Angel on His Shoulder (Ch. 1)
Oct. 3rd, 2010 11:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zannesTitle: Angel on His Shoulder (Ch. 1)
Author: ZanneS
Genre: RPF/AU/Gen
Rating: G
Characters: Jensen, Castiel, Uriel, extended members of Jensen's family
Summary: A strange boy rescues little Jensen from the closet monster one night.
Author's Notes: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
celtprincess13 and gypsy_atavari for betaing! This story will be comprised of a series of vignettes of Jensen and Castiel at different ages as their relationship develops over the years.
Disclaimer: Jensen and his family own themselves, Kripke owns Castiel.
The boy had shown up one night when Jensen was huddled under the covers, Jensen’s large green eyes peering over the edge of his blanket and staring fearfully at his partially open closet door.
Jensen didn’t much like his room at night. During the day, the cheerful blue paint and his cowboy bedspread made him feel like a big boy. His toy box sat proudly beneath his curtained window, and the room was splashed with a hob-nob of childish frivolity, stuffed animals and toys softening the hard edges and flat surfaces of the furniture.
But at night, those soft lines and blunted corners surpassed their original dimensions, sharp edged shadows shearing across his moonlit walls. The kindly teddy that slumped in the corner of his dresser sat watching him hungrily, eyes glittering darkly in the dim light. The shadow of the tree branch that danced outside during the day morphed into a razor-taloned hand reaching across the wall to slice his belly in his sleep.
Not to mention his closet. Momma knew the rule. The closet door had to be closed before Jensen could go to sleep.
Momma had forgotten to close it tight enough, and it had slowly swung open with an ominous squeak, leaving a two-inch gap of death burning black against the white paint surrounding it.
Jensen just knew something was in there…watching him, imagining him slathered in barbecue sauce like the ribs he’d eaten for dinner, and he hoped whatever it was hadn’t been there when he’d changed into his pjs.
His momma had even said all the barbecue sauce that had been smeared over his cheeks and chin – and maybe a little on his forehead - only made him taste sweeter when she kissed him goodnight.
Jensen’s panting breaths felt even warmer trapped against the fabric of the blanket he was holding over the lower half of his face, and he found it more difficult to breathe as his fear clogged the limited air that was available.
He briefly wondered if he might suffocate before any monster had a chance to eat him, and began to debate the merits of death by blanket over death by something ugly and hairy. He was thinking the blanket would probably hurt less, and it certainly had to smell better than a boy-eating monster, so he was leaning towards-
Wait. Did the closet door just open a little wider?
A flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye made Jensen stifle a squeal, his gaze flicking towards the chair in the corner of his room. A little boy was sitting awkwardly on the plump cushion, his legs sticking straight out just like Jensen’s did when he tried to sit in it.
Momma had told him the chair was for built for big boys when he asked why it didn’t fit, and that his feet wouldn’t touch the floor until he was older than Josh. Jensen’s eyes had widened at that idea, as Josh was old - a whole seven years old and already in school. Jensen was only five, so the idea of having to wait that long seemed impossible.
This strange boy didn’t look much bigger than Jensen did, though, so Jensen carefully dropped his blanket down till his nose and the edge of his upper lip showed over the hem.
“Are you a ghost?” Jensen whispered loudly, eyes wide at his own daring.
Ghosts had to be better than monsters.
He didn’t look much like a ghost, Jensen thought, though it was hard to see much about him, even with Jensen’s Mickey Mouse nightlight casting the wall behind him with arcs of color, like wings spread wide along the painted surface. The light did nothing to differentiate the boy’s dark hair from the shadows, and Jensen couldn’t even begin to guess what color his eyes were, barely discernible as more than dark pits in his face.
The blanket edged higher.
He needed a better nightlight, Jensen decided. A big one, maybe Superman instead of stupid Mickey Mouse. Superman wouldn’t put up with any of this.
“No, I’m a Castiel,” the boy replied, kicking his feet until his shoelaces flopped against the tops of his shoes. He appeared enraptured by the sight, continuing with the motion until Jensen shifted more upright in his bed and frowned in his direction.
“There’s no such things as Castiels,” Jensen informed him, the gaping blackness of the open closet door no longer of concern.
“Who told you that?”
“My momma.”
Jensen didn’t think that was really a fib, even if his momma hadn’t been quite so specific. All she had said was that there were no such things as monsters, but Jensen was quite sure a strange boy appearing in his room in the middle of the night had to fall under the possibly-a-monster category somehow. So since momma had said there were no such things as monsters, then there had to be no such things as strange-boys-with-floppy-shoelaces-named-Castiels, either.
“Your momma’s wrong,” the boy said with a shrug. “’Cause I’m Castiel.”
Jensen’s mouth fell open in surprise at the idea his momma was wrong about anything, and then the looming chasm of his open closet door refocused his attention. If momma was wrong about Castiels, then she might just be wrong about closet monsters, too.
He wiggled back under the covers until nothing but his eyes showed, cocooned in his cowboy wrapping.
“Are you scared?” Castiel asked. The boy sniffed, his nose twitching like Mark Peterson’s bunny’s when he gave it a carrot. “You smell scared.”
“I’m not scared,” Jensen denied, his wavering voice muffled by his blanket.
The boy’s head swung between Jensen’s wide eyes and the open closet door, until a determined look crossed his face and he began to wriggle forward in the chair. He scooched until his feet were dangling over the floor, and then hopped off the cushioned seat, walking toward Jensen’s closet with his shoulders back and his little hands clasped into fists.
The weird thing, Jensen noticed, was that the shadows on the wall seemed to follow him.
When Castiel got there, he shoved the door shut with both hands, the resulting click making Jensen slump with relief. Then the boy walked toward Jensen’s bed, and he leaned forward into the small circle of light coming from the muted lamp on Jensen’s night table, the darkness gathering oddly behind him. The shadows receded from his eyes, the blue sparkling bright in the dim light, and Jensen offered him a tentative smile. There was no way ghosts had blue eyes.
Castiel’s nose twitched like a bunny’s again, and he said, “You’re not scared anymore.”
Jensen just shook his head, and Castiel took this as an affirmative. His little hand reached out, and he had to stretch up on his tiptoes to reach that high, but his fingers brushed Jensen’s forehead and he said, in a voice like Jensen’s daddy when he wanted to make sure Jensen was listening, “Sleep.”
Jensen woke the next morning when his momma came in and kissed him on the forehead, murmuring with a proud smile, “That’s my big boy. You spent the whole night in your room by yourself. I told you there was nothing to be afraid of.”
Ch. 2...
Author: ZanneS
Genre: RPF/AU/Gen
Rating: G
Characters: Jensen, Castiel, Uriel, extended members of Jensen's family
Summary: A strange boy rescues little Jensen from the closet monster one night.
Author's Notes: Thanks to
celtprincess13 and gypsy_atavari for betaing! This story will be comprised of a series of vignettes of Jensen and Castiel at different ages as their relationship develops over the years.Disclaimer: Jensen and his family own themselves, Kripke owns Castiel.
The boy had shown up one night when Jensen was huddled under the covers, Jensen’s large green eyes peering over the edge of his blanket and staring fearfully at his partially open closet door.
Jensen didn’t much like his room at night. During the day, the cheerful blue paint and his cowboy bedspread made him feel like a big boy. His toy box sat proudly beneath his curtained window, and the room was splashed with a hob-nob of childish frivolity, stuffed animals and toys softening the hard edges and flat surfaces of the furniture.
But at night, those soft lines and blunted corners surpassed their original dimensions, sharp edged shadows shearing across his moonlit walls. The kindly teddy that slumped in the corner of his dresser sat watching him hungrily, eyes glittering darkly in the dim light. The shadow of the tree branch that danced outside during the day morphed into a razor-taloned hand reaching across the wall to slice his belly in his sleep.
Not to mention his closet. Momma knew the rule. The closet door had to be closed before Jensen could go to sleep.
Momma had forgotten to close it tight enough, and it had slowly swung open with an ominous squeak, leaving a two-inch gap of death burning black against the white paint surrounding it.
Jensen just knew something was in there…watching him, imagining him slathered in barbecue sauce like the ribs he’d eaten for dinner, and he hoped whatever it was hadn’t been there when he’d changed into his pjs.
His momma had even said all the barbecue sauce that had been smeared over his cheeks and chin – and maybe a little on his forehead - only made him taste sweeter when she kissed him goodnight.
Jensen’s panting breaths felt even warmer trapped against the fabric of the blanket he was holding over the lower half of his face, and he found it more difficult to breathe as his fear clogged the limited air that was available.
He briefly wondered if he might suffocate before any monster had a chance to eat him, and began to debate the merits of death by blanket over death by something ugly and hairy. He was thinking the blanket would probably hurt less, and it certainly had to smell better than a boy-eating monster, so he was leaning towards-
Wait. Did the closet door just open a little wider?
A flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye made Jensen stifle a squeal, his gaze flicking towards the chair in the corner of his room. A little boy was sitting awkwardly on the plump cushion, his legs sticking straight out just like Jensen’s did when he tried to sit in it.
Momma had told him the chair was for built for big boys when he asked why it didn’t fit, and that his feet wouldn’t touch the floor until he was older than Josh. Jensen’s eyes had widened at that idea, as Josh was old - a whole seven years old and already in school. Jensen was only five, so the idea of having to wait that long seemed impossible.
This strange boy didn’t look much bigger than Jensen did, though, so Jensen carefully dropped his blanket down till his nose and the edge of his upper lip showed over the hem.
“Are you a ghost?” Jensen whispered loudly, eyes wide at his own daring.
Ghosts had to be better than monsters.
He didn’t look much like a ghost, Jensen thought, though it was hard to see much about him, even with Jensen’s Mickey Mouse nightlight casting the wall behind him with arcs of color, like wings spread wide along the painted surface. The light did nothing to differentiate the boy’s dark hair from the shadows, and Jensen couldn’t even begin to guess what color his eyes were, barely discernible as more than dark pits in his face.
The blanket edged higher.
He needed a better nightlight, Jensen decided. A big one, maybe Superman instead of stupid Mickey Mouse. Superman wouldn’t put up with any of this.
“No, I’m a Castiel,” the boy replied, kicking his feet until his shoelaces flopped against the tops of his shoes. He appeared enraptured by the sight, continuing with the motion until Jensen shifted more upright in his bed and frowned in his direction.
“There’s no such things as Castiels,” Jensen informed him, the gaping blackness of the open closet door no longer of concern.
“Who told you that?”
“My momma.”
Jensen didn’t think that was really a fib, even if his momma hadn’t been quite so specific. All she had said was that there were no such things as monsters, but Jensen was quite sure a strange boy appearing in his room in the middle of the night had to fall under the possibly-a-monster category somehow. So since momma had said there were no such things as monsters, then there had to be no such things as strange-boys-with-floppy-shoelaces-named-Castiels, either.
“Your momma’s wrong,” the boy said with a shrug. “’Cause I’m Castiel.”
Jensen’s mouth fell open in surprise at the idea his momma was wrong about anything, and then the looming chasm of his open closet door refocused his attention. If momma was wrong about Castiels, then she might just be wrong about closet monsters, too.
He wiggled back under the covers until nothing but his eyes showed, cocooned in his cowboy wrapping.
“Are you scared?” Castiel asked. The boy sniffed, his nose twitching like Mark Peterson’s bunny’s when he gave it a carrot. “You smell scared.”
“I’m not scared,” Jensen denied, his wavering voice muffled by his blanket.
The boy’s head swung between Jensen’s wide eyes and the open closet door, until a determined look crossed his face and he began to wriggle forward in the chair. He scooched until his feet were dangling over the floor, and then hopped off the cushioned seat, walking toward Jensen’s closet with his shoulders back and his little hands clasped into fists.
The weird thing, Jensen noticed, was that the shadows on the wall seemed to follow him.
When Castiel got there, he shoved the door shut with both hands, the resulting click making Jensen slump with relief. Then the boy walked toward Jensen’s bed, and he leaned forward into the small circle of light coming from the muted lamp on Jensen’s night table, the darkness gathering oddly behind him. The shadows receded from his eyes, the blue sparkling bright in the dim light, and Jensen offered him a tentative smile. There was no way ghosts had blue eyes.
Castiel’s nose twitched like a bunny’s again, and he said, “You’re not scared anymore.”
Jensen just shook his head, and Castiel took this as an affirmative. His little hand reached out, and he had to stretch up on his tiptoes to reach that high, but his fingers brushed Jensen’s forehead and he said, in a voice like Jensen’s daddy when he wanted to make sure Jensen was listening, “Sleep.”
Jensen woke the next morning when his momma came in and kissed him on the forehead, murmuring with a proud smile, “That’s my big boy. You spent the whole night in your room by yourself. I told you there was nothing to be afraid of.”
Ch. 2...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-10-03 10:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-04 02:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-05 04:52 am (UTC)But I also follow Jensen's kid logic.
Very interested to see more. :-)
no subject
Date: 2010-10-06 03:30 am (UTC)