Name: Through the eyes of a dead man.
Author: DeDe
Chapter: Drabble/Oneshot
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: angst, sexual content, mild violence, character death
Spoilers: Season 4 and 5
Summary: The Apocalypse isn't such a big deal when the world's savior has practically given up.
Word Count: 648
Disclaimer: Just my imagination.
Author's Note: Spur of the moment thing; I haven't given up on my other fic. I'm debating on adding another chapter or a sequel to this. Comment for your thoughts? :3
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Dean's going to Hell anyway; why not go out with a bang?
He failed his father because he couldn't save Sam. He failed the Angels because he didn't—wouldn't—say yes to Michael. He failed Castiel because he wasn't the savior the Angel hoped for and was losing his Grace for placing faith in him. He failed Sam because he wasn't strong enough to be the big brother worthy of looking up to.
But most importantly, he failed himself. He couldn't keep his promise to the world by saving them all from the Apocalypse. Couldn't shoulder the weight of that burden.
His weakness cost him his brother's life. Dean wasn't able to stop the swarm of Demons that had surrounded Sam after he'd been thrown back and pinned to the wall, gripping Ruby's knife in a white-knuckled fist. It didn't matter if he screamed out to his brother. He couldn't stop them their hands from tearing through Sam's flesh or from ripping out his heart. When Sam's lifeless body slumped to the floor the Demons backed off and he was released. Dean had run to him and hugged him close, begging for Sam to open his eyes or that he, himself, would to wake up from this nightmare. He hadn't been prepared when Sam actually opened his eyes, but instead of the familiar hazel he stared at dark brown, almost black. Dean had recoiled as his brother rose and the Demons knelt. The grin that was on Sam's face hadn't belonged to him.
That wasn't his brother anymore.
Dean was a dead man that day as he watched Lucifer parade in Sam's body. His eyes went from bright emerald to dull jade. Castiel noticed the change the moment he arrived a minute too late. He was unresponsive to the hand on his shoulder. Numbness spread through him and the Angel's apology fell on deaf ears.
Dean knows he is going to Hell again. That's why he's fucking Castiel on the hood of his beloved Impala, which will probably rot in two or three years, on the outskirts of a burning city he was unable to save. Castiel doesn't seem to mind being used as an outlet for Dean's frustration. Actually, it looks as if he likes it if those keening moans are anything to judge off of. Dean rams in harder than he intends, making the Angel arch and gasp.
"Dean…" Castiel says breathlessly, wreathes his naked body on the glimmer of obsidian paint, and smudges the glossy surface with precum. He can't relieve himself with his dick trapped between his stomach and the hood.
Dean grips tighter on those narrow hips, doesn't cares if leaves bruises, and yanks him back harder. Castiel shudders and groans his name as he digs blunt nails in the smooth expanse of the car. Dean can't help thinking how is name is a letter away from "dead". It's so befitting he pounds in faster. Senses drown in the unangelic noises spilling from Castiel. His focus is on the flames, mesmerized by the way the fire licks at the crumbling buildings and dances around the stubborn structures refusing to give in. The ash-colored smoke billows from the small country town and looks too much like a Demon trying to possess the whole area. Dean feels the heat of the flames still even though he's so far away.
His orgasm hits him with a start, surprises him back to reality. He squeezes his eyes shut as his thrusts grow erratic, uncontrolled, sloppy. Dean spills his load into the Angel's willing passage and pulls away in disgust. He was fully clothed throughout the sex, so he can easily tuck himself away, can forget his misdeeds.
Dean leaves Castiel panting and unsatisfied on the hood, climbs in the driver's side, and starts the engine.
He's got a long way to go and Hell's waiting for him.