[FIC]: Render (Dean/Castiel, PG-13)
[Render]
SPN. Dean/Castiel. PG-13. ~2,730 words. Coda to 6.12. For my kissbingo card to the prompt emotion: sadness.
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Dean shuffles down the steps, moving slowly into Bobby's living room. There's something old and classic on the radio, a soft mix of guitars and bluesy riffs. Dean listens for a while as he takes in the familiar shapes of Bobby's place. The house is dark, washed in grey shadows, but Dean knows his way around by heart. He sidesteps tables and chairs covered with musty tomes and ancient scrolls, and eventually makes his way into the kitchen.
Moonlight cuts in through the kitchen window, throwing silvery light over the crowded countertop. There are dirty dishes lining the sink and stale coffee in the rusted, old pot. The spoiled remnants of their late dinner is stuck to the plates. Dean tosses his empty coffee mug into the sink and grabs a beer from the fridge. He takes a swallow as he settles back against the counter. He exhales deeply and scuffs his bare toes against the linoleum floor. He doesn't expect he'll sleep at all again tonight. He wants to stay up and make sure Sam sleeps through the night; he doesn't want nightmares threatening his brother's recovery.
"Dean."
"Go away, Cas," Dean sighs, turning to watch the angel part the shadows as he walks quietly into the kitchen. Dean hadn't heard his arrival. Hadn't really expected it. Cas doesn't hover around these days. Too busy fighting a war Dean knows little to nothing about.
There's a long, strained silence. Then, "If that's what you really want," Castiel says slowly. "I will leave."
"So you care about what I want now?" Dean grunts, shaking his head. "You got some real nerve."
Castiel regards him for a long moment, head cocked, and a stubborn tilt to his lean frame. Dean takes a long swallow of beer, relishes the bitter taste flooding his mouth. He watches Castiel watching him. He thinks of all the times he's done just that: watched Castiel watching him. The silence drags on between them for a long time.
"So," Dean begins after a while, his voice edged by a bitter coolness. "In case you're wondering how Sam is doing. See, he was doing just fine until you spilled the beans. Want to tell me what the hell you were thinking when you let Sam in on what happened?"
Castiel steps further into the kitchen, his body appearing larger than normal in the shadowed room. "I wasn't aware it was something you were keeping from him."
"Of course I was keeping it from him!" Dean grits out, anger and alcohol making him unsteady on his feet. "You could have asked me by the way." He sighs, then he adds, voice terse, "It was for his own safety. We can't risk the wall falling, Cas. You more than anyone should understand that."
Castiel nods, seems to take this in. "You're upset with me." A statement, not a question.
"That's putting it mildly," Dean says, voice tight. He closes his eyes, counts to five. Fights down the urge to knock Cas the fuck out. Goddamn, angel.
"Dean," Cas says, hesitating. He steps closer and takes a long breath before continuing, "I believe that I owe you an apology. For the things I said to you when last we spoke."
"You know," Dean laughs bitterly, placing the now empty beer bottle on the counter, "It did feel great to hear you tell me that I might as well have killed my brother. After everything...how could you think I wasn't doing what I needed to do to save him? Leaving him to suffer in hell for all of eternity was never an option. You're a real dick, but I figured you'd understand that much."
"I felt the risk was too great," Castiel says, and his voice is low, tangled with something Dean can't read.
"It was a risk I had to take," Dean argues, voice unwavering. "I could have used your support. I could have used a friend."
"Tell me this, Dean," Castiel says, pushing right up into Dean's face. His voice is hard, scathing, and he's so close Dean can taste his words, the ozone-tint to his warm breath. "Would you be able to bear it if you were responsible for your brother's death? If your actions killed your brother?"
Dean swallows and tenses his jaw. Then he shrugs and looks away. "It's not that simple," he mutters.
"You don't have the best track record when it comes to dealing with losing Sam," Castiel says, and Dean glances over, meets Castiel's challenging gaze head on. Moonlight spills across the angel's sharp features; there's an otherworldly glow behind his eyes.
"It doesn't matter," Dean says, shaking his head. "I wasn't going to stop until I found a way to save him. To get Sam back." Dean thinks of Sam sleeping in bed right now in one of Bobby's spare rooms. His Sam. Safe. Saved. The risk was worth it.
"I didn't believe it could work," Castiel says and looks away.
"You mean you didn't believe in me," Dean corrects, exhaling softly. He doesn't want to admit how much it cuts that Cas doesn't trust him, has lost his faith in him.
"That's not what I meant," Castiel says quietly. He looks at Dean again, voice slightly unsteady as he continues, "The risk was immense. I didn't want you to be responsible for killing your brother. You would not have been able to handle that."
"Maybe," Dean says, voice gruff. A tight coil of tension laces through his shoulders as he moves, stands straighter to look Cas in the eyes. "It doesn't change what needed to be done."
Castiel shakes his head, eyes narrowing. "You are always so rash, so reckless," he says, clearly aggravated.
"I always do what I have to do," Dean retorts, feeling suddenly tired of the whole damn argument. "You know that better than anyone." Dean turns to stare into the darkness of the kitchen. It's suddenly too warm, too small and crowded. He feels claustrophobic.
"It is true that we all must do what we have to do," Castiel says, voice going soft and distant.
"Is this where you tell me what the hell is up with you?" Dean asks, needing to understand. Needing Cas to let him in.
"I'm at war, Dean," the angel breathes out, and his words are heavy, leaden. They're like a solid weighty presence in the darkness of the room. "Today I had to kill a brother I fought beside for more than three millennia. Do you know what that is like for me?" Castiel is breathing hard and fast, and Dean's own breath is rushing to keep up.
"I don't," Dean says, feeling unhinged.
"You can't," Castiel says, voice raw. "I'm used to taking orders, not giving them. But I've become something of a leader in all of this. And I do not consider it a victory to see so many of my brethren fall at my own hands. On my own orders." There's real grief in his words now, a shadow of sorrow on his face. Dean wants to reach out, but doesn't know if it's his right anymore.
Castiel leans closer to Dean, his slightly smaller body fitting perfectly alongside the front of Dean's own. The angel smells human, like blood and sweat. The pungent scent of pain and war.
"I wish there was something I could do," Dean tells him, his hand reaching out to touch Castiel but pulling back before he can.
"There isn't. When I yelled at you earlier it was not truly your actions I was upset with," Castiel confesses quietly, and there's a sadness to his tone Dean hadn't expected to hear. Didn't want to hear. Can't stand to hear. "I was angry at my own actions. What I'm doing to my own brothers," Castiel finishes.
"Cas," Dean says because he wants to say something. Anything. But he doesn't know how to do this. How to be this kind of friend. Castiel continues to look up at him with those same big, old eyes that have looked at him far too closely for almost three years now. Eyes that have seen him and known him in ways Dean has never been comfortable with.
"I," Castiel says, glancing down and away, "I have lost count of how many of my brothers I have killed since I rebelled. How many I've ordered killed, captured or tortured since I became a leader in this war. I didn't want to watch you go through the pain of losing your brother again, Dean. The pain of having to hurt your brother. To witness his suffering at your hands. To know what it is I know every day. I was afraid for you." Castiel's words are quiet but fierce.
Dean swallows, shuts his eyes. His heart is practically beating out of his chest. "Cas," he says, and not for the first time he wishes their lives were easier. He wishes for just one day when the world isn't trying to tear them to pieces. A day without the constancy of pain, of grief. A day without shitty consequences for all their shitty actions.
"Forgive me for not trusting in you," Castiel says, and his voice is soft, his breath warm against Dean's lips.
"There's nothing to forgive," Dean says, voice quiet. "I wouldn't trust in me either." He chuckles sadly, presses his fingers against Castiel's jacket collar, tugging until Cas comes closer.
Castiel's gaze tracks across Dean's face like he's trying to figure him out. His fingers trace the curve of moonlight along Dean's cheek. "You've never understood your true worth," Castiel exhales softly. "Trusting in yourself is what has gotten you this far. You're the same righteous man I raised from hell. The same man who showed me all that's worth fighting for. The man who taught me about choice and free will." He pauses and runs a finger over the jut of Dean's chin. Studies him for a long moment. "Dean, you're the man who taught me to love. The man who was able to save his brother when I believed all was lost."
Dean closes his eyes, not trusting his voice right now. The rest of the house has gone quiet, rocked by the hushed rhythm of night. Castiel steps even closer, and it feels like the heat of the room is somehow moving inside Dean's own body, pooling in his guts, crowding in his chest. Dean's head is full of noise, his body full of liquid fire. "Fuck, Cas," he whispers.
One moment Castiel is standing in front of Dean, and then the next moment Castiel's parched lips are pressing against Dean's own, his slick, wet tongue sweeping inside Dean's mouth. It's easy then: Castiel kisses Dean, and Dean kisses Castiel, and it's warm and dark and deep and so damn necessary. It's soul shaking, and Dean shivers, falling into Castiel's arms like they were made for him. Castiel's hands are possessive as he cradles Dean's head, takes his mouth, shares his grief with him.
Castiel draws him in, asks for more. And Dean gives all he can, drowning in the soft, brutal trap of Castiel's mouth, the overwhelming taste of him. A sliver of saliva catches between their mouths as Dean pulls away. He licks at Castiel's lips again, not wanting to let go of even that small physical connection.
"You drive me so fucking crazy," Dean huffs a broken laugh, because he feels like he's unraveling, heart spilling out onto the floor of Bobby's kitchen. "I don't know what to do with you most days."
"Do with me as you wish," Castiel whispers, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. His breath is warm against Dean's skin, but Dean is shivering at the words. Castiel's fingers slide underneath Dean's shirt, run up and down Dean's back. For the moment, Castiel's touch anchors Dean, keeps him from splitting apart at the seams. It feels just like old times.
"Anything I wish?" Dean whispers. He runs his mouth along Castiel's neck, tracing the line of his throat, tasting the salt-water expanse of his skin before reaching his mouth again. Their lips press together; they kiss again and again.
"I'm glad you didn't listen to me," Castiel says after a time, pulling away to look at Dean fully.
"Why break a perfectly good tradition of me not listening to you?" Dean quips, cheeky grin in place.
"Why indeed?" Castiel deadpans.
Dean smirks and pulls Cas in closer just to feel him here. Castiel runs a hand through Dean's hair, and Dean closes his eyes and presses his head down against Castiel's open palm, savoring the familiar touch. Cas continues to slide his fingers through the short tufts of Dean's hair, and Dean's heart beats a little faster because it's been so long since they've just touched like this. Given into this old comfort.
Cas runs his fingertips along Dean's temple, draws them down over Dean's cheekbone, and lets them ghost over Dean's lips. "I've missed this," Cas says, his voice falling low, soft, broken. "I've missed you."
Dean brings Castiel's palm to his mouth, kisses it gently. "Cas, whatever else we are - and I don't know what the fuck we are half the time to be honest - just know that I do consider you my friend," he says, lips trailing along Castiel's palm. He pulls away and adds, "I don't have a lot of those. So yeah, I'm kinda lousy at the whole friend thing. But you're pretty damn lousy at it too. And you know what? It doesn't matter because we...we just. We just make sense."
Cas looks up at him from under his lashes, his face shifting with a slide of fitful emotions, before settling into something calm, understanding. "We make sense," he repeats the words, as if it's some kind of new revelation.
"Yeah, we kinda do," Dean says, huffing a quiet laugh. "Even when we don't, we do. So here's the thing, Cas. Sometimes we have to make shitty decisions because we're the only ones around that can make them. We got people relying on us to make these decisions even though they're the hardest ones we'll ever make. Sometimes we have to do things we're afraid of doing too. And sometimes we yell or say things that hurt each other because we're the only people around to say them to."
"Dean -" Castiel falters, stops. He turns away, frowning.
"Hey," Dean sighs, reaching out to touch Castiel's chin. He tilts Castiel's head up until they're meeting eye to eye again. "Sometimes I just need you to have my back, you know? And I need you to know I have yours too."
"I'm beginning to understand that now," Castiel says, voice rough. His eyes are sharp on Dean's face.
"So, let's just keep making things up as we go, eh?" Dean smiles, fingers playing with Castiel's tie, attempting to straighten it. "It's kinda what we do best."
"Other than drive each other crazy?" Castiel asks, eyebrow arching.
"Cas, no one drives me crazier than you," Dean says, laughing when he meets Castiel's surprised expression. Dean rests his head against the curve of Castiel’s shoulder and smiles as he adds, "Most of the time I don't know whether I want to throttle you or fuck you."
"Trust me when I say the feeling is mutual," Castiel says, voice all too fond. "It is...very confusing."
"Confusing is one way of describing it," Dean laughs again, looking up to meet Castiel's eyes. "'Course Bobby would kick my ass if we'd tried either right here. So how about I just kiss you instead?"
"As long as you promise to do more later," Castiel mumbles, lips landing against Dean's chin. "I do have thoughts of throwing you against the wall and teaching you how to really listen for a change."
"Can't wait to disobey," Dean breathes, and he takes Castiel's mouth. Dean takes Castiel's hard, desperate kiss and it feels like a gift, like a promise. It feels like old times.
-fin-