The world's gone to hell. Or Hell has come to the world, actually - Hell raised up, the world didn't sink down. Not physically at least. Metaphorically it couldn't have fallen any farther.
Castiel shakes the thoughts from his mind, with a hollow, self-deprecating laugh. Sitting here on the rooftop of the makeshift bunker, philosophizing will the world slowly rages and burns.
Yeah, sounds like me. His thoughts are like bitter venom searing through his mind and he longs for the familiar release of his pills. His hands twitch as he forces them to remain outside his pocket. He wants to be lucid. He will be lucid. After all Dean will be here soon.
He doesn't really know when it became a tradition, if you could even call it that. More of a habit, and unspoken agreement between the two of them. On starry nights they'd climb atop the bunker and watch the sky in silence.
Well, not all starry nights. Actually it's a fairly rare occurrence. Only when things are quiet do they venture up to their retreat. Only when they've had a simple day. One with no deaths and no fights in the camp. These are few and far between.
Most nights they seek solace in potent whisky and sedating drugs. On night when they need a dose of pleasure, free the weight of reality, they seek out a place in the beds of the women of the camp. They're always open.
Other times, when they day has been particularly volatile and a whirlwind of emotions terror-oh-god-I-thought-I-lost-you-anger-how-could -you-do-something-so-stupid- threatens to overtake the last shreds of their sanity they find their solace in each other.
If you could call it that. Really it's more of a vicious release, wrestling and fucking until they're too exhausted to even think.
And then, on blessedly simple and quiet days, when they desire nothing more than silence and companionship, Castiel and Dean sit and watch the stars. Castiel remembers another time, in another world, when Sam and Dean had the same tradition. He'd been invited to stay on occasion.
He recalls the comfort he found in the silence, standing beside the Impala, alternately watching the brothers and the stars. He'd sip beer with them, though it had little effect on him, just to feel closer to them.
He used to believe that's what his Heaven would look like. He's not even sure if there is anything left of Heaven now.
A heavy thump tells him Dean has arrived and he greets him with a listless smile. Dean returns it and holds up a small flask. Castiel shakes his head in silent refusal, because these are the moment's he cherishes. He doesn't want anything interfering with his senses. He wants to savor as much of this fragile peace as he can.
Dean shrugs and walks across the roof to settle down next to Castiel, his legs dangling off the edge. Once he's settled he unscrews the top of the flask and downs several gulps, not even wincing at the burn down his throat.
He doesn't offer it to Castiel again, knowing that if he wants it Castiel will take a drink without invitation. They're far beyond courtesies.
Minutes slide by disturbed only by the sound of their rhythmic breathing and the occasional rustle of clothing as they moved. The camp beneath them is asleep and even the zombies seem to have settled for a brief time.
"Do you ever think about what we'd actually do if we won this?" Castiel asks. He's surprised at himself for breaking the silence. He was pondering the question but didn't mean to ask it aloud. However now that it's out in the air he continues.
"I mean-" he lets out a sharp, bitter laugh - "I mean if we actually manage to do it right this time and 'save the world" he gestures with a dramatic wave of his hand " and kill Lucifer - what are we going to do then?"
Dean flexes his jaw in response and for several minutes Castiel believes that is the only answer he's going to get. The silence stretches between them and he picks absently-mindedly at his ragged jeans.
Then, to his surprise Dean speaks. "If we survive it you mean?" it's a rhetorical question and Dean pause only for a moment before answering "We're gonna open up all the alcohol we can find and the whole camp is going to get drunk off their asses."
Castiel smiles at that and nods in agreement. But that wasn't where he was going with his question and Dean knows it. He waits in silence for Dean to continue.
Dean looks resolutely out at the stars, cold and utterly unconcerned with the going-ons in the world they shine on. "You and I - we'd -" he pauses here and lets out a gruff cough before continuing "We'd have one last night in our cabin..."
Castiel knows there's more but he can't resist giving Dean a lascivious grin and saying "Sounds like a plan"
Dean ignores him, his voice suddenly growing hard "And then I'd grab my gun and take a one-way trip downstairs to find my brother."
Castiel's heart seems to stop for a moment, gripped by a sudden cold claw and he finds himself unable to speak. Of course he's suspected something like that would be the end of Dean's story. How else could it go? But hearing it come from Dean's mouth, with such conviction, is another thing entirely.
But the very worst part is he understands. So he simply nods his head in acceptance.
After several moments of heavy silence Dean clears his throat and asks "Why, Cas? What're you gonna do?"
Dean has been through too much to allow his voice or face to betray his emotions, but Castiel still swears he hears the whisper of a waiver in his tone. Fear perhaps. Or hope? Castiel doesn't even know anymore.
Castiel shifts to face him completely. Dean doesn't move, his gaze still focused on the sky, but Castiel doesn't mind.
"I would write a letter to everyone in the camp -I don't even know what I would say but I feel like I should say something to them - and then I'd take that damn gun from your hands and follow you down." Castiel gives his answer in an emotionless tone. Practical and matter-of-fact as if he's telling someone about a family trip he's planning.
Dean flinches at the words and immediately argues "What? No, Cas. No." as if he has some say in the matter.
Castiel raises a curious eyebrow at his protest and Dean continues "No - if we save the world and you get out alive then you stay alive. You find a way to be happy - somebody should be."
Castiel shakes his head and laughs, but it mirthless and hollow "Be happy, Dean? With you dead? How is that supposed to work?"
Dean clenches his jaw and Castiel realizes he shouldn't' have said that. There is a tenuous understanding of what they mean to one and other but they've never stated anything in relation to it.
No "I love you" or "You're all I'm living for" or "You're the one bright spot in this screwed up world" Though those are the sort of things that sometimes tumble around in their minds and hearts when they aren't careful.
Sometimes in the quiet minutes after their climax one of them might utter something, in the barest whisper, that's akin to an expression of affection, but it's always ignored. It's an unspoken agreement that bringing the heart into things would just make it more complicated.
Dean takes a large swig of whisky and for a moment Castiel thinks he's going to leave. It wouldn't surprise him, Dean's method for dealing with emotions is to run from them. Not that Castiel can really talk, his method of dealing with them is to suppress them with drugs.
"Dean.." he starts in protest, his tone asking him to stay, promising he won't bring it up again. Dean waves his hand, gesturing for silence.
"It's okay, Cas. I get it - I don't think I'd be happy with you dead either." is all he says, but it's enough.