Author: Mistofstars

Pairing: Future!Dean / Future!Castiel (5X04-endverse-versions)

Warnings: sad, drama, hurt, comfort, endverse-based, ficlet, romance, angst, a bit smuttys

Author's note: Oh well, another endverse ficlet. I can't get over it. The first fanfiction thingy I wrote in months, so please be gentle lol. I should probably tell you that I'm in love with couples fighting. Feels.

Plot: Castiel is angry at Dean, because he worried about him and they had a fight. Can Dean make amends, and if so, will Castiel let him? (endverse / 5x04-universe)

Disclaimer: None of the characters mentioned belong to me or are my invention, they are property of the writers and creators of Supernatural. All of this is made up, I make no money with this. No copyright infringement is intended.

Defying

Warm, slender fingers stroked through his hair, played with the soft ends of it. Still, he didn't turn around. Castiel lay in an embryonic position, his knees drawn to his middle, one arm tugged under his head. His other, outer arm lay idly next to him on the blood-stained, old mattress. Somewhere behind the mattress, there were used syringes and crusted spoons strewn over the floor. The gentle, calloused fingertips traveled from his back of the head to his nape and twisted some wisps of hair playfully. It caused him goosebumps, and a familiar warmth built up in his stomach. Still, he didn't turn around.

„Cas, it's been two days...," his voice lamented quietly. A tense silence ensued. He could recognize the pleading undertone in his words, the gnawing worry. Then, an attempt to be accusing, scolding and humorous at the same time. „Don't think I didn't notice. Chuck is responsible for the rations, and even he came to me and told me. You couldn't hide this from me. Are you aware of that?"

Castiel sensed raging wrath that sprung up vehemently. Who gave Dean the right to worry, when he refused to let others worry about him in return? When would he finally understand that two could play this game, that death wasn't an exclusive right only he owned? The hand on Castiel's neck stopped as Dean awaited an answer from the dark-haired man. Castiel wasn't planning on ever giving him one. He slowly moved nearer the adjacent wall, his blue eyes regarding the evidence of his drug abuse. Currently, he was coming down from a glass of absinthe, which had made his limbs heavy and his thoughts sluggish. It was always heartbreaking to sober up and remember why he had tried to numb himself in the first place. The tearing nothingness, this gaping hole in his stomach, it never vanished or decreased. No matter how much he drank, no matter what pills he swallowed, what drug he injected... the black wound of his heart was greedy and barely curable. The elation he artificially created never lasted long. Soon, the cracks returned, and more often than not, there were more cracks than before.

„Please, you have to eat at some point," Dean pleaded again, his voice soft and tender. Castiel couldn't stand it. It only fueled his anger. Memories flashed before his mind's eye. In his thoughts, he still saw Dean on the ground, covered by a wild horde of croates. He still remembered how Dean's hands had clawed at the porous asphalt, searching for a weapon or something to hold on to. Then the loud, ringing out gunshots. The infected humans that had flopped to the ground around Deans. The countless head-shots, from which dark blood had dribbled. His relief to know Dean was saved, once more. Their terrible fight back in the camp thereafter. How Dean had shoved him away, both hands on Castiel's chest, his face contorted with distress. Ever since, Castiel had refused to eat.

He had indulged in an endless, lonesome party with his good old friends, namely alcohol and pills, and sometimes methadone. They reduced the fear of death he was imbued with, the anxiety he felt for Dean. From time to time, he couldn't endure the idea of having to witness Dean's forthcoming, certain death and not being able to help him or resurrect him. If God had truly left him to his own devices, well, at least he had provided for him with these little auxiliary means that lessened the ache. It didn't help, howsoever, that Dean was more reckless than ever before, that he didn't give a damn whether he lived or died. Now that Sam was gone, now that Lucifer walked with Sam Winchester's feet, there wasn't much that kept Dean in the here and now. There had been times when Dean's eyes had been alight with passion and love whenever he had stared at Castiel, and this must have been enough to remind him there still was something worth living for. But, alas, the more Castiel had fretted about him (his safety, his well-being...) the more that fire had died down again, only to be replaced with tiredness and despair. It hurt to read the remaining emotions in Dean's eyes nowadays.

The hand came to rest on Castiel's shoulder blade. Still, he didn't turn around. Who did Dean think he was, that he demanded Castiel should take care of himself, when he didn't give a damn about his own life as well? Dean sighed in an exhausted manner. Castiel's heart clenched. He longed to turn around and engulf Dean in a bone-breaking, intimate hug, but he could imagine how Dean would react to that. He had no intentions of caving in. He stiffened violently the moment Dean's forehead touched his clothed shoulder. Castiel perceived the heat of his skin, the warmth of every recurring breath against his shirt. A heavy lump formed in his throat. His heart tripled its pace. His skin prickled with electricity. Dean's arm came around his, thus framing it. His hand covered Castiel's bony, roughened hand almost protectively.

„Is this about our latest fight?"

Tears welled up in Castiel's eyes. He buried his face in the worn out, tattered pillow, thus preventing that Dean could catch a glimpse of his features. Dean's thumb began stroking his back of the hand affectionately, and a part of Castiel's insides thawed, warmed towards Dean. He became rigid when Dean's sinful lips touched his ear, when hot exhales wafted against his temple. Arousal curled up in his abdomen. His breathing faltered momentarily.

„If so, I'm sorry, Cas. You know how I am... I'm sorry I made you worry about me. I will be more careful next time, all right?"

Clarity overwhelmed Castiel, and the intensity of the returning pain nearly choked him. A single tear streamed down his cheek, and before he knew it, a mute sob escaped him and made his torso quaver treacherously. Dean was there immediately. Castiel couldn't fight him, didn't even want to any longer. He was wrapped up in Dean's arms instantly, caught in a tight, desperate hug, chest to chest. He half lay in his lap, and Dean held the rest of his weight with his strong hands. Soothing palms stroked up and down his trembling back. Smooth, wet lips left breathy kisses on his neck, teeth nibbled at his shoulder... The rapture that rushed through his veins was magnificent. He dug his fingers vigorously into Dean's muscular back, because the world was spinning, and his arousal overpowered him. His and Dean's erections slid together, he moaned lewdly as the hot, hard line pressed against his own. Suddenly, a black fog veiled his vision, and his grip on Dean became lax. In a second, he was boneless and hanging limp in Dean's arms. He barely noticed how he was placed down again, that his head hit the pillow ever so slowly. He lost his conscience, grateful that the ache and the yearning stopped.

The next time Castiel opened his eyes, Dean sat cross-legged in front of him, a wary smile on his lips.

„Hey...," he whispered cautiously. Then, he stirred in a bowl with a spoon. He pushed it towards Castiel, whereupon the other frowned suspiciously. Chicken soup, he soon recognized. The urging, pleading glance in Dean's eyes said it all. As the smell entered Castiel's nostrils, his stomach grumbled and protested loudly against the lack of food. Dean held out the spoon for him, the slightest notion of the former light in his eyes had returned. Castiel was fascinated with the spectrum of love for him Dean displayed with a few, meaningful looks and smiles. Maybe his love for Castiel had never withered, maybe it had just hid itself very deeply. Dean waggled with the spoon impatiently.

„Please, man... I need you."

Castiel took it into consideration for a minute. He tentatively took the spoon. Their fingers grazed one another as if on purpose – Dean smiled lovingly.

THE END

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