flutiebear:

bleusea:

I don’t fight anymore. I watch the bees. (7x21)

—

Kind of my take on Castiel’s true visage. I sort of think of it as this wave of light that can form into different shapes depending on how he is feeling, acting, etc. Think of Eris from the Sinbad cartoon…that’s sort of how I picture his movements. 

One day Dean woke up, and Cas was a bus. The next, he was a mountain lion. On yet another, he was a mild rainstorm, warm and refreshing, as if a bit of summer had somehow swept into Purgatory.

“At least you’re not a cockroach,” offered Dean. Water trickled down his cheeks, and he didn’t know whether to be touched or creeped out.

I am a wavelength of celestial intent, Cas replied.  I can take whatever form I wish. Including cockroaches.

“So why,” said Dean, staring at the raincloud and hoping he wasn’t looking up Cas’s skirt, “do you keep coming back to Jimmy?”

Because I wish to. The words thrummed like blood in Dean’s ears. 

Truth is, Dean was grateful when the angel became Jimmy again—not that he’d ever admit it out loud. Cas’s other forms were cool too, in an Autobots sort of way, but the rapid changes – usually without warning – reminded Dean too much of the things he used to hunt, and which now hunted them back. It was already hard enough in this place to remember who was man and who was monster. At least it wasn’t so hard to remember who was a 30-story wavelength of junkless intent.

“Do me a favor,” said Dean with more grouchiness than he felt, “and turn yourself into something useful. A hamburger, maybe. Or a stack of pornos.”

No, hummed the blood-voice. So stop asking.

And then one day Dean woke up, and Cas was something out of a vintage Miyazaki movie, all broad angles and skinny limbs, and shoulder blades so expressive they could write their own Skynyrd songs. “Dude,” said Dean, unable to tear his eyes away, “wrong kind of busty Asian beauty.”

Cas ignored him. He peered down at something in his shimmering hands, something small and twitching. I have found a bee, the angel announced after several silent moments. 

Dean rolled his eyes and plopped back on the ground. “Maybe you should change into one too. Then you can be bee-eff-effs.”

It was a joke so bad even Garth wouldn’t have laughed, and Dean wasn’t sure why he’d even made it, or why he was suddenly so jealous of an insect, especially one that shot sticky stuff out of its behind. That had to be embarrassing – far more so than having a crush on a damn diffraction pattern. 

She is lost. The tips of two long fingers touched the bee’s forehead, and it stilled in Cas’s palm. She misses her sisters.

“Join the club,” he murmured. 

Dean inhaled then, steeling himself, and approached Cas, keeping his eyes on the motionless bee. He’d never seen a sleeping insect before; he didn’t even know they could. He couldn’t wait to tell Sam.

Dean slowly reached out a finger to touch her, but before he could, he yanked it back.

She won’t sting you.

“I don’t want to wake her up,” he whispered.

He glanced up at Cas, whose dark eyes were already fixed on him. Usually Dean didn’t like to stare too long at Cas’s eyes in these other forms—but now he couldn’t look away; it was like staring into the space between stars, a blackness threatening to swallow him whole.

Dean cleared his throat and backed up a step. “How does a bee get stuck in Purgatory anyway?”

Cas, the bastard, did not look away. How does a human, or an angel?

“We, uh—“ Dean cleared his throat again. “We should take her with us.”

Cas tilted his head at Dean. Yes, we should. The humming voice filled Dean with an indescribable warmth—like comfort, maybe. Or pride.

Suddenly, in a swirl of light and trenchcoat, Cas morphed back into Jimmy’s form, his familiar blue eyes glinting with the barest of smiles. Despite himself, Dean sighed.

“Good. Let’s buzz off,” he said, shaking out his shoulders.

“Only if you stop with the bad jokes,” Cas agreed.