(no subject)
Heaven is For Thee Too High
PG
Sam, Castiel - no pairing.
beta'd by realpestilence
Heaven is for thee too high
The hospital ward smells of antiseptic and, beneath that, illness. Dean looks small and still in the narrow bed, eyes bruised and heavy in his pale face.
Sam’s hands are white-knuckled on the bed railing. He barely registers the doctor's words as more than a buzz after she says ‘no way to tell yet’, just nods his head and stares at Dean’s hollow face like he can call his brother back by will alone. Finally she leaves, and Sam is left with the steady beeping of the machines, the shallow rise and fall of Dean’s chest.
He wants to pray, but it’s been awhile and he’s not sure he remembers how. Or even if he’s allowed, now.
He’s not sure how long he sits there. It’s a public ward; there’s other people in the room, other beds, other patients and visitors. All he can see is Dean.
It takes a moment for him to realise he’s not alone anymore. He looks up, and there’s a guy standing on the other side of the bed, looking down at Dean with a faintly puzzled expression. Sam doesn’t say anything, just blinks stupidly until the guy steps forward and brushes his fingers against Dean’s forehead.
“Excuse me?” says Sam, rising from his chair threateningly because the guy is touching Dean and that is so many kinds of not allowed.
The guy looks up, like he hadn’t even realised Sam was there, and Sam finds himself sitting down heavily.
He’d thought the angel would be taller, or more impressive, or something. But it’s just a worn-looking guy in a crumpled suit who has the most terrifying eyes Sam’s ever encountered, and considering the demons he’s fought, that’s saying something.
Castiel’s attention goes right back to Dean, like a magnet to a lodestone. Sam swallows as he watches the angel stroke curious fingers through his brother’s hair.
“The doctors said,” he manages before the lump in his throat threatens to choke him.
Castiel makes a little hmm sound and tilts his head. “His injuries are not grave,” he says in a clear, measured tone. “He will recover.” His knuckles brush Dean’s cheek, and Sam looks away as color returns to the ashen skin.
When he looks up again, Castiel is watching him, and Sam squirms, pinned by the intensity of that gaze and what it represents, his heart rate spiking in terror. “I know what you’ve been doing,” says Castiel, and his tone is mild and without censure.
“I, I, I’m sorry,” Sam manages.
Castiel narrows his eyes. “You’re not.”
Flushed with guilt, Sam wants to hide. He's absurdly relieved when Castiel loks away from him, back to Dean, who's making smacking noises with his lips the way he does when he's deeply asleep. It should be a relief to hear it, but Sam’s suddenly terrified Dean will wake up.
“I’m doing the right thing. I’m using my powers to help people.” Castiel can’t refute that, can he?
Castiel runs his fingers through Dean’s hair again. “If you believed that, you would have told him.” Dean snuffles and turns his head, rubbing against Castiel’s palm.
Sam squeezes himself down as small as he can get and watches an angel pet his sleeping brother.
“One of the Seals,” says Castiel at length, “is the rise of the Apostate, the faithful servant and soldier led into darkness.” He’s still staring at Dean, something strange and distant in his gaze. “Another is the Schism, where former loyal brethren, those who fought shoulder-to-shoulder, face one another over the battlefield, heaven and hell at their backs.”
Sam jerks guiltily. “I would never,” he stutters, but Castiel’s not finished.
“Of course, both of those scenarios require that the betrayer in question be alive.” The words drop like bolts falling into place, and Sam goes very still.
Castiel’s hand comes to rest on Dean’s chest, over his heart, and he stands still for a long moment. “I will confess I do not understand much of human motivation. You wanted to save your brother, I know that. But he was saved, and yet you continue.” He shakes his head, looking frustrated. “I cannot interfere with free will, Samuel. But I was sent here to prevent the breaking of the Seals, and I will do so by any means necessary.”
Sam swallows and nods. “I understand.”
Castiel raises an eyebrow. “I doubt that. But you will take the warning as intended. It will severely limit your brother’s usefulness to me if he is crippled by grief.” His fingers brush Dean’s cheek one final time, belying his callous words, and he turns to the door.
“You see it too, don’t you,” says Sam quietly. “You see him.”
Castiel looks back over his shoulder, and for the first time, he’s not gut-wrenchingly terrifying. “Dean is - special, despite all his attempts to downplay his own worth. He will understand that someday.” You could sharpen a blade on the iron certainty in the angel’s voice. “God has a plan for him. And for you. Remember that.”
Then he is gone, between one moment and the next, and Sam releases the air from his aching lungs as Dean stirs into wakefulness.
PG
Sam, Castiel - no pairing.
beta'd by realpestilence
Heaven is for thee too high
The hospital ward smells of antiseptic and, beneath that, illness. Dean looks small and still in the narrow bed, eyes bruised and heavy in his pale face.
Sam’s hands are white-knuckled on the bed railing. He barely registers the doctor's words as more than a buzz after she says ‘no way to tell yet’, just nods his head and stares at Dean’s hollow face like he can call his brother back by will alone. Finally she leaves, and Sam is left with the steady beeping of the machines, the shallow rise and fall of Dean’s chest.
He wants to pray, but it’s been awhile and he’s not sure he remembers how. Or even if he’s allowed, now.
He’s not sure how long he sits there. It’s a public ward; there’s other people in the room, other beds, other patients and visitors. All he can see is Dean.
It takes a moment for him to realise he’s not alone anymore. He looks up, and there’s a guy standing on the other side of the bed, looking down at Dean with a faintly puzzled expression. Sam doesn’t say anything, just blinks stupidly until the guy steps forward and brushes his fingers against Dean’s forehead.
“Excuse me?” says Sam, rising from his chair threateningly because the guy is touching Dean and that is so many kinds of not allowed.
The guy looks up, like he hadn’t even realised Sam was there, and Sam finds himself sitting down heavily.
He’d thought the angel would be taller, or more impressive, or something. But it’s just a worn-looking guy in a crumpled suit who has the most terrifying eyes Sam’s ever encountered, and considering the demons he’s fought, that’s saying something.
Castiel’s attention goes right back to Dean, like a magnet to a lodestone. Sam swallows as he watches the angel stroke curious fingers through his brother’s hair.
“The doctors said,” he manages before the lump in his throat threatens to choke him.
Castiel makes a little hmm sound and tilts his head. “His injuries are not grave,” he says in a clear, measured tone. “He will recover.” His knuckles brush Dean’s cheek, and Sam looks away as color returns to the ashen skin.
When he looks up again, Castiel is watching him, and Sam squirms, pinned by the intensity of that gaze and what it represents, his heart rate spiking in terror. “I know what you’ve been doing,” says Castiel, and his tone is mild and without censure.
“I, I, I’m sorry,” Sam manages.
Castiel narrows his eyes. “You’re not.”
Flushed with guilt, Sam wants to hide. He's absurdly relieved when Castiel loks away from him, back to Dean, who's making smacking noises with his lips the way he does when he's deeply asleep. It should be a relief to hear it, but Sam’s suddenly terrified Dean will wake up.
“I’m doing the right thing. I’m using my powers to help people.” Castiel can’t refute that, can he?
Castiel runs his fingers through Dean’s hair again. “If you believed that, you would have told him.” Dean snuffles and turns his head, rubbing against Castiel’s palm.
Sam squeezes himself down as small as he can get and watches an angel pet his sleeping brother.
“One of the Seals,” says Castiel at length, “is the rise of the Apostate, the faithful servant and soldier led into darkness.” He’s still staring at Dean, something strange and distant in his gaze. “Another is the Schism, where former loyal brethren, those who fought shoulder-to-shoulder, face one another over the battlefield, heaven and hell at their backs.”
Sam jerks guiltily. “I would never,” he stutters, but Castiel’s not finished.
“Of course, both of those scenarios require that the betrayer in question be alive.” The words drop like bolts falling into place, and Sam goes very still.
Castiel’s hand comes to rest on Dean’s chest, over his heart, and he stands still for a long moment. “I will confess I do not understand much of human motivation. You wanted to save your brother, I know that. But he was saved, and yet you continue.” He shakes his head, looking frustrated. “I cannot interfere with free will, Samuel. But I was sent here to prevent the breaking of the Seals, and I will do so by any means necessary.”
Sam swallows and nods. “I understand.”
Castiel raises an eyebrow. “I doubt that. But you will take the warning as intended. It will severely limit your brother’s usefulness to me if he is crippled by grief.” His fingers brush Dean’s cheek one final time, belying his callous words, and he turns to the door.
“You see it too, don’t you,” says Sam quietly. “You see him.”
Castiel looks back over his shoulder, and for the first time, he’s not gut-wrenchingly terrifying. “Dean is - special, despite all his attempts to downplay his own worth. He will understand that someday.” You could sharpen a blade on the iron certainty in the angel’s voice. “God has a plan for him. And for you. Remember that.”
Then he is gone, between one moment and the next, and Sam releases the air from his aching lungs as Dean stirs into wakefulness.