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the island of conclusions

a very small Lisa & Castiel ficlet for dotfic : a ripple in your teacup

the island of conclusions

bright star

a very small Lisa & Castiel ficlet for dotfic : a ripple in your teacup

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Cas wings
A very small and hastily-written Lisa & Castiel ficlet, for dotfic who reminded me how nice it would be to see the two of them bonding (gen).




It was kind of like having coffee with a girlfriend. That is, if your girlfriend happened to be an unseen, more-or-less male-identified celestial presence. And if you were usually drinking herbal tea instead of coffee because your tolerance for caffeine wasn’t what it used to be. In fact, it was probably more like what Lisa’s mother—who used to commiserate with Jesus over every second cup of joe—would have called praying. But it wasn’t Lisa’s fault that the only person in the universe who could understand the kinds of things she had to put up with wasn’t really a person at all.

“He did it again last night,” she’d sigh, warming her hands on the mug. “He thinks that if he gives me that sexy smile and kisses me behind the ear, I’m gonna forgive him for forgetting to buy soy milk. For the third time this week.”

The tea would ripple a little in the cup, which Lisa always took to be the angelic equivalent of I hear you, baby, I hear you.

“And I did. Of course I did. ‘Cause even after all this time, that ear-kiss thing he does just makes me crazy.”

Lisa thought she could sense the tiniest disturbance in the air, like someone saying, “That’s right girlfriend, testify—we’ve all been there.”

“And I forgot what it’s like to have a full-grown man in the house.” She’d shake her head in irritation. “The amount of food he can go through. The socks. The toilet seat.”

The invisible presence always seemed a little mystified by that one. The air would still with confusion.

“But then the other week, he brought me breakfast in bed for my birthday. Him and Ben together. They’d made eggs, and gone all the way across town for this multi-grain bread I like from this one bakery. They were so proud. And they couldn’t understand why I was crying. You don’t like the eggs? Dean kept saying, did we get the wrong kind of bread? But it was just—“ Lisa sniffed. “It’s just—he tries so hard, you know?”

And then, the angel wasn’t in the air around her anymore. He—it—whatever force he represented—was inside her instead. A warm wash of compassion, soft as wings and twice as strong, holding her close.



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