Untitled #21 (Slash, PG)
Title: Untitled #21
Rating: PG
Category: Slash (Wincest) oneshot
Word Count: 1034
Characters: Dean/Sam, Castiel
Spoilers: Seeing up to 4.18 would be helpful
Summary: They meet again where it all started
Author’s Notes: From here. For halfshellvenus who asked for Sam/Dean, apologies that are finally heard.
Disclaimer: The following characters and situations are used without permission of the creators, owners, and further affiliates of the television show, Supernatural, to whom they rightly belong. I claim only what is mine, and I make no money off what is theirs.
- - - - -
"It is not too late for forgiveness," Castiel tells him.
Dean looks up from the motel's table where scattered newspapers show blurry pictures of bloody fields. In the photos, black-eyed people stagger over the horizon, guns and knives in hand. He doesn't say anything when he meets Castiel's eyes, simply stays quiet and stares. He's too tired for trivial words now.
"Forgiveness," Castiel says again. "You are never too late to ask for it. To offer it to another."
Dean shakes his head and closes his eyes. "Spare me the Ten Commandments," he mutters. He considers making a quip about Charlton Heston, but it doesn't matter. Not like Castiel would get it anyway.
Castiel moves around the table and sits down across from Dean. He rests a hand on top of the newspapers with their grisly articles, and they flutter and crumble to ash at his touch. "Move past these things," he says, eyes focused on Dean. "They will only hold you back as you cling to their false images."
"False?" Dean echoes. He laughs, a single, grainy note. "There's nothing false about these. That's what's going on out there, Cas. That's where...that's where..." He falters, and the words die on his tongue. Their taste is too bitter to speak aloud.
"I know. That is where Sam is. I have seen past these paper pictures. I've seen him in the flesh."
Dean looks up, trying to keep the hope out of his eyes. It seems as though it's been years since he's been in the same room with Sam, although he knows it couldn't have been nearly that long. A month, maybe, but things have been escalating too fast and too far lately, and time's slipping furiously through his fingers.
They used to share everything. Everything from the bed at night and the shower in the morning to breath and heartbeat, life and love, and--now? Now, nothing is as it was. Dean was too weak for Sam, so he stayed behind. Sam was too dark for Dean, so he left. Couldn't admit their only weakness was the lack of trust in the other, and they separated and went their ways. Now, the world hangs by fingernails on the apocalypse's cliff, and they could be separated forever.
"How...how is he?" Dean finally asks.
Castiel's smile is faint but kind; he has learned much about human emotions in the last year. "Go to him and ask. He will welcome your presence."
"But the demons..." Dean begins.
"He will not let them harm you. They may surround you, but they will not touch a hair on your head." Castiel rests his hand over Dean's. "Go to him. He is waiting for forgiveness as much as you wait." Castiel squeezes his hand, and Dean tumbles backwards in darkness.
When he opens his eyes, he's lying in the middle of an empty street. He lifts his head, and his heart sinks as he recognizes the buildings. It's been years, but he'll never forget the street in Lawrence where he was born.
As he rises to his feet, he sees the demons on the sidewalks. They watch him with their black eyes. Some of them wear their human faces and others let their rotting flesh and cracked bones show through. All of them, though, regard him as the enemy.
He walks down the street with them watching him, some even daring to walk alongside him so close that he can hear the soft swish of their clothing and smell the sulfur on their skin. But, as Castiel promised, none of them touch him.
He walks up the small walkway leading to his old home. On the porch, he hesitates and considers knocking, but he shakes his head and turns the knob. He enters the house and closes the door behind him.
The house is silent inside. Except for the murky darkness, everything is as he remembers it. For some reason, he's not surprised. This was where it started, after all.
"Sam?" he calls out. "Sam, are you here?"
There is the sound of creaking footsteps above his head. It is his answer.
He climbs the stairs with his heart in his throat. He doesn't go to his room. He doesn't go to Mom and Dad's room. He goes straight to Sam's.
The crib is gone, as he knew it would be, and the shelves on the walls are empty. The wallpaper's faded and peeling in the corners, and there are cobwebs around the ceiling light. But, a darkened figure with hunched shoulders stands at the window.
"Sam?" Dean whispers.
The figure turns at the sound, revealing Sam. His eyes widen. "Dean?" he says, shocked. Then, his features crumble, and he goes to his brother. "Dean, oh god, Dean."
They embrace in the middle of the room, and the gesture's awkward because it's been so long and so much has come between them. Then Sam lifts Dean's head, cradles his face in his hands, and says, "This was never supposed to happen."
"I know." Dean sighs. "I know. I shouldn't...I should've gone after you. I know you didn't want me...but..."
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"Shh." Sam smiles and presses his forehead against Dean's. His skin is warm, and he smells of smoke. "Is it too late?" he asks.
Dean doesn't know if Sam means the world's fate. He doesn't know if Sam means them. He remembers Castiel's words, though, and he says, "No. No, Sammy."
"Sammy." Sam grins. "You haven't called me that in a long time."
Dean smiles back, and he lets Sam rub his nose against his own. It's a silly little gesture, perhaps, but it's surprisingly intimate in spite of what they've been through. Outside, the demons are growling and the wind is building. It could be the wind from angel wings or the winds from the pits of Hell.
"Sam," Dean says.
"Let them come," Sam says, lips brushing against Dean's when he speaks. "I'm not leaving you again." Something in the air crackles, and Dean glances over to see fire on Sam's fingertips. "I never should have left."
Dean closes his eyes, and he doesn't argue. When they kiss, he knows that finally, forgiveness has been heard.
Rating: PG
Category: Slash (Wincest) oneshot
Word Count: 1034
Characters: Dean/Sam, Castiel
Spoilers: Seeing up to 4.18 would be helpful
Summary: They meet again where it all started
Author’s Notes: From here. For halfshellvenus who asked for Sam/Dean, apologies that are finally heard.
Disclaimer: The following characters and situations are used without permission of the creators, owners, and further affiliates of the television show, Supernatural, to whom they rightly belong. I claim only what is mine, and I make no money off what is theirs.
- - - - -
"It is not too late for forgiveness," Castiel tells him.
Dean looks up from the motel's table where scattered newspapers show blurry pictures of bloody fields. In the photos, black-eyed people stagger over the horizon, guns and knives in hand. He doesn't say anything when he meets Castiel's eyes, simply stays quiet and stares. He's too tired for trivial words now.
"Forgiveness," Castiel says again. "You are never too late to ask for it. To offer it to another."
Dean shakes his head and closes his eyes. "Spare me the Ten Commandments," he mutters. He considers making a quip about Charlton Heston, but it doesn't matter. Not like Castiel would get it anyway.
Castiel moves around the table and sits down across from Dean. He rests a hand on top of the newspapers with their grisly articles, and they flutter and crumble to ash at his touch. "Move past these things," he says, eyes focused on Dean. "They will only hold you back as you cling to their false images."
"False?" Dean echoes. He laughs, a single, grainy note. "There's nothing false about these. That's what's going on out there, Cas. That's where...that's where..." He falters, and the words die on his tongue. Their taste is too bitter to speak aloud.
"I know. That is where Sam is. I have seen past these paper pictures. I've seen him in the flesh."
Dean looks up, trying to keep the hope out of his eyes. It seems as though it's been years since he's been in the same room with Sam, although he knows it couldn't have been nearly that long. A month, maybe, but things have been escalating too fast and too far lately, and time's slipping furiously through his fingers.
They used to share everything. Everything from the bed at night and the shower in the morning to breath and heartbeat, life and love, and--now? Now, nothing is as it was. Dean was too weak for Sam, so he stayed behind. Sam was too dark for Dean, so he left. Couldn't admit their only weakness was the lack of trust in the other, and they separated and went their ways. Now, the world hangs by fingernails on the apocalypse's cliff, and they could be separated forever.
"How...how is he?" Dean finally asks.
Castiel's smile is faint but kind; he has learned much about human emotions in the last year. "Go to him and ask. He will welcome your presence."
"But the demons..." Dean begins.
"He will not let them harm you. They may surround you, but they will not touch a hair on your head." Castiel rests his hand over Dean's. "Go to him. He is waiting for forgiveness as much as you wait." Castiel squeezes his hand, and Dean tumbles backwards in darkness.
When he opens his eyes, he's lying in the middle of an empty street. He lifts his head, and his heart sinks as he recognizes the buildings. It's been years, but he'll never forget the street in Lawrence where he was born.
As he rises to his feet, he sees the demons on the sidewalks. They watch him with their black eyes. Some of them wear their human faces and others let their rotting flesh and cracked bones show through. All of them, though, regard him as the enemy.
He walks down the street with them watching him, some even daring to walk alongside him so close that he can hear the soft swish of their clothing and smell the sulfur on their skin. But, as Castiel promised, none of them touch him.
He walks up the small walkway leading to his old home. On the porch, he hesitates and considers knocking, but he shakes his head and turns the knob. He enters the house and closes the door behind him.
The house is silent inside. Except for the murky darkness, everything is as he remembers it. For some reason, he's not surprised. This was where it started, after all.
"Sam?" he calls out. "Sam, are you here?"
There is the sound of creaking footsteps above his head. It is his answer.
He climbs the stairs with his heart in his throat. He doesn't go to his room. He doesn't go to Mom and Dad's room. He goes straight to Sam's.
The crib is gone, as he knew it would be, and the shelves on the walls are empty. The wallpaper's faded and peeling in the corners, and there are cobwebs around the ceiling light. But, a darkened figure with hunched shoulders stands at the window.
"Sam?" Dean whispers.
The figure turns at the sound, revealing Sam. His eyes widen. "Dean?" he says, shocked. Then, his features crumble, and he goes to his brother. "Dean, oh god, Dean."
They embrace in the middle of the room, and the gesture's awkward because it's been so long and so much has come between them. Then Sam lifts Dean's head, cradles his face in his hands, and says, "This was never supposed to happen."
"I know." Dean sighs. "I know. I shouldn't...I should've gone after you. I know you didn't want me...but..."
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"Shh." Sam smiles and presses his forehead against Dean's. His skin is warm, and he smells of smoke. "Is it too late?" he asks.
Dean doesn't know if Sam means the world's fate. He doesn't know if Sam means them. He remembers Castiel's words, though, and he says, "No. No, Sammy."
"Sammy." Sam grins. "You haven't called me that in a long time."
Dean smiles back, and he lets Sam rub his nose against his own. It's a silly little gesture, perhaps, but it's surprisingly intimate in spite of what they've been through. Outside, the demons are growling and the wind is building. It could be the wind from angel wings or the winds from the pits of Hell.
"Sam," Dean says.
"Let them come," Sam says, lips brushing against Dean's when he speaks. "I'm not leaving you again." Something in the air crackles, and Dean glances over to see fire on Sam's fingertips. "I never should have left."
Dean closes his eyes, and he doesn't argue. When they kiss, he knows that finally, forgiveness has been heard.