Angelic Big Bang, SPN, "Taking Ten Steps Home" Part 9/10
Title: Taking Ten Steps Home
Fandom: SPN
Genre: Romance/Angst/Character-centric
Characters/Pairings: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Crowley, Bobby Singer, Leviathans; Dean/Castiel
Word Count: 10,279
Rating: R for frottage in the back of the Impala
Spoilers: 7x01, 7x02
Notes: Breaks from canon after the first few minutes of 7x02.
Beta: skylar_matthews
Summary: Castiel swore he'd find a way to redeem himself to Dean. This is how the story goes.
Nine:
Castiel leaves his bathroom to find the motel room decidedly not empty. He yelps undignifiedly and clutches his towel tightly about his hips.
“Catch,” Dean says, eyes averted, as he tosses Castiel a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Castiel returns to the bathroom and slips into the clothes. They’re Dean’s and Castiel breathes in the scent softly. It is an emergency, yes, but he is still dressed in Dean’s clothes, and he can’t help himself.
He leaves the bathroom and surveys the motel room. Besides Dean, Sam and Bobby are also present.
And, much to Castiel’s dismay…
“Crowley!” The lights flicker, and Castiel clamps down on his anger as he turns toward Dean, “Why is he here?”
“Business, angel,” Crowley says, apparently unable to let attention be away from him for more than five seconds. He surveys Castiel with a purposefully lascivious eye. “Though it seems you’re here for pleasure.”
Castiel tenses as the room falls silent and Crowley smirks.
“And what business might this be?” Castiel asks, addressing the whole of the room. “Though I can assure you that I’m not interested.”
“I killed a Leviathan yesterday,” Crowley says primly.
“Impossible,” Castiel spits. Crowley deals in lies the way humans change their underwear - there’s no reason to believe him now.
Crowley shakes his head slowly. “Really, Castiel, you should know by now that nothing is impossible. I’m the King of Hell, you’re an angel of the Lord, Sam over there is an ex-demon-blood-junkie, and let’s not even get started on the hot mess that is your boyfriend. Killing a Leviathan? Completely within the realm of possibility, darling.”
“The last time I did business with you, you betrayed my confidence and look where that’s gotten us.”
“Angel, that Purgatory thing is all on you,” Crowley drawls. “Not my fault you didn’t think this through. Besides, I’m the one who showed these idiots how to bind Death, and that’s probably the only reason you’re still with us.”
“At what cost?” Castiel asks tersely. There is no way Crowley would simply give up such information for free.
“Actually, I just wanted you dead.”
Somehow, that is actually comforting. But, nonetheless, the idea of the Winchesters dealing with Crowley - after how badly things had gone last time - leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
He meets Dean’s eyes, questioning.
He cannot read the answer in Dean’s eyes, and the silence lengthens.
“Anyway,” Crowley interrupts. “Are we conspiring, or should I just stand here and look pretty while the lovebirds have their silent spat?”
“Wait here a minute,” Dean says, directing the comment to Sam, Bobby, and Crowley. He crosses the room and takes Castiel by the elbow, leading him outside. Castiel isn’t sure where this is going, but he’s still unhappy with demon-deals past and future.
“I didn’t want to work with Crowley anymore than you do now,” Dean says, quietly. “Bobby and Sam had to convince me.”
“Do you think I wanted to work with Crowley the first time?” Castiel feels his anger building. “And we all know how well that turned out. All the good intentions in Creation couldn’t save us from this madness - why should we trust Crowley’s help this time?”
“I’ve already been down the road to Hell, Cas, so don’t give me that ‘good intentions’ crap,” Dean says, and he sounds tired. “You had a choice. We don’t.”
Castiel recoils - he should have seen this coming. Dean’s expression clearly says You could have chosen me.
“I couldn’t do that to you, Dean. You were happy.”
Dean looks away. Castiel watches him in silence, watches him blame himself. Self-sacrificial Dean, who doesn’t think he deserves happiness, who thinks he’s living on borrowed time - all Castiel had wanted was to give him his happiness and let him keep it.
“I’m the one who failed, Dean,” he whispers. “I’m the one to blame for this. If I had been stronger, or found some other way - just because I refused to ask for your help, it does not mean you’re to blame for this. This, all of it, is not your fault.” He moves within Dean’s space - something he has not dared to do while sober since the Leviathans - hoping against hope that it will help.
Dean finally looks back at him, and his green eyes are raw and full of that self-loathing that surfaces from time to time. As always, it makes Castiel want to hold him close, to wrap him up in Grace until he understands just how worthy he is, how every inch and part of him is valuable and loved.
“Why?” Dean asks, and Castiel can’t help but feel a new anger bubbling up.
“Why do you think we fumbled around that backseat last night?” he rebuts. “Why do you think I’ve died for you? Why I rebelled and would have Fallen?”
If anything, this oblique confession only seems to frighten Dean more - as though he cannot trust himself in this case, as though he feels truly unworthy of everything that Castiel feels for him, every act Castiel has done because he loves him. He has given everything for this man - committed more than half the Seven Sins, committed fratricide, and learned what it means to live and love and hurt and doubt and die and forgive, all for Dean Winchester.
And the only regrets he has are the times he’s hurt Dean, unwittingly or not.
Maybe it’s dangerous, this unconditional love. It’s a weakness, but Castiel knows that without Dean, he’s even weaker. It was without that constant reminder of humanity that he has fallen apart, and the world with him.
“Dean,” he whispers. “I wish you knew that you are so much more than you believe you are.” He pauses, stepping back. “If you ask me to deal with Crowley, I will.”
“I don’t want you to have to,” Dean says, turning away a little. Then he smiles ruefully. “Kind of a far cry from ‘broken shell of a man,’ huh?”
Castiel remembers - one of his regrets. “We all were breaking then.”
Dean nods. “Yeah.”
There’s a soft moment of silence, and then Dean gestures to the door. “You ready for this?”
“Yes,” Castiel murmurs, and gives as soft and reassuring a smile as he can.
Then, together, they return to the motel room.