Giving Up is Giving In (2/3)

Sep 24, 2012 15:04

Masterpost

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three



The motel he left Dean in is about a 26 hour drive from Castiel's hospital and yet he's still a little surprised it takes the hunter a full 18 hours to get there. Cas knew Dean was coming the second he left, knows it because he knows how angry Dean is. It is no longer a question of caring, Cas knows he does, but Dean isn't breaking multiple traffic laws to get to him out of love. The only emotion this man runs headlong towards is anger.

Cas thinks about leaving. Wonders if it'd be easier for all of them if he wasn't here for Dean to find but for the life of him he can't think of a single place to go. He's not too far gone yet to miss how odd that is. All the places Cas has been and he can't conjure up the will to pick one. He imagines what would happen if he just took off running the second Dean slams his way into Cas' room - if Dean would chase him up and down the halls screaming his name or if he'd just take out his gun and shoot him in the back. Both are equally amusing images but its not till Dean fills up the door frame, his only exit, that the smile he hadn't realized was there slips off of his face.

There's a pause filled to the brim with an incredibly loud silence. Cas, in all his stupidity, just wants to say, 'I do Dean, I swear. I thought you knew.' There's no time to consider it before Dean's stalking across the floor, fists clenched and quickly raising. Cas ducks the first swing and manages to grab Dean's wrist as the second sails towards him. He holds it tight between his fingers. He deserves the hit, would welcome it if it would end in anything other than smashed knuckles.

Dean's all but growling and Cas says, too quietly for the situation, "Please stop. You'll hurt yourself."

Dean wrenches his arm out of the grasp, angel letting him with resignation. Cas knows that if Dean's set on beating up a brick wall then all you can do is figure out the fastest route to the ER and wait.

He doesn't throw another punch. Just stands there, hunched and tense, eyes blazing, breathing heavy in a perfect rhythm. Cas has seen this same image on many battle fields in his lifetime. He doesn't know if Dean considers him enemy or comrade anymore. He misses the brief time he had knowing they were, at least, fighting together.

"You had no right," Dean tells him, voice crackling.

Cas won't argue despite not knowing specifically what Dean's referring to. He did not have the right to fall in love with his charge as he butchered their way out of Hell. Had no right to question the Father, to leave his kin for the rag-tag team Free Will. To bring Sam back, to play God, poke at Purgatory. Cas didn't have the right to just about anything he's done in the last four years. Whatever Dean's talking about he's almost automatically correct by default.

"It has never been my intention to make things worse for you," he says because it is true. It's the worst part of all of it, Cas thinks, that he was always trying to help. He's failed so miserably that it must be hard to believe but he hopes Dean knows this. Knows that Cas has tried his best for whatever grain of salt it's worth.

"Take it back then," Dean pleads, "Just tell me your motherboard short circuited and we can all just pretend it was another part of this fucking nightmare."

'Is that how it works?' Cas wants to ask. He could tell Dean that he misunderstood, it was a simple mistake, and Dean will accept this and move on. Could he so easily forget what Cas had told him in a dingy motel room during a violent fit of honesty.

"I won't lie to you," and he's already cringing, before Dean has the chance to scoff.

"Bullshit time to come up with that rule."

Cas snaps. He was no right to, but he does. Another thing to add to the list, right down at the bottom.

This is his problem, the source. Dean's never ending perfect ability to get into his blood stream and make him do what he does not want to the most. Dean who renamed him, lent him a new cause, and buried a kernel of humanity inside of him deeper than his grace. This would be Dean's fault if Cas had not seen all this happening and let him, if Cas had not felt himself falling and followed Dean down.

So Cas isn't innocent but not solely to blame for the bitterness in his voice when he says, "Tell me, Dean, how to stop? How do you just wipe off something that might has well be branded into you?" He takes a step towards Dean, then another. Something feral exploding alive at the heart of him making him wish his grace would just dissolve already so he'd be human. Able to give the anger inside motion, feel the pain of Dean's fists, hit back and bleed for each other. "We are all going to die. The Leviathan -" he pauses, having to manually release his jaw when his whole body clenches at the word, "They are nothing like anything you or I have ever faced. There is no Colt, no demon knife, no angel sword for this breed of evil. When I have to stand next to your brother and watch your body burn I need to know that you-"

But there's only the taste of Dean which he shouldn't know but somehow does. Soft lips, scraping stubble, fingers braiding into his hair and the feeling of an ocean slamming into him.

Dean kisses him like Cas' mouth may be the only thing keeping him alive. There's only an instant given for Cas to catch up before Dean is slotting their bodies together, pressing against him hard until all the air between them is gone. Dean's hands frantically searching like a man trying to grapple his way up a cliff. Cas is more sure, fingers sliding up the back of Dean's shirt to find heated skin. He wants to see this, wants to drag his hands down Dean's back, fingertips tracing the hard lines of muscle while Dean is awake and not half dead fresh from the pit. Wants to see this body bare when Dean's the one that has stripped it for him.

It feels like branches are snapping inside of Dean, Cas can almost hear them. The whole trunk may be splitting apart with the way he's starting to fumble with urgency. Words, barely a whisper, come out of Dean too jumbled for Cas to understand. Expected, what with his tongue being in Cas' mouth. Cas knows it's something he either desperately wants to hear or will give anything not to. He's not kidding himself on his chances, sucking on Dean's tongue and managing to silence him twice now in as many days.

The only noises leaving the man now are the small broken gasps that ignite with every breath he manages to take and a deep rumble coming from the back of his throat that may as well be thunder.

Dean wraps the collar of Cas' shirt tightly around his fist and uses it to slam him back against the wall. Cas lets Dean fling him around, will let Dean do anything but stop at this point. Reality will be back soon and Cas isn't willing to miss a moment of this delirium. He's beyond reasoning with, has been for too long. Cas is willing to sit in this car with his friend and drive it over the cliff together, easily replaced those women with him and his charge in his mind when they played it in the rec room. But that isn't Dean. Dean will return to his senses where the angel can't follow.

Cas briefly tries to imagine Dean telling Sam about this, them as a them, and can't. Its ringing up as either too hilarious or depressing to gauge properly. It's easier terrain to wonder how surprised Sam would be, might not even have realized it was a secret.  Sam who Cas can hear beg, 'You two should really talk about this.'

Instead he slides his hands from Dean's narrow waist, down, slipping under the hem of his jeans, fingers toying with the elastic band of his boxers. The reaction is immediate. Pelvises smashed together, Dean's erection digging into his left hip. Cas moves, angles, rising up to press his own against the hardness. The buzz in his nervous system spikes and the noise he makes is pathetic and brutally honest.

Dean jerks away from  the waist up, cocks still slanted together, and Cas has a moment of panic about to scream, 'Don't talk, just let us have this,' but all Dean says is, "Off," in warning before Cas' mouth in under siege again. Dean stops biting his lower lip long enough for Cas' hospital issued shirt to be evicted before he's back at it again. Pushing Cas, shoving, as he's herded backwards towards the bed. Dean has the hands of a hunter, calluses as present as ever - grown back since Cas rebuilt him to factory settings. Everywhere he touches is fire, cells left screaming out in the wake of rough fingers.

The back of his legs collide with the mattress hard and all it takes is Dean letting go of him for him to fall back against the sheets. Cas is crawling backwards, further onto the small bed while determined hands pull down his thin scrubs in a series of harsh tugs.

"Shit," Dean hisses when there's nothing left on Cas to strip, palms on pale thighs, squeezing. "Shit."

Cas readily agrees, swearing still new to him all things considered, but he's fairly sure that shit was created for situations like this. For the way Dean's able to get his own clothes off so fast Cas is dumbfounded at how the remain in one piece. At what lay under them. He'd tell Dean how gorgeous he is but this time he'd actually get punched.

He reaches up, hands searching for shoulders as Dean's body leans down to meet him. Cas' arms around his neck, legs around his waist, bodies plastered together. Dean moves against him in a way that makes the whole universe tilt a couple degrees. His face so close, expression cut open, eyes a darker green than Cas remembers making them. With Dean's heart beat in his ears he pushes back, up, towards Dean's heat.

'Enjoy this while you have it,' Cas hears in a voice that could have belonged to any of his brothers. Only the crazed may hear voices but that doesn't mean they don't speak the truth. Head tilted, neck arched, he presses his mouth against pink lips. He will drown in this, dig into it deep enough that he can bury whatever remained of himself here.

"I love you," he repeats, this time meaning to.

There's no definite reaction from Dean, just him trying to smother Cas' mouth with his tongue and teeth, a small hitch in the rhythm of his hips before they start moving with a new purpose.

It was enough. Cas would remember the pattern of freckles, the feel of muscles and calluses, the smell of Dean's sweat seeping through John's aftershave and it would be enough.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Dean comes he swallows down a moan that sounded too much like, 'Cas,' stared at pink lips to avoid blue, and pretended he couldn't hear his name spilling out of them over the rush of blood in his ears.

Next!

giving up is giving in, supernatural

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