Destiel One Shots

Suck It, Asshole

  "i stole ur parking spot and u got out of ur vehicle ready to kick my ass" au

1,699 words

Castiel is late for a job interview, it's his first chance he's had in weeks, and with any luck, he'll get employed here. However, he's running rate and needs to park as soon as he can. Snatching the last spot, he hopes to make it inside in time when he has an interesting situation with the owner of a '67 Chevrolet Impala owner.

-

Hurriedly, Cas runs around the side of his car. 'No, no, no.' He mutters in a worried tone as he opens the driver's door with one hand.

Toppling sideways into his car, he rams his keys into the ignition and starts the engine, only taking seconds to toss his mobile and place his travel mug clumsily into a cup holder. He glimpses at his reflection in his mirror, analysing the stubble breaking through on his face and his bed hair.

'For Christ's sake.' He mutters, trying to flatten it down with his palm and hopelessly failing. Ignoring it, he reverses his car out of his driveway and makes his way to Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc., where he's due to have a job interview in - oh, fifteen minutes.

He presses his sole down on the peddle, hoping to reduce the half hour journey to the workplace. It's only ironic that he gets paused at a red light with, ah, nobody even crossing the road.

'Come on, come on.' He murmurs, his thumbs drumming on the wheel looking over the crossing. 'Hurry up!' He calls at the red light, thumping his palm on the wheel immaturely. In return, he earns an odd glance from the woman in the car beside him, which he just makes a face back to.

As it switches to green, he mutters a gloomy, 'finally', before rushing off to SB&I once more. He begins to tail a black car. Looking to his left, he reaches for his mobile, checking the time. Five minutes to go. It's cool, he can make it. Totally. If this driver in front of him could just move a little bit faster...

He stares at the car. A frickin' Impala. 'Can you just move?' He asks, clenching his jaw. A '67 Chevrolet shouldn't even be on the road, Christ. Especially if all it can do is this pace.

Watching as his time runs out, he grows incredibly impatient, rolling down his window. 'Move it!' He shouts to the driver, honking his own car horn. God, whoever this is brings a new meaning to the word slow drivers.

As a response, the driver sticks a middle finger out of his window at Castiel, along with an irritated, 'Suck it, asshole!'

Rolling his eyes, Cas nearly makes himself bleed by digging his teeth into his gums. However, the impala speeds up to Cas' appreciation. He eyes his mobile again, reading that he actually has less than five minutes before his bloody interview starts.

Panicking, his eyes drop to his coffee in his travel mug. He reaches for it, flicking the cap open and bringing the warm, comforting drink to his lips and taking a long, needed sip. Releasing a thankful breath, he continues to tail the impala, who's thankfully going faster than 10mph now.

That in mind, the impala chugs to an unexpected close halt.

'What the-' Cas drops his travel mug, which used to contain his coffee that now decorates his white shirt. The hot drink coats him and steams through his clothing, scalding his skin. 'You f-,' He draws a sharp breath. He yells with his head between his arms, repeatedly smacking his wheel with annoyance. He draws out a long and loud beep on his horn at the infuriating impala driver.

Cas downs the remnants of his coffee and slaps the mug back in its holster. In this situation, slow and steady does not win the race. Cockily, Cas overtakes the impala, ensuring he's swearing at the driver as he keeps his head fixated on the road in front of him.