fic 'cause my ceili said so. SPN, Dean/Castiel
Title: The Glass Is Full, The Glass Is Broke
Author: dre
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: Please WB don't hurt me. I'll put 'em back the way I found 'em.
Summary: what do you do when the world doesn't end? Title from DCFC, "This Temporary Life"
The sun poured down over him, thick and luminous and it felt like an understanding touch as Cas walked along the beach, the light dancing on restless waves. He licked his lips, tasted salt; for so much of his existence that would have been an utterly unfamiliar experience, the way the cold sand was between his toes, the faraway warmth beating down on almost-black hair. Not his vessel any more, this body, not since his resurrection the second time, but a part of him in a way that had never been intended to be. But of course had to have been intended, because He never did anything he didn't intend to.
His creations, on the other hand, frequently failed in that regard.
Cas sat down in a secluded spot, arms around his knees and stared out at the water. It was mindlessly comforting, the infinite patterns and swirls the water made, writing in the sand and then wiping it out with the next wave a little further in, abandoning it a little further back. The definition of permanence and impermanence both and he was no stranger to paradoxes, being immortal and having died twice now. He had been given strength he had never possessed before, in this last rebirth, to go with the body that was now quietly his, no hint of Jimmy in the background. Jimmy, he knew, had been restored to his family, all of their memories wiped as though none of it had ever been, the pain and fear and terrible sacrifice he'd made. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he could feel Jimmy's happiness like a sun against the skin that was his now. He'd earned what peace he'd found; Cas just wished he didn't feel like it was all some kind of cosmic joke. He also wondered when he'd started thinking of himself as "Cas" instead of Castiel but he knew. Even as he watched Dean going through the motions of a normal life.
Dean, unlike Jimmy, was not happy. Or anything approaching it. The closest he came was with Ben, but the Dean he'd known was gone, extinguished with Sam's--he didn't want to think about it, what Sam had done. Sacrifice wasn't a big enough word and he didn't think he would have had the courage to do it. Death was clean compared to eternity in the abyss. He was lost enough in thought he didn't hear the footsteps until they were close enough for a voice to accompany them.
"You really should think about civvies. You look fucking odd in a trenchcoat and bare feet."
He jumped a little, eyes wide as Dean stood shifting from foot to foot, booted even there on the sand. "I won't have sand in MY shoes," Cas said unthinking, and then flushed.
Dean snorted, folded down before Cas could scramble up. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Taking a break from the reorganizing?"
"Even God took the seventh day to rest." He winced after saying it, wondered why it always felt like saying the wrong thing, every time he opened his mouth.
"Just as happy you're not God. My use for deities is pretty much at an all-time low." Dean stared at the water unseeing.
"I can't blame you."
"Why, Cas?" His voice vibrated with pain and anger. "Why are you cleaning up his messes when he can't even be bothered to show his face?"
"Because someone has to," Cas replied. "How are Lisa and Ben?"
Dean awarded him a LOOK, and Cas shrugged. "It's a thing people say."
Dean huffed a laugh again. "Fine. They're fine. Lisa's adding a new class, and Ben's helping me rebuild the carburetor."
"And you?"
"Holding on by my fucking fingernails," Dean's hands dug into the sand. "Because I promised." Cas reached out, silent, put a hand over Dean's white knuckles and Dean looked at him. "What? Not going to give me any bullshit afterschool special talk about how it'll get easier, and I can't give up?"
"No."
He let out a soft keening sob and rested his head on Cas' shouder, and Cas turned and pressed his lips to Dean's forehead, a gesture that at one time would have been a simple benison but nothing was simple here on earth, incarnate, all clouded and amplified by sensation and fraught with unfamiliar physical beauty. Dean was beautiful, the scent and feel of him, written into Cas' hands and eyes and senses as if in letters of fire. "It all feels like such a lie. Everything that almost happened and all I can see is what would have happened if it did, how everything would have fallen apart, burned down--"
"But it didn't," Cas put his arms around him, voice low and rough.
"You're the only one who knows. And Bobby, but. I can't. I just remind him of everything he lost too. Can't remind myself, of watching him die--"
"You might be surprised," he said against Dean's hair, something terrible and beautiful and forbidden in what he wanted but was it, really? Would after everything that had happened, all the lines that had been crossed with no response, would THIS be what brought God back? The idea made him chuckle without humor and Dean looked at him, green eyes tired and cloudy.
"What? I could use a joke about now."
Cas looked at him a long moment, then kissed him. He could tell it was awkward, didn't quite know where the nose went and wasn't sure if it was too hard or not hard enough and Dean's eyes were wide and wild as he drew back. "The world didn't end. I wasn't sure."
"Okay. Very few things surprise me any more? There, you kind of took me by surprise."
"I don't...I won't do it again." He flushed, humiliated.
Dean caught at him as he made to pull away. "Hey, don't. I said surprised, not offended. Wanna tell me where that came from?"
"You're beautiful," he said, cheeks burning. "And I wanted to."
"I thought that was a big sin. Which, I mean, you know how much I care about that, but for you this is usually a bigger problem."
Cas looked back over the water. "I don't know what I believe. All I know is, I've seen so many terrible things, how can this be wrong? How can wanting to give pleasure and comfort and caring be wrong? If God didn't bestir Himself to care for the innocents who died to try and get His attention, why would He care about this? And if He does--I've walked away once before. It can only be easier the second time. I haven't really gone back, you know. I'm there because there's need, and I can help it, because I can try to prevent what happened from happening again. Not for His glory - but because it's right."
Dean's lips twisted. "An atheist angel. Guess I did something right with you."
"You did," Cas said earnestly. "You made me see that faith isn't something you have, it's something you do. It's something you are. You have faith, keep faith, with your every breath, even when it's killing you." His voice broke a little bit. "I know, Dean. I know."
"Is it faith or just going through the motions?" Dean's voice wavered. "I'm afraid, Cas. I'm afraid of Hell, I'm afraid of being lost in the black. I'm afraid of spending the rest of forever without my brother and this is the only thing I can do to hang onto him..."
Cas wrapped him up hard. "If you fell I'd pull you right out again," he said angrily. "I've done that before too, if you'll remember."
"Left a handprint, it's pretty hard to forget," he said dryly. "Lisa asked me what it was, once. I told her it was a reminder that someone up there was keeping an eye on me."
"It is," he said as Dean rested his head against his shoulder. "It is."
Dean sighed after a few moments, lifted his head. "You didn't do a bad job for never having done it before. Let's try it again." He took Cas' face between his hands and tipped his head a little, kissed him slow and soft, almost chaste. Cas felt his heart hammering in his chest, wonder and disbelief and discovery lighting like a star inside him. He couldn't sighing as Dean broke the kiss, eyes dark and dreaming. "Been a while since I've done that. You taste like cinnamon."
Cas smiled with flustered pleasure. "Which one's cinnamon?"
Dean smiled at him, eyes crinkling, something not quite happiness but maybe a little closer to it than he'd seen in a long time. "Come on. It's cold out here. We'll get coffee and I'll show you."
Author: dre
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: Please WB don't hurt me. I'll put 'em back the way I found 'em.
Summary: what do you do when the world doesn't end? Title from DCFC, "This Temporary Life"
The sun poured down over him, thick and luminous and it felt like an understanding touch as Cas walked along the beach, the light dancing on restless waves. He licked his lips, tasted salt; for so much of his existence that would have been an utterly unfamiliar experience, the way the cold sand was between his toes, the faraway warmth beating down on almost-black hair. Not his vessel any more, this body, not since his resurrection the second time, but a part of him in a way that had never been intended to be. But of course had to have been intended, because He never did anything he didn't intend to.
His creations, on the other hand, frequently failed in that regard.
Cas sat down in a secluded spot, arms around his knees and stared out at the water. It was mindlessly comforting, the infinite patterns and swirls the water made, writing in the sand and then wiping it out with the next wave a little further in, abandoning it a little further back. The definition of permanence and impermanence both and he was no stranger to paradoxes, being immortal and having died twice now. He had been given strength he had never possessed before, in this last rebirth, to go with the body that was now quietly his, no hint of Jimmy in the background. Jimmy, he knew, had been restored to his family, all of their memories wiped as though none of it had ever been, the pain and fear and terrible sacrifice he'd made. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he could feel Jimmy's happiness like a sun against the skin that was his now. He'd earned what peace he'd found; Cas just wished he didn't feel like it was all some kind of cosmic joke. He also wondered when he'd started thinking of himself as "Cas" instead of Castiel but he knew. Even as he watched Dean going through the motions of a normal life.
Dean, unlike Jimmy, was not happy. Or anything approaching it. The closest he came was with Ben, but the Dean he'd known was gone, extinguished with Sam's--he didn't want to think about it, what Sam had done. Sacrifice wasn't a big enough word and he didn't think he would have had the courage to do it. Death was clean compared to eternity in the abyss. He was lost enough in thought he didn't hear the footsteps until they were close enough for a voice to accompany them.
"You really should think about civvies. You look fucking odd in a trenchcoat and bare feet."
He jumped a little, eyes wide as Dean stood shifting from foot to foot, booted even there on the sand. "I won't have sand in MY shoes," Cas said unthinking, and then flushed.
Dean snorted, folded down before Cas could scramble up. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Taking a break from the reorganizing?"
"Even God took the seventh day to rest." He winced after saying it, wondered why it always felt like saying the wrong thing, every time he opened his mouth.
"Just as happy you're not God. My use for deities is pretty much at an all-time low." Dean stared at the water unseeing.
"I can't blame you."
"Why, Cas?" His voice vibrated with pain and anger. "Why are you cleaning up his messes when he can't even be bothered to show his face?"
"Because someone has to," Cas replied. "How are Lisa and Ben?"
Dean awarded him a LOOK, and Cas shrugged. "It's a thing people say."
Dean huffed a laugh again. "Fine. They're fine. Lisa's adding a new class, and Ben's helping me rebuild the carburetor."
"And you?"
"Holding on by my fucking fingernails," Dean's hands dug into the sand. "Because I promised." Cas reached out, silent, put a hand over Dean's white knuckles and Dean looked at him. "What? Not going to give me any bullshit afterschool special talk about how it'll get easier, and I can't give up?"
"No."
He let out a soft keening sob and rested his head on Cas' shouder, and Cas turned and pressed his lips to Dean's forehead, a gesture that at one time would have been a simple benison but nothing was simple here on earth, incarnate, all clouded and amplified by sensation and fraught with unfamiliar physical beauty. Dean was beautiful, the scent and feel of him, written into Cas' hands and eyes and senses as if in letters of fire. "It all feels like such a lie. Everything that almost happened and all I can see is what would have happened if it did, how everything would have fallen apart, burned down--"
"But it didn't," Cas put his arms around him, voice low and rough.
"You're the only one who knows. And Bobby, but. I can't. I just remind him of everything he lost too. Can't remind myself, of watching him die--"
"You might be surprised," he said against Dean's hair, something terrible and beautiful and forbidden in what he wanted but was it, really? Would after everything that had happened, all the lines that had been crossed with no response, would THIS be what brought God back? The idea made him chuckle without humor and Dean looked at him, green eyes tired and cloudy.
"What? I could use a joke about now."
Cas looked at him a long moment, then kissed him. He could tell it was awkward, didn't quite know where the nose went and wasn't sure if it was too hard or not hard enough and Dean's eyes were wide and wild as he drew back. "The world didn't end. I wasn't sure."
"Okay. Very few things surprise me any more? There, you kind of took me by surprise."
"I don't...I won't do it again." He flushed, humiliated.
Dean caught at him as he made to pull away. "Hey, don't. I said surprised, not offended. Wanna tell me where that came from?"
"You're beautiful," he said, cheeks burning. "And I wanted to."
"I thought that was a big sin. Which, I mean, you know how much I care about that, but for you this is usually a bigger problem."
Cas looked back over the water. "I don't know what I believe. All I know is, I've seen so many terrible things, how can this be wrong? How can wanting to give pleasure and comfort and caring be wrong? If God didn't bestir Himself to care for the innocents who died to try and get His attention, why would He care about this? And if He does--I've walked away once before. It can only be easier the second time. I haven't really gone back, you know. I'm there because there's need, and I can help it, because I can try to prevent what happened from happening again. Not for His glory - but because it's right."
Dean's lips twisted. "An atheist angel. Guess I did something right with you."
"You did," Cas said earnestly. "You made me see that faith isn't something you have, it's something you do. It's something you are. You have faith, keep faith, with your every breath, even when it's killing you." His voice broke a little bit. "I know, Dean. I know."
"Is it faith or just going through the motions?" Dean's voice wavered. "I'm afraid, Cas. I'm afraid of Hell, I'm afraid of being lost in the black. I'm afraid of spending the rest of forever without my brother and this is the only thing I can do to hang onto him..."
Cas wrapped him up hard. "If you fell I'd pull you right out again," he said angrily. "I've done that before too, if you'll remember."
"Left a handprint, it's pretty hard to forget," he said dryly. "Lisa asked me what it was, once. I told her it was a reminder that someone up there was keeping an eye on me."
"It is," he said as Dean rested his head against his shoulder. "It is."
Dean sighed after a few moments, lifted his head. "You didn't do a bad job for never having done it before. Let's try it again." He took Cas' face between his hands and tipped his head a little, kissed him slow and soft, almost chaste. Cas felt his heart hammering in his chest, wonder and disbelief and discovery lighting like a star inside him. He couldn't sighing as Dean broke the kiss, eyes dark and dreaming. "Been a while since I've done that. You taste like cinnamon."
Cas smiled with flustered pleasure. "Which one's cinnamon?"
Dean smiled at him, eyes crinkling, something not quite happiness but maybe a little closer to it than he'd seen in a long time. "Come on. It's cold out here. We'll get coffee and I'll show you."