tabaqui | First prompt fic! 'Evidence of Things Not Seen.'

First prompt fic! 'Evidence of Things Not Seen.'

Saturday, October 17th, 2009 07:35 pm

Wow, you guys kinda bowled me over with all the requests. Wheeeee! I shall hopefully get to them in a timely manner.

Here's the first one, for

vichan. Her prompt was:Supernatural - Dean/Castiel, Sam? Or Dean and Sam and Castiel if you'd rather not touch the scary ship. Something about the amulet changing hands? Hope you like it!

darkhavens, of course, did my beta. Thank you!

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
Hebrews 11:1

Dean noticed all the time, now. When he got dressed, when he showered, when he lay down to sleep. His hand would stray – inevitably, habitually – to his chest and find.... Nothing. After a while, it started to drive him crazy. He hadn't been exaggerating – without his necklace, he felt fucking naked.

The night Castiel came for help with one of his fellow angels, he asked for it back, but no dice. Castiel wasn't giving it up and Dean stomped out to his car in a bad mood, his chest feeling too light, his fingertips still tingling slightly from scraping across the expanse of empty t-shirt.

After Sam came back, it took him a while to notice, but notice he did. And every time Dean would reach up and encounter air and empty cotton, Sam would get this weird little look on his face. Kind of smug, kind of pissed, until Dean snapped and called him on it.

"Fuck's sake, what?"

"What, what?"

"Why are you giving me that freakin'...look?"

"I'm not giving you any look, Dean," Sam said, but he gave his laptop the same damn look and Dean all but growled. Later that night, twitching around under the covers, his fingertips grazing over and over the same spot, Sam spoke.

"I didn't realize that you'd...miss it that much," he said, his voice low and a little hesitant. A little damn smug.

"I've had the damn thing for two decades practically, Sam. You miss something you've had that long." Dean tapped his sternum with his forefinger and sighed – turned over, shoving his hand under his pillow, just brushing the hilt of his knife. "It's important to me," he mumbled, talking mostly into his pillow. He knew Sam heard him, anyway.

Just when he was starting to think he'd never get it back – when he'd almost forget, from time to time, that it wasn't there – Castiel brought it back. He showed up in their hotel room in Andover, looking wan and bedraggled, his coat actually wet across the shoulders. Like he'd walked through the rain that pounded down outside, an Armageddon of a storm that was kicking the entire Eastern Seaboard's ass.

"Here," he said, holding the necklace out and Dean was on his feet and across the room before he'd consciously thought about it.

"Did you find God?" Dean asked, and Castiel's arm faltered a little, wavering and sliding down. Dean caught his wrist – tangled his fingers in the leather cord of his necklace. Castiel's skin was cold.

"I...did."

"All right then." Dean tugged on his necklace a little, but Castiel's fingers weren't uncurling and he didn't want to actually wrestle the angel for the thing. "So is he, uh, gonna come and kick some Satanic ass or what?"

"He is...He...." Castiel brought his gaze back from wherever it was and finally focused on Dean. His eyes were huge – his look one of utter, childish bewilderment and hurt and Dean had a very bad feeling about this.

"He's what, Castiel?" Sam said softly, and Castiel's gaze flickered to Sam and back, robotic.

"He is recalling all the garrisons. He is...He said that...mankind is faithless and...flawed. And that he would begin again once you were all...once...." Castiel's knees seemed to give way all of a sudden and Dean caught him and turned him – got him on a bed, and pushed his head down.

"Just – hell, just breathe, Cas, just...." Dean shot a pleading look at Sam, who could only shake his head, shrugging a little. Dean crouched down, his fingers and Castiel's still tangled in the cord, the amulet swinging between them, mellow-gold lights glinting along its curves. "So he's just going to abandon us? Everything?"

"Yes," Castiel whispered, and Dean thought maybe the angel was crying. Fuck, maybe he was dying, who knew? Sam shuffled closer, hovering between the beds, looking helpless.

"Fuck, man, I'm... I'm sorry."

Castiel took a shuddery breath and lifted his head. He gently untangled Dean's fingers from the necklace and lifted it, slipping it carefully over Dean's head. Dean shivered ever so slightly at the light, chill touch of Castiel's fingers. The amulet settled against his sternum, such a slight weight but it seemed to ground Dean. Seemed to bring his center back, and Dean took what felt like his first real breath in a long, long time.

"You know what? Fuck it. We don't need him. We'll figure this shit out without him. I always knew we were in this alone, anyway."

Castiel shook his head slowly, his wounded gaze fixed on the amulet. "You are not alone, Dean. You have never been alone. I wish...." He bowed his head again, abject misery, and Dean hesitated for a long moment and then he reached out and put his hand on the back of Castiel's neck. Gripped there, not too tight, and pulled Castiel toward him until his temple was pressed against Castiel's forehead, his lips just brushing one cold cheek.

"You're not alone either, Cas, okay? You're not alone, I swear. We're going to win this, and we need your help to do it." Dean leaned back, catching the look of fierce determination on Sam's face – the solid, indomitable set of his shoulders. Dean's hand lifted, automatic, and he touched the necklace – stroked his fingertips over the sharp little horns and the worn-smooth ridges of it. Familiar as his own body – as his own brother.

"We'll find a way, Cas. I promise you. Have a little faith, man."

Castiel looked up, merest hint of a smile on his face, something like hope – something like awe – in his gaze. "I do, Dean. I do."

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