Living Things
Summary: Sam gets a message.
Category: A plot possibility that I would like if it were true.
Timeline: Before We Need To Talk About Kevin (8.01).
Characters: Sam & Castiel
Wordcount: 859
Rating: PG
For tahirire
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Slowly, one elbow slid from above his head to cover his eyes. There was an audible glitch from the bedside, that spark of cryptic static that a power surge always caused right before the radio would blare them awake. Heavy seconds ticked by but there was only silence. He took a deep breath and peeked out from under the softness of his eyelids toward the curtained window on the opposite wall. Tense yellow light stared back, the street light flickering slightly in an early morning that was still completely dark. The offending clock on her bedside glared hotly, 3:45 AM.
Rubbing his face, Sam left the bed quietly, careful not to wake either of them, but Riot lifted his head and sneezed, pawing closer to the now vacant pillow.
Sam rounded the corner into the living room and then into the kitchen in the dark, his feet making the trip by memory, the barest of light casting long shadows across the walls. He grabbed a glass from the shelf and filled it from the tap, gulping slowly while he stared half-asleep through the sink window.
The house next door was quiet, too.
“Hello Sam,” said a voice.
He nearly dropped the glass.
There was no weapon nearby when Sam whirled around. Sitting at her mother’s old kitchen table was the outline of a man in a trench coat, hands on his lap, the tilt of his head exaggerated by shadow.
“Castiel,” he blurted out, then in the answering silence wasn’t sure if it was true. “Cas?”
“Yes, it’s me,” One hand rose and landed on the table. It placed something there, jagged and black-shaped, “I seem to have regained … most of my faculties.”
Sam caught his breath. “You’re okay. Where have you been? Where’s Dean?”
Cas only looked at him, his expression unchanged. It looked like pain.
Crossing the room from the sink slowly, Sam sat in the opposite chair and leaned on his elbows over the table. “What happened?”
There was no response and then the angel pushed the blackened shards on the edge of the linoleum table with a fingertip. “I would never have left him there alone. Only Dean was trapped … in danger. You understand. I required … help.”
Sam swallowed hard and braced himself. “Is Dean alive?”
The angel’s head dropped slowly and stopped. Sam sent up a swift prayer and Cas met his eyes for the first time with a furtive expression. “Who he needs now ... is you.”
“Where is he?”
The angel’s gaze moved to the left and stared up at the decorations on the wall, wincing at the shiny edges of the hanging heirloom plates and the wooden wall calendar. Then his gaze softened. “He is resting in peace.”
“Cas,” Sam shifted forward even more, “I’ll go. I'll go right now, I promise you. Just tell me where he is.”
“You cannot tell him that I sent you,” Cas replied firmly and his eyes, when they turned to him, felt desperate and sad. “Sam, this is one secret that you must keep.”
“Why?”
The shards were pushed forward one finger’s width at a time. “He supposes that I am … lost.”
Sam stared, trying to comprehend why an angel with all his faculties was carrying around polished scraps of petrified stone. They glistened as they rolled across the tabletop.
“I am fairly certain that this is part of my grace,” came the thoughtful reply, “or some remainder of it.”
“Cas, I’m sorry.”
“It was an unforeseen effect,” he said without emotion, then added, “He would blame himself.”
“Does that mean that you’re...” Sam began but couldn't bring himself to finish the thought. He saw a tendon jump in the angel’s jaw but then watched as it evolved into an unfamiliar smile.
A silence fell between them. The dog padded into the room, stared up at Sam, then at the unknown man, then back again.
“I love dogs,” Cas bent forward and the dog greeted him with a sniff. “How is Kevin?”
Sam tried to hide a smile as he shook his head. Then he folded his fingers together and nodded. “He's fine.”
Riot rubbed his sides against the angel’s knee and wagged his tail so that it thump, thump, thumped against the metal table leg. Cas continued to pet him in long, gentle strokes across his back. “Dean is at the cabin but I am unsure how long he will remain there. The board games have not been comforting to him.”
“I’ll leave tonight,” Sam said firmly. He got up and called Riot with a pat on his own leg. The dog came immediately and licked his hand. “What will you do, Cas? Do you need a ride?”
There was no reply. Sam looked up and he and the dog were alone. The specks on the table were gone, the shadows were empty, as if it had all been a dream. If it weren’t for a streak of black staining Riot’s shoulder, Sam would have been tempted to think that it had been.
He nodded with a wane smile toward the empty chair. “Not lost,” he told the darkness.
Category: A plot possibility that I would like if it were true.
Timeline: Before We Need To Talk About Kevin (8.01).
Characters: Sam & Castiel
Wordcount: 859
Rating: PG
For tahirire
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Slowly, one elbow slid from above his head to cover his eyes. There was an audible glitch from the bedside, that spark of cryptic static that a power surge always caused right before the radio would blare them awake. Heavy seconds ticked by but there was only silence. He took a deep breath and peeked out from under the softness of his eyelids toward the curtained window on the opposite wall. Tense yellow light stared back, the street light flickering slightly in an early morning that was still completely dark. The offending clock on her bedside glared hotly, 3:45 AM.
Rubbing his face, Sam left the bed quietly, careful not to wake either of them, but Riot lifted his head and sneezed, pawing closer to the now vacant pillow.
Sam rounded the corner into the living room and then into the kitchen in the dark, his feet making the trip by memory, the barest of light casting long shadows across the walls. He grabbed a glass from the shelf and filled it from the tap, gulping slowly while he stared half-asleep through the sink window.
The house next door was quiet, too.
“Hello Sam,” said a voice.
He nearly dropped the glass.
There was no weapon nearby when Sam whirled around. Sitting at her mother’s old kitchen table was the outline of a man in a trench coat, hands on his lap, the tilt of his head exaggerated by shadow.
“Castiel,” he blurted out, then in the answering silence wasn’t sure if it was true. “Cas?”
“Yes, it’s me,” One hand rose and landed on the table. It placed something there, jagged and black-shaped, “I seem to have regained … most of my faculties.”
Sam caught his breath. “You’re okay. Where have you been? Where’s Dean?”
Cas only looked at him, his expression unchanged. It looked like pain.
Crossing the room from the sink slowly, Sam sat in the opposite chair and leaned on his elbows over the table. “What happened?”
There was no response and then the angel pushed the blackened shards on the edge of the linoleum table with a fingertip. “I would never have left him there alone. Only Dean was trapped … in danger. You understand. I required … help.”
Sam swallowed hard and braced himself. “Is Dean alive?”
The angel’s head dropped slowly and stopped. Sam sent up a swift prayer and Cas met his eyes for the first time with a furtive expression. “Who he needs now ... is you.”
“Where is he?”
The angel’s gaze moved to the left and stared up at the decorations on the wall, wincing at the shiny edges of the hanging heirloom plates and the wooden wall calendar. Then his gaze softened. “He is resting in peace.”
“Cas,” Sam shifted forward even more, “I’ll go. I'll go right now, I promise you. Just tell me where he is.”
“You cannot tell him that I sent you,” Cas replied firmly and his eyes, when they turned to him, felt desperate and sad. “Sam, this is one secret that you must keep.”
“Why?”
The shards were pushed forward one finger’s width at a time. “He supposes that I am … lost.”
Sam stared, trying to comprehend why an angel with all his faculties was carrying around polished scraps of petrified stone. They glistened as they rolled across the tabletop.
“I am fairly certain that this is part of my grace,” came the thoughtful reply, “or some remainder of it.”
“Cas, I’m sorry.”
“It was an unforeseen effect,” he said without emotion, then added, “He would blame himself.”
“Does that mean that you’re...” Sam began but couldn't bring himself to finish the thought. He saw a tendon jump in the angel’s jaw but then watched as it evolved into an unfamiliar smile.
A silence fell between them. The dog padded into the room, stared up at Sam, then at the unknown man, then back again.
“I love dogs,” Cas bent forward and the dog greeted him with a sniff. “How is Kevin?”
Sam tried to hide a smile as he shook his head. Then he folded his fingers together and nodded. “He's fine.”
Riot rubbed his sides against the angel’s knee and wagged his tail so that it thump, thump, thumped against the metal table leg. Cas continued to pet him in long, gentle strokes across his back. “Dean is at the cabin but I am unsure how long he will remain there. The board games have not been comforting to him.”
“I’ll leave tonight,” Sam said firmly. He got up and called Riot with a pat on his own leg. The dog came immediately and licked his hand. “What will you do, Cas? Do you need a ride?”
There was no reply. Sam looked up and he and the dog were alone. The specks on the table were gone, the shadows were empty, as if it had all been a dream. If it weren’t for a streak of black staining Riot’s shoulder, Sam would have been tempted to think that it had been.
He nodded with a wane smile toward the empty chair. “Not lost,” he told the darkness.