ficlets, SPN: two 7x17 codas and a S7 AU, all Dean/Castiel, all PG13
This is me trying to clean comment fic off my HD, starting with the last five acts round. At some point I'll manage to post the Dean/Cas ones from the previous four, too...
Title: the cuts, the scars, the pain [AO3]
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG13
Word count: 800 words ca
Spoilers: 7x17 coda and wildly AU by now
Warnings: nothing that wouldn't be clear from the summary.
Disclaimer: nothing's mine, sadly for me.
Summary: showing someone a different scar they don’t know about every time you see them so that they know you’re real isn’t what you’d call normal.
A/N: written for joyyjpg at the latest five acts round, for the prompts scars and angst; title from Bruce Springsteen.
This time, it’s a faint cut on his hip. He doesn’t remember where he got it, most probably because it was during that period between Cas dying and Bobby dying, and back then he started the day with a shot of rum. But it only matters that it wasn’t there when Cas walked into the lake.
“You’re real,” Cas says, his voice almost awed as he traces the cut with his fingertip once, twice; Dean doesn’t want to know what it says about this. After all, showing someone a different scar they don’t know about every time you see them so that they know you’re real isn’t what you’d call normal. Then again, it’s almost a miracle that it works. Dean doesn’t comment and tries to remember how many others he has that Cas never knew about.
“’Course I am.” He pauses a moment, knowing better than asking Cas how he’s doing.
“How did you get this?” Cas asks then, his voice rougher than usual.
“If I told you I can’t remember?”
He wishes he could take off his shirt, but it’s not a good idea - he can think of at least a couple of scars he has on his back that weren’t there one month ago, and he can’t let Cas see them.
“You should take better care of yourself,” Cas almost sighs, and for a moment Dean thinks that this could pass for any exchange they had a couple of years ago. But those exchanges never were in mental hospitals, were they?
He shrugs, and he’s about to push down the shirt when Cas moves forward and kisses the cut, once; his lips are dry against Dean’s skin, and the touch is so delicate that it can barely be felt, but it makes Dean shiver and his heart swell. For a moment he thinks about leaning down, pushing Cas back against the bed, return the favor and making him forget for a minute or ten or twenty of where they are, but he should at least take off his shoes and jeans and he can’t. (There’s a bruise on his left calf that won’t fade for a while and a burn on his right leg that won’t go away soon either.) It’s just the story of both their lives that they can never get it quite right.
So he just waits until Cas leans back himself and then he sits down next to him on the bed and kisses him. He goes slow, just lips against lips, waiting to see how Cas wants it to go - he never pushes whenever it happens (most times, at least, and he’s thankful for that). Cas sighs against him, his lips parting, his fingers going to the back of Dean’s head, nails scraping delicately against his nape. Dean runs his tongue over Cas’s lips, over his teeth, then on his lips again before plunging in slowly. He finds Cas’s tongue, swirls his own against it without any hurry. He doesn’t even register the taste of what’s some kind of disgusting hospital food; Cas sighs into his mouth when Dean’s hands reach up to tangle in his still unkempt hair. At least that never changes.
Cas leans back, bringing him down so that they’re lying side by side on the narrow hospital bed, and they have to press close so that neither of them falls out. When they move apart, Cas’s lips are wet and deep pink, and Dean can’t help leaning in again, nibbling on the bottom one, kissing the corner of Cas’s mouth.
He puts an arm around Cas’s waist then, his hand moving under the thin white shirt. Cas is very, very warm and Dean feels like crying when he moves up against him, the both of them flushed against each other. He shivers when Cas kisses the skin beneath his ear once. Dean looks back up at him, and there’s something soft in the way Cas is looking at him. He also looks dead tired though.
“The nurse outside said you won’t sleep.”
“I don’t need it. What’s even the point? I only see things that aren’t real, anyway.”
“You should give it a try. I can stay until tomorrow morning.”
Cas blinks up at him, recognizing the offer for what it is. “You would?”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t add that he would have stayed even if Cas hadn’t asked, but then Cas curls up against him again, closing his eyes, his mouth on Dean’s collarbone. Dean knows he won’t sleep tonight, and he hopes that he can come back soon after he leaves in the morning.
He has stopped hoping that next time might be the last and that they can at least bring Cas along (finding a way to kill the Leviathans for good hasn’t given many results until now and they’re nowhere near close), but no one is ever going to stop him from thinking that there will be a next time at all.
Meanwhile, he sighs, brings Cas closer and starts thinking about which scar he’s going to show him next time.
End.
Title: I ask myself about the present [AO3]
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG13
Word count: 1870
Spoilers: AU from 7x17.
Warnings: none.
Disclaimer: nothing's mine, sadly.
Summary: where Cas can't get rid of Lucifer completely and Dean tries to be as helpful as he can.
A/N: written for wandersfound at the latest five acts round; the prompts were touching, hurt/comfort and communication issues/talking. Both the title and the section titles are from Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five (or: this fic was brought to you by my random re-reading).
god grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change
The good news is, that it gets better. (Cas is an angel, and he had known what he was doing. The third week after they left him, he had been the one speaking when Dean picked Meg’s call. He said it had taken him some time to adjust to the shock, but he was better now. He could ignore Lucifer well enough, with some effort. Dean’s voice had been choked when he had answered, I’m glad to hear it.)
The bad news is, Lucifer isn’t going away yet. (Two months later, after finally, finally managing to get rid of the leviathans, they had started to work on it. They searched for spells, they searched the entirety of the copies of Bobby’s books that had been scattered around the country, they had looked into everything short of making a deal with Crowley. Nothing.)
When Dean goes back to the mental hospital for what he hopes is the final time, he drives the Impala, and that already makes him feel slightly better. He meets Cas in his room.
“Are you sure about this?”
“I can handle him,” Cas says. “I don’t need to sleep and most of what worked on Sam won’t work on me if I don’t let him. And it’s - it’s better if I’m with other people.”
“I wish - I wish we had something. But - we couldn’t -”
“Dean, I’m in no hurry. If we do find a way, good. If we don’t, I will live with it. It’s - it’s not the worst option.”
Goes unsaid what would it be. Staying here for good.
“All right then,” Dean says. “I’ll wait for you outside. And just so you know - as far as I’m concerned, you don’t have anything more to make up for.” He tries to keep his voice steady. He’d have rather avoided heart to heart conversations, but he’s not going to risk ruining things again. Better a badly phrased sincere statement than nothing, and his reluctance to talk about his feelings can go fuck itself.
Cas gives him a tiny, barely there smile and Dean wishes he could accept this entire situation as easily as Cas makes it seem.
courage to change the things I can
It’s admirable, how Cas manages to hide the fact that he’s seeing the devil at any given moment. Or possibly others, but Dean hasn’t asked and probably won’t.
During the day, you can barely tell. At times he goes tense, and once he spilled a cup of coffee on a dinner table, and sometimes he flinches slightly for no reason, but at most he could pass for someone who had a rough week and hasn’t slept much. When they have a hunt, he doesn’t go interview the witnesses, but it’s more because of his lack of marketable social skills than for anything else. The day is fine. They can pretend that everything is almost fine, or as fine as it gets for them.
The nights are an entire different matter. They always get three beds because even if Cas doesn’t need to sleep it’s just ridiculous that he’d pass the night on a chair. Cas doesn’t sleep anyway, but Dean watches him sometimes, and he knows that he’s far from right. He sees him flinch visibly under the covers, sometimes he’s woken by a loud gasp, others he can see Cas clutching the sheets while he breathes heavily, as if he’s trying to restrain himself. Sometimes Dean hears him turning over and over for one hour before settling, and he never sleeps those nights, either. He feels horrible, because Cas shouldn’t be dealing with this, and he hates that whenever something that could pass for good comes their way there always has to be some small print in the contract.
Sam doesn’t know, because since Lucifer left his head he sleeps like a log, but Dean figures it’s better. The last thing the three of them need is Sam having a guilt trip when he’s the only one who shouldn’t feel guilty in this clusterfuck.
One month in, when Sam is taking a shower, he sits next to Cas on the bed, looking down at his hands when he speaks. He isn’t sure he can do this otherwise.
“Can I help?” he asks, without beating around the bush.
Cas snorts, shakes his head. “You shouldn’t lose sleep because of me. I told you. I can handle it.”
“Yes, but - it can’t be - Cas, I know that it isn’t as fine as you want to make me think.”
“Dean, no. I know it’s all in my head. The night is worse because I have nothing else to concentrate on, but I told you. I can handle it.”
Dean doesn’t insist, also because it’s not like he has some solution to propose.
But that night, while Cas keeps on flinching and murmuring unintelligible words under his breath, and it’s not even English, he thinks about what he said. I have nothing else to concentrate on.
For a moment he discards the idea - he can’t do it. It’d be - just no. It’s ridiculous, and things are still fragile, he can’t go and -
A small sob comes from his left and he thinks, fuck it.
He stands up, walks towards Cas’s bed, raises the cover and moves underneath it. And then he puts an arm around Cas’s waist.
Cas goes still at once, and then he turns towards him, very slowly.
“Dean?” he whispers.
“Yeah. I figured - you said you had nothing to concentrate on. If I stay here maybe you would?” He hates how unsure he sounds, but when Cas gives him a soft nod he feels slightly less ridiculous.
“It could - it could work,” Cas whispers, settling back down on the bed. He’s tense, though. So very tense. Dean starts to mindlessly run his hand over Cas’s spine until he relaxes a bit, then going to shoulders and to the back of his neck, keeping the touch as soft as he can. Cas sighs in pleasure when Dean’s fingers draw circles over his nape, and if there’s a voice inside Dean’s head telling him that this isn’t what he does, he tells it to shut up.
“Is it - is it any better?” he asks, moving his other arm around Cas’s shoulder, holding his breath when Cas draws closer and puts his chin on Dean’s shoulder.
“A lot better,” Cas whispers, his lips so very close to Dean’s neck. “If I concentrate on your heartbeat, I can’t hear him anymore.”
“Guess you’re gonna spend the night watching me sleep, huh? Like in the good, old, creepy times.”
Cas doesn’t laugh, but Dean can feel him smiling against his shoulder and that’s enough for now.
and wisdom to always tell the difference
Sam doesn’t seem too shocked when they start taking two beds, and while he offers all the time to take separate rooms, Dean always declines. It’s not - it’s not that. He’s just helping out, and if it’s a compromising position then patience.
But he knows he’s lying to himself.
It’s not exactly the truth. He isn’t doing it just to help out and just because it’s the only thing that works, apparently.
It’s that - he can’t. He has already fucked it up with Cas enough times and he can’t enter that into the equation. He has to be realistic. Some things he can and should change, others he should leave the fuck alone.
Except that after three weeks of bed sharing he isn’t sure if he can do that much longer.
Things change on one night when Cas is tense from the moment Dean crawls into the bed and stays tense even when Dean’s frame is flush against his back and his hand is resting on Cas’s stomach.
After ten minutes, Dean caves in.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. You should go to sleep.”
“My ass. Spill.”
“It’s nothing. Really.”
“Cas, do I have to remember you what happened the last time you lied to me about things being fine?”
Cas flinches slightly and Dean sighs, wishing he hadn’t been the one to cause it. But if there’s half a chance that he can do something about it, he should push it.
“There’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Try me.”
“It’s - nothing. He’s trying to get to me, but no more than usual.”
“There. You’re lying your ass off, Cas. Just tell me. If I can do nothing about it, fine. But if I can - I want to know.”
Cas turns on his side, looks at him for a moment, visibly finches again, and then he closes his eyes and leans forward and fuck they’re kissing, or better, Cas has kissed him for one split second before moving away and staring down at the mattress as if it were the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.
For a moment, Dean freezes, not knowing what to do. Then he finds his voice again.
“What was that for?”
“To prove to myself whether he’s right or not.”
“Right, helpful as usual. Is he?”
“I don’t know yet,” Cas whispers, barely audible.
“All right. What should happen, if he wasn’t right?”
“You’d kiss me back.” Dean has never heard Cas’s voice sounding so dejected, or so low, and he looks like someone who’s expecting a punch to the face.
Well, Dean thinks, if he turns his back like the part of him who’s screaming that he’s going to fuck this up is suggesting, then he’s an idiot. Until he doubted, until he didn’t know for sure - but he can’t go back now. Maybe for once he should just trust his instincts instead of assuming the worst thing.
He leans forward and kisses Cas.
For a moment Cas freezes, but then his lips part, tentatively, and a trembling hand touches Dean’s cheek, and he lets out a relieved sigh when Dean’s tongue traces his bottom lip. His other hand grabs Dean’s shoulder, where the handprint used to be, his nails digging in so deep that it hurts, and Dean ignores it and brings his hand to Cas’s hair, running his fingers through it. When Cas lets out a little pleasured moan while they part Dean can’t help smiling just slightly, his hand moving back and cupping Cas’s cheek.
“That good enough for him?” he whispers, his thumb trailing over Cas’s cheekbone, their lips still so near that they could kiss.
“Good enough that he shut the fuck up,” Cas replies, and Dean can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in his throat.
“Well, good to know that you can curse, if you put your mind to it.”
“Between you and him, I had to learn,” Cas mutters, and then moves so that there’s no space left between them, his fingers brushing over Dean’s neck. “So - you do -”
“Cas? Take your own advice.”
Then he kisses Cas again, trusting himself more with actions than with words (and words that he could never say to anyone else, for that matter), and when Cas melts against him, his mouth hot and pliant against Dean’s, for the first time in ages he thinks that maybe they could be fine, regardless of the fine print.
End.
Title: all time is time [AO3]
Pairing: Dean/Castiel (Crowley guest stars)
Rating: PG13
Word count:
Spoilers: up until 7x17, then goes totally AU
Warnings: (temporary/erased because of time traveling) character deaths mentioned in the beginning.
Disclaimer: nothing's mine, sadly.
Summary: where Dean is the only one left after defeating the Leviathans and Crowley has a deal to offer. For once, it might be a good one.
A/N: written at the last five acts round for pann_cake, for the prompts time travel, kissing and hurt/comfort Title from Kurt Vonnegut.
He needs to fix it.
Except that there’s no way to fix it. The Leviathans might be gone, but Sam didn’t make it and Cas hasn’t gotten better. Dean’s been visiting plenty, now that he can, and nothing’s working. Bobby is gone, the contacts list of his cell phone is made of dead people except for Meg - he can’t take the idea that she’s the only one who survived except for him. And Cas, but he might as well be gone, too.
He’s admittedly drunk when he summons Crowley, but it’s not as if he cares about his liver anymore, and he knows it’s not a good idea. But then again he’s tempted to shoot himself in the head, so it’s not as if it can make any more damage.
“Look at who’s here. Someone’s desperate for a deal, isn’t he?”
“Fuck you. I don’t even know why I did this, but it’s not as if I know someone else who can do anything for me, do I?”
“Well, that might have been your lucky day.”
“Really? That doesn’t sound too good to me.”
“Dean, Dean, you’re such a downer. But, differently from you, I can admit a mistake.”
“You would.”
“That whole thing with opening Purgatory? I’ll admit it - that’s been the worst idea I’ve had in ages. Those pesky monsters, you think they ended up there again?”
Dean isn’t drunk enough for this. “You mean you have Leviathans making havoc in Hell and now you wish you had kept yourself content with just it? Do you even realize - fuck, I can’t.”
“But you can,” Crowley chimes in. “I’ll make you a deal. A very sweet one. Don’t worry, your soul isn’t in the bargain.”
Dean takes a swig from the cheap tequila he had been nursing before. His fourth bottle.
“Let’s hear it.”
“You know how it is with souls. The ones in Hell might not be the best option, but they can do for a temporary bust of power. Very temporary, though. I have no intention of getting addicted. Asylums aren’t really my thing.”
“Shut the fuck up and go to the point.”
“One would think you’d be a little more grateful. Anyway, let’s suppose that I can send you back in time. Meaning, you’ll remember everything from here, but you’ll be in your own body. The moment is your pick. I’m sure you have enough that you can think whose outcome you might want to change. Of course, the ball is entirely in your court, and if you get it wrong then you’ll most probably fuck it up for good, but hey, it’s still one chance, isn’t it?”
Dean thinks about it, even if he probably should ask Crowley for a day to mull it over - he’s not in his right mind. But… does he need to be? His brother is gone, there’s no known way to snap Cas out of catatonia, Bobby is dead, everyone he knew is dead except for Lisa, who doesn’t even remember him. Does he have anything to lose?
“Fine. I suppose your mojo can’t sober me up? If I got one pick, then I don’t wanna fuck it up.”
Crowley rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers, and Dean’s mind clears in a moment.
Good. He tries not to let himself get overwhelmed and focuses. It doesn’t take a genius to decide that it has to be from before the Leviathan fiasco, and from before he brought Lisa to the hospital - by then, it was too broken to fix it. Not even when Cas asked him to change sides, the entire plan had been set in motion by then. No, before. The time when he talked to Cas at Bobby’s, when Cas told him about the wrong sigils… no. No, it had already been broken by then. It broke when they trapped Cas in the ring of fire, but that was too late, too. But he can’t go earlier than Eve’s death - the last thing he needs is having her around all over again.
Then he knows.
“Do I have to tell you?”
“No. Just think hard about it when I tell you to. I wasn’t following your lot around, just so you know.”
Dean nods at him. Crowley moves closer, raises an eyebrow. “Well, good luck. I sincerely hope you don’t screw this up. Now.”
He snaps his fingers and Dean thinks about Cas saving him, Sam and Bobby at that demon’s lair (Ellsworth, the name was Ellsworth), he thinks about that fucking stupid Superman reference that made them all understand, and a moment later there’s sunlight creeping from the windows, Cas is smiling at him and he seems so pleased to having gotten one reference right, and Dean knows that Sam and Bobby haven’t missed the clue.
He doesn’t let that get to him. It’s now or never.
“Uh, Cas, you mind if we get a word? Just you and me. Possibly without dead demons around.”
“Of course,” Cas answers, and Dean glares at both Sam and Bobby before following Cas outside the barn.
When they’re in the open, and when they’re far enough from the barn, Dean turns towards Cas and looks down at his boots, taking a breath. He can’t fuck this up. He won’t fuck this up, and he’s had months to think about how things went wrong. He had told Cas that they could fix it, back when for a second he could he could have both Cas and his brother back, and he’s not going to do the same mistakes.
“Dean?”
Cas sounds slightly worried when Dean looks up at him, blue eyes wide, and Dean knows that he’s concerned, and what kind of idiot was I?, he thinks before taking a step forward and throwing his arms around Cas.
“… Dean?” now Cas sounds really confused, and Dean tries not to think about the fact that Cas isn’t even trying to return the gesture. Of course he wouldn’t. It never happened before. What should anyone think?
“Cas, please, listen to me. I know what’s going on. I know about Crowley.” He feels Cas going rigid, but he tightens his hold at that. “Don’t - don’t you dare disappear on me. I’m not - I need you to hear me out. I know you think it’s the only way to win your war, and I know that you’re at the end of your rope, and I’m sorry that I haven’t been this great of a friend, but I’m begging you here - don’t do it.”
“But how -”
“It doesn’t matter how. But it’s going to end badly for all of us, especially for you. Please, before you go through with it - just - talk over it with us. We stopped an apocalypse with less, there has to be another way.”
He doesn’t move back an inch at that, wondering if there’s something more he should say. Cas is still too rigid, too still, and it’s not right. It isn’t how it should be (why hasn’t he ever done this before?).
“Please,” he keeps on. He knows he’s downright begging, but what should he do? “I don’t blame you for taking that deal. And I know that you think you’re doing it for us, and I appreciate it, but I don’t want you to risk your life again. You can’t resurrect forever, damn you. And I know that you were the one bringing Sam back - not your best job, but still better than leaving him down there.”
Dean almost gasps when one of Cas’s hands tentatively reaches up for his shoulder, and then the other. He’s breathing, heavily, and Dean knows that he doesn’t need it - he isn’t surprised when Cas’s shoulders tremble for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t know how you know, but I didn’t - I didn’t have a chance. And I hadn’t realized I brought him back wrong until -”
“Cas. Shut the fuck up. I just need you to tell me you’ll talk it over with us. Friends help each other, you know.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then Cas goes from rigid to melting against him, his hands fisted in Dean’s jacket, his frame still shaking; Dean brings one hand into his hair when Cas hides his head against Dean’s shoulder, and his grip becomes tighter when Dean presses his lips to the side of his head, repeating all over that they can find a way out of this.
He knows he shouldn’t make that kind of promise, but he knows that there’s no way that this time can go the same as the first. He doesn’t let go for a long time.
End.
Title: the cuts, the scars, the pain [AO3]
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG13
Word count: 800 words ca
Spoilers: 7x17 coda and wildly AU by now
Warnings: nothing that wouldn't be clear from the summary.
Disclaimer: nothing's mine, sadly for me.
Summary: showing someone a different scar they don’t know about every time you see them so that they know you’re real isn’t what you’d call normal.
A/N: written for joyyjpg at the latest five acts round, for the prompts scars and angst; title from Bruce Springsteen.
This time, it’s a faint cut on his hip. He doesn’t remember where he got it, most probably because it was during that period between Cas dying and Bobby dying, and back then he started the day with a shot of rum. But it only matters that it wasn’t there when Cas walked into the lake.
“You’re real,” Cas says, his voice almost awed as he traces the cut with his fingertip once, twice; Dean doesn’t want to know what it says about this. After all, showing someone a different scar they don’t know about every time you see them so that they know you’re real isn’t what you’d call normal. Then again, it’s almost a miracle that it works. Dean doesn’t comment and tries to remember how many others he has that Cas never knew about.
“’Course I am.” He pauses a moment, knowing better than asking Cas how he’s doing.
“How did you get this?” Cas asks then, his voice rougher than usual.
“If I told you I can’t remember?”
He wishes he could take off his shirt, but it’s not a good idea - he can think of at least a couple of scars he has on his back that weren’t there one month ago, and he can’t let Cas see them.
“You should take better care of yourself,” Cas almost sighs, and for a moment Dean thinks that this could pass for any exchange they had a couple of years ago. But those exchanges never were in mental hospitals, were they?
He shrugs, and he’s about to push down the shirt when Cas moves forward and kisses the cut, once; his lips are dry against Dean’s skin, and the touch is so delicate that it can barely be felt, but it makes Dean shiver and his heart swell. For a moment he thinks about leaning down, pushing Cas back against the bed, return the favor and making him forget for a minute or ten or twenty of where they are, but he should at least take off his shoes and jeans and he can’t. (There’s a bruise on his left calf that won’t fade for a while and a burn on his right leg that won’t go away soon either.) It’s just the story of both their lives that they can never get it quite right.
So he just waits until Cas leans back himself and then he sits down next to him on the bed and kisses him. He goes slow, just lips against lips, waiting to see how Cas wants it to go - he never pushes whenever it happens (most times, at least, and he’s thankful for that). Cas sighs against him, his lips parting, his fingers going to the back of Dean’s head, nails scraping delicately against his nape. Dean runs his tongue over Cas’s lips, over his teeth, then on his lips again before plunging in slowly. He finds Cas’s tongue, swirls his own against it without any hurry. He doesn’t even register the taste of what’s some kind of disgusting hospital food; Cas sighs into his mouth when Dean’s hands reach up to tangle in his still unkempt hair. At least that never changes.
Cas leans back, bringing him down so that they’re lying side by side on the narrow hospital bed, and they have to press close so that neither of them falls out. When they move apart, Cas’s lips are wet and deep pink, and Dean can’t help leaning in again, nibbling on the bottom one, kissing the corner of Cas’s mouth.
He puts an arm around Cas’s waist then, his hand moving under the thin white shirt. Cas is very, very warm and Dean feels like crying when he moves up against him, the both of them flushed against each other. He shivers when Cas kisses the skin beneath his ear once. Dean looks back up at him, and there’s something soft in the way Cas is looking at him. He also looks dead tired though.
“The nurse outside said you won’t sleep.”
“I don’t need it. What’s even the point? I only see things that aren’t real, anyway.”
“You should give it a try. I can stay until tomorrow morning.”
Cas blinks up at him, recognizing the offer for what it is. “You would?”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t add that he would have stayed even if Cas hadn’t asked, but then Cas curls up against him again, closing his eyes, his mouth on Dean’s collarbone. Dean knows he won’t sleep tonight, and he hopes that he can come back soon after he leaves in the morning.
He has stopped hoping that next time might be the last and that they can at least bring Cas along (finding a way to kill the Leviathans for good hasn’t given many results until now and they’re nowhere near close), but no one is ever going to stop him from thinking that there will be a next time at all.
Meanwhile, he sighs, brings Cas closer and starts thinking about which scar he’s going to show him next time.
End.
Title: I ask myself about the present [AO3]
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG13
Word count: 1870
Spoilers: AU from 7x17.
Warnings: none.
Disclaimer: nothing's mine, sadly.
Summary: where Cas can't get rid of Lucifer completely and Dean tries to be as helpful as he can.
A/N: written for wandersfound at the latest five acts round; the prompts were touching, hurt/comfort and communication issues/talking. Both the title and the section titles are from Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five (or: this fic was brought to you by my random re-reading).
god grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change
The good news is, that it gets better. (Cas is an angel, and he had known what he was doing. The third week after they left him, he had been the one speaking when Dean picked Meg’s call. He said it had taken him some time to adjust to the shock, but he was better now. He could ignore Lucifer well enough, with some effort. Dean’s voice had been choked when he had answered, I’m glad to hear it.)
The bad news is, Lucifer isn’t going away yet. (Two months later, after finally, finally managing to get rid of the leviathans, they had started to work on it. They searched for spells, they searched the entirety of the copies of Bobby’s books that had been scattered around the country, they had looked into everything short of making a deal with Crowley. Nothing.)
When Dean goes back to the mental hospital for what he hopes is the final time, he drives the Impala, and that already makes him feel slightly better. He meets Cas in his room.
“Are you sure about this?”
“I can handle him,” Cas says. “I don’t need to sleep and most of what worked on Sam won’t work on me if I don’t let him. And it’s - it’s better if I’m with other people.”
“I wish - I wish we had something. But - we couldn’t -”
“Dean, I’m in no hurry. If we do find a way, good. If we don’t, I will live with it. It’s - it’s not the worst option.”
Goes unsaid what would it be. Staying here for good.
“All right then,” Dean says. “I’ll wait for you outside. And just so you know - as far as I’m concerned, you don’t have anything more to make up for.” He tries to keep his voice steady. He’d have rather avoided heart to heart conversations, but he’s not going to risk ruining things again. Better a badly phrased sincere statement than nothing, and his reluctance to talk about his feelings can go fuck itself.
Cas gives him a tiny, barely there smile and Dean wishes he could accept this entire situation as easily as Cas makes it seem.
courage to change the things I can
It’s admirable, how Cas manages to hide the fact that he’s seeing the devil at any given moment. Or possibly others, but Dean hasn’t asked and probably won’t.
During the day, you can barely tell. At times he goes tense, and once he spilled a cup of coffee on a dinner table, and sometimes he flinches slightly for no reason, but at most he could pass for someone who had a rough week and hasn’t slept much. When they have a hunt, he doesn’t go interview the witnesses, but it’s more because of his lack of marketable social skills than for anything else. The day is fine. They can pretend that everything is almost fine, or as fine as it gets for them.
The nights are an entire different matter. They always get three beds because even if Cas doesn’t need to sleep it’s just ridiculous that he’d pass the night on a chair. Cas doesn’t sleep anyway, but Dean watches him sometimes, and he knows that he’s far from right. He sees him flinch visibly under the covers, sometimes he’s woken by a loud gasp, others he can see Cas clutching the sheets while he breathes heavily, as if he’s trying to restrain himself. Sometimes Dean hears him turning over and over for one hour before settling, and he never sleeps those nights, either. He feels horrible, because Cas shouldn’t be dealing with this, and he hates that whenever something that could pass for good comes their way there always has to be some small print in the contract.
Sam doesn’t know, because since Lucifer left his head he sleeps like a log, but Dean figures it’s better. The last thing the three of them need is Sam having a guilt trip when he’s the only one who shouldn’t feel guilty in this clusterfuck.
One month in, when Sam is taking a shower, he sits next to Cas on the bed, looking down at his hands when he speaks. He isn’t sure he can do this otherwise.
“Can I help?” he asks, without beating around the bush.
Cas snorts, shakes his head. “You shouldn’t lose sleep because of me. I told you. I can handle it.”
“Yes, but - it can’t be - Cas, I know that it isn’t as fine as you want to make me think.”
“Dean, no. I know it’s all in my head. The night is worse because I have nothing else to concentrate on, but I told you. I can handle it.”
Dean doesn’t insist, also because it’s not like he has some solution to propose.
But that night, while Cas keeps on flinching and murmuring unintelligible words under his breath, and it’s not even English, he thinks about what he said. I have nothing else to concentrate on.
For a moment he discards the idea - he can’t do it. It’d be - just no. It’s ridiculous, and things are still fragile, he can’t go and -
A small sob comes from his left and he thinks, fuck it.
He stands up, walks towards Cas’s bed, raises the cover and moves underneath it. And then he puts an arm around Cas’s waist.
Cas goes still at once, and then he turns towards him, very slowly.
“Dean?” he whispers.
“Yeah. I figured - you said you had nothing to concentrate on. If I stay here maybe you would?” He hates how unsure he sounds, but when Cas gives him a soft nod he feels slightly less ridiculous.
“It could - it could work,” Cas whispers, settling back down on the bed. He’s tense, though. So very tense. Dean starts to mindlessly run his hand over Cas’s spine until he relaxes a bit, then going to shoulders and to the back of his neck, keeping the touch as soft as he can. Cas sighs in pleasure when Dean’s fingers draw circles over his nape, and if there’s a voice inside Dean’s head telling him that this isn’t what he does, he tells it to shut up.
“Is it - is it any better?” he asks, moving his other arm around Cas’s shoulder, holding his breath when Cas draws closer and puts his chin on Dean’s shoulder.
“A lot better,” Cas whispers, his lips so very close to Dean’s neck. “If I concentrate on your heartbeat, I can’t hear him anymore.”
“Guess you’re gonna spend the night watching me sleep, huh? Like in the good, old, creepy times.”
Cas doesn’t laugh, but Dean can feel him smiling against his shoulder and that’s enough for now.
and wisdom to always tell the difference
Sam doesn’t seem too shocked when they start taking two beds, and while he offers all the time to take separate rooms, Dean always declines. It’s not - it’s not that. He’s just helping out, and if it’s a compromising position then patience.
But he knows he’s lying to himself.
It’s not exactly the truth. He isn’t doing it just to help out and just because it’s the only thing that works, apparently.
It’s that - he can’t. He has already fucked it up with Cas enough times and he can’t enter that into the equation. He has to be realistic. Some things he can and should change, others he should leave the fuck alone.
Except that after three weeks of bed sharing he isn’t sure if he can do that much longer.
Things change on one night when Cas is tense from the moment Dean crawls into the bed and stays tense even when Dean’s frame is flush against his back and his hand is resting on Cas’s stomach.
After ten minutes, Dean caves in.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. You should go to sleep.”
“My ass. Spill.”
“It’s nothing. Really.”
“Cas, do I have to remember you what happened the last time you lied to me about things being fine?”
Cas flinches slightly and Dean sighs, wishing he hadn’t been the one to cause it. But if there’s half a chance that he can do something about it, he should push it.
“There’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Try me.”
“It’s - nothing. He’s trying to get to me, but no more than usual.”
“There. You’re lying your ass off, Cas. Just tell me. If I can do nothing about it, fine. But if I can - I want to know.”
Cas turns on his side, looks at him for a moment, visibly finches again, and then he closes his eyes and leans forward and fuck they’re kissing, or better, Cas has kissed him for one split second before moving away and staring down at the mattress as if it were the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.
For a moment, Dean freezes, not knowing what to do. Then he finds his voice again.
“What was that for?”
“To prove to myself whether he’s right or not.”
“Right, helpful as usual. Is he?”
“I don’t know yet,” Cas whispers, barely audible.
“All right. What should happen, if he wasn’t right?”
“You’d kiss me back.” Dean has never heard Cas’s voice sounding so dejected, or so low, and he looks like someone who’s expecting a punch to the face.
Well, Dean thinks, if he turns his back like the part of him who’s screaming that he’s going to fuck this up is suggesting, then he’s an idiot. Until he doubted, until he didn’t know for sure - but he can’t go back now. Maybe for once he should just trust his instincts instead of assuming the worst thing.
He leans forward and kisses Cas.
For a moment Cas freezes, but then his lips part, tentatively, and a trembling hand touches Dean’s cheek, and he lets out a relieved sigh when Dean’s tongue traces his bottom lip. His other hand grabs Dean’s shoulder, where the handprint used to be, his nails digging in so deep that it hurts, and Dean ignores it and brings his hand to Cas’s hair, running his fingers through it. When Cas lets out a little pleasured moan while they part Dean can’t help smiling just slightly, his hand moving back and cupping Cas’s cheek.
“That good enough for him?” he whispers, his thumb trailing over Cas’s cheekbone, their lips still so near that they could kiss.
“Good enough that he shut the fuck up,” Cas replies, and Dean can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in his throat.
“Well, good to know that you can curse, if you put your mind to it.”
“Between you and him, I had to learn,” Cas mutters, and then moves so that there’s no space left between them, his fingers brushing over Dean’s neck. “So - you do -”
“Cas? Take your own advice.”
Then he kisses Cas again, trusting himself more with actions than with words (and words that he could never say to anyone else, for that matter), and when Cas melts against him, his mouth hot and pliant against Dean’s, for the first time in ages he thinks that maybe they could be fine, regardless of the fine print.
End.
Title: all time is time [AO3]
Pairing: Dean/Castiel (Crowley guest stars)
Rating: PG13
Word count:
Spoilers: up until 7x17, then goes totally AU
Warnings: (temporary/erased because of time traveling) character deaths mentioned in the beginning.
Disclaimer: nothing's mine, sadly.
Summary: where Dean is the only one left after defeating the Leviathans and Crowley has a deal to offer. For once, it might be a good one.
A/N: written at the last five acts round for pann_cake, for the prompts time travel, kissing and hurt/comfort Title from Kurt Vonnegut.
He needs to fix it.
Except that there’s no way to fix it. The Leviathans might be gone, but Sam didn’t make it and Cas hasn’t gotten better. Dean’s been visiting plenty, now that he can, and nothing’s working. Bobby is gone, the contacts list of his cell phone is made of dead people except for Meg - he can’t take the idea that she’s the only one who survived except for him. And Cas, but he might as well be gone, too.
He’s admittedly drunk when he summons Crowley, but it’s not as if he cares about his liver anymore, and he knows it’s not a good idea. But then again he’s tempted to shoot himself in the head, so it’s not as if it can make any more damage.
“Look at who’s here. Someone’s desperate for a deal, isn’t he?”
“Fuck you. I don’t even know why I did this, but it’s not as if I know someone else who can do anything for me, do I?”
“Well, that might have been your lucky day.”
“Really? That doesn’t sound too good to me.”
“Dean, Dean, you’re such a downer. But, differently from you, I can admit a mistake.”
“You would.”
“That whole thing with opening Purgatory? I’ll admit it - that’s been the worst idea I’ve had in ages. Those pesky monsters, you think they ended up there again?”
Dean isn’t drunk enough for this. “You mean you have Leviathans making havoc in Hell and now you wish you had kept yourself content with just it? Do you even realize - fuck, I can’t.”
“But you can,” Crowley chimes in. “I’ll make you a deal. A very sweet one. Don’t worry, your soul isn’t in the bargain.”
Dean takes a swig from the cheap tequila he had been nursing before. His fourth bottle.
“Let’s hear it.”
“You know how it is with souls. The ones in Hell might not be the best option, but they can do for a temporary bust of power. Very temporary, though. I have no intention of getting addicted. Asylums aren’t really my thing.”
“Shut the fuck up and go to the point.”
“One would think you’d be a little more grateful. Anyway, let’s suppose that I can send you back in time. Meaning, you’ll remember everything from here, but you’ll be in your own body. The moment is your pick. I’m sure you have enough that you can think whose outcome you might want to change. Of course, the ball is entirely in your court, and if you get it wrong then you’ll most probably fuck it up for good, but hey, it’s still one chance, isn’t it?”
Dean thinks about it, even if he probably should ask Crowley for a day to mull it over - he’s not in his right mind. But… does he need to be? His brother is gone, there’s no known way to snap Cas out of catatonia, Bobby is dead, everyone he knew is dead except for Lisa, who doesn’t even remember him. Does he have anything to lose?
“Fine. I suppose your mojo can’t sober me up? If I got one pick, then I don’t wanna fuck it up.”
Crowley rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers, and Dean’s mind clears in a moment.
Good. He tries not to let himself get overwhelmed and focuses. It doesn’t take a genius to decide that it has to be from before the Leviathan fiasco, and from before he brought Lisa to the hospital - by then, it was too broken to fix it. Not even when Cas asked him to change sides, the entire plan had been set in motion by then. No, before. The time when he talked to Cas at Bobby’s, when Cas told him about the wrong sigils… no. No, it had already been broken by then. It broke when they trapped Cas in the ring of fire, but that was too late, too. But he can’t go earlier than Eve’s death - the last thing he needs is having her around all over again.
Then he knows.
“Do I have to tell you?”
“No. Just think hard about it when I tell you to. I wasn’t following your lot around, just so you know.”
Dean nods at him. Crowley moves closer, raises an eyebrow. “Well, good luck. I sincerely hope you don’t screw this up. Now.”
He snaps his fingers and Dean thinks about Cas saving him, Sam and Bobby at that demon’s lair (Ellsworth, the name was Ellsworth), he thinks about that fucking stupid Superman reference that made them all understand, and a moment later there’s sunlight creeping from the windows, Cas is smiling at him and he seems so pleased to having gotten one reference right, and Dean knows that Sam and Bobby haven’t missed the clue.
He doesn’t let that get to him. It’s now or never.
“Uh, Cas, you mind if we get a word? Just you and me. Possibly without dead demons around.”
“Of course,” Cas answers, and Dean glares at both Sam and Bobby before following Cas outside the barn.
When they’re in the open, and when they’re far enough from the barn, Dean turns towards Cas and looks down at his boots, taking a breath. He can’t fuck this up. He won’t fuck this up, and he’s had months to think about how things went wrong. He had told Cas that they could fix it, back when for a second he could he could have both Cas and his brother back, and he’s not going to do the same mistakes.
“Dean?”
Cas sounds slightly worried when Dean looks up at him, blue eyes wide, and Dean knows that he’s concerned, and what kind of idiot was I?, he thinks before taking a step forward and throwing his arms around Cas.
“… Dean?” now Cas sounds really confused, and Dean tries not to think about the fact that Cas isn’t even trying to return the gesture. Of course he wouldn’t. It never happened before. What should anyone think?
“Cas, please, listen to me. I know what’s going on. I know about Crowley.” He feels Cas going rigid, but he tightens his hold at that. “Don’t - don’t you dare disappear on me. I’m not - I need you to hear me out. I know you think it’s the only way to win your war, and I know that you’re at the end of your rope, and I’m sorry that I haven’t been this great of a friend, but I’m begging you here - don’t do it.”
“But how -”
“It doesn’t matter how. But it’s going to end badly for all of us, especially for you. Please, before you go through with it - just - talk over it with us. We stopped an apocalypse with less, there has to be another way.”
He doesn’t move back an inch at that, wondering if there’s something more he should say. Cas is still too rigid, too still, and it’s not right. It isn’t how it should be (why hasn’t he ever done this before?).
“Please,” he keeps on. He knows he’s downright begging, but what should he do? “I don’t blame you for taking that deal. And I know that you think you’re doing it for us, and I appreciate it, but I don’t want you to risk your life again. You can’t resurrect forever, damn you. And I know that you were the one bringing Sam back - not your best job, but still better than leaving him down there.”
Dean almost gasps when one of Cas’s hands tentatively reaches up for his shoulder, and then the other. He’s breathing, heavily, and Dean knows that he doesn’t need it - he isn’t surprised when Cas’s shoulders tremble for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t know how you know, but I didn’t - I didn’t have a chance. And I hadn’t realized I brought him back wrong until -”
“Cas. Shut the fuck up. I just need you to tell me you’ll talk it over with us. Friends help each other, you know.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then Cas goes from rigid to melting against him, his hands fisted in Dean’s jacket, his frame still shaking; Dean brings one hand into his hair when Cas hides his head against Dean’s shoulder, and his grip becomes tighter when Dean presses his lips to the side of his head, repeating all over that they can find a way out of this.
He knows he shouldn’t make that kind of promise, but he knows that there’s no way that this time can go the same as the first. He doesn’t let go for a long time.
End.