The Dead Bodies Mean "I Love You" Part VIII
Masterpost | Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII
Sam is shoved awake by Dean. He wants to groan that they’re squatting in an actual house and they’re sleeping in a real bed and they should make the most of it, but Dean has a manic glint in his eyes and he’s instantly awake. Sam opens his mouth but Dean puts a finger over his lips. There’s a phone to his ear Sam realizes. Dean pulls it down and turns on speakerphone.
“He’s here,” Garth’s voice is tinny through the cell phone speaker but Sam can still hear the sheer terror in his voice. “Castiel is here. He’s in my house. Dammit Dean, this is your fault!”
Sam wants to say something, anything to calm Garth’s nerves. But Garth was right. He never asked for work to come home. If Castiel is there, then it is Sam and Dean’s fault. They never intended for anyone to hunt Garth. Sam opens his mouth, but Dean beats him to it.
“Stay calm,” Dean says. “Whatever happens, don’t turn off your phone, you hear me Garth?”
There’s a shout on the other end and a sickening thud.
“Garth?!” Dean and Sam both shout. “Garth!”
“I’m afraid Garth is a bit tied up,” a rough voice says over the phone. “Literally.”
Dean stiffens and clears his throat, his face turning a faint red. Sam gives him a look, but it goes unnoticed. This is not the time for Dean’s libido to be acting up.
“Castiel,” Dean says. “So nice to hear your voice.”
“Likewise, Dean,” Castiel replies.
“What did you do to him?” Sam demands. “What did you do to Garth?!”
“I haven’t done anything yet, Sam,” Castiel’s voice is like butter on sandpaper. “But you’ll know everything. You’re going to hear him scream and beg for mercy. You are going to hear it when I stick my knife into him. Just like you did to my baby sister!” Castiel’s voice is hysterical by the end of his sentence. Sam feels a sliver of fear in his gut. Nothing is more dangerous than a man out for revenge.
“Your sister didn’t beg,” Dean says. “It’s hard to beg for mercy with a knife in your chest.”
“You killed her,” Castiel’s voice loses none of its steely edge.
“You killed Jo.”
“No matter,” Castiel’s voice regains its cool tone. “It’s in the past. We must look to the future, after all.”
“What are you-” Dean starts, but is interrupted by a scream. Garth’s scream.
It’s so strange to be on the other end, Sam realizes. To listen as someone you care about is hurt and knowing you are helpless. His stomach turns at the moan following the scream. Is this guilt eating at his stomach? Regret?
“Dean,” Sam whispers. “Please.”
He can’t listen to it. He can’t hear Garth scream and beg. He can’t listen to something like that. He wonders if Jo begged. He wonders if Dean would. Dean’s eyes are shining, though. Sam can’t tell if they’re shining with tears or mirth. Sam reaches to shut the phone, to end the sounds.
“Don’t hang up now,” Castiel’s voice is taunting, as if he knows what Sam is thinking. “Prove that you’re man enough to hear your closest friend be killed.”
Dean’s face hardens and Sam knows he’s lost. He buries his head into his arms, begging in his head for Dean to hang up, words are useless now. This is what Castiel wants, to wind them up. He wants Dean reckless and foolish. Dean’s a glutton for punishment and he listens as Garth begs and cries.
“I can’t do it,” Sam finally says, hearing Garth scream his name. “You listen, fine. Just not near me. I need to sleep.”
Sam rolls over and pulls a blanket over his shoulder. He feels a shift in the mattress as Dean stands up and slams the door shut as he leaves. Sam closes his eyes and ignores the tightening in his chest and the burning behind his eyes.
It seems that Dean’s been choosing Castiel over Sam a lot recently.
---
Castiel is putting the finishing touches on his masterpiece. Garth has been dead for a while, but this is the man that led Sam and Dean Winchester to his sister. Normal rules of engagement don’t apply here.
“Are you still there, Winchester?” Castiel calls out to the cell phone propped on the kitchen table.
“Yeah,” Dean’s voice is considerably huskier than before.
Castiel can’t help but give a small grin of success. He knows the tenor of that voice, he knows what it means. Only a few circumstances can cause a man’s voice to go deep and raspy, almost broken. With a smirk, Castiel realizes he can make Dean’s voice break completely.
“Are you jerking off to my voice?” Castiel hazards a guess.
The sound of fumbling comes through the phone and Castiel wipes his bloody hands off on his pants before picking up the phone, speakerphone off. He can hear it better now, the sound of Dean gasping and trying to hold it in. The rustle of fabric.
Castiel does what he does best. He talks. He talks about killing Garth and Jo and the others. He talks about watching Dean and Sam on the news feed and reading their stories online. He keeps his voice low, a soothing kind of rumble coming from his chest.
Dean gasps and lets out a stream of curse words combined with “Cas” over and over again before going silent, nothing but his heavy breaths across the line.
“So, you call me Cas?” Castiel feels surprisingly light at that tidbit of knowledge. He’s never had a nickname before.
Another fumble and the line goes dead.
---
When Dean wakes up, Sam is gone. He fumbles around the giant bed, looking for his phone. Sam probably went to buy breakfast. No need to freak out just yet. Dean flips his phone open and looks at it through the morning goop in his eyes.
Whatever is on his phone can wait until he at least looks presentable and feels less grimy. Dean takes a shower, probably longer than he should have but this is the first real shower he’s had in a while, with soap that doesn’t itch and shampoo that didn’t come out of those hotel bathrooms. Considering what happened last night, Dean’s feeling surprisingly put together.
He tries not to think about why that is, but he can’t help it. He finally spoke to Cas--Castiel. His voice is a million times more erotic than Dean imagined. The way his voice curled around Dean’s name, smooth, like it was the most precious thing he’s said. Dean shivers thinking about it. He’s tempted to jerk off again, his hand is already sliding down his chest, but he and Sam have got to move. They have another friend to avenge after all, even if they don’t know how yet.
Unwillingly, Dean turns off the shower and gets dressed. Still no sign of Sam.
“Sam!” he shouts. “Time to move on!”
No answer. Now that his eyes are clear he can see that Sam’s side of the bed is clean and spotless, his duffel gone.
Either Sam left and traffic’s a bitch or Sam got arrested. Dean’s hoping for the first option. He throws his stuff together and hauls the duffel over his back, sliding his phone into his pocket without looking at the screen.
There’s no car in the back. Sam is gone. He’s probably just getting food, no reason to freak out. If Sam’s not back in ten minutes then something has gone horribly wrong. Ten minutes is a long time to wait, and Dean spends it cleaning his weapons.
It was always relaxing to clean his gun. He’s had it for as long as he could remember. Dad traveled a lot and Dean needed to keep him and Sammy safe. It’s a .45 caliber Colt and he loves it. Dean cleans it thoroughly, leaving no part untouched.
Ten minutes later and still no sign of Sam. The anger that’s threatening to boil in Dean’s chest is overshadowed by the sheer worry he has. Sam is gone, without his big brother to take care of him. Nothing good is going to come of that. Nothing. He’s going to get himself killed, or arrested or stuck in some ditch with his organs missing.
His phone vibrates and relief surges through his body. Sam. It’s gotta be Sam, telling Dean that traffic is bad and he’ll be back soon. It has to be.
It’s a text message from a number he doesn’t recognize.
Garth so kindly gave me your number. So tell me, Dean, do you have any other nicknames for me?
Dean’s stomach drops to his toes as he reads the text. It’s not Sam. He reads it again and his stomach makes its way back to where it belongs and his heart decides to start beating extra fast. Damn organs are going crazy. He laughs silently at the grammatical correctness of the text. No one texts like that. Well, no one except for Castiel apparently.
Still chuckling, he taps out a response.
its not fair to txt without sayin who u r
He shuts his phone and tucks it into his pocket, feeling lighter than he had a mere few minutes ago.
“Sam!” he calls out.
Oh. That’s right. Sam’s not here. Dean’s worry radar launches up again. It’s not like Sam to just get up and leave. He left once, when he was almost twenty, hung around Stanford for a few years before calling Dean saying he killed his girlfriend and he loved every moment of it.
So where would Sam have gone? And why would he have left without telling Dean?
His phone buzzes again.
I believe you call me ‘Cas’ mid-orgasm
Wherever Sam is, it’s not important right now, Dean decides as he tries to come up with a witty retort for Castiel. He’ll come back, he always does.
---
Castiel enjoys his conversations with Dean. He feels as if he’s truly learning who the man is, not the killer. A mere three weeks ago he would have found this behavior atrocious. Instead he finds himself anticipating the next chime on his phone. It’s only been three days and he’s learned so much.
He knows that Dean loves pie, more than anything. He was almost arrested because he had to try these apple pies in Indiana. They were supposedly the best.
He knows that Dean listens to only classic rock. They once spent five hours texting about music and Dean made Castiel swear he’d look up Led Zeppelin and ACDC.
Castiel has three stations in his car preset to classic rock now.
.Dean never talks about Sam, only sending one word on the matter: missing. Castiel never asks for details. He’s watched them, he knows how close they are. Closer than brothers it seems. One website, run by a girl named Becky, claims that they’re really in love but because they’re brothers they’re shunned and that is why they kill people.
Castiel never went to that site again. He didn’t like the idea of Dean having any romantic relations with other people. It made his skin crawl.
With all this information he has gathered about Dean, it feels only right to give some back. He’s told Dean about how he got a full ride to Yale but he didn’t want to study business like his father. Instead he ran from Illinois to Pennsylvania and stayed with his cousin for ten years.
He didn’t tell Dean about his dream, his enlightenment.
It’s a late Monday night when Dean texts him again. Castiel lets out a sigh of relief. Dean hasn’t said anything since Sunday. His relief is brief when he reads the message.
found sam. in vegas. killed bela.
Dean never said much about who Bela was, just that she used to be a friend.
What are you going to do?
The response is instant.
im gonna kill him
Castiel knows that Dean would never kill his brother, but the intent is there. Dean is pissed and his brother made a huge mistake.
Part IX
Sam is shoved awake by Dean. He wants to groan that they’re squatting in an actual house and they’re sleeping in a real bed and they should make the most of it, but Dean has a manic glint in his eyes and he’s instantly awake. Sam opens his mouth but Dean puts a finger over his lips. There’s a phone to his ear Sam realizes. Dean pulls it down and turns on speakerphone.
“He’s here,” Garth’s voice is tinny through the cell phone speaker but Sam can still hear the sheer terror in his voice. “Castiel is here. He’s in my house. Dammit Dean, this is your fault!”
Sam wants to say something, anything to calm Garth’s nerves. But Garth was right. He never asked for work to come home. If Castiel is there, then it is Sam and Dean’s fault. They never intended for anyone to hunt Garth. Sam opens his mouth, but Dean beats him to it.
“Stay calm,” Dean says. “Whatever happens, don’t turn off your phone, you hear me Garth?”
There’s a shout on the other end and a sickening thud.
“Garth?!” Dean and Sam both shout. “Garth!”
“I’m afraid Garth is a bit tied up,” a rough voice says over the phone. “Literally.”
Dean stiffens and clears his throat, his face turning a faint red. Sam gives him a look, but it goes unnoticed. This is not the time for Dean’s libido to be acting up.
“Castiel,” Dean says. “So nice to hear your voice.”
“Likewise, Dean,” Castiel replies.
“What did you do to him?” Sam demands. “What did you do to Garth?!”
“I haven’t done anything yet, Sam,” Castiel’s voice is like butter on sandpaper. “But you’ll know everything. You’re going to hear him scream and beg for mercy. You are going to hear it when I stick my knife into him. Just like you did to my baby sister!” Castiel’s voice is hysterical by the end of his sentence. Sam feels a sliver of fear in his gut. Nothing is more dangerous than a man out for revenge.
“Your sister didn’t beg,” Dean says. “It’s hard to beg for mercy with a knife in your chest.”
“You killed her,” Castiel’s voice loses none of its steely edge.
“You killed Jo.”
“No matter,” Castiel’s voice regains its cool tone. “It’s in the past. We must look to the future, after all.”
“What are you-” Dean starts, but is interrupted by a scream. Garth’s scream.
It’s so strange to be on the other end, Sam realizes. To listen as someone you care about is hurt and knowing you are helpless. His stomach turns at the moan following the scream. Is this guilt eating at his stomach? Regret?
“Dean,” Sam whispers. “Please.”
He can’t listen to it. He can’t hear Garth scream and beg. He can’t listen to something like that. He wonders if Jo begged. He wonders if Dean would. Dean’s eyes are shining, though. Sam can’t tell if they’re shining with tears or mirth. Sam reaches to shut the phone, to end the sounds.
“Don’t hang up now,” Castiel’s voice is taunting, as if he knows what Sam is thinking. “Prove that you’re man enough to hear your closest friend be killed.”
Dean’s face hardens and Sam knows he’s lost. He buries his head into his arms, begging in his head for Dean to hang up, words are useless now. This is what Castiel wants, to wind them up. He wants Dean reckless and foolish. Dean’s a glutton for punishment and he listens as Garth begs and cries.
“I can’t do it,” Sam finally says, hearing Garth scream his name. “You listen, fine. Just not near me. I need to sleep.”
Sam rolls over and pulls a blanket over his shoulder. He feels a shift in the mattress as Dean stands up and slams the door shut as he leaves. Sam closes his eyes and ignores the tightening in his chest and the burning behind his eyes.
It seems that Dean’s been choosing Castiel over Sam a lot recently.
---
Castiel is putting the finishing touches on his masterpiece. Garth has been dead for a while, but this is the man that led Sam and Dean Winchester to his sister. Normal rules of engagement don’t apply here.
“Are you still there, Winchester?” Castiel calls out to the cell phone propped on the kitchen table.
“Yeah,” Dean’s voice is considerably huskier than before.
Castiel can’t help but give a small grin of success. He knows the tenor of that voice, he knows what it means. Only a few circumstances can cause a man’s voice to go deep and raspy, almost broken. With a smirk, Castiel realizes he can make Dean’s voice break completely.
“Are you jerking off to my voice?” Castiel hazards a guess.
The sound of fumbling comes through the phone and Castiel wipes his bloody hands off on his pants before picking up the phone, speakerphone off. He can hear it better now, the sound of Dean gasping and trying to hold it in. The rustle of fabric.
Castiel does what he does best. He talks. He talks about killing Garth and Jo and the others. He talks about watching Dean and Sam on the news feed and reading their stories online. He keeps his voice low, a soothing kind of rumble coming from his chest.
Dean gasps and lets out a stream of curse words combined with “Cas” over and over again before going silent, nothing but his heavy breaths across the line.
“So, you call me Cas?” Castiel feels surprisingly light at that tidbit of knowledge. He’s never had a nickname before.
Another fumble and the line goes dead.
---
When Dean wakes up, Sam is gone. He fumbles around the giant bed, looking for his phone. Sam probably went to buy breakfast. No need to freak out just yet. Dean flips his phone open and looks at it through the morning goop in his eyes.
Whatever is on his phone can wait until he at least looks presentable and feels less grimy. Dean takes a shower, probably longer than he should have but this is the first real shower he’s had in a while, with soap that doesn’t itch and shampoo that didn’t come out of those hotel bathrooms. Considering what happened last night, Dean’s feeling surprisingly put together.
He tries not to think about why that is, but he can’t help it. He finally spoke to Cas--Castiel. His voice is a million times more erotic than Dean imagined. The way his voice curled around Dean’s name, smooth, like it was the most precious thing he’s said. Dean shivers thinking about it. He’s tempted to jerk off again, his hand is already sliding down his chest, but he and Sam have got to move. They have another friend to avenge after all, even if they don’t know how yet.
Unwillingly, Dean turns off the shower and gets dressed. Still no sign of Sam.
“Sam!” he shouts. “Time to move on!”
No answer. Now that his eyes are clear he can see that Sam’s side of the bed is clean and spotless, his duffel gone.
Either Sam left and traffic’s a bitch or Sam got arrested. Dean’s hoping for the first option. He throws his stuff together and hauls the duffel over his back, sliding his phone into his pocket without looking at the screen.
There’s no car in the back. Sam is gone. He’s probably just getting food, no reason to freak out. If Sam’s not back in ten minutes then something has gone horribly wrong. Ten minutes is a long time to wait, and Dean spends it cleaning his weapons.
It was always relaxing to clean his gun. He’s had it for as long as he could remember. Dad traveled a lot and Dean needed to keep him and Sammy safe. It’s a .45 caliber Colt and he loves it. Dean cleans it thoroughly, leaving no part untouched.
Ten minutes later and still no sign of Sam. The anger that’s threatening to boil in Dean’s chest is overshadowed by the sheer worry he has. Sam is gone, without his big brother to take care of him. Nothing good is going to come of that. Nothing. He’s going to get himself killed, or arrested or stuck in some ditch with his organs missing.
His phone vibrates and relief surges through his body. Sam. It’s gotta be Sam, telling Dean that traffic is bad and he’ll be back soon. It has to be.
It’s a text message from a number he doesn’t recognize.
Garth so kindly gave me your number. So tell me, Dean, do you have any other nicknames for me?
Dean’s stomach drops to his toes as he reads the text. It’s not Sam. He reads it again and his stomach makes its way back to where it belongs and his heart decides to start beating extra fast. Damn organs are going crazy. He laughs silently at the grammatical correctness of the text. No one texts like that. Well, no one except for Castiel apparently.
Still chuckling, he taps out a response.
its not fair to txt without sayin who u r
He shuts his phone and tucks it into his pocket, feeling lighter than he had a mere few minutes ago.
“Sam!” he calls out.
Oh. That’s right. Sam’s not here. Dean’s worry radar launches up again. It’s not like Sam to just get up and leave. He left once, when he was almost twenty, hung around Stanford for a few years before calling Dean saying he killed his girlfriend and he loved every moment of it.
So where would Sam have gone? And why would he have left without telling Dean?
His phone buzzes again.
I believe you call me ‘Cas’ mid-orgasm
Wherever Sam is, it’s not important right now, Dean decides as he tries to come up with a witty retort for Castiel. He’ll come back, he always does.
---
Castiel enjoys his conversations with Dean. He feels as if he’s truly learning who the man is, not the killer. A mere three weeks ago he would have found this behavior atrocious. Instead he finds himself anticipating the next chime on his phone. It’s only been three days and he’s learned so much.
He knows that Dean loves pie, more than anything. He was almost arrested because he had to try these apple pies in Indiana. They were supposedly the best.
He knows that Dean listens to only classic rock. They once spent five hours texting about music and Dean made Castiel swear he’d look up Led Zeppelin and ACDC.
Castiel has three stations in his car preset to classic rock now.
.Dean never talks about Sam, only sending one word on the matter: missing. Castiel never asks for details. He’s watched them, he knows how close they are. Closer than brothers it seems. One website, run by a girl named Becky, claims that they’re really in love but because they’re brothers they’re shunned and that is why they kill people.
Castiel never went to that site again. He didn’t like the idea of Dean having any romantic relations with other people. It made his skin crawl.
With all this information he has gathered about Dean, it feels only right to give some back. He’s told Dean about how he got a full ride to Yale but he didn’t want to study business like his father. Instead he ran from Illinois to Pennsylvania and stayed with his cousin for ten years.
He didn’t tell Dean about his dream, his enlightenment.
It’s a late Monday night when Dean texts him again. Castiel lets out a sigh of relief. Dean hasn’t said anything since Sunday. His relief is brief when he reads the message.
found sam. in vegas. killed bela.
Dean never said much about who Bela was, just that she used to be a friend.
What are you going to do?
The response is instant.
im gonna kill him
Castiel knows that Dean would never kill his brother, but the intent is there. Dean is pissed and his brother made a huge mistake.
Part IX