Ooopsie Daisy

Tender x2

    You are Dean Winchester, in case you forgot.

    You rest your head against the window, sound asleep but in a smoldering, manlike fashion. Sam was driving down the highway at 63 miles per hour, the 1967 Chevy Impala vibrating slightly as it glided down the road. You are caught between a dream and reality, the vibrating of the 1967 Chevy Impala reminding you of your earlier sinful endeavors.

    Sin is fine, your drowsy thoughts reassure you. After all, being friends with an angel means there's a pretty good chance your sins will be forgiven. Right? Speaking of angels, you are jolted awake by the piercing screech of tires and a thud that rocks the car and throws you back against the passenger's seat.

    You feel a chill run through your body as you turn towards your brother.

    "You okay, Sammy?" You examine Sam briefly for injuries but the only thing that you find that's out of the ordinary is that his face is frozen in an expression of complete horror.

    "Sammy?"

    Sam's jaw finally closes and he swallows, hard. "Dean, I- I'm so sorry."

    You feel another rush of terror course through your veins, and your heart starts beating against your ribcage as your eyes widen. "Sammy?"

    Sam just shakes his head, still not taking his heads off the steering wheel.

    You throw open the door of your black 1967 Chevy Impala and see a thin figure in a tan trenchcoat laying on the ground in a heap.

    "CAS!"

    You run to Castiel's side and throw yourself to the ground, knees digging into the concrete on the abandoned highway. You take Cas's shoulders in your hands and hold them in a tight grip, but not so tightly as to hurt him. You take your time in rolling him over and quickly press two of your fingers against Cas's neck. Finding a pulse, you let out a shaky exhale with a great sense of relief.

    You can see Sam standing in the corner of your vision, shaking as he holds the First-Aid kit. You ignore him, trying to push aside the fact that you really want to punch him for hitting Castiel. There's nothing in that First-Aid kit anyways, just a bottle of liquor and some tweezers to forget your emotions and pull out bullets with. But Castiel has neither emotions nor bullets right now, as he is passed out in the middle of the road.

    You run your fingers along the curve of his face, feeling the roughness of his beard stubble graze your fingertips as you check for blood. Finding nothing, you slide your right hand under his head and lift it up to cradle it on top of your knees. You smooth his hair with your fingers just as he did to you in the gas station earlier.

    You turn around and notice that Sam is nowhere to be found. It's just you and Castiel.

    "C'mon Cas," you mutter under your breath. "Wake up. I- I need you. I can't do this alone."

    You gulp, and try to fight back the moisture that is starting to collect in your eyes. Your throat feels tight.

    Cas stirs in your arms, and bats his eyelashes a few times before his eyes finally open.

    "Dean?" he mumbles.

    "Cas." You can't help but breathe a sigh of relief.

    A small smile drifts across Cas's lips as he rests in your lap, and for a moment he looks almost blissful. But this feeling doesn't last long.

    With the Cas drama over, you remember your scurvy and immediately feel nauseous and weak again. Your arms itch, and your body feels hot and weak. You slump over a bit, but you're careful to make sure that Cas is still comfortable in your lap.

    However, Cas immediately notices that something is off. Recovering from the shock of being hit at roughly 70 mph, he lifts himself off your lap and brushes the back of his fingers against your cheek.

    "Are you alright, Dean?" he asks, his eyes soft but still staring intently into yours.

    "Yeah," you grunt. "Yeah, I'm fine, Cas."

    Cas furrows his brow and moves his hand to rest on your shoulder. "No," he says. "No, you're not."

    You want to argue but can't find it in yourself anymore. You slump against Cas's shoulder, your forehead pressed into his neck. He wraps both of his arms around your back and presses his face into your shoulder.

    The two of you stay there, like that, for a while. Somehow, this takes away the feeling of nausea in your stomach more than anything else does. It might be Cas's angel magic, or the complete sense of peace that washes over you, but you feel better all the same. More importantly, you feel safe. And you haven't felt that way in a long time. In fact, you feel more safe sitting in the middle of this freeway than you do in your motel bed most nights.

    With newfound strength, you lift your head off of Cas's shoulder and tilt your chin up towards his lips. You can feel his soft and slow breath against your mouth. Only a few centimeters and a slight tilt of the head, and you would close the gap. You want to. You start to-

    Another screech echoes across the deserted highway, but this time it is not from the black 1967 Chevy Impala. It's from a bubblegum pink ice cream truck with a cartoon sailor painted on the side, spinning out of controls and right towards you and Cas. It must have braked too hard when it saw your parked car.

    You freeze in place, but Cas closes his eyes and surrounds both of you in a warm glow of light. You find yourself now 20 feet to the right, standing next to Castiel and a bewildered Sam on the grass at the edge of the road. The three of you watch the ice cream truck slam into the barrier.

    "Son of a bitch," you say.

    And for the first time, both Sam and Cas agree.