FIC - The Hurt Locker (reposted with more art!)
Artist: tiggeratl1
Author: verucasalt123
Title: The Hurt Locker
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Rating: R
Word Count: ~4100
Summary: Castiel attempts to comfort Dean after an injury. Then, FEELINGS. And, uh, kissing. Set in S5.
Warnings: Injury, some blood, curse words, kissing. Very special thanks to my sweet princess_aleera for her fantastic beta work. Without her, there would be even more long winded and run-on sentences in this story.
There was nothing Castiel wanted more than to help Dean; to take away the pain he was feeling and heal his wounds, both emotional and physical. It was abundantly clear to him that Dean was hurting, worse than he usually was after this kind of battle.
He couldn’t do it now, though, not anymore. His powers were much too weak, a muted mockery of what they once had been. Just months ago, he could have healed Dean with a touch, with barely a thought. Those times were past. He could only sit, for the moment, and attempt to comfort his friend. Not that his efforts in that particular endeavor had been successful or appreciated in the past, rare as they had been, but Castiel’s desire to do so now was growing stronger by the day. He knew that this new intensity of emotions he’d begun to experience was related to his dwindling powers. He was falling, becoming more human in small increments, and his previous default setting of ‘emotionally detached’ was leaving him as quickly as his Grace was. The unfamiliar but clearly identifiable feelings toward Dean caused yet another cascade of emotions; worry, fear, uncertainty.
Dean had dislocated his shoulder, again, in their last standoff with a group of demons determined to make the wishes of Heaven and Hell both come to fruition. They’d heard about the sudden increase in demon activity near Detroit and headed there immediately with the intention of clearing out the demonic presence in the area. Castiel still had enough Grace to help in some capacity, and his fighting skills were on par with Dean’s even without being as physically strong as he once had been. Dean still had Ruby’s knife, and they were both able to supplement those advantages with holy water and exorcisms, so they stood a decent chance of coming away from the fight without losing their lives.
Bobby, whom Castiel had begun to think was either a genius or a mind-reader, had told Sam he needed his help; there was a Wendigo sighting two counties over. “Can’t go up against one of those suckers alone, kid, even if I wasn’t an old cripple. Rufus is going, but I still gotta have backup. You mind?” Of course, there was no way Sam was going to say no. So maybe Bobby didn’t really possess supernatural powers, it was just a result of having known the Winchester brothers since they were small children that he always seemed to know exactly the right thing to do. Saying “Hey Sam, we don’t want you going out there near those demons” would never work, but saying, “Hey Sam, I need your help here, please” got the job done without (much) argument.
Ever since Sam and Dean had abandoned their brief and foreseeably unsustainable experiment into spending some time apart from each other, Dean was even more watchful over his younger brother than he had been in the past. So were Bobby and Castiel. It would be impossible and certainly foolish to completely rule out the possibility that Dean would say yes to Michael at some point. However, Castiel found it much more likely that if one of them were to say yes, it was going to be Sam. Not due to some weakness or defect on his part, but as a result of a misguided sense of obligation. Sam obviously held tight to his responsibility for having broken the final seal that kept Lucifer locked in his Cage. And of course, it mattered nothing to either of the brothers that his actions hadn’t been purposeful.
Castiel had no idea whether or not there really was a Wendigo sighting, but he knew for certain that Dean and Bobby would do whatever it took to keep Sam as geographically far from Detroit as humanly possible, for as long as humanly possible. Forever, they hoped, both of them, still clinging to the desperate optimism that Sam wouldn’t give in to the devil. Castiel knew better. He wanted to have the same hope, but it wasn’t as easy for him to brush off his instincts due to sentiment. To his surprise, he’d developed a genuine affection for Sam over the time they’d known each other, despite his initial mistrust of the man based on the limited information he had at the time. He didn’t want to think Sam would give in, but he was almost certain that eventually, that was what was going to happen.
So Dean and Castiel had gone alone. There were more demons than they’d been prepared for, and the fight had been brutal and long. Exceptionally so; both of them coming out of it injured, bleeding, panting for breath. Dean’s arm hung at an odd angle, and Castiel was sporting a split lip and a long gash on his forearm.
Once they were alone among a pile of unfortunate demon meatsuits, Dean told him there was no other choice but to fix his shoulder the ‘old-fashioned way’, considering Castiel’s current condition. Having figured out the mechanics of returning the humeral head of the joint to its proper position, he held Dean tight against his body as he rotated his shoulder blade in one direction, clearly hearing the joint pop back into place even over Dean’s pained shout. After having accomplished that, Castiel could only immobilize Dean’s arm to prevent further damage. Unless he experienced some miraculous re-stocking of his Grace, the injury would have to heal on its own.
Castiel had stopped looking for miracles by that point.
Making a brief stop at an all-night drugstore, Castiel had gone inside and located a sling that matched the description he’d been given as Dean stayed in the car. How he managed to drive was a mystery to Castiel, but there was no choice in the matter as he’d never learned that particular skill and Dean wasn’t about to let him practice behind the wheel of his beloved Impala, at least not in this situation. The pain must have been excruciating. Castiel had seen tears in Dean’s eyes before, but never as a result of anything physical. Stoicism was Dean’s default position in the face of injury, so the sight of those green eyes shining with moisture was an honest surprise to Castiel. At first he worried that he’d gotten the procedure wrong, but Dean assured him that “You did great, Cas, thanks”, and those words erased his concern that he may have further injured the man. Following Dean’s patient instructions once again, Castiel managed to arrange his arm into the sling so that it was bent at the elbow and held flush against his chest.
Here, hours later in an old abandoned cabin with only candles to light the single room, Dean refused to sit. He paced restlessly until his waning energy left him only able to lean back against one of the walls. He’d obtained a handful of pills from an unmarked pharmacy bottle in his first aid box and washed them down with two swigs from the bottle of bourbon which he hadn’t yet put down. Evan Williams, it said on the label. Castiel actually took a moment to wonder who Evan Williams was before his attention was back on Dean.
Again, he prompted his friend, “Please, Dean. Sit down. Just rest for a moment.”
“I’m not feeling like now’s the time for me to sit around on my ass, you know that. We have to keep moving, keep trying. There has to be an answer out there that’s better than Sam or me agreeing to let one of those fuckhead angels ride us like a bike. No offense.”
“None taken. I had already assumed you did not count me among the, uh”, it felt strange but at the same time natural to repeat what Dean had said, “fuckhead angels.”
And then Dean laughed. He finally sat down, hunched over a bit, and really laughed. “Yeah, Cas, yeah, I don’t think you’re one of the fuckheads.” For a moment, he was silent, then he added, “I’m glad you already knew that.”
Dean’s voice was slurred, and despite his previous laughter, his features were tight. What Dean liked to call his mojo may not have been in top condition, but it was easy for Castiel to see everything that was there. Dean was in pain, halfway to being intoxicated by the alcohol, and pushed in that direction harder by the ingestion of whatever the pills were that he’d swallowed. Some kind of opiate or narcotic, certainly, judging by the glazed look in Dean’s eyes that was intensified by the discomfort of his injury. Somewhere in his brain, Castiel had the urge to take the bottle, use his common sense, inform Dean (though he certainly already knew) that those types of medications could be dangerous when mixed with alcohol.
He couldn’t bring himself to do it, though. He was in no mood to give a lecture, and Dean was in no mood to hear one.
Castiel remained silent, but removed his overcoat and suit jacket, then positioned himself so that he was sitting next to Dean, almost close enough to brush against his uninjured arm. His voice slurred, Dean asked him, “What are we going to do if Sam says yes, Cas? What the fuck are we gonna do then?” Castiel knew for sure, now, that Dean was impaired, because he’d never ask that question sober. He was well aware that any answer he got would be unvarnished truth.
“I don’t know. We haven’t given up looking for…alternatives. But if he does, Dean - if Sam says yes, it’ll be because he thinks he’s stronger than Lucifer, that he’ll be able to change things, bend Lucifer’s will to his own. I can assure you, that will not happen.”
“You can’t see the future, Cas”, Dean mumbled. “Got no, like, crystal ball or whatever. You don’t know what Sam can do.” Even through the haze of pain and intoxication, Castiel could see the sadness in Dean’s eyes as he contemplated the possibility.
“I am well aware of your brother’s strength, and his determination. However, I am also very well aware of those same attributes in my brother”, Castiel replied quietly.
“Shit, Cas, I’m sorry. You know that whole thing about not lumping you in with all the other angels…sometimes I forget for a minute. He is your brother. They’re all your brothers. Everything you’ve done…” Dean seemed unable to finish his thought as his eyes glazed over again and became unfocused and directed at the floor by their feet.
“My choices have been my own. I believe I have made the correct ones, regardless of the consequences. You’re the one who showed me what it was like to think for myself, not to be, as you said once, a hammer. I am more than that now.”
Slowly, Dean’s eyes moved from the floor until he was staring straight ahead, then he turned toward Castiel, his expression still hazy but at the same time intense and compassionate. “You were always more, Cas. Always more than that. To me, anyway.” A flicker of some other feeling showed there for a moment but he turned away quickly, setting down his bottle to scrub his good hand across his face. A well-known gesture, Dean-speak for ‘I’ve said too much’. Castiel at least still knew better than to expect that the ‘other’ expression he saw was anything other than a friendly affection, not something more. He didn’t dare to hope that his new feelings toward Dean would be reciprocated.
Castiel was incredibly uncertain as to react, but with an instinct he didn’t know he had, he simply reached over and turned Dean’s face back toward his so that their eyes met. “You have always been more, as well, Dean. More than a charge, more than an intended vessel, more than a pawn in a game between Heaven and Hell. More than you’re ever willing to give yourself credit for. I told you the first time we met that you deserved to be saved, and after all this time, everything we’ve been through together, sometimes I think you still don’t believe what I said that day.”
“Sometimes I still don’t”, Dean replied. He had a lot more to say, the words were there, clearly, maybe he’d been waiting for a situation where speaking of his feelings would be acceptable. Where he could pretend to forget about whatever it was he wanted to say because he’d been high, or drunk, or in pain.
Right now, he was all three. And it was too much. Castiel could already see it, Dean was struggling to put together something he wanted to say, but losing the battle against the pain of his injury and the exhaustion and the drink and the drugs.
Castiel did what he hoped was the right thing, guiding Dean’s head onto his shoulder. “Rest now. All of this can wait until morning. I will watch over you.”
Half-asleep already, Dean managed to get out, “It’s what you do” before his eyes closed and his breath fell steady and even against Castiel’s collar. Hoping desperately that Dean really was asleep, Castiel pressed his lips to Dean’s temple. He’d have to wake him in a few hours to check over his injuries and make sure he didn’t need more medication. For now, Castiel just held onto him, pushing out just a little of his dwindling grace to ensure Dean would sleep peacefully.
Castiel had, at some point, fallen into something at least vaguely resembling sleep. It didn’t happen often, but it still made him incredibly uncomfortable. He didn’t know how humans coped with the feeling of having lost time. It seemed like a terribly vulnerable position to put one’s self in, though he knew it was a physical necessity for people. Having it happen to himself was still awfully discomforting.
He woke when he felt Dean moving. Opening his eyes, he realized they were both lying on the hard wood floor of the cabin. Castiel was flat on his back, and Dean’s head was resting on his chest, Castiel’s arm still around his uninjured shoulder, holding on to him. He expected Dean to push himself up and off of him, maybe throw out some sarcastic remarks about personal space and snuggling. To his surprise, Dean just moved in closer, like he was happy for their physical proximity.
“Cas?”
“Yes, Dean?”
“Last night. I was, uh…kind of out of it, I guess, but did you, uh…”
Castiel just laid there, stock-still and waiting for the rest of the question.
“Did you kiss me?”
“I kissed your forehead as you were drifting off. I thought you were already asleep and wouldn’t notice. I apologize.”
Dean was quiet then, so Castiel concentrated, touching Dean’s shoulder and forcing out a bit of his endlessly draining supply of Grace in the hope that it would ease Dean’s pain somewhat. Hopefully that would ensure a change of subject.
He heard Dean inhale sharply, then felt him relax again. “Did you just do that? Make it not hurt so much?”
“I did. I can’t fix it, but it seems I still have enough power to help just a bit.”
“Thanks, man, I - it did help, it helped a lot.”
The loss of contact affected Castiel much more than he expected, but Dean sat up, then stood, shakily, checking to see if his arm was still correctly arranged in the sling. “Is there a bathroom in this place?”
“Not a functioning one, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, come on, it’s all right, Cas, won’t be the first or last time I peed outside”, he replied with a smirk, and headed out the front door.
Castiel hadn’t gotten there yet, but he knew that if he kept going in the same direction, the need to eliminate in that manner would eventually become a necessity for him and he dreaded it more than he probably should. He already had to sleep a bit, and occasionally even had to eat or drink, though not all that often. He had no clue as to why the idea of that part of the digestive process was so off-putting to him, but all of these new sensations were so unfamiliar, and he hadn’t entirely lost the haughty attitude that came along with being an angel of the Lord. He didn’t see these necessities as weaknesses in the humans with which he interacted, but for some unfathomable reason he perceived them as weakness in himself as he became more like them.
Putting those thoughts aside as Dean returned to the cabin, Castiel got up and insisted on looking over Dean’s injury again. Even a light touch had the man gritting his teeth. “I’ll get you another dose of pain medication. I’d really prefer if you didn’t have any more alcohol, though, for now.”
“Thanks, Cas. And shit, seriously? It’s like eight in the morning. Even I’m not so bad off that I’m going to start drinking while the sun’s barely up. It’s that bottle there, yeah, just give me one, I don’t want to get loopy from it.”
“What is it? The medication, I mean. Narcotics?”
“Yeah, I don’t know what it is, though. Sam and me, we collect it from different hospital and clinic visits and just pour it all into the same bottle. Percocet, Vicodin, something like that. Nothing dangerous, I promise, unless I swallowed like ten of them or something”, he finished with a chuckle, like that was a ridiculous idea. Castiel wasn’t so sure sometimes.
“How long does it take, usually, for this to start feeling better?” He was well aware that his friend had suffered this particular injury more than once. All of a sudden, Castiel found himself worrying about permanent damage and cumulative effects. If he never regained the ability to heal, Dean was so much more vulnerable physically. It made him feel terribly ill at ease to imagine never again being able to assist Dean in that manner.
“A few days, at the most a week maybe, though it’ll be a while before it’s really all right again. There are these exercises you can do to help the process along. You really helped last night, though. I wouldn’t have been able to push it back in myself, and if you hadn’t been able to do that for me right away like that, it would be much worse.”
Castiel looked away. “I should have been able to repair it with a thought,” he said, a note of dejection in his voice. “I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t even drive your car…sometimes I think I’m really not much help in this fight anymore.”
When he finally looked back up, the expression on Dean’s face was heartbreaking. “Cas. How could you say that? First of all, you’re incredibly helpful in this fight. And even if there wasn’t a fight, we’re not measuring anything by how ‘helpful’ anyone is here. We need you, Cas, I need you. You’re not some kind of weapon I keep in my pocket for when I need it. You’re my friend, you’re Sam’s friend. You have to know that, man.”
“I apologize, Dean, recently it seems I’ve become very emotional, and maybe a bit irrational sometimes. But I can’t help but remember the things I used to be able to do, and can’t do anymore, don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do again…” Castiel trailed off there, not sure how to continue.
“Cas, look at me. I mean it. Listen to what I’m saying. Think about everything you’ve seen, everything you know, about me, about our family. Hell, Bobby can’t fucking walk. Do you see Sam and me tossing him aside because there are things he can’t do anymore?”
“I could have healed Bobby, too, before.”
“Could have. We all could have done lots of shit, Cas. I could have never made that crossroads deal. Sam could have decided that hooking up with Ruby was a terrible idea. My dad could have let me die when it was my time. Lots of ‘could have’ to go around here, man. None of it matters. We are where we are, we’re dealing with what’s in front of us, and we’re using what we have, trying our damnedest to come out on top of this fight. So just quit worrying about what you can’t do and let me do what I need to do. I never even got a chance to check you over last night. Roll up your sleeve and give me a look at that cut on your arm.”
Castiel shook his head, saying, “It’s nothing, Dean, a scratch”, but he didn’t get a chance to make any more excuses before Dean grabbed his arm and got a good look at the wound.
“Some of this blood on my jacket is yours. That’s not a ‘scratch’, Cas! Shit, if I had looked at it last night I would have stitched it, but it’s too late now. Let me try to take care of it, okay?”
“Of course. What do you need?”
“Pass me the first aid kit.”
Castiel did as he was asked, and Dean removed a small tube of ointment, a roll of tape and some packaged gauze bandages. First, he gently covered the cut in the ointment. “I have to put this on so it won’t get infected”, he said, clearly trying to instruct Castiel just as much as he was caring for the injury. “Now I’m just going to cover it up with gauze and tape it down. We’ll keep it covered for a few hours, then I’ll take another look at it to see if it’s healing.” Very slowly, he unraveled the gauze and wrapped it around Castiel’s forearm, securing it with the tape. “Just so you know, it’s gonna hurt like a bitch when I have to take that tape off”, he finished, with a crooked smile on his face. Castiel couldn’t help but smile back, just a little.
“Now this…”, Dean almost whispered, “I can’t really do anything to make it better. It’ll have to heal on its own, but it’s not serious, just a little cut.” He ran his thumb over Castiel’s split lip, and neither of them were able to ignore the fact that the touch caused Castiel to close his eyes and shiver.
For a moment, Dean didn’t move. He swiped his thumb over Castiel’s lip one more time, and waited for him to open his eyes again. When he did, he realized Dean had moved closer to him and was staring intently at the cut there. Or maybe just at his mouth, Castiel couldn’t tell, but he didn’t dare to move or speak. His eyes were wide and there was a strange feeling in his chest and belly, like something was fluttering around on his insides.
Without any further warning, Dean leaned in and brushed his lips softly against Castiel’s. Again, seemingly from some instinct whose origin he could not explain, Castiel moved forward, repeating the action. He felt Dean’s hand cup the side of his face as the kiss deepened, still soft and slow, but more insistent on both their parts.
After a few moments, Dean pulled away. “Sorry, Cas. Did I hurt you?” He was looking down at the floor again, as if he’d done something he shouldn’t have.
“No, Dean. I think maybe I’d like it if you’d do that again. If you wouldn’t mind…”
There was no hesitation this time, their lips met again, each parting for the other so they could explore the feeling, their tongues meeting in each other’s mouths, lazy and slow.
Once they broke the kiss, Dean just pulled Castiel closer to him and said, “You know, when this is all over, I’m gonna teach you how to drive.”
Castiel forgot in that moment everything he’d lost, and could think only of the possibility that there would be a time when all this really would be over, and he’d feel the cool breeze of air rushing by as he drove Dean’s car down a safe road in a safe world.
Author: verucasalt123
Title: The Hurt Locker
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Rating: R
Word Count: ~4100
Summary: Castiel attempts to comfort Dean after an injury. Then, FEELINGS. And, uh, kissing. Set in S5.
Warnings: Injury, some blood, curse words, kissing. Very special thanks to my sweet princess_aleera for her fantastic beta work. Without her, there would be even more long winded and run-on sentences in this story.
There was nothing Castiel wanted more than to help Dean; to take away the pain he was feeling and heal his wounds, both emotional and physical. It was abundantly clear to him that Dean was hurting, worse than he usually was after this kind of battle.
He couldn’t do it now, though, not anymore. His powers were much too weak, a muted mockery of what they once had been. Just months ago, he could have healed Dean with a touch, with barely a thought. Those times were past. He could only sit, for the moment, and attempt to comfort his friend. Not that his efforts in that particular endeavor had been successful or appreciated in the past, rare as they had been, but Castiel’s desire to do so now was growing stronger by the day. He knew that this new intensity of emotions he’d begun to experience was related to his dwindling powers. He was falling, becoming more human in small increments, and his previous default setting of ‘emotionally detached’ was leaving him as quickly as his Grace was. The unfamiliar but clearly identifiable feelings toward Dean caused yet another cascade of emotions; worry, fear, uncertainty.
Dean had dislocated his shoulder, again, in their last standoff with a group of demons determined to make the wishes of Heaven and Hell both come to fruition. They’d heard about the sudden increase in demon activity near Detroit and headed there immediately with the intention of clearing out the demonic presence in the area. Castiel still had enough Grace to help in some capacity, and his fighting skills were on par with Dean’s even without being as physically strong as he once had been. Dean still had Ruby’s knife, and they were both able to supplement those advantages with holy water and exorcisms, so they stood a decent chance of coming away from the fight without losing their lives.
Bobby, whom Castiel had begun to think was either a genius or a mind-reader, had told Sam he needed his help; there was a Wendigo sighting two counties over. “Can’t go up against one of those suckers alone, kid, even if I wasn’t an old cripple. Rufus is going, but I still gotta have backup. You mind?” Of course, there was no way Sam was going to say no. So maybe Bobby didn’t really possess supernatural powers, it was just a result of having known the Winchester brothers since they were small children that he always seemed to know exactly the right thing to do. Saying “Hey Sam, we don’t want you going out there near those demons” would never work, but saying, “Hey Sam, I need your help here, please” got the job done without (much) argument.
Ever since Sam and Dean had abandoned their brief and foreseeably unsustainable experiment into spending some time apart from each other, Dean was even more watchful over his younger brother than he had been in the past. So were Bobby and Castiel. It would be impossible and certainly foolish to completely rule out the possibility that Dean would say yes to Michael at some point. However, Castiel found it much more likely that if one of them were to say yes, it was going to be Sam. Not due to some weakness or defect on his part, but as a result of a misguided sense of obligation. Sam obviously held tight to his responsibility for having broken the final seal that kept Lucifer locked in his Cage. And of course, it mattered nothing to either of the brothers that his actions hadn’t been purposeful.
Castiel had no idea whether or not there really was a Wendigo sighting, but he knew for certain that Dean and Bobby would do whatever it took to keep Sam as geographically far from Detroit as humanly possible, for as long as humanly possible. Forever, they hoped, both of them, still clinging to the desperate optimism that Sam wouldn’t give in to the devil. Castiel knew better. He wanted to have the same hope, but it wasn’t as easy for him to brush off his instincts due to sentiment. To his surprise, he’d developed a genuine affection for Sam over the time they’d known each other, despite his initial mistrust of the man based on the limited information he had at the time. He didn’t want to think Sam would give in, but he was almost certain that eventually, that was what was going to happen.
So Dean and Castiel had gone alone. There were more demons than they’d been prepared for, and the fight had been brutal and long. Exceptionally so; both of them coming out of it injured, bleeding, panting for breath. Dean’s arm hung at an odd angle, and Castiel was sporting a split lip and a long gash on his forearm.
Once they were alone among a pile of unfortunate demon meatsuits, Dean told him there was no other choice but to fix his shoulder the ‘old-fashioned way’, considering Castiel’s current condition. Having figured out the mechanics of returning the humeral head of the joint to its proper position, he held Dean tight against his body as he rotated his shoulder blade in one direction, clearly hearing the joint pop back into place even over Dean’s pained shout. After having accomplished that, Castiel could only immobilize Dean’s arm to prevent further damage. Unless he experienced some miraculous re-stocking of his Grace, the injury would have to heal on its own.
Castiel had stopped looking for miracles by that point.
Making a brief stop at an all-night drugstore, Castiel had gone inside and located a sling that matched the description he’d been given as Dean stayed in the car. How he managed to drive was a mystery to Castiel, but there was no choice in the matter as he’d never learned that particular skill and Dean wasn’t about to let him practice behind the wheel of his beloved Impala, at least not in this situation. The pain must have been excruciating. Castiel had seen tears in Dean’s eyes before, but never as a result of anything physical. Stoicism was Dean’s default position in the face of injury, so the sight of those green eyes shining with moisture was an honest surprise to Castiel. At first he worried that he’d gotten the procedure wrong, but Dean assured him that “You did great, Cas, thanks”, and those words erased his concern that he may have further injured the man. Following Dean’s patient instructions once again, Castiel managed to arrange his arm into the sling so that it was bent at the elbow and held flush against his chest.
Here, hours later in an old abandoned cabin with only candles to light the single room, Dean refused to sit. He paced restlessly until his waning energy left him only able to lean back against one of the walls. He’d obtained a handful of pills from an unmarked pharmacy bottle in his first aid box and washed them down with two swigs from the bottle of bourbon which he hadn’t yet put down. Evan Williams, it said on the label. Castiel actually took a moment to wonder who Evan Williams was before his attention was back on Dean.
Again, he prompted his friend, “Please, Dean. Sit down. Just rest for a moment.”
“I’m not feeling like now’s the time for me to sit around on my ass, you know that. We have to keep moving, keep trying. There has to be an answer out there that’s better than Sam or me agreeing to let one of those fuckhead angels ride us like a bike. No offense.”
“None taken. I had already assumed you did not count me among the, uh”, it felt strange but at the same time natural to repeat what Dean had said, “fuckhead angels.”
And then Dean laughed. He finally sat down, hunched over a bit, and really laughed. “Yeah, Cas, yeah, I don’t think you’re one of the fuckheads.” For a moment, he was silent, then he added, “I’m glad you already knew that.”
Dean’s voice was slurred, and despite his previous laughter, his features were tight. What Dean liked to call his mojo may not have been in top condition, but it was easy for Castiel to see everything that was there. Dean was in pain, halfway to being intoxicated by the alcohol, and pushed in that direction harder by the ingestion of whatever the pills were that he’d swallowed. Some kind of opiate or narcotic, certainly, judging by the glazed look in Dean’s eyes that was intensified by the discomfort of his injury. Somewhere in his brain, Castiel had the urge to take the bottle, use his common sense, inform Dean (though he certainly already knew) that those types of medications could be dangerous when mixed with alcohol.
He couldn’t bring himself to do it, though. He was in no mood to give a lecture, and Dean was in no mood to hear one.
Castiel remained silent, but removed his overcoat and suit jacket, then positioned himself so that he was sitting next to Dean, almost close enough to brush against his uninjured arm. His voice slurred, Dean asked him, “What are we going to do if Sam says yes, Cas? What the fuck are we gonna do then?” Castiel knew for sure, now, that Dean was impaired, because he’d never ask that question sober. He was well aware that any answer he got would be unvarnished truth.
“I don’t know. We haven’t given up looking for…alternatives. But if he does, Dean - if Sam says yes, it’ll be because he thinks he’s stronger than Lucifer, that he’ll be able to change things, bend Lucifer’s will to his own. I can assure you, that will not happen.”
“You can’t see the future, Cas”, Dean mumbled. “Got no, like, crystal ball or whatever. You don’t know what Sam can do.” Even through the haze of pain and intoxication, Castiel could see the sadness in Dean’s eyes as he contemplated the possibility.
“I am well aware of your brother’s strength, and his determination. However, I am also very well aware of those same attributes in my brother”, Castiel replied quietly.
“Shit, Cas, I’m sorry. You know that whole thing about not lumping you in with all the other angels…sometimes I forget for a minute. He is your brother. They’re all your brothers. Everything you’ve done…” Dean seemed unable to finish his thought as his eyes glazed over again and became unfocused and directed at the floor by their feet.
“My choices have been my own. I believe I have made the correct ones, regardless of the consequences. You’re the one who showed me what it was like to think for myself, not to be, as you said once, a hammer. I am more than that now.”
Slowly, Dean’s eyes moved from the floor until he was staring straight ahead, then he turned toward Castiel, his expression still hazy but at the same time intense and compassionate. “You were always more, Cas. Always more than that. To me, anyway.” A flicker of some other feeling showed there for a moment but he turned away quickly, setting down his bottle to scrub his good hand across his face. A well-known gesture, Dean-speak for ‘I’ve said too much’. Castiel at least still knew better than to expect that the ‘other’ expression he saw was anything other than a friendly affection, not something more. He didn’t dare to hope that his new feelings toward Dean would be reciprocated.
Castiel was incredibly uncertain as to react, but with an instinct he didn’t know he had, he simply reached over and turned Dean’s face back toward his so that their eyes met. “You have always been more, as well, Dean. More than a charge, more than an intended vessel, more than a pawn in a game between Heaven and Hell. More than you’re ever willing to give yourself credit for. I told you the first time we met that you deserved to be saved, and after all this time, everything we’ve been through together, sometimes I think you still don’t believe what I said that day.”
“Sometimes I still don’t”, Dean replied. He had a lot more to say, the words were there, clearly, maybe he’d been waiting for a situation where speaking of his feelings would be acceptable. Where he could pretend to forget about whatever it was he wanted to say because he’d been high, or drunk, or in pain.
Right now, he was all three. And it was too much. Castiel could already see it, Dean was struggling to put together something he wanted to say, but losing the battle against the pain of his injury and the exhaustion and the drink and the drugs.
Castiel did what he hoped was the right thing, guiding Dean’s head onto his shoulder. “Rest now. All of this can wait until morning. I will watch over you.”
Half-asleep already, Dean managed to get out, “It’s what you do” before his eyes closed and his breath fell steady and even against Castiel’s collar. Hoping desperately that Dean really was asleep, Castiel pressed his lips to Dean’s temple. He’d have to wake him in a few hours to check over his injuries and make sure he didn’t need more medication. For now, Castiel just held onto him, pushing out just a little of his dwindling grace to ensure Dean would sleep peacefully.
Castiel had, at some point, fallen into something at least vaguely resembling sleep. It didn’t happen often, but it still made him incredibly uncomfortable. He didn’t know how humans coped with the feeling of having lost time. It seemed like a terribly vulnerable position to put one’s self in, though he knew it was a physical necessity for people. Having it happen to himself was still awfully discomforting.
He woke when he felt Dean moving. Opening his eyes, he realized they were both lying on the hard wood floor of the cabin. Castiel was flat on his back, and Dean’s head was resting on his chest, Castiel’s arm still around his uninjured shoulder, holding on to him. He expected Dean to push himself up and off of him, maybe throw out some sarcastic remarks about personal space and snuggling. To his surprise, Dean just moved in closer, like he was happy for their physical proximity.
“Cas?”
“Yes, Dean?”
“Last night. I was, uh…kind of out of it, I guess, but did you, uh…”
Castiel just laid there, stock-still and waiting for the rest of the question.
“Did you kiss me?”
“I kissed your forehead as you were drifting off. I thought you were already asleep and wouldn’t notice. I apologize.”
Dean was quiet then, so Castiel concentrated, touching Dean’s shoulder and forcing out a bit of his endlessly draining supply of Grace in the hope that it would ease Dean’s pain somewhat. Hopefully that would ensure a change of subject.
He heard Dean inhale sharply, then felt him relax again. “Did you just do that? Make it not hurt so much?”
“I did. I can’t fix it, but it seems I still have enough power to help just a bit.”
“Thanks, man, I - it did help, it helped a lot.”
The loss of contact affected Castiel much more than he expected, but Dean sat up, then stood, shakily, checking to see if his arm was still correctly arranged in the sling. “Is there a bathroom in this place?”
“Not a functioning one, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, come on, it’s all right, Cas, won’t be the first or last time I peed outside”, he replied with a smirk, and headed out the front door.
Castiel hadn’t gotten there yet, but he knew that if he kept going in the same direction, the need to eliminate in that manner would eventually become a necessity for him and he dreaded it more than he probably should. He already had to sleep a bit, and occasionally even had to eat or drink, though not all that often. He had no clue as to why the idea of that part of the digestive process was so off-putting to him, but all of these new sensations were so unfamiliar, and he hadn’t entirely lost the haughty attitude that came along with being an angel of the Lord. He didn’t see these necessities as weaknesses in the humans with which he interacted, but for some unfathomable reason he perceived them as weakness in himself as he became more like them.
Putting those thoughts aside as Dean returned to the cabin, Castiel got up and insisted on looking over Dean’s injury again. Even a light touch had the man gritting his teeth. “I’ll get you another dose of pain medication. I’d really prefer if you didn’t have any more alcohol, though, for now.”
“Thanks, Cas. And shit, seriously? It’s like eight in the morning. Even I’m not so bad off that I’m going to start drinking while the sun’s barely up. It’s that bottle there, yeah, just give me one, I don’t want to get loopy from it.”
“What is it? The medication, I mean. Narcotics?”
“Yeah, I don’t know what it is, though. Sam and me, we collect it from different hospital and clinic visits and just pour it all into the same bottle. Percocet, Vicodin, something like that. Nothing dangerous, I promise, unless I swallowed like ten of them or something”, he finished with a chuckle, like that was a ridiculous idea. Castiel wasn’t so sure sometimes.
“How long does it take, usually, for this to start feeling better?” He was well aware that his friend had suffered this particular injury more than once. All of a sudden, Castiel found himself worrying about permanent damage and cumulative effects. If he never regained the ability to heal, Dean was so much more vulnerable physically. It made him feel terribly ill at ease to imagine never again being able to assist Dean in that manner.
“A few days, at the most a week maybe, though it’ll be a while before it’s really all right again. There are these exercises you can do to help the process along. You really helped last night, though. I wouldn’t have been able to push it back in myself, and if you hadn’t been able to do that for me right away like that, it would be much worse.”
Castiel looked away. “I should have been able to repair it with a thought,” he said, a note of dejection in his voice. “I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t even drive your car…sometimes I think I’m really not much help in this fight anymore.”
When he finally looked back up, the expression on Dean’s face was heartbreaking. “Cas. How could you say that? First of all, you’re incredibly helpful in this fight. And even if there wasn’t a fight, we’re not measuring anything by how ‘helpful’ anyone is here. We need you, Cas, I need you. You’re not some kind of weapon I keep in my pocket for when I need it. You’re my friend, you’re Sam’s friend. You have to know that, man.”
“I apologize, Dean, recently it seems I’ve become very emotional, and maybe a bit irrational sometimes. But I can’t help but remember the things I used to be able to do, and can’t do anymore, don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do again…” Castiel trailed off there, not sure how to continue.
“Cas, look at me. I mean it. Listen to what I’m saying. Think about everything you’ve seen, everything you know, about me, about our family. Hell, Bobby can’t fucking walk. Do you see Sam and me tossing him aside because there are things he can’t do anymore?”
“I could have healed Bobby, too, before.”
“Could have. We all could have done lots of shit, Cas. I could have never made that crossroads deal. Sam could have decided that hooking up with Ruby was a terrible idea. My dad could have let me die when it was my time. Lots of ‘could have’ to go around here, man. None of it matters. We are where we are, we’re dealing with what’s in front of us, and we’re using what we have, trying our damnedest to come out on top of this fight. So just quit worrying about what you can’t do and let me do what I need to do. I never even got a chance to check you over last night. Roll up your sleeve and give me a look at that cut on your arm.”
Castiel shook his head, saying, “It’s nothing, Dean, a scratch”, but he didn’t get a chance to make any more excuses before Dean grabbed his arm and got a good look at the wound.
“Some of this blood on my jacket is yours. That’s not a ‘scratch’, Cas! Shit, if I had looked at it last night I would have stitched it, but it’s too late now. Let me try to take care of it, okay?”
“Of course. What do you need?”
“Pass me the first aid kit.”
Castiel did as he was asked, and Dean removed a small tube of ointment, a roll of tape and some packaged gauze bandages. First, he gently covered the cut in the ointment. “I have to put this on so it won’t get infected”, he said, clearly trying to instruct Castiel just as much as he was caring for the injury. “Now I’m just going to cover it up with gauze and tape it down. We’ll keep it covered for a few hours, then I’ll take another look at it to see if it’s healing.” Very slowly, he unraveled the gauze and wrapped it around Castiel’s forearm, securing it with the tape. “Just so you know, it’s gonna hurt like a bitch when I have to take that tape off”, he finished, with a crooked smile on his face. Castiel couldn’t help but smile back, just a little.
“Now this…”, Dean almost whispered, “I can’t really do anything to make it better. It’ll have to heal on its own, but it’s not serious, just a little cut.” He ran his thumb over Castiel’s split lip, and neither of them were able to ignore the fact that the touch caused Castiel to close his eyes and shiver.
For a moment, Dean didn’t move. He swiped his thumb over Castiel’s lip one more time, and waited for him to open his eyes again. When he did, he realized Dean had moved closer to him and was staring intently at the cut there. Or maybe just at his mouth, Castiel couldn’t tell, but he didn’t dare to move or speak. His eyes were wide and there was a strange feeling in his chest and belly, like something was fluttering around on his insides.
Without any further warning, Dean leaned in and brushed his lips softly against Castiel’s. Again, seemingly from some instinct whose origin he could not explain, Castiel moved forward, repeating the action. He felt Dean’s hand cup the side of his face as the kiss deepened, still soft and slow, but more insistent on both their parts.
After a few moments, Dean pulled away. “Sorry, Cas. Did I hurt you?” He was looking down at the floor again, as if he’d done something he shouldn’t have.
“No, Dean. I think maybe I’d like it if you’d do that again. If you wouldn’t mind…”
There was no hesitation this time, their lips met again, each parting for the other so they could explore the feeling, their tongues meeting in each other’s mouths, lazy and slow.
Once they broke the kiss, Dean just pulled Castiel closer to him and said, “You know, when this is all over, I’m gonna teach you how to drive.”
Castiel forgot in that moment everything he’d lost, and could think only of the possibility that there would be a time when all this really would be over, and he’d feel the cool breeze of air rushing by as he drove Dean’s car down a safe road in a safe world.