Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel (Mentions of Sam/Jess)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 9,000~ total
Spoilers: NONE, Military!AU
Warning: Language, Suggestive Language, War Violence, Minor Character Death
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these character, nor do I make money over this.. just tears.
Authors note: Beta'd by my sister rainbowcolouredshoes and thank you to my beautiful best friend who helped me write the scary war scene, goldmouth.
Castiel hated how persistent his brother is about getting him a 'man'.
Gabriel made a point by saying he hasn't been with anyone since Balthazar and that was back when he was an undergrad. Now studying for his doctorate in theology and English, as well as his Masters in composition theory, he didn't have a lot of time on his hands.
Gabriel said it was an excuse because, 'he's still pissed that Balthazar took his job in London rather than staying with Castiel in his town house in the middle of Stanford, California.' Well he's not. Betrayed might be another word for it. Though his thesis work and the job at the school's beautiful library gives decent money, plus he gets to teach a few theology courses. It keeps his mind off things.
And Castiel loves his job and his home; hates the fact that Gabriel, as a third year undergrad, is going to the school he is working and who was hopelessly in love with his straight roommate and best friend Sam Winchester. But he manages.
"Casanova, did the line die? Hello?"
"Yes Gabriel, I'm still here."
"Well I'm signing up for the Letter to sexy military men thing. Sam asked me to join and I mean.."
"You are truly in love with this Winchester aren't you?"
"Hey, one day he'll come along and realize he's loved me along. You'll see.
"Anyway, do you want to do this or not? Sam's doing it for his brother, it's an easy sign up. You write letters to them because they don't have anyone at home to write to. And you're lonely, and they're in uniform so why not?"
Castiel repeated, "Why not."
"Okay, I'll write your name down, and by the way did Uriel ever call you back? I mean you two really hit it-"
Castiel sighed. Why did his brother have to be a match maker?
"He wasn't gay. Night, Gabriel."
A box came in the next afternoon while coming back from the morning shift at the library. It was an off green color and had, "Thank you" in small black text on the front with his name scribbled on it. Curiously he opened the box at his desk at reception, quickly looking around for anyone coming to bother him, before returning to the box.
It held instructions on the letter's and how they were to be constructed: The civilian is not permitted to ask where the solider is stationed or any of his/her military rankings. The civilian is not permitted to ask for anything, gift, photos, or any type of package from the solider from the place they are stationed, or any personal memorabilia from the solider. Personal information is given by the discretion of the solider and the civilian and can be as anonymous as either pleases.
Castiel sifted through the box. He got ten envelops and ten pieces of blank lined paper with the organization name at the top. Pen, instruction paper, one of those live-strong type bracelet's, basic 'welcome to this organization' stuff. Marketing really, Castiel mused himself as he continued to look for the things that explained who he'd be writing too.
At the bottom of the box held a post card. On the back held information: Dean Twenty Nine Lawerence, KA Iraq
Then some address that held some numbers and postal codes he didn't know. It explained somewhere, that the address they were given would not charge more than the normal postage cost. Or something similar, Castiel just skimmed the instructions after the third paragraph. It seemed like the "Agree here for the Terms and Conditions" he got whenever he made a new e-mail. A joke, really, he thought flipping the card over.
Wide eyed, he stared at a photo of a man dressed in a dark green shirt and from what looked like sand-camo pants. He had dog-tags around his neck as well as a necklace with a curious looking amulet on it. The man had beautiful, high pinched cheek bones laced with freckles that speckled across his cheeks and up the bridge of his nose. His smile seemed snarky, witty, maybe a man who would try his best pick-up line on Castiel when he's drunk. Castiel mulled around the thought with a chuckle.
Though, what caught Castiel's last scan was his starling green eyes. Squinted, probably from the desert sun, they were still the clearest green Castiel has ever seen. Lucky man, Castiel was, for having such a beautiful man be his solider. He smiled; he could have gotten just a name and an address but he guessed that this Dean wanted to make sure that Castiel knew who he was writing to.
Reflecting on it, these men were men who didn't have anyone to write to. How could this beautiful man not have a women back home? Maybe a family? Who could leave this man lonely?
Castiel looked up again. No one's in the lobby and it's a Friday afternoon, no one's going to need help. They're all home, partying, studying, drinking, smoking other college things that he never really did besides studying. And Castiel has no one to go home to. Maybe he could stay here and write Dean. And he did just that.
"Up and at 'em boys!"
Dean groaned in his bunk, God does he hate getting up at 5:00 am. It's better this way though, he toyed, running during the day is brutal enough but in the cool, half chilled morning air it's refreshing. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he sat up letting the middle east night breeze hit him, at least there's no mosquitoes.
Tugging on his boots, he followed the rest of his cabin mates. Dean greeted them with handshakes and the normal morning wrestle with hand shakes and fists. He loved his squad. Dean's the Lieutenant of a Bomb Squad; a high ranking specialist in bomb diffusing, the US Army Explosive Ordnance Disposal. If you wanted to get technical. A good one too. When they need a job done, they call his squad.
He has Ash Harvelle, his right hand man. Wouldn't know what he would do without the kid. Ash knows all there needs to know about bombs and electrical diffusion; smart, but an ass. Always good to have around.
Then there's Andy Gallagher, one of the new kids in the squad. He's good at negotiation, telling the civilians or terrorists to calm down; has a good pair of lips this one, and a tongue for different languages.
Victor Hendrickson is his back up man. The guy that always reminds him how stupid Dean is, but will support Dean to no end. He's always the one on the other end of his walkie making sure Dean's clear to go in on a case without getting shot. Wouldn't leave the base without him.
Dean knows what he does is scary. He's crazy for doing it. But it's a job, people's lives are on the line. Someone's gotta do it, and he's not going to let anyone do it. He doesn't trust anyone but himself and Sam, to be honest. Of course, Sam knows what he does. Gets letters from him from time to time, but as his ten laps around base come to a close, he's reminded that he signed up for some stupid letter exchange thing. Pamela, the Staff Sargent above him, talked him into signing up for it.
Dean doesn't pray but he did when signed up, hoping for anyone but an old divorced lady who had no one but cats. The horrors.
Fucking cat ladies.
As he munched on his shriveled to hell genetically and bio-protein pumped oatmeal, seriously how do they burn oatmeal, Pamela approached his table.
"Mornin' boys." She nodded.
"Ma'am," Dean bowed, mouth filled with ground up cardboard.
"Got your first letter, Winchester." She handed him a pearly white envelop.
It was slightly beaten up with travel but as he looked at the return address he smiled. Maybe Sam knew this person, being from Stanford, California. There was no name on the return address though, and nerves boiled in his stomach, the last of his oatmeal slipping down his throat like molasses.
"Dean: "
This person has beautiful handwriting, Dean grinned to himself.
"Hello, my name is Castiel and I'm a librarian.
I don't really know how I should start this letter, however I thought because I know what you do (maybe not all of it, but I can assume), and you don't know me. Well here you go. Even and fair.
I enjoy theology and take pleasure in a good book from Poe to Vonnegut and Dickson to Dostoyevsky.
The package came with a picture of you and I felt it would be fair if you had a picture of me. I'm not exactly sure if it's welcomed but fair is fair. It would be unjust if I knew my writer's face and you did not.
I hope your days are short but your life long-and that desert sun doesn't burn too hot.
Always,
Castiel."
Dean turned over the letter to find a picture of a man with the bluest eyes he's ever seen. It's candid, the picture. The man in question has a white button down on, rolled to his elbows as one hand holds a beer, and a crocked dark blue tie; his brown hair wind blown, messy. Stubble lines his jaw, and if Dean looked hard enough he could swear he's seeing a smile. The photo though, an old color print, faded with time. He flipped it over looking for a date; hopefully this isn't as old as the photo looks. Only a two months, says the textile yellow text on the back.
"Looks like you got a looker," Pamela whistled.
Even though 'Don't Ask Don't Tell' got repealed, it was still unaccepted in the war front. And Dean was happy to keep his mouth shut about it, but as his heart fluttered at the picture, he grinned.
"Yeah, uh," he laughed. "You jealous Sarg?"
A hearty laughter came from the woman as she patted him on the cheek. "Not at all Winchester, I got my man back home." She stood and twisted from the bench reveling her Jesse forever tattoo that all the Corp's joke about.
"Oh yeah? How's Jesse doin'?" He throws into the air receiving a loud roar of the crowd around him listening on the conversation.
"What you idjits hollerin' about?" General Singer, a Vet and one of the most well-respected military figures Dean's ever had the pleasure of meeting, walks into the dining tent. Basic Pen Officers stiffen with respect but Dean's knows the man too well. Boss, friend but family, Dean bounced on the knee of this man during Christmas. Bobby was a good friend of his father's during the Vietnam War, and a figure in Dean's life.
"Sarg's love life, sir," Dean yelled, listening to the older man scoff.
"Well we're doing scout rounds! So put down your cosmos n' nail polish and round up!"
"Yes, sir!" the tent cheered, scattering back to their bunks.
Dean folded the picture of Castiel and placed it in his wallet next to Sam's high school graduation picture. Even through the mesh wallet he could still see the shine of his blue eyes. He hasn't felt this light in a long time.
A week of checking his mail box daily, and Castiel finally got his letter.
Gabriel stormed into his town house on a Sunday, Castiel's day off with his mail in hand. Castiel was pacing around his kitchen with his twenty-four page, not-yet-finished theology thesis in hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Mulling over words, grammar mistakes and hypothesis holes like the nerd he is; a brother wasn't on his schedule this morning. Which is why Gabriel was there, maybe to cheer him up or maybe just steal his food because the dining hall sucked.
"Hey Casanova, why are you getting government issued mail? You in the-" Gabriel had never seen his brother run so fast. It amazed him how quick he dropped everything to barrel into him, scratching for the long tan envelope in his hand.
"Give it to me, Gabriel," his brother snarled and eventually, damn his height, got it from him.
"Touchy, touchy. You part of the C.I.A or something, Jezz?" Gabriel sprawled out on the leather couch in the living room and turned on the TV aimlessly shifted through channels. Whatever had his brother's laced panties in a bundle got him thinking.
"Hey, did you ever get your Send-a-Solider box? Cause I got mine and all I got was a guy named Rufus. Jo said that she got a picture with hers. I'm not trying to be a bag of dicks but I kinda wish I got someone who.." Gabriel turned noticing his brother's disappearance and the sound of his bedroom door closing.
"Castiel?" Gabriel called. No response.
Dick. He was talking to him. But with a shrug the absence was forgotten; lifting from the couch he began to raid the kitchen.
"Found yah!" He grinned, opening the freezer to find Oreos. Why his brother puts them there will always be a mystery to him, and why he has marshmallows in there too makes no sense either. Closing the freezer door with three cookies between his teeth and six in his hand, he noticed a picture on the fridge. It looked a lot like Sam's brother.
"Gabriel have you seen my..?"
The younger man turned to meet his brother with a curious expression.
"Wha..?" he mumbled past cookies.
"Nevermind."
But Gabriel watched as his brother reached past him to flick the picture off the fridge and bolt back upstairs. It all clicked. Sam's brother was the solider Castiel was writing too.
This will be good.
As weeks turned into months, Castiel started to collect letters from Dean on a weekly basis. At times, though, a letter would be a few days late, but nothing too bothersome on Castiel's nerves. It was his cure, too, once the thought comes to mind; he needed to write the letters, as much as Dean needed letters sent to him. Days seemed brighter, the air lighter knowing that Dean's somewhere reading his letter.
But again thinking about it, Castiel might just be lonely. It's a scary thought so he doesn't dwell on it. Dean told him once that he's never had a real long term relationship, and the closest he got was with a girl named Cassie that he left when he originally signed up for the ROTC. Hasn't been with anyone since, 'Sex here and there,' he had said.
Over time Cas, what Dean has begun to call him, opened up to Dean more. Told him about his fascination with languages and strategies of old military plans; for example the parallels between Napoleon Bonaparte's plan to conquer Russia and Hitler's, even with being centuries apart. Dean just called him a Nazi.
Castiel even told Dean about his relationship with Balthazar, and how hard that was for him. Even Gabriel didn't know what Cas told Dean. But the solider had nothing but wise words for him, surprisingly, which melted Cas' heart. But was signed off with, "Get drunk, have a good fuck and take care of yourself."
He didn't 'fuck' anyone that night, but he did get intoxicated with his brother while watching Dr. Sexy MD, since Dean said it's his favourite show and he's upset that he's two seasons behind. Castiel poured a beer in the sink for him before he started.
A part of him wishes the solider was here with him. And thinks about him every time he orders a burger at the vender in the courtyard of the university, or when the cafe he gets his coffee at serves pie. Actually, come to think of it, Castiel doesn't remember what his mind occupied itself with before he started to write to Dean.
And he's astonished (but not at all), that he doesn't mind-at all.
The year was rolling around into winter and he spent the Christmas break with Gabriel and Annel, his older sister. They ate turkey, talked about work, school, and briefly on his now thirty two page thesis he's long forgotten.
Though, throughout dinner, he couldn't help but think of Dean. Was he safe? Was he celebrating with his team? Did he get a letter from his brother? Dean told him that his father died a year after he got into his rank. Castiel doesn't exactly know what Dean does but as the solider explained, 'I stop cities from falling and people from dying.' He knows that Dean is a good man, a righteous man.
For Christmas dessert, Castiel made apple pie.
It was three weeks after Christmas that he got a package from Dean.
"Hey Cas,
Sorry, it's been a while. I've been busy with my Squad and work and stuff. I hope you had a great Xmas with booze and eggnog and pie! You better have made pie!
The team can't technically celebrate any holiday because of religious mumbo-jumbo but we had a dinner and played football in the desert. I got a letter from my brother. He's doing great in school, which is awesome, because if he didn't I'd probably fly back just to punch him.
I know we're not supposed to send gifts, but I wanted to give you something. Y'know, an Xmas present. I hope you like it. It's a bracelet I found in a town I was scouting a week ago.
Now don't go sending me stuff! It's just that, I saw it and thought of you."
Castiel blushed. Face hot, warm like hot tea in the summer, he scrambled to find the bulky envelope. A wooden beaded bracelet was at the bottom. Giving a closer look at the gorgeously carved beads showed that they have Islamic lettering dug into the beads and painted in a dark blue paint. It was beautiful. He quickly slipped on his wrist, fitting perfectly as if it was always meant to be there. He continued the letter.
"It's my birthday soon, Jan 24th actually. I'll be 30 and damn do I feel old. Watch Highlander for me because you haven't see it. And, well, it's a damn good movie.
But unfortunately after this letter I won't be able to write for a while. I've been called in and I'm not sure if I'll be able to send anything. It's a shitty excuse but you can still sent letters. I'll get them.
I don't want to be a girl but they get me through.
Take care of yourself.
-Dean"
"Dean, Dean!"
"uh-Castie-What?" The solider snorted, trying to compose himself from his impromptu wake-up. They were still on the drive and had been for two weeks, through Iraq and heading toward Iran to get to Tehran. It's been hotter than hell. It's been hell, actually.
Noticing his position, he laid across the back of the awkwardly and ironically small space of their desert hummer. He'd been driving most of the way through their base in Iraq to the boarder of Iran. Victor made him sleep after his last 24 hour shift and four cups of dissolved, military grade coffee mud. Kept him awake though.
Dean enjoyed driving, his baby more so than these giant metal boxes on wheels, but he liked the quiet buzz of the walkie and fan. He could lose himself in the white noise and think about Cas. What Castiel did that day in the States, what he looks like in his library clothes, how hot it would be to have sex behind some book shelves and messing up that dark hair more leaving his blue tie crumpled on the ground. Or maybe he would use the tie to his advantage.
Dean smirked at the thought. Which was why he protested when Victor threw him in the back seat with his bag and told him to sleep. The more Dean protested the more violent threats started coming and he would not put his balls on the line for that. Victor is pretty serious about that stuff.
Another reason why he got annoyed when Victor woke him from the nap that he had threatened Dean to take.
"We're entering a pit stop, you wanna get out? Walk around before we load up?"
"Yeah man," he groaned lifting his feet from the window and twisting to sit straight. How did he sleep with his head bent? He rolled his shoulders, "Thanks."
The town was small, and just passing through, small towns are something to look out for. In a good sense and a bad sense. Tugging on his jacket-mesh, so it's cool to wear during the day but padded on the chest and back-and black gun cuff around his thigh, he was read to go. Holding his helmet under his arm, he placed a hand in his pocket, digging out his wallet. The picture of Cas stared at him for a minute or two before grabbing a few coins from a zip pocket. Might as well get a water to drink or something.
"You out of Cash, Lieut?" Andy called strutting up to him.
Dean must have been staring at the picture, he smiled, "Nawh, just thinking."
"Cas right?" Andy followed as Dean turned toward the town entrance.
"Heh," never really realized he talked about him that much. Maybe brought him up at dinner if Cas made a snarky comment or brought up a point about Slaughter House Five, Dean hadn't thought about. Okay, maybe he boasts about how smart Cas is, and maybe he talks about him a lot.
"Yeah," Dean smiled.
"Seems like a great guy. He married, dating?"
"Nawh. Got over a bad break up actually. Dated some guy for five years, and the dick just got up and left him." Even though Dean had no right to comment about Castiel's life, or love life, or past relation shits, Dean felt possessive. As if Castiel was Dean's to worry about, to be angry for, because Cas wouldn't be mad at Bathlazar for his choice to leave. Who could leave a face like that?
"Regular douche." Andy laughed. "He still sending letters?"
"Yeah, he is." Dean smiled, a flip bubbling in his stomach and rushing over him like a wave up to his cheeks.
Honestly, Dean was nervous Castiel wouldn't send anymore letters because Dean wasn't writing back. But after Cas explained that he didn't mind, and if it helped Dean he'd be happy to do it, a feeling of relief floated to his chest. The trip to Iran is hard, and trying to send things through the mail system is risky in such a high terror point. Dean could think of all the terrible things these terrorist groups could send if they found Cas' address. The letter he receives are straight from base, scanned and searched, however the ones he sends out are not. They could go anywhere, go through anyone. Dean didn't want to risk it.
The last letter he got from Castiel was the seventh one since his last letter out which was four months ago. Cas talked about teaching his theology course, how nervous it made him, and this giant thesis he has to write to get his doctorate. If Dean had the right to gloat, he would. Castiel was so smart, witty and would fight Dean with pages of passages about how amazing Of Mice and Men is (Even though it's the worst book Dean has ever read). Cas challenges Dean, and he craves it. People follow his commands and demands everyday, it's nice to be yelled at once in a while.
Some letter's Castiel writes are just descriptive snapshots of his everyday life. The way the sun set through the library window's one night or the busy smell of a cafe Cas gets his over-priced coffee at. The small mundane moments that Dean honestly misses while away from home. Castiel brings him back to life, to normality, and signs it with an 'Always'.
Dean paid for his drink that looked like a Coke knock-off and strolled back to camp. The town was relatively quiet; when troops pop up, they usually are. Dean waved to a few kids poking their head out of a sandstone building, two or three waved back. It made him sad thinking about the fact that these people feared him. It was fucked up. Truly fucked, and Dean hated it.
"Did you hear Sarg?" Andy spoke into the dusty air.
Dean swallowed a gulp of Coke knock-off with a satisfying sigh, "Hear Sarg what?"
"She's got a call to send us back once we hit Tehran."
Dean gaped, "When did you hear this?"
"Well she got word on the road two hours ago. She said not to mention anything because she was going to call it at camp tonight."
"Dude, that's like ten days away!" Dean cheered.
"I know man, I'm so ready to head home."
This has to be the best new's Dean's gotten in a long time. He could go home for Sam's exam week, hopefully for the summer. Maybe find Castiel, meet him, actually take him out on a date. After his tenth letter Dean felt like he fell for the guy. He'd never admit it out loud but he seemed to stare at his picture before he'd fall asleep and dream of the day he'd wake up to those blue eyes.
A screaming pulled him from his thoughts. Turning quickly on instinct and throwing himself, dragging Andy with him, between two sand stone buildings. Something told Dean that the town wasn't just a quiet town. Shots started to fire and Dean slipped his helmet on.
"10-10, east side. Confirmed shots," his walkie rattled in his helmet.
"Chester and Gill mid-fire. Responding," Dean called, cocking his gun in his hand. The shots were grazing their corner as the attackers continued to shoot. Leaving holes in the building parallel to them, the bullets had to be AK-47 or something similar. Dean turned, fearlessly, rounding the corner and shooting back based off the angle of the shots that were being fired.
"Confirmed attackers. Proceed with caution," his helmet crackled again. He ducked behind the demolished section of a building nearby, looking over his shoulder for the other soldier.
"Goddamit," he muttered, seeing they were surrounded-not only were the shots still coming from in front of him, but Andy had turned his back, trying to fend with the onslaught of insurgents that had approached from the opposite direction. Clearly, they were sitting ducks.
Finding the most solid portion of wall to lean his back against, Dean shouldered his rifle and lined the crosshairs, breathing as steadily as he could. In the midst of small explosions a film of dust had risen into the air, partially obscuring his vision.
"I'll be a dead man before I let 'em get you, Gill," he says to himself, waiting for the shadow of a head to appear above the shelter the shooters attacking Andy had taken. If anything happened to a fellow soldier in his squad that he could prevent, even if it meant risking his own hide, he had to do it. He didn't question himself on this.
"Base, Respond." Dean hissed into his walkie, desperate for anyone. "Got shots. Repeat, sitting ducks here."
A head made itself visible, probably to survey the scene, and three shots propelled themselves from the barrel of his gun,-between the dust and the noise, it was impossible to tell if they'd hit home. He saw Andy turn halfway toward him with a grateful grin before hunkering down to knock off some shots of his own. Gill, the the all-American, apple pie guy smiling on Death's front doorstep. They had to move.
Crouching, Dean moved snakelike through the rubble, a wary eye over his shoulder as he advanced toward Andy. Slowly but surely he made it, grasping the soldier's shoulder.
"We have to get to camp," he said, his own voice a stranger to his ears. Andy checked his adrenaline-fueled grin before nodding solemnly at the look on Dean's face. They hadn't been this far in the weeds before-surrounded, all sides closing in.
"This isn't the normal patrol town," Andy shouts at him as they get as low to the ground as possible, making a break for it between their enemy's rounds to reach the Humvee. "They knew we were coming, they knew it'd only be us."
Dean sets his jaw and drags Andy along with him, staying low beside the side of a storefront. He knows Andy's point is the truth, feels it in his gut, could hear it in the silence of the town as they arrived. Even then Dean didn't acknowledge that danger was present; humans, the way invincibility at times seems more likely than the fact of life being fragile, breakable. Now, this fact has Dean's heart stopped cold.
"Chester," Victor's voice crinkled through his helmet. "Moved Base South. Gill with you?"
The metal handle of the Humvee burns the palms of his hands, but Dean doesn't notice because they're flying to the steering wheel, gear shift; both feet on the gas pedal. Andy-scratched but safe-beside him, he drives without looking back, hearing the occasional ricocheting bullet bouncing from the armored side of the truck. His chest heaving as he lifts like a weight, his helmet off his head, letting the walkie screech as it braced the back seat upholstery.
A minute later, Andy lets out a whoop that both scares Dean shitless and brings him back to life. He breathes his first solid breath since the firing started.
"Yee-haw," Andy exclaims. "Yee-fuckin-haw."
"Shut up, Gill," Dean says, shakily, laughing. He takes his eyes off the desert in front of him, sand stretching out underneath the sun and the sky, to watch the scene behind them slip away in the rear-view.
"Roger," Dean snatches the radio on the dash bringing the CB radio mic to his lips. "I got 'em Heck."
"Bring it in Boy's, Victor out. " Static followed.
It's as though Dean didn't realize until now that his life was something he carried with him, that it was possible to drop it, to lose it. He feels as though he's escaped with something more than what he went into that town with, and the knowledge of Castiel's picture in his wallet hangs somewhere in the back of his mind as a slow smile turns up the edges of his mouth.
Then there's nothing.
"Fuck."
Dean's ears are ringing from the blast; from the way his vision is flitting in and out, he knows he's just barely conscious. There's a feeling over him like wet sand, abrasive, burning, and he gazes down past the careening skyline and molten sun to look at his body.
Blood the color of mud mixes with the torn fabric of his uniform, soaking inch by inch. Somewhere in the distance is the hiss of melted metal, screams of agony slowly stifled by death. A land mine. A fucking land mine. He tries to speak but all that comes out is a gurgle, and he knows Andy has died by the time he has enough energy to even lick the bloody, gritty sand from his lips.
Dean doesn't pray, but as he lets his head roll back against the ground in shock all he can think is that he's supposed to be staring into Castiel's eyes, somewhere far away from here and his god-foresaken body; the message he sends up is clear, crystal-let me see him. The disappointment of dying sinks in his stomach like an anchor, but hope still lingers; strong, stronger. Let me see his eyes before I die.
Castiel has made it a habit, since Christmas, to twist the wooden bracelet around his wrist when he's not sure what to do with his hands. It scratches, almost, rolls like a river on rocks over his Ulna (wrist bone), with the most satisfying clank. They clatter when he cracks his wrist after typing his thesis like a mad-man or when he dries his hands after cleaning dishes. The wood is soft against his skin and as he twists it around with his opposite hand it calms him. Reminds him to breathe and, in a sense, reminds him that it's real. All the letter's and the man behind them is real; a true living soul wanting comfort from him - for him.
His wrist is raw. After months of use, twisting and spinning on his skin - over and over - leaving little circular intends bruise his skin.
Today's no different.
But it's been a rough week. Castiel has just finished his thesis. Fourty four pages, single spaced, size 12 Times New Roman, slid neatly in a white folder and covered between two sheets of paper. Gabriel calls him anal. Cautious is another word for it.
As much as Dean told him that he couldn't write back for a while, it's May and that was in January. He's sent nine letters since then and a uneasy wave hits him. What if Dean's dead?
No, Castiel will not think about it. No.
The thought puts him on a boat in the middle of a storm giving him all kinds of weak knees and motion sickness; he's standing in his kitchen clenching the bracelet like a life preserver, digging it into his wrist.
Castiel physically jumps when his home phone rings in the tangible silence of his kitchen. As if wading through water, he reaches for his phone and picks it up, shaky and unsteady he breathes.
"Hello."
"Castiel?"
"Gabriel," he says with a sigh, but the voice on the other line doesn't sound so relieved.
"Um Sam's brother arrived back to Oceanside yesterday," his tone is anything but cheery even though it's what Castiel expects to be good news. He gives his brother the silence to continue. "He's in bad shape apparently. But Sam said that the Base hospital is only letting in legal guardian's or family right now, so I can't go with him."
"Yes, you can stay with me." The unspoken words are loud and clear; Gabriel sighs on the other side.
"Yeah," he's solemn. "Okay."
The tension on the phone feels like an ice pack to Castiel's ear, twisting the bracelet around his wrist as he pushes the phone between his shoulder. He remembers to breathe.
"Gabriel? Do you know what- um, Squad he was in?"
Castiel just needs to make sure Dean's okay. Sam's brother might be in another unit or compound than him but what if. What if Dean knows Sam's brother and is in a hospital somewhere? Maybe he's in a ditch in Baghdad, or kidnapped in Pakistan?
It all comes fading in that Castiel doesn't know what he's asking. He's just some librarian that signed-up to write letters to a forsaken solider. Not family, not lovers, maybe not even friends but just two lonely people who had no one to write to, no one to share their lives with. To Dean, Castiel's just a face in a picture and a name on a page.
The ship has sunk and the water has never felt so drowning.
"I don't know Cas," the nick name makes him flinch. "But I think I gotta-Castiel I have tell you-Sam his-"
His brother's voice is cracking on the other line, but Castiel can't hear it right now. The blood has pooled in his ears and this is too much. Rocks that were coursing down his throat avalanche into his stomach, making him completely nauseous and his wrist starts burning. He steadies himself on the wall as his sea legs sink in.
"Come over if you need to, I'll be home all week. Goodbye."
The slam of the plastic phone back on the receiver is deafening and as he feels the chill of his AC kicking in, his face feels cold. He doesn't realise he's been crying until he wipes the salt from his eyes and his sight begins to clear. Prickling around his lashes, the tears continue to flow as he braces himself on the wall.
He ends up watching all five season's of Doctor Sexy MD till the early morning and Gabriel never comes by.
The bracelet never felt so heavy.
It smells like peroxide and moldy bread. His mouth still tastes like he's been chewing on sand and drinking salt water since the dawn of time; his eyes sting as he opens them. The room is white, and the beeps become audible in his ears, surrounding himself in the sterile milieu of the room. Hospital is his best guess, where is more questionable. But he'll hold onto the simple idea that he's alive and somewhere safe. His nose itches but as he twitches to ease his discomfort a pain shoots up his arm; he groans.
"Dean?"
"Sammy?"
He feels himself try to smile but his cheek's hurt, however not as bad as his brother's crackled sniff.
"Good to have you home Dean."
His chest feels heavy and he remembers that he has to breathe.
"Yeah, Sam." He feels his brother clench his hand. "It is."
The silence is warm and he relishes in it for a moment. Because it's Sam, it's slow, it's spreading jam on toast in the morning, on a Sunday or it's riding his baby around town on a sunny day. But mostly it's because he can. He just wanted to be home, and here he is.
The Doctor comes in what feels like hours after. She explains that he's got a few fractures in his legs and parts of his pelvis but nothing that won't heal with time. The gashs were their biggest worry, she explains but there is no sign of infection and they've been healing fine.
"Welcome home Solider," she nods before she leaves.
And stupid Sam smiles. "Solider," he mimics. "Playing sick to get her number?"
A chuckle escapes his chap lips and he's never felt so calm, "Shut up bitch."
"Jerk."
Sam stays for dinner which was probably the best food he's had since the time the squad found Oreo's in a store shop near their original base in Pakistan. That was two years ago, so far away- forever ago. But Sam let's him steal his pudding. It was sappy and girly and stupid but Dean beamed at him like a child. The best pudding he's ever tasted.
The night draws into a close and the pretty nurse in blue scrubs brings him car magazines and chocolate milk. Sam stays till late hours talking about his work, and the crazy antics his roommates throws at him. He'd love to meet the guy if he pranks Sammy just as well as Dean used to. And he's jealous he couldn't get to see Sam with pink hair. Apparently his roommate has pictures.
Sam tells him about his Pre-law degree and the internship he's applied for. Dean doesn't pray but he did as he leaned back in the hospital bed and listened to Sam ramble on. Hopes for a good life for him.
"So I met a girl." Sam starts. It must be close to twelve and he's run out of milk.
"Yeah?" Dean smirks, the morphine kicking in making him drowsy. "What's her name hot shot?"
"Jess, she's an theology major... oh!" He started digging in his jean pocket. As he extends his legs to search, Dean couldn't help but laugh at how big Sam's gotten -like a giant- and the hospital chair looks tiny under neath him.
"Here," Sam flashes his phone at him.
"Whew, Sammy." Dean whistles.
A picture of Sam and a girl with beautiful wavy blond hair in a fuzzy bar. Her face is round but her eyes are small with a glint of crystal blue. She's gorgeous. "She's a bit out of your league."
"Yeah," His brother snickers, taking the phone to his chest giving it another fond smile. "She is."
Dean leans back on the bed, letting the rest of the air in his lung seep out slowly. In this room, he has everything. Good food, hot nurses, Sam. Though a weight sits on his chest, a pounding sensation as if his heart is in a iron cage. He furrows his brow, absently clenching his dog tag and Sammy's emulate under his robs.
"Sam, um, did they recover my pack? Any of my things?"
"Yeah, it's all back at my place. I could get it to you tomorrow when I come back? Need anything specific like-" Sam is such a worry wart.
"No, just bring my back." He has one more letter he's yet to open. Sam nods rising from the tiny chair, brushing his palms on his jeans. "Thanks man."
He watches Sam leave and lets sleep take him willingly, the first time in a while. He dreams of blue eyes.
The next morning, he earns scrambled eggs, toast and another glass of chocolate milk. It's early, quiet and he can't help but smile at the stillness of the room. Again, this compressing heaviness over takes him and he drowns for a moment. He scratches at his thighs for his pockets, half expecting to still be in his uniform underneath the hospital sheets.
"Hey!" Sam speaks breaking the wall of anxiousness with holding up Dean's pack.
"Sam!" Dean beams. "Thanks!" Reaching for it like a child too short to reach other the counter. Sam plops it on the edge of his bed, near his feet, cautious not to hit his legs. The solider stiffness and pulls his body up to sit up right. The IV digging into his wrist tightens but he drags to pole behind him to realise the tension on the cord. Scrambling slightly to open the front of his pack, he's relieved to find the letter's safe and sound.
Fear breaks him. His wallet. Frantically starting to rip his pack apart, he gets lost in trying to find it he doesn't hear his brother.
"Dean?" A hand on his shoulder pulls him from the back pack. "What wrong?"
He spatters for a second, "My wallet. Did they recover my wallet?"
Dean must look lost because the face Sam gives him is concerned and confused, as if he should be as frantic but isn't.
"Uh-" He turns to the door as if the answer is in the empty space he finds. "I don't know Dean. Your uniform was trashed when you came in. Why? Whats so important?"
Dean runs a hand through his hair, but winces at the quick movement. The morphine must be subsiding; he doesn't remember his shoulder being so sore.
"Just-uh," An unintentional shaky sigh falls from his chest. "Just your picture and another thing. It's stupid never mind." He covers, reaching for his pack again.
Sam stands, "I could go see if they-"
"No, Sam it's fine." He accidentally growls. Though the disappointment is anything but receding; he'd die to see those blue eyes again. Hell, he almost did. Another sigh lifts from his chest without his consent, which prompts Sam to get up.
"You don't have-"
"Dean. Let me do this."
He watches Sam leave, slumping back into the bed, reaching for the unopened letter. The eggs aren't sitting well in his stomach, rolling around like stones. Nausea takes hold and he doesn't want his pack anymore, doesn't want to read this letter anymore, he doesn't want anything. He just wants those blue eyes to be there, like they always seemed to be. By his side, in his mind, behind a door waiting to comfort him and right now, that's all he needs.
The stomping of Sam reentering the room drags him from setting fire to his back pack with his eyes.
Hope dwindles. "Well?" His voice is loud and foreign to his ears.
"They said that your uniform was shredded and nothing was salvageable. No wallet. I'm sorry man."
Dean feels like a sinking rock as he slumps against his bed clenching the letter to his chest. If Sam notices it, he doesn't say anything. The room's a pitfall and Dean can't do anything about the way his heart's a dead weight against his chest.
"You've been hiding out here for five days, Castiel."
Castiel hears his brother slump against his bedroom door. Since their last phone call, Castiel has been hiding out in his house. His school year his done, so is his thesis but he won't have to turn it in till finals start which is in a week. Which was five days ago.
Before all hell broke lose.
"Go away Gabriel." He snarls from his pillow where he's been since yesterday morning, only moving to use the bathroom and his occasional cup of tea. The bed is the only place he doesn't feel like falling, unsteady. He has no motivation other wise.
"Please Castiel." His brother sounds desperate.
A few more minutes of contemplation and his stomach growling he gets up, dragging his sheets with him. He opens the previously locked door. The look Gabriel gives him is a mix of humor and sympathy.
"Come on Caveman." Wrapping his arm around Castiel's neck, the younger man pulls him closet, resting his cheek on his slumped shoulders. "You smell like my gym bag."
Castiel can't do anything but growl as his brother rips the blanket from him leaving him to the chill of his house. When did he live in a freezer?
"I'll make lunch. You get dressed, maybe you should shower first, definitely shave. You've got this lumber jack beard goin' on."
Gabriel's cheery demeanour means anything but good things. "Why? What are we going?"
"Sam invited us to go to the hospital to see his brother. He's a looker." Gabriel snickers, wiggling his brow.
So it's another hook up. Great. "No, Gabriel." Snatching his sheet back, "Going back to bed."
Seeing a solider in bad shape would completely tear Castiel another hole in his chest. And besides, he can't think of anyone but Dean, nor does he think he could date anyone but. Sorrow hits him like a freight train as his brother tugs at his arm.
"Castiel, please." Again, a soft desperation he's never seen in his brother before. "Just come. No games, I just want to be there for Sam." He let's his brother hand go. "And Y'know, you're his friend too."
It's true. He enjoys the Winchester's presence, the way he can actually hold up an intelligent conversation that doesn't involve sex or alcohol like his brother. Also the fact that the boy isn't shy of stunning; he can understand his brother's love for the boy.
He can't make a decision so he sighs. "Just take a shower then. You smell." Gabriel turns and starts down the stairs. "I'll make lunch." He hears before sluggishly turning into the bathroom. If it's for Sam, maybe, just maybe he can go.
The Doctor told him they were keeping him the week and next few days. If anything he didn't want to have to leave. Rolling around in the hospital bed thinking of nothing but the things he's lost. Andy, a brave solider and maybe his future with Cas. How will he find him now? Is he still sending letters? Should he send one telling him he's okay?
His biggest fear is forgetting what he looks like.
But he has these letter's, all of them. He's got a return address, maybe he moved?
Dean doesn't want anything but that picture, and when Sam came in that morning with a smirk on his face, one Dean has seen before telling him something marvelous, a tinge of hope sparks.
"Gabriel is coming to visit with his brother." Something about the way Sam is so cheery makes him curious but sick at the same time.
"Okay?" Dean inquires with a quirk of his brow.
"So you okay," he side glances with a smirk. "with that?"
Doubt bubbles somewhere beneath his pancakes in his stomach, "I guess." He shrugs.
Sam physically beams at his phone when it beeps in his pocket, opening it and smiling at Dean, all knowing and twisted. He's learning not to like it.
"They're here. Be right back."
If Sam didn't have such giant legs, Dean would say he was running. But he just shifts further down in his bed, staring out the window trying to picture Castiel himself. He's always wondered what he'd sound like, how tall he would be. Dean pictures him to fit right under his chin and smile at him from there, blue eyes looking straight at him. The taste of syrup solidifies in his mouth leaving a nasty taste, or that could just be the disappointment floating around his tongue. He lets out a shaky sigh, the hundredth time within five days. It might become a habit, he fears.
"Dean."
He turns to see his brother with a shorter man. The man's hair is a lighter brown than Sam's with golden eyes and a smile that could kill. Must be Gabriel. Looks like a prankster to Dean. But as the two fold into the room he notices someone behind them. A taller man who looks pale, disheveled dark hair and the brightest blue eyes he's ever seen. His heart burst from his chest taking his breathe with it, roaring like ocean waves in his ears.
Sam's saying something to him but he hears nothing but his heart beat as he stares at the equally bewildered man before him.
"Cas?" It cracks and he's starting to loose his vision. It waters and wavers, feeling tears fall down his cheek. They're cold and alarming but leaving such a swell of relief.
"Dean?" The man breathes back, stepping forward into the now silent room. And he's never heard anything so beautiful.
Dean quickly clears his throat ignoring the shaky breathe he takes and the drops coming from his eyes, "Hey Cas."
He can see Cas shaking, chin quivering as he slowly brings his hand to his mouth but drops it like a weight, rushing over to Dean. The man clenches Dean's jaw, slowly caressing his soft fingers through the hairs behind his ear. And Dean can't help but lean into the touch as the man rests his forehead on his own. They stay there for a minute; Cas easing himself onto the side of the bed, pulsing his finger tips through his hair.
Dean hasn't felt this light in years.
"Told you he's a looker," Gabriel breaks the silence, as both tear stained men look up at him. Sam elbows his ribs, which rips a laughter from Dean. Cas drops his hands from Dean's face, making him shiver from the heat that's now missing. His pulse is anything but steady.
"Yes he is." A dark graveled voice come from the gorgeous mouth of the man beside him. The longer Dean looks at him, he swears he can see a smile. A fond, beautiful, smile that he hopes he can put there again. His hand cup's Dean's cheek and strokes it softly with the pad of his thumb. He sniffs and he's glad that no one says anything about it.
The three end up staying the day. A nurse brings another chair and places it beside Dean where Cas refused to let go of his hand. He said that he didn't want Dean to leave again. Some where in his chest his heart stopped and his stomach flipped at that. It was easier, this time, to hold back tears.
Castiel Novak, Dean found out, was a librarian at Sam's university. He was Sam's soon-to-be girlfriend's theology professor, and is a lot smarter than Dean gave him credit for. Not that Dean didn't think the guy was smart, but he didn't think he was a genius. Cas and Dean shared a laugh when Sam started talking about Jess in front of Gabe who didn't hold back a scowl. Dean finally got to see Sam with pink hair which was more hilarious than it should of been. And listening to Cas laugh beside him did something to him that words could not describe.
Dean talked about his tour in the middle east, and things got uncomfortable when he described the day Andy died. Though Dean appreciated the silence and the comforting squeeze of his hand when he let out a shaky breathe. But then Cas gave him a smile, and every sorrowful dread that piled some where in him washed away. It's was okay, he thought. He was home.
Sam and Gabriel left around dinner time, and Gabriel convinced the nurses to let Cas sleep over for the night. Dean owes the guy one.
Dean shifted over in the hospital bed, enough room for Cas to slide in. He fit perfectly on Dean's side, and would apologise if he shifted too close to Dean to cause pain. But Dean didn't mind, it took him that pain to get here. And looking down at Cas with those big blue eyes, he smiled, holding in the shaky sigh this time.
"Can you promise me something?" Dean spoke into the wonderfully distilled air around them, warm like a wool blanket.
"Anything." Cas nuzzled into his neck. His body was burning where Castiel was touching him and he did everything in his power to relish in it.
"Can we try this?" He spoke through the molasses that seemed to coat his throat, not really sure what he's asking. Cas' blue eyes search for whatever he's asking, sure but almsost as scared as Dean feels. It's the most happy he's felt in forever, looking into those eyes.
"Can you stay," he looked down into azure iris', ones that he's been dreaming about for months. The beautiful picture he'd never thought he'd be able to physically touch in his life. The reason he got through the end of his tour, why he can't find himself to go back. "With me?" He finally croaks out.
"Always."
Dean didn't realise how close Cas' face is to his own, before he's right there. Blue eyes shift from looking at his lips to looking into his eyes, and he finds himself doing the same. Just a lift of his chin and he'd be kissing the man he's been day dreaming about for months. No one is stopping him now, and he takes advantage of that fact. Leaning forward with all the will his body can take, he feels Cas' full lips push again him. It's more than he could ever imagine on long drives and cold nights. And he loves it.
He teases Castiel's lip's with his tongue, grazing the top, parting it enough to snake himself into. Cas leans forward more, deepening the kiss, wrestling his tongue. It's passionate and feverish and beautiful and everything in between.
When they finally part, breathless and kiss swollen, Dean thinks he's never seen something so stunning. Lolling his head back onto the hospital pillow, he sighs happily leaning into the body snuggling beside him.
"Always."
Dean falls asleep dreaming of the blue eyes he gets to wake up to.