SPN Fic: Better Late, Dean/Castiel (G)
Jun. 15th, 2010 12:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
annundrielBetter Late
Dean/Castiel
G
880
Spoilers for the season five finale.
It's a start.
Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
olivelavonne, mclachlan, sdrohc_ratiug, and ginnith for looking this over and helping in various ways.
On the road again. Dean’s always on the road. North, south, east, west; he’s searching for something, anything. Meaning, happiness, peace. Rest. He’s not even sure anymore, only that he thinks it might be out there. He’d stayed with Lisa and Ben for a few months, tried to make it work. Tried for normal, for a normal life and a family that wasn’t tied up in apocalyptic soap operas and found it…wasn’t what he wanted after all.
It was different, and that was good, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t him.
He stops in Washington, pulls off to the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. The stars spread across the sky remind him of glitter spilled across a table when they were younger, Sam cutting paper into shapes that didn’t really look like anything at all but meant everything when Sam handed them over with a gap-toothed grin and a Happy birthday!
Dean pulls out a beer and drinks it slowly while sitting on the hood of the Impala, the warmth from the engine seeping through the metal and into dean’s bones.
A reservoir spreads out beneath him, dark and still, filled with the mirror images of everything above and who knows what else below. The moon is high and bright, larger than it has any right to be orbiting so far away, when Castiel finds him.
Dean knows the sound of his wings. They’re loud in the silence.
They don’t speak. It’s the first time Dean’s seen him since the world didn’t end and they don’t say a word. Castiel simply joins him on the hood like it’s nothing, like they’ve done this every night. Like it’s habit and not a surprise that Castiel is suddenly here, next to him again after so long elsewhere.
Castiel struggles with his coat as he sits. It’s such a human thing that Dean almost forgets Castiel isn’t slip-sliding headlong toward humanity anymore.
Dean offers his beer—his second—and Castiel takes it after a moment’s hesitation, fingers warm against Dean’s. He’s so familiar, so much himself there beside Dean that Dean can barely look at him. Doesn’t know if that’s because he already knows what he’ll see—Castiel returned to his full, untouchable glory, solid and settled—or because he’s afraid he’ll look at Cas and find him miserable, as alone as Dean is.
It’ll make everything feel even more like a loss despite the fact that they won.
When Castiel takes the bottle and drinks from it, Dean’s eyes are drawn to him, always drawn to him, anyway.
It’s dark, but with the moon so full and the sky so clear, Dean has no trouble seeing Castiel. The mess of hair, the curve of shoulder, the rumpled coat. The calm profile Dean turned to more times than he can count, as familiar to him as Sam’s, as Bobby’s. His first real friend.
Dean wonders if Castiel ever knew that. If he knows what he actually meant to Dean, what he means.
He wonders why he never told Castiel.
Watching Castiel’s throat work as he swallows, Dean wonders why he never reached out and touched, never tasted the curve of Castiel’s Adam’s apple when he at least had part of a chance.
Once he starts looking, it’s hard for Dean to turn away.
Lowering the bottle, Castiel frowns at it. “I forgot how vile this tastes,” he says, voice reaching across the dark to curl against Dean’s exposed skin, the knob of his wrists, the nape of his neck.
Dean chuckles, but it’s humorless. “Yeah, well. You get used to it after a while.” He puts a hand out to take the bottle back, but Castiel pulls it away, takes another drink.
“Yes,” Castiel says. He studies the bottle in his hand, like it’s some strange earthly specimen that might answer all the questions Dean never could. “It is an…acquired taste. I realize this now.”
He holds the bottle out to Dean, gaze steady across the short distance between them, and Dean’s eyes are drawn to the way Castiel’s mouth shines wetly in the light reflecting off the water.
Castiel’s tongue sweeps across his bottom lip.
Dean leans over and kisses Castiel, follows that tongue with his own there by the side of the road, bordered by asphalt and water, broken gravel beneath the tires. Does the one thing he’s been telling himself he doesn’t want to do, the thing he told himself he’d missed the boat on. Does it because he has to. They could be anyone out here, any two guys just sharing a beer in the middle of nowhere. Anyone at all.
He has to.
There’s nothing else to lose anymore, not really.
Castiel kisses back. Tastes like Dean’s beer and something Dean knows is Cas, would know it anywhere even though he’s never known it before. Castiel smells like wide skies and the open road, feels solid and present and touchable, so touchable against Dean’s mouth and beneath Dean’s hands that Dean’s not sure why he ever thought Castiel wasn’t.
When they part, Dean’s breathing heavy, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He feels like he’s waking up.
Castiel smiles, his mouth a sweet curve anchoring Dean in the dark, and says, "Definitely an acquired taste."
Dean/Castiel
G
880
Spoilers for the season five finale.
It's a start.
Thank you to
olivelavonne, mclachlan, sdrohc_ratiug, and ginnith for looking this over and helping in various ways.On the road again. Dean’s always on the road. North, south, east, west; he’s searching for something, anything. Meaning, happiness, peace. Rest. He’s not even sure anymore, only that he thinks it might be out there. He’d stayed with Lisa and Ben for a few months, tried to make it work. Tried for normal, for a normal life and a family that wasn’t tied up in apocalyptic soap operas and found it…wasn’t what he wanted after all.
It was different, and that was good, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t him.
He stops in Washington, pulls off to the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. The stars spread across the sky remind him of glitter spilled across a table when they were younger, Sam cutting paper into shapes that didn’t really look like anything at all but meant everything when Sam handed them over with a gap-toothed grin and a Happy birthday!
Dean pulls out a beer and drinks it slowly while sitting on the hood of the Impala, the warmth from the engine seeping through the metal and into dean’s bones.
A reservoir spreads out beneath him, dark and still, filled with the mirror images of everything above and who knows what else below. The moon is high and bright, larger than it has any right to be orbiting so far away, when Castiel finds him.
Dean knows the sound of his wings. They’re loud in the silence.
They don’t speak. It’s the first time Dean’s seen him since the world didn’t end and they don’t say a word. Castiel simply joins him on the hood like it’s nothing, like they’ve done this every night. Like it’s habit and not a surprise that Castiel is suddenly here, next to him again after so long elsewhere.
Castiel struggles with his coat as he sits. It’s such a human thing that Dean almost forgets Castiel isn’t slip-sliding headlong toward humanity anymore.
Dean offers his beer—his second—and Castiel takes it after a moment’s hesitation, fingers warm against Dean’s. He’s so familiar, so much himself there beside Dean that Dean can barely look at him. Doesn’t know if that’s because he already knows what he’ll see—Castiel returned to his full, untouchable glory, solid and settled—or because he’s afraid he’ll look at Cas and find him miserable, as alone as Dean is.
It’ll make everything feel even more like a loss despite the fact that they won.
When Castiel takes the bottle and drinks from it, Dean’s eyes are drawn to him, always drawn to him, anyway.
It’s dark, but with the moon so full and the sky so clear, Dean has no trouble seeing Castiel. The mess of hair, the curve of shoulder, the rumpled coat. The calm profile Dean turned to more times than he can count, as familiar to him as Sam’s, as Bobby’s. His first real friend.
Dean wonders if Castiel ever knew that. If he knows what he actually meant to Dean, what he means.
He wonders why he never told Castiel.
Watching Castiel’s throat work as he swallows, Dean wonders why he never reached out and touched, never tasted the curve of Castiel’s Adam’s apple when he at least had part of a chance.
Once he starts looking, it’s hard for Dean to turn away.
Lowering the bottle, Castiel frowns at it. “I forgot how vile this tastes,” he says, voice reaching across the dark to curl against Dean’s exposed skin, the knob of his wrists, the nape of his neck.
Dean chuckles, but it’s humorless. “Yeah, well. You get used to it after a while.” He puts a hand out to take the bottle back, but Castiel pulls it away, takes another drink.
“Yes,” Castiel says. He studies the bottle in his hand, like it’s some strange earthly specimen that might answer all the questions Dean never could. “It is an…acquired taste. I realize this now.”
He holds the bottle out to Dean, gaze steady across the short distance between them, and Dean’s eyes are drawn to the way Castiel’s mouth shines wetly in the light reflecting off the water.
Castiel’s tongue sweeps across his bottom lip.
Dean leans over and kisses Castiel, follows that tongue with his own there by the side of the road, bordered by asphalt and water, broken gravel beneath the tires. Does the one thing he’s been telling himself he doesn’t want to do, the thing he told himself he’d missed the boat on. Does it because he has to. They could be anyone out here, any two guys just sharing a beer in the middle of nowhere. Anyone at all.
He has to.
There’s nothing else to lose anymore, not really.
Castiel kisses back. Tastes like Dean’s beer and something Dean knows is Cas, would know it anywhere even though he’s never known it before. Castiel smells like wide skies and the open road, feels solid and present and touchable, so touchable against Dean’s mouth and beneath Dean’s hands that Dean’s not sure why he ever thought Castiel wasn’t.
When they part, Dean’s breathing heavy, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He feels like he’s waking up.
Castiel smiles, his mouth a sweet curve anchoring Dean in the dark, and says, "Definitely an acquired taste."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-06-18 09:22 pm (UTC)