Tumblr Prompt Fics and Mini Fusions
Prompt: Resident Evil
Spoilers: for the ending of RE2
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Castiel, mentions of Jo, Anna, and Lilith
Rating: R
Warnings: gore, pseudo-character death
Wordcount: 1623
Summary: Dean should have known better than to trust a stranger.
Dean traipses through the dimly lit halls of the lab, his ears still ringing from everything Lilith had told him. Castiel, an agent just looking to get his hands on a sample of the G-virus. He supposes that answers the question of why Cas had taken off without him, injured or not. He kicks at a piece of debris on the floor, feeling a small measure of satisfaction when it pings off the wall and bounces down the hallway. He should have known better to trust a stranger in this mess, he knows that, but he honestly doesn’t think he’d still be here if it weren’t for Cas…
Whatever, he thinks. It doesn’t matter, he’s gone. He got what he came for.
When a ceiling panel crashes to the floor behind him, he wants to kick himself for being so busy moping that he hadn’t been paying attention. When the giant freak in the army coat that’s been chasing him since he got to the police station follows the panel, he’s more concerned with getting out of there than with punishing himself for his own stupidity.
Dean doesn’t stick around to watch the freak stand up straight; he knows from the last few encounters with the creepy son of a bitch that bullets don’t really do much, and he’s running low on ammo. So he turns tail and runs as quick as he can. The bullet wound in his shoulder aches and throbs with every breath, hindering his progress.
He goes for the first door he finds, drags it open, and keeps going. The metal catwalk he finds himself on clangs as he runs, and he spares one nervous glance for the molten metal in large vats several stories below as he goes by. He’s more concerned with looking for another room to duck into than the pits of doom below.
“Fuck!” He stumbles to a stop when he rounds a corner, and comes to a dead end. No way out, no where to hide, and he can hear the steady thud… thud… thud of the monster’s feet on the catwalk behind him.
He looks down at the gun in his hand. He’s got half a mag in that, a full clip in the pistol holstered at his hip. Castiel had taken off with the shotgun, and a good chunk of the ammo he’d scrounged from the weapons locker in the station, and from the dead cops. Bastard.
He turns, ready to shoot his pursuer and then bolt at the first available opportunity. The freak is such a large target, there’s no way he can miss. So of course, something else has to go wrong. He pulls the trigger, and gets nothing but a dull click in return, tries again, same result.
Fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
Of all the times the piece of shit could have jammed… He tries to go for the pistol still in its holster, but the monster is already too close, and he can’t even lift the gun before a massive fist collides with his chest, sending him backwards into the wall. All of his breath leaves him in one go, and he crumples to the ground, wheezing and choking.
He can hear the heavy footsteps getting closer again.
Well, no one can say he didn’t give escaping a good try. He hopes Jo and Anna fare better than he has-
“Hey, assbutt!”
As far as battle cries go, Dean’s heard better, but he could care less at the moment, because that voice, and the gunfire that follows are a godsend. His vision clears in time for him to see the monster turning to face the intruder, and Cas, in all his tattered, bloody glory, firing round after round into the creature’s gray flesh.
The creature takes a swipe at Cas with one gargantuan arm, which Cas ducks. He isn’t so lucky avoiding the other hand.
“CAS!” Dean is on his feet in a second, though he wobbles a bit at first.
The creature has Cas by the throat, lifting him high up into the air and squeezing. But Castiel has enough of his wits about him to keep shooting; he shoves his gun right in his captor’s face and squeezes off several more rounds, blood spraying everywhere. The monster convulses, and tosses Castiel aside like a ragdoll, and Dean can only watch as his companion slams into a nearby computer console hard enough to shatter glass and dent the face of the console its self. Dean feels his stomach drop at the sickening crunch and crack that he can’t convince himself was just the console giving way.
Electricity crackles and arcs from exposed wires as the creature, bleeding profusely from just about everywhere, stumbles for a second, then topples over the edge of the safety railing, into the vat of superheated metal below. Dean can’t even dredge up any relief for that small victory, because Castiel is lying in a bloody, contorted heap on the floor, and he isn’t moving.
Dean hobbles to his side as quickly as fast-forming bruises and aches will allow, kneels down, and gathers the limp form in his arms. “Cas? Hey, Cas, wake up, man. You did good, but we gotta get outta here.”
For a moment he thinks he’s talking to a corpse, and he doesn’t want to examine the stutter of his heartbeat when he thinks it too closely. But then Castiel coughs, and groans. His eyes flutter open, then closed again, then back open, and Dean would be relieved to see those baby blues looking at him if they didn’t look distant, and glassy. “I believe I evened the score,” Cas wheezes.
“Bullshit,” Dean says, around the lump in his throat. “Sure, this makes up for me taking a bullet for you, but you gotta make up for being a lying bastard, too.”
“My… My apologies… I didn’t expect…” Cas’ breathing is labored, rattling in his throat. He doesn’t continue.
Dean shakes him. “Cas? God damn it, stay with me! You didn’t expect what?”
“To… feel anything… for you,” Cas forces out. “I was- wasn’t supposed to get close.”
“So why’d you come back, you stupid son of a bitch?” It takes Dean a moment to realize he’s shaking, and gripping a fistful of Cas’ shirt hard enough that his knuckles have turned white. Cas should have just gotten out, shouldn’t have bothered coming back for him…
“We-” Cas cuts himself off with a wet cough. “We… had a date…”
Dean would laugh, if he could. He’d jokingly said Cas owed him dinner after making him strip so he could get the bullet out of Dean’s shoulder. He hadn’t expected Cas to either agree, or take it seriously. “We’ve still got it, okay?” His eyes burn, and he knows his voice is wrecked- a neon sign that he’s lying… But he suspects Cas would know that, regardless. “We’ll get out of here, get you patched up, then we’ll go to this bar I know in my hometown. Sound good?”
Cas tries to say something, but can’t quite manage it, so he settles for a weak nod instead.
A siren blares somewhere, and Dean’s sure that means that something else has decided to go wrong somewhere in the facility, but right now, Cas is what matters. “I’m still gonna make you pay for lying to me, when you get back on your feet.” When Castiel doesn’t immediately respond, he releases Cas’ shirt, and brushes his fingers through Cas’ hair, trying to get him to focus, to stay in the land of the living just that much longer. “Cas? Stay awake. If you die on me, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
That gets something that might have been a chuckle out of Cas, were he capable. He reaches up with a bloody, mangled hand and traces the line of Dean’s jaw, leaving a streak of red in his wake. They both know there isn’t much time left. Maybe that’s what makes Dean lean down to kiss Castiel, or maybe its just that he’d wanted to do it since the guy saved his skin- admittedly after getting him shot in the first place- and revealed that he was actually human, and not some emotionless robot…
“Get out of here,” Cas breathes out, when Dean pulls back to look at him once more.
Dean doesn’t protest, knows it won’t do any good. He can hear Cas’ breathing slowing down, feel his heartbeat faltering.
It still doesn’t prepare him for Cas’ eyes sliding shut, and his body turning to dead weight in Dean’s arms. “Cas? Cas, come on, man, don’t do this to me, please! Cas!”
He doesn’t expect a response, and he doesn’t get one. He pulls Cas’ lean frame tight to his chest, and simply holds on to him for what seems like a long time, ignoring the blood seeping through his uniform, and coating his hands. Why couldn’t Cas have just left? Dean wasn’t worth dying for…
The self-destruct sequence has been activated. This sequence may not be aborted. All employees proceed to the emergency car at the bottom platform.
The detached, tinny, robotic voice drags Dean back to reality, however reluctant he may be to face it. He looks down at Cas’ body. The poor bastard died for him, he’s gonna make sure he gets out, and gets Jo, and Anna out, too, so that at least Cas won’t have died for nothing.
See you in another life…
He places Cas gently on the floor, gathers his weapons, grits his teeth, and walks out. He has a train to catch.
Prompt: The Mummy
Spoilers: Only for the Mummy
Characters: Castiel, Dean, Balthazar
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 515
Summary: "You want to play around with something called the 'Book of the Dead'?"
Castiel has never been particularly good at waiting, and he’s been itching for the right moment ever since he saw that Egyptologist- what was his name? Samuel?- trying to pry open the big black book he and the Americans had found. Balthazar has drank himself into a stupor with the broken bottle of scotch they’d found in Roy’s bag- Castiel shudders remembering the way he had run himself into that wall- and all of the Americans have long since been asleep.
The trouble is one Dean Winchester, whom has remained far too alert all night for Castiel to be able to slip away without being noticed.
But now, finally, it looks as though he’s drifted off. So Castiel carefully picks his way through the camp, stepping over people where he has to, until he reaches the Egyptologist, who still has the book clutched tightly to his chest, along with one of the canopic jars Castiel has seen the Americans flaunting about.
It’s almost too easy to wrest the book from Samuel’s grip.
Feeling quite proud of himself, Castiel picks his way back to the fire to dig through Balthazar’s bag, looking for the key.
“That’s called stealing, y’know,” says Dean, from where he had supposedly been asleep. Castiel looks back at him, then throws a significant glance at the tool kit Dean had borrowed from the American archaeologist. Dean follows his gaze and shrugs. “Fair enough.”
Castiel finally finds the key, buried in the bottom of his brother’s bag, and takes a seat by the fire as Dean moves to sit next to him, staring at the book. “I thought the book of Amun-Ra was made of pure gold.”
“It is,” says Castiel, opening the key and placing it in its setting on the book. “This isn’t the book of Amun-Ra. I believe this is the Book of the Dead.”
Dean gives him an incredulous look. “You want to play around with something called the Book of the Dead?”
“You led an expedition to the City of the Dead,” Castiel reminds him, as the locks on the book spring open. “I fail to see what harm can come from reading a book.” He opens it, carefully, reverently. The writing in this hasn’t been seen for over three thousand years. It’s almost exciting enough to keep him from noticing the gust of wind, and the way the fire dies down for a moment as he exposes the first page. Almost.
“That happens a lot around here,” says Dean, staring at the book like it’s going to make the wind gust again, or perhaps come to life.
Castiel shakes his head. He doesn’t know Dean well, but he does know that silly superstition is likely prone to clouding the man’s judgement. He’d certainly seemed frightened enough of Hamunaptra. So had everyone else. As if there really was some curse on the place, and the dead were going to rise. All of it nonsense.
With that in mind, Castiel clears his throat, and starts to read the first inscription.
Prompt: Princess Mononoke
Spoilers: just for Princess Mononoke
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Mary, Sam, Adam
Warnings: Well, Mary, Sam, and Adam are talking wolves...
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1383 (#1: 934, #2: 499)
Summary: All Castiel wants is for Dean to be safe
Castiel’s fever induced dreams are troubled for the most part, and the only reprieve is when he hears Dean’s voice, telling him he’s going to be okay- among other things… namely that he is a “stubborn bastard”.
He hears other voices too: once he hears Adam ask if they may eat the elk now, and hears Sam’s mumbled agreement. He only just catches the beginning of Dean scolding the pups he calls brothers before he slips back into his dreams of blood and death, and a war he’s sure is coming.
He manages to wake up once, and sit up for just a moment. Dean is only a few feet away, curled up against Sam’s side, buried in the pup’s dark fur for warmth. Adam lies stretched along Sam’s opposite side, gigantic paws twitching as he dreams.
Dean cracks an eye open, mumbles, “Go back to sleep,” and tucks himself tighter against his brother.
Castiel can’t find the strength to disobey.
The next time he comes to, it’s because his arm aches. He can feel the mark pulsing and burning all the way up to his shoulder now… It’s gotten much larger since Iron Town. Clutching his arm, trying hard not to think about how quickly his death seems to be approaching, he forces himself up, knocking aside the thick fur that had been draped over him. The wolves are gone, leaving Dean curled into a tight ball on a pallet of leaves, tucked under the fur cloak he seems so fond of. He looks so much more peaceful asleep than he does awake.
Castiel almost wants to reach out and touch, to run his fingers through Dean’s hair, but he’s almost certain the action would cost him his hand. Instead, he shoves himself to his feet and wanders out of the cave. The cliff it sits on overlooks the forest, and Castiel breathes in the cool night air.
“So, you’re awake,” the booming, bell of a voice might have made him jump, had he not known that he wasn’t alone.
“It would appear so.” Castiel turns and looks up; Mary is perched atop the rocks that form the cave, in all her golden-furred, twin-tailed glory. “I have Dean to thank for that.” It isn’t a question; he knows the wolves would never have taken care of him, and he doesn’t blame them for it.
“You should be thankful to him, human,” says Mary. “I’d have eaten you and been done with it, but my son chose to save you.”
Castiel inclines his head, both in acknowledgement and respect. He doubts that the option of eating him has entirely left her mind. He turns back to the forest. “It isn’t as peaceful as it seems, is it?”
“No. The boars are marching for war.” She sighs, and to Castiel it feels like a hot gust of wind hitting his back. “They’re going to their deaths… There is no hope against the humans.”
“So you won’t help them?”
Mary chuckles. “I am in no condition to help them, Castiel. The bullet in me will kill me soon enough.”
So even Mary, great goddess of the wolves, has lost hope. Castiel wonders if he might get a similar response if he were to talk to Sam, or Adam, or perhaps some of the boar tribe. He’s not giving up, not yet. There hasn’t been a battle yet, there’s still time to come to a peaceful resolution between the forest and Iron Town, if only someone would stop to listen. But even so, there is going to be bloodshed. He isn’t naive enough to think that this will end without some sort of fight, and he finds himself worried for Dean. Because Dean is going to be on the front lines with his brothers, working to save the forest, regardless of Mary’s lack of hope.
“So send Dean away,” he says. “If you believe that there’s no hope, send him away where he’ll be safe.”
Mary laughs, the sound echoing through the night, startling birds from the trees. “If you truly believe you can convince my son to run away with you, Castiel, be my guest. But he is more wolf than he is human; he feels the same connection to the forest that I do. He won’t leave willingly.”
Castiel glares at her. “So you’ll let him die with you?”
Mary stands suddenly, hackles raised, teeth bared, and Castiel is suddenly reminded that he is speaking to a god. “I would give anything to save my sons, but what they do now is their choice. I will not force them.” She settles back on the rocks, a growl still rumbling in her throat. “I want you gone by sunrise. Don’t come back. Am I clear?”
Castiel stands his ground for a moment longer, giving the goddess a defiant glare before he finally bows, and wanders back into the cave. He practically collapses onto his leaf bed.
“You okay?” Dean’s sleep-slurred voice makes him jump.
“I’m fine… Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Dean mumbles something unintelligible and seems to drift immediately back to sleep. Castiel favors him with a fond smile before he throws his own blanket over him. He doubts he’s going to get much more sleep anyway.
It can’t be more than a few hours until sunrise: he has until then to come up with a plan to save Dean, the forest, and the people of Iron Town before the curse finally consumes him.
The world is dying all around them, and all Castiel can see is Dean, standing further up the hill with his brothers, shaking with rage.
“Dean, we have to hurry.”
“No,” Dean hisses, as Castiel gets to his feet and approaches him. “You chose your side, Cas, so just take that damn woman, and go away.”
Castiel keeps moving, arms held out like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. He supposes that in a way, he is. “Dean, it’s me. You know I’m on your side.”
“You’re just another bastard of a human,” says Dean, grip tightening around the small silver dagger Castiel had given him. “I should have just left you to rot, but I didn’t, and now look what’s happened… Go ahead and ask me again why I hate humans.”
“You’re human.” Just a few more steps, and Castiel will be able to grab the boy, but he doesn’t want to have to force Dean into anything. But if he has no other choice but to drag Dean out of the forest to save him from his own stubbornness, then so be it. He can live with Dean hating him. He can’t live with Dean dead.
Dean flinches at the reminder of what he is, but the break in his defenses is only momentary. “Shut up! I’m not one of you, you son of a bitch!” Over the sound of the dying animals and screaming soldiers, Castiel can hear Dean’s brothers growling in warning. Surely they know by now everything he does is to help their sibling.
“Dean…”
“Get away from me!” As Castiel takes the last few steps towards him, Dean raises the dagger, and brings it home in the center of Castiel’s chest. Castiel doesn’t even flinch and Dean stares wide-eyed at him as he brings his arms around the boy and pulls him tight to his chest.
Dean goes easily, the fight taken out of him. “It’s over, Cas,” he mumbles into Castiel’s shoulder. “Everything’s dying… What the hell are we supposed to do?”
“We don’t surrender,” says Castiel. “We still have time to fix this.” He pushes Dean back slightly to look him in the eye. He looks every bit the troubled, frightened boy that he is. He shouldn’t, not with everything falling apart as they stand there, but Castiel can’t help kissing him, brief and chaste, and everything he could possibly want. “Are you going to help me, or not?”
Dean stares at him blankly for several long moments before he nods. “What are we going to do?”
“We get the Spirit’s head back.”
Prompt: Underworld
Spoilers: Only for Underworld
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, mentions of Anna, Lisa, and Ben
Warnings: References to past, minor character deaths
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 981
Summary: Castiel keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the building across the street. He shouldn’t allow this… creature to affect him so, but something draws him to Dean, makes him want the lycan to understand him, to look at him with something other than fear, and revulsion.
“So what,” Dean spits, “You’re gonna shoot me when you’re done with me because those are your orders? I didn’t ask for this to happen to me, and I sure as hell don’t deserve a bullet to the head for it… But you don’t care, do you? You’re just a damn hammer, striking whatever you’re told to…”
Castiel keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the building across the street. He shouldn’t allow this… creature to affect him so, but something draws him to Dean, makes him want the lycan to understand him, to look at him with something other than fear, and revulsion.
Still, it takes him a long time to say, “The lycans killed my family. My father heard them before I did, and he tried to save the horses… By the time I got to the barn, he was already dead. When I returned to the house…” Castiel takes a breath, steeling himself, trying to ignore the flashes of memory playing in his head. “When I returned to the house, I found my mother and my sister, torn to pieces. And my nephews…” Twin boys, not even six yet, ripped limb from limb, left in a pool of congealing blood in their own beds.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dean duck his head, and hears the muttered, “Jesus.”
“The next thing I remember, Anael was watching over me. She’d saved me from the lycans… She turned me.”
“And let you go on a revenge quest,” says Dean. “How’s that working out for you?”
Castiel ignores the question, because six centuries of putting down those filthy dogs has done nothing to alleviate his grief. “I’m not a hammer. I don’t simply follow orders, whatever you may think.”
“Fine, so you’re not a robot. But I gotta say, Cas, I don’t exactly like the idea of being shot for a murder I had nothing to do with anymore than I do being shot ‘cause someone told you to.”
He has a point. Which means it’s time for a change in subject. “Who are the woman, and the boy in your photos? Your wife and son?”
Dean shrinks back in his chair, face going blank. “Something like that. They’re dead. Died a long time ago, so just… leave it alone.”
“As you wish… I have to go. The sun will be rising soon.”
“Alright, sunshine, where we headed then?” Dean stand, and stretches, joints popping and cracking.
“Not we, me,” says Castiel. He grabs his pistol from the windowsill and faces his companion. “You’re staying here.”
“Like hell. You’re the only source of info I got, Cas. I’m going with you.”
Castiel ignores him. “I’ll be back tomorrow, hopefully before the moon rises.”
“That’s great, but I’m not staying here.”
“The death dealers will kill you on sight if you come anywhere near the mansion,” says Castiel. “I am going to attempt to convince the council to grant you sanctuary, but until then, you’re safer here.”
“Tough shit,” says Dean, as Castiel steps into his space. He really has no time to argue. “If you think you can tell me to sit and stay like a good little dog you- mmph!”
Castiel cuts him off mid-rant with a hard kiss. Dean’s hands flail for a moment and his body goes rigid before he settles one arm around Castiel’s neck, and the other hand on the vampire’s hip and pulls him in closer, kissing back like he’s been wanting to do this. The race of his heart is intoxicating, the way his blood rushes through his veins with renewed vigor… But Castiel can’t let himself get lost in this, no matter how good it feels, no matter how much he would like to remain pressed against Dean, soaking in the heat of his body…
Dean goes still again when Castiel pushes the hand at his hip back, and snaps the metal cuff chained to the chair around his wrist. Castiel steps back, and Dean blinks at him, expression somewhat dazed for a moment until he looks down at his bound wrist. He looks back up at Castiel and for a second, he looks genuinely hurt, but then the look turns into a harsh glare, and Castiel wonders if he imagined it. “You son of a bitch!” Dean takes a swing with his free hand that Castiel easily dodges.
“It’s the full moon tomorrow,” says Castiel, voice calm: quite the contrast to Dean’s frenzied yanking at the chain tethering him to the chair. “When the moon rises, you will turn, and you will hunt, and you will kill. It’s unavoidable. You’re too dangerous to be left free.” He contemplates his pistol for a moment, then offers it to Dean. “One round won’t kill you, but it might slow the transformation. I hope to return before moonrise, but if I don’t, use it.”
Still giving Castiel a scathing glare, Dean takes the gun, and for a moment, looks like he’s considering shooting Castiel. Not that it would do him any good. He apparently thinks better of it, because he lets his hand fall to his side. “Just get the fuck out.”
He does wish he hadn’t had to trick Dean, as he had, but the one thing he knows for certain about the lycan is that he’s stubborn, and he wasn’t going to voluntarily stay here. “I am sorry for this… And I’ll be back.” He ignores Dean’s curses and name calling as he leaves. He tries not to think about how hurt Dean had looked when he realized Castiel had only kissed him as a distraction…
…That was, after all, the only reason he’d done it. The only reason.
Prompt: Sam marries Sarah Blake, and Dean meets Castiel at their wedding
Spoilers: For season 1
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Sarah, Dean/Cas pre-slash
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 921
Summary: Dean's happy for Sam, really, but he can't help but be jealous.
He’d told Sam to marry that girl. He hadn’t actually thought the giant idiot would do it, but he did: he married Sarah Blake. So now Dean stands back, an empty glass held loosely in his hands, and tries to stay out of the way. There are too many people around, people he doesn’t know. Sarah’s family’s high society “friends”- Sarah had used the quotations when telling Sam and Dean just how many people were supposed to be present for the event- and Dean has spent a great deal of his time today rather effectively avoiding speaking to any of them.
Out on the dance floor, Sarah laughs as Sam says something in her ear, and Dean feels a sharp and unexpected spike of jealousy. His grip tightens briefly on his empty glass as he watches his brother and new sister-in-law spin their way ungracefully around the room, both of them grinning like idiots and laughing far too loud when someone steps on the edge of Sarah’s dress and brings her to an abrupt halt.
It isn’t that Dean isn’t happy for his brother, because he is. Sarah is everything he could have ever wanted for Sammy. And it isn’t that he wants Sarah. Sure, maybe when they’d first met, but she’s definitely Sam’s type through and through. It isn’t that Sam is kinda being stolen from him, which yeah, he’d maybe seen it as for a while… Right around the time when Sam stopped calling it “Sarah’s place” and started calling it “home”, when “we” stopped meaning only ‘Sam and Dean’ and instead meant ‘Sam and Sarah’…
He’s jealous that Sam has a home, has a “we” outside of his brother, has someone to come home to after a rough hunt- or someone to come home with after a rough hunt if Sarah has her way- has a life outside of the hunt, outside of Dean. Because Dean’s left with nothing… Just an old car and a future probably filled with lone hunts when Sam and Sarah decide they’d rather settle down than be on the road more often than not, and Dean won’t be able to blame them.
He’d kill for what Sam has right now. For all his wisecracking about the civilian life, and enjoying his job… He’s tired. So damn tired of never stopping, never resting, of killing some big bad only to find that something worse has cropped up a few states over. He wants somewhere other than his car to call home, he wants someone like Sarah to either come home to, or come home with. He doesn’t want to be alone while his family moves on.
“How long do these functions normally last?” a gravel-rough voice comes from almost directly behind him, making Dean jump.
He turns and finds himself staring at a man who is definitely not dressed for a wedding. At least, not one as fancy as this: even Dean had been forced into a tux. The guy in front of him- and he’s way too close, like the concept of personal space is foreign to him- is in a rumpled suit and wrinkled tan trench, his tie is askew. His hair looks like it’s never seen a comb. Striking blue eyes surveil the celebrations with mild irritation.
Dean takes a step back to try and get enough distance between them that it looks like maybe something slightly resembling respectable. “Who’re you, the family tax accountant?”
The stranger looks at him like he’d forgotten Dean was right there in front of him. After a moment, he says, “I’m Castiel… Miss Blake insisted I attend. She seemed under the impression that spending the evening cataloging the shipment of rare manuscripts she procured for me wasn’t an acceptable substitute for social interaction.”
Dean grins. That sounds like Sarah. “You could always bail while she’s not looking.”
“I have already attempted to do so. Somehow she caught me. You’re Dean?”
“Guilty.” Dean holds a hand out for Castiel- the hell kind of a name is that anyway?- to shake.
Castiel regards his hand like it’s some sort of alien object before he finally takes it. But he doesn’t shake; he holds it firmly with both hands and gives Dean a rather intimidating, intense stare. “Sarah speaks highly of you, and your brother. It is nice to finally meet you.”
Dean glances down at their clasped hands, then meet’s Castiel’s gaze again, and almost feels like he should be running the opposite direction, before lightning strikes him, or something, because damn that’s a hell of a stare. “Nice to meet someone else conscripted into mingling with society.”
Castiel finally lets go of his hand, and his lips quirk into something resembling a smile. “Perhaps the rest of the evening will be more enjoyable now that we’ve found someone to talk to.”
Dean almost smiles back. “Just as long as you don’t want to regale me with tales of how many golf tournaments you’ve won or anything.”
That earns him an amused huff from Castiel. He doesn’t know why, but it makes him actually smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good.” Dean claps his companion on the shoulder. He notes that Castiel smells like dust, and old books. It reminds Dean of Bobby’s, and spending time there as a kid. It kinda reminds him of what he’d imagine home might smell like. “Wanna go grab a drink?”
Spoilers: for the ending of RE2
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Castiel, mentions of Jo, Anna, and Lilith
Rating: R
Warnings: gore, pseudo-character death
Wordcount: 1623
Summary: Dean should have known better than to trust a stranger.
Dean traipses through the dimly lit halls of the lab, his ears still ringing from everything Lilith had told him. Castiel, an agent just looking to get his hands on a sample of the G-virus. He supposes that answers the question of why Cas had taken off without him, injured or not. He kicks at a piece of debris on the floor, feeling a small measure of satisfaction when it pings off the wall and bounces down the hallway. He should have known better to trust a stranger in this mess, he knows that, but he honestly doesn’t think he’d still be here if it weren’t for Cas…
Whatever, he thinks. It doesn’t matter, he’s gone. He got what he came for.
When a ceiling panel crashes to the floor behind him, he wants to kick himself for being so busy moping that he hadn’t been paying attention. When the giant freak in the army coat that’s been chasing him since he got to the police station follows the panel, he’s more concerned with getting out of there than with punishing himself for his own stupidity.
Dean doesn’t stick around to watch the freak stand up straight; he knows from the last few encounters with the creepy son of a bitch that bullets don’t really do much, and he’s running low on ammo. So he turns tail and runs as quick as he can. The bullet wound in his shoulder aches and throbs with every breath, hindering his progress.
He goes for the first door he finds, drags it open, and keeps going. The metal catwalk he finds himself on clangs as he runs, and he spares one nervous glance for the molten metal in large vats several stories below as he goes by. He’s more concerned with looking for another room to duck into than the pits of doom below.
“Fuck!” He stumbles to a stop when he rounds a corner, and comes to a dead end. No way out, no where to hide, and he can hear the steady thud… thud… thud of the monster’s feet on the catwalk behind him.
He looks down at the gun in his hand. He’s got half a mag in that, a full clip in the pistol holstered at his hip. Castiel had taken off with the shotgun, and a good chunk of the ammo he’d scrounged from the weapons locker in the station, and from the dead cops. Bastard.
He turns, ready to shoot his pursuer and then bolt at the first available opportunity. The freak is such a large target, there’s no way he can miss. So of course, something else has to go wrong. He pulls the trigger, and gets nothing but a dull click in return, tries again, same result.
Fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
Of all the times the piece of shit could have jammed… He tries to go for the pistol still in its holster, but the monster is already too close, and he can’t even lift the gun before a massive fist collides with his chest, sending him backwards into the wall. All of his breath leaves him in one go, and he crumples to the ground, wheezing and choking.
He can hear the heavy footsteps getting closer again.
Well, no one can say he didn’t give escaping a good try. He hopes Jo and Anna fare better than he has-
“Hey, assbutt!”
As far as battle cries go, Dean’s heard better, but he could care less at the moment, because that voice, and the gunfire that follows are a godsend. His vision clears in time for him to see the monster turning to face the intruder, and Cas, in all his tattered, bloody glory, firing round after round into the creature’s gray flesh.
The creature takes a swipe at Cas with one gargantuan arm, which Cas ducks. He isn’t so lucky avoiding the other hand.
“CAS!” Dean is on his feet in a second, though he wobbles a bit at first.
The creature has Cas by the throat, lifting him high up into the air and squeezing. But Castiel has enough of his wits about him to keep shooting; he shoves his gun right in his captor’s face and squeezes off several more rounds, blood spraying everywhere. The monster convulses, and tosses Castiel aside like a ragdoll, and Dean can only watch as his companion slams into a nearby computer console hard enough to shatter glass and dent the face of the console its self. Dean feels his stomach drop at the sickening crunch and crack that he can’t convince himself was just the console giving way.
Electricity crackles and arcs from exposed wires as the creature, bleeding profusely from just about everywhere, stumbles for a second, then topples over the edge of the safety railing, into the vat of superheated metal below. Dean can’t even dredge up any relief for that small victory, because Castiel is lying in a bloody, contorted heap on the floor, and he isn’t moving.
Dean hobbles to his side as quickly as fast-forming bruises and aches will allow, kneels down, and gathers the limp form in his arms. “Cas? Hey, Cas, wake up, man. You did good, but we gotta get outta here.”
For a moment he thinks he’s talking to a corpse, and he doesn’t want to examine the stutter of his heartbeat when he thinks it too closely. But then Castiel coughs, and groans. His eyes flutter open, then closed again, then back open, and Dean would be relieved to see those baby blues looking at him if they didn’t look distant, and glassy. “I believe I evened the score,” Cas wheezes.
“Bullshit,” Dean says, around the lump in his throat. “Sure, this makes up for me taking a bullet for you, but you gotta make up for being a lying bastard, too.”
“My… My apologies… I didn’t expect…” Cas’ breathing is labored, rattling in his throat. He doesn’t continue.
Dean shakes him. “Cas? God damn it, stay with me! You didn’t expect what?”
“To… feel anything… for you,” Cas forces out. “I was- wasn’t supposed to get close.”
“So why’d you come back, you stupid son of a bitch?” It takes Dean a moment to realize he’s shaking, and gripping a fistful of Cas’ shirt hard enough that his knuckles have turned white. Cas should have just gotten out, shouldn’t have bothered coming back for him…
“We-” Cas cuts himself off with a wet cough. “We… had a date…”
Dean would laugh, if he could. He’d jokingly said Cas owed him dinner after making him strip so he could get the bullet out of Dean’s shoulder. He hadn’t expected Cas to either agree, or take it seriously. “We’ve still got it, okay?” His eyes burn, and he knows his voice is wrecked- a neon sign that he’s lying… But he suspects Cas would know that, regardless. “We’ll get out of here, get you patched up, then we’ll go to this bar I know in my hometown. Sound good?”
Cas tries to say something, but can’t quite manage it, so he settles for a weak nod instead.
A siren blares somewhere, and Dean’s sure that means that something else has decided to go wrong somewhere in the facility, but right now, Cas is what matters. “I’m still gonna make you pay for lying to me, when you get back on your feet.” When Castiel doesn’t immediately respond, he releases Cas’ shirt, and brushes his fingers through Cas’ hair, trying to get him to focus, to stay in the land of the living just that much longer. “Cas? Stay awake. If you die on me, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
That gets something that might have been a chuckle out of Cas, were he capable. He reaches up with a bloody, mangled hand and traces the line of Dean’s jaw, leaving a streak of red in his wake. They both know there isn’t much time left. Maybe that’s what makes Dean lean down to kiss Castiel, or maybe its just that he’d wanted to do it since the guy saved his skin- admittedly after getting him shot in the first place- and revealed that he was actually human, and not some emotionless robot…
“Get out of here,” Cas breathes out, when Dean pulls back to look at him once more.
Dean doesn’t protest, knows it won’t do any good. He can hear Cas’ breathing slowing down, feel his heartbeat faltering.
It still doesn’t prepare him for Cas’ eyes sliding shut, and his body turning to dead weight in Dean’s arms. “Cas? Cas, come on, man, don’t do this to me, please! Cas!”
He doesn’t expect a response, and he doesn’t get one. He pulls Cas’ lean frame tight to his chest, and simply holds on to him for what seems like a long time, ignoring the blood seeping through his uniform, and coating his hands. Why couldn’t Cas have just left? Dean wasn’t worth dying for…
The self-destruct sequence has been activated. This sequence may not be aborted. All employees proceed to the emergency car at the bottom platform.
The detached, tinny, robotic voice drags Dean back to reality, however reluctant he may be to face it. He looks down at Cas’ body. The poor bastard died for him, he’s gonna make sure he gets out, and gets Jo, and Anna out, too, so that at least Cas won’t have died for nothing.
See you in another life…
He places Cas gently on the floor, gathers his weapons, grits his teeth, and walks out. He has a train to catch.
Prompt: The Mummy
Spoilers: Only for the Mummy
Characters: Castiel, Dean, Balthazar
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 515
Summary: "You want to play around with something called the 'Book of the Dead'?"
Castiel has never been particularly good at waiting, and he’s been itching for the right moment ever since he saw that Egyptologist- what was his name? Samuel?- trying to pry open the big black book he and the Americans had found. Balthazar has drank himself into a stupor with the broken bottle of scotch they’d found in Roy’s bag- Castiel shudders remembering the way he had run himself into that wall- and all of the Americans have long since been asleep.
The trouble is one Dean Winchester, whom has remained far too alert all night for Castiel to be able to slip away without being noticed.
But now, finally, it looks as though he’s drifted off. So Castiel carefully picks his way through the camp, stepping over people where he has to, until he reaches the Egyptologist, who still has the book clutched tightly to his chest, along with one of the canopic jars Castiel has seen the Americans flaunting about.
It’s almost too easy to wrest the book from Samuel’s grip.
Feeling quite proud of himself, Castiel picks his way back to the fire to dig through Balthazar’s bag, looking for the key.
“That’s called stealing, y’know,” says Dean, from where he had supposedly been asleep. Castiel looks back at him, then throws a significant glance at the tool kit Dean had borrowed from the American archaeologist. Dean follows his gaze and shrugs. “Fair enough.”
Castiel finally finds the key, buried in the bottom of his brother’s bag, and takes a seat by the fire as Dean moves to sit next to him, staring at the book. “I thought the book of Amun-Ra was made of pure gold.”
“It is,” says Castiel, opening the key and placing it in its setting on the book. “This isn’t the book of Amun-Ra. I believe this is the Book of the Dead.”
Dean gives him an incredulous look. “You want to play around with something called the Book of the Dead?”
“You led an expedition to the City of the Dead,” Castiel reminds him, as the locks on the book spring open. “I fail to see what harm can come from reading a book.” He opens it, carefully, reverently. The writing in this hasn’t been seen for over three thousand years. It’s almost exciting enough to keep him from noticing the gust of wind, and the way the fire dies down for a moment as he exposes the first page. Almost.
“That happens a lot around here,” says Dean, staring at the book like it’s going to make the wind gust again, or perhaps come to life.
Castiel shakes his head. He doesn’t know Dean well, but he does know that silly superstition is likely prone to clouding the man’s judgement. He’d certainly seemed frightened enough of Hamunaptra. So had everyone else. As if there really was some curse on the place, and the dead were going to rise. All of it nonsense.
With that in mind, Castiel clears his throat, and starts to read the first inscription.
Prompt: Princess Mononoke
Spoilers: just for Princess Mononoke
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Mary, Sam, Adam
Warnings: Well, Mary, Sam, and Adam are talking wolves...
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1383 (#1: 934, #2: 499)
Summary: All Castiel wants is for Dean to be safe
Castiel’s fever induced dreams are troubled for the most part, and the only reprieve is when he hears Dean’s voice, telling him he’s going to be okay- among other things… namely that he is a “stubborn bastard”.
He hears other voices too: once he hears Adam ask if they may eat the elk now, and hears Sam’s mumbled agreement. He only just catches the beginning of Dean scolding the pups he calls brothers before he slips back into his dreams of blood and death, and a war he’s sure is coming.
He manages to wake up once, and sit up for just a moment. Dean is only a few feet away, curled up against Sam’s side, buried in the pup’s dark fur for warmth. Adam lies stretched along Sam’s opposite side, gigantic paws twitching as he dreams.
Dean cracks an eye open, mumbles, “Go back to sleep,” and tucks himself tighter against his brother.
Castiel can’t find the strength to disobey.
The next time he comes to, it’s because his arm aches. He can feel the mark pulsing and burning all the way up to his shoulder now… It’s gotten much larger since Iron Town. Clutching his arm, trying hard not to think about how quickly his death seems to be approaching, he forces himself up, knocking aside the thick fur that had been draped over him. The wolves are gone, leaving Dean curled into a tight ball on a pallet of leaves, tucked under the fur cloak he seems so fond of. He looks so much more peaceful asleep than he does awake.
Castiel almost wants to reach out and touch, to run his fingers through Dean’s hair, but he’s almost certain the action would cost him his hand. Instead, he shoves himself to his feet and wanders out of the cave. The cliff it sits on overlooks the forest, and Castiel breathes in the cool night air.
“So, you’re awake,” the booming, bell of a voice might have made him jump, had he not known that he wasn’t alone.
“It would appear so.” Castiel turns and looks up; Mary is perched atop the rocks that form the cave, in all her golden-furred, twin-tailed glory. “I have Dean to thank for that.” It isn’t a question; he knows the wolves would never have taken care of him, and he doesn’t blame them for it.
“You should be thankful to him, human,” says Mary. “I’d have eaten you and been done with it, but my son chose to save you.”
Castiel inclines his head, both in acknowledgement and respect. He doubts that the option of eating him has entirely left her mind. He turns back to the forest. “It isn’t as peaceful as it seems, is it?”
“No. The boars are marching for war.” She sighs, and to Castiel it feels like a hot gust of wind hitting his back. “They’re going to their deaths… There is no hope against the humans.”
“So you won’t help them?”
Mary chuckles. “I am in no condition to help them, Castiel. The bullet in me will kill me soon enough.”
So even Mary, great goddess of the wolves, has lost hope. Castiel wonders if he might get a similar response if he were to talk to Sam, or Adam, or perhaps some of the boar tribe. He’s not giving up, not yet. There hasn’t been a battle yet, there’s still time to come to a peaceful resolution between the forest and Iron Town, if only someone would stop to listen. But even so, there is going to be bloodshed. He isn’t naive enough to think that this will end without some sort of fight, and he finds himself worried for Dean. Because Dean is going to be on the front lines with his brothers, working to save the forest, regardless of Mary’s lack of hope.
“So send Dean away,” he says. “If you believe that there’s no hope, send him away where he’ll be safe.”
Mary laughs, the sound echoing through the night, startling birds from the trees. “If you truly believe you can convince my son to run away with you, Castiel, be my guest. But he is more wolf than he is human; he feels the same connection to the forest that I do. He won’t leave willingly.”
Castiel glares at her. “So you’ll let him die with you?”
Mary stands suddenly, hackles raised, teeth bared, and Castiel is suddenly reminded that he is speaking to a god. “I would give anything to save my sons, but what they do now is their choice. I will not force them.” She settles back on the rocks, a growl still rumbling in her throat. “I want you gone by sunrise. Don’t come back. Am I clear?”
Castiel stands his ground for a moment longer, giving the goddess a defiant glare before he finally bows, and wanders back into the cave. He practically collapses onto his leaf bed.
“You okay?” Dean’s sleep-slurred voice makes him jump.
“I’m fine… Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Dean mumbles something unintelligible and seems to drift immediately back to sleep. Castiel favors him with a fond smile before he throws his own blanket over him. He doubts he’s going to get much more sleep anyway.
It can’t be more than a few hours until sunrise: he has until then to come up with a plan to save Dean, the forest, and the people of Iron Town before the curse finally consumes him.
The world is dying all around them, and all Castiel can see is Dean, standing further up the hill with his brothers, shaking with rage.
“Dean, we have to hurry.”
“No,” Dean hisses, as Castiel gets to his feet and approaches him. “You chose your side, Cas, so just take that damn woman, and go away.”
Castiel keeps moving, arms held out like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. He supposes that in a way, he is. “Dean, it’s me. You know I’m on your side.”
“You’re just another bastard of a human,” says Dean, grip tightening around the small silver dagger Castiel had given him. “I should have just left you to rot, but I didn’t, and now look what’s happened… Go ahead and ask me again why I hate humans.”
“You’re human.” Just a few more steps, and Castiel will be able to grab the boy, but he doesn’t want to have to force Dean into anything. But if he has no other choice but to drag Dean out of the forest to save him from his own stubbornness, then so be it. He can live with Dean hating him. He can’t live with Dean dead.
Dean flinches at the reminder of what he is, but the break in his defenses is only momentary. “Shut up! I’m not one of you, you son of a bitch!” Over the sound of the dying animals and screaming soldiers, Castiel can hear Dean’s brothers growling in warning. Surely they know by now everything he does is to help their sibling.
“Dean…”
“Get away from me!” As Castiel takes the last few steps towards him, Dean raises the dagger, and brings it home in the center of Castiel’s chest. Castiel doesn’t even flinch and Dean stares wide-eyed at him as he brings his arms around the boy and pulls him tight to his chest.
Dean goes easily, the fight taken out of him. “It’s over, Cas,” he mumbles into Castiel’s shoulder. “Everything’s dying… What the hell are we supposed to do?”
“We don’t surrender,” says Castiel. “We still have time to fix this.” He pushes Dean back slightly to look him in the eye. He looks every bit the troubled, frightened boy that he is. He shouldn’t, not with everything falling apart as they stand there, but Castiel can’t help kissing him, brief and chaste, and everything he could possibly want. “Are you going to help me, or not?”
Dean stares at him blankly for several long moments before he nods. “What are we going to do?”
“We get the Spirit’s head back.”
Prompt: Underworld
Spoilers: Only for Underworld
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, mentions of Anna, Lisa, and Ben
Warnings: References to past, minor character deaths
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 981
Summary: Castiel keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the building across the street. He shouldn’t allow this… creature to affect him so, but something draws him to Dean, makes him want the lycan to understand him, to look at him with something other than fear, and revulsion.
“So what,” Dean spits, “You’re gonna shoot me when you’re done with me because those are your orders? I didn’t ask for this to happen to me, and I sure as hell don’t deserve a bullet to the head for it… But you don’t care, do you? You’re just a damn hammer, striking whatever you’re told to…”
Castiel keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the building across the street. He shouldn’t allow this… creature to affect him so, but something draws him to Dean, makes him want the lycan to understand him, to look at him with something other than fear, and revulsion.
Still, it takes him a long time to say, “The lycans killed my family. My father heard them before I did, and he tried to save the horses… By the time I got to the barn, he was already dead. When I returned to the house…” Castiel takes a breath, steeling himself, trying to ignore the flashes of memory playing in his head. “When I returned to the house, I found my mother and my sister, torn to pieces. And my nephews…” Twin boys, not even six yet, ripped limb from limb, left in a pool of congealing blood in their own beds.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dean duck his head, and hears the muttered, “Jesus.”
“The next thing I remember, Anael was watching over me. She’d saved me from the lycans… She turned me.”
“And let you go on a revenge quest,” says Dean. “How’s that working out for you?”
Castiel ignores the question, because six centuries of putting down those filthy dogs has done nothing to alleviate his grief. “I’m not a hammer. I don’t simply follow orders, whatever you may think.”
“Fine, so you’re not a robot. But I gotta say, Cas, I don’t exactly like the idea of being shot for a murder I had nothing to do with anymore than I do being shot ‘cause someone told you to.”
He has a point. Which means it’s time for a change in subject. “Who are the woman, and the boy in your photos? Your wife and son?”
Dean shrinks back in his chair, face going blank. “Something like that. They’re dead. Died a long time ago, so just… leave it alone.”
“As you wish… I have to go. The sun will be rising soon.”
“Alright, sunshine, where we headed then?” Dean stand, and stretches, joints popping and cracking.
“Not we, me,” says Castiel. He grabs his pistol from the windowsill and faces his companion. “You’re staying here.”
“Like hell. You’re the only source of info I got, Cas. I’m going with you.”
Castiel ignores him. “I’ll be back tomorrow, hopefully before the moon rises.”
“That’s great, but I’m not staying here.”
“The death dealers will kill you on sight if you come anywhere near the mansion,” says Castiel. “I am going to attempt to convince the council to grant you sanctuary, but until then, you’re safer here.”
“Tough shit,” says Dean, as Castiel steps into his space. He really has no time to argue. “If you think you can tell me to sit and stay like a good little dog you- mmph!”
Castiel cuts him off mid-rant with a hard kiss. Dean’s hands flail for a moment and his body goes rigid before he settles one arm around Castiel’s neck, and the other hand on the vampire’s hip and pulls him in closer, kissing back like he’s been wanting to do this. The race of his heart is intoxicating, the way his blood rushes through his veins with renewed vigor… But Castiel can’t let himself get lost in this, no matter how good it feels, no matter how much he would like to remain pressed against Dean, soaking in the heat of his body…
Dean goes still again when Castiel pushes the hand at his hip back, and snaps the metal cuff chained to the chair around his wrist. Castiel steps back, and Dean blinks at him, expression somewhat dazed for a moment until he looks down at his bound wrist. He looks back up at Castiel and for a second, he looks genuinely hurt, but then the look turns into a harsh glare, and Castiel wonders if he imagined it. “You son of a bitch!” Dean takes a swing with his free hand that Castiel easily dodges.
“It’s the full moon tomorrow,” says Castiel, voice calm: quite the contrast to Dean’s frenzied yanking at the chain tethering him to the chair. “When the moon rises, you will turn, and you will hunt, and you will kill. It’s unavoidable. You’re too dangerous to be left free.” He contemplates his pistol for a moment, then offers it to Dean. “One round won’t kill you, but it might slow the transformation. I hope to return before moonrise, but if I don’t, use it.”
Still giving Castiel a scathing glare, Dean takes the gun, and for a moment, looks like he’s considering shooting Castiel. Not that it would do him any good. He apparently thinks better of it, because he lets his hand fall to his side. “Just get the fuck out.”
He does wish he hadn’t had to trick Dean, as he had, but the one thing he knows for certain about the lycan is that he’s stubborn, and he wasn’t going to voluntarily stay here. “I am sorry for this… And I’ll be back.” He ignores Dean’s curses and name calling as he leaves. He tries not to think about how hurt Dean had looked when he realized Castiel had only kissed him as a distraction…
…That was, after all, the only reason he’d done it. The only reason.
Prompt: Sam marries Sarah Blake, and Dean meets Castiel at their wedding
Spoilers: For season 1
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Sarah, Dean/Cas pre-slash
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 921
Summary: Dean's happy for Sam, really, but he can't help but be jealous.
He’d told Sam to marry that girl. He hadn’t actually thought the giant idiot would do it, but he did: he married Sarah Blake. So now Dean stands back, an empty glass held loosely in his hands, and tries to stay out of the way. There are too many people around, people he doesn’t know. Sarah’s family’s high society “friends”- Sarah had used the quotations when telling Sam and Dean just how many people were supposed to be present for the event- and Dean has spent a great deal of his time today rather effectively avoiding speaking to any of them.
Out on the dance floor, Sarah laughs as Sam says something in her ear, and Dean feels a sharp and unexpected spike of jealousy. His grip tightens briefly on his empty glass as he watches his brother and new sister-in-law spin their way ungracefully around the room, both of them grinning like idiots and laughing far too loud when someone steps on the edge of Sarah’s dress and brings her to an abrupt halt.
It isn’t that Dean isn’t happy for his brother, because he is. Sarah is everything he could have ever wanted for Sammy. And it isn’t that he wants Sarah. Sure, maybe when they’d first met, but she’s definitely Sam’s type through and through. It isn’t that Sam is kinda being stolen from him, which yeah, he’d maybe seen it as for a while… Right around the time when Sam stopped calling it “Sarah’s place” and started calling it “home”, when “we” stopped meaning only ‘Sam and Dean’ and instead meant ‘Sam and Sarah’…
He’s jealous that Sam has a home, has a “we” outside of his brother, has someone to come home to after a rough hunt- or someone to come home with after a rough hunt if Sarah has her way- has a life outside of the hunt, outside of Dean. Because Dean’s left with nothing… Just an old car and a future probably filled with lone hunts when Sam and Sarah decide they’d rather settle down than be on the road more often than not, and Dean won’t be able to blame them.
He’d kill for what Sam has right now. For all his wisecracking about the civilian life, and enjoying his job… He’s tired. So damn tired of never stopping, never resting, of killing some big bad only to find that something worse has cropped up a few states over. He wants somewhere other than his car to call home, he wants someone like Sarah to either come home to, or come home with. He doesn’t want to be alone while his family moves on.
“How long do these functions normally last?” a gravel-rough voice comes from almost directly behind him, making Dean jump.
He turns and finds himself staring at a man who is definitely not dressed for a wedding. At least, not one as fancy as this: even Dean had been forced into a tux. The guy in front of him- and he’s way too close, like the concept of personal space is foreign to him- is in a rumpled suit and wrinkled tan trench, his tie is askew. His hair looks like it’s never seen a comb. Striking blue eyes surveil the celebrations with mild irritation.
Dean takes a step back to try and get enough distance between them that it looks like maybe something slightly resembling respectable. “Who’re you, the family tax accountant?”
The stranger looks at him like he’d forgotten Dean was right there in front of him. After a moment, he says, “I’m Castiel… Miss Blake insisted I attend. She seemed under the impression that spending the evening cataloging the shipment of rare manuscripts she procured for me wasn’t an acceptable substitute for social interaction.”
Dean grins. That sounds like Sarah. “You could always bail while she’s not looking.”
“I have already attempted to do so. Somehow she caught me. You’re Dean?”
“Guilty.” Dean holds a hand out for Castiel- the hell kind of a name is that anyway?- to shake.
Castiel regards his hand like it’s some sort of alien object before he finally takes it. But he doesn’t shake; he holds it firmly with both hands and gives Dean a rather intimidating, intense stare. “Sarah speaks highly of you, and your brother. It is nice to finally meet you.”
Dean glances down at their clasped hands, then meet’s Castiel’s gaze again, and almost feels like he should be running the opposite direction, before lightning strikes him, or something, because damn that’s a hell of a stare. “Nice to meet someone else conscripted into mingling with society.”
Castiel finally lets go of his hand, and his lips quirk into something resembling a smile. “Perhaps the rest of the evening will be more enjoyable now that we’ve found someone to talk to.”
Dean almost smiles back. “Just as long as you don’t want to regale me with tales of how many golf tournaments you’ve won or anything.”
That earns him an amused huff from Castiel. He doesn’t know why, but it makes him actually smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good.” Dean claps his companion on the shoulder. He notes that Castiel smells like dust, and old books. It reminds Dean of Bobby’s, and spending time there as a kid. It kinda reminds him of what he’d imagine home might smell like. “Wanna go grab a drink?”