[fic] Triskele - Part V (b)
"Are you stupid?"
Dean winced.
"I don't know if I should say I'm surprised or not. You should know better! Treating everyone here like they're somehow beneath you. Noble or not, boy, these peons have taken care of you. They deserve more respect than some grumbling because things aren't going your way."
Dean had forgotten what it felt like to be eight years old. "Actually, I'm being attainted," he tried. New vocabulary.
Ellen's anger only grew. She didn't say anything, but he could see it in her eyes. He actually felt a lot worse than he thought he would. Mary was his mother, and he loved her, and she would always be his mom. But Ellen had been there, even if only for a little while, to help him through as a hunter. Ellen was his honorary mom.
"You know, I have half a mind to send them back. If it wasn't for the fact I couldn't stand to see you die, I would."
Ellen had arrived not too long after Dean's chat with Lisa, and with her she'd brought two people. One had a bit of a flop to his hair; he was pale, and even if he wasn't, he looked like he was often cold. He was Gavin MacLeod, son of Fergus MacLeod. Dean wasn't sure what help he'd actually be. Crowley wouldn't care and would just deny he had a son; it wasn't like the rest of the privy councilors or anything would believe some scraggly Scottish kid's paternity claim.
That's what the second person was for. Ash had been able to get a hold of Michael, and he seemed to be one of their best bets. Michael had an entire sack full of letters that Crowley had received as Fergus MacLeod from fellow conspirators in Scotland, England, and France, as well as some stolen, un-sent ones. It was brought up that Crowley could easily accuse that the letters were forged, but there were certain hints in the letters, Michael pointed out, that were rather intimate to Crowley. Not just that, but he'd grabbed several letters sent to Crowley, or signed as Crowley, to prove the similarities in handwriting. Someone had mentioned some dude named Walsingham, but Dean didn't think he was actually all that important.
All of those dangerous efforts would have almost been for naught, if Dean wasn't so damned adorable and loved.
It also was a good excuse for a small party a little while later, what with the arrival of the hope for their little empire. As soon as supper had been laid out for everyone, the drinking had started. Sam may not have gotten drunk, but he did have red cheeks and a smile on for most of the night. Castiel, despite being human now, still wasn't an easy drunk, whereas Dean found himself getting a little more than tipsy not long after the party started. He'd not had a proper drink since before his little run-in with Alastair, but he highly doubted that would be a reason. (Maybe the lack of blood and weakness?) He did know that he had no personal recollection after the first couple drinks. He also knew that Sam remembered what happened, because once they were walking along a nearby creek the next afternoon, Sam had only a little trouble telling Dean what had happened.
"Yeah…" he began, slowly. "You were three sheets to the wind pretty quick, man." He coughed. No one was around, but it didn't stop him from double and triple-checking. "Not that you helped yourself, you drank a lot. You, uh." Another cough. He kept starting-his mouth formed the shapes, but no sound came out, and he tried smiling and laughing to make it easier for himself, but all it did was make Dean more impatient.
"Did I bust out in Metallica?"
"No."
"Mötley Crüe?"
"…Wow, no. Dean, you didn't break out singing."
Talk about disappointment. "What then? What horribly embarrassing thing did I do?"
Sam breathed deeply, and quietly. "Well, you kinda kissed Cas?"
Dean stumbled over a tricky rock, clinging on to Sam's arm for survival purposes. Thank God he had Big Foot for a brother. "What?" he exhaled. (Also, ow, his body was not ready for that, thank you.)
"You kiss-"
"I heard you the first time, it was rhetorical." Dean's voice was sharp, and final. "…What?"
Sighing and rolling his eyes, Sam helped Dean find his footing again and asked him if he was okay. Most definitely not wheezing, Dean answered that he was fine, and that he required more information about his alcohol-induced activities. Sam went on to tell him that he and Cas had taken Dean back inside while everyone else was singing and dancing and having fun. Dean, having been pretty drunk, was taken back inside to first, stop trying to move himself around too much, second, stop drinking, and third, go to bed. It had taken a little bit of convincing, but Dean had finally given in with one last thing to do before laying down: grabbing each side of Castiel's face, and dragging him forward for a kiss. Or had tried to.
"Yeah, you kinda missed. You got like, next to his nose, but like I said, you were wasted. No one else saw, but…. Well, Cas is kind of not sure what to do."
"H-ha, that's. Wow. Awesome!" His hands came up to cover his face and he groaned heavily into them as he began to walk in circles. There wasn't a single coherent thought in his head, making him a little more edgy. "What do I do?!"
"Why are you asking me?! I didn't kiss the guy!"
"Don't say it like that! What would you do if you did?"
Sam stopped, and used Bitchface #86: Are You Really That Dumb? "I thought that would be kinda obvious? Tell him the truth about your feelings?"
"What? No, that's a horrible idea." Dean began walking back towards Bobby's, wincing every couple of steps.
"Hah, no, it's just the solution you didn't want to hear," Sam groaned. Dean could hear him roll his eyes.
"That means it can't be horrible?
Sam sighed, quickly catching up with just a few long strides. "You're not the one who has to watch live man-on-angel eye-porn."
"What?"
"No, it means you want an easy way out. Which everyone does, but that doesn't make their choices the right ones."
"Well I know mine's the right one!"
"How do you-no, you don't! Dean, you have to tell him." Damn Sam for being able to catch up so quickly.
"I don't have to do anything!"
"Yes you do! You're being completely unfair to Cas! We talked about this before! I thought that meant you were going to tell him!"
"You thought wrong, Sammy."
"Dean!" Sam stepped in front of him and grabbed his shoulder. "That's not fair to either of you. We both - all three of us! - know it's mutual between you. Why would you not pursue something that would make you happy?!"
Dean shrugged himself away from Sam, and stepped around him. "Because I'm not going to. Forget it, Sam, there's really no need to play matchmaker."
Sam stopped only for a moment, and played a card Dean had forgotten was available. "And if none of this works out, and you end up being executed before we can get home? All of us? You do know that Cas and I are in just as much trouble as you, right? We'll be hanged right alongside you." His voice was tight, and angry. "How do you feel knowing you can't have anything you want before you're killed?"
Just for a moment, Dean thought. He tried to picture that possibility, and he knew that the image of Sam and Castiel being hanged, disemboweled, and chopped up into pieces was a long time away from removing itself. But he did his best to focus on the grass under his feet to at least temporarily put it aside. The worst part was that Sam was right. Dean would feel horrible not actually saying anything after confusing Cas with a drunken, probably slobbery, kiss. And, he supposed, not having the balls to admit something like that to Cas. (With full cognizance, anyway.)
"Not anything I'm not used to," he answered shortly.
Sam didn't say anything in response. He just stood back as Dean progressed towards Bobby's, becoming smaller and smaller with each step Dean took. Dean would have continued straight on, lost in thought, if he'd not been distracted by the pluck of a string and the sound of something slicing the air. He stopped, and then he saw it. On the other side of Bobby's house, Ben stood with an arrow nocked and pulled back. He was shooting a target not too far away, and Dean had to chuckle to himself. There was no doubt in his mind that Ben would be a better archer than himself, especially when he saw Ben's target. It was littered with arrows; not all of them were in the center, but at least they'd all hit the body of the target.
Ben released his arrow, and Dean watched as it hit halfway to the middle. He clapped, calling Ben's attention, and stepped forward. "You're a pretty good shot."
Surprise waning, Ben grinned. "Thanks! You think so?"
"You kiddin'? I know so." Dean smiled widely. "You're excellent. I hit everything but the target."
Ben laughed. "You're only saying that to make me feel better."
"No, seriously! Here, gimme your bow and an arrow. I'll prove it to you how much I suck at this."
"You're also hurt, you know," Ben reminded him. He handed over the bow. "That'll affect your shooting."
"Bah." Taking the bow, Dean then grabbed the arrow Ben offered and nocked it. "Will no-ooow, oh, ow, okay...!" Fine, so he'd been wrong about it not hurting, but proper posture for archery was overrated anyway, so it didn't matter. He stood as best as he could without wanting to hiss in pain and drew back, finally letting the arrow go. True to his word, the arrow missed the target by a long shot, and landed somewhere past the edge of the forest. With any luck, he might have caught dinner.
"Try again!" Ben hurried away to retrieve the arrow, and on his way back, he brought the target closer. He pulled his arrows free, and handed the quiver to Dean.
The time he'd spent with Ben wasn't too bad. It was a nice change of company, if not a little humiliating that he was schooled by a kid on how to shoot arrows. But in the hour or so he spent shooting, he got to thinking. Mostly about Cas, even though he tried very hard to think about other things; other important things.
Dean's philosophy was that there was no such thing as happiness in a hunter's life. If a film strip was a hunter's life, the happiest part of that strip would be the dust settling on top of it as it sat forgotten in some old storage room. The worst part was that if a hunter chose to spend their already-limited days with someone, it was sure to end in agony. That had been proven with Lisa: the best way to protect someone you loved was to keep them away and to not get involved. But, Lisa was no hunter, and assuming he did do something to have some kind of partnership with Castiel? Even if Cas could protect himself and knew the ins-and-outs of the supernatural world, Dean Winchester - hell, just the Winchester name - was cursed. Cas would be subjected to new methods of suffering beyond 'punishment resurrections'. If Cas thought himself bad luck, being with Dean would at least double the misfortune between them, and that was the opposite of what Dean wanted.
That was, of course, assuming that Castiel actually wanted to be with Dean. Like that. Sam said something about it being mutual, and those stares were a little on the intense side. Angels didn't just Fall from Grace to protect a man from their own brethren for nothing, even if he was The Righteous Man. That hope (though he was really tentative to call it that because why hope?) hadn't truly left the back of his mind. It sat there in the corner, shadowed by so many big, dark things, but it never left and persistently reminded Dean of its presence. Dean hadn't forgotten the wagon ride to Hartfield, or Hatfest, or whatever, and that included what he was pretty sure had been a (manly!) kiss right before he'd drifted off into a painful sleep. Then he thought of something else.
'Something else' was the most obvious, and why it wasn't bothering him like he would think it should he didn't know, but Castiel was, for the most part, a guy. As far as Dean knew, and he was pretty sure he'd know, he was straight. He liked women-Cassie and Lisa had liked him. And just because he could admit when a man was good looking didn’t mean anything; Dr. Sexy had his name for a reason, and the fact his siren was a dude meant nothing. Even if it did throw him for a bit of a loop. But applying it to Cas, and thinking about being with him wasn't an issue.
What tipped him off? One of the first things Dean would have expected to happen with his (slow, albeit) discovery, was having Big Gay Freak Out, but there was a distinct lack of that. Maybe it was just that he'd somehow accepted it in his subconscious that Cas was just Cas. Or maybe it was that he just didn't have the capacity to worry about what kind of junk Castiel had. If he even had any, did angels have genders, anyway? Or maybe, and most likely, it was the knowledge that he probably wasn't going to live much longer, so what was the big deal about equipment when something like love was on the line? After all, Dean's job description always required he have something bigger and worse to worry about. What with having his head almost literally on the chopping block, some things just took a greater priority than figuring out what exactly your orientation was when just falling in love.
The hour had passed quickly as Dean double-thought, double-checked, and triple-thought those things, and he became a little more annoyed with himself that it took him so long to figure out what should have been obvious at least two years ago. Finished, and handing the bow back to Ben, Dean fingers were numb and tingly, and the area around his healing gash wanted more than anything to make like a black hole and suck him in. His shoulders were probably going to be killing him in the morning, and he thought that maybe archery hadn't been such a good idea. But, he'd gotten some thinking done, and most of his later arrows actually hit the target, so it wasn't all bad.
"You did pretty good, for an old man!"
"Hey, hey, you were just trying to flatter me not forty minutes ago. What happened to that?"
Ben had returned to his own practice, and Dean hobbled off back to Bobby's cabin. Dean, despite his handicap, was actually feeling pretty good. Like things were at least kind of starting to look up for him.
***
By the third of September, they had begun to finalize plans on getting into London. Having Dean go with them was risky, but Dean insisted he go and refused to hear otherwise. Arguments were made for and against it, but he would be going, no matter their decision. On the fourth, Ash had arrived with news from Mary, who was already in London with Jess, but it was on the fifth that the monotony changed. While the previous two days had been quite good, comparatively, the fifth proved the best of the three, and not only because Dean was able to stand up straight with less pain.
Castiel had been avoiding Dean like the plague was back in fashion (which he supposed that, given the current year, the simile was as close to literal as it would ever be for them), and Dean had only caught sight of him coming-or-going somewhere. At first Dean didn't let it get to him. If he'd been slobbered on by some drunken idiot, he'd probably be a little avoidant, too. But Dean's impatience had finally won out, and he started getting a little annoyed when his intent was to find Cas, but Cas was nowhere to be found, by anyone. (Not that this game was new, or anything.) Dean had even given in to asking Sam if he might have had any idea where Cas could be, but Sam knew just about as much as Dean knew. (Plus Sam had also done the whole, "I told you!" thing, so Dean hadn't spent long in Sam's presence.)
He'd not shown up for dinner, so Dean made his own dinner short, and decided to go search for him where he should have first suspected: with the bees.
The bees were kept not too far from Bobby's, but it was a decent walk. They were kept probably a bit less than a mile from Bobby's, a bit less than half from the church, but closer to the village. Dean tired a little quickly, but it was a good workout for a man who'd been near-fatally wounded; he felt no shame. (But if he did it was insignificant, so it didn't count.) It wasn't long before, just behind a tree, he caught sight of Cas' messy black hair. Castiel sat contentedly upon the ground, watching as the bees flew around and went about their business. Dean could be easily amused by some things, but he had a feeling that Cas was maybe a little too enamored with flying, stinging, potentially lethal insects. He wasn't so sure if that was actually very endearing.
Dean took a deep breath, and quietly stepped forward to join him. That final step cued Cas, and without much hesitation he readied himself to stand, but Dean was in the middle of the opposite. Sitting in chairs was one thing, but bending to sit on the ground was another. So, hand gripping hard on Cas' shoulder, Dean shook his head.
"Nuh-uh," he said. There was no contest in his tone. "You are staying here. I am joining you, and you will not leave until I say it's okay to leave. I will not put myself through this in vain."
Castiel settled back down, nodding, and returned to watching the bees as Dean carefully, and slowly, sat right next to him. Neither said anything for a while. They just sat there. While Castiel seemed perfectly fine to watch the bees buzz around, Dean was a bit more cautious whenever they flew a little too close. He'd been the victim of vicious bee attacks before, and he'd be damned if he allowed that again. Finally Cas spoke up.
"These aren't angry bees," he said. "They're honeybees. They're gentle. As long as you don't threaten them, they have no need to harm you."
Dean scowled at one that flew particularly close. "Yeah, well, forgive me for being a little wary of 'em." And maybe at Castiel's words, too.
"That is like you. I should know."
Dean's pulse sped up just minutely as he tried to find a way to say anything. He'd come all the way to find Cas; there was no way he wasn't going to bring It up. The issue was how to bring it up and not have it come off as awkward. Deciding it wasn't going to be pretty, no matter the preparation, Dean took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry about the other night, man. I didn't know what happened until Sam told me the day after."
Cas visibly tensed.
"Must'a freaked you out, huh?"
And then he relaxed as a bee flew near his ear. Weirdo. "I admit that I hadn't seen it coming." He held up a finger to elaborate. "I was surprised. Not freaked out."
Try as he might, Dean couldn't get any kind of laughter out to try and lessen his jitters. "I must be a pretty bad drunk kisser, if you've been avoiding me."
Where Dean failed, Cas made up with a wide smile. "I can't judge," he said. "I've kissed only two others, and I'd rather not think of those. I feel terrible for Daphne, but-"
"Cas, we're not talking about Daphne. I'm having a bit of a crisis that even though drunk, I can't give a proper kiss. Guess Beira's spread was right. I'm losing my touch." Speaking of being drunk, he wouldn't have minded a drink about then. Tough news to learn, and all.
"I never said you were a bad kisser. I simply have nothing to go on. Besides that, your aim while drunk is horrible. I suppose sober you would be excellent and hit the target, or you wouldn't be as sought-after as you are."
Oh. Well now that that was out in the open.
"There's no need to apologize," Castiel added on. "I wasn't offended by your actions. I'm more concerned about your own reaction." He said it slowly, almost as if he was taking great care to articulate it just right.
"Uh…. Surprised? Shocked? Same as you, probably."
"Were you angry?"
Anger was a confusing emotion, Dean soon discovered. It was hard to separate what kinds of anger he felt, if any applied to the situation. Then he said, "Yeah, I was," which was almost a mistake. Cas, who'd seemed content before (not happy, not ecstatic; just content), no longer seemed it.
"I see. Understandable."
Dean nearly growled. "No, I don't think you do understand. I-" Ugh, how to even word this? How to make this completely not awkward? (Though honestly that hope was long dead.) "I'm not angry I kissed you, I just. I'm angry at how I kissed you." The awkwardness Dean felt intensified, and he would probably hate himself for the rest of forever, but he came with intent and purpose, and he was not backing down. "I mean. Augh, okay, listen. I-you know. Sometimes when a man - when someone - likes someone very much-"
"I'm aware of how sex works, Dean."
Well thank you for making this so much easier for me. He groaned. "I wanted to kiss you. I just didn't want it to be when I didn't have more control over myself, or not knowing if it was something you wanted. S'why I'm angry."
Dean couldn't be sure if Castiel was actually responding or not, because the rush of blood in his ears was extremely effective in drowning all other sound out. He couldn't get a visual check because looking at Cas after admitting that made his face feel uncomfortably warm. His nerves were in sensory overdrive, so if that was Cas shaking his shoulder, he wasn't entirely sure because it could just as easily have been the breeze. Man, if this was how he reacted just telling Cas he wanted to kiss him, Dean had no desire to know what a fool he'd make of himself when it came time to tell Cas he loved him. The seriousness of the intimacy started raining hard on him; there could be no take-backs. It was, now, inescapable, and he kind of hated the part of him that put himself in this position.
The self-loathing would have to wait for another day; apparently what could have been the breeze actually was Castiel nudging him. Annoyance seemed to have gotten the better of him so it was with bothered impatience that Cas finally got his attention.
"What?!" Dean snapped.
Cas rolled his eyes. "Finally. You are incredibly slow sometimes."
It was definitely an awkward angle to kiss from, and for Dean, that was saying something.
As he'd expected, Cas was a little rough (not that he'd been expecting or thinking about it or anything, of course, pshh). His lips were dried against Dean's, and there was the tiniest bit of movement that was so minute and rudimentary it made Dean grin into it. It was chaste, small, and light, and so different than what Dean was used to. Cas didn't smell dainty like a woman would have, and he wasn't nearly as lithe as they were, and that was okay. Cas was certainly not a challenge, or threat, but he wasn't going to make things seem as easy as Dean was used to. Happy though it made Dean, he had to force himself to sit back. Personally he could find it within him to care, but should anyone have looked over and seen? People in Elizabethan England were ready to find any reason to kill anybody, and with Dean's luck, the sight of two dudes kissing was probably something of an express pass to the scaffold, and that was a place he was extremely interested in avoiding.
So Dean sat back and stared at Cas as Cas stared at him, and then he laughed just a little.
Cas' eyebrows narrowed. "You find this amusing. Is that not how it's done? I was sure that was how the pizza man did it."
Dean first looked down to his feet and dirty toes, only looking back to the bees after he had to force himself to sigh. "No, Cas. You did it right, it was. It was great, actually, it was…." He shook his head, smiling, but still managed to keep his eyes off of Cas. "It was kinda nice. Thanks."
As time had slowly passed, Dean had been unaware of his tapping fingers, just as Cas had been unaware of how many times he'd rubbed the back of his neck. But, slowly, the unsure feeling melted away as they sat there. The sun had begun to set, the bees' dying buzz signaled the end of their jobs, and both of their stomachs loudly began demanding food.
"I'm not sure I'll ever get used to the nutritional needs of humans. It's unpleasant."
"Yeah, I just want a good ol' fashion burger, greasy, salty fries, and pie that would make diabetics the world over go into a coma at the mention of. Can't wait to get home."
"Does this mean we're together?" Cas interrupted. "Or does that require other things?"
Dean had been in the middle of standing up - difficult, by the way - but found himself back down on all fours. "You mean, like together-together? As in…?" He moved his weight to his legs, and his wiggled fingers around. He almost hated himself for asking, because A, of course that was what Cas meant, and B, it was kind of what Dean had been waiting for, so why ask? (Emphasis on the kind of.)
Castiel nodded. "Yes, I suppose. Some films showcase other routes to the same destination, I've noticed."
"Uh, well." Dean hid the dull throbbing in his gut as he finished rising, carefully pressing at the wound to calm it down. His raising heart rate probably wasn't doing much to stem the aching. "Hate to break it to you, but movies probably aren't the greatest depiction of relationships, but…. Do you want to be?" he grunted.
"If it's what you would like."
And thusly Dean was loaded with six words he'd never thought could be so heavy. Dean gulped down some, because it was what he wanted, and Castiel knew that. He knew Cas was aware of Dean's thoughts and feelings regarding him, but that he was giving him the leeway meant a surprising lot. Rather than back down and be a sissy, though, Dean stepped up beside Castiel and urged him ahead with a hand on his back. "You know, I'd like that a lot, Cas."
Dean tired more quickly than earlier on the way back to Bobby's, but he trucked on valiantly (in his opinion). He took extra care not to step on anything sharp, since shoes weren't much of a thing to have while staying with Bobby, and if one more mosquito bit him, he would personally see to their mass mosquito-cide. According to Dean, they had no use on the food chain except for to feed bigger bugs or animals (who could get their food somewhere else), and to spread West Nile. Dean really wasn't seeing the issue here. (Speaking this aloud had put Castiel on an 'all life is precious' spiel for a few minutes until he'd been bitten several times on his ankles and the tops of his feet.)
They arrived at Bobby's, but just because they arrived at the same time, Sam, didn't mean anything. While no one else seemed to suspect anything different, Sam, apparently, did. He had that fucking grin on his face, and found a way to make every question he asked that much more uncomfortable. So they ate in silence, Dean finishing his mostly-untouched dinner, while everyone else went about their business to get ready for London. Sam had, thankfully, had enough with teasing them, and they got down to business.
"You have two cards left. Judgement is next, and as we leave for London soon, I can only assume that it will incorporate your arrest and perceived role in assassinating Elizabeth."
"What is it normally in a reading?" Sam asked.
"Rather than judgement in court, or being judged by others, it's more about judging yourself. I won't say much else, lest Dean not actually do so when the time comes and we're stuck here forever."
Dean groaned. "Why is it always me whose guilt is tested? Do they have a Guilt Detector on me, or something?" Dean leaned back in his chair. "Already done this, and it didn't end so well last time. Nearly got killed by some dead god that hired Jo's ghost to off me. Couldn't even do it himself. Pu-"
"Yeah, I don't think it's gonna be like that this time." Sam gathered their plates and put them up, then paced around thinking about the next card. "Well, whatever it is you're supposed to do with it, I'm sure you'll take care of it. I mean, you didn't even realize you'd done most of the cards until it was brought up, right? You go through them faster when you don't know you actually are." He came up behind his chair and gripped the back of it, hunching his shoulders forward before huffing up at the ceiling. The fire gave him a bit of a scary glow. "It may get tricky, though. It has to. The other hunters never figured it out. We did, but even before we knew it was the Fool's Journey, the cards still led us along. It has to get trickier. There's no way it can't."
"Tricky how, though?"
"I dunno," Sam shrugged. "We'll have to figure that out when the time comes. The most we can do is make sure that you're not seen; you'd be locked up on the spot."
"But once they prove that I'm innocent-"
"It won't matter anymore." Cas rested his chin on a fist, his index finger of the opposite hand tapping on the table. "We're trying to convict Crowley; we have no chance at proving your innocence. If you went in, they might say they're sorry for locking you up the first time and torturing you, but you are still technically an escaped criminal. One thing hasn't changed much in the course of human history, and that is lack of common sense and genuine care for fellow man in law."
"So I'm screwed either way." Grin. "Awesome. What's the point in continuing, then? Why would you kidnap me from there in the first place if I'm not escaping execution? Hell, why are we even going back?! Why not just stay hidden away?"
"Because." Castiel's voice was loud. "This is the course of events. You must figure out the Judgement card, and this is the way it must be done."
"And if it's not?" Dean challenged. "What if I'm supposed to stay here, huh? What if you're wrong?"
"I'm not wrong."
"You don't know that!"
Castiel sent him a withering stare. "Yes, I do. If you were meant to stay here, Jess and Mary wouldn't be meeting us in London. These people have taken up the roles of the other cards and are leading you to the last ones. It would be foolish to think otherwise."
Scoffing, Dean leaned back in his chair, bouncing his leg. "This is stupid," he muttered. He turned to Sam then. "This is your fault," he accused. "If you hadn't wanted to play Weatherman, we'd still be home."
"People were disappearing. You're not going to make me feel guilty about it." He shrugged far too easily for Dean's liking. "We figured out what was happening, and now the only way to stop it depends on you figuring the last two cards out."
Dean stayed quiet, glaring at the top of the table as he moved his head to rest in his hands. His nails skimmed at his scalp, his thumbs rubbing gently to ward off any potential headaches. Him. It depended on him. No one else. Just him. He took a deep breath and released it quickly. "And if I'm arrested? What then, huh?"
The silence that followed, though short, was heavy and foreboding. Sam cleared his throat. "Then we'll be executed."
"Whoa, we?" Dean asked immediately. There had been hardly any time to think of the words before they had left his lips. "When did that escalate? I thought you were just trying to scare me earlier! I thought this was a Dean Winchester Exclusive! Not the Team Package Deal!"
"Well…" Sam began. "We did kind of break you out, and keep you hidden away from the law. We may as well be guilty of trying to kill the queen, too."
Dean's hand fell upon the table with a sharp slap and a curse. "You should have just left me there! This is all circling around again, isn't it-"
"Would you like to be Alastair's scratching post, still? Still lying on his dungeon floor and bleeding out?"
It almost scared Dean to look up at Castiel. He was using his I Will Smite This Town Because Those Are Orders voice, and honestly that voice was a little scary. All that time Dean had thought he'd missed naïve, soldier Castiel-there was definitely a line to be drawn somewhere.
"I'd rather live hoping that you die instantaneously when you drop-" ("Hey, that's an 'if'!") "-than have you die over the course of weeks at his hand; miserable, cold, and alone."
Dean didn't want to try and decipher the expression Castiel wore, but he knew that if he was just a mite bit closer, he could probably find something along the lines of hurt somewhere in there.
"Figure this card out so we can, maybe, avoid all of that."
Castiel stalked away and outside, leaving Dean to stare at the door in silence as it slammed, then at Sam. For as neutral as Sam might have seemed, Dean knew that Sam was most definitely not on his side. He acknowledged Dean's attention with little more than a pull of his mouth.
"Yeah, you kinda just told him that he went mortal for nothing. Great start to a relationship! How long's it been, an hour? If that? That's a new record, even for you."
Dean was unaware he'd actually said or asked anything, so glared in response. "How about you put yourself in my shoes for a minute, huh?! You and Cas? I'm responsible for your lives, Sam!"
"We've always been responsible for the others' lives, Dean! It's not a new thing! That's a shit reason, and you know it!"
"You don't think this is just a little different?" Dean hunched his shoulders, giving Sam nothing more than a silent, You really wanna go toe-to-toe with me on this one? "There's always that chance we don't get lucky enough to come back! It depends on me figuring out and learning lessons from some fancy hoodoo cards? Yeah, dunno if you missed the memo, but GED over here. Takes me a while to understand the lesson."
"You didn't drop out because you didn't understand the material, Dean, you dropped out because you didn't think it was worth your while. You're not stupid!" Sam paused. "Well, debatable."
"Cute." Dean stood up straight, hunting around for something to drink. First thing after pie and burgers? Beer. Or maybe all three combined. Figuring the ale was outside, where Mopey Cas was, Dean sat back down and (carefully) slumped over.
Sam groaned. "I'm just saying. Cas and I both have faith in you, so stop treating it like it's nothing, and do something about it so we can get out of this alive. And you better do it quick. Hopefully before we're killed." Sam pushed his hair back, a worried expression taking over his face.
Dean couldn't swallow, and he rubbed at his jaw. "No pressure." Responsibility had never weighed quite as heavily as it did at that moment. The Apocolypse? Stopping Raphael, and killing Dick Roman? Who cared about saving people they didn't even know when they would have to watch the ones closest to them die? And they would die-they had helped him escape, and they had harbored him, and they were planning on incriminating a duke; there was no way any of them were getting free. Dean whispered through his teeth a soft, "Son of a bitch," because this time it was all on him. Pressure had a new definition. Sam and Castiel helped all they could, but ultimately? It really was all his responsibility. If he failed to figure it out, going anywhere near London was nothing less than a suicide mission.
He could feel Sam's sorry gaze, but he couldn't do much to return it.
< center>***
"God damned forest and prickers, and why the hell do you have to go to the weirdest places to fucking pout, Cas…!"
Dean swept through the early brush of the forest, an army of colorful vernacular accompanying him, with the dire hope that Castiel hadn't gone far. It was dark, and Dean could only just see a few inches in front of him. He couldn't help but wonder why Castiel would stalk off into the forest; he was human now, right? He probably couldn't see any better than Dean could.
Stupid ex-angel.
"Cas!" he yelled. "Cas-ow, son of a bitch!" Dean would be surprised if he got away with no poison ivy, or anymore damned thistles stuck on the bottom of his feet. The things he did for love. (And a great many other things, such as saving the world, or brotherhood, or … anything.) Grunting, he tried yelling out, "Cas!" one more time.
"I'm right here, Dean, there's no need to yell-"
"Jesus Christ don't-! …Do that." Dean's hand flew out, smacking into Castiel's shoulder in surprise. Calmed down and out of danger from a heart attack, he gripped the shirt there tightly before taking a deep breath and letting him go. Dean glared at Cas, but was glad for once that his eyes were as captivating as they were, especially with how they reflected the light (at least what little of it there was). "Don't run off like that, either," he said. "Who knows what's out in these woods? Come on."
At first Castiel listened and took a step forward, but that step was as far as he got before he stopped strong and made Dean pull back some with the resistance. "You didn't understand, then?" he asked. His voice was low and serious.
"I understood just fine. Can we get back to the house, now?" Dean tugged again, but Castiel wasn't moving. He stood almost perfectly still (was he really human now?), and the discomfort Dean felt in that gaze was something he'd felt only a handful of times before. Usually that kind of disappointment from Castiel was the kind that came when Dean felt like he was good for only one thing (usually some kind of self-sacrifice), but then it also cued Dean that he was probably about to get beat up if he didn't change his mind. Neither outcome was really at all enjoyable.
So, Dean stopped and took his hand back. He would have loved to focus his eyes somewhere, but in the dark, it was an extremely difficult task without wondering if his eyes really were open. Fed up with not knowing, it wasn't long before he gave in and looked back at what he could make out of Cas.
"Man," he began, tentatively. "Listen, I'm sorry about earlier." Wow, apologizing sucked. "Things are shit right now. All I know is that stuff's gotta get done, but I dunno what, and I dunno how. You just walking outta there doesn't really help me to figure any of it out."
"I wouldn't have had to if you just understood half of the things you say. I'm often astounded by the words that manage to escape you, and unfortunately they're not good things. You do realize, of course, that had we left you in the dungeon you would have died?"
Dean groaned. "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. It was a stupid comment-"
"It would have killed Sam and myself to have let that happen. You still underestimate your importance to other people when you've been given all the proof you need to understand that you do matter. Not for some Heavenly or Hellish scheme, but to the people around you who love you. I know a lot of people who love you, Dean."
"I'm the one responsible for you two making it out of this alive, and I'm doing a great job, so far! Look, I don't need to feel like hell for failing you. Okay? For failing you like I fail every other god-forsaken thing that I care about! I don't need it!"
Dean managed to look away, still hating that he couldn't see much of anything (though his eyes were starting to acclimate), but he let his toes curl in the dirt. Soft dirt; free of thistles or needles or anything that might have wanted to bite him. Finally Dean's eyes could catch enough of the light to watch as it played tricks on him. It reflected blue off of a nearby cobweb, some foliage, and Castiel's hair. It gave Cas something of a halo (oh, the irony), and it outlined him enough to show his stance. Sturdy and unwilling to fall, and ready to continue to protect Dean when the time came. If words were to ever fail Castiel, it wouldn't matter, Dean thought. Cas rarely needed them to tell Dean what he was thinking, or feeling, or what he planned to do.
Looking at Cas, Dean was reminded again that Cas wasn't just some woman, or any of the women he'd been with. Dean didn't sleep with just any pretty thing-they were smart and astonishingly strong women. Cas, lack and addition of certain things aside, was more than that. Maybe it had to do with the gripping and raising from Perdition, or that Profound Bond they shared, but there was a certain equality between them that Dean wasn't going to find with anyone else.
Cas didn't need words to tell Dean he trusted him, and Dean knew that maybe whatever look Cas was giving him now could be seen as pity by many, but Dean knew better. Cas didn't pity Dean; he may have regretted things Dean was forced to suffer, but he never pitied Dean. Dean could see clearly, despite the dark, Cas' confusion.
"Dean, I've never once thought you've failed me. Or anyone. None of this is your fault, and the responsibility you feel isn't all yours. I'm here, too, Dean-"
And so that had been it. Cas had barely finished saying his name before Dean was kissing him, just because he could. It had started soft, even if Cas' lips were still just as chapped as ever, and it ended the second Cas was over his surprise. Settled, his eyes were calculating. It wasn't what Dean was used to seeing after kissing anyone, or anything close to what he'd expected. The air in Dean leaving in a rush, Cas pulled him closer to kiss him again. He tugged hard on Dean's shirt, enough to pull Dean forward in surprise, but he refused to let his grip go. Dirt being kicked back from under him, Dean stumbled into Cas to make him trip back until he ran into a tree, grunting, and he managed to catch himself on Cas' shoulders. He immediately loosened his hold as he regained his balance, feeling the soft, warm fabric under his palms. As he moved his hands just a little lower, Dean's attention was taken away from the softness of Cas' shirt, and given to the strength of Cas' arms under it.
Being crowded against the tree didn't deter Cas long at all. He grabbed the sides of Dean's shirt to pull him closer against him once more, holding him there tight as if to convince him of something and stared hard at him, almost glaring.
"Are we done tripping and falling?" he asked. There was an insistence in his voice that wasn't going to be contested.
Dean's brow lifted some. "Don't think we're goin' anywhere else."
There hadn't been much time between Cas', "Good," and Dean being yanked down by his neck to determine where Cas' forwardness was coming from. Then again, there wasn't a single thing about Castiel that couldn't be prompted to aggression. Passivity was only his norm. Not his singular setting.
Dean winced, having been pulled down harder than necessary, and just in time for Cas' teeth to snag his bottom lip. So Dean let it happen, and let Cas do what he wanted. Who was he to tell the Fallen Nerd Angel what to do? It wasn't as though anything he did could legitimately throw Dean off guard, but he wouldn't lie. Cas' grip on his neck loosening to something feather-soft was a pleasant surprise, especially for as worn as Cas' hands were. It begged questions of him, none of which he could think of wording properly now that Cas was taking further initiative with this kiss.
Even if Cas had been headstrong, Dean could sense something like shyness from Cas, or uncertainty. He stuttered the kiss, and his fingers tapped wildly on Dean's neck, so Dean reached to grab Cas' hand and hold it down to the side, his fingers playing with Cas'. With his free hand, Cas held on tight still to Dean's shirt, and pulled back from him just enough to entice Dean to indulge himself, and Dean did. And it was pretty awesome.
He didn't know what he'd expected Cas to taste like, but it wasn't this. He hadn't thought it would be air, or wind, or water, and he hadn't expected to feel like maybe he was flying-even feel safe and unafraid about it. He hadn't expected it to feel cool, let alone refreshing. And he felt … good. Relaxed, happy, and good. Added bonus? Cas wasn't a bad kisser. (And there was no way Dean was asking him where he learned it from.)
It had been slowly that Dean became aware of Cas' breathing. It grew heavier, and became haggard the more used to the kiss he became, taking more and more control of it with every passing moment. Dean could honestly say he was enjoying it, even while losing the control he'd started to take back. Not that he wasn't willing to submit to Cas; he trusted him implicitly, and that realization continued to hit him harder and harder. It was scary. Nice, and almost a relief, but scary.
Dean wasn't going to let it happen so easily, however, and he allowed his otherwise free hand to bunch up what it could of Cas' shirt. Carefully, his fingers moved under the fabric, splaying themselves against Cas' side and tentatively traveling back, and up. Cas was on that, though, and Dean knew it when Cas had grabbed his wrist and held it down. He didn't hold Dean's wrist terribly tight, but definitely firmly enough to send a message.
So Dean slowed the kiss down and broke it, and he kept his face close enough for his nose to bump Castiel's. His hands remained down, properly holding Cas' by now, and he shivered when a small breeze hit the back of his neck. That chill sent him off, though, as if the plans and plots finally clicked in his head. A new gravity to everything felt all too real, and a new kind of fear crept up inside him. His tongue ran over his lip, and his grip on Cas strengthened as his need for control came back in full. Cas' breath swept by him, relaxing Dean only just a little.
"You're not going tomorrow," he ordered after a moment. "You and Sam are gonna stay here." Dean could feel Castiel tense up just the slightest bit. It caused him to tighten his own hold on Cas' hands. "If you're caught with me, we already know what will happen."
"We do," Cas confirmed. "But Sam and I have already made up our minds. We're going."
"No, Cas. Jesus, can't you just listen to me for once?"
"I do." Castiel brought his head back, and his eyes drilled Dean's. "Most of the time I listen to you, and I do what you ask or command. This time, I refuse. Regardless of how much you beg or plead, I refuse to follow through on any plan of yours I deem foolish. Whether you like it or not, I'm going with you to London. If Sam and I are caught with you, then so be it." Castiel's voice forced Dean to close his eyes; Cas spoke with a strength that Dean wasn't sure he'd heard from Castiel before, even in God's Warrior Mode, and it wasn't so easy to give in this time. Cas' voice this time wasn't the same one he'd used to deliver those vague threats that tricked Dean into realizing he was more than he thought. Cas' words had finality, and left no room for argument. And then, softer and quieter, he said, "You're all I have left, Dean."
Dean didn't waste much more time before he kissed him again.
Part V (a) | * | Part VI (a)
Dean winced.
"I don't know if I should say I'm surprised or not. You should know better! Treating everyone here like they're somehow beneath you. Noble or not, boy, these peons have taken care of you. They deserve more respect than some grumbling because things aren't going your way."
Dean had forgotten what it felt like to be eight years old. "Actually, I'm being attainted," he tried. New vocabulary.
Ellen's anger only grew. She didn't say anything, but he could see it in her eyes. He actually felt a lot worse than he thought he would. Mary was his mother, and he loved her, and she would always be his mom. But Ellen had been there, even if only for a little while, to help him through as a hunter. Ellen was his honorary mom.
"You know, I have half a mind to send them back. If it wasn't for the fact I couldn't stand to see you die, I would."
Ellen had arrived not too long after Dean's chat with Lisa, and with her she'd brought two people. One had a bit of a flop to his hair; he was pale, and even if he wasn't, he looked like he was often cold. He was Gavin MacLeod, son of Fergus MacLeod. Dean wasn't sure what help he'd actually be. Crowley wouldn't care and would just deny he had a son; it wasn't like the rest of the privy councilors or anything would believe some scraggly Scottish kid's paternity claim.
That's what the second person was for. Ash had been able to get a hold of Michael, and he seemed to be one of their best bets. Michael had an entire sack full of letters that Crowley had received as Fergus MacLeod from fellow conspirators in Scotland, England, and France, as well as some stolen, un-sent ones. It was brought up that Crowley could easily accuse that the letters were forged, but there were certain hints in the letters, Michael pointed out, that were rather intimate to Crowley. Not just that, but he'd grabbed several letters sent to Crowley, or signed as Crowley, to prove the similarities in handwriting. Someone had mentioned some dude named Walsingham, but Dean didn't think he was actually all that important.
All of those dangerous efforts would have almost been for naught, if Dean wasn't so damned adorable and loved.
It also was a good excuse for a small party a little while later, what with the arrival of the hope for their little empire. As soon as supper had been laid out for everyone, the drinking had started. Sam may not have gotten drunk, but he did have red cheeks and a smile on for most of the night. Castiel, despite being human now, still wasn't an easy drunk, whereas Dean found himself getting a little more than tipsy not long after the party started. He'd not had a proper drink since before his little run-in with Alastair, but he highly doubted that would be a reason. (Maybe the lack of blood and weakness?) He did know that he had no personal recollection after the first couple drinks. He also knew that Sam remembered what happened, because once they were walking along a nearby creek the next afternoon, Sam had only a little trouble telling Dean what had happened.
"Yeah…" he began, slowly. "You were three sheets to the wind pretty quick, man." He coughed. No one was around, but it didn't stop him from double and triple-checking. "Not that you helped yourself, you drank a lot. You, uh." Another cough. He kept starting-his mouth formed the shapes, but no sound came out, and he tried smiling and laughing to make it easier for himself, but all it did was make Dean more impatient.
"Did I bust out in Metallica?"
"No."
"Mötley Crüe?"
"…Wow, no. Dean, you didn't break out singing."
Talk about disappointment. "What then? What horribly embarrassing thing did I do?"
Sam breathed deeply, and quietly. "Well, you kinda kissed Cas?"
Dean stumbled over a tricky rock, clinging on to Sam's arm for survival purposes. Thank God he had Big Foot for a brother. "What?" he exhaled. (Also, ow, his body was not ready for that, thank you.)
"You kiss-"
"I heard you the first time, it was rhetorical." Dean's voice was sharp, and final. "…What?"
Sighing and rolling his eyes, Sam helped Dean find his footing again and asked him if he was okay. Most definitely not wheezing, Dean answered that he was fine, and that he required more information about his alcohol-induced activities. Sam went on to tell him that he and Cas had taken Dean back inside while everyone else was singing and dancing and having fun. Dean, having been pretty drunk, was taken back inside to first, stop trying to move himself around too much, second, stop drinking, and third, go to bed. It had taken a little bit of convincing, but Dean had finally given in with one last thing to do before laying down: grabbing each side of Castiel's face, and dragging him forward for a kiss. Or had tried to.
"Yeah, you kinda missed. You got like, next to his nose, but like I said, you were wasted. No one else saw, but…. Well, Cas is kind of not sure what to do."
"H-ha, that's. Wow. Awesome!" His hands came up to cover his face and he groaned heavily into them as he began to walk in circles. There wasn't a single coherent thought in his head, making him a little more edgy. "What do I do?!"
"Why are you asking me?! I didn't kiss the guy!"
"Don't say it like that! What would you do if you did?"
Sam stopped, and used Bitchface #86: Are You Really That Dumb? "I thought that would be kinda obvious? Tell him the truth about your feelings?"
"What? No, that's a horrible idea." Dean began walking back towards Bobby's, wincing every couple of steps.
"Hah, no, it's just the solution you didn't want to hear," Sam groaned. Dean could hear him roll his eyes.
"That means it can't be horrible?
Sam sighed, quickly catching up with just a few long strides. "You're not the one who has to watch live man-on-angel eye-porn."
"What?"
"No, it means you want an easy way out. Which everyone does, but that doesn't make their choices the right ones."
"Well I know mine's the right one!"
"How do you-no, you don't! Dean, you have to tell him." Damn Sam for being able to catch up so quickly.
"I don't have to do anything!"
"Yes you do! You're being completely unfair to Cas! We talked about this before! I thought that meant you were going to tell him!"
"You thought wrong, Sammy."
"Dean!" Sam stepped in front of him and grabbed his shoulder. "That's not fair to either of you. We both - all three of us! - know it's mutual between you. Why would you not pursue something that would make you happy?!"
Dean shrugged himself away from Sam, and stepped around him. "Because I'm not going to. Forget it, Sam, there's really no need to play matchmaker."
Sam stopped only for a moment, and played a card Dean had forgotten was available. "And if none of this works out, and you end up being executed before we can get home? All of us? You do know that Cas and I are in just as much trouble as you, right? We'll be hanged right alongside you." His voice was tight, and angry. "How do you feel knowing you can't have anything you want before you're killed?"
Just for a moment, Dean thought. He tried to picture that possibility, and he knew that the image of Sam and Castiel being hanged, disemboweled, and chopped up into pieces was a long time away from removing itself. But he did his best to focus on the grass under his feet to at least temporarily put it aside. The worst part was that Sam was right. Dean would feel horrible not actually saying anything after confusing Cas with a drunken, probably slobbery, kiss. And, he supposed, not having the balls to admit something like that to Cas. (With full cognizance, anyway.)
"Not anything I'm not used to," he answered shortly.
Sam didn't say anything in response. He just stood back as Dean progressed towards Bobby's, becoming smaller and smaller with each step Dean took. Dean would have continued straight on, lost in thought, if he'd not been distracted by the pluck of a string and the sound of something slicing the air. He stopped, and then he saw it. On the other side of Bobby's house, Ben stood with an arrow nocked and pulled back. He was shooting a target not too far away, and Dean had to chuckle to himself. There was no doubt in his mind that Ben would be a better archer than himself, especially when he saw Ben's target. It was littered with arrows; not all of them were in the center, but at least they'd all hit the body of the target.
Ben released his arrow, and Dean watched as it hit halfway to the middle. He clapped, calling Ben's attention, and stepped forward. "You're a pretty good shot."
Surprise waning, Ben grinned. "Thanks! You think so?"
"You kiddin'? I know so." Dean smiled widely. "You're excellent. I hit everything but the target."
Ben laughed. "You're only saying that to make me feel better."
"No, seriously! Here, gimme your bow and an arrow. I'll prove it to you how much I suck at this."
"You're also hurt, you know," Ben reminded him. He handed over the bow. "That'll affect your shooting."
"Bah." Taking the bow, Dean then grabbed the arrow Ben offered and nocked it. "Will no-ooow, oh, ow, okay...!" Fine, so he'd been wrong about it not hurting, but proper posture for archery was overrated anyway, so it didn't matter. He stood as best as he could without wanting to hiss in pain and drew back, finally letting the arrow go. True to his word, the arrow missed the target by a long shot, and landed somewhere past the edge of the forest. With any luck, he might have caught dinner.
"Try again!" Ben hurried away to retrieve the arrow, and on his way back, he brought the target closer. He pulled his arrows free, and handed the quiver to Dean.
The time he'd spent with Ben wasn't too bad. It was a nice change of company, if not a little humiliating that he was schooled by a kid on how to shoot arrows. But in the hour or so he spent shooting, he got to thinking. Mostly about Cas, even though he tried very hard to think about other things; other important things.
Dean's philosophy was that there was no such thing as happiness in a hunter's life. If a film strip was a hunter's life, the happiest part of that strip would be the dust settling on top of it as it sat forgotten in some old storage room. The worst part was that if a hunter chose to spend their already-limited days with someone, it was sure to end in agony. That had been proven with Lisa: the best way to protect someone you loved was to keep them away and to not get involved. But, Lisa was no hunter, and assuming he did do something to have some kind of partnership with Castiel? Even if Cas could protect himself and knew the ins-and-outs of the supernatural world, Dean Winchester - hell, just the Winchester name - was cursed. Cas would be subjected to new methods of suffering beyond 'punishment resurrections'. If Cas thought himself bad luck, being with Dean would at least double the misfortune between them, and that was the opposite of what Dean wanted.
That was, of course, assuming that Castiel actually wanted to be with Dean. Like that. Sam said something about it being mutual, and those stares were a little on the intense side. Angels didn't just Fall from Grace to protect a man from their own brethren for nothing, even if he was The Righteous Man. That hope (though he was really tentative to call it that because why hope?) hadn't truly left the back of his mind. It sat there in the corner, shadowed by so many big, dark things, but it never left and persistently reminded Dean of its presence. Dean hadn't forgotten the wagon ride to Hartfield, or Hatfest, or whatever, and that included what he was pretty sure had been a (manly!) kiss right before he'd drifted off into a painful sleep. Then he thought of something else.
'Something else' was the most obvious, and why it wasn't bothering him like he would think it should he didn't know, but Castiel was, for the most part, a guy. As far as Dean knew, and he was pretty sure he'd know, he was straight. He liked women-Cassie and Lisa had liked him. And just because he could admit when a man was good looking didn’t mean anything; Dr. Sexy had his name for a reason, and the fact his siren was a dude meant nothing. Even if it did throw him for a bit of a loop. But applying it to Cas, and thinking about being with him wasn't an issue.
What tipped him off? One of the first things Dean would have expected to happen with his (slow, albeit) discovery, was having Big Gay Freak Out, but there was a distinct lack of that. Maybe it was just that he'd somehow accepted it in his subconscious that Cas was just Cas. Or maybe it was that he just didn't have the capacity to worry about what kind of junk Castiel had. If he even had any, did angels have genders, anyway? Or maybe, and most likely, it was the knowledge that he probably wasn't going to live much longer, so what was the big deal about equipment when something like love was on the line? After all, Dean's job description always required he have something bigger and worse to worry about. What with having his head almost literally on the chopping block, some things just took a greater priority than figuring out what exactly your orientation was when just falling in love.
The hour had passed quickly as Dean double-thought, double-checked, and triple-thought those things, and he became a little more annoyed with himself that it took him so long to figure out what should have been obvious at least two years ago. Finished, and handing the bow back to Ben, Dean fingers were numb and tingly, and the area around his healing gash wanted more than anything to make like a black hole and suck him in. His shoulders were probably going to be killing him in the morning, and he thought that maybe archery hadn't been such a good idea. But, he'd gotten some thinking done, and most of his later arrows actually hit the target, so it wasn't all bad.
"You did pretty good, for an old man!"
"Hey, hey, you were just trying to flatter me not forty minutes ago. What happened to that?"
Ben had returned to his own practice, and Dean hobbled off back to Bobby's cabin. Dean, despite his handicap, was actually feeling pretty good. Like things were at least kind of starting to look up for him.
***
By the third of September, they had begun to finalize plans on getting into London. Having Dean go with them was risky, but Dean insisted he go and refused to hear otherwise. Arguments were made for and against it, but he would be going, no matter their decision. On the fourth, Ash had arrived with news from Mary, who was already in London with Jess, but it was on the fifth that the monotony changed. While the previous two days had been quite good, comparatively, the fifth proved the best of the three, and not only because Dean was able to stand up straight with less pain.
Castiel had been avoiding Dean like the plague was back in fashion (which he supposed that, given the current year, the simile was as close to literal as it would ever be for them), and Dean had only caught sight of him coming-or-going somewhere. At first Dean didn't let it get to him. If he'd been slobbered on by some drunken idiot, he'd probably be a little avoidant, too. But Dean's impatience had finally won out, and he started getting a little annoyed when his intent was to find Cas, but Cas was nowhere to be found, by anyone. (Not that this game was new, or anything.) Dean had even given in to asking Sam if he might have had any idea where Cas could be, but Sam knew just about as much as Dean knew. (Plus Sam had also done the whole, "I told you!" thing, so Dean hadn't spent long in Sam's presence.)
He'd not shown up for dinner, so Dean made his own dinner short, and decided to go search for him where he should have first suspected: with the bees.
The bees were kept not too far from Bobby's, but it was a decent walk. They were kept probably a bit less than a mile from Bobby's, a bit less than half from the church, but closer to the village. Dean tired a little quickly, but it was a good workout for a man who'd been near-fatally wounded; he felt no shame. (But if he did it was insignificant, so it didn't count.) It wasn't long before, just behind a tree, he caught sight of Cas' messy black hair. Castiel sat contentedly upon the ground, watching as the bees flew around and went about their business. Dean could be easily amused by some things, but he had a feeling that Cas was maybe a little too enamored with flying, stinging, potentially lethal insects. He wasn't so sure if that was actually very endearing.
Dean took a deep breath, and quietly stepped forward to join him. That final step cued Cas, and without much hesitation he readied himself to stand, but Dean was in the middle of the opposite. Sitting in chairs was one thing, but bending to sit on the ground was another. So, hand gripping hard on Cas' shoulder, Dean shook his head.
"Nuh-uh," he said. There was no contest in his tone. "You are staying here. I am joining you, and you will not leave until I say it's okay to leave. I will not put myself through this in vain."
Castiel settled back down, nodding, and returned to watching the bees as Dean carefully, and slowly, sat right next to him. Neither said anything for a while. They just sat there. While Castiel seemed perfectly fine to watch the bees buzz around, Dean was a bit more cautious whenever they flew a little too close. He'd been the victim of vicious bee attacks before, and he'd be damned if he allowed that again. Finally Cas spoke up.
"These aren't angry bees," he said. "They're honeybees. They're gentle. As long as you don't threaten them, they have no need to harm you."
Dean scowled at one that flew particularly close. "Yeah, well, forgive me for being a little wary of 'em." And maybe at Castiel's words, too.
"That is like you. I should know."
Dean's pulse sped up just minutely as he tried to find a way to say anything. He'd come all the way to find Cas; there was no way he wasn't going to bring It up. The issue was how to bring it up and not have it come off as awkward. Deciding it wasn't going to be pretty, no matter the preparation, Dean took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry about the other night, man. I didn't know what happened until Sam told me the day after."
Cas visibly tensed.
"Must'a freaked you out, huh?"
And then he relaxed as a bee flew near his ear. Weirdo. "I admit that I hadn't seen it coming." He held up a finger to elaborate. "I was surprised. Not freaked out."
Try as he might, Dean couldn't get any kind of laughter out to try and lessen his jitters. "I must be a pretty bad drunk kisser, if you've been avoiding me."
Where Dean failed, Cas made up with a wide smile. "I can't judge," he said. "I've kissed only two others, and I'd rather not think of those. I feel terrible for Daphne, but-"
"Cas, we're not talking about Daphne. I'm having a bit of a crisis that even though drunk, I can't give a proper kiss. Guess Beira's spread was right. I'm losing my touch." Speaking of being drunk, he wouldn't have minded a drink about then. Tough news to learn, and all.
"I never said you were a bad kisser. I simply have nothing to go on. Besides that, your aim while drunk is horrible. I suppose sober you would be excellent and hit the target, or you wouldn't be as sought-after as you are."
Oh. Well now that that was out in the open.
"There's no need to apologize," Castiel added on. "I wasn't offended by your actions. I'm more concerned about your own reaction." He said it slowly, almost as if he was taking great care to articulate it just right.
"Uh…. Surprised? Shocked? Same as you, probably."
"Were you angry?"
Anger was a confusing emotion, Dean soon discovered. It was hard to separate what kinds of anger he felt, if any applied to the situation. Then he said, "Yeah, I was," which was almost a mistake. Cas, who'd seemed content before (not happy, not ecstatic; just content), no longer seemed it.
"I see. Understandable."
Dean nearly growled. "No, I don't think you do understand. I-" Ugh, how to even word this? How to make this completely not awkward? (Though honestly that hope was long dead.) "I'm not angry I kissed you, I just. I'm angry at how I kissed you." The awkwardness Dean felt intensified, and he would probably hate himself for the rest of forever, but he came with intent and purpose, and he was not backing down. "I mean. Augh, okay, listen. I-you know. Sometimes when a man - when someone - likes someone very much-"
"I'm aware of how sex works, Dean."
Well thank you for making this so much easier for me. He groaned. "I wanted to kiss you. I just didn't want it to be when I didn't have more control over myself, or not knowing if it was something you wanted. S'why I'm angry."
Dean couldn't be sure if Castiel was actually responding or not, because the rush of blood in his ears was extremely effective in drowning all other sound out. He couldn't get a visual check because looking at Cas after admitting that made his face feel uncomfortably warm. His nerves were in sensory overdrive, so if that was Cas shaking his shoulder, he wasn't entirely sure because it could just as easily have been the breeze. Man, if this was how he reacted just telling Cas he wanted to kiss him, Dean had no desire to know what a fool he'd make of himself when it came time to tell Cas he loved him. The seriousness of the intimacy started raining hard on him; there could be no take-backs. It was, now, inescapable, and he kind of hated the part of him that put himself in this position.
The self-loathing would have to wait for another day; apparently what could have been the breeze actually was Castiel nudging him. Annoyance seemed to have gotten the better of him so it was with bothered impatience that Cas finally got his attention.
"What?!" Dean snapped.
Cas rolled his eyes. "Finally. You are incredibly slow sometimes."
It was definitely an awkward angle to kiss from, and for Dean, that was saying something.
As he'd expected, Cas was a little rough (not that he'd been expecting or thinking about it or anything, of course, pshh). His lips were dried against Dean's, and there was the tiniest bit of movement that was so minute and rudimentary it made Dean grin into it. It was chaste, small, and light, and so different than what Dean was used to. Cas didn't smell dainty like a woman would have, and he wasn't nearly as lithe as they were, and that was okay. Cas was certainly not a challenge, or threat, but he wasn't going to make things seem as easy as Dean was used to. Happy though it made Dean, he had to force himself to sit back. Personally he could find it within him to care, but should anyone have looked over and seen? People in Elizabethan England were ready to find any reason to kill anybody, and with Dean's luck, the sight of two dudes kissing was probably something of an express pass to the scaffold, and that was a place he was extremely interested in avoiding.
So Dean sat back and stared at Cas as Cas stared at him, and then he laughed just a little.
Cas' eyebrows narrowed. "You find this amusing. Is that not how it's done? I was sure that was how the pizza man did it."
Dean first looked down to his feet and dirty toes, only looking back to the bees after he had to force himself to sigh. "No, Cas. You did it right, it was. It was great, actually, it was…." He shook his head, smiling, but still managed to keep his eyes off of Cas. "It was kinda nice. Thanks."
As time had slowly passed, Dean had been unaware of his tapping fingers, just as Cas had been unaware of how many times he'd rubbed the back of his neck. But, slowly, the unsure feeling melted away as they sat there. The sun had begun to set, the bees' dying buzz signaled the end of their jobs, and both of their stomachs loudly began demanding food.
"I'm not sure I'll ever get used to the nutritional needs of humans. It's unpleasant."
"Yeah, I just want a good ol' fashion burger, greasy, salty fries, and pie that would make diabetics the world over go into a coma at the mention of. Can't wait to get home."
"Does this mean we're together?" Cas interrupted. "Or does that require other things?"
Dean had been in the middle of standing up - difficult, by the way - but found himself back down on all fours. "You mean, like together-together? As in…?" He moved his weight to his legs, and his wiggled fingers around. He almost hated himself for asking, because A, of course that was what Cas meant, and B, it was kind of what Dean had been waiting for, so why ask? (Emphasis on the kind of.)
Castiel nodded. "Yes, I suppose. Some films showcase other routes to the same destination, I've noticed."
"Uh, well." Dean hid the dull throbbing in his gut as he finished rising, carefully pressing at the wound to calm it down. His raising heart rate probably wasn't doing much to stem the aching. "Hate to break it to you, but movies probably aren't the greatest depiction of relationships, but…. Do you want to be?" he grunted.
"If it's what you would like."
And thusly Dean was loaded with six words he'd never thought could be so heavy. Dean gulped down some, because it was what he wanted, and Castiel knew that. He knew Cas was aware of Dean's thoughts and feelings regarding him, but that he was giving him the leeway meant a surprising lot. Rather than back down and be a sissy, though, Dean stepped up beside Castiel and urged him ahead with a hand on his back. "You know, I'd like that a lot, Cas."
Dean tired more quickly than earlier on the way back to Bobby's, but he trucked on valiantly (in his opinion). He took extra care not to step on anything sharp, since shoes weren't much of a thing to have while staying with Bobby, and if one more mosquito bit him, he would personally see to their mass mosquito-cide. According to Dean, they had no use on the food chain except for to feed bigger bugs or animals (who could get their food somewhere else), and to spread West Nile. Dean really wasn't seeing the issue here. (Speaking this aloud had put Castiel on an 'all life is precious' spiel for a few minutes until he'd been bitten several times on his ankles and the tops of his feet.)
They arrived at Bobby's, but just because they arrived at the same time, Sam, didn't mean anything. While no one else seemed to suspect anything different, Sam, apparently, did. He had that fucking grin on his face, and found a way to make every question he asked that much more uncomfortable. So they ate in silence, Dean finishing his mostly-untouched dinner, while everyone else went about their business to get ready for London. Sam had, thankfully, had enough with teasing them, and they got down to business.
"You have two cards left. Judgement is next, and as we leave for London soon, I can only assume that it will incorporate your arrest and perceived role in assassinating Elizabeth."
"What is it normally in a reading?" Sam asked.
"Rather than judgement in court, or being judged by others, it's more about judging yourself. I won't say much else, lest Dean not actually do so when the time comes and we're stuck here forever."
Dean groaned. "Why is it always me whose guilt is tested? Do they have a Guilt Detector on me, or something?" Dean leaned back in his chair. "Already done this, and it didn't end so well last time. Nearly got killed by some dead god that hired Jo's ghost to off me. Couldn't even do it himself. Pu-"
"Yeah, I don't think it's gonna be like that this time." Sam gathered their plates and put them up, then paced around thinking about the next card. "Well, whatever it is you're supposed to do with it, I'm sure you'll take care of it. I mean, you didn't even realize you'd done most of the cards until it was brought up, right? You go through them faster when you don't know you actually are." He came up behind his chair and gripped the back of it, hunching his shoulders forward before huffing up at the ceiling. The fire gave him a bit of a scary glow. "It may get tricky, though. It has to. The other hunters never figured it out. We did, but even before we knew it was the Fool's Journey, the cards still led us along. It has to get trickier. There's no way it can't."
"Tricky how, though?"
"I dunno," Sam shrugged. "We'll have to figure that out when the time comes. The most we can do is make sure that you're not seen; you'd be locked up on the spot."
"But once they prove that I'm innocent-"
"It won't matter anymore." Cas rested his chin on a fist, his index finger of the opposite hand tapping on the table. "We're trying to convict Crowley; we have no chance at proving your innocence. If you went in, they might say they're sorry for locking you up the first time and torturing you, but you are still technically an escaped criminal. One thing hasn't changed much in the course of human history, and that is lack of common sense and genuine care for fellow man in law."
"So I'm screwed either way." Grin. "Awesome. What's the point in continuing, then? Why would you kidnap me from there in the first place if I'm not escaping execution? Hell, why are we even going back?! Why not just stay hidden away?"
"Because." Castiel's voice was loud. "This is the course of events. You must figure out the Judgement card, and this is the way it must be done."
"And if it's not?" Dean challenged. "What if I'm supposed to stay here, huh? What if you're wrong?"
"I'm not wrong."
"You don't know that!"
Castiel sent him a withering stare. "Yes, I do. If you were meant to stay here, Jess and Mary wouldn't be meeting us in London. These people have taken up the roles of the other cards and are leading you to the last ones. It would be foolish to think otherwise."
Scoffing, Dean leaned back in his chair, bouncing his leg. "This is stupid," he muttered. He turned to Sam then. "This is your fault," he accused. "If you hadn't wanted to play Weatherman, we'd still be home."
"People were disappearing. You're not going to make me feel guilty about it." He shrugged far too easily for Dean's liking. "We figured out what was happening, and now the only way to stop it depends on you figuring the last two cards out."
Dean stayed quiet, glaring at the top of the table as he moved his head to rest in his hands. His nails skimmed at his scalp, his thumbs rubbing gently to ward off any potential headaches. Him. It depended on him. No one else. Just him. He took a deep breath and released it quickly. "And if I'm arrested? What then, huh?"
The silence that followed, though short, was heavy and foreboding. Sam cleared his throat. "Then we'll be executed."
"Whoa, we?" Dean asked immediately. There had been hardly any time to think of the words before they had left his lips. "When did that escalate? I thought you were just trying to scare me earlier! I thought this was a Dean Winchester Exclusive! Not the Team Package Deal!"
"Well…" Sam began. "We did kind of break you out, and keep you hidden away from the law. We may as well be guilty of trying to kill the queen, too."
Dean's hand fell upon the table with a sharp slap and a curse. "You should have just left me there! This is all circling around again, isn't it-"
"Would you like to be Alastair's scratching post, still? Still lying on his dungeon floor and bleeding out?"
It almost scared Dean to look up at Castiel. He was using his I Will Smite This Town Because Those Are Orders voice, and honestly that voice was a little scary. All that time Dean had thought he'd missed naïve, soldier Castiel-there was definitely a line to be drawn somewhere.
"I'd rather live hoping that you die instantaneously when you drop-" ("Hey, that's an 'if'!") "-than have you die over the course of weeks at his hand; miserable, cold, and alone."
Dean didn't want to try and decipher the expression Castiel wore, but he knew that if he was just a mite bit closer, he could probably find something along the lines of hurt somewhere in there.
"Figure this card out so we can, maybe, avoid all of that."
Castiel stalked away and outside, leaving Dean to stare at the door in silence as it slammed, then at Sam. For as neutral as Sam might have seemed, Dean knew that Sam was most definitely not on his side. He acknowledged Dean's attention with little more than a pull of his mouth.
"Yeah, you kinda just told him that he went mortal for nothing. Great start to a relationship! How long's it been, an hour? If that? That's a new record, even for you."
Dean was unaware he'd actually said or asked anything, so glared in response. "How about you put yourself in my shoes for a minute, huh?! You and Cas? I'm responsible for your lives, Sam!"
"We've always been responsible for the others' lives, Dean! It's not a new thing! That's a shit reason, and you know it!"
"You don't think this is just a little different?" Dean hunched his shoulders, giving Sam nothing more than a silent, You really wanna go toe-to-toe with me on this one? "There's always that chance we don't get lucky enough to come back! It depends on me figuring out and learning lessons from some fancy hoodoo cards? Yeah, dunno if you missed the memo, but GED over here. Takes me a while to understand the lesson."
"You didn't drop out because you didn't understand the material, Dean, you dropped out because you didn't think it was worth your while. You're not stupid!" Sam paused. "Well, debatable."
"Cute." Dean stood up straight, hunting around for something to drink. First thing after pie and burgers? Beer. Or maybe all three combined. Figuring the ale was outside, where Mopey Cas was, Dean sat back down and (carefully) slumped over.
Sam groaned. "I'm just saying. Cas and I both have faith in you, so stop treating it like it's nothing, and do something about it so we can get out of this alive. And you better do it quick. Hopefully before we're killed." Sam pushed his hair back, a worried expression taking over his face.
Dean couldn't swallow, and he rubbed at his jaw. "No pressure." Responsibility had never weighed quite as heavily as it did at that moment. The Apocolypse? Stopping Raphael, and killing Dick Roman? Who cared about saving people they didn't even know when they would have to watch the ones closest to them die? And they would die-they had helped him escape, and they had harbored him, and they were planning on incriminating a duke; there was no way any of them were getting free. Dean whispered through his teeth a soft, "Son of a bitch," because this time it was all on him. Pressure had a new definition. Sam and Castiel helped all they could, but ultimately? It really was all his responsibility. If he failed to figure it out, going anywhere near London was nothing less than a suicide mission.
He could feel Sam's sorry gaze, but he couldn't do much to return it.
< center>***
"God damned forest and prickers, and why the hell do you have to go to the weirdest places to fucking pout, Cas…!"
Dean swept through the early brush of the forest, an army of colorful vernacular accompanying him, with the dire hope that Castiel hadn't gone far. It was dark, and Dean could only just see a few inches in front of him. He couldn't help but wonder why Castiel would stalk off into the forest; he was human now, right? He probably couldn't see any better than Dean could.
Stupid ex-angel.
"Cas!" he yelled. "Cas-ow, son of a bitch!" Dean would be surprised if he got away with no poison ivy, or anymore damned thistles stuck on the bottom of his feet. The things he did for love. (And a great many other things, such as saving the world, or brotherhood, or … anything.) Grunting, he tried yelling out, "Cas!" one more time.
"I'm right here, Dean, there's no need to yell-"
"Jesus Christ don't-! …Do that." Dean's hand flew out, smacking into Castiel's shoulder in surprise. Calmed down and out of danger from a heart attack, he gripped the shirt there tightly before taking a deep breath and letting him go. Dean glared at Cas, but was glad for once that his eyes were as captivating as they were, especially with how they reflected the light (at least what little of it there was). "Don't run off like that, either," he said. "Who knows what's out in these woods? Come on."
At first Castiel listened and took a step forward, but that step was as far as he got before he stopped strong and made Dean pull back some with the resistance. "You didn't understand, then?" he asked. His voice was low and serious.
"I understood just fine. Can we get back to the house, now?" Dean tugged again, but Castiel wasn't moving. He stood almost perfectly still (was he really human now?), and the discomfort Dean felt in that gaze was something he'd felt only a handful of times before. Usually that kind of disappointment from Castiel was the kind that came when Dean felt like he was good for only one thing (usually some kind of self-sacrifice), but then it also cued Dean that he was probably about to get beat up if he didn't change his mind. Neither outcome was really at all enjoyable.
So, Dean stopped and took his hand back. He would have loved to focus his eyes somewhere, but in the dark, it was an extremely difficult task without wondering if his eyes really were open. Fed up with not knowing, it wasn't long before he gave in and looked back at what he could make out of Cas.
"Man," he began, tentatively. "Listen, I'm sorry about earlier." Wow, apologizing sucked. "Things are shit right now. All I know is that stuff's gotta get done, but I dunno what, and I dunno how. You just walking outta there doesn't really help me to figure any of it out."
"I wouldn't have had to if you just understood half of the things you say. I'm often astounded by the words that manage to escape you, and unfortunately they're not good things. You do realize, of course, that had we left you in the dungeon you would have died?"
Dean groaned. "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. It was a stupid comment-"
"It would have killed Sam and myself to have let that happen. You still underestimate your importance to other people when you've been given all the proof you need to understand that you do matter. Not for some Heavenly or Hellish scheme, but to the people around you who love you. I know a lot of people who love you, Dean."
"I'm the one responsible for you two making it out of this alive, and I'm doing a great job, so far! Look, I don't need to feel like hell for failing you. Okay? For failing you like I fail every other god-forsaken thing that I care about! I don't need it!"
Dean managed to look away, still hating that he couldn't see much of anything (though his eyes were starting to acclimate), but he let his toes curl in the dirt. Soft dirt; free of thistles or needles or anything that might have wanted to bite him. Finally Dean's eyes could catch enough of the light to watch as it played tricks on him. It reflected blue off of a nearby cobweb, some foliage, and Castiel's hair. It gave Cas something of a halo (oh, the irony), and it outlined him enough to show his stance. Sturdy and unwilling to fall, and ready to continue to protect Dean when the time came. If words were to ever fail Castiel, it wouldn't matter, Dean thought. Cas rarely needed them to tell Dean what he was thinking, or feeling, or what he planned to do.
Looking at Cas, Dean was reminded again that Cas wasn't just some woman, or any of the women he'd been with. Dean didn't sleep with just any pretty thing-they were smart and astonishingly strong women. Cas, lack and addition of certain things aside, was more than that. Maybe it had to do with the gripping and raising from Perdition, or that Profound Bond they shared, but there was a certain equality between them that Dean wasn't going to find with anyone else.
Cas didn't need words to tell Dean he trusted him, and Dean knew that maybe whatever look Cas was giving him now could be seen as pity by many, but Dean knew better. Cas didn't pity Dean; he may have regretted things Dean was forced to suffer, but he never pitied Dean. Dean could see clearly, despite the dark, Cas' confusion.
"Dean, I've never once thought you've failed me. Or anyone. None of this is your fault, and the responsibility you feel isn't all yours. I'm here, too, Dean-"
And so that had been it. Cas had barely finished saying his name before Dean was kissing him, just because he could. It had started soft, even if Cas' lips were still just as chapped as ever, and it ended the second Cas was over his surprise. Settled, his eyes were calculating. It wasn't what Dean was used to seeing after kissing anyone, or anything close to what he'd expected. The air in Dean leaving in a rush, Cas pulled him closer to kiss him again. He tugged hard on Dean's shirt, enough to pull Dean forward in surprise, but he refused to let his grip go. Dirt being kicked back from under him, Dean stumbled into Cas to make him trip back until he ran into a tree, grunting, and he managed to catch himself on Cas' shoulders. He immediately loosened his hold as he regained his balance, feeling the soft, warm fabric under his palms. As he moved his hands just a little lower, Dean's attention was taken away from the softness of Cas' shirt, and given to the strength of Cas' arms under it.
Being crowded against the tree didn't deter Cas long at all. He grabbed the sides of Dean's shirt to pull him closer against him once more, holding him there tight as if to convince him of something and stared hard at him, almost glaring.
"Are we done tripping and falling?" he asked. There was an insistence in his voice that wasn't going to be contested.
Dean's brow lifted some. "Don't think we're goin' anywhere else."
There hadn't been much time between Cas', "Good," and Dean being yanked down by his neck to determine where Cas' forwardness was coming from. Then again, there wasn't a single thing about Castiel that couldn't be prompted to aggression. Passivity was only his norm. Not his singular setting.
Dean winced, having been pulled down harder than necessary, and just in time for Cas' teeth to snag his bottom lip. So Dean let it happen, and let Cas do what he wanted. Who was he to tell the Fallen Nerd Angel what to do? It wasn't as though anything he did could legitimately throw Dean off guard, but he wouldn't lie. Cas' grip on his neck loosening to something feather-soft was a pleasant surprise, especially for as worn as Cas' hands were. It begged questions of him, none of which he could think of wording properly now that Cas was taking further initiative with this kiss.
Even if Cas had been headstrong, Dean could sense something like shyness from Cas, or uncertainty. He stuttered the kiss, and his fingers tapped wildly on Dean's neck, so Dean reached to grab Cas' hand and hold it down to the side, his fingers playing with Cas'. With his free hand, Cas held on tight still to Dean's shirt, and pulled back from him just enough to entice Dean to indulge himself, and Dean did. And it was pretty awesome.
He didn't know what he'd expected Cas to taste like, but it wasn't this. He hadn't thought it would be air, or wind, or water, and he hadn't expected to feel like maybe he was flying-even feel safe and unafraid about it. He hadn't expected it to feel cool, let alone refreshing. And he felt … good. Relaxed, happy, and good. Added bonus? Cas wasn't a bad kisser. (And there was no way Dean was asking him where he learned it from.)
It had been slowly that Dean became aware of Cas' breathing. It grew heavier, and became haggard the more used to the kiss he became, taking more and more control of it with every passing moment. Dean could honestly say he was enjoying it, even while losing the control he'd started to take back. Not that he wasn't willing to submit to Cas; he trusted him implicitly, and that realization continued to hit him harder and harder. It was scary. Nice, and almost a relief, but scary.
Dean wasn't going to let it happen so easily, however, and he allowed his otherwise free hand to bunch up what it could of Cas' shirt. Carefully, his fingers moved under the fabric, splaying themselves against Cas' side and tentatively traveling back, and up. Cas was on that, though, and Dean knew it when Cas had grabbed his wrist and held it down. He didn't hold Dean's wrist terribly tight, but definitely firmly enough to send a message.
So Dean slowed the kiss down and broke it, and he kept his face close enough for his nose to bump Castiel's. His hands remained down, properly holding Cas' by now, and he shivered when a small breeze hit the back of his neck. That chill sent him off, though, as if the plans and plots finally clicked in his head. A new gravity to everything felt all too real, and a new kind of fear crept up inside him. His tongue ran over his lip, and his grip on Cas strengthened as his need for control came back in full. Cas' breath swept by him, relaxing Dean only just a little.
"You're not going tomorrow," he ordered after a moment. "You and Sam are gonna stay here." Dean could feel Castiel tense up just the slightest bit. It caused him to tighten his own hold on Cas' hands. "If you're caught with me, we already know what will happen."
"We do," Cas confirmed. "But Sam and I have already made up our minds. We're going."
"No, Cas. Jesus, can't you just listen to me for once?"
"I do." Castiel brought his head back, and his eyes drilled Dean's. "Most of the time I listen to you, and I do what you ask or command. This time, I refuse. Regardless of how much you beg or plead, I refuse to follow through on any plan of yours I deem foolish. Whether you like it or not, I'm going with you to London. If Sam and I are caught with you, then so be it." Castiel's voice forced Dean to close his eyes; Cas spoke with a strength that Dean wasn't sure he'd heard from Castiel before, even in God's Warrior Mode, and it wasn't so easy to give in this time. Cas' voice this time wasn't the same one he'd used to deliver those vague threats that tricked Dean into realizing he was more than he thought. Cas' words had finality, and left no room for argument. And then, softer and quieter, he said, "You're all I have left, Dean."
Dean didn't waste much more time before he kissed him again.
Part V (a) | * | Part VI (a)