Daylight's Haven

Lantern Festival

Tue, 22 Dec 2009 06:49:21 GMT

I've now been to three lantern festivals this year and the Winter Solstice one wins hands down. Any festival where you can escape the noisy crowds by going into a secret lantern garden, lying down under a glowing tree and listening to beautiful live meditation music has to win. I did also love the labyrinth of light, participation singing, fire dancing, aerial dancing, Japanese drumming and random acts of violins.

KK!!!!!!!!!

Sun, 20 Dec 2009 18:55:53 GMT

Happy Birthday,kikos_ai !!!!!!

[Supernatural Fic] Angels and Evergreens

Thu, 17 Dec 2009 06:23:37 GMT

Just a silly little Christmas fic.

Title: Angels and Evergreens
Characters: Castiel, Dean, Sam, Bobby
Rating: G
Genre: Humour, Friendship, Family
Word Count: 766
Spoilers: Set in season 5, but only very vague spoilers
Summary: Castiel asks some seemingly innocent questions while Sam and Dean do battle with a Christmas tree.

Angels and Evergreens
By Daylight

“Why do you have a plant attached to your car?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder at the inquisitive angel standing in the snow then went back to trying to remove the fir tree from the roof of the Impala. “Because Bobby’s an idiot.”

Castiel tilted his head and frowned at him.

From the other side of the car, Sam gave his brother a look. “Bobby asked us to pick up a tree on our way here,” he told Castiel.

“And if there’s a single scratch, a single gob of sap on my baby. He’s going to be paying for a whole new wax job,” Dean grumbled fighting with a knot in one of the many ropes holding down the tree.

“I told you we should have come here first and borrowed one of his trucks.”

“It’s freezing.” The knot finally came loose in Dean’s numb fingers and he started on another one. “No way were we going to come all the way down here just to go out again so we could get a stupid tree.”

The angel continued to watch as the brothers struggled to disentangle the ropes. “Why does Bobby need a tree?”

“For Christmas. Because for some reason the old man feels like celebrating. And you just don’t say no to Bobby.” Dean swore as the new knot refused to untie. “Why’d you have tie these so tight?”

Sam gave him another vexed look. “Because I didn’t feel like picking up a crushed tree off the highway. Just cut it with a knife.”

Dean did.

A green branch shot out and hit him in the face.

“Damn it!”

Sam grinned.

“For Christmas?” Castiel asked.

“You know, to decorate.” Dean waved his hands about as if to demonstrate. “Decking the halls and all that crap. The tree is one of the biggest Christmas traditions.”

“Actually,” interjected Sam as he pulled the last of the rope off the car, “bringing in evergreen boughs and decorating trees was originally one of the pagan traditions. Evergreens were thought to be powerful because they stayed green during winter.”

“Well, they’re certainly useful to have around if you need to take care of a pesky pagan god,” said Dean with a smirk.

Castiel glanced from one to the other. “What’s Christmas?”

The Winchesters raised their eyebrows at him.

“You don’t know what Christmas is?” asked Sam unbelievingly.

The expression on the angel’s faced remained one of confusion.

“It’s a time of year when lots of people run through giant mazes,” Dean explained with enthusiasm, “trying to find useless objects to give other people while brightly coloured lights flash on and off, and the same crappy songs are played over and over again in order to drive them mad.” To Sam, he added, “Grab that end,” pointing to the bottom of the tree.

“Dean, stop trying to confuse the angel. And I’m not taking that end. You take it.”

“But confusing Cas is so much fun,” replied Dean with a grin. “Why do I have to take the big end? You know this would have been a whole lot easier if you hadn’t insisted on getting such a large tree.”

“We never have a real full sized Christmas tree. I thought we deserved to get a big one. Besides, it looked the nicest.”

“Whatever. You’re still taking the big end.”

“Fine,” Sam concede in exasperation.

With much cursing, they managed to haul the tree off the car. Branches poked into them, sap stuck to their hands and needles covered everything.

Still struggling to get a good grip, Dean addressed Castiel once more. “Mostly it’s just a good excuse to spend time with your friends and family, eat lots of food and drink lots of eggnog, not to mention hanging shiny lights on everything.”

“But technically,” explained Sam grunting under the weight of the tree as they began making their way towards Bobby’s house, “following Christian tradition, Christmas is when we celebrate the birth of Jesus.”

“Jesus?”

The brothers stopped and stared incredulously at Castiel.

The angel stared back his eyes wide with seemingly innocent curiosity; then suddenly, the left corner of his mouth lifted in the tiniest of smirks.

Sam and Dean exchanged looks.

There soon followed a thud and the thump of something landing in the snow.

Wondering what was keeping them, Bobby wheeled out onto the porch to see what was going on. He rolled his eyes at the sight below.

“I know you boys don’t celebrate Christmas much, but traditionally, the angel goes on top of the tree, not the other way ‘round.”

Spike Milligan Quotes

Tue, 08 Dec 2009 00:40:12 GMT

I have to stop listening to Spike Milligan. It's going to make my writing weirder than it already it.

"I woke up this morning and I was still alive, so I am pretty cheerful."

“I thought I'd begin by reading a sonnet by Shakespeare, but then I thought, why should I? He never reads any of mine.”

“This silent call you make, A silence so loud I fear the world knows it's meaning If you fill every corner of a room Where can I look? If I close my eyes the silence becomes louder! There is no escape from you The only way out is in”

"I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky; I left my shoes and socks there - I wonder if they're dry?"

“For ten years Caesar ruled with an iron hand. Then with a wooden foot, and finally with a piece of string.”

“It's all in the mind, you know.”

[Supernatural Fic] In Between

Mon, 07 Dec 2009 04:00:52 GMT

This is really just my somewhat odd attempt to understand the character of Gabriel, mostly so I can use him in other fics.

Title: In Between
Characters: Gabriel
Rating: G
Genre: Character Study
Word Count: 431
Spoilers: 5x08
Summary: Gabriel was the awkward middle child.

In Between
By Daylight

Gabriel was the awkward middle child.

He was not perfect like Michael, or beautiful like Lucifer, or strong like Raphael.

He never quite fit in.

While his brothers waged war and sang songs of glory, he’d prefer to dance and talk, explore and laugh.

So he became the herald.

He flew about delivering messages, speaking the word of God, shouting heavenly news from the mountaintops.

His brothers said it suited him. He always did like to hear himself talk.

As a consequence, he found himself always in between, appropriate enough for a middle child.

He stood in between God and his creations, archangels and angels, heaven and Earth.

Of all the archangels, he was only one who cared about their younger brothers. The others preferred to look upon them as simply soldiers or minions, or at their worst, cannon fodder.

Gabriel preferred to teach them, to tease them, to encourage their curiosity. He’d pull at their feathers and tell them to fly, fly, fly…

His older brothers said he was a bad influence.

When God created the Earth and the humans, the other angels looked down on them with confusion and distaste.

But Gabriel was fascinated.

He loved watching the little humans. He loved what they created using their passion and free will.

They made him laugh.

He tried to make the other angels laugh, but they didn’t seem to understand.

Then the fighting started, bitter and bloody.

And Gabriel was still in between.

Instead of delivering messages, he flew from brother to brother trying to bring appeasement, to make them understand, to make them stop.

All he wanted was for the fighting to stop.

But they didn’t listen. Brother turned on brother and the losers were cast down to fiery depth.

A family broken.

He tried to pick up the pieces and comfort the younger ones, but it wasn’t the same anymore.

Though the war was over, his brothers still squabbled.

Angels still fell.

And God was silent.

Finally, Gabriel had enough. He fled down to the Earth and hid among the humans.

Losing himself, he happily indulged in their passions and vices. He even picked up a new face laughing at the irony of an angel disguising himself as a pagan god.

He played with the humans, teased them, judged them, sentenced them with his own style of ironic justice.

Because there was no justice in heaven anymore.

He tried to forget about his brothers.

But every now and again, he’d look up to see a shooting star.

And he’d wonder who had fallen.

[Supernatural Fic] 10 Times Castiel Met Bobby Singer

Sun, 06 Dec 2009 07:38:18 GMT

Title: 10 Times Castiel Met Bobby Singer
Characters: Castiel, Bobby (plus cameos from Dean, Sam, Ellen, Jo)
Rating: PG for some swearing
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Family
Word Count: 3388
Spoilers: Up to 5x10
Summary: After keeping careful tabs on Dean over the past year, he had found the brothers always turned to Bobby whenever things were at their worst. And Castiel wondered what it was about Bobby Singer that made them have so much faith in him.

10 Times Castiel Met Bobby Singer
By Daylight

I.

The first time Castiel met Bobby Singer, Bobby was merely the other man in the room, an obstacle standing in the way of his mission to contact Dean Winchester.

The angel made his way across the rune-covered building, mind set on his heavenly purpose, powers barely contained by his newly acquired vessel. Above him, the ceiling shook and the lights exploded into showers of sparks. The very structure hummed with the energy of his grace. Castiel was there to deliver his message to the one he had raised from perdition and he had no intention of letting anything bar his path.

The man remained at Dean’s side standing his ground as he repeatedly fired his rifle never missing his target. Even when weapon proved useless, he still did not back away. When Castiel turned to address his charge, the man swung at the angel with a bar of iron as if a simple human could harm a warrior of the lord.

Despite the attacks, Castiel held no animosity towards the man, but he needed to speak to Dean alone. He caught the iron bar and laid two fingers on the man’s forehead quietly commanding his human mind to sleep. The man’s body slowly slid to the floor.

And Castiel thought no more on him.

II.

The second time Castiel met Bobby Singer, Bobby never even knew he was there.

Finding himself frequently confused and frustrated by his charge, the angel had taken to observing Dean covertly in hopes of understanding him better. Opportunities were scarce between the numerous battles for seals, but Castiel kept finding more and more excuses to simply watch the Winchesters, unable to deny his increasing fascination with humanity.

On this occasion when he arrived invisibly in their motel room, he found Dean and Sam already in the company of their friend Bobby. The three were researching, seated haphazardly about the room. Everywhere open books were scattered and papers depicting various inscriptions were pinned to walls. They worked intently with only the intermittent exchange of words.

After awhile, Dean casually reached into his duffle bag and without any effort to hide it, pulled out a metal flask. Sam looked up from his laptop and gave him a look of mixed disapproval and disappointment, but Dean ignored his brother. Unscrewing the cap, Dean prepared to drink only to have the flask snatched out of his hand before he could begin to tip the contents into his mouth.

“Hey!” he protested.

“You’ve had more than enough,” replied Bobby. “You’re starting to smell like a brewery.” The old hunter went over to the little kitchenette and emptied the amber liquid into the sink.

“But…” said Dean, his face still lost in surprise and confusion.

Bobby grabbed one of their many bottles of holy water. “If you’re going to have this damn thing,” he said pouring the water into the flask, “you might as well keep something useful in it.”

“I nee…”

“Don’t you dare say you need it!” Turning on him, his eyes fierce, Bobby thrust the flask back into Dean’s hand. “Alcohol is not something you need. It is either something you enjoy or else it’s something that owns you. You do not need it.”

Their eye met with equal stubbornness.

Sam looked from one to the other remaining silent though his troubled face had much to say.

Dean’s jaw clenched and his fingers gripped the flask tightly. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

“No, I don’t. I thankfully have no clue what hell is like. But I do know from experience that whatever happened to you down there, alcohol ain’t going to make it any better.” Bobby put a strong hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You’re not in hell anymore, boy, and it’s about time you stopped living like you were.”

Staring at the ground, his expression closed off, Dean said nothing, but after a moment he patted the hand still resting on his shoulder.

Bobby accepted the small gesture with a nod and let go moving away.

Giving himself a mental shake, Dean looked up as if nothing had happened. “So, we figure out how to kill this banshee yet?”

Head titled to the side as he watched them, the angel frowned. This friend was obviously someone Dean trusted deeply though Castiel could not see why. He made note of it in case it came in useful in the future. Getting Dean to obey orders had proven to be an almost impossible task.

And Castiel wondered why of all people Bobby was the one Dean actually listened to.

III.

The third time Castiel met Bobby Singer, the hunter was once again unaware.

But for the first time, the angel felt like an intruder, very much aware he was trespassing in Bobby’s home. The owner’s presence was infused into every inch of the building, from the dusty piles of papers and books to the smell of whisky and gasoline to the buried echoes of forgotten hopes and dreams.

And Castiel felt unwelcome.

It was not something he had felt or even thought about before. He usually just appeared wherever he was needed without concern, but now he knew what reaction the humans would have to his unwanted intrusion and he found it hard to dismiss.

Forcing himself to focus on his mission, Castiel made his way though the house seeking his charge, rationalizing away the feeling as just another symptom of the questions that continued to plague him.

Dean had already succumbed to sleep lying still clothed on the couch, but seated at the desk beside him, Bobby remained awake. The old hunter continued to peruse his books intent on finding a way to the help Sam.

Needing to guarantee the man wouldn’t interfere with his task, the angel was forced to use his powers to send him to sleep a second time. Bobby’s mind fought back, but his eyes soon blinked shut and his head slowly fell forward to rest on the open book in front of him.

As soon as Bobby was asleep, Castiel flew past down to the basement to complete his unfortunate orders, ignoring the stirrings of more doubt inside of him.

The angel hadn’t been surprised to find the Winchesters with Bobby once more. After keeping careful tabs on Dean over the past year, he had found the brothers always turned to Bobby whenever things were at their worst.

And Castiel wondered what it was about Bobby Singer that made them have so much faith in him.

IV.

The fourth time Castiel met Bobby was also the first time they actually spoke.

And unfortunately, the angel immediately found the older hunter’s attitude to be very similar to that of Dean’s, but by that time, he was used to the language and the general lack of respect.

Despite the attitude, Castiel was honestly sorry the man had lost the use of his legs. It was also a sharp reminder of his new limitations. He might still be an angel, but there was nothing he could do to help Bobby and he was beginning to feel more foreign emotions, helplessness, guilt.

“You’re telling me you lost your mojo just in time to get me stuck in this trap the rest of my life?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Shove it up your ass.”

The man wrapped his pain and disappointment in anger and turned his back on the angel only tiredly joining in again when the conversation turned to other concerns.

Castiel had heard how the injury had occurred whispered through one of the few sources he still had available to him. It was a rare human that could resist the possession of a demon though there was little of that power visible now in the figure sitting hunched in the wheelchair.

Bobby had done it to save Dean.

And Castiel wondered where the human had found such strength.

V.

The fifth time, the angel came searching for information.

His resources now limited, Castiel arrived to ask a simple question. According to Dean, Bobby knew everything. Despite the many tomes of knowledge haphazardly piled about the hunter’s home, Castiel found that unlikely. Still, he trusted Bobby being their friend would know where the Winchesters were. He hadn’t, however, counted on the old hunter’s protectiveness and paranoia.

“So Dean should just drop everything and help you on your little quest? You didn’t seem very interested in helping him in his plans to defeat Lucifer.”

Castiel bristled fighting to retain his usual calm. “Dean insists on a futile course of action. It is not possible to defeat Lucifer without God’s help.”

“You’d be surprised by what that kid can do when he sets his mind to it.”

“He does often seem to manage the impossible,” Castiel replied glancing away.

Bobby snorted. “Then maybe you should have listened to his ideas before blaming the boys for everything your lot started.”

The fire of his temper burned growing uncomfortably uncontrollable and Castiel glared at the human. “They’re not ‘my lot’ anymore. Besides you yourself don’t appear to be doing anything to help Dean.”

Instead of flinching away, the man met his gaze with equal fury. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m stuck in this fucking chair!”

“And that’s preventing you from aiding them? I did not know all your wisdom lay in your legs.”

“You don’t understand!” Bobby’s voice bled from anger to despair. “I’m not good for anything but demon bait like this. The frigging apocalypse is on us and all I can do is answer questions over the phone!”

The wheelchair spun away as the man escaped out the door, but before Bobby broke his gaze, Castiel caught a glimpse of his soul. It was the bright shattered soul of a weary warrior feeling helpless under the weight of growing darkness.

And Castiel wondered how an angel and a human could have so much in common.

VI.

The sixth time, the hunter called him.

The Winchester brothers had been missing for three days. Bobby did not so much ask as order Castiel to find out ‘what trouble those idjits had gotten themselves into this time.’ Part of Castiel, the part that had long sat above the world in the choirs of heaven, felt he should feel affronted by being ordered about by a mere human, but another part, a part that was softly becoming more human each day, realized this was just Bobby’s way. Besides that part of him was worried about Dean and Sam too.

So the angel set off to find the Winchesters.

After it was all over, Sam and Dean were safe, and Castiel was once again reeling with disappointment in another one of his brothers, the angel dropped in on Bobby to let him know all was well.

Closing his eyes, the old hunter’s whole body sagged as the tension left him. He reached for a bottle of whisky and poured it into a glass with a shaky hand.

“Those boys are going to be the death of me,” Bobby said and threw back the shot. He offered the bottle to the angel but Castiel shook his head. “At least, this time they came out intact.”

“They are physically well though Dean was complaining repeatedly about the psychological trauma of never being able to enjoy his favourite TV shows ever again.”

“Sounds like him.” The hunter snorted. “Can’t say I ever figured that Trickster for an angel though,” he commented giving Cas a sideways glance.

Castiel looked into the distance. “Gabriel always had a thing for poetic irony.” He said no more trying to shut out the memories of a brother he’d looked up to long ago, who’d tried to bring laughter to heaven and dared speak out against the bitter fighting; then vanished without a word.

“Hey,” Bobby called out breaking Castiel from his thoughts. “Thanks.”

Castiel frowned. Gratitude was not something he was used to, from heaven or earth.

“They’re all I have left.” Bobby sighed looking down at his empty glass. “If anything happened to them…”

The angel nodded, the depth of Bobby’s feelings for Sam and Dean hitting him for the first time.

And Castiel wondered how such a love could survive all the pain and darkness of their turbulent mortal lives.

VII.

The seventh time Castiel met Bobby, he stayed the night.

Weeks spent searching for the Colt had left the Winchesters weary and even Castiel was feeling tired, the new limits to his powers weighing on him, so they stopped over at Bobby’s to rest. The angel had only intended to ensure the brothers’ safety, but before he knew it, Sam was setting up a place for him to sleep on the couch, Dean was forcing him to change into an old pair of clothes, and Bobby was joking about angels snoring.

Though he was tired, he lay on the couch a long while simply staring at the ceiling, preoccupied by novel sensations, the feel of different clothes on his skin, even the simple act of lying down was still new to him. The night left the house cold and dark and it creaked ominously, but Castiel could sense the presences of the others in the house. Dean and Sam remained faint hidden by the Enochian sigils, but Bobby’s soul still shone brightly. The familiarity of the presence brought comfort, and focused on that, he let his body shut down and his mind fall into unconsciousness.

When morning came, Bobby insisted the angel join them for breakfast despite Castiel’s protests that he didn’t require food. Suddenly, the angel found himself enmeshed in the midst of their routines, between coffee, bantering, sausages and dishes. He became lost in the human rituals, not quite understanding their purpose, but the others seemed to relish every little moment as if it was all they had. These simple things made them happy and Castiel could feel the peace and contentment wash through them into him.

As they left, Bobby called out for them to come back anytime they needed. It wasn’t until hours later and on a different continent that the angel realized the hunter had meant him too.

And Castiel wondered if this was what humans meant when they spoke of home.

VIII.

The eighth time Bobby came to their aid.

Proving that even a wheelchair couldn’t stop him from saving their butts as he himself said, Bobby arrived just in time to rescue Castiel, Dean and Sam from a trap set by a group of demons who’d unfortunately proven cleverer than most. The old hunter then spent half an hour yelling at them for being careless ‘idjits’.

Castiel took the tirade stone faced while Sam and Dean looked suitably contrite gazing at the carpet. Once Bobby was done and had left the motel room for some fresh air, the angel turned to the Winchesters.

“I don’t understand why he’s so angry. It was not our intention to be caught by the demons.”

The brothers exchanged knowing smiles.

“He’s not really angry,” explained Sam.

Castiel’s forehead furrowed. “Then why was he yelling?”

“He’s only yelling because he was worried about us,” said Dean.

The frown remained fixed on Castiel’ face.

“It’s how he shows he cares.”

“By yelling?”

The brothers shrugged in unison.

“I wouldn’t have to if you three boys bothered to look after yourselves!” Bobby yelled from outside.

And Castiel wondered when he had become one of Bobby’s boys.

IX.

The ninth time was on the eve of battle.

It was a gathering of warriors with Bobby’s home as their base.

Castiel watched from a distance as the Harvelle women were greeted like long lost family. The angel watched as Bobby grumbled half-heartedly when Jo kissed his bearded cheek, as Ellen laughed with a wide smile and met Bobby’s gruffness with a spirit equally strong, as Jo smirked and saw through everything Dean said, as Ellen looked Sam over carefully as if she didn’t believe him when he assured her he was fine.

And Castiel was welcomed, thrown into the joking and the drinking. Thanks to Ellen, he consumed a surprisingly large amount of alcohol and marvelled at the strange tilt it added to the world. Smiles were exchanged. Stories were shared. Jo happily regaled him with the tale of how she’d first met Dean and how she’d almost broken his nose. Dean looked sheepish. Sam gave a rare laugh.

They were trying to forget what they would be facing, but Castiel’s mind didn’t let him forget. He knew what was at stake. He knew the consequences. They knew too, but still their souls resisted the darkness.

Bobby remained slightly apart unable to hide his bitterness at having to stay behind. He tried to hide his fear too, but Castiel could tell by the way he hustled them into position for a photograph, that the hunter was afraid the photo would be all he’d have left.

Near the end of the night, Bobby broke the warm drone of conversation by raising a glass and said, “To us, the best of the best, the ones who keep going no matter what. Here’s to kicking that devil in the ass.”

With cries of agreement, the others raised their drinks too and in that moment, it seemed as if they were unstoppable.

Then it all went wrong.

When they returned, Castiel watched from distance as Bobby rolled up to the brothers reaching for their arms and yanking them down to his level so he could grasp them tightly. Castiel watched as Sam and Dean told their tale and Bobby’s face crumbled with sorrow and despair. And as the angel watched, Bobby turned and caught sight of him. The expression on his face might have been one of relief, but all Castiel felt was the sharp cut of grief and it was too much. He fled to the roof.

While Bobby and the Winchesters said their goodbyes inside, Castiel stood on guard above watching the stars. The ever-present darkness of the apocalypse was growing heavier.

And Castiel wondered how any of them could keep going when they had lost so much.

X.

The tenth time was unintentional.

He’d been caught, his brothers and sisters surrounding him, heavenly warriors straight-backed and sure of their convictions. They fought with the confidence of those who had battled evil for millennia, and now, to them, Castiel was that evil. Powers still diminished, Cas fought back with even greater ferocity until he could fight no more; then injured, he fled.

Desperate to lose pursuit, he flew from place to place, island, desert, city, mountain, until his wings gave out and he found himself falling to his knees, his palms scrapping against the ground beneath him. Exhausted, he knelt there breathing heavily, blood dripping from his wounds, without the strength to even raise his head. It wasn’t until he heard the sound of wheels scrapping through gravel and a familiar gruff voice above him that he realized where he was.

“Hey, Feathers. You okay? Cas?”

All Castiel could do was shake his head.

“Well, I can’t have you bleeding on my driveway, so you’d better come inside.”

Cas felt the urge to laugh. It was so sudden and strange it terrified him.

“Come on. You’ll have to lean on my chair. It’s not like I can carry you.”

The angel reached up and grabbed the handle of the wheelchair slowly pulling himself onto shaky legs. For a moment, the world spun and darkened at the edges. When it finally settled and Cas came back to himself, he found he was leaning heavily against the chair and Bobby was staring at him with eyes full of worry. The man held tightly on to him with one hand while the other kept the chair steady.

“You’re going to be fine, Cas. You hear me? Just make it to the house and I’ll take care of you,” said Bobby both as a command and a plea. “Ready?”

Cas took a deep breath and nodded.

As they slowly made their way towards Bobby’s home, the only thing the angel was aware of beyond the pain and exhaustion was the voice encouraging him to keep going and telling him everything was going to be alright. It pulled him forward through the darkness.

And Castiel finally understood.

AN: For reference, I. 4x01, II. made up, III. 4x21, IV. 5x02, V. from my fic Broken Pieces, VI. 5x08, VII. from my fic Breakfast at Bobby's, VIII. made up, IX. 5x10, X. made up.

Quoty Quote

Sat, 05 Dec 2009 03:24:50 GMT

It's just fun to be born. Where do we go from here?
- Sister Constance Murphy, Age 105

Google has failed me

Thu, 03 Dec 2009 07:29:04 GMT

Help please!

Could someone define the expression 'poetic irony' for me?

I just want to make sure it means what I think it means (ie poetic justice with a side of irony)

ETA: No one seems to know so I shall just use it and be damned.

Happy-Making-Free-For-All Comment Fic Meme

Thu, 03 Dec 2009 04:16:55 GMT

Pimping this because it has a lot of wonderful fics already, but a lot more prompts need to be filled.

And also contains, two fics by me which is a first since I always mean to participate in these things, but am usually useless at coming up with anything.

(Note: Gen fic only)

[Supernatural Fic] Over A Few Drinks

Sun, 22 Nov 2009 20:48:56 GMT

Because everyone else is doing it, for the Oye Como Va - a Castiel, Jo & Ellen comment!fic/art meme, but mostly because this scene appeared in my head and wouldn't leave me alone.

Title: Over A Few Drinks
Characters: Ellen, Jo, Castiel (with Dean, Sam, and Bobby cameos)
Rating: PG for one swear
Genre: Humour, Family, Fluff, and a little Angst
Word Count: 1785
Spoilers: 5x10
Summary: Extended scene from 5x10 from Ellen's POV
A.N.: Probably should mention that I don't actually drink ever so I apologize if anything is off.

Over A Few Drinks
By Daylight

The first thing Ellen said when they’d finished discussing how they were going to kill the devil was, “I need a drink.”

“Help yourself,” said Bobby not bothering to look up from the old box he was searching through. “You know where it is.”

Ellen nodded and headed for the fridge where she grabbed four beers, immediately handing two to Dean.

“You read my mind,” he said with a smirk. “Thanks, Ellen.” He tossed the extra beer to his brother and they wandered off into Bobby’s library for a little last minute research.

Ellen figured Bobby wasn’t up for beer seeing as he was so intent on finding whatever it was he was looking for so she handed the third bottle to her daughter who smiled in thanks. Popping off the top of her own, Ellen closed her eyes and took a long, deep drink.

When she opened her eyes once more, she found the angel watching her.

Ellen had almost forgotten their sixth member which was odd considering the angel had an intense presence even when silent. She found Castiel’s whole manner eerie and alien. It set off all her instincts for the supernatural in a bad way. She’d be inclined to distrust him if it weren’t for two things: one the Winchesters had introduced him as a friend and two, and more importantly, they treated him like family. Which was odd considering they took family stuff pretty seriously and because Castiel seemed to be nothing like them, from his scruffy suit to his overly stoic attitude.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “What? Never seen a lady drink before?”

Castiel’s expression changed almost imperceptibly with only the smallest deepening of the crease in his nose. “The consumption of alcohol is a human habit I’ve still yet to fully understand.”

Ellen exchanged glances with Jo. “Well, if you want the simplest explanation, I’d say we drink because it makes us feel good,” said the older woman.

“I’ve had beer before,” he replied in his usual monotone. “I didn’t feel any different.”

A slow smile spread across Ellen’s face. “Then maybe it’s time you tried some of the good stuff.”

Putting down her beer, she opened one of the cupboards and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a couple shot glasses. She set them on the small kitchen table and sat down. Jo grew a similar smile and sat beside her mother beckoning Cas to sit as well. He took the seat across from Ellen watching as she poured out the whiskey. Ellen had to try hard not to laugh at the innocent curiosity in his gaze. She quickly downed her shot then pushed the second towards the angel.

“Go on.”

In a movement that mimicked hers almost exactly, Castiel knocked down the whiskey slamming the glass back down on the table. Both Ellen and Jo watched him intently waiting for him to choke or cough or sputter, but instead he remained impassive as a statue staring off into the distance.

“Well…?” asked Jo.

“It’s warm,” Cas finally pronounced.

“That’s a start,” said Ellen and she poured out two more shots. “I take it angels don’t normally drink,” she commented passing over his second drink.

“It’s a human vice we don’t usually partake in.” He drank his shot at the same time as Ellen still showing no reaction to the alcohol.

“You don’t seem to have any problem partaking in human vices now,” Jo noted.

Cas sighed. “Dean’s a bad influence.”

Ellen snorted. “Don’t I know it.”

Jo rolled her eyes and took another slug of her beer.

“You seem to be handling your liquor pretty well for a first timer,” Ellen noted after they’d both had a third shot.

“I believe I possess a superior constitution.”

Stopping just as she was about to pour another round, Ellen stared at the angel. “Is that a challenge?”

Castiel’s forehead furrowed. “I was merely stating a fact.”

“Sounded like a challenge to me. Jo, fetch another bottle of whiskey and all the shot glasses you can find.”

Jo shook her head, but got up to do as her mother had asked. “Bobby’s going to be pissed.”

“The man said ‘Help Yourself.’ ‘S not our fault he didn’t specify as to what or how much.”

The amount of shot glasses Bobby owned proved to be surprisingly large. Ellen lined up five in front of her and five in front of Cas, and with skills only gained from years working as a bartender, she poured whiskey into each without spilling a single drop.

“What’s this?” asked Castiel.

“This is what we call a little drinking game,” explained Ellen. “We each take turns, five shots at a time. Winner’s the one who drinks the most. Loser’s the one who ends up sleeping it off under the table.”

“I have no wish to sleep under the table.”

“Then you’d better hope that angelic constitution of yours holds out.” Picking up her first glass, Ellen threw the drink back then smoothly went through each of her shots without any hesitation. She smirked as she set the last empty glass on the table. “Alright, big boy. Go.”

The angel went through his shots so fast Ellen began to wonder if he even needed to breath. Once he was done his eyes drifted wide with childish wonder.

“I think I’m starting to feel something.”

Jo stared at him incredulously her shoulders beginning to shake with suppressed giggles. Ellen kicked her in the shin causing Jo to straighten up, but the laughter still danced in her eyes.

Meanwhile, Castiel was slowly swinging his head back and forth and tilting it from side to side. “I think my balance is off.”

“Better not go flying then,” said Jo, her lips still twitching. “Wouldn’t want you crashing into anything.”

Castiel looked affronted. “I don’t crash into things.”

“You’ve never been drunk,” Ellen pointed out and found herself trying to suppress her own giggles as Cas switched from tough, stoic angel back to curious child. She could just imagine him contemplating what it was like to fly drunk and she hoped he wasn’t actually stupid enough to try it. “Sure you want to keep going?”

“I see no reason not to continue.”

“If you want to back out…”

Castiel’s serious angel gaze had returned. “I am up for the challenge.”

“Getting nervous, Mom?” asked Jo smirking at her.

“Now then Joanna Beth, just whose side are you on?” Ellen demanded.

Jo raised her hands. “I know better than take sides. I just happened to notice that it’s your turn and you haven’t poured yet.”

“Sometimes I wonder exactly where you got that smart mouth of yours, young lady,” said Ellen as she poured out the next round.

“It’s called genetics.”

Castiel glanced from one to the other. “Is this the normal way human children treat their mothers?”

“Only the sassy ones,” replied Ellen.

Jo responded by sticking her tongue out at her.

“I suppose it’s my fault for bringing her up in a bar. Not that I could keep her out mind you.”

“Don’t you dare tell him that story,” said Jo levelling her finger at her mother.

Ellen ignored her. “You see one evening when she was just eight, I put her to bed in the back room before the rush, thinking she was nice and settled down. An hour later, I look from up from serving drinks and see this crowd gathering in the corner. I go over to see what the commotion is about and what do I see in the middle of this circle of big burly hunters…”

“I said don’t you dare,” repeated Jo getting up, hands on the table one knee still on her chair.

“…but my little baby girl in pigtails and wearing…”

“You’re just trying to avoid your turn.”

“Am not,” countered Ellen before continuing. “…and wearing Bambi pyjamas…”

“Drink up.” Jo’s posture was fierce, but her voice was full of laughter.

“…as she told them a story her daddy had told her about a wendigo…”

“Stop it. Drink up.”

Ellen finally acquiesced and downed her first shot.

Still laughing, Jo headed off towards the fridge. “I’m going to get another beer.”

The departure of Jo didn’t stop Ellen from continuing the tale. “All of the hunters were completely rapt by her story and Jo just stood there staring right back at them, not the least bit unsettled by the fact that they were all over twice her size and carrying at least three weapons each.” Ellen drank another shot. “A couple of months back, I saw Jo use the same ferocity to stare down a real wendigo, the biggest you ever saw, just before she torched the bitch.”

“You’re very proud of your daughter,” Castiel observed watching Ellen with his head tilted slightly to the side.

“Of course.” She glanced to the other side of the room where Jo was talking to Dean.

Ellen’s eyes narrowed. She could tell what that boy was after just by the way he stood and though she loved Dean dearly, she’d send him back to hell if he dared use her baby like that. Schooling herself, she looked away, because the truth was Jo had grown up quite a bit in the past couple of years and the girl could fight her own battles now, at least when it came to men. Ellen downed her last three shots.

“This isn’t the life I wanted for her,” she told Cas, “but I have to admit, she’s done a lot of good. I am very proud of her.”

“You love her despite her disobedience?”

Gazing off into the distance, Ellen smiled. “Sometimes I think it just makes me love her more.”

For a moment, Ellen thought she saw a wistful look in the angel’s eyes, but before she could wonder about it, they were interrupted by the return of Jo who rejoined them with a satisfied smile on her face. Smiling fondly back at her daughter, Ellen rubbed a hand across her back.

“So,” said Jo nodding towards Castiel. “Managed to get the angel drunk yet?”

“Not quite,” Ellen replied.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the two of them. “I see. Then this game is simply a conspiracy to get me drunk.”

“Of course,” agreed Jo. “How else are we supposed to get you to crack a smile?”

The angel stared at them a moment then turned to his drinks going though the whiskey as quickly as he had the first time. After he’d finished, Ellen and Jo watched expectantly, but he simply raised his eyebrows challengingly at them.

Ellen leaned back in her chair. “This is going to be tougher than I thought.”

Awwww....

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 17:58:37 GMT

New orca baby

Link to article.

[Supernatural Fic] Time for Care and Time for Sleep

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 01:40:50 GMT

Okay, I admit it. This is just a plain and simple, sterotypical hurt/comfort fic. I just needed to get this scene out of my head. *wanders off to write something more deep and original, or possibly just completely silly*

Title: Time for Care and Time for Sleep
Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel
Rating: PG for blood and swearing
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Word Count: 2384
Spoilers: Up to 5x04
Summary: Castiel interrupts Dean's sleep but he has a very good reason.

Time for Care and Time for Sleep
By Daylight

The motel room had pea soup green walls and mud brown carpets. One of the lamps was missing, the chairs were mismatched and the table tilted at an odd angle as if two of the legs were shorter than the others. It also smelt significantly of rotting fruit, but Dean didn’t notice any of that. Dean didn’t notice the cracks in the ceiling, the odd yellowish stains, or the cockroaches crawling in the corners. All Dean saw when he opened the door were the beds.

He made straight for the closest one, dumping his duffle and falling face first into the pillow. The mattress was hard, the covers were stiff and starchy, and the sheets smelt of mildew, but he didn’t care. He was too busy revelling in the blissful sensation of being able to lie down and no longer carry his heavy weight on his tired feet.

Dimly he heard the sound of Sam entering, shutting the door and letting his own bag fall to the floor. Footsteps made their way passed him and the other bed creaked as Sam sat down. The younger Winchester let out a long tired sigh. Dean wanted to make a comment about how wimpy and girly it sounded, but all he managed was a grunt. Soon, he felt himself drifting off, sensations dimming as he passed into sleep, but a noise suddenly brought him back to consciousness or at least it tired to.

“Dean, your phone’s ringing.”

“No, it isn’t,” Dean mumbled into his pillow even as the cell continued to play its little tune.

“Do you want me to answer it?”

“No.”

“It might be important,” Sam pointed out already getting up and reaching for the pocket of the coat Dean was still wearing.

Dean slapped his brother’s hand away. “Paws off,” he grumbled, but it was too late. He was awake now and he got the feeling neither the phone nor his brother was going to leave him alone any time soon. So letting out his own sigh, he rolled over and pulled out the cell. “What?” he growled into it.

“Dean,” greeted the voice of Castiel.

The elder Winchester groaned. Cas’ voice was the last he wanted to hear. The angel might be his friend, but he never actually called with anything good. It was always demon this and apocalypse that. Just for once he’d like for Cas to call him up to invite him out for drinks or down to a strip club or something. Not that that was very likely considering the angel’s general attitude to such things, but he could still dream.

“I need your help. Where are you?”

It seemed he would have to keep dreaming.

“No. No. No. No,” Dean repeated hoping that would help it sink in.

“Dean…”

He was really getting irritated by the way people kept saying his name like that. Glancing over at his brother, he saw Sam shrug indicating the decision was up to him, but he could tell from Sam’s slumped posture and worn out expression that he wasn’t ready for another hunt so soon either.

“No. We’re not up for God hunting or demon hunting or Colt hunting right now,” Dean declared. “It’s sleep time, Cas. Call me in 24 hours and I might consider it, but no sooner.”

“This doesn’t concern that and I don’t believe it can wait.”

“Then what is it?”

“I… I need your help.”

There was a catch in the angel’s voice, a rare show of emotion, something that made Dean’s guts twist and every one of his instincts tell him to sit up and take notice. They fought against his desire for peace and sleep, and finally won. Moaning, he rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Myrtle Creek, Oregon, the Slumberville Motel, room 11.”

The line was immediately disconnected. Dean put the phone away and threw an arm over his face already regretting his decision. There was a silent pause, just long enough for Dean to begin wondering why Cas hadn’t appeared instantly like he usually did, before he heard the announcing flutter of wings. He stayed lying there almost drifting back into sleep and hoping vainly that he might somehow be able to help from the comfort of bed when he heard two things that spiked enough adrenaline to bring him instantly to his feet.

The first was his brother swearing in a way that set all of Dean’s nerves on edge.

“Shit…”

The second was what Cas said in response.

“It won’t stop bleeding.”

Dean was standing before he’d even fully processed what the angel had said. Castiel stood stiffly at the far end of the room. The normally unchanging appearance of the angel was marred by a large trail of blood coming from his shoulder and covering the entire right side of his trench coat. The expression on his pale face was one of mild concern mixed with some confusion and possibly even a little fear. It seemed very inconsistent with the enormity of his injury, but for Cas showing that much emotion was the equivalent of full on panic.

“Shit,” said Dean mimicking his brother.

Sam was ahead of him already reaching the angel and yanking him over to the end of his bed. He removed the bloody trench coat and forced Cas to sit down. Years spent patching each other up after hunts gone wrong set in and they went into automatic mode. Dean grabbed a towel from the bathroom as Sam quickly removed Cas’ jacket, tie and shirt. Castiel offered no resistance or help, letting himself be manipulated and watching with a slightly perplexed expression which would have been funny if things hadn’t been so dire.

“Crap,” said Dean swearing again when he finally got a good look at the large hole in Cas’ shoulder.

“It goes all the way through,” Sam informed him as he pulled out the first aid kit.

Dean shook his head resisting the urge to swear a third time as he glanced at Cas’ back and saw the exit wound he’d missed before. Taking the towel, he pressed it firmly against both of the sluggishly leaking holes. Cas winced and tried to flinch away, but the brothers held him still. The reaction surprised Dean. Somewhere along the line, he’d gotten the impression that angels didn’t actually feel pain. He could clearly recall Castiel not even blinking when he’d stabbed him the day they’d first met. Obviously from Cas’ response, it wasn’t true. He could now recognize the lines of pain around Cas’ eyes and he really didn’t like seeing them there.

While Dean kept pressure on the wounds, Sam went over to the sink and filled an old plastic bottle with water. He brought it back and handed it to the angel. “Here. You need to replace the fluids you lost.”

Cas stared at it presumably not used to the necessity of filling such a human need, but after a moment, he obediently drank. Sam dug through the first aid kit and pulled out a bottle of pills. Shaking two into the palm of his hand, he offered them to Castiel. Cas just looked at them in confusing.

“They’re painkillers,” Sam explained.

An image flashed through Dean’s mind of Castiel popping pills with a half-mad grin on his face and a broken look in his eyes, and he found himself fighting the urge to knock the pills out of Sam’s hand.

Cas took the pills and placed them in his mouth.

“Swallow. Don’t chew,” Sam said quickly as he handed him back the water.

The angel managed to swallow the pills pulling a face as he did so. Dean added it to the expressions he’d never expected to see Castiel make.

“What happened, Cas?” Dean asked as they waited for the bleeding to stop. “How come your angel healing mojo isn’t kicking in?”

“I was careless. One of my sisters caught up to me.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Another angel did this?”

Cas met his startled look with a steady stare. “All the angels have been ordered to kill me on sight.”

Neither of the brothers knew what to say to that.

“So your mojo doesn’t work on injuries made by other angels?” Dean said after a pause.

“Only wounds that have been dealt by an angel’s blade,” Castiel replied. “The blade pierces not only the body of our vessels but our true forms as well.”

Dean remembered seeing Cas wielding one of those short silver blades as he was forced to kill two of his brothers. He also remembered noting exactly where the blade had been thrust into the others angels in order to kill them. Glancing back down at Cas’ wounds, now covered by the blood stained towel, Dean realized exactly how close Castiel had come to dying just like them in a brief flash of light and he swallowed convulsively.

“Did you kill her?” he asked, only realizing after he’d said it that it probably wasn’t the best question to ask.

Gazing at the ground, Cas didn’t answer, but the look on his face was enough.

“I’m sorry,” said Sam quietly.

The angel remained silent.

After a few more minutes, Dean carefully peeled the towel away from the wounds and decided the bleeding had stopped enough for them to start stitching. “Grab the whiskey,” he told his brother.

“Can angels even get infections?” Sam questioned as he fetched the needed bottle from Dean’s duffle.

Castiel didn’t offer to enlighten them so Dean shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.” He took the whiskey and unscrewed the cap. “This is going to sting,” he warned Cas.

The angel nodded.

Dean wasn’t surprised this time when Cas flinched from the pain or even when he gasped. He was surprised however when the lights suddenly flickered and sparks came from the television.

“Um, Cas,” said Dean glancing around slightly nervous. “Was that you?”

“Sorry.” The angel managed to look mildly sheepish.

The Winchesters exchanged looks. It was a sharp reminder that even though Cas was injured, he still definitely wasn’t human.

“’S alright. Just try not to blow anything up. I’d really rather not have to explain that to the owner.”

Once the wounds were clean, the brothers began stitching. Sam took the back and Dean the front doing both at once in order to get things over quickly. Cas remained quiet throughout, but Dean could tell from the tension in his shoulders that even with the painkillers, the angel was still feeling a significant amount of pain. Dean was glad that though the wound was deep, it wasn’t too long so it didn’t require too many stitches. When they finished, Dean wrapped some gauze around the shoulder and taped it into place.

“All done,” he said letting out a sigh of relief.

Castiel immediately tried to get up only to find his legs would no longer support him.

“Whoa,” exclaimed Dean as the brothers steadied the wobbly angel before he fell over. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“You said you were done,” replied Cas frowning. “I should leave.”

“We’re done patching you up, but you still need to take it easy for awhile,” Sam explained. “You lost a lot of blood.”

They lowered the angel back down until he was seated on the bed once more. He continued to sway even then. His normally intense eyes were becoming cloudy and his complexion had become even paler. Dean had a bad feeling. He reached out placing the back of his hand against Cas’ cheek. The skin was clammy and much too cool.

“Not good.”

Sam imitated the movement and frowned. “He’s going into shock.”

Dean put a hand on the angel’s good shoulder. “You are not going anywhere.”

He expected a protest, but all the energy seemed to have left Castiel. It felt like they were caring for a sleepy child as they removed his shoes and settled him into the bed. He remained quiet and still as they piled all the blankets on top of him and used a pillow to prop up his feet.

“You still with us, Cas,” Dean asked as he tucked him in.

The angel’s head nodded imperceptibly. “I feel…” Cas’ lips moved silently for a moment in dazed uncertainty. “I feel… unwell,” he finally concluded.

Dean snorted. “I’m not surprised. A good portion of your blood is currently decorating your trench coat. Exactly how long did you stand around bleeding before you decided to call?”

“I was uncertain as to whether or not the bleeding would stop on its own.”

“Remind me to give you a few lessons on basic first aid,” replied Dean rolling his eyes. He noticed that the angel’s eyes were beginning to droop. “But I’ll save them for later. Why don’t you get some sleep.”

“I don’t sleep,” Castiel mumbled his eyes already closed.

“Sure. Try telling me that again in two minutes.”

But Cas’ made no reply, his breathing already settled into an even rhythm.

Dean pressed two fingers to the pulse point in Castiel’s neck and rested his other hand against his forehead. He was relieved to find that Cas already felt a little warmer. Taking a step back, Dean let himself collapse onto the edge of the other bed, his exhaustion returning as everything caught up with him. He leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees as he watched the sleeping angel.

Eventually, a hand on his shoulder made him look up. Sam was gazing down at him with a look of sympathy but there was a slight teasing glint in his eyes as well.

“Lay off,” Dean said shrugging off the hand and trying to re-establish his macho manner. “It’s not like you haven’t done the same for me or me for you.”

“I know.” Sam gave him a warm smile. “He’s going to be alright,” he said.

“Of course he is. This is Castiel. He’s like us. Not even death can keep him down,” replied Dean rubbing his forehead worriedly even as he said it.

“I can watch him for awhile if you’d like to get some sleep.”

“No. No, it’s alright. I don’t mind staying up,” Dean said eyes still on his injured friend. Suddenly, sleep didn’t seem so important anymore.

A.N.: Love and thanks to everyone who reviews. I always mean to thank people individually, but I get caught up in other things and forget, then feel guilty. So, Thank you!!

[Supernatural Fic] Gryphons, Bazookas and Turtles

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 07:52:26 GMT

I have a thing for mixed genres in music, TV and writing, which is probably why this fic starts out extremely dark and serious and ends completely silly.

Title: Gryphons, Bazookas and Turtles
Characters: Dean, Castiel, Sam
Rating: PG for blood and swearing
Genre: Weird combination of humour, action/adventure and drama
Word Count: 1943
Spoilers: Up to 5x04
Summary: Sam, Dean and Castiel get stuck down in the sewers of New York City and find absolutely no turtles.
A.N.: Could vaguely be considered a sequel to my other fic The Painted Turtle of Healing.

Gryphons, Bazookas and Turtles
By Daylight

Three bloody figures dashed through a door into a dark room. When the last had made it through, they slammed the door shut bracing their shoulders against it. As soon as they had, something large and shrieking hit the other side. The entire room shook, the walls and floor creaking and cracking. The trio were almost thrown back, but they regained their footing and braced themselves once more. The pounding came again and again mixed with more shrieking and the piercing sound of something sharp scratching and scrapping. It slammed against the door until they thought the whole structure would come down, but it finally stopped and the inhuman screeching trailed off into the distance accompanied by the sound of things smashing and shattering.

The three waited until they were sure it had moved on before sighing in relief. They slid down until they were seated shoulder to shoulder their backs against the door, all breathing heavily. Eventually, one of them, the last to make it through the door, looked up, finally taking in their surroundings.

“Where the hell are we?” asked Dean.

Blinking, Sam raised his head, absentmindedly wiping away a small trail of blood from his forehead. “Umm…” He shone his flashlight across the depths of the room. It was small and dusty with cement walls and contained nothing but a scattering of garbage on the floor and a single broken lightbulb on the ceiling. “Some sort of storage room maybe.”

Dean winced as he put pressure on a particularly deep cut on his right arm.
“In other words, a dead end. Great. Just great.”

“We do have another way out,” Sam replied nodding his head to the man seated between them.

“Easy for you to say.” Dean scowled. “Cas, you up for a little flying? I think we’d better get out of here before that thing decides to give breaking the door down another try.”

“I need a few minutes,” replied the angel.

Frowning, Dean raised his flashlight to get a better look at Castiel. The angel was leaning forward, his face pale, his eyes pinched tightly closed. Dean swallowed convulsively when he saw the cause. There were five deep, red gouges across the angel’s chest.

“Shit.”

The brothers exchanged alarmed looks over Cas’ head, but another glance at the wounds revealed that they were already closing. The slashes which were so deep they could see glimpses of bone were slowly but visibly knitting together. Thank God for miraculous angel healing. Sam and Dean were lucky to have received only comparatively shallow scratches and bruises from being tossed around. If they’d gotten wounds like that, they’d be busy bleeding their life out all over the floor. Still, it didn’t look as if angel healing made the pain any less.

“Are you going to be alright?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” Castiel gritted out through his clenched teeth.

Dean grimaced, but there wasn’t anything he could actually do so he leant his head back and settled in to wait. Of course, he wasn’t one to stay silent for long.

“Dude, that was a gryphon.”

Sam nodded. “I noticed.”

“A frigging gryphon.”

“Uh huh.”

“In New York.”

“Yup.”

“In the sewers!” Dean rubbed the back of his head. “I mean rats, sure. Alligators, maybe, but a gryphon?”

Shoulders slumped wearily, Sam sighed. “Someone probably summoned it here.”

“And have I mentioned the fact that there was absolutely no sign of the Colt?”

Sam bristled. “I didn’t guarantee that it’d be here. All we knew was there was a magical creature in the sewers guarding something. It could have very well been the Colt.”

“Well, it wasn’t. It was just a useless pile of gold and jewels.” Dean smacked a hand against his forehead. “And I can’t believe I just called gold useless.” He glanced back at the door a thoughtful expression on his face.

“No, Dean,” intoned Sam.

“What?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “We are not going back for the treasure.”

“It was just a thought,” Dean replied with a shrug.

“And what were you planning to do with the gryphon? Pull its tail again?”

“I was trying to distract it before it ate Cas for dinner!”

“For which I am very grateful,” Castiel put in, still looking pale but at least in less pain.

“You’re welcome,” said Dean smiling smugly.

Sam shook his head. “But did you really need to keep taunting it and calling it a big ugly kitty?”

“Well, maybe if we’d been better prepared.”

“How was I supposed to know there’d be a gryphon down here? They’re usually only found in Asia.”

“I know and they’re usually supposed to be the size of wolves not the size of elephants!” Dean cried. “If we’d known, we could have brought better weapons. Cas could have gotten a bigger sword. I could have had a bazooka.”

“For the last time, we are not getting a bazooka!” Sam yelled hands raised.

“What’s a bazooka?” asked Cas looking from one to the other.

“A really cool, really big gun,” explained Dean. “Which would have made fighting the gryphon a hell of a lot easier.”

“How exactly would you even get your hands on one?”

“I’ve got a few contacts.”

“And we’d hide it where?” Sam questioned eyebrows raised. “It wouldn’t exactly fit in the trunk of the impala.”

“We’d store it somewhere and only bring it out for special occasions,” Dean insisted.

Sam began to bang the back of his head against the door.

Ignoring his brother, Dean turned his attention back to Castiel. “How are you doing?”

“Better,” stated the angel. His clothes remained torn and bloody, but the gashes had become merely dark red streaks and his face was back to its normal stoic expression having lost the worn lines of pain.

“Great. How ‘bout getting us out of here?”

Cas frowned. “I still require a little more time to recover.”

“Could you hurry it up? I think there might be rats in here,” Dean said shinning his flashlight into the dark shadowed corners of the room.

“Give him a break, Dean,” Sam spoke rubbing tiredly at his face. “He’s exhausted, just like us. We’ve been chasing every single possible lead on the Colt for months without any breaks.”

“Yeah well, it’s kind of important.”

“We’re not going to be able to make much use of it if we’re dead on our feet.”

The brothers glared at each other until Dean finally closed his eyes and looked away with a sigh.

“Don’t think I don’t know the real reason you dragged us down into these sewers,” he said.

Sam frowned. “What’s that?”

“Come on, there’s nothing I don’t know about you. You’ve loved them ever since you were a little kid. Admit it. You jumped at the chance to come down here and see for yourself.”

“See what?”

“I bet you were even hoping we might run into them.”

“Dean…”

The older Winchester leaned over towards Cas and said in a fake whisper, “Did you know that when Sam was young he wanted to be a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?”

The angel turned towards the younger brother, his head titled, his expression one of completely serious curiosity and confusion.

Sam huffed. “Dean!”

Dean smirked. “You should have seen him running around with his little, homemade purple mask fighting off evil foot soldiers with a broom handle.”

“I will never understand this obsession with turtles,” said Castiel.

“It’s not me, just him,” Dean insisted. “He wanted to be Donatello ‘cause he’s the geeky one.”

The look on Sam’s face clearly indicated he was busy debating different ways of killing his brother.

“I, of course, would be Leonardo,” announced Dean with a grin. “The cool one.”

Sam snorted. “More like Michelangelo.”

“No way. He’s a goof.”

“Exactly.”

Dean scowled.

“I suppose that would make Cas Raph…” Sam cut off when he saw Dean shake his head. He nodded in understanding as the two silently decided it was probably better not to connect Cas to a character who just happened to share the same name as the archangel who killed him.

Castiel narrowed his eyes as he glanced at the two of them.

“He could be Splinter,” Dean suggested.

“No. Bobby’s Splinter. Casey Jones?”

“Nowhere near hot-headed enough,” said Dean shaking his head. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! Our friend who helps us out and brings us information from the world above…”

Sam’s eyes grew wide.

“April O’Neil,” the brothers cried in unison and immediately fell apart laughing.

The angel frowned. “Dean? Sam?”

But the brothers were too busy bent over laughing, completely forgetting the ache of their injuries as tears started to stream down their faces.

“Dean!” Cas tried again.

“What?” Dean managed to get out, his lips still twitching and his chest jumping with suppressed laughter.

“Are you alright?”

“Just great, April,” said Dean and fell over laughing once more.

Forehead furrowed, Castiel turned to Sam. “I fear your brother might be suffering from some sort of damage to his brain.”

“And you only just figured that out,” said Sam between laughs.

“Hey,” cried Dean, but he was too busy laughing to retaliate.

It was unclear how long they would have remained rolling around on the floor if there hadn’t been a sudden shriek and crash against the other side of the door announcing the return of the gryphon. Dean swore as the three of them scrambled to their feet bracing the door once more.

“Are you ready, Cas? Because I don’t think we can wait any longer,” said Dean hearing the sounds of metal bending as the door hinges began to give in from the repeated attacks.

“I’m ready,” announced the angel raising his hands.

“Wait,” interrupted Sam. “Take us to Bobby’s.”

“What? No,” exclaimed Dean. “We are not leaving my car alone in New York City.”

“Dean, we are all exhausted and we need patching up. We’re going to Bobby’s. The car will survive without us for a day or two.”

Castiel nodded in agreement.

“Fine,” Dean grumbled.

Then there was no more time for discussion as the door began to bend inward. Castiel placed his fingers on their foreheads and they were gone. The sudden dizzying feeling of weightlessness and acceleration soon passed and the sight of Bobby’s library appeared before them. Unfortunately, Cas still wasn’t completely recovered and arrived feeling faint and light-headed from the effort. Sam grabbed the wobbly angel attempting to stop him from falling over only to realize his own balance was off from the dizzying journey. Dean, who was more used to angel flights, was steady but when he tried to help the angel, he suddenly found himself being pulled to the ground by the combined weight of both Castiel and Sam.

All three of them landed on the floor with a loud crash. They lay there a moment breathing heavily before Sam and Dean glanced at each other and immediately started cracking up once more.

Bobby wheeled into the room, alarmed expression on his face and shotgun tucked under one arm, only to find his three friends blood splattered and lying on the floor, two of them quivering with laughter.

“Are you boys alright?” he asked in confusion.

Sam and Dean were too busy laughing but Castiel slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows and met Bobby’s gaze. “I’m fine,” he said in his usual hoarse tone. “But I’m afraid Sam and Dean have been rendered insane.”

The brothers, of course, found this hilarious and began laughing even harder.

Bobby merely shook his head and rolled out of the room to fetch the first aid kit.

[Supernatural Fic] Breakfast at Bobby's

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 06:09:27 GMT

Explanation - I set about writing this intent on writing a specific mood and felt I could only do that by being extremely descriptive which is not something I usually do because I find it hard and I don't think I do it particularly well. But I did it anyway and may have gone slightly overboard with some of the descriptions. And still the fic kept going and seemed to be turning into a fluff fic, then I realized it had no plot which shouldn't be such a problem with a little bit of fluff, but this was becoming a long bit of fluff and I didn't know how to end it. So I threw in some stuff and tried to tie things together which is why there is a little bit of angst in what is mostly a fluff fic. Hopefully though, it isn't too weird and still makes some sense.

Title: Breakfast at Bobby's
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel, Bobby
Rating: G
Genre: fluff with a smidgen of angst
Word Count: 2904
Spoilers: Up to 5x04
Summary: Morning, sunlight, bare feet, pyjamas, old house, memories, coffee, breakfast, angel, hunter, brothers, family.

The sheets were clean, musty but clean which was a rare luxury. Even the mustiness was welcome causing Sam to dig deeper into his pillow. It was a familiar mustiness part of that which permeated all of Bobby’s home, a smell of dust and wood and old books occasionally broken by the tang of gasoline and metal from the salvage yard outside. It was a contrast to the usual smells he woke to. The motels they frequented tended to have a smell which was a combination of mildew, industrial cleaners, rotting food and urine, each motel with its own particular mix. It was just another part of life he’d long gotten used to. But here the smells brought back memories of childhood explorations through a maze of twisted wrecks and adult explorations through the brittle pages of leather bound books, memories that were accompanied by feelings of peace and safety. Feelings that were so rare these days it wasn’t surprising he felt like he’d just had his first decent sleep in months.

Sam turned over indulging in the softness of the mattress, another luxury, and squinted over at the other bed in the small room. Except for a crumpled pile of sheets and quilts, it was empty. He sat up rubbing his eyes taking in the dim morning light that crept through the dirty window pane. The room was like most in the house. Between the dusty paintings and old fashioned light fixtures, the walls were covered in faded wallpaper with a pattern of azure flowers on forest green. The dark, panelled floor had a frayed oriental rug, the wood furnishings were chipped and scratched, and every corner was crammed with books. Those that didn’t fit in the overflowing bookshelves were piled on top the dresser and on the floor.

Only two things separated this room from the rest of the house. First instead of newspaper clippings and drawings of ancient symbols pinned to the few visible bits of wall, there were photos of Sam and Dean as kids. Second was the closet. Instead of containing occult paraphernalia or even more books, it held boxes of old clothes, randomly collected memorabilia and even some well loved toys. All stuff the Winchesters couldn’t take with them as they drove across the country. The brothers might only visit Bobby a few times each year, but this room for all intents and purposes was theirs.

Yawning, Sam pulled back the covers and swung his legs out of bed. His bare feet hit against the duffle bag dumped at the side before resting on the cold floor. It was a cool morning but the warmth of sleep still clung to him. He lurched upward and stumbled towards the door. It squeaked slightly as it opened. The hallway beyond was covered in dark wood panelling matching the floors. Sunlight through the stained glass window at the end gave it an odd orange glow. Sam made his way across to the bathroom. Once done there, he decided not to bother getting dressed and headed downstairs in search of breakfast still in his gray T-shirt and dark pyjamas pants. The steps made familiar creaking noises under his bare feet and he could almost hear the echo of children tumbling down them.

A loud thud and banging greeted him before the kitchen was even in sight. It was accompanied by muttered curses. Passing through the cluttered library and into the green and white kitchen, Sam found his brother also still dressed in sleepwear, black T-shirt and navy plaid pants, and currently doing battle with the coffee maker.

“Is it possessed?” Sam asked eyebrow raised.

Dean turned to him with a grimace. “Wouldn’t surprise me,” he replied giving it another shake.

Observing Dean carefully, Sam was pleased to note that despite being up early and being at war with a kitchen appliance, his sleep rumpled brother looked well rested and relaxed. Sleeping in a familiar bed obviously did wonders. He caught Dean looking him over with the exact same scrutinizing gaze and nodding to himself. Sam guessed he passed inspection.

“Maybe you should try to keep it down. You don’t want to wake Bobby.”

“Well, if he does wake up, maybe he can tell me how this damn demented thing is supposed to work.” Dean brought his fist down one more time and it suddenly began making happy humming and gurgling noises. “Ah, ha!” he cried and turned to Sam with a self-satisfied smirk. “Knew I could fix it.”

“Sure,” Sam said with a sarcastic nod, but he grinned too. He was glad to see a smile on Dean’s face that for once actually reached his eyes.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Dean fetched down some mugs while Sam padded over to the front door and pulled it open. Outside, the piles of wrecked cars stood silent, a morning mist still clinging to the ground in the distance. The sun had barely made it over the horizon shinning dimly through some thin clouds. Sam took a deep breath of the cool fresh air.

“Do you mind, Sasquatch?” Dean called out. “Some of us don’t have big hairy feet like you do and are freezing our toes off.”

Sam sighed and gave his brother an indulgent smile as he shut the door. Wandering back towards him, he sat down at the table smacking the wood surface with the palm of his hand. “Hand over the coffee then, Tiny.”

“Just for that you get Bobby’s special mug,” said Dean handing him his coffee in a white mug which said ‘World’s Biggest Bastard’ in red lettering.

Sam snorted, but decided he’d rather drink the coffee than bother retaliating. He took a sip absently noting the mug already contained the exact amount of cream and sugar he preferred. Leaning against the kitchen counter, Dean was drinking what Sam knew for certain to be coffee that was black and strong as humanly possible. Suddenly, Dean glanced up and smiled at something behind Sam. The younger brother looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see Castiel standing there. He’d forgotten the angel had stayed the night. He’d even passed right by him asleep on the deep red couch in the library without noticing.

“Good morning,” Cas stated formally.

“Morning,” the brothers chorused in unison.

Technically, angels shouldn’t need sleep, but since Castiel had rebelled and been cut off from heaven’s power, they’d found that if Cas was injured badly or overused his powers, his body needed rest and recuperation just as if he were human. And unfortunately, since Cas still wasn’t used to his new limitations, he tended to overdo things fairly often. At that point, it was best to lead him over to a bed or couch before he keeled over, though recently Castiel seemed to be developing a fondness for sleeping in the back of the Impala.

Yesterday had been a rare occasion. Not only had Castiel slept, but Dean had also somehow convinced the angel to change out of his normal suit and into some of Dean’s old clothes. It was a contrast to his normal appearance making Cas appear smaller and much more human. The white T-shirt was worn and dingy and the gray sweatpants were too long, the frayed ends dragging behind his heels. That combined with the dark hair spiking up at odd angles forced Sam to hide a smile in his cup of coffee. Castiel’s expression and posture, of course, continued to belie his physical appearance. His stance remained stiff and his blue-eyed stare intense in a way that might very well have freaked out a normal human being, but to Sam it was becoming comfortingly familiar.

The angel gracefully slid into a chair beside the younger Winchester.

“Hey, Cas,” said Dean with a grin. “How ‘bout some coffee?”

Castiel frowned at him.

Sam shook his head. “You really have to stop trying to corrupt him.”

“Dude, it’s just coffee.”

“Fine,” replied Sam holding up his hands. “But don’t blame me if he develops a caffeine addiction.”

The angel glanced from one brother to the other.

“It’s not that addictive,” Dean insisted handing him a mug. “Go on. Try some. I dare you.”

Picking it up, Cas took a tentative sip his forehead furrowing once more. “It’s not unpleasant,” he finally concluded.

Dean rolled his eyes.

Sam shook his head again. The angel had an almost worryingly tendency to do whatever Dean said, at least when it came to human experiences. Sam would have to do his best to counter that. Standing up, he grabbed the sugar and cream from the counter and returned to put a healthy helping of both in Castiel’s coffee.

“Dude, I’ll stop trying to corrupt Cas if you stop trying to turn him into a pansy.”

Ignoring Dean, Sam watched as Cas retried the coffee. The angel closed his eyes for a moment letting out a pleased ‘mmm’.

Both brothers wore matching grins.

“You better not be letting that angel of yours drink all my coffee,” said Bobby as he wheeled into the room.

Sam automatically tucked his feet out of the way as the old hunter went past. It wasn’t that Bobby couldn’t easily manoeuvre around them, he just seemed to be of the opinion that if you were stupid enough to leave your toes in his way, you deserved to have them run over.

There must be something in the air that morning Sam decided as he noted even Bobby remained barefoot wearing gray sweatpants under an old red plaid shirt, though, of course, the ever present trucker’s cap still remained on his head. Sam found himself fighting another grin as he recalled a childhood debate with his brother over whether Bobby slept with the hat on. It had ended in a midnight excursion and an embarrassing capture, but it was a fond memory.

“We were just introducing Cas to another one of life’s iniquities,” explained Dean as he handed the old hunter a steaming mug.

“Uh huh,” replied Bobby before taking a long draught of the coffee. He let out a long satisfied sigh. “I don’t suppose one of you yahoos bothered to fetch the paper.”

Both Sam and Dean quickly avoided his gaze neither wanting to be the one who had to leave the warm kitchen and brave the long cold walk down the driveway, but Castiel’s eyes instead grew distant. The angel held his hand out over the center of the table and with a flash of light, a folded newspaper suddenly appeared.

“Show-off,” Dean muttered.

Grunting in thanks, Bobby grabbed the paper and unfolded it scanning the headlines. Sam’s eyes slid over to the paper but he forced them back before he actually focused on the print. He wasn’t ready for the outside world to intrude. In another hour, they’d be back in the thick of research, back to blood and death, guilt and regret, the devil and the apocalypse. But now, he just wanted to drink his coffee.

Bobby seemed to be of the same mind tossing the paper away after a few minutes and heading for the fridge. “You boys up for eggs and sausage for breakfast.”

“Always,” exclaimed Dean.

But Sam’s forehead furrowed. “Are you sure you don’t want us to…”

Bobby silenced him with a look. “You’re not about to suggest that one of you cook?”

“Well…” Sam rubbed the back of his head.

“When was the last time either of you actually cooked something?”

Sam glanced at Dean who met his gaze with a shrug.

“I recall Dean used to make a mean bowl of spaghettios,” Sam finally volunteered.

Bobby rolled his eyes. “He can do the toast.” Turning around to grab the needed ingredients from the fridge, he called over his shoulder, “Hey, Feathers. You eating?”

Castiel looked up from where he’d been staring at his coffee. His elbows were leaning on the table top, both hands wrapped around his mug, seemingly enjoying the warmth more than the actual drinking.

“I do not require sustenance.”

“You sure?” countered Dean eyeing the angel.

Sam had to agree with his brother. If Cas couldn’t tell when he needed to sleep, he doubted the angel would even know if he was hungry.

Cas shrugged which was an oddly human gesture for him.

“Well, I’d rather not have you just sitting there staring at us. So, you’re eating,” Bobby declared as he set up the frying pan.

Castiel opened his mouth to protest but Sam stopped him putting a hand on his arm. “Don’t bother. You can’t say no when Bobby offers you food.”

“Yeah,” added Dean as he helped himself to some more coffee. “It’s one of the rules.”

“Rules?”

“The rules you have to obey if you want to stay at Bobby’s,” Sam explained with a grin.

Gulping down more caffeine, Dean nodded. “Like no climbing the stacked cars.”

“No messing up the order of Bobby’s books.”

“No joyriding in cars Bobby’s fixing up.”

“No stealing Bobby’s hat.”

Castiel frowned. “Why would I want to do any of that?”

“Those rules,” said Bobby his voice rising over the sizzling frying pan, “are just for idiotic little Winchester boys who can’t seem to stay out of trouble.”

Both Sam and Dean stared sheepishly at the ground but their lips twitched with smothered laughter.

“I will do my best not to emulate them,” Castiel said.

“Too late, Cas,” said Sam leaning forward. “I think Dean’s already been a pretty bad influence on you.”

“Hey,” protested Dean putting down his mug. “What do you mean bad?”

Ignoring his brother, Sam continued. “Considering all the trouble you’ve been getting into recently. I think you’re well on your way to becoming a Winchester.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Just what I need, another one.”

Castiel gave them a puzzled look as if he couldn’t decide whether or not this was a good thing. It caused both Sam and Dean to finally break into laughter.

The rest of the breakfast preparation continued in silence. While Bobby finished cooking the food, Dean managed to make some edible toast, Castiel remembered he was supposed to drink his coffee, and Sam brought out the cutlery and plates. Savoury smells spread throughout the kitchen. Once all the plates were full, they settled around the table. Dean began digging in the moment his butt hit his seat. In contrast, Cas carefully examined his food from every angle before taking small bites. Bobby brought out the newspaper again paying more attention to it then the food he was eating. Sam was all ready to dig in too when one of the headlines on the paper caught his eye, his brain automatically reading it before he could stop.

1066 Die in Earthquake

And Sam felt his stomach sink, his appetite leaving him. It was just an earthquake he told himself. Earthquakes happened naturally all the time. There was no reason it had anything to do with Lucifer or the apocalypse. But even as he told himself that, he could feel the weight of those 1066 souls on his conscience. And suddenly, the air went from cool to icy, the smells turned stifling, the sunlight became too dim, and the house was just old and dirty instead of full of memories. Sam stared at the lumps of grease and fat on his plate unable to find the motivation to pick up his fork.

“Hey.”

Looking up, Sam found Dean snapping his fingers at him from across the table. Concern shone from his eyes though he didn’t let it show on the rest of his face.

“Stop pouting princess. Your food’s getting cold.”

The younger Winchester sighed. “I’m not pouting.”

“Are too,” countered Dean. “New rule: No moping at breakfast.”

“You can’t make rules. Only Bobby can make rules.”

Dean turned to the old hunter. “Bobby?”

“No moping at breakfast,” repeated Bobby not bothering to look up from his newspaper.

Turning back to Sam, Dean gave a large smirk. “There you go.”

Sam snorted shaking his head at his brother.

When Sam’s expression didn’t improve, Dean waved his fork at the angel. “Cas, hit Sam on the back of the head for me.”

Castiel leaned back glancing from one brother to the other with a look of confusion. “Why?”

“It’ll stop his moping.”

“That is unlikely.”

“It’s a proven technique.”

“I’m not hitting Sam.”

“Come on. It’s too far for me to reach and he needs a good slap.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

As the debate went on, Sam glanced over at Bobby who met his gaze with a look of exasperation, but Sam could see the grin at the corner of his mouth and in his eyes, and soon found he was unable to stop himself grinning too. Dean seemed too intent on the conversation to really notice, but Sam thought he caught the hint of a sly smirk on his brother’s face.

Sam took a deep breath and looked around. The sun had reached the height of the windows and a sunbeam lit the faded green paint on the kitchen walls. Piles of books crept in at the corners from the overflowing library and beneath the smells of sausages and coffee, the ever present mustiness of Bobby’s home still lingered. So while Dean and Cas continued to argue and Bobby turned to another page of his paper, Sam picked up his fork and began to eat.

Goats?

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 05:48:29 GMT

I got to see a free showing of some animated shorts yesterday as part of International Animation Day. In the theater I was at on the seat in front of me was a little metal plaque. It said this:

"Indignant Piddles & Bumbling Goats Forever"

I get the weirdest links from my brother

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 20:21:34 GMT

Anyway, I thought this link was one pretty much everyone on my friends list would love.

Anli & Laura's Lesbian Gamer Geek Wedding

[Supernatural Fic] Broken Pieces

Mon, 26 Oct 2009 03:02:50 GMT

I promise my next supernatural fic will be more on the humourous side.

Title: Broken Pieces
Characters: Bobby, Castiel
Rating: PG for a little swearing
Genre: Missing Scene, Drama, Angst
Word Count: 2451
Spoilers: Spoilers up to 5x03
Summary: Bobby had only been back home a week when Castiel turned up asking where Dean was. Of course, just because Bobby knew where Dean was didn't mean he was going to tell the angel.

Bobby stared up into the open cupboard and cursed.

The coffee mugs were on the second shelf.

Of course, the coffee mugs were on the second shelf. They’d always been there ever since he’d moved into the place. He could still clearly recall unpacking them all those years ago his wife quietly directing him on where everything should go: glasses on the first shelf, mugs on the second, junk they rarely used at the top. He’d had no problem with the set up at the time, but then he’d never imagined that thirty years and many demons later his wife would be dead and he’d be stuck in a wheelchair unable to reach a mug for his blasted cup of coffee.

He could have asked Ellen to fetch it for him, but he’d finally succeeded in chasing her away the day before. She and Jo had appeared mysteriously the day he was due to be released from hospital. Those dumb Winchester boys obviously couldn’t keep their mouths shut. He tried telling the women he didn’t need their help, but Ellen took charge and it’s rather hard to say no when someone can just come up behind you and push you the way they want you to go. Jo didn’t say much, just stood back with an awkward smile on her face and pity in her eyes.

After a sullen trip, they’d arrived at his home only to find Rufus standing in front of a newly constructed ramp leading up to the front door. Damn Winchesters. At least, Rufus knew how to treat a man with respect. He didn’t say a word, merely nodded once at Bobby and left. The Harvelle women were much harder to get rid of. A lot like that occupational therapist who had visited him in the hospital. She’d show him a glossy catalogue with everything from grab bars to wheelchair lifts to commodes and tried to explain how he could still lead a virtually normal life. What the lady didn’t realize was it had been a long time since Bobby had led a life that was anywhere near normal. Apparently, she was used to angry patients though and insisted on going over everything despite all the insults he threw at her.

The past week had been tortuous. Jo spilt her time between reading Bobby’s books and restlessly exploring the junkyard. She avoided him for the most part and acted nervous whenever he saw her as if she was afraid she’d do the wrong thing. Ellen was the opposite, refusing to leave Bobby alone. She cajoled him out of bed every morning and insisted on cooking his meals and buying groceries. She even tried to reorganize his collections of stuff so he could manoeuvre more easily through the house. That is until he threatened bodily harm if she laid a single finger on any of his precious books. Having piles of books everywhere might make it difficult to get around, but it was a system he had perfected for years. Besides at this point, having most of his books at ground level was actually very convenient.

Either his wilful stubbornness in refusing every offer of help or Jo’s restlessness must have become too much because the women finally left promising to check in on him after their next hunt. He was not looking forward to it even if it would help his mug problem.

Glancing up at the glasses, Bobby had to shrug off the temptation to skip the coffee and go straight to the whisky. Instead, he grabbed an old broom handle. The thing had recently become his trusty tool for reaching things that were now annoyingly too far away. Its blue paint was faded and chipped and one end had been sharpened to a point. It wasn’t perfect. He really needed something that could actually grasp things, but it was what he had, so it would have to do. Aiming carefully, he slid it through the handle of a gray mug and slowly lifted.

The mug was inches from his fingers when it slipped off and loudly shattered into pieces on the floor.

“Damn it!”

“Bobby.”

Jerking in his chair, the old hunter grabbed his wheels attempting to quickly spin around to face the intruder. Unfortunately in his haste, all he managed to do was ram his wheelchair into the table behind him. He cursed, but by then his brain had caught up with him and he recognized the voice, so he settled for a quick visual check instead.

Castiel stood right behind him looking the same as always, dishevelled suit and blank face.

That whisky was looking more tempting by the moment.

“I don’t suppose you’ve come to tell me you’ve got your mojo back and are here to fix me?” Bobby asked not bothering to make another attempt to face the angel. Apparently, manners were not something they taught in heaven.

“I’m afraid not,” replied Castiel.

“Didn’t think so,” said Bobby shoulders slumping even as he pretended not to care. “What do you want?”

Castiel walked in a graceful semi-circle until he was finally standing in front of Bobby. “I’m looking for Dean.”

“Well, he’s not here.”

“I know. I was hoping you might tell me where he is.”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed. He did in fact know exactly where Dean was. For once, the brothers were actually checking in on a regular basis, and though he knew they were really just trying to check up on him, he had not intention of discouraging it. Of course, just because he knew where Dean was didn’t mean he was going to tell the angel.

“Uh, huh,” said Bobby still staring at Castiel. “Top of the fridge.”

Cas glanced over at the appliance and gave a small frown. “Dean’s on top of…”

The old hunter rolled his eyes. “No, you idjit. The dustpan. Fetch it down for me and clean up this mess, would you.” He gestured to the broken mug on the floor.

Castiel’s forehead remained furrowed, but he fetched the old dustpan and brush and kneeling down, swept up the bits of porcelain. It seemed a bit perverse having an all powerful angel of the lord doing chores for him, but at the same time Bobby found it satisfying to see the celestial being knocked down a peg or two, though admittedly, Castiel wasn’t exactly all powerful anymore.

Bobby observed him carefully. All he really knew about this angel were various sketchy details from Dean and despite the fact Cas had rescued Dean and Sam on a few occasions, he didn’t seem much less of an idiot than the rest of the apocalypse bent heavenly host. The angel seemed far from human, remaining distant and near emotionless. His eons spent following heaven’s orders had obviously left him set in his ways and with little experience in making his own decisions. It had certainly taken him long enough to choose a side. The fact Castiel had finally helped the Winchesters was the only reason Bobby hadn’t demanded the angel leave the moment he appeared.

Cas stood with the pan full of broken mug looking slightly lost.

“The garbage is under the sink. And you can leave the dustpan down there while you’re at it.”

The angel obeyed. “About Dean…” he began as he straightened up.

“Coffee first,” interrupted Bobby. “Grab me a mug.”

Cas handed him a white mug which said ‘World’s Biggest Bastard’ on the side in big red letters, an old gift from Dean. Bobby narrowed his eyes again, but there was no hint of humour in the angel’s face.

“Put the rest of the mugs down on the lower shelf while I pour myself some.”

It was Castiel’s turn to narrow his eyes, but he pushed aside the glasses on the first shelf and began placing the mugs beside them as Bobby poured the coffee and was finally able to take his first glorious sip.

“I believe you’re trying to divert my intention,” said Castiel.

“Maybe,” Bobby said leaning back hand wrapped around his coffee as he watched the angel work. “Why are you looking for Dean anyway?”

“I need his help.”

“God hunt not going so well?”

“I have a lead,” said Castiel setting the last of the mugs on the bottom shelf.

Bobby took another long drink of his coffee. “And you need Dean for…?”

“It requires navigating certain aspects of the human world I’m not familiar with. The task will also be much easier with two.” Cas hesitated a moment. “And I have no one else to ask.”

“So Dean should just drop everything and help you on your little quest?” The hunter dumped his mug on the kitchen table letting it hit loudly against the wood surface. “You didn’t seem very interested in helping him in his plans to defeat Lucifer.”

“Dean insists on a futile course of action,” Cas said with a tone of irritation. “It is not possible to defeat Lucifer without God’s help.”

“You’d be surprised by what that kid can do when he sets his mind to it.”

Castiel glanced away to the side. “He does often seem to manage the impossible.”

Bobby snorted. “Then maybe you should have listened to his ideas before blaming the boys for everything your lot started.”

Castiel’s eyes turned back to the hunter. There was very little change in the angel’s features only a tightening of the jaw, but Bobby could suddenly feel the whole wrath of heaven directed at him through Castiel’s eyes. “They’re not ‘my lot’ anymore. Besides you yourself don’t appear to be doing anything to help Dean.”

Bobby didn’t so much as flinch from the angel’s gaze. Instead, he wheeled right up to the angel and matched his furious stare with one of his own. Common sense only just stopped him from grabbing the trench coat and trying to pull Cas down to his level. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m stuck in this fucking chair!”

“And that’s preventing you from aiding them? I did not know all your wisdom lay in your legs.”

“You don’t understand! I’m not good for anything but demon bait like this,” Bobby yelled. “The frigging apocalypse is on us and all I can do is answer questions over the phone!”

Breathing heavily, Bobby spun away from the angel and rolled towards the front door roughly yanking it open. He only went as far as the porch stopping and staring out over the stacks of rusting cars that covered the salvage yard. It was a gray, cloudy day, but the air was fresh and light from a recent rain. He breathed it in deeply suddenly realizing this was the first time he’d been out of the house since he’d gotten out of the hospital. Only his years as a hunter let him hear the near silent footsteps of Castiel as he came out to stand beside him.

“I used to be able to fend off any nasty creature I came across,” Bobby began not bothering to look over at the angel. “I used to be able to save people with my own two hands. I used to be able to run out the door at a moment’s notice and pull those boys out of whatever ridiculous danger they got themselves into.” His knuckles turned white as he clutched tightly to the wheels of his chair. “They’re the only family I have and I’m trapped here.”

There was a moment of silence in which Bobby convinced himself the sting in his eyes was from the cool fall breeze. Then the angel began to speak in his horse monotone his gaze also turned towards the world in front of them.

“I used to be able to fight off hordes of hell spawn with little effort. I used to be able to call upon heaven to do my merest thought. I used to be able to travel through time, erase memories, heal the injured…”

“Yeah, well, try being human,” Bobby muttered but the bite was out of his voice.

“I used to have a family, a home,” Cas added in a whisper.

‘And I lost everything...’ The words echoed through Bobby’s head. He’d been too busy dealing with other issues at the time, but now as he gazed over at the angel, he was taken back by the look in Castiel’ blue eyes. Maybe he had to re-evaluate his opinion of the angel, because the expression on his face was much too human. It was a heartbreaking expression he’d occasionally seen on Dean, a look of broken despair as if he was just trying to make it through each day without falling apart. The angel’s damn deranged quest for God was probably the only thing holding him together. A familiar protective urge surged up in him, but he tried to shake it off. What he really didn’t need right now was another foundling to worry over.

“Hey, Feathers. Mind doing me a favour?”

Castiel titled his head towards him. The broken look was thankfully gone replaced by one of curiosity.

“Would you mind keeping an eye on the boys for me? Keep them out of trouble. Both Dean and Sam.”

“I’ll do my best.” Cas’ nose wrinkled. “However, I’ve noticed they have an uncanny ability to find trouble no matter what anyone does.”

“You got that right. Just help them out and try not to let them do anything too stupid.”

“I will. I promise.”

Bobby stared narrowly into the angel’s eyes for a minute before he nodded and said, “Dean’s in Weatherly, Pennsylvania, the Windmill Motel, room 8.”

“Thank you.”

Bobby’s eyebrows rose. It seemed as if the angel was finally beginning to learn a few manners. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

Castiel remained a moment observing the hunter with an irritatingly calm expression, before saying, “Have you considered you may not be quite as trapped as you think you are?”

Face scrunching up, Bobby opened his mouth to demand what he meant by that, but with a fluttering and a slight breeze, the angel was gone. Blasted birdbrain. So much for manners. Obviously being cut off from heaven didn’t stop Castiel from trying to remain annoyingly enigmatic.

Bobby sighed. He didn’t like it, but maybe, just maybe, Cas had a point. He gazed out at the piles of broken metal. Even if he couldn’t get himself out of the damn chair, the least he could do was get out of the house. It was well past time he started converting one of his trucks for hands only driving. Designs already forming in his head, he wheeled down the ramp and sailed off into the salvage yard.

AN1: One of the purposes of this fic was for Castiel and Bobby to have a real talk and do some bonding. The other purpose was to show that Bobby is still awesome even when in a wheelchair and have him realize he's still awesome. I'm not sure if I managed the last bit, but at least, Cas was able to give him a slight push out the door. I wanted to do more, but I wasn't sure if it would fit in with whatever happens in 5x07.

AN2: I got Bobby's nickname for Castiel, 'Feathers', from someone else's fic. I just thought it was absolutely perfect and now I, of course, can't remember which fic it was or who wrote, but they should get credit.

Weirdness

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 06:28:51 GMT

Today, I saw the climate action ninja and ate honey goat yogurt.

Back to writing again

Thu, 22 Oct 2009 05:31:15 GMT

Writing Bobby's POV is hard! For some reason, his voice doesn't seem to quite mesh with my writing style. I think I've sort of got a handle on it now (I've written about 400 words) but I still keep having to go back and correct things because Bobby wouldn't word things that way. Everything has to be straightforward, no metaphors, no covering anything up in florid prose, no wording things in unique and interesting ways, and no excuses. It's probably actually a very good writing exercise for me.

Must continue. Must prove that despite everything that happened Bobby is still awesome!

[Supernatural Fic] Walls Fall Down

Thu, 15 Oct 2009 20:03:29 GMT

Third fic in a week. I think this a record. This one is slightly longer and darker than the first two. Now, I'll take a break and try to write some cover letters before I start writing another Supernatural fic.

Title: Walls Fall Down
Characters: Castiel, Dean, Sam
Ratings: PG
Genre: Angst with a little Hurt/Comfort
Word Count: 2604
Spoilers: Minor spoilers for season 5 up to 5x04
Summary: "The angel gazed once more at the rubble surrounding him. “I think a building fell on me.”"

Something was making a noise, high pitch, repetitive and electronic.

A ringing.

A telephone ring.

His cell phone was ringing.

Castiel began reaching automatically for the pocket that contained the phone only to find his right arm didn’t want to move. He tried moving it again and was surprised by a sudden spike of pain. Focusing his thoughts on the limb, he realized that one of the bones was broken, but couldn’t recall how it had become so. He furrowed his forehead and decided he really should open his eyes. Trying to remember when or why he had shut them, he finally lifted his eyelids.

The first thing he saw was the stars. It was night, but that didn’t matter to the angel who could see his surroundings clearly even in the darkness, at least as clearly as he could from where he lay on the ground. Debris surrounded him, broken slabs of concrete wall, bits of pipe and metal beams. A particular piece of cracked concrete rested across his legs. Blood was seeping through his suit and trench coat.

He wondered why he didn’t feel any pain. The second after that thought he could suddenly feel every ache from his head to his toes. The sensation overwhelmed him and for a moment he became lost unable to think or even remember who he was. He dove deep into himself until he found his true self, his grace. But even that was weak and tired. He used what he could to push outward into his human body and the pain slowly began to dull down. It wasn’t much, but he could think clearly again.

He tried to recall what had happened. He wasn’t used to this, foggy memories and sluggish thoughts. There had been a battle. Angels and demons. He’d come to find what the demons were up to and stop them. A squadron of angels had arrived and had helped defeat the demons only to turn around and go after him. Apparently, he was still on the angels’ shit list.

Castiel shook his head. He had to stop picking up Dean’s mannerisms.

Dean... The telephone had stopped ringing, but that must have been Dean. Only three people had his number, but of those three, Dean was the one who usually called. He was supposed to meet up with Dean this morning. Or was it yesterday morning? He must have been unconscious. He wasn’t used to such breaks in consciousness. It had happened so few times. The first had been when he was dead.

His cell began ringing again. This time he reached with his left arm. Aching muscles pulled against painful scrapes and bruises as he grabbed the phone out of his trench coat.

“Dean,” he said as he flipped it open, his voice even hoarser than usual.

“Where the hell are you, Cas?” Dean demanded in lieu of a greeting.

“Utah,” replied the angel after a moment’s thought.

“Utah?”

“Yes.”

He could hear the hunter growl on the other end of the line. “You were supposed to meet up with us in Montana ten hours ago. You said you’d help with this case.”

“I’m sorry. I…” Castiel swallowed his chest feeling heavy. “I was otherwise occupied.”

“I’ve called you a dozen times and you didn’t answer,” exclaimed Dean. “What were you doing? Searching for God in Antarctica? You couldn’t leave a message or drop in for a few seconds to tell us you were busy? You don’t even have voicemail. I wasn’t able to leave you a message telling you what a…”

His rant was cut off and a sound of scuffling indicated the phone had changed owners.

“Sorry about that, Cas,” said Sam. “He’s just been worried about you.”

Castiel could hear Dean yell something obscene in the background.

“What happened?” asked the younger Winchester.

The angel gazed once more at the rubble surrounding him. “I think a building fell on me.”

“Sorry. What?”

“There was a battle.” The memories of it were still strangely hazy. He couldn’t even recall what injuries had occurred during the fight and what had been caused by falling debris. “The building was too old. It couldn’t handle the combined forces of heaven and hell.”

Sam tone went from confusion to worry. “Are you okay?”

Castiel took a moment to truly assess his situation. His human body seemed to be riddled by a disturbing number of injuries. Bones were broken, tissues torn. Growing stains of blood covered his dusty clothes. But more importantly his legs were trapped. Normally, that wouldn’t have been a problem. Normally, he could have just spread his wings and shifted his whole body to another location, even all the way to where Sam and Dean were. But at the moment, his wings felt like heavy weights and his grace was drained from the battle, the remains of it trying to keep his human body functioning.

“I believe I’m stuck,” he said, a slight waver making its way into his voice against his will. “I can’t move.”

“What do you mean you’re stuck? Can’t you just…” Sam stopped when Castiel began coughing.

It took the angel by surprise too. The heavy weight in his chest combined with a nauseating tickle and automatically his body began to convulse trying to dispel a liquid from his lungs which Castiel realized somewhat worryingly was blood.

“Castiel?” Sam was calling anxiously. “Cas?”

There was a fumbling noise and different voice cried out, “Cas!”

“Dean,” Castiel said when the coughing finally stopped surprised at how weak his voice had become.

“Where are you?” Dean asked again, this time more soft and pleading.

“An old abandoned research station,” Castiel replied and gave some directions.

“How bad is it?”

The angel decided Dean didn’t need to hear the long list of injuries. “Bad,” he simply said.

“Hang on. We’ll be there in a few hours.” Cas heard Dean take a long, shaky breath. “Just… hang on, okay?”

“Okay.”

Castiel continued to hold the phone to his ear for a few minutes after Dean hung up not quite willing to let go of the connection. Sighing, he tiredly slipped the phone back in his pocket and went back to looking at the stars. He was suddenly hit by the incredible silence and emptiness of his setting. The research station was very much in the middle of nowhere. It reminded him of the night he spent patiently waiting by the roadside while Dean slept. But this was different. Here he was weakened and trapped, and very much aware of how vulnerable he was. If any demon or angel were to come across him like this…

A sudden crack and a loud thud startled him. It caused every one of his muscles to jump in a much too human reaction. The sound was likely just some of the debris settling, nevertheless he attempted to sit up and look around. An increasingly sharp stab in his chest soon brought him down again. He couldn’t sense anyone nearby, but he was unsure how reliable his senses were at the moment. From what he could recall, all but one of the angels had already been killed before the building fell. Hopefully, the last one had been killed by the collapse or had left assuming Castiel was dead. He fought off the growing empty feeling in his chest refusing to dwell on the fact that more of his siblings were now dead by his hands.

Settling in to wait, he took a deep breath only to find himself thrown into another coughing fit, the forced convulsions making his already painful injuries hurt even more. The sensation threatened to overwhelm him again. He clenched his fist in frustration cursing the fact his weakened state left him enslaved to his fragile human body. If he still had the power of heaven to call on, he could have blown away the fragment of wall that trapped him and healed his injuries instantly. Instead, he had to wait for aid, trapped in a fleshy shell that seemed to have a will of its own. Even now, his limbs trembled involuntarily.

A sudden understanding came to him pulled from knowledge he’d long ago been given but never needed. The minute shaking, the contraction of his muscles, the sharp firing of nerves on his skin.

He was cold.

He’d never been cold before. He’d understood the concept, but had never actually felt it. It was not pleasant. He wished he could curl in on himself to preserve what little heat he had. The little he was able to move only sent more bolts of pain through him.

More knowledge surfaced in his mind and he realized something else: he was losing too much blood. He could feel his heart beating much too quickly and his lungs gasping for air. His blood pressure was slowly dropping, his body going into shock.

With an awareness no human possessed, he focused inward examining each part of his borrowed anatomy. Beyond broken bones and scraped skin, he could feel the lacerated liver pushing fluid into his abdomen, the broken rib that had grazed against his lung. These injuries were dire.

The cold he felt on the outside couldn’t compare with that he felt on the inside when he realized he would not survive until Dean arrived. Human bodies could only survive so much even those currently housing the soul of an angel. And soon this mortal body would fail.

Castiel knew he wouldn’t really die this way. Not like he had died before, blown completely away into dark oblivion. Only his human body would die, but unlike a demon, he couldn’t exist within a dead vessel and without a body, he couldn’t stay in this realm for very long. Unless he found another immediately, he’d be forced to leave and there were only two places he could go: heaven or hell. Heaven would never let him return and hell would welcome him much too eagerly. Memories of when he’d searched through the inferno for Dean haunted his mind and his body shook with a shudder that had nothing to do with cold or blood loss.

The broken angel coughed and felt blood trickle down his chin as he continued to shiver. More memories surfaced in his weary mind, memories of Dean. Most seemed to involve the hunter yelling at him. An image of his friend’s angry face suddenly appeared quite clearly in his mind. He could even hear him shouting.

‘You’re going to let yourself get squashed to death by a couple slabs of frigging concrete? You’re supposed to be an angel for Christ’s sake!’

Cas felt an irrational urge to argue with him even though he knew it was just a figment of his imagination. Even after everything they’d been through, the man remained a constant exasperation. But one thing he had always admired about Dean Winchester was his pigheaded determination. And maybe that was something he needed at that moment.

Diving deep within himself, he fled down to his heart, his true heart, his grace. He gathered all his remaining power and with a strength he thought he’d lost, focused all of it into the most grievous of his internal injuries. Ever so slowly, the tissues regenerated themselves and the blood was replenished. The power was soon used up, but it was enough.

All of his energy now gone, Castiel’s mind spun, drifting back into a darkness that reminded him of death.

Castiel was woken by a familiar voice and a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find the sun shinning high in the sky and Dean leaning over him with a relieved smile on his face. And for a moment, he couldn’t decide which one was brighter.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean,” the angel replied his voice dry and weak.

Dean’s smirk grew wider but concern was still obvious in the tightness around his eyes. “A building? Really, Cas? All of heaven and hell after you and a wall is what takes you down.”

“Well, technically it was a wall brought down by the forces of heaven and hell,” put in Sam. Castiel shifted his gaze and found the younger Winchester kneeling on his other side with his own reassuring smile. “He’s just lucky he didn’t get completely buried or he would have had to wait another four hours while we stole an excavator.”

“I’ll consider myself lucky then,” was Castiel’s hoarse reply, his dry throat making him cough.

Sam patted him on the shoulder. “Hold on, Cas. We’ll have you free in a couple minutes.”

Eyeing the surrounding rubble, Sam pulled free one of the metal supports and climbed up onto a pile of debris. Putting one end of the support under the slab that trapped the angel, he pressed down on the other end attempting to lever up the concrete.

Dean made himself ready situated behind Cas with his hands under the angel’s arms. “Put your back into it, you pansy. We haven’t got all day,” he called to his brother.

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn’t reply. Instead, he pushed down again using all his weight. With a harsh scrapping noise, the cement slowly began to rise. Dean didn’t even wait for an inch of space to appear before he pulled Castiel free. Once Cas was clear, Sam let the wall go. It fell with a loud bang, cracking in two as it did so.

All three of them breathed a sigh of relief.

Jumping down, Sam knelt by Cas’ legs to check the damage. “I don’t think all of the weight was resting on you, so it shouldn’t be too bad, but the left leg is definitely broken.”

Sam gazed at Dean and raised his eyebrows. His brother returned the look and nodded. Castiel frowned as he glanced from one to the other, but before he could attempt to decipher the non-verbal communication, Sam grabbed the injured limb and pulled. Castiel’s whole body jerked in reaction to the sudden burst of pain, but Dean’s hands held him still. The world spun again and began to fade at the edges, but Castiel held on to the solid feeling of the hands on his shoulders.

“You still with us?”

When the world finally settled and he was able to focus on Dean’s worried face, Cas managed to give a small nod.

“Jesus, Cas. You’re a mess,” said Dean gazing at the bloody injuries covering the angel. “Can’t you use your mojo to fix you up?”

Castiel sighed and struggled to sit up only managing with the Winchesters’ help. “Most of my ‘mojo’ was used up in the fight. I used what little I had left to heal my internal injuries, but I won’t be able to heal the rest until my grace has had time to replenish.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll fix you up,” Dean reassured. “We happen to have a lot of experience in that area.”

“So you’re pretty much grounded then?” questioned Sam as the brothers carefully helped the angel to his feet. “No flying about until you’re back to full power?”

“Yes.” Castiel swayed slightly but they held him steady until the vertigo passed and he was able to balance himself on his good leg. He took a deep breath feeling relieved to simply be upright once more.

Dean smirked as the three slowly made their way to the Impala. “I guess that means you’ll be stuck with us for a while then.”

The corners of Castiel’s lips turned up in a rare smile. “I can think of worse places to be.”

[Supernatural Fic] Birds of a Feather

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 20:05:53 GMT

I seem to be in the midst of a slight Supernatural writing frenzy. Second fic posted in two days and I've got another one half way finished already.

Title: Birds of a Feather
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel, Bobby
Rating: G
Genre: Humour
Word Count: 535
Spoilers: Set in season 5, but no specific spoilers for any of the episodes
Summary: "It was a sunny but cool afternoon when Sam strolled through Bobby’s front door, a puzzled expression on his face."

It was a sunny but cool afternoon when Sam strolled through Bobby’s front door, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Hey, Bobby?”

“Yeah,” replied the old hunter not bothering to look up from the books he was examining. Dean sat beside him both elbows on the table as scanned through his own leather bound volume.

“You’ve read through a lot of the lore on angels, haven’t you?”

“Uh, huh,” Bobby said still not looking up.

“In your reading, did you ever find anything that mentioned a...” Sam hesitated a moment searching for the right words. “…connection between angels and birds.”

That got Bobby’s attention. Both he and Dean looked up at Sam, eyebrows raised.

“Beside the obvious that is,” Sam clarified.

Bobby and Dean exchanged glances in a way that clearly showed they were both questioning Sam’s state of mind.

“I mean could there be a relationship between the two?” the younger Winchester brother continued on. “The wings might not just be a coincidence. God could have made birds with angels in mind or something.”

“Well, unless you count some new age garbage about birds being people’s guardian angels, I ain’t seen nothing like that,” answered Bobby.

“What brought this on?” asked Dean smirking at his brother. “You know you could always just ask Castiel.”

“That’s the thing,” said Sam rubbing the side of his head.

“What thing?”

“Castiel.”

“What about him?”

“He’s on the roof.”

“The roof? This roof?” exclaimed Dean pointing towards the ceiling. “What the hell is Castiel doing on the roof?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. Standing?”

Shaking his head, Dean didn’t bother to ask any more questions. He went out to look for himself, Sam trailing behind him. Bobby, muttering something about ‘birdbrains’, opted to stay behind.

Castiel really was on the roof, as Dean soon found out, standing right at the peak and staring off into the distance. Every so often a breeze would catch the bottom of his trench coat and it would flutter around his body, like a pair of wings.

“Huh,” said Dean as he gazed up at the angel. “What’d you know. He does look like a frigging giant bird.”

Sam raised his hands. “That’s what I was getting at.”

“Hey, Cas. Cas!” Dean yelled.

The angel looked down at them, his titled head giving him even more of an avian appearance. Then suddenly, he wasn’t on the roof anymore. He was standing two feet in front of them. Both of the Winchester brothers jumped.

Dean’s fingers clenched into a fist but he resisted using it. “What were you doing up there?”

“Keeping watch,” Cas replied calmly.

“Oh,” said Dean. “Good. That’s good.”

“Was there something you wanted?” Castiel questioned in his usual serious stoic manner.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

“Um…”

“Well…”

“I… Ah…”

“No.”

Eyes narrowed, Castiel gazed from one to the other before disappearing and reappearing back on the roof in the exact same spot as before.

The brothers remained staring at him for a moment before going back inside.

As they entered the house, Dean declared, “Well, at least now I know what to get him for Christmas.”

Sam frowned. “What’s that?”

“Chocolate covered birdseed.”

[Supernatural Fic] Sunshine

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 22:13:04 GMT

Title: Sunshine
Characters: Dean, Castiel
Rating: G
Genre: Fluff
Word Count: 386
Spoilers: Set in season 5, but no specific spoilers for any of the episodes
Summary: "Dean was lying on the grass watching the sunshine through his eyelids."

Dean was lying on the grass watching the sunshine through his eyelids. For once, in this small moment, he was content. He was happy to just stay there listening to the distant sound of children playing and the soft sound of his brother snoring beside him. And forget everything else.

Taking a deep breath, he let his muscles relax sinking deeper into the ground.

Unfortunately, his attempt at relaxation was disturbed when a shadow fell over him. Tensing, he opened his eyes to find the familiar shape of Castiel blocking his light. The rebel angel formed a dark silhouette against the sun, an oddly bright halo glowing around him. He was looking down at them curiously, head cocked to the side.

Dean groaned.

“Are you and Sam alright?” Cas inquired.

“We were fine until you got here,” replied Dean glancing over at his brother who remained ignorantly dozing.

“I have important information for you.”

“No.”

Castiel pulled back his forehead furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“I said ‘no’.”

“But it’s vital that…”

“It can wait,” Dean insisted vehemently. “We’ve got more important things to do.”

“More important than the apocalypse?”

“Yes!”

Castiel’s head slowly tilted to the other side. “Is this more of that human stuff?”

“Exactly,” declared Dean. “Humans don’t just need food and sleep. We need breaks, time out and sunshine, lots of sunshine.”

With a deep breath, Dean closed his eyes hoping Cas would just fly away once more. And as he waited, the shadow did disappear from his face, but then he heard the distinct sound of someone lying down on the grass beside him. Eyes suddenly wide open, he glanced to his right to see Castiel on his back on the grass his hands laced behind his head.

“Cas? Wha…”

Castiel gave a slight shrug as he continued to stare straight at the sun in his disturbingly non-blinking way. “Angels need sunshine too,” he said.

Dean huffed in disbelief and shook his head before breaking into a grin. Closing his eyes once more, he let himself sink back into the grass. On his left, his brother snored. On his right, an angel let his blue eyes absorb the light of the sun.

Graffiti on the Community Centre Washroom Wall

Sat, 10 Oct 2009 00:15:07 GMT

You are the Light...

plus there was a drawing of a whale with a speech bubble with a heart inside :)

ETA: Recently found out that this is a reference to a song by the group Said the Whale.

SPN Fic

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 06:56:10 GMT

I keep reading Supernatural/NCIS fic (about 10 so far) even though I've only seen one episode of NCIS (which was after about the fourth fic and just so I could find out what the characters looked and sounded like) and I've no real interest in watching more NCIS, but I really love Supernatural/NCIS fic and there are some really good ones out there. (will rec some if anyone's interested)

Also, I highly recommend this Supernatural/Harry Potter fic.
(Spoilers up to 4x17 tigger. Sorry. I'm not sure how far along you've got on season 4)

Cats....

Mon, 05 Oct 2009 04:20:35 GMT

I think my cat's annoyed at me because I wouldn't share my sausages.

ETA: All is forgiven. I made it up to her by sharing my muffin.