The Blessed and the Damned
Title: The Blessed and the Damned
Author: catalinacat
Disclaimer: Nothing here belongs to me.
Rating: PG-13
Genre/Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Wordcount: 3819 (both parts)
Warnings: slash & swearing
Notes: This was written for the deancastiel fic exchange! (Yeah, that one that ended forever and a day ago. So I'm a little behind on posting...). ohhorror wanted a fic using Big Bad Voodoo Daddy's "Big and Bad" lyrics as a prompt. Also, a million thanks to shu0chan for the last minute beta work!
Summary: You can't believe he's saying this. It feels so unreal, so surreal, to imagine that this is going to be over before it ever really got the chance to begin. That this Angel who has been in your life for one year, three months, and three days is leaving soon. That he won't be popping into your motel room without warning, scaring the shit out of you but all the while putting together the pieces of your heart that's been breaking since you were four years old.
The date is September 18, 2009, and you don’t even realize it until Castiel pulls some of his freaky time-warp-dream-state Angel shit and suddenly he’s standing there at the foot your bed staring at you; just staring, when only two seconds ago you were enjoying a very nice dream featuring Angelina Jolie, a tropical island, and one very wet t-shirt.
And that’s when you realize the significance of the eighteenth day of September in the year of our Lord two thousand and nine.
It hits you like a freight train, knocking the wind out of you until you’re left gasping for breath.
In a flash, Castiel is by your side with a hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles up and down.
Only, that’s not really helping because those weird blinkandyoumissit moves that he does scares the shit out of you sometimes. Besides having him sit right next to you, feeling the warmth of his hand through your thin sleep shirt and his equally warm breath on your neck isn’t exactly doing worlds of good for your blood pressure.
But you don’t tell him that - you just sit there and relish in the comfort that always seems to radiate from Castiel, Angel of the Lord, and the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition exactly one year ago today.
You can’t decide whether that’s a bad or a good thing, that you forgot the day that changed everything.
With a frown, you realize that Sammy didn’t remember it either.
That seems like it should bother you, too, but it’s pretty difficult to be bothered by anything other than Castiel’s hands, which, at the moment, seem to be doing a lot less soothing and a lot more groping.
You lean into his embrace and let yourself fallfallfall.
***
The date is September 19, 2009, and you wake up feeling happy and warm and sated, but when your hand sweeps out behind you it gets nothing but empty sheets and the room suddenly feels colder.
Sam wakes up soon after that and cocks an eyebrow at your disheveled state, but doesn’t say anything.
He’s gotten better with that lately.
After the initial fury - he’s an Angel, Dean, and don’t you think God’s got it out for us already? - and your admittedly cruel response - I’d say God probably likes it a hell of a lot more than if I was fucking a demon - Sam had backed off.
Now he just kind of disappears whenever Castiel inexplicably shows up, and you’re reminded again why you love your brother so much; he might be an over-educated, snot-nosed, whiny brat, but he sure does know how to make himself scarce.
You head out to the car with a half smile still on your face, and if Sam notices you wince a bit when you sit down, he doesn’t call you out on it.
You appreciate that, too, but your smile starts to fade as you pull out of another nameless motel onto the blacktop road that is more your home than any house has ever been.
So Castiel came to you again. That’s good, of course.
Now it’s just the beginning of yet another waiting game - is he going to come back? Will I ever see him again? Will he even want to be with me if he does come back?
For an instant you hate Castiel for making you feel like some fucked up pre-teen with her first crush, but then you remember the look on his face when he kissed your lips and practically worshipped your body, and the anger pretty much melts away.
It’s not like it’s his fault, anyways.
This whole thing you’ve got going on with a goddamn angel is a wild, runaway train - you want to get away, jump off, but you’re just too afraid to fall.
So it’s full steam ahead now, and if it feels like there’s a fire in your belly every time you lay eyes on Castiel… well, maybe that’s not such a bad thing after all.
***
The date is October 6, 2009, and you have just laid to rest your seventeenth spirit in as many days.
You know Sam is worn to the bone, and you are too, if you’re going to be at all honest with yourself, but you have to keep going, can’t stop for a moment because if you do…
Well, you don’t really want to think about that just now, thanks.
Sam wants to ask, you can tell, but he doesn’t - another point for Sammy’s “I’m not the most annoying little brother ever” count, because the last thing you want to talk about right now is Castiel and how you haven’t seen him in over two weeks.
Fuck.
You have an idea now what it’s like for all those girls who slide you their number with a smile after a one-night stand with hope in their eyes, and you resolve never to do that again.
It’s fucking cruel and it hurts like hell.
Maybe that’s why your heart clenches even more than it should when the door to your motel room flies open without a knock and Castiel walks in like he owns the place.
Without a word, not even sparing a glance, Sam slips out of the room and runs off to wherever it is he goes during times like this.
Thank you, little brother.
Castiel doesn’t say anything, not at first, but the look in his eyes speaks more than enough for the both of us.
Lust. Pleasure. Pain. It’s all the same in the end.
You want so badly it hurts, but at the same time the hurt that’s already present is breaking you down from the inside out.
His gaze is calculating as he steps forward and pushes you lightly on the chest. His hand barely touches you - it’s just a tap, really - but you fall down onto the bed behind you like that damn freight train came through again.
He takes off his bloodstained coat with meticulous care, all the while keeping his eyes locked on yours.
It’s hot as hell, sure, but the way Castiel moves seems more to you like a predator stalking its prey than a lover coming to bed.
He loosens his tie, letting it fall to the ground and that’s when your voice returns to you.
“No.”
The hand working the buttons on his shirt stills and it’s like a vacuum just came and sucked all the air from the room because it’s suddenly stale and stifling.
You struggle to breathe but can’t seem to find the air, and that’s when your courage returns to you.
“I can’t. I’m sorry. But I’m drawing the line here, Castiel.”
Castiel doesn’t say anything for a long while, and it’s not until he turns away from you that he opens his mouth.
“Can I ask why?”
His voice is soft, gentle, understanding, and that makes this even harder than you want it to be.
“Because you’re no good for me, Cas. We have this-this thing going on, but you’re a fucking Angel and I’m a hunter - I lie, I cheat, I steal, I’ve been to goddamn Hell.”
At least Castiel turns around then, but he sits down hard in the one chair in the whole room and doesn’t look up to meet your eyes.
“And yeah, maybe this something has meant more than anything I’ve ever had, but I can’t stand getting close to someone when I don’t know when I’ll ever see them again. You know me, Castiel. You know I push people away for a reason; I get close and then they leave. That’s just the way the world works around me,” you say, and your voice is tired and haggard, finally showing the strain of the life you’ve been pushing yourself into.
Castiel does look up at that, staring at you like he can peel off every mask you’ve ever put on until it’s just you.
Not Dean Winchester, son of John and brother to Sam. Not Dean Winchester, the hunter who sold himself to the devil and spent four months - forty years - in Hell. Not even Dean Winchester, broken son of Mary, the mother who was taken far before her time.
Just you - whoever that is, because you’re not really sure, and it’s damn scary that Castiel seems to know more about you than you do.
Castiel stands up then, looking at you and playing with a fray on his cuff in a seemingly nervous gesture that you’ve never seen before.
“I understand, Dean. I truly do,” his voice is calm, but his eyes betray the fact that this is hurting him just as much as it hurts you.
“But you’re going to learn one day that there are some things worth fighting for. When you do, I hope you’ll find me.”
Then he’s gone, and you give yourself up to the pain.
***
The date is October 17, 2009, and you’re curled up in a pathetic ball in the backseat of the Impala while Sam drives you off to God knows where.
You’re unaware of the passage of time, or the change in city, state, region -or of anything at all that isn’t the ache in your heart or the despair in your bones.
Sammy doesn’t say a word, but he does pick up beef jerky and Busty Asian Beauties for you at the next gas mart and you smile for the first time in a long time.
Continue to Part Two
Author: catalinacat
Disclaimer: Nothing here belongs to me.
Rating: PG-13
Genre/Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Wordcount: 3819 (both parts)
Warnings: slash & swearing
Notes: This was written for the deancastiel fic exchange! (Yeah, that one that ended forever and a day ago. So I'm a little behind on posting...). ohhorror wanted a fic using Big Bad Voodoo Daddy's "Big and Bad" lyrics as a prompt. Also, a million thanks to shu0chan for the last minute beta work!
Summary: You can't believe he's saying this. It feels so unreal, so surreal, to imagine that this is going to be over before it ever really got the chance to begin. That this Angel who has been in your life for one year, three months, and three days is leaving soon. That he won't be popping into your motel room without warning, scaring the shit out of you but all the while putting together the pieces of your heart that's been breaking since you were four years old.
The date is September 18, 2009, and you don’t even realize it until Castiel pulls some of his freaky time-warp-dream-state Angel shit and suddenly he’s standing there at the foot your bed staring at you; just staring, when only two seconds ago you were enjoying a very nice dream featuring Angelina Jolie, a tropical island, and one very wet t-shirt.
And that’s when you realize the significance of the eighteenth day of September in the year of our Lord two thousand and nine.
It hits you like a freight train, knocking the wind out of you until you’re left gasping for breath.
In a flash, Castiel is by your side with a hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles up and down.
Only, that’s not really helping because those weird blinkandyoumissit moves that he does scares the shit out of you sometimes. Besides having him sit right next to you, feeling the warmth of his hand through your thin sleep shirt and his equally warm breath on your neck isn’t exactly doing worlds of good for your blood pressure.
But you don’t tell him that - you just sit there and relish in the comfort that always seems to radiate from Castiel, Angel of the Lord, and the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition exactly one year ago today.
You can’t decide whether that’s a bad or a good thing, that you forgot the day that changed everything.
With a frown, you realize that Sammy didn’t remember it either.
That seems like it should bother you, too, but it’s pretty difficult to be bothered by anything other than Castiel’s hands, which, at the moment, seem to be doing a lot less soothing and a lot more groping.
You lean into his embrace and let yourself fallfallfall.
***
The date is September 19, 2009, and you wake up feeling happy and warm and sated, but when your hand sweeps out behind you it gets nothing but empty sheets and the room suddenly feels colder.
Sam wakes up soon after that and cocks an eyebrow at your disheveled state, but doesn’t say anything.
He’s gotten better with that lately.
After the initial fury - he’s an Angel, Dean, and don’t you think God’s got it out for us already? - and your admittedly cruel response - I’d say God probably likes it a hell of a lot more than if I was fucking a demon - Sam had backed off.
Now he just kind of disappears whenever Castiel inexplicably shows up, and you’re reminded again why you love your brother so much; he might be an over-educated, snot-nosed, whiny brat, but he sure does know how to make himself scarce.
You head out to the car with a half smile still on your face, and if Sam notices you wince a bit when you sit down, he doesn’t call you out on it.
You appreciate that, too, but your smile starts to fade as you pull out of another nameless motel onto the blacktop road that is more your home than any house has ever been.
So Castiel came to you again. That’s good, of course.
Now it’s just the beginning of yet another waiting game - is he going to come back? Will I ever see him again? Will he even want to be with me if he does come back?
For an instant you hate Castiel for making you feel like some fucked up pre-teen with her first crush, but then you remember the look on his face when he kissed your lips and practically worshipped your body, and the anger pretty much melts away.
It’s not like it’s his fault, anyways.
This whole thing you’ve got going on with a goddamn angel is a wild, runaway train - you want to get away, jump off, but you’re just too afraid to fall.
So it’s full steam ahead now, and if it feels like there’s a fire in your belly every time you lay eyes on Castiel… well, maybe that’s not such a bad thing after all.
***
The date is October 6, 2009, and you have just laid to rest your seventeenth spirit in as many days.
You know Sam is worn to the bone, and you are too, if you’re going to be at all honest with yourself, but you have to keep going, can’t stop for a moment because if you do…
Well, you don’t really want to think about that just now, thanks.
Sam wants to ask, you can tell, but he doesn’t - another point for Sammy’s “I’m not the most annoying little brother ever” count, because the last thing you want to talk about right now is Castiel and how you haven’t seen him in over two weeks.
Fuck.
You have an idea now what it’s like for all those girls who slide you their number with a smile after a one-night stand with hope in their eyes, and you resolve never to do that again.
It’s fucking cruel and it hurts like hell.
Maybe that’s why your heart clenches even more than it should when the door to your motel room flies open without a knock and Castiel walks in like he owns the place.
Without a word, not even sparing a glance, Sam slips out of the room and runs off to wherever it is he goes during times like this.
Thank you, little brother.
Castiel doesn’t say anything, not at first, but the look in his eyes speaks more than enough for the both of us.
Lust. Pleasure. Pain. It’s all the same in the end.
You want so badly it hurts, but at the same time the hurt that’s already present is breaking you down from the inside out.
His gaze is calculating as he steps forward and pushes you lightly on the chest. His hand barely touches you - it’s just a tap, really - but you fall down onto the bed behind you like that damn freight train came through again.
He takes off his bloodstained coat with meticulous care, all the while keeping his eyes locked on yours.
It’s hot as hell, sure, but the way Castiel moves seems more to you like a predator stalking its prey than a lover coming to bed.
He loosens his tie, letting it fall to the ground and that’s when your voice returns to you.
“No.”
The hand working the buttons on his shirt stills and it’s like a vacuum just came and sucked all the air from the room because it’s suddenly stale and stifling.
You struggle to breathe but can’t seem to find the air, and that’s when your courage returns to you.
“I can’t. I’m sorry. But I’m drawing the line here, Castiel.”
Castiel doesn’t say anything for a long while, and it’s not until he turns away from you that he opens his mouth.
“Can I ask why?”
His voice is soft, gentle, understanding, and that makes this even harder than you want it to be.
“Because you’re no good for me, Cas. We have this-this thing going on, but you’re a fucking Angel and I’m a hunter - I lie, I cheat, I steal, I’ve been to goddamn Hell.”
At least Castiel turns around then, but he sits down hard in the one chair in the whole room and doesn’t look up to meet your eyes.
“And yeah, maybe this something has meant more than anything I’ve ever had, but I can’t stand getting close to someone when I don’t know when I’ll ever see them again. You know me, Castiel. You know I push people away for a reason; I get close and then they leave. That’s just the way the world works around me,” you say, and your voice is tired and haggard, finally showing the strain of the life you’ve been pushing yourself into.
Castiel does look up at that, staring at you like he can peel off every mask you’ve ever put on until it’s just you.
Not Dean Winchester, son of John and brother to Sam. Not Dean Winchester, the hunter who sold himself to the devil and spent four months - forty years - in Hell. Not even Dean Winchester, broken son of Mary, the mother who was taken far before her time.
Just you - whoever that is, because you’re not really sure, and it’s damn scary that Castiel seems to know more about you than you do.
Castiel stands up then, looking at you and playing with a fray on his cuff in a seemingly nervous gesture that you’ve never seen before.
“I understand, Dean. I truly do,” his voice is calm, but his eyes betray the fact that this is hurting him just as much as it hurts you.
“But you’re going to learn one day that there are some things worth fighting for. When you do, I hope you’ll find me.”
Then he’s gone, and you give yourself up to the pain.
***
The date is October 17, 2009, and you’re curled up in a pathetic ball in the backseat of the Impala while Sam drives you off to God knows where.
You’re unaware of the passage of time, or the change in city, state, region -or of anything at all that isn’t the ache in your heart or the despair in your bones.
Sammy doesn’t say a word, but he does pick up beef jerky and Busty Asian Beauties for you at the next gas mart and you smile for the first time in a long time.
Continue to Part Two