[FIC]: Lost Highway (Dean/Castiel, Adult)
[Lost Highway]
SPN. Dean/Castiel. NC-17. ~4,300 words. Follows 6.08. For my kissbingo card to the prompt greetings: hello. Title and opening quote from the song by Leon Payne.
I'm a rollin' stone all alone and lost
for a life of sin I have paid the cost
when I walk by all the people say
just another guy on the lost highway
+
Somewhere east of Tucson, a stream of headlights on the highway and miles of black-violet sky. Dean runs his hand over his face and squints his eyes against the blinding glare. They've been following this road for days, no rest stop, no need to stop. With Sam not sleeping, he can drive them straight through the night, and Dean's too tired to argue against it. Plus, things between them are just easier when they're in the Impala, big tires eating up the road, dust coating the windows, classic rock on the tape deck. It's home, it's a familiar rhythm. The silences don't feel as noisy. The noises don't feel as silent.
Dean's fingers tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. He and Sam don't speak much, only when necessary. Information for a hunt, request for a bathroom break, orders shouted through the drive-thru window. Form and function, routine and ritual. Sam sticks to plotting their route, big hands carefully handling their tired atlas. Dean watches him sometimes, watches how Sam's eyes squint as he works a yellow highlighter over the swirl of roads and freeways. Plots and plans the fastest route to get them closer to the next alpha, closer to Sam's soul. Dean remembers watching Sam do his homework like this when he was a kid, the determined glint in Sam's eye, the need to problem-solve, work the equation until he found the right answer. In many ways nothing feels different. Sam's brain is still here, all geek, all big ego. But everything else is gone.
When Sam asks Dean why he doesn't just get a GPS, Dean wants to say something sarcastic, wants to tease Sam mercilessly because they spent their entire life working these roads without one. They know these roads better than anyone, anything, fancy technology be damned. But instead Dean wraps himself in silence, keeps his eyes steady on the dirt-brittle highway, keeps the words buried deep. Dean doesn't know where they are anymore. For the first time following this long, hard road, he's lost.
+
Dean pulls over on a stretch of highway where no man's gone for years. The cracked blacktop extends past the horizon, past miles and miles of autumn-yellow grass. Earlier Dean dropped Sam off at the library to finish up some research while Dean headed out for supplies. Truth is, Dean just needed some time to think, time to get his head in order. So here he is on a desolate piece of sun-scarred blacktop, just a stop and half on the road from nowhere. Dean thinks about his brother, thinks about the last few years of their lives. Thinks about how this all comes down to Dean not being strong enough.
Dean huffs a heavy sigh as he looks out at the long stretch of highway before him. The sky above is colored in an intangible blueness, with only a few clouds to mar its luster. His dirty hands swipe at the sweat at his brow as he squints up at the sun. Mentally he's counting the minutes until he has to head back to town, face a brother who is not really there.
They bagged the Aswang alpha earlier this week, and yet this whole Crowley business stills feels like it's balanced on the sharp edge of a knife blade. Everything is still at stake. Sam is still at stake. Dean fights off the thought that this is just the beginning, nowhere near the end. That they both have far more to lose than he could ever imagine.
Dean jiggles his car keys against his legs as he leans back against the Impala. He inhales and exhales the gritty air. He's breathing hard and agitated by the time he looks up and sees Castiel approaching, the angel's long strides kicking dust clouds onto his path, the tails of his trenchcoat fluttering in the slight breeze.
Cas pauses a few inches in front of Dean, coat rustling as he stills. He eyes Dean for a long, considering moment, nodding as he speaks, "How are you, Dean?"
"Do you actually care?" Dean asks, voice tight with irritation. Dean can't help but feel some bitter sense of...something he can't quite name every time Cas makes one of his rare reappearances these days.
Cas turns away and momentarily stares off into the distance, eyes locked somewhere beyond the soft line of the mountains. "Dean, I'm doing all I can. I have made inquiries about other ways to attain your brother's soul, but there's not much else I can do -"
"Cas," Dean interrupts, raising a hand and shaking his head. He's tired. He's heard this all before. He knows the deal. They're fucked six ways to Sunday. "Look, I know. I get it."
Cas bows his head, nods. "Good." He then turns to face Dean more fully, moving even closer, and settling a steadying hand against Dean's shoulder. "I asked you how you were."
Dean inhales sharply, eyes drawn to Castiel's penetrating gaze. Cas simply looks right back at him, waiting for Dean's answer. Dean thinks of all the times he's watched Castiel watching him; it's something he's missed, but would never admit missing.
"I'm managing," Dean says on a shrug, offering a bit of a weak smile. "How 'bout you? How goes the revolution, Che?"
"I'm managing as well," Cas says, the slight frown creasing his brow telling an entirely different story. Castiel drops his hand away from Dean's shoulder, lets it fall uselessly to his side.
Dean smirks. "You're not getting any better at lying," he says, and Cas looks up at him again, eyes gone a little wider, a little bluer.
In truth, Dean finds reading Castiel more difficult these days. There are always a slew of emotions playing out across the angel's face. Exhaustion, guilt, regret, and something that says Castiel is in way over his head and not ready to open up to Dean about it. Not ready to admit it even to himself, probably. Which is something Dean understands all too well. Sometimes you have to keep the shit inside and hope and pray it doesn't spill out.
Speaking of praying. "I didn't call you," Dean says, voice gone slightly accusing.
Castiel eyes Dean for a long moment, a hint of sadness beneath his tired expression. "Sometimes you call me without even realizing it."
Dean's brow furrows. "Care to explain that one to me?"
Castiel looks away, frowning. "A prayer is but a deep desire or wish for something. Some part of you has been asking - nay, I say demanding - that I be here."
"Shit," Dean says, uneasy at the thought of Castiel being able to hear him like that. He wonders what Cas heard during Dean's year in Cicero. Dean was pretty messed up for a long time. He hated dragging Lisa into the crazy mess that was his head. Would have hated dragging Cas into it too.
Dean clears his throat and asks, "So you came?"
Castiel nods. "I had the opportunity this time. My brothers Soriel and Kamael are on Earth right now trying to locate the Spear of Destiny, and I have some time before I must meet with them. I wanted...to see you."
Dean exhales, shaking his head. "Cas. Don't."
"Dean," Castiel says, voice dropping lower, rougher. His eyes focus on Dean, sharp and intent. Dean swallows, wants to look away, but knows he can't. Because Cas turns Dean greedy, fucks him up. Makes him feel off-kilter and re-centered all at once. Puts him on edge in ways most things can't.
"I wanted to see you," Castiel repeats the words, moving in closer, making himself right at home in Dean's personal space just like he use to.
Dean doesn't turn him away. There's nothing but an inch separating them, nothing but a breath of hot desert air. It still feels like too much space between them, and Dean has an urge to close the gap. Yet, he still wants to fight this because Cas is acting like it hasn't been an entire fucking year. A year of grief and civil war and distance between them. They can't just fall back into this. Dean's tired, way too tired for this shit.
But maybe Castiel realizes it, gets it, because they're both quiet for a long time, the tension thick enough to cut. They're only ever this quiet with each other when there are things that need saying that neither knows quite how to say. They're both shit when it comes to communicating. So for the longest time they simply watch each other, not saying a damn thing. Dean wants to squirm, because Castiel's eyes are penetrating and bluer than ever. He wants to shuffle his boots along the dusty ground, ball his hands into fists. He wants to scream or yell or fight or fuck. Goddamnit, Cas. He wants to throw him against the Impala and fuck everything else away.
Castiel settles Dean's antsy movements with a gentle hand to his hip. "Sometimes I think we both ask too much of each other," Castiel says, voice gone thoughtful.
Dean snorts softly, shakes his head. His mind's still racing, heart in his throat. "That's a nice way of putting it."
Cas runs a hand along the waistband of Dean's jeans. "Sometimes," he says, voice going even softer. "I think we're willing to give more than we should."
"Cas," Dean starts, but hesitates to go on. Because what the fuck is he supposed to say to that? It's all too true. Dean's never been good with words, with giving voice to the things that he tries his best not to overanalyze. Like this particular thing between himself and Castiel. But he knows how fucked up it is, how fucked up they both are.
Castiel meets Dean's gaze head on. "I am truly sorry about your brother," he says, voice quiet with regret.
Dean releases the breath he didn't even realize he was holding. He shrugs, runs his hand over his face. "Cas, I know you are. It's just that I don't even know what the hell I'm doing half the time," he admits, laughing at himself, at the ridiculousness of his entire fucking life. "But you? You're doing what you have to do right now. You're fighting to protect your home. I get that. Hell, I'm sorry about your brothers. This whole thing. It's fucked up."
"When is it not 'fucked up'?" Castiel asks, words dry with learned humor. Dean chuckles, shakes his head, and turns to look out at the dusty highway, the empty spread of sky and the expanse of desert beyond.
Castiel's fingers circle Dean's belt, tugging gently to get his attention. "Look at me, Dean."
Dean swallows hard, turns to meet Castiel's sharp eyes. Cas then leans in, presses dry lips against Dean's chin, kisses him along the sharp line of his jaw. Says, voice rough, "Now let us say hello properly."
+
They fall together like nothing's changed, like no time has passed. Dean's pressed back against the hot hood of the car, Castiel's body sliding against his own. For the most part there are no words, just hands grasping and arms tangling, the force of bodies reconnecting. There's history here too. Cas kisses Dean with an open mouth, wild and hungry, like he's trying to swallow Dean whole. Dean kisses him back just as hard, desperate for a taste of him; it's been too damn long.
"Cas," Dean whispers, voice dazed and rough as he pulls out of the kiss, sucks in air, the earth spinning around him. Castiel only responds with more wet, urgent kisses pressed along Dean's neck, his hands roaming under Dean's jacket and shirt, fingers digging into the muscle of Dean's back. Castiel's running on something Dean recognizes - heat and danger and self-destruction.
"I missed you," Castiel whispers, tongue laving along Dean's earlobe, and something in Dean comes undone at that, and he's grasping at Castiel's face, pulling him closer, burying his fingers in Castiel's hair. He fucks Castiel's mouth with another biting kiss, a war of teeth and lips and tongue. Castiel works Dean's bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth, sucking on it, feasting on Dean's mouth like the very taste of Dean is giving him sustenance.
Then Castiel's pulling away, hands moving fast, working to discard Dean’s jacket, fumbling with Dean’s belt buckle, yanking his jeans open. Dean's laughing and he's shaking, needy and helpless as Castiel squeezes his cock through his jeans.
"Fucker," Dean breathes, the guttural curse breaking through the rhythm of their rough breathing. His eyes close and his lips tremble as Cas kneels down in front of him, pushes Dean's jeans down with both hands. Castiel's full pink lips brush over his groin, mouthing through the cotton, and Dean thrusts forward on instinct, back slamming hard against the passenger door of the Impala. He's so achingly hard, he's trembling. A violent tension lances through his muscles, and Dean has to fight to keep a tight hold on his control. He hisses, bucks his hips forward again as Cas continues to suck him through the fabric of his briefs.
"Please, Cas," Dean begs, the saliva running thick in his mouth now. "Please, please." He doesn't even know what he's asking for here. But Cas moves, all smooth efficiency, sliding Dean's boxers down and wrapping his long fingers around his cock, twisting and tugging the way he knows Dean likes.
Dean shivers in the desert heat, gasping out loud when Cas finally puts his mouth and tongue to work. Cas opens up over Dean, swallowing his cock whole, and for a moment Dean forgets to breathe. God, he's missed this, the sight of Castiel kneeling at his feet, movements as graceful and beautiful as the angel he is. Castiel's mouth is such a familiar warmth; so damn hot, so damn perfect.
Dean lifts his hips and moans, watches as his cock slips between Castiel's lips again and again, moving deeper into his mouth. Dean braces one hand on the hood, and his other hand settles on Castiel's head, fingers gripping into the thick mess of his dark hair, tugging at his scalp. Cas sucks him harder, hollowing his cheeks and moaning around Dean's cock, and Dean whines low in his throat, head falling back, eyes filling with cloudless blue sky. His teeth dig into his lower lip as he thrusts up, and Cas responds by taking him even farther down into his throat.
"So hot, Cas. God, your mouth," Dean rasps, shutting off his brain, no longer letting the riot of confusion, regret, and guilt take over. No more thinking. Just feeling. Castiel's rough hands holding down his hips. The agonizing slow slide of Castiel's lips moving up and down his cock. The soft, warm velvet heat of Castiel's mouth as Dean moves inside him. How everything pulses between them: heat and breath and fight. Dean closes his eyes and fucks the mouth of the only angel that will ever break his heart.
When Castiel pulls off, he licks one last stripe along the underside of Dean's cock before sliding his lips over the tip and kissing the head gently, reverently. Dean breathes long and deep, watches as Cas works his way back up his body. Still heavy with need, Dean reaches down and pulls Cas to him, sliding them together. Castiel's mouth is wide open, lips wet and swollen, his breath hot against Dean's neck. Dean works quickly, hands tugging Castiel's leather belt out of the loops, letting his slacks drop to the ground. Moments after Cas works his briefs down, Dean's pulling him close again, slamming him back against the Impala, and sliding his own cock hot against Castiel's. They both groan in tandem, voices echoing throughout the barren desert.
Castiel grips Dean's arms firmly, and Dean arches closer. "Tell me how much you missed this," he whispers into Castiel's ear, hand trailing lower and lower until he's massaging down Castiel's leaking shaft, the warm pre-come slicking his palm.
Castiel's body shakes, twists under Dean's touch. "Dean," he breathes hot against Dean's neck as he rolls his hips forward, thrusting into Dean's palm. Dean brings his mouth to Castiel's throat, kissing the soft skin tenderly before sucking at the racing pulse point. Then Dean begins to work both of their cocks in his hand, rolling them together in a slick, wet friction.
"Please, Dean, please," Cas moans, words falling warm and wet against Dean's ear, hips bucking wildly as Dean works them faster.
"Fuck, Cas," Dean groans, and just like that he's coming with the force of a punch, vision going white, every muscle in his body spasming. Castiel's fingers grip Dean even tighter, and then he's coming too, cock gushing warm spunk all over Dean's own, mouth parting in a low cry that heats the air around them.
They're both trembling, breathing heavily, holding each other up against the side of the Impala. Castiel's long, strong fingers settle against Dean's hips as his head comes to rest in the jut of Dean's shoulder. Dean curls into Castiel's warm body, holds him close for the longest time. Together, they just breathe.
+
Night falling. They sit on the hood of the Impala watching the sky darken, the sun sink lower and lower as the stars take their places. Dean's sipping from a bottle of Jack, passing it back and forth with Cas. This almost feels normal. A couple of old friends sharing a drink. A couple of war vets with a complicated history between them and a complicated future ahead.
Cas takes a big mouthful of whiskey, face screwing up with the taste. "It's so very strong."
Dean laughs softly as he turns to look at Cas. "You're an angel. Deal."
Cas smiles, lips curling with his own soft laughter, eyes gone bright with the fading evening light. Dean eyes Castiel for a long minute, wanting to remember him like this, remember them like this. Cas is looser than he's been in a long time, more human: hair wilder than usual, tie unknotted and askew, suit shirt untucked and unbuttoned. They've only been together for a couple of hours, but it feels like things are okay with them in a way they haven't been in a long while.
Dean turns to eye the dark stretch of highway he'll be leaving down soon. Needing to find some way to save Sam, to fix them. Fix what's left of his family. Dean sighs, runs a hand through his hair. He turns to look at Castiel. "Hey, Cas?"
Cas passes him back the now-empty whiskey bottle, arches a brow. "Yes, Dean?"
"Thanks," Dean shrugs, turning the bottle around in his hands before adding, "For stopping by. I...I kinda needed this." Dean doesn't elaborate on 'this', just hopes Cas gets it.
"Maybe we both needed this," Cas says, tone low, eyes locking on Dean's own as they turn to face each other. They're silent for a while, letting that statement settle between them. Maybe they both needed this. It's one truth they're willing to recognize.
Dean remembers all those times he tried to fuck his fears and his guilt away. Remembers losing himself in Castiel in those months following hell, wrapped up in this angel who seemed to know something about the heaviness of Dean's life. Someone who still seems to accept Dean as he is, fuck ups and all.
"If there was anything I could have done," Cas says after a long moment, words solid and weighted in the companionable quiet between them. "I would have."
"I know," Dean whispers. "I'm an asshole but even I know that much."
"I believe," Cas continues, voice gravel-rough and heavy, like the next words are important, prophecy even. "If anyone can find a way to save your brother, it is you." Cas sounds like this is the simple unarguable truth of the matter, and all Dean can do is shake his head. Cas once believed Dean would be strong enough to defeat Lucifer. The very same Lucifer tormenting Sam's soul right now in the Pit. Sam's been in hell for a year, and Dean failed to change that. Dean failed to save his little brother.
"Fucking hell," Dean laughs bitterly, his words a soft explosion of breath and sound. "Sometimes I think I'm doomed to keep failing Sam. Over and over again. I'm always failing him."
"Dean." Cas places a hand over Dean's hand, and he stares at him like he knows all his secrets. Dean thinks maybe Cas does. Cas knows all that Dean has ever done, has seen all that Dean is. He may be one of the only people who has ever seen Dean.
Cas looks at him for a moment longer, like he's committing him to memory. There's something in his eyes beyond heat, and Dean has the urge to pull Cas close again, to feel the fever-flush of his skin against his own. Shutting his eyes against the blue of Castiel's gaze, Dean asks, "What am I supposed to do?"
"You do what you have always done. You find a way to save your brother," Cas says, voice sure.
Dean sucks in a breath, turns his hand palm-side up so that it's touching Castiel's own rough palm. Their fingers lace together. "Okay," Dean nods. "Okay. But first you need to get back to heaven. Make sure Sammy's sacrifice wasn't in vain. No way those dicks are rejumping the Apocalypse."
"I will not let them succeed," Cas says, eyes turning to look down the same long highway Dean's been haunting for the past day. "And believe me when I say I understand your fears, Dean. Not a day goes by that I'm not afraid of failing my brothers. Raphael is...fierce. And he knows I am weak in ways he is not."
Dean tightens his grip on Castiel's hand. "Dude, you are not weak," he huffs. "You're like...the opposite of weak."
Cas flashes a sad smile. Says, voice tired, "I am so very weak, Dean. There are things I have to do that I'm not sure I can do."
Dean nods, understanding all that it takes to save a brother, to save a home. "You'll figure it out," he says simply, trying to give Castiel back something of the reassurance Castiel's words had given Dean only a moment before. "And whatever you have to do, well, it can't be any worse than the shit I've done to protect Sam."
Cas sighs, pulling his hand away to run it over his face like he's tired, so very tired. He turns his head again toward the endless stretch of road before them. For a moment Dean remembers that Cas is a creature that's thousands of years old, has seen things Dean can not even begin to imagine. But even with all their differences, and maybe because of their differences, Dean still understands the guilt and fear that sit heavy behind Castiel's words; it looks and tastes so much like his own.
In a sudden movement, Cas leans over, kisses Dean soft, tender and lingering, like an apology. Dean falls forward into it, pressing Cas back against the hood of the Impala. Castiel still kisses like Dean taught him all those years ago, warm lips brushing against Dean's own, a wet swipe of sweet, velvet tongue that Dean can never say no to. Castiel's hands cup Dean's cheek, jaw, neck, shoulders, hips. For long minutes, Dean sucks on Castiel's tongue, tasting him, remembering him, feeling him, warm and real and here.
This is not the life he tried to make with Lisa. This is not even the rapid-fire life he'd shared with Cas in the midst the of the Apocalypse. This is kissing Cas on a road in the middle of nowhere. It's just a moment, but a moment's all they've ever had.
When they finally pull apart, Dean's breathing hard, panting into Castiel's neck, fingers tangling in his hair. For a long while they press together, forehead to forehead, a shared breath passing between them. Eventually Cas pulls away, sits up and turns to face the road. "We'll win this battle," he whispers, maybe to Dean, maybe to himself.
Dean nods, swallows, and closes his eyes. He breathes deep, drinking in the cool desert air. Like a picture show in his mind, he sees images of all the things he's already done to try to save his brother, all the people who've died because of him, all that he's cost himself, Sam, the world. Dean sees a montage of images, old and new, all his sins and failures in digital color. Dean can't fail Sam again. Not again. Sam will get his soul back and Dean will handle the consequences, like he always has.
When Dean opens his eyes, Castiel is gone. Not a word, not a sound, not even the flutter of wings. "Never stop sucking at goodbyes," Dean laughs, shaking his head as he climbs down from the hood of the Impala. In front of him the highway waits, wrapped in silence. The road, straight as an arrow, bearing the weight of all their burdens, somehow incongruous with freedom.
-fin-