AN:Forever apologies for lateness, but there was some serious testing going down and I am now one semester closer to my teaching credentials (wahahaha)
If your university has not finished yet, or you are still in High School, battling your exams- good luck.
Here is a very long chapter containing mild amounts of man-kisses to help ease your pain and stress.
They booked out two rooms in Columbus, in a motel out near the airport. It was one of those weirdly joined spaces, which shared a door between so you could come and go as you pleased. Dean had his suspicions that it would somehow lead to trouble for someone (and that someone would most likely be him).
Cas was chalk full of tension and practically marinated in blood and sweat by the time they checked in. He had been almost totally unresponsive since the restaurant, bobbing in and out of sleep during the car ride, and it scared the hell out of Dean. It was obvious that Cas either needed a hospital, scotch or a bath and as of that moment they only had access to one of those things.
So (a little begrudgingly) Dean relented his possession of Castiel, and gave him up to the other Angel, letting Gabe settle him into a much needed bath. Dean wasn't sure about a lot of things right now, but he knew that if he was the one undressing Castiel and making sure the angel didn't drown in the tub it, would only lead to wandering hands and trouble. On a different day he wasn't sure that would necessarily be a bad thing, but right now? It was a grossly alien feeling to not trust yourself, and it was making Dean feel sick. Everything was reveling in chaos, the whole day was a complete wash, so he didn't need to top it off in an awkward frolic with a semi conscious Angel in a motel bathtub.
And that's about how he ended up slumped against the headboard of a bed, head in his hands, with Sam sitting at the foot, watching him quietly.
After the sound of the tap died down, and Gabe could be heard singing a slightly off tune rendition of 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds', Dean grumbled and let his hands fall to his lap. "I'm so fucking tired, Sammy."
"Being possessed will do that to you." Sam spoke with the voice of experience, and for once Dean didn't argue about the accusation.
For the first time ever Dean wasn't interested in arguing the fact, and if that wasn't a sign of a coming apocalypse, he didn't know what was.
"This blows." He closed his eyes and tried to corral his thoughts. "The whole Angels and apocalypse thing, I didn't ask to be dragged into it. I wanted to hunt normal bad guys- just some werewolves and ghosts, maybe a strigoi or something exotic… like a mermaid with great tits."
Sam just chuckled uncomfortably at that, shaking his head like he found it difficult to believe what he was hearing.
"Come on man, this is way outside the job description. Dad didn't train us for this kind of shit."
"If we start listing all the things that Dad didn't train us for- we could be here until the apocalypse, Dean." He shrugged out of his jacket and kicked off his boots. "Look, it's a mess, and I don't like it anymore than you do, but it's a little late to tuck tail and run."
"You're saying that we're knee deep and sinking fast but we should just grin and bear it?" Dean allowed himself half of a smile. "Sure, why not? We closed the biggest goddamned devils gate ever and have more notches in our gun belts than most hunters our age." He laughed a little humorlessly. "And an apocalypse is the best that they can throw at us?" He didn't even know who they were or if they were still even around, but he spat the word like it was poison. "It'll be a piece of piss. It's not like it's the end of the world, right? And you and me, we're some hardcore, Chuck Norris style, badass, sons of bitches." He cracked an eye as the bathroom door swung open and Gabriel slid out in a waft of steam effectively cutting short his tirade, which was for the best because he had started rambling. It was just one of those days.
"Really?" The blond mused, sitting himself down on Sam's lap. "I always saw you two idiots as something classier… like knights." He flicked some of Sam's hair from his face. "Or flamethrowers… something effective but really messy and overkill for most situations."
"Is Cas gunna' be alright in there alone?" Dean struggled not to frown at the men cuddling at the end of his bed- though, for whatever it was worth, Sam looked a mite uncomfortable with the situation.
"Yeah, he's sleeping." Gabe was busy making eyes at Sam; or trying to, but the younger Winchester was having none of it, and was pointedly looking at the wall behind Dean's head.
The bed creaked under Dean as he got up. "Dude! You can't just let people sleep in the tub."
"Relax, Deano. There's like five inches of water in there with him. He would have to be making an active effort to drown himself in it." He slung his arms around Sam's neck and made himself more comfortable. "But if you're really hoping to see my little brother in his birthday suit you can always burst in dramatically and-"
"No." Dean said quickly and sat back down, but on the other bed because he didn't want to be that close to the happy little couple. "No, I'm sure he's fine."
"Well, I don't know if I would say 'fine' exactly. This Michael thing is really tearing him up inside… quite literally." His perpetual smile floundered ever so slightly. "It's a fun little trick my big brother's playing on Cassy: sending him down here with a big job and turning him inside out if he tries to talk about it."
Dean started thinking dangerous and violent things and he really hoped they didn't show on his face. He didn't like how defensive he felt of Cas, and worse than that, he didn't like his lack of control over that feeling. He was better than this; he cursed silently, it's practically in the Winchester job description to bottle this kind of shit deep inside.
"Wait, you were serious back in the restaurant, weren't you?" Sam suddenly jumped back into the conversation, a bewildered look on his face. "Your brother is Michael? Like the Archangel who cast Lucifer out of heaven- that Michael?"
"You are too cute when you do your 'smart' thing- using that lovely brain you've got under all that lovely hair." Gabe cooed, running his fingers through much of that aforementioned hair. "It's like you actually pay attention to what's going on around you." He leaned into Sam, but looked over at Dean with his oddly gold hued eyes. "If you find someone as attentive and sweet as this, you don't let 'em go." The advice was grating. "That's why me and Sammy are getting married, you know."
"Yeah, well… that's great- tell me where you're registered and I'll get you a freaking china dish set." Dean rubbed at the back of his neck and tried his best to unclench his jaw and somehow found himself back on his feet, heading towards the door.
"Hey there, cowboy. Where you going?" Gabe's chipper voice filled the room, trying to sound light and failing miserably.
"I'm going to the vending machine down the hall, is that ok with you?" He was already opening the door, because it didn't matter what Gabe said. He needed air.
"Get me some Starburst if they have any," was the Angel's reply.
And "no fucking way," was Dean's.
He spent an overly long time standing in front of the vending machine, staring blankly at the well lit candy bars and chip bags. He didn't even know what he was looking at or what he was looking for. All he knew was that he needed to get out of that room.
Dean numbly slotted whatever change his pocket had to offer and punched buttons at random. The vending machine whirled, shuttered and gave him nothing. So, he swore and kicked at the plastic and metal, lashing out in retaliation because he needed something to do more than he needed a chocolate bar. He made a pretty dent before giving up, leaning his head against the glass and closing his eyes to the florescent glow. He should just go back to the room - to his brother's happy relationship - to the smart mouthed and annoying Gabriel, and to the half unconscious and very naked Cas.
They weren't exactly what you would call great options. Well, maybe a little good and in the same heartbeat very, very bad. But they were the only ones that he had.
Something had gotten to Dean. For some reason an Angel - a kind of scary sounding one- had wanted use of him for a few days. And just as easily as it had slipped in to Dean, it had slipped back out. The worst part was that (aside from the fact that Dean had bought a few more nights at a motel and apparently eaten the better part of a pie) he had no idea what had gone on in those two lost days. However, he was willing to bet that it hadn't been anything he would have approved of. Whatever had been going on was enough to freak out the Angels travelling with him, and somehow it all tied in with Cas in a very bad way.
Dean really hated being in the dark when it came to stuff like this - when it came to people he cared about getting hurt. The memory of Cas bleeding, hunching over in pain while struggling to speak was very fresh in Dean's mind and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it besides kick the vending machine a few more times.
Something fell down into the bottom of the machine and Dean blinked in surprise. Kneeling and retrieving his candy, Dean curled his lip when he realized it was a package of Starburst. He was tempted to just put it back and leave it for the next person, but he thought that maybe Cas would like it, so he slipped the packet into his jacket pocket and straightened.
He checked for change in the little return slot- distantly aware that in his daze he had just shoved whatever was in his pocket into the machine and it had spit some back out at him in distaste. He ended up with a Canadian nickel, four pennies and a weird little bit of silver with one side all scratched to hell- all things that the machine refused to take, and the effort to retrieve them hardly seemed worth it. He shoved them all into a pocket any ways and turned to walk back to the room.
The cheap overhead lighting was spaced every few feet or so, running the length of the hall. Some of the bulbs in the last throws of their death; wan yellow light casting everything in a sickly glow. They buzzed and flickered off and on, sending Dean's shadow diving frantically around his feet, dancing and rolling to get away from him.
Something didn't feel right; just an inkling, a wayward strand of unease that wouldn't let up. Dean felt like he had too many shadows. And yeah, ok, that was possibly the most specific and strange sort of feeling that he had had in a while, but when he looked down that was precisely what the problem was. Some were too dark and he swore that some weren't matching his movements quite right, and there was no justice in the world, because if there was then weird crap like this wouldn't always happen to him.
He stopped walking and looked at them all, wondering why in god's name did he have three. He looked up, squinting into the watery lights and counted. There was one right above him and one a few paces behind, the one he hadn't reached yet (annoyingly the one in front of his own door) was down for the count, blackened and mocking in its uselessness.
Two light sources meant two shadows- and Dean slowly looked back at his feet, counting the three insubstantial dark things clinging to the bottoms of his boots. His stomach dropped and his hands got that itch that they did when they wanted to be holding a gun. Dean sidestepped a quick juke to the left and watched as his shadows slide along with him. He did that for a minute, dancing in place, staring down his shadows, watching to see if one of them would trip up - but when they didn't, Dean realized how stupid he must look.
Maybe extra shadows were just a side effect of being possessed? And sure, he could believe that, because right now he really needed something to believe in and he was running low on ideas. He stepped back into the motel room, wishing he'd never left.
The door between the two rooms had been closed, and Dean could hear his brother and Gabriel quietly talking on the other side - which he supposed was better than the alternative of hearing them doing something else a tad less hygienic than chatting. So maybe things weren't as bad as they could have been.
Sometime during Dean's absence, Cas had been let out of the bath, and some kind soul had found a late night airing of a kid's movie and settled the man into one of the beds. The Angel looked paler than normal and very transfixed, taking in all the bright colors that reflected chaotically in his eyes, his mouth quirked into the smallest of smiles as a clay-animation fox devoured his breakfast of eggs and toast.
Watching the Angel for a few breaths helped Dean calm down substantially, and that was stupid all on its own - but he was tired of trying to analyze all the things going wrong in his life since Sam woke him up that afternoon.
So he would just let himself have this moment, no stipulations, no provisos; just a little bit of peace and quiet, because everyone deserved a chance to catch their breath. He even allowed himself a smile, because hey, he had an Angel watching cartoons in his room and if that didn't deserve just a little nod to the quirkiness of life, then he may as well just give up now.
Cas yawned, eyes drooping and smile going lopsided. He then proceeded to adjust the blankets around his shoulders, cocooning himself a little deeper and making a contented sound. Dean grinned and finally looked away. Sure things had gone to hell in a hand basket, but he had what roughly amounted to the world's cutest boyfriend, so he supposed he would take the good with the bad without arguing- just this once.
Though he almost missed it, there was a little notepad left out on the table beside the door, just a pad of motel stationary, crowded with Sam's familiar, scrawling handwriting.
Dean,
I gave Castiel a vicodine, so don't freak if he's sleeping deeply.
Hope you don't mind the sleeping arrangements. I didn't think it was a good plan to leave Gabe unsupervised, didn't think Cas could keep him in line, and you would probably try to kill him.
Also, the cup next to the sink has a fifth of whisky- thought you might need it.
You look like hell. Get some sleep.
We'll figure things out in the morning.
-Sam
It made Dean smile. It wasn't Sammy's job to look after him; quite the other way around actually, but the note and the whisky spoke volumes. He tossed back the little plastic cup full of burning goodness and felt a little bit more optimistic about everything. The whisky was cheap, but that was just part of its charm.
Cas made one of his aborted little laugh sounds (much to Dean's surprise) as the movie showed the fox feeding blueberries to a dog and the dog subsequently passing out. Dean couldn't help but smile at the whole picture. He had no idea what sort of drug induced insanity was playing on the television, but the response it drew from the Angel was what Dean could only describe as adorable- though he would make a firm point to never say it out loud.
"Hey, Cas. You feelin' any better?" He tried not to be too loud, just enough to draw the man's attention. Maybe it was just the pleasant burn of alcohol already settling like molten gold in his stomach, but he really wanted Cas to look at him, he wanted that awkward little part of a smile directed at him.
He got what he wanted, the Angel looked away from his show, his eyes dilated and a little unfocused in the way that eyes only got after the introduction of opiates. The blanket slipped off his shoulders with his movements and he didn't seem to be in any sort of state to notice such things. Cas' dark hair was still wet from his bath, making it look even darker than normal. In contrast his skin looked as pale as winter ice, and there was more than an average amount of smooth clean skin showing.
The only real problem with this being that Dean wasn't sure if anyone had bothered to make Cas dress after his bath. His chest was completely bare except for the marks Dean had put on him with a sharpie, and the beige blankets had puddled around his sharp hip bones, leaving the other half a quiet sort of mystery that made it very difficult for Dean to think full thoughts.
As Cas slowly came back down to the same plane of existence as Dean, his impossibly wide and dark pupils contracting and his ghost of a smile soured and died. That sweet expression was wiped clean, and its loss was something that Dean greatly regretted.
Cas started to bristle- his body going rigid in stages, hands clenching in the bed sheets and knees drawing close to his chest.
"The hell, Cas? Come on, don't start this again." Dean begged in his gruff manner. "It's just me, I swear."
The noise that Cas made in answer was a broken sort of thing and far less human sounding than one would expect. As such, Dean took a short step back, fighting that instinct to pull his gun, because this was Cas, who quite possibly lacked any actual ability to hurt anyone or thing. It would be like pulling a gun on an injured puppy and you just don't do something like that.
It was an unsettling expression the Angel wore, a sliver of anger but under that he just looked horrified, his lips bloodlessly pale, his eyes wild, all fathomless blue, his pupils constricted too tight to see. He was looking at Dean like he had the first night they met, feral and wounded, poised to bolt at the slightest wrong move.
"It's ok - it's just me. It's Dean." And Dean didn't like this in the slightest. He much preferred angry Cas to the thing facing him, at least he knew where he stood with angry Cas - this just felt dreadfully wrong.
Dean tried a step closer to the bed and Cas bore his teeth, just a little flash of white and he tensed like he was preparing for Dean to strike him.
The hunter's boots scuffed on the low carpet as he dragged himself back a step, feeling heavy. "It's ok." He repeated softly and Cas was looking a little frantic now, searching Dean's face for a lie.
And just as soon as it had all started, that horror and wire tension snapped and Cas sagged against the headboard with a protest of wood and misery.
Dean, no longer afraid of the reaction he might earn, finally closed the distance between them and due to the size of the room, he did not have far to go. He knelt and the mattress dipped under his weight, groaning a complaint that he ignored. "You ok?"
"It wasn't you." Cas whispered haltingly and it sounded like it hurt, his throat compressing around the words. "I thought- som'ne else-"
"It's ok." The words were starting to lose any and all meaning and Dean laid Cas down on the bed, pulling the blankets up over his chest and sliding a pillow beneath his wet head. "You're ok, Cas." Dean got him a drink of water because he needed something to do. When he handed over the cup, Cas opened his mouth, maybe to say thank you, but all that came was a moist sound followed with a cringe.
"Don't. Don't talk. I think you might have broken something." He watched Cas' little frown, then his slow blink that may have been some kind of agreement, and didn't try to speak again.
The order for silence didn't seem to preclude dirty looks, and Cas was staring at Dean with a severe expression, breath still a little uneven and hurried. Hesitant moments passed, unease and distrust a very tangible thing between them. Then Cas half sat up, balancing on his elbows and he drained the cup, his throat clicking.
"I didn't mean to scare you." Not really planning to, Dean reached out and touched Cas' cheek, noting that he had finally shaved and feeling bereft at the loss of that rough, biting stubble. "Sorry."
Cas leaned into his hand, eyes closing slightly, and he shuddered from head to toe in a rolling wave. Dean had no way to tell if this was a good or bad sign.
"Just nod or shake your head- are you gunna' be alright?" Dean was leaning closer, inch by inch, one of those unwilling movements like gravity that he would have been foolish to fight against. Cas gave the barest of nods and Dean kissed his forehead gently. "Good." A fierce little grin flashed over his face. "Now, stop freaking me out. I know I can be a little intimidating, but this' getting ridiculous." He let his thumb gently brush the edge of the Angel's lips. "I'd never hurt you." He added softly, fighting down the smile that wanted to answer the uncertain look he was being given.
"It wasn't you I was-"
Dean cut off those agonizingly jagged words with a quick but firm kiss. "I told you, no talking." The hand he had rested on Cas' cheek slid to the back of his neck, pulling him ever so slightly closer. "You give me a freaking heat attack every time you start shaking and bleeding, so knock it off. I'll figure out what's going on all by myself." He lightly pushed their foreheads together, relishing in the warmth and solidity of the contact. "Now, I'm not possessed- and I hereby promise to tell you if I ever am again… or for the first time. So I don't want you jumping at me anymore. Got it?"
Cas was looking at him very oddly. A particular little frown forming between his eyes, debating if he was allowed to answer the question posed to him - or possibly questioning exactly how Dean planned to tell him if he were possessed in future contingencies. He ended up making a frustrated little grunt, not too painful, but altogether disagreeable. It was his way of telling Dean to stop being an ass, and Dean was alright with that.
Another kiss seemed in order, this one a little gentler but over just as quickly and Cas made a pleased noise in answer, moving just a fraction, parting his lips enough to lick the taste of Dean from them.
A small and strangely placed feeling of triumph thrummed through the hunter as he watched his Angel for awhile longer. It was the best kind of shared silence Dean had ever know, silence like a sanctuary, like a promise. It was a new and budding addiction of Dean's - something untamed and unpredictable and overwhelming at the best of times. The smell, the taste, and the feel of whatever they had- of whatever Cas was to him - it was burning in his marrow, pounding through him from heart to head, begging for more and even the slight tang of blood in his mouth couldn't discourage the craving.
There were about five and a half more kisses before he managed to sit back, his calloused fingers sliding gently over Cas' skin, touching the arch of his collar bone and the hollow of his throat. He had to stop himself, his lips, his hands- before they got away from him and did something he would regret.
Real life wasn't like the movies. There was not some clandestine moment when, after you find out that everything is completely fucked up and way out of your control, you come to the sudden realization that the only answer is to get down and dirty with your best friend or that random character that you've always fought with even though there was an underlying sinkhole of sexual tension.
Tonight in this cheap motel, with their brothers on the other side of a very thin door, would not be Dean's breaking point.
The only reason for his extreme control was echoing though his befuddled mind, and it was a simple one.
Cas deserved better.
And almost as if he agreed, Cas smiled, as open and as beautifully painful as a saw through bone. Things on the edge of Dean's vision started seeming diffused and unimportant. It was like trying to study life through a sheet of cellophane. Everything was still there, but it was fractured and didn't quite line up right. He felt like he was in one of those old black and white films, when the guy sees the beautiful love interest from across the room and everything goes misty and starry. And Dean was smiling back, he couldn't help himself, and even if he could he wouldn't have bothered.
A very warm hand found his, the Angel wrapping his long fingers around Dean's and gripping him much tighter than the situation warranted. Dimly, Dean was aware that the hand that Cas held him with was the one he had cut up when the Impala had been flipped. The tendons had been diced clean through and bandages had been in place since that night, but they were gone now and all that remained of the damage was a thin silvery line, the look of a scar that had had years to try and fade- Dean had many of his own that looked just like it. The two of them matched- sort of- and it corrupted his smile in almost indiscernible ways.
He pulled their hands to his mouth, brushing his lips over that little imperfection and Cas winced and tried to pull away.
"It's a battle scar." Dean explained evenly. "The ladies love 'em." He settled their hands over Cas' chest, and felt mildly surprised that he could feel the frantic rhythm of his heart through the blankets. "Very sexy." And he was not positive that he was still talking about scars, so he frowned a little and tried to get his thoughts in order.
He let go of Cas and sat back, pulling up one of his sleeves to show a smattering of slick scars on the curve of his bicep, like raindrops left on his skin. "See this? I was shot, right here." He nodded when he saw Cas frowning at the old injury. "Sam was eight and I thought it would be a good idea to teach him to shoot a gun while Dad was off on a hunt. Luckily it was just a bird gun… Sam spent about two hours pulling the pellets out of my arm with a set of needle nose pliers. He cried for the whole first half of it, and he wasn't even the one that got shot. Man, he felt so guilty- he still does. It's awesome."
The Angel lightly trailed his fingers over the scars, frowning, not understanding why the story made Dean laugh.
"See, now that's not exactly the way I tell it to the girls I meet- but man, some chicks dig gunshots." He stretched one leg out over Cas' and rolled up a pant leg, showing a jagged set of marks around an ankle. "Bear trap." He said as if that explained everything. Cas touched that one as well, his fingers feather light and leaving a trail of warmth behind. All the while he watched Dean as if trying to figure out what was going on, like none of this made sense, but was still somehow vastly important.
It went on like that for several minutes, Dean pulling something aside, or rolling something up and pointing out his scars, some old and faded, almost ignorable, others still pinkish and painful looking. Cas touched each of them in turn with something akin to reverence on his face.
Dean ended up pulling off his shirt and turning his back on the Angel, showing the slightly uneven scars that raked down parallel to his spine. He was partially through some half true story about a clawed creature in the woods up North that he still swore was the Jersey Devil, when he felt Cas sit up behind him and wrap his thin arms tight round his chest. It was a good, tight hug, with Cas' warm face hiding in the crook of his neck, breath hot and smelling of mint toothpaste and blood.
The story dithered off and died, it wasn't that important anyways. Dean felt happy and for no good reason at all. It was a distant, nascent warmth at the base of his skull- jumbling his thoughts and making him feel like nothing he did in the next few minutes could ever have any lasting effect on the universe. He was adrift in a golden sea and the Angel was his only anchor, nothing hurt, nothing worried him- it was just the two of them and it felt perfect… It was a particular sort of detachment that feebly felt related to overmedication, and that rang an alarm bell somewhere in Dean's mind, but it could have been in Spain for all the good it was doing him.
He placed his hands carefully over Cas' arms, sort of wishing that the Angel could talk, but at the same time knowing there was a very good chance that whatever he would have said would have just come out confusing and misplaced in the current situation.
For some reason (not that Dean was going to complain) Cas kissed his shoulder and the small scars that he had pointed out earlier. More kisses clumsily found those long scars down his back, just light and slow, and possibly the most wonder feeling that Dean had experienced in years. He let the Angel minister to his back; each quivering touch was sacrosanct, seared in memory, a lesser prayer just for him.
Dean's body stilled in quiet bewilderment as Cas pressed his face to his shoulder again, to the crook of his arm and the many thin knife lines there that looked much worse than they were. He held Dean's slightly bent and perpetually bruised fingers to his lips, kissing all the old breaks that were never set quite right, every split knuckle from a bar brawl, every mar and imperfection. The Angel had a bitterly sad expression on his face, like his actions were breaking something within him but he was powerless to stop them. He wasn't looking at Dean's face, but at all those little scars that the world had left on the hunter over the years- all the little signs that he had lived, really lived and done something with his life. Dean didn't regret a single one of them, wouldn't lose one if he had a choice. They were part of him and he liked them. His scars were like old friends, individual memories that he carried with him.
He was waxing poetic in his own thoughts and if that wasn't a sign that something was vastly wrong, he didn't know what was. He had a whole chorus of alarm bells ringing in his head now. And though his first distant concern focused in on the trouble of the day, he probably wasn't possessed again. The warm feelings in him weren't even slightly sinister enough for such an assumption. The danger probably was more deeply embedded in the fact that he felt drugged- and not in a 'someone slipped me a ruffie' sort of way (Dean had actually ingested a hefty dose of Rohypnol once by accident and was familiar with the sensation). No, it was much closer to that clean and prefect feeling that came from morphine… or vicodine.
Vicodine.
His own well-meaning brother had made him a drink to help him sleep. Really sleep. Enough vicodine would knock Dean out for hours, Sam was very aware of the fact that his big brother reacted very well to opiates. But vicodine tended to make his already shoddy judgment complete shit, and also made him a little more tactile than was appropriate for most occasions.
Dean would have a very serious talk with Sam… but probably not until morning, because for some reason Cas was nuzzling into the back of his neck, and though there were no scars there, the Angel still felt a need to kiss him. Dean was not about to interrupt so he could go yell at Sam about something as silly as a little misplaced but well-meaning drugs.
The trailing kisses had not lost any of their softness, hardly more than a flutter of lips against skin, as if Cas were afraid of hurting him and to be quite honest, it was maddening. Fingers were trailing down Dean's cheeks, brushing along the pulse in his neck and sliding oh so carefully into his hair- just holding him like something made of glass and wishes.
"You are so much stronger than I give you credit for." Castiel whispered like he was trying to spare himself the pain of his raw and fragmented voice.
And Dean couldn't help but shiver at the feel of the man's breath against his skin, the trembling lips against his pulse when the Angel spoke. Dean cleared his throat and turned his head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of Cas' face, or any part of him over his shoulder. Cas only pressed closer, his embrace was gentle, yet determined, nearly possessive and somehow that made Dean's chest clench tighter and he had to swallow a lump in his throat.
"Don't go getting all mushy on me, Cas." He said blithely, trying to stop his voice from sticking to the roof of this mouth.
"It only makes this much harder for me." He breathed the words, hardly making a sound.
Dean went cold, that lovely warmth from the drugs in his blood fleeing from him and the light of those words. "Makes what harder?" He didn't think he actually wanted the answer, but the Angel's statement was not one of those things that you could just overlook. It had a foreboding sense of finality to it, regret and a quivering thread of fear that couldn't be ignored.
"Cas?" Dean tried when he received no answer. "What are you talking about? Makes what harder?" But the arms around him were slipping away and Dean was allowed to move again. He turned on the bed and watched the Angel sink into the mess of blankets and pillows, face relaxed in the peace of very deep sleep.
"Son of a bitch." He murmured as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes hard enough that he could watch the kaleidoscope of colors dancing. Dean didn't think he was talking to Cas anymore, but he couldn't be sure. He was probably just talking to himself, cursing his own woeful stupidity for ever getting involved. He never should have gone to visit Sam a month ago.
Yeah, he was fairly certain that is where he went wrong. That stupid decision happened about the same time his ship had started to take on water- and here he was, gone out to sea and it was far too late to start bailing. He was going down fast now and there wasn't a single damned life raft in sight.
Dean had just about his fill of nautical metaphors from his inner voice. He let his hands fall to his lap and he looked over at Cas, quietly killing the smile that tugged at his lips. Apparently no one had instructed the man to get properly dressed after his bath and all he wore was a tangle of blankets and a pair of pumpkin colored briefs. Dean wished that it didn't strike him as funny as it did.
He covered up his passed out Angel and found the remote to turn off the television. His boots were tossed into a corner and he was just slipping out of his jeans so he could go to sleep where he heard a soft, but persistent knocking on the door to the room.
"What?" He hissed out, really annoyed now. He was spent for the night, he honestly felt that he had nothing left to give at this point, and now Sam wanted to have a little talk? It wasn't going to end well. Dean just wanted to sleep. To sleep it all off and wake on a new a glorious morning where he could pretend that his life wasn't screwed six ways to Sunday.
The knocking came again, soft and rushed.
"I swear, dude, this had better be good." He pulled the door between rooms open and had never in his life felt regret so instantaneously or strongly.
It could not have been Sam knocking, plain and simple. Sam was far to occupied with Gabriel's mouth in the most indelicate of ways. Dean was granted an eyeful before he closed the door, wishing for all the world that brain bleach was a real thing. He had never wanted to see his Sammy mid-coitus, and now he was fairly certain that he would never be able to un-see it. Life could be real unfair sometimes.
The knocking came a third time and in a daze, Dean turned and looked at the main door to the room, the one that lead out to the hall. He glanced back at the bedside clock, and there was really no good reason for someone to be visiting him at two in the morning.
"You in there, Winchester?"
Dean startled and turned around quickly, because even as traumatized and dazed as he felt, he recognized that voice and it was no one he had checked in the motel with. He checked his gun, more out of habit than anything else, and slowly opened the door.
Kaleb's daughter stood there in dark jeans, a Sex Pistol's t-shirt and (Dean had not been wrong in his earlier assessment) her hair had been mussed into one of those girly little mohawks that left her looking strangely younger- her pale eyes wide and clear.
"Is that your Angel friend?" She leaned to the side, peering around Dean, suddenly finding the hunter not at all interesting. "What was he, some kind of incentive for enlisting in the war? Because if he is, sign me up for the next one."
Trying to keep from getting needlessly defensive, Dean stepped out into the hall, closing the door quietly behind him. He struggled to remember her name; it was a problem he always seemed to have with girls. "Penny?"
She leaned away slightly, sizing him up and pursing her lips into a thin line.
He fought to recall the name given him a few days prior. "A-Andy?" And when she nodded slightly he kept going. "What are you doing out here- did you follow me?"
She scoffed and folded her arms under those lovely breasts, drawing Dean's eye and distracting him for a moment. "No."
"No?" He looked up at her face- her very young face, and it quelled the something warm that had been stirring inside his gut. "You just happened to be staying in the same motel as me? That's quite a coincidence, don't you think?"
She drew a sharp breath. "I don't believe in coincidence. I believe in the curlicue whimsy of fate." Her voice was still a little soft, but the brunt of her bruising had faded to soft twilight colors, light fingerprint marks on the curve of her pale neck.
"The curly-what now?" He didn't know if she was joking with him or not and he was far too tired to make any clear assumptions at this point.
"I'm here because I need to be, not because I happen to be."
"And you're following me." He said again, no longer a question.
She pursed her lips again and wouldn't meet his eye.
"Yeah, you might not know this about me, but I don't like being followed."
"It's about the journals I gave you." She started quietly, looking at the overhead lights and scuffing her flip flops against the concrete. "You really seemed like you needed them, busting into my house and making such a big deal."
A bad feeling bloomed in Dean. "The journals?"
Andy looked over at him and took a little step closer. "You do remember them… right? No head trauma since I last saw you?" She unfolded her arms and shoved her hands into her pockets. "Because you look like hell."
Dean tried his best not to frown. "It's been an interesting few days."
She looked him up and down in a slow and appraising way, her gaze lingering a little too long in places that made Dean feel a little uncomfortable. "Did you want them back or not?"
"Back?" He leaned down to meet her eye, something clicking. "You took them?"
"You gave them back to me, asshole." Her little button nose wrinkled in annoyance.
"I-" And something kind of curdled. "You wanna' remind me when that was again- the last few days have been a bit fuzzy."
"Are you serious, Winchester?" And she glowered at him long enough that he almost answered her. "Monday morning. You hunted me down and foisted them on me."
"I foisted?" Dean wasn't sure if he had ever foisted anything in his life.
"Are you drunk or something?"
And because that seemed like a better thing to admit to instead of possession- especially to another hunter, Dean smiled a practiced smile and shrugged.
She rolled her eyes and made an annoyed noise. "Look, I translated what I could, but Dad was a complicated man." Her frown quivered just a little but she squared her shoulders and met his gaze steadily. "It's going to take me a while to get through all three of them."
"It's my brother who needs them, but I'll let him know you're working on it." He frowned at himself and his own ability to not think quickly. "You wanna' just go tell him what you've got so far? He's... busy right now, but he'd probably love to talk shop in the morning."
"No." she winced and actually took a step back. "I- one Winchester is enough for me." She started to walk away from him, down the hall and the long line of shabby rooms. "You still want my help? Want to see what I've got so far?"
"Sure." And that word felt a little final, like some kind of signed confession he wouldn't be able to take back, but Dean shook himself, sending all his doomsday inclinations scattering and he followed her delightfully pert ass down the hall.
Surprisingly, she wouldn't let him in her room- telling him that she still didn't trust him as far as she could throw him. She was gone only a few moments and when she returned it was with one of the journals, full to bursting with pink and yellow post-it notes sticking out every which way. "Best I've got so far."
"Thanks, kid." He took it from her and earned himself a staggeringly heavy glare.
"I'm not a kid." And she almost looked like she was going to take the journal back, instead she dug her hand into his jean pocket- lightning fast- and took his cell phone.
"Hey, what the hell?" He made to grab it back from her, but she turned away, rolling her shoulders up and huddling around the pilfered bit of technology.
"I'm giving you my number, jackass. This way I don't have to follow you around."
"I thought you said you didn't follow me out here." He accepted the phone back from her and slid in into an arbitrary pocket, smiling just a little.
"Yeah, you didn't give me much choice." She folded her arms again and managed to look very small standing beside him.
From his considerably greater height he could see over her shoulder and into her room. It looked like a bomb had gone off, clothes and books and weapons strewn about chaotically. She had made quite a mess in a very short period of time. It wasn't particularly surprising, nothing was shocking about seeing that kind of disorder- however there was a sword on the bed beside a box of bullets and a pair of black panties. Dean found swords impractical in a fight, especially one that big, especially for someone as small as Andy. It was pristine and lustrous even in the cheap lighting and Dean had never seen a sword quite like it.
Andy glanced over her shoulder, following his gaze and she huffed, stepping into the hall and closing the door, much the same as he had done to her when she had been peeking at Cas.
"I don't know where I'm headed after this, but you can give me a call in a few days- maybe I can mail the other journals to you or something." She popped a hip against the doorframe and watched the expressions mixing over Dean's face. "Or I can just keep following you around, you and your hot boyfriend." She didn't make it sound like a venue that she particularly wanted to follow.
"He's not my boyfriend." Dean said a little quickly, wondering how much trouble she would bring if she did decide to follow him wherever he was going. He didn't like the idea. He gave her Bobby's address, letting her know to just send whatever she decoded to the old man's place.
"I'll do my best." She kind of hugged herself and looked up and down the empty corridor like she had heard someone say her name. Andy was a peculiar girl, a hunter's daughter, and damaged goods. She was hardly holding herself together. Dean knew how it felt, because it was about how he had felt since Sam woke him up that morning. He was just much better at hiding that feeling.
John had taught his boys many things, instilling in them a very shaky set of ethics to fall back on in moments of doubt. And Dean would argue most days, if it was brought up, but he had internalized some serious white knight morals at some point.
It didn't matter that he knew the answer, he still asked. "You doin' ok?" He cursed his inner Sam voice that always wanted to hug and comfort- luckily it never really extended beyond helpless women, but it was still damn uncomfortable.
Her eyes flashed and she looked at him like he had just brought her mother's sexually decency into question. "Are you seriously that stupid? Because you don't look that stupid." She came closer to him, close enough that he could smell her shampoo, something more expensive and flowery than whatever Cas had used earlier. "How do you think I'm doing?"
"You look like hell." He said simply and he earned a smile.
"You're so sweet." But that smile fled, and she pressed the heel of her hand to her mouth for a moment, not able to hold eye contact. "Look, what you want me to say? I'm not ok, alright? And I'm not going to fucking be ok any time soon. Is that it?"
Hall lights flickered and time stretched out until it felt brittle. Dean had always hated this kind of silence. "Can I get you anything?"
"Like a drink?"
"I was gunna' offer you a puppy… but sure." He chuckled softly. "I've got a flask back in my room if you want it." He could indulge a minor in a little drinking, she looked like she needed it.
"How about you just change my bandages?" She tensely rolled a shoulder, the one that Dean had clean the teeth marks on. "They're a real bitch to get to."
"I can do that too." And he did, and her skin was hot under his hands. The bite marks had not healed, in fact they looked a little infected, angry red marks radiating around them and over her freckled shoulder. He dug into the first aid kit that she had provided him and he did the best he could. "You might need to see a doctor, it's not deep but it's definitely getting worse."
"I've got some antibiotics. I'll be ok." The fine muscles in her back were twitching as he smoothed his fingers over the tape and gauze. She glanced over her shoulder at him, the little silver ring in her ear glinting as she tilted her head.
"If it gets worse you go see a doctor." He said in his most authoritative voice.
"Yes, sir." Her tone was a bit cocky, and her posture was a bit unforgiving.
His fingers smoothed over the tape again, sort of a slow petting movement. "Hey, I'm just worried about you." He offered.
"You don't know me." And it was a testament to how young she really was because no adult could have said those words with quite as much petulance.
Dean attempted a slightly different approach, knowing what he would have wanted to hear in her position. "Just keep taking care of yourself."
The steely look on her face softened and then melted away. Her eyes brimmed with tears and she stumbled to her feet, pulling her shirt back on and hissing at the movement of her shoulder. "I'll send the journals to your friend when I'm done with them."
He weighed his options and made a quick decision, following her halfway across the room and pulled her into a tight hug. It was the right choice and she almost immediately fell against him, crying into his shoulder. She dissolved quickly for someone who had put up such a tough front.
And though Dean didn't have any good words to tell her, he could keep his arms around her and rock her slowly while she sobbed.
It took her long minutes to pull herself back together, it gave Dean an opportunity to take a more detailed inventory of her arsenal. It was a lot of the same things she had pulled from her home, other than the sword. Dean never left his things out like she had done, not unless he was arming himself for a hunt, but he was the last person to lecture anyone on keeping a room clean. It just felt a little disrespectful to the weapons lying out like she had.
She finally sniffled and let go of his shirt, hastily wiping at her eyes like she was trying to hide any evidence of her breakdown. "If it the bite gets worse I'll go to the hospital," was her soft promise. She was watching him with those cold eyes that were now a little red.
Dean had a strange desire to kiss her, and he knew very firmly that it was only because she was close and a woman… or a girl. He made a face and mentally slapped himself. He wasn't interested in her, not that way- not beyond a simple stirring that had everything to do with just being male and nothing to do with her personally. Dean had Cas- his incredibly sexy and socially awkward Angel. Andy couldn't hold a candle to Castiel. Dean just needed to remind himself.
"Good." He scooped up the journal she had given him.
"I'll call you in a few days- see how the translating is going." He had wanted to say to 'check in' on her but he had a feeling it wouldn't go over well. Honestly, he had a lot on his plate right now and babysitting her was not really something he wanted to take on, but under everything, he was a good man and she was had no one else.
He left her and went back to his room, admiring the blanket burrito that Cas had made himself into. There was very little night left now; dawn was only a few hours off and sleep was paramount at this point. He wanted to just fall down where he stood, feeling weary to his bones. It had been a very taxing day. Dean managed to go as far as to pull his shirt back off before crawling into the empty bed and feeling mildly annoyed at how the button on his pants was digging into his abdomen. It was unpleasant, but not enough for him to rally the strength to get back up.
No matter what he tried to coerce himself into, Dean could not sleep. Not even after he abandoned his own bed with a distant hope that the warmth of someone beside him would be the key he was looking for. Cas pressed his face into Dean's shoulder for the last time that night, unconsciously shifting towards the other man, breathing deeply in his own sleep that had come so quick and easily.
Dean hated Cas and his smugly unconscious self right then, even if there was no real malice behind the feeling.
He was a wreck. He was so far from alright that it had bypassed being funny and dead serious and come right back around to being just fucking hilarious.
He put a hand gently on Cas' back, kissed his messy hair that smelled like motel shampoo, and quietly watched the world grow light beyond the heavy curtains.