Fic: Once, and Never Again (Dean/Castiel)

[carmexgirl]

Title: Once, and Never Again
Author: carmexgirl
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: Episode 5.04
Warnings: Angst
Word Count: 3,850
Summary: Dean decides that he cannot let the what he has seen come to pass.
Written for the lovely catoasapun because she won me in an auction, and posted here with her kind permission. This takes place at the end of the episode, and is intended as a sort of coda.

Dean stared straight into Zachariah’s cold, hard and emotionless eyes. His mouth moved, but Dean didn’t hear anything, instead just looked at the angel before him and clenched his teeth in disgust. He’d been awake now for nearly 24 hours straight, and he was tired, both physically and mentally drained from the ordeal Zachariah had put him through. He didn’t have time for his shit any more; if he wanted to send him back to that hellish future, or send him somewhere else even worse to try and make him break, make him say ‘yes’ to Michael then he could, but Dean wasn’t budging. It took him 30 years to break in hell; it was damn well going to take that and more before he broke again. If the angels hadn’t realised that by now, then they had seriously underestimated him.

Zachariah walked forward, and looked as if he were going to raise his hand to whammy Dean somewhere else, when Dean felt something pull him from behind. The room and Zachariah started to fade from view, and he watched helpless as Zachariah opened his mouth as though,/b he were shouting, eyes growing wide in apparent shock. It struck Dean then how different Zachariah’s eyes were to those of Castiel’s, when suddenly they started to change. Gone was the grey coldness, replaced gradually by a deep blue; soft, familiar and inviting.

Dean turned away, momentarily confused as he felt his legs hit solid concrete instead of carpeted floor, then turned back to see the eyes looking at him with deep intensity, slightly scrunched at the edges into the closet thing Dean had ever seen to a smile from that familiar face.

Castiel.

Dean felt something warm wash over him. His tiredness had completely gone, and he felt a mixture of relief and…something else. That same something that seemed to keep him awake at night, that crept up on him unawares when he watched Castiel go about his daily business. That same something that made him gasp quietly to himself in the shower, or in the early hours of the morning after a fitful night’s sleep, gripping himself tightly and moaning Castiel’s name quietly, over and over again.

He’d thought about it many, many times, managing to push it deep into a part of his brain labelled ‘too confusing to deal with now.’ He though he might reconcile his feelings after the apocalypse, if he ever survived it, but seeing Castiel, seeing Cas, his Cas now, in the same old trench coat, the same stiff stance, eyes crystal clear, not dulled by drugs or helplessness, he just wanted to reach out and hold him tightly.

He didn’t. He merely shook a little, the relief taking over him, and breathed, “That was pretty nice timing, Cas.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed in contentment. “We had an appointment.”

Four simple words that summed him up completely. Summed up why Dean never wanted him to change, never wanted him to become the jaded, powerless, shell of a person he had encountered in 2014. As much as he never wanted Sammy to end up alone and vulnerable to Lucifer, he never wanted Castiel to feel abandoned and useless. Ever.

Dean felt a lump in his throat and swallowed, trying to shift it. He stared at Castiel, feeling slightly paranoid that the angel could hear the loud beating coming from his chest, as his heart pounded wildly at his ribcage. His legs carried him forward, almost of their own accord, and he could hear a rushing in his ears. He reached out an arm and touched Castiel on the shoulder. He was slightly surprised when Castiel, who he knew from Chuck was not fond of anyone laying a hand on him, leaned in to him. Dean pulled his other hand up, but something in his head told him to stop. Instead of placing it on the other shoulder, he stopped, sawing the air as words failed him. He breathed hard, hoping that some sentence would come automatically. It didn’t, and he ended up just moving his hand and staring at Castiel.

He inwardly kicked himself. He wanted to say so much, wanted to tell Castiel how much he valued him, how much he relied on him, how much he…he…

Fuck it. Fuck all of it. This was the damn apocalypse; if he couldn’t do what he truly wanted, what the hell was left?

The hand that was dangling in the air moved forward and touched Castiel’s other shoulder. Dean pulled him towards him, at the same time stepping forwards. “You know what I said about personal space, Cas?”

“Yes.” Castiel looked slightly confused.

“Forget it.”

He leaned forward and kissed him without thinking, not giving his brain a chance to tell him that this was a bad idea. In truth it wasn’t the best kiss he had ever executed; it was clumsy and slightly off centre, with too much teeth and erratic breathing. At that point though, he was acting on pure nervous energy, and thoughts came secondary to his need to touch Cas, to feel his lips against his own. Castiel’s lips felt warm and safe, like he was coming home after a long and tortuous journey. The angel did not respond; just stood there, lips not moving, hands still down by his sides. Dean pulled away, his eyes closed, not wanting to see the look of disgust on Castiel’s face. He was suddenly acutely embarrassed, and inwardly kicked himself. Why the hell would Castiel respond? He hadn’t seen the bleak future Dean had; he hadn’t realised just what there was to lose.

“I just…I wanted…I…” he began, his mouth trying to explain something his brain didn’t want to right at that moment. Stupid brain.

Suddenly he felt arms on his shoulders; felt himself pulled forward, and felt lips press against his own. Warmth seemed to flood his body, pooling in his stomach as he realised he had done the right thing, that Castiel wanted this too. He opened his eyes for a brief second, to see Castiel’s face close to his, his eyes closed in complete contentment. He wrapped his arms around Castiel’s waist to pull him even closer, one hand travelling up his back to his neck, and imagined he felt him shiver beneath his touch. He heard Castiel moan as he buried a hand in his hair, tilting his head back a little as he smiled into the kiss.

Dean licked insistently at Castiel’s lips, finding that Castiel parted them readily to let his tongue inside. Castiel’s mouth was warm, and as he slipped his tongue inside, he felt Castiel’s tongue respond, touching his own and teasing it before entering into his mouth. Damn, he was a good kisser. It wasn’t surprising really, given the thousands, maybe millions of people he had observed. Dean shuddered slightly and the thought of Castiel, positively voyeuristic in his observation of humans going about their daily business. It lasted for a moment, before the weight of what he had seen hit him again with renewed vigour.

Dean swept along Castiel’s teeth before plundering his mouth, licking insistently. Castiel’s grip on his shoulder became tighter as their mouths pressed together harder, wanting to get as close as possible. Dean moaned, pushing in deeper, desperately wanting more. Months of trying to work out exactly what he was feeling all suddenly fell away as he kissed Castiel and, even better still, Castiel kissed him back with equal passion and enthusiasm. Dean kissed him like he was a man drowning, like he wanted to steal the air from Castiel’s lungs. It wasn’t just a confirmation of what he had been feeling for months now; it was as though he needed to purge himself of what he had seen, of all the broken, abandoned souls he had left to die in the future. He needed someone to know what it was like, what he had seen, and what he could never allow to happen.

“Oh Cas,” Dean whispered as he broke the kiss and started to make his way down Castiel’s neck, sucking and biting lightly. A single tear ran down his cheek, and he hoped Castiel couldn’t feel it. “You should have seen it. It was…it was so…so…” Awful? That didn’t even begin to describe it. Harrowing? Bleak? Words weren’t enough to describe what he had seen; it was futile to even try.

“Shh, shhh.” He felt Castiel’s hand rub his back, caressing slowly. “It doesn’t matter,” Castiel whispered as he kissed the top of his head. “It’s over now. I’m here.”

And there, again, Castiel made it better. Dean stopped kissing his neck, and looked at Castiel for a moment, eyes full of determination. It was then Dean made a decision. They would fight whatever was thrown at them, and they would do it together. He had seen the future, and he knew what to change to ensure it never happened.

His lips found Castiel’s once more, tongue sliding easily inside this time as they kissed, Dean’s hands making their way down to Castiel’s hips as he pulled them together, feeling Castiel’s hardness against his own. He moaned, the kiss becoming more frantic, want and need finally taking over.

Suddenly, a horn sounded as an arctic swept past them. The driver shouted something unintelligible from his cab, which made them break apart, suddenly acutely aware that they were in a very public place.

“We should…find somewhere a little more private,” Castiel panted, while Dean nodded his assent, the last kiss having somehow knocked the wind out of him. Within an instant, they were in another motel room.

Dean smiled. “I could never get tired of that.” He pulled Castiel in close once more, meeting his lips with more confidence this time.

Castiel guided them to the bed, not breaking the kiss until they sat down. Dean pulled away, looking at Cas’s kiss-swollen lips, his heavily lidded eyes and his hair, sticking out every which way from where Dean had pulled it. He closed his eyes, this time the image of future Castiel flashed into his mind, eyes wide, thoughts erratic, drowning himself in drugs and sex and who knew what else, just to try and feel alive. A shiver ran up his spine, and as he opened his eyes, he saw Castiel looking at him, eyes full of concern.

“It’s ok,” Dean assured him, shaking himself. “I’m ok.” Fucking Zachariah. It was as if the man knew what buttons to press, what would get to him the most.

“If you want to talk about it, we can talk. I know that can help.”

“I don’t…I don’t know Cas. I just don’t. That stupid sonofabitch whammied me into who knows what, showing me all the people I care about, showing how fucked up they were. They were so broken Cas. So… god damn broken.”

To his surprise, Castiel leaned in to him and pressed their lips together once more. Dean opened his mouth immediately to let Castiel’s tongue explore him. “It was one of many possible futures,” he said softly, kissing him again. “One of a thousand ways this could end up. Zachariah wanted to convince you to say yes to Michael, so I guess he showed you the absolute worst that could happen. And if I know you, it will just make you more determined not to let it happen.”

And of course, he was right. That’s want got to Dean’s heart the most, the fact that Castiel knew him, knew how he would react, knew him better than Zachariah, better than any of them. He leaned forward and kissed Castiel, the kiss more insistent. He pushed the trench coat off Castiel’s shoulders, letting it fall down from his arms and onto the bed. Castiel brought his hands up to Dean, cupping his face and kissing him harder. Dean found himself struggling to breathe, his desire to kiss Castiel overtaking very other function. Eventually Castiel pulled away, and Dean sat there, gulping in deep breaths as he shucked off his jacket.

“I need you Cas. I just want you to know that…I need you.”

“I know.”

Dean went to kiss him again, but Castiel leaned away. “You don’t need to do anything to prove to me you need me.”

Dean looked at him, staring right into his eyes with such intensity that it hurt. “I’m not. I’m doing this because I want to. I want you.”

Castiel kissed him again, but this time the kiss was sweeter, less of passion and more of reassurance. Dean felt him push the shirt from his shoulders, as he took Castiel’s jacket and tie off, throwing them behind him so he could start unbuttoning his shirt. Castiel listed his t-shirt off, and soon they came together, their naked torsos rubbing against each other. They continued to kiss as they moved up the bed, before Dean lowered Castiel down as he kissed him, the passion returning as they rubbed against each other, the delicious friction of skin on skin. He climbed on top of him, grinding his hardness against Castiel’s own, making them both gasp.

As they ground against each other, it suddenly struck Dean how natural this felt. The fact that he had never been with a man before, never wanted to be with a man, should have made him a nervous wreck, but it didn’t. Male, female, angel…it didn’t seem to matter any more. What mattered was that he was here, with Castiel, that he wanted to be here, that Castiel wanted to do this, with him.

He kissed Castiel once more, rolling him over so they were both on their sides. He stared into Castiel’s lust-blown eyes, saw his tongue lick his lips to taste every bit of Dean’s saliva as he breathed heavily. Dean rubbed his hand on Castiel’s crotch, feeling his erection and tracing the outline through his pants. Castiel gasped, before echoing Dean’s movements, tracing Dean’s hardness through his jeans. It felt so good, so right, that Dean wondered how he had ever missed this, how much time they had spent dancing around each other, neither one giving in. He thought to his future self, hardened, bitter, missing out on so much. He was glad he’d taken the chance; he just wished it hadn’t taken a trip to a miserable, desolate future to push him into action.

He started to undo Castiel’s pants, pulling them down a fraction. Castiel did the same, having a little trouble with the zipper on Dean’s jeans. As he pulled, he bit his lip and let out a growl of frustration which went straight to Dean’s cock. He took his hands from Castiel to help pull the zipper down himself, not wanting any delay. Soon, his hands were back on Castiel, stroking him through his pants before slipping one hand inside his boxer briefs, taking hold of his cock. Castiel moaned and thrashed just a little, evidently unused to having someone hold him in that way. He curled his fingers tighter, moving up and down the shaft slowly and smiling at Castiel’s strangled whimpers. He dipped his hand lower, angling his wrist slightly to get better access, and moved to fondle his balls, brushing his fingers at the skin just behind them, the part that always made him shudder when he touched it while pleasuring himself. He laughed a little when it had the same affect on Castiel, the laugh turning to a moan when Castiel took hold of him and began slow, measured strokes from base to tip, running his thumb over his slit, gathering up the precum that pooled there and spreading it along his length.

“Jesus fuck Cas, that’s good,” Dean babbled as Castiel’s strokes quickened. Again he gripped Castiel’s cock tightly, and began moving up and down, feathering his fingers across the tip in a way that made Castiel tilt his head back and moan deep in his throat. Dean leaned over and kissed him, the kiss sloppy and lazy as they both concentrated on pleasuring the other. As Castiel stroked him, Dean could feel his balls tighten, feel that prickling behind his eyes that told him he was close. The friction of Castiel’s hand stroking him almost expertly (and he tried not to think about how he would have learned to do that, for fear of the thought making him come there and then), was almost too good. He sped up his movements on Castiel’s cock, gripping him tighter, moving slightly to get into a better position, one which had his fist flying up and down Castiel’s length.

Castiel was writhing now, his briefs riding down as he moved. Dean leaned in to kiss him again, but just managed the briefest touch on his lips when Castiel tilted his head back and cried out something unintelligible as he came, bucking wildly. A warm wetness spread over Dean’s hand as he stroked him through his orgasm, milking every last drop of semen from him.

The hand on his own cock had stilled, and he listened to Castiel gasping as the last throes of his orgasm ebbed away. When he had regained his senses he started to move again, slowly, as Dean pulled his own underpants down. He kissed Castiel deeply, Castiel’s tongue sliding insistently into his mouth. He reached down, hand still sticky with Castiel’s come, and wrapped his hand around the one gripping his cock. Dean began to move his and Castiel’s hands up and down his cock, their strokes speeding up as Dean felt his orgasm nearing once more. “Yes,” he moaned as he closed his eyes, removing his hand to let Castiel bring him to completion. He suddenly saw all the images of his hellish time in the future flash before his eyes. He saw himself, cold, distant, brutal; he saw Castiel, broken, wallowing in self pity, finding solace in sex and drugs; and Sam, the Sammy he knew gone forever, replaced by pure evil in a white suit. The feeling washed over him suddenly; the vision faded to white as he came hard, crying out Castiel’s name over and over again as he felt the hand on him slow, stroking him through his climax, wringing every last shudder, every last deep breath from him.

When he opened his eyes, all he saw was two deep blue pools staring back at him with a mixture of fascination and utter adoration. This was all he wanted to see from now on; just Castiel, looking at him with those large, curious eyes. In that moment, he knew that if Castiel’s eyes were the last thing he ever saw, he would die a happy man.

A few sloppy kisses later, and they had regained their senses. “Wow,” Dean said as he looked down at them both, stomachs covered with their release, as well as their hands, pants and even the bedclothes, “That’s one hell of a mess.”

He sighed contentedly, and moved down the bed, twisting so he lay on his stomach. Soon he dozed off, his dreams empty and contented.

While dreaming, a strange feeling hit him in the gut, and he woke with a start. It was dark, and he couldn’t see a thing in the blackness of the motel room. He stretched out a hand, feeling a strong need for reassurance. “Cas? Cas? Are you there?”

The voice was low and measured, cutting through the air like a sword. “You should have learned your lesson, Dean. I told you, I will keep on doing this until you make the right decision. The people you love, and you yourself will keep getting hurt until you say yes.”

Dean froze as he saw the outline of Zachariah in the dark. “You sonofabitch,” he said, visibly shaking. A hot tear fell down his face, as the realisation hit that what had just happened. What he and Castiel had shared hadn’t happened at all; it was just another lie, all just another one of Zachariah’s cruel illusions.

Once again, he found himself in the old motel, Zachariah walking around, pontificating, threatening. Dean wasn’t listening. He was so tired, so fed up of this constant merry-go round. Zachariah had taken his deepest desire, and tried to use it against him. He would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

Which meant that despite what Dean felt, he had to fight it with all he could. He stood rigid. “You can throw what the hell you want at me,” he said, the anger taking over the whole of his body, “But I ain’t moving you slimy, sick, sonofabitch.”

Zachariah’s eyes widened at him. His mouth opened like he was about to shout something, before thinking better of it. “I guess you haven’t learned your lesson. Well, I’ll just have to teach it again.”

Dean felt a pull, and suddenly he was at the back on the corner of the road, with Castiel standing there, looking at him in contentment. This time it felt different. This time instead of relief, he felt suspicion, like he wasn’t entirely sure whether this, finally, was reality. Even so, he still had a strong urge to take the angel in his arms and hold him.

He didn’t. He merely shook a little, still trying to work out whether this was one of Zachariah’s tricks, and breathed, “That was pretty nice timing, Cas.” He shuddered at the familiarity of the words.

Castiel’s eyes narrowed in contentment, evidently taking pleasure in the compliment. “We had an appointment.”

This time, this time he placed a hand on his shoulder, looking into his eyes, trying to determine if it was a trap, another fantasy. He wouldn’t be fooled again, and if it was reality, he couldn’t let them see his want, his need, his love for Castiel. He couldn’t let them use it against him. So he stood there, thinking for a moment as he stared into his eyes. He raised his other hand, and sawed the air.

“Don’t ever change.”

Their conversation resumed, Dean talking about his need to get to Sam. He was so tired this time, so god damned tired. It was as though the tiredness had infected his bones, making each one ache and yearn for sleep. This, finally, made him realise that he was in reality. In Zachariah’s world the tiredness didn’t seem to affect him-no matter how long he had been awake, he never felt tired.

They continued to talk, before Dean pulled out his cellphone put in a much-needed call to Sam. As he spoke to him he stared at Castiel, watching as the angel looked him up and down, fixing him with his usual intense gaze. He smiled to himself, and as he looked at him, waiting for Sam to pick up the phone, he knew. He didn’t know how Castiel would respond, but at least he knew that one day, he would have the guts to tell him how he felt. One day, when everything was over, and if they survived, there would be time to say what he truly wanted.

They had to deal with an apocalypse first.