Dean/Castiel fic: Earth to Heaven Replies
Title: Earth to Heaven Replies
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Summary: Castiel takes his vessel home for the holidays.
Notes: This can be read as a continuation of Bad Things With You and Voluntary Offerings, or as a stand-alone.
Dean has been dreaming about Jesus. He's quiet in Dean's dreams, bearded and mellow like an old hippie. He doesn't do much, just hangs around wearing sweaters and khaki pants with holes in the knees, looking at things contemplatively and ignoring Dean's questions.
"Do you, like, want something, pal?" Dean finally asks in the midst of a dream where they're walking together on a boardwalk near a closed-down carnival. Jesus sighs and touches Dean's face, pats his cheek.
"Wake up," he says, but when Dean does, it's Castiel who has asked him to.
Dean blinks and groans, writhes sleepily. Castiel is stretched along his side, his hand open over Dean's bare chest. Touching him is like being held between sleep and reality, lucid but too calming and warm to feel like anything of consequence.
"Are you making me have Jesus dreams?" Dean asks. He yawns and shuffles closer, hums happily when Castiel's hand slides up to cover the print he left on Dean's shoulder.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing. Never mind. What time is it?"
"It's early. I have an errand to run."
Dean snorts. "Okay. Fine. Wait, wait, wait." He pulls Castiel back to him when he begins to shift away. He's dressed in an undershirt and striped boxer shorts, and Dean gives him a big, dumb grin, still half-asleep.
"I'm coming with you," Dean says. Castiel touches Dean's forehead, the tiny pressure of his fingertips spooling down through his nerves like hot bathwater, tugging him back toward sleep. He lets his eyes fall shut and tries to remember where they are. In a motel, somewhere. The usual.
"You may join me if you like," Castiel says. Dean laughs and rolls against him. It's been awhile since they were apart. He's starting to think that one or both of them might drop dead if they try to separate. Of course, he once felt that way about his brother.
"Okay," Dean says. "Let me just do this one thing."
Castiel sighs impatiently, but he lets Dean climb on top of him and kiss his neck. His skin smells strongly of shaving cream, and Dean is careful to avoid the places on his face where he nicked himself with the safety razor Dean got for him. Dean has always shaved with a knife, but that was out of the question for Castiel, who is still clumsy in his vessel's body.
"Why haven't these healed?" Dean asks, touching a tiny bubble of blood at Castiel's jawline.
"Sometimes it takes a little longer," Castiel says. Dean stares down at him, frowns. This is wearing on him and they both know it. He's pouring all of his energy into Dean, giving it away in buckets. Yesterday, Dean ate five cheeseburgers for lunch and accidentally punched a hole in a suspected witch's door when he was only trying to knock. He's become a better shot, a peerless pool player, and he's both hungry all the time and more satisfied with the taste of food than he's ever been while sober. Even his dick feels bigger and heavier, but maybe that's just because he's hard all the time.
"This is bad, isn't it?" Dean asks. He starts to slide off of Castiel, but Castiel stops him, puts two steady hands on his sides.
"They're just cuts, Dean," he says. "They will heal."
He didn't answer Dean's question, but neither of them need to hear it out loud. It's become fairly clear that what they're doing is dancing the line between glorious and wicked. It's the same thing Dean lambasted Sam for doing with Ruby. Almost.
Still, it feels too indefinably right to stop, so Dean only leans down to push his choppy breath into Castiel's mouth, kisses him until he can taste shaving cream and toothpaste and all the things that make Castiel feel deceptively human. But there is a human there, beneath Dean on the bed, his chest shuddering against Dean's as their cocks drag together. Dean sees snatches of the guy sometimes, when Castiel is completely surrendered to earthly pleasures; suddenly there will be a surprised gasp or a lazy smile that doesn't belong to the angel. Dean has come to know him well, and he can see the seams when they show. Castiel claims the vessel wants Dean's hands on him, that it's comforting, and Dean would doubt his word if he didn't feel almost worshipful as he pushes Castiel's undershirt away and kisses down his vessel's trembling stomach. This always feels like something he should do, a necessary ritual, but it's hard to separate that feeling from what he simply wants, so badly that his hands shake.
"You like that?" Dean asks when he's inside him, the vessel, the angel, neither or both. "Oh fuck yeah -- you -- you do, don't you?"
Dean can never keep his mouth shut. He needs to bring this down to a level he understands, to integrate lines familiar from porn, because he's afraid being close like this could blow him straight off the face of the earth if he handed himself over completely. Castiel never answers his prompts, only tightens his muscles around Dean's cock, which makes Dean curse unintelligibly and forget to make it sound sexy.
The sun comes up while they're recovering, Dean catching his breath with Castiel curled behind him, his arm snug across Dean's chest. Dean has told himself a thousand times that he'll never do this when they're in a hurry again. He always wants to sleep for days. His stomach growls and Castiel sniffs in amusement.
"We should go," he says, breath warm on Dean's shoulder. Dean is drooling onto the sheets. He's so tired. Too comfortable.
"Five more minutes," he says.
Castiel sits up and rubs his thumb over the tiny hairs on the back of Dean's neck. Dean would purr if he could. It's so easy to forget the end of the world and everything that's gone wrong when he's being coddled, looked after like he's sacred, worthy of being rescued by an angel. It's easy to forget that he isn't worthy or sacred or even close to being the kind of person who deserves this.
"It's time," Castiel says before Dean can fall asleep again. "I'm going. Are you coming?"
"I'm up, I'm up." Dean rolls over and rubs at his eyes. The dim light through the curtains over the front window shines behind Castiel's silhouette, and Dean sits up quickly, doesn't like the look of him in any sort of abstract, light pouring around him. He doesn't like to remember that Castiel is an employee who might be called back from this business trip anytime.
"So where are we going?" Dean asks as Castiel dresses in his traditional ensemble, shirt and tie, wrinkled pants.
"Maine," Castiel says.
"Oh yeah?" Dean gets out of bed, groans with the effort and stretches until his back cracks. "What's in Maine?"
"My vessel's home."
"So?" Dean says, a nervous suspicion building in his chest. "Why are we going there?"
"Because it's almost Christmastime."
"Uh? And?"
"And his children miss their father." Castiel puts on his trench coat and walks toward the window. He pulls the curtains back and peeks out at the scabby motel parking lot like he's expecting a sign.
"So what?" Dean scoffs and begins packing his duffel, wearing only boxers and socks, confused and upset by this development. As if things aren't already complicated enough. "You're going to pretend to be their dad so they can have a nice Christmas? That's -- actually really creepy."
"No, Dean. I could never pretend. I'm sure my attempt would only frighten them. I will leave my vessel for a few days. I have business elsewhere that does not require me to maintain this form."
"Let me get this straight," Dean says, fuming. "God wants you to take a fucking Christmas vacation so your vessel can have a little quality time with the fam?"
"Don't be frightened," Castiel says. Dean scoffs and punches the clothes he's stuffing into his duffel. He wants to go nuts at the suggestion that Castiel's absence could be frightening, but there's no point in trying to fool him. He knows what Dean's head is like when he's alone.
"I'm not frightened," Dean says anyway. "I'm pissed off. It doesn't make any sense."
"What doesn't?"
"You going out of your way to 'comfort' this guy! How do you even know he wants to go home for the holidays?"
"He doesn't. It's his children's wishes I'm honoring by sending him there, not his own."
Dean stares at Castiel for awhile, still undressed, like a petulant kid trying to delay the start of his school day.
"Haven't we got bigger problems?" Dean asks. "Doesn't God have better things to worry about?"
"Of course He does. This is my decision, Dean. I know it will be hard for you, but --"
"Look, I got no problem sacrificing for the sake of some kids," Dean says, embarrassed by the disappointment that is crushing him flat. He'll have to sleep alone. He won't be dreaming of Jesus while Castiel is away, that's for damn sure.
"I know that, Dean," Castiel says. "I don't want to be apart from you, but we need -- some distance."
"I whole-fucking-heartedly agree," Dean says, turning his back to Castiel. His insides are all blackened, ash and bone. Castiel is worried, too. They're turning into something unholy. They have to stop, but all Dean wants to do is burrow closer, hold on tight.
*
It's a ten hour drive to the small town in Maine where Robert Buchanan lived with his wife and daughters before Castiel answered his prayers and possessed him. Dean drives faster than he needs to, and Castiel sits in slumped silence, watching the highway scenery. Shared unhappiness radiates between them until it's almost cozy. Dean has had plenty of drives like this with Sam.
"Anything come across your radar about my brother recently?" Dean asks when they stop for lunch in Massachusetts.
"No," Castiel says. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry."
"I'd have liked for you to spend Christmas with him."
"What? Why? You know she'd be with him."
"Yes, well." Castiel drinks from his coffee cup. He used to take it black, but lately he's been developing a fondness for sugar. "It's unfortunate."
"Yeah." Dean scowls, reaches for the check. "It is."
When they finally reach Maine, the sun is setting, and it's dark when they arrive in Robert's neighborhood. Dean parks outside the small house that Castiel indicated, and looks at him for the first time since lunch. He seems curious and sad, but that's nothing new.
"Where will you go while I'm gone?" Castiel asks.
"I don't know," Dean mutters. "Atlantic City."
"I'd prefer it if you stayed here and kept an eye on my vessel. I don't want him punished for his service to me if demons should locate him while I'm away."
"Fine," Dean says. "I'll stay here and stalk him. Merry fucking Christmas to me." He's actually incredibly relieved to have a job to do.
"Dean." Castiel reaches for him, and Dean almost wants to flinch away, feeling abandoned and afraid that this is just a sneak peek of the long life ahead of him after Castiel leaves for good. Castiel touches Dean's cheek, his ear, his hair, his mouth. He seems like he's struggling with something. Dean leans into his touch, though the security in it is bittersweet, since he'll soon be gone.
"Take care of him," Castiel says, meaning the vessel.
"I will."
"He'll be -- confused when I'm gone."
"What? He doesn't know you're leaving?"
"Of course he knows, Dean. Just -- look after him."
"I said I would." Dean turns away angrily, and Castiel's hand slides from his shoulder.
"I'm going now," Castiel says. "Shut your eyes."
Dean does as he asked, his arms folded over his chest. He feels like someone has told him that all of the oxygen in the world will be gone in a few seconds, and he'll just have to make do without it. He and Sam have the same basic problem. They can't operate without an overly important ally, without someone within arm's reach who knows what the world is really like, who knows everything.
"Take care of yourself, Dean," Castiel says softly, and then there's a sound like a bedsheet being unfurled with a snap, and he's gone. Dean can feel it in the air of the car, and hear it in the clumsy, panting breath of the man beside him in the passenger seat. Only a man. Dean is afraid to open his eyes and see the face he's come to associate with his angel without Castiel's pale fire burning beneath it.
"Dean?" the man -- Robert -- Rob, apparently -- gasps out. Dean feels his cheeks heat. He's about to meet the man he's been fucking for the past month and a half.
"That's me," Dean says, and he opens his eyes. Rob is staring at him with open terror, as if Dean is holding him hostage. His posture is better than Castiel's; he effortlessly inhabits his body. His cheeks are red and his eyes don't look quite as blue as they did ten seconds ago.
"Uh, nice to meet you?" Dean says, hating the burn across his own cheeks. Rob's mouth is hanging open like he can't decide where to begin.
"Yeah," he says. "I'm gonna get out of the car."
And then he does, which seems strange for some reason. He walks not toward his house but away from it, down the street. Dean curses and throws the driver's side door open, follows him.
"Wait up," Dean shouts. "You heard what he said. I have to look after you."
"Yeah." Rob is staring at the road, walking fast. "Right. Okay."
"Are you alright?" Dean asks. "You look like you're freaking out."
"I'm not freaking out," Rob says, and Dean has to bite back a laugh. His voice is completely different from Castiel's, though he's using the same vocal chords and his tone has the same gravely edge. Castiel manages to be both soft and commanding when he speaks, but Rob is a wreck, all breathless and exasperated.
"Okay, so, where are you going?" Dean asks.
Rob looks around like he's searching for his getaway car, pulls his hands through his hair. Dean still has residual desire for Castiel pulsing through him, and he wants to take Rob into his arms, tell him everything is going to be okay. He was fucking the hell out of the guy just ten hours ago, but on this dark suburban street they are suddenly just strangers.
"Are you really okay with -- everything?" Dean asks. "Or is that just something Castiel says to make me feel better?"
"What do you mean?" Rob asks.
"I mean, uh, like, you know. This morning. That -- stuff -- we did."
Dean can see Rob's breath, and he wishes he'd brought a better coat. He had one at some point -- did Sam take off with it? Did he leave it in a motel room? Rob makes a noise like he's going to throw up and runs forward, throws his arms around Dean's shoulders.
"Oh, Dean!" he says, like they haven't seen each other in years. Dean scoffs in surprise and pats his back gingerly.
"Okay there," he says, for lack of anything better. "Just -- oh!" He coughs in surprise when Rob squeezes him tight, almost choking him.
"I don't want to go in there," Rob says. "I love them, but I can't explain what's happened to me. I can't deal with all of this at once."
"You don't have to tell them about the whole angel thing," Dean says. He tries to politely pry Rob off of him when a car passes, but he won't budge.
"But what will I tell them about you?" Rob asks. Dean raises an eyebrow.
"Um, nothing? I'll wait outside. You can have your pancakes and stockings and whatever you people do, and I'll just keep an eye out --"
"I can't go in there alone," Rob says.
"Well, I'm gonna be a little hard to explain."
"Please, Dean." Rob leans back to give him a pathetic look. His lips are trembling. "It's hard enough to be away from him."
"Him?"
"Castiel. It -- hurts -- without him."
Dean scratches his head, doesn't know what to say. So Rob is a bit of a weirdo. He should have guessed as much; the guy was praying to be possessed by angels, after all.
"Look, it's late," Dean says. "Maybe we should just have a drink, you can get some sleep, and then we'll figure out how to, uh, reintroduce you tomorrow."
Rob smiles slowly, his eyes lighting as if Dean just told him he loves him and won't let anything happen to him. Which is, sure, maybe what he was trying to say, though he doesn't know this guy at all, not really.
*
They find a motel with a liquor store nearby; funny how often that happens. Dean searches the shelves for the appropriate drink for spending time with a relative stranger whose balls have slapped against your ass on regular occasions, and he feels oddly cheerful. Maybe it's the tinsel strung on the turnstile or the Charlie Brown Christmas music playing over the loudspeakers. He selects vodka and Miller High Life, and Rob nods in approval when he holds them up.
"I'm actually not much of a drinker," Rob tells Dean as they head for the cash register.
"You don't say."
Dean pays for the booze and they walk through the biting cold toward the hotel, neither of them dressed appropriately for the weather. The ground is crusted with old snow, and as midnight approaches the air is so sharp that breathing it feels like swallowing crystals. The rank heat of their cheap motel room is a welcome respite, and Rob moans in gratitude once they're inside, rubs his hands together as Dean locks the door.
"Aren't you used to this shit?" Dean asks. "How long have you lived in Maine?"
"All my life," Rob says, his teeth chattering. "But the world feels - colder, now. And anyway, I usually have a real jacket and hat on in December."
"Hmm." Dean finds Dixie cups in the bathroom and fills one with vodka, hands it to Rob. "That'll warm you up."
Rob smiles warily and drinks, winces. Dean laughs and pours some for himself. They ate dinner hours ago and he's hungry again, but it's too cold to go back out. He flips on the TV and sits on one of the room's double beds, does another shot of vodka. He should be drinking coffee. He doesn't want to try and sleep without Castiel around to watch over him.
"So," Dean says when they've been sitting in silence for awhile, staring at Christmas-themed reruns of old shows like Jag and Night Court. "What's it like? Being possessed by an angel?"
Rob looks down at his hands as if this is an intensely personal question. Dean is going to tell him he doesn't have to answer, but Rob speaks before he can issue a retraction.
"Can I come sit by you?" he asks.
Dean feels a flush move across his chest like he's swallowed another shot. He nods, stupidly glad that Rob wants to come closer, and uncomfortable with it at the same time. Rob sits beside him, still wearing his coat and tie. Dean wants to take them off, has to remind himself that this is not Castiel, who always looks at Dean with childish wonder as he undresses him. This is a man with a past and a mind of his own. This is a married man with two kids who are asking Santa to bring him back.
"It doesn't feel like being possessed," Rob says, his voice quiet and reverent in a way that reminds Dean of Castiel. "It feels like realizing some better part of you. Like figuring out what you're supposed to do. The angel -- he doesn't pull me around, I don't feel helpless. I feel guided."
Dean looks back to the television set. He flips around until he finds something that looks familiar, then recognizes it as an old episode of Quantum Leap.
"My brother used to love this cheesy show," he says, a feeling like stitches popping in his chest. "I gave him hell for it. I --"
He stops talking, swallows hard. Rob is watching him like he's waiting for more. Dean gets up and goes to the side table where he left the beers, cracks one open for both of them.
"Here's to avoiding our families," he says when he comes back, and Rob's face falls, but he accepts the beer can, clicks it against Dean's. "Hell of a way to spend the holidays," Dean says, and he drinks.
"I'll see them tomorrow," Rob says. "I just have to -- think."
"Yeah," Dean mumbles, climbing back onto the bed. "I been there."
Rob studies his beer can for awhile, like there are secret messages written on it. Dean stares at the TV, watches Dr. Sam Beckett set things right that once went wrong. Dean always preferred Al the hologram, who was constantly chasing tail and often screwed things up by encouraging Sam to take the easy way out.
"I have missed them," Rob says. "My daughters of course, and my wife."
"So why'd you marry her if you really like dudes?" Dean asks, irritated with him. Rob has the option to drive back to his house pull his loved ones into his arms, but he's sitting here, wasting time with Dean, who would do anything to see Sam just for a few minutes.
"I couldn't even admit to myself that I did, back when we were engaged," Rob says. "I just thought I didn't like sex as much as most guys. I figured, it's different for everyone, right? I would notice men, think about them, but I convinced myself that I just wanted them as friends. Then Pete came in for an interview at the bank and oh, God -- I could barely listen to his answers to my questions, he was so -- I couldn't wait to hire him. I would get so excited about going to work after that, I'd lay awake at night just thinking about the next day, making plans to ask him to lunch, thinking about what I would wear to impress him. I just -- I --"
Rob shuts his eyes, shakes his head.
"When I finally admitted to myself that I was in love with Pete, the guilt was like a cancer," Rob says. "I prayed every night to God, begged him to take away the feelings, but in my heart I didn't really want him to. I realized this. It felt good to want Pete so much, even though I knew it was bad, wrong, and unfair to my family. I told myself that if I could just manage a single sincere request to rid me of my unnatural desire, God would grant me that mercy. I don't know if I achieved it or not -- but I thought I did when Castiel came. Then -- he took me to you, and -- and --"
"And what?" Dean asks. Rob's blubbering makes him miss Castiel's confidence all the more, though he does feel sorry for him, maybe, a little.
"And I started to wonder what my heart had really prayed for," Rob says. He won't look at Dean, just stares at his beer can, still determined to study it rather than drink from it.
"You trying to say you prayed for me?" Dean asks, disbelieving. He wonders how much Rob knows about him beyond what he's seen with his own eyes, how much Castiel has shared.
"I don't know," Rob says. He clears his throat, seems embarrassed, and heads for the bathroom muttering about taking a shower. Dean gets another beer and watches Golden Girls. He tries not to think about Rob in the shower, nervous and needy, that body Dean knows so well blushed pink by the hot water. It would be so nice to take off his clothes and lean against him under the spray, arms locked around his chest. They wouldn't even have to fool around; Dean isn't particularly in the mood for it. He jumps when he hears the whine of the shower being turned off, and flips the channel to a nature show about bees.
"It's late," Rob says when he comes out wearing a towel, holding it tightly around his waist though Dean has already seen everything. "I guess I'll get in bed."
"Here," Dean says. He stands up, and realizes for the first time that he's kind of hammered. "Let me get you something to wear." He stumbles toward his duffel and hunts through it until he comes up with a sweatshirt and some clean boxers.
"Thank you," Rob says when Dean offers them, and there's something so earnest in his voice, as if Dean is giving him a kidney, that Dean wants to drop the clothes and throw his arms around him instead. He keeps wanting to turn him into Castiel; it's so hard to remember that he's someone else, just a random bumpkin along for the ride.
He's afraid to sleep, so he tries to keep watching TV after Rob tucks himself under the blankets in his own bed. His eyes start drooping fairly quickly, the warm fuzz of the alcohol pulling him under. His attempts to fight it are only half-hearted, and soon he's rolling onto his side, still dressed, as if his daytime clothes will protect him for the last vestiges of real sleep.
The dreams start off bad and get worse. The slice of a knife, memories of the pain real enough to pierce through the dream and cut him open again. Someone screaming nearby, someone he can't help, though he keeps struggling as if maybe he can. Finally the nightmares land on Sam, the golden ticket, his maniacal laughter like blood pouring out of Dean's ears.
"Don't!" he screams when he wakes. He grabs the arm of his attacker, but it's just Rob. They're both on the floor between their beds, Dean soaked in sweat and panting hard, Rob white-faced and gaping at him, one hand still clutched around his shoulder.
"You were dreaming," Rob says, his voice small and cautious, as if he's considering bolting from the room.
"Yeah, I figured that out, thanks," Dean says, shoving his hand away. He climbs back into bed and punches his pillow, blinks away tears of frustration. He'll never sleep again, not without Castiel. Some part of him must have gotten left behind in hell, and he's able to disconnect from it during the day, but not at night. Castiel will finish his business on earth one way or another, and Dean will return to hell when he's gone, every night, every time his head hits a pillow.
"Sorry," Rob says, moving unsteadily back into his own bed.
"Don't apologize!" Dean roars, and he feels bad when Rob flinches. He opens his mouth, shuts it, and turns away, curls onto his pillow. He lets out his breath and draws a hand over his face, wishes Castiel would make an appearance. Please he begs, not sure who he's appealing to, just for the night.
"These fucking dreams," Dean says, in way of apology to Rob, who probably had the shit scared out of him by Dean's desperate screaming. He's been thrown out of motels for it before. "They're driving me crazy."
"I can't sleep, either," Rob says. Dean rolls his eyes; insomnia and vivid memories of hell aren't exactly comparable. Still, he's glad he's not alone.
"I'm just used to, you know," Dean mutters. "With him."
"Yes. I know."
Dean lies down and turns onto his side, pulls the blankets up to his ear. There's no chance he'll sleep again soon, with his heart pounding like this, and he's glad, but staring into the darkness with the memories still fresh is almost as bad. He lets loose a staggered sigh, and when he hears Rob get out of bed he waits to see the bathroom light flick on, but the room stays dark. Rob goes quiet, and then suddenly he's sitting on the edge of Dean's bed, very gingerly, as if he thinks Dean has fallen asleep again already. Dean shuts his eyes, pretends that he has.
"Dean?" Rob whispers. He starts to lean down, stops, and Dean aches at the thought that he'll go back to his own bed, so badly that he almost laughs at himself. He's desperate for just the smell of Castiel's vessel, which might help him sleep a little, just for a few precious minutes.
He stays perfectly still when Rob finally slips an arm around his side and puts his head on the pillow beside his. He can feel Rob's breath on the back of his neck, and it's not as soft and measured as Castiel's, but it's good, still good. Rob pulls the comforter up over both of them, and Dean involuntarily wiggles back against him, then feels like he should say something, his cover blown.
"Fine," he mumbles, as if his consent is really required. Rob says nothing, just ducks his head down closer to Dean's shoulder. The heat of his body is different without Castiel occupying it, and he doesn't envelope Dean like a welcome sedative, just lies there with his heart beating fast against Dean's back, keeping him awake.
*
At some point Dean is able to sleep, and he wakes up feeling sore and lazy, rolls over to stuff his face in Rob's sweatshirt and drifts off again. It's almost noon by the time he finally lifts his head, and Rob is still drooling onto the pillow.
"Hey," Dean says, tapping his shoulder. "Dude. Wake up." Again he feels uncomfortable, like he doesn't really know this person, just happens to be accustomed to sleeping with him. Rob blinks awake slowly, and looks up at Dean with a wince, as if he's the sun.
"Dean," he says, his voice creaky and deeper than Dean has ever heard it on Castiel, who seems to be perpetually alert.
"What?"
"Nothing." Rob smiles a little and shuts his eyes. Dean reaches for him but then thinks better of it, flings himself out of bed instead.
"We'd better get a move on," Dean says. "Or you had better, anyway."
Rob sits up and looks at him glumly. Dean rolls his eyes and heads into the bathroom, washes his face with freezing water. He should have asked Castiel how long he'll have to be away -- or did Castiel tell him? A few days? Dean should know this. He feels like he's had an arm ripped off and he's running out of time to have it sewn back on. It's a familiar feeling. He's only got one arm left, after all, the other off cavorting with a demon Dean actually convinced himself to trust and even like at one point, gullible ass that he is. He was willing to do anything to keep Sam with him, but recognizing that Ruby would do the same was what woke him up again. She only cares that she's with Sam the way she wants to be, doesn't give a shit how it wears on him. Dean has never allowed himself the same luxury; not with Sam, anyway. He loves his brother too much. It's what will always keep them apart.
"Ready to go?" Dean asks when he emerges from the bathroom. Rob is dressed in his original clothes, the ones he was wearing when Castiel first came to him. They look sloppier and more pathetic on him.
"I could use something to eat first," Rob says. "It's almost lunchtime."
"Quit stalling!" Dean shouts. "For God's sake. They're not going to attack you. They love you, they want to see you."
"It's not that simple," Rob says. "And you know it."
"Don't tell me what I know!" Dean is starving and irritable and needs to get out of this room.
"I do know you," Rob says, wilting a bit. "I've been with you --"
"Castiel has," Dean says. "Not you. So don't -- just don't." He pushes past Rob and out of the room, and the cold outside shocks him. The sun is out, bright in the cloudless sky, but the cold is so bitter he can't move for a moment. He hears Rob leave the room and walk up behind him, his feet crunching over the melted slush in the parking lot.
"Fine," Rob says. "Just give me a ride."
*
Rob's house looks more cheerful in the light of day, though it's still small and in need of a paint job, possibly also a new roof. Dean walks behind him to the door, begrudging the story they came up with to account for his presence. If Castiel were around, he'd probably tell Dean that Rob needs to face his family alone. It's certainly what Dean wants to tell him, but he's associated Rob's sad sack face too closely with Castiel, and he couldn't tell Castiel no if he looked at him that way, pleading and chewing his lip. As if Castiel ever would.
"Go ahead," Dean says when they're standing on the front stoop. The house is quiet, but Dean can hear a clunking sound coming from somewhere inside, like a washing machine or a dishwasher running. Rob reaches for the bell and Dean slaps his hand away.
"You don't have to ring the doorbell at your own damn house!" he snaps. Rob's nervousness is rubbing off on him, and he doesn't like it.
"Castiel only allowed me to write one letter," Rob says. He's sweating across his upper lip, though it's freezing outside.
"Really?" Dean scoffs. "I wonder if it was you or Castiel making that decision."
"There was no time," Rob mumbles. Dean groans and reaches past him to knock twice before trying the door handle. It's not locked, so he pulls it open and shoves Rob into the house, wielding him like a shield.
The inside of the house is warm but dimly lit, the large front room decorated for Christmas. There is a small tree in the corner covered with mostly homemade ornaments, a paper chain and a strand of popcorn and cranberries criss-crossing the colored lights. There are candles on the mantle and stickers shaped like snowflakes on the windows. Rob looks around the place and lets out his breath. Dean feels sorry for him suddenly, and reaches to touch the small of his back, but a woman walks into the room before he can, and he drops his hand back to his side.
The woman gasps and slaps both hands to her mouth, her eyes going wide. She's short and delicate with messy hair half-pulled into a ponytail. Her denim jumper and white turtleneck make her look like a girl, but she's got lines around her eyes.
"Honey," Rob says, and it sounds so flat that Dean almost kicks him.
"What - what," is all the woman can manage to say before she flies across the room and throws her arms around Rob. She spots Dean over his shoulder and wipes at her eyes, sniffles and steps back.
"Robert," she says, her face changing quickly. "Where the hell have you been?"
Rob just stares at her, and Dean is afraid he'll try to tell her the truth. He puts on his best insurance company rep smile and steps forward, offers his hand. Rob's wife glares at him.
"It's my fault, ma'am," Dean says. "My name is Dean. I'm Rob's half-brother."
It was the first story Dean came up, and the irony didn't strike him until it was too late.
"I'm Bonnie," Rob's wife says tightly. "I don't suppose my husband mentioned me."
"Of course he did!" Dean says, and he glances at Rob, but he still seems to be frozen in place. Dean wonders for a moment if Castiel has come back, but Rob isn't slouching the way Castiel does.
"I didn't know he had a - half-brother," Bonnie says, like she already doubts this is true. She's looking at Dean like he's the other woman, and Dean wonders how often and enthusiastically Rob talked to her about his 'friend' at work.
"Daddy?" someone shrieks from a hallway that leads to the back of the house, and Dean looks up to see two skinny girls staring at Rob in shock. Dean prays that Rob won't baulk like he did with his wife, and he lets out his breath in relief when Rob laughs in happy surprise and sinks to the floor so that his daughters can embrace him. One looks to be about seven, with glasses and messy brown hair like her mother, and the other maybe nine or ten, pretty and blue-eyed like her father.
"You're back!" the older girl says with a smile, and she turns to Bonnie. "Mom!" she says, as if she's waiting for her to join in. Bonnie puts on a happy face, but even the girls don't seem to buy it.
"What's wrong?" the older girl asks when she turns back to her father. Rob is red-eyed, stroking her hair, his younger daughter hugged to his side.
"I can't stay," Rob says, his voice barely functional. "I'm just here for Christmas, okay?"
The girls look to their mother as if to confirm this. She stares at Rob, then at Dean. The girls look up at him as if they've just noticed he's there.
"Hey," Dean says, backing toward the door. "Maybe I'll --"
"Girls, this is your uncle," Rob says in a rush, not bothering to mention Dean's name. He looks up at his wife. "He was in trouble. That's why I had to go away. He - still is."
"What sort of trouble?" Bonnie asks. She bends down to pull her younger daughter from Rob's side.
"It's a long story," Dean says before Rob can open his mouth. "Look, maybe I should go."
"Yes, I think you should," Bonnie snaps as Rob turns to look at Dean like he's just stabbed him in the back. Dean leaves anyway, gets out the door as quickly as he can and goes to sit in his car. Just the smell of the interior and the shape of the steering wheel calm him down. He looks back to the house, not sure why that affected him so much. He's practically hyperventilating.
He stays in the car and keeps an eye on the house, turns the heat on when he can't take the cold anymore. When Rob finally emerges several hours later with an old green suitcase in his hand, Dean has his shades on and is listening to Holy Diver. He rolls the window down as Rob approaches. His eyes are bloodshot and he looks like he's going to throw up.
"Can I get in?" he asks.
"Shouldn't you be in there?" Dean asks. "Until, uh, Christmas is over? Or something?" Dean is never sure how any of this shit works when Castiel isn't around. It's been awhile since he had to do anything without him.
"She threw me out," Rob says. "She thinks you're. You know."
"What?"
"My boyfriend," Rob mumbles. "Or whatever."
Dean scoffs as if this is ridiculous. "Get in," he says, flicking his head toward the passenger seat. Rob jogs around to the other side of the car like he's afraid Dean will change his mind and peel away if he waits too long to take him up on his offer.
They drive back toward the motel, and Dean stops at the first fast food establishment he sees. It's almost four o'clock in the afternoon and he's starving, orders four burgers and mega-sized french fries, milkshakes and a piece of plastic "pie" with gummy apple filling. They eat in the parking lot like they're on a stakeout. Rob is listless and Dean is frantic, eating fries in handfuls.
"So," Dean says when he's sucked down the last of his milkshake. "That went well. Clearly."
"Please," Rob says, staring down at his lap, so Dean doesn't say anymore. He drives back to the motel.
"Why don't we just leave?" Rob asks as they walk toward the room.
"Because." Dean unlocks the door, already pulling off his coat. He can't wait to get in the shower and stand under an endless supply of hot water until he's half-asleep. "I don't think you've done what the angel wanted you to do yet."
"And what was that, exactly?" Rob asks, following him into the room. He watches Dean unbuckle his pants and push them down. Dean looks up and sees the color coming back to his cheeks.
"Give those poor kids a decent holiday with their dad," Dean says. "Tonight's Christmas Eve. If you need a little break from the wrath of your wife, that's fine, but you've got to, you know, persevere."
"I'm a horrible person," Rob says, dropping to the bed. Dean takes his shirt off, but even that doesn't distract Rob from his self-pity. "I wouldn't be surprised if the angel never comes back to me."
"Join the club," Dean says, and Rob looks up at him with that wounded expression that Dean is getting really tired of, though it still makes him feel like an asshole every time. "I only mean I feel the same way," he explains. "Like I don't deserve any breaks."
"What are you talking about?" Rob asks. "You haven't done anything wrong."
"Um, where the hell have you been? Just for starters, I've seduced an angel and he's getting weaker by the freaking day, but that hasn't stopped me yet."
Rob frowns. "He's not getting weaker."
"How would you know?"
"I'd know, Dean. And believe me, having sex with someone who loves you is hardly on the same scale as abandoning your children."
"You haven't abandoned them," Dean mumbles, and then he realizes he's standing naked in the middle of the room. "Jesus," he says, covering his crotch with his hands. "Sorry."
"It's okay," Rob says, turning away. "I know you forget. I'm supposed to be him. Believe me, I wish I was, too."
Dean doesn't know what to say, so he only walks into the bathroom. He leaves the door open, figures there's no point in shutting it now. When the water in the shower begins to steam, he climbs under it and exhales in relief, though he's still tense and jumpy. Something is missing. Something is not right. He tells himself that it's just Castiel, he wants Castiel back, and it's his first Christmas without Sam in awhile. He thinks about last year, the Christmas before he went to hell.
Hell creeps in on him quick, and he yanks his eyes open, lets out a panicked breath. His heart is racing, but hell can't have him yet. He's awake, and not alone. Rob is out there in the room. No, he's standing in the bathroom doorway.
"Dean?" he says, and his voice fills the room like light in the night sky, clearing the clouds.
"Yeah?" Dean says, struggling not to give anything away, not sure why except that it's his default, and he never lets his guard down except with Castiel, but this is not him, not the same, he can't forget.
"Nothing - I thought I heard you call my name."
"Well. I didn't." Dean isn't sure this is true, and he draws back the shower curtain when Rob starts to leave. He turns back and meets Dean's eyes, and for the first time, Dean doesn't see the angel at all.
"You need something?" Rob asks, his voice careful and quiet, almost inaudible under the sound of the water.
"I don't know," Dean answers honestly, and when his voice breaks Rob takes that like an invitation, and Dean is grateful as hell for the fact that Rob does know him, that he really has been here all along. He climbs into the shower with his stupid shirt and tie and pants and socks still on, and Dean helps him pull them off as the water soaks them under his hands, throws one after the other over the shower curtain while Rob kisses his face, spraying water into his eyes and making him blind. But Dean knows him, too, knows his body better than anything and maybe the rest of him, too, and he can do this with his eyes closed if he has to.
"God," Rob says when his wet clothes are gone. "It's my fault, it's me."
"What?" Dean's hands are running in crazy paths over Rob's slick skin, which feels so different without an angel underneath, not like a tonic or a daydream. Rob feels like something that could belong to him.
"I'm the one," Rob breathes, bucking into Dean's grip when he takes the familiar heat of his cock into his hand. "I need you. If anyone is making him weak, it's me."
"He wouldn't," Dean huffs, not sure how he feels about this. "He wouldn't allow anything like that. So shut up, okay, just shut up?"
Rob nods, leans against the wall of the shower and spreads himself open for Dean's hands. Dean is sort of sobbing, not sure why, but it's easy to hide under the water, and he bites Rob's shoulder when he comes, leaves behind a mark of his own. They both recover slowly, panting onto each other, and Dean doesn't experience the crushing guilt that always follows any sort of physical communion with Castiel. He clings and moans against Rob's skin, likes the way Rob holds him around the waist, likes the scratch of his stubble and the clumsy way he's standing on Dean's left foot.
"I did pray for you," Rob says, squeezing the back of Dean's neck. "I'm just afraid I haven't earned it. Why should my prayer be answered?"
Dean releases him and ducks down to turn the shower off. When he straightens Rob is still slumped against the shower wall, his lips fat and pink, his hair wrecked and his skin red in spots, from the water, from the crush of Dean's mouth.
"Maybe I wanted the same thing," Dean says. "Maybe it was just a good match. Good timing. I don't know. But I do think it's good. I don't know that it is, but I want it to be."
They walk over Rob's damp clothes and back into the room, which feels ice cold now. Dean rips all of the blankets off of Rob's bed and dumps them onto his, then pulls Rob down underneath them. It's already grown dark outside, and Dean feels full and content, ready for bed at five o'clock in the evening.
"Christmas Eve," Rob mutters against Dean's forehead as he's drifting off.
"Yep," Dean says, not sure what he wants to hear.
"I wish there were two of me," Rob says. "One that they could keep. I do want to be with them. But I, I --"
"You don't have to explain," Dean says, thinking of Sam. "I know."
Rob pulls him in closer. He feels so small without Castiel inside him.
"I know you know," he says.
Dean sleeps, doesn't dream. He wakes up hungry around midnight, and squirms out of Rob's grip, drinks a beer at the room's front window, naked with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He pulls back the curtain just a bit, watches a light dusting of snow fall onto the damp parking lot. He's not sure what he's looking for, who might come through the snow to the door. The world could end anytime. He turns back to the bed, where Rob is still asleep, and finally understands, for a brief, hazy moment, what the fuck is going on here.
Castiel will be back, but he won't stay. It was never an option. He brought Dean someone to keep the nightmares away when he's gone. He could have pulled anyone out of hell; there were other selfless souls there, cleaner and better than what's become of Dean's. But Rob prayed for someone with a cocksucking mouth and a badass car and big green eyes, freckles across his nose, someone who could love him back. He was only praying to be saved, but the answer, somehow, was Dean.
*
The next morning, Rob knocks on his family's door and his wife allows him inside. He opens presents with his children and eats blueberry pancakes. Dean waits outside in the car, listens to the radio. All up and down the street, chimneys are pumping out smoke, and nobody comes or goes, everyone inside with their families, what's left of them or whatever they can scrape together, and it feels like a cease fire.
He's listening to Christmas music, which he hates, when the passenger side door opens. He sits up to flip the station, but it's too late. Sam heard "The Little Drummer Boy." Dean can see it on his face. But, wait.
"Sam?" he says in a shout, and it feels so good just to say his brother's name. Sam is grinning like all is right with the world, and Dean figures he's got to be dreaming, though his fingers are still burning with the cold his car's heater can't quite keep up with. He looks around for Ruby, but Sam is alone, and holding a deliciously greasy-looking McDonald's bag.
"I thought you might be hungry," Sam says, and the sound of his voice makes Dean choke up a laugh that may have originated as a sob.
"How," he stutters. "How?"
"Let's just say someone is looking out for you." Sam reaches into the bag to fish out an Egg McMuffin, as if to demonstrate. He raises an eyebrow when Dean hesitates. "I can eat them myself if you're on a diet or something," he says, and Dean snatches it out of his hand, beams at him.
"Sammy," he says, with a mouth full of rubbery egg. "Jesus Christ."
"First I'm the antichrist, now I'm Jesus?" Sam says, digging into the bag for a hashbrown. Dean punches his shoulder.
"I never called you the antichrist."
Sam shrugs. "Not in so many words," he says, and Dean is thrilled with the opportunity to punch him again.
"Seriously, man," he says, stealing the hashbrown. "How did you get here? Are you fucking teleporting now?" he asks, a nervous fear pricking into him. Sam snorts.
"It's called a car," he says, gesturing at a blue sedan parked fifty feet behind Dean's. "You're not the only one who has one."
"Don't tell me you bought that piece - that, uh - automobile."
Sam rolls his eyes. "It gets good gas mileage."
"Well, I guess that's a priority when you're tracking the apocalypse."
"I guess so."
They stare at each other for a minute, and decide to throw their arms around each other at the same moment, which makes for an unfortunate meeting of their foreheads. They both sit back and curse.
"Wanna try that again?" Sam asks, still wincing.
"See." Dean shakes his head. "Now you've gone and made the moment all chick flicky."
"Dean." Sam lets loose one of his haughty scoffs, another thing Dean never thought he could miss. "You've been touched by an angel, okay? I think it's time to accept the chick flicky elements of your life."
Dean punches him, then hugs him, probably for too long, but he knows this cease fire won't last. Sam turns the Christmas music back on, and Dean protests but lets him listen to horrible jingles that were never really a part of their childhood, though they know them well enough from the loudspeaker systems of convenience stores and truck stops.
"So where's Castiel?" Sam asks as they eat their McBreakfast.
"Long story," Dean says. "How about Ruby?"
"Yeah," Sam says. "Long story."
"It was Castiel who told you how to find me, wasn't it?" Dean asks.
"You're so sure it wasn't Ruby?" Sam says, and Dean punches him. He leaves his hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezes.
"Doesn't matter if the Easter Bunny told you where I was," Dean says. "I'm glad you came."
"Me too," Sam says. He puts his wibbly face on, and Dean would pinch his cheek, but his fingers are greasy from the food.
"We're gonna be okay, Sammy," Dean says. "That's my new theory."
Sam smiles sadly and doesn't pretend to agree. He leaves after an hour, says he has to get to Boston and see about a demon. Dean doesn't ask if he's talking about Ruby. He walks Sam to his car and withholds further comments on its lameness, hugs him hard before he goes.
"Merry Christmas, anyway," Dean says.
"Oh, yeah." Sam laughs. "That's today, isn't it?"
Dean watches him drive away. He forgets, every time, how it feels like being cut in half. There are footsteps in the snow behind him, and he turns to see Rob coming toward him. But no, it's not Rob.
"You're back," he says, and Castiel nods.
"You saw your brother," he says.
"Yeah. Thanks for that."
"You think I was responsible?"
Dean sighs. He walks forward and puts his arms around Castiel's shoulders, pulls him in close. He thinks about Rob, in there somewhere, needing this in a way the angel never will.
"I'm glad you're back," he says. Castiel says nothing, just touches the back of Dean's head, presses their cheeks together.
"You worry so much, Dean," he says. "Even with God's grace all around you."
"Yeah, well." Dean pulls back, pats Castiel's-Rob's-cheek. "Did he do okay in there?" he asks. He looks into Castiel's-Rob's?-eyes, tries to separate the vessel from the angel. The overwhelming sensation of Castiel's touch is all over him, lifting him off the ground.
"I don't know," Castiel says. "I returned to him as he was leaving. I'm sure he did fine. Thank you for watching out for him."
"Sure thing." Dean narrows his eyes. "So - you don't know anything about what - happened, when you were gone?" He feels strange, like he was cheating. It's almost hilarious.
Castiel smiles, and Dean can't see the seams anymore, isn't sure if it's the angel or the man looking amused and tired, lightly touching Dean's jaw.
"I am privy to all of my vessel's memories, of course," he says. Dean squares his shoulders.
"Uh." He's not sure if anything needs to be said. "So what should we do? Does evil take a break on Christmas? Not in my experience, but with your particular brand of enemies, I'm not sure. Anyway, I think the movie theaters are open."
"We could go to church," Castiel says. Dean groans, and there it is again, that smile that Dean can't pick apart. It's Rob, but not quite. It's both of them, somehow. Of course it is.
"Alright," Castiel consents as they head toward the car. "I wouldn't mind going to a restaurant, if any are open, but you've just eaten, haven't you?"
"Oh, I could eat," Dean says. "No problem. Hey, how about Chinese? It'll be just like A Christmas Story, only, you know. Not like that at all. Unless you brought me a new gun for Christmas."
"I haven't brought you any gifts," Castiel says. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Dean, but you're not actually the Second Coming."
"Dude." Dean makes a face, climbs into the car. "So not funny. I gotta admit, demons totally have an edge on angels when it comes to a sense of humor."
Castiel climbs in beside him, still smiling. Rob said that Dean had been having sex with someone who loved him. Whatever Dean now feels for Castiel's vessel, the hope for their future that is slowly building in him, he's happy, maybe vainly, to think that Castiel missed him, that he hurried back.
"Good to be on earth again?" Dean asks as the Impala roars down the road. Castiel folds his hands in his lap and smiles in the way Dean recognizes as purely angelic, wistful and restrained.
"Yes, Dean," he says. "It is good."
*
/the end/
a/n: This is the end of this particular series, because too much has changed/happened on the show since I started it, but I plan to continue writing this pairing. :)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Summary: Castiel takes his vessel home for the holidays.
Notes: This can be read as a continuation of Bad Things With You and Voluntary Offerings, or as a stand-alone.
Dean has been dreaming about Jesus. He's quiet in Dean's dreams, bearded and mellow like an old hippie. He doesn't do much, just hangs around wearing sweaters and khaki pants with holes in the knees, looking at things contemplatively and ignoring Dean's questions.
"Do you, like, want something, pal?" Dean finally asks in the midst of a dream where they're walking together on a boardwalk near a closed-down carnival. Jesus sighs and touches Dean's face, pats his cheek.
"Wake up," he says, but when Dean does, it's Castiel who has asked him to.
Dean blinks and groans, writhes sleepily. Castiel is stretched along his side, his hand open over Dean's bare chest. Touching him is like being held between sleep and reality, lucid but too calming and warm to feel like anything of consequence.
"Are you making me have Jesus dreams?" Dean asks. He yawns and shuffles closer, hums happily when Castiel's hand slides up to cover the print he left on Dean's shoulder.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing. Never mind. What time is it?"
"It's early. I have an errand to run."
Dean snorts. "Okay. Fine. Wait, wait, wait." He pulls Castiel back to him when he begins to shift away. He's dressed in an undershirt and striped boxer shorts, and Dean gives him a big, dumb grin, still half-asleep.
"I'm coming with you," Dean says. Castiel touches Dean's forehead, the tiny pressure of his fingertips spooling down through his nerves like hot bathwater, tugging him back toward sleep. He lets his eyes fall shut and tries to remember where they are. In a motel, somewhere. The usual.
"You may join me if you like," Castiel says. Dean laughs and rolls against him. It's been awhile since they were apart. He's starting to think that one or both of them might drop dead if they try to separate. Of course, he once felt that way about his brother.
"Okay," Dean says. "Let me just do this one thing."
Castiel sighs impatiently, but he lets Dean climb on top of him and kiss his neck. His skin smells strongly of shaving cream, and Dean is careful to avoid the places on his face where he nicked himself with the safety razor Dean got for him. Dean has always shaved with a knife, but that was out of the question for Castiel, who is still clumsy in his vessel's body.
"Why haven't these healed?" Dean asks, touching a tiny bubble of blood at Castiel's jawline.
"Sometimes it takes a little longer," Castiel says. Dean stares down at him, frowns. This is wearing on him and they both know it. He's pouring all of his energy into Dean, giving it away in buckets. Yesterday, Dean ate five cheeseburgers for lunch and accidentally punched a hole in a suspected witch's door when he was only trying to knock. He's become a better shot, a peerless pool player, and he's both hungry all the time and more satisfied with the taste of food than he's ever been while sober. Even his dick feels bigger and heavier, but maybe that's just because he's hard all the time.
"This is bad, isn't it?" Dean asks. He starts to slide off of Castiel, but Castiel stops him, puts two steady hands on his sides.
"They're just cuts, Dean," he says. "They will heal."
He didn't answer Dean's question, but neither of them need to hear it out loud. It's become fairly clear that what they're doing is dancing the line between glorious and wicked. It's the same thing Dean lambasted Sam for doing with Ruby. Almost.
Still, it feels too indefinably right to stop, so Dean only leans down to push his choppy breath into Castiel's mouth, kisses him until he can taste shaving cream and toothpaste and all the things that make Castiel feel deceptively human. But there is a human there, beneath Dean on the bed, his chest shuddering against Dean's as their cocks drag together. Dean sees snatches of the guy sometimes, when Castiel is completely surrendered to earthly pleasures; suddenly there will be a surprised gasp or a lazy smile that doesn't belong to the angel. Dean has come to know him well, and he can see the seams when they show. Castiel claims the vessel wants Dean's hands on him, that it's comforting, and Dean would doubt his word if he didn't feel almost worshipful as he pushes Castiel's undershirt away and kisses down his vessel's trembling stomach. This always feels like something he should do, a necessary ritual, but it's hard to separate that feeling from what he simply wants, so badly that his hands shake.
"You like that?" Dean asks when he's inside him, the vessel, the angel, neither or both. "Oh fuck yeah -- you -- you do, don't you?"
Dean can never keep his mouth shut. He needs to bring this down to a level he understands, to integrate lines familiar from porn, because he's afraid being close like this could blow him straight off the face of the earth if he handed himself over completely. Castiel never answers his prompts, only tightens his muscles around Dean's cock, which makes Dean curse unintelligibly and forget to make it sound sexy.
The sun comes up while they're recovering, Dean catching his breath with Castiel curled behind him, his arm snug across Dean's chest. Dean has told himself a thousand times that he'll never do this when they're in a hurry again. He always wants to sleep for days. His stomach growls and Castiel sniffs in amusement.
"We should go," he says, breath warm on Dean's shoulder. Dean is drooling onto the sheets. He's so tired. Too comfortable.
"Five more minutes," he says.
Castiel sits up and rubs his thumb over the tiny hairs on the back of Dean's neck. Dean would purr if he could. It's so easy to forget the end of the world and everything that's gone wrong when he's being coddled, looked after like he's sacred, worthy of being rescued by an angel. It's easy to forget that he isn't worthy or sacred or even close to being the kind of person who deserves this.
"It's time," Castiel says before Dean can fall asleep again. "I'm going. Are you coming?"
"I'm up, I'm up." Dean rolls over and rubs at his eyes. The dim light through the curtains over the front window shines behind Castiel's silhouette, and Dean sits up quickly, doesn't like the look of him in any sort of abstract, light pouring around him. He doesn't like to remember that Castiel is an employee who might be called back from this business trip anytime.
"So where are we going?" Dean asks as Castiel dresses in his traditional ensemble, shirt and tie, wrinkled pants.
"Maine," Castiel says.
"Oh yeah?" Dean gets out of bed, groans with the effort and stretches until his back cracks. "What's in Maine?"
"My vessel's home."
"So?" Dean says, a nervous suspicion building in his chest. "Why are we going there?"
"Because it's almost Christmastime."
"Uh? And?"
"And his children miss their father." Castiel puts on his trench coat and walks toward the window. He pulls the curtains back and peeks out at the scabby motel parking lot like he's expecting a sign.
"So what?" Dean scoffs and begins packing his duffel, wearing only boxers and socks, confused and upset by this development. As if things aren't already complicated enough. "You're going to pretend to be their dad so they can have a nice Christmas? That's -- actually really creepy."
"No, Dean. I could never pretend. I'm sure my attempt would only frighten them. I will leave my vessel for a few days. I have business elsewhere that does not require me to maintain this form."
"Let me get this straight," Dean says, fuming. "God wants you to take a fucking Christmas vacation so your vessel can have a little quality time with the fam?"
"Don't be frightened," Castiel says. Dean scoffs and punches the clothes he's stuffing into his duffel. He wants to go nuts at the suggestion that Castiel's absence could be frightening, but there's no point in trying to fool him. He knows what Dean's head is like when he's alone.
"I'm not frightened," Dean says anyway. "I'm pissed off. It doesn't make any sense."
"What doesn't?"
"You going out of your way to 'comfort' this guy! How do you even know he wants to go home for the holidays?"
"He doesn't. It's his children's wishes I'm honoring by sending him there, not his own."
Dean stares at Castiel for awhile, still undressed, like a petulant kid trying to delay the start of his school day.
"Haven't we got bigger problems?" Dean asks. "Doesn't God have better things to worry about?"
"Of course He does. This is my decision, Dean. I know it will be hard for you, but --"
"Look, I got no problem sacrificing for the sake of some kids," Dean says, embarrassed by the disappointment that is crushing him flat. He'll have to sleep alone. He won't be dreaming of Jesus while Castiel is away, that's for damn sure.
"I know that, Dean," Castiel says. "I don't want to be apart from you, but we need -- some distance."
"I whole-fucking-heartedly agree," Dean says, turning his back to Castiel. His insides are all blackened, ash and bone. Castiel is worried, too. They're turning into something unholy. They have to stop, but all Dean wants to do is burrow closer, hold on tight.
*
It's a ten hour drive to the small town in Maine where Robert Buchanan lived with his wife and daughters before Castiel answered his prayers and possessed him. Dean drives faster than he needs to, and Castiel sits in slumped silence, watching the highway scenery. Shared unhappiness radiates between them until it's almost cozy. Dean has had plenty of drives like this with Sam.
"Anything come across your radar about my brother recently?" Dean asks when they stop for lunch in Massachusetts.
"No," Castiel says. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry."
"I'd have liked for you to spend Christmas with him."
"What? Why? You know she'd be with him."
"Yes, well." Castiel drinks from his coffee cup. He used to take it black, but lately he's been developing a fondness for sugar. "It's unfortunate."
"Yeah." Dean scowls, reaches for the check. "It is."
When they finally reach Maine, the sun is setting, and it's dark when they arrive in Robert's neighborhood. Dean parks outside the small house that Castiel indicated, and looks at him for the first time since lunch. He seems curious and sad, but that's nothing new.
"Where will you go while I'm gone?" Castiel asks.
"I don't know," Dean mutters. "Atlantic City."
"I'd prefer it if you stayed here and kept an eye on my vessel. I don't want him punished for his service to me if demons should locate him while I'm away."
"Fine," Dean says. "I'll stay here and stalk him. Merry fucking Christmas to me." He's actually incredibly relieved to have a job to do.
"Dean." Castiel reaches for him, and Dean almost wants to flinch away, feeling abandoned and afraid that this is just a sneak peek of the long life ahead of him after Castiel leaves for good. Castiel touches Dean's cheek, his ear, his hair, his mouth. He seems like he's struggling with something. Dean leans into his touch, though the security in it is bittersweet, since he'll soon be gone.
"Take care of him," Castiel says, meaning the vessel.
"I will."
"He'll be -- confused when I'm gone."
"What? He doesn't know you're leaving?"
"Of course he knows, Dean. Just -- look after him."
"I said I would." Dean turns away angrily, and Castiel's hand slides from his shoulder.
"I'm going now," Castiel says. "Shut your eyes."
Dean does as he asked, his arms folded over his chest. He feels like someone has told him that all of the oxygen in the world will be gone in a few seconds, and he'll just have to make do without it. He and Sam have the same basic problem. They can't operate without an overly important ally, without someone within arm's reach who knows what the world is really like, who knows everything.
"Take care of yourself, Dean," Castiel says softly, and then there's a sound like a bedsheet being unfurled with a snap, and he's gone. Dean can feel it in the air of the car, and hear it in the clumsy, panting breath of the man beside him in the passenger seat. Only a man. Dean is afraid to open his eyes and see the face he's come to associate with his angel without Castiel's pale fire burning beneath it.
"Dean?" the man -- Robert -- Rob, apparently -- gasps out. Dean feels his cheeks heat. He's about to meet the man he's been fucking for the past month and a half.
"That's me," Dean says, and he opens his eyes. Rob is staring at him with open terror, as if Dean is holding him hostage. His posture is better than Castiel's; he effortlessly inhabits his body. His cheeks are red and his eyes don't look quite as blue as they did ten seconds ago.
"Uh, nice to meet you?" Dean says, hating the burn across his own cheeks. Rob's mouth is hanging open like he can't decide where to begin.
"Yeah," he says. "I'm gonna get out of the car."
And then he does, which seems strange for some reason. He walks not toward his house but away from it, down the street. Dean curses and throws the driver's side door open, follows him.
"Wait up," Dean shouts. "You heard what he said. I have to look after you."
"Yeah." Rob is staring at the road, walking fast. "Right. Okay."
"Are you alright?" Dean asks. "You look like you're freaking out."
"I'm not freaking out," Rob says, and Dean has to bite back a laugh. His voice is completely different from Castiel's, though he's using the same vocal chords and his tone has the same gravely edge. Castiel manages to be both soft and commanding when he speaks, but Rob is a wreck, all breathless and exasperated.
"Okay, so, where are you going?" Dean asks.
Rob looks around like he's searching for his getaway car, pulls his hands through his hair. Dean still has residual desire for Castiel pulsing through him, and he wants to take Rob into his arms, tell him everything is going to be okay. He was fucking the hell out of the guy just ten hours ago, but on this dark suburban street they are suddenly just strangers.
"Are you really okay with -- everything?" Dean asks. "Or is that just something Castiel says to make me feel better?"
"What do you mean?" Rob asks.
"I mean, uh, like, you know. This morning. That -- stuff -- we did."
Dean can see Rob's breath, and he wishes he'd brought a better coat. He had one at some point -- did Sam take off with it? Did he leave it in a motel room? Rob makes a noise like he's going to throw up and runs forward, throws his arms around Dean's shoulders.
"Oh, Dean!" he says, like they haven't seen each other in years. Dean scoffs in surprise and pats his back gingerly.
"Okay there," he says, for lack of anything better. "Just -- oh!" He coughs in surprise when Rob squeezes him tight, almost choking him.
"I don't want to go in there," Rob says. "I love them, but I can't explain what's happened to me. I can't deal with all of this at once."
"You don't have to tell them about the whole angel thing," Dean says. He tries to politely pry Rob off of him when a car passes, but he won't budge.
"But what will I tell them about you?" Rob asks. Dean raises an eyebrow.
"Um, nothing? I'll wait outside. You can have your pancakes and stockings and whatever you people do, and I'll just keep an eye out --"
"I can't go in there alone," Rob says.
"Well, I'm gonna be a little hard to explain."
"Please, Dean." Rob leans back to give him a pathetic look. His lips are trembling. "It's hard enough to be away from him."
"Him?"
"Castiel. It -- hurts -- without him."
Dean scratches his head, doesn't know what to say. So Rob is a bit of a weirdo. He should have guessed as much; the guy was praying to be possessed by angels, after all.
"Look, it's late," Dean says. "Maybe we should just have a drink, you can get some sleep, and then we'll figure out how to, uh, reintroduce you tomorrow."
Rob smiles slowly, his eyes lighting as if Dean just told him he loves him and won't let anything happen to him. Which is, sure, maybe what he was trying to say, though he doesn't know this guy at all, not really.
*
They find a motel with a liquor store nearby; funny how often that happens. Dean searches the shelves for the appropriate drink for spending time with a relative stranger whose balls have slapped against your ass on regular occasions, and he feels oddly cheerful. Maybe it's the tinsel strung on the turnstile or the Charlie Brown Christmas music playing over the loudspeakers. He selects vodka and Miller High Life, and Rob nods in approval when he holds them up.
"I'm actually not much of a drinker," Rob tells Dean as they head for the cash register.
"You don't say."
Dean pays for the booze and they walk through the biting cold toward the hotel, neither of them dressed appropriately for the weather. The ground is crusted with old snow, and as midnight approaches the air is so sharp that breathing it feels like swallowing crystals. The rank heat of their cheap motel room is a welcome respite, and Rob moans in gratitude once they're inside, rubs his hands together as Dean locks the door.
"Aren't you used to this shit?" Dean asks. "How long have you lived in Maine?"
"All my life," Rob says, his teeth chattering. "But the world feels - colder, now. And anyway, I usually have a real jacket and hat on in December."
"Hmm." Dean finds Dixie cups in the bathroom and fills one with vodka, hands it to Rob. "That'll warm you up."
Rob smiles warily and drinks, winces. Dean laughs and pours some for himself. They ate dinner hours ago and he's hungry again, but it's too cold to go back out. He flips on the TV and sits on one of the room's double beds, does another shot of vodka. He should be drinking coffee. He doesn't want to try and sleep without Castiel around to watch over him.
"So," Dean says when they've been sitting in silence for awhile, staring at Christmas-themed reruns of old shows like Jag and Night Court. "What's it like? Being possessed by an angel?"
Rob looks down at his hands as if this is an intensely personal question. Dean is going to tell him he doesn't have to answer, but Rob speaks before he can issue a retraction.
"Can I come sit by you?" he asks.
Dean feels a flush move across his chest like he's swallowed another shot. He nods, stupidly glad that Rob wants to come closer, and uncomfortable with it at the same time. Rob sits beside him, still wearing his coat and tie. Dean wants to take them off, has to remind himself that this is not Castiel, who always looks at Dean with childish wonder as he undresses him. This is a man with a past and a mind of his own. This is a married man with two kids who are asking Santa to bring him back.
"It doesn't feel like being possessed," Rob says, his voice quiet and reverent in a way that reminds Dean of Castiel. "It feels like realizing some better part of you. Like figuring out what you're supposed to do. The angel -- he doesn't pull me around, I don't feel helpless. I feel guided."
Dean looks back to the television set. He flips around until he finds something that looks familiar, then recognizes it as an old episode of Quantum Leap.
"My brother used to love this cheesy show," he says, a feeling like stitches popping in his chest. "I gave him hell for it. I --"
He stops talking, swallows hard. Rob is watching him like he's waiting for more. Dean gets up and goes to the side table where he left the beers, cracks one open for both of them.
"Here's to avoiding our families," he says when he comes back, and Rob's face falls, but he accepts the beer can, clicks it against Dean's. "Hell of a way to spend the holidays," Dean says, and he drinks.
"I'll see them tomorrow," Rob says. "I just have to -- think."
"Yeah," Dean mumbles, climbing back onto the bed. "I been there."
Rob studies his beer can for awhile, like there are secret messages written on it. Dean stares at the TV, watches Dr. Sam Beckett set things right that once went wrong. Dean always preferred Al the hologram, who was constantly chasing tail and often screwed things up by encouraging Sam to take the easy way out.
"I have missed them," Rob says. "My daughters of course, and my wife."
"So why'd you marry her if you really like dudes?" Dean asks, irritated with him. Rob has the option to drive back to his house pull his loved ones into his arms, but he's sitting here, wasting time with Dean, who would do anything to see Sam just for a few minutes.
"I couldn't even admit to myself that I did, back when we were engaged," Rob says. "I just thought I didn't like sex as much as most guys. I figured, it's different for everyone, right? I would notice men, think about them, but I convinced myself that I just wanted them as friends. Then Pete came in for an interview at the bank and oh, God -- I could barely listen to his answers to my questions, he was so -- I couldn't wait to hire him. I would get so excited about going to work after that, I'd lay awake at night just thinking about the next day, making plans to ask him to lunch, thinking about what I would wear to impress him. I just -- I --"
Rob shuts his eyes, shakes his head.
"When I finally admitted to myself that I was in love with Pete, the guilt was like a cancer," Rob says. "I prayed every night to God, begged him to take away the feelings, but in my heart I didn't really want him to. I realized this. It felt good to want Pete so much, even though I knew it was bad, wrong, and unfair to my family. I told myself that if I could just manage a single sincere request to rid me of my unnatural desire, God would grant me that mercy. I don't know if I achieved it or not -- but I thought I did when Castiel came. Then -- he took me to you, and -- and --"
"And what?" Dean asks. Rob's blubbering makes him miss Castiel's confidence all the more, though he does feel sorry for him, maybe, a little.
"And I started to wonder what my heart had really prayed for," Rob says. He won't look at Dean, just stares at his beer can, still determined to study it rather than drink from it.
"You trying to say you prayed for me?" Dean asks, disbelieving. He wonders how much Rob knows about him beyond what he's seen with his own eyes, how much Castiel has shared.
"I don't know," Rob says. He clears his throat, seems embarrassed, and heads for the bathroom muttering about taking a shower. Dean gets another beer and watches Golden Girls. He tries not to think about Rob in the shower, nervous and needy, that body Dean knows so well blushed pink by the hot water. It would be so nice to take off his clothes and lean against him under the spray, arms locked around his chest. They wouldn't even have to fool around; Dean isn't particularly in the mood for it. He jumps when he hears the whine of the shower being turned off, and flips the channel to a nature show about bees.
"It's late," Rob says when he comes out wearing a towel, holding it tightly around his waist though Dean has already seen everything. "I guess I'll get in bed."
"Here," Dean says. He stands up, and realizes for the first time that he's kind of hammered. "Let me get you something to wear." He stumbles toward his duffel and hunts through it until he comes up with a sweatshirt and some clean boxers.
"Thank you," Rob says when Dean offers them, and there's something so earnest in his voice, as if Dean is giving him a kidney, that Dean wants to drop the clothes and throw his arms around him instead. He keeps wanting to turn him into Castiel; it's so hard to remember that he's someone else, just a random bumpkin along for the ride.
He's afraid to sleep, so he tries to keep watching TV after Rob tucks himself under the blankets in his own bed. His eyes start drooping fairly quickly, the warm fuzz of the alcohol pulling him under. His attempts to fight it are only half-hearted, and soon he's rolling onto his side, still dressed, as if his daytime clothes will protect him for the last vestiges of real sleep.
The dreams start off bad and get worse. The slice of a knife, memories of the pain real enough to pierce through the dream and cut him open again. Someone screaming nearby, someone he can't help, though he keeps struggling as if maybe he can. Finally the nightmares land on Sam, the golden ticket, his maniacal laughter like blood pouring out of Dean's ears.
"Don't!" he screams when he wakes. He grabs the arm of his attacker, but it's just Rob. They're both on the floor between their beds, Dean soaked in sweat and panting hard, Rob white-faced and gaping at him, one hand still clutched around his shoulder.
"You were dreaming," Rob says, his voice small and cautious, as if he's considering bolting from the room.
"Yeah, I figured that out, thanks," Dean says, shoving his hand away. He climbs back into bed and punches his pillow, blinks away tears of frustration. He'll never sleep again, not without Castiel. Some part of him must have gotten left behind in hell, and he's able to disconnect from it during the day, but not at night. Castiel will finish his business on earth one way or another, and Dean will return to hell when he's gone, every night, every time his head hits a pillow.
"Sorry," Rob says, moving unsteadily back into his own bed.
"Don't apologize!" Dean roars, and he feels bad when Rob flinches. He opens his mouth, shuts it, and turns away, curls onto his pillow. He lets out his breath and draws a hand over his face, wishes Castiel would make an appearance. Please he begs, not sure who he's appealing to, just for the night.
"These fucking dreams," Dean says, in way of apology to Rob, who probably had the shit scared out of him by Dean's desperate screaming. He's been thrown out of motels for it before. "They're driving me crazy."
"I can't sleep, either," Rob says. Dean rolls his eyes; insomnia and vivid memories of hell aren't exactly comparable. Still, he's glad he's not alone.
"I'm just used to, you know," Dean mutters. "With him."
"Yes. I know."
Dean lies down and turns onto his side, pulls the blankets up to his ear. There's no chance he'll sleep again soon, with his heart pounding like this, and he's glad, but staring into the darkness with the memories still fresh is almost as bad. He lets loose a staggered sigh, and when he hears Rob get out of bed he waits to see the bathroom light flick on, but the room stays dark. Rob goes quiet, and then suddenly he's sitting on the edge of Dean's bed, very gingerly, as if he thinks Dean has fallen asleep again already. Dean shuts his eyes, pretends that he has.
"Dean?" Rob whispers. He starts to lean down, stops, and Dean aches at the thought that he'll go back to his own bed, so badly that he almost laughs at himself. He's desperate for just the smell of Castiel's vessel, which might help him sleep a little, just for a few precious minutes.
He stays perfectly still when Rob finally slips an arm around his side and puts his head on the pillow beside his. He can feel Rob's breath on the back of his neck, and it's not as soft and measured as Castiel's, but it's good, still good. Rob pulls the comforter up over both of them, and Dean involuntarily wiggles back against him, then feels like he should say something, his cover blown.
"Fine," he mumbles, as if his consent is really required. Rob says nothing, just ducks his head down closer to Dean's shoulder. The heat of his body is different without Castiel occupying it, and he doesn't envelope Dean like a welcome sedative, just lies there with his heart beating fast against Dean's back, keeping him awake.
*
At some point Dean is able to sleep, and he wakes up feeling sore and lazy, rolls over to stuff his face in Rob's sweatshirt and drifts off again. It's almost noon by the time he finally lifts his head, and Rob is still drooling onto the pillow.
"Hey," Dean says, tapping his shoulder. "Dude. Wake up." Again he feels uncomfortable, like he doesn't really know this person, just happens to be accustomed to sleeping with him. Rob blinks awake slowly, and looks up at Dean with a wince, as if he's the sun.
"Dean," he says, his voice creaky and deeper than Dean has ever heard it on Castiel, who seems to be perpetually alert.
"What?"
"Nothing." Rob smiles a little and shuts his eyes. Dean reaches for him but then thinks better of it, flings himself out of bed instead.
"We'd better get a move on," Dean says. "Or you had better, anyway."
Rob sits up and looks at him glumly. Dean rolls his eyes and heads into the bathroom, washes his face with freezing water. He should have asked Castiel how long he'll have to be away -- or did Castiel tell him? A few days? Dean should know this. He feels like he's had an arm ripped off and he's running out of time to have it sewn back on. It's a familiar feeling. He's only got one arm left, after all, the other off cavorting with a demon Dean actually convinced himself to trust and even like at one point, gullible ass that he is. He was willing to do anything to keep Sam with him, but recognizing that Ruby would do the same was what woke him up again. She only cares that she's with Sam the way she wants to be, doesn't give a shit how it wears on him. Dean has never allowed himself the same luxury; not with Sam, anyway. He loves his brother too much. It's what will always keep them apart.
"Ready to go?" Dean asks when he emerges from the bathroom. Rob is dressed in his original clothes, the ones he was wearing when Castiel first came to him. They look sloppier and more pathetic on him.
"I could use something to eat first," Rob says. "It's almost lunchtime."
"Quit stalling!" Dean shouts. "For God's sake. They're not going to attack you. They love you, they want to see you."
"It's not that simple," Rob says. "And you know it."
"Don't tell me what I know!" Dean is starving and irritable and needs to get out of this room.
"I do know you," Rob says, wilting a bit. "I've been with you --"
"Castiel has," Dean says. "Not you. So don't -- just don't." He pushes past Rob and out of the room, and the cold outside shocks him. The sun is out, bright in the cloudless sky, but the cold is so bitter he can't move for a moment. He hears Rob leave the room and walk up behind him, his feet crunching over the melted slush in the parking lot.
"Fine," Rob says. "Just give me a ride."
*
Rob's house looks more cheerful in the light of day, though it's still small and in need of a paint job, possibly also a new roof. Dean walks behind him to the door, begrudging the story they came up with to account for his presence. If Castiel were around, he'd probably tell Dean that Rob needs to face his family alone. It's certainly what Dean wants to tell him, but he's associated Rob's sad sack face too closely with Castiel, and he couldn't tell Castiel no if he looked at him that way, pleading and chewing his lip. As if Castiel ever would.
"Go ahead," Dean says when they're standing on the front stoop. The house is quiet, but Dean can hear a clunking sound coming from somewhere inside, like a washing machine or a dishwasher running. Rob reaches for the bell and Dean slaps his hand away.
"You don't have to ring the doorbell at your own damn house!" he snaps. Rob's nervousness is rubbing off on him, and he doesn't like it.
"Castiel only allowed me to write one letter," Rob says. He's sweating across his upper lip, though it's freezing outside.
"Really?" Dean scoffs. "I wonder if it was you or Castiel making that decision."
"There was no time," Rob mumbles. Dean groans and reaches past him to knock twice before trying the door handle. It's not locked, so he pulls it open and shoves Rob into the house, wielding him like a shield.
The inside of the house is warm but dimly lit, the large front room decorated for Christmas. There is a small tree in the corner covered with mostly homemade ornaments, a paper chain and a strand of popcorn and cranberries criss-crossing the colored lights. There are candles on the mantle and stickers shaped like snowflakes on the windows. Rob looks around the place and lets out his breath. Dean feels sorry for him suddenly, and reaches to touch the small of his back, but a woman walks into the room before he can, and he drops his hand back to his side.
The woman gasps and slaps both hands to her mouth, her eyes going wide. She's short and delicate with messy hair half-pulled into a ponytail. Her denim jumper and white turtleneck make her look like a girl, but she's got lines around her eyes.
"Honey," Rob says, and it sounds so flat that Dean almost kicks him.
"What - what," is all the woman can manage to say before she flies across the room and throws her arms around Rob. She spots Dean over his shoulder and wipes at her eyes, sniffles and steps back.
"Robert," she says, her face changing quickly. "Where the hell have you been?"
Rob just stares at her, and Dean is afraid he'll try to tell her the truth. He puts on his best insurance company rep smile and steps forward, offers his hand. Rob's wife glares at him.
"It's my fault, ma'am," Dean says. "My name is Dean. I'm Rob's half-brother."
It was the first story Dean came up, and the irony didn't strike him until it was too late.
"I'm Bonnie," Rob's wife says tightly. "I don't suppose my husband mentioned me."
"Of course he did!" Dean says, and he glances at Rob, but he still seems to be frozen in place. Dean wonders for a moment if Castiel has come back, but Rob isn't slouching the way Castiel does.
"I didn't know he had a - half-brother," Bonnie says, like she already doubts this is true. She's looking at Dean like he's the other woman, and Dean wonders how often and enthusiastically Rob talked to her about his 'friend' at work.
"Daddy?" someone shrieks from a hallway that leads to the back of the house, and Dean looks up to see two skinny girls staring at Rob in shock. Dean prays that Rob won't baulk like he did with his wife, and he lets out his breath in relief when Rob laughs in happy surprise and sinks to the floor so that his daughters can embrace him. One looks to be about seven, with glasses and messy brown hair like her mother, and the other maybe nine or ten, pretty and blue-eyed like her father.
"You're back!" the older girl says with a smile, and she turns to Bonnie. "Mom!" she says, as if she's waiting for her to join in. Bonnie puts on a happy face, but even the girls don't seem to buy it.
"What's wrong?" the older girl asks when she turns back to her father. Rob is red-eyed, stroking her hair, his younger daughter hugged to his side.
"I can't stay," Rob says, his voice barely functional. "I'm just here for Christmas, okay?"
The girls look to their mother as if to confirm this. She stares at Rob, then at Dean. The girls look up at him as if they've just noticed he's there.
"Hey," Dean says, backing toward the door. "Maybe I'll --"
"Girls, this is your uncle," Rob says in a rush, not bothering to mention Dean's name. He looks up at his wife. "He was in trouble. That's why I had to go away. He - still is."
"What sort of trouble?" Bonnie asks. She bends down to pull her younger daughter from Rob's side.
"It's a long story," Dean says before Rob can open his mouth. "Look, maybe I should go."
"Yes, I think you should," Bonnie snaps as Rob turns to look at Dean like he's just stabbed him in the back. Dean leaves anyway, gets out the door as quickly as he can and goes to sit in his car. Just the smell of the interior and the shape of the steering wheel calm him down. He looks back to the house, not sure why that affected him so much. He's practically hyperventilating.
He stays in the car and keeps an eye on the house, turns the heat on when he can't take the cold anymore. When Rob finally emerges several hours later with an old green suitcase in his hand, Dean has his shades on and is listening to Holy Diver. He rolls the window down as Rob approaches. His eyes are bloodshot and he looks like he's going to throw up.
"Can I get in?" he asks.
"Shouldn't you be in there?" Dean asks. "Until, uh, Christmas is over? Or something?" Dean is never sure how any of this shit works when Castiel isn't around. It's been awhile since he had to do anything without him.
"She threw me out," Rob says. "She thinks you're. You know."
"What?"
"My boyfriend," Rob mumbles. "Or whatever."
Dean scoffs as if this is ridiculous. "Get in," he says, flicking his head toward the passenger seat. Rob jogs around to the other side of the car like he's afraid Dean will change his mind and peel away if he waits too long to take him up on his offer.
They drive back toward the motel, and Dean stops at the first fast food establishment he sees. It's almost four o'clock in the afternoon and he's starving, orders four burgers and mega-sized french fries, milkshakes and a piece of plastic "pie" with gummy apple filling. They eat in the parking lot like they're on a stakeout. Rob is listless and Dean is frantic, eating fries in handfuls.
"So," Dean says when he's sucked down the last of his milkshake. "That went well. Clearly."
"Please," Rob says, staring down at his lap, so Dean doesn't say anymore. He drives back to the motel.
"Why don't we just leave?" Rob asks as they walk toward the room.
"Because." Dean unlocks the door, already pulling off his coat. He can't wait to get in the shower and stand under an endless supply of hot water until he's half-asleep. "I don't think you've done what the angel wanted you to do yet."
"And what was that, exactly?" Rob asks, following him into the room. He watches Dean unbuckle his pants and push them down. Dean looks up and sees the color coming back to his cheeks.
"Give those poor kids a decent holiday with their dad," Dean says. "Tonight's Christmas Eve. If you need a little break from the wrath of your wife, that's fine, but you've got to, you know, persevere."
"I'm a horrible person," Rob says, dropping to the bed. Dean takes his shirt off, but even that doesn't distract Rob from his self-pity. "I wouldn't be surprised if the angel never comes back to me."
"Join the club," Dean says, and Rob looks up at him with that wounded expression that Dean is getting really tired of, though it still makes him feel like an asshole every time. "I only mean I feel the same way," he explains. "Like I don't deserve any breaks."
"What are you talking about?" Rob asks. "You haven't done anything wrong."
"Um, where the hell have you been? Just for starters, I've seduced an angel and he's getting weaker by the freaking day, but that hasn't stopped me yet."
Rob frowns. "He's not getting weaker."
"How would you know?"
"I'd know, Dean. And believe me, having sex with someone who loves you is hardly on the same scale as abandoning your children."
"You haven't abandoned them," Dean mumbles, and then he realizes he's standing naked in the middle of the room. "Jesus," he says, covering his crotch with his hands. "Sorry."
"It's okay," Rob says, turning away. "I know you forget. I'm supposed to be him. Believe me, I wish I was, too."
Dean doesn't know what to say, so he only walks into the bathroom. He leaves the door open, figures there's no point in shutting it now. When the water in the shower begins to steam, he climbs under it and exhales in relief, though he's still tense and jumpy. Something is missing. Something is not right. He tells himself that it's just Castiel, he wants Castiel back, and it's his first Christmas without Sam in awhile. He thinks about last year, the Christmas before he went to hell.
Hell creeps in on him quick, and he yanks his eyes open, lets out a panicked breath. His heart is racing, but hell can't have him yet. He's awake, and not alone. Rob is out there in the room. No, he's standing in the bathroom doorway.
"Dean?" he says, and his voice fills the room like light in the night sky, clearing the clouds.
"Yeah?" Dean says, struggling not to give anything away, not sure why except that it's his default, and he never lets his guard down except with Castiel, but this is not him, not the same, he can't forget.
"Nothing - I thought I heard you call my name."
"Well. I didn't." Dean isn't sure this is true, and he draws back the shower curtain when Rob starts to leave. He turns back and meets Dean's eyes, and for the first time, Dean doesn't see the angel at all.
"You need something?" Rob asks, his voice careful and quiet, almost inaudible under the sound of the water.
"I don't know," Dean answers honestly, and when his voice breaks Rob takes that like an invitation, and Dean is grateful as hell for the fact that Rob does know him, that he really has been here all along. He climbs into the shower with his stupid shirt and tie and pants and socks still on, and Dean helps him pull them off as the water soaks them under his hands, throws one after the other over the shower curtain while Rob kisses his face, spraying water into his eyes and making him blind. But Dean knows him, too, knows his body better than anything and maybe the rest of him, too, and he can do this with his eyes closed if he has to.
"God," Rob says when his wet clothes are gone. "It's my fault, it's me."
"What?" Dean's hands are running in crazy paths over Rob's slick skin, which feels so different without an angel underneath, not like a tonic or a daydream. Rob feels like something that could belong to him.
"I'm the one," Rob breathes, bucking into Dean's grip when he takes the familiar heat of his cock into his hand. "I need you. If anyone is making him weak, it's me."
"He wouldn't," Dean huffs, not sure how he feels about this. "He wouldn't allow anything like that. So shut up, okay, just shut up?"
Rob nods, leans against the wall of the shower and spreads himself open for Dean's hands. Dean is sort of sobbing, not sure why, but it's easy to hide under the water, and he bites Rob's shoulder when he comes, leaves behind a mark of his own. They both recover slowly, panting onto each other, and Dean doesn't experience the crushing guilt that always follows any sort of physical communion with Castiel. He clings and moans against Rob's skin, likes the way Rob holds him around the waist, likes the scratch of his stubble and the clumsy way he's standing on Dean's left foot.
"I did pray for you," Rob says, squeezing the back of Dean's neck. "I'm just afraid I haven't earned it. Why should my prayer be answered?"
Dean releases him and ducks down to turn the shower off. When he straightens Rob is still slumped against the shower wall, his lips fat and pink, his hair wrecked and his skin red in spots, from the water, from the crush of Dean's mouth.
"Maybe I wanted the same thing," Dean says. "Maybe it was just a good match. Good timing. I don't know. But I do think it's good. I don't know that it is, but I want it to be."
They walk over Rob's damp clothes and back into the room, which feels ice cold now. Dean rips all of the blankets off of Rob's bed and dumps them onto his, then pulls Rob down underneath them. It's already grown dark outside, and Dean feels full and content, ready for bed at five o'clock in the evening.
"Christmas Eve," Rob mutters against Dean's forehead as he's drifting off.
"Yep," Dean says, not sure what he wants to hear.
"I wish there were two of me," Rob says. "One that they could keep. I do want to be with them. But I, I --"
"You don't have to explain," Dean says, thinking of Sam. "I know."
Rob pulls him in closer. He feels so small without Castiel inside him.
"I know you know," he says.
Dean sleeps, doesn't dream. He wakes up hungry around midnight, and squirms out of Rob's grip, drinks a beer at the room's front window, naked with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He pulls back the curtain just a bit, watches a light dusting of snow fall onto the damp parking lot. He's not sure what he's looking for, who might come through the snow to the door. The world could end anytime. He turns back to the bed, where Rob is still asleep, and finally understands, for a brief, hazy moment, what the fuck is going on here.
Castiel will be back, but he won't stay. It was never an option. He brought Dean someone to keep the nightmares away when he's gone. He could have pulled anyone out of hell; there were other selfless souls there, cleaner and better than what's become of Dean's. But Rob prayed for someone with a cocksucking mouth and a badass car and big green eyes, freckles across his nose, someone who could love him back. He was only praying to be saved, but the answer, somehow, was Dean.
*
The next morning, Rob knocks on his family's door and his wife allows him inside. He opens presents with his children and eats blueberry pancakes. Dean waits outside in the car, listens to the radio. All up and down the street, chimneys are pumping out smoke, and nobody comes or goes, everyone inside with their families, what's left of them or whatever they can scrape together, and it feels like a cease fire.
He's listening to Christmas music, which he hates, when the passenger side door opens. He sits up to flip the station, but it's too late. Sam heard "The Little Drummer Boy." Dean can see it on his face. But, wait.
"Sam?" he says in a shout, and it feels so good just to say his brother's name. Sam is grinning like all is right with the world, and Dean figures he's got to be dreaming, though his fingers are still burning with the cold his car's heater can't quite keep up with. He looks around for Ruby, but Sam is alone, and holding a deliciously greasy-looking McDonald's bag.
"I thought you might be hungry," Sam says, and the sound of his voice makes Dean choke up a laugh that may have originated as a sob.
"How," he stutters. "How?"
"Let's just say someone is looking out for you." Sam reaches into the bag to fish out an Egg McMuffin, as if to demonstrate. He raises an eyebrow when Dean hesitates. "I can eat them myself if you're on a diet or something," he says, and Dean snatches it out of his hand, beams at him.
"Sammy," he says, with a mouth full of rubbery egg. "Jesus Christ."
"First I'm the antichrist, now I'm Jesus?" Sam says, digging into the bag for a hashbrown. Dean punches his shoulder.
"I never called you the antichrist."
Sam shrugs. "Not in so many words," he says, and Dean is thrilled with the opportunity to punch him again.
"Seriously, man," he says, stealing the hashbrown. "How did you get here? Are you fucking teleporting now?" he asks, a nervous fear pricking into him. Sam snorts.
"It's called a car," he says, gesturing at a blue sedan parked fifty feet behind Dean's. "You're not the only one who has one."
"Don't tell me you bought that piece - that, uh - automobile."
Sam rolls his eyes. "It gets good gas mileage."
"Well, I guess that's a priority when you're tracking the apocalypse."
"I guess so."
They stare at each other for a minute, and decide to throw their arms around each other at the same moment, which makes for an unfortunate meeting of their foreheads. They both sit back and curse.
"Wanna try that again?" Sam asks, still wincing.
"See." Dean shakes his head. "Now you've gone and made the moment all chick flicky."
"Dean." Sam lets loose one of his haughty scoffs, another thing Dean never thought he could miss. "You've been touched by an angel, okay? I think it's time to accept the chick flicky elements of your life."
Dean punches him, then hugs him, probably for too long, but he knows this cease fire won't last. Sam turns the Christmas music back on, and Dean protests but lets him listen to horrible jingles that were never really a part of their childhood, though they know them well enough from the loudspeaker systems of convenience stores and truck stops.
"So where's Castiel?" Sam asks as they eat their McBreakfast.
"Long story," Dean says. "How about Ruby?"
"Yeah," Sam says. "Long story."
"It was Castiel who told you how to find me, wasn't it?" Dean asks.
"You're so sure it wasn't Ruby?" Sam says, and Dean punches him. He leaves his hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezes.
"Doesn't matter if the Easter Bunny told you where I was," Dean says. "I'm glad you came."
"Me too," Sam says. He puts his wibbly face on, and Dean would pinch his cheek, but his fingers are greasy from the food.
"We're gonna be okay, Sammy," Dean says. "That's my new theory."
Sam smiles sadly and doesn't pretend to agree. He leaves after an hour, says he has to get to Boston and see about a demon. Dean doesn't ask if he's talking about Ruby. He walks Sam to his car and withholds further comments on its lameness, hugs him hard before he goes.
"Merry Christmas, anyway," Dean says.
"Oh, yeah." Sam laughs. "That's today, isn't it?"
Dean watches him drive away. He forgets, every time, how it feels like being cut in half. There are footsteps in the snow behind him, and he turns to see Rob coming toward him. But no, it's not Rob.
"You're back," he says, and Castiel nods.
"You saw your brother," he says.
"Yeah. Thanks for that."
"You think I was responsible?"
Dean sighs. He walks forward and puts his arms around Castiel's shoulders, pulls him in close. He thinks about Rob, in there somewhere, needing this in a way the angel never will.
"I'm glad you're back," he says. Castiel says nothing, just touches the back of Dean's head, presses their cheeks together.
"You worry so much, Dean," he says. "Even with God's grace all around you."
"Yeah, well." Dean pulls back, pats Castiel's-Rob's-cheek. "Did he do okay in there?" he asks. He looks into Castiel's-Rob's?-eyes, tries to separate the vessel from the angel. The overwhelming sensation of Castiel's touch is all over him, lifting him off the ground.
"I don't know," Castiel says. "I returned to him as he was leaving. I'm sure he did fine. Thank you for watching out for him."
"Sure thing." Dean narrows his eyes. "So - you don't know anything about what - happened, when you were gone?" He feels strange, like he was cheating. It's almost hilarious.
Castiel smiles, and Dean can't see the seams anymore, isn't sure if it's the angel or the man looking amused and tired, lightly touching Dean's jaw.
"I am privy to all of my vessel's memories, of course," he says. Dean squares his shoulders.
"Uh." He's not sure if anything needs to be said. "So what should we do? Does evil take a break on Christmas? Not in my experience, but with your particular brand of enemies, I'm not sure. Anyway, I think the movie theaters are open."
"We could go to church," Castiel says. Dean groans, and there it is again, that smile that Dean can't pick apart. It's Rob, but not quite. It's both of them, somehow. Of course it is.
"Alright," Castiel consents as they head toward the car. "I wouldn't mind going to a restaurant, if any are open, but you've just eaten, haven't you?"
"Oh, I could eat," Dean says. "No problem. Hey, how about Chinese? It'll be just like A Christmas Story, only, you know. Not like that at all. Unless you brought me a new gun for Christmas."
"I haven't brought you any gifts," Castiel says. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Dean, but you're not actually the Second Coming."
"Dude." Dean makes a face, climbs into the car. "So not funny. I gotta admit, demons totally have an edge on angels when it comes to a sense of humor."
Castiel climbs in beside him, still smiling. Rob said that Dean had been having sex with someone who loved him. Whatever Dean now feels for Castiel's vessel, the hope for their future that is slowly building in him, he's happy, maybe vainly, to think that Castiel missed him, that he hurried back.
"Good to be on earth again?" Dean asks as the Impala roars down the road. Castiel folds his hands in his lap and smiles in the way Dean recognizes as purely angelic, wistful and restrained.
"Yes, Dean," he says. "It is good."
*
/the end/
a/n: This is the end of this particular series, because too much has changed/happened on the show since I started it, but I plan to continue writing this pairing. :)