SO LONG I'LL SEE YA
Castiel gets evacuated to North Carolina when Dean makes clear he can't stay with them at the bunker. Abandoned by the Winchesters he starts figuring out how to be human — but is that really all there is? (Yeah. I suck at summaries.)
"Cas, you have to leave. You're not safe here," Dean says. He's trying to sound resolute and matter-of-fact, but he doesn't. He has that wrinkle between his eyebrows.
"But Sam said…"
"Yeah, Sam's right: this might be the safest place for you. But the angels will find you here, so you can't stay. Even we couldn't keep out an army of angels for long. You know that."
"Of course," he says, because he doesn't know what else to tell him. Castiel always thought that when he was cast out of Heaven he'd have a place with the Winchesters. It never was an 'if' for him, always a 'when' he would fall. At least after he dragged righteous Dean from the depths of Hell. The proverbial rug has been pulled out from under his feet. He struggles to breath.
"Don't think I — we don't want you here, because we do. I want you to stay, believe me, but there's no way. Do you understand?" Castiel does not understand.
...
In the morning Sam gives him a bag and helps him pack. There isn't much, but Sam puts some new things in there that he says might come in handy. A toothbrush and toothpaste, underwear, a bottle of aspirin with a yellow post it note stuck on it with strict instruction on how to use, a wallet with an ID with Jimmy Novak's face and John Bonham's name on it, and a copy of 'The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency' because Sam thinks he'll like it. Dean gives him some of his old plaid shirts and a pair of jeans with not that many holes in them.
"If you're going to mainstream you have to skip the trench coat sometimes, if you know what I mean?" Castiel doesn't know what he means, but he likes the thought of wearing Dean's clothes.
Castiel is silent from the moment they leave the bunker until they cross the state line into West Virginia. He fakes being asleep in the backseat so he doesn't have to talk, but Dean doesn't care about that. He talks to himself and to Castiel, calling his name now and again to coax some kind of answer out of him. Normally, it would be so very pleasant to have the drone of Dean's voice in his ears, but now Castiel tries to filter it out. Dean probably just wants to play nice, to smooth over the fact that they are abandoning him.
"Can you hear when I pray to you?" he asks suddenly.
"What?" Castiel pretends to wake up. Faking gets easier and easier everyday, but the bad feeling that he associates with it is still as bad.
"I mean, you don't have your grace anymore, so you aren't technically an angel. Your mojo is missing, if you know what I mean? Can you hear if someone prays to you?"
"I don't think so. I can hear the angels talking, but… it's starting to fade."
"Aw, hell. That must be…"
"A good thing. It's not as distracting this way. The less I hear my brothers and sisters the more I can think clearly." It's true. The noise the remaining angels make is deafening and blows everything else from his mind. It's like having a thunderbolt stuck in his head. It hurts like nothing he has felt before. The sooner it stops he can start working at becoming more human. He thinks he wants that now.
They stop at a motel just outside a Lenoir, North Carolina. The Landing isn't a very nice motel, but at least the room turns out to be somewhat hygienic and it is close to an untouched woodland area Castiel wouldn't mind to explore. Dean puts a credit card on the desk in exchange for a key card, and later tells him that the room he's staying in is paid for, that he can stay in it for at least four months.
"You take this phone," he says and hands him a small cellphone with blue buttons. "I've programmed a few numbers that might come in handy if there's problem. There's Sam and Garth — remember him? There's an old hippie gone hunter who lives in these parts, so I added her number as well. Her name is Ladybug Moondust, and if you call her: Be very polite."
"Yes, Dean. Is your number in the cell phone?"
"Of course. A couple of them, actually. If there's anything, just hit me up. I'll do what I can. So, you'll need to get a job or something. The room is paid for, but you have to eat and get new clothes and whatnot. I put some cash in your bag, but that ain't gonna last for ever."
"Yes."
"I'm gonna check in on you now and again, you hear? You're not on your own in this. I'll call you in a couple of days. Hell, maybe Sam and I can swing by and see how you're doing if we have any business close by. You'll see us soon enough."
Dean's got a look on his face like he's trying to hide how worried he is. Castiel has seen him use it a lot around both Sam and himself. Mostly around himself, though. Dean puts his hands on his shoulders and digs fingers down in trench coat and shirt. It doesn't hurt, but it should.
"You gonna be okay?" Castiel just hangs his head. He doesn't want to answer that, because either he's going to hurt them both or he'll have to lie, and he's very bad at lying. This is a goodbye, and he's not supposed to make it harder than it has to be. If Dean catches the omission, he doesn't show it.
"Okay. Look, Cas, I gotta go. Sam's waiting."
He lets go of his shoulders and walks away. Castiel thinks his heart and lungs are going to implode when the door clicks closed. It's so much harder to say goodbye now.
...
So Castiel finds a job at a small supermarket. The owner, Harriet, urges him to take lunch breaks and go outside, but he doesn't. He does restocking, works at the register and cleans when it needs to be done. He lives out of the motel room Dean set him up in and eats food with passed sell by dates that Harriet gives him for free. He learns how to use a laundromat. He loses count of days.
Sam sends him texts every couple of days, telling him what they are up to and asking how he's doing, but all Castiel ever types back is 'OK'. He thinks a lot of Dean, and how he hasn't called or visited yet.
Working at the supermarket is not so bad. It's mainly about putting things on shelves, typing numbers into the register, counting money and smiling at the customers. He can do that, no problem. One day when he's refilling empty cartons of different candy bars and chewing gums by the register, he can feel something happening inside is head. It's a Tuesday morning, and he thinks he's going to explode. It's a familiar sizzling sensation, like a static build up in his brain.
…fucking Hell, I wish Cas could take a look this. Sam's gonna have me chained to the desk until the end of time. Hate translating! Fucking Enochian scrolls, man. I need reading glasses for this…
It's over as quickly as it started. Castiel reels. He drops Milky Ways on the floor.
"You alright?" Donnie asks. He's at the register that morning. Castiel doesn't trust his own voice, so he just nods.
"Hey, if you got low blood sugar you should go eat a banana. My cousin passes out like all the time from low blood sugar, and she swears bananas are the best quick cure."
Castiel likes Donnie. For an unruly sixteen-year-old boy, he's helpful and goodhearted, even if he tries to hide it sometimes when he thinks others are looking. Castiel gathers the scattered Milky Ways together and spends the rest of the day trying to focus on his work. But it's impossible to shake the picture of Dean wearing reading glasses and angrily thumbing scrolls. He smiles so much Harriet asks him what made him such a happy camper. But it doesn't matter that he doesn't understand why sleeping in tents has anything to do with his situation, because Dean has prayed to him, and he has heard.
...
It happens again the same night. The words are clearer and easier to make out. It's almost like before, when he had his Grace. This isn't just thoughts Dean happens to broadcast, this is as genuine as a prayer is going to get.
Hey Cas, I know you can't hear this, but I just wanna know that you're alright. We're doing well. And Sam's a lot better, he even managed to bitchslap a werewolf in the face yesterday without having his hand bitten off…Fuck, I wish you could hear me. I want to call you right now, I wanna hear your voice, but Sam'll kill me if I leave him alone with these chicks. Stupid Sam and his fancy-ass wine bars… I promise I'll call tomorrow. I miss you.
Castiel falls asleep quickly that night with a smile on his face. He thinks 'I miss you too, Dean'.
The next day Dean calls him, as he promised. As soon as Castiel gets off work, he makes sure that the cellphone is charged and ready. He puts the signal on max volume so he can be sure he won't miss the call when it comes. When he gets back to the motel, he puts the phone on the middle of the bed and waits. He still jumps out of his skin when it finally rings.
"Hey Cas, how you doing?" Dean sounds hoarse, like he's got a cold, and Castiel's stomach lurches.
"Are you alright? Dean, are you sick?"
"Yeah, no, just a long night out. Sam dragged me to a fucking wine bar last night. You wouldn't believe the chicks in that place. Like, all incredibly hot, predatory, and uh, vegetarian. They almost had a good ol'fashioned catfight over Sammy, I swear there would've been bloodshed if I hadn't stepped up and taken little miss Blonde Vegan back to her place." Dean chuckles. "So, you scored yet, virgin angel boy?"
"No." Castiel doesn't know what 'score' means in that context, but he can make an educated guess. He doesn't want to hear about Dean's 'score' either. "I got a job at a supermarket."
"Whoa, well done there! Only a few weeks as a human and already a fine, hardworking, tax-paying citizen." Dean sounds proud. "Everyone treating you good? No problems?"
"It's fine. No problems," he says. "When will you come and visit me?"
"Oh, I don't know. We're on a job in South Dakota right now, but we're finishing that up. We're going to Colorado afterwards, Sammy thinks there might be a wendigo outside Durango. I'll call you the minute I know we're swinging by, okay?"
"Okay."
The line goes silent. Dean doesn't have anything more to say, and Castiel has no idea on how or if he should start telling about everything he's learned about being human. He doesn't want to tell him about the prayers he overheard. Always have an ace up your sleeve. Dean had told him that once. They make their short goodbyes over the phone. As much as Castiel loves talking to Dean, it's nothing compared to hearing his voice in his head like earlier. When he's praying, he's more honest.
...
After that it becomes a regular thing. Dean doesn't pray to him every day, but almost. Most often it's at night, before he falls asleep. Castiel stays up waiting for it so he doesn't miss it. He imagines Dean sitting on his bed in the bunker as he does it, in the front seat of the Impala or in some motel room just like his own. Castiel knows exactly how he'd sit, he'd lean over, elbows on his knees and look up, as if he was praying to the heavens. But when he tries to remember the face Dean always makes when he's praying, he can't. It hurts him that his feeble human brain can't remember such an important thing. But through all that, Dean's voice comforts him. It makes it almost okay. Castiel makes up his mind to ask Sam for a photograph when he comes to visit.
Afterwards, when Dean's voice is still tingling in his mind he touches himself. Masturbation humans calls it. It helps Castiel's body wind down and temporarily forget how much he misses him. It feels good, and after a couple of tries he gets better at it.
He also wonders how that can be, that even when the angel-radio has gone silent, when he can't hear his brothers' and sisters' cries for help, he can still hear the prayers of one man. I miss you, Dean prays every time. I wish your were with me.
...
After a while the people at the supermarket starts to become something of a family. They don't know anything else about him than the name John Bonham and the history Sam helped him make up about his past, but he enjoys getting to know them. Castiel never thought that common people could be so complex and have full lives, but then he's never had to do with them before. He learns that Harriet, who is a tiny older woman with white close-cropped hair, in 1963 stole a motorcycle and drove all they way to the Grand Canyon with the young man she loved and married. Donnie likes orienteering, cats and the smell of rain. Neither of them likes Stephen who runs the cleaning business next door and both of them loves horror movies.
Castiel hasn't figured out the small details of his life yet, but it's quite an adventure. He gets to find out who he is, all the small things that really matters to only him. John Bonham is from Alliance, Nebraska, was raised in a strict Baptist family and he likes to take walks in the woods. Castiel isn't exactly comfortable with John Bonham yet, but he tries to merge the persona with himself to make him feel more right.
Castiel finds out he doesn't mind Stephen from the shoe shop, that he likes tomatoes, books about love, and crocheting, once Harriet shows him how to do it. He also finds out he doesn't like horror movies. Donnie invites him to go to the movies with his friends, but all Castiel can think about through the movie is the Winchesters. The young athlete who gets an axe in the face halfway through the movie is Sam. The hero is Dean, of course. Castiel wishes he could be like the small busty brunette in revealing clothes and cling to the loving hero. The young man is wise and keeps the group together and calm, but just as Castiel dares to hope he'll survive he gets dragged down under a shack and beaten to death. There's a close-up on the young man's face, full of scabs and wounds, and trickling with blood. Castiel feels lightheaded and panicky. He has seen that face before. He just wants to flee, but he's stuck in the middle of salon.
Harriet tries to bring him to 'First United Methodist Church' down on Ashe Avenue on a Sunday morning, but after sitting through all the singing and the minister preaching Castiel finds out that he's not even the least religious. Not in a human sense, any way. Through the 'Oh Praise you, Lord!' all he can think is 'This is your fault'.
...
He's at the store alone, sweeping the floor when the brain-sizzling happens again at daytime. It's different this time, he can feel that from the beginning. It's more intense. His name is on repeat, slow and breathy. Everything else is just vague images and sensations rolled into one. It's just Cas, Cas, Cas and blurry images of bodies. His and Dean's bodies. All the tattoos and scars are there, and there's no way he'd not recognize Dean. They are in a dark alley he recognizes from Ithaca, New York. Dean is pushing him up against a brick wall, and he's angry and lovely at the same time. Both of them dressed and then, with some interlude, they are both half naked and touching each other from top to toe. Dean bites at his neck and rubs his body against him. It feels good. The sensation intensifies gradually until it feels better, no, it's amazing. Castiel gasps and white-knuckles the broom handle. He knows exactly what this is. It's the same sensation as when he has tried masturbating, only stronger. If he felt good then, it's nothing compared to what Dean's prayer makes him feel. He manages to grab hold of a shelf before he stumbles to his knees with a groan. For a while there he forgets how to breath and the only thing that exists is the pleasure that wraps around him. The orgasm hits him like a brick wall, and he can't even imagine anything better.
A few minutes later he comes to again, but it feels like it has been hours. Apart from his increasingly uncomfortable cold and stiff underwear, his body feels warm and curiously satisfied. He cleans himself up in the bathroom with wet paper towels.
He's grateful that there are no customers in the shop, that Donnie took the early shift and Harriet is staying at home with a headache. Isn't it ironic that he finally appreciates the concept of personal space? Dean would be so proud, but perhaps not under the circumstances.
When he touches himself later that night, he thinks of the incident at the store. The memory of the prayer burns holes in his head. Dean and him, just going at it. Warmth and hands, kisses and rough brick wall against his back. Sometimes he changes it around, makes Dean the one pushed up against the wall and Castiel is doing the pushing. Sometimes they are in his shower at the motel or Dean's room in the bunker, or why not Bobby Singer's old cabin in Montana?
Castiel has been told that fantasizing is natural human behaviour. Masturbating is perfectly healthy. Fantasizing and masturbating in combination can make the experience better. Since it's all in his head, it's okay to think about whatever, no matter who or what. Whatever floats his boat is good. Sam told him that in what he called his 'Human 101 Class'. Still, Castiel knows Dean would hate him if he found out. Maybe he already hates himself a little bit for it. Dean would never consciously pray something like that to him, if he knew he was listening. The incident at the supermarket was just that — an incident. It was a slip. So Castiel gets to know what guilt is. It's nothing like the sorrow he felt over the deaths of his brothers and sisters he had caused. It's not as bad per se, but it manifests physically, eviscerating his guts like nothing else.
But doing it still feels so good. He sits on the bed and imagines full lips and green eyes. It's not a younger, more handsome Dean that stars in his fantasy, it's the worn Dean of now with scars and dirt and the fading handprint on his shoulder. Castiel thinks about how it would feel to kiss his cheeks where faint lines are starting to show and how Dean's stubble would feel under his lips. His Dean.
...
One night a couple of weeks later Castiel wakes up in the small hours. Dean didn't pray to him that evening, but now his brain feels like a live wire. He sits up and groans in pain, trying to massage his temples. Blurry images flashes in his consciousness, and there's blood and severed body parts. Castiel thinks he can see Sam standing in a cemetery, covered in dirt and mucus, but since he can't focus on the details he can't be sure. Dean's voice is panicked.
…we done fucked up bad this time. Fuck, I never get to tell you I… Cas, oh Cas…
After that there's nothing. Nothing at all but complete silence. He lunges for the cellphone, but he has forgotten to charge it. His hands are shaking. It takes a couple of tries before he manages to plug the phone in. It lights up after three minutes, but by then he's had some time to think. Should he call? Is there anything at all he can do to help? Probably not. Not anymore.
Eventually he manages to send a text to Sam, a simple 'How are you?', but he doesn't get an answer. Castiel doesn't go back to sleep. He stares at the gray dawn until it becomes day.
...
Two days go by. He has trouble sleeping and Harriet tries to feed him carrots, tea and aspirin. It doesn't help much. He keeps the cellphone in his pocket, charged and switched on, even though he knows he's not supposed to do that when he's working. He hasn't dared to call yet, scared that no one will pick up. Sam and Dean must be hurt badly. What if they are dead already? The thought makes him feel ill and weak at the knees.
There's nothing he can do about it. Through the long days he moves like a zombie, doing whatever task is put before him. Harriet makes him go through all the fresh goods to pick out oranges, peaches and so on that have started to go bad. It's a menial task, but he keeps at it. He's working his way through the crate of plums when a soft sizzling sound makes him put his thumb through the soggy fruit he's holding. The prayer is weak, but it's still getting through.
…want you here. I never should have let you go, dammit. If I could… if you'd just walk through that door I'd never let you leave, I'd make you a home, a real one. I'd kiss you and hold you close and, fuck no, can't do that ever. If you're just there, I won't even need any of that… But you'll never forgive me, won't you? I turned you away when I shouldn't have. You should always have a place here with us, with me… Fuck, I love you so much…
There are images as well, flickering around the spoken words. There's the anguished face Castiel made when Dean told him that he had to leave and that he wasn't safe with him, there's Dean's hands smoothing out the lapels of his old trench coat and tracing his jaw and his lips. There's that long hug when they reunited in Purgatory. Lately Castiel has revisited the memory of that a lot, replaying it over and over. But hearing it in Dean's prayer is too much. He drops the squished plum back in the crate.
"Harriet, I need to make a phone call. May I?"
"You mean like take a break of off work? For personal time? Who are you, and what have you done with John Bonham? Well, you have been working here for four months without stopping for lunch, coffee or going to the bathroom, so yeah, I guess ten minutes for a phone call is alright."
Castiel is uncertain. When Sam or Dean said something like that to one of his requests it usually meant the opposite. He had never been good with reading conversational undertones.
"Was that sarcasm?"
"No, it wasn't," Harriet says resolutely. "Go ahead and take your break, John. Take ten minutes. Heck, take fifteen. I just made coffee, have some. You deserve it."
He doesn't take a cup of coffee. It's not that he doesn't like it, but he really has to make that call. Dean's numbers are the first ones on his contact list and he picks one at random. It almost rings out, but then there's a click.
"Hello Dean," he hurries to say.
"Hey Cas."
"I'm coming back."
"Come on, we've talked about that already. If you come back you'll be in danger. I won't let you do that to yourself. You can't." Dean sounds pained.
"Yes, I will. I need you. I want to be where you are. And I know you want that too."
"No, I don't want you here. I want you to stay safe. You ain't that if you're here with me."
"Yes, you do want me there. Stop lying to me." Dean sighs at him.
"Hey, what brought this on? I thought life in Lenoir was working out for you. Why do you suddenly — you know what? Don't tell me. I'll swing by as soon as I can. Got beat up bad by a fucking draugr a couple of days ago, so Sammy's not letting me go anywhere until the concussion has worn off. It will be a couple of days, but I promise I'll come visit. Is that okay with you?"
"No, it's not. I need you to come now." To Hell with aces up his sleeves. "Dean, I've heard your prayers. All of them."
Dean inhales and exhales slowly a couple of times and deep down Castiel starts to think it was a bad move to tell him.
"So. You heard all of them?" Dean coughs. "Well, this is awkward."
"That night I thought you... You went silent and Sam wouldn't answer my texts. I saw you in the cemetery and… Are you alright? Dean, are you hurt?"
"Shit, you were listening in to that? Draugr are nasty, lemme tell you. We were just gonna have us a salt'n'burn when we stumbled over it. The shithead lived in the grave we dug up, almost tore Sam's fingers off. But we're fine. Just cuts and bruises, you know. Concussion for me. To be honest, the smell is way worse… Hey Cas, are you…?" Castiel doesn't know when he started crying, but the utter relief and heartache of Dean talking to him has apparently let up the floodgates.
"I'm sorry, I don't think I can stop. I was so scared that you were gone and… I never got to show you how much I…"
"God fucking dammit, Cas," Dean swears. "I'm not gone. I'm right here. Shit, when you say stupid stuff like that, you have no idea what it does to me. I miss you so damned much, you know that right? I love you, 'kay?"
"I know."
"I had no right to send you away like that. This has been like a four month long kick to the balls. I've been going crazy, and Sam's called my bullshit more times than I can count. Look, I dunno how many of those, uh, prayers reached through. I'm sorry if I weirded you out. I had no idea."
"I… I didn't mind."
"Not even? I mean…"
"No."
"Okay, then." Dean laughs nervously, but continues to talk to him for a good thirty minutes, with Castiel only answering with a handful of words now and again. The tears gradually stop running down his cheeks, and he even smiles and laughs a few times.
"Dean, my break is over. I have to work." Castiel shuts his eyes and asks again. "Will you come get me?"
"Yeah, I will. How about Thursday? I think I'll be good to drive then. I'll text when I'm on my way. Okay?"
"Okay." Castiel hangs up and wipes at the tears running down his face with his shirtsleeve. He doesn't stop smiling that day, and when he lies in bed that night Dean prays I love you, Cas.
...
At Thursday Castiel waits in the parking lot with his bag ready hours before the time when Dean said he'd get there. Donnie persists on texting him, which of course makes him jerk and check the phone within a heartbeat of the phone starting to vibrate. It could be Dean calling. But it isn't. It's just Donnie saying he's sad to see him go so soon and that he has to come visit when he can, especially when he graduates next spring. Castiel gets irritated by the interruptions, but he knows he'll miss Donnie. He hopes he'll remember to show up for his graduation day.
The sounds of the Impala arrives before it does. Castiel can hear it long before he sees it. There's the deep familiar rumble of the engine and the discant from whatever music Dean is listening to.
"Hey you," Dean says and doesn't smile. He's got band aids on his hands and face, and a black eye that looks particulary painful. He turns the music off and opens the car door. Castiel doesn't wait for him to get out of the car before swooping in. He pushes him back against the car seat. Dean sighs into his mouth and puts his hands on the back of his neck. Kissing him feels much better in reality than it ever did in his fantasies.
(Hope you liked it! Wrote it a bit too quickly, so it's probably riddled with grammar mistakes etc, which I apologise for. Comments would make my day, fire up the hot air balloon of creativity, blah blah…! So pretty please, review! The title is from the awesome song by Tom Waits. Go listen to it. Like, now.)