Title: No Regrets
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Disturbing images
Spoilers: nichts. Unless you want a background story.
Summary: "Why do you care so much about them? Is it worth loosing yourself to them?" And he is screaming again because that is all he can do.
Notes: I'm knew to this writing/publishing fics thing so I hope you enjoy reading this piece.
As for me, Imma gonna hunt a fluff-filled diabetes-inducing fic to read so I can wash down the taste of this one.
The signs were known and the cause none disputable: the Devil's work.
Mass suicides that left the best of them sick to the stomach from the sheer joy the victims express, rushing to complete the act to appease their "Master". The way it occurred though led them to believe that there was someone or a group instigating all the chaos and it was imperative to find them and stop this madness.
But it was hard to believe in that particular idea when a minute, he is walking in a crowd of people, each heading to their work place and the next, they are all running in one unified direction with a red hue to their eyes, a manic smile plastered to their lips.
Suddenly, a haze befalls him and he is swept with the crowd running to the unknown yet gravitating destination. The angel can hear someone calling him, faintly as if in a dream but the buzz filling his head is too strong. A part of him is rationalizing that he needs to follow the throng of people to find the culprit but a more urgent feeling of "I need to follow! I need to answer the call!" overwhelms his senses and he is climbing a wall, jumping, crouching to the ground and the salty water is surrounding him.
He is drowning.
He kicks his feet to reach the surface and it is anticlimactic how fast he can breathe again. He looks around him at all the people submerged to waist level in the ocean's water, with their red eyes and their hands lifted in the air as if in prayer and the only thought that crosses his mind is "I belong here. I need to be here!"
He doesn't know why he feels that way and it is unsettling but he doesn't have the time to think about the implications.
The waves that crush against him knock the breath out of his lungs and leave him disoriented for a while until he is kicking his feet trying to reach the surface but it is not as easy as the first time, as if the sea gained in depth all of a sudden.
But it cannot be possible.
A storm is raging on the surface when he finally breaches it and the waves keep trying to keep him under water and he is calling for help – or tries to – between gulps of air but the people around him are not moving, not even shifting from their positions as the violent waves crush against them and he is fighting against the cold water and struggling and ohmygoddrowning –
- And then hands are pulling him to the surface. He takes in long gulps of air, coughing in between.
Blurrily, he lifts his head and recognizes Gabriel and Uriel.
The sound of crushing waves stops as abruptly as it started and he is turning around to see what is happening and the sight that greets him makes him release a whimper like a wounded animal, frail and helpless, and he is talking – or screaming – but nothing is coming out.
Hands in the air.
Hands with their bodies engulfed in the now still waters.
Just hands, moving frantically as if asking for help but not even trying to help themselves.
He wants to scream "Go help them!" and he is diving to do just that but then the hands are just that, hands, unmoving, pointing towards the skies and it is too late, always too late.
He is filled with such anguish that he screams and screams, crying and sobbing like he never knew how to do before. And then Uriel is pulling at his arms, grabbing his face and yelling.
"Why do you care so much about them? Is it worth loosing yourself to them?"
He doesn't know why but all he knows is that he does. He would waste away if needed be. And he is screaming again because that is all he can do. Screams and screams and –
Strong arms are circling his shoulders and someone is rocking him, a hand stroking his back. He is no longer shivering from the cold. As a matter of fact, he is not even soaking wet or wearing the trench-coat. He is wearing the white shirt that he usually has under the suit. He is coated in a thin layer of sweat and his throat is sore – from the screaming, a part of him supplies.
Soft whispers fill his ears and someone saying his name registers after a moment.
"It's alright, Cas. You're alright. It was just a nightmare, just a nightmare. You are safe here, Cas."
A nightmare?
He lifts his head and he is staring at Dean's worried green eyes, whom, realizing that the angel is looking at him, tightens his grip around him and drops a kiss on his forehead.
"Dean?"
"Yes, angel, it's me. You scared me there, buddy. You wouldn't wake up and you kept screaming!" The hold around him tightens even more and if he didn't have some angel mojo left in him, he would be sporting bruises by now.
The feel of his dream – the nightmare – is fading from his senses but small trimmers still run across his sweaty skin and the images of those mischievous red eyes and those hands and the screams –
"Hey hey there, stay with me Cas. It wasn't real. This is real. You in my arms is real. Look at me!" Dean puts warm hands to his cheeks and guides him to look him in the eyes. "Yeah see? It wasn't real." He softly strokes his cheeks and adds slowly as if making sure that Castiel gets it. "You and I, in this exact moment, is what is real."
Castiel takes a shuddering breath and buries his face in the nook of Dean's neck and breathes. Breaths in the spicy smell of him that grounds him.
Yes, this is real.
After a while, Dean steers them both to lay on the bed and pulls Castiel to his chest, wrapping his arms around him and the angel snuggles even more to him.
The silence stretches and then Dean is asking. "Do you wanna talk about it?"
Castiel opens his mouth to answer but a flash of those hands crosses his mind. "No. Not now." He adds after a while "Maybe in the morning."
Dean does not fight him for the story, just settles down and asks him to go to sleep.
Sleep is a forgotten thing after such events but he doesn't tell that to Dean. He lets him stroke his back, soothing his fried nerves. The hands still after a time and soft breathing fills the room but sleep doesn't come to him yet.
He recalls the last moments of his dream.
"Why do you care so much about them? Is it worth loosing yourself to them?"
He glances up at Dean.
The soft cut of his jaw. His well defined lips, letting small puffs of air escape and tickle the hairs at his temple. He leans upward to lightly kiss said lips, checks that he did not wake the sleeping man and settles in his arms again and thinks
Yes, Uriel, it is all worth it.