Let me first say that this is my first foray into fanfiction since I started posting my original works on fictionpress. Second, I'm new to the Supernatural fandom and this is my first fic in that 'verse. It has no chronological setting except that it's after season five. It's just something that came to me and I felt compelled to write it down. This is obviously a Destiel fic, but there are hints of Wincest if you squint. Please drop me a review to let me know what you think.
WARNING: Character death (not Dean or Castiel, though). If that bothers you, don't read.
Sam died again. It was the strangest of things. In their line of work, they'd both always thought it would be through the doing of a demon or a vampire or a shapeshifter. But that wasn't how Sam died – how he deserved to go out. He died in an ordinary, everyday car accident. They'd worked apart for a couple of weeks, because there were two jobs within thirty miles of each other, so they decided to work them separate and then call if they needed back up. Sam's had been cut and dry, a simple vengeful spirit that he took care of quickly. He was headed to Dean when he was T-boned by a truck. By the time Dean got to the hospital, his brother was already dead. There was no chance for Castiel to save him. The apocalypse had been averted, so there would be no resurrection. His brother was gone.
After Dean gave him a hunter's funeral, he wandered. He did jobs. He drank. He drank a lot. He was entirely alone now. Now he understood why Sam had given up hunting during the year he spent in Purgatory. Cas was the only thing that kept him from drowning in the encompassing loneliness. Castiel was always there, be it to kick his ass into gear or give him a shoulder, though Dean never admitted he wanted that shoulder, even when the nightmares plagued him and he woke up shouting for Sam. He came to depend on his fallen angel, perhaps more than he ever had in the past.
That didn't stop him from being reckless. Or from fighting with Castiel. One night – one that he couldn't remember, but had been told about later – he'd gotten horribly, horribly drunk and tried to drive Baby. He'd run out of alcohol and was determined to get more. Cas wouldn't allow him, going so far as to take Dean's keys away and lock him in his room. He'd screamed at Cas, hurling insults at him, the worst things he could think of – and his drunk brain could, apparently, think of really nasty ones. When he awoke the next morning, he found Cas in the living room, giving a wall his pensive look. Cas told him all the awful things he'd said. When Dean tried to apologize, Castiel stopped him.
Is that what you think of me, Dean? He had said. Do you believe I am a stray dog who has nothing better to do than beg from you?
No! Fuck, no, Cas. I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything I said last night.
Castiel had given him one of his trademark befuddled looks. I don't understand.
Dean rushed across the room to him, but stopped before touching him, unsure what he would've done if he had touched him. I was drunk. I said things I didn't mean. Come on, Cas. You know how I feel about you.
The angel frowned at him. You like to fight with me.
I fight with everyone. But I don't like fighting with you. Dean ran a hand through his messy hair. You keep me going, Cas. Don't you know that?
I keep you from killing yourself.
Yeah, yeah you do. You keep me alive. Even though most days I look at the world and wonder why I'm still here, I never eat my gun or pull my knife. I love you, Castiel. I'm not the most gracious person and it seems like I take you for granted because I hate talking, but I love you.
Cas had looked at him for a long time. Just looked at him, with a little frown on his face. I understand humans feel different sorts of love. I'm not sure what this means to you.
After hesitating briefly, Dean had answered, Neither do I. He smiled a little sheepishly. I always try not to think about my feelings or whatever. Even more since Bobby and… I just know I love you. He had hoped Cas wouldn't dig deeper, ask for more. He hadn't wanted to examine the source of those feelings. Their meaning.
For a while, surprisingly, that had worked. Castiel had accepted his apology. Dean had cut back to his normal drinking habits. He fell into a routine of hunting. He still took no pleasure in saving people, but at least it was a start. The beginnings of learning to live again.
A year passed. It was a hard, grueling year, but, over time, Dean found it easier to get up in the morning. If that was because Castiel learned to cook and every morning he was in the kitchen making breakfast for Dean? Then so be it. He'd started to make jokes again, even though the laughter was forced and Cas didn't understand them. He was reclaiming himself. Learning to live without the other part of himself. It was like learning to survive without his right arm; it was hard, and it was painful, and he would never be the same, but it was possible.
Yet then came the Anniversary.
He was on a job the week that it rolled around. About halfway through his investigation, things got hairy, and he didn't have the time to sleep, much less check the date. It was two days after the Anniversary that he realized he'd gone right through the day without realizing it.
He was a wreck. An utter, total wreck. He drank until he was stupid, just lying in the dingy motel bed, watching the ceiling fan move. He'd drunk himself beyond the point of pain or anger. Now there was numbness.
With a soft sound, he heard Cas appear in the room. You are drunk.
Great observation, Sherlock. Dean couldn't even manage to sound snarky.
I don't understand that reference. Cas walked over to the bed and looked down at Dean. You've drunk too much.
I forgot the Anniversary, Cas.
The angel frowned. The Anniversary of what?
Now he did feel a spark of anger. He pushed himself into a vertical position, trying to focus on the middle Castiel as two more appeared on either side of him. Of his death!
Oh. Cas sighed and reached out, putting two fingers on Dean's forehead. Just like that, all of his drunkenness was gone.
Hey! What gives you the right to magic me sober? I worked hard to get that drunk, Dean said as he shoved up to his feet.
You were dangerously inebriated, Dean. The level of alcohol in your blood was poisoning you.
So? He felt reckless now, burning with the need to do something. To fight.
Dean saw a real flash of anger in Castiel's face. You want to die? Why would you want to die? You've been better.
I've faked it better. He walked away from Cas, pacing around the hotel room. How could I forget the day, Cas? He didn't even notice that his voice cracked. How could I forget?
Cas reached out and awkwardly rubbed his shoulder. It is human nature to get on with their lives. You have more on your mind than most humans do. It is understandable that you would forget the date.
No! I can't forget. Dean shoved him angrily. He's my brother! I can't forget!
Castiel grabbed his hands, yanking Dean closer to him. You're not forgetting him, Dean. I may not understand your pop culture references, but I do understand some things. Sam is and will always be your brother. You will never forget him. You will never love him less.
Before Dean was fully aware of what he was doing, he took his hands back from Cas only to wrap his arms around his waist and hold on for dear life. He pressed his face into his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of his fallen angel. As Cas slowly and a little awkwardly hugged him back, Dean tried to find words, but he didn't know the true meaning of the only three that came to him. Yet they were all he could say, so they fell from his lips. I love you. He said them again and then again. I love you, Cas.
Dean…you know I don't really feel emotions the way that humans do. Cas tightened his arms around Dean. But I believe that I love you as well.
So proper, the way his angel spoke. So very structured. He smiled a little against Castiel's neck. It gave him a sense of normalcy, even though nothing in his life was normal, really. Hey, am I still a little drunk? I'm feeling kinda light headed. It was the strangest feeling, one he didn't associate with his usual drunk buzz.
Castiel shook his head, his jaw brushing Dean's hair. No, I removed the alcohol from your system. However, emotional turmoil can have physical side effects. Perhaps you should lie down.
Dean just nodded. He wasn't inclined to move. In Castiel's arms, he felt…safe. Protected. After a moment, he felt himself lifted up into Cas's arms and then laid on the bed. Any other time, he would protest the manhandling. A guy like him didn't just let himself get picked up bridal-style without a fuss. But tonight he was just too tired and too drained. And, if he could admit it to himself in the most secret recesses of his mind, it felt just a little good to be cared for.
Cas tried to step away from him, but Dean caught his arm and nodded down at the bed. The angel looked at him, trying to read something in his face. Dean thought he was about to poof; then he climbed onto the bed next to him. The hunter shifted so that his head rested on Castiel's shoulder.
They just laid there. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved. He'd be damned, but it was…peaceful. For the first time in more years than he could think of, Dean felt a measure of peace, laying in the embrace of his angel.
Sometime during the night, Dean managed to fall asleep. When he awoke, it wasn't to the smell of food, as he'd grown accustomed. It was to the feel of a familiar, male body against him and a hand in his hair. Even though Cas didn't sleep, the angel had stayed with him while he slept. For the first night in possibly forever, he had slept a dreamless sleep.
Dean looked up at Cas to find the fallen angel looking back at him. When Cas caught him looking, he tried to look away but Dean caught his cheek in his hand and kept him still. Acting on impulse and gratitude and something else, he leaned up and pressed his lips to Castiel's.
What are you doing, Cas asked as he pulled back, wide eyed.
Kissing you. Surely you know what kissing is.
I do, but why are you kissing me? You like to kiss women. Castiel frowned. Although not for some time.
It was true. Dean loved women. It was also true that Dean hadn't shown interest in any woman in a very long time. But this was Castiel. This was the angel that had pulled him from Hell, who had given everything to stop the apocalypse. This was the man who had stuck by him and gotten him through the most traumatic experience of his life. He could finally put words to what he felt, now. He understood and accepted. Their bond was more than physical. Beyond sexualities.
I love you, Cas.
I know. You didn't explain why you kissed me though.
Classic Cas. It made Dean smile a little. I love you. Not like a brother or a friend. I'm in love with you. That's why I kissed you.
Cas frowned. I don't understand.
Romantic love, Cas. That's what I feel for you. He pressed another kiss to Castiel's lips.
Oh, he said softly. Dean, I…
He felt a moment of pause. Maybe Castiel wasn't on the same page as him. Maybe Cas couldn't even feel romantic love for someone. Listen, um, it's okay. You don't –
I love you. The way that you said. Cas smiled at him. One of his true, pure smiles. The kind that could light up a whole room. Do you think I would die so often to protect anyone else?
Dean felt a laugh bubble up. No, no I guess not.
Can we try that kissing thing again?
Something akin to happiness flickering in his chest, Dean did as his angel requested.
This new phase in their relationship progressed slowly. Though Dean would've liked to jump into the physical, he let his brain above his belt do the talking for once. This wasn't a hook up. It was Castiel. He took it slow. They did little more than kiss for a long time. Cas seemed content to let Dean set the pace, which was good. Dean was self-aware enough to realize that adding sex to the mix probably wasn't good for his state of mind.
And so they took it slow. Dean worked on finding the light in the world. Most of it came from Cas. Since Cas would do most anything for him, Dean got him to watch television. When Dean wasn't working a job, he was giving his angel a pop culture lesson. After a few months, his efforts paid off when Castiel understood and found amusement in one of his references.
Dean managed to find other things to bring him a measure of happiness, though. He was working a job when all of a sudden he realized that he cared that these people, the ones threatened by the spirit, lived or died. He wasn't just trying to have a routine anymore; he was trying to protect people again.
It was Christmas when it happened. Seven months after the Anniversary, Dean and Cas were in Massachusetts solving a string of disappearances when Dean looked up and realized it was Christmas. He knew, of course, that there was nothing holy about the day. But it was a day to be spent with family. A day to be thankful.
There wasn't a big dinner, only fast food. Dean did scrape together enough for a nice hotel room, though. Tonight felt right and he wanted it to be in a nice place, not the hovels they usually stayed at. There wasn't a gift exchange, because Dean didn't think of anything he could give to Castiel anyway. The night felt special anyway, though.
Castiel seemed to know what was on Dean's mind when he guided him out of the little sitting area to the large bed. There was only one bed; he didn't care who knew they were sharing. Are you sure, Dean?
Dean smiled up at him. Yeah, actually. I'm sure. It feels right.
He drew his angel – his beautiful, literal angel – into a kiss. They went slowly; even though they'd been going at a snail's pace already, he didn't want to take it too fast for Cas. It was his first time, and Dean wanted him to be ready. And maybe he needed to go slowly, too.
No matter how much time passed, that night was forever burned in beautiful detail into Dean's memory. Though Cas rarely gave free reign to his emotions, he held nothing back. Hesitant at first, he quickly learned to kiss and touch to elicit a delicious response from Dean. Despite all of Dean's best efforts to keep things slow, after a certain point, slow was no longer an option. He felt like he was burning from the inside out. He'd come prepared and lube was easy to locate when the time came. Up until it was actually necessary, he hadn't been able to picture who would actually be where; what did either of them know, after all, about this sort of thing? Cas found he had something of a dominant streak, though, and when he took the lube, everything clicked into place. It was natural for Dean to open up and let him in.
In the aftermath, they didn't move apart from each other. Instead, they held each other close. There was no need, no place for words. They were complete. Together.
I envisioned something a bit different when I started, so I'm thinking of adding a second chapter which would be "the present" since it's pretty obvious that this is "the past". For now, this will stand as a complete one-shot, but if I get a good response, I'll try to write more.
I also pictured more of a lemon in there (I'm a big fan of smutty goodness) but it just didn't seem to fit with the tone that had been set.
Swing me a review please?