Fic: There's a storm blowin' up, a whopper, 24/? in Oz
There's a storm blowin' up, a whopper
2300 words, SPN Dean/Castiel slash. Spoilers for all of season 4.
Thanks to fueledbyaudrey and uselessplayback for their endless patience.
Continuing my Welcome to Oz series. Master post of links here.
Dean slips back under the covers around 9:30, and Castiel stirs.
There's a storm blowin' up, a whopper
Saturday
Dean slips back under the covers around 9:30, and Castiel stirs. “Go back to sleep,” Dean whispers.
“Where were you?” Castiel asks, eyes fluttering half-open blearily.
“Inventory arrived today. Had to swing by the drop-site to pick it up.” Dean smiles wryly. “Why are you awake, anyway? You should practically be in a coma right now.”
“I have trouble sleeping when you’re not here,” Castiel murmurs.
Dean’s about to open his mouth and deliver a smartass response, but he realizes Castiel’s fallen asleep again and the words fade away to nothing. He watches Castiel sleep and for a second, it’s almost as if yesterday’s pointless fight never happened.
Dean leans back into his pillow and closes his eyes.
* * * * * *
Dean wakes up to Castiel staring down at him thoughtfully, almost studiously.
“Dude, I’ve told you before how creepy watching people sleep is,” Dean grumbles.
“You have not been having any nightmares,” Castiel says.
“Yeah,” Dean yawns. “They’re pretty rare now, actually.”
“I’m glad.” Castiel smiles, just a tiny uptick of the corners of his mouth.
“Me too,” Dean admits, and yawns again. “What time is it?”
“Noon.”
“Wow. I was out that long? Man.” Dean rubs his eyes. “Hey, you wanna get something to eat or--”
The rest of Dean’s words are muffled by Castiel’s mouth abruptly closing over his. Castiel tastes minty fresh and doesn’t even seem to mind Dean’s slightly stale quasi-morning breath. They kiss for a bit, open mouthed and lazy, and a part of Dean is impressed by how much Castiel’s technique has improved in the last week. If they gave out awards for most improved kisser, Castiel would definitely be a contender for the title. Or at least in the top ten.
When Castiel finally moves away, Dean tries to catch his breath. “What was that for?”
“I like waking up to you,” Castiel says solemnly. “I like that you are the first thing I see every morning.”
Dean tries to summon some bravado but ends up squirming under the intensity of Castiel’s gaze instead. “Yeah, because I’m just a bucket of fun in the morning.”
“If I were an angel again, I would lose this.” Castiel seems so damn sincere that Dean looks away.
“If you were an angel again, you’d have better things to do than lie around in bed with me,” Dean says, and watches the line of Castiel’s Adam’s apple bob up and down.
“Maybe,” Castiel concedes. “But I think I’d--I’d want to be here.”
They lay in silence for a long moment before Dean throws off the covers and gets out of bed. “Let’s go to the Fork ‘N Kork,” he says loudly. “They have great French toast and I’m in the mood for something sweet.”
“I would like pancakes,” Castiel says, and they both get dressed before heading out to the diner, where Dean orders French toast and hash browns, and Castiel gets his pancakes and wheat bread toast.
Watching Castiel pour the low-fat maple syrup over his pancakes (who knew there was such a thing?) reminds Dean of one time he’d unscrewed the maple syrup cap while Sam had gone to the bathroom. When Sam had returned and attempted to drizzle the syrup like a teenage girl on a diet, practically the whole bottle had gushed onto Sam’s plate instead. He'd eaten the whole sodden mess all the while wearing his bitchiest bitchface, and Dean was damned if it wasn’t one of the funniest things he’d ever seen in his whole life.
“Is something humorous?” Castiel asks when he sees Dean chuckling to himself. “Am I using the wrong condiment again?”
“Nah,” Dean grins and waves Castiel’s concerns away. “I’m thinking about this time Sam did something funny, that’s all.” Then Dean remembers how long it’s been since he last saw Sam.
As if sensing Dean’s line of thought, Castiel says, “You’ll see him again, Dean.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, and his orange juice stings sourly down his throat. "So how long's it been now?"
"Almost four months," Castiel replies.
"You think the Mayor's gonna hold up his end of the deal?" Dean plays with the edge of his napkin. "Two months and then we'll be sprung?"
"I don't know about 'we,'" Castiel says and Dean looks up sharply.
"You think I'm just gonna leave you here?"
"I think it may not be within your power to control," Castiel already sounds resigned.
"I'm sure as hell not gonna leave you to rot here. No Mayor or any other idiot bureaucrat is gonna stop us from leaving this friggin’ mountain."
Castiel smiles as if he almost believes it, and after a second, he takes Dean's hand across the table and squeezes it. "Okay."
Dean immediately feels a wave of embarrassment and uneasiness swell up in his stomach; it’s not like he and Castiel are a couple of googly-eyed teenagers going steady or something. "Cas," Dean mutters as he tugs his hand free. "We're in public."
Castiel lets his hand go, but his smile fades as he goes back to eating his pancakes. "I do not understand all these rules."
"What rules?" Dean replies glibly. "I think the only one this place has is: no shoes, no shirt, no service."
Castiel frowns. "Dean."
"What?" Dean finishes the last bite of his French toast, which doesn't taste that great now that it's cold. "So what do you wanna do today? Free Saturday."
Castiel finishes off his pancakes too and pushes his untouched toast to the edge of the table. "I think I'd like to go to the park today. I can feed the ducks."
"Sounds good to me," Dean says as he flags the waitress down to bag Castiel's leftovers. It actually sounds kind of boring to Dean, but it’s not like he has any other plans for the day.
They drive to the park and walk to a small pond, which is quiet save for the squawking of the aforementioned ducks. All around the edges of the pond are wooden park benches that remind Dean of the first time they’d talked together, really talked. Maybe that had been a turning point in Castiel’s path-the one that had led to a full-on rebellion against Heaven and, ultimately, this place: Mountaindale. Maybe if that day had never happened, that conversation, Castiel would be off sitting in a cloud somewhere instead of stuck here with Dean. Maybe.
They sit on a park bench and Dean kicks back while Castiel opens up his brown paper doggie bag. Castiel tears up a slice of toast into bite size pieces and tosses them to the group of ten or so mostly uninterested ducks, a few of whom peck half-heartedly at the carbohydrate intruders. Castiel doesn't seem to mind the lack of interest.
Dean used to hate days like this; days with no particular plan and nowhere to go or be always made him restless, made him want to search out the next hunt, the next person who needed saving. But there are no monsters in Mountaindale (aside from the Mayoral kind), nothing to hunt, and no one in need of saving.
After months of hating the tedium and repetitiveness of the day to day mundane life, Dean's finally beginning to relax into this weird, peaceful predicatability--something he never thought would happen. And even though he sometimes misses the thrill of the hunt, the rush of danger, and the novelty of new places--he doesn't really miss the crappy motels, bad food, or broken bones. Not now, when he's used to waking up in a comfortable bed with Castiel warm beside him, and feeling like nobody needs anything from him besides a recommendation on what screwdrivers to buy.
"I think we should stop having sexual relations," Castiel says suddenly.
"What?" Dean snaps out of his lazy daydream about pie.
"I do not think we should continue having sexual intercourse," Castiel says smoothly, and if it weren't for the tightening of his jaw Dean would think they were just talking about the weather.
"Wait, are you--" Dean feels the initial surprise change rapidly into alarm. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"I don't know how I could communicate my point much more clearly," Castiel replies, and his tone is bland, matter of fact.
"What are you, taking a vow of chastity of something?" Dean's staring at Castiel, but Castiel won't look at him. "What the fuck is going on?"
"Ever since we began having sex, things have--changed." Castiel says quietly as he rips a piece of toast to shreds. "Negatively."
"Changed? Like what?" Dean feels something begin to tighten in his chest like a vise. "We're still stuck in Mountaindale, still working, still--"
"I don't know how to do this, Dean," Cas says, and he sounds exhausted, defeated. "I tried to learn and understand. I read all the books I could, watched the movies, did everything I could to understand, but I don't. I don't."
"So, what, you've just decided sex is the problem? Without even consulting me about it?" The constriction in Dean’s chest is growing worse, a sharp throb radiating outward with every breath he takes.
"I tried to talk to you." Castiel's blinking rapidly, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. "I tried to ask so many times."
"What is there to talk about?" Dean bursts out. "Sex is just sex! We're stuck here in Sleepy Hollow and we found a new way to pass the time together. It's not like this is a big goddamn deal or something--it's just another thing we do like Scrabble or watching movies, except more fun."
Castiel throws the last piece of bread to the ground and crumples the paper bag in his pale hands. He stands up and looks straight at Dean, eyes filled with so much pain Dean almost flinches. "You’re right. This isn’t a big deal, so that means we can just stop. We can return to the way things were two weeks ago, and await your freedom from this place."
Dean watches Castiel begin to walk away and it's like an invisible hand is at his throat, squeezing all the air from his windpipe. "How are you gonna get home?" Dean asks dumbly.
"I'll walk," Castiel says without turning back.
Dean watches Castiel walk away even though a part of him is screaming for him to say something, to make this right. But he doesn't know how because he's not quite sure what's broken to begin with--sure, Cas was fun in the sack, but it wasn’t like Dean couldn't get that elsewhere, and with fewer complications too. And they'd been perfectly fine before--before all this shit started happening and everything got fucked up to hell.
Dean watches the ducks fight over the last scraps of toast and then sits for a while longer, watching the sun set over the horizon.
* * * * * *
"I don't know what I'm doing," Dean says as soon as Castiel gets home, arms laden down with library books. Dean gets up from the couch where he'd been waiting and takes a step towards Castiel. "I don't know how the fuck this happened."
Castiel nods once, sharply, before he turns to walk up the stairs.
"Please," Dean says, and he puts a hand on Castiel's arm so he won't leave. "Cas."
Castiel stills. "I don't want to pass the time right now."
Dean lets go of Castiel's arm immediately and backs up a step. "That's not--I just. I need to tell you I-" The words are coming out all garbled in Dean’s mouth, mixed up and confused and falling over themselves. “I didn't want to talk before because I was-I was scared shitless of what'd happen if I did. I thought anything I'd say would only fuck this up."
"Fuck what up, Dean?" Castiel sets his books down on the kitchen table and rubs his face with a hand. His eyes are red rimmed.
"This. You and me." Dean swallows and shoves his hands in his pockets; time to go all in. "You know how I've been able to get through being trapped this shithole of a town? Because I know someone's always got my back. Someone who--who gets me, knows me, and still fucking sticks around anyway." Dean blinks hard, and his chest aches. "Then we started having some stupidly awesome sex and I thought, when the hell is the other shoe gonna drop? Because nothing in my life is ever this good."
"Dean," Castiel whispers, but says nothing else.
Dean plows ahead even though his voice is seizing in his throat. "You're not just something to pass the time, Cas. And if you want to stop fucking, okay, I'll find a way to live with that. But I'm sorry, because I know there's no way we can--I can--go back to the way things were before."
Castiel finally meets Dean’s eyes. "Why?"
"Because you're everything," Dean forces himself not to look away this time, even though it’s terrifying. "Because I'm fucking crazy about you. I don't know how it happened and I don't know how to stop it."
Dean waits for what seems like forever, waits for Castiel to turn on his heel and walk away. To come to his senses and realize that he doesn’t need this bullshit, doesn’t need Dean.
Instead, Castiel steps close and puts his palm to Dean's cheek. "Okay," is all Castiel says as Dean tentatively reaches out to wrap his arms around Castiel's waist. "Okay."
Onto the next chapter: Hail to Dorothy!
2300 words, SPN Dean/Castiel slash. Spoilers for all of season 4.
Thanks to fueledbyaudrey and uselessplayback for their endless patience.
Continuing my Welcome to Oz series. Master post of links here.
Dean slips back under the covers around 9:30, and Castiel stirs.
There's a storm blowin' up, a whopper
Saturday
Dean slips back under the covers around 9:30, and Castiel stirs. “Go back to sleep,” Dean whispers.
“Where were you?” Castiel asks, eyes fluttering half-open blearily.
“Inventory arrived today. Had to swing by the drop-site to pick it up.” Dean smiles wryly. “Why are you awake, anyway? You should practically be in a coma right now.”
“I have trouble sleeping when you’re not here,” Castiel murmurs.
Dean’s about to open his mouth and deliver a smartass response, but he realizes Castiel’s fallen asleep again and the words fade away to nothing. He watches Castiel sleep and for a second, it’s almost as if yesterday’s pointless fight never happened.
Dean leans back into his pillow and closes his eyes.
* * * * * *
Dean wakes up to Castiel staring down at him thoughtfully, almost studiously.
“Dude, I’ve told you before how creepy watching people sleep is,” Dean grumbles.
“You have not been having any nightmares,” Castiel says.
“Yeah,” Dean yawns. “They’re pretty rare now, actually.”
“I’m glad.” Castiel smiles, just a tiny uptick of the corners of his mouth.
“Me too,” Dean admits, and yawns again. “What time is it?”
“Noon.”
“Wow. I was out that long? Man.” Dean rubs his eyes. “Hey, you wanna get something to eat or--”
The rest of Dean’s words are muffled by Castiel’s mouth abruptly closing over his. Castiel tastes minty fresh and doesn’t even seem to mind Dean’s slightly stale quasi-morning breath. They kiss for a bit, open mouthed and lazy, and a part of Dean is impressed by how much Castiel’s technique has improved in the last week. If they gave out awards for most improved kisser, Castiel would definitely be a contender for the title. Or at least in the top ten.
When Castiel finally moves away, Dean tries to catch his breath. “What was that for?”
“I like waking up to you,” Castiel says solemnly. “I like that you are the first thing I see every morning.”
Dean tries to summon some bravado but ends up squirming under the intensity of Castiel’s gaze instead. “Yeah, because I’m just a bucket of fun in the morning.”
“If I were an angel again, I would lose this.” Castiel seems so damn sincere that Dean looks away.
“If you were an angel again, you’d have better things to do than lie around in bed with me,” Dean says, and watches the line of Castiel’s Adam’s apple bob up and down.
“Maybe,” Castiel concedes. “But I think I’d--I’d want to be here.”
They lay in silence for a long moment before Dean throws off the covers and gets out of bed. “Let’s go to the Fork ‘N Kork,” he says loudly. “They have great French toast and I’m in the mood for something sweet.”
“I would like pancakes,” Castiel says, and they both get dressed before heading out to the diner, where Dean orders French toast and hash browns, and Castiel gets his pancakes and wheat bread toast.
Watching Castiel pour the low-fat maple syrup over his pancakes (who knew there was such a thing?) reminds Dean of one time he’d unscrewed the maple syrup cap while Sam had gone to the bathroom. When Sam had returned and attempted to drizzle the syrup like a teenage girl on a diet, practically the whole bottle had gushed onto Sam’s plate instead. He'd eaten the whole sodden mess all the while wearing his bitchiest bitchface, and Dean was damned if it wasn’t one of the funniest things he’d ever seen in his whole life.
“Is something humorous?” Castiel asks when he sees Dean chuckling to himself. “Am I using the wrong condiment again?”
“Nah,” Dean grins and waves Castiel’s concerns away. “I’m thinking about this time Sam did something funny, that’s all.” Then Dean remembers how long it’s been since he last saw Sam.
As if sensing Dean’s line of thought, Castiel says, “You’ll see him again, Dean.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, and his orange juice stings sourly down his throat. "So how long's it been now?"
"Almost four months," Castiel replies.
"You think the Mayor's gonna hold up his end of the deal?" Dean plays with the edge of his napkin. "Two months and then we'll be sprung?"
"I don't know about 'we,'" Castiel says and Dean looks up sharply.
"You think I'm just gonna leave you here?"
"I think it may not be within your power to control," Castiel already sounds resigned.
"I'm sure as hell not gonna leave you to rot here. No Mayor or any other idiot bureaucrat is gonna stop us from leaving this friggin’ mountain."
Castiel smiles as if he almost believes it, and after a second, he takes Dean's hand across the table and squeezes it. "Okay."
Dean immediately feels a wave of embarrassment and uneasiness swell up in his stomach; it’s not like he and Castiel are a couple of googly-eyed teenagers going steady or something. "Cas," Dean mutters as he tugs his hand free. "We're in public."
Castiel lets his hand go, but his smile fades as he goes back to eating his pancakes. "I do not understand all these rules."
"What rules?" Dean replies glibly. "I think the only one this place has is: no shoes, no shirt, no service."
Castiel frowns. "Dean."
"What?" Dean finishes the last bite of his French toast, which doesn't taste that great now that it's cold. "So what do you wanna do today? Free Saturday."
Castiel finishes off his pancakes too and pushes his untouched toast to the edge of the table. "I think I'd like to go to the park today. I can feed the ducks."
"Sounds good to me," Dean says as he flags the waitress down to bag Castiel's leftovers. It actually sounds kind of boring to Dean, but it’s not like he has any other plans for the day.
They drive to the park and walk to a small pond, which is quiet save for the squawking of the aforementioned ducks. All around the edges of the pond are wooden park benches that remind Dean of the first time they’d talked together, really talked. Maybe that had been a turning point in Castiel’s path-the one that had led to a full-on rebellion against Heaven and, ultimately, this place: Mountaindale. Maybe if that day had never happened, that conversation, Castiel would be off sitting in a cloud somewhere instead of stuck here with Dean. Maybe.
They sit on a park bench and Dean kicks back while Castiel opens up his brown paper doggie bag. Castiel tears up a slice of toast into bite size pieces and tosses them to the group of ten or so mostly uninterested ducks, a few of whom peck half-heartedly at the carbohydrate intruders. Castiel doesn't seem to mind the lack of interest.
Dean used to hate days like this; days with no particular plan and nowhere to go or be always made him restless, made him want to search out the next hunt, the next person who needed saving. But there are no monsters in Mountaindale (aside from the Mayoral kind), nothing to hunt, and no one in need of saving.
After months of hating the tedium and repetitiveness of the day to day mundane life, Dean's finally beginning to relax into this weird, peaceful predicatability--something he never thought would happen. And even though he sometimes misses the thrill of the hunt, the rush of danger, and the novelty of new places--he doesn't really miss the crappy motels, bad food, or broken bones. Not now, when he's used to waking up in a comfortable bed with Castiel warm beside him, and feeling like nobody needs anything from him besides a recommendation on what screwdrivers to buy.
"I think we should stop having sexual relations," Castiel says suddenly.
"What?" Dean snaps out of his lazy daydream about pie.
"I do not think we should continue having sexual intercourse," Castiel says smoothly, and if it weren't for the tightening of his jaw Dean would think they were just talking about the weather.
"Wait, are you--" Dean feels the initial surprise change rapidly into alarm. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"I don't know how I could communicate my point much more clearly," Castiel replies, and his tone is bland, matter of fact.
"What are you, taking a vow of chastity of something?" Dean's staring at Castiel, but Castiel won't look at him. "What the fuck is going on?"
"Ever since we began having sex, things have--changed." Castiel says quietly as he rips a piece of toast to shreds. "Negatively."
"Changed? Like what?" Dean feels something begin to tighten in his chest like a vise. "We're still stuck in Mountaindale, still working, still--"
"I don't know how to do this, Dean," Cas says, and he sounds exhausted, defeated. "I tried to learn and understand. I read all the books I could, watched the movies, did everything I could to understand, but I don't. I don't."
"So, what, you've just decided sex is the problem? Without even consulting me about it?" The constriction in Dean’s chest is growing worse, a sharp throb radiating outward with every breath he takes.
"I tried to talk to you." Castiel's blinking rapidly, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. "I tried to ask so many times."
"What is there to talk about?" Dean bursts out. "Sex is just sex! We're stuck here in Sleepy Hollow and we found a new way to pass the time together. It's not like this is a big goddamn deal or something--it's just another thing we do like Scrabble or watching movies, except more fun."
Castiel throws the last piece of bread to the ground and crumples the paper bag in his pale hands. He stands up and looks straight at Dean, eyes filled with so much pain Dean almost flinches. "You’re right. This isn’t a big deal, so that means we can just stop. We can return to the way things were two weeks ago, and await your freedom from this place."
Dean watches Castiel begin to walk away and it's like an invisible hand is at his throat, squeezing all the air from his windpipe. "How are you gonna get home?" Dean asks dumbly.
"I'll walk," Castiel says without turning back.
Dean watches Castiel walk away even though a part of him is screaming for him to say something, to make this right. But he doesn't know how because he's not quite sure what's broken to begin with--sure, Cas was fun in the sack, but it wasn’t like Dean couldn't get that elsewhere, and with fewer complications too. And they'd been perfectly fine before--before all this shit started happening and everything got fucked up to hell.
Dean watches the ducks fight over the last scraps of toast and then sits for a while longer, watching the sun set over the horizon.
* * * * * *
"I don't know what I'm doing," Dean says as soon as Castiel gets home, arms laden down with library books. Dean gets up from the couch where he'd been waiting and takes a step towards Castiel. "I don't know how the fuck this happened."
Castiel nods once, sharply, before he turns to walk up the stairs.
"Please," Dean says, and he puts a hand on Castiel's arm so he won't leave. "Cas."
Castiel stills. "I don't want to pass the time right now."
Dean lets go of Castiel's arm immediately and backs up a step. "That's not--I just. I need to tell you I-" The words are coming out all garbled in Dean’s mouth, mixed up and confused and falling over themselves. “I didn't want to talk before because I was-I was scared shitless of what'd happen if I did. I thought anything I'd say would only fuck this up."
"Fuck what up, Dean?" Castiel sets his books down on the kitchen table and rubs his face with a hand. His eyes are red rimmed.
"This. You and me." Dean swallows and shoves his hands in his pockets; time to go all in. "You know how I've been able to get through being trapped this shithole of a town? Because I know someone's always got my back. Someone who--who gets me, knows me, and still fucking sticks around anyway." Dean blinks hard, and his chest aches. "Then we started having some stupidly awesome sex and I thought, when the hell is the other shoe gonna drop? Because nothing in my life is ever this good."
"Dean," Castiel whispers, but says nothing else.
Dean plows ahead even though his voice is seizing in his throat. "You're not just something to pass the time, Cas. And if you want to stop fucking, okay, I'll find a way to live with that. But I'm sorry, because I know there's no way we can--I can--go back to the way things were before."
Castiel finally meets Dean’s eyes. "Why?"
"Because you're everything," Dean forces himself not to look away this time, even though it’s terrifying. "Because I'm fucking crazy about you. I don't know how it happened and I don't know how to stop it."
Dean waits for what seems like forever, waits for Castiel to turn on his heel and walk away. To come to his senses and realize that he doesn’t need this bullshit, doesn’t need Dean.
Instead, Castiel steps close and puts his palm to Dean's cheek. "Okay," is all Castiel says as Dean tentatively reaches out to wrap his arms around Castiel's waist. "Okay."
Onto the next chapter: Hail to Dorothy!