Righteous Man Part 2enkeliorMay 28 2012, 17:12:32 UTC
“Hey Cas,” Dean says unconcernedly, with the same wry smirk and in that deceptively light voice of his, the one that means he can’t wait to tear someone apart. “Where you been?”
“Nature.” Cas says it in the same way someone else might say ‘Tijuana’ or ‘Fiji.’ “Watching my Father’s miracles. Hummingbirds, in particular.”
“Hummingbirds,” Dean repeats.
“I find that nothing encapsulates the magnificence of motion as they do,” the angel explains, earnest. “Although fingers serve the purpose nearly as well.” He stretches out his hand, a look of wonder on his face as he carefully flexes his pinky back and forth. “Amazing,” he sighs in evident admiration. He glances at them, his blue eyes almost seeming to glow. “Have you ever stopped to consider just how miraculous movement is? And don’t even get me started on the concept of voluntary movement,” he chuckles, shaking his head.
They stare.
“…I... see,” Sam says.
Castiel stops… whatever it is he’s doing. Contemplating the wonders of his pinky, Sam supposes. “Your face isn’t quite small enough to hide your discomfort, Sam,” he remarks. He cocks his head to the side, looking pensive. “In fact I would say it’s rather the opposite.”
Right. “Thanks,” Sam says sourly, and looks to his brother, expecting to see the usual display of amusement when Castiel trashtalks Sam.
Instead, however, he just sees a grimness he instantly dislikes. “Cas,” Dean says, no trace of alcohol in his voice. His mouth is a stiff and rigid line. “We need your help.”
Castiel looks back down at his fingers, flexing them slowly back and forth. Sam’s throat feels tight all of a sudden for no reason he can explain. “I never much understood the human fascination with television. Granted, I am also concerned about Meredith and Derek’s relationship, and would like to find out whether Owen will rescue Christina and so rekindle their love, but there must be better ways to spend one’s time than in front of a glass box.”
“How do you watch TV?” Sam wonders, perplexed, but Dean seems to have no such thoughts.
Sam’s brother leans forward, resting his locked hands on his knees. “Who’s the righteous man, Cas?” he says impatiently. “How do we get his bones?”
The angel doesn’t move his gaze from his hand, but there’s an obvious anxious tension lining his movements now. “The storyline has been somewhat lacking for the past few seasons,” he says quickly, “and yet I still find the acting compensates -”
“Cut it with the crap, Cas!” Dean snaps, standing.
“Dean…”
“Shut up, Sam. Who is it, Cas? What are we supposed to do?”
Cas’s outstretched hand slowly falls to his side. His mouth quirks jerkily, as if to talk, as if to frown.
He suddenly looks… small. Too small for the trench coat, too small for the room. His shoulders go rigid, a barely-discernible tremble running through them. “I don’t want to,” he says timidly.
“Tough luck, we don’t care what you want,” Dean says harshly. “Where do we find the righteous man?”
Castiel straightens, tremor stilling. He eyes them both, one at a time, and Sam remembers when they first met, the feeling of encountering a nuclear warhead , except that nuclear warhead wore a trench coat and a mouth that never smiled and was all but casual about using his power.
It’s the same angel before them now.
“God does not recycle terminology,” he says, and his quiet voice thunders in the cramped room. “The righteous man is who he has always been.”
Sam feels his blood freeze. No.
“What the heck does that mean?” Dean demands.
Castiel shrinks before their eyes. “I’m sorry,” he tells them, and disappears.
And a small, cowardly part of Sam whispers no wait, please, take me with you, I don’t want to see this -
Dean whirls to face him, angry. “What the fuck,” he says, freckles dancing on his pale cheeks.
And Sam can’t take it anymore.
The blurry room quivers, but he can’t make himself rub his eyes.
Re: Righteous Man Part 2mimi_sardiniaMay 30 2012, 10:26:35 UTC
I am now imagining Cas sitting for hours, just flexing his fingers and watching how they move, since he's got that handy dandy vessel to study whenever he wants.
“Nature.” Cas says it in the same way someone else might say ‘Tijuana’ or ‘Fiji.’ “Watching my Father’s miracles. Hummingbirds, in particular.”
“Hummingbirds,” Dean repeats.
“I find that nothing encapsulates the magnificence of motion as they do,” the angel explains, earnest. “Although fingers serve the purpose nearly as well.” He stretches out his hand, a look of wonder on his face as he carefully flexes his pinky back and forth. “Amazing,” he sighs in evident admiration. He glances at them, his blue eyes almost seeming to glow. “Have you ever stopped to consider just how miraculous movement is? And don’t even get me started on the concept of voluntary movement,” he chuckles, shaking his head.
They stare.
“…I... see,” Sam says.
Castiel stops… whatever it is he’s doing. Contemplating the wonders of his pinky, Sam supposes. “Your face isn’t quite small enough to hide your discomfort, Sam,” he remarks. He cocks his head to the side, looking pensive. “In fact I would say it’s rather the opposite.”
Right. “Thanks,” Sam says sourly, and looks to his brother, expecting to see the usual display of amusement when Castiel trashtalks Sam.
Instead, however, he just sees a grimness he instantly dislikes. “Cas,” Dean says, no trace of alcohol in his voice. His mouth is a stiff and rigid line. “We need your help.”
Castiel looks back down at his fingers, flexing them slowly back and forth. Sam’s throat feels tight all of a sudden for no reason he can explain. “I never much understood the human fascination with television. Granted, I am also concerned about Meredith and Derek’s relationship, and would like to find out whether Owen will rescue Christina and so rekindle their love, but there must be better ways to spend one’s time than in front of a glass box.”
“How do you watch TV?” Sam wonders, perplexed, but Dean seems to have no such thoughts.
Sam’s brother leans forward, resting his locked hands on his knees. “Who’s the righteous man, Cas?” he says impatiently. “How do we get his bones?”
The angel doesn’t move his gaze from his hand, but there’s an obvious anxious tension lining his movements now. “The storyline has been somewhat lacking for the past few seasons,” he says quickly, “and yet I still find the acting compensates -”
“Cut it with the crap, Cas!” Dean snaps, standing.
“Dean…”
“Shut up, Sam. Who is it, Cas? What are we supposed to do?”
Cas’s outstretched hand slowly falls to his side. His mouth quirks jerkily, as if to talk, as if to frown.
He suddenly looks… small. Too small for the trench coat, too small for the room. His shoulders go rigid, a barely-discernible tremble running through them. “I don’t want to,” he says timidly.
“Tough luck, we don’t care what you want,” Dean says harshly. “Where do we find the righteous man?”
Castiel straightens, tremor stilling. He eyes them both, one at a time, and Sam remembers when they first met, the feeling of encountering a nuclear warhead , except that nuclear warhead wore a trench coat and a mouth that never smiled and was all but casual about using his power.
It’s the same angel before them now.
“God does not recycle terminology,” he says, and his quiet voice thunders in the cramped room. “The righteous man is who he has always been.”
Sam feels his blood freeze. No.
“What the heck does that mean?” Dean demands.
Castiel shrinks before their eyes. “I’m sorry,” he tells them, and disappears.
And a small, cowardly part of Sam whispers no wait, please, take me with you, I don’t want to see this -
Dean whirls to face him, angry. “What the fuck,” he says, freckles dancing on his pale cheeks.
And Sam can’t take it anymore.
The blurry room quivers, but he can’t make himself rub his eyes.
“You, Dean,” he chokes out. “It’s you.”
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