Title: These Walls Have Eyes
Author: OpheliacAngel
Characters & Pairings: Established Dean/Gabriel, Heavily Implied Dean/Castiel & Sam
Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort/Horror
Rating: Mature (Language)
Summary: Dean dreams of Gabriel when reality becomes too convoluted with blood and despair. Castiel gives him warmth and hope and home. Spoilers for the Season 7 Finale.
A/N: Dreaming endlessly of a Season 8 starting out like this. I'm very happy to get back into writing Castiel, even happier to finally be uploading this after endless weeks of work on it. Cause let me just say, this took me so long to complete and it's probably the most torture I've ever put myself through; writing it and nitpicking it endlessly and then after ages editing it and biting my nails over whether or not I should upload it. I'm still biting my nails, so I hope you leave me a nice review or something if you happen to enjoy.
Soundtrack: Inspired by Otep's 'Head', a quite creepy but also quite beautiful and mesmerizing song. The title is inspired by it as well and the chapter titles are taken from it.
Part One: I woke up and the world was on fire
There's something off about this place, something infinitely wrong that Dean feels more as each second passes by. It's a place where souls have been stripped down to their most primal of instincts; to hunt and maim, kill and wear the skin of their victims.
Dean fits here, he deserves to be here after all the wrong he's caused his world. He won't deny it.
Years have gone by which probably aren't even years at all but only days earth-wise. Sam is most likely right where Dean left him, hunting him down and he at least hopes he can figure out exactly where he is. There's not much to choose from in his case anyway; Hell, Purgatory, Dead. He highly doubts his brother will choose Heaven as an option.
And his brother couldn't possibly pick the latter of those three, unless of course he's given up one-hundred percent and that would mean years have already passed. Sam isn't stupid though and Dean must keep the hope that he will figure it out, that Castiel will find some way to get through to him.
Now, if only he can figure out where that damn angel has taken off to.
He isn't safe, not by a long shot and he knows this as he walks on, avoiding the whimpers and howls and moans nearby, the screams of children that aren't really children at all but things that have no name, at least that he knows of, creatures possessing burgundy red eyes and rows of sharp white teeth and claws sharp enough to pierce through bone with just a mere touch. These things have been tracking him, following him and because of that he sticks to the shadows, even if some do hide in the shadows.
Dean keeps off the barely discernible road and away from the open as much as possible, because this gives them a clear idea of how vulnerable he truly is. That the angel they noticed before is no longer with him, protecting him, reassuring the human that as long as he keeps walking he will elude them.
So Dean keeps walking, and he runs and hides and crawls into abandoned buildings and small openings in the ground when he needs a moment's rest. He's alone now, alone enough to make him squirm and keep eyes on alert in the back of his head and continue to will some type of weapon to appear in his hand.
Hey, it's worth a shot.
The rain's pouring down now. The human's clothes are filthy and torn. He takes shelter amongst trees so close together he barely has room to stretch out. The rain seems to drive them away, and even though Dean could really do without the cold of the rain right now, considering Purgatory's always dismally cold no matter what, he at least appreciates being able to get off his feet.
Putting his mind and heart at a brief rest.
...
...
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't forget me?"
Dean Winchester looks up at the only reason he gets up in the mornings, hell, the only reason he'll even wake up at all. Most of what Gabriel says these days is far from serious. Even though he was never really an archangel in the first place, being a trickster has left its mark on him in more ways than could be easily counted, both clearly and hidden. The traits were permanently engraved in his mind and behavior, which is how Dean knew he would never change.
Good, he didn't want him to anyway.
This made him way different than Castiel, more in touch with humans and infinitely more attuned to his own ego. He lived for delivering 'just desserts' as he deemed them, eating candy, thinking of intricate yet entirely laughable ways to prank Sam, ways that would make him look like a genius when really he just had more time on his hands then either of the two Winchester brothers could ever dream of having.
As the months went by of living with him, sharing their personal lives with him, not to mention the expectation Gabriel placed on the two of them to go run out and get him candy even though he was more than capable of conjuring it up, Gabriel started to take a huge place in their lives, not to mention their hearts. Sam could deny it all he wanted but it was obvious.
If Gabriel left, they'd want him back just as soon as his foot took a step out the door.
Despite his annoying traits, Dean couldn't resist him and he never really wanted to anyway. He would lie awake some nights, listening to Gabriel yelling at the TV whenever they would play reruns of Dr. Sexy, and wonder why Gabriel bothered to stay at all, what he thought about hours later when he crawled into bed right next to Dean and discreetly moved his arm, not to mention his entire form, a little too close.
The archangel had a legendary poker face, every time Dean tried to read him, right at the moment where he would do things either brother could never expect, he just pretended nothing was going on. Period. It unnerved the human to no end but it also made him wonder even more if Gabriel was changing right before their very eyes.
And then, after a little while, it happened. Gabriel's arm confidently wrapped around Dean a second after he crawled into his too cold, too empty bed. It was somewhat of a tight grip, but what struck the hunter was the strange feeling that it somehow belonged there, soaking excess warmth into his own body, reminding him that the archangel won't ever stop taking what he wants. And Dean, suddenly, Dean's really fucking scared of what he does want. The gesture startles Dean back up into the realm of nearly full consciousness, and gives him cause to lift his body and turn around to face him. He had been close to sleep when the archangel joined him finally, drifting off after an hour or two of listening to Gabriel in the other room. Now, he couldn't have been more awake.
The hunter wasn't quite sure what he was expecting, probably a look on Gabriel's face that wouldn't display denial but instead truth. Intent and not boredom. Dean didn't want to be his plaything, though if Gabriel wanted him to be, he suspected it would have happened months back.
Gabriel met his eyes at the same second Dean met his. His lips were full and wet and puckered out a little, eyes glowing vividly in the thick darkness with more intent, doubt and anticipation than the human had ever seen in his entire life. More than anything, Gabriel felt real and here, not just warming his bed but his soul. Dean's heart leapt in his chest and he tensed when the archangel's fingers brushed along his arm, he felt this great need he had to fill and he wondered if Gabriel felt it too. It wasn't even just that, every patch of his skin was screaming at him to mold himself with the other person in the bed pushing himself dangerously closer, a closeness that meant anything happening from then on couldn't be taken back or thrown off to the side any longer. Gabriel seemed serious beyond all imagining, and Dean instantly grew richly warm all over and swelled with lust at the way the archangel was looking at him.
When he had kissed him, when Gabriel dared to put his own beautiful lips on Dean's slowly and with such need, it took Dean's breath away. He had leaned into the kiss as Gabriel wrapped his arms securely around him and pulled him over to his side. It was nothing like he would ever expect coming from Gabriel, the gentleness and insecurity and playing with passion enough to make them both explode.
It drove Dean mad, those first few minutes when the wanting was too great and their lips were locked at every possible moment.
The next day was even better, Gabriel didn't pretend that nothing happened. In fact, he went gunning for Dean right off the bat. Dean had fallen more in love with every kiss, every embrace, every look of longing, of hunger, the archangel gave to him. He felt complete and loved and so fucking happy to see Gabriel and...
He couldn't think about it right now. Not when he realizes he never should have taken any of that for granted.
Gabriel was looking at him with huge amber eyes; he seemed worried and they held something else that seemed like disappointment. Dean didn't get it, nor could he remember the events leading up to this particular moment. Everything was a blank, everything except what he felt every single second for Gabriel and how wrong this all felt, this moment.
Don't forget me?
It's a question and the archangel never is one for asking questions. It's like he expects something bad to happen.
"What are you talking about? I'd never forget you," he swallows hard, Gabriel's look unnerving him.
"It doesn't matter, Dean. I've already lost you." Gabriel says softly and then he looks away, looks down and Dean follows his gaze. There's red everywhere, it clouds his vision and he presses his fingers to his own stomach. It's sticky and wet and his fingers come away bloody.
"Gabri..."
He looks up, but not in time to catch his eyes. In a mind blurring flash, Dean loses him and somehow it feels like a loss to be witnessed forever. His eyes flip open to the normal dismal gray of Purgatory. He's alone, dreadfully fucking alone and there's something hollow in him, something that's eating him alive inside.
I never said goodbye.
And Dean screams because Cas isn't around to scold and quiet him.
Gabriel isn't here to save him.
...
...
The first thing Dean Winchester does upon catching sight of this newfound monstrosity is to laugh.
Compared to even some of the strangest things he's hunted over the years, this thing just takes the cake, stirs something deep within him that causes him to at first deny its very existence and then to give in and laugh. It feels good when he does it too, like he hasn't done it in ages when really he remembers Gabriel saying something downright hilarious to Sam a few days before all this happened, and he literally couldn't stop laughing. Tears had streamed down his face as Gabriel kissed him long and hard, his strong grip pulling him into the bedroom.
Looking back on it now, it feels like a goodbye kiss. It feels like that was the last kiss they will ever share.
The last happy moment where all three of them could just be together, carefree and occasionally making fun of an annoyed and somewhat jealous Sam sulking in the background.
It was a rude awakening, realizing all this, so much so that he stopped laughing as quick as he started. More rude and abrupt than that though, was when the damn thing pounced on him and worked its way towards tearing off a hunk of his flesh. Damn near succeeded too if Dean hadn't had his legendary quick reflexes and common sense to roll out of its path and get back up on his feet, face this thing head on. It went good for the first few minutes, throwing punches that wouldn't knock the horse-like creature complete with horns and very sharp teeth out for long.
This thing, whatever it was, would have been downright terrifying, something not even nightmares could draw up if Dean wasn't a hunter and if he hadn't gone to hell. One thing he's learned about being here though, is that the monsters and demons hell boasted of ridiculously paled in comparison to Purgatory's offerings.
Dean wasn't prepared. He didn't think he'd ever be prepared for this sort of battling come to think of it.
The problem was that he had no weapons with him, he'd been searching for them for ages now but unfortunately hadn't come up with more than a few sticks he could attempt to sharpen later with a rock or something.
Hiding certainly seemed like the best option. But he couldn't hide 24/7 and that was what would be the death of him.
He didn't feel it at first, one of the horns slicing through his upper arm when he slid in the mud and made his way unwillingly towards the ground. His fist connected with a soft underbelly, sending it off guard for a moment and squealing in pain, allowing the hunter to grab a stick off the ground, blunt and pretty small but better than nothing, and ram it against the creature's sensitive spots as hard and as much as he could. He easily tired out though, especially when it appeared he was getting no results.
Arms aching and feet blistering, he went in for what he hoped to be the final and crushing blow. That was when he felt it, a sharp pain shooting up his arm and into his head. He'd dealt with pain like this before, hell, worse than this but it was too different this time, too sudden and unforgiving and disorienting.
The thing got up and rammed him once, twice, its horns narrowly missing the vulnerable skin of his stomach as he twisted and turned in desperation. He gritted his teeth, wondered if it was too late to run, hide; there was no shelter in sight and he knew it. This was an open field for miles. Even if he could run, it wouldn't be for long.
Pain. It centered in his arm but circled around in his head like a whirling tornado, ferocious and unrelenting. He felt like he had been struck by a bolt of lightning. His vision was hazy at best, seeing double of the thing as it came forward for him a third time.
Dean was struggling, swimming through a maze of endless muck and agony and blood.
Would he survive this? Would the great Dean Winchester finally meet his match here, half-naked and weaponless, in a world where hundreds more of these things roamed, searching for something to sink their teeth into, lying in wait for fresh meat? His fresh meat.
And then he went down down down.
...
...
(Days? Weeks? Months? Years? Later)
His feet have been long past the point of aching, swollen and blistered. They are now onto what he presumes to be stage four; bleeding and rewarding him with a white hot agony when he puts weight on them. Not like he has a choice. They've been chasing him for hours.
Red eyes glow just past the tightly packed clustering of trees he's recently found shelter in. There's no proper position to put his legs in, they will hurt no matter whether he pushes them out in front of him, which he barely has enough room to do, or choose another seemingly uncomfortable position.
Dean's panting hard but he won't give in. He's been putting up a fight ever since he got here but it's pretty clear now, after an endless fucking amount of time spent walking and running and crawling and hiding and being chowed down on occasionally by creatures he could never find in his wildest nightmares, it's pretty freaking clear that he hasn't got much time left.
Soon that thing, like all the others, will make its way inside his little hiding place. He will stumble and struggle to get up and if he can't, he will crawl until he can't feel his legs anymore and still then he will survive. Like he always does. Until he suddenly doesn't anymore.
Dean pushes back further against the trees as the eyes move closer. Luckily there's only one set and it will most likely stay that way. He has to look on the bright side of every situation he falls into while he's here, like the fact that there only seems to be one gruesome looking creature within a given distance. The others hang back, as if they're all afraid of each other or merely territorial. It's weird but also strangely reassuring.
He's just glad Sam's not trapped with him here, he doesn't know if he'd be able to protect him if he was.
His feet scream for attention but Dean doesn't want to stare at them any longer. He can do nothing for them, there's no holy water to clean out the deep gashes and no leaves in sight other than very high above him, that he can decently use as bandages; the ground is covered in what mysteriously looks like ash, gray and revolting. Dean's shirt is torn beyond belief, barely hanging on his rapidly thinning form.
It seems there's nothing to do but wait, which is really all he spends his days doing when he's not so busy escaping and surviving.
Dean's getting pretty fucking sick and tired of waiting.
He looks up, fully aware that it doesn't matter what he does or doesn't want to do. He isn't a hunter anymore; he's the hunted and just because the situation sucks doesn't mean he's about ready to give in. He still needs to find Cas and get both of their asses out of here.
The red eyes are suddenly on him.
He pushes back, hurriedly scanning his dark surroundings for another exit. Teeth are already ripping into the flesh of his leg and he bites down on his bottom lip to prevent from screaming. He pushes back with his other leg but he might as well not for all the good it does. It merely collapses back to the ground, useless and throbbing as Dean pushes himself away from the current scene with arms that still, luckily, possess some of their former strength. Probably the last he'll see in a while though.
Dean doesn't think his attempt is successful but it must be, for in the next second the thing is gone, leaving a massive gash in his leg and blood pooling out of it so quickly that even if Dean tried to staunch the sticky substance he'd be in no shape to do so. His arms still throb with his last dose of adrenaline, and with it he pushes himself up and hovers over his torn apart leg momentarily.
Then he collapses back against the tree behind him, doesn't even have the energy to curl up in a ball as he clenches his eyes shut and struggles not to cry. Tears still slip onto his cheeks though, unavoidable ones he convinces himself are made primarily out of pain and nothing more.
"Sam," he lets slip out of his mouth cause fuck, it hurts and he's dying. He knows he'll never make it out of here. Castiel vaguely told him before all this that if he died in Purgatory he wouldn't die for real, but he can't honestly believe all that shit. Who would count on hope when everything points against it?
There's no answer for the minutes of hazy consciousness. There probably never will be again.
...
...
Sam doesn't know how to say it, knows the expectation is there, that Gabriel will beat it out of him even if he can't bring himself to say a word. He has a right to know though, know where Dean no doubt is, be included in the unstoppable mission to rescue him from the bowels of Purgatory.
He isn't positive that the archangel won't kill him, or vow to prank him a thousand plus times when all of this is over, when Dean is safe and back home with both of them. He'll mention that Castiel is there, no doubt protecting Dean by whatever means necessary, but to Gabriel, 'feather butt', his more often than not nickname for the angel, will make no difference and only get Gabriel more pissed off.
So this was the image in Sam's head: Gabriel storming through the room shouting 'honey, I'm home', no doubt to Dean, who isn't really there but somewhere far less savory, and probably immediately sensing something is wrong with just one glance at him. Then he'll throw him against the wall and demand what's happening. When he spills out everything, the archangel will become a fireball of rage and start throwing things around the room, letting them crash into the walls and windows and shouting enough for the whole hotel to get pissed off, spewing curses at Castiel and Sam and the unfairness of the world.
Maybe Sam should just leave, right now, let Gabriel figure it all out on his own.
He didn't do that though, and it also didn't work out the way he had planned out. Yes, Gabriel had burst in, though without a word, and yes he had read the look on Sam's face and slammed him against the wall. Sam said everything he knew, everything he could say and then, waiting for a blow, he opened his eyes to see Gabriel backing away. He barely caught his balance as he slipped down the wall, unable to tear his eyes away from the archangel, whose demanding face faded so quickly that he wondered if that was what his own face looked like when he put the pieces together.
"I..."
And then Gabriel stormed out the door and left Sam behind, but not before the Winchester boy could see the tears sliding down his starkly pale cheeks.
...
...
Gone. Dean's gone.
We tried, we tried to make more time but we just never got enough. I should've forced myself to make more, we were just so wrapped up in everything else. I should have taken him while I could, I should have made him feel worthy and loved. But I had to vanish every time I got a fragment of a clue, and that's no way to be in a relationship which hasn't even been officially established by the way, but still. Now there's no world without him in it. There's nothing. I never realized just how cold, just how empty I feel knowing I can't see him when I need to the most, when I least expect it. When he was about to go off on his little adventure with Castiel I should have grabbed him and slammed him up against the wall, kissed him senselessly and made him promise me that he would come back.
I gave him one final look and I left... I left. I'm so infuriatingly stupid.
The tears just wouldn't stop falling as Gabriel slid to the ground and screamed his vessel's lungs out, shattering the windows around him as if they could not handle such loss as well.
...
...
It's the strangest sight when he wakes. Castiel hovers over him, an unmoving shadow with deep lines of worry etched into his forehead (they remind him of Sam), his hair disheveled and trench coat remaining amazingly intact, hardly polluted by the muck of this place at all. Dean stares silently for a few minutes, wondering if it's real before whispering, "Cas?"
A faint smile, nothing more.
Then, "Dean."
Dean blinks and after that the angel is sitting down on the ground and lifting Dean up, encouraging his head to lay in his lap and for him to rest there. Dean obeys with no murmur of protest or denial.
The sky still holds the same hue of gray that it has since he came here; the faint stench of decaying flesh and smoke invades his nostrils as it has every second of being here. Dean turns away from reality and looks up at the angel, lets the vibrant blue of his eyes fill in the emptiness within him, the parts of him that have grown hollow due to Castiel's absence until now. He settles down into the ground, filthy as it is, and drops his throbbing head carefully onto Cas's leg, content to avoid the dismal scenery by focusing on the much loved tan trench coat.
He's dying, he knows, but it's better if Cas if here.
...
...
"So perfect," Gabriel whispers lustfully in his ear. "And so cute," he squeezes Dean's nose, which he always compares to a button in its cuteness. "Gabriel," he rolls his eyes and groans, hating when the archangel does that but he only laughs, kissing Dean over and over until he can't breathe, till he can't stop smiling even though his entire face is growing numb from it.
"Shit, Gabriel, I missed you," he moans, his way of begging for more even though he really has, missed him that is.
The archangel grins, runs his hands through Dean's short hair and plays with the soft flesh of his ears, just before his tongue finds its way to Dean's neck, sliding up stealthily to his mouth. He opens it willingly, giving the archangel entrance so he can better swell with pleasure, having Gabriel so nice and needy inside him.
A flash of pain that's not so far away as it should be and he's pushing Gabriel away, who pays no mind.
Dean looks down in an insuppressible panic. Blood is pooling up from within him, bubbling up from under his skin, intent to choke him and make him realize none of this is real. He didn't survive, he never came back from Purgatory. This is merely one last irresistible dream before the end.
He glances up again and there are specks of blood on Gabriel's face, resting like macabre freckles upon his nose and cheeks and splattered almost hastily, like paint, in his hair. Gabriel doesn't seem to notice, he only lowers himself to smother Dean's face with more kisses.
"Dying is just a part of life, Dean. Who needs reality? This dream is designed by me, for you. Enjoy it, Dean. Stay with me."
Dean tries, but fails as the blood covers his entire vision and chokes him back into oblivion.
...
...
Cas's hand is a steady and quite warm presence on his throbbing shoulder. His other clutches Dean's bloody hand tightly, as if he's the one in pain, the one who needs comfort and not clearly the other way around. Castiel doesn't move an inch, not even when Dean shifts in his tight hold from time to time. He knows the angel feels the need to protect him, which spurs him not to complain. This contact is better than being alone.
Dean was attacked again; when the angel left for the briefest of moments to try to find a portal or something, immediately this massive crab-like thing scuttled over to him out of nowhere and clasped his shoulder fiercely when Dean was unaware, drifting in a flurry of pain. As soon as it pierced his flesh it held on tight. Dean's vision remained hazy from the ambush earlier, so his attempts to destroy the crab, which he doubted was possible anyway since he had no weapons and no strength left in him, was futile at best.
He was the hunted now, the meat, the prey, a victim. And he really fucking hated it.
His scream, the one that was supposed to stay stuck in the back of his throat, must have alerted Cas because not even two seconds after he came back it was gone. Dean would never admit to shedding tears, but he can't be certain that none slipped from his eyes and burned his cheeks as they ran down them. He clutched his shoulder, his face in agony until Cas sat back down beside him and gently removed his hand to hold it instead. Dean almost thought of pulling it out of his grip but what was the point anymore? Without Cas he'd be even worse off than he was then. Probably dead.
Now, he's pretty sure his shoulder is dislocated. And his legs, he doesn't even want to think about them. He'll be dead soon, he knows it, there's no possible way he couldn't know it. Dean held out for the longest he could and it just wasn't long enough. He doesn't blame himself or Cas, but instead this wretched place, where the vilest of creatures live, even less human-like than the ones he used to hunt with Sam.
Sam... Shit... Sam. He hasn't thought of him for a while, blood and horror and pain are the only things holding his mind now and the only thing he can look forward to is Cas. The only one he can look to for hope at the most hopeless of times and shelter at the most terrifying is Cas, who would never dream of abandoning him to this cold and gray wasteland.
"Thanks, Cas." For coming to find me.
The angel nods, barely noticeable but it satisfies Dean, who takes his cue and leans further back against him, seeking warmth from the frigid wind starting to bother him. Screw embarrassment or humiliation, Cas is the only light in this place and he'll take it with outstretched arms. Just... Maybe not too outstretched.
"I will not leave again for a while, Dean. We will rest here and then we will continue on, to find more suitable shelter."
"Cas," he shivers, "don't think I can walk."
He doesn't answer, which Dean doesn't seem to mind since he's drifting quickly into sleep anyway. Maybe it's because he's just now noticing how serious this all is becoming, that it's no longer a joke he can laugh off, or Dean for that matter, but rather that everything depends on them leaving: Dean living or dying, keeping sanity or inviting the plague of insanity.
Dean will just let Cas worry about it. Just for now...