AN: The inspiration for this fic hit me at school a while back, and I just had to write it.
Disclaimer: These characters ARE NOT mine. Because if they were… well, I think you guys know what I'd do with them.
I have tried to write about places which actually exist, using the magic of the internet, but as I've never even been to America, let alone the places mentioned, there's a limit to what I can do, and descriptions etc. are based completely on my imagination, or pictures I manage to find… Anyway I've rambled on enough. Hope you enjoy it!
Dean frowned, swearing softly under his breath. Big Falls, Minnesota was crawling with omens; missing persons, lightning strikes, and cattle mutilations. There was something here, something big, maybe even too big. He looked across at Sam, hunched over his laptop.
"You got anything?"
Sam shrugged and shook his head. "Nothing yet. I can't trace the demon. Whoever it is, they're good."
Dean sighed, and looked at the ceiling. "Cas, wherever you are, we could sure use your help." He looked at Sam and shrugged. "Worth a shot, right?" Cas hadn't been there, not any of the times he'd called, not even at the vamp nest in Oregon, when Sam had nearly died... Dean shook himself, pulling himself from his train of thought, unsurprised to see his angel hadn't showed himself.
"Guess I'll hit the town; see what I can dig up from the locals."
Sam rolled his eyes. "You mean you're going to a bar."
Dean shrugged, and pulled his jacket on, looking back at Sam and grinning. "Same thing."
Big Falls was a relatively small place, and was named after the nearby waterfalls on the Big Fork River. It was quiet, the suffocating sense of something and the disappearances having had an effect on the low population of 200- odd residents. Dean couldn't think for a minute why something as powerful as whatever was here had chosen such a small place, but he figured they had their reasons.
In contrast, the J&J Corner bar was lively enough, the regulars clearly not being put off by some missing people, and an odd pressure in the air. The place was massive, from the outside appearing in to have been converted from an old barn, as the area was mostly agricultural. He smiled wryly at an advertising sign outside, proclaiming that the bar 'Welcomed Hunters'. Not his kind, obviously.
He took a seat behind the bar stool, shivering slightly at the oppressive atmosphere, which was only slightly dulled by the warm lighting, the comforting smell of beer, and sounds of people around him. He forced a bright smile at the waitress behind the bar. She was blonde and curvy and just his type, but he felt nothing for her.
"Can I help you?" When she spoke, her voice was like honey, but it didn't affect Dean. It was too bright, and too false, and he found part of him thinking it was too feminine. He cut that train of thought before it could even get started.
"Just a lemonade please." He held up his badge. "Working."
The waitress smiled softly. "So, I assume you're here about the missing people. Didn't realize the Feds would care."
Dean grinned. "It… came up. Anything you can tell me?"
She shook her head. "I'm afraid not. But all four of the victims came here, as I'm sure you know, Detective. I'd assume that's why you're here."
Somebody walked past, and realization dawned on her face, she leaned forward conspiratorially. "There is this one thing though. They both talked to that guy the day they disappeared. " She nodded toward the figure. A small man in a suit, dark hair, pale skin, and huge, dark eyes, he looked so out of place in the bar, but walked with a confidence that only came with masses of power. Dean nodded his thanks at the waitress, and made his way over.
He took a seat opposite the guy, who had by now sat down and was tapping away on his phone, leaning against another man, who was tall (almost Sam-tall), intimidatingly muscled with longish dirty blonde hair and a scar over one eye. He smiled politely, and pulled out his badge, ignoring a strong sense of wrongness that washed over him in his presence.
"Excuse me, but I have a few questions. The lovely lady by the bar said you could help me."
The guy didn't even look up. "Liar." His voice was soft, and his accent was faintly Irish.
Dean stiffened. "I'm sorry-"
He was cut off. "You're no fed, it's obvious." The man finally glanced up. "Oh. Dean. You took your time." He smiled softly at the man he was leaning against. "He's cuter in person, don't you think, Sebby?"
'Sebby' played it off casually, rolling his eyes, but Dean noticed his gaze darken slightly. The words caught up to Dean. He had so hoped this would be an easy chat, but when was anything ever easy? "So you've heard of me. And you would be…?"
The small man smiled. "That isn't something you really need to worry about, dear." His eyes flashed black. Dean sighed softly.
"Son of a bitch." He muttered softly. He hadn't even got to enjoy his drink.
The small man smirked. "She was, rather. Anyway, I'm feeling quite nice right now, and I don't want to mess up my… plans, so I'm giving you the chance to leave. But do be aware that if you don't back off, if you don't stop prying, I will burn you." His soft lilt took on a dark, cold, menacing edge that chilled Dean to the core. His mouth tightened darkly.
"If you think I'm just going to walk away from this, then you clearly have no idea who I am after all."
The man just smiled cruelly. "You will walk away from this, Dean. And you will not mention this to your brother, because if you do, I may get tempted to end him. And your precious little angel."
Dean glowered, his heart pounding, and mouth going dry, protests that Cas wasn't his, and that it wasn't like that dying on his lips as he stood and stalked out, growling. No son of a bitch threatened the people he cared about and got away with it. He would stop this bastard, whatever it took.
A few hours later, Dean was sprawled on his bed, scowling. He was trying to figure this out by himself, and it really wasn't working. His head ached, and his mouth was dry, and he sighed. Being overtired wasn't going to help anything. Sam had gone out to the library to research local lore, and look into the past of the town in case there was anything that this demon could want, and he hadn't had the chance to speak to him. He looked at the ceiling, blankly, not seeing the cracks in the plaster. "Castiel, I know you don't want to talk, or whatever, but there's something going on, and I have a really bad feeling about this."
He hadn't expected a response, and he wasn't disappointed. He squashed down the little spark of worry, the thought that Cas has never been out of touch this long. What if something happened? He sighed softly, and stretched out on the bed, the mattress too firm and lumpy, and the cheap cotton of the sheets feeling scratchy under his skin, waiting to doze off.
Sleep didn't come to Dean for a long time, and when it did, it wasn't peaceful. His dreams were a bleary mix of fear and panic, running from something. When he woke, panting, it was to one of Sam's worried frowns, and a hand on his shoulder.
"Dean, it's okay. It was just a dream."
Dean scowled, pulling away from the hand, as the last strains of his dream disappeared into his subconscious.
"Yeah, man. I'm fine."
Sam frowned, unconvinced, his lips pursing. "You want to talk about it?"
Dean stood, straightening his clothes out and glaring back at him. "Stop fussing. I said I'm fine."
Sam looked at him, worried, as Dean made his way into the bathroom to shower and change, determined to find out something. He forced a smile at Sam.
"I was thinking maybe I should go to the library today instead. You should do some research here." Dean tried to keep his voice calm, and reasonable, but it was so unlike him that Sam frowned suspiciously, his eyebrows knitting together.
"Really?" His tone was disbelieving.
Dean chuckled. "Yeah. I'm climbing the walls in here, man. Plus, I heard the librarian's hot." The lie slid smoothly off his tongue, and from Sam's irritated eye roll, he bought it. That way, he'd stay in the relative safety of the motel where he could at least access their weapons.
Dean pulled his train of thought away from one that would have him fussing the whole time, and slipped a gun into the waistband of his jeans, winking at Sam on the way out the door, before he slid behind the wheel of his Impala, running his hands reverently over the dashboard, before he pulled away, keeping to his story and driving to the library.
He made his way to the desk, wrinkling his nose a little at the state of the building, but in a town like this, you wouldn't expect the upkeep of the library to be the most important thing. And he was right, the librarian was hot. But he felt nothing other than the recognition of that fact. No stirring of an arousal, no urge to flirt. He was starting to worry about himself.
Still, he took one for the team, and smiled at her, turning his charm up.
"Hey, I'm new to the area, and I'm just fascinated by finding out about the local history, so I was wondering if you had any archives of the town or anything?"
She raised a surprised eyebrow, and nodded. "Yes, as it happens, we do. They're in the back; would you like me to show you?"
Dean sent another charming smile her way. "Sure thing, sweetheart, I'd love you to."
Dean followed the woman behind the counter, and down a corridor, into a small room piled high with dusty boxes, but as he turned to thank her, things went south.
She flashed him a cold smile, and shut the door, locking it behind her, as her eyes went black.
Dean swore softly, under his breath, as he forced a smile. "Hey, darling, if you wanted a little privacy, you should've just asked, we could have gone back to my place."
She shoved him back against a tower of boxes, and he continued, even though he was winded.
"Although, I'm not so sure. You're coming on a bit too strong for my tastes."
He scowled, and reached for his gun, although he knew it would do no good, only to find himself pinned. He couldn't move, and sent out a desperate plea.
"Cas, if you can hear me, I really fucking need you right now."
The door to the room burst open, from a kick, and Dean fell to the floor in a heap, as he looked up- part of him thinking it was Castiel. He was almost disappointed to see Sam there.
"Hey, Sammy. You certainly took your time."
Sighing and rolling his eyes, Sam took advantage of the small space, slamming the, now broken, door shut behind him. An exorcism flowed fast and smooth from his tongue, and the demon was expelled with an unearthly shriek, leaving the demon's vessel intact.
Dean gaped. "Dude. You been memorizing that, or what?"
Sam lifted a shoulder, embarrassed, and reached out to help Dean up. With a soft, concerned frown, he knelt down next to the woman, whose eyes were wide.
"I- I was just… this morning... I…"
"Hey, ma'am, it's okay. We know this is a lot to take in right now, but take a couple of deep breaths."
She stuttered out a few half formed protests, before gripping Dean's arm. "It… that thing. It was after you. I remember everything, I was awake the whole time. There was a man, more than a man… a name that nobody says."
Dean frowned, irritated at her need to be so cryptic. "What name?"
She took a deep breath, looking around. "Moriarty."
Dean sucked in a breath, cold suddenly flooding through him. "And something else. There was… they have a prisoner. A man in a trench coat. The… I looked in on him a couple times. He knew I was awake, wanted me to get a message to you. He said… he said be careful. He said that this was bigger than anything you've ever faced before, and to forget about him. Do what he says a back off. Run."
Dean's eyes widened, and he felt his heart lurch. "That two timing double crossing bastard. He already took Cas. Fuck. Who knows how long for? This whole thing, all of it, is some kind of sick fucking game."
Sam frowned at him, his gaze confused, and Dean realized how little he actually knew. Dean looked down at the woman, forcing a soft smile, even as his heart pumped angrily. They were going to take this bastard down. Period.
"I'll explain later, Sammy." He turned to the woman, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Come on. We'll get you home, huh?"
Surprisingly, the woman shook her head. "No, it's fine. I've got tons of inventory work to be getting on with. Yeah, that thing did some bad stuff. But I can cope."
Dean looked across at Sam, who shrugged, and gave the woman his puppy dog stare. "That's okay. If that's what you want. But, look. Here's our number. If you ever need us, for anything, call."
Dean backed Sam up with a forced smile, before practically dragging Sam out into the parking lot and to the Impala. The tension built in the drive back to the motel, and once they were safely inside, Dean couldn't stand it anymore. He sighed loudly, turning to his brother. "Right. I know. We need to talk, Sammy."
Sam pulled a face. "About all the crap you haven't told me, or about how freaking weird you've been acting lately? Because I feel like I don't even know you anymore, Dean!"
Dean shifted slightly, uncomfortable with the accusation. He had been acting oddly, not really going out any more. He clenched his jaw, and prepared an angry retort, but the look of concern on Sam's face floored him, and he gave his brother a chance to speak.
"You don't go out any more, Dean. You hardly eat, or talk. Something's ragging on you, man, and all I know is the last time you were like this was after Bobby..." Sam trailed off, clearing his throat, and Dean fought back the wave of pain that always accompanied thoughts of the old hunter. "Anyway, my point is that whatever's up with you must be serious."
Dean shrugged dismissively. "Whatever, Sammy. We get this case done, we find Cas and then I promise you and I will have a nice long chat about my feelings."
Dean could see Sam's reluctance to drop it, but he knew that his brother was aware this was miles better than what he normally got.
He started the engine of his baby with a cold grin. "C'mon. Let's go deal with whatever bastard took Cas." Dean felt a surge of protective anger. If they'd hurt him... He also felt a swell of guilt. He'd been blaming Cas for not showing up; when in actuality he was probably being horrifically tortured. He forced himself to breathe slowly as his hands inadvertently tightened on the wheel. He glanced over at Sam. "Basically, the woman back there was working for someone. Someone big. And he wants me out of the picture. Said he'd hurt you and Cas if I didn't. But I figure since he's gone ahead and done that anyway, to hell with it."
Sam frowned. "Someone big? Dean, that's not very specific."
Dean scowled. "I know. I guess we'd better see if Garth can dig anything up. We have a name, at least. Moriarty."
Sam sighed softly. "Yeah. I'll get right on that. You should see if you can find anything out online." Dean nodded as he pulled his laptop from his bag.
The time dragged on as Sam made his call, and, when it proved fruitless, settled down to research himself. The thing about research is that it's really hard when there's no information out there to go through.
After a good few hours of false hopes and dead ends, when all Dean had gained was a crick in his neck and a frustrated little brother, he went back over the map he'd plotted of the places the people had last been seen. He noticed that they all seemed too close. Pulling out a pencil, he quickly joined each plotted point with its opposite.
They all crossed at a centre point. "Sammy. C'mere. I think I got something." He showed Sam the map, and pointed at the place that they crossed.
Sam frowned softly. "It's an apartment building. Hold on." He returned to his laptop and searched the address, speaking again after a few minutes. "So get this, a guy went missing from here exactly a year ago today. A guy named Rich Brook, an artist. Mean anything to you?" Dean shrugged, and made his way over to look at the missing persons file, and stopped dead.
"Sammy, that's him. That's the vessel. God damn." The picture in the file tugged at Dean's heartstrings a little. Instead of being clothed in a dark suit, the man was in an oversized cardigan, his eyes were wide and vulnerable, instead of empty, and his hair was a mess, sticking up in all angles in a way that reminded him of Castiel…
He sighed. "Poor bastard. Getting tangled up in all this bullshit. It isn't fair."
Sam smiled sympathetically at him, and Dean scowled back. "Shut up, Samantha." He simply raised an eyebrow in response.
"I didn't say anything."
Dean's scowl deepened. "You were thinking it."
Rolling his eyes, Sam stood, stretching until his shoulders popped. "Dude. Let's go." Dean stood with a grin, and shrugged his jacket on, starting up the Impala, and beginning the, thankfully, short drive to the apartment building.
When they'd eventually gotten past the security and had a momentary argument about which was the right flat (Sam was right, the bastard), they stood outside flat 221B. Sam was keeping a lookout while Dean picked the lock, because he was better at it, and then the pick slid home and they were in. As they stepped inside and took a cautious look around, Dean was surprised to see obvious signs nobody had been in there. Then again, something as big as a disappearance in a town this small, it made sense that nobody would move in.
They looked around, until he heard Sam call from the bedroom. "Dean! C'mere!"
He made his way into the room, where he found Sam rummaging through his drawers. "Dude, gross. What'd you find?"
Sam held up a map, where several barns and buildings had been marked with a red cross, and one which had been marked much more recently in black. He took a closer look at the road name, a pained gasp slipping through his lips at the name.
Sam looked at him in concern. "Dean? What is it?"
Dean pointed at the one with the black cross, shutting his eyes and hoping it would disappear. "Angel Crescent. That's where he's got Cas." Sam looked at him for a moment, then folded the map and tucked it in his pocket, taking care to leave everything else as it was, since somebody had clearly been in here after all.
They were rushed in their journey back to the car, and Dean completely ignored the speed limit on his drive to Angel Crescent. They were going to get Cas.
When they arrived, it was a simple suburban house, white picket fence and perfectly manicured lawn included. Dean shivered, the tense atmosphere crawling unpleasantly along his spine.
As they made their way up to the door, Dean dug in his pocket for the lock pick, but it opened of its own accord, and he looked at Sam for a long moment. "This was way too easy, don't you think?"
Sam nodded, but Castiel was in there, so he stepped through the doorway anyway and Sam followed.
They edged their way around the building, guns drawn, and after they'd given it the all-clear they both stood outside the door to the storage room, Dean's hand on the handle.
He locked eyes with Sam, who nodded as he pulled it open and guns drawn, they descended the stairs. Dean snapped out of his carefully constructed façade of calm as soon as he saw Castiel slumped in a chair and, ignoring Sam's warning, he ran over to the angel's side, tears slipping unbidden down his face. "Cas?"
The angel didn't stir, and Dean sucked in a shocked breath as he drew closer, now able to see the bloodstains on his clothes and hear his laboured breathing.
At least he was breathing.
He laid a hand on his face, now able to see sigils painted all over the room, connecting together in a dizzying web that centred beneath Castiel.
He stepped gingerly over them after that, aware that he could scuff them and do untold damage. He didn't want to hurt Cas. Any worse than he already was, at least.
"Cas, buddy? You okay?" But it was a futile attempt, even as he laid his hand on Castiel's shoulder he knew he was out. He turned back to Sam, who was frowning in concern at them.
They both heard the footsteps too late, turning to see Moriarty coming down the steps with a cold smile. "Dean. It's so nice to see you again. Count yourself lucky, you know, not many people get to survive their first time meeting me."
Dean tried to swallow his anger, knowing it would do him no good, and took a few deep breaths. He glanced at Sam, who looked visibly unsettled around this man, and he smiled thinly.
"Yeah. Got to say I'm honoured. But I doubt even you could resist my charm and good looks." His muscles twitched with the urge to do something, make him pay for what he'd done to Castiel, but Dean had no doubt that the other man was just behind him.
Moriarty laughed, and it was cold and cruel, yet filled with a disturbing manic glee, and Dean shifted uncomfortably, unwittingly shifting closer to Castiel.
"Darling, you'll want to watch those sigils. Place a foot wrong, and you'll destroy your little boyfriend." He could practically feel Sam's look of smugness, before he snapped back to the situation.
"I've got to be honest, though; I didn't really expect you to find him so fast. I'm almost impressed, Dean. You Winchester's are clearly more intelligent than you look. Crowley was right about not underestimating you."
Dean stiffened, glowering. "Crowley? You know that son of a bitch?"
Moriarty's answering smile was sly and dark, and the way his eyes remained dead was more than disturbing.
"Know him? Honey, he's one of my best."
Dean frowned confused, and studied him carefully. "One of… your?"
"Dean. You didn't really think an arrogant, unintelligent low-level demon like him could actually run Hell, did you? He's just my voice. Everything that he did was simply as I instructed him. It's a nice little setup. No-one ever gets to me. And no-one ever will."
Dean scowled at that. "I did."
Moriarty's smirk brightened slightly. "You've come the closest. Now you're in my way."
Dean smirked, cocky bravado coming to the forefront to cover the fact that all he wanted to do was grab his angel and run, nurse him back to health and never let him out of his sight again. "Thank you."
Moriarty's voice come out scathing, yet still with a sweet, playful edge to it that set Dean on edge. "I didn't mean it as a compliment."
Dean's smirk only grew. "Yes you did." He snuck a glance at Sam who was very clearly thinking, his eyes narrowed at Moriarty, and running over the sigils, trying to place them.
Moriarty rocked onto the balls of his feet, shrugging his shoulders in an odd, almost endearing manner. "Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting's over, Dean. Daddy's had enough now!" His voice rang out shrill, the pitch changing drastically in a sing-song way that could only be described as unhinged. "I have loved it, though. This little game of ours. Haven't you?"
Dean scowled, his simmering anger finally bubbling to the surface. "You bastard! Let Cas go, tell me what you've done to him! You said you wouldn't hurt him, as long as I backed off!"
Moriarty laughed then, a childish giggle so at odds with his personality. "But you didn't, did you? Do you know what happens, if you don't leave me alone? To you?"
Dean snorted, rolling his eyes, to cover the thinly veiled panic rising inside him. "Oh, let me guess, I get killed? Well let me tell you something, buddy. Been there, done that. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory? None of them want to keep me."
He laughed again, his eyes sparking with something like amusement. "Kill you? N-no, don't be obvious." His voice curled around the last word in disgust. "If you don't stop prying, I will burn you. I will burn the heart out of you." His voice turned cold and hard, and his gaze was alternating between Sam and Castiel, and Dean had no illusions as to his threat.
He inclined his head slightly, deciding that maybe he'd be best off living to fight another day on this one. After all, Cas was his priority now, and he needed to get him out of here.
Moriarty smirked, as if he sensed Dean's change of heart, and he straightened slightly, shooting a smile at the doorway, presumably at the other man. "Well, I must be off. It's been so nice to have had a proper chat and finally meet the famous Winchester brothers. I must say, the two of you? I'm almost impressed. You're far, far more than you seem. But you're boring. You're on the side of the angels. Talking of angels, if you get this one safely out of the sigils, I'll let you keep him. If not, then I suppose you'll all die. And it'd be such a waste." With that, he turned sharply; heading up the staircase, and Dean suddenly had an odd image of him and the other man holding hands.
Dean snorted at that mental image, and smiled tightly after him, his words coming out heavy and measured. "Catch you later."
His voice called back, taking on a high, childish ring. "No you won't!" but Dean was already on top of Castiel, tugging at his shoulders, trying to get a response from him. "Cas? Cas!" Sam tugged him gently by the arm.
"Dean, I've seen something like this before. We have to be careful." Dean huffed in frustration, and took a step back, nodding at Sam to do whatever. His baby brother, as it turned out, had been reconstructing the similar version in his head, and planning out exactly how they should disassemble the web, one sigil at a time. He left Sam to get on with it, keeping his eyes on Cas the whole time.
It took an hour. In that time, Cas didn't even stir.
More worryingly, even after the entire web had been deconstructed, and every sigil was gone, after Dean had rushed to Castiel again and untied him, the angel still didn't respond.
Dean looked at Sam for a moment, aware that they needed to get out of there and preferably as soon as possible. Ignoring his brother's gaze, he pulled Castiel into his arms, swiping some sticky congealed blood from his cheek and smoothing his hair back, before he stood, clearing his throat and blushing faintly. "We should go."
Sam nodded his assent, and gestured for Dean to lead the way up the stairs, which he did, cradling Castiel against him.
By the time they made it outside, Dean's arms were screaming for mercy, and he sat down on the porch, balancing Castiel in his lap, and throwing his car keys to Sam with a smile. "You drive us back. I'll sit in the back with Sleeping Beauty." Sam grinned widely, but didn't say anything as he unlocked the car, and helped Dean get Castiel comfortable, before they both got in, Dean hesitating for a moment, before he tugged Castiel's head into his lap. "It'll help me keep an eye on him." He reasoned, more to defend his actions to Sam, than to convince himself, as he carded his fingers through Castiel's hair, matted and sticky with blood.
When they got back to the motel, Castiel hadn't stirred, but Dean wasn't particularly worried. Sam had said it would take a while for the sigils' power to wear off, and Sammy was always right. Dean simply sat with Castiel, who was laid out on one of the beds. He watched him carefully, and began to wash off some of the blood on his face and neck. It was the all he could do, and it stopped him from feeling completely useless.
It wasn't until, after two hours of restless waiting from Dean, when Sam's face began to grow pinched and his eyes were darting to Castiel's sleeping form more and more often, that he began to worry. Castiel wasn't awake, and surely he should be by now. He should be sitting up and healing himself and asking dumbass questions and Dean could hold him close for a moment and apologise.
He didn't wake up, and Dean knew he was driving Sam crazy, but he couldn't stop it, couldn't leave even though he knew he was about as useful as Garth right now. He huffed a soft sigh and, with a glance at Sam to check he wasn't looking at him, reached out and took Castiel's hand. He was surprised at the softness of the skin, and his thumb immediately began rubbing soft circles into the skin on the back of his hand.
Three hours later, after Sam had gone to bed, Dean still sat awake, watching Castiel carefully. That was when his injuries faded, and Dean sucked in a sharp breath, his grip on the angel's hand tightening. "Cas?" He kept his voice low, to let Sam sleep, but was surprised by how hoarse and rough it was. He suddenly became aware of how stiff his cheeks were, and realised it was dried salt water. He'd been crying.
But disappointingly, Castiel still didn't wake. Dean frowned, his thoughts rushing anxiously through his head, crashing into each other. He should be awake. If he's healing does that mean he'll wake up soon? Or is it a bad thing that he's healed but is still not awake? Cas, buddy, come on. I need you.
He pulled his hand back to wipe at his eyes, from which tears had begun to spill again, and then sucked in a shocked breath when he saw Castiel's twitch on the sheets.
He was gripping it between both of his in moments, studying Castiel's face for any traces of movement, and he felt the hand grip back, his heart beating wildly.
It was only ten minutes later that Castiel's eyelids fluttered open, but to Dean it could have been days. The angel's eyes looked blindly around in panic before they settled on him, and his heart ached for a moment, as his mouth worked for a moment.
"…Dean?"
Dean dropped Castiel's hand, clearing his throat for a moment, and looking away, aware of how he must look puffy red eyes and tears down his face. "Hey Cas. How're you feeling?"
Castiel smiled slightly, his eyes still trained on Dean's face. "Not good."
Dean chuckled softly at that, and looked at Castiel with what he knew was a ridiculously happy smile. "You had me worried there for a while."
Castiel frowned softly at Dean, and then looked at his hand, where it still lay limply on the sheets. "You were holding my hand." It wasn't a question, and Dean knew it.
He cleared his throat blushing slightly. "Uh, yeah. Sorry, it's just there was nothing I could do and I was going out of my mind and people say it's supposed to help or something-"
Dean was surprised when Castiel cut him off, looking earnestly at him, and holding out his hand. "It was nice."
Dean cleared his throat a couple of times and darted a suspicious look at Sam, before he took Castiel's hand with a soft smile, shifting to perch on the bed next to him. "Are you okay? I mean… what happened, man?"
Castiel looked at Dean with poorly concealed joy, gripping his hand slightly tighter, even as he frowned at the question. "I don't know. Whoever it was, they had an advanced knowledge of sigils, and exactly how to hurt an angel. The only others I have encountered with that knowledge were angels, so they must either be in league with them, or be very good at getting what they want."
Dean felt an odd flush of joy that Castiel counted the other angels as 'them' and not 'us', but his heart twisted in his chest as his words also reminded him of the state Castiel had been in when they found him, and he felt the flicker of worry pass over his face.
"Dude, I'm sorry. I feel like crap, blaming you all this time for not coming to help. For not looking for you, or even realising you were missing. I'm sorry, man."
Castiel's face flickered, a regretful sadness taking over his features. "There is no need to blame yourself for this, Dean. Perhaps if I visited you more often, and did not have a history of ignoring your prayers for long periods, then you would not have assumed as you did. All I can say is that I am safe, and that we are all okay. That is what is important."
Dean's breath caught in his throat as he searched for a way to respond to that that wouldn't make him sound ridiculous. Fortunately, he was spared the trouble when his brother, king of timing, chose this moment to wake up. Sam sat up, and looked across at them. His gaze lingered on their hands, still joined even though Cas was awake, and Dean's perch on his bed. Dean blushed faintly, and stood, stretching. He avoided Sam's gaze as he made his way into the bathroom, able to feel his ears and neck burning.
He scowled at his reflection in the mirror, the shine of tears and the redness still present in his eyes, showing his feelings too obviously, and decided to get in the shower.
After a while, the warm water began to soothe away the roil of emotions inside of him, and he slowly began to relax. This meant he immediately felt bad for being a dick to Castiel.
He heaved a sigh, and got out of the shower, drying himself off and dressing reluctantly. He paused for a moment, before he took a deep breath and made his way through the doorway.
He was almost disappointed to see that Sam wasn't there, but he'd probably gone to get food or something. Or just give them some space when Dean finally stopped being an idiot.
Dean huffed softly, and made his way over to the angel propped up against the pillows. "Dude… I didn't mean to freak out on you there."
Castiel frowned, his head tilting to the side in a way that Dean shouldn't have found so endearing, but had long since stopped questioning. "It's just… ah; I guess I felt like an idiot, man. You had me really worried."
Castiel offered a small smile of reassurance that did little for Dean's peace of mind. "I apologise for any distress I caused you, Dean. I am immensely touched by your concern for my wellbeing, and would like to thank you."
Dean laughed at that, at the angel's obvious worry about the way he had affected him. "Dude, seriously. It's not your fault."
Castiel smiled slightly at that, and his eyes brushed warmly over Dean's face. "Your brother spoke to me… about that."
Dean swallowed reflexively, his heart leaping into his throat. "What? You and Sammy had a big girly sleepover chat about your feelings?" He had glimpsed the look on Sam's face earlier, and he knew that Sam knew about what was going on with him. "Seriously. Forget about it. Sammy will be back with food soon, I'm sure."
Castiel inclined his head, content to let the subject drop for the moment, although Dean was sure he glimpsed a flicker of hurt. It would have been perfect, to tell Castiel how he felt, to close the gap between them and finally take something he wanted for himself.
But instead, he cleared his throat and pulled away. "Actually, man, I'm beat. So… uh." It wasn't a lie. After he'd stayed up all night watching Castiel, he was exhausted, and the adrenaline provided by the numbing fear that he would lose everything was waning now. But Castiel was in his bed, and he didn't want to use Sam's.
Fortunately, Castiel seemed to get the hint, and stood fluidly, looking down at himself for a moment to see his trench coat and shirt soaked through with his blood. He raised a hand, as if to clean it with his mojo, but then hesitated. "I think that I should shower, and find something else. These… clothes hold bad memories for me." Dean nodded dismissively, half asleep the second he slid under the still-warm covers, suddenly surrounded by the smell of Castiel. He buried his face into the pillow, inhaling deeply with a smile, and was out in moments.
Dean awoke a good two hours later, to blue eyes and an intense gaze paired with gruff commands for him to wake up. He mumbled a nearly incoherent protest, before he finally rolled over and sat up. It took everything he had not to gasp aloud when he laid eyes on his angel. He had showered, and his hair was sticking up in even more unruly tufts than usual. He looked much better not covered in blood, but none of these were the reasons for Dean's reaction. The angel had changed clothes, and was now wearing an old pair of Dean's jeans, slung low on his hips, and his ratty grey AC/DC shirt. It took all of Dean's crumbling self-control not to lurch over there and kiss him senseless.
"Cas."
Castiel smiled at him, and produced a plate of pie from seemingly nowhere with a soft smile, "It's apple."
Dean beamed, ignoring the slight flutter of his heart because this guy was perfect, and accepted the pie. As soon as his lips closed around the first bite, he knew he was done for. His eyes fluttered shut and he moaned softly in elation, and he should probably be embarrassed by that but it was that fucking good.
He saw Castiel shift slightly out of the corner of his eye, and he quickly finished his pie with a wide grin. "Dude. That is the best pie I have ever tasted. Where the hell did you get it?"
Castiel looked down at that, swallowing slightly.
"That diner that we stopped in two months ago, in Illinois. You said the same thing back then."
Dean gaped for a moment, grinning lopsidedly at the angel. "Dude. You are awesome." He chuckled softly, and licked the fork he'd used clean. "Thanks, man."
He studied Castiel for a moment, noticing a slight sickly pallor to his skin, and he shifted over, lifting the covers on his bed. "C'mere, you gotta be tired." He made the offer without thinking, purely down to a sudden flash of concern for his friend's wellbeing and not a poorly-concealed desire to get the hot angel into his bed.
Castiel hesitated for a moment, before he sighed lightly, and slid into the space next to him, fitting against his side. It was surprising, really. Dean had half-expected Castiel to have cold skin, but he was warm and soft and utterly human against him, and it hit him right then just how far gone he was on the angel.
He smirked, and pressed their legs fully together, because you might as well take what you can whilst it's on offer, and of course that was when his idiot brother with his bad timing had to walk in.
"Hey, Cas is Dean-" He broke off when he saw the two of them, who were practically curled up in bed together, and started smirking of all things. "Oh. I guess he is feeling better then."
Dean stood abruptly, blushing furiously and snapping back at his brother. "Shut the hell up, bitch. Look, we're both fully dressed." At his harsh reaction, he turned to register the hurt look on Castiel's face, which only served to add to the twisting of emotion in his gut, and fuel his anger with his guilt and self-loathing. Why did he keep having to hurt him? He glowered, was about to leave, when he heard the swoosh of feathers, and Cas was gone. "Shit!"
Anger deflated, he sat heavily back on his bed, and put his head in his hands. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and glanced up to see his brother's eyes looking mournfully down at him. "Dean, I know. God. It's so obvious I have no idea how Cas doesn't. But he's your friend, and you can't keep being a dick all the time. Well, more of a dick than usual."
Dean rolled his eyes in response and shoved at him with a hollow smirk. "Shut up, bitch."
At Sam's disapproving face, Dean sighed softly, the defensive anger- his façade- flooding out of him for a moment. "I know, Sammy. I'll make it up to him, I promise."
Sam sucked in a shocked breath, as if surprised that Dean was actually speaking about it; which made sense, to be honest.
Then Dean's mask slipped back into place, and he smirked up at his brother. "Dude, you've done the whole inter-species thing before. How does it work? I mean, what's the best way to start?"
Sam rolled his eyes in disgust, and Dean counted it as a victory.
Later that day, Dean left for a drive. His head was pounding, and he kept going over what he should have done. What he had wanted to do. He needed some fresh air, the purr of his baby and the passing of the road. Sam was back at the motel doing research, but the trail after Moriarty was cold and kept leading to dead ends, only highlighting how stupidly easy it had been before.
He happened to notice that he was driving over a bridge, and as there were no cars around, he pulled to a stop. Part of him was dazzled by the beauty of the wide river and low waterfalls below him, not really much more than the flow gushing over rocks that jutted up from its bed and it hit him that this was what it was all for.
But he'd saved the world, he'd done that. Surely he deserved his own life now?
The swirling blue beneath him put him in mind of wide eyes, a searching gaze and unruly dark hair, and he lifted his eyes to the roof of the Impala and prayed.
"Cas, man… I'm really sorry about earlier. I- I know I'm being a dick, and I'm sorry, okay? But please- could you come back? You've done your bit for Heaven and all, surely… I mean… I guess all I want to say is that I missed you when you weren't around, man."
He sighed at how… chick flick his life had become, and pulled away, turning back when the road was wide enough and heading back for the motel.
When he let himself in, he forced a smile at Sam, and his breath caught in his throat when his eyes fell on his bed.
It had been made, and at the bottom, neatly folded, was his old, ratty pair of jeans, and his grey AC/DC shirt. He looked over at Sam, aware that the tiny semblance of peace had drained from him in an instant. His breath flooded out of him, but he forced himself to walk over to the neatly folded clothes, and got as far as picking them up before he collapsed onto the mattress, raising his eyes to Sam.
"…Did you speak to him?"
Sam's eyes were soft and pitying. "Yes. He was… hurt, to say the least. I tried to get him to speak to you, but he feels that… you've made your intentions clear. I'm sorry, Dean."
Dean sucked in a breath, and he hesitated, tempted to go to the bar and drown his feelings, but instead he reached for the beer that Sam now held out to him, dragged his shirt off and changed it for Cas' cast off (it smelt like him) and laid back on his bed. "Can you, ah, go and get Star Wars from the glove box?" He kept a store of his favourite films in his car, and it came in handy at times like this.
Sam, being the good, loving brother that he is, rolled his eyes, produced a bag of popcorn, and set another beer by Dean's side for when he'd finished this one, and returned with the original trilogy.
Six beers later, Dean was still miserable, and Sam had run out, so he curled up, still faintly smelling Cas, and cursed himself and his stupidity. He would make this right. If only Castiel would let him.
Sleep came quite easily for him, but if there was a wetness hanging at the corners of his eyes, it most certainly wasn't tears.
He awoke the next morning with a dry mouth, and a dull throbbing in his head. Scowling, he lurched into the bathroom, grabbing another shirt, surprised that the movement made the smell of the angel on his current one stronger. He had been about to throw the shirt and jeans into the laundry pile, but he folded them both and, poking his head around the door, slid them under his pillow. Cas might want them back when he returned and he should keep them safe. He made his way back into the bathroom, quickly showering, and brushing his teeth, to rid the foul taste from his mouth.
When he was finally done, he emerged from the bathroom to find his oversized brother with a steaming cup of black coffee, and a bagel. "Sorry, dude, they didn't have any pie."
Dean almost smiled at that. "You're too kind to me, Sammy, really."
His brother frowned in response, and Dean could feel the question as it built. "Dean, are you okay? You want to talk?"
Dean forced a laugh, but it sounded bitter and false, even to his own ears. "Yeah, I'd love that. We can talk, and I can cry on your shoulder and we can hug and everything will be okay."
He sighed at the look on his brother's face, and softened for once. "Sorry, Sammy. Look, I'm not okay. But if all goes according to plan, I can fix things. If not, I'm the one who screwed this up, Sam. It's my fault."
Dean busied himself with sipping his coffee, swallowing down a couple of Tylenol and taking a bite of his bagel, pulling a face, so he didn't have to reply.
Sam understood, and left him alone on the subject, as the he began to research, and Dean laid down and hoped to feel a bit better.
After about an hour of finding that not working for him, Dean huffed that he was going out for a drive, and he slid behind the wheel, feeling some of the tension flood out of him, some of the pain draining away as he was filled with the purr of the engine and the roll of the road beneath him.
After a while, as he was making his way along a dusty back road through the woods, he came across a small sign, old and weather-beaten, which read 'Brook's Studio', and a thought struck him, so he turned off and followed the narrow, overgrown track with a growing sense of trepidation.
When he finally reached the studio, little more than a cabin in the woods, he cautiously circled the perimeter, before he let himself in, curiosity getting the better of him.
Just as he was thinking he should text his brother and let him know what he was doing, he heard a crack, and felt a weight collide with the back of his skull, and the wooden cabin faded to black, and he just had time to think that this had very obviously been a trap.