Not With a Bang, But a Whimper || SPN - Dean/Cas
Title: Not With a Bang, But a Whimper
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 575
Warning: A bit angsty, but also sorta fluffy. Idk, my brain works in mysterious ways.
Summary: An alternate ending of sorts to 5.22 Swan Song.
“Don’t leave.”
Castiel stares at Dean’s profile, tries to see beneath the cracking mask.
“I-- I don’t think I want to be alone tonight.”
Dean’s eyes dart quickly between the road and his passenger, too quickly for Castiel to catch his gaze.
“I will stay as long as you need me, Dean.”
----
The motel room is dark, just the streetlight shining through the curtains, but Dean doesn’t bother to turn on the light, just shuts the door and takes off his jacket.
Castiel waits. He waits for the bang, for the explosion of anger, the hell-borne rage, but he gets instead a whimper. A single whimper, no louder than a sigh, and then Dean is on his knees as if his legs just refused to support him anymore. It only takes a second for Castiel to put aside his preconceptions of how this night would go before he is by Dean’s side, hand grasping his shoulder.
The tears come slowly at first, but then soon enough they force their way out in great heaving sobs that leave Dean breathless and, almost blindly, he pulls Castiel closer and buries his face in the angel’s shoulder. Castiel just hangs on tight, squeezing Dean’s shoulder with one hand to reassure him of his presence and rubbing soothing circles across his back with the other.
Eventually, minutes or hours or days later, Dean’s tears slow. Dean seems… embarrassed and Castiel doesn’t know how to tell him not to be except to kiss him, so that’s what he does.
Dean jerks away, stumbles to his feet and wipes his nose or his mouth, Castiel can’t tell, maybe both. Castiel still has trouble recognizing emotions, like now; he’s not sure if Dean’s angry or hurt or surprised or confused, so he simply gets to his feet and waits for Dean to give him some sort of clue.
As he stands, Dean’s eyes linger on the tear stains covering Castiel’s shoulder and then their eyes meet and like in a script there is a beat; a moment in which decisions are made and worlds are changed and in two quick, short strides Dean is across the room with one hand on either side of Castiel’s face while he kisses him back. Castiel’s hands go to Dean’s waist and back and clench in his shirt when Dean slides his tongue along Castiel’s bottom lip.
Dean tugs on Castiel’s trench coat and Castiel reluctantly lets go so that Dean can pull it and his suit jacket off and onto the floor. Dean tugs off his shirt and Castiel is momentarily distracted by skin he hasn’t seen since he reconstructed it. He knows this skin, knows every freckle and hair, yet he doesn’t know it. But he wants to, oh, how he wants to. (And that’s incredible in itself, isn't it? An angel who wants.) But not like this. Castiel doesn’t want this now, after tragedy and sacrifice.
“Dean, we shouldn’t--”
“Relax, Cas,” Dean’s voice is hoarse and he clears his throat before he continues, “I’m just making us comfortable.”
Dean is true to his word; he strips them both down to their boxers and pulls Castiel under the covers with him, but doesn’t do more than kiss him gently. Dean stares at him for a while, just stares, and when his eyes start to get misty and he flips over to hide his face.
“Don’t you ever leave me you son of a bitch,” Dean growls.
Castiel wraps his arms around him and whispers, “I don’t plan to.”
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 575
Warning: A bit angsty, but also sorta fluffy. Idk, my brain works in mysterious ways.
Summary: An alternate ending of sorts to 5.22 Swan Song.
“Don’t leave.”
Castiel stares at Dean’s profile, tries to see beneath the cracking mask.
“I-- I don’t think I want to be alone tonight.”
Dean’s eyes dart quickly between the road and his passenger, too quickly for Castiel to catch his gaze.
“I will stay as long as you need me, Dean.”
----
The motel room is dark, just the streetlight shining through the curtains, but Dean doesn’t bother to turn on the light, just shuts the door and takes off his jacket.
Castiel waits. He waits for the bang, for the explosion of anger, the hell-borne rage, but he gets instead a whimper. A single whimper, no louder than a sigh, and then Dean is on his knees as if his legs just refused to support him anymore. It only takes a second for Castiel to put aside his preconceptions of how this night would go before he is by Dean’s side, hand grasping his shoulder.
The tears come slowly at first, but then soon enough they force their way out in great heaving sobs that leave Dean breathless and, almost blindly, he pulls Castiel closer and buries his face in the angel’s shoulder. Castiel just hangs on tight, squeezing Dean’s shoulder with one hand to reassure him of his presence and rubbing soothing circles across his back with the other.
Eventually, minutes or hours or days later, Dean’s tears slow. Dean seems… embarrassed and Castiel doesn’t know how to tell him not to be except to kiss him, so that’s what he does.
Dean jerks away, stumbles to his feet and wipes his nose or his mouth, Castiel can’t tell, maybe both. Castiel still has trouble recognizing emotions, like now; he’s not sure if Dean’s angry or hurt or surprised or confused, so he simply gets to his feet and waits for Dean to give him some sort of clue.
As he stands, Dean’s eyes linger on the tear stains covering Castiel’s shoulder and then their eyes meet and like in a script there is a beat; a moment in which decisions are made and worlds are changed and in two quick, short strides Dean is across the room with one hand on either side of Castiel’s face while he kisses him back. Castiel’s hands go to Dean’s waist and back and clench in his shirt when Dean slides his tongue along Castiel’s bottom lip.
Dean tugs on Castiel’s trench coat and Castiel reluctantly lets go so that Dean can pull it and his suit jacket off and onto the floor. Dean tugs off his shirt and Castiel is momentarily distracted by skin he hasn’t seen since he reconstructed it. He knows this skin, knows every freckle and hair, yet he doesn’t know it. But he wants to, oh, how he wants to. (And that’s incredible in itself, isn't it? An angel who wants.) But not like this. Castiel doesn’t want this now, after tragedy and sacrifice.
“Dean, we shouldn’t--”
“Relax, Cas,” Dean’s voice is hoarse and he clears his throat before he continues, “I’m just making us comfortable.”
Dean is true to his word; he strips them both down to their boxers and pulls Castiel under the covers with him, but doesn’t do more than kiss him gently. Dean stares at him for a while, just stares, and when his eyes start to get misty and he flips over to hide his face.
“Don’t you ever leave me you son of a bitch,” Dean growls.
Castiel wraps his arms around him and whispers, “I don’t plan to.”