Not what they should be...
Title: Not what they should be...
Author: fate_incomplete
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst
Spoilers: 5.04
Characters: Dean/Castiel, Chuck
Word Count: 1,400
Summary: Every night Chuck finds himself drawn to a spot in the dark, looking through a window at Dean and Castiel. The world is burning around them, but here, here Chuck sees what hope there is left in the world. If only they could see it too...
A/N: Future!verse fic at Camp Chitaqua....written for joyyjpg for the Five Acts Meme... I hope you like it hun.
Chuck walked between the dark cabins, mumbling to himself as he tallied up the camps supplies. They were low on medical supplies, as usual, though someone had bought in seven cases of canned beets and some sort of meat in a can product that didn't look like it had ever been edible.
The camp was quite, as it usually was, no one seemed all that keen on conversation as the world burned around them. To say the camp had a depressing air, was like saying the Niagara Falls were wet. Every day life here seemed to slowly ebb away.
He followed the same path around the camp every evening. He walked from assorted stock piles of supplies stashed around in various places, watching as they slowly dwindled. He stopped by the burnt out husks of two cars where the camp mutt had made its den. No one knew where it had come from, it had just turned up one day and stayed. He scratched it behind the ears, and slipped it bread crusts from his pocket that he had been holding onto all day.
Chuck found himself drawn towards a cabin on the edge of the camp. Every evening he would end his patrol of the camp here. He leaned against a wall in an out of the way nook. Dim light spilled from the window of the cabin, falling on muddy ground, not quite reaching where he stood in the dark.
He could see Dean pacing inside the cabin, he looked to be muttering under his breath, but Chuck couldn't quite catch what he was saying. He could see the shadow of someone else in the cabin. He didn't have to see him to know who it was. Castiel, always by Dean's side, even now, when everything seemed beyond hope.
They had just returned from yet another endless supply run, or maybe it was a recon run to track the activity of some demon or another. He wasn't really sure, the days and missions all blurred together.
He could see dark circles under Dean's eyes. Chuck knew he hadn't been sleeping well, hadn't been for years now. Castiel crossed the room, he looked to be unsteady on his feet. The angel didn't look to be in much better than his friend. Tired, beyond tired, as no angel should be. He was also injured, blood coated his shirt, and it looked to be still oozing from somewhere.
Dean grabbed Castiel by the shoulder and directed him to the edge of the bed. Not caring that the angel glared at him, stubbornly trying to remain stoic, despite the fact he looked like he was about to collapse.
Chuck knew Castiel wasn't sleeping well either. Chuck watched as Castiel reluctantly slumped onto the bed. He contemplated how truly remarkable it was that an angel was having trouble sleeping. Not really surprising given that sleeping wasn't something any angel had done before, well not those that were still angels anyway. Those that had fallen had obviously slept, but then again, they weren't angels anymore. Castiel was truly remarkable, in more ways than the angel would ever realise.
Chuck watched as Dean impatiently helped Castiel out of his shirt when he took too long to get it off. He could see Castiel mutter something while staring detached at the blood running down his arm. Dean answered gruffly, trying to cover his concern.
Chuck didn't pay any attention to the words they said, he was caught by the silent conversation played out in their movements.
Dean sloshed water into a bowl and knelt next to Castiel. He roughly wiped away as much of the blood as he could, exposing the slash across Castiel's upper arm. Castiel's eyes followed the movements of Dean's hands, as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world.
Dean's hand became gentler as he wiped the wound itself, looking up to Castiel's face as if checking that he wasn't causing too much pain. Satisfied that it was as clean as he could get it, he dropped the cloth in the bowl, and picked up a needle and thread.
He could see Dean say something to Castiel, possible explaining that this was going to hurt. Castiel's lips just tilted slightly as he looked up from Dean's hand, their eyes meeting for a moment. Volumes of books could be written in that smile for everything it conveyed. Trust, loyalty, faith. Everything that seemed to be missing in the world these days.
Dean started to suture the edges of the wound together, concentrating on the movements as if the salvation of the world lay in each stitch. His fingers moved deftly, with comforting surety. His bottom lip caught between his teeth as he worked.
Neither spoke. They had never exactly been huge conversationalist, they didn't need to be. Chuck wondered if they knew how much they spoke to each other without ever muttering a word. Their language laid in fleeting looks, in brief almost non-existent touches. Chuck watched transfixed, as he did most nights.
Dean leant back onto his heels as he finished, his fingers gently traced over his handiwork. His hand moved from the stitched gash, gently brushing over the myriad of bruises appearing along Castiel's arm, he followed the patchwork of blue and purple up Castiel's shoulder. Chuck wasn't sure if he was feeling for further injuries, or simply lost in the feel of the skin beneath his fingers.
Dean's hands followed Castiel's collar bone to the mostly healed scar near the hollow of his neck. A wound Dean had stitched up weeks ago after a particularly nasty run in with some Croats. Chuck hadn't been there to see that, it had happened somewhere across state in a small town he had forgotten he name of. He had seen the hard look in Dean's eyes when they had returned though. It was as if each new wound Castiel received left a matching mark on Dean.
Dean continued to run his hands over Castiel's skin, his fingers stopped occasionally to trace old wounds. Castiel's eyes followed the movements of Dean's hands. Dean hesitated as his fingers found the tight stretch of skin over a jagged scar running along Castiel's ribs, his eyes drowning in guilt and sadness he had no hope of hiding.
Castiel raised a hand and laid it over Dean's. Their fingers entwined over the scar.
Chuck had been there when Castiel had received that wound. It was the oldest scar on his body. The first wound he had received that he hadn't been able to heal. Chuck had been there to see the detached shock in Castiel's eyes as the blade had sliced into him. He had seen the desperation in Dean's eyes as he had fought his way to Castiel's side, holding him up as they managed to fight their way to the Impala.
It had also been the last day Dean had driven the Impala.
Dean had driven back to the relative safety of the camp with such reckless speed that if Chuck hadn't been otherwise occupied, he would have been sure they would crash before they got there. Chuck had cradled Castiel in the back seat, his hands slippery with blood as he had done his best to stem the flow. The Impala had been left to slowly rust out the back of the camp after that night, Castiel's dried blood coating the back seat. Chuck didn't think Dean had even looked at it since.
It had been a bad day.
Chuck watched now as Castiel reached out his other hand to Dean's cheek, gently forcing him to look up. Dean closed his eyes, still shrouding himself in guilt for the choices Castiel had made because of him, for him.
He saw Castiel whisper Dean's name, in that gravelly voice that echoed all he had lost. Dean opened his eyes. They stared at each other, their faces close enough that Chuck could almost see their breaths mingle together between them.
The seconds ticked by, Chuck could feel time almost stop, before Dean looked away, pulling his hand from beneath Castiel's.
He watched as Dean stood, grabbed the bowl and turned his back to Castiel. Chuck watched as Castiel sighed, his shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly, as a little bit more of the light inside of him dwindled.
Chuck fought the urge to sigh as well. Every night he came here. Every night he watched Dean and Castiel, and every night he watched a distance grow between them in undefinable measurements.
He turned and walked away into the night.
Maybe next time they would get it right.
...................
Author: fate_incomplete
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst
Spoilers: 5.04
Characters: Dean/Castiel, Chuck
Word Count: 1,400
Summary: Every night Chuck finds himself drawn to a spot in the dark, looking through a window at Dean and Castiel. The world is burning around them, but here, here Chuck sees what hope there is left in the world. If only they could see it too...
A/N: Future!verse fic at Camp Chitaqua....written for joyyjpg for the Five Acts Meme... I hope you like it hun.
Chuck walked between the dark cabins, mumbling to himself as he tallied up the camps supplies. They were low on medical supplies, as usual, though someone had bought in seven cases of canned beets and some sort of meat in a can product that didn't look like it had ever been edible.
The camp was quite, as it usually was, no one seemed all that keen on conversation as the world burned around them. To say the camp had a depressing air, was like saying the Niagara Falls were wet. Every day life here seemed to slowly ebb away.
He followed the same path around the camp every evening. He walked from assorted stock piles of supplies stashed around in various places, watching as they slowly dwindled. He stopped by the burnt out husks of two cars where the camp mutt had made its den. No one knew where it had come from, it had just turned up one day and stayed. He scratched it behind the ears, and slipped it bread crusts from his pocket that he had been holding onto all day.
Chuck found himself drawn towards a cabin on the edge of the camp. Every evening he would end his patrol of the camp here. He leaned against a wall in an out of the way nook. Dim light spilled from the window of the cabin, falling on muddy ground, not quite reaching where he stood in the dark.
He could see Dean pacing inside the cabin, he looked to be muttering under his breath, but Chuck couldn't quite catch what he was saying. He could see the shadow of someone else in the cabin. He didn't have to see him to know who it was. Castiel, always by Dean's side, even now, when everything seemed beyond hope.
They had just returned from yet another endless supply run, or maybe it was a recon run to track the activity of some demon or another. He wasn't really sure, the days and missions all blurred together.
He could see dark circles under Dean's eyes. Chuck knew he hadn't been sleeping well, hadn't been for years now. Castiel crossed the room, he looked to be unsteady on his feet. The angel didn't look to be in much better than his friend. Tired, beyond tired, as no angel should be. He was also injured, blood coated his shirt, and it looked to be still oozing from somewhere.
Dean grabbed Castiel by the shoulder and directed him to the edge of the bed. Not caring that the angel glared at him, stubbornly trying to remain stoic, despite the fact he looked like he was about to collapse.
Chuck knew Castiel wasn't sleeping well either. Chuck watched as Castiel reluctantly slumped onto the bed. He contemplated how truly remarkable it was that an angel was having trouble sleeping. Not really surprising given that sleeping wasn't something any angel had done before, well not those that were still angels anyway. Those that had fallen had obviously slept, but then again, they weren't angels anymore. Castiel was truly remarkable, in more ways than the angel would ever realise.
Chuck watched as Dean impatiently helped Castiel out of his shirt when he took too long to get it off. He could see Castiel mutter something while staring detached at the blood running down his arm. Dean answered gruffly, trying to cover his concern.
Chuck didn't pay any attention to the words they said, he was caught by the silent conversation played out in their movements.
Dean sloshed water into a bowl and knelt next to Castiel. He roughly wiped away as much of the blood as he could, exposing the slash across Castiel's upper arm. Castiel's eyes followed the movements of Dean's hands, as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world.
Dean's hand became gentler as he wiped the wound itself, looking up to Castiel's face as if checking that he wasn't causing too much pain. Satisfied that it was as clean as he could get it, he dropped the cloth in the bowl, and picked up a needle and thread.
He could see Dean say something to Castiel, possible explaining that this was going to hurt. Castiel's lips just tilted slightly as he looked up from Dean's hand, their eyes meeting for a moment. Volumes of books could be written in that smile for everything it conveyed. Trust, loyalty, faith. Everything that seemed to be missing in the world these days.
Dean started to suture the edges of the wound together, concentrating on the movements as if the salvation of the world lay in each stitch. His fingers moved deftly, with comforting surety. His bottom lip caught between his teeth as he worked.
Neither spoke. They had never exactly been huge conversationalist, they didn't need to be. Chuck wondered if they knew how much they spoke to each other without ever muttering a word. Their language laid in fleeting looks, in brief almost non-existent touches. Chuck watched transfixed, as he did most nights.
Dean leant back onto his heels as he finished, his fingers gently traced over his handiwork. His hand moved from the stitched gash, gently brushing over the myriad of bruises appearing along Castiel's arm, he followed the patchwork of blue and purple up Castiel's shoulder. Chuck wasn't sure if he was feeling for further injuries, or simply lost in the feel of the skin beneath his fingers.
Dean's hands followed Castiel's collar bone to the mostly healed scar near the hollow of his neck. A wound Dean had stitched up weeks ago after a particularly nasty run in with some Croats. Chuck hadn't been there to see that, it had happened somewhere across state in a small town he had forgotten he name of. He had seen the hard look in Dean's eyes when they had returned though. It was as if each new wound Castiel received left a matching mark on Dean.
Dean continued to run his hands over Castiel's skin, his fingers stopped occasionally to trace old wounds. Castiel's eyes followed the movements of Dean's hands. Dean hesitated as his fingers found the tight stretch of skin over a jagged scar running along Castiel's ribs, his eyes drowning in guilt and sadness he had no hope of hiding.
Castiel raised a hand and laid it over Dean's. Their fingers entwined over the scar.
Chuck had been there when Castiel had received that wound. It was the oldest scar on his body. The first wound he had received that he hadn't been able to heal. Chuck had been there to see the detached shock in Castiel's eyes as the blade had sliced into him. He had seen the desperation in Dean's eyes as he had fought his way to Castiel's side, holding him up as they managed to fight their way to the Impala.
It had also been the last day Dean had driven the Impala.
Dean had driven back to the relative safety of the camp with such reckless speed that if Chuck hadn't been otherwise occupied, he would have been sure they would crash before they got there. Chuck had cradled Castiel in the back seat, his hands slippery with blood as he had done his best to stem the flow. The Impala had been left to slowly rust out the back of the camp after that night, Castiel's dried blood coating the back seat. Chuck didn't think Dean had even looked at it since.
It had been a bad day.
Chuck watched now as Castiel reached out his other hand to Dean's cheek, gently forcing him to look up. Dean closed his eyes, still shrouding himself in guilt for the choices Castiel had made because of him, for him.
He saw Castiel whisper Dean's name, in that gravelly voice that echoed all he had lost. Dean opened his eyes. They stared at each other, their faces close enough that Chuck could almost see their breaths mingle together between them.
The seconds ticked by, Chuck could feel time almost stop, before Dean looked away, pulling his hand from beneath Castiel's.
He watched as Dean stood, grabbed the bowl and turned his back to Castiel. Chuck watched as Castiel sighed, his shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly, as a little bit more of the light inside of him dwindled.
Chuck fought the urge to sigh as well. Every night he came here. Every night he watched Dean and Castiel, and every night he watched a distance grow between them in undefinable measurements.
He turned and walked away into the night.
Maybe next time they would get it right.
...................