Dean/Cas Mini-Bang: feel the tide (you and i now) (4/4)
They leave town that night. They’ve got enough information on the leviathans to know they’re not ready yet.
The days go on as they always did, moving from city to city and killing things as they could.
Each day, Cas thinks it’ll all be gone, but the want remains. A thought will flicker through his mind, unbidden.
Maybe if you fix this, you can stay. Maybe he’ll want to be with you. Don’t leave his side.
He doesn’t understand the point of it all. He tries to keep it out. They aren’t the thoughts of a being like him, but rather those of a mortal coveting someone just beyond their reach.
How is that any different? his mind will ask sometimes.
He watches Dean the same way he used to, or thinks he does. It doesn’t feel the same, but maybe it’s because he has been examining those feelings too hard. He stands what he realizes is too close, but Dean doesn’t say anything. It must be what’s normal for them.
Most of the time, he can forget. He focuses on the task at hand, on destroying what he helped bring into this world. He protects the Winchesters from any harm that may befall them--anything he can prevent. As long as there’s a monster lunging for their throats, Cas doesn’t need to think, he can work on instinct--distract himself from the knowledge that even his instinct is biased.
Dean looks at him when they’re alone and he asks, “Do you still remember?”
It’s a question Castiel doesn’t know how to feel about, but he doesn’t lie to Dean, doesn’t want to, not after the horrors that befell him when he did, replying, “Somewhat.”
If Dean presses further, he doesn’t respond, doesn’t know how to. He knows Dean doesn’t want to hear, “I remember being in love with you.”
~
Sam is quiet when Dean leaves, like he doesn’t know what to say to Cas--or, more likely, he doesn’t want to say anything to him.
Cas doesn’t know if an apology will help. He tries a few times, but each is met with silence. He’s vaguely aware of Sam having stabbed him in the back, but he doesn’t hold it against him. He had been out of control and if Sam had killed him then, the leviathans would have likely been wiped away with him.
It was also another strange reminder that God was on his side. His Father wanted him alive.
It could’ve been because Cas alone--the souls of purgatory not included--could have done what his brothers and sisters had failed to: tear the world to pieces, humanity with it.
~
The black goo is still spurting from the neck of the leviathan, Castiel having sliced with precision. The head rolls on the floor next to Dean, who pushes himself up. Castiel offers him a hand and Dean takes it.
It feels like something close to trust.
“Thanks,” Sam mumbles, clearly uncomfortable in saying so. He doesn’t want Dean to go back to that dark place he’d been in for so long there. Cas and Bobby both gone had left Dean almost heartless; it was only after Castiel’s return that Dean seemed human again himself. Sam likes it better this way, even if he still has issues with the angel.
He knows better than anyone that sometimes you make terrible decisions, and it takes some support--a chance, really--to make up for your mistakes. Hadn’t he caused nearly the same amount of death and destruction Cas had?
Dean and Castiel’s hands linger together a second longer than necessary and Sam looks away so Dean won’t feel the need to get defensive. Cas was Dean’s best friend for a long time. It didn’t matter if Dean would admit to it or not. He doesn’t mention that to Dean, only that he thinks Dean shouldn’t change his mind on Castiel based on Sam’s own misgivings.
Sam grabs the head before it can attempt its way back to the body.
~
Dean still gets angry at him, usually over the leviathans, but occasionally it's his apathy. The thing is, Cas has been doing his best to fake it, to disguise the amount he feels lately.
He's still slowly losing that humanity he'd had. He thought it would be gone already, instantly. He thought he could forget how to feel like that, to imagine. So much of it had left him when he placed his hand on the bark of that ash tree, but his proximity to Sam and Dean made him falter. He hadn't realized how much of that was already a part of him after so much time on the earth, with the poor, unfortunate souls who had chosen Team Free Will in the now averted apocalypse.
The apocalypse... It hadn't come to fruition. Raphael was dead. Most of his brothers and sisters were dead. God was still nowhere to be found.
This was no apocalypse. After all, the leviathans weren't actively trying to destroy the earth, despite the amount of carnage they wouldn’t mind ignoring in their takeover. They wanted to consume it, using it as their feeding grounds as they proved themselves superior--higher on the food chain--than humankind.
Castiel doesn't know if he still wishes to be one of them, human. He probably would if he didn't think it would make him feel so powerless now, so unable to protect, to help. Even if he did manage to fall again, what would prevent him from fucking up as terribly as he had before? Last time, it hadn't been much of a choice, but a course for survival.
That Dean had come to him... For him. It didn't help him in getting rid of that intense whatever it was he felt for Dean. Neither did Dean treating him as a friend again, even if Sam was still somewhat wary of him. He would've expected that to affect what Dean thought of him, that he'd hate him if his brother couldn't even pretend to trust him, and yet things are going well between them.
He can't explain why Dean would have come for him, would've let himself be pulled by his grace and flung into a place so filled with heartache for him. What waited for him in Lawrence was only the feeling that he’d lost everything, of lives he couldn’t save, of family being ripped away from him over and over again. How John and Mary Winchester found Cas was simply an added bonus, but maybe he’d done it on purpose. If Cas was falling, he would want a Winchester to find him, although he doubts Sam and Dean’s parents were his intent.
Ending up in Kansas, thirty years ago, didn’t seem like an idea that came from someone with much ability to think sense.
But Dean was there.
~
Dean looks at Cas hard, setting his useless gun on the table. "You ready for this?”
Castiel doesn’t answer, doesn’t care because he’s stepping forward, closing the distance between them and pressing his lips to Dean’s. It’s just a simple, chaste kiss. It’s not like the ones he can remember imagining, it’s real. He’s done it now and he can’t take it back, doesn’t want to. He doesn’t give Dean the chance to reciprocate. He pulls back immediately, “I’m sorry.”
Dean’s eyes are wide and he stares at Castiel, fingers coming up to feel his lips. He can feel the ghost of contact on them, telling him it wasn’t his imagination. “What was-- What?” he finally asks, shocked.
Cas looks sheepish, meek almost for a second before his confidence rises and he manages to let his unearthly blue eyes meet the green of the hunter’s. “You came for me,” he says. It’s not everything, it doesn’t give away the feelings he constantly struggles with, the real reason he did it, but it is the catalyst for all that has happened, brought them back together.
Dean blinks at him, checking the door, knowing Sam could be back any minute--or in a couple of hours. “Yeah,” he says, and finally allows his hand to come up to Castiel’s jaw, to tip his head up perfectly to meet Dean’s. “You know what, Cas?” he whispers harshly, barely controlling the urge to take. There’s no need for an answer, he kisses him, lips soft, giving under the pressure of his own, intensifying. Dean slides his tongue along Castiel’s bottom lip and the angel opens his mouth eagerly, ready to explore whatever he could with Dean. Their tongues slide against each other, teeth clacking once or twice in their haste.
Castiel grips Dean’s arms, careful not to bruise them or break them. He doesn’t want it to end.
Dean’s hand slides from the angel’s jaw to the nape of his neck, angling him to sync up even more completely with their kiss. His other slips beneath the trench coat, settling on Castiel’s side. He stops the kiss a moment later, a bit breathless, “Coulda had better timing.”
“I thought this would give you the perfect opportunity to give me your ‘last night on earth’ speech,” Castiel retorts, a flush creeping up his cheeks, heating his skin all over.
Dean balks, “How do you even know--” He rethinks that question. Cas has probably seen him do it a dozen times, with just as numerous women. There are variations, of course, for those that aren’t in the know, but it’s easy enough to make up some kind of excuse, easy to turn on the charm for a night and reap its rewards. He distances his face enough for their eyes to focus on one another’s. Cas looks different than Dean has ever seen him, more human again. He realizes that it’s because that is exactly what Cas is allowing himself to be--soft, pliable, open to suggestion. He smirks, but the want in him turns it into something more dangerous, more heated, “What do you say, Cas? Last night on earth. You, me, certain death?”
Castiel nods. He has let himself forget not his human feelings now, but the angel. He can pretend to be human, to feel those things, to allow them to be alright…because he wants this more than he thought possible. Dean might not be in love with him, but Cas doesn’t need to think about that either. In fact, he could pretend Dean felt the same. It was possible it would be their last night on earth--or it could be the beginning of something else. They could win and he could give up his grace, rip it out of himself all over again and hope to live out his days with Dean. It was amazing how such a silly notion could be so all-encompassing to something like him, caught in this moment.
They’re kissing again and it’s sloppy as Dean pushes off his trench coat, the layers underneath it, pressing his hands to the hot flesh he finds there. It’s different than all the women he’s been with, to touch hard muscle and flat pectorals. His fingers slide over the smooth skin and he can remember carving into it, the razor slicing too easily as he refused to look the angel in the eye. The sigil worked and Cas could’ve been dead, but better that than to have to watch Dean fail.
That had struck something in him, that Castiel thought he had given up, yet he still thrust his life into Dean’s hands, that he’d still work for their cause.
He mouths down Castiel’s neck, hands making quick work of his belt and fly. He doesn’t let himself freak out over it, think too hard about it. Cas started it and Dean would end it--and all of the meanings that could imply. His hand slips beneath the fabric of Castiel’s slacks, surprised in the best of ways to find Cas hard beneath that last flimsy layer of boxers. He groans, biting into Castiel’s shoulder as the angel makes little mewls and gasps Dean wouldn’t have imagined coming from him in his wildest fantasy. He palms Castiel’s cock through the boxers before sliding them down his hips with everything else.
Cas is trying to take off Dean’s clothes, but he’s only gotten him down to a t-shirt and boxers when the hunter has him naked.
Dean presses him to the wall, breathing hot against his neck, “What do you want me to do?” It isn’t fair the way he asks the question, his hips creating a friction between their cocks, easy to feel the heat past his boxers. He rocks them again and Cas moans, clutching at Dean’s shoulders.
“Fuck me,” Cas says, voice rougher, desperate. As an afterthought, he adds, “If you want.” He watches the expression on Dean’s face, their erections still pressed together. He reaches down and begins to push until it’s skin against skin. He moves, slipping his hand between them to grip and--
“Ahhh,” Dean groans, smiling. “I do-- want this,” he stutters. “Wouldn’t let myself for a long time, but…” The hunter had tried not to allow himself those feelings about Cas. Cas wasn’t human, Cas was working for the other side, Cas had betrayed him, Cas had done everything for him--that, that was too much. Under the surface, it’s all there, coming forward to meet him with his actions, chastising him for every missed opportunity.
Cas lets his forehead fall against Dean’s shoulder, “Do it, Dean. Please. I want you to. Just…” His voice drops down to a whisper, serious and forlorn, “Love you.” When he says it now, he knows it’s true. It’s not a lie he’d told himself when he was scared of all that he was losing, but real emotion. He had loved Dean for longer than he had even known he was on Dean’s side. There was something about him that had fundamentally changed Castiel from a being loyal to his Father and his superiors, to being loyal to Dean, to believing in a cause he was supposed to fight against.
He wasn’t going to say it, didn’t mean for it to slip out like that, but Dean’s cock moving along the length of his own was distracting. He had already decided that thinking clearly was not his idea for the night, it would never lead to resolution for the warring ideologies in his head. He could embrace this, embrace losing himself to humanity, at least long enough to find out what it could be like.
Dean stops, shaking a little, before he pulls away completely. “Get on the bed,” he says, and it sounds like there’s something he can’t quite keep down, a surge of emotion that chokes him. He grabs the lube from his bag, strips his t-shirt off, and settles between Castiel’s thighs. “It’s gonna hurt,” he says, but he doesn’t hesitate, slicking his fingers and pushing one in.
“I don’t care,” Castiel tells him, and means it. He’s lost in the world of human sensation, almost as if he has the power to simply will away all of his angelic bullshit and be like he was, like Dean has always been. He writhes as Dean stretches him. It’s strange, but he’s too intent, too caught up in his desire, to feel anything but pleasure and adrenaline. “Dean,” he says, like it’s the most important word he knows--and it is. “Dean, please. Want you,” however I can have you, his mind supplies, but with another whimper, he feels Dean pull his hand away.
Dean lines himself up, hoping he’s done enough to alleviate the tension, that he isn’t going to hurt him. Dean may be intimately familiar with violence, but he’s no sadist. He pushes Castiel’s knees up and apart and the angel watches him with heavy-lidded eyes as he slides into him. It’s tight, tighter than anything he’s ever felt.
Castiel’s eyes go wide before it’s too much and his head lolls back. His hips, however, have no qualms responding to Dean, sinking his body down to meet the hunter’s.
Dean wants him to look at him, to assure him he hasn’t done something wrong. He shifts and Castiel groans. “What do you want me to do?” he says again, body hovering over Castiel’s as if he might break him.
Castiel lifts his head, purposefully thrusting back against Dean’s cock. “Fuck me, Dean.”
Dean lets out a chuckle, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s chest, stuttering over his collarbone, and begins to move. He slides himself out only to pound in, harder, and Castiel responds to it so well, he does it again. They move together like they were meant to and, when he angles himself just a little bit more, he makes Cas keen.
“Do that again,” Castiel tries to order, but it’s too breathy, too wild.
Dean does, and Castiel’s fingers dig into his arms, scrabble until they find his back, clutch him. “Touch yourself,” Dean tells him, knowing he’s not going to last long, not with this wreck of angel beneath him. He kisses him, long and slow, while he pushes in again, beginning to find that he knows what he’s doing.
Cas trembles, but slides his hand between them, wrapping his fingers around his cock and stroking with Dean’s rhythm. “M-more,” he says, mumbling into Dean’s mouth. It’s no longer even a kiss, he doesn’t have enough control for that.
Dean knows that it will ruin him as quickly as it does Castiel, but he complies, “This what you want?” He moves faster, sliding in deep only to pull out. Each time he slams his cock back in, Castiel lets out a sound like a sob. He knows he’s making noises, too--he must be--but they’re nothing compared to the way Cas is moaning and gasping and whimpering and keening and crying out. He’s too close, he can’t stop now, can’t slow. Castiel’s hand brushes against his stomach with each pull, tensing and falling into a staccato rhythm until his eyes shut tight and he chants Dean’s name, burying his face into Dean’s throat.
Dean feels it, the hot, slick mess that shoots onto his stomach, the way Castiel’s whole body spasms, clenching and unclenching and, “Oh, fuck.” His hips move of their own accord, pumping into Cas through his orgasm, filling him up in that filthy, too intimate way he never thought he would.
He lays down beside him. His actions only now hit his rational brain. Not only did he fuck Cas, but…Cas had never done that before. Their adventure to relieve him of his virginity previously had led to some very drunken, very shameful fantasies for Dean of helping out a friend, but this was not the way any of them had gone.
“Thank you,” Cas murmurs.
Dean’s brows furrow and he looks over at Cas, an expanse of skin greeting him. He wonders if it’s still okay to touch. “For what?” he says, his hands wander over carefully, resting on Castiel’s stomach. He can feel him breathing heavily, feel it taper off to something slower, shallower.
Cas stares up at the ceiling, past it, to the sky and the ocean of stars above them. He shifts, his hand moving to cover Dean’s, whose thumb latches around it, rubbing small circles into the skin. He looks at their hands and smiles sadly, “For letting me forget.” For letting me pretend.
Angels didn’t have free will, didn’t understand it. They couldn’t just suddenly stop following orders. Sure, there were those that did, that snapped and disappeared from the eyes of Heaven--like Gabriel and Balthazar--but that wasn’t what happened. Anna had tried only to be hunted, tortured, twisted until she could follow the will of Heaven like she was meant to. Castiel shouldn’t be able to decide he wants to do this and have it just…happen. He should have to choose to cut all ties, to rip out his grace. He hadn’t started out the most powerful of angels, but now he was one of the few remaining. Was there more leniency now, without the heavenly host in order?
“Forget what?” Dean murmurs. He’s tired. He’s always tired, but it never stops him anymore, when the weight of the world is such a constant.
“It doesn’t matter,” Cas tells him. “But, I mean it, Dean, thank you.” He wonders if he can stop again, actually become the unfeeling being he had once had the potential to be after what’s happened.
“No,” Dean says, feeling more alert. “I want to know. I did just take your virginity, I figure that gives me the right to ask questions.” His fingers curl into Castiel’s and he turns to face him, uncaring of the mess.
Cas sighs, but he doesn’t want to keep Dean from what he has asked to know, “You saw me when I was human.” He pauses, feels Dean twitch next to him before going very still. “It was different. I could-- I didn’t have to think about how I felt, how I should feel, not like I do now. I wanted to be like that again. To forget what I am.” He closes his eyes. “To let myself pretend I was like you, could be with you, deserving of you. What you have, Dean… It’s important.”
Dean feels leaden, heavy and unable to do anything about it. He feels this way most mornings, afraid of what’s to come. This is something else. Dean had taken advantage of Castiel’s loyalty over and over again in the past. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but it was something he had certainly done. To hear that Cas didn’t think himself worthy, however, was different. Dean may have held resentments against Cas, but the guy was still an angel of the lord. He hadn’t prayed like Sam had, hadn’t thought there was anything out there that might be looking out for them--and, those days, in comparison, were the easy times. He wasn’t worth it--wasn’t worth anything, really. He’d basically followed orders his entire life and now he was praised for the decisions he made. An angel believed in him. He looks at him and scoffs, “Cas…”
They hear the door and Dean freezes before scrabbling for the blankets to cover them up. There wasn’t really any way to make this look less incriminating--not only were they naked, in the same bed, holding hands (again), but their clothes were strewn all over the floor.
Sam stares at them, a bag of burgers in his hand. He sets it on the table. He glances at them again and regrets it, fully noticing their complete lack of clothes. “Get dressed,” he says and walks out the door. It’s not that he hates Cas or wants to keep Dean from doing what he does best--sleeping with anyone he could, especially the night before a big fight, but he wasn’t expecting it.
He thought Cas would be their friend, that he’d eventually get used to seeing him without any rising anger or anguish, but he thought Dean wasn’t interested, not in that way. It was hard not to think that Cas was, after everything he’d said to Dean, the way they interacted, the way their eye contact would sometimes make Sam more than a little uneasy, but…
Well, maybe he should have seen it coming. After all, Dean liked to make repressing his feelings into a sport of championship levels. He knocks on the door, “You have one minute while I throw up the contents of my stomach in the bushes outside.” Brain bleach was still, unfortunately, not a real thing.
Inside, Dean straddles Castiel, looking down at him, examining him. “We’ll discuss this, alright?” It isn’t a phrase that usually finds itself coming out of his mouth. “I mean it.” There’s a lot he wants to say, like that he wants to keep this, wants more of it. He doesn’t want to lose Cas again--ever. He slides off and cleans himself up as best he can. “We survive, and…I don’t know. Maybe…” He shakes his head. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do, what he’s thinking until he kisses Cas again.
When Sam enters the room, cringing with a hand shielding his eyes--fingers parted, of course, as the gesture was mostly for show--he sits down. “I’m happy for you. Both of you.” It’s only laced with a hint of sarcasm. “But I do not want to walk in on…anything.”
Dean laughs as Sam makes grossed out faces at them. His eyes wander to Cas and he sees the angel’s gaze meet his, mouth twisting from stoicism to a gentle smile. Yeah, he’d definitely be able to forgive him--like he had Sam. The world was fucked and, really, weren’t they all to blame?
He takes a seat between his brother and the angel his mind now has permission to gloat over having slept with. If he gets the chance, he’ll definitely do it again, if only to see what kinds of things the angel might do, might want to do. He wonders if Cas wants to sleep with him in the bed, make himself feel even more human. Dean finds the idea more comforting than he thinks he should, like he’s getting soft in his old age, despite everything else he’s done. His loneliness and his anger have both lessened since his time traveling trip to Lawrence.
As they ride out the calm before the storm, Sam and Dean making fun of each other as they steal french fries and shove food into their faces, he feels happy. Castiel doesn’t so much as make an attempt to referee, still looking disheveled from the mayhem Dean had done to him. It was a nice camaraderie. If Bobby was around, Dean is sure he’d be calling them all “idjits” and smiling to himself, like he always did when they acted like the kids they never really had the chance to be.
Tomorrow they would face Dick Roman. They would defeat him, destroy him, and save the world once again. Then, Dean could figure out what exactly he felt for Cas, what they would do next. He had family and that might have time to matter again. He slides his hand under the table, finding Castiel’s and gripping it tight, the angel tensing for a split second before allowing himself to return the gesture easily. Sam smirks and reserves his teasing for later.
They could do this.
~
John drives back from the field, goes to work, lives his life.
Mary tells him that she hopes that Dean and Cas found what they were looking for, that they got home safely, and John asks her who she’s talking about.
She begins to say their names again, remembering their story, about the angels and the way Cas said he would do anything for Dean, about his struggle to redeem himself.
She stops, shakes her head.
There had been people--visitors, guests, someone. She knows there were. She can almost make out their faces, but it becomes hazy as she tries to focus in on them. Why can’t she remember who they were now?
It doesn’t matter, Mary supposes, but she still hopes everything had worked out for them--whoever they were. She places a hand on her stomach and feels the wriggle of life beneath her fingertips, unaware that she was just wishing him luck he desperately needed.
Mary hums along to The Beatles and John quirks a smile at her, secure in their short-lived normal life, tasting happiness in a way they’d never know again.