Supernatural Dean/Castiel serving
Right, this started with an idle comment in a chat. And it grew into a ficlet that would not leave me alone. Be careful what you tell an angel...
What He Wants
This morning was starting out much the same as almost every one lately. Wake from a restless half doze because he couldn’t *afford* to fall deeply asleep and face what burned in his mind and stare at an empty bed next to his own. At least this time the bed looked slept in and when Dean ran a hand along the covers, there was a faint residual warmth there. Gone for coffee or maybe breakfast.
Shit, shower and shave. Step one into dragging on the mask of ‘hey I’m just dandy peachy-keen’. Hopefully Sam wouldn’t be too long with the coffee which was the all important step two. He wrapped one of the motel’s towels around his waist and stepped back into the main room.
Hello. Prissy angel at ten o’clock. Castiel was sitting on the edge of his bed with that shuttered look like well… one of God’s own heavenly bitches… angels… forced to squat in a No-tell motel. Which didn’t even have the luxury of the vibrating bed. Or mirrored ceiling.
“You know you keep this up and people are going to talk.” Dean quipped at Castiel. Not his best shot, but best shots normally don’t come before coffee. And the blank look that Castiel turned on him meant that it had gone very wide of the mark.
“No one will notice I am here.”
“Why *are* you here?” Dean butted in before the angel could draw breath to continue. “Want to send me back to the night Mom died, so I can not do anything to change that? Nag at me that my brother is evil incarnate?”
He was obscurely pleased at the pinched look that Castiel was developing. The angel was becoming a pain in his ass, it was only fair to return the feeling.
“I… *we*… want you to trust in God’s plan,” the angel replied, standing up to face Dean, coat rustling. A small corner of Dean’s mind wondered if Castiel even knew that the coat could come *off* “Cast off your doubts and serve His will.”
Dean’s jaw tightened slightly. “Yeah, well maybe I want you to suck my dick too.” He flung the words out like a challenge, a slap to how little he cared for what the angels and God might want. The words failed to have the effect that Dean wanted, there was no automatic retort or fist flying at his face. Just a long, slow look, as if Castiel was trying to determine what Dean was implying. Same vocabulary, different language… so damned hard to get the insults right and …
Dean’s brain skidded to a halt when Castiel stepped forward and removed the towel from around Dean’s waist with a brisk tug. The angel didn’t even answer the spluttered "What the *fuck*” Dean was getting out of his mouth around before he knelt and…