Entertaining Angels (14/?)
Dec. 13th, 2008 12:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maychorianFandom: Supernatural
Title: Entertaining Angels
Author: Maychorian
Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel
Category: Gen, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: K+/PG
Spoilers: Through 4.10
Summary: A strange boy shows up at Dean and Sam's motel room. Maybe he needs help, or maybe he's there to help them—they can't quite tell.
Word Count: 1752
Disclaimer: Angels belong to God. The Winchesters belong to Kripke. It's a sad, sad world we live in.
Author's Note: Fanart and soundtrack (still a work in a progress). Things are speeding up now. Hope you like it.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13
14
“This is a slide.”
“Slide.”
“Those are monkey bars.”
“Monkey bars.”
“That’s a jungle gym.”
“Jungle gym.”
“And…uh…I don’t remember what that thing is called, but it’s fun.”
“Fun.”
“These are swings. They’re awesome.”
“Swings. Awesome.”
Dean still hadn’t gotten tired of teaching Castiel new words, and Castiel hadn’t gotten tired of learning them. Castiel didn’t think he ever would get tired of it, really. He liked the way Dean’s face lit up with enjoyment in this task, liked the enthusiasm in his words and expressions and gestures. It felt like maybe he was reminding Dean about the good things in the world, even if in a very small way, and he liked that.
It really was helping him talk better, too, was helping his mind make connections from concepts—large and cloudy and amorphous—to the small stones of human syllables and words. He still couldn’t quite figure out the use of all those little words, the ones humans put between the important ones, but he was working on it. They were always so confused when he didn’t say them.
The playground was almost empty, most kids at a thing Dean called “school” with a strange mixture of scorn and nostalgia in his voice. A mother with two small children played on a short slide in another section, where all the equipment was smaller than those in the area Dean had taken him to, but that was all. It wasn’t very cold out, no frost or anything, and Castiel tried to sniff deeply, taking in all the smells of late autumn—wet leaves and dying grass and brisk air. It smelled like everything was going to sleep. He sneezed if he did that too much, though.
“All right, Sam said no running around because of your cold, so why don’t I swing you?” Dean picked him up and placed him on the hard rubber plank, and Castiel instinctively reached up to grab the padded chains on both sides. The whole thing moved when he wiggled, and he might have been a little scared if Dean wasn’t there, smiling down at him. Nothing could happen to him while Dean was around.
Dean touched his small hand as he walked around behind him, letting Castiel know where he was at all times. Castiel craned his head back to look up the man, and saw him looking away for moment at something on the edge of the playground, his eyes focused and intent. But then he looked back to Castiel, grinning. “Okay, I’m gonna push you now. Hold on tight!”
Castiel tightened his fingers, and Dean’s strong hands rested on his back for a second. A moment of pressure, and then he was flying, weightless and free, the world a blur of motion around him. Castiel gasped, the chains digging into his palms with the strength of his grip. The blur reversed, the swing falling backward, and Dean’s hands grabbed his shoulders, stopping the movement.
“I’m sorry, buddy. Did I scare ya?”
He looked up into Dean’s concerned face, then slowly shook his head, fingers loosening around the chains. A big smile spread over his face. “Fun,” he said breathlessly. “Again!”
Dean laughed in delight. “Okay. Hold on, then, ‘cause this time you’re going even higher!”
Intellectually he knew that this wasn’t flying, but it felt like it, everything in motion, wind tugging at his hair. It pulled at memories buried deep, and he let them stay where they were, unneeded. He was a child now, not an angel. Laughter burst out of Castiel in a pure expression of human joy, and he heard Dean laugh behind him, taking pleasure in his pleasure. Another human thing, this sharing of enjoyment in simple things, the way laughter rebounded between two people, only stronger for the giving, strengthening and growing. It was wonderful.
Dean gradually let the swing come to a stop, and Castiel leaned backward, holding onto the chains, looking up at him. “Swing, Dean.” He let go with one hand and pointed at the swing next to his. “You swing, too. Fun!”
But the man was looking away again, eyes hard, his expression serious. He shook himself out of it and looked down at Castiel, smiling, but the smile didn’t make it into his eyes. “Nah, let’s do something else that’s fun. Okay?”
Castiel nodded, though Dean’s sudden seriousness confused him. He sat up straight and looked around, trying to see what had upset the man. The mother and children were gone, the playground empty. He didn’t see anything but the wind playing with a pile of leaves near the fence, shifting them slowly with a dry, papery rustle.
Dean came around in front of him and lifted him down from the swing. “We’re gonna do a thing called a race, all right? We both start here, and the person who gets back to Missouri’s house first wins. Run as fast as you can. Ready?”
Castiel’s face twisted in confusion—hadn’t Sam said not to do that? But Dean’s little smirk reminded him that no, of course, they didn’t listen to Sam all the time. He wasn’t their mother or anything. He nodded, then turned toward Missouri’s house, tensing his legs to run. Dean would surely beat him, so much taller and stronger and more used to the human body, but it was for fun.
“And…go!”
Castiel ran as fast and hard as he could, small feet pounding on sand, then grass, then concrete, then pavement. He had never done this before, and the speed was fun, wind again tugging at his hair, trees and buildings blurring around him. Too soon, though, the air started to burn his throat, rasping in his lungs, tearing as it swooped in and out, and he fought a terrible urge to cough. It hurt. His legs and feet tired, slowing, aching, but he kept running, determined to get back to Missouri’s house.
At first Dean ran beside him, a big hand on his shoulder encouraging him on, but once they left the playground he was aware of the man moving back, running behind him. That didn’t make sense—wasn’t he supposed to be trying to win? Surely Dean could win this race easily, if he was trying. Maybe he was letting Castiel win on purpose, so it would be more fun for the boy.
This wasn’t fun, though. It hurt. Two houses down from Missouri’s Castiel stumbled, coughing, legs and chest aching. He would have fallen, but Dean’s hands scooped up under his arms, lifting him, and then he was being carried, tucked backward against Dean’s chest. The man ran as if a demon was after him, and Castiel closed his eyes against the speed, dizzy and a little sick.
They passed the wards that circled Missouri’s house—she had shown them where they were—and Dean kept going all the way to the door, then turned and looked back, clasping Castiel to his heaving chest. Castiel looked with him, saw the Impala parked on the street just inside the outermost protective circle. There was a slamming noise, a thunderclap, only on the ground instead of in the air, and all around them something shivered and shimmered like an invisible wall.
“Okay,” Dean breathed. “Okay. It bounced off. Can’t get in. We’re okay.”
“What?” Castiel tried to ask, but the air caught in his lungs and he coughed suddenly, hard and painful. It burned and it didn’t stop—suddenly he was caught in a fit of coughing, harsh and hurting, going on and on. He tried to curl up against it, his forehead pressing Dean’s shoulder, hands clutching the leather coat.
Dean patted his back, murmuring reassurances. When the coughing didn’t stop he wrapped both arms around Castiel and held on tight, trying to help him ride through it. His voice was calm at first, but slowly grew more stressed and anxious as it continued. “Breathe, kiddo. C’mon, you gotta breathe. C’mon, Cas, you can do it. Breathe, dammit!”
The door beside them burst open and Castiel flinched at the movement, but it was just Sam, his worried face, then his huge hand covering Castiel’s back between Dean’s arms, warm and solid. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. Let it out. It’s okay. We’re okay.”
The coughing ran out, finally, and Castiel lay limply on Dean’s shoulder, breathing shakily, afraid to pull air in too deep for fear it would start again. Dean kissed his forehead, his breath shaky, too, and Sam rubbed his back, smooth and slow. Castiel rolled his head to the side and opened his eyes, blinking to clear away the colorful spots that clouded his vision. Missouri stood in the yard, waving an incense stick and murmuring a steady litany.
“What was it?” Sam asked softly, meant for Dean only. As if just a lowered voice could keep Castiel from hearing when they were all crowded in so close, holding onto each other.
“I don’t know.” Dean’s voice was just as soft, calmer now, thought it still held a thin edge of agitation beneath it. “I didn’t see it. Just felt something…off, you know? I saw leaves moving against the wind, thought I smelled…thought I smelled sulfur. Just a touch. Mixed with something else, I’m not sure what. Don’t think it was a demon, but…”
“Something demonic,” Sam finished for him.
“Yeah. Something bad.”
Castiel tried to stop it, but another cough ripped through him. It felt like broken glass. He held his breath, trying to keep more from coming, all but convulsing against Dean as he fought to hold it in.
“Aw, Cas.” Dean held him impossibly tighter, pressing him close and warm. “I’m sorry I made you run, buddy. I just wanted to catch the thing off-guard, and I guess it worked, since we made it back here.”
“Okay,” Castiel whispered. “I okay. Was fun.”
He huffed a short laugh. “Yeah, it was. It was fun before the monster came.”
Missouri finished her warding and came back toward the house, though her eyes were wide, showing white stark against the dark brown of her face. “We’re safe for now, boys. Inside now. I guess it’s time I gave you that help you came for, help figure what’s going on.”
Dean nodded. Castiel closed his eyes and turned his face against the man’s neck, not wanting to look out over the yard anymore. He hurt and he was scared, but Dean and Sam were with him, so he knew everything would be all right.
Part 15
Title: Entertaining Angels
Author: Maychorian
Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel
Category: Gen, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: K+/PG
Spoilers: Through 4.10
Summary: A strange boy shows up at Dean and Sam's motel room. Maybe he needs help, or maybe he's there to help them—they can't quite tell.
Word Count: 1752
Disclaimer: Angels belong to God. The Winchesters belong to Kripke. It's a sad, sad world we live in.
Author's Note: Fanart and soundtrack (still a work in a progress). Things are speeding up now. Hope you like it.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13
14“This is a slide.”
“Slide.”
“Those are monkey bars.”
“Monkey bars.”
“That’s a jungle gym.”
“Jungle gym.”
“And…uh…I don’t remember what that thing is called, but it’s fun.”
“Fun.”
“These are swings. They’re awesome.”
“Swings. Awesome.”
Dean still hadn’t gotten tired of teaching Castiel new words, and Castiel hadn’t gotten tired of learning them. Castiel didn’t think he ever would get tired of it, really. He liked the way Dean’s face lit up with enjoyment in this task, liked the enthusiasm in his words and expressions and gestures. It felt like maybe he was reminding Dean about the good things in the world, even if in a very small way, and he liked that.
It really was helping him talk better, too, was helping his mind make connections from concepts—large and cloudy and amorphous—to the small stones of human syllables and words. He still couldn’t quite figure out the use of all those little words, the ones humans put between the important ones, but he was working on it. They were always so confused when he didn’t say them.
The playground was almost empty, most kids at a thing Dean called “school” with a strange mixture of scorn and nostalgia in his voice. A mother with two small children played on a short slide in another section, where all the equipment was smaller than those in the area Dean had taken him to, but that was all. It wasn’t very cold out, no frost or anything, and Castiel tried to sniff deeply, taking in all the smells of late autumn—wet leaves and dying grass and brisk air. It smelled like everything was going to sleep. He sneezed if he did that too much, though.
“All right, Sam said no running around because of your cold, so why don’t I swing you?” Dean picked him up and placed him on the hard rubber plank, and Castiel instinctively reached up to grab the padded chains on both sides. The whole thing moved when he wiggled, and he might have been a little scared if Dean wasn’t there, smiling down at him. Nothing could happen to him while Dean was around.
Dean touched his small hand as he walked around behind him, letting Castiel know where he was at all times. Castiel craned his head back to look up the man, and saw him looking away for moment at something on the edge of the playground, his eyes focused and intent. But then he looked back to Castiel, grinning. “Okay, I’m gonna push you now. Hold on tight!”
Castiel tightened his fingers, and Dean’s strong hands rested on his back for a second. A moment of pressure, and then he was flying, weightless and free, the world a blur of motion around him. Castiel gasped, the chains digging into his palms with the strength of his grip. The blur reversed, the swing falling backward, and Dean’s hands grabbed his shoulders, stopping the movement.
“I’m sorry, buddy. Did I scare ya?”
He looked up into Dean’s concerned face, then slowly shook his head, fingers loosening around the chains. A big smile spread over his face. “Fun,” he said breathlessly. “Again!”
Dean laughed in delight. “Okay. Hold on, then, ‘cause this time you’re going even higher!”
Intellectually he knew that this wasn’t flying, but it felt like it, everything in motion, wind tugging at his hair. It pulled at memories buried deep, and he let them stay where they were, unneeded. He was a child now, not an angel. Laughter burst out of Castiel in a pure expression of human joy, and he heard Dean laugh behind him, taking pleasure in his pleasure. Another human thing, this sharing of enjoyment in simple things, the way laughter rebounded between two people, only stronger for the giving, strengthening and growing. It was wonderful.
Dean gradually let the swing come to a stop, and Castiel leaned backward, holding onto the chains, looking up at him. “Swing, Dean.” He let go with one hand and pointed at the swing next to his. “You swing, too. Fun!”
But the man was looking away again, eyes hard, his expression serious. He shook himself out of it and looked down at Castiel, smiling, but the smile didn’t make it into his eyes. “Nah, let’s do something else that’s fun. Okay?”
Castiel nodded, though Dean’s sudden seriousness confused him. He sat up straight and looked around, trying to see what had upset the man. The mother and children were gone, the playground empty. He didn’t see anything but the wind playing with a pile of leaves near the fence, shifting them slowly with a dry, papery rustle.
Dean came around in front of him and lifted him down from the swing. “We’re gonna do a thing called a race, all right? We both start here, and the person who gets back to Missouri’s house first wins. Run as fast as you can. Ready?”
Castiel’s face twisted in confusion—hadn’t Sam said not to do that? But Dean’s little smirk reminded him that no, of course, they didn’t listen to Sam all the time. He wasn’t their mother or anything. He nodded, then turned toward Missouri’s house, tensing his legs to run. Dean would surely beat him, so much taller and stronger and more used to the human body, but it was for fun.
“And…go!”
Castiel ran as fast and hard as he could, small feet pounding on sand, then grass, then concrete, then pavement. He had never done this before, and the speed was fun, wind again tugging at his hair, trees and buildings blurring around him. Too soon, though, the air started to burn his throat, rasping in his lungs, tearing as it swooped in and out, and he fought a terrible urge to cough. It hurt. His legs and feet tired, slowing, aching, but he kept running, determined to get back to Missouri’s house.
At first Dean ran beside him, a big hand on his shoulder encouraging him on, but once they left the playground he was aware of the man moving back, running behind him. That didn’t make sense—wasn’t he supposed to be trying to win? Surely Dean could win this race easily, if he was trying. Maybe he was letting Castiel win on purpose, so it would be more fun for the boy.
This wasn’t fun, though. It hurt. Two houses down from Missouri’s Castiel stumbled, coughing, legs and chest aching. He would have fallen, but Dean’s hands scooped up under his arms, lifting him, and then he was being carried, tucked backward against Dean’s chest. The man ran as if a demon was after him, and Castiel closed his eyes against the speed, dizzy and a little sick.
They passed the wards that circled Missouri’s house—she had shown them where they were—and Dean kept going all the way to the door, then turned and looked back, clasping Castiel to his heaving chest. Castiel looked with him, saw the Impala parked on the street just inside the outermost protective circle. There was a slamming noise, a thunderclap, only on the ground instead of in the air, and all around them something shivered and shimmered like an invisible wall.
“Okay,” Dean breathed. “Okay. It bounced off. Can’t get in. We’re okay.”
“What?” Castiel tried to ask, but the air caught in his lungs and he coughed suddenly, hard and painful. It burned and it didn’t stop—suddenly he was caught in a fit of coughing, harsh and hurting, going on and on. He tried to curl up against it, his forehead pressing Dean’s shoulder, hands clutching the leather coat.
Dean patted his back, murmuring reassurances. When the coughing didn’t stop he wrapped both arms around Castiel and held on tight, trying to help him ride through it. His voice was calm at first, but slowly grew more stressed and anxious as it continued. “Breathe, kiddo. C’mon, you gotta breathe. C’mon, Cas, you can do it. Breathe, dammit!”
The door beside them burst open and Castiel flinched at the movement, but it was just Sam, his worried face, then his huge hand covering Castiel’s back between Dean’s arms, warm and solid. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. Let it out. It’s okay. We’re okay.”
The coughing ran out, finally, and Castiel lay limply on Dean’s shoulder, breathing shakily, afraid to pull air in too deep for fear it would start again. Dean kissed his forehead, his breath shaky, too, and Sam rubbed his back, smooth and slow. Castiel rolled his head to the side and opened his eyes, blinking to clear away the colorful spots that clouded his vision. Missouri stood in the yard, waving an incense stick and murmuring a steady litany.
“What was it?” Sam asked softly, meant for Dean only. As if just a lowered voice could keep Castiel from hearing when they were all crowded in so close, holding onto each other.
“I don’t know.” Dean’s voice was just as soft, calmer now, thought it still held a thin edge of agitation beneath it. “I didn’t see it. Just felt something…off, you know? I saw leaves moving against the wind, thought I smelled…thought I smelled sulfur. Just a touch. Mixed with something else, I’m not sure what. Don’t think it was a demon, but…”
“Something demonic,” Sam finished for him.
“Yeah. Something bad.”
Castiel tried to stop it, but another cough ripped through him. It felt like broken glass. He held his breath, trying to keep more from coming, all but convulsing against Dean as he fought to hold it in.
“Aw, Cas.” Dean held him impossibly tighter, pressing him close and warm. “I’m sorry I made you run, buddy. I just wanted to catch the thing off-guard, and I guess it worked, since we made it back here.”
“Okay,” Castiel whispered. “I okay. Was fun.”
He huffed a short laugh. “Yeah, it was. It was fun before the monster came.”
Missouri finished her warding and came back toward the house, though her eyes were wide, showing white stark against the dark brown of her face. “We’re safe for now, boys. Inside now. I guess it’s time I gave you that help you came for, help figure what’s going on.”
Dean nodded. Castiel closed his eyes and turned his face against the man’s neck, not wanting to look out over the yard anymore. He hurt and he was scared, but Dean and Sam were with him, so he knew everything would be all right.
Part 15
