#spnmadlibs

Countenance tilting sideways, blue eyes narrowing into dark-lashed slits, the angel attempts to discern if your query is rhetorical or truly wanting an answer. Faced with continued silence and a sulking glare on your part, he concludes there is a better than 95% chance you’re seeking a verbal response from him. Bass tone flat, he simply offers, “It’s art.”

“Three hours-,” you grumble, lifting a skeptical brow.

Cas doesn’t shrink under your darkening glower. When he sought Dean’s insight on the matter, the Winchester practically guaranteed him you’d appreciate the reason why he insisted you come and he’s eager to see your reaction when he reveals his motive.

“-we drove three hours to see a giant sculpture of a penis!” you huff.

“A 104.6-foot-tall penis, to be exact,” Cas clarifies. He angles his gaze to follow up the ridged shaft, expression passive. He hoped you’d be more impressed. Awed, even. After all, by human standards this is one colossal cock.

If your angelic boyfriend finds this amusing, he’s not faltering under your disapproval and that kind of has you both infuriated and aroused at the same time. Nothing gets you going more than his particular stolid brand of defiance. You ignore the rush of heat rising up your neck. “Oh, excuse me-” You push off the car and saunter several steps toward the enormous gleaming dick. Studying the details of the statue more closely, you observe the local pigeon population has added an extra special finishing touch to the piece of art, if you deign to call it art, in the form of bright white excrement mottling their chosen overnight perching position. Gesturing at the towering member, you reiterate, “We drove three hours to see a 104.6-foot-tall penis made of-” You squint to read the bronze-plate dedication sign mounted on the lower hanging left testicle. “-galvanized steel and concrete. Added bonus fact – oh, this is rich – it’s earthquake proof!” You snort and straighten up, planting a hand firmly on your hip. Eyes rolling at the ridiculousness of the whole thing, your sidelong focus lands on the unflappable angel. You remark with feigned seriousness, “Well kudos to the artist for ensuring it remains rock hard even when the ground begins to shudder beneath it. You know, they really took the symbolism here to the next level.”

Cas winds his arm through yours, encircling your waist and compelling you closer.

You can’t help but relax against his body, muscles softening to let him draw you flush to the solid column of his. Exhaling a sigh, lightly nuzzling the stubble of his jaw, you ask, “Cas, why the hell did you bring me here?”

He drops his chin to dust an affectionate kiss to the tip of your nose. Sweeping a rebellious lock of hair behind your ear, his breath ghosts warmly across your face when he speaks, “You always say you wish you had more time to appreciate the arts.”

“This barely qualifies as-”

“Ah!” he hushes, forefinger pressing your mouth. “On multiple occasions you’ve also expressed a desire to see my unfettered celestial being.”

Your eyelids flare wider. You have no idea where he’s going with this.

“Beyond showing you the shadow of my wings, you know the latter is not possible without dire consequences.”

Pliant lips squishing under the calloused pressure of his fingertip, you begin to catch on, realizing maybe you do have a little idea why he brought you here after all. Or rather, a very big idea. A huge idea, even.

“I’ve explained my true form’s size is akin to your Chrysler building.”

You blink once and nod.

“Well this-” His ocean blues glint mischievously; catching your astonished gaze, they flit to the mammoth monument looming above you.

Following his pointed regard, you gasp – attaining a whole new appreciation for the arts and angels in the sharp breath. “Is that-I mean, are you saying-,” you sputter, incoherent, legs wobbling and dissolving to jelly.

Stopping in front of him, you pause to catch your breath and adjust the hem of the putrid green chiffon dress that had been thrust, unwillingly, upon you. He’s trying desperately to contain his amusement, but his dimples disappear only to reemerge more prominently once again.

“Well, hello. It’s nice to see you too,” he pecks a kiss to your forehead, though in your state of near hysteria, you’re hardly phased.

“What the heck is this?” Your voice is nearly two octaves higher than normal. You flail your hands around him, like you’re swatting at invisible flies.

“What?” The humor drains from his face as the full force of your anxiety hits him.

“This is my sister’s wedding, Sam,” your voice cracks. “And you look like Paul Bunyan.”

“I got here as soon as I could, but I didn’t have my suit in the car.” Sam’s mouth turns upside down in that adorable little perfect frown only he is capable of making. Adorable is not exactly how you would describe it at the moment.

“I don’t even know why you insisted on coming,” you mumble, more frustrated than you’d intended.

“You just sounded so lonely and I figured you would appreciate the company.” He studies you, his face falling. “Am I...embarrassing you?”

“No!” You stomp your foot, looking vaguely like a toddler who’d just been given the wrong color fork. You sigh, guiltily.  “No, of course not. I’m sorry. It’s just this whole weekend has been a nightmare. My entire family thinks I am a complete failure and my sister has spent every waking second rubbing her success in my face. I just kinda snapped. I showed her a picture of you and for the first time in my life, she seemed to envy me. So, I kinda...embellished.”

Sam crosses his arms over his broad chest and you shrink back, ashamed. He eyes you silently for what feels like hours.

“Embellished how, exactly?”

You clear your throat, refusing to meet his gaze. “I told them you were a successful prosecuting attorney from Texas,” you mumble.

The weight of his stare is unsettling as you kick absently at a loose piece of gravel.

His voice startles you. “Ok, well, there was an emergency at the ranch and the airport lost my luggage. I came with the clothes on my back and got here just in time.”

You jerk your head up to find his hazel eyes glittering mischievously. The surprise and curiosity must be written on your face. “Lying about who I am is literally half of my job. Next time, just give me a heads up.”

“I’m so sorry for being an ass, Sam.” You wrap your arms around his waist, taking a deep breath and savoring the scent of him. Pulling back, you look up into his handsome face. “Thank you for coming.”

He stoops to kiss you and you feel his smile against your lips. “Well, I would certainly hate to have missed seeing this with my own eyes.” He traces a finger along one strap of your dress, the light touch making you shiver. He trails his hand down your arm, weaving his fingers between yours and leading you toward the small church. You clutch on to him, allowing him to steer you around the rain-washed trenches and occasional potholes.

“By the way,” he chuckles, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the hot pink Honda as you pass by. “That is, uh, some car you have there, y/n. Great job blending in.”

“Shut up, Winchester.”

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You step back, clutching the rough wooden box to your chest and look at Cas over your shoulder, “Oh, great, that’s wonderful Cas, I didn’t notice the Lovecraftian horror that’s trying to kill me.” You swing out again and the chest connects with what you think might be it’s head. A high pitched squeal escapes the dark, slimy hole that you assume is its mouth, and you cringe when something flies off of it and lands on your arm. “Dammit!” you screech as the substance burns when it lands on your bare skin. You wipe your arm off on Cas’ trenchcoat and he looks down in disgust.

“This is a new coat, Y/N. Charlie is not going to be pleased you ruined it with acidic monster spit.”

You roll your eyes and slam the chest on the ground, the metal handles clanking loudly against the sides, “Oh, I am so sorry that I inconvenienced you with the acid that was eating through my flesh. What is with you today?”

He glares at you and for a moment you forget why you’re even angry until you feel a tentacle wrap around your ankle and pull you down, interrupting whatever thought he is about to have.

“Cas! Angel blade!” you shriek as it tries to pull you across the floor. You turn to see five sets of razor sharp teeth, the concentric circles disappearing into its now gaping mouth, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, hurry up!”

Cas runs towards you, angel blade slipping from his sleeve, and you have just enough time to wonder how the hell he keeps it up there with stabbing himself or dropping it. He thrusts it into the growling hell spawn just as it lunges for your leg. The angel blade begins smoking, and despite melting as it sinks into the blubbery mass, it does the trick. The tentacle loosens its grip and you scramble away, not looking forward to what your leg is going to look like later.

You watch in amazed horror as it reaches up with a shaking limb and wraps it around what’s left of the angel blade, pulling it out with a sickening pop and dropping it on the floor. Cas grabs you and puts himself between you and the monster, and both of you watch as it begins shaking uncontrollably.

“Cas...what is it doing?”

“I do not know, but I am pretty sure that we should not be here to find out.”

“We can’t just leave it here! And we still don’t know where Charlie is!”

“I understand, but I am not sure you are quite grasping the gravity of this situation. It melted an angel blade and it is still alive. So, unless you have any better ideas, we are going to leave. Maybe we can burn the house down.”

“That is not an acceptable option, Cas!” The creature roars and suddenly expands, its body growing to twice the size it just was. “Okay, maybe it’s an option.”

“What’s up, bitches?!” You turn to see Charlie running into the room, waving a key in the air, “I see our friend has gotten a little bigger.”

“You don’t say,” you groan, suddenly hit with a horrendous stench that you could only guess was the creature’s breath as it roared again. “What is that? Is that a key?”

“Oh! Yea, about that, this key opens that chest!” She beams with pride at you and as precious as it is, you have to force yourself not to roll your eyes.

“That’s great, Charlie, but how does that help us right now?” You grab the coat rack you’re standing next to and swing it as hard as you can. It hits the creature in its newly developed beak and snaps in half. You stare down at the broken half still in your hand and sigh.

“There is a potion inside the chest that will kill it!” She drops to her knees and works the key into the lock, the rusty metal snapping as it drops open and she throws back the lid. “See!” She turns around, a glowing blue vial in her outstretched hand.

“What the shit is that?” You are sure that your voice has hit octaves that your high school choir director would be proud of.

“I don’t know, but we’re about to find out!” Charlie stands up and uncorks the vial as she turns. “Eat up, Cthulhu!” She tosses the vial into its open mouth and steps back, flinching as it bites down on the glass container.

“What do we do now?” Cas asks, his brows furrowed.

“I guess we just wait. I don’t actually know what’s supposed to happen.” Charlie crosses her arms, and you take several steps back as the monster starts to shake.

“Umm..guys...I think we should probably go-” You’re interrupted as it explodes, sending purple blood and chunks of monster all over the room. You duck under the desk and throw your arms over your head, the memory of its burning acid spit still painfully clear.

After a moment of cringing in the dead silence, you climb out from under the desk in time to see Charlie step out from behind a bookcase. Cas turns to look at you and you stifle a giggle as he wipes blood from his face. “I guess you don’t have to worry about your coat now, huh?”

“I think this would be the point in the conversation that Dean would instruct you to bite him.”

You laugh, “You’re not wrong.” You turn to look at Charlie, “How the hell did you find that key, and know that it went to the chest?” She blushes, and looks around the room as if looking for a quick, non-sticky exit. “Charlie…”

“I may have made friends with the friendly, neighborhood witch...that was being held captive upstairs.”

You narrow your eyes, “And by ‘made friends with’,  you mean…”

“A true lady doesn't kiss and tell! C’mon, Y/N, ye of little faith. It was just a calm, innocent conversation between two consenting adults-”

“You made out with her, didn’t you?”

“I made out with her.”

“I am leaving. You two can do whatever you would like.” Cas walks briskly to the exit, “I fully expect a new coat from one of you,” he grumbles, and you laugh.

“Aw, c’mon. He’s angel, can’t he just poof it back to normal?” Charlie pouts and you pat her on the shoulder.

“I think in this case, it’s just the principle of the thing. Let’s go, Casanova.”

“Come on Dean! Tell me please!” you whine not even looking at him. “I’ll do whatever you want! Outside of the stuff that probably went through your mind right now. I don’t want to do that sort of thing.”

You can hear him nearly choking on his sandwich and guessed that he was indeed planning on having you do some weird and inappropriate things. Realising that you knew him pretty well, you want to see how far you could go before something bad, like Sam walking in, happens.

“Dean... Tell me,” you beg looking up at him with puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

Dean starts to go red in the face and doesn’t look at you. So you decide to take it further and slowly stand up. Putting your hands on the counter and leaning towards him, you flash an evil smile knowing just what you are doing.

“C-can you perhaps not do that?” he asks weakly not looking at you. “It’s a bit... Distracting.”

You give a smirk and lean forward even more as Dean glance between you and something else in the kitchen. At this point, you forgot what you two were talking about but you know that Dean, for once, was the flustered one and you think it’s rather cute.

“I don’t think so,” you say with a smirk. “Has anyone ever told you that you are adorable when you are flustered? Maybe you should be on the receiving end of flirting more often.”

Dean’s gaze snaps back to you and he blinks. Mouth opening and closing like a fish, he just stares at you dumbfounded at what you just said.

“Flirting? With me? Is that what you are doing?” he sputters. “That’s not how its supposed to go.”

You slowly walk over to him and stand up on your toes so that you two are almost nose to nose. You can tell that his breath picks up since his breath, smelling like a sandwich, fans your face quickly.

“Would it kill you if I did something stupid?” you hum. “Something a little bit different. Something that I haven’t done before.”

With each sentence you bring you face a little closer to his. Dean doesn’t move back but gulps and glances down at your lips.

“Don’t think you can hide that glance from me Winchester. I know exactly what you want and since I forgot what I was trying to get out of you I’m just going to drive you crazy instead.”

“I don’t think you know what you’re doing, (Y/N). You have no idea do you?” he whispered. “You should stop while you’re ahead.”

You don’t respond but instead press your lips to his. Dean is quick to react and soon you are pressed against the counter. You almost have the urge to laugh since you can still taste his lunch but you just settle for as wide a smile as you can manage.

“What’s so funny? Is it the fact that I really wanted you to kiss me because you confuse me?” Dean asks pulling away.

“I was laughing about the fact that you taste like peanut butter and jelly but do I really make the great, overconfident Dean Winchester flustered?”

Dean shook his head and presses his lips against yours once more. The two of you kiss, almost lazily as if time will just wait for you two, for a little bit before you hear someone clear their throat.

“What in the world did I walk into? Is this some sort of torture that you guys planned? I thought you were going to try to get Dean to talk about how he did that thing, (Y/N). Is this some sort of evil trick that you use to get people to talk?” Sam asks while covering his eyes. “And please get a room. I was not planning on seeing any part of (Y/N)’s underwear in my life.”

You look down and notice that both your shirt and your jeans were almost being removed by Dean during the kissing.

“Sure thing Sammy but don’t complain about the noise,” Dean says scooping you up and walking out of the room. You still don’t remember what you were trying to get out of Dean in the first place but you figure it can’t beat this.

Sam involuntarily shudders at the memory.

“Deeeeeeeeeeeean!” you bellow through the halls of the bunker, well ahead of the brothers in winding your way to the garage. “Sam!”

Sam’s lanky legs betray him as he rushes to stand. Kneecap painfully catching on the table’s edge, his chair careens backward with a crash as he lurches forward, grasping for purchase at the unsecured contents littering the smooth mahogany surface. His clumsy grappling sends your meticulously stacked and sorted pile of lore, as you’ve taken to referring to it, fluttering to the floor. “Shit!” he curses, scrambling to catch the drifting paper while nursing his wounded knee. “Dean, a little help?” he casts a desperate pleading glance at his brother as he gathers the documents into a messy heap, attempting and failing to arrange them according to an inane filing system of your own tortuous invention. “She’s going to kill me.” Sam is practically hyperventilating, repeating himself over and over until the words run together. “Dean, she’s going to kill me!”

Dean gapes at the mess, torn between assisting Sam and heeding your beckoning call. He figures poor Sammy is a lost cause. He’s going to miss him. Best little brother ever. Standing there, he can almost feel the palpable beat of your rage thrumming the air. Sheer terror paralyzes him.

“What. The. Hell?” you rasp from the door. They dallied too long – you returned. Pile of dynamite and all tucked beneath one arm.

“It was an accident!” Sam cowers, hobbling on one leg, blatantly endeavoring in a pained limp to put the table between himself and your darkly glowering form. “I can fix it. Just-just give me a minute to-to-” Looking at the jumbled mess, he has no idea where to begin.

It’s a minute too long and you don’t have the patience for their shenanigans right now. Not over such a simple request on your part for them to join your hunt. Not when they know how important this is to you, to Cas. Eyelids snapping shut, you bite your lip, and pray, Castiel, give me the strength not to kill these idiots!

Dean still cannot move. His bowed legs are glued in place. He looks down at them and frowns. He never imagined this is how he would go out – mentally tortured for days on end then savagely torn to pieces by the most fearsome monster he and Sam have ever encountered – Bridezilla herself.

“Dean,” Sam whispers low, wagging his chin in your motionless direction. “Do something!”

Dean gestures in exasperation at his useless knocked limbs. From what he has seen, you have no weakness. There is no way to take you down. And your inexplicable need to carry around that damned pile of dynamite everywhere you go like a security blanket has him shook.

Sam curls an unsympathetic lip and rubs his throbbing knee.

Pure survival instinct undulates Dean’s tongue into motion. He has talked his way out of worse situations. Well, maybe not worse, but they were situations and that counts for something. “Uh, whatever happened to just getting hitched in a church? Ya know, in the eyes of God and what not.” That’s it, he thinks, sow some seeds of doubt, distract her long enough to make a break for it. He eyes the far hall door and imagines barricading himself in the kitchen. All he needs to do is run faster than Sammy and he’s safe and sound for as long as the beer and bacon holds out. And that’s at least 12 solid hours.

You pop open one glaring eyeball. He’s not sidetracking you one bit with this doubt-and-pony show. You snort and mutter, “Nice try, Dean-o, but marrying an angel – I think that counts as being in the eyes of God and what not no matter where the ceremony takes place.” You pluck a dog-eared bridal magazine from amongst the sticks of dynamite and wave it around. “Besides, according to this article, English-style gardens are the little white chapel of the new millennium.”

“I like gardens,” Castiel’s soothing gravelly voice fills the room.

You turn to the angel with a huge grin – any and all anger dispersing in his presence.

“Well-manicured green-spaces are quite quaint,” Cas elaborates, slipping an arm around your waist and leaning down to press a tender kiss to the column of your throat. He proceeds to nuzzle the sensitive skin beneath your ear, tickling you with his scruff until you melt into a fit of giggles in his embrace. Relenting, his lips brush your ear in the warm breath of a whisper, “It will be a lovely place to say our vows.”

Well okay, maybe you do have a weakness. Dean doesn’t bother mulling the fact over. The Winchesters have embarked on their hasty escape by then – Sam’s arm slung over his brother’s shoulder for support as they slowly gimp away.