Title: I'm The One Who Gripped You Tight To Screw Over The Other Guys (Part Seven)
Author: HigherMagic
Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Ruby
Rating: PG-16
Word Count: WIP
Spoilers: Castiel, but different. Season 4 premise spoilers.
Warnings: blasphemy (of sorts), BAMF!not-Angel!Cas, language, confused!uncomfortable!Dean
Summary: So, it's just the end of the world. With the three-headed guardian of Hell taking it upon himself to be Dean's personal guard dog, that's the least of the Winchesters' problems.
Notes: Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.
When Dean woke, he was warm.
It took another moment or so to put together the events of last night into a sequence of events wherein this made sense – a testament to just how well and how deeply he had slept. He shifted, found his arms wrapped around something – a body, the source of the warmth. Soft hair tickled at his nose and chin and there was the steady in-and-out of someone's breath against his neck, even and measured and deep.
It made sense, said the rational part of his mind that was doing its damnedest not to freak out. He would have wanted to know where Castiel was at all times while he slept – he had warded the door against Castiel leaving the room without him, but that didn't mean he would trust the dog to not find some way around it. No one gave away their one weakness without a loophole.
And his shoulder hurt, which would have meant he slept on his side, and Castiel's back hurt. Dean shifted his hands, careful to make sure he wasn't putting pressure on the wound in Castiel's back, but the creature seemed relaxed and untroubled.
Slowly, Dean unwound himself from the tangle of sheets he had woken himself up in, trying hard not to wake Castiel as well – the son of a bitch was stubborn but if he was going to do…whatever the hell it was he was going to do, well, Dean wanted him rested and healed up as soon as physically possible.
He left his door open, figuring he could trust Castiel to not go crazy now that they were both awake, and plodded downstairs in search of food. There wasn't much in Bobby's fridge – they'd have to make a food run – but Dean managed to find fixings for ham sandwiches. He made one, wrapped it in Clingfilm and left it next to one of Sam's large books for Sam, and carried the other two back upstairs to his room.
When he returned, closing the door behind him, Castiel had stirred awake, blinking sleepily and yawning wide. He looked the picture of decadence, stretching his arms out in front of him, cheeks sleep-flushed and hair in even more disarray than usual. Without a word, Dean set down a sandwich in front of him, and Castiel blinked at it before sitting up, his eyes meeting Dean's, before he smiled and took a bite.
"How'd you sleep?" he asked around a mouthful of ham and bread.
Dean grunted, sitting himself down on the side of the bed with one leg folded up, the other hanging down so his foot touched the floor. "You're the one who whammied me: you tell me," he answered, turning to keep the dog in his line of sight while he tucked into his own sandwich.
Castiel hummed, taking another bite. "What did you dream about, before you came to get me?"
For a while, Dean didn't say anything. It was a loaded question and a half, and Castiel had inferred that he knew exactly what Dean was dreaming about anyway. What was the point in vocalizing it?
"I still don't remember you," he said instead of anything else that sprang to mind, taking another bite of sandwich. Damn, they really needed a food run. Hot food and beer wouldn't go amiss at all if he and Castiel were going to continue sharing space. "How does it work?" he asked after a short silence, earning a curious look from the creature. He gestured to his temple. "The sleep thing you do. It's weird. I know I dreamed, but I don't remember it."
Castiel raised an eyebrow, and shrugged. "I merely keep the nightmares away. Whatever your brain chooses to dream about instead is, of course, up to your subconscious." He paused, taking his time to chew his mouthful before swallowing audibly. "I daresay if it's something you cannot remember, then maybe you were dreaming about…happier times." And there was something about the way he deliberately avoided Dean's eyes that set the Hunter on edge. "What do you usually dream about when you have good dreams?"
Dean snorted, wiping a hand over his mouth as he smirked. "Number of things," he said lightly, though it sounded forced and strained even to his own ears. "Usually a pretty blonde or four."
"Women," Castiel murmured, nodding to himself. The napkin Dean had brought him the sandwich on was balancing precariously on his cross legs, half-eaten food forgotten now as he picked at the crust around what he hadn't eaten. "The first you cut into was a blonde."
Immediately, Dean went tense, his shoulders drawing in tightly as he looked towards Castiel, hands frozen halfway between his mouth and his food. "What the fuck did you just say?"
Castiel still wasn't looking at him – just at his sandwich, as he worried at his lower lip with his teeth, brows drawn together. "I don't remember her name, but I remember when she came into Hell, and stepped under my feet to pass through." It was then that he looked at Dean, pupils too wide for the amount of light coming into the room and shadow flickering in his eyes. "She deserved to be there," he said, with no condemnation or damnation in his tone – just simple statement of fact. "Your guilt over her, though, was extraordinary."
Dean could feel his fingers curling, nails digging into his palms as he struggled not to react. He remembered her – remembered her name, her sins, rattled off to him like some animal at an auction before he'd taken a blade to her chest, sliced her open from collar to navel and fed her intestines to the dogs.
His teacher had punished him for his lack of finesse.
"Were you there?" Dean asked, his voice low and tense and belying the stillness in his body. "Did you watch me?"
Castiel bit his lip, abandoning his half-eaten meal and setting it on the small bedside cabinet, before he righted himself and turned to face Dean. "No," he said, earning an exasperated sound from the Hunter. "I did not watch you, then."
"Then how do you know what happened? What I felt?" Dean demanded, mimicking Castiel's actions and setting his food to one side, getting to his feet. He knew it was stupid, but he felt more in control when his head was higher than the other creature's. "How can you possibly know if you weren't there?"
"Because I know you," Castiel hissed back, not moving to stand but glaring up at Dean with defiance. "I've known you longer than anyone."
"How can you?" Dean snapped, gesturing towards Castiel, and the dog bit his lip, dropping his eyes again. "How dare you tell me you know me when you can't even tell me how? Fuck's sake, Cas, my memory of you's so wiped how am I supposed to believe anything coming out of your mouth?"
Castiel sighed, his shoulders slumping. Dean wouldn't have heard what he said next if he hadn't been listening so hard for it: "I don't believe in forcing free will."
He frowned. "What?"
"Free will, Dean," Castiel replied, biting out the words and getting to his feet, turning around to level the Hunter with his stare. "That's the whole point of this entire fucking project, alright? My job –" He pointed to himself, forefinger jabbing his chest harshly. "- that I have sworn to do, is to protect you and to follow wherever you lead."
"Wherever I…? What the fuck does that even mean?"
"It means neutrality, Dean," Castiel hissed, stepping around the bed so that he stood between Dean and the door, and the Hunter was trapped between him and the bed with nowhere to look but Castiel's face. "And you have no, no fucking idea, how difficult that is."
"What do you mean?" Dean's voice had lost all of its strength now – he was breathless, his heart hammering in his chest because that electric feeling was building up in the room again – the tense, powerful crackle down his spine that meant he was probably about to get attacked by something. He could see the fire in Castiel's eyes. "Neutral for what?"
"The Angels…" Castiel stepped forward again, voice softer this time, and it was a miracle Dean didn't flinch when he rested a hand against the Hunter's chest. "They want you. The demons want you." Castiel snarled, and suddenly Dean was being turned, back slamming against the wall as Castiel's hand curled into a fist in his shirt and he could feel that invisible power pushing his body flat against the wall, so he had no escape. "I want you. But you have to choose. You have to…"
For a long, incredibly long moment, everything was still. Castiel could hear Dean's heart racing inside of his chest, adrenaline and fear soaking his skin. Inside his head he was snarling, eyes focused on the throat – but then it was gone, vanished away, and he stepped back and released Dean with a small gasp, almost stumbling in an effort to get a safe distance away from the man who was making him shake apart at the seams.
"You have to choose," he repeated, running a hand through his hair, breathing deep. "Humans always have had that privilege."
Dean felt like he couldn't speak, like that power that had so completely pinned him to the wall was still blocking his voice. He could only stare at the hunched form of Castiel, open-mouthed and disbelieving, until he recovered enough to straighten and clear his throat, running a hand through his hair.
"Cas," he said, speaking softly and in a measured tone so as not to startle the creature, as he stepped forward and rested a gentle hand on the back of Castiel's neck, sliding down to his shoulder and squeezing softly. "Listen – the way you said things anyway, it sounds like Heaven and Hell's both got a little bit of a shit agenda, yeah?"
Castiel turned to him, wide-eyed, and nodded but said nothing.
"Well, I mean, I wanna go with the option that saves the most lives," Dean continued with a smile, doing his best to keep calm when his heart was still racing and his palms were clammy. "That already sounds like you've got the best deal. Am I about right with that?"
"A good salesman always presents a deal as the best deal," Castiel muttered, gaze dropping to the floor, but he was stepping close to Dean again, his head down, pressing his face against Dean's shoulder and Dean blew out a huge breath he hadn't realized he was holding, as he felt the last of the tension drain away from the powerful creature's body, and he sighed. "But, yes, my solution has a lot less Hellfire and natural disasters."
"Well then," Dean replied, stepping back just far enough that he could hook his fingers under Castiel's chin, forcing the dog to raise his eyes, "that sounds like the best option on offer, doesn't it? Consider me Team Free Will, and stop worrying yourself stupid. I'm not goin' anywhere."
Castiel looked like he was searching Dean's face, and Dean let him, taking a step back and releasing the creature from his hold. Then, very faintly, Castiel smiled, and closed his eyes, nodding to himself.
"Me," he said. "You're choosing me."
"Sure looks like it," Dean replied with a small smile, scratching at the back of his neck. Why did it feel so much like a Goddamned deal? A million reasons why he should take it back screamed into the back of Dean's mind, but he shoved them away, forcing himself to focus. Castiel had raised him from Hell, and regardless of anything else he owed the guy for that – especially when Dean had apparently wounded him badly in the process.
But…
Dean sighed and shook his head. No. They had all the time in the world to hash out whatever needed hashing out after they stopped the freakin' Apocalypse.
Castiel sighed again, frowning to himself as he absently scratched at where the borrowed t-shirt Dean gave him was sticking and crusting to the wound on his back. It hurt, stung and ached like a dull throb in time with his heartbeat, but he had endured far worse for far less.
The door was still sealed shut, and Dean looked like he had no intention of opening it yet, so with a small sigh Castiel moved to retrieve his half-eaten meal from the bedside table, and leaned against the window while he ate.
He froze.
He put the food down again.
"Dean," he said slowly, upper lip already curling back in a snarl as he felt the Hunter's eyes land on the back of his head. "Wake Sam. We have company."
"What kind of company?" Dean asked, already making a bee-line for the door, and Castiel's sensitive ears could hear the sound of a gun's magazine being checked. He almost smiled.
"Angel." He couldn't help but snarl the word, loud enough that he was sure it was what must have drawn the other creature's attention. Flat brown eyes turned towards him, cold and calculating, and Castiel bared his teeth in a low growl, bracing himself with both hands against the windowsill.
The Angel smirked, folding his hands behind his back, and went back to waiting patiently in Bobby's front yard, eyes focused on the door.
Castiel reattached his scabbard, and he beat Sam and Dean downstairs, his hand resting against the handle of his sword, fingers curling hard enough to white-out the knuckles. When Sam and Dean came down, they were locked and loaded.
He smirked and shook his head. "That won't help," he muttered.
Dean said nothing, approaching the door on silent footsteps, gun held in both hands out in front of him. Sam flanked the other side while Dean took up the side of the door that would open first, leaving Sam behind the cover of the door. Castiel followed close behind, fighting down the urge to insist Dean fall into line behind him: it wouldn't do any good, and the Angels had no reason to threaten him yet.
The door was yanked open by Sam and Dean stepped out, gun trained on the Angel's forehead. "Who are you and what do you want?" he called, his gaze never wavering from the perceived threat, and Castiel stepped out of the door also, flanking him and carefully blocking the view of Sam.
The Angel's eyes raked over Dean in a way that made Castiel snarl, taking another step forward, but he was halted by Dean's arm suddenly across his chest, blocking him. It made the Angel smirk – that self-righteous, arrogant expression that Castiel had so come to hate – as he looked at the exchange.
"Well, well," he said, voice low and booming and it set Castiel's teeth on edge. He hadn't even spared a second glance towards Dean. "If it isn't Daddy's little bitch."
"Uriel," Castiel muttered, chin tilted up in defiance at the name as he suddenly recognized the flare of angel Grace within the vessel. Uriel always had been a very particular, gross shade of green. "What brings you to my kennel?"
The Angel blinked, and Castiel felt a small victory at catching Uriel out – he had no illusions about himself. He was a dog, always had been, and name-calling wasn't the way to get to him. Not anymore. Not even close.
"You've gotten your hands on something that is quite valuable to us," Uriel replied curtly, his eyes flashing to Dean again. Dean's only response was to lift his gun again to aim for Uriel's forehead, his expression flat and set into a frown. "We'd appreciate it back."
"You can go screw yourself," Dean said loudly enough for Uriel to hear. "I'm not some fucking chew toy."
Uriel's mouth twisted into a gross smile. "Cute." This time it was Dean who growled, hand tightening on his gun, and Castiel fought the urge to smile.
"You've got two seconds before I unload my gun into your face," Dean stated. "Angel or not I'll still enjoy it."
"Dean." That was Sam, his concerned hiss behind his brother going largely unnoticed. Castiel held a hand out, asking for Sam's silence – their eyes met, briefly, and Sam looked so Goddamn confused and worried and Castiel wished he had time to explain. There should have been more time to -.
"We have captured Alistair."
Dean and Castiel went tense at the same time. Dean's finger went so tight on the trigger Castiel thought it a wonder the gun didn't fire at all. "How?" he asked, disbelieving. "Why?"
"That is no concern of yours. We know he is close to Lilith –" It was Sam's turn to perk up, indrawn breath and straightened shoulders. "- and he would know her plans on which Seals to attack and break for Sammael's rising."
Uriel paused, looking towards Dean with meaning, and Castiel snarled, taking a step forward and this time firmly planting himself between Dean and the Angel. "No," he hissed, drawing his sword and pointing it accusingly towards Uriel. "Not on your fucking life."
"What?" Dean asked, coming forward, hand curling around Castiel's outstretched sword arm. He was trying to force it down but Castiel was unmovable. "Cas, what's going on?"
"He wants your blade, Dean," Castiel growled, narrowed eyes focused on Uriel's blank, unassuming face. "He wants you to torture Alistair for information on the Seals."
"Who the fuck is Alistair?" Sam demanded from behind them, gaining Dean's attention. "Torturing? Dean, what the Hell is going on?"
Dean bit his lower lip, eyes flashing back to Uriel and Castiel, who was now looking at him guardedly, and his recent words flashed in Dean's mind again: You have to choose.
"Sam, get back inside," Dean ordered, taking a step towards the door. "Give me a minute."
"Dean…"
"I said give me a minute, Cas!" Dean yelled, whirling around and aiming his gun at the creature. He knew it would be useless, but it was the only thing he had. Castiel's eyes were wide, almost afraid, and Dean had no idea why. "So help me God I will use that sigil on you, you got me? Stay."
The order was cruel and he knew it was, treating Castiel like a dog – something deep and buried inside of him felt sick at telling Castiel to do something in such a base and disrespectful way, but he forced himself to ignore it, and he went back inside, closing the door behind Sam and him both and sealing the door so that neither Castiel nor Uriel could, hopefully, get in.
"So, Kerebos," came Uriel's voice, too close for Castiel's comfort, and the creature's shoulders went tense. He growled softly in warning, turning around to face his old brother. "Long time no see." Uriel's eyes felt like a physical touch on Castiel's body – nails in his neck and a knife through his belly. "Hell hasn't been kind to you."
"I'd like to see you last half as long as I did," Castiel hissed, chin raised in defiance as he descended the few stairs from Bobby's porch to be on the same level as Uriel. His sword was still drawn and he held it seemingly casually by his side, but he was ready for a strike at any time and Uriel knew it. "Neat trick, dangling Alistair in front of him like that."
"We really have him, you know."
"Oh?" Castiel raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "And how did you rip a demon from the bowels of Hell?"
"I don't think that's really any of your business," Uriel replied with a sniff, earning a low sound of amusement from Castiel.
"You can't have him."
"You're awfully defiant there, Kerebos," Uriel muttered with a tilt of his head. Castiel's shoulders went tense when he felt the familiar trickling of power in the air that meant Uriel was manifesting his Grace – most likely to summon his blade. Castiel's hand tightened on his own sword. "I think…" There it was, the glint of something metallic but not made by any Earthen metal, flashing towards Castiel, barely parried by his own sword.
The creature snarled and shoved Uriel away, sliding into a fighting stance. He felt weak and his back ached but there was no way in Hell the Angels were getting to Dean without a fight.
"I think someone's let your leash get too long." Uriel twirled his blade, his other hand glowing with Grace, ready to smite, as he smiled. "Time for the choke chain, bitch."
Castiel snarled, and lunged.
