Awesome news – my beautiful mother, wonderful lady that she is, agreed to loan me the funds for a new laptop and let me pay her back over the next few months. And so, of course, the first thing I'm doing with my shiny new computer is writing a chapter. Here – celebrate with me and have an update!
Warning: Minor character death
Trudging heavily up the stairs to his apartment, Dean clasps the handrail wearily, boots clattering on the pitted concrete steps. Exhaustion settles in his limbs, cold and dense, physical and mental fatigue dragging at him like lead weights.
A cold beer- that's what he needs. Maybe a couple of shorts. A warm body to curl up with would be nice, but since that's out of the question, his friends Jim, Jack or James will have to suffice… anything to help numb his senses and clear his mind until he falls asleep and this goddamn day can just be over.
Was it really only this afternoon he was with Castiel? The other man propelling him to heaven and back with that luscious mouth of his before bending him over and taking him with a force as surprising as it was totally fucking awesome- hot and hard and sweet. Damn… it feels like he's aged years since then. Usually a memory like that would be enough to keep him grinning like an idiot for weeks, but after what he's seen tonight… well he's finding it kind of difficult to raise a smile.
'There's been an incident' Uriel had said.
An incident.
That's how he'd chosen to describe the deliberate razing of the Roadhouse with more than a dozen of the people he'd once called friends inside. Granted, for most of them he uses the word 'friends' in the loosest possible sense, but still- after pulling up to the smouldering wreckage and being forced to sift through the charred remains… it doesn't matter who they were now. They're gone all the same.
Another of Michael's jigsaw pieces fitting together to make his vast web of influence, the Roadhouse had been something of a hub for Di Angeles' men. As far as Michael's businesses go, it was one of the least important in terms of profitability, but its significance lay in the refuge it offered- walking into a hospital with a bullet wound is a sure fire way of landing yourself in the big house- innocent men rarely get shot… but you knew that if you could get to the Roadhouse, there'd always be someone on hand that could patch you up, no questions asked.
And so whilst not an obvious target, it would be a smart one. Dean has no doubt the attack was meant as a blow to Michael, first Virgil and now this- somebody's sending him a message.
From what Dean could determine, the culprit had gotten there early evening, sealed the doors from the outside and blown the gas canisters round the back… then stood back to watch the place burn. By the time Dean had arrived, the only thing that hadn't been reduced to a pile of ash was the sign- 'Harvelle's Roadhouse' sitting haphazardly amongst the smoking timber and seared corpses.
And Michael had wanted them to sort through it- like the cold-hearted bastard he is, he hadn't spared a thought for all the innocent people who'd been in there- civilians in the wrong place at the wrong time, no- all he'd cared about was the bottom line, the numbers. How many men had this cost him?
Dean isn't squeamish; he's dealt with death his whole life- dealt it out himself enough times… but having to identify more than twenty blackened bodies is something that will haunt him for the rest of his life. The sight of all those burnt figures, some red, as though raw with sunburn, some charred beyond all recognition… and the smell…
That's not something he's likely to forget in a hurry.
Before he found her, Dean had been idly wondering what Michael would do to the person responsible when he found them. Michael would surely want revenge, had likely already started plotting, and Dean would probably be involved in some way or another…
But then he saw her-
Jo.
Almost like a sister to him, Jo Harvelle's father had worked alongside John since their children were toddlers. They'd grown up with the same case of hero-worship, and like Dean, she'd decided to follow in her daddy's footsteps, taking over the business when he died.
Dean had been helping Uriel shift the collapsed rubble of the bar top when he'd found her, almost unrecognisable beneath crumbled bricks and lumps of charcoal. Her face was blackened along one side, an angry puce on the other, her once beautiful blonde tresses singed to virtually nothing. Cradling her lifeless form into his arms, Dean had been overcome with a rage so sudden and so intense, he could practically taste it.
He knew there and then that he would be right beside Michael when the time came, happily taking apart the perpetrator piece by piece.
He'd make sure of it.
(***)
Finally reaching his own floor, Dean sighs at the thought of his cold lonely apartment, and wishes with all his might that just for tonight, Castiel could be with him. Despite his optimism regarding the whiskey, Dean knows he'll be lucky to find any peace this evening, and longs more keenly than he remembers ever having done before for the other man's weight, warm and solid and alive in his arms. He'd give anything right now to hold Castiel close and bury his face in the other man's skin, to replace the acrid stench of scorched flesh lingering in his nostrils with warm salt musk and cinnamon.
"Rough night?"
Reaching his front door, Dean almost jumps out of his skin when a voice addresses him out of nowhere. He whips his head around, glaring out into the hall and sees a dark figure lurking in the shadowy alcove opposite his apartment.
"Who the hell's there?" he demands.
"Now now Deano, no need to be rude." Gabriel smirks, stepping into the light of the hallway. "We're practically old friends now, you and I."
"What the-"
"Let's go inside, Dean…" Gabriel cuts off Dean's flustering with a wave, pulling the keys from the surprised man's fingers and nudging him aside to open the door.
"… We need to talk."
(***)
It's past midnight when a sound in the hallway alerts Castiel to Michael's return, a low rustling and soft click of the front door announcing his arrival.
Marking the page of his book, Castiel places it carefully on the side table beside the lamp and looks over the low back of the chesterfield armchair he's draped across in time to see the other man stride into the room, tall and brooding.
He's spent the evening replaying the unexpected visit from Gabriel over and over in his mind, wracking his brain to come up with the best possible way to broach the subject with Michael, but when he sees the hard set of the man's shoulders as he heads straight for the brandy decanter, his heart falls- it's going to be difficult enough bringing up his estranged brother without Michael already being in a bad mood.
"Michael," Castiel greets him, warily watching as he pours himself a large measure, drains it in one, and refills his glass before seating himself heavily in the matching chair across the room
"Come here," Michael commands without preamble, pinching the bridge of his nose and beckoning Castiel to him with a slight incline of his head.
Uncurling himself and getting to his feet, Castiel crosses the room in a few short steps and comes to stand uncertainly before Michael, unable to gauge the man's mood as ever. Michael looks up and studies him for a moment before reaching out to grasp Castiel's hand and tug him forward, the smaller man landing unceremoniously in his lap with a small gasp of surprise.
"I've had a dreadful day," Michael mutters, pressing his face into Castiel's throat and snaking his hands beneath the smaller man's shirt to grasp his hips.
"O-Oh...?" Castiel stutters as Michael's teeth scrape his pulse point, the sharp points digging in just a little too sharply.
He isn't sure what constitutes terrible to a man like Michael… he doesn't think he wants to know. So long as it doesn't involve Dean.
"Mmm…" Michael continues mouthing at his neck, sucking sharply until Castiel can feel the blood rise to the surface in a dark purple smear. "There was an unfortunate mishap at one of my properties… terribly inconvenient."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Castiel murmurs, raising his arms at Michael's insistence to allow the other man to remove his shirt. Licking his way up to Castiel's mouth, Michael claims his lips in a harsh kiss, forcing his tongue inside, wet and dominating. Castiel makes a quiet sound as the breath is stolen from him, closing his eyes tightly and returning the embrace with as much enthusiasm as he can muster.
Pulling back, Michael's lips curve into a small smile, a predatory glint in his lust darkened eyes,
"Well then… maybe you should make me forget about it."
(***)
Lying in bed, weary and aching, Castiel studies the crown moldings around the ceiling, listening to Michael's breathing settle beside him and carefully considering his words. He knows this probably isn't the best time to tell Michael about Gabriel's visit, but he's too worried that if the man finds out some other way, Castiel will be in trouble for not volunteering the information sooner.
"I received an unexpected visitor today," he murmurs eventually, turning onto his side and tucking the sheets under his armpits, watching Michael warily.
"Hmm?" Michael drags sated eyes open, fixing them with some effort on Castiel. "Who?"
Castiel chews his lower lip nervously, struggling to steel his resolve now that he's started.
"Who was it, Castiel?" Michael's voice hardens as he rouses himself, becoming aware of Castiel's anxious state.
"Your brother," Castiel whispers, bracing himself for Michael's reaction.
He expects surprise… anger, annoyance, loathing- anything except what he sees- blatant shock mingled with a flash of… was that fear?
"My… brother?"
"Yes. I was at the gallery this afternoon when out of the blue, Gabriel just showed up."
Castiel isn't sure if he imagines it, but he almost thinks he sees a flicker of relief at the mention of Gabriel's name, like Michael was expecting to hear something else. He blinks in confusion before dismissing the thought- its not as though Michael could have though he was talking about anyone else.
"Gabriel," Michael repeats the name, tongue curving distastefully over the syllables. He pushes himself upright and sits back against the headboard, "And what did he have to say for himself?"
"He wanted me to give you something." Castiel slides out of the bed, bolstered my Michael's so far lack of admonishment, and pads over to his overcoat, slung carelessly across the ottoman. When he turns back with the small parcel, barely the size of a cufflink box, Michael's gaze zeroes in on it.
"Did he tell you what it was?"
"No," Castiel admits, coming to sit on the edge of the bed and holding out his hand timidly, "Only that it was something that had come into his possession, and that he thought you should have it."
"Hmm," Michael makes no move to take the package, merely looks at it in Castiel's outstretched palm, as though expecting it to sprout legs and walk towards him. The seconds stretch on into minutes, and Castiel's muscles start to ache, but still Michael remains still, until eventually Castiel shifts forwards, as if to place the box directly into Michael's hand.
Castiel doesn't see it coming, but he's barely moved an inch when, in a series of swift movements, Michael has grabbed the parcel with one hand and seized Castiel's wrist with the other, a loud crack sounding as the small item hits the far wall abruptly.
"Do you not remember Castiel, what I told you all those years ago, about speaking that man's name?"
Twisting his arm sharply, Michael forces Castiel face down on the bed, one knee pressing harshly into his spine.
"That man is a traitor to this family, and no brother of mine. I will accept nothing from the likes of that lowlife."
"I'm sorry," Castiel gasps, tears springing to his eyes as Michael bends his arm so far up his back, his shoulder joint creaks in protest. "I'm so sorry Michael… I didn't know what to do… he just showed up out of nowhere…"
In a moment, the burning pressure is released, and Castiel feels warm breath on the back of his neck as Michael leans over him.
"It's ok Castiel, I forgive you."
Michael rolls him onto his back, picking up his wrist and pressing damp kisses to the tender flesh. Castiel looks up at him, face pale and tear stained.
"There there," Michael lifts a teardrop from Castiel's cheek with his fingertip, considering it for a moment before sucking the salty bead into his mouth. "I understand it's been a long time. But you remember now, don't you? How I feel about you talking to that defector."
"I understand," Castiel gulps, "I won't forget again."
"I know you won't," Michael shuffles them so they're the right way up again in the bed, laying the younger man's head onto the pillow with uncharacteristic gentleness, "And you'll tell me right away, won't you, if he tries to contact you again?"
"Of course."
Softly kissing his forehead, Michael smiles fondly at Castiel, and man marvelling how he can look at him like that when mere minutes ago he was inches from breaking his arm.
"Sleep now, my love."
(***)
"So… what do you want?" Dean hands Gabriel a beer then opens one for himself, chugging half the contents in a series of long swallows before meeting Gabriel's gaze. Dean's expression is well schooled and impassive, but his hands toy with the bottle, peeling the label and rolling it between his fingers in a subtle indicator of his agitated state.
"I haven't got long, so I'm not going to beat around the bush," Gabriel looks Dean squarely in the eye, "I want you to end it with Castiel."
Dean has just lifted his drink again to his lips but at Gabriel's words he freezes, staring open-mouthed at the other man,
"You… what?"
"You heard me Dean," Gabriel's jaw is taught, the mischievous twinkle in his eye from this afternoon nowhere to be seen. "This thing between you, I think you should break it off."
Dean just stares, unable to quite comprehend what he is hearing. The audacity of this man- to come into his home and then drop this on him. The bastard- he'd made them think it was going to be ok… he'd even made Cas glad to see him.
"I thought you didn't care about your brother?" He speaks through clenched teeth, focussing only on Gabriel's motivations and dismissing any notion of actually answering the demand. He ignores the way the he feels suddenly cold and nauseous- everything in him shying away from just the mere idea of not being with Castiel.
"I may hate Michael's guts, but don't ever suggest that I don't care," Gabriel snaps, "He's still family."
"But this afternoon…"
"Never mind that, it's not for Michael's sake I'm doing this anyway. It's Castiel's."
Glaring in incredulity, Dean fights the urge to just kick the short man out of his apartment,
"And how do you work that one out?"
"Come on Dean, you know Michael as well as I do, have either of you really thought about what will happen when he finds out… and I say 'when' not 'if'- you might have been lucky up until now, but it's only a matter of time."
"We're careful," Dean says quietly, disliking the way Gabriel's words resonate with a ring of truth.
"Not careful enough- I walked in on you, didn't I? That could just as easily have been Uriel or one of the others, not to mention Michael himself."
Dean knows this, in fact he'd thought of nothing else all the way to the Roadhouse. But knowing a thing is different to true consideration of its implications.
"We both knew the risks when we got into this," Dean swallows, looking up at Gabriel, "We know what'll happen if we're caught."
"Oh I'm sure you've got a pretty good idea… but does Castiel?"
"Of course he does- he's lived with the guy for ten years." Dean snaps.
"That means nothing," Gabriel waves a hand dismissively, picking up the sweating bottle from the coffee table, taking a swig as he runs a finger through the circle of water left behind. "Michael's quite the charmer when he wants to be, and I'm sure Cassie's not the type to try and aggravate him… I doubt Castiel's ever seen what he does to people that really get on the wrong side of him."
"Look man- you don't know shit, ok? You don't know what your dick of a brother has done to Cas… I think he's got a pretty good idea of what he's dealing with."
"Maybe you're right," Gabriel holds his hands up in surrender, "But you've worked with him, Dean. You've seen first-hand what he's truly capable of… has Castiel seen that?"
Reluctantly, Dean thinks back to the atrocities he's witnessed over the years… the woman who's eyes were burned out of their sockets when she tried to testify against one of Michael's cousins… the dock worker who'd been skimming the profits who'd had the Di Angeles family crest etched crudely into his chest with a Stanley knife then been left to bleed in that deserted warehouse until the rats came and finished him off…
Michael was nothing if not imaginative.
"Well?" Gabriel prompts, raising his eyebrows knowingly as he watches the shadows of past horrors flicker across Dean's face.
"No…" Dean mutters softly in defeat, "He doesn't know how bad it could be."
"And so you're willing to take it… if it comes to it? You're prepared to face whatever sentence Michael chooses to dish out?"
"Yes." Dean states firmly. Right from the beginning when he first took Castiel to his bed, he knew how high the penalty would be if they were ever caught, and he'd made that decision there and then that it was worth it.
"But are you prepared for Castiel to go through it?"
"Excuse me?"
"I said- are you prepared for Castiel to go through it? You know it won't just be you that Michael rips to shreds… it'll be your lover boy too."
And if there was ever a way to get Dean to do something he didn't want to do, it would be to make it about someone else. Pain is nothing to a guy like Dean, he can take it, threaten all you like and he'll laugh it off and come back for more.
But make it about someone he… cares about, and suddenly it's a whole different ball game.
Dean's stomach turns and he thinks he might actually be sick as an unbidden image of Castiel, strung up and bleeding like he's seen so many others, springs up behind his eyes.
Of course- of course he knew it was not just his own life he was risking- it was Cas's too… but he'd never thought of it in quite that way before.
Oh God no…
Gabriel watches sympathetically as Dean seems to collapse in on himself, running his hands through his hair then over his face. He remains silent for a long time, seemingly forgetting the older man's presence, moving only to fetch the Jack Daniels from the kitchen and bring it back without a glass, drinking straight from the bottle. Eventually, he looks up at Gabriel, his expression the hollow helplessness of a man staring out from his own grave,
"Why would you do this… what's it to you?"
"Castiel was a good friend to me once; I owe it to him to look out for him."
"He has me for that."
"But what if you're the one he needs protecting from?"
Dean starts at that, opening his mouth to protest, but Gabriel silences him, getting to his feet and speaking instead,
"Maybe it's not my place to say, but for the sake of my own conscience I couldn't leave without putting it out there. The two of you have had this secret for so long, maybe it's clouded your judgement- maybe it's time you had someone outside offer a little advice."
"And that's what you're doing," Dean sneers, "Offering some friendly advice? And if I tell you to fuck off, what then? You going to let it go?"
Standing over him, Gabriel cuts a more imposing figure than Dean would have thought possible of the short man, the flash in his eyes and authority in his tone reminiscent of his older brother,
"I'll keep your secret Dean, I promised Castiel I would, and I won't go back on that. All I'm doing here is giving you my opinion, what you do with it is your choice."
"Some choice," Dean huffs, taking another mouthful from his bottle and scowling when he finds it almost empty.
"If you decide to ignore me, I won't do anything to stop you. And hell- maybe I'm wrong, maybe you two will manage to keep this up indefinitely, all I'm saying is- I doubt it. In my experience, no one manages to keep anything secret from my brother in the long run. Believe me- I know."
"I'll bear that in mind," Dean mutters bitterly, getting to his feet to show Gabriel out.
"But know this," Gabriel turns at the door to face him, "If it comes down to it, Castiel won't be the one to make the choice, he'll never be able to make the decision to give you up… that'll be down to you."
"And if I can't do it either… if I can't give him up?"
Gabriel narrows his eyes and considers him for a moment, before his brow smooths and he smiles sadly,
"I think you could, if it was for him."
Dean huffs doubtfully, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the edge of the door as Gabriel moves past him into the hallway.
"Just think about it Dean, it might be difficult now, but think about the future – how long do you honestly think you can keep this up?"
"Whatever man, just leave me alone, ok?"
Gabriel dips his head in acceptance, buttoning up his jacket and making his way down the corridor,
"Oh, and Dean?" Pausing a few steps away, Gabriel turns back and catches him just before he closes the front door. "I don't know how much Michael lets on, but I'm telling you – pretty soon? Shit's gonna get real. Changes are coming my friend, and you're going to have to pick a side."
"What the-"
"Watch your back- that's all I'm saying. And be careful who you trust."
"The hell – that's it?" Dean scowls at Gabriel's retreating form as the man carries on down the corridor.
"See you around Deano-" He lifts a hand, not looking back. "I hope everything works out for you… really, I do."
Dean watches until Gabriel rounds the corner, then hears the man's steps echoing from the stairwell as he makes his way down to the parking lot. Backing slowly into his apartment, Dean closes the door and locks it, before falling heavily back against the cheap wood.
He can't quite believe that just happened. Just when he'd thought his day couldn't get any worse…
Collecting his whiskey bottle and heading towards the bedroom, Dean tries to block Gabriel's words from his mind.
The majority of his psyche champions the idea that he should just get shit-faced, pass out, and hopefully be so hung over tomorrow he'll forget this night ever happened. But a small whisper in his head- small but insistent, voices the opinion that maybe Gabriel could be right- maybe it would be better for Cas, and him, if they weren't together anymore.
Despite the overwhelming anguish this thought provokes, he can't quite manage to squash it. Like a rotten seed it takes root, growing slowly, worming its poisonous tendrils around everything he feels for Cas until he can't be sure anymore what's right or wrong.
For the first time… he has doubts.
Falling into an uneasy inebriated slumber, Dean dreams of blood and flames; ocean blue eyes glowing red as they're consumed by fire.
He wakes with sweat on his brow and Castiel's name on his lips.
A/N: So... any thoughts? Questions? Criticism? (of the constructive kind please!) Please keep me informed people, a few words go a long way!
Sorry to anyone offended by how I'm portraying Gabriel, but if you think back to the show, he isn't exactly helpful until later on… (make of that what you will!)
Aaand- there's going to be quite a gap before the next chapter- sorry, but I'm off on vacation as of Friday for three weeks (yippee!) I'll try and get something up as quick as possible when I get back, just to whet your appetites- I'm planning on writing the actual start of Dean and Cas's relationship into the next chapter, so stay tuned!
