the secret life of warriors
Summary: Cas' perception of Dean in Purgatory.
Spoilers/setting: set between s7 and s8. Vague spoilers for 8.5.
Warnings: some violence, but not graphic. 2nd person POV.
Wordcount: 357
Disclaimer: not my beautiful characters or my beautiful setting.
A/N: I wrote Destiel! Note to self: never be positive you're not going to do something...
He’s a dancer.
You know he’d never admit that, would never even think it. But you’ve seen how he looks at ballet dancers and jazz dancers on TV, and you thought about getting him one of those music box ballerinas for Christmas the first year you were together at that time. You might have, too, if you hadn’t known that the best way that could possibly turn out is that he’d laugh at you.
And you know. You know admiring something isn’t the same as being it, God do you, or you would be a lot more like him. Unshakeable.
But now, you’re in Purgatory watching him fight his way past monster after monster, and you realize that the whole thing is a dance. Everything, from the way he dodges a blow to the way he lashes out, from the way he gets up after a fall to the way he pulls his enemy, his dance partner, to the ground and kills him, and the way he doesn’t stop to breathe after that, gracefully spinning away to meet another one head-on.
Maybe it’s the vampire whistling that makes it so clear all the sudden. Maybe it’s just that you’ve never watched him fight as much you have these past few days. Maybe it’s Purgatory, throwing that into stark relief just like it’s done with everything else. Whatever the reason, you’ve realized now exactly what he is, and you can’t move for a moment, you’re so spellbound by it.
It only takes that one moment for a what-even-is-it to appear out of nowhere and throw you all the way across the clearing. You go crashing through trees and a bush and land hard on your back.
He yells to know if you’re okay, at the same time pinning the what-is-it to the ground and taking it out by shoving his blade through its heart, all without missing a beat.
It’s a dance, and he is a master.
You get gingerly to your feet, wishing you had anything like his skill, and force yourself to walk back into the fray.
if things were different, you would take him waltzing.
Spoilers/setting: set between s7 and s8. Vague spoilers for 8.5.
Warnings: some violence, but not graphic. 2nd person POV.
Wordcount: 357
Disclaimer: not my beautiful characters or my beautiful setting.
A/N: I wrote Destiel! Note to self: never be positive you're not going to do something...
He’s a dancer.
You know he’d never admit that, would never even think it. But you’ve seen how he looks at ballet dancers and jazz dancers on TV, and you thought about getting him one of those music box ballerinas for Christmas the first year you were together at that time. You might have, too, if you hadn’t known that the best way that could possibly turn out is that he’d laugh at you.
And you know. You know admiring something isn’t the same as being it, God do you, or you would be a lot more like him. Unshakeable.
But now, you’re in Purgatory watching him fight his way past monster after monster, and you realize that the whole thing is a dance. Everything, from the way he dodges a blow to the way he lashes out, from the way he gets up after a fall to the way he pulls his enemy, his dance partner, to the ground and kills him, and the way he doesn’t stop to breathe after that, gracefully spinning away to meet another one head-on.
Maybe it’s the vampire whistling that makes it so clear all the sudden. Maybe it’s just that you’ve never watched him fight as much you have these past few days. Maybe it’s Purgatory, throwing that into stark relief just like it’s done with everything else. Whatever the reason, you’ve realized now exactly what he is, and you can’t move for a moment, you’re so spellbound by it.
It only takes that one moment for a what-even-is-it to appear out of nowhere and throw you all the way across the clearing. You go crashing through trees and a bush and land hard on your back.
He yells to know if you’re okay, at the same time pinning the what-is-it to the ground and taking it out by shoving his blade through its heart, all without missing a beat.
It’s a dance, and he is a master.
You get gingerly to your feet, wishing you had anything like his skill, and force yourself to walk back into the fray.
if things were different, you would take him waltzing.