Fic: Love Alone
Title: Love Alone
Author: deHavilland
Rating: PG
Pairing: Dean/Castiel, Balthazar/Castiel (one-sided)
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1,357
Warnings: Angsty, unrequited love everywhere.
Summary: Castiel has found comfort in Dean's presence, but there are loose ends that need to be tied up. Namely a certain other angel.
Author's Note: Written for 9_of_Clubs, because she's trixy. (And gave me new appreciation for Balthazar. Which, as she and I both know, has spiraled into something beyond either of our control.) Here you are, darling, a roundabout anniversary gift to our unfeatured-in-this-fic OT3! <3
(Unbeta'd because it's short and I would hate to trouble Cym about it.)
* * *
They’re watching television, the three of them and it’s something of a novelty for Castiel, who is so used to his time spent with the Winchesters meaning preparing for a fight or recuperating from one. It’s nice, he decides, this casual feeling that lingers in the air, though spending any amount of time with the pair is usually enough to make him happy. He’s easily pleased, it seems.
In reality, Dean is the only one who is at all invested in the fuzzy images flickering across the screen. Castiel catches Sam looking up often enough from where he’s sitting across the room to know that the other Winchester must have a fairly solid understanding of what’s going on, but he’s much more engrossed in the old book that’s been rescued from one of the many piles scattered chaotically throughout Bobby’s house. It’s not an ancient text or a reference book, just a novel. A novel with a start and a finish, in which the protagonists most likely endure some sort of scant, mortal hardship and find happiness by the story’s end.
Castiel wonders, as he peers up at Dean from where he’s nestled comfortably against his arm, whether this is the closest that the Winchesters will ever come to the light-hearted happy ending that all humans seem to be so desperate for.
Dean is sprawled haphazardly across the old couch, back slumped against the faded cushions, one hand dangling over the arm rest, a sweating bottle of beer caught in its loose grip. The most relaxed Castiel has seen him in weeks. His other arm drapes casually, stretched over the seat back and tucked behind the angel leaning against him.
It seems unfair to gift humans with a craving for something that is as intangible as happiness and then give them such a short time to achieve it in.
The couch groans as Dean shifts his weight, tired springs creaking from the strain and Castiel’s wings twitch angrily, not appreciating being folded so close to his body to make room for Dean - despite his not being able to see or feel them anyway.
“Hey,” Dean’s voice is thick, slightly slurred from the three beers he’s had since dinner, as he interrupts the commentary of the person on screen. “Think we could get Bobby to cook us up some of that?”
Castiel’s gaze lifts from where it’s been focused on Dean’s face, moving instead to the television screen where a group of people in white coats and hats - chefs - scurry to produce some artful dish or another. Castiel’s not sure. He’s also not entirely convinced that this is really meant to be entertaining, either.
Sam looks up as well. “Only if the ingredients involve vampire blood and gargoyle sweat.”
Dean chuckles at this, downing a long sip of beer. His arm shifts, drawing Castiel in just a little more snugly against his side before he lets out a yawn.
Across the room, his brother does the same.
They share a quick glance and Castiel recognizes in it the brotherly affection between the two that has come to both impress and fascinate him. Were he capable of true jealousy, he might feel some at the easy familiarity that Dean and Sam share, but caught up in Dean’s arm, there’s no need for such spite.
“You going to head up?”
“Yeah,” Sam yawns again, stretching out his long frame. “You staying down here?”
Dean gestures to the television and mumbles something unintelligible as Sam stands up. When he raises the bottle to his lips once more, his knuckles graze Castiel’s cheek gently.
“You know, if you did that for real, I’m sure that he would be more than accommodating.”
Castiel’s head snaps up though Dean’s remains firmly in place. He should have clued in to Balthazar’s presence when his brother first arrived, but since he did not, there’s no way of telling for sure just how long the other angel has been watching.
He pulls away from Dean immediately, though the hunter doesn’t notice the movement, just as he hasn’t noticed Castiel all evening. “What do you want, Balthazar?”
The wry grin on his brother’s face twists and mutates into something less pleasant. “Why, was I interrupting something, Cas?” The way the nickname falls off his tongue is condescending, a mockery of the too-familiar moniker that Castiel has been allowing Dean - everyone - to use for too long.
Rather than acknowledge the jibe, Castiel repeats himself as calmly as before. “What do you want, Balthazar?”
“Perhaps we should have this conversation somewhere a little more private.” He jerks his head at Dean, still sprawled on the couch, though his body has begun to slump just a little further down, his empty beer now on the floor beside him, attention focused unwaveringly on the last remaining minutes of the show.
Castiel’s eyes linger on Dean’s relaxed form perhaps a moment too long. “He can’t hear us.”
“Yes, well, even so. We could do without the distraction, don’t you think?”
Although his understanding of all of this sudden need to converse is faint at best, the other angel’s reluctance to speak in Dean’s presence, even shielded from mortal view by their grace, is telling and offers a very clear clue. With a fleeting glance in Dean’s direction that brings with it a sense of sharp longing, he turns back to Balthazar and nods. Dean won’t miss him. As far as he’s aware, Castiel was never even here.
The heaven they end up in isn’t Castiel’s usual haunt and given what he knows of his brother, it’s probably not Balthazar’s either. They’ve gone from one living room to another, but this one is well-kept, polished and slightly more expensive-looking than Bobby’s. Castiel is more interested in hearing what Balthazar has to say and returning to Dean, however, than he is on dwelling on their surroundings.
Still, he waits for Balthazar to speak first and his brother’s vehement tirade does not take long to start, his usual joviality tarnished by the sneer on his vessel’s face. “What’s happened to you, Castiel? The last time I saw you, before - before all of this - “ He gestures, though there’s nothing in their immediate vicinity to suggest what he’s trying to say, “They were riding your ass for falling in with the Winchesters.”
Castiel doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, though the memory of his time recalled to Heaven remains painful.
“Or should I say ‘falling in love’?”
He realizes now what Balthazar’s problem is, though the idea of it surprises him. “You’re jealous.”
“Of your puny, little Winchesters? Of your bloody, foul-smelling humans?” Balthazar snorts and looks away, but the hurt and envy are both clearly written into the tired lines of his face. “From the moment they’re born, humans do one thing - die. Each breath they take, every step they walk, they do it with slowly decaying flesh and your pet Winchesters are the worst of them all. Tell me, Cassie, how many times has Dean died? Sam?” His eyes narrow dangerously, “How many times have you died for them?”
And there it is, Castiel realizes. “This isn’t about them. It’s about me.”
His brother’s shoulders sag as if under the added weight of Castiel’s statement. “When isn’t it about you, Cas? The little angel who could. The one who succeeds in raising a soul from hell where others failed, who stops the apocalypse, locks Luci back in time out. How many times has daddy put you back together, Cas? And why not Gabriel or Uriel, Malchediel or Nisroc?”
The sheer, uncharacteristic desperation in Balthazar’s voice has Castiel reeling off balance, taking a step backwards as though the turmoil is physical. His voice breaks when he answers, honestly. “I don’t know. But I have to do what I can with what I’ve been given.”
“Then stay away from the Winchesters.” The finality of this is Balthazar’s goodbye and while Castiel could easily follow him when he disappears, track him down, he doesn’t.
And when he returns to Bobby’s to see that Dean has fallen asleep on the couch, he no longer has any desire to join him there.