Title; Runaway Misfits
Author; Tarklovishki
Spoilers; None.
Warnings; Character death.
Rating; M.
Summary; Dean and Castiel are more than just two teenagers who live out of a tent. They are two survivors of the same tragedy, on different sides of the story.
Runaway Misfits
by Tarklovishki
Sometimes living out of a tent was hard. Only having enough money every week to buy food was harder. Mostly it was anything canned, already cooked, or something to throw together. A couple of times they had to buy a couple items of clothing to replace the ones that got ruined because they had been worn too much.
But Dean and Castiel set up a shared bank account—well, Dean did—and they filled it with however much money they could afford to give up for the week, like say a twenty or a fifty, sometimes even just a five, and put it into the bank. One day they would have enough to buy a house.
They had been living together for a year. At first, they'd hated each other's guts because they blamed each other for their predicament. But having to rely on another person for your survival tends to shove first impressions and mutual hatred aside and create grudging friendship, which would then transcend into slinging your arm around their shoulders and declaring them to be the best friend you ever had.
For Dean and Castiel, even that transcended into something more.
On the night of the anniversary, Dean let Castiel take him. They were both needy of the warmth and solace of another human touch. At first they bit, scratched, clawed at one another, trying to rip them to pieces with their grief. Then, it would be nothing but slow, sweet and loving, holding onto each other, riding out their orgasms, breathing each other's names as if they were reverent beings.
It was one thing to simply love a person, another to love and hate them in kind, right down to every piece of them that makes them them.
They'd long ago stopped blaming each other and their families for what had happened. Blaming someone wouldn't give them their families back.
Dean and Castiel needed each other. Depended on each other. Loved each other.
They'd bought the tent with the remainder of their money and set it up next to a lake near the town in which both of them had grown up, but never met. There was just enough tall, spindly trees with their deep green leaves to block out the worst of the morning sunlight.
Dean got a job at the Roadhouse, declining Ellen Harvelle's offer to take them in and give them a home, because Dean and Castiel had been given everything their whole lives and they wanted to make something for a change. Earn something. They would fight tooth and nail to get a house over their heads. Only during really bad storms did they pack up their stuff and take up her offer for a night.
"I love you, Dean," Castiel whispered into Dean's ear as he rode Dean's cock slowly, hands pressed into Dean's chest, sometimes pinching the skin as the mounting pleasure started to grow too much. His breath tickled Dean's skin, making him shiver.
"I love you, too, Cas," Dean replied, sliding a hand up Castiel's back to grip his hair. "I think I might have loved you even when I hated you."
They came slowly, the pleasure almost too much for them, and no sound made it past their lips. Dean slid out of Castiel as he lay down, wrapping an arm over Dean's chest, a peculiar sensation of emptiness resting inside him, making itself home right next to the satiation.
:::
Dean had been lucky to come away from the accident with only minor injuries. He nursed a broken arm, a concussion and a couple of cuts and bruises. He was the lucky one, the only one. There was no cure for a broken heart, and no way to turn back time. This was why life sucked.
He cried for hours, days perhaps, there was no real way for him to tell the time. He didn't care about time. There was no one to come and gather him up any more and tell him that it was all going to be okay. No more movie nights, no more home-cooked dinners and apple pie. No more annoying brother demanding his help on his Maths homework so he could go straight to History.
No one quite knows how it happened. One minute they were on the road, singing to 'Long Way From Home' by Foreigner, the next minute a Toyota collided with the Impala, and all that was left was a massacre on the middle of the highway.
Dean had climbed his way out of the Impala, the back door having come half off the rest of the car on his side, allowing him to escape. The smell of smoke and petrol filled his nostrils. People had stopped in the middle of the highway, grinding on the breaks until the tyres locked and shrieked in protest, and spilled out of their cars. More than one person shouted for someone to call an ambulance.
Somehow, on shaky legs, Dean managed to stand. He turned to the car. Smoke filled the inside, until he could barely see his parents and Sammy. He said their names, called them, and when no one answered and no one inside moved, he started shrieking, begging, pleading.
He tried to climb back inside but a pair of strong arms wound around his middle and pulled him back as others convened around the car, pulling aside twisted metal.
"No!" someone else howled.
A bruised, bloody boy with wild black hair and torn clothes stumbled to his knees two feet from the Toyota. There were more people crowded around that car. Dean knew instantly that this boy had been inside that car as it collided with the Impala.
Police, ambulances and fire trucks arrived on scene within minutes. They freed all nine people from the two cars, three from Dean's, six from the boy's, and to Dean's horror, after minutes of fruitless resuscitation, declared each and every one of them dead, and covered them over with white sheets.
Before Dean could go to them, throw himself over Mum, Dad and Sammy, he was forced onto a gurney and loaded into the back of an ambulance, after the man who had first pulled him from the car had told them that he was a survivor.
Grief eventually knocked Dean out.
:::
Aware that someone had sat down next to him, Dean looked up.
The boy he'd seen at the crash was seated on the seat next to him, looking worse for wear. His own blue eyes were red-rimmed, his hands shook in his lap. Dean automatically didn't like this guy. This boy's family was the reason why Dean's own was dead.
"I'm not here to say sorry, or to forgive you," said the boy. Dean bristled. "I'm here to say that my name is Castiel Novak. I lost my whole family too."
He turned his head to Dean and fixed him with a sharp, penetrating stare.
"What are you saying?" said Dean, lost. "Why are you sitting next to me? Don't you understand that I just want to punch you in the face?"
"Believe me, I feel the same. But I don't know who caused that accident. No one does." Castiel shook his head, bottom lip quivering. "What is your name?"
"Dean Winchester."
"Dean Winchester, we've lost our families, as much as I really hate your guts right now, we need each other. I don't know you from a bar of soap and some part of me wishes that I could have kept it that way. But our houses will be sold and so will our possessions. We'll have nothing. I don't know about you, but living on the streets is not appealing to me."
"So, what, you're suggesting we live off each other?"
"Live together," Castiel corrected. A tear dripped out of the corner of his left eye, abusing raw skin. "Help each other to get back on our feet, and then we leave each other well enough alone."
"Fine, deal," said Dean. "I just want to get my life on track, and then to be rid of you."
"Likewise."
:::
One year turned into ten. A tent turned into a home. A part-time job turned into a full-time job. Pain and misery turned into love and affection.
Every year when that date rolled around, they clutched each other. They stayed away from the outside world, they mourned their losses. Not once, on any day, did they ever forget to tell each other how much they were loved, for both of them knew that it could easily be the last time they said it.
Dean and Castiel loved each other, they didn't leave each other.
The End.