Fic: Tears
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: FRT, for religious themes
Characters: Dean, Castiel
Setting: 4.02, Are You There, God
Summary: Dean takes Castiel's threats more seriously than Cas intends.
06. Tears
Castiel's words follow Dean around for days after he says them, crisp and clear whenever he looks in a mirror.
"I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in."
He mouths it to himself sometimes: It tastes sour, like sucking on pennies. Trying to shape words with his lips pulls at all the muscles of his face wrong, and feels too much like Alistair peeling him apart slowly. He almost likes that. The word feels exactly like it should, which is long and wicked and curved wry around the vowel: Hell.
Dean doesn't know how he feels--this hollow cavity carved out inside his chest. He plays Metallica loud enough to feel it in his teeth and his bones, everywhere he goes, and Sam doesn't stop him. Drumming on the steering wheel, using the diner knives as drumsticks; he needs something to keep his hands occupied.
There are words itching to get out of him, but he doesn't know what they are and that scares him a little. This need to say something, like a balloon rising in his chest, up and up and up into his throat and ready to burst. His fingers want to move so much, to shout words at the sky.
I'm--, he says, leaning against the Impala and looking up at the sky. I'm--
He catches his reflection in the mirror when he climbs into the shower, and those words stutter-stutter-crash in his head again. "Hell," Castiel says, and behind it Dean can feel the crunch of bones. His teeth want to shatter inward from the pressure of his skull. "I will throw you back in."
Dean puts a hand against the mirror, leaving a perfect handprint pressed in the condensation. Through the fingers and palm, he can just see his left shoulder in the mercury reflection.
Words froth up in his bones, making him jittery. I'm-- he says again, sad and desperate, and then he turns and punches the wall.
That night, he wakes up from dreams of Hell. Alistair had his thumb against the pulsepoint of Dean's neck, and he was full of half-words, with only one hand to speak, and Dean was trying not to look but they were always there. Words everywhere, all around him.
Castiel is sitting on his bed, and his face is easy as always, calm.
"What were you dreaming about?"
The words ebb and flow like a tide, crashing against the rocks inside Dean's mind. He sits up with his back to Castiel so that he doesn't have to know what the words he says mean.
Like a mantra, like a promise, Castiel said, "I will throw you back. Hell. I will put you back." There is no wrath on his face now, no righteous anger, and Dean-- It is all he's thought about for days: those words and what they mean and how he would do almost anything for them not to be true. Castiel comes to him like a friend now, and Dean--
With his back to Castiel so that he cannot see, Dean says I'm sorry and Forgive me and Please. But they don't mean anything. All his words turn to dust. They mean nothing at all.
Rating: FRT, for religious themes
Characters: Dean, Castiel
Setting: 4.02, Are You There, God
Summary: Dean takes Castiel's threats more seriously than Cas intends.
06. Tears
Castiel's words follow Dean around for days after he says them, crisp and clear whenever he looks in a mirror.
"I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in."
He mouths it to himself sometimes: It tastes sour, like sucking on pennies. Trying to shape words with his lips pulls at all the muscles of his face wrong, and feels too much like Alistair peeling him apart slowly. He almost likes that. The word feels exactly like it should, which is long and wicked and curved wry around the vowel: Hell.
Dean doesn't know how he feels--this hollow cavity carved out inside his chest. He plays Metallica loud enough to feel it in his teeth and his bones, everywhere he goes, and Sam doesn't stop him. Drumming on the steering wheel, using the diner knives as drumsticks; he needs something to keep his hands occupied.
There are words itching to get out of him, but he doesn't know what they are and that scares him a little. This need to say something, like a balloon rising in his chest, up and up and up into his throat and ready to burst. His fingers want to move so much, to shout words at the sky.
I'm--, he says, leaning against the Impala and looking up at the sky. I'm--
He catches his reflection in the mirror when he climbs into the shower, and those words stutter-stutter-crash in his head again. "Hell," Castiel says, and behind it Dean can feel the crunch of bones. His teeth want to shatter inward from the pressure of his skull. "I will throw you back in."
Dean puts a hand against the mirror, leaving a perfect handprint pressed in the condensation. Through the fingers and palm, he can just see his left shoulder in the mercury reflection.
Words froth up in his bones, making him jittery. I'm-- he says again, sad and desperate, and then he turns and punches the wall.
That night, he wakes up from dreams of Hell. Alistair had his thumb against the pulsepoint of Dean's neck, and he was full of half-words, with only one hand to speak, and Dean was trying not to look but they were always there. Words everywhere, all around him.
Castiel is sitting on his bed, and his face is easy as always, calm.
"What were you dreaming about?"
The words ebb and flow like a tide, crashing against the rocks inside Dean's mind. He sits up with his back to Castiel so that he doesn't have to know what the words he says mean.
Like a mantra, like a promise, Castiel said, "I will throw you back. Hell. I will put you back." There is no wrath on his face now, no righteous anger, and Dean-- It is all he's thought about for days: those words and what they mean and how he would do almost anything for them not to be true. Castiel comes to him like a friend now, and Dean--
With his back to Castiel so that he cannot see, Dean says I'm sorry and Forgive me and Please. But they don't mean anything. All his words turn to dust. They mean nothing at all.