SPN fic: Sea of Glass (4.01)
Okay, so I've seen a lot of people talking about this, and I couldn't resist. SPOILERS INSIDE!
Title: Sea of Glass
Author: aynslee
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~1000
Beta: leighm
Spoilers: YES, for 4.01
Notes: Based a comment by memphis86 , which contains SPOILERS.
The rest of the fic heading is listed under the cut, because it contains also SPOILERS! (Yes, I am repeating that!)
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Summary: Castiel comes to visit Dean at the motel, and Sam’s not happy when he finds out.
Notes2: Assume that Sam knows about Castiel.
Title comes from this: And before the throne there was a sea of glass like unto crystal: and in the midst of the throne, and round about the throne, were four beasts full of eyes before and behind. -Revelation, 4.6 (It’s random. No future spoilers, as far as I know.)
Sea of Glass
When the sun rises, Sam’s gone again, slipped off while Dean was still sleeping. Dean’s getting fucking sick of it-Sam insists nothing’s going on, makes up excuses like, ‘I wanted donuts, or I needed a local newspaper,’ but Dean’s not buying it-his brother’s up to something.
Dean yanks the motel door open, ready to find Sam and catch him in the act, but when he steps out, that goddamned angel is blocking the doorway.
Dean’s not over the fact that it was an angel that got him out, and he’s been coping by refusing to think about it until he figures out what Sam’s dicking around with. He’s also been very pointedly ignoring the handprint on his arm. But now the angel is here, in his room, and the raised skin tingles.
Castiel, or whatever the hell his name is, inches closer, gets right up in Dean’s face. The guy-the angel-has no sense of personal space, but there’s nothing threatening about him, at least not in this form. His eyebrows knit together while he peers at Dean.
It’s fucking awkward. Dean coughs, hoping he’ll back up. “What do you want?”
“I came to see you.”
“Wow. That was helpful.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Did Sam ask you to do it?”
Castiel actually looks perplexed. “Sam?”
“My brother. You know, tall guy, horrible taste. Can’t miss him.”
“I know who he is. I was asking what you’re referring to.”
Dean wants to slap his own forehead. He can’t figure out if Castiel is really this dense, or if he’s bullshitting. “Did he ask you to, you know. Get me out of hell.”
Castiel cocks his head to the side, as if he’s listening intently, but he doesn’t answer.
Dean huffs, impatient. “Sam likes to pray. So I thought he might have…”
“He may have asked the Lord. I don’t know.”
Dean looks him up and down. He’s got on a new suit, free from blood and bullet holes. “Aren’t you supposed to know shit like this?”
“I was not assigned to watch your Sam.” Castiel is matter of fact with his statement. But then he’s leaning in, and before Dean realizes what’s happening, Castiel is kissing him. Kissing. A fucking angel.
Dean’s never been into guys, and his first instinct is to shove him away. But he doesn’t. He knows the guy is okay looking, maybe even better than okay, but none of that matters because there’s a force inside Castiel, inside this random guy’s body, and it draws Dean in, captivates him, cajoles him into wanting this.
Castiel’s lips are warm. Dean feels himself going under, fading, until the stubble on Castiel’s face scratches against his own, reminding Dean of exactly who’s kissing him, and he pulls away, wiping his mouth.
“Can you, uh.” Dean’s still half dazed, and the words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Can you do it again?”
Before Dean realizes that he didn’t specify exactly what “it” is, Castiel’s lips curve up, and that same slightly rueful look settles on his face. “You like the wings.”
Of course the guy can read his mind-Dean’s an idiot for forgetting that tiny detail. He can feel the flush all over his body. “Nah. Just wanted to see how big they were. I mean-” Dean groans. He gave the guy a perfect opening with that one, and he waits for a comment, lewd or otherwise.
But Castiel doesn’t laugh. He stands still, lets the wings unfold again. The same light shows up alongside the wings, illuminating the dim motel room. They’re more than shadow this time, pale gray feathers stretching out, spanning from wall to wall.
Dean can’t help himself. He reaches out and touches, skims his hand along the edge, wraps his fingers around the feathers. When Castiel shudders, he yanks his arm away.
He turns to face Dean, still wearing that perpetual look of slight confusion. “I’m sorry. I don’t spend much time in human form.”
Dean frowns, remembering the gun, the knife. He gestures toward Castiel’s chest. “Will this person die? Because I stabbed you?”
“The Lord will welcome him.”
Dean nods. He expected that, but it still bothers him. He'd thought maybe an angel would be able to fix the damage, but apparently they're no better than demons with that.
Castiel moves away, toward the door, and the pull that Dean feels weakens. “Your brother is coming. I’ll be back later.”
“Enjoy those heavenly duties,” Dean says. He wonders vaguely if he should treat the guy with a little more respect, but he figures that they-Castiel, God, and whatever else is in league with him-are the ones who wanted him out of hell. They can deal.
Castiel doesn’t reply. He just walks out.
Before Dean can process the fact that the angel showed up unannounced, and kissed him-fucking kissed him, not to mention the fog that came over him-Sam comes barging into the room.
His voice is louder than usual. “What was he doing here?”
Dean takes in the grimace on Sam’s face. “Chill out, man. I was trying to get some information.”
“I don’t like it.”
“He’s an angel.” It’s a thin explanation, even to Dean’s ears.
“So he says. All we know is that Ruby’s knife won’t kill him, and that he has wings.” Sam slams his bag down. “That’s not a whole fucking lot!”
“You’re the one that’s always bitching about me not having any faith. A real honest-to-god angel shows up and you get all pissy.”
“I am not pissy.” When Dean gives him a pointed look, he sighs. “I’m just. I’m a little on edge.”
“Ya think?”
“Sorry.” Sam leans forward in his chair, and his face is as earnest as Dean’s ever seen it. “But I don’t trust him, Dean.”
“Neither do I.” And Dean doesn’t trust him, no way, but that doesn’t mean he can let Sam bust in and tell him what to do, not when Sam’s the one sneaking around. Dean crosses the room, puts his hand on his brother’s shoulder. He’ll question Sam later on, after he’s calmed down. “It’s gonna be okay.” He squeezes Sam’s shoulder. He doesn’t believe his own words, and he knows Sam doesn’t either.
Dean doesn’t mention that he can still see Castiel outside, standing rigid in the motel’s parking lot.