SPN FIC: Reflection of You - 4/10 - R - Dean/Castiel
Title: Reflection of You (4/10)
Rating: R
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
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 4: ~4,200 words/~50,000 words. See the first post for the full list of warnings and complete header.
Thanks: More ♥ than I can express to tracy_loo_who, extraonions, deancastiel chat peeps, and quovadimus83.
Summary: When an angel falls, it's impossible to know exactly where they'll crash.
Castiel doesn't need anyone to tell him what he's not, but that doesn't mean he knows what he is.
[ One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten ]
Castiel might have no longer been an angel, but he couldn't have been entirely human, either. He was mortal, but he also was a mortal who appeared to be intrinsically tied to the only angel who still walked the earth.
He didn't need confirmation of his vision. He knew without a doubt in his mind that what he'd seen had been real, and it was hours later before he stumbled out of his cabin, cleaned up and in a fresh change of clothes. He needed to find Dean and make him understand that what he'd seen was the truth.
Bobby was easier to find than Dean, and Bobby gave Castiel that validation he had no use for: the last time Bobby had heard from Sam had been the previous day, and Sam had been headed to Detroit.
From what Castiel remembered, Detroit was indeed a dirty city.
"You know, Dean asked me the same thing a few hours ago," Bobby commented just as Castiel turned to leave. "Then he left, peeling rubber on the way out. You two know something the rest of us should?"
Dean was the one who needed proof, and it seemed as if he'd gone out looking for it. If Castiel had any tears left, they would have started falling again. "I do," he said quietly. "Dean didn't want to know." He took another step towards the door before Bobby's voice stopped him.
"Don't think I won't come chasing after you, and don't be thinking I can't catch you with just the wheels." Castiel looked over his shoulder to see Bobby glaring at him with a stony expression. "You best be telling me what the hell is going on. Dean tore out of here without any explanation. Lotta people 'round here look to him. And to you, too," Bobby added, almost as an afterthought. "Won't be long before those people start asking questions."
"Then let them ask," Castiel said. "All they need to know is that they're one step closer to the end."
"Damn it, boy." Bobby's words were quiet and tight, and Castiel decided he probably would have preferred it if he'd been shouting. "What's with the cryptic answers? You're not an angel anymore, so stop pretending to be."
The feeling that immediately welled up inside Castiel was completely foreign. It made him unpleasantly hot, an urge he couldn't put his finger on started racing around inside of him, and he found himself crossing the room in three long strides. His fingers wrapped around Bobby's jacket and lifted him partially out of his wheelchair. "I know what I am not, Robert Singer," he hissed. "And I most certainly not a 'boy.'"
"No," Bobby agreed. "But you ain't no angel, either." He didn't look the least bit intimidated, and another bubble of rage burst inside Castiel at the sight. He was once feared and respected by humanity, and now humanity had the nerve to talk down to him, as if he was somehow less than them. Something from within whispered and urged him to lash out and hurt the man in front of him.
He dropped Bobby back down, sneering as he set a hand on either arm of the chair. He leaned over Bobby, who finally appeared to spot something in Castiel's eyes that he didn't like in the least. Bobby seemed to shrink backwards, and Castiel felt an odd sense of contentment in seeing the human finally back down. "You are not my equal," he whispered in Bobby's ear before spinning on his heel to leave.
As he slammed his way out of Bobby's cabin and back into his own, all of the rage he'd been holding vanished, and he felt his knees give out. He sank to the floor, curling in on himself. "I know I'm no longer an angel," he said to the empty room. "Perhaps if I still was, I could have stopped this."
* * *
When Dean didn't want to be found, he never was. They kept his disappearance quiet, not knowing what the ramifications of his absence would be.
Castiel refused to see anyone for prayer, and soon refused to see anyone at all. He ran over his last conversation with Dean in his mind over and over again, wondering if there had been a better way for him to break the news. He wished he hadn't been tripping when the vision had come, but also wondered if he would have seen it all if he'd been sober. He constantly imagined himself reaching out and stopping Dean before he went out the door. He pictured himself following Dean outside, climbing into the passenger seat of the Impala and going with Dean on whatever journey he'd left for.
All Castiel could do was imagine. He was mortal, powerless, and he only had one chance at every moment just like any ordinary human would.
Two weeks went by, and just as people around the camp started to ask questions, Dean finally returned in the middle of the night.
Castiel had been sleeping, sitting upright and slouched against the wall. He woke up to the feel of the mattress shifting and opened his eyes to see Dean crawling over to him. Castiel wanted to grab him, kiss him, scream and yell at him for disappearing for so long, but the expression on Dean's face made him instantly snap his mouth shut.
He could tell just from looking at him that Dean had found his proof.
Neither of them said a word as Dean crawled into Castiel's arms, wrapping himself around Castiel's stomach and burying his face in Castiel's shirt. They stayed locked together for hours, and Castiel mourned in silence for Sam, for Dean's loss, for himself, and found himself wishing he still had something to pray to.
"Cas, I tried to say 'yes,'" Dean finally spoke when the first rays of daylight began filtering through the flimsy curtains. "I tried. Michael didn't come."
Castiel closed his eyes, not wanting to face possibility of Dean giving up. "The... the angels left," he said quietly. "It makes sense that Michael would go with them."
Dean's breath hitched. "I know," he whispered. "I just... there's nothing I can do." He shifted, seemingly trying to bury himself further into Castiel. "There's so much I should have done." His voice was so quiet and muffled that Castiel could barely hear it. "I should have been with Sam. I should have known where Sam was. I've been so wrapped up in..."
"This isn't your fault, Dean." Castiel's entire body ached in sympathy for Dean. It was a new, strange feeling, and he hated it more than any other human feeling he'd felt so far. He wanted to give Dean everything he could, and he knew it still wouldn't be nearly enough.
"Sam's gone, and I can't do a damn thing to change it." Dean made a choking sound that Castiel had only heard come from him once before, and it took several seconds to realize that Dean was crying. "I've never felt this helpless in my entire fucking life, Cas." Castiel could only tighten his arms around Dean's shoulders, knowing that he was the last person on earth who should be trying to talk Dean out of feeling helpless.
They held each other until Dean finally fell asleep, and Castiel shifted and laid down next to Dean as silently as he could without disturbing him. The tears had long since dried from Dean's face, but Castiel reached out and brushed his fingertips along the side of Dean's cheek regardless. He tucked himself around Dean and stared sightlessly into their cabin.
Every soul in their tiny camp looked to either Dean or himself for guidance, and neither of them had the heart to tell anyone that they shouldn't.
* * *
The field was more than familiar, and Castiel felt as if he'd spent half of his time as a mortal standing in the middle of it. The fire had finally died down, and only a few skeletal pieces of a grass still smoldered. Everything else had burnt away, leaving just dirt mixed with the soot from the fire, which made the earth surrounding him appear so black that when Castiel looked into the distance he couldn't tell where the field ended and the horizon began. The burnt earth and the starless night sky blended together into one body, and Castiel felt as if he was trapped inside of some kind of apocalyptic bubble.
Castiel was familiar enough with the setting to realize he was dreaming. The fire died down right after Lucifer took Sam, and he'd been to the field enough times to know exactly what happened next.
"Brother." The voice he'd been expecting was only a whisper in his ears, but it sounded as loud as a gunshot in his mind.
"Lucifer," Castiel responded. He turned in a circle and couldn't see another soul in the field with him, but he knew he wasn't alone.
"Our family abandoned us. Even if you are mortal now, the two of us are the same."
Castiel narrowed his eyes. "We were never close, Lucifer, even before you betrayed us. Why are you reaching out to me now?"
"Because you are still my brother. I feel so badly for you, to see you fallen so far from what you once were."
"You have fallen farther than I ever will. I may only have the strength of a mortal -"
"You are stronger than any of the humans you reside with, and you know it. You may be cut off from the host but what remains of your grace is still connected to me."
Castiel didn't answer. They'd had this conversation in his head what seemed like a thousand times over, and he still hated hearing Lucifer tell him something he never wanted to acknowledge.
"We're all we have left, Castiel."
"You're wrong." Castiel shook his head. "You're the one that's been left alone. I still have -"
"Dean?"
Castiel turned around again even as he knew he still wouldn't see anything. "Yes. I have Dean."
"Are you sure about that?"
The field blinked out of existence, and Castiel sat upright in bed. He tried to catch his breath, and his heart felt as if it would beat out of his chest.
"Again?"
Castiel glanced down to see Dean frowning at him with a bleary expression. Castiel sighed, collapsing backwards onto his lumpy pillow. "Yes."
"You didn't take anything for it tonight?"
"No," Castiel said.
"Why didn't you? You know we have to leave at ass o'clock in the morning."
Castiel sighed. "That's exactly why I didn't take anything, Dean. I would be half asleep tomorrow if I took enough Valium to make sure I wouldn't dream, and I can't afford that tomorrow."
"Well, at this rate we'll both be half asleep," Dean said as he flipped onto his stomach and tucked his arms around his pillow. "We've got another couple of hours. Try not to wake me up again, okay?"
Castiel pressed his palms into his eyes and tried to ease the stinging behind his eyelids. "I'll try," he whispered.
* * *
Charleston appeared abandoned by the time they arrived, but Castiel still felt as if the city was watching them. He and Dean made their way through the broken buildings with a few others, and their group kept eyes in all directions, watching for any signs of life.
Castiel loved and hated going on recovery missions like this. He loved moving shoulder to shoulder with Dean, their adrenaline almost locking them into one being. They knew each others' moves and patterns almost as well as they knew their own, and they were able to fight side by side better than anyone else from Chitaqua. The only time Castiel felt more in sync with Dean was when they tumbled into bed together, when they knew where to move and when to breathe without ever having to say anything out loud.
They hadn't made love since Lucifer took Sam, and this was the first mission Castiel had been on since he'd had that awful vision, so Castiel found himself savoring the connection they had as they moved through the city.
He also hated it because it was likely that Charleston was beyond hope, and that anyone left in the city would be infected. They had to try, though, if only to ease their own consciences. The National Guard would be arriving the following day to lock the city down into quarantine, so this was the only chance they had to find any survivors. Once the government declared a city a hot zone, they were ordered to shoot anyone living on sight, without bothering to find out if they were infected or not.
"I'm startin' to think we're too late," Castiel heard someone mutter from behind him.
"We shouldn't give up on them," he heard Mark respond. This was only Mark's second mission, and Castiel silently admired his determination.
"Keep quiet," Dean hissed over his shoulder.
They continued soundlessly down the city streets, and even though the sun beat down on them overhead, Castiel felt cold.
They came upon a sign for the University of Charleston, and Dean suddenly raised his fist in a signal for everyone to freeze. Castiel raked his eyes across the intersection for a sign of whatever Dean had spotted.
He didn't have to look very hard. A woman came racing towards them from around the corner, crying out. Her face was muddy and tear-streaked, and she looked like she hadn't slept in days. "Please, please, please!" she said in between her gasping for breath. "Please get me out of here!" She lost her balance and fell to her knees in front of them.
Castiel's breath caught.
She looked almost normal. She was scared to death, but for the most part she looked like any other ordinary human being.
Except something definitely seemed off. Castiel blinked a few times, and then shot a sideways glance at Dean to make sure his vision was still clear before he finally directed his attention back on the girl, and whatever appeared off about her grew in strength the more he looked at her.
She almost looked out of focus, even though her surroundings still appeared clear as day to Castiel. But what disturbed Castiel the most was what made her appear out of focus - it appeared as if a thick, red mist clung to her skin, pulsing and moving with her.
Beside him, Dean had lowered his gun, but still had it pointed in her direction as he took a few steps towards her. "Where did you come from?" he asked. Castiel knew Dean was studying her, looking for any signs of an open wound, which was usually the only warning they had to go off of.
"I'm a student here," she said, still gasping as she tried to catch her breath. "I've been hiding in my dorm. I don't know where my roommate is, or my boyfriend, and I just want to call my mom and dad..." Her voice dissolved into tears.
Dean circled around her, still looking for blood. Castiel couldn't take his eyes off of her, and the red haze surrounding her was such an enormous contrast from the way Dean appeared that Castiel knew he wasn't suffering any sort of hallucination or a flashback from LSD or mushrooms. It wasn't right. She wasn't right.
"Okay, I'm gonna need you to stand up so we can get a good look at you," Dean said, and Castiel stiffened. Dean was too close to her, close enough for her to reach out and grab him, hurt him, and Dean wouldn't have enough time to react.
She sniffled, nodded and shifted her foot.
Castiel aimed, pulled the trigger, and put a bullet between her eyes.
Her body fell backwards as the sound of the shot bounced off of the building around them.
Dean blinked in shock but recovered quickly, and the look he directed towards Castiel was chilling. "What the fuck, Cas?"
Castiel let out the breath he'd been holding and lowered his gun. "She was infected," he said quietly.
"How the hell did you know that?"
Castiel inched forward and shoved at the girl's body with his boot, taking care not to let any of her blood touch him, and he flipped her over onto her stomach. On the back of her thigh, a deep gash went through her jeans and straight down to her skin. It was a clean cut, not too deep, which was a surefire sign of infection, especially with the blood smeared around it. Someone had held her down and bled into her.
Dean looked at the cut and back at Castiel. "You saw that?"
"I..." Castiel hesitated. He hadn't seen it; he just knew. "Yes."
Dean's expression as he stared at Castiel didn't give away any of his thoughts, and he finally looked back towards the rest of the group. "Let's move. We've gotta get out of this part of the city, since that shot might've attracted some attention." He shot one more look at Castiel before he waved everyone on. Castiel kept his gun drawn as he followed, but left it dropped at his side.
He didn't want anyone to see how much his hands shook.
* * *
"Every single one?" Bobby asked.
"Yes," Castiel said. "And when that large group of them came at us, it was like... the haze all melted together, like they were one body." He rubbed his eyes. "The only people I saw in the city without that red fog were all of us, and Malcolm." Malcolm was a veteran from Iraq and the sole uninfected person they found in Charleston.
The three of them sat in silence for a moment. "You have any idea why you can see it?" Bobby asked.
Castiel sighed, not wanting to answer but knowing he should. "It could be some remains of my grace. I was always able to see more than humans could when I was still an angel."
Dean leaned up against the wall of Bobby's cabin with his arms crossed and a deep frown on his lips, and his eyes were glued on Castiel. He hadn't said anything since he gave Bobby his initial report, and Castiel desperately wished he would.
Bobby leaned back in his chair and scratched his chin, considering Castiel with a thoughtful expression.
Castiel shifted. He knew why they were staring at him, but it still made him feel scrutinized and uncomfortable. He couldn't help but wonder if they were doubting their trust in him.
"Well," Bobby finally said. "If you can actually see that somebody's infected without having to look for the usual evidence, it sounds like it's gonna be more useful than anything else. The wards here won't stop Croats from getting through, so you'll make a good alarm system."
Castiel nodded, and tried not to let his relief show.
"Now get out of here," Bobby said, rolling his chair away from the table. "I'm tired, and I'm going back to sleep." He wheeled himself out of the tiny dining room and towards his bedroom. "You two should do the same."
Dean spun out of the cabin and left the door open behind him. Castiel followed, but by the time he got outside Dean was nowhere to be seen.
* * *
Castiel was usually dead to the world when he took Valium to prevent himself from dreaming, which was why he was so surprised that Dean managed to rouse him out of sleep when he came clattering into their cabin in the middle of the night. Castiel blinked, forcing his heavy head off of his pillow just in time to see Dean stumble and knock over the makeshift rack they used for their coats.
Dean was undoubtedly drunk.
"Dean?" Castiel said.
"How did this..." Dean couldn't finished what he wanted to say, and he stumbled again, running into the wall. He paused there, staring in the direction of their bed with unfocused eyes.
Castiel pushed himself out of bed. He hated being awake while Valium was in his sytem - it made him feel like gravity was pulling him down, and it took an incredible amount of effort just to make his limbs move the way he wanted them to go. "Dean, you should come to bed. You need sleep," he said, placing a hand on Dean's arm.
Dean shoved his arm away, which made him lose his balance again. His feet slid across the floor, and he managed to catch himself on the wall once more before he fell. He hunched over on his knees and his fingers grasped for something on the wall that wasn't there.
"You're going to have a hell of a hangover in the morning," Castiel said. He couldn't recall ever seeing Dean this drunk.
Dean laughed. "Can't believe the apocalypse..." he said, his words slurring together so badly that Castiel could barely tell what Dean was saying. "Can't believe the apocalypse made me so fuckin' domestic."
Castiel smiled and let out a laugh of his own. "You're the one who asked me to move in with you," he said.
Dean suddenly pushed himself upright and grabbed Castiel by the arms, and his momentum shoved them both back towards the bed. Castiel lost his balance and fell backwards onto the mattress, and he groaned in pain when Dean landed heavily on top of him. He forgot the pain as soon as Dean's lips covered his own, and he let out a very different type of moan when Dean rolled his hips down into Castiel's.
He and Dean hadn't been intimate together in such a long time that Castiel didn't care that he was sluggish on Valium and Dean was drunk out of his mind. When Dean shoved a hand down into Castiel's boxers and wrapped around his already hard cock, he realized just how much he had missed it.
"I've been living in the same place for almost half a year," Dean growled into Castiel's ear as he slid his hand up and down, squeezing just a bit when he got to the tip. "Never done that before." His movements were jerky and drunken, but Castiel didn't mind. It had been so long that every touch felt glorious, and he gasped with every stroke.
"And I'm living with the person I'm fucking," Dean continued. "Never done that before, either." Castiel couldn't respond to that even if he wanted to; Dean forced his tongue into Castiel's mouth again, moving against Castiel's tongue in rhythm with his hand.
Castiel suddenly jerked in pain instead of pleasure as Dean's hand tightened around Castiel so hard that it hurt. "And every night, the person I'm fucking dreams about the guy who took my brother away from me," he hissed against Castiel's lips.
"Dean..." Castiel groaned. He didn't know what Dean meant by that - his dreams about Lucifer were never intimate, and Sam had never even been mentioned.
Dean's hand loosened, and the pain quickly faded as Dean began stroking Castiel again, firmer and smoother than before. "You know he's the reason you can see the Croats," Dean said, his lip curled upwards, and Castiel absently noticed that Dean barely sounded drunk. "You've been dreaming about him since before he took Sam."
Even with how much Castiel hated every word coming out of Dean's mouth, he couldn't help but moan as Dean ran his thumb across the underside of his cock. It had been so long, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer.
"Why couldn't you tell he was closing in on Sam?" Castiel wanted to answer, but Dean abruptly slid down Castiel's body and yanked his boxers down with both hands. His lips wrapped around Castiel's cock, sliding down until his nose brushed up against Castiel's pelvic bone, and Castiel came with a choking cry, tears leaking out of his eyes.
Dean slid his mouth off, and he wrapped his arms around Castiel's waist and buried his face into Castiel's hip. "Why didn't you stop it?" he asked, his words again slurring together, and he sounded more broken than drunk.
"Dean..." Castiel's voice cracked, his throat raw from both his tears and having come so hard after such a long time. He threaded his fingers into Dean's hair and wished he knew what to say, and found he couldn't say anything because he knew Dean was right. His dreams were useless.
Even with him being able to see if someone was infected he was still useless, because Dean had still lost Sam. If only Castiel had dug deeper into his dreams when they started, perhaps he actually could have stopped Lucifer from taking Sam.
"Dean?" Castiel looked down, and saw that Dean's breathing had evened out, and his eyes were shut.
Dean had passed out.
Castiel wiped a hand across his eyes, and struggled against his heavy limbs to crawl out from underneath Dean before rolling both of them completely onto the bed as best he could. He pulled the sheets up around them both and placed a kiss on Dean's forehead. He was exhausted, and he knew that even with how much his mind was racing he wouldn't be able to fight the Valium in his system for very long.
His last conscious thought before he drifted off was that he would find some way to help, and he wouldn't let anything stand in his path. Nothing he could do would ever make up for Dean's loss, but Castiel found himself more determined than ever to make this world easier on him.
Part Five
Rating: R
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
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 4: ~4,200 words/~50,000 words. See the first post for the full list of warnings and complete header.
Thanks: More ♥ than I can express to tracy_loo_who, extraonions, deancastiel chat peeps, and quovadimus83.
Summary: When an angel falls, it's impossible to know exactly where they'll crash.
Castiel doesn't need anyone to tell him what he's not, but that doesn't mean he knows what he is.
[ One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten ]
Castiel might have no longer been an angel, but he couldn't have been entirely human, either. He was mortal, but he also was a mortal who appeared to be intrinsically tied to the only angel who still walked the earth.
He didn't need confirmation of his vision. He knew without a doubt in his mind that what he'd seen had been real, and it was hours later before he stumbled out of his cabin, cleaned up and in a fresh change of clothes. He needed to find Dean and make him understand that what he'd seen was the truth.
Bobby was easier to find than Dean, and Bobby gave Castiel that validation he had no use for: the last time Bobby had heard from Sam had been the previous day, and Sam had been headed to Detroit.
From what Castiel remembered, Detroit was indeed a dirty city.
"You know, Dean asked me the same thing a few hours ago," Bobby commented just as Castiel turned to leave. "Then he left, peeling rubber on the way out. You two know something the rest of us should?"
Dean was the one who needed proof, and it seemed as if he'd gone out looking for it. If Castiel had any tears left, they would have started falling again. "I do," he said quietly. "Dean didn't want to know." He took another step towards the door before Bobby's voice stopped him.
"Don't think I won't come chasing after you, and don't be thinking I can't catch you with just the wheels." Castiel looked over his shoulder to see Bobby glaring at him with a stony expression. "You best be telling me what the hell is going on. Dean tore out of here without any explanation. Lotta people 'round here look to him. And to you, too," Bobby added, almost as an afterthought. "Won't be long before those people start asking questions."
"Then let them ask," Castiel said. "All they need to know is that they're one step closer to the end."
"Damn it, boy." Bobby's words were quiet and tight, and Castiel decided he probably would have preferred it if he'd been shouting. "What's with the cryptic answers? You're not an angel anymore, so stop pretending to be."
The feeling that immediately welled up inside Castiel was completely foreign. It made him unpleasantly hot, an urge he couldn't put his finger on started racing around inside of him, and he found himself crossing the room in three long strides. His fingers wrapped around Bobby's jacket and lifted him partially out of his wheelchair. "I know what I am not, Robert Singer," he hissed. "And I most certainly not a 'boy.'"
"No," Bobby agreed. "But you ain't no angel, either." He didn't look the least bit intimidated, and another bubble of rage burst inside Castiel at the sight. He was once feared and respected by humanity, and now humanity had the nerve to talk down to him, as if he was somehow less than them. Something from within whispered and urged him to lash out and hurt the man in front of him.
He dropped Bobby back down, sneering as he set a hand on either arm of the chair. He leaned over Bobby, who finally appeared to spot something in Castiel's eyes that he didn't like in the least. Bobby seemed to shrink backwards, and Castiel felt an odd sense of contentment in seeing the human finally back down. "You are not my equal," he whispered in Bobby's ear before spinning on his heel to leave.
As he slammed his way out of Bobby's cabin and back into his own, all of the rage he'd been holding vanished, and he felt his knees give out. He sank to the floor, curling in on himself. "I know I'm no longer an angel," he said to the empty room. "Perhaps if I still was, I could have stopped this."
* * *
When Dean didn't want to be found, he never was. They kept his disappearance quiet, not knowing what the ramifications of his absence would be.
Castiel refused to see anyone for prayer, and soon refused to see anyone at all. He ran over his last conversation with Dean in his mind over and over again, wondering if there had been a better way for him to break the news. He wished he hadn't been tripping when the vision had come, but also wondered if he would have seen it all if he'd been sober. He constantly imagined himself reaching out and stopping Dean before he went out the door. He pictured himself following Dean outside, climbing into the passenger seat of the Impala and going with Dean on whatever journey he'd left for.
All Castiel could do was imagine. He was mortal, powerless, and he only had one chance at every moment just like any ordinary human would.
Two weeks went by, and just as people around the camp started to ask questions, Dean finally returned in the middle of the night.
Castiel had been sleeping, sitting upright and slouched against the wall. He woke up to the feel of the mattress shifting and opened his eyes to see Dean crawling over to him. Castiel wanted to grab him, kiss him, scream and yell at him for disappearing for so long, but the expression on Dean's face made him instantly snap his mouth shut.
He could tell just from looking at him that Dean had found his proof.
Neither of them said a word as Dean crawled into Castiel's arms, wrapping himself around Castiel's stomach and burying his face in Castiel's shirt. They stayed locked together for hours, and Castiel mourned in silence for Sam, for Dean's loss, for himself, and found himself wishing he still had something to pray to.
"Cas, I tried to say 'yes,'" Dean finally spoke when the first rays of daylight began filtering through the flimsy curtains. "I tried. Michael didn't come."
Castiel closed his eyes, not wanting to face possibility of Dean giving up. "The... the angels left," he said quietly. "It makes sense that Michael would go with them."
Dean's breath hitched. "I know," he whispered. "I just... there's nothing I can do." He shifted, seemingly trying to bury himself further into Castiel. "There's so much I should have done." His voice was so quiet and muffled that Castiel could barely hear it. "I should have been with Sam. I should have known where Sam was. I've been so wrapped up in..."
"This isn't your fault, Dean." Castiel's entire body ached in sympathy for Dean. It was a new, strange feeling, and he hated it more than any other human feeling he'd felt so far. He wanted to give Dean everything he could, and he knew it still wouldn't be nearly enough.
"Sam's gone, and I can't do a damn thing to change it." Dean made a choking sound that Castiel had only heard come from him once before, and it took several seconds to realize that Dean was crying. "I've never felt this helpless in my entire fucking life, Cas." Castiel could only tighten his arms around Dean's shoulders, knowing that he was the last person on earth who should be trying to talk Dean out of feeling helpless.
They held each other until Dean finally fell asleep, and Castiel shifted and laid down next to Dean as silently as he could without disturbing him. The tears had long since dried from Dean's face, but Castiel reached out and brushed his fingertips along the side of Dean's cheek regardless. He tucked himself around Dean and stared sightlessly into their cabin.
Every soul in their tiny camp looked to either Dean or himself for guidance, and neither of them had the heart to tell anyone that they shouldn't.
* * *
The field was more than familiar, and Castiel felt as if he'd spent half of his time as a mortal standing in the middle of it. The fire had finally died down, and only a few skeletal pieces of a grass still smoldered. Everything else had burnt away, leaving just dirt mixed with the soot from the fire, which made the earth surrounding him appear so black that when Castiel looked into the distance he couldn't tell where the field ended and the horizon began. The burnt earth and the starless night sky blended together into one body, and Castiel felt as if he was trapped inside of some kind of apocalyptic bubble.
Castiel was familiar enough with the setting to realize he was dreaming. The fire died down right after Lucifer took Sam, and he'd been to the field enough times to know exactly what happened next.
"Brother." The voice he'd been expecting was only a whisper in his ears, but it sounded as loud as a gunshot in his mind.
"Lucifer," Castiel responded. He turned in a circle and couldn't see another soul in the field with him, but he knew he wasn't alone.
"Our family abandoned us. Even if you are mortal now, the two of us are the same."
Castiel narrowed his eyes. "We were never close, Lucifer, even before you betrayed us. Why are you reaching out to me now?"
"Because you are still my brother. I feel so badly for you, to see you fallen so far from what you once were."
"You have fallen farther than I ever will. I may only have the strength of a mortal -"
"You are stronger than any of the humans you reside with, and you know it. You may be cut off from the host but what remains of your grace is still connected to me."
Castiel didn't answer. They'd had this conversation in his head what seemed like a thousand times over, and he still hated hearing Lucifer tell him something he never wanted to acknowledge.
"We're all we have left, Castiel."
"You're wrong." Castiel shook his head. "You're the one that's been left alone. I still have -"
"Dean?"
Castiel turned around again even as he knew he still wouldn't see anything. "Yes. I have Dean."
"Are you sure about that?"
The field blinked out of existence, and Castiel sat upright in bed. He tried to catch his breath, and his heart felt as if it would beat out of his chest.
"Again?"
Castiel glanced down to see Dean frowning at him with a bleary expression. Castiel sighed, collapsing backwards onto his lumpy pillow. "Yes."
"You didn't take anything for it tonight?"
"No," Castiel said.
"Why didn't you? You know we have to leave at ass o'clock in the morning."
Castiel sighed. "That's exactly why I didn't take anything, Dean. I would be half asleep tomorrow if I took enough Valium to make sure I wouldn't dream, and I can't afford that tomorrow."
"Well, at this rate we'll both be half asleep," Dean said as he flipped onto his stomach and tucked his arms around his pillow. "We've got another couple of hours. Try not to wake me up again, okay?"
Castiel pressed his palms into his eyes and tried to ease the stinging behind his eyelids. "I'll try," he whispered.
* * *
Charleston appeared abandoned by the time they arrived, but Castiel still felt as if the city was watching them. He and Dean made their way through the broken buildings with a few others, and their group kept eyes in all directions, watching for any signs of life.
Castiel loved and hated going on recovery missions like this. He loved moving shoulder to shoulder with Dean, their adrenaline almost locking them into one being. They knew each others' moves and patterns almost as well as they knew their own, and they were able to fight side by side better than anyone else from Chitaqua. The only time Castiel felt more in sync with Dean was when they tumbled into bed together, when they knew where to move and when to breathe without ever having to say anything out loud.
They hadn't made love since Lucifer took Sam, and this was the first mission Castiel had been on since he'd had that awful vision, so Castiel found himself savoring the connection they had as they moved through the city.
He also hated it because it was likely that Charleston was beyond hope, and that anyone left in the city would be infected. They had to try, though, if only to ease their own consciences. The National Guard would be arriving the following day to lock the city down into quarantine, so this was the only chance they had to find any survivors. Once the government declared a city a hot zone, they were ordered to shoot anyone living on sight, without bothering to find out if they were infected or not.
"I'm startin' to think we're too late," Castiel heard someone mutter from behind him.
"We shouldn't give up on them," he heard Mark respond. This was only Mark's second mission, and Castiel silently admired his determination.
"Keep quiet," Dean hissed over his shoulder.
They continued soundlessly down the city streets, and even though the sun beat down on them overhead, Castiel felt cold.
They came upon a sign for the University of Charleston, and Dean suddenly raised his fist in a signal for everyone to freeze. Castiel raked his eyes across the intersection for a sign of whatever Dean had spotted.
He didn't have to look very hard. A woman came racing towards them from around the corner, crying out. Her face was muddy and tear-streaked, and she looked like she hadn't slept in days. "Please, please, please!" she said in between her gasping for breath. "Please get me out of here!" She lost her balance and fell to her knees in front of them.
Castiel's breath caught.
She looked almost normal. She was scared to death, but for the most part she looked like any other ordinary human being.
Except something definitely seemed off. Castiel blinked a few times, and then shot a sideways glance at Dean to make sure his vision was still clear before he finally directed his attention back on the girl, and whatever appeared off about her grew in strength the more he looked at her.
She almost looked out of focus, even though her surroundings still appeared clear as day to Castiel. But what disturbed Castiel the most was what made her appear out of focus - it appeared as if a thick, red mist clung to her skin, pulsing and moving with her.
Beside him, Dean had lowered his gun, but still had it pointed in her direction as he took a few steps towards her. "Where did you come from?" he asked. Castiel knew Dean was studying her, looking for any signs of an open wound, which was usually the only warning they had to go off of.
"I'm a student here," she said, still gasping as she tried to catch her breath. "I've been hiding in my dorm. I don't know where my roommate is, or my boyfriend, and I just want to call my mom and dad..." Her voice dissolved into tears.
Dean circled around her, still looking for blood. Castiel couldn't take his eyes off of her, and the red haze surrounding her was such an enormous contrast from the way Dean appeared that Castiel knew he wasn't suffering any sort of hallucination or a flashback from LSD or mushrooms. It wasn't right. She wasn't right.
"Okay, I'm gonna need you to stand up so we can get a good look at you," Dean said, and Castiel stiffened. Dean was too close to her, close enough for her to reach out and grab him, hurt him, and Dean wouldn't have enough time to react.
She sniffled, nodded and shifted her foot.
Castiel aimed, pulled the trigger, and put a bullet between her eyes.
Her body fell backwards as the sound of the shot bounced off of the building around them.
Dean blinked in shock but recovered quickly, and the look he directed towards Castiel was chilling. "What the fuck, Cas?"
Castiel let out the breath he'd been holding and lowered his gun. "She was infected," he said quietly.
"How the hell did you know that?"
Castiel inched forward and shoved at the girl's body with his boot, taking care not to let any of her blood touch him, and he flipped her over onto her stomach. On the back of her thigh, a deep gash went through her jeans and straight down to her skin. It was a clean cut, not too deep, which was a surefire sign of infection, especially with the blood smeared around it. Someone had held her down and bled into her.
Dean looked at the cut and back at Castiel. "You saw that?"
"I..." Castiel hesitated. He hadn't seen it; he just knew. "Yes."
Dean's expression as he stared at Castiel didn't give away any of his thoughts, and he finally looked back towards the rest of the group. "Let's move. We've gotta get out of this part of the city, since that shot might've attracted some attention." He shot one more look at Castiel before he waved everyone on. Castiel kept his gun drawn as he followed, but left it dropped at his side.
He didn't want anyone to see how much his hands shook.
* * *
"Every single one?" Bobby asked.
"Yes," Castiel said. "And when that large group of them came at us, it was like... the haze all melted together, like they were one body." He rubbed his eyes. "The only people I saw in the city without that red fog were all of us, and Malcolm." Malcolm was a veteran from Iraq and the sole uninfected person they found in Charleston.
The three of them sat in silence for a moment. "You have any idea why you can see it?" Bobby asked.
Castiel sighed, not wanting to answer but knowing he should. "It could be some remains of my grace. I was always able to see more than humans could when I was still an angel."
Dean leaned up against the wall of Bobby's cabin with his arms crossed and a deep frown on his lips, and his eyes were glued on Castiel. He hadn't said anything since he gave Bobby his initial report, and Castiel desperately wished he would.
Bobby leaned back in his chair and scratched his chin, considering Castiel with a thoughtful expression.
Castiel shifted. He knew why they were staring at him, but it still made him feel scrutinized and uncomfortable. He couldn't help but wonder if they were doubting their trust in him.
"Well," Bobby finally said. "If you can actually see that somebody's infected without having to look for the usual evidence, it sounds like it's gonna be more useful than anything else. The wards here won't stop Croats from getting through, so you'll make a good alarm system."
Castiel nodded, and tried not to let his relief show.
"Now get out of here," Bobby said, rolling his chair away from the table. "I'm tired, and I'm going back to sleep." He wheeled himself out of the tiny dining room and towards his bedroom. "You two should do the same."
Dean spun out of the cabin and left the door open behind him. Castiel followed, but by the time he got outside Dean was nowhere to be seen.
* * *
Castiel was usually dead to the world when he took Valium to prevent himself from dreaming, which was why he was so surprised that Dean managed to rouse him out of sleep when he came clattering into their cabin in the middle of the night. Castiel blinked, forcing his heavy head off of his pillow just in time to see Dean stumble and knock over the makeshift rack they used for their coats.
Dean was undoubtedly drunk.
"Dean?" Castiel said.
"How did this..." Dean couldn't finished what he wanted to say, and he stumbled again, running into the wall. He paused there, staring in the direction of their bed with unfocused eyes.
Castiel pushed himself out of bed. He hated being awake while Valium was in his sytem - it made him feel like gravity was pulling him down, and it took an incredible amount of effort just to make his limbs move the way he wanted them to go. "Dean, you should come to bed. You need sleep," he said, placing a hand on Dean's arm.
Dean shoved his arm away, which made him lose his balance again. His feet slid across the floor, and he managed to catch himself on the wall once more before he fell. He hunched over on his knees and his fingers grasped for something on the wall that wasn't there.
"You're going to have a hell of a hangover in the morning," Castiel said. He couldn't recall ever seeing Dean this drunk.
Dean laughed. "Can't believe the apocalypse..." he said, his words slurring together so badly that Castiel could barely tell what Dean was saying. "Can't believe the apocalypse made me so fuckin' domestic."
Castiel smiled and let out a laugh of his own. "You're the one who asked me to move in with you," he said.
Dean suddenly pushed himself upright and grabbed Castiel by the arms, and his momentum shoved them both back towards the bed. Castiel lost his balance and fell backwards onto the mattress, and he groaned in pain when Dean landed heavily on top of him. He forgot the pain as soon as Dean's lips covered his own, and he let out a very different type of moan when Dean rolled his hips down into Castiel's.
He and Dean hadn't been intimate together in such a long time that Castiel didn't care that he was sluggish on Valium and Dean was drunk out of his mind. When Dean shoved a hand down into Castiel's boxers and wrapped around his already hard cock, he realized just how much he had missed it.
"I've been living in the same place for almost half a year," Dean growled into Castiel's ear as he slid his hand up and down, squeezing just a bit when he got to the tip. "Never done that before." His movements were jerky and drunken, but Castiel didn't mind. It had been so long that every touch felt glorious, and he gasped with every stroke.
"And I'm living with the person I'm fucking," Dean continued. "Never done that before, either." Castiel couldn't respond to that even if he wanted to; Dean forced his tongue into Castiel's mouth again, moving against Castiel's tongue in rhythm with his hand.
Castiel suddenly jerked in pain instead of pleasure as Dean's hand tightened around Castiel so hard that it hurt. "And every night, the person I'm fucking dreams about the guy who took my brother away from me," he hissed against Castiel's lips.
"Dean..." Castiel groaned. He didn't know what Dean meant by that - his dreams about Lucifer were never intimate, and Sam had never even been mentioned.
Dean's hand loosened, and the pain quickly faded as Dean began stroking Castiel again, firmer and smoother than before. "You know he's the reason you can see the Croats," Dean said, his lip curled upwards, and Castiel absently noticed that Dean barely sounded drunk. "You've been dreaming about him since before he took Sam."
Even with how much Castiel hated every word coming out of Dean's mouth, he couldn't help but moan as Dean ran his thumb across the underside of his cock. It had been so long, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer.
"Why couldn't you tell he was closing in on Sam?" Castiel wanted to answer, but Dean abruptly slid down Castiel's body and yanked his boxers down with both hands. His lips wrapped around Castiel's cock, sliding down until his nose brushed up against Castiel's pelvic bone, and Castiel came with a choking cry, tears leaking out of his eyes.
Dean slid his mouth off, and he wrapped his arms around Castiel's waist and buried his face into Castiel's hip. "Why didn't you stop it?" he asked, his words again slurring together, and he sounded more broken than drunk.
"Dean..." Castiel's voice cracked, his throat raw from both his tears and having come so hard after such a long time. He threaded his fingers into Dean's hair and wished he knew what to say, and found he couldn't say anything because he knew Dean was right. His dreams were useless.
Even with him being able to see if someone was infected he was still useless, because Dean had still lost Sam. If only Castiel had dug deeper into his dreams when they started, perhaps he actually could have stopped Lucifer from taking Sam.
"Dean?" Castiel looked down, and saw that Dean's breathing had evened out, and his eyes were shut.
Dean had passed out.
Castiel wiped a hand across his eyes, and struggled against his heavy limbs to crawl out from underneath Dean before rolling both of them completely onto the bed as best he could. He pulled the sheets up around them both and placed a kiss on Dean's forehead. He was exhausted, and he knew that even with how much his mind was racing he wouldn't be able to fight the Valium in his system for very long.
His last conscious thought before he drifted off was that he would find some way to help, and he wouldn't let anything stand in his path. Nothing he could do would ever make up for Dean's loss, but Castiel found himself more determined than ever to make this world easier on him.
Part Five