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trinityofoneOkay, now it's officially less than two weeks!
Here's ficlet the second. You can read previous ficlets (uh, currently ficlet, singular) here.
Title: Though My Eyes Could See I Still Was a Blind Man
Rating: G
Pairings: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: Through 4x22
Length: ~650 words
Summary: For the kink_meme prompt, “Dean sees Castiel’s true form (without getting his eyes burned out).”
Though My Eyes Could See I Still Was a Blind Man
They were captured outside of Houston by some of Zachariah’s soldiers. They tied Dean’s hands and forced him to his knees while Castiel struggled in the arms of his brothers. One of the angels took Dean’s knife and used it to slice open Castiel’s arm. Castiel had lost the all-pervasive calm that used to encompass him like a shroud, but his voice was still remarkably level as they bled him, as they began drawing patterns with his blood.
“Kamael, Mathlai, think about what you are doing. Think about what you’ve been told. You’re being lied to—this is not the righteous path. This is not the path our Father would favor—”
They ignored him. The angel holding Dean put its hand around his face in a vice-like grip, forcing his chin up. “Dean,” Castiel said, staring down at the patterns forming and allowing a very unangelic panic to creep onto his face. “Dean, close your eyes. Close your eyes!”
But the angel at his back put its fingers on his forehead and Dean could not blink or look away; he could only watch, mutely stare.
“Dean—” Castiel cried, and then his voice was ripped away from him. Or he was ripped from it: Dean was vaguely conscious of Jimmy Novak crumpling to the ground. But that distressing sight was not what held his gaze. All he could see was Castiel. Castiel, who would be, he was sure, the very last thing he ever saw.
For a last sight, it certainly packed a punch. Even had Dean not had his tongue angelically stilled, he would have been at a loss for words. Castiel was…he, it, was a thing both beautiful and terrible. Its body was like lightning made not flesh but stone, a glowing column of chrysolite, pulsing with light and energy. The pair of wings Dean had glimpsed when they’d first met were joined by four others, all of them moving and shifting around its body with an almost mechanical precision. The face, the eyes, were unfathomable.
There was nothing there of the mouth he had kissed, the face he had rubbed his own stubble-rough cheeks against, the eyes he had gazed into, that had gazed back like they knew him better than any other. In their place was something utterly inhuman. Dean had known Castiel was not a man, that he was an angel, but he had never come close to understanding what that could mean.
He felt shattered, and yet he wasn’t afraid. He stared at Castiel’s shifting wings, at his unknowable eyes, and he felt a kind of peace. An acceptance. This was what had chosen to fight at his side. This was what stood by him. That somehow—implausibly, inconceivably—maybe even loved him.
A freakin’ angel.
The smile that spread across Dean’s face clearly astonished Zachariah’s minions. But not as much as their swift and sudden defeat under the whirring fury of Castiel’s wings astonished them. An angel untethered to a human vessel was apparently an awesomely powerful thing.
Dean watched the whole thing from his knees as if hypnotized, punch-drunk.
The next thing he was really aware of was Castiel kneeling at his side. His Castiel—Cas with his messy spikes of hair, his rumpled suit and skewed tie, his warm lips kissing each of Dean’s eyelids in turn. Dean’s cheeks were wet; Castiel licked up the twin trails of salt. Dean realized he was saying Dean’s name over and over, a litany, a prayer. Dean permitted Cas to hold him, to cradle the back of his neck as the angel rocked and stroked and wept out his relief. Dean pressed his face into the hollow of Castiel’s throat, felt the fragile curve of his Adam’s apple, breathed him in.
“I can see you, Cas,” he said. “I see you. I’m seeing you.”
Here's ficlet the second. You can read previous ficlets (uh, currently ficlet, singular) here.
Title: Though My Eyes Could See I Still Was a Blind Man
Rating: G
Pairings: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: Through 4x22
Length: ~650 words
Summary: For the kink_meme prompt, “Dean sees Castiel’s true form (without getting his eyes burned out).”
Though My Eyes Could See I Still Was a Blind Man
They were captured outside of Houston by some of Zachariah’s soldiers. They tied Dean’s hands and forced him to his knees while Castiel struggled in the arms of his brothers. One of the angels took Dean’s knife and used it to slice open Castiel’s arm. Castiel had lost the all-pervasive calm that used to encompass him like a shroud, but his voice was still remarkably level as they bled him, as they began drawing patterns with his blood.
“Kamael, Mathlai, think about what you are doing. Think about what you’ve been told. You’re being lied to—this is not the righteous path. This is not the path our Father would favor—”
They ignored him. The angel holding Dean put its hand around his face in a vice-like grip, forcing his chin up. “Dean,” Castiel said, staring down at the patterns forming and allowing a very unangelic panic to creep onto his face. “Dean, close your eyes. Close your eyes!”
But the angel at his back put its fingers on his forehead and Dean could not blink or look away; he could only watch, mutely stare.
“Dean—” Castiel cried, and then his voice was ripped away from him. Or he was ripped from it: Dean was vaguely conscious of Jimmy Novak crumpling to the ground. But that distressing sight was not what held his gaze. All he could see was Castiel. Castiel, who would be, he was sure, the very last thing he ever saw.
For a last sight, it certainly packed a punch. Even had Dean not had his tongue angelically stilled, he would have been at a loss for words. Castiel was…he, it, was a thing both beautiful and terrible. Its body was like lightning made not flesh but stone, a glowing column of chrysolite, pulsing with light and energy. The pair of wings Dean had glimpsed when they’d first met were joined by four others, all of them moving and shifting around its body with an almost mechanical precision. The face, the eyes, were unfathomable.
There was nothing there of the mouth he had kissed, the face he had rubbed his own stubble-rough cheeks against, the eyes he had gazed into, that had gazed back like they knew him better than any other. In their place was something utterly inhuman. Dean had known Castiel was not a man, that he was an angel, but he had never come close to understanding what that could mean.
He felt shattered, and yet he wasn’t afraid. He stared at Castiel’s shifting wings, at his unknowable eyes, and he felt a kind of peace. An acceptance. This was what had chosen to fight at his side. This was what stood by him. That somehow—implausibly, inconceivably—maybe even loved him.
A freakin’ angel.
The smile that spread across Dean’s face clearly astonished Zachariah’s minions. But not as much as their swift and sudden defeat under the whirring fury of Castiel’s wings astonished them. An angel untethered to a human vessel was apparently an awesomely powerful thing.
Dean watched the whole thing from his knees as if hypnotized, punch-drunk.
The next thing he was really aware of was Castiel kneeling at his side. His Castiel—Cas with his messy spikes of hair, his rumpled suit and skewed tie, his warm lips kissing each of Dean’s eyelids in turn. Dean’s cheeks were wet; Castiel licked up the twin trails of salt. Dean realized he was saying Dean’s name over and over, a litany, a prayer. Dean permitted Cas to hold him, to cradle the back of his neck as the angel rocked and stroked and wept out his relief. Dean pressed his face into the hollow of Castiel’s throat, felt the fragile curve of his Adam’s apple, breathed him in.
“I can see you, Cas,” he said. “I see you. I’m seeing you.”
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Date: 2009-08-28 07:41 pm (UTC)Thanks so much for sharing!
T-MINUS 2 WEEKS!!!!!!!!