FILL: Someone to Watch Over Me 6a/? Sam/Cas (eventual NC-17)queerly_it_isMay 22 2012, 13:55:33 UTC
Part 6a
One night as Dean sleeps; Castiel extends his Grace outward, willing himself across meaningless space toward the slightly off-tune hum of Samuel’s soul. He finds him sleeping, much like his brother; except he’s slumped over a wooden desk; head resting on a pile of open books, pages sticking to his skin. Castiel’s presence fills the small room like liquid pouring into a container; as he compresses himself into this comparatively miniscule space. He can feel the insubstantial dreams playing out in Samuels mind, sees the lines of muscular tension and straining ligaments due to his uncomfortable slump in the chair.
In a bizarre and disorienting moment, he finds himself reaching out; impulse to brush hair from the boy’s forehead or move him from the chair to the bed that sits mere feet away. He could do it, he knows; tiny fleck of outward power to shift him across the space between the furniture, Samuel never waking or even noticing the movement.
He isn’t supposed to interfere.
As a compromise; he wakes Samuel gently with an intangible whisper across his mind; prods him with the desire for sleep in a real bed, until he stumbles over and collapses onto the sheets, thoughts muddled and still mostly unaware.
Castiel has fought battles for the sake of Heaven; has obeyed orders from timeless beings with Power beyond measure. He is a warrior of God; one minor cog amongst thousands in an infinitely complex and eternal machine; the literal Engine of Creation. The sense of accomplishment and rightness he experiences at this one meaningless action is beyond absurd.
He goes back to Dean.
Guarding the life of a hunter is often an exercise in both self-control and near-futility. He knows Dean will not be allowed to die; he is destined, needed. But watching Dean throw his life into peril as though he were aware of that fact, or as though his life were meaningless compared to the fleeting and - in the broader sense - unremarkable existences of those he fights to save; is not an easy task.
Castiel recalls the days of Ancient Greece; watching Diogenes wander the day lit streets with a lamp in his search for an honest man, living his life as a cynic and making a virtue of poverty. He isn’t sure if Dean would appreciate the comparison.
Angels are agents of Fate. As such, they are given certain latitude to alter minor causal pathways and influence potential outcomes. In his role as Dean’s guardian; Castiel uses that small freedom wherever he can; directing air currents to aid the path of bullets, whispering to innate instincts in Dean’s mind that tell him when to duck and when to strike, swaying the urges of random monsters to direct their movements in some small manner.
He’s treading a fine line, but Dean Winchester must be kept alive, and so long as he remains ignorant of his true purpose until the proper moment, and Castiel takes no drastic action outside his purview; he will not be censured for it.
FILL: Someone to Watch Over Me 6b/? Sam/Cas (eventual NC-17)queerly_it_isMay 22 2012, 13:57:08 UTC
Part 6b
It has become something of a habit; despite the lack of any physical or behavioural mechanisms that should allow him to develop one. When Dean is resting or otherwise in no immediate danger; Castiel permits himself moments to ensure Samuel is safe, uninjured, and relatively content.
He never reveals himself; that would be treading over the line to an unforgivable degree; but small actions that aid Samuel without his being aware of them mostly go unnoticed.
Rationalisations; Castiel should remember; are the underpinnings of dangerous patterns of behaviour.
After the fourth time his presence strays over the tiny speck of distance that separates Dean and Samuel, his superiors request that he return, to explain himself.
In a flash of transmaterial movement and warped temporality, he is in Heaven; standing before - and yet distinctly below - the towering form of Zachariah as he radiates disapproval and hints of Wrath that Castiel finds moderately disturbing coming from the iridescent blaze of an angel.
Celestial intent is meant to be above such pitfalls.
Celestial intent is meant to be above a great many things.
“It seems you’ve been busy.” Attention not focused on Castiel directly, but Voice cutting into him, regardless.
“I am merely fulfilling my assignment.” Technicalities won’t help him, but admitting direct fault is always unwise when dealing with Zachariah.
“Sam Winchester is not your assignment.” Samuel’s name shortened and yet filled with oily loathing, as though he spoke of vermin.
Castiel finds it odd how he can grit teeth he doesn’t have in this form.
“His brother is. Dean values Samuel a great deal. They are soul mates; what happens to one will affect the other. Monitoring Samuel is a reasonable extension of protecting Dean.” Logic undeniable, but Zachariah is not always a logical being.
“Samuel” End of the young Winchesters name twisted on a sneer from all four of Zachariah’s faces. “Is the abomination. He serves a purpose, but it is not your place to see that he carries it out. He belongs to the demons.”
The intensity of Castiel’s desire to object to that statement is frankly rather alarming.
“Does not ensuring the protection of both vessels serve the ultimate purpose of Heaven?” Somewhat unsubtle point masked in question form, earns him a sharp buffet of energy from a pair of Zachariah’s wings.
“They will serve their purpose, either way.” Said with the absolute surety of an archangel, overtones of Pride creeping in. “In the meantime, you will limit your…interactions, to Dean. Is that understood?” Not a question, or a test, an order.
“Of course.” Slight bow of immaterial structure, and with a grateful he returns to the Earth; tries to push any ongoing thoughts of Samuel to one side.
That dismissal lasts for what is - to an angel - a infinitesimal period; until the second year of Samuel’s absence, when one of his friends goes home in November; and returns as a demon.
One night as Dean sleeps; Castiel extends his Grace outward, willing himself across meaningless space toward the slightly off-tune hum of Samuel’s soul. He finds him sleeping, much like his brother; except he’s slumped over a wooden desk; head resting on a pile of open books, pages sticking to his skin. Castiel’s presence fills the small room like liquid pouring into a container; as he compresses himself into this comparatively miniscule space. He can feel the insubstantial dreams playing out in Samuels mind, sees the lines of muscular tension and straining ligaments due to his uncomfortable slump in the chair.
In a bizarre and disorienting moment, he finds himself reaching out; impulse to brush hair from the boy’s forehead or move him from the chair to the bed that sits mere feet away. He could do it, he knows; tiny fleck of outward power to shift him across the space between the furniture, Samuel never waking or even noticing the movement.
He isn’t supposed to interfere.
As a compromise; he wakes Samuel gently with an intangible whisper across his mind; prods him with the desire for sleep in a real bed, until he stumbles over and collapses onto the sheets, thoughts muddled and still mostly unaware.
Castiel has fought battles for the sake of Heaven; has obeyed orders from timeless beings with Power beyond measure. He is a warrior of God; one minor cog amongst thousands in an infinitely complex and eternal machine; the literal Engine of Creation. The sense of accomplishment and rightness he experiences at this one meaningless action is beyond absurd.
He goes back to Dean.
Guarding the life of a hunter is often an exercise in both self-control and near-futility. He knows Dean will not be allowed to die; he is destined, needed. But watching Dean throw his life into peril as though he were aware of that fact, or as though his life were meaningless compared to the fleeting and - in the broader sense - unremarkable existences of those he fights to save; is not an easy task.
Castiel recalls the days of Ancient Greece; watching Diogenes wander the day lit streets with a lamp in his search for an honest man, living his life as a cynic and making a virtue of poverty. He isn’t sure if Dean would appreciate the comparison.
Angels are agents of Fate. As such, they are given certain latitude to alter minor causal pathways and influence potential outcomes. In his role as Dean’s guardian; Castiel uses that small freedom wherever he can; directing air currents to aid the path of bullets, whispering to innate instincts in Dean’s mind that tell him when to duck and when to strike, swaying the urges of random monsters to direct their movements in some small manner.
He’s treading a fine line, but Dean Winchester must be kept alive, and so long as he remains ignorant of his true purpose until the proper moment, and Castiel takes no drastic action outside his purview; he will not be censured for it.
His visits to Samuel are a different matter.
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It has become something of a habit; despite the lack of any physical or behavioural mechanisms that should allow him to develop one. When Dean is resting or otherwise in no immediate danger; Castiel permits himself moments to ensure Samuel is safe, uninjured, and relatively content.
He never reveals himself; that would be treading over the line to an unforgivable degree; but small actions that aid Samuel without his being aware of them mostly go unnoticed.
Rationalisations; Castiel should remember; are the underpinnings of dangerous patterns of behaviour.
After the fourth time his presence strays over the tiny speck of distance that separates Dean and Samuel, his superiors request that he return, to explain himself.
In a flash of transmaterial movement and warped temporality, he is in Heaven; standing before - and yet distinctly below - the towering form of Zachariah as he radiates disapproval and hints of Wrath that Castiel finds moderately disturbing coming from the iridescent blaze of an angel.
Celestial intent is meant to be above such pitfalls.
Celestial intent is meant to be above a great many things.
“It seems you’ve been busy.” Attention not focused on Castiel directly, but Voice cutting into him, regardless.
“I am merely fulfilling my assignment.” Technicalities won’t help him, but admitting direct fault is always unwise when dealing with Zachariah.
“Sam Winchester is not your assignment.” Samuel’s name shortened and yet filled with oily loathing, as though he spoke of vermin.
Castiel finds it odd how he can grit teeth he doesn’t have in this form.
“His brother is. Dean values Samuel a great deal. They are soul mates; what happens to one will affect the other. Monitoring Samuel is a reasonable extension of protecting Dean.” Logic undeniable, but Zachariah is not always a logical being.
“Samuel” End of the young Winchesters name twisted on a sneer from all four of Zachariah’s faces. “Is the abomination. He serves a purpose, but it is not your place to see that he carries it out. He belongs to the demons.”
The intensity of Castiel’s desire to object to that statement is frankly rather alarming.
“Does not ensuring the protection of both vessels serve the ultimate purpose of Heaven?” Somewhat unsubtle point masked in question form, earns him a sharp buffet of energy from a pair of Zachariah’s wings.
“They will serve their purpose, either way.” Said with the absolute surety of an archangel, overtones of Pride creeping in. “In the meantime, you will limit your…interactions, to Dean. Is that understood?” Not a question, or a test, an order.
“Of course.” Slight bow of immaterial structure, and with a grateful he returns to the Earth; tries to push any ongoing thoughts of Samuel to one side.
That dismissal lasts for what is - to an angel - a infinitesimal period; until the second year of Samuel’s absence, when one of his friends goes home in November; and returns as a demon.
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Had to split this one 'cos of the word count.
More soon! =D
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