Coda to 5.01
He should be able to sleep. After all the stuff that's happened in the last day or so, Dean is surprised he doesn't just pass out in exhaustion as soon as his head hits the pillow. But he's too keyed up to sleep, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
Eventually he gives up, rolls out of bed, and pulls his clothes on. Sam stirs in the next bed when he stubs his toe on something and curses, but only turns over and goes back to sleep. Which is a relief. Dean still isn't quite certain how to deal with a conscious Sam, doesn't even know how to talk to him at the moment. They haven't spoken a word to each other since that brief conversation in the parking lot. Sam hasn't even been able to meet his eye. It took him ages just to get in the damn car. Dean is pretty certain that if he hadn't waited for Sam, had just driven off then and there, Sam would've turned around and never come back. And yeah, there's a part of him that wonders if maybe he should have done that, make a clean cut, rather than dragging it out.
See, Sam was always Dean's everything. His little brother to protect, his friend to tease, his partner to back him up. But none of that really applies any more. Sam turned it all down when he walked out the door from that trashed motel room, chose his demon girlfriend over his brother. And, y'know, started the fucking apocalypse. You can't protect someone who doesn't want protection. It's kinda hard to joke with a guy who set the devil free. And yeah, Sam will probably back Dean up for now--but what about in the future? What happens when withdrawal kicks in (because that's definitely a when, not an if, no way in hell something that fucked up doesn't come with a nasty good-bye present)? Or if his demon powers come back? Shit, what if Sam just goes nuts and starts killing everything? His eyes went black, killing Lilith. He must be part demon now. God only knows how long it is before he starts acting like a demon, too.
Funny thing is, even after all the shit that's gone down, Dean still can't turn Sam away. Because Sam is Dean's everything. Has been so ever since he was four. At this point, Dean can't begin to imagine life without him.
He just can't imagine life with him, either.
There's a vending machine in the parking lot, and Dean goes out to buy a coke. While he's punching in the numbers, there is the soft whuff of displaced air behind him, and Dean doesn't have to turn around to know who's there. "You really do need to be more careful," come that familiar, gravelly voice.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Dean says, not bothering to look back over his shoulder. The coke makes a clunking noise as it hits the bottom of the vending machine, and he bends to pick it up. "Lucifer's up and about and everyone wants my head on a pike. But the whole world's going to hell, I figure I could use a coke." Actually, he could really use a drink, except he's pretty certain that would be a spectacularly bad idea at the moment.
Dean turns, leans back against the machine and gives a side-long glance at the angel standing next to him. Castiel has his hands tucked into his pockets, gazing at the sky with an unreadable expression. After a moment he glances over at Dean, who quickly finds his bottle cap far more interesting than the angel. He fiddles with it for a moment. There are a lot of things he wants to say to Castiel, but he's having a hard time getting the words out because he is not a girl, and all the things he can think of are really girly sentences. "How're you... I'm, uh... You doing okay? Not about to, uh, explode or anything?" He takes a long swig to cover up his embarassment.
"The form is stable. It'll do, for a vessel." Castiel pauses briefly. "Jimmy is gone, though."
"He's gone? What, did the angels take him away?"
"My siblings destroyed his body. Such experiences tend to be fatal for mortals," Castiel says dryly.
"But you're--" Dean gestures vaguely at the angel. "You look like...I mean, you still got the bed head and, and the crappy trench coat and--you know." And the big blue eyes and the slender wrists and those sharp hipbones which have played significant roles in some of Dean's more colorful dreams lately.
But Castiel shakes his head. "The appearance is the same but the body is different. Jimmy has gone to his reward." Another pause. "It's...lonely."
Dean can think of about a million responses to that, all of which are likely to provoke serious smiting. Instead he sticks with a mumbled, "Lonely. Sure. Sucks, doesn't it." And then, hesitantly, "You can crash with us. If, uh, you need a place." Christ, he sounds like a teenage virgin working up her courage to ask her crush out. "Or...yeah. I mean, we've got the room."
"Angels don't need rest. Not the way humans do, at least," Castiel says shortly. And then he looks straight at Dean. "You should be resting. The opportunities to do so will probably be rare in the future."
"Hey. You think if I could sleep I'd be out here, drinking a coke?" He takes a long drink, just to punctuate his point.
"I'll come back to your room with you," Castiel says, and Dean chokes on the soda. "I'll put you to sleep." And a line like that is just asking for a dirty rejoinder, except for the high-chance-of-smiting thing. Dean thinks he'd actually turn the offer down if only because of what he's afraid he'll do, but Castiel is right. He could use the sleep. So he finishes off the coke and tosses it in a nearby trashcan. "Yeah, okay."
Back in the hotel room, Sam is still asleep. Dean pulls off his shoes and socks, climbs into bed, pulls a thin sheet over himself, and closes his eyes. After several moments entirely free of angel fingers on his forehead, he opens them again to glare at Castiel. "Well? Make with the angel mojo!"
Castiel frowns at him. "You shouldn't sleep in your clothes."
Dean stares at the angel. "Cas, I'm thirty years old. I think I can go to bed any way I want by now."
"It's unhygenic to sleep in your clothes," says Castiel primly.
Dean gives up. He pulls his jacket and shirts off and slides out of his jeans, extremely conscious of the angel watching intently. It feels vaguely like being in a porn movie without any actual porn.
After he settles beneath the sheets again, Castiel perches on the edge of the bed and looks down at him. "Goodnight, Dean," he says gravely.
It's possibly the last thing Dean ever expected to hear from the angel. "Uh. What?"
"Goodnight, Dean." Castiel tilts his head. "That is what you say at times like this, right?"
His lips are slightly parted and his eyes are bright in the dark, and it would be so, so easy for Dean to reach up and cover that mouth with his own. It would be so easy to comb his fingers through the angel's hair, so easy to pull him down on the bed and touch him with lips and fingers and cock until he reaches the peak of his pleasure. There are so many things Dean wants to say, so many things he wants to do, and he knows he will never do any of them.
Dean sighs and turns over onto his side, back to the angel. "G'night, Cas," he murmers. To his surprise, the angel drags fingers through his hair before brushing them across his forehead. For a few moments he revels in the sensation, and then it's lights out.
Eventually he gives up, rolls out of bed, and pulls his clothes on. Sam stirs in the next bed when he stubs his toe on something and curses, but only turns over and goes back to sleep. Which is a relief. Dean still isn't quite certain how to deal with a conscious Sam, doesn't even know how to talk to him at the moment. They haven't spoken a word to each other since that brief conversation in the parking lot. Sam hasn't even been able to meet his eye. It took him ages just to get in the damn car. Dean is pretty certain that if he hadn't waited for Sam, had just driven off then and there, Sam would've turned around and never come back. And yeah, there's a part of him that wonders if maybe he should have done that, make a clean cut, rather than dragging it out.
See, Sam was always Dean's everything. His little brother to protect, his friend to tease, his partner to back him up. But none of that really applies any more. Sam turned it all down when he walked out the door from that trashed motel room, chose his demon girlfriend over his brother. And, y'know, started the fucking apocalypse. You can't protect someone who doesn't want protection. It's kinda hard to joke with a guy who set the devil free. And yeah, Sam will probably back Dean up for now--but what about in the future? What happens when withdrawal kicks in (because that's definitely a when, not an if, no way in hell something that fucked up doesn't come with a nasty good-bye present)? Or if his demon powers come back? Shit, what if Sam just goes nuts and starts killing everything? His eyes went black, killing Lilith. He must be part demon now. God only knows how long it is before he starts acting like a demon, too.
Funny thing is, even after all the shit that's gone down, Dean still can't turn Sam away. Because Sam is Dean's everything. Has been so ever since he was four. At this point, Dean can't begin to imagine life without him.
He just can't imagine life with him, either.
There's a vending machine in the parking lot, and Dean goes out to buy a coke. While he's punching in the numbers, there is the soft whuff of displaced air behind him, and Dean doesn't have to turn around to know who's there. "You really do need to be more careful," come that familiar, gravelly voice.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Dean says, not bothering to look back over his shoulder. The coke makes a clunking noise as it hits the bottom of the vending machine, and he bends to pick it up. "Lucifer's up and about and everyone wants my head on a pike. But the whole world's going to hell, I figure I could use a coke." Actually, he could really use a drink, except he's pretty certain that would be a spectacularly bad idea at the moment.
Dean turns, leans back against the machine and gives a side-long glance at the angel standing next to him. Castiel has his hands tucked into his pockets, gazing at the sky with an unreadable expression. After a moment he glances over at Dean, who quickly finds his bottle cap far more interesting than the angel. He fiddles with it for a moment. There are a lot of things he wants to say to Castiel, but he's having a hard time getting the words out because he is not a girl, and all the things he can think of are really girly sentences. "How're you... I'm, uh... You doing okay? Not about to, uh, explode or anything?" He takes a long swig to cover up his embarassment.
"The form is stable. It'll do, for a vessel." Castiel pauses briefly. "Jimmy is gone, though."
"He's gone? What, did the angels take him away?"
"My siblings destroyed his body. Such experiences tend to be fatal for mortals," Castiel says dryly.
"But you're--" Dean gestures vaguely at the angel. "You look like...I mean, you still got the bed head and, and the crappy trench coat and--you know." And the big blue eyes and the slender wrists and those sharp hipbones which have played significant roles in some of Dean's more colorful dreams lately.
But Castiel shakes his head. "The appearance is the same but the body is different. Jimmy has gone to his reward." Another pause. "It's...lonely."
Dean can think of about a million responses to that, all of which are likely to provoke serious smiting. Instead he sticks with a mumbled, "Lonely. Sure. Sucks, doesn't it." And then, hesitantly, "You can crash with us. If, uh, you need a place." Christ, he sounds like a teenage virgin working up her courage to ask her crush out. "Or...yeah. I mean, we've got the room."
"Angels don't need rest. Not the way humans do, at least," Castiel says shortly. And then he looks straight at Dean. "You should be resting. The opportunities to do so will probably be rare in the future."
"Hey. You think if I could sleep I'd be out here, drinking a coke?" He takes a long drink, just to punctuate his point.
"I'll come back to your room with you," Castiel says, and Dean chokes on the soda. "I'll put you to sleep." And a line like that is just asking for a dirty rejoinder, except for the high-chance-of-smiting thing. Dean thinks he'd actually turn the offer down if only because of what he's afraid he'll do, but Castiel is right. He could use the sleep. So he finishes off the coke and tosses it in a nearby trashcan. "Yeah, okay."
Back in the hotel room, Sam is still asleep. Dean pulls off his shoes and socks, climbs into bed, pulls a thin sheet over himself, and closes his eyes. After several moments entirely free of angel fingers on his forehead, he opens them again to glare at Castiel. "Well? Make with the angel mojo!"
Castiel frowns at him. "You shouldn't sleep in your clothes."
Dean stares at the angel. "Cas, I'm thirty years old. I think I can go to bed any way I want by now."
"It's unhygenic to sleep in your clothes," says Castiel primly.
Dean gives up. He pulls his jacket and shirts off and slides out of his jeans, extremely conscious of the angel watching intently. It feels vaguely like being in a porn movie without any actual porn.
After he settles beneath the sheets again, Castiel perches on the edge of the bed and looks down at him. "Goodnight, Dean," he says gravely.
It's possibly the last thing Dean ever expected to hear from the angel. "Uh. What?"
"Goodnight, Dean." Castiel tilts his head. "That is what you say at times like this, right?"
His lips are slightly parted and his eyes are bright in the dark, and it would be so, so easy for Dean to reach up and cover that mouth with his own. It would be so easy to comb his fingers through the angel's hair, so easy to pull him down on the bed and touch him with lips and fingers and cock until he reaches the peak of his pleasure. There are so many things Dean wants to say, so many things he wants to do, and he knows he will never do any of them.
Dean sighs and turns over onto his side, back to the angel. "G'night, Cas," he murmers. To his surprise, the angel drags fingers through his hair before brushing them across his forehead. For a few moments he revels in the sensation, and then it's lights out.