FILLED: Castiel/Dean, Let me have this for nowhugglewolfJune 5 2010, 12:50:59 UTC
6 months after the Apocalypse that definitely was - because maybe The World is still going, but Dean’s World pretty much got torn apart - he has an apartment and a job in a local garage. It doesn’t pay much, but his needs are simple. Rent, food, booze, and some gas for the car. He doesn’t use it as much as before. It’s not like he’s on the road anymore.
He fills his days somehow.
Thursday - he should have known it’d be a Thursday except he’s firmly shut the door on any memories of what he’s lost - he comes home from work and sees a familiar shape standing in his living room.
“Dean,” Castiel says, and then the angel’s on his knees.
~~
He goes into automatic mode after that. He picks Cas up, carries him through to the bedroom and dumps him on the bed. He gets him stripped fast, checking to see if there’s any obvious wounds. He finds one - a seven inch long laceration trailing down his side just to the left of his hip. There’s a glimmer about the wound; more than a human blade caused that damage which explains why Cas is out of it.
Dean digs out the old book of Angel Lore he took from Bobby’s library and chants as he stitches then pours some whiskey over the wound for good measure. He puts a cold compress on Castiel’s forehead and sits down to watch and wait.
~~
About two hours later, Castiel stirs. He sits up carefully, one hand going to the cut on his side, fingers testing carefully.
“Thank you,” he says. “I apologise for appearing so suddenly, without warning.”
Dean nods, offers Castiel a beer, and isn’t surprised when he refuses. “So...trouble in Paradise?”
Castiel half smiles. “Things were worse than I thought. Order has mostly been restored, but not everyone is pleased that I have authority. One of my brothers took it upon himself to question my leadership.”
Dean sits forward, the bottle in his hands. He can’t look up because then Castiel will see his face. “I hope you kicked his angelic ass.”
“He won’t do it again.”
It still doesn’t explain why Cas is here. “You don’t have doctors in Heaven?” Now he does look up, because he needs to know what leads an archangel to come to him rather than stay amongst his family.
Cas scolds him with a look. “We have healers, but if I have to be incapacitated for a time I would rather it be somewhere I don’t have to worry about being attacked while I’m vulnerable.”
They lapse into silence. Cas stares at him, Dean stares back, and then the angel stands up. “I’m well enough to return.”
His body tells the truth and Dean’s quick enough to catch him before he goes down again. “Yeah, right. Sit your ass down, Cas.” He shoves the angel back onto the bed, and glances over the wound. The cut’s healing beneath the stitches, and he brushes away a couple of loose threads from Castiel’s skin.
“You’re angry with me.”
Ok, if he wants to have that talk.
“I think I have a right. You shoot back up to Heaven - and I get that you must have been homesick - but you didn’t think you could call me? Let me know how things were going? You cut me loose, you son of a bitch.”
Cas starts to speak, and Dean wants to shut him up but he can’t find anything else to say that won’t open up the door all the way and he can’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever. So he settles for pushing Cas back, and pressing a hand across his mouth.
“You cut me loose,” he breathes, and then he flops down beside Castiel on the bed. He feels Castiel huff against his hand, and moves it with a murmured apology.
“I have been watching you, Dean. In between putting down rebellions and rebuilding our garrisons. I saw you leave Lisa. I saw you move on. It seemed...that you didn’t want any reminders.”
Dean thinks about that for a moment. He can’t say it’s not true, but he can’t say it is. If he can’t figure it out - and it’s his damn life - then how is Castiel meant to?
“Sometimes,” he manages. “Sometimes, I don’t know what the hell I do want.” He grabs Castiel’s hand and squeezes, insanely grateful when Cas squeezes back. “But maybe we could just start with this.”
He fills his days somehow.
Thursday - he should have known it’d be a Thursday except he’s firmly shut the door on any memories of what he’s lost - he comes home from work and sees a familiar shape standing in his living room.
“Dean,” Castiel says, and then the angel’s on his knees.
~~
He goes into automatic mode after that. He picks Cas up, carries him through to the bedroom and dumps him on the bed. He gets him stripped fast, checking to see if there’s any obvious wounds. He finds one - a seven inch long laceration trailing down his side just to the left of his hip. There’s a glimmer about the wound; more than a human blade caused that damage which explains why Cas is out of it.
Dean digs out the old book of Angel Lore he took from Bobby’s library and chants as he stitches then pours some whiskey over the wound for good measure. He puts a cold compress on Castiel’s forehead and sits down to watch and wait.
~~
About two hours later, Castiel stirs. He sits up carefully, one hand going to the cut on his side, fingers testing carefully.
“Thank you,” he says. “I apologise for appearing so suddenly, without warning.”
Dean nods, offers Castiel a beer, and isn’t surprised when he refuses. “So...trouble in Paradise?”
Castiel half smiles. “Things were worse than I thought. Order has mostly been restored, but not everyone is pleased that I have authority. One of my brothers took it upon himself to question my leadership.”
Dean sits forward, the bottle in his hands. He can’t look up because then Castiel will see his face. “I hope you kicked his angelic ass.”
“He won’t do it again.”
It still doesn’t explain why Cas is here. “You don’t have doctors in Heaven?” Now he does look up, because he needs to know what leads an archangel to come to him rather than stay amongst his family.
Cas scolds him with a look. “We have healers, but if I have to be incapacitated for a time I would rather it be somewhere I don’t have to worry about being attacked while I’m vulnerable.”
They lapse into silence. Cas stares at him, Dean stares back, and then the angel stands up. “I’m well enough to return.”
His body tells the truth and Dean’s quick enough to catch him before he goes down again. “Yeah, right. Sit your ass down, Cas.” He shoves the angel back onto the bed, and glances over the wound. The cut’s healing beneath the stitches, and he brushes away a couple of loose threads from Castiel’s skin.
“You’re angry with me.”
Ok, if he wants to have that talk.
“I think I have a right. You shoot back up to Heaven - and I get that you must have been homesick - but you didn’t think you could call me? Let me know how things were going? You cut me loose, you son of a bitch.”
Cas starts to speak, and Dean wants to shut him up but he can’t find anything else to say that won’t open up the door all the way and he can’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever. So he settles for pushing Cas back, and pressing a hand across his mouth.
“You cut me loose,” he breathes, and then he flops down beside Castiel on the bed.
He feels Castiel huff against his hand, and moves it with a murmured apology.
“I have been watching you, Dean. In between putting down rebellions and rebuilding our garrisons. I saw you leave Lisa. I saw you move on. It seemed...that you didn’t want any reminders.”
Dean thinks about that for a moment. He can’t say it’s not true, but he can’t say it is. If he can’t figure it out - and it’s his damn life - then how is Castiel meant to?
“Sometimes,” he manages. “Sometimes, I don’t know what the hell I do want.” He grabs Castiel’s hand and squeezes, insanely grateful when Cas squeezes back. “But maybe we could just start with this.”
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This is just awesome. ♥ Thank you!
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