Wher's Its Sore: Chapter One
Title: Where It’s Sore
Author: verucasalt123
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural/angst/slash
Pairing (s): Dean/Cas, implied past Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~11,600
Warnings: angst, slash, permanent injury, character death (canon), references to incest
Summary: AU from 5x22, where Cas is there to try help Dean recover from his many injuries after the fight at Stull, including a permanent vision problem, his reluctance to face life outside the safe little place the two of them call home now, and most importantly, the loss of Sam. Learning how to live again is a long road for Dean and for Castiel; this story is about them finding their way along that road.
A/N: POV here is going to switch around, I’ve tried to make it clear which is which. Title stolen from the incredible Regina Spektor song “Better”, if you don’t know it, go find it. All of the ponies to trickylady and verityburns for the beta and to geckoholic for the art.
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Art Masterpost: http://bl00dredskies.livejournal.com/91597.html
Fic Masterpost: http://verucasalt123.livejournal.com/210906.html
Dean still hadn’t been able to force himself to move, so the way Castiel found him was exactly the way he’d been sitting for however the fuck long it had been since he’d watched his baby brother (and his baby brother) fall into a hole in the field. He was on his knees, his head cast down, his hands resting together. There was blood pouring from all over his face, he could feel it, he could even feel the pain; the split skin, the swollen patches, the ache in his knees. Nothing registered, though, over the realization that Sam was gone.
Gone.
Sam was gone, down to the Cage.
Bobby was gone, his neck broken and his body prone on the ground.
Cas was gone, blown to bits without a second thought when Lucifer snapped Sam’s fingers.
Surely, at some point, the panic would set in. He had nowhere to go, and no one to go to. His promise to his brother had been bullshit all along, of course. That Lisa was a nice girl, with a good life and a fine son, and he never had any intention of saddling her with the kind of baggage he was carrying. If he thought there was a chance she’d turn him away, he would have gone to her, at least to know he’d done as his brother had asked. But she wouldn’t have, no fucking chance, and she didn’t deserve to be punished for being a kind person by taking in some wayward one night stand she’d had years ago after he’d been broken beyond repair. No matter what had happened, Dean still had some sense of decency.
There he was then, on his knees in the dirt, when he saw a shadow and looked up to see what he thought at first must be a hallucination. The sky was clear blue and the sun was bright (and fuck you, Sun, you ought to hang your head in shame, daring to shine down and make a day like this try to look cheerful), and Castiel was smiling at him, his clothes rumpled and dirty but not bloody.
It was only a moment, though, because Cas just sat down next to him looking haggard and not that much more or less human than he’d been last night. He felt cool fingertips against his forehead and his pain eased somewhat; a bit of the aching subsided and there was no longer any blood dripping from his chin.
Before he had a chance to ask about anything, that familiar gravel tone reached his ears. “I’m sorry I can’t do more to help.”
And Dean knew that tone. It was regret, and it was sincere. He’d heard it before.
His voice was wrecked, but he somehow managed to speak. “You’re alive, Cas. You did all you could, and then you died. But you’re alive.” It almost sounded like a question, Dean’s voice was breaking a little but he knew he sounded like those silly teenage girls who made every sentence sound like a question.
“Yes, I am. Alive. But I can’t heal you, not completely.”
“Bobby?” Dean asked, with just a tiny spark of hope he didn’t even want to have.
“I’ve sent him home. He’s fine. He probably won’t wake up for a couple of days.”
Dean, flooded with relief for just a moment with that welcome bit of information, studied Castiel’s face a little more closely. “So where are you going to send me, then? To Cicero? You know what Sam asked me to do.” His voice was slurred, he could hear it, thought his jaw might be broken and maybe he’d gotten his head bashed against the car too hard.
“No, Dean, not to Cicero. There is a place where we can stay, it’s not too far. Your injuries are…”, it sounded like Cas, who usually wasn’t one to make an attempt at sugarcoating anything, was trying to downplay the physical repercussions of Dean’s near TKO, “not going to heal quickly. You need somewhere to recover. Do you think you can drive?”
All right, so that answered at least one question. Cas had enough mojo to zap Bobby back to his place, but didn’t have enough to make a trip with Dean and his car in tow.
“Maybe I should try to stand up first before I answer that.”
And hey, standing up was surprisingly easy. His head wasn’t spinning (much) and his legs felt fine. There was something off, though, and it only took a minute to figure out what it was. “Are one of my eyes swollen shut, Cas?”
“Yes, your left eye is…closed. Swollen and bruised.” Cas was using that slightly evasive tone he’d used before, but Dean didn’t have the energy to think much of it right then. “I could try to drive, if…”
“No, Cas, no, I’m all right. I can drive with a black eye, won’t be the first time. Just tell me where to go.”
They made their way to the car and Dean drove for almost an hour, until they were a little ways east of Shawnee, and Cas directed him onto a back road. After just a few more miles, they parked in front of what looked like somebody’s summertime ‘get back to nature’ cabin. It was certainly not the kind of place he’d squatted in with Sam or his dad in the past, the one-room hunter’s cabins with no running water. There was a wraparound porch and a ton of windows in the front, all of them covered with curtains, not blinds or tacked-up blankets, but honest to Chuck fucking drapes and sconces Dean could see from the driveway. Which, by the way, was paved, not a patch of gravel or a pile of mud. Even with his vision limited still a little blurry, he noticed all these things within thirty seconds of their arrival. The instinct of a hunter, taking in the details immediately, in case they would be useful later.
And yeah, they’d be useful later.
With some help from Cas, Dean managed to walk from the car to the front door, which wasn’t locked. One quick sweep told him the basics: a furnished living room, a kitchen connected by an open doorway, a closed door he assumed was a bathroom, and a hallway that led to whatever sleeping quarters were available. He wasn’t hungry, and felt no urgent need to use the restroom, but quickly zeroed in on the threadbare sofa and the brightly colored afghan folded against its back.
Cas didn’t go without noticing this, clearly, as he pushed Dean in that direction. Settling him down on the couch and covering him with the small blanket, Cas just whispered, “Rest, Dean, please, just get some rest.” His voice sounded defeated and weak, but Dean didn’t have the strength to address it, or to address the thousand other things on his mind.
“Okay, Cas”, he slurred, already half-unconscious. Sleep took him over so much more quickly than he thought it would, given the circumstances.
xxxxx
As Dean slept, Castiel made his way through the cabin once again. He’d secured it before any of this happened, just in case any of them lived and would need a place to, as Dean would say,lay low for a while. He’d even left an envelope on Bobby’s desk with an address and directions, in case he was gone. He figured if any one of them survived, they would go directly to the salvage yard. Thankfully, at the end of it all, they’d lost only one. It was a devastating loss, surely, but the thought of Dean being all alone in the world was unbearable. Castiel had no idea how he’d returned or who was responsible, but he didn’t spend much time contemplating that. Right now, he was just incredibly grateful that he was alive. He was even still an angel, though his powers were very weak.
Before Dean had even registered Castiel’s presence in the cemetery, he crouched over Bobby and concentrated as hard as he possibly could. When he saw the man’s eyes open, he was relieved beyond belief. Still, before there was a chance to ask questions, he just smiled and placed his fingers onto Bobby’s forehead, sending him back to his home to recover.
When he finally made his way over to where Dean was kneeling on the ground, he was astounded at the damage he saw. He hadn’t been there for whatever had happened, but clearly either Lucifer or Michael had beaten Dean badly enough that he was barely recognizable. Castiel was already so drained from his efforts to resuscitate Bobby that there wasn’t much he could do for Dean. He stopped the bleeding and tried to ease some of the pain, but the injuries…he couldn’t heal those. At least not now.
The kitchen was stocked with simple food. There was electricity, hot water, clean beds, even a television. The house had a satellite dish which provided a variety of entertainment, and he was glad now that he’d made sure of that. Dean would be out of commission for a good while, and he’d surely want to find some of his favorite movies or maybe that hospital drama he liked so much to help him pass the time. Castiel checked over the supplies with an eye toward things he’d be able to feed Dean. His jaw was clearly broken and they’d need soft foods. He almost allowed himself a small smile when he thought of the fight Dean would put up when informed he was stuck with soup and mashed potatoes until he healed.
It was gone just as quickly, though, when Castiel imagined there may not be too much fight left in Dean Winchester. Not after this.
Losing a brother was a terrible tragedy, Castiel knew this from experience. But Dean losing Sam was more than tragic. They’d been closer than most siblings their entire lives, gone above and beyond all expectations and reason when it came to keeping each other safe. Even more than that, they were lovers. Castiel hadn’t let on that he knew about it, seeing no need to make either of them uncomfortable, but he did know. He knew it had been going on since they were teenagers, and he also knew it wasn’t some kind of adrenaline-rush desperation that fueled their relationship. It was love, as true and intense as anything he’d seen in all his years of existence and observation. For Dean to lose that, Castiel couldn’t even begin to imagine the ways in which he’d break. He could only compare it to what he thought it would be like for him to lose Dean.
xxxxx
When Dean finally started to emerge from sleep, he was completely disoriented. For a minute, he had no idea where he was, how he’d gotten there, what had happened to him. But then it all came flooding back and he trembled as he tried to sit up. Cas was right there, doing his usual creeper imitation, sitting in a chair across the room watching him sleep. Before he had a chance to speak, Cas was at his side, crouching beside the sofa.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I got the shit beat out of me by an archangel. You?”
“I am…tired. Weak. But it’s not of import. Tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you.” Cas sounded almost desperate, like he was eager to do something for Dean.
“Sorry Cas, what I need is to take a piss and get into the shower. Gotta do that on my own.” He planted his feet on the floor, but as soon as he was upright, he got dizzy and almost fell right back down. Cas was quick, though, catching him around his waist and supporting his weight for him. “All right, so maybe not completely on my own. If you can help me to the bathroom, though, I think I can do the rest. Would you get my clothes from the car for me?”
“Of course, Dean”, Cas answered earnestly, with that slightly odd tone to his voice again. Cas helped him across the room and led him to the bathroom, opening the door and saying, “I’ll be back with your bag.”
Dean thanked him, then closed the door and relieved himself, trying to concentrate on one minute at a time. He wasn’t ready to re-live everything that had happened, wasn’t ready to process the complete lack of Sam in the world.
It lasted only for as long as it took for him to step over to the sink. What he saw in the mirror was shocking, to say the least. His face was beat all to hell. And he knew that. He did, he knew it, but he hadn’t seen it, and the sight was terrifying. The broken jaw was no longer just a suspicion. He was covered in bruises and most of his face was covered in swelling and cuts. His left eye still wasn’t open, and it was about three times the size it should be.
As he was standing there taking all of this in, there was no way not to remember how it had happened. His own words, over and over again, ‘I’m here, Sammy, I’m not leaving you, I’m not going anywhere’ as the devil used his brother to punch him a hundred times. For a minute there, he’d thought he was going to die. He had no idea what had happened to cause Sam to break through and get hold of the archangel, but he didn’t have much time to think about it before he realized what Sam was doing when he threw the rings to the ground. He knew Sam had spoken, but had no idea what he’d said, because then he was watching as his baby brother closed his eyes and started falling backward, dragging his own baby brother down with him. Dean had tried crawling toward the hole in the field, but by the time he was able to move, there was nothing there.
Nothing.
He didn’t realize he was crying until he heard Cas softly clearing his throat from the hallway, not even having recalled the sound of Cas opening the door. “I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t know what else to say. I wish…”
Dean pulled on what little strength he had left and turned to Cas, saying “You have nothing to be sorry for. Anyway, I’m gonna shower now, all right?” He didn’t wait for Cas’ answer before he took his bag and closed the door again.
Physically, he did feel a little better after he showered and put on clean clothes. He was still in pain, but it wasn’t as bad as before. And surprisingly, he did want something to eat. He wasn’t sure how he was going to manage that with his mouth damaged so badly, but Cas had obviously thought of it already. When he came out of the bathroom, Cas was in the kitchen, heating up canned soup. Tomato rice soup, too, one of his favorites. Dean sat down at the small table there as Cas poured some into bowls for each of them.
Another question answered. Cas had to eat, so his mojo must really be in the crapper.
Dean managed to avoid talking about losing Sam for almost two days. By that point, Cas had worn him down to the point where he had only his explosive temper to express what he was feeling.
“How the fuck do you think I feel, Cas?” he tried to yell, though the broken jaw didn’t allow for much of it. “He’s gone! He’s my brother, and he’s fucking gone, like, not coming back, no miracles this time, no deals, no nothing, just gone. So, really? You don’t already know how I feel?”
His outburst seemed to silence Cas more than he intended, the look on his face so grave and…well, sad. Cas looked sad. “I’m sorry, Dean. Those were my brothers. The ones who took your brother from you. How can you not hate me for that?”
Against his nature, against the rage he was feeling, a bubble of sympathy welled up in him for Cas. “How could you even think that? It wasn’t anything you did…”
“How often did you take on blame for actions that were Sam’s, Dean? How many times? Even when you were children? It was a natural feeling for you, as it is for me. Surely you can understand that.”
Dean had to admit, Cas had a point. “All right, I get it. I do. But I don’t blame you for any of this. I just - I can’t. I’m not ready, I can’t talk about it anymore, I can’t even think about it. Not yet.”
“All right, Dean, it’s fine.” As Dean settled onto to the sofa, Cas pulled the blanket around his shoulders. “How about if I put on a television show for you? Cooking channel? Maybe there’s a rerun of that show you like, the hospital one…” It was obvious that Cas was trying to lighten the mood, so Dean just went with it.
“Dr. Sexy, MD. It’s all right, Cas, you can say ‘sexy’. It’s not gonna break any laws, not at this point anyway.” Cas didn’t respond and Dean scrolled through the channels. “Seriously? A whole channel with nothing but old game shows? Dude, Press Your Luck is on right now! I haven’t seen that one for years! Come on and watch with me, it’ll be fun. Please?”
“Yes, I’ll watch with you”, Cas replied, sinking down next to Dean on the sofa. Dean’s intermittent cries of “Big money, no whammies!” seemed to be amusing to Cas, so he just kept it up, and then stayed there as Joker’s Wild came on. He tried to let his mind fill up with happy memories, watching these shows with Sam when they were kids, four-year-old Sam babbling ‘no whammies”, parroting his big brother’s exclamations.
xxxxx
It was another day and a half before the first call came in to Castiel’s cell. Bobby was the only person who could be calling, obviously.
“Hello, Bobby.”
“Cas? At first I thought it was a dream. I saw you die, hell, I had chunks of you all over my clothes. But it was you who…woke me up. Sent me home. How?”
“I have no answer to that question, and right now it is not a matter of great import. I am caring for Dean, he was injured rather badly after the two of us were…gone.”
“Too badly for you to heal him?” Bobby asked, clearly surprised.
“At the moment, yes. The effort I put forth into taking care of you used up most of the powers I have right now. I can feel them returning, but it is incremental. The process could take a significant amount of time.”
Bobby cleared his throat. “Thanks for that, then. How’s he holding up, Cas? If you don’t have Sam with you too, I’m assuming worst case scenario for him.”
“Unfortunately, you are correct. Dean’s account of the events indicate that Sam somehow managed to control Lucifer just long enough to throw himself and Michael…Adam…to throw both of them into the Cage. I always knew Sam was brave and self-sacrificing, but that was well beyond anything I’d expected. To answer your question about Dean, he’s not doing well. He won’t talk much about what happened, and his mood is alternating between grief and rage. Physically, he’s got broken bones in his face and what I am afraid might be severe damage to one of his eyes.”
“One of those guys got ahold of him, for sure…oh, please tell me it wasn’t Sam.”
Castiel regretted having to say it, but he told Bobby the truth. “It wasn’t Sam, not really, it was Lucifer, but all Dean could see was Sam while it was happening. He has no wounds that appear defensive, so my assumption is that he didn’t fight back.”
“God da- sorry, Cas. Gosh darned idjits, both of them.”
Allowing himself a small chuckle, he replied, “Truthfully, I agree with your assessment there. But for now I’ve got to try and get Dean well again. As well as I can, though there’s no way to know how successful I’ll be.”
“Look, I’m just glad he’s not alone. I saw your note, I know where you are. Do you want me to come out there?”
“That’s probably not the best idea right now. I’ll put Dean on the phone, though, if you want.”
“Sure, yeah, thanks Cas.”
Surprisingly, Dean refused to take the phone. He just shook his head and turned back toward the television.
Trying to make the situation a little less painful, he just said, “I’m sorry Bobby, he’s very tired, and it’s difficult for him to speak. Maybe in a few days.” Honestly, he had no idea why Dean refused to talk to the man he’d considered a surrogate father for years.
“It’s all right, Cas. You just concentrate on taking care of him, and I’ll check in on you two by phone for now. In the meantime, I’ve got serious research to do.”
Not bothering to mention that it was a futile endeavor, Castiel simply thanked Bobby for his effort and hung up.
Over the next two weeks, Castiel could feel his powers returning ever so slightly. Using them to heal as much as he could of Dean’s injuries, however, instantly weakened him again. It was frustrating, but at least progress was being made on one front. Dean’s broken bones were repaired, the cuts and bruises on his face had disappeared. His disposition seemed to improve, as well, once he was able to eat what he referred to as ‘real food’ again. Castiel was concerned, though, about the lack of improvement in the area around Dean’s left eye, where the damage had been worse than anywhere else. The swelling was almost completely down, and he could open the eye now, but his gaze was unfocused. His vision at first had been completely gone on that side, and Castiel could see terror on Dean’s face, could almost feel it himself as he knew Dean was contemplating the possibility of being half-blind on top of everything else. After a few days, though, he could see shadows, then fuzzy images. Still, no amount of effort on Castiel’s part could push Dean past that point. It was too soon, he knew rationally, to think this was a permanent plateau, but the thought made him feel so many different things.
In his current state, he was still experiencing some of the strong emotions he’d been subjected to over the past few months. They didn’t seem to be dissipating with the return of his powers, though. No doubt they were still insignificant compared to the way humans felt emotions, but to Castiel it was overwhelming. His need to protect and care for Dean took on a completely different light. It was less of an obligation and much more of a desire. A strong desire. Though he’d often expressed anger even when he was at full power, it had never felt the way it did now. When he thought of what his brothers had done, taking Sam from them and damaging Dean in this way, physically and emotionally, he could only describe that emotion as pure rage.
Bobby’s calls continued every few days, as did Dean’s refusal to speak to him. Castiel updated him the best he could, tried to reassure him that Dean was recovering, but he could hear Bobby’s concern and what he thought might be a hint of suspicion as his attempts to speak to Dean were rebuffed and his offers to drive out there were turned down. “I give you my word, I am not keeping him here against his will”, Castiel finally declared, hoping to clear up that suspicion.
“Damn it, Cas, I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just worried about the boy, all right?”
“Of course. I am also…worried.” He didn’t add and unfathomably angry and grieving for Sam and confused about why I feel differently toward Dean now and guilty for not being able to fix him. Bobby was suffering under the weight of having lost Sam as well, and he was exhausted from tireless research that was getting him nowhere on top of not being able to see Dean for himself. Castiel wasn’t about to burden the man with his own complex array of issues. “As soon as I can get him to agree, we’ll have you here right away, this is all just too much for him. He barely speaks to me and I’m right here.”
“Okay, Cas, I know you’re doing the best you can with him. Just make sure he knows I asked after him.”
“I always do, Bobby.”
xxxxx
Dean heard most of the conversation but still didn’t look up at Cas when he came back to the living room. He felt Cas sit down next to him, close, like he had been lately, but didn’t have the strength to make an argument about personal space. If he was being honest with himself, he would have acknowledged that he liked having Cas this close, but he wasn’t being honest with himself, because that would be the emotionally healthy thing to do, and it just wasn’t really one of his strong points.
“Bobby is getting very worried, Dean. If you’d just talk to him-”
“Cas, please. Please, not now. I’m not ready. I don’t want to talk to him, not because it’s him, I just - I don’t want to talk to anyone. I’m covered up here, man, my issues have issues, for fuck’s sake, this is all too much, too freaking much, I don’t know what I’d even say.”
Taking a deep breath and looking like he had decided to willingly stick his head onto a chopping block and deal with the consequences later, Cas countered with, “Why don’t you try it out on me, then?”
“Try what out? Talking about it? I just told you, I don’t know what to say. It’s all jumbled up in my brain, and I can’t just discuss my feelings like my dog got run over or my girlfriend broke up with me!” And there it was, the point where all the cracks met up in the middle to break down his control. He wasn’t able to shut it down like he had been before. With no warning, he realized there were tears running down his face. Cas hadn’t really done or said anything out of the ordinary, it wasn’t the first time he’d tried getting Dean to open up, but for some reason he couldn’t hold it back any longer. “I watched my brother get taken over by the fucking Devil. Voluntarily, I might add, because he thought he could beat him. Beat the fucking devil, Cas! And hey, guess what? He did it!” Dean was shouting now, and could hear the hysteria rising in his voice. “But not before he used Sam to kill you and Bobby right in front of my face, and then proceed to almost kill me too. But oh yeah, Sam did it! He got ahold of Lucifer, all right. Just long enough to jump into that godforsaken hole in the ground, where he is, as we sit here discussing my feelings, being tortured in the fucking Cage by archangels! And now…now…now there’s not-” his voice almost got stuck on the words but they’d been in his brain so long they just kept on going and fell right out of his crying, screaming mouth. “There’s. No. Sam. No Sam.” Fuck the entire world, he couldn’t even talk anymore for all the sobbing, and he barely registered it when Cas pulled him against his chest as he wept and mumbled, “no Sam, no Sam, no Sam.”
He had no idea how long it took for him to exhaust himself and stop crying. But when he did, he realized he was face-first in Cas’ chest, soaking his shirt with tears and snot. Cas hadn’t spoken, hadn’t tried to comfort him other than with this half-embrace. He’d just let him shout and cry until he was dried up. Once he did grasp the reality of the situation, Dean sat up, still not too far from Cas but at least not still covering the guy with his waterworks and practically snuggling on the couch.
The first thing he expected to feel was embarrassed, letting Cas see him like that. To his shock, that was not the case at all. He quickly moved on to a completely new and different level of shock when he glanced up at Cas and saw something he’d never seen before. There were tears in Cas’ eyes, and his expression was a mix of sadness and resignation. Finally, he spoke.
“I am sorry, Dean, truly. I wish there was something I could do to comfort you, but I fear that there is not. I can be here, I can listen to you when you want to talk, but I can’t take this pain for you. I’d give anything…”
Even seeing Cas like this didn’t stop Dean from remembering the last time he’d heard those words from him with Alastair waiting on the other side of the door. He tried to push that away, though, because honestly, other than full-on Warrior of Heaven pissed-off, he’d never seen Cas like this, like he was taken over by emotion.
“Hey, Cas, hey…come on, it’s all right. Don’t-”, Christ, was he really saying this? “Don’t cry. Please. You’ve done so much already. And don’t think, just because I’m all wrapped up in my own loss here, don’t for a second think I don’t know that you lost brothers in this whole ugly thing too. It’s just that Sam and me, we were different in some ways. I’m not saying it’s easier for you because you had more than one brother to lose. Hell, even I had two, kind of, and I lost them both. You have just as much right to grieve for your brothers, you know?”
Cas looked away then, not meeting Dean’s gaze as he quietly asked, “Even the ones who took yours? Lucifer and Michael? I didn’t agree with what they were doing, and what they did to Sam and to Adam is unforgivable, but still, they were, they are my brothers. Not that we were close like you and Sam.”
One phrase, one furtive glance, and that was all it took. Cas really did know about him and Sam. Dean thought Cas might have known, at least suspected, but now it was confirmed. Again, expecting to feel embarrassed or defensive, he was surprised to find he just accepted it. Had Cas thought it was wrong, he would have said something. It’s not like he’d ever censored himself in the past when giving his opinion about…well, just about everything. All right, then. They didn’t have to talk about that, at least.
Less than an hour had passed, but Dean was suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue and it seemed Cas was tired as well. “Let’s just go to bed, Cas. Enough for tonight, okay?”
“Yes, certainly. Will you require any assistance?” Cas was obviously putting effort into controlling his emotions now, it was clear as day.
“I’m all right. Go on and sleep or meditate or whatever, I’m gonna grab something from the kitchen and then hit the hay.” He didn’t like the fact that the lack of vision on his left side still left him unbalanced, dizzy, sometimes needing help to get down the hallway. Cas tried to be unobtrusive with his efforts to help him, but Dean was no fool.
Except maybe he was, because he didn’t move or freak out or pull away when Cas pressed his lips against his temple before standing. “Good night, Dean.”
xxxxx
It did not, in fact, turn out to be a good night. Somewhere around two in the morning, Castiel was jolted from sleep by the sound of Dean screaming. Quickly making his way across the hallway from his room to Dean’s, he could see his friend’s silhouette writhing on the bed. He crossed the room quickly and sat down, immediately realizing that Dean was, in fact, still asleep. A nightmare, then. Castiel wasn’t immediately sure how to proceed without further alarming Dean, but he knew he had to wake him up.
“Dean”, he whispered, placing his hand on Dean’s shoulder and shaking gently. When nothing changed, he wound his arm underneath Dean’s body and held it across his chest, pulling him close. A little more loudly, he said “Dean. Dean! Wake up, please. Pl-”
Before he got a chance to finish, Dean shot straight up, his eyes open and wild, pushing Castiel away and almost off the bed. His breathing was heavy and he was covered in sweat. “Dean, it me, it’s just me, you were having a bad dream.”
Slowly calming, Dean seemed to take in his surroundings and recognize what Castiel was saying to him. “Yeah. Bad. Bad dream.”
Castiel wasn’t about to ask Dean what the dream was about. He brought him a glass of water and sat next to him for a few minutes until he seemed to relax enough that he might be able to fall back asleep. Just as Castiel was about to pull the covers back over him, he heard an entirely unexpected request.
“Cas. Stay? Stay here with me? Please?”
Before Dean had a chance to change his mind or pretend he hadn’t said it, Castiel quickly agreed and got under the covers with Dean. They didn’t touch, but it seemed to Castiel that his presence there made Dean feel…safe maybe? Comforted? Either way, if Dean wanted him there, that’s exactly where he’d be.
Lying there, he wondered why there hadn’t been any nightmares before this. Maybe it had to do with Dean’s admission of his feelings earlier that day.
So that was how it started, but to Castiel’s surprise, the situation continued. It seemed that his presence in Dean’s bed at night warded off the bad dreams, so it became a nightly ritual. He’d wait until Dean fell asleep, then climb into bed next to him. After a few days, he felt bold enough to lay his arm across Dean’s torso, holding him close as they both slept.
Castiel didn’t need to sleep so much now, as his Grace seemed to be returning more quickly. He’d get up before Dean was awake and make breakfast, not for both of them, as Castiel felt no more desire or need to eat as the days passed. Dean would come into the kitchen, not speaking of their having shared his bed, and allowed Castiel to pour his coffee. It only took one instance of his blurred vision resulting in coffee being spilled all over the counter before an unspoken agreement occurred; Castiel would pour his coffee and fix his plate for him. Things started to improve a bit by the afternoons, but when Dean first woke up, he could barely see and still felt very unsteady with the use of only one fully functional eye.
One significant step forward was that Dean had started to take Bobby’s calls.
The first time Dean actually held out his hand when he was offered the phone, Castiel was so surprised that he almost dropped it. But he just smiled and left the room, giving Dean some privacy to speak to his father-figure and close friend after weeks of no communication. He certainly didn’t want to risk that his presence would cause Dean to hold back anything he wanted to say to Bobby.
xxxxx
“Hey, Bobby.”
“Dean, it’s good to hear your voice, son. You holding up all right out there?”
“Thanks, I’m…I mean, I guess I’m as all right as I’m gonna be for now.”
“I’m sorry, Dean.”
“Bobby, don’t, please. Just - not now, all right? I’m sorry too, though, for staying out of touch this long. I really just wasn’t up to talking too much, I’m still not, but it wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to you, you get that, right?”
“For Christ’s sake, boy, it’s not like I had my delicate little feelings hurt. You’ve been through the ringer, I figured you’d talk when you felt like it.”
“I appreciate it. Honestly. And we’ll come see you, we will. Not sure when, but - really, we’ll come up there. Maybe when it’s easier for me to drive.” He figured his tone didn’t invite questions, because Bobby didn’t start up a line of questioning about his vision issues.
They spoke briefly about Bobby’s research, what Dean had been up to, how Cas was doing, nothing too specific. Neither of them said Sam’s name.
After repeated assurances that he was fine, just not up to visiting, Bobby backed off on his continuous insistence on driving to Kansas. They said goodbye and ended their superficial conversation, Dean feeling relieved for having it overwith and hoping Bobby was feeling relieved too.
xxxxx
Castiel wasn’t sure what they talked about when the two of them did talk, as he made a point of staying out of earshot, but he knew it wasn’t anything of significance since Dean was always fairly composed, emotionally, once the conversations had ended. Castiel hadn’t initiated any more discussions about Dean’s feelings after his last outburst and breakdown. He had no desire to hurt Dean, and he felt any further pushing in that direction would be unproductive. Castiel knew all he needed to know - Dean was trying to cope with the reality of life without Sam, which wasn’t easy for him. If it wasn’t easy for Castiel or Bobby, it must have been exponentially more difficult for Dean.
Their nights didn’t change much, except that Dean started relaxing into Castiel’s touch a bit more, and even reciprocating. Castiel’s bed had gone unused for quite some time. One morning, in the very early hours, Castiel realized that he’d turned his back and Dean had taken over his usual spot, wrapping a strong arm around him and holding onto him tightly. This time, though, Dean was pressing soft kisses against Castiel’s neck, and Castiel was unable (or unwilling) to move away from the touch. Turning over, he saw Dean’s eyes were open, and in the next moment, Dean’s lips were moving against his, kissing insistently. Castiel eagerly opened his mouth when Dean’s tongue ran across his lips, and the two of them laid there kissing and touching for at least half an hour before Dean tugged at the hem of Castiel’s t-shirt.
Moving back just a bit, he allowed Dean to pull the shirt over his head, and Dean’s kisses moved lower, across his collarbone and chest, over his nipples, eliciting a barely containable groan from Castiel.
“This okay, Cas?”
“Yes, I - of course, yes, yes, it’s okay. Please.” The intensity of his emotions hadn’t faded with the return of his Grace, unexpectedly, and his feelings toward Dean were as strong as they’d been when he’d been almost completely powerless. The two of them stayed in bed, touching everywhere they could, not going too far, but still grinding against each other until both of them had come.
Silence followed. Not wanting to force Dean into breaking that silence, Castiel simply offered to get up and prepare their breakfast, to which Dean readily agreed, saying, “Thanks, Cas”, but nothing more.
The next few nights and mornings continued as they were, each of them growing more bold. Dean grabbed onto Castiel’s cock and stroked him to orgasm within minutes, and Cas more likely than not returned the favor by taking Dean into his mouth and inexpertly but clearly efficiently sucking him off to his completion.
Their days were spent watching those television shows that made Dean happiest, the re-runs of old game shows. Family Feud, Press Your Luck, Let’s Make A Deal.
After a week or so had passed, Castiel couldn’t help himself. He had to say something. As Family Feud was wrapping up, he turned to Dean and said, “I feel this is what I am to you. The year’s supply of Turtle Wax.”
Part 2
Author: verucasalt123
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural/angst/slash
Pairing (s): Dean/Cas, implied past Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~11,600
Warnings: angst, slash, permanent injury, character death (canon), references to incest
Summary: AU from 5x22, where Cas is there to try help Dean recover from his many injuries after the fight at Stull, including a permanent vision problem, his reluctance to face life outside the safe little place the two of them call home now, and most importantly, the loss of Sam. Learning how to live again is a long road for Dean and for Castiel; this story is about them finding their way along that road.
A/N: POV here is going to switch around, I’ve tried to make it clear which is which. Title stolen from the incredible Regina Spektor song “Better”, if you don’t know it, go find it. All of the ponies to trickylady and verityburns for the beta and to geckoholic for the art.
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Art Masterpost: http://bl00dredskies.livejournal.com/91597.html
Fic Masterpost: http://verucasalt123.livejournal.com/210906.html
Dean still hadn’t been able to force himself to move, so the way Castiel found him was exactly the way he’d been sitting for however the fuck long it had been since he’d watched his baby brother (and his baby brother) fall into a hole in the field. He was on his knees, his head cast down, his hands resting together. There was blood pouring from all over his face, he could feel it, he could even feel the pain; the split skin, the swollen patches, the ache in his knees. Nothing registered, though, over the realization that Sam was gone.
Gone.
Sam was gone, down to the Cage.
Bobby was gone, his neck broken and his body prone on the ground.
Cas was gone, blown to bits without a second thought when Lucifer snapped Sam’s fingers.
Surely, at some point, the panic would set in. He had nowhere to go, and no one to go to. His promise to his brother had been bullshit all along, of course. That Lisa was a nice girl, with a good life and a fine son, and he never had any intention of saddling her with the kind of baggage he was carrying. If he thought there was a chance she’d turn him away, he would have gone to her, at least to know he’d done as his brother had asked. But she wouldn’t have, no fucking chance, and she didn’t deserve to be punished for being a kind person by taking in some wayward one night stand she’d had years ago after he’d been broken beyond repair. No matter what had happened, Dean still had some sense of decency.
There he was then, on his knees in the dirt, when he saw a shadow and looked up to see what he thought at first must be a hallucination. The sky was clear blue and the sun was bright (and fuck you, Sun, you ought to hang your head in shame, daring to shine down and make a day like this try to look cheerful), and Castiel was smiling at him, his clothes rumpled and dirty but not bloody.
It was only a moment, though, because Cas just sat down next to him looking haggard and not that much more or less human than he’d been last night. He felt cool fingertips against his forehead and his pain eased somewhat; a bit of the aching subsided and there was no longer any blood dripping from his chin.
Before he had a chance to ask about anything, that familiar gravel tone reached his ears. “I’m sorry I can’t do more to help.”
And Dean knew that tone. It was regret, and it was sincere. He’d heard it before.
His voice was wrecked, but he somehow managed to speak. “You’re alive, Cas. You did all you could, and then you died. But you’re alive.” It almost sounded like a question, Dean’s voice was breaking a little but he knew he sounded like those silly teenage girls who made every sentence sound like a question.
“Yes, I am. Alive. But I can’t heal you, not completely.”
“Bobby?” Dean asked, with just a tiny spark of hope he didn’t even want to have.
“I’ve sent him home. He’s fine. He probably won’t wake up for a couple of days.”
Dean, flooded with relief for just a moment with that welcome bit of information, studied Castiel’s face a little more closely. “So where are you going to send me, then? To Cicero? You know what Sam asked me to do.” His voice was slurred, he could hear it, thought his jaw might be broken and maybe he’d gotten his head bashed against the car too hard.
“No, Dean, not to Cicero. There is a place where we can stay, it’s not too far. Your injuries are…”, it sounded like Cas, who usually wasn’t one to make an attempt at sugarcoating anything, was trying to downplay the physical repercussions of Dean’s near TKO, “not going to heal quickly. You need somewhere to recover. Do you think you can drive?”
All right, so that answered at least one question. Cas had enough mojo to zap Bobby back to his place, but didn’t have enough to make a trip with Dean and his car in tow.
“Maybe I should try to stand up first before I answer that.”
And hey, standing up was surprisingly easy. His head wasn’t spinning (much) and his legs felt fine. There was something off, though, and it only took a minute to figure out what it was. “Are one of my eyes swollen shut, Cas?”
“Yes, your left eye is…closed. Swollen and bruised.” Cas was using that slightly evasive tone he’d used before, but Dean didn’t have the energy to think much of it right then. “I could try to drive, if…”
“No, Cas, no, I’m all right. I can drive with a black eye, won’t be the first time. Just tell me where to go.”
They made their way to the car and Dean drove for almost an hour, until they were a little ways east of Shawnee, and Cas directed him onto a back road. After just a few more miles, they parked in front of what looked like somebody’s summertime ‘get back to nature’ cabin. It was certainly not the kind of place he’d squatted in with Sam or his dad in the past, the one-room hunter’s cabins with no running water. There was a wraparound porch and a ton of windows in the front, all of them covered with curtains, not blinds or tacked-up blankets, but honest to Chuck fucking drapes and sconces Dean could see from the driveway. Which, by the way, was paved, not a patch of gravel or a pile of mud. Even with his vision limited still a little blurry, he noticed all these things within thirty seconds of their arrival. The instinct of a hunter, taking in the details immediately, in case they would be useful later.
And yeah, they’d be useful later.
With some help from Cas, Dean managed to walk from the car to the front door, which wasn’t locked. One quick sweep told him the basics: a furnished living room, a kitchen connected by an open doorway, a closed door he assumed was a bathroom, and a hallway that led to whatever sleeping quarters were available. He wasn’t hungry, and felt no urgent need to use the restroom, but quickly zeroed in on the threadbare sofa and the brightly colored afghan folded against its back.
Cas didn’t go without noticing this, clearly, as he pushed Dean in that direction. Settling him down on the couch and covering him with the small blanket, Cas just whispered, “Rest, Dean, please, just get some rest.” His voice sounded defeated and weak, but Dean didn’t have the strength to address it, or to address the thousand other things on his mind.
“Okay, Cas”, he slurred, already half-unconscious. Sleep took him over so much more quickly than he thought it would, given the circumstances.
xxxxx
As Dean slept, Castiel made his way through the cabin once again. He’d secured it before any of this happened, just in case any of them lived and would need a place to, as Dean would say,lay low for a while. He’d even left an envelope on Bobby’s desk with an address and directions, in case he was gone. He figured if any one of them survived, they would go directly to the salvage yard. Thankfully, at the end of it all, they’d lost only one. It was a devastating loss, surely, but the thought of Dean being all alone in the world was unbearable. Castiel had no idea how he’d returned or who was responsible, but he didn’t spend much time contemplating that. Right now, he was just incredibly grateful that he was alive. He was even still an angel, though his powers were very weak.
Before Dean had even registered Castiel’s presence in the cemetery, he crouched over Bobby and concentrated as hard as he possibly could. When he saw the man’s eyes open, he was relieved beyond belief. Still, before there was a chance to ask questions, he just smiled and placed his fingers onto Bobby’s forehead, sending him back to his home to recover.
When he finally made his way over to where Dean was kneeling on the ground, he was astounded at the damage he saw. He hadn’t been there for whatever had happened, but clearly either Lucifer or Michael had beaten Dean badly enough that he was barely recognizable. Castiel was already so drained from his efforts to resuscitate Bobby that there wasn’t much he could do for Dean. He stopped the bleeding and tried to ease some of the pain, but the injuries…he couldn’t heal those. At least not now.
The kitchen was stocked with simple food. There was electricity, hot water, clean beds, even a television. The house had a satellite dish which provided a variety of entertainment, and he was glad now that he’d made sure of that. Dean would be out of commission for a good while, and he’d surely want to find some of his favorite movies or maybe that hospital drama he liked so much to help him pass the time. Castiel checked over the supplies with an eye toward things he’d be able to feed Dean. His jaw was clearly broken and they’d need soft foods. He almost allowed himself a small smile when he thought of the fight Dean would put up when informed he was stuck with soup and mashed potatoes until he healed.
It was gone just as quickly, though, when Castiel imagined there may not be too much fight left in Dean Winchester. Not after this.
Losing a brother was a terrible tragedy, Castiel knew this from experience. But Dean losing Sam was more than tragic. They’d been closer than most siblings their entire lives, gone above and beyond all expectations and reason when it came to keeping each other safe. Even more than that, they were lovers. Castiel hadn’t let on that he knew about it, seeing no need to make either of them uncomfortable, but he did know. He knew it had been going on since they were teenagers, and he also knew it wasn’t some kind of adrenaline-rush desperation that fueled their relationship. It was love, as true and intense as anything he’d seen in all his years of existence and observation. For Dean to lose that, Castiel couldn’t even begin to imagine the ways in which he’d break. He could only compare it to what he thought it would be like for him to lose Dean.
xxxxx
When Dean finally started to emerge from sleep, he was completely disoriented. For a minute, he had no idea where he was, how he’d gotten there, what had happened to him. But then it all came flooding back and he trembled as he tried to sit up. Cas was right there, doing his usual creeper imitation, sitting in a chair across the room watching him sleep. Before he had a chance to speak, Cas was at his side, crouching beside the sofa.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I got the shit beat out of me by an archangel. You?”
“I am…tired. Weak. But it’s not of import. Tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you.” Cas sounded almost desperate, like he was eager to do something for Dean.
“Sorry Cas, what I need is to take a piss and get into the shower. Gotta do that on my own.” He planted his feet on the floor, but as soon as he was upright, he got dizzy and almost fell right back down. Cas was quick, though, catching him around his waist and supporting his weight for him. “All right, so maybe not completely on my own. If you can help me to the bathroom, though, I think I can do the rest. Would you get my clothes from the car for me?”
“Of course, Dean”, Cas answered earnestly, with that slightly odd tone to his voice again. Cas helped him across the room and led him to the bathroom, opening the door and saying, “I’ll be back with your bag.”
Dean thanked him, then closed the door and relieved himself, trying to concentrate on one minute at a time. He wasn’t ready to re-live everything that had happened, wasn’t ready to process the complete lack of Sam in the world.
It lasted only for as long as it took for him to step over to the sink. What he saw in the mirror was shocking, to say the least. His face was beat all to hell. And he knew that. He did, he knew it, but he hadn’t seen it, and the sight was terrifying. The broken jaw was no longer just a suspicion. He was covered in bruises and most of his face was covered in swelling and cuts. His left eye still wasn’t open, and it was about three times the size it should be.
As he was standing there taking all of this in, there was no way not to remember how it had happened. His own words, over and over again, ‘I’m here, Sammy, I’m not leaving you, I’m not going anywhere’ as the devil used his brother to punch him a hundred times. For a minute there, he’d thought he was going to die. He had no idea what had happened to cause Sam to break through and get hold of the archangel, but he didn’t have much time to think about it before he realized what Sam was doing when he threw the rings to the ground. He knew Sam had spoken, but had no idea what he’d said, because then he was watching as his baby brother closed his eyes and started falling backward, dragging his own baby brother down with him. Dean had tried crawling toward the hole in the field, but by the time he was able to move, there was nothing there.
Nothing.
He didn’t realize he was crying until he heard Cas softly clearing his throat from the hallway, not even having recalled the sound of Cas opening the door. “I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t know what else to say. I wish…”
Dean pulled on what little strength he had left and turned to Cas, saying “You have nothing to be sorry for. Anyway, I’m gonna shower now, all right?” He didn’t wait for Cas’ answer before he took his bag and closed the door again.
Physically, he did feel a little better after he showered and put on clean clothes. He was still in pain, but it wasn’t as bad as before. And surprisingly, he did want something to eat. He wasn’t sure how he was going to manage that with his mouth damaged so badly, but Cas had obviously thought of it already. When he came out of the bathroom, Cas was in the kitchen, heating up canned soup. Tomato rice soup, too, one of his favorites. Dean sat down at the small table there as Cas poured some into bowls for each of them.
Another question answered. Cas had to eat, so his mojo must really be in the crapper.
Dean managed to avoid talking about losing Sam for almost two days. By that point, Cas had worn him down to the point where he had only his explosive temper to express what he was feeling.
“How the fuck do you think I feel, Cas?” he tried to yell, though the broken jaw didn’t allow for much of it. “He’s gone! He’s my brother, and he’s fucking gone, like, not coming back, no miracles this time, no deals, no nothing, just gone. So, really? You don’t already know how I feel?”
His outburst seemed to silence Cas more than he intended, the look on his face so grave and…well, sad. Cas looked sad. “I’m sorry, Dean. Those were my brothers. The ones who took your brother from you. How can you not hate me for that?”
Against his nature, against the rage he was feeling, a bubble of sympathy welled up in him for Cas. “How could you even think that? It wasn’t anything you did…”
“How often did you take on blame for actions that were Sam’s, Dean? How many times? Even when you were children? It was a natural feeling for you, as it is for me. Surely you can understand that.”
Dean had to admit, Cas had a point. “All right, I get it. I do. But I don’t blame you for any of this. I just - I can’t. I’m not ready, I can’t talk about it anymore, I can’t even think about it. Not yet.”
“All right, Dean, it’s fine.” As Dean settled onto to the sofa, Cas pulled the blanket around his shoulders. “How about if I put on a television show for you? Cooking channel? Maybe there’s a rerun of that show you like, the hospital one…” It was obvious that Cas was trying to lighten the mood, so Dean just went with it.
“Dr. Sexy, MD. It’s all right, Cas, you can say ‘sexy’. It’s not gonna break any laws, not at this point anyway.” Cas didn’t respond and Dean scrolled through the channels. “Seriously? A whole channel with nothing but old game shows? Dude, Press Your Luck is on right now! I haven’t seen that one for years! Come on and watch with me, it’ll be fun. Please?”
“Yes, I’ll watch with you”, Cas replied, sinking down next to Dean on the sofa. Dean’s intermittent cries of “Big money, no whammies!” seemed to be amusing to Cas, so he just kept it up, and then stayed there as Joker’s Wild came on. He tried to let his mind fill up with happy memories, watching these shows with Sam when they were kids, four-year-old Sam babbling ‘no whammies”, parroting his big brother’s exclamations.
xxxxx
It was another day and a half before the first call came in to Castiel’s cell. Bobby was the only person who could be calling, obviously.
“Hello, Bobby.”
“Cas? At first I thought it was a dream. I saw you die, hell, I had chunks of you all over my clothes. But it was you who…woke me up. Sent me home. How?”
“I have no answer to that question, and right now it is not a matter of great import. I am caring for Dean, he was injured rather badly after the two of us were…gone.”
“Too badly for you to heal him?” Bobby asked, clearly surprised.
“At the moment, yes. The effort I put forth into taking care of you used up most of the powers I have right now. I can feel them returning, but it is incremental. The process could take a significant amount of time.”
Bobby cleared his throat. “Thanks for that, then. How’s he holding up, Cas? If you don’t have Sam with you too, I’m assuming worst case scenario for him.”
“Unfortunately, you are correct. Dean’s account of the events indicate that Sam somehow managed to control Lucifer just long enough to throw himself and Michael…Adam…to throw both of them into the Cage. I always knew Sam was brave and self-sacrificing, but that was well beyond anything I’d expected. To answer your question about Dean, he’s not doing well. He won’t talk much about what happened, and his mood is alternating between grief and rage. Physically, he’s got broken bones in his face and what I am afraid might be severe damage to one of his eyes.”
“One of those guys got ahold of him, for sure…oh, please tell me it wasn’t Sam.”
Castiel regretted having to say it, but he told Bobby the truth. “It wasn’t Sam, not really, it was Lucifer, but all Dean could see was Sam while it was happening. He has no wounds that appear defensive, so my assumption is that he didn’t fight back.”
“God da- sorry, Cas. Gosh darned idjits, both of them.”
Allowing himself a small chuckle, he replied, “Truthfully, I agree with your assessment there. But for now I’ve got to try and get Dean well again. As well as I can, though there’s no way to know how successful I’ll be.”
“Look, I’m just glad he’s not alone. I saw your note, I know where you are. Do you want me to come out there?”
“That’s probably not the best idea right now. I’ll put Dean on the phone, though, if you want.”
“Sure, yeah, thanks Cas.”
Surprisingly, Dean refused to take the phone. He just shook his head and turned back toward the television.
Trying to make the situation a little less painful, he just said, “I’m sorry Bobby, he’s very tired, and it’s difficult for him to speak. Maybe in a few days.” Honestly, he had no idea why Dean refused to talk to the man he’d considered a surrogate father for years.
“It’s all right, Cas. You just concentrate on taking care of him, and I’ll check in on you two by phone for now. In the meantime, I’ve got serious research to do.”
Not bothering to mention that it was a futile endeavor, Castiel simply thanked Bobby for his effort and hung up.
Over the next two weeks, Castiel could feel his powers returning ever so slightly. Using them to heal as much as he could of Dean’s injuries, however, instantly weakened him again. It was frustrating, but at least progress was being made on one front. Dean’s broken bones were repaired, the cuts and bruises on his face had disappeared. His disposition seemed to improve, as well, once he was able to eat what he referred to as ‘real food’ again. Castiel was concerned, though, about the lack of improvement in the area around Dean’s left eye, where the damage had been worse than anywhere else. The swelling was almost completely down, and he could open the eye now, but his gaze was unfocused. His vision at first had been completely gone on that side, and Castiel could see terror on Dean’s face, could almost feel it himself as he knew Dean was contemplating the possibility of being half-blind on top of everything else. After a few days, though, he could see shadows, then fuzzy images. Still, no amount of effort on Castiel’s part could push Dean past that point. It was too soon, he knew rationally, to think this was a permanent plateau, but the thought made him feel so many different things.
In his current state, he was still experiencing some of the strong emotions he’d been subjected to over the past few months. They didn’t seem to be dissipating with the return of his powers, though. No doubt they were still insignificant compared to the way humans felt emotions, but to Castiel it was overwhelming. His need to protect and care for Dean took on a completely different light. It was less of an obligation and much more of a desire. A strong desire. Though he’d often expressed anger even when he was at full power, it had never felt the way it did now. When he thought of what his brothers had done, taking Sam from them and damaging Dean in this way, physically and emotionally, he could only describe that emotion as pure rage.
Bobby’s calls continued every few days, as did Dean’s refusal to speak to him. Castiel updated him the best he could, tried to reassure him that Dean was recovering, but he could hear Bobby’s concern and what he thought might be a hint of suspicion as his attempts to speak to Dean were rebuffed and his offers to drive out there were turned down. “I give you my word, I am not keeping him here against his will”, Castiel finally declared, hoping to clear up that suspicion.
“Damn it, Cas, I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just worried about the boy, all right?”
“Of course. I am also…worried.” He didn’t add and unfathomably angry and grieving for Sam and confused about why I feel differently toward Dean now and guilty for not being able to fix him. Bobby was suffering under the weight of having lost Sam as well, and he was exhausted from tireless research that was getting him nowhere on top of not being able to see Dean for himself. Castiel wasn’t about to burden the man with his own complex array of issues. “As soon as I can get him to agree, we’ll have you here right away, this is all just too much for him. He barely speaks to me and I’m right here.”
“Okay, Cas, I know you’re doing the best you can with him. Just make sure he knows I asked after him.”
“I always do, Bobby.”
xxxxx
Dean heard most of the conversation but still didn’t look up at Cas when he came back to the living room. He felt Cas sit down next to him, close, like he had been lately, but didn’t have the strength to make an argument about personal space. If he was being honest with himself, he would have acknowledged that he liked having Cas this close, but he wasn’t being honest with himself, because that would be the emotionally healthy thing to do, and it just wasn’t really one of his strong points.
“Bobby is getting very worried, Dean. If you’d just talk to him-”
“Cas, please. Please, not now. I’m not ready. I don’t want to talk to him, not because it’s him, I just - I don’t want to talk to anyone. I’m covered up here, man, my issues have issues, for fuck’s sake, this is all too much, too freaking much, I don’t know what I’d even say.”
Taking a deep breath and looking like he had decided to willingly stick his head onto a chopping block and deal with the consequences later, Cas countered with, “Why don’t you try it out on me, then?”
“Try what out? Talking about it? I just told you, I don’t know what to say. It’s all jumbled up in my brain, and I can’t just discuss my feelings like my dog got run over or my girlfriend broke up with me!” And there it was, the point where all the cracks met up in the middle to break down his control. He wasn’t able to shut it down like he had been before. With no warning, he realized there were tears running down his face. Cas hadn’t really done or said anything out of the ordinary, it wasn’t the first time he’d tried getting Dean to open up, but for some reason he couldn’t hold it back any longer. “I watched my brother get taken over by the fucking Devil. Voluntarily, I might add, because he thought he could beat him. Beat the fucking devil, Cas! And hey, guess what? He did it!” Dean was shouting now, and could hear the hysteria rising in his voice. “But not before he used Sam to kill you and Bobby right in front of my face, and then proceed to almost kill me too. But oh yeah, Sam did it! He got ahold of Lucifer, all right. Just long enough to jump into that godforsaken hole in the ground, where he is, as we sit here discussing my feelings, being tortured in the fucking Cage by archangels! And now…now…now there’s not-” his voice almost got stuck on the words but they’d been in his brain so long they just kept on going and fell right out of his crying, screaming mouth. “There’s. No. Sam. No Sam.” Fuck the entire world, he couldn’t even talk anymore for all the sobbing, and he barely registered it when Cas pulled him against his chest as he wept and mumbled, “no Sam, no Sam, no Sam.”
He had no idea how long it took for him to exhaust himself and stop crying. But when he did, he realized he was face-first in Cas’ chest, soaking his shirt with tears and snot. Cas hadn’t spoken, hadn’t tried to comfort him other than with this half-embrace. He’d just let him shout and cry until he was dried up. Once he did grasp the reality of the situation, Dean sat up, still not too far from Cas but at least not still covering the guy with his waterworks and practically snuggling on the couch.
The first thing he expected to feel was embarrassed, letting Cas see him like that. To his shock, that was not the case at all. He quickly moved on to a completely new and different level of shock when he glanced up at Cas and saw something he’d never seen before. There were tears in Cas’ eyes, and his expression was a mix of sadness and resignation. Finally, he spoke.
“I am sorry, Dean, truly. I wish there was something I could do to comfort you, but I fear that there is not. I can be here, I can listen to you when you want to talk, but I can’t take this pain for you. I’d give anything…”
Even seeing Cas like this didn’t stop Dean from remembering the last time he’d heard those words from him with Alastair waiting on the other side of the door. He tried to push that away, though, because honestly, other than full-on Warrior of Heaven pissed-off, he’d never seen Cas like this, like he was taken over by emotion.
“Hey, Cas, hey…come on, it’s all right. Don’t-”, Christ, was he really saying this? “Don’t cry. Please. You’ve done so much already. And don’t think, just because I’m all wrapped up in my own loss here, don’t for a second think I don’t know that you lost brothers in this whole ugly thing too. It’s just that Sam and me, we were different in some ways. I’m not saying it’s easier for you because you had more than one brother to lose. Hell, even I had two, kind of, and I lost them both. You have just as much right to grieve for your brothers, you know?”
Cas looked away then, not meeting Dean’s gaze as he quietly asked, “Even the ones who took yours? Lucifer and Michael? I didn’t agree with what they were doing, and what they did to Sam and to Adam is unforgivable, but still, they were, they are my brothers. Not that we were close like you and Sam.”
One phrase, one furtive glance, and that was all it took. Cas really did know about him and Sam. Dean thought Cas might have known, at least suspected, but now it was confirmed. Again, expecting to feel embarrassed or defensive, he was surprised to find he just accepted it. Had Cas thought it was wrong, he would have said something. It’s not like he’d ever censored himself in the past when giving his opinion about…well, just about everything. All right, then. They didn’t have to talk about that, at least.
Less than an hour had passed, but Dean was suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue and it seemed Cas was tired as well. “Let’s just go to bed, Cas. Enough for tonight, okay?”
“Yes, certainly. Will you require any assistance?” Cas was obviously putting effort into controlling his emotions now, it was clear as day.
“I’m all right. Go on and sleep or meditate or whatever, I’m gonna grab something from the kitchen and then hit the hay.” He didn’t like the fact that the lack of vision on his left side still left him unbalanced, dizzy, sometimes needing help to get down the hallway. Cas tried to be unobtrusive with his efforts to help him, but Dean was no fool.
Except maybe he was, because he didn’t move or freak out or pull away when Cas pressed his lips against his temple before standing. “Good night, Dean.”
xxxxx
It did not, in fact, turn out to be a good night. Somewhere around two in the morning, Castiel was jolted from sleep by the sound of Dean screaming. Quickly making his way across the hallway from his room to Dean’s, he could see his friend’s silhouette writhing on the bed. He crossed the room quickly and sat down, immediately realizing that Dean was, in fact, still asleep. A nightmare, then. Castiel wasn’t immediately sure how to proceed without further alarming Dean, but he knew he had to wake him up.
“Dean”, he whispered, placing his hand on Dean’s shoulder and shaking gently. When nothing changed, he wound his arm underneath Dean’s body and held it across his chest, pulling him close. A little more loudly, he said “Dean. Dean! Wake up, please. Pl-”
Before he got a chance to finish, Dean shot straight up, his eyes open and wild, pushing Castiel away and almost off the bed. His breathing was heavy and he was covered in sweat. “Dean, it me, it’s just me, you were having a bad dream.”
Slowly calming, Dean seemed to take in his surroundings and recognize what Castiel was saying to him. “Yeah. Bad. Bad dream.”
Castiel wasn’t about to ask Dean what the dream was about. He brought him a glass of water and sat next to him for a few minutes until he seemed to relax enough that he might be able to fall back asleep. Just as Castiel was about to pull the covers back over him, he heard an entirely unexpected request.
“Cas. Stay? Stay here with me? Please?”
Before Dean had a chance to change his mind or pretend he hadn’t said it, Castiel quickly agreed and got under the covers with Dean. They didn’t touch, but it seemed to Castiel that his presence there made Dean feel…safe maybe? Comforted? Either way, if Dean wanted him there, that’s exactly where he’d be.
Lying there, he wondered why there hadn’t been any nightmares before this. Maybe it had to do with Dean’s admission of his feelings earlier that day.
So that was how it started, but to Castiel’s surprise, the situation continued. It seemed that his presence in Dean’s bed at night warded off the bad dreams, so it became a nightly ritual. He’d wait until Dean fell asleep, then climb into bed next to him. After a few days, he felt bold enough to lay his arm across Dean’s torso, holding him close as they both slept.
Castiel didn’t need to sleep so much now, as his Grace seemed to be returning more quickly. He’d get up before Dean was awake and make breakfast, not for both of them, as Castiel felt no more desire or need to eat as the days passed. Dean would come into the kitchen, not speaking of their having shared his bed, and allowed Castiel to pour his coffee. It only took one instance of his blurred vision resulting in coffee being spilled all over the counter before an unspoken agreement occurred; Castiel would pour his coffee and fix his plate for him. Things started to improve a bit by the afternoons, but when Dean first woke up, he could barely see and still felt very unsteady with the use of only one fully functional eye.
One significant step forward was that Dean had started to take Bobby’s calls.
The first time Dean actually held out his hand when he was offered the phone, Castiel was so surprised that he almost dropped it. But he just smiled and left the room, giving Dean some privacy to speak to his father-figure and close friend after weeks of no communication. He certainly didn’t want to risk that his presence would cause Dean to hold back anything he wanted to say to Bobby.
xxxxx
“Hey, Bobby.”
“Dean, it’s good to hear your voice, son. You holding up all right out there?”
“Thanks, I’m…I mean, I guess I’m as all right as I’m gonna be for now.”
“I’m sorry, Dean.”
“Bobby, don’t, please. Just - not now, all right? I’m sorry too, though, for staying out of touch this long. I really just wasn’t up to talking too much, I’m still not, but it wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to you, you get that, right?”
“For Christ’s sake, boy, it’s not like I had my delicate little feelings hurt. You’ve been through the ringer, I figured you’d talk when you felt like it.”
“I appreciate it. Honestly. And we’ll come see you, we will. Not sure when, but - really, we’ll come up there. Maybe when it’s easier for me to drive.” He figured his tone didn’t invite questions, because Bobby didn’t start up a line of questioning about his vision issues.
They spoke briefly about Bobby’s research, what Dean had been up to, how Cas was doing, nothing too specific. Neither of them said Sam’s name.
After repeated assurances that he was fine, just not up to visiting, Bobby backed off on his continuous insistence on driving to Kansas. They said goodbye and ended their superficial conversation, Dean feeling relieved for having it overwith and hoping Bobby was feeling relieved too.
xxxxx
Castiel wasn’t sure what they talked about when the two of them did talk, as he made a point of staying out of earshot, but he knew it wasn’t anything of significance since Dean was always fairly composed, emotionally, once the conversations had ended. Castiel hadn’t initiated any more discussions about Dean’s feelings after his last outburst and breakdown. He had no desire to hurt Dean, and he felt any further pushing in that direction would be unproductive. Castiel knew all he needed to know - Dean was trying to cope with the reality of life without Sam, which wasn’t easy for him. If it wasn’t easy for Castiel or Bobby, it must have been exponentially more difficult for Dean.
Their nights didn’t change much, except that Dean started relaxing into Castiel’s touch a bit more, and even reciprocating. Castiel’s bed had gone unused for quite some time. One morning, in the very early hours, Castiel realized that he’d turned his back and Dean had taken over his usual spot, wrapping a strong arm around him and holding onto him tightly. This time, though, Dean was pressing soft kisses against Castiel’s neck, and Castiel was unable (or unwilling) to move away from the touch. Turning over, he saw Dean’s eyes were open, and in the next moment, Dean’s lips were moving against his, kissing insistently. Castiel eagerly opened his mouth when Dean’s tongue ran across his lips, and the two of them laid there kissing and touching for at least half an hour before Dean tugged at the hem of Castiel’s t-shirt.
Moving back just a bit, he allowed Dean to pull the shirt over his head, and Dean’s kisses moved lower, across his collarbone and chest, over his nipples, eliciting a barely containable groan from Castiel.
“This okay, Cas?”
“Yes, I - of course, yes, yes, it’s okay. Please.” The intensity of his emotions hadn’t faded with the return of his Grace, unexpectedly, and his feelings toward Dean were as strong as they’d been when he’d been almost completely powerless. The two of them stayed in bed, touching everywhere they could, not going too far, but still grinding against each other until both of them had come.
Silence followed. Not wanting to force Dean into breaking that silence, Castiel simply offered to get up and prepare their breakfast, to which Dean readily agreed, saying, “Thanks, Cas”, but nothing more.
The next few nights and mornings continued as they were, each of them growing more bold. Dean grabbed onto Castiel’s cock and stroked him to orgasm within minutes, and Cas more likely than not returned the favor by taking Dean into his mouth and inexpertly but clearly efficiently sucking him off to his completion.
Their days were spent watching those television shows that made Dean happiest, the re-runs of old game shows. Family Feud, Press Your Luck, Let’s Make A Deal.
After a week or so had passed, Castiel couldn’t help himself. He had to say something. As Family Feud was wrapping up, he turned to Dean and said, “I feel this is what I am to you. The year’s supply of Turtle Wax.”
Part 2