Posture
Title: Posture
Rating: PG (language)
Characters: Castiel & Dean Winchester.
Pairing: Pre-Slash
Summary: If John didn't already know he was ten kinds of crazy, he probably would have come to that verdict the day he allowed little Castiel Novak to weasel his way into their messed up family. At least the kid could aim a gun.
A/N: Part of the 3 Kids and a Shitty Dad verse.
It took Dean all of two minutes to realize that something was off about Castiel. It took another five for Castiel to notice Dean’s staring.
He quirked an eyebrow, fingers rubbing against the page he’d been prepared to turn. He tilted his head to the side, suddenly looking much younger than sixteen years. “Is something wrong, Dean?” Castiel's voice was soft, barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner.
Dean pursed his lips, setting down the duffel bag he’d brought into the motel room and stalking over to his friend. He didn’t speak for a moment, circling Castiel’s seat at the small table. He reached out, grabbing the front of Castiel’s book and moving the cover. He snorted, of course Castiel would be brushing up on Latin in his free time.
“Dean?” Castiel inquired softly. Dean dragged his eyes up to stare at older boy with scrutiny. Castiel, realizing that Dean wasn’t going to tell him anytime soon, turned back to his book to continue reading. Things fell together with a click and Dean pressed his hand against Castiel’s stiff upper back.
The reaction was instantaneous. Castiel breathed in sharply through his nose, arching away from Dean’s touch and dropping his book against the table with a soft thud. Dean’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, pressing harder and feeling at the material under Castiel’s button-down shirt.
“Dean, stop that.” Castiel pleaded softly, squirming to the side to try and free himself from Dean’s touch. Dean knew that Castiel’s back was one of the only places that his friend had declared off-limits, but Castiel’s behavior was enough to merit breaking that rule. Dean’s lips contorted into a scowl and he closed his hands into a fist, nails making a scraping noise against the rough material beneath Castiel’s shirt.
“What the hell is this?” Dean breathed harshly, grabbing at Castiel’s shirt to keep the other boy from pulling away. Regardless of being 3 years younger, Dean wasn’t about to let Castiel dodge his questions. Castiel reached back to bat a hand at Dean’s arm.
“Its nothing, Dean.” His answer was given a snort of doubt in return. Dean tugged on the back of Castiel’s collar, peeking at the material underneath.
“Is this some kind of corset? What the hell man?” He growled, pinching the fabric and eyes going wide with how difficult it was to pull the material. “Are you trying to crush yourself or something?”
Castiel stood, knocking Dean out of the way and towering over him. “Its nothing of the sort, Dean. Its called a posture brace.” Castiel took his book, brushing past Dean and making a beeline for the nearest bed. Dean followed him, face incredulous.
“A posture brace? Dude you’ve got like, the best posture out of anyone I know. Why the hell would you need one of those? Why would you WANT one?” Dean snatched Castiel’s book from his hands, despite the sound of protest from his friend. “Don’t read your Godamn book! Answer me!”
Castiel looked up slowly at Dean, brows furrowed. “I...” He paused, his normally emotionless face looking miffed. “I’m not sure... I thought..” He trailed off, looking somewhere past Dean’s ear from his seat on the bed. “Posture is essential to keeping your back and shoulders healthy...” He muttered after a moment.
Dean thunked the book onto Castiel’s head rather violently, wrenching it back before the older boy could snatch it away from him. “That’s great, Cas, if this had anything to do with your health. You eat cheesburgers and pie all the time, so what’s the real reason?”
Castiel’s gaze trailed back to Dean’s face, staring at him. “I don’t know.” He confessed after a moment. Dean stared back and Castiel stood up stiffly. “I don’t. I just have to. Its... the thought has been plaguing me for weeks.”
Dean’s expression became pinched. “Your posture has been... plaguing you?” He squinted, as if it would help bring clarity to the situation. Castiel gave a small, helpless shrug.
Dean rose a hand to run it through his hair, waving the book around. “And WHY would it be plaguing you? Its not like burning bodies or killing vampires has brought you any sort of....” he flopped the book up and down, “guilt trip... or something.”
Castiel’s lips quirked in an almost-smile as Dean continued.
“So why should this? I mean, dude, seriously? You know how much your ass sticks out when you stand up straight?” Dean blurted, his neck and ears suddenly flushing pink. Castiel’s quirked lips turned into a full blown smirk.
“I was not aware that you had been inspecting my assets, Dean. I apologize.”
Dean spluttered, shoving the book against Castiel’s chest. “Yeah, well. Its hard not to whenever its in my face every time I have to help you out of a damn grave.” He stalked towards the duffel bag, pulling out containers of salt, as well as canned food and plastic utensils.
Castiel pulled the book from where he’d been holding it to his chest, opening it and flipping back to the page he’d been reading.
“Hey, Cas!” Castiel looked up just in time to catch a can of ravioli that was tossed at him. He looked at the can and then back to Dean.
Dean snatched up a box of plastic forks, walking over to Castiel with his own can held between his ribs and elbow. He sat down, tearing the box open and cursing when a few forks went flying. Castiel held back a smile, setting his book down and gingerly taking the box away from Dean.
“I believe John will be back soon. He took Samuel to the library earlier for research.” He said softly, removing two forks and the box on the night stand. Dean grunted, struggling with the small can opener he’d brought over. Castiel huffed, setting his own can down and grabbing Dean’s - despite the younger boy’s protest of, “I can do it!”.
Castiel set it on the nightstand, cranking the can opener. He pinched the lid off, setting it in the trash can next to the bed and handing it to Dean before repeating the process with his own can.
Dean dug into his ravioli with gusto. “Y’know..” He muttered through a mouthful.
“That you shouldn’t speak with your mouth full?” Castiel offered, biting back a smile when Dean elbowed him.
“Shoulda, woulda, coulda.” Dean said dismissively. “Anyway. Y’know that me and Dad and Sam don’t care how good or bad your posture is, right?” As he spoke, Dean stirred his ravioli. Castiel gingerly bit into his own, thumbing the corner of his mouth instantly to prevent any sauce staining his lips.
Dean continued, “I mean, you came with us ‘cause we like you. If Dad didn’t like you, it wouldn’t’ve mattered how good your posture was, ‘cause you wouldn’t be with us. So... I mean.” Another bite, though Dean waited until he’d swallowed to keep talking. “I mean, you’re awesome, Cas. A little hunching now and then might just do you some good.”
Castiel opened his mouth to speak once he’d finished his current mouthful, but Dean elbowed him again. “Lemme finish, dude.” He growled. Castiel glanced heavenward in a curt roll of his eyes, but kept silent.
“I know they did stuff to you, I know a lot of people hurt you.... I know that there is stuff you’ve gone through that even /I/ couldn’t compare. But...” Dean stirred his ravioli, “but you’re with us now, and I know Dad’s not around a lot, you’ve got me and Sammy. We don’t care how perfect you are or aren’t, cause you’re like. You’re Cas, man.” He paused, biting down on a forkful of the cheap pasta and looking up at Castiel after he’d finished chewing. “I’d sell my soul before I’d let you leave.”
Castiel paused, his fork halfway to his mouth and looking at Dean. He stared, gaze focused on the honest eyes that stared back at him.
“Those are strong words, Dean.” He finally said, voice somber. Dean cracked a wide grin, dropping his fork into his empty can.
“They’re strong feelings, my man.” Dean said, standing up to toss his can out. “You’re family. Don’t ever think otherwise.” Dean licked his lips, reaching up to wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand. Castiel went silent, eating the rest of his canned food with a thoughtful expression.
“Now...” Dean began. Castiel glanced up at him, thumb rubbing over his mouth and sucking the pasta off of it.
Dean pointed to Castiel’s chest. “Go take that damn corset off. You look like you’ve got a stick up your ass.”
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Rating: PG (language)
Characters: Castiel & Dean Winchester.
Pairing: Pre-Slash
Summary: If John didn't already know he was ten kinds of crazy, he probably would have come to that verdict the day he allowed little Castiel Novak to weasel his way into their messed up family. At least the kid could aim a gun.
A/N: Part of the 3 Kids and a Shitty Dad verse.
It took Dean all of two minutes to realize that something was off about Castiel. It took another five for Castiel to notice Dean’s staring.
He quirked an eyebrow, fingers rubbing against the page he’d been prepared to turn. He tilted his head to the side, suddenly looking much younger than sixteen years. “Is something wrong, Dean?” Castiel's voice was soft, barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner.
Dean pursed his lips, setting down the duffel bag he’d brought into the motel room and stalking over to his friend. He didn’t speak for a moment, circling Castiel’s seat at the small table. He reached out, grabbing the front of Castiel’s book and moving the cover. He snorted, of course Castiel would be brushing up on Latin in his free time.
“Dean?” Castiel inquired softly. Dean dragged his eyes up to stare at older boy with scrutiny. Castiel, realizing that Dean wasn’t going to tell him anytime soon, turned back to his book to continue reading. Things fell together with a click and Dean pressed his hand against Castiel’s stiff upper back.
The reaction was instantaneous. Castiel breathed in sharply through his nose, arching away from Dean’s touch and dropping his book against the table with a soft thud. Dean’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, pressing harder and feeling at the material under Castiel’s button-down shirt.
“Dean, stop that.” Castiel pleaded softly, squirming to the side to try and free himself from Dean’s touch. Dean knew that Castiel’s back was one of the only places that his friend had declared off-limits, but Castiel’s behavior was enough to merit breaking that rule. Dean’s lips contorted into a scowl and he closed his hands into a fist, nails making a scraping noise against the rough material beneath Castiel’s shirt.
“What the hell is this?” Dean breathed harshly, grabbing at Castiel’s shirt to keep the other boy from pulling away. Regardless of being 3 years younger, Dean wasn’t about to let Castiel dodge his questions. Castiel reached back to bat a hand at Dean’s arm.
“Its nothing, Dean.” His answer was given a snort of doubt in return. Dean tugged on the back of Castiel’s collar, peeking at the material underneath.
“Is this some kind of corset? What the hell man?” He growled, pinching the fabric and eyes going wide with how difficult it was to pull the material. “Are you trying to crush yourself or something?”
Castiel stood, knocking Dean out of the way and towering over him. “Its nothing of the sort, Dean. Its called a posture brace.” Castiel took his book, brushing past Dean and making a beeline for the nearest bed. Dean followed him, face incredulous.
“A posture brace? Dude you’ve got like, the best posture out of anyone I know. Why the hell would you need one of those? Why would you WANT one?” Dean snatched Castiel’s book from his hands, despite the sound of protest from his friend. “Don’t read your Godamn book! Answer me!”
Castiel looked up slowly at Dean, brows furrowed. “I...” He paused, his normally emotionless face looking miffed. “I’m not sure... I thought..” He trailed off, looking somewhere past Dean’s ear from his seat on the bed. “Posture is essential to keeping your back and shoulders healthy...” He muttered after a moment.
Dean thunked the book onto Castiel’s head rather violently, wrenching it back before the older boy could snatch it away from him. “That’s great, Cas, if this had anything to do with your health. You eat cheesburgers and pie all the time, so what’s the real reason?”
Castiel’s gaze trailed back to Dean’s face, staring at him. “I don’t know.” He confessed after a moment. Dean stared back and Castiel stood up stiffly. “I don’t. I just have to. Its... the thought has been plaguing me for weeks.”
Dean’s expression became pinched. “Your posture has been... plaguing you?” He squinted, as if it would help bring clarity to the situation. Castiel gave a small, helpless shrug.
Dean rose a hand to run it through his hair, waving the book around. “And WHY would it be plaguing you? Its not like burning bodies or killing vampires has brought you any sort of....” he flopped the book up and down, “guilt trip... or something.”
Castiel’s lips quirked in an almost-smile as Dean continued.
“So why should this? I mean, dude, seriously? You know how much your ass sticks out when you stand up straight?” Dean blurted, his neck and ears suddenly flushing pink. Castiel’s quirked lips turned into a full blown smirk.
“I was not aware that you had been inspecting my assets, Dean. I apologize.”
Dean spluttered, shoving the book against Castiel’s chest. “Yeah, well. Its hard not to whenever its in my face every time I have to help you out of a damn grave.” He stalked towards the duffel bag, pulling out containers of salt, as well as canned food and plastic utensils.
Castiel pulled the book from where he’d been holding it to his chest, opening it and flipping back to the page he’d been reading.
“Hey, Cas!” Castiel looked up just in time to catch a can of ravioli that was tossed at him. He looked at the can and then back to Dean.
Dean snatched up a box of plastic forks, walking over to Castiel with his own can held between his ribs and elbow. He sat down, tearing the box open and cursing when a few forks went flying. Castiel held back a smile, setting his book down and gingerly taking the box away from Dean.
“I believe John will be back soon. He took Samuel to the library earlier for research.” He said softly, removing two forks and the box on the night stand. Dean grunted, struggling with the small can opener he’d brought over. Castiel huffed, setting his own can down and grabbing Dean’s - despite the younger boy’s protest of, “I can do it!”.
Castiel set it on the nightstand, cranking the can opener. He pinched the lid off, setting it in the trash can next to the bed and handing it to Dean before repeating the process with his own can.
Dean dug into his ravioli with gusto. “Y’know..” He muttered through a mouthful.
“That you shouldn’t speak with your mouth full?” Castiel offered, biting back a smile when Dean elbowed him.
“Shoulda, woulda, coulda.” Dean said dismissively. “Anyway. Y’know that me and Dad and Sam don’t care how good or bad your posture is, right?” As he spoke, Dean stirred his ravioli. Castiel gingerly bit into his own, thumbing the corner of his mouth instantly to prevent any sauce staining his lips.
Dean continued, “I mean, you came with us ‘cause we like you. If Dad didn’t like you, it wouldn’t’ve mattered how good your posture was, ‘cause you wouldn’t be with us. So... I mean.” Another bite, though Dean waited until he’d swallowed to keep talking. “I mean, you’re awesome, Cas. A little hunching now and then might just do you some good.”
Castiel opened his mouth to speak once he’d finished his current mouthful, but Dean elbowed him again. “Lemme finish, dude.” He growled. Castiel glanced heavenward in a curt roll of his eyes, but kept silent.
“I know they did stuff to you, I know a lot of people hurt you.... I know that there is stuff you’ve gone through that even /I/ couldn’t compare. But...” Dean stirred his ravioli, “but you’re with us now, and I know Dad’s not around a lot, you’ve got me and Sammy. We don’t care how perfect you are or aren’t, cause you’re like. You’re Cas, man.” He paused, biting down on a forkful of the cheap pasta and looking up at Castiel after he’d finished chewing. “I’d sell my soul before I’d let you leave.”
Castiel paused, his fork halfway to his mouth and looking at Dean. He stared, gaze focused on the honest eyes that stared back at him.
“Those are strong words, Dean.” He finally said, voice somber. Dean cracked a wide grin, dropping his fork into his empty can.
“They’re strong feelings, my man.” Dean said, standing up to toss his can out. “You’re family. Don’t ever think otherwise.” Dean licked his lips, reaching up to wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand. Castiel went silent, eating the rest of his canned food with a thoughtful expression.
“Now...” Dean began. Castiel glanced up at him, thumb rubbing over his mouth and sucking the pasta off of it.
Dean pointed to Castiel’s chest. “Go take that damn corset off. You look like you’ve got a stick up your ass.”
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