If Two Lie Down Together (2/2)
Continued from part 1...
Dean has no idea where he’s going; he just drives-out of Pontiac, out of Illinois, along highways that cut through farmland that’s bright green with new crops. The sky stretches out around and above him, cloudless and so blue it hurts his eyes and makes his heart ache.
Without even thinking about it, Dean finds himself on I-39, on a familiar route to Singer’s Salvage, and since Dean has no other destination in mind, he doesn’t question his instincts.
Dean pulls up to Bobby’s long after midnight, but he has no doubt of his welcome. Bobby’s something of a night owl, and Dean has a key he can use if necessary, but Bobby meets Dean at the door, glancing over Dean’s shoulder out of habit.
“What happened?” Bobby asks when he doesn’t spot Jimmy.
Dean shakes his head. “Cas,” is the only explanation he can manage.
Bobby sighs. “You’d better come in.”
He knows Dean well enough not to ask questions immediately. He pours Dean a generous shot of whiskey, instead, and then keeps it coming. Dean has no idea what time it is when Bobby helps him onto the couch, but Dean passes out immediately, too drunk to do anything but fall asleep.
When Dean wakes up the next morning, his head pounds in time to the beat of his heart, and the light filtering into the study is far too bright. Dean groans, wishing he hadn’t drunk quite so much the night before.
“Nice to see you join the land of the living,” Bobby calls from the kitchen. “I’m making breakfast.”
Dean’s stomach roils at the thought, but he knows better than to argue. “I’ll be right there.”
He sits up and rubs his eyes, and then he takes a deep breath, the reality of his situation hitting him anew. “Fuck,” Dean mutters.
Bobby has eggs and toast ready when Dean stumbles into the kitchen, as well as a glass of his own special hangover cure. Dean makes a face but doesn’t argue about drinking the noxious concoction, and he eats what Bobby puts in front of him.
“What are you gonna do, boy?” Bobby asks over coffee.
“I don’t know,” Dean admits. “You know of a way to exorcise an angel?”
“Haven’t looked,” Bobby says. “But I will. Is that really the route you want to go?”
Dean shakes his head. “I don’t know what I want to do.”
“Angels aren’t demons, son. As far as I know, there isn’t a way to get rid of one if they don’t want to leave.”
“I know it,” Dean replies, feeling tired and old and worn. “I just want him back.”
Bobby gave him a long, steady look that was reminiscent of Claire. “I’ll look into it, but I can’t make any promises.”
“Yeah.” Dean finishes his breakfast and gets up. “Think I’ll grab a shower, and then maybe I can find a hunt.”
Bobby shakes his head, his expression sympathetic. “I think I might have something for you.”
~~~~~
Dean leaves Bobby’s the next morning, the Impala pointed towards Oklahoma. There have been some odd disappearances, along with strange signs and omens, but by the time Dean arrives, the trail has gone cold.
The next hunt takes Dean to Oregon, where he spends a week trying to track down a wendigo. Dean tries not to think about how hard it is for him to sleep alone after months of having a warm body next to his. He catches himself turning to say something to Jimmy, only to remember that Jimmy isn’t there. Dean had done the same thing after Sam had died, and he knows that it’s going to take time to get used to the idea of Jimmy not being there.
And, in a way, that’s what makes this so difficult. Dean had eventually accepted that Sam wasn’t coming back, and that there was nothing he could do to get Sam out of the Cage. But Jimmy-
Dean feels like he’s just killing time, waiting for Cas to vacate the premises again, so Dean can get his partner back. Dean tries not to think about having to wait two years or more to get Jimmy back.
He tries calling for Cas a few times during the first two weeks, but there’s no answer. Cas doesn’t even show when the wendigo comes close to ripping Dean’s arm off, and Dean ends up with a dislocated shoulder and a few deep gashes on his side.
Even though Dean hates how healing drains Jimmy, and hates even more relying on Jimmy to heal him, he’s grown used to not having to stitch up his own wounds.
Midway through the third week, Dean still favors his right side, but he doesn’t hesitate to take on a difficult haunting in Pasadena. He’s also discovered that he doesn’t notice how empty the bed feels if he’s drunk.
He’s just poured a third shot of whiskey, having hit a dead end on the haunting, when his cell phone rings. Dean answers without bothering to check the name that comes up, although he recognizes Claire’s voice immediately when she says his name.
Dean’s a little surprised to hear from her, but he thinks he hides it well. “Claire. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she replies a little impatiently. “Have you talked to Castiel? Or my dad?”
“No word from Cas,” Dean replies. “And I’ve tried calling him, but he won’t answer.”
“He won’t answer me either.” Claire sounds more than a little pissed off about that. “I still hate him.”
“You’re still allowed,” Dean says, a smile tilting his lips for the first time in two weeks. He likes Claire; she has spirit. She reminds him a bit of Jimmy. “How are you, kid?”
She sighs. “I miss Dad. He called almost every night.”
Jimmy had called his daughter nearly every night. Most of the time, their conversations only lasted for a minute or two, just long enough for Jimmy to tell her good night and that he loved her. Other nights, their conversations had gone on for hours, with Jimmy sitting out in the parking lot on the hood of the Impala, or inside the car if it was too cold.
Dean figures that the only other person with a Jimmy-shaped hole in her life is Claire; she’s the only one who might have some idea as to how much Dean misses Jimmy’s presence.
“Do you want me to call?” he offers, wondering what the heck they’ll talk about if she says yes.
There’s a pause, and then she asks, “I don’t know. Would it be weird?”
“I could text,” Dean offers, even though he hates texting. He’s never quite mastered the art, and the buttons are too small for his callused fingers.
“Okay,” Claire agrees instantly. “Mom won’t know that way.”
“Doesn’t she know you’re calling?” Dean asks.
“She’s out on a date.” Claire pauses. “With Brad.”
Judging from Claire’s tone, she doesn’t much like the new boyfriend. “Has she been dating for a while?”
“No, this is a new guy,” Claire says. “The other one was Mark. He wasn’t so bad.”
“What’s wrong with this one?” Dean asks, almost feeling as though he owes it to Jimmy to ask these questions.
He can almost hear Claire shrug. “He acts like he wants to replace my dad. I have a dad.”
“Yeah, you do,” Dean says and feels compelled to repeat his promise. “I’m going to get him back.”
“I know,” she replies, and there’s so much trust in those two words that it takes Dean’s breath away. “But you’ll text me?”
“I’ll text you, or call,” Dean says. “You have my word.” He hesitates, and then asks, “Are you alone?”
“It’s okay,” Claire assures him. “I’m almost fourteen, Dean.”
He huffs out what might almost be a laugh. “Yeah, okay, but you know how to ward off demons, right? You should keep a container of salt in your bedroom, just in case.”
“I know,” Claire replies. “I’ve got one. Dad made sure. I hide it from my mom.”
Dean smiles broadly. “Yeah, well, your dad’s a smart guy.”
“Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“I miss him a lot.”
“So do I,” Dean admits, feeling the burden of missing Jimmy lift just a bit, even if that burden is only being shared by an almost-fourteen year old girl. “I miss him more every day.”
~~~~~
Dean wraps up the haunting in Pasadena, but he reinjures his shoulder in the process, and it’s bad enough that he heads back towards Bobby’s, where he knows he can heal up. He doesn’t forget to text Claire every night, right around the time he knows she usually goes to bed.
Usually, it’s short, like, “No word yet,” or “You okay?” or “Saw a great sunset.” Dean doesn’t mention hunting, or demons, or angels. Claire doesn’t either. Sometimes, she doesn’t respond at all, but there are days when she sends two or three texts in a row, using a text-speak that Dean can barely parse. He has no idea whether Jimmy would understand it, but he does his best.
Dean is grateful that Claire has this slice of normality-that she has school and friends and boys she likes, all of which he sometimes hears about in great detail. On a whim, Dean sends Claire his email address, and after that, he sporadically receives long messages about what she’s done that day, or a boy she likes, or the swim team intramurals.
For Dean, it’s a little like holding onto a piece of Jimmy; he imagines that Claire feels the same way about him.
He goes on a hunt with Bobby, because it’s a two-man job and neither of them have a partner. Dean has worked with Bobby enough that it’s a real pleasure being with him, and having Bobby around doesn’t bring up any bad memories.
It’s just Bobby, and if he notices Dean’s texts and emails to Claire, he doesn’t say anything, although he does ask Dean whether he’s tried calling for Castiel. “You could summon him,” Bobby suggests when they’ve wrapped up the hunt for the shtriga. “There’s that ritual.”
“I’m not sure I want to go there yet,” Dean admits. “You find out anything about exorcising an angel?”
Bobby shakes his head. “You can defile a vessel so that an angel won’t want it, but you don’t want to know how to do that.”
Dean agrees. He’s pretty sure that anything that would defile a vessel like that wouldn’t be something Jimmy would go along with anyway. “Maybe Cas will answer me one of these days.”
“You doing okay?” Bobby asks. “I know what it’s like to lose a partner.”
Bobby’s sympathetic gaze tells Dean that he probably does know. “Yeah, I’m dealing. Not much I can do about it, you know?”
That night, though, lying in Bobby’s spare room, Dean thinks that it might be easier to deal with Jimmy’s absence if he were dead. But there’s this hope-Dean still thinks that he might get Jimmy back, and Dean can’t grieve, can’t hope to move on or accept Jimmy’s absence until he knows one way or the other.
Dean heads out the next day, looking for the next hunt, trying to forget how much he misses Jimmy; it doesn’t work any better now than it did a month ago.
Another week goes by, and Dean feels as though he’s hanging on by his fingernails. He thinks that he might have sustained too many losses-his parents, Sam, Ellen and Jo-losses that have added up to a staggering burden. Losing Jimmy might just be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, except that Dean doesn’t know that he has lost Jimmy. He’s in limbo, and he hates every second of it.
~~~~~
Dean has knocked back his first drink of the evening when Claire calls, and that it’s a call and not a text or email has Dean’s hackles rising. He’s been out late hunting a werewolf even though it’s a day past the full moon. Monsters aren’t acting like they used to; the old rules don’t seem to apply anymore, and that has Dean worried. “What’s up?” he says immediately, knowing that it’s well past her bedtime.
“I had a dream,” Claire says immediately. “Castiel came, and he said he had a job for you.”
“Were you calling for him?” Dean asks.
He can almost hear Claire shrug. “I have to keep trying.”
“Me, too,” Dean admits. “Just be careful, okay? Your dad would kick my ass if something happened to you.”
“I’m careful,” Claire responds. “Besides, I think he needs you.”
“He told you this?”
“He’s been visiting me in my dreams,” she admits. “I didn’t want to say anything.”
Dean makes a face. “It’s creepy.”
“I know,” Claire replies impatiently. “But he’s my only connection to Dad. Will you help him?”
Dean considers the question. “Maybe. If he promises to give your dad back.”
“Well,” Claire says after a moment. “That’s okay then.”
Thanks to Claire’s warning, Dean isn’t surprised when he wakes up the next morning to find Castiel sitting on the rickety chair at the end of the bed. He’s still wearing the same worn pair of jeans and navy blue t-shirt that Jimmy had worn when he crawled out of their tent more than a month ago.
In fact, the only difference is that the ever-present gauze on his wrists is missing, with no sign of injury. Dean wonders what Jimmy will say when he finds out that Cas healed the stigmata, how he’ll deal with not being able to heal people.
On the other hand, maybe he’ll have better aim without his wrists being fucked up.
Castiel doesn’t greet Dean, as usual. He just stares until Dean says, “You didn’t answer me.”
“I didn’t think you wanted to see me,” Castiel responds, and there’s a note of hurt in his voice. Dean thinks that Cas probably has a good reason to feel that way, considering their last conversation.
Dean sighs. “Cas-you left. You left me, and you left Jimmy, and we had to cobble together some kind of life without you in it. And now you show up, and you take over my friend. How am I supposed to feel?”
Castiel frowns slightly, like he’s never looked at the situation from that point of view, and Dean knows he probably hasn’t. Castiel has always been single-minded in his purpose, unable to think about the collateral damage he might cause.
Dean should know; he’s caused his own kind of damage over the years, thinking only of family, only of Sam, so he can’t throw stones.
Glass houses, and all that.
“I need your help,” Castiel says. “Some of heaven’s weapons have been stolen. I know where one is, but the location has been warded against angels. I can’t get inside.”
Dean hesitates. He has no idea what Cas is asking him to do, why Cas would want these weapons, or who would ward the place. Dean decides that-at least right now-he doesn’t care. “I’ll do whatever you want, but you have to swear that you’ll let Jimmy go.”
Castiel’s face twists with regret, or maybe it’s fear, but Dean barrels ahead. “There has to be someone else! Someone who doesn’t have a family. Somebody no one will miss. Come on, Cas.”
“There is someone,” Castiel admits reluctantly, and Dean wonders why angels get attached to one particular vessel. Is it because of the bloodline, as Cas had insinuated in the past? Or is it merely comfort, like having a favorite pair of jeans that fit just right? “She is in a mental institution. She claims to hear angels talking.”
“Does she?” Dean asks.
Castiel nods.
“Great,” Dean says, well aware that he’s throwing a stranger under the bus. “Then there’s nothing to keep you from using her as a vessel.”
“She’s a distant cousin of Jimmy’s,” Castiel says, and though it confirms what Dean has suspected about an angel’s preference for a particular bloodline, it doesn’t change his mind.
Dean just nods and says, “If I do this for you, promise you’ll let Jimmy go.”
Castiel nods. “Of course. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Dean asks automatically, uncertain as to why Cas might be apologizing now.
“I knew he was important to you,” Castiel replies. “I hadn’t realized how important.” He hands Dean a piece of paper. “This is the address. If you mar the wards, I’ll be able to enter.”
He was gone in the next moment, and Dean pours himself another drink as he looks at the address. “Las Vegas?” Dean mutters incredulously. He wants to get this taken care of now, but he knows he needs a decent night’s sleep if he’s not going to crash somewhere along the way.
If he gets up early the next morning, Dean thinks he can make the drive in a day if he pushes hard. Then he can sleep 8 hours and work on breaking the wards.
He wishes Jimmy were with him; Dean wishes Sam was backing him up. He thinks idly of calling Bobby, but he just has another drink and goes to bed.
~~~~~
The drive to Vegas takes almost a full day. Dean had been hoping to make it in less than 24 hours, but he’s tired enough around Beaver, Utah, that he has to pull over and sleep for a few hours.
It’s after midnight when he arrives in Vegas, and Dean bypasses the strip to head to the address Cas had given him, hoping to scope things out. The house is barely visible over the high stone walls that surround the property, and Dean knows that a place like this probably has more prosaic forms of security, too. He can’t immediately see the wards, so Dean circles the block and parks a quick walk away.
He’s learned to check for symbols visible only under a black light, and he has a small, portable one in the trunk. The walls surrounding the address are painted with wards that wouldn’t be visible in any other way. Dean prowls the perimeter, formulating a plan of attack. He knows that Cas doesn’t need much of an opening. Dean just has to get rid of enough of the symbols to let Cas inside, and the angel will do the rest.
Once Dean has the lay of the land, he can make a plan. And his plan is basically to disrupt every sigil he can find, by hook or by crook.
He has to wait for the next day to start, since he needs a few things. Dean finally settles for a can of spray paint of the same kind originally used to paint the wards, and a tub of bleach and a scrub brush. He sleeps the afternoon away, waiting for the cover of darkness.
By midnight, Dean has obscured or defaced most of the symbols that line the walls, and Castiel appears next to him. “Thank you, Dean. This will do.”
“Great,” Dean replies. “So, when are you-”
Then, Castiel is gone, and Dean can say nothing else.
Dean debates for a few minutes about entering the compound, but he finally decides that the risk isn’t worth it. Cas will ask Dean if he needs more help, so Dean finds a cheap motel, throws back a few drinks, and collapses face-first onto the lone bed.
When he falls asleep, Dean is somehow not surprised to see Castiel appear in his usual form-in Jimmy’s form.
“You promised you’d release him,” Dean says.
“And I will,” Castiel responds. “I just wanted you to know that my mission was a success. We have recovered the weapon.”
“What about the rest of them?” Dean asks, a little worried. “You said there were others stolen.”
Castiel smiles crookedly. “I’ll deal with it. And if I can’t, you’ll be the first to know.”
And then Dean wakes up, still slightly hung over, maybe still a little drunk, and Cas is nowhere to be seen. Jimmy isn’t there either, and Dean begins to wonder if he’s been an idiot, if he’s trusted the wrong person.
Cas has always been trustworthy in the past, though, and Dean wants to believe that Cas will keep his promise. He wants to believe that he’ll get Jimmy back.
Dean lays back and stares up at the ceiling, trying to will himself back to sleep.
~~~~~
Dean hears the buzzing of the phone and opens bleary eyes to see it moving across the nightstand as it vibrates. He stares at it for a moment before hitting the “talk” button, his heart in his throat. “Yeah?” he asks cautiously.
“Dean?”
It’s not Castiel on the other end; it’s Jimmy. He knows that voice, that intonation. “Jimmy?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Where are you?” Dean demands, wiping the sleep out of his eyes and sitting up. “Are you okay?”
“I’m tired,” Jimmy replies. “But I’m not hurt.”
“Where are you?” Dean asks again. “Do you know?”
There’s a long pause. “I don’t-I think I’m in Las Vegas,” Jimmy replies slowly. “Just off the strip.”
“What’s the closest hotel?” Dean asks.
“The one with the needle, or whatever it is. Are you in Vegas?”
“Yeah, I am. It’s a long story. Look, let me put some clothes on. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. Just sit tight.”
“Where else am I going to go?” Jimmy asks. “I’ll be here.”
Dean dresses in record time, grabs his keys and wallet, and makes sure the door locks behind him. He’s still a little buzzed from the alcohol, so he drives slowly and takes extra care. Jimmy will probably give him a hard time, but Dean doesn’t care. He’s just glad that Jimmy is going to be here to bitch at him for drinking too much.
He finds Jimmy without too much trouble; the Stratosphere is easily visible, and Dean heads that way. Jimmy has apparently parked himself out front, looking like any other guy in his jeans, t-shirt and scarred work boots. Jimmy’s climbing into the passenger seat as soon as Dean stops the car, and even though Dean just wants to sit and look his fill, he can’t. Someone behind him is honking, and Dean pulls away from the curb, gripping the steering wheel tightly to keep from hauling Jimmy over to him.
“I already called Claire,” Jimmy says, not looking at Dean. “I woke her up, but she didn’t seem to care.”
“I’m sure she didn’t.” Dean keeps glancing over at Jimmy, trying to read his expression, but Jimmy seems even more remote than Cas at the moment. “She was worried about you.”
“I don’t remember much,” Jimmy says. “Just bits and pieces, flashes, and then standing on the street.”
“That’s okay,” Dean assures him. “It’s cool.” He pulls up in front of the motel and gets out. Jimmy follows more slowly, moving stiffly, as though he’s not quite used to having his body back yet. “Jimmy-”
Jimmy won’t look at Dean. He keeps his eyes on something in the distance, and Dean can sense his indecision, and his fear. Dean has no idea what Jimmy is so afraid of, and he reaches out and grabs Jimmy’s right wrist, and runs his thumb over the smooth, unmarred skin.
“I don’t know how long this is going to last,” Jimmy says. “They might come back. I might not be able to heal anyone now, but I don’t know. I don’t-”
Dean shuts Jimmy up the best way he knows how, by putting his hands on either side of Jimmy’s face and kissing him. It’s like having a cool drink of water after a long, hot day, and Dean doesn’t care that they’re standing out in a motel parking lot; he doesn’t care that anyone might see them. He just kisses Jimmy, slow and deep and wet, and he holds on tight.
“Inside,” Jimmy murmurs against Dean’s mouth. “We should go inside.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, hard and aching. “I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Jimmy says with real heat. “If anything, I owe you. Dean, you got me out.”
Dean fumbles the lock open with shaking hands, and they stumble into the room, still tangled up in each other. “I need to see you,” he says. “Please, Jimmy. I need to see you.”
Jimmy pulls his t-shirt up and over his head, and toes off his boots while Dean unbuttons Jimmy’s fly. And then Jimmy’s naked, and Dean runs his hands over Jimmy’s shoulders, down his arms, along his side where the bleeding wound had been. There’s no sign of the stigmata, no sign of any injury at all.
“I’m not going to be good for much,” Jimmy says apologetically, but Dean kisses him again, wild and a little desperate, because he doesn’t care if Jimmy can heal anybody, he just wants Jimmy.
“Your turn,” Jimmy finally says, pulling back. “Clothes.”
Dean strips off his clothes, and Jimmy sprawls back on the bed, already half-hard, his eyes hungry. “I want you to fuck me,” Dean says.
Jimmy’s eyes go wide. “You-”
“Fuck me,” Dean insists.
Jimmy is fully erect now, his pupils blown wide. “If you’re sure.”
“Jimmy.”
“You’re sure.” A smile tilts Jimmy’s mouth for the first time since Dean got him back, and Dean finds a condom and the lube in his duffel bag.
They haven’t done this before. Jimmy has never asked, and Dean has never offered. Right now, though, Dean wants it. He wants to feel Jimmy inside him. He wants to cross this last hurdle.
Jimmy works Dean open slowly, carefully, his brow creased with concentration. It’s not entirely comfortable, but then Jimmy hits what has to be his prostate, and Dean feels a shock of pleasure.
“Oh,” he murmurs. “Jimmy.”
Jimmy grins at him. “I know. Good?”
Dean’s flagging erection comes back full force as Jimmy hits the sweet spot over and over again with his fingers. And then Jimmy begins to fuck him, his hips moving in a steady, sure rhythm. Jimmy’s hand works Dean’s cock at the same pace. Without the stigmata, Jimmy has no problem jacking Dean off. Dean comes first in messy spurts over Jimmy’s hand, and Jimmy loses the rhythm as he gets closer.
And then Jimmy lets out a low, almost anguished moan as his orgasm overtakes him, and he collapses on top of Dean.
Dean pulls Jimmy close, running a hand over his hair, rubbing the back of his neck. “You okay?” he asks.
Jimmy tucks his face into Dean’s shoulder. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“I missed you,” Dean says, grateful that he doesn’t have to look Jimmy in the face.
Jimmy tightens his grip. “I didn’t have a chance to miss you. I couldn’t-how much time passed?”
“Too long,” Dean replies, then adds, “Almost six weeks.”
“What did you have to promise Cas to get him to let me go?”
“I bartered my services,” Dean says lightly. “There were some weapons from heaven or something that Cas needed to get back. I told him I’d help if he found a new vessel.” Jimmy is silent, and Dean frowns. “You know something I don’t?”
Dean feels Jimmy shake his head. “No. I just-something is going on with Castiel. I couldn’t get much out of him.”
“Is that any different than the last time?” Dean asks.
“Not really.”
Dean feels as though there’s something Jimmy isn’t telling him. “Jimmy? Is there something else?”
He hears Jimmy take a deep, audible breath. “I don’t know. I-there’s something, but-” Jimmy shakes his head. “It’s like it’s right there. I know there’s something I was supposed to remember, but I can’t.”
Dean rubs his back, trying to soothe him. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Maybe it’ll come back to you. Just go to sleep.”
“I should get cleaned up,” Jimmy protests, looking far too tense for a guy who just got lucky.
“I’ll take care of it,” Dean says, rolling out of bed.
It doesn’t take long, and they both dress in clean boxers and t-shirts. Jimmy tucks in close, slinging an arm over Dean, finally beginning to relax as exhaustion catches up to him.
Dean feels the last of his tension bleed away as he combs his fingers through Jimmy’s still-damp hair, and Jimmy hums a little, tightening his hold on Dean. “Thanks for being here when I got back,” Jimmy murmurs into Dean’s chest.
Dean smiles. “Any time.”