Fic: Mi Casa
Title: Mi Casa
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: In which Dean holds on too tightly.
AN: Written for sweetsyren for the 'bodyswap/bodysharing' theme.
Dean takes a great shuddering breath, and the world comes back in an ugly blare of senses. The smell of plaster and damp and his own sweat. The concrete floor is cold under his cheek. It's a rough scrape of sensation every time his pulse slams through his skin. He can hear his own breathing, heavy and too quick, a dizzy pound of noise in his ear.
The last thing he remembers is the place being full of demons. He remembers fighting, that's the part he almost never forgets. That's an action learned so hard and so deep he does that as easily as breathing. But they hadn't wanted him. For the first time they hadn't wanted him.
They'd wanted the angel.
Dean had put up a pretty good argument for why they couldn’t have him. It had involved a lot of blood. But Castiel wasn't exactly what he'd once been, and Sam had stayed back at the motel, and there were too many.
He moves his head, then sucks a breath and regrets it instantly. It feels heavy and stiff. Numb and cold and tingling like someone shoved it into a bucket of ice water and then slammed it into a wall.
He has no idea what the hell happened.
The world is grey and flat and ugly, too dark and too dull.
"Cas." Dean's voice is angel deep, slurred like it's been drunk for years. He remembers having his hand on the back of Castiel's neck, remembers holding on. The moment he thinks it he feels it. A stretch of bare, cool skin under his palm, new-smooth. The ends of the angel's hair trailing Dean's fingers in delicate whispering movements.
He clenches his hand into a fist at that freakish ghost sensation. Because there's nothing there, there's no one there.
"Cas?"
He forces himself to push against the floor, to push himself up. His hand slides on a patch of slickness and he swallows and looks at his hand, finds it smeared bright red. He takes a deep, shocked breath because he doesn't remember bleeding, which means Castiel. Castiel is bleeding and he's not here. They took him - there's a soft, almost tentative flutter of something, deep inside his brain, somewhere he doesn’t think surgeons could ever reach. Like something has gone to stretch and then abruptly stopped itself.
Dean goes very still.
He can feel it now, a heavy, cold itch. He takes a slow breath and clenches his teeth. There's something inside his head, something that doesn't belong there.
What the hell.
I'm sorry, Dean, I did not intend this.
Dean exhales roughly. Castiel's voice is familiar even inside his own mind. Which leaves a sick coil of unease stretching and widening in his gut.
"Cas," Dean says roughly, thinly. "Are you using me as a vessel?"
There's a flare of something sharp and hot. Some sort of emotion or reaction that Dean can't name.
No, not exactly.
"Where are you, I mean you you, where's your body?"
I don't know, they took it.
"Not that I'm not glad you're ok and everything but do you think you could -" Dean swallows and hopes he gets the message because he's not thrilled about the thought of being some angel's puppet, not even for Cas.
I can't, I have attempted to leave and I am unable without somewhere to inhabit. I am not - I cannot hold myself together.
Castiel's voice sounds the same in his head. But it has strange layers, strange colours that shiver somewhere behind his eyes. At the moment the colours are dark and unhappy. Something that's the smeared greeny-black of guilt.
"Ok," Dean says shortly. He shoves down a sliver of panic that he can't deal with right now. "So, why are you in my head - Cas the last thing I remember I had you in my hands and then - I don't remember anything."
You held on very tightly, and then you...pulled.
The words are soft, careful. Like Castiel is surprised.
Dean translates that to mean it's his fault somehow, in some way.
He shakes his head.
"And what, you just didn't let go?" he says, and it's not so mad to talk to yourself in an empty warehouse. At least not for them.
That would not be so far from the truth.
Castiel's voice sounds apologetic. It sounds like maybe Dean wasn't the only one quietly desperate in that moment.
The demons didn't realise as much when they left you unconscious.
There's a long moment of quiet.
Dean, I would never have done this on purpose.
Dean ignores the apology. "You didn't know what they wanted you for though right?"
There's a low steady throb, like Castiel is moving, stretching.
"Is there enough room in there for you?" Dean asks, though he isn't really sure he wants to know the answer.
I am much larger than you, in many dimensions. I am endeavouring to make this as painless for you as possible.
"But you could use my body if you wanted to?"
I would not.
The words are fierce, like Dean has suggested something obscene. But it's not a no, it's not even close to a no. And it doesn't even matter that it's Cas. He's cold all over, sweat on the back of his neck and his hands are fists against his thighs.
"But what's to stop you, huh? You're in there already, I consented whether I meant to or not and I don't have to say yes, do I? You could just do it."
Dean.
Castiel's voice is so low, so broken.
"Give me one good reason, Cas."
Because, I love you.
God.
Dean exhales, one great burst of air that he didn't even know he was holding. There's nothing but silence and then for some crazy reason Dean's breathing again. He's ok again.
"I know, you wouldn't," he says quietly. Instead of commenting on anything else. "I know, I'm just, I don't like this."
I don't like doing it to you. If I could have prevented it - I would have gone with them.
"Don't say that," Dean says fiercely and something shudders in his head like Castiel is closer, stronger than he was before. "Jesus, don't say that. Because I can pretty much guess what they're doing to your body right now. And I'm fucking glad you're not there."
There's careful silence from that tingling cold place in his head.
"So, plan A, we get Sam and find your body?"
I don't want you to take unnecessary risks Dean.
"You're necessary, Cas," he says flatly. Because there's going to be no arguing about it.
He heads back the way he came, legs stiff and strange like he's been laying on them. Up the stairs and out into fresh air and the faint wet spatter of rain that makes it shiver when it hits his skin.
He slides into the car and breathes the interior, waits until his head stops aching to start it.
"You could have told me before, y'know," Dean tells the angel.
I didn't believe the information was important.
There's a softness to the words and Dean thinks if they were having this conversation Castiel wouldn’t be looking at him.
"You've been letting me - " Dean swallows something uncomfortable, then forces the rest out. "You've been letting me touch you, Cas. I think telling me that you love me is pretty damn important."
I assumed you wanted a sexual relationship and not an emotional one.
That hits him right in the gut and Dean can't do anything but clench his hands on the wheel and stare at his own eyes in the mirror for a long handful of seconds.
"That's a shitty thing to hear, Cas," he manages, sets the wipers going.
I'm sorry.
"It's not your fault, it's mine," Dean admits, unhappily.
Castiel is silent all the way back to the motel.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: In which Dean holds on too tightly.
AN: Written for sweetsyren for the 'bodyswap/bodysharing' theme.
Dean takes a great shuddering breath, and the world comes back in an ugly blare of senses. The smell of plaster and damp and his own sweat. The concrete floor is cold under his cheek. It's a rough scrape of sensation every time his pulse slams through his skin. He can hear his own breathing, heavy and too quick, a dizzy pound of noise in his ear.
The last thing he remembers is the place being full of demons. He remembers fighting, that's the part he almost never forgets. That's an action learned so hard and so deep he does that as easily as breathing. But they hadn't wanted him. For the first time they hadn't wanted him.
They'd wanted the angel.
Dean had put up a pretty good argument for why they couldn’t have him. It had involved a lot of blood. But Castiel wasn't exactly what he'd once been, and Sam had stayed back at the motel, and there were too many.
He moves his head, then sucks a breath and regrets it instantly. It feels heavy and stiff. Numb and cold and tingling like someone shoved it into a bucket of ice water and then slammed it into a wall.
He has no idea what the hell happened.
The world is grey and flat and ugly, too dark and too dull.
"Cas." Dean's voice is angel deep, slurred like it's been drunk for years. He remembers having his hand on the back of Castiel's neck, remembers holding on. The moment he thinks it he feels it. A stretch of bare, cool skin under his palm, new-smooth. The ends of the angel's hair trailing Dean's fingers in delicate whispering movements.
He clenches his hand into a fist at that freakish ghost sensation. Because there's nothing there, there's no one there.
"Cas?"
He forces himself to push against the floor, to push himself up. His hand slides on a patch of slickness and he swallows and looks at his hand, finds it smeared bright red. He takes a deep, shocked breath because he doesn't remember bleeding, which means Castiel. Castiel is bleeding and he's not here. They took him - there's a soft, almost tentative flutter of something, deep inside his brain, somewhere he doesn’t think surgeons could ever reach. Like something has gone to stretch and then abruptly stopped itself.
Dean goes very still.
He can feel it now, a heavy, cold itch. He takes a slow breath and clenches his teeth. There's something inside his head, something that doesn't belong there.
What the hell.
I'm sorry, Dean, I did not intend this.
Dean exhales roughly. Castiel's voice is familiar even inside his own mind. Which leaves a sick coil of unease stretching and widening in his gut.
"Cas," Dean says roughly, thinly. "Are you using me as a vessel?"
There's a flare of something sharp and hot. Some sort of emotion or reaction that Dean can't name.
No, not exactly.
"Where are you, I mean you you, where's your body?"
I don't know, they took it.
"Not that I'm not glad you're ok and everything but do you think you could -" Dean swallows and hopes he gets the message because he's not thrilled about the thought of being some angel's puppet, not even for Cas.
I can't, I have attempted to leave and I am unable without somewhere to inhabit. I am not - I cannot hold myself together.
Castiel's voice sounds the same in his head. But it has strange layers, strange colours that shiver somewhere behind his eyes. At the moment the colours are dark and unhappy. Something that's the smeared greeny-black of guilt.
"Ok," Dean says shortly. He shoves down a sliver of panic that he can't deal with right now. "So, why are you in my head - Cas the last thing I remember I had you in my hands and then - I don't remember anything."
You held on very tightly, and then you...pulled.
The words are soft, careful. Like Castiel is surprised.
Dean translates that to mean it's his fault somehow, in some way.
He shakes his head.
"And what, you just didn't let go?" he says, and it's not so mad to talk to yourself in an empty warehouse. At least not for them.
That would not be so far from the truth.
Castiel's voice sounds apologetic. It sounds like maybe Dean wasn't the only one quietly desperate in that moment.
The demons didn't realise as much when they left you unconscious.
There's a long moment of quiet.
Dean, I would never have done this on purpose.
Dean ignores the apology. "You didn't know what they wanted you for though right?"
There's a low steady throb, like Castiel is moving, stretching.
"Is there enough room in there for you?" Dean asks, though he isn't really sure he wants to know the answer.
I am much larger than you, in many dimensions. I am endeavouring to make this as painless for you as possible.
"But you could use my body if you wanted to?"
I would not.
The words are fierce, like Dean has suggested something obscene. But it's not a no, it's not even close to a no. And it doesn't even matter that it's Cas. He's cold all over, sweat on the back of his neck and his hands are fists against his thighs.
"But what's to stop you, huh? You're in there already, I consented whether I meant to or not and I don't have to say yes, do I? You could just do it."
Dean.
Castiel's voice is so low, so broken.
"Give me one good reason, Cas."
Because, I love you.
God.
Dean exhales, one great burst of air that he didn't even know he was holding. There's nothing but silence and then for some crazy reason Dean's breathing again. He's ok again.
"I know, you wouldn't," he says quietly. Instead of commenting on anything else. "I know, I'm just, I don't like this."
I don't like doing it to you. If I could have prevented it - I would have gone with them.
"Don't say that," Dean says fiercely and something shudders in his head like Castiel is closer, stronger than he was before. "Jesus, don't say that. Because I can pretty much guess what they're doing to your body right now. And I'm fucking glad you're not there."
There's careful silence from that tingling cold place in his head.
"So, plan A, we get Sam and find your body?"
I don't want you to take unnecessary risks Dean.
"You're necessary, Cas," he says flatly. Because there's going to be no arguing about it.
He heads back the way he came, legs stiff and strange like he's been laying on them. Up the stairs and out into fresh air and the faint wet spatter of rain that makes it shiver when it hits his skin.
He slides into the car and breathes the interior, waits until his head stops aching to start it.
"You could have told me before, y'know," Dean tells the angel.
I didn't believe the information was important.
There's a softness to the words and Dean thinks if they were having this conversation Castiel wouldn’t be looking at him.
"You've been letting me - " Dean swallows something uncomfortable, then forces the rest out. "You've been letting me touch you, Cas. I think telling me that you love me is pretty damn important."
I assumed you wanted a sexual relationship and not an emotional one.
That hits him right in the gut and Dean can't do anything but clench his hands on the wheel and stare at his own eyes in the mirror for a long handful of seconds.
"That's a shitty thing to hear, Cas," he manages, sets the wipers going.
I'm sorry.
"It's not your fault, it's mine," Dean admits, unhappily.
Castiel is silent all the way back to the motel.