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FIC: Forgotten, pt. 2 (spn, dean/castiel)
And suddenly, I have a WIP. *g* I know where I'm going with this, but I can't wait to learn more about canon-Castiel, either. eeeeee!
Title: Forgotten (2)
Pairing/Fandom: spn, Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-ish, for now
Summary: His time in hell isn't the only thing Dean's forgotten.
Notes: I just can't leave these two alone. hee.
Part 1 here
"An angel." The Other -- Sam -- is staring at Dean skeptically. When he glances over at Castiel his gaze is flat, entirely without emotion. "With wings."
Dean looks toward Castiel, too, standing at the edge of the pavement thirty feet away, his back to an open field that rolls off into moonless darkness like it's perched on the edge of the earth. Castiel tilts his head and watches Dean back, curiously.
Dean's gaze skates away before they make eye contact. "I'm just telling you what I saw, okay?" he says to Sam.
This part of the countryside is almost deserted, with just an occasional car skimming by on the road. The black automobile Dean has such affection for is the only vehicle at this gas station, gleaming dully in the halogen lights of the overhang. It's so quiet that Castiel thinks he might be able to hear their conversation with human ears alone.
Sam shakes his head. "I don't know, Dean. You're the one who said angels don't exist --."
"I know what I said," Dean interrupts, raising a hand. "But I also know that I was dead two days ago and now I'm not, and that guy over there says he dragged me out of hell. Maybe he's full of shit, but he can skip through devil's traps and shrug off the Knife like a mosquito bite, so maybe we should find out what he knows."
Sam crosses his arms, looking sullen. "I still say we should ditch him."
Dean glances at Castiel again and turns his shoulder, speaks out of the side of his mouth. As if that could prevent Castiel from hearing. "Sam. I'm not sure it's such a good idea to ditch God's messenger."
Sam scoffs at that. "Yeah. God sent him." He starts toward the station, waving a hand at Castiel almost in dismissal. "Go talk to him, then. I'll get us some food. I still think he should be gone by the time I get back."
Dean watches Sam go for a minute, concern briefly crossing his face before he turns toward Castiel. Castiel sips soda through a straw and watches him approach. He holds up the bottle when Dean reaches him.
"This is interesting." He looks down at the label. "I didn't expect... bubbles."
"You've never had a coke before? Seriously?"
"It's been a long time since I've worn a body." As if in response to the thought, he shivers. The temperature had fallen quickly once the sun had set. He hadn't expected that.
Dean looks almost disgusted. "Don't you have a coat?"
Castiel thinks back. "I did. I'm not sure where it is, now. As I said, it's been --"
"A long time since you've worn a body," Dean finishes for him. "Yeah, I got that part. Fuck it. Here." As if it's a burden, he shrugs out of the leather jacket he wears, hands it to Castiel who holds it in one hand.
Castiel looks down at it for a moment, utterly nonplussed. Then he looks up at Dean and smiles softly. "That's very kind. Thank you."
Dean blinks at him a moment, then looks away uncomfortably. "It's cold, and you might be on your own from here on out, so." He looks down at the jacket in Castiel's hand. "Put that on already. Jesus."
Castiel chooses to comply. He sets the bottle on the ground and slides his arms into the sleeves. The leather is old and soft, heavy on his shoulders with the heat of Dean's body lingering in it.
The scent of him, too.
"Shouldn't you be somewhere else, anyway?" Dean asks. "Doing... heaven-stuff, or something?"
"Hmmm?" Castiel brings his attention back to Dean's words. "Yes. Ordinarily."
Most certainly, if he went back.
However, going back would mean questions, not to mention the ever present possibility of retribution. He'd been willing to face any manner of punishment to free Dean from torment, and that hadn't changed, but he didn't see any reason to go back before he was summoned.
He would simply hope for a continued back-log in divine justice.
"Yeah, well, my brother doesn't really want you hitching a ride any farther, and I'm not too stoked about it myself," Dean continues. "I'm thinking you should go do your angel thing somewhere else."
Castiel looks toward the lighted store Sam had disappeared into. Of course, Sam wants him to leave. He's honestly surprised Sam allowed him into the car with them in the first place.
The thought is disturbing.
Not being left out here in the middle of nothing -- he needs a ride like he needs a jacket; it's a simple convenience when in human form, nothing more. But now that he's spoken to Dean, after ages of simply watching, to leave him alone in the face of what is to come, surrounded by demons, is impossible.
And Castiel simply doesn't want to be without him again.
"Do you want me to go?" he asks, brows creased in concern.
"I don't --" Dean starts, then steps back abruptly, raising his arms in frustration. "I want answers. You can start with why I'm not still in hell. I'm not exactly buying the 'mission from God' line. No offense."
"As if I could leave you there," Castiel says, starting to feel frustrated. Dean simply will not see. He stares at Dean and moves in close, trying again to find some spark of recognition. "You know why I came for you. You know. Search your heart."
"My heart?" Dean says, laughing, incredulous. "How about you tell me how I still have a heart. Because I remember having it torn out." He lifts the thin t-shirt which is all he wears against the chill, revealing the smooth skin of his abdomen. "Eaten from my chest, to be specific, and now I don't even have any scars? And not just from the dogs -- I'm talking no scars on my body at all, and I had plenty before, believe me." He waves a hand at Castiel. "The only mark on me is yours."
"Mine," Castiel agrees, reaching out to run his fingertips over the skin he'd restored.
Dean flinches away from the touch. "Woah. Dude. Watch the hands," Dean says, tugging his shirt down abruptly.
Castiel barely hears him, staring at the tips of his fingers that tingle where he touched Dean's body. Touch. How could he have forgotten? Maybe there is a way he can make the connection he craves, bridge the unacceptable gap between them. It's been centuries, but the longer he inhabits this human shell, the more he remembers.
The more he wants.
He steps closer.
"What are you doing?" Dean looks alarmed, but Castiel leans in to put his fingers against Dean's jaw. From bare inches away he studies Dean's face, the slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth.
"Why did you choose this body?" Castiel asks, his voice low.
"Choose -- choose it? You're crazy," Dean whispers, then catches his breath. "Don't --"
Warm. Soft.
Heat of Dean's lips more intense than the lingering warmth of the jacket, the human scent of him sweet to breathe. So much more than he remembers, and not nearly enough.
Castiel reaches out to take Dean in his arms and finds Dean's body stiff and resisting, but he persists. All at once Dean groans and tangles his fingers in Castiel's hair. There's a tug that Castiel can feel somewhere low in his gut as Dean drags him closer and opens his mouth, and now there's taste to add to scent. Perhaps he'd be amused at how intensely his human body reacts to such a simple thing, if he weren't dizzy with it.
So he moves so Dean's body fits into his, so they're pressed close from chest to thigh and he can feel the tension in Dean's body, the desperate way Dean clutches at him. He wants to stay here. He wants this to go on, forever perhaps, even if it is just a weak imitation of what used to be between them, but Dean pushes him away far too soon.
Dean stumbles backward, rubs the back of one shaking hand across his mouth, face gone pale in the light of the station. His eyes are wide, and just for a second, an instant in time, Castiel sees recognition flare, but Dean hitches his breath as if even this glimpse is too much.
"You. You stay away from me." He looks back at the car where Sam is standing, staring at them as if frozen in place. "Stay away from us." Then Dean spins away and heads back to the car. And Sam.
Ditching him, apparently. Castiel remembers to breathe, and clenches his fists in frustration.
He chooses not to follow. For now.
Instead he stands there in Dean's jacket and watches Dean leave and tries not to feel bitter that, for the moment at least, Dean has chosen Sam over him.
Again.
(TBC)
Part 3
Title: Forgotten (2)
Pairing/Fandom: spn, Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-ish, for now
Summary: His time in hell isn't the only thing Dean's forgotten.
Notes: I just can't leave these two alone. hee.
Part 1 here
"An angel." The Other -- Sam -- is staring at Dean skeptically. When he glances over at Castiel his gaze is flat, entirely without emotion. "With wings."
Dean looks toward Castiel, too, standing at the edge of the pavement thirty feet away, his back to an open field that rolls off into moonless darkness like it's perched on the edge of the earth. Castiel tilts his head and watches Dean back, curiously.
Dean's gaze skates away before they make eye contact. "I'm just telling you what I saw, okay?" he says to Sam.
This part of the countryside is almost deserted, with just an occasional car skimming by on the road. The black automobile Dean has such affection for is the only vehicle at this gas station, gleaming dully in the halogen lights of the overhang. It's so quiet that Castiel thinks he might be able to hear their conversation with human ears alone.
Sam shakes his head. "I don't know, Dean. You're the one who said angels don't exist --."
"I know what I said," Dean interrupts, raising a hand. "But I also know that I was dead two days ago and now I'm not, and that guy over there says he dragged me out of hell. Maybe he's full of shit, but he can skip through devil's traps and shrug off the Knife like a mosquito bite, so maybe we should find out what he knows."
Sam crosses his arms, looking sullen. "I still say we should ditch him."
Dean glances at Castiel again and turns his shoulder, speaks out of the side of his mouth. As if that could prevent Castiel from hearing. "Sam. I'm not sure it's such a good idea to ditch God's messenger."
Sam scoffs at that. "Yeah. God sent him." He starts toward the station, waving a hand at Castiel almost in dismissal. "Go talk to him, then. I'll get us some food. I still think he should be gone by the time I get back."
Dean watches Sam go for a minute, concern briefly crossing his face before he turns toward Castiel. Castiel sips soda through a straw and watches him approach. He holds up the bottle when Dean reaches him.
"This is interesting." He looks down at the label. "I didn't expect... bubbles."
"You've never had a coke before? Seriously?"
"It's been a long time since I've worn a body." As if in response to the thought, he shivers. The temperature had fallen quickly once the sun had set. He hadn't expected that.
Dean looks almost disgusted. "Don't you have a coat?"
Castiel thinks back. "I did. I'm not sure where it is, now. As I said, it's been --"
"A long time since you've worn a body," Dean finishes for him. "Yeah, I got that part. Fuck it. Here." As if it's a burden, he shrugs out of the leather jacket he wears, hands it to Castiel who holds it in one hand.
Castiel looks down at it for a moment, utterly nonplussed. Then he looks up at Dean and smiles softly. "That's very kind. Thank you."
Dean blinks at him a moment, then looks away uncomfortably. "It's cold, and you might be on your own from here on out, so." He looks down at the jacket in Castiel's hand. "Put that on already. Jesus."
Castiel chooses to comply. He sets the bottle on the ground and slides his arms into the sleeves. The leather is old and soft, heavy on his shoulders with the heat of Dean's body lingering in it.
The scent of him, too.
"Shouldn't you be somewhere else, anyway?" Dean asks. "Doing... heaven-stuff, or something?"
"Hmmm?" Castiel brings his attention back to Dean's words. "Yes. Ordinarily."
Most certainly, if he went back.
However, going back would mean questions, not to mention the ever present possibility of retribution. He'd been willing to face any manner of punishment to free Dean from torment, and that hadn't changed, but he didn't see any reason to go back before he was summoned.
He would simply hope for a continued back-log in divine justice.
"Yeah, well, my brother doesn't really want you hitching a ride any farther, and I'm not too stoked about it myself," Dean continues. "I'm thinking you should go do your angel thing somewhere else."
Castiel looks toward the lighted store Sam had disappeared into. Of course, Sam wants him to leave. He's honestly surprised Sam allowed him into the car with them in the first place.
The thought is disturbing.
Not being left out here in the middle of nothing -- he needs a ride like he needs a jacket; it's a simple convenience when in human form, nothing more. But now that he's spoken to Dean, after ages of simply watching, to leave him alone in the face of what is to come, surrounded by demons, is impossible.
And Castiel simply doesn't want to be without him again.
"Do you want me to go?" he asks, brows creased in concern.
"I don't --" Dean starts, then steps back abruptly, raising his arms in frustration. "I want answers. You can start with why I'm not still in hell. I'm not exactly buying the 'mission from God' line. No offense."
"As if I could leave you there," Castiel says, starting to feel frustrated. Dean simply will not see. He stares at Dean and moves in close, trying again to find some spark of recognition. "You know why I came for you. You know. Search your heart."
"My heart?" Dean says, laughing, incredulous. "How about you tell me how I still have a heart. Because I remember having it torn out." He lifts the thin t-shirt which is all he wears against the chill, revealing the smooth skin of his abdomen. "Eaten from my chest, to be specific, and now I don't even have any scars? And not just from the dogs -- I'm talking no scars on my body at all, and I had plenty before, believe me." He waves a hand at Castiel. "The only mark on me is yours."
"Mine," Castiel agrees, reaching out to run his fingertips over the skin he'd restored.
Dean flinches away from the touch. "Woah. Dude. Watch the hands," Dean says, tugging his shirt down abruptly.
Castiel barely hears him, staring at the tips of his fingers that tingle where he touched Dean's body. Touch. How could he have forgotten? Maybe there is a way he can make the connection he craves, bridge the unacceptable gap between them. It's been centuries, but the longer he inhabits this human shell, the more he remembers.
The more he wants.
He steps closer.
"What are you doing?" Dean looks alarmed, but Castiel leans in to put his fingers against Dean's jaw. From bare inches away he studies Dean's face, the slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth.
"Why did you choose this body?" Castiel asks, his voice low.
"Choose -- choose it? You're crazy," Dean whispers, then catches his breath. "Don't --"
Warm. Soft.
Heat of Dean's lips more intense than the lingering warmth of the jacket, the human scent of him sweet to breathe. So much more than he remembers, and not nearly enough.
Castiel reaches out to take Dean in his arms and finds Dean's body stiff and resisting, but he persists. All at once Dean groans and tangles his fingers in Castiel's hair. There's a tug that Castiel can feel somewhere low in his gut as Dean drags him closer and opens his mouth, and now there's taste to add to scent. Perhaps he'd be amused at how intensely his human body reacts to such a simple thing, if he weren't dizzy with it.
So he moves so Dean's body fits into his, so they're pressed close from chest to thigh and he can feel the tension in Dean's body, the desperate way Dean clutches at him. He wants to stay here. He wants this to go on, forever perhaps, even if it is just a weak imitation of what used to be between them, but Dean pushes him away far too soon.
Dean stumbles backward, rubs the back of one shaking hand across his mouth, face gone pale in the light of the station. His eyes are wide, and just for a second, an instant in time, Castiel sees recognition flare, but Dean hitches his breath as if even this glimpse is too much.
"You. You stay away from me." He looks back at the car where Sam is standing, staring at them as if frozen in place. "Stay away from us." Then Dean spins away and heads back to the car. And Sam.
Ditching him, apparently. Castiel remembers to breathe, and clenches his fists in frustration.
He chooses not to follow. For now.
Instead he stands there in Dean's jacket and watches Dean leave and tries not to feel bitter that, for the moment at least, Dean has chosen Sam over him.
Again.
(TBC)
Part 3
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