Dean/Cas Big Bang: Until The Lost Become The Found, Dean/Castiel/future!Castiel, NC-17 - Part Two
Title: Until The Lost Become The Found
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: All possible variations of Dean/Castiel/future!Castiel.
A/N: An AU that picks up immediately after 'The End'. Also, the title is based on this song, because it's my quintessential future!Cas song.
Summary: Although Dean may have been unable to save his brother in that hellish future world, there's a certain fallen angel that Castiel might just be able to rescue in time.
Word count: 36,000
Warnings: Drug abuse, past drug abuse, alcohol abuse, violence, memories of Hell (flashbacks to torture), implied prostitution.
Also, amazing artwork by peach_gurl can be can be found over here.
- - -
“I’m telling you, I honestly can’t answer your questions.”
“You expect me to believe that you don’t even remember your own name?”
“Temporary amnesia, officer. I hear it happens every day.”
Sitting across the table from Dean, the officer who’s been scowling at him for the past five hours pulls a glare that would have made even John Winchester proud, and Dean paints on a sweet smile as he sends another silent prayer in Castiel’s direction, hoping against hope that the angel is gonna wake up soon and fly right on over. Dean has no idea how long it takes to recover from a crash landing on angel airlines, but based on the way Officer Scowly is grinding his teeth together, Dean should probably be thankful that pulling out fingernails is illegal in Oregon.
“How’s this for a proposition, then. You start talking, or I send out your face to every law enforcement agency in the country. That incentive enough for you to remember your name?”
Yeah, Cas, any time you want to get your feathery ass over here, that’d be great.
Somehow managing to keep a smile on his face, Dean goes for a nonchalant shrug, knowing full well that Hendrickson - and damn if that failure doesn’t still sit in Dean’s mouth like a pile of ash - would have never had the time he needed to erase Dean from the police database. Not only that, but Cas has been on his own for a full five hours now, and Dean’s stomach is turning over at the thought of how much damage one person with the croatoan disease could do in that time.
“You do whatever ya gotta do, officer. I haven’t got anything that can help you.”
The officer looks like he’s about two seconds away from throwing Dean into the nastiest cell he can find, and Dean leans back in his chair with a guileless expression as he inwardly growls, Come on, Cas, I know you’re hurt, but the second you get your act together, I really need to check that the other version of you isn’t turning Klamath Falls into a war field -
“Dean.”
Dean can’t stop the ridiculous grin that spreads across his face as the police officer in front of him suddenly loses all the color from his face, his eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, so startled he almost looks like a cartoon character as he stares at the angel standing behind Dean.
“How -” And sure, it’s just a sputter, but the fact that the guy is even managing syllables ramps Dean’s respect for him up a notch. “How did you -”
“I have wings.” A gentle hand curls against Dean’s shoulder, and Dean can’t stop his grin from widening - both at the stupid giddy feeling he gets from knowing Castiel is safe, and at the way Officer Scowly finally gives up on his legs and collapses into the chair behind him. “Dean, we need to leave now.”
“Any time you’re ready, Feathers.”
With an exasperated mutter of his name and fingers that suddenly seem to be pressing just a little bit harder than is necessary, the room vanishes with that weightless feeling he’s coming to associate with angel airlines - and then they appear somewhere dim, unlit save for a single sliver of light, pressed chest to chest and basically breathing the same air, Castiel firmly holding him so that both of their knees are just slightly bent. Dean goes rigid for about two seconds until the clothes hangers knocking above his head make horrible sense, and then Dean grits his teeth at the asshole who’s apparently forgotten to mention they were taking a slight detour.
“Cas,” he manages to grind out, his heart all but tripling in speed when he can almost feel the words brush over Castiel’s lips, “Why are we in a closet?”
“I wished to get us into the hospital room, but I decided the nurses might take exception to our sudden appearance.”
Dean isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, but his body apparently vetoes both and goes straight for ragingly turned on, every inch of him aware of Castiel’s hands pressed against his elbows - the way the angel’s breath is ghosting across his face, brushing across his suddenly sensitive lips - the fact that the angel smells stupidly good, something like fresh air after a rainstorm, and Dean cannot believe he actually just thought that.
“Cas. You know this is, like. The exact opposite of personal space, right?”
“My apologies,” and oh, god, if Castiel’s rough timbre had been obscene before, it’s even worse in the darkness of their closet, with mere centimetres between them, “And I suggest you cease to speak, since the nurses are returning.”
“Oh my fucking god, how is this my life.”
“Dean.”
The hissed syllable, right beside his ear, mixed with the fact that six feet of delicious smelling angel is pressed up against him - Castiel is right there, and Dean barely holds back a rather unmanly whimper as he gingerly turns his body to face the front of the closet, wincing at the rattle of clothes hangers above him, and desperately hoping that Castiel hasn’t noticed that Dean’s jeans are tighter than they were sixty seconds ago.
“Dean, you need to stop moving.” The fingers on his elbows loosen their hold, but reluctantly, and Dean can almost feel Castiel’s scowl in the darkness. “If you make noise, you are going to reveal our position.”
Buddy, you have no idea how much noise I’d like to make with you.
Dean barely holds back what would have been dangerously close to hysterical laughter, his body screaming for greater contact as he ends up facing the front of the closet, with Castiel’s warm breath brushing against the side of his neck. There’s a dangerous moment where Dean almost leans into the brush of barely-there contact, and then he squeezes his eyes shut and mutters a silent curse in his head.
“Hold your horses, Cas. I’m just trying to see what’s going on.”
“I do not have any horses.”
And despite the situation, despite how ridiculous it all is, there’s a peevish note to that sentence that is just so wonderfully Castiel that Dean simply can’t stop himself. Further breaking his no-touching-rule - which Castiel seems determined to smash to pieces, anyway - Dean inches his hand sideways slightly and squeezes Castiel’s elbow for a moment, hating himself for doing something so sentimental, but unable to deny that his heart is aching almost as much as his groin right now.
It really had sucked, watching Castiel lie in the dirt on the side of a deserted highway.
“I’m, um. Glad you’re okay. And, uh - sorry your trip into the future hit you so hard.”
It’s not exactly his most eloquent apology, and there’s silence for about three painful seconds until Castiel shakes his head just slightly, the movement close enough that Dean can almost feel the angel’s nose brush against his neck.
“There is no need to apologize. I understand that you -”
A burst of noise from the room silences them both, and Dean presses his eye against the crack of light between the two closet doors, the sight in front of him almost enough to distract him from the press of Castiel’s warm body against his own.
“Well, sir. Good to see you’re back in the land of the living again.”
There are two nurses, all perfect make-up and pleasant smiles, but all Dean can focus on is Cas, who looks incredibly small in that hospital bed, his eyes much too blue in a face that’s devoid of colour. He’s glancing around the room with a look of utter incomprehension, and when one of the nurses goes to check his IV, he visibly flinches away from the movement.
“Where am I?”
“You’re at Klamath Falls Hospital. The police would like to talk to you and your twin about your assailant, but your attending physician wishes you to spend some more time recovering first.”
Cas is staring at her with an absolutely blank expression, his messy stubble a dark smear against the unhealthy pallor of his skin. Then, with a nauseating smile that grates against Dean’s every nerve, the fallen angel sits up a little straighter in his bed, cocking his head at the nurse standing closest to him.
“I don’t know where you got the well-outfitted meatsuits, but you might as well just kill me. I was tortured by Heaven’s finest once. You won’t get much sport out of me.”
It takes Dean all of three seconds to clue in, and then his stomach falls down to rest somewhere around his toes. Since there probably weren’t any functional hospitals in 2014, Castiel must think that demons have him, and are just screwing with him before the knives come out - and considering that his last memories are probably of storming Lucifer’s stronghold, it’s really not that much of a stretch.
“Sir,” the nurse says gently, a frown crossing her face, “Your blood shows high levels of amphetamines, along with traces of alcohol and THC, and you also took a nasty hit to the head. Your mind may be somewhat fuzzy at the moment, but I assure you, you’re quite safe here.”
Dean winces as the Castiel beside him tenses up, hearing the list of substances in his body - and yeah, maybe Dean should have warned him that his halo had slipped completely off at some point between now and 2014.
“Also, although we haven’t provided you with morphine, there is a small dosage of amidone in your system, to numb some of the pain from your injuries. As with all analgesics, an amount of detachment from reality is not unexpected, so you must believe me when I promise that nobody here has any intention of harming you.”
“Your concern is kind. Now either kill me or let me go.”
Cas makes a valiant attempt to push himself further up in his bed, but his breath wheezes out in a pained gasp as he collapses back against the pillow, one shaking hand scrambling across the blankets to clutch as his side. The nurses make unhappy noises as they move forward, and then Cas is jerking away from their touch as one takes hold of his elbow while the other curls her fingers around his wrist, leaving Cas cursing and struggling to get away, his blue eyes blown wide in his face, and it’s such a sad sight Dean almost wants to throw away their plan of secrecy.
“Cas,” he whispers, his gut aching from the scene in front of him, “I know we’re trying to keep a low profile, but isn’t there anything you can do?”
“Not if you’d like him to be able to remain here while he recovers.”
“Goddamn.”
Reminding himself that he should just be grateful that Cas obviously isn’t infected with the croatoan virus, Dean bites his lip and forces himself to stay quiet as the nurses hold Cas in place, while another nurse enters the room and adjusts Cas’ IV. The injured body in the bed kicks out even harder at that, a shouted curse ringing across the room, but three against one is a foregone conclusion when Cas is injured like this, and it takes only about a minute for the drug to kick in, leaving Cas limp and unresisting on the hospital bed.
“Well, he’s certainly a lively one.”
“You’re telling me. I’m gonna check his MRI scans again, and see if we’re missing something.”
The nurses leave without another word, and the door has barely shut before Dean is pushing free of the closet, blinking under the bright hospital lights and making it to Cas’ bedside in about half a second. He’s still trying to read the scribbling on the IV bag by the time the angel comes to stand beside him, and when Castiel just stands there, staring down at his future self, Dean wonders how he’s going to do damage control for this ridiculous situation. For all that Castiel has been dabbling in human emotions lately, Dean’s not sure if he’s ever felt the angel get this tightly wound - he’s practically vibrating beside Dean, his body all lines of tension and unease, and Dean suddenly realizes how absolutely unpleasant things could become when this future version of Castiel is awake.
“I bet this is a bit of a mind fuck for you, eh?”
Castiel stays silent for a long moment, before he presses his fingers against the hand of the fallen angel lying in front of them, one long finger tracing across a nasty scar that’s painted across Cas’ pale skin, and something in Dean’s chest clenches uncomfortably.
“What happened to me?”
There’s a world of pain and confusion there, and Dean swallows hard. “Not now, buddy. Story time’s gonna have to wait. Any way you can wake him up long enough to let him know that we’re here?”
Castiel tilts his head slightly as he stares at himself some more, before he brushes his fingers across Castiel’s disconcertingly pale forehead, and blue eyes begin to flutter open. Before they can do so completely, there’s a hand against his arm, and then Castiel is stepping backwards.
“I think it would be best if I meet him when he is more recovered.”
Dean opens his mouth to argue but Castiel is already gone, nothing but the soft beat of feathers to herald his sudden departure, and Dean is still scowling when he turns back to the bed - only to find blue eyes staring up at him, the fear there almost enough to make Dean take a step backward.
“Oh, hell,” Cas mutters roughly, his voice catching as he shrinks a little further into the bed, “Oh god, please, no.”
“Hey, look, it’s okay -”
“Get the fuck out of him!”
“Cas -”
When Cas makes a desperate attempt to shy away from Dean, his face twisting with pain as he begins to mutter a ragged sounding exorcism, Dean bites out a curse and grabs hold of Cas’ hands, squeezing hard and doing his best to make Cas meet his eyes, even though the fallen angel seems to be trying everything he can to not look at him.
“Cas, come on, buddy - listen to me. Zachariah threw me into your world. Once he pulled me back to my time, I got Castiel to go searching for ya. Now will you please stop struggling before you tear out your damn stitches?”
And maybe it’s the medication in his veins, or maybe it’s just that what Dean is offering is so much better than the alternative of demon torture - but whatever the reason, Cas bites down on the spew of Latin and actually stops trying to pull away, as something close to desperate hope flashes across his face.
“Dean?”
“Yes, goddammit, it’s me.”
Cas just stares at him some more, before he glances down at where Dean is still gripping tight to his hands, the press of his fingers colouring spots of white against Cas’ skin. Dean pulls free with a flash of heat across his face, his hands fumbling for something else to hold onto, and then his breath catches when Cas’ eyes flick up to stare at him again, something desperately yearning behind his gaze that Cas doesn’t even seem to be trying to hide.
“Prove it.”
“I don’t exactly have any holy water in my pocket.”
“Tell me something only we would know.”
That desperation is still there, and Dean swallows hard, throwing his mind around for anything that only the two of them would know.
“You rebelled against Heaven for me, when I told you it was worth dying for. You did exactly that to give me the chance to stop Sam, and I never actually thanked you, which probably makes me douche bag of the year.”
Cas continues to stare at him, still sitting ramrod tense on the hospital sheets, and Dean tries to think of something else, racking his mind over the many months he’s had the angel in his life.
“A few days after you pulled me out of the pit, you told me that you could throw me back in if I didn’t respect you. I don’t think you even know how much you scared the crap out of me that night.”
More staring, though there’s more hope than fear in those blue eyes now, and when Dean suddenly can’t deal with what he’s seeing in the fallen angel’s face, he pastes on a weak smile to deal with how obviously desperate Cas is to believe him.
“Also, thanks to your awkward angelic charm, the only ever time I’ve tried to get you laid, you managed to terrify the poor girl by dissecting her daddy issues.”
“And you told me you hadn’t laughed that hard in years.”
“You remember that?”
“Of course I do.”
There’s an unfortunate lump in Dean’s throat, but he doesn’t look away as Cas continues to stare at him, his skin still dangerously white behind his rough mess of stubble. It isn’t until the fallen angel drops his gaze that Dean can breathe again, unable to deal with the mixture of pain and incredulous relief that he can see in Cas’ eyes.
“Where are we?”
“Oregon.”
“You made me come and fetch me?”
“It didn’t seem right, letting you die, especially after everything you’d already lost.”
“And what happened in - in my timeline? My universe?” Cas’ eyes are suddenly bright, and desperate hope is written across every inch of him. “Dean, did he - was he able to -”
And Dean has no idea how he’s going to answer that one, because no matter how much of an unfeeling monster his future self may have been, it’s painfully obvious that Cas still gave a damn about him - gave a damn in ways that are becoming all too clear, as Cas stares at him like the fate of his entire existence rests on Dean’s next words.
“Dean?”
Dean swallows hard, unable to deal with the sudden pleading in Cas’ expression. “How about we swap stories once you’re better?”
Cas stares at him for a moment longer, disbelief etched into every line of his face, and, well, Dean’s been surrounded by death long enough to know what it looks like when the light goes out of someone’s eyes. He turns away when the fallen angel curls in on himself with a hurt sound, leaving Dean aching from the inside out, more gutted than he’s felt since Sam set Lucifer free.
“Cas, man - I’m sorry, I really am.”
The words are painfully inadequate, and Dean keeps his eyes fixed firmly away from the bed, staring out the grimy window as he waits for Cas to pull himself back together. After a long moment, when the smothering silence has reached almost deafening levels, Dean bites out a soft sigh and rubs a hand over his face.
“Look, Cas, if you want me to leave, I’ll -”
“Don’t leave.”
“Are you -”
A clammy hand curls around his own, Cas’ fingers clinging on with almost bruising force, and Dean carefully doesn’t look at Cas’ face as he slides into a plastic chair by the bed.
“Please, Dean. Don’t leave me.”
The rasp of Cas’ voice is far beyond raw, and Dean swallows around the ache in his chest, his heart turning over at the painful press of shaking fingers against his own. When he finally manages to man up and look at the fallen angel, Cas is staring straight ahead at nothing, his bright blue eyes glazed over with tears, and Dean closes his own eyes as he tightens his grip around Cas’ hand, wondering how the hell his future self could have ever thrown this away.
- - -
Cas, you gotta help me out. I’m stuck in this damn closet until you get back. Can’t ya hear me?
Silence. There are three nurses fussing around Cas, who’s spent the last half hour staring down at the bed with a stricken expression, and Dean pulls his eye away from the crack in the closet doors, unable to continue staring at the world of hurt in the fallen angel’s eyes, because the extent of that hurt is scaring the crap out of Dean.
For all of his self-imposed denial, Dean has never exactly been an idiot where their resident angel is concerned, and he knows himself well enough to admit that he’s always wondered if it would just take some blasphemous urging on his part to tear that angel’s halo right off his head. If it would just take a few well-placed words to finally acknowledge this thing that hangs between them, to show Castiel that they could maybe have more than just half-truths and ridiculously intense staring contests -
But since Dean has already ruined everything else in his life, leaning every inch of an angel’s body would be somewhere far beyond the realm of okay - so given that Castiel makes Dean feel like he’s being turned inside out simply by being in the same room as him, Dean likes to think he’s been a gentleman about the whole matter, keeping his hands and feelings to himself, lying awake at night with a rock hard dick and a stupid achy feeling in his chest.
But based on the way this version of Castiel reacted to Dean’s death? Somewhere along the way, Dean and Cas must have finally given in and started screwing each other senseless, mixing in a dash of that stupidly intense connection that already underlies their every interaction in this universe, and seeing that astonishing level of love and desperation in this Cas’ eyes is enough to make Dean’s knees feel a little bit like jelly.
Come on, Cas, I’m no good to anyone if I’m trapped here. I’ve gotta get back to my car, so I can meet Sam in Illinois.
When there’s still no hint of response, Dean forces the uncomfortable thoughts from his mind and concentrates on just breathing, wanting something to focus on that doesn’t involve staring out at the hospital room and watching Cas slowly fall apart.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean’s whole system jumps with a bolt of adrenaline and a barely bitten off curse, and only Castiel’s warm hands against his arms stop him from bumping into the front of the closet - and then they’re gone again, landing gently on the dirty carpet of Dean’s motel room, and Dean breathes out sharply as Castiel lets go of his arms and steps backwards, looking almost sheepish as he does.
“My apologies. I would have returned to you sooner, but I needed to make sure that Zachariah was no longer watching this room.”
“And we’re good?”
“Yes. He is engaged elsewhere with some of our brethren. We have time to get your belongings and your vehicle.”
“I’m meeting Sam tomorrow. Don’t suppose you can magic us all back to Oregon while Cas gets better?”
“I would prefer not to. Moving a vehicle would significantly drain my grace.”
Dean has already begun to gather his things, needing something to keep his mind off the sight of Cas in that hospital bed, but there’s something about the way this Castiel says that last bit that makes Dean pause. He’s becoming more than conversational in Castiel’s expressions and ways of speaking, and he realizes with a start that Castiel isn’t meeting his eyes - a dead giveaway that something is most definitely not okay.
“Cas, you alright?”
“I - I am not sure.”
And as the angel stares down at the filthy carpeting, somehow managing to look like he’s wringing his hands without actually moving at all, Dean suddenly gets what this is about, and could kick himself for being an insensitive dick.
“We’re not gonna let you end up like that.”
“You should not make promises if you cannot keep them.”
“Hey, what’s with the sudden emo act?”
“Emo?”
“You. Freaking out. What happened to us being able to kill the devil and stop the apocalypse?”
Castiel is silent for a long moment, still staring down at the carpet, until he makes a tiny gesture that could almost be considered a human shrug. “Seeing the world of 2014 was not encouraging. And seeing myself that… broken. It is disconcerting.”
“Well, we’re not gonna let that happen. I’m gonna talk to Sam, he and I’ll patch things up, and all four of us will take on the future together, alright?”
“The four of us.”
“Well, yeah.”
“Would you wish to be around your future self?”
It’s like a punch to the gut, and Dean can only gape for a long moment, even though he knows the answer to that one, knows it loud and clear; and it’s not surprising that Castiel doesn’t want to be around that shell of himself. Dean could barely stand himself in the future, and he’d only been there as a temporary visitor - Castiel is going to have to deal with himself on a daily basis.
“I don’t know what you expect me to say. You agreed to go fetch him from the future.”
“I did not realize…”
“What a mess you’d become? If it’s any consolation, I think you might still have been facing the end of the world with more dignity than I was.”
“What happened to you? And why was I about to die alone when I found me?”
An image flashes across his mind of Dean lying to his people - of him knowingly sending Castiel to his death - and Dean does his best to make sure he’s suddenly not looking at Castiel anymore, worried about what the angel might see on his face.
“Can we please save the stories for when we’re all in one place?”
Castiel gives him a slow nod, and then just stands there like the king of awkwardness as Dean works the room, gathering up his things and shoving them into a duffel bag with a little more force than is necessary. He hasn’t felt completely at home in his own skin since he came back from Hell, and now, with Castiel staring at him like he’s some dangerous riddle to be worked out - staring at him like he knows exactly what Dean did to Cas in that future world - Dean feels more uncomfortable than he’s been in months.
“Look, if you want to say something, then say it.”
“I do not know what you mean.”
“Bullshit.”
Any hint of their earlier camaraderie, of the way Castiel had smiled at him when Dean had told him to never change - well, it’s all gone now, a wall of tension somehow thrown up between them, and there’s something like nausea sweeping across Dean’s body. Castiel is finally meeting his eyes again, but he’s wearing an expression of obvious unease, and Dean barely refrains from grinding his teeth together, knowing exactly how freaked out Castiel must be right now.
“Dean?”
“You’ve seen what happens if you keep siding with me. And now you’re bailing.”
“Dean -”
“Jesus, Cas,” Dean hears himself grate out, and if his voice is bordering on unsteady, then he’s just gonna do his best to ignore it, “If you wanna leave me to fight off the apocalypse on my own, then you damn well go ahead. Nothing I say or do can convince you that I’m not gonna let things go the way they were in 2014, so if you’re gonna bail, just fucking do it already, and get the hell out of -”
“Dean.”
Castiel is suddenly right in his face, not leaving nearly enough of a safe zone between them, and Dean practically chokes on his own words, managing a half step backwards before Castiel is all but breathing the same air as him.
“Did I ever say that I was leaving?”
Dean can only manage an uneven head shake, his blood burning across every inch of his skin as Castiel moves in even closer, staring at him like he can read every frightened thought in Dean’s mind - and wow, Dean hasn’t seen Castiel this furious since that horrible day in Bobby’s hospital room, when he’d been tearing Dean and Sam apart for setting Lucifer free.
“Then do not pretend to know what I am thinking. Do you truly believe that I would leave you now, after everything I have already given up for you?”
“Cas, I didn’t -”
“I have spent thousands of years dealing with humankind, and although you are the most infuriating human I have ever met, I still believe that your quest to stop the apocalypse is just. Do not think that bearing witness to my possible future could dissuade me from this course, now that I have already put my faith in you.”
Realizing that he’s been cornered against the dirty motel wall, Dean finds himself lost for words, stripped of his defences and rubbed raw against the angel’s anger, just like that terrible night when Castiel had threatened to throw him back into Hell - but unlike that night, when Castiel had still been a terrifying threat to both Dean and his brother, Dean now finds himself seized with the horrible desire to curl his fingers into Castiel’s jacket and pull him closer, and to make him prove that he’s never going to leave him, no matter how destitute the future my look.
Then, Castiel steps back with all all-too-human sigh, and the moment is broken.
“I cannot transport your vehicle to Oregon, and I would advise against staying any longer in this room, since Zachariah knows that you were once here. I suggest you find yourself a new motel, and if you need me, you know how to reach me.”
The angel vanishes without another word, and Dean takes a long moment to remember how to breathe, trying to pretend his knees aren’t knocking together for all the wrong reasons - because given that an angel losing his cool should have been one of the most terrifying things that’s happened to Dean in a while, there’s absolutely no excuse for the unwanted tightness in his jeans, and the uncomfortably quick beating of his heart.
“Goddammit,” he mutters unhappily, as he yanks his bag across the bed with a grunt, trying to remind himself that there’s no chance of finding any solutions tonight - no chance of figuring out what to do with either of the Castiels in his life. He’ll pack his things and find another crappy motel, and then tomorrow he’ll meet up with Sam, and the two of them can head to Oregon together, to check in on Cas and figure out some way for all of them to get along.
Do you truly believe that I would leave you now, after everything I have already given up for you?
Swallowing hard against the stupid flutter of pansy butterflies that take off in his stomach, Dean drags a hand over his face and takes a moment to breathe, realizing that his traitorous mind is swimming with blue eyes - one pair flashing with angelic anger and undeniable hurt, the other full of desperate yearning, and both of them wielding enough intensity to make Dean feel like he’s being taken apart from the inside out.
“Oh, Jesus. I am in way over my head.”
The words are much too loud into the silent air around him, the epiphany like a punch to the chest, and Dean swallows hard as he stares at the empty motel room, suddenly unable to deny just how far gone he already is, and worried that he’s never going to be able to come up for air again.
- - -
Part Three
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: All possible variations of Dean/Castiel/future!Castiel.
A/N: An AU that picks up immediately after 'The End'. Also, the title is based on this song, because it's my quintessential future!Cas song.
Summary: Although Dean may have been unable to save his brother in that hellish future world, there's a certain fallen angel that Castiel might just be able to rescue in time.
Word count: 36,000
Warnings: Drug abuse, past drug abuse, alcohol abuse, violence, memories of Hell (flashbacks to torture), implied prostitution.
Also, amazing artwork by peach_gurl can be can be found over here.
- - -
“I’m telling you, I honestly can’t answer your questions.”
“You expect me to believe that you don’t even remember your own name?”
“Temporary amnesia, officer. I hear it happens every day.”
Sitting across the table from Dean, the officer who’s been scowling at him for the past five hours pulls a glare that would have made even John Winchester proud, and Dean paints on a sweet smile as he sends another silent prayer in Castiel’s direction, hoping against hope that the angel is gonna wake up soon and fly right on over. Dean has no idea how long it takes to recover from a crash landing on angel airlines, but based on the way Officer Scowly is grinding his teeth together, Dean should probably be thankful that pulling out fingernails is illegal in Oregon.
“How’s this for a proposition, then. You start talking, or I send out your face to every law enforcement agency in the country. That incentive enough for you to remember your name?”
Yeah, Cas, any time you want to get your feathery ass over here, that’d be great.
Somehow managing to keep a smile on his face, Dean goes for a nonchalant shrug, knowing full well that Hendrickson - and damn if that failure doesn’t still sit in Dean’s mouth like a pile of ash - would have never had the time he needed to erase Dean from the police database. Not only that, but Cas has been on his own for a full five hours now, and Dean’s stomach is turning over at the thought of how much damage one person with the croatoan disease could do in that time.
“You do whatever ya gotta do, officer. I haven’t got anything that can help you.”
The officer looks like he’s about two seconds away from throwing Dean into the nastiest cell he can find, and Dean leans back in his chair with a guileless expression as he inwardly growls, Come on, Cas, I know you’re hurt, but the second you get your act together, I really need to check that the other version of you isn’t turning Klamath Falls into a war field -
“Dean.”
Dean can’t stop the ridiculous grin that spreads across his face as the police officer in front of him suddenly loses all the color from his face, his eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, so startled he almost looks like a cartoon character as he stares at the angel standing behind Dean.
“How -” And sure, it’s just a sputter, but the fact that the guy is even managing syllables ramps Dean’s respect for him up a notch. “How did you -”
“I have wings.” A gentle hand curls against Dean’s shoulder, and Dean can’t stop his grin from widening - both at the stupid giddy feeling he gets from knowing Castiel is safe, and at the way Officer Scowly finally gives up on his legs and collapses into the chair behind him. “Dean, we need to leave now.”
“Any time you’re ready, Feathers.”
With an exasperated mutter of his name and fingers that suddenly seem to be pressing just a little bit harder than is necessary, the room vanishes with that weightless feeling he’s coming to associate with angel airlines - and then they appear somewhere dim, unlit save for a single sliver of light, pressed chest to chest and basically breathing the same air, Castiel firmly holding him so that both of their knees are just slightly bent. Dean goes rigid for about two seconds until the clothes hangers knocking above his head make horrible sense, and then Dean grits his teeth at the asshole who’s apparently forgotten to mention they were taking a slight detour.
“Cas,” he manages to grind out, his heart all but tripling in speed when he can almost feel the words brush over Castiel’s lips, “Why are we in a closet?”
“I wished to get us into the hospital room, but I decided the nurses might take exception to our sudden appearance.”
Dean isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, but his body apparently vetoes both and goes straight for ragingly turned on, every inch of him aware of Castiel’s hands pressed against his elbows - the way the angel’s breath is ghosting across his face, brushing across his suddenly sensitive lips - the fact that the angel smells stupidly good, something like fresh air after a rainstorm, and Dean cannot believe he actually just thought that.
“Cas. You know this is, like. The exact opposite of personal space, right?”
“My apologies,” and oh, god, if Castiel’s rough timbre had been obscene before, it’s even worse in the darkness of their closet, with mere centimetres between them, “And I suggest you cease to speak, since the nurses are returning.”
“Oh my fucking god, how is this my life.”
“Dean.”
The hissed syllable, right beside his ear, mixed with the fact that six feet of delicious smelling angel is pressed up against him - Castiel is right there, and Dean barely holds back a rather unmanly whimper as he gingerly turns his body to face the front of the closet, wincing at the rattle of clothes hangers above him, and desperately hoping that Castiel hasn’t noticed that Dean’s jeans are tighter than they were sixty seconds ago.
“Dean, you need to stop moving.” The fingers on his elbows loosen their hold, but reluctantly, and Dean can almost feel Castiel’s scowl in the darkness. “If you make noise, you are going to reveal our position.”
Buddy, you have no idea how much noise I’d like to make with you.
Dean barely holds back what would have been dangerously close to hysterical laughter, his body screaming for greater contact as he ends up facing the front of the closet, with Castiel’s warm breath brushing against the side of his neck. There’s a dangerous moment where Dean almost leans into the brush of barely-there contact, and then he squeezes his eyes shut and mutters a silent curse in his head.
“Hold your horses, Cas. I’m just trying to see what’s going on.”
“I do not have any horses.”
And despite the situation, despite how ridiculous it all is, there’s a peevish note to that sentence that is just so wonderfully Castiel that Dean simply can’t stop himself. Further breaking his no-touching-rule - which Castiel seems determined to smash to pieces, anyway - Dean inches his hand sideways slightly and squeezes Castiel’s elbow for a moment, hating himself for doing something so sentimental, but unable to deny that his heart is aching almost as much as his groin right now.
It really had sucked, watching Castiel lie in the dirt on the side of a deserted highway.
“I’m, um. Glad you’re okay. And, uh - sorry your trip into the future hit you so hard.”
It’s not exactly his most eloquent apology, and there’s silence for about three painful seconds until Castiel shakes his head just slightly, the movement close enough that Dean can almost feel the angel’s nose brush against his neck.
“There is no need to apologize. I understand that you -”
A burst of noise from the room silences them both, and Dean presses his eye against the crack of light between the two closet doors, the sight in front of him almost enough to distract him from the press of Castiel’s warm body against his own.
“Well, sir. Good to see you’re back in the land of the living again.”
There are two nurses, all perfect make-up and pleasant smiles, but all Dean can focus on is Cas, who looks incredibly small in that hospital bed, his eyes much too blue in a face that’s devoid of colour. He’s glancing around the room with a look of utter incomprehension, and when one of the nurses goes to check his IV, he visibly flinches away from the movement.
“Where am I?”
“You’re at Klamath Falls Hospital. The police would like to talk to you and your twin about your assailant, but your attending physician wishes you to spend some more time recovering first.”
Cas is staring at her with an absolutely blank expression, his messy stubble a dark smear against the unhealthy pallor of his skin. Then, with a nauseating smile that grates against Dean’s every nerve, the fallen angel sits up a little straighter in his bed, cocking his head at the nurse standing closest to him.
“I don’t know where you got the well-outfitted meatsuits, but you might as well just kill me. I was tortured by Heaven’s finest once. You won’t get much sport out of me.”
It takes Dean all of three seconds to clue in, and then his stomach falls down to rest somewhere around his toes. Since there probably weren’t any functional hospitals in 2014, Castiel must think that demons have him, and are just screwing with him before the knives come out - and considering that his last memories are probably of storming Lucifer’s stronghold, it’s really not that much of a stretch.
“Sir,” the nurse says gently, a frown crossing her face, “Your blood shows high levels of amphetamines, along with traces of alcohol and THC, and you also took a nasty hit to the head. Your mind may be somewhat fuzzy at the moment, but I assure you, you’re quite safe here.”
Dean winces as the Castiel beside him tenses up, hearing the list of substances in his body - and yeah, maybe Dean should have warned him that his halo had slipped completely off at some point between now and 2014.
“Also, although we haven’t provided you with morphine, there is a small dosage of amidone in your system, to numb some of the pain from your injuries. As with all analgesics, an amount of detachment from reality is not unexpected, so you must believe me when I promise that nobody here has any intention of harming you.”
“Your concern is kind. Now either kill me or let me go.”
Cas makes a valiant attempt to push himself further up in his bed, but his breath wheezes out in a pained gasp as he collapses back against the pillow, one shaking hand scrambling across the blankets to clutch as his side. The nurses make unhappy noises as they move forward, and then Cas is jerking away from their touch as one takes hold of his elbow while the other curls her fingers around his wrist, leaving Cas cursing and struggling to get away, his blue eyes blown wide in his face, and it’s such a sad sight Dean almost wants to throw away their plan of secrecy.
“Cas,” he whispers, his gut aching from the scene in front of him, “I know we’re trying to keep a low profile, but isn’t there anything you can do?”
“Not if you’d like him to be able to remain here while he recovers.”
“Goddamn.”
Reminding himself that he should just be grateful that Cas obviously isn’t infected with the croatoan virus, Dean bites his lip and forces himself to stay quiet as the nurses hold Cas in place, while another nurse enters the room and adjusts Cas’ IV. The injured body in the bed kicks out even harder at that, a shouted curse ringing across the room, but three against one is a foregone conclusion when Cas is injured like this, and it takes only about a minute for the drug to kick in, leaving Cas limp and unresisting on the hospital bed.
“Well, he’s certainly a lively one.”
“You’re telling me. I’m gonna check his MRI scans again, and see if we’re missing something.”
The nurses leave without another word, and the door has barely shut before Dean is pushing free of the closet, blinking under the bright hospital lights and making it to Cas’ bedside in about half a second. He’s still trying to read the scribbling on the IV bag by the time the angel comes to stand beside him, and when Castiel just stands there, staring down at his future self, Dean wonders how he’s going to do damage control for this ridiculous situation. For all that Castiel has been dabbling in human emotions lately, Dean’s not sure if he’s ever felt the angel get this tightly wound - he’s practically vibrating beside Dean, his body all lines of tension and unease, and Dean suddenly realizes how absolutely unpleasant things could become when this future version of Castiel is awake.
“I bet this is a bit of a mind fuck for you, eh?”
Castiel stays silent for a long moment, before he presses his fingers against the hand of the fallen angel lying in front of them, one long finger tracing across a nasty scar that’s painted across Cas’ pale skin, and something in Dean’s chest clenches uncomfortably.
“What happened to me?”
There’s a world of pain and confusion there, and Dean swallows hard. “Not now, buddy. Story time’s gonna have to wait. Any way you can wake him up long enough to let him know that we’re here?”
Castiel tilts his head slightly as he stares at himself some more, before he brushes his fingers across Castiel’s disconcertingly pale forehead, and blue eyes begin to flutter open. Before they can do so completely, there’s a hand against his arm, and then Castiel is stepping backwards.
“I think it would be best if I meet him when he is more recovered.”
Dean opens his mouth to argue but Castiel is already gone, nothing but the soft beat of feathers to herald his sudden departure, and Dean is still scowling when he turns back to the bed - only to find blue eyes staring up at him, the fear there almost enough to make Dean take a step backward.
“Oh, hell,” Cas mutters roughly, his voice catching as he shrinks a little further into the bed, “Oh god, please, no.”
“Hey, look, it’s okay -”
“Get the fuck out of him!”
“Cas -”
When Cas makes a desperate attempt to shy away from Dean, his face twisting with pain as he begins to mutter a ragged sounding exorcism, Dean bites out a curse and grabs hold of Cas’ hands, squeezing hard and doing his best to make Cas meet his eyes, even though the fallen angel seems to be trying everything he can to not look at him.
“Cas, come on, buddy - listen to me. Zachariah threw me into your world. Once he pulled me back to my time, I got Castiel to go searching for ya. Now will you please stop struggling before you tear out your damn stitches?”
And maybe it’s the medication in his veins, or maybe it’s just that what Dean is offering is so much better than the alternative of demon torture - but whatever the reason, Cas bites down on the spew of Latin and actually stops trying to pull away, as something close to desperate hope flashes across his face.
“Dean?”
“Yes, goddammit, it’s me.”
Cas just stares at him some more, before he glances down at where Dean is still gripping tight to his hands, the press of his fingers colouring spots of white against Cas’ skin. Dean pulls free with a flash of heat across his face, his hands fumbling for something else to hold onto, and then his breath catches when Cas’ eyes flick up to stare at him again, something desperately yearning behind his gaze that Cas doesn’t even seem to be trying to hide.
“Prove it.”
“I don’t exactly have any holy water in my pocket.”
“Tell me something only we would know.”
That desperation is still there, and Dean swallows hard, throwing his mind around for anything that only the two of them would know.
“You rebelled against Heaven for me, when I told you it was worth dying for. You did exactly that to give me the chance to stop Sam, and I never actually thanked you, which probably makes me douche bag of the year.”
Cas continues to stare at him, still sitting ramrod tense on the hospital sheets, and Dean tries to think of something else, racking his mind over the many months he’s had the angel in his life.
“A few days after you pulled me out of the pit, you told me that you could throw me back in if I didn’t respect you. I don’t think you even know how much you scared the crap out of me that night.”
More staring, though there’s more hope than fear in those blue eyes now, and when Dean suddenly can’t deal with what he’s seeing in the fallen angel’s face, he pastes on a weak smile to deal with how obviously desperate Cas is to believe him.
“Also, thanks to your awkward angelic charm, the only ever time I’ve tried to get you laid, you managed to terrify the poor girl by dissecting her daddy issues.”
“And you told me you hadn’t laughed that hard in years.”
“You remember that?”
“Of course I do.”
There’s an unfortunate lump in Dean’s throat, but he doesn’t look away as Cas continues to stare at him, his skin still dangerously white behind his rough mess of stubble. It isn’t until the fallen angel drops his gaze that Dean can breathe again, unable to deal with the mixture of pain and incredulous relief that he can see in Cas’ eyes.
“Where are we?”
“Oregon.”
“You made me come and fetch me?”
“It didn’t seem right, letting you die, especially after everything you’d already lost.”
“And what happened in - in my timeline? My universe?” Cas’ eyes are suddenly bright, and desperate hope is written across every inch of him. “Dean, did he - was he able to -”
And Dean has no idea how he’s going to answer that one, because no matter how much of an unfeeling monster his future self may have been, it’s painfully obvious that Cas still gave a damn about him - gave a damn in ways that are becoming all too clear, as Cas stares at him like the fate of his entire existence rests on Dean’s next words.
“Dean?”
Dean swallows hard, unable to deal with the sudden pleading in Cas’ expression. “How about we swap stories once you’re better?”
Cas stares at him for a moment longer, disbelief etched into every line of his face, and, well, Dean’s been surrounded by death long enough to know what it looks like when the light goes out of someone’s eyes. He turns away when the fallen angel curls in on himself with a hurt sound, leaving Dean aching from the inside out, more gutted than he’s felt since Sam set Lucifer free.
“Cas, man - I’m sorry, I really am.”
The words are painfully inadequate, and Dean keeps his eyes fixed firmly away from the bed, staring out the grimy window as he waits for Cas to pull himself back together. After a long moment, when the smothering silence has reached almost deafening levels, Dean bites out a soft sigh and rubs a hand over his face.
“Look, Cas, if you want me to leave, I’ll -”
“Don’t leave.”
“Are you -”
A clammy hand curls around his own, Cas’ fingers clinging on with almost bruising force, and Dean carefully doesn’t look at Cas’ face as he slides into a plastic chair by the bed.
“Please, Dean. Don’t leave me.”
The rasp of Cas’ voice is far beyond raw, and Dean swallows around the ache in his chest, his heart turning over at the painful press of shaking fingers against his own. When he finally manages to man up and look at the fallen angel, Cas is staring straight ahead at nothing, his bright blue eyes glazed over with tears, and Dean closes his own eyes as he tightens his grip around Cas’ hand, wondering how the hell his future self could have ever thrown this away.
- - -
Cas, you gotta help me out. I’m stuck in this damn closet until you get back. Can’t ya hear me?
Silence. There are three nurses fussing around Cas, who’s spent the last half hour staring down at the bed with a stricken expression, and Dean pulls his eye away from the crack in the closet doors, unable to continue staring at the world of hurt in the fallen angel’s eyes, because the extent of that hurt is scaring the crap out of Dean.
For all of his self-imposed denial, Dean has never exactly been an idiot where their resident angel is concerned, and he knows himself well enough to admit that he’s always wondered if it would just take some blasphemous urging on his part to tear that angel’s halo right off his head. If it would just take a few well-placed words to finally acknowledge this thing that hangs between them, to show Castiel that they could maybe have more than just half-truths and ridiculously intense staring contests -
But since Dean has already ruined everything else in his life, leaning every inch of an angel’s body would be somewhere far beyond the realm of okay - so given that Castiel makes Dean feel like he’s being turned inside out simply by being in the same room as him, Dean likes to think he’s been a gentleman about the whole matter, keeping his hands and feelings to himself, lying awake at night with a rock hard dick and a stupid achy feeling in his chest.
But based on the way this version of Castiel reacted to Dean’s death? Somewhere along the way, Dean and Cas must have finally given in and started screwing each other senseless, mixing in a dash of that stupidly intense connection that already underlies their every interaction in this universe, and seeing that astonishing level of love and desperation in this Cas’ eyes is enough to make Dean’s knees feel a little bit like jelly.
Come on, Cas, I’m no good to anyone if I’m trapped here. I’ve gotta get back to my car, so I can meet Sam in Illinois.
When there’s still no hint of response, Dean forces the uncomfortable thoughts from his mind and concentrates on just breathing, wanting something to focus on that doesn’t involve staring out at the hospital room and watching Cas slowly fall apart.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean’s whole system jumps with a bolt of adrenaline and a barely bitten off curse, and only Castiel’s warm hands against his arms stop him from bumping into the front of the closet - and then they’re gone again, landing gently on the dirty carpet of Dean’s motel room, and Dean breathes out sharply as Castiel lets go of his arms and steps backwards, looking almost sheepish as he does.
“My apologies. I would have returned to you sooner, but I needed to make sure that Zachariah was no longer watching this room.”
“And we’re good?”
“Yes. He is engaged elsewhere with some of our brethren. We have time to get your belongings and your vehicle.”
“I’m meeting Sam tomorrow. Don’t suppose you can magic us all back to Oregon while Cas gets better?”
“I would prefer not to. Moving a vehicle would significantly drain my grace.”
Dean has already begun to gather his things, needing something to keep his mind off the sight of Cas in that hospital bed, but there’s something about the way this Castiel says that last bit that makes Dean pause. He’s becoming more than conversational in Castiel’s expressions and ways of speaking, and he realizes with a start that Castiel isn’t meeting his eyes - a dead giveaway that something is most definitely not okay.
“Cas, you alright?”
“I - I am not sure.”
And as the angel stares down at the filthy carpeting, somehow managing to look like he’s wringing his hands without actually moving at all, Dean suddenly gets what this is about, and could kick himself for being an insensitive dick.
“We’re not gonna let you end up like that.”
“You should not make promises if you cannot keep them.”
“Hey, what’s with the sudden emo act?”
“Emo?”
“You. Freaking out. What happened to us being able to kill the devil and stop the apocalypse?”
Castiel is silent for a long moment, still staring down at the carpet, until he makes a tiny gesture that could almost be considered a human shrug. “Seeing the world of 2014 was not encouraging. And seeing myself that… broken. It is disconcerting.”
“Well, we’re not gonna let that happen. I’m gonna talk to Sam, he and I’ll patch things up, and all four of us will take on the future together, alright?”
“The four of us.”
“Well, yeah.”
“Would you wish to be around your future self?”
It’s like a punch to the gut, and Dean can only gape for a long moment, even though he knows the answer to that one, knows it loud and clear; and it’s not surprising that Castiel doesn’t want to be around that shell of himself. Dean could barely stand himself in the future, and he’d only been there as a temporary visitor - Castiel is going to have to deal with himself on a daily basis.
“I don’t know what you expect me to say. You agreed to go fetch him from the future.”
“I did not realize…”
“What a mess you’d become? If it’s any consolation, I think you might still have been facing the end of the world with more dignity than I was.”
“What happened to you? And why was I about to die alone when I found me?”
An image flashes across his mind of Dean lying to his people - of him knowingly sending Castiel to his death - and Dean does his best to make sure he’s suddenly not looking at Castiel anymore, worried about what the angel might see on his face.
“Can we please save the stories for when we’re all in one place?”
Castiel gives him a slow nod, and then just stands there like the king of awkwardness as Dean works the room, gathering up his things and shoving them into a duffel bag with a little more force than is necessary. He hasn’t felt completely at home in his own skin since he came back from Hell, and now, with Castiel staring at him like he’s some dangerous riddle to be worked out - staring at him like he knows exactly what Dean did to Cas in that future world - Dean feels more uncomfortable than he’s been in months.
“Look, if you want to say something, then say it.”
“I do not know what you mean.”
“Bullshit.”
Any hint of their earlier camaraderie, of the way Castiel had smiled at him when Dean had told him to never change - well, it’s all gone now, a wall of tension somehow thrown up between them, and there’s something like nausea sweeping across Dean’s body. Castiel is finally meeting his eyes again, but he’s wearing an expression of obvious unease, and Dean barely refrains from grinding his teeth together, knowing exactly how freaked out Castiel must be right now.
“Dean?”
“You’ve seen what happens if you keep siding with me. And now you’re bailing.”
“Dean -”
“Jesus, Cas,” Dean hears himself grate out, and if his voice is bordering on unsteady, then he’s just gonna do his best to ignore it, “If you wanna leave me to fight off the apocalypse on my own, then you damn well go ahead. Nothing I say or do can convince you that I’m not gonna let things go the way they were in 2014, so if you’re gonna bail, just fucking do it already, and get the hell out of -”
“Dean.”
Castiel is suddenly right in his face, not leaving nearly enough of a safe zone between them, and Dean practically chokes on his own words, managing a half step backwards before Castiel is all but breathing the same air as him.
“Did I ever say that I was leaving?”
Dean can only manage an uneven head shake, his blood burning across every inch of his skin as Castiel moves in even closer, staring at him like he can read every frightened thought in Dean’s mind - and wow, Dean hasn’t seen Castiel this furious since that horrible day in Bobby’s hospital room, when he’d been tearing Dean and Sam apart for setting Lucifer free.
“Then do not pretend to know what I am thinking. Do you truly believe that I would leave you now, after everything I have already given up for you?”
“Cas, I didn’t -”
“I have spent thousands of years dealing with humankind, and although you are the most infuriating human I have ever met, I still believe that your quest to stop the apocalypse is just. Do not think that bearing witness to my possible future could dissuade me from this course, now that I have already put my faith in you.”
Realizing that he’s been cornered against the dirty motel wall, Dean finds himself lost for words, stripped of his defences and rubbed raw against the angel’s anger, just like that terrible night when Castiel had threatened to throw him back into Hell - but unlike that night, when Castiel had still been a terrifying threat to both Dean and his brother, Dean now finds himself seized with the horrible desire to curl his fingers into Castiel’s jacket and pull him closer, and to make him prove that he’s never going to leave him, no matter how destitute the future my look.
Then, Castiel steps back with all all-too-human sigh, and the moment is broken.
“I cannot transport your vehicle to Oregon, and I would advise against staying any longer in this room, since Zachariah knows that you were once here. I suggest you find yourself a new motel, and if you need me, you know how to reach me.”
The angel vanishes without another word, and Dean takes a long moment to remember how to breathe, trying to pretend his knees aren’t knocking together for all the wrong reasons - because given that an angel losing his cool should have been one of the most terrifying things that’s happened to Dean in a while, there’s absolutely no excuse for the unwanted tightness in his jeans, and the uncomfortably quick beating of his heart.
“Goddammit,” he mutters unhappily, as he yanks his bag across the bed with a grunt, trying to remind himself that there’s no chance of finding any solutions tonight - no chance of figuring out what to do with either of the Castiels in his life. He’ll pack his things and find another crappy motel, and then tomorrow he’ll meet up with Sam, and the two of them can head to Oregon together, to check in on Cas and figure out some way for all of them to get along.
Do you truly believe that I would leave you now, after everything I have already given up for you?
Swallowing hard against the stupid flutter of pansy butterflies that take off in his stomach, Dean drags a hand over his face and takes a moment to breathe, realizing that his traitorous mind is swimming with blue eyes - one pair flashing with angelic anger and undeniable hurt, the other full of desperate yearning, and both of them wielding enough intensity to make Dean feel like he’s being taken apart from the inside out.
“Oh, Jesus. I am in way over my head.”
The words are much too loud into the silent air around him, the epiphany like a punch to the chest, and Dean swallows hard as he stares at the empty motel room, suddenly unable to deny just how far gone he already is, and worried that he’s never going to be able to come up for air again.
- - -
Part Three