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comment_fic
Title: The Problem With Being Angelic
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 385
Notes: Set sometime SPN S5, while Cas is searching for God, I think
comment_fic Title: The Problem With Being Angelic
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 385
Notes: Set sometime SPN S5, while Cas is searching for God, I think
The Problem With Being Angelic
The problem with being angelic under these circumstances, Aziraphale rather thought, was that you couldn't exactly explain to the angel curled up at your shoulder that it was quite alright, you'd done this sort of thing before, with the demon up the road. Not and expect the poor dear to remain calm, anyway. Warrior angels could be so ... judgemental, about things like that.
On the other hand, this particular angel, blue eyes closed in exhaustion and head slumped tiredly against Aziraphale's shoulder ... this angel hadn't seemed very judgemental at all, when he'd come here. When he'd curled in almost fearful longing into Aziraphale's embrace. When he'd watched, with confusion and then a sort of stunned pleasure, as Aziraphale decided to risk it, and show him all the little things Crowley had taught him over the years. Not judgemental at all.
"Is something wrong?" Castiel asked him softly. Eyes still closed, borrowed body loose and sprawled next to Aziraphale's own, wings draped almost haphazardly across them both. Still loose, but with a soft, gentle hum of tension beginning to spill through him. Beginning to bring him back to the fear that had drove him here in the first place. The exhaustion.
And Aziraphale paused to consider that, no, the problem with being angelic under these circumstances was not the judgement of a warrior. The problem with being angelic, here and now, with this angel curled against his shoulder ... was that this fallen, battered creature feared him. Feared Aziraphale's judgement, the judgement of an angel not yet fallen, and no matter that Aziraphale had been the one to open his arms, to tug Castiel down and show him all the little wonders of this world. Castiel still feared him, simply because Aziraphale was yet angelic.
Smiling softly, a little sadly, Aziraphale leaned down to drop a kiss to the exhausted angel's forehead, and brush tangled hair gently back. "Not at all, my dear," he murmured softly, and wondered if he shouldn't explain the demon after all. Wondered if he shouldn't explain that, fallen or not, Castiel, like Crowley, had no cause to fear him.
Then Castiel sighed faintly, tension spilling out again once more, burrowing closer into Aziraphale's side, and Aziraphale smiled. No, he decided. Not now. Not just yet.
The problems of being angelic could wait until the morning.
The problem with being angelic under these circumstances, Aziraphale rather thought, was that you couldn't exactly explain to the angel curled up at your shoulder that it was quite alright, you'd done this sort of thing before, with the demon up the road. Not and expect the poor dear to remain calm, anyway. Warrior angels could be so ... judgemental, about things like that.
On the other hand, this particular angel, blue eyes closed in exhaustion and head slumped tiredly against Aziraphale's shoulder ... this angel hadn't seemed very judgemental at all, when he'd come here. When he'd curled in almost fearful longing into Aziraphale's embrace. When he'd watched, with confusion and then a sort of stunned pleasure, as Aziraphale decided to risk it, and show him all the little things Crowley had taught him over the years. Not judgemental at all.
"Is something wrong?" Castiel asked him softly. Eyes still closed, borrowed body loose and sprawled next to Aziraphale's own, wings draped almost haphazardly across them both. Still loose, but with a soft, gentle hum of tension beginning to spill through him. Beginning to bring him back to the fear that had drove him here in the first place. The exhaustion.
And Aziraphale paused to consider that, no, the problem with being angelic under these circumstances was not the judgement of a warrior. The problem with being angelic, here and now, with this angel curled against his shoulder ... was that this fallen, battered creature feared him. Feared Aziraphale's judgement, the judgement of an angel not yet fallen, and no matter that Aziraphale had been the one to open his arms, to tug Castiel down and show him all the little wonders of this world. Castiel still feared him, simply because Aziraphale was yet angelic.
Smiling softly, a little sadly, Aziraphale leaned down to drop a kiss to the exhausted angel's forehead, and brush tangled hair gently back. "Not at all, my dear," he murmured softly, and wondered if he shouldn't explain the demon after all. Wondered if he shouldn't explain that, fallen or not, Castiel, like Crowley, had no cause to fear him.
Then Castiel sighed faintly, tension spilling out again once more, burrowing closer into Aziraphale's side, and Aziraphale smiled. No, he decided. Not now. Not just yet.
The problems of being angelic could wait until the morning.
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