I find myself highly entertained by the domestic shots. Especially when Sam winds up dealing with all the crap that comes from it.
I kind of set this after Season 5 but with a different sort of ending. Sam's not in the Pit with Lucifer and Michael, for one thing. And Castiel stayed down on Earth for another. I'll just insert the obligatory shrug and let you get on with it.
The Apple Pie and Ice Cream Conundrum
(Domestic Life! Comes complete with non-dishwasher safe pans, mismatched curtains, disastrous movie nights, and questions about who's wearing the pants. Porn not included.)
The world being short of apocalyptic disasters and hunts being few and far between, Bobby promptly kicked the Winchesters and their angel out of his house.
And then Sam put his foot down when Dean muttered about finding a motel.
That was how they ended up with a house.
It wasn't too far from Bobby's but sat smack-dab on the edge of a perfect little suburban neighborhood that Dean had made gagging noises at when they'd found it. The house was three stories (Dean said one and a half because the slanted roof on the third floor made it smaller), with a small front yard and a fenced in back, a covered porch leading out into the open space. It had all the basic essentials; a decent sized kitchen, a dining room, a sitting room (which Dean immediately filled with a flat screen and massive stereo because, damn it, if he was going to domesticate he was going to do it properly), enough bathrooms for the three of them, four bedrooms, and a garage for Dean's precious Impala.
"Wait, why are you living with us?" Sam asked when Castiel quickly claimed the bedroom on the third floor as his own.
Cas simply tilted his head to the side and said, "I am Dean's angel. I go where he goes." And left it at that as if that explained everything. Sam didn't push it; Cas and Dean might have been an item, but the way they went about it was the sometimes completely baffling to Sam.
Like when they were redecorating the place, for instance, and had stopped at a furniture store to look at couches and chairs for the sitting room. Dean threw himself onto a particularly large sofa, tucked his hands behind his head, and exclaimed that this couch was perfect and they'd take it. To which Castiel had said in his usual flat monotone that it did not go with the paint or the carpet and that they would not be getting it. A small bickering match ensued during which Sam left them standing over the couch, found something cheap, comfortable, and decent looking, purchased it, and then dragged them out of the store still picking at one another.
And then, on the other hand, there was the time when they were doing the dishes together after dinner. Sam had wandered into the kitchen for a drink and paused in the doorway, frowning at the backs of his brother and the angel as they moved in an easy rhythm in front of the sink.
"—and I shoved the gun into the fucker's mouth and fired." Dean was saying, elbow deep in soapy water as grasped for the next thing to be washed. They had a dishwasher but not everything was dishwasher safe and Dean made a big, bitchy fit when it was his turn to do the dishes. Sam figured it was all just a ruse and, lo and behold, it probably had been.
"That does not sound like a very effective method for destroying a demon possessed giraffe, Dean." Castiel responded, methodically drying a thick, metal spatula. He paused in the process, peered at the spatula and then dropped the spatula back into the water in front of Dean, "And you did not clean this properly. There are still hamburger bits stuck to it."
"Dude!" Dean whined, turning just enough so that Sam could see the hand towel stuck into the front pocket of his jeans, "That was perfectly clean! I was almost done too!"
"It was not clean." Castiel responded flatly, picking up a pan from rack and starting to dry it, "I'm an angel of the Lord. I know when things are clean."
Dean made a huffing noise and viciously began scrubbing at the offending kitchen utensil like he was trying to scrape the shine off of it. After a moment or two of angry silence, he spat out,
"I am so not banging you tonight."
"Then I'm not giving you that blowjob you so desperately want tomorrow."
"Fine! Then I'm not going to touch your wings."
"Fine."
"For a week!"
"Fine." And with that Castiel's light and color wings unfolded from his back. Sam didn't know what had changed that had enabled him to see them though the popular theory was that his brief moment of possession by Lucifer had triggered it. Whatever the reason, he could see them now and he could see the way Cas was shoving the feathers down the back of Dean's jeans.
"You teasing sonuvabitch." Dean growled, "If you don't stop that I'm gonna—."
"Fuck my brains out?"
"Stop reading my mind! That's cheating!"
"No. I like your fantasies, even if some of them are ludicrous."
"Oh yeah? I bet you could make them come true anyway."
"If I so desired."
"That's really fuckin' kinky, Cas…"
Sam was suddenly not thirsty anymore and booked it out of there because the last thing he wanted to see was actual proof that his brother and an angel had done that thing in every room of the house regardless of whether Sam was at home or not.
He especially had not wanted to see what they did with the rubber gloves Dean had been wearing to scrub the pans.
Then there were the movies nights.
Friday night, every Friday night, without argument and without fail (unless there was a hunt to be done), Sam, Dean, and Cas gathered in the sitting room and watched a new movie. They would all start on the couch together, eating popcorn and laughing or yelling at the appropriate moments. But eventually Dean and Cas would somehow end up taking up the entire couch and Sam would find himself on the floor or on one of the chairs.
And generally, by the end of the movie, Sam would be alone in the room, watching the credits roll by. Or it would be Dean and Castiel tangled together on the couch, covered in popcorn, and completely ignoring the climactic final scene in favor of their own climactic final scene.
The only times this didn't happen was during movies with heavy action, Bruce Willis, or ones that pertained to God.
The rest of the days were fairly normal, standard, people-every-day kind of days.
Castiel generally kept house when the Winchesters went off to work (garage mechanic and bartender weren't exactly glamorous but it was better than nothing) and somehow brought in his own paycheck by doing some strange religious thing online that he refused to make either brother privy too. For lack of response there, Dean proceeded to tease him about being the "stay at home mom" and the "housewife" until Sam pointed out that Dean wasn't exactly wearing the pants in the relationship either.
Like, for example, the time Dean had been watching television. It wasn't because there was anything particularly good on, it was just that Dean had nothing better to do and was lounging around lazily. He had his feet propped up on the coffee table and his hands resting on his stomach in such a way that said he had probably just finished off the last of that blueberry pie that had been in the fridge.
A basketball game was making its way across the screen when Castiel swept into the room and knocked Dean's feet off the table.
"Dude, hey, what the hell?"
"Go do the vacuuming, Dean." Castiel replied flatly as he went about washing the windows, a spray bottle of glass cleaner in one hand and a washcloth in the other. The sleeves of his sweater were pushed up passed his elbows and there was another washcloth sticking out of the back pocket of his pants.
"Can't you just mojo the dirt and stuff away?" Dean griped, putting his feet back up on the table to watch the game.
Cas stood and crossed the room to the other window, shoving Dean's feet off the coffee table again as he went, and said, "That is not how normal people clean their homes. Now go do the vacuuming."
"God, fine…" Dean rolled his eyes but got to his feet and plodded out of the room, making more noise than necessary.
"And stop stomping around the house," Castiel called after him.
Dean proceeded to make even more noise but at least he did what Castiel asked of him.
Then there had been the whole curtain incident that had involved flower patterns, way too many measuring tapes, several broken screwdrivers, and Dean being forced to spend a week in the guest bedroom.
They didn't talk about it.
And really, that was okay.
Because as fucked up as their life was, as crazy and unbalanced and unnatural as their life was, it was a life. Two hunters and an angel, a high school drop out, an ex-blood junkie, and Mr. Comatose sharing a house, a life.
It was the most awkward and dysfunctional family in existence.
And they were okay with that.
