Fanfiction Post #1
Author: No Seriously, Who?
Pairings: Destiel, Sastiel
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17
Warnings: This is set after Castiel “died” so be prepared for some confusion. Sex, confusion, Dean, confusion, confusion, Sammy
Summary: In which it didn’t make sense at all. And the angel was staring again.
Part I
In which Dean Winchester woke up on the evening of September 23rd, wondering why the hell he was waking up on the evening the 23rd, and he saw Castiel. Castiel, whom stood all alone in the corner in the motel, staring at him - simply staring. Jesus, he was always staring. Dean wondered if his massive headache was the cause of this recent, unsurprisingly, and completely anti-climatic discovery.
Boy, he was just full of them tod--tonig--mid-moon--whatever. Fuck, his head hurt something fierce.
Dean Winchester woke up on the evening of September 23rd; but Dean Winchester promptly went back to sleep.
Part II
“Sammy?” Dean called to the bathroom, wondering where in the world his brother could be. The typical, heart-clenching moment he always depressingly had told him firmly that you bastard, he’s out again - out again with her (but wait, she’s dead? We killed her?) and you always let it happen because you’re Dean fucking Winchester - son, brother and something God spat out for the demons to lick at. Dean briefly wondered if perhaps that last part didn’t apply to Sammy too. ... Wherever he was.
“Sammy!” He called again, wondering what in the world was taking Sam so long, and his girly salad was getting soggy with those girly croutons and--oh.
Castiel was eating Sammy’s lettuce now. Dean stared. Castiel did not stare back. ... Odd? “You know, if you were just going to drop in so suddenly, I think I would’ve preferred you to bring flowers,” he commented dryly. His meaning was lost to the angel eating.
Said angel looked up, “Dean.” Hello? How are you? Care to share this delicious green nightmare with me? It could have been any number of those things, but Dean was perhaps more focused on the why Castiel was here, and--wait, eating. No, no, no that just wasn’t right. An angel just can’t barge into his man-cave and start eating (it threw off the thin little balance of normality Dean fucking Winchester had).
“Care to share something with the class?” Dean asked, gesturing to the stolen salad (and taken without any regret; Cas truly had no sense of shame).
Castiel was doing that annoying thing Dean and Sam always do: chewing while thinking and talking. All three were an awful, gross combination, and Dean felt that only he was allowed to do it and still be cute. Castiel was encroaching on his behavioral territory. The angel was still looking at him though, still thinking (assumedly), when he finally said: “I...” and that was it.
Dean waited, Castiel took a bite, Sammy came back and sat down next to them, right in the middle. He looked at Dean and said nothing, Castiel said nothing, and Dean? Well... Dean was a pro at saying nothing too.
Part III
“Dean.”
Dean jumped, whipping around and glaring at the offending person standing in the middle of the motel room, staring at him. Dean glared at the angel, releasing a short sigh and rubbing at his temple. This stupid headache was back again, this time stronger than ever. “Cas,” he greeted lamely, “care to warn a guy when you’re just gonna pop right in?”
There was a moment of silence. Castiel was looking at him intently... er, more so than usual. There seemed to be a hint of something off with the angel, but Dean let it go. The guy had a mouth, he knew how to use it; if the guy wanted to say something then Dean would listen. (Except when does he listen? He’s Dean fucking Winchester and he doesn’t listen; and he taught Cas that to talk is just no good and to listen? No way. No, no way.)
Castiel kept his mouth firmly locked. Of course - whatever you say - I’ll follow you - I trust you - I ____ you - I ____ you.
Part IV
Castiel was kissing Sam. Cas was kissing Sammy. Dean couldn’t help but stare; they were really fucking into it, too. What the... fuck?
And here Dean thought that Cas was his angel, his little shoulder perv. Here he thought he was Cas’s little human, his annoying little meat suit. So why the fuck was Sam and Castiel (his Cas, his Sammy) making out in the middle of the camp ground, both dripping wet and hungry and on each other like they couldn’t breath. And everyone was staring at them like these two homo-fucking-sexuals had gone completely topside. Making out in public?
Sammy was pulling away, gasping for air and looking like a new man. Cas simply stepped back, and Dean ran over.
Part V
Dean was pulling Cas to him, all warnings and none at all.
Sammy and Dean had stopped at a motel, Dean noticing immediately that Sammy was looking at him critically, worry always etched onto his brow. Despite being only a few hours away from Bobby’s, Dean had decided to pull over and stop for the night. The rain that immediately followed his decision, was all about agreeing with him.
Maybe some aspects of the world really did love poor Dean fucking Winchester. Throw the guy a bone - some shit weather - for saving the world. It made perfect sense to the hunter.
But Sammy was still staring at him, and Dean could never really deny his brother anything - not really. There was something way too special about his baby brother that Dean could never really ignore. And fuck if that love didn’t fucking hurt everyday too, because it was so flawed - so, one hundred percent, completely, irrevocably flawed. Maybe because they were Winchesters - maybe because Sammy and Cas had been going to town on one another like their lives depended on it, and he was feeling tired and jealous and just... feeling.
Dean fucking Winchester was always just feeling, he knew. And fuck it if Cas wasn’t his angel, and Sam wasn’t his brother, and he wasn’t Dean Winchester, the human to angel condom - the poster boy of world peace and booze and women and cheap, no-attachment motel sex. (“Not gonna do this at Bobby’s, fuck no, not my style,” Dean was whispering against Cas’s open lips, tongue sweeping along that bottom lip because fuck it all if this nerd angel wasn’t his - and he was Cas’s - and Sammy was Sammy but Dean wanted this one thing - just this one thing - without having to share, to make special.)
“Dean,” Cas breathed against him, conforming to Dean like that was his body shape - his outsides, his insides, his heart and mind. And maybe... maybe that was exactly how it is. The fuck anyway; Jimmy Novak, the poor bastard probably long dead now, had been easy to contort to. Cas was good at bending himself. He had no fucking body - he wasn’t human. Why shouldn’t he contort to fit Dean fucking Winchester, a broken like a mirror all over, each piece smaller than the last and no glue to put him together again? “I trust you,” the angel was murmuring.
“Tell me what you want, baby,” Dean growled, and he was tipping them both backward. So much like him, Castiel was just going with it. He was easy to bend and pin, just like Dean.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I hate you.”
Part VI
And let God be told, Dean was out of whiskey. It was a pity, really it was, because there’s a buzz that needs to obtained and a headache to obliterate. But there was no alcohol in sight. Only Cas.
Always Cas.
They were falling on the bed (Cas, pliant, bending, molding, his, him). Dean rutted against those dress pants, feeling less like a human - condom that he is - and more like something instinctual and bare, raw and powerful. Cas was so unusually calm against him, baring his neck when Dean had the urge to bite, bending his back when Dean needed to touch. The motel sheets were crisp, but bleached. Together, they made the scratchy, cheap cotton swirl beneath them. They were shapes among the shapes, nothing more, nothing less.
“I’m gonna fuck you,” Dean whispered in Castiel’s ear - the angel having turned just when Dean wanted it to come to him. Jesus Christ, Cas was the perfect lover to him.
“Yes,” Castiel was breathing again. Breathing, eating, sleeping, him. The angel shifted out from under him, Dean allowing it, and his guardian nerd angel was on his knees. “Do you want to be worshipped Dean?”
“No - no--fuck that, no,” Dean chanted. But he was shoving that head down (gently, roughly, fuck he didn’t know. And it wasn’t as if he were particularly aroused yet either, but there was something about this that was personal and ugly and so very them) and those black spikes and blues were going down with his motions. His pants were unzipped, his soft cock released.
“I know you so well,” Cas murmured, lips resting against the spongy flesh of Dean’s penis, and fuck if Dean didn’t know so fucking well that Cas was going to worship him. The angel didn’t know any other way, virgin that he was. “I built you from the cells up. This heart is my heart, Dean. My grace pulses so deeply inside you, that you feel me even when I’m gone. It wraps around you - finds the cracks in you and bleeds in. I’m with you mentally, physically. I trust you. I hate you. I need you.”
I ____ you.
“Fuck baby,” Dean hissed, fingers threading through that rough hair (funny, he knew it wouldn’t be soft. Cas was anything but soft). His dick was encased in that hot mouth, accented by only a strange cold that must just be Cas - his Cas. And his Cas was bobbing his head up and down, licking and sucking and suctioning and staring at him - always, always fucking staring at him, especially when it was Dean breaking down, when it was Dean fucking Winchester taking a goddamn hammer to his own fucking psyche and smashing and breaking and--
Cas sunk lower unto him, throat loosening to take Dean in whole, and Dean was suddenly so fucking thankful for that lack of gag reflex. It was perfect. Those teeth scraped only gently, stimulating and never painful, just like Castiel himself. The angel was taking his time with him, moving his head side to side, using that head tilt skill of his to represent knowledge rather than confusion.
Dean was blissed out. The angel released him with a wet popping sound, and slid up onto his feet, leaving Dean to blink up at him.
“Let me worship you,” Cas was saying again, pushing Dean down on the bed, this time the one in command. “Let me serve you. I trust you. I hate you. I need you. I...,” he trailed off, sliding up Dean’s body, hands following but under the hunter’s rumpled shirt.
I... you?
Dean blinked, forgetting himself for a moment, shaking his head. “Not this guy, baby; not this one,” he murmured. Cas’s hand was snaking back downward to grasp at his leaking cock, thumb finding that spot just below the head before soft, nimble fingers fished downward. They cupped the soft skin of Dean’s balls, and the hunter breathed out. They were synchronized, of course.
And when Castiel slid up and down on his body, touching him, trusting him, hating him and needing him, Dean came with the thought that this stupid fucking angel loved him. And it was the worst feeling in the world.
I love you.
And Sammy, his fucking little brother - the one whom Dean trusted and simultaneously distrusted, the boy with the demon blood, the kid who jumped into hell to save the world when Dean was too afraid to jump into his own oblivion - came into the room, and looked away. “Could you try and be quieter, Dean?” He asked, a little irritated but quiet, concerned, understanding. Dean’s brother; Dean’s Sammy.
“Yeah,” Dean breathed, sated.
Part VII
“Boy, I swear ta God you ain’t gotta screw tha’s fitted right in that knuckle head o’ yers,” Bobby swore at him over the phone, and Dean had to wince a little at the tone. “You two boys’re gonna be the death of me, ya’hear?”
“Yes’sir,” Dean intoned automatically. There was a pause between them before Dean shook his head. It was clear for once. But that could be because of the booze. No wait... that’s all gone now isn’t it? Sammy’s concerned, Sammy took it. Sammy isn’t the one who is supposed to take care of you, idiot.
“Oi, idjit, ya there?” Came the gruff voice on the other end.
Dean scowled briefly but nodded. “Yeah, yeah, so wha’cha got?”
They debriefed while Sammy sat in the passenger seat, looking at Dean curiously but not pressing. Bless the kid, he knew Dean well. The elder Winchester moved the conversation to speaker so all of them could talk, and Dean nodded along while Sammy asked his questions. He was tired, though, real tired.
“Anyway, those leviathans won’t be restin’ like you boys, so ya better get back to it, idjits,” Bobby finished. “In the meantime, I’m gonna try and find how’ta kill ‘em.”
“Right,” Sammy commented distantly, worried frown on Dean. He was wishing they would talk, just for a little while. But Dean wasn’t much good at talking (taught Cas that), and he wasn’t much for listening either. In the end, there would be silence, as always.
They hung up, and sat in the parking lot to a cheap diner a while longer. Dean was looking in the rearview, lips quirked like there was a joke back there.
“You’ve been off lately,” Sam started slowly. “I mean... ever since that guy pulled me from the lake a few weeks back.” The why did you just stand there? was thick between them.
“I dunno, Sammy,” Dean said, turning the ignition of the crap car they were in now. His baby, oh, his poor baby. They would meet again soon. “he had it covered. Besides...,” - he glanced at him with a bitter little smile - “you two looked like you guys were enjoying yourselves immensely.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed in disbelief, “he was giving me CPR, Dean.” He turned away, fist to his mouth like he was trying to bite a nasty comment back. It was so typically Sammy.
Dean shrugged, “yeah, but Cas doesn’t know how to do that kind of stuff.” It sounded weird, so weird. But it was true. Cas glanced at him from the backseat, shrugging. Fucking angel, always staring.
When Dean looked over, Sam was staring at him like he had gone insane. When Dean opened his mouth to ask, Sam said: “Dean... you know Cas is gone.” And that voice was so quiet, and hesitant, like Dean was glass. And maybe he was. But Sammy had always been so blunt with him. Dean was blinking at him. Castiel mentioned that the car was on idle, and wasting gas.
Dean told his angel to hush up. Sammy looked stricken.
“Yeah, I know Sammy,” Dean finally answered Sammy, and turned to the open road. Always the open road, staring at the two brothers and their car that was not the right car.
“Dean.” Came the voice from the back, and Dean glanced in the rearview, and Sammy glanced at him glancing in the rearview.
I trust you. I hate you. I need you. I love you.
Funny, those were things he would say. Almost right out of his own grapefruit.
THE END
Pairings: Destiel, Sastiel
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17
Warnings: This is set after Castiel “died” so be prepared for some confusion. Sex, confusion, Dean, confusion, confusion, Sammy
Summary: In which it didn’t make sense at all. And the angel was staring again.
Part I
In which Dean Winchester woke up on the evening of September 23rd, wondering why the hell he was waking up on the evening the 23rd, and he saw Castiel. Castiel, whom stood all alone in the corner in the motel, staring at him - simply staring. Jesus, he was always staring. Dean wondered if his massive headache was the cause of this recent, unsurprisingly, and completely anti-climatic discovery.
Boy, he was just full of them tod--tonig--mid-moon--whatever. Fuck, his head hurt something fierce.
Dean Winchester woke up on the evening of September 23rd; but Dean Winchester promptly went back to sleep.
Part II
“Sammy?” Dean called to the bathroom, wondering where in the world his brother could be. The typical, heart-clenching moment he always depressingly had told him firmly that you bastard, he’s out again - out again with her (but wait, she’s dead? We killed her?) and you always let it happen because you’re Dean fucking Winchester - son, brother and something God spat out for the demons to lick at. Dean briefly wondered if perhaps that last part didn’t apply to Sammy too. ... Wherever he was.
“Sammy!” He called again, wondering what in the world was taking Sam so long, and his girly salad was getting soggy with those girly croutons and--oh.
Castiel was eating Sammy’s lettuce now. Dean stared. Castiel did not stare back. ... Odd? “You know, if you were just going to drop in so suddenly, I think I would’ve preferred you to bring flowers,” he commented dryly. His meaning was lost to the angel eating.
Said angel looked up, “Dean.” Hello? How are you? Care to share this delicious green nightmare with me? It could have been any number of those things, but Dean was perhaps more focused on the why Castiel was here, and--wait, eating. No, no, no that just wasn’t right. An angel just can’t barge into his man-cave and start eating (it threw off the thin little balance of normality Dean fucking Winchester had).
“Care to share something with the class?” Dean asked, gesturing to the stolen salad (and taken without any regret; Cas truly had no sense of shame).
Castiel was doing that annoying thing Dean and Sam always do: chewing while thinking and talking. All three were an awful, gross combination, and Dean felt that only he was allowed to do it and still be cute. Castiel was encroaching on his behavioral territory. The angel was still looking at him though, still thinking (assumedly), when he finally said: “I...” and that was it.
Dean waited, Castiel took a bite, Sammy came back and sat down next to them, right in the middle. He looked at Dean and said nothing, Castiel said nothing, and Dean? Well... Dean was a pro at saying nothing too.
Part III
“Dean.”
Dean jumped, whipping around and glaring at the offending person standing in the middle of the motel room, staring at him. Dean glared at the angel, releasing a short sigh and rubbing at his temple. This stupid headache was back again, this time stronger than ever. “Cas,” he greeted lamely, “care to warn a guy when you’re just gonna pop right in?”
There was a moment of silence. Castiel was looking at him intently... er, more so than usual. There seemed to be a hint of something off with the angel, but Dean let it go. The guy had a mouth, he knew how to use it; if the guy wanted to say something then Dean would listen. (Except when does he listen? He’s Dean fucking Winchester and he doesn’t listen; and he taught Cas that to talk is just no good and to listen? No way. No, no way.)
Castiel kept his mouth firmly locked. Of course - whatever you say - I’ll follow you - I trust you - I ____ you - I ____ you.
Part IV
Castiel was kissing Sam. Cas was kissing Sammy. Dean couldn’t help but stare; they were really fucking into it, too. What the... fuck?
And here Dean thought that Cas was his angel, his little shoulder perv. Here he thought he was Cas’s little human, his annoying little meat suit. So why the fuck was Sam and Castiel (his Cas, his Sammy) making out in the middle of the camp ground, both dripping wet and hungry and on each other like they couldn’t breath. And everyone was staring at them like these two homo-fucking-sexuals had gone completely topside. Making out in public?
Sammy was pulling away, gasping for air and looking like a new man. Cas simply stepped back, and Dean ran over.
Part V
Dean was pulling Cas to him, all warnings and none at all.
Sammy and Dean had stopped at a motel, Dean noticing immediately that Sammy was looking at him critically, worry always etched onto his brow. Despite being only a few hours away from Bobby’s, Dean had decided to pull over and stop for the night. The rain that immediately followed his decision, was all about agreeing with him.
Maybe some aspects of the world really did love poor Dean fucking Winchester. Throw the guy a bone - some shit weather - for saving the world. It made perfect sense to the hunter.
But Sammy was still staring at him, and Dean could never really deny his brother anything - not really. There was something way too special about his baby brother that Dean could never really ignore. And fuck if that love didn’t fucking hurt everyday too, because it was so flawed - so, one hundred percent, completely, irrevocably flawed. Maybe because they were Winchesters - maybe because Sammy and Cas had been going to town on one another like their lives depended on it, and he was feeling tired and jealous and just... feeling.
Dean fucking Winchester was always just feeling, he knew. And fuck it if Cas wasn’t his angel, and Sam wasn’t his brother, and he wasn’t Dean Winchester, the human to angel condom - the poster boy of world peace and booze and women and cheap, no-attachment motel sex. (“Not gonna do this at Bobby’s, fuck no, not my style,” Dean was whispering against Cas’s open lips, tongue sweeping along that bottom lip because fuck it all if this nerd angel wasn’t his - and he was Cas’s - and Sammy was Sammy but Dean wanted this one thing - just this one thing - without having to share, to make special.)
“Dean,” Cas breathed against him, conforming to Dean like that was his body shape - his outsides, his insides, his heart and mind. And maybe... maybe that was exactly how it is. The fuck anyway; Jimmy Novak, the poor bastard probably long dead now, had been easy to contort to. Cas was good at bending himself. He had no fucking body - he wasn’t human. Why shouldn’t he contort to fit Dean fucking Winchester, a broken like a mirror all over, each piece smaller than the last and no glue to put him together again? “I trust you,” the angel was murmuring.
“Tell me what you want, baby,” Dean growled, and he was tipping them both backward. So much like him, Castiel was just going with it. He was easy to bend and pin, just like Dean.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I hate you.”
Part VI
And let God be told, Dean was out of whiskey. It was a pity, really it was, because there’s a buzz that needs to obtained and a headache to obliterate. But there was no alcohol in sight. Only Cas.
Always Cas.
They were falling on the bed (Cas, pliant, bending, molding, his, him). Dean rutted against those dress pants, feeling less like a human - condom that he is - and more like something instinctual and bare, raw and powerful. Cas was so unusually calm against him, baring his neck when Dean had the urge to bite, bending his back when Dean needed to touch. The motel sheets were crisp, but bleached. Together, they made the scratchy, cheap cotton swirl beneath them. They were shapes among the shapes, nothing more, nothing less.
“I’m gonna fuck you,” Dean whispered in Castiel’s ear - the angel having turned just when Dean wanted it to come to him. Jesus Christ, Cas was the perfect lover to him.
“Yes,” Castiel was breathing again. Breathing, eating, sleeping, him. The angel shifted out from under him, Dean allowing it, and his guardian nerd angel was on his knees. “Do you want to be worshipped Dean?”
“No - no--fuck that, no,” Dean chanted. But he was shoving that head down (gently, roughly, fuck he didn’t know. And it wasn’t as if he were particularly aroused yet either, but there was something about this that was personal and ugly and so very them) and those black spikes and blues were going down with his motions. His pants were unzipped, his soft cock released.
“I know you so well,” Cas murmured, lips resting against the spongy flesh of Dean’s penis, and fuck if Dean didn’t know so fucking well that Cas was going to worship him. The angel didn’t know any other way, virgin that he was. “I built you from the cells up. This heart is my heart, Dean. My grace pulses so deeply inside you, that you feel me even when I’m gone. It wraps around you - finds the cracks in you and bleeds in. I’m with you mentally, physically. I trust you. I hate you. I need you.”
I ____ you.
“Fuck baby,” Dean hissed, fingers threading through that rough hair (funny, he knew it wouldn’t be soft. Cas was anything but soft). His dick was encased in that hot mouth, accented by only a strange cold that must just be Cas - his Cas. And his Cas was bobbing his head up and down, licking and sucking and suctioning and staring at him - always, always fucking staring at him, especially when it was Dean breaking down, when it was Dean fucking Winchester taking a goddamn hammer to his own fucking psyche and smashing and breaking and--
Cas sunk lower unto him, throat loosening to take Dean in whole, and Dean was suddenly so fucking thankful for that lack of gag reflex. It was perfect. Those teeth scraped only gently, stimulating and never painful, just like Castiel himself. The angel was taking his time with him, moving his head side to side, using that head tilt skill of his to represent knowledge rather than confusion.
Dean was blissed out. The angel released him with a wet popping sound, and slid up onto his feet, leaving Dean to blink up at him.
“Let me worship you,” Cas was saying again, pushing Dean down on the bed, this time the one in command. “Let me serve you. I trust you. I hate you. I need you. I...,” he trailed off, sliding up Dean’s body, hands following but under the hunter’s rumpled shirt.
I... you?
Dean blinked, forgetting himself for a moment, shaking his head. “Not this guy, baby; not this one,” he murmured. Cas’s hand was snaking back downward to grasp at his leaking cock, thumb finding that spot just below the head before soft, nimble fingers fished downward. They cupped the soft skin of Dean’s balls, and the hunter breathed out. They were synchronized, of course.
And when Castiel slid up and down on his body, touching him, trusting him, hating him and needing him, Dean came with the thought that this stupid fucking angel loved him. And it was the worst feeling in the world.
I love you.
And Sammy, his fucking little brother - the one whom Dean trusted and simultaneously distrusted, the boy with the demon blood, the kid who jumped into hell to save the world when Dean was too afraid to jump into his own oblivion - came into the room, and looked away. “Could you try and be quieter, Dean?” He asked, a little irritated but quiet, concerned, understanding. Dean’s brother; Dean’s Sammy.
“Yeah,” Dean breathed, sated.
Part VII
“Boy, I swear ta God you ain’t gotta screw tha’s fitted right in that knuckle head o’ yers,” Bobby swore at him over the phone, and Dean had to wince a little at the tone. “You two boys’re gonna be the death of me, ya’hear?”
“Yes’sir,” Dean intoned automatically. There was a pause between them before Dean shook his head. It was clear for once. But that could be because of the booze. No wait... that’s all gone now isn’t it? Sammy’s concerned, Sammy took it. Sammy isn’t the one who is supposed to take care of you, idiot.
“Oi, idjit, ya there?” Came the gruff voice on the other end.
Dean scowled briefly but nodded. “Yeah, yeah, so wha’cha got?”
They debriefed while Sammy sat in the passenger seat, looking at Dean curiously but not pressing. Bless the kid, he knew Dean well. The elder Winchester moved the conversation to speaker so all of them could talk, and Dean nodded along while Sammy asked his questions. He was tired, though, real tired.
“Anyway, those leviathans won’t be restin’ like you boys, so ya better get back to it, idjits,” Bobby finished. “In the meantime, I’m gonna try and find how’ta kill ‘em.”
“Right,” Sammy commented distantly, worried frown on Dean. He was wishing they would talk, just for a little while. But Dean wasn’t much good at talking (taught Cas that), and he wasn’t much for listening either. In the end, there would be silence, as always.
They hung up, and sat in the parking lot to a cheap diner a while longer. Dean was looking in the rearview, lips quirked like there was a joke back there.
“You’ve been off lately,” Sam started slowly. “I mean... ever since that guy pulled me from the lake a few weeks back.” The why did you just stand there? was thick between them.
“I dunno, Sammy,” Dean said, turning the ignition of the crap car they were in now. His baby, oh, his poor baby. They would meet again soon. “he had it covered. Besides...,” - he glanced at him with a bitter little smile - “you two looked like you guys were enjoying yourselves immensely.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed in disbelief, “he was giving me CPR, Dean.” He turned away, fist to his mouth like he was trying to bite a nasty comment back. It was so typically Sammy.
Dean shrugged, “yeah, but Cas doesn’t know how to do that kind of stuff.” It sounded weird, so weird. But it was true. Cas glanced at him from the backseat, shrugging. Fucking angel, always staring.
When Dean looked over, Sam was staring at him like he had gone insane. When Dean opened his mouth to ask, Sam said: “Dean... you know Cas is gone.” And that voice was so quiet, and hesitant, like Dean was glass. And maybe he was. But Sammy had always been so blunt with him. Dean was blinking at him. Castiel mentioned that the car was on idle, and wasting gas.
Dean told his angel to hush up. Sammy looked stricken.
“Yeah, I know Sammy,” Dean finally answered Sammy, and turned to the open road. Always the open road, staring at the two brothers and their car that was not the right car.
“Dean.” Came the voice from the back, and Dean glanced in the rearview, and Sammy glanced at him glancing in the rearview.
I trust you. I hate you. I need you. I love you.
Funny, those were things he would say. Almost right out of his own grapefruit.
THE END