Thy Fearful Symmetry - pt. 1
Title: Thy Fearful Symmetry
Word Count: 5300
Warnings: some Dean x Tigerstiel stuff - it involves contact of Castiel's tongue on Dean's skin, and Dean orgasms because of the feeling. It does not actually take place in the real world, it's a dream, though due to the nature of angelic dreamwalking it... does happen.
masterpost
THY FEARFUL SYMMETRY
part 1
Sometimes Castiel looks like Jimmy Novak when he visits Dean’s dreams. Usually he does, actually; always when Dean’s dreaming on his own, and a lot of the time when Cas comes dreamwalking. But there are some times, other times when it’s like they’re both dreaming, or when Cas isn’t in complete control, when he’s something else - some... thing.
The prayer is accidental; it’s just been a shitty day, with no word from Cas, still hearing nothing about Sam - and knowing that he never fucking would - and it’s not something that he can talk to Lisa about, it’s not something he can talk to anyone about. He hadn’t slept well the night before and he might have gotten a little snappy with Ben over something that, in retrospect, wasn’t really a big deal. He’d gotten it from Lisa, which only made him feel worse because he knew he screwed up, and he’d already been berating himself. He eats supper that night away from Lisa and Ben, then gets into the shower and almost busts his ass when he trips on his own shirt, and then downs a beer and hobbles into bed.
And he tries not to think about anything, tries to empty his mind so he can just lose consciousness for a few precious hours and not have to deal with this shit anymore. It doesn’t work. So he falls asleep pointedly not thinking about his brother and not so not-thinking about Cas. So when the last discernible thought he has is a quick, tortured goddamnit, Cas it’s really not surprising - and not his fault, either - when he winds up dreaming about the guy. Or dreaming with the guy. That’s the part he’s not so clear on.
He knows he’s dreaming when he comes to in a dark, unfamiliar forest. He’s dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing earlier that day - minus his boots. His feet are bare for whatever reason and the dirt is cool underneath him. After a second or two of looking around, trying to get his bearings, he still isn’t sure where he is, but there’s something familiar about the forest, something that he knows, that calls out to him, deep down. But he can’t put his finger on what. He knows, somehow, that he’s supposed to be on a hunt. Werewolves, he realizes suddenly, though he isn’t sure how he knows He’s had these kind of dreams before, but they always turn out badly. Maybe he’ll be able to do something right this time around; maybe the hunt’ll go well. That’s pretty pathetic, actually, and Dean would maybe like something more interesting to dream about than what’s essentially been his career for nearly all his life. Sex, maybe. That’d be nice.
But of course because it’s been a shitty day and asking for respite in his dreams is just too fucking much, the ground around him starts to shake. He hears something, low and far away, something he can’t quite make out. It’s enough to make him alert and after a quick pat down he’s disappointed to find he doesn’t have a weapon on him. He looks around trying to get a bead on what’s around him, what could be making that noise, but he can’t see anything other than the trees. Which seem to be closing in on him, the darkness threading through the thick trunks like it’s a tangible thing, a real thing, not just the absence of light.
Dean’s starting to more urgently consider finding a way the fuck out of the forest when he hears the sound again - and it’s louder this time, and unmistakably a growl.
“Shit,” he says, looking over his shoulder as he bounds forward. He can’t see what it is, and maybe there’s that hunter’s instinct, always right on the surface, telling him to find out if it’s chasing him before he runs the fuck away - but there’s a stronger instinct, something he’s not sure is natural, that might be in him just because of the dream, or that might not be in him at all but around him that is telling him to run: telling him that for whatever creature is out there, he is prey.
So he listens, because he might be a stubborn asshole but he’s not stupid.
He picks up the pace, ignores the rough ground on his bare feet, only daring to look behind him once. Once is enough. There are two huge glowing eyes, colored a deep, shimmering gold, closing in much faster than he can run. He turns back, cursing to himself, pushing harder, nearly tripping over his own feet as he runs deeper and deeper into the forest.
He’d found himself in an area almost like a clearing, with trees spaced farther apart around him. But now, as he runs down a path of thick grass, the trees are closing in, getting thicker and thicker until he has to start weaving around them. Another roar comes from behind him, even louder, even closer, and he knows it won’t be long until the beast catches up with him. It’s desperation that fuels him forward, not any sort of false hope: he knows he can’t outrun it, and he doesn’t have anything to defend himself against it. All he can do is keep going.
So that’s what he does, running so fast he can hardly feel the ground, so fast his lungs ache with a sharp, chilly pain. But it’s not enough. The creature closes in so that he can feel - or at least he imagines he can feel - the beast’s hot breath, wet on the back of his neck. His whole body trembles with the force of another growl, and he manages three more strides before something soft and heavy knocks him to the ground. He falls face-first and tumbles forward from the momentum. Whatever’s been chasing him is on top of him now, heavy and large. It pushes him onto his back; Dean tries to defend himself, raising his arms over his face. He tries to focus enough to get a good look at it - and that’s when he finally sees what it is.
It’s a giant tiger, larger than any tiger Dean had ever seen, with thick fur in a rich, gilded orange striped with swathes of dark, sinuous black. Dean wants to touch it - then immediately tells himself he doesn’t, but that first spark is still there, and something inside him aches to see a creature so beautiful and so terrible. He shouldn’t be able to see it that clearly, the forest is too dark - but something is giving off light. It’s the tiger itself, he realizes suddenly, glowing so brightly that it almost hurts to look at it.
The tiger stands, its tail - as thick as his arm - twitching behind it. But that’s all it does. Dean thought he’d be dead already, without even a chance to take in what was happening, but as his breathing slows down and he takes stock of the situation he realizes that... there’s no immediate danger.
But there has to be, he thinks frantically; he was just certain that he was this thing’s next meal, and suddenly he’s squaring off with it like they’re about to have a fucking conversation or something. He shakes his head hard, but the eerie, disconcerting feelings don’t fade.
He’s sitting there, torn between getting up and running or just sitting there and hoping the tiger forgets about him, when suddenly the tiger moves. It’s just a small step forward, but Dean can still sense intent behind the movement. The tiger growls again, low and deep in its throat.
“What the fuck,” Dean shouts, scooting backwards on his ass. Because he understood. Because even though it wasn’t language and there weren’t any words, he knows he was called, he knows he was named. That thing said his name.
The trees that were around them have suddenly cleared, somehow, and they’re in a round, open area, with forest so thick surrounding it Dean can no longer see the path. The tiger growls again, but this time the sound feels more familiar, almost like the tiger is speaking to him. It growls again: Deeeeeeeeean.
He can’t hear it, not really, he only hears the growl - but he knows what the tiger is saying, can feel it, can understand in his head what it means for him to hear.
Dean.
Dean swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “Uh...”
That seems to be enough of a recognition for the tiger, because it leans back for a moment on its haunches and then launches itself at him. There isn’t much distance to travel, so it barrels at him full force, knocking him powerfully into the ground. Dean loses his breath, but doesn’t have time to think about it because the next moment the tiger has bared its huge, sharp teeth and raises one enormous paw. It growls again and swipes at him, tearing three lines across his chest. The skin opens and Dean can see blood, but strangely enough there’s not any feeling he’d describe as pain. There’s a burning sensation, a white-hot feeling so intense it almost hurts, but he doesn’t think that the tiger’s intention is to kill him. It might not even be to hurt him, because when it reaches towards him again it just tears his shirt away.
DeanDeanDeanDeanDeanDeanDeanIFoundYouISavedYouIKnowYou
The feeling intensifies and Dean’s eyes shut involuntarily. The tiger’s thoughts are hard to hear, harder still to make any sense of, but they are familiar all the same. They feel safe.
It tears his jeans away, too, and with what last shred of coherency is left to him Dean thinks maybe he dreamed himself without boots because boots would be too hard for a tiger to remove. Then he’s stripped and bared, his skin in shreds from the tiger’s claws, laying on the cool dirt, the furry body hot as fire above him.
It feels like he’s been unwrapped, like he’s been taken out of some sort of shell. He can’t see what the tiger is doing, but it feels like it’s peeling his skin away. But it still doesn’t hurt.
Dean, it thinks deliberately, I have him. I have found him. I have raised him as I once raised you.
Dean’s not sure what it’s talking about, and it’s hard to even form what it’s thinking into understandable words because of whatever it’s doing to him. He feels raw and he’s terrified to open his eyes, because maybe his skin really will be gone, and all he’ll see when he looks at himself is blood and the raw, interior muscle. God, he almost wants to die.
Except then, right when that white-hot feeling reaches its peak and he starts to feel pain like he thought he could only imagine - like pain he might have felt once in the pit - something abruptly turns. He can almost feel the switch, as though whatever sensation was heading towards pain suddenly stopped and headed in the opposite direction. The tiger makes a low, rumbling sound like a purr, and then instead of continuing to scratch and bite at him, it suddenly starts licking. Dean can feel the rough, flat texture of its tongue and it’s pleasure like he has never known it.
xxx
xxx
He screams, the feeling almost too much to bear. The tiger keeps at it, until suddenly he starts to feel... covered up. That’s the only way he can describe it, his mind wiped out from overwhelming feeling, his nerve endings raw and his body wracked with what feels like it might turn out to be the world’s weirdest orgasm. The scratchy tongue is sewing him back together, regrowing the skin its owner only just tore apart. Dean tries to scream again, but his throat won’t work, and all that comes out is a burbling sort of gasp. The tongue is at his face now, and Dean’s writhing underneath the tiger, his arms and legs twitching spasmodically, out of his control. It remakes his mouth, and it tells him it is a beautiful mouth. It reshapes its cheeks and marvels at their smoothness. It rebuilds his nose and he breathes in deep, and the tiger’s scent is rich and musty, a warm, earthy smell that makes his sinuses burn. And then the tongue licks at his eyes and he feels his lids reform, and then it licks his eyes open, and he sees it - really sees it, he thinks - for the first time.
And its eyes are a razor-sharp, sapphire blue, and as it thinks at him Dean, and then again, firmer, with more purpose Dean, he realizes he knows this tiger, this being, this fucking stupid, beautiful angel, and he thinks Castiel... Castiel... Cas... Cas Cas Cas Cas cascascascascascas until he is undone.
And in possibly the most embarrassing moment of his life, he comes, striping his belly and probably the tiger's, too.
When he regains his senses - and what the fuck? he thinks, did I pass out? - the tiger, no Castiel, he reminds himself, Cas has turned himself into a fucking tiger, is just sitting there staring at him. It licks its lips once and its tail flicks behind it. Dean sits up. And the tiger thinks, urgently, I did it, Dean. He is coming. He is safe. But I am weakened. I can't... It growls, but this time out of pain, not because it's trying to communicate. Dean, it thinks at him, and the world has starting growing fuzzy, spinning around him, Dean! It's Sam... Sam!
And then Dean wakes up.
He sits up in bed with a jolt, yelling something incoherent, trying to bring Cas back, trying to get him to explain. He’s panting, the blanket pooled around his waist, when Lisa lays one hand on his arm.
“Dean?” she asks, her voice muzzy with interrupted sleep. “Is everything all right? Another nightmare?”
Dean shakes his head quickly, half-grateful that Lisa hadn’t been so pissed at him that she’d woken him up and made him go sleep on the couch. “I think I fucked a tiger,” he spits out, so quickly that he can hardly understand the words himself.
Lisa gives him a worried look, her brows furrowed together. “What? Dean... What are you talking about? Are you sure you’re all right?”
Her hair is soft and messy around her face, and one strap of her top has fallen down the smooth slope of her shoulder. Her hand is warm and the sensations of her bedroom, familiar, start to ground him. Since it was Cas, it probably didn’t really count as beastiality anyway. At least not for him. But maybe for angels it was different, or...
Christ, he thinks, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. What kind of dream was that? Was it real? Has Cas really come to him as... as that? He’s just thinking how fucking strange the whole thing was, when suddenly it hits him, Cas’s last words. Sam.
Sam!
“Sam,” he blurts out, and that makes Lisa sit up, too, putting a gentle arm around him. “I... I had a dream about Sam,” he explains, feeling suddenly foolish, though he isn’t quite sure why.
Concern colors her expression and it’s clear that she wants to comfort him. But everything - the news of Sam possibly... being, and the weird feelings the Cas-tiger made him feel - make him suddenly reluctant to accept it.
Dean stumbles out of bed. “I’m going down to make breakfast,” he says. “Sorry to, uh, wake you up.”
“Okay.” Lisa just gives him a little smile. “Thanks, I’m hungry.” Jesus, he’s grateful for her, he thinks, and he gives an answering smile back and heads toward the kitchen.
He puts on the coffee as soon as he gets into the kitchen and starts digging around in the fridge for the eggs. He’s got them out on the counter, and the toast out, too, when suddenly he hears a knock on the door. Dean huffs and scratches the back of his head, looking at the clock. “Who the hell could that be this early on a Sunday?” he says to himself. The dream he’d had still had him off his game, still had his head swirling around, tying his feels all up in knots, and now this unexpected visitor made him feel a lot more paranoid than he would have under any other set of circumstances. He pads to the door and as he turns the knob and swings it open, he lets out a gruff “Who is it? What do you - “
But he’s cut off. His mouth hangs open in shock and he can’t believe what he’s seeing. He can’t. Even as his heart starts racing and everything in his head lights up to tell him he should be experiencing joy, there’s another part that can’t accept what’s before him to be true.
Because standing at the door to Lisa’s house is his little brother. It’s Sam. Sam. Looking whole and healthy and good as new, like he hadn’t ever fallen into the cage with Michael and Lucifer. Though he’d wished and hoped, Dean honestly hadn’t expected to ever see him again - he just had never gotten around to actually accepting that. And now he never had to. Because he had his brother back. He had Sam.
Sam smiles at the glazed look in Dean’s eyes, and the unrepentent shock he isn’t trying to hide on his face. “Hi,” he says. And then he promptly falls over in a dead faint.
“Sam!” Dean says, taking a step back and throwing his arms up in surprise. His voice comes out high and afraid but he doesn’t currently have it in him to care. All he can think about is how he has Sam again. How he’ll never let his brother leave his sight. “Lisa!” he calls out. “Lisa, get down here.” He grabs Sam’s arm and lifts him up enough to grab his torso. He starts dragging him, cursing his brother’s heavy ass as he makes their way over to the couch. Sam’s dead weight is heavy, but Dean manages it, and then rolls him over so he’s face up.
Lisa catches up with him then and is asking, sounding none too happy about it, either, “Dean? What’s the matter? What is - Oh my God.” She gasps as she takes in the sight of the large man laying on her living room couch. “Dean, it’s...” She swallows and gapes. “Dean, your brother. He’s here.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, unable to stop himself from grinning like an idiot. “Yeah, he’s here.”
Cas lands in an empty field, as far away from any people as he could get in his weakened state. Going into Dean’s dream that morning had given him a bit of respite, but the effort it took seems to have drained his strength even further and now he is starting to regret taking the risk. But Dean knows that Sam is safe. Dean knows that he’ll have his brother back. That thought strengthens Castiel’s resolve and he knows that it was worth it after all.
His vision is spotty, white flashes coming up before his eyes. When he had pulled Dean from the pit he had had a host of other angels fighting alongside him. It had been their orders, it had been fate - Dean had always been meant to be saved. But Sam... Sam was another story. No one had instructed him to go fetch Sam, so he had had no back-up. He had had to go into the depths of hell all on his own. And even with everything he’d done to insure his own safety, even with his new power after being resurrected again, it still hadn’t been enough. He was lucky to have made it out alive. And though Sam was safe and whole, Castiel had not been so lucky.
He felt like he was dying.
His wings were torn and tattered, mere shells of what they once used to be. Hell, the very place, was malevolence, was built and formed from tangible evil, and it was rare that anyone got out unscathed. Castiel had been lucky once, but he had no such luck on his second venture in. His grace ached, like it had never ached before - not even when he had been falling, when he had been all but human. The absence hurt him. He had been able to feel it leaking away, had been able to feel as it slowly left him, but the grace itself had never felt so... polluted. Which is exactly how it felt now.
His wings, made of pure energy, spread out behind the body of Jimmy Novak he wore, and maybe - just maybe - if he could make them manifest in the physical world, then he could heal them. But no, he is too weak even for that. He is too weak to travel, practically too weak to move, and to weak to call for his brothers to help. His head is swimming and pain like he has never known before fills his body.
His arms spread out wide, a terrible echo of his true wingspan. And then he starts to scream. The sky above him starts to turn black, a storm drawn to the energy he knows he must be releasing. Lightening strikes, once, then again, and thunder rolls dangerously all around him. His wings flutter for a moment, vibrating so fast it is almost painful and then -
A SNAP.
And his wings are no more.
“No,” he cries out, falling to his knees. “No. No!” His voice carries, louder than the thunder, the human vocal chords he’s using at odds with his true voice, trying to leak out. He prays, helplessly, desperately, but the storm only gets worse. Rain starts to fall in heavy torrents, and dark hair is plastered to his forehead as the clothes he wears grow heavy from the weight of the water. His back aches, so much he thinks it might kill him, and the remnants of his wings pulse with fierce, bright agony.
He wants to die. He thinks he is going to die. A dim, blue light starts emanating from his chest. He grabs desperately at his shirt, ripping it open, and sees his skin glowing, lines of blue - like veins of his grace, he thinks - spiderwebbing across the pale flesh.
The wind is whipping the trees so hard he hears one crack and splinter, its limbs falling to the ground with a sound not unlike the thunder. Lightning strikes. And then it strikes again, strikes him, and the electricity lights up his whole body, like it is animating it, like he is Frankenstein’s monster of myth and he is being born. Maybe death will be similar to birth, he thinks. When his body had been unmade before, blown to smithereens by powers he could barely comprehend, it had not hurt like this. It had not really felt like anything at all.
Something pulses inside him and he coughs, spitting up blood. It stains the ground red and he squeezes his eyes shut tight, hoping that whatever happens, whatever is happening, it will just end soon. The thing pulses again, like it’s trying to escape, and all over his body he itches and burns. He screams again.
And then, with another flash of lightning, the sound becomes louder and mindless with pain - and there is a huge, domed flash of light, coming from his chest. He opens his eyes and feels them nearly burn away as the brightness increases, and then, suddenly, the light explodes outward.
Castiel is drained, left dry, and with his last moment of consciousness draws in a deep breath. And then he falls to the ground, and thinks no more.
xxx
xxx
“-officials still don’t know what could have caused the flash of light, though some are speculating that it had something to do with the storm that came in earlier today. Investigation continues, we’ll have more on the story at ten.”
Lisa looks at Dean worriedly, putting a hand on his shoulder. That storm started only a few hours after Sam showed up. You don’t think it has anything to do with his reappearance, do you?”
That’s exactly what Dean thought, but he didn’t want to give voice to his worry. Surely there was some explanation. He had to believe that. No one had mentioned anything to him about something similar happening when he’d been resurrected - as fucking weird as it still was to say that, even just in his head - and he hadn’t heard anything about some giant explosion on the news. But then he’d also heard from Cas right after, and he hadn’t been delivered straight to the door of his nearest and dearest. Sam seemed fine, but...
Dean clears his throat. “I dunno, Lisa.” Sam is sitting with Ben in the living room, and Dean has to restrain himself from going in there to check on him again. “Maybe.”
“It’s definitely in your line of work, though.”
He didn’t have to say anything to tell her she was right. He just sighs.
Lisa gives him a slow, soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t Ben and I go out, pick us all up something to eat? You and Sam really haven’t had much of a chance to talk, just the two of you.”
Dean cups her shoulder in one big hand and smiles. She returns it, head tilting slightly as she puts her hand over his. “Thanks,” he says, his voice rough. “That sounds good to me.”
She nods and grabs her purse. “Ben!” she calls, “are you hungry? Why don’t we go get some supper, let Dean have some time alone with his brother.”
Ben seems to like the idea, too, and after quick goodbyes to the two Winchesters they head out.
Dean sits down beside Sam on the couch and clears his throat.
Sam grins and then laughs lightly, clapping his brother on the back. “I’m okay,” he says, “I promise.”
“Yeah, it’s just...” Dean shakes his head, unable to put into words everything he wants to say. “Uh. Good to see you.”
“You, too. You look happy. Here, I mean - with Lisa and Ben.”
“Yeah, uh, no, I am. I am - things have been good with us so far. As least...” He shrugs and sinks back into the cushions. “As good as they could be, I guess. I promised you that I’d try this, man, and I did.”
Sam nods. “How’s Bobby doing?”
Dean looks away, a little shamefacedly. “I, uh... Hadn’t really talked to Bobby in awhile. Not since I first got here.”
There’s awkward chat for a few minutes longer, when finally Dean has to ask what’s been nagging at him since he first saw Sam. “So how did you get out of there? I mean, not that I’m not glad to have you back - you better fucking believe I am - but...”
Sam just nods, like he understands what Dean’s trying to say. “I don’t know, man, but. No, wait, I do know, I just..” He frowns and rubs at his temple, like trying to remember is causing him pain. “It was Cas. He pulled me out of there and then dropped me off here. It’s...” He laughs dryly. “It’s not the kind of journey you’d want to remember, though, so I guess he sort of... helped me forget.”
“Where is he? He just run his ass back to heaven after his delivery boy act?”
Sam ignores the slight bitter note in Dean’s voice. He looks away, obviously lost in thought, his gaze somewhere far off. “There’s... There’s something about Cas, but. But I can’t quite reach it. I think...” He turns towards Dean suddenly enough to surprise him, his eyes suddenly seriously and his gaze suddenly sharp. “I think Cas is in trouble.”
Dean swallows down the lump in his throat. “That light... the explosion on the news. You think that had something to do with Cas?”
“I don’t know,” Sam answers, “Maybe? I mean... the timing is a little suspect. Right after he brought me here.”
“Yeah,” Dean says. He drums his fingers on his knee, considering. He bites at his bottom lip.
Sam laughs. “Man, if you want, we can go check it out. See if it was Cas, make sure he’s okay.”
“I gotta check with Lisa first,” Dean says, but it’s just an excuse. Something - maybe because of the dream that morning, maybe because of something else, some deeper tie to Cas - is telling him that something’s wrong. Something’s telling him to go, and go fast, to find the angel and make sure he’s okay.
When Lisa and Ben get back, they don’t discuss Cas anymore, they just eat supper happy and carefree, like nothing is wrong. But Lisa sees, and when they go back up to her bedroom to go to sleep, she corners him about it. “Is everything all right?” she asks. He has explained a little bit about Cas, just the most salient details, and Lisa knows - even without Dean telling her this part - that he means a lot to him.
“It’s... You know Cas? Sam says that he was the one who brought him back, but he hasn’t shown up yet, hasn’t stopped in to make sure Sam’s okay or anything. And I don’t know how, Lisa, but I think... I just have a feeling something’s wrong.”
She looks sad but resigned. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
Dean sighs. “Just... just for a little while. Me and Sam, I... I just want some time with him, I guess, just us two on the road for a little bit. And I want to go check on Cas.” He puts his hand on her cheek. “But I’ll come back.”
“You’re welcome here, you know that.”
“Yeah,” he breathes, “I know.” Lisa turns away and climbs into bed. Dean clears his throat awkwardly and follows behind her.
That night, he dreams Cas is inside a pillar of fire - or maybe that he is the pillar of fire, and Dean feels pain and a burning so hot it’s cold. When he wakes up, he’s even more certain that Cas needs him. He and Sam leave that day, right after breakfast.
part 2
Word Count: 5300
Warnings: some Dean x Tigerstiel stuff - it involves contact of Castiel's tongue on Dean's skin, and Dean orgasms because of the feeling. It does not actually take place in the real world, it's a dream, though due to the nature of angelic dreamwalking it... does happen.
masterpost
THY FEARFUL SYMMETRY
part 1
Sometimes Castiel looks like Jimmy Novak when he visits Dean’s dreams. Usually he does, actually; always when Dean’s dreaming on his own, and a lot of the time when Cas comes dreamwalking. But there are some times, other times when it’s like they’re both dreaming, or when Cas isn’t in complete control, when he’s something else - some... thing.
The prayer is accidental; it’s just been a shitty day, with no word from Cas, still hearing nothing about Sam - and knowing that he never fucking would - and it’s not something that he can talk to Lisa about, it’s not something he can talk to anyone about. He hadn’t slept well the night before and he might have gotten a little snappy with Ben over something that, in retrospect, wasn’t really a big deal. He’d gotten it from Lisa, which only made him feel worse because he knew he screwed up, and he’d already been berating himself. He eats supper that night away from Lisa and Ben, then gets into the shower and almost busts his ass when he trips on his own shirt, and then downs a beer and hobbles into bed.
And he tries not to think about anything, tries to empty his mind so he can just lose consciousness for a few precious hours and not have to deal with this shit anymore. It doesn’t work. So he falls asleep pointedly not thinking about his brother and not so not-thinking about Cas. So when the last discernible thought he has is a quick, tortured goddamnit, Cas it’s really not surprising - and not his fault, either - when he winds up dreaming about the guy. Or dreaming with the guy. That’s the part he’s not so clear on.
He knows he’s dreaming when he comes to in a dark, unfamiliar forest. He’s dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing earlier that day - minus his boots. His feet are bare for whatever reason and the dirt is cool underneath him. After a second or two of looking around, trying to get his bearings, he still isn’t sure where he is, but there’s something familiar about the forest, something that he knows, that calls out to him, deep down. But he can’t put his finger on what. He knows, somehow, that he’s supposed to be on a hunt. Werewolves, he realizes suddenly, though he isn’t sure how he knows He’s had these kind of dreams before, but they always turn out badly. Maybe he’ll be able to do something right this time around; maybe the hunt’ll go well. That’s pretty pathetic, actually, and Dean would maybe like something more interesting to dream about than what’s essentially been his career for nearly all his life. Sex, maybe. That’d be nice.
But of course because it’s been a shitty day and asking for respite in his dreams is just too fucking much, the ground around him starts to shake. He hears something, low and far away, something he can’t quite make out. It’s enough to make him alert and after a quick pat down he’s disappointed to find he doesn’t have a weapon on him. He looks around trying to get a bead on what’s around him, what could be making that noise, but he can’t see anything other than the trees. Which seem to be closing in on him, the darkness threading through the thick trunks like it’s a tangible thing, a real thing, not just the absence of light.
Dean’s starting to more urgently consider finding a way the fuck out of the forest when he hears the sound again - and it’s louder this time, and unmistakably a growl.
“Shit,” he says, looking over his shoulder as he bounds forward. He can’t see what it is, and maybe there’s that hunter’s instinct, always right on the surface, telling him to find out if it’s chasing him before he runs the fuck away - but there’s a stronger instinct, something he’s not sure is natural, that might be in him just because of the dream, or that might not be in him at all but around him that is telling him to run: telling him that for whatever creature is out there, he is prey.
So he listens, because he might be a stubborn asshole but he’s not stupid.
He picks up the pace, ignores the rough ground on his bare feet, only daring to look behind him once. Once is enough. There are two huge glowing eyes, colored a deep, shimmering gold, closing in much faster than he can run. He turns back, cursing to himself, pushing harder, nearly tripping over his own feet as he runs deeper and deeper into the forest.
He’d found himself in an area almost like a clearing, with trees spaced farther apart around him. But now, as he runs down a path of thick grass, the trees are closing in, getting thicker and thicker until he has to start weaving around them. Another roar comes from behind him, even louder, even closer, and he knows it won’t be long until the beast catches up with him. It’s desperation that fuels him forward, not any sort of false hope: he knows he can’t outrun it, and he doesn’t have anything to defend himself against it. All he can do is keep going.
So that’s what he does, running so fast he can hardly feel the ground, so fast his lungs ache with a sharp, chilly pain. But it’s not enough. The creature closes in so that he can feel - or at least he imagines he can feel - the beast’s hot breath, wet on the back of his neck. His whole body trembles with the force of another growl, and he manages three more strides before something soft and heavy knocks him to the ground. He falls face-first and tumbles forward from the momentum. Whatever’s been chasing him is on top of him now, heavy and large. It pushes him onto his back; Dean tries to defend himself, raising his arms over his face. He tries to focus enough to get a good look at it - and that’s when he finally sees what it is.
It’s a giant tiger, larger than any tiger Dean had ever seen, with thick fur in a rich, gilded orange striped with swathes of dark, sinuous black. Dean wants to touch it - then immediately tells himself he doesn’t, but that first spark is still there, and something inside him aches to see a creature so beautiful and so terrible. He shouldn’t be able to see it that clearly, the forest is too dark - but something is giving off light. It’s the tiger itself, he realizes suddenly, glowing so brightly that it almost hurts to look at it.
The tiger stands, its tail - as thick as his arm - twitching behind it. But that’s all it does. Dean thought he’d be dead already, without even a chance to take in what was happening, but as his breathing slows down and he takes stock of the situation he realizes that... there’s no immediate danger.
But there has to be, he thinks frantically; he was just certain that he was this thing’s next meal, and suddenly he’s squaring off with it like they’re about to have a fucking conversation or something. He shakes his head hard, but the eerie, disconcerting feelings don’t fade.
He’s sitting there, torn between getting up and running or just sitting there and hoping the tiger forgets about him, when suddenly the tiger moves. It’s just a small step forward, but Dean can still sense intent behind the movement. The tiger growls again, low and deep in its throat.
“What the fuck,” Dean shouts, scooting backwards on his ass. Because he understood. Because even though it wasn’t language and there weren’t any words, he knows he was called, he knows he was named. That thing said his name.
The trees that were around them have suddenly cleared, somehow, and they’re in a round, open area, with forest so thick surrounding it Dean can no longer see the path. The tiger growls again, but this time the sound feels more familiar, almost like the tiger is speaking to him. It growls again: Deeeeeeeeean.
He can’t hear it, not really, he only hears the growl - but he knows what the tiger is saying, can feel it, can understand in his head what it means for him to hear.
Dean.
Dean swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “Uh...”
That seems to be enough of a recognition for the tiger, because it leans back for a moment on its haunches and then launches itself at him. There isn’t much distance to travel, so it barrels at him full force, knocking him powerfully into the ground. Dean loses his breath, but doesn’t have time to think about it because the next moment the tiger has bared its huge, sharp teeth and raises one enormous paw. It growls again and swipes at him, tearing three lines across his chest. The skin opens and Dean can see blood, but strangely enough there’s not any feeling he’d describe as pain. There’s a burning sensation, a white-hot feeling so intense it almost hurts, but he doesn’t think that the tiger’s intention is to kill him. It might not even be to hurt him, because when it reaches towards him again it just tears his shirt away.
DeanDeanDeanDeanDeanDeanDeanIFoundYouISavedYouIKnowYou
The feeling intensifies and Dean’s eyes shut involuntarily. The tiger’s thoughts are hard to hear, harder still to make any sense of, but they are familiar all the same. They feel safe.
It tears his jeans away, too, and with what last shred of coherency is left to him Dean thinks maybe he dreamed himself without boots because boots would be too hard for a tiger to remove. Then he’s stripped and bared, his skin in shreds from the tiger’s claws, laying on the cool dirt, the furry body hot as fire above him.
It feels like he’s been unwrapped, like he’s been taken out of some sort of shell. He can’t see what the tiger is doing, but it feels like it’s peeling his skin away. But it still doesn’t hurt.
Dean, it thinks deliberately, I have him. I have found him. I have raised him as I once raised you.
Dean’s not sure what it’s talking about, and it’s hard to even form what it’s thinking into understandable words because of whatever it’s doing to him. He feels raw and he’s terrified to open his eyes, because maybe his skin really will be gone, and all he’ll see when he looks at himself is blood and the raw, interior muscle. God, he almost wants to die.
Except then, right when that white-hot feeling reaches its peak and he starts to feel pain like he thought he could only imagine - like pain he might have felt once in the pit - something abruptly turns. He can almost feel the switch, as though whatever sensation was heading towards pain suddenly stopped and headed in the opposite direction. The tiger makes a low, rumbling sound like a purr, and then instead of continuing to scratch and bite at him, it suddenly starts licking. Dean can feel the rough, flat texture of its tongue and it’s pleasure like he has never known it.
xxx
xxx
He screams, the feeling almost too much to bear. The tiger keeps at it, until suddenly he starts to feel... covered up. That’s the only way he can describe it, his mind wiped out from overwhelming feeling, his nerve endings raw and his body wracked with what feels like it might turn out to be the world’s weirdest orgasm. The scratchy tongue is sewing him back together, regrowing the skin its owner only just tore apart. Dean tries to scream again, but his throat won’t work, and all that comes out is a burbling sort of gasp. The tongue is at his face now, and Dean’s writhing underneath the tiger, his arms and legs twitching spasmodically, out of his control. It remakes his mouth, and it tells him it is a beautiful mouth. It reshapes its cheeks and marvels at their smoothness. It rebuilds his nose and he breathes in deep, and the tiger’s scent is rich and musty, a warm, earthy smell that makes his sinuses burn. And then the tongue licks at his eyes and he feels his lids reform, and then it licks his eyes open, and he sees it - really sees it, he thinks - for the first time.
And its eyes are a razor-sharp, sapphire blue, and as it thinks at him Dean, and then again, firmer, with more purpose Dean, he realizes he knows this tiger, this being, this fucking stupid, beautiful angel, and he thinks Castiel... Castiel... Cas... Cas Cas Cas Cas cascascascascascas until he is undone.
And in possibly the most embarrassing moment of his life, he comes, striping his belly and probably the tiger's, too.
When he regains his senses - and what the fuck? he thinks, did I pass out? - the tiger, no Castiel, he reminds himself, Cas has turned himself into a fucking tiger, is just sitting there staring at him. It licks its lips once and its tail flicks behind it. Dean sits up. And the tiger thinks, urgently, I did it, Dean. He is coming. He is safe. But I am weakened. I can't... It growls, but this time out of pain, not because it's trying to communicate. Dean, it thinks at him, and the world has starting growing fuzzy, spinning around him, Dean! It's Sam... Sam!
And then Dean wakes up.
He sits up in bed with a jolt, yelling something incoherent, trying to bring Cas back, trying to get him to explain. He’s panting, the blanket pooled around his waist, when Lisa lays one hand on his arm.
“Dean?” she asks, her voice muzzy with interrupted sleep. “Is everything all right? Another nightmare?”
Dean shakes his head quickly, half-grateful that Lisa hadn’t been so pissed at him that she’d woken him up and made him go sleep on the couch. “I think I fucked a tiger,” he spits out, so quickly that he can hardly understand the words himself.
Lisa gives him a worried look, her brows furrowed together. “What? Dean... What are you talking about? Are you sure you’re all right?”
Her hair is soft and messy around her face, and one strap of her top has fallen down the smooth slope of her shoulder. Her hand is warm and the sensations of her bedroom, familiar, start to ground him. Since it was Cas, it probably didn’t really count as beastiality anyway. At least not for him. But maybe for angels it was different, or...
Christ, he thinks, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. What kind of dream was that? Was it real? Has Cas really come to him as... as that? He’s just thinking how fucking strange the whole thing was, when suddenly it hits him, Cas’s last words. Sam.
Sam!
“Sam,” he blurts out, and that makes Lisa sit up, too, putting a gentle arm around him. “I... I had a dream about Sam,” he explains, feeling suddenly foolish, though he isn’t quite sure why.
Concern colors her expression and it’s clear that she wants to comfort him. But everything - the news of Sam possibly... being, and the weird feelings the Cas-tiger made him feel - make him suddenly reluctant to accept it.
Dean stumbles out of bed. “I’m going down to make breakfast,” he says. “Sorry to, uh, wake you up.”
“Okay.” Lisa just gives him a little smile. “Thanks, I’m hungry.” Jesus, he’s grateful for her, he thinks, and he gives an answering smile back and heads toward the kitchen.
He puts on the coffee as soon as he gets into the kitchen and starts digging around in the fridge for the eggs. He’s got them out on the counter, and the toast out, too, when suddenly he hears a knock on the door. Dean huffs and scratches the back of his head, looking at the clock. “Who the hell could that be this early on a Sunday?” he says to himself. The dream he’d had still had him off his game, still had his head swirling around, tying his feels all up in knots, and now this unexpected visitor made him feel a lot more paranoid than he would have under any other set of circumstances. He pads to the door and as he turns the knob and swings it open, he lets out a gruff “Who is it? What do you - “
But he’s cut off. His mouth hangs open in shock and he can’t believe what he’s seeing. He can’t. Even as his heart starts racing and everything in his head lights up to tell him he should be experiencing joy, there’s another part that can’t accept what’s before him to be true.
Because standing at the door to Lisa’s house is his little brother. It’s Sam. Sam. Looking whole and healthy and good as new, like he hadn’t ever fallen into the cage with Michael and Lucifer. Though he’d wished and hoped, Dean honestly hadn’t expected to ever see him again - he just had never gotten around to actually accepting that. And now he never had to. Because he had his brother back. He had Sam.
Sam smiles at the glazed look in Dean’s eyes, and the unrepentent shock he isn’t trying to hide on his face. “Hi,” he says. And then he promptly falls over in a dead faint.
“Sam!” Dean says, taking a step back and throwing his arms up in surprise. His voice comes out high and afraid but he doesn’t currently have it in him to care. All he can think about is how he has Sam again. How he’ll never let his brother leave his sight. “Lisa!” he calls out. “Lisa, get down here.” He grabs Sam’s arm and lifts him up enough to grab his torso. He starts dragging him, cursing his brother’s heavy ass as he makes their way over to the couch. Sam’s dead weight is heavy, but Dean manages it, and then rolls him over so he’s face up.
Lisa catches up with him then and is asking, sounding none too happy about it, either, “Dean? What’s the matter? What is - Oh my God.” She gasps as she takes in the sight of the large man laying on her living room couch. “Dean, it’s...” She swallows and gapes. “Dean, your brother. He’s here.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, unable to stop himself from grinning like an idiot. “Yeah, he’s here.”
Cas lands in an empty field, as far away from any people as he could get in his weakened state. Going into Dean’s dream that morning had given him a bit of respite, but the effort it took seems to have drained his strength even further and now he is starting to regret taking the risk. But Dean knows that Sam is safe. Dean knows that he’ll have his brother back. That thought strengthens Castiel’s resolve and he knows that it was worth it after all.
His vision is spotty, white flashes coming up before his eyes. When he had pulled Dean from the pit he had had a host of other angels fighting alongside him. It had been their orders, it had been fate - Dean had always been meant to be saved. But Sam... Sam was another story. No one had instructed him to go fetch Sam, so he had had no back-up. He had had to go into the depths of hell all on his own. And even with everything he’d done to insure his own safety, even with his new power after being resurrected again, it still hadn’t been enough. He was lucky to have made it out alive. And though Sam was safe and whole, Castiel had not been so lucky.
He felt like he was dying.
His wings were torn and tattered, mere shells of what they once used to be. Hell, the very place, was malevolence, was built and formed from tangible evil, and it was rare that anyone got out unscathed. Castiel had been lucky once, but he had no such luck on his second venture in. His grace ached, like it had never ached before - not even when he had been falling, when he had been all but human. The absence hurt him. He had been able to feel it leaking away, had been able to feel as it slowly left him, but the grace itself had never felt so... polluted. Which is exactly how it felt now.
His wings, made of pure energy, spread out behind the body of Jimmy Novak he wore, and maybe - just maybe - if he could make them manifest in the physical world, then he could heal them. But no, he is too weak even for that. He is too weak to travel, practically too weak to move, and to weak to call for his brothers to help. His head is swimming and pain like he has never known before fills his body.
His arms spread out wide, a terrible echo of his true wingspan. And then he starts to scream. The sky above him starts to turn black, a storm drawn to the energy he knows he must be releasing. Lightening strikes, once, then again, and thunder rolls dangerously all around him. His wings flutter for a moment, vibrating so fast it is almost painful and then -
A SNAP.
And his wings are no more.
“No,” he cries out, falling to his knees. “No. No!” His voice carries, louder than the thunder, the human vocal chords he’s using at odds with his true voice, trying to leak out. He prays, helplessly, desperately, but the storm only gets worse. Rain starts to fall in heavy torrents, and dark hair is plastered to his forehead as the clothes he wears grow heavy from the weight of the water. His back aches, so much he thinks it might kill him, and the remnants of his wings pulse with fierce, bright agony.
He wants to die. He thinks he is going to die. A dim, blue light starts emanating from his chest. He grabs desperately at his shirt, ripping it open, and sees his skin glowing, lines of blue - like veins of his grace, he thinks - spiderwebbing across the pale flesh.
The wind is whipping the trees so hard he hears one crack and splinter, its limbs falling to the ground with a sound not unlike the thunder. Lightning strikes. And then it strikes again, strikes him, and the electricity lights up his whole body, like it is animating it, like he is Frankenstein’s monster of myth and he is being born. Maybe death will be similar to birth, he thinks. When his body had been unmade before, blown to smithereens by powers he could barely comprehend, it had not hurt like this. It had not really felt like anything at all.
Something pulses inside him and he coughs, spitting up blood. It stains the ground red and he squeezes his eyes shut tight, hoping that whatever happens, whatever is happening, it will just end soon. The thing pulses again, like it’s trying to escape, and all over his body he itches and burns. He screams again.
And then, with another flash of lightning, the sound becomes louder and mindless with pain - and there is a huge, domed flash of light, coming from his chest. He opens his eyes and feels them nearly burn away as the brightness increases, and then, suddenly, the light explodes outward.
Castiel is drained, left dry, and with his last moment of consciousness draws in a deep breath. And then he falls to the ground, and thinks no more.
xxx
xxx
“-officials still don’t know what could have caused the flash of light, though some are speculating that it had something to do with the storm that came in earlier today. Investigation continues, we’ll have more on the story at ten.”
Lisa looks at Dean worriedly, putting a hand on his shoulder. That storm started only a few hours after Sam showed up. You don’t think it has anything to do with his reappearance, do you?”
That’s exactly what Dean thought, but he didn’t want to give voice to his worry. Surely there was some explanation. He had to believe that. No one had mentioned anything to him about something similar happening when he’d been resurrected - as fucking weird as it still was to say that, even just in his head - and he hadn’t heard anything about some giant explosion on the news. But then he’d also heard from Cas right after, and he hadn’t been delivered straight to the door of his nearest and dearest. Sam seemed fine, but...
Dean clears his throat. “I dunno, Lisa.” Sam is sitting with Ben in the living room, and Dean has to restrain himself from going in there to check on him again. “Maybe.”
“It’s definitely in your line of work, though.”
He didn’t have to say anything to tell her she was right. He just sighs.
Lisa gives him a slow, soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t Ben and I go out, pick us all up something to eat? You and Sam really haven’t had much of a chance to talk, just the two of you.”
Dean cups her shoulder in one big hand and smiles. She returns it, head tilting slightly as she puts her hand over his. “Thanks,” he says, his voice rough. “That sounds good to me.”
She nods and grabs her purse. “Ben!” she calls, “are you hungry? Why don’t we go get some supper, let Dean have some time alone with his brother.”
Ben seems to like the idea, too, and after quick goodbyes to the two Winchesters they head out.
Dean sits down beside Sam on the couch and clears his throat.
Sam grins and then laughs lightly, clapping his brother on the back. “I’m okay,” he says, “I promise.”
“Yeah, it’s just...” Dean shakes his head, unable to put into words everything he wants to say. “Uh. Good to see you.”
“You, too. You look happy. Here, I mean - with Lisa and Ben.”
“Yeah, uh, no, I am. I am - things have been good with us so far. As least...” He shrugs and sinks back into the cushions. “As good as they could be, I guess. I promised you that I’d try this, man, and I did.”
Sam nods. “How’s Bobby doing?”
Dean looks away, a little shamefacedly. “I, uh... Hadn’t really talked to Bobby in awhile. Not since I first got here.”
There’s awkward chat for a few minutes longer, when finally Dean has to ask what’s been nagging at him since he first saw Sam. “So how did you get out of there? I mean, not that I’m not glad to have you back - you better fucking believe I am - but...”
Sam just nods, like he understands what Dean’s trying to say. “I don’t know, man, but. No, wait, I do know, I just..” He frowns and rubs at his temple, like trying to remember is causing him pain. “It was Cas. He pulled me out of there and then dropped me off here. It’s...” He laughs dryly. “It’s not the kind of journey you’d want to remember, though, so I guess he sort of... helped me forget.”
“Where is he? He just run his ass back to heaven after his delivery boy act?”
Sam ignores the slight bitter note in Dean’s voice. He looks away, obviously lost in thought, his gaze somewhere far off. “There’s... There’s something about Cas, but. But I can’t quite reach it. I think...” He turns towards Dean suddenly enough to surprise him, his eyes suddenly seriously and his gaze suddenly sharp. “I think Cas is in trouble.”
Dean swallows down the lump in his throat. “That light... the explosion on the news. You think that had something to do with Cas?”
“I don’t know,” Sam answers, “Maybe? I mean... the timing is a little suspect. Right after he brought me here.”
“Yeah,” Dean says. He drums his fingers on his knee, considering. He bites at his bottom lip.
Sam laughs. “Man, if you want, we can go check it out. See if it was Cas, make sure he’s okay.”
“I gotta check with Lisa first,” Dean says, but it’s just an excuse. Something - maybe because of the dream that morning, maybe because of something else, some deeper tie to Cas - is telling him that something’s wrong. Something’s telling him to go, and go fast, to find the angel and make sure he’s okay.
When Lisa and Ben get back, they don’t discuss Cas anymore, they just eat supper happy and carefree, like nothing is wrong. But Lisa sees, and when they go back up to her bedroom to go to sleep, she corners him about it. “Is everything all right?” she asks. He has explained a little bit about Cas, just the most salient details, and Lisa knows - even without Dean telling her this part - that he means a lot to him.
“It’s... You know Cas? Sam says that he was the one who brought him back, but he hasn’t shown up yet, hasn’t stopped in to make sure Sam’s okay or anything. And I don’t know how, Lisa, but I think... I just have a feeling something’s wrong.”
She looks sad but resigned. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
Dean sighs. “Just... just for a little while. Me and Sam, I... I just want some time with him, I guess, just us two on the road for a little bit. And I want to go check on Cas.” He puts his hand on her cheek. “But I’ll come back.”
“You’re welcome here, you know that.”
“Yeah,” he breathes, “I know.” Lisa turns away and climbs into bed. Dean clears his throat awkwardly and follows behind her.
That night, he dreams Cas is inside a pillar of fire - or maybe that he is the pillar of fire, and Dean feels pain and a burning so hot it’s cold. When he wakes up, he’s even more certain that Cas needs him. He and Sam leave that day, right after breakfast.
part 2