Dean wakes to the bite of hands into his upper arms, to legs clamping around him, to the smell of sour sweat and anise and the gusts of fast, panting breath against the side of his neck.
The initial disorientation brings a surge of panic, kicks off his ingrained fight-reflex. Dean twists, pushes, untangles himself forcefully with fists and knees even before he opens his eyes.
A muffled sound of pain and the hands and legs are gone. Dean’s heart beats a mile a minute, painful against his ribcage and he is out of the bed in the blink of an eye, bumping into something just in front of the bed. He curses under his breath.
His attacker isn't following him, so he takes the time to fight the unnerving feeling of disorientation. Woken so rudely from what must have been an untypically deep sleep, his mind is still sluggish. Dean is slow to recognise his surroundings in the near darkness, so he reaches out behind him. Wooden walls, rough. A smell of incense in the air. The sound of beads, rustling hard and cold in the sharp gusts of wind that blow in the room while outside, thunder is rolling and rain is lashing down like there's no tomorrow.
It comes back to him then, the memory of where he is and how he ended up in this room.
After Dean's talk with his future self, Cas had come back, announcing that a tornado had been sighted. It was likely not going to hit them directly but it brought enough rain and wind to ground them for the night. The one street intact enough to drive on without breaking the cars' axles was right in the path of the tornado- not safe to drive on if they didn't want to get killed before they had a chance to ice the devil. Dean had barely managed to jump out of the way of the bottle his future self had hurled against the wall with a resounding curse. Between clenched teeth, his future self had told everyone to get some rest while the storm raged. They'd leave as soon as the storm had passed.
Cas had told Dean that he could crash at his place, seeing as Dean's future self seemed intent on setting things right with Risa and Cas doubted Dean was overly interested in bunking with Chuck. Upon Dean's initial protest, Cas had answered that he'd be preparing in his own way and didn't need the bed.
Dean remembers the derisive curl of his older self's lips at that. Cas had smiled the radiant, blindingly bitter smile he'd given Dean earlier and had left with an exaggerated wave. He hadn't been back by the time Dean stretched out on top of the dark red spread thrown over the large bed. Dean had fallen asleep to the images of destroyed cities, inhuman humans, his older self's coldness and Cas rolling around in this bed with four women. Before, the idea would have been amusing, even titillating. Last night, the wrongness of it had made him nauseous.
His heart has slowed down and his mind cleared enough that he can think straight again and step closer to the bed again. Lightning illuminates the room every once in a while, and he gets a glimpse of the figure of a guy on the bed - scrawny, in baggy clothes.
It takes a set of two more lightning strikes for Dean to realise that it's Cas. Cas, who is curled in on himself with his eyes open, staring into the darkness. Shivers wrack his body.
"Cas?"
The lightning reflects in Cas' eyes, making them impossibly blue. Impossibly wide. Thunder cracks; the boom of it all but shakes the hut. Glaring panic rolls off Cas in waves as he curls in on himself even tighter, knees coming up to his chin, arms around them. He shudders so hard the bed creaks.
Dean inches closer but stops when his knees hit the mattress. "What happened?"
The room is plunged into darkness again, and Dean barely hears Cas over the sound of the rain lashing against the window. He thinks he hears absinthe and mushrooms and Dean wants to reach out and shake the stupid bastard. "Five years and you still haven't figured out that you don't mix drugs, you idiot?"
Lightning throws Cas' face into sharp relief, showing clothes in disarray, sweaty, matted hair and blue irises that are being swallowed by the blackness of the pupils. Cas' lips move. Dean hears just needed and I'm falling and please, it's eating me alive and just need something to hold on to and he cannot, cannot stop what he does next. Can't even think about why these fragmented pleas twist his heart into something painful and compressed.
He climbs back on the bed, pulls Cas toward him and wraps his arms, his legs, his entire body around Cas' shivering form, just holding on until Cas finally goes limp against Dean, melting into the touch. Melting and then clinging again, like he did before when he woke Dean up, his fingers digging painfully in Dean's upper arms once more. Dean doesn't know how long it'll take until Cas rides out the trip. He knows he'll have bruises all over his arms tomorrow, but he doesn't care. Can't care because in this whole fucked up version of the future, with all their fucked up people, Cas is the one whose change hits Dean the hardest. Being there for him now feels like an active apology without words. An attempt to mend something his other self had broken.
Dean runs his hand through Cas sweat-matted hair, smells anise on Cas' breath and the sour stink of fear and pulls Cas closer still, feels Cas' heart beat first frantically, then more slowly against his own. Cas still flinches whenever thunder rumbles outside.
Dean holds onto Cas until he eventually stops shivering. Cas tunnels his hands underneath Dean's shirt and rests them against Dean's back. He breathes Dean in.
Dean doesn't know which version of him Cas is imagining.
He presses his face into the crook of Cas' bony shoulder and pretends it's him. Pretends that he has made a difference when Cas breath evens out into sleep.
The morning creeps in too early. Dean finds that he's reluctant to let go.
I'm really glad you liked it. Your prompt was with me for two days, it was the last thing I looked at before I went to sleep last night and this morning, on the train, there was just no more stemming the flow of writing.
No need to be afraid of stalking (which this really isn't): Friend away!
Ah, well, I'm very glad the idea caught your eye! Two days ruminating, eh? I'm somewhat unreasonably flattered. It's hardly a compliment when it's wholly the truth. ♥♥
aaaaaaaaaaaah YES THIS SO MUCH. God, f!Cas never fails to make me go ;________; but here you totally did an outstanding job with him. I just, this was so freaking beautiful I can't even, and the writing itself is gorgeous, too. And Dean wanting to apologize by being there, oh my heart. *sniffles* And the dialogue was so spot on for everyone. (And btw, Cas tripping and saying what he said was totally IC too, eeee. ;__;) In conclusion, I loved it. <33
Thank you so much for the lovely comment. I was a little afraid this piece would be too angsty for a fluff meme, but I'm glad you liked it anyway.
You can't help but wonder what would have happened to 5.04!Cas if his Dean had been a little less cold, a little less occupied with his own grief to see what was happening to Cas.
Thank you, dear! I have to admit that he broke my heart a little while writing this, too. I still cannot get over just how ... fragile he looked in that episode. Fragile, and a like a candle burning at both ends.
*Sobbing quietly* OMC, I don't even know what to comment. You and Janie broke me with those fic. Brb hugging a teddy bear since the world is cruel and I don't have a Cas to hug.
The initial disorientation brings a surge of panic, kicks off his ingrained fight-reflex. Dean twists, pushes, untangles himself forcefully with fists and knees even before he opens his eyes.
A muffled sound of pain and the hands and legs are gone. Dean’s heart beats a mile a minute, painful against his ribcage and he is out of the bed in the blink of an eye, bumping into something just in front of the bed. He curses under his breath.
His attacker isn't following him, so he takes the time to fight the unnerving feeling of disorientation. Woken so rudely from what must have been an untypically deep sleep, his mind is still sluggish. Dean is slow to recognise his surroundings in the near darkness, so he reaches out behind him. Wooden walls, rough. A smell of incense in the air. The sound of beads, rustling hard and cold in the sharp gusts of wind that blow in the room while outside, thunder is rolling and rain is lashing down like there's no tomorrow.
It comes back to him then, the memory of where he is and how he ended up in this room.
After Dean's talk with his future self, Cas had come back, announcing that a tornado had been sighted. It was likely not going to hit them directly but it brought enough rain and wind to ground them for the night. The one street intact enough to drive on without breaking the cars' axles was right in the path of the tornado- not safe to drive on if they didn't want to get killed before they had a chance to ice the devil. Dean had barely managed to jump out of the way of the bottle his future self had hurled against the wall with a resounding curse. Between clenched teeth, his future self had told everyone to get some rest while the storm raged. They'd leave as soon as the storm had passed.
Cas had told Dean that he could crash at his place, seeing as Dean's future self seemed intent on setting things right with Risa and Cas doubted Dean was overly interested in bunking with Chuck. Upon Dean's initial protest, Cas had answered that he'd be preparing in his own way and didn't need the bed.
Dean remembers the derisive curl of his older self's lips at that. Cas had smiled the radiant, blindingly bitter smile he'd given Dean earlier and had left with an exaggerated wave. He hadn't been back by the time Dean stretched out on top of the dark red spread thrown over the large bed. Dean had fallen asleep to the images of destroyed cities, inhuman humans, his older self's coldness and Cas rolling around in this bed with four women. Before, the idea would have been amusing, even titillating. Last night, the wrongness of it had made him nauseous.
It still does.
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It takes a set of two more lightning strikes for Dean to realise that it's Cas. Cas, who is curled in on himself with his eyes open, staring into the darkness. Shivers wrack his body.
"Cas?"
The lightning reflects in Cas' eyes, making them impossibly blue. Impossibly wide. Thunder cracks; the boom of it all but shakes the hut. Glaring panic rolls off Cas in waves as he curls in on himself even tighter, knees coming up to his chin, arms around them. He shudders so hard the bed creaks.
Dean inches closer but stops when his knees hit the mattress. "What happened?"
The room is plunged into darkness again, and Dean barely hears Cas over the sound of the rain lashing against the window. He thinks he hears absinthe and mushrooms and Dean wants to reach out and shake the stupid bastard. "Five years and you still haven't figured out that you don't mix drugs, you idiot?"
Lightning throws Cas' face into sharp relief, showing clothes in disarray, sweaty, matted hair and blue irises that are being swallowed by the blackness of the pupils. Cas' lips move. Dean hears just needed and I'm falling and please, it's eating me alive and just need something to hold on to and he cannot, cannot stop what he does next. Can't even think about why these fragmented pleas twist his heart into something painful and compressed.
He climbs back on the bed, pulls Cas toward him and wraps his arms, his legs, his entire body around Cas' shivering form, just holding on until Cas finally goes limp against Dean, melting into the touch. Melting and then clinging again, like he did before when he woke Dean up, his fingers digging painfully in Dean's upper arms once more. Dean doesn't know how long it'll take until Cas rides out the trip. He knows he'll have bruises all over his arms tomorrow, but he doesn't care. Can't care because in this whole fucked up version of the future, with all their fucked up people, Cas is the one whose change hits Dean the hardest. Being there for him now feels like an active apology without words. An attempt to mend something his other self had broken.
Dean runs his hand through Cas sweat-matted hair, smells anise on Cas' breath and the sour stink of fear and pulls Cas closer still, feels Cas' heart beat first frantically, then more slowly against his own. Cas still flinches whenever thunder rumbles outside.
Dean holds onto Cas until he eventually stops shivering. Cas tunnels his hands underneath Dean's shirt and rests them against Dean's back. He breathes Dean in.
Dean doesn't know which version of him Cas is imagining.
He presses his face into the crook of Cas' bony shoulder and pretends it's him. Pretends that he has made a difference when Cas breath evens out into sleep.
The morning creeps in too early. Dean finds that he's reluctant to let go.
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Being there for him now feels like an active apology without words. An attempt to mend something his other self had broken.
I loved this whole story. Thank you!
Also, I'm totally friending you. Damn, I am in a stalker-ish mood.
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No need to be afraid of stalking (which this really isn't): Friend away!
And thank you for the lovely compliment.
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Done and done!
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You can't help but wonder what would have happened to 5.04!Cas if his Dean had been a little less cold, a little less occupied with his own grief to see what was happening to Cas.
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Brb hugging a teddy bear since the world is cruel and I don't have a Cas to hug.
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