Just another squeefiend.

(part i)

Next thing you know they’re sitting around that map table, which fell dark again as soon as the angels stopped falling (around 2 a.m. last night, it was a hell of an angel shower), and Dean’s got his hands over his ears and is scowling as he says, “You did, didn’t you? You were dreaming about somebody’s rack.”

Sam flushes and protests, “I was not. And I can’t help what I dream.”

“That is not of import,” Castiel says, and leans forward over the table. “Dean. Are you still listening to thoughts?”

Dean’s talking a little too loudly. “You’re damn right I am. And it’s like having two of each of you. God, do you have to think so damn much when you talk? Agh. And now there’s Kevin. No, we’re not planning a freaking war. Stop thinking we look like a war council.”

“Oh.” Kevin stops at the edge of the room. He’s just entered from the bedroom area of the bunker. “Sorry. Wait, how did you-?”

“We’re working on figuring that out,” Sam says with a glance up at Kevin. “Dean. Can you control it at all? Like, can you try to stop it?”

“I don’t even know what it is,” Dean complains, still a little too loud, as though he’s trying to talk over a crowd. “I can’t hear myself think. Actually, that’s probably a good thing. But you’re all thinking so loud.”

His head swims. All around him there’s nothing but noise, so much noise that there’s nothing else he can concentrate on but hearing them.  What could have caused this — I’m tired, wish I could go back to bed — they’re so weird — Dean looks so peculiar like this, I wish I understood — got to stay awake to help Dean — why I feel like this — they still look like a freakin’ war council — when I look at him —

“Augh!” Dean pushes through it all  “Sam, go the hell back to sleep if you go back to sleep. I know we’re freaking weird, Kevin, this ain’t news, especially not to you. And Cas—”

And he stops, because just then the voices stopped for a moment. Like a blink, but with sound. Also, because the things he heard Cas think don’t make much sense to him, but he can tell already they’re things he doesn’t want to repeat in front of anyone else. Least of all himself.

So Dean and Sam find Castiel by the highway and take him in and Dean’s hustling the two of them back to the Men of Letters HQ when he hears Castiel say something he didn’t say. That is, Dean looks at Cas and says “I don’t think that’s true,” and Castiel says, startled, “I didn’t say anything.”

“Sure you did,” Dean says. “You were talking about how you felt like the angels falling was your fault.”

“I didn’t say that out loud,” Castiel says, “did I?”

“I don’t know. I heard it.”

Dean doesn’t think much of that, because they’re all tired and feeling like crap and it’s that kind of night, the one where things just spill out of you without your meaning to say it. But he does mind when he’s woken up the next morning by Cas’s voice.

He’s sleeping  I shouldn’t watch him. He’s still sleeping. I’ll wake him up. I should go.

“What the hell… Cas?” Dean blinks.

“I’m sorry, I should—”

“Be quiet in the morning, yeah, you’re damn right you should.”

“Dean?” Cas does that head-tilty thing that makes Dean feel off balance on his best day. So Dean groans and tries to turn over and go back to sleep.

What does he mean by be quiet? I’m sure that time I said nothing…

And Dean throws off the covers again and scowls at him. “I said, quiet!” he says. “You’re gonna wake Sam up.”

“I didn’t say a word,” Castiel says. His brow knots in confusion.

And now Dean’s freaking out, because Castiel’s looking at him with his mouth a tight line, and still Dean’s hearing him talk, a constant stream of what is this, is it possible I have still maintained some ability to communicate telepathically, perhaps my Grace isn’t completely depleted after all, but I’m not making an effort, so—

And from the next room Dean hears, clear as a bell, in Sam’s voice,

Boobs.

Yeah, now he’s well and truly freaked out.

I like when there’s a photoset of Cas and then a photoset of Dean on my dash and I can imagine that one’s a response to the other.

dotfic:

I don’t know what this is. Castiel & the Impala (with implied Dean/Castiel). Season 9 ficlet.

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1) This fic was written for charity, so I am very happy to have been able to help make a difference, even in a small, fannish way.

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1) Every so often I write something that has a certain structure to it, literary symmetry or a poetic meter or something of that sort. I always enjoy the way those stories flow, almost like music. This is one of them.

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1) Oh, I’m SO fond of the visuals in this one. Dean hosing himself off. The gas station in the middle of nowhere. Dean on a Harley. Rrrowr.

2) I really liked Castiel’s occupation in this AU. I loved the thought of him as a reclusive writer, and The Angel Detective I always thought was a cool idea.

3) This’ll sound weird, but I love the smellsin this fic. “The smell of leather and dust and sunlight” in Dean’s jacket. And there’s just such a clean-ness, with the hosing off after the dust of the road and the smell of motor oil. I feel like it’s evocative, and I’m proud of it.