Things Fall Apart [Part 2/?]
Title: Things Fall Apart [Part 2/?]
Authors: kimisgirl (wrote Cas, future!dean and Future!Cas) and doubledgedsword (wrote Dean)
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Rating/Warnings: NC17 this part. Non.Con (not this part but this story will include rape at one point) Mental and Physical abuse hinted at.
Summary: The future Dean finds himself in thanks to Zachariah is not like the past he has just left. He and Castiel are no longer together and he is shocked to find out just how bad it's gone for them. He is horrified by his future self and how broken he has become. Can he do anything
AN: This is a continuation of the "A love story" verse. It can stand alone if you don't want to read the previous story. But parts of it will make more sense if you do read it :D. This story is completely written and parts will be put up ever second day or so! Hope you like it.
Disclaimer: None of the supernatural characters or storylines belong to us :( -sad face-
Cold laughter that spoke more of something broken rather than something joyful fell from Castiel's lips. Dean felt something inside him break. The chilly venom in Castiel's voice and eyes seemed to pour through his veins and into his heart, making him feel cold, alone and heartbroken. He couldn't accept this.
His head was screaming at him, screaming right along with his heart that this wouldn't happen, would never happen, could never happen, never will happen and is not happening now, so get your ass back home and make the fuck sure it never GOD-DAMN HAPPENS, DO YOU HEAR ME? Dean was actually fighting back the urge to throw up, and it was only through sheer effort of will that he hadn't done so already. This wasn't his Castiel. It was something so broken it was unfixable, like a mirror shattered into smithereens.
"I didn't do this to you," Dean choked in protest. "But that sick son of a bitch who's me in the future did, and when I see him I'm gonna kick his sorry ass!" He had an overwhelming urge to vomit again as Cas turned, revealing in its full glory the extent of the rage that Dean would become capable of. Dean clapped a hand over his mouth and gagged, unable to believe his own eyes. He thought of his Cas, the one back home, and he couldn't imagine ever being able to raise his hands to him. He couldn't conceive of making the blue eyes he loved so much looking at him with such ubridled hatred as they did now. He didn't want to accept that the love they shared would be so corrupted in five years time that he would dare to use his angel as a punching bag.
He felt tears brim in his eyes and fall at last, unable to keep them in any longer. His heart was tearing to shreds, and all he wanted was to go home, cling to Castiel and tell him this was never going to happen to him. He was never going to change this drastically, not if Dean had anything to do with it. "Oh, Cas... I... I'm so sorry. I had no idea, I mean that..." Dean said, taking a step closer to the angel and wishing he could take him in his arms and make all his pain just vanish. "But I know now, I'm going to change everything once I get back. You won't end up like this. I'm not going to let this happen to you, baby, I mean it." He fully expected Cas to freak out at him for that, but he needed to say it. He needed him to know that he loved him enough to change things, and to make sure that they would have a future together that wasn't as doomed as this one.
He knew it would be even more cruel to try to heal him, to try to fix this somehow. Even if he did it out of love and grief, just one kiss, one embrace would probably hurt Cas worse than if he had actually raised his fists against him the way he allegedly one day would. He didn't want to think he was capable of violence like this, not against someone he loved. If he could do this, what the hell else would he do?
"What are you, high?" Dean demanded, needing something to say other than what he was currently thinking. He was going to throw up any minute now, especially if Castiel kept spouting out hurtful things like this. Dean was no delicate blossom, but seeing what would become of the man he loved was killing him, completely and utterly. "Why can't you zap me back?" What he didn't say was why can't you zap me back so I don't have to deal with this any more! "Uh, last time I was in 2009, Sam had just told me over the phone, and I was expecting you to come find me in the morning." He shook his head, disbelief painted over his features as he looked at the angel's choice of beverage. "No... but I want to know what the hell is going on, and why you're some sort of crazed hippie!"
~*~
Cas laughed till it hurt and then he laughed some more. He was losing his ever loving mind, well more than it was already gone. He couldn't handle this, couldn't handle Dean being like this to him again. He suddenly felt physically ill and his eyes glassed over as the bottle of bright green liquid fell to the wooden floor with a dull thud, the contents spilling out onto the filth crusted wood. Cas bent his head to stare at it as it flowed and ebbed its way along the boards and into the cracks. Giggling uncontrollable as he swayed dangerously.
He was standing just about as far from Dean as he could get, by the window next to his bed, the bed acting as some pathetic sort of shield from the man. He lifted his head and the grin turned into a grimace as his eyes met Dean's and suddenly he was bent over double vomiting hard onto the floor in front of him. The sick mixing with the green drink and his body was racked with sobs. He hadn't realised so much could come out when you had practically nothing in your stomach to begin with. He dry wretched when there was nothing but bile left and coughed violently as he stumbled forward to grasp desperately at the edge of the mattress to keep himself from collapsing completely.
His breathing was short and painful and he grabbed at his stomach with his other hand, still bent double at the pain in his chest and stomach. God did it hurt, this pain was so much worse than anything he'd felt during those times Dean used him as a punching bag. It was unbearable and he groaned out though stuttered breath.
"God, please just kill me.... make it stop... please Dean... JUST MAKE IT STOP" he screamed the last part out as he lost his battle with gravity and fell heavily to the floor, twisting so his back as leaning against the bed, he just managed to miss the mess he'd made and curled up into a ball. Knees coming to his chest and head buried deep into them, his arms wrapping around himself protectively.
It had been so long since he'd felt anything, so long since anyone had been able to touch him. So long since he'd allowed it to hurt so bad. He hissed and gasped at the pain and wished silently for death as sobs shuddered violently through his body. "FUCK" he growled too loudly. Why the hell did this guy have to do that, why did he have to come in here and tell him these things, say he was going to change it all, that he would make sure he never hurt him. That he was going to change the future. Did he think it would make Cas feel better? What a fucking joke that was. Didn't he understand that his words hurt more than anything his Dean could possibly say to him these days.
Castiel had accepted the pain, the hate, the violence. He knew that this was his life and his mind had found ways to deal with it. Fucked up ways yeah, but he was dealing ok. And then this asshole comes in and fucks with the natural order of things.... it just wasn't fair, how was he meant to handle this. How was he meant to deal with this.
Dean's voice was so soft, so gently, like he'd not heard it for years. His pain was so real, his words, every damn one of them, he meant them. And it fucking destroyed Cas all over again. How was he meant to shut it all down and feel nicely numb when faced by such painful and beautiful truth and love? "HOW" he shouted to himself. All he wanted was to curl around this Dean, feel loved just one more time. Fuck the fact it would completely break him, fuck the fact he'd never ever be even close to ok ever again if he did. Fuck the fact that it would hurt worse than anything ever had. He didn't fucking care anymore. He just wanted, so desperately it terrified him and he trembled violent as he felt like he was going to be sick again.
He had sworn he'd never feel again, had convinced himself that he didn't love Dean anymore, would never love him again. It all came crashing down around him, crushing him under its weight and he struggled to so much as breath. He really couldn't hear much of what Dean told him after he said he'd change it all. After that he'd been trapped inside his own head. Even now, tucked up into himself, he didn't even know where the man was... if he was even still there. Oh god he thought, please let him be gone.
He finally heard Dean's voice filtering through the roaring of his blood pounding painfully around his head and he lifted his head and fucking laughed at his words... eyes sparkling, still glassy but taking on a more than a little crazed look. "Why? WHY?" he asked, screamed at Dean. At some point Dean had rounded the bed and was standing looking down at Cas. He decided not to analyze the look he was getting right now, didn't need to add more shit to the heap. "Why the fuck not Dean? Why not drown myself in women and drugs? Give me one good fucking reason why not?" he snorted with a cold laugh as he uncurled from himself and raised himself onto his knees, crawling across the floor shakily until he was kneeling in front of Dean, his hands reaching out and clinging to the mans jeans.
He clawed at the fabric and dug his fingers in roughly, desperate to feel him again, to touch, to hold. He looked up at him, eyes wide and open. Pain and need and lust and more pain, inexpressible pain. Hopeless self-loathing and degradation, all of it was written in his deep eyes as he looked up at Dean, his hands moving slowly up from Dean's knees. Kneeding up his thighs, fingers gripping so tight it must have been painful. Begging with his eyes, his hands, his words.
"Please Dean, love me... fuck me, I need it, I need you... can't... just once, can't live without you anymore... please... please.... please." he whispered, begged. Chanting the please over and over again as his fingers continued to work up, reaching for Dean's belt, struggling to undo the buckle. Hands shaking, body trembling. He was lost, but he couldn't stop, needed this.
He was filthy, dirt and sweat stuck to his body and god only knew what he smelt like, but none of it mattered now. He had Dean back, his Dean, the one who still loved him, still needed him and Cas for one brief glorious moment let himself believe that this was ok, this was right. Even though he knew that it was so far from right you couldn't even see it from here. Even though deep down he knew this was going to kill him. Literally, he wouldn't survive this, didn't want to. He was ready for the end, hell he prayed for it over and over as he tried again and again to get Dean's button undone but his fingers wouldn't cooperate and he whimpered like a helpless puppy as he felt the tears stream down his face again... silent, helpless, shattering.
~*~
Dean should have gone to him, should have comforted him as he threw up and clearly was suffering with some awful pain. He was too frozen by the sight, frozen in fear, revulsion and hate. The hate was aimed at his future self, and the revulsion at not just Castiel's visceral reactions but at his own disgust of the angel he had once loved. This was awful, truly awful. The world was utterly fucked up and destroyed, and he one person in the world that he was in love with was more broken than the planet was. It was like a bad joke. He had come in here hoping for a comforting familiar face, maybe even something good to cling to in the madness that the world was fallen to. A joke it may have been, but only Cas was laughing, and it was a twisted, maddened laughter that made Dean's flesh creep.
He found himself moving towards Cas as he screamed for death, tears pouring openly down his face. He stopped himself from going any further when Cas curled into a ball, and while it poured acid on his already torn heart to see this, he couldn't bring himself to comfort him. He knew that his promise to change things had made Cas crumble like this. It had broken the rickety props Cas had been using to keep himself functioning, and Dean wanted to go ask his future self to beat on him instead of the angel, please, because he actually deserved it for making the poor man even worse.
"Why?" Dean asked, his voice breaking. "Because it's killing me to see you like this. It's fucking cutting me in two, Cas! This isn't you. You're supposed to be the stoic angel with a stick up his ass, but you were starting to cut loose with me... You're so much better than this, precious, I mean it. You're an angel, not some human junkball." He stopped, trying to relearn how to breathe like a regular jackoff, and not like a teenager having a bitch fit. This wasn't his angel. This was a sick, broken human who looked like him, sounded like him, but was not his Castiel. His Castiel wouldn't know how to get high. His angel would just do a bit of holy wax-on, wax-off and be clean and shiny in an instant. His... his angel wouldn't scream and laugh like an asylum lunatic needing a syringe full of happy juice. He looked away from Cas, eyeing the door like it was more than just an exit from the cabin. "You're sick, Cas. I need to get you a doctor or something."
He would find a doctor, insist that they make Cas well. Maybe someone would be able to run him a bath, get him sobered up, get his bruises and injuries treated; and maybe Dean would go to sleep that night without having nightmares of what he would become, and what he himself would be capable of doing in five year's time.
He would have left the cabin then, and it would have been a relief to be away from the smell, the sight and the horror that was his love in the future, only that nightmare was clutching at his jeans and begging him in a voice that made Dean's flesh creep and his heart twist all over again. He moved his hands to the dirt-crusted ones that were pawing at his belt, and he took them in his, holding them firmly, not letting him keep at his belt. He knelt, still holding the angel's hands, and looked into his eyes.
The blue of the iris was made all the more jarring by the crisscross of veins and blood vessels across the white of the eyes. His eyes were ringed with dark circles, his cheeks sunken, his lips... oh God... his lips were cracked and dry and sore looking, the stubble on his face was thick and wild. Dean hated that this was his angel. He would have loved him no matter what he looked like, but this was destroying him. This was Castiel the addict, Castiel the fallen!
"No, baby..." he whispered. "I'm not going to do this to you." Ignoring the smell, ignoring the deadened eyes, Dean pulled Castiel close against his chest. He held him, just held him and wished, begged, prayed whoever could hear him to fix him, to heal him, to make him his Castiel again. "You're not my Castiel," he murmured in the angel's ear. "And I'm not your Dean. But that doesn't mean I don't love you. There's no forgetting what future me has done to you. I know that, so I'm sorry for that. I wish I could fix you. I wish I could help you. The last thing you need right now is more indulgence. You need to get well, and damn it, I'm gonna try help you with that!"
He shook with sobs as he held him, clinging to him as tightly as he dared, running soothing warm fingers over damaged and filthy flesh, hoping desperately that he could fix him somehow. He had no idea how he possibly could do anything for him, but one thing Dean Winchester was not good at was giving up on a lost cause or a hopeless case. He was a hunter, his job had defined him for so long that he never wanted to give up on a person while they still drew breath, but it was hard... it was so hard trying to help Cas right now.
~*~
His head feel forward when he felt Dean grip his hands and hold them still. He didn't want Cas, not this pathetic shell that was before him. He had said it, that this wasn't Cas, that Cas was an angel, not some human junkie... "Not an angel anymore...." he whispered to the floor as he felt Dean kneel in front of him and he raised he's eyes slowly staring into Dean's vivid green. He still looked so young and whole to Cas and for a moment, just a tiny brief second, he allowed himself to remember this Dean. How it was then, how much he had cared about him...
He had stopped begging, his pleas of 'please' fading out as he fell silent and breathed heavy, uneven breaths. He was shattering and nothing he could do would stop it, nothing Dean could do would stop it. He was past help, past kindness, past hope... he was empty and worn out and ready for it to just be over. He felt his body slacken as all emotion, all pain, all everything left him.
And as Dean wrapped his arms around him and held him tight, Cas was gone, empty.... dead inside. He leaned against Dean, not for want of closeness but because he had lost the will to hold himself up and if it hadn't been for the man he would crumbled to the ground and stayed there until his need for the drugs had driven him to action. He didn't shiver, or cry, or speak. He didn't even listen. He was vaguely aware Dean was talking, but what he was saying he couldn't have told you.
He had given in one last time to his feelings, had asked for Dean, begged for him. And not even this Dean, the one who still loved him, wanted him anymore. Not this him, not this broken, torn shell of himself. If he had enough left in him he would have been fucking angry. It was Dean's fault he was like this, so who the fuck was he to say no, who the FUCK was he to not want him anymore.... However, he had nothing left inside that could spark the anger to life, nothing left to shove forward the tiniest itch that told him he should be angry right now.
Somewhere deep inside a small voice told him that maybe if he at least knew he should be angry, then maybe he wasn't completely gone yet. Wasn't yet completely dead inside... and that simply made him all the more ready to curl up and never move again. He liked this empty numbness, the still, weak quiet that stole over him as he slumped, dead weight against Dean. It was so much better than the pain, better than anything. He had finally broken, snapped and he found himself wondering why he couldn't have reached here sooner. Cause it was nice here, even the pain in his body was gone. He wasn't cold, he wasn't hot, he wasn't hurting at all. He literally felt... nothing.
His hands were hanging limp at his sides, his head fell heavy and dead against Dean's shoulder...
His eyes were blank and empty, if it weren't for his shallow breathing it would have looked like he were dead.
His thoughts, he still had them, but they were off only the mundane, unimportant variety. For example, what he was thinking right now..... how hard it would be to crawl onto the bed again.... and how he could do it with the arms around him holding him where he was....
... Who was holding him again? His brain couldn't quite register, he couldn't remember. He didn't know why either... maybe he was ill.... yeah maybe that's it. Cause he did feel funny...
As he withdrew, his memory blocked out the last few moments, as though the pain was too much so it just shut down... He remembered briefly that a Dean from the past had showed up... Huh, that was strange that was... but other than that he didn't know what was going on... he wondered vaguely where that Dean had gone, had he asked him what time he was from... he couldn't remember... he thought it might have been Zachariah who'd sent him here...
And then he stopped thinking about it and decided he couldn't care less... Unless it involved getting stoned right now, he wasn't fucking interested... he felt hollow and wonderfully numb and he decided that who ever was holding him could just let the fuck go cause he wanted to sleep dammit. And if there was no fucking involved then he was bloody well gonna...
"Need sleep" he mumbled as he finally found he remembered how to move his arms and pressed himself weakly away from the man in front of him as he lifted his head, eyes heavy and half way closed, he didn't even bother to look at who was with him, didn't care enough to look. He just kept trying to push them off so he could crawl away to the bed... maybe he'd get lucky and he'd die in his sleep... He wondered briefly if he'd go to heaven again if he died... and then snorted a weak laugh that made him cough violently. As if he would ever be seeing heaven again, what a fucking joke that was....
~*~
Dean held on tightly to Castiel for as long as he could. It was like clinging to a life-size doll. He could put his everything into the embrace, but at the end of it all there was nothing the doll could give back to him. It couldn't love, could scarcely move... Dean gripped him all the tighter, wanting to force him to respond and push the frightening images from his mind. Castiel... his Castiel who had gripped his shoulder and pulled him from the Pit, was as weak as a kitten against him, and it nearly made him pass out in horror.
"You'll always be my angel," Dean said softly, "I can promise you that. Even if you're not an angel any more." He kissed his ear then, and tried not to think about the unpleasant smell that lingered around his nostrils afterwards. "Cas, please... let me help you. Let me get you well. Once you're better, I can get your Dean to treat you right. I'll kick his ass if he tries to hurt you again. I swear, baby, I mean it..."
He was babbling. He needed to fill the silence coming from Cas, as if it were sucking on the air and pulling at his soul. Stupid, useless words spilled from his mouth, face-saving promises that he hoped would sweeten the blow of his rejection. He had refused him because it didn't feel right... it would be like taking advantage of some drunken chick in a bar who wasn't capable of remembering where she lived, let alone saying yes or no. He wouldn't be that guy. He wouldn't do that to Cas.
He stroked his hair, his back, anything he could reach while he still held him. Anything to stir some spark of life in this vacant doll. "Cas, Jesus Christ, just... say something. Please, say anything. Yell at me, tell me I'm a dick... anything!" Dean grunted, and shook Cas lightly, not wanting to hurt his damaged body any more than it already was. He was scared. Had it not been for the soft breath on his neck, Dean would have thought the angel was dead.
Panicked, he wondered if he really should go get him a doctor. Maybe he was having a bad trip from whatever fucked up shit he had been taking, or maybe he was just more broken by Dean's kindness than he had realised. When Cas finally murmured that he was tired, Dean almost sagged with relief. "We'll get you to bed, precious," Dean soothed. "I'll help you." He easily scooped Cas into his arms and carried him to the bed. He cringed at the sight of how filthy it was, and raised his foot to kick the disgusting mattress over. The other side was scarcely an improvement, but at least he wouldn't be putting the angel into the same shit he had been sleeping in for weeks.
He lay him down on the bed and quickly shrugged off his coat and shirt. The angel's skin felt cold, and Dean knew that he had to keep him warm if he was ill. The shirt went around the angel's body, and Dean - very, very gently - lifted his arms and put them in the sleeves. He fumbled the buttons as he tried to do them up, tears blurring his vision.
"I'm going to get you a doctor, Cas," Dean said. "And we'll have you back to your old self in no time, you hear me?" He didn't know if he was trying to reassure Castiel or himself. Terrified by how empty he looked, Dean crouched by the bed and stroked the angel's hair softly, trying to stir another reaction from him. "You'll be better soon," he mumbled, and kissed his forehead, tasting stale sweat and hair oil. He got rather unsteadily to his feet and paused, unwilling to leave him like this and equally unwilling to leave him like this without medical attention. Eventually, his concern overpowered his morbid curiosity, and he went looking for help.
TBC
Chapter Three up soon folks. Let me know what you think so far.
So this was one of the hardest chapters I've had to write so far. Cas in this is really messed up and needed me to get to places I don't like being so much! But in the end I think it's been worth it. As much as this chapter makes me wanna weep, I really like it. So please let me know what y'all think about it :D and I promise that eventually things will get better again.
Next up is a confrontation between Past!Dean and Future!Dean.
Rocket seattle Sounders
Authors: kimisgirl (wrote Cas, future!dean and Future!Cas) and doubledgedsword (wrote Dean)
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Rating/Warnings: NC17 this part. Non.Con (not this part but this story will include rape at one point) Mental and Physical abuse hinted at.
Summary: The future Dean finds himself in thanks to Zachariah is not like the past he has just left. He and Castiel are no longer together and he is shocked to find out just how bad it's gone for them. He is horrified by his future self and how broken he has become. Can he do anything
AN: This is a continuation of the "A love story" verse. It can stand alone if you don't want to read the previous story. But parts of it will make more sense if you do read it :D. This story is completely written and parts will be put up ever second day or so! Hope you like it.
Disclaimer: None of the supernatural characters or storylines belong to us :( -sad face-
Cold laughter that spoke more of something broken rather than something joyful fell from Castiel's lips. Dean felt something inside him break. The chilly venom in Castiel's voice and eyes seemed to pour through his veins and into his heart, making him feel cold, alone and heartbroken. He couldn't accept this.
His head was screaming at him, screaming right along with his heart that this wouldn't happen, would never happen, could never happen, never will happen and is not happening now, so get your ass back home and make the fuck sure it never GOD-DAMN HAPPENS, DO YOU HEAR ME? Dean was actually fighting back the urge to throw up, and it was only through sheer effort of will that he hadn't done so already. This wasn't his Castiel. It was something so broken it was unfixable, like a mirror shattered into smithereens.
"I didn't do this to you," Dean choked in protest. "But that sick son of a bitch who's me in the future did, and when I see him I'm gonna kick his sorry ass!" He had an overwhelming urge to vomit again as Cas turned, revealing in its full glory the extent of the rage that Dean would become capable of. Dean clapped a hand over his mouth and gagged, unable to believe his own eyes. He thought of his Cas, the one back home, and he couldn't imagine ever being able to raise his hands to him. He couldn't conceive of making the blue eyes he loved so much looking at him with such ubridled hatred as they did now. He didn't want to accept that the love they shared would be so corrupted in five years time that he would dare to use his angel as a punching bag.
He felt tears brim in his eyes and fall at last, unable to keep them in any longer. His heart was tearing to shreds, and all he wanted was to go home, cling to Castiel and tell him this was never going to happen to him. He was never going to change this drastically, not if Dean had anything to do with it. "Oh, Cas... I... I'm so sorry. I had no idea, I mean that..." Dean said, taking a step closer to the angel and wishing he could take him in his arms and make all his pain just vanish. "But I know now, I'm going to change everything once I get back. You won't end up like this. I'm not going to let this happen to you, baby, I mean it." He fully expected Cas to freak out at him for that, but he needed to say it. He needed him to know that he loved him enough to change things, and to make sure that they would have a future together that wasn't as doomed as this one.
He knew it would be even more cruel to try to heal him, to try to fix this somehow. Even if he did it out of love and grief, just one kiss, one embrace would probably hurt Cas worse than if he had actually raised his fists against him the way he allegedly one day would. He didn't want to think he was capable of violence like this, not against someone he loved. If he could do this, what the hell else would he do?
"What are you, high?" Dean demanded, needing something to say other than what he was currently thinking. He was going to throw up any minute now, especially if Castiel kept spouting out hurtful things like this. Dean was no delicate blossom, but seeing what would become of the man he loved was killing him, completely and utterly. "Why can't you zap me back?" What he didn't say was why can't you zap me back so I don't have to deal with this any more! "Uh, last time I was in 2009, Sam had just told me over the phone, and I was expecting you to come find me in the morning." He shook his head, disbelief painted over his features as he looked at the angel's choice of beverage. "No... but I want to know what the hell is going on, and why you're some sort of crazed hippie!"
~*~
Cas laughed till it hurt and then he laughed some more. He was losing his ever loving mind, well more than it was already gone. He couldn't handle this, couldn't handle Dean being like this to him again. He suddenly felt physically ill and his eyes glassed over as the bottle of bright green liquid fell to the wooden floor with a dull thud, the contents spilling out onto the filth crusted wood. Cas bent his head to stare at it as it flowed and ebbed its way along the boards and into the cracks. Giggling uncontrollable as he swayed dangerously.
He was standing just about as far from Dean as he could get, by the window next to his bed, the bed acting as some pathetic sort of shield from the man. He lifted his head and the grin turned into a grimace as his eyes met Dean's and suddenly he was bent over double vomiting hard onto the floor in front of him. The sick mixing with the green drink and his body was racked with sobs. He hadn't realised so much could come out when you had practically nothing in your stomach to begin with. He dry wretched when there was nothing but bile left and coughed violently as he stumbled forward to grasp desperately at the edge of the mattress to keep himself from collapsing completely.
His breathing was short and painful and he grabbed at his stomach with his other hand, still bent double at the pain in his chest and stomach. God did it hurt, this pain was so much worse than anything he'd felt during those times Dean used him as a punching bag. It was unbearable and he groaned out though stuttered breath.
"God, please just kill me.... make it stop... please Dean... JUST MAKE IT STOP" he screamed the last part out as he lost his battle with gravity and fell heavily to the floor, twisting so his back as leaning against the bed, he just managed to miss the mess he'd made and curled up into a ball. Knees coming to his chest and head buried deep into them, his arms wrapping around himself protectively.
It had been so long since he'd felt anything, so long since anyone had been able to touch him. So long since he'd allowed it to hurt so bad. He hissed and gasped at the pain and wished silently for death as sobs shuddered violently through his body. "FUCK" he growled too loudly. Why the hell did this guy have to do that, why did he have to come in here and tell him these things, say he was going to change it all, that he would make sure he never hurt him. That he was going to change the future. Did he think it would make Cas feel better? What a fucking joke that was. Didn't he understand that his words hurt more than anything his Dean could possibly say to him these days.
Castiel had accepted the pain, the hate, the violence. He knew that this was his life and his mind had found ways to deal with it. Fucked up ways yeah, but he was dealing ok. And then this asshole comes in and fucks with the natural order of things.... it just wasn't fair, how was he meant to handle this. How was he meant to deal with this.
Dean's voice was so soft, so gently, like he'd not heard it for years. His pain was so real, his words, every damn one of them, he meant them. And it fucking destroyed Cas all over again. How was he meant to shut it all down and feel nicely numb when faced by such painful and beautiful truth and love? "HOW" he shouted to himself. All he wanted was to curl around this Dean, feel loved just one more time. Fuck the fact it would completely break him, fuck the fact he'd never ever be even close to ok ever again if he did. Fuck the fact that it would hurt worse than anything ever had. He didn't fucking care anymore. He just wanted, so desperately it terrified him and he trembled violent as he felt like he was going to be sick again.
He had sworn he'd never feel again, had convinced himself that he didn't love Dean anymore, would never love him again. It all came crashing down around him, crushing him under its weight and he struggled to so much as breath. He really couldn't hear much of what Dean told him after he said he'd change it all. After that he'd been trapped inside his own head. Even now, tucked up into himself, he didn't even know where the man was... if he was even still there. Oh god he thought, please let him be gone.
He finally heard Dean's voice filtering through the roaring of his blood pounding painfully around his head and he lifted his head and fucking laughed at his words... eyes sparkling, still glassy but taking on a more than a little crazed look. "Why? WHY?" he asked, screamed at Dean. At some point Dean had rounded the bed and was standing looking down at Cas. He decided not to analyze the look he was getting right now, didn't need to add more shit to the heap. "Why the fuck not Dean? Why not drown myself in women and drugs? Give me one good fucking reason why not?" he snorted with a cold laugh as he uncurled from himself and raised himself onto his knees, crawling across the floor shakily until he was kneeling in front of Dean, his hands reaching out and clinging to the mans jeans.
He clawed at the fabric and dug his fingers in roughly, desperate to feel him again, to touch, to hold. He looked up at him, eyes wide and open. Pain and need and lust and more pain, inexpressible pain. Hopeless self-loathing and degradation, all of it was written in his deep eyes as he looked up at Dean, his hands moving slowly up from Dean's knees. Kneeding up his thighs, fingers gripping so tight it must have been painful. Begging with his eyes, his hands, his words.
"Please Dean, love me... fuck me, I need it, I need you... can't... just once, can't live without you anymore... please... please.... please." he whispered, begged. Chanting the please over and over again as his fingers continued to work up, reaching for Dean's belt, struggling to undo the buckle. Hands shaking, body trembling. He was lost, but he couldn't stop, needed this.
He was filthy, dirt and sweat stuck to his body and god only knew what he smelt like, but none of it mattered now. He had Dean back, his Dean, the one who still loved him, still needed him and Cas for one brief glorious moment let himself believe that this was ok, this was right. Even though he knew that it was so far from right you couldn't even see it from here. Even though deep down he knew this was going to kill him. Literally, he wouldn't survive this, didn't want to. He was ready for the end, hell he prayed for it over and over as he tried again and again to get Dean's button undone but his fingers wouldn't cooperate and he whimpered like a helpless puppy as he felt the tears stream down his face again... silent, helpless, shattering.
~*~
Dean should have gone to him, should have comforted him as he threw up and clearly was suffering with some awful pain. He was too frozen by the sight, frozen in fear, revulsion and hate. The hate was aimed at his future self, and the revulsion at not just Castiel's visceral reactions but at his own disgust of the angel he had once loved. This was awful, truly awful. The world was utterly fucked up and destroyed, and he one person in the world that he was in love with was more broken than the planet was. It was like a bad joke. He had come in here hoping for a comforting familiar face, maybe even something good to cling to in the madness that the world was fallen to. A joke it may have been, but only Cas was laughing, and it was a twisted, maddened laughter that made Dean's flesh creep.
He found himself moving towards Cas as he screamed for death, tears pouring openly down his face. He stopped himself from going any further when Cas curled into a ball, and while it poured acid on his already torn heart to see this, he couldn't bring himself to comfort him. He knew that his promise to change things had made Cas crumble like this. It had broken the rickety props Cas had been using to keep himself functioning, and Dean wanted to go ask his future self to beat on him instead of the angel, please, because he actually deserved it for making the poor man even worse.
"Why?" Dean asked, his voice breaking. "Because it's killing me to see you like this. It's fucking cutting me in two, Cas! This isn't you. You're supposed to be the stoic angel with a stick up his ass, but you were starting to cut loose with me... You're so much better than this, precious, I mean it. You're an angel, not some human junkball." He stopped, trying to relearn how to breathe like a regular jackoff, and not like a teenager having a bitch fit. This wasn't his angel. This was a sick, broken human who looked like him, sounded like him, but was not his Castiel. His Castiel wouldn't know how to get high. His angel would just do a bit of holy wax-on, wax-off and be clean and shiny in an instant. His... his angel wouldn't scream and laugh like an asylum lunatic needing a syringe full of happy juice. He looked away from Cas, eyeing the door like it was more than just an exit from the cabin. "You're sick, Cas. I need to get you a doctor or something."
He would find a doctor, insist that they make Cas well. Maybe someone would be able to run him a bath, get him sobered up, get his bruises and injuries treated; and maybe Dean would go to sleep that night without having nightmares of what he would become, and what he himself would be capable of doing in five year's time.
He would have left the cabin then, and it would have been a relief to be away from the smell, the sight and the horror that was his love in the future, only that nightmare was clutching at his jeans and begging him in a voice that made Dean's flesh creep and his heart twist all over again. He moved his hands to the dirt-crusted ones that were pawing at his belt, and he took them in his, holding them firmly, not letting him keep at his belt. He knelt, still holding the angel's hands, and looked into his eyes.
The blue of the iris was made all the more jarring by the crisscross of veins and blood vessels across the white of the eyes. His eyes were ringed with dark circles, his cheeks sunken, his lips... oh God... his lips were cracked and dry and sore looking, the stubble on his face was thick and wild. Dean hated that this was his angel. He would have loved him no matter what he looked like, but this was destroying him. This was Castiel the addict, Castiel the fallen!
"No, baby..." he whispered. "I'm not going to do this to you." Ignoring the smell, ignoring the deadened eyes, Dean pulled Castiel close against his chest. He held him, just held him and wished, begged, prayed whoever could hear him to fix him, to heal him, to make him his Castiel again. "You're not my Castiel," he murmured in the angel's ear. "And I'm not your Dean. But that doesn't mean I don't love you. There's no forgetting what future me has done to you. I know that, so I'm sorry for that. I wish I could fix you. I wish I could help you. The last thing you need right now is more indulgence. You need to get well, and damn it, I'm gonna try help you with that!"
He shook with sobs as he held him, clinging to him as tightly as he dared, running soothing warm fingers over damaged and filthy flesh, hoping desperately that he could fix him somehow. He had no idea how he possibly could do anything for him, but one thing Dean Winchester was not good at was giving up on a lost cause or a hopeless case. He was a hunter, his job had defined him for so long that he never wanted to give up on a person while they still drew breath, but it was hard... it was so hard trying to help Cas right now.
~*~
His head feel forward when he felt Dean grip his hands and hold them still. He didn't want Cas, not this pathetic shell that was before him. He had said it, that this wasn't Cas, that Cas was an angel, not some human junkie... "Not an angel anymore...." he whispered to the floor as he felt Dean kneel in front of him and he raised he's eyes slowly staring into Dean's vivid green. He still looked so young and whole to Cas and for a moment, just a tiny brief second, he allowed himself to remember this Dean. How it was then, how much he had cared about him...
He had stopped begging, his pleas of 'please' fading out as he fell silent and breathed heavy, uneven breaths. He was shattering and nothing he could do would stop it, nothing Dean could do would stop it. He was past help, past kindness, past hope... he was empty and worn out and ready for it to just be over. He felt his body slacken as all emotion, all pain, all everything left him.
And as Dean wrapped his arms around him and held him tight, Cas was gone, empty.... dead inside. He leaned against Dean, not for want of closeness but because he had lost the will to hold himself up and if it hadn't been for the man he would crumbled to the ground and stayed there until his need for the drugs had driven him to action. He didn't shiver, or cry, or speak. He didn't even listen. He was vaguely aware Dean was talking, but what he was saying he couldn't have told you.
He had given in one last time to his feelings, had asked for Dean, begged for him. And not even this Dean, the one who still loved him, wanted him anymore. Not this him, not this broken, torn shell of himself. If he had enough left in him he would have been fucking angry. It was Dean's fault he was like this, so who the fuck was he to say no, who the FUCK was he to not want him anymore.... However, he had nothing left inside that could spark the anger to life, nothing left to shove forward the tiniest itch that told him he should be angry right now.
Somewhere deep inside a small voice told him that maybe if he at least knew he should be angry, then maybe he wasn't completely gone yet. Wasn't yet completely dead inside... and that simply made him all the more ready to curl up and never move again. He liked this empty numbness, the still, weak quiet that stole over him as he slumped, dead weight against Dean. It was so much better than the pain, better than anything. He had finally broken, snapped and he found himself wondering why he couldn't have reached here sooner. Cause it was nice here, even the pain in his body was gone. He wasn't cold, he wasn't hot, he wasn't hurting at all. He literally felt... nothing.
His hands were hanging limp at his sides, his head fell heavy and dead against Dean's shoulder...
His eyes were blank and empty, if it weren't for his shallow breathing it would have looked like he were dead.
His thoughts, he still had them, but they were off only the mundane, unimportant variety. For example, what he was thinking right now..... how hard it would be to crawl onto the bed again.... and how he could do it with the arms around him holding him where he was....
... Who was holding him again? His brain couldn't quite register, he couldn't remember. He didn't know why either... maybe he was ill.... yeah maybe that's it. Cause he did feel funny...
As he withdrew, his memory blocked out the last few moments, as though the pain was too much so it just shut down... He remembered briefly that a Dean from the past had showed up... Huh, that was strange that was... but other than that he didn't know what was going on... he wondered vaguely where that Dean had gone, had he asked him what time he was from... he couldn't remember... he thought it might have been Zachariah who'd sent him here...
And then he stopped thinking about it and decided he couldn't care less... Unless it involved getting stoned right now, he wasn't fucking interested... he felt hollow and wonderfully numb and he decided that who ever was holding him could just let the fuck go cause he wanted to sleep dammit. And if there was no fucking involved then he was bloody well gonna...
"Need sleep" he mumbled as he finally found he remembered how to move his arms and pressed himself weakly away from the man in front of him as he lifted his head, eyes heavy and half way closed, he didn't even bother to look at who was with him, didn't care enough to look. He just kept trying to push them off so he could crawl away to the bed... maybe he'd get lucky and he'd die in his sleep... He wondered briefly if he'd go to heaven again if he died... and then snorted a weak laugh that made him cough violently. As if he would ever be seeing heaven again, what a fucking joke that was....
~*~
Dean held on tightly to Castiel for as long as he could. It was like clinging to a life-size doll. He could put his everything into the embrace, but at the end of it all there was nothing the doll could give back to him. It couldn't love, could scarcely move... Dean gripped him all the tighter, wanting to force him to respond and push the frightening images from his mind. Castiel... his Castiel who had gripped his shoulder and pulled him from the Pit, was as weak as a kitten against him, and it nearly made him pass out in horror.
"You'll always be my angel," Dean said softly, "I can promise you that. Even if you're not an angel any more." He kissed his ear then, and tried not to think about the unpleasant smell that lingered around his nostrils afterwards. "Cas, please... let me help you. Let me get you well. Once you're better, I can get your Dean to treat you right. I'll kick his ass if he tries to hurt you again. I swear, baby, I mean it..."
He was babbling. He needed to fill the silence coming from Cas, as if it were sucking on the air and pulling at his soul. Stupid, useless words spilled from his mouth, face-saving promises that he hoped would sweeten the blow of his rejection. He had refused him because it didn't feel right... it would be like taking advantage of some drunken chick in a bar who wasn't capable of remembering where she lived, let alone saying yes or no. He wouldn't be that guy. He wouldn't do that to Cas.
He stroked his hair, his back, anything he could reach while he still held him. Anything to stir some spark of life in this vacant doll. "Cas, Jesus Christ, just... say something. Please, say anything. Yell at me, tell me I'm a dick... anything!" Dean grunted, and shook Cas lightly, not wanting to hurt his damaged body any more than it already was. He was scared. Had it not been for the soft breath on his neck, Dean would have thought the angel was dead.
Panicked, he wondered if he really should go get him a doctor. Maybe he was having a bad trip from whatever fucked up shit he had been taking, or maybe he was just more broken by Dean's kindness than he had realised. When Cas finally murmured that he was tired, Dean almost sagged with relief. "We'll get you to bed, precious," Dean soothed. "I'll help you." He easily scooped Cas into his arms and carried him to the bed. He cringed at the sight of how filthy it was, and raised his foot to kick the disgusting mattress over. The other side was scarcely an improvement, but at least he wouldn't be putting the angel into the same shit he had been sleeping in for weeks.
He lay him down on the bed and quickly shrugged off his coat and shirt. The angel's skin felt cold, and Dean knew that he had to keep him warm if he was ill. The shirt went around the angel's body, and Dean - very, very gently - lifted his arms and put them in the sleeves. He fumbled the buttons as he tried to do them up, tears blurring his vision.
"I'm going to get you a doctor, Cas," Dean said. "And we'll have you back to your old self in no time, you hear me?" He didn't know if he was trying to reassure Castiel or himself. Terrified by how empty he looked, Dean crouched by the bed and stroked the angel's hair softly, trying to stir another reaction from him. "You'll be better soon," he mumbled, and kissed his forehead, tasting stale sweat and hair oil. He got rather unsteadily to his feet and paused, unwilling to leave him like this and equally unwilling to leave him like this without medical attention. Eventually, his concern overpowered his morbid curiosity, and he went looking for help.
TBC
Chapter Three up soon folks. Let me know what you think so far.
So this was one of the hardest chapters I've had to write so far. Cas in this is really messed up and needed me to get to places I don't like being so much! But in the end I think it's been worth it. As much as this chapter makes me wanna weep, I really like it. So please let me know what y'all think about it :D and I promise that eventually things will get better again.
Next up is a confrontation between Past!Dean and Future!Dean.
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