I figured I'd just throw in one of my pre-written chapters before I have some more time to write your requests: the beginning of the Apocalypse by Bellatrix-la-dumb and What happened between Dean and Cas after Cas post his grace by deadone1013. I think I'll be able to post these requests in a couple of days and then we'll wind up with a very very dark finale. Thank you for sticking around and for your reviews!
Hoellenwauwau, yeah, I might have overdone with the fluff a little, but it was refreshing :) I'm dutifully going back to dark and painful now.
Musical dare for this chapter: "Breathe me" by Sia or "Say something" by A Great Big World
Cas jumps down from the jeep's tailgates when the vehicle is still moving to trot towards Chuck, who is waiting at the gate as usually when the Leader returns from a mission.
"There's nothing here for you this time..." the fallen angel assures in haste, clumsily trying to obliterate the next car that arrives and stops in front of the Camp's headquarters - a white Defender marked with patches of rust - from Chuck's view. Everyone knows how much Dean hates this rugged, clumsy, boxy car, so he must have been a good reason for driving it. A really tough and nasty job could be such a reason, and before Chuck has time to reflect on how easily such a thing affects him, he feels his heart sink.
The prophet spotts a man bound with ropes that smoke and sizzle on his skin and a bag with a devil's trap covering his head. Even if these details escaped his notice, Chuck would still hear his inhumane, vicious growl as soon as the LandRover's engine was turned off. Three men help Dean wrench the man from the car and pull him towards the small, secluded cabin that serves as gathering hall and Dean's office.
Cas holds on to Chuck's arm to come down a bit after fast ride and fight that must have taken place not long before - streaks of blood on Cas's jacket and face are not yet dry. This characteristic stench of strain and adrenaline still lingers around the man.
"Yet, you have something that I may need. A bit of pure ethanol, if you are so kind," the fallen angel stands on his own now, but still keeps his hand on Chuck's shoulder. "I must wash down the insults that I am bursting with!" as he speaks, he turns away to shout towards Dean, who is just disappearing in the headquarters.
The prophet gives his friend an uneasy once-over.
"It's just a vessel, Dean!" Cas's yell is now raucous and throaty, "Damn you! It is just a vessel!"
There is no answer. The barrack's door remain closed, even when Castiel sways onto the wall, slides down to sit on the ground with this head covered with his arms and lets out a single doleful cry that tears the night's peace before it sinks into the dark, cold, impervious forest.
-x-X-x-
Dean didn't show in their cabin for six days. After tearing the first demon into pieces he immediately departed to "run errand", came back with another demon and did the same. When he finally comes in, he reeks of blood, sweat, sulfur and anger. As he appears in the doorstep, the sight stops him in tracks. He has to take a look around the interior. The smell of weed and incense is stifling, there are candles and stubs stuck into a mountain of congealed candlewax - some drizzles caught for eternity in their crawl towards a faded carpet that covers half of the floor.
"Cas, what's happened?"
The fallen angel puts down his joint while gathering himself up from the lotus position to sit on their bed. He gives his lover a displeased, sidelong glance.
"You bled over my shirt," he remarks. Dean can recognize the moony, sloppy tone of someone heavily drugged. He figures out that the joint was not the only thing Cas is high on.
"Our shirt." Dean corrects him automatically. He is too baffled to notice that it doesn't even matter.
"My. I told you not to wear it. There are really few things that I don't want you to wear and that shirt is... was one of them. I liked it."
"Cas, what the fuck?" Dean approaches the bed with a gesture like he wanted to put his hand on Cas's shoulder, but the fallen angel shakes the touch off.
"You know what? You know why I like this shirt?"
Dean curls his lips.
"Because it fit me. It was not too large. It's always this way. We go for supply run and grab some clothes for you that I end up wearing because there is no time to grab something for me. I guess I'm lucky to have my own shoes," Cas hunches up, detached and defeated.
"All right, I'm sorry, we'll get you a new one, but what I mean is this..." the leader gestures around the cabin "I'm not home for not even a week and you turn it into some kind of... I don't know. Temple?"
"It's feng-shui." Cas sounds jaded and stale, "Anouk and I... We spent much time together when you were gone. It was very educational."
"And you became a buddhist?"
"I didn't become anything," the fallen angel grinds out with barely restrained grudge, "I just chilled."
The leader crosses his arms; he is trapped between worry and spite. The latter wins.
"Shouldn't an angel be christian? Just sayin'," he remarks caustically.
Instead of getting even more agitated, Cas heaves a long sigh.
"I am not an angel. I am human and I can be whatever I wish, except of course for a powerful immortal superhuman creature able to change anything. Second best choice is psychoactive drugs and no religion."
Dean feels a bit disoriented - enough to make him feel a bit queasy.
"So where is your faith now?" he asks, uncertain as to where it will take him
Castiel rubs his lips and stands up to face Dean. For a moment the man is dazed by the look of Cas's impossibly blue eyes; he realizes they hadn't looked at each other so closely for a very long time. Cas's words, however, make his stomach cramp and feel even heavier and colder than usually.
"You used to be my religion" he brushes Dean's lips with his thumb; his skin is cold and dry "Trying to save you used to be my religion, but I give up. I failed you. All I could do now is apologize, but... I am not sure if you would understand what I mean..." he casts his eyes down.
Suddenly, all his flippancy is washed away and all Dean can see is a helpless, hapless, lost child. The man puts his arms around his lover, trying to pull him closer. There's a moment when Cas tenses up and jerks back, appalled by the half-dried clots of blood on Dean's jacket and sleeves, but after a moment of hesitation he gives up, allows himself to be held like a lifeless, limp statue.
"Dean," he inhales sharply, then speaks hastily in a brittle, strangled voice as if he raced his own fear to say what he has to say before the moment is gone, "I gave everything there was of me not to have you do this. Become this. There's nothing I would deny you, it's just that I have nothing more to give. It was not enough, I was not..."
" Cas, plase," it's all Dean can say. In the velvety silence of a summer evening their ragged breaths sound disturbingly loud as they stand embraced, trying to calm down. The man feels Cas's whole body shiver and quake, his musles tense up and relax in violent spasms as he is fighting to control his breathing...gradually, the heaving of his chest gets slower, less desperate until he finally comes down enough for Dean to losen his hold without fearing that Cas will collapse.
They look at each other, shamefaced and disoriented; both of them know that last moments of the life they had are slipping through their fingers, but they let them drain away, sink into the overwhelming silence between them.
"So what do we do now?" the leader finally ask; his mouth is so dry and numb that it feels like someone else was speaking for him.
Cas's chest vibrates in a bitter, pained snicker.
"I guess it solves many of our...uhm... marital disagreements. We could pretend that nothing happened, like we always do. Or have lousy, awkward make-up sex. Or get obscenely plastered."
"Together?"
The fallen angel just nods.
"So you're not leaving?" The leader asks even quieter, feeling that despite the fact that he manages to seem unruffled, his heart skipped a beat in anticipation of the answer.
"Of course not. You cannot ask this of me."
"I don't. Damn it, I wish I could. But I don't."
Dean's eyes start to sting; he hasn't cried in months, he almost forgot how if felt. Something claws at his guts and throat, his lungs burn like he breathed fire. He clenches his jaw, knowing that if he lets himself break down, he will never stand up again.
"Why didn't you listen..." he manages to whisper, searching Cas face of any sing of emotional, anything that would shine through that dark, bleak desolation.
"Because I had a choice..." Cas answers softly, and before a hitch in Dean's breath can break into a sob, he presses his fingers to the man's lips to silence him. He gathers himself right after, pushes Dean away to look him in the eyes - soberly, matter-of-factly, "So, what did you learn?" he inquires, and if the leader didn't know him so well he might have missed out how hard Cas tried to stay calm.
"Not much," Winchester does his best to mirror this fake composedness, "He didn't know where the big guy was, just gave me another name of somebne who could know."
"So you need to go."
"Cas..."
"No, Dean. Go. I have already lost my fight. You still have yours. Go."