gravedigger [dean/castiel][s/a]
Title: Gravedigger
Pairing/Character(s): Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The End 'Verse.
“I’m not an angel anymore.”
Dean’s expression falls. “How do you know?”
Castiel just throws back his head and breaks into the loudest laughter Dean’s ever heard from him. And that’s enough. There he is. Broken. No. There’s a better word for it. But Dean will never know.
Warning: Drug abuse
Beta: theamberkennedy
Word Count: 1,800~
A/N: Angst fest
“Do you have wings, Cas?”
Casually.
“Not anymore.”
-
“I love you.”
“You’re just saying that because it’s the end of the world.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
“Then don’t. Please. Spare me.”
Dean tilts his head back, then rests it forward onto his chest. “Sorry.”
The ticking of the clock.
So many restless years.
-
It’s that moment. That ‘on the brink’ second where you think, however falsely, that everything is going to be okay. That moment when your mother cuts the crust off of your sandwich, your friend hugs you tight and then kisses you on the cheek. The ‘hey, I can do this, I’m going to be alright’.
Dean only has those moments when he’s pulling Cas’ hair, holding him tight around the waist, fucking him on his knees into the little cot.
Time stops really mattering. It’s either night or day. You sleep when you can. And when you can’t, you fuck, because it takes up the time.
-
“I’m not an angel anymore.”
Dean’s expression falls. “How do you know?”
Castiel just throws back his head and breaks into the loudest laughter Dean’s ever heard from him. And that’s enough. There he is. Broken. No. There’s a better word for it. But Dean will never know.
-
“Sometimes this life is only a dream.”
“Why do you say such awkwardly poetic things?” He presses his cold nose into Cas’ neck. It’s dark, night but Dean doesn’t know the time, doesn’t really care. He’s wearing his old leather jacket. Well. Sort of. It’s draped over Cas’ front, the sleeve brushes his arm.
“All I do is speak the truth.”
Small, easy breaths.
“You’ve learned to lie,” Dean says softly. Doesn’t know what else to say.
“A little. It’s cold.”
“It’s winter.”
“We need a better place to stay.”
“Since when did you know what’s best for us?”
“That’s right…” Cas trails off and turns to kiss Dean’s forehead. “You are our fearless leader after all.”
-
The title.
Fearless leader.
It starts off as an affectionate term. No sarcasm involved. Castiel truly loves Dean. And Dean should have known. He watches the way Cas moves, something is different.
“Shh, it’s okay, what hurts?”
Tears drip down Castiel’s face. He clutches his ribs.
The first break.
But he’s okay.
-
“Are you angry at me, Dean?”
Dean is struck by the question. He looks at his - his - his
His what?
Not an angel. Not really human.
Sad eyes, but they yearn. His movements are so fragile. So desperate to be saved. Dean wishes there was a God, sometimes. If only a God who cares about his son. Who would take Cas away from all of this.
“I’m not angry.” Which is a lie. He averts his eyes. Cas tilts his jaw back up, kisses him carefully, slowly. Dean kisses back, tries to communicate what he knows through this. None of this is Castiel’s fault. It never was.
The only angel who stayed. Who couldn’t leave.
“You are very angry, Dean Winchester.”
“Stop talking.”
Press of tongues. ‘Fix me’. In their breaths. They share the same oxygen, they share the same universe, they share each other’s strength. Perhaps it should be easy, perhaps they should be able to ignore the violence. Gun shots. Blades stuck in throats. Blood everywhere.
“It’s safe, Cas.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I won’t hurt you.”
“You won’t intend to hurt me.” Banter. Almost easy. Except underlying it is - it’s painful. Dean loves him. Castiel. The angel. The man. The…easy creature.
“Here. Take these. You won’t hurt anymore.”
“Are you sure?”
“You’re human now, right? Drugs’ll affect you just as they affect me. It’ll numb you. I swear.”
Dean knows that’s what Cas needs. Numbing. Something to make everything that comes in…stop. All the death. All the ruin.
A once beautiful world.
Ruined.
Dean can’t keep his eyes open, not anymore.
-
Dean maybe takes too many drugs at first. Cas, too. They stay in a cabin one day, a tangle of limbs. Just together. Everyone knows, but no one will acknowledge it. The new girl named Risa, with all her toughness and her anger. She knows. But she doesn’t say anything. Just looks at Castiel. They share something. Dean isn’t sure what. Nothing physical. Nothing mental, even. Never really spoken. There’s a divide in the camp. Dean speaks with everyone. He is the catalyst of relationships.
Drug induced haze. Why do anything? Why hunt Croats? Why put yourself through the pain?
Dean kisses Cas, but it’s not meaningful, it’s not loving.
Cas takes more pills than he should. They all do. He sucks Dean off in broad daylight, with the door closed. There are still windows. But everyone’s learned by now. Don’t go into their cabin. When Dean goes into Cas’ cabin, stay out. For your own good. For everyone’s.
Bobby, Jo, Ellen. Everyone.
Dead.
No hope.
Chuck’s the only one.
Castiel and Chuck. How strange. How odd. Dean could never quite place it. The way Chuck looks at Cas. He probably knows.
Everyone knows.
There aren’t words.
The way Cas moves. Bends, stretches, fucks Dean with two, three, four fingers. It hurts in ways, but the escape is immeasurable. Cas’ mouth, his hot tongue. The way his rough lips slide over Dean’s skin, how he hums, the little sparks of pleasure in Dean’s belly, the curling heat. He lies back and takes it, Cas’ hot mouth and his pushing fingers. All the ways they move together. They learn to cooperate. Even when Dean hates Cas. Even when Cas hates Dean.
Rhythmic.
Dean comes with a strangled cry, bites down hard on his lip - has to stay quiet - and Cas just touches him like he’s some fucking pathetic, fragile, precious - something, he doesn’t know the word - but like he loves him and oh, that’s not right. How could he - it’s the end of the world.
He doesn’t feel fine.
“Let me touch you.” A hoarse whisper. Cas looks at him curiously.
“You’ve never asked permission before,” he murmurs softly, moving up Dean’s naked body, resting gently in his lap. “Of course, you’ve never needed to ask permission. You don’t need to ask permission. You’ll never need to.”
Dean lets out a breath. “Sure, whatever.”
“You speak in such small sentences. Why?”
“Why not?”
“I suppose. Do you love me, Dean?”
Dean touches Cas’ thin hips. His body is so small. So breakable. He could probably snap him in two if he wants.
“Hmm?” Pretends like he doesn’t hear, too focused on Cas’ body to pay attention to his voice. Like he’s been with girls. ‘What did you say? Perhaps I couldn’t hear you over the sound of how beautiful you are. Or your tits. Are those real? Not that I have a problem with implants.’ No. No, he’s never said that. Just thought it. He’s bitter, in the end.
Cas laughs softly, falls for his bluff. Or, at least, knows what it is. Knows what Dean needs. Cares more about what Dean needs than what he needs.
“Sometimes I think you lie to me.”
“Sometimes I do.” Dean’s not afraid to admit that much. He’s their leader, right? Of course he lies. They’re not in this to stay alive.
Beat the devil, save the world.
It’s not that hard of a task, is it? There’s a way. There’s a will. Etcetera.
Dean knows he’s deluding himself. Has been from the start. What’s the point? He stopped looking for one a while ago.
“Do you ever miss him?” Dean doesn’t need to be asked this, doesn’t need to hear Cas’ soft voice.
Answers anyway. “Of course I do.” Sam. His brother. How could he not miss him?
But he doesn’t talk about that. Sam’s the one they have to kill, after all. But it’s not his fault. He was broken. What could he have expected?
Cas kisses his throat. Everything feels so messy.
“You still have me.”
“Yeah, Cas. I still have you.”
-
He learns to fight. Becomes a warrior. Just like the rest of them. Human, but capable. He holds a shotgun in two hands. He moves quickly. He remembers how to fight. He just never knew how to do it as a human. Human bodies are so slow. Dean knows he struggles. Sometimes watches him with his bowed shoulder and shaking spine in the corner of their little shared cabin. Sometimes they share a cabin.
“We have to leave.”
“Why?” Dean can tell he’s been crying. The overwhelming frustration. No wonder he’s crying. He has no idea what to do. Gets hurt so easily. Has no way to fix others. Cas has watched people he loves die. He couldn’t save Bobby (three shots to the gut). Had to watch him bleed away.
Sometimes Dean blames Cas. For falling. He should have tried harder.
“Because there are too many Croats. Because we can’t stay in one place. Because our men are dying. Any other questions?”
“I can’t save anyone anymore, Dean.”
“You can save me.” He doesn’t mean to say it. It just…slips out. Since when did he let things slip out? He hates himself.
Oh.
Cas hasn’t answered. Then he turns.
The stubble on his chin. The brokenness in his eyes. The drugs in his system. Falling apart. They are the heroes.
“You’ll always be our fearless leader.” His voice raw. Still low and powerful like it was the day they met. Maybe Cas absorbed Jimmy when he fell. He has a bit more of a sense of humor now. Not that it means much. It just makes Dean feel further away from the Cas he once knew. With the hair that went everywhere. The shocking blue eyes. The heavy trench coat. Now Cas wears Dean’s old jeans and t-shirts. His old leather jacket.
Because Dean couldn’t wear it himself.
Almost threw it out but Cas had pulled it from the pile of rubbish and washed it in a stream and had worn it and refused to let go.
Why? Dean’s not sure.
“You’re not so admiring anymore.”
It would be a sneer on anyone else, but on Cas it’s just sad. “You’re not so admirable anymore, sir.”
Sir.
A punch to the gut. ‘Yes, sir. Keep Sammy safe, sir. Out of trouble, sir.’ Always the same. Dean remembers his father. How he was his father’s little soldier boy. He thought he’d gotten over that. He supposes he must not have, because here he is, wanting to stumble to the ground, thinking ‘What have I done?’ What has he done? Broken another human.
Another beautiful human.
“Yeah. I know. I don’t know.”
Cas turns around completely. “What don’t you know?”
“How to do this.”
“Live?”
“I suppose.”
“You’ll find a way. I have.”
“You’re stronger than me.”
“No…I just have a reason.”
“And what’s that?”
“You.”
Pairing/Character(s): Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The End 'Verse.
“I’m not an angel anymore.”
Dean’s expression falls. “How do you know?”
Castiel just throws back his head and breaks into the loudest laughter Dean’s ever heard from him. And that’s enough. There he is. Broken. No. There’s a better word for it. But Dean will never know.
Warning: Drug abuse
Beta: theamberkennedy
Word Count: 1,800~
A/N: Angst fest
“Do you have wings, Cas?”
Casually.
“Not anymore.”
-
“I love you.”
“You’re just saying that because it’s the end of the world.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
“Then don’t. Please. Spare me.”
Dean tilts his head back, then rests it forward onto his chest. “Sorry.”
The ticking of the clock.
So many restless years.
-
It’s that moment. That ‘on the brink’ second where you think, however falsely, that everything is going to be okay. That moment when your mother cuts the crust off of your sandwich, your friend hugs you tight and then kisses you on the cheek. The ‘hey, I can do this, I’m going to be alright’.
Dean only has those moments when he’s pulling Cas’ hair, holding him tight around the waist, fucking him on his knees into the little cot.
Time stops really mattering. It’s either night or day. You sleep when you can. And when you can’t, you fuck, because it takes up the time.
-
“I’m not an angel anymore.”
Dean’s expression falls. “How do you know?”
Castiel just throws back his head and breaks into the loudest laughter Dean’s ever heard from him. And that’s enough. There he is. Broken. No. There’s a better word for it. But Dean will never know.
-
“Sometimes this life is only a dream.”
“Why do you say such awkwardly poetic things?” He presses his cold nose into Cas’ neck. It’s dark, night but Dean doesn’t know the time, doesn’t really care. He’s wearing his old leather jacket. Well. Sort of. It’s draped over Cas’ front, the sleeve brushes his arm.
“All I do is speak the truth.”
Small, easy breaths.
“You’ve learned to lie,” Dean says softly. Doesn’t know what else to say.
“A little. It’s cold.”
“It’s winter.”
“We need a better place to stay.”
“Since when did you know what’s best for us?”
“That’s right…” Cas trails off and turns to kiss Dean’s forehead. “You are our fearless leader after all.”
-
The title.
Fearless leader.
It starts off as an affectionate term. No sarcasm involved. Castiel truly loves Dean. And Dean should have known. He watches the way Cas moves, something is different.
“Shh, it’s okay, what hurts?”
Tears drip down Castiel’s face. He clutches his ribs.
The first break.
But he’s okay.
-
“Are you angry at me, Dean?”
Dean is struck by the question. He looks at his - his - his
His what?
Not an angel. Not really human.
Sad eyes, but they yearn. His movements are so fragile. So desperate to be saved. Dean wishes there was a God, sometimes. If only a God who cares about his son. Who would take Cas away from all of this.
“I’m not angry.” Which is a lie. He averts his eyes. Cas tilts his jaw back up, kisses him carefully, slowly. Dean kisses back, tries to communicate what he knows through this. None of this is Castiel’s fault. It never was.
The only angel who stayed. Who couldn’t leave.
“You are very angry, Dean Winchester.”
“Stop talking.”
Press of tongues. ‘Fix me’. In their breaths. They share the same oxygen, they share the same universe, they share each other’s strength. Perhaps it should be easy, perhaps they should be able to ignore the violence. Gun shots. Blades stuck in throats. Blood everywhere.
“It’s safe, Cas.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I won’t hurt you.”
“You won’t intend to hurt me.” Banter. Almost easy. Except underlying it is - it’s painful. Dean loves him. Castiel. The angel. The man. The…easy creature.
“Here. Take these. You won’t hurt anymore.”
“Are you sure?”
“You’re human now, right? Drugs’ll affect you just as they affect me. It’ll numb you. I swear.”
Dean knows that’s what Cas needs. Numbing. Something to make everything that comes in…stop. All the death. All the ruin.
A once beautiful world.
Ruined.
Dean can’t keep his eyes open, not anymore.
-
Dean maybe takes too many drugs at first. Cas, too. They stay in a cabin one day, a tangle of limbs. Just together. Everyone knows, but no one will acknowledge it. The new girl named Risa, with all her toughness and her anger. She knows. But she doesn’t say anything. Just looks at Castiel. They share something. Dean isn’t sure what. Nothing physical. Nothing mental, even. Never really spoken. There’s a divide in the camp. Dean speaks with everyone. He is the catalyst of relationships.
Drug induced haze. Why do anything? Why hunt Croats? Why put yourself through the pain?
Dean kisses Cas, but it’s not meaningful, it’s not loving.
Cas takes more pills than he should. They all do. He sucks Dean off in broad daylight, with the door closed. There are still windows. But everyone’s learned by now. Don’t go into their cabin. When Dean goes into Cas’ cabin, stay out. For your own good. For everyone’s.
Bobby, Jo, Ellen. Everyone.
Dead.
No hope.
Chuck’s the only one.
Castiel and Chuck. How strange. How odd. Dean could never quite place it. The way Chuck looks at Cas. He probably knows.
Everyone knows.
There aren’t words.
The way Cas moves. Bends, stretches, fucks Dean with two, three, four fingers. It hurts in ways, but the escape is immeasurable. Cas’ mouth, his hot tongue. The way his rough lips slide over Dean’s skin, how he hums, the little sparks of pleasure in Dean’s belly, the curling heat. He lies back and takes it, Cas’ hot mouth and his pushing fingers. All the ways they move together. They learn to cooperate. Even when Dean hates Cas. Even when Cas hates Dean.
Rhythmic.
Dean comes with a strangled cry, bites down hard on his lip - has to stay quiet - and Cas just touches him like he’s some fucking pathetic, fragile, precious - something, he doesn’t know the word - but like he loves him and oh, that’s not right. How could he - it’s the end of the world.
He doesn’t feel fine.
“Let me touch you.” A hoarse whisper. Cas looks at him curiously.
“You’ve never asked permission before,” he murmurs softly, moving up Dean’s naked body, resting gently in his lap. “Of course, you’ve never needed to ask permission. You don’t need to ask permission. You’ll never need to.”
Dean lets out a breath. “Sure, whatever.”
“You speak in such small sentences. Why?”
“Why not?”
“I suppose. Do you love me, Dean?”
Dean touches Cas’ thin hips. His body is so small. So breakable. He could probably snap him in two if he wants.
“Hmm?” Pretends like he doesn’t hear, too focused on Cas’ body to pay attention to his voice. Like he’s been with girls. ‘What did you say? Perhaps I couldn’t hear you over the sound of how beautiful you are. Or your tits. Are those real? Not that I have a problem with implants.’ No. No, he’s never said that. Just thought it. He’s bitter, in the end.
Cas laughs softly, falls for his bluff. Or, at least, knows what it is. Knows what Dean needs. Cares more about what Dean needs than what he needs.
“Sometimes I think you lie to me.”
“Sometimes I do.” Dean’s not afraid to admit that much. He’s their leader, right? Of course he lies. They’re not in this to stay alive.
Beat the devil, save the world.
It’s not that hard of a task, is it? There’s a way. There’s a will. Etcetera.
Dean knows he’s deluding himself. Has been from the start. What’s the point? He stopped looking for one a while ago.
“Do you ever miss him?” Dean doesn’t need to be asked this, doesn’t need to hear Cas’ soft voice.
Answers anyway. “Of course I do.” Sam. His brother. How could he not miss him?
But he doesn’t talk about that. Sam’s the one they have to kill, after all. But it’s not his fault. He was broken. What could he have expected?
Cas kisses his throat. Everything feels so messy.
“You still have me.”
“Yeah, Cas. I still have you.”
-
He learns to fight. Becomes a warrior. Just like the rest of them. Human, but capable. He holds a shotgun in two hands. He moves quickly. He remembers how to fight. He just never knew how to do it as a human. Human bodies are so slow. Dean knows he struggles. Sometimes watches him with his bowed shoulder and shaking spine in the corner of their little shared cabin. Sometimes they share a cabin.
“We have to leave.”
“Why?” Dean can tell he’s been crying. The overwhelming frustration. No wonder he’s crying. He has no idea what to do. Gets hurt so easily. Has no way to fix others. Cas has watched people he loves die. He couldn’t save Bobby (three shots to the gut). Had to watch him bleed away.
Sometimes Dean blames Cas. For falling. He should have tried harder.
“Because there are too many Croats. Because we can’t stay in one place. Because our men are dying. Any other questions?”
“I can’t save anyone anymore, Dean.”
“You can save me.” He doesn’t mean to say it. It just…slips out. Since when did he let things slip out? He hates himself.
Oh.
Cas hasn’t answered. Then he turns.
The stubble on his chin. The brokenness in his eyes. The drugs in his system. Falling apart. They are the heroes.
“You’ll always be our fearless leader.” His voice raw. Still low and powerful like it was the day they met. Maybe Cas absorbed Jimmy when he fell. He has a bit more of a sense of humor now. Not that it means much. It just makes Dean feel further away from the Cas he once knew. With the hair that went everywhere. The shocking blue eyes. The heavy trench coat. Now Cas wears Dean’s old jeans and t-shirts. His old leather jacket.
Because Dean couldn’t wear it himself.
Almost threw it out but Cas had pulled it from the pile of rubbish and washed it in a stream and had worn it and refused to let go.
Why? Dean’s not sure.
“You’re not so admiring anymore.”
It would be a sneer on anyone else, but on Cas it’s just sad. “You’re not so admirable anymore, sir.”
Sir.
A punch to the gut. ‘Yes, sir. Keep Sammy safe, sir. Out of trouble, sir.’ Always the same. Dean remembers his father. How he was his father’s little soldier boy. He thought he’d gotten over that. He supposes he must not have, because here he is, wanting to stumble to the ground, thinking ‘What have I done?’ What has he done? Broken another human.
Another beautiful human.
“Yeah. I know. I don’t know.”
Cas turns around completely. “What don’t you know?”
“How to do this.”
“Live?”
“I suppose.”
“You’ll find a way. I have.”
“You’re stronger than me.”
“No…I just have a reason.”
“And what’s that?”
“You.”