The Lost City

Observation about how we, as fans, get on.

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 16:41:52 GMT

Have you ever noticed that when you get pissed off, and are really just VENTING about something that language takes a back burner to emotion. How we say what we're feeling is very informal, sometimes loaded with profanity (like mine, *pulls face*) and we're not a whole lot concerned with how other people are gonna react. Mostly because we're not thinking about other people's reactions to our own vitriole. Really. I mean, when I get pissed or offended at something and want to vent about it, I really just don't even THINK about other people; I guess I'm just not that good a person.

BUT, when someone points out that "ummm, dude. You might be hurtin' peeps feelings here," we get formal. Like, "Oh! I do apologize. That certainly did not even cross my mind." We're sincere in our remorse, but it's so stiff and stilted, it gets taken for "How dare you imply that I would be so stupid as to hurt people!"

Sometimes I wonder if we make a situation worse when pulling back and trying to retract what WAS said by offering apologies and the like. *shrug*

Just wondering....

White Collar

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 02:17:30 GMT

Okay, the guy playing Neil Cafferty looks like the forbidden love child of Jared and Jensen and, oddly enough, Jefferey Dean Morgan. Dude.

pretties!!!

Ohhh! Yay. Probie is PoC AND a lesbian! AND smart and capable. Whoot! Cool show, so far.

also, FUNNY! "I thought the FBI had a policy."

"That's the military. We don't ask, we don't care."

Yeah. This fuckin' show is slashy already! New favorite show!

"What's she into?"

"You mean sexually?"

*Neil's eyes widen* "Ew no. I mean existentially."

holy shit.

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 01:52:49 GMT

Hhow the fuck is this shit entertaining?!?!? I don't give a rat's ass that she's all 'successful' in the end and manages to dispatch Nolan. she's still some fuckin' man's punching bag. GRRRRR. And now, instead of just being brainwashed, manipulated, raped and made crazy, she's made a murderer to boot?

and her gettin' her ass beat all over creation in that damn house is entertainment? We're supposed to be entertained by that kind of violence and her murder of that dude? She's still someone's fucking tool. Freakin' Olivia wanted Nolan dead from the get go, and she used Topher and Priya to do it.

This is bullshit.

I call horseshit on this whole thing.

Dollhouse Spoilers

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 01:42:18 GMT

You know, I really REALLY have to take issue with this show's whole premise. yeah. Just..ugh.

However,
Topher(I think that's the little dude's name - the one giving the 'dolls' their treatments) giving Priya her original brain chemistry and letting her go? Wow. That was awesome. Now, I hope she beats the ever lovin' snot out of that doctor son of a bitch.

Still not liking this show, but that bit of business is awesome.

I nearly peed myself just now!

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 02:39:42 GMT

I got tweeted to by Tim Tebow - of course it was a reply to my tweet to him about Saturday's game, but still.

Tim Tebow tweeted to MEEEEEE

I've gone and done it again!

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 00:48:12 GMT

Well, it's been a few years since the first time I tried this with disastrous results. I just finished sigining up for NaNoWriMo. What? Yeah.

I'm gonna be doing original fiction this year. No fan fic or anything like that.

It seems that I apparently suck at anything creative. My last couple of stories (other than the ones for mcsmooch) have sucked beyond the telling and peeps just don't wanna say anything. 'S okay. 'S all good. I'll just try something different for a change, see if I can't get things moving that way.

So. naNoWriMo it is.

Also? Heard back from the band. No go. They went with someone else. *sigh* Terrific.

So, I guess if you've ever wanted to blast me, now's the time to do it. It seems that it's my turn.

Umm, thatt was scary!

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 05:36:19 GMT

1. my dryer just quit on me. I mean, it could be because I have a large load of jeans/pants/cords in there, but umm, still. FREAKSOME.

2. There's been the faint sound of music through my apt for the last few hours. Could be my ears ringing lightly, though with all the excitement of the weekend games, but still kinda weird.

3. Weird thumps and bumps. could be neighbors being rowdy. Who knows. Bizarre.

Gonna go put my dryer to rights again, get it spinning and blowing my clothes dry, hopefully, it'll stay running for the rest of it's allotted time.

Wrote a little college football porn earlier today (yesterday?) sunday afternoon.

Go. Have a looksee. College boys, sexin' it up after a game.

I mean, it's only gonna cause me to burn in hell for a little while. Honest. OMG.

Also, thanks, flisties, for going over to Deni's journal and wishing her a happy birthday. It really was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day for her, complete with parental guilt trippiness and harranguing. Her fam is whacked out, seriously, whacked out. Nut jobs, every last one of em. But you guys rocked. And I thank you all! *hugs*

someone please stop me!!1

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 16:58:20 GMT

Oh good LORD! I have committed college football porn. For those not in the know: these are the guys in question

Since yesterday's DRAMATIC game against the Razorbacks, I've had this image of Tim Tebow leaning against his doorjamb, nothing on but a towel around his waist and one folded over his neck as he's watching Riley Cooper beat himself up over a dropped endzone pass. Riley's hair's all damp and hanging in his face, his hands falling between his knees from where his elbows are propped on his thighs.

Tim's all, "It was one pass, Ri. Why're you doin' this to yourself?"

And Riley shrugs, doesn't say anything, but watches Tim's bare feet as he steps into the room and closer to the bed that they don't share, never share. Then the mattress dips, and Tim's right next to him, all wet heat and smelling like Irish Spring and Riley tries, he really tries, not to look up into Tim's honest and clear face.

There's no accusation there, just a half smile of exhaustion and hard won victory, and the absolute utter conviction that he can do anything he wants to.

Riley smiles. "Superman," he says, and Tim sucks his teeth letting a frown mar his brow.

"You know I hate that."

Riley chuckles, a dry sound, not fully humorous. "What'd you prefer?"

Tim shakes his head. "I'm just...I'm just Tim. You know? I love what I do, love this game, love this team. I'm just a guy. I mean, Superman? Come on, Ri, you know that ain't me."

Riley shakes his head back, getting his hair out of his face, and he sighs, smiles a genuine smile, and says, "Yeah, I know." Then, carefully, knowing that it could mean everything or even less than nothing, he lays a palm on Tim's thigh, naked under the damp towel. "But look at what you've done, here."

"What we've done. You," Tim says, staring down at Riley's hand, "You were part of that win."

"Not talking about this win, Tim. Talking 'bout all 16. Talkin' 'bout coming from a loss last year and winning a championship. A national championship, man. Talking about pulling this team together time and time again." He squeezes Tim's thigh and takes note of the quick, indrawn breath.

"What are you doing?" Tim whispers.

Riley squints at him, watching his face as he squeezes Tim's thigh again, a little higher this time, a little harder. "Nothing," he says, watching Tim's eyes go wide and wild, and counting Tim's breaths.

Tim catches Riley's hand in his own. "Don't," he says, but Riley slides his arm, the one that's been caught between them, back and around Tim, and he leans in toward Tim, breathing deeply the biting clean smell of his team mate, his room mate. His friend.

Tim looks away, toward the wall, shaking a little, and he squeezes Riley's hand again. "Ri. I can't...I love you, man, I do, but I'm not...nothing against you or other guys who are, but I don't do this," he says, and Riley sighs at the protest.

"I know," he says, "me neither. But I want...just let me..." and Tim stills, takes a deep breath and lowers his head.

Riley lets his mouth trail over Tim's shoulder, feels the muscles tense beneath smooth tan skin. He flicks out his tongue, tasting skin and he knows he's pushed too far. But in the second before Tim's up and across the room again, Riley tastes pure sunlight and strength and faith and he smiles to himself.

When he lifts his head again, Tim's on his own bed, mouth open and sucking in quick breaths quietly, eyes wide. Riley grimaces, says, "I'm sorry, man."

"No!" Tim snaps, suddenly meeting Riley's look with a steady one of his own. "Don't do that. Look. It...it's okay, Ri. Really. No harm, no foul, right?" He chuckles, a tentative smile settling finally on his face. "I mean, yeah, it's a little freaky, this. I mean, I had no idea, ya know?"

Riley says, "Neither did I."

"So. We'll just...we'll deal with it."

Riley laughs outright. "Are you for real? I mean, seriously. I know the sports writers and all are blowing sunshine up your ass constantly, and no one can really be buying that whole Superman gig, but really. I've known you now for four years, and I thought, maybe, just once, you'd break bad and go totally out of your mind, but you don't. Not even over this? Are you even human, man?"

Off Tim's glare, Riley winces. "Yeah, okay. Sorry."

Tim shrugs, then falls backward on his bed. "So we're attracted to each other. I mean, look at you." He waves a hand in Riley's general direction. "You know the chicks say you're like a romance novel cover."

"What? Hell no."

Tim lifts his head and grins. "Dude. Yes." He chuckles, and lays back down. "I think it's the hair."

"It is not the hair," Riley says, then, "Wait. We're attracted to each other?"

Tim takes a deep breath, props himself up on his elbows. "Caught that did you?" He thinks for a minute. "Look, it's not a big deal. We'll just...handle it as we need to."

Riley holds back a nervous chuckle. "Do you hear yourself?"

"Shut up. I'm being serious."

Riley gets up and shuts their door. Locks it. Then he walks across the room and stands in front of Tim, looking down at him. Tim looks up at him, still propped on his elbows. Riley leans forward, slides his hand beneath the edge of Tim's towel, doesn't break eye contact. Tim swallows. "What."

Riley slides his hand over Tim's thigh, his long fingers pressing down into the hard flesh as he reaches steadily for Tim's dick. He bends forward, holding himself over Tim with one arm, and leans in close so their noses brush against each other. He slides his lips, not quite a kiss, over Tim's and says as he wraps his hand around Tim's growing erection, "What about we handle it right now?"

Tim nods slightly, "Yeah," he whispers, and seals his lips firmly against Riley's.

TBC?

OH GOD> I'm going to hell!!!!!

Gator Game

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 21:26:38 GMT

I'm freakin' out, here. Arkansas leads Florida 10 to 3 at the half. Dudes. This is BIG HUGE. Since Old Miss last year, when Tebow made 'THe Promise" FL has not lost a game. Yes, there is another half of football left to play, but my god. They're behind. They've got to come out and put all the pieces together and play GREAT defensive and offensive football. OMG.

BCAW

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 00:13:17 GMT

This is Awesome!

Breast Cancer Awareness done by ball players

Thanks to yin_again for the original link.

Check this! I have to laugh a little.

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 01:26:12 GMT

They - whoever they are - say you should never google yourself. You'll just get to read all the bad shit people never say to your face. True. But every now and again, I do it. and most of the time, what I find is nice. There's been a couple of times when there's been something negative or a bad review or whatever. But that's cool. but overwhelmingly, the stuff I find about myself is pretty good.

This is what I found today. It's on the 'not so good' end of the spectrum. Someone's pithy review of my mcshep_match story. How awesome is this?

"Wow, it took over 15,000 words just for John to realise his feelings for Rodney? This was just bad. The plot was cliched and felt really contrived. It rambled on and on and then ended with a deus ex machina. It would be one thing if what happened actually made sense, but it didn't. It was obvious every step of the way that the only reason for anything happening was that the author wanted to get John and Rodney together. Which...if you're going to involve a mysterious planet's technology and some game that intruders are forced to play just isn't enough. The planet's inhabitants need actual motives as well. Plus the dialogue throughout was just really off."

Ahhhh. I have arrived.

It's Sunday, I'm not in love, but...

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 15:55:50 GMT

It feels so goddamn good to be productive today! Whew!!!

To Do List:

Wash Car ✓

Clean out/vacuum car ✓

Do laundry ✓

Grade Student classwork

Grade Student tests

Create Beowulf review ✓

Create vocabulary test ✓

and it's not even 12 yet. Whoot.

ETA: also, google for html for checkmark. ✓ done.

Mcshep fics for mcsmooch

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 11:31:25 GMT

Title: Plausible Deniability
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: not mine, dangit. Otherwise, Fridays would still be spent on Atlantis
Word Count: 1100
Summary: sleepy team, post-mission, John enjoys a little plausible deniability - until he can't.

Plausible Deniability

Title: Home is Where...
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: not mine, yo.
Word Count: 1557
Summary: While Rodney was willing to surrender his spot in the lab, he wasn't ready to go to his quarters.

Home Is Where...

Links go to mcsmooch comm. Cross-posted to mckay_sheppard, my journal, and here. Sorry for the spamming.

How about some sunsets, y'all?

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 09:45:09 GMT

I took these at the end of July, on my way back to Ocala after spending the month with my momma. I was driving down 27, headed north, and the sky just...well...lit up like it was on fire. I had to get some shots of it. the last one is doctored - I removed the power lines and poles, but the others are completely untouched.

This is to the west, at about 5:30. The sun was still high, but turned the whole sky gold.

This is North. I just held the camera up in front of me and snapped the clouds. The sun is in the same relative position as in the first pic.

This one's off to the west again, but the sun is lower.

Here it's down below the treeline. The treeline's thick, blocking a direct view of the sun. Notice the horse shaped cloud?

This one the sun is below the horizon, and the sky is really on fire. The horse cloud is just starting to dissipate.

Awesome, huh?

2009 SGA Secret Santa is here!

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 21:23:10 GMT

I've seen this comm for a couple years now, and this is the first time I've actually been free enough to sign up for it.

sga_santa is on again for this year. Relevant details are in this post at the comm.

Please sign up and share the love and happiness that is SGA at the holidays.

Fic: In the Paths of Exile, Dean/Castiel, NC-17

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 08:46:35 GMT

Title: In the Paths of Exile
Author: altyronsmaker
Rating: FRAO
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: some for Free to Be You and Me, and 5.04
Warnings: guy on guy sexin'. Schmoop?
Word Count: 4100
Summary: Whoa, whoa, whoa! Come on, man. I just drove like 16 hours. I'm human. There's stuff I gotta do. Eat, for example. And sleep. In this case I just need like four hours, every once in a while. Okay, so you can like...pop in tomorrow morning.

Another vehicle passed him on the side of the road. It didn't stop like several of the others had over the past four hours. Yesterday, Castiel had been worried for humanity. It seemed all they did was fight each other and hurt themselves. But his enforced exile on the side of the highway had helped him see a slightly different side of his Father's chosen beings. They have such capacity for generosity of spirit. He thought it most unfortunate that he'd had to refuse the several offers of a lift, but if he had anywhere really pressing to be, he'd have simply gone. Right now, he was just giving Dean the four hours he'd asked for.

And it really wasn't so bad on this particular stretch of highway. It wasn't too busy, he could sit on the girder, it wasn't that uncomfortable. The only issue he had was the creeping cold that was affecting the body he was in. The chill in the air kept getting worse as the time wore on, and the body shivered. It made it hard for Castiel to think. The only thing that stayed solid in his mind was the name of Dean's hotel room and his room number. Oh, and the fact that the bed Dean was sleeping in was probably warmed over by now with Dean's particular brand of body heat.

He shivered again. Then he heard another hiss of breaks and the electronic sound of a window coming down. "Hey, Sir? It's getting pretty cold out. You need a lift anywhere?" Another concerned voice.

Castiel stared at the man who frowned from inside his warm car. "No," he said, shivering and his lips almost wouldn't let the word escape.

"You sure, you're...Look, sir, you're turning blue with the cold. Let me at least get you somewhere warm. My wife would kill me if she found out I let some guy die of exposure." The man seemed to genuinely care, but Castiel glanced down at his watch and again felt his body give a shudder.

"I am expected in another location. I'll be fine here for the moment. I thank you for the offer, though," he said, "please assure your wife that I am not now, nor will I be dead of exposure."

The man sighed, glanced down the road behind him, then seemed to reach a decision. "All right. Look," he said, shifting about and tugging his wallet out of his pants pocket, "here's a twenty. There's a restaurant about a mile back that way." He pointed back the way he'd come, and Castiel automatically glanced in the direction he indicated. "Get yourself a warm meal and some hot cocoa, or something."

Castiel stared at the money in the man's hand. He had no use for it, but knew Dean could probably use a bit of food. He reached out and gingerly took the money. "Thank you. I will put this to good use."

The guy looked him up and down and shook his head. "Just be sure to get something warm. Too many people have died already. No need for you to be one more." The window started to roll back up, and the man smiled softly. "Take care of yourself," he said just before the window sealed shut and he drove away.

Castiel pocketed the money, eyes on the vehicle as the man drove away, then scratched at his chest where Dean's amulet lay. It often did that; one moment it'd just be lying against his chest, cool metal on smooth skin, then it'd itch. It never glowed hot or indicated the presence of the Lord, but sometimes, as it lay against his skin, it get to itching horribly. Jimmy had never worn jewelry, but for a watch, so Castiel figured it was just Jimmy's body reacting to the constant presence of the necklace, and he'd just scratch his chest, and the itch would eventually go away.

As he walked alongside the road, the breeze from another passing car buffeted his body, and Castiel glanced down at the watch he wore. Dean had said four hours. It had been five. His hands in his pockets, he rubbed his fingers over the twenty and thought about Dean. He'd probably still be asleep, and when he woke, Castiel knew he'd probably want the coffee he liked so much. Castiel didn't understand the desire for the stuff. While its scent was intoxicating, it tasted burnt to him, and no amount of sugar or cream or other flavor that Dean made fun of him for adding took away the burnt taste. But he knew, after so long driving and only five hours of sleep, that Dean would like some.

It was an odd behavior he'd picked up on in humans, now that he was constantly around them. When they cared for another person or when they wanted something from someone else, they'd offer gifts of what they think the other person would desire. Dean, Castiel had realized, was very simple in his wants. He liked pie—of all kinds, but cherry was his favorite. He loved coffee—black with sugar. Cheeseburgers and beer would satisfy his hunger most nights, and if not, pizza. Music, always there was music. Castiel had a feeling that though Dean's voice here on earth was rough and more often than not discordant, he'd make a beautiful and joyful noise in heaven. There was a large part of him that he didn't often indulge that desired strongly to hear that sound. And finally, Sam.

Though Dean had said he felt good, happy, without Sam, Castiel knew the feeling wouldn't last long. While he believed that the separation was good for them both—Dean needed to know who he was without Sam, and Sam needed to rediscover his own power away from Dean and the influences of their mission—Castiel also knew that neither brother would be content without some proximity to the other. He had confidence they would find each other again, and be the better for the time apart.

He came upon the restaurant and realized he'd been walking longer than he thought. Another hour had passed, and he smiled to himself. Funny, it seemed to him, that time passed so much more swiftly when he was occupied with Dean—either in thought or in deed. He stepped inside and ordered breakfast from the smiling waitress at the counter.

"Will that be all, hon?" she asked. Castiel noticed the swift change in her smile and the way her eyes slid down over his body. He'd seen that look often since taking Jimmy as his vessel. It was a curious phenomenon; he didn't know what to make of it, so he ignored it.

"Also two coffees. Black, with sugar."

*****
The room was dark and quiet, the heavy curtains drawn closed over the windows and the TV off, when Castiel arrived. He set the food on the small table by the window, and carrying the coffees in his hands, crossed the room to sit on the edge of Dean's bed. He set the Styrofoam cups on the bedside table, and as he'd done so many times, he sat quietly and watched Dean sleep. This time, however, was unique.

Dean didn't moan or shudder in his sleep. His face wasn't etched in lines of remembered pain or fear or horror—or worse still, pleasure. He breathed deeply, his lips slightly parted. Occasionally, as Castiel watched, Dean's tongue slid wetly over his lips and left them glistening in the dim light that filtered through the curtains. Dean's warmth seeped through the blankets, and Castiel leaned his body into it. The cold from the road had sunk bone deep into his body, and it wasn't something he was used to. The heat that radiated from Dean, that coursed through Castiel's clothes and skin banished that cold, and Castiel closed his eyes and relished it. The first time he'd been truly warm since taking his vessel.

He swallowed and found himself scooting closer to Dean's warmth again. The bed itself was tempting him. He toed off his shoes and shrugged out of the long trench coat, letting it drape across Dean's blanket covered hips.

Dean shifted on the bed, rolling over and curling into Castiel's body.

Castiel froze on the bed, eyes on Dean's face, looking for any sign of wakefulness. In the year he'd been working with Dean, he'd never witness the man sleeping with anyone. Yes, Dean had bed partners, lovers, but no one stayed the night. Or if they did, Dean did not. So Dean's behavior, while someone else was sleeping with him, was something new and foreign to Castiel. He did not take Dean as someone who would seek another's presence in his sleep. But he drifted into Castiel's space easily. Castiel wondered how far this drifting would go if he were to lie down with Dean.

When he first arrived, he'd had every intention of waking Dean, of getting to work, of outlining the crazy insane plan of Dean's to kill the Devil. But Dean's sleeping, his peaceful in and out breaths, the utter relaxation on his face had stopped Castiel, had him put breakfast on the table in order to watch Dean sleep. He couldn't face waking Dean from what felt to Castiel like the first real rest he had gotten since being dragged out of hell.

Seduced by the sleepy heat coming off of Dean in waves, he took a deep breath and stood, pulling the trench coat off the bed. Then he lifted the covers and slid silently into the comfortable warmth of Dean's bed.

He took another breath and turned onto his side to stare down at Dean sleeping, and Dean seemed to just burrow himself into Castiel's body. Castiel laid his hand on Dean's shoulder, thinking to wake him, but instead let his hand trail down over Dean's arm. No tension in the muscles, no flinching away. Dean's skin was flushed pink from sleep, tiny creases where the sheets had wrinkled beneath him showing red underneath the burn scar of Castiel's handprint. Castiel's breath stopped at seeing that mark. Before he could stop himself, he leaned forward and put his lips to that scarred skin.

He'd never given any thought to what Dean would taste like. He'd lived a millennia, sexless in the paradise that was his home. It never occurred to him to think about needs such as what he'd heard Dean describe. But since being kicked out, killed, and brought back by who knows what, Castiel had begun to think that maybe, just maybe, his existence in heaven had been missing something integral. And with the first taste of Dean on his tongue, he thought, perhaps, that he'd found it. He kissed the skin again, open-lipped, and let his tongue touch the scar more fully.

Yes, he thought, this was definitely something to be missed.

Dean's breathing changed, increasing in speed, barely discernible, but Castiel heard it. He also felt a change in muscle tension in Dean's arm.

Without lifting his mouth from Dean's skin, he looked up.

Dean stared at him, eyes puffy with sleep, but curious. "Cas?"

Castiel swallowed, and with curious intent, dragged his mouth over Dean's scar again. Sleepy, sexual heat flared in Dean's eyes, and he lifted a brow. Smiling slightly, he said, "So I guess this is why the whore house didn't exactly go as planned."

Castiel laid his head down on Dean's arm, letting more of Dean's warmth seep into him.

"Cas," Dean whispered, shifting beneath the blankets, trying to dislodge Castiel, "I don't think-"

"I brought coffee. And breakfast," Castiel said, not lifting his head.

"When we talked about personal space, Cas, this isn't exactly what I meant. In fact, I think I was going for exactly the opposite of what's going on here."

"You're very warm."

"I was sleeping. That usually happens."

"I was," Castiel paused, frowning as though searching for the words, "It was a long wait, Dean. I was cold."

Dean eyed him, searching him, finally saying. "And now?"

"You're warm," Castiel said. "Very warm. I like it."

Dean pulled Castiel off his arm, pressing him down on the bed. Castiel let his head settle onto the pillow and continued to meet Dean's eyes.

"How long have you been cold, Cas?" Dean asked, propping his head on his fist.

Castiel searched his memory, looking far back for a time he'd last felt warm. He couldn't find one. "Eons," he said, eyes on the ceiling above him.

When Dean's faces drifted into his line of vision, Castiel again met the hunter's gaze. Dean wasn't smiling, but his fingers carded through Castiel's hair. He shook his head. "That's too long, I think," Dean said, and leaned forward slowly. "I'm," he swallowed, "I'm going to try something here. Don't know if it's a good idea, if I'm gonna get the smack down by the big guy upstairs, but since he's sorta in absentia, I'm going to risk it."

Castiel swallowed. "There is no discovery without risk."

One corner of Dean's mouth lifted in aborted humor. "Let me know if I'm on the right track here."

Castiel nodded once, then Dean's mouth was on his, a tentative touch.

If his skin had felt good and right beneath Castiel's lips, then Dean's mouth could very well have been Castiel's new home. Even with the first soft touch of Dean's lips, the sensation of this kiss was at least equal to the feeling of heaven. Castiel's breath hitched, and his mouth opened beneath Dean's.

Dean pulled back, blinking. "Okay?"

"More than," Castiel said. "Again?"

Dean chuckled. "I should have known it'd come to this."

Castiel frowned. "Why?"

"The last time," Dean said, just before kissing Castiel quickly on the chin, "I told someone they wouldn't die a virgin," he paused again, chuckling, then grew serious.

"Anna," Castiel whispered, remembering her. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean shook his head. "It's not," he sighed, breaking eye contact for a moment. "You were doing what you thought you had to. I can't," he met Castiel's eyes again, "I can't fault you for doing that. God knows the crap that Sam and I have done in the name of doing what we thought was right."

"And now? Are you just doing what you think is right?"

Dean laughed outright, humor and something else shining bright from his eyes. "Hell no. If anything, this is as wrong as two people who claim to be holy can get, Cas. You gotta know that."

"Why?"

"Seriously?" Dean asked. "You have to ask why this is wrong?" He settled fully over Castiel, sliding a firm thigh between Castiel's own and rubbing none too gently against Castiel's growing erection. "We're two guys, Cas. I'm pretty sure God frowns on the gay sex."

"Gay?"

Again, Dean chuckled. "Yeah, Cas, Gay. Two people who are the same sex—guy on guy, girl on girl, though that is hotness in and of itself—having relations, making love? God's not gonna be giving those two people free passes into heaven."

"Why not? If they care about each other, love each other?" Castiel cupped Dean's jaw in his hand, fingers stretching up into Dean's soft hair, and his thumb resting on Dean's full, pink bottom lip. "Dean, god may be missing. You could be right in that he has stopped caring about what happens here. I doubt that, though. He may have a history of being vengeful, but, Dean, God is also love. It is His greatest reward to humanity: love. Why would you believe that any expression of that love could be condemned in His eyes?"

Dean's eyes were wide, his breath short and fast in his chest. "I don't...I don't know, Cas," Dean said, shrugging. Then, "Do you love me, Cas?"

Castiel watched Dean's gaze bounce back and forth. He seemed to be trying to catch any nuance of deception in Castiel's eyes. In the face of such obvious insecurity, Castiel didn't know how to lie. "Of course."

The words were barely out of Castiel's mouth before Dean covered it with his own. This was no tentative kiss. Dean stretched and settled fully over Castiel's body, sinking into him, and devouring every inch of him. Castiel breathed him in, opened his mouth and let Dean invade him.

Castiel felt not unlike what he imagined Jimmy felt when he surrendered himself to possession. There was fear and pain (Dean's aggression was unfamiliar, as was the sensation of having his lips and tongue bitten and sucked on), joy and pleasure (Dean's hands in his hair, holding him steady, his heavy thigh rocking into Castiel's hardness), and something like finality and rightness. This was perfection, Castiel thought. This is what heaven should have felt like. He'd wondered why he hadn't missed it, why being on earth with Dean and Sam and Bobby had been more satisfying. Now he knew. Because this joy, this pleasure was what heaven should feel like, and he wished with all that he was and had ever been that he could share this feeling with his brothers.

Dean's hands slipped from his hair down to his jaw, pushing his head up and back so Dean could lick and kiss his way across Castiel's neck. In between kisses and bites, Dean whispered. "Say something, Cas, wanna hear you. Too quiet."

"Dean," Castiel ground out. The word was rough out of his mouth, barely strong enough to escape tense lips, but Dean heard it.

With his hand gripping Castiel's jaw, he growled, "Again."

"Dean," he said, and it was easier that time. Dean's green eyes blown wide, pupils rounded and inky black. Castiel stared into them and lifted a hand to rest it against Dean's face. The name was easy, but faced with the intensity of Dean's gaze, Castiel was lost. "What do you need to hear?"

The thud of Dean swallowing was loud enough to reach Castiel's ears. He waited, but Dean stayed silent. So he asked again. "Dean?"

"Say my name, Cas," Dean said, leaning into Castiel's touch. "What feels good? What do you like? What do you want me to do?"

That was easily done. "You feel good, Dean. I like you. Whatever you want," Castiel said. "I trust you."

Dean's eyes closed, and he groaned, his whole body shuddering over Castiel's. "God, Cas."

Castiel sat up enough to catch Dean's lips in a kiss, swallowing what else the man might have had to say. Then Dean's fingers were pulling at the knot in Castiel's tie, tugging the silk from around Castiel's neck. Again, Dean nuzzled under Castiel's chin to push his head backwards on the pillow. Then those fingers were tugging at buttons and pushing Castiel's shirt open, exposing his chest. Lips followed hands, and Castiel's breath hitched. He whimpered.

Dean growled low, and bit him, marking him with light crescents in his skin. Castiel glanced down at the almost wound, and felt a surge of something powerful and hot in his body. Ecstasy, lust, and power coursed through him. He moaned low, and Dean surged up again to kiss him, opening his mouth over Castiel's in a hot, hungry kiss. There was no escape, even if he'd wanted to, Castiel was caught in this web of sensation. He slid his hands over Dean's shoulders, down over ribs, and flat, hard stomach and around onto tight buttocks. He held Dean's ass in his hands, fingers shoved unconcernedly underneath the cotton and elastic of Dean's boxer shorts.

Dean thrust up against him. "Jesus, Cas, just..yeah..keep touching me."

"You like this?"

"Yes," Dean hissed, and bit gently bit Castiel's earlobe. Castiel squeezed Dean's butt again, testing the tensile strength of the muscles underneath velvety soft skin.

He sighed, "Me too," and pushed at Dean's shorts, shoving them down over his thighs. Dean pulled away from him, shed his boxers quickly and efficiently, then went to work on Castiel's slacks. In seconds, Dean had Castiel's pants open and was tugging on the waist. "Up, up," he said, and Castiel grinned, arching his hips into the air for Dean to pull his pants and underwear off.

Castiel's shoes hit the ground one after the other, then he kicked off his pants, and spread his legs for Dean to lie down between them. Dean's body, still warm and flush from his slumber, felt like fire against Castiel's skin, and Castiel wrapped his arms tightly around Dean, holding him close. "You're so warm," he said, and nuzzled his face into Dean's neck, tongue slipping out to taste Dean's skin, slightly salty and still perfect.

"Ah, god, Cas," Dean murmured, rocking his body hard into Castiel's. "Not gonna last, here," he said, voice gruff in Castiel's ear, "come with me," he said, reaching down to take Castiel's hard length into his hand.

"Oh, that's," Castiel started to say then Dean gave a short tug, pulling the loose skin taut over Castiel's dick.

Castiel moaned and thrust his head back into the sheet, arching his body in ecstasy.

"Oh yeah," Dean groaned, "Me too, Cas. Touch me." And Castiel, who since meeting Dean had been unable to deny him anything, reached down and took Dean's hard length in hand. Dean pulled back and met his eyes, entreating him with raised brow and a nod to do what Dean did. When Dean pulled, none too gently on Castiel, Castiel copied the movement with his own hand on Dean.

They worked each other over, tightening and loosening their grasps in order to make it last, but the tension was building. Dean held himself tighter and tighter, moving his hand faster and faster, and Castiel had to pay hard attention to what was being done to him in order to copy it on Dean. Then Dean broke his silence. His hand fisted in Castiel's hair, lips resting on Castiel's, he said, "Touch me, Cas," like he was starved for the simplest of caresses.

Castiel placed his free hand on Dean's ribs, fingers curving gently over their curves, nails scratching lightly at sensitive skin. He rubbed Dean's flank, smooth skin buckling with the movement of Dean's hips, as Castiel tried to keep up with him. Dean's forehead rested on Castiel's shoulder, and small moans kept spilling from his throat, and as though hit with the sudden need, his body on fire with it, Castiel buried his fingers in Dean's hair and lifted his head.
He had to see Dean's face. If he was anywhere as close to completion as Castiel felt—for nothing could feel this intense without soon coming to an end—then Castiel wanted to see it.

But Dean's eyes were closed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth like he was trying to ward off the finish.

"Dean," Castiel said, "let it...let me."
And it was hot, almost burning, when Dean came, quick splashes of fire over Castiel's stomach and chest. Dean's aborted breaths, almost words spilling from his mouth. "Cas...God...fuck." Then he collapsed, body falling heavily onto Castiel's. Castiel petted him, free hand still running down the length of Dean's back in soothing strokes. Dean rolled his shoulders, elongating his back, prolonging the caresses. Castiel chuckled, as he was reminded of a cat after a heavy meal.

"Mmm," Dean groaned. He lifted his head to look Castiel in the eye. "You didn't",

"No," Castiel said, but leaned up to kiss Dean. "But I suspect we'll be doing this again?"

Dean chuckled. "Cas, dude. Give me...thirty minutes. Tops." Dean rolled off of Castiel onto the bed and patted his stomach. "And some breakfast. Maybe some coffee. Then I'll be good to go." He glanced over at Castiel.

Castiel idly rubbed his hand through the rapidly cooling and sticky mess on his chest and stomach, then lifted his finger to his mouth, curious. Salty, like Dean's skin but more intense, he thought. When he glanced up at Dean's face, those green eyes were ablaze again, and Dean said, "Fuck it. Breakfast can wait," and leaned back over Castiel to kiss him again.

Those were the last coherent words either of them spoke for hours.

SPN: 5.03 Free to Be You and Me

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 04:00:13 GMT

Teenage Mutant Ninja Angel for the muthafuckin' win!

Cas. We've talked about this. Personal space.
My apologies. *chelle loves*

I like this seperation the buys are enduring - because that's what it is - enduring. They need the time apart. and I can buy that Dean is relieved to not be so ACTIVE in his worry, but I do not buy that he's happy alone. He doesn't function well alone. He doesn't function at all actually. This feel more permanent to him, and he's freaked out buy it, even if he is less stressed. No way on god's green and verdant earth is Dean at all happy.

now for some speculation:
authoressnebula had some speculative statements last week in her journal about why Jess was going to be there. I knew from the moment she opened her recriminating mouth that she was actually Lucifer. I just knew. Here's my specs.

Michael and Lucifer are angels. We've heard all of the angels call each other brothers and God is their father. What if...throughout history, Michael and Lucifer have played out a sibling rivalry? What if they've been influencing brothers (Cain and Abel to start and for time immemorial others) to pit themselves against each other? The demons have wanted Lucifer free, they want him to have a chance to fight again and win the fight with his brother, and so they got these two guys, Sam and Dean and now they're pitted against each other in the rivalry mother to end all sibling rivalries.

It would no surprise me if Sam HAS to let Lucifer take him as his vessel, and in so doing forces Dean to let Michael take his vessel. THEN the two angels battle it out, and the boys lose. I can see Kripke doing that.

Another thing I can see is that Sam and Dean deal - in the best way they know how - with the bullshit that is their lives and they both tell Michael and Lucifer to fuck off, and if they want this world, they'll have to go through the united we stand Winchester brothers. And God is gonna send in the daddy. I hope, beyond all freakin reason that John comes back at some point in this season. I'd love to see him visit Dean and say he was wrong. That he never should have told Dean that he may have to kill Sam. Because it's been ever since that moment that Dean has been careful, has been stressed, and has not trusted his brother completely. JOhn comes and says he was totally wrong, and Dean - fighting it at first - buys into it and goes to find Sam who has had his own visit with his dad. "Stop being an idiot and go to your brother. You can't let these two fucktards, Michael and Lucifer, take this planet. The only way to stop them is to stand united against them." And Sam finds Dean, they tell the angels and demons to fuck off, and when all is said and done, they ride off, bloody, into the sunset in the Impala with Castiel left standing in the hot Mojave Desert watching that Black Beauty drive off.

The parallels between the brothers was beautifully done. The one liners were great.

I'm a little disappointed that Cas is almost ALMOST becoming a caraciture of what he was last year, but he's spending more time around humans AND has lost some of his angel mojo, so maybe the influences of human life are finally getting to him. Cool. But I don't want to see him lose that edge that made him so damn interesting last year. don't make him a woobie. Nobody wants woobie cas.

All in all, I liked this episode.

And Kripke is listening wrt the treatment of race in the show. last ep: Rufus. Wasn't evil, didn't die. Was integral to the plot. Whoot!

This ep: the sheriff deputy. Good guy, not stupid, healthily skeptical of Dand and Cas. yay!
The Hunter. Scary capable, NOT the one to die at the hands of Demons. NOT hunting Sam, NOT evil. Just...doing the job.
Raphael's vessel. He's not dead, just...on hold, I guess. AND he's still alive. Very good performances from all of them.

I've always wnated to do this meme!

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 21:46:41 GMT

as seen on several flisties journals:
The Handwriting Meme:

1. Write your username.
2. Write your 2 favourite bands/groups of the moment.
3. Write something you ♥, aka lemme see your heart.
4. Write the name of your favourite person of all time.
5. Write the name of your recent favoured person.
6. Tag 6 people to do this meme

I wish it could be neater, but it's so much better than it was when I was in school. *sigh*

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 02:29:40 GMT

I admit it. I am sheep.

I just joined Twitter. *shakes head at self*

you can follow me there: http://twitter.com/encchick2 although why you would is anyone's guess.

Supernatural Fic: Trials Borne Since Becoming Grown

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Sun, 20 Sep 2009 19:28:07 GMT

Title: Trials Borne Since Becoming Grown
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine. These characters belong to Erik Kripke and the various production crews.
Pairing: Castiel and Dean (pre-slash), John
Word Count: 4,844
Notes: Written for deancastiel's Renegade Angels fic exchange. I was a pinch hitter, but it turns out the original author showed back up. Ergo, I'm posting this here in my own journal. The prompt and recipient are at the end of the fic.

Castiel stood, still and silent over the bed. The figure sleeping in it brought a rare and careful smile to his lips. He was such a beautiful child. Overly long blonde hair fell in swatches over his smooth, freckled face, and the tiny lips, pink and flush with a life so grand it almost made Castiel feel, were parted just enough to let an occasional whistle of air through as the child breathed the deep and unconcerned breath of innocence.

Squatting next to the bed, Castiel reached out and touched the child's forehead, brushing the hair clear of his face. "Dean," he whispered, so softly as not to disturb the boy's rest.

Dean snuffled a breath and turned over, his bright green eyes sparkling in the blue moonlight that filtered through the window. "Daddy?"

Castiel slid his hand back over Dean's face. "No," he said. Then, shortly, and with a quiet authority, "Sleep, Dean."

The green eyes closed again, and Dean hummed as he rolled over and curled his little three-year-old fists under his chin, quiet again. Castiel touched his forehead, "Sweet dreams, Dean."

He breathed a ragged, tired breath and stood again, keeping a vigil over the little one's bed. Quietly behind him, the floor boards creaked.

"Hello, John," he said, not bothering to turn around.

"You know, I've caught you in here a couple times now. I think, maybe it's time you tell me who you are."

Castiel turned his head, blue eyes fixed on the figure that leaned against the threshold of the bedroom. "You wouldn't believe me if I did."

John nodded, cast his eyes over his son, checking on him, the corner of his lip curling in an indulgent, grateful smile. "Try me," he said, "you'd be surprised at what I would believe."

At that, and the heavy eyebrow lifted in his direction, Castiel turned and faced John Winchester fully. "I'm an angel of the Lord."

John took a couple of breaths and straightened from his casual lean on the door jamb. As he passed Castiel on his way to Dean's bedside, he gave a brief smile, there and gone in a second. "Knew it had to be something like that. So what? My son's got some heavenly mission?"

His questions surprised Castiel. "Yes," he said, stunned.

"Figures," John said, and swiped his hand through Dean's hair, grabbing a strand and rubbing it gently between the pads of his fingers. "Mary, my wife," he whispered, his lips curving again in a private smile, "she's always telling Dean...he won't go to sleep sometimes. Cries and cries, and swears up and down that something's going to get him. Sometimes, more often lately now that Mary's pregnant, it's impossible to get him to even lie down. He's got to be near her, got to have his hand on her belly. 'I'm gonna perteck him' he says. And then refuses to go to bed. Mary gets tired, but Dean won't let her out of his sight. So she says, as she tucks him in, shoving sheets up under him to make him snug, 'Dean,' she says, 'I know, as long as you're around nothing bad's gonna happen to Sam. But you have to sleep to be a good big brother. Don't you worry, Dean,' she says, 'god's got his angels watching over all of us.'" John turned back to Castiel, question in his eyes that Castiel couldn't decipher, let alone fathom an answer.

"She is not wrong," is all he can say.

"Mary always tells me that Dean's special. And that Sam is special too. That's the new baby's name, Sam. And I tell her I know. But she always looks at me like I don't get it."

Castiel sighed. "It's very likely that you do not."

"Well, whatever," John said and turned back to watch Dean sleeping. "I love my kids. Even the one that's not here yet. I know they'll be special, even if they're just ordinary guys. Like me."

Castile almost laughed at that. "They are both far from ordinary, John."

John frowned. "Are?" he asked. "Don't you mean 'will be'?"

"There is much you don't understand. Much I can not tell you. But trust this John Winchester. Your sons are the world's hope," Castiel laid a hand on John's shoulder and squeezed. He stared again at the sleeping Dean, and what little heart he'd grown, being in the presence of humans for such an extended period of time, beat hard against his ribs in fear for the child before him. He blinked, took a breath and spoke words he knew he shouldn't but couldn't help. "Very soon, the world you know is going to change—as it always does. Be mindful of destiny, John, and teach your sons to respect the world they do not see." And with a flutter of invisible wings, left the father to keep silent, careful vigil over the son.

***

John sat hunched in the booth, hands curved gracefully around the tumbler in front of him, fingers pushing down drops of condensation from the ice that rattled in the glass every time he raised it to his lips to fake a sip. The bottle of Jack Daniel's finest sat half empty in the middle of the table. He liked to keep his wits about him on a hunt, so the missing whiskey had mostly gone to other patrons of the seedy dive. Poor guys whose last pennies had long since been spent, but hadn't bought enough coverage for their sorrows. John was willing to subsidize. Sometimes sorrows just needed to be drowned in the cool amber liquid, and who was he to begrudge the need in others?

He kept a sharp eye on the bartender. She was beautiful, with long dark hair and shadowed dark eyes, body lithe in a way that was so different from anything Mary had been. Full ample curves that beckoned a man's touch, a man's infidelity. She was sin incarnate, and that was why John watched her. She had information he needed, and since he was a patient mother fucker when the situation warranted, he'd been sitting in the same booth for over four hours, waiting for the right moment to corner her.

He slid one hand off the table, resting it surreptitiously on his thigh, thumb ghosting over the rounded bulge of the rosary beads in his pocket. The bartender glanced his way, flashed her ten thousand watt smile in his direction. John smiled back, and shuddered inside at the lascivious light that gleamed in her eyes. He watched her serve the last of the patrons and wipe down the bar, then she hopped up onto the bar and swiveled her long legs over to hop down and make her way over to John's table. He tracked the sway of her hips, the slight bounce of her breast and thought to himself that whatever evil son of a bitch that had hitched a ride in her body got one hell of a deal.

She slowed to a stop at the edge of his table and leaned over, her cleavage almost spilling out of the skin tight red t-shirt she wore. "Hey, sugar. What can I get you?"

John met her eyes. "Nothing," he said, his voice rough and unused. Then he pointed at the half empty bottle. "Got what I need right here."

She lifted a perfectly groomed brow, and quirked a smile. "You sure?" she asked, standing up and canting a hip.

John made a show of eyeballing her, making his gaze a tangible thing as he traced over her curves and leered at her. "Maybe later?" he asked, keeping his eyes on her breasts. She really was an attractive woman.

She winked at him. "You just let me know, cowboy," she said and sauntered away from the table, hips swaying with every step.

John nodded. "Count on it."

The air around him fluttered silently.

"What are you doing here?" John asked not bothering to look up at the figure standing beside the table.

"You've left Dean alone again." The angel said.

"Yeah. I do that a lot. He's a big boy; I think he can handle it," John says, and pours himself a finger of whiskey, then chugs it down with a sucked in breath at the burn in his throat.

"He can. More than you know." Castiel slides easily into the booth, and John squints his eyes at the easy grace that the angel has.

John slams the glass back down on the table, "So why the hell are you here? If my son is so damned capable, what's he need an angel following him around for? And do you even have a name? It occurs to me that I've been calling you 'the angel' for the better part of 20 years, and I'd really like something other than 'the angel' to call you."

The angel's eyes slide over the bar, slick in their observance, but John didn't doubt for a minute that he missed any detail of either the bar or the clientele. "You may call me..."

"Ishmael?"

The angel frowned, then said, "No. Castiel."

"Well, alright, Castiel. You just come to bust my chops about my boys?"

"You do them a great disservice, John."

John sniffed and poured another shot of whiskey and offered it to Castiel who simply stared at him. "What disservice is that?"

"You're their father," Castiel said, and John winced at the reverence in the word.

He knew he was a shitty father. Had been since that night he'd watched his wife burn, stuck on the ceiling of his son's room. The people he'd met on his mission, the ones he'd trusted enough to keep Sam and Dean, the one's he'd learned so much from often called him obsessive. But they'd said it knowingly, like it was to be expected. And every time there'd been the thread of regret hanging in their words, regret for the fact that he did have two very young boys to take care of.

Even worse was the disappointment. Other hunters looking at him like he'd done the entirely wrong thing, bringing his boys along. Hunting isn't a life for two sons. He knew that. Still, he'd taken them on the road with him; their home the backseat of a 30 year old car, because he couldn't bear to leave them with anyone else. They were his boys. Mary's children. They were beautiful and perfect, and he'd be damned if he ever gave them up.

He knew that whatever had killed Mary wouldn't stop until it had Sam and Dean too. No way was he letting that happen. Nothing was ever going to take anyone he loved away from him again. And if that meant he had to carry Sam and Dean with him on this mission, then that's what he'd do.

Shrugging off the guilt, he swallowed the shot that Castiel had turned down. Then he said, "And how exactly can I change what our life is like. You know, you have to know, what happened. I can't just..." He took a deep breath and scanned the bar's crowd again. "I can't just let that go."

"I know."

John frowned at those quiet words, full of shared regret. "Then what Castiel? What am I supposed to do?" He turned the tumbler in his hand, watching the last drop of amber liquid run along the bend in the glass. Chasing itself around the circle of the bottom. "I can't leave them behind. They're as much a part of me as Mary was. As she still is. They're mine, Castiel. I'm not letting them go. I...I love 'em too much."

"Sam's leaving," Castiel said, his eyes a clear, level blue, regarding John as though testing him.

"Yeah. He seems to think so," John said, setting the glass down hard on the table and leaning back in the booth. He can still hear his son yelling at him that he was going to do this and there was nothing John could do to stop him. It hurt, echoing in his head like thunder. But even worse is the sound of his own voice telling his son, his baby boy, that if he walked out that door that he shouldn't ever bother coming back, and the echoing slam of the hotel door as John left.

He slammed his eyes shut, shaking himself out of the memory to pick up what Castiel was saying to him.

"No. He's leaving right now. Dean is trying to stop him, but your Sam is determined. There is only one thing that will stop him."

"Yeah," John asked, "what's that?"

"You."

"Sammy and I...Castiel, we are what we are. He's a stubborn kid. He wants what he wants for the moment. He'll figure out college isn't for him and he'll be back." John said, and he was pretty sure he sounded confident in his reasoning, until Castiel looked him in the eye. Then he knew the statement for the lie it was. He cleared his throat. "Sammy never liked this life. Isn't cut out for it. He's too much his mother's son," he said, then frowned at the quick smirk that tugged at Castiel's mouth.

He shook his head. "Anyway, Sammy's gonna do what Sammy's gonna do. Nothing I can do to stop him."

"That is not exactly true."

"Just...will you be around? Like Mary said? Will you watch over him?"

At that Castiel frowned. "I'm afraid Sam is not my...responsibility."

"But you can still...I don't know...check in on him...from time to time?"

"No."

"That's pretty goddamn blunt." John said, angry now. "Why not?"

"I have other charges. Sam will be watched, just...not by me."

John sighed. "Can you at least tell him I love him. That I didn't really mean what I said earlier?"

"No. He will not hear that from me. These are words only you can say for yourself."

John made a dry and humorless sound, less like a chuckle than a choked off huff of despair. "Believe me, he wouldn't hear it from me either."

"Go home, John. Go to your son."

John looked at him. "You mean sons."

Castiel shook his head. "No, I mean son. Sam is gone. Dean just dropped him off and is now alone."

"Sam's gone?"

"Yes. And if you don't go soon, you'll lose Dean. He..." Castiel looked down at the table, lips pursed.

John stared at him a moment, wondering why this angel, this messenger, looked so concerned about his son. What was the connection? "He what?"

"Dean...doesn't do well on his own. He is..." Castiel continued to stare at the water rings and cigarette burns on the table's surface, and for the first time since John had known him, the angel struggled to find the words. "Both of your sons, John, have destinies. Dean's is...a lonely one. And until the time comes for him to embrace it, he needs someone to connect to. For now, that someone has to be you."

John shuddered. "That someone has always been Sammy."

Castiel nodded. "I know. And it will be again, but right now, you are all that he has left in the world." He looked up at John again, eyes imploring. "Go home, John." And it was more than a request. More than an observation.

Before he could even think, John had wrapped his hand around his journal, reaching to tuck it into his jacket pocket. "What about...?" he inclined his head toward the bar.

Castiel actually smiled. "She will be taken care of."

"Okay," John said, and slid out of the booth. Before he left, he tapped the table to garner Castiel's attention one last time. "One thing about destinies, Castiel"

"Yes?"

John chuckled. "The Winchesters have never been good about being obedient to forces beyond our control. If Dean or Sammy don't agree with what fate has in store for them, then they'll make their own way. Destiny be damned."

If he'd thought to startle Castiel, or shock him, it didn't work. Castiel just quirked another of those secretive grins and said, "Here is hoping you are right, John. If there is one thing I have learned, it's the stubbornness of the Winchester brothers."

"Well alright, then. I guess I'll see you around."

"Good-bye, John."

***

Dean slept fitfully, twitching in his sleep, moaning as though in pain every few seconds, then again in what sounded like pleasure. Once, Castiel had looked into what Dean dreamt about. Only once. He'd known, in words only what Dean had been through and done in Hell, and had, for the first time in a millennia, been curious. What he had seen of Dean's dreams reminded him why curiosity was not something to be indulged. Images of Dean covered in blood, both his and other souls', the sounds of torture and pleasure combined, the wretched and painful expressions on Dean's face as he was tortured, then the intense, almost sexual pleasure that rushed through him when he tortured had been enough for Castiel to pull away and leave Dean's memories to him.

He knew that if Dean were to heal, he was going to have to face the thing that had been done to him and the things he'd done. Knowing Dean, the difficulty would be in facing the doing. And Castiel also knew that Dean would never confide in him. He hoped that Sam would be safe enough for Dean to confide in, but the longer they continued to carry on like they were, the less possible it seemed that Dean would be telling Sam anything of his time in hell.

So until that time arrived, Castiel would keep watching Dean as he slept, and when the nightmares became to much, when they images threatened to break his charge, Castiel would brush his hand over Dean's forehead. He'd whisper, "Peace," and then sit next to Dean's sleep-warm body until the nightmares fled. Then Dean would wake up, and Castiel would be gone.

But this morning, the images fled on their own, and the transition from sleeping to awake was so subtle, that Castiel didn't see it. He had his hand on Dean's temple, fingers threading through the soft short hair there, and he smiled, remembering many midnight vigils over three-year-old Dean's bed. He glanced up to Dean's face, expecting to see the freckles and smooth skin of youth, but instead was pierced with vivid green eyes and an arched eyebrow.

"Well. This is new," Dean said, voice rough and soft with sleep. "You do this often?"

Castiel pulled his hand away from Dean. He couldn't lie to Dean, but the truth wasn't something he was particularly willing to share either, so he tried to keep silent. But Dean raised his eyebrows at him and said, "Well?" and he was compelled to speak.

"Yes."

Dean sat up slowly, letting the bed clothes fall away from his body. "You..." he frowned, "you've been keeping the nightmares at bay." It wasn't a question.

Again, despite his desire to remain silent, Castiel was compelled to tell the truth. "Yes."

Dean was silent for a few minutes, the myriad of emotions crossing over his face, and Castiel worried about which one he'd settle on. Finally, Dean gave a tight, resigned smile and said, "Well, thanks."

"You're welcome," came the automatic response.

Dean stood and stretched, arching his back and yawning, and Castiel stared at him. He wanted to touch Dean's skin. He looked warm and soft and there were red lines in his skin where the sheets had wrinkled beneath him as he slept, where the pillow had creased under his face, and Castiel wondered if those faint red lines would feel warmer than the rest of him.

Sometimes, he felt so cold here on earth, in this vessel that contained him, but didn't house him. He'd thought, when he'd pulled Dean from hell that he'd be able to reveal himself. But it proved impossible. Being trapped in a vessel, not in his true form, meant that everything he experienced was second hand. Nothing touched him. He touched nothing. If he did reach out and touch Dean, it would be with Jimmy Novak's hands, Jimmy Novak's skin. Castiel wouldn't feel anything, and there was a part of him that resented that.

"What?" Dean asked.

Castiel glanced up at him. "I don't understand."

"You're frowning so hard with that face that I think you're going to break it."

"It's nothing."

"Didn't look like nothing," Dean said sitting at the small table in the room.

"It is...inconsequential."

Dean shrugged. "Anything you say, man. I see Sammy's not here, as usual." He sighed. "What's on the agenda?"

Just then the door opened, and Sam came in, bearing coffee and several containers of what looked like breakfast. "You're up," he said, when he saw Dean seated at the table. Then he glanced around the room and saw Castiel sitting on the bed. "And you have company," he said, a smile forming slowly on his face.

"Hello, Sam," Castiel said, and returned Sam's smile with a brief one of his own.

"Yeah, woke up, and, uh, Cas was there."

Castiel wondered at the slow creeping flush that traveled over Dean's neck and face.

Sam chuckled. "Well, I have coffee and ah, food, if you want any." He glanced over at Castiel. "Sorry, Cas, I didn't know you'd be here or I'd have picked up something for you too."

Dean opened one of the containers, and sighed at whatever was in it. It smelled like some sort of meat and something sweet, and Dean said, "Sammy, you're my favorite brother, you know that?"

"He is your only brother, Dean," Castiel said, confused.

Sam laughed. "Yeah, yeah, I love you too, jerk."

"Bitch," Dean said with a careful smile.

Castiel looked between them, still confused. Sam chuckled again. Then he stepped toward Dean. He put a hand on his shoulder and said, "I was going to wake you before I left," and Dean glanced up at him. A significant look passed between them, but Sam continued, "but it seemed...You looked...comfortable, and I know you like to sleep in when you can, so I let you sleep."

Dean swallowed the bite he'd been chewing. "Thanks, Sammy."

"You're welcome." And it seemed, again, like there were things being said that Castiel wasn't privy to. "I'm going to take a shower," Sam said and nodded at Castiel as he went into the bathroom.

The door snicked shut and a heavy silence descended in the room. Dean continued to eat, and Castiel continued to watch him. Eventually, Dean finished his breakfast, took the last sip of coffee and said, "I told Sam. About hell."

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

Castiel nodded, understanding the silent discussion between the two brothers earlier. "That is...good to hear, Dean."

"I thought he'd be...I don't know, clingy and concerned and wanting to fix everything, but he just...he just listened and it was. It was good to tell somebody."

"And the nightmares are less troublesome."

"Yeah," Dean said, frowning. "How'd you know?"

"It was an invasion of your privacy."

"You peeked into my dreams?" Dean asked, incredulous.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"To see if I could help." Castiel stood and walked to the table, to Dean. "And I could. So I did."

"Cas, that's a little creepy. No. On second thought, that's a lot creepy."

Castiel watched Dean's face go through his emotions. He smiled. Of all his charges over all his millennia, he finally had to admit that Dean was his favorite. "Your father loved you," he said, eyes wide when he recognized the words that he never, ever meant to utter in Dean's presence.

"What?" Dean asked, voice low and tight.

"You are my charge, Dean. Always have been. I've watched you since...since the beginning." Castiel knelt in front of him. "You were three the first time I met your father. You were sleeping, and I was standing by your bed. Your mother was pregnant with Sam and your father came in to check on you. Usually, I'd hear him and leave before he got there, but he was stealthy and I was...distracted."

"Distracted?"

"You were...beautiful."

"Sick, Cas."

Castiel glowered at him. "You still are beautiful. Dean. You have always been beautiful."

"Okay, first, you can't call me beautiful. I'm a sick, twisted mess of a man. A product of the hell my life was and the life that hell was for me. I can't be beautiful, and even if I could be, I wouldn't want to be." Dean said, almost angry.

Castiel placed a hand on Dean's knee and felt, with wonder and an inexplicable pleasure, the heat of Dean's skin. It wasn't filtered through anyone else. Castiel felt Dean.

"You can not help what you are, and nothing you experience is going to change it. You are beautiful. The part of you that lives beneath what you have cultivated here on earth is...Dean. It's a divine spark, and it's why God has plans for you. Why else would I be here?"

Dean stared down at Castiel's hand on his knee. His breath came in quick snatches and his eyes were wide. "You watched me as a kid. You knew my father, and you pulled me out of hell." He caught Castiel's eyes with his own. "And now you say I'm beautiful."

"Yes."

"After...after everything I've done," he whispered.

Castiel leaned forward, into Dean's space. "Especially after everything you've done." He smiled. "You think you're so bad, so unworthy, but everything you've done, every life you've taken, every soul you tore apart weighs on you, hurts you like nothing else. Anyone else in the world perhaps would have moved on, let go, died a little bit every day until there was nothing left, but you feel it all."

Dean stared into his eyes, breathing heavily now, and Castiel knew he felt laid bare. There was nothing so threatening to his charge than to be emotionally naked. Even with people he trusted. Angels he trusted. "And what makes you beautiful is that you choose to feel it and would every time. You would never let yourself get so cold, so distant that killing or hurting someone couldn't hurt you."

"Cas," Dean said.

"That is why our Father chose you."

"And if I don't want to be chosen?"

"All the more reason to be."

"That sucks," Dean said. "No choice."

Castiel chuckled. "You made your choice a long time ago, Dean. This is merely the consequence of it."

"Still."

"Still," Castiel said.

"So what is this horseshit about my dad?"

"Oh. Well. Your mother always told you there were angels watching over you, over Sam. That was me. And several times, your father and I crossed paths. He loved you, you and Sam. I told him once, the night Sam left for Stanford, that he should tell you - tell you both."

"Yeah, well, Dad was never big on the emotional displays," Dean said, a wry twist to his face.

"He was very stoic."

"To say the least," Dean said. "But I know why. Hunting isn't a life for kids. Yeah, we thought it was an adventure - new places, new people, now nightmares all the time. But I got older and saw the looks we got from people. Dad should have left us behind. No. He shouldn't have...I can't believe I'm actually going to say this."

"It's all right, Dean."

"He never should have started. Mom was dead, nothing could bring her back. He should have...he should have left it alone. Let us grow up normal, be a normal family."

Castiel shook his head.

Destiny had a way of creeping up on people. Castiel knew this, and while he could admire Dean making his own way, fighting his destiny and choosing a different path every chance he could, sometimes, God was going to have his say. Dean's path was laid out for him eons ago, yesterday, twenty-seven years ago, and in that moment when John Winchester met Mary Campbell.

"Dean," he said, "there's something you need to see."

~fin~

Notes: Now, I've played with the timeline a bit, having Dean fess up about his experience in hell BEFORE going back in time, but umm, I think that's okay. If not, then, I'm sorry.

Written for shadowbyrd from the following prompt: Castiel back in time, speaking with John (sometime season 1) about the boys (mainly Dean). Bonus points if you can include John asking him to tell the boys how much he loves them and Castiel pointing out he still has time and he should tell them himself.

I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing.

Ugh, what a dick hole!

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 04:10:27 GMT

Kanye West storms the stage on Taylor Swift.

Ugh. Just...UGH! Typical assholish behavior. That man has an ego that is writing checks his ass can't cash. What a piece of shit dick for brains.

thanks to killerweasel for the linkage.

Sunday, day of rest?

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 00:13:31 GMT

To those of you who responded to my last post (my crying about finances), I've replied to everyone. Thank you to all of you. I don't usually get that upset about money issues, but this weekend, for some reason, it hit me hard. I feel better today and part of that has to do with reading y'all's kind words and gettin' the virtual hugs. My flist rocks. *squishes you all up*

I still owe a bit on my phone, but I actually was able to get it turned back on - ONLY because I'd been with Sprint for over four years. They wanted another 35$ that I don't have, but my longevity with them enabled them to waive that, and now I have my phone back. yay! So I talked to my mom, told her the deal and she's gonna send some grocery monies. But my bills are paid; I have a job; I have clothes and necessities for that job, so things are looking up.

Today, with my mom sending me a little bit of money, I went and got some groceries. I'll be able to eat until next payday! Yay! LOL.

Also cleaned up my house, got more of my chotchkies put out. Still need to vacuum, but at least my living room and kitchen are clutter free now! Whoot.

Took a two hour nap this afternoon. That was nice, dreamed about John and Rodney and Sam and Dean in Las Vegas. By the way, if you haven't read it, you should check out savingfaith333's What Happens In Vegas. Awesome story. Hence my dream.

One more thing: has anyone seen ladycat777? Haven't seen her on LJ for a while. Just wondering if she's doing okay.

And that's it. Hope y'all's week goes well. :)

one day I will stop crying over finances

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Sat, 12 Sep 2009 00:06:57 GMT

Today is not that day.

I just got paid today. All my bills are now paid. Car payment for August is made(September's payment is going to be about seven days late, but it's not due until the 19th). Insurance payment is paid. Directv bill is paid. Phone bill is paid. Rent and lights for September are paid. So all the BILLS are done. I'm not going to have creditors hounding me for the next month. Whew.

But I only have 23 dollars to live on for the rest of the month.

I really don't know what I'm supposed to do. I don't cry over money. I really don't. I bitch about being broke, but I know that I have another paycheck coming, which there are so many people in this country right now who don't have that. SO many. I know of at leat three on my flist right now who are struggling to find jobs.

But it's really fucking depressing to bust my ass at a job I love on most days and at the end of the billing cycle have only $23 on which to buy groceries, get gass for my car and/or entertain myself. Twenty-three dollars.

Blessing: my bills are paid. I have a job. I have a sustainable, stable income.

but I'm so depressed because I have relatively little to show for it.

I think - nope. I'm going to cry.

When the people on my flist are awesome

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 02:43:29 GMT

I'm in a bit of a tight spot financially right now, because teachers get paid ONCE over the summer - back at the beginning - and by the end of August, beginning of september, we're in pretty dire straights if we're single. Some things just don't get paid on time at the beginning of the school year.

Saturday? Maybe Sunday? I can't remember which day, I posted as such on my journal, bemoaning the fact that the expiration of my lj account coincided with the dwindling of my summer monies. As well as the fact that my cell phone is off right now, and my DirecTV may be cut off before this next payday. Lots of issues right now that will be resolved this weekend, but still, kinda sucky as of the moment.

Well. one of my flisties, one who's been on my flist for a long time now gave me a year's worth of LJ time. She rocks. I truly wasn't seeking that sort of favor, just generally whining (as I am wont to do occassionally) about my woeful circumstances. But because she's a generous heart, she paid for a year and then said some very nice things about me that had me in tears.

So, THANK YOU! *hugs*

My reaction to Obama's speech.

altyronsmaker@yahoo.com — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 02:23:14 GMT

this is a comment I posted in lunabee32's journal.

I'm a political skeptic in that I, as a rule, don't trust anyone in political office. I go by a 'wait and hear what is being said and the counterarguments before committing to anything' policy. I had no objection to the speech to students. We played it for our students. It's the same speech I give my students at the beginning of the year: all about choice, personal responsibility, and perseverance.

That said: I still don't think a public option is going to be as successful as he thinks it will be. I'm worried about my friends who cannot afford to purchase insurance as a requirement. I'm concerned that the promise of NO tax payer burden will be broken when push comes to shove. And just how WILL private insurance companies react to the federal changes that the Prez is pushing? I'm one of those insured Americans who absolutely will be destitute if I become seriously sick. I'm worried, yes. It's a decent plan, answers a lot of tough questions, but raises others in the answering.

But oh holy hell can that man make a point. 'Here's what I want to do. Here's how it's going to work. Here's what's NOT in it, despite what the naysayers say.' Then, when he addressed those people who had spread lies and misrepresentations of the proposals? Whoa. I found myself cheering for the absolute ballsiness of calling them out directly. His willingness to look like an uncompromising man and call bad behavior on the carpet and hold people accountable? I haven't seen that kind of politics in...well, since Reagan. That's the only other guy in my lifetime that I can remember unrepentantly holding people accountable for their words and actions. You go, Mr. President!

And that look he leveled at the heckles he got about no public coverage for illegals...Whoa. That was seriously hot. and Nancy Pilosi behind him? She was personally offronted, and her look was AWESOME and caught on TV for everyone to see. As to that congressman who heckled? Fi on you. Boo hisss! That is the President you are heckling! On national TV. You have just demonstrated that you have no class.

And the end. The discussion about American Character. Whoa. I cried - rather, I teared up. It's what I believe about this nation, and more to the point, it's what the average, conservative, skeptical, rural, backbone of America thinks about this nation. Well played, President Obama. Very well played indeed. My hat is off to you for this public address.