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twilightcitysky · 9 months

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Hypothesis: Aziraphale HATES that Crowley is living in his car.

Supporting evidence:

The very first thing we see him do in the present is stop Maggie from moving out and making sure she feels welcome to stay as long as she likes.

He clearly knows Crowley’s unhappy before anything happens in the plot: “Does it calm you down?”. And also clearly feels helpless about it. Enter the conspicuous Eccles cakes: Aziraphale’s offer, which is rejected.

Crowley’s obviously, for all his hedging, spending a lot of time at the bookshop— so much that he has his own glasses perch and feels immediately comfortable removing them. See also: “Technically my bookshop but we both get plenty of use out of it”, “Why don’t you wait inside? You like waiting inside”.

It’s Crowley who immediately shoves the box of plants into Aziraphale’s arms after Aziraphale returns from Scotland.

Speaking of Scotland, why wouldn’t Aziraphale take the train? Why insist on driving the Bentley? Is it perhaps because he wants to get Crowley and his plants into the shop, and thinks if he creates a situation where Crowley has to stay there, maybe he won’t immediately leave again?

He’s got an empty bedroom and an apparently pathological need to make the person staying there very comfortable, creating cute little customized souvenirs like he’s an Air B&B host (displacement!).

He immediately jumps to having Gabriel stay with him— he didn’t have to. Arguably, both Gabriel and Aziraphale would be safer if Gabe stayed elsewhere.

That’s what I’ve got for now but I’m sure there’s more. Throughout the show, watch what Aziraphale gives to others and does for others, and it’ll tell you what he wants to do for Crowley. He’s living so deeply in displacement in makes him come across as manic and brittle.

(What probably happened is Aziraphale offered the spare bedroom and Crowley, who unconsciously didn’t want to be his roommate or sleep in a single bed with Aziraphale right downstairs because how could the poor lovesick boy cope with that, told him he wasn’t a “good deed” for Aziraphale to do and stormed off.)

Conclusion: Aziraphale asked Crowley to stay at his place, immediately and probably repeatedly. They had a row about it, and Crowley refused, and to this day Aziraphale doesn’t understand why.

And it hurts him.

#this might be the start of a longer meta about Aziraphale feeling rejected by Crowley repeatedly throughout this season #being made to feel like he’s doing the wrong thing or not good enough #they’re fracturing apart before the season even starts #all because they both fear rejection so much that Crowley preemptively rejects Aziraphale and Aziraphale is afraid to push #look at the projection and displacement and you’ll see what’s really going on #ineffable husbands #good omens #good omens meta #the awkward homeless Crowley situation #it’s absolutely manufactured and unnecessary #Crowley’s literally circling Aziraphale #and Aziraphale just wants him to come inside #good omens season two #good omens season 2 #renew good omens #just so they can finally have a talk about how Crowley is such a drama queen he lived in his car for three years

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avocado-writing · 5 months

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Hello, hope you're doing okay! 😊

About that good omens requests 👀 how about reader finding out Crowley has been living in his car so they offer for him to move in? At first it's all awkward but they quickly fall in a weirdly domestic routine?

Would also love to see Aziraphale's reaction when he finds out the two has been living together. 😀

notes: avo don’t mention bakeoff in a fic challenge level impossible

pairing: crowley x reader

rating: T

Day 1:

“Your car?! Crowley, you can’t be serious.”

He’s certain he’s told you about his living situation. Well. He was certain. You’re looking at him now with such horror it’s like he kicked a puppy in front of you, and he wonders if perhaps he let it slip his mind.

“I don’t have the flat any more, do I? Where else am I meant to go?”

You open your mouth to retort and then realise… where can he go? Aziraphale’s? God, you love the angel, he’s one of the best friends you have — but he is a bit obtuse when it comes to social things. And you’re not sure Crowley actually has any money, so he can’t rent anywhere else to live.

Well, no matter. You shan’t let it stand for a moment more.

“You’re moving in.”

“What?!” he looks appalled. You put your hands on your hips.

“I’ll have no complaining, Crowley. That car is not a home. You’re coming to live with me.”

You’ve been with Crowley for a couple of months now. This is perhaps expediting the process of a relationship - the moving in stage usually takes a bit longer - but you’re pretty sure this constitutes an emergency. He is, for all intents and purposes, homeless.

Besides, having a live-in boyfriend might be nice. He could make you tea.

So that evening finds the two of you unloading his few possessions from the car and finding space for them in the flat. He takes a long while to work out where the best place is for his house plants, but eventually the two of you are left sitting on the couch surrounded by your joint belongings.

“Would you like a room to yourself? The spare is my office at the moment, but I can always move my desk into my bedroom.”

“Do you want me to have a room to myself?” he asks, arching an eyebrow over his sunglasses.

“Well, no, I want you to share the double with me—”

“Then there’s no conflict of interest, is there?”

You smile and he kisses you.

Day 2:

It doesn’t feel strange, waking up with him next to you. He’s slept over a couple of times at this point. What does feel odd is the way he doesn’t head off as you start to make breakfast, instead he asks to borrow a towel and use the shower.

He doesn’t even have any bloody towels, you think, but acquiesce to his request.

He spends a lot of time in the shower. You’re not sure how hot he has it running, but by the end of the affair steam is leaking out from the gap between the bathroom door and your stone tiling. When he emerges with the towel wrapped up on his head, it is with a billow of clouds.

“Have you turned the extractor fan on?”

“Hmm?” he asks, looking up from drying his hair. He hasn’t manifested anything on his body, so he’s smooth as a Barbie doll - it’s a bit disconcerting just having him stand there like that. You try not to look at the featureless mound.

“Extractor fan!”

He sighs and moseys back into the bathroom, walking into the wall a little where his glasses have fogged up.

As you watch your flat fall foul to condensation, you consider that this might take some adjustment.

Day 3:

“Bake-off tonight.”

“Must we?”

“We must.”

Crowley groans and flops onto the sofa. It occurs to you that you’ve never actually seen him sit. He’s always flopping, like everything is constantly far too much effort for him.

“Please, it’s a show made with the sole purpose of torturing me. It’s so… twee.”

“Well buckle in, matey. We have ten weeks of it.”

“Ugh.”

“You can go and read in the bedroom if you prefer.”

“Fine. I will.”

But he doesn’t move an inch and complains throughout the whole program. However he does swing his legs up onto yours for comfort.

Day 7:

You’re falling into a routine.

You wake up, perform your ablutions in the bathroom, then start on breakfast. The sound of the kettle lures him out of bed and into the shower. He spends so long in there you don’t bother making him a drink, instead you wait until he deems it fit to emerge and he reboils the leftover water. He takes his coffee black and the two of you chat about your plans for the day.

Unfortunately you have to work. You have a pretty well-paying job so the slightly increased energy bill and thoroughly increased water bill aren’t too much of an issue, but it does mean you can’t spend as much time with him as you’d like.

At least the flat is always spotless, though. To be fair to him he is an efficient housekeeper. There’s always a new configuration for the plants, too, as if botanical feng shui is all he does while you’re away.

It’s nice. It’s… domestic. And it’s utterly Crowley.

Day 30:

His belongings are mingling with yours now. Combined bookshelves with his new purchases. His record player set up on your side table with a mix of records. He has a special blend of tea which sits right next to your earl grey, and a single black mug which stands out against the rainbow of your collection.

At night he wraps around you and tangles his legs with yours. His hand slides onto the plain of your stomach and you thread your fingers through his while he feels you breathe.

He no longer wears his sunglasses around the flat.

It is wonderful.

He still claims not to like Bake-off.

Day 45:

“Crowley? Why can I smell burning?”

You know he’s opening his mouth to lie, deciding against it, and instead making the choice not to say anything at all. Bracing yourself, you walk into the kitchen.

“Oh! Crowley…”

“Not a word,” he says, trying to finish the decoration on the chocolate cake. It stands three tiers tall and, though the kitchen is a mess and he is somehow covered with buttercream, you can tell he’s actually pretty proud of himself. One last squeeze of the icing bag and he’s done, triumphant and grinning at his creation.

“Why all this?” you ask. He shrugs.

“You said the cakes looked good on Bake-off last night. Figured they couldn’t be that hard to do.”

“And do you still stand by that assessment?” you wipe some icing off of the tip of his nose.

“Just eat the bloody cake.”

You laugh, and you do. It’s delicious. But not as delicious as the kiss he gives you.

Day 64:

“You’re living together?!”

You peer up at Aziraphale from over the top of your novel, then exchange a glance with Crowley.

“Well, yes.”

“For a couple of months now actually, angel.”

“You never told me!”

You’re certain you did, but don’t object. He’ll get all persnickety if you do.

“Did you not think it was strange we always took the Bentley ‘home’ together?” is what you say instead. “And that we always arrive at the same time, too?”

Aziraphale fumbles for words and comes up empty. He settles on:

“Hmm. Well, I expect to be invited over for dinner.”

“Of course. Crowley will make dessert.”

The angel’s eyes light up, and Crowley looks at you as if you’ve cursed him.

Taglist: @angiestopit@dazed-soul@foolishprincipalitee@smile-eywa@staygoldsquatchling02@underratedboogeyman@specter-soltare@cool-ontherun-world@emilynissangtr@willbedecided@cool-iguana@this--is--music@ilyatan@lxsm2@clarina04@wtfhasmy-lifecometo@mrgatotortuga@wereallbrokenangels@night-affiliate@kimqueenofhell@chewbrry @bajablast23 @h3k3t@am-i-obsessed---maybe@bakerstreethound@darktealrat@chaospossum@belilwen@rex-ray@hunterispunk

#crowley x reader #david tennant x reader #my writing #request

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lerry-hazel · 9 months

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HERE BE SPOILERS !!! (e3-4)

I’m making a list of all those fishy things in GO2 I’m no longer willing to dismiss, because it makes me feel vindicated.

**************************e3******************************

1. Muriel – in retrospect: once you realise that’s supposed to be a character, rather than a one-time joke.

2. The Bently Part 2, which is actually worse than Part 1: like, if one tries really hard, one might, maybe, pretend that there is some, yet unnamed, reason why Aziraphale absolutely had to take a car to Edinburgh; but there is definitely no reason why he should mess with something Crowley loves.

3. The whole graveyard thing. More blatant villainisation of Aziraphale, that has the audacity to pretend to be book-canon. Granted, the book doesn’t describe the exact circumstances where the discussion on moral potential of poverty takes place, but it reads like they were talking over a cup of tea, not over the head of an actual ill and starving person.

Moreover, the book states clearly that

a) Aziraphale is smart, and

b) that Crowley was freakin’ ASLEEP in 1827, when the whole ordeal supposedly takes place;

c) which, in turn, paints the 1862 flashback from s1e3 in very unpleasant light.

4. (Technically, also the graveyard thing): extremely awkward foreshadowing. Resurrections might come in handy in the Second Coming of imaginary s3, but that was such a lame introduction, of, I don’t even know: Dr./Mr. Dalrymple? The pub? Since neither has any impact on the plotline of s2.

************************e4*****************************

1. The Bently is 90 y.o. That’s frankly, moistly nitpicking, but I remember there had been some issue with the model used in the book vs s1, and was going to check it out on principle, while assuming it didn’t matter. Now that they’ve said it aloud, it feels like it does matter, but still doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.

2. “Crowley doesn’t have Gabriel, where would he put him?” Is it just me, or does it sound like Aziraphale is, apparently, not oblivious to the fact Crowley is homeless?

3. The whole “mini-episode”. Again.

a) The Characters only have 6000 years of shared history. What could be better use of valuable screen time than reiterating how Aziraphale utterly fails in the art of prestidigitation?

b) I totally didn’t want to see Madame Tracy and Sister Mary, let alone Warlock or Adam. But I was so deeply invested in the further fate of three squished nazis!

c) It would be nice to hear Aziraphale proclaiming his utter trust in Crowley: if it didn’t happen right after accusing Crowley of leading a nazi spy ring and right before accusing Crowley of shooting people left, right and center.

d) It would be nice to see Aziraphale put his complete trust in Crowley, if it didn’t happen in a situation with literally zero stakes. Also, OK, by this time it’s been successfully brought to my attention that the show wants me to hate Aziraphale for some reason, but why is Crowley going along with it?

4. Plants being put back into the Bently right away: looks suspiciously like Crowley doesn’t want to spend an extra minute in the bookshop. Let’s cling to the hope it’s because of Gabriel, for now.

#good omens #season 2 #good omens 2 #good omens season two #cruel and unusual punishment #ranting #shouting into the void

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forsomeonessake · 4 years

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Slow Snippets

For @mia-ugly ...

Hey! Fixomnia here, radioing in from my GO!Sideblog. This is the simplest way I could think of sending a longpost your way.

I think you know how deeply your Slow Show has resonated with me. It’s been a rare delight to anticipate each chapter. These are just some random fluffy clouds that drifted by as I was reading (and re-reading) that I thought I’d share. Feel free to take them as a compliment, mere reflections of the light you’ve sprinkled about – or do what you will with them!

Having the kids down to the cottage to give Sarah and her husband a weekend to themselves now and then. It’s awkward at first, but Anthony turns out to be a wicked kids’ cooking teacher. He somehow doesn’t mind icing sugar all over his black jeans while holding forth on Meringue Technique.

Even the eldest teenager opens up to him, feeling weird and lonely and nothing like the rest of the family. Anthony knows an adolescent anxiety shrub when he sees one and takes the kid for a walk. He nearly teaches him to smoke, but doesn’t. God help him, he teaches the kid pranic breathing and sensory grounding tips by the river, like some hippie guru.

Uriel and Beez genuinely loathe each other, but the two of them are grudgingly in awe of each other, and they realize they’re each holding half of a goldmine if they can handle working together. Because Beez suddenly has Anthony, Avery, Anathema and another half dozen variously non-conforming young actors on their list and everyone wants a piece of them.

Beez has to deal with being regarded as a Safe Space and a confidante. Jesus wept. Eyes could not roll any harder. It’s not tough love they practice so much as battlefield foxhole tactics to keep everyone alive another day, but it works. Mostly. Beez gets so wrung out that it’s Anthony’s turn to talk her down from a fugue state score now and then.

Anthony and Avery manage to escape their first Christmas with The Families. Avery’s not ready to deal with being Uncle Avery and Uncle Anthony quite yet. (Sarah’s youngest came up with Uncle Az and Aunt Tony, which shows signs of sticking.)

Anthony is tempted to bring Avery to his parents’ New Years All Day Champagne Brunch out of spite. Who better to parade in front of their noses than Avery Class Act Fell? Because Anthony knows that whatever quotes his parents’ publicist released, they aren’t exactly proud, even if they generally wish him well. Vera and Reginald knew they’d be crucified in the press if they were anything less than supportive of their famous gay son’s prodigal return to health, love and career success, but they will never understand how they could have a son like Anthony.

Avery’s dad, unlike Anthony’s, does get to meet “that actor chappie friend of your’n”, before the big wedding. They have nothing in common except for a working knowledge of Vera and Reginald Crowley’s film career, but it’s enough. They both love Avery deeply. And Anthony’s scones don’t hurt.

During the visit, the Garrity lads’ teenaged kids come round to ask for autographs, to the Garrity brothers’ chagrin. Pints together down at the local doesn’t cancel out the hard years. (Anthony insisted on accepting the invite, with a sharkish grin, and threatened to femme out completely, though he settled for sparkly diamond earrings and a scarf. Totally demure by London standards.) But it’s worth something to see the younger Garritys teaching their elders about simple appreciation of different kinds of folk.

After that, Avery seeks out Daniel, to finally have that talk. It turns out Daniel had known instantly what Avery was going through, when they were kids. He’d kicked himself for nudging Avery too hard towards an admission when he wasn’t ready. They were both painfully young and inexperienced at the time. Unlike the Garrity situation, this one ends in a genuine friendship that just skipped a few decades. Daniel and his family are delighted to attend the wedding.

Tracy and Shadwell are actually married-married within a year. Shadwell looks like he doesn’t know what’s hit him, but it’s definitely good. Trace doesn’t go off with the ladies for a long while after, preferring to find jobs on film sets near Shad, wherever he’s working. After keeping Avery going for so long, she’s a natural actor’s PA. And part-time psychic. It starts as an improv in someone’s trailer, showing off her old persona, but Madame Tracy Draws Aside the Veil soon turns into her popular party thing.

Turns out Anthony can sing. Properly sing. He used to have a decent New Romantics croon, back in the 80s, but it’s mellowed into a Nick Cave-ish I’ve-seen-some-shit baritone when he wasn’t paying attention. Avery catches him singing along to some afternoon piano junketing, and prods him into an actual duet. Avery has a stage-trained lyric tenor, self-conscious, but sweet. (“Trace was always the one for singing in the car or while she was doing the hoovering. I just hummed along. Bit of a metaphor, really.”)

Getting Avery to let out his full powerful singing voice becomes something Anthony can actually help him with, something they can work at together. You can imagine how many buttons that pushes for both of them, the sensitive ones and the good ones.

Oh, God, and Beez gets wind of their musical interludes, and next thing they’re signed up to do that Christmas charity CD. And then a West End Panto, one Christmas season when Sir Patrick and Sir Ian are both away filming in America. Avery was made for Dame roles, and Anthony for the Evil Magician. It becomes an annual thing.

One of Beez’ young clients, kicked out after coming out to his parents, ends up billetting with Avery and Anthony for a while. Then he gets into Central for drama school, and it’s decided he might as well move properly into the bottom floor (technically the old servants’ quarters of the London townhouse Avery and Anthony bought together) with a classmate till they’ve finished their course.

The usual papers start to get slimy about them moving a pair of young gay men into the house, but they tackle it head-on with a blistering interview about the rates of homelessness, depression and suicide among LGBTQ youth without support. Avery speaks powerfully about setting himself up for a life of hidden abuse and self-loathing while Anthony manifested his on the outside, and how close they both came to disaster.

The response is so great they find themselves doing something of a speaking tour, working to publicize youth support networks and self-resilience campaigns. It’s not what they’d expected to become Their Social Cause, as actors, but once Avery sees how they’ve been able to help even one young man, it’s as if his shackles have fallen away. (Anthony can’t stop grinning through it all, because people keep congratulating his parents on having such a son.)

Thirty years later, they both somehow end up with Knighthoods for Services to the Arts, a few years apart, and a couple more major industry awards each. The recently crowned King William V recalls watching Avery as the conflicted missionary St. John Rivers in a mid-90s BBC-1 Jane Eyre, with his mother Diana, which makes Sir Avery tear up.

Sir Anthony too. Big Diana fan, him, after all.

#good omens #slow show #mia-ugly #go!fanfic #good omens fanfic #fanfic homage #fanrambes

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ao3feedsabriel · 6 years

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Broken Rules

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2HiG1aM

by pbmolecules

Destiel, Sabriel AU. Cas desperately needs a job. The Roadhouse was the only place in town hiring. He needs money. He needs out of his current situation. It turns out he might fit in better than anyone thought. Dean is stuck in this town. Stuck in his job. And stuck with a new dishwasher to work with. He loves The Roadhouse...but he’s getting nowhere. And now he’s having dirtier thoughts about the new guy than his own girlfriend!

Words: 2037, Chapters: 1/9, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Roadhouse Rules

Fandoms: Supernatural

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Gabriel, Ellen Harvelle, Jo Harvelle, Crowley, Lisa, April Kelly, Meg Masters, Ash, John and Mary Winchester (not horrible parents), Jody Mills, Rufus, Bobby Singer

Relationships: Destiel, Sabriel - Relationship, Dean/Castiel, Sam/Gabe

Additional Tags: The Roadhouse, Dishwasher!Cas, cook!Dean, Work Together, Dislike to like to Love, college age, Alcohol, New Job, Bar, Tattoos, Dean with tattoos, lawyer!Crowley, lawyer!gabe, lawyer!Gabriel, summer before college, mention of suicide attempt (not by a main character), Runaway, Absentee parent, shitty childhood- Cas, explicit for several sex scenes, Bar Fight, janitor Cas, Lawyer Gabriel, Dean/Lisa briefly, Castiel/April briefly, Enemies to Lovers, Awkward Cas, Dean can be a dick sometimes, Ellen is boss, hurt cas, young and broke, homeless cas, Gabe to the rescue, Nebraska

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2HiG1aM

#fanfic #ao3feed sabriel #sabriel #supernatural

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cosmicstardustcastiel · 7 years

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Let Sleeping Moose Lie

My entry for Round One of the Great Fan Fiction Scavenger Hunt: Round One

Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel

Pairing: Suggestive Beginnings of Dean/Castiel

“There is only one bed,” Dean said with wide eyes as he took in the sparse hotel room with it’s typical accommodations, except the distinct lack of a second bed.

“I heard you the first three times Dean. The hotel was booked.” Sam said with a sigh as he threw his duffel bag on the floor..

“I’ll say it again. There is only ONE bed, and three of us. Have you forgotten how to math, Sammy?” Dean growled out, glancing over his shoulder nervously at Castiel. He’d been decidely human for only a few months and this was the first hunt they’d all gone on together since then. Dean had wanted to give him time to adjust but Cas was insistent he was ready to start hunting again.

Dean could still not get used to the lack of a trench coat. It hurt his soul a little to see Castiel wearing a hoodie. It was decidely not nearly as intimidating as the trench coat but Cas had to ditch the trench coat when he became human and Dean hadn’t asked him what happened to it. Seeing Cas in converse and a hoodie made him look less like a millenia old Angel and more like a hip dad jogger. Dean was going to buy the nerdy little guy a new coat as soon as he had the chance.

Castiel looked nervously at the bed and bit his lip, shuffling his feet on the ground. “I got quite accustomed to sleeping on the floor at the Gas N Sip. It would be no sacrifice to sleep on the floor here so you and Sam can have it, Dean.”

Dean gritted his teeth, biting back the guilt he was still feeling over Castiel’s previous homelessness. "It will be fine, Cas. We can all share. It’ll be like one big slumber party, except with three grown dudes…” Dean sighed out as he rolled his eyes. “We can braid Sam’s hair, have a pillow fight, and tell ghost stories.”

"I’m sensing sarcasm…“ Castiel said with a quirk of his eyebrow, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as if in prayer. "Yes, Cas, sarcasm. It’ll be fine, though. Maybe at least you don’t snore like Sam.”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “Like you’re such a great bed sharer. You kick in your sleep, like a damn mule.”

"I really can sleep on the floor…“ Castiel mumbled out timidly. Dean shut his eyes again and took a deep breath. Cas’ self-confidence had been shot to Hell since he became human. He wasn’t used to him being so soft spoken. He would do almost anything to have his self-confident Angel back.

"Damn it, Cas. You’re sleeping in the bed. You can sleep between Sam and I, because I apparently kick…” Dean said as he dragged his feet to the bathroom, tired from the day’s work.

When he came out, Sam took his turn. Dean had changed into his typical baggy plaid pajama pants and t-shirt. He sat down on the only chair surrounding the scarred up cheap, laminate table shoved into the corner of the room. He looked over to watch Cas. He was staring at the TV, sitting in the middle of the bed with his legs criss-crossed. Cas leaned over and rested his head on his fists while he watched and Dean sighed. How could the little dorky guy be so cute…Cute? What. No. Not cute.

When Sam came back changed, Castiel slid off the bed, grabbed his bag, and took his turn in the bathroom. Sam sat down on the left side of the bed and fiddled with his phone. “You sure you’re okay to share? I can go get some blankets from the desk and make a pallet on the floor. One of us can sleep down there.” Sam decidely did not make eye contact with his clueless brother.

Dean looked over at Sam with overly wide eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be okay? Totally, absolutely okay with sharing a bed with you and Cas. Why?”

Sam bit his lip and shook his head at his phone, amused. “No reason.”

When Castiel walked out of the bathroom, Dean’s nails dug into the table top. He had on black cotton pajama pants that hugged his hips and a grey t-shirt that looked like it was taunting him by defining every muscle in the ex-angel’s chest. Dean felt eyes on him and Sam was smirking and putting his eyes back to his phone. The older brother glared at Sam and then looked back to Cas. There was absolutely nothing inappropriate about his sleeping attire, except that Dean was used to layers, lots of layers, separating Dean from Castiel’s body.

Dean tried not to hyperventilate as they all crawled into bed. Dean put his back to Castiel, who was lying in the middle of the bed on his back. He laid himself right at the edge of the bed, as far away from Cas as he could get without falling off. It didn’t take long for Sam, in all his annoyingness, to fall straight asleep and start snoring. Dean sighed and he felt Castiel fidget at his back.

"Cas, you still awake?“ Dean whispered in the dark, knowing the answer.

"Yes, Dean. Sam is a very loud snorer,” Castiel said with a sigh in his gravelly voice.

“I told you. This is what I’ve endured for years…” Dean said with a soft laugh, rolling over onto his back and looking over at Castiel, their eyes locking for a moment then looking over at the snoring figure shaking the bed. The space was tight enough that their arms brushed unavoidably.

"I’m sorry you have to share with us both, Dean. I know it’s very…uncomfortable this way.“

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "It’s no big deal, buddy.” Suddenly Sam kicked his leg and Cas was shoved into Dean’s side. “Shit!” Dean hissed as he scooted to the very, very edge of the bed.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Castiel pushed against Sam’s leg, which was now straddled across half the mattress. “Okay, I see now why Crowley calls him Moose. Damn. I can’t get him to move. I miss my Angel strength.”

"Asshole said I was the one who kicked…“ Dean grumbled.

"I’ll just…” Cas got on his side with his back to Sam and almost curled into the younger WInchester, trying to give Dean the space he knew he needed. Sam elbowed Castiel in the face and Cas huffed. “You know what…I’m sleeping on the floor.” Cas sat up and went to crawl down the bed when Dean grabbed Castiel’s ankle through the hem of his pants.

"Cas,“ Dean growled out, "I believe you have spent quite enough time sleeping on floors because of me. Get your ass back up here and lie down. It’s fine.” Castiel looked at Dean and scowled as he came back to lie down as close to Sam as he could. Dean was tempted to tell Castiel his intimidating face was less intimidating without the threat of smiting but he thought better of it. Sam then sprawled out more, flinging an arm over Cas’ chest. Cas gave a strangled plea for help to Dean. Dean kicked Sam in the shins hard, but he didn’t budge. “Friggin moose… I’ll rescue you…Hold on.” Dean grumbled, prying his brother’s arm off of Cas. “Come on. Just scoot over here by me. It’s totally fine. Sam’s going to smother you if you don’t.”

Cas scooted over closer to Dean and Sam settled down, keeping his appendages to himself. Castiel sighed and stared at the ceiling, and Dean opened one eye to watch him, since he was now turned to face him. Tomorrow they would find a damn hotel with two beds. At least Cas was a considerate bed sharer, unlike Sam, who Dean was considering smothering with a pillow as his snores increased in volume.

“If I smother Sam with a pillow, will you help me bury the body?” Dean whispered, winking at Cas as he laughed.

“It won’t be the first body I have helped you bury, Dean…"Cas said with a serious face.

"What a special friendship…” Dean snickered. Castiel smiled at Dean, his eyes wide with sleeplessness.

"You have a lot of trouble sleeping don’t you? I can’t imagine how weird it is….“

"Exceedingly….weird. Being human is much different than I imagined…” Castiel said with a sigh.

"Yeah, it’s a big ball of awkward alright…Damn it Sam!“ Sam again kicked out and shoved Castiel right up onto Dean’s side, and Dean scrambled back in a panic, landing in a heap on the floor, looking up at Castiel like he was the culprit.

"Dean!” Cas whispered as he peered over the side of the bed, his disheveled hair making Dean grin despite himself.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes and Sam’s snoring increased. “You know what, grab the cover and pillows. Screw, Sam. We can both sleep on the damn floor. Less chance of injury by hooved mammal.”

Dean arranged a little nest of blankets and pillows and he and Cas fell quickly to sleep. When they had settled down and fallen asleep, their limbs reached out for one another unconsciously. Dean’s arm snaked around Cas’ waist and Castiel’s hands gripped onto the front of Dean’s shirt, seeking familiarity and comfort. Sam cracked his wide awake eyes open and grinned. He crawled down to the end of the bed, snapped a photo as blackmail…or proof for the two idiots, then he stretched out across the mattress he got all to himself. Win Win situation all around. Never let it be said Sam couldn’t act.

@mittensmorgul

I'm late to the party but wanted to finish it regardless :)

#the great fic writer scavenger hunt #round one

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