FIC: Wrestling
Title: Wrestling
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: G
Pairing: slight Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: through 5x10
Word Count: 1,300
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Castiel contemplates and Dean asks questions after the events of 5x10.
A/N: I know. I know, I know, I know. This isn’t Torchwood! So I have committed Supernatural fic, and there’s no action or weird creatures or sex. Um, yeah. I totally blame qthelights and andreth47 for getting me into Supernatural, by the way.
Castiel has been sitting on the hotel bed all night, watching. Thinking. He turns his head slightly to his right. Sam is twitching in his sleep, his lip curling. Castiel reaches across the gap between beds and lays a hand on Sam’s forearm. He quiets.
Castiel turns back and looks straight ahead. There’s a painting on the motel wall, smudgy blues and dripping purples. It occurs to him that it is an ugly painting. Dean blocks his view of it for the 67th time, a quick flitting before he’s made it to the sink. Castiel follows a complete circuit with his eyes: sink, painting, door. Repeat. He counts 68, 69, 70, and still Dean is quiet.
It is unusual. Castiel frowns at the painting. Dean has made no jokes. No grumbling complaints, either, nor exaggerated stories. He did not even startle when Castiel appeared in their room that night. Castiel is learning something of their habits; when Sam told him the name of the town, he knew right away to look for the most garish motel and he would find them. He turns that thought over in his head. The Winchesters are predictable. It is something they should change. Perhaps a Holiday Inn every now and then.
Two days since Lucifer’s ritual and the deaths of the other soldiers. Castiel can see which event is affecting his companions most in the immediate aftermath. Humans have strange notions of family. They do not feel for all of their fellow humans, but pick just a few to tie to them, whether through bonds of blood or like cause or extreme affection. And only those few get the full benefits of family: love, honor, loyalty. Sam and Dean have lost two members of their very small family. Castiel can see it in the tension across Dean’s back, the length of his stride, the harsh rattle of his breathing, the irritated way he hitches his shoulders during each circuit of the room. He is worried for his shrinking family.
Castiel leans back against the particle-board headboard. The bed frame squeaks and Dean stops his circuit abruptly.
“What’s it like? Huh, Cas?” His voice is hoarse from disuse.
“It is the three of us in this motel room.” Castiel frowns when Dean snorts. “What did you mean?”
“Heaven, Cas. Surely they deserved, if anyone does - what is your heaven like?”
“Heaven is the nearness of God,” Castiel responds promptly.
Dean hunkers down at the foot of the bed. The mattress dips alarmingly, protesting the weight of two grown men, and Castiel notes, fleetingly, that he is leaving more of a mark in this world. There was a time he would have stood, or held himself just over the covers, causing no indentation. That time is not so long ago. Dean pays the weak frame no mind, pulling his legs up and sitting cross-legged. Castiel takes in the posture: elbows on knees, back bent, curled. As if he is holding his questions to his chest, protecting them. This question about Heaven, and others that Castiel cannot discern.
When Castiel leans forward, he can feel the amulet shift beneath his shirt, cool against his human skin. He has not felt it burn, not yet. It is one kind of answer.
“You mean a physical place,” he says.
“Yeah, Cas, pearly gates, harps and clouds, everyone in white. All-you-can-eat cheeseburgers and pie.” Dean’s lips turn up at the corners, and Castiel readies himself for a non sequitur. “No cats, and the streets are lined with cheese.”
“There is an awful lot of cheese in your idea of Heaven,” he says, and Dean laughs. It is not a real laugh, but it is the closest he has come to it in three days. Castiel can feel it, like a warm hand on his back.
“I cannot really describe physical sensations in Heaven. There is just - awareness of peace. Awareness of the presence of God. Awareness of order, purpose.” It is the most he has ever said of Heaven to one who has never experienced it.
“Order?” Dean raises an eyebrow.
“I do not know what it would be like for a human. I am a soldier of God. Heaven is … surety of vision.” Dean is looking at him with an expression he cannot place now. Castiel cocks his head to hold his gaze. Dean looks away from the scrutiny.
“Sounds regimented,” he comments.
“You are a soldier, too, Dean. They were soldiers.” Dean jerks back, but doesn’t get off the bed. From three feet away, Sam grunts in his sleep and rolls on his side.
“So even in Heaven, someone’s riding your ass? They won’t like that.” Dean’s voice sinks to a mutter.
Castiel watches Dean’s hands move restlessly over the bedspread. It is possible Dean is looking for assurance, but he does not know how to offer it in a way that Dean would accept it. He wants to tell Dean that he has questions, too; that he feels far from Heaven, but he knows Dean doesn’t like to hear that from him. And besides, Dean already knows.
“What do you want, Dean? What can I give you?”
Dean barks a laugh. “I don’t know, Cas. I suppose a little of your surety of vision sounds good.” He gets off the bed and stretches. “But right now I’m going to settle for a shower.”
“I will watch over Sam while you cleanse yourself.”
“Yeah, fine.”
Castiel watches him walk into the bathroom and close the door. He leans back again in the squeaky bed and looks over at Sam. Sam has a line of drool leaking slowly from his partially open mouth. Castiel stares intently as the drool reaches the pillow and begins to pool. If Lucifer strode through the door right now, Castiel would place himself between his former brother and the drooling human. He is no longer surprised to find that he has completely adopted Dean’s loyalties as his own.
He can feel the resolve hardening his spine and his shoulder blades twitch involuntarily. He needs for the amulet to burn hot. It is the only way to protect Sam from Lucifer for good, and the only way to protect Dean from his fellow angels. Surety of vision.
He waits for Dean to get out of the shower. Dean hesitates at the foot of the bed. “Uh … I can,” he gestures to the rickety chair at the room’s table, “if you’re comfortable there …”
Castiel stands up. “You rest. I need to leave.”
Dean crosses his arms. “You mean, leave, leave.”
Castiel nods. “I need to find my Father. It is surety of vision.”
Dean sighs, and sits down on the bed. “And you really think -”
“Yes.”
Dean avoids his gaze as he gets into bed and pulls the covers up. Castiel waits until Dean closes his eyes, and then strides to the head of the bed and places a hand on his forehead. Dean immediately opens his eyes. “I can tell you that I believe they are without suffering.”
Dean grabs his wrist as he turns to leave. His calloused fingers grip loosely and Castiel goes completely still. A memory floats to the surface, a collective memory from one of his brothers: a human hand, fingers grasping an angelic ankle; a long night; a blessing. “Cas,” Dean’s voice is scratchy and rough. Castiel waits, held in place, as Dean clears his throat and tries again. “You’ll come back.”
Ah. Castiel nods in the darkness, understanding one more of Dean’s questions, despite his inflection. Castiel moves his held wrist over Dean’s heart and spreads the fingers of his hand. “I will come back for you.”
A puff of air escapes Dean’s lips and he closes his eyes once more, releasing Castiel’s wrist. Castiel watches as sleep finally takes hold. Both Winchesters are gently snoring when he leaves, the remembered imprint of Dean’s fingers around his wrist his own kind of blessing.
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: G
Pairing: slight Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: through 5x10
Word Count: 1,300
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Castiel contemplates and Dean asks questions after the events of 5x10.
A/N: I know. I know, I know, I know. This isn’t Torchwood! So I have committed Supernatural fic, and there’s no action or weird creatures or sex. Um, yeah. I totally blame qthelights and andreth47 for getting me into Supernatural, by the way.
Castiel has been sitting on the hotel bed all night, watching. Thinking. He turns his head slightly to his right. Sam is twitching in his sleep, his lip curling. Castiel reaches across the gap between beds and lays a hand on Sam’s forearm. He quiets.
Castiel turns back and looks straight ahead. There’s a painting on the motel wall, smudgy blues and dripping purples. It occurs to him that it is an ugly painting. Dean blocks his view of it for the 67th time, a quick flitting before he’s made it to the sink. Castiel follows a complete circuit with his eyes: sink, painting, door. Repeat. He counts 68, 69, 70, and still Dean is quiet.
It is unusual. Castiel frowns at the painting. Dean has made no jokes. No grumbling complaints, either, nor exaggerated stories. He did not even startle when Castiel appeared in their room that night. Castiel is learning something of their habits; when Sam told him the name of the town, he knew right away to look for the most garish motel and he would find them. He turns that thought over in his head. The Winchesters are predictable. It is something they should change. Perhaps a Holiday Inn every now and then.
Two days since Lucifer’s ritual and the deaths of the other soldiers. Castiel can see which event is affecting his companions most in the immediate aftermath. Humans have strange notions of family. They do not feel for all of their fellow humans, but pick just a few to tie to them, whether through bonds of blood or like cause or extreme affection. And only those few get the full benefits of family: love, honor, loyalty. Sam and Dean have lost two members of their very small family. Castiel can see it in the tension across Dean’s back, the length of his stride, the harsh rattle of his breathing, the irritated way he hitches his shoulders during each circuit of the room. He is worried for his shrinking family.
Castiel leans back against the particle-board headboard. The bed frame squeaks and Dean stops his circuit abruptly.
“What’s it like? Huh, Cas?” His voice is hoarse from disuse.
“It is the three of us in this motel room.” Castiel frowns when Dean snorts. “What did you mean?”
“Heaven, Cas. Surely they deserved, if anyone does - what is your heaven like?”
“Heaven is the nearness of God,” Castiel responds promptly.
Dean hunkers down at the foot of the bed. The mattress dips alarmingly, protesting the weight of two grown men, and Castiel notes, fleetingly, that he is leaving more of a mark in this world. There was a time he would have stood, or held himself just over the covers, causing no indentation. That time is not so long ago. Dean pays the weak frame no mind, pulling his legs up and sitting cross-legged. Castiel takes in the posture: elbows on knees, back bent, curled. As if he is holding his questions to his chest, protecting them. This question about Heaven, and others that Castiel cannot discern.
When Castiel leans forward, he can feel the amulet shift beneath his shirt, cool against his human skin. He has not felt it burn, not yet. It is one kind of answer.
“You mean a physical place,” he says.
“Yeah, Cas, pearly gates, harps and clouds, everyone in white. All-you-can-eat cheeseburgers and pie.” Dean’s lips turn up at the corners, and Castiel readies himself for a non sequitur. “No cats, and the streets are lined with cheese.”
“There is an awful lot of cheese in your idea of Heaven,” he says, and Dean laughs. It is not a real laugh, but it is the closest he has come to it in three days. Castiel can feel it, like a warm hand on his back.
“I cannot really describe physical sensations in Heaven. There is just - awareness of peace. Awareness of the presence of God. Awareness of order, purpose.” It is the most he has ever said of Heaven to one who has never experienced it.
“Order?” Dean raises an eyebrow.
“I do not know what it would be like for a human. I am a soldier of God. Heaven is … surety of vision.” Dean is looking at him with an expression he cannot place now. Castiel cocks his head to hold his gaze. Dean looks away from the scrutiny.
“Sounds regimented,” he comments.
“You are a soldier, too, Dean. They were soldiers.” Dean jerks back, but doesn’t get off the bed. From three feet away, Sam grunts in his sleep and rolls on his side.
“So even in Heaven, someone’s riding your ass? They won’t like that.” Dean’s voice sinks to a mutter.
Castiel watches Dean’s hands move restlessly over the bedspread. It is possible Dean is looking for assurance, but he does not know how to offer it in a way that Dean would accept it. He wants to tell Dean that he has questions, too; that he feels far from Heaven, but he knows Dean doesn’t like to hear that from him. And besides, Dean already knows.
“What do you want, Dean? What can I give you?”
Dean barks a laugh. “I don’t know, Cas. I suppose a little of your surety of vision sounds good.” He gets off the bed and stretches. “But right now I’m going to settle for a shower.”
“I will watch over Sam while you cleanse yourself.”
“Yeah, fine.”
Castiel watches him walk into the bathroom and close the door. He leans back again in the squeaky bed and looks over at Sam. Sam has a line of drool leaking slowly from his partially open mouth. Castiel stares intently as the drool reaches the pillow and begins to pool. If Lucifer strode through the door right now, Castiel would place himself between his former brother and the drooling human. He is no longer surprised to find that he has completely adopted Dean’s loyalties as his own.
He can feel the resolve hardening his spine and his shoulder blades twitch involuntarily. He needs for the amulet to burn hot. It is the only way to protect Sam from Lucifer for good, and the only way to protect Dean from his fellow angels. Surety of vision.
He waits for Dean to get out of the shower. Dean hesitates at the foot of the bed. “Uh … I can,” he gestures to the rickety chair at the room’s table, “if you’re comfortable there …”
Castiel stands up. “You rest. I need to leave.”
Dean crosses his arms. “You mean, leave, leave.”
Castiel nods. “I need to find my Father. It is surety of vision.”
Dean sighs, and sits down on the bed. “And you really think -”
“Yes.”
Dean avoids his gaze as he gets into bed and pulls the covers up. Castiel waits until Dean closes his eyes, and then strides to the head of the bed and places a hand on his forehead. Dean immediately opens his eyes. “I can tell you that I believe they are without suffering.”
Dean grabs his wrist as he turns to leave. His calloused fingers grip loosely and Castiel goes completely still. A memory floats to the surface, a collective memory from one of his brothers: a human hand, fingers grasping an angelic ankle; a long night; a blessing. “Cas,” Dean’s voice is scratchy and rough. Castiel waits, held in place, as Dean clears his throat and tries again. “You’ll come back.”
Ah. Castiel nods in the darkness, understanding one more of Dean’s questions, despite his inflection. Castiel moves his held wrist over Dean’s heart and spreads the fingers of his hand. “I will come back for you.”
A puff of air escapes Dean’s lips and he closes his eyes once more, releasing Castiel’s wrist. Castiel watches as sleep finally takes hold. Both Winchesters are gently snoring when he leaves, the remembered imprint of Dean’s fingers around his wrist his own kind of blessing.