Fic: Adventures in Solitude [9/11]
Title: Adventures in Soltiude [9/11]
Author: bloodism
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural/post-Season 4 canon-au, romance, hurt/comfort
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel, Sam/OC
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 30, 708
Warnings: fallen!cas, OC's, sexual content, canon-au
22nd July 2010
Jude finds him, hunched over on the seat on Bobby’s porch. He’s still wearing his clothes from the day before, there’s two days worth of stubble on his chin, his hair is rough and tousled and his skin is clammy.
“You look like shit,” she says as she sits down next to him. He doesn’t berate her for her language, or even spare her a glance. His head is loose and stooped, hands dangling between his parted legs.
“Take my mind off of it?” he asks quietly, voice low. “Tell me anything.”
Jude doesn’t ask him to elaborate, and for that, he’s glad. There’s a long silence, and for a moment, Dean thinks she’s left, until she shifts next to him.
“It was my fault,” Jude starts quietly. She sounds lower than Dean’s ever heard her, miserable, voice cracking. “Just over a year ago, my ma and me. We were on a hunt. Nothing weird, just demons. But she...” Her voice cracks. “I turned my back, and they got to her. Cut through her tattoo and crawled inside her like she was just a lump o’ skin. As it beat me, the demon kept talking about the end, and seals and the Devil. I couldn’t do anything, didn’t know what it wanted. I was close when the demon’s eyes turned back. My ma took control, told me to kill her. So I did. She died, the demon went with her. I got out, but...”
Dean looks up and watches Jude’s bottom lip tremble. A tear catches on her eyelash and falls onto the wood by her feet.
“May Cooper. The second seal.” Jude’s eyes reach Castiel first, but he’s looking at Dean. “It was saved without our help.”
Dean’s mouth is dry. He tears his gaze away and rubs a hand across his mouth, almost as though he wants to wipe away his guilt. It was his fault. He’d broken, he’d torn down the first seal, he’d...
“This was my ma’s,” Jude held up her finger, and Dean watched her curl a ring around it. She sniffs and wipes away the tears with the backs of her hand, laughing. “I’m not a crybaby.”
Castiel seats himself on the other side of Jude, and Dean keeps his sturdy eyes on the floor.
“This is just...” Dean shakes his head and lets out a humourless chuckle. “You think it’s all a little too perfect? You know Ellen, your mom was the second seal, you found Cas. It’s like this whole thing...”
“Is a prophecy,” Cas finishes. Dean finally looks up to meet his gaze and Jude looks between the two, getting increasingly uncomfortable as the time stretches.
“Right.” She nods and sniffs. “Okay, I’m going.”
She leaves and Dean opens his mouth to call her back. He doesn’t want to be left alone with Cas. Not now. So, he gets up to go too, without a word.
Cas grabs his wrist.
“Dean.”
“No,” he says, pupils drawn to the corner of his eyes. “Just let it go, Cas.” He waits for Cas to release him, because he can’t bring himself to pull away. He doesn’t like this... this draw that he’s suddenly gotten toward Cas. It’s wrong, because he’s a guy whose only ever gone after women; it’s wrong, because he’s only just gotten over the fact that Cas isn’t dead; it’s wrong because it’s supposed to be right.
Cas releases his wrist, and he goes.
-
25nd July 2010
They dance around each other for the next few days... more than usual.
Jude notices and she suspects, but she says nothing. Sam assumes they’re fighting again, as do Fae and Bobby. Castiel researches the different ways he can be on the brink of death, which he can come back from easily. He doesn’t have much luck.
It’s late in the evening. After Dean’s little reckless adventure the other day, Sam had lectured him on how the angel could have found him and blah, blah, blah. Dean had switched off. Sam didn’t know how desperate Dean had been to get away from it all.
He was still conflicted, still worried. It’d happened, just like that. A sudden attraction, a sudden urge, a sudden need. He wants to put it down the stinkin’ prophecy. That the whole ‘soul bonding’ bullshit was true, and it was all fake. Everything he was feeling was forged, angel mojo, prophecy crap.
But he can’t pin it down to that. And that’s what bothers him.
Dean wanders into the kitchen, head in the clouds, and reaches for the whiskey on the side. It’s then he realises that he’s not alone and he looks over his shoulder.
Fae and Jude are arguing in hushed whispers in the lounge. Jude’s protesting over whatever it is and Fae’s trying to push it onto her, waving around her phone.
“Am I interrupting something?” Dean says, an echo of Fae’s question to him a few days ago. Their hissed argument stops, but they don’t look at him, glaring at each other with a venom Dean hadn’t seen before.
“No,” Jude grinds out in finality. She storms out dramatically, leaving Fae in the dark. She’s running a hand through her hair and her conflicted expression sends away the amusement Dean had felt.
“Everythin’ alright?” He asks warily. Fae clenches her jaw.
“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s good.” She walks past him distractedly, clicking about on her phone, and leaves through the front door, like it wasn’t strange to be going outside at eleven pm. Dean raises his eyebrows, shrugs, and goes back to drinking his whiskey.
When everyone wakes up the next morning, Fae and Jude are gone.
-
26th July 2010
“Did you hear what they were talking about?
“Were they acting strange?”
“What’d they say to you?”
Sam, Bobby and Cas are surrounding Dean, pummelling him with questions.
“Woah, hold up. I’ve told you what happened, will you back off?” Dean holds up his hands, creating a barrier between the three grown men shuffling him closer and closer to the wall.
“They told you nothin’?” Bobby asks. Dean stares at him funny, because since when did he care? He had two less guests to worry about.
“No, alright? Miss Robinson left through the front door and tantrum turbo stormed outta the room.” Dean stares at the three expectedly. “So, we done?”
They move away, their shoulders sinking with disappointment.
“So, what do we know? Where could they have gone?” Sam asks, perching himself stiffly on a chair behind him. He’s worried, a little stunned, still having trouble processing that his Wondergirl had upped and ditched him. Dean wants to be able to sit next to him and tell him it’s gonna be fine - that they’ll find them - but he can’t even convince himself. He’s thinking about Jude, what she told him yesterday, what she’s carrying around with her. He wants to pull her back in, tell him that he’s chock full of bad stuff too and that he can help her. But she’s left him, like John did, like Sam did, like Cas did.
He shouldn’t have expected anything less.
“I say we leave ‘em,” he says, ignoring Sam’s question, “They left; they clearly don’t wanna be around anymore. Just let them go.”
“Dean, the angel is hunting them,” Cas protests. Dean shrugs.
“Not our problem anymore. Let the stupid sons of bitches be angel fodder-“
A fist slams against the edge of his mouth and he stumbles backwards, his lower back slamming into Bobby’s desk. He steadies himself and a few things fall to the floor.
“Damnit,” Dean mutters, thumb brushing against the blood on his lips. His gaze rises, slowly, and he glares venomously at Cas, whose knuckles are decorated with a light splattering of Dean’s blood.
Cas doesn’t need to say his warning, and Dean doesn’t need to know where he stepped out of line. Sam’s rushed forward and is holding Cas back with one hand on his shoulder.
“Cas, leave it. Dean’s just worried.” Sam’s assurance seems to work. Cas steps back, lowers his fist back to his side, eyes dark and threatening.
“Ain’t you just sparkling today,” Dean quips at him. He attempts to make it sound humorous, but it comes out with bite. Castiel lips press together and a tick goes in his jaw.
“Cool your heads, idgits. Think it through,” Bobby says gruffly, stepping between the two of them. “Chances are, our holy hunter’s gonna be too busy chasin’ after his meatsuit to worry ‘bout ‘em. We’re top o’ their hit list now.”
His words ease the tension, though they’re still faced the possibility that Fae and Jude were gone for good. They all seem to be thinking of the same thing and there’s a mutual silence as they absorb this.
Sam wanders out of the room, presumably to his bedroom, so he can mope. Dean wants to go after him, and talk, but nothing he says will make it better. Sam’s lost someone he loved, again. As if Jess wasn’t bad enough.
The only difference this time was that she had left willingly.
“I told him it’d be a bad idea.” Dean shook his head and slumped back onto the worn sofa, rubbing at his forehead. Bobby doesn’t seem to want him to elaborate. He takes one look at the sofa, where he and Jude had been seated a few nights before, and leaves.
It’s just Dean and Cas.
“I don’t understand...” Cas mumbles. His chin is pressed to his chest and the floor seems to be the most interesting thing in the room to him. “Why would she... Why would they...”
“Because that’s how it always is,” Dean intends for it to come out angrily, but it’s quiet and defeated, “We’re cursed. Winchester’s have a thing for gettin’ ditched by the people they love. Especially me. I mean, I was abandoned by dad, and Sam, and you...”
Dean doesn’t realise what he’s said until a deep silence stretches out between them. When he looks up, Cas still looks distraught, but there’s surprise and the quirk of a smile around his lips.
“You... You love me, then?”
Dean swears his stomach falls through and he covers up his discomfort with a cough and a forced shrug.
“Sure. I’d rather have you, angel or not. If I want you around, that’s good news. Means you’re on the same page as Sam and Bobby.”
The light’s faded a little from Cas’s eyes, but he still looks appreciative. He moves over the sofa and seats himself not so close to Dean that they’re touching, but close enough for Dean to feel the warmth coming from his arm.
“Well, for what it’s worth,” Cas looks at him, knees spreading wider and hands loose between them. Dean watches them part, and his mouth goes dry. “I love you, too.” Dean’s gaze is drawn straight to Cas and they converse through their eyes. Words pass between them neither of them want to say, and apologies, and worries that they need to put aside. Cas looks down. “Of course, I love Sam, too.”
The ecstatic feeling that had spurted into Dean’s gut is yanked away. Dean swallows down the heavy rock that grows in his throat. Oh, he saw that. He knew what Cas just did and he doesn’t know whether to make a joke and play it safe or snap at him or just lean forwards and capture those god damn perfect, slightly-quirked, plush lips-
“You really...” Dean stops, his tongue poking out between his lips to brush along his bottom lip. Cas’s eyes follow the movement, and it’s there again. That fissure, that tension that just makes Dean want to run and lean forward both at the same time.
“Can you promise me something?” Cas asks suddenly, moving closer. Their thighs brush together.
“Depends,” Dean’s voice has gotten subconsciously quieter. He ignores the thought that’s niggling at the back of his head, telling him that he’ll regret not flinching away. That he’ll remember that it was Cas he wanted to kiss, it’s Cas he wanted to see with his clothes stripped to the floor, it’s Cas he wanted to see with red marks over his neck that Dean had put there-
“You’ll kiss me. Properly. Before I face the angel.”
Dean’s distracted gaze flicks up from Cas’s lips to his eyes. They’re not teasing him now. They’re sincere and hopeful. The reminder of the angel makes Dean hurt a little, because he could lose Cas again, and he doesn’t want to. Not when they’re so close to becoming... something. So Dean fakes nonchalance and shrugs.
“Why not? I’ll give you a real smacker before you bite the dust.” Dean gets up and heads over to Bobby’s desk, drawing out his private stash of beers. He doesn’t offer one to Cas. “God knows I’ve had enough experience.”
“That’s not why I want you to do it,”
Dean pretends he doesn’t hear Cas and points at him with a warning finger.
“I know how many are in there.” He hits the desk with the back of his shoe and he doesn’t have to elaborate for Cas. The message is clear. Don’t touch the alcohol.
He leaves Cas alone in the living room and with his back turned, allows the smile to cross his lips. He’s made a promise, and he intends to keep it.
-
288th July 2010
A few nights later, Dean sticks to his word.
Early that morning, Cas had received a text. It was from Jude. It had said nothing but ‘fine back soon’. There were a few random letters that followed and it made Dean smile, because he knew it was where Fae had caught her and had tried to grab the phone. The message had been sent, however, and it’d created a new atmosphere in the house. One that was relaxed. As relaxed as it could get, anyway. They had just over a day left before the angel would track down Cas, and they’d have a battle to fight.
Their last one, Dean hoped.
When Dean comes down that evening - having awoke from a nightmare - he pauses in the doorway. Cas is on the sofa, lamp light flooding down across his trenchcoat-less body. His suit jacket is off too, sleeves rolled up on his white shirt, top buttons undone. It makes Dean’s mouth water inappropriately and he shakes his stiffened limbs, moving to the edge of the kitchen counter.
“I thought I told you I was keeping count.” His voice is loud in the dark and Cas jumps a little, spilling the beer down his shirt. There are other empty bottles scattered on the floor next to him.
“You said nothing about not being allowed to drink them,” Cas retorts easily, wiping away the beer on his chin with the back of his hand. Dean unfolds his arms and makes his way over. Instead of shoving Cas’s legs off of the sofa, he slots himself into the space at the end and brings his own legs up, wrapping them around Cas’s.
“You gotta deal with this,” Dean says, waving a hand at the alcohol. “Seriously. You’re just gonna wreck yourself.”
“I’m fine, Dean,” Cas’s speech is slightly slurred, but he seems to have some of his wits about him. “Think of it like a child. When they first learn to walk, they never stop, until the fun of it wears out, and they do it less.”
“So you’re gonna keep drinkin’ till the fun wears out?” Dean shakes his head. “Dude, it never stops. There’s too much alcohol out there to try, you’ll keep going.”
Cas stares at him like he’s thinking of something entirely different but eventually lets out a sigh and puts the beer aside. “Okay.”
Dean’s eyebrows rise. “Seriously? You took that too easy. Do I need to search you? You got a bottle of whiskey stored away in that scrawny body of yours?”
Castiel draws his gaze back to Dean and his eyelids flutter down into a slow blink, like he’s urging Dean on. Search me, I dare you. He’s staring at Dean languidly, mouth parting gently and it’s making Dean uncomfortable in a way that’s too good. He tries to hold it for as long as he can - the urge, the gaze, the anticipation - but he caves. He crawls forward, straddling Cas’s outstretched legs, and swoops forwards so his face is inches above Cas’s. Cas is slumped, so his posture allows Dean to lean over him, noses nuzzling.
“Dean, I would...” Cas is nervous and he tries to swallow it down. “I would very much like that kiss now.”
Dean doesn’t argue.
Their lips brush, once, twice, and then Dean completes it. He pushes in hard, arms trembling, both from panic and the weight they’re holding up. Cas hums when Dean pulls back, turning his head to dive back in. Oh. Oh, this angle is good. It’s slow, and sensual, and it hurts a little too, because there’s a cut and bruise on Dean’s lips.
It’s painful pleasure, though. Cas pushes upwards, trying to capture more of Dean’s mouth. Too soft. It’s too soft, and he wants more, and Dean gives it to him. Urges Cas’s lips open with his own and sweeps his tongue inside.
And the sound that Cas makes, god damn it’s gorgeous. He frickin’ whines and struggles to sit up more, struggles to pull Dean closer, fingers clawing at his back. They battle, the kiss speeds up, and it’s not sensual anymore. It’s greedy and hungry and hot.
The shift in position means Dean can take his weight off of his arms, so he does, and his hands snap to Cas’s face, keeping him still, allowing him to dominate, taking over the kiss with a ravenous force. One stroke of his tongue along Cas’s, and Cas is lost, pulling away and gasping for breath, his tongue still poking through his delicious, divided lips.
“More,” Cas pants. “Please.”
Dean’s eyes roam over Cas’s face, taking in the blown pupils, the flushed cheeks, the innocent, ruined expression, and he completes his search by staring at the red, thick open mouth.
“Cas,” he says simply, and it’s not a warning or a call for attention, he just says it because he can. Then he pulls back, hauls off his own t-shirt, the feather amulet slapping against his chest, and busies himself with Cas’s buttons.
“What are you-“ Cas gasps when Dean’s fingers find his nipple, and twist it. Dean takes advantage of the open mouth and plunges back in, fingers teasing and pressing at hard skin. He’s used to warm globes of flesh; he’s used to smooth, unblemished skin. But this feels too good, this stubble and hardness and beneath his hands. He feels like he doesn’t have to be careful. Like he can let himself go. When Dean pulls back for breath again, Cas tries to speak. “That... that feels good,” Cas stammers.
“Wanna go a bit further than kissing?” Dean whispers into his neck. He doesn’t want to stop, because if he does, he’s going to question it. He’s going to second guess, and he’s going to clam shut. Forget this ever happened, and wish at the same time that it happened again.
“W-what do you - ah - mean?” With a smirk, Dean bends down and captures the abused nipple in his mouth.
Cas’s breathless ‘oh’ is almost better than the whine. Dean heads down further, opening the shirt as he mouths at Cas’s ribs and skin, leaving bites and red marks behind. Cas is squirming now, like he wants something, but can’t quite decide what it is. Dean hopes his confident movements hide his nervousness, because he’s heading down further, and he’s at Cas’s hipbones now. He spends time with them, hands pressing down on Cas’s stomach as he licks and nibbles on them.
“Dean,” It’s desperate, horribly so, and when Dean looks up along Cas’s beautiful, exposed body to look at his wrecked expression, he’s not freaked by the lack of breasts or female features. It feels... right.
In one, harsh movement, Dean grinds the heel of his palm against Cas’s tented trousers, and Cas almost chokes
“O-Oh,” He stutters, and his hips jerk up, seeking more friction, more skin, more contact. With quick, nimble fingers, Dean draws out Cas’s hard cock from his trousers, and again, it should be weird, but it feels heavy and warm in Dean’s hand, and he examines it. It’s wide, the head shiny and red, a bead of pre-come forming at the tip. His mouth waters, and before he can register his movements, he’s leaning forwards and lapping it away.
Cas arches and moans into the back of his hand. Dean has to press down harder to stop Cas’s hips from colliding with his forehead. Dean’s legs are cramping, he’s squeezed on a tiny sofa, he’s nowhere near as confident as he should be, but everything was perfect. He loves this; loves seeing Cas squirming and twitching beneath him.
He moves his knees so he’s straddling one of Cas’s legs, and with one hand, he frees his own cock. He looks up at Cas and strokes himself a few times, biting back his groans.
“You’re...” Dean twists his hand, the way he likes it, and his words get stuck in his throat. “Jesus, Cas, you have no idea how you look right now.”
Cas just stares down at where Dean’s hand is stroking himself, chest heaving with weighty breaths. He’s getting off on it. He enjoys watching Dean’s cock disappear between a hand that’s not his, loves the way Dean’s hand slows when he gets the angle just right.
Dean can’t-
He leans over, takes Cas back in his mouth, sucking hard.
Cas shouts something unintelligible, slamming the back of his hand back over his mouth to keep himself quiet. The moans still slip through when Dean’s tongue presses against the ridge of Cas’s cock, and Dean’s hips grind into Cas’s legs, rubbing his own erection along him in a way that’s perfect.
“D-Dean.” Cas’s free hand grips his hair, but doesn’t force him down deeper. Dean works slowly, figuring out what Cas likes the way women had worked on Dean, and he can’t be doing too bad, because Cas’s head is tossing to the side, a low whimper seeping through his throat.
Dean has to stop. He needs to catch his breath, and he needs to change position. His arms are aching. He shifts them, puts Cas’s thighs over his shoulders - it’s better, and he presses his nose to Cas’s inner thigh, breathes in his scent - and then he stops. He doesn’t know what to do next.
Does he keep going? Bring Cas to orgasm with his mouth? Or does he use his hand and bring him over the edge with a bite to his thigh?
He swallows, and goes further down. He mouths at Cas’s balls, sending Cas into a writhing mess above him, and then he hesitates. Should he go further?
He does. His mouth waters with the crushing desire to do it, so he does. He licks a stripe from the base of Cas’s balls to his hole, and oh Cas’s groan is filth.
“W-w-what,” is all Cas gets out. Dean dives back in, closing his eyes, digging his tongue deeper into Cas’s hole. It’s not exactly pleasant, but not unpleasant either. How can it be such a terrible thing, when Cas is making porn-worthy noises above him, almost sobbing into his hand in an attempt to stifle his moans. “D-Dean, please. Please, stop. I need you, I need...”
Dean pulls away, and he’s had enough. He can’t speak, let alone form an intelligible word, because damn, he’s never been this aroused, never needed it this much. He straddles Cas’s legs again, slots their cocks together - an action that seems strange to him, but not at all bad - and pushes his mouth back into Cas’s. They move together, Dean meeting Cas’s thrust for thrust, muffled groan to muffled groan.
“Cas,” he breathes into Cas’s mouth, and he feels Cas’s smile. He smiles back, bringing his hand down to their sliding, wet erections. He takes them both in his hand, grips tightly, strokes one, two, and then they’re both going over the edge, feather amulet dangling between them. Cas arches high beneath him, eyes blown open and mouth vulnerable and exposed. Dean’s eyes widen, and his forehead collides hard with Cas’s shoulder. He gasps, watches Cas and him paint each other with their fluids, and then his body sags forwards, sweaty skin hitting sweaty skin.
They’re still both wearing some of their clothes. Dean’s jeans low on his hips and Cas’s shirt open wide, like wings.
“That was...” Cas says after a minutes silence.
“Yeah,” Dean finishes, and he has to laugh. “Who’d have thought...”
“Apparently, the angels,” Cas shivers when Dean’s fingers stroke along the inside of his wrist. There are scars there, where he’d cut himself to paint the seals. Dean presses a little too hard on the fresh wound, but it just makes Cas suck in a breath. He looks up, and Dean’s looking down at him.
They’ve swapped. Dean’s looking down at him with this reverence and strength, and Cas is looking up at him with openness and hope.
“We gotta clean this mess up before Sam or Bobby get down here.” Dean breaks away, hands trembling. “They wouldn’t let me forget it.”
“Good.”
He looks back at Cas and he sees promise there. He sees more of what he could get - what they could do. But he shakes it off and hauls himself off of the sofa.
“Just so you know,” Dean says. He looks over his shoulder. Smirks. “There ain't no way we're not doin' that again.”
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Author: bloodism
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural/post-Season 4 canon-au, romance, hurt/comfort
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel, Sam/OC
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 30, 708
Warnings: fallen!cas, OC's, sexual content, canon-au
22nd July 2010
Jude finds him, hunched over on the seat on Bobby’s porch. He’s still wearing his clothes from the day before, there’s two days worth of stubble on his chin, his hair is rough and tousled and his skin is clammy.
“You look like shit,” she says as she sits down next to him. He doesn’t berate her for her language, or even spare her a glance. His head is loose and stooped, hands dangling between his parted legs.
“Take my mind off of it?” he asks quietly, voice low. “Tell me anything.”
Jude doesn’t ask him to elaborate, and for that, he’s glad. There’s a long silence, and for a moment, Dean thinks she’s left, until she shifts next to him.
“It was my fault,” Jude starts quietly. She sounds lower than Dean’s ever heard her, miserable, voice cracking. “Just over a year ago, my ma and me. We were on a hunt. Nothing weird, just demons. But she...” Her voice cracks. “I turned my back, and they got to her. Cut through her tattoo and crawled inside her like she was just a lump o’ skin. As it beat me, the demon kept talking about the end, and seals and the Devil. I couldn’t do anything, didn’t know what it wanted. I was close when the demon’s eyes turned back. My ma took control, told me to kill her. So I did. She died, the demon went with her. I got out, but...”
Dean looks up and watches Jude’s bottom lip tremble. A tear catches on her eyelash and falls onto the wood by her feet.
“May Cooper. The second seal.” Jude’s eyes reach Castiel first, but he’s looking at Dean. “It was saved without our help.”
Dean’s mouth is dry. He tears his gaze away and rubs a hand across his mouth, almost as though he wants to wipe away his guilt. It was his fault. He’d broken, he’d torn down the first seal, he’d...
“This was my ma’s,” Jude held up her finger, and Dean watched her curl a ring around it. She sniffs and wipes away the tears with the backs of her hand, laughing. “I’m not a crybaby.”
Castiel seats himself on the other side of Jude, and Dean keeps his sturdy eyes on the floor.
“This is just...” Dean shakes his head and lets out a humourless chuckle. “You think it’s all a little too perfect? You know Ellen, your mom was the second seal, you found Cas. It’s like this whole thing...”
“Is a prophecy,” Cas finishes. Dean finally looks up to meet his gaze and Jude looks between the two, getting increasingly uncomfortable as the time stretches.
“Right.” She nods and sniffs. “Okay, I’m going.”
She leaves and Dean opens his mouth to call her back. He doesn’t want to be left alone with Cas. Not now. So, he gets up to go too, without a word.
Cas grabs his wrist.
“Dean.”
“No,” he says, pupils drawn to the corner of his eyes. “Just let it go, Cas.” He waits for Cas to release him, because he can’t bring himself to pull away. He doesn’t like this... this draw that he’s suddenly gotten toward Cas. It’s wrong, because he’s a guy whose only ever gone after women; it’s wrong, because he’s only just gotten over the fact that Cas isn’t dead; it’s wrong because it’s supposed to be right.
Cas releases his wrist, and he goes.
-
25nd July 2010
They dance around each other for the next few days... more than usual.
Jude notices and she suspects, but she says nothing. Sam assumes they’re fighting again, as do Fae and Bobby. Castiel researches the different ways he can be on the brink of death, which he can come back from easily. He doesn’t have much luck.
It’s late in the evening. After Dean’s little reckless adventure the other day, Sam had lectured him on how the angel could have found him and blah, blah, blah. Dean had switched off. Sam didn’t know how desperate Dean had been to get away from it all.
He was still conflicted, still worried. It’d happened, just like that. A sudden attraction, a sudden urge, a sudden need. He wants to put it down the stinkin’ prophecy. That the whole ‘soul bonding’ bullshit was true, and it was all fake. Everything he was feeling was forged, angel mojo, prophecy crap.
But he can’t pin it down to that. And that’s what bothers him.
Dean wanders into the kitchen, head in the clouds, and reaches for the whiskey on the side. It’s then he realises that he’s not alone and he looks over his shoulder.
Fae and Jude are arguing in hushed whispers in the lounge. Jude’s protesting over whatever it is and Fae’s trying to push it onto her, waving around her phone.
“Am I interrupting something?” Dean says, an echo of Fae’s question to him a few days ago. Their hissed argument stops, but they don’t look at him, glaring at each other with a venom Dean hadn’t seen before.
“No,” Jude grinds out in finality. She storms out dramatically, leaving Fae in the dark. She’s running a hand through her hair and her conflicted expression sends away the amusement Dean had felt.
“Everythin’ alright?” He asks warily. Fae clenches her jaw.
“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s good.” She walks past him distractedly, clicking about on her phone, and leaves through the front door, like it wasn’t strange to be going outside at eleven pm. Dean raises his eyebrows, shrugs, and goes back to drinking his whiskey.
When everyone wakes up the next morning, Fae and Jude are gone.
-
26th July 2010
“Did you hear what they were talking about?
“Were they acting strange?”
“What’d they say to you?”
Sam, Bobby and Cas are surrounding Dean, pummelling him with questions.
“Woah, hold up. I’ve told you what happened, will you back off?” Dean holds up his hands, creating a barrier between the three grown men shuffling him closer and closer to the wall.
“They told you nothin’?” Bobby asks. Dean stares at him funny, because since when did he care? He had two less guests to worry about.
“No, alright? Miss Robinson left through the front door and tantrum turbo stormed outta the room.” Dean stares at the three expectedly. “So, we done?”
They move away, their shoulders sinking with disappointment.
“So, what do we know? Where could they have gone?” Sam asks, perching himself stiffly on a chair behind him. He’s worried, a little stunned, still having trouble processing that his Wondergirl had upped and ditched him. Dean wants to be able to sit next to him and tell him it’s gonna be fine - that they’ll find them - but he can’t even convince himself. He’s thinking about Jude, what she told him yesterday, what she’s carrying around with her. He wants to pull her back in, tell him that he’s chock full of bad stuff too and that he can help her. But she’s left him, like John did, like Sam did, like Cas did.
He shouldn’t have expected anything less.
“I say we leave ‘em,” he says, ignoring Sam’s question, “They left; they clearly don’t wanna be around anymore. Just let them go.”
“Dean, the angel is hunting them,” Cas protests. Dean shrugs.
“Not our problem anymore. Let the stupid sons of bitches be angel fodder-“
A fist slams against the edge of his mouth and he stumbles backwards, his lower back slamming into Bobby’s desk. He steadies himself and a few things fall to the floor.
“Damnit,” Dean mutters, thumb brushing against the blood on his lips. His gaze rises, slowly, and he glares venomously at Cas, whose knuckles are decorated with a light splattering of Dean’s blood.
Cas doesn’t need to say his warning, and Dean doesn’t need to know where he stepped out of line. Sam’s rushed forward and is holding Cas back with one hand on his shoulder.
“Cas, leave it. Dean’s just worried.” Sam’s assurance seems to work. Cas steps back, lowers his fist back to his side, eyes dark and threatening.
“Ain’t you just sparkling today,” Dean quips at him. He attempts to make it sound humorous, but it comes out with bite. Castiel lips press together and a tick goes in his jaw.
“Cool your heads, idgits. Think it through,” Bobby says gruffly, stepping between the two of them. “Chances are, our holy hunter’s gonna be too busy chasin’ after his meatsuit to worry ‘bout ‘em. We’re top o’ their hit list now.”
His words ease the tension, though they’re still faced the possibility that Fae and Jude were gone for good. They all seem to be thinking of the same thing and there’s a mutual silence as they absorb this.
Sam wanders out of the room, presumably to his bedroom, so he can mope. Dean wants to go after him, and talk, but nothing he says will make it better. Sam’s lost someone he loved, again. As if Jess wasn’t bad enough.
The only difference this time was that she had left willingly.
“I told him it’d be a bad idea.” Dean shook his head and slumped back onto the worn sofa, rubbing at his forehead. Bobby doesn’t seem to want him to elaborate. He takes one look at the sofa, where he and Jude had been seated a few nights before, and leaves.
It’s just Dean and Cas.
“I don’t understand...” Cas mumbles. His chin is pressed to his chest and the floor seems to be the most interesting thing in the room to him. “Why would she... Why would they...”
“Because that’s how it always is,” Dean intends for it to come out angrily, but it’s quiet and defeated, “We’re cursed. Winchester’s have a thing for gettin’ ditched by the people they love. Especially me. I mean, I was abandoned by dad, and Sam, and you...”
Dean doesn’t realise what he’s said until a deep silence stretches out between them. When he looks up, Cas still looks distraught, but there’s surprise and the quirk of a smile around his lips.
“You... You love me, then?”
Dean swears his stomach falls through and he covers up his discomfort with a cough and a forced shrug.
“Sure. I’d rather have you, angel or not. If I want you around, that’s good news. Means you’re on the same page as Sam and Bobby.”
The light’s faded a little from Cas’s eyes, but he still looks appreciative. He moves over the sofa and seats himself not so close to Dean that they’re touching, but close enough for Dean to feel the warmth coming from his arm.
“Well, for what it’s worth,” Cas looks at him, knees spreading wider and hands loose between them. Dean watches them part, and his mouth goes dry. “I love you, too.” Dean’s gaze is drawn straight to Cas and they converse through their eyes. Words pass between them neither of them want to say, and apologies, and worries that they need to put aside. Cas looks down. “Of course, I love Sam, too.”
The ecstatic feeling that had spurted into Dean’s gut is yanked away. Dean swallows down the heavy rock that grows in his throat. Oh, he saw that. He knew what Cas just did and he doesn’t know whether to make a joke and play it safe or snap at him or just lean forwards and capture those god damn perfect, slightly-quirked, plush lips-
“You really...” Dean stops, his tongue poking out between his lips to brush along his bottom lip. Cas’s eyes follow the movement, and it’s there again. That fissure, that tension that just makes Dean want to run and lean forward both at the same time.
“Can you promise me something?” Cas asks suddenly, moving closer. Their thighs brush together.
“Depends,” Dean’s voice has gotten subconsciously quieter. He ignores the thought that’s niggling at the back of his head, telling him that he’ll regret not flinching away. That he’ll remember that it was Cas he wanted to kiss, it’s Cas he wanted to see with his clothes stripped to the floor, it’s Cas he wanted to see with red marks over his neck that Dean had put there-
“You’ll kiss me. Properly. Before I face the angel.”
Dean’s distracted gaze flicks up from Cas’s lips to his eyes. They’re not teasing him now. They’re sincere and hopeful. The reminder of the angel makes Dean hurt a little, because he could lose Cas again, and he doesn’t want to. Not when they’re so close to becoming... something. So Dean fakes nonchalance and shrugs.
“Why not? I’ll give you a real smacker before you bite the dust.” Dean gets up and heads over to Bobby’s desk, drawing out his private stash of beers. He doesn’t offer one to Cas. “God knows I’ve had enough experience.”
“That’s not why I want you to do it,”
Dean pretends he doesn’t hear Cas and points at him with a warning finger.
“I know how many are in there.” He hits the desk with the back of his shoe and he doesn’t have to elaborate for Cas. The message is clear. Don’t touch the alcohol.
He leaves Cas alone in the living room and with his back turned, allows the smile to cross his lips. He’s made a promise, and he intends to keep it.
-
288th July 2010
A few nights later, Dean sticks to his word.
Early that morning, Cas had received a text. It was from Jude. It had said nothing but ‘fine back soon’. There were a few random letters that followed and it made Dean smile, because he knew it was where Fae had caught her and had tried to grab the phone. The message had been sent, however, and it’d created a new atmosphere in the house. One that was relaxed. As relaxed as it could get, anyway. They had just over a day left before the angel would track down Cas, and they’d have a battle to fight.
Their last one, Dean hoped.
When Dean comes down that evening - having awoke from a nightmare - he pauses in the doorway. Cas is on the sofa, lamp light flooding down across his trenchcoat-less body. His suit jacket is off too, sleeves rolled up on his white shirt, top buttons undone. It makes Dean’s mouth water inappropriately and he shakes his stiffened limbs, moving to the edge of the kitchen counter.
“I thought I told you I was keeping count.” His voice is loud in the dark and Cas jumps a little, spilling the beer down his shirt. There are other empty bottles scattered on the floor next to him.
“You said nothing about not being allowed to drink them,” Cas retorts easily, wiping away the beer on his chin with the back of his hand. Dean unfolds his arms and makes his way over. Instead of shoving Cas’s legs off of the sofa, he slots himself into the space at the end and brings his own legs up, wrapping them around Cas’s.
“You gotta deal with this,” Dean says, waving a hand at the alcohol. “Seriously. You’re just gonna wreck yourself.”
“I’m fine, Dean,” Cas’s speech is slightly slurred, but he seems to have some of his wits about him. “Think of it like a child. When they first learn to walk, they never stop, until the fun of it wears out, and they do it less.”
“So you’re gonna keep drinkin’ till the fun wears out?” Dean shakes his head. “Dude, it never stops. There’s too much alcohol out there to try, you’ll keep going.”
Cas stares at him like he’s thinking of something entirely different but eventually lets out a sigh and puts the beer aside. “Okay.”
Dean’s eyebrows rise. “Seriously? You took that too easy. Do I need to search you? You got a bottle of whiskey stored away in that scrawny body of yours?”
Castiel draws his gaze back to Dean and his eyelids flutter down into a slow blink, like he’s urging Dean on. Search me, I dare you. He’s staring at Dean languidly, mouth parting gently and it’s making Dean uncomfortable in a way that’s too good. He tries to hold it for as long as he can - the urge, the gaze, the anticipation - but he caves. He crawls forward, straddling Cas’s outstretched legs, and swoops forwards so his face is inches above Cas’s. Cas is slumped, so his posture allows Dean to lean over him, noses nuzzling.
“Dean, I would...” Cas is nervous and he tries to swallow it down. “I would very much like that kiss now.”
Dean doesn’t argue.
Their lips brush, once, twice, and then Dean completes it. He pushes in hard, arms trembling, both from panic and the weight they’re holding up. Cas hums when Dean pulls back, turning his head to dive back in. Oh. Oh, this angle is good. It’s slow, and sensual, and it hurts a little too, because there’s a cut and bruise on Dean’s lips.
It’s painful pleasure, though. Cas pushes upwards, trying to capture more of Dean’s mouth. Too soft. It’s too soft, and he wants more, and Dean gives it to him. Urges Cas’s lips open with his own and sweeps his tongue inside.
And the sound that Cas makes, god damn it’s gorgeous. He frickin’ whines and struggles to sit up more, struggles to pull Dean closer, fingers clawing at his back. They battle, the kiss speeds up, and it’s not sensual anymore. It’s greedy and hungry and hot.
The shift in position means Dean can take his weight off of his arms, so he does, and his hands snap to Cas’s face, keeping him still, allowing him to dominate, taking over the kiss with a ravenous force. One stroke of his tongue along Cas’s, and Cas is lost, pulling away and gasping for breath, his tongue still poking through his delicious, divided lips.
“More,” Cas pants. “Please.”
Dean’s eyes roam over Cas’s face, taking in the blown pupils, the flushed cheeks, the innocent, ruined expression, and he completes his search by staring at the red, thick open mouth.
“Cas,” he says simply, and it’s not a warning or a call for attention, he just says it because he can. Then he pulls back, hauls off his own t-shirt, the feather amulet slapping against his chest, and busies himself with Cas’s buttons.
“What are you-“ Cas gasps when Dean’s fingers find his nipple, and twist it. Dean takes advantage of the open mouth and plunges back in, fingers teasing and pressing at hard skin. He’s used to warm globes of flesh; he’s used to smooth, unblemished skin. But this feels too good, this stubble and hardness and beneath his hands. He feels like he doesn’t have to be careful. Like he can let himself go. When Dean pulls back for breath again, Cas tries to speak. “That... that feels good,” Cas stammers.
“Wanna go a bit further than kissing?” Dean whispers into his neck. He doesn’t want to stop, because if he does, he’s going to question it. He’s going to second guess, and he’s going to clam shut. Forget this ever happened, and wish at the same time that it happened again.
“W-what do you - ah - mean?” With a smirk, Dean bends down and captures the abused nipple in his mouth.
Cas’s breathless ‘oh’ is almost better than the whine. Dean heads down further, opening the shirt as he mouths at Cas’s ribs and skin, leaving bites and red marks behind. Cas is squirming now, like he wants something, but can’t quite decide what it is. Dean hopes his confident movements hide his nervousness, because he’s heading down further, and he’s at Cas’s hipbones now. He spends time with them, hands pressing down on Cas’s stomach as he licks and nibbles on them.
“Dean,” It’s desperate, horribly so, and when Dean looks up along Cas’s beautiful, exposed body to look at his wrecked expression, he’s not freaked by the lack of breasts or female features. It feels... right.
In one, harsh movement, Dean grinds the heel of his palm against Cas’s tented trousers, and Cas almost chokes
“O-Oh,” He stutters, and his hips jerk up, seeking more friction, more skin, more contact. With quick, nimble fingers, Dean draws out Cas’s hard cock from his trousers, and again, it should be weird, but it feels heavy and warm in Dean’s hand, and he examines it. It’s wide, the head shiny and red, a bead of pre-come forming at the tip. His mouth waters, and before he can register his movements, he’s leaning forwards and lapping it away.
Cas arches and moans into the back of his hand. Dean has to press down harder to stop Cas’s hips from colliding with his forehead. Dean’s legs are cramping, he’s squeezed on a tiny sofa, he’s nowhere near as confident as he should be, but everything was perfect. He loves this; loves seeing Cas squirming and twitching beneath him.
He moves his knees so he’s straddling one of Cas’s legs, and with one hand, he frees his own cock. He looks up at Cas and strokes himself a few times, biting back his groans.
“You’re...” Dean twists his hand, the way he likes it, and his words get stuck in his throat. “Jesus, Cas, you have no idea how you look right now.”
Cas just stares down at where Dean’s hand is stroking himself, chest heaving with weighty breaths. He’s getting off on it. He enjoys watching Dean’s cock disappear between a hand that’s not his, loves the way Dean’s hand slows when he gets the angle just right.
Dean can’t-
He leans over, takes Cas back in his mouth, sucking hard.
Cas shouts something unintelligible, slamming the back of his hand back over his mouth to keep himself quiet. The moans still slip through when Dean’s tongue presses against the ridge of Cas’s cock, and Dean’s hips grind into Cas’s legs, rubbing his own erection along him in a way that’s perfect.
“D-Dean.” Cas’s free hand grips his hair, but doesn’t force him down deeper. Dean works slowly, figuring out what Cas likes the way women had worked on Dean, and he can’t be doing too bad, because Cas’s head is tossing to the side, a low whimper seeping through his throat.
Dean has to stop. He needs to catch his breath, and he needs to change position. His arms are aching. He shifts them, puts Cas’s thighs over his shoulders - it’s better, and he presses his nose to Cas’s inner thigh, breathes in his scent - and then he stops. He doesn’t know what to do next.
Does he keep going? Bring Cas to orgasm with his mouth? Or does he use his hand and bring him over the edge with a bite to his thigh?
He swallows, and goes further down. He mouths at Cas’s balls, sending Cas into a writhing mess above him, and then he hesitates. Should he go further?
He does. His mouth waters with the crushing desire to do it, so he does. He licks a stripe from the base of Cas’s balls to his hole, and oh Cas’s groan is filth.
“W-w-what,” is all Cas gets out. Dean dives back in, closing his eyes, digging his tongue deeper into Cas’s hole. It’s not exactly pleasant, but not unpleasant either. How can it be such a terrible thing, when Cas is making porn-worthy noises above him, almost sobbing into his hand in an attempt to stifle his moans. “D-Dean, please. Please, stop. I need you, I need...”
Dean pulls away, and he’s had enough. He can’t speak, let alone form an intelligible word, because damn, he’s never been this aroused, never needed it this much. He straddles Cas’s legs again, slots their cocks together - an action that seems strange to him, but not at all bad - and pushes his mouth back into Cas’s. They move together, Dean meeting Cas’s thrust for thrust, muffled groan to muffled groan.
“Cas,” he breathes into Cas’s mouth, and he feels Cas’s smile. He smiles back, bringing his hand down to their sliding, wet erections. He takes them both in his hand, grips tightly, strokes one, two, and then they’re both going over the edge, feather amulet dangling between them. Cas arches high beneath him, eyes blown open and mouth vulnerable and exposed. Dean’s eyes widen, and his forehead collides hard with Cas’s shoulder. He gasps, watches Cas and him paint each other with their fluids, and then his body sags forwards, sweaty skin hitting sweaty skin.
They’re still both wearing some of their clothes. Dean’s jeans low on his hips and Cas’s shirt open wide, like wings.
“That was...” Cas says after a minutes silence.
“Yeah,” Dean finishes, and he has to laugh. “Who’d have thought...”
“Apparently, the angels,” Cas shivers when Dean’s fingers stroke along the inside of his wrist. There are scars there, where he’d cut himself to paint the seals. Dean presses a little too hard on the fresh wound, but it just makes Cas suck in a breath. He looks up, and Dean’s looking down at him.
They’ve swapped. Dean’s looking down at him with this reverence and strength, and Cas is looking up at him with openness and hope.
“We gotta clean this mess up before Sam or Bobby get down here.” Dean breaks away, hands trembling. “They wouldn’t let me forget it.”
“Good.”
He looks back at Cas and he sees promise there. He sees more of what he could get - what they could do. But he shakes it off and hauls himself off of the sofa.
“Just so you know,” Dean says. He looks over his shoulder. Smirks. “There ain't no way we're not doin' that again.”
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