Parallax
Summary: Dean is used to things being temporary. Itâs what comes with the kind of life where nothing meaningful sticks around. Teen | 3.5k
[Read on AO3]
Many thanks to @envydean for looking this over for me and helping me with my doubts about this fic. Appreciate you, Jenny!
--
Observation Log: Day 1
Dean breaks the sky on his first night working at the planetarium.
Itâs not a permanent gig. Nothing ever is. There was a case, late night sightings, people swearing the stars were moving wrong, patterns shifting where they shouldnât. Samâs off chasing a lead a couple of towns over, something with actual teeth and a body count, which leaves Dean with this.
Stakeout, heâd called it.
âLow risk,â Sam had argued.
âItâs a planetarium, not a freakinâ luxury cruise!â Dean had snapped back. âIâm going to be working.â
Now heâs standing in the control booth, staring up at a ceiling full of stars that definitely arenât where theyâre supposed to be, thinking maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.
The sky isnât literally broken. Just the projection system is misaligned, a star field spilling constellations where they donât belong. Orionâs belt is halfway across something that definitely isnât Orion anymore, and thereâs a cluster of stars bleeding into the edge of the dome like theyâve decided that the sky is boring and theyâd rather be down here on earth.
Dean leans back in his chair, squinting up at it.
âYeah,â he mutters to himself. âThatâs definitely wrong.â
The control panel in front of him is a mess of switches and sliders that all seem to do something slightly different than what theyâre labelled as. He nudges one experimentally, and the stars shift. Worse.
âGreat,â Dean says flatly. âLove that.â
Someone behind him sighs. Not loud, not annoyed. The kind of sound somebody makes when a problem has already been solved in their head and theyâre just waiting for everyone else to stop being dumb and catch up.
âYouâre projecting Orion in the wrong hemisphere.â
Dean freezes for half a second before turning around. Heâs expecting his supervisor. Maybe a bored college kid who actually knows how this thing works. What he gets is something entirely different.
The guy standing in the doorway looks like he belongs somewhere quieter than this. Messy dark hair, big blue eyes, a dorky sweater vest. His eyes flick briefly from Dean to the ceiling, taking in the damage.
âItâs not supposed toââ Dean starts, gesturing vaguely upwards. ââdo that.â
The guy steps past him without asking. âItâs not,â he agrees.
Dean shifts aside as the guy reaches past his shoulders and adjusts two controls in quick succession. The stars shift again, smooth this time. Orion snaps back into something recognisable. The rest of the sky follows suit.
He blinks. âOkay. Yeah. Howâd you do that?â
The guy doesnât look at him, just continues watching the ceiling. âWhat youâre seeing isnât current,â he says. âThe light takes time to arrive. Even in simulation, itâs modelled that way. Youâre not projecting where the stars are. Youâre projecting where they were.â
Dean blinks. âIsnât that a design flaw?â
âItâs accurate.â The guy finally looks at him. âMy name is Castiel.â
Dean leans back in his chair again, glancing up at the now-correct sky before looking back at him.
âDean,â he says eventually. âAnd, uh, thanks, man. For fixing my accidental cosmic disaster.â
Castiel doesnât respond to that, just tilts his head slightly like heâs considering something that Dean canât see.
âThe projection drifts if itâs not recalibrated manually,â he says. âMost people donât notice.â
Dean huffs a quiet laugh. âYeah, well. I did notice it was wrong, just didnât know how to make it right.
Castielâs gaze flicks to him again. âMost people donât notice that either.â
--
Observation Log: Day 7
Dean doesnât mean to stay late. Thatâs what he tells himself, anyway.
It just⊠happens. The first couple of nights, he blames the equipment. Learning the controls, making sure the projections donât drift into whatever abstract mess he made that first day, it takes time. After that, itâs easier to say heâs waiting on Sam to call. Or that itâs quieter here than the motel.
By the end of the first week, the excuses stop needing to make sense. The last show finishes, the recorded voice fades out. The artificial sky dims and resets.
Dean doesnât leave. Castiel does.
Kind of. He gathers his notes, shuts down one of the side consoles, then walks towards the exit like the night is over.
Then he pauses. Looks back.
Dean stays in his chair, one boot hooked against the base of the console, staring up at a sky that currently isnât showing anything interesting.
A beat. Castiel turns around and comes back. Dean doesnât comment on it.
âIs that normal?â he asks instead, nodding towards the ceiling as the next projection begins to bleed slowly into place. Not a full show, just a scattered field of sprinkled stars, dimmer, less structured.
Castiel follows his gaze. âYes. It recalibrates between programs.â
The stars settle gradually, not all at once. Points of light flicker into position, uneven, like the projection is assembling itself from memory rather than a computer instruction. Dust drifts through the projector beam, catching briefly, small yet bright interruptions that disappear as quickly as they appear.
Dean watches that longer than he probably should. âIt doesnât look finished.â
âIt isnât,â Castiel replies. âIt doesnât need to be.â
Dean huffs quietly at that, but doesnât argue. He doesnât understand most of what Castiel says, and thatâs becoming as routine as his staying late. Words like âbackground radiationâ and âsignal degradationâ and âobservable remnantsâ get dropped into the air between them like Dean is supposed to glean some kind of cosmic meaning from them. He doesnât.
But he stays and listens anyway.
âYou said the lightâs old,â he says after a minute. âLike⊠already happened old.â
âYes.â
âAnd weâre justâwhat? Watching it show up?â
âIn a manner of speaking.â
Dean shifts in his chair, glancing over at Castiel. âThat doesnât mess with you?â
Castiel considers the question like itâs the most profound thing heâs ever heard. âNo,â he decides. âItâs simply the nature of observation. There is always a delay between an event and its perception.â
Dean looks back up at the ceiling. A cluster of stars sharpen into focus near the edge of the dome. Not a constellation he recognises, just points that seem spread out, uneven.
âSounds like a bad deal,â he mutters. âEverything important already over by the time you get to it.â
Thereâs a pause, longer this time. Dean doesnât look over, but he can feel Castielâs attention shifting, settling on him instead of the projection.
âThat isnât how I would describe it,â Castiel says.
Dean huffs again, softer this time. âYeah, well. Youâre the expert, Cas.â
Silence stretches between them again, but itâs not empty. Not like that first night. Thereâs something settled about it now, like they understand each other. Even though they donât.
The projection cycles again, faint adjustments clicking into place. More dust catches in the light.
Dean doesnât move to leave.
Neither does Castiel.
--
Observation Log: Day 22 - 1169
Dean stops pretending itâs accidental somewhere around the third week. He still clocks out when heâs supposed to. Still does the rounds, checks the exits, powers down what needs powering down. On paper, his job ends when the last show does.
In practice, he stays.
The planetarium settles into a different kind of quiet after closing. Not empty, just held. Like the space doesnât fully power down, just becomes something softer. The projection cycles low, slow transitions instead of full programs. Stars drift in and out of alignment without ever quite committing to a pattern.
Dean brings coffee now. Two cups. Doesnât comment on it, just sets the second one down on the console without looking at Castiel when he does.
Castiel drinks it, also without comment. That, more than anything, is how Dean knows this is becoming a thing.
Tonight, the projection feels dimmer than usual. A wide sprinkle of stars across the dome, no clear constellation, just points of light spread unevenly across the dark.
Castiel is already there when Dean finishes locking up, standing near the edge of the control booth, looking up like heâs trying to solve a problem, to make order out of natureâs chaos.
Dean leans against the console, nudging the second coffee towards him. âYou ever just⊠not?â
Castiel glances at the cup, then at Dean. âNot what?â
âNot think about it,â Dean says, gesturing upwards. âAll of it. Space. Time. Whatever youâve got going on in that head?â
Castiel considers that, then picks up the coffee. âNo.â
âYeah,â Dean says. âDidnât think so.â
They fall into silence again, but it gets more comfortable and familiar by the day. Dean doesnât even feel like he has to fill it anymore.
The projector hums softly. Light spills across the room in slow, uneven passes, catching on the edge of the console and the curve of the dome. He watches as it illuminates the line of Castielâs shoulder where his coat has slipped slightly out of place.
It doesnât hit him all at once, itâs not that kind of realisation. Itâs smaller than that. Quieter.
Dean notices that the light doesnât settle on Castiel evenly. It breaks across him in fragments, like itâs trying to map something that doesnât hold still long enough to be understood.
He looks away. âSam texted,â he says, because thatâs easier. âSays the case heâs on might take a few more days.â
Castiel nods once. âI see.â
âYou say that like you donât,â Dean mutters, but thereâs no bite to it.
Castiel lifts his gaze back to the projection. âYouâve remained here,â he says after a moment. âDespite the absence of active work. And your case wrapped up days ago.â
Dean huffs out a quiet laugh. âYeah, well. Donât act so surprised. I can commit to a low-stakes gig when I want to.â
âThat isnât what I meant.â
Dean glances over at him. âNo?â
Castielâs attention shiftsânot to Deanâs face, not fully, but closer than before. âMost people donât return to the same place repeatedly without a clear objective.â
Dean rolls his eyes. âYou say that like Iâve got some kind of grand plan.â
âDo you?â
The question lands softer than it probably should. Dean opens his mouth to deflect. Habit, reflex, itâs easy for him. Yet nothing comes out. He ends up looking back at the ceiling instead.
âYeah,â he says finally, quieter. âGuess I do.â
Castiel doesnât ask what it is. He doesnât need to.
The projection adjusts again, a faint recalibration that sends a beam of light across the dome. For a second, it catches between them, suspended long enough just to be seen. Dean watches it, then without really thinking about it, he shifts a fraction closer. Not enough to make a point of it.
Just enough that if Castiel moved too, theyâd notice.
Castiel doesnât move.
--
Observation Log: Day 40
Itâs colder in the planetarium tonight. Not enough to matter to anyone else, but enough that Dean notices when he pushes through the side door, shoulders tensing against it before the warmth from inside catches up.
The place is empty, same as always. Last show done, lights low, the dome already mid-transition. The stars are bleeding slowly into place, not yet settled.
Castiel is there.
Dean doesnât think about the fact that he expects it now. Just drops into the chair like he belongs there and sets a coffee down beside the console without looking.
Castiel takes it. They donât speak for a while.
The projection is crystal clear tonight. Sharper, more defined. Like the stars have decided what they are instead of hovering in between.
Dean leans back, watching them. âYou ever get it wrong?â he asks eventually.
Castiel glances at him. âIn what sense?â
âAll of it. The data. The readings. Whatever youâre pulling meaning out of.â
Castiel considers that. âYes,â he says. âFrequently.â
Dean snorts. âThatâs reassuring.â
âThere is an expected margin of error,â Castiel continues. âObservation is limited by many factors. Distance. Delay. By the fact that what we are measuring has already changed by the time we perceive it.â
Deanâs gaze stays on the ceiling. âYeah,â he says. âYouâve mentioned.â
Thereâs a pause. Castiel steps a little closer to the console, setting his untouched coffee down, attention shifting fully to the projection.
âMost of what we study is no longer in the state we observe it in,â he says. âStars collapse. Systems decay. Entire structures cease to exist. The light persists regardless.â
Dean frowns slightly. âThatâs bleak, man.â
âIt isnât,â Castiel says, calm as ever. âItâs simply accurate.â
The projection shifts again, subtle, almost imperceptible changes. A cluster near the centre flickers, then stabilises. Castiel watches it like it matters.
âMeaning is not diminished by distance,â he continues. âIf anything, it is clarified. Stripped of immediate distortion. What remains is⊠truer.â
Dean goes very still. Itâs not obvious, no sudden movement or sharp intake of breath. Just a quiet kind of stillness.
âWhat, soââ he starts, then stops. He takes a breath and tries again. âYouâre saying it matters more once itâs over?â
âIâm saying its significance is not dependent on proximity.â
Dean exhales slowly, something like a laugh caught in it. âRight,â he says, not looking at Castiel.
The stars above them hold steady, fixed in a way they havenât been the past few nights. Less drift. Dean notices that too.
âSounds like a great system,â he adds after a moment. âNothing real sticks around, but hey, at least you can analyse it better once itâs gone.â
Castiel turns his head slightly, frowning. âThat isnâtââ
Dean shakes his head, cutting him off. âNo, I get it,â he says. âDistance. Perspective. All that.â
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes still on the projection but not really seeing it anymore. âJust⊠seems like a bad way to live.â
The words hang that. Castiel doesnât respond immediately. When he does, his voice is quieter than before. Adjusted for the intensity of what theyâre not-talking about.
âIt isnât intended as a method of living,â he says. âIt is an observation of what is.â
Dean gives a wry smile. âYeah, thatâs the problem.â
Silence settles between them again, but itâs different now. Not as easy or as comfortable. The space between them feels as misaligned as the projection on the night they met. Technically functional, but off in a way thatâs hard to ignore once youâve noticed it.
Dean doesnât shift closer this time. Doesnât reach for the controls. Doesnât say anything else.
He just sits there, watching the light that doesnât belong to the present, and thinks about how none of it ever actually stays where it should.
After a while, Castiel steps back. Itâs subtle, small enough that most people wouldnât notice.
Dean does.
Neither of them says anything about it.
--
Observation Log: Day 58
Dean notices something is off before anything is said.
Itâs smallâCastiel is already there when he arrives, which isnât unusual, but tonight heâs not standing near the console. Heâs not watching the projection start up. Heâs just still, beside the edge of the control booth, like heâs already halfway elsewhere.
Dean sets the coffee down anyway, noticing that Castiel takes longer than usual to pick it up.
âThatâll be the last time you need to do that,â Castiel says eventually.
Dean pauses mid-sit. It takes him a second to process the sentence properly, like his brain refuses to make sense of the words that only really have one meaning.
âWhat?â
Castiel doesnât look at him immediately. His attention stays on the dome as the projection begins to cycle, the stars moving across the sky away from them. Pulling away.
âIâve accepted a position with a deep-space research facility,â he says. âThe transfer finalises at the end of the week.â
Dean lets out a short breath through his nose. Itâs not a laugh.
âOkay,â he says instead. âThatâs⊠cool. Congrats, I guess.â
Castiel finally looks at him then. Thereâs no expectation in it. No waiting for a reaction. Just observation. Itâs infuriating.
âThank you,â he says.
Dean nods once, like that settles something it absolutely doesnât.
The projection continues above them. The stars tonight are denseâclusters overlapping, like the system is running multiple projections at once, hasnât quite separated them out.
They both stare at it.
âDeep space,â Dean repeats after a moment. âThatâs far.â
âYes.â
He shifts in his chair, leaning back. âWhen did you decide that?â
âSome time ago,â Castiel says. âThe confirmation only arrived recently.â
Dean nods again. Too quickly.
âSure,â he says. âYeah. That tracks.â
Castiel takes a sip of his coffee and sets it down after. âI will be leaving in three days,â he adds.
Deanâs jaw tightens, just slightly. He keeps his eye on the dome. The stars above them drift through a slow recalibration cycle. A faint scatter of light passes through the air between them, dust caught in the projection. Dean watches it fall.
He doesnât look at Castiel when he speaks again. âYou gonna miss it?â
A beat.
âI will not be here to miss anything,â Castiel says.
That hits harder than it should. Dean exhales slowly.
âYeah,â he says quietly. âThat makes sense.â
He doesnât move for a long time after that. Neither does Castiel. The projection overhead stabilises, cleaner now, finalised. Stars locked into place like theyâve decided what they are and stopped shifting.
Dean watches them, then finally leans forward and picks up his coffee.
Itâs cold.
--
Observation Log: Day 60
The planetarium feels emptier than it should.
Not because thereâs anything physically missing from it. Everything is still where it always is. The console, the chairs, the faint hum of systems powering down between programs. The dome overhead still holds a sky that isnât real and never has been.
Dean watches it anyway. Like always.
Castiel is already there when he arrives.
For a second, Dean just stands in the doorway and watches himânot because itâs unusual anymore, but because he knows it wonât be like this again.
Castiel doesnât turn right away. Heâs looking up at the projection, hands loosely at his side. Two coffees sit untouched on the console beside him.
Dean steps inside. The door closes behind him with a soft click that echoes far louder than it should.
Neither of them say anything immediately.
Dean walks over and takes the second cup of coffee anyway. Itâs still warm.
âYouâre really doing it,â he says finally.
âYes.â
âYeah,â Dean says. âFigured.â
He sits in his usual place, in the same chair he always does. Same angle, same habit.
Above them, the projection begins a slow transitionâstars fading, reforming, breaking apart and reassembling in patterns too large to track at once. Light spills unevenly through the dome, scattering across the room in fragments.
Dust catches in it again. Small brief points that never hold still long enough to become anything whole.
Castiel steps closer. âI did not expect you to be here,â he says.
Dean shrugs. âYeah, well. Iâm full of surprises.â
âThat is not what I meant.â
âI know.â Dean doesnât look at him yet. âI was gonna say something smart. Something final. Like Iâve got a whole speech ready or whatever.â
Castiel waits, and Dean finally meets his eyes. Then shrugs, a little less confident than usual.
âBut I donât,â he admits. âSo. Thatâs probably for the best.â
The corner of Castielâs mouth shifts, barely perceptible.
âYou have been here consistently,â he says. âDespite having no obligation to remain.â
Dean laughs. âYeah,â he says. âFunny how that works.â
Silence again. The projection shifts into a denser field. Light layers over light, fragments cross paths but never merge. For a split second, it looks like the night sky is made of scattered pieces that only pretend to be connected.
âYou ever think youâre wrong?â he asks.
Castielâs response is careful. âIn what way?â
âAll of it,â Dean says. âThe distance thing. The⊠everything already being gone before it matter thing.â
Castiel looks at him properly now, his gaze knowing. âI think,â he says slowly, âthat I misjudged the necessity of proximity to significance.â
The corner of Deanâs mouth tugs briefly. âThatâs one way to say it.â
He reaches for his coffee, but doesnât drink it, and after a moment he sets it back down untouched. He stands, stepping closer to Castiel.
âYouâre still leaving,â he says.
âYes.â
âYeah.â Dean nods once. âI know. I just⊠didnât want it to be nothing.â
Castielâs gaze holds steady. âIt is not nothing.â
Dean exhales, then he reaches out. Thereâs no hesitation, no testing. He catches the edge of Castielâs coat like heâs grounding himself, reminding himself that while the stars themselves are not tangible, this is.
Castiel doesnât move away.
The projection continues overhead, scattering light in broken waves.
Castiel leans in first, just slightly, but Dean meets him there. The kiss is quiet, not urgent. Just the moment where proximity contributes to significance.
When they pull back, neither of them fully steps away. Above them, the stars keep shifting.
But for once, neither of them look up.
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