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Sam's expressed his dislike of Gabriel using his angel mojo to get his way numerous times, and yesterday was the day Gabriel sighed, with a long and over dramatic "Fiiine, Sambo, I'll stop 'Cheating' to win." Though, today, Gabriel was seriously regretting that. "Sam, give it to me." "Nope." Sam's mouth pops on the 'p' for emphasis, dimple-adorned grin spreading across his face. Gabriel groans under his breath as he watches Sam raise the Neopolitan ice-cream sandwich far above both of their heads. Gabriel knows Sam is egging him on, trying to get him to use his powers now that he'd promised against it. If his preferred vessel wasn't so da

Dean's got tall glasses of bubbling liquid in each hand as he pads from the linoleum of the motel kitchenette, onto to the shaggy carpeting that surrounds the California-King-Sized bed. Castiel's had more than his fair share of crap "Winchester Approved" liquor before, but he doesn't recall any that tickled his nose when he tried to drink. Dean snorts a laugh into his glass when Castiel makes the face of a spooked child for about .5 of a second, startled by the bubbles. Castiel flushes a light pink and knits his brows, staring down at the rim of the glass and watching as a plethora of tiny bubbles jump their way up at him, trying to ignore

Dean grabs the lapels of his jacket and shakes them, knocking the snow off before entering the motelroom. He'd just ditched Sam, 'cause his baby brother insisted on freezing his ass off at the local campgrounds. He'd planned on Gabriel meeting them there anyways, and he and Dean sometimes just.. well, they weren't the best of friends… So instead, Dean was now toeing off his heavy, waterlogged boots and changing his socks to dry ones in front of the small fireplace at the foot of the bed. A flutter of wings and a gravely voice gain his attention, and he looks back over his shoulder with a warm smile. Castiel attempts to reflect it back but

Sam drums his fingers on his thigh, puffing the steam from his hot breath out and into the brisk morning air. He leans against a mossy upright log that was once a trail marker. Hunts have been slow; achingly so for a good month now, and so the boys have settled themselves into a campsite in Northern California in the depths of winter. Well, Sam has. Dean, on the other hand, wished his little brother "Good luck with that frostbite, Sammy!" and quickly motored away to a nearby motel, complete with fireplace and an angel with a trenchcoat and surprisingly warmth-filled wings. After Dean had tickled and kissed and nibbled him into a red-faced,