[SPN] A New Language
Title: A New Language
Genre: Drama/Angst
Pairings: Dean/future!Cas
Word Count: 7,700
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Substance abuse, physical abuse, self harm, mentions of suicide & sexual content.
Summary: There were three important events that had made Cas break, and one that allowed him to fight another day.
Notes: The last (or first) installment of the All Too Human!verse, but can be read as a standalone.
'We could learn a new language, and I’ll call you out by your favorite name.' - The Myriad
The room was spinning out of control; the blues of the tattered curtains mixing like watered paint with the browns of a wooden ceiling. Had the situation been any different, Cas would have laughed, amazed by the insignificant wonders God had bothered to create once upon a time. A life sustaining planet? Child’s play. The sky, the ocean and the very air one breathed? Easy peasy. It was the little things like how the human body even worked that people never credited God for. Those were always blamed on biology and evolution, which was true, but who triggered those actions? Who designed them to evolve the way in which they did? The eye’s ability to define colors and the brain’s actions to pick them, classify them and muddle them whenever it received a serious blow. Human functions so basic it was hard to believe that the Creator had designed every single little nook and cranny with the tip of His paintbrush. It was beautiful and awe-inspiring, just as much as the man now staring down at him. Mindboggling and stunning, beautiful and violent, but ever so broken.
But the situation wasn’t any different. It was the same as it had been for those last two years: miserable, suffocating and hapless. No solid ground to stand on or metaphysical wings to fly on, just cold hard humanity. A nothingness so deafening he could feel it in his gut, twisting wickedly, expanding and contracting like a fist on his lungs. There was haunting familiarity and hollow acceptance. It was hell. Pure and irrefutable hell.
“Did you hear what I just said?” Dean’s looking down at him with the same cold and detached expression he always has for him, the tight crease in his brow and the constant bitterness that had made his eyes its home. They were once so green and filled with life. Always swimming in hurt, but they always held that small glint of pride and will to live. Now it was nothing but gone.
“Yes, sir.” He laces his words with as much sarcasm as possible, which isn’t much due to the fussiness in his head, but Dean gets the point. “Something about wandering off and getting all these people killed. I know there was whiskey involved.”
A boot connects with his knee, blunt and hard, but Cas is quick enough to retaliate, smashing his own foot onto Dean’s shins with muffled force. The leader barks out a curse that accompanies another blow, this time hard enough to leave more than just a bruise. “These people are my fucking responsibility! And I’m not gonna let your little drunken endeavors put them in harm’s way.”
Cas barks out a laugh, noticing the warm liquid trailing down his nose when it finally spills into his mouth. Either that punch Dean gave him earlier had broken his nose, or he had sniffed some of the good stuff a little too hard. “You didn’t have a problem when you used said people as bait last week. It was one croat, just one insignificant tiny asswipe. I could have blown him with my gun.”
“He was a foot in front of you and you still missed him.” Dean bit out tersely, clearly fuming even through the drugged haze Cas was currently on. “The next time you expose yourself to one of those things, I will personally pop a bullet in your brain. Do you understand?”
Closing his eyes, Cas focused on the pleasant thrum coursing through this body, blocking out the pain from the blows. Both physical and verbal. Tramadols weren’t the most potent of muscle relaxers, or anti-inflammatory medication, whatever they were, but they buzzed him pretty good. Butterflies swam through honey filled pools in his stomach, making his body too thick to even bother moving. “Next time I expose myself to one of those things, I’ll personally pop a bullet in my brain myself. Or you.” Once he had the entirety of Earth’s tongues stored in his mind, now he could barely keep his English straight.
The beatings weren’t a frequent occurrence and they were always mutual, though Dean had a tendency to get the upper hand when he was sober enough to lift one. Somehow, the inebriated ones were far worse, but neither of them could remember much of them the coming morning. Maybe they did it to blow off steam, to fault each other for the state of the world. Neither knew how it all started. Things had gotten pretty bad when Sam had popped the Answer back in Detroit, but the last straw for Cas was somewhere when the military had riddled Bobby’s wheelchair with bullet holes. Or maybe it was when Dean suddenly developed a ‘connection’ with Risa; or when Chuck confessed that he had been the getaway car for God back in 2009. Or maybe it was just the whirlpool of all those things on his suddenly all too human psyche.
Dean had been it for Cas, in every possible way one could dissect their relationship. He had come to accept that one night after a particularly difficult hunt, when they had groped each other and dry humped until they came in an abandoned warehouse. It had been fast and dirty and desperate, both clinging to the only thing they had left.
Six months later it hit him that he had just been an outlet, something familiar that had offered comfort in the heat of the moment. That had been the first step to the understanding that sex didn’t always have to come with everlasting love and devotion that outlasted Heaven and Hell. Casual sex was so much easier to deal with. Women were so much softer and gentle, more wanton and responsive to his touch. Then there were women like Risa who were rough and passionate, still soft and warm, but harsh and demanding and powerful. It had gotten him off like he couldn’t even believe. He wondered if Dean knew he had slept with her. Cas then learned that it was better when it was done with three, eventually four and some alcohol-which slowly melted into six pairs of tangled limbs and sweaty blurs.
It was after that first descended hill that Dean began to recoil in disgust. Only Bobby ever spoke to him like the old times. With gruff warmth did the old drunk teach him how to clean a gun or how to make his own meal with whatever scrap they could find. Bobby was the one that had been there when he first OD’d, had helped him detox and smacked him for being an idiot. On more than one occasion they had sat out on the porch in Sioux Falls, shotguns in hand, telling old hunting stories and discussing lore they had wished were real. It hit Cas that this was what a father should be like and it pained him to no end. He still had hope, some inkling of faith that maybe God would still step in and give them a hand. Cas still prayed, even after the angels had left and he was all but human. He prayed even though it hurt to get no reply.
A human’s faith was a beautiful thing, carrying on and believing when they didn’t have the same connection he had once been blessed with. It was hard to obey when he had a two-way connection with Heaven, now it was impossible to believe there even was such a thing as Paradise to begin with.
He still remembered the machineguns and Dean’s enraged screaming that easily rivaled a hell hound. Cas didn’t cry. He didn’t do much of anything. Instead he relapsed, took double the dosage of anything he could find and popped down bottles whenever Bobby’s name would even grace his thoughts.
Chuck had been the last straw. The knowledge that his Father had indeed been there, had seen everything through a mortal’s eyes and had refused to step in had him cursing the sky for hours on end. It was only then that he cried, feeling betrayed and alone, forsaken and damned.
Cas had once been an angel; a bright and beautiful being of righteous and sublime fury with wings that could envelop the Earth. He had been true and fierce, loyal and blessed. And now he was lower than any human being. He thought of Anna. He thought of how graceful she was even after she had fallen. A walking blasphemy with more soul and strength than he could ever wish to have.
“Hey, Cas, dude, get up.” There was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake from where he had dozed off on the floor. He cracked his eyes open. It was still dark out but there were lit candles all over his cabin. Light shifted across Dean’s features, the orange and red reflecting nicely off glossy eyes. This wasn’t his Dean, this was the old one. The one Zachariah had dumped further along his timeline to show him just how bad it got-or something like that. “What the hell happened to you?”
“You.” He answered with a bugged smirk, eyes too heavy to open completely. He managed to sit up with Dean’s help. The room was still spinning, but not as severely as it was before he had hit the floor. His body tingled pleasantly, more so with the company of the old Dean, the one who was now looking down at him with a worried expression. The man’s attention tightened at that.
“So, what? I beat the shit out of anyone who doesn’t want to blow me?”
“For the record, you once punched me for the complete opposite. But yeah, you can say that.” Cas stumbled up to his feet, swaying momentarily before sluggishly making his way across the cabin for a cup of water to wash down the cotton in his mouth. “What brings you here? Viagra, Midol? Name your drug.”
“Look who finally developed a sense of humor at the end of the world.” There was no spite in his tone, just more of the same shocked wonder as he followed him into the tiny kitchen. “Guessing you pulled something really bad to get beat up.” This time, the anger in his tone was clear and whatever was left of Cas’ emotions gave a twitch. Back in the day he hated how Dean blamed himself for everything, even things that were indisputably outside of his control. Now it made him ache for the warmth he had fallen in love with so long ago.
Cas snorted, feeling his nose burn and the caked blood crack uncomfortably on his skin. He made to wipe it away but he let his arm fall back down with a derisive sigh. “My entire existence would fit into that last category. I’ll take Useless Ex-Angels for a thousand.” He was starting to feel bitter again.
Avoiding feelings had been something Cas had become good at, mostly blackening himself out before they began to pull at his heartstrings. It had reached a point in which he was sure he had burnt out the gland that triggered those sensations, but now, standing across from that old Dean, he felt years of hardened walls crumbling down with a single look. He regretted canceling the orgy in favor of the meeting.
“I seem to be a total asshole, apparently.”
“Correction; more than you used to be,” Cas said teasingly, the smirk on his face false but too tired to rub off differently. He needed a hit.
“At least I never beat the shit out of you.” Dean immediately regretted the words when Cas’ smirk faded into a look of sheer coldness. “What happened, man? I thought we were close.” He continued quickly, not wanting the risk the conversation into turning more awkward than it already was.
Putting the glass down, Cas turned his back to Dean, reaching out for a small piece of white paper. “Lover’s spat. One we never recovered from.” He quickly added what he needed, rolling it up tightly before turning to Dean. “You got a lighter?” He did, and reluctantly lit up the joint. “What’s with the look? Never smoked pot before? All natural.”
“You’re not joking, are you?” Dean slipped his lighter into his jean pocket, watching intently as Cas brought the joint to his lips and took in a lazy drag. “W-We didn’t, uh, you know.”
“Fuck? Like rabbits.” There was no sense in hiding it and he really didn’t want to. Something in Cas just wanted to say everything going through his head. Like how much he wanted to punch this past Dean for being a complete asshole back in the day, and how much he needed him to pin him to a wall and screw him until he couldn’t stand up. “And it was good.” Cas found the panicked look on Dean’s face to be hilarious. “We’re adults here, Dean. We can talk about sex.”
“What the hell happened to you, Cas?”
“Already answered that one. Life’s a bitch and she screwed me over.” There was more of the same distant look when he answered the question. He took another drag. “That’s the condensed version of the story, anyways.”
The room went quiet for a minute or two, Dean too lost in his thoughts and Cas slowly burning out his joint with each unhurried inhale. He was leaning against the counter, watery eyes taking in Dean’s agitated breathing. Cas didn’t need his mindreading powers to tell him what Dean was thinking about; the small beads of sweat forming on his temple were a dead giveaway.
“Are you going on that mission in a few hours? Doesn’t exactly ring foolproof.” Apparently deeming the silence too uncomfortable, Dean spoke up, pulling out a rickety chair from the small table and sitting on it, resting his arms over the backrest. His face was closed off, but for some reason Cas could easily pick up on his inner turmoil. Maybe it had something to do with their bond. He found himself wondering if he still had the old handprint on his shoulder.
“I don’t exactly have a choice. No, I don’t, before you try to interrupt me.” He added quickly when Dean opened his mouth to protest. Something told him the free will speech was coming along, but Cas more than anybody knew that it was complete bullshit. Freedom was but a length of rope, after all. “I’m going and that’s the end of it. I already fell for you, what else is there left. Dying? I’d be doing myself a favor.” The weed was loosening his tongue, adding to the buzz of the pills. For a moment he fought the urge to hug Dean just because he felt like it.
Dean, on the other hand, was looking at him long and hard. He was most likely cataloging the damage as the candle flames flickered against his scruffy face, illuminating his black eye, swollen lip and the cut along his left eyebrow. Self-consciousness kicked into high gear and Cas fought the need to shy away from the scrutiny. Years ago he was something pleasing to look at, something beautiful and desirable in the most lascivious way. Now he was broken and dirty. In order to give himself something to do, he put down his blunt and removed his jacket, the night getting far too stuffy for his liking. It was a decision he instantly regretted when Dean shot up from his seat and took him by the wrist, turning it up and pulling back the long sleeve.
Cas jerked away as if burned, holding the arm to his chest like a wounded animal. “I don’t need your pity.”
“Did I do this?” Dean sounded so anguished it nearly pained Cas to look at him. “Have I really fallen so low, to the point that you’ve turned to doing this? I’m telling you-this is nine kinds of fucked up.”
“You have an inflated sense of your importance.” Cas tried for cool defensiveness, unable to handle the look Dean was giving him. He’ll take the anger and the hatred, the blows and scathing words, but he couldn’t take the desperate concern in those too green eyes. It reminded him of home and it made him ache; it made him vulnerable. “There’s more to me than just you. I actually, uh, spread out, so to speak. Met a few people, hunted a few things-messed up royally, all by myself.”
Dean had the audacity to snort. “Inflated sense of my importance, huh?” He made a face that said ‘that’s really fucking funny; too bad I don’t believe shit of what you’re saying’. “Tell me something, Cas. What’s with all the repressing? What’s with all the… the-jokes and the casual sex and smartass remarks? Sounds to me like you’re channeling me. The good ol’ fashion emotionally stunted Winchester way.” He stepped closer to him, towering over Cas even if the height difference wasn’t all that notable. “I’ve seen those facial expressions in the mirror for years. Don’t fucking tell me that you’re okay, because you’re not. And don’t tell me it’s not my fault, because it fucking is.”
Grabbing hold of his wrist again, Dean tugged the arm back out. His skin was rough but his hands had the same delicate and graceful curves he had submitted to memory a few weeks back. Dean thumbed at the welts decorating the pale skin.
“How far along are we?” The question was out before he could give it much thought. Dean was acting overly friendly, something that led him to believe they were pretty far along in their messed up relationship.
“What?”
Cas licked his lips, eyes dropping to stare at Dean’s own. Just like that, it was like standing in front of the old Cas, shy eyes and uncertain posture. “Have we already… copulated?” He used the word deliberately, trying to trigger some sort of familiarity in the man holding his arm.
Granted, Dean snorted. “We were at the whorehouse a few weeks ago.”
“Ah-I remember that.” He said with an air of wonder that suggested it had been an awfully long time since he had last thought of that night. “Man, were you dense. There I was giving you the ‘fuck me’ eyes and you were stupid enough to take me to a brothel instead. No wonder you ended the world.”
Dean grimaced. “Shut up.” His fingers were still wrapped around Cas’ fragile looking wrist. “I’ll probably hate myself for asking this but-how long have you been giving me the, uh… that look for?”
Cas took a moment to think it over and found that he couldn’t really explain. The feeling had been there since before they had met face to face in that old barn. He understood that it had been cosmic, ethereal, this constant waiting for the Righteous Man and the pulsing need in his being to hold, touch and claim. All of which he hid and dampened with his grace because of how wrong it all was. He had hidden it so well that at one point he had even forgotten about it, but the light within didn’t. Cas sighed when he figured that none of that made any sense. How could you love someone you had never known existed? It hit him that his once angelic being had known precisely why, right down to the ticking mechanics of it. His now limited and overly human brain couldn’t even begin to compute. He opted to shrug in response. “I dunno, you tell me.” The smile that accompanied it was awkward, placed there by the cotton feeling in his body.
“You wanted the full human experience or something? Like Body Wars?”
The incredulously offended tone made Cas’ blood boil. “You wanted it just as much as I did. Don’t come putting this bullshit on me because you were the one that slammed me against the fucking crate in the first place, humping like a bitch in heat.” Cas recoiled then, remembering that this wasn’t his Dean, but a younger one who hadn’t yet seen him outside a suit and trench coat. This was a much more human Dean, one that still had love in his heart and one that still cared in his own way. “I’m sorry.”
Embarrassed heat was prickling the tip of his ears, but Dean didn’t step down. Instead, he squared off his shoulders and stepped closer into Cas’ personal space with an air of defiance that completely rocked Cas to the core. The last time Dean had stepped in this close, he had broken his nose. He couldn’t help but shrink away.
Dean noticed the flash of hesitation in his eyes, borderline fear, and he hated himself a little bit more. “Don’t. Just don’t. Guess you just dropped a serious bombshell on me there. I don’t do dudes.”
Cas smirked, the drugs in his system making him emotionally volatile. He managed to rip his wrist from Dean’s hold and pushed himself off the counter, his hands coming down to rest on his hips instead. A wave of satisfaction rolled over him when he noticed the look of alarm in Dean’s glossy green eyes while he was pulled in to press flush against Cas’ more pliant body. “That’s not what I picked up in your car that night. Def Leppard, the not so subtle spread of your legs or how you kept fisting your steering wheel. Seemed to me you were more than interested on not letting me die a virgin.” His hands dropped down to Dean’s ass, giving it a playful squeeze.
“Personal space.” Dean reminded him in a more than agitated squeak of a voice that made Cas laugh humorlessly.
“Is not an option.” He flipped them over, pressing Dean up against the counter and drawing him into a kiss.
Dean’s lips were dry but smooth, warm and inviting as they brushed awkwardly against his, noses bumping as he slipped into a more comfortable position. His hands were clinging to the edge of the counter, his body frigid as opposed to his more responsive mouth and tongue. Cas granted him access, luring in his tongue with his own and wrapping them around each other slowly, drawing out a groan from Dean. Dry lips turned wet when Cas pulls away, running his tongue along Dean’s obscenely plump lips before tugging the bottom one into his mouth and nibbling on it, tugging at it briefly before overlapping their mouths again. It was then that Dean finally snapped out of the stupor and threw his whole body into it, hips bumping into Cas’ as he drew up a hand to rest on the back of his neck, fingers lacing the oily hair at his nape.
It was fucking insane. He could feel the strands of arousal lacing around deep in his stomach, knotting and dipping further down into his groin as Cas’ tongue continued to do wicked twists and turns inside his mouth, exploring and claiming everything it could reach. Dean pulled away to take a breather, his breath hot and stale as opposed to Cas’ sweeter one brushing right underneath his nose. Cas kissed like a pro; hot and heavy and worthy of a porno, but Dean had to snap out of it. It was wrong as fuck to take advantage of the man when he was high on a million different substances, but there was something in how pliant his body was, at how smooth he kissed and how wantonly he was now arching up against his body, silently begging Dean to touch him.
There was no use denying just how desperate Cas was. He’d give anything to have those rough hands on him again, to have those lips latch onto his nipples and kiss their way down his chest and stomach until they were wrapped around his cock.
Dean had been it for Cas, and he still was.
It didn’t matter how good the hands of a dozen women felt on his skin, none of it could ever compare to the fire that lit up within him every time Dean’s palms connected with his skin with the intention to caress. No drug could give him that same high, and he had searched far and wide for one, but none could compare. When Dean’s lips pressed a kiss to his scruffy jaw, Cas’ knees gave.
“Whoa, easy there.” Dean’s hands fastened around his waist to keep him up, more than a little agitated now that his pants were tight and he was fighting an epic moral dilemma. “Let’s get you to bed so you can sleep off all this shit.”
“Couch is closer.” He slurred, jerking his head in the general direction of an old beat-up couch in the far end of the wall to the left. “Just drop us there.”
As instructed, Dean drops Cas on the battered couch and isn’t at all surprised when he’s dragged along. “I said sleep.”
“I’m not one for taking orders.” Cas adjusted himself, slipping a hand through the brown fabric and pulling on something that snapped. Dean was startled when the back of the couch gave way, like a homemade version of a sofa bed. The dirty grin Cas flashed guaranteed him he didn’t want to know. “What? It’s convenient.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.”
Wrapping his leg around Dean’s hip with the flexibility that left him reeling, Cas rolled them both over until he was sitting on the man’s lap, looking down with a smug smile. “Beds tend to lose the magic after the first few months and the floors aren’t that well sealed. Splinters are a pain in the ass when you’ve got no one to help you get them out.” Cas shrugs off his shirt unceremoniously, not bothering to even ask where they were taking this. The bulge in Dean’s pants was enough.
After a few false starts, Dean managed to form a coherent sentence. “I-I’m glad you got that stick out of your ass-” Cas nodded exaggeratedly. “But isn’t this is a little-well-”
“Hm? Had to make space for your dick, after all.”
His nonchalance made Dean balk. “Right. Of course you did.”
Cas bent over for another kiss but somehow ended up missing Dean’s lips by plenty, instead he planted one in the crook between his eye and nose. He tried again, and this time he succeeded with an awkward one to the forehead. The room was spinning out of control and he felt too blissed out to properly concentrate on what he was doing; he let them fall wherever they pleased, but he was extremely aware of how stiff Dean was beneath him. “Relax, will you?”
“Sorry if I can’t, Springsteen. Having a big gay freak out here.” Which was honestly a lie. Dean had already suffered through said freak out in late 2008, thanks to the same being currently wiggling on top of him. Surreal was probably the understatement of the century. “I’d appreciate if you slowed down a bit there.”
“Stop me.”
“What?”
With a sigh, Cas sat up, blinking blearily at the ceiling. “If you want to slow down then stop me. You can break my nose if you really wanted me off-or cracked a rib.” He added with a thoughtful expression.
Dean blinked up at him, slumping onto the sofa. “That was kind of a major turnoff, Cas. Not to rain on your parade or anything.” The soft smile playing on his lips made him want to vomit. “You’re not even hard.”
“Of course I’m not.” The confession came easily, accompanied by an indifferent shrug. “You haven’t gotten me hard in hell knows how long.” PTSD was a bitch to deal with and he hadn’t intended on filling Dean in. Part of him had hoped he’d just lie back and thought of England while he got him off for whatever sick reason his psyche wanted to, but this called for a change in plans. It wasn’t just the usual case of erectile dysfunction, since his junk worked just fine in all other circumstances. Dean happened to be the root of the problem. It was hard to get turned on when you’re constantly afraid of being on the receiving end of bloodied knuckles or verbal lashings.
Much to his surprise, Dean’s hand crawled up his side then up his chest; it rested along his neck, a thumb absently caressing the Adam’s apple that bobbed with each harsh swallow. The softness in Dean’s eyes told him that he knew exactly what Cas had just been thinking about and held promises that he’d try to make it all better. “Let’s fix that.”
Sitting up, Dean pressed his mouth to Cas’ collarbone, teeth tenderly biting the already bruised skin, making a fresh new batch blossom before flattening his tongue over them. He could feel rather than hear Cas’ breath hitch, the shivers pronounced beneath Dean’s palms where they rested at his waist, kneading the wound muscles hesitantly.
This wasn’t what Dean had signed up for. He was sure this wasn’t what Zachariah intended for him to learn, or maybe it was, one could never be too sure about the pompous dick’s motives. Dean wasn’t sure where he stood when it came to Cas, his Cas, the one that was probably still waiting for him at some curb back in 2009. Sure there had been random bursts of lust, random moments of warmth and companionship, but that was it. It was hard to see himself in any kind of relationship with the angel, sexual or otherwise. And then this Cas just throws this shit on him, completely knocking him off his feet and he suddenly can’t control himself. There suddenly isn’t enough skin to touch and bite and suck.
Dean rocks up, pulling Cas down simultaneously to grind them together, pulling a muffled groan from his own throat. He runs his mouth up the tanned neck, stopping only to nibble at the slowed pulse there and continuing upward to trace along Cas’ jaw. The scruff felt strange against his own, grounding him bluntly with warning bells that said ‘this is a guy, you asshole’. But it was more than just a guy. This was Cas. A Cas he had broken, he feared, beyond repair.
“Thought you hated chick moments.” Cas slurred airily, swaying unsteadily as Dean continued to drive their movements; slow, steady and achingly hot. They moved in a smooth rhythm that made him grin in his high, hands all over Dean, drinking in whatever he could from the encounter.
“It’s called sex, you moron. Sue me for wanting you hard for this.” Dean swallowed hard at that, wondering if he had probably inhaled too much of the incense floating around. “If you told me what gets you off then maybe-”
Cas was lightening fast even through his drugged stupor, reaching for Dean’s right arm and awkwardly placing his hand at the bottom of his back, nudging it up by the elbow. “Scratch me.”
“Whoa, wha-” Dean nearly bolted.
“Between my shoulder blades. Please, Dean… please.” The desperation in his voice was enough to make Dean do as he was requested. He gingerly poised a fingernail at the base of Cas’ neck and dragged it down, lightly, between his shoulder blades.
“F-Fuck…” The whine came out with a choked whimper, Cas’ head falling back as his body convulsed with wave after wave of blinding hot pleasure the touch had ignited. He rutted harshly into Dean’s lap, mouth hanging open as he struggled for breath.
Dean was speechless, hands still on Cas’ back, fearing the guy would fall over unconscious at any given moment. He wanted to deny the fact that he was rock hard, but there was no use hiding it at this point. Between the needy cries and those hips moving sinuously on top of his lap, it was hard to do so. “You okay? What was that about?”
Clumsily undoing his pants, Cas rested his forehead against Dean’s, wincing when he remembered himself, but easing when the thought that this wasn’t his Dean floated through his smoke addled brain. “My scars.” Awkwardly shifting his hips, he manages to free his still flaccid cock, fisting it hurriedly as Dean’s eyes drift down to watch with surprise. “The scars my Grace left behind…Where my wings were. The connection was thinnest there-” He broke off into a moan when Dean slapped his hand away, grabbing him and giving his cock a little squeeze. “I-It’s still a… tender spot… Off, now.” He tugged at the button of Dean’s jeans.
Cas cock felt strange in his hand, the heavy weight of it limp in his fist as he tugged and twisted, dusting his thumb over the head. Dean couldn’t help but stare as Cas grabbed him in turn, jerking him off in a slow and twisting motion. The knot at the bottom of his stomach tightened, his hand automatically stilling as Cas worked him with an intense look in his eyes, lips sealing over his shoulder and biting along the hand print. Dean bit back a groan when Cas’ free hand drifted further down, softly fondling his balls in a way that Dean couldn’t even describe due to how fucking amazing it felt.
“If only you could see your face, Dean. So pretty and fucking blissed out… Look at you. You ready to shoot yet? Huh? You ready to give it to me?” It’s all it takes to get Dean coming, loudly, like a freight train. “There we go, come on. Don’t be stingy, Dean, let me have all that.” Cas handles him with care, milking Dean until he’s completely spent.
It takes him a moment of erratic breathing and rapid heartbeats before he can come down again. Eyes wide and dazed, staring blankly at the ceiling as Cas moves on him, hot mouth still trailing across his shoulder, up his neck, chin and finally his mouth. “Jesus,” Dean huffs out when he pulls away to catch his breath, bones feeling like really warm fucking jelly. “Dammit, Cas… Fuckin’ dammit.” Both his hands are on the sides of Cas’ face, holding him in place as he presses kiss after kiss across his mouth, each one hot and more than a little desperate. The guy had wound him up like a toy and knew exactly what buttons made him pop.
Cas’ hand glides across Dean’s cheeks almost tenderly, puffing out a laugh when the stubble tickles against the pad of his fingertips. He traces the sharp lines of his jaw and the dip beneath it, the sweaty temples and the bags beneath his eyes. “I won’t always be able to be in complete control of my reaction…so make sure you look away if you want to keep those pretty little eyes.” His fingers continue their path, slower than before, down his cheek and across Dean’s obscenely thick lips. Cas can’t help but kiss them again.
Finally able to move his limbs again, Dean does a quick job of flipping Cas onto his back and grabbing his cock, gives it a long drawn out pull. He’s quick but gentle, murmuring things onto his stomach as Cas sucks his fingers clean of Dean’s come. There was something thrilling about seeing him at half-mast, at the thought that he had been the one to get him there in the first place. The thought that he was able to make Cas hard sent thrill after thrill racing down his spine, his own cock giving a valiant twitch. On impulse, Dean slides the tip of his tongue along the underside, nudging it just beneath the glands and-bingo-Cas was all systems go.
Dean had been on the receiving end of blowjobs on countless occasions, by all means that did not mean he knew how to give one. The heavy weight of Cas’ cock on his tongue felt amazing, but it was difficult to move said tongue and actually suck at the same time, as some very talented (not to mention very anonymous) mouths had done before. But Cas was a good sport with a hand tangled in Dean’s short hair, pulling and pushing to help him set any kind of rhythm. The sounds he was making were a plus, all choked and heady, breathless and desperate as he carefully bucked into Dean’s mouth, heels scrambling for purchase against the couch, searching for more.
There was creak, one that could be easily written off as the couch unable to handle their combined weight, but Dean’s hunter instinct was sharper. Mouth still wrapped around Cas, he edged up his eyes to look at the door that lead into the bedroom. In truth, he would never be able to get used to seeing his mirror image standing across from him without being, well, an actual mirror. Seeing this older version of himself playing voyeur set an uncomfortable chill in his bones, which, in any other situation, would have been erotic as hell. Now, the borderline vicious look on his face was enough to make Dean want to retreat.
The hand in his hair tightened when Cas let out a small whimper that was lost in a keen, curling into himself when the threads of imminent orgasm began to coil low in his stomach. Dean snapped back into it, finally finding enough purchase to suck on the thick stiffness between his lips. And he’d be damned if it wasn’t enough.
Cas’ back arches in a way Dean could only describe as graceful, all smooth movement and an abandon so thickly tangled with ecstasy that he’s almost hard again. It’s messy; unable to swallow it all, some of the come trickles down the side of his mouth, hot and thick and smelling bitter. Dean feels momentarily nauseous, but it’s dispelled when he notices the tear tracks down Cas’ scruffy cheeks. “C-Cas?” His voice is rough and shaky as he makes his way up the man’s pliant body and presses a sloppy kiss to his mouth. Dean wonders if he should have asked first, before slapping his come stained lips to Cas’ mouth, but Cas doesn’t seem to have any complaints. He returns the kiss. “Hey, hey… I wasn’t- Couldn’t have been that bad. Cut a guy some slack, huh?” Dean tries to joke, but he only succeeds in making fresh tears.
“I’ve missed you. Oh how I’ve missed you.” Cas has his arms around Dean’s shoulders in a heartbeat, tugging him down on top of him and holding him in place. It was an awkward position for two fully grown men, and Dean is heavy enough to make Cas struggle for breath, but he doesn’t give a shit. All Cas wants into melt into Dean. All he wants is to bask in the warm light that is Dean’s soul; the soul he once cradled within his hands and loved and adored and took care of. He wants to burrow into his arms and never leave.
“I’m here-I’ve always been here.” Dean doesn’t know what else to say. It may not make a lick of sense, but those were the first words that popped into his head and slipped out of his mouth without his proper consent.
Cas laughs, low and rough, still tumbled together with both highs. It’s just as miserable as everything else. Just as broken, just as hapless, but probably the most heart wrenching thing of it all. “You haven’t been here for a very long time, Dean.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________
The Jeeps are all lined up outside of the cabins, ready to head out in less than an hour. Chuck is moving along the convoy, talking stiffly with the drivers and patting each one on the back before moving on to the next. Dawn is breaking over the horizon. Kansas City is a good drive away, most likely the last drive most of them will make.
Cas is leaning against one of the wooden beams of his hut’s porch, sweat pants hanging low on his hips. Not because he was aiming to seduce, but because they hurt like a bitch. Dean had gripped a little too tightly a matter of hours ago.
Try as he may, he would never get used to seeing two Deans talking to each other like it’s the most normal thing in the world. There was a defensive stiffness to his Dean, the Dean from now who had been forced to withstand five years without his brother, that threw Cas off. Sure, it wasn’t like the guy took weekly spa breaks, but it was a different kind of stiffness; one that made him wearier than usual.
They both shook hands in a way that could only be described as reluctant before turning and walking his way.
Cas didn’t bother moving from his spot, eyeing the youngest edition of Dean with unmasked interest. A million orgies with the most talented of folks would never compare to the sensation of having those lips wrapped tightly around him. He smirks when Dean flushes at the scrutiny.
“We’re driving out for the Colt. You coming?” Dean, his Dean, asks venomously. This Dean never asked, not to him. He only ever ordered him to do shit.
Cas can’t help but grin, curiously stumped at whatever had just happened. “Already did, no thanks to you.”
“Ahem.” Past-Dean clears his throat, awkwardly, interrupting his older self before he could swear down what was left of the Heavens. “We can use all the manpower we can get. You don’t have to come with us if you don’t want to.”
Oh.
Cas smiles, a small little upturn of his lips as he stares at this gentler Dean. He was probably behind it. Even after so many millennia of serving his Father, Cas had never been free of rule. He followed Dean blindly, even if it was to his death. But this Dean was giving him a choice. However small, it made a world of difference. And for the first time, Cas was not afraid to answer truthfully. “I think I’ll sit this one out.” He flinches when his Dean storms past him without a word. Inside, he can hear him cursing. “I’m gonna have to sleep with an eye open, aren’t I?”
The younger Dean shrugged. He climbs up the short set of steps and stops only when he’s inches away from Cas, personal space be damned. “Look, Cas…”
“Don’t. Please.” He places a hand over Dean’s chest as if physically trying to stop him from saying anything he might not be able to live with. “I don’t know how long you’ll be here.” Don’t give me hope and then take it away. The words hang between them, clear as day. He hasn’t felt this pleasant while sober in years.
At that moment Dean decides to storm out of the cabin-pointedly ignoring the two standing inches away from each other on the porch-with a rucksack in hand and throws it into the back of one of the Jeeps. “We’re leaving.” Chuck tells him something neither Cas or the younger Dean can hear, but it’s clear when Dean states that the people that actually matter are ready to go.
The urge to give him the finger is gone when Dean presses his mouth to his for a brief moment before pulling away, rendering the onlookers silent in their shock. This was most likely a side of their leader they had never witnessed.
It didn’t matter what universe it was, or what timeline, or whatever the fuck the angels pulled, Dean did not do public displays of absolutely anything. He was strangely reserved for being the Dean Winchester. Suddenly, Cas felt too overwhelmed to cope. He wondered why he never had this. He hated that he was cheated from having this kind of affection. He needed a hit, a drink, anything to dampen the pain-“Hey!” Jerking his arm away, he cradles it against his chest. “The fuck’s your problem?” Son of a bitch had pinched him.
“You’re a Winchester.” Dean’s words are solemn and decided, his eyes unwavering and face set, giving no room for arguments. “We deal. We put up with shit no matter how bad it gets. Pull yourself together.” He pretends he doesn’t see the glossy sheen in Cas’ eyes. “I’ll take the pain over nothingness.”
Cas is left feeling like they’ve pulled the rug out from beneath his feet; like a punch to the gut or a bucket of ice cold water being poured over his head. It’s sudden and unexpected and he can’t cope, will never be able to cope-but maybe can.
The Jeeps begin to pull out, one by one, and Dean makes his way towards the last one. “You take care of yourself, ya’ hear? Don’t make me come back here and personally kick your ass.” He gives Cas a two finger salute before jumping into the back of the old Jeep, saying something to one of the guys sitting beside him.
Pulling out into the dirt road, Dean is already gone when the convoy exits the perimeter. Like a bad dream, nobody seems to notice the sudden disappearance of their leader’s doppelganger. Orange and pink both tinting the sky as the sun begins to break through the clouds, Cas finds himself thinking that maybe it was just a nightmare. Some LSD induced hallucination.
I’ll take the pain over nothingness.
Cas squeezes the bruises along his narrow hips, wincing at the dull ache.
He’s not sure if the encounter would make him or break him, with Dean now gone. He was still alone and powerless. A useless junkie addicted to sex and alcohol and, strangely enough, bees. He entertained the notion of following the bees; maybe they could lead him to Zachariah. But the angel was most likely long gone with Michael’s vessel in tow.
Cas was nothing more than a useless junkie, but he was also a Winchester. And Winchesters always woke up to fight another day.
Genre: Drama/Angst
Pairings: Dean/future!Cas
Word Count: 7,700
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Substance abuse, physical abuse, self harm, mentions of suicide & sexual content.
Summary: There were three important events that had made Cas break, and one that allowed him to fight another day.
Notes: The last (or first) installment of the All Too Human!verse, but can be read as a standalone.
'We could learn a new language, and I’ll call you out by your favorite name.' - The Myriad
The room was spinning out of control; the blues of the tattered curtains mixing like watered paint with the browns of a wooden ceiling. Had the situation been any different, Cas would have laughed, amazed by the insignificant wonders God had bothered to create once upon a time. A life sustaining planet? Child’s play. The sky, the ocean and the very air one breathed? Easy peasy. It was the little things like how the human body even worked that people never credited God for. Those were always blamed on biology and evolution, which was true, but who triggered those actions? Who designed them to evolve the way in which they did? The eye’s ability to define colors and the brain’s actions to pick them, classify them and muddle them whenever it received a serious blow. Human functions so basic it was hard to believe that the Creator had designed every single little nook and cranny with the tip of His paintbrush. It was beautiful and awe-inspiring, just as much as the man now staring down at him. Mindboggling and stunning, beautiful and violent, but ever so broken.
But the situation wasn’t any different. It was the same as it had been for those last two years: miserable, suffocating and hapless. No solid ground to stand on or metaphysical wings to fly on, just cold hard humanity. A nothingness so deafening he could feel it in his gut, twisting wickedly, expanding and contracting like a fist on his lungs. There was haunting familiarity and hollow acceptance. It was hell. Pure and irrefutable hell.
“Did you hear what I just said?” Dean’s looking down at him with the same cold and detached expression he always has for him, the tight crease in his brow and the constant bitterness that had made his eyes its home. They were once so green and filled with life. Always swimming in hurt, but they always held that small glint of pride and will to live. Now it was nothing but gone.
“Yes, sir.” He laces his words with as much sarcasm as possible, which isn’t much due to the fussiness in his head, but Dean gets the point. “Something about wandering off and getting all these people killed. I know there was whiskey involved.”
A boot connects with his knee, blunt and hard, but Cas is quick enough to retaliate, smashing his own foot onto Dean’s shins with muffled force. The leader barks out a curse that accompanies another blow, this time hard enough to leave more than just a bruise. “These people are my fucking responsibility! And I’m not gonna let your little drunken endeavors put them in harm’s way.”
Cas barks out a laugh, noticing the warm liquid trailing down his nose when it finally spills into his mouth. Either that punch Dean gave him earlier had broken his nose, or he had sniffed some of the good stuff a little too hard. “You didn’t have a problem when you used said people as bait last week. It was one croat, just one insignificant tiny asswipe. I could have blown him with my gun.”
“He was a foot in front of you and you still missed him.” Dean bit out tersely, clearly fuming even through the drugged haze Cas was currently on. “The next time you expose yourself to one of those things, I will personally pop a bullet in your brain. Do you understand?”
Closing his eyes, Cas focused on the pleasant thrum coursing through this body, blocking out the pain from the blows. Both physical and verbal. Tramadols weren’t the most potent of muscle relaxers, or anti-inflammatory medication, whatever they were, but they buzzed him pretty good. Butterflies swam through honey filled pools in his stomach, making his body too thick to even bother moving. “Next time I expose myself to one of those things, I’ll personally pop a bullet in my brain myself. Or you.” Once he had the entirety of Earth’s tongues stored in his mind, now he could barely keep his English straight.
The beatings weren’t a frequent occurrence and they were always mutual, though Dean had a tendency to get the upper hand when he was sober enough to lift one. Somehow, the inebriated ones were far worse, but neither of them could remember much of them the coming morning. Maybe they did it to blow off steam, to fault each other for the state of the world. Neither knew how it all started. Things had gotten pretty bad when Sam had popped the Answer back in Detroit, but the last straw for Cas was somewhere when the military had riddled Bobby’s wheelchair with bullet holes. Or maybe it was when Dean suddenly developed a ‘connection’ with Risa; or when Chuck confessed that he had been the getaway car for God back in 2009. Or maybe it was just the whirlpool of all those things on his suddenly all too human psyche.
Dean had been it for Cas, in every possible way one could dissect their relationship. He had come to accept that one night after a particularly difficult hunt, when they had groped each other and dry humped until they came in an abandoned warehouse. It had been fast and dirty and desperate, both clinging to the only thing they had left.
Six months later it hit him that he had just been an outlet, something familiar that had offered comfort in the heat of the moment. That had been the first step to the understanding that sex didn’t always have to come with everlasting love and devotion that outlasted Heaven and Hell. Casual sex was so much easier to deal with. Women were so much softer and gentle, more wanton and responsive to his touch. Then there were women like Risa who were rough and passionate, still soft and warm, but harsh and demanding and powerful. It had gotten him off like he couldn’t even believe. He wondered if Dean knew he had slept with her. Cas then learned that it was better when it was done with three, eventually four and some alcohol-which slowly melted into six pairs of tangled limbs and sweaty blurs.
It was after that first descended hill that Dean began to recoil in disgust. Only Bobby ever spoke to him like the old times. With gruff warmth did the old drunk teach him how to clean a gun or how to make his own meal with whatever scrap they could find. Bobby was the one that had been there when he first OD’d, had helped him detox and smacked him for being an idiot. On more than one occasion they had sat out on the porch in Sioux Falls, shotguns in hand, telling old hunting stories and discussing lore they had wished were real. It hit Cas that this was what a father should be like and it pained him to no end. He still had hope, some inkling of faith that maybe God would still step in and give them a hand. Cas still prayed, even after the angels had left and he was all but human. He prayed even though it hurt to get no reply.
A human’s faith was a beautiful thing, carrying on and believing when they didn’t have the same connection he had once been blessed with. It was hard to obey when he had a two-way connection with Heaven, now it was impossible to believe there even was such a thing as Paradise to begin with.
He still remembered the machineguns and Dean’s enraged screaming that easily rivaled a hell hound. Cas didn’t cry. He didn’t do much of anything. Instead he relapsed, took double the dosage of anything he could find and popped down bottles whenever Bobby’s name would even grace his thoughts.
Chuck had been the last straw. The knowledge that his Father had indeed been there, had seen everything through a mortal’s eyes and had refused to step in had him cursing the sky for hours on end. It was only then that he cried, feeling betrayed and alone, forsaken and damned.
Cas had once been an angel; a bright and beautiful being of righteous and sublime fury with wings that could envelop the Earth. He had been true and fierce, loyal and blessed. And now he was lower than any human being. He thought of Anna. He thought of how graceful she was even after she had fallen. A walking blasphemy with more soul and strength than he could ever wish to have.
“Hey, Cas, dude, get up.” There was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake from where he had dozed off on the floor. He cracked his eyes open. It was still dark out but there were lit candles all over his cabin. Light shifted across Dean’s features, the orange and red reflecting nicely off glossy eyes. This wasn’t his Dean, this was the old one. The one Zachariah had dumped further along his timeline to show him just how bad it got-or something like that. “What the hell happened to you?”
“You.” He answered with a bugged smirk, eyes too heavy to open completely. He managed to sit up with Dean’s help. The room was still spinning, but not as severely as it was before he had hit the floor. His body tingled pleasantly, more so with the company of the old Dean, the one who was now looking down at him with a worried expression. The man’s attention tightened at that.
“So, what? I beat the shit out of anyone who doesn’t want to blow me?”
“For the record, you once punched me for the complete opposite. But yeah, you can say that.” Cas stumbled up to his feet, swaying momentarily before sluggishly making his way across the cabin for a cup of water to wash down the cotton in his mouth. “What brings you here? Viagra, Midol? Name your drug.”
“Look who finally developed a sense of humor at the end of the world.” There was no spite in his tone, just more of the same shocked wonder as he followed him into the tiny kitchen. “Guessing you pulled something really bad to get beat up.” This time, the anger in his tone was clear and whatever was left of Cas’ emotions gave a twitch. Back in the day he hated how Dean blamed himself for everything, even things that were indisputably outside of his control. Now it made him ache for the warmth he had fallen in love with so long ago.
Cas snorted, feeling his nose burn and the caked blood crack uncomfortably on his skin. He made to wipe it away but he let his arm fall back down with a derisive sigh. “My entire existence would fit into that last category. I’ll take Useless Ex-Angels for a thousand.” He was starting to feel bitter again.
Avoiding feelings had been something Cas had become good at, mostly blackening himself out before they began to pull at his heartstrings. It had reached a point in which he was sure he had burnt out the gland that triggered those sensations, but now, standing across from that old Dean, he felt years of hardened walls crumbling down with a single look. He regretted canceling the orgy in favor of the meeting.
“I seem to be a total asshole, apparently.”
“Correction; more than you used to be,” Cas said teasingly, the smirk on his face false but too tired to rub off differently. He needed a hit.
“At least I never beat the shit out of you.” Dean immediately regretted the words when Cas’ smirk faded into a look of sheer coldness. “What happened, man? I thought we were close.” He continued quickly, not wanting the risk the conversation into turning more awkward than it already was.
Putting the glass down, Cas turned his back to Dean, reaching out for a small piece of white paper. “Lover’s spat. One we never recovered from.” He quickly added what he needed, rolling it up tightly before turning to Dean. “You got a lighter?” He did, and reluctantly lit up the joint. “What’s with the look? Never smoked pot before? All natural.”
“You’re not joking, are you?” Dean slipped his lighter into his jean pocket, watching intently as Cas brought the joint to his lips and took in a lazy drag. “W-We didn’t, uh, you know.”
“Fuck? Like rabbits.” There was no sense in hiding it and he really didn’t want to. Something in Cas just wanted to say everything going through his head. Like how much he wanted to punch this past Dean for being a complete asshole back in the day, and how much he needed him to pin him to a wall and screw him until he couldn’t stand up. “And it was good.” Cas found the panicked look on Dean’s face to be hilarious. “We’re adults here, Dean. We can talk about sex.”
“What the hell happened to you, Cas?”
“Already answered that one. Life’s a bitch and she screwed me over.” There was more of the same distant look when he answered the question. He took another drag. “That’s the condensed version of the story, anyways.”
The room went quiet for a minute or two, Dean too lost in his thoughts and Cas slowly burning out his joint with each unhurried inhale. He was leaning against the counter, watery eyes taking in Dean’s agitated breathing. Cas didn’t need his mindreading powers to tell him what Dean was thinking about; the small beads of sweat forming on his temple were a dead giveaway.
“Are you going on that mission in a few hours? Doesn’t exactly ring foolproof.” Apparently deeming the silence too uncomfortable, Dean spoke up, pulling out a rickety chair from the small table and sitting on it, resting his arms over the backrest. His face was closed off, but for some reason Cas could easily pick up on his inner turmoil. Maybe it had something to do with their bond. He found himself wondering if he still had the old handprint on his shoulder.
“I don’t exactly have a choice. No, I don’t, before you try to interrupt me.” He added quickly when Dean opened his mouth to protest. Something told him the free will speech was coming along, but Cas more than anybody knew that it was complete bullshit. Freedom was but a length of rope, after all. “I’m going and that’s the end of it. I already fell for you, what else is there left. Dying? I’d be doing myself a favor.” The weed was loosening his tongue, adding to the buzz of the pills. For a moment he fought the urge to hug Dean just because he felt like it.
Dean, on the other hand, was looking at him long and hard. He was most likely cataloging the damage as the candle flames flickered against his scruffy face, illuminating his black eye, swollen lip and the cut along his left eyebrow. Self-consciousness kicked into high gear and Cas fought the need to shy away from the scrutiny. Years ago he was something pleasing to look at, something beautiful and desirable in the most lascivious way. Now he was broken and dirty. In order to give himself something to do, he put down his blunt and removed his jacket, the night getting far too stuffy for his liking. It was a decision he instantly regretted when Dean shot up from his seat and took him by the wrist, turning it up and pulling back the long sleeve.
Cas jerked away as if burned, holding the arm to his chest like a wounded animal. “I don’t need your pity.”
“Did I do this?” Dean sounded so anguished it nearly pained Cas to look at him. “Have I really fallen so low, to the point that you’ve turned to doing this? I’m telling you-this is nine kinds of fucked up.”
“You have an inflated sense of your importance.” Cas tried for cool defensiveness, unable to handle the look Dean was giving him. He’ll take the anger and the hatred, the blows and scathing words, but he couldn’t take the desperate concern in those too green eyes. It reminded him of home and it made him ache; it made him vulnerable. “There’s more to me than just you. I actually, uh, spread out, so to speak. Met a few people, hunted a few things-messed up royally, all by myself.”
Dean had the audacity to snort. “Inflated sense of my importance, huh?” He made a face that said ‘that’s really fucking funny; too bad I don’t believe shit of what you’re saying’. “Tell me something, Cas. What’s with all the repressing? What’s with all the… the-jokes and the casual sex and smartass remarks? Sounds to me like you’re channeling me. The good ol’ fashion emotionally stunted Winchester way.” He stepped closer to him, towering over Cas even if the height difference wasn’t all that notable. “I’ve seen those facial expressions in the mirror for years. Don’t fucking tell me that you’re okay, because you’re not. And don’t tell me it’s not my fault, because it fucking is.”
Grabbing hold of his wrist again, Dean tugged the arm back out. His skin was rough but his hands had the same delicate and graceful curves he had submitted to memory a few weeks back. Dean thumbed at the welts decorating the pale skin.
“How far along are we?” The question was out before he could give it much thought. Dean was acting overly friendly, something that led him to believe they were pretty far along in their messed up relationship.
“What?”
Cas licked his lips, eyes dropping to stare at Dean’s own. Just like that, it was like standing in front of the old Cas, shy eyes and uncertain posture. “Have we already… copulated?” He used the word deliberately, trying to trigger some sort of familiarity in the man holding his arm.
Granted, Dean snorted. “We were at the whorehouse a few weeks ago.”
“Ah-I remember that.” He said with an air of wonder that suggested it had been an awfully long time since he had last thought of that night. “Man, were you dense. There I was giving you the ‘fuck me’ eyes and you were stupid enough to take me to a brothel instead. No wonder you ended the world.”
Dean grimaced. “Shut up.” His fingers were still wrapped around Cas’ fragile looking wrist. “I’ll probably hate myself for asking this but-how long have you been giving me the, uh… that look for?”
Cas took a moment to think it over and found that he couldn’t really explain. The feeling had been there since before they had met face to face in that old barn. He understood that it had been cosmic, ethereal, this constant waiting for the Righteous Man and the pulsing need in his being to hold, touch and claim. All of which he hid and dampened with his grace because of how wrong it all was. He had hidden it so well that at one point he had even forgotten about it, but the light within didn’t. Cas sighed when he figured that none of that made any sense. How could you love someone you had never known existed? It hit him that his once angelic being had known precisely why, right down to the ticking mechanics of it. His now limited and overly human brain couldn’t even begin to compute. He opted to shrug in response. “I dunno, you tell me.” The smile that accompanied it was awkward, placed there by the cotton feeling in his body.
“You wanted the full human experience or something? Like Body Wars?”
The incredulously offended tone made Cas’ blood boil. “You wanted it just as much as I did. Don’t come putting this bullshit on me because you were the one that slammed me against the fucking crate in the first place, humping like a bitch in heat.” Cas recoiled then, remembering that this wasn’t his Dean, but a younger one who hadn’t yet seen him outside a suit and trench coat. This was a much more human Dean, one that still had love in his heart and one that still cared in his own way. “I’m sorry.”
Embarrassed heat was prickling the tip of his ears, but Dean didn’t step down. Instead, he squared off his shoulders and stepped closer into Cas’ personal space with an air of defiance that completely rocked Cas to the core. The last time Dean had stepped in this close, he had broken his nose. He couldn’t help but shrink away.
Dean noticed the flash of hesitation in his eyes, borderline fear, and he hated himself a little bit more. “Don’t. Just don’t. Guess you just dropped a serious bombshell on me there. I don’t do dudes.”
Cas smirked, the drugs in his system making him emotionally volatile. He managed to rip his wrist from Dean’s hold and pushed himself off the counter, his hands coming down to rest on his hips instead. A wave of satisfaction rolled over him when he noticed the look of alarm in Dean’s glossy green eyes while he was pulled in to press flush against Cas’ more pliant body. “That’s not what I picked up in your car that night. Def Leppard, the not so subtle spread of your legs or how you kept fisting your steering wheel. Seemed to me you were more than interested on not letting me die a virgin.” His hands dropped down to Dean’s ass, giving it a playful squeeze.
“Personal space.” Dean reminded him in a more than agitated squeak of a voice that made Cas laugh humorlessly.
“Is not an option.” He flipped them over, pressing Dean up against the counter and drawing him into a kiss.
Dean’s lips were dry but smooth, warm and inviting as they brushed awkwardly against his, noses bumping as he slipped into a more comfortable position. His hands were clinging to the edge of the counter, his body frigid as opposed to his more responsive mouth and tongue. Cas granted him access, luring in his tongue with his own and wrapping them around each other slowly, drawing out a groan from Dean. Dry lips turned wet when Cas pulls away, running his tongue along Dean’s obscenely plump lips before tugging the bottom one into his mouth and nibbling on it, tugging at it briefly before overlapping their mouths again. It was then that Dean finally snapped out of the stupor and threw his whole body into it, hips bumping into Cas’ as he drew up a hand to rest on the back of his neck, fingers lacing the oily hair at his nape.
It was fucking insane. He could feel the strands of arousal lacing around deep in his stomach, knotting and dipping further down into his groin as Cas’ tongue continued to do wicked twists and turns inside his mouth, exploring and claiming everything it could reach. Dean pulled away to take a breather, his breath hot and stale as opposed to Cas’ sweeter one brushing right underneath his nose. Cas kissed like a pro; hot and heavy and worthy of a porno, but Dean had to snap out of it. It was wrong as fuck to take advantage of the man when he was high on a million different substances, but there was something in how pliant his body was, at how smooth he kissed and how wantonly he was now arching up against his body, silently begging Dean to touch him.
There was no use denying just how desperate Cas was. He’d give anything to have those rough hands on him again, to have those lips latch onto his nipples and kiss their way down his chest and stomach until they were wrapped around his cock.
Dean had been it for Cas, and he still was.
It didn’t matter how good the hands of a dozen women felt on his skin, none of it could ever compare to the fire that lit up within him every time Dean’s palms connected with his skin with the intention to caress. No drug could give him that same high, and he had searched far and wide for one, but none could compare. When Dean’s lips pressed a kiss to his scruffy jaw, Cas’ knees gave.
“Whoa, easy there.” Dean’s hands fastened around his waist to keep him up, more than a little agitated now that his pants were tight and he was fighting an epic moral dilemma. “Let’s get you to bed so you can sleep off all this shit.”
“Couch is closer.” He slurred, jerking his head in the general direction of an old beat-up couch in the far end of the wall to the left. “Just drop us there.”
As instructed, Dean drops Cas on the battered couch and isn’t at all surprised when he’s dragged along. “I said sleep.”
“I’m not one for taking orders.” Cas adjusted himself, slipping a hand through the brown fabric and pulling on something that snapped. Dean was startled when the back of the couch gave way, like a homemade version of a sofa bed. The dirty grin Cas flashed guaranteed him he didn’t want to know. “What? It’s convenient.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.”
Wrapping his leg around Dean’s hip with the flexibility that left him reeling, Cas rolled them both over until he was sitting on the man’s lap, looking down with a smug smile. “Beds tend to lose the magic after the first few months and the floors aren’t that well sealed. Splinters are a pain in the ass when you’ve got no one to help you get them out.” Cas shrugs off his shirt unceremoniously, not bothering to even ask where they were taking this. The bulge in Dean’s pants was enough.
After a few false starts, Dean managed to form a coherent sentence. “I-I’m glad you got that stick out of your ass-” Cas nodded exaggeratedly. “But isn’t this is a little-well-”
“Hm? Had to make space for your dick, after all.”
His nonchalance made Dean balk. “Right. Of course you did.”
Cas bent over for another kiss but somehow ended up missing Dean’s lips by plenty, instead he planted one in the crook between his eye and nose. He tried again, and this time he succeeded with an awkward one to the forehead. The room was spinning out of control and he felt too blissed out to properly concentrate on what he was doing; he let them fall wherever they pleased, but he was extremely aware of how stiff Dean was beneath him. “Relax, will you?”
“Sorry if I can’t, Springsteen. Having a big gay freak out here.” Which was honestly a lie. Dean had already suffered through said freak out in late 2008, thanks to the same being currently wiggling on top of him. Surreal was probably the understatement of the century. “I’d appreciate if you slowed down a bit there.”
“Stop me.”
“What?”
With a sigh, Cas sat up, blinking blearily at the ceiling. “If you want to slow down then stop me. You can break my nose if you really wanted me off-or cracked a rib.” He added with a thoughtful expression.
Dean blinked up at him, slumping onto the sofa. “That was kind of a major turnoff, Cas. Not to rain on your parade or anything.” The soft smile playing on his lips made him want to vomit. “You’re not even hard.”
“Of course I’m not.” The confession came easily, accompanied by an indifferent shrug. “You haven’t gotten me hard in hell knows how long.” PTSD was a bitch to deal with and he hadn’t intended on filling Dean in. Part of him had hoped he’d just lie back and thought of England while he got him off for whatever sick reason his psyche wanted to, but this called for a change in plans. It wasn’t just the usual case of erectile dysfunction, since his junk worked just fine in all other circumstances. Dean happened to be the root of the problem. It was hard to get turned on when you’re constantly afraid of being on the receiving end of bloodied knuckles or verbal lashings.
Much to his surprise, Dean’s hand crawled up his side then up his chest; it rested along his neck, a thumb absently caressing the Adam’s apple that bobbed with each harsh swallow. The softness in Dean’s eyes told him that he knew exactly what Cas had just been thinking about and held promises that he’d try to make it all better. “Let’s fix that.”
Sitting up, Dean pressed his mouth to Cas’ collarbone, teeth tenderly biting the already bruised skin, making a fresh new batch blossom before flattening his tongue over them. He could feel rather than hear Cas’ breath hitch, the shivers pronounced beneath Dean’s palms where they rested at his waist, kneading the wound muscles hesitantly.
This wasn’t what Dean had signed up for. He was sure this wasn’t what Zachariah intended for him to learn, or maybe it was, one could never be too sure about the pompous dick’s motives. Dean wasn’t sure where he stood when it came to Cas, his Cas, the one that was probably still waiting for him at some curb back in 2009. Sure there had been random bursts of lust, random moments of warmth and companionship, but that was it. It was hard to see himself in any kind of relationship with the angel, sexual or otherwise. And then this Cas just throws this shit on him, completely knocking him off his feet and he suddenly can’t control himself. There suddenly isn’t enough skin to touch and bite and suck.
Dean rocks up, pulling Cas down simultaneously to grind them together, pulling a muffled groan from his own throat. He runs his mouth up the tanned neck, stopping only to nibble at the slowed pulse there and continuing upward to trace along Cas’ jaw. The scruff felt strange against his own, grounding him bluntly with warning bells that said ‘this is a guy, you asshole’. But it was more than just a guy. This was Cas. A Cas he had broken, he feared, beyond repair.
“Thought you hated chick moments.” Cas slurred airily, swaying unsteadily as Dean continued to drive their movements; slow, steady and achingly hot. They moved in a smooth rhythm that made him grin in his high, hands all over Dean, drinking in whatever he could from the encounter.
“It’s called sex, you moron. Sue me for wanting you hard for this.” Dean swallowed hard at that, wondering if he had probably inhaled too much of the incense floating around. “If you told me what gets you off then maybe-”
Cas was lightening fast even through his drugged stupor, reaching for Dean’s right arm and awkwardly placing his hand at the bottom of his back, nudging it up by the elbow. “Scratch me.”
“Whoa, wha-” Dean nearly bolted.
“Between my shoulder blades. Please, Dean… please.” The desperation in his voice was enough to make Dean do as he was requested. He gingerly poised a fingernail at the base of Cas’ neck and dragged it down, lightly, between his shoulder blades.
“F-Fuck…” The whine came out with a choked whimper, Cas’ head falling back as his body convulsed with wave after wave of blinding hot pleasure the touch had ignited. He rutted harshly into Dean’s lap, mouth hanging open as he struggled for breath.
Dean was speechless, hands still on Cas’ back, fearing the guy would fall over unconscious at any given moment. He wanted to deny the fact that he was rock hard, but there was no use hiding it at this point. Between the needy cries and those hips moving sinuously on top of his lap, it was hard to do so. “You okay? What was that about?”
Clumsily undoing his pants, Cas rested his forehead against Dean’s, wincing when he remembered himself, but easing when the thought that this wasn’t his Dean floated through his smoke addled brain. “My scars.” Awkwardly shifting his hips, he manages to free his still flaccid cock, fisting it hurriedly as Dean’s eyes drift down to watch with surprise. “The scars my Grace left behind…Where my wings were. The connection was thinnest there-” He broke off into a moan when Dean slapped his hand away, grabbing him and giving his cock a little squeeze. “I-It’s still a… tender spot… Off, now.” He tugged at the button of Dean’s jeans.
Cas cock felt strange in his hand, the heavy weight of it limp in his fist as he tugged and twisted, dusting his thumb over the head. Dean couldn’t help but stare as Cas grabbed him in turn, jerking him off in a slow and twisting motion. The knot at the bottom of his stomach tightened, his hand automatically stilling as Cas worked him with an intense look in his eyes, lips sealing over his shoulder and biting along the hand print. Dean bit back a groan when Cas’ free hand drifted further down, softly fondling his balls in a way that Dean couldn’t even describe due to how fucking amazing it felt.
“If only you could see your face, Dean. So pretty and fucking blissed out… Look at you. You ready to shoot yet? Huh? You ready to give it to me?” It’s all it takes to get Dean coming, loudly, like a freight train. “There we go, come on. Don’t be stingy, Dean, let me have all that.” Cas handles him with care, milking Dean until he’s completely spent.
It takes him a moment of erratic breathing and rapid heartbeats before he can come down again. Eyes wide and dazed, staring blankly at the ceiling as Cas moves on him, hot mouth still trailing across his shoulder, up his neck, chin and finally his mouth. “Jesus,” Dean huffs out when he pulls away to catch his breath, bones feeling like really warm fucking jelly. “Dammit, Cas… Fuckin’ dammit.” Both his hands are on the sides of Cas’ face, holding him in place as he presses kiss after kiss across his mouth, each one hot and more than a little desperate. The guy had wound him up like a toy and knew exactly what buttons made him pop.
Cas’ hand glides across Dean’s cheeks almost tenderly, puffing out a laugh when the stubble tickles against the pad of his fingertips. He traces the sharp lines of his jaw and the dip beneath it, the sweaty temples and the bags beneath his eyes. “I won’t always be able to be in complete control of my reaction…so make sure you look away if you want to keep those pretty little eyes.” His fingers continue their path, slower than before, down his cheek and across Dean’s obscenely thick lips. Cas can’t help but kiss them again.
Finally able to move his limbs again, Dean does a quick job of flipping Cas onto his back and grabbing his cock, gives it a long drawn out pull. He’s quick but gentle, murmuring things onto his stomach as Cas sucks his fingers clean of Dean’s come. There was something thrilling about seeing him at half-mast, at the thought that he had been the one to get him there in the first place. The thought that he was able to make Cas hard sent thrill after thrill racing down his spine, his own cock giving a valiant twitch. On impulse, Dean slides the tip of his tongue along the underside, nudging it just beneath the glands and-bingo-Cas was all systems go.
Dean had been on the receiving end of blowjobs on countless occasions, by all means that did not mean he knew how to give one. The heavy weight of Cas’ cock on his tongue felt amazing, but it was difficult to move said tongue and actually suck at the same time, as some very talented (not to mention very anonymous) mouths had done before. But Cas was a good sport with a hand tangled in Dean’s short hair, pulling and pushing to help him set any kind of rhythm. The sounds he was making were a plus, all choked and heady, breathless and desperate as he carefully bucked into Dean’s mouth, heels scrambling for purchase against the couch, searching for more.
There was creak, one that could be easily written off as the couch unable to handle their combined weight, but Dean’s hunter instinct was sharper. Mouth still wrapped around Cas, he edged up his eyes to look at the door that lead into the bedroom. In truth, he would never be able to get used to seeing his mirror image standing across from him without being, well, an actual mirror. Seeing this older version of himself playing voyeur set an uncomfortable chill in his bones, which, in any other situation, would have been erotic as hell. Now, the borderline vicious look on his face was enough to make Dean want to retreat.
The hand in his hair tightened when Cas let out a small whimper that was lost in a keen, curling into himself when the threads of imminent orgasm began to coil low in his stomach. Dean snapped back into it, finally finding enough purchase to suck on the thick stiffness between his lips. And he’d be damned if it wasn’t enough.
Cas’ back arches in a way Dean could only describe as graceful, all smooth movement and an abandon so thickly tangled with ecstasy that he’s almost hard again. It’s messy; unable to swallow it all, some of the come trickles down the side of his mouth, hot and thick and smelling bitter. Dean feels momentarily nauseous, but it’s dispelled when he notices the tear tracks down Cas’ scruffy cheeks. “C-Cas?” His voice is rough and shaky as he makes his way up the man’s pliant body and presses a sloppy kiss to his mouth. Dean wonders if he should have asked first, before slapping his come stained lips to Cas’ mouth, but Cas doesn’t seem to have any complaints. He returns the kiss. “Hey, hey… I wasn’t- Couldn’t have been that bad. Cut a guy some slack, huh?” Dean tries to joke, but he only succeeds in making fresh tears.
“I’ve missed you. Oh how I’ve missed you.” Cas has his arms around Dean’s shoulders in a heartbeat, tugging him down on top of him and holding him in place. It was an awkward position for two fully grown men, and Dean is heavy enough to make Cas struggle for breath, but he doesn’t give a shit. All Cas wants into melt into Dean. All he wants is to bask in the warm light that is Dean’s soul; the soul he once cradled within his hands and loved and adored and took care of. He wants to burrow into his arms and never leave.
“I’m here-I’ve always been here.” Dean doesn’t know what else to say. It may not make a lick of sense, but those were the first words that popped into his head and slipped out of his mouth without his proper consent.
Cas laughs, low and rough, still tumbled together with both highs. It’s just as miserable as everything else. Just as broken, just as hapless, but probably the most heart wrenching thing of it all. “You haven’t been here for a very long time, Dean.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________
The Jeeps are all lined up outside of the cabins, ready to head out in less than an hour. Chuck is moving along the convoy, talking stiffly with the drivers and patting each one on the back before moving on to the next. Dawn is breaking over the horizon. Kansas City is a good drive away, most likely the last drive most of them will make.
Cas is leaning against one of the wooden beams of his hut’s porch, sweat pants hanging low on his hips. Not because he was aiming to seduce, but because they hurt like a bitch. Dean had gripped a little too tightly a matter of hours ago.
Try as he may, he would never get used to seeing two Deans talking to each other like it’s the most normal thing in the world. There was a defensive stiffness to his Dean, the Dean from now who had been forced to withstand five years without his brother, that threw Cas off. Sure, it wasn’t like the guy took weekly spa breaks, but it was a different kind of stiffness; one that made him wearier than usual.
They both shook hands in a way that could only be described as reluctant before turning and walking his way.
Cas didn’t bother moving from his spot, eyeing the youngest edition of Dean with unmasked interest. A million orgies with the most talented of folks would never compare to the sensation of having those lips wrapped tightly around him. He smirks when Dean flushes at the scrutiny.
“We’re driving out for the Colt. You coming?” Dean, his Dean, asks venomously. This Dean never asked, not to him. He only ever ordered him to do shit.
Cas can’t help but grin, curiously stumped at whatever had just happened. “Already did, no thanks to you.”
“Ahem.” Past-Dean clears his throat, awkwardly, interrupting his older self before he could swear down what was left of the Heavens. “We can use all the manpower we can get. You don’t have to come with us if you don’t want to.”
Oh.
Cas smiles, a small little upturn of his lips as he stares at this gentler Dean. He was probably behind it. Even after so many millennia of serving his Father, Cas had never been free of rule. He followed Dean blindly, even if it was to his death. But this Dean was giving him a choice. However small, it made a world of difference. And for the first time, Cas was not afraid to answer truthfully. “I think I’ll sit this one out.” He flinches when his Dean storms past him without a word. Inside, he can hear him cursing. “I’m gonna have to sleep with an eye open, aren’t I?”
The younger Dean shrugged. He climbs up the short set of steps and stops only when he’s inches away from Cas, personal space be damned. “Look, Cas…”
“Don’t. Please.” He places a hand over Dean’s chest as if physically trying to stop him from saying anything he might not be able to live with. “I don’t know how long you’ll be here.” Don’t give me hope and then take it away. The words hang between them, clear as day. He hasn’t felt this pleasant while sober in years.
At that moment Dean decides to storm out of the cabin-pointedly ignoring the two standing inches away from each other on the porch-with a rucksack in hand and throws it into the back of one of the Jeeps. “We’re leaving.” Chuck tells him something neither Cas or the younger Dean can hear, but it’s clear when Dean states that the people that actually matter are ready to go.
The urge to give him the finger is gone when Dean presses his mouth to his for a brief moment before pulling away, rendering the onlookers silent in their shock. This was most likely a side of their leader they had never witnessed.
It didn’t matter what universe it was, or what timeline, or whatever the fuck the angels pulled, Dean did not do public displays of absolutely anything. He was strangely reserved for being the Dean Winchester. Suddenly, Cas felt too overwhelmed to cope. He wondered why he never had this. He hated that he was cheated from having this kind of affection. He needed a hit, a drink, anything to dampen the pain-“Hey!” Jerking his arm away, he cradles it against his chest. “The fuck’s your problem?” Son of a bitch had pinched him.
“You’re a Winchester.” Dean’s words are solemn and decided, his eyes unwavering and face set, giving no room for arguments. “We deal. We put up with shit no matter how bad it gets. Pull yourself together.” He pretends he doesn’t see the glossy sheen in Cas’ eyes. “I’ll take the pain over nothingness.”
Cas is left feeling like they’ve pulled the rug out from beneath his feet; like a punch to the gut or a bucket of ice cold water being poured over his head. It’s sudden and unexpected and he can’t cope, will never be able to cope-but maybe can.
The Jeeps begin to pull out, one by one, and Dean makes his way towards the last one. “You take care of yourself, ya’ hear? Don’t make me come back here and personally kick your ass.” He gives Cas a two finger salute before jumping into the back of the old Jeep, saying something to one of the guys sitting beside him.
Pulling out into the dirt road, Dean is already gone when the convoy exits the perimeter. Like a bad dream, nobody seems to notice the sudden disappearance of their leader’s doppelganger. Orange and pink both tinting the sky as the sun begins to break through the clouds, Cas finds himself thinking that maybe it was just a nightmare. Some LSD induced hallucination.
I’ll take the pain over nothingness.
Cas squeezes the bruises along his narrow hips, wincing at the dull ache.
He’s not sure if the encounter would make him or break him, with Dean now gone. He was still alone and powerless. A useless junkie addicted to sex and alcohol and, strangely enough, bees. He entertained the notion of following the bees; maybe they could lead him to Zachariah. But the angel was most likely long gone with Michael’s vessel in tow.
Cas was nothing more than a useless junkie, but he was also a Winchester. And Winchesters always woke up to fight another day.