FM Vessel Verse (Are You Who I Hope You Are?)
Title: Are You Who I Hope You Are?
Author: ryouseiteki
Rating: PG-13
Word count: Approx 1000
Characters/Pairing: Dean and Castiel(perhaps) pre-slash
Warnings/Spoilers: 6x22
Summary/Prompt: Three years after 6x22, Dean walks into a tavern to find Castiel behind the bar.
A/N: I should be working on my bigbang Casdamnit.
It was three years since the door to purgatory had been opened. Three years since things had returned to normal, or as normal as a hunter’s life can be anyway. Three years since he had seen the black of a demon’s eyes or heard the flutter of an angel’s wings. Three years…
So when Dean left Sam back at the motel to research their next hunt and walked through the doors of the town’s local tavern and saw Castiel behind the bar, cleaning a glass with a bored expression as if he didn’t have a care in the world, he was understandably shocked; which quickly changed to fury.
He stomped up to the counter with a glower, slamming his fists into the wood with a growl, ready to yell himself hoarse. Castiel raised his head, startled, and completely lit up with a grin - an actual grin! - spreading across his face, dimpling his cheeks and causing the corners of his eyes to wrinkle. Dean froze.
Cas quickly set the glass aside and reached out to grasp his forearm, eyes a little wild, and Dean felt a swift and powerful rush of fear. When the creature had declared himself their new god and threatened to kill them, all he had felt was anger, but this Cas was acting too… too human. It reminded Dean of the Cas of 2014, and that terrified him. The angel-turned-god’s name was a heavy weight on the back of his tongue, but he found he couldn’t speak it.
“Jen!” Castiel chirruped excitedly, “How’re things? Damn, it’s sure been awhile, huh? How’s Danneel? She treating you right? Have you seen Jare and Gen lately?”
The man babbled on and, still holding onto Dean, he constantly moved his free hand to illustrate his points, completely animated in a way he had never been, not even in 2014. Dean was very confused, and anxiety grew a lump in his throat. “Um,” he stuttered when the other paused for breath, “I don’t… Cas?” He finally asked, voice weak.
The other man’s - not Cas? But… then. Who? - face immediately fell and he flinched back, as if Dean had physically lashed out and struck him. His too bright blue eyes flickered away, rapidly deepening to a dull navy; he licked his lips in a nervous tell. “Oh,” he said dejectedly, “I-I’m sorry I thought…” his face rivaled Sam’s kicked puppy expression, “I thought you were someone else.” He finished with a deep sigh, not meeting Dean’s eyes.
He turned his back on Dean, tossing a too-casual, “What’ll you have?” over his shoulder at him. Dean’s mouth fell open in stunned denial. It felt as if a large hand had just tore its way into his chest and was slowly squeezing his heart; after hell, it was a feeling that Dean was intimately familiar with.
Dean swallowed and ignored the question. Though that was the reason he had come out in the first place, his original plans had been thoroughly derailed the minute those blue eyes clashed with his. He knew those eyes, intimately.
His silence prompted the man to glance over his shoulder at him and raise a brow, his expression back to the bored mask it had been when Dean had first walked in. Not with angel superiority, but with an all too human emotion that didn’t belong on those features. “You, uh,” he paused, licked his lips, “Jimmy. Right?” The man turned to face him fully, both eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.
“You’re kidding.” He deadpanned, voice dropping into a lower register that was so… so Cas that Dean shivered with it.
“Look man,” the stranger leaned forward, elbows coming to rest on the countertop as his hands clasped loosely under his chin around the towel he had yet to put down, “I don’t know who you think I am, but my name isn’t Jimmy, and it’s not Cah-” he suddenly broke off, eyes going distant in a way that sent red flags to Dean’s hunter instincts. His eyes cleared just as suddenly, however, and he was straightening, mouth a perfect, silent “o” of understanding.
He was suddenly animate again, mask dissolving in an instant. His eyes fairly glinted with mischief and Dean had the vague thought that it looked good on him. “You’re Dean! Aren’t you?” he exclaimed, “Dean Winchester!”
Dean stifled a curse and took a quick glance around, but they were alone except for a couple in a booth in the corner enthusiastically making out - he doubted they would notice anything short of the building collapsing around them. By the time he returned his attention to the guy who wasn’t who Dean thought he was - but somehow still knew his name - the man was already on the move, going to a door beside the shelf of alcohol and cracking it to shout through. “Hey Phil! I’m taking five!” He was letting the door close almost before the acknowledgement - an “Aight, Dima!” - was shouted back, taking a short dash at the counter before gracefully vaulting himself over it.
He reached out again and touched Dean’s bicep with a charming smile before saying, “Comeon, there’s a 24 hour coffee place just across the street. Let’s chat.”
Dean found himself leaning into the touch before he abruptly pulled away with a scowl, “Yeah? Why should I go anywhere with you? You somehow know my name but I-” he tried not to choke, “I don’t even know who you are.”
The man smirked, looking more like 2014 Cas than ever. “How rude of me,” he pressed the palm of his hand against his heart dramatically before holding it out for a handshake, “Name’s Dmitri, but I go by-”
“Dima?” Dean interrupted, fighting off a smile at the bartender’s grimace and reaching out to shake, a bit relieved that there was no reaction to the silver in his ring. “Augh, no! Only Phil calls me that, I haven’t been able to get him to cut it out.”
They turned to walk together; the bartender opened the door and stepped out with a small swagger, tossing over his shoulder, “I go by Misha.”
Author: ryouseiteki
Rating: PG-13
Word count: Approx 1000
Characters/Pairing: Dean and Castiel(perhaps) pre-slash
Warnings/Spoilers: 6x22
Summary/Prompt: Three years after 6x22, Dean walks into a tavern to find Castiel behind the bar.
A/N: I should be working on my bigbang Casdamnit.
It was three years since the door to purgatory had been opened. Three years since things had returned to normal, or as normal as a hunter’s life can be anyway. Three years since he had seen the black of a demon’s eyes or heard the flutter of an angel’s wings. Three years…
So when Dean left Sam back at the motel to research their next hunt and walked through the doors of the town’s local tavern and saw Castiel behind the bar, cleaning a glass with a bored expression as if he didn’t have a care in the world, he was understandably shocked; which quickly changed to fury.
He stomped up to the counter with a glower, slamming his fists into the wood with a growl, ready to yell himself hoarse. Castiel raised his head, startled, and completely lit up with a grin - an actual grin! - spreading across his face, dimpling his cheeks and causing the corners of his eyes to wrinkle. Dean froze.
Cas quickly set the glass aside and reached out to grasp his forearm, eyes a little wild, and Dean felt a swift and powerful rush of fear. When the creature had declared himself their new god and threatened to kill them, all he had felt was anger, but this Cas was acting too… too human. It reminded Dean of the Cas of 2014, and that terrified him. The angel-turned-god’s name was a heavy weight on the back of his tongue, but he found he couldn’t speak it.
“Jen!” Castiel chirruped excitedly, “How’re things? Damn, it’s sure been awhile, huh? How’s Danneel? She treating you right? Have you seen Jare and Gen lately?”
The man babbled on and, still holding onto Dean, he constantly moved his free hand to illustrate his points, completely animated in a way he had never been, not even in 2014. Dean was very confused, and anxiety grew a lump in his throat. “Um,” he stuttered when the other paused for breath, “I don’t… Cas?” He finally asked, voice weak.
The other man’s - not Cas? But… then. Who? - face immediately fell and he flinched back, as if Dean had physically lashed out and struck him. His too bright blue eyes flickered away, rapidly deepening to a dull navy; he licked his lips in a nervous tell. “Oh,” he said dejectedly, “I-I’m sorry I thought…” his face rivaled Sam’s kicked puppy expression, “I thought you were someone else.” He finished with a deep sigh, not meeting Dean’s eyes.
He turned his back on Dean, tossing a too-casual, “What’ll you have?” over his shoulder at him. Dean’s mouth fell open in stunned denial. It felt as if a large hand had just tore its way into his chest and was slowly squeezing his heart; after hell, it was a feeling that Dean was intimately familiar with.
Dean swallowed and ignored the question. Though that was the reason he had come out in the first place, his original plans had been thoroughly derailed the minute those blue eyes clashed with his. He knew those eyes, intimately.
His silence prompted the man to glance over his shoulder at him and raise a brow, his expression back to the bored mask it had been when Dean had first walked in. Not with angel superiority, but with an all too human emotion that didn’t belong on those features. “You, uh,” he paused, licked his lips, “Jimmy. Right?” The man turned to face him fully, both eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.
“You’re kidding.” He deadpanned, voice dropping into a lower register that was so… so Cas that Dean shivered with it.
“Look man,” the stranger leaned forward, elbows coming to rest on the countertop as his hands clasped loosely under his chin around the towel he had yet to put down, “I don’t know who you think I am, but my name isn’t Jimmy, and it’s not Cah-” he suddenly broke off, eyes going distant in a way that sent red flags to Dean’s hunter instincts. His eyes cleared just as suddenly, however, and he was straightening, mouth a perfect, silent “o” of understanding.
He was suddenly animate again, mask dissolving in an instant. His eyes fairly glinted with mischief and Dean had the vague thought that it looked good on him. “You’re Dean! Aren’t you?” he exclaimed, “Dean Winchester!”
Dean stifled a curse and took a quick glance around, but they were alone except for a couple in a booth in the corner enthusiastically making out - he doubted they would notice anything short of the building collapsing around them. By the time he returned his attention to the guy who wasn’t who Dean thought he was - but somehow still knew his name - the man was already on the move, going to a door beside the shelf of alcohol and cracking it to shout through. “Hey Phil! I’m taking five!” He was letting the door close almost before the acknowledgement - an “Aight, Dima!” - was shouted back, taking a short dash at the counter before gracefully vaulting himself over it.
He reached out again and touched Dean’s bicep with a charming smile before saying, “Comeon, there’s a 24 hour coffee place just across the street. Let’s chat.”
Dean found himself leaning into the touch before he abruptly pulled away with a scowl, “Yeah? Why should I go anywhere with you? You somehow know my name but I-” he tried not to choke, “I don’t even know who you are.”
The man smirked, looking more like 2014 Cas than ever. “How rude of me,” he pressed the palm of his hand against his heart dramatically before holding it out for a handshake, “Name’s Dmitri, but I go by-”
“Dima?” Dean interrupted, fighting off a smile at the bartender’s grimace and reaching out to shake, a bit relieved that there was no reaction to the silver in his ring. “Augh, no! Only Phil calls me that, I haven’t been able to get him to cut it out.”
They turned to walk together; the bartender opened the door and stepped out with a small swagger, tossing over his shoulder, “I go by Misha.”