Aug. 20th, 2013

maychorian: (sleepy mice)
I am twelve thousand words into Coming Down on a Sunny Day: Book 3, and I'm loving it so far.


“We were friends, weren’t we?” Dean asked. “In the future that isn’t gonna happen.”

“In a way.” Cas turned his head to stare at Dean, and his eyes were blue and bleak and distant. He was as relaxed as he ever got, tousled head leaning back on the frayed fabric bands of the chair. “I don’t know that you would have called us by that word. But I would have.”

“Was I a jerk to you? I bet I was a jerk.”

Cas shrugged. “You were yourself. You were Dean Winchester, the righteous man, a hunter of mad beasts, a brother and a son. I was an angel, an outside force, an intruder. A monster. I did more harm than good to you and your brother, especially in the first year we knew each other. I thought I was doing right. But you thought differently, and you told me so. Frequently. At the top of your lungs.”

Dean smiled. It almost felt nostalgic, a warm feeling that spread through his body not only from his beer. Nostalgia for a time he had never known, himself, but the tone of Cas’s voice, deep and rich and smooth, made it feel close enough to touch. He’d never seen Cas so loose, so comfortable. It was pretty cool.

August 2015

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