Title: In This Thriller Mystery Baby You are My Suspense Summary:
Series: Supernatural
Author: frayed1989
Pairing: 7 Dean/Castiel, 2 Sam/Gabriel
Rating: G - R
Warnings: Some contain lots of angst. Spoilers up through 5.08.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. It belongs to its creators and the network that runs it. No copyright infringement intended.
A/N: I've seen tons of people do these memes and I've decided to change it up a bit and only use songs by one band, in this case Third Eye Blind. Enjoy.
Feedback: Always welcomed and loved. Flames however are not.
Can You Take Me:
Perhaps he'd been rubbing off on Castiel a bit too much. It was one thing to have a couple of shots post celebration of a pretty epic battle between the Winchesters (& Co.) and Astoroth, Hell's number one demon at the time, and his minions. It was an entirely different thing for Castiel to give Dean a crooked smile, one that he must have mimicked from the one Dean had given him earlier and lean in a bit too close and tell Dean, "I wish you would just ask."
Dean leaned back, a bit shocked by the angel's move, he had been finally grasping the concept of personal space, and frowned before he said, "ask you what?" Castiel merely widened his grin and leaned back, downing another shot of Jack like a pro and Dean wondered if perhaps the angel had finally imbibed enough alcohol for it to have an effect on him. "I think you've had enough, Cas," Dean laughed, shaking his head as he grabbed the bottle and moved it away from the angel.
Castiel nodded and stood up from Bobby's table, knocking his chair back as he leaned towards Dean and touched two fingers to Dean's forehead. The next thing Dean knew, he was standing at the edge of a cliff, the sun beating down on him and he quickly grabbed Castiel, his eyes wide as he looked down where the water lapped at the shore some twenty-odd feet below. He looked at the angel who smiled brightly back at him. Dean realized it was the first time Dean had ever seen Castiel really smile, the first time he'd ever seen Castiel so happy, so free, so alive. So he grinned and threw an arm around the angel's shoulders. "You're free to take me anywhere you like, Cas."
Anything:
He ran; he pushed his legs to move underneath him as he hurtled through the crowd, pushing at bodies, shoving violently in his haste. The street was crowded, people spilling out from bars and clubs into the cool night air, drinks sloshing in their plastic cups, letting out yells and hollers to anyone who would listen. More than once Dean felt himself pulled and pushed in retaliation to his own frantic violent shoving. But he didn't stop, didn't bother to deck a guy who had decided to use his left cheek as a punching bag. Only got one hit in before Dean was gone but it still hurt and he clenched his jaw, his eyes focusing on the tan trench coat up ahead, the man wearing it turning in all directions, his eyes wide, lost, confused, and scared.
Dean's heart ached. "Cas," he yelled, hoping he was close enough, hoping that the terrified angel would stop for a second and just feel for him. He watched as men and women approached the angel who would shrink back only to bump into another body. Dean moved faster, pushing a girl out of his way into the arms of an adjacent man and the next thing he touched was starched fabric. He grabbed and pulled Castiel towards him who turned in his arms, tense and wide eyed.
"Hey, it's okay," Dean smiled, and Castiel relaxed, nodding.
"Can we please leave now, I'm starting to smell like excrement and people keep trying to touch me," he said softly, making Dean laugh for the first time in two hours since he lost Castiel among the crowded street in New Orleans.
"Anything you want, Cas. Anything."
Blinded:
He never got to see Castiel in all his angel glory and some days he still envied Pam for catching a glimpse, as wrong as that sounded. He envied other angels too and often thought that was one of the reasons as to why he hated them so much though he'd never admit it out loud. Ever. Sam would have a field day with that. Still…
He wished he could have seen it, seen Castiel in his true element, not contained, restrained in human flesh (no matter how appealing that human flesh was- again another thing he'd never admit to aloud). He imagined it sometimes, when he would stare at Castiel in the quiet moments after the almost apocalypse. He would look at the former angel and imagine just how beautiful he must have been, how bright, how powerful, how free he must have looked. Dean was sure that it would have been worth it, to lose his sight for one second of looking at Castiel, of really seeing him, of what he truly was.
Still, it wasn't something that occupied his mind much. After all, he got to see Castiel everyday, got to watch him grow and adapt much as a parent would watch a child. And while their relationship was nothing like that of parent and child, Dean still was wondered and amazed by Castiel, still caught surprised by the tiniest things that he did, the sort of stuff that no one else would notice but still made Dean gasp.
He figured he came pretty close though to experiencing what Pam and countless angels had seen. And if anything, Dean got to see a side of Castiel that no one else in the world ever got to see or had seen. Something new that was only Dean's to see in everyway. And in some ways, if Dean thought about it in a totally sappy chick flick kind of way, he was blinded by Castiel everyday.
Red Star:
There was a time when Sam could never get him to shut up. Times when Sam just wanted to strangle that tiny man's throat because all he would do was talk. It had been annoying, ever present, and Sam would often just wish for night to come so he could sleep and not have to listen to the constant yapping about "roles" and "fate" and "destiny" and shit he frankly didn't care about. Hell half the time sleep didn't even save him from that because sure enough there the angel would be, continuing a one sided conversation which Sam had given up responding to a long time ago.
And then after one particular nasty fight, which had both Dean and Castiel fighting against the archangel, he had stopped talking. Sam had noticed right away, the eerie silence consumed the space next to him that usually had been filled with Gabriel's voice. And at first Sam had rejoiced, inwardly of course, and had even sat in the passenger seat with a smug smile on his lips while Gabriel had sat silent, almost coiled up into himself, right behind him.
But then Sam slept dreamless and he woke feeling empty and lonely. He realized quickly that he missed the archangel's voice, missed his constant banter on how they were all stupid and were going to die and how he was just going to laugh and laugh because obviously he had told them so. He missed Gabriel even though the archangel was still with them; still sharing the small spaces of the impala and the multiple motel rooms they ended up in across the country.
So one day, he decided to sit in the back with the archangel instead, giving up his seat in hopes that he could get Gabriel to talk to him again. Dean had shook his head and Castiel had happily taken the vacant spot next to Dean as Sam slid into the back, his legs cramped and his head touching the ceiling of the car. Gabriel didn't pay him any notice so Sam pulled out his cell phone.
So is it just me, or is it really quiet in here?
A few seconds later a soft ping echoed in the impala and Gabriel was reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. He flipped it open and read the text message before raising an eyebrow at Sam as a small smirk began to pull at the left corner of his lips as Sam merely stared forward. A few moments later, Sam's phone gave a loud whoop! and he flipped his phone open to see a replying text.
I thought you liked silence.
Sure- if I like going insane. The archangel let out a small huff of air that could have been taken as a snort which is what Sam decided to interpret it as.
Well according to the rest of the world, you already are insane. Sam gave a loud snort of his own which had both Dean and Castiel eyeing him strangely from the rearview mirror. Sam just slipped lower in his seat, his knees pressed in the bench in front of him as he texted his reply.
I hardly think you count as the rest of the world.
If this is your attempt at cheering me up, it's horrible.
Sam frowned slightly at that and was about to reply when his phone sounded with another whoop! to which Dean growled from the front, "Dude, phone on silent." Sam ignored Dean and read the text instead.
But thanks anyways. Sam smiled, looking over at Gabriel who was staring out the window at the passing scenery.
So I'll see you tonight?
Sure thing, babe. Sam let out a loud laugh which had Dean chucking an empty cup at him and Castiel's eyes darting between him and Gabriel from the front seat. Sam playfully threw the cup back at Dean, hitting his older brother in the back of the head who instead of getting angry decided to laugh. Just as Sam was putting his phone back into his pocket, it went off with another whoop! He pulled the phone out and flipped it open, shooting a glance at the archangel sitting next to him who was once again talking.
If you tell anyone about this, I'll kill you. Just so you know. Sam only smiled, closed his eyes, and listened contently as Gabriel's voice filled his ears but instead of the despair that had tinged his words before, there was only hope.
Wounded:
There were days, long days where he'd be clean. Days where he wouldn't have one damn thing swimming in his veins mixed in with his blood. When he was coherent, and silent, and his eyes were so damn clear it was almost like Castiel was back and those were the days that Dean almost thought that maybe they could do this, maybe they could survive. Those days where Dean would just sit in his cabin, Castiel clean and sober his silent companion but it reminded him so much of the days when they first started this, days of sitting silently in the impala, the windows rolled down and the beginnings of a smile pulling at the corner of Castiel's lips. Days when Dean thought he could end this, that he could find the colt and put a bullet in Lucifer's skull and then go back to hunting boring regular things like ghosts, and demons, with Castiel and Sammy at his side.
But then Detroit happened and the next thing Dean knew he was angry all the time and the host was gone and Castiel was drowning himself in whatever drugs and alcohol he could get his hands on. He wasn't Castiel anymore, he was just Cas. And even though Dean had sometimes been so frustrated because of the angel he realized early on that he missed him, that he hadn't wanted Castiel to change, that he had wanted him to stay that awkward support system he had become.
Still… those few days that he got, the days where Castiel just lazed about Dean's cabin because all the alcohol and drugs had been depleted from his stash, those days Dean was thankful for, though he never said it. He just sat there and worked out new plans and strategies for recovery and the colt while shooting sideways glances at Castiel who lounged on his cot, his clear eyes closed, his hair pushed back and his stubble dark and almost thick and Dean could pretend for just a while that he was happy, that they were normal, that they were safe, that Castiel wasn't broken.
And then the shakes and fevers would come because Dean didn't want to lose Castiel, because he refused to go out and risk men and women just so Castiel could have a fix. And he would hold Castiel close to him, surround him with his arms and body as if it could keep the withdrawal away but it never did. And Castiel would cry and plead with Dean, pulling at Dean's clothes and offering his body up as recompense for the promise that as soon as Dean took what he wanted he would go and get Castiel that fix.
Dean always broke at that. No one in the camp besides Castiel and Chuck knew how often Dean broke because of that. And most of the time Cas wouldn't remember the next day. Because after Castiel, shaking with fever, his teeth chattering, plunged downwards onto Dean, impaling himself and gripping and scraping new scars into Dean's already torn skin, Dean would leave Castiel passed out and sweating on his cot, wool blankets tucked tightly around the sickly sallow skin, with Chuck to watch over just in case he awoke because of a new bout of shakes. Dean would grab a few other people and out they would go, raiding hospitals and liquor stores that had been abandoned long ago along with other places for supplies. And Dean would come back and Castiel would have his stash and thus disappear and there Cas would stand in his place.
The day after was always the worst. Because Dean refused to see Castiel when he wasn't sober, refused to see what he had become, what Dean had pushed him to become. And it broke him. It tore at him just a little bit more.
Dean savored the days that Castiel was sober. He hated the days when he wasn't. He bled the days when Castiel begged, and pleaded, and pushed, and gave himself because no matter how hard he held, or pounded, or pleaded back, he could never keep Castiel grounded. In some ways, Dean was more wounded than Castiel would ever be.
6. Sharp Knife:
It didn't matter how much he pretended, didn't matter that he constantly wore a mask that depicted strength, power, and anything but weakness. Didn't matter that he'd seen and done things that no human would have the will to live through. He had watched as bodies were torn to shreds and devoured by a world that didn't care and had done some of the tearing himself.
But it didn't matter. Because under all that hardened, leathered exterior, Dean was weak, he was fragile; he was helpless. And he hated himself for it, hated that he could feel every damn tear that littered his body, his soul, and the world that surrounded him. It made him weak. It made him break. And it made him doubt. Doubt that he could stop this, that he could save them all. He could barely save himself from falling and often had to rely on others to help him back up, even though he would never admit it.
No matter how hard he pushed, or fought he wasn't strong enough. He would never be strong enough and he wished he was. He really did. But he couldn't pray. Couldn't pray to angels who were determined to rip him out of his weathered and battered body. Couldn't pray to a God who either didn't exist or didn't care. He wouldn't pray to Lucifer either because he couldn't give up, couldn't let go, couldn't hurt the world more than he already had. But he still wished that he was stronger, better, faster, braver, sharper. And he supposed in some ways that wishing was a lot like praying so he tried to stop that too.
He wore his mask. He pretended. He pushed. He cut. But he was dull. And even hardened leather tore.
7. Motorcycle Drive By:
It was impossible but it didn't stop him from wanting, didn't stop him from wishing, didn't stop him from falling. It was obvious that the feelings weren't quiet reciprocated because the angel didn't understand them, didn't understand what they meant and even if he did, he would never be able to act upon them. Dean knew all of this. Had always known it. But still…
He falls. He doesn't stop it or try to hinge it or hinder it in anyway. He allows it to happen and doesn't think twice about it. He falls and relishes the way it feels. Memorizes each moment of it because for the first time in a long time he's alive. He welcomes each sensation, each feeling which overwhelms him and makes him buckle at his knees and gasp for air which he can't quiet reach. He feels his chest ache and tighten and burn and he knows the name for it but never admits it out loud.
He knew before he fell that it was impossible, that he'd never have him, never hold him, never get the chance to tell him what he felt… how it felt to fall. So when Castiel leaves it doesn't surprise him. Still he burns. Still he wants. Still he wishes. Still he falls.
And even though he's alone, knees pressed to the earth and eyes set to the sky, he's never felt more alive.
8. The Background:
It didn't last. Nothing ever did. Sam was quiet used to the fact and if anything he was lucky enough to have one constant in the form of his brother Dean. He was also lucky enough to have that same brother experiencing the current heartache Sam was facing. Lucky to have someone next to him who could pat his back just as awkwardly and look at him and know without saying one damn thing what he was going through.
Because they honestly hadn't expected it. Honestly had thought that both angels were free of the host and God and what had once been required of them. All four of them had gone into the last battle thinking that if they some how managed to make it out alive they were going to stick together and make a sort of domesticated go of it. And for a moment, after Sam and Dean had stood over the empty vessel of Lucifer who was once again sealed back in his cage with brand spanking new locks, it seemed like it was going to work. For once in their sorry lives, the Winchester brothers were finally going to catch a break. And while Dean easily and happily encased his angel in a warm and beautiful hug, Sam had turned to Gabriel and merely smiled, his entire being feeling light and carefree when that smile was returned.
Then the next second, they were gone and Dean was hugging empty air and Sam was back on solid, hard, horrifying ground. They had spun around wildly, Dean yelling Castiel's name until his voice was gone and Sam had sunk to his knees and was stuck staring at earth where two sets footprints assured him that Gabriel had indeed existed in that spot at one period of time.
They were gone and it didn't take long to figure out that they weren't coming back. One summoning job and an empty room later had told them that. Dean and Sam seemed to flitter in and out of existence, often only giving Bobby a call simply because they hadn't talked to him in a month.
It was rough, the months that followed after. Dean silent and stoic during the day only to become a miserable, whimpering mess at night when he dreamed. And Sam rarely every slept because sleeping meant seeing Gabriel, hearing his voice and feeling his touch only to wake up and not find them there. It tore at him and he knew the same thing happened to his brother on the other side of the room.
It had been stupid and foolish to think that they would get a happy ending. Happy endings didn't exist. Not here. Not in this world. And probably not in heaven either.
Sam still found himself making room for an invisible angel, found himself thinking of pranks to pull on Gabriel when he least expected it, found himself rolling over in bed so he could fold around a warm body that wasn't there. And even when Sam was consciously reminding himself that Gabriel was gone, that the archangel had been taken from them, from him, he still found him often in the background.
9. God of Wine:
There were times when he missed the silence, the peace that came with it. The silence that wasn't overbearing or laced with pain and distrust in a world that had fallen apart years ago. He missed the silence that came with meditation. Missed the silence that would wrap around him like a warm blanket as he watched over two boys he had grown to love and respect.
But that silence was gone, lost the day Sam Winchester said yes, the day the world had actually gone to hell. It had been teetering on the edge for months, but the day Sam said yes, it fell and so did the people with it.
Now there was a constant buzz, irritant and angry at his ear. Drugs, alcohol, sex, nothing could keep it down or away. And when silence did come, it was the silence that accompanied death and emptiness and in some ways, that silence was worse then the sound.
Today was a day of silence, though the arrival of a fresh, young, and ignorant Dean fought hard to keep it away. Castiel smiled, the first real one in a long time, as he watched the young man go head to head with the older Dean, the one who had given up and lost everything, including Castiel. He smiled in the silence that was interrupted sporadically by both Winchesters and thought back to days when he was clean, when he was happy, when he had believed in Dean even more than he had ever believed in God.
Today, Castiel bowed his head and wept. Today, the silence that permeated the air with foreboding, pain, and death overwhelmed him. Today, Dean, his Dean, the Dean he had grown older with died. Today, Castiel wished he was clean.
He knew in this life, he never would be.
10. Dao Of St. Paul:
They both knew it was the end, both went in knowing that neither of them were going to come out alive. And hey, if they brought down Lucifer with them that would have just been an added bonus. But they knew the chances of that were slim and while a part of them, a long ago buried righteous part of them sparked and flared in their chests, yelling no, this wasn't how they were going out, this wasn't it was going to end, Dean and Castiel were old souls at the journey's end. It was time to go.
It was an easy enough decision, one they had made months ago without the knowledge of anyone in the camp and the arrival of a young Dean didn't change things, no matter how many memories of the golden days sparked back into existence with him.
They were tired. Three years of pushing, fighting not only demons and hell but each other too hard had worn them out. Too many insults and harsh truths had been thrown about between them. Too long had they gone hating each other for different reasons. Dean resenting Castiel for not saving Sam, for not looking out for him, for letting him out of that damn room and starting the apocalypse. For depending entirely on Dean when the host left and took Castiel's grace with them. For being so damn far gone everyday, whether it be with the help of drugs or alcohol or both. For sleeping with every damn person he could get his hands on. For falling so far down that there was never a chance for Dean to pull him back out again.
And Castiel resented Dean. For not understanding why Castiel held on so tightly, for not grasping that if God was gone, Dean was all he had left. For falling too hard and putting on that damn soldier mask that made him unfeeling and spiteful. For not being there when the host left and took everything that Castiel knew away with them. For not holding him the one damn time in his entire existence Castiel needed someone to be there. For not realizing that every time Castiel took a drink or shot up a drug or had sex with a faceless human being that Castiel just wanted Dean to grab him and shake him and yell, and kiss and hold, and just show Castiel that he was still there, still cared, still wanted him to be that guardian angel on his shoulder even if he didn't have wings.
They were tired and one night alone with just the two of them and the last bottle of Bobby's good shit had them realize it. It wasn't sweet or poetic or a revelation of any kind. Dean didn't whisper sorry's or sweet words of love and devotion in Castiel's ears because he had none left to give. And Castiel didn't either simply because he had made his apologies long ago and if Dean hadn't accepted them then he wouldn't accept them now. And as for love? Well, it was simply too late for that.
So they decided. When Dean finally found the colt, they would find Lucifer and try to bring him down. The would both die trying and while maybe the rest of the world still had some fight left in them, Castiel and Dean didn't. They were ready to just let go. They didn't know where they would end up but figured wherever it was, they would most likely be together. And while neither Dean nor Castiel said it, they knew that wherever it was, heaven or hell, they could do it because they had each other.