[FIC] The Lion Sleeps Tonight for moonlettuce
Gift type: Fanfic
Title: The Lion Sleeps Tonight
Author: idiosyncratic
Recipient: moonlettuce
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 2268
Summary: The Apocalypse is coming, and Sam reflects on Castiel's role in their lives.
Author notes: I combined 2 of her requests: Someone else starts flirting with Castiel, which makes Dean realize how he feels about the angel; and Sam's view of his brother's changing relationship with Castiel. The fic takes place during Season 5, before the finale.
It's funny how fast things can change.
A year ago, it was just me and Dean, with Castiel thrown in when we needed some major help. And I'll be the first to admit that we needed it. Neither one of us had the first clue what we were in for when Dean got yanked out of Hell.
So we accepted the assistance and kept a wary eye on the angel. Dean kept a closer eye than I did, because he didn't really trust Castiel -- all angels, really -- or Heaven's so-called plan for him. But that was just Dean, just how he was.
Six months ago, we had Castiel practically living with us. Battles in Heaven, Lucifer free from the cage and looking for me, Michael trying to con Dean into accepting his role as a vessel, and Zachariah being a complete bitch in his numerous efforts to force Dean into the middle of the whole mess -- well, it didn't make for good times.
I think that was when I first started to realize something was different.
At first it was little things -- Dean watching Castiel a little too closely when we were on a hunt or Dean staying within a few feet of Castiel when all hell would break loose -- little things like that, things that made sense given just how much Castiel had sacrificed for us since we'd met him.
Once I'd noticed the little things, though, I couldn't un-notice them.
Watching them, I saw brief touches, like Dean's hand resting on Castiel's back for a second as they talked or a quick brush of fingers as they went over plans), the way they sat close together, heads almost touching as Dean would look up things in Dad's old journal. All minor stuff, completely innocent when taken one at a time. But all together... It painted a picture that I didn't completely understand, not even in the context of Dean feeling as if he owed his life to Castiel.
To be honest, I don't think either one of them was aware of it.
Correction -- I didn't think Dean was aware of it. Castiel, even after all his time with us, still didn't understand human emotions or motivations and probably didn't even notice anything was odd.
Either way, I couldn't figure it out. But it wasn't like I lost sleep over it. There were a hell of a lot more important things to worry about.
Then Castiel sacrificed himself for us, and dude, I gotta say, that fucked Dean up in a big way. He kept it bottled up, like always, but I knew. Knowing Castiel was dead killed something inside Dean.
And then Castiel wasn't dead, and I don't know, but that might have been worse.
It was there to see for anyone who knew Dean. There in the way he looked at Castiel (a way he'd never looked at anyone, except maybe Lisa). There in the way Dean hovered, when Dean never hovered, not even with me when we were kids.
It was there in the way Dean seemed to find any excuse to touch Castiel, as if proving to himself that Castiel was alive.
And still, I don't think Castiel even realized it.
Part of me wanted to step in, force them apart, protect Dean like he'd always tried to protect me. I knew I couldn't, though. Dean was an adult. As much as I didn't like it, I just had to stand back and let it happen.
Not that much was going to happen, because this was Dean -- straight as an arrow, chase after anything (and everything) in a skirt, all that. I figured this was just a phase he was going through, wrapped up in guilt and loyalty and that odd, warped sense of honor that he has. Like I said, he felt he owed Castiel his life, which in a way he did, seeing as Castiel was the one to pull Dean out of Hell. But we were the ones putting our asses on the line in a suicide mission against Lucifer and all his demons, so I thought that kinda evened things out.
Dean didn't agree.
Not like it mattered much, given that I was pretty sure we only had days at the most to live. Regardless of how things went down when we found Lucifer, I just couldn't see us walking away from it. And if Michael got involved...
Sure, Adam was his vessel now, but if Dean said yes? None of us had any doubt that Michael would abandon Adam without even thinking twice. The angels had put too much time and effort into persuading Dean to settle for second best if their first choice agreed. And yeah, Dean was stubborn and clinging to his refusal to say yes, but if it came down to saying yes to save me?
Or, if my suspicions were right, if it came down to saying yes to save Castiel?
Dean wouldn't hesitate. That's just who he was. He was more like Dad in some ways than he liked to admit.
I couldn't let him do that. He'd already sacrificed too much, lost too much of himself, in this battle. I'd say yes to Lucifer first. Say yes and then fight my hardest to hold him off long enough to drag him back into the Pit. Honestly, though, I didn't think much of my chances.
That's where my head was when we walked into that bar, Dean determined to get rip roaring drunk on what we considered to be our last night on Earth. So, neither one of us was exactly sober when I turned and almost ran right over Castiel. His ability (and habit) to pop up unannounced when we least expected him was annoying to say the least.
To my surprise, he didn't say much. There was no one to save and the world wasn't ending that very minute, so he just slid out a chair and sat down across from Dean. If I hadn't been paying attention (and if I'd been drunker than I was), I would have missed the brief look and the split second of tension that passed between them.
Castiel seemed content to sit there, enjoying the company, glancing around the bar from time to time with a mildly curious look. He'd been in too many with us to be bothered by the noise and the smells and the actions of those who'd drunk too much.
And then the waitress reappeared, and the air became charged with subtle electricity as she took note of Castiel. She'd spent most of the evening mildly flirting with Dean, who flirted in return, but one look at Castiel and she seemed to shift into overdrive. Castiel simply declined a drink with a polite no, thank you and failed to be affected by her blatant efforts to charm him.
It took Dean asking three times for another beer and a bottle of whiskey before she snapped out of it.
I looked at Dean and he looked at me, and then we both looked at Castiel, who simply looked back at us with that innocently perplexed look he so often wore. What, he asked, and we just shook our heads.
But the evening had tilted slightly off-center, and I watched Dean knock back shot after shot, growing a little surlier, a little quieter, with each one. And every time the waitress returned, clearly focused on Castiel, the intensity of Dean's focus on the angel grew more unnerving.
We should get out of here, I said, but Dean just waved me off and gestured for another beer. Castiel continued to observe him, leaving me to feel as if I'd been forgotten. So I started drinking, pretending to match Dean's efforts, feigning a drunkenness I didn't feel. If I could get him drunk enough, it would be easy enough to bundle him into the car and head back to the hotel.
Sam's right, Castiel finally said and stood, fixing Dean with an unwavering gaze. We should leave. Dean just said I'm not drunk yet, and reached for the bottle again. Castiel moved it, looked at him again, and said you're going to need a clear head for tomorrow, we're going.
Just like that, Dean shoved away from the table, swept his hand across the top of it, and empty shot glasses and bottles went flying. As expected, a couple guys took exception to that, which is pretty much what Dean wanted. He waded into the fray with a wild abandon that I hadn't seen since he'd made his crossroads deal.
When we finally made it out of the bar and got back to the hotel, I left his moronic ass to Castiel's tender ministrations, disgusted with the whole night (because what the fuck kind of idiot picks a bar fight on his last night alive), and dropped facedown onto my bed. Easy enough to fake passing out so I didn't have to deal with Dean being a dick and Castiel being clueless.
You should get cleaned up, I heard Castiel say, followed by a muffled thump, but I didn't roll over to see what caused it.
I can do this by m'self, Dean said, slurring his words over the sound of running water. He followed it with a few seconds of cursing, accompanied by rustling cloth.
You could, Castiel said, voice dropping as the hinges to the bathroom door creaked. You're making a bigger mess.
Cas --
More cursing, followed by a sharp gasp, then Dean swore, damn it, Cas, I wanted to be drunk.
The waitress was doing her best to ensure that, Castiel snapped, and I almost groaned as I reached for the pillow to pull it over my head. But I could still hear their conversation.
The waitress... Dean snorted out a bitter laugh. She wasn't interested in me, dumbass.
A long of moment of silence made me think it was at an end and I could maybe get some real sleep then.
You're jealous.
Fuck off, Cas.
You are.
You're not that pretty. And stop looking at me like that.
I have no interest in her.
I know. You've got no interest in anyone, not like that. The tiredness in Dean's voice got to me. It wasn't a physical tiredness, but a soul deep tiredness.
Another moment of silence, this one longer than the last, and I rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling. From the corner of my eye, I could see the strip of light where the bathroom door wasn't fully closed.
I may not feel it, Castiel said, finally, just when I was starting to think he wasn't going to say anything else, but I recognize it.
Good for you.
Dean --
Don't.
Dean, yes.
No, damn it... Cas --
You need this.
I don't.
Perhaps need is incorrect. You want this.
Cas...don't. Stop.
You want it. You deserve it.
No, I...damn it, stop, we can't do this.
Why?
It was such a simple question, but it carried the weight of the world in it. And before he even said it, I knew what Dean's words would be.
It's wrong, he said, but his voice lacked its usual conviction.
If it makes you happy, it's not wrong. You want this, Dean.
I...fuck...I want it... His voice was so low that I almost didn't hear it, and I suddenly felt dirty for listening to them, for eavesdropping on what was an excruciatingly private moment.
Tell me.
There was a faint thump, like a body being pressed against a wall, followed by a long, drawn-out sigh. I want you.
Know this, Dean Winchester, I will never leave you, no matter how this ends.
I know.
I stared at the ceiling some more, unable to not hear the faint sounds coming from the bathroom. I didn't need to see them, didn't want to see them, but I knew Castiel was right. Dean deserved this, deserved to be happy, even if for just a brief moment. Knowing that, I made my decision.
I had the power to end all of this -- to return Lucifer to his prison, prevent the end of the world, and give Dean the happiness he'd craved his entire life. And I could take that step knowing my brother was in good hands.
I fell asleep, finally, to the sound of them whispering behind a closed door.
Title: The Lion Sleeps Tonight
Author: idiosyncratic
Recipient: moonlettuce
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 2268
Summary: The Apocalypse is coming, and Sam reflects on Castiel's role in their lives.
Author notes: I combined 2 of her requests: Someone else starts flirting with Castiel, which makes Dean realize how he feels about the angel; and Sam's view of his brother's changing relationship with Castiel. The fic takes place during Season 5, before the finale.
It's funny how fast things can change.
A year ago, it was just me and Dean, with Castiel thrown in when we needed some major help. And I'll be the first to admit that we needed it. Neither one of us had the first clue what we were in for when Dean got yanked out of Hell.
So we accepted the assistance and kept a wary eye on the angel. Dean kept a closer eye than I did, because he didn't really trust Castiel -- all angels, really -- or Heaven's so-called plan for him. But that was just Dean, just how he was.
Six months ago, we had Castiel practically living with us. Battles in Heaven, Lucifer free from the cage and looking for me, Michael trying to con Dean into accepting his role as a vessel, and Zachariah being a complete bitch in his numerous efforts to force Dean into the middle of the whole mess -- well, it didn't make for good times.
I think that was when I first started to realize something was different.
At first it was little things -- Dean watching Castiel a little too closely when we were on a hunt or Dean staying within a few feet of Castiel when all hell would break loose -- little things like that, things that made sense given just how much Castiel had sacrificed for us since we'd met him.
Once I'd noticed the little things, though, I couldn't un-notice them.
Watching them, I saw brief touches, like Dean's hand resting on Castiel's back for a second as they talked or a quick brush of fingers as they went over plans), the way they sat close together, heads almost touching as Dean would look up things in Dad's old journal. All minor stuff, completely innocent when taken one at a time. But all together... It painted a picture that I didn't completely understand, not even in the context of Dean feeling as if he owed his life to Castiel.
To be honest, I don't think either one of them was aware of it.
Correction -- I didn't think Dean was aware of it. Castiel, even after all his time with us, still didn't understand human emotions or motivations and probably didn't even notice anything was odd.
Either way, I couldn't figure it out. But it wasn't like I lost sleep over it. There were a hell of a lot more important things to worry about.
Then Castiel sacrificed himself for us, and dude, I gotta say, that fucked Dean up in a big way. He kept it bottled up, like always, but I knew. Knowing Castiel was dead killed something inside Dean.
And then Castiel wasn't dead, and I don't know, but that might have been worse.
It was there to see for anyone who knew Dean. There in the way he looked at Castiel (a way he'd never looked at anyone, except maybe Lisa). There in the way Dean hovered, when Dean never hovered, not even with me when we were kids.
It was there in the way Dean seemed to find any excuse to touch Castiel, as if proving to himself that Castiel was alive.
And still, I don't think Castiel even realized it.
Part of me wanted to step in, force them apart, protect Dean like he'd always tried to protect me. I knew I couldn't, though. Dean was an adult. As much as I didn't like it, I just had to stand back and let it happen.
Not that much was going to happen, because this was Dean -- straight as an arrow, chase after anything (and everything) in a skirt, all that. I figured this was just a phase he was going through, wrapped up in guilt and loyalty and that odd, warped sense of honor that he has. Like I said, he felt he owed Castiel his life, which in a way he did, seeing as Castiel was the one to pull Dean out of Hell. But we were the ones putting our asses on the line in a suicide mission against Lucifer and all his demons, so I thought that kinda evened things out.
Dean didn't agree.
Not like it mattered much, given that I was pretty sure we only had days at the most to live. Regardless of how things went down when we found Lucifer, I just couldn't see us walking away from it. And if Michael got involved...
Sure, Adam was his vessel now, but if Dean said yes? None of us had any doubt that Michael would abandon Adam without even thinking twice. The angels had put too much time and effort into persuading Dean to settle for second best if their first choice agreed. And yeah, Dean was stubborn and clinging to his refusal to say yes, but if it came down to saying yes to save me?
Or, if my suspicions were right, if it came down to saying yes to save Castiel?
Dean wouldn't hesitate. That's just who he was. He was more like Dad in some ways than he liked to admit.
I couldn't let him do that. He'd already sacrificed too much, lost too much of himself, in this battle. I'd say yes to Lucifer first. Say yes and then fight my hardest to hold him off long enough to drag him back into the Pit. Honestly, though, I didn't think much of my chances.
That's where my head was when we walked into that bar, Dean determined to get rip roaring drunk on what we considered to be our last night on Earth. So, neither one of us was exactly sober when I turned and almost ran right over Castiel. His ability (and habit) to pop up unannounced when we least expected him was annoying to say the least.
To my surprise, he didn't say much. There was no one to save and the world wasn't ending that very minute, so he just slid out a chair and sat down across from Dean. If I hadn't been paying attention (and if I'd been drunker than I was), I would have missed the brief look and the split second of tension that passed between them.
Castiel seemed content to sit there, enjoying the company, glancing around the bar from time to time with a mildly curious look. He'd been in too many with us to be bothered by the noise and the smells and the actions of those who'd drunk too much.
And then the waitress reappeared, and the air became charged with subtle electricity as she took note of Castiel. She'd spent most of the evening mildly flirting with Dean, who flirted in return, but one look at Castiel and she seemed to shift into overdrive. Castiel simply declined a drink with a polite no, thank you and failed to be affected by her blatant efforts to charm him.
It took Dean asking three times for another beer and a bottle of whiskey before she snapped out of it.
I looked at Dean and he looked at me, and then we both looked at Castiel, who simply looked back at us with that innocently perplexed look he so often wore. What, he asked, and we just shook our heads.
But the evening had tilted slightly off-center, and I watched Dean knock back shot after shot, growing a little surlier, a little quieter, with each one. And every time the waitress returned, clearly focused on Castiel, the intensity of Dean's focus on the angel grew more unnerving.
We should get out of here, I said, but Dean just waved me off and gestured for another beer. Castiel continued to observe him, leaving me to feel as if I'd been forgotten. So I started drinking, pretending to match Dean's efforts, feigning a drunkenness I didn't feel. If I could get him drunk enough, it would be easy enough to bundle him into the car and head back to the hotel.
Sam's right, Castiel finally said and stood, fixing Dean with an unwavering gaze. We should leave. Dean just said I'm not drunk yet, and reached for the bottle again. Castiel moved it, looked at him again, and said you're going to need a clear head for tomorrow, we're going.
Just like that, Dean shoved away from the table, swept his hand across the top of it, and empty shot glasses and bottles went flying. As expected, a couple guys took exception to that, which is pretty much what Dean wanted. He waded into the fray with a wild abandon that I hadn't seen since he'd made his crossroads deal.
When we finally made it out of the bar and got back to the hotel, I left his moronic ass to Castiel's tender ministrations, disgusted with the whole night (because what the fuck kind of idiot picks a bar fight on his last night alive), and dropped facedown onto my bed. Easy enough to fake passing out so I didn't have to deal with Dean being a dick and Castiel being clueless.
You should get cleaned up, I heard Castiel say, followed by a muffled thump, but I didn't roll over to see what caused it.
I can do this by m'self, Dean said, slurring his words over the sound of running water. He followed it with a few seconds of cursing, accompanied by rustling cloth.
You could, Castiel said, voice dropping as the hinges to the bathroom door creaked. You're making a bigger mess.
Cas --
More cursing, followed by a sharp gasp, then Dean swore, damn it, Cas, I wanted to be drunk.
The waitress was doing her best to ensure that, Castiel snapped, and I almost groaned as I reached for the pillow to pull it over my head. But I could still hear their conversation.
The waitress... Dean snorted out a bitter laugh. She wasn't interested in me, dumbass.
A long of moment of silence made me think it was at an end and I could maybe get some real sleep then.
You're jealous.
Fuck off, Cas.
You are.
You're not that pretty. And stop looking at me like that.
I have no interest in her.
I know. You've got no interest in anyone, not like that. The tiredness in Dean's voice got to me. It wasn't a physical tiredness, but a soul deep tiredness.
Another moment of silence, this one longer than the last, and I rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling. From the corner of my eye, I could see the strip of light where the bathroom door wasn't fully closed.
I may not feel it, Castiel said, finally, just when I was starting to think he wasn't going to say anything else, but I recognize it.
Good for you.
Dean --
Don't.
Dean, yes.
No, damn it... Cas --
You need this.
I don't.
Perhaps need is incorrect. You want this.
Cas...don't. Stop.
You want it. You deserve it.
No, I...damn it, stop, we can't do this.
Why?
It was such a simple question, but it carried the weight of the world in it. And before he even said it, I knew what Dean's words would be.
It's wrong, he said, but his voice lacked its usual conviction.
If it makes you happy, it's not wrong. You want this, Dean.
I...fuck...I want it... His voice was so low that I almost didn't hear it, and I suddenly felt dirty for listening to them, for eavesdropping on what was an excruciatingly private moment.
Tell me.
There was a faint thump, like a body being pressed against a wall, followed by a long, drawn-out sigh. I want you.
Know this, Dean Winchester, I will never leave you, no matter how this ends.
I know.
I stared at the ceiling some more, unable to not hear the faint sounds coming from the bathroom. I didn't need to see them, didn't want to see them, but I knew Castiel was right. Dean deserved this, deserved to be happy, even if for just a brief moment. Knowing that, I made my decision.
I had the power to end all of this -- to return Lucifer to his prison, prevent the end of the world, and give Dean the happiness he'd craved his entire life. And I could take that step knowing my brother was in good hands.
I fell asleep, finally, to the sound of them whispering behind a closed door.