Dean and Castiel Ficlets
Author: Vesper (Regina)
Warnings: Character death.
Rated: G to PG-13
Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel
Spoilers: Season 4
Summary: Mostly unrelated ficlets, all Dean and Castiel concentric, all from prompts from my sister, except for the last two. 2608 words, total. Disclaimer: Not mine.
Archival: If you wish to archive, please link to my website. Please keep all my headers intact.
"rain and blood, with still work to be done"
Notes: Lyl asked for "Rain and wings...hurt/comfort" and blood, "cuz it looks pretty in the rain." I couldn't get the wings in there, but this was the result. 335 words.
Dean wakes to chilling cold. He's lying face down in mud, and for a second his mind is a complete, utter blank. His ears are ringing, ringing with a shrill flat tone. He blinks, feels rain, stinging sleet, like glass shattering in a million tiny shards, striking his skin, over and over again.
It's so cold.
The noise in his ears expands to a dull roar, before exploding into vivid sound, the rain drumming down.
He breathes in and out, in harsh breaths, and the rain spits from his mouth, against the mud. Steam drifts away. "Sammy," he whispers and closes his eyes.
Time passes, but he can't keep his finger on it, doesn't know how much. He opens his eyes. He curls his hand against the ground, tries to push up, can't.
Dean looks up, sees a hand, but beyond it is unclear, the rain in his eyes and something else, his vision tinged with pink. He groans and somehow finds the strength to turn over, swiping a hand at his forehead. He looks at it, sees blood and mud. The rain quickly cleanses it, drops tinged rose-pink and dung-brown falling away.
The angel's hand grasps his, pulls, and Dean surges forward and is promptly sick, vomit spattering against the ground.
"Oh, God," he says, as soon as he can breathe again, and then says, "Sorry."
Castiel says nothing, just kneels beside him, the bottom edges of his coat trailing in the mud, forearms balanced on his legs, hands touching, hanging, in the middle. Dean slumps forward, head between his knees.
"I hate concussions. How long was I out?"
Castiel answers, "Twenty minutes."
"Where is she?"
"Sam with her?"
Dean softly swears and then stands, over-balancing and nearly falling forward, checked only by Castiel's hand on his sternum.
Dean steps away, out of the gentle pressure on his chest. "Come on," he says. He doesn't look back, doesn't check to see if Castiel is there. He doesn't have to.
"He Ain't Heavy"
Notes: Lyl said, "...fear of flying. They have to get somewhere's fast and Castiel has to argue Dean into it." Title comes from a song sung by The Hollies. I find it hard to believe this hasn't been done yet. 187 words.
"I don't know about this, man. Can't you just do some...I dunno," Dean wiggled his fingers in some sort of strange dance that implied mystical maneuverings of a sort that could not actually accomplish anything.
Castiel gave him a look that said, "No," and "You're being childish" and also quite clearly gave the message, "I do not have time for this," all by lowering his chin, and tilting his head to the side. Dean took a moment to take this in and said, "How do you do that?"
Castiel raised an eyebrow. Dean muttered, "You don't get it. I can't..." He pressed his lips together, then gritted his teeth, and continued, "I hate flying."
Another look. Dean threw his hands up in the air. "All right! Just...don't drop me, okay? And...watch the hands."
For a moment there, it almost looked as if Castiel would smile, but if he did, Dean blinked and missed it. Which was understandable, as Castiel stepped forward in that moment, placed his arms around Dean, completely, pinning Dean's arms to the side of his body, and then...they were airborne.
"Tricks Are for Kids"
Notes: Lyl loves kid!fic. I tried to oblige, but only if she took the same prompt. Oddly, hers turned out sad and mine turned out silly. Usually it's the other way around. Hers is here, if you're interested: Starting Over. 329 words.
It happens so quickly that all Dean can do is blink and watch as Castiel falls and for a split second Dean sees the wings, sees them snap back under the force, and feathers fly away in an eddy, round and round. He keeps his grip on his gun, knows that it won't make any difference, not with him.
Dean snaps his attention back to the Trickster and shouts, "What did you do?"
The Trickster smiles, says, "Toodles, Dean. Say hello to your brother for me," and winks out.
Dean grits his teeth and lowers his gun. He closes his eyes for a moment, gathering strength--turn around Dean, you're going to have to turn around and check on him--before he turns around.
Castiel doesn't look injured, but, he's not himself. Dean takes a moment to look heavenward and mutters, "I hope this was in Your will, because if not, so help me--smite me, whatever--I'll quit!"
The boy on the ground stirs, wakens, with a flutter of eyelids, to Dean staring down at him.
Dean says, grimly, "Hello, Cas. I am talking to Cas, right?"
"Dean, what happened?" Castiel asks, in a voice that cracks in the middle syllable of 'happened'. His eyes get wide.
"You got whammied by a lower deity."
"There is only one God."
Dean nods, a disgusted curl to his lip, and holds out his hand. Castiel takes it and Dean hauls him up. Dean says, "Well, you can file a complaint at the home office. Right now, I'm gonna find Bobby and summon that double-dealing, no-good, sticks-his-nose-in-where-it-don't-belong Trickster and kick his rear end so hard he'll change you back with a please and thank you, because this," Dean waves his hands in the general vicinity of Castiel, "isn't gonna do me a bit of good."
Castiel blinks and then announces, "I'm hungry."
Dean huffs in surprise and then says, "Whatever. I'll get you a pizza on the way there."
Notes: I asked my sister to give me a prompt and she said something about Castiel knowing Dean's secret from "Bloody Mary." I'm not convinced that Dean does have a secret, but I watched the pilot again and little Dean is preternaturally calm in those scenes where he's carrying Sam. It got me thinking. Lyl has continued this in her own story,"The Fire and the Blood". 365 words.
"Who are you?" asks Dean, when he first meets Castiel.
"A friend," Castiel answers.
"Oh, okay," says Dean, and goes back to coloring.
A minute later, after he's put orange hair on what looks like a potato, colored blue, with four toothpicks stuck in it, he says, "What's your name?"
Dean looks up and scrunches up his eyes, "That's a hard name. Can I call you Cas?"
"If it's easier for you to say."
"You're an angel, aren't you? Mommy says angels are watching over me, so you must be an angel."
Dean puts the paper down and points at it. He says, "This is Mommy, and this is Daddy, and," he pokes the potato with orange hair, "this is Sammy. Sammy's my brother."
"Why do you look so sad?"
"Because I need to tell you something, something you won't like to hear. But, you need to listen."
"What is it? A secret?"
"Yes, it's a secret. A secret you won't remember, but I'll be with you, even when you don't."
"What is it?"
"Your mother loves you very much, but mothers can't always be with their children. Do you remember that squirrel, Dean? The one you found next to the sidewalk, in the road?"
Dean looks down, and picks at the yarn tied into the corner of a pale blue square in his quilt.
"It was dead."
"Yes, it was. Death is all around and takes the people you love. Death will even take your mother."
Dean looks up. His eyebrows gather together, worried. "Mommy's going to die?"
"Yes. Don't be afraid, Dean. Your father will still be with you and so will I."
Dean's mouth trembles. "What about Sammy?"
"You'll need to be strong for your brother. Protect him. Do what your father says."
"I don't want to!"
Light fills the room, surrounds Dean. "Remember, Dean, I am with you. You can be strong."
Dean's face smoothes out, tears slip down his cheeks, but the sobs don't come.
"It's time for you to wake up, Dean. Your father needs you. Your brother does, too."
Dean wakes up. He smells smoke and his father is yelling his mother's name.
"they've taken their toll these latter days"
Notes: Lyl said, "Castiel is wounded and calls to Dean and Dean hears him." Title from the song "Latter Days" by Over the Rhine. 441 words.
Carnage, ribbons of blood spouting from the necks of innocent vessels.
Death, bodies lying in pieces on the ground, so many.
Feathers float in the air, litter the ground.
Dean walks the earth, and his face is bloody, bruised. Sam is at his back, limping. They are silent. The world is silent.
They pass by a body, face down--a man, dressed in a grey pin-striped suit, stained and ripped. He doesn't move. They don't stop to examine the man, but before Sam can get past, the man's hand flashes forward, catches Sam's pant leg.
"Please," he moans and he lifts his head. His eyes blink black.
Sam bends down to the man. He doesn't say a word, only draws Ruby's knife and slits the demon's throat.
"Sam," Dean says.
Sam stands, wipes the knife on his sleeve. There is no emotion on his face.
Dean places his hand on Sam's shoulder, bunches the fabric under his hand, and then relaxes it, guiding Sam alongside himself.
They walk. Others beg, and they stop, for only seconds at a time.
Dean stops, abrupt and unexpected, and Sam asks, "What is it?"
"Come on," Dean answers, his voice tight with urgency, and takes off across the field. Sam stays as close as he can, but he's still at least fifteen feet back, when Dean falls to his knees at the side of a man.
The man is wearing a long tan coat, tattered and splotched red. Castiel.
Sam limps as fast as he can, and then falls to his knees beside Dean, who has gathered Castiel into his arms.
Castiel blinks, eyelids sluggish, eyes drifting to and from, eyes out of focus. His voice is ragged, hoarser than usual. He says, "You heard."
Dean draws a sharp breath. Sam reaches out. His hand trembles in the air before it lands on Dean's shoulder.
"What can I do?" Dean asks, and his voice quivers. Castiel's eyes close and Dean shakes him. Castiel's eyes open, but they are far away, gazing on something neither Sam nor Dean can see. Dean shakes Castiel again. "Cas! What can I do?" he demands.
Castiel answers in a whisper, "Nothing, but to serve Him well."
"No," Dean answers. "That's a cop-out. You--" and he stops, because white light has begun to seep from Castiel's face, from his body, and it's so bright, so bright that Sam and Dean close their eyes, turn their faces away, bury them in the crooks of their arms.
When it is gone, Dean lays the man's body down, passes his hand over the eyes of Castiel's vessel. There is peace in that face.
"that for destruction ice"
Notes: I'm sorry. Title from the poem "Fire and Ice" by Robert Frost. 128 words.
He bends down, a smooth motion, economy and grace, fluid and disturbing. His eyes are white. He places his hand on Dean's chest, holds him down.
Dean is still, but every muscle trembles and his face is stiff with rage and unbelief. But he tries, even so, to reach someone he thought was there, asks, "Castiel?"
A shake of his head, slow. A twist of his mouth, sardonic, toying. His eyes roll back to sky blue.
"The name is Lucifer."
Dean is silent, but his gaze flicks to Sam, lying face down on soft dirt, face bloody.
"I don't need Sam, if that's what you're thinking. Never did. But you, Dean? I have plans for you."
The pressure on Dean's chest eases, and then the world goes white.
Note: Spoilers for "Yellow Fever". 209 words. Title from this quote: "The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living." Marcus Tullius Cicero.
He holds the Bible close, mouth pressed to the bonded leather, the smell of age, of acidic paper in his nostrils. He's no fool, but even the wise have their moments of weakness.
Words well up inside him, unspoken, babbling inside his head. Words long forgotten...in the beginning...yea, though I walk...the truth will set you free. They whirl and twirl in strands of confusion, over-laying a single plea.
And there is no answer.
He remembers everything, after. Remembers and is sick. Sick at heart, sick to his stomach.
He rinses out his mouth with whiskey, drinks it to forget.
He remembers screaming for a savior, screaming for himself, and for souls that were not him.
It's like gall on his tongue, a spear in his side. The burden of a legion of sins, but unlike Christ, they are all his own. He is not pure. There is no Savior that can erase his transgressions, no blood that can atone.
"You weren't there," he accuses God's messenger.
God's messenger replies, "I was. In your faith, I was. You were saved."
A blazing light. A scorching hand. A voice in the dark, speaking like a clarion call of strength and peace.
He'd forgotten. There was an answer.
"Want a Cupcake, Little Angel?"
Notes: This is complete and utter crack, and a shameless excuse for writing another kid!fic. Spot the crossovers/references! Blame, as always, to Lylsister. 263 words.
"This is odd," Sam said.
"Odder than this house being completely empty of human life? Odder than a pooka masquerading as a giant white rabbit?" Dean gave a look back, shotgun held in his right hand by his shoulder, pointed at the ceiling. Castiel, by his side, let one corner of his mouth quirk up in amusement.
Sam turned from the table, with a platter held up in his hands. It was piled high with chocolate cupcakes.
"So?" Dean asked. "It's just cupcakes...someone left their snack out."
"No, come and look."
Castiel and Dean ambled over and looked.
The topmost cupcake had the words, "EAT ME," spelled out in confetti sprinkles.
"Big clue," Dean said.
Castiel asked, "What does this signify?"
Dean smirked, catching Sam's gaze and sharing the smile. "We could just ask Alice, I think she'll know."
"Uh, Cas, I don't th--. Too late."
Castiel had reached out and taken a bite of the cupcake.
"Well," Dean said.
Sam said, "Curiouser and curiouser."
Castiel said, "I'm a child?"
"Oh, yes," the brothers answered in unison.
"I don't want to be a child."
Dean reached out with his free hand, ruffling Castiel's hair. "You shouldn't have eaten the cupcake, kiddo."
"It said 'eat me'!"
Sam said, "You've got a lot to learn, Cas, but for now, we need to find something that says 'drink me' on it, otherwise, you're gonna be stuck like this."
"I don't want to be stuck like this!"
Dean hid a smile behind his left hand.
Sam said, "Come on, Cas. Let's go feed your head."
Notes: Written before "The Rapture." This might be the last for awhile. 348 words.
Castiel watches Dean. He doesn't move even when he hears the door snick quietly closed. He's been watching, and he's not going to stop anytime soon. Dean is sleeping, but there's no rest in his face, and smudges under his eyes.
Castiel doesn't want to think of him waking. Not with what happened before.
Sam moves silently from the door of the motel room. His eyes are dull, heavy with exhaustion. He places a plastic bag on the nearby desk against the wall. He pulls out the chair from the desk and drops down into it. He bends over, spine curving, elbows on his knees, hands lacing behind his head.
Sam's voice breaks the silence. It's hoarse. He says, "Are you hungry, Cas?" He looks up, makes a half-hearted motion to the plastic bag. "I bought some food."
"No, thank you, Sam." Castiel turns his gaze back to Dean.
Sam's hard swallow is audible in the silence. He says, "It...maybe..." He stops, sighs, and tries again, "It could be temporary."
"You want it to be."
"Yes. I do." Sam's voice is fierce, like he wants to shout, but won't for fear he'll wake Dean. "He can't remember anything, Castiel. Can't--"
Cannot remember his brother. Cannot remember Castiel tearing out his grace, a last-ditch effort that succeeded. The words go unsaid, but Castiel knows that's what Sam would have said, if he could have said the words.
Sam swears, and then stands. Castiel looks at him. Sam raises a hand to his forehead, then lets it drop and turns toward the door, then back again. "Let me know if he wakes up. Give him food if he's hungry." He points at the bag, then shoves his hand in his jeans pocket. "There's a cherry pie in there, start with that."
He turns around again, heads toward the door. He pulls it shut, carefully, silently, as he leaves.
Castiel turns his gaze back to Dean.
This is what Dean wanted--to forget.
A drop of water falls from Castiel's face, makes a dark spot on his trouser leg.
Dean hasn't moved.
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