The second of my found-files. don't expect anything else out of me ha. Set around season 5.
canticle \KAN-ti-kuhl\, noun:
1. A song, poem, or hymn especially of praise.
2. One of the nonmetrical hymns or chants, chiefly from the Bible, used in church services.
Dean loved having Castiel around, whether it was to poof in momentarily, or to stay awhile. What he did not enjoy though, was Castiel's newly voiced love of hymns.
Considering the angel was God knows how old, Castiel obviously had memorized a huge amount of hymns, and other such canticles, in his times on earth. The songs even seemed to calm down the nerd-angel when he was relaxing after a hard time in heaven. Dean didn't mind (that much) if Cas turned on a Christian radio station to listen in. No, it was when Castiel sang along that unnerved Dean. His raspy, low voice mixed in with the lyrics caught Dean by surprise every time; forcing him to decide whether the angel sounded sexy or hilarious. Most of the time, Dean leaned more towards the sexy end, before catching and reprimanding himself.
Cas was his friend, not a romantic interest. There was no place for that, especially while the world was going to seed. Besides, it was stupid to think that variety of thoughts with Castiel able to eavesdrop at any moment. Yes, thoughts of Cas in any sense other than familial were to be banished. Things like how incredibly hot his voice was, and how beautifully blue his eyes were. Dean's thoughts spiralled downwards even more so, thinking about very, very, non-PG things.
"Dean, would you be able to please stop thinking about me so intensely? I am trying to rest," Castiel said in a neutral tone from the bed he was sprawled out on. The nerd-angel had been singing again in his gravel-eating voice about perfect submission, delight and the "visions of rapture" bursting in his sight. Dean admittedly been thinking those same things, but not in the way Cas's song meant.
At the angel's voice, Dean made a sour expression from the other bed, and attempted to suffocate himself with the cheap-ass pillows provided by their latest motel. Their room was faded neon orange with a "matching" shag carpet. That meant that, of course, it had become a mottled brown and dark orange mess. The furniture was all the same colour neon orange, but in various states of disrepair. It felt like being inside a molding citrus fruit. It was just one more reason to knock himself out for a while.
"Dean," Castiel drawled from the other bed, "If you really would like to avoid talking to me, you don't have to render yourself unconscious; just leave."
Dean's hand twitched towards his car keys on the nightstand before he decided better of it. He would rather just lay in peace, knowing that Cas would always have his back; even if it meant having to guard his thoughts… and put up with Cas's near constant recitations of hymns.
