sam's dumb writing

Pie of the Beholder

A/N: This random little ficlet is dedicated to @magnificent-winged-beast and based on a conversation we had last night, discussing that Cas would probably love cheesecake way more than pie. :D Then all I could imagine is the delightful bickering and I couldn’t help myself. Surprise!

“What the hell,” Dean asks tersely, “is that?”

“It’s cheesecake,” Castiel says. He’s leaning over, staring intently into the fridge with a hand propped on top of the door, probably letting all of the cold air out. After a moment, he reaches inside and slides over a container of strawberries and a tub of sour cream, making room on a shelf before grabbing the cheesecake tin and placing it inside.

Sam, sitting at the table with a bowl of cereal, freezes with the spoon halfway to his mouth.

Uh, oh.

Dean scoffs. “Uh, yeah, I can see that, Cas. Let me rephrase: where’s the pie?”

“That is pie, Dean.” Castiel shuts the fridge and turns back to the counter, starting to pull groceries from the other bags. He places a bag of apples on the counter. 

“Dude, cheesecake is not pie.”

“It most certainly is pie.”

“It’s cake, Cas. The word ‘cake’ is right in the name!”

A droplet of milk plinks from Sam’s hovering spoon, startling him, and he slowly lowers it back into his bowl. There’s a weird sense of déjà vu and mild dread crawling over him. He hates being in the middle of their stupid domestic squabbles, and he knows better than to get involved in a pie debate with Dean. 

Been there, done that, nearly smothered Dean in his sleep with a pillow.

Sam eyes an escape route towards the doorway and curses himself for being so tall and noticeable.

“Well, the name is misleading then,” Castiel says curtly. “Cheesecake has all the characteristics of pie. It’s traditionally made with fruit, just like pie. It’s usually cut into triangular slices, just like pie. It has a crust, just like –“

“Cheesecake has a crust on the bottom, Cas,” Dean cuts in, pointing an accusing finger for emphasis. “Pie has a crust on the top, too. That’s why pie is the best, it’s basically a dessert sandwich, and anyone who doesn’t think that’s awesome is lying to themselves.”

A…dessert sandwich? Sam’s never thought about it like that. That’s…actually not a bad point in pie’s favor. Huh.

“Not all pie has crust on the top, Dean.”

“The best kinds do. Apple, peach, cherry-“

“What about lemon meringue?” Castiel interrupts. “Key lime? Pumpkin? Pecan?”

Who knew Cas knew so much about the different kinds of pie? Apparently someone’s been binge-watching too many baking competition shows on Netflix, and Sam’s pretty sure that someone is Castiel.

“…damn, you got me with the pecan, I love pecan,” Dean mutters. “Okay, pecan gets a pass, but my argument still stands. Say what you want about it, but cheesecake is not pie.”

Castiel narrows his eyes at him across the counter. “You’re being willfully stubborn, Dean.”

“You’re damn right I’m being willfully stubborn! After twenty-nine years – “

Thirty-eight years, Sam corrects silently to himself.

“- you think I don’t know my pies? I am a pie expert. I am a pie connoisseur. I am a pie sommelier!”

That’s…not quite right, but Sam’s a little impressed anyways. Apparently someone’s been binge-watching too many of those independent, foreign romance films on Netflix, and Sam’s pretty sure that someone is Dean.

Castiel turns towards Sam suddenly, gesturing at Dean with a sharp wave. “Sam, what is your opinion? Is cheesecake a pie or a cake?”

Oh, hell. He should’ve made a run for the door when he had the chance.

Now they’re both looking at him. Staring. Waiting.

Dean is smirking just a little, smug, like he has no doubts that Sam will take his side – and normally Sam would, just because he doesn’t want a lecture on every individual merit of pie for the next three weeks, but Castiel is looking at him too, eyes expectant and hopeful…

He clears his throat. 

“…I mean, it’s really kind of both, isn’t it? Basically like a pie and cake hybrid.”

“Great,” Dean huffs, throwing up his hands. “So cheesecake is the unnatural Werepire – no, the Nephilim - of the dessert world, and I’ve got one sitting in my fridge. Perfect.” 

Dean slides off his stool and tromps out of the kitchen, muttering under his breath about ‘dessert heathens’ and ‘shit just ain’t right’ as he goes. Sam shoots Castiel a perplexed look, shrugging, and then Dean’s voice carries back to them from down the hall. 

“There better be room in that fridge for real pie when I get back from the store, Cas!” 

Castiel just rolls his eyes and balls the empty plastic bags together, placing them out of sight into a kitchen drawer. He tugs open the fridge, pulls out the cheesecake, and sets the tin back on the counter before starting to dig through the silverware drawer. Looking up at Sam, he pulls out two forks and holds one up, offering it. 

“Well, Sam, you heard Dean. We better make room for his pie.”

Sam laughs.

au for @everythingelsegoesherethen: dean winchester owns the marauders’ map and uses it to make sure he and castiel always ‘accidentally’ meet at strange times.

Since he became a Prefect at the beginning of his fifth year, Castiel Novak has dealt with a lot of troublemakers who clearly just haven’t read the Hogwarts rulebook.

Dean Winchester is not one of these.

Dean Winchester is clever. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s read the handbook and

And he never, ever gets caught.

Which is why Castiel is confused when he apprehends Dean for the third time in a month, trying unsuccessfully to get into a secret passage out of the school that Cas /knows he knows exactly how to access. And yet he’s tapping all over the one-eyes witch with his wand, cluelessly trying every combination of “Let me in!” that he can, acting for all the world as though he’s under some kind of Confundus charm.

He turns the light of his wand on Dean, and Dean turns around, doing a very good job of pretending to be startled.

“Dean Winchester?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” the boy grins, blushing and looking down at the floor but not seeming at all upset that he’s just been caught breaking five school rules at once.

“Yes, well, you’re out of bed after lights out, you’re messing with school property and you’re using magic in the corridors.” Cas is a little flustered and he can’t even explain why, but he still manages to tick at least some of the offenses off on his fingers.

“I /am? Oh, man, Cas, I’m so sorry. And I promise you it won’t happen again.” Dean is all mock-apologetic as he claps Cas on the shoulder and starts to walk away down the corridor.

“F-five points from Gryffindor!” Cas calls after him in a shaky voice.

This becomes a recurring problem. The following week, Cas runs into Dean in the restricted section of the library without a note giving him permission to be there. A few days later, he catches Dean in the act when he’s just about to set off a whole box of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes fireworks. Another time, he finds Dean on the Quidditch pitch after dark when it’s supposed to be locked up, flying loops just to show off. Sometime after that, Cas goes to take a bath in the Prefects’ bathroom at the end of a long day, and he finds the tub already overflowing with bubbles, Dean in a pair of red swimming shorts lazily swimming laps.

And for some reason it’s always harder for Cas to keep his cool around Dean that it is around anyone else. Usually he’ll dole out detentions without even blinking;the whole school respecting his authority, but something about this kid has him barely remembering the name of the red and gold house that he’s supposed to be taking points from. It /irks him, because he was given the Prefect position for a /reason, and he’s supposed to be unbiased and impartial and above such things.

After all this has been going on for a good few months, and Cas is no closer to figuring out what exactly is going on in Dean Winchester’s unfairly pretty head, he finds a piece of parchment on the floor. It’s on his normal patrol route, but not on a main corridor - it’s on one of the back routes that only Cas is responsible for walking down on his shift after lights out. It’s placed right in the middle of the corridor where Cas is guaranteed to see it. Almost as though it was left especially for him.

He picks it up. It looks blank at first, but when he unfolds it, he sees that it’s a map - an incredibly detailed map of the whole of Hogwarts castle, every room drawn, Cas believes, perfectly to scale, labelled in calligraphy, every secret passage and hidden entryway marked. Not only that, but the map is enchanted, constantly moving, staircases twisting their way through the halls in what Cas suspects is real time, and most importantly of all, tiny sets of footprints making their way through the castle halls, each with a name attached to them. Cas spots his own name next to his own footprints, which are still in the exact spot that he’s in.

He takes a step forward, and the footprints move with him.

Most of the spots are clustered in the common rooms and dormitories at this time of night; just a few Prefects and professors wandering up and down the corridors. But Cas has a sneaking suspicion he knows who this map belongs to, and the person doesn’t seem to be in the Gryffindor boys’ dormitories where he should be. Against his will, Cas finds his eyes skating over the map, looking for the potential offender.

Dean Winchester’s spot is pacing the Tallest Astronomy Tower.

Of course, none of this necessarily means that the map /actually corresponds to where people actually are. It could just be an example. Could be everyone is placed randomly and doesn’t move, no matter where they really are.

Which, of course, explains why Cas is already walking purposefully towards the Astronomy tower, taking each set of stairs two at a time, checking the map every few seconds to make sure Dean is still in the same place.

He reaches the door to the tower, and he’s not even completely conscious of why he’s doing it, but he runs a hand through his hair to fluff it up and he straightens his blue and bronze tie before he walks inside.

Dean’s there, as predicted, no longer pacing but standing in the center of the room - waiting for him? The tower is open to the heavens - not like the Great Hall, not like an enchanted version of the sky, but actually open, the summer night stars glinting down and reflecting off of magical lights that have been conjured and left to hover all around the edge of the circular tower room, a light breeze ruffling Cas’ robes as he steps towards Dean, noticing that the usually bare wooden floor is scattered with large, puffy gold and bronze cushions.

Cas holds out the map. “I think this is yours.”

Dean takes it from him, not at all surprised to see Cas there. “Don’t think it’s really anyone’s. Thing kind of has a mind of its own. But yes, I’ve been using it for a while.”

“Tell me something?” Cas asks. “You just admitted this is yours. With this you can see anyone coming at any time, you can always stay one step ahead of any professor or prefect, you never have to get found out by anyone. But you keep letting me catch you. Why?“

"That depends,” Dean says with a smirk. “Why’d you bring the map back instead of handing it into a professor? Seems like it’s a contraband object. Seems like I /should get in trouble.”

Cas opened his mouth to retort to that, but realized he didn’t have anything to say. Why /had he come here? Dean was right, after all. His first instinct, as a Prefect with designs on Head Boy at some point in the future, should have been to turn the object over to a member of staff. His mind shouldn’t even necessarily have jumped to Dean. But it had, and now he was here.

“Alright. That aside, why’d you wait for me? Why’d you pick a specific place, here, that you have /no reason to be and just pace around hoping I’d show up to find you?”

Dean spluttered, but quickly recovered. “Why’d you look for me on the map? Why’d you stare at it for so long that you saw where I was in the first place?”

“Why’d you decorate? The stars, the lights, the cushions? Why’d you set this all up for a special occasion?”

They stared at each other for a while, breathing heavily, waiting for the other one to be the first to break.

Cas cracked, and Dean gave up at the same moment, and then he both of them were lunging towards each other, Dean grabbing Cas by the tie he’d just straightened, pulling it askew, Cas fisting both of his hands in Dean’s robes, both yanking the other towards them, crashing their lips together so hard that it was almost painful when they met, their bodies falling into each other, their teeth clashing and their noses bumping and when they pull apart, they both tumble down onto the pile of cushions they’ve set up and /now Cas understands why they’re there, /now it makes sense because their landing is soft and they can reach for each other again immediately, both of them lying on their sides in the heap of fluffy pillows, kissing each other over and over and over again, each one making their lips tingle. Over time, as they grow used to the feeling, the kisses become slower, softer, more languid, and the hooded eyes when they pull away from each other are less from desire and more from tiredness, and they’re both sure they’d be happy to sleep here.

"So, what? You’ve been risking detention and house points for Gryffindor and your reputation as someone who never gets caught just to… just to get my attention?” Cas asks finally, propping himself up on one elbow.

Dean tugs him back down and kisses him again. “Well, you’re risking your Prefect position right now. But I feel like you always have to risk a little something to get the best things in life.”

And between holding hands on long walks by the lake, between screaming themselves hoarse together at Quidditch matches, between feeding each other Bertie Botts’ Every Flavour Beans while studying in the library, and between many, many more long nights in the Astronomy tower, Cas learns that as frustrating and complicated as he is; Dean is definitely one of the best things in his life.

Sam keeps seeing the ring box in Dean’s duffel bag, on motel nightstands, even in Dean’s hands when he thinks Sam isn’t looking. He knows there’s an actual ring in there because he couldn’t resist peeking inside once while Dean was out. It looks beautiful and expensive and Sam just immediately understands.

It takes almost six months of catching glimpses of the same ring box until Sam has had enough. He picks it up from the stuff splayed out on Dean’s bed while they’re packing.

Dude. Don’t you think this thing would look better on Cas’ finger than in this damn box?”

Dean blushes furiously and snatches the box back. He doesn’t speak to Sam all day. 

But apparently it was all that was needed, because next weekend Cas is in the bunker, showing off his engagement ring to Sam who has to feign surprise because he has already known about the stupid ring for so damn long.

“We thought you died!” roars Sam, and his hands shake where they’re pinning Gabriel to the wall of the bunker, a forearm across his throat and palm on his chest. “We saw your corpse, saw the wings- we thought you were dead!”

Several emotions grace Gabriel’s face in quick succession - shock, confusion, a brief flicker of fear that morphs into something like guilt and is gone in a heartbeat. “Can’t take the trick out of trickster, kiddo,” he says, a bright grin pasted onto his face, but it’s hollow, the amusement behind it fake.

“We thought you died,” repeated Sam, and his arms fall, slowly, no longer pressing bruises into Gabriel’s slightly-closer-to-human skin. The anger fades from his face, replaced by the exhaustion that has graven lines into it over the past year or two, ages him beyond his years and left his eyes hollow, red-rimmed. His hand catches on Gabriel’s shoulder, squeezes briefly as if he’s checking the archangel in front of him is still real.

And then it falls, drops to his side with the other - and Sam’s dropping, too.

His knees hit the floor with a crack that makes Gabriel wince, makes Dean start forward from where he’s been watching. He stops only at Castiel’s fingers on the sleeve of his jacket, pulling him backwards. This is not Dean’s fight; he will have his chance to air his grievances later, as Castiel had done earlier.

This, though. This is Sam’s turn.

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anonymous asked:

heres a prompt. post channel changing gabe and sam started dating. gabe takes acting like theyre not involved way too far in front of dean, which pretty much spells out too "gabe-flirts-with-other-people-to-make-sam-jealous"

oh god i rewrote this fic like fifty times and this was the only one that was decent enough to post and even this isn’t that great i’m so sorry 

So, basically, Sam and Gabriel had been hooking up since the whole saga when the archangel had dumped the Winchesters in TV Land.

Now, said archangel and hunter liked to pretend that the their hooking up wasn’t painfully obvious so, to preserve their pride, Dean hadn’t said anything about it. He couldn’t help but feel slightly offended by the fact that they thought he was oblivious though because, come on, did they actually think he was that stupid? Sam wasn’t exactly small, and the bedsprings in Sam’s mattress weren’t exactly quiet, and did they really believe that Dean would buy the, “Oh, by the way, Gabriel just dropped in for breakfast!” excuse every single goddamn morning?

Even Cas had noticed that Gabriel and Sam were acting weirdly. When Cas had inquired about the pair’s relationship, Dean had, like the freakin’ amazing brother he was, told the angel to just drop it. Cas, of course, had listened.

But now, as Dean, Sam and Gabriel sat around the cheap plastic table in the cheap plastic diner sipping beer from cheap plastic cups, Dean’s patience had been worn down to the width of an ant’s eyelash.

He was sandwiched between the pair, all three men on one booth couch because every other option resulted in Sam and Gabe either sitting next to or opposite each other—which, of course, was totally out of the question for two guys who had a Purely Platonic Relationship.

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