In Which I have too many WIPs.

From my Gabriel Big Bang, which is a sequel to La diritta via and therefore a Castiel-and-Dean-and-Gabriel-in-Purgatory fic:

“I knew this story was Sleeping fucking Beauty,” Dean muttered.

It wasn’t a cloud, the dark mass around the base of the tower. It was a forest. Specifically, a forest of thorns.

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From the so-far-unnamed sequel to Losyngerie, and so an alternate ending to season 7:

“Gabriel.”

Gabriel’s gaze swung back to Sam, wary and so very tired that Sam ached with it.

“What, Sam?” he said, like the words were too heavy for him to lace them with sarcasm.

Sam wasn’t quite sure what he’d meant to say, but what came out was, “Remember the night before Elysian Fields?” And, as Gabriel’s forehead furrowed up and his mobile mouth twitched into something sour, “I prayed to you. You hear that?”

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From a timestamp for March-Stalkers Mighty, from Castiel's point of view:

Now.

“You gotta open your eyes, Cas,” Dean whispered in his ear, breath huffing distraction down the side of Castiel’s neck.

“My eyes are open,” Castiel grumbled at him, and promptly made a liar of himself as Dean tucked his nose into the crook of Castiel’s neck and laughed, as Dean’s hand on his waist shifted with the horse’s movement and brushed warm against Castiel’s skin, through the loose ties at the side of his tunic. “This horse is too tall,” he complained when he opened his eyes again. He tried to scowl down at the smelly, inelegant beast between his thighs, with its coarse mane and the steady thud-thud-thud of its dish-plate hooves over the soft sod, but it was hard to build up a good scowl with the heat of Dean’s body pressed up warm against his back, nestled snug between his wings.

Dean’s mouth broadened into a grin against Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel knew exactly what that one would look like on his face, but he’d never felt it pressed into his skin before. “My angel, scared of heights?”

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