Sleeping Beauty in the Backseat (Dean/Cas, PG, Spoilers for 5.16) Part 1/2maskedfangirlApril 4 2010, 10:05:14 UTC
The Impala groans in her old familiar voice when Dean drops himself into the driver’s seat. He takes a second to appreciate the small sense of “home” that comes with it - the way it smells like him and Sam and about five thousand takeout meals, and the way the dip in the driver’s seat fits perfectly to the back of him, like it used to fit his dad years ago. The motel they’re checked into is twelve feet away, the true hideousness of its mustard yellow siding hidden in the dim light just before dawn, and that’s where all their bags are - along with Sam, who still hasn’t gotten his gigantic ass out of bed - but that’s not home. The Impala? She’s it.
So when Dean closes the door and hears a soft snort from the backseat, his internal Homeland Security agent goes apeshit, sounding alarms on threat level red and sending him reaching for a gun he left on the nightstand. But when he pivots in his seat, ready for some sort of attack, it’s just Castiel.
Castiel, spread out across the backseat with his cheek pressed deep into the seat and his coat draped over him, half-covering his head. His eyebrows are knitted so hard together it looks like it ought to hurt, but he seems to be fast asleep.
It’s been about thirty-six hours since they told him about God.
Dean’s heart clenches a little, but his shoulders relax and his threat level drops back to yellow. Keying the ignition, he lets the easy rumble of the engine melt into him. The last couple of days have sucked; if Cas has found a minute of peace in any form, he’s not gonna interrupt it. He drives.
He kinda wonders, though, about the trench coat being off. He’s never seen Castiel not wearing it, and he’s always been sorta curious about how the guy would look without it. He’s seen Jimmy Novak in just the suit, but that’s different.
Dean stops at a cafe on the edge of town. He doesn’t bother locking the Impala when he goes inside, because hey, guard angel on duty. When he comes back out, three coffees and a buttload of sugars and creamers for Sam balanced in a cardboard holder, Castiel is sitting upright in the backseat, blinking bleary-eyed at the windshield. He does look different in just Jimmy Novak’s suit - like he’s swimming in the clothes instead of wearing them, he’s so slouched over.
“Hey,” Dean says, taking his seat. “You thirsty?”
Castiel blinks at him like a little kid who’s just woken up from a nap, like the world is way too bright and it’s his fault. “I don’t know what thirsty feels like.”
“Here,” Dean says, and passes him one of the coffees. He takes a long draw of his own coffee before getting back on the road.
In the rearview, Castiel sips carefully, one hand around the cup and the other supporting its bottom. It’s the way Dad always wanted them to drink, to keep from spilling crap in the car, and it makes Dean weirdly happy. The guy’s probably never had coffee before.
“It’s good, right?” Dean asks.
And all Castiel says is, “Yes,” in a small, perplexed voice.
So when Dean closes the door and hears a soft snort from the backseat, his internal Homeland Security agent goes apeshit, sounding alarms on threat level red and sending him reaching for a gun he left on the nightstand. But when he pivots in his seat, ready for some sort of attack, it’s just Castiel.
Castiel, spread out across the backseat with his cheek pressed deep into the seat and his coat draped over him, half-covering his head. His eyebrows are knitted so hard together it looks like it ought to hurt, but he seems to be fast asleep.
It’s been about thirty-six hours since they told him about God.
Dean’s heart clenches a little, but his shoulders relax and his threat level drops back to yellow. Keying the ignition, he lets the easy rumble of the engine melt into him. The last couple of days have sucked; if Cas has found a minute of peace in any form, he’s not gonna interrupt it. He drives.
He kinda wonders, though, about the trench coat being off. He’s never seen Castiel not wearing it, and he’s always been sorta curious about how the guy would look without it. He’s seen Jimmy Novak in just the suit, but that’s different.
Dean stops at a cafe on the edge of town. He doesn’t bother locking the Impala when he goes inside, because hey, guard angel on duty. When he comes back out, three coffees and a buttload of sugars and creamers for Sam balanced in a cardboard holder, Castiel is sitting upright in the backseat, blinking bleary-eyed at the windshield. He does look different in just Jimmy Novak’s suit - like he’s swimming in the clothes instead of wearing them, he’s so slouched over.
“Hey,” Dean says, taking his seat. “You thirsty?”
Castiel blinks at him like a little kid who’s just woken up from a nap, like the world is way too bright and it’s his fault. “I don’t know what thirsty feels like.”
“Here,” Dean says, and passes him one of the coffees. He takes a long draw of his own coffee before getting back on the road.
In the rearview, Castiel sips carefully, one hand around the cup and the other supporting its bottom. It’s the way Dad always wanted them to drink, to keep from spilling crap in the car, and it makes Dean weirdly happy. The guy’s probably never had coffee before.
“It’s good, right?” Dean asks.
And all Castiel says is, “Yes,” in a small, perplexed voice.
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