It’s just a piece of fabric. It means nothing, it is nothing. He never really cared enough to take it off, and he can’t say that he has looked in a mirror since he entered the vessel.
This is probably the first time it has been removed in months. And it lies in a crumpled heap on the dubiously clean floor of a motel with a name that doesn’t matter, in a place that is not special. Except it is.
Dean is already up and dressed, even as Castiel is pulling on clothes that he had never really thought about, but the coat still lies on the floor.
He is trying to work out the tie - how could a strip of cloth be so complicated? - when Dean leans down and picks it up in one fluid movement, his face glimmering with a curious half smile as he watches the angel watching him.
It’s almost suggestive as he shrugs into it, the fabric swelling out to accommodate him, and Castiel ponders the moment why he watches: how such a simple movement can be so… intimate, and whether the fabric is still warm from his vessel’s body.
Dean looks up at him, the coat incongruous over his shirt and jeans. He is grinning, like he knows the best secret in the world. But if he does, he hasn’t told Castiel any part of it.
“You know, Cas,” Dean says, fiddling with the collar of the coat as though he finds it uncomfortable. “The difference between you and me; I make this look good.”
Castiel can’t comment on that; he’s only just starting to work out why clothing is more than just extra layers of insulation. But he allows himself to smile, and thinks that maybe one day, he might be able to try and understand Dean Winchester. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever succeed.
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Date: 2009-04-13 08:20 pm (UTC)-
It’s just a piece of fabric. It means nothing, it is nothing. He never really cared enough to take it off, and he can’t say that he has looked in a mirror since he entered the vessel.
This is probably the first time it has been removed in months. And it lies in a crumpled heap on the dubiously clean floor of a motel with a name that doesn’t matter, in a place that is not special. Except it is.
Dean is already up and dressed, even as Castiel is pulling on clothes that he had never really thought about, but the coat still lies on the floor.
He is trying to work out the tie - how could a strip of cloth be so complicated? - when Dean leans down and picks it up in one fluid movement, his face glimmering with a curious half smile as he watches the angel watching him.
It’s almost suggestive as he shrugs into it, the fabric swelling out to accommodate him, and Castiel ponders the moment why he watches: how such a simple movement can be so… intimate, and whether the fabric is still warm from his vessel’s body.
Dean looks up at him, the coat incongruous over his shirt and jeans. He is grinning, like he knows the best secret in the world. But if he does, he hasn’t told Castiel any part of it.
“You know, Cas,” Dean says, fiddling with the collar of the coat as though he finds it uncomfortable. “The difference between you and me; I make this look good.”
Castiel can’t comment on that; he’s only just starting to work out why clothing is more than just extra layers of insulation. But he allows himself to smile, and thinks that maybe one day, he might be able to try and understand Dean Winchester. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever succeed.