SPN FIC: Reflection of You - 1/10 - R - Dean/Castiel
Dudes, I promise the header will be summarized in coming parts. Apologies for the length of this one.
Title: Reflection of You (1/10)
Rating: R
Pairing: Dean/Castiel, eventual Dean/FC and Castiel/OC(s)
Disclaimer: I don't own these guys.
Warnings: 5.04: "The End" 'verse - dark, drug use, angst, torture, graphic violence, character death, good guys doing bad things, disturbing content, and an even more disturbing inspiration. Both Dean and Castiel are Not Nice people. That might cover all the bases.
Notes: Part 1: ~5,100 words/~50,000 words. Warnings are not meant to be ignored. It starts out semi-light, but take everything dark about 5.04 and make it ten times as dark, and that's about where this fic will wind up. It's meant to slide right into the world of 5.04, but if it'll make you feel better, feel free to view it as an AR of 5.04. This fic is complete, but the last couple of parts are still being edited and/or still in beta. If this irritates you, I'm sorry. (My fic. Not your fic.)
I talk too much: For those of you that remember, this would be the fic that this vid was intended as a "trailer" for. Yes, three months later, here's the effing fic.
Thanks:tracy_loo_who consistently held my hand, soothed my self-pity, corrected my "less & fewer" problem (among multiple other silly problems), and is probably incredibly relieved that I won't be torturing her with this fic for much longer. extraonions allowed me to repeatedly bounce ideas off of her. The initial idea literally woke me up in the middle of the night, and all of the people who were in the deancastiel chat room that night dealt with my insane ramblings and ravings. And last but certainly not least, quovadimus83 served as a beta who fearlessly dived in without knowing where the fic was going to wind up.
Summary: When an angel falls, it's impossible to know exactly where they'll crash.
[ One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten ]
When the angels left, Castiel fell. Literally.
The strings that connected him to heaven and the host had always been embedded deeply inside him, almost as if they were holding him upright. The angels disappeared and those strings were cut, and Castiel screamed. The last thing he saw before his vision went black was Dean slamming his hands over his ears. His true voice tore out of him, reverberating off brick buildings and shattering the streetlights and windows surrounding them. It faded quickly after the initial blast, until all he could feel were unnatural, painful vibrations in his throat and the sound of his scream was purely that of a human.
He collapsed as every drop of his power drained out of him. His knees hit the ground first, then his hands, and the cement beneath him left angry, red scratches on his palm.
Castiel, just barely aware that Dean came to his side in an instant, couldn't speak. He only gasped, struggling to breathe as he tried to make sense of all the new sensations bombarding him, while at the same time wondering where all of his perception had gone. The part of him that could sense anything and everything around him - from the molecules in the trees to the particles in the air - was conspicuously absent, and it was replaced by newer, nearly unsubstantial feelings. His body - for it truly was his body now, with not even a whisper of Jimmy remaining - was what he was most aware of, and it felt weak, small, and utterly breakable. Tiny, prickling aches covered his joints where his knees had struck the ground, and the skin of his hand felt like it was on fire. He felt far too much of himself and not nearly enough of the world surrounding him.
He'd been yanked out of place and everything about himself felt completely off-balance. His mind was a jumble of thoughts and scattered words, completely unlike the way he used to be able to instantly process ideas and dig something minuscule and seemingly insignificant out of the acres of knowledge he had tucked away inside.
A hand grasped his elbow and another arm moved across his shoulders, which somehow helped him steady his heart and his thoughts a bit. "Cas?"
Even Dean's voice sounded different. It was simpler, as if part of it was missing, and Castiel realized he could no longer hear the hum of Dean's soul lingering beneath his words. Even so, the familiarity of Dean's voice and the feel of his arms wrapping around Castiel helped center him.
Dean's fingers released Castiel's arm and landed gently on his cheek, coaxing his head upwards to face him. "Cas, what happened?" Castiel blinked stupidly at Dean before letting out a shuddering, shaking breath.
"The host has left," he finally said. "The angels are gone."
* * *
Castiel studied humanity for centuries and he knew their habits and needs inside and out, but he had never known what it was like to actually be one of them. He had to learn how to do the simplest things, things that were ingrained into the psyche of every human being but refused to come naturally to him.
He couldn't sleep at first, and Dean stayed up with him those first two days and nights. Dean refused to sleep until Castiel did, but even as patient as he tried to be, sleep deprivation eventually started settling in on both of them. He had Castiel lay down and close his eyes, but every time the ink of unconsciousness would start to creep into Castiel's mind he would jerk back into the waking world. On the fifty-first hour Dean snapped at him, wondering why the hell Castiel could handle pissing and eating but not sleeping, and Castiel felt his chest tighten and his eyes begin to sting.
Angels never slept, and the only time in his very long life that Castiel could remember darkness taking over him was right after the blinding light of an archangel descended on him.
He relayed this to Dean, and Dean's expression softened, a breath of air rushing out between clenched teeth.
"I won't let anything happen to you," he told Castiel. "I promise." He sat down beside Castiel on the bed. "Sleeping isn't dying. It's... something we need to do, though. Both of us." He stared at Castiel and Castiel stared back, noticing the puffiness surrounding Dean's eyes. Dean squinted at him, studied him. "I'm sorry this happened to you, Cas."
The foreign prickling in Castiel's eyes didn't ease. "How am I supposed to..." His whisper trailed off as he realized he wasn't even sure what he was asking.
Dean sniffed. "I'll help you." He shifted closer to Castiel, indicating with a nod of his head for Castiel to lie back down. "As much as I can."
Castiel tried to settle down on top of the pillow, and he let his gaze drift back up to Dean, who nodded at him. "Close your eyes," he said, and when Castiel did he felt the mattress sinking underneath Dean's weight behind him. As an arm wrapped around Castiel's waist his eyes shot back open, and he shifted and flipped over. Dean smiled tiredly at him. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not a cuddler. I'll be right here tonight, though. Okay?"
Castiel nodded, welcoming the warmth and comfort Dean's arms - along with his words - brought him. Within minutes, he drifted off to sleep for the very first time in his incredibly long life.
* * *
Castiel adjusted faster than he initially thought he would have. Once he figured out the basics - showering, dressing, brushing his teeth - everything else started coming to him with more ease. Dean taught him everything he could think of and then some. He showed him how to run a credit card through a scanner and put gas in the Impala. He patiently walked Castiel through a crash-course on surfing the internet and operating a television remote.
They were all things that Castiel had seen humans do countless times, but he never knew how involved everything was, and how many simple little objects they had to rely on.
He locked himself out of their motel room one cold, wet night while Dean was in the shower. When he peered through the window he could see the room key inside, sparkling at him from the dingy laminate table, and frustration instantly began to bubble up inside him.
At one time, he'd been able to unlock a door or appear inside a room with a thought, and now a simple lack of thought left him trapped outside in the rain. Frustration turned to despair, and Dean soon found him curled up by the door, soaking wet and shivering.
He dried off while Dean pulled out some fresh clothes, and Castiel paused when Dean handed them over. "I'm useless," he said quietly.
Dean blinked. "What? No, you're not."
A pained sound tore itself out of Castiel's throat, and he angrily rubbed the towel across his hair once more before he tossed it into the corner of the bathroom. "I am. I used to be able to help you, Dean. I am of no use to you like this."
"Cas..."
"I used to be able to travel across the globe in seconds, and now I can't even leave the room without... without fucking everything up!" He slammed the bathroom door, separating himself from Dean, turning to stare at his incredibly human image in the mirror.
He was allowed only a few seconds of silence before he saw the door open a crack in the reflection. "Did you really just say 'fucking?'" Dean asked.
Castiel almost couldn't help his response. "No. I believe you imagined it."
The door opened wider and Dean poked his head into the bathroom, and Castiel could see his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. "And now sarcasm? Cas, I'm impressed."
"I'm sure." For some reason, the cynicism that crept into his voice felt incredibly right to Castiel at that moment. It made him feel better, and helped ease that tight feeling that had taken up permanent residence in his chest. He mulled over that thought before he realized Dean was laughing. "What?"
"It is coming more naturally to you now. Sarcasm and swearing - definitely two of the most basic human reactions."
Castiel's shoulders slumped, and he sighed. "This is exactly what the problem is, Dean." He hunched over the sink, staring into his reflection again, which he only recently came to think of as his own. "I'm mortal." Everything still appeared too flat and simple, including his own body. "I'm useless."
Dean snorted. "Gee, thanks."
"What?"
"Dude, I've been 'mortal' my entire life." Dean pushed the bathroom door the rest of the way open and leaned against the door jam, crossing his arms. "Good to know that I've been useless this whole freaking time."
"Dean, that's not what I meant."
"I know. So why does that apply to you and not me? Life as a human sucks for most of the time, Cas. But it's not all bad, and there are ways of dealing when it does get bad."
The appraising look that appeared on Dean's face made Castiel nervous, for some reason. "You're not planning on taking me to another brothel, are you?"
"No. You and I are just going to get very, very sloppy."
Apprehension bubbled up inside Castiel when he realized that translated to consuming an unhealthy amount of alcohol, but the liquor warmed his insides and gave Dean a lazy eye and an oddly endearing lopsided grin, which made him feel even warmer when it was directed his way. The best part, however, was how much it numbed everything else in just the right way. He still lacked the awareness he was used to, but the alcohol muted the dull aches in his joints and the unsettled feeling in his heart that had been a constant since he fell.
They drank until there were three Deans standing in front of him and the room simply refused to stand still, and Dean decided that meant it was time for bed.
Just as he had done every evening since that first long night, Dean climbed onto the bed beside Castiel, only this time he wrapped himself closer to Castiel then he ever had before. His nose burrowed into the skin of Castiel's neck and an arm and a leg were thrown haphazardly across Castiel's body, which somehow made the ceiling stop spinning above Castiel's head.
Sleep came far too easily to him that night.
* * *
After that, Dean concentrated more on skills that he considered to be useful - fighting, picking locks, and weaponry. Castiel picked up on the latter quite fast, soon dismantling, cleaning, and shooting a gun nearly as quick as Dean could.
Dean was genuinely impressed with Castiel's accuracy, and as Castiel watched each empty beer can fly off the fence with each pull of the trigger an eerie sense of satisfaction bloomed in his chest. He could control a gun with his own fingers, and it gave him back some sense of the power he'd once held.
He still hated the knowledge that the power came from the gun, and not from within himself.
Dean shrugged at that. "Your power before came from Heaven, right? How is this much different?"
Castiel didn't appreciate that comment, and he only grew more frustrated when he found he couldn't pick up on physical combat nearly as fast as he learned to handle a gun. He couldn't capture the raw grace and power that Dean seemed to exude, and every punch and kick Castiel threw felt stilted and unnatural. "Why must I be so dependent on tools?" he asked Dean after he found himself flat on his back for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. "Why can't I rely on my own hands?"
Dean sighed and helped Castiel up into a sitting position, then sat down next to him on the dusty ground. "Guns are easier. And I'm... well, I''ve been doing this for a good while. It'd be a miracle for you to knock me down." His smirk quickly fell when he saw Castiel's expression. "You're getting better, though, Cas."
"It's taking too long."
"It's not-"
"We should be concentrating on Lucifer. Instead you're using your time to help me."
"Hey." Dean leaned forward, making sure Castiel's eyes met his. "I'm helping you so you can help me."
Castiel shook his head, exasperated. He normally appreciated Dean's stubbornness, but he didn't understand why Dean couldn't see the truth when it came to this. "We don't have the time for this. There are others out there that would serve you better than I." He paused. "Someone like Sam."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Sam and I can't work together anymore."
"Why not?"
"Cas, it's not -" Dean looked away from Castiel, his eyes rolling up towards the sky. "Sam and I shouldn't be together anymore. It's too dangerous."
Castiel sighed. He'd already tried to explain how Dean's reasoning wasn't sound, but it seemed he still hadn't been heard. "Regardless, there are other hunters out there, people who are more skilled than I -"
"Well, I don't want them. I need -" Dean cut himself off with a shake of his head, immediately jumping to his feet. "C'mon. I'm hungry, and I could go for a burger."
Castiel glared at the hand being offered to him, then sighed and allowed Dean to hoist him up. "May we go somewhere that has liquor?"
* * *
"Suck. Inhale. Now hold it in."
There were a few things that Castiel appreciated about being mortal. He eventually learned to enjoy sleeping, though he knew Dean had a great deal to do with that particular feeling. He loved being in the Impala with Dean, air rushing through his hair and the rumble of the engine beneath them. He also finally figured out why Dean loved eating so much - the way certain flavors exploded over his taste buds sometimes sent a gratifying shiver down his back.
But Castiel's vexation over losing his power - his "funk," as Dean called it - didn't ease any, and both Dean and Castiel grew weary of Castiel waking up with a massive hangover every morning. He turned to a bottle nearly every night, craving numbness so often that even Dean had a hard time keeping up with him.
"Hold it as long as you can."
Simple pleasures did little to alleviate the numbing thoughts in the back of his mind. He missed how in tune he'd been in with the turning gears of the world. He despised how his mind was changing, how bits of knowledge he used to hold were fluttering away from him and never to be grasped again. He hated being vulnerable and being a liability.
Humanity had suffered since humanity began, and now he suffered right along with them.
"Easy, easy. It's always hard the first few times."
Coughing profusely wasn't exactly suffering, but Castiel came to the conclusion that he disliked it just the same.
When Dean decided that Castiel's drinking didn't do the trick to ease his mental anguish, he came back to the hotel one night with a small plastic bag and pack of rolling papers. He apparently decided that they wouldn't drink until the room spun, but instead inhale smoke that provoked coughing fits that shook Castiel's entire body.
"How do you feel, Cas?"
Castiel shot a glare at Dean. "My throat aches," he croaked. "I don't understand why you wanted me to try this."
Dean sighed, leaning backwards in the cheap motel chair with a frown. "Hey, it's been a while since I've smoked. I remember it being fun. Relaxing."
Castiel coughed once more before bringing his water bottle to his lips again, sucking the liquid down so hard that the plastic crinkled in his hand. "This is not fun."
A frown formed on Dean's lips. "I'm sorry. You know I have bad ideas sometimes, right?"
"Most times."
A playful kick hit Castiel in the shin. "Not so sure if I like this growing sense of humor of yours."
"You should, since I must have learned it all from you."
Dean snorted. "I guess that makes me a really bad influence."
A laugh ripped itself out of Castiel's sore throat. "You think developing a sense of humor means you're a bad influence. What kind of influence do you suppose feeding me alcohol and marijuana makes you?"
"An awesome one?" Dean grinned and took another long drag off of the joint. "All I know is that you're having a hard time and I don't want you destroying your liver." He held the smoke in his lungs and clenched his teeth as he spoke, and his voice sounded strained and thin. "This is a pretty damn harmless alternative. Well, relatively speaking." Leaning back and sliding down until his head rested on the back of the chair, he closed his eyes and finally let the smoke pour out of his mouth.
As Castiel quietly finished off his water, he realized that he hadn't ever seen Dean look as relaxed as he appeared to be at that moment. The worry lines that had been a constant on Dean's face in recent months were conspicuously absent, and he didn't look like he had acres of tension wrapped around his muscles like he usually did.
Perhaps Dean needed the relaxation just as much as Castiel did.
Castiel's eyes followed Dean's movement as he once again raised the joint to his lips and took another long hit, and he watched with mild fascination as the smoke swirled around in the dim motel light.
"How do you do that?" Castiel asked.
"Do what?"
"Inhale all of that without hurting yourself."
"I'm a vet, Cas. Through most of high school, whenever I wasn't hunting, I was stoned." Dean didn't open his eyes, and he propped his elbow up on the arm of the chair, holding the smoldering joint near his face.
Castiel already knew this. He once knew everything there was to know about Dean, but he didn't remember Dean's life as intimately as he had before the fall. If he still had all the bits and pieces buried somewhere inside, his simple, human mind couldn't get to them. Castiel shook the thought away. "I want to learn."
"You've gotta build up resistance, and you just figure out how to... hold the smoke." Dean absently waved his hand. "I don't really know how to explain it. It just clicks eventually."
"Let me try again."
Without the rest of his body moving, Dean's arm dropped towards Castiel, holding the joint out to him. "Go for it." Castiel reached out and took it, imitating Dean's three-fingered grasp of the thin white cylinder. He studied it for a moment, noting the blackened end just beyond the cinder, and the patches of brown running up the sides in uneven lines. He let out a breath, emptying his lungs like Dean told him, but hesitated.
Castiel glanced over and noticed Dean watching him with half-open eyes and a small smile. "I know it's always hard to take another hit after having a coughing fit, but you almost look like you're scared of the thing," he said.
Dean's voice didn't sound as if he was presenting a challenge, instead sounding almost fond, but Castiel still felt a mild wave of defensiveness. "I've never coughed once before tonight. It is foreign and unpleasant."
Dean seemed to study him for a few moments before he abruptly stood up and waved for Castiel to scoot over on the bed, taking the joint back from Castiel as he sat down beside him. "I can make it easier, but..."
"But what?"
"It might be a little awkward." Dean grinned. "You wanna try it?"
Castiel shook his head, amused. "I don't even know what 'it' is, but yes."
The edges of Dean's mouth twitched. "Let out your breath." Castiel did, and Dean's smirk deepened before he took a deep, long drag off of the joint. He leaned towards Castiel, so close that their noses nearly touched. "Open your mouth," he said in that strange, thin voice. Castiel again followed Dean's instructions, and then Dean's lips descended onto his own.
The first thing Castiel noticed was that Dean's lips were pleasantly soft, and then warm air started rushing into his mouth. Castiel's lungs filled until he felt he couldn't take anymore before Dean finally drew back just slightly. "Hold it in," he said, his lips still barely lingering over Castiel's. "As long as you can."
Castiel couldn't hold it for very long, but as the smoke came tumbling out of his mouth he decided he enjoyed the sensation. He didn't cough once.
"See?"
"Again," Castiel demanded.
Dean gave Castiel one more hit, this time lingering on Castiel's lips just a little longer, and Castiel found he wasn't sure which part he liked more: the rolling smoke that seemed to relax him more and more every second, or Dean's mouth covering his own, filling him with his own breath. Dean smiled at him as his eyes slipped back to half-closed before leaning towards the table and easing the glowing cherry of the joint into the ashtray. "We'll see what that does. Sometimes people don't feel anything the first time they smoke."
Castiel relished in the simple feeling of the mattress shifting underneath them as Dean leaned back on the bed and rested on his elbow, giving Castiel a sideways look. The edges of Castiel's vision seemed foggy. The tiny aches and pains that had been plaguing him for weeks were muted, and everything around him appeared brighter, and for some reason Castiel felt as if he recognized it, as if he'd done this before, and he couldn't help the tiny smile forming on his lips.
Dean watched him as Castiel processed all the new sensations. "I'm guessing pot agrees with you, after all?"
"It's just... this," Castiel said as he leaned back, lying down with his arms outstretched at each side. "It's familiar..."
"How's that?"
Castiel wasn't sure how he could even begin to explain it to Dean, who had never had the senses he once held. "I'm detached and yet... in place. I feel less like a part of my body and more part of the world around us. Less aware of myself and more aware of the touch and feel of everything surrounding me. It's like... flowing..."
Dean snorted at his words. "Dude, you are so fucking stoned."
"It... it reminds me of what I used to be."
A few moments passed before he finally heard Dean respond. "Seriously?" he asked, and when Castiel nodded he started shaking with laughter.
Confusion flickered across Castiel's mind. "What?"
"So being stoned feels like being an angel? Oh, man. That's rich." Dean shook his head with a grin, and Castiel knew that Dean wasn't teasing him. "And to think that all this time, I knew."
"It's only a small part. I'm still missing pieces. But this... it's a glimmer."
"I don't even know what to say to that." Dean's laughter eased, but a hint of a smile still remained. "That's kind of intense, Cas."
Castiel turned his head towards Dean with a lazy smile and he wondered if his eyes were as pink and glassy as Dean's were. "It feels wonderful." He'd seen Dean this close before, but there was something different now. Castiel wasn't sure if it was the pot or the way Dean was watching him, but warmth began to blossom in his chest.
Unsure of why he did it, Castiel reached out and his fingertips traced the contours of Dean's face. Dean's expression twitched in surprise, but he didn't move, and Castiel moved across his eyebrow, his cheekbone, his jawline, before finally coming to rest on Dean's lips. A long moment passed before Castiel finally spoke.
"Will you give me another?"
* * *
"Yeah. Uh-huh. Yeah, I know exactly what that sounds like." Dean paced across the motel room slowly with his phone to his ear with one hand, his other hand rubbing the back of his neck. Castiel sat back on the bed and drew his knees up to his chest as apprehension began to boil in his gut.
"Bobby, this is bad news. Really bad," Dean continued. "Look, we'll... we'll pack up here and head to your place, okay? You start making those phone calls." He snapped the phone shut, and Castiel immediately noted just how lost Dean appeared.
"What's happened?" Castiel asked.
Dean took a deep breath, and Castiel's gaze never left him as he crossed the room to toss his phone on the table. "There was this... demonic virus me and Sam dealt with a few years ago. We never actually figured it out. It was the one that... the one that got away."
Castiel grasped at the word that floated around in his half lost memories. "Croatoan." He could remember the suspicions the host had when it had appeared the first time, on Roanoke Island, but they never managed to come to any conclusions on it, and it had been brushed away as just the usual demonic mayhem. Demons had always been fond of causing misery for the mere sake of causing misery.
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Scary shit."
"It's back." It wasn't a question.
"Only in small, backwater towns so far, but yeah. It's back, and it's spreading fast." Dean sat down beside Castiel on the bed. "It's just... it's finally hitting home, you know?" He rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his closed eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose. "This really is the end."
Castiel closed his eyes. He knew it had to happen eventually. They were in the middle of the apocalypse, and however pleasant the last few months had been, he knew that he and Dean wouldn't be able to continue their daily regiment of training in the day, unwinding with a smoke or drink in the evening, and then curling up beside each other every night. They only had a stay, and now that stay was over.
"Bobby's calling some other hunters, cluing them in," Dean continued. "The media knows something weird is going on, but they don't know what any of it means." He worried at his lower lip with his teeth. "I guess that means it's up to us."
Castiel stomach sank at the words. No matter how hard he'd tried, Castiel was still miles behind Dean in terms of skill, and Castiel knew he was of little use. Absolutely nothing was up to the two of them - it was all dependent on Dean.
"Man, I figured that demons would just be wiping all the humans out," Dean said. "This Croatoan shit means we're going to be wasting each other. They're just gonna sit back and watch us kill each other off."
There was nothing Castiel could say at that. Instead, he just reached out and placed his hand over Dean's, and Dean lightly squeezed his own fingers in response, still staring straight ahead. "Cas, it's gonna be me. I'm gonna be the one killing them." The tiny trickle of comfort Castiel received from Dean's touch nearly turned cold.
Castiel swallowed, closing his eyes. "You... you should call Sam."
Dean's grip on Castiel's fingers tightened to a threshold of just below painful. "Bobby's already called him," he said, his voice making it clear he didn't want to have the same discussion again.
Castiel sighed. "When do we have to leave for Bobby's?"
Dean shrugged. "Soon. Not right this second, but maybe in a few hours."
"Good." Castiel leaned back on the bed and grabbed a half-smoked joint, one that he had rolled himself, from the ashtray on the nightstand. "One last time, before we have to stay sober until the end?"
A wry smile spread across Dean's face. "I totally turned you into a pothead, didn't I?"
"If that's how you'd prefer to see it. Do you want to?"
The smile turned genuine. "Why the hell not? It'll make the drive seem faster."
Castiel never looked away from Dean as he placed the joint between his lips. Too many swirling, human thoughts danced around in his mind, and he was only able to grasp one - the need to figure out exactly how he could help Dean without his old powers, with only the strength of a man.
He lit the joint and took a deep hit, filling his lungs as much as he could, before he leaned towards Dean. "Open your mouth," he whispered through clenched teeth. Dean didn't even hesitate, and Castiel sealed his lips over Dean's. He breathed into Dean, emptying himself, and he gave Dean everything he had.
Castiel felt Dean's hand move up and come to rest on the side of his neck, and fingers tangled in the hair on the back of his head. Dean held Castiel against himself even after Castiel's lungs were void of air, only tilting his head back to blow the smoke out up above them. "More," he whispered.
Without a moment of hesitation, and Castiel drew in another large hit from the joint, and when their lips touched again, Dean pulled the joint out of Castiel's hand as he accepted another long, lingering breath into his mouth. Somehow, without ever drawing away from Castiel's lips and without even looking, Dean managed to get the smoking joint back to the ashtray.
Dean again tilted his head back to release the hit Castiel gave him, and Castiel took the opportunity to speak. "I wish I could help." Dean's hand, still resting on Castiel's neck, gently pulled at him and crushed their mouths back together, effectively silencing anything else Castiel had to say. Dean's lips moved against his and Castiel found his own lips responding, imitating the movement without even thinking about it, and he once again marveled at just how soft Dean's mouth was.
Lips and tongues moved against each other, and Dean only paused to whisper into Castiel's mouth. "You do help, Cas. More than you know." He pressed harder against Castiel, and Castiel's hands tangled in the folds of Dean's shirt, desperate for more. "I can't do this without you."
For the few hours they had left before standing up to face the end of the world, they drank each other in as much as they could, and Castiel decided he found a new favorite part of being human.
Part Two
Title: Reflection of You (1/10)
Rating: R
Pairing: Dean/Castiel, eventual Dean/FC and Castiel/OC(s)
Disclaimer: I don't own these guys.
Warnings: 5.04: "The End" 'verse - dark, drug use, angst, torture, graphic violence, character death, good guys doing bad things, disturbing content, and an even more disturbing inspiration. Both Dean and Castiel are Not Nice people. That might cover all the bases.
Notes: Part 1: ~5,100 words/~50,000 words. Warnings are not meant to be ignored. It starts out semi-light, but take everything dark about 5.04 and make it ten times as dark, and that's about where this fic will wind up. It's meant to slide right into the world of 5.04, but if it'll make you feel better, feel free to view it as an AR of 5.04. This fic is complete, but the last couple of parts are still being edited and/or still in beta. If this irritates you, I'm sorry. (My fic. Not your fic.)
I talk too much: For those of you that remember, this would be the fic that this vid was intended as a "trailer" for. Yes, three months later, here's the effing fic.
Thanks:tracy_loo_who consistently held my hand, soothed my self-pity, corrected my "less & fewer" problem (among multiple other silly problems), and is probably incredibly relieved that I won't be torturing her with this fic for much longer. extraonions allowed me to repeatedly bounce ideas off of her. The initial idea literally woke me up in the middle of the night, and all of the people who were in the deancastiel chat room that night dealt with my insane ramblings and ravings. And last but certainly not least, quovadimus83 served as a beta who fearlessly dived in without knowing where the fic was going to wind up.
Summary: When an angel falls, it's impossible to know exactly where they'll crash.
[ One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten ]
When the angels left, Castiel fell. Literally.
The strings that connected him to heaven and the host had always been embedded deeply inside him, almost as if they were holding him upright. The angels disappeared and those strings were cut, and Castiel screamed. The last thing he saw before his vision went black was Dean slamming his hands over his ears. His true voice tore out of him, reverberating off brick buildings and shattering the streetlights and windows surrounding them. It faded quickly after the initial blast, until all he could feel were unnatural, painful vibrations in his throat and the sound of his scream was purely that of a human.
He collapsed as every drop of his power drained out of him. His knees hit the ground first, then his hands, and the cement beneath him left angry, red scratches on his palm.
Castiel, just barely aware that Dean came to his side in an instant, couldn't speak. He only gasped, struggling to breathe as he tried to make sense of all the new sensations bombarding him, while at the same time wondering where all of his perception had gone. The part of him that could sense anything and everything around him - from the molecules in the trees to the particles in the air - was conspicuously absent, and it was replaced by newer, nearly unsubstantial feelings. His body - for it truly was his body now, with not even a whisper of Jimmy remaining - was what he was most aware of, and it felt weak, small, and utterly breakable. Tiny, prickling aches covered his joints where his knees had struck the ground, and the skin of his hand felt like it was on fire. He felt far too much of himself and not nearly enough of the world surrounding him.
He'd been yanked out of place and everything about himself felt completely off-balance. His mind was a jumble of thoughts and scattered words, completely unlike the way he used to be able to instantly process ideas and dig something minuscule and seemingly insignificant out of the acres of knowledge he had tucked away inside.
A hand grasped his elbow and another arm moved across his shoulders, which somehow helped him steady his heart and his thoughts a bit. "Cas?"
Even Dean's voice sounded different. It was simpler, as if part of it was missing, and Castiel realized he could no longer hear the hum of Dean's soul lingering beneath his words. Even so, the familiarity of Dean's voice and the feel of his arms wrapping around Castiel helped center him.
Dean's fingers released Castiel's arm and landed gently on his cheek, coaxing his head upwards to face him. "Cas, what happened?" Castiel blinked stupidly at Dean before letting out a shuddering, shaking breath.
"The host has left," he finally said. "The angels are gone."
* * *
Castiel studied humanity for centuries and he knew their habits and needs inside and out, but he had never known what it was like to actually be one of them. He had to learn how to do the simplest things, things that were ingrained into the psyche of every human being but refused to come naturally to him.
He couldn't sleep at first, and Dean stayed up with him those first two days and nights. Dean refused to sleep until Castiel did, but even as patient as he tried to be, sleep deprivation eventually started settling in on both of them. He had Castiel lay down and close his eyes, but every time the ink of unconsciousness would start to creep into Castiel's mind he would jerk back into the waking world. On the fifty-first hour Dean snapped at him, wondering why the hell Castiel could handle pissing and eating but not sleeping, and Castiel felt his chest tighten and his eyes begin to sting.
Angels never slept, and the only time in his very long life that Castiel could remember darkness taking over him was right after the blinding light of an archangel descended on him.
He relayed this to Dean, and Dean's expression softened, a breath of air rushing out between clenched teeth.
"I won't let anything happen to you," he told Castiel. "I promise." He sat down beside Castiel on the bed. "Sleeping isn't dying. It's... something we need to do, though. Both of us." He stared at Castiel and Castiel stared back, noticing the puffiness surrounding Dean's eyes. Dean squinted at him, studied him. "I'm sorry this happened to you, Cas."
The foreign prickling in Castiel's eyes didn't ease. "How am I supposed to..." His whisper trailed off as he realized he wasn't even sure what he was asking.
Dean sniffed. "I'll help you." He shifted closer to Castiel, indicating with a nod of his head for Castiel to lie back down. "As much as I can."
Castiel tried to settle down on top of the pillow, and he let his gaze drift back up to Dean, who nodded at him. "Close your eyes," he said, and when Castiel did he felt the mattress sinking underneath Dean's weight behind him. As an arm wrapped around Castiel's waist his eyes shot back open, and he shifted and flipped over. Dean smiled tiredly at him. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not a cuddler. I'll be right here tonight, though. Okay?"
Castiel nodded, welcoming the warmth and comfort Dean's arms - along with his words - brought him. Within minutes, he drifted off to sleep for the very first time in his incredibly long life.
* * *
Castiel adjusted faster than he initially thought he would have. Once he figured out the basics - showering, dressing, brushing his teeth - everything else started coming to him with more ease. Dean taught him everything he could think of and then some. He showed him how to run a credit card through a scanner and put gas in the Impala. He patiently walked Castiel through a crash-course on surfing the internet and operating a television remote.
They were all things that Castiel had seen humans do countless times, but he never knew how involved everything was, and how many simple little objects they had to rely on.
He locked himself out of their motel room one cold, wet night while Dean was in the shower. When he peered through the window he could see the room key inside, sparkling at him from the dingy laminate table, and frustration instantly began to bubble up inside him.
At one time, he'd been able to unlock a door or appear inside a room with a thought, and now a simple lack of thought left him trapped outside in the rain. Frustration turned to despair, and Dean soon found him curled up by the door, soaking wet and shivering.
He dried off while Dean pulled out some fresh clothes, and Castiel paused when Dean handed them over. "I'm useless," he said quietly.
Dean blinked. "What? No, you're not."
A pained sound tore itself out of Castiel's throat, and he angrily rubbed the towel across his hair once more before he tossed it into the corner of the bathroom. "I am. I used to be able to help you, Dean. I am of no use to you like this."
"Cas..."
"I used to be able to travel across the globe in seconds, and now I can't even leave the room without... without fucking everything up!" He slammed the bathroom door, separating himself from Dean, turning to stare at his incredibly human image in the mirror.
He was allowed only a few seconds of silence before he saw the door open a crack in the reflection. "Did you really just say 'fucking?'" Dean asked.
Castiel almost couldn't help his response. "No. I believe you imagined it."
The door opened wider and Dean poked his head into the bathroom, and Castiel could see his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. "And now sarcasm? Cas, I'm impressed."
"I'm sure." For some reason, the cynicism that crept into his voice felt incredibly right to Castiel at that moment. It made him feel better, and helped ease that tight feeling that had taken up permanent residence in his chest. He mulled over that thought before he realized Dean was laughing. "What?"
"It is coming more naturally to you now. Sarcasm and swearing - definitely two of the most basic human reactions."
Castiel's shoulders slumped, and he sighed. "This is exactly what the problem is, Dean." He hunched over the sink, staring into his reflection again, which he only recently came to think of as his own. "I'm mortal." Everything still appeared too flat and simple, including his own body. "I'm useless."
Dean snorted. "Gee, thanks."
"What?"
"Dude, I've been 'mortal' my entire life." Dean pushed the bathroom door the rest of the way open and leaned against the door jam, crossing his arms. "Good to know that I've been useless this whole freaking time."
"Dean, that's not what I meant."
"I know. So why does that apply to you and not me? Life as a human sucks for most of the time, Cas. But it's not all bad, and there are ways of dealing when it does get bad."
The appraising look that appeared on Dean's face made Castiel nervous, for some reason. "You're not planning on taking me to another brothel, are you?"
"No. You and I are just going to get very, very sloppy."
Apprehension bubbled up inside Castiel when he realized that translated to consuming an unhealthy amount of alcohol, but the liquor warmed his insides and gave Dean a lazy eye and an oddly endearing lopsided grin, which made him feel even warmer when it was directed his way. The best part, however, was how much it numbed everything else in just the right way. He still lacked the awareness he was used to, but the alcohol muted the dull aches in his joints and the unsettled feeling in his heart that had been a constant since he fell.
They drank until there were three Deans standing in front of him and the room simply refused to stand still, and Dean decided that meant it was time for bed.
Just as he had done every evening since that first long night, Dean climbed onto the bed beside Castiel, only this time he wrapped himself closer to Castiel then he ever had before. His nose burrowed into the skin of Castiel's neck and an arm and a leg were thrown haphazardly across Castiel's body, which somehow made the ceiling stop spinning above Castiel's head.
Sleep came far too easily to him that night.
* * *
After that, Dean concentrated more on skills that he considered to be useful - fighting, picking locks, and weaponry. Castiel picked up on the latter quite fast, soon dismantling, cleaning, and shooting a gun nearly as quick as Dean could.
Dean was genuinely impressed with Castiel's accuracy, and as Castiel watched each empty beer can fly off the fence with each pull of the trigger an eerie sense of satisfaction bloomed in his chest. He could control a gun with his own fingers, and it gave him back some sense of the power he'd once held.
He still hated the knowledge that the power came from the gun, and not from within himself.
Dean shrugged at that. "Your power before came from Heaven, right? How is this much different?"
Castiel didn't appreciate that comment, and he only grew more frustrated when he found he couldn't pick up on physical combat nearly as fast as he learned to handle a gun. He couldn't capture the raw grace and power that Dean seemed to exude, and every punch and kick Castiel threw felt stilted and unnatural. "Why must I be so dependent on tools?" he asked Dean after he found himself flat on his back for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. "Why can't I rely on my own hands?"
Dean sighed and helped Castiel up into a sitting position, then sat down next to him on the dusty ground. "Guns are easier. And I'm... well, I''ve been doing this for a good while. It'd be a miracle for you to knock me down." His smirk quickly fell when he saw Castiel's expression. "You're getting better, though, Cas."
"It's taking too long."
"It's not-"
"We should be concentrating on Lucifer. Instead you're using your time to help me."
"Hey." Dean leaned forward, making sure Castiel's eyes met his. "I'm helping you so you can help me."
Castiel shook his head, exasperated. He normally appreciated Dean's stubbornness, but he didn't understand why Dean couldn't see the truth when it came to this. "We don't have the time for this. There are others out there that would serve you better than I." He paused. "Someone like Sam."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Sam and I can't work together anymore."
"Why not?"
"Cas, it's not -" Dean looked away from Castiel, his eyes rolling up towards the sky. "Sam and I shouldn't be together anymore. It's too dangerous."
Castiel sighed. He'd already tried to explain how Dean's reasoning wasn't sound, but it seemed he still hadn't been heard. "Regardless, there are other hunters out there, people who are more skilled than I -"
"Well, I don't want them. I need -" Dean cut himself off with a shake of his head, immediately jumping to his feet. "C'mon. I'm hungry, and I could go for a burger."
Castiel glared at the hand being offered to him, then sighed and allowed Dean to hoist him up. "May we go somewhere that has liquor?"
* * *
"Suck. Inhale. Now hold it in."
There were a few things that Castiel appreciated about being mortal. He eventually learned to enjoy sleeping, though he knew Dean had a great deal to do with that particular feeling. He loved being in the Impala with Dean, air rushing through his hair and the rumble of the engine beneath them. He also finally figured out why Dean loved eating so much - the way certain flavors exploded over his taste buds sometimes sent a gratifying shiver down his back.
But Castiel's vexation over losing his power - his "funk," as Dean called it - didn't ease any, and both Dean and Castiel grew weary of Castiel waking up with a massive hangover every morning. He turned to a bottle nearly every night, craving numbness so often that even Dean had a hard time keeping up with him.
"Hold it as long as you can."
Simple pleasures did little to alleviate the numbing thoughts in the back of his mind. He missed how in tune he'd been in with the turning gears of the world. He despised how his mind was changing, how bits of knowledge he used to hold were fluttering away from him and never to be grasped again. He hated being vulnerable and being a liability.
Humanity had suffered since humanity began, and now he suffered right along with them.
"Easy, easy. It's always hard the first few times."
Coughing profusely wasn't exactly suffering, but Castiel came to the conclusion that he disliked it just the same.
When Dean decided that Castiel's drinking didn't do the trick to ease his mental anguish, he came back to the hotel one night with a small plastic bag and pack of rolling papers. He apparently decided that they wouldn't drink until the room spun, but instead inhale smoke that provoked coughing fits that shook Castiel's entire body.
"How do you feel, Cas?"
Castiel shot a glare at Dean. "My throat aches," he croaked. "I don't understand why you wanted me to try this."
Dean sighed, leaning backwards in the cheap motel chair with a frown. "Hey, it's been a while since I've smoked. I remember it being fun. Relaxing."
Castiel coughed once more before bringing his water bottle to his lips again, sucking the liquid down so hard that the plastic crinkled in his hand. "This is not fun."
A frown formed on Dean's lips. "I'm sorry. You know I have bad ideas sometimes, right?"
"Most times."
A playful kick hit Castiel in the shin. "Not so sure if I like this growing sense of humor of yours."
"You should, since I must have learned it all from you."
Dean snorted. "I guess that makes me a really bad influence."
A laugh ripped itself out of Castiel's sore throat. "You think developing a sense of humor means you're a bad influence. What kind of influence do you suppose feeding me alcohol and marijuana makes you?"
"An awesome one?" Dean grinned and took another long drag off of the joint. "All I know is that you're having a hard time and I don't want you destroying your liver." He held the smoke in his lungs and clenched his teeth as he spoke, and his voice sounded strained and thin. "This is a pretty damn harmless alternative. Well, relatively speaking." Leaning back and sliding down until his head rested on the back of the chair, he closed his eyes and finally let the smoke pour out of his mouth.
As Castiel quietly finished off his water, he realized that he hadn't ever seen Dean look as relaxed as he appeared to be at that moment. The worry lines that had been a constant on Dean's face in recent months were conspicuously absent, and he didn't look like he had acres of tension wrapped around his muscles like he usually did.
Perhaps Dean needed the relaxation just as much as Castiel did.
Castiel's eyes followed Dean's movement as he once again raised the joint to his lips and took another long hit, and he watched with mild fascination as the smoke swirled around in the dim motel light.
"How do you do that?" Castiel asked.
"Do what?"
"Inhale all of that without hurting yourself."
"I'm a vet, Cas. Through most of high school, whenever I wasn't hunting, I was stoned." Dean didn't open his eyes, and he propped his elbow up on the arm of the chair, holding the smoldering joint near his face.
Castiel already knew this. He once knew everything there was to know about Dean, but he didn't remember Dean's life as intimately as he had before the fall. If he still had all the bits and pieces buried somewhere inside, his simple, human mind couldn't get to them. Castiel shook the thought away. "I want to learn."
"You've gotta build up resistance, and you just figure out how to... hold the smoke." Dean absently waved his hand. "I don't really know how to explain it. It just clicks eventually."
"Let me try again."
Without the rest of his body moving, Dean's arm dropped towards Castiel, holding the joint out to him. "Go for it." Castiel reached out and took it, imitating Dean's three-fingered grasp of the thin white cylinder. He studied it for a moment, noting the blackened end just beyond the cinder, and the patches of brown running up the sides in uneven lines. He let out a breath, emptying his lungs like Dean told him, but hesitated.
Castiel glanced over and noticed Dean watching him with half-open eyes and a small smile. "I know it's always hard to take another hit after having a coughing fit, but you almost look like you're scared of the thing," he said.
Dean's voice didn't sound as if he was presenting a challenge, instead sounding almost fond, but Castiel still felt a mild wave of defensiveness. "I've never coughed once before tonight. It is foreign and unpleasant."
Dean seemed to study him for a few moments before he abruptly stood up and waved for Castiel to scoot over on the bed, taking the joint back from Castiel as he sat down beside him. "I can make it easier, but..."
"But what?"
"It might be a little awkward." Dean grinned. "You wanna try it?"
Castiel shook his head, amused. "I don't even know what 'it' is, but yes."
The edges of Dean's mouth twitched. "Let out your breath." Castiel did, and Dean's smirk deepened before he took a deep, long drag off of the joint. He leaned towards Castiel, so close that their noses nearly touched. "Open your mouth," he said in that strange, thin voice. Castiel again followed Dean's instructions, and then Dean's lips descended onto his own.
The first thing Castiel noticed was that Dean's lips were pleasantly soft, and then warm air started rushing into his mouth. Castiel's lungs filled until he felt he couldn't take anymore before Dean finally drew back just slightly. "Hold it in," he said, his lips still barely lingering over Castiel's. "As long as you can."
Castiel couldn't hold it for very long, but as the smoke came tumbling out of his mouth he decided he enjoyed the sensation. He didn't cough once.
"See?"
"Again," Castiel demanded.
Dean gave Castiel one more hit, this time lingering on Castiel's lips just a little longer, and Castiel found he wasn't sure which part he liked more: the rolling smoke that seemed to relax him more and more every second, or Dean's mouth covering his own, filling him with his own breath. Dean smiled at him as his eyes slipped back to half-closed before leaning towards the table and easing the glowing cherry of the joint into the ashtray. "We'll see what that does. Sometimes people don't feel anything the first time they smoke."
Castiel relished in the simple feeling of the mattress shifting underneath them as Dean leaned back on the bed and rested on his elbow, giving Castiel a sideways look. The edges of Castiel's vision seemed foggy. The tiny aches and pains that had been plaguing him for weeks were muted, and everything around him appeared brighter, and for some reason Castiel felt as if he recognized it, as if he'd done this before, and he couldn't help the tiny smile forming on his lips.
Dean watched him as Castiel processed all the new sensations. "I'm guessing pot agrees with you, after all?"
"It's just... this," Castiel said as he leaned back, lying down with his arms outstretched at each side. "It's familiar..."
"How's that?"
Castiel wasn't sure how he could even begin to explain it to Dean, who had never had the senses he once held. "I'm detached and yet... in place. I feel less like a part of my body and more part of the world around us. Less aware of myself and more aware of the touch and feel of everything surrounding me. It's like... flowing..."
Dean snorted at his words. "Dude, you are so fucking stoned."
"It... it reminds me of what I used to be."
A few moments passed before he finally heard Dean respond. "Seriously?" he asked, and when Castiel nodded he started shaking with laughter.
Confusion flickered across Castiel's mind. "What?"
"So being stoned feels like being an angel? Oh, man. That's rich." Dean shook his head with a grin, and Castiel knew that Dean wasn't teasing him. "And to think that all this time, I knew."
"It's only a small part. I'm still missing pieces. But this... it's a glimmer."
"I don't even know what to say to that." Dean's laughter eased, but a hint of a smile still remained. "That's kind of intense, Cas."
Castiel turned his head towards Dean with a lazy smile and he wondered if his eyes were as pink and glassy as Dean's were. "It feels wonderful." He'd seen Dean this close before, but there was something different now. Castiel wasn't sure if it was the pot or the way Dean was watching him, but warmth began to blossom in his chest.
Unsure of why he did it, Castiel reached out and his fingertips traced the contours of Dean's face. Dean's expression twitched in surprise, but he didn't move, and Castiel moved across his eyebrow, his cheekbone, his jawline, before finally coming to rest on Dean's lips. A long moment passed before Castiel finally spoke.
"Will you give me another?"
* * *
"Yeah. Uh-huh. Yeah, I know exactly what that sounds like." Dean paced across the motel room slowly with his phone to his ear with one hand, his other hand rubbing the back of his neck. Castiel sat back on the bed and drew his knees up to his chest as apprehension began to boil in his gut.
"Bobby, this is bad news. Really bad," Dean continued. "Look, we'll... we'll pack up here and head to your place, okay? You start making those phone calls." He snapped the phone shut, and Castiel immediately noted just how lost Dean appeared.
"What's happened?" Castiel asked.
Dean took a deep breath, and Castiel's gaze never left him as he crossed the room to toss his phone on the table. "There was this... demonic virus me and Sam dealt with a few years ago. We never actually figured it out. It was the one that... the one that got away."
Castiel grasped at the word that floated around in his half lost memories. "Croatoan." He could remember the suspicions the host had when it had appeared the first time, on Roanoke Island, but they never managed to come to any conclusions on it, and it had been brushed away as just the usual demonic mayhem. Demons had always been fond of causing misery for the mere sake of causing misery.
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Scary shit."
"It's back." It wasn't a question.
"Only in small, backwater towns so far, but yeah. It's back, and it's spreading fast." Dean sat down beside Castiel on the bed. "It's just... it's finally hitting home, you know?" He rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his closed eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose. "This really is the end."
Castiel closed his eyes. He knew it had to happen eventually. They were in the middle of the apocalypse, and however pleasant the last few months had been, he knew that he and Dean wouldn't be able to continue their daily regiment of training in the day, unwinding with a smoke or drink in the evening, and then curling up beside each other every night. They only had a stay, and now that stay was over.
"Bobby's calling some other hunters, cluing them in," Dean continued. "The media knows something weird is going on, but they don't know what any of it means." He worried at his lower lip with his teeth. "I guess that means it's up to us."
Castiel stomach sank at the words. No matter how hard he'd tried, Castiel was still miles behind Dean in terms of skill, and Castiel knew he was of little use. Absolutely nothing was up to the two of them - it was all dependent on Dean.
"Man, I figured that demons would just be wiping all the humans out," Dean said. "This Croatoan shit means we're going to be wasting each other. They're just gonna sit back and watch us kill each other off."
There was nothing Castiel could say at that. Instead, he just reached out and placed his hand over Dean's, and Dean lightly squeezed his own fingers in response, still staring straight ahead. "Cas, it's gonna be me. I'm gonna be the one killing them." The tiny trickle of comfort Castiel received from Dean's touch nearly turned cold.
Castiel swallowed, closing his eyes. "You... you should call Sam."
Dean's grip on Castiel's fingers tightened to a threshold of just below painful. "Bobby's already called him," he said, his voice making it clear he didn't want to have the same discussion again.
Castiel sighed. "When do we have to leave for Bobby's?"
Dean shrugged. "Soon. Not right this second, but maybe in a few hours."
"Good." Castiel leaned back on the bed and grabbed a half-smoked joint, one that he had rolled himself, from the ashtray on the nightstand. "One last time, before we have to stay sober until the end?"
A wry smile spread across Dean's face. "I totally turned you into a pothead, didn't I?"
"If that's how you'd prefer to see it. Do you want to?"
The smile turned genuine. "Why the hell not? It'll make the drive seem faster."
Castiel never looked away from Dean as he placed the joint between his lips. Too many swirling, human thoughts danced around in his mind, and he was only able to grasp one - the need to figure out exactly how he could help Dean without his old powers, with only the strength of a man.
He lit the joint and took a deep hit, filling his lungs as much as he could, before he leaned towards Dean. "Open your mouth," he whispered through clenched teeth. Dean didn't even hesitate, and Castiel sealed his lips over Dean's. He breathed into Dean, emptying himself, and he gave Dean everything he had.
Castiel felt Dean's hand move up and come to rest on the side of his neck, and fingers tangled in the hair on the back of his head. Dean held Castiel against himself even after Castiel's lungs were void of air, only tilting his head back to blow the smoke out up above them. "More," he whispered.
Without a moment of hesitation, and Castiel drew in another large hit from the joint, and when their lips touched again, Dean pulled the joint out of Castiel's hand as he accepted another long, lingering breath into his mouth. Somehow, without ever drawing away from Castiel's lips and without even looking, Dean managed to get the smoking joint back to the ashtray.
Dean again tilted his head back to release the hit Castiel gave him, and Castiel took the opportunity to speak. "I wish I could help." Dean's hand, still resting on Castiel's neck, gently pulled at him and crushed their mouths back together, effectively silencing anything else Castiel had to say. Dean's lips moved against his and Castiel found his own lips responding, imitating the movement without even thinking about it, and he once again marveled at just how soft Dean's mouth was.
Lips and tongues moved against each other, and Dean only paused to whisper into Castiel's mouth. "You do help, Cas. More than you know." He pressed harder against Castiel, and Castiel's hands tangled in the folds of Dean's shirt, desperate for more. "I can't do this without you."
For the few hours they had left before standing up to face the end of the world, they drank each other in as much as they could, and Castiel decided he found a new favorite part of being human.
Part Two