Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Supernatural. I'm just a lame fanfic writer. So don't sue.
Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and drug use, language, light male x male.
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Sammy said 'yes', and the world went to Hell.
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The world swims around him, the air sticky on his skin and Dean is floating in the warm light of whiskey, blue moon on his face, creeping under his eyelids.
Sammy said 'yes', and the world went to Hell.
He noticed that alcohol seemed to disappear slower with Sam gone. That a bottle would last him twice as long. Sitting on the counter in the morning, a vivid reminder of who didn't drink it. So Dean decided to start drinking twice as much, downing the waste, because it only seemed right. Seemed the only way to keep things the way they were in some way, some remnant of normal.
Months ago, Bobby died in his chair, a gun in his hand, and Dean had wanted to burn the world.
But now, he lies, floating in the warm night air, halfway to a regretted morning.
Sammy said 'yes', and the world went to Hell.
He'd thought of joining him, more than once. Thought of hurtling himself off a cliff, or putting a bullet in his brain. Making a deal, maybe. Kissing someone until the life poured out of him, or was ripped out of him by hell hounds.
Hurt like the Devil the first time. Then again, Dean had felt the Devil's punches and the hound's claws. Had felt the steel blade of a monster slide in him and over his ribs and carve music notes into his heart. And he had survived them all. Maybe it gets easier the second time around.
There are hands in the dark, and a hushed whisper, under the breath, and Dean know's it wasn't meant for him. Hands in the dark that find his skin and slide so well that Dean can't help but arch into them. There are hands in the sticky dark and Dean can't help but want to reach for them, pull their owner down into the haze with him.
And Dean know's it's Cas. Can tell even without opening his eyes or hearing his voice. Knows that it's Cas, wearing some of his cast off clothes, too big and loose and casual for him. He misses the suit and ties. He misses the layers. Cas is so fragile and barren like this. It doesn't suit him. It never will. The more of his layers disappears, the more his grace.
Dean asked once, what it felt like, what losing his grace felt like. Wondered if it felt like losing Sam. Everything a rush of pain at once, like a brick to the face or a knife to the ribs or claws to the belly, and then the lingering sting, as skin tries to mend itself but can't. As blood tries to congeal and heal but can't. The wounds are too deep and heavy to be simply patched up and washed away.
Sammy said 'yes'.
Cas' hands are on his face, brushing away tears he didn't know where there, and that he'd later blame on the booze. Sliding over sweat slick skin and thumbing over lips full with sadness. Pushing matted hair back and falling to stiff shoulders, fingers working their way under an unnecessary coat before pushing it off of him with a sureness and steadiness that Dean forgot he had.
The whiskey is still rolling on his tongue when he inhales at feeling Cas' hands on his stomach, pushing up his shirt and dipping into his naval and traveling upward, peeling off the shirt as he goes, and Dean moves with him because Sammy said 'yes', and this was Hell and nothing else mattered.
When Cas reaches for his belt, Dean stops him, hand reaching down to grasp Cas', eyes opening for the first time, sleep and dry tears cracking at the sides.
Dean had asked Cas once how it felt to lose his grace. If it was all at once, or a slow and steady pain. Cas had said it was like watching sand through an hour glass. Everything is falling right in front of your eyes, his very essence was sliding away from his skin. Cas said it was like he was a puzzle, complete and whole and safe in the warmth of Heaven and now he's watching someone take him apart, piece by piece.
Dean had asked Cas once, and Cas had wept.
And now Cas stares at him, with no expectations, no wants. Clean faced and bare and so pure and sad that Dean wants to weep all over again. Feel the knife under his ribs so he has something to drown out the pain.
"I'm falling to pieces, Cas."
And Cas doesn't speak. Dean didn't expect him to. But he stares, steady and hard, his hands resting still under Dean's, fingers wrapped around the smooth leather of his belt.
"I'm falling to pieces..."
Because Sammy was gone. Because he had let Sammy go. Broken his one and only life rule 'Protect Sammy', because he was afraid. He thought that keeping them apart would save the world, and instead it damned it. And Sammy died alone. Sammy died and Dean wasn't with him. Didn't go down fighting for him. Didn't meet him in Heaven. Sammy said 'yes', and Dean didn't even hear about it until days later. Didn't feel it like he thought he would. Didn't know the exact moment when Sam faded from the world and Lucifer slip inside of him like a puppet.
The whiskey was still there. And Cas. And the world, broken as it was.
"I'm sorry."
And around him, everything is still spinning. Around him, everything still spins and functions in broken patterns. Nothing stopped. Sammy said yes and the fight didn't end. They aren't sitting on the hood of the Impala with beers in hand, reminiscing about Sam's lack of a hookup record, or Dean's questionable one night stands.
Cas moves Dean's hands, and pulls off the belt, unbuttoning the jeans and pulling them off, and Dean is bare in front of Cas, in the blue moonlight. Naked and drunk and falling to pieces and Cas is there. Cas hasn't given up. Hasn't run away.
Once, Dean asked Cas what flying was like, and Cas wept.
On nights, when Cas thinks no one is looking, Dean will catch him with his back to the mirror, looking at himself in shame. Dean wonders what Cas' wings look like now. If he can still feel them. If they hurt.
Above him, Cas tumbles some pills into his hand, swallows them dry and Dean knows that it's the beginning of a downfall, but doesn't stop him. Sammy said 'yes', Cas is bare and graceless. Bobby is a body in a field in South Dakota, a broken wheel chair in a house once filled with security and knowledge. The world is in Hell and Cas' skin is cool and soft and is pressed against his, kissing the whiskey out of his mouth, kissing him until he is lightheaded and struggling for breath, kissing him until the world fades away, just a bit. Until just for a moment, everything is fine. Until Sammy is in the next room, and Cas is looking off at something Dean can't even hope to see, and Dean can't help but stare. Can't help but realize how much he loves and wants him. Until Bobby walks past and teases them.
But Sammy said 'yes', and the world went to Hell.
"No."
And Dean is pushing against Cas, pushing him away until the coolness is gone and there's the sticky darkness and the feel of a bottle in his hand. "No" and Cas is sitting away from him, cross-legged and frustrated. "No" and Dean is pulling his pants on and stumbling out into the darkness, too drunk to walk. Too lightheaded to see. "No" and Sammy is gone and Dean is on the ground, waiting for the earth to stop spinning.
In the dark, there are hands, and they aren't Cas'. In the dark, someone is helping him back inside under Cas' guidance. In the dark there's the bed and his bottle. In the dark, Cas is angry and taking another pill. Dean wonders briefly if Cas will die before deciding it doesn't matter. Deciding none of it matters because Sammy said 'yes', and the whole world went to Hell.
And beneath him, it still spins. Still turns. Still sprouts high hedge and green. Still swallows up the bodies of the dead. Still rains and washes away the ashes.
And Dean can't help but think that should stop.
Across the room, Cas is looking at him. Across the room, Cas is high and floating like him. In his own sorrow. In the pain that is trapped within his rotting body. Trapped within him as his grace slips through his fingers. Across the room, Cas' eyes go blank, and Dean know's he knows. Knows he understands and feels it too.
Because Sammy said 'yes'.
And Dean thinks maybe it's time he did the same.