Out Of The Ashes (5/?)
Title: Out Of The Ashes (5/?)
Disclaimer: I do not own these wonderful men or anything that had to do with Supernatural.
Rating: PG-13, this part. (man crying, swearing, minor off-screen character death)
Warnings: None. Completely AU.
Summary: Castiel ignores Dean's phone calls and Dean gets harassed by Alistair at work. Sam does his best to bring Castiel and Dean together again, but will it work?
Dean had called. Three times. Cas hadn't answered once. He had been hesitant the first time he tried; his fingers had shaken, the press of the buttons almost too difficult to handle. To be fair, he had hung up after the third ring like a coward. Dean was no coward, so he tried again after he had told his nerves to calm the hell down and his heart to stop being a little bitch. That time he had made it all the way to voicemail before he'd hung up. The third time the same.
All he wanted to know was if Cas was okay, but it seemed his concerned wasn't wanted. Somehow the intelligent blue eyes and feather-soft black hair tore through Dean's defenses that he's painstakingly set up; each wall strategically placed to ensure maximum damage control. Castiel had melted them all. Nothing was supposed to matter more than Sammy, nothing, but when he had woken to a mouthful of that hair, touched his lips to the younger man's forehead, and those misleadingly small arms held him in a vise-like grip, begging for comfort, Dean hadn't had a chance. The fear in Cas's eyes reminded him of the same fear he had seen in Sam the one and only time their father had lain a hand on him.
John Winchester had not been an inherently bad man or father. When the love of his life had died suddenly, it was as if his soul had died with her. His heart had hardened considerably and Dean and Sam had been forced to take on their broken father's anger. The shriveled excuse of a man couldn't take care of the boys even when he wasn't drowning in Jack's finest and most expensive.
One night, when the young Winchesters were watching television, John took in a few too many amber installments for his own good. Memories of his Mary's smile had plagued him and his thoughts turned sour. How could she have gone that way? Her soul was a vivacious, bright, tangible source if his life and it was stamped out because some kid bad been getting frisky behind the wheel with his girlfriend and taken his eyes off the road for a moment too long. Someone elses mistake had cost Mary her life, and in turn, John's.
God knew John hated him. He had to; his name had been cursed until John was on his knees, face smashed into his hands, tears running through his fingertips. A few more times from the fettle position as well for good measure.
That night, John thought about Mary. That night, John thought he would've rather had the kids go instead of her. He downed another gulp-full from the bottle, backwash of spit and dinner floating around the mouth of the glass, and approached the children from the side. He just stared at them.
“Daddy?” Sammy asked, looking over his brothers shoulder at the man hovering with concern. 'He was too damn perceptive for his own good.' John decided.
Dean glanced in his direction and his upper lip lifted slightly. Rubbing his hand against the small of Sammy's back, practically covering it as he did, he got his brothers attention.
“Hey, Buddy, why not go up to your room, huh? That new book from the library isn't going to read itself.”
“But Dean...”
“No, Sam, stay.” The voice he spoke with was rough from the sandpaper liquor that left the words to come out dangerously close to a growl. Dean rose from his cushion, nowhere near the height of the older Winchester, but the resolve that his body echoed with added to his stature. The tight line of his lips showed his unwillingness to back down.
The old man crossed his stubborn arms. Contempt narrowed his eyes. “Sammy, come here.”
Sammy eyed his father. Never once had he called him Sammy. That was Dean's nickname and hearing it from anyone else bothered him. His wince was inward, one that was hidden from the man that was glaring at him. Eyes that used to glow with love were now dulled with pain and memories best left forgotten and not wallowed in.
“I think I'm gunna go read.” He stood on naked feet and went around the backside of the couch to bypass the drunk.
Shooting out a hand, John's calloused palm crashed into the soft, pliant flesh of the young Winchesters cheek, instantly creating a red hand-print of raised blood. Sammy's head, not expecting the assault, twisted cruelly. The poor boy's body went limp and fell to the floor, but not before it bounced against the coffee table with a thwack, his arms not even bothering to lift and stop the fall. The sound of his small body hitting the ground was soft, almost like he was too small for such a thing to happen to him.
The next moment Dean had his fathers' hair grasped in one hand while the other drew back repeatedly to assail his nose enough times to break it. John's knees didn't have the will to stay upright at the anger of his son; neither did his spirit. Curling at the knees, he stopped halfway to the floor. Dean switching from the his face to his ribs when the angle he was throwing his hand became too difficult.
The old man allowed this. The pain, the hatred for himself for harming his smallest, and the fear of permanent damage to himself left him drained to the point of closing his eyes and smirking at the point that he had come to. No man blames their children for something the couldn't control. He was too broken to think clearly and as such deserved what Dean did.
Thankfully his body agreed, but as tired as it was from fighting himself, he passed out, a puff of sorrow escaping his chapped lips as he fell to the floor much less gracefully than his son had.
Dean shook his head to release the grip the memory had on him as he turned up the still gravel drive to the Singer Auto Shop. Bobby Singer had taken them in after Dean had called him and explained what had happened. Dean and Sammy's apartment was near the junk yard and Dean worked on the cars as payment for the place to live. Bobby knew Dean loved the mental strain and sweat the job mandated. 'Mechanic in the making' he always called the eldest Winchester.
Alistair on the other hand seemed to have a different opinion. The old man had been on Dean's case since the day Dean had started working for Bobby, criticizing his every decision and making sure to remind Dean about every mistake he ever made.
Dean groaned inwardly as the door opened and the old man stepped into the shop. His withered face wore its usual cynical smile.
“Dean-o, nice to see you here early for once.” His nasally voice annoyed Dean to no end and his face made Dean want to tear his eyes out with needle-nose pliers.
“Alistair, nice to see you're not dead yet.” Dean countered grumpily. Alistair raised an eyebrow at him.
“You wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, Winchester?” He asked. Dean rolled his eyes. “I don't like your attitude, boy.” Alistair warned.
“I don't like yours either, old man.” Dean said, not in the mood to be harassed by a grumpy old geezer. Alistair laughed loudly, a dry, cracked, cough-like sound that set Dean's teeth on edge. “Is that funny?” He asked, his voice tense. Alistair laughed again.
“You have no idea, kid. You have no idea.” Dean felt his teeth clench. He was far from a kid. He ignored the comment and went back to what he was supposed to be doing.
The purple 1960 Mustang was Dean's pride and joy. He had completely rebuilt the car for one of the shop's most important customers. Mrs. Keans had brought the car in for an oil change and ended up needing one thing after the other, from a whole new set of spark plugs to needing a whole new engine. The Barney imposter had been there a month but Mrs. Keans was willing to pay for it. As he finished tightening the last bolt on the wheel, he sat up and wiped his hands against his thighs, trying to dislodge the grease to no avail. The vehicle was cherry and Dean was filled with pride. Bobby even grunted at the work; his highest honor.
Dean sorted through the throng of unorganized clientele folders until he found the correct one. He marked down, in detail, what he'd done to the beauty and signed off on it's clean bill of health. Checking the time and finding it too late to call, he jotted down a note on the calendar for someone to call her and set a pick up time. He put the file in the J through M drawer.
“Not leaving us early, are you Winchester?” Alistair called out from under the hood of a Ford Explorer.
A satisfactory bird was thrown over Dean's shoulder as he rounded the lift and headed to Bobby's station.
The older man was in his chair, straddling it, facing a hulking bunch of metal that could have, at it's best, resembled a vehicle if you squinted your eyes really small and tilted your head just right. Without knowing that this scraggly hunk of chewed up sliver had saved Bobby's wife, Ellen, and son, Chuck, anyone would have salvaged the scrap metal and thrown the rest into the junk yard. Bobby kept it in a small corner of the garage to remind himself of what could have happened had this specific crap heap not been the vehicle Ellen had been driving when the drunk driver had sped around a corner two blocks from their house on a sunny afternoon.
Dean shuffled his feet, feeling like an intruder, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Anything you need me to do before I head out?”
“Naw, boy.” After running a calloused palm over his face, Bobby stood and moved the chair back to his desk. “You head on home to Sam. Didn't he have that test today? The calculus?”
“Yeah. The walking brain is taking advanced high school classes in eighth grade. Freakin' genius.” Dean couldn't stop a fond smile.
The old man harrumphed. “Serves you right to have Einstein as your brother. Now get before Ellen figures out your still here and invites you over for dinner.”
Saluting, Dean barked a laugh as he left.
* * *
As Castiel stood outside his house with the key clenched in his fingers. He knew something was wrong. The tingle in the air was that of an upcoming storm; sharp, crisp, and clear. A foreboding that didn't settle well in his stomached thrashed and twisted guiltily in the pit of his stomach, making him push away the wood with tentative fingers and enter the house.
Stepping into the atrium he could hear the chafing drone of Father's whiskey soured voice filtering from somewhere he desperately wanted to steer clear of. He shuffled forward slowly and searched the living room finding it empty. A harsh crash and the sound of wet glass sounded. Frowning, Castiel slithered up to the wall and moved down the short expanse to the kitchen where he found Father with a new small tumbler of alcohol cradled against his chest protectively. His brother, Gabriel, was on the floor with a dish towel and scowl trying to quickly gather all the tiny shards of glass and throw them away before Father started pacing and hurt himself. Choosing that moment to look up, Gabriel and saw Castiel hovering in the doorway. Smiling sadly and tilting his chin out toward the hallway, Gabriel was telling Castiel it was alright to leave; that Gabriel would take care of this.
After catching little of what Father was saying besides his name, “your mother”, “all that stupid child's fault”, and “evil”, he was really grateful to leave.
Ducking into the bathroom on the way to his room Castiel could still hear Father's strong and loud gravel through the wood as though he wasn't between them. The accusations were always the same when he got this drunk, but they hurt all the same. Father would say it was all Castiel's fault that their mother died even though he couldn't have predicted her complications, that he was a devil spawn, and even that he was a mistake. Gabriel always tried to reason with him but they all knew it was useless. Castiel figured it helped Gabriel's conscious to defend his family even if it was against another member.
The stench of alcohol and bad breath wafted under the door throguh the crack and stung Castiel's nose. Turning the faucet on and getting the water to reach freezing, he stared at his reflection, gauging his blue eyes, full lips, nose, and pale complexion for any signs of evil or villainy as though the tilt fo his eyelashes would scream killer if he just looked hard and waited patiently enough.
The chill of the stream was eating the nerve endings in his hands where they rested on the counter on either side of the sink. He shoved his cupped hands under the fall and drenched his face in the cold. Content with the bite, he did it again. Once more because the blissful numb would fade of he didn't.
Looking again at his reflection, panting a little as he watched his cheeks turn a blushing pink, he wondered if this was really a face of evil.
“Cas, are you intentionally being mean to Dean or are you just that cruel?”
Castiels' eyebrows flew away from the tone of the younger Winchester brother. He had been studying studiously in the afternoon sun on his favorite park bench, it just happened to be the furthest bench from the woods where the decidedly non-event happened, and hadn't heard Sam's footfalls on the path. Sam's shadow folded over Castiel, arms crossed and eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion. Sam had never spoken to him, or anyone from what he can recall, with such forcefulness. With him being so carefree and young it was mind boggling to remember that he was more intelligent than he seemed. “Sam, I have no idea what you're talking about. I haven't said anything mean to your brother. How could you accuse me of such a thing?”
Sam rolled his eyes heavenward with such exaggeration it was surprising his head didn't fall off. “It's not what you say. You don't even know what you do to him. I don't know what happened between you two, but Dean has been happier with you in his life than before. Cas, Dean likes you. Like, really likes you. Almost as much as the Impala. All you do is avoid him now and that makes him mopy and sad. My brother can't be like that, do you understand?” The severeness of his gaze rooted Castiel to his seat, forcing him to think hard on what Sam was saying.
Dean liked him?
“How is that possible?” Castiel murmured mostly to himself, eyes cast downward so Sam couldn't see the almost nonexistent flash of hope that sparked there. He was sullied, used. Broken.
The young Winchester knelt down in front of him. Placing his fidgeting hands on his thighs Castiel couldn't help but look at the hazel eyes that bore into his space. “Can't you see it when he looks at you?”
Castiel did see something, yeah, but more along the lines of pity and regret. Something that said Dean was sorry he couldn't have been there sooner, or even that he shouldn't have been there at all. Dean was a nice guy to help but he never wanted to fall this deep into charity that he couldn't see the door to leave, Castiel was sure of it. How could such a good person want someone like him? His frown darkened his face. “Sam, you must be wrong. You see the world as a happy place because you are still young, and that's a good thing, but not everything is that simple.”
Blood, angry and red, pooled in the young man's cheeks. Anger laced with embarrassment spelled itself on the boys features and curled evilly in his stomach. “Maybe you need to simplify.”
“Sammy...”
“How dare y... No. No, that's Dean's name for me. You haven't earned the right to use it.”
The words seethed from Sam with such forcefulness Castiel's lips thinned. Unable to disagree he nodded once.
Vibration in Sam's pocket stopped him from saying something else. He scrambled to get the phone free so he could see who it was and smiled when he say Dean's name. “Hey, Dean. What's up?” He asked, voice free of the tension it had been flowing with moments ago.
Castiel could see the smile Sam had for his brother even though he couldn't see it. He coughed to clear his throat and shifted slightly, feeling like an intruder.
The young Winchesters brow wrinkled slightly. “Why meet there?” Dean was saying something else in a soft tone and Sam replied with, “Fuck. I totally forgot.” Grief filled his face and tears sprung to his eyes so fast Castiel jumped up and wrapped him in a hug. Sam clung to him with a painful grip, nails digging through the layers of clothes. Gritting his teeth Castiel just hugged him closer.
“Dean, I'm on my way.”
After closing the phone Sam wrapped his newly freed hand around Castiel's other side, shoving his face into Castiel's warm chest.
“Hey, what's wrong?” Castiel asked.
A sniffle echoed in his ears as Sam pulled away slightly to be heard. “Today's mom's birthday. I... I forgot.” The utter heartache in his face made Castiel's heart clench tightly. His breath caught.
“So, where are we going?”
* * *
The pew was cold. Even after sitting there for what felt like hours, Dean was still cold. It seemed the wood was completely against accepting body heat, but that was alright with him. The warmth would come as a comfort when all he wanted was to wallow a few minutes more for his mother. Chuckling darkly, he thought to himself that perhaps he really was a glutton for punishment as his father had said.
He carded his fingers in his hair, rested his elbows on his knees and prayed. This wasn't an action he did often, mostly because he believed God to have forgotten him. Not Sammy though. Never Sammy. He was a beacon of light in Dean's world of bill infested lonely darkness Dean had put himself in.
It was safe, or so he kept thinking.
He had done this to his life because he was trying to make sure Sammy had anything and everything his huge heart wanted that Dean could actually pay for, excluding the Christmas he took liberty of a few five finger discounts he wasn't so proud of. None of it was a mistake. Never would be.
He only wished he had a sliver of himself left to offer Cas.
In the middle of an exhale a small, shy hand landed on his shoulder.
“Dean.”
Just his name. Nothing more than four letters strung together to create one syllable that could be a grunt of anyone tried hard enough. It was the way Sammy said it; the hurt, the ache in his chest had weaseled its way into the boy's simple word, layering it in years of pain and misery.
A hand stretched out to Sammy who was still clutching to Cas. “Yeah, I know.”
The young Winchester threw himself at his brother awkwardly, sobs wrecking his body, leaving a mass of flesh that repeated “I forgot, how could I forget?”
Dean could see Castiel fidget with his hands for a moment, not knowing what to do with himself now that he'd brought Sam. Their eyes locked over Sammy's still shivering shoulders. Overcome with feeling like an intruder, Castiel nodded once to Dean and walked toward the back of the church where disappeared into his father's office. For a few minutes Dean rubbed Sammy's back and murmured what he hoped were soothing words. When he again felt a hand on his shoulder, this time a grown man's, he stilled his cooing and turned just enough to see who it was.
“Jim?” Shock coursed through Dean as he stared at the man who could only be Jim Murphy. He and John had gone way back, high school buddies, but ever since Mary died John couldn't hold onto a single friend, deciding instead to suffocate on his sorrow. Age showed in his face even though it had only been a few years, mostly in the lines around his eyes. His hand tightened on Dean's shoulder then released.
“Hello, Dean. Sam.” A sad smile graced him that never reached his eyes. “Been a while.”
Gulping, Dean nodded. He shifted Sammy until his pliant little body was sitting on Dean's legs, facing Jim. Sammy gave a small wave and tried a smile. It came out more like a grimace.
“Mom's birthday.” Sammy mumbled.
“Yeah, I remember. Great woman, your mother.” This time, the smile reached every hidden corner of his face. “Mary loved you boy's. She always called you her angels.”
Chuckling, Sammy raised the arm that wasn't pinned to Dean. Moving it up and down slowly he whispered, “Guess the wings never grew.”
All three laughed, trying their damnedest not to let the dark overcome their memories.
* * *
Again, that feeling of dread and hopelessness engulfed Castiel as he entered Father's office. The old man was in his normal chair behind his normally cluttered desk wearing his normal passive face.
Only, his eyes were on fire.
“Father, has something happened?” Castiel asked softly.
Father's face snapped up as though he just realized Castiel was even there, eyes narrowing a moment to focus on his face. Then he did something he never did.
He swore.
“It's your fucking brother. Michael.” The words were spat out like a bad taste.
Castiel frowned. “What about him?”
The old man scoffed. “He fucking died over there in that stupid uniform trying to save a little girl from a road side bomb.” Breathing became difficult for him, that was the only explanation as to why Father was practically hyperventilating from the emotions tearing away the ice on his heart. “He brought this on himself.”
Father stood up. His shoulders rose and fell with his lungs and his legs shook. Hos body almost vibrated from the feelings in him as they fought for dominance over his actions, his flesh not knowing which one to follow orders from. Anger seemed to win because he wretched the scream of a grieving father and tore his hands across his desk, sending all the organized files onto the floor making it rain paper. “He brought it on himself!”
* * *
All three stopped their quiet circle memories about Mary when they heard the scream from the office. Frowning, Jim went to investigate, the boys on his coattails.
As they entered the room Castiel shoved past them. Jim dismissed him completely and went over to the Father, trying to calm him down. Father was still screaming.
Coming to a decision, Dean knelt down in front of Sammy. “Promise me you'll stay with Jim? Promise?”
At Sammy's reluctant nod, Dean shot off after Cas.
He knew he had heard the big front door crash, so he headed that way first. As he rounded the corner of the church that lead to woods, he spotted Castiel's form practically running. Castiel was going through the small parking lot and was just next to the Impala when Dean caught up to him.
The first thing Dean felt was a fist landing a poorly practiced punch to his nose. The second thing was two arms circling his neck that drew him close to the warm body he longed for.
“What happened?” Dean asked softly.
Castiel sniffled near Dean's ear quietly. “My brother, Micheal. He's dead.”
Hating the pain in Cas's voice, the older Winchester pulled him closer.
After a few minutes of crying and clutching, Cas sighed. “There is nothing left.”
“Cas... Of course there is.”
“No, Dean. I've lost a brother. I've been violated I have been used. I am ruined, Dean! Soiled!”
“Fuck that!” Dean took his hands from Cas's shoulders, gripped the smaller man by his waist, and shoved him into the car.
Cas shuttered a breath, his cheeks tinting pink. His lungs burned from the sudden expulsion and demanded oxygen while Dean just held him there.
“There is always something left to fight for. You just gotta have the balls to go out and fight for it.” He willed his voice to calm. His voice had risen in volume and Castiel was shrinking away slowly. “This is me, fighting for what I want. What I need. This is me calling you, Cas. Can you please answer?”
Dean couldn't look into those blue orbs and not know without a shadow of doubt that Cas didn't feel something, anything, for him. His shy fingers released their possessive hold and tangled themselves with black hair slowly, those eyes he adores pleading with him for release. Dean then did the only thing he could think of; he switched places. Gripping that trim body once more he swung their bodies around unto he found his back intimate with the chilly exterior of the Impala.
Cas didn't know what to do. He had felt trapped, caged with the instinct that he was prey again, and suddenly he is caging Dean, their bodies flush from knee to chest. Castiel's position was domineering. His legs were between Dean's, his hands, fingers splayed, on either side of the body beneath him. The blood in his body stilled, seemed to stop its flow to his heart. The organ didn't know to beat with joy of completely encasing Dean who submitted willingly or with fear or doing something wrong or treating his crush with the same harsh hands he had been.
“I... I don't know what to do.” Cas whispered, afraid he'd break the sudden submissiveness in Dean.
A small smile graced the Winchester's face. “Kiss me.”
Castiel inched forward. Did Dean really mean it? Sam swore up and down the answer was an obvious yes and he wanted so much to believe Sam.
Another small movement forward.
His lungs shut down. There was no oxygen making its way to Dean's brain but on his life he couldn't have cared less. Castiel's lips were so close, so close. Right there. Beautiful bitten lips within reach, if only he would lean in and take them. He wanted to, but Castiel needed to take, if only for the first time in his life. Dean would not take that from him.
A soft brush of silk upon his lips and Dean shivered, breath shuttering from his body and fanning Cas's cheeks. Castiel kept his eyes open. Dragging a hand from the shelter of the car, he slowly placed it, shakily, against Dean's pink cheek, fingertips gently touching skin. Dean arched his back suddenly, Castiel forming his body to the new position. Hard chest pressed to hard chest.
“I'm...” Casitel began, only to be interrupted by an irritated groan and a grasping hand in his unruffled hair. He was helpless but to allow his head to be brought down.
Dean did his best to take it slow, he really did, but the smell of Castiel this close was intoxicating and the temptation of those lips being so close... “Please.”
Castiel rubbed his thumb across the full bottom lip underneath his innocent hand, breath sweet. Leaning in until his red skin rested against the lips of the man under him, he took a deep breath. He watched as Dean's eyelids fluttered down, casting secret shadows beneath. A small sound somewhere between a moan and a soft cry escaped the taller man's lips, leaving them slightly gaping. Castiel brushed his lips against the silken flesh once more before his daring tongue slid across the bottom of the mouth, slickening it. The lovely sound came again and he couldn't hold back from possessing. He strengthened his hold and thrust his lips to Dean's molding them to take from him best, dragging his tongue across the back of Dean's teeth then tangling it with the whine that passed by.
He had thought his heart couldn't slam into his ribs any harder then it had been, but he was deadly wrong. Unending joy laced with an ounce of confidence traveled through his veins as he tilted his head to accommodate Dean as he became more aggressive; ravishing Castiel's mouth from underneath, his lips never in the same place for longer than a moment.
Gripping the hair on Cas's head tighter, Dean slowly tilted his head back. A talented tongue lavished down Castiel's neck and rested against his collarbone. Teeth nipped at the flesh that covered it before a chaste kiss soothed the tinge of pain, making the pleasure that much greater.
“Dean...” Castiel started, but couldn't continue. His body stiffened slowly, becoming stone against the giving body he was pressed so intimately to.
Something had happened. Dean wasn't sure what it was, but he opened his eyes quickly and saw something akin to fear flash in Castiel's eyes before he tore away from Dean, leaving him cold. His skin flushed with cold-chills and goosebumps as one hand reached out for Cas. “Don't leave.” He pleaded.
“I... I can't.” Castiel turned quickly and ran from the Impala as though hell hounds were on his heels.