2012-10-18

new fic: we both kinda liked it [dean/cas]

So a while back, Hanna and I watched this Supernatural episode from season five called "The End" (5:04) which some of you may remember. The one in which asshole angel Zachariah tries to give Dean a kick in the pants by sending him into an alternate future wherein the shit has hit the fan due to Dean's unwillingness to follow angelic plans. When present Dean encounters future Dean he has to convince his alternate self he is who he appears to be. And he does it like this:
Future!Dean: Okay. If you're me, then tell me something only I would know.
Dean: Rhonda Hurley. We were, uh, nineteen. She made us try on her panties. They were pink. And satiny. And you know what? We kind of liked it.
Future!Dean: Touché.
In the days that followed, we had several versions of this conversation:
Anna: I really can't believe that scene doesn't turn up in fic more often, I mean it's all right there really.
Hanna: Yup. Right there.
Anna: Like, how it would be something Dean was super secretive and embarrassed about and Cas would totally not understand why it was a source of embarrassment.
Hanna: Yup.
Anna: Someone totally needs to write that fic.
Hanna: It's all yours. Write away.
(via)
So I did. And now it's live over at Archive of Our Own.
Title: We Both Kinda Liked It
Author: ElizaJane
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairings: Dean Winchester/Castiel, Dean Winchester/Rhonda Hurley
Rating: Explicit
Length: 13,514 words (8 chapters)
Tags: Established Relationship, Past Relationship(s), Gender Policing, John Winchester is an asshole, Castiel goes clothes shopping, Dean is all right.
Summary: You’re twenty-nine. He reminds himself. And Dad’s not here to shout or throw things or give you the fucking silent treatment. And the only other people in the hotel room are his boyfriend-the-fallen-angel and his brother the gayest straight boy that ever lived.
"For the people who like this sort of thing, this is the sort of thing they'll like." If this is your sort of thing, hop on over and check it out.

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