Dean/Cas Big Bang: Until The Lost Become The Found, Dean/Castiel/future!Castiel, NC-17 - Part Three
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.
- - -
Three days later finds them all in Oregon, pulled over on some highway not far out of Klamath Falls. Sam is leaning against the hood of the Impala while Castiel stands awkwardly to the side, and Dean scowls down at his boots as he tries to figure out whether there’s actually a wall of tension between them, or whether most of it is just in his head. There haven’t been any more visits from Castiel since their fight, and even Sam gave them a weird look when Castiel flapped in to join their party and left a good four feet of space between himself and Dean.
“Alright, so - they’ve got cops in the room with him? Really?”
Castiel meets his stare blandly. “I suppose they were disconcerted when both his twin and his assailant disappeared. I am supposed to be two rooms over from him, and you are supposed to be in prison.”
“Right.” Dean stares at the angel’s lack of expression for a moment, and then aims for a casual shrug. “Well, there’s nothing for it. Sam and I will get a place to stay, and when Cas is fit to travel, you’re gonna just have to pop in and grab him.”
“How much longer shall we give him?”
“Let’s say another two weeks, even though he’s gonna hate us for trapping him there. I’d prefer him to be in one piece before we go chasing after Lucifer.”
Castiel nods, but the gesture seems a little distracted, and he’s already look up at the sky. “I will return in two weeks. Pray for me if you need me before then. I will be searching for my father.”
“Cas -”
He vanishes before Dean can finish speaking, and even though Dean isn’t sure what the hell he would have even said, it’s still more than a little annoying. What’s almost as irritating, however, is the way his brother is staring at him, as though Dean’s suddenly grown a second nose, or something.
“What the hell is with you two?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Dean -”
“Alright, so - maybe I was a bit of a jackass to him the other night. And maybe he’s a little freaked out by this back to the future crap, though I can’t blame him for that. I was a dick, and you were Satan, and he was some faithless hippie who was numbing his pain with drugs and orgies.”
“You think they’re gonna be able to get along?”
“Not like either of them has a choice.”
“Guess not.”
There’s silence for a long moment, and then Dean gives his little brother a soft punch on the shoulder. “Come on. Bobby did some digging, found out about some old hunter’s cabin out here. Not like I can just stroll into town, what with me being on Klamath Falls’ most wanted list.”
“We’re staying in a cabin for two weeks?”
“Well, I am. You’re gonna head on into town and pretend to be Cas’ cousin, or something, so he doesn’t think we’ve completely abandoned him.”
The bitch face that Sam pulls is more welcome than he could ever understand, and Dean fights down a stupid surge of sappy emotions as he slides into the driver’s seat and rests his hands on the wheel, something in his heart settling into place as Sam fits his big body into the seat beside him, right where he’s almost been meant to be.
- - -
“So? Better luck today?”
It’s been a week, and Dean’s just about ready to lose his mind from sitting in their cabin all day, reading through the mess of information he and Sam have managed to amass on Satanic lore. They still haven’t gotten a single lead on where the colt has disappeared to, and between that disappointment and the fact that Dean is spending all his time reading about blood and guts and human sacrifices, he’s just about ready to stick a gun in his mouth.
The only consolation is that Sam seems equally miserable. Apparently the hospital visits aren’t going all that well.
“Not really. He won’t talk much, and he twitches if I move too quickly.”
“Guess he got used to the idea of you being the bad guy.”
Sam makes an unhappy face and plunks himself down at the kitchen table, the crappy old chair beneath him creaking ominously as he does so. He looks incredibly dejected, and Dean can’t help but kick at him under the table, not liking that expression on his brother’s face.
“Hey. Cheer up, sad face. You never say yes to Satan, and he never gets to wear you to the prom. It’s that simple.”
“Doesn’t seem to have worked out that way.”
“Yeah, well - we’ve suddenly got ourselves a walking, talking encyclopaedia on exactly what not to do. Pretty sure we just skyrocketed our chances of killing the devil.”
Sam’s response is to smile slightly, as though he hasn’t thought of it that way before, and Dean breathes a silent sigh of relief, hoping that what he’s saying is the truth. Even if they do have Cas for guidance, Dean is never going to forget that conversation with Lucifer, the sight of him wearing his little brother’s skin, that one horrible line that still keeps Dean awake at night.
Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up… here.
Swallowing hard as his stomach turns over, Dean kicks his chair back and heads for the fridge, needing a beer and having a feeling that his brother could use one too. Sam might not know the extent of what happened in 2014, but he knows more than enough, and Dean is going to damn well make sure that his little brother uses that knowledge for good, instead of letting it drag him down with terrifying thoughts of fate and inevitability.
- - -
It’s exactly two weeks later when Castiel suddenly appears in the middle of the cabin, popping into existence with a very unhappy fallen angel standing beside him, papers flying through the air as they land. The future version looks pale but solid - despite the ridiculous hospital gown he’s apparently been forced into wearing - and his eyes are clear for the first time since Dean met him, easily managing to pin Dean to the spot on the dirty cabin floor.
“Um,” Dean manages, and then swallows hard as he closes the book of lore he was reading, unprepared for the way his heart has kicked up its pace. “Hey. No problems making your getaway?”
Both of the Castiels stare at him with twin glares of irritation, and Dean barely manages to not squirm in place. The differences between the two are severe, sure, but there’s still enough there to confirm that they’re definitely still the same person, at their most basic level - and if Dean had found it tricky to meet Castiel’s eyes when there was only one of him, well, two of them is even more lethal.
“Feeling better?”
It’s Sam’s valiant attempt to break the tension, but the human version of Castiel merely takes a step closer to Dean, leaving the angel to stand awkwardly by the bed.
“You left me there for two weeks.”
“You were hurt.”
“You took me from my own universe, told me I’d lost everything, and then left me?”
“It’s not like I could just stroll into the hospital!”
It’s the best response Dean can come up with - his mind still stuck on lost everything, and oh, god, at what point did Dean become Castiel’s everything? - and then Cas is suddenly right in his face, no longer showing any trace of the burnt-out drug addict Dean had stumbled upon in the future. He steps back without even thinking about it, and he’s just dimly aware of the fact that Sam and Castiel are still in the room, as Cas gets in so close they’re almost breathing the same air.
“Let’s get this straight. I’m not going to do this again. I refuse to watch the goddamn world burn while you bitch over how unfair destiny is.”
“Cas -”
“If you keep saying no to Michael, the world goes the way it went in my timeline. And if you and Sam weren’t so blinded by your crippling need for each other -”
“We didn’t rescue you to have you tear us a new one.” All Dean can see are Cas’ furious blue eyes, and sudden anger is painting a red haze across his vision. “I don’t care how it went down in your world. Sam and I are on the same page now. We’re gonna -”
“You’ll what? Figure out how to change destiny? Manage to put a bullet through Satan’s brain?” There is a derisive laugh that grates on Dean’s last nerve, and then Cas is stepping away from him, his lips twisting in a nauseating mockery of humour. “You’re so full of shit, Dean, and I’m not gonna just stand here and be nice about it.”
The sudden silence is ringing, and Dean’s skin is vibrating with tension, his teeth almost tearing into his own lip as he fights to use his words instead of his fists. It isn’t until Castiel steps towards them that Dean remembers that it’s not just Cas and him in the tiny room.
“Would you truly have Dean say yes to Michael?”
Cas stares at all three of them for a second, and then his shoulders curl in on themselves, his eyes sliding closed for a long moment. He suddenly seems incredibly small in his ridiculous hospital gown, and something dangerous stirs in Dean’s gut - that hunter’s sense that always goes off when he knows that something is about to go horribly wrong.
“Cas?”
“Dean.” Cas doesn’t open his eyes. “I need clothing. And a drink. And then we need to talk.”
“About -”
“The colt doesn’t work, Dean.”
The room suddenly seems devoid of oxygen, and Dean feels his senses twist in on themselves, sending nausea across every inch of skin. He’s dimly aware of his brother taking a shaky step backwards, of Castiel standing in the corner and ducking his head, but all he can see is the fallen angel in front of him, those blue eyes still squeezed shut, and his fingers curled into fists against his sides.
“Risa and I got about ten seconds to breathe after clearing out a second story room. Through a window, I saw Dean get a shot off - saw Lucifer go down, clear as anything - and if Lucifer was still alive by the time you found him, then -”
“Then the colt didn’t kill him.”
The words feel like ash on Dean’s tongue, and the angel version of Castiel exhales sharply before he suddenly disappears from the room, nothing but a flutter of feathers to announce his abrupt departure. The loss cuts through Dean with the grating agony of a dull knife, and then he’s squeezing his own eyes shut as the fallen angel in front of him begins to babble.
“We tried so hard. Fought for so fucking long. Gave everything. Our humanity, our lives, our sanity - everything. We fought until we had nothing left, and then we just kept fighting.”
“Cas -”
“You’ll never win this way. I’m telling you now. You cannot win like this.”
Dean can’t remember the last time a silence hurt this badly. He keeps his eyes closed until he feels Sam’s hand on his shoulder, as his brother brushes past him on his way out of the cabin.
“I need to get some air.”
Dean can barely nod, and then it’s just him and Cas in the tiny cabin, the door slamming shut as Sam slips out onto the porch, his every step somehow laced with pain. Cas stares at him for a moment, lips pressed together into a thin line, before he heads for Dean’s duffel and starts to pull out clothing, dumping an assortment of shirts and socks onto a dirty chair.
“What are you doing?”
“You taught me that focusing on mundane tasks can help to make the world seem less dangerous.” Cas doesn’t look at him as he gathers an old zeppelin shirt to his chest, cradling it against a pair of worn jeans. “I’m ditching this hospital fashion wreck. And then I’m gonna raid your whiskey stash, and try to forget about how goddamn screwed we all are.”
Dean can’t seem to find the words he needs, as Cas slips into the cabin bathroom with Dean’s clothing pressed against his chest, those blue eyes looking anywhere but at Dean. Wondering where exactly his brother’s wandered off to, Dean sits down at the kitchen table, presses his hands against his face, and tries to pretend that the burning sensation behind his eyes has nothing to do with the absolute failure that’s streaking across his skin.
The colt doesn’t work, Dean.
The crappy clock on the wall ticks by the minutes, though Dean doesn’t know how long he sits there in silence, a nauseating sweep of panic spreading out across his skin.
I’m telling you now. You cannot win like this.
“Dean.”
He can barely look at Sam, as the door swings shut behind his brother, letting in a burst of cool air.
“Just got a call from Bobby. There’s demonic activity a few states over - something he thinks might have to do with Lucifer.”
“Well, then, you’d best call Castiel, and get him to zap you over to Sioux Falls.” Dean still doesn’t quite manage to look his brother in the eye, as he climbs to the feet, and tries to think over the noise in his head. “I want you and Bobby to hit every book - and I mean every book - and find some way to kill Satan.”
“And you?”
“You’re the brainy one. You don’t need me for research. I’ll head a few states over, see what’s going on.”
It doesn’t escape Dean’s notice that he still hasn’t managed to look at his brother, something inside him twisting painfully at how freaked out Sam must be right now, every nerve prickling at the terrifying memory of, whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up… here.
“I’m coming with you.”
Cas’ rough voice cuts through the silence that’s fallen between Dean and Sam, and not for any amount of pride in the world could Dean have stopped the way his chest tightens as he looks up to find Cas wearing Dean’s old clothing, standing in a silhouette of dim light from the bathroom, a zeppelin shirt and an old pair of jeans clinging overlarge on Cas’ slim frame.
“Cas -”
“Don’t argue with me.”
“I wasn’t gonna.”
“Good.”
Cas doesn’t sound angry anymore. He just sounds exhausted, smudges under his eyes and his skin still nowhere close to a healthy tint, and Dean tries to focus on those details, on the here and now, because thinking about what they have to try to do next is too much for him right now.
“Sam, why don’t you call Castiel and see if he can give you a lift?”
When Sam nods, Dean begins to gather up his stuff, not looking at Sam or Cas as he does so. He’s dealt with enough failure to know what it tastes like, and Cas was certainly right about finding solace in the mundane - so Dean simply packs his bag, does his best to dodge everyone’s eyes, and tries not to freak out over how badly their plans to save the world have just been wrecked.
- - -
“Well. This is charming.”
Parked just a few hundred miles north of the state border, they’re spending the night at some shithole in Nevada, following a day of deserted highways and awkward silences. Being around this version of Castiel is making Dean’s skin crawl in confusing ways, and from the way Cas keeps scowling at the entire world, it’s plain that sunshine and lollipops aren’t suddenly going to pop up between the two of them.
“It’s got two beds and running water. It’ll do.”
Cas shoots him a look and nudges his foot against a stain on the carpet, and even Dean has to the admit that, yeah, this is one of the seediest motels he’s camped out in for awhile. On the plus side, there’s a promising looking bar down the street, and Dean would just about kill to get his mind away from the way Cas keeps staring at him.
“Would you please quit that?”
He doesn’t realize he’s spoken aloud until Cas narrows his eyes at him, something incredibly pissed off lurking behind the many shades of blue there.
“What?”
“You keep… staring at me.” Dean throws his duffel down on the bed, and wonders how the hell they’re even having this conversation. “Just like you did when you were an angel. It’s somehow more creepy now.”
“I see.” Cas stares at him for a moment longer, and then his lips curl in a grin - one that falls somewhere between filthy and malicious. “I’m pretty sure I get to stare as much as I want, seeing as I spent the end of the world fucking you senseless.”
The beer Dean had just uncapped goes spewing across the motel floor, and he’s still coughing for oxygen, trying to see through the dampness in his eyes, when there’s a warm hand drawing circles against his back.
“Funny as this is, I wasn’t trying to kill you.”
“Get - off me -” Dean pulls away with another ragged cough, his heart doing its best to beat clean up through his throat, and finds himself hating how much he instantly misses the touch of Cas’ hand. “Jesus, Cas, you can’t just say stuff like that.”
“Why not? You’re emotionally stunted, and I’m not gonna just sit around here and watch myself pine over you again. It’s fucking pathetic.”
There’s a bite to Cas’ voice that sends unpleasant shivers down Dean’s spine, and for a long moment, all he can do is stare at the fallen angel, distantly realizing that none of his protests are gonna weigh up against the fact that this Castiel was certainly more than just a friend to his version of Dean.
“So, what do you expect me to do?”
“Put me out of my misery.”
Dean stares some more, and Cas gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes.
“Call me here, you ass. And just - ask me what I want. No, better yet - just get me naked. Don’t ask me anything. About this time in our relationship, I was still trying to figure out why I’d move Heaven and Earth to keep you safe - which means I was probably just as emotionally stunted as you.”
“How kind of you.”
Dean feels like he’s going to throw up and start dancing at the same time. He knows himself well enough to admit that he’s never been able to figure out what it means to care about someone who isn’t family, and if this is how it feels, then he’s probably had the right idea all along of sticking to one night stands, because wow, those goddamn butterflies are tenacious little bastards.
“Just do it, Dean. I got my chance with you about the time Sam said yes to Lucifer - and believe me, you don’t want to wait until you’re already broken to jump between the sheets with me.”
It’s like getting socked in the gut, and the butterflies scatter with frightening speed. Cas shoots him another bitter grin, drops his duffel down on the mouldy carpet floor, and casually fishes a fifty out of Dean’s wallet.
“Pay you back later. I need to go get spectacularly drunk. You’d better have settled things with me by the time I get back.”
Cas shrugs into one of Dean’s jackets, tucks Dean’s fifty into the pocket of a pair of Dean’s jeans, and then slams the motel door shut behind him. Trying to breathe over the rapid pace of his heart, Dean presses his lips together and tries to forget the way Cas keeps looking at him - like he doesn’t know whether to kiss him or beat the shit the out of him - tries to forget how much it makes his blood burn to see Cas walking around in Dean’s old clothing.
“Crap.”
It’s a low mutter, and Dean fishes the tail end of a bottle of warm whiskey out his bag, knowing that this is gonna have to do until he’s pulled himself together enough to be seen in public. Also, what with there being only one bar in the vicinity, he won’t be heading in that direction any time soon - he can only handle one Castiel at a time, and he’s pretty sure of which one he needs to talk to first.
“Oh, and Dean?”
The door swings back open again as Cas sticks his head back into the motel room, and Dean jumps slightly at the sudden movement, before he scowls at the fallen angel lounging against the motel door frame.
“What?”
“If you finally manage to get me naked, I’m liable to buck you off the bed if you scrape your teeth along the insides of my thighs. Keep that in mind, would ya?”
And with that, Cas is out the door with a smirk that almost comes close to saucy - if not for the way it seems to crack around the edges - and Dean is left with a burning face, an unwanted ache in his chest, and a heat in his groin that’s so strong it’s almost painful.
“Damn you, Cas.”
Dean sucks in a sigh as he throws back a swig of whiskey and stuffs the bottle into the room’s fridge, before he lies himself down on the crappy motel bed. As a surge of alcohol-induced heat sneaks across his skin, Dean closes his eyes and tries to focus on thoughts that have absolutely nothing to do with getting Castiel naked, knowing that he needs to try to clear his mind somewhat before he tries to compose a prayer -
And then, somehow, he can’t make the words happen.
He can’t even begin to form a prayer in his own head. All he can see is Castiel falling apart - all he can imagine is watching the planet burn over the next five years, because Dean was selfish enough to keep clinging to this world against all chances of success - and Dean finds himself simply squeezing his eyes together, doing his best to let the exhaustion of the long drive finally catch up to him.
- - -
Part Four
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.
- - -
Three days later finds them all in Oregon, pulled over on some highway not far out of Klamath Falls. Sam is leaning against the hood of the Impala while Castiel stands awkwardly to the side, and Dean scowls down at his boots as he tries to figure out whether there’s actually a wall of tension between them, or whether most of it is just in his head. There haven’t been any more visits from Castiel since their fight, and even Sam gave them a weird look when Castiel flapped in to join their party and left a good four feet of space between himself and Dean.
“Alright, so - they’ve got cops in the room with him? Really?”
Castiel meets his stare blandly. “I suppose they were disconcerted when both his twin and his assailant disappeared. I am supposed to be two rooms over from him, and you are supposed to be in prison.”
“Right.” Dean stares at the angel’s lack of expression for a moment, and then aims for a casual shrug. “Well, there’s nothing for it. Sam and I will get a place to stay, and when Cas is fit to travel, you’re gonna just have to pop in and grab him.”
“How much longer shall we give him?”
“Let’s say another two weeks, even though he’s gonna hate us for trapping him there. I’d prefer him to be in one piece before we go chasing after Lucifer.”
Castiel nods, but the gesture seems a little distracted, and he’s already look up at the sky. “I will return in two weeks. Pray for me if you need me before then. I will be searching for my father.”
“Cas -”
He vanishes before Dean can finish speaking, and even though Dean isn’t sure what the hell he would have even said, it’s still more than a little annoying. What’s almost as irritating, however, is the way his brother is staring at him, as though Dean’s suddenly grown a second nose, or something.
“What the hell is with you two?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Dean -”
“Alright, so - maybe I was a bit of a jackass to him the other night. And maybe he’s a little freaked out by this back to the future crap, though I can’t blame him for that. I was a dick, and you were Satan, and he was some faithless hippie who was numbing his pain with drugs and orgies.”
“You think they’re gonna be able to get along?”
“Not like either of them has a choice.”
“Guess not.”
There’s silence for a long moment, and then Dean gives his little brother a soft punch on the shoulder. “Come on. Bobby did some digging, found out about some old hunter’s cabin out here. Not like I can just stroll into town, what with me being on Klamath Falls’ most wanted list.”
“We’re staying in a cabin for two weeks?”
“Well, I am. You’re gonna head on into town and pretend to be Cas’ cousin, or something, so he doesn’t think we’ve completely abandoned him.”
The bitch face that Sam pulls is more welcome than he could ever understand, and Dean fights down a stupid surge of sappy emotions as he slides into the driver’s seat and rests his hands on the wheel, something in his heart settling into place as Sam fits his big body into the seat beside him, right where he’s almost been meant to be.
- - -
“So? Better luck today?”
It’s been a week, and Dean’s just about ready to lose his mind from sitting in their cabin all day, reading through the mess of information he and Sam have managed to amass on Satanic lore. They still haven’t gotten a single lead on where the colt has disappeared to, and between that disappointment and the fact that Dean is spending all his time reading about blood and guts and human sacrifices, he’s just about ready to stick a gun in his mouth.
The only consolation is that Sam seems equally miserable. Apparently the hospital visits aren’t going all that well.
“Not really. He won’t talk much, and he twitches if I move too quickly.”
“Guess he got used to the idea of you being the bad guy.”
Sam makes an unhappy face and plunks himself down at the kitchen table, the crappy old chair beneath him creaking ominously as he does so. He looks incredibly dejected, and Dean can’t help but kick at him under the table, not liking that expression on his brother’s face.
“Hey. Cheer up, sad face. You never say yes to Satan, and he never gets to wear you to the prom. It’s that simple.”
“Doesn’t seem to have worked out that way.”
“Yeah, well - we’ve suddenly got ourselves a walking, talking encyclopaedia on exactly what not to do. Pretty sure we just skyrocketed our chances of killing the devil.”
Sam’s response is to smile slightly, as though he hasn’t thought of it that way before, and Dean breathes a silent sigh of relief, hoping that what he’s saying is the truth. Even if they do have Cas for guidance, Dean is never going to forget that conversation with Lucifer, the sight of him wearing his little brother’s skin, that one horrible line that still keeps Dean awake at night.
Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up… here.
Swallowing hard as his stomach turns over, Dean kicks his chair back and heads for the fridge, needing a beer and having a feeling that his brother could use one too. Sam might not know the extent of what happened in 2014, but he knows more than enough, and Dean is going to damn well make sure that his little brother uses that knowledge for good, instead of letting it drag him down with terrifying thoughts of fate and inevitability.
- - -
It’s exactly two weeks later when Castiel suddenly appears in the middle of the cabin, popping into existence with a very unhappy fallen angel standing beside him, papers flying through the air as they land. The future version looks pale but solid - despite the ridiculous hospital gown he’s apparently been forced into wearing - and his eyes are clear for the first time since Dean met him, easily managing to pin Dean to the spot on the dirty cabin floor.
“Um,” Dean manages, and then swallows hard as he closes the book of lore he was reading, unprepared for the way his heart has kicked up its pace. “Hey. No problems making your getaway?”
Both of the Castiels stare at him with twin glares of irritation, and Dean barely manages to not squirm in place. The differences between the two are severe, sure, but there’s still enough there to confirm that they’re definitely still the same person, at their most basic level - and if Dean had found it tricky to meet Castiel’s eyes when there was only one of him, well, two of them is even more lethal.
“Feeling better?”
It’s Sam’s valiant attempt to break the tension, but the human version of Castiel merely takes a step closer to Dean, leaving the angel to stand awkwardly by the bed.
“You left me there for two weeks.”
“You were hurt.”
“You took me from my own universe, told me I’d lost everything, and then left me?”
“It’s not like I could just stroll into the hospital!”
It’s the best response Dean can come up with - his mind still stuck on lost everything, and oh, god, at what point did Dean become Castiel’s everything? - and then Cas is suddenly right in his face, no longer showing any trace of the burnt-out drug addict Dean had stumbled upon in the future. He steps back without even thinking about it, and he’s just dimly aware of the fact that Sam and Castiel are still in the room, as Cas gets in so close they’re almost breathing the same air.
“Let’s get this straight. I’m not going to do this again. I refuse to watch the goddamn world burn while you bitch over how unfair destiny is.”
“Cas -”
“If you keep saying no to Michael, the world goes the way it went in my timeline. And if you and Sam weren’t so blinded by your crippling need for each other -”
“We didn’t rescue you to have you tear us a new one.” All Dean can see are Cas’ furious blue eyes, and sudden anger is painting a red haze across his vision. “I don’t care how it went down in your world. Sam and I are on the same page now. We’re gonna -”
“You’ll what? Figure out how to change destiny? Manage to put a bullet through Satan’s brain?” There is a derisive laugh that grates on Dean’s last nerve, and then Cas is stepping away from him, his lips twisting in a nauseating mockery of humour. “You’re so full of shit, Dean, and I’m not gonna just stand here and be nice about it.”
The sudden silence is ringing, and Dean’s skin is vibrating with tension, his teeth almost tearing into his own lip as he fights to use his words instead of his fists. It isn’t until Castiel steps towards them that Dean remembers that it’s not just Cas and him in the tiny room.
“Would you truly have Dean say yes to Michael?”
Cas stares at all three of them for a second, and then his shoulders curl in on themselves, his eyes sliding closed for a long moment. He suddenly seems incredibly small in his ridiculous hospital gown, and something dangerous stirs in Dean’s gut - that hunter’s sense that always goes off when he knows that something is about to go horribly wrong.
“Cas?”
“Dean.” Cas doesn’t open his eyes. “I need clothing. And a drink. And then we need to talk.”
“About -”
“The colt doesn’t work, Dean.”
The room suddenly seems devoid of oxygen, and Dean feels his senses twist in on themselves, sending nausea across every inch of skin. He’s dimly aware of his brother taking a shaky step backwards, of Castiel standing in the corner and ducking his head, but all he can see is the fallen angel in front of him, those blue eyes still squeezed shut, and his fingers curled into fists against his sides.
“Risa and I got about ten seconds to breathe after clearing out a second story room. Through a window, I saw Dean get a shot off - saw Lucifer go down, clear as anything - and if Lucifer was still alive by the time you found him, then -”
“Then the colt didn’t kill him.”
The words feel like ash on Dean’s tongue, and the angel version of Castiel exhales sharply before he suddenly disappears from the room, nothing but a flutter of feathers to announce his abrupt departure. The loss cuts through Dean with the grating agony of a dull knife, and then he’s squeezing his own eyes shut as the fallen angel in front of him begins to babble.
“We tried so hard. Fought for so fucking long. Gave everything. Our humanity, our lives, our sanity - everything. We fought until we had nothing left, and then we just kept fighting.”
“Cas -”
“You’ll never win this way. I’m telling you now. You cannot win like this.”
Dean can’t remember the last time a silence hurt this badly. He keeps his eyes closed until he feels Sam’s hand on his shoulder, as his brother brushes past him on his way out of the cabin.
“I need to get some air.”
Dean can barely nod, and then it’s just him and Cas in the tiny cabin, the door slamming shut as Sam slips out onto the porch, his every step somehow laced with pain. Cas stares at him for a moment, lips pressed together into a thin line, before he heads for Dean’s duffel and starts to pull out clothing, dumping an assortment of shirts and socks onto a dirty chair.
“What are you doing?”
“You taught me that focusing on mundane tasks can help to make the world seem less dangerous.” Cas doesn’t look at him as he gathers an old zeppelin shirt to his chest, cradling it against a pair of worn jeans. “I’m ditching this hospital fashion wreck. And then I’m gonna raid your whiskey stash, and try to forget about how goddamn screwed we all are.”
Dean can’t seem to find the words he needs, as Cas slips into the cabin bathroom with Dean’s clothing pressed against his chest, those blue eyes looking anywhere but at Dean. Wondering where exactly his brother’s wandered off to, Dean sits down at the kitchen table, presses his hands against his face, and tries to pretend that the burning sensation behind his eyes has nothing to do with the absolute failure that’s streaking across his skin.
The colt doesn’t work, Dean.
The crappy clock on the wall ticks by the minutes, though Dean doesn’t know how long he sits there in silence, a nauseating sweep of panic spreading out across his skin.
I’m telling you now. You cannot win like this.
“Dean.”
He can barely look at Sam, as the door swings shut behind his brother, letting in a burst of cool air.
“Just got a call from Bobby. There’s demonic activity a few states over - something he thinks might have to do with Lucifer.”
“Well, then, you’d best call Castiel, and get him to zap you over to Sioux Falls.” Dean still doesn’t quite manage to look his brother in the eye, as he climbs to the feet, and tries to think over the noise in his head. “I want you and Bobby to hit every book - and I mean every book - and find some way to kill Satan.”
“And you?”
“You’re the brainy one. You don’t need me for research. I’ll head a few states over, see what’s going on.”
It doesn’t escape Dean’s notice that he still hasn’t managed to look at his brother, something inside him twisting painfully at how freaked out Sam must be right now, every nerve prickling at the terrifying memory of, whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up… here.
“I’m coming with you.”
Cas’ rough voice cuts through the silence that’s fallen between Dean and Sam, and not for any amount of pride in the world could Dean have stopped the way his chest tightens as he looks up to find Cas wearing Dean’s old clothing, standing in a silhouette of dim light from the bathroom, a zeppelin shirt and an old pair of jeans clinging overlarge on Cas’ slim frame.
“Cas -”
“Don’t argue with me.”
“I wasn’t gonna.”
“Good.”
Cas doesn’t sound angry anymore. He just sounds exhausted, smudges under his eyes and his skin still nowhere close to a healthy tint, and Dean tries to focus on those details, on the here and now, because thinking about what they have to try to do next is too much for him right now.
“Sam, why don’t you call Castiel and see if he can give you a lift?”
When Sam nods, Dean begins to gather up his stuff, not looking at Sam or Cas as he does so. He’s dealt with enough failure to know what it tastes like, and Cas was certainly right about finding solace in the mundane - so Dean simply packs his bag, does his best to dodge everyone’s eyes, and tries not to freak out over how badly their plans to save the world have just been wrecked.
- - -
“Well. This is charming.”
Parked just a few hundred miles north of the state border, they’re spending the night at some shithole in Nevada, following a day of deserted highways and awkward silences. Being around this version of Castiel is making Dean’s skin crawl in confusing ways, and from the way Cas keeps scowling at the entire world, it’s plain that sunshine and lollipops aren’t suddenly going to pop up between the two of them.
“It’s got two beds and running water. It’ll do.”
Cas shoots him a look and nudges his foot against a stain on the carpet, and even Dean has to the admit that, yeah, this is one of the seediest motels he’s camped out in for awhile. On the plus side, there’s a promising looking bar down the street, and Dean would just about kill to get his mind away from the way Cas keeps staring at him.
“Would you please quit that?”
He doesn’t realize he’s spoken aloud until Cas narrows his eyes at him, something incredibly pissed off lurking behind the many shades of blue there.
“What?”
“You keep… staring at me.” Dean throws his duffel down on the bed, and wonders how the hell they’re even having this conversation. “Just like you did when you were an angel. It’s somehow more creepy now.”
“I see.” Cas stares at him for a moment longer, and then his lips curl in a grin - one that falls somewhere between filthy and malicious. “I’m pretty sure I get to stare as much as I want, seeing as I spent the end of the world fucking you senseless.”
The beer Dean had just uncapped goes spewing across the motel floor, and he’s still coughing for oxygen, trying to see through the dampness in his eyes, when there’s a warm hand drawing circles against his back.
“Funny as this is, I wasn’t trying to kill you.”
“Get - off me -” Dean pulls away with another ragged cough, his heart doing its best to beat clean up through his throat, and finds himself hating how much he instantly misses the touch of Cas’ hand. “Jesus, Cas, you can’t just say stuff like that.”
“Why not? You’re emotionally stunted, and I’m not gonna just sit around here and watch myself pine over you again. It’s fucking pathetic.”
There’s a bite to Cas’ voice that sends unpleasant shivers down Dean’s spine, and for a long moment, all he can do is stare at the fallen angel, distantly realizing that none of his protests are gonna weigh up against the fact that this Castiel was certainly more than just a friend to his version of Dean.
“So, what do you expect me to do?”
“Put me out of my misery.”
Dean stares some more, and Cas gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes.
“Call me here, you ass. And just - ask me what I want. No, better yet - just get me naked. Don’t ask me anything. About this time in our relationship, I was still trying to figure out why I’d move Heaven and Earth to keep you safe - which means I was probably just as emotionally stunted as you.”
“How kind of you.”
Dean feels like he’s going to throw up and start dancing at the same time. He knows himself well enough to admit that he’s never been able to figure out what it means to care about someone who isn’t family, and if this is how it feels, then he’s probably had the right idea all along of sticking to one night stands, because wow, those goddamn butterflies are tenacious little bastards.
“Just do it, Dean. I got my chance with you about the time Sam said yes to Lucifer - and believe me, you don’t want to wait until you’re already broken to jump between the sheets with me.”
It’s like getting socked in the gut, and the butterflies scatter with frightening speed. Cas shoots him another bitter grin, drops his duffel down on the mouldy carpet floor, and casually fishes a fifty out of Dean’s wallet.
“Pay you back later. I need to go get spectacularly drunk. You’d better have settled things with me by the time I get back.”
Cas shrugs into one of Dean’s jackets, tucks Dean’s fifty into the pocket of a pair of Dean’s jeans, and then slams the motel door shut behind him. Trying to breathe over the rapid pace of his heart, Dean presses his lips together and tries to forget the way Cas keeps looking at him - like he doesn’t know whether to kiss him or beat the shit the out of him - tries to forget how much it makes his blood burn to see Cas walking around in Dean’s old clothing.
“Crap.”
It’s a low mutter, and Dean fishes the tail end of a bottle of warm whiskey out his bag, knowing that this is gonna have to do until he’s pulled himself together enough to be seen in public. Also, what with there being only one bar in the vicinity, he won’t be heading in that direction any time soon - he can only handle one Castiel at a time, and he’s pretty sure of which one he needs to talk to first.
“Oh, and Dean?”
The door swings back open again as Cas sticks his head back into the motel room, and Dean jumps slightly at the sudden movement, before he scowls at the fallen angel lounging against the motel door frame.
“What?”
“If you finally manage to get me naked, I’m liable to buck you off the bed if you scrape your teeth along the insides of my thighs. Keep that in mind, would ya?”
And with that, Cas is out the door with a smirk that almost comes close to saucy - if not for the way it seems to crack around the edges - and Dean is left with a burning face, an unwanted ache in his chest, and a heat in his groin that’s so strong it’s almost painful.
“Damn you, Cas.”
Dean sucks in a sigh as he throws back a swig of whiskey and stuffs the bottle into the room’s fridge, before he lies himself down on the crappy motel bed. As a surge of alcohol-induced heat sneaks across his skin, Dean closes his eyes and tries to focus on thoughts that have absolutely nothing to do with getting Castiel naked, knowing that he needs to try to clear his mind somewhat before he tries to compose a prayer -
And then, somehow, he can’t make the words happen.
He can’t even begin to form a prayer in his own head. All he can see is Castiel falling apart - all he can imagine is watching the planet burn over the next five years, because Dean was selfish enough to keep clinging to this world against all chances of success - and Dean finds himself simply squeezing his eyes together, doing his best to let the exhaustion of the long drive finally catch up to him.
- - -
Part Four