Ask Balthy, ma chérie ღ

Cerebro

ask-dean:

ask-balthazar:

ask-dean:

“You got me there,” Dean deadpans.

It takes everything within himself to not roll his eyes at the flippant angel. Yeah, sure. Leave it to Balthazar to make a comment like that. He’s gonna regret agreeing to this crazy-ass arrangement if he keeps this up. Well, even more-so than he already does considering all the damage it’s caused.

“Can’t you just snap yourself into a fancy motel for a few days? Why ask me?”

Joke or not, Dean’s genuinely curious, eyebrow quirked up while he awaits Balthazar’s answer.

Balthazar stares at Dean, gaze narrowing as he swallows and bites his lip sourly. He didn’t mean to be such a jackass but what else was he going to do? He had to hide his shame somehow.

“I can’t ‘snap’ myself anywhere,” he hisses, taking a glance out the window. “And I’m pretty sure Cas wants to shred my guts right about now so yeah, I came to you, okay?”

If he didn’t know any better, Dean would say that Balthazar is acting petulant. Which, unfortunately for the other, he does.

“Sure, but you can poof yourself here, right?” It’s the farthest Dean will push him on the issue. His eyes grow a little soft at the mention of Castiel, understanding, but it’s gone in the next moment and is replaced with his usual amusement. Smirking, “You’re gonna have to pay rent.”

Again with this. Dean always had to be difficult, didn’t he? Pulling Cas into the topic was pushing it already.

"No, actually." He turns back and the glare hardens. He huffed air in something that  resembled a sigh. "I lied, alright? I actually tried making it to your door but I was cut short. I couldn’t even get out of the car so I called you."

The angel rolls his eyes and leans against the back of Dean’s seat. “Good lord, what do you want from me? Heavy man-slave work? Be your donut boy? Steal some priceless piece of art? I don’t mind, just let me in, would you?”

ask-dean:

ask-balthazar:

ask-dean:

ask-balthazar:

Oh, did I bother you? Good. Find your car and get your ass in it.

Fine, fine. Just… Don’t instant-brain me more disturbing crap.

Oh, it’ll continue until…you’re out here. Hurry up, it’s getting cold.

He shifts awkwardly in the backseat of the Impala.

Grumbling underneath his breath Dean leaves the motel room in a rush, striding toward his baby that is parked nearby two steps at a time. He settles in the front seat, the door closing with its characteristic squeak that he can’t be bothered to fix because it’s become a part of her. A brief look in the rear-view mirror tells him that Balthazar’s already here. Sigh. Fucking angels, man.

Dean shifts to turn around, arm resting across the passenger seat and gives the angel a leveled look, “This better be good. I don’t take kindly to you broadcasting gay porn into my head.”

"I was just sitting here in the car. Gay porn; oh, darling. You wish." He eases up to the edge of the seat and leans towards Dean, arm wrapping around the backrest of his seat.

"Someone put hex bags, or something, in your room and I couldn’t get in. I settled for the car because I didn’t want to risk messing up my hair again." There’s no way he’s serious. It’s obvious.

"I need someplace to stay."

 


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