Fic: And I Will Walk On Water (18/18)
Nov. 28th, 2009 05:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tracy_loo_whoTitle: And I Will Walk On Water (18/18)
Characters: Dean and Castiel, Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Descriptions of torture and non-con.
Word Count: ~11,200 (~122,600 total)
Summary: In which the end isn't really an end at all.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17
Dean woke in the middle of the night to Castiel's body covering his and Castiel's voice whispering urgently into his ear, "Dean. Dean, wake up."
He grunted unintelligibly and started reaching for the knife under his pillow before he even snapped his eyes open or fought through his bleary disorientation, but Castiel caught his wrist. "We're not in danger."
"Wha--?" Dean used his free hand to rub at his eyes, and then he peered up at Castiel, whose face was only inches above his in the darkness. The urgency Dean had heard in his voice was mirrored in his expression, among a myriad of other emotions Dean couldn't quite decipher this soon after waking up. "What did you wake me up for, then?"
"I want you again," Castiel rasped, and that was when Dean registered the hardness pressed between his thighs. He bit off a startled laugh when Castiel spoke again. "Please let me be inside you." There was something desperate about his urgency, Dean could hear it now, something that wasn't just horniness. Castiel had been horny plenty of times in the nearly two months since the apocalypse had ended, but he'd never been like this.
Dean frowned. "What's wrong?"
"Please, Dean," Castiel insisted. "I want you."
"Okay," Dean said automatically, even though they'd just done this a few hours ago and he was still a little sore. Whatever was wrong could wait; there was no way he could have said anything else, not when Castiel asked like this. He'd never asked before -- Dean had always been the one to offer or coax -- and Dean couldn't deny him anything anyway.
It was all the permission Castiel needed. He was lubed up in seconds, and then he slid between Dean's legs and into him. It was more uncomfortable than usual, especially since Dean wasn't even hard, but he shifted to accommodate Castiel and tried not to grimace. This was one of those times when he guessed it would probably be easier with Castiel behind him, but Castiel had always been adamant about being able to see Dean's face regardless of who was topping.
Castiel stilled once he was fully inside Dean and lowered his forehead to Dean's shoulder with a slow, shaky breath. It was almost like the first time they'd done this, when Castiel had been too overwhelmed to move and had simply lain there and trembled lightly. Dean smoothed his hands up and down Castiel's sides in concerned bewilderment. "Cas. What's going on?"
For a long moment Castiel didn't reply, but then he said in a low, bleak voice, "They're leaving."
Dean didn't have to ask to know that he was talking about the other angels. Castiel hadn't voiced it out loud, but his quiet anxiety had been building the past couple of weeks and throwing a shadow over their post-apocalypse high, and Dean had already guessed the cause. They hadn't seen a single demon in almost a month, so it was hardly surprising now that the angels had finally wrapped up the last of their business on earth. Dean also wasn't surprised Castiel was taking it so hard. He knew a thing or two about being abandoned by his family.
"They're leaving," Castiel repeated, more roughly. "I can feel them slipping away from me and I can't do anything about it."
The first thought that ran through Dean's mind was that there was something Castiel could do about it. He could go with them. But Dean gritted his teeth and fought with himself over whether or not to say it.
He didn't need to. Castiel didn't even have to look at him to know what he was thinking, apparently. He assured Dean, "I'm not having second thoughts. But I..." He trailed off and clutched Dean a little tighter. "I've never been without their presence before," he said, a little helplessly.
It seemed to Dean like Castiel needed him to understand, so he tried to imagine what it must be like for an angel to be abandoned among humans after an eternity of being in the constant presence of his kin, even if those kin had hunted him for a while. At least they'd still been there, but now Castiel was losing even that. Dean felt some of his helplessness and wished he could make it better, but all he could do was wrap his arms around Castiel and hug him tightly and say, "You've still got me." He even curled his legs around Castiel's waist and pulled him closer.
Apparently it was exactly what Castiel had needed to hear. He suddenly started pressing fevered kisses against his mark on Dean's shoulder and up the curve of his neck to the underside of his jaw. There were no more words after that, only small, needy sounds as Castiel began moving. It was slow and there was more jerky rocking than real thrusting going on, and Dean didn't know if that was because Castiel wanted to make it last or if it was because he knew Dean was still sore, but it felt good and Dean began enjoying it more and more intensely, until he was writhing under Castiel and surging up against him. Castiel sped up then, and they lost themselves in each other amidst heavy panting and soft grunts and low, choked off moans. They were both quiet, as usual, but this time it was born more from desperation than from an effort to not disturb Sam, who was only ever a thin wall away, and when they came, it was with bodies tangled together between the sheets and lips damp against hot skin.
Dean didn't let go afterward and Castiel stayed inside him for as long as he could while they came down together. If Dean had been sleepy before, that was nothing compared to his sated exhaustion now, and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and given in to the hazy warmth of sleep. But Castiel would remain awake, he knew, and suddenly it felt wrong to abandon him to his usual post of watching Dean sleep when he so clearly needed some company. So Dean forced himself to stay awake too and murmured, "Talk to me, Cas."
Castiel raised his head from where he'd been resting it on Dean's shoulder to look at him, and he propped himself up on his elbows. "About what?"
"Anything," Dean said with a shrug. "You. How old are you?" It still struck him as kind of funny, how little he knew about this angel who he was sharing his bed and his life with.
"Older than you," Castiel replied, sounding bemused. When Dean rolled his eyes, he searched for a better answer. "My age can't be measured in years. I exist independently of time."
Dean didn't really get it. "So... you were created before time was?"
"No." Castiel shook his head. "You're implying that time existed before it was created. It has, by its very nature, always been here, bound to this place. Think of it as the surface of a globe -- finite in scope but infinite in possible trajectories, with neither beginning nor end. I was created in Heaven, which is disconnected from both time and space and is therefore free of their limitations."
There was a brief silence, and then Dean made a wry face up at Castiel. "Okay, forget I asked." He didn't think he would have been prepared to have this conversation even if his brain hadn't been a heap of pleasant mush. "Just tell me a story, then. What did you do before you were sent down to save my sorry ass?"
Castiel smiled faintly. "There was no before, except when I was on earth briefly."
"You met Luke, right?" Dean asked, remembering the disparaging remark Castiel had once made about him.
"Yes," Castiel replied, and then he went on to tell Dean about a sniveling, terrified little man who made Chuck look positively heroic. He also told Dean story upon story about other people and places whose names Dean knew were from the Bible, but he was sure these stories weren't written anywhere. They were all from the point of view of an ordinary angel -- only one among thousands -- but they were Castiel's stories, so Dean listened attentively and let Castiel's voice push thoughts of sleep from his head.
Talking seemed to distract Castiel from his desolation, and occasionally he even looked amused at Dean's snarky interjections, or else he glared until Dean smirked and kissed it away. He talked until the sky began to tinge gray outside, and when he finished a story about how he had been the one to save dragonflies from extinction during the flood, Dean suddenly became wistful about all the things Castiel was giving up. Soon he wouldn't be an angel anymore, and there wouldn't be any more stories like the ones he'd just told Dean.
"Cas," he said softly, "show me your wings again."
Castiel looked down at Dean in brief surprise, but then he dipped his head in a nod and lightning flashed outside. They illuminated his silhouette against the wall, and Dean turned his head to see Castiel's shadow on top of his own, with two enormous wings sprouting from his back to stretch up toward the ceiling. It was just as mildly alarming and yet impressive as it had been the first time Dean had seen them, and he couldn't help reaching around Castiel to feel his shoulder blades. There was nothing but smooth skin over flat bones, of course, but Dean knew the wings were there, and that was breathtaking.
"How long until you lose them?"
"I don't know," Castiel admitted, suddenly sounding miserable again.
Dean bit his lip, but then he brightened and pushed Castiel off of him so he could sit up. "Come on," he said as he tugged some clothes on. "Let's go."
A moment later, Castiel was standing beside the bed, fully dressed and tilting his head. "Where?"
"You'll see."
Dean grabbed his keys, and the two of them snuck quietly out of the motel. It was still mostly dark outside with only tiny hints of pink in the sky, and they were the only ones up. When they reached the Impala, Dean pressed the keys into Castiel's hand and got in on the passenger side.
For a long while Castiel simply stood by his door and stared at him, until Dean rolled down the window to ask, "What are you waiting for, an embossed invitation in the mail? Get in."
"But--"
"Look, Cas, soon you're not gonna be able to just flap your wings and go anywhere in the world, right? Time to learn how to get around the human way."
Castiel didn't seem convinced, but he walked around to the other side of the car and got in anyway. Once there, he stared at the steering wheel as if he didn't dare touch it, and the keys hung uselessly from his hand. He seemed uncharacteristically nervous, and Dean rolled his eyes. "Considering you made it through the apocalypse, I have confidence in your ability to survive a driving lesson."
"It's not that," Castiel protested with a small frown as he looked over at Dean. "This car is yours." He said yours like that made it sacred or something.
"Yeah, well, everyone else in the family has driven her, so now it's your turn." Castiel's eyes widened, and Dean looked away in embarrassment. Of course Castiel was part of the family, and even more so now that his brothers were going or gone. Dean and Sam had effectively adopted him months ago, even if no one had voiced it out loud until now. Dean cleared his throat before the silence could stretch on any longer. "Come on, Cas, it's not that difficult. Brake pedal on the left, gas on the right. Step on the brake and get the engine started already."
Castiel turned without another word and did as Dean instructed, and then Dean taught him how to shift into drive and guided him through a slow, careful lap around the parking lot. After that, they hit the road. Dean figured it to be easier anyway since there were practically no other cars out this early in the morning, and Castiel listened closely as he spent the next half an hour explaining all the traffic laws to him.
He was a quick study, and he never made the same mistake twice. By the time more cars started appearing on the roads, Castiel was driving comfortably among them with minimal input from Dean, even though, as Dean pointed out helpfully, he did drive like a granny. Castiel glared at him, and after that he drove too fast, but Dean didn't mind and only laughed. He trusted Castiel with his baby.
The last item on the list was parking, and it took Castiel a few tries to get it right, but in the end he pulled flawlessly into a spot between two cars in front of an Arby's. Dean clapped him proudly on the back and declared, "You deserve curly fries for breakfast for that."
Castiel seemed pleased about this, even though he ended up choosing a chicken salad over curly fries. He'd started doing that more often lately -- ordering his own food instead of just eating whatever Dean ate -- and generally Dean was heartened by that, but now he despaired slightly because a chicken salad was what he'd been about to get for Sam, and it didn't seem fair that Castiel should take Sam's side when it came to the very important issue of food. Of course, Castiel did indulge him later by stealing a few of his curly fries to try, but he still seemed to prefer his salad, and Dean despaired a little more.
***
Castiel lost his angel mojo bit by bit over the next few weeks. He didn't get hungry because he'd already been sharing all of Dean and Sam's meals, so the first sign that he was becoming human was discovering a need to use the bathroom. The second sign was Castiel announcing that he was hot and standing up to strip off his trench coat and suit jacket in the middle of lunch. Dean whistled lewdly, Sam made a surprised comment about how skinny Castiel was, and Castiel just looked embarrassed. The third sign was more somber; Castiel lost his ability to fly, and not even chocolate cheered him up that day.
One morning, Dean noticed that he was starting to look a bit scruffy and sniffed him lightly. It earned him a strange look from Castiel, but Dean only smiled and pulled him into the shower.
He washed Castiel's hair for him (really it was just an excuse to massage Castiel's head and watch him relax in pleasure), and after he rinsed all the shampoo out under the spray, Castiel opened his eyes and said abruptly, "I can't look after Jimmy and his family anymore."
Dean hadn't been expecting that, but he shrugged and assured Castiel, "They'll be alright. The apocalypse is over, remember? Even if there are any demons left, they won't bother Jimmy. We'll give him a call later and let him know what the deal is."
Castiel nodded, appeased, and then Dean soaped up his body and scrubbed him clean.
Throughout the process Castiel seemed content to simply stand there and allow himself to be touched all over and taken care of, but when Dean finished with him and reached for the bottle of shampoo again to start in on himself, Castiel caught his hand. "Let me."
It still surprised Dean sometimes that Castiel would want to return his favors, and he was far from used to being taken care of by anyone because it had always been the other way around, but he relinquished the shampoo. "Okay."
Castiel took over, washing his hair and body exactly as Dean had just done for him, and he concentrated on the task so intently Dean thought he probably hadn't even noticed that he'd sucked in his lower lip and was biting down on it gently. Dean loved the careful attention to detail Castiel applied to what he did just as much as he loved what Castiel was actually doing, and when they were done, Dean finally gave in to his urge to kiss him. It was light and unhurried despite the fact that he was hard, and after a few moments Castiel reached between them to bring Dean off with soapy fingers and deft strokes. Dean's knees went weak with pleasure and he grabbed Castiel's shoulders when he came, so Castiel held him upright and kissed a line up and down the side of his face until he recovered. Castiel didn't seem too interested in anything for himself, so Dean only kissed him lazily under the spray for a while.
He shaved Castiel after they got out of the shower and toweled off, and then he showed him how to clip his nails, too. (Castiel made a comment about how he'd seen a manicurist do this once, and Dean wasn't impressed.)
Since Castiel didn't have any spare clothes, Dean lent him some of his own and took a moment to marvel at how different Castiel looked, standing around in Dean's t-shirt and boxers. Dean had never seen him wear anything but Jimmy's one outfit, and he'd come to associate those clothes and especially the trench coat with Castiel the angel. Now he looked so human, and Dean found that he enjoyed showing Castiel the ropes.
Even though Castiel was generally subdued these days, Dean could tell he was grateful for it. It seemed he was even beginning to get over the loss of his brethren and warm up to the idea of his own mortality, if the small smiles he gave Dean when they did things like this were anything to go by. New experiences were still fun for him, especially if Dean was there to share them with him.
Sleeping, however, turned out to be much less fun.
The first time was alright; Castiel finally gave in to his exhaustion in the middle of the afternoon despite being wary of losing consciousness and woke that evening with only a brief flash of alarm and disorientation before Dean caught his eye and reassured him, "I was here the whole time, Cas. I wouldn't have let anything bad happen to you while you slept."
Castiel believed him, but the second time he fell asleep, the nightmares began.
It was the next night, and Dean woke up to Castiel tossing beside him and mumbling broken pleas. "Cas," he said, and when that didn't work, he shook Castiel gently by the shoulder and tried again. "Cas. Wake up."
Castiel did wake up, but when his eyes snapped open, they darted around in panic and he jerked away from Dean and hissed, "Don't touch me."
Dean lifted his hand immediately in a gesture of peace, and he could actually see the moment when recognition dawned in Castiel's eyes and the terror faded. But Castiel was still breathing unevenly and looking skittish, so Dean said, "It was just a dream," and touched him on the shoulder again, tentatively.
Instead of letting Dean reassure and soothe him, Castiel looked away and climbed wordlessly out of bed to head over to the armchair in the opposite corner of the room. He curled up in it with his knees drawn against his chest and his face turned away from Dean, and Dean bit his lip as he propped himself up on his elbows to watch him.
It wasn't that Dean was taking it personally, because he wasn't. There were some days when Castiel was broody and preferred to avoid everyone, or he snapped at Dean for coming on to him, and Dean had learned to just accept that and give Castiel space whenever he needed it. He'd always been rewarded with Castiel coming back to him later with extra affection, like he'd missed Dean's closeness.
Dean had a feeling this time would be different. This wasn't just a bad day; he knew how real nightmares could feel, and he didn't have any doubts regarding what Castiel's had been about. If some harsh words from Zachariah had once left him sitting out in the rain all day, Dean was more than a little nervous about what reliving his trauma was doing to Castiel now.
He licked his lips and began hesitantly, "Cas--"
"Go back to sleep," Castiel said sharply.
Dean pursed his lips, but in the end he lay back down and stared at the ceiling. It was clear there was nothing he could do at the moment, so eventually he fell into an uneasy doze with the hope that there would be something he could do in the morning.
When morning came, Castiel was still curled up in the armchair. He hadn't moved at all, but Dean figured it was better than waking up to find that Castiel had disappeared. "Cas, you okay?" he asked as he sat up.
Castiel gave no response, and Dean padded over stand in front of him and catch his eye. Even Castiel's gaze seemed small and miserable, and Dean ached a little inside. "Hey," he tried again, more gently.
"I'm fine," Castiel finally replied, and looked away again. He sounded tired and dejected, but it wasn't the emotional breakdown Dean had been fearing, so Dean relaxed and accepted it.
He turned to leave Castiel be, but suddenly Castiel's hand shot out to grab his, and Dean looked back to find Castiel staring up at him. Dean supposed it meant Castiel wanted him to stay after all, so he perched on the arm of the chair and drew him into a hug. Castiel went willingly into his arms and pressed his face against Dean's chest, and Dean simply held him for a few minutes in silence, feeling grateful that at least Castiel wasn't pushing him away anymore.
Eventually he asked, "Feel like some breakfast?"
"Okay," Castiel replied, voice muffled against his shirt, and Dean pulled back to give him an encouraging smile.
He slid off the armchair and took Castiel's hand again, and Castiel's fingers curled around his. Dean pulled him to his feet and led him out to the living room, where Sam raised an eyebrow at their clasped hands but then glanced at Castiel's face and stopped himself from saying anything.
Whatever progress they made that day toward cheering Castiel up, it was ruined when he went back to sleep at night and had another nightmare.
This time Castiel pressed into Dean as soon as he woke up and clung on hard, and Dean whispered soothing things to him and held him tightly long past when he stopped shaking. Dean eventually drifted off again, but in the morning, he suspected Castiel had lain awake for hours.
His suspicions were confirmed later when he suggested a warm bath might help Castiel sleep better and Castiel declared, "I'm not sleeping again."
Dean arched his eyebrows. "Dude, you're not an angel anymore. Sleep isn't optional."
Castiel only narrowed his eyes and repeated, "I'm not sleeping again."
True to his word, he refused to go to bed that night despite any amount of coaxing from Dean and sat rigidly at the table in front of Sam's laptop. He kept insisting that he was fine and that he'd finish researching their case until Dean eventually gave up and headed into their room by himself. The bed was strangely empty with just him in it, and Dean kept hoping Castiel would change his mind and join him after all, but he woke up alone.
When Castiel tried the same thing again the next night, Dean said crossly, "You're going to crash at some point, you know that, right?" It was the brief flicker of terror in Castiel's eyes at the mere mention of sleep that softened his next words. "Look, there's a whole list of things we can try that might help you sleep better. Something will work."
"Alcohol? Sleeping pills?"
Dean grimaced. "You're a brand new human, Cas; I was thinking something less addictive." He'd never forgive himself if he let Castiel develop an addiction to something in his very first month of being a human. Of course, Dean would never forgive himself if he ever let it happen to Castiel, but he felt these first few months were probably especially important in setting the tone for the rest of Castiel's life, and he wanted them to be as perfect as possible. "Anyway, I tried alcohol and it didn't work; wouldn't recommend it. As for sleeping pills, I hear those can give you even more fucked up dreams."
Castiel turned away. "Then I'm not interested." He made it clear the discussion was over, and left Dean chewing on his bottom lip in a mixture of frustration and worry. He hated that Castiel had only just begun to be human and already things were going to shit. Mostly, he hated that he didn't know how to make it better.
In the end, Dean offered, "Want me to stay up with you?"
"No," Castiel replied, more gently now, and gave Dean a rueful smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You should get some rest."
Dean didn't bother telling him that Castiel needed it more than he did, and instead resigned himself to losing this one and went to bed with a sigh.
By the third sleepless evening in a row, Castiel's eyes were bloodshot and dark rimmed, and he kept blinking at the laptop screen in between rubbing at his eyes. Every time his head began to nod forward, Castiel jerked himself awake in momentary panic and shook the sleep from his head.
It was Sam who tried to talk to him this time. He sat across the table from Castiel and said, "You're killing yourself."
Dean paused to lean against the frame of the bathroom door with his toothbrush in his mouth and watched curiously. He didn't have high hopes that Castiel would listen to Sam either, but he was grateful to his brother for trying.
"I'm fine," Castiel replied shortly.
"You almost dozed off while we were talking to the cops. And then again at dinner."
"But I didn't."
"And if we find the ghost tomorrow," Sam went on as if he hadn't said anything, "you won't be fit to fight."
Castiel glared and repeated, "I'm fine."
Sam stared at him for a moment, then turned the laptop around so that Castiel couldn't see the screen. "Tell me what you were reading about, then."
When Castiel opened his mouth to reply, nothing came out. He gritted his teeth and looked away in stony silence.
"Cas," Sam said with a sigh. "Look, I know it's difficult for you to accept that you have all these human needs now when you've been an angel all your life, but I'm serious. You need sleep. Dean had nightmares for a while too, but they passed. So will yours."
Castiel bit his lip, and Dean rinsed out his mouth quickly before joining them at the table. He stood by it and took advantage of Castiel's hesitation by holding a hand out to him and saying, "Cas, c'mere."
"I'm not going to sleep," Castiel told him, eyeing Dean's hand suspiciously.
"And I'm not trying to make you," Dean promised. "Just come here."
A heartbeat later, Castiel took his hand and let Dean pull him to his feet and into a light hug. Castiel's head came to rest on Dean's shoulder, and a moment later, he was sagging heavily against Dean and Dean had to tighten his grip around him to keep him upright. "Yeah, that's what I thought," he said under his breath as he glanced at Sam over the top of Castiel's head.
There was a smirk playing about Sam's lips. "Need help getting him to bed?"
"Nah, I got him," Dean replied, and lifted Castiel a few inches off the ground. It was ungainly and he had to take small steps, but Castiel wasn't too heavy and Dean could carry him like that for a short distance. When he passed Sam, he said quietly, "Thanks, Sammy."
Dean laid Castiel out in bed and undressed him down to his t-shirt and boxers, being careful not to wake him, but he had the impression it would take a hell of a lot to wake Castiel up now that he was finally asleep for the first time in three days. After Dean took off most of his own clothes too, he climbed into bed and lay on his side to stare at Castiel's profile.
Watching Castiel like this, unconscious and vulnerable to the world, Dean's overwhelming instinct was to protect. He wondered if maybe this was how Castiel had felt too, all of those nights when he'd stayed beside Dean to watch over him while he slept. Dean remembered thinking that it was kind of creepy at first, until he'd gotten used to it, but now that he was on the other side, he decided that there was nothing creepy about this at all, not when he and Castiel trusted each other as absolutely as they did. So instead of closing his eyes and falling asleep himself, Dean stayed awake and kept watch in silence.
A few hours later, Castiel tensed and shook his head in agitation. Dean glanced at the clock and sighed because it hadn't even been a full five hours yet, but he shook Castiel gently anyway. "Cas," he murmured into his ear. "Wake up, you're dreaming again."
Castiel woke with a start and immediately grabbed Dean's forearm, trembling fingers digging in so hard it made Dean wince, but Dean held still and waited for him to get his breathing under control. After a few moments, Castiel relaxed his grip but didn't let go or make any other move; he simply stared up at the ceiling.
"I hate this," he said, with a quiet wretchedness.
Dean glanced around helplessly and was at a loss for anything to say, so he could only ask, "Want to talk about it?" Castiel turned his head to give him a questioning look, so Dean shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe if you get it out in the open it'll help you deal with it or something, I don't know."
Instead of replying, Castiel turned back to the ceiling and Dean thought it meant he didn't want to talk about it. But then Castiel suddenly rolled toward Dean and curled into him, with his face tucked into the crook of Dean's neck. Dean's arms circled him automatically, and when Castiel started trembling again, Dean knew he was working his way up to talking about it and pulled him closer.
He waited for a good ten minutes before Castiel began, and when he did, his tone was quiet and carefully flat, like he wouldn't be able to get the words out otherwise. "It was never just one of them at a time; they always came to the cell together. The first time, one of them held my head down and Derek had the other one help him hold my legs open so he could--" Castiel stopped and shook a little harder and Dean started rubbing his back. He heard Castiel lick his lips before he continued, "So he could fuck me. I'd been more angry than terrified for the first few days, when the worst they'd done was beat me, but that was when I realized I was completely helpless and at his mercy. The shame was overwhelming; no angel should be defiled like that."
Dean gritted his teeth, and suddenly the sheets around them were making his skin crawl. Castiel turned his face further into Dean's neck, but it didn't muffle his words. "I was in shock for most of it, but after the first time, it started happening regularly. They said it was all I was good for, and they always came back at the same time every day. Even though I hated knowing, I became obsessed with watching the clock on the wall. Knowing exactly when they would be back, waiting for it, was almost as agonizing as when they actually raped me. Sometimes they came back more than once a day, when I least expected it, and it kept me constantly guessing; constantly trying to minimize the chances that they'd be back soon. If I was too good, they'd be back for more, but I couldn't make them too angry, either, or they'd keep coming back to finish taking their anger out on me."
Castiel had to pause to collect himself, and the utter silence in the room was stifling. Dean stroked his hair and almost dreaded hearing what Castiel was preparing himself to say. "Still, the first time one of them put it in my mouth, I bit him. That was the worst day." His voice began wavering slightly. "They used a knife to cut the gums away from my teeth and broke them all off. I was never tied up; they always just held me down, but it took all three of them to keep me pinned and pry my mouth open for that. The whole time, Derek was saying something about you, but I'm not sure what since all I could think about was the pain."
It had been difficult enough for Dean to listen to this up until now, but he suddenly couldn't keep quiet anymore and muttered bitterly, "Probably telling you that you had me to thank since I'm the one he got the idea from."
Castiel paused, but his tone wasn't any different when he said, "I already knew he'd been on your rack in Hell. He told me the first time I said your name, and many times after that."
"I'm sure everything he said was true."
"Dean--"
Dean knew he was going to say something reassuring, which was ridiculous since Castiel was the one who needed to be reassured here, so he shook his head. "Forget it, Cas. I know. And I think I also know what happened after the teeth thing," he said darkly.
A heartbeat passed, and Castiel's fingers clenched in Dean's t-shirt. "It lasted for so long. They spent so many hours taking turns fucking my mouth, and they'd fuck me from behind at the same time. When they had to take breaks, they amused themselves by sticking needles into every part of my body. I thought it would never end. And they... they had so much fun with it. I was their toy, and they started a game to see who could make me scream the loudest. The game never ended, and they started coming back to play it so often that I gave up guessing when they'd be back and trying to stave them off for as long as possible. It never worked anymore, if it ever had."
Dean had started trembling too, with fury, so now he looked up at the ceiling and tried to take a deep, calming breath. It didn't work. He could picture the details vividly -- even those that Castiel didn't describe were filled in from his own experiences -- and he almost wished they hadn't killed those demons already because that had been letting them off far too easily and he could think of a few things he wanted to do to them.
"Don't," Castiel said, looking up at him. "It's over, Dean. You said yourself that the point of this was to try to move on."
The fact that Castiel could read him so clearly still surprised Dean sometimes, but he closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. "You're right. Sorry."
After a moment, Castiel accepted this and went on. "They never did anything too disfiguring to me because Derek liked my body. After the others broke my nose, he warned them that if they broke any more of my bones, he'd break theirs, and I was so grateful for that. I was grateful that Jimmy gave me a body that Derek liked." Castiel sounded disgusted with himself. "Even when they tortured me, they were careful not to do too much damage. They got their fun from doing it slowly. And whenever I screamed for you, they liked to tell me I didn't matter to anyone and that no one would save me." Dean closed his eyes and wondered what he'd been doing in those moments when Castiel had screamed for him, but Castiel kept talking and he forced the thought down. "I didn't truly believe them until you gave up looking for me and said goodbye, and then I tried to throw myself onto the blade. It didn't work; nothing could actually kill me."
"I'm sorry," Dean blurted as soon as Castiel paused, throat tight.
Castiel only shook his head and pulled away to look at him again. "I can't talk about this if you're going to blame yourself." For a moment he almost seemed calmer than Dean was, and Dean was slightly ashamed of himself.
"Okay," he conceded, and pressed his lips together. "Okay. Not my fault." He even tried hard to believe it.
Castiel lowered his gaze. "Even if you hadn't given up, I think I would have broken soon anyway. I could barely remember anything from my life before I was captured, and you were part of that life. Any hope of being saved by you seemed more and more like a figment of my imagination, and it wasn't real like the pain was. I would have started begging sooner or later. And once I started, I begged for everything -- for them to kill me, for them to stop touching me, for them to stop hurting me. I just wanted all of it to end, but when it was clear they weren't going to let it end, I started begging for whatever I knew would hurt the least. They had even more fun with that, and their new game became seeing who could make me beg for the most depraved things." Castiel started sounding more bitter than ever, and Dean's fists clenched automatically as he imagined the sorts of things they must have made Castiel say. "I begged for whatever they told me to beg for and even things they didn't tell me to beg for if I thought they'd like it enough to reward me by talking to me more and fucking me less. I didn't care anymore, not about anything. Not even about how disgusted God must have been with me. Most of the time I forgot about Him entirely, but when I remembered, I hated Him." He took a shaky breath. "And then you found me."
There was a dead silence after he stopped talking that Dean didn't know how to fill. He was reeling and nauseous and had a dozen things he wanted to say, mostly apologies, but he knew Castiel wouldn't be interested in hearing them. The time for apologies and anger and pain had passed, like Castiel had said, so eventually what Dean did was hug him harder and kiss the top of his head. "You're gonna be okay, Cas."
Castiel took a deep breath, and then he nodded and relaxed slowly. The tremors in his body faded after a few minutes, but he kept his hold on Dean, so Dean did the same.
Minutes stretched into hours, and at some point, Dean became convinced that Castiel had fallen asleep. It wasn't surprising, considering how physically exhausted and emotionally drained he must have been, and Dean was grateful that Castiel was getting some more rest, but he kept worrying that the nightmares would return. They didn't. Dean stayed awake and held Castiel while he slept until well past sunrise, but nothing happened.
He spent a lot of that time thinking about what Castiel had said, and despite his every effort, Dean couldn't not hate himself for pushing Castiel into it and then letting all of that happen to this angel who loved humanity and saved dragonflies. However, as the hours crept by in silence and still Castiel slept on, some of his serenity seeped into Dean and it became increasingly difficult to keep thinking such dark, hateful thoughts. Dean felt petty for having them when Castiel was the one who those things had happened to and yet he could be at peace now when Dean couldn't. In the end, it was Castiel nuzzling him slightly in his sleep and the unconscious trust in that action that prompted Dean to sigh and finally let go of his guilt.
Castiel slept until noon, and when he woke up, he lifted his head to look at Dean in drowsy surprise.
"Good afternoon," Dean said with a smile.
"Yes," Castiel agreed, blinking, and then he pushed Dean onto his back so he could lay his head on Dean's shoulder.
The moment was interrupted by Dean's stomach making a very growly, very demanding noise. Castiel huffed in amusement and sat up to look at him. "Would you like lunch in bed?"
It was Castiel's way of thanking him, Dean knew, but he didn't want to be thanked for the night before, so he only quirked his lips. "Nah, I'll take a rain check." Dean sniffed lightly at the air. "Mmm, Sam ordered pizza, can you smell it?"
"You should eat more vegetables," Castiel chided, but Dean scoffed and pushed him out of bed.
***
The three of them made quick work of the ghost hunt after lunch, and then they retired back to the motel because Dean needed a nap after having stayed up all night. When he woke up a few hours later, he found that Sam and Castiel had been busy.
For one, they'd bought groceries. For another, Castiel was now wearing a white apron with the words Angel Cook in obnoxious, sparkly pink lettering across the front. Underneath those were the words of the Lord in what Dean recognized as Sam's best handwriting. They were also pink, but at least they weren't sparkly.
Dean groaned and glared at his brother. "What have you done to him?"
Sam affected hurt innocence, and Castiel said, "Sam is teaching me how to cook." He turned to a pot on top of the stove to ladle some soup into a bowl, and then he handed the bowl to Dean along with a spoon. Dean took both very dubiously.
There were a lot of vegetables in the soup, he noted with distaste, and after digging around for a few moments for bits of chicken or something, he realized that there were none. It was a vegetable soup. Dean glanced up with arched eyebrows, but the complaint died on his lips at Castiel's expression. It was both intent and hopeful, and he was so obviously eager for Dean to try his soup that Dean sighed and ate a spoonful obediently. He didn't like it, but at least it was edible, so he said, "It's good, Cas," and finished the bowl.
Castiel's smile made it worth his while, but then Dean looked over his shoulder and caught sight of Sam's smugly gleeful expression, and realized immediately that the bastard had put Castiel up to this, knowing Dean wouldn't be able to refuse vegetables if Castiel had cooked them. Conspiratorial sons of bitches, the both of them. Dean swore he'd get them back.
He also swore that they'd rent rooms without kitchenettes in the future, but that plan failed miserably when Castiel specifically requested them. He actually liked to cook, it turned out, and Dean was hardly about to stomp on the first hobby Castiel had found that didn't involve staring at him a lot, even if it did mean his diet consisted of too many vegetables and his brother frequently bitched at him to do the dishes. Besides, Castiel got much better at it very quickly and Dean actually started enjoying most of what he made. What he enjoyed even more was the content look on Castiel's face when he was making it.
Cooking even sort of became his therapy. The nightmares did come less and less frequently as time went on, but sometimes Castiel still woke up in the middle of the night and clung to Dean and needed to be calmed down. Then he usually got out of bed and went to the kitchen, and there would be a full meal waiting for Dean and Sam in the morning.
Letting Castiel cook was also nice because it was cheaper than eating out all the time, and Castiel was basically useless when it came to making money. He'd already sucked at hustling before, but now that he'd lost his angel mojo, he sucked at pool, too.
So while Dean and Sam were working the tables, Castiel generally kept to the bar and watched. Sometimes he tried to talk to the bar's other patrons, and Dean could tell he was putting a lot of effort into becoming more socially acceptable. Castiel's face became more expressive, he smiled more, and he picked up on more of Dean and Sam's mannerisms and speech patterns.
Still, his attempts at connecting with others weren't always successful. As Dean collected wads of cash from his disgruntled opponent, he looked past him to see a middle aged man who Castiel had been trying to talk to give him a strange look and walk away. Castiel's expression fell, and Dean suddenly thought back to him saying that he'd never had a particularly strong bond with any of the other angels. Mind made up, Dean left Sam at the pool table to slide onto the stool next to Castiel's.
"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked smoothly.
Castiel looked bemused. "Yes?"
Dean signaled to the bartender and ordered two Godiva shots instead of drinks, and then he handed one to Castiel and clinked their glasses together with a wink. After they both downed their shots, he said coyly, "So, how about we head back to my place?"
A crease appeared between Castiel's eyebrows. "To the motel?"
"Yeah, to the motel," Dean agreed with a smirk.
"Okay," Castiel replied, and Dean laughed and slung an arm around his shoulders to guide him toward the exit.
"Easiest bar hookup of my life," he teased. "Man, I really hope you give your other suitors a harder time than this."
Castiel took a moment to parse out what he meant, and then they were outside and he said, "I am not interested in anyone else."
Dean smiled. "Good. Neither am I."
"You look at them," Castiel pointed out, though his tone was free of accusation. "Women, I mean. Don't you want to have sex with them anymore?"
"Occasionally," Dean admitted with a shrug. "I'm just a guy, after all. But there's something else I want a lot more."
"What's that?"
"To be yours, you idiot," Dean said even though it embarrassed him to say it. They stopped walking and Dean turned to face him so he could take Castiel's hand and place it on his shoulder, where the scar was hidden between two layers of shirts. "Like this." Castiel looked from Dean's shoulder to his face, his eyes wide, and Dean dropped his hand. "Like I said, I'm not interested in anyone else."
It was true; what he and Castiel had was somehow too special to sully with trivial flings. He loved Sam to death, but Sam was his brother and Dean couldn't belong to him the way he could belong to Castiel. He couldn't build his life around Sam like he could build it around Castiel. Obviously Sam would always be a huge part of that life, but he would want his own space soon, Dean could tell. Castiel would want to keep sharing Dean's, and that was something Dean reveled in and sometimes still couldn't believe he finally had.
After a thoughtful moment, Castiel smiled. "I'm glad."
Sam chose that moment to come out of the bar and join them. "I'm not interrupting some sort of romantic date, am I? I don't see the flowers and champagne, so..."
Dean stepped away from Castiel and rolled his eyes. "Just get your ass into the damn car."
***
Things turned sour again on a witch hunt, as they so often did. There was a reason Dean really, really hated witches, after all.
When she sent him flying headfirst toward a table, Castiel threw himself between Dean and the table to catch him and stop him from cracking his head open on one of the sharp edges. Their combined weight sent both them and the table crashing to the floor with Dean on top and Castiel caught in the middle, and Dean heard the sickening crack of a bone as they landed.
Castiel hissed in pain, and Dean twisted around. "Cas!"
"Get off my foot," Castiel gritted out, and Dean scrambled off of him. He immediately looked for the witch, but she had disappeared.
"Is it broken?" Sam asked as he came to stand over them.
Castiel touched his right foot gingerly and grimaced. "I think so."
"Sorry," Dean said miserably. He couldn't believe he'd broken Castiel's goddamn foot.
"It's not your fault," Castiel told him. His voice was tight with pain, but he gave Dean a wry twist of his lips.
Dean shook his head, ignoring the fact that the witch had gotten away for the moment and looping one of Castiel's arms around his shoulders. "Come on, buddy, let's get you back to the motel before she comes back." Sam grabbed Castiel's other arm, and together they hauled him up and helped him limp out to the car.
"Sorry," Dean said again later, when Castiel was sitting back on the couch with a white-knuckled grip around the armrest and Dean was kneeling before him, splinting his foot.
Castiel loosened his grip on the armrest. "I'm okay, Dean."
At first Dean had worried that Castiel might have a hard time dealing with the pain, but then he'd remembered that Castiel had experienced much worse. So now, Dean was inclined to believe him.
He stopped believing him the next morning when he was getting dressed and Castiel asked from the bed, "Will you get me some painkillers?"
"Seriously?" Dean arched his eyebrows in surprise. He and Sam didn't resort to those until they were broken all over or holding their guts in. A broken foot couldn't exactly be walked off, but it wasn't bad, compared to some things. "I thought you said you were okay."
Castiel looked up at the ceiling and swallowed, and Dean watched his Adam's apple bob. "I thought I was."
"That bad, huh?" Dean supposed he'd overestimated Castiel's pain tolerance.
"It's not that," Castiel replied as he sat up, and Dean raised his eyebrows again, not understanding. "I just hate not being able to do anything about it."
Dean still didn't quite understand. "If it's not that bad, then you can just ignore it."
"But it's part of this body," Castiel persisted. "My body. I want to be in control of it."
Put like that, Dean could begin to see how someone who'd been so helpless to protect himself from being brutalized and violated would want to be in control of his pain. "Okay," he conceded, "I'll go out and get you some Advil, then."
"How strong is it?"
The question caught Dean off guard. "Uh. Not too strong, but it should help, at least."
"I want something stronger," Castiel demanded.
Dean frowned. "The stronger stuff is addictive, Cas. Remember how I said booze was a bad idea? Same goes for painkillers."
Castiel's voice was firm. "I won't become addicted."
"Yeah," Dean snorted. "Famous last words."
"I want something strong, Dean," Castiel insisted, suddenly sounding testy.
Dean really didn't like where this was going. It sounded like Castiel wanted the painkillers a little too much already, and he himself had said his foot didn't hurt that badly. Dean had a vision of him popping pills every time he got a cut or a bruise, and he made up his mind. "Sorry, Cas. I'll get you some Advil if you want, but nothing stronger."
Castiel's eyes narrowed, and he pushed the covers off himself and made to get out of bed. "I'll get it myself, then."
"Whoa, whoa." Dean stopped him with one hand on Castiel's shoulder and another on his thigh before he could swing his legs over the side of the bed. "Come on, Cas, how were you planning to do that? The nearest drugstore is three blocks away and you can't walk. You can't even drive with a broken right foot."
"I'll find a way."
Dean rolled his eyes at his stubbornness. "Not gonna let it happen, Cas."
"You are not my superior," Castiel growled, and Dean was actually surprised at how angry he sounded. "I didn't exercise free will in choosing to stay just so you could take it away from me again."
The words stung, and Dean pulled back, stunned and hurt. He knew he wasn't the best person to be taking care of anyone or showing them the ropes in life -- he'd raised his own brother to nearly become a demon -- but he'd been doing his absolute best and bending over backwards trying to be a good friend to Castiel, and this was what Castiel thought of his efforts? "Screw you," Dean said bitterly even though Castiel already looked like he was regretting his words, and then he turned on his heel and left.
"Dean," Castiel called softly, but Dean slammed the door on his way out.
Sam looked up in surprise from the couch. "Trouble in paradise?" he asked lightly.
Dean glared at him and snapped, "Come on, we have a witch to kill."
"Okay, then," Sam said with a quick lift of his eyebrows and a shake of his head. "But you're going to at least take him some breakfast before we go so he doesn't kill himself trying to hop out to the fridge, right?"
"You go take him some breakfast, if you care so much," Dean said snidely.
Sam stared at him for a moment, then made an incredulous sound and rolled his eyes, making it clear exactly how childish he thought Dean was being. Dean didn't care. In the end, Sam resigned himself to taking a bowl of cereal and his laptop in to Castiel. It sounded like he even helped Castiel to the bathroom.
When he came back out, Dean couldn't resist asking, "Did he ask you to get him painkillers?"
"No," Sam replied, clearly bewildered.
He didn't ask, and Dean didn't elaborate. It made Dean feel a little better, but not much. Not enough to want to talk to Castiel again just yet, anyway. He finished his own breakfast quickly and then they headed out.
The witch eluded them again that day. She was a clever one, and she led Dean and Sam on a wild goose chase all morning and well into the afternoon. That, coupled with the fight he'd had with Castiel that morning, meant that Dean was more than a little cross by the time they ran out of false leads and had no choice but to grab some food and return to the motel.
When he stalked out of Subway with two subs in one hand and Sam in tow, there was a pigeon standing by the Impala's driver side door. That wasn't unusual in and of itself, but what was unusual was the way it stared so intently at Dean as he approached. Then it cocked its head to one side in a decidedly familiar gesture, and Dean had a horrible thought. He stopped in his tracks and Sam nearly ran into him from behind.
"What the hell, dude," Sam snapped.
Dean opened and closed his mouth twice before asking, as casually as possible, "Can witches turn people into animals?"
Sam stared at him like he was crazy. "What are you on about?"
"Look at it," Dean insisted, nodding at the pigeon. Sam gave it a skeptical glance. "We haven't seen the witch all day and Cas has been back at the motel by himself the entire time."
"And you think she turned him into a pigeon," Sam said flatly.
Dean knew how utterly ridiculous it sounded, but he couldn't shake the fear. "It's possible, right?" he asked, and even peered at the bird to try and see if its right foot was injured. He couldn't tell from this distance.
Sam cast a brief, despairing look up at the sky before striding pointedly over to the pigeon. Before he could get too close, it launched into the air and flew off, flying right over Dean's head in the process and nearly shitting on him. Dean yelped and ducked out of the way just in time, and Sam doubled over in laughter.
Unamused didn't even begin to describe Dean's mood as he got into the car and slammed the door shut. He was embarrassed about his stupid theory, but underneath that, he was actually still worried that the witch might have gotten to Castiel while they'd been out.
Suddenly he couldn't wait to get back and see Castiel again, their earlier fight be damned. Dean drove faster than he should have, and inwardly kicked himself for having been so petty. Of course there was no way Castiel actually thought Dean was trying to control him; they wouldn't have the sort of relationship they did if that had been the case, and part of Dean had known it even at the time. Castiel been in pain and had associated it with some bad fucking memories, and Dean hadn't really taken him seriously, so Castiel could hardly be blamed for lashing out. The fight had been so stupid, now that Dean thought about it. They were Dean and Castiel, and it was impossible for a few poorly chosen words get in the way of that for very long. Dean was ready for the fight to be over.
After they pulled into the motel's parking lot, he didn't waste a moment getting in to see Castiel. Castiel had managed to move himself over to the armchair next to the bed and was already looking up from the laptop toward the door when Dean opened it and stepped halfway inside. Dean let out a breath of relief at seeing him there, and Castiel brightened too.
"Dean," he said, hopefully but also with a bit of uncertainty, like he thought maybe Dean was still mad at him. "I'm--"
Dean decided he didn't want to hear the apology. "I'm glad you're not a pigeon," he interrupted with a lopsided smile.
Castiel closed his mouth and looked incredibly confused for a moment. (He did the head tilt and everything, exactly as the pigeon had; Dean could hardly be blamed for seeing resemblances, really.) "Did you think I might be?"
"We didn't catch the witch," Dean explained sheepishly, "so when this pigeon kept staring at me and then tilted its head, like you always do, I thought..."
"I see," Castiel said seriously, though Dean could tell he was trying not to laugh.
"Anyway, then it tried to shit on me."
The corner of Castiel's lips quirked despite his best efforts to hold in his amusement, but his tone was still solemn when he said, "I hope that convinced you it wasn't me. I wouldn't shit on you."
"Aww, Cas, you say the sweetest things," Dean deadpanned.
"I could read you one of the poems I wrote about your soul, if you prefer."
Dean made a face and finally moved all the way into the room, closing the door behind him as he did so and crossing the short distance over to Castiel. "Not funny," he warned as he handed Castiel his sub.
Castiel caught his forearm instead and looked up at him intently, all traces of humor gone. "No pills," he promised.
"Okay." Dean smiled and relaxed completely for the first time since that morning, and he bent to kiss Castiel in a sudden rush of affection. Castiel smiled against his lips, and Dean licked him playfully as he got an idea. "Anyway, I've got something for you that's way better than pills."
Castiel pulled away to eye him curiously. "What is it?"
Instead of replying, Dean moved the laptop off of Castiel's lap and onto the bed, along with the subs. Then he kissed him again and slid a few fingers into Castiel's boxers to tug the elastic waistband down. Dean was pleased Castiel hadn't put more clothes on than what he'd slept in, and from the way Castiel's breath hitched, it sounded like he was pleased too. He sounded even more pleased when Dean parted his thighs and slid to his knees between them to take Castiel into his mouth. There was a sharp gasp, and he hardened quickly in Dean's mouth under the ministrations.
They had done this a few times before, but only as foreplay; Dean had never actually let Castiel come into his mouth. This time, he sucked and licked and bobbed his head until Castiel's soft little whimpers of, "Dean," turned into broken, ragged breaths and he started quivering in the armchair. Dean only sucked and licked and bobbed his head harder, and placed the hand that wasn't keeping Castiel's boxers pulled open on Castiel's thigh. He massaged the tense muscles there, all the way up to his groin and all the way down to his knee and then back up again, and that's what drew a final, wrecked, "Dean," from Castiel's lips before his body curled around Dean's head and his hands grabbed Dean's shoulders and he came into his mouth.
Dean didn't mind at all, and he even swallowed it. Somewhere along the way, Castiel's body had become almost an extension of his own, so there was nothing gross about this. He only delighted in being able to give Castiel so much overwhelming pleasure, and in the little jerks of Castiel's hips that he couldn't seem to help. Dean stroked his thigh and rubbed circles around Castiel's knee with his thumb until Castiel came down from his orgasm and collapsed back into the armchair, eyes half lidded. Only then did Dean pull off of him and gently rearrange his boxers.
"How's the foot?" he asked, a bit smugly.
"Foot?" Castiel echoed dazedly.
Dean grinned and kissed Castiel's knee on the most knobby part, and Castiel peered down at him like he couldn't understand why Dean was still on the floor. He grabbed Dean's upper arm (Dean didn't think he even meant to do it, but his hand found the exact same spot on his arm as it had the very first time Castiel had gripped him tight) and tugged, so Dean followed. He ended up sprawled awkwardly in Castiel's lap, until he chuckled and shifted sideways so that he was sitting across Castiel's lap with his bottom wedged between Castiel's leg and the armrest and most of his weight on the cushion instead of on Castiel. Castiel's arms circled his body loosely and he pulled Dean in for a long kiss.
"What do you want, Dean?" he murmured. "I'll give you anything."
Dean smiled faintly into the kiss. "I already got what I wanted." But apparently Castiel was still thinking about sex, judging from the way his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Dean snorted and broke the kiss to lay his head on Castiel's shoulder. "Relax, Cas, that was for your, ah, foot," he said. "If you're happy, I'm happy."
They fell into a warm silence, until Castiel said, several minutes later and very, very softly, "I'm happy."
And that was it, right there. In that moment, life was perfect and Dean was the very luckiest son of a bitch on the planet. He blinked several times and let out a slow breath. It was so strange and surreal, happiness, and Dean had absolutely no idea what to do with it.
"Dean?" Castiel sounded mildly concerned.
"Shhh. We're having a moment, okay?"
"Okay," Castiel replied uncertainly.
In the end, Dean didn't do anything with his happiness except bask in it.
***
When they finally dispatched the witch, Dean and Sam did all the work, but it was Castiel's ingenious plan that had caught her in the first place. Then they hit the road again.
An hour out of town, Sam began, with an air of forced casualness, "So, uh, fall semester starts in a couple of months."
Dean glanced sideways at him, but only briefly. "Stanford again?"
"Yeah."
"Okay." He'd seen this coming, and he'd been dreading it a little, but now that it was happening, Dean felt strangely at peace. Sam didn't have to be living in his pocket to be his Sammy.
"That's it?"
Dean shrugged. "The apocalypse is over, man. You never wanted this to be your life, and now it doesn't have to be. I'm happy for you."
For a moment it seemed Sam was trying to figure out if Dean actually meant it, but then he relaxed. "Thanks." Another moment later, he added, "I can try to find a two bedroom apartment, if you guys want."
Dean arched his eyebrows, caught off guard. The offer warmed him, but he didn't know how he felt about actually settling down. "Cas?" he asked, glancing in the rear view mirror. "Thoughts on what you want to do with your life?"
"I want to try everything in the world with you," Castiel replied, with all of his old tactless guilelessness. "We have enough tomorrows now."
Dean flushed a bit, and Sam grinned. "Guess I should find a big box for my new Dean'n'Cas postcard collection, huh."
Something occurred to Dean and he made a face. "This means we're going to have to fly a lot, doesn't it? I hate flying."
"I miss flying," Castiel said quietly.
"Yeah, well, I have a feeling planes are less reliable than wings," Dean muttered.
He looked in the mirror to see Castiel lift his eyebrows. "I'm fairly certain you weren't destined to save the world only to die in a plane crash, Dean."
"You never know, maybe God hates me."
"God does not hate you," Castiel said patiently.
"How do you know? He's probably not even there."
"He is watching over us."
"Yeah?" Dean snorted. "What part of Him being M.I.A. right up through the end gave you that impression?"
Castiel pursed his lips. "I believe He wanted us to figure things out on our own."
Dean gave him a dry look in the mirror. "You're never not going to have faith, are you?"
"No."
"Okay, then." He was secretly pleased about it, actually, because Castiel wouldn't really be Castiel otherwise.
"Aww, you guys are cute," Sam teased. "I may have to adopt a couple of kittens once I get back to school so the transition won't be so jarring."
Dean gave him a look promising death. "Shut it, bitch."
"Jerk."
A sigh came from the backseat. "Must you two always hurl such childish insults--"
As if on cue, Dean and Sam turned around at the same time to say pointedly, "Dick."
Castiel's eyes widened, and then he huffed at them and turned his head away, even lifting his chin a little.
Dean turned back around and grinned inwardly. He was driving his baby, miles of open roads stretched before him, he could see Sam out of the corner of his eye, and Castiel was in the rear view mirror. Dean suddenly wondered how the other two would feel if he took them on a detour to the Grand Canyon, and decided he'd find out.
fin.
(a.k.a. The End.)
(a.k.a. THE FREAKING END OMGGG.)
THANK YOU, truly, to every single person who read this story and shared my love for Dean and Castiel, and especially to those who've been following along for some time now and have left me feedback and encouragement. They helped me push through this more than you know, so I'm not kidding when I say I'm grateful. ♥
Mostly, thank you forever to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ibroketuesday, my huggy bear beta, for making me write this fic in the first place and then investing so many hours to help me with every single stage of it. There is no way this fic would have been started or finished without you, bb, so it is totally dedicated to you. ♥
tl;dr. THANK YOU. !!
P.S. The whole fic is available for download in pdf format here.
Characters: Dean and Castiel, Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Descriptions of torture and non-con.
Word Count: ~11,200 (~122,600 total)
Summary: In which the end isn't really an end at all.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17
Dean woke in the middle of the night to Castiel's body covering his and Castiel's voice whispering urgently into his ear, "Dean. Dean, wake up."
He grunted unintelligibly and started reaching for the knife under his pillow before he even snapped his eyes open or fought through his bleary disorientation, but Castiel caught his wrist. "We're not in danger."
"Wha--?" Dean used his free hand to rub at his eyes, and then he peered up at Castiel, whose face was only inches above his in the darkness. The urgency Dean had heard in his voice was mirrored in his expression, among a myriad of other emotions Dean couldn't quite decipher this soon after waking up. "What did you wake me up for, then?"
"I want you again," Castiel rasped, and that was when Dean registered the hardness pressed between his thighs. He bit off a startled laugh when Castiel spoke again. "Please let me be inside you." There was something desperate about his urgency, Dean could hear it now, something that wasn't just horniness. Castiel had been horny plenty of times in the nearly two months since the apocalypse had ended, but he'd never been like this.
Dean frowned. "What's wrong?"
"Please, Dean," Castiel insisted. "I want you."
"Okay," Dean said automatically, even though they'd just done this a few hours ago and he was still a little sore. Whatever was wrong could wait; there was no way he could have said anything else, not when Castiel asked like this. He'd never asked before -- Dean had always been the one to offer or coax -- and Dean couldn't deny him anything anyway.
It was all the permission Castiel needed. He was lubed up in seconds, and then he slid between Dean's legs and into him. It was more uncomfortable than usual, especially since Dean wasn't even hard, but he shifted to accommodate Castiel and tried not to grimace. This was one of those times when he guessed it would probably be easier with Castiel behind him, but Castiel had always been adamant about being able to see Dean's face regardless of who was topping.
Castiel stilled once he was fully inside Dean and lowered his forehead to Dean's shoulder with a slow, shaky breath. It was almost like the first time they'd done this, when Castiel had been too overwhelmed to move and had simply lain there and trembled lightly. Dean smoothed his hands up and down Castiel's sides in concerned bewilderment. "Cas. What's going on?"
For a long moment Castiel didn't reply, but then he said in a low, bleak voice, "They're leaving."
Dean didn't have to ask to know that he was talking about the other angels. Castiel hadn't voiced it out loud, but his quiet anxiety had been building the past couple of weeks and throwing a shadow over their post-apocalypse high, and Dean had already guessed the cause. They hadn't seen a single demon in almost a month, so it was hardly surprising now that the angels had finally wrapped up the last of their business on earth. Dean also wasn't surprised Castiel was taking it so hard. He knew a thing or two about being abandoned by his family.
"They're leaving," Castiel repeated, more roughly. "I can feel them slipping away from me and I can't do anything about it."
The first thought that ran through Dean's mind was that there was something Castiel could do about it. He could go with them. But Dean gritted his teeth and fought with himself over whether or not to say it.
He didn't need to. Castiel didn't even have to look at him to know what he was thinking, apparently. He assured Dean, "I'm not having second thoughts. But I..." He trailed off and clutched Dean a little tighter. "I've never been without their presence before," he said, a little helplessly.
It seemed to Dean like Castiel needed him to understand, so he tried to imagine what it must be like for an angel to be abandoned among humans after an eternity of being in the constant presence of his kin, even if those kin had hunted him for a while. At least they'd still been there, but now Castiel was losing even that. Dean felt some of his helplessness and wished he could make it better, but all he could do was wrap his arms around Castiel and hug him tightly and say, "You've still got me." He even curled his legs around Castiel's waist and pulled him closer.
Apparently it was exactly what Castiel had needed to hear. He suddenly started pressing fevered kisses against his mark on Dean's shoulder and up the curve of his neck to the underside of his jaw. There were no more words after that, only small, needy sounds as Castiel began moving. It was slow and there was more jerky rocking than real thrusting going on, and Dean didn't know if that was because Castiel wanted to make it last or if it was because he knew Dean was still sore, but it felt good and Dean began enjoying it more and more intensely, until he was writhing under Castiel and surging up against him. Castiel sped up then, and they lost themselves in each other amidst heavy panting and soft grunts and low, choked off moans. They were both quiet, as usual, but this time it was born more from desperation than from an effort to not disturb Sam, who was only ever a thin wall away, and when they came, it was with bodies tangled together between the sheets and lips damp against hot skin.
Dean didn't let go afterward and Castiel stayed inside him for as long as he could while they came down together. If Dean had been sleepy before, that was nothing compared to his sated exhaustion now, and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and given in to the hazy warmth of sleep. But Castiel would remain awake, he knew, and suddenly it felt wrong to abandon him to his usual post of watching Dean sleep when he so clearly needed some company. So Dean forced himself to stay awake too and murmured, "Talk to me, Cas."
Castiel raised his head from where he'd been resting it on Dean's shoulder to look at him, and he propped himself up on his elbows. "About what?"
"Anything," Dean said with a shrug. "You. How old are you?" It still struck him as kind of funny, how little he knew about this angel who he was sharing his bed and his life with.
"Older than you," Castiel replied, sounding bemused. When Dean rolled his eyes, he searched for a better answer. "My age can't be measured in years. I exist independently of time."
Dean didn't really get it. "So... you were created before time was?"
"No." Castiel shook his head. "You're implying that time existed before it was created. It has, by its very nature, always been here, bound to this place. Think of it as the surface of a globe -- finite in scope but infinite in possible trajectories, with neither beginning nor end. I was created in Heaven, which is disconnected from both time and space and is therefore free of their limitations."
There was a brief silence, and then Dean made a wry face up at Castiel. "Okay, forget I asked." He didn't think he would have been prepared to have this conversation even if his brain hadn't been a heap of pleasant mush. "Just tell me a story, then. What did you do before you were sent down to save my sorry ass?"
Castiel smiled faintly. "There was no before, except when I was on earth briefly."
"You met Luke, right?" Dean asked, remembering the disparaging remark Castiel had once made about him.
"Yes," Castiel replied, and then he went on to tell Dean about a sniveling, terrified little man who made Chuck look positively heroic. He also told Dean story upon story about other people and places whose names Dean knew were from the Bible, but he was sure these stories weren't written anywhere. They were all from the point of view of an ordinary angel -- only one among thousands -- but they were Castiel's stories, so Dean listened attentively and let Castiel's voice push thoughts of sleep from his head.
Talking seemed to distract Castiel from his desolation, and occasionally he even looked amused at Dean's snarky interjections, or else he glared until Dean smirked and kissed it away. He talked until the sky began to tinge gray outside, and when he finished a story about how he had been the one to save dragonflies from extinction during the flood, Dean suddenly became wistful about all the things Castiel was giving up. Soon he wouldn't be an angel anymore, and there wouldn't be any more stories like the ones he'd just told Dean.
"Cas," he said softly, "show me your wings again."
Castiel looked down at Dean in brief surprise, but then he dipped his head in a nod and lightning flashed outside. They illuminated his silhouette against the wall, and Dean turned his head to see Castiel's shadow on top of his own, with two enormous wings sprouting from his back to stretch up toward the ceiling. It was just as mildly alarming and yet impressive as it had been the first time Dean had seen them, and he couldn't help reaching around Castiel to feel his shoulder blades. There was nothing but smooth skin over flat bones, of course, but Dean knew the wings were there, and that was breathtaking.
"How long until you lose them?"
"I don't know," Castiel admitted, suddenly sounding miserable again.
Dean bit his lip, but then he brightened and pushed Castiel off of him so he could sit up. "Come on," he said as he tugged some clothes on. "Let's go."
A moment later, Castiel was standing beside the bed, fully dressed and tilting his head. "Where?"
"You'll see."
Dean grabbed his keys, and the two of them snuck quietly out of the motel. It was still mostly dark outside with only tiny hints of pink in the sky, and they were the only ones up. When they reached the Impala, Dean pressed the keys into Castiel's hand and got in on the passenger side.
For a long while Castiel simply stood by his door and stared at him, until Dean rolled down the window to ask, "What are you waiting for, an embossed invitation in the mail? Get in."
"But--"
"Look, Cas, soon you're not gonna be able to just flap your wings and go anywhere in the world, right? Time to learn how to get around the human way."
Castiel didn't seem convinced, but he walked around to the other side of the car and got in anyway. Once there, he stared at the steering wheel as if he didn't dare touch it, and the keys hung uselessly from his hand. He seemed uncharacteristically nervous, and Dean rolled his eyes. "Considering you made it through the apocalypse, I have confidence in your ability to survive a driving lesson."
"It's not that," Castiel protested with a small frown as he looked over at Dean. "This car is yours." He said yours like that made it sacred or something.
"Yeah, well, everyone else in the family has driven her, so now it's your turn." Castiel's eyes widened, and Dean looked away in embarrassment. Of course Castiel was part of the family, and even more so now that his brothers were going or gone. Dean and Sam had effectively adopted him months ago, even if no one had voiced it out loud until now. Dean cleared his throat before the silence could stretch on any longer. "Come on, Cas, it's not that difficult. Brake pedal on the left, gas on the right. Step on the brake and get the engine started already."
Castiel turned without another word and did as Dean instructed, and then Dean taught him how to shift into drive and guided him through a slow, careful lap around the parking lot. After that, they hit the road. Dean figured it to be easier anyway since there were practically no other cars out this early in the morning, and Castiel listened closely as he spent the next half an hour explaining all the traffic laws to him.
He was a quick study, and he never made the same mistake twice. By the time more cars started appearing on the roads, Castiel was driving comfortably among them with minimal input from Dean, even though, as Dean pointed out helpfully, he did drive like a granny. Castiel glared at him, and after that he drove too fast, but Dean didn't mind and only laughed. He trusted Castiel with his baby.
The last item on the list was parking, and it took Castiel a few tries to get it right, but in the end he pulled flawlessly into a spot between two cars in front of an Arby's. Dean clapped him proudly on the back and declared, "You deserve curly fries for breakfast for that."
Castiel seemed pleased about this, even though he ended up choosing a chicken salad over curly fries. He'd started doing that more often lately -- ordering his own food instead of just eating whatever Dean ate -- and generally Dean was heartened by that, but now he despaired slightly because a chicken salad was what he'd been about to get for Sam, and it didn't seem fair that Castiel should take Sam's side when it came to the very important issue of food. Of course, Castiel did indulge him later by stealing a few of his curly fries to try, but he still seemed to prefer his salad, and Dean despaired a little more.
***
Castiel lost his angel mojo bit by bit over the next few weeks. He didn't get hungry because he'd already been sharing all of Dean and Sam's meals, so the first sign that he was becoming human was discovering a need to use the bathroom. The second sign was Castiel announcing that he was hot and standing up to strip off his trench coat and suit jacket in the middle of lunch. Dean whistled lewdly, Sam made a surprised comment about how skinny Castiel was, and Castiel just looked embarrassed. The third sign was more somber; Castiel lost his ability to fly, and not even chocolate cheered him up that day.
One morning, Dean noticed that he was starting to look a bit scruffy and sniffed him lightly. It earned him a strange look from Castiel, but Dean only smiled and pulled him into the shower.
He washed Castiel's hair for him (really it was just an excuse to massage Castiel's head and watch him relax in pleasure), and after he rinsed all the shampoo out under the spray, Castiel opened his eyes and said abruptly, "I can't look after Jimmy and his family anymore."
Dean hadn't been expecting that, but he shrugged and assured Castiel, "They'll be alright. The apocalypse is over, remember? Even if there are any demons left, they won't bother Jimmy. We'll give him a call later and let him know what the deal is."
Castiel nodded, appeased, and then Dean soaped up his body and scrubbed him clean.
Throughout the process Castiel seemed content to simply stand there and allow himself to be touched all over and taken care of, but when Dean finished with him and reached for the bottle of shampoo again to start in on himself, Castiel caught his hand. "Let me."
It still surprised Dean sometimes that Castiel would want to return his favors, and he was far from used to being taken care of by anyone because it had always been the other way around, but he relinquished the shampoo. "Okay."
Castiel took over, washing his hair and body exactly as Dean had just done for him, and he concentrated on the task so intently Dean thought he probably hadn't even noticed that he'd sucked in his lower lip and was biting down on it gently. Dean loved the careful attention to detail Castiel applied to what he did just as much as he loved what Castiel was actually doing, and when they were done, Dean finally gave in to his urge to kiss him. It was light and unhurried despite the fact that he was hard, and after a few moments Castiel reached between them to bring Dean off with soapy fingers and deft strokes. Dean's knees went weak with pleasure and he grabbed Castiel's shoulders when he came, so Castiel held him upright and kissed a line up and down the side of his face until he recovered. Castiel didn't seem too interested in anything for himself, so Dean only kissed him lazily under the spray for a while.
He shaved Castiel after they got out of the shower and toweled off, and then he showed him how to clip his nails, too. (Castiel made a comment about how he'd seen a manicurist do this once, and Dean wasn't impressed.)
Since Castiel didn't have any spare clothes, Dean lent him some of his own and took a moment to marvel at how different Castiel looked, standing around in Dean's t-shirt and boxers. Dean had never seen him wear anything but Jimmy's one outfit, and he'd come to associate those clothes and especially the trench coat with Castiel the angel. Now he looked so human, and Dean found that he enjoyed showing Castiel the ropes.
Even though Castiel was generally subdued these days, Dean could tell he was grateful for it. It seemed he was even beginning to get over the loss of his brethren and warm up to the idea of his own mortality, if the small smiles he gave Dean when they did things like this were anything to go by. New experiences were still fun for him, especially if Dean was there to share them with him.
Sleeping, however, turned out to be much less fun.
The first time was alright; Castiel finally gave in to his exhaustion in the middle of the afternoon despite being wary of losing consciousness and woke that evening with only a brief flash of alarm and disorientation before Dean caught his eye and reassured him, "I was here the whole time, Cas. I wouldn't have let anything bad happen to you while you slept."
Castiel believed him, but the second time he fell asleep, the nightmares began.
It was the next night, and Dean woke up to Castiel tossing beside him and mumbling broken pleas. "Cas," he said, and when that didn't work, he shook Castiel gently by the shoulder and tried again. "Cas. Wake up."
Castiel did wake up, but when his eyes snapped open, they darted around in panic and he jerked away from Dean and hissed, "Don't touch me."
Dean lifted his hand immediately in a gesture of peace, and he could actually see the moment when recognition dawned in Castiel's eyes and the terror faded. But Castiel was still breathing unevenly and looking skittish, so Dean said, "It was just a dream," and touched him on the shoulder again, tentatively.
Instead of letting Dean reassure and soothe him, Castiel looked away and climbed wordlessly out of bed to head over to the armchair in the opposite corner of the room. He curled up in it with his knees drawn against his chest and his face turned away from Dean, and Dean bit his lip as he propped himself up on his elbows to watch him.
It wasn't that Dean was taking it personally, because he wasn't. There were some days when Castiel was broody and preferred to avoid everyone, or he snapped at Dean for coming on to him, and Dean had learned to just accept that and give Castiel space whenever he needed it. He'd always been rewarded with Castiel coming back to him later with extra affection, like he'd missed Dean's closeness.
Dean had a feeling this time would be different. This wasn't just a bad day; he knew how real nightmares could feel, and he didn't have any doubts regarding what Castiel's had been about. If some harsh words from Zachariah had once left him sitting out in the rain all day, Dean was more than a little nervous about what reliving his trauma was doing to Castiel now.
He licked his lips and began hesitantly, "Cas--"
"Go back to sleep," Castiel said sharply.
Dean pursed his lips, but in the end he lay back down and stared at the ceiling. It was clear there was nothing he could do at the moment, so eventually he fell into an uneasy doze with the hope that there would be something he could do in the morning.
When morning came, Castiel was still curled up in the armchair. He hadn't moved at all, but Dean figured it was better than waking up to find that Castiel had disappeared. "Cas, you okay?" he asked as he sat up.
Castiel gave no response, and Dean padded over stand in front of him and catch his eye. Even Castiel's gaze seemed small and miserable, and Dean ached a little inside. "Hey," he tried again, more gently.
"I'm fine," Castiel finally replied, and looked away again. He sounded tired and dejected, but it wasn't the emotional breakdown Dean had been fearing, so Dean relaxed and accepted it.
He turned to leave Castiel be, but suddenly Castiel's hand shot out to grab his, and Dean looked back to find Castiel staring up at him. Dean supposed it meant Castiel wanted him to stay after all, so he perched on the arm of the chair and drew him into a hug. Castiel went willingly into his arms and pressed his face against Dean's chest, and Dean simply held him for a few minutes in silence, feeling grateful that at least Castiel wasn't pushing him away anymore.
Eventually he asked, "Feel like some breakfast?"
"Okay," Castiel replied, voice muffled against his shirt, and Dean pulled back to give him an encouraging smile.
He slid off the armchair and took Castiel's hand again, and Castiel's fingers curled around his. Dean pulled him to his feet and led him out to the living room, where Sam raised an eyebrow at their clasped hands but then glanced at Castiel's face and stopped himself from saying anything.
Whatever progress they made that day toward cheering Castiel up, it was ruined when he went back to sleep at night and had another nightmare.
This time Castiel pressed into Dean as soon as he woke up and clung on hard, and Dean whispered soothing things to him and held him tightly long past when he stopped shaking. Dean eventually drifted off again, but in the morning, he suspected Castiel had lain awake for hours.
His suspicions were confirmed later when he suggested a warm bath might help Castiel sleep better and Castiel declared, "I'm not sleeping again."
Dean arched his eyebrows. "Dude, you're not an angel anymore. Sleep isn't optional."
Castiel only narrowed his eyes and repeated, "I'm not sleeping again."
True to his word, he refused to go to bed that night despite any amount of coaxing from Dean and sat rigidly at the table in front of Sam's laptop. He kept insisting that he was fine and that he'd finish researching their case until Dean eventually gave up and headed into their room by himself. The bed was strangely empty with just him in it, and Dean kept hoping Castiel would change his mind and join him after all, but he woke up alone.
When Castiel tried the same thing again the next night, Dean said crossly, "You're going to crash at some point, you know that, right?" It was the brief flicker of terror in Castiel's eyes at the mere mention of sleep that softened his next words. "Look, there's a whole list of things we can try that might help you sleep better. Something will work."
"Alcohol? Sleeping pills?"
Dean grimaced. "You're a brand new human, Cas; I was thinking something less addictive." He'd never forgive himself if he let Castiel develop an addiction to something in his very first month of being a human. Of course, Dean would never forgive himself if he ever let it happen to Castiel, but he felt these first few months were probably especially important in setting the tone for the rest of Castiel's life, and he wanted them to be as perfect as possible. "Anyway, I tried alcohol and it didn't work; wouldn't recommend it. As for sleeping pills, I hear those can give you even more fucked up dreams."
Castiel turned away. "Then I'm not interested." He made it clear the discussion was over, and left Dean chewing on his bottom lip in a mixture of frustration and worry. He hated that Castiel had only just begun to be human and already things were going to shit. Mostly, he hated that he didn't know how to make it better.
In the end, Dean offered, "Want me to stay up with you?"
"No," Castiel replied, more gently now, and gave Dean a rueful smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You should get some rest."
Dean didn't bother telling him that Castiel needed it more than he did, and instead resigned himself to losing this one and went to bed with a sigh.
By the third sleepless evening in a row, Castiel's eyes were bloodshot and dark rimmed, and he kept blinking at the laptop screen in between rubbing at his eyes. Every time his head began to nod forward, Castiel jerked himself awake in momentary panic and shook the sleep from his head.
It was Sam who tried to talk to him this time. He sat across the table from Castiel and said, "You're killing yourself."
Dean paused to lean against the frame of the bathroom door with his toothbrush in his mouth and watched curiously. He didn't have high hopes that Castiel would listen to Sam either, but he was grateful to his brother for trying.
"I'm fine," Castiel replied shortly.
"You almost dozed off while we were talking to the cops. And then again at dinner."
"But I didn't."
"And if we find the ghost tomorrow," Sam went on as if he hadn't said anything, "you won't be fit to fight."
Castiel glared and repeated, "I'm fine."
Sam stared at him for a moment, then turned the laptop around so that Castiel couldn't see the screen. "Tell me what you were reading about, then."
When Castiel opened his mouth to reply, nothing came out. He gritted his teeth and looked away in stony silence.
"Cas," Sam said with a sigh. "Look, I know it's difficult for you to accept that you have all these human needs now when you've been an angel all your life, but I'm serious. You need sleep. Dean had nightmares for a while too, but they passed. So will yours."
Castiel bit his lip, and Dean rinsed out his mouth quickly before joining them at the table. He stood by it and took advantage of Castiel's hesitation by holding a hand out to him and saying, "Cas, c'mere."
"I'm not going to sleep," Castiel told him, eyeing Dean's hand suspiciously.
"And I'm not trying to make you," Dean promised. "Just come here."
A heartbeat later, Castiel took his hand and let Dean pull him to his feet and into a light hug. Castiel's head came to rest on Dean's shoulder, and a moment later, he was sagging heavily against Dean and Dean had to tighten his grip around him to keep him upright. "Yeah, that's what I thought," he said under his breath as he glanced at Sam over the top of Castiel's head.
There was a smirk playing about Sam's lips. "Need help getting him to bed?"
"Nah, I got him," Dean replied, and lifted Castiel a few inches off the ground. It was ungainly and he had to take small steps, but Castiel wasn't too heavy and Dean could carry him like that for a short distance. When he passed Sam, he said quietly, "Thanks, Sammy."
Dean laid Castiel out in bed and undressed him down to his t-shirt and boxers, being careful not to wake him, but he had the impression it would take a hell of a lot to wake Castiel up now that he was finally asleep for the first time in three days. After Dean took off most of his own clothes too, he climbed into bed and lay on his side to stare at Castiel's profile.
Watching Castiel like this, unconscious and vulnerable to the world, Dean's overwhelming instinct was to protect. He wondered if maybe this was how Castiel had felt too, all of those nights when he'd stayed beside Dean to watch over him while he slept. Dean remembered thinking that it was kind of creepy at first, until he'd gotten used to it, but now that he was on the other side, he decided that there was nothing creepy about this at all, not when he and Castiel trusted each other as absolutely as they did. So instead of closing his eyes and falling asleep himself, Dean stayed awake and kept watch in silence.
A few hours later, Castiel tensed and shook his head in agitation. Dean glanced at the clock and sighed because it hadn't even been a full five hours yet, but he shook Castiel gently anyway. "Cas," he murmured into his ear. "Wake up, you're dreaming again."
Castiel woke with a start and immediately grabbed Dean's forearm, trembling fingers digging in so hard it made Dean wince, but Dean held still and waited for him to get his breathing under control. After a few moments, Castiel relaxed his grip but didn't let go or make any other move; he simply stared up at the ceiling.
"I hate this," he said, with a quiet wretchedness.
Dean glanced around helplessly and was at a loss for anything to say, so he could only ask, "Want to talk about it?" Castiel turned his head to give him a questioning look, so Dean shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe if you get it out in the open it'll help you deal with it or something, I don't know."
Instead of replying, Castiel turned back to the ceiling and Dean thought it meant he didn't want to talk about it. But then Castiel suddenly rolled toward Dean and curled into him, with his face tucked into the crook of Dean's neck. Dean's arms circled him automatically, and when Castiel started trembling again, Dean knew he was working his way up to talking about it and pulled him closer.
He waited for a good ten minutes before Castiel began, and when he did, his tone was quiet and carefully flat, like he wouldn't be able to get the words out otherwise. "It was never just one of them at a time; they always came to the cell together. The first time, one of them held my head down and Derek had the other one help him hold my legs open so he could--" Castiel stopped and shook a little harder and Dean started rubbing his back. He heard Castiel lick his lips before he continued, "So he could fuck me. I'd been more angry than terrified for the first few days, when the worst they'd done was beat me, but that was when I realized I was completely helpless and at his mercy. The shame was overwhelming; no angel should be defiled like that."
Dean gritted his teeth, and suddenly the sheets around them were making his skin crawl. Castiel turned his face further into Dean's neck, but it didn't muffle his words. "I was in shock for most of it, but after the first time, it started happening regularly. They said it was all I was good for, and they always came back at the same time every day. Even though I hated knowing, I became obsessed with watching the clock on the wall. Knowing exactly when they would be back, waiting for it, was almost as agonizing as when they actually raped me. Sometimes they came back more than once a day, when I least expected it, and it kept me constantly guessing; constantly trying to minimize the chances that they'd be back soon. If I was too good, they'd be back for more, but I couldn't make them too angry, either, or they'd keep coming back to finish taking their anger out on me."
Castiel had to pause to collect himself, and the utter silence in the room was stifling. Dean stroked his hair and almost dreaded hearing what Castiel was preparing himself to say. "Still, the first time one of them put it in my mouth, I bit him. That was the worst day." His voice began wavering slightly. "They used a knife to cut the gums away from my teeth and broke them all off. I was never tied up; they always just held me down, but it took all three of them to keep me pinned and pry my mouth open for that. The whole time, Derek was saying something about you, but I'm not sure what since all I could think about was the pain."
It had been difficult enough for Dean to listen to this up until now, but he suddenly couldn't keep quiet anymore and muttered bitterly, "Probably telling you that you had me to thank since I'm the one he got the idea from."
Castiel paused, but his tone wasn't any different when he said, "I already knew he'd been on your rack in Hell. He told me the first time I said your name, and many times after that."
"I'm sure everything he said was true."
"Dean--"
Dean knew he was going to say something reassuring, which was ridiculous since Castiel was the one who needed to be reassured here, so he shook his head. "Forget it, Cas. I know. And I think I also know what happened after the teeth thing," he said darkly.
A heartbeat passed, and Castiel's fingers clenched in Dean's t-shirt. "It lasted for so long. They spent so many hours taking turns fucking my mouth, and they'd fuck me from behind at the same time. When they had to take breaks, they amused themselves by sticking needles into every part of my body. I thought it would never end. And they... they had so much fun with it. I was their toy, and they started a game to see who could make me scream the loudest. The game never ended, and they started coming back to play it so often that I gave up guessing when they'd be back and trying to stave them off for as long as possible. It never worked anymore, if it ever had."
Dean had started trembling too, with fury, so now he looked up at the ceiling and tried to take a deep, calming breath. It didn't work. He could picture the details vividly -- even those that Castiel didn't describe were filled in from his own experiences -- and he almost wished they hadn't killed those demons already because that had been letting them off far too easily and he could think of a few things he wanted to do to them.
"Don't," Castiel said, looking up at him. "It's over, Dean. You said yourself that the point of this was to try to move on."
The fact that Castiel could read him so clearly still surprised Dean sometimes, but he closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. "You're right. Sorry."
After a moment, Castiel accepted this and went on. "They never did anything too disfiguring to me because Derek liked my body. After the others broke my nose, he warned them that if they broke any more of my bones, he'd break theirs, and I was so grateful for that. I was grateful that Jimmy gave me a body that Derek liked." Castiel sounded disgusted with himself. "Even when they tortured me, they were careful not to do too much damage. They got their fun from doing it slowly. And whenever I screamed for you, they liked to tell me I didn't matter to anyone and that no one would save me." Dean closed his eyes and wondered what he'd been doing in those moments when Castiel had screamed for him, but Castiel kept talking and he forced the thought down. "I didn't truly believe them until you gave up looking for me and said goodbye, and then I tried to throw myself onto the blade. It didn't work; nothing could actually kill me."
"I'm sorry," Dean blurted as soon as Castiel paused, throat tight.
Castiel only shook his head and pulled away to look at him again. "I can't talk about this if you're going to blame yourself." For a moment he almost seemed calmer than Dean was, and Dean was slightly ashamed of himself.
"Okay," he conceded, and pressed his lips together. "Okay. Not my fault." He even tried hard to believe it.
Castiel lowered his gaze. "Even if you hadn't given up, I think I would have broken soon anyway. I could barely remember anything from my life before I was captured, and you were part of that life. Any hope of being saved by you seemed more and more like a figment of my imagination, and it wasn't real like the pain was. I would have started begging sooner or later. And once I started, I begged for everything -- for them to kill me, for them to stop touching me, for them to stop hurting me. I just wanted all of it to end, but when it was clear they weren't going to let it end, I started begging for whatever I knew would hurt the least. They had even more fun with that, and their new game became seeing who could make me beg for the most depraved things." Castiel started sounding more bitter than ever, and Dean's fists clenched automatically as he imagined the sorts of things they must have made Castiel say. "I begged for whatever they told me to beg for and even things they didn't tell me to beg for if I thought they'd like it enough to reward me by talking to me more and fucking me less. I didn't care anymore, not about anything. Not even about how disgusted God must have been with me. Most of the time I forgot about Him entirely, but when I remembered, I hated Him." He took a shaky breath. "And then you found me."
There was a dead silence after he stopped talking that Dean didn't know how to fill. He was reeling and nauseous and had a dozen things he wanted to say, mostly apologies, but he knew Castiel wouldn't be interested in hearing them. The time for apologies and anger and pain had passed, like Castiel had said, so eventually what Dean did was hug him harder and kiss the top of his head. "You're gonna be okay, Cas."
Castiel took a deep breath, and then he nodded and relaxed slowly. The tremors in his body faded after a few minutes, but he kept his hold on Dean, so Dean did the same.
Minutes stretched into hours, and at some point, Dean became convinced that Castiel had fallen asleep. It wasn't surprising, considering how physically exhausted and emotionally drained he must have been, and Dean was grateful that Castiel was getting some more rest, but he kept worrying that the nightmares would return. They didn't. Dean stayed awake and held Castiel while he slept until well past sunrise, but nothing happened.
He spent a lot of that time thinking about what Castiel had said, and despite his every effort, Dean couldn't not hate himself for pushing Castiel into it and then letting all of that happen to this angel who loved humanity and saved dragonflies. However, as the hours crept by in silence and still Castiel slept on, some of his serenity seeped into Dean and it became increasingly difficult to keep thinking such dark, hateful thoughts. Dean felt petty for having them when Castiel was the one who those things had happened to and yet he could be at peace now when Dean couldn't. In the end, it was Castiel nuzzling him slightly in his sleep and the unconscious trust in that action that prompted Dean to sigh and finally let go of his guilt.
Castiel slept until noon, and when he woke up, he lifted his head to look at Dean in drowsy surprise.
"Good afternoon," Dean said with a smile.
"Yes," Castiel agreed, blinking, and then he pushed Dean onto his back so he could lay his head on Dean's shoulder.
The moment was interrupted by Dean's stomach making a very growly, very demanding noise. Castiel huffed in amusement and sat up to look at him. "Would you like lunch in bed?"
It was Castiel's way of thanking him, Dean knew, but he didn't want to be thanked for the night before, so he only quirked his lips. "Nah, I'll take a rain check." Dean sniffed lightly at the air. "Mmm, Sam ordered pizza, can you smell it?"
"You should eat more vegetables," Castiel chided, but Dean scoffed and pushed him out of bed.
***
The three of them made quick work of the ghost hunt after lunch, and then they retired back to the motel because Dean needed a nap after having stayed up all night. When he woke up a few hours later, he found that Sam and Castiel had been busy.
For one, they'd bought groceries. For another, Castiel was now wearing a white apron with the words Angel Cook in obnoxious, sparkly pink lettering across the front. Underneath those were the words of the Lord in what Dean recognized as Sam's best handwriting. They were also pink, but at least they weren't sparkly.
Dean groaned and glared at his brother. "What have you done to him?"
Sam affected hurt innocence, and Castiel said, "Sam is teaching me how to cook." He turned to a pot on top of the stove to ladle some soup into a bowl, and then he handed the bowl to Dean along with a spoon. Dean took both very dubiously.
There were a lot of vegetables in the soup, he noted with distaste, and after digging around for a few moments for bits of chicken or something, he realized that there were none. It was a vegetable soup. Dean glanced up with arched eyebrows, but the complaint died on his lips at Castiel's expression. It was both intent and hopeful, and he was so obviously eager for Dean to try his soup that Dean sighed and ate a spoonful obediently. He didn't like it, but at least it was edible, so he said, "It's good, Cas," and finished the bowl.
Castiel's smile made it worth his while, but then Dean looked over his shoulder and caught sight of Sam's smugly gleeful expression, and realized immediately that the bastard had put Castiel up to this, knowing Dean wouldn't be able to refuse vegetables if Castiel had cooked them. Conspiratorial sons of bitches, the both of them. Dean swore he'd get them back.
He also swore that they'd rent rooms without kitchenettes in the future, but that plan failed miserably when Castiel specifically requested them. He actually liked to cook, it turned out, and Dean was hardly about to stomp on the first hobby Castiel had found that didn't involve staring at him a lot, even if it did mean his diet consisted of too many vegetables and his brother frequently bitched at him to do the dishes. Besides, Castiel got much better at it very quickly and Dean actually started enjoying most of what he made. What he enjoyed even more was the content look on Castiel's face when he was making it.
Cooking even sort of became his therapy. The nightmares did come less and less frequently as time went on, but sometimes Castiel still woke up in the middle of the night and clung to Dean and needed to be calmed down. Then he usually got out of bed and went to the kitchen, and there would be a full meal waiting for Dean and Sam in the morning.
Letting Castiel cook was also nice because it was cheaper than eating out all the time, and Castiel was basically useless when it came to making money. He'd already sucked at hustling before, but now that he'd lost his angel mojo, he sucked at pool, too.
So while Dean and Sam were working the tables, Castiel generally kept to the bar and watched. Sometimes he tried to talk to the bar's other patrons, and Dean could tell he was putting a lot of effort into becoming more socially acceptable. Castiel's face became more expressive, he smiled more, and he picked up on more of Dean and Sam's mannerisms and speech patterns.
Still, his attempts at connecting with others weren't always successful. As Dean collected wads of cash from his disgruntled opponent, he looked past him to see a middle aged man who Castiel had been trying to talk to give him a strange look and walk away. Castiel's expression fell, and Dean suddenly thought back to him saying that he'd never had a particularly strong bond with any of the other angels. Mind made up, Dean left Sam at the pool table to slide onto the stool next to Castiel's.
"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked smoothly.
Castiel looked bemused. "Yes?"
Dean signaled to the bartender and ordered two Godiva shots instead of drinks, and then he handed one to Castiel and clinked their glasses together with a wink. After they both downed their shots, he said coyly, "So, how about we head back to my place?"
A crease appeared between Castiel's eyebrows. "To the motel?"
"Yeah, to the motel," Dean agreed with a smirk.
"Okay," Castiel replied, and Dean laughed and slung an arm around his shoulders to guide him toward the exit.
"Easiest bar hookup of my life," he teased. "Man, I really hope you give your other suitors a harder time than this."
Castiel took a moment to parse out what he meant, and then they were outside and he said, "I am not interested in anyone else."
Dean smiled. "Good. Neither am I."
"You look at them," Castiel pointed out, though his tone was free of accusation. "Women, I mean. Don't you want to have sex with them anymore?"
"Occasionally," Dean admitted with a shrug. "I'm just a guy, after all. But there's something else I want a lot more."
"What's that?"
"To be yours, you idiot," Dean said even though it embarrassed him to say it. They stopped walking and Dean turned to face him so he could take Castiel's hand and place it on his shoulder, where the scar was hidden between two layers of shirts. "Like this." Castiel looked from Dean's shoulder to his face, his eyes wide, and Dean dropped his hand. "Like I said, I'm not interested in anyone else."
It was true; what he and Castiel had was somehow too special to sully with trivial flings. He loved Sam to death, but Sam was his brother and Dean couldn't belong to him the way he could belong to Castiel. He couldn't build his life around Sam like he could build it around Castiel. Obviously Sam would always be a huge part of that life, but he would want his own space soon, Dean could tell. Castiel would want to keep sharing Dean's, and that was something Dean reveled in and sometimes still couldn't believe he finally had.
After a thoughtful moment, Castiel smiled. "I'm glad."
Sam chose that moment to come out of the bar and join them. "I'm not interrupting some sort of romantic date, am I? I don't see the flowers and champagne, so..."
Dean stepped away from Castiel and rolled his eyes. "Just get your ass into the damn car."
***
Things turned sour again on a witch hunt, as they so often did. There was a reason Dean really, really hated witches, after all.
When she sent him flying headfirst toward a table, Castiel threw himself between Dean and the table to catch him and stop him from cracking his head open on one of the sharp edges. Their combined weight sent both them and the table crashing to the floor with Dean on top and Castiel caught in the middle, and Dean heard the sickening crack of a bone as they landed.
Castiel hissed in pain, and Dean twisted around. "Cas!"
"Get off my foot," Castiel gritted out, and Dean scrambled off of him. He immediately looked for the witch, but she had disappeared.
"Is it broken?" Sam asked as he came to stand over them.
Castiel touched his right foot gingerly and grimaced. "I think so."
"Sorry," Dean said miserably. He couldn't believe he'd broken Castiel's goddamn foot.
"It's not your fault," Castiel told him. His voice was tight with pain, but he gave Dean a wry twist of his lips.
Dean shook his head, ignoring the fact that the witch had gotten away for the moment and looping one of Castiel's arms around his shoulders. "Come on, buddy, let's get you back to the motel before she comes back." Sam grabbed Castiel's other arm, and together they hauled him up and helped him limp out to the car.
"Sorry," Dean said again later, when Castiel was sitting back on the couch with a white-knuckled grip around the armrest and Dean was kneeling before him, splinting his foot.
Castiel loosened his grip on the armrest. "I'm okay, Dean."
At first Dean had worried that Castiel might have a hard time dealing with the pain, but then he'd remembered that Castiel had experienced much worse. So now, Dean was inclined to believe him.
He stopped believing him the next morning when he was getting dressed and Castiel asked from the bed, "Will you get me some painkillers?"
"Seriously?" Dean arched his eyebrows in surprise. He and Sam didn't resort to those until they were broken all over or holding their guts in. A broken foot couldn't exactly be walked off, but it wasn't bad, compared to some things. "I thought you said you were okay."
Castiel looked up at the ceiling and swallowed, and Dean watched his Adam's apple bob. "I thought I was."
"That bad, huh?" Dean supposed he'd overestimated Castiel's pain tolerance.
"It's not that," Castiel replied as he sat up, and Dean raised his eyebrows again, not understanding. "I just hate not being able to do anything about it."
Dean still didn't quite understand. "If it's not that bad, then you can just ignore it."
"But it's part of this body," Castiel persisted. "My body. I want to be in control of it."
Put like that, Dean could begin to see how someone who'd been so helpless to protect himself from being brutalized and violated would want to be in control of his pain. "Okay," he conceded, "I'll go out and get you some Advil, then."
"How strong is it?"
The question caught Dean off guard. "Uh. Not too strong, but it should help, at least."
"I want something stronger," Castiel demanded.
Dean frowned. "The stronger stuff is addictive, Cas. Remember how I said booze was a bad idea? Same goes for painkillers."
Castiel's voice was firm. "I won't become addicted."
"Yeah," Dean snorted. "Famous last words."
"I want something strong, Dean," Castiel insisted, suddenly sounding testy.
Dean really didn't like where this was going. It sounded like Castiel wanted the painkillers a little too much already, and he himself had said his foot didn't hurt that badly. Dean had a vision of him popping pills every time he got a cut or a bruise, and he made up his mind. "Sorry, Cas. I'll get you some Advil if you want, but nothing stronger."
Castiel's eyes narrowed, and he pushed the covers off himself and made to get out of bed. "I'll get it myself, then."
"Whoa, whoa." Dean stopped him with one hand on Castiel's shoulder and another on his thigh before he could swing his legs over the side of the bed. "Come on, Cas, how were you planning to do that? The nearest drugstore is three blocks away and you can't walk. You can't even drive with a broken right foot."
"I'll find a way."
Dean rolled his eyes at his stubbornness. "Not gonna let it happen, Cas."
"You are not my superior," Castiel growled, and Dean was actually surprised at how angry he sounded. "I didn't exercise free will in choosing to stay just so you could take it away from me again."
The words stung, and Dean pulled back, stunned and hurt. He knew he wasn't the best person to be taking care of anyone or showing them the ropes in life -- he'd raised his own brother to nearly become a demon -- but he'd been doing his absolute best and bending over backwards trying to be a good friend to Castiel, and this was what Castiel thought of his efforts? "Screw you," Dean said bitterly even though Castiel already looked like he was regretting his words, and then he turned on his heel and left.
"Dean," Castiel called softly, but Dean slammed the door on his way out.
Sam looked up in surprise from the couch. "Trouble in paradise?" he asked lightly.
Dean glared at him and snapped, "Come on, we have a witch to kill."
"Okay, then," Sam said with a quick lift of his eyebrows and a shake of his head. "But you're going to at least take him some breakfast before we go so he doesn't kill himself trying to hop out to the fridge, right?"
"You go take him some breakfast, if you care so much," Dean said snidely.
Sam stared at him for a moment, then made an incredulous sound and rolled his eyes, making it clear exactly how childish he thought Dean was being. Dean didn't care. In the end, Sam resigned himself to taking a bowl of cereal and his laptop in to Castiel. It sounded like he even helped Castiel to the bathroom.
When he came back out, Dean couldn't resist asking, "Did he ask you to get him painkillers?"
"No," Sam replied, clearly bewildered.
He didn't ask, and Dean didn't elaborate. It made Dean feel a little better, but not much. Not enough to want to talk to Castiel again just yet, anyway. He finished his own breakfast quickly and then they headed out.
The witch eluded them again that day. She was a clever one, and she led Dean and Sam on a wild goose chase all morning and well into the afternoon. That, coupled with the fight he'd had with Castiel that morning, meant that Dean was more than a little cross by the time they ran out of false leads and had no choice but to grab some food and return to the motel.
When he stalked out of Subway with two subs in one hand and Sam in tow, there was a pigeon standing by the Impala's driver side door. That wasn't unusual in and of itself, but what was unusual was the way it stared so intently at Dean as he approached. Then it cocked its head to one side in a decidedly familiar gesture, and Dean had a horrible thought. He stopped in his tracks and Sam nearly ran into him from behind.
"What the hell, dude," Sam snapped.
Dean opened and closed his mouth twice before asking, as casually as possible, "Can witches turn people into animals?"
Sam stared at him like he was crazy. "What are you on about?"
"Look at it," Dean insisted, nodding at the pigeon. Sam gave it a skeptical glance. "We haven't seen the witch all day and Cas has been back at the motel by himself the entire time."
"And you think she turned him into a pigeon," Sam said flatly.
Dean knew how utterly ridiculous it sounded, but he couldn't shake the fear. "It's possible, right?" he asked, and even peered at the bird to try and see if its right foot was injured. He couldn't tell from this distance.
Sam cast a brief, despairing look up at the sky before striding pointedly over to the pigeon. Before he could get too close, it launched into the air and flew off, flying right over Dean's head in the process and nearly shitting on him. Dean yelped and ducked out of the way just in time, and Sam doubled over in laughter.
Unamused didn't even begin to describe Dean's mood as he got into the car and slammed the door shut. He was embarrassed about his stupid theory, but underneath that, he was actually still worried that the witch might have gotten to Castiel while they'd been out.
Suddenly he couldn't wait to get back and see Castiel again, their earlier fight be damned. Dean drove faster than he should have, and inwardly kicked himself for having been so petty. Of course there was no way Castiel actually thought Dean was trying to control him; they wouldn't have the sort of relationship they did if that had been the case, and part of Dean had known it even at the time. Castiel been in pain and had associated it with some bad fucking memories, and Dean hadn't really taken him seriously, so Castiel could hardly be blamed for lashing out. The fight had been so stupid, now that Dean thought about it. They were Dean and Castiel, and it was impossible for a few poorly chosen words get in the way of that for very long. Dean was ready for the fight to be over.
After they pulled into the motel's parking lot, he didn't waste a moment getting in to see Castiel. Castiel had managed to move himself over to the armchair next to the bed and was already looking up from the laptop toward the door when Dean opened it and stepped halfway inside. Dean let out a breath of relief at seeing him there, and Castiel brightened too.
"Dean," he said, hopefully but also with a bit of uncertainty, like he thought maybe Dean was still mad at him. "I'm--"
Dean decided he didn't want to hear the apology. "I'm glad you're not a pigeon," he interrupted with a lopsided smile.
Castiel closed his mouth and looked incredibly confused for a moment. (He did the head tilt and everything, exactly as the pigeon had; Dean could hardly be blamed for seeing resemblances, really.) "Did you think I might be?"
"We didn't catch the witch," Dean explained sheepishly, "so when this pigeon kept staring at me and then tilted its head, like you always do, I thought..."
"I see," Castiel said seriously, though Dean could tell he was trying not to laugh.
"Anyway, then it tried to shit on me."
The corner of Castiel's lips quirked despite his best efforts to hold in his amusement, but his tone was still solemn when he said, "I hope that convinced you it wasn't me. I wouldn't shit on you."
"Aww, Cas, you say the sweetest things," Dean deadpanned.
"I could read you one of the poems I wrote about your soul, if you prefer."
Dean made a face and finally moved all the way into the room, closing the door behind him as he did so and crossing the short distance over to Castiel. "Not funny," he warned as he handed Castiel his sub.
Castiel caught his forearm instead and looked up at him intently, all traces of humor gone. "No pills," he promised.
"Okay." Dean smiled and relaxed completely for the first time since that morning, and he bent to kiss Castiel in a sudden rush of affection. Castiel smiled against his lips, and Dean licked him playfully as he got an idea. "Anyway, I've got something for you that's way better than pills."
Castiel pulled away to eye him curiously. "What is it?"
Instead of replying, Dean moved the laptop off of Castiel's lap and onto the bed, along with the subs. Then he kissed him again and slid a few fingers into Castiel's boxers to tug the elastic waistband down. Dean was pleased Castiel hadn't put more clothes on than what he'd slept in, and from the way Castiel's breath hitched, it sounded like he was pleased too. He sounded even more pleased when Dean parted his thighs and slid to his knees between them to take Castiel into his mouth. There was a sharp gasp, and he hardened quickly in Dean's mouth under the ministrations.
They had done this a few times before, but only as foreplay; Dean had never actually let Castiel come into his mouth. This time, he sucked and licked and bobbed his head until Castiel's soft little whimpers of, "Dean," turned into broken, ragged breaths and he started quivering in the armchair. Dean only sucked and licked and bobbed his head harder, and placed the hand that wasn't keeping Castiel's boxers pulled open on Castiel's thigh. He massaged the tense muscles there, all the way up to his groin and all the way down to his knee and then back up again, and that's what drew a final, wrecked, "Dean," from Castiel's lips before his body curled around Dean's head and his hands grabbed Dean's shoulders and he came into his mouth.
Dean didn't mind at all, and he even swallowed it. Somewhere along the way, Castiel's body had become almost an extension of his own, so there was nothing gross about this. He only delighted in being able to give Castiel so much overwhelming pleasure, and in the little jerks of Castiel's hips that he couldn't seem to help. Dean stroked his thigh and rubbed circles around Castiel's knee with his thumb until Castiel came down from his orgasm and collapsed back into the armchair, eyes half lidded. Only then did Dean pull off of him and gently rearrange his boxers.
"How's the foot?" he asked, a bit smugly.
"Foot?" Castiel echoed dazedly.
Dean grinned and kissed Castiel's knee on the most knobby part, and Castiel peered down at him like he couldn't understand why Dean was still on the floor. He grabbed Dean's upper arm (Dean didn't think he even meant to do it, but his hand found the exact same spot on his arm as it had the very first time Castiel had gripped him tight) and tugged, so Dean followed. He ended up sprawled awkwardly in Castiel's lap, until he chuckled and shifted sideways so that he was sitting across Castiel's lap with his bottom wedged between Castiel's leg and the armrest and most of his weight on the cushion instead of on Castiel. Castiel's arms circled his body loosely and he pulled Dean in for a long kiss.
"What do you want, Dean?" he murmured. "I'll give you anything."
Dean smiled faintly into the kiss. "I already got what I wanted." But apparently Castiel was still thinking about sex, judging from the way his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Dean snorted and broke the kiss to lay his head on Castiel's shoulder. "Relax, Cas, that was for your, ah, foot," he said. "If you're happy, I'm happy."
They fell into a warm silence, until Castiel said, several minutes later and very, very softly, "I'm happy."
And that was it, right there. In that moment, life was perfect and Dean was the very luckiest son of a bitch on the planet. He blinked several times and let out a slow breath. It was so strange and surreal, happiness, and Dean had absolutely no idea what to do with it.
"Dean?" Castiel sounded mildly concerned.
"Shhh. We're having a moment, okay?"
"Okay," Castiel replied uncertainly.
In the end, Dean didn't do anything with his happiness except bask in it.
***
When they finally dispatched the witch, Dean and Sam did all the work, but it was Castiel's ingenious plan that had caught her in the first place. Then they hit the road again.
An hour out of town, Sam began, with an air of forced casualness, "So, uh, fall semester starts in a couple of months."
Dean glanced sideways at him, but only briefly. "Stanford again?"
"Yeah."
"Okay." He'd seen this coming, and he'd been dreading it a little, but now that it was happening, Dean felt strangely at peace. Sam didn't have to be living in his pocket to be his Sammy.
"That's it?"
Dean shrugged. "The apocalypse is over, man. You never wanted this to be your life, and now it doesn't have to be. I'm happy for you."
For a moment it seemed Sam was trying to figure out if Dean actually meant it, but then he relaxed. "Thanks." Another moment later, he added, "I can try to find a two bedroom apartment, if you guys want."
Dean arched his eyebrows, caught off guard. The offer warmed him, but he didn't know how he felt about actually settling down. "Cas?" he asked, glancing in the rear view mirror. "Thoughts on what you want to do with your life?"
"I want to try everything in the world with you," Castiel replied, with all of his old tactless guilelessness. "We have enough tomorrows now."
Dean flushed a bit, and Sam grinned. "Guess I should find a big box for my new Dean'n'Cas postcard collection, huh."
Something occurred to Dean and he made a face. "This means we're going to have to fly a lot, doesn't it? I hate flying."
"I miss flying," Castiel said quietly.
"Yeah, well, I have a feeling planes are less reliable than wings," Dean muttered.
He looked in the mirror to see Castiel lift his eyebrows. "I'm fairly certain you weren't destined to save the world only to die in a plane crash, Dean."
"You never know, maybe God hates me."
"God does not hate you," Castiel said patiently.
"How do you know? He's probably not even there."
"He is watching over us."
"Yeah?" Dean snorted. "What part of Him being M.I.A. right up through the end gave you that impression?"
Castiel pursed his lips. "I believe He wanted us to figure things out on our own."
Dean gave him a dry look in the mirror. "You're never not going to have faith, are you?"
"No."
"Okay, then." He was secretly pleased about it, actually, because Castiel wouldn't really be Castiel otherwise.
"Aww, you guys are cute," Sam teased. "I may have to adopt a couple of kittens once I get back to school so the transition won't be so jarring."
Dean gave him a look promising death. "Shut it, bitch."
"Jerk."
A sigh came from the backseat. "Must you two always hurl such childish insults--"
As if on cue, Dean and Sam turned around at the same time to say pointedly, "Dick."
Castiel's eyes widened, and then he huffed at them and turned his head away, even lifting his chin a little.
Dean turned back around and grinned inwardly. He was driving his baby, miles of open roads stretched before him, he could see Sam out of the corner of his eye, and Castiel was in the rear view mirror. Dean suddenly wondered how the other two would feel if he took them on a detour to the Grand Canyon, and decided he'd find out.
fin.
(a.k.a. The End.)
(a.k.a. THE FREAKING END OMGGG.)
THANK YOU, truly, to every single person who read this story and shared my love for Dean and Castiel, and especially to those who've been following along for some time now and have left me feedback and encouragement. They helped me push through this more than you know, so I'm not kidding when I say I'm grateful. ♥
Mostly, thank you forever to
ibroketuesday, my tl;dr. THANK YOU. !!
P.S. The whole fic is available for download in pdf format here.
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Re: wohooo
Date: 2009-12-02 04:44 am (UTC)Re: wohooo
Date: 2009-12-03 02:30 am (UTC)