Ok, so this has been in my head for awhile and here it is!
Summary: Cas is human and after made his way to the bunker. Sam, Dean and him have fallen into a system of living in the bunker and hunting.
Warnings: the word fuck, but that's it. No smut, sorry they aren't having sex they're just "friends"
Pairing: Dean W. and Castiel
Extra stuff: I read and reread and reread for typos so hopefully it's clean. And Sam hates strawberries. Enjoy! :)
Je vais prendre des frites
Well that hunt could have gone better.
I mean, I ended up dead. So there's that.
Okay, maybe I should start from the beginning. Picture a lonely stretch of highway... classic rock plays... and a '67 Chevy Impala rolls into town. You know, the usual. Oh, and by town I mean No-One's-Gonna-Drive-That-Far, Virginia. Anyway, we got a pile of vics and a pissed off ghost witch. She was executed during the Salem Witch Trials and had been luring people to their deaths (is that a cliché? It tends to happen a lot to us) via an old well. It sounded "witchy." That's why we came.
Dean pulled up in front of a diner in town with a, "Dude I am starving. Cas, you're with me, Sam go book a room?"
Sam nodded and asked for a milkshake. Chocolate, not strawberry. (Strawberry is for barbarians.) Dean and I strolled into the diner and were plopped down in a vinyl booth.
"What can I get'cha?" The waitress asked with a bubblegum smack.
"I'll have a bacon burger, fries, diet coke and a strawberry shake to go please." Dean said, without even hitting on her! That was new. She looked and at me and I just said, "Same." After Falling a couple months back, fries have become the best thing ever. Ever.
Dean pulled out the file regarding "Dead Wiccans" from the bunker. "OK, so three victims over the past two weeks—" Dean collapsed on his arms over the table. "This is so boring," he mumbled.
"Plus you haven't slept in four days Dean."
"Well, we've been driving four days, did we really need to take that detour Cas? And somehow its always my turn to sleep in the car," he complained.
I chuckled. "Although after the Night Of The Mysterious Stain I think I'll spend the rest of my life sleeping in the tub. At least it's clean."
Dean looked up and smiled at me, "Okay, Angel." Before I could grumble about that awful nickname, fries were set in front of my face.
"Two burgers, two fries... and shakes'll come with the check. Can I get you boys anything else?" Dean said nah and she was on her way. We spent the rest of lunch on (boring) topics like the weather, aliens, and we might have even strayed to Project Runway. By the end of it though, Dean was laughing and I got fries. It was good.
"Should we regroup with Sam?" I tried; Dean did not cooperate.
"Ugh, effort! Yeah I'll call Sam - see where we're base camped." And with that; we left and drove to the motel. Of course Dean got a powerful bitchface when Sam noticed it was, god forbid, strawberry. Sam pulled out his laptop and started his beloved research. Dean and I just lied on my (I fought tooth and nail to claim that) bed. I really tried not to notice (and be giddy about) the fact that the hunter kept scooting closer to me as we watched a James Bond movie. I failed.
By dinner, we had a name, a ghost hunch, and a death certificate. Meridith Jones. Born November 1739. Died July 18th 1762. Burned at the stake.
"Well," Sam said, biting into a piece of pizza, "Now we find the DNA of a creepy old witch..."
"In her creepy old house." Dean finished. "Fun. Alright, I need my four hours, we'll hit the books on her in the morning."
Sam nodded and Dean grumbled that he had to sleep in the car. I hung my coat over the back of a chair and crawled under the horribly outdated comforter. I was able to toss and turn for a couple of hours, until….
At about 3 am, Dean opened the hotel door and poked me awake. "Hey," he said. "It's freezing out there. Do you mind if I..."
"Yeah sure," I groggily rolled toward the window, Dean slid in and interlaced our fingers.
"Goodnight, Cas." Dean mumbled. I smiled.
I woke up at dawn (that's fucking way too early), and found Dean had left. I got up and went to shower, when I saw him outside sitting on the Impala. I opened the hotel door quietly—Sam was still asleep—and found Dean... watching the sun rise.
"Mornin' sunshine." He smiled at me and didn't mention our sleeping arrangement. So neither did I.
Dean was sitting on a blanket on the hood of the Impala. "I've always loved sunrises," he said with a shrug. "Join me?"
I sat next to him and I rested my head on his shoulder. "It's beautiful."
"Yeah."
The sky turned indigo to purple to red to yellow and stayed like that, hunter and angel, and for a moment, we could have taken on the world. ("Gay love can pierce through the veil of death and save the day.")
An hour later, I went inside to shower. When I came out, hair towel in hand, Sam was pouring over the info we had and pinning up the serial killer wall of death. Dean had the Dead Wiccans file out and was cross-referencing it with the victim pattern: young men 18 to 35.
Sam cleared his throat. "So get this... they were all low level criminals."
Dean glanced at the vic map. "Holy crap, you're right. Small offences - car theft, fraud, shoplifting."
"Yeah," I said, sipping Dean's coffee accidently, "Oh, sorry Dean. But that doesn't account for the well. All three were seemingly pushed in. Why the well? Nothing ties her to the well, no tragic backstory"
"Oh yes there is," Dean interjected, "Here, listen to this: An old English law in determining verdict. The accused is thrown into a well and if they drown they are perceived as innocent, if not they are guilty." He read.
"And Judge Judy here is going after these guys she views as possibly guilty. Of course they all drown however," Sam said. "But why?"
Dean shrugged. "Justice? I mean, she never got it. Being burned at the stake for just being…"
"An actual witch? They did what we would have done," I pointed out.
"Yeah yeah, okay."
"I hate this case."
"I'm sorry Angel, we'll fry this son-of-a-bitch."
That night, Dean slipped into bed with me again and wrapped his arms around me. He rested his chin in my hair but didn't say anything. So neither did I.
The next morning was my last hunt ever; even though I didn't know that. Team Free Will got up early and packed salt, gasoline and lighters into duffel bags and yanked on some nice plaid. We drove all the way out to her old homestead, which somehow hadn't been touched since the 18th century. Of course, teenagers had snuck in over the past 20 years, but it was mostly the same since she died.
Sam picked the lock and Dean and I followed him inside. Dean tossed an iron poker at me as we walked in, and he reached for the salt in his jacket. Enter ghost stage right.
Okay, honestly, I have no idea how it happened. Maybe she was still powerful from her witch days, maybe she was just really good at being a ghost, all I know is at the time, Sam was looking for something to burn, a brush maybe, some gloves. Anyway, Dean and I were taking her on downstairs. She was screaming at us, Dean was firing randomly, and I got a chest full of old piano that pinned me to the wall. And I was bleeding… alot. Maybe Dean really is a lousy shot… sorry.
"DEAN BEHIND YOU!"
Dean swung around and she went up in flames, I guess Sam had torched the son-of-a-bitch.
"Cas?!"
"Yeah, can you please move this fucking piano off of me?"
Dean did as he was asked and "Cas…?" I was bleeding everywhere.
"Hey Dean."
"Shhh, let me just-"
"Dean I'll be fine," I tried to stand but collapsed back into Dean's arms. "Hmm."
"Cas you gotta stay awake. Cas?"
"Yeah, yeah I'm not dead yet. Okay look, if this is it-"
"No Cas, please-" Dean was crying. My own face felt wet. Damn emotions.
I settled into his arms and he held my head in the crook of his elbow. "Dean shut up, and listen to me. There's something I have to say…" Talking was becoming more difficult.
"Yeah?"
"I left a tuna sandwich in the back of your car… A-And it's gonna s-start to stink."
Dean chuckled, 'cause what else can you do? "God, I love you, ya bastard."
"Love you t-too."
"I guess this really is goodbye…" Dean sighed. "I don't have any more tricks up my sleeve."
"I g-guess I get to stay dead this t-ime. That'll be new."
Dean looked at me and this time I knew it would be the last time I saw those green eyes for a long time. Dean was still crying and I reached up and brushed his cheek with my thumb.
"Hey, what day is it?"
Dean looked puzzled. "Thursday, why?"
"No reason," and I closed my eyes.
I'd never been to heaven this way before, the soul way. Of course, with heaven's lobby boarded up anyway, the only way in is straight to your room. I was greeted warmly by Bobby, Kevin, John & Mary Winchester, even Gabriel in the Roadhouse. I met the psychic, Pamela, which led to one extremely awkward conversation involving apologies about y'know… eye-frying. Jo Harvelle and I became fast friends, she called me her "WingMan," when I helped her score at the bar. Right now, I'm content.
I know Dean will be here someday.
AN: Thanks for reading! This was really interesting writing in first person, with the major character death and all. Kinda An Imperial Affliction. Leave a review if you liked it!