badluck: (misha!so fluffy)
[personal profile] badluck


They had all agreed to meet up back in the motel room after Sam and Cas were finished "work" for the day. With nothing to research, nothing to kill and nothing else to do but watch bad daytime tv and read whatever books Sam brought back with him for the past few days, Dean was practically vibrating with the need to get out of this place and move on. He'd worked himself up into a wonderful fucking mood by the time Sam walked in, nerdy trenchcoat in tow.

After a few moments, Dean's instincts started to kick into gear, like a pissy cat with it's hackles raised and Jesus, he'd been reading way too much lately if his brain was supplying him with embarrassingly geeky metaphors like that.

Something was wrong. Specifically, something was wrong with Cas. He was acting weird. Which is saying something since his default setting is weird. But this was extra special, nuts on top of the sundae level weird. Normally, Cas was practically living inside of his back jeans pocket, staring at him the whole time. Which, strangely enough, you get used to after a while. To the point where you get kind of upset when it suddenly stops happening. Like right now.

Instead of being glued to his side like a weird holy magnet, Cas was on the other side of the tiny room and looking like he was considering moving the walls to get even further away. Instead of staring at Dean, he was looking everywhere else, when he wasn't briefly glancing over before quickly looking away.

Cas looked upset about something. And for once, it wasn't Dean's fault since he hadn't seen the angel all day. Which means Sam did something. Or said something.


I will finish this fic when I'm forty. I swear.
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Life is a test and I get bad marks

November 2012

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