A Quiet Moment (Children Playing in the Park) [Supernatural - Pie!Fic - Dean + Castiel (Gen)]
Title: A Quiet Moment (Children Playing in the Park)
Summary: A walk, a park, some pie, swings and a visit.
Rating: PG
Pairing: None. Dean and Castiel gen.
Spoiler Warnings: Set post 4x10.
Disclaimer: Supernatural = not mine.
Notes: I've been on a Supernatural hiatus during the holiday season (I mean, seriously, I was writing at least 3 fics a week for a month there) but now I'm back with the next installment of Pie!Fic. Title from Ralph Marston. (yes - there will still be more)
Dean sits on the hood of the Impala and looks up at the sky. His feet are resting on the bumper and his elbows are resting on his knees and his head is resting on his hands. It’s a cloudless day and if it wasn’t for the chill air you could be forgiven for thinking it was summer.
Ruby and Sam were in the motel room. Researching, at least, that’s what Dean hopes they’re doing, looking for any sign of the next seal Lilith’s going to try and break. It’s coming thick and fast now, Dean knows from the brief snatches of information Castiel has imparted to him in various dreams, and there’s a small tendril of fear in him that the end is, well, nigh.
The dream visits are freaking weird, Dean’s decided, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get over Castiel showing up in the middle of the one where he was making his way through an entire cheerleader squad. But, despite that, they’ve been pretty useful; steering Dean and Sam out of the way angel-only battles, sending them in the direction of seals they can protect and Dean never dreams of Hell on the nights that Castiel visits.
The weirdest thing about them is the way Castiel seems wearier and wearier in each one. Dean’s pretty sure he’s not imagining the slump in Castiel’s shoulders or the ghosts in his eyes and he’s also fairly sure that Castiel’s stopped caring about the way he looks. Well, even more. Dean doesn’t like seeing it, it surprises him how much he doesn’t like it, and his fingers itch to do something about it.
Dean snorts a brief laugh, isn’t the angel meant to be the one protecting him? Not the other way round? He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes for a moment and knows that, when he looks up again, Castiel will be there. He puts the moment off. There’s a soft huff and then the car dips beside him.
Dean opens his eyes and turns his head to squint against the sun and look at Castiel. Castiel is just as unkempt as he was in the last dream and the shading of stubble on his jaw is darker than it’s been before. Castiel tilts his head up and stares at the sun and Dean resists the urge to tell him not to, guessing that angels probably see the sun differently to humans.
Finally Castiel looks down and meets Dean’s eyes and, yeah, the ghosts are there. Means the war isn’t going well and Dean wonders for a moment just how many of Castiel’s ‘brothers’ are dead.
“Sam and Ruby are researching,” Dean says for want of something to say, jerks his head towards the motel. Castiel stares at the motel room for a moment and then nods, as if providing confirmation that, yes, that is what they’re doing.
“It still doesn’t feel right, does it?” Castiel asks slowly. “Letting your brother go to the demon.”
Dean flinches and prepares to defend Sam. God knows, heh, that Dean doesn’t like it but he’s seen something in Ruby since the whole Anna deal went down that makes him think she really means what she says. That she just wants to help Sam. Given their shared goals he figures he can put up with her if it means saving the world one more time.
“You don’t need to defend it,” Castiel turns back to Dean, seeing right through him. “You would know if we were displeased with him. For the moment, I am content that he is not using his abilities.”
“Uh, thanks,” Dean says, looking away from Castiel’s stare.
“You don’t wish to be in the room,” Castiel says, rustling beside Dean. Dean’s noticed that there’s always little sounds about Castiel, almost like they’re just beyond his hearing, soft, whispering sorts of sounds. He doesn’t put much thought into it, because it weirds him out, but he guesses that they’re probably made by the wings that Dean can’t see.
“Wanted some fresh air,” Dean says, it’s not actually agreement but both he and Castiel know what lies beneath the words. Castiel nods.
“There’s a park not far from here,” Castiel says, tilting his head towards it. “I believe they have tables.”
“You brought more pie?” Dean asks, expectation making his mouth water. Castiel smiles, honest to God smiles, and it’s the first time Dean thinks that Castiel could really pass for human. He’s bizarrely proud.
“It’s becoming a habit,” Castiel says with the tiniest of shrugs and Dean grins. He bounces off the car and watches Castiel slide down.
“Hang on,” Dean says, pulling the passenger door open and going through the glove box until his hand closes on a paper parcel. “Right, let’s go,” he says, stuffing the parcel into his pocket for later.
They walk mostly in silence, Dean occasionally fielding questions about something peculiarly human that Castiel doesn’t understand, and Dean finds himself enjoying it. The whole coming-back-from-the-dead thing has given him a new appreciation for all sorts of different stuff. Walking's in there somewhere.
The park is pretty small, some benches and tables, some kids equipment, some green space, but it’s peaceful and that’s why Dean keeps coming back to parks. They’re most of the good things about life all in one place. There’s an ice cream van on the other side of the park and Dean thinks that there’s nothing on earth or in Hell that can stop him from having one after he’s eaten Castiel’s pie.
They find a table out of the breathy wind sweeping across the park and settle. Dean is surprised when Castiel sits beside him instead of opposite, but less so when Castiel looks up at the play equipment. There’s a few kids chasing each other round and round the slides and swings and Dean feels his lips quirk as he watches. Dean’s going soft.
“So what is it this week?” Dean asks, rubbing his hands together as Castiel pulls the piebox out of the bag. “And when’re you gonna tell me where you get them from? I need to find the piemaker and marry her. Or him. I’m not fussy when the pie’s this good.”
“Pineapple meringue,” Castiel says, opening the box. “And I don’t know if I’ll ever tell you, you’ll probably eat them out of stock. Besides - you should marry for love, Dean, not pie.”
“Dude, pie is love,” Dean points out, rolling his eyes and ignoring the earnest words. Then: “Wait - you just made a joke, didn’t you?”
“Did I?” Dean really needs to teach Castiel to play poker because that face is almost perfectly innocent, if it wasn’t for the tiny spark of a smile in the depths of his eyes.
Dean laughs and the ghost smile becomes real, spreading across Castiel’s face like a sunrise, and Dean’s really glad that he got to see it. Castiel hands him a fork, and Dean’s willing to bet that the forks hadn’t been in the bag to start with, before moving the piebox to sit between them.
“So - it’s like lemon meringue only with pineapple, right?” Dean asks, looking down at the white peaks of meringue on top of the pie.
“I wouldn’t know,” Castiel says, looking at Dean for a moment.
“’Course you wouldn’t,” Dean says, shaking his head at himself. “You’re not human.”
Dean’s a little worried that he actually forgot what Castiel is for a brief second. Maybe he did his job too well. To drive away the worry he cuts into the pie, carefully working out a third of it, and lifts a spoonful. It smells good. No, scratch that, it smells really good.
He’s prepared to bet that it tastes exactly like Heaven, if Heaven has a taste, when he puts the pie in his mouth. It’s pineapple and sweet, sweet meringue and flaky pie crust and…
“Sweet Jesus, that’s good pie,” Dean says at last. Castiel’s brow furrows briefly at the blasphemy, the way it always does, but then he gets caught up in his own piece of pie. Dean has to look away because he’s pretty sure that no-one is meant to see an angel make that sort of face.
“It’s almost heavenly,” Castiel allows when he opens his eyes and Dean can look at him again. Dean smiles.
“I knew it,” he says, rapping his fork on the table. “I think you’ve got a sixth sense for pie, Cas, this is seriously awesome.”
“Thank you,” Castiel says and there’s the ghost smile again. Dean realises that he’s seen that ghost smile a lot since that first time they sat in a park and talked. He resolves to see it more.
“You’re almost too good at the human thing now,” Dean says around an epic mouthful of pie. “I’m beginning to think I did my job too well.”
“It allows me to understand,” Castiel says simply.
Castiel is the one who starts what Dean has taken to thinking of as ‘Pie Silence’ - the point in these strange little meetings where neither of them talk and devote all of their attention to the glorious pie before them. Normally Dean’s the one who starts it and he supposes it’s a little weird that he didn’t this time. He just finds himself wanting to talk, about anything, he doesn’t care.
Castiel watches the children as they play and Dean watches Castiel. There’s something a bit like joy, Dean guesses, on Castiel’s face and it reminds him of Castiel’s confession the first time he showed up. He wonders if Castiel is still worried about feeling or if it’s passed.
Castiel hasn’t asked about the untouched third of the pie and Dean figures that Castiel’s assumed Dean’s leaving it for Sam. Which is true. Hell, Ruby can have some too if she wants a change from her steady diet of French fries. Thing is: it makes Dean wonder when he and Castiel developed the whole non-verbal communication thing - he’s only ever had that with two other people.
“Why do they do that?” Castiel asks, cutting across Dean’s train of thought. Castiel points at the children on the swings with his fork, watching them going back and forth, higher and higher. Dean can almost feel the rush of air and the swoop in his stomach.
“It’s a rush,” Dean says with a one-shouldered shrug. “Closest kids can get to flying, y’know.”
“They want to fly?” Castiel asks, brow furrowing and, right, yeah, Castiel is an angel. He can fly.
“Most people like the idea,” Dean says, shovelling in another piece of pie. He describes a flight path with his fork. “Of being able to fly, I mean. Everyone has flying dreams.”
“Do you?” Castiel turns his head slightly and all of his attention is on Dean. Dean swallows his pie and taps his fork against his lips.
“Sure,” he says, another shrug. “When I was a kid, once or twice, before -”
Dean stops and Castiel doesn’t press. Dean knows, somehow, that Castiel knows how that sentence would end. There’s a brief flash of something in Castiel’s eyes and the forkless hand lifts towards Dean for a moment before Castiel pulls it back.
“Anyway, yeah, humans and flying. It’s a thing,” Dean doesn’t cover brilliantly but Castiel is non-human enough not to notice.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to know everything there is to know about humanity,” Castiel says and his tone is wistful but his expression is happy. Dean gets the feeling that Castiel could spend, probably already has spent, thousands of years just learning about people and be happy.
Dean savours the last mouthful of pie and is seriously considering just eating Sam’s bit anyway when he remembers what he has in his pocket.
“Oh, hey,” Dean pulls the parcel out and taps Castiel’s arm with it. “We, ah, got you this. Y’know, for Christmas.”
Castiel’s eyes widen as he sets down his fork and takes the parcel from Dean. He pulls the paper apart like it holds the big secret of life inside it and Dean resists the urge to yank it out of his hands and do it for him.
Castiel pulls the gloves from the paper and holds them up, turns them, looks at them from every which way before finally pulling one onto his hand. Sam had insisted they get blue, to match Castiel’s tie or his eyes or something, and Dean had gone along with it if only because they were pretty good gloves anyway. Castiel flexes his hand within the glove and then touches his face with gloved fingers. Which is weird but, well, it’s Castiel so it’s not really weird at all.
“Sam was worried about your vessel,” Dean says when Castiel aims one of those trademark stares at him. It’s not entirely a lie, more a case of omitting the truth. Dean was worried too.
“Thank you,” Castiel says and Dean can see his gratitude in his eyes. It gives him a bit of a head spin so he looks down at the pie again. Castiel’s still got a bit of pie left.
“Have it,” Castiel says, nudging the pie over to Dean’s side of the box. “It’s a fair exchange.”
Castiel’s pulled both gloves on and is busy watching his fingers curl and uncurl within them so misses Dean’s surprised face. Dean takes the last piece of pie before Castiel can change his mind and eats it a little too quickly, really.
The parents come and collect their kids as the sun dips a little lower on the horizon and Dean thinks that he’d better get back to Sam soon or Sam’ll think something’s happened to him. Again.
“Will you show me?” Castiel asks and Dean turns to look at him. His answering question dies on his lips because, for some reason, he just knows exactly what Castiel is asking. He laughs, tucking his chin in against his chest, before nodding.
“Sure, why not?” Dean says as he stands. “It’s no weirder than anything else I’ve ever done.”
And that is how, moments later, Dean comes to be pushing Castiel on a swing, unable to fight down the grin that threatens every time he hears Castiel’s sharp intake of breath on the upswing.
“Is it like flying?” Dean asks when Castiel swings back against him. Castiel looks over his shoulder and his eyes are so bright Dean’s a little worried that his Grace is bursting out of him.
“It’s wondrous,” Castiel says and Dean pushes him away again, laughing. Someone’s watching them, he can see them from the corner of his eye, but he feels no threat from them.
“Dean Winchester,” the voice is everywhere and nowhere at once as the watcher steps towards them. He’s blurry, like an out of focus film, and Dean can’t pin him down in his mind.
“Who’s asking?” he asks the blurred figure, trying in vain to focus his eyes.
“Gabriel,” Castiel says, his swing coming to a sharp halt. Castiel stands quickly and nods in a very formal fashion to the approaching man. Not a man, though. The figure resolves, the sun hits him from behind and gives him a clichéd halo which doesn’t look stupid despite itself, and Dean is looking at the Archangel Gabriel. He has a feeling that he should bow or something, but he’s never been good with manners.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Dean,” Gabriel says, stepping out of his backlighting so that Dean can see him. Gabriel smiles and shakes Dean’s hand and Dean can really feel the presence of this guy. It’s sort of like Uriel, only Uriel feels more oppressive, Gabriel makes Dean feel lighter.
“Um, likewise, I guess,” Dean says, rubbing a hand through his hair. Gabriel laughs and Dean feels it right to his centre. Gabriel turns to Castiel and by the way Castiel tilts his head Dean knows that Castiel’s receiving new orders.
Gabriel’s vessel is good looking, about the same height as Dean, with a clean cut jaw, messy dark hair and bright blue eyes. Dean’s starting to get a complex, by the sounds of it the Archangels are all picking the best looking guys they can find, if Sam’s description of Raphael is anything to go by. Dean may be a little arrogant but he likes being the handsome SOB that he is and the angels, Castiel included, are making him pale in comparison.
“You have a dangerous path to walk, Dean,” Gabriel says, turning back to Dean. “I hope that you can weather it.”
“I can take anything Hell throws at me,” Dean says, tilting his chin up defiantly.
“I have no doubts,” Gabriel says and Dean doesn’t know if he notices the way Castiel ducks his head at those words. “I have faith in you, Dean. All you need is faith in yourself.”
Gabriel disappears in the now familiar rush of wing beats and leaves Castiel behind. Gabriel’s presence lingers as a warm feeling inside of Dean and just for a moment he lets himself believe what the angels keep telling him.
“Heed Gabriel’s words, Dean,” Castiel says and there’s something he’s hiding. Dean doesn’t know how he knows he just knows. “There are difficult times ahead.”
And Castiel is gone too. Dean shakes his head and picks up the plastic bag with the left-over pie in. Just when he think he’s getting the hang of the whole angel deal it tilts on its head and throws up something new. Sammy had said that, even though meeting Raphael had gone a long way to restoring his faith in whatever, it wasn’t a good sign that the Archangels were here.
By Dean’s reckoning, and from what Sam had told him, that was three out of the big four that they’d met between them. For all they knew badass Michael (who Dean actually really wants to meet) was already on Earth. Dean shakes his head again, putting the angels out of mind.
He has pie to deliver. He looks over his shoulder. Okay. He's got pie to deliver - after he's had an ice cream.
----
Part V: Pumpkin Pie| Part VII: Wildberry Pie
--------
Further Notes: Gabriel. I'm going to have to do something about some kind of image with all of the Archangels together when I've got Vessels for all of them.
Summary: A walk, a park, some pie, swings and a visit.
Rating: PG
Pairing: None. Dean and Castiel gen.
Spoiler Warnings: Set post 4x10.
Disclaimer: Supernatural = not mine.
Notes: I've been on a Supernatural hiatus during the holiday season (I mean, seriously, I was writing at least 3 fics a week for a month there) but now I'm back with the next installment of Pie!Fic. Title from Ralph Marston. (yes - there will still be more)
Dean sits on the hood of the Impala and looks up at the sky. His feet are resting on the bumper and his elbows are resting on his knees and his head is resting on his hands. It’s a cloudless day and if it wasn’t for the chill air you could be forgiven for thinking it was summer.
Ruby and Sam were in the motel room. Researching, at least, that’s what Dean hopes they’re doing, looking for any sign of the next seal Lilith’s going to try and break. It’s coming thick and fast now, Dean knows from the brief snatches of information Castiel has imparted to him in various dreams, and there’s a small tendril of fear in him that the end is, well, nigh.
The dream visits are freaking weird, Dean’s decided, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get over Castiel showing up in the middle of the one where he was making his way through an entire cheerleader squad. But, despite that, they’ve been pretty useful; steering Dean and Sam out of the way angel-only battles, sending them in the direction of seals they can protect and Dean never dreams of Hell on the nights that Castiel visits.
The weirdest thing about them is the way Castiel seems wearier and wearier in each one. Dean’s pretty sure he’s not imagining the slump in Castiel’s shoulders or the ghosts in his eyes and he’s also fairly sure that Castiel’s stopped caring about the way he looks. Well, even more. Dean doesn’t like seeing it, it surprises him how much he doesn’t like it, and his fingers itch to do something about it.
Dean snorts a brief laugh, isn’t the angel meant to be the one protecting him? Not the other way round? He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes for a moment and knows that, when he looks up again, Castiel will be there. He puts the moment off. There’s a soft huff and then the car dips beside him.
Dean opens his eyes and turns his head to squint against the sun and look at Castiel. Castiel is just as unkempt as he was in the last dream and the shading of stubble on his jaw is darker than it’s been before. Castiel tilts his head up and stares at the sun and Dean resists the urge to tell him not to, guessing that angels probably see the sun differently to humans.
Finally Castiel looks down and meets Dean’s eyes and, yeah, the ghosts are there. Means the war isn’t going well and Dean wonders for a moment just how many of Castiel’s ‘brothers’ are dead.
“Sam and Ruby are researching,” Dean says for want of something to say, jerks his head towards the motel. Castiel stares at the motel room for a moment and then nods, as if providing confirmation that, yes, that is what they’re doing.
“It still doesn’t feel right, does it?” Castiel asks slowly. “Letting your brother go to the demon.”
Dean flinches and prepares to defend Sam. God knows, heh, that Dean doesn’t like it but he’s seen something in Ruby since the whole Anna deal went down that makes him think she really means what she says. That she just wants to help Sam. Given their shared goals he figures he can put up with her if it means saving the world one more time.
“You don’t need to defend it,” Castiel turns back to Dean, seeing right through him. “You would know if we were displeased with him. For the moment, I am content that he is not using his abilities.”
“Uh, thanks,” Dean says, looking away from Castiel’s stare.
“You don’t wish to be in the room,” Castiel says, rustling beside Dean. Dean’s noticed that there’s always little sounds about Castiel, almost like they’re just beyond his hearing, soft, whispering sorts of sounds. He doesn’t put much thought into it, because it weirds him out, but he guesses that they’re probably made by the wings that Dean can’t see.
“Wanted some fresh air,” Dean says, it’s not actually agreement but both he and Castiel know what lies beneath the words. Castiel nods.
“There’s a park not far from here,” Castiel says, tilting his head towards it. “I believe they have tables.”
“You brought more pie?” Dean asks, expectation making his mouth water. Castiel smiles, honest to God smiles, and it’s the first time Dean thinks that Castiel could really pass for human. He’s bizarrely proud.
“It’s becoming a habit,” Castiel says with the tiniest of shrugs and Dean grins. He bounces off the car and watches Castiel slide down.
“Hang on,” Dean says, pulling the passenger door open and going through the glove box until his hand closes on a paper parcel. “Right, let’s go,” he says, stuffing the parcel into his pocket for later.
They walk mostly in silence, Dean occasionally fielding questions about something peculiarly human that Castiel doesn’t understand, and Dean finds himself enjoying it. The whole coming-back-from-the-dead thing has given him a new appreciation for all sorts of different stuff. Walking's in there somewhere.
The park is pretty small, some benches and tables, some kids equipment, some green space, but it’s peaceful and that’s why Dean keeps coming back to parks. They’re most of the good things about life all in one place. There’s an ice cream van on the other side of the park and Dean thinks that there’s nothing on earth or in Hell that can stop him from having one after he’s eaten Castiel’s pie.
They find a table out of the breathy wind sweeping across the park and settle. Dean is surprised when Castiel sits beside him instead of opposite, but less so when Castiel looks up at the play equipment. There’s a few kids chasing each other round and round the slides and swings and Dean feels his lips quirk as he watches. Dean’s going soft.
“So what is it this week?” Dean asks, rubbing his hands together as Castiel pulls the piebox out of the bag. “And when’re you gonna tell me where you get them from? I need to find the piemaker and marry her. Or him. I’m not fussy when the pie’s this good.”
“Pineapple meringue,” Castiel says, opening the box. “And I don’t know if I’ll ever tell you, you’ll probably eat them out of stock. Besides - you should marry for love, Dean, not pie.”
“Dude, pie is love,” Dean points out, rolling his eyes and ignoring the earnest words. Then: “Wait - you just made a joke, didn’t you?”
“Did I?” Dean really needs to teach Castiel to play poker because that face is almost perfectly innocent, if it wasn’t for the tiny spark of a smile in the depths of his eyes.
Dean laughs and the ghost smile becomes real, spreading across Castiel’s face like a sunrise, and Dean’s really glad that he got to see it. Castiel hands him a fork, and Dean’s willing to bet that the forks hadn’t been in the bag to start with, before moving the piebox to sit between them.
“So - it’s like lemon meringue only with pineapple, right?” Dean asks, looking down at the white peaks of meringue on top of the pie.
“I wouldn’t know,” Castiel says, looking at Dean for a moment.
“’Course you wouldn’t,” Dean says, shaking his head at himself. “You’re not human.”
Dean’s a little worried that he actually forgot what Castiel is for a brief second. Maybe he did his job too well. To drive away the worry he cuts into the pie, carefully working out a third of it, and lifts a spoonful. It smells good. No, scratch that, it smells really good.
He’s prepared to bet that it tastes exactly like Heaven, if Heaven has a taste, when he puts the pie in his mouth. It’s pineapple and sweet, sweet meringue and flaky pie crust and…
“Sweet Jesus, that’s good pie,” Dean says at last. Castiel’s brow furrows briefly at the blasphemy, the way it always does, but then he gets caught up in his own piece of pie. Dean has to look away because he’s pretty sure that no-one is meant to see an angel make that sort of face.
“It’s almost heavenly,” Castiel allows when he opens his eyes and Dean can look at him again. Dean smiles.
“I knew it,” he says, rapping his fork on the table. “I think you’ve got a sixth sense for pie, Cas, this is seriously awesome.”
“Thank you,” Castiel says and there’s the ghost smile again. Dean realises that he’s seen that ghost smile a lot since that first time they sat in a park and talked. He resolves to see it more.
“You’re almost too good at the human thing now,” Dean says around an epic mouthful of pie. “I’m beginning to think I did my job too well.”
“It allows me to understand,” Castiel says simply.
Castiel is the one who starts what Dean has taken to thinking of as ‘Pie Silence’ - the point in these strange little meetings where neither of them talk and devote all of their attention to the glorious pie before them. Normally Dean’s the one who starts it and he supposes it’s a little weird that he didn’t this time. He just finds himself wanting to talk, about anything, he doesn’t care.
Castiel watches the children as they play and Dean watches Castiel. There’s something a bit like joy, Dean guesses, on Castiel’s face and it reminds him of Castiel’s confession the first time he showed up. He wonders if Castiel is still worried about feeling or if it’s passed.
Castiel hasn’t asked about the untouched third of the pie and Dean figures that Castiel’s assumed Dean’s leaving it for Sam. Which is true. Hell, Ruby can have some too if she wants a change from her steady diet of French fries. Thing is: it makes Dean wonder when he and Castiel developed the whole non-verbal communication thing - he’s only ever had that with two other people.
“Why do they do that?” Castiel asks, cutting across Dean’s train of thought. Castiel points at the children on the swings with his fork, watching them going back and forth, higher and higher. Dean can almost feel the rush of air and the swoop in his stomach.
“It’s a rush,” Dean says with a one-shouldered shrug. “Closest kids can get to flying, y’know.”
“They want to fly?” Castiel asks, brow furrowing and, right, yeah, Castiel is an angel. He can fly.
“Most people like the idea,” Dean says, shovelling in another piece of pie. He describes a flight path with his fork. “Of being able to fly, I mean. Everyone has flying dreams.”
“Do you?” Castiel turns his head slightly and all of his attention is on Dean. Dean swallows his pie and taps his fork against his lips.
“Sure,” he says, another shrug. “When I was a kid, once or twice, before -”
Dean stops and Castiel doesn’t press. Dean knows, somehow, that Castiel knows how that sentence would end. There’s a brief flash of something in Castiel’s eyes and the forkless hand lifts towards Dean for a moment before Castiel pulls it back.
“Anyway, yeah, humans and flying. It’s a thing,” Dean doesn’t cover brilliantly but Castiel is non-human enough not to notice.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to know everything there is to know about humanity,” Castiel says and his tone is wistful but his expression is happy. Dean gets the feeling that Castiel could spend, probably already has spent, thousands of years just learning about people and be happy.
Dean savours the last mouthful of pie and is seriously considering just eating Sam’s bit anyway when he remembers what he has in his pocket.
“Oh, hey,” Dean pulls the parcel out and taps Castiel’s arm with it. “We, ah, got you this. Y’know, for Christmas.”
Castiel’s eyes widen as he sets down his fork and takes the parcel from Dean. He pulls the paper apart like it holds the big secret of life inside it and Dean resists the urge to yank it out of his hands and do it for him.
Castiel pulls the gloves from the paper and holds them up, turns them, looks at them from every which way before finally pulling one onto his hand. Sam had insisted they get blue, to match Castiel’s tie or his eyes or something, and Dean had gone along with it if only because they were pretty good gloves anyway. Castiel flexes his hand within the glove and then touches his face with gloved fingers. Which is weird but, well, it’s Castiel so it’s not really weird at all.
“Sam was worried about your vessel,” Dean says when Castiel aims one of those trademark stares at him. It’s not entirely a lie, more a case of omitting the truth. Dean was worried too.
“Thank you,” Castiel says and Dean can see his gratitude in his eyes. It gives him a bit of a head spin so he looks down at the pie again. Castiel’s still got a bit of pie left.
“Have it,” Castiel says, nudging the pie over to Dean’s side of the box. “It’s a fair exchange.”
Castiel’s pulled both gloves on and is busy watching his fingers curl and uncurl within them so misses Dean’s surprised face. Dean takes the last piece of pie before Castiel can change his mind and eats it a little too quickly, really.
The parents come and collect their kids as the sun dips a little lower on the horizon and Dean thinks that he’d better get back to Sam soon or Sam’ll think something’s happened to him. Again.
“Will you show me?” Castiel asks and Dean turns to look at him. His answering question dies on his lips because, for some reason, he just knows exactly what Castiel is asking. He laughs, tucking his chin in against his chest, before nodding.
“Sure, why not?” Dean says as he stands. “It’s no weirder than anything else I’ve ever done.”
And that is how, moments later, Dean comes to be pushing Castiel on a swing, unable to fight down the grin that threatens every time he hears Castiel’s sharp intake of breath on the upswing.
“Is it like flying?” Dean asks when Castiel swings back against him. Castiel looks over his shoulder and his eyes are so bright Dean’s a little worried that his Grace is bursting out of him.
“It’s wondrous,” Castiel says and Dean pushes him away again, laughing. Someone’s watching them, he can see them from the corner of his eye, but he feels no threat from them.
“Dean Winchester,” the voice is everywhere and nowhere at once as the watcher steps towards them. He’s blurry, like an out of focus film, and Dean can’t pin him down in his mind.
“Who’s asking?” he asks the blurred figure, trying in vain to focus his eyes.
“Gabriel,” Castiel says, his swing coming to a sharp halt. Castiel stands quickly and nods in a very formal fashion to the approaching man. Not a man, though. The figure resolves, the sun hits him from behind and gives him a clichéd halo which doesn’t look stupid despite itself, and Dean is looking at the Archangel Gabriel. He has a feeling that he should bow or something, but he’s never been good with manners.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Dean,” Gabriel says, stepping out of his backlighting so that Dean can see him. Gabriel smiles and shakes Dean’s hand and Dean can really feel the presence of this guy. It’s sort of like Uriel, only Uriel feels more oppressive, Gabriel makes Dean feel lighter.
“Um, likewise, I guess,” Dean says, rubbing a hand through his hair. Gabriel laughs and Dean feels it right to his centre. Gabriel turns to Castiel and by the way Castiel tilts his head Dean knows that Castiel’s receiving new orders.
Gabriel’s vessel is good looking, about the same height as Dean, with a clean cut jaw, messy dark hair and bright blue eyes. Dean’s starting to get a complex, by the sounds of it the Archangels are all picking the best looking guys they can find, if Sam’s description of Raphael is anything to go by. Dean may be a little arrogant but he likes being the handsome SOB that he is and the angels, Castiel included, are making him pale in comparison.
“You have a dangerous path to walk, Dean,” Gabriel says, turning back to Dean. “I hope that you can weather it.”
“I can take anything Hell throws at me,” Dean says, tilting his chin up defiantly.
“I have no doubts,” Gabriel says and Dean doesn’t know if he notices the way Castiel ducks his head at those words. “I have faith in you, Dean. All you need is faith in yourself.”
Gabriel disappears in the now familiar rush of wing beats and leaves Castiel behind. Gabriel’s presence lingers as a warm feeling inside of Dean and just for a moment he lets himself believe what the angels keep telling him.
“Heed Gabriel’s words, Dean,” Castiel says and there’s something he’s hiding. Dean doesn’t know how he knows he just knows. “There are difficult times ahead.”
And Castiel is gone too. Dean shakes his head and picks up the plastic bag with the left-over pie in. Just when he think he’s getting the hang of the whole angel deal it tilts on its head and throws up something new. Sammy had said that, even though meeting Raphael had gone a long way to restoring his faith in whatever, it wasn’t a good sign that the Archangels were here.
By Dean’s reckoning, and from what Sam had told him, that was three out of the big four that they’d met between them. For all they knew badass Michael (who Dean actually really wants to meet) was already on Earth. Dean shakes his head again, putting the angels out of mind.
He has pie to deliver. He looks over his shoulder. Okay. He's got pie to deliver - after he's had an ice cream.
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Part V: Pumpkin Pie| Part VII: Wildberry Pie
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Further Notes: Gabriel. I'm going to have to do something about some kind of image with all of the Archangels together when I've got Vessels for all of them.