It’s the almost late for work kisses when their lips just peck yours, like an unfinished goodbye.
“Alright, so we’ll spread the word. Let us know if you find anything.” Dean’s only just resisting the urge to run his hand over his eyes. Between all these cases and Cas running his own thing, it’s been…uncomfortable, since he left.
“Of course.” He’s pulling the phone away, reaching to end the call, when Cas speaks again. “Dean.” There’s something in that tone that stalls him out, something hesitant.
Dean switches it off of speaker, putting the phone up to his ear and wandering around the table, at least for the illusion of privacy. “Yeah, Cas. What’s up?” Because something is up. He can hear it in the angel’s voice.
“I-” Dean can hear the wind outside, the hush of fabric and Cas lowering his voice. So he was outside somewhere, and trying not to be overheard. “I didn’t kiss you. Before I left.”
That punches a soft laugh out of him, and Dean turns so that his back is to Sam, like hiding the stupid look on his face is going to do anything about how gentle his voice has gotten.
“It’s alright, you were in a hurry.” And Dean was loopy with sleep, still spread out on the bed and comfortable in a way that he’s come to realize only happens once he’s said yes to Cas.
Maybe it was angel mojo. But Jimmy said it was like being chained to a comet. So maybe it was just Cas being Cas. Always trying to leave things better than how he found him.
Sleep heavy and comfortable, Dean hadn’t thought anything about the fingers in his hair until hours later, when he’d woken up again and realize Cas had bailed to follow a lead.
“You can double up when you get back. That’ll make us square.”
There’s a long, eerie silence on the other end. The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand up, and he knows, he knows with a capital K that something is up. He just can’t put his finger on what.
“Of course, Dean. I-”
The words trail off. They’re still working on it.
“Me too, Cas. Give me a call when you’re heading this way, okay?”
“You guys got here just in time. This rich cat, y’know, some industrialist, he wants ‘im for the lobby of his company. He whipped out his checkbook right on the spot and I said: “Hey! You’ve got him for the rest of your life!” But, what, I gotta let go the moment I give birth? I mean, c’mon! Give me some time to cut the umbilical, man!”
We’ve Got Time by writing dungeon (Rough and fun first time with Dean in baby, but he doesn’t know you were a virgin until after- fluff ensues. Also, super bonus points because my favorite Dean gif OF ALL TIME is used at the beginning)
(I’m starting to think this gif of Dean should be included in every hump day post… what do y’all think?)
Always, Dean by deanmonish (In case you guys were wondering how I spend my weekends, this is actually a story about me and Dean)
Game Night by ilostmyshoe-79 (Who wouldn’t want to play Twister with Dean and Sam Winchester? And then have steamy sex with Dean?)
Skype/Webcam Sex by canoncanoff (Whaddaya know, a Sam fic! I read this one a while back and loved it, and it recently came across my dash again. Reread it, still loved it, decided to include it in this week’s hump day post.)
and aside from the theme of stars popping up all over the place, which is a totally different story that I’m sure some people are all over, bring up my thoughts from when I started rewatching season 6 a short time ago about sheets, since I ended up writing a lot about that:
Basic argument was that sheets were like the ~walls between reality~ or something to that effect, since they were present in Dean’s djinn dream a couple of times and the first part of the episode was a sort of descent/waking up for him as he transitioned between worlds:
Which was a theme that persisted for the first part of the season as Dean was eased back into the hunter life, so it ended up stretching further than just the djinn dream, where it was a clear marker of unreality but had a lasting suggestion of the divide between the two lives Dean tried to live.
Anyway, this is mostly to point out that there’s going to be some staggeringly obvious questions about reality posed next episode what with the theme being literally about what is imaginary or not, but I guess this is a… heads up? for the symbolism of walking through a ton of billowy laundry potentially being something like the veil between various worlds or whatever. Considering what’s up with Sam right now, I’d say keeping an eye on him vs sheets might be a good idea.
(Also: who leaves their laundry hanging up overnight?)
15. consuming a food/drink that they really dislike
“Oh, stop whining.”
“Seriously, Sammy, we’ve been walking for like an hour. How big is this place anyway?”
Sam buries his nose back in the map the overly cheerful lady at the front of the farmer’s market had given him, chewing his lip.
“Over 100 stalls. Biggest one in Kansas.”
Dean groans, shifting the ridiculously heavy bags Sam was making him carry around, weighed down with all that gross hippie crap that normally he wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. How Sam had managed to talk him into coming here in the first place is a mystery.
He ducks a lady holding a sample tray of something particularly foul smelling, trying to keep up with his brother. He wipes his forehead, pushing through the crowd, a mass of people who all looked like they’d probably spontaneously combust if they saw so much as a french fry.
French fries. Dean’s mouth starts to water. The second they get back to the car, he’s driving to the nearest greasy spoon and getting a damn decent burger.
“Ooh, Dean, look—“
He turns just to see Sam’s hair whip around the corner and out of sight, and Dean’s left there, fuming and sweating like a pig with about a gazillion bags on his arm.
“Great,” he mumbles.
“Care for a taste?”
Dean turns on his heel, about to say something snarky about how much he does not want a taste, when he sees the owner of the voice.
Totally tan, totally hot, and totally talking to him.
“Wha?” Dean says stupidly.
The man chuckles, beckoning him closer. He holds out a tray, full of something that actually didn’t look too bad.
“I had no plans to.” He was one to speak of plans; stalling Dean so he didn’t take the long drive out to the outskirts of town to pick up a discarded truck. Kent figured he could get to it the morning after. Probably.
Kent tugged the collar of Dean’s turtleneck down further, too lazy to remove the shirt for him, and kissed the newly exposed skin. A half-hum, half-chuckle rose out of his chest like a purr would from a cat.