A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! I really, truly appreciate it. If I could hug you each individually, I would, and no restraining order could stop me. Please keep reading and reviewing.
In other news, sorry this chapter took so long. Do you ever write a story with one direction in mind and find your characters going off in another? As if they had minds of their own? Yeah, that happened big time with this story. I kept rewriting and rewriting the beginning of this chapter, trying to steer my characters where I wanted them to go, and they kept belligerently yanking it in the opposite direction. Finally I gave in and just scrapped my previous plans. So hang on folks, it's gonna be a bumpy ride - Dean and Cas have got me by the short hairs.
Also, I realized that I forgot to mention - the title of the story is a reference to the Simon and Garfunkel song, "Bridge Over Troubled Water." If you know the song, the symbolism should be fairly obvious: Castiel = bridge, Dean = troubled water. And now, without further ado, Chapter Dos.
Dean fucked Cas hard, fast, and merciless, pouring all his frustration and pain and misplaced hatred into it, rougher and more savage than he'd ever been before.
In fact, in the past Dean had been kind of a romantic about sex. He was enthusiastic with women, hungry and lustful, but rarely fierce – he'd always thought that sex should be fun, easy, a good time had by all. He was more likely to make a chick laugh than bruise her. In fact, Bela's proposition that they have angry sex (what was that, two years ago?) had unnerved him a little because angry sex wasn't something Dean did. Sarcastic? Yes. Playfully antagonistic? Hell yeah. But legitimately angry? Never.
But that was before.
Dean's whole life was like that now, split irrevocably into Before Sam died and After. Before, Dean had been a romantic. After, Dean was ruthless.
Cas didn't wince, or cringe, or cry out. He was steady like a rock, powerful, solid, this immovable force of nature that took what Dean gave him and responded with carefully measured control. There were a few times where he gasped in pleasure, and it sounded like he had done it accidentally, like he'd let it slip, and Dean was surprised at how much it turned him on and drove him to fuck even harder. It wasn't that Dean wanted to inflict pain – he wasn't a sadist, he didn't think. It was just that he needed this, needed physical contact and release, and he just didn't have it in him to be tender or gentle. This brutal energy was all he had in him, all he was made up of these days, all he could give. All he had left.
After they both came and rolled off each other, awkward silence filled the room. Dean felt blessedly calm; he felt saner than he'd been in – a long time. Since Before. But then Saner Dean started to realize that, holy shit, he'd just had sex with a man angel – mangel? – and the silence got downright uncomfortable. Dean cleared his throat. "So, the heaven thing didn't work out?"
Cas was silent for a moment. "I haven't returned yet."
"Oh." That caught Dean off-guard. "I thought you were just itching to try out your shiny new halo." It came out sarcastic and sharp. Shit. Wrong, Dean. What are you doing?
Cas didn't seem to take offense. He just sat up and started putting on his clothes. "I had business to finish here."
Dean sat up with a grunt and turned his back to Cas to do the same. "Business, huh?" he asked sardonically. It was like poison coming out of his mouth, and he knew he was being an asshole but he couldn't stop it. "I figured my brother jumping into hell had pretty much wrapped things up." He bent over to snatch his shirt off the ground, feeling a simmering beneath his skin.
"You figured wrong," Cas replied evenly. Dean heard the zip of his pants and the rustle of his overcoat. "Nothing is ever that simple."
"Simple?" Dean stood up quickly, jerked his pants up over his hips and spun to face Cas. "You think that was simple? It was a frigging miracle, is what it was. It was frigging Sam." His breath was coming too fast, and all the calm he'd garnered from their exchange was slipping away. "It was fucking Sam, Cas, and everybody in the whole goddamn universe trying to make him to fail, getting him ready to fail his entire goddamn life, and he fucking beat them, beat the devil and gave up his life and his soul and his goddamn everything." To his embarrassment, his voice cracked and broke, and he clenched his fists tight, squeezing his shirt. "There's nothing simple about that."
Cas was stiff as a board, frozen with tie in his hand and his face hidden from Dean. "I know," he replied, his voice hard and mechanical. His shoulders hunched the tiniest fraction. "I know, Dean."
Dean's mind suddenly flashed back to Cas standing in that Lawrence cemetery, totally human, calling an archangel "ass-butt" and hurling a Molotov. Moments later, nothing left of him but a spatter on Bobby's cheek.
Flash back to year earlier, Cas painting sigils in his own blood and breaking Dean out of angel prison. The next day, he was a tooth in Chuck's hair.
Cas fucking knew it wasn't simple.
Dean turned around and ran a hand through his hair. Remorse and regret flooded through him. He was a douchebag, but he was gonna make it up to Cas, buy him a coffee or something (did angels drink coffee? He should ask), swallow his pride and thank him properly for all the shit he'd done. Then he'd crawl back into a hole somewhere like the worthless son of a bitch he was and -
"Stop," Cas commanded, his voice much too near.
Dean spun and sure enough, Cas was right up in his personal space, just like always. "Don't blame me, and don't blame yourself," he continued, firm and quiet. "I didn't return to heaven, Dean, because I have business left with you. There is something following you, and I intend to discover what it is. You were not alone on the final battlefield, and you are not alone now."
Dean was stunned, speechless. He'd been so wrong. This wasn't Breakfast Club at all.
Cas cocked his head, peering at Dean with a perplexed expression. "What is a breakfast club?"
Dean's eyes widened, and he stumbled backwards. "You can hear my thoughts now?"
"Only the clear and obvious ones," he replied, as if that were a significant limitation indeed. "And only when I'm in close proximity. Mostly I see your general emotions. Your pain is written across you like a neon sign." He reached up, hesitantly, brows knitted together, and put his palm to Dean's chest. "I would heal you if I could."
Dean's heartbeat skittered. "Cas – I – there's nothin' left of me, Cas," he stammered softly, trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes. "Nothin' left to heal. You – you heard me, a minute ago. I'm all venom. I can't be anything else right now." He shut his eyes, tried to shut out the warmth of Cas's hand. "If you stick around, you're gonna get the worst of me. I guarantee it."
Cas's hand pressed harder into his chest. His voice low and challenging, he murmured "Wanna bet?" And suddenly the ground fell out from underneath them.
Dean's eyes snapped open, and just as he'd suspected, he was standing on Lisa's patio, clutching his shirt and totally alone. Son of a bitch.
He walked quietly back inside, wondering what the hell Castiel had in mind.
…..
Castiel hoped with all of his being that he knew what he was doing. He didn't know what God intended for him to do, but he was fairly certain it wasn't "Go visit your former ally and attempt to comfort him by encouraging him to have violent intercourse with you."
To be honest, it had mostly happened by accident. He'd meant to simply warn Dean about the dark presence, but when he'd actually seen him… He'd known that Dean was wounded, he'd seen him in the aftermath, but the Dean he saw now took his breath away. His wounds weren't healing and fading; he was festering, like an infected sore. He's trying to keep it in, Castiel had realized. He's trying to keep the grief and fury inside himself, and it's killing him.
Castiel didn't owe Dean anything, not anymore. Any debt he may have held had long since been repaid. But for some reason, he felt as though he had to do something, as though walking away from Dean now would be wrong. As though leaving Dean to rot from the inside out would be just as bad as leaving him to rot in hell.
And when Dean snapped, lashing out at him for no reason other than his convenient proximity, Castiel understood what he needed. He needed an outlet, a target. Castiel knew he could be that for Dean. When Dean channeled his anger into lust, Castiel accepted it without hesitation. This was what Dean needed; Castiel could be this, too.
He uneasily realized he would be anything Dean needed him to be.
Observing him invisibly in the dark, Castiel watched Dean swear under his breath and reenter the silent house. A warm, affectionate feeling uncurled in Castiel's stomach, and he once again hoped that he knew what he was doing.
…..
Dean got up early the next morning, the night's events distant and hazy like some bizarre dream. Whether it was a good dream or a bad dream, he wasn't sure. He drove Ben to school, checked the want ads, washed his car, tried to figure out the friggin' vacuum but that thing was way too complicated and definitely possessed so he gave up on it, made a sandwich, and wondered what the hell had gotten into him. He was full of this weird energy and that ever-familiar "I got laid" feeling, and it made things… strangely okay.
He was actually really good until he decided to use the computer and look up that how to use that stupid vacuum so he wouldn't have to ask Lisa. As he scrolled down the search results, he couldn't help but hear that voice in his head. Shove over, old man, Sam would have said. Just let me do it. You're so slow, you know that? This is why I'm in charge of research.
Shit. Dean ground the heels of his palms into his eyes. No goddamn vacuum, then.
Pretty soon it was time to pick Ben up again. It was a hot day, and when the kid hopped in the car Dean got an idea. "Hey, Ben. Wanna go get a Slurpee from the 7-11?"
Ben looked at him quizzically. "Is that like an Icee?"
Dean laughed incredulously. "You've never had a Slurpee, dude? Okay, we are so getting Slurpees." He sped to the 7-11, explaining the drastic differences between Icees and Slurpees on the way.
When they got there, he showed Ben how to work the lever on the machine and they discussed which flavors they should get (Ben was adamant that they get different flavors and share because then that was like, twice the Slurpee). They sat on the bench outside and sucked down their icy treats (because no way was Dean letting the kid get in his car with a cupful of Blue Razzleberry in his hand), squinting in the sunshine and occasionally groaning "Brain freeze! Brain freeze!"
It was something Dean's dad had done with his boys. It was something Dean thought every kid should get to do.
Ben already worshipped the ground Dean walked on, and the Slurpee experience just strengthened his belief that Dean was some kind of badass superhero. When they got home Dean reminded him to do his homework (just like Lisa had asked him to), and Ben rolled his eyes but Dean knew he would do it. He was good kid like that. Dean watched him bounce over to the dining table and take out his spelling, and Dean's heart squeezed. Thank God he's not mine. Dean couldn't believe he'd once been stupid enough to wish that on Ben, selfishly wanting to pass on the Winchester legacy. Some legacy, Dean thought bitterly. Pain and heartache and suffering, that's all it is. More like a curse. Maybe this kid will actually have a chance at happiness.
Dean left Ben to his spelling and, since it was too soon to mow again, decided to try his hand at hedge trimming. Before he knew it, Lisa was tapping him on the shoulder and offering him an icy beer.
"Thanks." Setting down the clippers, he took the beer with a smile of appreciation and tipped it towards her before popping off the top and taking a deep swig.
With everything that had happened, you'd think he'd be knee-deep in Jack Daniels. But honestly, Dean didn't feel right drowning his sorrows in front of Ben, in Lisa's home. It seemed like a violation of her hospitality. So, for the most part, he was painfully sober. Maybe that was half his problem.
Lisa smiled back and tilted her head, eyes sparkling the sunlight and looking just – picture perfect. "You know, Dean, I really appreciate everything you're doing around here."
Dean grinned and ducked his head. "Well, I'm just trying to earn my keep."
A look of protest flitted across her face. "Dean –"
"I know, I know," Dean interrupted her. "Honestly, I'm glad to have something to do. I'm not used to having this much time on my hands, you know?"
He could see her decide to let it go. "I can imagine." Then she propped her hand on her hip and gave him a knowing look. "Ben tells me you've introduced him to Slurpees."
"Yeah, I uh, I hope that was okay," Dean stammered, suddenly realizing that maybe he should've asked first. "It's just, he told me he'd never had one and I couldn't believe it. Sam lived for 'em when –" Belatedly, he realized what he was saying and stopped cold. He coughed, trying to loosen the sudden tightness in his throat. "When he was that age."
The teasing quirk of Lisa's mouth softened. "I don't mind at all. Just don't make a habit of it or all his teeth will fall out."
"Sure." He nodded, looking away and feeling off-kilter.
"Hey." A gentle hand came to rest on his arm. "I really do appreciate it, Dean. You've been a huge help to me."
He looked her in the eyes then, those warm brown eyes that always seemed happy to see him. "Same to you."
She smiled in a soft, kind way, and for a moment the air between them hung heavily.
This was the moment, Dean knew. He was supposed to kiss Lisa and show her exactly how much he appreciated her, lavishing her with all of the meticulous attention she deserved. But instead of exciting him, the idea just… wearied him.
I must be tired, he thought. I must just be really exhausted from these hedges. But deep down he knew it wasn't the idea of physical exertion that gave him pause. It was caressing her, holding her, loving her… He couldn't quite summon the strength. His heart was too worn and spent.
So they stood there, and the moment passed. Dean gave her a perfunctory nod and set down his beer, taking back up the clippers and finishing the job he had started.
