Title: Caper Piranhas in Curry Scare-ya, or How Cas Almost Made Dean Explode from Meat and Happiness
Author: ficanicbasket
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Genre and/or Pairing: could be read as pre-slash Dean/Cas, Sam, Bobby, brief appearance by Sheriff Mills
Spoilers: End of season 5
Warnings: Minor foul language, because it's Dean.
Word Count: 1234
Summary: Meat and Dean are a great combination, or so Dean says. One night, Cas, Sam, and Bobby make a dream of Dean's that he didn't know he had come true.
Author's notes: Drabbles masquerading as a fic. Unbeta'd like whoa. I have never attempted to write any fiction before, let alone fan-fiction… Concrit very much appreciated.
It's been a while since the apocalypse, and Dean, Sam, Bobby, and Castiel have settled fairly well into a comfortable rhythm, where they take on mostly reasonably local hunts, occasional long-distance hunts, and actual car repair-related work. Sheriff Mills appears periodically at the salvage yard to glare forcefully and mumble things about "illegal activity", "be careful", "no more buried bodies in the yard please- Jesus", and "and he calls others idgits". Once a month, the guys take themselves into town for a special meal out, rotating who gets to choose. Jodi occasionally joins them for these meals because Dean's reaction to Sam's gorging on sushi had involved characteristically over-the-top twisted faces of disgust and fake retching. There are some things that just can't be missed.
This month, it's Cas's choice, and he'd spotted the perfect place.
The Free Will foursome pile into the car and pull up eventually in front of a small brick building with the word "CHURRASCARIA" on the sign.
"Cas, this curry scare-ya thing had better be good. If there's more raw fish, I'm leaving you guys here." "Dean, " says Sam, "You like your burgers still mooing. What's the difference between that and raw fi—" "It's FISH. It has gills… and flippers… and things. And they're slimy! At least cows have recognizable legs and shit."
Entering the building, the room is relatively low-lit, with two small buffet warmers, piled with vegetables and carb-laden side dishes. This is not looking promising for Dean's satisfaction or for Sam, Cas, and Bobby having a ride back to the salvage yard. This is when a server dressed all in black comes out of the back.
"Sam! Sam. SAM! There's meat! MEAT! On SWORDS!" Dean stares, open-mouthed. Sam can't decide whether Dean is drooling more over the attractive young meat-bearer (because anyone who brings Dean meat automatically gains +500 attractiveness points) or the meat itself. "Shit, do you see that, Cas? Fucking awesome!" Cas's expression, meanwhile, has started to slide from marginally impatient and annoyed into smug satisfaction. Bobby's eyes are ping-ponging from each of his "boys" to their angel to the hostess, who is waiting with drink menus to take them to their table.
Sam takes Dean's right arm and gently turns him to the right, while Dean's eyes remain fixated on the gleaming blade with its deliciously dripping cargo. Another server comes out of the kitchen in the back, with a pork loin impaled, and Dean's brash bray of "Look at all that MEAT!" gets accompanied with flailing arms that almost knock Gigantor back. If there's one thing Dean Winchester can get excited about, it's meat. And booze. And women. And Dr. Sexy. And endless pranks and jibes about hair products. Ok, Dean has a set of enthusiasms, but when he likes something he goes all in. Somehow most of his enthusiasms excepting torturing family involve 'meat', whether it be animal meat or... man-meat.
Then Dean finally notices the sign his brother had been trying to direct him to: "ALL YOU CAN EAT $11.95". Dean might not like eating fish, but with the gawping, gasping face he's making he certainly resembles one.
"YEAH. Just throw it down there, buddy. No, no, man. All of it."
"What do you mean there's no beer?"
Sam flips his hair out of his eyes - I mean, with the puppy eyes the kid can throw out and the constant hair spilling over his forehead, it's clear he has a localized gravitational center in the ocular area that attracts everything - and asks the server for a caiprinha. "Look, Sam, I don't want any caper piranhas." The responding bitchface has been dubbed by Cas as "the look of eternal 'I can't believe my brother is willing to do all sorts of sexual things but new foods and drinks are right out' patience." Some day, if Cas or Sam puts enough bacon on it, Dean might actually try a salad. For now, Sam's going to set the lime and rum concoction in front of him and see what happens.
(Several caiprinhas and parts of a cow later)
"Thesh sthings are good, man. Thanksh, Cas. Awesome idea to come here." The attempt to pat Cas's arm goes astray and lands on an upper thigh, but, hey, there's tasty booze and so much meat, Dean's going to roll with it. Cas appreciates the thank you – and the hand on the thigh – but is less enthused by the meat grease left behind by the hand. Angelic cleaning powers are helpful sometimes.
(Several more caiprinhas, an entire cow, a pig, and a flock of sheep later)
The drive back is largely uneventful. Dean was too happy from meat to argue about who drives his baby, and he spends the time alternately trying to rework Led Zeppelin lyrics into praises of meat on swords and groaning from being full. "Dazed and Confused" becomes "Meat and Boozed", for one try. The rest of the bad drunken puns really don't need to be mentioned. Bobby and Sam, being wise in the ways of survival, quickly shut off the car and leave the angel to deal with… well, Dean. Wrestling 170 lbs of limp, chatty, handsy, cuddly hunter up a flight of stairs and into a bed is really more than a one-angel job. Too bad there's only one angel around. Sam declares that he was an angel condom or an angel prom suit, and that's not really the same thing.
Dean has apparently gained the skill of recognizing Cas's head tilt of angel contemplation by the change of currents in the air, since he rouses enough to pepper Castiel.
"Cas?" Dean grabs onto Cas's arm with a loose grip, stopping him from moving any farther toward the door.
"Yes, Dean?"
"D'ya think using your angel blade as a meat skewer would be blasphemous?"
...Sigh. Dean can feel how Cas's eyes are searching the ceiling as if they could pierce dimensions and beg the Heavenly Father just how he's supposed to answer that question. Dean's reverence for meat means using it as a meat skewer would probably be participating in a pagan religion.
"...Cas?"
Cas's reaction comes out as a mix of a grunt and a flustered sigh.
"D'ya think roasting marshmallows on your angel blade would be blasphemous?"
Cas thinks back to what is known as The Wooden Skewer Incident, where Dean and Sam had gotten into an energetic argument about the relative threats of wendigos vs. shtrigas. It turns out that once skewers' absorbed moisture evaporates they flame up quite quickly. "Dean, I believe wire coat hangers serve the purpose equally well. In addition, Bobby's house is adjacent to a scrapyard. There is plenty of metal that can be used." Metal that isn't part of a weapon of the Lord, he adds mentally.
"...Cas?"
"Yes. Dean. What can I do for you." Cas tightens his mouth in a frown and braces himself for the next frivolous request.
"...I think I'm in a meat coma. If I die of the meat sweats, you'll bring me back, right?"
"Dean, I will come for you. Always."
"…Knew you would, man. And you're awesome. Even if sometimes you try to make me eat fish or vegetables. I forgive you for that because you… you…" Dean's fallen asleep in the middle of his sentence, mouth slightly open and snoring softly, head cocked to the side at an awkward angle that Castiel knows will leave a crick in his neck. Cas gently maneuvers Dean into a position that isn't out of an advanced yoga tutorial and sits bemusedly beside the hunter on the bed to wait for him to wake up and finish his sentence. He doesn't mind that it may be several hours, and he doesn't get many verbal thank you's from Dean, but he knows he's appreciated nonetheless.