Sometimes Two, Usually More (Ficlet)
Here is the link to where this was originally posted, for all you AO3 users.
http://archiveofourown.org/works/2176269
Sometimes Two, Usually More
Written by Hannah_Story. Unbeta'd
Castiel will always wait for Dean. His tours are long, his recovery seems longer but that's okay. Castiel and Dean are in love, so Cas will always wait.
He keeps Dean's letters safe in a wooden box adorned with painted on flowers and thorns, tucked away like a treasure chest beneath the piano.
As his spider hands dance across the worn keys, sometimes, his foot bumps against the box, and he suddenly remembers.
Dean. His baby. Overseas. Danger, danger, danger.
He stops playing, suddenly overcome by a fresh wave of despair and fear and longing that can only be subdued by a drink. Sometimes two. Usually, more.
Before he knows it, the sun is rising over the skyline and there is vodka spilled on the rug. The box of letters is open and the morning sunlight is hazy filtering through the grimy glass panes.
In his drunken stupor, all Cas can think is that if Dean was home he never would have let the windows get so dirty.
He wakes up hours later with a bad taste in his mouth. His clothes are rumpled and he's disoriented. He can't quite figure out what day it is, but then he sees the letters strewn across the coffee table before him and quietly straightens up.
As he carefully tucks the precious pages back into their treasure box, he pretends not to notice the edges starting to fray from age, and he can't help but feel how frail the paper is growing.
It has been too long since a new letter has come. Cas knows it for a fact, but he actively refuses to consider what it might mean.
He tells himself Dean is busy- he's probably sent a dozen letters but they've been jumbled and lost during postage overseas.
Yes, that must be it.
Cas doesn't leave the apartment very often. Social gatherings give him anxiety, and he finds that he just doesn't crave the company of anyone other than Dean.
It's been six months since Dean departed, leaving six more to endure. Cas throws a party for one, but instead of cake, he serves himself vodka and drinks until sleep finds him.
Whenever Cas braves the outside world, it's only for a drink at the bar around the block. It's a gay-bar and it's where Dean and Cas met. Cas always orders something strong and keeps to himself.
He lets the loud music muffle the voices in his head, and the liquor does an excellent job of shoving down painful memories.
He lets it all sweep him away while he intoxicates himself.
Some men show interest in Cas. Nameless, faceless men who smell like Old Spice aftershave and alcohol and sweat, who promise to take away all the pain for just one night.
Cas considers it- mindless bodily pleasure to lose himself in.
In the end, he always politely declines and excuses himself.
It would, in theory, be so easy to try and find solace in the bed of someone strange, but nobody could ever be Dean.
No one else could recreate his easy smile and the crinkles under his eyes. No one had the same exact arrangement of freckles across his nose, and over the tops of his shoulders.
That was all Cas really wanted.
Besides, Castiel would always wait for Dean.
There is a voice in the back of his mind- a ghost that whispers 'what if' at night and drives Cas half to crazy.
A ghost who is sure Dean is dead.
A ghost who is sure Dean doesn't love Cas.
But Castiel drowns his ghost in liquor and suffocates that fucker with a pillow. Even drunk, the bed still feels haunted without Dean. Despite it being the height of summer, Cas sleeps with the comforter pulled around him to keep him safe from ghosts. He tosses and turns all night in the sweat soaked sheets.
When Dean comes home, Castiel is so overwhelmed that he forgets to breathe for a moment. His heart is in his throat and tears sting his eyes, but for the first time all year, they're tears of joy.
Their lips crash together, desperate and heavy and passionate like a thunderstorm.
Momentarily, Cas feels safe and whole. His feet are touching solid ground again and he's back in orbit.
They make love in the bed the night Dean comes home- and the ghosts are all gone.
Except, it feels different. Dean is violent and cold, pushing Cas into the mattress so he can't see his face. He doesn't kiss Cas as he finishes.
Cas tries to hold him, to cuddle up to him like he's wanted to do for so long, but Dean shakes him off.
He begins sleeping on the couch, and that's when the ghosts return. Even the smell of Dean in the sheets doesn't scare then away- they're bolder and crueler than ever.
Dean becomes so distant over the next few days. Cas desperately tries to bridge the ever growing void between them. He failed, and failed, and failed, but he was nothing but patient.
Castiel and Dean were in love; Cas knew it would work out. It had to. He had waited.
Castiel's fingers sweep across the worn keys, and he loses himself in the steady rhythm of the slightly out of tune music. Dean left for a drink and told Cas to stay home.
The ghosts sang along to the music, insisting Dean was never comig home.
But he does. The door swings open and Cas smells alcohol. Dean is drunk as he stumbles inside, accidentally splashing whiskey across the beloved piano.
Cas bites back a protest, reminding himself it was a mistake and piano keys are replaceable, but Dean is not.
He stands and pulls Dean into his arms, petting back his hair and whispering soothing words. "I love you. I love you," he says, and he can still hear the echo of the ghosts ringing in his ears. He's smug that the ghosts were wrong.
But Dean doesn't even mumble it back. Instead, he heaves out a shaky breath and a dry, humorless laugh escapes his lips. A tear slips down his unshaven cheek. "I'm in love with someone else," he slurs.
Cas doesn't even register it; not at first. He just keeps rocking Dean, back and forth. "I love you. Let's get you cleaned up," Cas says, because there is whiskey dribbled all over he front of his shirt.
Suddenly Dean jerks away, shoving Cas back. "I said I love someone else!" He says. There is pain in his eyes.
"You're drunk. You're so drunk, Dean. It's me- it's Cas," he responds, panic creeping into his voice. There is a pit in his stomach. He tries to convince himself that Dean is so drunk that he has mistaken Cas for someone else.
He tells himself it's the only explanation .
The ghosts are laughing.
"Cas. I don't love you anymore," Dean says in a hardened voice. He staggers away and starts putting things in a suit case and Cas can't believe his eyes.
"Of course you love me- we're in love," Cas says, trembling. His voice breaks and he doesn't notice that he's crying.
"I met someone in my unit." Dean looks up at Cas one more time- their ever so tired eyes meeting before Dean looks away. "I'm sorry."
Those are the last words he gives to Cas.
He stumbles outside, flagging down a cab. Cas can't stop crying- he's begging and pleading Dean not to go, to say he doesn't meant it.
Dean doesn't look back.
Ten years has passed. Maybe more, maybe less.
Castiel will always wait for Dean.
He waits for the day when Dean will come to his senses and come home to Cas. They'll go back to themselves as soon as Dean remembers that he loves Cas.
Cas will hold Dean all through the night and protect him from the ghosts, and Cas won't even be angry wth Dean for accidentally leaving.
As his spider hands dance across the worn keys, his foot bumps against a box, adorned with painted on flowers and thorns, and he suddenly remembers.
He stops playing, suddenly overcome by a fresh wave of despair and fear and longing that can only be subdued by a drink. Sometimes two. Usually, more.
His hands aren't as nimble as they were once, and they shake as he takes the dusty old treasure box from it's safe place beneath the piano.
As he lifts the lid, the smell of musty old paper and love-gone-by drifts out of the box. The letters are old now, and most of the ink too faded to read.
He carefully removes one, tearing up as his eyes flicked down to the signature- 'Love always, D.W.'
Always.
Love.
Dean.
Lies. Lies- they are all lies, all along, and for the first time in ten years, Cas is not patient and he is not loving. He is angry.
A desperate, hopeless fury comes over him and he hurls the ancient box out of the streaked kitchen window. He isn't nearly drunk enough to deal with the ghosts that are released as the wood splinters on the sidewalk.
Cas pours himself a tall drink and watches the wind claim the once treasured, faded pages- as frail as a butterfly's wing.
But he doesn't care anymore. All he can think in his drunken stupor is that the windows would never be so dirty if Dean was home.
http://archiveofourown.org/works/2176269
Sometimes Two, Usually More
Written by Hannah_Story. Unbeta'd
Castiel will always wait for Dean. His tours are long, his recovery seems longer but that's okay. Castiel and Dean are in love, so Cas will always wait.
He keeps Dean's letters safe in a wooden box adorned with painted on flowers and thorns, tucked away like a treasure chest beneath the piano.
As his spider hands dance across the worn keys, sometimes, his foot bumps against the box, and he suddenly remembers.
Dean. His baby. Overseas. Danger, danger, danger.
He stops playing, suddenly overcome by a fresh wave of despair and fear and longing that can only be subdued by a drink. Sometimes two. Usually, more.
Before he knows it, the sun is rising over the skyline and there is vodka spilled on the rug. The box of letters is open and the morning sunlight is hazy filtering through the grimy glass panes.
In his drunken stupor, all Cas can think is that if Dean was home he never would have let the windows get so dirty.
He wakes up hours later with a bad taste in his mouth. His clothes are rumpled and he's disoriented. He can't quite figure out what day it is, but then he sees the letters strewn across the coffee table before him and quietly straightens up.
As he carefully tucks the precious pages back into their treasure box, he pretends not to notice the edges starting to fray from age, and he can't help but feel how frail the paper is growing.
It has been too long since a new letter has come. Cas knows it for a fact, but he actively refuses to consider what it might mean.
He tells himself Dean is busy- he's probably sent a dozen letters but they've been jumbled and lost during postage overseas.
Yes, that must be it.
Cas doesn't leave the apartment very often. Social gatherings give him anxiety, and he finds that he just doesn't crave the company of anyone other than Dean.
It's been six months since Dean departed, leaving six more to endure. Cas throws a party for one, but instead of cake, he serves himself vodka and drinks until sleep finds him.
Whenever Cas braves the outside world, it's only for a drink at the bar around the block. It's a gay-bar and it's where Dean and Cas met. Cas always orders something strong and keeps to himself.
He lets the loud music muffle the voices in his head, and the liquor does an excellent job of shoving down painful memories.
He lets it all sweep him away while he intoxicates himself.
Some men show interest in Cas. Nameless, faceless men who smell like Old Spice aftershave and alcohol and sweat, who promise to take away all the pain for just one night.
Cas considers it- mindless bodily pleasure to lose himself in.
In the end, he always politely declines and excuses himself.
It would, in theory, be so easy to try and find solace in the bed of someone strange, but nobody could ever be Dean.
No one else could recreate his easy smile and the crinkles under his eyes. No one had the same exact arrangement of freckles across his nose, and over the tops of his shoulders.
That was all Cas really wanted.
Besides, Castiel would always wait for Dean.
There is a voice in the back of his mind- a ghost that whispers 'what if' at night and drives Cas half to crazy.
A ghost who is sure Dean is dead.
A ghost who is sure Dean doesn't love Cas.
But Castiel drowns his ghost in liquor and suffocates that fucker with a pillow. Even drunk, the bed still feels haunted without Dean. Despite it being the height of summer, Cas sleeps with the comforter pulled around him to keep him safe from ghosts. He tosses and turns all night in the sweat soaked sheets.
When Dean comes home, Castiel is so overwhelmed that he forgets to breathe for a moment. His heart is in his throat and tears sting his eyes, but for the first time all year, they're tears of joy.
Their lips crash together, desperate and heavy and passionate like a thunderstorm.
Momentarily, Cas feels safe and whole. His feet are touching solid ground again and he's back in orbit.
They make love in the bed the night Dean comes home- and the ghosts are all gone.
Except, it feels different. Dean is violent and cold, pushing Cas into the mattress so he can't see his face. He doesn't kiss Cas as he finishes.
Cas tries to hold him, to cuddle up to him like he's wanted to do for so long, but Dean shakes him off.
He begins sleeping on the couch, and that's when the ghosts return. Even the smell of Dean in the sheets doesn't scare then away- they're bolder and crueler than ever.
Dean becomes so distant over the next few days. Cas desperately tries to bridge the ever growing void between them. He failed, and failed, and failed, but he was nothing but patient.
Castiel and Dean were in love; Cas knew it would work out. It had to. He had waited.
Castiel's fingers sweep across the worn keys, and he loses himself in the steady rhythm of the slightly out of tune music. Dean left for a drink and told Cas to stay home.
The ghosts sang along to the music, insisting Dean was never comig home.
But he does. The door swings open and Cas smells alcohol. Dean is drunk as he stumbles inside, accidentally splashing whiskey across the beloved piano.
Cas bites back a protest, reminding himself it was a mistake and piano keys are replaceable, but Dean is not.
He stands and pulls Dean into his arms, petting back his hair and whispering soothing words. "I love you. I love you," he says, and he can still hear the echo of the ghosts ringing in his ears. He's smug that the ghosts were wrong.
But Dean doesn't even mumble it back. Instead, he heaves out a shaky breath and a dry, humorless laugh escapes his lips. A tear slips down his unshaven cheek. "I'm in love with someone else," he slurs.
Cas doesn't even register it; not at first. He just keeps rocking Dean, back and forth. "I love you. Let's get you cleaned up," Cas says, because there is whiskey dribbled all over he front of his shirt.
Suddenly Dean jerks away, shoving Cas back. "I said I love someone else!" He says. There is pain in his eyes.
"You're drunk. You're so drunk, Dean. It's me- it's Cas," he responds, panic creeping into his voice. There is a pit in his stomach. He tries to convince himself that Dean is so drunk that he has mistaken Cas for someone else.
He tells himself it's the only explanation .
The ghosts are laughing.
"Cas. I don't love you anymore," Dean says in a hardened voice. He staggers away and starts putting things in a suit case and Cas can't believe his eyes.
"Of course you love me- we're in love," Cas says, trembling. His voice breaks and he doesn't notice that he's crying.
"I met someone in my unit." Dean looks up at Cas one more time- their ever so tired eyes meeting before Dean looks away. "I'm sorry."
Those are the last words he gives to Cas.
He stumbles outside, flagging down a cab. Cas can't stop crying- he's begging and pleading Dean not to go, to say he doesn't meant it.
Dean doesn't look back.
Ten years has passed. Maybe more, maybe less.
Castiel will always wait for Dean.
He waits for the day when Dean will come to his senses and come home to Cas. They'll go back to themselves as soon as Dean remembers that he loves Cas.
Cas will hold Dean all through the night and protect him from the ghosts, and Cas won't even be angry wth Dean for accidentally leaving.
As his spider hands dance across the worn keys, his foot bumps against a box, adorned with painted on flowers and thorns, and he suddenly remembers.
He stops playing, suddenly overcome by a fresh wave of despair and fear and longing that can only be subdued by a drink. Sometimes two. Usually, more.
His hands aren't as nimble as they were once, and they shake as he takes the dusty old treasure box from it's safe place beneath the piano.
As he lifts the lid, the smell of musty old paper and love-gone-by drifts out of the box. The letters are old now, and most of the ink too faded to read.
He carefully removes one, tearing up as his eyes flicked down to the signature- 'Love always, D.W.'
Always.
Love.
Dean.
Lies. Lies- they are all lies, all along, and for the first time in ten years, Cas is not patient and he is not loving. He is angry.
A desperate, hopeless fury comes over him and he hurls the ancient box out of the streaked kitchen window. He isn't nearly drunk enough to deal with the ghosts that are released as the wood splinters on the sidewalk.
Cas pours himself a tall drink and watches the wind claim the once treasured, faded pages- as frail as a butterfly's wing.
But he doesn't care anymore. All he can think in his drunken stupor is that the windows would never be so dirty if Dean was home.