Confession Interrupted
200-word drabble written for Challenge #09: Weekly Quick Fic #3, prompts Apocalypse and Mistrust, over at writerverse. Concrit welcome!
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Castiel, Dean
Pairings: None
Summary: An angel tries to confess to a human.
Over and over, Castiel played out every possible scenario in his mind--all in milliseconds by mortal reckoning. Dean always came out bitter and angry, regardless of who actually won the argument.
But Castiel couldn't be silent long. His lingering outside the motel door, arguing with himself like some lunatic human, had to stop.
Dean gave his usual start upon seeing Castiel standing in the place of empty space.
"Text me first, will you?" he asked. "What's up, Cas?"
Castiel was about make his confession, detailing how he'd formed a temporary alliance with Crowley. He longed to tell Dean he had to get the "mojo" to keep Raphael from resuming the Apocalypse in all its morbid glory. To tell Dean that what he was doing for him, for Sam, was nothing different than what they'd do for each other, what they had done for each other. To beg him not to judge him, or withdraw his trust in him.
Then he saw a cardboard sketch of Crowley's likeness, skewered to the wall with five darts.
Dean followed his gaze, grinning. "Like it?"
"Inventive." Castiel swallowed, probing his brain for a diversionary question. "Dean . . . what is a Tardis?"
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Castiel, Dean
Pairings: None
Summary: An angel tries to confess to a human.
Over and over, Castiel played out every possible scenario in his mind--all in milliseconds by mortal reckoning. Dean always came out bitter and angry, regardless of who actually won the argument.
But Castiel couldn't be silent long. His lingering outside the motel door, arguing with himself like some lunatic human, had to stop.
Dean gave his usual start upon seeing Castiel standing in the place of empty space.
"Text me first, will you?" he asked. "What's up, Cas?"
Castiel was about make his confession, detailing how he'd formed a temporary alliance with Crowley. He longed to tell Dean he had to get the "mojo" to keep Raphael from resuming the Apocalypse in all its morbid glory. To tell Dean that what he was doing for him, for Sam, was nothing different than what they'd do for each other, what they had done for each other. To beg him not to judge him, or withdraw his trust in him.
Then he saw a cardboard sketch of Crowley's likeness, skewered to the wall with five darts.
Dean followed his gaze, grinning. "Like it?"
"Inventive." Castiel swallowed, probing his brain for a diversionary question. "Dean . . . what is a Tardis?"