Author's note: I thought of doing a floor plan of the house that Dean and Cas have been staying in, but I wasn't sure if it was really needed. I may still, but that day is not today. ;P
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Ch. 11
Doing this—becoming the king—Dean knew one thing for certain. He couldn't hide this. He had made up his mind that he was going to be up front about everything. If he hid it from them and they found out, it would mean he felt guilty and knew what he was doing was wrong. He hoped it would help quell everyone's unease since he felt comfortable enough to admit to the fact, though he wasn't really comfortable at all. Truthfully, he would be more comfortable sitting on a cactus than he would telling this to everyone.
It was nightfall and he found Sam in his room. The door was open and Dean knocked on the doorframe, causing Sam to look up at the sharp noise.
"Hey Sammy, you free to talk?" He stepped into the room, looking at the few sparse pieces of furniture and belongings, fingertips grazing over boxes.
Sam's tone was hesitant when he responded, "Yeah, what's up?"
Dean licked his lip and fiddled with the handle on one of the drawers on the dresser while he gathered his thoughts. Which was apparently taking too long because Sam cleared his throat behind him. "Dean?"
He rocked up on the balls of his feet and puffed out a breath. "Okay, don't freak out-"
"Don't say that. The last time you said that you died and were resurrected as an angel."
"Right, good point." He cleared his throat before carrying on, "What I mean is that I want you to keep a level head. I know coming from me that's a little hypocritical, but I need you to trust me."
"That depends on what this is. Just tell me what you're talking about!"
Dean stepped over to him and put his hands on his shoulders, staring at him imploringly. "Do you trust me?"
Sam looked him in the eyes for a moment before being satisfied with what he saw, sighing and closing his eyes. "With my life."
Dean let a small smile creep along his lips. "That's my Sammy." He stepped back, leaning his hip on a desk, and started explaining the events of the past couple days. Sam interrupted many times and his voice rose a little but, nevertheless, he remained sitting and heard Dean out. "So that's it. That was the deal. We gotta figure out who to get to do the purification ritual for Crowley though. I mean we need Kevin's blood, but he can't actually do it because he'd flip. We just need the blood of a human and one who's pure to do it."
"Wait, you're seriously considering this? How do you know you won't turn evil?"
This was the part he was really not looking forward to. While Sam had been moderately accepting of his explanation, this was the part in the whole thing that if he was going to flip his shit, it would be here.
"Well." Dean grinned—with a bit too much enthusiasm that made his face feel awkward—and held his hands out to his sides. "I seem alright, right?"
"You don't mean…? Did you already do it? Just like that?"
"Yes? Though it wasn't all that easy. We had to sacrifice a hellhound and an old pagan god and recite a spell, but yes." 'Man, that was a bitch.' Naturally, it was only after the fact, that Crowley informed him the pagan god spat as a defense mechanism. Dean had returned, complaining, wet, and with slimy mucus dripping off of himself, getting a reply of 'Oh yes, they do that. Forgot to mention it.' 'Asshole.'
"And you didn't think to maybe tell me this before you did that?"
"No, and here's why. If you had asked if I would be okay, I wouldn't have been able to give a sure answer. But this way, we know."
Sam pressed his face in his hands and rubbed his fingertips against his eyelids. "I should punch you."
"Yeah, but you'd just hurt your hand."
He watched as Sam got up and walked over to him, but instead of striking him, he wrapped his arms around his shoulders. "This is the craziest, stupidest thing you've ever done, but I trust you. I don't like it, but you came to me and that means something."
Relief flooded through Dean and he hugged him back. "Thank god, cause I don't know if I could do this alone." He patted him firmly on the back before stepping away. "Can you do me a favor and tell everyone here? I still need to go tell Cas." Just thinking of that replaced the momentary relief with a nervous energy.
Sam made a face at the mention of telling Cas—a face that, Dean was pretty sure, meant he was constipated—and replied. "Yeah, sure, I can do that. Good luck."
"I'm going to need it." Dean let out a bitter laugh and rubbed a hand through his hair before flying to the house he and Cas had been sharing.
Dean arrived in the living room of the house and spotted Cas in the kitchen, standing in front of the microwave, waiting for it to go off. Seeing him frayed his nerves and made his stomach roll.
Cas turned around when he heard Dean groan from behind him. "Are you alright?"
"Yes…not really, no." He walked over to the kitchen counter and sat down on a stool, gesturing for Cas to do the same. He could feel his eyes on him and it made him feel worse. He didn't want to see the disappointment and anger in them after he told him the news.
Dean tore off a corner of a paper towel and scrunched it between his fingers as he told Cas everything. He could feel his heart rate building with his anxiety and didn't dare look up at Cas. "-and it's risky but I'm fine. I know you're probably angry because I was pissed at you when you made a deal with him but I'm sure that this will work out."
"So was I, Dean, and you saw what happened to me!" Cas snapped at him, his tone sharp in the quiet house.
"But this is different! I'm not trying to become a new God and I'm not hiding it from people."
"Have you told Sam then?"
"As a matter of fact, I did. And you know what? He trusts me."
"Well I can't. Not on this. I can't watch you fall."
"Cas I'm not-"
"Leave." His tone was low and even.
"But-"
"Just go!" Dean looked at him then and could see the stormy intensity in his eyes, his jaw set tight. As he had thought, there was anger, but also some other emotion that Dean couldn't place. One look was all that was needed to shred his insides, leaving him feeling bruised and hurt.
"As you wish." Dean pushed all the emotions off his face and—without another word—he left, leaving Cas all alone in the empty kitchen. Cas pressed his palms to his eyes, feeling them sting beneath his hands and he swallowed around the knot in his throat, letting out a wet, shuddering breath. He felt angry because Dean was being reckless but, more than that, he was terrified. Terrified that things were going to fall apart and he would lose the person, the being, that mattered most to him.
This was how Dean wound up on the floor of the bunker's bathroom, hugging the toilet. 'This king of hell thing is going great so far. Not even a day in and I'm praying to the porcelain gods.' After he left the house he had made up his mind that he was going to get drunk which, admittedly, was really hard to do as an angel. He may have been a little overzealous, however, and he was now wondering if angels could get alcohol poisoning. He was in the middle of throwing up again when Sam walked in.
"Oh my god, what happened?"
"What does it look like Sa-", Dean stopped talking to try and swallow down some of the bile, "-Sammy? I'm smashed."
"No, I mean with Cas."
Dean groaned at hearing his name and rested his cheek against the toilet lid, enjoying the coolness of it against his skin. "I don't even want to think about it. He-ohhh not aga-", Dean turned his head and threw up again. Spitting and waiting a few seconds to collect himself, he continued to speak. "He fucking hates me."
Sam rubbed soothing circles against Dean's back. "He doesn't hate you, he's just angry."
"He told me to leave, and his eyes-oh Sammy-his eyes. I'm…I'm…I'm gonna throw up." Sam crinkled his nose as he watched his brother double over again. "Man, you're a wreck. You really do care about him, don't you?"
"No." Dean looked away, sadness brimming along his words. "It doesn't matter, not anymore. Not that it ever did."
"Maybe you should try to make it up to him? Like do something nice for him."
"Oh yeah, and while I'm at it, I'll play Hungry Eyes and we'll make pottery together." Dean snarked crankily.
"Dude, those are different movies."
"And I'm supposed to be the one that likes a dude?" Dean's head was fuzzy and he wasn't entirely aware of what he was saying.
"You are so drunk right now. How much did you have to drink?"
"So many."
Sam made a face and shook his head, gently patting Dean on the back. He wasn't even sure that his brother would remember this conversation in the morning. He did know that he would probably be expressly forbid to ever bring it up. Dean's feelings, period, were a taboo subject, let alone feelings involving a certain somebody with blue eyes. Sometimes, Sam thought to himself, Dean made him want to pull his hair out. But, that's what family was for…that, and carrying your unconscious body to bed when you pass out on the bathroom floor.
Author's note: By this point in the story, I'm not even I'm halfway through yet (I don't think). So many ideas left!...and also smut~ I've had to slap my wrist a couple times already to keep from putting it in earlier. XD
