#case ficlet

Before they die, they start gettin’ giddy: passing notes, doing candy grams, getting weird-goofy-flirty. Cute, except people students have already died after playing Spin the Bottle, and one of them’s an eight-two year old woman.

///

TFW takes a breather to reset, sitting down in a local diner.

JACK: “Uh… why are you doing that?”

SAM: “What?”

Jack points. Dean and Cas are playing footsie under the table.

CAS: “Oh. Uh. I’m not sure.” (He pulls his feet back.)

A few minutes later, Dean’s sliding his back in, hooking his ankles around Cas’s, and Jack points again.

JACK: “Dean, you have plenty of room on your side of the booth.”

DEAN: “I, uh, I didn’t even realize I was doing that.”

Later, during an interview with a witness, they start up again, making mooney-eyes at each other and tapping the sides of their feet together. But, like, in FULL view of the crying lady.

JACK: (whispering to Sam) “I think we should make them wait outside.”

///

The case plays out in typical SPN fashion, and by all accounts, the curse is lifted.

BUT

Later, they’re back in the same booth, and everything’s supposed to be normal again.

Jack notices... Dean’s doing it again. He leans in, whispering, “Dean. Are you still cursed?”

Dean just glares at him, hissing. “No. And mind your own business.”

Jack sits back, lips pressed together, and watches Dean give Cas another flirty smile. Sam’s oblivious, happily dissecting lore over his coffee.

Under the table, Jack sees Dean’s boot nudges against Cas’s. Cas nudges back.

When Cas catches Jack's worried expression, he winks at him, then smiles reassuringly.

Chapter 3 of my Ficfacers fic Aim Straight is up! Rating: E Words so far: 11k

Summary: Dean and Cas fake being husbands while they interrogate the odd Krushnics'. For Dean, the line between what he wants and what they are acting out keeps blurring.

Dean wakes up to an empty bed. He blinks and takes in the unfamiliar surroundings. He's about to reach for his gun when it all comes back to him. The case, the cottage, Cas.      The empty bed.

He's slept in the same bed as Cas. He's touched Cas' hand.

An array of conflicting emotions war inside him; the joy of holding Cas' hand, the shame that he'd done it while Cas slept, the sense of loss – cause it sure as hell wouldn't happen again – and the sickening feeling that settled in his stomach at that.

All of that inner turmoil comes to a screeching halt when he inhales the divine scent, the ambrosia of Gods.

“Cas, what the hell? Do I smell what I think I smell?” Dean practically jumps out of the bed, anything to get away from all that lace bedding – although he did sleep well. He quickly pulls a T-shirt over himself.

“Yes, the drug of your choice.”

Dean follows Cas' voice and stops when he sees him sitting at the small dining table with a virtual breakfast buffet. He spots fresh croissants – he knows they're fresh because of the billowing steam –  that are fighting for space together with a bowl of strawberries, a huge platter with a variety of sausages and cheeses, a knob of butter in a bowl, tiny-ass scones and what appears to be yogurt and honey. In the middle of the table, the coffee pot stands with its blessed, dark liquid.

Dean sits down and nods approvingly. “Man, I have no idea how you did this, but I could kiss you right now.” He grabs a scone and puts it in his mouth.

“Well, we're supposed to be married. I believe that is the custom.”

Dean chokes on his scone and starts coughing. Cas raises an eyebrow but Dean ignores him and goes for the coffee. “Mm, coffee.”

“I ordered it. Honeymoon breakfast for the newlyweds.”

Dean chews on a croissant. “Well, at least we're doing some firsts. Never been newlywed before.”

“Is there something else you'd like to do as a first?”

Touch you. Kiss you. Dishevel that hair of yours. “Uh, like what?”