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spn fic: Interpretive
Title: Interpretive
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Rating: PG
Words: ~1,200
Summary: "They changed some stuff, and they added some stuff. Just -- weird stuff."
Notes: This is another 10x05 coda. In my own defense, this time I was provoked. Inspired by this tumblr post.
[AO3]
Interpretive
"It was just weird," Dean says, shaking his head.
They're at a truckstop just outside Louisville, the cars idling nose to nose while they wait for Sam to get out of the john. Cas is leaning against Baby's hood, his coat bunched up around his hip and his elbow bumping Dean's arm as he sips his coffee. A few feet away, Hannah is quietly speaking into one of the last payphones in all of creation.
"I mean, some of it was pretty cool, but some of it was" -- he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck, unsure of why he's even telling Cas this in the first place -- "weird."
"I can see how it might be strange," Cas says, his mouth thoughtful. In the flare of the sodium lights, his skin and shirt are slightly yellow. "Watching others publicly perform the events of your lives."
"That's just it, man. It wasn't our lives. Not all of it." Dean finishes his coffee, then crumples the empty cup and chucks it in the trash can by the bathroom door. "They changed some stuff, and they added some stuff. Just -- weird stuff, like robots."
"Robots?"
"Yeah, robots. And there was this freaky squid-octopus thing, and then they -- they, um."
"What?"
"Nothing. Just -- nothing. Forget it."
Cas leans back a little, making the car shift and the tires creak, and he wraps both of his hands around his coffee cup. That must be a leftover human thing, because angels don't get cold. A big rig rattles into the truckstop parking lot, and a horn blares up on the interstate, and the breeze picks up again, just enough to blow a Doritos bag past Dean's foot. On the phone, Hannah rattles off an angry string of Enochian.
"Weird," Dean mutters. He feels jittery in a way that has nothing to do with the coffee he drank, heat pricking up the back of his neck and along the line of his jaw. "The girl who wrote it, Marie -- she was cool, a very cool little chick, and she made a pretty decent Sam, but -- um."
Cas cocks his head to one side. "But what?"
"It was all her idea -- you know, the robots and slimy tentacle thing. And then, she -- she thought Sam and I" -- he makes a vague hand gesture, because he can't actually finish that sentence" -- and then she thought you and I" -- he can't finish that one either, for entirely different reasons -- "that we -- we. You know."
"No, I don't know."
"She said that we -- that we love each other."
Saying those words knocks the wind out of him worse than a sucker punch to the gut. Cas studies him for a moment, his eyes almost black in the shitty truckstop light, and Dean straightens from his perch on Baby's hood to roll his shoulders and flex his hands and shift his feet. He isn't cold -- he's wearing two shirts and a jacket, and the breeze isn't strong enough or steady enough -- but he keeps shivering, feels like he's about to crawl out of his skin. It doesn't help that Cas keeps looking at him like that.
Finally, he clears his throat and asks, "What?"
"Of course we love each other."
Dean worries his heel against the parking block, stuffing his hands in his pockets so Cas won't see him shake. His gut is twisting; he lost control of this conversation before it even started. "What?"
"We're family," Cas says. He sips his coffee, tipping his head back in a way that lengthens the cord of his neck. "You and your brother are the best men I've ever known, and you" -- he smiles softly" -- you're my favorite human, although I'm sure you already know that."
"That's not -- that's, um." Dean clears his throat again; his face feels like it's on fire. "That Marie chick, she thought we -- that we're, you know. In love. Like -- like boyfriends, or something."
"But we are."
Dean just stands there for a minute, staring down at the dirty tarmac, his cheeks and ears burning hotter and hotter and his heart beating in his throat. This is entirely Sam's fault; he'd brought the play up while they were waiting in line to pay for their coffee and Slim Jims, and then he'd sneaked off to the can and left Dean holding the bag. The breeze picks up again, ruffling the collar of Cas' coat.
"Cas, you know we're not -- it's not like that. Not, um -- us."
"Not yet, no," Cas says placidly, running his thumb along the lid of his coffee cup. "I am content to wait."
What?
"What?"
"Your brother believed it was the best course."
"Sam?" Dean's heart is beating in his throat again, but it feels different this time, heavier.
Cas sets his coffee on Baby's hood, then moves to stand in front of Dean, and -- Jesus Christ, he still has no concept of personal space. "You must understand how it is for us," he says, his mouth too close to Dean's jaw. "We were never intended to have emotions. At first, I didn't recognize the feeling I had when I was around you. Here" -- lightly, he touches the center of Dean's chest -- "like a hand was squeezing everything beneath my ribs."
"Cas -- "
"It was worse when I was human," Cas says, brushing his fingers over Dean's jaw, and Dean closes his eyes for a second. He doesn't like to think about Cas being human; he still has nightmares about Cas sitting dead in April's chair, and Cas bleeding in Nora's living room, and the look on Cas' face when Dean had said he couldn't stay at the bunker. "After you left Rexford, I lied awake for two nights. My chest hurt so bad I thought I was -- "
"Cas," Dean says again, because he needs Cas to shut the hell up. They're not -- they can't.
"As for your brother," Cas continues, rubbing his thumb at the corner of Dean's mouth, "I didn't know what to do -- how to tell you, if I should tell you. He suggested I wait. He said you need to come to things in your own time."
Cas leans in and kisses him, light and quick, his thumb still pressed to the corner of Dean's mouth. He makes a soft, inspiring noise against Dean's lips, then starts to pull away, but Dean slides his hand around the back of Cas' neck, holds him in place. He kisses Cas a little deeper, pushing his tongue into Cas' mouth, letting his teeth catch the well of Cas' lip. This is probably a terrible idea, but Cas has been waiting, just like the song chick-Cas sang in the play, and Dean wants -- he just wants.
"Really?" Sam asks, standing outside the john with the world's blankest expression on his face. "Now you guys want to do this?"
"It was... sweet," Hannah tells him, the phonebooth squeaking as she tugs its door closed. "Your brother's face turned bright red, and his heart rate -- "
"All right, all right," Dean says, waving them off. Reluctantly, he steps away from Cas; they're in a truckstop in Kentucky and they need to get back on the road. "Did you get the info you wanted?"
Hannah nods. "Yes. Enaiel is in Pulaski, Tennessee."
"Okay," Dean says. Pulaski's a straight shot down I-65, about three hundred miles away. "That's pretty close. We can grab a room when we get there."
"Two rooms," Sam says, raising an eyebrow.
"Sammy, shut your face and get in the car."
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Rating: PG
Words: ~1,200
Summary: "They changed some stuff, and they added some stuff. Just -- weird stuff."
Notes: This is another 10x05 coda. In my own defense, this time I was provoked. Inspired by this tumblr post.
[AO3]
"It was just weird," Dean says, shaking his head.
They're at a truckstop just outside Louisville, the cars idling nose to nose while they wait for Sam to get out of the john. Cas is leaning against Baby's hood, his coat bunched up around his hip and his elbow bumping Dean's arm as he sips his coffee. A few feet away, Hannah is quietly speaking into one of the last payphones in all of creation.
"I mean, some of it was pretty cool, but some of it was" -- he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck, unsure of why he's even telling Cas this in the first place -- "weird."
"I can see how it might be strange," Cas says, his mouth thoughtful. In the flare of the sodium lights, his skin and shirt are slightly yellow. "Watching others publicly perform the events of your lives."
"That's just it, man. It wasn't our lives. Not all of it." Dean finishes his coffee, then crumples the empty cup and chucks it in the trash can by the bathroom door. "They changed some stuff, and they added some stuff. Just -- weird stuff, like robots."
"Robots?"
"Yeah, robots. And there was this freaky squid-octopus thing, and then they -- they, um."
"What?"
"Nothing. Just -- nothing. Forget it."
Cas leans back a little, making the car shift and the tires creak, and he wraps both of his hands around his coffee cup. That must be a leftover human thing, because angels don't get cold. A big rig rattles into the truckstop parking lot, and a horn blares up on the interstate, and the breeze picks up again, just enough to blow a Doritos bag past Dean's foot. On the phone, Hannah rattles off an angry string of Enochian.
"Weird," Dean mutters. He feels jittery in a way that has nothing to do with the coffee he drank, heat pricking up the back of his neck and along the line of his jaw. "The girl who wrote it, Marie -- she was cool, a very cool little chick, and she made a pretty decent Sam, but -- um."
Cas cocks his head to one side. "But what?"
"It was all her idea -- you know, the robots and slimy tentacle thing. And then, she -- she thought Sam and I" -- he makes a vague hand gesture, because he can't actually finish that sentence" -- and then she thought you and I" -- he can't finish that one either, for entirely different reasons -- "that we -- we. You know."
"No, I don't know."
"She said that we -- that we love each other."
Saying those words knocks the wind out of him worse than a sucker punch to the gut. Cas studies him for a moment, his eyes almost black in the shitty truckstop light, and Dean straightens from his perch on Baby's hood to roll his shoulders and flex his hands and shift his feet. He isn't cold -- he's wearing two shirts and a jacket, and the breeze isn't strong enough or steady enough -- but he keeps shivering, feels like he's about to crawl out of his skin. It doesn't help that Cas keeps looking at him like that.
Finally, he clears his throat and asks, "What?"
"Of course we love each other."
Dean worries his heel against the parking block, stuffing his hands in his pockets so Cas won't see him shake. His gut is twisting; he lost control of this conversation before it even started. "What?"
"We're family," Cas says. He sips his coffee, tipping his head back in a way that lengthens the cord of his neck. "You and your brother are the best men I've ever known, and you" -- he smiles softly" -- you're my favorite human, although I'm sure you already know that."
"That's not -- that's, um." Dean clears his throat again; his face feels like it's on fire. "That Marie chick, she thought we -- that we're, you know. In love. Like -- like boyfriends, or something."
"But we are."
Dean just stands there for a minute, staring down at the dirty tarmac, his cheeks and ears burning hotter and hotter and his heart beating in his throat. This is entirely Sam's fault; he'd brought the play up while they were waiting in line to pay for their coffee and Slim Jims, and then he'd sneaked off to the can and left Dean holding the bag. The breeze picks up again, ruffling the collar of Cas' coat.
"Cas, you know we're not -- it's not like that. Not, um -- us."
"Not yet, no," Cas says placidly, running his thumb along the lid of his coffee cup. "I am content to wait."
What?
"What?"
"Your brother believed it was the best course."
"Sam?" Dean's heart is beating in his throat again, but it feels different this time, heavier.
Cas sets his coffee on Baby's hood, then moves to stand in front of Dean, and -- Jesus Christ, he still has no concept of personal space. "You must understand how it is for us," he says, his mouth too close to Dean's jaw. "We were never intended to have emotions. At first, I didn't recognize the feeling I had when I was around you. Here" -- lightly, he touches the center of Dean's chest -- "like a hand was squeezing everything beneath my ribs."
"Cas -- "
"It was worse when I was human," Cas says, brushing his fingers over Dean's jaw, and Dean closes his eyes for a second. He doesn't like to think about Cas being human; he still has nightmares about Cas sitting dead in April's chair, and Cas bleeding in Nora's living room, and the look on Cas' face when Dean had said he couldn't stay at the bunker. "After you left Rexford, I lied awake for two nights. My chest hurt so bad I thought I was -- "
"Cas," Dean says again, because he needs Cas to shut the hell up. They're not -- they can't.
"As for your brother," Cas continues, rubbing his thumb at the corner of Dean's mouth, "I didn't know what to do -- how to tell you, if I should tell you. He suggested I wait. He said you need to come to things in your own time."
Cas leans in and kisses him, light and quick, his thumb still pressed to the corner of Dean's mouth. He makes a soft, inspiring noise against Dean's lips, then starts to pull away, but Dean slides his hand around the back of Cas' neck, holds him in place. He kisses Cas a little deeper, pushing his tongue into Cas' mouth, letting his teeth catch the well of Cas' lip. This is probably a terrible idea, but Cas has been waiting, just like the song chick-Cas sang in the play, and Dean wants -- he just wants.
"Really?" Sam asks, standing outside the john with the world's blankest expression on his face. "Now you guys want to do this?"
"It was... sweet," Hannah tells him, the phonebooth squeaking as she tugs its door closed. "Your brother's face turned bright red, and his heart rate -- "
"All right, all right," Dean says, waving them off. Reluctantly, he steps away from Cas; they're in a truckstop in Kentucky and they need to get back on the road. "Did you get the info you wanted?"
Hannah nods. "Yes. Enaiel is in Pulaski, Tennessee."
"Okay," Dean says. Pulaski's a straight shot down I-65, about three hundred miles away. "That's pretty close. We can grab a room when we get there."
"Two rooms," Sam says, raising an eyebrow.
"Sammy, shut your face and get in the car."