[FIC] Fluff for takadainmate
Gift type: Fanfic
Title: Fluff
Author: apokteino
Recipient: takadainmate
Rating: PG-13 (for Dean's potty mouth)
Word Count: 1819
Warnings: none
Spoilers: season five
Summary: Castiel is allergic to chocolate.
Author notes: Prompts used: 1. Angels are allergic to [insert something random]. Castiel has an allergic reaction to it. 2. Bobby orders Dean to go shopping. Dean drags Cas along because if he has to suffer so should someone else. Cas in a shopping mall is a whole new experience. (I ended up not having Bobby or a mall in there, strictly speaking - hope you like it anyway!)
Dean wakes up coughing on something soft and fluffy in his mouth. He flails, softness meeting his hands, eyes opening to fluffy white things in the air, slowly drifting past his gaze to the motel room wall and a bizarre blobby stain Dean had decided the night before resembled Santa Claus. He manages to finally spit out the fluffy thing, and that's when he realizes the entire fucking room is covered in feathers, like a blanket of pure snow over a shit motel room.
Sam's in the other bed, sitting up and waving his hands in the air, as if attempting to dispel the slowly falling feathers. He turns and blinks at Dean.
Dean throws off the scratchy covers and takes a second glance around the room, finally spotting the figure hunched over in a corner.
He's only wearing pants, slim figure naked otherwise, knees pulled up, shoulders hunched in and the dark head of hair rises -
Of course it's Cas. Flushed red like Dean's never seen, and Dean gapes. Cas. Feathers. Nearly naked. (I am not gay, Dean thinks.)
Cas coughs, and mutters, "Apparently I'm allergic to chocolate."
-------------------------------
Castiel absolutely and utterly refuses to explain, except to say that he won't be able to fly for a while and then he shuts up, face still red. Dean sits him on his bed, stares at him a long moment, then turns to Sam, thinking, What the fuck. Lucifer and Michael are on their tails, and Cas is allergic to chocolate? And somehow that relates to the fuck-all angel feathers flying everywhere?
Sam shrugs, and says, "Well," and looks around the room. "Do you think we should do something about the feathers?"
Dean points at Cas. "You're cleaning."
That makes Sam give bitch-face #21, you aren't being sensitive enough, Dean.
"I - yes. What should I do with them?" Cas asks, clearing his throat, flush fading slightly.
"Are they - dangerous?" Sam asks. At Dean's look, he adds, "Hey, they could be used in spells or something, like hair and nails for humans."
"There's no connection," Cas assures him. "The grace fades from the feathers when they … detach."
"Right," Dean drawls. "Well then, trash bags it is."
Dean gets them from the car (black trash bags are, like duct tape and ammunition, indispensable when trying to get rid of things or, on that one occasion, when used to collect two thousand marbles that were the most precious possession of a dead serial killer; there was spit on them) and returns triumphantly with two bags, one for Cas and one for Sam.
Sam smiles serenely, and shows Dean the punched edge that indicates Dean'd actually given him two bags, not one. Dean glares and Sam smiles and Cas looks confused. Life as usual.
It takes them nearly an hour to catch all the stray feathers, including a few sticking to the popcorn ceiling, and Dean pretends not to notice that Sam's stuffed a few of the much longer ones ("Flight feathers," Sam murmurs) into Dean's duffel, 'cause okay, he'd like a closer look at angel feathers, too.
Eventually, the room is clean, black bags almost full, and Dean takes a deep breath and says, "Okay then. Time for a resupply run, so Sam, entertain Cas, and I'll get going."
"You should take Cas with you," Sam says immediately.
"No, I shouldn't," Dean replies immediately.
Sam leans in, and this isn't Sam's bitchface; it's his smugface, and he's only got one. "You said in Colorado that you wanted to take Cas with you everywhere."
Dean leans in to reply. He hisses, "Rule three, Sam! Don't mention what's said when shitfaced!"
Sam turns from him, unconcerned. "Cas, you should go with Dean. It'd help you get to know this world better," he suggests. "You don't need to be stuck in here while you recover. Dean'd be happy to take you."
Cas looks at Dean, curiously hopeful.
(I am not gay, Dean thinks.)
Cas is dressed in Dean's clothes and staring up at the sky when Dean slams the door in Sam's smiling, fucking smug face.
Wal-Mart, of course, is a world unto itself. Dean privately thinks of it as hunters' central, for the simple fact you can buy guns and condoms and not get looked at twice. This one is huge, open 24 hours a day (the floors, he's sure, haven't been completely clean since it opened), a cheerful old man at the door greeting everyone. Cas seems utterly taken.
"Thank you," Cas says earnestly, "you are very polite."
Dean sighs.
-------------------------------
Dean stocks up their first aid kit first, throwing it all into the cart. Cas is, thank God, being quiet and just following Dean around, staring intently at everything he sees. So after a while, Dean relaxes. First aid, ammunition (God bless Texas), three bags of salt, a few more easily found ingredients for protection hexes, now the food. Cans for the days they sleep in the car, bread and meat for right now (he wonders if Cas can eat, or if he's allergic to other things), fruit for Sam because he's a girl …
"Strawberries," and Cas almost manages to pop one in his mouth.
Dean slaps his hand, and Cas blinks at him. "That's stealing!"
"You steal all the time," Cas says reasonably.
"I -" because of course Cas is right, and the credit card in his wallet doesn't have his name on it. "But you're not supposed to get caught," Dean finishes.
Cas puts the strawberry back into the container, popping the plastic shut with a look of intense concentration (probably due to unfamiliarity with plastic) and places it in the cart.
Dean chooses not to argue, and moves on.
He turns around in the bread aisle to see Cas communing with a loaf of white bread, poking it, watching it depress and then rise, and then doing it again, before he turns to Dean and says, "You crush seeds and then combine them with fungus and fat and sugar, and they make this," a rush of words filled with fascination. "Human ingenuity is amazing."
Dean snatches it out of his hands and throws it in the cart. "You can taste it later. Unless you're allergic."
Cas reddens, folds his arms and plays with the slightly-long sleeves of Dean's Henley.
"I mean, chocolate? Really? You never had chocolate before this morning?" Dean finally asks.
"Angels don't eat," Cas says defensively.
Dean snorts and heads for the candy aisle. Peanut M&M's, here he comes. He grabs two bags of it, turns to throw it into the cart and faces Cas -
"No," Dean says.
"They're coated with chocolate, Dean."
"No. Fuck no."
Dean leaves the peanut M&M's behind. (I am not gay for Cas, he thinks.)
They're rolling to check-out, waiting behind a woman buying, for God only knows what reason, at least a dozen 24 packs of toilet rolls. Dean stares at the mountain for a long moment, concluding she's probably a survivalist because nothing else makes sense (forty or so - way too old to paper a house, and they're nowhere near Halloween). Then he considers and realizes he forgot to buy a pack of rolls himself. (After a certain incident in Louisiana, Dean and Sam always carry a few rolls in the car.)
He turns to Cas. "Hey. You think you remember where the toilet rolls are?" He points at the carts in front of him. "Like that?"
Cas considers, then nods.
"Go get a package," Dean orders.
He waits five minutes in line, then starts looking around, searching for Cas's black shirt and oddly out of place dress pants. He sees a flash of pink and then - squints.
Cas moves forward. He's got a roll of toilet paper in one hand and a pink shirt in the other. "I met a very nice woman who gave me directions, and when I told her about you, she suggested you would like this." The t-shirt proudly proclaims, "I'm so gay I can't think straight!"
"Oh my God," Dean snarls, and immediately deflates when Cas flinches, clearly surprised. He probably doesn't even know what the shirt means.
"That's blasphemy, Dean," he says, tone full of disapproval, and Dean doesn't care about that, but he
does care about the hurt look.
"You look like a puppy I just kicked," Dean mutters.
Cas's face twists into something that looks offended. "I am not a puppy."
"Never mind. Just - put it back, or Sam'll never let me live it down."
Cas frowns and complies.
They make it to the cashier, and if heaven weren't full of dipshits, he'd thank it.
-------------------------------
They pack everything into the Impala, mostly in the backseat. They shouldn't be opening the trunk, even with the false bottom, in the parking lot of Wal-Mart, just for safety's sake. Cas is actually helpful in packing everything in a neat and geometric way, and then they slide into the front bench seat. Dean slaps one hand on the wheel, ready to go.
"Did you really want to take me everywhere?" Cas whispers.
Dean looks over, startled. "I …" yes. Because for all of the things that Cas does that irritate Dean, he's been there when no else was, when Sam had left him for Ruby, when Cas sacrificed himself so Dean could save his brother. That Dean had failed didn't diminish that at all. And Cas, he knows, came here. He was hurt - fuck, he can't fly, just from an allergy - and the first thing he did was come to Dean.
Cas is staring at him, blue eyes mostly calm, a hint of worry nearly hidden.
So, "Yeah," Dean says. (I am gay for Cas, he thinks.) He laughs a little, feeling like a fool. "Though I guess you'd be better at that than me."
"The woman I met made another suggestion," Cas says hesitantly.
"Yeah?" and stupidly, he doesn't even see it coming when Cas kisses him, feather-light and warm, and it's like fucking Christmas, and Cas is his present. Then Cas is withdrawing, that mostly hidden worry bright and open. For a second, Dean doesn't even mind the t-shirt.
Dean laughs and grabs him, brings him into another kiss. The smile on Cas's face grows and grows, and Dean says, "You are much better than chocolate."
Title: Fluff
Author: apokteino
Recipient: takadainmate
Rating: PG-13 (for Dean's potty mouth)
Word Count: 1819
Warnings: none
Spoilers: season five
Summary: Castiel is allergic to chocolate.
Author notes: Prompts used: 1. Angels are allergic to [insert something random]. Castiel has an allergic reaction to it. 2. Bobby orders Dean to go shopping. Dean drags Cas along because if he has to suffer so should someone else. Cas in a shopping mall is a whole new experience. (I ended up not having Bobby or a mall in there, strictly speaking - hope you like it anyway!)
Dean wakes up coughing on something soft and fluffy in his mouth. He flails, softness meeting his hands, eyes opening to fluffy white things in the air, slowly drifting past his gaze to the motel room wall and a bizarre blobby stain Dean had decided the night before resembled Santa Claus. He manages to finally spit out the fluffy thing, and that's when he realizes the entire fucking room is covered in feathers, like a blanket of pure snow over a shit motel room.
Sam's in the other bed, sitting up and waving his hands in the air, as if attempting to dispel the slowly falling feathers. He turns and blinks at Dean.
Dean throws off the scratchy covers and takes a second glance around the room, finally spotting the figure hunched over in a corner.
He's only wearing pants, slim figure naked otherwise, knees pulled up, shoulders hunched in and the dark head of hair rises -
Of course it's Cas. Flushed red like Dean's never seen, and Dean gapes. Cas. Feathers. Nearly naked. (I am not gay, Dean thinks.)
Cas coughs, and mutters, "Apparently I'm allergic to chocolate."
-------------------------------
Castiel absolutely and utterly refuses to explain, except to say that he won't be able to fly for a while and then he shuts up, face still red. Dean sits him on his bed, stares at him a long moment, then turns to Sam, thinking, What the fuck. Lucifer and Michael are on their tails, and Cas is allergic to chocolate? And somehow that relates to the fuck-all angel feathers flying everywhere?
Sam shrugs, and says, "Well," and looks around the room. "Do you think we should do something about the feathers?"
Dean points at Cas. "You're cleaning."
That makes Sam give bitch-face #21, you aren't being sensitive enough, Dean.
"I - yes. What should I do with them?" Cas asks, clearing his throat, flush fading slightly.
"Are they - dangerous?" Sam asks. At Dean's look, he adds, "Hey, they could be used in spells or something, like hair and nails for humans."
"There's no connection," Cas assures him. "The grace fades from the feathers when they … detach."
"Right," Dean drawls. "Well then, trash bags it is."
Dean gets them from the car (black trash bags are, like duct tape and ammunition, indispensable when trying to get rid of things or, on that one occasion, when used to collect two thousand marbles that were the most precious possession of a dead serial killer; there was spit on them) and returns triumphantly with two bags, one for Cas and one for Sam.
Sam smiles serenely, and shows Dean the punched edge that indicates Dean'd actually given him two bags, not one. Dean glares and Sam smiles and Cas looks confused. Life as usual.
It takes them nearly an hour to catch all the stray feathers, including a few sticking to the popcorn ceiling, and Dean pretends not to notice that Sam's stuffed a few of the much longer ones ("Flight feathers," Sam murmurs) into Dean's duffel, 'cause okay, he'd like a closer look at angel feathers, too.
Eventually, the room is clean, black bags almost full, and Dean takes a deep breath and says, "Okay then. Time for a resupply run, so Sam, entertain Cas, and I'll get going."
"You should take Cas with you," Sam says immediately.
"No, I shouldn't," Dean replies immediately.
Sam leans in, and this isn't Sam's bitchface; it's his smugface, and he's only got one. "You said in Colorado that you wanted to take Cas with you everywhere."
Dean leans in to reply. He hisses, "Rule three, Sam! Don't mention what's said when shitfaced!"
Sam turns from him, unconcerned. "Cas, you should go with Dean. It'd help you get to know this world better," he suggests. "You don't need to be stuck in here while you recover. Dean'd be happy to take you."
Cas looks at Dean, curiously hopeful.
(I am not gay, Dean thinks.)
Cas is dressed in Dean's clothes and staring up at the sky when Dean slams the door in Sam's smiling, fucking smug face.
Wal-Mart, of course, is a world unto itself. Dean privately thinks of it as hunters' central, for the simple fact you can buy guns and condoms and not get looked at twice. This one is huge, open 24 hours a day (the floors, he's sure, haven't been completely clean since it opened), a cheerful old man at the door greeting everyone. Cas seems utterly taken.
"Thank you," Cas says earnestly, "you are very polite."
Dean sighs.
-------------------------------
Dean stocks up their first aid kit first, throwing it all into the cart. Cas is, thank God, being quiet and just following Dean around, staring intently at everything he sees. So after a while, Dean relaxes. First aid, ammunition (God bless Texas), three bags of salt, a few more easily found ingredients for protection hexes, now the food. Cans for the days they sleep in the car, bread and meat for right now (he wonders if Cas can eat, or if he's allergic to other things), fruit for Sam because he's a girl …
"Strawberries," and Cas almost manages to pop one in his mouth.
Dean slaps his hand, and Cas blinks at him. "That's stealing!"
"You steal all the time," Cas says reasonably.
"I -" because of course Cas is right, and the credit card in his wallet doesn't have his name on it. "But you're not supposed to get caught," Dean finishes.
Cas puts the strawberry back into the container, popping the plastic shut with a look of intense concentration (probably due to unfamiliarity with plastic) and places it in the cart.
Dean chooses not to argue, and moves on.
He turns around in the bread aisle to see Cas communing with a loaf of white bread, poking it, watching it depress and then rise, and then doing it again, before he turns to Dean and says, "You crush seeds and then combine them with fungus and fat and sugar, and they make this," a rush of words filled with fascination. "Human ingenuity is amazing."
Dean snatches it out of his hands and throws it in the cart. "You can taste it later. Unless you're allergic."
Cas reddens, folds his arms and plays with the slightly-long sleeves of Dean's Henley.
"I mean, chocolate? Really? You never had chocolate before this morning?" Dean finally asks.
"Angels don't eat," Cas says defensively.
Dean snorts and heads for the candy aisle. Peanut M&M's, here he comes. He grabs two bags of it, turns to throw it into the cart and faces Cas -
"No," Dean says.
"They're coated with chocolate, Dean."
"No. Fuck no."
Dean leaves the peanut M&M's behind. (I am not gay for Cas, he thinks.)
They're rolling to check-out, waiting behind a woman buying, for God only knows what reason, at least a dozen 24 packs of toilet rolls. Dean stares at the mountain for a long moment, concluding she's probably a survivalist because nothing else makes sense (forty or so - way too old to paper a house, and they're nowhere near Halloween). Then he considers and realizes he forgot to buy a pack of rolls himself. (After a certain incident in Louisiana, Dean and Sam always carry a few rolls in the car.)
He turns to Cas. "Hey. You think you remember where the toilet rolls are?" He points at the carts in front of him. "Like that?"
Cas considers, then nods.
"Go get a package," Dean orders.
He waits five minutes in line, then starts looking around, searching for Cas's black shirt and oddly out of place dress pants. He sees a flash of pink and then - squints.
Cas moves forward. He's got a roll of toilet paper in one hand and a pink shirt in the other. "I met a very nice woman who gave me directions, and when I told her about you, she suggested you would like this." The t-shirt proudly proclaims, "I'm so gay I can't think straight!"
"Oh my God," Dean snarls, and immediately deflates when Cas flinches, clearly surprised. He probably doesn't even know what the shirt means.
"That's blasphemy, Dean," he says, tone full of disapproval, and Dean doesn't care about that, but he
does care about the hurt look.
"You look like a puppy I just kicked," Dean mutters.
Cas's face twists into something that looks offended. "I am not a puppy."
"Never mind. Just - put it back, or Sam'll never let me live it down."
Cas frowns and complies.
They make it to the cashier, and if heaven weren't full of dipshits, he'd thank it.
-------------------------------
They pack everything into the Impala, mostly in the backseat. They shouldn't be opening the trunk, even with the false bottom, in the parking lot of Wal-Mart, just for safety's sake. Cas is actually helpful in packing everything in a neat and geometric way, and then they slide into the front bench seat. Dean slaps one hand on the wheel, ready to go.
"Did you really want to take me everywhere?" Cas whispers.
Dean looks over, startled. "I …" yes. Because for all of the things that Cas does that irritate Dean, he's been there when no else was, when Sam had left him for Ruby, when Cas sacrificed himself so Dean could save his brother. That Dean had failed didn't diminish that at all. And Cas, he knows, came here. He was hurt - fuck, he can't fly, just from an allergy - and the first thing he did was come to Dean.
Cas is staring at him, blue eyes mostly calm, a hint of worry nearly hidden.
So, "Yeah," Dean says. (I am gay for Cas, he thinks.) He laughs a little, feeling like a fool. "Though I guess you'd be better at that than me."
"The woman I met made another suggestion," Cas says hesitantly.
"Yeah?" and stupidly, he doesn't even see it coming when Cas kisses him, feather-light and warm, and it's like fucking Christmas, and Cas is his present. Then Cas is withdrawing, that mostly hidden worry bright and open. For a second, Dean doesn't even mind the t-shirt.
Dean laughs and grabs him, brings him into another kiss. The smile on Cas's face grows and grows, and Dean says, "You are much better than chocolate."