And Apple Trees-Dean/Castiel
Title: And Apple Trees
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel
Word Count: 390
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: Time and tide. They knew this was coming.
Warnings: Character death
It is an imperfect truth, ugly and rippled at the seams. A rumpled bed. A plate covered in crumbs. A leaf falling last.
They watch, finding each other in turns and waves. An ocean that stretches forever. Grass rippling in the wind. A tree against the blazing sun.
Fingers twine and, for a moment, they are one, sending a cry to the highest power they believe in. An innocent scream. A sob choked back. Branches arching up.
Their world rocks to a solid beat, a plan set out and closely followed. The door busted in. A house on a hill. The flowers bloom red.
It all seems less dangerous now that they’ve seen the end. A fine mist. A long street. Bark too rough for words.
The truth is, they forget sometimes, but it always comes back. An off-hand murmur. Age spots and arthritis. The roots reaching deep.
Time isn’t kind to a man who’s had too many adventures. Head balanced on a chest. An aching snore. The last exhale to join a thousand others.
He closes his lover’s eyes, pressing a kiss to his wrinkled forehead. Amazing grace. How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now I’m found. Was blind, but now I see.
Dean always said he had a beautiful voice, the voice of angels. He can hear the others crying all around him, but he’s tilted his head back. His view is filled with sky and light and truth, a hundred images. This is a life that can never end, and he wishes he had fallen when he’d had the chance.
He waits until they have all gone, refusing to move, through apologies and sympathies and unwanted touches. When they have crossed the grassy fields and gone away, he rips his eyes from the blue. His hand clenches around the bouquet, before he sets it down on the fresh turned dirt in front of the apple tree. It feels like putting his soul on display.
He stares at the grave and it offers as much comfort as the sky. Then he looks away, drifting on the imaginary. He mounts the stairs and goes inside their home, settling at the kitchen table and gazing out the window.
A slow wind. The branches sway. A voice echoes a prayer to Heaven.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel
Word Count: 390
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: Time and tide. They knew this was coming.
Warnings: Character death
It is an imperfect truth, ugly and rippled at the seams. A rumpled bed. A plate covered in crumbs. A leaf falling last.
They watch, finding each other in turns and waves. An ocean that stretches forever. Grass rippling in the wind. A tree against the blazing sun.
Fingers twine and, for a moment, they are one, sending a cry to the highest power they believe in. An innocent scream. A sob choked back. Branches arching up.
Their world rocks to a solid beat, a plan set out and closely followed. The door busted in. A house on a hill. The flowers bloom red.
It all seems less dangerous now that they’ve seen the end. A fine mist. A long street. Bark too rough for words.
The truth is, they forget sometimes, but it always comes back. An off-hand murmur. Age spots and arthritis. The roots reaching deep.
Time isn’t kind to a man who’s had too many adventures. Head balanced on a chest. An aching snore. The last exhale to join a thousand others.
He closes his lover’s eyes, pressing a kiss to his wrinkled forehead. Amazing grace. How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now I’m found. Was blind, but now I see.
Dean always said he had a beautiful voice, the voice of angels. He can hear the others crying all around him, but he’s tilted his head back. His view is filled with sky and light and truth, a hundred images. This is a life that can never end, and he wishes he had fallen when he’d had the chance.
He waits until they have all gone, refusing to move, through apologies and sympathies and unwanted touches. When they have crossed the grassy fields and gone away, he rips his eyes from the blue. His hand clenches around the bouquet, before he sets it down on the fresh turned dirt in front of the apple tree. It feels like putting his soul on display.
He stares at the grave and it offers as much comfort as the sky. Then he looks away, drifting on the imaginary. He mounts the stairs and goes inside their home, settling at the kitchen table and gazing out the window.
A slow wind. The branches sway. A voice echoes a prayer to Heaven.