Fic - Alleyway [Dean/Cas - Destiel] (One-shot)
Titled: Alleyway
Characters: Dean Winchester/Castiel [Destiel]
General; PG-13 (Some violence, erring towards the intimate/romantic edge, some descriptive kissing)
One-shot, canon-verse, but AU from the episode's end.
Summary: A little bit of fire and ice. "5.18 Point of No Return-AU" in which the alleyway could have ended differently, had they perhaps just had a moment to be real.
___
The smell of brimstone, garbage and ice were the only things Dean really recalled, besides the weight of the moment.
Castiel had reeled, and pulled back and away, both of them steadying themselves, Dean righting himself and looking around, dizzy and charged with whatever had just come between them. Well, besides the ass-kicking.
He surveyed the dark alley, boxes and garbage and recycling still littered at his feet, an old pallet knocked awry to his left merely moments ago, where his leg had connected with it. AFTER Castiel had shoved him, hard, into the debris, and yelled holy fire at him.
He'd been punching him and manhandling him, waywardly vicious, truly pissed beyond recognition. Now the angel stood, tense, until his shoulders slumped, finally drained of his anger, his face devoid of the vengeful spite and pain Dean had seen clearly written across his features. He seemed a little less worse off after taking that out on him, he supposed. Now there was a fragility, something teetering on the edge of... defeat. Sorrow. Castiel looked down, breaking the intensity between where they were still locked on one another, and he studied his palms, looking... shocked. Remorse and bitterness overtook the anger of the situation.
Dean cleared his throat, still aware of the presence of electricity, the weird and thick crackle of otherworldly energy between them. It was laced with something heavy and uncomfortable, alive in the way Castiel's fists had suddenly gone slack, back in a controlled state, the angel twisting away from the assault he'd begun. He'd stopped as all the gusto left him, stunned by his own actions. He just... looked lost, and Dean didn't like this - any of it - one bit.
Dean cleared his throat again, louder, dislodging some of the feeling of being hit multiple times and pressed up against the alleyway wall. He shook out an arm where he'd had it twisted and shoved hard against the brick and dirt. His bicep still burned where Castiel's hand had been, feeling like the scar that matched the sensation was also on fire.
Dean kept trying to think of something clever to say - something to say at all. The silence and the way Castiel's face was drawn again, the angel trying to repair the walls he'd dropped and surrendered up was driving him nuts.
'I did it all... for you.' Those words had kept on replay since they'd been thrown at him, fizzling out anything else his brain could focus on. And now the fire had left the building, and Cas looked devastated. What could he really say to that?
The angel's face was blank and his vessel stood stiffly, save for the way Castiel was curled inward, his spine folded like a bowing branch, a child protectively bent into his body as if he'd been the one given a beat-down.
"So... still mad?"
Huh, harder to talk now than before. Must be the blood between his teeth from where Cas had hooked him in the jaw. That'd definitely be sore later on.
Castiel looked up then, something like irritation in his gaze flitting across, but there was still an unidentified emotion there. Dean didn't think he recognized it on Cas. He didn't think he wanted to, or if it was believable. Guilt. Regret.
Something else was indiscernible. At least he felt observational enough to address the recognizable emotions.
"Nah, don't feel bad... I probably deserved it."
Dean's laugh was short and barking, his voice gravel, but he shrugged, leaning back against the same wall Cas had pinned him to. He felt more than spent. Angels could seriously lay down an ass-whooping if they wanted. He thanked the wall for being there to hold his trembling legs upright.
Then, Castiel seemed to come to some sort of complicated decision, a wrinkle in his steadfast commitment to composure, and instead of poofing off to go hide or whatever Cas did when things got a little heavy, the angel stepped in, his body close again, awkwardly, hesitantly. Cas sighed, the sound drawn on for long, his hand raking through his truly disheveled hair, a very human gesture - and Dean barely heard the noise he made then, a sort of low, tortured rumble, deep from his throat.
The alley was quiet and the traffic was far off down the sidewalk. They were pretty closed off. It wasn't hard to hear anything in the space between him and Cas. Even their labored breathing, though Dean had to admit his sounded like shit and was pretty annoying. Cas just sounded exasperated. And for being a guy who didn't normally need to breathe, it was already another alarming sort of anomaly.
"I'm... sorry."
It came quietly, and Dean had to straighten up a little at that, and stoop closer just to catch it.
"What?"
"I'm sorry. I should not have lost my... cool like that. I just cannot believe how meaningless it is to you. After everything. All that's happened... To make a decision to just throw it all away, and say yes to Michael-"
The sentence was trembling, bereft of anger but full of misery. Forgetting to consider any of the other's obvious current fragility, it angered Dean quickly, defensive nature and fiery indignation catching in his throat. What little bit of calm broke under his frustration.
"That pisses me off. I hate that. You think I don't get it but I get it. 'You did it all for me.' Well, buddy, that was your choice. I have to make choices every day, all day, and it ain't just me it effects. It can't be just me! So where do you get off thinking that it's easy?!"
He spat a little frothy blood out, finding it hard to inhale through the dust and the gross taste in his mouth. He tried not to sag back against the building because he was just suddenly so done, so spent and exhausted, and now more than willing to walk away, thanks to the twisting direction of the conversation.
Castiel looked taken aback, but the ire and stormy expression returned. He pulled back like he'd been slapped, but he turned his body towards Dean, his chest rising quickly.
"You do not know, and you never understand. You don't know anything."
Castiel took a sharp step back as he hissed the last words at Dean, a look of disdain like he'd tasted sour candy curling his lip. He brought a palm up to his stricken face, the fingers curling and flexing angrily before they could settle across his eyes.
When Castiel again turned away, Dean had the urge to grab the angel before he could take off, so he did, not really planning the rest. Screw explanations. He kept Castiel rooted, though Dean was sure the angel could shake him off like a flea, or simply fly off, more than easily.
"What don't I get?! I'm standing right here, and you obviously have a point! What's your damn problem?"
Dean was yelling now, but he didn't care, because he was missing something and it annoyed him, just like the despair and distress that Cas seemed to be radiating. He had to know, but if Cas left now, they'd just go back to nothing, whatever normal would even exist after Cas had beat him up and Dean had yelled and they had once again turned away from understanding anything, failing again at finding answers to more confusion.
He couldn't take that anymore. Somehow he was too invested and the outcome had to be different. This curling, stifling irritation and anxiety - he was over it.
Castiel tried to jerk his arm from Dean's tightening grip, but didn't really attempt to escape or break it. It was pretty clear from his features that he didn't want to stay, and Dean's grip was uncomfortable, but he was still standing there, and that had to count for something. Dean banked on the fact that Cas always listened to him regardless of whether he wanted to hear it or not and used it to his advantage.
Cas very carefully turned back to meet Dean's eyes with his, and he looked suddenly defeated, tired, his face an open door to the pain and the longing and exasperation that always seemed to dance along his face when Cas didn't like something Dean said or did, especially when it caused danger for Dean or something. He saw it flit along his face when Dean would turn and address him, or ask him for a favor. He'd seen it when he'd left Castiel in the circle of fire meant for Lucifer, when Dean had been near Castiel...
"You. You are my problem, Dean. Ever since I found you in Hell, and I went against Heaven's Word. You."
Dean balked at that, confusion and anger and resentment starting to make him feel like this was a waste of time and he shouldn't have been here, with Castiel, being blamed for all the problems they had faced.
"Great, so you blame me, and-"
"No."
Castiel firmly cut him off in response, and then quieted, shaking his head, looking bereft of words. Grieved. He looked so lost, so inept and out of his depth. He looked human and divine all at once.
"Then what?" Dean said it flatly, but inside he was feeling a little bit like exploding, and hope laced with his indignation.
"I can't blame you for my... weakness. Just because you are that weakness... it does not make it your fault."
Cas stopped for a moment, seeming to come to the decision to continue.
"It is just what it is. Those are my feelings. My personal choice, my decisions to be held responsible for. You don't understand. I cannot make you."
He had turned away then, the words muffled, fallen to the pavement, the angel clearly well beyond control of the oncoming emotional fallout and wildly uncomfortable with this confessional. Well, he wasn't the only one. It all hurdled towards Dean like an unstoppable train.
Dean was beyond feeling lost and anxious now, but somehow he gripped only harder, clutching at things he didn't understand but was trying to decipher, blowing up riddles and trying to see between lines that were probably less complicated than they ever felt.
The iron grip of Dean's hand on the trench coat's sleeve had drawn Castiel's attention, and the angel locked onto Dean's touch, his eyes seeming to widen at the hand holding fast, and it caused Dean to falter, and so he drew his hand away.
Was any of this really happening? Emboldened, scared shitless - in disbelief - he heard himself speaking, a part of him feeling detached, almost fuzzy.
"Then show me. Show me how to understand. Because I don't get it, Cas," he ground out, something hysteric and choking clawing its way through his syllables. "I think I do but I don't and I just... don't wanna be.. I don't know. I'm wrong more often than I'm right, Cas, I can't -"
Warmth, then ice and burning lightning froze him. Whatever he had to say died in his throat as soon as the angel had fluidly melded into Dean's space, crossed the invisible barriers they'd erected there. He continued to burn as Cas' consuming presence filled him, and Castiel came to rest his forehead against Dean's. Suddenly the air was displaced by their own warm, mingled breaths, Cas' smelling and tasting like nothing and Dean rather disjointedly aware of the whiskey he'd slugged back some time ago.
The thought evaporated and was replaced by how pale Castiel's eyes were from up this close, how it hurt to linger there, somehow too intense for Dean, and then how the corner's of Castiel's mouth were drawn downward but soft, connecting into swelling curves, so gentle when they weren't upturned in battle or yelling at him and unleashing power.
Dean's eyes got stuck on Cas' lips for a second, memorizing, distracting himself from where he knew the angel's gaze was locked on him. He could see the vivid, crisp blue color they were from his peripherals and he knew that if he looked into those eyes, he might fall apart. More than he already was.
Ever so slightly, maybe minutes at a time, Castiel's arms came up to bracket his sides, skimming gently past where Dean's arms had fallen uselessly to rest palms down against the brick behind them, as though he could find some strength in using the wall as a lifeline, and then Cas shifted and pressed them fully together. His heart was hammering in his gut, he felt
it pulse in his veins and through every finger, too, and he tried to make his breathing even out. The longer Cas stared and the more he molded himself to Dean, the heat and the trembling tension bubbled over him, making the blood thud in his head. If he inhaled, just a little deeper, his chest would keep touching the angel's, and their eyes would meet. Dean didn't think he could stand much more of this without knowing what Castiel eyes looked like, what the angel was thinking.
Just as Dean was about to man up and raise his eyes, slowly bracing himself, the air shifted again and the fear and uncertainty that thrummed through Cas became quickly evident, and no, he was going to leave, taking the warmth that had pooled there in the space between their bodies. He was going to run.
"No."
The hunter had all but thrown his arms about the angel, smashed Castiel's firm body hard into his body, surprise making the angel no more than putty, and he stumbled into Dean, his breathless inhale catching between his teeth - and then their lips slid together, Dean resting them there against Cas', his arms encircled around the angel, unwilling - unable - to let Castiel fly.
He drew Cas in, to every exposed, raw nerve on his body that was still trying to freeze in the cold air remaining, filling every void with fabric and skin and fumbling legs and feet. He didn't think, he just did, because if he thought he was wrong or that this wasn't right, wasn't what had been coming - but no, softly then, just a little, Cas was returning the kiss. They were kissing. His blood was boiling, his lungs were on fire, and he was dizzy and heady with it. He was terrified, and so sure of it, that he let his torso flex forward to press into Cas' slightly trembling form.
He angled his head to the right of the angel's face, deepening their mouths, laying his tongue against Cas', surprised that he was met with that and not met with a closed, chaste and uninterested statue. But if he'd been right - God, he hoped he was right - well, surely Cas would return it just as fervently.
Hands were on Dean's hands, pulling and clutching, desperation laced into their movements, and Castiel gasped against Dean's lips, breaking their mouths apart for a moment. As if an angel needs to breathe, Dean thought, perplexed, but he knew it wasn't really about some sense of needing air. Maybe it was more to do with the flush of color scattered along the angel's cheek bones, the blush running down his pale neck, the white knuckled hold he had on one of Dean's shirt lapels as he straightened up and back to get a good look at Dean's face.
His eyes could not seem to find their way to the mark, but that was just fine with Dean, because he was sure there was too many things clearly written there, the same stark surprise, alarm and longing mirrored there like his. Maybe it was all just too much for right now, and maybe Cas was still really mad over the whole Michael thing, so Dean pulled Castiel back to him, and buried his head in the crook of the other's neck, noting that Cas was a slight bit taller, and he was surprised by how soft and warm the flesh was. Dean dwelt often on the fact that beneath the skin and bones of Jimmy's vessel was a living, breathing soul, a soul entirely not human, though Cas had definitely come a long ways in that department.
Regaining some semblance of awareness, Dean allowed his throbbing head to leave the safety and the muffled silence he'd found in hiding his head there, and he let his skull knock back against the brick, thumping softly. He blinked, and looked up, feeling the rain kick into high gear. Great.
He closed his eyes, wincing at the pain developing in his face and his body where Castiel had hit him. The injuries were starting to catch up with him, dulling some of the adrenaline and pleasure still humming through him. Just as the world swam a little and his vision started dancing, the lamp light behind them blurring where it lit the wall around them, he felt a warm hand drift over the cuts along his jawline, caressing, a point of rapture that quickened his heart rate as Cas turned his face so he had no choice but to redirect his sight to Cas'. The sheer concern and regret there, in the glint of the lightest, sharpest pale blue stopped his heart, his breath knocked right out of him.
This differed so greatly from the aggression before, and the comparison somehow had Dean faltering again, a strange feeling of sadness overtaking them, the prick of tears, stubbornly stinging the corner of his eyes. He was sure Castiel could see it all, and Dean wanted to take a second, to hide again, but Cas held him steady in a sobering and insistent stare.
Finally, reverently, the angel drew his hands along the stubble of Dean's cheek, and Dean took two or three seconds to realize that his headache had suddenly lifted, the fog of pain entirely erased. Cas had healed what he'd damaged, and Dean's next breath was clear of phlegm and difficulty. Dean sighed, unable to stop himself, a content sound that probably sounded extremely girly. He didn't say thanks, but he also didn't think he could speak, caught in the sensation of Castiel's migration up his face, the angel's thumb pad pressing momentarily on the bow of his lip.
Dean felt his face grow hot, and other areas tighten, the intimacy of the gesture sobering him. Castiel didn't stop there, his hand following the bridge of Dean's nose until it stopped at his hairline, his fingers carding through Dean's longer tufts of hair, following down the crown of his head and to the base of his skull, where the sensation stilled, Cas' thumb and fingers bracketing the back of his neck, possessively draped there, so hot and encompassing.
Dean could not remember the last time he'd been touched so purposefully, lingered on, and it enticed him to pull the angel in for more, all traces of caution banished. He took his time in the corner of Castiel's lips, moving across his mouth, laying kisses there that were meant to echo the gentle intent of Cas' hand but quickly became sloppy, heavy, desire spiking and folding in on them, and Dean just let himself go, let himself fall upon Castiel's mouth, both of them wanting, both of them so in tune that it terrified him. His senses went haywire, and his arms held on for dear life, quivering, tugging and unable to relinquish the angel. How had he missed the signs? How had he not known?
He felt a knee nudge between his own legs, strong and intentional, and he gasped out a moan. Dean tried to stifle it, but even muffled, it bled in between their lips, until he realized it was in stereo, the two of them gasping and moving closer, slotting so perfectly together. It took all his control not to grab Cas and twist, and slam him against the alley so that he was the one crowding the other. He was consumed with so much need and it overran everything, caused him to just want and to not stop until he had finally fulfilled the tension and the countless things between them. Things were still so inexplicable, so delicate, and he didn't want to end this before it had really begun. They still needed to talk, and, whoa, seriously amazing that he of all people would be the one to accept that.
Instead, Dean settled for grasping Castiel's face in his hands, surprised at the stubble he felt beneath his calloused fingers. It felt so human, alongside what they were doing, a piece of normalcy, but no matter how much Cas' body was human itself, Cas made sure that Dean knew exactly how strong, how potent his abilities were, and that this ran borderline neurotic, really, dangerous and everything was so up in the air. Still, Dean never backed down from a challenge, and the stakes were so much more than just some petty need to win. He did want this; he supposed he always may have. It just took him time to wrap his head around these things. Emotions and choices were all around him but he had never really been the type to express that, or be in tune with knowing what came next.
Dean opened Cas' mouth with his, tasting, taking everything he could get, Castiel responding without any sense of the delay he'd had before. He scraped a groan from the angel's throat, a deep growl resonating from his chest and it felt like it was vibrating his entire head. He couldn't stop, not now, hopefully ever, and when Castiel sank them to the dirty ground, both of Dean's wrists pinned above them, their hands interlocked as they tried to push and pull each other, the sharp, red bricks indenting Dean's hands, he didn't give a crap about how filthy the place must have been, or the way that it just wasn't the most charming of settings. If anyone was watching, all of Heaven or Hell, it didn't matter and they could all suck it.
All of his inhibitions or worries flew out the window, gone and replaced by the drag of their mouths together, the staccato of inhales and gasps, the half-removal of rain-drenched, sopping clothes, and the thrum of yes, yes, this that was reverberating, crackling between them. They shivered and breathed and moved together, folded over one another, protected and unaware of the rain or the noises.
Dean supposed they would need to stop eventually - they were still pretty much in a semi-public place, anyway, and it must have been hours since he'd left Bobby's. They definitely needed to have a conversation, or several - something Dean hadn't forgotten, and this time, he planned on it.
But for now, in the alleyway, nothing else mattered.
---
UN-beta'd. Totally meant to continue but I haven't written anything in over two years.
Roughly based on the alley scene in season 5. I tried to be accurate but obviously, some things differ.