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literenTitle: Roast chicken and fries
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Cas
Words: ~750
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Summary: Dean and Castiel fight hobgoblins and eat French fries.
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 (3. French fries) @![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
think_fluff and also for mission 7.3 (name) @ maridichallenge.
Relatively speaking, hobgoblins are easy. They're small and dumb and not even vicious, a welcome respite from all those monsters who tried to eat their faces in the past month. Dean is looking forward to a quiet night of ridding an old house from hobgoblins.
That is, until he actually comes face to face with the buggers and decides that he prefers the vicious monsters after all. At least if they're trying to eat his face they're not running away. Hobgoblins on the other hand are cowards, running off to hide in some hole or other every time that Dean or Cas walk into a room.
"Can't they just stay still and wait for us to shoot them?" Dean asks after his shotgun has torn another hole in the wall rather than in the head of the hobgoblin he'd been aiming at.
"I don't think they're suicidal," Castiel says, his voice level. "Maybe we need a break."
Dean recognizes the tone of voice he's using. It's the same one that Sam uses whenever he thinks Dean needs a break or he might shoot himself in the foot. Dean thinks it's not fair. Castiel shouldn't talk to him like that, he's perfectly fine, he just needs to blow off the heads of a couple hobgoblins and everything will be right in the world again.
The next half dozen shots all miss.
"Okay," Dean concedes. "Maybe we do need a break."
It's half past three in the morning, dinner was ages ago and Dean is starving. Luckily there's a 24/7 food court just a couple blocks away. There's a small argument as they try to decide who's going to stay and who's going to remain. At first they both want to go, but Castiel points out that the hobgoblins might wreck havoc in their absence and then disappear for the rest of the night. Dean doesn't want to leave Castiel alone in the house, not because he's worried about his safety but rather because he doesn't trust him alone with a shotgun. ("I only shoot at you once, and it was an honest mistake, and anyway I missed!" Castiel pouts.)
In the end it's Castiel who goes out to get food, while Dean sits in one of the rickety chairs and wastes even more bullets against the walls and ceiling. It takes the longest time for Cas to get back, so long that Dean starts to think that the former angel might have gotten lost along the way, but when he returns he's carrying a greasy bag that smells like heaven.
"I got chicken," Cas says, and it turns out that he really got a chicken, a whole roasted one. There's also two jumbo portions of French fries and six bottles of beer. He still needs to get the hang of how much food to order, but Dean doesn't mind.
Dean tears off a wing and munches on it, making appreciative noises. This would go better if they had forks and knives and plates, Dean thinks, licking some grease from his fingers, but it's not as if either of them minds.
Castiel munches on a chicken leg and finishes his fries in record time. "Aren't you eating those?" he asks, eyeing Dean's share. Dean means to eat them afterwards, because for some reason he prefers fries when they're cold and a bit soggy, but Castiel is giving him his usual puppy look.
"Don't steal them all," Dean says, pushing the plastic box towards the other man, and Cas grins and takes three fries all at once.
"Thanks," he says with a grin before stuffing them into his mouth. Dean grins back, even though it's a bit gross because he's still chewing. Sam would have called him gross, but Cas doesn't seem to mind, so Dean decides Cas isn't channeling Sam after all.
Dean finishes the chicken and they share the rest of the fries, eating with one hand and keeping the other on the trigger, just in case the hobgoblins are planning a surprise sneak attack.
A slamming door has them both jumping on their feet. "Just the wind," Dean says, reaching for the last couple of fries. His fingers brush over Castiel's hand and he jumps back again, startled. "Sorry."
"No, you take them, it's your fries," Castiel says, shaking his head vehemently.
"I don't mind, I ate more chicken than you," Dean insists.
They argue for too long, and one very reckless hobgoblin steals the fries while they're not looking. Dean swears and pulls the trigger, missing him by several feet, while Castiel scolds him for taking the Lord's name in vain.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Cas
Words: ~750
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Summary: Dean and Castiel fight hobgoblins and eat French fries.
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 (3. French fries) @
think_fluff and also for mission 7.3 (name) @ maridichallenge.Relatively speaking, hobgoblins are easy. They're small and dumb and not even vicious, a welcome respite from all those monsters who tried to eat their faces in the past month. Dean is looking forward to a quiet night of ridding an old house from hobgoblins.
That is, until he actually comes face to face with the buggers and decides that he prefers the vicious monsters after all. At least if they're trying to eat his face they're not running away. Hobgoblins on the other hand are cowards, running off to hide in some hole or other every time that Dean or Cas walk into a room.
"Can't they just stay still and wait for us to shoot them?" Dean asks after his shotgun has torn another hole in the wall rather than in the head of the hobgoblin he'd been aiming at.
"I don't think they're suicidal," Castiel says, his voice level. "Maybe we need a break."
Dean recognizes the tone of voice he's using. It's the same one that Sam uses whenever he thinks Dean needs a break or he might shoot himself in the foot. Dean thinks it's not fair. Castiel shouldn't talk to him like that, he's perfectly fine, he just needs to blow off the heads of a couple hobgoblins and everything will be right in the world again.
The next half dozen shots all miss.
"Okay," Dean concedes. "Maybe we do need a break."
It's half past three in the morning, dinner was ages ago and Dean is starving. Luckily there's a 24/7 food court just a couple blocks away. There's a small argument as they try to decide who's going to stay and who's going to remain. At first they both want to go, but Castiel points out that the hobgoblins might wreck havoc in their absence and then disappear for the rest of the night. Dean doesn't want to leave Castiel alone in the house, not because he's worried about his safety but rather because he doesn't trust him alone with a shotgun. ("I only shoot at you once, and it was an honest mistake, and anyway I missed!" Castiel pouts.)
In the end it's Castiel who goes out to get food, while Dean sits in one of the rickety chairs and wastes even more bullets against the walls and ceiling. It takes the longest time for Cas to get back, so long that Dean starts to think that the former angel might have gotten lost along the way, but when he returns he's carrying a greasy bag that smells like heaven.
"I got chicken," Cas says, and it turns out that he really got a chicken, a whole roasted one. There's also two jumbo portions of French fries and six bottles of beer. He still needs to get the hang of how much food to order, but Dean doesn't mind.
Dean tears off a wing and munches on it, making appreciative noises. This would go better if they had forks and knives and plates, Dean thinks, licking some grease from his fingers, but it's not as if either of them minds.
Castiel munches on a chicken leg and finishes his fries in record time. "Aren't you eating those?" he asks, eyeing Dean's share. Dean means to eat them afterwards, because for some reason he prefers fries when they're cold and a bit soggy, but Castiel is giving him his usual puppy look.
"Don't steal them all," Dean says, pushing the plastic box towards the other man, and Cas grins and takes three fries all at once.
"Thanks," he says with a grin before stuffing them into his mouth. Dean grins back, even though it's a bit gross because he's still chewing. Sam would have called him gross, but Cas doesn't seem to mind, so Dean decides Cas isn't channeling Sam after all.
Dean finishes the chicken and they share the rest of the fries, eating with one hand and keeping the other on the trigger, just in case the hobgoblins are planning a surprise sneak attack.
A slamming door has them both jumping on their feet. "Just the wind," Dean says, reaching for the last couple of fries. His fingers brush over Castiel's hand and he jumps back again, startled. "Sorry."
"No, you take them, it's your fries," Castiel says, shaking his head vehemently.
"I don't mind, I ate more chicken than you," Dean insists.
They argue for too long, and one very reckless hobgoblin steals the fries while they're not looking. Dean swears and pulls the trigger, missing him by several feet, while Castiel scolds him for taking the Lord's name in vain.
