This is not the fic I was supposed to be writing but oh well
Title: I Pray Thee My Soul to Keep
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Word count: 257
Rating: PG
Summary: Castiel wants what he will not have.
Castiel wants. He wants, intensely, in a manner he can’t yet describe, an inexplicable longing he can’t quite place. He wants to feel Dean’s skin soft beneath his fingers and hold him, to hear his name in Dean’s voice husky and low and taste it on his lips. He will not, and he knows this. It does not stop the wanting. It is his cross to bear, and he will bear it. He would have killed Uriel for what he did.
Not to the angels.
To Dean.
He sits with him, all night, when Sam has fallen asleep and the lights have long since flickered out. This close, he can hear him dreaming. He tries not to listen.
Even angels may fall victim to temptation.
Dean will not dream of Hell tonight.
Come morning, a bruised and battered Dean insists on checking himself out of the hospital, to Sam’s eternal chagrin. Castiel cannot resist healing the worst of his injuries when he sees Dean wince and stumble his way out the door. They cross the parking lot, the three of them, and Dean’s beloved Impala is waiting for him on the other side. Castiel can see the smirk on Dean’s lips and in the set of his shoulders, and he allows himself to smile in return. At the car, Dean turns to thank him, his eyes solemn and heavy and terribly green. He tries to speak, but can’t seem to find the words.
Castiel understands. He rests his hand on Dean’s shoulder and pretends it is enough.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Word count: 257
Rating: PG
Summary: Castiel wants what he will not have.
Castiel wants. He wants, intensely, in a manner he can’t yet describe, an inexplicable longing he can’t quite place. He wants to feel Dean’s skin soft beneath his fingers and hold him, to hear his name in Dean’s voice husky and low and taste it on his lips. He will not, and he knows this. It does not stop the wanting. It is his cross to bear, and he will bear it. He would have killed Uriel for what he did.
Not to the angels.
To Dean.
He sits with him, all night, when Sam has fallen asleep and the lights have long since flickered out. This close, he can hear him dreaming. He tries not to listen.
Even angels may fall victim to temptation.
Dean will not dream of Hell tonight.
Come morning, a bruised and battered Dean insists on checking himself out of the hospital, to Sam’s eternal chagrin. Castiel cannot resist healing the worst of his injuries when he sees Dean wince and stumble his way out the door. They cross the parking lot, the three of them, and Dean’s beloved Impala is waiting for him on the other side. Castiel can see the smirk on Dean’s lips and in the set of his shoulders, and he allows himself to smile in return. At the car, Dean turns to thank him, his eyes solemn and heavy and terribly green. He tries to speak, but can’t seem to find the words.
Castiel understands. He rests his hand on Dean’s shoulder and pretends it is enough.