Title: Lightly Falling Through A Whisper Of Sky (1/1)
Character(s): Dean Winchester, Castiel, Lilith, Sam Winchester, John Winchester
Ship(s): Dean/Lilith, Dean/Castiel if you squint real, real hard
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1280
Summary: Ignorance is bliss, and knowledge is terrifying. Dean knows this better than most.
Disclaimer: Do I look like I own anything? :(
Author's Notes: This isn't really anything special - just my speculations on where season five might be heading in fic form, with a little bit of my own personal kink thrown in (ie, Dean/Lilith). Partially inspired by my friend. Sheena Also dedicated to Sheena, because without her, I would not have my darling Dean Winchester.
Dean always knows when Sam sneaks out in the middle of the night; he just doesn't know why. He doesn't want to know. Ignorance is bliss, and knowledge is terrifying. Dean knows this better than most.
He always knows when Castiel is watching. It's quite a feeling, having an angel watch over you, one that you can feel even in your deepest dreams. Comforting and uncomfortable all at once. Awe-inspiring and unbearable. It's the only time Dean has ever felt faith overshadow cynicism. When Castiel watches over him, he can almost let himself believe in God.
Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don't. Even when they do, he never asks about Sam, never thinks about Sam, because Castiel has no problem telling Dean the truth.
Dean doesn't want the truth, not anymore. He's tired of truth – his father's truth, God's truth, Lucifer's, all of it.
He drinks a lot when Castiel watches over him, just in case.
Lilith finds him alone one day, and Dean doesn't know what to do. She offers him a deal – the same deal she offered Sam – and he doesn't know what to do. He just stands there, frozen, jaw set and fists clenched. She slinks over to him and snakes a hand around him. "It's a good deal and you know it," she says, delicately resting her other hand on his chest. He stiffens and says nothing.
"Oh, come on, Dean, don't be shy," she purrs, lips too close to his face, too close – she flashes him a brief hellish smile and he can't look away, and he knows what she's going to say next – he doesn't want to hear it, but the bitch keeps talking, sickly sweet and sweetly spiteful – "It's not like we haven't done this before. You do remember all the fun we had in Hell together, don't you?"
He punches her. It feels good until she starts laughing. "Get out," he growls through his teeth, breathing hard and hating himself and hating her.
"Fine." Her nose is broken and bleeding, but she's still laughing – laughing joyously. Dean feels sick.
The feeling doesn't go away when she leaves. Sam comes back and finds Dean bent over the toilet, and while Dean is purging and tries to forget, he can feel Castiel's eyes on him, and Dean almost wishes that he was dead, but then he remembers what is waiting for him – he remembers who is waiting for him in Hell, and he vomits until he dry-heaves, and he heaves until he passes out.
In his dreams, Castiel is standing in the doorway of the bathroom while Dean is curled on the floor. "You resisted temptation," Castiel states, cold but surprised. "You didn't take the deal."
Dean can barely nod his head. He's weak even in his own dreams.
Castiel nods once and looks at his feet. "Thank you," he says softly. "You're stronger than they thought you were. You proved them wrong."
"Proved who wrong?" Dean croaks.
"The other angels." And then he's gone, and Dean finally hears Sam shouting his name, and he wakes up. He's still on the bathroom floor, and the cold dirty linoleum beneath his cheek is inexplicably reassuring.
Sam is panicked, asking what's the matter, what happened, and Dean chuckles feebly, mumbling, "He said they, not we. The other angels. Not him." He chuckles again, and Sam rolls his eyes, thinking his brother drunk. Dean doesn't bother to correct him. All truth hurts, and he's gotta protect Sammy. Always protect Sammy. Dad said so.
He sleeps, and for the first time since Castiel dragged him out of hell, he doesn't dream. He thanks God for that.
But then he does dream, and it's not Castiel who visits him, but his father, and he knows he's having a nightmare. Dad looks like hell – like he's been there too long, like he's about to snap. Dean knows the feeling, but he still can't help but feel horrified, seeing his dad like this. "Why didn't you listen to me, Dean?" John Winchester begs, tears streaking his bloody face, accusations ripping free from his tortured body.
Baffled, Dean breathes quietly, "Listen? Dad, what do you mean, I did listen –"
"No, you didn't!" his father shouts, his voice bestial and more high-pitched than Dean ever thought was possible. "I told you to kill him if you couldn't save him!"
Dean takes a step backward and consciously forces each breath of air in and out of his lungs. "Seriously, Dad, what are you talking about?" he asks, his confusion and horror making him laugh nervously. "I saved him, I saved Sammy, you know that!"
"No, you didn't," a voice says from behind him. "You let him live."
He blinks, and his father is gone; he turns, and Lilith is there. She looks like his first girlfriend, a cheerleader with auburn hair and pale skin and gray eyes instead of green. Dean doesn't remember her name, but he does remember the inaudible sound her lips used to make when she called out for him.
"You made a mistake, Dean," she taunts cheerfully. Her lips don't make that sound anymore. "You shouldn't have made that deal."
They begin to circle each other, and he smirks bitterly and darkly, his only defense now. "I didn't realize you were such a broken record, Lilith. I've already heard this speech from you." He pauses and catches his breath as the memories surge forward, and then he continues, softer, his smirk falling, "Couple hundred times, actually."
"Oh, I remember," she says brightly, relishing the memory as Dean tries his hardest to forget, "but that doesn't make it any less true. You're the reason why the apocalypse is upon us, Dean." She passes behind him and whispers into his ear, "You and your idiotic brotherly love."
Dean closes his eyes and feels her arms wrap around him, and a perverse sense of familiarity washes over him. He remembers how this felt when he was fifteen, except now there is no feeling of safety or love – there is only violation and lust. He looks down into her gray eyes and sees the truth as she speaks it. "If you had just let little Sammy die, none of this would have happened. I never would've opened the seals, you never would've gone to Hell, and everything would be… well, almost normal." She grins wickedly. "You should've let him die, Dean. Now you won't be able to stop him."
She kisses him, and this time, he lets her.
When he finally wakes up, Sam isn't there, but Castiel is. Cas just looks at him and waits. For a moment, Dean doesn't know what to say, but then he finally asks, "Where's Sam?"
Castiel answers frankly. "I don't know."
And then, Dean knows the truth. He knows without Castiel telling him outright and without Lilith forcing it down his throat. He knows that he has known for a long time now, ever since Dad died, and he knows why he never let himself think it.
He says it out loud. "Lilith, Lucifer, the demons – they're not the enemy, are they?"
Castiel looks away. "No. Your brother is."
Numb, Dean stands up and walks over to the bathroom. Splashes cold water on his face. Looks in the mirror. Hears Castiel whisper, "I'm sorry."
Dean looks at himself in the mirror and wishes he had never been born. This hell that's coming, he thinks, is far worse than the one he's faced before, and when all is said and done, he doubts an angel will be able to save him from anything, let alone himself.