The Enchanter
Characters/pairing: Sam/Cas
Summary: You were actually into that magic stuff, weren't you?
Wordcount: 279
Spoilers/setting: uh, vague through 4.12
Warnings/rating: PG.
Disclaimer: I act like these are my babies but they're not.
Castiel juggles coins and balls, deftly flicking them through his fingers so they flash in and out of existence. It’s 1990.
The boy laughs, watching him. He laughs and laughs.
Castiel comes back, and it’s 1993. This time he makes doves fly out his sleeves, taking flight into the air with a forceful flapping of feathers. They’re real doves, and maintening them tires him after a while. He leaves, but before he does he winks at the boy, and somewhere between then and now he feels small fingers grab at his hand. They’re too late, though, and they slip away.
When he next comes, it’s 1998. The boy is sadder now, and angrier, brooding emotions snapping off him in tangible waves.
He pulls brightly colored scarves down from the clouds and wraps them around the boy. It doesn’t reach him, so Castiel tries every trick he can think of, wands and cards and top hats and disappearances and the boy watches closely, smiling again.
He’s already bowed and started to leave when the boy grabs his arm. “Wait.” he says. “Tell me who you are.” His eyes are desperate, but Castiel can’t answer. Not yet. “I can’t.” he says, and he smiles. “But you’ll know me someday.”
Castiel lets 1998, and the boy, fade around him; and the present slot back into place. He’s spent, but luckily, he doesn’t have to get himself into bed. Sam does it for him, rolling on top of him and pressing kiss after kiss to his body. Castiel shivers.
“Show me.” Sam breathes huskily, bending over to mouth at Castiel’s collarbone. “Show me more.” he pleads.
So Castiel shows him more magic tricks.
Summary: You were actually into that magic stuff, weren't you?
Wordcount: 279
Spoilers/setting: uh, vague through 4.12
Warnings/rating: PG.
Disclaimer: I act like these are my babies but they're not.
Castiel juggles coins and balls, deftly flicking them through his fingers so they flash in and out of existence. It’s 1990.
The boy laughs, watching him. He laughs and laughs.
Castiel comes back, and it’s 1993. This time he makes doves fly out his sleeves, taking flight into the air with a forceful flapping of feathers. They’re real doves, and maintening them tires him after a while. He leaves, but before he does he winks at the boy, and somewhere between then and now he feels small fingers grab at his hand. They’re too late, though, and they slip away.
When he next comes, it’s 1998. The boy is sadder now, and angrier, brooding emotions snapping off him in tangible waves.
He pulls brightly colored scarves down from the clouds and wraps them around the boy. It doesn’t reach him, so Castiel tries every trick he can think of, wands and cards and top hats and disappearances and the boy watches closely, smiling again.
He’s already bowed and started to leave when the boy grabs his arm. “Wait.” he says. “Tell me who you are.” His eyes are desperate, but Castiel can’t answer. Not yet. “I can’t.” he says, and he smiles. “But you’ll know me someday.”
Castiel lets 1998, and the boy, fade around him; and the present slot back into place. He’s spent, but luckily, he doesn’t have to get himself into bed. Sam does it for him, rolling on top of him and pressing kiss after kiss to his body. Castiel shivers.
“Show me.” Sam breathes huskily, bending over to mouth at Castiel’s collarbone. “Show me more.” he pleads.
So Castiel shows him more magic tricks.