fic » from the beginning, we knew this was different (dean/castiel, supernatural)
from the beginning, we knew this was different
Supernatural; Dean/Castiel
(Set some time between 2009 and 2014-after Sam says yes and before Dean has to kill him in the End!verse.)
john murphy | in the house in a heartbeat / dubstep version with lyrics
and then it wasn’t on the TV anymore
it was on the street outside
it was coming through your windows
it was a virus, an infection
it was the blood, or something in the blood
by the time they tried to evacuate the cities, it was already too late
the infection was everywhere
the army blockades were overrun, and that’s when the exodus started
“Cas?” Dean says, softly to avoid breaking the lull of quiet that has fallen over the Impala. They’re pressed close in the back seat where there’s more room to stretch out. Cas is asleep, if his slow, even breathing is any sign. Dean remembers a time before he needed to sleep, when he’d sit through the night motionless and attentive-watching Dean toss on an uncomfortable bed, his presence always at the edges of Dean’s consciousness, seeping into his dreams.
He dreamed about Cas a lot then, when all this was starting out. Sometimes they talked: Cas gave him advice, always in the form of cryptic turns of phrase that Dean couldn’t force to make sense once he woke up. Other times there’d just be silence, companionable or tense or something in between; he’d feel Castiel’s gaze on him, sharp and delving, but by the time he found the dream-will to meet Cas’ eyes, the moment, the message, would be gone.
The nightmares were the worst-back in Hell, he saw the Devil and the Devil wore Sam’s face, spoke with Sam’s voice. “Come to kill me, Dean?” his brother asked, a mocking sort of pity in his voice. “I’d like to see you try.” Sam would snap his fingers. And Dean burned, felt every muscle and sinew in his body combust separately, tried desperately to hold himself together even as he dissolved into ash at Lucifer’s feet.
Dean’s dreams told the future, he often thinks.
“Mm,” Cas murmurs now, groggy, tips his head back to stare up at Dean, seeing him upside down. His fingers find Dean’s-it isn’t strange, Dean finds, to hold Castiel’s hand, while everything else around them shakes apart. He looks unreal in the almost-darkness, like something that might vanish come morning. Moonlight stripes diagonally through the car windows and smears silver over the bags under his eyes.
“You still don’t sleep enough,” Dean tells him, frowning, though that hadn’t been what he’d intended to say. He doesn’t know if he’d meant to say anything. Part of him just likes to keep the feel of Cas’ name new inside his mouth, to reassure himself that Castiel remains close, remains within his reach to keep safe in a way Sam is not.
Dean says Cas and Cas answers; Dean talks aloud to his brother and his brother never does.
Supernatural; Dean/Castiel
(Set some time between 2009 and 2014-after Sam says yes and before Dean has to kill him in the End!verse.)
john murphy | in the house in a heartbeat / dubstep version with lyrics
and then it wasn’t on the TV anymore
it was on the street outside
it was coming through your windows
it was a virus, an infection
it was the blood, or something in the blood
by the time they tried to evacuate the cities, it was already too late
the infection was everywhere
the army blockades were overrun, and that’s when the exodus started
“Cas?” Dean says, softly to avoid breaking the lull of quiet that has fallen over the Impala. They’re pressed close in the back seat where there’s more room to stretch out. Cas is asleep, if his slow, even breathing is any sign. Dean remembers a time before he needed to sleep, when he’d sit through the night motionless and attentive-watching Dean toss on an uncomfortable bed, his presence always at the edges of Dean’s consciousness, seeping into his dreams.
He dreamed about Cas a lot then, when all this was starting out. Sometimes they talked: Cas gave him advice, always in the form of cryptic turns of phrase that Dean couldn’t force to make sense once he woke up. Other times there’d just be silence, companionable or tense or something in between; he’d feel Castiel’s gaze on him, sharp and delving, but by the time he found the dream-will to meet Cas’ eyes, the moment, the message, would be gone.
The nightmares were the worst-back in Hell, he saw the Devil and the Devil wore Sam’s face, spoke with Sam’s voice. “Come to kill me, Dean?” his brother asked, a mocking sort of pity in his voice. “I’d like to see you try.” Sam would snap his fingers. And Dean burned, felt every muscle and sinew in his body combust separately, tried desperately to hold himself together even as he dissolved into ash at Lucifer’s feet.
Dean’s dreams told the future, he often thinks.
“Mm,” Cas murmurs now, groggy, tips his head back to stare up at Dean, seeing him upside down. His fingers find Dean’s-it isn’t strange, Dean finds, to hold Castiel’s hand, while everything else around them shakes apart. He looks unreal in the almost-darkness, like something that might vanish come morning. Moonlight stripes diagonally through the car windows and smears silver over the bags under his eyes.
“You still don’t sleep enough,” Dean tells him, frowning, though that hadn’t been what he’d intended to say. He doesn’t know if he’d meant to say anything. Part of him just likes to keep the feel of Cas’ name new inside his mouth, to reassure himself that Castiel remains close, remains within his reach to keep safe in a way Sam is not.
Dean says Cas and Cas answers; Dean talks aloud to his brother and his brother never does.