static free

*loves the Fic to the point of animating scenes from it*

the Valley

crisp air
freezing pavement
a single moment between here

and there
a static-free pause
where we stop and listen

to a clocktower ringing
a clear, musical reminder
that we are

late
or early
or, somehow, missing entirely

Static - 2/13/17

People were never meant to be static

We drown like birds in a hurricane
Relentlessly pushed onward with few moments of control
Stability becomes a luxury as we are torn from hands and homes
We get accustomed to the wind as to make crazy seem calm

I constantly seek oases that dot the current I ride
Often the arms of another; more often when our paths don’t cross
I’m overextending my arms keeping those close afloat
I’m so scared that one day I’ll have to let go

Chilly Night

The technology in the Bunker, well… “Technology” hardly seems like the right word for it. It’s a system that none of them could hope to understand completely – a bizarre aggregate of Cold War-era electronics and ancient and ineffable magic. Somehow it all works to maintain the place in livability and keep the appliances running.

Dean has managed to figure out most of the kitchen. He knows how to fire up the oven, adjust the temperature in the fridge, coax the coffee maker to life. There’s an industrial-looking blender with weird symbols on the front that he absolutely cannot figure out how to turn on, though. It’s a shame, too – bet they could make some incredible margaritas with that thing.

Cas, on the other hand, has built an impressive rapport with the laundry room. He’s divined exactly which buttons to press and which offerings to burn to get even the worst blood stains out, and their clothes are always soft and static-free even though they haven’t needed to buy fabric softener in months.

Sam’s area of expertise is the heating/cooling system. He’s the only one who knows how to work the thermostat in the Bunker, if you can even call that massive, sinister panel of lights, switches, and sigils a “thermostat.” Sam calls it “non-Euclidean,” and Dean doesn’t know what the hell that means. What he does know is that the one time Sam had tried to explain it to them, Cas had thrown up and Dean had gotten a headache so severe he’d been unable to leave his bed for two days.

So, Sam is the only one who can work the thermostat. Which means that when Sam leaves to visit Eileen for the weekend and the heat gradually dies down and then stops working altogether, Dean and Cas can only triple up on their flannel shirts and try to tough it out.

Dean’s reading in bed that night, trying and failing to get his sheets warmed up enough to let him drop off to sleep, when there’s a knock at his door. Before he can respond, a large blanket-draped lump with Cas’ voice shuffles in.

“I’m very cold, Dean. Do you have any extra blankets?”

“Sorry, Cas, all the blankets in the place are either already on our beds or still in storage, and the ones in storage stink like mothballs and mold. We had to wash these like ten times in a row to make ‘em usable. Can you put on some extra clothes?”

“I’m already wearing four layers, but I’m still so cold.” The lump shivers miserably.

“Aw, buddy, I can see that. I know you’ve had a hard time staying warm since you gave up your wings. Do you, um, do you wanna bunk in here tonight?”

“I hardly think that sleeping on your floor would be any warmer than sleeping in my bed, Dean.”

“No, I mean, sleep in here, with me? Your blankets and my blankets? Share, um. Share body heat?” Dean feels himself blushing so hard, he wonders if he’s helping to warm up the room at all.

“Oh,” Cas says. Then, “Okay.”

He methodically peels off each of his blankets and adds them to Dean’s bed, then begins peeling off his clothes and dropping them to the floor.

“Whoa, uh, why are you strippin’ there, bud?”

Cas spares him a glance. “Body heat is shared most efficiently while skin-to-skin, Dean,” he intones, sliding gracefully into Dean’s bed and pressing up deliciously against Dean’s body.

“Oh,” Dean says. Then, “Okay.”

…..

When Sam returns to the Bunker at the end of the weekend, he finds Dean and Cas snuggling on the couch in the library, wrapped up in blankets, and each other. Cas’ lips are cherry-red from kissing, and there’s a prominent hickey on Dean’s throat. They greet him sheepishly, blushing and failing to keep the grins off their faces.

“How was your weekend, Sam?” Cas asks.

“Great, guys. Thanks. Eileen’s something special, man. How about you, how are you guys doing?” He’s unable to keep a teasing note out of his voice.

“Yeah, um, really good,” Dean replies, resting his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder and closing his eyes. “Worked some stuff out. Things are really good. You might want to take a look at the thermostat, though. Heat’s off.”

Sam has to suppress the urge for a triumphant fist pump. He hadn’t dared to hope that his “no-heat” plan would be the one to finally get those two past their defenses and into each other’s arms, but he’s so glad it was.

(also on ao3)

Edited to add: Eyyy, post #69 at blessyourhondahurley! :D

I’m sure I’ve said it before, but aside from pilot, I think loadmaster might be a pretty awesome job. At least in moments like this one. A U.S. Air Force Loadmaster sits on the ramp of a C-130 Hercules during airborne operations at International Jump Week (IJW), Ramstein Air Base, Germany, July 8, 2015. The 435th Contingency Response Group hosts IJW annually, to build global partnerships, foster camaraderie between U.S. and International paratroopers, and to exchange current tactics, techniques and procedures pertaining to Airborne Operations (Static Line and Military Free Fall). (U.S. Army Photo By Staff Sgt. Justin P. Morelli / Released)