Big Bang Fic: Oadriax (7/13)
Title: Oadriax (7/13)
Author: daksgirl
Artist: terrorinyertub
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural, au, sci fi, drama
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Side pairings: Sam/Gabriel, past Sam/Jess
Rating: NC-17 (violence, adult situations, language)
Word Count: 80,668
Warnings: Graphic violence and warfare, adult themes including sex, canon character deaths, demon xenophobia, swearing, gore (in a war situation), PTSD and an attempted non-con situation.
[Fic Masterpost]
[Art Masterpost]
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Castiel cocked his head curiously, passing a thick leather strap beneath the creature Dean was currently eyeing unhappily.
“I am not. The hunting grounds are further than you can walk, and it is safer to travel by Levithmong.”
Dean stared at the beast as Hershey preened himself, neck craned to rub one reptilian cheek against his leg. Over the past week Dean had been attempting to learn how to speak to the stupid beasts, and had had pretty good success.
With Levithmong’s who weren’t called Hershey that is.
Castiel tugged the strap into place, and Dean made a face.
“But do we have to take this one?” he asked exasperatedly. “This one wants to kill me.”
As if in agreement, Hershey snorted loudly, pawing at the earth. Castiel rapped his fingers gently against the hard plating of the animal’s back as he cinched the stiff leather into place. A rough leather sheet woven together with individual strands covered half the beast’s back, several thick straps dangling from it. A darker leather pouch was secured at the base of Hershey’s spine, full of supplies. Near as Dean could tell, he was looking at the angel equivalent to a saddle. How it would keep him physically on the beast from hell was beyond him.
“Hershey is the only Levithmong I have forged a close enough bond to since losing my own. Gabriel has been most gracious in allowing us to use him,” Castiel tested the reins, and the Levithmong bumped him with one meaty shoulder.
Dean squinted at it, making sure all four eyes were on him. “Behave.”
The beast honked at him insolently, beak clicking as Castiel helped Dean up onto its back. After some uncomfortable wiggling, Dean managed to settle himself on the leather, fitting his legs into the slight grooves of the saddle. “What’s that? The clicking thing they do.”
Castiel looked amused as he helped cinch the saddle straps around Dean’s right thigh. “It is laughter.”
“Great.”
Dean shifted nervously as Castiel moved around Hershey to Dean’s other leg, the angel’s fingers moving self-assuredly across Dean's knee. Castiel’s hands were warm where they lifted his thigh, settling Dean more firmly into the saddle. The angel was perfectly comfortable with touching the human apparently.
“Uh, Cas?” Dean cleared his throat nervously, and Castiel paused, glancing up. “We uh, personal space dude?”
Castiel rolled his eyes, pulling the last strap hard and forcing a yelp from Dean.
“You humans and your space,” he muttered. “It is necessary to fit you properly to the zimz. You would fall and die otherwise.”
Dean’s face felt hot. “Right. Uh, right.”
With a flap of his wings, Castiel slid up behind Dean, leggings sliding smoothly against the leather saddle. Dean squawked unhappily as the angel moved in close, chest pressed flush up against Dean’s back. Folding his wings in close to his body, Castiel set his hips firmly up against Dean’s, nonchalantly looping the back straps of the saddle around his own legs. Dean floundered, held in place by his own straps as his ass was pushed snugly into the cradle of Castiel’s hips.
“Cas!” he barked, voice high and panicked. “What the hell!?”
The angel ignored him, arms sliding beneath Dean’s elbows. “You will hold the reins. I will direct you.”
Their noble steed-for-the-day shifted, muscles already vibrating with expectant glee. The reins were shorter than Dean was used to, forcing him to stay in a forward ducked position, leaning over Hershey’s thick neck.
“You, you’re like molded against my ass,” Dean protested, cheeks flushed. “You guys actually ride like this?”
Oh man, that was a poor choice of words.
Castiel shifted behind him, warm breath brushing the back of Dean’s neck and sending his nervous system into spasms. “It is necessary. You are learning, and riding can be dangerous.”
Dean’s nerveless fingers gripped the reins, clutching them towards his chest like a scandalized maiden. “If this is just an attempt to somehow feel me up, I am going to kill you, Cas.”
He could actually feel the angel smile against his neck. “Noted. Now go.”
Hershey gave an impatient snort, and Dean tried to get himself back under control.
No problem. He could do this. This wasn’t weird. This was just Cas showing him how to ride. Nothing strange going on here.
…Right.
Dean snapped the reins cautiously, and Hershey set off with a happy bleat, trotting through the tall grass with tail held high. Dean’s spine jarred against the beast’s gait, and he gave another experimental snap, hoping to find a smoother speed that would ease the discomfort. The Levithmong broke into a run, six legs pounding the earth as it sped through the pasture, headed for the forest.
Dean winced at the new tempo, struggling to find a good rhythm, and Castiel leant into him.
“Like this,” Castiel’s hands settled on Dean’s hips, fingers gripping him lightly and forcing him to settle more into the angel’s own rhythm, hips rolling with practiced ease.
Dean felt like he was in some sort of crazy-ass porno, bouncing around on the angel’s lap. Thank God Sam wasn’t here, or else he might die from embarrassment. It was horribly distracting, trying to concentrate on driving a large, self-aware tank, with the solid pressure of a very male shaped angel pressing up against him in interesting places.
Did he say interesting? Annoying. Terrible. Awful and definitely not enjoyable in any way, shape, or form.
But the discomfort of his jarred spine finally outweighed his potential embarrassment, and Dean forced himself to relax, jaw clenched and heart pounding. His hips followed the firm line of Castiel’s, and the dull ache in his spine disappeared. Instead, in his forward leaning position, the front of his suddenly aching groin was chafing against the leather clad ridges of Hershey’s back.
Son of a bitch.
“Head for the tree,” Castiel’s hand left Dean’s hip to touch his elbow gently, steering the excited Levithmong towards a single thick tree. “And squeeze with your legs.”
Dean gaped. “Are you crazy? We’ll crash into it!”
The angel actually laughed, chest vibrating against Dean’s back. “Trust me.”
The tree loomed towards them, the Levithmong honking happily as it sped towards it and Dean slammed his eyes shut, fully expecting to crash into it full speed. Instead, with a powerful lunge, Hershey leapt up onto the tree, talons raking the bark with loud cracks as he shimmied upward. Leaves shook from the branches, a cascade of green hitting against Dean’s arms.
Dean finally understood the purpose of the weird saddle; leaning forward as Hershey climbed was easier, the straps around his thighs keeping him in place. Castiel leant against his back and Dean could feel the steady thump of his heart.
“Now do you understand?”
Dean forced his eyes open as the Levithmong leapt towards another tree, talons gripping the bark confidently as the beast did its best to make Dean throw up his breakfast.
“I think, I actually, oh god, prefer flying.”
Castiel was generally a patient creature by nature. A lifetime of enduring both Gabriel and Balthazar had molded him thus, so it was perplexing for him to spend time with what seemed to be one of the most impatient of humans.
Castiel had yet to find an activity that the human seemed to enjoy. Dean hated riding, hated language, hated cooking and sewing, and even hated flying when Castiel attempted to take him. He would make his displeasure clear, with yelled words and wild hand motions.
It was at best, frustrating.
It was at times, almost intolerable. Even a mere touch of the arm during a demonstration would have the human blustering and gesturing. Dean did not appreciate help nor did he like Castiel touching him.
So of course, Castiel ruthlessly did both. He offered his help at every opportunity, touched Dean even when the moment did not require it. It was his way of rebellion, his clumsy attempt at bridging the strange gap they seemed to have in communication.
Angels touched one another often. It was comforting and necessary. Wings were important in that respect, for posturing, and play, or comfort. Grooming was important for building relationships and touching helped build bonds between angels, siblings or not.
But humans had no wings.
Castiel could not groom Dean. He could not offer comfort with a single flap, nor convey his own need in return. The human’s back was a blank canvas, a smooth plane of skin that made it near impossible to gauge Dean’s moods. And Dean could not read Castiel’s own wings, could not understand the silent language of the Ne’gassagen.
The first few days were…difficult. Castiel doubted Raphael’s wisdom to entrust Dean’s education to him, and even questioned his decision to save Dean back in the forest. It was not a decision he had planned. When he had seen the man running through the forest, an enraged Vniglag taking chase, he had been tempted to leave the human to his fate. It was no concern of his should another human perish. Lucifer had long been telling them how the humans were evil, corrupted and vicious. That war would soon be upon them. What was one less? One less potential enemy, one less soul that Castiel would one day be forced to destroy.
But something had prompted him forward. A gentle push he could not explain. And in that moment, perhaps one of weakness, Castiel had made a decision. He distracted the Vniglag, giving Dean enough time to escape, though it was over a waterfall. When Castiel finally found the human again, the idiot had taken on an entire pack of Esmong.
Brave, but stupid. Incredibly stupid.
His wings had trembled at the sight, a panic settling in his chest as Castiel watched Dean fall beneath the weight of the pack. He had thought the human lost; his efforts in vain. But Dean was still alive, though heavily wounded, when Castiel landed over him. Castiel could see the tendrils of life leaving the human, the bright lines that leaked sluggishly through the red gash in his shoulder. Castiel hadn’t thought, didn’t pause, wrapping his wings around the human as he pressed himself as close as he could. It took a great effort to heal Dean, but he had. He had sheltered the human through that dark night, Dean cradled against his chest like a newborn as they sought safety in the trees.
Dean did not know about that night. Did not know the hours Castiel had spent staring at the human’s face, tracing the lines and contours of the soul he had saved. Wondering if it was a mistake, if he had been wrong to save such an unfathomable creature.
But Castiel did not regret his decision.
There was a reason Dean had stumbled into Castiel’s life. It was not his place to question Geiad and Her strange ways. Castiel could not regret his path if Geiad had chosen it for him.
Dean was loud. He was angry and happy, furious and bright and just…Dean. Castiel could not rely on reading Dean’s wings. He could neither rely on his own knowledge of humans, nor what Gabriel told him. Castiel developed his own way of reading Dean. He found himself carefully watching Dean’s face, tracking the small furrow between the man’s eyes which meant he was frustrated, the slight curve of his mouth when amused, and Castiel’s favorite, the softness in Dean’s eyes whenever he said Cas.
Cas.
Castiel had never been given a nickname before. Well, one that wasn’t rudely whistled by a brother at least. A nickname was a show of affection, a certain code of camaraderie that humans employed with those that they liked. Or so he had been told.
And Castiel…Castiel found he liked Dean.
The hunting ground Castiel guided them to had long ago been abandoned, proven too sparse with game. Set in a small grassy clearing, Castiel often came here to practice his skills, away from the disapproving eyes of his siblings. Back when Anael had been alive, he had come here often, practicing his archery as the Levithmong rolled in the grass, honking happily. There were happy memories etched into the very soil here, and the grasses trembled with joy to see him again.
Hershey could sense it, how the lulled humming of the insects hitched as the Levithmong dropped down to the dirt, and he pranced excitedly, already yearning to explore and taste the flowers.
Castiel unstrapped himself, dismounting with an easy flap of his wings. His chest was warm where he had been pressed against Dean’s back, and his fingers automatically reached for the human, touching the rough fabric covering one leg. Dean, of course, spluttered. His face flushing red as he slapped Castiel’s hands away, stubbornly unstrapping himself.
The human slid to the ground on unsteady legs, wobbling uncertainly for a moment as Hershey took off with a bleat.
“Next time we walk,” Dean ground, glaring viciously at the beast that had carried them there, but Hershey ignored him, already happily grazing along the thicket of flowers that blossomed around them.
Castiel hid a smile. “Of course, Dean.”
The Levithmong took no notice of the angel as Castiel retrieved the few weapons he had brought with them from the dark pouch of the zimz, wood rattling hollowly. He tossed the bow towards Dean, who caught it awkwardly in one hand.
“We shall practice your mal, today.”
The human looked adorably perplexed. It was times like this that Castiel yearned to be able to touch the human freely, to run his fingers along Dean’s jaw, smooth his thumbs over the lines of stress and worry. Humans had some of the purest malprigzch Castiel had ever seen, but they lacked the ability to touch it, control it as the angels did. Dean’s shone so very bright, pure and pulsing.
If Castiel concentrated on it, he could hear laughter, two small boys playing in a field of gold. He could almost see a man, strong and dark with a deep voice, though he rarely spoke. He could smell the sharp sting of water, could hear the creaking of a rickety pier as water lapped against the crumbling wood.
When Castiel had healed Dean that night, his malprigzch had touched the human’s briefly. Dean had wrapped around him so tightly, so very frightened and desperate, it had taken the angel by surprise. He had faltered, losing himself for a moment in it, allowing it to reach for him though he knew it was forbidden. Knew he should not have.
He had lost himself in Dean, and Castiel had never wanted to be found again.
Castiel watched Dean now, watched the uncertainty swirl inside him with sick grey wisps. The edges of his malprigzch was frayed and tarnished, black sores upon an otherwise pure soul. Something had affected Dean long ago, some dark and terrible evil that left the secret parts of him deformed and rotten. But even the darkness did not change what Castiel saw and felt.
Dean was the most beautiful creature Castiel had ever seen.
Dean cocked his hip insolently, tapping the bow against his leg impatiently. “Mal? Care to enlighten the stupid human, Cas?”
Embarrassed to have been caught so openly admiring, Castiel turned away, wings agitated and embarrassed.
“Archery,” he bit out curtly, grabbing a quiver from the assortment of things he had brought. “Our primary weapons are our bows. It is important you learn how to use one.”
Castiel was surprised by the sudden spark of anger that sent Dean’s malprigzch a deep red, a roar echoing from its depths. “I can’t.”
“You have not even tried,” Castiel pointed out, frustrated. “Dean, you must at least try-”
“I can’t!” Dean snapped, throwing the bow to the ground. It bounced against the soft grass. “This is stupid. I can’t do it and that’s that alright?”
Castiel’s wings flexed. “Why must you be so difficult?”
Dean jabbed an angry finger towards him. “And why do you have to be so pushy? I said I can’t!”
Dean was a mess of red and dull brown, unhappy and hurt. Castiel’s anger receded, and he longed to reach out to soothe the human, ease the dark lines that pulsed from Dean in oily tendrils. The negative energy was centered on Dean’s hand, and Castiel strode forward, grabbing the human’s hand before he could protest. His fingers trailed over the callused skin, turning Dean’s palm towards the sky before the man could pull his hand back.
Etched into Dean’s palm was a spidery white line of scar tissue. To human eyes it was clean and just a scar, but Castiel could see the wound beneath. Jagged black tendrils pulsed just beneath the skin, wicked and diseased. Something terrible had given this to Dean and it haunted him still.
“You were injured,” he said calmly, reaching out with his own malprigzch to try and soothe the darkness.
Dean tugged his hand back, retreating from the angel physically and emotionally.
“It’s nothing,” he bit out, looking away from Castiel as he rubbed his palm nervously. “Just, stiff sometimes.”
Castiel knew when to withdraw. He nodded, pulling away. “If you cannot fire with this hand, we can try the other.”
Dean made a noise of annoyance, throwing his hands up. “It’s not that it’s just-God I’m hot and disgusting and fed up with this shit!”
It was not Castiel, Dean was truly mad it. Nor did his hand hurt greatly. Darkness pulsed within him, brought to life once again by memories, and it crowded Dean, parasitic and gleeful. Though Dean had made it clear he wanted no contact, Castiel reached out once again, his own life force a shimmering silver, concentrating on the point he had first touched Dean.
The human seemed to sense the touch, and shuddered. The darkness calmed, no longer choking.
“Sorry,” he said gruffly, rubbing his arms. “It’s uh, I got it on Hel.”
Castiel settled down on the grass, seed pods brushing against his arms. This was something important, something Dean needed to talk about. “Another world?”
Dean looked surprised that Castiel knew about other places, other planets. “Uh, yeah.”
He slowly settled down in front of Castiel, legs crossed and head bowed. The heat of the day rose from the plants around them, fragrant blossoms on the breeze. If there was a place to unburden dark thoughts, this was it.
Dean’s fingers traced the jagged line across his palm. “Hot as fuck there, even worse than here.”
A surge of curiosity blazed within him, and Castiel’s wings flared. “Are there creatures like me?”
Dean laughed, low and bitter. Castiel did not like the sound. “No. No, they’re the opposite. We call ‘em demons.”
Demons. Just the word darkened Dean further. Castiel drew his legs up towards his chest, long blades of grass scratching against the hide of his leggings. “I take it they are unpleasant.”
“There was…a war.” Dean seemed to struggle for the words, eyes focusing on the grass between them. Castiel had seen angels look like that, veterans that had fought during the Clan wars, when life was not as peaceful as it was now.
“You fought,” he prompted gently.
“Yeah,” Dean sighed, eyes flickering up to Castiel’s face. “Yeah I uh, I was a First Lieutenant. Lost a lot of good men and women. Lost…lost family.”
Castiel’s wings lay perfectly still. It made sense then, the sadness Dean carried within him so obviously. “It must have been difficult.”
“You could say that,” Dean’s green eyes bore into his. “Ever been in a war, Cas?”
“No.”
Castiel had been blessed to have avoided spilling blood in his lifetime. He was trained as a warrior of course, but by the time of his birth, the wars were long over. Sometimes Gabriel would tell him stories, tales to send the young ones scattering with high pitched screams just before bed. War was not something he yearned to experience.
“Well, try and keep it that way okay? Hel, Hel changed me,” Dean ducked his head again, fingers pulling at the grass.
Castiel was unsure what he should offer. Dean had made it clear physical touching was unwelcome. “I am sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Dean smiled up at him, but it was forced. “It happened a long time ago. No point dwelling right?”
Castiel smiled back at him, sensing there were a great many things the human did not want to say. Could not say. It was not his place to force Dean to speak of them. “Did Sam fight too?”
Dean’s whole being lit up at Sam’s name. Castiel reveled in it, loved how the darkness could be so easily overcome by one name. One human who obviously meant everything to Dean.
“Nah. Kid stayed in school like I wanted him to,” Dean was proud, Castiel realized. Proud that he had saved his brother from the very same darkness that now consumed him. “Sam wanted, well, this.”
He gestured around them, towards the forest. Hershey raised his head from grazing to glare at the human suspiciously, and Dean blew a kiss at the Levithmong with a wink. Snorting haughtily, Hershey resumed his grazing.
Dean sighed, eyes trailing along the weeds and vines. “Man, Sam would love this. Hanging around with angels and stuff. Sucks that he can’t.”
Castiel desperately wanted to meet him. To meet the man Dean spoke of so lovingly. Perhaps he could ask Michael-
Dean chuckled, startling Castiel back to the conversation at hand. “God sure is a mean bastard, though. Likes making my life hard.”
That name. Dean said it often, when angry or frustrated.
Castiel cocked his head curiously. “You speak of this God often. What has he done to displease you so?”
“No he’s, it’s cursing, Cas,” Dean pulled at a strand of grass under his knee. “God isn’t a person he’s…a…”
A bird called high above him, relaxed and content as Dean struggled to explain. Castiel fanned his wings as he waited, relishing the sun’s rays on his feathers.
“Look,” Dean said finally, with a grimace. “On Earth he’s this invisible dude with a beard that sits on a cloud and people pray to. Blame him when things go wrong.”
Castiel frowned. “I highly doubt it is his fault.”
Dean laughed, and Castiel’s heart leapt at the sound. “No it…he’s not real, Cas. They say he created the world in seven days and shit. It’s all just bull.”
Understanding dawned on the angel. “He is your Geiad. The maker.”
“Yeah,” Dean looked pleased, impressed Castiel understood. “Yeah, God is our Geiad on Earth.”
Castiel shifted closer, wings twitching excitedly. “Would you show me? I would very much like to experience this, God, with you.”
“What, you mean like praying?” Dean did not shift away as Castiel moved closer, their knees brushing.
Castiel nodded. Dean had spoken so little of his own culture, and Castiel was so very curious. What was Earth like? Were there many humans? It seemed fitting and right to pray to Dean’s Geiad first. Perhaps this God would help Dean become a Ne’gassagen.
Dean rubbed the back of his neck, mouth downturned in a slight frown. “Well praying is just, you know, thanking Him for stuff. Or asking for help.”
He raised his hands, folding them together, and laughed as Castiel copied him, face serious.
“Like so?” Dean was stifling a laugh, Castiel could tell. The human’s soul was bright and gold, pleased as Castiel closed his eyes, holding his folded hands in front of him.
“Dear God,” a spike of warmth brushing up against him signaled Dean was very amused, and Castiel struggled to keep his face blank. “I thank you for delivering Dean to my tribe and allowing me to get to know him. I am honored to call him a friend. I promise to keep him safe, and honor your name as I do Geiad, the Creator of my own world.”
He opened his eyes to look at Dean questioningly. The human’s green eyes were bright, the darkness that had clouded his soul, gone.
“Amen,” he supplied, and Castiel mirrored a smile back at him.
“Amen.”
It was late by the time Dean got back to the complex, the halls deserted.
Dean trudged along tiredly, the sounds of his dragging boots bouncing off the sterile white walls. Even the biolabs were dark as he passed by, and he gave a deep sigh.
Castiel had tired him out with shooting lessons. After their bonding moment or whatever the hell it was, Castiel had insisted he try shooting with the bow. Dean was surprised to find he was actually pretty good at it, managing to hit the target dead on twice. But the whole thing had left Dean freaked out. The riding with Castiel pressed up against him like, well, just the whole pressing thing was bad enough. He just wanted to go to sleep forever. Maybe then he could forget his splurge of feelings he had accidentally unleashed on the angel. It was just tiredness, that was it. He wasn’t thinking straight. What was a guy to think, being all squashed up against a good looking angel if he wasn’t at his best? Yeah. That was it. This was totally Cas’s fault. Taking advantage of him in his tired and…human-ish state. Yeah.
God, he needed to find a hole to bury himself in, pronto.
Goddam, feelings. Seriously. He was turning into Sam.
Dean yawned, rubbing his eyes as his feet determinedly continued forward. His footsteps sounded eerie; the only movement along the seemingly endless hallway. The door that led towards the living quarters wavered in the distance, and Dean smiled at it, already anticipating the soft mattress that waited for him.
Without warning a body slammed into him from behind, vice like fingers digging into the soft skin of his arm, yanking and twisting. Dean was crowded up against the wall, the air forced out his lungs in a throaty gasp as his arm was twisted painfully up behind his back. His free hand clawed uselessly at the hard wall as fingers grabbed his short hair, nails scraping his scalp as his head was yanked back to expose his throat. Masculine hips ground up against his ass, a beard prickling the skin of his throat as he struggled to breathe.
“Having fun playing with the angels, rabbit?”
Dean struggled, pushing against the body at his back.
Alistair.
“Get off me you fuck! I’ll fucking kill you!” he choked out, thrashing against the demon.
His words echoed around them, as empty as the hallway, and Alistair chuckled. Slowly he inhaled, rubbing his lips across Dean’s throat, blunt teeth just shy of scraping. Dean’s heart pounded against his ribs, galloping beneath his skin, and the demon mouthed the panicked pulse.
“The Colonel is just wondering how it’s all going,” Alistair smiled against Dean’s skin, pressing the human harder against the wall. “You haven’t paid us a visit for a while, Dean. Rude.”
He was trapped, restrained and helpless against a creature much stronger than him. Snarling, Dean bucked wildly, trying to land a good head butt in, but Alistair held him in place easily. The demon tutted, kicking Dean’s legs apart and wedging the human harder against him.
“He thinks you need a little,” the demon twisted hard, forcing a pained grunt from the man beneath him. “Reminder as to who you really belong to here.”
Alistair nudged his hips harder against Dean’s ass, his intentions clear and Dean froze, sweating and fearful. His vision was going blurry, mind already beginning to tuck itself away, disbelieving at the reality forced on it.
Teeth nipped his ear, and Dean renewed his fruitless struggles.
“Ah-ah,” Alistair chided him, and Dean’s arm was wrenched up harder. “You stay right here with me and take it like a good little rabbit now. Scream if you want. No-one is even going to hear, let alone care enough t-”
It was the sudden opening of a door that interrupted him, and Alistair pulled away, glaring down the hallway as Dean slumped against the wall, wide eyed and chest heaving. Bolting from the sliding door like a greyhound from a gate, came Ruby. She jogged towards the two, bare fleet slapping against the gleaming floor.
“Oh there you are Dean! Wow I totally forgot about our little pow wow, sorry about that. Did you wait up for me?”
Dean stared at her blankly. The demon was dressed in cotton shorts and a black strappy top-corporation issued sleep wear. Her usually meticulously groomed hair was bushy and wild, one side flattened. Dark smudges under her eyes also revealed that up until very recently, the demon had been asleep. In bed.
Which makes no sense, Dean thought stupidly, watching her as she neared, the demon living quarters are halfway across the base. To get here it would take a good ten minutes of flat out running.
Ruby was out of breath as she drew up to the two men, saluting smartly towards the enraged looking Alistair.
“Alistair! How nice of you to help Dean find his quarters. No worries, I can take it from here.”
Dean was still a stunned mess, legs weak and shaking as Ruby hauled him up by one arm.
“Come on handsome. Let’s get you to bed before that giant sister of yours worries!” Ruby’s voice was sickly sweet, but her hand trembled under Dean’s armpit as she tugged him along. Dully, Dean realized his t-shirt was soaked with sweat, sticking to him with liquid fear.
Ruby ushered him through the door she had entered from, and as the door slid shut behind them, she bit out a curse in her native tongue. She didn’t let go of Dean, apparently intent on manhandling him all the way to his quarters. The living quarter corridor was cluttered with lockers and forgotten equipment, and a haphazardly stacked pile of coats spilled onto the floor as Ruby kicked at it.
Dean tried to protest, boots squeaking along the floor. “He was…you-”
“Shut up,” Ruby snapped at him, black eyes glittering in the harsh hallway light. “My beauty sleep has been ruined. And the impromptu fifteen minute run? Not cool. There’s a reason I use a fucking helicraft to get around!”
With a snarl, Dean shoved the demon away. She tripped in surprise, only just regaining her balance before crashing into a storage locker. Dean leant against the wall, relishing the cold against his over-heated skin. He felt sick, nauseous and vulnerable. The last thing he wanted to be around was another demon.
“I don’t need protection,” he spat as his skin shivered. “I can handle myself just fine.”
Ruby arched an eyebrow, cocking one hip. Her thin sleep shorts rode up her thigh and under any other circumstances Dean might have ogled. Now he just felt sick, as he bent over, breathing deeply.
“Oh yeah,” Ruby snorted. “Great job, cowboy. You’re just oozing control. Guess Alistair just wanted to give you a friendly hug, was that it? With his dick?”
His stomach heaved, and Dean clapped a hand to his mouth, drunkenly looking around for something to vomit into. Something tapped his arm, and he turned to see an offered grey bucket. Ruby held it for him as he crouched on the floor, heaving.
As the waves of nausea passed, Ruby patted his shoulder awkwardly, setting down the bucket with a grimace.
“It’s okay. That was my first reaction to him too.”
Dean managed a weak smile, hands shaking as he tucked them under his armpits. He felt cold, bone-tired and even sorer.
“Thanks. I uh, just thanks.”
Ruby sighed, crossing her arms. “Don’t thank me. Wasn’t my idea to go running around in my pajamas trying to save your virtue. But what boss man says, I do.”
The demon sidled up to him, sliding his arm around her neck as she forcibly shuffled him along towards his quarters. Dean leaned against her, eyes heavy as the adrenaline in his veins receded.
“Boss man?” he asked wearily. Ruby shifted his arm, grunting.
“Don’t even try, I’m sworn to secrecy,” she grimaced. “Look, I did my part. Want my advice? Don’t go anywhere alone. Stick to Dr. Singer like glue. For some reason Alistair is terrified of the grump. Actually wait, I completely understand. That old bastard is terrifying.”
Dean had never been so happy to see a door before as his quarters came into view. Ruby ducked under his arm, punching in the code he mumbled at her and helping him inside as the door slid open. Sam was fast asleep and snoring, one pale foot poking out from the covers. Ruby shot a disbelieving look at the slumbering human, but Dean just shook his head.
“Heavy sleeper.”
“Ah.”
The two shuffled towards Dean’s bed, Dean sinking down with an appreciative sigh. Ruby was outlined by the light spilling into the apartment from the hallway outside when Dean glanced up at her.
“I uh, thanks again. I don’t, I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up.”
The corner of her mouth quirked, and Ruby reached out to ruffle his hair. Dean winced at the soreness of his scalp, and she withdrew immediately.
“We’re not all bad, Dean,” she said softly. “Just some of us.”
Dean nodded tightly, and Ruby left, the door sliding shut behind her. The room lapsed into quiet, only occasionally punctuated by the soft snores of Sam. Dean struggled out of his clothes in the dark, ID tags clinking. Stretching out on the bed, he breathed through his nose, trying to calm himself. His stomach was still a knotted mess, his limbs jittery and skin stretched too tight over his muscles. His body felt alien to him, fingerprint bruises tender along his arm. Where Alistair had….was almost…
He blinked, staring up into black. Hysteria was rising in his chest, brain coming to grips with what just happened. Unexplainably, he found his hand clutching his shoulder, tracing the slightly raised scar an angel had left him. Slotting his fingers where Castiel’s had once been he felt a flood of calm, and his body relaxed, chest loosening.
Dean's legs pumped as he sprinted towards cover, rifle creaking in his hands as explosions went off around him, showering him with dirt. Men screamed in the smoke, their attackers’ victory cries loud and keening. A dark shadow rose off to his left, and Dean cut it down absently, rifle spitting.
Shrapnel ripped into his side, and Dean dropped to his stomach, breathing deeply. The sharp tang of blood flooded his senses, thick and dripping, and he coughed, crawling forward on his belly. To his right, something followed him, cutting through the smoke easily. Two pale bare feet padded alongside him, trailing through blood and dirt yet remaining clean. Dean squinted upwards, tilting his helmet back.
Familiar blue eyes gazed down at him, a contrast to the bloodshot sky.
“Hello, Dean.”
“Jesus Cas!” Dean blurted, spitting dirt out of his mouth as a grenade exploded nearby. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The angel looked around them, pulling his wings in close. A marine, blackened by flames and uniform still smoldering, tilted by in a plume of flame, mouth wide and straining. He didn’t make a sound. “You are dreaming.”
“No shit,” Dean growled, shooting at a demon that crouched over a screaming young soldier. The boy was barely seventeen, should never have seen a battlefield, but the war had taken its toll on Earth’s troops. The demon sliced down with its blade, the boy’s screams turning to wet gurgles. Carving yet another statistic that would be mailed home with heartfelt words.
Dean put a bullet between the demon’s eyes, its skull shattering, and scattering brain matter through the air like slick rain.
Dean grunted, wiping a piece from his cheek. “You’re kinda in the wrong place. No angels in this dream.”
Castiel’s wings flexed, lifting him off the ground briefly as a demon scuttled beneath him. Dean put it down with a spray of bullets, and it slumped lifelessly, dark blood oozing out of the cavity of its chest. Dean ignored the twitching corpse, wriggling forward on his stomach through its hot trail of gore.
“Can you come back later? I’m kind of busy.”
The rifle was slippery in his hands, fingers drenched red. Castiel landed again, the whole of him pristine and clean despite the horror around him.
“I felt your distress. The link was open, so I came.”
Dean gritted his teeth, getting to his knees finally. His joints protested, sore and creaking. It was hard to tell what was dirt and what wasn’t, Hel’s red soil mixing with both human and demonic blood.
It didn’t really matter. He was caked in both.
“I’ll try to be quieter next time,” Dean muttered. The crest of the hill was near, and he knew what waited for him just beyond it. “Now go away.”
Castiel frowned, black wings swirling the smoke.
“No,” he said simply, leaning down to press two fingers against Dean’s sweaty forehead.
The battlefield disappeared. Water filled the chasms grenades had left, swept away the corpses and blood. The rough dirt beneath Dean shifted to sun warmed slats of wood, the sky fading from red to bright blue.
Dean slowly got to his feet, recognizing the quiet lake stretched in front of him, the old pier he could feel shift beneath his now bare feet.
“What the,” he turned slowly, taking in the crisp grass, the trees that slowly swayed in the cool breeze. The air was warm against his skin, whispering to him of lazy summers spent fishing. Two small figures sat at the end of the pier, two boys with homemade fishing rods that laughed and pushed at each other.
Castiel materialized at his side, hands at his back and wings folded. “This is yours, Dean.”
Dean watched the boys, heart clenching. “I used to take Sammy here every summer. Dad was working and Mom…” he blinked, swallowing as child-Sam whooped something, reeling his line in. “Sam loved it here.”
Castiel was watching him, blue eyes bright. “As did you. “
“This is a dream,” he ground, turning away from the boys. “And I don’t dream about this. Not anymore. I don’t know what this is, but take me back. Back to…back to…”
Take me back to Hel.
Castiel’s wings shimmered in the sun, hidden flashes of greens and blues that Dean always wanted to chase with his fingers. Child-like laughter rode the breeze, carefree and young.
“Hel is painful to you,” Castiel said quietly, blue eyes serious. “You carry the scar of it within you, death and sorrow. Why would you wish to experience them night after night?”
Dean wanted to lash out. What was the stupid angel even doing here? This was his head, his dreams. No one else was supposed to see, it was his burden to bear, his own sanctuary of sin and past mistakes.
But there was no pity in the angel’s face. No judgment. Castiel stood quietly but proudly, pale skin glowing in the sunlight. He seemed…he seemed so real.
Dean sighed, watching the boys, unable to hold the angel’s gaze with his own. “Because it’s all I have left, Cas. Those, memories, are all I have left.”
Dean could hear himself shouting happily, Sam squealing as he hooked his first big fish. What he wouldn’t give to join them, to pretend even if just for a little while, that life was that simple and carefree.
Castiel was still studying him, and Dean shrugged sullenly, the words dragged from him. “Of him. It’s all I have left of him.”
Even in his dream, Dean wore his ID tags. Castiel reached out to touch them, and this time Dean didn’t stop him, watching the angel’s face as Castiel’s fingers traced the metal respectfully.
“You speak of your father,” he said quietly. “John Winchester.”
The water lapped up against the pier, the trees sighing and grass shifting as the two boys continued their fishing, unaware.
Dean nodded, chest tight. “Yeah.”
Castiel dropped his hand, wings spreading behind him. The sun glinted off the raven black feathers. “I would very much like to see him.” Those powerful wings swept forward to caress his arms gently. “If you would allow me.”
“You, you want to see him?” Dean’s chest tightened as Castiel nodded slowly.
The angel held out his hand, palm up. “I will be with you, Dean. You need not be afraid.”
It was just a dream. This Cas wasn’t real. What did he have to lose?
Dean slowly took Castiel’s hand in his, a shiver shooting along his spine as the angel’s fingers curled against his.
“Okay,” he swallowed, voice barely a whisper. “Okay, Cas.”
Two fingers were once again pressed against forehead, and the pier disappeared.
It was like watching a movie; a worn tape he had watched time and time again, analyzing every action, every second. Rewinding and fast forwarding again and again, just to see if the ending would ever change.
It never did.
“Dad,” Dean felt like he was far away, a stranger watching through his own eyes as he cradled his dying father in his arms. Pain lanced up his side but it was muffled, far away and unimportant. “Dad, I’m here, hold on.”
John looked up at him, throat crimson and gaping. Everything was red, dripping and slick, his fingers slipping in it as he tugged his father into his lap. John was speaking, struggling to breathe but no words came from his mouth. His lips formed letters, names, but in his panic, Dean couldn’t make it out.
Dad was dying and it was all his fault.
With a gurgling sigh that stretched the ragged gash across his throat, John cupped Dean’s cheek. His eyes were beginning to glaze over, the light in them dimming, and Dean clutched his father desperately.
“Dad no, please, just hold on, I’ll get help-”
John mouthed something at him, smiling as his lungs finally rattled for the last time, chest falling still. The hand at Dean’s cheek slackened, heavy and lifeless and Dean screamed at him, mouth stretched wide.
John had uttered his last words and Dean was too much a failure to understand them.
Dean watched himself crouch over the dead body of his father. It was weird, watching himself, and he watched as other-Dean shook with grief, rocking back and forth as wounded animal-like cries were ripped from his lungs.
Castiel was solemn by his side, head bowed in respect and hands clasped.
“You were brave,” he said quietly. “Strong.”
“I let him die,” Dean said bluntly, still watching himself. “If I hadn’t run off, he wouldn’t have followed. If I had just followed orders-”
“You both would have been killed regardless,” Castiel interrupted him, wings jerking. “He saved you, Dean. He loved you.”
“Yeah? How would you know?”
The words were more scathing than he intended, and Castiel’s wings pulled in closer to him, sad.
“I know,” he said quietly. “I know.”
Dean turned away, finding it too difficult to watch grieving other-Dean. Hel stretched in front of him, a never-ending battlefield of blood and horror.
“I never told Sam that,” he admitted hollowly. “I just said Dad died in the field and left it at that. Not that he bled out in my arms. That…that it was all my fault.”
Castiel joined him, gazing out across the sulfuric landscape. Hel’s sun hung in the sky above them, shimmering and orange. Dean chuckled humorlessly to himself.
“I was never good enough. I let down everyone. So of course they leave, of course they do. Why shouldn’t they?”
He turned to Castiel then, irrationally angry to find the angel’s eyes wet. This was Dean’s horror, his weakness and the angel was feeling sorry for him? Dean shoved at Castiel’s shoulder, scowling.
“Don’t pretend to feel sorry for me Cas. I deserved this. Mom left. Sam left and then Dad. They all knew that I’m broken and I just ruin everything, it’s just-”
The sudden slap sent him reeling, cheek stinging. Dean gaped in surprise at the glowering angel, wordless and trembling. Castiel reached for him, fingers firm against his jaw. Behind the angel, his dark wings rose to arch high above his head like a vengeful God of old, powerful and suddenly so alien. Dean struggled to pull away but Castiel’s eyes flashed warningly.
“Dean Winchester,” the angel’s voice rumbled like thunder, Hel quaking beneath their feet. “You are an exceptional human being and your father knew that. He gave his life so that you could live.”
Castiel shook Dean’s chin as if he were a naughty puppy, feathers shivering. “There is no greater act of sacrifice and love than that. You are loved. Always.”
Dean was shaking as he finally shoved the angel away, hands balled into fists. Anger he could deal with. Pity too. But…but acceptance? Was he so pathetic that he would dream up an angel to say things to make himself feel better?
“You say that like you know!” his voice was trembling and unsure, even to his ears. “You don’t know me, Cas! I’m a killer. That’s what I do. The only thing I’m good at. I’m, I’m a tool, Cas. That’s all I’ve ever been.”
Castiel grabbed him again, refusing to let him duck and run, fingers hard where they pressed against the back of his head. Dean was pulled forward, and he breathed out shakily, trembling and afraid. But the angel didn’t do anything to him, merely rested his forehead against Dean’s. They stood like that for a moment, Dean tense and nervous and hopelessly confused. Slowly, Castiel’s wings dropped, reaching forward to wrap around them both. Dean was enveloped by a warm heat, soft and reassuring.
“Dean, listen to me.”
Feathers trailed along his arms, and some of the tension in his limbs eased. So what if this was a product of his screwed up mind? He was safe here.
“I do not see a killer when I look at you,” Castiel murmured, pressing a hand against Dean’s chest, swallowing as the heart beneath his slim fingers thumped. “I see a man. You carry a burden of darkness inside you, but it only defines your light. You have a selfless and beautiful soul, Dean Winchester.”
Dean dimly realized his hands were clutching at the angel’s arms, needy and punishing. Castiel didn’t seem to notice, pulling away slightly to look him in the eye. The angel’s eyes were clear and honest.
“You are not broken. You are deserving of love, Dean.”
Hands framed his face, fingertips brushing against his slick cheekbones. I’m crying, Dean realized, feeling embarrassed. Oh god, I’m actually crying. Dream crying, what the fuck. Castiel murmured words to him, comforting and warm as his wings pressed in around them.
Dean shuddered as the angel leaned in close, flinching at the words whispered against his cheeks, words he didn’t fully understand. Warm dry lips ghosted over his eyelids, tracing the contours of his face and neck. Uncaring of what he must look like, Dean’s clutched Castiel back, hands desperate where they dug into the feathered joints of the angel’s wings, fingers burrowing into soft down.
“Ol’mozod,” Castiel breathed against him, and Dean didn’t think, couldn’t, just leant forward to kiss the angel desperately, to wantonly lay claim to those endearments and the strange alien creature who uttered them.
“Dean!”
Dean snapped awake, eyes wide and heart pounding. Sam loomed over him, huge grin in place and eyes shining.
“Dean you’re not gonna believe it!” his brother gushed, pulling away to resume his flailing around the room. It took Dean a moment of groggy staring to realize Sam was packing. “Michael has allowed Bobby to bring a team back into the tribe. That includes me!”
Dean rubbed his eyes, heart slowly beginning to resume a normal pace as he sat up. Blurry images still played in his mind as he blinked sleep from his eyes.
Did he….had he kissed Cas?
Dean froze. “What the hell?”
Sam paused his mad scrambling, turning to roll his eyes.
“You are so not a morning person,” Sam shook his head impatiently. “Gabriel is here in the lab. Bobby’s packing up some gear and then we’re all heading to the home tree.”
Dean threw the covers away from him, swinging his legs over the mattress. The floor was cold against his bare feet, jarring the dull ache in his joints from Alistair -
Oh no. No, no, no. Dean willed his stomach to calm, concentrating on his brother as Sam babbled. His vision swam for a moment, but a few deep breaths and he managed to control it. His brain caught up with him, interpreting what Sam had been saying.
Get it together, Winchester.
Sam sniffed, eyes glistening, and for a moment Dean was genuinely worried the giant girl might cry.
“I just, I have to be dreaming,” Sam took a deep breath. “This is awesome!”
Phantom fingers ghosted across Dean’s cheek as Sam turned away, and Dean absently reached up to touch his face, convinced he would feel fingers against his. He could still feel lips against his own, the gentle flick of a tongue.
Oh god. Dream Cas. Like he didn’t have enough troubles, he had to go and have inappropriate dreams about certain angels. But…it was just a dream right?
Dreams didn’t mean anything.
<
| Next>>
Author: daksgirl
Artist: terrorinyertub
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural, au, sci fi, drama
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Side pairings: Sam/Gabriel, past Sam/Jess
Rating: NC-17 (violence, adult situations, language)
Word Count: 80,668
Warnings: Graphic violence and warfare, adult themes including sex, canon character deaths, demon xenophobia, swearing, gore (in a war situation), PTSD and an attempted non-con situation.
[Fic Masterpost]
[Art Masterpost]
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Castiel cocked his head curiously, passing a thick leather strap beneath the creature Dean was currently eyeing unhappily.
“I am not. The hunting grounds are further than you can walk, and it is safer to travel by Levithmong.”
Dean stared at the beast as Hershey preened himself, neck craned to rub one reptilian cheek against his leg. Over the past week Dean had been attempting to learn how to speak to the stupid beasts, and had had pretty good success.
With Levithmong’s who weren’t called Hershey that is.
Castiel tugged the strap into place, and Dean made a face.
“But do we have to take this one?” he asked exasperatedly. “This one wants to kill me.”
As if in agreement, Hershey snorted loudly, pawing at the earth. Castiel rapped his fingers gently against the hard plating of the animal’s back as he cinched the stiff leather into place. A rough leather sheet woven together with individual strands covered half the beast’s back, several thick straps dangling from it. A darker leather pouch was secured at the base of Hershey’s spine, full of supplies. Near as Dean could tell, he was looking at the angel equivalent to a saddle. How it would keep him physically on the beast from hell was beyond him.
“Hershey is the only Levithmong I have forged a close enough bond to since losing my own. Gabriel has been most gracious in allowing us to use him,” Castiel tested the reins, and the Levithmong bumped him with one meaty shoulder.
Dean squinted at it, making sure all four eyes were on him. “Behave.”
The beast honked at him insolently, beak clicking as Castiel helped Dean up onto its back. After some uncomfortable wiggling, Dean managed to settle himself on the leather, fitting his legs into the slight grooves of the saddle. “What’s that? The clicking thing they do.”
Castiel looked amused as he helped cinch the saddle straps around Dean’s right thigh. “It is laughter.”
“Great.”
Dean shifted nervously as Castiel moved around Hershey to Dean’s other leg, the angel’s fingers moving self-assuredly across Dean's knee. Castiel’s hands were warm where they lifted his thigh, settling Dean more firmly into the saddle. The angel was perfectly comfortable with touching the human apparently.
“Uh, Cas?” Dean cleared his throat nervously, and Castiel paused, glancing up. “We uh, personal space dude?”
Castiel rolled his eyes, pulling the last strap hard and forcing a yelp from Dean.
“You humans and your space,” he muttered. “It is necessary to fit you properly to the zimz. You would fall and die otherwise.”
Dean’s face felt hot. “Right. Uh, right.”
With a flap of his wings, Castiel slid up behind Dean, leggings sliding smoothly against the leather saddle. Dean squawked unhappily as the angel moved in close, chest pressed flush up against Dean’s back. Folding his wings in close to his body, Castiel set his hips firmly up against Dean’s, nonchalantly looping the back straps of the saddle around his own legs. Dean floundered, held in place by his own straps as his ass was pushed snugly into the cradle of Castiel’s hips.
“Cas!” he barked, voice high and panicked. “What the hell!?”
The angel ignored him, arms sliding beneath Dean’s elbows. “You will hold the reins. I will direct you.”
Their noble steed-for-the-day shifted, muscles already vibrating with expectant glee. The reins were shorter than Dean was used to, forcing him to stay in a forward ducked position, leaning over Hershey’s thick neck.
“You, you’re like molded against my ass,” Dean protested, cheeks flushed. “You guys actually ride like this?”
Oh man, that was a poor choice of words.
Castiel shifted behind him, warm breath brushing the back of Dean’s neck and sending his nervous system into spasms. “It is necessary. You are learning, and riding can be dangerous.”
Dean’s nerveless fingers gripped the reins, clutching them towards his chest like a scandalized maiden. “If this is just an attempt to somehow feel me up, I am going to kill you, Cas.”
He could actually feel the angel smile against his neck. “Noted. Now go.”
Hershey gave an impatient snort, and Dean tried to get himself back under control.
No problem. He could do this. This wasn’t weird. This was just Cas showing him how to ride. Nothing strange going on here.
…Right.
Dean snapped the reins cautiously, and Hershey set off with a happy bleat, trotting through the tall grass with tail held high. Dean’s spine jarred against the beast’s gait, and he gave another experimental snap, hoping to find a smoother speed that would ease the discomfort. The Levithmong broke into a run, six legs pounding the earth as it sped through the pasture, headed for the forest.
Dean winced at the new tempo, struggling to find a good rhythm, and Castiel leant into him.
“Like this,” Castiel’s hands settled on Dean’s hips, fingers gripping him lightly and forcing him to settle more into the angel’s own rhythm, hips rolling with practiced ease.
Dean felt like he was in some sort of crazy-ass porno, bouncing around on the angel’s lap. Thank God Sam wasn’t here, or else he might die from embarrassment. It was horribly distracting, trying to concentrate on driving a large, self-aware tank, with the solid pressure of a very male shaped angel pressing up against him in interesting places.
Did he say interesting? Annoying. Terrible. Awful and definitely not enjoyable in any way, shape, or form.
But the discomfort of his jarred spine finally outweighed his potential embarrassment, and Dean forced himself to relax, jaw clenched and heart pounding. His hips followed the firm line of Castiel’s, and the dull ache in his spine disappeared. Instead, in his forward leaning position, the front of his suddenly aching groin was chafing against the leather clad ridges of Hershey’s back.
Son of a bitch.
“Head for the tree,” Castiel’s hand left Dean’s hip to touch his elbow gently, steering the excited Levithmong towards a single thick tree. “And squeeze with your legs.”
Dean gaped. “Are you crazy? We’ll crash into it!”
The angel actually laughed, chest vibrating against Dean’s back. “Trust me.”
The tree loomed towards them, the Levithmong honking happily as it sped towards it and Dean slammed his eyes shut, fully expecting to crash into it full speed. Instead, with a powerful lunge, Hershey leapt up onto the tree, talons raking the bark with loud cracks as he shimmied upward. Leaves shook from the branches, a cascade of green hitting against Dean’s arms.
Dean finally understood the purpose of the weird saddle; leaning forward as Hershey climbed was easier, the straps around his thighs keeping him in place. Castiel leant against his back and Dean could feel the steady thump of his heart.
“Now do you understand?”
Dean forced his eyes open as the Levithmong leapt towards another tree, talons gripping the bark confidently as the beast did its best to make Dean throw up his breakfast.
“I think, I actually, oh god, prefer flying.”
Castiel was generally a patient creature by nature. A lifetime of enduring both Gabriel and Balthazar had molded him thus, so it was perplexing for him to spend time with what seemed to be one of the most impatient of humans.
Castiel had yet to find an activity that the human seemed to enjoy. Dean hated riding, hated language, hated cooking and sewing, and even hated flying when Castiel attempted to take him. He would make his displeasure clear, with yelled words and wild hand motions.
It was at best, frustrating.
It was at times, almost intolerable. Even a mere touch of the arm during a demonstration would have the human blustering and gesturing. Dean did not appreciate help nor did he like Castiel touching him.
So of course, Castiel ruthlessly did both. He offered his help at every opportunity, touched Dean even when the moment did not require it. It was his way of rebellion, his clumsy attempt at bridging the strange gap they seemed to have in communication.
Angels touched one another often. It was comforting and necessary. Wings were important in that respect, for posturing, and play, or comfort. Grooming was important for building relationships and touching helped build bonds between angels, siblings or not.
But humans had no wings.
Castiel could not groom Dean. He could not offer comfort with a single flap, nor convey his own need in return. The human’s back was a blank canvas, a smooth plane of skin that made it near impossible to gauge Dean’s moods. And Dean could not read Castiel’s own wings, could not understand the silent language of the Ne’gassagen.
The first few days were…difficult. Castiel doubted Raphael’s wisdom to entrust Dean’s education to him, and even questioned his decision to save Dean back in the forest. It was not a decision he had planned. When he had seen the man running through the forest, an enraged Vniglag taking chase, he had been tempted to leave the human to his fate. It was no concern of his should another human perish. Lucifer had long been telling them how the humans were evil, corrupted and vicious. That war would soon be upon them. What was one less? One less potential enemy, one less soul that Castiel would one day be forced to destroy.
But something had prompted him forward. A gentle push he could not explain. And in that moment, perhaps one of weakness, Castiel had made a decision. He distracted the Vniglag, giving Dean enough time to escape, though it was over a waterfall. When Castiel finally found the human again, the idiot had taken on an entire pack of Esmong.
Brave, but stupid. Incredibly stupid.
His wings had trembled at the sight, a panic settling in his chest as Castiel watched Dean fall beneath the weight of the pack. He had thought the human lost; his efforts in vain. But Dean was still alive, though heavily wounded, when Castiel landed over him. Castiel could see the tendrils of life leaving the human, the bright lines that leaked sluggishly through the red gash in his shoulder. Castiel hadn’t thought, didn’t pause, wrapping his wings around the human as he pressed himself as close as he could. It took a great effort to heal Dean, but he had. He had sheltered the human through that dark night, Dean cradled against his chest like a newborn as they sought safety in the trees.
Dean did not know about that night. Did not know the hours Castiel had spent staring at the human’s face, tracing the lines and contours of the soul he had saved. Wondering if it was a mistake, if he had been wrong to save such an unfathomable creature.
But Castiel did not regret his decision.
There was a reason Dean had stumbled into Castiel’s life. It was not his place to question Geiad and Her strange ways. Castiel could not regret his path if Geiad had chosen it for him.
Dean was loud. He was angry and happy, furious and bright and just…Dean. Castiel could not rely on reading Dean’s wings. He could neither rely on his own knowledge of humans, nor what Gabriel told him. Castiel developed his own way of reading Dean. He found himself carefully watching Dean’s face, tracking the small furrow between the man’s eyes which meant he was frustrated, the slight curve of his mouth when amused, and Castiel’s favorite, the softness in Dean’s eyes whenever he said Cas.
Cas.
Castiel had never been given a nickname before. Well, one that wasn’t rudely whistled by a brother at least. A nickname was a show of affection, a certain code of camaraderie that humans employed with those that they liked. Or so he had been told.
And Castiel…Castiel found he liked Dean.
The hunting ground Castiel guided them to had long ago been abandoned, proven too sparse with game. Set in a small grassy clearing, Castiel often came here to practice his skills, away from the disapproving eyes of his siblings. Back when Anael had been alive, he had come here often, practicing his archery as the Levithmong rolled in the grass, honking happily. There were happy memories etched into the very soil here, and the grasses trembled with joy to see him again.
Hershey could sense it, how the lulled humming of the insects hitched as the Levithmong dropped down to the dirt, and he pranced excitedly, already yearning to explore and taste the flowers.
Castiel unstrapped himself, dismounting with an easy flap of his wings. His chest was warm where he had been pressed against Dean’s back, and his fingers automatically reached for the human, touching the rough fabric covering one leg. Dean, of course, spluttered. His face flushing red as he slapped Castiel’s hands away, stubbornly unstrapping himself.
The human slid to the ground on unsteady legs, wobbling uncertainly for a moment as Hershey took off with a bleat.
“Next time we walk,” Dean ground, glaring viciously at the beast that had carried them there, but Hershey ignored him, already happily grazing along the thicket of flowers that blossomed around them.
Castiel hid a smile. “Of course, Dean.”
The Levithmong took no notice of the angel as Castiel retrieved the few weapons he had brought with them from the dark pouch of the zimz, wood rattling hollowly. He tossed the bow towards Dean, who caught it awkwardly in one hand.
“We shall practice your mal, today.”
The human looked adorably perplexed. It was times like this that Castiel yearned to be able to touch the human freely, to run his fingers along Dean’s jaw, smooth his thumbs over the lines of stress and worry. Humans had some of the purest malprigzch Castiel had ever seen, but they lacked the ability to touch it, control it as the angels did. Dean’s shone so very bright, pure and pulsing.
If Castiel concentrated on it, he could hear laughter, two small boys playing in a field of gold. He could almost see a man, strong and dark with a deep voice, though he rarely spoke. He could smell the sharp sting of water, could hear the creaking of a rickety pier as water lapped against the crumbling wood.
When Castiel had healed Dean that night, his malprigzch had touched the human’s briefly. Dean had wrapped around him so tightly, so very frightened and desperate, it had taken the angel by surprise. He had faltered, losing himself for a moment in it, allowing it to reach for him though he knew it was forbidden. Knew he should not have.
He had lost himself in Dean, and Castiel had never wanted to be found again.
Castiel watched Dean now, watched the uncertainty swirl inside him with sick grey wisps. The edges of his malprigzch was frayed and tarnished, black sores upon an otherwise pure soul. Something had affected Dean long ago, some dark and terrible evil that left the secret parts of him deformed and rotten. But even the darkness did not change what Castiel saw and felt.
Dean was the most beautiful creature Castiel had ever seen.
Dean cocked his hip insolently, tapping the bow against his leg impatiently. “Mal? Care to enlighten the stupid human, Cas?”
Embarrassed to have been caught so openly admiring, Castiel turned away, wings agitated and embarrassed.
“Archery,” he bit out curtly, grabbing a quiver from the assortment of things he had brought. “Our primary weapons are our bows. It is important you learn how to use one.”
Castiel was surprised by the sudden spark of anger that sent Dean’s malprigzch a deep red, a roar echoing from its depths. “I can’t.”
“You have not even tried,” Castiel pointed out, frustrated. “Dean, you must at least try-”
“I can’t!” Dean snapped, throwing the bow to the ground. It bounced against the soft grass. “This is stupid. I can’t do it and that’s that alright?”
Castiel’s wings flexed. “Why must you be so difficult?”
Dean jabbed an angry finger towards him. “And why do you have to be so pushy? I said I can’t!”
Dean was a mess of red and dull brown, unhappy and hurt. Castiel’s anger receded, and he longed to reach out to soothe the human, ease the dark lines that pulsed from Dean in oily tendrils. The negative energy was centered on Dean’s hand, and Castiel strode forward, grabbing the human’s hand before he could protest. His fingers trailed over the callused skin, turning Dean’s palm towards the sky before the man could pull his hand back.
Etched into Dean’s palm was a spidery white line of scar tissue. To human eyes it was clean and just a scar, but Castiel could see the wound beneath. Jagged black tendrils pulsed just beneath the skin, wicked and diseased. Something terrible had given this to Dean and it haunted him still.
“You were injured,” he said calmly, reaching out with his own malprigzch to try and soothe the darkness.
Dean tugged his hand back, retreating from the angel physically and emotionally.
“It’s nothing,” he bit out, looking away from Castiel as he rubbed his palm nervously. “Just, stiff sometimes.”
Castiel knew when to withdraw. He nodded, pulling away. “If you cannot fire with this hand, we can try the other.”
Dean made a noise of annoyance, throwing his hands up. “It’s not that it’s just-God I’m hot and disgusting and fed up with this shit!”
It was not Castiel, Dean was truly mad it. Nor did his hand hurt greatly. Darkness pulsed within him, brought to life once again by memories, and it crowded Dean, parasitic and gleeful. Though Dean had made it clear he wanted no contact, Castiel reached out once again, his own life force a shimmering silver, concentrating on the point he had first touched Dean.
The human seemed to sense the touch, and shuddered. The darkness calmed, no longer choking.
“Sorry,” he said gruffly, rubbing his arms. “It’s uh, I got it on Hel.”
Castiel settled down on the grass, seed pods brushing against his arms. This was something important, something Dean needed to talk about. “Another world?”
Dean looked surprised that Castiel knew about other places, other planets. “Uh, yeah.”
He slowly settled down in front of Castiel, legs crossed and head bowed. The heat of the day rose from the plants around them, fragrant blossoms on the breeze. If there was a place to unburden dark thoughts, this was it.
Dean’s fingers traced the jagged line across his palm. “Hot as fuck there, even worse than here.”
A surge of curiosity blazed within him, and Castiel’s wings flared. “Are there creatures like me?”
Dean laughed, low and bitter. Castiel did not like the sound. “No. No, they’re the opposite. We call ‘em demons.”
Demons. Just the word darkened Dean further. Castiel drew his legs up towards his chest, long blades of grass scratching against the hide of his leggings. “I take it they are unpleasant.”
“There was…a war.” Dean seemed to struggle for the words, eyes focusing on the grass between them. Castiel had seen angels look like that, veterans that had fought during the Clan wars, when life was not as peaceful as it was now.
“You fought,” he prompted gently.
“Yeah,” Dean sighed, eyes flickering up to Castiel’s face. “Yeah I uh, I was a First Lieutenant. Lost a lot of good men and women. Lost…lost family.”
Castiel’s wings lay perfectly still. It made sense then, the sadness Dean carried within him so obviously. “It must have been difficult.”
“You could say that,” Dean’s green eyes bore into his. “Ever been in a war, Cas?”
“No.”
Castiel had been blessed to have avoided spilling blood in his lifetime. He was trained as a warrior of course, but by the time of his birth, the wars were long over. Sometimes Gabriel would tell him stories, tales to send the young ones scattering with high pitched screams just before bed. War was not something he yearned to experience.
“Well, try and keep it that way okay? Hel, Hel changed me,” Dean ducked his head again, fingers pulling at the grass.
Castiel was unsure what he should offer. Dean had made it clear physical touching was unwelcome. “I am sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Dean smiled up at him, but it was forced. “It happened a long time ago. No point dwelling right?”
Castiel smiled back at him, sensing there were a great many things the human did not want to say. Could not say. It was not his place to force Dean to speak of them. “Did Sam fight too?”
Dean’s whole being lit up at Sam’s name. Castiel reveled in it, loved how the darkness could be so easily overcome by one name. One human who obviously meant everything to Dean.
“Nah. Kid stayed in school like I wanted him to,” Dean was proud, Castiel realized. Proud that he had saved his brother from the very same darkness that now consumed him. “Sam wanted, well, this.”
He gestured around them, towards the forest. Hershey raised his head from grazing to glare at the human suspiciously, and Dean blew a kiss at the Levithmong with a wink. Snorting haughtily, Hershey resumed his grazing.
Dean sighed, eyes trailing along the weeds and vines. “Man, Sam would love this. Hanging around with angels and stuff. Sucks that he can’t.”
Castiel desperately wanted to meet him. To meet the man Dean spoke of so lovingly. Perhaps he could ask Michael-
Dean chuckled, startling Castiel back to the conversation at hand. “God sure is a mean bastard, though. Likes making my life hard.”
That name. Dean said it often, when angry or frustrated.
Castiel cocked his head curiously. “You speak of this God often. What has he done to displease you so?”
“No he’s, it’s cursing, Cas,” Dean pulled at a strand of grass under his knee. “God isn’t a person he’s…a…”
A bird called high above him, relaxed and content as Dean struggled to explain. Castiel fanned his wings as he waited, relishing the sun’s rays on his feathers.
“Look,” Dean said finally, with a grimace. “On Earth he’s this invisible dude with a beard that sits on a cloud and people pray to. Blame him when things go wrong.”
Castiel frowned. “I highly doubt it is his fault.”
Dean laughed, and Castiel’s heart leapt at the sound. “No it…he’s not real, Cas. They say he created the world in seven days and shit. It’s all just bull.”
Understanding dawned on the angel. “He is your Geiad. The maker.”
“Yeah,” Dean looked pleased, impressed Castiel understood. “Yeah, God is our Geiad on Earth.”
Castiel shifted closer, wings twitching excitedly. “Would you show me? I would very much like to experience this, God, with you.”
“What, you mean like praying?” Dean did not shift away as Castiel moved closer, their knees brushing.
Castiel nodded. Dean had spoken so little of his own culture, and Castiel was so very curious. What was Earth like? Were there many humans? It seemed fitting and right to pray to Dean’s Geiad first. Perhaps this God would help Dean become a Ne’gassagen.
Dean rubbed the back of his neck, mouth downturned in a slight frown. “Well praying is just, you know, thanking Him for stuff. Or asking for help.”
He raised his hands, folding them together, and laughed as Castiel copied him, face serious.
“Like so?” Dean was stifling a laugh, Castiel could tell. The human’s soul was bright and gold, pleased as Castiel closed his eyes, holding his folded hands in front of him.
“Dear God,” a spike of warmth brushing up against him signaled Dean was very amused, and Castiel struggled to keep his face blank. “I thank you for delivering Dean to my tribe and allowing me to get to know him. I am honored to call him a friend. I promise to keep him safe, and honor your name as I do Geiad, the Creator of my own world.”
He opened his eyes to look at Dean questioningly. The human’s green eyes were bright, the darkness that had clouded his soul, gone.
“Amen,” he supplied, and Castiel mirrored a smile back at him.
“Amen.”
It was late by the time Dean got back to the complex, the halls deserted.
Dean trudged along tiredly, the sounds of his dragging boots bouncing off the sterile white walls. Even the biolabs were dark as he passed by, and he gave a deep sigh.
Castiel had tired him out with shooting lessons. After their bonding moment or whatever the hell it was, Castiel had insisted he try shooting with the bow. Dean was surprised to find he was actually pretty good at it, managing to hit the target dead on twice. But the whole thing had left Dean freaked out. The riding with Castiel pressed up against him like, well, just the whole pressing thing was bad enough. He just wanted to go to sleep forever. Maybe then he could forget his splurge of feelings he had accidentally unleashed on the angel. It was just tiredness, that was it. He wasn’t thinking straight. What was a guy to think, being all squashed up against a good looking angel if he wasn’t at his best? Yeah. That was it. This was totally Cas’s fault. Taking advantage of him in his tired and…human-ish state. Yeah.
God, he needed to find a hole to bury himself in, pronto.
Goddam, feelings. Seriously. He was turning into Sam.
Dean yawned, rubbing his eyes as his feet determinedly continued forward. His footsteps sounded eerie; the only movement along the seemingly endless hallway. The door that led towards the living quarters wavered in the distance, and Dean smiled at it, already anticipating the soft mattress that waited for him.
Without warning a body slammed into him from behind, vice like fingers digging into the soft skin of his arm, yanking and twisting. Dean was crowded up against the wall, the air forced out his lungs in a throaty gasp as his arm was twisted painfully up behind his back. His free hand clawed uselessly at the hard wall as fingers grabbed his short hair, nails scraping his scalp as his head was yanked back to expose his throat. Masculine hips ground up against his ass, a beard prickling the skin of his throat as he struggled to breathe.
“Having fun playing with the angels, rabbit?”
Dean struggled, pushing against the body at his back.
Alistair.
“Get off me you fuck! I’ll fucking kill you!” he choked out, thrashing against the demon.
His words echoed around them, as empty as the hallway, and Alistair chuckled. Slowly he inhaled, rubbing his lips across Dean’s throat, blunt teeth just shy of scraping. Dean’s heart pounded against his ribs, galloping beneath his skin, and the demon mouthed the panicked pulse.
“The Colonel is just wondering how it’s all going,” Alistair smiled against Dean’s skin, pressing the human harder against the wall. “You haven’t paid us a visit for a while, Dean. Rude.”
He was trapped, restrained and helpless against a creature much stronger than him. Snarling, Dean bucked wildly, trying to land a good head butt in, but Alistair held him in place easily. The demon tutted, kicking Dean’s legs apart and wedging the human harder against him.
“He thinks you need a little,” the demon twisted hard, forcing a pained grunt from the man beneath him. “Reminder as to who you really belong to here.”
Alistair nudged his hips harder against Dean’s ass, his intentions clear and Dean froze, sweating and fearful. His vision was going blurry, mind already beginning to tuck itself away, disbelieving at the reality forced on it.
Teeth nipped his ear, and Dean renewed his fruitless struggles.
“Ah-ah,” Alistair chided him, and Dean’s arm was wrenched up harder. “You stay right here with me and take it like a good little rabbit now. Scream if you want. No-one is even going to hear, let alone care enough t-”
It was the sudden opening of a door that interrupted him, and Alistair pulled away, glaring down the hallway as Dean slumped against the wall, wide eyed and chest heaving. Bolting from the sliding door like a greyhound from a gate, came Ruby. She jogged towards the two, bare fleet slapping against the gleaming floor.
“Oh there you are Dean! Wow I totally forgot about our little pow wow, sorry about that. Did you wait up for me?”
Dean stared at her blankly. The demon was dressed in cotton shorts and a black strappy top-corporation issued sleep wear. Her usually meticulously groomed hair was bushy and wild, one side flattened. Dark smudges under her eyes also revealed that up until very recently, the demon had been asleep. In bed.
Which makes no sense, Dean thought stupidly, watching her as she neared, the demon living quarters are halfway across the base. To get here it would take a good ten minutes of flat out running.
Ruby was out of breath as she drew up to the two men, saluting smartly towards the enraged looking Alistair.
“Alistair! How nice of you to help Dean find his quarters. No worries, I can take it from here.”
Dean was still a stunned mess, legs weak and shaking as Ruby hauled him up by one arm.
“Come on handsome. Let’s get you to bed before that giant sister of yours worries!” Ruby’s voice was sickly sweet, but her hand trembled under Dean’s armpit as she tugged him along. Dully, Dean realized his t-shirt was soaked with sweat, sticking to him with liquid fear.
Ruby ushered him through the door she had entered from, and as the door slid shut behind them, she bit out a curse in her native tongue. She didn’t let go of Dean, apparently intent on manhandling him all the way to his quarters. The living quarter corridor was cluttered with lockers and forgotten equipment, and a haphazardly stacked pile of coats spilled onto the floor as Ruby kicked at it.
Dean tried to protest, boots squeaking along the floor. “He was…you-”
“Shut up,” Ruby snapped at him, black eyes glittering in the harsh hallway light. “My beauty sleep has been ruined. And the impromptu fifteen minute run? Not cool. There’s a reason I use a fucking helicraft to get around!”
With a snarl, Dean shoved the demon away. She tripped in surprise, only just regaining her balance before crashing into a storage locker. Dean leant against the wall, relishing the cold against his over-heated skin. He felt sick, nauseous and vulnerable. The last thing he wanted to be around was another demon.
“I don’t need protection,” he spat as his skin shivered. “I can handle myself just fine.”
Ruby arched an eyebrow, cocking one hip. Her thin sleep shorts rode up her thigh and under any other circumstances Dean might have ogled. Now he just felt sick, as he bent over, breathing deeply.
“Oh yeah,” Ruby snorted. “Great job, cowboy. You’re just oozing control. Guess Alistair just wanted to give you a friendly hug, was that it? With his dick?”
His stomach heaved, and Dean clapped a hand to his mouth, drunkenly looking around for something to vomit into. Something tapped his arm, and he turned to see an offered grey bucket. Ruby held it for him as he crouched on the floor, heaving.
As the waves of nausea passed, Ruby patted his shoulder awkwardly, setting down the bucket with a grimace.
“It’s okay. That was my first reaction to him too.”
Dean managed a weak smile, hands shaking as he tucked them under his armpits. He felt cold, bone-tired and even sorer.
“Thanks. I uh, just thanks.”
Ruby sighed, crossing her arms. “Don’t thank me. Wasn’t my idea to go running around in my pajamas trying to save your virtue. But what boss man says, I do.”
The demon sidled up to him, sliding his arm around her neck as she forcibly shuffled him along towards his quarters. Dean leaned against her, eyes heavy as the adrenaline in his veins receded.
“Boss man?” he asked wearily. Ruby shifted his arm, grunting.
“Don’t even try, I’m sworn to secrecy,” she grimaced. “Look, I did my part. Want my advice? Don’t go anywhere alone. Stick to Dr. Singer like glue. For some reason Alistair is terrified of the grump. Actually wait, I completely understand. That old bastard is terrifying.”
Dean had never been so happy to see a door before as his quarters came into view. Ruby ducked under his arm, punching in the code he mumbled at her and helping him inside as the door slid open. Sam was fast asleep and snoring, one pale foot poking out from the covers. Ruby shot a disbelieving look at the slumbering human, but Dean just shook his head.
“Heavy sleeper.”
“Ah.”
The two shuffled towards Dean’s bed, Dean sinking down with an appreciative sigh. Ruby was outlined by the light spilling into the apartment from the hallway outside when Dean glanced up at her.
“I uh, thanks again. I don’t, I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up.”
The corner of her mouth quirked, and Ruby reached out to ruffle his hair. Dean winced at the soreness of his scalp, and she withdrew immediately.
“We’re not all bad, Dean,” she said softly. “Just some of us.”
Dean nodded tightly, and Ruby left, the door sliding shut behind her. The room lapsed into quiet, only occasionally punctuated by the soft snores of Sam. Dean struggled out of his clothes in the dark, ID tags clinking. Stretching out on the bed, he breathed through his nose, trying to calm himself. His stomach was still a knotted mess, his limbs jittery and skin stretched too tight over his muscles. His body felt alien to him, fingerprint bruises tender along his arm. Where Alistair had….was almost…
He blinked, staring up into black. Hysteria was rising in his chest, brain coming to grips with what just happened. Unexplainably, he found his hand clutching his shoulder, tracing the slightly raised scar an angel had left him. Slotting his fingers where Castiel’s had once been he felt a flood of calm, and his body relaxed, chest loosening.
Dean's legs pumped as he sprinted towards cover, rifle creaking in his hands as explosions went off around him, showering him with dirt. Men screamed in the smoke, their attackers’ victory cries loud and keening. A dark shadow rose off to his left, and Dean cut it down absently, rifle spitting.
Shrapnel ripped into his side, and Dean dropped to his stomach, breathing deeply. The sharp tang of blood flooded his senses, thick and dripping, and he coughed, crawling forward on his belly. To his right, something followed him, cutting through the smoke easily. Two pale bare feet padded alongside him, trailing through blood and dirt yet remaining clean. Dean squinted upwards, tilting his helmet back.
Familiar blue eyes gazed down at him, a contrast to the bloodshot sky.
“Hello, Dean.”
“Jesus Cas!” Dean blurted, spitting dirt out of his mouth as a grenade exploded nearby. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The angel looked around them, pulling his wings in close. A marine, blackened by flames and uniform still smoldering, tilted by in a plume of flame, mouth wide and straining. He didn’t make a sound. “You are dreaming.”
“No shit,” Dean growled, shooting at a demon that crouched over a screaming young soldier. The boy was barely seventeen, should never have seen a battlefield, but the war had taken its toll on Earth’s troops. The demon sliced down with its blade, the boy’s screams turning to wet gurgles. Carving yet another statistic that would be mailed home with heartfelt words.
Dean put a bullet between the demon’s eyes, its skull shattering, and scattering brain matter through the air like slick rain.
Dean grunted, wiping a piece from his cheek. “You’re kinda in the wrong place. No angels in this dream.”
Castiel’s wings flexed, lifting him off the ground briefly as a demon scuttled beneath him. Dean put it down with a spray of bullets, and it slumped lifelessly, dark blood oozing out of the cavity of its chest. Dean ignored the twitching corpse, wriggling forward on his stomach through its hot trail of gore.
“Can you come back later? I’m kind of busy.”
The rifle was slippery in his hands, fingers drenched red. Castiel landed again, the whole of him pristine and clean despite the horror around him.
“I felt your distress. The link was open, so I came.”
Dean gritted his teeth, getting to his knees finally. His joints protested, sore and creaking. It was hard to tell what was dirt and what wasn’t, Hel’s red soil mixing with both human and demonic blood.
It didn’t really matter. He was caked in both.
“I’ll try to be quieter next time,” Dean muttered. The crest of the hill was near, and he knew what waited for him just beyond it. “Now go away.”
Castiel frowned, black wings swirling the smoke.
“No,” he said simply, leaning down to press two fingers against Dean’s sweaty forehead.
The battlefield disappeared. Water filled the chasms grenades had left, swept away the corpses and blood. The rough dirt beneath Dean shifted to sun warmed slats of wood, the sky fading from red to bright blue.
Dean slowly got to his feet, recognizing the quiet lake stretched in front of him, the old pier he could feel shift beneath his now bare feet.
“What the,” he turned slowly, taking in the crisp grass, the trees that slowly swayed in the cool breeze. The air was warm against his skin, whispering to him of lazy summers spent fishing. Two small figures sat at the end of the pier, two boys with homemade fishing rods that laughed and pushed at each other.
Castiel materialized at his side, hands at his back and wings folded. “This is yours, Dean.”
Dean watched the boys, heart clenching. “I used to take Sammy here every summer. Dad was working and Mom…” he blinked, swallowing as child-Sam whooped something, reeling his line in. “Sam loved it here.”
Castiel was watching him, blue eyes bright. “As did you. “
“This is a dream,” he ground, turning away from the boys. “And I don’t dream about this. Not anymore. I don’t know what this is, but take me back. Back to…back to…”
Take me back to Hel.
Castiel’s wings shimmered in the sun, hidden flashes of greens and blues that Dean always wanted to chase with his fingers. Child-like laughter rode the breeze, carefree and young.
“Hel is painful to you,” Castiel said quietly, blue eyes serious. “You carry the scar of it within you, death and sorrow. Why would you wish to experience them night after night?”
Dean wanted to lash out. What was the stupid angel even doing here? This was his head, his dreams. No one else was supposed to see, it was his burden to bear, his own sanctuary of sin and past mistakes.
But there was no pity in the angel’s face. No judgment. Castiel stood quietly but proudly, pale skin glowing in the sunlight. He seemed…he seemed so real.
Dean sighed, watching the boys, unable to hold the angel’s gaze with his own. “Because it’s all I have left, Cas. Those, memories, are all I have left.”
Dean could hear himself shouting happily, Sam squealing as he hooked his first big fish. What he wouldn’t give to join them, to pretend even if just for a little while, that life was that simple and carefree.
Castiel was still studying him, and Dean shrugged sullenly, the words dragged from him. “Of him. It’s all I have left of him.”
Even in his dream, Dean wore his ID tags. Castiel reached out to touch them, and this time Dean didn’t stop him, watching the angel’s face as Castiel’s fingers traced the metal respectfully.
“You speak of your father,” he said quietly. “John Winchester.”
The water lapped up against the pier, the trees sighing and grass shifting as the two boys continued their fishing, unaware.
Dean nodded, chest tight. “Yeah.”
Castiel dropped his hand, wings spreading behind him. The sun glinted off the raven black feathers. “I would very much like to see him.” Those powerful wings swept forward to caress his arms gently. “If you would allow me.”
“You, you want to see him?” Dean’s chest tightened as Castiel nodded slowly.
The angel held out his hand, palm up. “I will be with you, Dean. You need not be afraid.”
It was just a dream. This Cas wasn’t real. What did he have to lose?
Dean slowly took Castiel’s hand in his, a shiver shooting along his spine as the angel’s fingers curled against his.
“Okay,” he swallowed, voice barely a whisper. “Okay, Cas.”
Two fingers were once again pressed against forehead, and the pier disappeared.
It was like watching a movie; a worn tape he had watched time and time again, analyzing every action, every second. Rewinding and fast forwarding again and again, just to see if the ending would ever change.
It never did.
“Dad,” Dean felt like he was far away, a stranger watching through his own eyes as he cradled his dying father in his arms. Pain lanced up his side but it was muffled, far away and unimportant. “Dad, I’m here, hold on.”
John looked up at him, throat crimson and gaping. Everything was red, dripping and slick, his fingers slipping in it as he tugged his father into his lap. John was speaking, struggling to breathe but no words came from his mouth. His lips formed letters, names, but in his panic, Dean couldn’t make it out.
Dad was dying and it was all his fault.
With a gurgling sigh that stretched the ragged gash across his throat, John cupped Dean’s cheek. His eyes were beginning to glaze over, the light in them dimming, and Dean clutched his father desperately.
“Dad no, please, just hold on, I’ll get help-”
John mouthed something at him, smiling as his lungs finally rattled for the last time, chest falling still. The hand at Dean’s cheek slackened, heavy and lifeless and Dean screamed at him, mouth stretched wide.
John had uttered his last words and Dean was too much a failure to understand them.
Dean watched himself crouch over the dead body of his father. It was weird, watching himself, and he watched as other-Dean shook with grief, rocking back and forth as wounded animal-like cries were ripped from his lungs.
Castiel was solemn by his side, head bowed in respect and hands clasped.
“You were brave,” he said quietly. “Strong.”
“I let him die,” Dean said bluntly, still watching himself. “If I hadn’t run off, he wouldn’t have followed. If I had just followed orders-”
“You both would have been killed regardless,” Castiel interrupted him, wings jerking. “He saved you, Dean. He loved you.”
“Yeah? How would you know?”
The words were more scathing than he intended, and Castiel’s wings pulled in closer to him, sad.
“I know,” he said quietly. “I know.”
Dean turned away, finding it too difficult to watch grieving other-Dean. Hel stretched in front of him, a never-ending battlefield of blood and horror.
“I never told Sam that,” he admitted hollowly. “I just said Dad died in the field and left it at that. Not that he bled out in my arms. That…that it was all my fault.”
Castiel joined him, gazing out across the sulfuric landscape. Hel’s sun hung in the sky above them, shimmering and orange. Dean chuckled humorlessly to himself.
“I was never good enough. I let down everyone. So of course they leave, of course they do. Why shouldn’t they?”
He turned to Castiel then, irrationally angry to find the angel’s eyes wet. This was Dean’s horror, his weakness and the angel was feeling sorry for him? Dean shoved at Castiel’s shoulder, scowling.
“Don’t pretend to feel sorry for me Cas. I deserved this. Mom left. Sam left and then Dad. They all knew that I’m broken and I just ruin everything, it’s just-”
The sudden slap sent him reeling, cheek stinging. Dean gaped in surprise at the glowering angel, wordless and trembling. Castiel reached for him, fingers firm against his jaw. Behind the angel, his dark wings rose to arch high above his head like a vengeful God of old, powerful and suddenly so alien. Dean struggled to pull away but Castiel’s eyes flashed warningly.
“Dean Winchester,” the angel’s voice rumbled like thunder, Hel quaking beneath their feet. “You are an exceptional human being and your father knew that. He gave his life so that you could live.”
Castiel shook Dean’s chin as if he were a naughty puppy, feathers shivering. “There is no greater act of sacrifice and love than that. You are loved. Always.”
Dean was shaking as he finally shoved the angel away, hands balled into fists. Anger he could deal with. Pity too. But…but acceptance? Was he so pathetic that he would dream up an angel to say things to make himself feel better?
“You say that like you know!” his voice was trembling and unsure, even to his ears. “You don’t know me, Cas! I’m a killer. That’s what I do. The only thing I’m good at. I’m, I’m a tool, Cas. That’s all I’ve ever been.”
Castiel grabbed him again, refusing to let him duck and run, fingers hard where they pressed against the back of his head. Dean was pulled forward, and he breathed out shakily, trembling and afraid. But the angel didn’t do anything to him, merely rested his forehead against Dean’s. They stood like that for a moment, Dean tense and nervous and hopelessly confused. Slowly, Castiel’s wings dropped, reaching forward to wrap around them both. Dean was enveloped by a warm heat, soft and reassuring.
“Dean, listen to me.”
Feathers trailed along his arms, and some of the tension in his limbs eased. So what if this was a product of his screwed up mind? He was safe here.
“I do not see a killer when I look at you,” Castiel murmured, pressing a hand against Dean’s chest, swallowing as the heart beneath his slim fingers thumped. “I see a man. You carry a burden of darkness inside you, but it only defines your light. You have a selfless and beautiful soul, Dean Winchester.”
Dean dimly realized his hands were clutching at the angel’s arms, needy and punishing. Castiel didn’t seem to notice, pulling away slightly to look him in the eye. The angel’s eyes were clear and honest.
“You are not broken. You are deserving of love, Dean.”
Hands framed his face, fingertips brushing against his slick cheekbones. I’m crying, Dean realized, feeling embarrassed. Oh god, I’m actually crying. Dream crying, what the fuck. Castiel murmured words to him, comforting and warm as his wings pressed in around them.
Dean shuddered as the angel leaned in close, flinching at the words whispered against his cheeks, words he didn’t fully understand. Warm dry lips ghosted over his eyelids, tracing the contours of his face and neck. Uncaring of what he must look like, Dean’s clutched Castiel back, hands desperate where they dug into the feathered joints of the angel’s wings, fingers burrowing into soft down.
“Ol’mozod,” Castiel breathed against him, and Dean didn’t think, couldn’t, just leant forward to kiss the angel desperately, to wantonly lay claim to those endearments and the strange alien creature who uttered them.
“Dean!”
Dean snapped awake, eyes wide and heart pounding. Sam loomed over him, huge grin in place and eyes shining.
“Dean you’re not gonna believe it!” his brother gushed, pulling away to resume his flailing around the room. It took Dean a moment of groggy staring to realize Sam was packing. “Michael has allowed Bobby to bring a team back into the tribe. That includes me!”
Dean rubbed his eyes, heart slowly beginning to resume a normal pace as he sat up. Blurry images still played in his mind as he blinked sleep from his eyes.
Did he….had he kissed Cas?
Dean froze. “What the hell?”
Sam paused his mad scrambling, turning to roll his eyes.
“You are so not a morning person,” Sam shook his head impatiently. “Gabriel is here in the lab. Bobby’s packing up some gear and then we’re all heading to the home tree.”
Dean threw the covers away from him, swinging his legs over the mattress. The floor was cold against his bare feet, jarring the dull ache in his joints from Alistair -
Oh no. No, no, no. Dean willed his stomach to calm, concentrating on his brother as Sam babbled. His vision swam for a moment, but a few deep breaths and he managed to control it. His brain caught up with him, interpreting what Sam had been saying.
Get it together, Winchester.
Sam sniffed, eyes glistening, and for a moment Dean was genuinely worried the giant girl might cry.
“I just, I have to be dreaming,” Sam took a deep breath. “This is awesome!”
Phantom fingers ghosted across Dean’s cheek as Sam turned away, and Dean absently reached up to touch his face, convinced he would feel fingers against his. He could still feel lips against his own, the gentle flick of a tongue.
Oh god. Dream Cas. Like he didn’t have enough troubles, he had to go and have inappropriate dreams about certain angels. But…it was just a dream right?
Dreams didn’t mean anything.
<
| Next>>