Castiel always had too much heart (scorchedwings) wrote in onewaythreads, @ 2018-12-03 03:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | castiel, crowley |
Who: Castiel and Crowley
What: Having a chat over coffee and marshmallows and honey tea
When: we'll say Thursday?
Where: Common Grounds, in Summerbridge
Status: Ongoing
Warnings: Low for now, but may change? spoilerish maybe?
Dean never said much about the years in between them. At least, little about the bad things that he knew had happened. And Castiel hadn’t been lying - he usually didn’t care to ask. Or, perhaps it was more accurate to say that he was unable to ask. He sometimes caught Dean giving him this hollow-eyed look that made his heart ache and his wings tremble. Even now, whenever that happened, more often than not he let the compulsion to distract take over. He’d start talking frenetically about the physics of sunlight passing through tree branches, or the eating habits of hummingbirds, or whatever else he could focus on that wasn’t his mistakes, and hope that it would distract Dean from the darker moments too.
He likes to think that they were both getting better about it. Dean smiled more now. Castiel could hold a conversation without his attention drifting away into tangents that no one else could make sense of. (Not that he was sure why they couldn’t; he was making perfect sense). Things would never really be whole or perfect, but… they were working out ways to live with themselves, together.
And then in walks Crowley. Crowley, who he'd last seen spitting nails over his betrayal with Purgatory. Crowley, who'd shown him the shortcut to beating Raphael that he'd thought would protect his humans - the partnership that had cost him Dean's trust, with damn good reason.
In walks Crowley, who now trades affectionate jokes with Dean, and recommends tea he thinks Cas might like, and died to save Sam and Dean.
Castiel doesn't know what to do with that.
If that wasn’t bad enough, Crowley had to go making implications about Lucifer that made the fog in his head feel more inviting than usual. So now, Castiel found himself sitting in a booth at Common Grounds, picking at the bowl of marshmallows the confused waitress had been kind enough to bring him when requested. His tattered coat wrapped around him like armor over soft jeans and one of Dean’s t-shirts. He tried not to fidget too much as he waited. Fucking Crowley.