Fanfic: Love in the End of Times [Dean/Castiel]
Title: LOVE IN THE END OF TIMES
Author: bellajayd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: Yes! Up to the most recent episode of Supernatural.
Warnings: Smut, Future!Fic, Domestic!Fic, Fluff/Waff, Angst. Umm. Shark Week. Tofurkey?
Disclaimer: This is all a beautiful lie, but let me tell it anyway.
Word Count: 4,863
Notes: Written for extraonions, who needs smishes! I’ve even snuck in some pr0n for you BB!
Beta: The lovely aisling_door and mrstotten. All remaining mistakes are my own.
Summary: This is how you fall in love as the world ends. These are not the moments of victory or of action; these are the quiet moments in between.
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A Look
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It’s too much.
He’s just a man.
Okay fine - he isn’t stupid enough to think he’s a normal man. Normal men don’t go to Hell and then get their ass saved by an honest to God angel. They don’t have all of Hell plotting out an elaborate scheme to get them to sell their soul so that they could break the seal that would start the Apocalypse.
None of that, though, means much to him at that moment.
Dean is still just a man.
A man who misses his brother, his Dad, his Mom. But what he misses most is the feeling of having someone at his back. Someone just for him, a partner to hunt with, eat with, and fall asleep with while watching Shark Week in a dingy motel.
It used to be Sammy.
Sammy, who let out Lucifer. Sammy, who called him “‘eany” when they were young. Sammy, with his demon-black eyes. Sammy, with his not-so-secret love of Mac n’Cheese. SammySamSammy.
Now, his little brother is locked up for the foreseeable future in Bobby’s basement while he kicks that pesky demon blood addiction. And Dean is stuck drinking in this bar alone, hunting alone (because evil doesn’t stop while the Winchester’s lick their wounds), eating alone, living alone.
Apparently, saving the fucking world alone.
So, yeah, Dean’s gonna get himself good and drunk tonight. He nods to the overweight bartender and slurs, “'Nother Jack n’Coke.”
It says something - though he'll never understand what - that he doesn’t even need to turn his head to know that Castiel has just mojo’ed himself into Dean’s personal space.
“Dean.” The way the angel utters his name breaks the hunter from his melancholy study of his drink. Dean looks up slowly until he is staring squarely into earnest blue eyes.
No words are spoken.
No explanation is given as to how Castiel had managed to survive his throw down with an Archangel. Dean doesn’t explain to Cas that he’s in this bar because his heart can’t take the sounds of Sammy screaming and begging to be let out of the basement. There are a thousand words that should have been, could have been, spoken while man and angel contemplate each other.
But they aren’t needed.
Maybe I’m not so alone.
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Smile
----------------------
Dean can tell Cas is trying his best not to smile. Any normal person would be laughing hysterically at this point, because Dean’s dignity is collapsing around him like a dying star. But the angel is holding back a tilt to his lips that could possibly - in some universe - have been called a smile.
For some reason, though, Dean really wants to see Cas smile even if it’s at his expense. “Alright. Go ahead. Laugh it up.”
There! There it is! A twitch that soon grows into a real smile, pulls across Cas’ face.
The answering bloom of warmth that spreads through Dean’s stomach is enough of a balm to his wounded pride that he can only grin sheepishly at the angel’s next comment. “It was only a mouse, Dean.”
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Comfort
----------------------
Dean hears his cell phone ring, playing the familiar tune of Smoke on the Water just as he steps out of the too short shower with a too small towel wrapped around his waist.
“Hey Bobby.”
As soon as he says the name of his friend-cum-father figure Dean hears the sounds of Wheel of Fortune, Castiel’s odd new hobby, mute. He wants to yell at the angel to turn the volume back up because he needs Vanna White’s cheerful, robotic clapping to distract him from this conversation.
“So how’s Sam?” He feels Cas’ warm presence sit next to him on the saggy mattress as he asks the question.
“Shit, Bobby, how’d he manage to -“
“Okay. Okay. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Cas shifts closer, his clothed thigh pressing against Dean’s, seemingly not caring that he’s getting his pants wet. “Uh huh. No, I’m doing alright. Picked up some new ammo and . . . listen has he . . . uh. . . has he asked for me or something? ‘Cause I can come back real quick.”
“Oh.” He swallows dryly around the lump in his throat to get the next words out, “Yeah. Well, I guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow. ‘Night Bobby.”
As soon as Dean hangs up the phone, the force that has been holding him together finally snaps. He slides to the floor, resting his head upon his knees. God damn it, Sammy.
A second passes, and then another. Soon he is a crying, sobbing, shattered mess.
Within minutes the savior of the world, its hunted and heralded Messiah, is a fragmented being held together only by the angel sitting at his shoulder, smoothing a warm hand gently up and down his spine.
“It’s okay Dean,” Castiel whispers gently, “It’s okay.”
And eventually, it is.
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Drive
----------------------
“So, you need to learn how to do this.”
“Why?”
“Because if I get hurt on a hunt, or something, you can’t just teleport me to a hospital.”
“Yes I can.”
Dean narrows his eyes at the trench-coated figure who isn’t appreciating the honor he was being given. He doesn’t let just anyone drive his baby.
“Fine, then you need to learn to drive because sometimes I won’t be able to . . . because I need to sleep or eat.”
“I see.” And for a second it looks like Castiel does. Only for a second though. “But Dean, I already know how to drive.”
“Right. Because you’re an angel and that means you can do everything without the effort us mere mortals put into it.”
The calm blue eyes that meet his make Dean want to grind his teeth. “Yes.”
“Well then, why are you trying to start the car by putting the keys in the cassette player!”
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Breakfast
----------------------
One of Dean’s favorite things to do when he was younger was to cook Sammy breakfast. Dean had always felt a sense of accomplishment after feeding his brother a meal he’d made from scratch.
But Sammy wasn’t with him right now.
Still, that doesn’t mean that Dean is alone or that there aren’t people to take care of. To provide for.
“Hey, Cas,” he fixes his gaze on the man perched on the edge of the rickety kitchen counter in the cheap motel they’d holed up in. For a minute, his mind flashes back to Cas leaning on another counter, in another kitchen. Things really have changed. “How do you feel about pancakes this morning?”
Lips, that aren’t so chapped anymore since Dean had introduced Castiel to the wonders of Chapstick, purse in thought, “I’d like to try them, Dean.”
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Space
----------------------
It hasn’t happened in such a long time that it takes Dean a minute to catch on to what the motel clerk is implying.
“What?”
“One king or two queens,” the smirking man asks him again.
And what the fuck, did these guys all attend a convention where they shared really bad puns? He doesn’t even know what’s causing it this time.
He looks over at Cas to share a commiserating eye roll . . . which is when he realizes that the angel is once again completely ignoring any personal space boundaries Dean might have. It doesn’t really bother him, it’s just another quirk that Cas has - like not needing to eat, or sleep. Over the past few months, Dean had stopped noticing that the angel tended to stand thisclose to him at times.
The thought makes him pause because it means that he’s accepted Cas into his personal space, which is something that he had only ever done or felt safe enough to do with Sammy.
Huh.
The clerk clears his throat, still waiting for an answer.
And Cas takes it upon himself to reply, “One king, please.”
Sure, now that he’s traveling with an angel that doesn’t sleep Dean’s been saving some money by getting a single bed, but he really needs to have a talk with Cas about social preconceptions.
For now, though, what can Dean do but groan when the clerk waggles his eyebrows as he hands over the keys and says, “The Honeymoon Suite. Enjoy it.”
Great.
----------------------
Lunch
----------------------
“I may not be familiar with eating, Dean, but I know that a pie is not considered lunch.” Stern eyes look at him across the diner’s cheap Formica table.
“Why not? It has fruit . . . and bread. That’s a healthy lunch,” Dean says while giving Cas his best innocent face.
It’s too bad that the angel is so occupied by the lunch menu that he totally misses it. “Here - why not order. . . ” Cas pauses as he squints his eyes to look closer at the menu, “a tofurkey burger?”
“Yeah. I don’t think so,” Dean snorts. “I bet you don’t even know what tofurkey is, Cas.”
“ . . . . it’s tofu . . . “ and Dean smothers a smile because the angel has a crease right between his eyes that usually only comes out when dealing with the Apocalypse and Wheel of Fortune, “ . . . and rrkey?”
This is too easy. “And what’s rrrkey, Cas?” He makes sure to roll the “r” just the way the angel had.
“I . . .” and Cas’ mouth opens and closes like a fish before firming. “I don’t know what rrkey is, Dean. But my point is you hunt, you research, hurt and heal. You work hard, and you should eat a good meal so that your body can continue to perform at its peak.” Uncharacteristically, the angel’s voice rises steadily throughout his diatribe, “I will not be known as the angel who let the Messiah starve to death!”
By this point, the couple a few tables over has turned to stare at them and the waitress is looking up from her romance novel with curious eyes. “Hey,” and Dean nudges his leg forward so that their knees are brushing beneath the table, “Okay, Cas, I get it. You don’t want me to get hurt. ‘S cool.”
Castiel just looks at him for a long moment before nudging Dean’s leg in return and smiling at him.
When the waitress comes for their order Dean asks for a chicken sandwich.
They end up sharing a slice of sour cherry pie for dessert.
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A Case
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It’s dawn and they’re just getting back to their motel room after an exhausting hunt. Dean has some weird gunk sloshing in his boots and the angel’s trench coat is beyond repair, even for Castiel. All Dean wants to do is take a shower and fall into a deep, deep sleep.
The only thing keeping the eldest living Winchester from this goal is that Castiel has been quiet since he’d mojo’ed a girl out of a locked closet. That had been about four hours ago. Now, Cas wasn’t exactly a Chatty Cathy but even for him this kind of quiet is weird. So, Dean’s shower and date with his pillow have to wait until he’s tended to the angel.
“Come on Cas. What’s up?”
Castiel’s shoulders tense beneath his suit jacket before he turns to face him, “I have wronged you.” Dean frowns because Cas had stopped speaking so formally to him a while ago. In fact, he’d figured out that the angel only fell back into those stilted and polite patterns of speech in times of extreme stress.
“What? Dude, we’ve been living in each others’ pockets since Sam broke the last seal. I woulda noticed you ‘wronging’ me.”
Dean wants to move closer to Castiel and place a hand on his shoulder, do something, ‘cause the guy looks like he is about to break down, which is what clues him in that something really is wrong.
“I am the one who released Sam from Bobby’s basement.”
It takes Dean a moment to figure out what Cas is talking about but when he does he sits down heavily on the rickety wooden chair the motel room provides. “You . . . why?”
Cas’ response, when it comes, is softer than a sigh, “I was ordered to and so I did. I have no excuse, I knew it was wrong.”
“Shit, Cas.” It’s a testament to his faith in the celestial being that Dean still sounds as if he doesn’t believe it.
He hears a rustle of clothing and when he looks up from between his legs, Castiel is kneeling at his feet. “I’m sorry Dean.”
It’s too much.
Dean knows that the only reason he’s been able to go on as he has without Sammy is because Cas has been here with him. He forgave his brother, the man who freed Lucifer, within minutes after the event. Dean forgave him when he’d left him beaten and bloody in a hotel room, he’d forgiven Sammy when he’d chosen to follow the word of a demon rather than that of his own brother.
He can do no less for Cas.
“Are you here, helping me because you feel guilty? Or because you can’t go back to Heaven?” Dean asks.
Castiel’s head snaps up, “No!” His response is quick and sure, “I stay here . . . I stay with you, Dean, because I want to, ” he shuffles forward awkwardly on his knees until his body is between Dean’s legs and he can feel Cas’ breath - coming in shortsharp puffs - against his cheek as the angel murmurs his name, “Dean.”
The hunter had never been able to resist the call of his name coming from the angel’s graveled throat. So, once again, he finds himself looking up into intense eyes that are so blue they can only belong to something otherworldly as he says, “Yeah. Yeah, okay Cas. It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry,” the angel repeats in a broken tone.
It feels wrong to hear Cas sound like that. So wrong. But Dean has never been good at offering comfort to another; words have always failed him. He tilts his head forward until his forehead rests upon Castiel’s. “I forgive you, Cas. Just . . . from now on you have to promise to only do the things that feel right to you, okay?”
For a moment, the angel holds himself perfectly still until he turns his head a bit and their faces are pressed cheek to cheek. When he whispers, “I promise, Dean, I will only do those things that feel right to me,” they are so close together that Dean can feel the hair on the nape of his neck move in time to Castiel’s breath.
They sit like this, man and angel, until the sun pushes past the horizon.
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Dinner
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The thing in front of them is a brackish green and twisted beyond all recognition. A foul and fetid scent wafts nauseously from the lump that quivers on the nicely set kitchen table.
Dean clears his throat, “Uh . . . what was it supposed to be, Cas?” He wants to poke the thing, but it looks dangerous - toxic.
“Turkey.”
There is a long pause before Dean can bring himself to reply, “Turkey?”
“Yes.”
Is he? Yup, Castiel is actually blushing and Dean is totally about to call him on it when the turkey twitches. Cas flinches and Dean takes a healthy step back.
“I only wanted to cook dinner for you, Dean. I enjoy it when you prepare a meal for me and wanted to return the favor.” Not only is Cas blushing but he is doing a good job of sounding forlorn as well.
Emotionless angel my ass.
But Dean is honestly touched by Cas’ gesture - in his own way the guy was trying to take care of him. He couldn’t recall the last time someone tried to do that. Maybe his Mom?
“Well, I don’t think that even you could eat that and survive. How about we go out, grab a nice dinner and then on the way back we can get you a cook book or somethin’?” He hopes Cas doesn’t insist on eating it, because Dean is wondering whether he’s gonna have to exorcize the twitchy-blob-thing that Cas was calling a turkey.
Happily, the angel tosses a relieved smile in his direction and his hand brushes against Dean’s. “That would be nice. I’ll go get my coat.”
And he’s happy that Cas is happy, but he’s still pouring a circle of salt around the turkey before they leave for dinner.
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Television
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It had been another long hunt that was made even worse by the meddling of demons. Thankfully, they were quickly taken care of by Cas and his fallen-but-not-really-fallen angel juju.
Now, the two of them are happily sitting in bed with a healthy spread of Chinese food in front of them and Shark Week about to start on TV. Life, Dean thinks, is good.
The show goes on for a while, full of the pre-requisite number of individuals showing off their shark bite scars, and soon enough Dean doesn’t think he can eat another bite of lo mein. His belly is pleasantly heavy and Cas is curled next to him - surprisingly enthralled by the show, which makes Dean happy because he was starting to think that all the angel would ever like was Wheel - and sleep is starting to work her magic upon him.
Suddenly his eyes pop open as he hears the weirdest sound. It’s low and rumbly and it hitches every now and then.
Cas is laughing.
Really, really, laughing.
And Dean is completely, utterly, enthralled.
Shadows in the room become smaller, and the lights that had been turned off are all on and flickering merrily. Cas is laughing and the world is literally a brighter place.
Dean swallows a few times to work up the spit to say, “What’s so funny?”
Cas turns towards him and his eyes have, impossibly, become bluer - as if lit from within. “The show,” he says, still flushed with mirth, “they have it all wrong!” Another smile creases his cheeks.
Dean spares a second to look at the TV where some expert is now analyzing rare video footage of the largest Giant Squid ever seen, and wow that thing is big - almost fifty feet long . . . but, “What’d they get wrong?”
Cas smiles at him with lips that are still glossy from the dumplings he’d eaten for dinner and eyes that glow, and all that Dean can think about is reaching over and kissing him. Of kneeling over and licking every last drop of sauce from the angel’s mouth, making those eyes spark for an entirely different set of reasons.
He is so entranced that he barely hears Cas’ reply, “Well, that’s just a newly born Leviathan. They get so much bigger.”
It takes him a minute to process what a Leviathan is, that it’s one of the Hell Beasts of the Apocalypse. And then all of the moisture in Dean’s throat dries up for totally different reasons, because hello tentacles!
“Uh. Cas? I’m not supposed to fight that . . . am I?”
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A Walk
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They had been driving for eight hours straight when Dean decided to pull onto a barely paved road that supposedly lead to an overlook in hopes of stretching his legs for a bit. Too bad nothing could ever be that simple.
“How was I supposed to know that a bunch of goblins had made their nest underneath the hill? Huh Cas?!”
The angel pauses in his lecture for a split second before starting off again, berating Dean for not being more careful, as he had been for the past twenty minutes since he’d pulled the hunter from the food pit the goblins had decided he needed to be stored in.
Dean shifts in place against the Impala’s hood because his butt is getting numb, “Listen, I just wanted to take a walk. I’m fine, okay? You saved me.”
That was clearly the wrong thing to say because Castiel whips around so quickly the air cracks. “This time, Dean. I saved you this time.” Cas is holding himself rigidly still as he speaks. “What if,” he takes a step forward until he has Dean crowded up against the car, “what if I’m not fast enough next time?” The angel isn’t even looking at Dean, but he can still feel the quiet desperation thrumming through him.
Oh.
“I’ll be more careful, Cas. I promise.” He puts a hand on the angle’s shoulder and tugs him forward, closing the last inch of space between them.
Some time passes before he feels Cas’ arm creep around his waist to hold him tightly. “I can’t lose you, Dean.”
Yeah. Dean gets that, he does.
Then Cas pulls back and Dean wants to breathe a sigh of relief because this total chick-flick-moment taking place in a suitably picturesque green glade with the sun shining overhead and birds singing and little goblin bits spattered all over the place - Cas had been pissed - is over.
Except it wasn’t because Castiel is kissing him.
Dean is ready to sacrifice any part of himself that’s necessary to make sure that this feeling never ends. Cas - Angel of the Lord - pressed silky and warm against him, full lips parted and soft tongue brushing smoothly against his own.
He’s no poet, no artist at all. In fact, he’s just a rough and tumble hunter with a fate too big for him strapped to his back, but this is the sort of action that doesn’t need pretty words or colors.
It’s passionate and tender and terrifying.
With painful reluctance, Dean pulls back. He does it slowly because Cas might have started the kiss but now he’s shaking in Dean’s embrace. His hands lay gently against the angel’s hips and their breath mingles in warm eddies and tides against each other’s lips.
Cas surprises him then, leaning in with his eyes wide and clear of fear.
They kiss again, truly sharing breath, and Cas’ tongue slides like sweet taffy into Dean’s mouth.
It’s the gentlest form of possession Dean can imagine, and in a handful of minutes Cas claims a greater stake on his soul than Heaven or Hell ever could.
This is how he falls in love as the world ends.
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Family
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This is really awkward.
Dean doesn’t know what he expected would happen when he saw Sammy again for the first time since his admission into the “Singer Clinic for Demon Blood Addicts,” but it hadn’t been this thunderous silence that holds the ruin of their brotherhood.
Sammy is trying to make himself as small as possible in Bobby’s kitchen chair and Dean wants to tell him that no matter how hard he tries it ain’t gonna happen.
“So,” his brain scrambles for a moment to find a topic that won’t explode on them, “Cas has been hunting with me for these past few months.”
And finally Sammy looks up, “Yeah?” His mouth quirks into a small smile. “How’s it been going?”
“It’s been good,” would have been better if you were there too, “real good. He . . . uh . . . has a funny way of seeing the world, ya know?”
“Well, he is an angel.” Sammy’s smiling full out now and Dean is just so fucking happy to see that underneath all of that too pale skin his brother still exists.
“Yeah.” And just like that he can feel the topic dying and his brain is busy doing loops of joy - his Sammy, his baby boy, is still there - to really find a way to continue the conversation without talking about the Apocalypse .
Dean wants more; he wants to see Sammy smile again. Come on brain, think! He is so giddy with relief and so desperate to continue the conversation with his little brother that he can’t be responsible for what comes out of his mouth next: “I love him.”
Stupid brain.
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Forever
----------------------
They’d tried out almost every piece of furniture, every rug and every surface, and the shower had seen more action than a cheerleader’s pompoms during a homecoming game. And they’d only been locked in the motel room for a few hours since Lucifer had decided to take himself back to Hell.
Already they were starting to repeat themselves.
Right now, the moonlight colors Cas in chiaroscuro, eyes blazing blue through the traces of black. Dean notices that shadows love the angel. They kiss and caress him, and snake their way over and under him. And Dean has every intention of licking all the dark paths they’ve mapped out.
“Dean,” Cas groans while the hunter makes good on his plan to lick every inch of glorious skin, “Dean, I need you in me.” But Dean’s not listening thankyouverymuch, he has a plan damn it and he’s gonna stick to it.
But then the angel is shifting and moving himself away from Dean until his lips are hovering over the hunter’s slick cock. “Fuck, Cas.”
And Cas just breathes for a moment before licking his tongue out around his abused and puffy lips. Dean is about to start cursing or something because that’s not fair and - “Ohhhhhhh.”
Cas’ lips slide beautifully down and around the head of Dean’s dick where he takes his time suckling and kissing. Just as Dean thinks he’s about to explode, Cas opens his mouth and in one wet lick he swallows Dean down to the base. His lips are pressed flush to Dean’s groin and he nuzzles his cheek against Dean’s thigh and he can feel himself pressing and twitching through the thin skin of Cas’ mouth.
Fuck.
He’s gonna unload right now, down the angel’s throat but, “No, babe - stop.” His heartmindcock want that to happen in another part of Cas’ body where he can lovekisstouch as well as thrust.
But Cas won’t stop and it’s a struggle to keep his wits until the angel decides to pull off with a wet, sucking pop. Dean is so far gone that he almost doesn’t hear Cas as his glossy lips form the words, “I want you inside me.”
It’s all Dean can do to say, “Yeah. Yeah okay,” as he’s shoving the angel up the mattress and onto his back.
And then he has to stop because, damn, does Cas present a pretty picture as he lays there on the cheap blue cotton comforter: legs splayed wide, with two fingers slicking in and out of his pretty red hole, and every time he pushes in and stretches his fingers farther and farther apart a little bit of Dean’s seed trickles out of him.
So Dean can’t be blamed for bending his head and lapping along the swollen folds and fluttering creases of Castiel’s sore looking channel just because he can.
Then Cas is tugging impatiently at his hair and Dean pulls himself away. He slides up the angel’s panting chest to plant soft, sweet kisses on his lips.
He can taste himself there as well.
Their eyes lock and Dean doesn’t waste any more time getting down to business. With a swift nudge, Castiel opens to him and he slides into the angel’s graspingclaspingclenching body with ease.
Both of them groan as Dean fits himself snugly into the only place he’s ever found that makes him feel loved.
He’s in Cas now, in his heart, his body, his soul. Their tongues tangle languorously. And Cas is in him as well.
They’ve found a home, a haven, a Heaven with each other. And now it’s something they get to keep past this lifetime, through death, and beyond eternity.
Dean saved the world and in return, the world lets him keep Cas.
He thrusts deeply now, white slowly building at the edges of his vision and it’s not just because of their building orgasm, Cas’ grace is bursting through the both of them and the angel is speaking in his true voice.
Dean smiles as they both reach their peak, because he can understand now what Cas has been telling him since he clawed his way out of his grave.
Loveyouloveyouloveyouforever.
The End
Author: bellajayd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: Yes! Up to the most recent episode of Supernatural.
Warnings: Smut, Future!Fic, Domestic!Fic, Fluff/Waff, Angst. Umm. Shark Week. Tofurkey?
Disclaimer: This is all a beautiful lie, but let me tell it anyway.
Word Count: 4,863
Notes: Written for extraonions, who needs smishes! I’ve even snuck in some pr0n for you BB!
Beta: The lovely aisling_door and mrstotten. All remaining mistakes are my own.
Summary: This is how you fall in love as the world ends. These are not the moments of victory or of action; these are the quiet moments in between.
----------------------
A Look
----------------------
It’s too much.
He’s just a man.
Okay fine - he isn’t stupid enough to think he’s a normal man. Normal men don’t go to Hell and then get their ass saved by an honest to God angel. They don’t have all of Hell plotting out an elaborate scheme to get them to sell their soul so that they could break the seal that would start the Apocalypse.
None of that, though, means much to him at that moment.
Dean is still just a man.
A man who misses his brother, his Dad, his Mom. But what he misses most is the feeling of having someone at his back. Someone just for him, a partner to hunt with, eat with, and fall asleep with while watching Shark Week in a dingy motel.
It used to be Sammy.
Sammy, who let out Lucifer. Sammy, who called him “‘eany” when they were young. Sammy, with his demon-black eyes. Sammy, with his not-so-secret love of Mac n’Cheese. SammySamSammy.
Now, his little brother is locked up for the foreseeable future in Bobby’s basement while he kicks that pesky demon blood addiction. And Dean is stuck drinking in this bar alone, hunting alone (because evil doesn’t stop while the Winchester’s lick their wounds), eating alone, living alone.
Apparently, saving the fucking world alone.
So, yeah, Dean’s gonna get himself good and drunk tonight. He nods to the overweight bartender and slurs, “'Nother Jack n’Coke.”
It says something - though he'll never understand what - that he doesn’t even need to turn his head to know that Castiel has just mojo’ed himself into Dean’s personal space.
“Dean.” The way the angel utters his name breaks the hunter from his melancholy study of his drink. Dean looks up slowly until he is staring squarely into earnest blue eyes.
No words are spoken.
No explanation is given as to how Castiel had managed to survive his throw down with an Archangel. Dean doesn’t explain to Cas that he’s in this bar because his heart can’t take the sounds of Sammy screaming and begging to be let out of the basement. There are a thousand words that should have been, could have been, spoken while man and angel contemplate each other.
But they aren’t needed.
Maybe I’m not so alone.
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Smile
----------------------
Dean can tell Cas is trying his best not to smile. Any normal person would be laughing hysterically at this point, because Dean’s dignity is collapsing around him like a dying star. But the angel is holding back a tilt to his lips that could possibly - in some universe - have been called a smile.
For some reason, though, Dean really wants to see Cas smile even if it’s at his expense. “Alright. Go ahead. Laugh it up.”
There! There it is! A twitch that soon grows into a real smile, pulls across Cas’ face.
The answering bloom of warmth that spreads through Dean’s stomach is enough of a balm to his wounded pride that he can only grin sheepishly at the angel’s next comment. “It was only a mouse, Dean.”
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Comfort
----------------------
Dean hears his cell phone ring, playing the familiar tune of Smoke on the Water just as he steps out of the too short shower with a too small towel wrapped around his waist.
“Hey Bobby.”
As soon as he says the name of his friend-cum-father figure Dean hears the sounds of Wheel of Fortune, Castiel’s odd new hobby, mute. He wants to yell at the angel to turn the volume back up because he needs Vanna White’s cheerful, robotic clapping to distract him from this conversation.
“So how’s Sam?” He feels Cas’ warm presence sit next to him on the saggy mattress as he asks the question.
“Shit, Bobby, how’d he manage to -“
“Okay. Okay. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Cas shifts closer, his clothed thigh pressing against Dean’s, seemingly not caring that he’s getting his pants wet. “Uh huh. No, I’m doing alright. Picked up some new ammo and . . . listen has he . . . uh. . . has he asked for me or something? ‘Cause I can come back real quick.”
“Oh.” He swallows dryly around the lump in his throat to get the next words out, “Yeah. Well, I guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow. ‘Night Bobby.”
As soon as Dean hangs up the phone, the force that has been holding him together finally snaps. He slides to the floor, resting his head upon his knees. God damn it, Sammy.
A second passes, and then another. Soon he is a crying, sobbing, shattered mess.
Within minutes the savior of the world, its hunted and heralded Messiah, is a fragmented being held together only by the angel sitting at his shoulder, smoothing a warm hand gently up and down his spine.
“It’s okay Dean,” Castiel whispers gently, “It’s okay.”
And eventually, it is.
----------------------
Drive
----------------------
“So, you need to learn how to do this.”
“Why?”
“Because if I get hurt on a hunt, or something, you can’t just teleport me to a hospital.”
“Yes I can.”
Dean narrows his eyes at the trench-coated figure who isn’t appreciating the honor he was being given. He doesn’t let just anyone drive his baby.
“Fine, then you need to learn to drive because sometimes I won’t be able to . . . because I need to sleep or eat.”
“I see.” And for a second it looks like Castiel does. Only for a second though. “But Dean, I already know how to drive.”
“Right. Because you’re an angel and that means you can do everything without the effort us mere mortals put into it.”
The calm blue eyes that meet his make Dean want to grind his teeth. “Yes.”
“Well then, why are you trying to start the car by putting the keys in the cassette player!”
----------------------
Breakfast
----------------------
One of Dean’s favorite things to do when he was younger was to cook Sammy breakfast. Dean had always felt a sense of accomplishment after feeding his brother a meal he’d made from scratch.
But Sammy wasn’t with him right now.
Still, that doesn’t mean that Dean is alone or that there aren’t people to take care of. To provide for.
“Hey, Cas,” he fixes his gaze on the man perched on the edge of the rickety kitchen counter in the cheap motel they’d holed up in. For a minute, his mind flashes back to Cas leaning on another counter, in another kitchen. Things really have changed. “How do you feel about pancakes this morning?”
Lips, that aren’t so chapped anymore since Dean had introduced Castiel to the wonders of Chapstick, purse in thought, “I’d like to try them, Dean.”
----------------------
Space
----------------------
It hasn’t happened in such a long time that it takes Dean a minute to catch on to what the motel clerk is implying.
“What?”
“One king or two queens,” the smirking man asks him again.
And what the fuck, did these guys all attend a convention where they shared really bad puns? He doesn’t even know what’s causing it this time.
He looks over at Cas to share a commiserating eye roll . . . which is when he realizes that the angel is once again completely ignoring any personal space boundaries Dean might have. It doesn’t really bother him, it’s just another quirk that Cas has - like not needing to eat, or sleep. Over the past few months, Dean had stopped noticing that the angel tended to stand thisclose to him at times.
The thought makes him pause because it means that he’s accepted Cas into his personal space, which is something that he had only ever done or felt safe enough to do with Sammy.
Huh.
The clerk clears his throat, still waiting for an answer.
And Cas takes it upon himself to reply, “One king, please.”
Sure, now that he’s traveling with an angel that doesn’t sleep Dean’s been saving some money by getting a single bed, but he really needs to have a talk with Cas about social preconceptions.
For now, though, what can Dean do but groan when the clerk waggles his eyebrows as he hands over the keys and says, “The Honeymoon Suite. Enjoy it.”
Great.
----------------------
Lunch
----------------------
“I may not be familiar with eating, Dean, but I know that a pie is not considered lunch.” Stern eyes look at him across the diner’s cheap Formica table.
“Why not? It has fruit . . . and bread. That’s a healthy lunch,” Dean says while giving Cas his best innocent face.
It’s too bad that the angel is so occupied by the lunch menu that he totally misses it. “Here - why not order. . . ” Cas pauses as he squints his eyes to look closer at the menu, “a tofurkey burger?”
“Yeah. I don’t think so,” Dean snorts. “I bet you don’t even know what tofurkey is, Cas.”
“ . . . . it’s tofu . . . “ and Dean smothers a smile because the angel has a crease right between his eyes that usually only comes out when dealing with the Apocalypse and Wheel of Fortune, “ . . . and rrkey?”
This is too easy. “And what’s rrrkey, Cas?” He makes sure to roll the “r” just the way the angel had.
“I . . .” and Cas’ mouth opens and closes like a fish before firming. “I don’t know what rrkey is, Dean. But my point is you hunt, you research, hurt and heal. You work hard, and you should eat a good meal so that your body can continue to perform at its peak.” Uncharacteristically, the angel’s voice rises steadily throughout his diatribe, “I will not be known as the angel who let the Messiah starve to death!”
By this point, the couple a few tables over has turned to stare at them and the waitress is looking up from her romance novel with curious eyes. “Hey,” and Dean nudges his leg forward so that their knees are brushing beneath the table, “Okay, Cas, I get it. You don’t want me to get hurt. ‘S cool.”
Castiel just looks at him for a long moment before nudging Dean’s leg in return and smiling at him.
When the waitress comes for their order Dean asks for a chicken sandwich.
They end up sharing a slice of sour cherry pie for dessert.
----------------------
A Case
----------------------
It’s dawn and they’re just getting back to their motel room after an exhausting hunt. Dean has some weird gunk sloshing in his boots and the angel’s trench coat is beyond repair, even for Castiel. All Dean wants to do is take a shower and fall into a deep, deep sleep.
The only thing keeping the eldest living Winchester from this goal is that Castiel has been quiet since he’d mojo’ed a girl out of a locked closet. That had been about four hours ago. Now, Cas wasn’t exactly a Chatty Cathy but even for him this kind of quiet is weird. So, Dean’s shower and date with his pillow have to wait until he’s tended to the angel.
“Come on Cas. What’s up?”
Castiel’s shoulders tense beneath his suit jacket before he turns to face him, “I have wronged you.” Dean frowns because Cas had stopped speaking so formally to him a while ago. In fact, he’d figured out that the angel only fell back into those stilted and polite patterns of speech in times of extreme stress.
“What? Dude, we’ve been living in each others’ pockets since Sam broke the last seal. I woulda noticed you ‘wronging’ me.”
Dean wants to move closer to Castiel and place a hand on his shoulder, do something, ‘cause the guy looks like he is about to break down, which is what clues him in that something really is wrong.
“I am the one who released Sam from Bobby’s basement.”
It takes Dean a moment to figure out what Cas is talking about but when he does he sits down heavily on the rickety wooden chair the motel room provides. “You . . . why?”
Cas’ response, when it comes, is softer than a sigh, “I was ordered to and so I did. I have no excuse, I knew it was wrong.”
“Shit, Cas.” It’s a testament to his faith in the celestial being that Dean still sounds as if he doesn’t believe it.
He hears a rustle of clothing and when he looks up from between his legs, Castiel is kneeling at his feet. “I’m sorry Dean.”
It’s too much.
Dean knows that the only reason he’s been able to go on as he has without Sammy is because Cas has been here with him. He forgave his brother, the man who freed Lucifer, within minutes after the event. Dean forgave him when he’d left him beaten and bloody in a hotel room, he’d forgiven Sammy when he’d chosen to follow the word of a demon rather than that of his own brother.
He can do no less for Cas.
“Are you here, helping me because you feel guilty? Or because you can’t go back to Heaven?” Dean asks.
Castiel’s head snaps up, “No!” His response is quick and sure, “I stay here . . . I stay with you, Dean, because I want to, ” he shuffles forward awkwardly on his knees until his body is between Dean’s legs and he can feel Cas’ breath - coming in shortsharp puffs - against his cheek as the angel murmurs his name, “Dean.”
The hunter had never been able to resist the call of his name coming from the angel’s graveled throat. So, once again, he finds himself looking up into intense eyes that are so blue they can only belong to something otherworldly as he says, “Yeah. Yeah, okay Cas. It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry,” the angel repeats in a broken tone.
It feels wrong to hear Cas sound like that. So wrong. But Dean has never been good at offering comfort to another; words have always failed him. He tilts his head forward until his forehead rests upon Castiel’s. “I forgive you, Cas. Just . . . from now on you have to promise to only do the things that feel right to you, okay?”
For a moment, the angel holds himself perfectly still until he turns his head a bit and their faces are pressed cheek to cheek. When he whispers, “I promise, Dean, I will only do those things that feel right to me,” they are so close together that Dean can feel the hair on the nape of his neck move in time to Castiel’s breath.
They sit like this, man and angel, until the sun pushes past the horizon.
----------------------
Dinner
----------------------
The thing in front of them is a brackish green and twisted beyond all recognition. A foul and fetid scent wafts nauseously from the lump that quivers on the nicely set kitchen table.
Dean clears his throat, “Uh . . . what was it supposed to be, Cas?” He wants to poke the thing, but it looks dangerous - toxic.
“Turkey.”
There is a long pause before Dean can bring himself to reply, “Turkey?”
“Yes.”
Is he? Yup, Castiel is actually blushing and Dean is totally about to call him on it when the turkey twitches. Cas flinches and Dean takes a healthy step back.
“I only wanted to cook dinner for you, Dean. I enjoy it when you prepare a meal for me and wanted to return the favor.” Not only is Cas blushing but he is doing a good job of sounding forlorn as well.
Emotionless angel my ass.
But Dean is honestly touched by Cas’ gesture - in his own way the guy was trying to take care of him. He couldn’t recall the last time someone tried to do that. Maybe his Mom?
“Well, I don’t think that even you could eat that and survive. How about we go out, grab a nice dinner and then on the way back we can get you a cook book or somethin’?” He hopes Cas doesn’t insist on eating it, because Dean is wondering whether he’s gonna have to exorcize the twitchy-blob-thing that Cas was calling a turkey.
Happily, the angel tosses a relieved smile in his direction and his hand brushes against Dean’s. “That would be nice. I’ll go get my coat.”
And he’s happy that Cas is happy, but he’s still pouring a circle of salt around the turkey before they leave for dinner.
----------------------
Television
----------------------
It had been another long hunt that was made even worse by the meddling of demons. Thankfully, they were quickly taken care of by Cas and his fallen-but-not-really-fallen angel juju.
Now, the two of them are happily sitting in bed with a healthy spread of Chinese food in front of them and Shark Week about to start on TV. Life, Dean thinks, is good.
The show goes on for a while, full of the pre-requisite number of individuals showing off their shark bite scars, and soon enough Dean doesn’t think he can eat another bite of lo mein. His belly is pleasantly heavy and Cas is curled next to him - surprisingly enthralled by the show, which makes Dean happy because he was starting to think that all the angel would ever like was Wheel - and sleep is starting to work her magic upon him.
Suddenly his eyes pop open as he hears the weirdest sound. It’s low and rumbly and it hitches every now and then.
Cas is laughing.
Really, really, laughing.
And Dean is completely, utterly, enthralled.
Shadows in the room become smaller, and the lights that had been turned off are all on and flickering merrily. Cas is laughing and the world is literally a brighter place.
Dean swallows a few times to work up the spit to say, “What’s so funny?”
Cas turns towards him and his eyes have, impossibly, become bluer - as if lit from within. “The show,” he says, still flushed with mirth, “they have it all wrong!” Another smile creases his cheeks.
Dean spares a second to look at the TV where some expert is now analyzing rare video footage of the largest Giant Squid ever seen, and wow that thing is big - almost fifty feet long . . . but, “What’d they get wrong?”
Cas smiles at him with lips that are still glossy from the dumplings he’d eaten for dinner and eyes that glow, and all that Dean can think about is reaching over and kissing him. Of kneeling over and licking every last drop of sauce from the angel’s mouth, making those eyes spark for an entirely different set of reasons.
He is so entranced that he barely hears Cas’ reply, “Well, that’s just a newly born Leviathan. They get so much bigger.”
It takes him a minute to process what a Leviathan is, that it’s one of the Hell Beasts of the Apocalypse. And then all of the moisture in Dean’s throat dries up for totally different reasons, because hello tentacles!
“Uh. Cas? I’m not supposed to fight that . . . am I?”
----------------------
A Walk
----------------------
They had been driving for eight hours straight when Dean decided to pull onto a barely paved road that supposedly lead to an overlook in hopes of stretching his legs for a bit. Too bad nothing could ever be that simple.
“How was I supposed to know that a bunch of goblins had made their nest underneath the hill? Huh Cas?!”
The angel pauses in his lecture for a split second before starting off again, berating Dean for not being more careful, as he had been for the past twenty minutes since he’d pulled the hunter from the food pit the goblins had decided he needed to be stored in.
Dean shifts in place against the Impala’s hood because his butt is getting numb, “Listen, I just wanted to take a walk. I’m fine, okay? You saved me.”
That was clearly the wrong thing to say because Castiel whips around so quickly the air cracks. “This time, Dean. I saved you this time.” Cas is holding himself rigidly still as he speaks. “What if,” he takes a step forward until he has Dean crowded up against the car, “what if I’m not fast enough next time?” The angel isn’t even looking at Dean, but he can still feel the quiet desperation thrumming through him.
Oh.
“I’ll be more careful, Cas. I promise.” He puts a hand on the angle’s shoulder and tugs him forward, closing the last inch of space between them.
Some time passes before he feels Cas’ arm creep around his waist to hold him tightly. “I can’t lose you, Dean.”
Yeah. Dean gets that, he does.
Then Cas pulls back and Dean wants to breathe a sigh of relief because this total chick-flick-moment taking place in a suitably picturesque green glade with the sun shining overhead and birds singing and little goblin bits spattered all over the place - Cas had been pissed - is over.
Except it wasn’t because Castiel is kissing him.
Dean is ready to sacrifice any part of himself that’s necessary to make sure that this feeling never ends. Cas - Angel of the Lord - pressed silky and warm against him, full lips parted and soft tongue brushing smoothly against his own.
He’s no poet, no artist at all. In fact, he’s just a rough and tumble hunter with a fate too big for him strapped to his back, but this is the sort of action that doesn’t need pretty words or colors.
It’s passionate and tender and terrifying.
With painful reluctance, Dean pulls back. He does it slowly because Cas might have started the kiss but now he’s shaking in Dean’s embrace. His hands lay gently against the angel’s hips and their breath mingles in warm eddies and tides against each other’s lips.
Cas surprises him then, leaning in with his eyes wide and clear of fear.
They kiss again, truly sharing breath, and Cas’ tongue slides like sweet taffy into Dean’s mouth.
It’s the gentlest form of possession Dean can imagine, and in a handful of minutes Cas claims a greater stake on his soul than Heaven or Hell ever could.
This is how he falls in love as the world ends.
----------------------
Family
----------------------
This is really awkward.
Dean doesn’t know what he expected would happen when he saw Sammy again for the first time since his admission into the “Singer Clinic for Demon Blood Addicts,” but it hadn’t been this thunderous silence that holds the ruin of their brotherhood.
Sammy is trying to make himself as small as possible in Bobby’s kitchen chair and Dean wants to tell him that no matter how hard he tries it ain’t gonna happen.
“So,” his brain scrambles for a moment to find a topic that won’t explode on them, “Cas has been hunting with me for these past few months.”
And finally Sammy looks up, “Yeah?” His mouth quirks into a small smile. “How’s it been going?”
“It’s been good,” would have been better if you were there too, “real good. He . . . uh . . . has a funny way of seeing the world, ya know?”
“Well, he is an angel.” Sammy’s smiling full out now and Dean is just so fucking happy to see that underneath all of that too pale skin his brother still exists.
“Yeah.” And just like that he can feel the topic dying and his brain is busy doing loops of joy - his Sammy, his baby boy, is still there - to really find a way to continue the conversation without talking about the Apocalypse .
Dean wants more; he wants to see Sammy smile again. Come on brain, think! He is so giddy with relief and so desperate to continue the conversation with his little brother that he can’t be responsible for what comes out of his mouth next: “I love him.”
Stupid brain.
----------------------
Forever
----------------------
They’d tried out almost every piece of furniture, every rug and every surface, and the shower had seen more action than a cheerleader’s pompoms during a homecoming game. And they’d only been locked in the motel room for a few hours since Lucifer had decided to take himself back to Hell.
Already they were starting to repeat themselves.
Right now, the moonlight colors Cas in chiaroscuro, eyes blazing blue through the traces of black. Dean notices that shadows love the angel. They kiss and caress him, and snake their way over and under him. And Dean has every intention of licking all the dark paths they’ve mapped out.
“Dean,” Cas groans while the hunter makes good on his plan to lick every inch of glorious skin, “Dean, I need you in me.” But Dean’s not listening thankyouverymuch, he has a plan damn it and he’s gonna stick to it.
But then the angel is shifting and moving himself away from Dean until his lips are hovering over the hunter’s slick cock. “Fuck, Cas.”
And Cas just breathes for a moment before licking his tongue out around his abused and puffy lips. Dean is about to start cursing or something because that’s not fair and - “Ohhhhhhh.”
Cas’ lips slide beautifully down and around the head of Dean’s dick where he takes his time suckling and kissing. Just as Dean thinks he’s about to explode, Cas opens his mouth and in one wet lick he swallows Dean down to the base. His lips are pressed flush to Dean’s groin and he nuzzles his cheek against Dean’s thigh and he can feel himself pressing and twitching through the thin skin of Cas’ mouth.
Fuck.
He’s gonna unload right now, down the angel’s throat but, “No, babe - stop.” His heartmindcock want that to happen in another part of Cas’ body where he can lovekisstouch as well as thrust.
But Cas won’t stop and it’s a struggle to keep his wits until the angel decides to pull off with a wet, sucking pop. Dean is so far gone that he almost doesn’t hear Cas as his glossy lips form the words, “I want you inside me.”
It’s all Dean can do to say, “Yeah. Yeah okay,” as he’s shoving the angel up the mattress and onto his back.
And then he has to stop because, damn, does Cas present a pretty picture as he lays there on the cheap blue cotton comforter: legs splayed wide, with two fingers slicking in and out of his pretty red hole, and every time he pushes in and stretches his fingers farther and farther apart a little bit of Dean’s seed trickles out of him.
So Dean can’t be blamed for bending his head and lapping along the swollen folds and fluttering creases of Castiel’s sore looking channel just because he can.
Then Cas is tugging impatiently at his hair and Dean pulls himself away. He slides up the angel’s panting chest to plant soft, sweet kisses on his lips.
He can taste himself there as well.
Their eyes lock and Dean doesn’t waste any more time getting down to business. With a swift nudge, Castiel opens to him and he slides into the angel’s graspingclaspingclenching body with ease.
Both of them groan as Dean fits himself snugly into the only place he’s ever found that makes him feel loved.
He’s in Cas now, in his heart, his body, his soul. Their tongues tangle languorously. And Cas is in him as well.
They’ve found a home, a haven, a Heaven with each other. And now it’s something they get to keep past this lifetime, through death, and beyond eternity.
Dean saved the world and in return, the world lets him keep Cas.
He thrusts deeply now, white slowly building at the edges of his vision and it’s not just because of their building orgasm, Cas’ grace is bursting through the both of them and the angel is speaking in his true voice.
Dean smiles as they both reach their peak, because he can understand now what Cas has been telling him since he clawed his way out of his grave.
Loveyouloveyouloveyouforever.
The End