#you offered to buy us cat food once and sent your credit card number

[carnage-cathedral]

shout-out to Amma @theycallmeabutcher for being incredible and always coming through for us <3

[tinyboxxtink]

“My Fairy Abogado” *Part 2*

I’m really shocked people like this as much as they do, this was literally a dream I had one night and decided to write about. 😁

PART 1

Part 3

Tag List

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@objection-argumentative

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@dumauier

------------

“Sooooooo, what was that?” Marisol immediately grilled you.

“What was what?” 

“He slipped you a card! I saw it!”

“Oh,” you handed her the card. “He said he might be able to help my parents,”

“Can he even do that? Don’t you have to be like a special immigration lawyer or something?” 

“He can do whatever he wants, he’s the ADA,” a voice came from behind you.

“Ah! Ash! Don’t DO that!” You spun around to see her sitting on a bar stool. 

“Why? Afraid I’ll hear you talking bad about my abogado? Or….good, even?” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh shut up,” You hit her. “Did you need something?” 

“Yeah I just wanted to tell you Raf and I will have two number 23’s, mine with green chile sauce his with red and extra extra jalapenos, and a dozen tortillas,” 

“That’s a lot of food for two people,”

“He’s buying,” She shrugged with a smile before walking back to their table. 

“I swear to God that girl is like a cat,” 

“Yeah, thank god she came up before we actually got to the juicy stuff!” Mari giggled.

“What ‘juicy stuff’?” 

“Oh please, I saw the way you looked at him when he came in, and while you were talking to them. 

“And how exactly was I looking at him?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Like a popsicle on a summer day,”  She poked her tongue to the side of her mouth, moving her hand to the other side in a pumping to the side motion. 

“OH MY GOD, Marisol!!!” You grabbed her hands and moved them away, looking around frantically. 

“What’s that mean?”

“Ah!” You yelped again, this time it was your seven year old sister Chloe.

“Chloe, you can’t just sneak up on people,” 

“I was sitting right here,”

“Right,” “Did you need something Chlo?” 

“Yeah, I need a refill,” She held out her soda cup to you, which you leaned over the bar to fill up. 

“Who’s that guy with Ash?” She pointed at Rafael and Ash’s table.

“He’s her…'Tio,” You lied.

“I thought it was just her and her abuela,” 

“He’s a….long lost Tio,” 

“Oh, why’d he give you his number?” 

“Who gave Y/N his number?” Your fifteen year old brother Beto came up behind Chloe.

“Now what do you need?”

“Mas chips,” he held out the empty chip basket. You sighed and handed it Marisol to fill up from the kitchen.

“Now who gave you his number?”

“Ash’s Tio,” Chloe informed him, pointing at Rafael.

“Ash doesn’t have any family, they were all ki--” he started, but you made a slicing hand motion across your neck. 

“...Kicked out of America,” 

“Like mami and papi?” 

“...Yeah, sure. But Ash doesn’t have anybody else,” 

“Yes, she does. And he’s her--” you started to tell Chloe, but she was gone. Your eyes darted to Raf and Ash’s table, where Chloe had run off to. 

“Are you Ash’s tio?” You could hear her ask, as you practically leapt over the bar and ran over to the table.

“I am so sorry, she’s…” You clamped a hand over Chloe’s mouth.

“Nosy,” Ash finished for you. She stuck her tongue out at Chloe, who did the same back. Sometimes you didn’t know who was older.

“It’s fine,” Rafael smiled, then held out his hand to Chloe. “I’m Rafael,” 

“Chloe,” She took his hand very regally. “Very nice to meet you,” she said in a very proper accent. 

“So why did you give my sister your number?” Beto once again came trailing up behind the group. 

“Are you kidding me-- BETO,” You turned around and smacked him. “Don’t you have chips to refill? And homework to do?”

“Well if a guy papi’s age is hitting on my sister, I’d like to know about it,” he glared at Rafael, who smirked in amusement back.

“That’s it,”  You took them both by their shirts and escorted them away, back to their table.

“Yasmine,” You hit your twelve year old sister, who was listening to her iPod. She took out her ear pods when you hit her. 

“What?” She exclaimed angrily.

“You just let them run around, bothering customers?!” You gestured to the two of them.

“Beto’s fifteen, and he can watch Chloe. I have a science quiz tomorrow, I’m trying to study! Or do you WANT me to fail Bio? I’m sure that’ll look really awesome on the progress report that gets sent to Child Services!” She scoffed. 

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes then looked at your brother and sister.

“Look-- Rafael is a nice man, who offered to help mami and papi, okay? NOBODY is hitting on anybody, it’s just a business thing. Okay?” 

“He’s going to help mami and papi?!” Chloe’s eyes lit up. You probably shouldn’t have made that kind of promise, seeing as you didn’t even know if he could help you.

“Try, Chlo,” you shushed her. “Try. I don’t know if he can,” 

“Yeah well, that better be all he’s doing,” Beto narrowed his eyes at their table. “I saw the way he was looking at you,” 

“Beto! Jesus…” You grabbed the full chip basket off the bar and shoved it in his hands, gesturing for them both to get back in the booth. 

“Now you three finish up and go upstairs, shower, and you two help Chloe to bed,” You instructed the three of them.

“And NOBODY bother Mr. Rafael again, si?” you eyed them. 

“Alright fine,” Beto grabbed a chip and went back to his homework. 

“I wasn’t bothering him-- but fine,” Chloe sipped her soda.

“Great,” you sighed, turning back and heading to the kitchen to grab Rafael and Ash’s food. 

This was gonna be a long night.

------

You walked back across the restaurant and saw Marisol handing them their food.

“Um, Mari-- I got it,” You came up behind her.

“Oh! Hey, Y/N,” She grinned. “You know, I was just thinking, maybe you sit here and chat with Rafael. I can cover the tables,” 

“....And why, would I do that?” 

“Because I asked her to,” Rafael poked his head around her. You glanced at Mari, who gave you a suggestive look. 

“I...Um...Yeah, okay,” You shook your head and took your apron off, sitting next to Ash in the booth across from Rafael. 

“I’ll be right back, margarita for the lady?” She winked. 

“Use the cheap tequila, Mari!” you called after her. “It’s easier to mark off!” 

“Oh I’ll pay for it,” Rafael assured you. 

“What? No, that’s-- no no no, that’s fine,” You waved your hands in dismissal. You hated being a charity case.

“Oh God do I have to sit here and be a third wheel on your date,” Ash groaned.

“It’s not a date!” You blushed. “It’s an...interview,” 

“An interview?” 

“Well yeah, don’t you interview people you want to hire? I assume you do that with lawyers, right?” 

“Oh! Yeah, sure sure,” He nodded, sipping his scotch. “Works both ways,” he winked. 

“Lord Jesus kill me now,” Ash faked a gagging noise.

“If I give you the weekend off will you shut up for the rest of the meal?” You offered.

“You won’t even know I’m here,” She smiled, popping ear buds in her ears and pulling up Netflix on her phone.

“Excellent negotiating skills,” Rafael smiled. “I might have a formidable client,” 

“I try,” you smiled back.

------

The rest of the night went by so fast, you couldn’t believe it.

You and Rafael talked about literally everything. You told him about how you had moved into the city to pursue acting, but when your parents were deported you came back home to take care of your siblings. He told you about growing up in the Barrio, how hard he worked to pull himself up and out of it. You admired that so much, especially because it’s exactly what you were trying to do. You talked about likes, and dislikes. Favorite things, pet peeves, everything under the sun. Before you knew it, the restaurant was empty and Marisol was locking the doors.

“Oh my god,” You noticed her.  “Oh my GOD, what time is it?!” You glanced at your phone.

“Oh Jesus, it’s 11:30,” Rafael noticed his watch. 

“I am so sorry, Ash--” you turned next to you to see Ash asleep against the wall. 

“Wow,” You half laughed. “She’s so sweet when she’s sleeping,” 

“And only then,” Raf added with a laugh himself. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Barba,” Marisol finally dropped off the check. 

“Rafael, please Marisol,” He told her as he handed him his credit card. 

“I am so sorry, I must have talked your ear off,” You apologized, nudging Ash to wake up. She slowly opened her eyes and stretched, then looked at her phone with wide eyes.

“Holy SHIT, Rafa!” She jumped up. “Abuela is gonna think the Diablo’s came for me!” 

“I texted her, she knows you’re with me,” He assured her. 

“Right...did you also tell her you were trying to sleep with my boss?” She raised an eyebrow.

“ASH-- Door, now.” He pointed to the front door. She rolled her eyes but went and waited outside.

“I really am sorry,” You nervously apologized again.

“Don’t be, I haven’t had someone to talk to like that in a very, very long time. It was nice,” He took your hand. 

“Yeah, it was,” You could feel yourself blushing.

“Okay Rafael, there you go. And thank you for stopping in,” Mari handed him his check back. 

“Thanks Mari,” He scribbled a tip and signed it, nodding to the both of you. 

“Holy shit,” Mari whispered, handing you the check. Your eyes grew three sizes, you practically sprinted after Rafael.

“Wait!” You caught him as he walked halfway out the door. 

“What’s up?” He turned back towards you.

“I’m, I’m sorry-- I think you might have accidentally written an extra zero, I didn’t want you to be shocked tomorrow,” You sheepishly smiled, handing him the check back. In the tip area it read “$1000”.

“Oh um...no, that’s right,” He muttered.

“...Excuse me?” 

“I just, I wanted to help you out,” He gave you a soft smile. 

“So...So that’s what this was,” Your voice softened. 

“What?”

“This whole night,” your voice became angrier. “This whole time, you were being nice to me because you felt sorry for me?!”

“What? No! I--”

“Well thank you, Mr. Barba. But I am nobody’s charity case,” You took the check and ripped it up, tossing the confetti on the ground. 

“Y/N come on, that’s not what I was--” He started to explain, but you wouldn’t hear any of it. 

“Ash I’ll see you Monday,” You called to her, then shut the door and locked it, leaving Rafael standing outside, dumbfounded. 

“What the hell was that?” Marisol walked towards you from the kitchen.

“The NERVE of that--” you pulled out his card from your apron and ripped it up angrily.

“What the hell did you do?” She gestured outside.

“What did I do?! Mari he just tried to give me a thousand dollars! To be ‘nice’!” You almost screamed.

“So? That is pretty damn nice!”

“I’m not a charity case!” You did your best to calm down, trying not to wake the kids. But your blood was boiling. 

“Y/N look around,” Marisol gestured around the restaurant. “You are the DEFINITION of a charity case,” 

“Oh screw you,” you rolled your eyes and started walking towards the back to count your 

“I’m serious!” She followed you. 

“You’re drowning, and you know it. You have zero idea how to run this place, let alone take care of your brother and sisters,” She gestured upstairs. 

“My parents opened and kept this place running for 25 years, with nobody’s charity,” you mumbled angrily.

“Yeah and they started with just the two of them, not three extra mouths to feed,” She stopped you from counting and made you look at her.

“What are you gonna do when Child Services shows up and they see the shape this place is in? They’ll take them, and then you’ll really have no one.” She pushed a finger on your chest.

“This perfectly nice, amazingly attractive guy shows up and offers not only to help you get your parents back but graciously gives you some extra money? And you yelled at him?!” 

“You yelled at Rafael?!” Chloe’s voice came from the stairs.

“Oh my god, Chloe!” You turned to see her sitting on the bottom stair.  “You are supposed to be in bed!” 

“I couldn’t sleep, you weren’t upstairs,” She shrugged. “Why did you yell at Rafael?! Now he’ll never help mami and papi!” 

“Chlo, come on he--” 

“No! He wanted to help, and you yelled at him. Now he’ll never come back, and we’ll never see mami and papi again! I hate you!” She stomped back up the stairs in tears. 

“...Great,” You sighed, looking at Marisol who had a look. “What?” 

“I’m just saying--” 

“And I’M just saying, I thought he really liked me, okay?” You had tears in your own eyes. 

“How do you know he didn’t?!” 

“He tried to give me A THOUSAND DOLLARS, Marisol! For a $50 dollar meal. He must think I’m pathetic! He probably sat there all night just…” You trailed off, imagining all the bad things he could’ve been thinking. 

“Babe, I don’t think he would’ve talked to you all night if he thought you were pathetic,” She raised an eyebrow. 

“....Whatever, I have to take care of Chloe-- can you finish down here?” 

“Yeah. I’ll lock up, night babe,” 

It took you a while, but you finally got Chloe back to bed. Then you went into your own room and laid down, now beating yourself up. 

What if he did like you? What if he was just being nice? You weren’t used to people just being nice. Was that even a thing? There was nothing you could do now, you ripped up his card. 

How were you going to fix it??

[obeyme-l]

If the demon bros were in college

For @dreamingmaple

Lucifer:

Absolutely an RA

A very strict one

More room checks than necessary

Every once in awhile you’ll see someone doing the walk of shame from his room.

Always more smug after getting laid

After you two get closer, he’s still strict but is more likely to help you with whatever you need

You miss your therapy animal? He’ll tell you what loopholes in your contract to use

Don’t know where to start for your research paper? Hand the computer over, he knows good sources

A business major

Is never very touchy, but will link arms of you both are heading to the dorm

Mammon

THIS MAN is a lil bit of a party boy

Always has a sour look on his face when tests are handed out

Always has a new person *cough cough* lover *cough cough* mad at him

Constantly complaining about how broke he is (DESPITE DESIGNER CLOTHES)

DO NOT let him borrow any amount of money. He is awful with it.

Has ten credit cards (that you know of)

Almost always seems hungover in early morning classes

Peps up real quick if you buy him coffee, though

THIS MAN keeps changing his major. Last time you checked it was Geology for some reason.

Leviathan

You barely see him in class

When you do see him, always looking a mixture of grumpy and nervous, he’s in an ahego hoodie

Despite barely showing up in class, makes really good grades

The only way you can make friends with him is if you join the anime club

WILL rant at you about his favorite animes if you let him

He WILL NOT ask for your number. You have to ask for his.

If you cannot sleep, he will, somehow be awake.

He will not admit this, but he does have a twitch that he streams from.

He has a secret folder of photos of himself in anime/japan-inspired lingerie with his eyes censored. (They make him feel cute!)

If you try to have a study date, it will turn into a marathon/gaming session.

A computer science major

Satan

Almost always has his nose in a fucking book

You wonder how he has a nearly fucking perfect GPA when he rarely pays attention, but he does

Is in multiple book clubs? How much free time does this man have?

Is very polite, but will get in fist fights (that he brings a knife to)

If you annoy him enough, he will eviscerate you verbally

He has a secret book of poetry

HE WILL NOT LET YOU READ IT

If you do steal it to read, (depending on how close y’all are) they might not find your body

Absolutely wears dumb sweater vests (THAT NEVER GO WITH HIS OUTFIT)

Is majoring in English (the poor soul)

Asmodeus

Is an absolute party animals

Comes into class perfectly fine, proceeds to talk about the TWENTY ONE (21) shots he took last night

He will let you sit in his lap immediately after meeting you.

Public displays of affection galore. Will hold your hand throughout lecture if you let him.

Will flirt with other people while holding your hand

Will invite you to an orgy if he thinks you’re interested

Has sent one person to the ER because they didn’t listen when he said “no”

He has fucked a senator (will not tell you which one)

Will tell you semen is a great moisturizer for the skin and then winks

Is majoring in fashion design

Beelzebub

Always has snacks on him

Sits in the back of lecture to sneak eating food

Spends most of his time in the gym

Will let you sit on his back while he does pushups (sometimes Belphie will also join)

If you are too short to reach something on the shelf, he will pICK YOU UP INSTEAD OF GRABBING IT HIMSELF (by your armpits like a misbehaving cat)

Offers to walk you home after dark

He will cook for you (but ends up eating most of it)

Knows how to spruce up cheap college student meals

Is ticklish and will blush very hard if you take advantage of this

Is majoring in exercise science (plans to become a physical therapist)

Belphegor

How is he passing his classes?

Late. To. Every. Class.

Seems like he may murder you if you wake him up

Will sleep on you if you don’t move him

You will quickly become friends if you take notes for him

Is always in a comfy hoodie (Beel will steal one for you if you cook him food. Belphie will not notice that it’s gone until you wear it in front of him.)

He plays games, but he’s bad at them. If you make fun of him, he’ll give you the silent treatment.

His essays never meet the minimum word count

He will pay you to do his homework

He is either undecided or a general studies major (someone help him)

[wanderingcas]

@trenchcoatandfreckles prompt: “bucolic” or “bungalow” in other words: cas moves to the idyllic countryside and meets dean winchester, who owns a garden shop down the road. destiel. 1.7k. fluff. undercurrent of a quiet desperation to escape one’s life.

“So, where you gonna go?” asks Cas’ nosy, but well-meaning, landlord, holding out his hand.  

Cas drops the keys into his open palm. “Somewhere bucolic,” he replies.

Frank wrinkles his nose. “What is that, some kind of sickness?”

Cas picks up the remaining box off the floor, rendering the tiny apartment officially empty. “Sure,” he sighs.

“Well, good luck,” Frank says, wiping his hand on his jeans. “You were one of my best tennants. Hope the next tenant is as dead quiet as you. It was like a tomb in here the whole ten years you were renting, you know.”

“Well. Thank you. I think.” After a tentative handshake with Frank, Cas sees himself and his box of records out.

Two weeks ago, it seemed like a good idea. He was on his stiff couch, wine glass in hand, browsing available bungalows to rent in a rural part of New York that he’d never heard of before. His eyes scanned an available cottage: the honey wood floors, the tucked-in ceilings, the herbs dangling from the kitchen ceiling, sunlight streaming. He looked around his sterile, hyper-modernized studio apartment and there was no contest.

He sent an application for an available house to rent in the same breath that he sent a move-out notice to Frank.

The commute to his current job, of course, would be an hour’s train ride, compounded with the fifteen minute drive to the station. His sister Anna called him last week to inform him that he was possibly having a mid-life crisis.

Now with his apartment all boxed up, and sitting on a train with his box of records and the moving truck a day in front of him, Castiel is beginning to agree with her.

The bungalow Cas rented is nestled between two cherry blossom trees. He feels like he’s read about it in a book somewhere. There’s a daily farmer’s market a mile away, with another empty and unrented bungalow in between. Apart from that, he’s alone but for the birds and fields and sunshine.

He loves the isolation more than he should. He calls in sick to work the first week. Then the next. It morphs into him writing a truncated email to his boss announcing his resignation. He deactivates his email after that.

There’s enough in his savings to get him by, he assures a hysterical Anna over the phone after he breaks the news, and he’ll find a job closer to where he lives. (He again refuses to tell Anna his new address, knowing it’ll only end up in her showing up with a small army to drag him back to the city)

With his self-imposed free time, he starts a garden. The lofty dreams of cooking with fresh herbs and vegetables fill his mind for days, until he’s greeted morning after morning by empty soil with no sprouting green.

He gives up after a week. Googling nearby garden shops points him to the only one within a forty-mile radius: Winchester Hardware & Garden. He rides his bike a couple of miles down the dirt road, past the farmer’s market, to the small, unassuming green building that’s only slightly bigger than his own bungalow.

A bell obnoxiously announces his arrival as he pushes open the rusty screen door. He’s greeted with shelves upon shelves of sloppily organized garden supplies, seed packages, and planters. There’s a counter tucked into the corner with a cash register valiantly craning its neck up from the cluttered mess that surrounds it.

“Just a second!” calls a voice from somewhere amongst the shelves. There’s a crash that follows.

Castiel cranes his neck around one of the shelves, looking for the source of the commotion. “Do you need help?” he calls back.

“Nope, should be good,” assures the disembodied voice, “just this goddamn—” There’s no elaboration as another, louder, crash punctuates the end of the sentence.

Castiel stands awkwardly in the door frame, unsure of whether to help or flee a potential crime scene, when a tanned and dirty-blonde man rounds the corner. He’s clutching something white and pissed off in his arms.

“Sorry about that,” the man says, breathing heavily. He locks his arms tighter against the cat struggling in his arms. “Can I help you with something?”

Castiel stares at the cat. “Was that what all that banging was?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” The man playfully jostles the cat, eliciting a low meow. “She gets into the back of the shelves where all those dangerous tools are, and I have to make sure she doesn’t cut her own head off.”

Castiel doesn’t point out the issue of housing a cat in a store with dangerous tools in the first place. Instead: “I see.”

“Her name’s Fluffy,” the man offers.

“But she has no fur,” Castiel says as Fluffy proudly swishes her naked tail.

“Yeah. It’s hilarious.” The man grins. “My brother picked her up from the side of the road. Kid has a bleeding heart for helpless animals.” Fluffy is deposited on the counter, where she sits and glares; the man turns and crosses his arms. “So, anything you need?”

Castiel rips his gaze from the man’s very piercing, very green eyes. “Yes. I’m having a problem with my garden. I think it needs fertilizer.”

“Elaborate on your problem,” the man says.

“Well, nothing’s growing,” Castiel explains, trailing off uncertainly as the man once again disappears around a corner.

“Any pets?” he asks.

“Excuse me?”

“Any pets,” the man says impatiently behind a shelf, “any pets that would get into your garden and eat stuff when you’re not looking.”

“Well… no. No pets. Although I was thinking of getting a cat.” Castiel glances at Fluffy, who is grooming a naked paw. “One with fur.”

The man barks out a laugh. He comes around the corner, holding a large box propped on his hip. “And you’ve been watering them? Pulling any weeds around them?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure that you’re not pulling the plants accidentally instead of the weeds?”

Castiel fixes the man a look. “I’m not that stupid.”

Raising a hand in surrender, the man says, “Hey, you’d be surprised the stories I get from other customers.” He deposits the box onto the counter. “Well, this should help—good old fashioned plant food. Works for most things you’re trying to grow.”

After doing a quick calculation of measurements in his head, Castiel decides, “I don’t think I’ll be able to take that today. I rode my bike here and I’m not sure I can fit the box anywhere…”

“Relax, the bags are inside.” The man pulls apart the box’s top and hoists out a much smaller bag, one that will undoubtedly fit into Castiel’s backpack. At Castiel’s confirming nod, the man rounds the corner and types a number into the ancient cash register. ‘Fluffy’ rubs against his hand, slowly the process. The register inexplicably dings. “It’ll be 25.50,” he announces.

Castiel fishes his wallet from his back pocket. “Do you take a credit card?”

“Yeah.” The man chews at the bottom of his lip, frowning down at Castiel’s fingers that are fumbling to get the credit card out of the tight wallet’s pockets. “You said you biked here?”

“Yes,” Castiel says amidst the struggle, “why?”

“Nah, just that… you can’t live very far from here, then?”

The credit card finally emancipated, Castiel hands it across the counter. He notes the dirt caked underneath the man’s fingernails as their hands brush. “I just began renting a house a few miles down the road. Just a week ago.”

The man grins. “You’re one of Benny’s tenants?”

“I think that was his name.”

“I know him. Nice guy. Runs a diner when he’s not landlording way too many properties.” The man slides the credit card through a small attachment on his phone, frowning again in a thoughtful way. “This might not work, you know.”

“The credit card?” Castiel asks.

“No, the plant food. This whole area used to be a swamp—so the soil sucks.” He pets Fluffy’s head distractedly. “So you might have to come back anyway.”

“I did notice that the soil was sandy,” Castiel agrees. “Should I… Buy anything else in lieu of this?”

The man rubs the back of his neck; Castiel is momentarily distracted by the way his fingers leave imperceptible tracks in his tightly trimmed blonde hair. “Well, if this doesn’t work, I’d have the examine the soil. See if the acidity is right, if the plants are getting enough sun, that kind of thing.”

“So you’d have to come over?” Castiel asks, taking the card that the man hands back to him.

“Well, yeah.” The man clears his throat. “To examine it, and everything.”

“That wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

The man sweeps his arm in the air to gesture to the quiet shop. “Well, I suppose you would be taking me away from my customers that so obviously need me.”

Castiel huffs a laugh. He tentatively holds the bag of plant food in his arms. “Then I’ll come back and ask for your help if this doesn’t work.”

They smile at each other, a beat too long, a beat too delayed to notice a shift in the energy between them. “Who should I ask for?” Castiel is somehow able to miraculously ask, after the moment that is a beat too long.

“Huh? Oh. Dean. Ask for Dean. That’s me, I—” The man, Dean, shakes his head as if to get himself to stop talking. He reaches out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, uh—”

“Castiel. Cas.” Castiel holds Dean’s hand and shakes. It’s warm and softer than he’d expect a gardener’s hands to be.

“Well, great. Cas.” Dean drawls Castiel’s name out thoughtfully, carefully, like tasting a fine wine. Castiel suppresses a shiver. “I’ll see you again soon, then. Maybe.”

“Maybe.” Castiel adjusts the bag in his arms. “Goodbye, Dean. Fluffy,” he adds, nodding at the cat who is ignoring the situation, and instead is stretching to great lengths in order to lick her backside.

Castiel steps out into the warm air; the bell on the door that announces his departure is less obnoxious now. He unlocks his bike, adjusting the kickstand, wincing at the creak of the rust on the metal.  

Placing his backpack carefully onto the bike seat, he opens the zipper and deposits the bag of plant food into the backpack. Very sternly, he whispers to it, “Don’t you dare work,” before zipping up his pack, and riding on the dirt road back to his new home.

↳ prompts are open for mowripro, send one to my askbox.