fic: Taking Time Out (Supernatural, hints of Dean/Castiel, G)

[miscellanny.livejournal.com]

Title: Taking Time Out
Author: villainny
Fandom: Supernatural
Spoilers: through 4x01
Rating: G

Prompt image is here.





Taking Time Out


There was a rush of air that clattered against the mostly closed window, a shouted whisper of increasingly familiar sound that never failed to get Dean’s attention. He minimised the internet window quicker than blinking – not a trigger finger for nothing - and when he turned around Castiel was regarding the little yellow duck, the one that’d been sitting on the ugly-ass red sofa since they’d first checked in, with something that looked like suspicion.

“Hey,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “that’s not mine, okay? Left here by a previous tenant, and I really don’t want to think about what they needed to bring it to a motel for. Nobody needs rubber ducky to be that good a friend.”

“I will never understand the human fascination with rubber accessories.” Castiel’s voice was low as ever, flat, but with a little twist to it that Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever work out.

He blinked. “Am I dreaming, or did you just make a dirty joke?”

Castiel looked at him sidelong – familiar expression in gutpunch-blue eyes – before turning back to the duck.

“I don’t have a sense of humor.”

Dean watched him pick up the toy, turn it over and over between his long fingers, and somehow that small repetitive motion managed to distract him enough that he couldn’t come up with a decent response.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

He was pretty sure that Castiel was lying, misrepresenting the truth, or whatever those phrases were that Sammy sometimes put together to justify things to himself; he was pretty sure that most of the time Castiel was laughing at him on the inside, and most of the time, that was enough to make him feel a little stupid. He wasn’t quite confident enough of whatever the hell vibe there was between them to point that out, though.

The angel was looking at him now, the unnerving unblinking way he sometimes did when the conversation wasn’t flowing, like he’d be content to wait for the next thing said until forever came knocking. Anyone else, Dean would think there was nothing drifting between their ears but dust bunnies and maybe N*Sync lyrics, but with Castiel it was more like the whole world was waiting in there to occupy him, but he was willing to take time out and talk to you anyway.

He wasn’t sure how that made him feel.

“So I never asked you what you’re the angel of, anyway?” Dean softly cleared his throat, to shift the uncomfortable fragments of broken silence, and gestured at the laptop. “I mean, I Googled, but Wikipedia didn’t have anything to say.” A quick click maximised his page again, and he squinted. “Unless you’re – ‘a municipality in the district of Plessur in the canton of Graubünden in Switzerland.’”

“Thursday,” Castiel said.

“Huh.” Dean cast around for some way to respond to that. “Er – nice job on Ugly Betty then, I guess. Good times.” He threw in a grin and a double thumbs up for good measure.

Cas snorted softly, ducking his head. It was the freakiest thing about him, how human he looked when he did that, rumpled and tired and like every other ordinary shmuck you walk past on the street without looking twice. It wasn’t until he looked you straight in the eyes that you could see he was different; nobody else would look at strangers like they were worth that much.

“That’s – not exactly how it works,” he said, after a moment.

“Didn’t expect that it did,” Dean responded, without even a pause. “But what the hell hope, if you’ll excuse my Scandinavian, do I have of understanding the weird-ass workings of heaven? Most days I have a hard enough time with what’s going on down here.”

Castiel took a couple of steps towards him, close enough that he could set the duck that he still hadn’t stopped playing with down on the desk next to Dean’s hand. When he turned his head, his face was close enough that Dean could see where Castiel – where his vessel, or however the hell that worked – had shaved inexpertly the last time he had, the stubble unevenly reflecting computer-screen light.

He blinked. Looked away.

“You could always ask,” Castiel told him, too-intimate close.

“Ask what?” he said stupidly, his eye corner-catching the motion as the angel wet his lips.

“Anything you wanted to know.”

Dean shifted in his chair, shrugging a shoulder a little in an ineptly built barrier.

“Should know better than to issue an open invitation,” he said, voice loud and smile just easy enough. “I’m just going to want to know who you’ve seen in the shower.”

He was expecting a shift backward, or one of those implacable stares. Definitely wasn’t expecting the stomach-jolt smile.

“Between duties,” he said, “there is little to do in heaven but watch.”

Dean shifted his chair around, scraping the carpet, incidentally shifting a little away.

“Angels are shower peepers? Man, I need me a ticket to heaven.” He tilted his head to one side. “Does it help if you know the bouncer?”

Castiel huffed out a breath again, laughter without admitting to it, and Dean felt his smile ease a little wider in response. It’d been a while since they’d been coming this easy.

“Hey,” he said after a second or two, anything to get rid of a silence that felt like they were years practiced friends, “so I could totally force Sammy to make you a Wiki page.” He swung his chair around so he was facing the laptop again, its uncomplicated straight lines. “Y’know. If you wanted. I mean, I found one for Uriel, and seriously, the dude’s a major dick. But you?” Dean clicked on a link, kept his eyes on the computer screen. “Not so bad, for an angel. You, I kind of like.”

“I am fine,” Castiel told him, and even if his mouth never moved, it sounded like his voice was wearing a smile. “But – thank you, Dean.”