[Supernatural Fic] Practically Human 7/18
Jul. 8th, 2010 08:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
daylight_darknightTitle: Practically Human 7/18
Characters: Castiel, Bobby, Dean
Rating: PG-13 for swearing and a little violence and disturbing stuff in later chapters
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Drama
Word Count: ~18,000 in 18 in little chapters
Spoilers: Up to the end of season 5
Summary: Some things are a lot easier to deal with when the world is ending.
AN: This takes place in a slight AU where season 5 ends almost the exact same way except Castiel's powers are never restored and Bobby is still in a wheelchair. While Dean goes off to keep his promise to his brother, Castiel ends up left behind at Bobby's as he tries to adjust to his new life as a human.
Chapter 7
Castiel was upstairs when he heard it. He’d been shifting through dusty boxes investigating the contents of one of the house’s many dilapidated, junk-filled rooms when the loud crash echoed and reverberated from below. He immediately ran out, images of demons and vengeance seeking angels crawling through his head as he pounded down the stairs.
What he discovered was Bobby lying on the study floor next to his overturned wheelchair and surrounded by the contents of a nearby bookcase.
Castiel knelt beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Bobby, are you alright?”
“Don’t touch me!” Bobby yelled pushing the former angel back, unbalancing him so he landed on his behind.
“Bobby?”
“I’m fine,” the hunter insisted as he pushed himself along the floor towards his chair.
Frozen for a moment, Castiel watched Bobby struggle; then standing up, he started gathering some of the books from the floor.
“Just leave it,” exclaimed Bobby sharply, having levered himself into a sitting position with the aid of his overturned chair.
“I was merely…,” Castiel began his jaw tightening.
“You can’t help. You can’t do anything. Just go!”
Eyes narrowed to slits, Castiel dropped the books and spun around heading for the front door. He let it slam loudly behind him, an overture to the drumming of his steps as he pounded down the ramp.
Wandering aimlessly, he weaved between the wrecks in the salvage yard. He managed to circle the house several times before he achieved anything beyond wordless fury. It was the desire for destruction that finally made him stop. He eyed one of the piles of derelict cars, rusted paint and dented doors, missing wheels and broken glass, and found himself with his fist clenched and pulled back as if to strike.
He gazed down at the fragile, lined flesh that covered his hand. Once he could have crushed those empty, metal constructs with little effort. He wouldn’t have even needed to touch them.
Half in restless rage, half in desperate hope, he lifted his hand, two fingers raised and pointed at the junked cars. He reached deep within himself searching for the power that used to be his, a power so familiar and so much a part of him that normally he could have accessed it without even a thought.
His breathing increased and an ache began between his eyes. For a moment, he thought he felt a spark inside his chest, a remnant of who he used to be.
But the cars remained completely still.
His shoulders slumped and he let his arm fall. Turning away, he began treading directionlessly through the wrecks once more. As he did so, something tickled his upper lip and he wiped at it absently surprised to find a small trail of blood now smeared across his hand. Ignoring it, he continued on occasionally pulling irritably at the collar of his shirt.
******
“Bobby’ll be fine,” Dean insisted after Castiel explained what had occurred.
“He’s a completely infuriating, antagonistic dickhead,” Castiel stated unequivocally, finding that he was obviously still holding on to a remnant of that afternoon’s fury.
“Yeah, well, for him that’s normal.”
The former angel let out a wordless grumble.
Dean sighed. “Admittedly, he can be a bit abrasive. But that’s just his way.”
“I was trying to help.” Considering there wasn’t much he could do to help anyone in his current state, was it any wonder that he was infuriated by the fact his offer of assistance had been met with ire and insult.
“Sometimes you can’t.”
“And that necessitated him yelling at me?”
“He was probably just embarrassed,” Dean explained. “Maybe he needs some space. He’s not used to sharing his home especially with an ex-angel. I’ve started giving Lisa some space by taking myself out to a bar a couple times a week,” he added as if going to the bar was a hardship and he was doing it as an act of charity.
“So I should go to a bar?” Alcohol seemed to be Dean’s answer to everything, though Bobby admittedly was seldom better in that regard. Castiel recalled it helping once, the time he’d realized all his faith in his father had been as foolish as everyone had always claimed it to be and he’d drank his way through a liquor store. It hadn’t taken away all the pain, but for a while, it had left the world in a strange fuzzy state which had made it a lot easier to deal with.
“Or wherever. Listen, Bobby’s got his own stuff to deal with, but he’ll cope in his own way and he’ll be fine. The man’s a rock,” Dean said with conviction. “He’s the one I can always count on to get through things.”
Castiel remained silent deciding it was best not to inform Dean that after hours spent wandering the salvage yard, Castiel had entered the house to find the man Dean called a rock passed out at his desk with two empty bottles, a familiar gun and a lone bullet.
Chapter 8
Characters: Castiel, Bobby, Dean
Rating: PG-13 for swearing and a little violence and disturbing stuff in later chapters
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Drama
Word Count: ~18,000 in 18 in little chapters
Spoilers: Up to the end of season 5
Summary: Some things are a lot easier to deal with when the world is ending.
AN: This takes place in a slight AU where season 5 ends almost the exact same way except Castiel's powers are never restored and Bobby is still in a wheelchair. While Dean goes off to keep his promise to his brother, Castiel ends up left behind at Bobby's as he tries to adjust to his new life as a human.
Chapter 7
Castiel was upstairs when he heard it. He’d been shifting through dusty boxes investigating the contents of one of the house’s many dilapidated, junk-filled rooms when the loud crash echoed and reverberated from below. He immediately ran out, images of demons and vengeance seeking angels crawling through his head as he pounded down the stairs.
What he discovered was Bobby lying on the study floor next to his overturned wheelchair and surrounded by the contents of a nearby bookcase.
Castiel knelt beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Bobby, are you alright?”
“Don’t touch me!” Bobby yelled pushing the former angel back, unbalancing him so he landed on his behind.
“Bobby?”
“I’m fine,” the hunter insisted as he pushed himself along the floor towards his chair.
Frozen for a moment, Castiel watched Bobby struggle; then standing up, he started gathering some of the books from the floor.
“Just leave it,” exclaimed Bobby sharply, having levered himself into a sitting position with the aid of his overturned chair.
“I was merely…,” Castiel began his jaw tightening.
“You can’t help. You can’t do anything. Just go!”
Eyes narrowed to slits, Castiel dropped the books and spun around heading for the front door. He let it slam loudly behind him, an overture to the drumming of his steps as he pounded down the ramp.
Wandering aimlessly, he weaved between the wrecks in the salvage yard. He managed to circle the house several times before he achieved anything beyond wordless fury. It was the desire for destruction that finally made him stop. He eyed one of the piles of derelict cars, rusted paint and dented doors, missing wheels and broken glass, and found himself with his fist clenched and pulled back as if to strike.
He gazed down at the fragile, lined flesh that covered his hand. Once he could have crushed those empty, metal constructs with little effort. He wouldn’t have even needed to touch them.
Half in restless rage, half in desperate hope, he lifted his hand, two fingers raised and pointed at the junked cars. He reached deep within himself searching for the power that used to be his, a power so familiar and so much a part of him that normally he could have accessed it without even a thought.
His breathing increased and an ache began between his eyes. For a moment, he thought he felt a spark inside his chest, a remnant of who he used to be.
But the cars remained completely still.
His shoulders slumped and he let his arm fall. Turning away, he began treading directionlessly through the wrecks once more. As he did so, something tickled his upper lip and he wiped at it absently surprised to find a small trail of blood now smeared across his hand. Ignoring it, he continued on occasionally pulling irritably at the collar of his shirt.
******
“Bobby’ll be fine,” Dean insisted after Castiel explained what had occurred.
“He’s a completely infuriating, antagonistic dickhead,” Castiel stated unequivocally, finding that he was obviously still holding on to a remnant of that afternoon’s fury.
“Yeah, well, for him that’s normal.”
The former angel let out a wordless grumble.
Dean sighed. “Admittedly, he can be a bit abrasive. But that’s just his way.”
“I was trying to help.” Considering there wasn’t much he could do to help anyone in his current state, was it any wonder that he was infuriated by the fact his offer of assistance had been met with ire and insult.
“Sometimes you can’t.”
“And that necessitated him yelling at me?”
“He was probably just embarrassed,” Dean explained. “Maybe he needs some space. He’s not used to sharing his home especially with an ex-angel. I’ve started giving Lisa some space by taking myself out to a bar a couple times a week,” he added as if going to the bar was a hardship and he was doing it as an act of charity.
“So I should go to a bar?” Alcohol seemed to be Dean’s answer to everything, though Bobby admittedly was seldom better in that regard. Castiel recalled it helping once, the time he’d realized all his faith in his father had been as foolish as everyone had always claimed it to be and he’d drank his way through a liquor store. It hadn’t taken away all the pain, but for a while, it had left the world in a strange fuzzy state which had made it a lot easier to deal with.
“Or wherever. Listen, Bobby’s got his own stuff to deal with, but he’ll cope in his own way and he’ll be fine. The man’s a rock,” Dean said with conviction. “He’s the one I can always count on to get through things.”
Castiel remained silent deciding it was best not to inform Dean that after hours spent wandering the salvage yard, Castiel had entered the house to find the man Dean called a rock passed out at his desk with two empty bottles, a familiar gun and a lone bullet.
Chapter 8
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-09 11:16 am (UTC)I think maybe I've been reading too much schmoop and have lost my calluses from angst.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-09 01:43 pm (UTC)And getting drunk off your ass? SO not helping Dean.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-09 11:02 pm (UTC)Still, I'm glad he's sharing a lot with Dean. 'Cept I don't think Dean quite has it worked out either. Bars, Dean? Really?
And I liked how you didn't let us on with what's Bobby's thinking, but the image at the end still says so much. Poor Bobby. :(
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-09 11:02 pm (UTC)And owch too what with Cas' powers. Is there still anything left? I alway figure, like even in the 2014 episode, that there's at least that tiny little bit of angel left in him. And hey, I reckon the title Practically Human as some meaning.
As for getting drunk? Probably not the best course of action. But still, I'd love to see some drunk!Cas.
Loved it, again. ^__^
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-10 05:07 am (UTC)I really like what you're doing.
Laurie
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-12 04:29 am (UTC)