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astolat: Sam/Dean, with kabbalah!
Dean gets a new hunting partner. Dean/OC, Sam/Dean. Sexual content.
4.
“He’s a golem!” Rabbi Simcha said quickly, looking back and forth between them. “He’s not harmful. He can’t be. I made him – I gave him your name. He’s supposed to take care of you.”
Dean spared a glance at the rabbi, who was rubbing her hands together with a combination of joy and nervousness. “Yeah, well, put him back! I don’t need a freaky statue guy following me around!”
She looked so sad that Dean almost felt guilty – yeah, kind of like a priest that way. “He could help you,” she said. “So you could save more people like me.”
Slowly, Dean lowered the gun, though he kept it in his hand. Bullets might not do much to clay in any event – if the golem was still clay, which wasn’t obvious. Once off the base, the golem was about Dean’s height, ruddy-skinned and rusty-haired, like the clay smeared all over it. It looked like an average frat boy, slightly chubby cheeks and an open smile, the kind of face even cops found hard to remember. It had come out of the clay complete with clothes, which made Dean wonder whether it was anatomically correct or just some kind of Ken doll.
Without really meaning to, he found himself listening to the rabbi tell him a long story about the golem’s Kabbalistic origins (and no, she said, a bit of snap in her voice, kabbalah had nothing to do with sex, Madonna aside). The golem did seem like a nice guy, if a little dim. So when he started to shift uncomfortably in his rough clothes, admitting that yeah, the drying clay itched in places no one wanted to be itchy, it seemed only reasonable to invite him back to the motel to get cleaned up. Dean could always ditch him later, if the golem got problematic.
And the rabbi gave him a sweater, so Dean kind of had to put her in the ‘good’ category.
astolat: Sam/Dean, with kabbalah!Dean gets a new hunting partner. Dean/OC, Sam/Dean. Sexual content.
4.
“He’s a golem!” Rabbi Simcha said quickly, looking back and forth between them. “He’s not harmful. He can’t be. I made him – I gave him your name. He’s supposed to take care of you.”
Dean spared a glance at the rabbi, who was rubbing her hands together with a combination of joy and nervousness. “Yeah, well, put him back! I don’t need a freaky statue guy following me around!”
She looked so sad that Dean almost felt guilty – yeah, kind of like a priest that way. “He could help you,” she said. “So you could save more people like me.”
Slowly, Dean lowered the gun, though he kept it in his hand. Bullets might not do much to clay in any event – if the golem was still clay, which wasn’t obvious. Once off the base, the golem was about Dean’s height, ruddy-skinned and rusty-haired, like the clay smeared all over it. It looked like an average frat boy, slightly chubby cheeks and an open smile, the kind of face even cops found hard to remember. It had come out of the clay complete with clothes, which made Dean wonder whether it was anatomically correct or just some kind of Ken doll.
Without really meaning to, he found himself listening to the rabbi tell him a long story about the golem’s Kabbalistic origins (and no, she said, a bit of snap in her voice, kabbalah had nothing to do with sex, Madonna aside). The golem did seem like a nice guy, if a little dim. So when he started to shift uncomfortably in his rough clothes, admitting that yeah, the drying clay itched in places no one wanted to be itchy, it seemed only reasonable to invite him back to the motel to get cleaned up. Dean could always ditch him later, if the golem got problematic.
And the rabbi gave him a sweater, so Dean kind of had to put her in the ‘good’ category.
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She made Dean a golem AND a gift of a sweater? She needs to stick around.