lt_indigo

lt_indigo

Cas frowned at the gun Dean had pushed into his hand. It was cold and heavy and impersonal and it felt all wrong.

“Will my blade not suffice?”

The blade was a part of him, crafted by his grace and carried across the millennia and each vessel he had possessed, each war he had fought. It had been with him since he was young. It was the only weapon he had ever used.

Dean’s hand collided with his shoulder, a gesture that between humans meant friendship. But to Cas it was harsh, difficult to distinguish from the sensations of sparring or even fighting. He assumed that was down to the fact that he could feel at all. It was disturbing, knowing how low his grace was getting; so low that his vessel was insinuating itself more and more into his perception. His nerves worked, distracting him from the mission. His vision was narrowing to what Jimmy’s eyes could tell him and little more; his hearing was already completely human. And he was having to re-learn how to fight with human muscles.

“Cas, man, your knife skills are awesome, but you can’t rely on your blade when it comes to Croats.”

Dean’s words were easy, curling around him and warming him in a way that they never used to. The hand on his shoulder was now a comforting weight, reminding him that no matter what his brothers thought, he wasn’t alone. Dean would always be with him, guiding him through this new life, through the pain and humiliation of becoming human.

“I am not having you getting chowed on by damn zombies, Cas,” Dean said. “So you’re learning to shoot.”

“I dislike firearms, Dean,” he said, inspecting the gun carefully. “They… lack elegance.”

Dean laughed, his eyes crinkling around the edges and twinkling. “They’re not meant to be ‘elegant’,” he said with a smile. “They’re meant to keep you safe. And you can’t throw like you used to.”

That was true, irritatingly enough: as his grace waned, his strength did too. He could still throw a blade better than anyone else in the camp, but nowhere near as well as he used to be able to. The truly infuriating thing was that he knew Dean was right: if he was to continue to accompany Dean into the field, he needed to be prepared. He needed to be able to protect Dean from any Croats that might ambush them. And that meant being able to dispatch them from a distance. Which logically meant that he now needed to be able to shoot them.

So he would persevere with the gun. He would learn to shoot the hateful symbol of humanity’s desire to annihilate itself. He would learn how to do everything the human way, earn his stripes in the field. He would do it for Dean.