This was written for oracle_thunder over at LJ who asked for "Historical Au... Pick any era you want... Dean/Cas, no wincest, and a happy ending please." Sooooo, I was supposed to write this about... 2 months ago? Haha, oops. :P I had a hard time pinning down a plot for this and instead of working hard at it, I put it aside for a loooong time, because I'm a terrible person. Anyways... O.o This is actually based off a song (surprise, surprise) and you should all LISTEN TO IT (Welcome Home by Radical Face) to enhance the experience. ^^ Please comment, it makes me happy and eager to write more. :)
Dean cards his fingers through Cas' thick, dark hair absentmindedly as he watches the other man try and make different shapes with the smoke billowing out from between his lips. The musty, overly sweet smell of it stains the crisp night air and Dean is secretly thankful his Austin Healey has no roof to trap the odor. He turns up the collar of his leather jacket against the wind before stealing the joint from the companion no one, least of all himself, would have guessed would be here now. Dean knows he's staring, but he can't help it. Castiel is so rarely relaxed and open as he is when he smokes and Dean wishes he could have stopped all the transgressions that made the young man this way. The two of them sit in companionable silence, neither daring to breach the quiet. They both know that once they start to talk about it, there is not turning back. For now they settle for trading hits and sharing gentle smiles.
At first Dean had only meant to breeze through this quiet community- stop for gas and a greasy meal at the local diner before continuing on his way to the west coast. The second the beautiful, blue-eyed gas station attendant had broken a shy smile his way while cleaning the windshield, that whole plan flew out the window. Dean flashed him an unabashed smirk and winked- receiving a deep flush in return. Dean slid out of his car and reclined against the hood, crossing his arms and trying to wipe away the excited grin that tugged at his lips. "You know where a guy without much scratch can get some decent food around here?"
The boy seemed to contemplate the question quite seriously for a moment- brow crinkling and a small frown pulling at his lips- before answering quietly, "Well, there's The Roadhouse Diner down the road a bit, but my father says it's inhabited by unmentionables." he whispers the last word and Dean can see the reluctance in the set of his shoulders. If he were a different person, Dean might have called the whole thing adorable.
"Oh, I think I can handle myself sugar, but your concern is appreciated." Dean's been through enough of these towns to know that the whole community is probably run by the local minister. They are tough to go against- usually charismatic men who make a point out of knowing each and every citizen and getting under their skin- and he can tell that this boy has had run-ins with him. It's written all over his features, in the way he's starting to fidget, the way Dean can tell he wants to say more, but has been taught not to. Dean knows he's not exactly inconspicuous with his tight jeans and tee, the rebellious leather jacket and the horned talisman hanging around his neck- his presence has most likely already been broadcast throughout the town. He licks his lips and rubs at his jaw for a moment or two before pulling a ten out of his pocket- enough for the full tank and a handy tip- and sauntering over to the boy. With a look that's anything but innocent he slides the money into the boy's back pocket. "What's your name, baby?"
"Castiel."
Once the joint is finished, Dean flicks the butt into the inky dark and lifts Cas' head by his chin. They kiss lazily as Dean exhales the smoke out his nostrils and melts into the smaller boy's touch. He finds himself sliding further and further down until they are lying half on top each other to keep from falling off the seat. "It's almost morning, babe." Dean whispers, his voice rough from disuse. He can feel Cas' long fingers trailing across his face, occasionally brushing over his eyelids to make sure they're still closed. He doesn't get an answer for a long time, just reveling in the feel of those hands on his face and Castiel's lips brushing his neck and shoulders. Slowly, he lets his own hands find the hem of Cas' shirt and his fingers push up and under it, tracing the raised edges he finds there.
It didn't take long for Dean to find out Castiel was the local minister's youngest son- it's just his luck. He finds it interesting to learn that they have been a bit on the outs for a while now, and though he uses all the charm he has at his disposal (which is nothing to sneeze at) he can't get anyone to tell him why. The boy stuck around town after high school, working at the gas station, and his father still controls much of his life, which is unsurprising news. Dean's pulling up to a small lake surrounded by trees on the outskirts of town that he's been told Castiel likes to frequent on his days off when he first notices that he has no idea what he's going to say- what excuse he had for being here. Taking a sip from the canteen he keeps underneath the seat, he feels encouraged by the burn that works its way down his throat.
Dean walks along the perimeter of the shore for a few minutes before he spots some clothes hanging from the branch of a nearby tree and he cocks his head when he hears a soft voice singing. The surprisingly deep baritone sends shivers down his spine and he recognizes the lines from Folsom Prison Blues, a relatively unknown single recently released by an up-and-comer named Johnny Cash "Well I know I had it coming, I know I can't be free. But those people keep a movin' and that's what tortures me." He turns another bend before the scene finally opens up to him- a naked Castiel standing waist deep in the lake, eyes closed, voice lilting in song as he presses a red stained rag to the angry mutilated skin of his back. Dean draws in a sharp, involuntary breath and stumbles, crashing into the clearing.
Castiel turns at the sound of the intrusion, eyes wide with fright, before plunging deeper into the water to cover his torso. The young man sputters and flounders in the water- desperate to get to his clothes, but unwilling to surface again. Dean rubs at the back of his neck and goes to offer a sheepish smile before he remembers the ragged scars torn open on the boy's back and scrambles to his feet with an angry frown instead. "Either you come out or I'm goin' in!" He walks to the edge of the water and moves to kick off his boots- showing how serious he is. Cas' mouth opens and closes several times before he starts to wade forward, shoulders sagging and eyes downcast. He hesitates for a moment when the water reaches his hips, but with a brief glance at Dean's determined glare, he slogs forward, not bothering to cover himself with his hands. As soon as he is close enough Dean grabs Cas by his forearms and whirls the other boy around. "Jesus Christ." Dean whispers without thought.
A spider-web network of raised scars run the length of Castiel's back and Dean can spot a couple of lines that are still fresh and bleeding. His hands are shaky as he touches them gingerly, making sure the knotted flesh isn't hot or showing any other signs of infection. It takes a few moments before he notices the smaller man is shivering and shrugs off his jacket to wrap it around his shoulders. Cas hasn't said anything yet and looks a bit like he's in shock so Dean gathers his clothes before picking him up, bridal style, and carrying him to the car.
Castiel squirms underneath him now as his fingers trace the lines beneath his shirt, and the younger man breathes heavier against his neck. Dean remembers the anger that coursed through his veins like fire when he finally managed to coax Cas into telling him how he came by the numerous scars. The boy's father- being an old fashioned minister- had been flogging his children for their "sins" since their teenage years, and Castiel being of a certain inclination, as he put it, had it worse than the rest of the others. Now he only felt a surge of protectiveness and compassion as he clutched Cas closer to his chest. The sun began to filter through the early morning sky and an orange-pink nova blossomed across the sky. "They'll be waking up soon." he prompts again.
Castiel pulls just far enough away from him to look into Dean's eyes, his own flickering around, frightened. He looks over Dean's shoulder to the back seat where a hastily packed duffel bag contains everything he owns, along with Dean's guitar and own bag of belongings. He doesn't think he's cut out for life on the road- he's not strong like Dean, skilled like Dean, or charming and eloquent like Dean- but here he is, unable to convince himself that it wouldn't work. This car already feels more like his home than the house he grew up in ever did, and Dean is the first person that has ever made him feel safe and at home in his skin. Though the idea makes his stomach roil- he wouldn't have it any other way. He looks back at Dean and tries his best to make his voice sound confident. "Take me away from here." The smile that Dean flashes makes this- makes all of it worth it.