Promise Not to Promise Anymore | SPN | PG-13
Title: Promise Not to Promise Anymore
Series: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~650
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Stubborn boys being stubborn boys.
Summary: There’s a wall between them, and for once it’s not figurative.
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
A/N 1: A drabble, and my first foray into the world of Supernatural fic. Baby steps...
“Dean -”
“Shut up,” Dean snapped, his fists curling against the unforgiving, bloodied concrete on which he sat.
He knew what that tone signified; heard it in Sam’s voice in Dean’s time of dying. Heard it in his own when hope had taken a detour. And now Cas?
Fuck this. The end was not nigh and Dean was not going to allow himself or Cas to rot away in a couple of windowless rooms like helpless animals.
This was just a minor setback. The kind of setback that involved Cas trapped in a room littered with Enochian grounding sigils and Dean in the adjacent, his bones broken and body bruised.
A single wall separated them, but it might as well have been a mile.
Dean tipped his head back against the concrete and gritted his teeth against the nauseous anger that roiled in his gut, threatening to swallow his ability to reason. He had to keep his head clear right now, had to -
“Dean, I -”
“Cas.” To Dean’s horror, his voice cracked half-way through the admonishment. “Don’t open your mouth unless you’re gonna tell me how to get the hell outta here.”
“Let me remind you that you’re the one who’s been stressing my apparent necessity for pathos.”
“That’s not the point,” Dean grumbled as he unconsciously pressed his shoulders flush against the frigid wall. Cas was sitting directly opposite him; he just felt it. A foot away, just a - “The point is I don’t wanna talk about it.”
They both knew what ‘it’ was, although neither had ever gone as far as to voice it - and Dean was happy to let it lie. He was fucking thrilled to. What sane person would want to admit that their irreparably scarred heart and angelically unscarred body lay in another person’s hands?
Crazy people - that’s who. Dean might be nine kinds of crazy, but not to that extent.
“Our situation is dire, Dean,” Cas said in his gravest monotone. “No one knows where we are and we have no means of escape. If there was any more appropriate time to -”
“To come up with a genius plan, it would be now,” Dean finished for him. Pain stained his palms where his nails bit in.
Dean wheezed a quiet breath in the oppressive silence that descended upon them.
His initial guilt was choked off by a sense of self-justification. Even now, Dean had to cast Cas aside for their own good. Admissions led to promises and promises inevitably led to broken ones. Dean could only imagine Cas would feel like shit if he made some declaration now, in the heat of the moment, and then had to face his words when they broke out of this joint.
Dean would spare everyone the heartbr- awkwardness.
“Dean, it was -”
“What?”
Castiel’s voice reverberated with deep, threadbare restraint. “If I‘m destined to die with you in this forsaken cell, you will pay me the courtesy of listening. Don’t interrupt again.”
Dean’s lashes fluttered shut as he felt his cut lip re-split with a smile. “Dude, don’t get your trenchcoat in a twist.”
There was a semi-comfortable lull and then an echo of a deep sigh. “I’ve never experienced such pleasure or pain as my time in your company, Dean. I will never regret... you.”
Well shit, Dean thought with a hiccup in his heart. This was why he couldn't stand angels. They never knew when to shut their traps. Never realised that their words wielded more power than any sword of Michael or staff of Moses.
It was damn inconvenient and...
And because there was a wall between them, Dean could fold his arms on his tented knees and rest his forehead there. Because there was a wall between them could Dean’s breath catch and stick traitorously in his thudding ribcage.
Only because of that stupid fucking wall, Dean had the gall to whisper, “Promise?”
“I don’t need to promise a fact, Dean.”
“Yeah...” A softer whisper in the dark. “Yeah. Me too.”
Series: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~650
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Stubborn boys being stubborn boys.
Summary: There’s a wall between them, and for once it’s not figurative.
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
A/N 1: A drabble, and my first foray into the world of Supernatural fic. Baby steps...
“Dean -”
“Shut up,” Dean snapped, his fists curling against the unforgiving, bloodied concrete on which he sat.
He knew what that tone signified; heard it in Sam’s voice in Dean’s time of dying. Heard it in his own when hope had taken a detour. And now Cas?
Fuck this. The end was not nigh and Dean was not going to allow himself or Cas to rot away in a couple of windowless rooms like helpless animals.
This was just a minor setback. The kind of setback that involved Cas trapped in a room littered with Enochian grounding sigils and Dean in the adjacent, his bones broken and body bruised.
A single wall separated them, but it might as well have been a mile.
Dean tipped his head back against the concrete and gritted his teeth against the nauseous anger that roiled in his gut, threatening to swallow his ability to reason. He had to keep his head clear right now, had to -
“Dean, I -”
“Cas.” To Dean’s horror, his voice cracked half-way through the admonishment. “Don’t open your mouth unless you’re gonna tell me how to get the hell outta here.”
“Let me remind you that you’re the one who’s been stressing my apparent necessity for pathos.”
“That’s not the point,” Dean grumbled as he unconsciously pressed his shoulders flush against the frigid wall. Cas was sitting directly opposite him; he just felt it. A foot away, just a - “The point is I don’t wanna talk about it.”
They both knew what ‘it’ was, although neither had ever gone as far as to voice it - and Dean was happy to let it lie. He was fucking thrilled to. What sane person would want to admit that their irreparably scarred heart and angelically unscarred body lay in another person’s hands?
Crazy people - that’s who. Dean might be nine kinds of crazy, but not to that extent.
“Our situation is dire, Dean,” Cas said in his gravest monotone. “No one knows where we are and we have no means of escape. If there was any more appropriate time to -”
“To come up with a genius plan, it would be now,” Dean finished for him. Pain stained his palms where his nails bit in.
Dean wheezed a quiet breath in the oppressive silence that descended upon them.
His initial guilt was choked off by a sense of self-justification. Even now, Dean had to cast Cas aside for their own good. Admissions led to promises and promises inevitably led to broken ones. Dean could only imagine Cas would feel like shit if he made some declaration now, in the heat of the moment, and then had to face his words when they broke out of this joint.
Dean would spare everyone the heartbr- awkwardness.
“Dean, it was -”
“What?”
Castiel’s voice reverberated with deep, threadbare restraint. “If I‘m destined to die with you in this forsaken cell, you will pay me the courtesy of listening. Don’t interrupt again.”
Dean’s lashes fluttered shut as he felt his cut lip re-split with a smile. “Dude, don’t get your trenchcoat in a twist.”
There was a semi-comfortable lull and then an echo of a deep sigh. “I’ve never experienced such pleasure or pain as my time in your company, Dean. I will never regret... you.”
Well shit, Dean thought with a hiccup in his heart. This was why he couldn't stand angels. They never knew when to shut their traps. Never realised that their words wielded more power than any sword of Michael or staff of Moses.
It was damn inconvenient and...
And because there was a wall between them, Dean could fold his arms on his tented knees and rest his forehead there. Because there was a wall between them could Dean’s breath catch and stick traitorously in his thudding ribcage.
Only because of that stupid fucking wall, Dean had the gall to whisper, “Promise?”
“I don’t need to promise a fact, Dean.”
“Yeah...” A softer whisper in the dark. “Yeah. Me too.”