Fic: Saints Have Hands (Dean/Castiel)
Nov. 15th, 2009 03:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trinityofoneI cheated on my NaNo again. This is just some fluff. FLUUFFFF. My original characters were angsting me out, man. Bad characters. Good Dean ‘n’ Cas.
Title: Saints Have Hands
Rating: G
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: Through 5x09
Length: ~650 words
Summary: Post-5x09. Dean turns observation into action.
Saints Have Hands
“Who are you supposed to be?”
Castiel turned around. The lobby of the hotel where Dean had said he could be located was full of people. There was something…disconcerting about many of them, but at a moment’s glance Castiel could not figure out precisely what it might be.
“The Hellblazer convention’s not till next week,” said the young man standing beside the one who had previously spoken. Both of them laughed.
Castiel had grown accustomed to not getting the joke. “I’m looking for Dean,” he said.
The young men laughed again. The shorter one spread his arms and gestured around the room. “Take your pick, man.”
Dean often complained that angels were overly vague or enigmatic. Castiel felt he could argue that the same applied to humans.
It hardly mattered in this case. Assuming that Dean was still here, Castiel ought to have little trouble finding him on his own. When they were close enough, Castiel still had a pretty good sense of him. One that couldn’t be blocked, and that hadn’t faded away.
He made his way out of the lobby and out onto the grounds. They were equally full of people, milling around; there were even a couple of police vehicles parked along the hotel’s curving driveway. Castiel walked more quickly. Dean’s text from the previous evening had not been a request for assistance, simply a statement of his location and the comment, “I’m going to kill Chuck.” Castiel had taken the latter to be a figure of speech—it was one Dean commonly employed—but something had definitely happened here.
Castiel’s concern was alleviated before it could truly begin to develop, however. He spotted Dean over by his car, leaning against the driver-side door. Their eyes met and Dean’s lips parted: an expression that Castiel couldn’t explicate entirely to his satisfaction. “Dean,” he said, coming closer. “Is everything all right?”
The chuckle Dean released did not, Castiel knew, signify genuine amusement. “Everything’s fine,” he said. “Just had a wild night. I’m glad you weren’t here, actually; it might have been more weird than you could take.”
Castiel was not honestly sure which was more distressing: that he felt strangely hurt, or that he had to fight to keep the emotion off his face. “I can take a great deal,” he said.
Dean shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I know that. Believe me.” His eyes seemed to search Castiel’s face. “It was hard for me to take,” he admitted, to Castiel’s surprise. His voice was pitched low, and oddly soft. “But it’s better now,” he added, reaching out and twining his fingers loosely around Castiel’s. “Really.”
Castiel looked down at their interlaced hands. “Dean?”
“Shh,” said Dean. His shoulders were rigid, like he was forcing himself to stay still. “Just trying something. Research. Like everyone’s always telling me...”
Standing by his side, their hands locked, Castiel looked, as unobtrusively as he could, at Dean’s face: the curve of his eyelashes, the bow of his lips, the sharpness that never entirely left his jaw. Watching him, Castiel slowly shifted his hand until their palms kissed. Castiel could feel the racing of Dean’s heart through his warm skin.
It was good, and like all good things, fleeting—brief moments in brief lives. Castiel didn’t want to end it, but he owed honesty to Dean, and respect for his feelings.
“Sam is coming,” he said, giving Dean’s hand one last squeeze. He hoped it conveyed his promise: “I’ll see you soon.”
As he threw himself back into the void, he caught a final glimpse of Dean turning around to wait for his brother’s approach, schooling his features while at the same time the fingers that had just held Castiel’s pressed themselves together, tip to tip.
“You okay?” he heard Sam call.
“Yeah, you know,” Dean replied, his expression one that, even from this vast distance, Castiel could read perfectly. “I think I’m good.”
Note: Title from Romeo and Juliet.
Title: Saints Have Hands
Rating: G
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: Through 5x09
Length: ~650 words
Summary: Post-5x09. Dean turns observation into action.
Saints Have Hands
“Who are you supposed to be?”
Castiel turned around. The lobby of the hotel where Dean had said he could be located was full of people. There was something…disconcerting about many of them, but at a moment’s glance Castiel could not figure out precisely what it might be.
“The Hellblazer convention’s not till next week,” said the young man standing beside the one who had previously spoken. Both of them laughed.
Castiel had grown accustomed to not getting the joke. “I’m looking for Dean,” he said.
The young men laughed again. The shorter one spread his arms and gestured around the room. “Take your pick, man.”
Dean often complained that angels were overly vague or enigmatic. Castiel felt he could argue that the same applied to humans.
It hardly mattered in this case. Assuming that Dean was still here, Castiel ought to have little trouble finding him on his own. When they were close enough, Castiel still had a pretty good sense of him. One that couldn’t be blocked, and that hadn’t faded away.
He made his way out of the lobby and out onto the grounds. They were equally full of people, milling around; there were even a couple of police vehicles parked along the hotel’s curving driveway. Castiel walked more quickly. Dean’s text from the previous evening had not been a request for assistance, simply a statement of his location and the comment, “I’m going to kill Chuck.” Castiel had taken the latter to be a figure of speech—it was one Dean commonly employed—but something had definitely happened here.
Castiel’s concern was alleviated before it could truly begin to develop, however. He spotted Dean over by his car, leaning against the driver-side door. Their eyes met and Dean’s lips parted: an expression that Castiel couldn’t explicate entirely to his satisfaction. “Dean,” he said, coming closer. “Is everything all right?”
The chuckle Dean released did not, Castiel knew, signify genuine amusement. “Everything’s fine,” he said. “Just had a wild night. I’m glad you weren’t here, actually; it might have been more weird than you could take.”
Castiel was not honestly sure which was more distressing: that he felt strangely hurt, or that he had to fight to keep the emotion off his face. “I can take a great deal,” he said.
Dean shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I know that. Believe me.” His eyes seemed to search Castiel’s face. “It was hard for me to take,” he admitted, to Castiel’s surprise. His voice was pitched low, and oddly soft. “But it’s better now,” he added, reaching out and twining his fingers loosely around Castiel’s. “Really.”
Castiel looked down at their interlaced hands. “Dean?”
“Shh,” said Dean. His shoulders were rigid, like he was forcing himself to stay still. “Just trying something. Research. Like everyone’s always telling me...”
Standing by his side, their hands locked, Castiel looked, as unobtrusively as he could, at Dean’s face: the curve of his eyelashes, the bow of his lips, the sharpness that never entirely left his jaw. Watching him, Castiel slowly shifted his hand until their palms kissed. Castiel could feel the racing of Dean’s heart through his warm skin.
It was good, and like all good things, fleeting—brief moments in brief lives. Castiel didn’t want to end it, but he owed honesty to Dean, and respect for his feelings.
“Sam is coming,” he said, giving Dean’s hand one last squeeze. He hoped it conveyed his promise: “I’ll see you soon.”
As he threw himself back into the void, he caught a final glimpse of Dean turning around to wait for his brother’s approach, schooling his features while at the same time the fingers that had just held Castiel’s pressed themselves together, tip to tip.
“You okay?” he heard Sam call.
“Yeah, you know,” Dean replied, his expression one that, even from this vast distance, Castiel could read perfectly. “I think I’m good.”
Note: Title from Romeo and Juliet.
