A/N: Thanks of course to the Great Kripke for giving us the boys, Dean and Sam Winchester and the wonderful Castiel. This little story idea though, is all mine. And thanks too to my Eye Color Advisor, GrumpyMagrat, for letting me run some things by her.
The Deal-Maker
Summary: When a new deal is made, of an all-together different kind.
"Dean...this will not help," the familiar voice of quiet patience intoned from behind.
Dean Winchester lay slumped over yet another bar in yet another small Mid-Western town; the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and bruised cheek, evidence of some bar-room brawl. He'd had to deal with some gawd-awful crap in his time; seen and done things that would make any normal person go insane, not to mention the worry over his brother and the almost impossible burden of the promise he'd made to their father. And then there was Hell. Now, there was a 'fun' place to be!
It all weighed heavily on him at times, too heavy and more and more he wondered just how long he could carry on. He was exhausted too from lack of proper sleep, dreading the nightmares that awaited him and the solace he'd often found in a bottle was becoming less and less effective.
Raising his head, the dark-haired hunter cast a sleepy, glazed-over smile at his trench coat-clad companion. "Hey Cas, baby...what's a nice guy like you doin in a place like this? Told you I'd be home later, hunny. Guess you just can't live without me, huh! What is it? My dazzling smile, scintillating conversation...my perky little......!
"You're drunk, Dean," Castiel quietly intoned. There was no disapproval, no condemnation; only compassionate understanding.
"No, shit," Dean drawled lazily, in that deep, rich nasal tone. "Hey, wanna come get drunk with me, Cas? No, you wouldn't...couldn't, could ya? You don't even know what 'drunk' is."
"It is the intake of enough intoxicating substance, to try to numb all emotional pain," the Angel returned calmly, the passive expression on his face never changing. "I believe the expression is, 'drowning your sorrows'."
Dean's jaw dropped but briefly; though the truth of the Angel's words bit deep. "Well, aren't we the holy know-it-all!"
The bartender leaned forward, nodding in Castiel's direction. "He some do-gooder, walkin encyclopedia or something! Bet he's a barrel-a-laughs back home."
"Pal...you have no idea," Dean slurred dryly. The demeanour changed though, as is usual in the pleasantly drunk and the hunter slid a companionable arm around Castiel's shoulder, squeezing in 'good buddy' fashion. "But he loves me really...don't you, buddy. Hell, old Cas here loves everybody." Dean gave the angel a good-natured pat on the chest.
Castiel never wavered; neither riled nor shocked. He was too well used to the elder Winchester's dry barbs by now. He alone knew the deep torment of Dean Winchester's soul; for not only had he pulled that soul from the foulest pit of Hell but the command he had given the hunter, regarding his brother, Sam, he knew was tearing Dean apart; "stop him or we will".
"Yes, Dean...I do," came the simple, yet heavily-weighted reply.
And somehow the dark-haired Winchester knew the Angel wasn't referring to 'everybody'!
"Yeah....he's my angel," Dean smiled sleepily. Of course, no one was to know he meant that quite literally!
Seems though, not everyone in 'small town, America' was appreciating the 'love' and Dean Winchester's dry humor.
"Faggots." The malicious remark was spat with venomous disgust from somewhere behind, followed by sneering laughter.
The dark-haired hunter was too drunk to hear the remark. Just as well, else another bar-room brawl might well have ensued but nothing escaped the super acute hearing of the Angel of the Lord.
Righteous anger rose in Castiel at that moment. How dare these people be so derogatory about the hunter; this man who had given so much, sacrificed so much and whose hardest times were yet ahead; all so they could continue living in their safe, self-righteous little world, unaware of the true cost. He had almost called them 'mud-monkeys', such was his anger; his colleague Uriel's rather unsavoury term and not one he had agreed with...until perhaps, now. No, they had no idea of the true meaning of love.
Castiel turned and fixed the insulters, three men at a table, middle-aged, beer-bellied and sporting baseball caps, with a withering look. It was enough to make the men shrink back with guilt, unable to meet the gaze of those righteous blue eyes.
Meanwhile back at the bar!
Totally oblivious to the fact his warrior angel had almost gone to war on his behalf and still in his happily drunken state, Dean slapped a hand down on the counter. "Hey, Bar-Keep....another drink...a guy could die of thirst around here. Come on...one more for the road."
The bartender was looking decidedly nervous now, not wanting any more trouble tonight; he liked his place, just the way it was. So, even though he found the intensely serious 'do-gooder' somewhat foreboding, he was at least, sober. "Hey, Mister....why don't you just take your friend here and go. I think he's had enough."
The intensely serious blue eyes swung back in the bartender's direction, causing the poor man to also instinctively shrink back in seeming guilt before softening completely when fixed once more on his human charge. "It's time to go, Dean. We need to get you to bed, so you can sleep."
Without waiting for compliance or protest, Castiel hooked Dean's arm around his neck, slid his own arm around the hunter's waist and hauled him easily off the bar stool, to his feet. The action though caused Dean to wince from the pain of bruised ribs.
A silly grin then plastered on the handsome hunter's features only for him, a few moments later to turn rather melancholy. "Gonna tuck me in and read me a story too, huh? Know any with a happy ending, Cas? I like...like a happy ending."
"I know of only one story. It is perhaps, the greatest story of all," the angel returned quietly and sadly knowing his companion had not heard, with Dean having slumped heavily against him only moments before.
It seemed too like bravado had returned to the three sitting at the table; cowardly bigots that they were, waiting until there was a reasonable distance between them and the two strangers. As Castiel, still supporting the drunken hunter, almost reached the door, more murmuring disparaging calls of "faggots" could be heard.
Now, Castiel did not have the penchant for 'smiting' that his 'specialist' colleague, Uriel had but this time, the Angel warrior had had enough. 'Smiting' though, did always have to mean, total destruction!
Merely half-turning his head in their direction. "If you cannot speak good of a person, then perhaps it is better...you do not speak at all." From under furrowed brows, he then turned the full weight of his authoritative gaze, to give a subtle wave of two fingertips.
Immediately, fits of coughing could be heard, to be followed by panicky grasping of throats. It was to be more than a week before the three men finally found their voices again; coughing fits ensuing each and every time an unkind word was uttered. And with that, the pair left.
Dean Winchester lay drowsily staring up at the drab ceiling of their latest seedy motel room, with absolutely no recollection of how he got back here or indeed, just how long he'd been back. However, he was not that drunk that the protective instinct failed to kick in.
"Where...where's Sammy?" Dean slurred in still drunken stupor; rousing quickly, too quickly to look about the rather spartan room. Big mistake. His head swam, his face hurt and his bruised side ached.
"Do not worry, Dean. Sam is with your friend, the hunter Bobby Singer...he had some things he wanted to show Sam that would help you in your latest quest," the Angel assured.
One thing Dean knew for sure; if Castiel said Sam was with Bobby, then that's where he was. The Angel would always tell him the truth. Might not always be the 'truth' he wanted to hear and if ever Castiel skirted about an issue or wasn't entirely forthcoming, Dean knew it was only because it was bad. But Castiel never lied to him; he could rely on his angel, one hundred per cent.
Dean flopped back gratefully against the pillows, to realise Castiel had been sitting on the bed, just quietly watching him. It had been unnerving at first when the angel started doing that but now he found it strangely comforting. In fact, he missed that look of deep-in-thought, serious intensity whenever he woke and found that Castiel wasn't there.
"Still wanna get your 'rocks' off, watchin me sleep, huh!" Dean groused drowsily.
Again the Angel ignored the dry humor.
"Your battle has been a long and hard one, Dean Winchester," he soothed. "But now it's time for you to sleep."
"Why? Cus you need me refreshed, 'on my game'....because of 'the bigger picture'! Well, screw 'the bigger picture'...screw it all."
"You don't mean that, Dean," Castiel returned quietly, understanding enough to know the hunter was in deep pain and just plain exhausted.
That voice, that mesmerising voice and oh so willing patience, always seemed to find a way through; finding that vulnerable spot in his heart. "I'm tired, Cas....just so gawd-damn tired," the eldest Winchester sighed wearily.
"I know, Dean...but for your own good, sleep is what you need...."
"No, Cas...nooo. Don't let me sleep....pleeease. Don't make me go there," the dark-haired hunter implored, knowing the Angel, with a mere touch of his fingertips, had the power to make him sleep and that that seemed to be the intention. He drank, so he could doze in drunken stupor but never properly sleep.
Pained sea-green eyes met blue and touched the heart of an angel.
"Then I'll make you a deal, Dean Winchester," Castiel considered carefully.
A Deal. That small, seemingly innocuous word had so many bad connotations for him; caused him so much trouble and pain. Not only him but Sam too had had to deal with the consequences of a once desperate deal and now here was the Angel Warrior offering him another one! He definitely wasn't hearing right, was he! It must be the drink!
Dean let go a helpless laugh. "Sorry, dude...thought I heard you say, 'deal'. Think I've had enough of those to last me a lifetime....hell, an eternity! Oh yeah, that's right...it did involve eternity. Hell-fire eternity."
"This one is different," Castiel assured.
"What? No sacrifice!" the wearied hunter retorted with dry sarcasm.
"There's always sacrifice, Dean," the Angel returned quietly.
Of course there was, the cynic in Dean thought bitterly. "So, what is it this time? Traded my soul once...."
He wasn't quite prepared for what came next, so when the hunter heard the terms, he thought he surely wasn't hearing right. "That's it! I don't get drunk...no, intake of intoxi....intoxicate...whatever....."
"Just not enough to try and drown your pain, Dean," Castiel replied. "It does not work."
He was so tempted to a 'come-back' of "No shit" but in all honesty, couldn't raise the enthusiasm, so went instead with a less antagonistic option. "So, what's your part then...in this, Deal?"
"I help you sleep. You will know no bad dreams."
No bad dreams. He could barely remember a time when he'd had no bad dreams, whether it was the worry of where Sammy was heading or the worst nightmares of his time in the Pit.
"You...you can do that!" Dean asked; his voice cracking with clearly over-come emotion. Gawd, he so craved deep and peaceful sleep; as much as he had craved the light and cool, clean fresh air, when stifled in the burning sulphorous fumes of the Pit.
"Yes," the Angel quietly assured. "Nothing will touch you, Dean while you sleep....I will see to that. You will sleep like never before. You only need let go to me, Dean."
And now it was all about trust; trust in the deepening bond of friendship between them.
"You would do that....for me!" the weary hunter quizzed, barely able to take in what Castiel was offering but then feeling worthy of other's love for him had never been his strong point. "Aren't you, like needed...some place else...for more important stuff...for the Fight!"
"This is important. I'm needed here, Dean," came back the quietly determined answer.
It was then the dark-haired hunter realised just what Castiel was saying; the full extent of the sacrifice the Angel was prepared to make; that every night Castiel would forego his place beside his angel brothers in the Fight, to be with him, in order that he could peacefully sleep.
In the end, the Deal was not that hard to make; really it was just swapping one addiction for another! And as two fingertips were pressed lightly against his forehead, Dean Winchester felt himself carried away into peaceful sleep; held in the arms of an Angel.
A/N: When I got to the end, just couldn't help thinking of In The Arms Of An Angel by Sarah McLachlan. Oh and the '3 men at the table' are not meant, in any way, to reflect the attitudes of people of the Mid-West. Sadly, bigots and unkind people can be found anywhere.