fic: Riddles in the Dark
Title: Riddles in the Dark
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Castiel, a smidgen of Sam, and mentions of Jimmy
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Angst, Spoilers through Season 5
Length: 1,083
Summary: Dean has a late-night conversation with Castiel.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: I hadn't planned on this being the first SPN story to share with you all, but I've been in sort of crappy mood lately and this just...spilled out. It's un-beta'd, and was written up rather quickly (as quickly as a perfectionist like me can be, anyway), so forgive the mistakes. Feedback is everything.
Dean was tired. Of everything. He was mentally and physically drained dry to the point of exhaustion, and he was done. Just fucking done. The end was nigh, the apocalypse...inevitable, and he just...didn't care anymore.
Sam was snoring softly on the bed next to his and he tried to match the slow rhythm of his brother's breathing, to help lull himself into some sense restfulness. It wasn't working. His mind was constantly on, constantly grinding away, formulating ideas and plans, and he didn't know how to turn it off. So sleep eluded him for days on end, until he drank himself to sleep or passed out from exhaustion. Sam didn't know, or if he did, he didn't let on. Dean did his best to stay strong for Sam during the times they were both awake, but the moment Sam was sprawled out across a grimy motel bed, or passed out on the seat next to him in the Impala, Dean shut down.
He turned on his side, facing Sam, and watched the light from passing cars shine through the window at indiscriminate intervals as he mindlessly fiddled with the charm hanging around his neck.
Suddenly there was the soft whoosh of flapping in the quiet room. It died instantly on the air, leaving nothing but the ringing in his ears to signal its existence.
He'll always remember the first time he heard that sound, how surreal it had been. More than anything he'd ever heard or seen in his life, that sound remained one of the weirdest. He never liked it, but over the course of a year he'd gotten used to it and found it as comforting as Sam's snoring or the roar of the Impala.
He didn't say anything for a long time. He didn't need to. Castiel didn't need small-talk. He would just pop in every night, and sit in the dark, watching over them until it was time to wake up and get back to work. Dean assumed that's what he was doing, anyway. Cas never gave him another explanation for why he was there, and he never bothered to ask, just accepted his presence as part of the team and left it at that. It didn't bother him though. Sometimes it got a little lonely when you thought you were the only one left awake in the world.
He could sense Castiel behind him, and heard the shuffle of his trench-coat as he sat down on the chair next to Dean's bed.
Sometimes he forgot just how different Castiel was; how...inhuman he was. Dean was in a strange position. He had a supernatural being at his disposal, one who wasn't trying to kill him or ruin his life (not directly), one to whom he could ask almost anything and get a direct response. He thought back to times when he was a kid and he'd asked his dad whispered questions in the dark, but was always told to go back to sleep, don't worry about it...and he had always felt a little betrayed.
"Cas?" he murmured.
"Yes, Dean?"
Out of all the questions he could have asked he had no idea why he picked the one he did. Blame it on the product of endless brain-babble that leaked out through his mouth, but it was sincere nonetheless. He was genuinely curious.
"What do angels look like?"
A moment of dead air hung in the room and he wondered if Castiel was even going to respond. He'd asked a lot of questions before, always sarcastic and playful, but this time was different, and he sensed Castiel knew that.
The response, when it finally came, was careful and controlled, like he'd memorized the answer a long time ago but never had the need to use it until now.
"Not unlike humans. Just...less concise."
"And what does that mean."
Castiel paused for a moment, and Dean pictured him tilting his head in thought, trying to figure out which words to use, "We are energy. A flawless conundrum of light and noise."
Like that explained everything.
"Like lightning?" Dean offered.
"Like lightning." Castiel seemed pleased with the analogy, and remained silent.
"Do you each look different?"
"Somewhat."
"...What do you look like?" He might be crossing a line, but then again, nothing ever seemed too personal with Castiel.
"I bear a striking resemblance to this body. Jimmy was made for me, and I for Jimmy."
"I thought you said you were old."
"I am."
"But Jimmy--"
"There have been many Jimmys throughout time, Dean. This one is simply the...latest edition."
Dean hummed softly in thought as Sam rolled over on to his back and let out a particularly loud snore.
"So...does that mean I look like Michael?"
"Yes."
"Does Sammy..."
"Yes."
Dean stared at Sam's form next to his, the slow rise and fall of his chest, an air of perpetual innocence gracing his features in sleep the same as when he's awake. Sam. As big as a tree, and as breakable as glass. His. His responsibility. He blinked and realized there were tears in his eyes.
"Sam and I are wasting our time, aren't we." It wasn't a question.
Castiel sighed, "Dean, since the beginning of time you and your brother have come from different backgrounds, different locations, had many different names, but your paths have always been the same. The ending will always be the same."
Dean made a small, non-commital noise, and murmured to himself, "Only the names and places have been changed."
A moment of silence passed.
"I am sorry, Dean." There was a catch in Castiel's voice that made him sound more human than Dean had ever heard before.
"Yeah, okay." It came out a little more hateful than he'd intended but he didn't care. There was the unmistakable flutter that meant Castiel had made his exit, and then all was silent again. He blinked and a tear slipped out. He found he could barely detect its hot path as it trickled sideways out of the corner of his eye and soaked into the pillow beneath his head. It seemed tears had just become another useless function he possessed.
The cellphone on the bed-side table rang loudly and Sam jerked awake and reached for it. He flipped it open, mumbled a few words that Dean couldn't make out, and quickly flipped the phone shut.
"Dean, wake up. That was Bobby. Time to go."
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Castiel, a smidgen of Sam, and mentions of Jimmy
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Angst, Spoilers through Season 5
Length: 1,083
Summary: Dean has a late-night conversation with Castiel.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: I hadn't planned on this being the first SPN story to share with you all, but I've been in sort of crappy mood lately and this just...spilled out. It's un-beta'd, and was written up rather quickly (as quickly as a perfectionist like me can be, anyway), so forgive the mistakes. Feedback is everything.
Dean was tired. Of everything. He was mentally and physically drained dry to the point of exhaustion, and he was done. Just fucking done. The end was nigh, the apocalypse...inevitable, and he just...didn't care anymore.
Sam was snoring softly on the bed next to his and he tried to match the slow rhythm of his brother's breathing, to help lull himself into some sense restfulness. It wasn't working. His mind was constantly on, constantly grinding away, formulating ideas and plans, and he didn't know how to turn it off. So sleep eluded him for days on end, until he drank himself to sleep or passed out from exhaustion. Sam didn't know, or if he did, he didn't let on. Dean did his best to stay strong for Sam during the times they were both awake, but the moment Sam was sprawled out across a grimy motel bed, or passed out on the seat next to him in the Impala, Dean shut down.
He turned on his side, facing Sam, and watched the light from passing cars shine through the window at indiscriminate intervals as he mindlessly fiddled with the charm hanging around his neck.
Suddenly there was the soft whoosh of flapping in the quiet room. It died instantly on the air, leaving nothing but the ringing in his ears to signal its existence.
He'll always remember the first time he heard that sound, how surreal it had been. More than anything he'd ever heard or seen in his life, that sound remained one of the weirdest. He never liked it, but over the course of a year he'd gotten used to it and found it as comforting as Sam's snoring or the roar of the Impala.
He didn't say anything for a long time. He didn't need to. Castiel didn't need small-talk. He would just pop in every night, and sit in the dark, watching over them until it was time to wake up and get back to work. Dean assumed that's what he was doing, anyway. Cas never gave him another explanation for why he was there, and he never bothered to ask, just accepted his presence as part of the team and left it at that. It didn't bother him though. Sometimes it got a little lonely when you thought you were the only one left awake in the world.
He could sense Castiel behind him, and heard the shuffle of his trench-coat as he sat down on the chair next to Dean's bed.
Sometimes he forgot just how different Castiel was; how...inhuman he was. Dean was in a strange position. He had a supernatural being at his disposal, one who wasn't trying to kill him or ruin his life (not directly), one to whom he could ask almost anything and get a direct response. He thought back to times when he was a kid and he'd asked his dad whispered questions in the dark, but was always told to go back to sleep, don't worry about it...and he had always felt a little betrayed.
"Cas?" he murmured.
"Yes, Dean?"
Out of all the questions he could have asked he had no idea why he picked the one he did. Blame it on the product of endless brain-babble that leaked out through his mouth, but it was sincere nonetheless. He was genuinely curious.
"What do angels look like?"
A moment of dead air hung in the room and he wondered if Castiel was even going to respond. He'd asked a lot of questions before, always sarcastic and playful, but this time was different, and he sensed Castiel knew that.
The response, when it finally came, was careful and controlled, like he'd memorized the answer a long time ago but never had the need to use it until now.
"Not unlike humans. Just...less concise."
"And what does that mean."
Castiel paused for a moment, and Dean pictured him tilting his head in thought, trying to figure out which words to use, "We are energy. A flawless conundrum of light and noise."
Like that explained everything.
"Like lightning?" Dean offered.
"Like lightning." Castiel seemed pleased with the analogy, and remained silent.
"Do you each look different?"
"Somewhat."
"...What do you look like?" He might be crossing a line, but then again, nothing ever seemed too personal with Castiel.
"I bear a striking resemblance to this body. Jimmy was made for me, and I for Jimmy."
"I thought you said you were old."
"I am."
"But Jimmy--"
"There have been many Jimmys throughout time, Dean. This one is simply the...latest edition."
Dean hummed softly in thought as Sam rolled over on to his back and let out a particularly loud snore.
"So...does that mean I look like Michael?"
"Yes."
"Does Sammy..."
"Yes."
Dean stared at Sam's form next to his, the slow rise and fall of his chest, an air of perpetual innocence gracing his features in sleep the same as when he's awake. Sam. As big as a tree, and as breakable as glass. His. His responsibility. He blinked and realized there were tears in his eyes.
"Sam and I are wasting our time, aren't we." It wasn't a question.
Castiel sighed, "Dean, since the beginning of time you and your brother have come from different backgrounds, different locations, had many different names, but your paths have always been the same. The ending will always be the same."
Dean made a small, non-commital noise, and murmured to himself, "Only the names and places have been changed."
A moment of silence passed.
"I am sorry, Dean." There was a catch in Castiel's voice that made him sound more human than Dean had ever heard before.
"Yeah, okay." It came out a little more hateful than he'd intended but he didn't care. There was the unmistakable flutter that meant Castiel had made his exit, and then all was silent again. He blinked and a tear slipped out. He found he could barely detect its hot path as it trickled sideways out of the corner of his eye and soaked into the pillow beneath his head. It seemed tears had just become another useless function he possessed.
The cellphone on the bed-side table rang loudly and Sam jerked awake and reached for it. He flipped it open, mumbled a few words that Dean couldn't make out, and quickly flipped the phone shut.
"Dean, wake up. That was Bobby. Time to go."