Author's Note:
Alrighty, you guys. I know I have a lot of stories I need to finish up, and I promise I will get to them sooner or later (probably later, unfortunately), but this is a little something I whipped up for Destiel day. I just got sidetracked and never posted it like I had planned to. Anyways, This is my first Supernatural fanfict, and my request to you guys is that you leave a response telling me how I did with writing these boys' characters. Too OOC? Actually in character? I just need your opinions, thanks! 3
Fingers slick with blood and sweat. The clatter of dropped tools, coupled with the rattle of desperately yanked on chains and muffled shouts. Uncomfortable warmth outside with a bone deep, aching chill radiating from within.
Screams. Hoarse and unforgiving and unforgettable. Echoes and that all too familiar, cruel laughter taunting him from behind his back. A hand clamped down on his left shoulder, forcing away all doubt by rushing fear and adrenaline through his system. He was doing this for all the wrong reasons, he knew, and that was why the demons (now on his side) continued to tell him that he was in the right.
But this, this was sixty four shades of wrong. And he knew it. And then, suddenly, a bright light dropped a bombshell of chaos on the already chaotic underworld. The steepled, clawed fingers on his shoulder were broken, snapped off and tossed away, the hand that held the power now grasping his upper bicep and tugging, upwards, pulling him towards salvation and making him feel like he was being torn in half but still being left as a whole and in peace.
Dull green eyes, nearly black with fear and confusion by now, flung open to rest on the white light in front of him. His eyes watered, wandered down to his own arm where the hand rested and seared and gripped and comforted. He couldn't get the words out but he was sure he should've been angry, terrified; until unearthly blue orbs gazed piercingly back at him.
"Allow me to help. Please."
And that gentle but steady whine in his head, it had to have been what snapped him out of it.
"Castiel!" Dean jolted awake as he unconsciously screamed the angel's name again, sitting bolt right up and thrashing about to get his limbs free of the motel bed sheets. Over his own heartbeat, he could just barely hear that quiet whine still in his head, and instead of focusing on all the fear and panic and self-hate that came after these nightmares, Dean focused on that whine; didn't really even jump or feel shocked when two rough and warm hands settled on the sides of his face.
A shaky sigh escaped his parted lips and darkened emerald eyes flickered open. Those same piercing blue eyes that had saved him in his nightmare were staring at him through the darkness, concern and confusion clearly written all over the angel's face.
"Dean, you with me?" Instead of answering, the hunter muttered something under his breath and sat up away from the other man. "The hell ya' doin' here, Cas? You know it ain't nice to creep on people when they're sleeping."
The angel ignored the false bravado attitude. "Dean, you...screamed...for me in your sleep. So I came. Are you alright?" Dean shot him a sharp look and shuffled backwards on the bed, now resting against the headboard. One glance thrown towards Sam's bed told the older brother that his sibling was still sleeping like a rock.
"Dean. I need to know that you're okay before I leave."
"Do you have to?"
Castiel cocked his head to the side at the same time that Dean fisted his hands up and cursed at himself quietly. "I'm sorry? I'm afraid I don't understand, Dean." The hunter shook his head hard. "Yeah, me either. Just forget it."
A heavy silence fell over the pair, and as Dean shoved his anger back down, he realized that, oddly enough, he could still hear that slight whine in his head. His gaze flickered back up to Castiel, who was intently staring at him with obvious worry.
"Tell me something, Cas." Dean tipped his head back but kept his eyes locked with the angel's, watching as the other man nodded his head, concern slowing ebbing away. "Yes, anything. What do you want to know?"
Castiel settled himself more comfortably on the left side of the bed, watching as Dean struggled with his own thoughts for a few seconds. It was still another couple of long moments before Dean spoke up again, but blue eyes never strayed from green in that entire time.
"When you dragged me up from Hell, did you talk to me at all? Say anything on the way back up?" Caught off guard by the odd question, seeing on how the hunter tended to avoid the topic of Hell like the black plague, Castiel ducked his head and looked away.
"So that's what you were dreaming of, then," the angel muttered darkly, finally looking back up at Dean. Dean furrowed his brow and glanced towards Sam's sleeping form again. "To answer your question, though, no. I held my tongue until you got into that gas station, but even then, you didn't understand."
Dean cleared his throat. "Yeh. Sorry about that, man. Guess I'm not as special as you first thought." A crooked half smile that was completely fake graced Dean's features and saddened his eyes. He reached up to rub at his left shoulder but paused and rested his hand there instead.
Through the black material of his t-shirt, Dean could feel the upraised mark of Castiel's hand print etched into his skin. Slowly, and without really noticing, the comforting whine faded from his mind and was replaced with a sharp headache. Castiel looked back up at the hunter in time to see him wince and grip at his shoulder.
"Does it pain you?" The quiet and remorseful question was accompanied by the angel inching closer to the other. Dean, realizing what he was talking about, dropped his hand back to his lap and shook his head immediately. "No. No- That doesn't hurt." Castiel fixed him with his intense stare again.
"But something is hurting you, still. Dean, what's wrong?" The hunter moved his hand back up to finger Castiel's mark on his shoulder, shrugging lightly. "Nothing. Just my head. Kinda pounding right now." Almost immediately, the whine came back and the headache was gone. Dean shot Castiel a questioning look, but the angel wouldn't meet his eyes.
Finally, getting frustrated with himself and the angel, Dean sighed heavily and tipped his head back again. "I'm just going to assume that that's you making me feel better. So thanks, and, uh, yeah. Whatever." The hunter shrugged and closed his eyes, focusing on random things like Sam's snores across the room and the way the bed dipped lower as Castiel shifted to sit on his right side.
Green eyes slid open once again as a quiet and gruff voice spoke up. "I did speak to you when trying to wake you up just now, however. I didn't actually speak, though; I just thought it, really." Dean made a low groaning noise in the back of his throat, partly to acknowledge the other's words and partly in frustration at not being able to go back to sleep like he so desperately wanted.
He gripped at his shoulder harder, closing his eyes again. "I just asked you to let me help. I couldn't-" Castiel cut himself off. "What's that, Cas?" Dean finally mumbled. He was halfway to unconsciousness anyways. Instead of getting a verbal answer, the hunter got fingertips brushing against his own and a silent request for permission.
He forced his heavy lids open once more, locking his gaze onto Castiel, who was staring pointedly at the sleeve material that was hiding the mark he had made upon Dean's skin. Dean hesitatingly pulled it up to reveal the hand print, watching out of morbid curiosity and caution as Castiel placed his slightly shaking hand over the scar.
It was a perfect match up. After a few, long moments, Dean felt Castiel begin to pull away. "Dean, I'm sorry." Before the contact could be fully lost, however, Dean gently pressed the angel's hand back against his skin. "Don't be sorry, Cas. You dragged me outta Hell, man. I'm forever in your debt, pretty much."
Castiel shook his head. "No, Dean. You misunderstand me. That's not what I'm apologizing for."
"Then what is it, Cas? What's up with you?" The angel's gaze flickered away, but his voice was steady, if not a little hoarse. "That mark. It bothers you. I'm sorry I had to be the one who made it." Dean sighed. 'Fucking chick flick moments,' he thought, tiredly. The hunter forced eye contact between them, pressing the angel's hand down harder than before.
"Cas, you're wrong. It doesn't bother me at all." Green eyes watched sky blue ones cloud over in confusion. Castiel shook his head slightly. "I-I don't understand. You're always touching it when you're upset or angry; I just thought..." he trailed off again, watching as Dean cracked a small smile.
"Well, you thought wrong. Cas, it doesn't bother me."
"Then why?"
"Why what?" Castiel seemed to swallow nervously before continuing on.
"Why do you only pay any mind to it when you're in a bad mood?"
Dean's tired smile grew wider. "Damn. I really gotta spell it out for you, huh?"
The hunter finally allowed Castiel to drop his hand, letting his own appendages settle on his thighs. "Okay. I dunno. Simplest way to put it, is that it's a...source of comfort, I guess. If you can understand that." The slight confession was met with silence, and when Dean finally glanced up from his lap, Castiel was staring at him with the tiniest, most tentative smile on his lips.
Dean rolled his eyes and slumped back down into his previous sleeping position, muttering something along the lines of, "Don't fuckin' look at me like that, man, you're like a lost puppy." Castiel let out a rare, quiet chuckle and Dean held his breath as the bed creaking in time with the other's movements.
Warm breath tickled past his ear, a faint aroma of cinnamon and cedarwood drifting with it, as the angel whispered his temporary farewells along with his promise to return, his hand once again resting perfectly over the mark on Dean's shoulder.
After the hushed flutter of black wings silenced and the motel room was occupied only by the two brothers, Dean sighed and rolled over, his hand returning to fall over the angel's mark.
When the hunter woke up the next morning, Sam was gone, but a note taped to the mirror with the words, 'Gone to get breakfast,' scrawled in all caps explained the absence. Despite the lack of his brother's company, Dean didn't wake up alone, and for once, the hand resting over the beloved scar on his shoulder wasn't his own.