Castielfest Fic: Shadows Filled Up With Doubt Part 2
***
It goes on like that, even when Castiel is able to go back on missions two weeks later, his recovery sped up by determination, Megha's home-made brew which holds the kick of drugs but none of the side affects, and Risa's workouts. Dean doesn't look at him and his torture sessions are each more brutal than the last.
Most of the time, Castiel is high on Vicodin, his favorite pill of them all. But even through the haze of drugs, each strip of flesh peeled away is as though it comes from him. He winces inwardly even as he forces himself to watch the blood trickle down skin, the salt pour down throats, and the never ending frostiness of Dean's gaze.
They learn Crowley is a demon unlike the rest. The demons mock him, but they show respect for him as well, something very unusual in demon hierarchy.
He keeps a dopey smile on his face, winks and laughs. If Dean's upset, at least it's with him and not the rest of the camp. As long as he takes his anger out on demons and Castiel, he won't lose it during a mission; won't give in or give up.
***
Dean torturing is a sight to behold. He's strangely beautiful, lit by whatever sunlight seeps in through the cracks of the buildings where he performs his task. His face is still and hard as though carved from marble. Castiel has never seen another man so built to perfection. He would rival the Greek demigods.
With each word of Latin muttered in an effort to convince and cajole, Castiel breaks apart.
***
They finally find Crowley in late 2014. Or rather, Crowley finds them. The house seems to run on electricity still, rather than generators. The lights are all on, there's a fountain running in the front yard, and a black Bentley in the driveway.
Dean, Castiel, Risa, and two men that Castiel can't remember the names of step into the inviting house, two demon guards hot on their heels goading them in. They're greeted by a man in a black suit calmly drinking from a scotch glass in an overstuffed chair by the fireplace.
“About time you chaps figured it out.” The demon's voice is crisp with a British accent. Castiel idly wonders if the demon's host was from England or if it's an affectation the demon picked up on its own.
“Where's the Colt,” Dean spits out, gun raised.
“Now, now. Is that anyway to treat your host? Sit down a spell.”
“I'd really rather not,” Dean responds, voice brittle.
Crowley sighs, standing up. He takes out a long-barreled gun, holds it up teasingly. “Looking for this?”
“How do we know it's the real thing?” Risa speaks up.
“Dean knows, doesn't he?” the demon asks, a small smile on his lips.
“Prove it,” Dean hisses.
Crowley shrugs, raises the weapon and for the briefest of moments, Castiel experiences true horror, believing the demon will shoot Dean and that this is all a trap set up by Lucifer.
Instead, Crowley shoots both of their guards easily and their essence flickers out with a reddish glow. The bodies slump to the floor.
“That enough proof for you, mate?”
Dean nods tersely and reaches out to take the weapon.
“Ah-ah. What are you going to do for me?”
“Do for you? I thought you were willingly giving the Colt to us.”
“Perhaps,” Crowley says, picking up his glass with his free hand, taking a sip. “But I want a guarantee.”
“What's that?” Dean scoffs, keeping his gun cocked though he lowers his arm, gesturing for the rest to do so as well. Castiel keeps his high, even after an exasperated look from Dean. Crowley merely smiles at him, though.
“You remind me of someone I was once very fond of. Although you'd never have caught him with a gun. Once misplaced a sword, even. He's gone now.”
For a moment the demon looks almost sad before he swallows it down with another polite sip of alcohol.
“Anyway. I want two things, Dean Winchester. One. That you don't shoot me when I turn the Colt over. Two. You fix this mess. Kill the Devil and then help make the Earth the way it was again. I miss it, quite frankly. There's no good TV to whittle away the time with anymore.”
“Wow, you don't ask for much, do you?” Dean remarks, snidely.
Crowley shrugs, a sinuous movement even on his somewhat bulky frame. “We want the same things, Dean. If I hadn't been trying to keep the gun hidden from Lucifer and his gang of thugs, I'd have gotten it to you sooner.”
Dean stares at Crowley for a minute or two before he calmly hands Castiel his gun. “I'll do what I can, Crowley, how about that?”
The demon sighs dramatically. “I suppose I'll make do. Care to kiss on it?” The demon grins, a hint of sparkle in its eyes.
“My word is enough.”
Crowley shrugs again, hands the Colt over, butt first.
Dean hefts it in his hand, giving it a once over. Then he raises it and before Crowley can do more than suck a breath in, Dean aims and shoots a bullet directly at his forehead.
The dark head of the demon lands in a quickly growing puddle of blood with a thud. Everyone in the room is silent, even Castiel. He doubts anyone is upset over the loss of a demon, but everyone is shocked by Dean's actions.
Dean walks over and crouches down by Crowley's head. “I learned a long time ago not to make deals with crossroad demons. You're all worse than door-to-door salesmen.” He stands, gazing directly into Castiel's face as though challenging him to say something. Castiel stares right back but keeps silent.
“Alright. Move out. We've got a long drive ahead of us.”
Before they get into the vehicles, Castiel pops a few amphetamines while Dean's back is turned. They burn down his dry throat. He doesn't spare a glance back at the house with three dead bodies left to rot.
***
In the end, Castiel has nothing left to give except his body, a body that isn't really his, even, though it's been his home for too many years sans its owner. It's why he doesn't call Dean out on his suicidal plan. It's why he remains silent and doesn't warn the others, either. His Dean is too far gone to know or care anymore. He sees how tired Dean has become, how he feels less than nothing without Sam.
Despite the torture, despite the fact that Dean is more like the creature he pulled up from hell than the Dean who convinced him to turn his back on heaven, who told him they weren't going steady with a wink, Castiel is glad Michael never responded to Dean's cries. Dean is hollow, but it's of his own making, not because Castiel's brother carved out his mind.
Though he can't see it anymore, he knows Dean's soul still outshines any other. He is righteous and God gave him free will. If the path they're on fails, he believes it is what God wants and he can not question that. Maybe the world must be purged. Perhaps only then will Dean be set free from his own personal hell. That is all Castiel prays for now, in his last whispered words to a Father that hasn't been home in a very long time.
***
Their last last night on Earth, Castiel stays sober. He wants a drink badly. His blood is singing for a Vicodin. He feels antsy and the depression seeping in is less because he figures they'll all die tomorrow and more because he hasn't had an upper in nearly a day.
It's midnight when Castiel hears a knock at his door. He has no doubt of who it'll be and honestly debates with himself as to whether he'll respond or not.
“Come on, Cas. I know you're in there!” Dean hollers at him and he sounds like he's been drinking.
Sighing, he stands up from where he was kneeling by the bedside. He greets Dean at the door in low-slung flannel pajama bottoms and no shirt. It's not like Dean hasn't seen it before. “What do you want, Dean? Come here for another lecture on how insouciant your plan is?”
Dean pushes past him into the cabin, a bottle of liquor in one hand. He doesn't smell drunk though, so that's positive at least. He was probably at their makeshift bar toasting to a last night on earth with the others in the camp. Castiel wonders if he's already bedded someone, but he doesn't smell sex on him either. That's a scent he recognizes well.
The hunter plops down on his desk chair with a huff of breath and twists the lid off the bottle. “Got any glasses, Cas? I didn't bring any glasses...”
Castiel shakes his head, shutting the cabin door behind him before too many bugs creep in. They seem to be the sole things thriving in the barren wasteland that has become of the earth. It's dark, but his battery powered desk lamp lights up Dean's face with a healthy glow and for once he doesn't look like he's made of stone.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, honestly curious.
“A guy can't see his friend on the night before they die?”
“I wouldn't exactly call us friends, Dean. You've hardly talked to me for months now besides strategy meetings.”
“Oh, someone's bitter,” Dean chuckled. “I would have thought you were too busy with your harem to notice me. I mean,” he gestures to the collection of prescription bottles that lie strewn across his desk, “How you can even get it up is beyond me. Or maybe you don't.”
Castiel starts then pauses to clear his throat. His voice comes out deeper than usual. “Perfect antidote to the absinthe.”
Dean takes a sip from his bottle, setting it down heavily on the desk. He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “I don't get it. What happened to you? Why did you start all this shit? Alcohol, I get. But the drugs and the love guru crap. It's not you.”
“Not unlike how torturing people isn't you, Dean.”
Dean's face clouds up for a moment. “I'm doing that to save lives. It's not people I'm torturing. It's demons. And I got the Colt. That's the whole point of this. Of tomorrow. So don't tell me I did something wrong. Not when it got the job done.”
“You used to tell me the end didn't justify the means.”
“Yeah, well that was before your dick-less brothers left this planet to rot. I'm doing what I have to in order to save humanity.”
“Lofty goal,” Cas says, eyebrows raised. He leans with his hip against the wall, crosses his arms over his chest. “Is that kind of reasoning something Alastair taught you?”
Dean surges up out of the chair, his facial features stormy with anger. He raises a fist and Castiel wonders if he's going to stride right over and punch him. He wonders if he'd welcome the pain.
But Dean doesn't step closer. He lowers his arm and collapses in the chair, head in his hands. When he doesn't say anything after awhile, Castiel begins to speak.
“You want to know why I do drugs? It's because I Fell, Dean. I'm not an angel and I haven't been for a long time. You know that. Drugs, rock and roll, sex...I figured, why not bang a few gongs before all the lights go out. There was nothing left for me. There was nothing left of me. Mortal. Useless. And you couldn't even look at me.”
Dean looks up at that. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Castiel rolls his eyes. “Don't be stupid, Dean. I followed you because I felt it was the right thing to do, because I had faith in your plan, in humanity. But I Fell for you.
When Dean laughs, Castiel stares at him before opening the door and going outside, letting the door slam behind him. It's cold out.
Dean joins him moments later. “Hey. You can't just say that to a guy and then leave.”
“I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. You asked; I answered.”
“Yeah, well, great job. I'm just trying to understand.”
Castiel breathes in and out harshly through his nose. Emotions are swirling like a twister inside of him again and all he wants to do is go inside and take some of those pills.
“Why did you come here tonight? Surely, it wasn't to rehash us and our past relationship. I know you don't do talking. You taught me that years ago, too. So there's no need to talk. Tomorrow we kill Lucifer, our brother. If you want to fuck, fine. If not, I'd like to sleep in peace instead of arguing, thank you.”
Dean's eyes are narrowed when he responds. “There never was an us, Cas. Just a guy and a fallen angel doing their best to fuck up the plans of The Man.”
“There was an us, Dean, and you know it. I gave up everything for you. I gave up my home, my being. I'd have moved the stars for you, if it could have made anything better.” His blood is boiling with frustration but he all he really feels is a hollow ache inside himself.
“Yeah, well, it wouldn't have, so stop,” Dean's voice is harsh, cutting through the crisp night air. “Cas, I don't know why you're spouting off like a Hallmark greeting card, but. Just. Stop. I can't hear it.”
"For what it's worth, I would give anything not to have you do this," Castiel whispers, words echoing like ghosts from the past.
Dean clutches at him then, fist thumping against his chest, and Castiel plants his feet and takes it all. Now they're getting to why Dean came to visit him tonight of all nights. It breaks him, to see Dean like this. But somehow, it makes him whole again. Castiel holds onto the hunter as silent sobs rack his body.
“I could really use God, right now, Cas. Please. I don't want to have to kill him...I'll do anything...”
Castiel knows Dean isn't talking to him any longer, but he cradles Dean's head close anyway, saying, “It's okay, Dean. I'm here. I'm here, always. It'll be okay, I-” promise, he thinks but doesn't say because he's never wanted to break his word to Dean, even when he had to.
***
They fall into bed easily after that. Dean came looking for comfort, for strength. For redemption. Castiel will give him whatever he needs.
Castiel doesn't voice I love you because an angel shouldn't love one human more than another. Because I love you is supposed to be a beginning and this is the end. Besides, Dean wouldn't want to hear it. So instead, he says it with the fevered kisses he presses to Dean's face, with the way he surges into Dean's palms as they slide up his sides, over his ass, up his thighs encouraging Castiel to open for him.
He lets his legs fall apart, wrapping back around Dean's waist, holding him close. He bites at Dean's exposed throat savoring the flavor there, breathing hot puffs of air onto his clavicle. There's an urgency to the sex, but it isn't rough. It's clingy and slick; the sweat drips into his eyes from his hair, stinging. He gives back as good as he gets, meeting each thrust with his own. He runs his hands down Dean's back until he reaches his ass. He pulls Dean closer to him until he stops thrusting even, just stays still, buried to the hilt. He needs to be surrounded by Dean, needs to be in Dean himself. He brings one hand back up, inserting his fingers between Dean's lips who groans around them, flicking his tongue out, getting them soaked and dripping with spit. He trails his hand over Dean's crack, gathering up sheen before dipping between the cheeks.
Dean shudders against him, pushing in still deeper and in that moment, Castiel wishes he was still a true angel because he would leave the vessel and completely envelope Dean with his natural form, create a barrier around him from the rest of the world. It doesn't matter that Dean wouldn't want that. Castiel is screaming in his head that Dean is his and no one can hurt him.
He can't say that out loud, either, though, so he shoves his tongue into Dean's mouth, laying claim and being claimed. It's not Heaven, but it almost feels worth it.
They fuck like that, Dean hardly moving his hips, Castiel moving inside of him in turn until they both groan out their ecstasy. Castiel keeps a hand on the back of Dean's head as he rests his forehead in the shallow spot where Castiel's neck meets his shoulder.
Dean lets out a gasp. “When did we stop this? Why did we stop this? That was fucking amazing, Cas.”
Castiel breathes deeply when Dean shifts off of him. His body misses the weight immediately, but at least Dean stays close, tucked into his side. “You were busy,” he says, shrugging like it's no big deal. He can't put another burden on Dean right now. Not tonight. Tonight is about forgiveness, not regrets.
Dean is still sharp, though. He's trained himself to read people; he doesn't need salt and scalpels to do it, either. Especially since Castiel's always felt too open, too raw around him. No, Dean's gaze is enough torture for him in this moment. A look of horror and disgust crosses his face that Castiel knows is directed at himself and he tries to turn away. Castiel grabs his head with both hands, kissing him fiercely, then softly mumbling, “No, no, baby. It's okay.”
“I can't believe you even want to look at me. After everything I've done. What I'm going to do,” Dean says when Castiel lets their lips part.
“It isn't about that, Dean. I still have faith. Faith in you.”
“How can you? How can you still have faith in me? When all that's left is this broken shell?” Dean's voice is angry now and he pulls away, flopping onto the bed next to him, one arm slung over his eyes. His body is tense.
Castiel slowly peels the arm from his face, but Dean's eyes scrunch closed. He waits, staring until Dean opens them again and looks at him. “Because we're all a little broken, Dean.”
Dean inhales sharply. He scrubs a hand across his face. “Cas, I wasn't there. After everything you've done for me, I wasn't there for you. I'm...” sorry lingers in the air, unspoken but not unfelt. Castiel can see it in Dean's eyes, in the way his fingers trace a scar on Castiel's arm, left from a bullet that grazed him.
Some people can't say the words. Castiel reminds himself its too late for regrets through the rest of the night as they fuck, suck, and caress each other to orgasm five more times until the sky lightens and they're so weak and worn out, their fingers can barely clutch the skin they want to.
Some people don't need the words.
They fall asleep.
***
Castiel is right behind Dean when the Devil flicks the Colt away from him after Dean is unable to pull the trigger on the angel wearing his brother. He's allowed one last touch of his hand to Dean's shoulder, right on the mark he never meant to leave all those years ago. Dean's eyes are terrified and sad.
“Go,” he tells him, jaw set. But Castiel won't leave his side.
Lucifer turns to them both. Stares at them with compassionate eyes that don't belong to him and says, “Whatever you do, you always end up here. No matter what choices you make, whatever details you alter, we always end up here. I win, so...I win.”
Castiel keeps his eyes open even as Lucifer snaps his fingers and Dean's neck with them, his body falling to the ground. He wants to puke but it doesn't matter because he knows what comes next.
“I didn't think you'd make it this far, brother,” Lucifer says, voice soft as sin. “You're sure you won't change your mind from that offer I made you?”
Castiel remembers a ring of holy fire and Death all around him. “Never.”
“Not even when I can offer so much to you? The other angels are gone! It can be you and me, washing this planet from the filth that's contaminated it for so long. I'm sure Dean's screaming on the rack right now, even as we speak; I'll let you keep him as a token of my regard. Whole. Sane.”
Castiel knows, if God is just, if God exists at all - and he has to believe it, despite all the evidence to the contrary - Dean has finally found his rest and it is not in the fires of Hell.
“No?” Lucifer asks, a smile on his face. “Truly peculiar, you are.” Then his face is somber again, almost sad. “Would that I didn't have to do this, brother.”
The last thing Castiel registers before closing his eyes is the barrel of the Colt pointed at his face.
Then, he falls.