Babel (Cas, Dean, Sam, Gen, G)lexhibitionMarch 29 2010, 10:22:09 UTC
It starts slowly at first, when Castiel reaches for a word and finds it isn't there. He's trying to describe to Dean how to kill a leviathan, and when he feels his tongue stumble he trails off midsentence, baffled.
Dean says it happens, sometimes.
To err is human, after all.
But it starts happening more frequently, leaving him stuttering and awkward when his mouth can't form the right shapes. Worse, too, the voices around him begin to blur and blend. Dean's jokes are even more incomprehensible than ever.
"Dean," he says quietly, apologetically, and places a hand on the man's arm when his eyes fill with hurt.
Names, at least, aren't subject to the curse of Babel.
Sam talks with him in Latin, for a time. At first it's difficult because of Sam's unfamiliarity with the ancient language, the way he fumbles verbs and gets the accent wrong. Their conversations are basic, restricted. But eventually Castiel looks back on even that fondly, when Sam's fluency outstrips his own and he's left balling his fists in frustration at the unintelligible drone of voices, voices, everywhere. A constant buzz that assaults his ears and mind.
He wants to scream, cry out for mercy in the only tongue left to him. But human throats aren't made for the speech of angels, and even if they were: who would hear him? For all they have been good to him, Sam and Dean Winchester will never speak to him as his family could.
They drive through nameless cities, along roads decorated by meaningless signs. For days Castiel sits silent in the back seat, lets the music wash over him. He pretends the singing voices are just instruments, that their meaning is not in definitions but emotion.
It would work better if Dean wouldn't sing along. His voice isn't at all instrumental.
At motels he eats what is put in front of him, sleeps when Sam turns the lights out, in whatever bed the brothers have left unoccupied. He stares obediently at the television when it's on, tries to make sense of images without context and hides the clenching out his jaw when sense eludes him.
He gets by well enough, until one morning the routine changes.
Castiel can see no reason for Sam to clamber in to the back seat of the car with him. Sam isn't hurt, and there is less room for him here than the front of the car. But there's no way to ask or receive explanation, and as Dean starts the car and pulls onto the highway, Castiel languishes in familiar confusion.
There is no music playing, today.
It becomes apparent what's going on when Sam points at the object he's holding. He says a word, a jumbled and harsh sound that stings Castiel's ears. He tries to turn his head away, but Sam grabs him, forces him to look. He repeats the word again, louder, slower.
They stare at each other in silence for a moment, tense, before Castiel relents. "Book," he mimics. The movement of his mouth is unfamiliar, uncomfortable. The noise slurs in a way it didn't when Sam made it.
But Sam smiles, nods. "Book!" he repeats triumphantly and claps Castiel's shoulder, like this is as exciting as defeating Lucifer all over again.
"Book." The object in Sam's hands is a book. Castiel looks at it for a long time.
"Ytf, Cas? Jnd psqm wkxh rneiw?" When the silence stretches on, Dean cuts through it. His eyes are worried, peering back at Castiel in the rearview mirror.
Castiel sorts through the incoherence. His name: Cas. He knows that and clings to it, solid and stable. The rest is a blur, utter nonsense. But he can hear the question in Dean's tone, the concern threaded through the tight, clipped vowels.
(Come to think of it, this is way more angsty than I'd intended for this party. *headdesk* I fail. maychorian, you can get rid of it if it's not appropriate. BUT THE NEXT WORDS THEY TEACH HIM ARE 'STRAWBERRY' AND 'FLAVORED' AND 'LUBE', OKAY?)
This party has gotten a ton of fic that's more serious than the prompt would indicate, which is odd for comment fic, but also AWESOME. I keep finding beautifully done, sorta heartbreaking little fics that I would add to memories SO HARD if they showed up on my friends page, and this was one of them.
Also: YES. AS SOON AS HE ESTABLISHES THAT CAS IS OKAY, THE FIRST THINK DEAN WOULD DO IS START TEACHING HIM WORDS THAT HAVE NO PLACE IN ANGEL VOCABULARY. :D
So glad you like it! I was thinking about writing crack where Cas reverts to Middle English and Sam has flashbacks to reading the Canterbury Tails, but I went this direction instead. XD
Actually, I think you made the smarter choice. Didn't Cas say (when he first met Dean face to face) that'd it'd been 2000 years since angels'd last been around on Earth? (I am paraphrasing.)
Oh! It's achey and sad and I love how they don't give up on him at all, just start from the basics. He's a clever fallen angel; he'll catch on. And in the meantime, he's got his people, his new family.
Oh, new family. I want this. I want this so much it actually hurts, for them to all have each others backs and just be together for ever and care for each other, and...mm.
Dean says it happens, sometimes.
To err is human, after all.
But it starts happening more frequently, leaving him stuttering and awkward when his mouth can't form the right shapes. Worse, too, the voices around him begin to blur and blend. Dean's jokes are even more incomprehensible than ever.
"Dean," he says quietly, apologetically, and places a hand on the man's arm when his eyes fill with hurt.
Names, at least, aren't subject to the curse of Babel.
Sam talks with him in Latin, for a time. At first it's difficult because of Sam's unfamiliarity with the ancient language, the way he fumbles verbs and gets the accent wrong. Their conversations are basic, restricted. But eventually Castiel looks back on even that fondly, when Sam's fluency outstrips his own and he's left balling his fists in frustration at the unintelligible drone of voices, voices, everywhere. A constant buzz that assaults his ears and mind.
He wants to scream, cry out for mercy in the only tongue left to him. But human throats aren't made for the speech of angels, and even if they were: who would hear him? For all they have been good to him, Sam and Dean Winchester will never speak to him as his family could.
They drive through nameless cities, along roads decorated by meaningless signs. For days Castiel sits silent in the back seat, lets the music wash over him. He pretends the singing voices are just instruments, that their meaning is not in definitions but emotion.
It would work better if Dean wouldn't sing along. His voice isn't at all instrumental.
At motels he eats what is put in front of him, sleeps when Sam turns the lights out, in whatever bed the brothers have left unoccupied. He stares obediently at the television when it's on, tries to make sense of images without context and hides the clenching out his jaw when sense eludes him.
He gets by well enough, until one morning the routine changes.
Castiel can see no reason for Sam to clamber in to the back seat of the car with him. Sam isn't hurt, and there is less room for him here than the front of the car. But there's no way to ask or receive explanation, and as Dean starts the car and pulls onto the highway, Castiel languishes in familiar confusion.
There is no music playing, today.
It becomes apparent what's going on when Sam points at the object he's holding. He says a word, a jumbled and harsh sound that stings Castiel's ears. He tries to turn his head away, but Sam grabs him, forces him to look. He repeats the word again, louder, slower.
They stare at each other in silence for a moment, tense, before Castiel relents. "Book," he mimics. The movement of his mouth is unfamiliar, uncomfortable. The noise slurs in a way it didn't when Sam made it.
But Sam smiles, nods. "Book!" he repeats triumphantly and claps Castiel's shoulder, like this is as exciting as defeating Lucifer all over again.
"Book." The object in Sam's hands is a book. Castiel looks at it for a long time.
"Ytf, Cas? Jnd psqm wkxh rneiw?" When the silence stretches on, Dean cuts through it. His eyes are worried, peering back at Castiel in the rearview mirror.
Castiel sorts through the incoherence. His name: Cas. He knows that and clings to it, solid and stable. The rest is a blur, utter nonsense. But he can hear the question in Dean's tone, the concern threaded through the tight, clipped vowels.
Dean is asking if he's okay.
Castiel understands, and nods.
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This party has gotten a ton of fic that's more serious than the prompt would indicate, which is odd for comment fic, but also AWESOME. I keep finding beautifully done, sorta heartbreaking little fics that I would add to memories SO HARD if they showed up on my friends page, and this was one of them.
Also: YES. AS SOON AS HE ESTABLISHES THAT CAS IS OKAY, THE FIRST THINK DEAN WOULD DO IS START TEACHING HIM WORDS THAT HAVE NO PLACE IN ANGEL VOCABULARY. :D
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AND LOLOL DEAN WOULD BE AWFUL AT TEACHING SOMEONE TO TALK.
DEAN: OKAY THIS IS A 67 CHEVVY IMPALA
CAS: ?????
SAM: YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO START WITH 'CAR'
DEAN: HDU THIS IS NOT JUST A 'CAR'
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You are rapidly becoming one of my new favorite people. I hope that's okay.
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I just...I don't have words. Which I guess is an appropriate to this fic.
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♥
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Thanks! <3
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