A/N: I stopped doing this a while ago, but this time it feels necessary to warn about sexy times ahead. Like, seriously, you've been warned.
Twenty-two
Castiel had been restless ever since their encounter with Ephraim, weeks ago. He was no longer happy in his work, and was distracted even around Brooke. Finally, late one night, when he had flipped over in the bed for what felt like the hundredth time, she sat up and demanded, "Okay, what's wrong?"
"Oh," he said. "I'm sorry, was I keeping you awake?"
She sighed and smiled down at him. "Even as a human, you don't move around much in your sleep, but you've been tossing and turning at night for a couple nights in a row, now. And you've been… distracted. What is it?"
Castiel sighed and sat up with her. "I just… I'm tired of running and hiding," he admitted. "I need to do something about the angels—even the ones who want to kill me. I caused the fall—
"Metatron caused the fall," Brooke corrected. "You may have been naïve, but that doesn't excuse his behavior."
"Still… I was a part of it. I helped facilitate it, even if I didn't know I was doing it, at the time. And now the angels are suffering. And they're killing people. And they're killing each other." He sighed again. "And what am I doing? Working at a gas station convenience store, living my life, feigning ignorance."
"After all the shit you've gone through, don't you think you deserve an early retirement?" Brooke asked, trying desperately to get her husband to see how good the life he had now was. Trying desperately to cling to a life she knew was about to end. "Don't you think I… deserve to live my life with you in peace? For once?" It was low, bringing herself into this, because if Castiel had a weakness, it was her. "We could be happy—happy enough."
He placed a hand on her cheek. "Trouble would find us wherever we went," he said, looking at her sadly.
She knocked his hand away, trying not to flinch at the shock and hurt that flashed across his face as she did. "That doesn't mean we have to go looking for it!" she snapped. "Why can't you just want your own happiness for once? I swear, it's like you enjoy being miserable!"
Castiel stared at her, silently, then broke eye-contact as if he couldn't bear to look at her any longer. Sorrow lined every inch of his face. He swallowed.
Brooke squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the start of tears. Fuck.
"You're right," he said, so quietly that she almost missed it.
She opened her eyes, blinking, and looked at him. "What?" she asked, her voice thick with tears.
"You're right," he repeated. "I do seem to enjoy seeking out things that cause me misery. And I often do so without thinking of your happiness." He still would not look at her. "I'm so sorry, Brooke. I… I'll put it all behind me. I'll forget it all. And we can just… live a normal life. Okay?" And, finally, he looked up at her again, his eyes shining with unshed tears, and gave her a heartbreaking smile.
She stared back at him, and she wanted to cry, and scream, and hit him, all at the same time. She could feel herself tightening, curling up, as if she thought going into the fetal position might shield her from all this pain.
There was no right answer. If they continued to live this life, and pretended that Castiel had never been an angel, more of his brothers and sisters would find them, just as he said they would. They would be hunted for the rest of their lives. They had been lucky to have escaped notice for as long as they had before Ephraim had found them. Or, even if they did manage to avoid the scrutiny of the angels, their lives would never be truly happy. They could never have children, and the mental connection that they both still so desperately craved would be forever lost to them.
But if they went back into the life, if they returned to their search of a way to help the angels, their lives would be filled with pain and fighting and bloodshed. And there was no guarantee that there would ever be a way to fix things, or that any semblance of Castiel's celestial nature would ever be returned to him. And they could never have children then, either.
Brooke, who still seemed to be folding into herself, yanked her pillow out from behind her and screamed into it, until he throat was raw and her face hurt. The Grace in her blood activated, roaring to life in the face of such raw anger and despair. The lightbulbs in both of the lamps on either side of the bed shattered loudly.
Alarmed, wanting desperately to fix things, Castiel tried to put his arm around her, to hold her, to comfort her.
Brooke grabbed his arm and shoved him away with all her might. He fell over in the bed, catching himself on the edge of the mattress, and looked at her as if she had just tried to kill him.
She stared at him, breathing heavily, feeling suddenly light-headed from the activation of the Grace. She grit her teeth as the tears finally fell. "No matter what," she said, her voice hoarse from screaming, "no matter what choice we make, neither of us will be happy."
Castiel returned her stare, his eyes wide and despairing in the dark.
"Things used to make sense," Brooke murmured. "I used to think we were fighting for something that mattered. Now you want to fight for the angels who want to kill you. You want to risk your life for the bastards who have done nothing but step all over you for your entire existence." Anger filled her again, but it was dulled by exhaustion. "I would kill them all," she said, her voice flat. "I would kill them all if it would stop your incessant need to fix everyone else's problems. You're too good for them, Castiel. They don't deserve you."
He looked away, down into his lap. "No, I—
She snatched his face, yanking it toward her, forcing him to look at her, digging her fingers into his flesh. "You are too good for them," she said, slowly, enunciating each word. "You are the best of all of them. You have the most heart, the most determination. They are vile creatures, and somehow you rose above them all. And they hate you for it." Her voice was harsh and full of venom, her eyes shining like cold jewels in the small amount of light from the window. She shook him a little, trying to get her words through to him. "They don't deserve anything from you. They are the dirt beneath your shoes, Castiel. They are worms. Whatever hell they're going through, down here… they deserve it all."
Castiel said nothing, but he removed her hands from his face, gently, and held them.
"Don't you understand?" she asked. "I love you. I love you. Me. Not them. They hate you. They would kill you if they could—they've already tried. I cannot just sit by and watch you throw yourself at their feet. You are better than them."
He took a deep breath and pressed his forehead against hers, breathing her in. "Shouldn't I be trying to raise them up, then?"
"No," she said, vehemently. "You should crush them all. Walk on them, for once. Let them see how it feels."
"I did that once," Castiel murmured. "I regret it to this day. I will not do it again."
"Goddamn you and your fucking conscience!" she spat. "Do something for yourself."
"Do something for myself," he repeated, staring at her with half-lidded eyes.
"Yes."
He took a slow, deep breath. "You're very attractive when you're angry at me," he said.
"Oh, for the love of…" she began, but he yanked her head back by the hair. She let out a squeak of surprise.
"You're right," he murmured, his voice very calm. "I should do something for myself."
She held still in his grasp, suddenly as calm as he was. Something inside her seemed to click into the right place.
"Brooke," he said.
"Yes?"
"Do you want to have sex?"
"Ask it differently," she growled. "Angrier."
His fingers tightened in her hair and she gasped. "Do you want me to fuck you?" he asked.
She breathed heavily through her nose. "Yes."
He released her hair, allowing her to lower her head. He became, suddenly, gentle, touching her cheek. "I don't know what you're thinking, so I need to ask if that was… all right. Did I upset you, grabbing your hair like that?"
"Castiel," she said, staring at him. "Can I entreat thee?" She glanced at his crotch area, where the tattoo lay against his skin, and then looked back up at him.
"Yes," he said, slowly, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.
She leaned toward him, getting into his face. "If I don't like something, I will tell you. I will say stop, or no, or don't. Otherwise… please fuck my ever-loving brains out, and please… do whatever you want to me."
His eyes flared and he snatched her face in his hand, kissing her roughly, shoving his tongue into her mouth. He released her just as suddenly, and growled, "Go get a condom, whore."
She scrambled off the bed to do as she was told.
…
There were no sudden thunderstorms to accompany the sex, though they made enough noise that a storm would have paled in comparison. It was a somewhat strange, loud, violent affair, but at the core of it was a need to affirm to each other that each was worthy of love and respect.
"If all the angels in existence assembled before you," Castiel said to Brooke, as he moved inside her, "what would you tell them about me?"
In between gasps and moans, she said, "I would tell them… that they should all… bow before you."
"And I would tell them," Castiel breathed, "that the only one who can call my wife a whore… is me."
She laughed, and it immediately turned into a groan of pleasure.
"You are beautiful," Castiel told her, and it came out as a possessive snarl.
"You are powerful," Brooke gasped.
"And you," said Castiel, "are just as powerful as I am."
"Fine," Brooke replied, throwing her head back in pleasure. "Then we'll both stand before all the angels and say…" She brought her head down again and looked into her husband's eyes. "What shall we say?"
Castiel breathed heavily, staring back at her. "We should tell them," he growled, "that they should all… get laid."
Brooke let out a surprised laugh. "I think I've corrupted you," she said.
He groaned as her laughter bounced her up and down on top of him. "You did that… long ago," he panted.
"Mmm, and you love me for it, don't you?" she teased.
He thrust up, hard, into her, smiling in satisfaction when she cried out, loudly. "Yes, I love you. I love you."
"I love you," she said, and then grabbed his face in her hands. "Now, stop being nice, and say something naughty."
He brought his face close to hers, so that his lips brushed against hers, and said, "You're a dirty little whore who likes to get fucked by big, strong angels."
She moaned, but still corrected him: "Just one angel."
"Yes," he agreed, and tangled a hand into her hair, and pulled. "Me. And who am I?"
Brooke, head pulled back, swallowed, and said, "You're Castiel."
"That's right," he said, and breathed against her neck. "And what am I?"
Pressure was building between her legs. "You're an angel of the Lord," she gasped.
"Mmm, yes," he said, "and I am yours. Your angel. And you are mine."
There was that pressure, ever-building. "Cass—
"Say my full name, whore!"
"Castiel!"
"Are you gonna cum for me, Angel Whore?"
There was a ringing in her ears. "Uh-huh…"
"Cum for me," Castiel commanded, and reached his hand down between them to rub his thumb against her clit.
She gasped at his touch, and begged, "S-Say my name."
"Brooke," he growled, into her ear.
She shuddered against him.
"Brooke," he said again, dragging it out, and lightly grazed her ear with his teeth.
She cried out as waves of pleasure exploded from her core. "I'm—
And Castiel threw his head back and yelled, wordlessly, as he followed her into his own orgasm.
###
Later, when they had calmed, and Brooke lay draped across Castiel's chest, she murmured sleepily, "I'm gonna hold you to what you said."
"To which part are you referring?" he asked, petting her hair slowly, gently.
"We gotta tell all the angels… that they should get laid."
The sound of his chuckle rumbled in her ear as she fell asleep.