"It'll eat you, you know," Danny said, squatting to chomp noisily at Grace's shoulder. "If you get too close."

Grace looked fearfully at the hippo and back at her father again. Her pigtails seemed to vibrate with the flash of fear in her eyes. "It will not."

"It will!" Danny grinned. "You know how I know? The monkey cage is waaaaaay over there. Because hippos eat monkeys, monkey." He chomped again. Grace squeaked and backed up right into Steve's legs. He gave a soft whoa and laid a hand on the top of her head to steady her.

She tilted her head up into the touch, squinting up at his face, dark hair framed by the sun like a halo. "They don't eat monkeys, right?"

Steve met Danny's eyes, and Danny wrinkled his brow, that c'mon, back me up here look Steve was so familiar with by now. But the pleading gaze of a child always won the day. "Nah, they don't," he said, smiling faintly down at her. "They're vegetarians. They eat plants."

Grace visibly relaxed. Danny bristled. "Hey, hey. You're undermining my parental authority over here."

"But," Steve added, "you do kind of look like a string bean to me."

She pouted. "I do not."

"You do." Steve shot a grin at Danny. "If I were a hippo, I'd think, that looks like an awfully tasty string bean."

Grace circled his legs to hide behind him.

"But, then again, that's a pretty meaty-looking detective taking care of that string bean," Steve went on. "Yeah, I think you're probably safe with Danno around."

Grace squeezed his legs briefly and ran back to her father. Danny gave Steve a sidelong look. "Do you have to use that name in front of her?"

"You do," Steve pointed out as they began to cross the zoo toward the monkey cage. "And you're welcome, by the way. For that unsolicited endorsement."

"Hrmrm," was Danny's only response. But as they turned, he laid his hand briefly on Steve's shoulder.

And if it lingered there a moment longer than it needed to, well, only the hippo noticed.

Edited at 2011-03-23 12:36 pm (UTC)

It was one of the things Gabriel had insisted on at the beggining of their relationship.

A day for nothing but cuddling was something that Crowley insisted Demons didnt do but Gabriel had pointed out that supposedly falling in love was something demons didnt do either.

Crowley had retorted what made Gabe think he was in love?

Gabriel had just smiled in that infuriatingly smug way he had and Crowley had grudgingly agreed to a mandatory cuddling day.

Even though he would never admit it, Crowley enjoyed the cuddling just as much as Gabriel did. It was nice to just hold his lover with no expevtations.

On sunday mornings Steve would pretend to sleep through Grace bursting in thier room and loudly demand that Danno help her with making pancakes.

He'd wait 30 minutes then go downstairs, making huge fake yawns to announce his prescence. He kisses Danny good morning and drops a kiss on Grace's forehead when she hands him his coffee. She always makes it too sweet but Steve drinks it anyways because it makes her smile.

Then he takes Graces hand and they go to the living room to argue over what cartoon to watch. Usually they end up watching The Lion King, because Grace loves it and Steve thinks Timon and Pumba are funny.

When the movie has played for 15 minutes Danny will bring out the pancakes on a platter.

Gracie will run back to the kitchen for the butter, syrup, peanut butter and apple butter.

Steve will lift the pancakes up until he finds the irregularly shaped slightly burned pancakes that Gracie made and serve himself half of them, being sure to add plenty of apple butter to cover the smokey taste.

Danny will take the other half of Gracie's pancakes and smother them in butter and syrup.

Gracie will get nothing but perfect pancakes. She spreads peanut butter on them and rolls them up before consuming the pancakes.

It's peaceful and wonderful.

Steve and Danny bless the fact that their kind of criminals usually take sunday morning off.

If Sam's soul had been torn to shreds, Adam's had been beaten to a pulp. Michael never possessed Lucifer's cruelty, was a brute rather than a sadist, and Adam's soul is fixable in ways Sam's will never be.

Castiel knows the boy will never entirely heal, but Adam seems content to have a guardian angel of a very literal persuasion. Castiel has no quarrel with him; Sam and Dean demand oversized shares of his time with little tolerance for his company, while Adam asks for nothing and desires everything. Castiel can be selfish once in a while.

Castiel knows his staring bothers most people, but Adam catches his hand when he consciously looks away. Adam likes touch, likes how it grounds him to Earth after the equivalent of lifetimes in the Pit.

"Don't," Adam says, squeezing Castiel's wrist a little too tight, and Castiel looks back at him, feels the grip on his hand loosen to something more like a caress. "You - the blue, it's. You don't hurt." Adam breathes out shakily, not quite on a sob, but on something frightened and uncertain. "You're constant."

Castiel raises his other hand to Adam's jaw, brushes his thumb lightly across the soft skin of Adam's cheek. "Eternal," he corrects, knowing he is more capable of change than any other angel.

Adam shudders as Castiel leans in, but it's Adam who closes the last inches between them, kissing him hard and pressing bodily up against him before stepping back sharply, staring at him again.

Castiel doesn't say anything, waits for Adam to find his own words again.

"I needed that," Adam says, almost defensively. Castiel nods, licks his lips, and Adam fists both hands in his shirt, pulling him close again. "I wanted that," he adds, and Castiel reaches up, closes his hands over Adam's and holds them there.

"You're allowed to," Castiel replies, and when Adam leans in to rest against his shoulder rather than kissing him again, he takes no offense.

When Adam starts sobbing, Castiel lets him. It's the first time he's wept since Castiel's allies dragged him out of the Pit.

Tears cleanse. Tears heal. And more than anything, Castiel wants this boy, undeserving of any of the burdens placed on his shoulder, to find peace.

Posted here.

Lucifer takes his time healing him, spends hours rubbing lotion onto sore skin and bandaging cuts and burns and more injuries besides.

When Dean curses at him, tells him that he doesn't want this, Lucifer doesn't snap at him, or snap his bones. Instead he calmly tells him to be quiet and to stop moving, and Dean has no choice but to obey, not when he suddenly cannot breathe or blink or do anything until he stops trying to get up and speak.

Dean, much as he appreciates how good it feels to be cared for (not that he'd admit it), hates these times, when Lucifer is serene and angelic and if Dean hadn't felt Lucifer cause these injuries himself he would think that this was some other angel entirely.

---

Kisses down his spine, gentle fingers on his arms, and Dean must be dreaming, he doesn't hurt at all and -

oh.

Dean never knew that you could bite there, and he's sure he never wanted to find out.

Lucifer's done being nice.

Mozzie is on a bench, looking pensive, tapping his finger against his lips, while Neal, with his hands in his pockets, is standing and looking up at the masterpiece. As tall and as wide as the wall, it is a grand mural depicting the despair and slaughter of thousands of Irishman at the hands of Oliver Cromwell. It is horribly vibrant and exquisitely beautiful.

"You can sit down."

Neal look at Mozzie, who is starting to look like a statue. "We've been on our feet all day--and last night, too. We're supposed to relax."

Neal smiles. He looks back up at the mural, then goes over to the bench and sits down next to Mozzie. They don't speak, just look at the masterpiece in front of them, and Neal thinks he's never been so warm before.