A/N: I'm so sorry this was so delayed! Here it is now! I hope you enjoy!
I need to give HUGE content/trigger warnings for this chapter for abuse, discussion of abuse, nightmares/flashbacks, and referenced rape. It's towards the second half of the chapter and onwards if you want to avoid lots of hurt/comfort and healing.
This gets pretty sad so I'm sorry in advance :( Next chapter is super happy/about Dean's healing/Cas being an amazing boyfriend though, so you have that to look forward to. Also, I can promise that next chapter they FINALLY say "I love you" to each other! About time.
QueenWoofy - thank you, glad you liked it! The interviews were shit and 100% disasters lol, but I've got offers from 2 of my favourite unis so far so it's cool :) hope you like this chapter!
FateUnknown - Aw, thank you so much! That's so sweet of you, I'm glad you like this/liked Amnesia too! I'm writing a couple of other fics at the moment if you wanted to check them out, they're both Dean/Cas (obviously, haha) thanks for commenting!
allendeojeda - Thank you so much! That means a lot to me, you have no idea :') And as for the "I love you", well, that's coming next chapter, and I can promise that with absolute certainty! Hopefully the payoff for the MASSIVE buildup to the L word will be a good one. Thanks again, lovely!
Chapter 26
Dean tosses a bag onto his bed and drops a box of his stuff onto the floor. Benny has already given him the bear-hug to end all bear-hugs, and Cas will be arriving later today. Zeke has texted Dean to tell him to come over, that he's already unpacked and is bored to death, and this isn't how he'd planned on spending the beginning of his final year in college.
He pulls his phone out his pocket and texts Cas.
ETA?
Cas's reply is near instantaneous.
Few hours? Maybe less.
Dean picks up his football and slumps onto his bed, back on the wall, legs drawn up.
I hope less
He hopes his response doesn't sound as needy as he thinks it does. But Cas's reply makes him snort gently and twitch a smile that warms his insides.
Yeah, me too
Wanna spend the night with me?
Dean smirks.
Only since we first met, Cas
I noticed, believe me
Dick.
You like it when I'm mean
I like it better when you shuddup
Cas's reply to this kills the humour and playful tone of their texts to such a degree that Dean barks out a laugh, sat alone in his room, on his bed.
I've missed you, Dean.
It's been… 8 days?
8 days too many
Damn but you're needy, Cas
Only for you
Always you
Dean smirks again, but swallows and curls his legs up to his chest. Damn, if Cas knew half the things he did to Dean.
"Hey, brother," Benny grins, entering their dorm. "How was your summer?"
Dean practically beams.
Benny looks as though he expected the expression.
"Kind of awesome," Dean admits, ignoring his friend's patronising smile.
"Only 'kind of'?" Benny repeats, raising his eyebrows at Dean.
Dean grins and tosses his football over to his friend.
"Alright," He concedes. "One of the best ever. What about you?"
Benny smiles lazily and sits on his bed, shrugging.
"Parents fightin', which wasn't so good…" His smile flickers into a frown, but only momentarily, before his lips are twitching upwards again and his expression is turning from troubled to lighthearted and thoughtful. "Got to see my niece, which was nice. Stayin' with my brother and his fiancé; they've got a little girl. She's gonna be a troublemaker, that one," He grins.
"Yeah?" Dean chuckles. "How old is she?"
"Eighteen months, and about the cutest thing you'll ever see." Benny shifts and lies back on his bed, tossing the football back to Dean and folding his arms behind his head. "She likes painting—don't matter what it is she paints, as long as she paints something. 'Least," Benny chuckles, "that's the way she sees it."
"That's cute," Dean laughs.
"Well, at first," Benny agrees. "Cute and messy. And then a bitch to clean up. You ever tried cleaning a wall before, Dean?"
"Can't say I have," Dean admits. Benny bites his tongue, grinning, and rolls his eyes.
"It's not easy."
"I'll take your word for it."
"You like kids?"
"Uh," Dean shrugs, tossing the ball up and catching it again. "I guess." He considers this answer for a moment. "I always looked after Sammy when we were kids, and then Jo… So babies, sure. When they get older than that, though, I kind of have no idea. Like, when kids hit five years old, I feel like they become assholes—"
Benny barks out a laugh.
"Kids can't be assholes, Dean—how could you even say that?"
"Wanna bet?" Dean grins. "I've got two younger siblings and way too much experience for you to try to call me out on this."
"They're all literally so innocent," Benny chuckles. "They can't be—"
"Nah, you're wrong. Give a few years, you'll be agreeing with me."
"So you don't actually like kids?"
"I do," Dean protests, laughing. "I just recognise their faults."
Benny snorts and shakes his head.
"Anyway," He chuckles, "I was gonna say that this summer was the summer I realised that I like kids."
"And that's all you did, all summer?" Dean raises his eyebrows. Benny grins and rolls his eyes.
"Pretty much," He replies sarcastically. "Heard you stayed with Ezekiel?"
"Yep," Dean confirms. "Never eaten so many smores in my life."
"Wait, are you complaining about that?"
Dean grins, laughing, and shakes his head.
"Not complaining," He smirks. "It was awesome. I've actually gotta go see Zeke now—"
"Got to?" Benny repeats, raising his eyebrows at his roommate.
"Shut up," Dean bites down on his amusement. "He's bored. You wanna come with?"
"Sure," Benny shrugs, sitting up. "You know, your relationship with Ezekiel seems to be the kind my brother has with his daughter."
"Ezekiel is not my kid."
"No?" Benny chortles as they exit the dorm. "Well… Let's agree to disagree?"
Dean snorts and shoves Benny playfully.
"Asshole."
"I'm glad you think so."
"I missed you."
"So needy," Benny rolls his eyes, then smiles warmly, affection sparking behind his cool, bright, blue-gray gaze. "Dating Cas has turned you soft."
"You're telling me," Dean jokes.
"So when's Cas gonna be here?"
"Couple of hours," Dean shrugs. "I don't think he's very sure. But he texted me saying a few hours, so hopefully not too long."
"Hopefully," Benny agrees. "His sister starts college this year, right?"
"Right."
"Cas gets along with her?"
"Cas loves her. For years, they've only had each other."
"That's cute."
"Yeah. Difficult for them, I guess, but it's great they get along so well."
"You guys've been dating for a while," Benny smiles thoughtfully. Dean frowns.
"Yeah, I guess," He admits. "What's your point?"
"Nothin'," Benny shrugs, feigning carelessness. "Just think it's nice."
"Yeah," Dean doesn't stop frowning as they enter Ezekiel's block. "Well… I guess it is…"
"You're so easily embarrassed," Benny snorts as Dean pushes Ezekiel's door open.
"Finally," Ezekiel grumbles from inside the room. "Do you know how long I've been waiting for you?"
"I see what you mean about him being a kid," Dean snorts to Benny, who chuckles, even as Zeke catches what it is Dean has said and throws a pillow at them both.
"Don't get bitchy with me just 'cause Cas is late."
"I'm not getting bitchy," Dean frowns.
"Sure you aren't."
"You know I can just leave, right, Zeke?:" Dean grins. "I don't have to take your shit."
Ezekiel snorts as Dean sits down on Cas's bed. Benny grabs a beanbag.
About two hours later, Cas appears, and greets Benny with a nod and smile, Ezekiel with a reluctant hug, and Dean with a sincere one, hot breath skittering over the human's neck and making him inexplicably shiver. He considers for a moment how strange it is that he misses Cas so much when the angel is gone. Especially when considering the fact that, despite Benny's pretensions, they really haven't been dating that long. Not even a year.
So why does Dean feel so strongly about Cas?
They stay and talk for a few hours; Benny sharing more details of time spent with his brother and niece, Ezekiel filling Dean and Castiel in on the rest of his summer, after Rach, Cas and Dean returned to Dean's place. Pretty soon, Benny gets up and informs Dean that he'll be heading back to their room. Dean decides to stay with Cas.
That night, lying in Cas's bed next to the angel, with Ezekiel snoring softly across from him and Castiel's breath warm and tender on his neck, Dean thinks about how long it is that he and Cas will be together. It's weird, because not knowing the future, Dean has no idea what it is he ought to expect; can only hope that he and the angel next to him get a happy ending, a happy ending with each other. But what if they don't? And what does a happy ending involve, exactly?
It's better to think of the now, he decides. The now and the breath on his skin, the hands curled into his stomach and the arms wrapped around his body. The tattoo of Cas's heartbeat on his back, how chest-to-spine it thumps against Dean's body, how Dean can time his breathing to match it. How warm and soft the angel's wings are, how they drape themselves against Dean's ankles and how the touch is close to heaven to him.
"You awake?" Asks a familiar, gruff voice behind Dean that rumbles across the slope of Dean's back and makes him smile involuntarily into the embracing darkness of the room.
"Uh-huh," Dean confirms, reaching down to trace his fingertips along the ridges of Castiel's knuckles. "What's up?"
"I don't know," Castiel shrugs, the motion slight and muted. "I just wanted to talk."
Dean chuckles, warm and rough, into the darkened air.
"Damn it, Cas, I need to sleep"
The angel snorts into Dean's flesh.
"Sorry."
"Don't be," Dean beams despite himself. "What did you want to talk about?"
"What's your favourite movie?" Castiel asks. "I can't believe I don't know."
"You probably do," Dean chuckles. "It's just that you prefer to talk about weird, existential shit with me, normally. This is a weirdly harmless question."
Castiel smiles into Dean's neck.
"Something with Clint Eastwood? Or probably Star Wars, since you're a giant dork—"
Dean grins and rolls over in the bed to press a kiss to Cas's lips.
"Shut up," He smiles, despite himself. "What's your favourite movie?"
Castiel hums softly, his hands on Dean's sides, thumbs grazing against the ridges of Dean's hipbones.
"What kind of favourite?" He asks. "Like, the kind of favourite where you watch it whenever you're sick or sad and you feel better straight away? Or the kind of favourite where you have to share it with everyone? Or the kind of favourite where you can't share it with anyone? Where it's yours and only yours and it's intimate and special and—"
"Fuck, Cas, you over complicate everything."
"Fine," Cas rolls his eyes. "Dead Poets Society?"
"Could've called that," Dean snorts.
"Why?" Castiel frowns.
"'Cause," Dean grins, "you're pretentious and outdated as fuck. That's why."
"I don't know how you can stand to be my boyfriend, Dean," Castiel replies dryly. Dean laughs in the darkened room.
"Yeah, you were a bit of a charity case, to be honest," Dean chuckles as Cas nudges him. "But you have your redeeming features. So."
"So?" Castiel raises his eyebrows.
"So I decided to date you," Dean shrugs. "because of those redeeming parts of your personality. And looks."
"Be more specific?"
"So I can indulge your ego a little more?"
"After tearing it down so brutally just now, yes."
Dean has to stifle his laughter into Castiel's neck.
"You can be pretty funny."
"Only 'pretty funny'?" Castiel raises his eyebrows at Dean in the pretty, pale moonlight.
"And you make me happy, I guess," Dean grins.
"You guess?" Castiel repeats. Dean snorts out another laugh.
"And you're sensitive and kind of clueless and I guess I find it pretty cute."
"That's nice of you."
"Yeah, like I said, charity."
Castiel grins and looks away from Dean, shaking his head.
"Don't know what I'm gonna do with you," He hums. Dean chuckles.
"You also have pretty eyes," He beams.
"I always think the same thing about you," Cas comments, his gaze turning soft.
"And I like how I feel like you understand me."
Castiel smiles properly this time, leaning forward to kiss softly at Dean's lips.
"I'm glad you think I do," The angel replies. "Though you're far to complicated for me to ever understand fully."
"I dunno," Dean bites down on his smile. "You come pretty close."
"You're cute."
"You're patronising."
Cas kisses Dean again.
"I'm glad I have you."
"I'm sure you are," Dean grins smugly.
Castiel laughs so loudly it wakes Ezekiel up.
…
"So I've worked out what it is about Halloween," Ezekiel states, sat on his bed, studying.
Dean snorts next to Castiel.
"Oh, yeah?" He raises his eyebrows. Castiel wants to remind him that he has an assignment due in tomorrow that he's been stressing out over all week, but Dean seems too happy, looking up from his laptop and notebook, sat on Castiel's bed, to interrupt. "And what's that?"
"You get to be someone completely different for a day—or night, or whatever—and like, not give a shit about who you are, at least for a couple of hours. That's kinda sad, isn't it?"
"I don't know how you managed to make costumes depressing."
"I didn't make it depressing," Ezekiel shakes his head. "It's a depressing concept. But it's cute at the same time, you know?"
"I don't think I do," Dean shakes his head, smiling distractedly as Castiel's hands loop round his waist.
"I'm guessing you've already got your costume planned, Ezekiel?" Castiel asks his roommate, who grins in a guileless, wolfish manner.
"You bet I have," He confirms. "Me and Benny both. But I'm not telling you what it is."
"You and Benny planned matching costumes without me?" Dean asks, obviously offended. Ezekiel snorts at the human, apparently not able to contain it.
"And Gabe," He shrugs, "but I assumed you'd want to do something with Cas!"
"Cas isn't gonna want to," Dean grumbles, glaring accusingly at Castiel, who can't help but smirk in return. "For however much you love Halloween, Zeke, Cas hates it."
"That's not true," Castiel shakes his head. Dean glares skeptically at him.
"Cas, don't you remember that time you literally ranted to me about how much you hated Halloween?"
"I said I hated the racist costumes, not the holiday."
"No, I think Dean's right," Ezekiel grins. "And besides, last year I had to literally force you into that pirate costume—"
"You didn't force me into the pirate part of the costume, you forced me into the zombie part of it."
"Well, whatever," Dean shrugs. "You're still not gonna want to do a couple's costume with me, so the day's gonna be total shit."
Castiel glances over to Ezekiel and is glad to see him smirking at Dean's pout, too.
"Fine," Castiel caves at Dean's indignant doe-eyes. "What would you want to go as?"
"Something from Star Wars."
Castiel wrinkles his nose.
"See, Cas, I knew you'd do this!"
"I didn't say anything!" Castiel exclaims.
"You didn't have to," Dean rolls his eyes. "I know you well enough to be able to tell what you're thinking."
"Okay, well I'm just not happy with dressing as an alien—"
"You could be Luke, I could be—"
"Or anything from a sci-fi film," Castiel finishes. "We could go as cowboys, like you did last year? I liked what you wore."
"Like you paid any attention to me," Dean rolls his eyes. Ezekiel barks out a laugh, thoroughly entertained, and Castiel shoots a glare in his direction.
"You're not helping, Ezekiel," He hisses.
"Why would I want to help?" The ther angel frowns indignantly. "This is hilarious. Is this your first fight?" He asks, obviously delighted.
"This isn't a fight," Castiel shakes his head, but Dean is hardly paying attention.
"And that's just it, isn't it, Cas?" Dean continues, scowling. "I was a cowboy last year, I can't be one this year as well!"
"There's no law that says you have to dress as something different each year—"
"No written one, sure," Dean shrugs. "But this is an unspoken law. And I have standards."
"Dean, you're dressing up on Halloween, I don't know what kind of standard you're talking about, but—"
Ezekiel is nearly crying with laughter. Dean shoots Castiel what is just about the filthiest look Castiel thinks he has ever received from the human.
"Fine, fine," Castiel raises his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry—but I'm still not happy with going as someone from Star Wars."
"You won't be happy with anything I suggest," Dean pouts. Castiel knows it's inappropriate to find the look adorable in this moment, but really, he can't help himself. Dean is captivating and gorgeous.
"That's not true," Castiel shakes his head.
"Yes it is."
"Suggest something else."
"Hey," Ezekiel grins, "so, Cas, no Star Wars, right?"
Castiel frowns suspiciously at his roommate.
"Right…"
Ezekiel's gaze flickers over to Dean for a fraction of a second.
"But you want to prove Dean wrong, right?"
"I don't want to prove Dean wrong—"
"Literally the only reason you're up for getting in costume is because you wanna prove me wrong—"
"It is not," Castiel scowls at Dean.
"Then you're up for whatever?" Ezekiel asks. "Apart from Star Wars?"
"Sure," Castiel doesn't cease eyeing his roommate suspiciously.
"Cool," Ezekiel grins. "The how about this: Dean goes as Kirk. You go as Spock. Not Star Wars, Star Trek."
Dean starts laughing, expression more than a little vindictive. Castiel gives him the filthiest look he's ever given.
"No."
"You already said yes."
"I did not."
"Yes you did," Ezekiel points out, expression saturated with mirth.
"You tricked me!"
"I didn't trick. And anyway, that hardly matters. You said yes. You have to."
"You have to," Dean agrees, nodding seriously. Castiel frowns heavily at him.
"I don't have to do anything."
"You do if you want to carry on calling me your boyfriend."
"You're blackmailing me?"
"That depends," Dean grins. "Is it working?"
Castiel rolls his eyes.
"I'm taking a walk," He tries to stand, but Dean tugs him down, laughing.
"C'mon, Cas, don't be like that."
"What? Offended that you're trying to manipulate me?"
"So it's not working at all?"
"No."
"Fine, then I guess this is the end of our relationship," Dean shrugs matter-of-factly. Castiel blanches. Ezekiel roars with laughter. "You can stay inside on Halloween, or whatever, but I'm gonna be out screwing nines and—"
"Fuck you, Dean, fine, I'll do it," Castiel groans, putting his head in his hands. Dean beams, Ezekiel snorts, and Castiel thinks of how ready he is to die. "But I'm never forgetting this. You owe me."
"Cool," Dean shrugs. "That's whatever."
"No it's not," Castiel shakes his head. "You blackmailed me—"
"It's not blackmail if I don't mean it," Dean grins.
"He's not wrong," Ezekiel interjects.
"He's not right, either," Castiel retorts, glaring over at his roommate.
"You're an idiot," Dean beams, getting back to studying.
"I'm glad you think so."
"I'm glad I'm dating you," Dean doesn't stop beaming. Castiel softens a little at this.
"Gross," Ezekiel wrinkles his nose. "You had to go and ruin it, didn't you?" He frowns at Dean. "It was such a beautiful moment, and you had to—"
"Shut-up Ezekiel," Dean answers back. "You organised a group costume without me."
"Only so something like this would happen," Ezekiel smirks.
"You're unstable."
"I'm a genius."
"Manipulative."
"You're one to talk," Ezekiel leers. "You threatened to dump Cassie—"
"As a joke—"
"Get back to work, Dean," Castiel's roommate leers. "Haven't you got some really important assignment, or something dumb and nerdy like that?"
Dean shoots a filthy look in Ezekiel's direction, but returns to his studies. Castiel catches him suppressing a smirk as he writes.
His bumps his shoulder against Dean's.
"So, you really wanna go as Spock?" Dean asks, about a half-hour later. Castiel smiles involuntarily.
"Want to?" He repeats. "No. Not really. But I will."
"Thanks, buddy," Dean grins.
"It is kind of perfect," Ezekiel points out. "Cas as Spock. Dean as Kirk."
"I guess perfect is a matter of perspective."
"I think it's perfect," Dean states. Castiel shakes his head and rolls his eyes.
"I'm sure you do."
"You're so cold, Cassie," Ezekiel giggles.
"I'm just reminding Dean of what it was he first started crushing on—"
Dean lands a soft punch on Castiel's arm while Ezekiel snorts with laughter.
…
"Well, I think you look great," Dean grins wolfishly on the evening of October thirty-first, or rather, early morning of November first, as the pair stumble back to the human's dorm. Castiel pulls an unconvinced face, but is otherwise too stoned to care much.
"Can't believe you blackmailed me into dressing as Spock…"
"I didn't blackmail you," Dean beams. "You chose to, of your own—"
"It wasn't free will, you were threatening to break up with me," Castiel deadpans. Somehow, despite their playful fighting, they still hold each other's hands in a loose and relaxed and warm grip.
"You knew I was joking," Dean smirks. "How could you not?"
Castiel eases a bit.
"Well, maybe," He admits.
"Which means that on some level, you wanted to be dressed as Spock."
"Now that isn't true," Castiel glares, expression hardening. Then it softens in an instant, at the look Dean gives him in response, jade irises like orbs that have in them whole forests shimmering in the moonlight.
"Why isn't it true?" Dean asks, grinning.
"I did it because I wanted to make you happy."
And that's the truth.
Which is probably why Castiel's words come out so earnest in the cool of the darkening air.
It swallows them, and at the softening of Dean's gaze; the way his features seem to tremble for a moment with the temptation to brush Castiel's confession off with a dry, sarcastic comment, or one that ridicules Castiel's honest vulnerability, but they only twitch, cannot seem to flicker upwards into a mirthful smile, a lopsided grin, a good-humoured, long suffering eye-roll; Castiel falls in love with Dean a little more.
Stillness seems to settle all around them until the only movement is the quiet vibration of air between them, the way their bodies seem to hum with it, with this longing and loving and amusement at one another. Castiel falls in love with Dean a little more, then a lot more, then infinitely more, more than he had thought possible for his tired heart at the young and cynical age of twenty-one, he loves Dean a little more and loves that Dean makes this possible, makes it possible every day for Castiel's heart to grow in depth and capacity, for his feelings to flower and move and shimmer and bloom and explode and creep through all the fibres and nerves and sinew of his body.
His lips have met Dean's. Was it Dean who kissed him, or he who kissed Dean? It hardly matters now, in any case; hands on necks, fingers in hair, noses pressed together, eyes squeezed shut as though they are both wishing the rest of the world away, Castiel is kissing Dean and Dean is kissing Castiel, and Castiel knows then and there that he doesn't just want this to last beyond college, to stretch into the years beyond that, to swallow up their young adult lives together; he wants this forever, wants Dean and his touches and his laughs and his smiles, his conversation and his teasing and his deadpan looks, forever. Forever and ever. Until he is old and gray and ready to leave this world. Forever and ever.
Dean is gasping for air when they finally pull away. His warm body trembles. Castiel's fingers must bruise his flesh with how tightly he holds Dean's arms. He doesn't let go. He can't.
Dean doesn't seem to want him to.
…
Nightmare. Nightmare again. Dean twisting in the sheets but he can't wake up, for this is one of those dreams he can't pull himself from.
"Let me make it up to you," Gray eyes that don't mirror the smile on the lips beneath them flicker with something dangerous, something that, a matter of months ago, made Dean want nothing more than to be fucked by their owner. Now he just wants peace, needs an out, has an out, is trying to get out, but Alastair isn't letting him.
"Al, no, you cheated on me, you cheated, I can't just—"
Dean's heart still hurts with the betrayal of it all and he cannot nearly understand why it should; he hates himself for his need to be loved, to be approved of, for Alastair to finally settle and say yes, this will do, with all sincerity, when looking at Dean.
These thoughts, along with fear, overwhelm him.
"Let me make it up to you," Alastair's words come out harder now. There's no room for dispute, here, apparently, but Dean tries to anyway.
It doesn't work; as he breathes in to finally, finally, tell Al to fuck himself and get the hell out of Dean's life, glaring hard, Alastair surges forward and kisses Dean, hard, biting at his mouth as he does so, drawing blood, and Dean tries to squirm back, eyes wide open, horrified, not least at the fact that Al's eyes are wide open too, boring into Dean's as he kisses the younger man as he bites again, cutting into Dean's bottom lip. Dean whimpers.
Alastair's hands stop him from moving. An iron grip, an iron grip on his hips and the back of his head, forcing him intimately close, they stop him stepping back, and Dean's hands on the older man's shoulders pushing desperately are useless; Al is a deadweight, immovable, determined to plunder into his mouth with forced intimacy. Then Al's eyes slide shut and suddenly the kiss is all softness, passionate intensity replacing the unforgiving nature of his touch, and dammit, dammit and damn Dean for giving in to it, but he can't help it.
This is the softness he craves. The softness he's craved all his life, the approval he breathes for.
Why is it that it had to come from Alastair?
"You need this," Alastair says slowly. "You need me. Why are you tryin' to end things, baby? We got a good thing going."
Dean tries to shake his head, tries to take a step back, but something stops him, and this time it isn't Alastair's steel grip on his body.
As if sensing Dean's doubt and temptation to dispute this, to rebel, but internal conflict on whether to do so, Alastair kisses Dean again, and then continues.
"Baby," He says, taking Dean's face in his hands and stroking the ridges of his cheekbones with his thumbs, "baby," He coos, soothing Dean's doubts and disobedience, if only for a moment, "I know I cheated. I know it hurt you. I'm sorry. You hear?" He speaks slowly and strangely, as he always did, nasal and oil-slick and slightly gritty. "You hear?" He repeats. Dean nods, trembling and the hard, unforgiving press of Al's fingers on his body. "Good," Alastair smiles. Again, it doesn't reach his eyes. "Good," He smoothes Dean's t-shirt with forced tenderness. "I'm glad. I'm glad you understand. You do understand, don't you, Dean?"
As is so often the case when Dean is speaking with Alastair, the world seems to be growing blurred and Dean feels confused.
"Understand what?" Dean asks, voice oddly void of emotion.
"Why it was I cheated on you," Alastair replies simply. Dean gapes. He shakes his head, frowning. "Dean," Alastair smirks. "Come on, now. Why does anybody cheat? Why does anybody cheat on anybody? Do you know why?" He pauses, staring at Dean, close enough that Dean can feel lukewarm breath hitting his face. "You weren't giving me enough, Dean. You weren't enough. You can understand that, can't you?" He asks. "You weren't enough." The words hit Dean like a ton of bricks, shattering into him, devastating him despite everything, despite how Dean wants to not give a damn in the world.
"You weren't enough," Alastair says again. "But we can work this out. We can work all of it out. We can give it another go. I'm willing to give it another go. Are you?" He asks, frowning, voice somehow accusing Dean of some kind of betrayal before Dean has even made it. "Do you think you can be enough? Do you think you can be enough for me?"
Dean falters, nodding.
Wait, why is he nodding? Why is Alastair speaking like this, like he's the one willing to forgive Dean, as though Dean's the one who's done something wrong?!
"Do you even want to be enough?" Alastair asks, not missing a beat. "Do you want to be enough for me?"
More than anything.
Dean doesn't realise that he's said this, out loud, until Alastair is kissing him again, passion and fury and tenderness returned, Dean shocked, shaking, glad to be in Al's arms again, heart pounding, head panicking, glad to be given another chance.
"Let me take you out tonight," Alastair smiles, pulling back, gray eyes staring intently into Dean's. "Somewhere nice. Let's celebrate. To moving on," He says, triumphant, squeezing Dean's flesh. "To forgiveness! To Dean being enough for me!"
Dean doesn't know how to take these words, and maybe in another mouth, they'd sound sincere, or less as though all of this were Dean's fault, Dean's doing. As it is, they pull Dean on a thousand taut wires towards Al, and Dean is pressing his face into Alastair's neck without a second thought, desperate for forgiveness for his willingness to throw everything away at Alastair fucking someone new, desperate for forgiveness for Dean's lack of loyalty and his betrayal, desperate for approval, desperate for enough, desperate for love.
Then images flash at Dean's skull with a brightness and intensity that seems similar to shards of frozen steel crashing into his mind with horrifying, agonising precision.
Images of the date. Images of post-fight fucking back at Alastair's apartment, this time soft and slow and so unlike every other time Alastair fucked Dean. Images of lying naked and staring into gray eyes and hating himself and somehow not being able to hate the gray eyes he stared at and needing them more than anything. Images of false smiles, of conceit. Then sleep. Then waking at a phone vibrating, frantic—Dean's phone. Dean picking up. Ellen shouting and crying down the receiver. Telling Dean to come home, asking why he hasn't, why he's forgiven Alastair. Alastair snatching it and hanging up. Images of a fight.
Images of accusations. Of "Why can't you obey me? Why must you betray me? I'm your family, now!"
Images of Dean shouting back, finally giving back as hard as Alastair does, of picking up his clothes strewn round the bedroom in last night's fervour of forgiveness and promises, images of jeans bundled into Dean's arms, of Alastair grabbing hold of Dean and ripping the clothing from Dean's arms as Dean tries to pull it on and make his way out, of Dean being shoved up against a wall so that he hits his head, of Alastair smirking as Dean's blood runs hot down the nape of his neck, of Alastair forcing a kiss, saying "Baby, baby, Dean, my love, this is what you were meant for, don't you see? This is what it's all about. This is what makes us so good. Baby, stay. I love you, don't you love me? Don't you see what you do to me? You drive me so crazy, baby, baby. Don't you love me? Baby. Baby."
Images of Dean honestly replying, yes, yes, yes I do love you, and that's the problem, that's why I can't do this, couldn't do this, that's why I have to do this now, have to leave you.
Images of Alastair lashing out at this, of Dean having pushed him too far, of Dean realising he's pushed too far and begging out apologies and sorries until they are incoherent, of sliding down onto the floor, naked, clutching his punched eye, shaking with fear and regret and desperation and longing for tenderness.
"I'm sorry I'm sorry Al I'm sorry I'm so—"
"No you're not," Suddenly there's no mirth, none of the usual mocking, now it's anger and volume and this fills Dean with terror. "You're not sorry. I gave you another chance, Dean, and you fucked up again!"
"I fucked up?!"
Dean doesn't know where this defiance surges from, can't pinpoint the final spark in his chest that lit it into a flare, how it is Alastair's insults hadn't dampened it into nothing, but he hates it instantly.
"You're not leaving," Alastair shakes his head. "You need to be punished. I can't let you get away with this. You've got a lesson to learn, and I'm gonna teach it."
"Al, no, please—" Dean begs again, fight gone. "Al please, I'm sorry, just let me go, let me go home, I'll come back I promise but please let me go home, Ellen's worried—"
Even as Dean speaks, Dean's phone vibrates and his adoptive mom's name flashes up on the screen as it rattles along the floor.
"No more apologies," Alastair shakes his head, quiet and thoughtful. "None."
Dean tries to run, tries to dart up off the floor, head spinning from where it was hit, and makes it out of Alastair's bedroom, but he doesn't make it to Alastair's door.
He doesn't make it.
"I love you, Dean, why do you make me do this?" Alastair asks. Images of Dean pinned to the floor, cheek splintered by rough wood, crying and unable to stop, going numb to the pain and somehow feeling it all the more intensely as Alastair's cruel, unforgiving hands stop Dean from running away, stop Dean from fighting, if he even could, stop Dean from ever being able to feel clean or worthy again.
"Heaven," Alastair sings the words in Dean's ear, chest pressed up against Dean's back. "I'm in heaven," Dean sobs again as blood trickles down his skin, hot and sticky. "And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak." Dean groans and tries to move but finds that he can't, not even an inch, and thinks that Alastair must have cracked a couple of his ribs in throwing Dean to the ground and keeping him there. "And I seem to find the happiness I seek, When we're out dancing cheek to cheek."
Dean chokes out a foul mixture of bile and blood and watches, disconnected, as it pools onto the floorboards and stings his nose, all acid and metal.
He wakes up coughing up vomit.
It never seems to stop.
…
Dean hasn't stopped crying for the past hour and he isn't letting Castiel touch him.
The human sits, trembling, on the floor, shuddering and convulsing and vomiting at regular intervals, so that the vomit is nothing more than bile and he sways where he sits, knees hugged up to chest, with dehydration, eyes distant and unreachable, skin pale and burning hot.
He's feverish, he won't let Castiel touch him, nor will he let Castiel get him cold water; he shuddered and threw up again when Castiel suggested that he sing to Dean to comfort him, he hardly speaks at all and Ezekiel left the room out of awkwardness the moment Castiel glanced up at him from next to Dean's retching form to indicate that this was probably something private and terrifying for Dean.
"What can I do, Dean?" Castiel asks, trying to mask his own panic at the fact that nothing he has done so far, that normally works at soothing Dean and bringing him back to the present, rocking him to peace once more, is working, when it has worked every time before. "What do you need? Please, Dean—"
"I need to break up with you," Dean shakes his head. "I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't carry on—not like this, not with the nightmares, always, I'm so broken—"
"Dean—"
But Castiel doesn't know what it is he's going to say. What it is he should say. Words fail him, Dean doesn't even look at him, only rocks frantically like he's losing his mind and presses his head between his knees as though he wants to forget the world and what it's done to him.
"Dean," Castiel tries again. "It's okay, you're not broken, you're healing—"
"Does this look like healing?" Dean asks, head snapping back up to Castiel, eyes filled suddenly with contempt. His nose has started bleeding. "Does it look like I'm on the mend?!"
"It takes time, Dean—"
"It's had nothing but time!" Dean exclaims, eyes wringing out tears. "I can't do it any more, can't do it to you, you don't deserve this," Dean hits his skull with his knuckles, fists balled.
"Dean," Castiel begs, stilling Dean's hands. "Stop—I'm not leaving you, I don't care; we can work this out—"
It's one of those strange fractions of a moment in which everything seems to last an eternity. Whatever the right thing was to say, apparently Castiel hasn't come close to saying it; quite the opposite in fact.
Dean's lip curls. He snatches his hands away from Castiel, expression filthy, contempt filling his gaze, then pushes Castiel away from him, hard.
Then the human starts sobbing.
Castiel doesn't know what to do. Dean doesn't want to be touched, and definitely not by Castiel, he doesn't want to talk, and definitely doesn't seem to like anything Castiel can think to say, so should Castiel just go?
And has Dean just broken up with him?
A tear, already cold on his skin, surprises him by slipping down his cheek.
Dean's sobbing continues.
"I'm sorry," Dean shakes his head, "I'm sorry, Cas, I'm so sorry—"
Castiel slips his hands onto Dean's shoulders without thinking and is about to withdraw them in a panicked apology, when Dean leans forward and presses his face into Castiel's shoulder, sobbing again.
"I'm sorry—"
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Castiel shakes his head, fingers slipping through Dean's hair. "Nothing at all. You hear me? You've done nothing wrong—"
"How can you say that—"
"Please, Dean," Castiel begs. He begins rocking the human slowly. "This isn't your fault. Please believe me. None of it was your fault. You don't need to talk about it, you can say if you don't want me touching you. You don't need to apologise. Please, Dean. Trust me. I won't hurt you. I don't ever want to. You're everything, I care about you, you don't need to be sorry. Please don't be sorry. Please trust me."
Dean looks up.
"I do."
His voice is hoarse from crying and shouting for so long, and from the vomit which must have burned his throat. Castiel gazes earnestly at Dean and Dean gazes earnestly back.
"I do," Dean says again, new, silent tears leaving tracks down his face.
Castiel thumbs at Dean's tears.
"I'm sorry," The human rasps out again.
"You've done nothing wrong."
"I'm sorry—" It's like Dean doesn't know how to say anything else, so Castiel squeezes him to his chest again and holds him for at least another half-hour, just holding, before helping Dean up and into the bathroom to brush his teeth.
They sit and talk in the kitchen until sunrise and Castiel feels dead in all his classes the next day, his eyes completely bloodshot, but he doesn't regret a moment of it.
They talk about everything. About how Dean walked in on Alastair fucking someone else and had stormed out of Alastair's apartment, how when he'd gotten home Ellen had told him to end it and he'd finally been able to see sense. About how he'd called Alastair and told him they were done, about how Alastair had asked to see Dean the next day to talk it over, about how agreeing to this was the decision that led to all Dean's nightmares, his scars, his seemingly random spikes of distance.
Then they talk about what TV shows they watched as kids and what song was the first song they can remember listening to. They talk about Dean's classes and Dean's sketches and Dean's favourite architects and what Dean's ideal home would look like: white with a blue slate roof, and a front porch with ivy growing round it. A big, grand fireplace to sit in front of and put things on the mantelpiece, a huge front lawn with flowerbeds that Dean can garden. A backyard with vegetables in it. Not in the centre of town, but not in the middle of nowhere. Lots of trees. A tire swing, not even for kids, just for fun for anybody.
Then they talk about how broken Dean had felt in the hospital, after that night with Alastair. Dean cries in an odd kind of numb way as he recounts how he couldn't even speak to his family, felt too dirty, wanted to die, confesses that he'd ripped off all the tubes and wires connected to him hoping it would kill him and had cried until he'd vomited and they'd had to sedate him.
Then they talk about parallel universes and how maybe there's one where Nicholas Cage isn't so weird and another where Led Zeppelin wrote songs for children and were the equivalent of The Wiggles.
This thought has Dean nearly giggling with laughter, his nose wrinkles and he closes his eyes and Castiel wants him to always feel as happy as he at least looks in this moment.
Dean cuts all his classes the next day and speaks to a counsellor. They arrange to meet every week until Dean feels as though he's getting better again, and once Dean thinks he's on the mend, they'll meet every other week.
Dean tells Castiel that he wouldn't want to date anyone else, ever, other than Castiel, and that that's never going to change.
Castiel prays it's true. He kisses the tip of Dean's nose and comes so close to telling Dean he loves him that it feels as though the words are clawing at his lips, but again, he can't, because it feels as though he's standing in an ocean at the edge of a sand bed, staring out into a canyon, an abyss of black seawater, and he's being asked to step out into it.
Expecting Dean to love again, after everything, would be too much. Dean is hurt. Dean is still healing. Honestly, that Dean is dating is surprising enough. But love is too far, and Castiel would go too far in asking for it, still too far even in simply confessing it.
He loves Dean. Loves him like air, loves him like something as simple and essential as earth or water. And he can't say it, and he doesn't, and all he can do is show it and hope that Dean knows that he is more than worthy. More than enough. More than Castiel could have ever dreamed of having and more than enough for him.
...
A/N: Thanks for reading! Sorry for the hurt there, lots of love and fluff and kindness to come. Please review!