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Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven,
If in your bright leaves we would read the fate
Of men and empires,--'tis to be forgiven,
That in our aspirations to be great,
Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state,
And claim a kindred with you; for ye are
A beauty and a mystery, and create
In us such love and reverence from afar,
That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star.
"He's stable now. He just needs to rest. You should, too." Simon goes over to the basin to wash up from where he'd sewn up the wounds the injured man--Dean, the other one had called him--had sustained when he'd been caught in the crossfire of Mal's latest 'job'. The dark-haired man, Castiel, had carried him to Serenity's infirmary on the captain's orders. (Though there hadn't been much of a fight; their lives were now at stake because of the ordeal, after all.)
Castiel had only stared at Simon when asked to leave the infirmary, said barely a word beyond basic introductions, and has hardly taken his eyes off of Dean since they'd boarded. It uneases Simon, makes him feel as if he's the one intruding.
"He doesn't." Simon looks up from his cleaning. River has apparently snuck in at some point, and is standing quietly next to the door, surveying their guests.
"River, uh." He glances toward the two men. Castiel hasn't moved and Dean is still out, bandaged chest rising and falling evenly. "What do you mean? He doesn't what?"
She turns a fond, indulgent smile on him. "Stars don't sleep, Simon," she says, as if reminding him of something he should have known.
Castiel raises his head then and turns his intense gaze on River. Simon almost wishes he were still staring holes into Dean's bandages.
He sighs. It's been a long day and he has very little patience left for his sister's cryptic declarations. "He's not a star, River. He's a human, just like you and me."
River looks at the man again, appraisingly, like examining an experiment for changes. "He looks more like a star. You're just not looking hard enough. He hides it in his suit."
"I am not sure what you mean. You say that I look like a star?" Castiel's voice is hoarse. Simon blames the planet they'd just come from. Despite its name, Angel's environment was less than forgiving at times.
River nods absently, her attention threatening to be drawn away by an interesting stain on her boot. "You're all bright and shiny and burning."
Simon's still trying to think of a way to take back control of the conversation when the man on table lets out a groan. Castiel snaps his head toward Dean, his hand raising automatically to the unconscious man's shoulder, where Simon had noticed an odd, hand-shaped scar. Castiel's hand fits over the scar perfectly, as if he had been the one to make it.
Which, Simon thinks, is impossible, as the scar is clearly the remnant of a rather severe burn...
Dean settles once more into sleep and Castiel, oblivious to Simon's bewilderment, allows himself to look back at River. She regards the hand on Dean's shoulder curiously.
"You burned him, didn't you," she says calmly. She looks up and into the man's eyes. "You held on too tight."
"Yes." Castiel's face is unflinching, even as his voice softens almost imperceptibly. "I did not want to lose him."
River's smile is as bright as the star she claims Castiel to be. "You won't. He won't let you. And if you do, you'll find him again. He burns bright, too."
The edges of Castiel's mouth turn up in an almost-smile. "Yes. He does."