#cas spear

[shallowseeker]

I want a whole episode of Jack hanging out with Ketch (heaping a stupid amount of adoration on him that he definitely doesn't deserve) and Cas lurking in the background, trying to subtly do Ketch various bodily harms.

*Cas hands Ketch something scaldingly hot*

"Apologies. I didn't realize that was too much for humans."

etc etc

[littlebluejaydraws]

Your hands are clean. OKAY so i do know that there is an ep of spn that is an actual homage to reservoir dogs (and even has cas as mr orange) HOWEVER screen caps of the homoerotic bleeding to death scenes always make me think of 10x03 SO here you go

ID: Two digital drawings of Cas and Crowley from episode 10x03 of Supernatural. The poses are taken from Reservoir Dogs, with Cas on his back and Crowley kneeling over him and supporting his head. In the first drawing, Crowley is holding a vial of grace in one hand. In the second drawing, Crowley is holding the open vial in front of Cas and the grace is moving towards his mouth. They are outside and it is a sunny day. Cas' face and clothes are bloodied. End ID.

[themistas]

the emotional rollercoaster of sam and lucifer playing detectives, it backfiring into lucifer gaining control again, castiel being alive, attempting and failing to save sam, then taking the hallucifer into him... supernatural writers are insane

[suncaptor]

I know I should like care about the fact Cas is just basically like "I am incapable of experiencing happiness my dear child so you don't have to worry" for Cas's sake but unfortunately all I can think about is how that must impact Jack.

[bisaster-energy]

IF I HAD A NICKEL FOR EVERY TIME CAS EXPRESSED HIS LOVE TOWARDS HIS FAMILY I'D HAVE THREE NICKELS

IF I HAD A NICKEL FOR EVERY TIME HE HEARD IT BACK. GUESS HOW MANY I'D HAVE. GUESS HOW FUCKING MANY I WANNA HEAR YOU SAY IT I WANNA HEAR IT YOU BASTARD

[sasanka-27]

Father Spears 😇✨ (aka Castiel in disguise we should have got)

[blueiscoool]

Greek Hoplite Bronze Spear Ca. 800 BC

A bronze spearhead with a lozenge-shaped blade with raised midrib, sharpened edges that taper gradually to a pointed tip, and a tubular socket.

L:260mm / W:40mm ; 175g.

[obsessionnostalgia]

Sonic Drive-In is so important to me

and to Britney Spears, too, who notes at the very beginning of her memoir that as a kid she was always going to Sonic as a kid.

[spaceoutdreamer]

MY COWORKER ON MY ASS BECAUSE I DIDN'T UNDERSTAND GAY PRIDE MEANT WE HAD TO WALK IN A 30°C WEATHER IN A BIG CROWD, IT'S CALLED GAY PRIDE NOT GAY WALK 10 FUCKING KILOMETERS

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: 𝙳𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 [8]

Pairing: Dark!Ransom x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Summary: Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why. 

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Basement-wife, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Smut, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do not eat!

Word Count: 3,572

A/N: poor reader. things are not going as well as she’d hoped. we’re honestly in the home stretch, i anticipate another 2-3 chapters before we’ve arrived at our conclusion! (i also have some plans for a short prequel, so stay tuned!) bottom divider by @firefly-graphics

You stare at your husband, open mouthed as he shuts the door behind him. On the tray in his hands is breakfast, and most of all—coffee. Real coffee, swirling gently in the fancy drip . You can’t think of a single thing to say as he moves past you to set the tray down on the table. 

The scent of his cologne makes your knees tremble, it’s so familiar, so him. You haven’t seen Ransom in person in so long it feels like some sort of trick. You look down at his hands as he arranges the plates, looking for the indents left by Lloyd’s signature rings—but there is only his wedding band, sitting on his ring finger. He looks up at you. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Sweetheart.” 

Your tongue is sticky in your dry mouth. “I did.” 

Ransom isn’t as good at pretending he’s unaffected—not as good as Lloyd. Brief upset flashes across his features before it’s replaced by determined placidity. It makes the rage simmering in your belly flare up even hotter at the sight of him. You’re angrier at him than you are at Lloyd. It isn’t logical, you know, to feel somehow more betrayed by your husband than his twin, but you do. You suppose Lloyd owed you less than the man with whom you had shared every hope, every dream for your future. 

“Let’s eat something, at least,” he replies at last. “You can hate me on a full stomach.” Reluctantly, you sit down at the table. You wonder if all your meals will be taken like this now, now that contact has been re-established, like some sort of strange exposure therapy. Ransom pours himself a mug of dark coffee and then a matching one for you. You don’t reach for it, though, not until you see him drink from his own cup. 

The plate before you is loaded up with fresh fruits—your favorites: cut grapes, melons, slices of kiwi—and beneath that is a fully loaded waffle, topped with fluffy whipped cream. You spear a forkful of eggs and chew as you stare pointedly at the mug in front of you instead of at him. 

Ransom isn’t like Lloyd, he doesn’t force conversation. He simply sits there across from you, eating breakfast in your prison like it’s the most ordinary thing in the entire world. 

“How could you do this?” You vomit up the question as you tremble, unable to swallow another bite. “How?” 

“We love you so much,” he begins, and you have to resist the urge to throw the plate at his head, food and all. “So fucking much.” Ransom reaches across the table to grasp your hand. “This is the only way this works, Sweetheart.” He lifts his hand to your cheek. You hate that his reassurance feels good, that you’re tempted to press your face into the palm of his hand the way you used to. A sob tears free from your throat. 

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t—”

“Do you even know what love is?” There is a cold edge to Ransom’s voice that’s unfamiliar to you, not because you haven’t heard it before, but because he never adopts that tone with you—never. “Love is doing for others what they cannot do for themselves.” You almost want to cringe away from his gaze. “You taught me that.” As his words increase in intensity you actually try to, only to have Ransom grip your chin with his free hand.“Even if it hurts.”

He sits back in his chair, and sips his coffee. “Now finish your breakfast, Sweetheart. I have a surprise.” The word surprise immediately gets your hackles up, and you can feel your stomach churning. 

“A surprise? What is it?” Ransom winks at you. 

“Eat up.” 

You force your way through the fruit—it’s sweet and ripe but it tastes like mush now as you anxiously chew and swallow. Ransom had always been a good gift-giver. It’s one of the things you’d valued about your husband, his attention to detail, his heart. That little piece of him he’d let you see, the part of him he guarded, held like a wounded bird in his cupped hands. The part of him that memorized your birthday three months in and threw a half-birthday party because he couldn’t wait that long to give you the present he’d gotten for you—a trip to Paris, to see the Louvre. Which one of these people is your husband, you wonder, watching him watch you. Which one of them is real, which is created? 

Or had you ever really known him at all?

When you’re done eating, Ransom hands you a little plastic baggie, containing an assortment of pills. A few you recognize—your pre-natal vitamins, one of your prescribed supplements—but there are some you don’t. You glare down at his offered hand with narrowed eyes before crossing your arms. 

“I’m not taking those.” You’re expecting Ransom to fight you—hell, you’re half expecting him to pin you down and force them down your throat. But he doesn’t. All he does is purse his lips, and place them down on the table. 

“We’ll revisit that.”

“We’re not revisiting anything!” You hiss. “I am not. Taking those.” Ransom steeples his fingers beneath his chin and raises an eyebrow. 

“You had no problem taking them when you couldn’t see them, Sweetheart.” Your stomach rolls. “It was my suggestion,” he sighs, fingering the little packet. “I thought you would appreciate the agency.”

“You’re still drugging me.” 

“Sweetheart they’re not roofies.” His flippancy somehow makes you angrier. “It’s all the things you were taking—perhaps a little altered for your condition, but nothing untoward. Your Celexa for your anxiety. Prenatal supplements, vitamins.” 

“I’m not taking them.” 

“Fine.” He picks the little baggie back up and places it in his pocket. Instead of tacit, clever threats like Lloyd, Ransom simply gets up. You look up at him in surprise, almost forgetting to be angry. 

“Y-you’re not going to force me?” You ask, shocked. Your husband pushes his chair back against the table. He looks sad. Really sad, like he recognizes the weight of what has changed between you. 

“No, baby. I’m not.” He turns towards the door. “But I’m not going to stay, either.” Your eyes go wide with fear.

“W-wait, why? I—”

“You’re upset. I understand, I do.” For his part, Ransom looks realistically disappointed, like he wanted things to turn out differently than they have. A sad smile flits across his face. “But baby if we’re going to build back what we had, build it stronger, you’re going to have to think about more than just yourself.”

You feel a pang of hurt in your chest at his accusation. “I’m not selfish! If any

thing—”

“Threatening to leave me? To take the baby?” Ransom shoots you a cold, disappointed look. “What did you tell me, Sweetheart? The baby will never know my name? What would you call that if not selfish?” You swallow thickly. 

That day feels so long ago now, though in truth you suppose it’s been nearly a month since you’d figured it out and everything had broken open and fallen all to pieces. It’s strange to think that that was reality in the same way that this is—that your physical body no longer occupies a world that exists only in your memories, when everything was perfect. 

“I’m going to give you some time to relax. Maybe It’s too soon.” Ransom shakes his head. “I’ll be back when you’re ready.” Your chest feels tight at his declaration. Alone? Again? You curl your fists into tight balls beneath the table, nails digging into your palms. 

“Don’t.” 

“Oh? And why should I stay? You hate me, you won’t take your medicine—”

“I’ll take it.” You mumble, and Ransom turns back around, a soft, surprised look on his face. You don’t want to go back to being alone, back to the endless hours of silence, your food delivered while you slept or bathed, to reciting movie lines just to have something to listen to—

“What?”

“I—I’ll take them. Please—you don’t…” You close your eyes.. “You don’t know what it’s like to be in here alone, day after day.”  It’s torture. The words hang unspoken from the tails of the ones you’re brave enough to voice. Tears press against your closed lids as you try unsuccessfully to keep them back. He sighs. 

“Oh Baby.” 

You hate him —you hate both of them, so much it seems to fill up every inch of you. So why do you want him to stay? Why does it feel familiar and right and good when he tucks you beneath his chin as you sob? You’d managed to hold them in with Lloyd, but you can’t with Ransom. He’s too familiar, your body knows him, thinks it’s safe with him, even when it’s not. But it’s hard not to feel that same security when he sweeps you into his arms and sits against the window with you as you whimper and cry, pressing your face into his chest. 

Ransom rocks you back and forth, rubbing circles on your back through the cotton dress. You aren’t sure what he says to you as he does so, mumbling muddy praise and promises into your hair. It’s almost worse than that day at the villa—you hadn’t been this hopeless then, this trapped. You’d thought you could leave then, that you could simply walk away from the snare they had set for you, though you never really could.

What other end could there have been?

You aren’t sure how long you sit there with Ransom, your heaving, hysterical sobs becoming hiccoughs. Listlessly you stare out at the waves, dragging the back of your hand across your puffy eyes. Wordlessly, he hands you the little plastic bag of pills. You take it from him without a fuss, tear open the corner and dump them into the palm of your hand. You consider them for a moment before lifting them to your mouth and swallowing them dry. 

—

The surprise, as it turns out, is books. 

Ransom brings in a brightly colored bag from the hallway as you sit sniffling on the bed, still wiping at your puffy eyes. It almost brings you to tears again as you pull out the tissue paper to reveal the prizes inside. They’re all books you’ve never read before but had been meaning to, even going so far as to put a list of them on the fridge in the apartment you shared with Ransom. Frankenstein. Hound of the Baskervilles. The Shining.

“You read my list.” 

“Of course I did,” Ransom says, pressing a kiss to your temple before sitting beside you on the edge of the bed. “It’s been up there for months.” He teases. “I thought we could read them together, like we did in college. Since you’ve been so lonely.” Something goes tight and achy in your chest at the memory of it, you and Ransom cuddled together on your narrow dorm room bed as you read him passages of Wuthering Heights and Catcher in the Rye. It’s so easy to picture it now, though you had not thought of them for months—maybe years. Your husband just a few years younger, draping his own sweater over your shoulders. 

I like when it smells like you, he’d say when you’d stammer about lotion or perfume, pressing it into your hands anyway. 

“I’d like that.” 

It’s almost like being home again, wrapping yourself in the soft comforter on the bed as Ransom begins to read. Is it so wrong, you wonder, to want to go back to when things were ordinary and perfect? Before you knew your husband and his brother felt something deeper than love, deeper than obsession for you—ownership, perhaps. You don’t want this new knowledge, as insane as that seems. You don’t want to know that your family is dependent on them, that their lives rely on your marriage in ways you never could have foreseen. Your father’s business, Nathalie’s school—all things they would lose the instant your relationship dissolved. 

And as Ransom reads, it’s almost easy to pretend you don’t have it, to close your eyes and just… listen. You’re half asleep when he shifts you into his arms, pressing soft kisses to the top of your head. You begin to stir, pushing at his chest, but he hums softly. 

“Just let me have this, Sweetheart. You can still hate me when I’m done.” Your husband holds you to his chest, stroking your hair until you fall asleep. He holds you like that for a long time, listening to the sound of your breathing. With a sigh, Ransom lowers you down to the mattress. He’s arranging your books on the bedside table when the sound of the keypad draws his attention.

“You’re bringing her presents already?” Lloyd drawls from the threshold. “I thought you said she wasn’t ready.” Ransom rolls his eyes. He knows what jealousy looks like well enough on his own face to know it on his brother’s. 

“I said that a week ago,” he says softly. “And keep your voice down. You know we had to lower the dose on the sedative.” Lloyd leans against the bedpost, watching as Ransom fusses over you. “Besides. You got to see her yesterday.” He shoots a glare at his older brother. “You took a fucking bath with her. You always have to be fucking first, don’t you?” 

It’s Lloyd’s turn to roll his eyes. “I don’t interfere in your relationship, you don’t talk shit about mine.” He smooths a hand down your cheek. “I called the doctor. He said he’ll be here Monday.” 

Ransom nods. “Good.” A small smile crosses his lips. “I think she’ll be excited to see the baby.” He rests a hand on the ever-so-slight curve of your belly, and Lloyd snorts. “With our luck, it’ll be twins.” You shift, mumbling something in your sleep as your face twitches. Lloyd kisses your forehead. 

“Shh, baby. M’right here.” His hand replaces Ransom’s on your belly. “We’re not going anywhere.”

—

“A doctor?” You stare at the two of them incredulously. “Here?” Lloyd scoffs at your shock. 

“Come on, Princess. It’s not like we’re in space.” He pats you affectionately on your hip. “Besides, you’re due for a checkup. Don’t you want to see your little nugget?” His words twist your stomach. You had scheduled an ultrasound for when you returned from Mykonos—not knowing, foolishly, perhaps, that you never would. I wonder what they told Dr. Pashik. 

Ransom and Lloyd are wrapped around you like snakes; your husband curled around you from behind, while Lloyd has draped himself across your lap, tracing circles on the exposed skin of your thigh where the dress has ridden up. They’d come into your room sometime early that morning while you’d still been mostly asleep, taking up residence on either side of you while you mumbled groggily. Of course Ransom and Lloyd had not come empty handed, bringing with them more gifts; books, card games, even a portable device they told you you were allowed to watch movies on. Of course, upon discreet investigation there were only streaming apps installed on it, no browser, nor any way to reach the outside world. It was password locked for extra security, which neither one of your lover-turned-captors had yet supplied you. 

You rest a hand on your tummy. “I am excited,” you say finally. “I guess… I’m surprised.” Until now, they had not allowed you to see a single person other than them—in fact you wouldn’t have known there were more people here than the three of you had Lloyd not pointedly told you. “What kind of doctor treats a prisoner?”

“You’re a patient, Princess.” Lloyd corrects you. “Not a prisoner.” He kisses your thigh. One who enjoys a discreet, hefty payout. 

“Someone you know from work?” You ask snidely, and Lloyd laughs. 

“Maybe when I can trust you, I can tell you.” He winks at you. You know your brother-in-law does work for “the government” but you aren’t really sure which government. You get the feeling he has no loyalty in that regard, though all you have to go on is your own baseless assumption. Your thoughts turn to the doctor, and you wonder if they might be sympathetic, despite Lloyd’s money. If you’re even allowed to be alone with them—in all likelihood you probably won’t. If Ransom and Lloyd have been anything they’ve been careful, you doubt they’d make such a rookie mistake this far into the game. Not now. 

You smile sadly. “I don’t think you’ll ever be able to trust me.”

“Oh Princess, I don’t know about that. After all, look at us now.” A lump forms in your throat. “All cozy like. I think you feel a lot more comfortable than you want to admit.” You swallow against the lump that’s formed, thick and sticky in your throat. 

“I just know there’s no use trying to push you off.” 

“Okay, Princess.” Lloyd blows you a kiss. “Whatever you say.” 

It is warm and comfortable between them, and as much as you hate it, Lloyd’s hands do feel familiar and right on your skin, though you don’t want them to. It occurs to you once again that you don’t know what’s in those neat little pre-packaged pill bags that they’re giving you, and as much as you don’t want to bask in the sudden intensity of their affection after weeks of stark purposeful isolation, you still can’t help yourself. It doesn’t help to know the rules of the game when they’re still playing it so effectively. All you can do is watch as Ransom and Lloyd move you around the board, to ends you can only imagine. 

“When is the doctor coming?”

“Tomorrow,” Ransom says, squeezing your hand. “I think we’ll hear the heartbeat, you’re far enough along, you know.” He sounds excited. You know he is—Ransom has always been excited at the prospect of fatherhood. He’d been downright encouraging when you had brought up going off your birth control, if the things he’d been growling into your ear as he rutted into you in your bed were any indicator, and they were. 

“We still haven’t talked about names.” 

“I had a list going but it was on my phone.” 

“Maybe we’ll take a look at it together soon.” Ransom’s hands drift to your shoulders, rubbing at the tense muscle knotted underneath your skin. 

“Will we get pictures?” You ask. “Of the ultrasound?” 

“Of course.”

“Then… will you send them to my parents?” His hands falter, and you turn to look at him. Your husband’s expression is unreadable as he glances down at his brother, an entire conversation passing between them wordlessly. You feel that same pang of old jealousy creep up into your chest, and you swallow it down. “I just—they… they would want to see.” 

“Maybe.” He says at last. 

“Where do they think I am?”

“I don’t—”

“I’ve been good, haven’t I?” You ask, shifting away from him, from the both of them. “Please. Tell me something. Anything.” Lloyd shakes his head with a frown, but Ransom sighs. 

“You’re in a very expensive hospital in Austria.” 

“My father wouldn’t believe that,” you say, shaking your head. You know your family—they wouldn’t just swallow some paper thin excuse just to get back to their lives. Would they? “He-he would want to see me.” 

“Your father is very busy with his business, Princess,” Lloyd cuts in effortlessly. “He has so much to worry about, and then there’s Nathalie’s classes…” he shrugs. “They trust us to take good care of you.” 

“So let us take care of you.” 

You’d suspected you had no tears left to cry, that perhaps you’d cried them all already. But as always, you manage to surprise yourself with more from the seemingly unending supply inside you. You want to push away their hands as they pat and comfort you, hushing you and wiping at their tears with the pads of their thumbs. It’s the only comfort you have, especially knowing your family isn’t looking for you. Why would they? You remember the bitter, bitter arguments you’d had with your own father when you had decided to move out. They relied on you, needed you—you contributed to more than a third of the bills, there was simply no way around it. You were hurting the family, damning them with your independence. 

“Have you ever thought about anyone but your goddamn self?” Your father had never apologized for that night, and like a dutiful daughter you never brought it up again because how could you? You were the oldest, junior mom, de-facto parent. Something shatters inside you at the thought, and you feel it almost like physical pain. I wonder if they can hear it. 

You don’t know when the arms around you begin to feel like solace instead of suffocation as you weep against someone’s warm chest—you cannot be sure, not through your blurry, red-rimmed eyes. But as your fingers curl into his shirt, and another warm set of lips presses against your hair, you wonder if perhaps this is why they chose you. 

Because who didn’t love to tinker with a broken doll?

to be continued…

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[shallowseeker]

The inherent shame in loving angels: Dean & Castiel

I think 14x09 The Spear & 14x10 Nihilism have some marvelous built-in lines pointing to the guilt concerning angelic possession.

Pamela Barnes's presence and subsequent blinding in Dean’s dreamscape is so, so fascinating. It implies that, despite what Dean says in The Spear, Dean is strugglingwith what the reality of Cas is and a new perspective on the brutal knowledge of what his presence means.

Take these lines from The Spear:

CAS: You seem good lately. Happy, even. [ Dean is getting gear from back seat ] You -- We have a broken tape deck, we drove this whole way without music, and you did not complain once. DEAN: [ Closes car door ] You know, I guess I'm just fired up. I mean, look. We got -- We got Jack back. When was the last time we had a big, no-strings-attached win like that? CAS: But now we have Michael. DEAN: I know. CAS: And, Dean we're taking a big risk going after the spear like this. DEAN: I know we are.[ Stopping Cas ] Listen to me. Michael conned me. Kept me trapped and drowning inside my own body. Now, when you and Sam were possessed by Lucifer, I -- I thought I understood, but I didn't, not really. So, yeah, if we get a chance to trap him, I'll take that, but I won't be truly happy until he is dead and I kill him. And now I have a chance to do that, so, yeah, I'm good. Let's go.

On the outside, Dean is happy. There's just one thing left to defeat, and then, maybe finally he can be happy. (We know from 12x23 that his happiness, the 'everything he's ever wanted' includes his makeshift little family: Cas, Mary, Jack.)

But Michael's possession left him psychologically injured. Angelic power and possession is on his mind. He's still struggling with the horror of what that felt like.

He does not mention the elephant in the room--that Cas not only know what's like to be possessed, but to possess.

///

Then, we see Pamela Barnes in 14x10 Nihilism, and yes, she's conspicuously dressed in Hell and wing motifs. Michael reminds us that it was Cas who pulled Dean from perdition, and then we get this:

(Flashback to Pamela's eyes being burned out) DEAN (looks at Pamela, whose eyes are now pure white): You're blind? PAMELA: Yeah, I've been blind for a while. Thank Feathers here for that one. CASTIEL: That was -- Dean, that was an accident. ♪ And I'm searchin' for a rainbow ♪

This is Dean's subconscious. It's taunting him that he's been blind...for awhile.

It's an ominous undercurrent reminding him that yes, he's loved Cas for awhile, and yes, that's blinded him to what Cas truly is. His subconscious is struggling and balking at the new perspective he has on Cas's human victims. Pamela was an accident, but Jimmy wasn't. Countless others weren't either.

He can't help but think about it, and he's desperately suppressing it. He loves Cas. But Cas blinded Pamela, like he blinded Dean. And Dean loves him anyway, and that's horrific, isn't it? He can't have that. They can't possibly deserve that happiness together. They're both here at the expense of others. It's frightening and ugly and drowning him with guilt.

Beyond Pamela lies the specter of Jimmy Novak. The ugly truth is that the third member of Team Free Will stripped a man of his free will so utterly.

And yet, Dean's subconscious is chanting, “I love you. I can’t help it.”

It's true what they say: love is blind.

[today-in-the-bunker]

Today, Sam and Dean organize a bonfire. They set up a stone ring and fill it with logs, sticks, and old documents before setting it ablaze. They gather around the fire, sitting in four tattered salvaged camping chairs. Dean tells Jack and Cas to find four small sticks, which he then sharpens with his pocket knife, creating a set of marshmallow-toasting spears. They laugh and trade stories all throughout the night, enjoying fire roasted s'mores and hotdogs, only retreating indoors after Sam realizes he's gained ten mosquito bites within the last hour.

[lionofchaeronea]

Coin minted ca. 280 CE by the Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius Probus (r. 276-282). Probus is shown in the company of Sol Invictus ("Unconquered Sun"), a late form of the solar deity whose worship had been promoted by Probus' predecessor Aurelian. The birthday of Sol Invictus (Dies Natalis Solis Invicti) was traditionally celebrated on Dec. 25. On this coin, Probus, who was constantly on campaign during his brief reign, is shown prepared for battle with shield and spear, alongside Sol Invictus, who wears his characteristic radiant crown. Now in the National Museum of Denmark, Copenhagen. Photo credit: ChrisO/Wikimedia Commons.

[suncaptor]

helpful reassuring things to say to your CHILD who's dying wish was for his other parent to not be sad <3 literally all Jack WANTS is Cas to be happy and now (in his mind BECAUSE of him) if Cas is happy. he'll die!

[imbiowaresbitch]

By the Shore, chapter 5

Cold

Dean sat at their table, sipping his beer, and met Cas’ eyes with a predatory smile as Cas rejoined him. Cas immediately drained his wine, looking decadently flushed and flustered, and Dean's smile softened. He reached across the table without thinking about it, and Cas instantly tangled their fingers together, meeting his eyes with a little smile of his own. 

“I pushed you too far, didn't I?” Cas murmured, half-apologetic, half-amused.

Dean smirked at him.

“Maybe just far enough…” he teased, and Cas chuckled, squeezing his hand gently. 

Their waiter appeared with their meals, not batting an eye at their wrinkled clothes and generally fucked out appearances, and Dean winked at Cas. Cas smiled serenely, untangling his fingers from Dean's to grab his knife and fork, and they dove into their meal. Dean had ordered a steak, ‘cause seriously, when was he gonna see Wagyu beef in Ladow’s back in Lebanon? It was served with a red wine mushroom sauce, and served with fries – though the menu called it pommes frites with sea salt and truffle oil – and blistered shishito peppers. 

Dean cut into the steak eagerly, and as the first bite seemed to melt on his tongue, his eyes closed with a soft moan of delight.

He heard Cas chuckle across from him, and held up a hand, keeping his eyes closed.

“Shhh… I'm having a private moment with the steak. I just need a second here…”

Cas snorted, and Dean chose to ignore him, savouring the incredible steak, cooked to perfection. He didn't even mind the mushrooms. Swallowing, he popped his eyes open and eagerly cut another bite of the steak, then paused. He cut a smaller, more delicate piece than the two-inch square he’d planned on cramming in his mouth, and carefully speared it on his fork. He held it out to Cas, waving the tines back and forth slowly.

“Cas? You gotta try this…”

Cas paused with his own fork halfway to his mouth, raising an eyebrow at Dean, then he completed the motion, humming happily at his black truffle risotto. He set his fork down and had a sip of his wine, then reached for Dean’s fork.

Dean swayed backward, a teasing grin on his face. 

“Come on, Cas,” he cajoled, letting a suggestive note filter through the words. “Use your mouth for me?”

Cas’ eyes darkened, and he leaned forward again, his hands folded primly in his lap, and let Dean feed him the tender morsel of steak. His blue eyes were locked on Dean’s the entire time, and Dean saw the surprise there when the flavour registered. He smiled in triumph.

Cas chewed slowly, then licked his lips.

“That's very good,” he acknowledged, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Come on, buddy. It's the best thing you've ever tasted, right?” Dean argued, stabbing one of the peppers and taking a bite. The sweet-spicy burst on his tongue, and he groaned. “Holy shit, these are awesome. You gotta try one!”

Cas laughed at his enthusiasm, but he leaned back, shaking his head. 

“I'll pass for tonight, thanks.” He scooped up one of the scallops adorning his plate, carefully nibbling it from the fork. Dean shrugged, grabbing a fry, and Cas spoke up. “I think I'll taste the best thing ever back at our cabin…”

~~

Read the rest on AO3 here.

Thanks to @winchester-reload for the prompts!

[sasanka-27]