rxbcurn:
AND IT WASN’T DEAN’S INTENT TO SCARE THE BOY-! He’s lived the reality of being flung from childhood into a life of adulthood; the premature death of innocence and clarity. He would be no better than his father if he were to rob a child of their blessings; of their purity and their IGNORANCE. So hands fold, still, between bent knees; heavy fabrics breathe as he does; the rise and fall of layered chest. Head nods as information is taken in; a gentle sway; an open ear. He understands this, the voices; remembers the attempts for communication from Castiel before his arrival; understands and FEELS the confusion- there was nothing crystal about Angels, save for their view of their perfect world, of their perfect GOD. And this boy- oh, THIS BOY WOULD NOT FALL TO THAT. Could not fall to that.
WIND BRUSHES THROUGH THE TREES AMIDST THE LULL OF CONVERSATION; a rustle of leaves along the grass; the vision of death under the premise of rebirth. Dean shifts his weight then; a balance on his right leg, and then his left, before he settles. “The voices, are they always loud?” And he knows this answer; knows the deafening cry of The Holy Word. “What makes you think they’re upset? What do they sound like?” Here, Dean NEEDS TO KNOW. Needs the confirmation of that same static; of the shrill call of the Angels- voices powerful enough to SHAKE THE EARTH. “Have they ever tried to talk to you before?”
THE MAN WAS ASKING A LOT OF QUESTIONS about something Nathan wasn’t entirely sure he could explain. Staying quiet was Nathan’s normal choice of action when dealing with something he didn’t understand; both in school and at home. When his father was angry, Nathan stayed quiet. When his teacher asked about the differences between denominators and numerators, Nathan didn’t raise his hand. When police asked why he had run from them, Nathan stared at his sneakers. Silence was so much safer than speaking because words could get people in trouble. But... this was different. Someone was dead.
Nathan squeezed his hands tight and kept his gaze lowered as he shrugged. “SOMETIMES. I try not to listen. It’s like... when the radio doesn’t connect so you turn up the volume and everything is just static. Then when it connects the music just––” Nathan’s hands pulled away from his shirt to mime an explosion, then gently covered his ears. “It’s so loud. It hurts. If I don’t listen it’s just background music, it’s quiet. But if I try...” the boy’s gaze unfocused as he listened, his hands still cradling his ears. “... they’ve lost a lot of brothers and sisters lately. So they’re sad. And they don’t want a... a win... winchester meddling? And they––” he flinched, his eyes squeezing shut and hands clamping tight over his ears. “Ow ow ow ow... they don’t like when I listen. They call me names.” Nathan held still for a moment until the pain faded then opened his eyes cautiously slow. “They don’t want the winchester talking to the nephilim.”










