SPN Fic: In the silence
In the silence
Dean, Castiel | 570 words | PG | coda for 7x23
Dean holds his machete up and away from his body as his boots skid down the loose mud and dead leaves of the slope. He finds a pool of water at the bottom and crouches, wiping the blade against the wet leaves to clean away the blood before he carefully sheathes it. The scrapes on his skin sting as he cups his hands in the cold water, bends his head down to sip from his palms, then splashes more water over his face. Droplets fall from his unshaven chin, making little concentric circles in the pool.
The little splashes are too loud, and Dean strains to listen again to the forest around him, for the rustle of claws against the earth, unnatural rushes of wind, for grunts, snarls, slithers, howls, silences that shouldn't be there.
When Cas appears a few feet away, trenchcoat, hospital-white shirt, and shoes too clean against the mud, Dean doesn't startle. He knows the difference between the beat of Castiel's wings and every other sound in this place.
"There's a pack of wendigos two miles to the South," Cas says. Dean's not exactly sure how to tell which direction is which in this place; there's a wan, weak disk of a sun that rises in one direction and falls in another to mark the days and fine, whatever, even if that's not East and West as Dean understands it, it makes things simpler.
Getting to his feet, Dean tries not to think about what Sam's doing right that minute. The small stab in his chest is worry or homesickness, both at once, something threatening at the edge of panic, which won't do Sam any good topside. He wipes his hands dry on his jeans. "We'd better keep going then."
They start walking side by side, following the streambed. Dean scans the trees above them, peering into the mist, listening. Always listening.
"Dean…" Cas says, with a note of hesitation.
"Yeah?" Dean's still got his eyes on the trees, looking for wings.
"Are you all right?"
"This whole situation sucks bigger than a Hoover the size of a dam, Cas. What kind of question is that?"
Cas inclines his head a fraction, a trace of his recent shyness of conflict showing, although that hasn't stopped him any from ripping the heads off hydras and smiting vampires--not that the creatures die in this place, Dean knows, they're already dead, but he and Cas sure do find a lot of creative ways to incapacitate and damage them, at least temporarily. "I meant that within the context of the situation," Cas ventures again.
There's a flutter and a thin shriek high in the trees. Cas's gaze snaps upward, every muscle tensing, and for a moment he becomes part of the uncanniness around them, while Dean puts his hand on the grip of the machete. After a moment, there's the okay kind of silence falling back into place. They keep moving.
"I guess," Dean says. He doesn't look as Castiel's face, keeps his gaze on the trees. He picks his words carefully, not sure how much he wants to say but also kind of needing Cas to know. "I'm not strapped down this time." And that's all. No wait, there's one more thing. "Plus I've got you watching my back."
Cas doesn't say anything, only moves a little closer to Dean as they walk along the streambed, while the air around them waits to pounce.
This entry is also on dreamwidth: http://dotfic.dreamwidth.org/420544.html. Feel free to comment at either post.
Dean, Castiel | 570 words | PG | coda for 7x23
Dean holds his machete up and away from his body as his boots skid down the loose mud and dead leaves of the slope. He finds a pool of water at the bottom and crouches, wiping the blade against the wet leaves to clean away the blood before he carefully sheathes it. The scrapes on his skin sting as he cups his hands in the cold water, bends his head down to sip from his palms, then splashes more water over his face. Droplets fall from his unshaven chin, making little concentric circles in the pool.
The little splashes are too loud, and Dean strains to listen again to the forest around him, for the rustle of claws against the earth, unnatural rushes of wind, for grunts, snarls, slithers, howls, silences that shouldn't be there.
When Cas appears a few feet away, trenchcoat, hospital-white shirt, and shoes too clean against the mud, Dean doesn't startle. He knows the difference between the beat of Castiel's wings and every other sound in this place.
"There's a pack of wendigos two miles to the South," Cas says. Dean's not exactly sure how to tell which direction is which in this place; there's a wan, weak disk of a sun that rises in one direction and falls in another to mark the days and fine, whatever, even if that's not East and West as Dean understands it, it makes things simpler.
Getting to his feet, Dean tries not to think about what Sam's doing right that minute. The small stab in his chest is worry or homesickness, both at once, something threatening at the edge of panic, which won't do Sam any good topside. He wipes his hands dry on his jeans. "We'd better keep going then."
They start walking side by side, following the streambed. Dean scans the trees above them, peering into the mist, listening. Always listening.
"Dean…" Cas says, with a note of hesitation.
"Yeah?" Dean's still got his eyes on the trees, looking for wings.
"Are you all right?"
"This whole situation sucks bigger than a Hoover the size of a dam, Cas. What kind of question is that?"
Cas inclines his head a fraction, a trace of his recent shyness of conflict showing, although that hasn't stopped him any from ripping the heads off hydras and smiting vampires--not that the creatures die in this place, Dean knows, they're already dead, but he and Cas sure do find a lot of creative ways to incapacitate and damage them, at least temporarily. "I meant that within the context of the situation," Cas ventures again.
There's a flutter and a thin shriek high in the trees. Cas's gaze snaps upward, every muscle tensing, and for a moment he becomes part of the uncanniness around them, while Dean puts his hand on the grip of the machete. After a moment, there's the okay kind of silence falling back into place. They keep moving.
"I guess," Dean says. He doesn't look as Castiel's face, keeps his gaze on the trees. He picks his words carefully, not sure how much he wants to say but also kind of needing Cas to know. "I'm not strapped down this time." And that's all. No wait, there's one more thing. "Plus I've got you watching my back."
Cas doesn't say anything, only moves a little closer to Dean as they walk along the streambed, while the air around them waits to pounce.
This entry is also on dreamwidth: http://dotfic.dreamwidth.org/420544.html. Feel free to comment at either post.