Ficlet: Belief, 1/1, Gen, [PG], Coda for 7X02
Ficlet: Belief
Author: sandymg
Beta: borgmama1of5
Summary: Dean has to decide about Castiel's trenchcoat
Spoilers: through S07x02
Wordcount: 786 - One-shot
Genre: Gen, coda for S07X02 Hello Cruel World, angst
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.
A/N: Written for spnroundtable Prompt-and-Fill session #10 - Belief for standing_fic 's prompt here.
Belief
It wasn’t just that the idiot had to go and get himself blown up. Again. No, Dean might have been able to forgive that. He had before.
Only this time ...
Dammit.
Sam was quiet as Dean stood staring at Castiel’s trench coat. He’d let it dry hanging over a fence post among the junk cars. Then he’d refolded it into a tight, neat square. And now it sat on the center of the upstairs bed. He should leave it here. At Bobby’s. What was the point?
“Dean?”
“I’m fine,” he answered automatically.
“Do you want to--?”
“No.”
Sam meant well. But given that his brother’s noggin was Humpty- post-falling, there wasn’t anything Dean could say to him. Just had to figure out what to do with the goddamn coat.
“I’m good, Sam.” He left the coat on the bed and walked down to the first floor in search of a drink. Sam let him pass wordlessly.
Luckily, Bobby wasn’t around.
The whiskey was rough but didn’t burn. Nothing did anymore. Two glasses later he let himself think again about the coat. Jimmy’s coat. Another idiot. He was getting as bad as Bobby - calling everyone an idjit. Except in this case, it was true.
If only … well, weren’t those the proverbial useless last words?
If only Cas had listened. Had trusted. Had believed.
That was it, of course. You jerk - you made me believe and then …
It was easier before. Having no faith at all. Sam had it enough for the both of them and Dean was good with that. Angels were watching over us. He’d told Sammy that Mom used to say that. His brother’s face had gotten soft and his eyes had glowed. Must have felt like confirmation Dean supposed now. Hell, Sam wrapped that faith around himself like a soft wool blanket for years.
Just never noticed the moth larvae digesting its way through it.
Angels were dicks. Dean shoulda stuck with what he knew. Avoided falling into the trap of … believing. Cas staring at him, always, with Jimmy’s eyes. Only deeper … darker … knowing. Claiming Dean was worth something. Making Dean think … and then when it came to it. When Dean dared to ask …
Child.
Stupid idiot child. You didn’t know a fucking thing. Except how to get yourself blown up.
See, it had been easier before. When there were humans and monsters. Dad and Sam. And Mom was a memory of white. It was all the belief he needed.
He poured a third drink. Not that he was counting. That stopped a long time ago. Upstairs he heard creaking. Like Sam was pacing or something. He did that when he was nervous. Walked back and forth on those stilts he called legs. His brother was hanging on by a thread. A very frayed one. Anger spurted through him, heated his face like lava flow.
You promised.
Son of a bitch.
He really wanted to bang the shit out of something. Preferably something dark-haired, blue-eyed, and trench coat wearing.
His eyes rose to the ceiling, visualizing the damn coat sitting on the bed in the room above with Sam.
He should go check in on his brother. Slowly going up, he was stopped at the door by words being softly spoken.
“It’s okay, Cas. I get it. Wish you would’ve … but … I get it. Better than anyone. If you’re out there somewhere. If you can still hear us. Just know that, okay? Know … it’s okay.”
Abruptly the wall was supporting him. Not sure how that happened but good thing it was there. Sam looked startled as he opened the door and practically stumbled over Dean.
“Oh! Sorry. Didn’t know you were there.”
Dean looked at his brother. Eyes lucid for now. Wide and slightly moist. Sam had been Cas’s friend, too. Dean didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.
The coat was exactly where he’d left it, on the center of the bed. He picked it up and swallowed hard as hundreds of images of it flapping into view flickered behind his eyes, cutting like tiny blades. He gave it a final squeeze, drew it up toward his mouth and inhaled the musky, copper scent.
He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t hope anyone was still listening. Couldn’t believe any more.
Sam didn’t say anything as Dean walked past carrying the coat. He felt his brother’s eyes watching as he stepped outside to the Impala, opened the trunk, and placed the bundle deep inside. Far back where it huddled against his father’s coat.
He let himself touch both the battle-worn leather and the blood encrusted cotton a final time before slamming the trunk resoundingly shut.
fin
Author: sandymg
Beta: borgmama1of5
Summary: Dean has to decide about Castiel's trenchcoat
Spoilers: through S07x02
Wordcount: 786 - One-shot
Genre: Gen, coda for S07X02 Hello Cruel World, angst
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.
A/N: Written for spnroundtable Prompt-and-Fill session #10 - Belief for standing_fic 's prompt here.
Belief
It wasn’t just that the idiot had to go and get himself blown up. Again. No, Dean might have been able to forgive that. He had before.
Only this time ...
Dammit.
Sam was quiet as Dean stood staring at Castiel’s trench coat. He’d let it dry hanging over a fence post among the junk cars. Then he’d refolded it into a tight, neat square. And now it sat on the center of the upstairs bed. He should leave it here. At Bobby’s. What was the point?
“Dean?”
“I’m fine,” he answered automatically.
“Do you want to--?”
“No.”
Sam meant well. But given that his brother’s noggin was Humpty- post-falling, there wasn’t anything Dean could say to him. Just had to figure out what to do with the goddamn coat.
“I’m good, Sam.” He left the coat on the bed and walked down to the first floor in search of a drink. Sam let him pass wordlessly.
Luckily, Bobby wasn’t around.
The whiskey was rough but didn’t burn. Nothing did anymore. Two glasses later he let himself think again about the coat. Jimmy’s coat. Another idiot. He was getting as bad as Bobby - calling everyone an idjit. Except in this case, it was true.
If only … well, weren’t those the proverbial useless last words?
If only Cas had listened. Had trusted. Had believed.
That was it, of course. You jerk - you made me believe and then …
It was easier before. Having no faith at all. Sam had it enough for the both of them and Dean was good with that. Angels were watching over us. He’d told Sammy that Mom used to say that. His brother’s face had gotten soft and his eyes had glowed. Must have felt like confirmation Dean supposed now. Hell, Sam wrapped that faith around himself like a soft wool blanket for years.
Just never noticed the moth larvae digesting its way through it.
Angels were dicks. Dean shoulda stuck with what he knew. Avoided falling into the trap of … believing. Cas staring at him, always, with Jimmy’s eyes. Only deeper … darker … knowing. Claiming Dean was worth something. Making Dean think … and then when it came to it. When Dean dared to ask …
Child.
Stupid idiot child. You didn’t know a fucking thing. Except how to get yourself blown up.
See, it had been easier before. When there were humans and monsters. Dad and Sam. And Mom was a memory of white. It was all the belief he needed.
He poured a third drink. Not that he was counting. That stopped a long time ago. Upstairs he heard creaking. Like Sam was pacing or something. He did that when he was nervous. Walked back and forth on those stilts he called legs. His brother was hanging on by a thread. A very frayed one. Anger spurted through him, heated his face like lava flow.
You promised.
Son of a bitch.
He really wanted to bang the shit out of something. Preferably something dark-haired, blue-eyed, and trench coat wearing.
His eyes rose to the ceiling, visualizing the damn coat sitting on the bed in the room above with Sam.
He should go check in on his brother. Slowly going up, he was stopped at the door by words being softly spoken.
“It’s okay, Cas. I get it. Wish you would’ve … but … I get it. Better than anyone. If you’re out there somewhere. If you can still hear us. Just know that, okay? Know … it’s okay.”
Abruptly the wall was supporting him. Not sure how that happened but good thing it was there. Sam looked startled as he opened the door and practically stumbled over Dean.
“Oh! Sorry. Didn’t know you were there.”
Dean looked at his brother. Eyes lucid for now. Wide and slightly moist. Sam had been Cas’s friend, too. Dean didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.
The coat was exactly where he’d left it, on the center of the bed. He picked it up and swallowed hard as hundreds of images of it flapping into view flickered behind his eyes, cutting like tiny blades. He gave it a final squeeze, drew it up toward his mouth and inhaled the musky, copper scent.
He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t hope anyone was still listening. Couldn’t believe any more.
Sam didn’t say anything as Dean walked past carrying the coat. He felt his brother’s eyes watching as he stepped outside to the Impala, opened the trunk, and placed the bundle deep inside. Far back where it huddled against his father’s coat.
He let himself touch both the battle-worn leather and the blood encrusted cotton a final time before slamming the trunk resoundingly shut.
fin