Title: Road to Joy
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: 4x16
Warnings: None, really.
Disclaimer: They belong to Kripke, no matter how much I wish they belonged to me. There are some Bright Eyes lyrics mixed in here too, since this fic was inspired by the song, "Lua". I changed the tone a bit. Conor's song is about not caring for someone, but I used his lyrics to convey caring deeply about someone. Anywho, everyone go listen to Conor Oberst and love him like I do. :)
Summary: Dean awoke from dreams of Hell, panting and shaking. He steadied his nervous breathing and wished with all his might that he had someone there to comfort him. Night after night with the horrible memories of Hell seared into his mind. All the pain, and no one to help alleviate it.
Chapter Two
The Reasons All Have Run Away
Dean awoke with a sleepy grin plastered across his face, feeling more rested than he ever had in his whole life. He could feel the warm halo of arms around his body and his heart skipped a beat as the events of the night before slowly poured into his mind. The taste of Castiel, the exhiliration of giving in to his most desperate desires, and the whispered promises. He wanted to bury his head under the pillow and disappear into oblivion, instead of face the angel who was holding him like he was the most precious thing in the universe. On the other hand, he wanted to lie in that bed as long as the world kept spinning, surrounded by the angelic warmth that was Castiel. Unfortunately for Dean, neither of these were a viable option. There were things to hunt, demons to exorcise, and that pesky breaking of the 66 seals business with Lillith. The world would not wait to be saved, and no one else was going to save it if Dean didn't. There was no time for bliss, no time for hiding; only time for war, blood, and pain. This was the only life Dean Winchester could ever understand.
The night with Castiel had been a fluke, a false sense of security. Dean had a void to fill, and the angel had been caught in the crossfire of his hormones. Dean tried desperately to talk himself into believing these lies. The lies were easier to live with than the truth. What exactly was the truth? Castiel made Dean feel healed. All the pain he carried within himself, all the resentment, all the self-loathing; none of it existed when the angel touched him. It was such a simple action, just a touch, and Dean felt every shred of insecurity melt from his body. The feeling was addicting, which made Dean feel even more vulnerable, therefore more resentful of the night he had spent with the angel. He racked his brain for a way to pretend it never happened, but he knew it would be of no use. There was no shrugging this one off, no sir. This was not as simple as leaving behind stunt chick number two. He didn't think he'd ever say it aloud, but he really, truly felt a connection to Castiel that prevented him from making this a one-time, 'thanks for the ride' kind of thing. He knew he would eventually have to give in to the inevitable chick flick moment and discuss the previous night's events with the angel, but he just couldn't face that terror head on at the moment. It would end ugly if Castiel pressed the issue before Dean was ready and Dean was terrified that was exactly what was going to happen. He comtemplated getting out of the bed, but found it almost impossible to talk himself into leaving the safe haven that was the cheap motel mattress. If he could just lie there silently for a few more moments, to savor the feeling of utter contentment, the feeling of being precisely where he belonged...
"Dean, I know you are awake, please say something."
Dean's body jerked involuntarily and he cursed under his breath. He would have no such luck today. Of course the angel knew he was awake. Cas had probably been lying there the whole night, staring at Dean and watching him sleep, like some creep. He moved away from the angel and searched frantically for his clothes, chastising himself silently both for the shirt ripping from the previous night and for the empty feeling in his chest when he could no longer feel the heat of Castiel's body against his own. When he stood, he was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was completely naked and hard. Feeling ashamed, he slipped on his boxers quickly and disappeared into the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him, making sure to lock it. He turned on the shower and gripped the edges of the sink, slowly tilting his face up to meet his own worried reflection. He knew Castiel would not follow him; he had bought a little time. As the steam from the shower billowed behind him and began to cloud the mirror, Dean wished that he could vanish into the cloud of condensation. He would have to settle for a scalding shower, sure to wash away the debauched thoughts of the feel of Castiel's sweat-slick skin against his own, the intoxicating scent of the angel's breath, and the bitter-sweet taste of the angel sliding down the back of his throat. Dean slapped himself and shook his head furiously. Revisiting the memories of the night were not helping him make any progress, and would only cause him to perform similar lewd acts once he was in the shower. He needed to be clean of the feelings, he needed to scrub and scrub until he could make the pain go away. The pain, the confusion, the lust. It was eating him alive. He removed his boxers and stepped into the soothing waterfall of heat. The water droplets pounded on his shoulders and he felt his muscles relax. There are few things in the world that a nice, hot shower can't fix. Even if the problem wasn't really solved, Dean was at least feeling a little more at ease. That would undoubtedly help him worm his way out of a sappy, tell-all moment. As he massaged the shampoo into his hair, he tried to distract his mind with anything he could. He made little circular patterns on his scalp, trying to give all his attention to the sensation. It was of no use. His mind wandered aimlessly and much to his dismay, every route in his brain led back to the angel waiting for him in the adjacent room. With a heavy heart, he turned the faucets and sighed heavily. He toweled himself, brushed his teeth, and slid back into his boxers.
Dean emerged from the steamy room, scrubbing his hair with a towel, and being careful to avoid eye contact with the angel. He could feel Castiel's eyes boring into him and he knew he wasn't going to get out of this one easily, so he did the only thing he knew to do. It was wrong, it was a lie, but it was easier than the alternative. He pretended that it was nothing, that it meant nothing, that it could have been anyone, and that Castiel wasn't the one being on this earth who made his knees quiver by the mere thought of him. Continuing to avoid eye contact, he stuttered out a weak attempt at blowing off the whole situation.
"So, uh. About last night. Thanks for being in the right place at the right time." He could feel the bitter sting of the words as they rolled off his tongue and his mind was flooded with a little voice screaming Liar, liar, liar! Tell him the truth, you coward.
"You are welcome Dean. I came here to comfort you and I was surprised to find my own brand of comfort in being with you. I think I should thank you for showing me what brings you pleasure, so now I can help to bring you peace more often."
Dean felt vulnerable and exposed. He couldn't handle hearing the angel say something so meaningful, especially not now. He was broken and he needed Castiel, but he was not going to have it thrown in his face, no matter how sugar-coated and utterly sincere it was. Dean Winchester would never admit that he needed help. He'd rather die. Without realizing what he was doing, he lashed out at the angel.
"I don't need anyone to come and take care of me, Cas. I'm fine. Last night, I was just...I wasn't myself, I was out of my head, and you were there. And you served a purpose. And...I don't want to fucking talk about it. Just drop it."
Castiel sighed deeply and shook his head in frustration. "I don't understand why you are so insistent on denying yourself the things you truly desire, Dean."
"I. Said. Drop. It."
Dean felt the stinging rush of air on his bare chest from Castiel's sudden departure and cursed himself inwardly for being such a jerk. It didn't matter that the reasons for his intimate contact with the angel had all fled, because the feelings he harbored would never leave. He may never tell his angel the truth, but his heart was sure of one thing: Castiel was the one true and beautiful constant in his life and he never wanted to lose him.
The reasons all have run away, but the feeling never did.