27/100 days of productivity | always starting the day off by clearing up a work space, tidying up papers, and making sure I have all the materials I need. also, the warmer it is, the more lethargic and tired I feel.
Written for the prompt: Dean and Cas are both about to die so one makes a deathbed love confession. When they miraculously survive things are awkward between the two of them, the confessor not thinking the other feels the same way; angst with a happy ending.
Zombie apocalypse. That’s actually how Dean’s going down. A fucking zombie apocalypse.
The thing that pisses him off is: zombies are easy.
Bullet to the brain and they’re down for the count. Again. But yet, here he is, trapped in a damn storage closet with a
graceless Castiel at his side, and one bullet sitting in the magazine of his
“How the hell did we get here?” Dean mutters
mostly to himself. He lets his head fall back against the hard cement wall
behind him and tries to block out the sounds of the incessantly moaning dead
just outside the door.
“Through the mess hall,” Castiel states
Dean heaves a sigh.
“Rhetorical question, Cas.” He glances around the empty storage closet, rubbing
at his eyes and trying to force himself to think. He doesn’t get
into jams like this. He just doesn’t.
Yet here he is.
As they sit, waiting for their inevitable death - what
else can they do, really - part of Dean hopes the zombies will get tired of
waiting for them, wander off to harvest somebody else’s brain. And it sounds
wild, but hope’s all he’s got left at this point; that’s how fucking bleak the
When the door handle starts to wiggle, moans seeping
beneath the door and creeping into the storage room, Dean comes to the
conclusion hope is for suckers.
The wiggling becomes more incessant and is quickly accompanied
by heavy fists pounding on the door, and Dean and Castiel are on their feet,
breathing shallow and shoulders taut.
“They’re not strong
enough to break in, right?” Dean asks and despite already knowing the
answer he needs Castiel to say no.
“Yes, with enough force they could break the
“Fuck.” Dean mutters. He looks at his gun
again, that one bullet not even enough to buy them some extra time, and then at
Cas who’s watching him with calculated eyes.
“We can’t hold them off for long.” Castiel says.
Dean snickers, shakes his head. “Fuck, Cas, aren’t you
quite the optimist.”
The door clangs loudly and Dean’s head snaps up and
towards the sound. The grotesque faces of the dead are peering through the
small window on the door, their jaws working jerkily as they groan.
They’ve double, tripled almost, in numbers, and they’re
crowding around the door, pounding decaying flesh covered hands against the
This is it. Last episode,
folks, no To Be Continued.
“Hey, Novak?” Chief Henrickson raps his knuckles on the door frame of Castiel'soffice and leans his weight against the open door.
Castiellooks up at him, eyes bleary. It’s just nearing 3am and he’s had nothing butpaperwork to do for the last several hours. It’s been a long, tedious night.
got a call. Apartment building on 9th and West had the fire alarm pulled. Isn’t
that your place?”
probably just some stoned asshat thinking they’re funny, but we gotta send
someone. You wanna check it out?”
stands, his muscles sore from being in the same position too long, and rolls
his shoulders and neck. “Yes,” he says, “I’ll go.”
nods. Castiel gathers his coat and keys, and heads for his squad car.
fire department is already on the premises when Castiel arrives. When he
doesn’t see any smoke or visible flames, he relaxes in his seat and pulls into
the nearest parking spot.
first person to meet him on the scene is Benny, one of the firefighters at the
neighboring station. His mouth is pulled into a grim line, and he shakes his
head when Castiel asks for details.
alarm, it looks like,” Benny explains. “Some punk playing truth or
dare. Mills got here just before you did, she’s giving him a warning now.”
nods, grateful it’s not something more. “What can I do?” He asks,
because he drove out here, he might as well help.
an eye on the tenants, will ya? A bunch of ‘em are still spooked.”
scowls at Benny’s knowing smile. Of all the jobs he’d be more than happy to do,
'keeping an eye on the tenants’ isn’t one of them. They’re going to be looking
for comfort, and Castiel has never been very good at that sort of thing. He’s
better suited for writing speeding tickets and attending to noise violations.
look at me like that, Novak. You asked, now be gone with you, brother.”
sighs and heads off in the direction Benny shoves him.
group of tenants is small, and only a handful of them are worried. The rest are
frowning and yawning, shuffling on their feet, and grumbling about the cold.
Castiel assures them they’ll be allowed back inside soon as he makes his way
through the crowd.
his eyes land on the naked back of a man in nothing but a pair of navy blue
boxer briefs, Castiel frowns. He reaches out a hand and lets it rest gently on the
man’s shoulder, “Sir.”
the man turns around, Castiel finds himself blinking at his green-eyed, freckle
faced next door neighbor, the one he’s harbored a small crush on since the man
moved in six weeks ago. They’ve never actually spoken to one another, but
they’ve passed in the hall a few times, and he’s always been met with a wide
smile and a wink that makes it difficult for Castiel to breathe.
stomach twists itself into a squirming, messy knot.
23/100 days of productivity | almost caved today and bought pilot juice pens, because of the colors!!! and 0.5mm pens are my favorite a;sdkfja;woiefj but I reminded myself that I am not allowed to buy more pens unless I finish/use up all my old ones!!! also, v random side note: minty gum is getting through my apes studying today ೕ(•̀ㅂ•́ )
Written for the prompt: Dean and Cas both crushing on each other, but finally getting thecourage to tell each other on Valentine’s Day.
Working on Valentine’s Day kinda sucks, but it’s not as bad
as working on Thanksgiving or Christmas. And it’s not like Dean has anyone
special to spend it with anyway. In fact, the one person he’d want to spend it
with is already standing next to him, bagging groceries with quick deft hands,
and an expression better suited for a challenging crossword puzzle than a
He started working at the same grocery store as Dean about
three months ago. He’s quiet, frowns more than anyone Dean’s ever met, and
talks about the weirdest shit in the universe when he does get around to
talking. Seriously, stars, and honeybees, and how much better green tea is than
earl grey; that’s the kind of crap the guy goes on about.
At first Dean had wondered if Castiel grew up in a hole or
something; he doesn’t understand any pop culture references, he has no people
skills whatsoever, and he talks like every word is important. But after about a
week, all of Castiel’s weird quirks became less weird and more… cute. (Let it be known Dean Winchester has
never actually used that word in conjunction with a human being before.)
There’s just something about the guy that had drew Dean in
and turned him into a sputtering, nervous, pink-cheeked wreck whenever Castiel
was in close vicinity to Dean. Which, because Castiel is Dean’s bagger, is all the freaking time.
“Have a good night,” Dean tells the woman standing
at his check out. She’s probably in her mid-twenties, she isn’t wearing a
wedding ring, and all she purchased is ice cream and Cosmopolitan magazine. She’s most likely spending the night alone.
He offers her a wink for good measure and smiles triumphantly when she blushes
ever so slightly and hurries off.
“You’re very good with the customers,” Castiel states
as he watches the woman’s retreating form. He says it like it’s the conclusion to
a scientific observation.
Dean lets out a laugh, bumping Castiel’s shoulder with his
own. “Maybe if you weren’t frowning all the damn time.” He points out.
“I am not frowning all the time, I’m just thinking.”
“You sure do a lot of thinking,” Dean replies.
Castiel opens his mouth to respond, but another patron, an
elderly woman, is emptying the contents of her cart on Dean’s counter, and they
avert their attention to her.
“You sure do have pretty eyes,” the woman says as
Dean rings up her cat food. The comment is directed at Castiel, and as he
realizes this he blushes, muttering a quiet thank you that sends Dean’s lips
spreading into a smile.
“Doesn’t he?” Dean agrees, shooting Castiel a
teasing smirk. The words come out sounding like a joke, as Dean intends them
to, but in reality Dean’s stomach is in frenzied knots because yeah Castiel has
great eyes, but this is the closest
Dean’s ever come to admitting he’s noticed.
Castiel shakes his head and bags up the cat food placed
“You boys have a good night,” the woman says as
Castiel places her grocery bags into her waiting arms.