Fic: One Last Time (1/1)
Title: One Last Time
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Slash; Dean/Castiel
Summary: Dean was sorry. He really was. He hadn’t meant to do it, to ruin the one thing he had, but now that he had it - forever, even - he was going to make things right. He was going to prove that humanity could be ok.
Words: 2300
A/N: A while back, strangeandcharm wrote a list of ten Dean/Cas clichés. I saw this as both a guide, and a challenge. I actually tried to write a serious fic using all of them. I even made a checklist, so it was all official-like. Title is from Angel by Sarah McLachlan. You know why ;)
Disclaimer: I don’t own the show. And I certainly don’t own the characters. I do own the evil monkey that lives in my closet. Worst. Purchase. Ever.
One Last Time
Dean wasn’t sure where his brother was. He knew he should probably have asked where Sam was running off to at that late hour, but it wasn’t like the kid could get himself into trouble. Ruby was dead, after all.
He figured Sam was probably at a bar, trying to drown away the memories of what he’d done. The little bitch had broken the final Seal and set Lucifer free, and he was acting like it was the end of the world… which, ok, it kinda was, but he didn’t have to be such a pussy about it. Giving Dean the silent treatment as they fled Maryland in a stolen car, only to demand he pull over before breaking down at the side of the road.
Dean understood. Really, he did. He’d done the same. But torturing people in Hell wasn’t exactly like kick starting the Apocalypse. Well, for him, it had been, but you know what he meant.
Sam hadn’t been in any pain, hadn’t been torn apart and put back together, hadn’t held out for thirty years. Sam didn’t know real torture. Sam didn’t know real guilt.
There was always the possibility that he wasn’t at a bar, though. He may have gone to a church, assuming that he could still get through the doors without bursting into flame.
Maybe Dean was a little bitter. He was tired of being used and lied to. He was tired of being weak. He was tired of people sacrificing themselves for him.
Sighing, he leaned over the side of the chair he’d sat himself in and fished through the small plastic bag he’d brought from the diner they’d stopped at after leaving Maryland. He pulled out a small take-out container, set it on the table in front of him, and opened it.
He stared at the food in front of him, marveling that he hadn’t gotten sick of pie in the past year. Seemed to be all he ate lately. And he wasn’t even sure why he liked it. He thought it might have something to do with his mom, with the fresh pies she baked for special occasions, the memories the smell brought back.
Or maybe it was that kid - what was his name? - Dylan? Yeah. Dylan. Dean’s first and only friend in school, the first and only birthday party he’d been invited to. The kid had been kind of weird, asking for pie instead of cake, but Dean hadn’t known customs and traditions. He’d just known that pie was being used to celebrate birthdays and friendships, and he liked that.
Dean shook his head, wondering why, after the raising of Lucifer from Hell, he was worried about the root of his love of pie. It wasn’t like it was an unhealthy love. Just a strong liking.
He grabbed a plastic fork from the bag and cut himself a piece, raising it to his lips as the door to the motel room burst open.
Dean dropped his fork and turned to the door, gun already drawn - not that it would do him much good if the shadow in the doorway was who he thought it was. He could see how it would play out in his head: the Devil would grab him, rip him apart, and then leave the pieces for Sam to find. It would be gruesome, and it would break his brother.
Instead of killing him, though, the shadowy figure leaned against the doorframe, moaning low and deep. It raised its head, deep cerulean eyes shining with pain. Dean lowered his weapon.
“Cas?”
The angel fell to his knees. “Dean.” His name was soft on lips that were chapped and broken, bleeding slightly. It sounded like a prayer, a benediction. Like Castiel had been searching, waiting, wandering for years, and Dean was his Holy Land.
It made the hunter damn uncomfortable.
Still, he approached the angel, pulling the smaller figure to his feet. “Are you all right?”
He could remember the blood covering the wall of the green room, the blinding lights flaring to life outside Chuck’s window. He could remember Castiel’s last words, and suddenly felt guilty for not thinking of the angel sooner. But he’d been so focused on Sam, on stopping his idiot brother from ending the world.
He walked Castiel slowly over to the nearest bed, his arm slipping around the smaller man’s back, only to find something wet and sticky on his coat. He sat the angel down and looked. His back was covered in blood.
“Cas, what happened?”
“I held them off,” the angel muttered. “I held them all off.”
“What did they do to you?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just started taking off the other man’s clothes, looking for an injury he could repair, something to do, some way to help.
“Sam is safe, is he not? You stopped him?”
Dean winced, peeling off the suit jacket and finding more red standing out on white. “I was too late. I’m sorry.”
“Do not be sorry. It was mostly my fault.”
Dean peeled off the white shirt and gasped. There were no marks on the pale skin, just flakes of drying blood. “So, you’re not hurt?” It didn’t make sense. Cas had stumbled into the room, covered in blood, but wasn’t actually bleeding. He still seemed pretty out of it, but maybe it was just an angel thing.
“I am hurt,” he confirmed. “They healed my body.”
“Jimmy’s body,” Dean corrected.
“My body,” Cas insisted, turning back to meet Dean’s eyes. There was so much pain there, so much written in the blue depths, an ocean of swirling thoughts and confusion and… and something Dean couldn’t quite identify. He could get lost in that gaze. Actually had on several occasions.
“What did they do to you?” he repeated. “Because I may not be as up on the whole angel-angle as I could be, but I thought you were riding some poor sap.”
“I was. I am not any longer. Jimmy Novak has moved on, and I,” he sighed, voice wavering. “I am trapped.”
“You Fell?”
The angel managed to smile. “I was pushed.”
“You’re human?”
A nod. “It is a death sentence.”
“Dude,” Dean said, moving from his place behind the angel to sit at his side. “We’re not that bad.”
Castiel shook his head. “You do not understand. I have watched your kind for thousands of years, looking, but never touching. I see the things you do, and how you do them, but they are still a mystery. I was not watching to learn, I was simply watching to watch.”
Dean nodded, processing, trying to compare it to something he knew, a situation he could at least handle. “Like a teenager getting behind the wheel of a car for the first time,” he attempted. “They’ve been sitting beside their parents, watching them drive, for years, but watching isn’t doing. They still have to learn, no matter how close they paid attention.”
Cas just tilted his head. “I do not understand.”
“Never mind. I’ll teach you.”
“I do not want to be a burden…”
“Dude, you’ve been a burden since the day you showed up. Well, after the whole pulling me outta Hell thing.” He got to his feet and stretched. “You good to stand?”
Cas stood up and stared at him. “I believe so. I was shell-shocked before. I am not used to walking such great distances.”
“You walked from Chuck’s?”
“They took me from the prophet’s home and left me… somewhere. I am not sure where. I simply started walking until I saw a motel. Your car was parked out front.”
Dean nodded. “At least they left you with friends.”
“Friends?”
“Me and Sam. Or, me, at least. Y’know, someone who’ll help you out, show you the ropes.” He glanced back at the bed and frowned. “Clean up the blood.”
“My wings were torn off,” the angel explained. “The damage was only temporarily done to this mortal form.”
“Right. Gotcha.” That kicked off an awkward silence that stretched until something rumbled. Dean grinned. “You’re hungry.”
“I do not-”
“You’re human?”
“Yes.”
“Then you need food.” He glanced around the tiny motel room, his eyes landing on the Styrofoam container from the diner. “We’re kinda low,” he admitted, “but I probably wasn’t gonna finish it.” He nodded toward the table. “Sit, chew, swallow. Not hard.”
Blue eyes again met green, bright with confusion. Dean sighed. “You need to eat. And sleep. And do all that human stuff. I’m sorry.”
He really meant it. If he hadn’t been such an ass, if he hadn’t demanded so much, then Cas wouldn’t be standing there, his stomach rumbling.
The angel crossed the room and plopped himself into the chair, eyeing the pie with disgust.
“It’s good,” Dean promised. He sat down across from Castiel and watched him pick up the fork and sniff at his first bite. “Like my mom used to make.”
Something in the angel’s deep eyes softened at that, and he put the fork to his lips and ate.
“Your mother was a wonderful cook,” Cas muttered once he’d finished.
“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “She was.”
“What now?”
“Now? It’s past midnight, the Devil’s on the loose, and you look like you’re about to keel over. Now, we sleep.”
“I am not sure I know how.”
Dean felt himself grin. “It’s easy. Lie down, close your eyes, and let your body do the rest.”
“I don’t think I am tired.”
“Long day…”
“Too exciting.”
Dean grabbed the former angel’s hand, pulling him up and out of the chair. “Just try.”
“It is useless. I do not need sleep.”
“You’re human,” Dean repeated. “I’m sorry.”
“It was not-”
“Shhhh.” He pulled down the covers and sat the angel on the bed. “Take off your pants, socks, and shoes.” He pushed the bloody shirt and coats onto the floor. “Good, now lay down over there. We’ve only got two beds, and I think Sam’s gonna come back.”
Cas did as he was told, watching as Dean laid next to him, pulled up the covers, and turned off the lamp. “He should not blame himself.”
“Yeah, but he will. Welcome to humanity.” He felt the other man stiffen beside him. “Hey, it’s not all bad.”
“Not all bad? You need to stop your activities to do the most pointless things. There is suffering and death and plague and-” His words were cut off by Dean’s mouth closing over them. “What are you doing?”
“Being human,” Dean said. “Acting on impulse and proving it’s not all bad.”
“What?”
Dean rolled onto his side and smiled. “There’s not just pain.” His hand snaked beneath the sheets, over Castiel’s chest, and down. “There’s pleasure.” The angel gasped. “You can want.” He leaned close, wide, bright eyes following his every movement. “You can love.”
“Love?”
Fluid motions, up and down, slow and steady. Teasing. “I wouldn’t have said anything. I wasn’t gonna… I’m sorry. I was gonna let you stay… like that. But I wanted… I actually wanted-”
“For yourself.” Castiel finished his sentence, still watching him, breath hitching and face flushing. He leaned forward, toward Dean, meeting his lips. “You can have me,” he breathed.
-.-
Dean woke up alone in bed, semen dried on his sheets, and knew it had been a dream. The angel’s questioning eyes, first meal, first kiss, first orgasm. Raw and sharp and hot enough to make Dean come, too, with Cas’ hand uncertain on his dick, confused about what to do, innocent in a way that he had no right to be.
He sat up, sheets pooling around his hips, and looked at the other bed. It hadn’t been slept in. Sam was gone. Sam was gone and Lucifer was free and Dean was alone and Cas was probably dead. His heart sank at the last thought. Cas dead because of Dean, because of his selfishness, because of his want.
Something in the bathroom sniffled.
Dean rolled himself out of the bed, adjusted his boxers, and went to investigate. He approached the bathroom door and gently pushed it open. Castiel was sitting on the closed toilet seat, face in his hands, wearing only his boxers.
“Cas?”
He looked up, eyes shining, tear tracks running down his face. “Why?”
“Why what?” Dean asked, moving slowly into the bathroom, hands held out before him in a sign that he meant no harm. Cas was crying. Cas was an angel who had been pushed from Grace, had found him, and was crying. Angels were badasses. They weren’t supposed to cry. It was disconcerting.
Castiel shook his head. “I lost my wings, my Grace. I lost my home and my family. I am weak and breakable and soft.” He swiped a hand over his face and looked at it. “I cry. I am human. A dirty, selfish, monkey in clothing.” His eyes met Dean’s. “I have nothing.”
“You have me,” Dean said. “You have the world. Your whole life ahead of you, full of new things.” He smirked. “You have sex. And pie. Warm beds and good friends.”
“The world will end.”
“You have hope. You have to have hope, Cas. Otherwise, life’s pointless.”
The angel stared at him. “You do not understand. I have nothing left but you, and I am not sad.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“I do not know.” He sniffled. “Why am I crying if I am not sad?”
Dean felt himself smile as he reached out to wipe Castiel’s eyes. “Maybe because you’re happy?” The other man matched his grin, realization dawning in those impossibly blue eyes. “I’m happy, too.”
When the world ended, three days after Lucifer’s release, Dean and his angel were curled in each other’s arms, sleeping soundly through the Apocalypse.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Slash; Dean/Castiel
Summary: Dean was sorry. He really was. He hadn’t meant to do it, to ruin the one thing he had, but now that he had it - forever, even - he was going to make things right. He was going to prove that humanity could be ok.
Words: 2300
A/N: A while back, strangeandcharm wrote a list of ten Dean/Cas clichés. I saw this as both a guide, and a challenge. I actually tried to write a serious fic using all of them. I even made a checklist, so it was all official-like. Title is from Angel by Sarah McLachlan. You know why ;)
Disclaimer: I don’t own the show. And I certainly don’t own the characters. I do own the evil monkey that lives in my closet. Worst. Purchase. Ever.
One Last Time
Dean wasn’t sure where his brother was. He knew he should probably have asked where Sam was running off to at that late hour, but it wasn’t like the kid could get himself into trouble. Ruby was dead, after all.
He figured Sam was probably at a bar, trying to drown away the memories of what he’d done. The little bitch had broken the final Seal and set Lucifer free, and he was acting like it was the end of the world… which, ok, it kinda was, but he didn’t have to be such a pussy about it. Giving Dean the silent treatment as they fled Maryland in a stolen car, only to demand he pull over before breaking down at the side of the road.
Dean understood. Really, he did. He’d done the same. But torturing people in Hell wasn’t exactly like kick starting the Apocalypse. Well, for him, it had been, but you know what he meant.
Sam hadn’t been in any pain, hadn’t been torn apart and put back together, hadn’t held out for thirty years. Sam didn’t know real torture. Sam didn’t know real guilt.
There was always the possibility that he wasn’t at a bar, though. He may have gone to a church, assuming that he could still get through the doors without bursting into flame.
Maybe Dean was a little bitter. He was tired of being used and lied to. He was tired of being weak. He was tired of people sacrificing themselves for him.
Sighing, he leaned over the side of the chair he’d sat himself in and fished through the small plastic bag he’d brought from the diner they’d stopped at after leaving Maryland. He pulled out a small take-out container, set it on the table in front of him, and opened it.
He stared at the food in front of him, marveling that he hadn’t gotten sick of pie in the past year. Seemed to be all he ate lately. And he wasn’t even sure why he liked it. He thought it might have something to do with his mom, with the fresh pies she baked for special occasions, the memories the smell brought back.
Or maybe it was that kid - what was his name? - Dylan? Yeah. Dylan. Dean’s first and only friend in school, the first and only birthday party he’d been invited to. The kid had been kind of weird, asking for pie instead of cake, but Dean hadn’t known customs and traditions. He’d just known that pie was being used to celebrate birthdays and friendships, and he liked that.
Dean shook his head, wondering why, after the raising of Lucifer from Hell, he was worried about the root of his love of pie. It wasn’t like it was an unhealthy love. Just a strong liking.
He grabbed a plastic fork from the bag and cut himself a piece, raising it to his lips as the door to the motel room burst open.
Dean dropped his fork and turned to the door, gun already drawn - not that it would do him much good if the shadow in the doorway was who he thought it was. He could see how it would play out in his head: the Devil would grab him, rip him apart, and then leave the pieces for Sam to find. It would be gruesome, and it would break his brother.
Instead of killing him, though, the shadowy figure leaned against the doorframe, moaning low and deep. It raised its head, deep cerulean eyes shining with pain. Dean lowered his weapon.
“Cas?”
The angel fell to his knees. “Dean.” His name was soft on lips that were chapped and broken, bleeding slightly. It sounded like a prayer, a benediction. Like Castiel had been searching, waiting, wandering for years, and Dean was his Holy Land.
It made the hunter damn uncomfortable.
Still, he approached the angel, pulling the smaller figure to his feet. “Are you all right?”
He could remember the blood covering the wall of the green room, the blinding lights flaring to life outside Chuck’s window. He could remember Castiel’s last words, and suddenly felt guilty for not thinking of the angel sooner. But he’d been so focused on Sam, on stopping his idiot brother from ending the world.
He walked Castiel slowly over to the nearest bed, his arm slipping around the smaller man’s back, only to find something wet and sticky on his coat. He sat the angel down and looked. His back was covered in blood.
“Cas, what happened?”
“I held them off,” the angel muttered. “I held them all off.”
“What did they do to you?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just started taking off the other man’s clothes, looking for an injury he could repair, something to do, some way to help.
“Sam is safe, is he not? You stopped him?”
Dean winced, peeling off the suit jacket and finding more red standing out on white. “I was too late. I’m sorry.”
“Do not be sorry. It was mostly my fault.”
Dean peeled off the white shirt and gasped. There were no marks on the pale skin, just flakes of drying blood. “So, you’re not hurt?” It didn’t make sense. Cas had stumbled into the room, covered in blood, but wasn’t actually bleeding. He still seemed pretty out of it, but maybe it was just an angel thing.
“I am hurt,” he confirmed. “They healed my body.”
“Jimmy’s body,” Dean corrected.
“My body,” Cas insisted, turning back to meet Dean’s eyes. There was so much pain there, so much written in the blue depths, an ocean of swirling thoughts and confusion and… and something Dean couldn’t quite identify. He could get lost in that gaze. Actually had on several occasions.
“What did they do to you?” he repeated. “Because I may not be as up on the whole angel-angle as I could be, but I thought you were riding some poor sap.”
“I was. I am not any longer. Jimmy Novak has moved on, and I,” he sighed, voice wavering. “I am trapped.”
“You Fell?”
The angel managed to smile. “I was pushed.”
“You’re human?”
A nod. “It is a death sentence.”
“Dude,” Dean said, moving from his place behind the angel to sit at his side. “We’re not that bad.”
Castiel shook his head. “You do not understand. I have watched your kind for thousands of years, looking, but never touching. I see the things you do, and how you do them, but they are still a mystery. I was not watching to learn, I was simply watching to watch.”
Dean nodded, processing, trying to compare it to something he knew, a situation he could at least handle. “Like a teenager getting behind the wheel of a car for the first time,” he attempted. “They’ve been sitting beside their parents, watching them drive, for years, but watching isn’t doing. They still have to learn, no matter how close they paid attention.”
Cas just tilted his head. “I do not understand.”
“Never mind. I’ll teach you.”
“I do not want to be a burden…”
“Dude, you’ve been a burden since the day you showed up. Well, after the whole pulling me outta Hell thing.” He got to his feet and stretched. “You good to stand?”
Cas stood up and stared at him. “I believe so. I was shell-shocked before. I am not used to walking such great distances.”
“You walked from Chuck’s?”
“They took me from the prophet’s home and left me… somewhere. I am not sure where. I simply started walking until I saw a motel. Your car was parked out front.”
Dean nodded. “At least they left you with friends.”
“Friends?”
“Me and Sam. Or, me, at least. Y’know, someone who’ll help you out, show you the ropes.” He glanced back at the bed and frowned. “Clean up the blood.”
“My wings were torn off,” the angel explained. “The damage was only temporarily done to this mortal form.”
“Right. Gotcha.” That kicked off an awkward silence that stretched until something rumbled. Dean grinned. “You’re hungry.”
“I do not-”
“You’re human?”
“Yes.”
“Then you need food.” He glanced around the tiny motel room, his eyes landing on the Styrofoam container from the diner. “We’re kinda low,” he admitted, “but I probably wasn’t gonna finish it.” He nodded toward the table. “Sit, chew, swallow. Not hard.”
Blue eyes again met green, bright with confusion. Dean sighed. “You need to eat. And sleep. And do all that human stuff. I’m sorry.”
He really meant it. If he hadn’t been such an ass, if he hadn’t demanded so much, then Cas wouldn’t be standing there, his stomach rumbling.
The angel crossed the room and plopped himself into the chair, eyeing the pie with disgust.
“It’s good,” Dean promised. He sat down across from Castiel and watched him pick up the fork and sniff at his first bite. “Like my mom used to make.”
Something in the angel’s deep eyes softened at that, and he put the fork to his lips and ate.
“Your mother was a wonderful cook,” Cas muttered once he’d finished.
“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “She was.”
“What now?”
“Now? It’s past midnight, the Devil’s on the loose, and you look like you’re about to keel over. Now, we sleep.”
“I am not sure I know how.”
Dean felt himself grin. “It’s easy. Lie down, close your eyes, and let your body do the rest.”
“I don’t think I am tired.”
“Long day…”
“Too exciting.”
Dean grabbed the former angel’s hand, pulling him up and out of the chair. “Just try.”
“It is useless. I do not need sleep.”
“You’re human,” Dean repeated. “I’m sorry.”
“It was not-”
“Shhhh.” He pulled down the covers and sat the angel on the bed. “Take off your pants, socks, and shoes.” He pushed the bloody shirt and coats onto the floor. “Good, now lay down over there. We’ve only got two beds, and I think Sam’s gonna come back.”
Cas did as he was told, watching as Dean laid next to him, pulled up the covers, and turned off the lamp. “He should not blame himself.”
“Yeah, but he will. Welcome to humanity.” He felt the other man stiffen beside him. “Hey, it’s not all bad.”
“Not all bad? You need to stop your activities to do the most pointless things. There is suffering and death and plague and-” His words were cut off by Dean’s mouth closing over them. “What are you doing?”
“Being human,” Dean said. “Acting on impulse and proving it’s not all bad.”
“What?”
Dean rolled onto his side and smiled. “There’s not just pain.” His hand snaked beneath the sheets, over Castiel’s chest, and down. “There’s pleasure.” The angel gasped. “You can want.” He leaned close, wide, bright eyes following his every movement. “You can love.”
“Love?”
Fluid motions, up and down, slow and steady. Teasing. “I wouldn’t have said anything. I wasn’t gonna… I’m sorry. I was gonna let you stay… like that. But I wanted… I actually wanted-”
“For yourself.” Castiel finished his sentence, still watching him, breath hitching and face flushing. He leaned forward, toward Dean, meeting his lips. “You can have me,” he breathed.
-.-
Dean woke up alone in bed, semen dried on his sheets, and knew it had been a dream. The angel’s questioning eyes, first meal, first kiss, first orgasm. Raw and sharp and hot enough to make Dean come, too, with Cas’ hand uncertain on his dick, confused about what to do, innocent in a way that he had no right to be.
He sat up, sheets pooling around his hips, and looked at the other bed. It hadn’t been slept in. Sam was gone. Sam was gone and Lucifer was free and Dean was alone and Cas was probably dead. His heart sank at the last thought. Cas dead because of Dean, because of his selfishness, because of his want.
Something in the bathroom sniffled.
Dean rolled himself out of the bed, adjusted his boxers, and went to investigate. He approached the bathroom door and gently pushed it open. Castiel was sitting on the closed toilet seat, face in his hands, wearing only his boxers.
“Cas?”
He looked up, eyes shining, tear tracks running down his face. “Why?”
“Why what?” Dean asked, moving slowly into the bathroom, hands held out before him in a sign that he meant no harm. Cas was crying. Cas was an angel who had been pushed from Grace, had found him, and was crying. Angels were badasses. They weren’t supposed to cry. It was disconcerting.
Castiel shook his head. “I lost my wings, my Grace. I lost my home and my family. I am weak and breakable and soft.” He swiped a hand over his face and looked at it. “I cry. I am human. A dirty, selfish, monkey in clothing.” His eyes met Dean’s. “I have nothing.”
“You have me,” Dean said. “You have the world. Your whole life ahead of you, full of new things.” He smirked. “You have sex. And pie. Warm beds and good friends.”
“The world will end.”
“You have hope. You have to have hope, Cas. Otherwise, life’s pointless.”
The angel stared at him. “You do not understand. I have nothing left but you, and I am not sad.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“I do not know.” He sniffled. “Why am I crying if I am not sad?”
Dean felt himself smile as he reached out to wipe Castiel’s eyes. “Maybe because you’re happy?” The other man matched his grin, realization dawning in those impossibly blue eyes. “I’m happy, too.”
When the world ended, three days after Lucifer’s release, Dean and his angel were curled in each other’s arms, sleeping soundly through the Apocalypse.