It's alright
Word Count: 1103
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Eric Kripke…for now. (Evil laugh)
'Cause I want you so much,
but I hate your guts,
I hate you.
-Landfill by Daughter
The moon was high in the sky, a floating white orb only vaguely showing the shadowy craters of its surface. It was a un-natural moon and Dean didn't know exactly what it meant. His inebriated mind could also not comprehend the potential danger this rare and strange sight hinted, even though at this moment everything was calm weird weather always meant something bad. A bottle of half emptied vodka sat on the sleek and shimmery black surface of his baby, reflecting the night sky perfectly, and allowing him to marvel at her beauty. The magnificent '67 Chevy Impala that had been with him almost his whole life, accompanying the Winchesters on every hunt that had ever been broached. It was also a home on wheels.
A soft breeze carried the scent of old metal and dirt to his open nose, making him look down at the vodka bottle contemplating whether or not to take yet another drink from it. A drop of water quite suddenly assaulted his cheek making him look up at the previously clear and un-natural sky with a glare, he didn't much like rain or stormy weather. Another plop of rain landed on his index finger and he half- heartedly rubbed it into his skin.
And then Cas was standing in front of him bloodied, covered in black goo and exhausted. There was no bang or blast of light, no intense but heartbreaking music playing in the background causing tears to spring to the eyes of any onlooker. It was altogether pretty damn anti climatic, and Dean couldn't even find it in him to feel surprised Cas was alive.
"I apologize Dean, if it was not serious I would not have come." With those words said he slumped to the ground in front of Dean, somehow knocking over the bottle of vodka and thoroughly pissing Dean off in the process. With a long suffering sigh Dean drunkenly pulled and tugged at Cas's surprisingly heavy vessels body, slowly but steadily pulling him into Bobby's house.
~**~
When Cas awoke the next day he realized the material he was lying on was neither rough nor gritty, nor was it hard or wet. When he finally cracked open his eyes he was taken aback to see the familiar surroundings of Bobby's panic room. The soft material he'd awoken on turned out to be the couch and the only thing absent from this perfect awakening was Dean and Sam mumbling about whatever.
Then the memories assaulted him full force and he sat straight up, his side aching and head spinning. Halting for a moment to let his body adjust he slowly eased himself upright onto both legs and stared at his dysfunctional feet absentmindedly catching his bearings. Then with lots of effort put into doing such a menial task he started to walk over to the door of the panic room, noting it wasn't closed, and slowly making his way to the front of Bobby's house. Opening the door was successful, even though his swollen and puffy fingers protested it greatly, and he was almost glad when his legs didn't give out when going down the stairs.
All in all it was quite the accomplishment. Until he promptly fell flat on his face, passing out immediately.
When Dean went down to the panic room and discovered only an empty couch bed he thought he was dreaming of the last nights goings on. He happily grabbed a bottle of scotch and sipped at it, exiting the house wanting to work on his baby a bit. It was a not so pleasant surprise to find Cas lying flat on his face in their drive way, allowing him the pleasure of dragging the lifeless body once again back to the couch.
When he'd finished his job he wiped his hands on his pants and then sat down beside Castiel's still body and regarded his face with scepticism. Bobby and Sam were off doing god knows what in one of the major cities, trying to figure something out about the Leviathan problem, and he'd be here alone to take care of Cas for a few days. He let out a long suffering sigh and felt anger at Cas's actions sizzle and broil beneath his skin, a slowly dimming but ever present fire bubbling, ebbing and flowing. He couldn't be angry at Cas though right now, a glance at his sleeping face allowed the imprint of his helplessness sear into his mind. He was so beat up it wasn't even funny, the normally pale skin of his neck and face was completely covered in purple blotches.
Dean was pretty much done with anger at the moment, he could be angry after, it didn't do much more then making everyone around him either angry as well or hurt. So he buried the feelings of righteous fury until they were almost non-existent and went off to fetch a cold cloth hoping to calm Cas's raging fever. He also tried to ignore the helpless little mewls he'd make sometimes along with the almost relentless apologies escaping his chapped lips, feverish words like 'forgive me, my lord' and 'I was not in my right mind' followed Dean through the small house.
He tried to ignore the memories of when he'd seen Cas disappear under that water, thinking he'd actually died this time, and feeling so empty about it. Feeling nothing. That was the past and hopefully it would stay the past. He tried not to think about Sammy's reaction to Cas, he was after all still suffering from Lucifer's constant badgering.
~**~
Dean nursed Cas back to health slowly, both of them maybe speaking once or twice but nothing more then 'drink this' or 'you better start walking soon'.
When Dean awoke two days later Cas had disappeared.
And it was alright.
~**~
A/N: so yeah... Geezus is writing on an IPod a pain in the ass. It's not even that long and it took me nearly an hour. What the hell man, what the hell. Anyways, this is my attempt at creating a perfect concoction of angst/humour/sillyness/drunk!dean/angelwhumpage and many other satisfying alcoholic poisons. Also pretty damn AU, I don't know if anyone would think Dean's reaction is realistic but me, but I personally think Dean would be mature enough to see everyone makes mistakes.
I failed spectacularly but lets keep that hush hush. It'll be our little dirty secret.
R&R?
Writingistherapy or WIT (hey I never said I didn't toot my own horn!)