So, I wanted this to be an advent calendar fic-per-day project. But unfortunately working non-stop for the past week has caused me to miss the first five days of December. Woops.
I'd like to try the challenge of another daily-post but idk how i'm going to do that because my work hours are absolutely bananas... But hey, let's try. If it isn't a one-a-day, then it'll just be a collection of shorts for the Holiday season. (Which is more likely.) Quick and dirty, people!
The deal is this: assume unless the chapter title denotes otherwise that the chapters are unrelated, individual snippets.
Chapter One - From the Latin
"I think I figured out the pattern of the murders," Sam announces into the yawning void of their silent motel room.
"Oh yeah?" Dean automatically answers, disinterestedly.
"Yeah, and it spans years. Decades."
That pricks up his ears. "Well let's have it poindexter."
"Every third year, three people die throughout the course of Advent." His hand thumps against the table as the puts down his papers, his eyes squinting, focusing on something only he can see. "Maybe a perversion of the Trinity...?" he mutters to himself. "So, demonic?"
"Throughout what?" Dean asks, still a step behind.
"Advent," Sam answers off-handedly, rifling through his papers once again.
"...Ok."
"Dean, do you even know what Advent is?"
"Yeah..."
He obviously doesn't.
Sam tilts his head to the side, giving his brother one of those far too familiar looks of bemused disbelief. He knows when Dean is lying. Honestly, Dean's not very good at it. Hustling, yes. Lying, no. There's a fine line.
"Ok fine!" Dean erupts. "What is advent? Go ahead all-knowing one."
"Advent," a voice deep like whiskey and bruises and the scrape of naked skin between cheap sheets rumbles a chill down Dean's spine. He whirls around, coming face to face with Castiel, disinterestedly examining a sawed-off Dean has been meaning to give a good clean. "From the Latin, adventus," Castiel continues, his eyes meeting Dean's.
Dean simply swallows, and none too quietly.
Castiel drops his eyes back down to the shotgun in his hands and Dean is bizarrely thankful, letting a much needed breath out.
"Colloquially it refers to the commencement of the season starting four Sundays before, you all assume, Christ came into the world. Your math is incorrect, completely historically inaccurate. But it doesn't seem to matter."
Dean doesn't realize he's been staring at Castiel's hands, until they still on the weapon, and the lengthy silence afterward prompts Dean to look up. He is immediately caught again in the angel's too-deep stare.
Castiel continues, "Literally, it means the beginning of something. Something important coming into place." He doesn't take his eyes off of Dean as he lets the words sink in, and as he hands over the shotgun.
Dean's eyes finally drop from Castiel's as he takes the shotgun from him with noticeably trembling hands, too distracted by wondering if Castiel's words have more weight than they seem, to even care whether he looks shaken.
If Sam notices, he doesn't say anything. But Dean can feel his eyes on him for the rest of the night.
Also, I'm sorry for the radio silence if anyone has sent me messages or reviews. Or if I haven't been reviewing a work of yours that I was previously. I haven't been receiving any notifications from the site for over a month, and I'm trying to set that right.