.
TELL ME I WILL NEVER DIE, TAKE AWAY MY PAIN
dean/castiel. vague spoilers for season four, character death. rated pg-13. ~1,860
He wishes he could fix the world for Dean.
a/n: written for spn13 prompt death.
(c) title from in my keeping by jann arden
Tell me I will never die, take away my pain
where by my side, you are destruction
here by my side, a new colour to paint the world
never turn your back on it
never turn your back on it, again
here by my side, it's heaven
weapon - matthew good
-
When Castiel first comes to Earth, he prays to go home. This place is not for him.
-
His first night here, he is in a bus stop in Arizona, watching the news. He's not sure why he's stopped at this bus station, at this time, in this state, but the casual flashes of destruction and crying children on the flickering screen, between takes of the handsome and rigid news reporters, disgusts and enthrals him.
He is eventually bothered by how no one stops to look with him. It bothers him for weeks, a numbing, throbbing ache under his skin.
-
When Castiel first meets Dean, he finally knows pain. It's all there, right inside him, and Castiel can see it all, a horrible, distorted version of a ravished and beautiful soul. It frightens him, how something can be so twisted.
-
Dean is persistent in his pain.
He wakes in the morning and most mornings, he spends those slow, painful hours, in between, thinking about everything he's done wrong and uses it as a reminder of why he shouldn't be here. Then he takes it out on everyone else, letting it sit on the edge of his tongue for days or weeks, a bullet waiting to be fired; Sam is still shocked by this, that it still happens.
Mostly, it's a distant sting in his chest that Castiel can't explain.
-
My Father's children.
Castiel cares about them as much as his Father does, as much as his Father expects him to and more. He feels it's his duty to look over them while he is here. He has been fascinated by them for centuries and the stories from the other angels, how they mingled and bonded and loved when they were sent to Earth (like he was now); but, being here, all he is met with is awakening, awakening violence and death and pain.
It's heartbreaking.
-
He wishes he could fix the world for Dean, wishes he could fix Dean and his sorrows, but he can't. Not here.
-
Castiel sees nothing but distrust. Doubt. Anger. Resounding fear and possessiveness of things that were never theirs. It turns them into animals, something less and less like what he had ever heard; Castiel wonders where his Father is in this.
He feels lost. He feels like a child. Everything is too bright, too contrasted, a little too hard to see, a little too hard to comprehend, to have it make sense. They said it would be different. He thought it would be different.
-
The first time, Dean is scared. His hands shake and Castiel tries to steady them. Castiel doesn't know what to feel, what he should say or do.
“I-” Dean swallows roughly. “Cas, I don't know.”
Castiel doesn't know either; he wants to help Dean. This is what Dean needs, he knows this (it's all he asks for when the days grow long and shadowed); it could be his cure. Castiel could be his cure.
For now, it's all he's ever wanted.
-
Castiel does not remember Hell.
Dean does.
-
Most of the time, it's frantic and awkward. Most of the time, Dean is upset, frustrated, hurt when he comes to Castiel. It's destructive, bitter, ruthless and Castiel is out of focus for days afterwards: these are the days he spends away, when he disappears and he knows Dean is furious at him, at Sam, at anything and everything, but he needs to pray (it never works).
But Dean moves again, breathes again, smiles again.
Castiel would (could) never say no.
-
When Castiel first meets Dean, he has a vague understanding of confusion. Dean is riddled with it. It's vicious and suffocating and it's all Dean is. Just simple, devastating confusion.
-
There is a moment that Castiel can remember, back when Dean was just a young boy, and they whispered of him in the clouds. It was never anything consequential, mostly of the small boy in the crib and how would this, could this sudden turn take hold of Dean.
They watched him for years; Castiel joined once, morbid curiosity. He was a teenager by then, cropped hair and a leather jacket far too large for him, always covering his body, hidden from his world. There was nothing that would make them worry. He was obnoxious and loud, vicious and demanding, his only hero was his father and all he knew were shot guns and rock salt. It seemed right.
If Castiel had only known. (This is when he feels guilt.)
-
It has been a long time since Dean has gone drinking. Nothing provokes it, nothing great or devastating; it's just enough, just those moments where he feels all of it, all of this, weigh down and it's just enough.
He spends most of the afternoon in the bar, no one there to stop him, force him, push him away. When Castiel stands in the dimly lit, musky bar, hand on Dean's elbow, this is when he feels nervous. The look Dean returns is not reassuring.
Dean is scowling when he finds Castiel outside the bar, around the back, near a dumpster, the alley flooded with yellow light. He slams Castiel against the smooth vinyl siding, pining him with his arm. His breath is sour and his eyes are dull.
“Dean-”
“You should've left me there,” he seethes. He pushes the angel again, whipping Castiel's head back, hard against the wall. The crack echoes down the alley, in Castiel's head. Dean's elbow is digging into his neck and he's weightless, breathless, flying.
“You need to sleep,” Castiel manages to say. “Sam's looking for you.”
Dean groans, shaking his head. His grip slackens on Castiel and he can breathe. It's not until Dean looks up again that Castiel notices Dean's fingers quivering across his shoulders.
“Cas.”
“I couldn't leave you there,” Castiel whispers.
“Yes, you could have!” Dean turns away, suddenly, letting Castiel drop completely. His arms are above his head, fingers curled into fists and Castiel doesn't know what this is, what this means. “It's-” He spins around, standing so far, still, from Castiel and screams “-you should have left me there!”
“No.” Castiel has his hands out, palms up, like surrender, salvation, redemption; waiting, waiting, waiting for Dean to take it. “I saved you, Dean.”
Dean doesn't move. Doesn't speak.
He's a saviour, a guardian, a saint with wings. He's everything he has ever wanted and this is who he is, finally, to Dean. “I saved you.”
-
That night, Dean apologizes in the motel room, in between rustled sheets and hasty kisses (stolen, always stolen from him). Castiel takes it for all it is.
It's different in the morning, when Dean spends most of the morning in the shower and Castiel walks to a nearby park, then field, then river and prays. When Sam never returns and Castiel does, Dean begins reminding himself, through his disgust for his brother and his confusion, why he shouldn't be here.
-
There is a moment when Castiel thinks that this isn't enough. He knows, assuredly, this (he) is not enough.
He doesn't know what could be.
-
Castiel doesn't remember Dean, maimed and ugly, the portrait painted that Castiel first saw, remains of flesh and bone and blood clinging to a disguised frame. He doesn't remember the savageness of death and joy in his eyes, the immense surge, rush, surreal and painstaking as he carved and carved and carved.
But Dean, when he doesn't dream, is plagued with his own nightmare. And this is where Castiel finds him, where this all can begin.
-
There is a ragged bible, pages water-ruined and torn, left on the side of a dried up river bank. The leather bound cover is cracked, peeling, Holy Bible gold lettering flaking. He pushes away a garbage bag and an old car battery to reveal it's total destruction.
Castiel picks it up, holding it gently in his hands. He fingers the pages, careful not to move too quickly. He savours the sound of the crinkling pages, heard only by him, lost in the sound of birds and animals and wind as it rises, fast and heavy above him.
He's sure he hears God in the trees.
-
This, he knows, is enough.
-
He's waiting for Dean outside of the motel room as the day darkens and he knows Dean will leave again.
Dean is pulling the keys to the Impala out of his jacket pocket. He's carrying a duffel bag. He's alone. “Cas?” He sets the duffel down, walking towards him. “Hey, what's going on?”
Castiel closes the small space between them. Dean looks unsettled, anxious. Castiel holds his face in his hands. Dean sighs, covering Castiel's hands with his own.
“You can never be happy here,” Castiel whispers.
“What are you talking about?” Dean chuckles, nervous, breath hitched, and pulls away. He takes a sluggish step back, his body lost in between different motions and he's stuck there.
“I'm going to help you, Dean.” His hands on Dean's chest, thump-thump thump-thump. “I'm going to fix you.”
“Cas-” Dean turns away, pushing Castiel's hands down to his side. Castiel grabs his hands; Dean, irritated, pushes them away. “Cas, stop it. You're scaring me.”
Castiel shakes his head. “There is no need to fear death.” He grabs Dean's hands, tenses his grip. Dean gasps, grabbing his hand.
“Death?” Dean's eyes go wide. “Cas, what are you-” He's breathing fast, tugging on his arm. He's looking to Castiel, panicked and falling to his knees.
“I'm going to save you from all of this.” Castiel kneels in front of him, a silent exhilaration coursing through him. “You will be happy again.”
Dean doesn't understand.
“Cas, let me go! Something-” Dean stops, calming, moving, “-something's wrong with you.”
“You do not yet realize what I'm doing. But you will.”
Dean is wild, struggling to free himself, looking around the room, short, ragged gasps as he calls for Sam. Castiel feels the distant sting, tight in his chest. He reaches out, touches Dean's face, softly. Dean groans, closing his eyes, a choked cry escaping his lips.
“Castiel, please.” Dean is rocking from side to side, his hand caught in Castiel's grasp; here it is now, hope and grace.
(He has given up, given in. He's fallen in on himself, crumpled over, shoulders slack, head bent low. He is praying, praying. He is ready.
Somewhere, lost, Castiel doesn't hear don't do this, please.)
“Yes.” One hand rests on Dean's forehead, the other on his chest. The ragged heartbeat below his fingers causes him to tremble. He looks at Dean and smiles, simple. He knows, he knows the good that will come of this. (This must be God's true will.) “In death, we find happiness, love, and the Lord.”
Dean doesn't, but he knows.
-
In Heaven, sinners have no place.
end.
"What is so worth saving? I see nothing but pain here.
I see inside you. I see your guilt, your anger, confusion..."
→ Castiel, Lucifer Rising
dean/castiel. vague spoilers for season four, character death. rated pg-13. ~1,860
He wishes he could fix the world for Dean.
a/n: written for spn13 prompt death.
(c) title from in my keeping by jann arden
Tell me I will never die, take away my pain
where by my side, you are destruction
here by my side, a new colour to paint the world
never turn your back on it
never turn your back on it, again
here by my side, it's heaven
weapon - matthew good
-
When Castiel first comes to Earth, he prays to go home. This place is not for him.
-
His first night here, he is in a bus stop in Arizona, watching the news. He's not sure why he's stopped at this bus station, at this time, in this state, but the casual flashes of destruction and crying children on the flickering screen, between takes of the handsome and rigid news reporters, disgusts and enthrals him.
He is eventually bothered by how no one stops to look with him. It bothers him for weeks, a numbing, throbbing ache under his skin.
-
When Castiel first meets Dean, he finally knows pain. It's all there, right inside him, and Castiel can see it all, a horrible, distorted version of a ravished and beautiful soul. It frightens him, how something can be so twisted.
-
Dean is persistent in his pain.
He wakes in the morning and most mornings, he spends those slow, painful hours, in between, thinking about everything he's done wrong and uses it as a reminder of why he shouldn't be here. Then he takes it out on everyone else, letting it sit on the edge of his tongue for days or weeks, a bullet waiting to be fired; Sam is still shocked by this, that it still happens.
Mostly, it's a distant sting in his chest that Castiel can't explain.
-
My Father's children.
Castiel cares about them as much as his Father does, as much as his Father expects him to and more. He feels it's his duty to look over them while he is here. He has been fascinated by them for centuries and the stories from the other angels, how they mingled and bonded and loved when they were sent to Earth (like he was now); but, being here, all he is met with is awakening, awakening violence and death and pain.
It's heartbreaking.
-
He wishes he could fix the world for Dean, wishes he could fix Dean and his sorrows, but he can't. Not here.
-
Castiel sees nothing but distrust. Doubt. Anger. Resounding fear and possessiveness of things that were never theirs. It turns them into animals, something less and less like what he had ever heard; Castiel wonders where his Father is in this.
He feels lost. He feels like a child. Everything is too bright, too contrasted, a little too hard to see, a little too hard to comprehend, to have it make sense. They said it would be different. He thought it would be different.
-
The first time, Dean is scared. His hands shake and Castiel tries to steady them. Castiel doesn't know what to feel, what he should say or do.
“I-” Dean swallows roughly. “Cas, I don't know.”
Castiel doesn't know either; he wants to help Dean. This is what Dean needs, he knows this (it's all he asks for when the days grow long and shadowed); it could be his cure. Castiel could be his cure.
For now, it's all he's ever wanted.
-
Castiel does not remember Hell.
Dean does.
-
Most of the time, it's frantic and awkward. Most of the time, Dean is upset, frustrated, hurt when he comes to Castiel. It's destructive, bitter, ruthless and Castiel is out of focus for days afterwards: these are the days he spends away, when he disappears and he knows Dean is furious at him, at Sam, at anything and everything, but he needs to pray (it never works).
But Dean moves again, breathes again, smiles again.
Castiel would (could) never say no.
-
When Castiel first meets Dean, he has a vague understanding of confusion. Dean is riddled with it. It's vicious and suffocating and it's all Dean is. Just simple, devastating confusion.
-
There is a moment that Castiel can remember, back when Dean was just a young boy, and they whispered of him in the clouds. It was never anything consequential, mostly of the small boy in the crib and how would this, could this sudden turn take hold of Dean.
They watched him for years; Castiel joined once, morbid curiosity. He was a teenager by then, cropped hair and a leather jacket far too large for him, always covering his body, hidden from his world. There was nothing that would make them worry. He was obnoxious and loud, vicious and demanding, his only hero was his father and all he knew were shot guns and rock salt. It seemed right.
If Castiel had only known. (This is when he feels guilt.)
-
It has been a long time since Dean has gone drinking. Nothing provokes it, nothing great or devastating; it's just enough, just those moments where he feels all of it, all of this, weigh down and it's just enough.
He spends most of the afternoon in the bar, no one there to stop him, force him, push him away. When Castiel stands in the dimly lit, musky bar, hand on Dean's elbow, this is when he feels nervous. The look Dean returns is not reassuring.
Dean is scowling when he finds Castiel outside the bar, around the back, near a dumpster, the alley flooded with yellow light. He slams Castiel against the smooth vinyl siding, pining him with his arm. His breath is sour and his eyes are dull.
“Dean-”
“You should've left me there,” he seethes. He pushes the angel again, whipping Castiel's head back, hard against the wall. The crack echoes down the alley, in Castiel's head. Dean's elbow is digging into his neck and he's weightless, breathless, flying.
“You need to sleep,” Castiel manages to say. “Sam's looking for you.”
Dean groans, shaking his head. His grip slackens on Castiel and he can breathe. It's not until Dean looks up again that Castiel notices Dean's fingers quivering across his shoulders.
“Cas.”
“I couldn't leave you there,” Castiel whispers.
“Yes, you could have!” Dean turns away, suddenly, letting Castiel drop completely. His arms are above his head, fingers curled into fists and Castiel doesn't know what this is, what this means. “It's-” He spins around, standing so far, still, from Castiel and screams “-you should have left me there!”
“No.” Castiel has his hands out, palms up, like surrender, salvation, redemption; waiting, waiting, waiting for Dean to take it. “I saved you, Dean.”
Dean doesn't move. Doesn't speak.
He's a saviour, a guardian, a saint with wings. He's everything he has ever wanted and this is who he is, finally, to Dean. “I saved you.”
-
That night, Dean apologizes in the motel room, in between rustled sheets and hasty kisses (stolen, always stolen from him). Castiel takes it for all it is.
It's different in the morning, when Dean spends most of the morning in the shower and Castiel walks to a nearby park, then field, then river and prays. When Sam never returns and Castiel does, Dean begins reminding himself, through his disgust for his brother and his confusion, why he shouldn't be here.
-
There is a moment when Castiel thinks that this isn't enough. He knows, assuredly, this (he) is not enough.
He doesn't know what could be.
-
Castiel doesn't remember Dean, maimed and ugly, the portrait painted that Castiel first saw, remains of flesh and bone and blood clinging to a disguised frame. He doesn't remember the savageness of death and joy in his eyes, the immense surge, rush, surreal and painstaking as he carved and carved and carved.
But Dean, when he doesn't dream, is plagued with his own nightmare. And this is where Castiel finds him, where this all can begin.
-
There is a ragged bible, pages water-ruined and torn, left on the side of a dried up river bank. The leather bound cover is cracked, peeling, Holy Bible gold lettering flaking. He pushes away a garbage bag and an old car battery to reveal it's total destruction.
Castiel picks it up, holding it gently in his hands. He fingers the pages, careful not to move too quickly. He savours the sound of the crinkling pages, heard only by him, lost in the sound of birds and animals and wind as it rises, fast and heavy above him.
He's sure he hears God in the trees.
-
This, he knows, is enough.
-
He's waiting for Dean outside of the motel room as the day darkens and he knows Dean will leave again.
Dean is pulling the keys to the Impala out of his jacket pocket. He's carrying a duffel bag. He's alone. “Cas?” He sets the duffel down, walking towards him. “Hey, what's going on?”
Castiel closes the small space between them. Dean looks unsettled, anxious. Castiel holds his face in his hands. Dean sighs, covering Castiel's hands with his own.
“You can never be happy here,” Castiel whispers.
“What are you talking about?” Dean chuckles, nervous, breath hitched, and pulls away. He takes a sluggish step back, his body lost in between different motions and he's stuck there.
“I'm going to help you, Dean.” His hands on Dean's chest, thump-thump thump-thump. “I'm going to fix you.”
“Cas-” Dean turns away, pushing Castiel's hands down to his side. Castiel grabs his hands; Dean, irritated, pushes them away. “Cas, stop it. You're scaring me.”
Castiel shakes his head. “There is no need to fear death.” He grabs Dean's hands, tenses his grip. Dean gasps, grabbing his hand.
“Death?” Dean's eyes go wide. “Cas, what are you-” He's breathing fast, tugging on his arm. He's looking to Castiel, panicked and falling to his knees.
“I'm going to save you from all of this.” Castiel kneels in front of him, a silent exhilaration coursing through him. “You will be happy again.”
Dean doesn't understand.
“Cas, let me go! Something-” Dean stops, calming, moving, “-something's wrong with you.”
“You do not yet realize what I'm doing. But you will.”
Dean is wild, struggling to free himself, looking around the room, short, ragged gasps as he calls for Sam. Castiel feels the distant sting, tight in his chest. He reaches out, touches Dean's face, softly. Dean groans, closing his eyes, a choked cry escaping his lips.
“Castiel, please.” Dean is rocking from side to side, his hand caught in Castiel's grasp; here it is now, hope and grace.
(He has given up, given in. He's fallen in on himself, crumpled over, shoulders slack, head bent low. He is praying, praying. He is ready.
Somewhere, lost, Castiel doesn't hear don't do this, please.)
“Yes.” One hand rests on Dean's forehead, the other on his chest. The ragged heartbeat below his fingers causes him to tremble. He looks at Dean and smiles, simple. He knows, he knows the good that will come of this. (This must be God's true will.) “In death, we find happiness, love, and the Lord.”
Dean doesn't, but he knows.
-
In Heaven, sinners have no place.
end.
"What is so worth saving? I see nothing but pain here.
I see inside you. I see your guilt, your anger, confusion..."
→ Castiel, Lucifer Rising