So NEXT CHAPTER. I've had it mostly written for a while, but I was having difficulty finishing the scene. Kinda getting a little more serious, but not too serious. That's what my other stories are for.
Maybe one or two chapters left after this one. I made it rated M because I thought the language was too much for T, BUT might as well earn the rating, right? Possibly. We'll see. haha. Intending for this one to be mostly fluff anyway.
Also, this is the start of my own kind of time line. Like, I started typing this before I'd re-watched season five, so the events are the same but the details/sequences are a little different (because I honestly forgot how and where some things happened, I just knew they did happen). Hopefully that's not enough to put anyone off.
Anyway. THINGS HAPPEN IN THIS ONE. Some progess, yes.
Castiel's gone by the morning, but still gets a text from Dean saying thks for stying.
Because somehow Dean just knows.
He resolves to teach Dean how to type correctly, but continues sitting in silence on the roof of the Taj Mahal, eyes closed and feeling for signs of Lucifer. That can wait until the end of the world isn't happening anymore, he decides. Even if a part of him knows that there's not much they can do to stop it. He doesn't really want Dean to remember him as the one who berated him for awful texting, though, so he decides it's better not to mention it.
Today, his phone stays silent, aside from the one text, and he hopes that this is because Dean is with Sam again and doesn't have time for useless banter with an angel. He ignores the fact that he might actually be a little saddened by this possibility, and decides to go to a wheat field in Kansas and watch the sun set instead.
The ground turns to gold and he closes his eyes.
It's not until the sun has firmly disappeared that he realizes the reason he didn't get a call or any more messages is because Dean was trapped in an alternate universe by Zachariah. And he only realizes this because Dean calls him and tells him to get his feathery ass back to Missouri. His desire to separate himself from the strange feelings he's had as of late have definitely ruined his Dean's in danger senses and this makes him almost frantic because what else has he missed and what if Zachariah made him say yes. Castiel tries to hide all this when he appears in Dean's motel room, and he listens to the story of 2014 with a practiced, steady gaze.
After insuring Dean that Zachariah only showed him one possible future, and it was the one that was meant to scare him the most, Castiel sighs with relief when Dean finally picks up the phone and admits that he and Sam are better off watching out for each other.
When he hangs up, he gives Castiel a strange look. "Don't ever change," he says.
But he doesn't explain what he meant, and just mutters something about getting some sleep because he has to leave early to get Sam, so Castiel takes that as his cue to leave. And he decides that he has to be imagining the sad look on Dean's face right before everything flashes white.
It's been weeks since Castiel has heard from Dean, though he's gotten a few calls from Sam – just to ask for advice on some monster or get directions on a ritual that Bobby's unsure about. There's a weird strain in his voice, but Castiel ignores it. Sam's harder to read than Dean, and a lot more darkly complicated.
Dean's his own kind of complicated.
It's simpler, but more confusing. Dean's pretty transparent when it comes to what he's going to do or how he's going to act in a certain situation – which is why all the business that happened when Sam was absent is even more annoying. None of it fits with what Castiel has come to expect of Dean Winchester, and it's frustrating him. He thought he knew the man down to his very atoms, but something slipped his notice. Somewhere along the line, Dean had managed to learn the secret to making an angel more human and was using it, cruelly, on Castiel. Not only that, but he was slowly mimicking the irrational interest that Castiel had for him and shooting it right back. A one sided fascination was more than enough for Cas to handle – now that it was becoming mutual, it was only serving to distract, confuse, and anger him.
He furrows his brow, hating that he's losing concentration every time he looks up from the old book he's studying to his phone. Expecting a call or something and didn't he come to Rome to look for answers? Not bide his time until Dean decided he was important enough to call again. He looks around at the stacks of books. It's frustrating that so much lore was lost to Heaven in the turmoil during and after Lucifer. While he's glad that humans were so diligent in writing down the words of the angels, he wishes that they would have realized what was actually important and made new copies of some of the less famous texts. He furrows his brow, attempting to read a decaying page with smeared text when Dean's voice drifts into his head.
Help me Cas. I'm in Bobby's junk yard. 'bout half a mile from the house. I…could use…
And it breaks off, like Dean's having trouble speaking so Castiel disappears immediately, landing next to an old pick up truck and frantically looking around for Dean. He shouts his name a few times and eventually hears a mutter from the other side of a broken down tractor. "Dean," and his voice is rough and has hints of something that scares him, more emotion in it than he had ever intended.
Dean looks up at him, and his eyes are glazed, but he's not smiling. There's a bottle in his hand and Castiel secretly wishes that he had been wrong when he had asked about people being sad sometimes when they get drunk. "Hey, Cas," Dean mutters. And his voice is broken.
"Dean, you shouldn't be out here. It's dangerous and you're drunk and – Dean. Look at me." Castiel is kneeling in front of his friend and grabbing his scruffy face and pulling it to face him. "Dean." There are tears in the man's eyes, not falling but resting on the inner part of his lids and glistening up and Castiel feels a hard lump growing in his throat. "What happened."
Dean lets out a laugh that isn't really a laugh and Cas let's go of his face, but doesn't move away. "Everything is fucked, Cas," he's muttering and he's got one of the angel's hands in his, calloused fingertips frantically rubbing harder than he probably means to. "It was always going to be me and Sammy, wasn't it? In the end, I'm always meant to kill him, right? Even Dad knew that and... It's all so fucked up. It's not fair, Cas." And he's sobbing, drunk and smelling of whiskey and dirt and Castiel doesn't know what to do, because Dean Winchester is supposed to be strong but there are calloused hands grabbing his face and suddenly there's a forehead pressing against his and it's shaking and the fingers in his hair are gripping tight and Castiel decides to just stay quiet. He lets Dean cry, their foreheads against each other, his own hands steady on Dean's shoulders and, after awhile, there's only labored breathing and a slight sniffling nose.
"Dean," Cas tries, but hesitates. He knew that Dean and Sam were inevitably going to have to go down that path, that one of them would have to die at the hands of the other. And that's why he had fought so hard with Dean to make him keep Sam from breaking that last seal. The angels may have wanted all this, but Castiel had cast his lot in with Dean Winchester at some point – and, in turn, was squarely on the side of the human race – and the idea of the Winchesters fighting each other made him ache in an uncomfortable and unangel-like way. "We…we'll find another way."
And Dean nods, swallowing hard and struggling to regain his composure. "Alcohol, you know," he mutters. "Makes me all feely and stuff sometimes." He straightens up, pulling his head away from Castiel's and he clears his throat once, twice, and blinks hard. "Sorry man, chick flick moment and all that and…"
Castiel notices, too late, that Dean's trailed off and is giving him a heavy look.
Which is why he doesn't have time to move away before rough lips are pressed sloppily on his mouth. Rather than disappear, he stays very still, and Dean doesn't do much more than press their mouths hard against each other before pulling away. There's no motion to make it anything more than that, but Dean remains hovering less than an inch away from him, breathing heavy and warm. Castiel tries hard to concentrate on the sound of crickets, but all he can think about is the strange tingling on the surface of his lips, electric and pulsing like something's been woken up. "Dean," he whispers, raspy and shaking in spite of himself.
"Cas," Dean mutters, moving his face so that his nose is grazing the angel's cheek. His heavy hold on the back of Castiel's neck is all that's holding him up now, even if he doesn't look close to passing out. "Do your zappy angel mojo thing like you always do. You don't have to stay here for this."
Castiel stares at the rusted metal behind Dean, concentrating on it so that he can regain some of that angelic stoic-ness he knows he must have had at one point. Dean shouldn't be able to unravel him like this, to make him text and worry and joke and watch movies but somehow, it keeps happening. He swallows. "Where would you like to go, Dean?"
And when Dean just sputters in protest, Castiel closes his eyes and suddenly they're sitting at the edge of the Grand Canyon, red rocks and dirt shimmering in the moonlight and Dean is too speechless to get angry about being flown somewhere against his will and then he's crying all over again alternating between stupid fuckin angel and damn I told Sammy that he needed to see this. Castiel gives him a small smile, supporting him with a firm arm wrapped around his shoulders.
"You are a man of simple needs, Dean," Cas says, and it's fond and unmocking and he hopes that Dean can hear that. "In all the time I've known you, you've only ever wanted family." Even when watching a movie, the thing he seems to admire most is the ability to protect people.
Dean rubs at his eyes and sniffs indignantly, scanning the rocks and the deep chasm below. He's got a small smile on his face, a strange combination of happy and frustrated and sad and he looks at Castiel steadily, eyes red and puffy. "Yeah, well don't tell Sammy. He still thinks I'm James Bond."
Castiel starts to say I think he already knows but opts instead for, "I don't know who that is Dean." And Dean smiles like of course you don't and keeps staring at him like there's something on his face but Cas knows there isn't. And he hates that Dean is only like this when he's upset or drunk because sometimes it's nice to know exactly what the man is thinking without having to dig deep and interpret masked over and hidden feelings. Then again, these unhidden feelings tend to lean towards either crying or groping or kissing and Castiel's not entirely sure he would like that all the time.
"We've kissed before," Dean is saying and Castiel's brain sputters and is close to frying. "Or rather. I've wanted to kiss you before, haven't I?"
Castiel frowns, mouth working to figure out just what to say. "I don't know what you've wanted to do Dean. I'm not allowed to read your mind." He glances around frantically, realizing that they're alone in a desert. "You're drunk. And upset. You should go to sleep." Because for all his wanting to talk about it the past month, he's an angel and he's not happy with the fact that there's all these human things inside of him. Dean's corrupting him. That has to be it. "You won't remember it in the morning, so there's no point in talking about it Dean."
Dean gives him a look and says quietly, "So it's true."
And, in spite of himself, Castiel lets out an indignant laugh. "The fact that you have to ask, Dean Winchester…" and he's not really sure where he was going to go with it, but he can't ignore the fact that he can feel anger bubbling inside him. Not the time to feel hurt, Castiel. Dean is upset enough as it is. "You…I believe you just wanted company while Sam was gone. I don't think there's any need to read into it further," he finally says. And there's a bitterness in his heart and he swallows hard. His arm is still around Dean, but it's tense, rigid, and Dean is so close and just staring at him.
And then he smiles, a crooked, half-cocked smile, and Castiel isn't sure if it's amusement or mocking or what. There's still a hint of sadness in his face, but it's mixed with other things now as well. A confusing mix that Castiel isn't sure how to interpret. "Cas," Dean starts. "If I wanted company while Sam was gone, I could have just gone to a bar. You know that."
Castiel nods, terse. Of course he knows that why do you think I've been freaking out Dean.
"But, you didn't kiss me back," and Dean turns away again, eyes red and puffy but no longer full of tears, jaw set, and…is he embarrassed? There's definitely a pink shade to his face that Castiel has never noticed before. Immediately, Cas wants to correct this error - yes, Dean, but that's just because I was shocked. Given another cha… He snaps his mouth shut before he says anything of the sort.
He purses his lips, wondering how to proceed. He doesn't want Dean to feel rejected, he knows that much. Coming to terms with why, however, is what he's having trouble with and he realizes that Dean is probably the only person who has ever succeeded in giving an angel a headache. "Not because I didn't desire to, Dean," he says softly, and Dean stiffens beside him. Dean seems like he's about to say something, push this further, so Castiel takes his arm off his shoulder and cuts him off. "But, this is not the time to discuss that."
"Dammit, Cas, when will there ever be a good time?" And Dean's turned towards him, grabbing his shoulder and glaring at him. "Sam might say yes tomorrow, and then what would happen? You and I against the world, right? But then I'll change and you'll lose me, Cas. I'll lose whatever it is that made you believe in me, and then you'll believe in nothing and I can't handle that again." Dean presses his face into Castiel's shoulder, breathing in the fabric of his trench coat.
Castiel thinks that this may have something to do with Zachariah's warped vision of the future that Dean refuses to talk about. "I don't believe that Sam will say yes, Dean," Cas says, and presses a hand onto Dean's back. "You need to have the same faith in Sam as he does in you."
"I tried that, Cas, but in the end he always leaves me." It's quiet and defeated and Cas feels that strange human urge to gather him up in his arms and hold him tight. "I'm just tired of caring."
"You just need sleep, Dean." Castiel pulls him close for a moment. "We will talk about this in the morning." And he knows it's a lie, and that he's going against everything he is, but Dean manages a smile at this.
"Liar," he mutters, and presses his lips softly to the corner of the angel's mouth. "Nice try though."
Castiel feels frozen, tingling all over. Every part of him wants to slam Dean to the ground, press up against him, lips soft and warm against his own cold, chapped skin, but he just tenses up. Angels do not want, they do not desire. These are human fallacies, and angels are meant to be better than that. Dean is still impossibly close, face pressed into his cheek, faint scent of alcohol still lingering. "I promise we will talk about this as soon as there is time," Castiel sighs. He leans his face into the touch of Dean's lips at his ear lobe, closing his eyes. "You have ruined me, Dean Winchester."
Dean laughs at this, smelling lightly of whiskey, eyes still red. "Leave it to a Winchester to corrupt an angel," and he brushes his lips along Castiel's jaw, breathing hot and heavy, and his teeth are creeping along the skin of his neck and this is different this is…
Castiel pushes him off, lightly. "Dean, I do not wish to do this while you are drunk." He can't even attempt to hide the frantic speed of his voice. "If…If this is truly what you need, then we will discuss it when you are sober. Now go to sleep."
Two fingers to Dean's head and Castiel is suddenly alone, Dean safely placed somewhere at Bobby's house.
There's a tightness in his chest and in…
He groans and decides to sit in the cold Pacific tide for awhile.
disclaimer: supernatural © eric kripke
