spn, dean/castiel, protectiveness/touching/schmoop, sorta near death maybe, pg13, 1/3janie_tangerineMay 11 2011, 21:12:10 UTC
It’s embarrassing. And out of Dean’s stupid control. Which doesn’t make sense since if it’s embarrassing he should be able to stop himself, but therein lies the problem - he can’t stop himself. It took trapping Cas into a ring of fire and regretting that after twelve hours to make him realize that he doesn’t really care for Cas like a brother. Strictly. It took Cas using his own grace to patch Sam’s wall up even when they had trapped him into said ring of fire for having worked with Crowley (which, as Balthazar had reminded them - and for once the bastard was dead on - each of them had already done) and surviving it for a pure miracle to make Dean realize that Cas might not always come back either way to make him act.
He had spent the three days that Cas spent passed out on Bobby’s couch coming up with a speech. It was a good speech. It covered everything, it covered exactly how sorry he was, he even covered the exact way in which Dean cared for Cas, and then Cas had opened his eyes. And he had looked at Dean like he had just died and gone to Heaven.
Dean never managed to say anything he had planned because he had just hugged Cas so hard that Dean had felt like choking at some point. Then Cas had kissed him rather than letting him talk, and that’s when it started. It might also be that Cas is human now and he looks smaller, frailer, not exactly at ease. And there aren’t many given moments when he doesn’t look dead tired. Which Dean gets - you fight a war and kill your family and have to work with Crowley for a year and a half while your friends on Earth aren’t much help, and does he feel guilty about that - of course you’re tired. Not to mention that according to Balthazar Cas’s body is half in shock because of how abruptly he took his grace out - probably stands to reason that Cas’s hands shake, at times, or that he looks more nervous than he’d have been otherwise when in places other than Bobby’s house.
At times Cas reminds Dean of those times when Sam was eight and miserable because Dad wasn’t home for his birthday or Christmas, and - all right, it isn’t the same thing, but at the end of it Dean has spent his life caring for others. He might not have had this great chance to put his instinct to act lately (and the one time he did - with the two kids - well, everyone knows how it went), but he can’t let Cas out of his sight and he feels like he should just close the both of them in the panic room for an undefined length of time. And right now - things have changed, and Dean isn’t pretending anything anymore. So if at random times, more often than not, he touches Cas in ways that aren’t casual at all, he doesn’t stop himself. Whenever he hears Cas making distressed noises as he sleeps (they share a bed now - no sense in pretending, as stated) the arm Dean usually keeps loosely wrapped around Cas’s frame grips way tighter. The first time he brought Cas in this nice bakery in Sioux Falls to have breakfast without Sam and Bobby around Cas had looked completely out of his element, his right hand trembling - then again, during his first stint as a human, it’s not like he had a chance to try nice things.
They had spent the entire hour in there with hands entwined on the table. People had stared, and Dean had just threaded their fingers together without giving a shit. Same thing when he dragged Cas to a western movies marathon at a drive-in some two weeks later. Dean won’t fault him for having nodded off during My Darling Clementine (it was the fourth in a row, after all), and when Cas’s head had hit Dean’s shoulder he had just moved the both of them in the back seat so that they wouldn’t have the gear shift in the way. Same thing on Independence Day - they had just stayed in the scrap yard while Sam was out on a sort-of-out-of-the-blue date with Sarah Blake, who was in town for some reason, and Bobby had apparently decided that after another averted Apocalypse he could find the guts to go to the celebrations in town with the neighbor.
Re: spn, dean/castiel, protectiveness/touching/schmoop, sorta near death maybe, pg13, 2/3janie_tangerineMay 11 2011, 21:13:04 UTC
Dean had just sat with his back against the Impala’s front door, Cas in between his legs with his back against Dean’s chest, and they had watched fireworks being lit in town. Cas’s head had been resting in the hollow of Dean’s neck, and Dean just couldn’t stop himself from keeping him close. He knows Cas won’t disappear on him, but still - he can’t help shaking the feeling off.
He can’t really stop himself from being like this, but Cas doesn’t protest and Dean doesn’t try to swallow his feelings down anymore - not when he had been about not to have any of this at all.
He has never said anything until now, though. Or, well, he still hasn’t said anything, but he’s wondering if he shouldn’t dust off that speech. It’s November by now, outside it’s raining and it’s miserable, Cas has just woken up from some nightmare saying that he was going to retch. He hadn’t, but then he had started staring out of the window not saying anything, which isn’t good in Dean’s book. Which is why he’s wearing an old Zeppelin shirt he uses to sleep in and boxers, pretty much freezing his ass off as he tries to make some hot cocoa and cursing Bobby’s microwave - the thing was probably sold first during the middle ages and it makes so much noise that Dean is sure it’ll wake the neighbor. He does manage it though, and it looks good enough - he pours two mugs, brings them upstairs. Cas hasn’t really moved since he left.
“Hey,” Dean says, handing over the mug (a freaking Jack Daniels mug - then again, he had gifted it to Bobby for Christmas when he was fourteen. How is it even still in one piece?). “As far as I know, this has never not worked.”
Cas turns on his side, takes the mug from Dean, looks down at it - for a second, he frowns in surprise. He looks at Dean again, his long fingers tightening their hold around the mug, probably feeling the warmth.
“Thank you,” he says. “I’m - I’m sorry about this,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s been months. I should be over it, but -”
“Cas. You had it rough. It’s fine, don’t - just don’t, okay?”
“I’m such a mess,” Cas says, and the raw honesty of that hits Dean like a punch to the stomach. How did he manage not to understand how bad things had gotten? Also it’s weird whenever Cas shows that he picked up Dean’s language - he’d have never said mess in such a sense, a year ago.
“Well, I’m not too thrilled to hear that, but it doesn’t change the most important thing.”
“Which would be?”
“You’re my mess, and if you think that I mind that, you can think about it twice. And drink your damned chocolate, if it gets cold it doesn’t work as well.”
Re: spn, dean/castiel, protectiveness/touching/schmoop, sorta near death maybe, pg13, 3/3janie_tangerineMay 11 2011, 21:13:27 UTC
Cas looks at him like he doesn’t have an idea of what to do with him, and then takes a sip. He licks his lips after swallowing, before going for another.
Dean is probably gloating as he drinks his own, but it just proves how right he is here.
And then Cas’s hand reaches down and covers Dean’s when he’s done and the mug is resting on the nightstand. “Thank you,” he whispers, and Dean just shakes his head and leans back on the bed, moving so that Cas’s head is against his shoulder.
“Anytime. And I mean that,” he answers. Something unclenches, someplace around his heart, when Cas just relaxes against him and closes his eyes.
Re: spn, dean/castiel, protectiveness/touching/schmoop, sorta near death maybe, pg13, 3/3janie_tangerineMay 11 2011, 21:23:56 UTC
ehe, thank you! I guess I just can't stop myself from fixing those two. As much as I can, errr. Cas, sorry, Dean's going to look after you, don't think too badly of me. xD and I was pretty happy with that line so it's awesome to know you liked it ;)
He had spent the three days that Cas spent passed out on Bobby’s couch coming up with a speech. It was a good speech. It covered everything, it covered exactly how sorry he was, he even covered the exact way in which Dean cared for Cas, and then Cas had opened his eyes. And he had looked at Dean like he had just died and gone to Heaven.
Dean never managed to say anything he had planned because he had just hugged Cas so hard that Dean had felt like choking at some point. Then Cas had kissed him rather than letting him talk, and that’s when it started. It might also be that Cas is human now and he looks smaller, frailer, not exactly at ease. And there aren’t many given moments when he doesn’t look dead tired. Which Dean gets - you fight a war and kill your family and have to work with Crowley for a year and a half while your friends on Earth aren’t much help, and does he feel guilty about that - of course you’re tired. Not to mention that according to Balthazar Cas’s body is half in shock because of how abruptly he took his grace out - probably stands to reason that Cas’s hands shake, at times, or that he looks more nervous than he’d have been otherwise when in places other than Bobby’s house.
At times Cas reminds Dean of those times when Sam was eight and miserable because Dad wasn’t home for his birthday or Christmas, and - all right, it isn’t the same thing, but at the end of it Dean has spent his life caring for others. He might not have had this great chance to put his instinct to act lately (and the one time he did - with the two kids - well, everyone knows how it went), but he can’t let Cas out of his sight and he feels like he should just close the both of them in the panic room for an undefined length of time. And right now - things have changed, and Dean isn’t pretending anything anymore. So if at random times, more often than not, he touches Cas in ways that aren’t casual at all, he doesn’t stop himself. Whenever he hears Cas making distressed noises as he sleeps (they share a bed now - no sense in pretending, as stated) the arm Dean usually keeps loosely wrapped around Cas’s frame grips way tighter. The first time he brought Cas in this nice bakery in Sioux Falls to have breakfast without Sam and Bobby around Cas had looked completely out of his element, his right hand trembling - then again, during his first stint as a human, it’s not like he had a chance to try nice things.
They had spent the entire hour in there with hands entwined on the table. People had stared, and Dean had just threaded their fingers together without giving a shit. Same thing when he dragged Cas to a western movies marathon at a drive-in some two weeks later. Dean won’t fault him for having nodded off during My Darling Clementine (it was the fourth in a row, after all), and when Cas’s head had hit Dean’s shoulder he had just moved the both of them in the back seat so that they wouldn’t have the gear shift in the way. Same thing on Independence Day - they had just stayed in the scrap yard while Sam was out on a sort-of-out-of-the-blue date with Sarah Blake, who was in town for some reason, and Bobby had apparently decided that after another averted Apocalypse he could find the guts to go to the celebrations in town with the neighbor.
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He can’t really stop himself from being like this, but Cas doesn’t protest and Dean doesn’t try to swallow his feelings down anymore - not when he had been about not to have any of this at all.
He has never said anything until now, though. Or, well, he still hasn’t said anything, but he’s wondering if he shouldn’t dust off that speech. It’s November by now, outside it’s raining and it’s miserable, Cas has just woken up from some nightmare saying that he was going to retch. He hadn’t, but then he had started staring out of the window not saying anything, which isn’t good in Dean’s book. Which is why he’s wearing an old Zeppelin shirt he uses to sleep in and boxers, pretty much freezing his ass off as he tries to make some hot cocoa and cursing Bobby’s microwave - the thing was probably sold first during the middle ages and it makes so much noise that Dean is sure it’ll wake the neighbor. He does manage it though, and it looks good enough - he pours two mugs, brings them upstairs. Cas hasn’t really moved since he left.
“Hey,” Dean says, handing over the mug (a freaking Jack Daniels mug - then again, he had gifted it to Bobby for Christmas when he was fourteen. How is it even still in one piece?). “As far as I know, this has never not worked.”
Cas turns on his side, takes the mug from Dean, looks down at it - for a second, he frowns in surprise. He looks at Dean again, his long fingers tightening their hold around the mug, probably feeling the warmth.
“Thank you,” he says. “I’m - I’m sorry about this,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s been months. I should be over it, but -”
“Cas. You had it rough. It’s fine, don’t - just don’t, okay?”
“I’m such a mess,” Cas says, and the raw honesty of that hits Dean like a punch to the stomach. How did he manage not to understand how bad things had gotten? Also it’s weird whenever Cas shows that he picked up Dean’s language - he’d have never said mess in such a sense, a year ago.
“Well, I’m not too thrilled to hear that, but it doesn’t change the most important thing.”
“Which would be?”
“You’re my mess, and if you think that I mind that, you can think about it twice. And drink your damned chocolate, if it gets cold it doesn’t work as well.”
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Dean is probably gloating as he drinks his own, but it just proves how right he is here.
And then Cas’s hand reaches down and covers Dean’s when he’s done and the mug is resting on the nightstand. “Thank you,” he whispers, and Dean just shakes his head and leans back on the bed, moving so that Cas’s head is against his shoulder.
“Anytime. And I mean that,” he answers. Something unclenches, someplace around his heart, when Cas just relaxes against him and closes his eyes.
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It's so perfect, and amazing, and heartbreaking, and heartwarming, and just exactly what I needed, and wanted, and you are AMAZING.
The "you're my mess" line-gah! SO good.
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