on the bright side, there isn't a bright side - 14
They don’t talk about it, after.
Not with Sam, whose blissful lack of more-than-usual concern about his brother’s wellbeing seems to indicate he hasn’t been told about the incident, and not with each other. Cas doesn’t even try to bring it up, for which Dean is extremely grateful. There’s really nothing to be said.
To be honest the whole thing isn’t exactly a huge game-changer. It’s not like Dean’s time in Hell is supposed to be some big secret (especially not from Cas, of all people), nor should the fact that he’s totally fucked up come as a huge surprise to anyone. For a few days there’s a distance between them as Dean struggles with embarrassment and still some anger and okay, yeah, a few leftover nightmares and probably a bunch of other stuff thrown in there as well; Cas does nothing to try and dispel Dean’s coolness, instead guessing accurately that it will thaw on its own. The only real difference is that when they start having sex again (with the topic of bondage carefully avoided by silent mutual consensus) there’s a certain tentative tenderness every time Cas touches him, like he’s some delicate, fragile thing that might shatter at any moment. Probably not even a conscious act on Cas’s part and honestly, if Cas had freaked out that way on Dean he’d feel the same, but it sets Dean’s teeth on edge somehow.
In other news, the world has decided that actually it maybe kind of does want to get on with the whole ending business after all. Omens are cropping up like it’s going out of style, body counts are off the charts, and one tiny, impossible coincidence that leaves Dean with no choice but to accept that someone’s got it in for him on a cosmic level provides the trio with an unwanted-not to mention nearly fatal for both the Winchesters and the human race-angelic encounter. It’s a small town, overrun with both a) vamps, which Dean, Sam, and Cas are there to wipe out, and b) one not-even-that-important kind-of prophet who nonetheless warrants the occasional heavenly check-up.
It’s close. Closer than any of them care to admit. Dean’s on his knees in the old farmhouse that’s the sight of this latest showdown, trying to remind his lungs and heart and basically the rest of his organs how they’re supposed to work as Zachariah alternates between thrusting Dean into excruciating pain, which isn’t so bad, and making him watch Sam in excruciating pain, which is obviously a million times worse. And Dean is so close to breaking down, to just giving in and saying yes to Michael, because everything hurts in him and it’s pretty much inevitable anyways and he’s just so goddamned tired-but at the last minute Cas shows up with a small army of hellhounds, courtesy of Crowley (Dean still hates the demonic bastard, for the record, but he’s got to admit that being in an unholy alliance does have its perks).
Those brothers and sisters of Castiel who are present-because they are still his siblings, whatever may have happened between them-react with absolute, terrifying rage. They scream insults and threats at him as they try to fend off the hounds, to which Cas responds with a glowering, silent fury of his own that makes it difficult for Dean to believe the guy is actually pretty much limp power-wise these days.
“You have fallen in every possible way, Castiel,” Zachariah hisses as the outnumbered angels finally begin to cave and retreat. “And when we are victorious I will personally ensure that you burn in the deepest pits of Hell with the most deplorable of the sinners, until your blackened grace is as twisted as that of Lucifer himself.”
Cas stares at him, the two of them seeming to be surrounded in their own little bubble of crackling, charged silence as chaos rages around them. “Hell will not take me, brother,” he says, and Dean thinks he can hear an echo of the voice that nearly shattered his entire body when they were inside Cas’s head. “Our Father bade us worship His creations as we do Him-yet out of all of you, I am the only one who fights for them. He will not see me punished.”
And then they are alone in the barn again, with only the ghost of Zachariah’s disbelieving laughter as he vanished to confirm that anything happened here at all. They pick themselves up, drag themselves home with no evidence of physical injury left over from the encounter but feeling far more beaten down than after any of their recent hunts. At least then there is the satisfaction of winning, of ending something; here is just a lucky escape, with the burden of knowing it will happen again until someone (Dean) breaks weighing heavily on all three.
Weighing heavily on Dean, at least, and Cas seems to be brooding over his last words-probably trying to convince himself to believe them, because despite the iron certainty in every line of his body as he spoke to Zachariah, when he turned afterwards his expression was full of doubt. They’re really quite the pair, aren’t they? Even their insecurities have insecurities, with an added pinch of self-loathing. Awesome.
And then there’s Sam, who shakes off the whole ordeal and everything that goes along with it in a remarkable matter of minutes to ask, “So, who wants pizza?”
Dean’s eyes flick instinctively to Cas, certain he’s heard wrong but needing to double check. Cas just stares back, equally confused. They were, like, ten seconds away from watching the world collapse, their best friend just got promised an eternity of unimaginable torment, they both had to suffer through a brief yet agonizing bout with late-stage untreated stomach cancer again-and Sam wants a fucking pizza?
“I don’t know about you guys,” Sam goes on, apparently totally unaware of his companions’ astonishment, “but I’m starving.”
“Yeah, because stomach cancer always gives me such a huge appetite,” says Dean.
“Hey, I’m just-”
“Did you maybe miss the part where the world almost ended, Sam? The part where I almost said yes? If Cas had shown up a minute later we’d be tearing each other apart right now. This whole town would be gone already.”
“Yeah, but it’s not, and we’re okay,” says Sam mildly. “We’re safe and I’m hungry, so I think we should get pizza.” And neither Dean nor Cas can think of anything to say to this, so they go to get pizza.
Dean wouldn’t exactly call it an unrivalled success. The one pizza they get to split between the three of them is vegetarian because he was stupid enough to let Sam order, so he spends the whole meal picking peppers and broccoli and spinach and other weird things that have no place on a proper American pizza off his portion. Cas seems to have forgotten he’s human and barely eats at all, instead glaring murderously at the food with an aura of simmering wrath that suggests the pizza has done him a grievous and unforgivable wrong, possibly something even worse than merely daring to contain such an unreasonable number of vegetables.
It only gets worse when they get back to their motel-they’re all in one room since the place is practically booked up, and they’re trying to decide on their next move while packing up with the attitude that they ought to be out of there by evening at the latest; but Cas is giving Dean the Cas version of an extremely suggestive look (which is a lot less flirty and a lot more to the point and therefore also a lot more of a turn-on, at least for Dean) and Dean is trying unsuccessfully to ignore it, with the result that neither of them are paying much attention to Sam, who eventually gives up and just tells them he’ll be back in two hours so have fun.
As soon as Sam is out of the room, Cas starts taking his clothes off. Quickly and efficiently, like he’s at the doctor’s office for a medical exam instead of trying to get laid. Not that he really has to try most of the time with Dean, but still. It’s weird. He sits on the end of the less-used bed (the whole sleeping-in-separate beds thing is getting less and less common somehow), legs spread wide and giving Dean a look that says well? Aren’t you coming?
This is probably (definitely) a bad idea, since sex that isn’t just about having fun or being in love or whatever is always a bad idea and Dean’s pretty sure there’s something else going on here. But there’s the whole power thing again (minus the unwanted flashback-inducing bondage this time), and if that sizzling energy weren’t enough to get Dean hot there’s the fact that Cas seems to have grown impatient and is palming his own cock as he waits for Dean to make up his mind, and considering Dean occasionally just makes Cas touch himself while he watches to get off this is pretty damn distracting. Besides, Dean’s never been one for making good decisions when it comes to his own wellbeing; it started out as plain old rebellion in high school, and somewhere along the way seems to have grown into habit. So he strips down and slides in between Cas’s legs, and Cas starts kissing him like Dean hasn’t gotten the memo yet and the world actually is going to end today.
“Dean,” Cas says as they’re grinding into each other, hard enough that all Dean’s earlier inhibitions have gone straight out the window.
“Yeah?” Dean pants.
“I want you to fuck me.”
“Uh. Okay,” says Dean. In retrospect, it’s probably not his best line.
But that’s what ends up happening, Dean snapping his hips again and again into Cas with pure pleasure on his part (Cas is tight and hot and fuck, it’s been a long time since he’s done this) and an odd sort of desperation from Cas. For the first time since he found out what being in Cas’s mind was like he wishes he could have just one more look, because the only thing clearer than the fact that something’s going on with Cas is that he doesn’t want to talk about it.
Whatever it is, though, Dean screwing him senseless seems to help; when they’re sprawled on the bed after, both feeling too lazy to bother getting up and getting dressed, a burden appears to have been lifted from Cas’s shoulders. He’s wearing the same sleepily content expression he usually sports after one of their “sessions”, anyways, so all in all it looks like everything’s worked out okay and Dean won’t have to spend the rest of his life (which probably won’t be very long anyways) putting up with a moody kind-of-angel.
“You should bottle up your anger more often, Cas,” says Dean. “That was kind of awesome.”
“Really?” asks Cas, sounding vaguely perturbed. “Sam usually advises the opposite…”
“Yeah, well… he’s not the one getting amazing sex out of it.”
“He says the same about you, as well,” Cas says, ignoring Dean’s comment. “In fact, he seems very concerned with your mental health.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “What, do you guys gossip about me whenever I’m not around or something?”
“No, he just takes a great amount of interest in our relationship.”
“It’s not a-”
“He has asked me a total of seven times if I am in love with you,” Cas continues matter-of-factly.
“What?” He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, really; Sam bugs him enough about it that it kind of figures he’d get on Cas’s case once in a while too. But for some reason the statement throws him a little, so instead of laughing it off or making some sarcastic comment about Sam being very in touch with his inner pre-teen girl he finds himself asking, for no apparent reason because what the hell does it matter, “When?”
“Once before I fell, twice before we became Friends with Benefits, and periodically after that,” says Cas with a shrug. Which is good, right? Him not thinking it’s a big deal is good, because it means he doesn’t think not being in love with Dean is a big deal. Or maybe because he is in love with Dean and he thinks that’s not a big deal. Shit.
“And, uh, what do you tell him?” Dean asks, since now he really has to know.
“I don’t know.”
Bullshit. “You have to know. You’re the one who says it.”
“No, I mean that’s what I tell him. I’ve never been in love with anyone before. I don’t know what it feels like.”
“Oh,” says Dean.
He suddenly finds himself wishing for Sam to return very, very soon.
Cas doesn’t seem particularly fazed by their conversation, but now that the possibility of at least one of them feeling a little more than friendship for the other has been brought out kind of into the open (by someone other than the extremely delusional Sam, that is), Dean can’t get it off his mind. He loves being friends with Cas. He loves having sex with Cas. He’s even pretty sure he loves Cas a little bit, as much as he’s dug in his heels to stop it from happening, because Cas is like family to the Winchesters by now and family is everything to Dean. But in love with Cas? No. No. That’s bad. The only thing worse than love is in love, and maybe one ended up being unavoidable but he sure as hell isn’t going to let the other start shoving him around too. It doesn’t matter if Cas is in love with him or not. This isn’t a normal situation, Cas isn’t a normal guy, and even if Cas is maybe a tiny bit infatuated he’s getting sex and he’s getting friendship and he seems pretty damn happy with it, so whatever.
Which means it doesn’t even matter, right? Dean’s not in love with Cas and Cas is happy the way things are. Nothing to worry about, then. Nothing at all.
… fuck.
It’s bugging him so much that, detestable though the prospect is, he eventually finds himself needing to actually talk to Sam about it. Yeah. It’s that bad. They’re watching TV together (Milk, because it’s on and Sam insists it’s an important movie for everyone to watch regardless of their sexuality), which isn’t unusual-but Cas isn’t with them, which is. He’s in the next room sleeping off the few rounds of beer the three of them just had at a local bar, because while his angelic form may be able to down the contents of an entire liquor store before feeling anything, without his grace he’s kind of a lightweight.
“Maybe we should teach Cas how to drive,” Sam suggests casually during one of the commercial breaks.
“What? No way. No. Not on my baby.” A learner attempting to drive the Impala? He’s feeling sick just thinking about it.
“Boo, you whore,” says Sam.
“Did you seriously just quote Mean Girls?” Dean demands in disbelief.
“Did you seriously just call me out on quoting Mean Girls?” asks Sam.
Well played.
They fall silent again and the movie comes back on, but even if Dean hadn’t been having kind of a hard time concentrating on anything lately what with agonizing over Cas 24/7 this movie is fucking impossible for him to follow. He doesn’t understand any of this political stuff at all and frankly it just reminds him of watching dumb educational movies back in high school, so eventually when all the characters are sitting around talking about something apparently very important (again), Dean says, “Hey, you know Cas?”
“Vaguely, yes,” Sam says in a distinctly sardonic tone.
“Do you really think he’s…”
“What? Hopelessly in love with you? Yeah.” He doesn’t even look up from the screen when he says it, because he’s said it over and over again and every time Dean just rolls his eyes and ignores it.
“Really?”
And now Sam does actually tear his gaze away from Sean Penn doing something important with James Franco, which even Dean will admit is kind of compelling (he’s been admiring James Franco’s hair with a sort of horrified fascination all movie, actually), because however Important this movie is this is the absolute first time Dean hasn’t just immediately dismissed Sam’s opinion on this particular matter. “Yeah, really,” he says. “I mean, I could probably get you an itemized list of reasons why if you gave me a few hours, but for starters he kind of gave up Heaven for you, man. That’s not really normal platonic behavior.”
“But that was-”
“And while you’re actually taking this seriously, can I just ask why the possibility is so terrifying?” Sam goes on. “Like, at first I thought it was because Cas was dude, but now I just have no idea. Is it really that bad to have someone care about you?”
“I-what? No, that’s not-” This, Dean thinks gloomily as he struggles to come up with a semi-logical response, is not going at all as planned. He wanted (well. Not wanted, no. Needed, really, because this is not something he would ever actually want) to talk about Cas, and instead Sam’s gone all Dr. Phil on him. “That’s not what I was asking about, and anyways it’s just complicated, okay?”
“It’s really not, actually. You guys are kind of perfect for each other, and I know you think you’re some sort of Vulcan or something who doesn’t have any emotions but that’s totally bullshit. Because Spock was only half-human and look at him, and basically what I’m saying is that maybe we don’t have a ton of time left so you might as well just go that one more step and enjoy what you’ve got while you’ve got it, right?”
There is a brief moment of Dean staring open-mouthed at Sam as he tries to process the fact that his brother just used a Star Trek analogy as a legitimate means of convincing Dean to Live in the Moment and Follow His Heart. And it doesn’t even matter, it doesn’t give Dean some big epiphany, because whatever’s the deal with Spock Dean’s heart is too fucked up to do anything except pump blood and let him bone Cas. Which is, you know, a really great thing for a cardiac muscle to do and all, but it doesn’t exactly leave a whole lot of room for Following.
“I can’t,” he says eventually. Sam’s giving him one of his Looks, the patented come on, Dean, just grow a pair already-except that as Sam explains to anyone unfortunate enough to use that particular expression around him vaginas are actually a lot more durable than testicles, so besides being sexist this is also inaccurate-and it is really pissing him off right now, because what the fuck does Sam know? Maybe it’s black-and-white to Sam, and maybe it’s basically black-and-white with some grey thrown in to Dean as well, but Sam’s already proven time and time again that sometimes his black is Dean’s white. And he knows losing his temper is just going to make things worse, but he still can’t help snapping at his brother, “Would you just fucking listen to me for once, Sam?”
“I am liste-”
“No, you’re fucking not, or we wouldn’t keep having this argument over and over and over! I can’t be that with Cas. Remember how I work, Sam? Remember how I dragged you back into this because I wanted our family back together, and then Dad died and then you died and I sold my goddamned soul to get you back? This whole Apocalypse thing started because I needed people to love me, to need me, so fucking badly that I was willing to sacrifice the entire rest of the world instead of giving that up. I’m possessive and insecure and needy as fuck, and Cas isn’t exactly what you’d call well-adjusted either, and I’m sorry he’s going to die before he gets to have a real relationship, really I am, but I’m giving him what I can afford to give him and giving anything more wouldn’t be a relationship anyways, it would just be a fucking time bomb. Maybe we’d make it to the end or maybe not, I don’t know, but I am not going to try and find out!”
And it’s true, it’s all so true, and it makes him so, so angry. Because he might be fundamentally unstable as a person but at least if he’d been normal, if he’d grown up with two parents and an annoying younger brother and done high school properly and played sports and had friends and gotten some stupid job, and if he’d met a guy just like Cas at a bar or something and they’d hit it off, then maybe they would have had a chance. He’s not saying things would be white-picket-fence perfect, he’s not saying they’d be married (hell, that’s still not even legal in most states) with a small army of adopted children running around their idyllic summer cottage-for all he knows they’d be miserable or unfaithful or they’d have broken up already-but at least they’d have a fucking chance at working something out. And Sam, Sam would be with Jess, maybe they’d have kids by now, and he’d still be fighting but he’d be fighting for women’s rights or against homophobia or to improve the public health education system instead of ripping monsters’ heads off; and Dean used to think a normal life would be so boring but right now, for the past two years probably, boring has been sounding pretty damn good to Dean.
Sam asks quietly, “Doesn’t Cas get any say in this?”
“No, he doesn’t,” Dean says. This isn’t even what he wanted to talk about, or maybe it is, he’s not really sure anymore; but he definitely didn’t mean to say this much and he’s tired and angry and why can’t Sam just give up on him already? “He can feel whatever the fuck he wants but I’m not gonna do the same, because I can’t love anyone anymore without hating them too for knowing they’re going to leave me, and Cas is my best friend and I really don’t want to hate him, so please can you just drop this.”
“What about me?” Sam asks after a moment of him just looking at Dean and Dean just staring pointedly in the opposite direction.
Which is not what Dean’s expecting to hear at all, and since it catches him off guard he ends up meeting Sam’s eyes anyways. “What?”
“Do you hate me?”
Dean rubs his forehead, which is starting to pound with the beginnings of a headache-maybe from drinking, but considering the amount he drank that’s pretty damn sad if it’s true. He’s seen fifteen-year-olds down more than he did tonight without feeling anything (okay, well, maybe he was one of those fifteen-year-olds, but that just proves the point). And here’s Sam asking a deep personal question after he’s already gone through a bigger emotional confrontation than he’s allowed himself to so much as acknowledge internally in years, and what the hell’s he supposed to say in response to that, anything he comes up with will just sound fake, so he tells him the truth and says, “No. I can’t. You’re worse.”
Then he has to look away again, because Sam is wearing this expression that is way too fucking heartfelt and Dean’s pretty sure his brother wants to hug him-and just then someone shoots Harvey Milk, which Dean was so fucking not expecting since he hasn’t actually been paying attention for most of the movie, so he nearly falls backwards off the couch yelling, “Jesus fuck, what the hell was that?”
If they were having a moment, Dean’s pretty sure he just shot it right in the foot (possibly multiple times, plus twice in the head at close range-what the fuck, Harvey Milk). Thank God. Sam may be of the opinion that Dean talking out his feelings is the only way for him to move past his current emotionally stunted state, but as far as Dean can tell all it’s done is force him to actually acknowledge a bunch of messed-up stuff that he was far happier keeping under firm denial. “I’m going to bed,” he announces as the credits start to roll.
“You could sleep here,” Sam suggests.
“God, Sam. I’m not gonna go put a bullet through my brain just because I’ve suddenly realized what a huge fuck-up I am. I made it this far, I think I can carry on with my tragic life a few more weeks, okay? I don’t need you to take care of me.”
“Maybe I want you to sleep here, though,” says Sam. Which totally throws Dean, because somehow he’s been so busy worrying about himself and Cas and everything that all he’s been registering of Sam lately is how much better he’s handling this than the rest of them and how he’s still crazy enough to bother eating healthy when the world’s about to burn. And that’s as may be, but however well Sam may seem to be handling this whole thing he’s dealing with basically the same stuff Dean’s got on his plate, minus the angel sex, so he’s got to be just as scared and exhausted and guilty and depressed as his older brother. Who hasn’t been much good at taking care of him lately.
“Yeah, okay,” Dean agrees gruffly after a moment. Cas will probably wake up freaking out that Dean’s not around and what if they’ve left without him-that is if he’s not too busy feeling like shit from his pussy excuse-for-a-hangover (or balls-y or whatever the anatomically correct term is, thank you very much, Sam)-but if Sam is asking for one night from him he can sure as hell give Sam that one night. Anyways, they’ll be right next door when Cas wakes up, because whatever else Dean may be doing to Cas neither he nor Sam would ever just up and leave. They’ve both been on the receiving end of that already, thanks to John. They both know how shitty it is.
So he ends up climbing into Sam’s extra bed, where he finds a pair of pink Hello Kitty panties shoved way down at the bottom. “What the hell, dude?”
“Oh. Um, yeah. So, that happened,” says Sam, scratching his head with a vague air of awkwardness.
“How old was she, twelve?”
“No, she was… um, on her way back from a con.”
“A con? Like a convention?” Sam nods reluctantly. “Like a business convention, right?”
“Not… not exactly, no…”
“So basically what you’re telling me is that you hooked up with Hello Kitty.” Dean’s not sure exactly how they got from having a deep, soul-wrenching confessional to talking about fucking blobby Japanese cartoon characters but hey, that’s life as a Winchester. And, sadly, this is a conversation he’s a lot more comfortable with than the first.
“Princess Leia, okay? She was Princess Leia.”
Something here isn’t fitting into his brain properly, and he’s pretty sure it’s the fact that his brother apparently slept with a girl dressed as Princess Leia wearing Hello Kitty underwear. He can literally not imagine anything more disgustingly geeky, except maybe if they start quoting lines from Lord of the Rings while they were-okay, okay, enough. Augh. What the hell did he ever do to deserve this? “Sam, I’m disowning you. Goodnight.”
“She was really nice-”
“Goodnight, you freak.”
So that’s how they end their evening of emotional connection, or what passes for emotional connection in their family, anyways. Dean doesn’t fall asleep tearing himself up over Cas, or indeed hating himself any more than usual, but instead wondering when Sam even had the time to pick this comic-girl up and also, though he’s trying not to think about this too much, whether he and Cas were possibly fucking while Sam was doing the exact same thing next door. Because that would just be awkward.
Continue...
Not with Sam, whose blissful lack of more-than-usual concern about his brother’s wellbeing seems to indicate he hasn’t been told about the incident, and not with each other. Cas doesn’t even try to bring it up, for which Dean is extremely grateful. There’s really nothing to be said.
To be honest the whole thing isn’t exactly a huge game-changer. It’s not like Dean’s time in Hell is supposed to be some big secret (especially not from Cas, of all people), nor should the fact that he’s totally fucked up come as a huge surprise to anyone. For a few days there’s a distance between them as Dean struggles with embarrassment and still some anger and okay, yeah, a few leftover nightmares and probably a bunch of other stuff thrown in there as well; Cas does nothing to try and dispel Dean’s coolness, instead guessing accurately that it will thaw on its own. The only real difference is that when they start having sex again (with the topic of bondage carefully avoided by silent mutual consensus) there’s a certain tentative tenderness every time Cas touches him, like he’s some delicate, fragile thing that might shatter at any moment. Probably not even a conscious act on Cas’s part and honestly, if Cas had freaked out that way on Dean he’d feel the same, but it sets Dean’s teeth on edge somehow.
In other news, the world has decided that actually it maybe kind of does want to get on with the whole ending business after all. Omens are cropping up like it’s going out of style, body counts are off the charts, and one tiny, impossible coincidence that leaves Dean with no choice but to accept that someone’s got it in for him on a cosmic level provides the trio with an unwanted-not to mention nearly fatal for both the Winchesters and the human race-angelic encounter. It’s a small town, overrun with both a) vamps, which Dean, Sam, and Cas are there to wipe out, and b) one not-even-that-important kind-of prophet who nonetheless warrants the occasional heavenly check-up.
It’s close. Closer than any of them care to admit. Dean’s on his knees in the old farmhouse that’s the sight of this latest showdown, trying to remind his lungs and heart and basically the rest of his organs how they’re supposed to work as Zachariah alternates between thrusting Dean into excruciating pain, which isn’t so bad, and making him watch Sam in excruciating pain, which is obviously a million times worse. And Dean is so close to breaking down, to just giving in and saying yes to Michael, because everything hurts in him and it’s pretty much inevitable anyways and he’s just so goddamned tired-but at the last minute Cas shows up with a small army of hellhounds, courtesy of Crowley (Dean still hates the demonic bastard, for the record, but he’s got to admit that being in an unholy alliance does have its perks).
Those brothers and sisters of Castiel who are present-because they are still his siblings, whatever may have happened between them-react with absolute, terrifying rage. They scream insults and threats at him as they try to fend off the hounds, to which Cas responds with a glowering, silent fury of his own that makes it difficult for Dean to believe the guy is actually pretty much limp power-wise these days.
“You have fallen in every possible way, Castiel,” Zachariah hisses as the outnumbered angels finally begin to cave and retreat. “And when we are victorious I will personally ensure that you burn in the deepest pits of Hell with the most deplorable of the sinners, until your blackened grace is as twisted as that of Lucifer himself.”
Cas stares at him, the two of them seeming to be surrounded in their own little bubble of crackling, charged silence as chaos rages around them. “Hell will not take me, brother,” he says, and Dean thinks he can hear an echo of the voice that nearly shattered his entire body when they were inside Cas’s head. “Our Father bade us worship His creations as we do Him-yet out of all of you, I am the only one who fights for them. He will not see me punished.”
And then they are alone in the barn again, with only the ghost of Zachariah’s disbelieving laughter as he vanished to confirm that anything happened here at all. They pick themselves up, drag themselves home with no evidence of physical injury left over from the encounter but feeling far more beaten down than after any of their recent hunts. At least then there is the satisfaction of winning, of ending something; here is just a lucky escape, with the burden of knowing it will happen again until someone (Dean) breaks weighing heavily on all three.
Weighing heavily on Dean, at least, and Cas seems to be brooding over his last words-probably trying to convince himself to believe them, because despite the iron certainty in every line of his body as he spoke to Zachariah, when he turned afterwards his expression was full of doubt. They’re really quite the pair, aren’t they? Even their insecurities have insecurities, with an added pinch of self-loathing. Awesome.
And then there’s Sam, who shakes off the whole ordeal and everything that goes along with it in a remarkable matter of minutes to ask, “So, who wants pizza?”
Dean’s eyes flick instinctively to Cas, certain he’s heard wrong but needing to double check. Cas just stares back, equally confused. They were, like, ten seconds away from watching the world collapse, their best friend just got promised an eternity of unimaginable torment, they both had to suffer through a brief yet agonizing bout with late-stage untreated stomach cancer again-and Sam wants a fucking pizza?
“I don’t know about you guys,” Sam goes on, apparently totally unaware of his companions’ astonishment, “but I’m starving.”
“Yeah, because stomach cancer always gives me such a huge appetite,” says Dean.
“Hey, I’m just-”
“Did you maybe miss the part where the world almost ended, Sam? The part where I almost said yes? If Cas had shown up a minute later we’d be tearing each other apart right now. This whole town would be gone already.”
“Yeah, but it’s not, and we’re okay,” says Sam mildly. “We’re safe and I’m hungry, so I think we should get pizza.” And neither Dean nor Cas can think of anything to say to this, so they go to get pizza.
Dean wouldn’t exactly call it an unrivalled success. The one pizza they get to split between the three of them is vegetarian because he was stupid enough to let Sam order, so he spends the whole meal picking peppers and broccoli and spinach and other weird things that have no place on a proper American pizza off his portion. Cas seems to have forgotten he’s human and barely eats at all, instead glaring murderously at the food with an aura of simmering wrath that suggests the pizza has done him a grievous and unforgivable wrong, possibly something even worse than merely daring to contain such an unreasonable number of vegetables.
It only gets worse when they get back to their motel-they’re all in one room since the place is practically booked up, and they’re trying to decide on their next move while packing up with the attitude that they ought to be out of there by evening at the latest; but Cas is giving Dean the Cas version of an extremely suggestive look (which is a lot less flirty and a lot more to the point and therefore also a lot more of a turn-on, at least for Dean) and Dean is trying unsuccessfully to ignore it, with the result that neither of them are paying much attention to Sam, who eventually gives up and just tells them he’ll be back in two hours so have fun.
As soon as Sam is out of the room, Cas starts taking his clothes off. Quickly and efficiently, like he’s at the doctor’s office for a medical exam instead of trying to get laid. Not that he really has to try most of the time with Dean, but still. It’s weird. He sits on the end of the less-used bed (the whole sleeping-in-separate beds thing is getting less and less common somehow), legs spread wide and giving Dean a look that says well? Aren’t you coming?
This is probably (definitely) a bad idea, since sex that isn’t just about having fun or being in love or whatever is always a bad idea and Dean’s pretty sure there’s something else going on here. But there’s the whole power thing again (minus the unwanted flashback-inducing bondage this time), and if that sizzling energy weren’t enough to get Dean hot there’s the fact that Cas seems to have grown impatient and is palming his own cock as he waits for Dean to make up his mind, and considering Dean occasionally just makes Cas touch himself while he watches to get off this is pretty damn distracting. Besides, Dean’s never been one for making good decisions when it comes to his own wellbeing; it started out as plain old rebellion in high school, and somewhere along the way seems to have grown into habit. So he strips down and slides in between Cas’s legs, and Cas starts kissing him like Dean hasn’t gotten the memo yet and the world actually is going to end today.
“Dean,” Cas says as they’re grinding into each other, hard enough that all Dean’s earlier inhibitions have gone straight out the window.
“Yeah?” Dean pants.
“I want you to fuck me.”
“Uh. Okay,” says Dean. In retrospect, it’s probably not his best line.
But that’s what ends up happening, Dean snapping his hips again and again into Cas with pure pleasure on his part (Cas is tight and hot and fuck, it’s been a long time since he’s done this) and an odd sort of desperation from Cas. For the first time since he found out what being in Cas’s mind was like he wishes he could have just one more look, because the only thing clearer than the fact that something’s going on with Cas is that he doesn’t want to talk about it.
Whatever it is, though, Dean screwing him senseless seems to help; when they’re sprawled on the bed after, both feeling too lazy to bother getting up and getting dressed, a burden appears to have been lifted from Cas’s shoulders. He’s wearing the same sleepily content expression he usually sports after one of their “sessions”, anyways, so all in all it looks like everything’s worked out okay and Dean won’t have to spend the rest of his life (which probably won’t be very long anyways) putting up with a moody kind-of-angel.
“You should bottle up your anger more often, Cas,” says Dean. “That was kind of awesome.”
“Really?” asks Cas, sounding vaguely perturbed. “Sam usually advises the opposite…”
“Yeah, well… he’s not the one getting amazing sex out of it.”
“He says the same about you, as well,” Cas says, ignoring Dean’s comment. “In fact, he seems very concerned with your mental health.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “What, do you guys gossip about me whenever I’m not around or something?”
“No, he just takes a great amount of interest in our relationship.”
“It’s not a-”
“He has asked me a total of seven times if I am in love with you,” Cas continues matter-of-factly.
“What?” He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, really; Sam bugs him enough about it that it kind of figures he’d get on Cas’s case once in a while too. But for some reason the statement throws him a little, so instead of laughing it off or making some sarcastic comment about Sam being very in touch with his inner pre-teen girl he finds himself asking, for no apparent reason because what the hell does it matter, “When?”
“Once before I fell, twice before we became Friends with Benefits, and periodically after that,” says Cas with a shrug. Which is good, right? Him not thinking it’s a big deal is good, because it means he doesn’t think not being in love with Dean is a big deal. Or maybe because he is in love with Dean and he thinks that’s not a big deal. Shit.
“And, uh, what do you tell him?” Dean asks, since now he really has to know.
“I don’t know.”
Bullshit. “You have to know. You’re the one who says it.”
“No, I mean that’s what I tell him. I’ve never been in love with anyone before. I don’t know what it feels like.”
“Oh,” says Dean.
He suddenly finds himself wishing for Sam to return very, very soon.
Cas doesn’t seem particularly fazed by their conversation, but now that the possibility of at least one of them feeling a little more than friendship for the other has been brought out kind of into the open (by someone other than the extremely delusional Sam, that is), Dean can’t get it off his mind. He loves being friends with Cas. He loves having sex with Cas. He’s even pretty sure he loves Cas a little bit, as much as he’s dug in his heels to stop it from happening, because Cas is like family to the Winchesters by now and family is everything to Dean. But in love with Cas? No. No. That’s bad. The only thing worse than love is in love, and maybe one ended up being unavoidable but he sure as hell isn’t going to let the other start shoving him around too. It doesn’t matter if Cas is in love with him or not. This isn’t a normal situation, Cas isn’t a normal guy, and even if Cas is maybe a tiny bit infatuated he’s getting sex and he’s getting friendship and he seems pretty damn happy with it, so whatever.
Which means it doesn’t even matter, right? Dean’s not in love with Cas and Cas is happy the way things are. Nothing to worry about, then. Nothing at all.
… fuck.
It’s bugging him so much that, detestable though the prospect is, he eventually finds himself needing to actually talk to Sam about it. Yeah. It’s that bad. They’re watching TV together (Milk, because it’s on and Sam insists it’s an important movie for everyone to watch regardless of their sexuality), which isn’t unusual-but Cas isn’t with them, which is. He’s in the next room sleeping off the few rounds of beer the three of them just had at a local bar, because while his angelic form may be able to down the contents of an entire liquor store before feeling anything, without his grace he’s kind of a lightweight.
“Maybe we should teach Cas how to drive,” Sam suggests casually during one of the commercial breaks.
“What? No way. No. Not on my baby.” A learner attempting to drive the Impala? He’s feeling sick just thinking about it.
“Boo, you whore,” says Sam.
“Did you seriously just quote Mean Girls?” Dean demands in disbelief.
“Did you seriously just call me out on quoting Mean Girls?” asks Sam.
Well played.
They fall silent again and the movie comes back on, but even if Dean hadn’t been having kind of a hard time concentrating on anything lately what with agonizing over Cas 24/7 this movie is fucking impossible for him to follow. He doesn’t understand any of this political stuff at all and frankly it just reminds him of watching dumb educational movies back in high school, so eventually when all the characters are sitting around talking about something apparently very important (again), Dean says, “Hey, you know Cas?”
“Vaguely, yes,” Sam says in a distinctly sardonic tone.
“Do you really think he’s…”
“What? Hopelessly in love with you? Yeah.” He doesn’t even look up from the screen when he says it, because he’s said it over and over again and every time Dean just rolls his eyes and ignores it.
“Really?”
And now Sam does actually tear his gaze away from Sean Penn doing something important with James Franco, which even Dean will admit is kind of compelling (he’s been admiring James Franco’s hair with a sort of horrified fascination all movie, actually), because however Important this movie is this is the absolute first time Dean hasn’t just immediately dismissed Sam’s opinion on this particular matter. “Yeah, really,” he says. “I mean, I could probably get you an itemized list of reasons why if you gave me a few hours, but for starters he kind of gave up Heaven for you, man. That’s not really normal platonic behavior.”
“But that was-”
“And while you’re actually taking this seriously, can I just ask why the possibility is so terrifying?” Sam goes on. “Like, at first I thought it was because Cas was dude, but now I just have no idea. Is it really that bad to have someone care about you?”
“I-what? No, that’s not-” This, Dean thinks gloomily as he struggles to come up with a semi-logical response, is not going at all as planned. He wanted (well. Not wanted, no. Needed, really, because this is not something he would ever actually want) to talk about Cas, and instead Sam’s gone all Dr. Phil on him. “That’s not what I was asking about, and anyways it’s just complicated, okay?”
“It’s really not, actually. You guys are kind of perfect for each other, and I know you think you’re some sort of Vulcan or something who doesn’t have any emotions but that’s totally bullshit. Because Spock was only half-human and look at him, and basically what I’m saying is that maybe we don’t have a ton of time left so you might as well just go that one more step and enjoy what you’ve got while you’ve got it, right?”
There is a brief moment of Dean staring open-mouthed at Sam as he tries to process the fact that his brother just used a Star Trek analogy as a legitimate means of convincing Dean to Live in the Moment and Follow His Heart. And it doesn’t even matter, it doesn’t give Dean some big epiphany, because whatever’s the deal with Spock Dean’s heart is too fucked up to do anything except pump blood and let him bone Cas. Which is, you know, a really great thing for a cardiac muscle to do and all, but it doesn’t exactly leave a whole lot of room for Following.
“I can’t,” he says eventually. Sam’s giving him one of his Looks, the patented come on, Dean, just grow a pair already-except that as Sam explains to anyone unfortunate enough to use that particular expression around him vaginas are actually a lot more durable than testicles, so besides being sexist this is also inaccurate-and it is really pissing him off right now, because what the fuck does Sam know? Maybe it’s black-and-white to Sam, and maybe it’s basically black-and-white with some grey thrown in to Dean as well, but Sam’s already proven time and time again that sometimes his black is Dean’s white. And he knows losing his temper is just going to make things worse, but he still can’t help snapping at his brother, “Would you just fucking listen to me for once, Sam?”
“I am liste-”
“No, you’re fucking not, or we wouldn’t keep having this argument over and over and over! I can’t be that with Cas. Remember how I work, Sam? Remember how I dragged you back into this because I wanted our family back together, and then Dad died and then you died and I sold my goddamned soul to get you back? This whole Apocalypse thing started because I needed people to love me, to need me, so fucking badly that I was willing to sacrifice the entire rest of the world instead of giving that up. I’m possessive and insecure and needy as fuck, and Cas isn’t exactly what you’d call well-adjusted either, and I’m sorry he’s going to die before he gets to have a real relationship, really I am, but I’m giving him what I can afford to give him and giving anything more wouldn’t be a relationship anyways, it would just be a fucking time bomb. Maybe we’d make it to the end or maybe not, I don’t know, but I am not going to try and find out!”
And it’s true, it’s all so true, and it makes him so, so angry. Because he might be fundamentally unstable as a person but at least if he’d been normal, if he’d grown up with two parents and an annoying younger brother and done high school properly and played sports and had friends and gotten some stupid job, and if he’d met a guy just like Cas at a bar or something and they’d hit it off, then maybe they would have had a chance. He’s not saying things would be white-picket-fence perfect, he’s not saying they’d be married (hell, that’s still not even legal in most states) with a small army of adopted children running around their idyllic summer cottage-for all he knows they’d be miserable or unfaithful or they’d have broken up already-but at least they’d have a fucking chance at working something out. And Sam, Sam would be with Jess, maybe they’d have kids by now, and he’d still be fighting but he’d be fighting for women’s rights or against homophobia or to improve the public health education system instead of ripping monsters’ heads off; and Dean used to think a normal life would be so boring but right now, for the past two years probably, boring has been sounding pretty damn good to Dean.
Sam asks quietly, “Doesn’t Cas get any say in this?”
“No, he doesn’t,” Dean says. This isn’t even what he wanted to talk about, or maybe it is, he’s not really sure anymore; but he definitely didn’t mean to say this much and he’s tired and angry and why can’t Sam just give up on him already? “He can feel whatever the fuck he wants but I’m not gonna do the same, because I can’t love anyone anymore without hating them too for knowing they’re going to leave me, and Cas is my best friend and I really don’t want to hate him, so please can you just drop this.”
“What about me?” Sam asks after a moment of him just looking at Dean and Dean just staring pointedly in the opposite direction.
Which is not what Dean’s expecting to hear at all, and since it catches him off guard he ends up meeting Sam’s eyes anyways. “What?”
“Do you hate me?”
Dean rubs his forehead, which is starting to pound with the beginnings of a headache-maybe from drinking, but considering the amount he drank that’s pretty damn sad if it’s true. He’s seen fifteen-year-olds down more than he did tonight without feeling anything (okay, well, maybe he was one of those fifteen-year-olds, but that just proves the point). And here’s Sam asking a deep personal question after he’s already gone through a bigger emotional confrontation than he’s allowed himself to so much as acknowledge internally in years, and what the hell’s he supposed to say in response to that, anything he comes up with will just sound fake, so he tells him the truth and says, “No. I can’t. You’re worse.”
Then he has to look away again, because Sam is wearing this expression that is way too fucking heartfelt and Dean’s pretty sure his brother wants to hug him-and just then someone shoots Harvey Milk, which Dean was so fucking not expecting since he hasn’t actually been paying attention for most of the movie, so he nearly falls backwards off the couch yelling, “Jesus fuck, what the hell was that?”
If they were having a moment, Dean’s pretty sure he just shot it right in the foot (possibly multiple times, plus twice in the head at close range-what the fuck, Harvey Milk). Thank God. Sam may be of the opinion that Dean talking out his feelings is the only way for him to move past his current emotionally stunted state, but as far as Dean can tell all it’s done is force him to actually acknowledge a bunch of messed-up stuff that he was far happier keeping under firm denial. “I’m going to bed,” he announces as the credits start to roll.
“You could sleep here,” Sam suggests.
“God, Sam. I’m not gonna go put a bullet through my brain just because I’ve suddenly realized what a huge fuck-up I am. I made it this far, I think I can carry on with my tragic life a few more weeks, okay? I don’t need you to take care of me.”
“Maybe I want you to sleep here, though,” says Sam. Which totally throws Dean, because somehow he’s been so busy worrying about himself and Cas and everything that all he’s been registering of Sam lately is how much better he’s handling this than the rest of them and how he’s still crazy enough to bother eating healthy when the world’s about to burn. And that’s as may be, but however well Sam may seem to be handling this whole thing he’s dealing with basically the same stuff Dean’s got on his plate, minus the angel sex, so he’s got to be just as scared and exhausted and guilty and depressed as his older brother. Who hasn’t been much good at taking care of him lately.
“Yeah, okay,” Dean agrees gruffly after a moment. Cas will probably wake up freaking out that Dean’s not around and what if they’ve left without him-that is if he’s not too busy feeling like shit from his pussy excuse-for-a-hangover (or balls-y or whatever the anatomically correct term is, thank you very much, Sam)-but if Sam is asking for one night from him he can sure as hell give Sam that one night. Anyways, they’ll be right next door when Cas wakes up, because whatever else Dean may be doing to Cas neither he nor Sam would ever just up and leave. They’ve both been on the receiving end of that already, thanks to John. They both know how shitty it is.
So he ends up climbing into Sam’s extra bed, where he finds a pair of pink Hello Kitty panties shoved way down at the bottom. “What the hell, dude?”
“Oh. Um, yeah. So, that happened,” says Sam, scratching his head with a vague air of awkwardness.
“How old was she, twelve?”
“No, she was… um, on her way back from a con.”
“A con? Like a convention?” Sam nods reluctantly. “Like a business convention, right?”
“Not… not exactly, no…”
“So basically what you’re telling me is that you hooked up with Hello Kitty.” Dean’s not sure exactly how they got from having a deep, soul-wrenching confessional to talking about fucking blobby Japanese cartoon characters but hey, that’s life as a Winchester. And, sadly, this is a conversation he’s a lot more comfortable with than the first.
“Princess Leia, okay? She was Princess Leia.”
Something here isn’t fitting into his brain properly, and he’s pretty sure it’s the fact that his brother apparently slept with a girl dressed as Princess Leia wearing Hello Kitty underwear. He can literally not imagine anything more disgustingly geeky, except maybe if they start quoting lines from Lord of the Rings while they were-okay, okay, enough. Augh. What the hell did he ever do to deserve this? “Sam, I’m disowning you. Goodnight.”
“She was really nice-”
“Goodnight, you freak.”
So that’s how they end their evening of emotional connection, or what passes for emotional connection in their family, anyways. Dean doesn’t fall asleep tearing himself up over Cas, or indeed hating himself any more than usual, but instead wondering when Sam even had the time to pick this comic-girl up and also, though he’s trying not to think about this too much, whether he and Cas were possibly fucking while Sam was doing the exact same thing next door. Because that would just be awkward.
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