Fic: Holding On (Dean/Cas, PG)
Title: Holding On
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Rating: PG
Word count: 1200
Warnings: Schmoop!
Notes: Written for blindfold_spn for the prompt: I kind of just want Dean and Cas to hug everything out. I feel like Cas has never gotten a proper one before. MAYBE IT'S ALL HE NEEDS TO STOP BEING A DICK GOD.
It seems like things can’t get any worse, and then Sam gets bitten by a werewolf.
Dean goes into crisis mode, of course, making good use of the daylight hours. But they’ve been down this road before - years ago, ironically for a girl Sam slept with - and the library, the Internet, Dad’s journal and a devastated-sounding Bobby are all fresh out of ideas.
Dean goes three straight nights without any sleep, staying up all night to make sure Sam doesn’t break out of his iron shackles and kill someone, and on the third day his body gives out. He makes it outside the farmhouse they’ve been squatting in, where Sam is sleeping off a night of howling and snarling, and then collapses in the middle of the driveway, halfway to his car.
There’s something ridiculous about the fact that a werewolf is the thing that’s done them in, after they’d been able to fend of angels and demons, the Mother of All Evil and Lucifer himself. Heck, they spent the last year running from a fucking god with relative success. A werewolf should’ve been a piece of cake in comparison, but then it always has been the little things that trip Dean up.
So now Dean has to make a plan to last the rest of their lives. He should put a bullet in Sam, but Dean knows he’ll never manage it. Instead, they’ll just cope with Sam’s condition, locking him away for a few nights every lunar cycle. It will be imperfect and exhausting, and Sam will inevitably escape, but Dean knows that deep down there’s a part of him that would be willing to trade an innocent civilian’s life for Sam’s. And that sort of makes Dean a monster, too.
Sam never wanted to be a monster. Dean wonders if Sam will try to kill himself, actually. He’ll have to hide all the silver bullets. He’ll have to fight off Sam’s guilt and his own and the cycles of the moon, all the while running and hiding and occasionally hunting for the rest of their lives and all Dean really wants to do is go to sleep.
“Dean?” The voice is low and gravelly, and Dean would recognize it anywhere. He jumps to his feet, swaying when his head starts spinning. Had he dozed off? Stupid, to let down his guard outside of the house and its protective sigils.
“Cas,” Dean says, taking a slow step back, toward the house. He looks exactly the same, wrinkled trench coat and blue tie, head tilted to the side with curiosity. “Long time no see.”
It’s been over a year. Dean had sort of hoped it could be forever. Just remembering the look on Cas’ face when he’d ordered them to submit to him makes his stomach turn.
“Why were you lying on the grass?” Cas asks. “Are you injured?”
“No,” Dean answers, taking another backwards step. He’s unsettled by how quickly Cas found him without the sigils over his head, by how closely that must mean he’s watching, even after all this time.
“But you’re in pain,” Cas insists. “Something is wrong.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, clearing his throat. Maybe he can distract Cas long enough to get him close enough to the door to make a break for it. “It’s Sam. Werewolf got him. It’s been a long couple of days.”
Cas frowns, and the expression is so familiar it makes Dean’s head spin. “He’s inside?”
Dean nods, and then Cas disappears.
He reappears a moment later, before Dean has time to exhale with relief. “He is cured,” Cas says brusquely. “And you made an error on the third sigil from the left on the roof. You should correct that, if you really want to keep me out.”
Dean should make a break for the car, because Sam did the sigils there so they must be right. He should thank his lucky stars Cas is feeling generous today, but get out while he can.
Instead, Dean takes three long strides forward and throws his arms around Cas’ neck.
Cas stumbles half a step back in surprise, before catching his balance. He makes a small, startled sound in the back of his throat and Dean knows he should really let go, but he doesn’t. Cas smells surprisingly human, like sunshine and sweat, and his body is strong and warm. Dean leans against him, lets someone else take his full weight for the first time since his dad, and Cas holds him up, wraps one arm hesitantly across Dean’s shoulders, the other around his waist. He’s in the arms of the guy they’ve been running from, but Dean hasn’t felt this secure in a long time.
Dean moves closer, moving one hand from around Cas’ neck down to his waist, so he can tug them together, line up their hips. He tucks his face into the curve of Cas’ throat, and then goes very still, his exhausted body grateful for Cas’ support. Maybe if he doesn’t move a muscle, they can make this moment last, bodies touching from head to toe.
Dean can feel Cas relax into the hug. His shoulders drop inches, his stiff arm loosens and melds to the curve of Dean’s back, and he exhales in a sudden, surprised huff of breath that feels warm and a little ticklish against Dean’s ear. He turns his head and presses a quick kiss to Dean’s cheek. Dean’s skin where his lips touch feels hot, scalded. Then he slides one hand up into Dean’s hair, cording his fingers through it without tugging, and goes still as a statue, too.
It could be minutes or hours before either of them moves, Dean sort of loses track until he hears Sam call his name from inside the house, voice crackly with sleep and thick with confusion. Dean wonders if he can tell, already, that he’s human again.
“Thank you,” he says, kind of breathless. He’s not sure if he means for fixing his brother or for the hug. Maybe both.
“It was the least I could do,” Cas answers, letting his arms drop back to his sides and stepping away from Dean. Dean sways a little, still short on sleep and probably food and water, too, now that he thinks about it. The world is sort of blurry around the edges.
Cas steps forward again and catches his arm. He manoeuvres Dean so that he’s leaning against him, and Dean goes with it, lets himself be led back to the house.
At the doorway Cas stops. “You’d better go in alone,” he says. “Sam’s likely to shoot at me on sight.”
“Right,” Dean says. He leans against the doorframe, looking back at Cas. There’s a small smile on his face, and it makes Dean’s heart beat faster.
“It wouldn’t have much effect, of course,” Cas explains. “But it would be a waste of bullets.” He looks at Dean expectantly, proud of the joke, and Dean barks out a laugh, unreasonably pleased.
“I’m sorry,” Cas says.
“Me too,” Dean answers.
Cas steps forward and kisses Dean again, on the mouth this time, and Dean blinks in surprise. He licks his lips compulsively.
“What -” he begins.
Cas smiles fondly, and gives him a gentle shove. “Go see to your brother,” he orders.
Dean nods, stepping out of the sun and into the cool, dark house. “I won’t fix the sigil on the roof,” he calls over his shoulder. “You should drop by again sometime.”
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Rating: PG
Word count: 1200
Warnings: Schmoop!
Notes: Written for blindfold_spn for the prompt: I kind of just want Dean and Cas to hug everything out. I feel like Cas has never gotten a proper one before. MAYBE IT'S ALL HE NEEDS TO STOP BEING A DICK GOD.
It seems like things can’t get any worse, and then Sam gets bitten by a werewolf.
Dean goes into crisis mode, of course, making good use of the daylight hours. But they’ve been down this road before - years ago, ironically for a girl Sam slept with - and the library, the Internet, Dad’s journal and a devastated-sounding Bobby are all fresh out of ideas.
Dean goes three straight nights without any sleep, staying up all night to make sure Sam doesn’t break out of his iron shackles and kill someone, and on the third day his body gives out. He makes it outside the farmhouse they’ve been squatting in, where Sam is sleeping off a night of howling and snarling, and then collapses in the middle of the driveway, halfway to his car.
There’s something ridiculous about the fact that a werewolf is the thing that’s done them in, after they’d been able to fend of angels and demons, the Mother of All Evil and Lucifer himself. Heck, they spent the last year running from a fucking god with relative success. A werewolf should’ve been a piece of cake in comparison, but then it always has been the little things that trip Dean up.
So now Dean has to make a plan to last the rest of their lives. He should put a bullet in Sam, but Dean knows he’ll never manage it. Instead, they’ll just cope with Sam’s condition, locking him away for a few nights every lunar cycle. It will be imperfect and exhausting, and Sam will inevitably escape, but Dean knows that deep down there’s a part of him that would be willing to trade an innocent civilian’s life for Sam’s. And that sort of makes Dean a monster, too.
Sam never wanted to be a monster. Dean wonders if Sam will try to kill himself, actually. He’ll have to hide all the silver bullets. He’ll have to fight off Sam’s guilt and his own and the cycles of the moon, all the while running and hiding and occasionally hunting for the rest of their lives and all Dean really wants to do is go to sleep.
“Dean?” The voice is low and gravelly, and Dean would recognize it anywhere. He jumps to his feet, swaying when his head starts spinning. Had he dozed off? Stupid, to let down his guard outside of the house and its protective sigils.
“Cas,” Dean says, taking a slow step back, toward the house. He looks exactly the same, wrinkled trench coat and blue tie, head tilted to the side with curiosity. “Long time no see.”
It’s been over a year. Dean had sort of hoped it could be forever. Just remembering the look on Cas’ face when he’d ordered them to submit to him makes his stomach turn.
“Why were you lying on the grass?” Cas asks. “Are you injured?”
“No,” Dean answers, taking another backwards step. He’s unsettled by how quickly Cas found him without the sigils over his head, by how closely that must mean he’s watching, even after all this time.
“But you’re in pain,” Cas insists. “Something is wrong.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, clearing his throat. Maybe he can distract Cas long enough to get him close enough to the door to make a break for it. “It’s Sam. Werewolf got him. It’s been a long couple of days.”
Cas frowns, and the expression is so familiar it makes Dean’s head spin. “He’s inside?”
Dean nods, and then Cas disappears.
He reappears a moment later, before Dean has time to exhale with relief. “He is cured,” Cas says brusquely. “And you made an error on the third sigil from the left on the roof. You should correct that, if you really want to keep me out.”
Dean should make a break for the car, because Sam did the sigils there so they must be right. He should thank his lucky stars Cas is feeling generous today, but get out while he can.
Instead, Dean takes three long strides forward and throws his arms around Cas’ neck.
Cas stumbles half a step back in surprise, before catching his balance. He makes a small, startled sound in the back of his throat and Dean knows he should really let go, but he doesn’t. Cas smells surprisingly human, like sunshine and sweat, and his body is strong and warm. Dean leans against him, lets someone else take his full weight for the first time since his dad, and Cas holds him up, wraps one arm hesitantly across Dean’s shoulders, the other around his waist. He’s in the arms of the guy they’ve been running from, but Dean hasn’t felt this secure in a long time.
Dean moves closer, moving one hand from around Cas’ neck down to his waist, so he can tug them together, line up their hips. He tucks his face into the curve of Cas’ throat, and then goes very still, his exhausted body grateful for Cas’ support. Maybe if he doesn’t move a muscle, they can make this moment last, bodies touching from head to toe.
Dean can feel Cas relax into the hug. His shoulders drop inches, his stiff arm loosens and melds to the curve of Dean’s back, and he exhales in a sudden, surprised huff of breath that feels warm and a little ticklish against Dean’s ear. He turns his head and presses a quick kiss to Dean’s cheek. Dean’s skin where his lips touch feels hot, scalded. Then he slides one hand up into Dean’s hair, cording his fingers through it without tugging, and goes still as a statue, too.
It could be minutes or hours before either of them moves, Dean sort of loses track until he hears Sam call his name from inside the house, voice crackly with sleep and thick with confusion. Dean wonders if he can tell, already, that he’s human again.
“Thank you,” he says, kind of breathless. He’s not sure if he means for fixing his brother or for the hug. Maybe both.
“It was the least I could do,” Cas answers, letting his arms drop back to his sides and stepping away from Dean. Dean sways a little, still short on sleep and probably food and water, too, now that he thinks about it. The world is sort of blurry around the edges.
Cas steps forward again and catches his arm. He manoeuvres Dean so that he’s leaning against him, and Dean goes with it, lets himself be led back to the house.
At the doorway Cas stops. “You’d better go in alone,” he says. “Sam’s likely to shoot at me on sight.”
“Right,” Dean says. He leans against the doorframe, looking back at Cas. There’s a small smile on his face, and it makes Dean’s heart beat faster.
“It wouldn’t have much effect, of course,” Cas explains. “But it would be a waste of bullets.” He looks at Dean expectantly, proud of the joke, and Dean barks out a laugh, unreasonably pleased.
“I’m sorry,” Cas says.
“Me too,” Dean answers.
Cas steps forward and kisses Dean again, on the mouth this time, and Dean blinks in surprise. He licks his lips compulsively.
“What -” he begins.
Cas smiles fondly, and gives him a gentle shove. “Go see to your brother,” he orders.
Dean nods, stepping out of the sun and into the cool, dark house. “I won’t fix the sigil on the roof,” he calls over his shoulder. “You should drop by again sometime.”