[Fic] Ties That Bind :: SPN :: Castiel/Chuck :: R
Fandom: SPN
Pairing: Chuck/Castiel and Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
WARNING: spoilers for 5.04: The End, drug and alcohol abuse, angst, sexuality
Disclaimer: these characters are not mine, and I make no profit off this fan fiction.
Notes: originally written for the spnwriterlounge 's 2009 Olympics, "Last Man Standing" challenge. I have since made some minor revisions.
Ties That Bind
Chuck still can’t decide if he owes Dean Winchester a thank you or a punch to the throat.
He maps the skin of Castiel’s chest underneath his fingertips, smooth and unblemished save for a few silver scars and the anti-possession tattoo inked above his heart. The skin on his arms, however, is a different story; marred by needle marks that spare no flesh.
This isn’t Castiel anymore. It isn’t the hopeful, righteous being that appeared in Chuck’s living-room a lifetime ago. He almost wishes he still had his visions; destiny can't be changed, but they've managed it before. And maybe, maybe if Chuck had known what would become of Castiel, he would have been able to stop it from becoming a reality.
He doesn’t answer to anything but Cas now. When the name ‘Castiel’ slips past Chuck’s lips, it’s echoed with a cold, capricious laugh and the man that looks just like the angel replies, “He got blown to pieces.”
And, yeah, Chuck remembers that. He remembers the sound of skin tearing, the splatter of Castiel's blood on his walls. It wasn’t as ugly of a sight as watching Castiel destroy himself.
***
The first time Chuck kissed Castiel is still hazy in his memories.
He remembers watching Dean stalking away from Castiel’s cabin, angry and agitated. Chuck waited until he was out of sight to enter the cabin.
Castiel was lying on the bed, right arm tucked underneath the pillow, the left bringing the rolled joint between his fingers to his chapped lips. Chuck ignored the thick smoke of marijuana and joined him on the hard mattress, the bed-springs cutting in his back. He felt giddy as he watched Castiel exhale the smoke. Six people had died hours earlier, and he was laughing.
He blamed it on the whiskey.
It made it easier to close the inch of space between them, lean in to steal the taste of stale weed from Castiel’s mouth.
***
They spent many nights in a similar fashion: Chuck drunk and Castiel stoned out of his mind, giggling and grabbing at each other’s skin for warmth and comfort. They exchanged sloppy kisses, weed and whiskey mingling on their tongues. There was no passion to it; just a raw, burning need for companionship. Castiel needed him because Dean had left him, and Chuck needed Castiel because he never had anyone else.
When needle marks started appearing on Cas’s forearms, Chuck quit drinking. He had to. Someone had to remain sober. Someone had to care, because their leader no longer did.
Chuck stopped drinking because Castiel needed heroin more than Chuck needed alcohol.
***
Castiel's hipbones were constantly marked with raw, dark bruises. Teeth indents circled his collarbone and neck.
Chuck knew Castiel was still sleeping with Dean.
It didn’t matter.
It didn't matter, because Castiel came looking for Chuck after Dean had kicked him out of his bed. And if he smelled of desperation and rubbed against him with frantic need, Chuck pretended not to notice.
***
When Dean caught them in bed together, Chuck expected there to be an inevitable explosion.While Dean wasn’t capable of feeling much anymore, anger was definitely his default.
Instead, not even a word got exchanged. Dean’s gaze fixated on Castiel, hard and rigid. Castiel stared right back, daring the other; desperate for a reaction from the man that lost him everything.
He never got it.
It was a long, gelid minute before Dean turned his back on them and left.
Castiel shoved at Chuck's chest until he fell from his lap onto the floor. He stared as Castiel made his way to the bathroom, and the sound of silence was replaced by running water.
***
Chuck hates Dean Winchester because he turned Castiel into someone he no longer recognizes.
But if Dean hadn’t pushed him away, Castiel never would’ve stumbled into Chuck’s arms in the first place.
It isn't the Castiel he wanted, but it's the only one he can have.
Every night, he trails his fingers along Cas's skin, memorizes its texture. He licks random patches and wants the taste to linger on his tongue. He listens to the ruptured moans, the shallow gasps until they echo in his ears for days to come.
Still, the blue of Cas’s crystallized eyes mirrors the reflection of Dean Winchester in its depth.