twentysomething

I heard the Mission bells--


Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: eventual Dean/Cas

Summary: ""Mal, is that-" she broke off, having clearly reached her limit. "That better not be a tooth lodged in her hand.""

Length: 850 wordsish.

Warnings: CARVER EDLUND STRIKES AGAIN.

Notes: So, I had a bit of some of Chuck's terrible books left over from when I was writing the Bones!AU, and then there's a bit of a scene where Jo beats Cas about the head with a) a passage from a novel I like to imagine is called "Supernaturally Dead" and b) the truth. Posted for sorrel who just sent me the MOST DELIGHTFUL present, which is to say, fic she wrote in the Bones!AUniverse that I will convince her to post ASAP AS BALLS. It is SUPER AMAZING, YOU GUYS.



Agent Remington tossed her dark blond hair over her shoulder as she leaned closer to the body, fascinated despite her disgust.

"Mal, is that-" she broke off, having clearly reached her limit. "That better not be a tooth lodged in her hand." Dr. Fischer turned, tilted his head in thought and nodded.

"It does appear to be human in nature, as well," Mal said as he gently pried the tooth loose with some tweezers and examined it under the microscope on the counter nearby. "Judging by the length and completeness of the enamel, I would think a mandibular canine from a child perhaps 7 or 8 years of age." Lee made a face.

"You're telling me that there's a little kid's tooth, stuck in the hand of our victim," she said, and shot an irritated glance at the picture they had gotten off the ID after Amy's sketch had pinged on a missing person report. Peter blinked, then grinned manically.

"You mean our ballerina victim- head sugar plum fairy in the Nutcracker- has a kid's tooth?" Peter asked, looking like the proverbial kid himself in a candy store of inappropriate amusement. Dr. Fischer simply nodded again, Lee's irritation and Peter's glee going right over his head.

"Amy, Amy come quick, someone killed the Tooth Fairy," Peter shouted.







Mal had studied her many times before, but now he tried to see her as a casual observer might- not through the eyes of a friend, confidant or partner- not even as an anthropologist, but as an average man might.

Objectively, he thought, without any accusation of bias, that she was beautiful. Her facial features were pleasing to look at- her makeup was minimal, but clearly accented her unique green eyes, framed them with dark lashes. Her mouth was soft, pale pink and her nose had a few freckles dusted over it, brought out by her summer tan. Lee tossed a handful of her thick, golden brown hair over a shoulder as she leaned over Chuck's shoulder and pointed at something on the computer screen in front of him. Her hair was wavy and tousled, as though it had been braided and slept on, taken down, put up again, but the overall effect was still inviting- it suggested a person who was laid back, fun. The charcoal gray suit she wore looked like it had been tailored to skirt the fair side of too provocative for the workplace- it highlighted her long legs without looking cheap and the sharp, pressed white blouse only served to make her look more tan.

Again, objectively, he could state that he, independent of conventionally accepted societal standards for beauty, found her attractive. If he digressed into an anthropological train of thought, he could justify the way he looked at her as a biological imperative, or perhaps as the logical result of forming a professional and social relationship with a person who is attractive by nature.

However, the combination of his attraction, his professional relationship and his personal relationship did not adequately explain the hours of sleep he had lost wondering what she was doing, what she was thinking.

Lee turned, as if she had noticed him watching, and her face lit up into a smile, crinkling into the corners of her eyes and her whole face.

It was not an adequate explanation at all.



Cas closes the book, but not before carefully marking the page again. He puts the book down. He picks it back up again, pauses, and places it back down on the coffee table, gently, leaving it unopened. The bright blue bookmark Jo had placed in the book before handing it to him this morning glows under the florescent light. He shifts his chair, turns to his computer.

There is a blinking inter-office messaging client box in the corner: Joanna Harvelle.

Well? It flashes balefully. Did you read the page I marked?

Cas frowns slightly.

I did.

And?

Chuck is a good writer of fiction. He finally types. Cas can practically hear Jo snort from two doors down.

Chuck is writing still-lifes He gets in return and Cas wants to argue that you can't write a painting, but if he were in the room, Dean would laugh and roll his eyes and say, "Expand your horizons, Cas, live a little on the metaphorical side." So, instead, he writes something a little more truthful.

Dr. Fischer seems to be in love with Agent Remington.

You might want to take a page out of Dr. Fischer's book.

Cas stares at the screen for a long moment, purses his lips and sighs.

I thought Dr. Fischer was taking a page out of my book.

Cas hears Jo before he can see her. She bursts into his office on a cloud of indignation and fluffy blond hair.

"YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH DEAN!" she yells at him. Cas blinks.

"Are you-" he tries. She glares.

"YES, I'M SURE." Jo hisses. Castiel takes a second to think about it.

"Well," he finally says. "Shit."