Fic (Dean/Cas): Surrounded
Title: Surrounded
Author: heavenlyxbodies
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Rating: PG
Spoilers: possible vague unintentional spoilers for S6
Feedback: Makes me happy, just play nice
Disclaimer(s) can be found here
Warnings/Squicks: vague mentions of Dean/other(s), pre-slashy
Summary: The Final Battle is over. Sam’s trapped with Lucifer and Michael, Cas is trying to quell the troubles in Heaven, Dean is hunting himself ragged to a dangerous degree, and Bobby’s had enough. After Dean’s most recent brush with death, Bobby takes matters into his own hands.
AN1: This patently ignores everything past S5. As I said in the header, there may be vague spoilers for S6 (i.e. turmoil in Heaven, but that was hinted at in the last ep of S5 so…), but they are completely unintentional.
AN2: As always huge hugs and thank yous to my Arthur.
I’ll wrap myself in cities I travel,
I’ll wrap myself in dreams,
I’ll wrap myself in solitude,
But I wish I could wrap myself in thee.
-In Thee, Blue Oyster Cult
~~~~~~~~~
Dean hated sleeping. Hated it. Even when he drunk himself into a stupor he hated it. He hated the nightmares- the memories of Hell and the knowledge that Sammy was there, even deeper and more lost than he had been. He hated the dreams more. They reminded him that he was here, alive. And those were the good ones. The bad ones made his heart ache for a different reason. In those dreams he wasn’t alone; he felt safe and warm and loved. He felt strong arms around him, lips that always seemed slightly chapped whispering against his skin, and if he were truly unlucky a soft, light, feather touch like a blanket over him. He would wake up to moisture on his pillow and a sting in his eyes when he had those dreams.
At first he tried to hide them; pushing the ghosts of his mind down as far as he could- at the bottom of a bottle (or two) of JD or rotgut, or beneath the soft rolling heat of a convenient body, but that relief was fleeting. After the first month of random towns and random bodies, he decided the bottle was a better friend; it didn’t need him to put on a smiling, playful face and pretend.
He’d been on his own for almost seven months, and if it wasn’t for Bobby… well, there was Bobby and he was grateful for that. The crotchety old hunter was a rock and none too shy about smacking Dean upside the proverbial head when he thought he needed it or deserved it, which was what he was doing right then.
“What were you thinking, boy?” Bobby demanded through the phone.
“I was thinking that there was a kid in danger,” Dean snapped.
“I’d be surprised if you were thinking at all,” he grumbled into the phone.
“Bobby.”
“What Dean? You mean to tell me you’ve been thinking straight since Lucifer? If this is your thinking straight then you should be designing rollercoasters. Damn sight safer than hunting,” he muttered as an afterthought.
“What do you want me to do, Bobby? Sit around and mope, act like some whiny angst-ridden kid? He’s gone. They’re both gone. Nothing’s changing that. But there’re still things out there, things to fight and hunt. That’s who I am, Bobby. It’s what I have.”
“Damn-it, you great idjit, you have more than that. You can have more than that.”
Dean smiled sadly into the phone. “I got you, my baby, and the hunt.”
Bobby sighed. It was no use trying to talk to Dean when he was like this. “Yeah, well, if you keep goin’ off half-cocked and reckless you aren’t gonna have any of ‘em. And even if you don’t care about your sorry ass, I do.” A few beats later there was a heavy sigh from the other end of the phone.
“I know, Bobby.” Dean rolled his eyes skyward, closing them, and taking what he tried to tell himself was a calming breath; wishing either of the two men missing from his life were there. “I’ll be more careful. Happy?”
“Yeah, ‘more careful’ until the next person’s in danger.” The older hunter sighed. He knew that was part of the job, and it was part of what it made Dean such a good hunter; it was also gonna get him killed. “Idjit,” he muttered fondly. “You want this lead or not?” he asked, letting the conversation turn to more familiar, ‘safer’, subjects.
“Yeah, hit me,” Dean encouraged, grateful to move on from their previous topic; he knew it wasn’t over, but still glad of the out. Bobby always did know when and how much to push.
Minutes later, Dean was thanking Bobby and promising, again, to be more careful. After the phone line had been disconnected for almost a minute, Bobby glared at the innocent device. “Idjit!”
---------
Dean pulled up the mental map in his head- after spending virtually his whole life on the road he knew most of the major and minor US and Interstate Highways like old friends, at least well enough to get him in the vicinity of his target. This time was no exception.
It was strange, his mental map used to be nothing but crisscrossing lines and the occasional black blip of cities and towns he’d hunted in. Now there were other dots- red for the ones he and Sammy’d been in, blue for the places where Cas was with him, and fiery orange indicated all the battles to stop Armageddon. There was a time when the map had brought comfort- places he’d saved lives, people who would remember what he’d done. These days it only seemed to reinforce what was missing and how many times he’d failed. Pushing those morose thoughts aside, he tracked his best path to upstate New Mexico. Satisfied, he packed up from the abandoned house where he’d been squatting during this last hunt and set off for Angel Fire, New Mexico.
As the miles pounded out beneath his wheels, he tried not to think about the colourful dots adorning his mental map. He’d thrown his everything into the hunt after the ‘final battle’. He knew what Sammy had wanted for him, but he just couldn’t do it. And he knew Bobby thought it was some sort of misplaced ‘survivor’s guilt’ and he was probably right- Bobby usually was- but it didn’t change what he felt in his bones he needed to do. Besides, stopping, settling down, it would only reinforce everything (even worse than the dots), at least this way, he knew he was still making a difference.
---------
Bobby looked around the barren garage, checking the sigils and wards; he doubted he needed them, but after the last couple years he wasn’t taking any chances that someone or something he didn’t want answered him. He’d cleared the space and put up the sigils weeks ago just in case. He’d hoped he wouldn’t need it, but that fool boy was getting reckless and he knew if he didn’t do something soon he’d lose the only family he had left, and he’d be damned if he stood by and let it happen. “Hope I don’t have to use this,” he muttered. He hoped the angel would simply answer him when he called, but if he didn’t, Bobby was prepared to bring out the big guns. Closing his eyes he called out, “Castiel, get down here!” Niceties could wait until Dean was safe.
He waited. Nothing. No fluttering of wings, no huge intimidating light shows. He allowed several more minutes to pass before calling to the angel again. “I know you can hear me, Cas, don’t make me summon your angelic ass.”
This time Bobby was rewarded with a gruff voice behind him. “You do not need to summon me.”
Bobby turned around to face the angel. “Not like you were in a hurry to answer.”
“I was,” he got a thoughtful look, “engaged,” he said carefully.
“‘Engaged’?” Bobby grumbled incredulously.
“Things are complicated within the Host. There is much to be done.”
Bobby sighed, he hadn’t really thought about the state of Heaven now that the ‘grand destiny’ had been averted. “Not all harps and halos up there.”
Castiel cocked his head as if deciding what to say. “There have never been harps or halos among the Host,” he said almost flippantly, or what for a rebellious Angel of the Lord was flippantly. Sobering quickly, the angel asked, “Why did you call me?”
“Dean,” Bobby stated simply.
Castiel’s head snapped up and his full attention was now on the man in front of him. “Is Dean alright?” his angelic intensity making the words a demand and a plea.
“His baby brother is in Hell- in the Cage with Lucifer- and his best friend abandoned him. ‘course he’s not alright,” the old hunter answered tersely. “He’s been hunting non-stop; I don’t think he’s gone more than two days without being on the trail of something- anything. Almost got himself gutted this last time,” Bobby explained.
Castiel closed his eyes and tipped his dark head back as if Bobby’s words held some hidden cosmic meaning. He might be naïve in many ways as far as humans were concerned, but he wasn’t so naïve that he thought Bobby meant anyone other than him. He’d left- ‘abandoned’ he heard the word ring in his head- because Dean was supposed to leave this life, be happy, and he didn’t think Dean could do that with his presence. Leaving was the last thing he’d wanted. Dean meant everything to him, probably too much. “I thought Dean was with Lisa and Ben.”
Bobby snickered. “You really think he could accept the apple pie life while Sam’s down there? Hell, did you really expect him to accept it anyway?”
Part of Castiel was almost relieved to know his hunter hadn’t gone into that ‘apple pie life’ as Bobby had called it, but the larger part of him berated himself. He’d failed to keep an eye on Dean, and he of all people should’ve known what losing Sam would drive him to, yet Cas hadn’t been there. However much he hadn’t wanted to leave Dean all those months ago, he had wanted to check up on him even less. Dean should’ve been safe, in another’s arms, but safe. “Do you know where he is?” the angel finally asked.
“Well, duh,” he groused. “I sent him on a wild goose chase to upstate New Mexico- resort town, Angel Fire.”
Bobby’s words were met with a flutter of wings.
“He’s not there yet!” Bobby hollered at the air, before letting out a huff. “Stupid angel.” He shook his head and went back to the house. Grabbing a cold beer from the refrigerator he took a deep pull. “Damn idjits, the pair of them.”
---------
Fingers danced across his flesh meandering in unknown trails over his chest; smooth hands that he knew from hundreds of tiny touches in the past, but never like this- never caressing, never for no other reason than to cause pleasure, never to make sparks ignite throughout his body. He pressed up, feeling a searing palm flatten against his chest and push him gently back down. Lips, fierce and pliant, pressed to his and he obediently opened his own to allow a warm tongue to play against his.
Dean awoke with a start, the ghosts of fingertips and lips tingling along his skin. Rubbing his face in his hands, he reached blindly for his flask and the familiar burn of alcohol in his throat. He was still a good twelve hours from the New Mexico state line, but after twenty some-odd hours on the road even his body needed rest. He hefted himself out of the Impala and stretched sore, cramped muscles and pulled out a folded map of New Mexico- his mental map might be enough to get him within spitting distance of his destination, but the small towns and rural byways required the real thing. He refolded the worn paper until it showed the northeast corner of the state and the small resort town of Angel Fire. ‘Angel Fire’ he sniggered, somehow it was fitting of his mood. Tossing the map in the passenger seat, he started his baby and took another swig from his flask. “You and me, baby; you and me.” He pulled out of the rest stop he’d loosely called home for the night and back onto the interstate, trying to push all thoughts of his dream and the ache in his chest away.
---------
Pacing was not something angels did as a rule, but Castiel had been around humans and almost human long enough that he understood the value and odd comfort it brought. Which was why in Heaven, when he should have been rejoicing in the aether, communing with the rest of the Host on an intrinsic level, he was pacing through the memory of one of Dean’s ‘heavens’. At times Castiel hated the spells he’d emblazoned on the brothers hiding them from the angels’ sight. It was what Dean would call a ‘necessary evil’ and at this moment he felt it was truly evil. Dean was in pain and all he could do was wait for him to arrive in the small town Bobby had directed him to. The Apocalypse may have been averted, but Dean was still his charge, more than that, his friend. The one person he could trust and turn to. The one person he loved above all others, even his Father. He was struck by the viciousness of that thought. He’d rebelled against the Host, against Michael, and the end of the world; it had never fully registered with him that it also meant he’d rebelled against his Father. And he’d do it again.
The angel was shocked out of his reverie by a gap in the aethereal ward he’d laid around the outskirts of Angel Fire, New Mexico. He might not be able to simply locate Dean any longer, be he could identify all the other souls, so he did what the Winchesters had always done- thought ‘outside the box’ as they would say, and set a ward that would alert him to the absence of someone crossing into the town. There was always the chance it was someone or something else, but even Cas knew it wasn’t likely. Now, he merely had to locate the man amongst the thousand or so other souls there. A Herculean task by no means.
---
“Bobby,” Dean growled into the phone, though he was as angry with himself as the older hunter. He’d been in town long enough to settle into a motel and call Bobby for more details on the monster he was hunting, only to find out there wasn’t one. “Why’d you send me here if there’s nothing to hunt?!?”
“Because you needed it,” he growled back. “Damn-it, boy, when was the last time you slept in a real bed? I don’t mean crashing in some fleabag for five minutes before you go off and try to get yourself killed, again. I’m talking about real sleep.”
“You sent me after a phantom skinwalker so I could rest?” His growl was being replaced with incredulousness. “Jesus, Bobby, why didn’t you just ask me to come there?”
Bobby snickered. “Would you have come?”
Dean rubbed at his forehead. “No,” he said honestly.
“One day, Dean, that’s all I’m asking. Just one day without hunting.”
With resignation in his voice, “Will you just let this go, Bobby?” he asked futilely.
“Like Hell.”
“Fine. One day.” Even as he said the words the exhaustion he’d been fighting for months began to take over. “But, Bobby…”
“I know. I got a couple leads to look into; if they pan out, I’ll call you.”
“Okay,” he sighed, falling back onto the bed. “Bobby, thanks.”
The old hunter huffed. “Somebody’s got to watch out for your sorry ass.”
Dean smiled into the phone. “Yeah, well…”
Bobby chuckled. “I’ll call tomorrow,” he promised, ending the call.
Dean stayed half on, half off the bed. The exhaustion that had threatened to overtake him hit him like a freight train and suddenly even his arms were too heavy to move. He knew Bobby was right, he’d been running on instinct and adrenaline for weeks, but the idea of sleep was completely unappealing. Even as he thought it, he could feel himself begin to drift off and he could only pray that it would be a dreamless sleep.
Castiel watched in silence, shrouded from sight as his hunter succumbed to much needed sleep. Dean looked haggard, even in sleep. The angel moved to sit by Dean on the edge of the bed, tracing his fingers over the taut tension marred brow, offering small comfort. He’d wanted to show himself to Dean the moment he’d located him, but he realized with one look how desperately Dean needed to rest, so he watched over him and waited.
Cas was there, speaking soft words in his gruff, gravelly voice, and it washed over him like a cleansing tide. The words didn’t matter, not that he thought he could make them out, it was the voice; the knowledge that the angel hadn’t abandoned him for Heaven. He suddenly felt like he’d been punched in the gut, turning everything upside down. Visions of the Pit, of the blood, the viscera, the pain, and he was causing it. It was him with the knives and stones and strange tools he never wanted to see again. Worse still was the body he was butchering. Green-hazel eyes he knew too well stared at him pleading and distant and, at times, understanding.
“Sam…” Dean muttered painfully.
As suddenly as the vision came it went, replaced be a reassuring calm and Castiel’s voice stronger than before, telling him to sleep, that he’d watch his dreams, that he was safe.
Cas stroked Dean’s soft hair and across his brow. He’d hoped Dean would sleep peacefully, but he knew the instant his mind turned tormented. Dean’s hands had clinched into fists and his heart rate sped rapidly. Then he’d called Sam’s name and Castiel knew where Dean’s mind lay. He couldn’t let Dean suffer like this, so he did what he could short of waking him.
---
It was evening when Dean finally woke. He knew instinctively that he wasn’t alone. He mentally catalogued where he was in relation to any weapons. The answer- too damn far. With little plan other than ‘get to his duffle’ he rolled off the far side of the bed.
And nothing happened.
Finally, Dean peered over the bed to see Castiel sitting, almost nervously, next to where he’d been sleeping.
“Hello, Dean,” he said, rough and warm. Somehow the familiar greeting seemed heavy as if trying to carry too much in too few words.
“Cas? What the Hell are you doing here?” He knew the words came out in a spiteful growl, but Cas had left, scarpered off to Heaven to be with his brothers and sisters. He didn’t get to just pop in out of the blue. Dean sagged as the pieces fell into place… he was gonna kill Bobby. “Bobby put you up to this, didn’t he?” Dean demanded.
“Bobby merely told me the town you were heading to, nothing more or less.”
Dean grunted in response and climbed off the floor. “Shouldn’t you be corralling angels in Heaven?” he snapped.
“Dean. I did not mean to abandon you. I believed you would honour Sam’s wishes- stop hunting and make a family with Lisa and Ben. There was no place for a rebellious angel in that world.”
“Yeah, well, if you’d stuck around for more than ten seconds you might’ve figured it out.”
Cas sat quietly, waiting for Dean’s next move or outburst.
Exasperated, Dean sat down with a thump next to the angel. After a moment he said softly, “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
A small smile twitched along Cas’ mouth. “I believe it is known as Winchester-itis.”
Dean let out a full, rich chuckle; it was music to Castiel’s ears, not even the voices and songs of the Host were as beautiful as Dean’s laughter.
“-itis? Really, Cas? Where’d you…? Never mind, I probably don’t wanna know.”
“Dean,” the angel said, serious returning to his voice, “you can’t keep doing this.”
“How can I do anything else?”
“Not the hunting, Dean. I know you see it as fundamental to who you are. I understand Sam’s request, but I equally understand why you can’t grant it.” Cas turned so his penetrating blue eyes could pin Dean with every ounce of his intensity. “Stop this.”
Dean felt like a bug mounted on a poster board or possibly under a microscope. He thought for a moment he could hear Cas’ words inside his head as loudly as out. As if there were any doubts that Cas had his full mojo up, complete with feature upgrades, this would’ve dispelled them. “Cas…”
“Dean, there are people here who love you. You are not alone. If you won’t slow down for yourself think of what this is doing to them.”
“Low blow, Cas,” he said softly. “Bobby’s a tough bastard…”
“Yes, he is, but that does not mean it hurts him any less.” Castiel cocked his head, studying Dean intently for a moment then seemed to come to some sort of decision. He found him swallowing unnecessarily. “It doesn’t mean it hurts me any less.” He turned his hand up on his leg where he and Dean were almost touching.
Dean’s hand reflexively slid into Cas’ as if drawn like oppositely charged magnets. “You should’ve stayed,” Dean informed him.
Cas nodded. “I realize that, now.”
Dean sighed and stifled a yawn.
Castiel looked Dean over appraisingly. “You’re still exhausted.”
Dean chuckled wryly. “Figured that out did you?” he teased even as he scooted up the bed to lie down, tugging Cas with him.
Obediently, Cas followed, laying down next to him, face to face. He looked at their hands, still entwined, and kissed Dean’s knuckles. “Sleep. I’ll watch your dreams.”
Smiling hazily, “It was you,” he accused without heat.
“Yes,” Cas admitted.
“Next time… to my face…” Dean started to trail off as sleep claimed him once again.
As Castiel watched his beloved human fall into a deep sleep, he couldn’t help but smile as the lines of his face, so taut and deep, eased and softened. Feeling more light-hearted than he had in months, Cas unfurled his strong wings, resplendent with silver-greys and browns rich and warm as autumn leaves, and wrapped them protectively around Dean’s body.
Dean was dreaming again. About Cas… he struggled against it, pulling himself half out of sleep, only to find he was still there in Cas’ arms. But it felt more real than any of the other dreams. Cas murmured to him to calm, peppering his face with gentle kisses, and a silky caress like the softest, warmest hair brushed up and down his body. “Cas?” he forced out, groggily.
“Yes, Dean, I’m here. You can sleep.”
The silk against Dean’s skin seemed to tighten around him, cocooning him in warmth and love. Dean let out a bone deep sigh, slowly accepting that Cas truly was holding him. He pressed further into the angel’s firm presence and slept.
Author: heavenlyxbodies
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Rating: PG
Spoilers: possible vague unintentional spoilers for S6
Feedback: Makes me happy, just play nice
Disclaimer(s) can be found here
Warnings/Squicks: vague mentions of Dean/other(s), pre-slashy
Summary: The Final Battle is over. Sam’s trapped with Lucifer and Michael, Cas is trying to quell the troubles in Heaven, Dean is hunting himself ragged to a dangerous degree, and Bobby’s had enough. After Dean’s most recent brush with death, Bobby takes matters into his own hands.
AN1: This patently ignores everything past S5. As I said in the header, there may be vague spoilers for S6 (i.e. turmoil in Heaven, but that was hinted at in the last ep of S5 so…), but they are completely unintentional.
AN2: As always huge hugs and thank yous to my Arthur.
I’ll wrap myself in cities I travel,
I’ll wrap myself in dreams,
I’ll wrap myself in solitude,
But I wish I could wrap myself in thee.
-In Thee, Blue Oyster Cult
~~~~~~~~~
Dean hated sleeping. Hated it. Even when he drunk himself into a stupor he hated it. He hated the nightmares- the memories of Hell and the knowledge that Sammy was there, even deeper and more lost than he had been. He hated the dreams more. They reminded him that he was here, alive. And those were the good ones. The bad ones made his heart ache for a different reason. In those dreams he wasn’t alone; he felt safe and warm and loved. He felt strong arms around him, lips that always seemed slightly chapped whispering against his skin, and if he were truly unlucky a soft, light, feather touch like a blanket over him. He would wake up to moisture on his pillow and a sting in his eyes when he had those dreams.
At first he tried to hide them; pushing the ghosts of his mind down as far as he could- at the bottom of a bottle (or two) of JD or rotgut, or beneath the soft rolling heat of a convenient body, but that relief was fleeting. After the first month of random towns and random bodies, he decided the bottle was a better friend; it didn’t need him to put on a smiling, playful face and pretend.
He’d been on his own for almost seven months, and if it wasn’t for Bobby… well, there was Bobby and he was grateful for that. The crotchety old hunter was a rock and none too shy about smacking Dean upside the proverbial head when he thought he needed it or deserved it, which was what he was doing right then.
“What were you thinking, boy?” Bobby demanded through the phone.
“I was thinking that there was a kid in danger,” Dean snapped.
“I’d be surprised if you were thinking at all,” he grumbled into the phone.
“Bobby.”
“What Dean? You mean to tell me you’ve been thinking straight since Lucifer? If this is your thinking straight then you should be designing rollercoasters. Damn sight safer than hunting,” he muttered as an afterthought.
“What do you want me to do, Bobby? Sit around and mope, act like some whiny angst-ridden kid? He’s gone. They’re both gone. Nothing’s changing that. But there’re still things out there, things to fight and hunt. That’s who I am, Bobby. It’s what I have.”
“Damn-it, you great idjit, you have more than that. You can have more than that.”
Dean smiled sadly into the phone. “I got you, my baby, and the hunt.”
Bobby sighed. It was no use trying to talk to Dean when he was like this. “Yeah, well, if you keep goin’ off half-cocked and reckless you aren’t gonna have any of ‘em. And even if you don’t care about your sorry ass, I do.” A few beats later there was a heavy sigh from the other end of the phone.
“I know, Bobby.” Dean rolled his eyes skyward, closing them, and taking what he tried to tell himself was a calming breath; wishing either of the two men missing from his life were there. “I’ll be more careful. Happy?”
“Yeah, ‘more careful’ until the next person’s in danger.” The older hunter sighed. He knew that was part of the job, and it was part of what it made Dean such a good hunter; it was also gonna get him killed. “Idjit,” he muttered fondly. “You want this lead or not?” he asked, letting the conversation turn to more familiar, ‘safer’, subjects.
“Yeah, hit me,” Dean encouraged, grateful to move on from their previous topic; he knew it wasn’t over, but still glad of the out. Bobby always did know when and how much to push.
Minutes later, Dean was thanking Bobby and promising, again, to be more careful. After the phone line had been disconnected for almost a minute, Bobby glared at the innocent device. “Idjit!”
---------
Dean pulled up the mental map in his head- after spending virtually his whole life on the road he knew most of the major and minor US and Interstate Highways like old friends, at least well enough to get him in the vicinity of his target. This time was no exception.
It was strange, his mental map used to be nothing but crisscrossing lines and the occasional black blip of cities and towns he’d hunted in. Now there were other dots- red for the ones he and Sammy’d been in, blue for the places where Cas was with him, and fiery orange indicated all the battles to stop Armageddon. There was a time when the map had brought comfort- places he’d saved lives, people who would remember what he’d done. These days it only seemed to reinforce what was missing and how many times he’d failed. Pushing those morose thoughts aside, he tracked his best path to upstate New Mexico. Satisfied, he packed up from the abandoned house where he’d been squatting during this last hunt and set off for Angel Fire, New Mexico.
As the miles pounded out beneath his wheels, he tried not to think about the colourful dots adorning his mental map. He’d thrown his everything into the hunt after the ‘final battle’. He knew what Sammy had wanted for him, but he just couldn’t do it. And he knew Bobby thought it was some sort of misplaced ‘survivor’s guilt’ and he was probably right- Bobby usually was- but it didn’t change what he felt in his bones he needed to do. Besides, stopping, settling down, it would only reinforce everything (even worse than the dots), at least this way, he knew he was still making a difference.
---------
Bobby looked around the barren garage, checking the sigils and wards; he doubted he needed them, but after the last couple years he wasn’t taking any chances that someone or something he didn’t want answered him. He’d cleared the space and put up the sigils weeks ago just in case. He’d hoped he wouldn’t need it, but that fool boy was getting reckless and he knew if he didn’t do something soon he’d lose the only family he had left, and he’d be damned if he stood by and let it happen. “Hope I don’t have to use this,” he muttered. He hoped the angel would simply answer him when he called, but if he didn’t, Bobby was prepared to bring out the big guns. Closing his eyes he called out, “Castiel, get down here!” Niceties could wait until Dean was safe.
He waited. Nothing. No fluttering of wings, no huge intimidating light shows. He allowed several more minutes to pass before calling to the angel again. “I know you can hear me, Cas, don’t make me summon your angelic ass.”
This time Bobby was rewarded with a gruff voice behind him. “You do not need to summon me.”
Bobby turned around to face the angel. “Not like you were in a hurry to answer.”
“I was,” he got a thoughtful look, “engaged,” he said carefully.
“‘Engaged’?” Bobby grumbled incredulously.
“Things are complicated within the Host. There is much to be done.”
Bobby sighed, he hadn’t really thought about the state of Heaven now that the ‘grand destiny’ had been averted. “Not all harps and halos up there.”
Castiel cocked his head as if deciding what to say. “There have never been harps or halos among the Host,” he said almost flippantly, or what for a rebellious Angel of the Lord was flippantly. Sobering quickly, the angel asked, “Why did you call me?”
“Dean,” Bobby stated simply.
Castiel’s head snapped up and his full attention was now on the man in front of him. “Is Dean alright?” his angelic intensity making the words a demand and a plea.
“His baby brother is in Hell- in the Cage with Lucifer- and his best friend abandoned him. ‘course he’s not alright,” the old hunter answered tersely. “He’s been hunting non-stop; I don’t think he’s gone more than two days without being on the trail of something- anything. Almost got himself gutted this last time,” Bobby explained.
Castiel closed his eyes and tipped his dark head back as if Bobby’s words held some hidden cosmic meaning. He might be naïve in many ways as far as humans were concerned, but he wasn’t so naïve that he thought Bobby meant anyone other than him. He’d left- ‘abandoned’ he heard the word ring in his head- because Dean was supposed to leave this life, be happy, and he didn’t think Dean could do that with his presence. Leaving was the last thing he’d wanted. Dean meant everything to him, probably too much. “I thought Dean was with Lisa and Ben.”
Bobby snickered. “You really think he could accept the apple pie life while Sam’s down there? Hell, did you really expect him to accept it anyway?”
Part of Castiel was almost relieved to know his hunter hadn’t gone into that ‘apple pie life’ as Bobby had called it, but the larger part of him berated himself. He’d failed to keep an eye on Dean, and he of all people should’ve known what losing Sam would drive him to, yet Cas hadn’t been there. However much he hadn’t wanted to leave Dean all those months ago, he had wanted to check up on him even less. Dean should’ve been safe, in another’s arms, but safe. “Do you know where he is?” the angel finally asked.
“Well, duh,” he groused. “I sent him on a wild goose chase to upstate New Mexico- resort town, Angel Fire.”
Bobby’s words were met with a flutter of wings.
“He’s not there yet!” Bobby hollered at the air, before letting out a huff. “Stupid angel.” He shook his head and went back to the house. Grabbing a cold beer from the refrigerator he took a deep pull. “Damn idjits, the pair of them.”
---------
Fingers danced across his flesh meandering in unknown trails over his chest; smooth hands that he knew from hundreds of tiny touches in the past, but never like this- never caressing, never for no other reason than to cause pleasure, never to make sparks ignite throughout his body. He pressed up, feeling a searing palm flatten against his chest and push him gently back down. Lips, fierce and pliant, pressed to his and he obediently opened his own to allow a warm tongue to play against his.
Dean awoke with a start, the ghosts of fingertips and lips tingling along his skin. Rubbing his face in his hands, he reached blindly for his flask and the familiar burn of alcohol in his throat. He was still a good twelve hours from the New Mexico state line, but after twenty some-odd hours on the road even his body needed rest. He hefted himself out of the Impala and stretched sore, cramped muscles and pulled out a folded map of New Mexico- his mental map might be enough to get him within spitting distance of his destination, but the small towns and rural byways required the real thing. He refolded the worn paper until it showed the northeast corner of the state and the small resort town of Angel Fire. ‘Angel Fire’ he sniggered, somehow it was fitting of his mood. Tossing the map in the passenger seat, he started his baby and took another swig from his flask. “You and me, baby; you and me.” He pulled out of the rest stop he’d loosely called home for the night and back onto the interstate, trying to push all thoughts of his dream and the ache in his chest away.
---------
Pacing was not something angels did as a rule, but Castiel had been around humans and almost human long enough that he understood the value and odd comfort it brought. Which was why in Heaven, when he should have been rejoicing in the aether, communing with the rest of the Host on an intrinsic level, he was pacing through the memory of one of Dean’s ‘heavens’. At times Castiel hated the spells he’d emblazoned on the brothers hiding them from the angels’ sight. It was what Dean would call a ‘necessary evil’ and at this moment he felt it was truly evil. Dean was in pain and all he could do was wait for him to arrive in the small town Bobby had directed him to. The Apocalypse may have been averted, but Dean was still his charge, more than that, his friend. The one person he could trust and turn to. The one person he loved above all others, even his Father. He was struck by the viciousness of that thought. He’d rebelled against the Host, against Michael, and the end of the world; it had never fully registered with him that it also meant he’d rebelled against his Father. And he’d do it again.
The angel was shocked out of his reverie by a gap in the aethereal ward he’d laid around the outskirts of Angel Fire, New Mexico. He might not be able to simply locate Dean any longer, be he could identify all the other souls, so he did what the Winchesters had always done- thought ‘outside the box’ as they would say, and set a ward that would alert him to the absence of someone crossing into the town. There was always the chance it was someone or something else, but even Cas knew it wasn’t likely. Now, he merely had to locate the man amongst the thousand or so other souls there. A Herculean task by no means.
---
“Bobby,” Dean growled into the phone, though he was as angry with himself as the older hunter. He’d been in town long enough to settle into a motel and call Bobby for more details on the monster he was hunting, only to find out there wasn’t one. “Why’d you send me here if there’s nothing to hunt?!?”
“Because you needed it,” he growled back. “Damn-it, boy, when was the last time you slept in a real bed? I don’t mean crashing in some fleabag for five minutes before you go off and try to get yourself killed, again. I’m talking about real sleep.”
“You sent me after a phantom skinwalker so I could rest?” His growl was being replaced with incredulousness. “Jesus, Bobby, why didn’t you just ask me to come there?”
Bobby snickered. “Would you have come?”
Dean rubbed at his forehead. “No,” he said honestly.
“One day, Dean, that’s all I’m asking. Just one day without hunting.”
With resignation in his voice, “Will you just let this go, Bobby?” he asked futilely.
“Like Hell.”
“Fine. One day.” Even as he said the words the exhaustion he’d been fighting for months began to take over. “But, Bobby…”
“I know. I got a couple leads to look into; if they pan out, I’ll call you.”
“Okay,” he sighed, falling back onto the bed. “Bobby, thanks.”
The old hunter huffed. “Somebody’s got to watch out for your sorry ass.”
Dean smiled into the phone. “Yeah, well…”
Bobby chuckled. “I’ll call tomorrow,” he promised, ending the call.
Dean stayed half on, half off the bed. The exhaustion that had threatened to overtake him hit him like a freight train and suddenly even his arms were too heavy to move. He knew Bobby was right, he’d been running on instinct and adrenaline for weeks, but the idea of sleep was completely unappealing. Even as he thought it, he could feel himself begin to drift off and he could only pray that it would be a dreamless sleep.
Castiel watched in silence, shrouded from sight as his hunter succumbed to much needed sleep. Dean looked haggard, even in sleep. The angel moved to sit by Dean on the edge of the bed, tracing his fingers over the taut tension marred brow, offering small comfort. He’d wanted to show himself to Dean the moment he’d located him, but he realized with one look how desperately Dean needed to rest, so he watched over him and waited.
Cas was there, speaking soft words in his gruff, gravelly voice, and it washed over him like a cleansing tide. The words didn’t matter, not that he thought he could make them out, it was the voice; the knowledge that the angel hadn’t abandoned him for Heaven. He suddenly felt like he’d been punched in the gut, turning everything upside down. Visions of the Pit, of the blood, the viscera, the pain, and he was causing it. It was him with the knives and stones and strange tools he never wanted to see again. Worse still was the body he was butchering. Green-hazel eyes he knew too well stared at him pleading and distant and, at times, understanding.
“Sam…” Dean muttered painfully.
As suddenly as the vision came it went, replaced be a reassuring calm and Castiel’s voice stronger than before, telling him to sleep, that he’d watch his dreams, that he was safe.
Cas stroked Dean’s soft hair and across his brow. He’d hoped Dean would sleep peacefully, but he knew the instant his mind turned tormented. Dean’s hands had clinched into fists and his heart rate sped rapidly. Then he’d called Sam’s name and Castiel knew where Dean’s mind lay. He couldn’t let Dean suffer like this, so he did what he could short of waking him.
---
It was evening when Dean finally woke. He knew instinctively that he wasn’t alone. He mentally catalogued where he was in relation to any weapons. The answer- too damn far. With little plan other than ‘get to his duffle’ he rolled off the far side of the bed.
And nothing happened.
Finally, Dean peered over the bed to see Castiel sitting, almost nervously, next to where he’d been sleeping.
“Hello, Dean,” he said, rough and warm. Somehow the familiar greeting seemed heavy as if trying to carry too much in too few words.
“Cas? What the Hell are you doing here?” He knew the words came out in a spiteful growl, but Cas had left, scarpered off to Heaven to be with his brothers and sisters. He didn’t get to just pop in out of the blue. Dean sagged as the pieces fell into place… he was gonna kill Bobby. “Bobby put you up to this, didn’t he?” Dean demanded.
“Bobby merely told me the town you were heading to, nothing more or less.”
Dean grunted in response and climbed off the floor. “Shouldn’t you be corralling angels in Heaven?” he snapped.
“Dean. I did not mean to abandon you. I believed you would honour Sam’s wishes- stop hunting and make a family with Lisa and Ben. There was no place for a rebellious angel in that world.”
“Yeah, well, if you’d stuck around for more than ten seconds you might’ve figured it out.”
Cas sat quietly, waiting for Dean’s next move or outburst.
Exasperated, Dean sat down with a thump next to the angel. After a moment he said softly, “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
A small smile twitched along Cas’ mouth. “I believe it is known as Winchester-itis.”
Dean let out a full, rich chuckle; it was music to Castiel’s ears, not even the voices and songs of the Host were as beautiful as Dean’s laughter.
“-itis? Really, Cas? Where’d you…? Never mind, I probably don’t wanna know.”
“Dean,” the angel said, serious returning to his voice, “you can’t keep doing this.”
“How can I do anything else?”
“Not the hunting, Dean. I know you see it as fundamental to who you are. I understand Sam’s request, but I equally understand why you can’t grant it.” Cas turned so his penetrating blue eyes could pin Dean with every ounce of his intensity. “Stop this.”
Dean felt like a bug mounted on a poster board or possibly under a microscope. He thought for a moment he could hear Cas’ words inside his head as loudly as out. As if there were any doubts that Cas had his full mojo up, complete with feature upgrades, this would’ve dispelled them. “Cas…”
“Dean, there are people here who love you. You are not alone. If you won’t slow down for yourself think of what this is doing to them.”
“Low blow, Cas,” he said softly. “Bobby’s a tough bastard…”
“Yes, he is, but that does not mean it hurts him any less.” Castiel cocked his head, studying Dean intently for a moment then seemed to come to some sort of decision. He found him swallowing unnecessarily. “It doesn’t mean it hurts me any less.” He turned his hand up on his leg where he and Dean were almost touching.
Dean’s hand reflexively slid into Cas’ as if drawn like oppositely charged magnets. “You should’ve stayed,” Dean informed him.
Cas nodded. “I realize that, now.”
Dean sighed and stifled a yawn.
Castiel looked Dean over appraisingly. “You’re still exhausted.”
Dean chuckled wryly. “Figured that out did you?” he teased even as he scooted up the bed to lie down, tugging Cas with him.
Obediently, Cas followed, laying down next to him, face to face. He looked at their hands, still entwined, and kissed Dean’s knuckles. “Sleep. I’ll watch your dreams.”
Smiling hazily, “It was you,” he accused without heat.
“Yes,” Cas admitted.
“Next time… to my face…” Dean started to trail off as sleep claimed him once again.
As Castiel watched his beloved human fall into a deep sleep, he couldn’t help but smile as the lines of his face, so taut and deep, eased and softened. Feeling more light-hearted than he had in months, Cas unfurled his strong wings, resplendent with silver-greys and browns rich and warm as autumn leaves, and wrapped them protectively around Dean’s body.
Dean was dreaming again. About Cas… he struggled against it, pulling himself half out of sleep, only to find he was still there in Cas’ arms. But it felt more real than any of the other dreams. Cas murmured to him to calm, peppering his face with gentle kisses, and a silky caress like the softest, warmest hair brushed up and down his body. “Cas?” he forced out, groggily.
“Yes, Dean, I’m here. You can sleep.”
The silk against Dean’s skin seemed to tighten around him, cocooning him in warmth and love. Dean let out a bone deep sigh, slowly accepting that Cas truly was holding him. He pressed further into the angel’s firm presence and slept.