Marines are dispersing - there is nothing left for them to do. The sound of siren cuts through early morning's silence, flushing dozens of seagulls out of heavy fog that lurks above clammy rocks and concrete. A flurry of confused, scared birds circle over the harbor; their pitiful squeals add to the clamor, the roar of powerful engines and ugly, slurping sound of water torn by lazy propellers. A rusty hull grazes the quay with thundering scrape; nobody cares enough to try to maneuver carefully. As the ship crawls out of the port, those who got on it can finally stop running for their lives.
She is slightly overburdened, but it doesn't matter - the sea is calm and it will take only a few hours for the ship to reach her destination: one of the islands that haven't been attacked by the croatoan virus yet. What does matter is that the local crisis center managed to dispatch another ship with survivors towards safety. Besides people - scientists, doctors and engineers valuable to the society - she carries medical and scientific equipment needed to establish a temporary laboratory designed to find a vaccine for croatoan virus.
Most of the refugees leave the shore with hope tinted with anxiety. Only one of them seems suspiciously calm. Instead of praying, crying or nervously telling bad jokes to cover his nervousness he watches the deck with keen eyes and stoic composure.
Dean would have spotted it. Any hunter would have spotted it. All it takes is to say "christo" to see his eyes darken and his face contort in fury, but no one of the escorted survivors knows; nobody imagines that croatoan could be anything more than just a disease. There is no one who could prepare holy water or recite the exorcism. Though protected by armed soldiers, the people on board are defenseless.
In the morning silence there is a ringing snap. A few minutes later a woman cuts her finger trying to remove the broken glass from the deck. When the ship reaches her destination, the only sane person left is the demon who steers her gently into the harbor. A few seconds after hordes of Croats spill onto the island, a smudge of black smoke leaves the man's mouth. There is nothing left to see to. Croatoan is doing its job.
Dean wakes up with a jolt, panting and covered in thick, fetid sweat. It takes him a while to unscramble the mayhem in his mind. Finally, he can attribute every stimulus to its source. The grid of lurid blueish light is moonlight seeping through a barred window. The scrape of gravel is guards circling the camp. This steady, slow breath is Cas, who must have come back into the cabin while Dean slept.
He runs his palms down his sweaty face and turns to his side. Cas lays curled up on the far edge of their bed with his back turned to Dean, covered with a separate blanket. For a moment Dean feels compelled to wake him up, to tell him how terrified he is. The same dream has haunted the leader for months. Though his imagination lets the tragedy unfold in various places and circumstances, the pattern is always the same. People almost reaching safety. "Civilian" soldiers - Dean couldn't help thinking about all the non-hunters as civilians - taking all conceivable precautions and failing; failing miserably because they have no clue what they are up against. The direful awareness of how easy it would be to avert the danger if Dean was there to help instead of trying to find the colt and kill Lucifer.
Doubt keeps gnawing at his mind even when he is awake. He keeps coming up with all possible reasons to believe that killing Lucifer is the only way to stop the Apocalypse, but in the end he has nothing but his own ruminations. There is nobody there to answer his questions. Will the world ever get back to normal? Will croatoan stop spreading the moment Lucifer dies? Is it possible to restore political and economic stability after all of this? Is there anything left to fight for? Maybe Cas is right, maybe Dean doesn't want to save people anymore. Maybe it is just about revenge, about quenching this thirst for blood. Maybe it is about ending this feverish, stomach-turning anxiety that keeps scorching him from the inside and chilling blood in his veins as long as there is another low point he could hit, as long as he hasn't hit the rock bottom. Maybe it is about this steadfast certainty that his life will end the moment he pulls the trigger; he simply couldn't live with Sammy's blood on his hands and God, how he craves relief. This bleak, dark, cold, absolute relief that only death can bring.
Or maybe he is just lost beyond return. There is one thing that could bring him back home, but he doesn't dare to ask for it.
It would be so easy. All he needs is to put his hand on Castiel's shoulder and pull or shake gently, or call the angel's name when Dean's lips are so close to Cas's ear. The longing is almost physically painful. He wants to hear the angel's deep, calming voice, to listen to his lies that Cas somehow can tell so convincingly: that maybe, just maybe there is God who will show up in the last possible moment to set things right... or at least so that Dean could spit him in the face.
He fights this urge off. Sleep is rare luxury these days, especially for those who know what is going on. Especially for Cas. Waking him when he's just managed to drink away or fend off all the nightmares perched on his shoulder feels like a crime to Dean. Instead, he pulls himself closer and wraps one arm around Cas's shoulders, he even manages to slip his hand under the blanket to gingerly stroke Cas's chest. The fallen angel stirs uneasily and grunts, but doesn't fully wake up. His hand moves; he grips Dean's wrist unknowingly and pulls him closer to nestle his back against Dean's chest. The man cradles his head against Cas's nape; he inhales deep to find his scent underneath this acidic smell of fresh sweat. There is a vague aroma of rose and patchouli stuck to his dark hair. It doesn't take him long to remember Anouk, that dreamy, frail girl who kept talking about energies, incarnations, mantras, and karma; courting Castiel almost as if she knew that there was more in him than met the eye. It looks like she finally won him over.
An upsurge of anger should follow - he knows it - but it doesn't. At first, there is nothing but mild annoyance, because one reminds the rookies not to waste time on nonessentials only so many times. Most of the men in the camp struggle to make ends meet; there is never enough food, petrol or ammo, but there is always an idiot who will pick up things like perfume, jewellery or lingerie during supply raids.
Dean sniggers quietly. He has not sunken into madness so deep that he couldn't recognize the absurdity of the situation. The fact that women keep wasting time and cargo space to bring cosmetics from forages irritates him more than the fact that Cas has slept with that girl. He isn't angry at all. If anything, he feels guilty for being so weak and broken that the angel felt obliged to come back to their bed, imbued with the stench of fear and nightmares, instead of staying with Anouk: her hope, her herbal incense, her sweet voice, her patchouli, immortality and reincarnation.
The guilt creeps up to him in the dark, getting heavier and more bitter every second until Dean feels like screaming. His lips move noiselessly when he repeats his own mantra to drive away the feeling that is crushing his chest: he never made Cas promise anything. He never demanded faithfulness, neither as a lover, nor as a leader. A part of him wishes that he was strong enough to cast the angel aside, to save him from destruction and misery awaiting anyone who gets close to the Righteous Man. A part of him is grateful that he doesn't have to try. He knows that even if he did, Castiel would never leave. No matter what happens, Cas will never leave.
These one-shots are getting really dark. I hope you like it, because I am a bit worried that I'm getting carried away by my unhealthy penchant for pain, angst and misery. Please R&R :)
BTW I realized that the first chapter was littered with typos and grammar mistakes after I posted it. I tidied it up a bit. Sorry for my sloppiness. If you notice any glaring errors, please let me know.