Supernatural: took a turn into dead end street and lost our way (6/8)
Title: took a turn into dead end street and lost our way
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel pre-slash, 2014!Castiel, Sam, Bobby, S6 guest character
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dean gets a strange call from Cas saying that he's stranded on the side of the road. When Dean gets there he finds a very confused and starting-to-get-the-shakes 2014 Cas. At first Dean thinks this was his chance to make up for his future self's screw ups, but it becomes clear this isn't just good luck: there's been a switch. And unless he can find a third option, Dean's facing a godawful choice: either he sends 2014!Cas back to certain death or he leaves "his" Cas stranded in a Croat-ridden wasteland, alone and at Lucifer's mercy.
Word Count: 1,239
Total Word Count: 8,608
Warnings: Character death.
Notes: Yeah, it’s been five months...good thing I didn’t make any promises...or anything... *shifty eyes*
Basically...since the last chapter I’ve gotten a job, started playing a new mmo, made forays into new fandoms...I fear the next chapter might be similarly delayed. Sorry for the shortness of this part. If I had tried to include the next scene this would probably have ended up being posted next year or something, at the rate I’m going.
Very slight AU due to the S6 character cameo here.
Dean whipped upright, a silent scream boiling in his throat. He bent over, gasps spilling out of his mouth as he struggled to bring himself under control. Even now he could still smell the roses - heavy and sweet and cloying, as though there was pollen clinging to the inside of his lungs. He could see the white suit, glowing in the faint light from the sun; hear the gunfire, the breaking glass -
Enough. It never happened. He shook his head violently and glanced towards the other bed, one hand pressed hard on the jackhammering beat of his heart to bully it quiet. His eyes, blurred with sweat and ghosts, took time to adjust to the dark -
A soft curse slipped out from his lips. The bed was empty, the sheets pushed aside. The door swung wide.
Despite his confusion, and general feelings of pissed-offness that Cass was apparently sneaking about like a thief in the night, Dean followed. Of course he did.
Light in the hall, under one particular door - the room where they had tried and failed to summon an angel. Dean stood close and listened to the murmur of two voices from within, but it was too soft for him to make out of the words. He could tell, though, that one of them belonged to Cass. The other...
Dean’s first hand pulled out the angel blade in his jacket. The second pushed open the door.
The speakers turned to face him, words dropping over a chasm into abrupt silence. Cass looked shocked and then just resigned, while his angel buddy stared in fixed interest, unbothered by Dean’s obvious burning desire to turn him into angel shish kebab. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time,” he said with fake cheer, eyes hard with a look of deep, intense dislike. “After all...Castiel here just can’t shut up about you.”
“Balthazar...” Cass murmured, flicking a warning look his way. “Would it help,” he said to Dean, “if I said this isn’t what it looks like?”
“Yeah, it would,” Dean agreed, not relaxing his grip on the angel sword the slightest. “Go ahead, you can start talking any moment now.”
“Cool it, cowboy.” The angel stepped forward with a sneer, hands raised in a gesture of peace that did little to calm Dean’s nerves. Zachariah had managed to inflict a number of deeply unpleasant and imaginative tortures on them with nothing more than a wave of a hand, after all. “We were just having a pleasant chat, brother to brother, catching up on old times, that sort of thing - before we were so rudely interrupted.” He smiled, no more convincingly than before. “No chance you could nicely bugger off so we could finish in peace?”
Dean ignored him. “I’m waiting, Cass,” he ground out.
The first signs of annoyance tightened the skin around Cass’ mouth. “Despite the way he acts, Balthazar can be trusted. I wouldn’t have called him otherwise.” He even managed to smirk a little, despite the bitterness darkening his eyes, rubbing the timbre of his voice raw with just pain instead of power - “Forgive me for thinking an unfallen angel would have a lot more access to the knowledge we need to solve this little problem of mine.”
“Cass...” Dean faltered, the knife in his hand slipping down until it pointed at the floor. He shouldn’t be off his guard, he should be stepping forward to offer some aid and comfort to his friend...but at the moment he couldn’t seem to bring himself to do anything.
“And I’d like to keep it that way,” Balthazar broke in, insinuating himself subtly between the two of them. For the first time, his face and manner softened into something that was almost sympathy. “This is as far as I go, Castiel. For the record, I think you aren’t completely off your rocker like our big brothers do...but I have little desire to bet my wings on a long shot.” He sighed. “I do hope you will change your mind, but I’m sure I know you enough that you won’t, stubborn fool that you are.”
At that Cass smiled - sad but also warm, as he reached out to clasp Balthazar’s shoulder. “We’ve always understood each other well.” A beat, strangely comfortable, in which they stared at each other and Dean shifted from foot to foot, suddenly an intruder blind and deaf to everything that was passing by unsaid. “Goodbye, brother.”
“Goodbye, brother,” Balthazar echoed. The thunder of his wings crashed above and around them, and then he was gone, leaving a tense silence.
Dean broke it first. “So, what was that all about?”
Cass avoided his eyes, never a good sign. “What do you mean?”
“That.” Dean gestured. “I’ve heard more than my fair share of ominous final farewells, I know what they sound like.” Imparted quite a few of them himself, in fact, but Cass was already well aware of that. He narrowed his eyes. “Just what did he tell you?”
Cass turned away, his shoulders very straight and still. He said, very softly, “Nothing that I didn’t expect.”
“What did you expect?” Dean continued to push - against Cass’ reluctance, his own sinking feeling that he wouldn’t like whatever Cass had to tell him, that it wouldn’t even be as easy as scaling the peaks of Mount Impossible to retrieve the Golden McGuffin that would fix everything.
“The others deserve to know as well.” When Cass finally looked up, his expression was completely blank - the mask Dean remembered from the future, the only visible signs of agitation the flutter of his lashes and the harsh shadows under his eyes. “Wake them, and we’ll discuss where to go from here.” The grim tone of his words indicated that he had already decided, and was just letting them in on it as a basic courtesy.
Dean backed up. “It could wait until the morning, if you like...” he offered, weakly - even as he realized that it was more for his own sake than Cass’.
“I’m tired, Dean.” It was less a complaint than a statement of fact. “I’m really fucking tired, I can’t sleep, and all that’s going to happen is that I’ll spend a few more hours feeling like shit. Wake them up. I know you hate talking, Dean, but...” He shrugged. “Believe me, you’ll prefer it to the alternative.”
“What alternative?” Dean really, really hated himself at this moment, as he snapped his mouth shut too late.
Cass headed for the door, his voice floating back over his shoulder. “The one where you woke up and everything was already over. But you just had to mess that plan up, huh?” He laughed, mirthlessly, one hand on the frame, his whole weight on it. His other hand shook as it folded itself, slowly, into a tight fist. “You mess me up...so much...”
“I...” Dean’s lips felt numb, cold as ice. “Cass, I...”
“Oh come on, Dean. I didn’t necessarily mean that in a bad way.” Cass glanced back, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to trust the airy, indifferent smile on his face. “Don’t mope all alone there by yourself, it’s not very becoming of you.”
Dean went. There wasn’t much else he could do at this point, but trust Cass and hope that he knew the hell what exactly he was doing.
end part six
part seven
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel pre-slash, 2014!Castiel, Sam, Bobby, S6 guest character
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dean gets a strange call from Cas saying that he's stranded on the side of the road. When Dean gets there he finds a very confused and starting-to-get-the-shakes 2014 Cas. At first Dean thinks this was his chance to make up for his future self's screw ups, but it becomes clear this isn't just good luck: there's been a switch. And unless he can find a third option, Dean's facing a godawful choice: either he sends 2014!Cas back to certain death or he leaves "his" Cas stranded in a Croat-ridden wasteland, alone and at Lucifer's mercy.
Word Count: 1,239
Total Word Count: 8,608
Warnings: Character death.
Notes: Yeah, it’s been five months...good thing I didn’t make any promises...or anything... *shifty eyes*
Basically...since the last chapter I’ve gotten a job, started playing a new mmo, made forays into new fandoms...I fear the next chapter might be similarly delayed. Sorry for the shortness of this part. If I had tried to include the next scene this would probably have ended up being posted next year or something, at the rate I’m going.
Very slight AU due to the S6 character cameo here.
Dean whipped upright, a silent scream boiling in his throat. He bent over, gasps spilling out of his mouth as he struggled to bring himself under control. Even now he could still smell the roses - heavy and sweet and cloying, as though there was pollen clinging to the inside of his lungs. He could see the white suit, glowing in the faint light from the sun; hear the gunfire, the breaking glass -
Enough. It never happened. He shook his head violently and glanced towards the other bed, one hand pressed hard on the jackhammering beat of his heart to bully it quiet. His eyes, blurred with sweat and ghosts, took time to adjust to the dark -
A soft curse slipped out from his lips. The bed was empty, the sheets pushed aside. The door swung wide.
Despite his confusion, and general feelings of pissed-offness that Cass was apparently sneaking about like a thief in the night, Dean followed. Of course he did.
Light in the hall, under one particular door - the room where they had tried and failed to summon an angel. Dean stood close and listened to the murmur of two voices from within, but it was too soft for him to make out of the words. He could tell, though, that one of them belonged to Cass. The other...
Dean’s first hand pulled out the angel blade in his jacket. The second pushed open the door.
The speakers turned to face him, words dropping over a chasm into abrupt silence. Cass looked shocked and then just resigned, while his angel buddy stared in fixed interest, unbothered by Dean’s obvious burning desire to turn him into angel shish kebab. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time,” he said with fake cheer, eyes hard with a look of deep, intense dislike. “After all...Castiel here just can’t shut up about you.”
“Balthazar...” Cass murmured, flicking a warning look his way. “Would it help,” he said to Dean, “if I said this isn’t what it looks like?”
“Yeah, it would,” Dean agreed, not relaxing his grip on the angel sword the slightest. “Go ahead, you can start talking any moment now.”
“Cool it, cowboy.” The angel stepped forward with a sneer, hands raised in a gesture of peace that did little to calm Dean’s nerves. Zachariah had managed to inflict a number of deeply unpleasant and imaginative tortures on them with nothing more than a wave of a hand, after all. “We were just having a pleasant chat, brother to brother, catching up on old times, that sort of thing - before we were so rudely interrupted.” He smiled, no more convincingly than before. “No chance you could nicely bugger off so we could finish in peace?”
Dean ignored him. “I’m waiting, Cass,” he ground out.
The first signs of annoyance tightened the skin around Cass’ mouth. “Despite the way he acts, Balthazar can be trusted. I wouldn’t have called him otherwise.” He even managed to smirk a little, despite the bitterness darkening his eyes, rubbing the timbre of his voice raw with just pain instead of power - “Forgive me for thinking an unfallen angel would have a lot more access to the knowledge we need to solve this little problem of mine.”
“Cass...” Dean faltered, the knife in his hand slipping down until it pointed at the floor. He shouldn’t be off his guard, he should be stepping forward to offer some aid and comfort to his friend...but at the moment he couldn’t seem to bring himself to do anything.
“And I’d like to keep it that way,” Balthazar broke in, insinuating himself subtly between the two of them. For the first time, his face and manner softened into something that was almost sympathy. “This is as far as I go, Castiel. For the record, I think you aren’t completely off your rocker like our big brothers do...but I have little desire to bet my wings on a long shot.” He sighed. “I do hope you will change your mind, but I’m sure I know you enough that you won’t, stubborn fool that you are.”
At that Cass smiled - sad but also warm, as he reached out to clasp Balthazar’s shoulder. “We’ve always understood each other well.” A beat, strangely comfortable, in which they stared at each other and Dean shifted from foot to foot, suddenly an intruder blind and deaf to everything that was passing by unsaid. “Goodbye, brother.”
“Goodbye, brother,” Balthazar echoed. The thunder of his wings crashed above and around them, and then he was gone, leaving a tense silence.
Dean broke it first. “So, what was that all about?”
Cass avoided his eyes, never a good sign. “What do you mean?”
“That.” Dean gestured. “I’ve heard more than my fair share of ominous final farewells, I know what they sound like.” Imparted quite a few of them himself, in fact, but Cass was already well aware of that. He narrowed his eyes. “Just what did he tell you?”
Cass turned away, his shoulders very straight and still. He said, very softly, “Nothing that I didn’t expect.”
“What did you expect?” Dean continued to push - against Cass’ reluctance, his own sinking feeling that he wouldn’t like whatever Cass had to tell him, that it wouldn’t even be as easy as scaling the peaks of Mount Impossible to retrieve the Golden McGuffin that would fix everything.
“The others deserve to know as well.” When Cass finally looked up, his expression was completely blank - the mask Dean remembered from the future, the only visible signs of agitation the flutter of his lashes and the harsh shadows under his eyes. “Wake them, and we’ll discuss where to go from here.” The grim tone of his words indicated that he had already decided, and was just letting them in on it as a basic courtesy.
Dean backed up. “It could wait until the morning, if you like...” he offered, weakly - even as he realized that it was more for his own sake than Cass’.
“I’m tired, Dean.” It was less a complaint than a statement of fact. “I’m really fucking tired, I can’t sleep, and all that’s going to happen is that I’ll spend a few more hours feeling like shit. Wake them up. I know you hate talking, Dean, but...” He shrugged. “Believe me, you’ll prefer it to the alternative.”
“What alternative?” Dean really, really hated himself at this moment, as he snapped his mouth shut too late.
Cass headed for the door, his voice floating back over his shoulder. “The one where you woke up and everything was already over. But you just had to mess that plan up, huh?” He laughed, mirthlessly, one hand on the frame, his whole weight on it. His other hand shook as it folded itself, slowly, into a tight fist. “You mess me up...so much...”
“I...” Dean’s lips felt numb, cold as ice. “Cass, I...”
“Oh come on, Dean. I didn’t necessarily mean that in a bad way.” Cass glanced back, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to trust the airy, indifferent smile on his face. “Don’t mope all alone there by yourself, it’s not very becoming of you.”
Dean went. There wasn’t much else he could do at this point, but trust Cass and hope that he knew the hell what exactly he was doing.
end part six
part seven