The everlasting gaze (spoilers for 4.01, pg, 950 words)
This is a kind of pointless little piece that I decided to write in order to get it out of my head. It has spoilers for 4.01 but is rivers_bend-safe. Hopefully more spies later today.
The everlasting gaze
Title from Smashing Pumpkins, of course.
(very mild Dean/Castiel, pg, 950 words)
It's a strange thing to hate your saviour. Dean doesn't remember Hell, not really. He doesn't remember Castiel putting his hand on him, drawing him up through the fire and blood. But there's a huge, frozen horror hidden in the back of his head. It creeps into his other thoughts. It casts a shadow that seems to come from nothing but reaches everything.
Castiel brought him out of that. Castiel saved him.
Castiel is waiting by the window, waiting for Dean to acknowledge his presence. His hands hang limply at his sides, fingers ever so slightly curled, like Castiel doesn't know what to do with them. His eyes are wide and sincere, the look on his face is so guileless it's almost childlike.
Dean doesn't know exactly when he started hating him but it's worked up to a good, strong loathing.
With a brisk, "Fuck off," Dean brushes past Castiel and puts the Impala keys on the motel room hook.
"We need to talk, Dean."
"No, you need to fuck off before Sam gets back. Because if I have to admit to him that angels are real, he's never gonna let me live it down. He'll be wanting to look for fucking unicorns next."
Dean hates Castiel a little more for flinching at Sam's name. It's Sam - Dean's kid brother, Dean's reason for getting up in the morning - and it's totally unnecessary for Castiel to flinch at his name.
Castiel is looking at Dean with that same earnest appeal in his eyes.
"There is so much for you to do," he says.
"You ever consider that maybe you saved the wrong guy?" Dean says, wheeling around to properly face him. "Y'know, maybe you should'a run your job offer by me before you went to the trouble of getting me outta there. 'Cause I ain't doing a damn thing for you."
And there. There's a proper frown on Castiel's face. He leans in closer, eyes narrowed slightly in thought as he peers at Dean's face. Dean grits his teeth and fights back the urge to slap him away.
"Why are you so angry?"
"Why are you not fucking off?"
"Dean," says Castiel, soft and gentling. And he puts his hand on Dean's shoulder, right where he's branded him, and maybe it draws Hell to the surface or maybe Dean's just had all he can take, but he fucking punches him.
He punches an angel.
He registers the instinctive, primal horror of what he's doing even in the second before his fist connects with Castiel's meatsuit's jaw. It's one thing to shoot what he thinks is a demon, another altogether to know it's an angel - to have the memory of unfurled wings in his head - and to punch it anyway.
"Why did you save me?" Dean snarls, barely able to form the words through his insane fury. "Why me? Why didn't you save my mom? She believed in you! Or my dad? He deserved to be saved!"
He can't control himself. He can't help the words coming out of his mouth, can't push back the rage that's burning up his blood.
"You could have saved them, you fucking bastard! You could have saved Sammy!"
Castiel's hand is tight on his shoulder, holding him upright even as Dean's knees buckle beneath him. Oh God, God, it's Hell all over again. It's the pain and the fear and the absolute unending hopelessness. It's nothing but malice in the darkness. There are hot tears running down Dean's cheeks and he tries to jerk free of Castiel's grip, but he can't. Castiel pulls him closer, lips moving, and the window shatters.
"Why didn’t you save my mom?"
The question is mostly lost in Castiel's shoulder. Castiel's other hand rests between Dean's shoulder blades and his mouth is at Dean's temple. Half-heartedly, Dean makes one last attempt at breaking loose.
"Shh," says Castiel and tightens his grip on him.
Dean gives in and his entire body drains of strength. He has nothing left. Gently, Castiel brings them both to their knees, still holding Dean close like he thinks Dean will break without his hands to hold the pieces together. Maybe he's right.
Gradually, Dean becomes aware that he has his face buried in an angelic host's overcoat, that his cheeks are sticky with tears, that he maybe hates Castiel just a little less.
"All right," says Dean, a little awkwardly, and squirms against Castiel. "All right, lemme go. I'm fine."
It takes Castiel a second to comply, and even when he does, he insists on peering into Dean's face again. Like he can look inside Dean's head. Better not be able to look inside Dean's head. Fucking angels.
Dean wipes his hand over his face and gets unsteadily to his feet. Castiel moves with him, hands hovering over him, not touching but ready to catch him should he fall. The shards of glass from the shattered window spark prettily in the sunshine. Dean glares at them.
"You broke the fucking window again, asshole," Dean says without heat.
Castiel looks at the window then back at Dean. He doesn't seem sure what response he is required to give so he doesn't say anything.
Dean takes a breath and tries to centre himself.
"I think maybe you guys screwed up on picking me," he says at last. "But… you got me out. So, I guess I owe you a favour."
Castiel's silent for so long that Dean starts to think he doesn't know what he's supposed to say to that either.
"No," says Castiel. "There was no mistake. You were the one I was supposed to save."
"How do you know that?" Dean says, his voice is barely above a whisper.
Castiel's smile is too beautiful for the human host's face.
"Your mother, Dean, she told you. We know you. I know you."
Angels are watching over you, Mary's voice says, and the last of Dean's hatred for Castiel gets lost in awe and in fear.
~end
The everlasting gaze
Title from Smashing Pumpkins, of course.
(very mild Dean/Castiel, pg, 950 words)
It's a strange thing to hate your saviour. Dean doesn't remember Hell, not really. He doesn't remember Castiel putting his hand on him, drawing him up through the fire and blood. But there's a huge, frozen horror hidden in the back of his head. It creeps into his other thoughts. It casts a shadow that seems to come from nothing but reaches everything.
Castiel brought him out of that. Castiel saved him.
Castiel is waiting by the window, waiting for Dean to acknowledge his presence. His hands hang limply at his sides, fingers ever so slightly curled, like Castiel doesn't know what to do with them. His eyes are wide and sincere, the look on his face is so guileless it's almost childlike.
Dean doesn't know exactly when he started hating him but it's worked up to a good, strong loathing.
With a brisk, "Fuck off," Dean brushes past Castiel and puts the Impala keys on the motel room hook.
"We need to talk, Dean."
"No, you need to fuck off before Sam gets back. Because if I have to admit to him that angels are real, he's never gonna let me live it down. He'll be wanting to look for fucking unicorns next."
Dean hates Castiel a little more for flinching at Sam's name. It's Sam - Dean's kid brother, Dean's reason for getting up in the morning - and it's totally unnecessary for Castiel to flinch at his name.
Castiel is looking at Dean with that same earnest appeal in his eyes.
"There is so much for you to do," he says.
"You ever consider that maybe you saved the wrong guy?" Dean says, wheeling around to properly face him. "Y'know, maybe you should'a run your job offer by me before you went to the trouble of getting me outta there. 'Cause I ain't doing a damn thing for you."
And there. There's a proper frown on Castiel's face. He leans in closer, eyes narrowed slightly in thought as he peers at Dean's face. Dean grits his teeth and fights back the urge to slap him away.
"Why are you so angry?"
"Why are you not fucking off?"
"Dean," says Castiel, soft and gentling. And he puts his hand on Dean's shoulder, right where he's branded him, and maybe it draws Hell to the surface or maybe Dean's just had all he can take, but he fucking punches him.
He punches an angel.
He registers the instinctive, primal horror of what he's doing even in the second before his fist connects with Castiel's meatsuit's jaw. It's one thing to shoot what he thinks is a demon, another altogether to know it's an angel - to have the memory of unfurled wings in his head - and to punch it anyway.
"Why did you save me?" Dean snarls, barely able to form the words through his insane fury. "Why me? Why didn't you save my mom? She believed in you! Or my dad? He deserved to be saved!"
He can't control himself. He can't help the words coming out of his mouth, can't push back the rage that's burning up his blood.
"You could have saved them, you fucking bastard! You could have saved Sammy!"
Castiel's hand is tight on his shoulder, holding him upright even as Dean's knees buckle beneath him. Oh God, God, it's Hell all over again. It's the pain and the fear and the absolute unending hopelessness. It's nothing but malice in the darkness. There are hot tears running down Dean's cheeks and he tries to jerk free of Castiel's grip, but he can't. Castiel pulls him closer, lips moving, and the window shatters.
"Why didn’t you save my mom?"
The question is mostly lost in Castiel's shoulder. Castiel's other hand rests between Dean's shoulder blades and his mouth is at Dean's temple. Half-heartedly, Dean makes one last attempt at breaking loose.
"Shh," says Castiel and tightens his grip on him.
Dean gives in and his entire body drains of strength. He has nothing left. Gently, Castiel brings them both to their knees, still holding Dean close like he thinks Dean will break without his hands to hold the pieces together. Maybe he's right.
Gradually, Dean becomes aware that he has his face buried in an angelic host's overcoat, that his cheeks are sticky with tears, that he maybe hates Castiel just a little less.
"All right," says Dean, a little awkwardly, and squirms against Castiel. "All right, lemme go. I'm fine."
It takes Castiel a second to comply, and even when he does, he insists on peering into Dean's face again. Like he can look inside Dean's head. Better not be able to look inside Dean's head. Fucking angels.
Dean wipes his hand over his face and gets unsteadily to his feet. Castiel moves with him, hands hovering over him, not touching but ready to catch him should he fall. The shards of glass from the shattered window spark prettily in the sunshine. Dean glares at them.
"You broke the fucking window again, asshole," Dean says without heat.
Castiel looks at the window then back at Dean. He doesn't seem sure what response he is required to give so he doesn't say anything.
Dean takes a breath and tries to centre himself.
"I think maybe you guys screwed up on picking me," he says at last. "But… you got me out. So, I guess I owe you a favour."
Castiel's silent for so long that Dean starts to think he doesn't know what he's supposed to say to that either.
"No," says Castiel. "There was no mistake. You were the one I was supposed to save."
"How do you know that?" Dean says, his voice is barely above a whisper.
Castiel's smile is too beautiful for the human host's face.
"Your mother, Dean, she told you. We know you. I know you."
Angels are watching over you, Mary's voice says, and the last of Dean's hatred for Castiel gets lost in awe and in fear.
~end