In Your Hands [Dean/Crowley]
Title: In Your Hands
Author:casiedearestfic
Pairing: Dean/Crowley (Pre-Slash/Friendfic)
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Whumped Dean, Impala fic.
Words: 1500
Summary: Trust.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the boys. All characters belong to respective copyrights.
Notes: First installment in the Trust 'Verse. Can be read as a stand alone. Demon!Brady kicked Dean's ass WAY harder than in canon. Crowley and Dean have been through more together than....in canon. This, yeah... not so canon.
Dean was stubborn, he knew that. He'd admit it, free and open. He could try to deny it 'til his face turned blue, but it was no use. He was a stubborn sonofabitch. But being stubborn had it's perks. It meant that he got what he wanted, and people respected that. He never gave up, never caved in, and people knew better than to make him try. It was why, after the demon had kicked his ass back at Niveus, he'd gotten in the car, and started up the engine.
See, not a lot of people were ever allowed to drive the Impala. Sam drove while Dean slept, and Bobby drove while Dean was hospitalized. In short, if Dean wasn't unconscious, no one was touching the wheel. It wasn't a power trip, or some sort of possession issue. It was just that this car...it was his. And it was all he had. He didn't have a home. He didn't have a job. He didn't have a wife, or a family. This car was the substitute to all of that. It gave him a sense of belonging, sitting behind the wheel, feeling the steady thrum of the engine in his bones. His hands fit perfectly over the wheel, finding their place with ease. The seat was perfect, the mirrors were perfect, driving the Impala was fucking perfect, and unless someone was dying, no one could take that away from him.
But now, he was beginning to regret his stubbornness. His stomach was aching, inside and out, and he knew that if he pulled up his shirt, he'd see the deep blue bruises eating up his pale skin. The blood from his head was still pouring out, trickling in rivers down his face. It was getting into his eyes, turning his vision into a sticky, pink blur. He was fortunate enough to have sole ownership of the road, because he knew he was driving on the wrong side. Somewhere in the middle, more likely. Occasionally, spots danced across his eyes, and he wondered briefly, fleetingly, if he was about to black out.
Crowley's voice droned on next to him, low and rough. Dean tried to focus on it, tried to hold onto it, keep his mind from spinning into blackness. He found it sort of comforting, for reasons beyond comprehension. He'd grown to really trust the demon, and shit, how he'd love to count the ways that was a bad idea. If Ruby had any influence in the matter, demons could never be trusted, no matter how hot or helpful they were. Not that....not that Crowley was anything like--
"Dean! Eyes on the bloody road!" Crowley's voice was distant and cracked, like a wall of insulation stood between the source and Dean's ears. Dean only vaguely remembered making the conscious decision to pull the car over, banking it on the shoulder of the road. His vision was dim and blurred, and he knew he should do something about his head. But what could he do when he couldn't drive?
"Are you listening to me, kid?" Dean felt Crowley's hands on his shoulders, pulling at his jacket, and it was a welcome touch. It was something solid and heavy, something to focus on.
"I'm fine." Dean sighed softly as he forced the lie from his lips. He hated that he wasn't fine, hated to admit it, but he knew that maybe, just this once, maybe he didn't have a choice.
"Just gimme a minute." He slouched down, letting his head fall back against the back of the seat. He'd rest. Three minutes. He'd be fine.
"For crying out loud, Dean." Crowley's eyeroll was audible in his voice. "Give up."
Dean noticed for the first time that Crowley's hand was still on his right arm. It was heavy and consuming, and Dean wondered how he'd taken so long to notice. How could one simple touch have so much presence to it? He shook his head slowly against the seat, deciding that defiance tasted good.
He lost track of the time after that, not sure if the seconds were minutes, if the minutes were hours, or the hours were seconds, but when he opened his eyes, it was dark out. His ribs ached now, a sharp slash of pain across his bones. His vision was clearer, much like his thoughts, but his head pounded sickeningly. The throbbing in his skull was making him ill, settling a spin into his stomach.
He turned his head slowly, slightly, a movement almost imperceptible. Crowley was still there, looking out the side window. He had his arm against the door, face blank and terribly bored. What else could be expected, really? Dean realized for the first time then that he'd actually stayed. He didn't have to, but he did anyway. He'd stayed and kept quiet, which was more than could be said for Castiel or Sam respectively. One of them would have left. The other wouldn't have shut up.
"Thanks." Dean didn't look at the demon as he mumbled out his appreciation. There was only so far he could fall into trust with him.
"For what?" Crowley's voice was laced with a tone that was disbelieving. Dean sighed deeply, loathing the fact that nothing in his life could ever just happen easily.
"For not being a dick." He said the words stiffly, like he wasn't sure if he wanted to. He meant them, obviously. He knew that he did. But everything that he was, everything he was raised to be, everything he'd seen Sam go through with Ruby just itched at the back of his throat as he said the words. He wanted to say more. He owed a lot to Crowley. Not just for helping them, but for helping him personally.
Crowley didn't reply, and Dean was sort of glad. In the beginning, silences with him had been painfully awkward. They always felt tense, maybe partially at the fault of Dean's distrust in him. But eventually, the lack of trust fell away, and a comradery filled in between them. And now the silences were just sort of an absence of words, rather than something that was dark and nerve-wracking.
Dean battled with his thoughts as Crowley fiddled with the buttons on the dash. Radio; on, off. Wipers; on, off. Radio; on...
The music was low, and thank God for that, because even the silence had Dean's head pounding. He listened to the song, knowing it well. It reminded him of the time that John had spilled coffee in the driver's seat, splashing it against the steering wheel. And, he hadn't been mad, despite all expectations. He'd just laughed. He'd just pulled into a gas station and cleaned it up, like it didn't matter that the seat was wet or the floor was stained.
Dean let his mind wonder to those times, back when the Impala wasn't his. It hadn't always been. It took an endless amount of moments for Dean to talk himself into the decision that had been lurking just under the forefront of his mind for the last... however long they'd been sitting there, on the side of the road, parked and planted, because he couldn't drive.
"You wanna drive?" He regretted the words as soon as they became more than a thought in his head. This was a really bad idea.
"Well it's about bloody time you thought of that!" Crowley kept on, mumbling and cursing, and Dean laughed incredulously as he let the words done on and on. He felt something like fear settle in his chest as he forced himself to step out of the car. Ruby had once been trustworthy.
He felt guilty as he walked around the front of the car, sort of terrible for constantly comparing Crowley to her. In his experience, demons were demons, and there was really no good reason for trusting one more than the next. But, his experience had also taught him that angels were stone cold dicks. And if Castiel could be an exception, then maybe... maybe.
He felt off balance as he slid into the passenger seat, wondering how the hell Sam could ever be comfortable enough to fall asleep over there. It wasn't like he'd never ridden shotgun before. He'd done it many times, actually. But this, this was the first time that the driver hadn't been born and bred of Winchester blood. And if Dean was perfectly honest with himself, that was more unsettling to him than the demon issue.
He didn't listen to Crowley's incessant rambling as he drove them to Bobby's house. He didn't really care what he was talking about, at the moment. He let his head lean against the window as his guard crumbled around him. Eventually, the pain in his head faded, and if his eyes were open, he'd have known that his vision cleared. He felt himself relax, despite all efforts not to, and as the sky shifted from deep blue to black, Dean Winchester fell asleep.
-End-
[2. In Your Care]
Author:casiedearestfic
Pairing: Dean/Crowley (Pre-Slash/Friendfic)
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Whumped Dean, Impala fic.
Words: 1500
Summary: Trust.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the boys. All characters belong to respective copyrights.
Notes: First installment in the Trust 'Verse. Can be read as a stand alone. Demon!Brady kicked Dean's ass WAY harder than in canon. Crowley and Dean have been through more together than....in canon. This, yeah... not so canon.
Dean was stubborn, he knew that. He'd admit it, free and open. He could try to deny it 'til his face turned blue, but it was no use. He was a stubborn sonofabitch. But being stubborn had it's perks. It meant that he got what he wanted, and people respected that. He never gave up, never caved in, and people knew better than to make him try. It was why, after the demon had kicked his ass back at Niveus, he'd gotten in the car, and started up the engine.
See, not a lot of people were ever allowed to drive the Impala. Sam drove while Dean slept, and Bobby drove while Dean was hospitalized. In short, if Dean wasn't unconscious, no one was touching the wheel. It wasn't a power trip, or some sort of possession issue. It was just that this car...it was his. And it was all he had. He didn't have a home. He didn't have a job. He didn't have a wife, or a family. This car was the substitute to all of that. It gave him a sense of belonging, sitting behind the wheel, feeling the steady thrum of the engine in his bones. His hands fit perfectly over the wheel, finding their place with ease. The seat was perfect, the mirrors were perfect, driving the Impala was fucking perfect, and unless someone was dying, no one could take that away from him.
But now, he was beginning to regret his stubbornness. His stomach was aching, inside and out, and he knew that if he pulled up his shirt, he'd see the deep blue bruises eating up his pale skin. The blood from his head was still pouring out, trickling in rivers down his face. It was getting into his eyes, turning his vision into a sticky, pink blur. He was fortunate enough to have sole ownership of the road, because he knew he was driving on the wrong side. Somewhere in the middle, more likely. Occasionally, spots danced across his eyes, and he wondered briefly, fleetingly, if he was about to black out.
Crowley's voice droned on next to him, low and rough. Dean tried to focus on it, tried to hold onto it, keep his mind from spinning into blackness. He found it sort of comforting, for reasons beyond comprehension. He'd grown to really trust the demon, and shit, how he'd love to count the ways that was a bad idea. If Ruby had any influence in the matter, demons could never be trusted, no matter how hot or helpful they were. Not that....not that Crowley was anything like--
"Dean! Eyes on the bloody road!" Crowley's voice was distant and cracked, like a wall of insulation stood between the source and Dean's ears. Dean only vaguely remembered making the conscious decision to pull the car over, banking it on the shoulder of the road. His vision was dim and blurred, and he knew he should do something about his head. But what could he do when he couldn't drive?
"Are you listening to me, kid?" Dean felt Crowley's hands on his shoulders, pulling at his jacket, and it was a welcome touch. It was something solid and heavy, something to focus on.
"I'm fine." Dean sighed softly as he forced the lie from his lips. He hated that he wasn't fine, hated to admit it, but he knew that maybe, just this once, maybe he didn't have a choice.
"Just gimme a minute." He slouched down, letting his head fall back against the back of the seat. He'd rest. Three minutes. He'd be fine.
"For crying out loud, Dean." Crowley's eyeroll was audible in his voice. "Give up."
Dean noticed for the first time that Crowley's hand was still on his right arm. It was heavy and consuming, and Dean wondered how he'd taken so long to notice. How could one simple touch have so much presence to it? He shook his head slowly against the seat, deciding that defiance tasted good.
He lost track of the time after that, not sure if the seconds were minutes, if the minutes were hours, or the hours were seconds, but when he opened his eyes, it was dark out. His ribs ached now, a sharp slash of pain across his bones. His vision was clearer, much like his thoughts, but his head pounded sickeningly. The throbbing in his skull was making him ill, settling a spin into his stomach.
He turned his head slowly, slightly, a movement almost imperceptible. Crowley was still there, looking out the side window. He had his arm against the door, face blank and terribly bored. What else could be expected, really? Dean realized for the first time then that he'd actually stayed. He didn't have to, but he did anyway. He'd stayed and kept quiet, which was more than could be said for Castiel or Sam respectively. One of them would have left. The other wouldn't have shut up.
"Thanks." Dean didn't look at the demon as he mumbled out his appreciation. There was only so far he could fall into trust with him.
"For what?" Crowley's voice was laced with a tone that was disbelieving. Dean sighed deeply, loathing the fact that nothing in his life could ever just happen easily.
"For not being a dick." He said the words stiffly, like he wasn't sure if he wanted to. He meant them, obviously. He knew that he did. But everything that he was, everything he was raised to be, everything he'd seen Sam go through with Ruby just itched at the back of his throat as he said the words. He wanted to say more. He owed a lot to Crowley. Not just for helping them, but for helping him personally.
Crowley didn't reply, and Dean was sort of glad. In the beginning, silences with him had been painfully awkward. They always felt tense, maybe partially at the fault of Dean's distrust in him. But eventually, the lack of trust fell away, and a comradery filled in between them. And now the silences were just sort of an absence of words, rather than something that was dark and nerve-wracking.
Dean battled with his thoughts as Crowley fiddled with the buttons on the dash. Radio; on, off. Wipers; on, off. Radio; on...
The music was low, and thank God for that, because even the silence had Dean's head pounding. He listened to the song, knowing it well. It reminded him of the time that John had spilled coffee in the driver's seat, splashing it against the steering wheel. And, he hadn't been mad, despite all expectations. He'd just laughed. He'd just pulled into a gas station and cleaned it up, like it didn't matter that the seat was wet or the floor was stained.
Dean let his mind wonder to those times, back when the Impala wasn't his. It hadn't always been. It took an endless amount of moments for Dean to talk himself into the decision that had been lurking just under the forefront of his mind for the last... however long they'd been sitting there, on the side of the road, parked and planted, because he couldn't drive.
"You wanna drive?" He regretted the words as soon as they became more than a thought in his head. This was a really bad idea.
"Well it's about bloody time you thought of that!" Crowley kept on, mumbling and cursing, and Dean laughed incredulously as he let the words done on and on. He felt something like fear settle in his chest as he forced himself to step out of the car. Ruby had once been trustworthy.
He felt guilty as he walked around the front of the car, sort of terrible for constantly comparing Crowley to her. In his experience, demons were demons, and there was really no good reason for trusting one more than the next. But, his experience had also taught him that angels were stone cold dicks. And if Castiel could be an exception, then maybe... maybe.
He felt off balance as he slid into the passenger seat, wondering how the hell Sam could ever be comfortable enough to fall asleep over there. It wasn't like he'd never ridden shotgun before. He'd done it many times, actually. But this, this was the first time that the driver hadn't been born and bred of Winchester blood. And if Dean was perfectly honest with himself, that was more unsettling to him than the demon issue.
He didn't listen to Crowley's incessant rambling as he drove them to Bobby's house. He didn't really care what he was talking about, at the moment. He let his head lean against the window as his guard crumbled around him. Eventually, the pain in his head faded, and if his eyes were open, he'd have known that his vision cleared. He felt himself relax, despite all efforts not to, and as the sky shifted from deep blue to black, Dean Winchester fell asleep.
-End-
[2. In Your Care]