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literenTitle: Strawberry tarts and éclairs
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Cas
Words: ~1,000
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Summary: Dean meets a fearsome creature. Her name is Mrs Barrymore and she is armed with a walking stick.
Beta: none
Notes: This fic is set in that wonderful universe of mine where Sam is nowhere to be seen and human!Cas is following Dean in his life of monster hunting and angsting but also fluff. Written for the food table (1. pastries) @![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
think_fluff and also mission 4.1 (indecision) of the COW-T 2 @ maridichallenge.
Mrs Barrymore is the most fearsome person that Dean has ever met. She's almost eighty years old, white-haired and wrinkly, five feet tall, wears a lot of black gowns and floral shawls and, most importantly, is in possession of a very sturdy walking stick. So far she's used the stick against Dean four times: once when she figured out he and Cas weren't FBI agents, once when she caught them trying to sneak into her house, and twice while Dean was trying to explain about the poltergeist. It's the first time Dean was glad when the poltergeist showed up, because compared to Mrs Barrymore it was almost harmless.
It was Dean who had vanquished the sucker, but since Cas saved her cat it's him that the old harpy is thanking, while at the same time berating Dean for leaving chalk marks all over her nice clean floor.
"She's right, Dean," Cas says. "We made a mess of her house, we can't leave it like this."
They can, Dean thinks, but Cas is scratching Snowball behind the ears and Mrs Barrymore is smiling at him as if he was a long-lost grandson. "I knew that you weren't as bad as that one," Mrs Barrymore says, pointing in Dean's direction with her walking stick, and Dean hurries to find a mop and a bucket.
It takes them all the morning to clean the house, and then the best part of the afternoon to finish all the odd jobs that Mrs Barrymore suddenly remembers about. Dean has barely finished fixing a broken vacuum cleaner and she shows up with a tin of paint. The new paint is still drying in the kitchen and already she's barking orders about a wobbly table. There's no end to it.
"I wouldn't want to trouble you, but I was about to run to the store and the walkway is all covered with snow," she tells Castiel.
"No problem at all, Mrs Barrymore," Castiel replies, and Dean ends up knee-deep in the snow, shoveling away. "It's nice to feel helpful," Castiel tells Dean, his breath turning into white puffs.
Dean was under the impression that all they ever did was helping people, and the job they do is way more important than fixing an old cat lady's leaky pipes, but he bites his tongue and doesn't say anything, because Mrs Barrymore and her stick are within earshot.
As a thank you for having used them as unpaid house help all day, Mrs Barrymore offers them tea, though not before they've cleaned up and washed their hands. Dean doesn't even like tea, but it looks as if refusing is not an option. They sit side by side on a tiny sofa and Mrs Barrymore pours them two cups of something that looks like dirty water.
"This is nice," Cas says, taking a sip. "Thank you, Mrs Barrymore."
Dean stares at the cups, which are decorated with images of kittens frolicking in spring meadows and make him vaguely nauseous.
Mrs Barrymore smiles at Castiel. "Not at all, I'm very grateful for what you boys did, cleaning away the snow and fixing my vacuum cleaner and also getting rid of that nasty poltergeist," she tells him, and Dean's got this feeling that 'you boys' is only meant for Castiel and not him. "I've got you a little something, as a thank you."
For one glorious moment Dean thinks they're going to get paid, but instead the old lady hands Castiel a tray. "Help yourself, dearie," she says.
"You shouldn't have," Castiel complains, while Dean feels like banging his head against the coffee table. They've cleaned, fixed and exorcised the entire house in exchange for a cup of tea and half a dozen assorted pastries each.
Castiel looks at the pastries. "These all look delicious, I don't know which one I should start from," he says.
Dean has to admit that, okay, the pastries do look delicious. There's chocolate choux, cream puffs, some little shortcrust boats filled with strawberries and kiwis, and even a couple of éclairs. Lunch has been hours ago and he's starving, but when he tries to reach for the tray Mrs Barrymore swats his hand away.
"Wait for your turn," she scolds him. "There's enough for both."
"Why is my turn after his?" Dean grumbles. He'd be fine with any pastry, too, while Cas seems to take forever to choose, hand hovering over the tray and frowning in concentration as if this is the most difficult decision ever. It took less time for Indiana Jones to pick the Holy Grail from all those other cups, Dean thinks.
After a very long time Cas takes one of the shortcrust boats, biting into the huge strawberry on top. "It's good," he says, a bit of juice dribbling at the corner of his mouth as he speaks. Mrs Barrymore beams at him and finally pushes the tray towards Dean.
Dean picks one of the éclairs and bites into it. It really is delicious, like an creamy chocolate explosion in his mouth. "'s very good," Dean agrees, stuffing as much éclair as he can into his mouth.
Mrs Barrymore swats at him again, though this time he sees it coming and dodges. "Don't talk with your mouth full," she says, and then offers Castiel another pastry. The double standard is really pissing Dean off, but he can live with it as long as there's food.
"So," Mrs Barrymore says, sipping her tea. "How long have you boys been... together?"
Dean almost chokes on his morsel and needs a moment to start breathing again. Next to him, Cas is completely oblivious.
"I've known Dean for about four years," Cas says, taking a small bite from a cream puff. "But we only started being together a few months ago." He means hunting monsters together, obviously, but before Dean can explain Mrs Barrymore gives him a thin smile.
"It's a serious affair, then," she says. "Me and the late Mr Barrymore were engaged for four years before marrying too, though it was a different time."
"We're not... we're not together together," Dean says, waving half an éclair between himself and Cas.
Mrs Barrymore tuts. "Now, now, there's no need to be like that," she says. "I'm old, but that doesn't mean I'm also old-fashioned and close-minded, I like to see happy young couples."
Castiel is still smiling, polite incomprehension written all over his face. Dean sighs and stuffs his mouth with pastries. They're never, ever, doing a case involving old ladies again.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Cas
Words: ~1,000
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Summary: Dean meets a fearsome creature. Her name is Mrs Barrymore and she is armed with a walking stick.
Beta: none
Notes: This fic is set in that wonderful universe of mine where Sam is nowhere to be seen and human!Cas is following Dean in his life of monster hunting and angsting but also fluff. Written for the food table (1. pastries) @
think_fluff and also mission 4.1 (indecision) of the COW-T 2 @ maridichallenge.Mrs Barrymore is the most fearsome person that Dean has ever met. She's almost eighty years old, white-haired and wrinkly, five feet tall, wears a lot of black gowns and floral shawls and, most importantly, is in possession of a very sturdy walking stick. So far she's used the stick against Dean four times: once when she figured out he and Cas weren't FBI agents, once when she caught them trying to sneak into her house, and twice while Dean was trying to explain about the poltergeist. It's the first time Dean was glad when the poltergeist showed up, because compared to Mrs Barrymore it was almost harmless.
It was Dean who had vanquished the sucker, but since Cas saved her cat it's him that the old harpy is thanking, while at the same time berating Dean for leaving chalk marks all over her nice clean floor.
"She's right, Dean," Cas says. "We made a mess of her house, we can't leave it like this."
They can, Dean thinks, but Cas is scratching Snowball behind the ears and Mrs Barrymore is smiling at him as if he was a long-lost grandson. "I knew that you weren't as bad as that one," Mrs Barrymore says, pointing in Dean's direction with her walking stick, and Dean hurries to find a mop and a bucket.
It takes them all the morning to clean the house, and then the best part of the afternoon to finish all the odd jobs that Mrs Barrymore suddenly remembers about. Dean has barely finished fixing a broken vacuum cleaner and she shows up with a tin of paint. The new paint is still drying in the kitchen and already she's barking orders about a wobbly table. There's no end to it.
"I wouldn't want to trouble you, but I was about to run to the store and the walkway is all covered with snow," she tells Castiel.
"No problem at all, Mrs Barrymore," Castiel replies, and Dean ends up knee-deep in the snow, shoveling away. "It's nice to feel helpful," Castiel tells Dean, his breath turning into white puffs.
Dean was under the impression that all they ever did was helping people, and the job they do is way more important than fixing an old cat lady's leaky pipes, but he bites his tongue and doesn't say anything, because Mrs Barrymore and her stick are within earshot.
As a thank you for having used them as unpaid house help all day, Mrs Barrymore offers them tea, though not before they've cleaned up and washed their hands. Dean doesn't even like tea, but it looks as if refusing is not an option. They sit side by side on a tiny sofa and Mrs Barrymore pours them two cups of something that looks like dirty water.
"This is nice," Cas says, taking a sip. "Thank you, Mrs Barrymore."
Dean stares at the cups, which are decorated with images of kittens frolicking in spring meadows and make him vaguely nauseous.
Mrs Barrymore smiles at Castiel. "Not at all, I'm very grateful for what you boys did, cleaning away the snow and fixing my vacuum cleaner and also getting rid of that nasty poltergeist," she tells him, and Dean's got this feeling that 'you boys' is only meant for Castiel and not him. "I've got you a little something, as a thank you."
For one glorious moment Dean thinks they're going to get paid, but instead the old lady hands Castiel a tray. "Help yourself, dearie," she says.
"You shouldn't have," Castiel complains, while Dean feels like banging his head against the coffee table. They've cleaned, fixed and exorcised the entire house in exchange for a cup of tea and half a dozen assorted pastries each.
Castiel looks at the pastries. "These all look delicious, I don't know which one I should start from," he says.
Dean has to admit that, okay, the pastries do look delicious. There's chocolate choux, cream puffs, some little shortcrust boats filled with strawberries and kiwis, and even a couple of éclairs. Lunch has been hours ago and he's starving, but when he tries to reach for the tray Mrs Barrymore swats his hand away.
"Wait for your turn," she scolds him. "There's enough for both."
"Why is my turn after his?" Dean grumbles. He'd be fine with any pastry, too, while Cas seems to take forever to choose, hand hovering over the tray and frowning in concentration as if this is the most difficult decision ever. It took less time for Indiana Jones to pick the Holy Grail from all those other cups, Dean thinks.
After a very long time Cas takes one of the shortcrust boats, biting into the huge strawberry on top. "It's good," he says, a bit of juice dribbling at the corner of his mouth as he speaks. Mrs Barrymore beams at him and finally pushes the tray towards Dean.
Dean picks one of the éclairs and bites into it. It really is delicious, like an creamy chocolate explosion in his mouth. "'s very good," Dean agrees, stuffing as much éclair as he can into his mouth.
Mrs Barrymore swats at him again, though this time he sees it coming and dodges. "Don't talk with your mouth full," she says, and then offers Castiel another pastry. The double standard is really pissing Dean off, but he can live with it as long as there's food.
"So," Mrs Barrymore says, sipping her tea. "How long have you boys been... together?"
Dean almost chokes on his morsel and needs a moment to start breathing again. Next to him, Cas is completely oblivious.
"I've known Dean for about four years," Cas says, taking a small bite from a cream puff. "But we only started being together a few months ago." He means hunting monsters together, obviously, but before Dean can explain Mrs Barrymore gives him a thin smile.
"It's a serious affair, then," she says. "Me and the late Mr Barrymore were engaged for four years before marrying too, though it was a different time."
"We're not... we're not together together," Dean says, waving half an éclair between himself and Cas.
Mrs Barrymore tuts. "Now, now, there's no need to be like that," she says. "I'm old, but that doesn't mean I'm also old-fashioned and close-minded, I like to see happy young couples."
Castiel is still smiling, polite incomprehension written all over his face. Dean sighs and stuffs his mouth with pastries. They're never, ever, doing a case involving old ladies again.
