Out Of The Ashes (6/?)
Fic: Out Of The Ashes (6/?)
Authors: kahla802
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-15
Word Count: ~3000 (WIP)
Summary: After Castiel ran away from him, Dean was confused and not a little hurt. Well, if he wanted to be left alone... Dean didn't know if he could handle that.
Warnings: Some violence.
A/N: Sorry this took so long. My beta was moving and she couldn't get it too me any sooner. As always, reviews and comments are loved!
Sam knew Dad was dead. It was simple fact, like if he didn't have chocolate at least twice a day he'd fight with the infomercial guy on television about whether or not Oxy Clean really did get the stains out, or that Dean would rather be stabbed in the kidney and bleed out than let Sam go outside unsupervised after eight at night. Honestly, it wasn't as if he had gone to the store and still hadn't chosen between Raisin Bran and Cherrios over the last three years. He was just gone, not there anymore.
They'd lost mom in a fire in their old home and, after such an immeasurable loss, Sam understood some of his father's actions. The constant moving around was because they couldn't find a place that felt anything like home and the silence that eclipsed the car rides from town to town were because of dad's inability to bicker and joke like he had before. The family vehicle, the Impala, was a place of continued torment; mom had picked it out and now it was their only real thing they had left of her. He even understood why Dad had hated Dean; he was, after all, the reason the fire started. Bacon grease was an excellent accelerant, but how would he have known the electrical cord was exposed?
Although the abandonment stung, Sam couldn't help but understand his dad's need to run away. Raising two sons alone after losing the love of his life couldn't have been easy, and Sam often wondered what he would have done in Dad's place.
The first week after dad had left was the easiest for Sam, which only made it hurt. Dean had gotten them to Bobby's without incident, the old man taking them in without a word. Bobby had never had kids of his own and was content with the solitude his junk yard and auto shop provided, but he opened his arms to the boys as soon as he'd seen what a wreck they were. Not knowing anything about raising two young boys, he had ex-pastor Jim come and stay for a few weeks.
Stealing them back would have been easy; Dean couldn't say no to that little boy inside himself that just wanted his daddy's approval again and if going with Dad would have pleased him, God himself couldn't stop Dean's feet from following that man out Bobby's door and into the Impala, Sammy, a grumbling mess, following not too far behind. Sam thanked God every day that Dad had never come back. Yeah, he missed him something fierce but he knew things would never be good with him.
The brothers had made a life with Bobby and Sam flourished. Never before had he made so many friends in school or done so well with homework. Dean made it a point to pray with him every night for the first few months at Bobby's, holding his hand and asking for Mom to be happy in heaven and Sam to be looked after. Always, without fail, Dean would brush his hand through Sam's hair and say mom's favorite saying, “Angel's are watching over you”.
Now, at their own place, albeit so close to Bobby's they could almost spit and have it land on the old man's front lawn, they still prayed for their mom and Sam could hear Dean asking for Sam to be looked after late at night.
So yeah, Sam didn't blame his dad for how his life ended up; he thanked him. If he hadn't left, Dean wouldn't be smiling, Bobby wouldn't have inherited two kids he called 'idjits' but would fight tooth and nail to protect, and Sam... Well, Sam wouldn't be Sam.
As Dean walked back inside the church to collect Sammy and tell Jim they'd see him soon, Dean couldn't help but feel his heart break. Cas had run from him. Dean had watched him run, his deceptively slim body moving him further and further away from Dean.
Why had he run? He had been so receptive to Dean's caresses, arching into his hard body from the cool metal at his back, letting out the cutest moan when Dean had found the right spot to touch. When that heat moved away and a look of devastation came over Cas, shards of ice caressed his skin where his body had been, and when he ran Dean had never thought it was possible to be overjoyed and broken at the same time. They had just made out leaning against his baby (Dean didn't mind the few fingerprint smudges, honest), effectively making today one of the top three best ever, then poof, it was over and he was shivering cold and alone.
Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it somewhat, Dean guided Sammy to the car, reviling in the remaining tingle and pulse of his still kiss-bitten lips. He rounded the car to the drivers side and fit his own hand over Cas' handprint. Dean sighed and got in.
Was Cas angry with him? Had he crossed a line he hadn't known was there? For all he knew he had just made Cas feel like those men had.
How was he going to fix this?
Cas was avoiding him, That had to be the only reason he wasn't in school the next day, sending Dean even lower into the pit of shame his stomach muscles ached from. As he made his way home with Sammy in the passenger seat he scowled and hit the steering wheel. Maybe he'd been all wrong; maybe Cas didn't feel the same as Dean and was now too scared to tell him so. Dean was planning on apologizing to Cas as soon as Cas would let him.
Whether it burned his pride or his heart was what remained to be seen.
“Do you see it?”
Dean scoffed lightly so Sam cpouldn't hear. The kid was freaking out over a spider who had tried to make its home in their bathroom. “Oh, yeah. Seriously terrifying...” Dean obliged his brother as he unlaced his shoe slowly and went to crush the offender.
“No, Dean! Don't kill it. Bring it outside. Save it.” Sam had a set of lungs on him. The plea was screeched in his ear from behind him in the doorway.
Laughing and nodding his consent Dean went into the medicine cabinet and pulled the band-aid's out of the box and returned to crouching by the invader. Taking the box carefully, he scooped it up and closed the lid. “Wanna take it out with me?”
Sammy smiled.
They set the box, opened, on the ground and tipped it slightly so the spider gently tumbled out. Dean set the band-aids back in and put the box back.
His little brother had always loved animals. Anytime there was anything in the apartment he would always want to set it free, demanding that it stay alive and happy and whole. Of course, Dean couldn't deny him. So whenever there was an insect, like a spider, that had made its way in, Sammy always ushered it back out.
Dean smiled and went to take a much needed nap before work at Ellen's bar that night.
“Father?”
Castiel entered Father's study with childlike steps, hesitant and wary of the man's wrath. He had been a mess since yesterday; drinking anything and everything he could get his fingers on. Hating to make a scene, he shut himself in his work room from the moment he had gotten up. Last night he had made Gabriel walk to the store on the corner and pick up the biggest bottle of whiskey they sold and bring it home before telling him his brother was never coming home. Father had finally grumbled his way into bed and dreams around five that morning; Castiel knew this because he had heard the screams and cries for Michael Father had been holding in all night finally be released.
The man didn't know how to grieve for his favorite son.
The sun had risen a few hours ago, sending a pallet of colors across the sky, but Castiel hadn't thought it necessary. Really, with the day brightening joyously around him, he wondered why the world hated him so much. Couldn't he have a few more hours to grieve?
He had rolled away from the window and the light not long after the black of the sky had reached a few shades darker than his eyes. Knowing school and facing Dean would be impossible he tried to sleep but memories of Michael, the Michael before Father had changed him, was what kept Castiel from letting his eyes close longer than necessary to blink. The Michael he had loved used to smile and laugh, have light shine in his eyes at something stupid Castiel would say or do - which was really, really often back then. He would always be by Castiel's side, would walk him to school on the days Father needed the car even if it meant him being late for school, and later on, work. That Michael hadn't cared.
Then Father had his first bout with alcohol... and had lost. Michael had tried so hard to fix Father. So hard, in fact, that it drove him away. Whenever Michael tried to ease the glass for Father's hand he would get yelled at, and that first time on Sunday he had done his best to cook lasagna - their mother's favorite meal - Father had smashed the glass platter on the hardwood floor. His brother had tried his best to make Father happy but it never worked no matter how hard he tried. Then, in one last ditch effort, he had enlisted. This was, of course, the absolute wrong thing to do and the old man had been furious, had banished him from the family and told him he wished he never came back.
Father always got his way in the end. Now Michael never would.
As Castiel stood in front of Father's desk, he waited for the man to look up. Just acknowledge him. A few minutes went by at a snail crawl and still he did not stop writing.
“Father?” Castiel tried again.
Heavily sighing, Father glared up at him through his eyelashes. “What, Castiel.” he hadn't even respected his son to say it as a question, instead leaving it as a heavy handed command.
“I know you're hurting...” He began, but Father was having none of that.
“You... know nothing about how I feel.” A deep, feral growl grated out of the older male's throat, an animals warning to tread carefully.
“Father, I just want to help...”
“And how would you do that, Castiel? How could you possibly help me?” He scoffed as a rush of wind entered through the fully open window and tossed his freshly organized papers. “Fucking weather.”
Castiel slumped, feeling slightly defeated. Never had this man, even after mother passed, sworn as much as he did since the news of his brother. Likewise, never had he treated Castiel so badly. As Father reached over to shut the window an earsplitting thunder rumble rolled across the air making him crouch down a little to make himself smaller.
“Please, dad.” The hopelessness in those words made him hunch his body in defeat.
Father stilled, his robes going starched stiff at the shoulders with his tension. “What?” The voice was clipped, the last letter coming out as its own syllable. “What did you call me?”
Not knowing what would take back the words Castiel tried backing out of the gaping cavern he had dug himself another shovel full from. “Nothing, Sir.”
“Don't you dare think to call me... that. That word means there is love between father and son. It's a privilege you have never earned. Why would you... you are no son of mine!” Lightening shot across the sky, lighting the room behind Father and giving him an angelic white almost halo.
Castiel gulped hard. He tried to back away slowly, one shaky foot after the other, hands coming up palm out to show that he was no threat, but Father's eyes gleamed with mischief and grief. A mouse had fallen into the cobra's line of vision and pissed it off.
At the end of a soul-broken sigh Father whispered, “God is testing my patience.” He couldn't keep his hands still so he rubbed them on his pant legs to try and dry his palms.
Castiel stood silently.
“It should have been you.”
Gravel must have choked the man while he had been sulking because his voice had become dangerously broken. “Michael should have come home. It was you who was meant to die.”
As the first blow landed on Castiel's pale skin, he was beginning to believe it too.
“St-stop it, Dean!”
The snot-rag had woken him up a half hour before he'd set the alarm and Dean wasn't pissed. However, he'd done it by catapolting himself onto Dean then scrambling away and out of the room before Dean could huff the air out of his lungs in a whoosh. He yawned, stifling the sound with the back of his hand. Scratching his bare chest absently and smacking his lips together a few times, he let his legs hang off the bed for a moment, letting Sammy have a head start. After wiping the sleep from his eyes he'd run after his brother.
Now Sammy's squeals just pushed Dean on, wriggling his fingers in the boy's sides, lifting him up with his legs kicking as if that would get him freedom. He gave a very undignified squawk before he giggled again. “De-hehe-he-an!”
Pulling the little body flush against his chest Dean wrapped his arms around his brothers waist and held him close. “I don't care how old you are, you will say it.” The demand was given in a playful growl, sly fingers tapping the ticklish sides of Sam.
Sammy let out a sigh and whined. “Aw, come on! Seriously?” His fake annoyance was overridden by the wicked smile on his face. “Fine! Let me go and I'll tell you.”
Harrumphing, Dean released his death grip.
Sam cackled as he ran from his brother, just making it out of arms reach as Dean swiped an arm out to snatch him back. He made it to the other side of the couch before he turned around with his tongue stuck out. “Loser!”
“Sammy!”
“What?!” Sammy was being a little snot and he knew it if the smirk on his face was anything to go by. “I'll tell you what.” Launching himself over the back of the stained furniture piece he tackled Sam, wrapping himself around his brother as they landed on the floor. Squirming, Sam tried to get away again. Dean simply held him closer and smacked his smiling lips against his brother's cheek. “Love ya, Sammy.”
He made a big show of wiping his face but Sam was smiling too. “Love you too, Jerk.”
Dean snorted (a very, very manly, dignified snort of course), and went to get the bowls down for a cereal dinner. “Lucky Charms or Cherr...” A knocking sound stopped him mid sentence. “You invite someone over, Sammy?”
At his brother's shake of the head and another hesitant, barely there knock sounded, he set the Lucky Charms in Sammy's outstretched grabby hands (seriously, why did he even ask?), and unlocked the door before opening it.
The first thing he noticed, an obvious observation, was Castiel. The second was that Castiel did not look any kind of okay. There was a cut above his right eye that dribbled blood down his face and into the split in his lip. His nose was still bleeding from a punch, but the rain was washing most of the red away from his entire face. The slim hips were clutched on either side by his arms that were crossed in front of him as though he was still trying to protect his body from an assault and his shoulders slouched forward, trying to make his already smaller stance shorter. Blue eyes were pale, an unnerving pastel blue that sent shivers through Dean; they were the eyes of the defeated.
“May I come in, Dean?”
God, that voice. His flat, fallen, couldn't-care-one-way-or-the-other tone carved away at Dean's heart, but his eyes were unable to hide the tiny flash of hope for a safe place. The request came out uninterested, but when it came to Dean's name the pain was unbearable, his defenses gone as though retched from him with such great force they left him hollow. A shell.
“Cas...” Dean started to extend his hand toward Cas, his own eyes beginning to shine as he saw Cas the same way he had been when he was attacked the first time, but Dean saw him flinch slightly.
“Don't.” The uncertain shaking in the words broke Dean's already cracked heart. “Please.” A more assertive, assured voice said. “May I come in?”
“Will you stay this time?”
Castiel looked at his feet as a sob shuddered his bowed body. As he raised his head and Dean got a new view of his face, Castiel fell forward, gripping Dean's shirt in shaky hands and resting his head in the crook of his warm neck. Another shudder traveled through Castiel as Dean pulled him in tight, uncaring of the sopping wet clothes. Warm breath fell in waves against Dean's skin that only made him clutch Cas tighter. Blood wet lips touched his ear as he felt more than heard Cas say, “Yes.”