Like a Road through Mountains / SPN
Title: Like a Road through Mountains
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: SPN
Prompt: Write about an unlikely friendship.
Summary: Small town problems. (A/N: Written before The Song Remains the Same, so three cheers for Cas/Sam friendship! \^o^/)
The thing about Castiel is this: he attracts attention. It’s not his fault (Cas' fumbling attempts at human interaction are big steps for an angel), but the fact remains that 90% of people can see right through it. When the three of them walk into town, parents tug their children from Castiel’s path, immediately sensing something unusual and therefore dangerous. Cops, too, always give Cas a second or third look, fully aware he isn’t an average Joe.
Another 5% of the attention is interest from cute cashier girls or waitresses or, during a more recent hunt, the owner of a gay bar, which prompted Dean to unconsciously stand taller and closer and act more aggressive, as though to warn the bartender this man is off limits.
The other 5% is mean.
Castiel is an angel of the Lord. Nothing on the mortal plane is going to hurt him, but that doesn’t mean humanity doesn’t rise to the challenge: they frown at his curiosity, remark on his speech, and even have the gall to stare at the foreign, prim way Castiel holds his fork in diners.
Anyway, they’re at the mall when it happens.
Well, okay-it’s a stripmall, actually, somewhere in lower Alabama. Sam can probably spit and hit Florida territory.
Alabama is like any other state: it has its small towns, though perhaps a few more than, say, New York or California. And while small towns have great food and quaint shops, they also foster children who’ve grown up with nothing much to do except hang out at the 24 hour Wal-Mart and pick on kids they don’t like. Castiel is by no means a kid, but yeah, even Sam’ll admit there’s a wide-eyed quality about him when he experiences something new.
Cas carries that wide-eyed amazement with him all the way to the strip-mall, where Dean is currently at a UPS Store, shipping Bobby a few interesting books they’d found. It’s a small store, so Castiel and Sam opt to stay outside, loitering on the cracked and sun-bleached sidewalk, doing a little window-shopping while Dean sends the package.
Lining the sidewalk are potted trees, and in the soil are those cheap little paper wheels that turn in the wind. Sam has seen them about a billion times since his birth, but Castiel hasn’t, and he stops to observe a rainbow-colored one as it spins and spins and spins.
“You like rainbows?” comes a jeering voice, and that’s when Sam watches their good day crumble right before his very eyes. Sometimes he hates people. Sometimes he feels like giving Lucifer the keys to the castle and letting him go wild.
They turn to see a group of three boys, about highschool age, standing behind them. A tall blonde one with ugly green sneakers is clearly the leader, and says, “Well, do you?”
To Sam’s horror, Castiel actually replies.
“Yes,” Castiel answers, serious as a heart attack, which Sam is coincidentally having that very moment. “I do.”
The kid crows with laughter. “Did you hear that? Did you hear that?” he asks the other two. “Is that your boyfriend?”
“C’mon, let’s go find Dean,” Sam mutters, because he seriously doesn’t want Dean finding them-Dean may be thirty-one years old and and fairly level-headed, but he’s also stupidly in love with Castiel, and Sam’s sure he’d lose his shit if he saw a bunch of highschool pricks picking on him.
“Run off with your boyfriend, fag,” the ugly-sneakered boy taunts. “I hope you know what the Bible says about freaks like you.”
“I doubt what your Bible states is the intended message from God,” Castiel retorts, like they’re talking about the friggin’ weather.
“Seriously,” Sam insists. “I bet Dean’s done. Let’s go, okay?”
Sam imagines, in a different universe, he and Cas just walk away, meet Dean by the Impala, and drive off into the sunset. Maybe they grab some lunch. Maybe they listen to obnoxiously loud music as they careen down the street. But that universe is elsewhere, and so they don’t walk away, and they don’t meet Dean by the Impala, and they don’t drive into the sunset. Instead, the boy shouts, “I bet your friend takes it up the-”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, because Sam whirls around to face him. Castiel could smite this kid with his pinkie finger, but Sam’s getting a little irritated by the whole thing-Cas shouldn’t have to defend himself against the race he’s trying to save.
“Don’t say it,” he warns, though Castiel clearly has no idea why Sam is so angry. “Don’t.”
The bully grins and crosses his arms. “You threatening me?” he challenges. Sam’s gotta admit: the kid knows how to play the game. No adult in their right mind would threaten a minor-then again, no one has ever accused the Winchesters of being in their right mind.
Seriously. Lucifer can have this place for all Sam cares.
Sam bends to meet the kid eye-to-eye. “Yes,” he quietly replies, low enough that no one else can hear. “I’m threatening you. Maybe I’ll break your arm. Maybe I’ll shoot you in the leg. I have some knives, too, so maybe I’ll just get creative with those. Whatever the case, I’ll make you regret saying one bad thing about either him or me, because we’re working our asses off to make sure this place stays safe, and you know what? I’m starting to lose my patience about the whole thing.”
The kid swallows. Audibly.
“Hey,” comes a voice from behind Sam. “Something going on, or is this a party I wasn’t invited to?”
Sam stands his full height and glances over at his brother, whose hands are now empty of the box. Dean’s frowning, looking from the kid to Sam to the kid again, aware something's going on, but unsure of the circumstances.
“Everything is fine,” Castiel reassures him. “Sam is... I believe ‘defending my honor’ would be an apt description.”
“Yeah? What’s he defending it from?” Dean asks, now completely focused on the three boys. “You know, a man shouldn’t leave the post office and have this sort of situation waiting for him. It’s bad form all around. Now do we need to settle this somewhere else, or you gonna apologize for whatever the hell you said?”
The boy’s eyes widen. “I’m seventeen!” he objects, like that’s enough reason for Dean Winchester to give up this crazy fight and go home.
“And I’m not,” Dean counters. “What the fuck does that matter, short stuff?”
Sam tries to hold in his laughter. Dean’s enjoying this a little too much, but they better get on the road before someone spots three adult men looming over three highschoolers. He pulls at Dean’s shoulder in silent warning, and Dean, aware of the risk, lets him. They leave the small gang wearing matching faces of terror, and both brothers manage to remain straight-faced until they reach the Impala. Dean slides in behind the wheel, a grin smeared across his mouth, and Sam can barely contain himself as he sprawls in the backseat and watches the clouds pass through the window. Castiel sits on the passenger side.
“Dean,” he says, as Dean starts the car, “What is a 'fag'?”
Sam’s laughter dissipates like smoke. Dean turns to face Castiel.
“Is that what they called you?” he quietly demands. “Did they say that?”
“Don't be angry,” Castiel appeases. “I’m aware what they called me is derogatory. I only want to know why.”
Dean’s jaw is stiff. “It’s a crappy word for gays. You know what gay is, right?”
Castiel nods. “Homosexual,” he supplies.
“Yeah. Yeah, that. People think being gay makes a man less, so just the implication is supposed to be insulting. But honestly, Cas, people are called faggots because other people see something different about them. You’re an angel, and those kids knew it, and they couldn’t wait to tear it all down.”
Sam closes his eyes.
“Being gay is not a bad thing. Your Bible may claim otherwise, but there is no sin in homosexuality,” Castiel declares, and then pauses. “It does not make you less, Dean. Or me.”
“Well, that’s good,” Dean mutters, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. He steers it in another direction. “Anyway, Sam wins awesome points for letting those brats have it. I know you could burn out their eyes or whatever, but sometimes a little intimidation does the trick. Right, Sammy?”
“Right,” Sam agrees, still draped on the backseat, and watches: Dean’s shoulder shift as he places his hand on Castiel’s knee, the smile he sends Cas, the gentle expression he receives in return. Sam looks out the back window, pretending he didn’t see anything-not out of shame, but the desire to give them some sort of privacy.
He thinks of Dean, who can shoot with the best of them, who carries knives and loves cars and consumes burgers like the world might run out. Then he thinks of Castiel, who’s gentle in all acts, and honestly does like rainbows. He makes a mental attempt to label them as faggots, but finds he can’t: they’re Dean and Cas, and they’ve always been exactly who they are, and Sam, no matter what happens, hopes they stick to their guns in the face of Lucifer, highschool bullies, and all the obstacles in between.
FIN.
What is straight? A line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh, no, it's curved like a road through mountains.
-Tennessee Williams, A Streetcar Named Desire, 1947
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: SPN
Prompt: Write about an unlikely friendship.
Summary: Small town problems. (A/N: Written before The Song Remains the Same, so three cheers for Cas/Sam friendship! \^o^/)
The thing about Castiel is this: he attracts attention. It’s not his fault (Cas' fumbling attempts at human interaction are big steps for an angel), but the fact remains that 90% of people can see right through it. When the three of them walk into town, parents tug their children from Castiel’s path, immediately sensing something unusual and therefore dangerous. Cops, too, always give Cas a second or third look, fully aware he isn’t an average Joe.
Another 5% of the attention is interest from cute cashier girls or waitresses or, during a more recent hunt, the owner of a gay bar, which prompted Dean to unconsciously stand taller and closer and act more aggressive, as though to warn the bartender this man is off limits.
The other 5% is mean.
Castiel is an angel of the Lord. Nothing on the mortal plane is going to hurt him, but that doesn’t mean humanity doesn’t rise to the challenge: they frown at his curiosity, remark on his speech, and even have the gall to stare at the foreign, prim way Castiel holds his fork in diners.
Anyway, they’re at the mall when it happens.
Well, okay-it’s a stripmall, actually, somewhere in lower Alabama. Sam can probably spit and hit Florida territory.
Alabama is like any other state: it has its small towns, though perhaps a few more than, say, New York or California. And while small towns have great food and quaint shops, they also foster children who’ve grown up with nothing much to do except hang out at the 24 hour Wal-Mart and pick on kids they don’t like. Castiel is by no means a kid, but yeah, even Sam’ll admit there’s a wide-eyed quality about him when he experiences something new.
Cas carries that wide-eyed amazement with him all the way to the strip-mall, where Dean is currently at a UPS Store, shipping Bobby a few interesting books they’d found. It’s a small store, so Castiel and Sam opt to stay outside, loitering on the cracked and sun-bleached sidewalk, doing a little window-shopping while Dean sends the package.
Lining the sidewalk are potted trees, and in the soil are those cheap little paper wheels that turn in the wind. Sam has seen them about a billion times since his birth, but Castiel hasn’t, and he stops to observe a rainbow-colored one as it spins and spins and spins.
“You like rainbows?” comes a jeering voice, and that’s when Sam watches their good day crumble right before his very eyes. Sometimes he hates people. Sometimes he feels like giving Lucifer the keys to the castle and letting him go wild.
They turn to see a group of three boys, about highschool age, standing behind them. A tall blonde one with ugly green sneakers is clearly the leader, and says, “Well, do you?”
To Sam’s horror, Castiel actually replies.
“Yes,” Castiel answers, serious as a heart attack, which Sam is coincidentally having that very moment. “I do.”
The kid crows with laughter. “Did you hear that? Did you hear that?” he asks the other two. “Is that your boyfriend?”
“C’mon, let’s go find Dean,” Sam mutters, because he seriously doesn’t want Dean finding them-Dean may be thirty-one years old and and fairly level-headed, but he’s also stupidly in love with Castiel, and Sam’s sure he’d lose his shit if he saw a bunch of highschool pricks picking on him.
“Run off with your boyfriend, fag,” the ugly-sneakered boy taunts. “I hope you know what the Bible says about freaks like you.”
“I doubt what your Bible states is the intended message from God,” Castiel retorts, like they’re talking about the friggin’ weather.
“Seriously,” Sam insists. “I bet Dean’s done. Let’s go, okay?”
Sam imagines, in a different universe, he and Cas just walk away, meet Dean by the Impala, and drive off into the sunset. Maybe they grab some lunch. Maybe they listen to obnoxiously loud music as they careen down the street. But that universe is elsewhere, and so they don’t walk away, and they don’t meet Dean by the Impala, and they don’t drive into the sunset. Instead, the boy shouts, “I bet your friend takes it up the-”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, because Sam whirls around to face him. Castiel could smite this kid with his pinkie finger, but Sam’s getting a little irritated by the whole thing-Cas shouldn’t have to defend himself against the race he’s trying to save.
“Don’t say it,” he warns, though Castiel clearly has no idea why Sam is so angry. “Don’t.”
The bully grins and crosses his arms. “You threatening me?” he challenges. Sam’s gotta admit: the kid knows how to play the game. No adult in their right mind would threaten a minor-then again, no one has ever accused the Winchesters of being in their right mind.
Seriously. Lucifer can have this place for all Sam cares.
Sam bends to meet the kid eye-to-eye. “Yes,” he quietly replies, low enough that no one else can hear. “I’m threatening you. Maybe I’ll break your arm. Maybe I’ll shoot you in the leg. I have some knives, too, so maybe I’ll just get creative with those. Whatever the case, I’ll make you regret saying one bad thing about either him or me, because we’re working our asses off to make sure this place stays safe, and you know what? I’m starting to lose my patience about the whole thing.”
The kid swallows. Audibly.
“Hey,” comes a voice from behind Sam. “Something going on, or is this a party I wasn’t invited to?”
Sam stands his full height and glances over at his brother, whose hands are now empty of the box. Dean’s frowning, looking from the kid to Sam to the kid again, aware something's going on, but unsure of the circumstances.
“Everything is fine,” Castiel reassures him. “Sam is... I believe ‘defending my honor’ would be an apt description.”
“Yeah? What’s he defending it from?” Dean asks, now completely focused on the three boys. “You know, a man shouldn’t leave the post office and have this sort of situation waiting for him. It’s bad form all around. Now do we need to settle this somewhere else, or you gonna apologize for whatever the hell you said?”
The boy’s eyes widen. “I’m seventeen!” he objects, like that’s enough reason for Dean Winchester to give up this crazy fight and go home.
“And I’m not,” Dean counters. “What the fuck does that matter, short stuff?”
Sam tries to hold in his laughter. Dean’s enjoying this a little too much, but they better get on the road before someone spots three adult men looming over three highschoolers. He pulls at Dean’s shoulder in silent warning, and Dean, aware of the risk, lets him. They leave the small gang wearing matching faces of terror, and both brothers manage to remain straight-faced until they reach the Impala. Dean slides in behind the wheel, a grin smeared across his mouth, and Sam can barely contain himself as he sprawls in the backseat and watches the clouds pass through the window. Castiel sits on the passenger side.
“Dean,” he says, as Dean starts the car, “What is a 'fag'?”
Sam’s laughter dissipates like smoke. Dean turns to face Castiel.
“Is that what they called you?” he quietly demands. “Did they say that?”
“Don't be angry,” Castiel appeases. “I’m aware what they called me is derogatory. I only want to know why.”
Dean’s jaw is stiff. “It’s a crappy word for gays. You know what gay is, right?”
Castiel nods. “Homosexual,” he supplies.
“Yeah. Yeah, that. People think being gay makes a man less, so just the implication is supposed to be insulting. But honestly, Cas, people are called faggots because other people see something different about them. You’re an angel, and those kids knew it, and they couldn’t wait to tear it all down.”
Sam closes his eyes.
“Being gay is not a bad thing. Your Bible may claim otherwise, but there is no sin in homosexuality,” Castiel declares, and then pauses. “It does not make you less, Dean. Or me.”
“Well, that’s good,” Dean mutters, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. He steers it in another direction. “Anyway, Sam wins awesome points for letting those brats have it. I know you could burn out their eyes or whatever, but sometimes a little intimidation does the trick. Right, Sammy?”
“Right,” Sam agrees, still draped on the backseat, and watches: Dean’s shoulder shift as he places his hand on Castiel’s knee, the smile he sends Cas, the gentle expression he receives in return. Sam looks out the back window, pretending he didn’t see anything-not out of shame, but the desire to give them some sort of privacy.
He thinks of Dean, who can shoot with the best of them, who carries knives and loves cars and consumes burgers like the world might run out. Then he thinks of Castiel, who’s gentle in all acts, and honestly does like rainbows. He makes a mental attempt to label them as faggots, but finds he can’t: they’re Dean and Cas, and they’ve always been exactly who they are, and Sam, no matter what happens, hopes they stick to their guns in the face of Lucifer, highschool bullies, and all the obstacles in between.
FIN.
What is straight? A line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh, no, it's curved like a road through mountains.
-Tennessee Williams, A Streetcar Named Desire, 1947