SPN: All That Will Be 1/1, gen
Sep. 27th, 2008 04:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveTitle: All That Will Be
Author: James
Rating: PG
Pairing: none, gen
Word Count: ~1,000
Spoilers: 4x01, Lazarus Rising
Disclaimer: not mine, no profit made.
Summary: coda to Lazarus Rising. Dean is given an offer.
Dean stood and looked at Bobby; motionless, but breathing evenly like he was sound asleep or passed out on the beer Dean had claimed they'd been headed for. He wanted to think about Bobby, and beer, and something -- anything -- normal.
Castiel's words whispered in his head again, harsh and vibrant as broken glass. Dean glanced over despite himself. Man, angel, demon, monster; Dean had no idea which, but he knew what his instincts were screaming. Don't trust him. Don't listen. Destroy it before it destroys you.
Except they'd tried and none of their weapons had even scratched him. Castiel was still standing in the same spot, looking at him with something like sadness. Dean scowled.
It was on the tip of his tongue to throw Castiel's words back at him. Demand real answers. Demand true ones. But he'd asked twice already, and each time Castiel had answered the same. His eyes had been full of what Dean had finally recognised as sincerity. Pure as sunlight; Dean had never seen anything like it before in anyone older than four.
It echoed faded memories of his mother, singing him to sleep.
Dean wanted to look away; hell, he wanted to storm out, grabbing Bobby, and drag him home, find Sam and look for something to kill. He felt a brush of air and he glanced up, startled to see Castiel standing in front of him. Dean flinched as Castiel held out his hand.
"What the hell now?"
"I can give you something," Castiel said, simply. As if none of Dean's harsh words or fears disturbed him.
"What, your hand?" Dean smirked. "Is this a proposal?"
Castiel shook his head, guileless and intense. Staring at Dean again, that softness in his eyes that made Dean want to hit him. "I am not the one to whom your heart belongs," he said simply, as if he were telling Dean the world spun on its axis each day. He continued, "I can only offer. You need not take it."
"So what is it?" Dean knew the answer was no, but all his life he'd learned one thing, over and over: knowing is better than not knowing. Truth and reality was harder, more dangerous, and frightening -- but you couldn't kill what you didn't know was there.
Castiel smiled. "You will Know something."
Dean waited a beat, then when Castiel didn't explain, he asked, "Something? Do I get to pick? Hey, if this is like those three wishes where I get to know anything I want, thanks, but been there done that." He made no move to touch Castiel's still-outstretched hand, taking half a step backwards away from him but keeping himself between Castiel and Bobby.
"Words cannot explain. But you will Know. There will be no Unknowing, and you do not need to accept. But I have it to offer, if you wish it."
Narrowing his eyes, Dean told himself it was a bad idea. Take the thing's hand and bam, he could be back in Hell. The world could go up in smoke. Bobby or his Impala could vanish forever. Sammy could stop being annoying.
But Castiel was looking at him, clear blue eyes wide and open. Dean thought he could almost see right through them, down into the back of Castiel's mind.
For one second, there was a flash of light, bright and burning. Dean blinked and it was gone, Castiel still standing there, hand out. Slowly, Dean reached his hand out and touched it.
Knowing was always better, because if you knew, you could find a way to destroy it. Dean heard his father's voice in the back of his head, lecturing tone and the smell of salt -- then it vanished.
Everything vanished.
Yet he and Castiel stood there, surrounded by inscriptions and weapons and the motionless body of the man he'd sometimes loved more than his own father. He could smell paint and hear the dying wind rattling the metal sheets. Somewhere, not far off, the drone of engines on the highway. Dean felt his lungs fill with air as he inhaled, could feel the warm touch of Castiel's hand where it gripped his.
And everything was gone. Everything inside him, swallowed up like water seeping through the cracks in his skin filling him to the brim. Weightless and warm and... Dean couldn't name it, but even as he thought it, he realised he didn't need to.
He realised he'd gripped Castiel's hand tightly, from fear the other might let him go. Castiel smiled at him, the sadness pure and nearly overwhelming. "I am sorry," he said quietly. "But now you know."
Dean nodded, throat closing up even if he'd wanted to speak. He managed a shaky nod, and didn't fight when Castiel's hand let go of his. For a second nothing changed, and Dean inhaled sharp -- hoping, wishing -- then slowly it began fade. Half a second more and it was gone, leaving only the distant memory, like the rustle of crows taking flight.
Dean looked around and his thoughts and feelings swept back in. The scent of paint still filled his nostrils and in the distance he heard a semi's air horn sounding low and deep. Bobby lay as if sleeping, content on the ground and Dean knew, somehow, when he woke that most of his pain would be gone.
He looked at his hand, as if expecting to see an imprint there.
"I will see you again, Dean Winchester," Castiel said, and by the time Dean raised his head to look -- he was gone.
Dean breathed in, opened his mouth to shout, and caught himself as he heard a groan behind him. He whirled and saw Bobby stirring. He went down on his knees, helping Bobby sit up as he came to. Bobby started to shake his head, then his eyes cleared suddenly and he stared at Dean. "What-- what was it?" His hand was already closing on the hilt of his gun.
Dean shook his head. The sensation had gone, disappeared like a dream in sunlight.
But he knew. He couldn't feel it anymore, might not ever feel it again -- given the life he lived and the things he'd done, and the things he expected he would do. But he knew.
Dean forced a weak smile and said, "For the Love of God, Bobby, what are you doing just lying around?"
the end
Author: James
Rating: PG
Pairing: none, gen
Word Count: ~1,000
Spoilers: 4x01, Lazarus Rising
Disclaimer: not mine, no profit made.
Summary: coda to Lazarus Rising. Dean is given an offer.
Dean stood and looked at Bobby; motionless, but breathing evenly like he was sound asleep or passed out on the beer Dean had claimed they'd been headed for. He wanted to think about Bobby, and beer, and something -- anything -- normal.
Castiel's words whispered in his head again, harsh and vibrant as broken glass. Dean glanced over despite himself. Man, angel, demon, monster; Dean had no idea which, but he knew what his instincts were screaming. Don't trust him. Don't listen. Destroy it before it destroys you.
Except they'd tried and none of their weapons had even scratched him. Castiel was still standing in the same spot, looking at him with something like sadness. Dean scowled.
It was on the tip of his tongue to throw Castiel's words back at him. Demand real answers. Demand true ones. But he'd asked twice already, and each time Castiel had answered the same. His eyes had been full of what Dean had finally recognised as sincerity. Pure as sunlight; Dean had never seen anything like it before in anyone older than four.
It echoed faded memories of his mother, singing him to sleep.
Dean wanted to look away; hell, he wanted to storm out, grabbing Bobby, and drag him home, find Sam and look for something to kill. He felt a brush of air and he glanced up, startled to see Castiel standing in front of him. Dean flinched as Castiel held out his hand.
"What the hell now?"
"I can give you something," Castiel said, simply. As if none of Dean's harsh words or fears disturbed him.
"What, your hand?" Dean smirked. "Is this a proposal?"
Castiel shook his head, guileless and intense. Staring at Dean again, that softness in his eyes that made Dean want to hit him. "I am not the one to whom your heart belongs," he said simply, as if he were telling Dean the world spun on its axis each day. He continued, "I can only offer. You need not take it."
"So what is it?" Dean knew the answer was no, but all his life he'd learned one thing, over and over: knowing is better than not knowing. Truth and reality was harder, more dangerous, and frightening -- but you couldn't kill what you didn't know was there.
Castiel smiled. "You will Know something."
Dean waited a beat, then when Castiel didn't explain, he asked, "Something? Do I get to pick? Hey, if this is like those three wishes where I get to know anything I want, thanks, but been there done that." He made no move to touch Castiel's still-outstretched hand, taking half a step backwards away from him but keeping himself between Castiel and Bobby.
"Words cannot explain. But you will Know. There will be no Unknowing, and you do not need to accept. But I have it to offer, if you wish it."
Narrowing his eyes, Dean told himself it was a bad idea. Take the thing's hand and bam, he could be back in Hell. The world could go up in smoke. Bobby or his Impala could vanish forever. Sammy could stop being annoying.
But Castiel was looking at him, clear blue eyes wide and open. Dean thought he could almost see right through them, down into the back of Castiel's mind.
For one second, there was a flash of light, bright and burning. Dean blinked and it was gone, Castiel still standing there, hand out. Slowly, Dean reached his hand out and touched it.
Knowing was always better, because if you knew, you could find a way to destroy it. Dean heard his father's voice in the back of his head, lecturing tone and the smell of salt -- then it vanished.
Everything vanished.
Yet he and Castiel stood there, surrounded by inscriptions and weapons and the motionless body of the man he'd sometimes loved more than his own father. He could smell paint and hear the dying wind rattling the metal sheets. Somewhere, not far off, the drone of engines on the highway. Dean felt his lungs fill with air as he inhaled, could feel the warm touch of Castiel's hand where it gripped his.
And everything was gone. Everything inside him, swallowed up like water seeping through the cracks in his skin filling him to the brim. Weightless and warm and... Dean couldn't name it, but even as he thought it, he realised he didn't need to.
He realised he'd gripped Castiel's hand tightly, from fear the other might let him go. Castiel smiled at him, the sadness pure and nearly overwhelming. "I am sorry," he said quietly. "But now you know."
Dean nodded, throat closing up even if he'd wanted to speak. He managed a shaky nod, and didn't fight when Castiel's hand let go of his. For a second nothing changed, and Dean inhaled sharp -- hoping, wishing -- then slowly it began fade. Half a second more and it was gone, leaving only the distant memory, like the rustle of crows taking flight.
Dean looked around and his thoughts and feelings swept back in. The scent of paint still filled his nostrils and in the distance he heard a semi's air horn sounding low and deep. Bobby lay as if sleeping, content on the ground and Dean knew, somehow, when he woke that most of his pain would be gone.
He looked at his hand, as if expecting to see an imprint there.
"I will see you again, Dean Winchester," Castiel said, and by the time Dean raised his head to look -- he was gone.
Dean breathed in, opened his mouth to shout, and caught himself as he heard a groan behind him. He whirled and saw Bobby stirring. He went down on his knees, helping Bobby sit up as he came to. Bobby started to shake his head, then his eyes cleared suddenly and he stared at Dean. "What-- what was it?" His hand was already closing on the hilt of his gun.
Dean shook his head. The sensation had gone, disappeared like a dream in sunlight.
But he knew. He couldn't feel it anymore, might not ever feel it again -- given the life he lived and the things he'd done, and the things he expected he would do. But he knew.
Dean forced a weak smile and said, "For the Love of God, Bobby, what are you doing just lying around?"
the end