the time.” He gave Dean one more lingering kiss. “Will you just take me to bed?” Dean shuddered at the tenderness in his voice and the naked longing for simple affection in his eyes.

“We still need that shower, Cas,” he murmured, burying his head in Castiel’s neck.

“Quickly, then.” Castiel laughed softly, squeezing Dean one last time before letting him go.


Later, when they lay in bed together with Dean’s back to Castiel’s chest, Dean was softly stroking the arm that Castiel had slung across his waist, quietly enjoying the closeness and the feeling of security between them.

“You lied to Jeanine, you know,” Cas mumbled.

“Huh?” Dean murmured sleepily.

“We didn’t manage to keep our hands off each other.” Dean could hear the satisfaction in Castiel’s voice. Warmth suffused his entire body, and he smiled softly, although Castiel could not see his expression.

“Idiot.”

“Love you too, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t say it back, not yet, but it didn’t make him anxious. They had time - Castiel understood him, and he was going nowhere.

It was the best night’s sleep Dean had ever had.

[tag list under the cut]

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8

favorite actors 2/? | Ewan McGregor

Women are always expected to be naked. I like to try and be naked in films, and have the woman not be naked. It’s a feminist thing that I do.

THE ONE BED BET - part 1/2

“So the good news is we got a discount,” Sam says in a false-bright tone, striding through the parking lot over to where Cas and Dean stand idly waiting, leaning against the Impala.

Dean clearly understands this to mean there’s bad news coming. He raises his eyebrows and gives Sam a pointed look. “But?”

“But, uh… they only had one room available. One room… with one bed.” Sam continues with a wince. He raises a hand to shield his eyes. It’s almost sundown, and the warm Arizona rays are hitting him square in the face.

Dean groans. “Aww, crap.” They had just wrapped up a case in San Diego, and after about 8 or 9 hours on the road, they decided to crash for the night in some shithole town in northeast Arizona. Dean figured with a decent sleep, he might be able to make it all the way home to Kansas tomorrow. So naturally, there’s a big wedding here this weekend, and of course the (singular) town motel (which has probably never NOT had vacancy until now) is booked up.

“We can backtrack to Flagstaff?” Sam offers.

Dean scowls. “No way. Waste of time and gas. Seriously, there’s nowhere else to stay here?”

“It’s one night, Dean. It won’t kill you.” Sam sighs.

“Sharing a bed with you? Uh, it might!”

“Don’t be melodramatic, Dean.” Cas rolls his eyes. “You and Sam have shared a bed before.”

“Yeah, well YOU and Sam haven’t, so don’t you lecture me about being melodramatic until you know what it’s like.” Dean retorts.

“What’s it like, then?” Cas says coolly, a glimmer of challenge in his blue eyes.

Dean sputters. “It- It… It friggin’ sucks, that’s what it’s like!”

Castiel’s face is impassive. “Hmm…” he says disdainfully. “Well, if you can’t even give me a reason…”

“Oh, I’ll give you a reason!” Dean huffs. “I’ll… I’ll give you THREE reasons!”

Sam sighs heavily, used to his brother’s ridiculous arguments with Cas, and pushes his long hair out of his eyes. “I’ll grab the bags, shall I?”

“One,” Dean begins hotly, “He’s a freaking giant. You think you’d be comfortable with his giant arms and giant legs and his giant - hair - sprawled over every inch of you??”

“What about my giant dick?” Sam calls from the trunk of the Impala, unable to restrain himself.

“Fuck you, Sammy, that’s not funny,” Dean whips around, eyes wide, a serious but panicked look on his face. He points a finger at his little (giant) brother. “The day your… y'know… interferes with my sleep is the last day you spend breathing.”

Sam laughs and pulls two battered duffle bags over his broad shoulders.

“TWO,” Dean continues, determined, “He sweats. A lot. I’m talking pitstains on the T-shirt and everything.”

“I won’t be wearing a shirt tonight,” Sam calls as he walks down the cement walkway to their motel room. “It’s peak summer weather in Arizona. It’s gonna be 85 degrees and I highly doubt this room has A/C.”

“Oh, HELL no,” Dean protests loudly, but Sam has already ducked into the room.

Castiel tsks impatiently, unimpressed. “So your objections are bodily contact and a bit of moisture. Seems like an overreaction, Dean.”

“‘A bit of moisture’? Dude, ew. And no, it’s not. And besides, I said three reasons!” Dean scowls defensively and crosses his arms over his chest.

Castiel mirrors his posture. “Very well. What’s the third reason?”

Dean struggles to come up with a third reason. “He… He makes noises in his sleep.” He offers finally.

“What kind of noises?” Cas’s eyes narrow.

“Like… sex noises.” Dean asserts with a meaningful look.

“Screw you, Dean, I do not!” Sam objects, rejoining them. “Are you guys coming or what?”

“How would you know, Sam? Have you heard you sleep? Cause I have! Been doing it my whole damn life!” Dean reminds him.

“I don’t make sex noises,” Sam says to Cas. “C'mon. Lets change out of these fed suits and find something to eat.”

“I didn’t say there WERE sex noises, I said they SOUND like sex noises.” Dean clarifies.

Cas is squinting in confusion. “You mean like a whimper, or a moan?”

Dean’s mouth opens and closes a few times. Christ, the last thing he needs is for his mind to associate Cas with sex noises. “You know what? Forget it. My point is, sharing a bed with Sam sucks, and I can bitch about it all I want.” He heads briskly for the motel room.

Cas shrugs, trailing behind him. “I could do it no problem.”

“Oh, you think so?” Dean says, visibly irritated now.

“I do.”

“Prove it.”

“I will. I’ll share with Sam tonight.” Castiel’s hands are in the pockets of his trenchcoat and he looks completely unruffled.

“Cas,” Dean says, flabbergasted and now totally annoyed, “You don’t sleep!”

Cas shrugs once more. “I don’t need to. Doesn’t mean I can’t.”

Sam grins gleefully. He knows Dean won’t back down from a bet and if anyone can put his brother in his place, it’s Cas. “Sounds good,” he says with a straight face, looking between the other two. “What are the terms?”

“Hmm,” Castiel says thoughtfully. “If I can endure the entire night comfortably sharing with Sam, Dean will admit to being melodramatic, and next time, he will ‘suck it up’ as you humans say, without complaint.” He gives Dean a placid smile.

Dean gapes for a moment before collecting himself. “Uh. Yeah. Terms. So, Cas… you uh… you do that, and if you have any complaints- about anything- I win, and you owe me the biggest, fattest apology the world has ever seen. I’m talking grovelling, begging, ass-kissing-” Dean breaks off suddenly in horror as he realizes what he’s said.

Cas smirks.

“And-” Dean adds quickly, ignoring the flush he can feel staining his cheeks, “and you have to bring me pie every day for a week.”

“Is that all?” Cas asks politely.

“Yes,” Dean snaps.

“Then we have a bet.” Castiel offers a hand and Dean shakes it, trying to ignore the tingle he feels when his skin makes contact with the angel’s.

When Dean and Sam are about to head into the diner, Cas pulls back suddenly.

“What’s up?” Sam asks.

“You two go on ahead. I’ll catch up.” Cas says.

Dean frowns at him. “Why? What are you doing?”

“I need pyjamas.” Cas explains, like it’s obvious.

“Pyjamas?” Dean repeats incredulously, his eyebrows raised. Suddenly he’s envisioning Cas in those fuzzy onesies with the feet and the butt-flap. With the angel’s perpetually mussed hair, it might actually suit him. Goddammit, Dean, stop doing that, he curses himself internally.

“Yes,” Cas says patiently. “I don’t want to sleep in my suit and trenchcoat. And I don’t think Sam would be comfortable with me sleeping in the nude-”

“Yeah, no, that’s a great idea,” Dean says loudly. “Good thinking, Cas.”

Sam gives his brother an amused side-eyed glance but Dean ignores him.

“See you in a bit, then,” Cas nods to them.

“See you, Cas,” Sam answers, clapping Dean on the shoulders before guiding him into the restaurant.


***


They spend a few hours that night watching TV and teaching Cas to play poker, but soon Sam is yawning and Dean resignedly admits that they should probably all get some sleep. He’s already regretting the bet since he knows it means he’ll have to sleep on the floor, and damned if he isn’t getting too old for that shit, but he can’t back down now.

After brushing his teeth, he strips down to his boxers and a t-shirt. Cas ducks into the bathroom with a plastic merchandise bag to change.

Dean steals the fluffiest blanket from the bed and the throw pillow from the tiny armchair while Sam is changing and tries to get comfortable, folding the blanket in half lengthwise like a sleeping bag and crawling into his makeshift bed. Of course, it’s not even remotely comfortable, but he grits his teeth, refusing to give in already.

He hears the bathroom door click open and looks up instinctively, only to feel all the blood drain from his face. Or is it rushing to his face? He can’t tell; all he knows is that Castiel, angel-of-the-freaking-Lord, is standing there in a fuschia fucking negligee and Dean is staring in abject shock, willing the floor to open up and swallow him down.

“C-Cas?” Dean forces out, barely audible.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas inquires with a tilt of his head.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

Cas frowns and looks down. “A nightgown?”

And yes, he most definitely is, and goddammit, Dean is fucking into it. It’s a thin, satiny sheath thing, whose tiny straps showcase Castiel’s well-defined shoulders and biceps perfectly.  The bold fuschia colour sets off Cas’s tanned skin, contrasts beautifully with his dark hair and bright eyes. The neckline plummets low enough for Dean to admire the graceful arc of collarbone, the lines of smooth, firm pecs… Dean can see the outline of Castiel’s nipples through the thin material and he knows he is absolutely, completely, fucked.

Sam is paralyzed, staring mutely.

“Are you alright, Sam?” Castiel asks, concerned.

Sam shakes his head, his eyes wide. “Ahh… nope. I mean, yep. I’m good. I’m just gonna-” he points to the bathroom awkwardly and bolts inside.

Traitor, Dean thinks, swallowing hard. “Cas, you- you know that’s not exactly what we pictured when you said pyjamas, right?”

Cas looks down at his attire once more before looking back at Dean, his blue eyes probing but not offended. “It’s a night gown, Dean. Night.” he emphasizes.

“Yeah, okay man, but see, those are… those are kinda for- for women.”

Cas shrugs, unperturbed. “It’s satin. It’s extremely comfortable.”

Fuck, Dean grits his teeth. Dean loves satin. He has also been secretly in love with Cas for, oh, about eight fucking years? He squeezes his eyes shut, willing his growing erection down.

“It also is very pleasant to allow the air to circulate freely underneath, I never would have guessed-”

“Goodnight, Cas!” Dean yelps, burying his face in the pillow.

“Goodnight, Dean…” Cas replies, voice laced with confusion.

Abruptly Sam emerges from the bathroom and crosses the room in a couple long strides, climbing into the bed and rolling over immediately to face the wall. “Goodnight, guys! Cas, would you get the light?” Sam’s voice is unnaturally high, but otherwise normal.

Dean wills himself not to look as he hears soft footsteps cross the room, but he can’t help it, and damn it all to hell how are Cas’s thighs so muscular? Dean stifles a groan and throws an arm across his eyes. Please turn off the lights. Please just turn off the lights, and don’t say a word…

Castiel switches off the lights and Dean hears him padding over to the bed, hears the bed creak as he lays down. Dean wonders if the nightgown is riding up.

It’s going to be a long fucking night.


@mittensmorgul here’s a late partial entry… Part two can be found here!

Round One

So, this is written for @mittensmorgul‘s The Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt. Rules include using the trope “There is Only One Bed” and the Supernatural specific trope “Castiel (for whatever reason) wears different clothes”.

For context, what I wrote for the challenge is set several years in the future. Hope you enjoy.


It occurred to Dean Winchester that it had taken him entirely too much time to realize he’d been played.

In retrospect, it was obvious. Aaron just so happened to be “tired” of hunting down Nazi necromancers at the same time as Sam had forwarded Dean a weird case back in Kansas. Dean had agreed to take it because Eileen and Sam “just happened” to be across the country in the middle of another case. Sam had “accidentally” sent the same case to Claire Novak too, and just forgot to mention it. It was obvious, but Dean had been too distracted trying not to be a bitter ex while working on a case with Cas to notice it.

That, of course, was before Claire had left the two of them in a motel room with a pile of research and only one bed (with the excuse of having gotten a pretty waitress’ number, and… well she had in defense of Dean’s intelligence). She smirked as she left too, to add insult to injury.

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This is for @mittensmorgul‘s Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt, round one.

Tropes:

There’s Only One Bed and Castiel (for whatever reason) wears different clothes.

Set in season seven after Cas takes Sam’s Hell memories. Almost canon compliant but where Dean actually visits Cas at the hospital, plus Cas is a little less comatose and Dean is a little less mean.

He’s asking for you, she says. Even in his sleep.

Dean doesn’t know why he even answered the phone. Maybe because they had dick on Dick and he needed a distraction, but he regrets it as soon as he hears Meg’s jeering voice. Your angel needs you, she says. And I need a break. And just like that he’s on his way to Indiana.

Meg meets him outside of Cas’s room to brief him.

He normally just lies in bed, she says. He’s practically comatose most of the time so even you should be able to handle it. He’s not asleep. You’ll know if he is because if he’s asleep, he’s having nightmares. I mean, I’m pretty sure the nightmare thing is all the time. But when he’s awake he can stop the screaming. When he’s asleep, he can’t.

And that’s not all, of course, because it’s Meg and she likes to hear herself talk.

You better fuckin’ watch him, she continues. I did not sit here on my ass playing nurse for however many weeks just so you could fuck it all up.

And more.

If he wakes up, do what he says, she commands. Because if you don’t he will bolt, and if he bolts, you will not be able to find him. My advice: don’t let him out of your sight. He’s a danger to himself.

Why do I care, Dean mutters.

Meg just laughs. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be here, she says, disappearing with a smirk.

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The Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt - Round One

Hiya friendos! Inspired by the Great Meta Scavenger Hunt, aka the Hold My Beer Meta Challenge, (round three currently in progress!), I’ve decided to do something similar for fanfic. Specifically ALL THE TROPES.

Each week (theoretically, we’ll see how Round One goes before I commit to doing this full-time) I’ll randomly select a Love Trope from the big list over at TV Tropes (warning, clicking that link might ruin your day…) and pair it with an element unique to Supernatural. The challenge will be to come up with a fic scenario that’s both unique and entertaining.

Entries can take the form of a short fic, a headcanon, an outline, or just a description of how the scenario would play out. I’ll be judging the entries based on originality, creativity, with bonus points awarded for making me shoot coffee out my nose or alternately making me cry in my corn flakes. I mean, hopefully I won’t be crying much, but this is Supernatural, so it’s probably inevitable at some point.

You don’t need to be a writer to participate! This is about ideas, not execution. I mean, I won’t be upset if you end up writing 10k words of perfect prose, but I also won’t be upset if you end up writing a 100 word stream-of-consciousness capslock rant punctuated only by clusters of interrobangs.

Round One will be worth 50 points. I’ve deliberately set this week’s challenge to “easy.” Your mission, should you choose to accept it, will be to concoct a scenario involving these two elements:

There Is Only One Bed, a fanfic staple that I think we all agree we could read on an infinite loop

AND, the distinctly Supernatural element,

Castiel (for whatever reason) wears different clothes.

That’s it! That’s the whole challenge! Do your thing! Submission rules will run similar to those set for the Meta Scavenger Hunt, i.e. there is no time limit on submissions and points will be awarded regardless of when you submit, but if Round One goes well, I’ll post another challenge next Wednesday.

To participate, just write something up, post it, and tag it #the great fic writer scavenger hunt and #round one. I look forward to the wackiness that ensues. :)

eta: Since I am the judge here, I figure it’s fair warning to let y’all know I ship destiel. I’ll consider entries for pretty much any ship (please don’t make me read incest, y’all. I’m begging you. please), but I can’t guarantee I’ll read them all… because the idea of this is that it’s supposed to be fun for me… I’ll take crack ships (and they may even earn you bonus points for outrageousness), and I’ll accept most sam ships for this too, but this is designed to specifically be a destiel-based contest, jsyk…

Grumpy Wet Puppy

Written for the round one of @mittensmorgul‘s Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt. The mission was to use this two elements: There Is Only One Bed trope and Castiel (for whatever reason) wears different clothes.

ao3

Dean was exhausted. Every part of his body hurt. He and Cas had just killed a nasty vampire nest and he couldn’t wait to get back to the motel. At least they had finished before the storm broke, Dean thought, as he watched the darkening sky.

Once in the comfort of their room, Dean rushed to the bathroom, wanting to wash the dried blood off his skin as soon as possible. When he got out, Cas was sitting on his bed, watching some movie.

“You gonna take a shower?” Dean asked as he toweled his hair.

“Angels don’t require bathing, Dean.”

“Dude, look at yourself. You’re all bloody. At least take the damn coat off.”

Finally, Cas looked at him and nodded. “You’re right. I could get the sheets dirty.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, buddy. Look, I’m beat, so I’ll just go to bed. You do,” he gestured vaguely to the room, “whatever you do.”

“Don’t worry, Dean. I’ll watch over you.”

“Ugh, yeah,” Dean cleared his throat and went to his bed. He’d gotten used to the fact that Cas wouldn’t stop watching him sleep long time ago. If he was completely honest with himself, he liked it. Made him feel safe, or some shit like that. Fuck, he was turning into Sam.

Speaking of Sam, Dean remembered to send him a brief text that he and Cas were done. Sam had gone on another hunt with Mary and Dean and Cas were supposed to meet them there when finished with the vampires.

Dean was out the moment his head hit the pillow. The next thing he became aware of was the shaking of his bed and the sound of glass cracking. His hunter instinct kicked in and he jumped out of the bed.

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yes i saw the tags and comments on this post so here a little extra! Sorry guys no reveal, it’ll take a little more than pastries to get through to this oblivious boy

Hey dreamers! Can you believe it? One year ago I started working on this project that came from a dream I had and I can’t believe it has turned into what it has. Daisuga makes me the happiest~ o(*^▽^*)o

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This is for @mittensmorgul‘s Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt - Round 1.

Han and Chewie vs. He-Man (ao3)

When Charlie calls the boys in to help with a hunt at Comic-Con, they aren’t expecting Cas’s coat to be such a hindrance.

It’s been an exhausting day, and they’ve gotten nowhere. Dean had had no idea that comic conventions could get so crowded, and with Charlie busy, she isn’t on hand to point them in the right direction.

“Look,” she’d said, when she called them in, “I’m pretty sure it’s just a run-of-the-mill ghost type problem, and I could totally take care of it myself, but I’m a guest handler this time, and I’ve been assigned to Gillian Anderson. So please, please, please? I cannot miss this opportunity.”

“We’ll be there,” Dean had promised, and so here they were, standing in an absolute sea of nerdery – and man, did Dean wish they had the time to examine some of the costumes, because wow – without any idea where to begin.  

It doesn’t help that they can’t seem to go more than a few feet without someone accosting Cas to compliment him on his Constantine cosplay, although at least one person had called him the Doctor, someone had asked if he was something called Blacksad, and a couple of teenage girls, wearing a frankly alarming amount of plaid, had squealed and asked him if he was Castiel, while he stared frozen at them, like a deer in headlights.  

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THE ONE BED BET - Part 2/2

Written for @mittensmorgul ’s The Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt (round one.) If you haven’t already, make sure you read part one !


***


Dean can’t believe Sam is actually sleeping.

The younger Winchester had obviously been startled by Castiel’s unexpected choice of “pyjamas,” but of course Sam would handle the situation with grace and tact, and after taking a moment to collect himself, simply roll over and fall asleep.

Dean, on the other hand, has been tossing and turning and cursing the gods all night long (mentally, of course; he has no idea if Cas is actually sleeping or simply lying there, still as a statue, with all the patience that comes from being a divine creature thousands and thousands of years old.) It’s also fucking hot in this hell-hole.

Dean has to fight the urge to sit up and peek over at the bed. He’s dying to see if Sam’s long limbs are indeed crowding Castiel, and how the angel seems to be dealing with it. And the sweat! Is Cas repulsed? Cas doesn’t sweat, after all, but Sam must be sweating- Dean’s sweating, and a couple hours ago, overheating, he’d even climbed out of his ‘sleeping bag’ and started to use it as a mattress instead. Not that it made the floor any more comfortable.

A sudden thought strikes fear into Dean’s heart. What if- what if Cas likes it? Sharing a bed with Sam?

Mercifully, fortune smiles on Dean and he gets a green light - Castiel is snoring, which means he’s actually sleeping, and Dean is absolutely going to take advantage of this opportunity to see what’s really transpiring on the bed. Dean’s surprised at the sound. It’s not an obnoxious, angry-grizzly-bear snore or anything; actually, it’s rather cute- a gentle rumble on each inhale, followed by a slow, steady sigh on the exhale, and Dean can tell it’s Cas because Sam usually only snores when he’s sick and then he sounds like a freaking air raid siren. Focus, Winchester, Dean tells himself sternly, rolling onto his side and crawling quietly on all fours towards the bed, determined to see his fill without waking either Sam or Cas.

Once he gets close enough, he slowly pushes himself onto his knees, ignoring the pain shooting down his back (he is never sleeping on the floor again) and peers over the edge of the bed, thankful for the threadbare motel curtains that allow just enough moonlight to stream through.

Castiel almost takes Dean’s breath away. The tauntingly thin straps have slid off Cas’s shoulders, and the hem of the skirt? nighty? negligee? has ridden up to the point that there is very, very little left to Dean’s already overactive and well-used imagination. The dark pink satin looks glossy and inviting, and Dean wants to run his hands all over it… Castiel’s mouth is parted, his lips soft and full, his face relaxed and peaceful in sleep, but the mussed hair and haphazard way his pyjamas of choice are bunched around him scream of sex. He looks debauched, and fuck, Dean is a goner.

Then he notices Sam.

Sam, who is wearing only black boxers, and whose right arm is crossed over his body and slung low on Castiel’s hip.

Sam, whose head is nuzzled up only inches from Castiel’s neck, breathing him in.

Sam, whose long, hairy left leg has somehow found its way between Cas’s calves.

Dean feels a white-hot spike of jealousy streak through him, anger pooling in his stomach. He knows he’s being ridiculous, he knows that Sam is sleeping and it doesn’t mean anything, but the fact that Cas is allowing it, conscious or not, fills Dean with resentment. Dean is jealous. Insanely jealous. What he would give to be the one touching Cas like that, sharing space with Cas like that… To be permitted the same casual intimacy, to feel Cas’s skin on his skin and that goddamn satin thing under his fingers…

“Fuck,” Dean growls, immediately clamping his mouth shut in terror when he realizes he’d spoken aloud.

Cas stirs, but doesn’t seem to wake, and for a moment Dean is relieved, until the fucker rolls over, CLOSER to Sam, and burrows in snugly. Sam’s arm slides easily over the satin, accommodating Castiel’s movement by wrapping itself completely around Cas’s waist. They are facing each other now, foreheads almost touching, Cas’s muscled leg now thrown leisurely over Sam’s. Dean is only just noticing the thin sheen of sweat covering them both, and immediately wants to punch something. Like Sam.

“GODDAMMIT,” Dean spits through clenched teeth, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Why had he agreed to this stupid bet in the first place? Sleeping on the floor is bad enough, but now this?? He needs a drink, he needs some air, he needs to yank Sam off of Cas by his stupid hair…

Cas sighs in his sleep, and while in reality there’s nothing sexual about it, it calls to mind all the different noises that Dean imagines Cas could make in his gravelly voice, and something in Dean just snaps.

“Okay, okay, enough! You win, bet’s over!” Dean calls loudly, ripping the thin blanket out from underneath Cas since he can’t pull the covers off.

“Wha- hey! Dean!” Sam protests as he’s wrenched from sleep, and he sounds pissed. He sits up, blinking, clearly annoyed. “What’s your problem?”

Cas opens his eyes blearily, and looks around, a bit disoriented before he collecting himself. He throws his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, suddenly alert, tensed for danger. “Dean? Is something wrong?”

“Yeah!” Dean snaps. “My problem is you guys can’t keep your fucking hands off each other, and meanwhile some of us are trying to get some sleep around here!”

Sam looks at Cas and back to Dean, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline. “Wait… let me get this straight. You’re mad at us because you can’t sleep… because we’re -touching each other - in our sleep?”

Dean feels his cheeks begin to burn in embarrassment, but it’s too late now, the damage is done and he still feels outraged even though he knows he has no right. “I- yes! Yes, Sam, I’m mad! Because you guys tricked me into this stupid bet so you could spoon all night, and feel each other up, and God knows what else, and meanwhile I’m stuck here on the floor playing witness to it! I didn’t sign up for that, and I didn’t sign up for Cas’s stupid fucking sexy pyjamas, and I’m tired and I’m mad and my back fucking hurts and you two are NOT sharing a bed anymore, you hear me?”

There’s nothing but silence for a few moments while Sam and Cas process this information.

“Sam,” Castiel says evenly, his face neutral. He is staring at Dean, and Dean stares back. “I think you should go sleep in the Impala.”

Sam’s mouth falls open. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Cas’s blue eyes are still permanently fixed on Dean, a spark of his angelic grace burning hot. “Sam,” he repeats, a little more forcefully. “I believe you would be much more comfortable if you slept in the Impala for the remainder of the evening.”

Sam blinks a few times before pushing himself off the bed. He snatches the blanket and pillow from the floor and stomps angrily to the door. “You guys fucking suck,” he snaps as he wrenches the door open. “I’m so not going to forget this.”

“Neither are we.” Cas promises with a low growl, and Dean’s mouth goes dry. Sam scowls and slams the door shut behind him.

“Cas,” Dean says hoarsely. “I can explain.”

Cas takes a few steps towards Dean, hot as fuck and more intimidating than Dean has ever seen him.

“I- I just really like satin, okay? And it kind of threw me for a loop, and I haven’t slept yet, so I think I’m just overtired and maybe a little loopy-” Dean babbles incoherently, his heart thudding against his ribcage.

“Dean,” Cas says quietly, his voice dark and tinged with fire. “Get on the bed. Now.”

Dean feels like all the air has been sucked from his lungs. “I- what? You- you want me… on… on the bed?”

Castiel smirks briefly. “I want you seven ways from Sunday, but I thought that the bed might be a good place to start.”

And oh- holy shit- that was not at ALL what Dean was expecting, but he does NOT need to be told twice. He scrambles onto the bed with a whimper, already hard in his boxers, and turns nervously to face Cas.

“I have loved you and wanted you for a long time, Dean Winchester,” Cas murmurs, his eyes travelling across Dean’s body. He looks positively feral, standing there, bathed in moonlight.

“I feel the same way,” Dean admits, sweating profusely now in nervousness and anticipation. “Have for a long time.”

“I didn’t realize,” Cas says in wonder. “If I’d known a bit of satin would draw it out, I’d have tried this a lot sooner.”

“Goddamn, Cas,” Dean blurts out, his hands finally reaching out to grab onto Cas, revelling in the feeling of the satin over taut flesh. “It’s so fucking hot. You are so fucking hot, you have no idea, God, it turns me on so fucking much.”

“You do realize this means I won the bet, right? I would have been perfectly comfortable to stay there all night,” Cas teases, reaching out a hand to trace the line of Dean’s jaw, sliding his thumb up to catch the hunter’s plump lips, and Dean chuckles. “Although I think I will much prefer this new arrangement.” Cas whispers, dragging his lips across Dean’s stubble.

“Yeah, Cas. You win, fair and square.” Dean says breathlessly, leaning in as their lips meet hungrily for the first time.

Yet as the bed slowly becomes a collection of tangled limbs, sweat, and sex noises- as promised- Dean can’t help but feel like he won, after all.