Fic: And the sparrow would take wing, part 22/? in Oz
And the sparrow would take wing
3555 words, SPN Dean/Castiel slash. Spoilers for all of season 4.
Many thanks to fueledbyaudrey for her assistance, and to watermaline for last minute touch-ups.
Continuing my Welcome to Oz series. Master post of links here.
Dean’s not a relationship guy, doesn’t do the relationship thing (and for good reason too-people who care about Winchesters too deeply tend to end up in shallow graves fast), and he’s certainly not the
And the sparrow would take wing
Monday Evening
Dean’s not a relationship guy, doesn’t do the relationship thing (and for good reason too-people who care about Winchesters too deeply tend to end up in shallow graves fast), and he’s certainly not the move-in-with-a-dude-he’s-banging type of a guy. Aside from life-sucking djinn fantasies involving fake live-in girlfriends, he really has no experience with the whole living-with-someone-you’re-sleeping-with situation. Maybe, Dean hypothesizes, it’ll be like living in a porno: there’s always someone sexy and ready to roll hanging around. A guy can hope, anyway.
In any case, Dean’s not sure what he expects when he gets home from work; the lunchtime quickie has been running through his mind like a toy train on a circular track, endlessly looping fantasies of Castiel naked and ready to pounce. Alas, the reality proves far more mundane than the fantasy: Castiel is fully clothed, serving food out of takeout boxes, and greets Dean with a hello like it’s any other day.
Dean takes a seat and begins to eat after a short hello back. Everything’s the same as always-all the foods they order, all the plates, even the conversation. Castiel asks Dean about his day, Dean talks about this annoying customer that came in around four, and then asks Castiel about his day back. Utterly, perfectly normal--the same type of conversation they’ve had a hundred times before. Nothing sexy or pornographic about it at all.
They finish eating and putting away the dishes in the dishwasher before an awkward silence finally falls. Monday nights are usually a low-key reading and board game night (although frankly, Dean’s horrified that the phrase ‘board game night’ is anywhere in vocabulary, but there it is). The Flick ‘N Shake isn’t open on Mondays, they usually wait to do the grocery shopping on Wednesdays or Thursdays, and there isn’t a hell of a lot else to do around town other than that. Usually Dean suggests the activity: reading, Scrabble, napping, whatever, and Castiel’s watching him expectantly.
“I’m gonna go play Spore,” Deans says, and he’s honestly not sure why he says it. He doesn’t even like playing computer games that much, but it’s too late because Castiel is already nodding and saying,
“I have homework to grade.”
They part ways then, Dean going into the upstairs study and Castiel grabbing his briefcase and spreading out wrinkled homework across the kitchen table.
Dean plays Spore for a little while, making a new creature and eating as many other creatures in as war-like a fashion as possible. It gets old really fast, but when he glances at the clock and it tells him it’s only nine o’ clock, his pride refuses to let him get up and seek Castiel out. He’s about to call it a night and go to bed early (hoping that Castiel will eventually join him for something more than sleep) when Castiel pokes his head into the study.
“You done already?” Dean asks in surprise.
Castiel sighs. “No. I’ll have to finish the rest tomorrow. I don’t think I can look at any more math problems tonight.”
“Slacker,” Dean says, and Castiel smiles a little.
“I was wondering if you would-I wanted to play some blackjack.” Castiel shifts uncomfortably in the doorway. “Unless you’re still busy on the computer.”
Dean glances at the computer screen and it’s such an easy choice it’s not a choice at all. “Blackjack sounds good.”
They go out onto the deck to play, where the September night air is still warm and balmy in the last hurrahs of summer. Castiel goes to light the bug repellent lanterns before they settle down on the wicker loveseat, card deck between them.
They play the game quietly, easily, and it’s more fun than Dean expected. They don’t speak except to say things like, “hit,” “stand,” or “double down.” Dean feels himself relaxing for the first time all night, as if the fact that he and Castiel can play something as simple as a card game together answers a question he’s been harboring all night.
After about an hour or so, Castiel seems to finally grow tired of the game and says, “Let’s go inside.”
Dean gathers the cards up and they head inside in companionable silence. They don’t speak until they’re in the bedroom again, standing stiffly by their respective sides of the bed. Dean would have thought that after the weekend and earlier that day, this would be the easy part. Apparently not.
A thought occurs to Dean. “Hey, I never got you back for earlier today.” He walks around to where Castiel is standing and puts a hand on his chest. “You know, in the store.”
“I wasn’t expecting repayment,” Castiel says, and then pauses. “I wanted to.”
“And I want to repay.” Dean undoes Castiel’s belt, his pants, and Castiel makes no objection, cock already half hard. Dean gets down and takes Castiel into his mouth, and it doesn’t take long to coax him into full hardness, or for Castiel’s hands to begin stroking through his hair. When Castiel comes, Dean swallows for the first time in ages and it-it doesn’t taste great, but it doesn’t taste bad, either. Dean thinks, maybe, it’s a taste he could get used to.
Castiel pulls Dean up to kiss him and seems mildly startled by the taste of himself in Dean’s mouth. He doesn’t pull away, however, instead settling into the kiss that leads to a long and lazy makeout session.
When they both break away for a moment of air, Castiel nuzzles Dean’s jaw. “Thank you,” he says. “For playing blackjack with me.”
“You’re starting to give me a complex about giving shitty blowjobs, Cas,” Dean jokes as he begins to unbutton Castiel’s shirt. “Unless blackjack is a euphemism now.”
Castiel chuckles as he helps Dean take off his shirt. “I love your blowjobs.”
“Yeah sure, now you say it,” Dean says as he steps out of his pants. “Maybe I should just stop giving them altogether.”
Castiel laughs and takes Dean’s wrist, tugging him towards the bed. “That would be unfortunate, seeing as how I was planning to show my considerable appreciation.”
Later, when Dean’s moving slowly on top of Castiel, Castiel’s eyes big and blue and warm, Dean can’t help but be relieved that nothing’s changed. Not that it would, because sex is just-it’s just something they do now. And if he allows himself to relax, just a little, into the feeling of Castiel stroking his back, and the overwhelming warmth and rightness he feels-well, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything either. Or so Dean tells himself when he finally orgasms and then pulls away to his side of the bed.
Wednesday
Dean comes home to an empty house. He calls out Castiel’s name a few times, checks the kitchen and the bathrooms, and even checks outside on the deck.
He glances at the clock-it’s 6:45, long past time for Castiel to be home. School lets out at 3:30, and Castiel usually stays till 4 or 4:30 tops, leaving plenty of time to run errands and then be home before Dean.
Various unpleasant scenarios flash through Dean’s mind as he sweeps through the house, the garage, and the basement. He imagines Castiel’s body, lying bloody and beaten on the ground, or Castiel’s grace somehow coming back to life within him seconds before he disappears in a flash of light. A third scenario makes its way into the shuffle, unbidden: the image of Castiel in the arms of someone else, smiling, laughing--leaving.
All of the alternatives curdle Dean’s blood in his veins as he picks up the phone and dials the school. It rings and rings, and after the twentieth ring and no answer, Dean gives up.
Dean tries to shrug it all off as he goes to get a takeout menu. Castiel’s probably just running late, got held up at work; it wasn’t as if that had never happened to Dean before.
Or maybe, a voice in Dean’s head whispers, maybe he’s found someone else to indulge his new favorite hobby with. Maybe he’s out right now banging someone in a bathroom stall, or taking some sweet young teacher out to dinner. Maybe.
Dean shoves those thoughts away. It’s not as if he cares if either of those scenarios are true, anyway. Castiel isn’t a virgin anymore, and why shouldn’t he go out and have a little fun, taste a few of the flavors life has to offer; it’s what Dean did when he first had sex. Besides, Dean’s completely free to do the same as well. In fact, he doesn’t even know why he hasn’t already done it in Mountaindale; it’s not as if there aren’t plenty of good looking ladies around. He could go out right now and pick up some cute waitress for a fun night if he wanted to.
Dean orders some Chinese food and eats it out of the box when it comes. There’s no point in using plates and silverware if it’s just him. The food tastes strangely bitter and dry in Dean’s mouth even though it’s exactly the same as what he usually orders, and he puts all the leftovers in the fridge when he’s done. He glances at the clock-7:30-and then decides to go outside to tinker with the Mustang, having heard a suspicious whirring noise earlier that day.
Castiel’s pulling into the driveway when Dean steps outside, and he looks disheveled, rumpled. Dean feels a black pit form in the bottom of his stomach instead of relief.
“Hey,” Dean says, and Castiel seems surprised to see him as he steps out of the Focus.
“Dean,” Castiel says. “What are you doing out here?”
“Was gonna take a look under the hood.” Dean pats the Mustang. “You’re home late.”
“Yes, I--” Castiel sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “It’s been a long day.”
“Long days happen,” Dean says as he folds his arms over his chest. He doesn’t care if Castiel spent his long day with someone else, if he looked up at someone else with those big open eyes like they were the center of his world. He doesn’t.
Castiel’s brow furrows. “Yes, I suppose.”
Dean slaps a hand down on the hood of the car and it stings slightly. “Well, I’m gonna check this out now. See if everything’s running up to spec.”
Castiel’s eyes flicker from Dean to the car. “Alright. Did you order food, or should I?”
“Leftovers are in the fridge,” Dean replies. After Castiel goes inside, Dean pops open the hood and stares down at the engine. For some reason, he finds it difficult to concentrate on figuring out the problem and all the parts end up blurring together in front of him. After fifteen minutes of staring uselessly at the carburetor, Dean finally calls it quits and goes back inside. He bumps into Castiel in the foyer, holding a full trash bag.
“So, school,” Dean says, stopping Castiel before he can go outside again. “Any single and fine teachers there?” Dean doesn’t know why he says it, but the words are out there before he can stop them.
“Teachers?” Castiel stares at him like he’s sprouted another head. “What are you talking about?”
“Just wondering if I should drop by, scout out the local talent,” Dean says and winces internally. He should stop, but he can’t.
Castiel blinks. “I… do not know. What are you looking for?”
“Oh, some fun maybe. You know.” Dean feels sick. “You probably have lots of fun at school, right?”
Castiel looks away. “Not particularly.”
“No?” Dean studies Castiel’s face, but all he sees is weariness. “Nobody worth mentioning?’
Castiel sighs. “Dean, I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t have the energy to guess. I already spent the last four hours hearing about all the things I did wrong during my teacher evaluations.”
“Wait,” Dean catches Castiel’s hand. “Is that why you were late today? Because of teacher evaluations?”
Castiel stares down at Dean’s hand in his. “Where else would I have been?”
“Nowhere,” Dean says as an immense feeling of relief comes over him. “I dunno. Out, I guess.” He remembers he’s still holding Castiel’s hand and lets it drop.
Castiel gives Dean one last, puzzled look before heading out the front door to deposit the trash. When he gets back, Dean is in a calmer, more generous mood.
“You want me to start up the Jacuzzi for you?” Dean offers. “It’s like magic fingers in water.”
“For me?” Castiel says disbelievingly as he closes the front door behind him. “And not for you?”
“All for you,” Dean promises. “I’ll start the water running and then you can soak in the awesome jets, forget all about your shitty day.”
“I. Okay,” Castiel agrees, uncertainly.
Dean leaves Castiel standing in the foyer and starts running the bathtub tap at full stream. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabs his favorite yellow rubber ducky from the cabinet and tosses it in as well. Ten minutes later and the tub is full.
Dean finds Castiel in the bedroom, naked and putting his clothing in the hamper. It’s an appealing sight and Dean wishes, for an instant, that he could join Castiel in the Jacuzzi. But a glance at his exhausted expression confirms that Castiel is probably not up for any physical exertion beyond lying very still in a puddle of water. “Your throne awaits.”
Castiel follows Dean into the bathroom and gets into the tub with a small sigh. He raises an eyebrow at the rubber ducky floating in the still water but makes no comment, choosing instead to settle back against the side of the tub.
“What’d I tell you?” Dean says. “Am I right, or am I right?”
Castiel manages a small, tired smile. “You were right. This is-soothing.”
“Then I’ll leave you to it,” Dean says and turns to go.
“Dean, I-”
Dean turns back a little too quickly. “Yeah, Cas?”
“I,” Castiel drops his eyes to the water. “I don’t know how to turn on the bubbles.”
“Button’s on your left side,” Dean supplies, and Castiel finds it easily.
“Thank you,” Castiel says, and he hesitates a moment before pressing it.
The buzzing of the Jacuzzi jets fills the bathroom and Dean smiles. “No problem.”
Later that night, Dean lies in bed, dozing, and wakes up when Castiel gets in under the covers next to him.
“Thank you,” Castiel whispers again as he moves closer and brushes his lips against Dean’s cheek. Dean turns his head to catch Castiel’s lips in his for a brief, chaste kiss, and then drifts off again into a peaceful, dreamless slumber.
Friday
Dean and Castiel are watching Citizen Kane-or at least, Castiel is watching Citizen Kane and Dean is watching him watch it. It’s the root of all of Dean’s current problems right now: the last thing he wants to do is watch a movie with Castiel when he could be doing… other things.
Dean had pulled out all the old standbys: parked all the way in the back of the Flick ‘N Shake lot where no one could see them, bought a jumbo popcorn bucket share between them (although Castiel had been puzzled by this since normally Dean hated sharing popcorn), and even the tried and true fake-yawn-and-stretch. None of it had sparked so much as a flicker of interest. Castiel had remained completely mesmerized by the film and oblivious to Dean’s overtures.
Finally, Dean gives up on the notion of subtlety, and reaches over to put his hand on Castiel’s crotch.
“Dean,” Castiel frowns down at Dean’s hand on his junk. “Aren’t you watching the movie?”
“No,” Dean replies. “Who cares about the life of some old guy anyway? I can think of much better things to do in a dark parking lot."
“I would like to watch the movie,” Castiel says as he picks up Dean’s hand and drops it onto the parking brake. “We can do that later.”
“Seriously?” Dean glances at the screen, which is filled with a giant picture of Orson Welles’ moon round face. “You’re not kidding?”
Castiel sighs. “This is a very good film, and I want to see what happens.”
“Oh come on,” Dean whines. “Not even a handjob?”
“We already fornicated this morning,” Castiel says. “Twice.”
“Don’t be such a prude,” Dean says, sneaking a rogue hand up Castiel’s shirt, only to be stopped and removed in short order. “Come on! I have needs!”
“And I need to watch the rest of this movie in order to understand what the opening scene means.”
“It’s a sled, okay? Rosebud is his damn sled,” Dean snaps and folds his arms over his chest.
Castiel gives Dean a horrified look, and then pointedly returns to watching the movie without another word.
The next hour is probably the longest hour of Dean’s life, spent sulking in silence and staring out the window (his pride absolutely refuses to let him watch the movie). Castiel’s jaw is set in annoyance and his gaze doesn’t waver from the screen. Dean gets out of the car three times-first to get his own popcorn bucket, then to take a leak, and lastly just to escape the tension.
When the movie ends (after what feels like an eternity) and Dean starts the car up, Castiel finally relents and glances over. “Dean?”
“What?” Dean replies, and it’s not quite belligerent, but it’s close.
“We can have sex when we get home.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Gee, thanks. Are you stating the obvious or offering me a treat for waiting?”
“You don’t want to?”
Dean briefly considers saying no, pride briefly warring with his better, saner parts, but ultimately the sanity (and his penis) win. “I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?” A note of impatience creeps into Castiel’s voice. “Why are you acting like this?”
“Acting like-fuck you,” Dean says, and takes a particularly vicious right turn at the intersection. “Don’t patronize me.”
“I can’t read your mind anymore, Dean,” Castiel says, and the annoyance has bloomed into full-blown anger. “I won’t understand why you’re acting this way or feeling this way if you don’t tell me.”
“I’m not feeling any way. And I’m not a fucking jigsaw puzzle for you to figure out.”
“I didn’t say--” Castiel breaks off and inhales deeply. “What do you want from me? If you want to have sex when we get home, let’s have sex. If you don’t, we won’t.”
“Sex sounds good to me,” Dean says, and it seems like the conversation is mercifully over. But because he’s an idiot that can’t leave well enough alone, Dean opens his big, fat mouth again. “I bet you wish you still had your angel mojo. Then you could just stare into my soul, or fly back home instead of sitting in a car with me.”
Castiel goes very still next to him and Dean knows he’s succeeded in striking a nerve. The win doesn’t feel nearly good as he’d thought it would though. “I can’t-I cannot go back to the way I was before, and wishing will not make it so.”
“But if you could, you would, right? If you got the chance to take it all back?” Dean asks. He refuses to look at Castiel, and it’s definitely not because he’s afraid of what he’ll see.
“If I could,” Castiel stops, and then starts again. “I wouldn’t leave you here.”
“Right,” Dean says as he balls his hand into a fist against his thigh. Of course Castiel would be perfectly happy to return to the way things were before. He’d go back to his heavenly soldier duties and Dean would hit the road with Sam again and everything would be exactly the way they were supposed to be. Castiel was a great lay, no two ways about it, but Dean could find somebody else, loads of somebodies, even. Dean would be fine, Castiel would be fine, they’d both be fucking fine.
When they reach the house, Castiel doesn’t let Dean even make his way up the stairs, dragging him instead into the living room and summarily stripping them both of clothing. Castiel shoves Dean back into a sitting position on the couch, reaches to prep himself just barely, and then sinks down onto Dean’s dick before Dean can even say boo.
Dean gasps at the brutal pace that Castiel sets, and digs his fingers into Castiel’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. Castiel groans when Dean takes a nipple into his mouth, first licking and then biting without even the pretense of gentleness. It doesn’t take long before they both come, Castiel ejaculating without even a hand on his dick and Dean following soon after.
Castiel makes no move to pull off of Dean’s softening cock, choosing instead to slide forward in his lap until their bodies are flush together, drying semen in between them. Castiel brushes his lips against Dean’s cheek and his ear and whispers, “I don’t think I could stop wanting this, wanting you, even if I became an angel again.”
“Wouldn’t be much of an angel then, would you?” Dean replies, but what he really means is neither could I.
Onto the next chapter: How about a little fire, Scarecrow?
3555 words, SPN Dean/Castiel slash. Spoilers for all of season 4.
Many thanks to fueledbyaudrey for her assistance, and to watermaline for last minute touch-ups.
Continuing my Welcome to Oz series. Master post of links here.
Dean’s not a relationship guy, doesn’t do the relationship thing (and for good reason too-people who care about Winchesters too deeply tend to end up in shallow graves fast), and he’s certainly not the
And the sparrow would take wing
Monday Evening
Dean’s not a relationship guy, doesn’t do the relationship thing (and for good reason too-people who care about Winchesters too deeply tend to end up in shallow graves fast), and he’s certainly not the move-in-with-a-dude-he’s-banging type of a guy. Aside from life-sucking djinn fantasies involving fake live-in girlfriends, he really has no experience with the whole living-with-someone-you’re-sleeping-with situation. Maybe, Dean hypothesizes, it’ll be like living in a porno: there’s always someone sexy and ready to roll hanging around. A guy can hope, anyway.
In any case, Dean’s not sure what he expects when he gets home from work; the lunchtime quickie has been running through his mind like a toy train on a circular track, endlessly looping fantasies of Castiel naked and ready to pounce. Alas, the reality proves far more mundane than the fantasy: Castiel is fully clothed, serving food out of takeout boxes, and greets Dean with a hello like it’s any other day.
Dean takes a seat and begins to eat after a short hello back. Everything’s the same as always-all the foods they order, all the plates, even the conversation. Castiel asks Dean about his day, Dean talks about this annoying customer that came in around four, and then asks Castiel about his day back. Utterly, perfectly normal--the same type of conversation they’ve had a hundred times before. Nothing sexy or pornographic about it at all.
They finish eating and putting away the dishes in the dishwasher before an awkward silence finally falls. Monday nights are usually a low-key reading and board game night (although frankly, Dean’s horrified that the phrase ‘board game night’ is anywhere in vocabulary, but there it is). The Flick ‘N Shake isn’t open on Mondays, they usually wait to do the grocery shopping on Wednesdays or Thursdays, and there isn’t a hell of a lot else to do around town other than that. Usually Dean suggests the activity: reading, Scrabble, napping, whatever, and Castiel’s watching him expectantly.
“I’m gonna go play Spore,” Deans says, and he’s honestly not sure why he says it. He doesn’t even like playing computer games that much, but it’s too late because Castiel is already nodding and saying,
“I have homework to grade.”
They part ways then, Dean going into the upstairs study and Castiel grabbing his briefcase and spreading out wrinkled homework across the kitchen table.
Dean plays Spore for a little while, making a new creature and eating as many other creatures in as war-like a fashion as possible. It gets old really fast, but when he glances at the clock and it tells him it’s only nine o’ clock, his pride refuses to let him get up and seek Castiel out. He’s about to call it a night and go to bed early (hoping that Castiel will eventually join him for something more than sleep) when Castiel pokes his head into the study.
“You done already?” Dean asks in surprise.
Castiel sighs. “No. I’ll have to finish the rest tomorrow. I don’t think I can look at any more math problems tonight.”
“Slacker,” Dean says, and Castiel smiles a little.
“I was wondering if you would-I wanted to play some blackjack.” Castiel shifts uncomfortably in the doorway. “Unless you’re still busy on the computer.”
Dean glances at the computer screen and it’s such an easy choice it’s not a choice at all. “Blackjack sounds good.”
They go out onto the deck to play, where the September night air is still warm and balmy in the last hurrahs of summer. Castiel goes to light the bug repellent lanterns before they settle down on the wicker loveseat, card deck between them.
They play the game quietly, easily, and it’s more fun than Dean expected. They don’t speak except to say things like, “hit,” “stand,” or “double down.” Dean feels himself relaxing for the first time all night, as if the fact that he and Castiel can play something as simple as a card game together answers a question he’s been harboring all night.
After about an hour or so, Castiel seems to finally grow tired of the game and says, “Let’s go inside.”
Dean gathers the cards up and they head inside in companionable silence. They don’t speak until they’re in the bedroom again, standing stiffly by their respective sides of the bed. Dean would have thought that after the weekend and earlier that day, this would be the easy part. Apparently not.
A thought occurs to Dean. “Hey, I never got you back for earlier today.” He walks around to where Castiel is standing and puts a hand on his chest. “You know, in the store.”
“I wasn’t expecting repayment,” Castiel says, and then pauses. “I wanted to.”
“And I want to repay.” Dean undoes Castiel’s belt, his pants, and Castiel makes no objection, cock already half hard. Dean gets down and takes Castiel into his mouth, and it doesn’t take long to coax him into full hardness, or for Castiel’s hands to begin stroking through his hair. When Castiel comes, Dean swallows for the first time in ages and it-it doesn’t taste great, but it doesn’t taste bad, either. Dean thinks, maybe, it’s a taste he could get used to.
Castiel pulls Dean up to kiss him and seems mildly startled by the taste of himself in Dean’s mouth. He doesn’t pull away, however, instead settling into the kiss that leads to a long and lazy makeout session.
When they both break away for a moment of air, Castiel nuzzles Dean’s jaw. “Thank you,” he says. “For playing blackjack with me.”
“You’re starting to give me a complex about giving shitty blowjobs, Cas,” Dean jokes as he begins to unbutton Castiel’s shirt. “Unless blackjack is a euphemism now.”
Castiel chuckles as he helps Dean take off his shirt. “I love your blowjobs.”
“Yeah sure, now you say it,” Dean says as he steps out of his pants. “Maybe I should just stop giving them altogether.”
Castiel laughs and takes Dean’s wrist, tugging him towards the bed. “That would be unfortunate, seeing as how I was planning to show my considerable appreciation.”
Later, when Dean’s moving slowly on top of Castiel, Castiel’s eyes big and blue and warm, Dean can’t help but be relieved that nothing’s changed. Not that it would, because sex is just-it’s just something they do now. And if he allows himself to relax, just a little, into the feeling of Castiel stroking his back, and the overwhelming warmth and rightness he feels-well, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything either. Or so Dean tells himself when he finally orgasms and then pulls away to his side of the bed.
Wednesday
Dean comes home to an empty house. He calls out Castiel’s name a few times, checks the kitchen and the bathrooms, and even checks outside on the deck.
He glances at the clock-it’s 6:45, long past time for Castiel to be home. School lets out at 3:30, and Castiel usually stays till 4 or 4:30 tops, leaving plenty of time to run errands and then be home before Dean.
Various unpleasant scenarios flash through Dean’s mind as he sweeps through the house, the garage, and the basement. He imagines Castiel’s body, lying bloody and beaten on the ground, or Castiel’s grace somehow coming back to life within him seconds before he disappears in a flash of light. A third scenario makes its way into the shuffle, unbidden: the image of Castiel in the arms of someone else, smiling, laughing--leaving.
All of the alternatives curdle Dean’s blood in his veins as he picks up the phone and dials the school. It rings and rings, and after the twentieth ring and no answer, Dean gives up.
Dean tries to shrug it all off as he goes to get a takeout menu. Castiel’s probably just running late, got held up at work; it wasn’t as if that had never happened to Dean before.
Or maybe, a voice in Dean’s head whispers, maybe he’s found someone else to indulge his new favorite hobby with. Maybe he’s out right now banging someone in a bathroom stall, or taking some sweet young teacher out to dinner. Maybe.
Dean shoves those thoughts away. It’s not as if he cares if either of those scenarios are true, anyway. Castiel isn’t a virgin anymore, and why shouldn’t he go out and have a little fun, taste a few of the flavors life has to offer; it’s what Dean did when he first had sex. Besides, Dean’s completely free to do the same as well. In fact, he doesn’t even know why he hasn’t already done it in Mountaindale; it’s not as if there aren’t plenty of good looking ladies around. He could go out right now and pick up some cute waitress for a fun night if he wanted to.
Dean orders some Chinese food and eats it out of the box when it comes. There’s no point in using plates and silverware if it’s just him. The food tastes strangely bitter and dry in Dean’s mouth even though it’s exactly the same as what he usually orders, and he puts all the leftovers in the fridge when he’s done. He glances at the clock-7:30-and then decides to go outside to tinker with the Mustang, having heard a suspicious whirring noise earlier that day.
Castiel’s pulling into the driveway when Dean steps outside, and he looks disheveled, rumpled. Dean feels a black pit form in the bottom of his stomach instead of relief.
“Hey,” Dean says, and Castiel seems surprised to see him as he steps out of the Focus.
“Dean,” Castiel says. “What are you doing out here?”
“Was gonna take a look under the hood.” Dean pats the Mustang. “You’re home late.”
“Yes, I--” Castiel sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “It’s been a long day.”
“Long days happen,” Dean says as he folds his arms over his chest. He doesn’t care if Castiel spent his long day with someone else, if he looked up at someone else with those big open eyes like they were the center of his world. He doesn’t.
Castiel’s brow furrows. “Yes, I suppose.”
Dean slaps a hand down on the hood of the car and it stings slightly. “Well, I’m gonna check this out now. See if everything’s running up to spec.”
Castiel’s eyes flicker from Dean to the car. “Alright. Did you order food, or should I?”
“Leftovers are in the fridge,” Dean replies. After Castiel goes inside, Dean pops open the hood and stares down at the engine. For some reason, he finds it difficult to concentrate on figuring out the problem and all the parts end up blurring together in front of him. After fifteen minutes of staring uselessly at the carburetor, Dean finally calls it quits and goes back inside. He bumps into Castiel in the foyer, holding a full trash bag.
“So, school,” Dean says, stopping Castiel before he can go outside again. “Any single and fine teachers there?” Dean doesn’t know why he says it, but the words are out there before he can stop them.
“Teachers?” Castiel stares at him like he’s sprouted another head. “What are you talking about?”
“Just wondering if I should drop by, scout out the local talent,” Dean says and winces internally. He should stop, but he can’t.
Castiel blinks. “I… do not know. What are you looking for?”
“Oh, some fun maybe. You know.” Dean feels sick. “You probably have lots of fun at school, right?”
Castiel looks away. “Not particularly.”
“No?” Dean studies Castiel’s face, but all he sees is weariness. “Nobody worth mentioning?’
Castiel sighs. “Dean, I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t have the energy to guess. I already spent the last four hours hearing about all the things I did wrong during my teacher evaluations.”
“Wait,” Dean catches Castiel’s hand. “Is that why you were late today? Because of teacher evaluations?”
Castiel stares down at Dean’s hand in his. “Where else would I have been?”
“Nowhere,” Dean says as an immense feeling of relief comes over him. “I dunno. Out, I guess.” He remembers he’s still holding Castiel’s hand and lets it drop.
Castiel gives Dean one last, puzzled look before heading out the front door to deposit the trash. When he gets back, Dean is in a calmer, more generous mood.
“You want me to start up the Jacuzzi for you?” Dean offers. “It’s like magic fingers in water.”
“For me?” Castiel says disbelievingly as he closes the front door behind him. “And not for you?”
“All for you,” Dean promises. “I’ll start the water running and then you can soak in the awesome jets, forget all about your shitty day.”
“I. Okay,” Castiel agrees, uncertainly.
Dean leaves Castiel standing in the foyer and starts running the bathtub tap at full stream. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabs his favorite yellow rubber ducky from the cabinet and tosses it in as well. Ten minutes later and the tub is full.
Dean finds Castiel in the bedroom, naked and putting his clothing in the hamper. It’s an appealing sight and Dean wishes, for an instant, that he could join Castiel in the Jacuzzi. But a glance at his exhausted expression confirms that Castiel is probably not up for any physical exertion beyond lying very still in a puddle of water. “Your throne awaits.”
Castiel follows Dean into the bathroom and gets into the tub with a small sigh. He raises an eyebrow at the rubber ducky floating in the still water but makes no comment, choosing instead to settle back against the side of the tub.
“What’d I tell you?” Dean says. “Am I right, or am I right?”
Castiel manages a small, tired smile. “You were right. This is-soothing.”
“Then I’ll leave you to it,” Dean says and turns to go.
“Dean, I-”
Dean turns back a little too quickly. “Yeah, Cas?”
“I,” Castiel drops his eyes to the water. “I don’t know how to turn on the bubbles.”
“Button’s on your left side,” Dean supplies, and Castiel finds it easily.
“Thank you,” Castiel says, and he hesitates a moment before pressing it.
The buzzing of the Jacuzzi jets fills the bathroom and Dean smiles. “No problem.”
Later that night, Dean lies in bed, dozing, and wakes up when Castiel gets in under the covers next to him.
“Thank you,” Castiel whispers again as he moves closer and brushes his lips against Dean’s cheek. Dean turns his head to catch Castiel’s lips in his for a brief, chaste kiss, and then drifts off again into a peaceful, dreamless slumber.
Friday
Dean and Castiel are watching Citizen Kane-or at least, Castiel is watching Citizen Kane and Dean is watching him watch it. It’s the root of all of Dean’s current problems right now: the last thing he wants to do is watch a movie with Castiel when he could be doing… other things.
Dean had pulled out all the old standbys: parked all the way in the back of the Flick ‘N Shake lot where no one could see them, bought a jumbo popcorn bucket share between them (although Castiel had been puzzled by this since normally Dean hated sharing popcorn), and even the tried and true fake-yawn-and-stretch. None of it had sparked so much as a flicker of interest. Castiel had remained completely mesmerized by the film and oblivious to Dean’s overtures.
Finally, Dean gives up on the notion of subtlety, and reaches over to put his hand on Castiel’s crotch.
“Dean,” Castiel frowns down at Dean’s hand on his junk. “Aren’t you watching the movie?”
“No,” Dean replies. “Who cares about the life of some old guy anyway? I can think of much better things to do in a dark parking lot."
“I would like to watch the movie,” Castiel says as he picks up Dean’s hand and drops it onto the parking brake. “We can do that later.”
“Seriously?” Dean glances at the screen, which is filled with a giant picture of Orson Welles’ moon round face. “You’re not kidding?”
Castiel sighs. “This is a very good film, and I want to see what happens.”
“Oh come on,” Dean whines. “Not even a handjob?”
“We already fornicated this morning,” Castiel says. “Twice.”
“Don’t be such a prude,” Dean says, sneaking a rogue hand up Castiel’s shirt, only to be stopped and removed in short order. “Come on! I have needs!”
“And I need to watch the rest of this movie in order to understand what the opening scene means.”
“It’s a sled, okay? Rosebud is his damn sled,” Dean snaps and folds his arms over his chest.
Castiel gives Dean a horrified look, and then pointedly returns to watching the movie without another word.
The next hour is probably the longest hour of Dean’s life, spent sulking in silence and staring out the window (his pride absolutely refuses to let him watch the movie). Castiel’s jaw is set in annoyance and his gaze doesn’t waver from the screen. Dean gets out of the car three times-first to get his own popcorn bucket, then to take a leak, and lastly just to escape the tension.
When the movie ends (after what feels like an eternity) and Dean starts the car up, Castiel finally relents and glances over. “Dean?”
“What?” Dean replies, and it’s not quite belligerent, but it’s close.
“We can have sex when we get home.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Gee, thanks. Are you stating the obvious or offering me a treat for waiting?”
“You don’t want to?”
Dean briefly considers saying no, pride briefly warring with his better, saner parts, but ultimately the sanity (and his penis) win. “I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?” A note of impatience creeps into Castiel’s voice. “Why are you acting like this?”
“Acting like-fuck you,” Dean says, and takes a particularly vicious right turn at the intersection. “Don’t patronize me.”
“I can’t read your mind anymore, Dean,” Castiel says, and the annoyance has bloomed into full-blown anger. “I won’t understand why you’re acting this way or feeling this way if you don’t tell me.”
“I’m not feeling any way. And I’m not a fucking jigsaw puzzle for you to figure out.”
“I didn’t say--” Castiel breaks off and inhales deeply. “What do you want from me? If you want to have sex when we get home, let’s have sex. If you don’t, we won’t.”
“Sex sounds good to me,” Dean says, and it seems like the conversation is mercifully over. But because he’s an idiot that can’t leave well enough alone, Dean opens his big, fat mouth again. “I bet you wish you still had your angel mojo. Then you could just stare into my soul, or fly back home instead of sitting in a car with me.”
Castiel goes very still next to him and Dean knows he’s succeeded in striking a nerve. The win doesn’t feel nearly good as he’d thought it would though. “I can’t-I cannot go back to the way I was before, and wishing will not make it so.”
“But if you could, you would, right? If you got the chance to take it all back?” Dean asks. He refuses to look at Castiel, and it’s definitely not because he’s afraid of what he’ll see.
“If I could,” Castiel stops, and then starts again. “I wouldn’t leave you here.”
“Right,” Dean says as he balls his hand into a fist against his thigh. Of course Castiel would be perfectly happy to return to the way things were before. He’d go back to his heavenly soldier duties and Dean would hit the road with Sam again and everything would be exactly the way they were supposed to be. Castiel was a great lay, no two ways about it, but Dean could find somebody else, loads of somebodies, even. Dean would be fine, Castiel would be fine, they’d both be fucking fine.
When they reach the house, Castiel doesn’t let Dean even make his way up the stairs, dragging him instead into the living room and summarily stripping them both of clothing. Castiel shoves Dean back into a sitting position on the couch, reaches to prep himself just barely, and then sinks down onto Dean’s dick before Dean can even say boo.
Dean gasps at the brutal pace that Castiel sets, and digs his fingers into Castiel’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. Castiel groans when Dean takes a nipple into his mouth, first licking and then biting without even the pretense of gentleness. It doesn’t take long before they both come, Castiel ejaculating without even a hand on his dick and Dean following soon after.
Castiel makes no move to pull off of Dean’s softening cock, choosing instead to slide forward in his lap until their bodies are flush together, drying semen in between them. Castiel brushes his lips against Dean’s cheek and his ear and whispers, “I don’t think I could stop wanting this, wanting you, even if I became an angel again.”
“Wouldn’t be much of an angel then, would you?” Dean replies, but what he really means is neither could I.
Onto the next chapter: How about a little fire, Scarecrow?