Fic: What Good Does Talking Do?
Title: What Good Does Talking Do? Chapter 1/?
Author: ravenalisa
Rating: eventually NC-17
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: Through 7.5 but based on a fake spoiler for 7.8.
Warnings: language, sexual content
Summary: Bobby and Sam find a way to bring Castiel back but they’ll need Dean’s help.
What Good Does Talking Do? Masterpost
What Good Does Talking Do?
Spoilers: Takes place after Season 7 Episode 5: Shut Up, Dr. Phil, but ignores the final scene where the Leviathan attacks them and witchy guy played by James Marsters shows up to save their keisters. This is based on a fake spoiler for Season 7 Episode 8. It was posted all over the place in October 2011. (Do not highlight blank section to avoid story spoiler.) At the time the IMDB episode guide said “Season 7, Episode 8: Season Seven, Time for a Wedding! Original Air Date-2011 Dean realizes that the only way to save Castiel is to marry him. Turns out, they didn't just have a 'profound bond' for nothing.” I was extremely disappointed to see that it didn’t come true. I had the basis for this whole story worked out in my mind immediately after reading that spoiler.
Prologue
Sam wanted to talk. Not that Sam ever wanted to not talk. Yes Dean’s been drinking…almost constantly…while on the job, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. Talking doesn’t do any good; burying emotions is the Winchester way. No one knows what went wrong with Sam. Okay, so maybe talking did just save their lives with the witchy couple but it wouldn’t fix this and so when Sam asks, as he always does all emo and kicked puppy dog eyes, Dean said no, but he also let his brother know that they were good.
Of course, Sammy being Sammy couldn’t leave well enough alone. And so when Sam pushed again in the car, Dean put in a tape. And when Sam tried to talk over it, Dean turned up the volume and sang along, loudly and purposefully off-key. And when he decided it was time to pull over for the night, Dean jumped out of the car and practically ran to check-in. And when he got back to the car after procrastinating long enough to give Sam time to remove their bags, Dean tossed Sammy his key for the room and told him not to wait up before Sam could even think about opening his mouth.
Chapter One
Sam tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He was going to have to find a way to get Dean to talk to him. There was only so much luck Dean could push, drinking on the job, before it caught up to him. Dean had always been a hard drinker, but not even close to this since Dad. Something was really wrong.
It was hours before Dean got in and when he did, Sam could smell the alcohol from across the room. He’d almost hoped that Dean had picked up a girl. That, at least, would seem more normal and healthier than this road of self-destructive behavior. Sam waited until Dean walked into the bathroom before pushing the chest of drawers in front of the motel room door.
He sat down on the edge of his bed and waited for Dean to come out of the bathroom. It wasn’t a particularly clever plan, but it should work. Dean was drunk and cornered and Sam had no intention of giving up.
“What the fuck, Sammy?!?”
“We need to talk, Dean,” Sam stated calmly.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Won’t do any good,” Dean slurred.
“You won’t know for sure until you try.” Sam smiled encouragingly, “What’s wrong?”
“What the fuck’s not wrong?” Dean stood shakily in front of Sam, fists clenched. “Mom died. Dad died. Jessica died. Jo and Ellen died. Everyone fucking leaves and we just keep going. We’re cursed. It never ends and they’re not coming back.”
Sam studied Dean’s crumpled face. It had been over a year since Jo and Ellen had died. Even dead drunk Dean was still not saying what was truly bothering him. Sam stood up and gingerly laid his hand on Dean’s shoulder. He knew that if Dean hadn’t been plastered he would’ve shook Sam’s hand off instantly. Dean avoided any semblance of chick-flick moments like they would make his penis fall off.
As Dean met Sam’s sympathetic eyes, something inside him broke. Dean drops to the floor, crying. “He’s not coming back,” Dean whispers between body-wracking sobs.
Sam stares. He can’t help it. Sure he knew something was wrong, knew that Dean was holding something back, but this almost sounds like… He hadn’t expected… “Dean?”
“It’s my fault. He did it for me. He fucking did everything for me. Even the whole Crowley/purgatory thing was actually for me. If Ca-” Dean stopped unable to bring himself to even say his name. “If he’d never drug my ass outta hell then he would be fine. He should’ve just let me rot there.”
“Dean,” Sam prompted gently, trying to get his attention.
“What the hell kinda friend doesn’t notice something like that?”
“What?” Sam asked, genuinely confused.
“He turned to Crowley. Crowley! And we didn’t notice. I didn’t notice.”
“It’s okay Dean. There’s nothing you could have done.”
“He asked me to trust him, to stand by him the one time he asked and I didn’t. I left. I coulda stayed and tried to figure something else out with him. Maybe if I’d done what he asked he could’ve skipped the whole god kick. I’m a sucky friend.”
“There’s nothing you could have done,” Sam repeated, feeling useless.
“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Dean mumbled. “He’s not coming ba-”
Sam leaned down, checking Dean’s pulse. He was unsurprised to see that Dean’d just passed out. He doubted Dean would remember anything in the morning. Getting drunk as a skunk would do that to you. He needed to come up with some excuse to head over to Bobby’s. This wasn’t going to get better anytime soon and it was really not bright to hunt while drunk.
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