Fic: Battle Drums
Author: Seraphim Grace
Fandom = Supernatural
Pairing = Castiel/Girl!Dean
Rating = G
Notes - Title from Silent Hill 2 score by Akira Yamaoka
unbeated
Girl!Dean verse, previous entries available a href="."here/a
Soundtrack - Tori Amos - Snow cherries from France
Dean likes the sawn off shotgun because it has less recoil and doesn't feel as much of a substitute penis as say the Magnum or the colt. She likes knives because it means she can see the whites of the creature's eyes when she kills them, and they can see it's a girl doing it.
They always scoff when they see her, because she's a girl, and then come the jokes, the Xena Warrior Princess asides, and the laugh that they were sure that the infamous Dean Winchester was a boy, and they always look so surprised when she puts the knife through their throats, or into their chests.
Castiel tells her that she will save the world. He tells her she will do it because she is Dean, not because she is a hunter, not because she is a woman, but because she is Dean and that hurts.
Dean knows she's not good enough for this. But still she stands at the front lines, shot gun against her arm, loaded with silver and salt, knives in the sleeve of her boot, one at the back of her neck in a custom rig.
She stands tall and hopes the bravado will be enough to carry her through, and she knows a secret that CAstiel does not when he looks at her like she is worthy, that she'll let them down - not because she's a woman, not because she's a hunter, because she's Dean Winchester and Heaven help her it's not enough.
But when Castiel looks at her, so devout and believing she wants to be worth it, god help her, she wants to be the person he thinks she is.
She knows she's not however, and that is why she promises again and again, with fingers on the back on his hands, soft breaths against his jaw and knees touching knees under diner tables, that she will take as many of the sons of bitches down with her as she can when she goes.
She lies with the fold of her sweater, creased over her stomach. She lies with the line of dirt under her black fingernails. She lies with the fall of tawny hair over her forehead. She lies when she tells him she believes she can save the world. She lies when she chews her nails, the lacquer flaking. She lies when she presses her lips together. But when she stares at him, when she finds him with her eyes, then she can't lie, but she doesn't tell him what he wants to hear.