Nice - Extended Version
"Nice..."
Castiel says quietly over Dean's shoulder after making another of his stealthy winged entries to the bunker and the hunter starts violently in his chair, the surprise jerking the book and his pencil from his hands.
"Jeeze, Cas, give a man some warning will ya?"
Dean grouches as he swivels to eyeball the angel and Cas is surprised to see he is blushing, his wide green eyes flitting guiltily from the intruder's face to the floor and the open book. The angel's curiosity is instantly peaked as embarrassment is not a frequent emotion for the usually confident hunter to show and he wonders what the hell is in that book?
They bend together, both clearly intent on retrieving the drawing pad from it's resting place but it has fallen nearer to Castiel and to Dean's obvious discomfort, the angel reaches it first. He scoops up the tattered pages curiously and straightens, slightly triumphant, book in hand as Dean frowns. He skims the pages quickly before raising his genuinely surprised gaze back to the seated man.
"I didn't know you...sketch?"
The angel questions, his head tilted in that way that never fails to disarm and Dean squirms silently, heat and fear churning almost pleasantly in his belly as his hands itch to grab back the drawings before he is betrayed.
"I...I don't...Not really. It's nothing, Cas. Give it back, okay?"
Dean reaches urgently for the little book but Castiel hesitates. There is something in the hunter's demeanor that intrigues him and so he holds fast to the pages and steps a step back, away from Dean's reach as he leafs slowly through the really rather proficient drawings.
There are maybe fifty completed sketches. There are landscapes in soft autumnal hughes, seascapes, all silvered with ice and cold and perhaps unsurprisingly, numerous aspects of the shiny-black curves of a certain old Chevrolet. They are all well executed, the perspective nailed in on each plate and the detail rich and expressive. Castiel is impressed and he smiles at them but what makes him smile more are the studies of faces that the book holds. They are sensitively drawn and bring to life the emotion of each expression captured and Castiel finds himself instantly engaged because he knows every one of the sitters portrayed, right off the bat. Bobby and Ellen stare at him from the smudged graphite. Jo and Garth too and of course, Sam. There are many, many images of Sam.
"These are good, Dean. You are a skilled artist."
His gravelly voice is warm with praise as he raises his head seeking the hunter's eyes and he is surprised and dismayed to see distress clearly displayed on the elder Winchester's face as he speaks.
"It's nothing...they're just...scribbles, Cas. Please give it back."
Dean's voice is quiet, hesitant, almost desperate and he has moved nervously to the edge of the big leather wing-chair he is seated in as the angel has perused the book. He looks...Cas struggles for the right word...ashamed? Yes, ashamed, like he has been caught doing something wrong or in some way shameful and Castiel doesn't understand but is saddened anyway.
"Please..."
Dean's leaning forward and he has latched his fingers onto the edge of the papers and Cas can feel the hunter's discomfort tremor through the pages.
"Of course, if that's what you want. I am sorry, Dean. I did not mean to pry."
Cas sighs, sad that he has unwittingly transgressed Dean's trust in some way. He doesn't really understand how or what he has done, but he recognizes he has and hands the book back contritely.
Dean cradles the paper for a moment in both hands, his relief at its retrieval unknowingly written all over his face before thrusting it between the chair arm and his thigh. It's a possessive, defensive gesture and Castiel finds his curiosity further peaked when he notes there is a second, equally tattered but significantly larger sketch book secreted there too.
"It's fine. No harm done."
Dean blusters and his hands twirl the pencil he retrieved from the floor nervously as he looks anywhere but actually at Castiel. He's agitated, babbling to cover his embarrassment and Cas knows he should say something to sooth Dean's nerves but he doesn't cause he wants to know where the hunter's disquiet comes from and so Dean babbles on.
"It's just...
He glances up into the angel's deep-blue eyes (so blue...so Goddamn blue!) and realizes quickly that's not a great idea, cause it doesn't settle his unease. No. If anything it makes his gut churn more but it's a kinda good churn and, if he's honest, pretty much every time now that he sees that particular blue he gets that heat low down in his belly. Real low down! He pushes the thought away hurriedly.
"Well, it's just...I only just started really and they're not...well...good enough yet...and..."
Castiel frowns and Dean stutters to silence. The angel smiles what he hopes is a reassuring smile as he speaks.
"I think they are very well crafted and I have seen the works of many impressive artists over the millennia. You should not be so dismissive of them."
Dean's lip twitches, wanting to smile.
"Ya think?"
He says warily and Castiel nods, gesturing back to the sketch book.
"Would you allow me a longer look?"
Dean unconsciously presses his thigh pinning the book in place even as his hand hovers toward it, uncertainty tightening his lips as he looks up at the angel.
"Don't tell Sam..."
He blurts and then cringes, knowing how fucking girly he sounds.
"I would not dream of telling Sam."
Castiel says solemnly, keeping the smile he feels at Dean's look of horror inside him.
"It's just..."
Dean retrieves the book from it's hidey-hole.
"Sam'd think...well it's all...kinda arty-farty, isn't it?"
Cas tips his head in gentle admonishment.
"Sam has a great appreciation of art. I believe he would be more than supportive of your...hobby."
Dean cringes some more, his hands unknowingly petting the shabby cover of the sketch book defensively.
"I know he does. Sam knows about...stuff like that and that's totally cool but...that's Sam, not..."
Dean tails off, glancing at the angel and shrugs, a blush slightly reddening his cheeks.
"But you think...you shouldn't find art cool? That Sam would be somehow shocked to know that you appreciate beauty too?"
Cas deduces and watches Dean's face betraying the accuracy of his deduction.
"Oh fuck!"
Dean closes his eyes, shaking his head nervously and Castiel laughs aloud.
"You're a fraud, aren't you, Dean Winchester?"
The hunter's eyes open in curious affront and the angel holds his gaze.
"You pretend that you understand nothing of life but the harshness of it. It would not be surprising if that were really the case for you have seen the worst of your fellow man and the realms beyond Man's usual recognition, but that is not the case at all in actuality, is it? You see, and it would seem constantly seek, what is beautiful in the world."
Dean opens his mouth to respond but can only 'fish-mouth' ineffectually for a few seconds before Cas leans in and plucks the book from Dean's hands. He perches on the arm of the chair and looks carefully through the first few plates.
"Look...See what I see."
Castiel turns the pad in his hands, showing the sketch of a sun-dappled woodland to it's creator.
"See the play of light you have established here? The subtle hints of colour that you paint the leaves with?"
Dean smiles shyly but nods happily.
"It is beautiful..."
Cas muses as he draws his finger over the page, imagining he feels the true warmth of the late autumn sun on his skin.
"What you have seen and captured is beautiful. As our Father intended it to be when he created it."
Dean breathes in sharply at that, his eyes widening as he looks into the angel's and Cas thinks he will make a disparagingly flippant, (Winchester defense tactic A) remark but he doesn't.
"It was the view out of the window when Sam was in the hospital one time...He was so sick, Cas and all they kept saying was they didn't know...know if he'd come through..."
Dean touches the page with his finger tip, his face distant with memories of a moment.
"You were scared."
It's a statement not a question and all Dean can do is response is pull in a tight breath. It takes a moment before he has breath to speak again.
"It funny. In all that...all that fucking crap this was one of those that just...just..."
His voice hitches painfully and he looks hesitantly at Castiel, smiling softly. His eyes are huge and so open that Cas feels like he can see right through to the man's heart. It's humbling and wonderful and Cas fights to take in every nuance of Dean's face so he will always and forever be able to remember how it felt to see him so.
"It just sorta flowed outta me. Do you understand?"
The angel nods cause he does cause Dean's body shouts it at him to be understood.
"I don't even really remember setting out to draw it and then suddenly, it was there, on the page. Made me feel better somehow."
Dean laughs softly, his blush intensifying.
"Weird huh?"
Cas shakes his head before he answers.
"Maybe it was a prayer?"
Dean's brow furrows and he lowers his eyes and the angel watches as the muscle in his jaw tenses and his throat works against the tears in his eyes.
"Or maybe the answer to a prayer?"
There's a soft sound whispered from the hunter, maybe it's an affirmation, as if Cas needed one and the angel continues.
"Anyway, whatever you meant it as, it is a beautiful image Dean. You cannot deny that you see that, surely?"
Dean smiles self-consciously.
"It could be worse I guess."
He capitulates and the angel rolls his eyes dramatically as Dean has taught him to do and leafs on through the book, taking in the character studies Dean has drawn. He stops at a particular page and studies it for a few moments. The face is well captured. The features true and clear but it has something more than that, something more esoteric, harder to hold on paper.
"She looks happy."
Cas says simply turning from the pencil sketch of Ellen to Dean and the hunter nods, smiling easily and the edges of his eyes crinkle and it's all Cas can do not to reach out his hand and cup his fingers to the hunter's face.
"She was. She'd just beaten Bobby at poker and he was real pissed so that made her happier."
Dean laughs aloud and the angel starts as the soft, warmth of the sound fils him with sudden almost wanton pleasure. It's a euphoric sound. Full of a fleeting and too rare sense of freedom and enduring love and it all but knocks Cas from his perch on the chair arm with it's intensity. He has to grip at the fabric and concentrate hard on Dean's voice to pull him back.
"It seems so long since now..."
There's a sudden catch in the hunter's voice and he faltering, the euphoria lost as quickly as it came as he draws his thumb tenderly over the smiling face.
"I..."
He looks away and brushes self consciously at his eyes with his other hand.
"I...miss her...and Bobby...I miss them, Cas..."
The words are so wistful, so filled with loss and regret and Cas wishes, not for the first time that he better understood how to respond to the emotion of humanity. He's not good at it and especially now he wishes endlessly that he was. He settles for dropping his hand to the page of the sketch book next to Dean's. He doesn't do anything as audacious as take the hunter's hand, (he's not sure that'd be welcome) but he brushes the side of his to Dean's and fight's to suppress his gasp when Dean's little finger twists to lock with his.
They sit for a moment. Neither says anything and Dean slowly get's his breathing back in control and does that thing where he drags his whole palm down his face to shift the tears both of them pretend aren't there.
There's an awkwardness then, cause Cas doesn't want to un-twine their hands but then again he does, cause he has an over-whelming urge to do more with his hands. Dean resolves it for them by shaking them loose and turning the pages of the book quickly, stopping at a headshot of Sam.
"Do you like this one?"
Dean turns his head and looks straight into Castiel's eyes and for a moment the angel has no voice because he's lost in a lake of velvet green that threatens to overwhelm him.
"Yes."
Cas manages to croak and his voice is grit and gravel and raw need and he wonders if it's apparent to Dean? Apparent what effect the hunter's proximity has on him? Part of him hopes it is but then the part of him that knows there's no way Dean would feel the same way, hopes he doesn't cause how the fuck he will he live with that?
"Cas?"
He shakes himself as Dean nudges against him and it's clear his 'petit mal' has been noticed. He smiles apologetically in response to Dean's look of concern and glances back to the drawing of the younger Winchester that lays on his brother's lap.
It's a beautiful rendition of Sam. He's looking into the near distance and one has the feeling from the sensitivity of the pencil strokes that one is privileged a voyeur in a moment of intense privacy.
"He was thinking about Amelia."
Dean smiles as he looks up at Cas. There's a slight sadness behind the smile but he hides it well.
"I want him to have that in his life, Cas. Love...I want that for Sammy."
He tilts his head toward the page and there is nothing but his own unconditional love in his guileless face and the angel feels suddenly bold so he seizes the moment.
"And what about you?"
Dean's head swings round so fast and there's a look of terror and opportunity, desire and hesitancy waring so fiercely in his expressive gaze.
"W...what do you m...mean?"
Dean stutters and Cas kicks himself cause all he sees on the (his?) hunter's face is horror and he's struck dumb with the enormity of what he has maybe just royally fucked up.
They breathe-in the deafening silence in unison for a lifetime of heartbeats until Dean finally finds words to rescue, or maybe condemn, them both.
"Oh wait..."
His skin colours again and his face shouts that he was thinking something that he now knows the angel could not, could never, never ever ever you stupid fuck Winchester, have possibly been thinking. He cringes and Castiel's heart spasms with pain of it.
"You mean...what about me - where are the pictures of me? That's what you mean isn't it? Not, what about me - love and that?"
He raises a hand to his face, covering his eyes while he blasphemes silently at his searing stupidity and the angel is transfixed as the blush races down his soft throat, making prisoner each of the golden freckles in its path.
Castiel wishes he could take it all back and try again but he can't so he sits conscious that he can feel the heat of Dean's body where they very nearly touch and waits for the hunter to leap to his feet and flee cause that's what he'll do. That's what Dean does. When it gets too close, too personal, he gets up and leaves. Often it's noisier than 'just leaves'. Often it involves shouting and banging of doors but, even though he daren't look at the hunter, he's surprised there's no noise at all yet. So he waits.
And it happens.
He feels Dean shift in the chair, draw away from him slightly as a precursor to fleeing and Castiel's heart spasms painfully again.
"Here."
Dean's voice is softer than Cas has ever heard it. It's terrified and hopeful at the same time and as the angel lifts his head to look into those green depths he sees the hunter is holding the other sketch pad toward him. The bigger, more hidden one.
Dean's hands are trembling and his face has lost the blush of earlier to be replaced with a pallor that shows how scared he is for what he is about to do.
Cas takes it in his hands and looks hesitantly at the book. There's one word written in Dean's swirly hand on the buff cover. All it says is 'Mine'. Cas doesn't understand but he recognizes how significant this moment is and reveres it as such.
"Are you sure?"
He whispers, suddenly very afraid and Dean sort of growls low and dangerous in his throat.
"Fuck, Cas! Just take it."
He snarls and the tension in his body hums like electricity making the angel shudder as he takes the book and turns back the cover.
The first plate is a self portrait.
Dean is standing in the archway of an old door-frame, leaning with one shoulder against the crumbling timber. He's dressed in a tattered old t-shirt and jeans that are more rips than denim. He's barefoot and the bare skin of his feet and hands and face is dirty as are his clothes. He looks wrecked and used-up and tears track through the dirt on his cheeks.
And he is beautiful the most beautiful thing that Cas has ever seen.
Astonishingly, unbelievably, ravishingly beautiful and Cas finds every breath sucked violently from his struggling lungs even as his heart pounds with his overwhelming desire.
But it's the eyes that undo him. It's the only place that Dean has used colour and the green punches from the page to gut the angel where he sits. The eyes telegraph emotion and Castiel reads passion and need, care and love, hesitancy but hope and he wants nothing more in his life than he wants this man.
He turns to look at Dean and his hands are shaking, the pages of the book sussurating softly with his trembling.
"It's...stunning..."
He whispers and the true green before him lights and dances with the iridescent gold contained there.
The hunter reaches urgently toward him and ghosts his hand down the angel's cheek. His fingers are rough and burn like liquid fire. His expression is one of utter focus, like his life depends on the outcome of the next few seconds. He clamps Cas's chin and forces the angel's eyes back to the book.
He turns the page
and the next
and the next
and the next
and images of Castiel fight for every inch of space on every single page.
It's overwhelming and Cas reels with the legion of him that stares back from the paper, He blinks and sways and Dean's fingers find his chin again and his eyes are held once more in that (his) green gaze.
"Mine."
Dean growls and it's unequivocal, demanding, savage and brutal and the angel feels like he is being subsumed, devoured.
"Mine..."
And it's softer, needier now and Dean reaches up and his fingers are on the back of the angel's neck, pulling his head down till their fore-heads touch.
"Mine?"
Dean whispers and his voice cracks with terror and want and Cas can feel the hunter's hot tears on his own cheeks.
"Please...be mine?"
Dean gasps and then the angel lips are on his and their hands grab and clutch and hold possessively as they kiss away any traces of doubt and replace it with the love that threatens, longs, hopes to consumes them both.
ends
For a friend going through a rough time who will likely not read this cause Destiel's not her thing but just in case, thinking bout ya hunny. x