Fic: Until they can be made unbreakable, part 6/? in Oz
Until they can be made unbreakable
1,650 words, SPN Dean/Castiel slash. Spoilers for all of season 4.
Many thanks to zelda_zee, who does what she can with the nonsense I write.
Continuing my Welcome to Oz series. Master post of links here.
“Honey, I’m home,” Dean calls out as he steps through the front door and closes it behind him. Usually Castiel wanders into the foyer to greet Dean after a minute or two, dressed in a polo and khakis or jeans. Dean will point to whatever animal is stitched into the shirt over his heart and ask, “What’s the critter today?” Castiel will always glance down then, tug at his shirt, and reply with, “Alligator,” or “Crab” or “Eagle.”
Until they can be made unbreakable
“Honey, I’m home,” Dean calls out as he steps through the front door and closes it behind him. Usually Castiel wanders into the foyer to greet Dean after a minute or two, dressed in a polo and khakis or jeans. Dean will point to whatever animal is stitched into the shirt over his heart and ask, “What’s the critter today?” Castiel will always glance down then, tug at his shirt, and reply with, “Alligator,” or “Crab” or “Eagle.” It’s a weird ritual, but Dean finds it weirder than it’s only been three weeks and they’ve already started forming habits.
Today, though, nothing greets Dean but the silence and he instantly tenses, guard up. “Cas? You here?” He starts walking through the rooms methodically, reaches for the knife inside his jacket as he scans for any signs of struggle. The living room, kitchen, and downstairs bathroom are all empty. “Cas?”
Dean goes up the stairs and into the master bedroom, where the door to the adjoining bathroom is closed. Years of conditioning tell Dean to stay wary until he sees Castiel for himself, safe and sound. “Cas? You in there?”
There’s a long pause before Castiel’s voice floats through the door from the other side, “Dean, I did not realize you had come home.”
“You okay?” Dean asks, because this whole situation still seems off.
“I will be fine, Dean,” Castiel says, and that’s all Dean needs to open the door to the bathroom and go in.
Castiel is sitting on the floor near the toilet, legs splayed out in front of him, back propped up against the wall. His usually neat and orderly red polo is wrinkled, and his face is pale and drawn.
“Shit, Cas,” Dean says when Castiel makes no move to stand. “What’re you doing on the floor?”
“I was vomiting,” Castiel says with no particular inflection. “It is why I did not hear you come in.”
“Vomiting?” Dean walks to the sink, grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it with cold water. “Was it something you ate?”
“I suffer neither from food poisoning nor illness,” Castiel says as he accepts the cup from Dean. “I believe this is related to my headaches, as it has been happening for about a week now.”
“This, as in blowing chunks?” Dean says. “What, you pregnant or something?”
Castiel gargles some water before spitting it back out into the toilet. “I do not believe this body is capable of becoming pregnant, even if I had engaged in the necessary acts.”
“Bad joke, Cas,” Dean says as he sits down on the edge of the bathtub. “But I guess it’s good I don’t need to give you the birds and the bees talk.”
Castiel begins to drink the water in earnest and rests his head back against the wall. “I need only a few minutes to recover. I did not get the chance to put in the order to the Chinese restaurant, but I will do so as soon as I am able.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dean says, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. “You should have told me about this.”
“Why?” Castiel asks and Dean blinks.
“What do you mean, ‘why’?”
“Why should I have informed you, Dean?” Castiel says. “This matter does not concern you, and there is nothing you can do.”
“Of course it concerns me,” Dean says. “If something is fucking your shit up, it concerns me very much.”
Castiel’s brow furrows. “I do not understand. Why should this be of consequence to you?”
“Because no one should have to go through this kind of crap alone,” Dean says. He closes his eyes, and the memory of Hell whispers in the far corner of his mind, of ceaseless, endless vomiting punctuated by other, less creative methods of torture. “Being sick or-or whatever sucks. You shouldn’t have to be all alone on top of it.”
“But I am alone,” Castiel says, and the statement is so matter of fact that Dean opens his eyes again to check that he really means it. “My Lord has abandoned me. As have my brothers and sisters. My vessel’s soul no longer resides in this body. I am alone.”
“You’re not,” Dean says. “I mean we fucking live up each other’s asses, for Christ’s sake. Other than Sam, I’ve never spent this much time with anyone before.”
“You could leave,” Castiel says, and there’s nothing sad or pleading about that statement-it’s merely another fact. “Nothing binds you to me, not anymore. One day even the piece of my Grace I embedded within you will fade to nothing, like it is fading within me.”
“Nothing really binds anyone to anything,” Dean says. “Haven’t you figured that out by now? Not Grace, not blood, not vows. It’s all just choices, Cas. A choice to stay, or a choice to go.” Dean stares down at the blood pumping through his wrists and thinks about the choice he made to stay that left Sam behind. “Choices we all gotta learn to live with, somehow.”
“Choices,” Castiel echoes. “And what do choices add up to in an existence with no meaning? How does one live a life with no purpose?”
“Just because you’re not an angel anymore doesn’t mean-” Dean halts, starts over. “Look, you made choices before, right? Even as Mr. Trenchcoat, or Mr. Burn Your Eyes Out with My True Form, right? It wasn’t like Zach micromanaged your every move.”
“That was different,” Castiel says. “My decisions were merely paths a river might take around a rock-the river would continue regardless. In the end, I was merely a conduit through which God’s will be done.”
“Was that enough?” Dean asks, wondering how it could be.
“It was everything.” Castiel turns to Dean with an expression of wonderment. “It was everything I needed.”
“I dunno, Cas,” Dean says. “Sounds kind of boring to me. And, you know, Anna didn’t seem to agree with you.”
“Anna did not understand,” Castiel says. “Her existence, my existence-we were all but threads in a larger tapestry being woven by my Lord, and even if I was blind to it, I knew in my heart that it was beautiful.” Castiel’s voice drops to a whisper. “I knew this, once.”
“Maybe you’re still part of the plan,” Dean says. He can’t believe he’s about to try to talk someone into believing in God. “You know, in a different form. Or whatever.”
Castiel smiles sadly. “Once upon a time, my Lord guided my feet through the woods to a road. I knew the road before me would be beset by obstacles, by nay-sayers, by speakers and actions that worked untruths. I felt no fear, for my Lord would guide me through the snake pit, and he would hold my heart in his hands and keep it filled with faith and surety.” Castiel bows his head. “But my Lord knows my heart and He knows now that it is empty of Him. It is filled with fear, and pain, and sorrow.”
“Yeah, well,” Dean clears his throat. “Welcome to the club. Being human’s kind of a bitch that way.”
“Does it grow easier with time?” Castiel looks up.
“Sometimes,” Dean says. “Sex helps, although you’re probably not going to try that out anytime soon. There’s uh, there are also jokes and funny stories. You see the humor in things and it makes you laugh instead of crying about them.”
“Funny stories?” Castiel says.
“Uh, for instance,” Dean wracks his brain and says the first thing that comes to mind. “Today Sanjay was telling me that there was this really hot chick checking me out the whole time you were at the store.”
“I distracted you from a customer?” Castiel says. “Is that humorous?”
“Well, no,” Dean says. “Sanjay was at the register and she still bought nails and a screwdriver or whatever. The point is, she was into me and I missed it.”
“Oh,” Castiel says. “Is that all?”
“I’m just saying it’s weird,” Dean says. “This isn’t the first time it’s happened, either. Sanjay tells me that Alicia down the street has been throwing herself at me for weeks-I don’t know how I just missed that.”
“I see,” Castiel says.
“No you don’t,” Dean says, and he doesn’t know why that frustrates him. “It’s just weird because it’s like, when you’re around, I don’t notice other people at all, including hot women. And you’re around a whole damn lot.”
Castiel stares at Dean blankly. “I don’t know what that means.”
Dean huffs out a breath. “Me neither.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I guess it wasn’t much of a funny story. Not funny ha-ha, anyway.”
“No,” Castiel says. After a moment, he adds, “I do feel slightly less afraid, however. More confused, less afraid.”
Dean lets out an unexpected laugh. “Mission accomplished. I’ll work on the stories, vet them for hilarity in advance.” Castiel manages a ghost of a smile and Dean stands up, stretches a hand out to him. “Come on. We’ve been hanging out in this bathroom long enough.”
After a second, Castiel takes Dean’s hand and allows himself to be helped to his feet. Once Castiel is upright again, his face and his body are only a few inches away from Dean, crowding into his personal space. Not that Castiel was ever too good about personal space to begin with.
“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says.
Dean backs away from the wide blue of Castiel’s eyes. “Nothing to thank me for, Cas. It’s what friends do.”
“Is that what we are?” Castiel says. “Friends?”
“Sure,” Dean says as he crosses his arms over his chest and tries to forget about the heat of Castiel’s body almost touching his. “What else would we be?”
Onto the next chapter: We're off to see the wizard
1,650 words, SPN Dean/Castiel slash. Spoilers for all of season 4.
Many thanks to zelda_zee, who does what she can with the nonsense I write.
Continuing my Welcome to Oz series. Master post of links here.
“Honey, I’m home,” Dean calls out as he steps through the front door and closes it behind him. Usually Castiel wanders into the foyer to greet Dean after a minute or two, dressed in a polo and khakis or jeans. Dean will point to whatever animal is stitched into the shirt over his heart and ask, “What’s the critter today?” Castiel will always glance down then, tug at his shirt, and reply with, “Alligator,” or “Crab” or “Eagle.”
Until they can be made unbreakable
“Honey, I’m home,” Dean calls out as he steps through the front door and closes it behind him. Usually Castiel wanders into the foyer to greet Dean after a minute or two, dressed in a polo and khakis or jeans. Dean will point to whatever animal is stitched into the shirt over his heart and ask, “What’s the critter today?” Castiel will always glance down then, tug at his shirt, and reply with, “Alligator,” or “Crab” or “Eagle.” It’s a weird ritual, but Dean finds it weirder than it’s only been three weeks and they’ve already started forming habits.
Today, though, nothing greets Dean but the silence and he instantly tenses, guard up. “Cas? You here?” He starts walking through the rooms methodically, reaches for the knife inside his jacket as he scans for any signs of struggle. The living room, kitchen, and downstairs bathroom are all empty. “Cas?”
Dean goes up the stairs and into the master bedroom, where the door to the adjoining bathroom is closed. Years of conditioning tell Dean to stay wary until he sees Castiel for himself, safe and sound. “Cas? You in there?”
There’s a long pause before Castiel’s voice floats through the door from the other side, “Dean, I did not realize you had come home.”
“You okay?” Dean asks, because this whole situation still seems off.
“I will be fine, Dean,” Castiel says, and that’s all Dean needs to open the door to the bathroom and go in.
Castiel is sitting on the floor near the toilet, legs splayed out in front of him, back propped up against the wall. His usually neat and orderly red polo is wrinkled, and his face is pale and drawn.
“Shit, Cas,” Dean says when Castiel makes no move to stand. “What’re you doing on the floor?”
“I was vomiting,” Castiel says with no particular inflection. “It is why I did not hear you come in.”
“Vomiting?” Dean walks to the sink, grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it with cold water. “Was it something you ate?”
“I suffer neither from food poisoning nor illness,” Castiel says as he accepts the cup from Dean. “I believe this is related to my headaches, as it has been happening for about a week now.”
“This, as in blowing chunks?” Dean says. “What, you pregnant or something?”
Castiel gargles some water before spitting it back out into the toilet. “I do not believe this body is capable of becoming pregnant, even if I had engaged in the necessary acts.”
“Bad joke, Cas,” Dean says as he sits down on the edge of the bathtub. “But I guess it’s good I don’t need to give you the birds and the bees talk.”
Castiel begins to drink the water in earnest and rests his head back against the wall. “I need only a few minutes to recover. I did not get the chance to put in the order to the Chinese restaurant, but I will do so as soon as I am able.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dean says, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. “You should have told me about this.”
“Why?” Castiel asks and Dean blinks.
“What do you mean, ‘why’?”
“Why should I have informed you, Dean?” Castiel says. “This matter does not concern you, and there is nothing you can do.”
“Of course it concerns me,” Dean says. “If something is fucking your shit up, it concerns me very much.”
Castiel’s brow furrows. “I do not understand. Why should this be of consequence to you?”
“Because no one should have to go through this kind of crap alone,” Dean says. He closes his eyes, and the memory of Hell whispers in the far corner of his mind, of ceaseless, endless vomiting punctuated by other, less creative methods of torture. “Being sick or-or whatever sucks. You shouldn’t have to be all alone on top of it.”
“But I am alone,” Castiel says, and the statement is so matter of fact that Dean opens his eyes again to check that he really means it. “My Lord has abandoned me. As have my brothers and sisters. My vessel’s soul no longer resides in this body. I am alone.”
“You’re not,” Dean says. “I mean we fucking live up each other’s asses, for Christ’s sake. Other than Sam, I’ve never spent this much time with anyone before.”
“You could leave,” Castiel says, and there’s nothing sad or pleading about that statement-it’s merely another fact. “Nothing binds you to me, not anymore. One day even the piece of my Grace I embedded within you will fade to nothing, like it is fading within me.”
“Nothing really binds anyone to anything,” Dean says. “Haven’t you figured that out by now? Not Grace, not blood, not vows. It’s all just choices, Cas. A choice to stay, or a choice to go.” Dean stares down at the blood pumping through his wrists and thinks about the choice he made to stay that left Sam behind. “Choices we all gotta learn to live with, somehow.”
“Choices,” Castiel echoes. “And what do choices add up to in an existence with no meaning? How does one live a life with no purpose?”
“Just because you’re not an angel anymore doesn’t mean-” Dean halts, starts over. “Look, you made choices before, right? Even as Mr. Trenchcoat, or Mr. Burn Your Eyes Out with My True Form, right? It wasn’t like Zach micromanaged your every move.”
“That was different,” Castiel says. “My decisions were merely paths a river might take around a rock-the river would continue regardless. In the end, I was merely a conduit through which God’s will be done.”
“Was that enough?” Dean asks, wondering how it could be.
“It was everything.” Castiel turns to Dean with an expression of wonderment. “It was everything I needed.”
“I dunno, Cas,” Dean says. “Sounds kind of boring to me. And, you know, Anna didn’t seem to agree with you.”
“Anna did not understand,” Castiel says. “Her existence, my existence-we were all but threads in a larger tapestry being woven by my Lord, and even if I was blind to it, I knew in my heart that it was beautiful.” Castiel’s voice drops to a whisper. “I knew this, once.”
“Maybe you’re still part of the plan,” Dean says. He can’t believe he’s about to try to talk someone into believing in God. “You know, in a different form. Or whatever.”
Castiel smiles sadly. “Once upon a time, my Lord guided my feet through the woods to a road. I knew the road before me would be beset by obstacles, by nay-sayers, by speakers and actions that worked untruths. I felt no fear, for my Lord would guide me through the snake pit, and he would hold my heart in his hands and keep it filled with faith and surety.” Castiel bows his head. “But my Lord knows my heart and He knows now that it is empty of Him. It is filled with fear, and pain, and sorrow.”
“Yeah, well,” Dean clears his throat. “Welcome to the club. Being human’s kind of a bitch that way.”
“Does it grow easier with time?” Castiel looks up.
“Sometimes,” Dean says. “Sex helps, although you’re probably not going to try that out anytime soon. There’s uh, there are also jokes and funny stories. You see the humor in things and it makes you laugh instead of crying about them.”
“Funny stories?” Castiel says.
“Uh, for instance,” Dean wracks his brain and says the first thing that comes to mind. “Today Sanjay was telling me that there was this really hot chick checking me out the whole time you were at the store.”
“I distracted you from a customer?” Castiel says. “Is that humorous?”
“Well, no,” Dean says. “Sanjay was at the register and she still bought nails and a screwdriver or whatever. The point is, she was into me and I missed it.”
“Oh,” Castiel says. “Is that all?”
“I’m just saying it’s weird,” Dean says. “This isn’t the first time it’s happened, either. Sanjay tells me that Alicia down the street has been throwing herself at me for weeks-I don’t know how I just missed that.”
“I see,” Castiel says.
“No you don’t,” Dean says, and he doesn’t know why that frustrates him. “It’s just weird because it’s like, when you’re around, I don’t notice other people at all, including hot women. And you’re around a whole damn lot.”
Castiel stares at Dean blankly. “I don’t know what that means.”
Dean huffs out a breath. “Me neither.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I guess it wasn’t much of a funny story. Not funny ha-ha, anyway.”
“No,” Castiel says. After a moment, he adds, “I do feel slightly less afraid, however. More confused, less afraid.”
Dean lets out an unexpected laugh. “Mission accomplished. I’ll work on the stories, vet them for hilarity in advance.” Castiel manages a ghost of a smile and Dean stands up, stretches a hand out to him. “Come on. We’ve been hanging out in this bathroom long enough.”
After a second, Castiel takes Dean’s hand and allows himself to be helped to his feet. Once Castiel is upright again, his face and his body are only a few inches away from Dean, crowding into his personal space. Not that Castiel was ever too good about personal space to begin with.
“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says.
Dean backs away from the wide blue of Castiel’s eyes. “Nothing to thank me for, Cas. It’s what friends do.”
“Is that what we are?” Castiel says. “Friends?”
“Sure,” Dean says as he crosses his arms over his chest and tries to forget about the heat of Castiel’s body almost touching his. “What else would we be?”
Onto the next chapter: We're off to see the wizard