Fic: running both ways (Dean/Castiel; PG-13)
Title: running both ways
Author: bree_black
Pairing:: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1800
Warnings: minor dub-con; spoilers through 6x22.
Summary: Trust issues. 6x22 coda.
Notes: I promised fix-it fic, didn't I?
Sam, Dean and Bobby kneel on the cold tile floor in front of Castiel, formerly an angel and now something new. Their heads are bent, but not one of them prays.
Dean is the first to lift his head. He avoids making eye contact with Castiel, keeping his gaze slightly below his face, a practiced sign of deference he can’t quite wear naturally, an expression of submission that doesn’t belong.
“Okay Cas,” Dean says. “We get it. You saved us - you saved all of us. We’re really grateful.” Beside Dean, Sam murmurs a noise of agreement, and even Bobby grumbles a “thanks,” but Castiel keeps his gaze fixed on Dean.
“Prove it,” he says, voice soft and strangely sweet. He cocks his head and smiles a small smile, like he’s only just learning how to do it.
“How?” Sam says. His voice is hoarse like he’s been screaming, or like he’s just woken up from a long sleep and hasn’t had a drink of water yet.
“Not you,” Castiel answers without looking at him. “Dean.” His voice lowers on the name and gets rougher, loses some of its sickly sweetness. “I want Dean to prove his gratitude.” He says it like a small child making a choice during his first trip to the ice cream shop, surrounded by previously unimaginable options but dead certain which flavor he wants.
Dean recognizes the lust in Castiel’s voice first; his body goes tight with it for a moment, back straightening where it had been slumped slightly over his knees. “Really, Cas?” he says before he can stop himself.
The criticism stings. Castiel’s expression hardens and he holds up one hand, slowly closing it into a fist. Collapsing onto the cold tile floor, Bobby gasps for air. When Sam tries to reach for him, he finds himself frozen, completely unable to move.
“Yes, really,” Castiel says, and there is danger in his voice.
Dean’s eyes flicker from his prone friend and his captive brother to Castiel’s outstretched hand. His body braces for a fight he knows he could never win. Then, decision made, he lets himself go loose again, and he meets Castiel’s heated gaze for the first time.
“Alright,” he says, casual. “Whatever you want.”
His easy compliance surprises everyone else in the room. Bobby chokes back a cough, suddenly able to breathe. Sam inhales sharply and squeezes his fingers into a fist, and Castiel tilts his head again and blinks for the first time in minutes.
“What?” he says. The perfect calm slips from his face, and it takes him a moment to regain his composure. “You mean you agree?”
“Unless you’d rather I put up a fight.” Dean’s voice goes soft to match Castiel’s. He cocks his head, teasing parody of Castiel’s own gestures. “Is that your thing?”
“No,” Castiel says. He lowers his raised hand.
Dean nods, then gets carefully to his feet. He keeps his head lowered slightly as he approaches Castiel. “Then let’s go,” he says. It’s an order but it sounds like the opposite.
“Go?” Castiel says.
“Teleport us somewhere. Motel room. Nude beach. Alleyway. White Russia. Unless you have an exhibitionism kink.” He nods in the direction of the other two men on the floor.
“Dean,” Sam says, his voice low and desperate, like a plea and a warning at the same time. “Don’t.”
Dean’s smile is easy as he reaches out to grab the sleeve of Castiel’s trench coat. “Oh come on, Sammy. If I could do this to pay rent when I was seventeen I can certainly do it now to save us from a righteous smiting.” And then he and Castiel both disappear.
They appear in a garden, all perfectly manicured green lawn and blue sky with a bright kite in primary colors tethered to a tree. Blinking in the bright sunshine, Dean shrugs. “Okay. Weird choice, but I can deal.”
Dean turns to face Castiel, legs spread slightly like he’s bracing himself. He shrugs out of his jacket, lets it fall to the grass. Castiel takes two steps toward him, then stops.
“You gonna disappear our clothes, get this show on the road?” Dean asks. “Magic up a whip, chains and a latex costume?”
Castiel tilts his head, then closes the gap between them and presses his mouth against Dean’s. It’s awkward for a moment, teeth and noses getting in the way. Dean tilts his head and lets his mouth fall open, and Castiel pushes closer, licking urgently into Dean’s mouth.
Dean pulls away to breathe. “Human here. Need oxygen,” he gasps. He keeps his gaze low, on Castiel’s mouth, not his eyes. “How do you want me?” he asks, voice matter-of-fact.
Castiel shoves Dean by the shoulders and Dean allows himself to fall, landing hard on his ass on the lawn. His head bounces against the grass as he falls back, but Dean doesn’t cry out. He shakes his head to clear it, but stays flat on his back.
Castiel kneels on the ground next to Dean. Dean watches the kite sway in the wind above their heads. “You know, you could have all the sacrificial virgins you want. Or at least someone a little younger and a little more flexible,” Dean jokes.
Castiel furrows his brow. “You’re not afraid,” he says, voice still soft. He reaches across Dean’s body and undoes the top button of his shirt.
“If that’s what you want just let me know,” Dean offers. “I’ve done a bit of role playing in my time.” Castiel pulls Dean’s shirt off of Dean’s shoulders, and then Dean tugs his own t-shirt over his head. He tosses it aside and lies back again, shirtless in the grass.
“I could shatter you with a single look,” Castiel says, staring at the steady rise and fall of Dean’s bare chest. “I know that you are very brave and stupidly reckless, but the only sane response to this situation is terror.” He presses a kiss to the side of Dean’s neck, and Dean tilts his head back, leaving his throat even more exposed.
“You won’t hurt Sam or Bobby, right?” Dean says, as Cas strips off his trench coat and places it carefully next to Dean’s discarded jacket. “That’s the deal we’re making here?”
A flash of understanding crosses Castiel’s face as settles himself between Dean’s legs, leaning over to press a series of kisses into Dean’s throat. “You don’t care about your own safety as long as they are protected,” Castiel says into Dean’s skin. He bites down, and a tiny drop of blood blooms at the base of Dean’s throat.
Dean gasps, then laughs, and the vibrations make his skin buzz against Castiel’s lips. “I’m human, Cas. We all want to save our own skins, if we can. Even me. I’ll do anything for Sam, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be scared shitless while I’m doing it.”
“So you don’t understand my power,” Castiel says, equal parts angry and discouraged. “You don’t think I am capable of hurting you.”
“Wrong again,” Dean says. He spreads his legs wider, and Castiel shifts forward, thrusting against Dean’s body. “I know you can hurt me. I just don’t think that you will.”
Castiel exhales suddenly, puff of air warm against Dean’s damp skin. He cradles Dean’s face in his hands, tilting it to meet his eyes. Their faces only inches apart, Castiel stares into Dean’s face like he’s searching for something.
“You trust me,” he says finally, breathless though he doesn’t need to breathe.
Dean rolls his eyes. “You and two other people in the entire world, you moron. Now are you planning on getting your rocks off anytime soon?”
“What?”
Dean scoffs. “You’re really bad at this whole sexual blackmail thing, dude. We had a deal, remember? I let you fuck me, you leave all my friends’ organs in their proper places.”
Castiel’s voice goes gruff. “A deal? This is a deal.”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “That’s what it seems like to me.”
Castiel lets go of Dean’s face, and Dean lets his head fall back into the grass. “Demons make deals.”
“Everybody makes deals,” Dean says, voice light. He reaches between them, searching for the button of Castiel’s dress pants. “Come on.”
Castiel shivers at Dean’s touch, but brushes Dean’s hand away. “Why are you letting me do this? I could cross you in a second.”
Dean frowns. “I guess I just have faith in you.”
“Dean!” Sam exclaims. A warm weight slams into Dean’s body, and he falls back onto Bobby’s couch. Sam presses his face against Dean’s bare chest, and Dean pushes him away.
“Calm down, dude, I’m fine.” He looks around for his shirts and jacket, but they’re nowhere to be found. “Bastard stole my clothes,” he mutters.
Sam looks positively murderous. “I’ll kill him, Dean. We were thinking maybe phoenix ash will do something, since the souls powering him up came from Purgatory just like Eve.” He looks Dean over carefully, searching for signs of damage. His eyes catch on the dark bruise forming at the base of Dean’s throat.
“Chill,” Dean says. “We barely made it to second base.”
“He too juiced up to get it up?” Bobby asks from his desk.
“I think I just wasn’t what he expected,” Dean says. He shivers. Sam wraps the quilt lying across the top of the couch over Dean’s shoulders. Dean glares, but he doesn’t push it off.
Castiel appears in Bobby Singer’s kitchen two hours later, while the three of them are eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He holds a sheet of paper in one hand and a jar full of deep red liquid in the other.
“God or not, if you touch him I will end you,” Sam says.
Dean rolls his eyes. “Thank you Prince Charming,” he laughs, voice all sarcasm. He turns to Castiel. “You here for a second try or something?”
Castiel shakes his head. “I have just eliminated the last of Raphael’s successors,” he announces. “And thoroughly chastised Crowley.”
“Congratulations,” Bobby drawls.
“Thank you,” Castiel says politely. He holds the piece of paper and the glass jar in Dean’s direction. “So I wanted to give you these. Before the eclipse ends.”
Dean takes both objects, and looks down at the page. “This is the ritual for opening the door to Purgatory.”
“Yes. Just long enough to return its missing souls.”
Sam chokes on his sandwich, and Bobby slaps him firmly on the back.
“Oh, and I believe this also belongs to you.” He lets the long silver blade of the angel sword slip into his palm, and offers it to Dean, who takes it gingerly.
“You know the moment we drain those souls out of you this thing should work again, right?”
“Yes, I suspect that’s true.”
“So why the hell are you giving it to me?” Dean asks.
“Trust should run both ways,” Castiel replies. He waits until they finish their sandwiches, and then they all go outside to perform a quick ritual before bedtime.
Castiel’s reign takes up fewer than five pages in Heaven’s records, but he’d rather have family than fame, anyway.
***
I just can't stop writing ridiculously self-indulgent codas.
Author: bree_black
Pairing:: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1800
Warnings: minor dub-con; spoilers through 6x22.
Summary: Trust issues. 6x22 coda.
Notes: I promised fix-it fic, didn't I?
Sam, Dean and Bobby kneel on the cold tile floor in front of Castiel, formerly an angel and now something new. Their heads are bent, but not one of them prays.
Dean is the first to lift his head. He avoids making eye contact with Castiel, keeping his gaze slightly below his face, a practiced sign of deference he can’t quite wear naturally, an expression of submission that doesn’t belong.
“Okay Cas,” Dean says. “We get it. You saved us - you saved all of us. We’re really grateful.” Beside Dean, Sam murmurs a noise of agreement, and even Bobby grumbles a “thanks,” but Castiel keeps his gaze fixed on Dean.
“Prove it,” he says, voice soft and strangely sweet. He cocks his head and smiles a small smile, like he’s only just learning how to do it.
“How?” Sam says. His voice is hoarse like he’s been screaming, or like he’s just woken up from a long sleep and hasn’t had a drink of water yet.
“Not you,” Castiel answers without looking at him. “Dean.” His voice lowers on the name and gets rougher, loses some of its sickly sweetness. “I want Dean to prove his gratitude.” He says it like a small child making a choice during his first trip to the ice cream shop, surrounded by previously unimaginable options but dead certain which flavor he wants.
Dean recognizes the lust in Castiel’s voice first; his body goes tight with it for a moment, back straightening where it had been slumped slightly over his knees. “Really, Cas?” he says before he can stop himself.
The criticism stings. Castiel’s expression hardens and he holds up one hand, slowly closing it into a fist. Collapsing onto the cold tile floor, Bobby gasps for air. When Sam tries to reach for him, he finds himself frozen, completely unable to move.
“Yes, really,” Castiel says, and there is danger in his voice.
Dean’s eyes flicker from his prone friend and his captive brother to Castiel’s outstretched hand. His body braces for a fight he knows he could never win. Then, decision made, he lets himself go loose again, and he meets Castiel’s heated gaze for the first time.
“Alright,” he says, casual. “Whatever you want.”
His easy compliance surprises everyone else in the room. Bobby chokes back a cough, suddenly able to breathe. Sam inhales sharply and squeezes his fingers into a fist, and Castiel tilts his head again and blinks for the first time in minutes.
“What?” he says. The perfect calm slips from his face, and it takes him a moment to regain his composure. “You mean you agree?”
“Unless you’d rather I put up a fight.” Dean’s voice goes soft to match Castiel’s. He cocks his head, teasing parody of Castiel’s own gestures. “Is that your thing?”
“No,” Castiel says. He lowers his raised hand.
Dean nods, then gets carefully to his feet. He keeps his head lowered slightly as he approaches Castiel. “Then let’s go,” he says. It’s an order but it sounds like the opposite.
“Go?” Castiel says.
“Teleport us somewhere. Motel room. Nude beach. Alleyway. White Russia. Unless you have an exhibitionism kink.” He nods in the direction of the other two men on the floor.
“Dean,” Sam says, his voice low and desperate, like a plea and a warning at the same time. “Don’t.”
Dean’s smile is easy as he reaches out to grab the sleeve of Castiel’s trench coat. “Oh come on, Sammy. If I could do this to pay rent when I was seventeen I can certainly do it now to save us from a righteous smiting.” And then he and Castiel both disappear.
They appear in a garden, all perfectly manicured green lawn and blue sky with a bright kite in primary colors tethered to a tree. Blinking in the bright sunshine, Dean shrugs. “Okay. Weird choice, but I can deal.”
Dean turns to face Castiel, legs spread slightly like he’s bracing himself. He shrugs out of his jacket, lets it fall to the grass. Castiel takes two steps toward him, then stops.
“You gonna disappear our clothes, get this show on the road?” Dean asks. “Magic up a whip, chains and a latex costume?”
Castiel tilts his head, then closes the gap between them and presses his mouth against Dean’s. It’s awkward for a moment, teeth and noses getting in the way. Dean tilts his head and lets his mouth fall open, and Castiel pushes closer, licking urgently into Dean’s mouth.
Dean pulls away to breathe. “Human here. Need oxygen,” he gasps. He keeps his gaze low, on Castiel’s mouth, not his eyes. “How do you want me?” he asks, voice matter-of-fact.
Castiel shoves Dean by the shoulders and Dean allows himself to fall, landing hard on his ass on the lawn. His head bounces against the grass as he falls back, but Dean doesn’t cry out. He shakes his head to clear it, but stays flat on his back.
Castiel kneels on the ground next to Dean. Dean watches the kite sway in the wind above their heads. “You know, you could have all the sacrificial virgins you want. Or at least someone a little younger and a little more flexible,” Dean jokes.
Castiel furrows his brow. “You’re not afraid,” he says, voice still soft. He reaches across Dean’s body and undoes the top button of his shirt.
“If that’s what you want just let me know,” Dean offers. “I’ve done a bit of role playing in my time.” Castiel pulls Dean’s shirt off of Dean’s shoulders, and then Dean tugs his own t-shirt over his head. He tosses it aside and lies back again, shirtless in the grass.
“I could shatter you with a single look,” Castiel says, staring at the steady rise and fall of Dean’s bare chest. “I know that you are very brave and stupidly reckless, but the only sane response to this situation is terror.” He presses a kiss to the side of Dean’s neck, and Dean tilts his head back, leaving his throat even more exposed.
“You won’t hurt Sam or Bobby, right?” Dean says, as Cas strips off his trench coat and places it carefully next to Dean’s discarded jacket. “That’s the deal we’re making here?”
A flash of understanding crosses Castiel’s face as settles himself between Dean’s legs, leaning over to press a series of kisses into Dean’s throat. “You don’t care about your own safety as long as they are protected,” Castiel says into Dean’s skin. He bites down, and a tiny drop of blood blooms at the base of Dean’s throat.
Dean gasps, then laughs, and the vibrations make his skin buzz against Castiel’s lips. “I’m human, Cas. We all want to save our own skins, if we can. Even me. I’ll do anything for Sam, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be scared shitless while I’m doing it.”
“So you don’t understand my power,” Castiel says, equal parts angry and discouraged. “You don’t think I am capable of hurting you.”
“Wrong again,” Dean says. He spreads his legs wider, and Castiel shifts forward, thrusting against Dean’s body. “I know you can hurt me. I just don’t think that you will.”
Castiel exhales suddenly, puff of air warm against Dean’s damp skin. He cradles Dean’s face in his hands, tilting it to meet his eyes. Their faces only inches apart, Castiel stares into Dean’s face like he’s searching for something.
“You trust me,” he says finally, breathless though he doesn’t need to breathe.
Dean rolls his eyes. “You and two other people in the entire world, you moron. Now are you planning on getting your rocks off anytime soon?”
“What?”
Dean scoffs. “You’re really bad at this whole sexual blackmail thing, dude. We had a deal, remember? I let you fuck me, you leave all my friends’ organs in their proper places.”
Castiel’s voice goes gruff. “A deal? This is a deal.”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “That’s what it seems like to me.”
Castiel lets go of Dean’s face, and Dean lets his head fall back into the grass. “Demons make deals.”
“Everybody makes deals,” Dean says, voice light. He reaches between them, searching for the button of Castiel’s dress pants. “Come on.”
Castiel shivers at Dean’s touch, but brushes Dean’s hand away. “Why are you letting me do this? I could cross you in a second.”
Dean frowns. “I guess I just have faith in you.”
“Dean!” Sam exclaims. A warm weight slams into Dean’s body, and he falls back onto Bobby’s couch. Sam presses his face against Dean’s bare chest, and Dean pushes him away.
“Calm down, dude, I’m fine.” He looks around for his shirts and jacket, but they’re nowhere to be found. “Bastard stole my clothes,” he mutters.
Sam looks positively murderous. “I’ll kill him, Dean. We were thinking maybe phoenix ash will do something, since the souls powering him up came from Purgatory just like Eve.” He looks Dean over carefully, searching for signs of damage. His eyes catch on the dark bruise forming at the base of Dean’s throat.
“Chill,” Dean says. “We barely made it to second base.”
“He too juiced up to get it up?” Bobby asks from his desk.
“I think I just wasn’t what he expected,” Dean says. He shivers. Sam wraps the quilt lying across the top of the couch over Dean’s shoulders. Dean glares, but he doesn’t push it off.
Castiel appears in Bobby Singer’s kitchen two hours later, while the three of them are eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He holds a sheet of paper in one hand and a jar full of deep red liquid in the other.
“God or not, if you touch him I will end you,” Sam says.
Dean rolls his eyes. “Thank you Prince Charming,” he laughs, voice all sarcasm. He turns to Castiel. “You here for a second try or something?”
Castiel shakes his head. “I have just eliminated the last of Raphael’s successors,” he announces. “And thoroughly chastised Crowley.”
“Congratulations,” Bobby drawls.
“Thank you,” Castiel says politely. He holds the piece of paper and the glass jar in Dean’s direction. “So I wanted to give you these. Before the eclipse ends.”
Dean takes both objects, and looks down at the page. “This is the ritual for opening the door to Purgatory.”
“Yes. Just long enough to return its missing souls.”
Sam chokes on his sandwich, and Bobby slaps him firmly on the back.
“Oh, and I believe this also belongs to you.” He lets the long silver blade of the angel sword slip into his palm, and offers it to Dean, who takes it gingerly.
“You know the moment we drain those souls out of you this thing should work again, right?”
“Yes, I suspect that’s true.”
“So why the hell are you giving it to me?” Dean asks.
“Trust should run both ways,” Castiel replies. He waits until they finish their sandwiches, and then they all go outside to perform a quick ritual before bedtime.
Castiel’s reign takes up fewer than five pages in Heaven’s records, but he’d rather have family than fame, anyway.
***
I just can't stop writing ridiculously self-indulgent codas.