SPN FIC: The Dead Dean Clause - PG-13 - Dean/Castiel (Sam, Impala)
Title: The Dead Dean Clause
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel pre-slash (Sam, Impala)
Disclaimer: I don't own these guys.
Stuff: ~4900 words; humor-ish veering into fluffy, post-apocalyptic weirdness; very vague spoilers up to 5.14
Notes: This is a help_haiti fic written for tangodoodles, who requested some Dean/Cas happiness with a happy ending. I am usually an angst machine, so I hope this is satisfactory!
Thanks: Oodles of thanks to tracy_loo_who, who gave this the once-over and fixed the bad. I own all remaining mistakes.
Audiobook: An mp3 file of this fic, read by the lovely deltacephei, is now available here!
Summary: Sam drinks himself insane, Dean is drunk and belligerent, and Castiel learns how to lie. But it's still happy. Really.
Somewhere along the way they fell into an unspoken, informal arrangement.
Back in the days before the apocalypse - before Castiel - Sam and Dean would discuss and argue about everything. Anything from self-sacrificial moves on a hunt right down to where they were going for dinner wound up turning into an epic, bickering dialogue that could sometimes last for hours before coming to any sort of conclusion.
Then Castiel came into the picture, and every discussion suddenly became much easier for Dean to come out on top in.
Step One: Dean affixes his very sincere 'don't you dare let me down now' look on Castiel, which Dean has practiced to perfection.
Step Two: Castiel looks back at Dean with the familiar 'I shall forever be perplexed by this mortal' expression, then voices his agreement.
Step Three: Sam seems to value Castiel's opinion, so Sam's shoulders slouch just a bit in a way that screams 'damn, I guess you're right' and he sways over to Dean's side.
Thus, with this new arrangement, Dean's word becomes law - with only one exception, which Dean has dubbed the 'Dead Dean Clause.' The Dead Dean Clause only comes into effect when Sam convinces Castiel - or Castiel convinces himself - that the course of action they're discussing would likely result in Dean being dead.
Dean really hates the Dead Dean Clause, but he's definitely happy with the new arrangement overall. Dean's pretty sure he's the only one who is consciously aware of it and he'd like to keep it that way, so he makes sure to only put the arrangement into action when it's completely necessary so Sam and Castiel don't catch on.
But he's not certain if it even matters anymore. Now that the apocalypse is over, he's not entirely sure the arrangement will hold up, because Castiel - the linchpin that keeps the arrangement in place - doesn't really have a reason to stick around.
Castiel only came to Earth to stop the apocalypse. The apocalypse has been finished for hours and Castiel hasn't said anything just yet, but Dean knows it's coming: Castiel is leaving.
Dean doesn't find many people that he likes. People tend to be annoying, and they often wind up frustrating him if he spends too much time with them. Dean actually likes Castiel, and everything about Castiel that Dean has found frustrating has also become strangely endearing. He'll miss Castiel popping up out of nowhere and the invasions of personal space. Dean doesn't want to lose the complete lack of social graces and Castiel's unique habit of taking everything too literally. He's found himself enjoying explaining endless pop culture references to Castiel, and he loves watching Castiel consume enough alcohol to drop any normal person dead without getting so much as a little bit of a slur in his words. Hell, he'll even miss Castiel's utter inability to lie.
Dean hasn't found many people becoming a part of his life, but he's realized that he can't imagine his life without Castiel in it. But people who become a part of Dean's life tend to leave eventually, so he's bracing himself. Castiel has no reason to stay.
Dean's not happy about it at all, and for so many more reasons than just losing that awesome unspoken agreement. Dean doesn't care if Castiel suddenly starts disagreeing with everything Dean wants; he just really doesn't want Castiel to leave.
He knows he's risking Sam and Castiel figuring him out by trying to put the unspoken agreement into action for something so trivial, but if Castiel is going to be announcing his imminent departure at any given moment, Dean's sure as hell going to abuse it.
"Who's up for a post-apocalypse celebration at that dive we saw coming into town?"
As expected, his suggestion is met by resistance from Sam. "Seriously?"
It's a word that Dean is used to hearing from Sam, one that can have about twenty-six different meanings, and each meaning has at least three subcategories. The one Dean hears the most often usually means 'Dean is the most annoying person in the entire freaking world,' or 'I can't believe this guy is actually my brother' and it's almost always reinforced by Sam's Bitchface™. This 'seriously' is a different breed, but still just as familiar. This is the one that usually means 'my brother is too weird for me to fully comprehend,' only this one is so pointed that Sam may as well be saying 'Dean, you have grown a second and a third head.'
"Why not?"
"It's just... it seems kinda... anticlimactic."
"Dude, how much of a climax do you want? It's not like we're going to get a freaking ticker tape parade." Time for Step One. "Cas, you're in, right?" He knows this suggestion is death free, but he throws his best 'don't let me down' look at Castiel, anyway.
Castiel is hovering over by the door of their motel room - and Dean doesn't like that implication one bit - but when he stares back at Dean with the customary bewilderment Dean knows he's got the necessary Step Two. "I think what Dean is trying to say is that after the apocalypse, the less climactic, the better," Castiel finally says.
"Exactly!" Well, not exactly 'exactly,' but at least Castiel is agreeing with him, and Dean knows he's won before he even looks over at Sam.
And sure enough, Sam's shoulders are slouching, and Dean has to resist pumping a fist into the air in celebration of the arrival of Step Three. "Fine. Let's go." Sam is rolling his eyes, but he's shrugging his coat on as he does it so Dean doesn't really give a crap.
If Castiel is going to leave, Dean's going to make sure the arrangement - and everything else Castiel represents in Dean's life - goes out with an awesome, loud, and absolutely drunken bang.
* * *
Between the three of them they wind up consuming over $250 worth of alcohol - definitely an amount worthy of a post-apocalypse celebration for three - but Dean's pretty sure that Castiel is the one who racks the bill up to just under their maximum credit card limit, especially since Sam suggested that Castiel might be a Pinot Grigio kind of guy instead of an Irish Car Bomb kind of guy, and Castiel's tastebuds apparently agreed with Sam. Pinot Grigio costs way more than Irish Car Bombs, but the bill isn't the issue.
The issue is that when the bartender finally kicks them out at closing time and Dean pulls his keys out of his pocket, Sam just has to open his larger than average mouth and say, "dude, you're way too drunk to drive."
Dean doesn't think he's too drunk to drive, but that comment puts the dreaded Dead Dean Clause into effect, and now he and Castiel are standing next to the Impala, glaring at each other instead of just staring at each other, which is most definitely not how Dean wanted tonight to end up. If Castiel really is going to be leaving for good, Dean would far prefer to have the night consist of staring, because he kind of likes staring at Castiel.
Also, Castiel's glare is just a little nerve-wracking. Dean doesn't get it very often, and he hasn't gotten it in full-force in months, but it's definitely still just as hair-raising as it was back when Castiel told Dean he could throw him back into Hell.
Actually, this particular glare might be scarier than the 'I can throw you back in' glare.
"I'm fine."
"I'm not sure that you are."
Their entire conversation continuously comes back to that main argument and they're not really getting anywhere, and Dean thinks he might actually prefer arguing with Sam to arguing with Castiel.
Sam is absolutely no help. He's not only the one who caused the whole problem in the first place, but he's also currently collapsed against the Impala and laughing his ass off. Dean doesn't really feel like finding out what Sam is finding so hilarious, so he chalks it up to Sam being the happy drunk that he usually is.
"I could transport you both back to the motel," Castiel offers.
Well, that's something, even though Dean isn't exactly thrilled at the idea of angel-induced constipation for the next week. "What about my car? Can you fly her back to the motel, too?"
Castiel shakes his head. "I can't take your car. It's too large."
"Then no flying 'cuz there's no way I'm leaving her here!" Dean knows he's being too loud and just a little overly emotional, which probably is a sign that he actually is kind of drunk, but he's hoping Castiel doesn't catch on to that. "The bartender said it would get towed if it's left overnight."
For some reason this statement sends Sam into another bought of laughter, and Dean and Castiel both watch as Sam slides down the side of the Impala and into the gravel of the parking lot. Dean is glad to hear it since he hasn't heard his brother laugh like that in a very long time, but he's not exactly in the mood to savor that laughter when he's discussing his car being towed by some jackass who would probably fuck up the suspension while chaining her up. The fate of his car totally trumps whatever the happy drunk is laughing at.
"Well, Sam's definitely too drunk to drive," Dean points out, nodding towards the happy drunk.
"I agree with that," Castiel says. "But I believe you are, as well."
"I'm fine!" And they've come full circle. Again.
"Why can't Cas drive us back?" Sam offers after he's calmed his laughter enough to speak.
"'Cuz Cas can't drive!" Dean knows he's definitely too loud now, but that's just about the stupidest suggestion Sam has ever made in his entire life.
Castiel glances over at Sam with an appreciative nod. "I may be able to. I've never tried," he says.
Dean seriously can't believe Castiel is even considering this. "Cas, you know I trust you with my life, but you are so not going to try driving for the first time in my baby."
Castiel tilts his head to the side, and why the fuck does he have to do that, of all things? Castiel tilting his head makes Dean want to give him anything he wants. "You trust me with your life, but not with your car?"
"Definitely not!"
Sam's laughing again, and now it's just irritating.
"You mind sharing with the class just what the fuck is so funny, Sammy?" That just makes Sam double up and slide even further down into the gravel, and Dean stares, wondering if his brother has completely lost his mind. "Dude, seriously. What?"
"It's just... this." Sam makes a vague gesture with his hand towards the parking lot, one that looks somewhat awkward because of the way he's bent over, and Dean has absolutely no idea what Sam's trying to say. It makes Dean wonder if Sam is actually the one who drove the bill up so high, because Sam is apparently way more fucking drunk than Dean thought he was.
"Come again?"
"This," Sam says again. "This is a big problem." Then he starts laughing again, and Dean feels like he might throw Sam in the backseat of the Impala and lock the door just so he doesn't have to hear it anymore.
"Of course it's a problem!"
"But it's the only thing we have to worry about right now." Sam's grinning up at them with possibly the biggest smile Dean's seen on him since Sam was six.
"Sammy, I think you drank yourself insane."
"There's no apocalypse," Castiel says, and Dean snaps his gaze over to see him offering Sam one of his rarely seen smiles. "The world's not ending." Castiel looks back at Dean, and the tiny smile widens just a bit. "Your largest concern right now is getting back to the motel."
"Yes!" Sam says triumphantly, and Dean realizes that Sam's right.
Or he's almost right, since there's one thing that's a far bigger problem than the three of them being stuck in a parking lot in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere, and Dean suddenly can't look at Castiel. "I'm more worried about you leaving," he mumbles towards the ground, and yeah, maybe he is a little too drunk to drive, because he thinks he actually just said that out loud.
"What?" Castiel asks.
Dean stares at the ground for another moment, bracing himself to put on a happy face and to brush his comment away with a smart-ass remark, but when he looks back up he spots a bright, blinding white light over Castiel's shoulder.
He blinks against the light for a moment and a thousand possibilities start running through his mind, the most prominent being the thought that Castiel isn't leaving to go back to Heaven because Heaven's actually coming to get him.
Dean blinks again, and then swears under his breath.
It's not Heaven coming to take Castiel away from him; it's the headlights of a freaking police cruiser rolling into the parking lot.
"You just had to open your big mouth, didn't you, Sammy?" Dean mutters.
The big mouth at least has the sense to stop laughing, and Sam climbs to his feet when the cruiser rolls to a stop next to them.
Dean puts on his best police-friendly grin. "Evening, Officer!" he says when the window rolls down, hoping and praying to who-the-hell-knows-what that he can convince the officer that they are the least threatening bunch to ever grace his presence, and that they were just leaving, really.
The officer doesn't smile back and instead swings his door open and climbs out of his car, which is a really freaking bad sign. Another bad sign is the fact that he is indeed a 'he,' meaning Dean probably can't flirt his way out of whatever the cop wants. He's also an older cop, and older cops are much less likely to eat Dean's bullshit than the young ones. And he's got a mustache which tells Dean that he's almost definitely an asshole cop, which is just the icing on the cake.
Older male cops with mustaches really suck.
The officer looks from Dean to Sam to Castiel and back to Dean. "Where are you boys headed?"
"We're just going back to our motel, Officer..." Dean squints at the tiny embroidery on the cop's uniform. "... Barrett."
The mustache wiggles. "It's Barnett."
Shit. Maybe Dean really is more than a little drunk. "I'm sorry. It's a little dark out here." Dean tries to push his mistake off with a laugh.
Officer Barnett isn't laughing back, and he looks away from Dean and towards the closed-up dive. "Bar's been closed for a long minute, boys. What's the reason you're still hanging around?"
"Oh, we just got caught up talking," Dean says, turning his shit-eating grin back on. "You know how it goes - enjoying the beautiful night, and time just flies-"
"You know that your words are slurring together like your tongue is too big for your damn mouth?"
"I -" Dean shuts his damn mouth. Okay, so he's drunk.
Officer Barnett is eyeballing them again. "Which one of you three is driving tonight?"
Dean fights to hold back a flurry of curse words. None of them have gotten behind the wheel yet, so the cop can't technically cite them with anything except loitering - and possibly public intoxication, if Barnett is feeling frisky - but Dean really does not want to deal with paperwork or a night in jail or a citation on another one of his fake identities.
"I'm driving," Castiel says.
"Like hell, you are!" Dean says, and he instantly knows he's being too loud just as a hand slams over his mouth.
"Sorry; my brother is a little unnecessarily belligerent when he's drunk," Sam says. Dean can freaking smell the alcohol on Sam's palm, and he's a bit irritated that Sam's not getting a 'your tongue is too big for your mouth' comment from Barnett.
Barnett's ignoring both of them, though; instead he's eyeballing Castiel over his twitching mustache. "You had anything to drink tonight, son?"
"I have not," Castiel says.
Dean snorts against Sam's palm at Barnett calling Castiel 'son.'
"You sure about that?" Barnett asks. "'Cuz Joe gave the station a call, saying we should swing over."
Who the fuck is Joe?
"Joe's the bartender here," Barnett continues, answering Dean's unspoken question. "We like to keep an eye on our little town; there's no drinking and driving here. And Joe says that all three of you were drinking like fishes all night."
"He is mistaken," Castiel says with the slightest shake of his head. "I was not drinking tonight."
Dean's cursing under his breath again. The damn bartender took all their damn money and then had the nerve to practically set them up for a D.U.I. and what kind of - holy freaking Christ on a freaking cracker, Castiel is freaking lying to the cop.
Dean somehow manages to stumble while standing still, bumps into Sam, and stares at Castiel in pure astonishment because Castiel is actually lying. He's not telling Barnett that he had twenty-one glasses of Pinot Grigio and three Irish Car Bombs. Castiel's angelic tolerance of alcohol is through the roof so Dean knows he's probably not even feeling a little bit tipsy, but Castiel still drank all that and is most definitely lying about it.
Barnett takes a step closer to Castiel, his beady little eyes sizing Castiel up. He sniffs, pulls a pen out of his pocket and holds it up in front of Castiel's face. "If you haven't had a drop to drink, I'm guessing you'll have no problem keeping an eye on this?"
Sam starts shaking next to Dean, and his hand drops away from Dean's mouth to cover his own in order to hide his laughter.
They have officially entered the Twilight Zone, because Castiel is not only lying; he's also getting a freaking sobriety test.
Some part of Dean wants to tell Castiel that he doesn't legally have to do it, but the extreme weirdness of everything happening has apparently made Dean's mouth shut down, and Barnett is already slowly moving the pen from left to right.
Castiel's eyes are following the pen back and forth smoothly, and his eyebrows are folding together in curiosity. "What is the point of this?" he asks, and the fact that he manages to speak clearly and keep his eyes on the pen without missing a beat seems to tell Barnett that the pen trick isn't the way to catch Castiel. He drops the pen and his mustache twitches again.
"You've never had one of these before? Or seen one?" Barnett asks.
"A pen?" Castiel asks, bewildered.
Sam laughs - well, giggles. Dean wants to remind himself to make fun of Sam for giggling later, but he's too busy hoping Castiel's ignorance doesn't get him into trouble, especially after he went to the trouble of lying to a police officer.
"It's just a little test, son, to see if you've had too much to drink," Barnett says. "You got I.D.?"
"Fuck," Dean whispers. Sam elbows him in the ribs.
"Yes," Castiel says.
Barnett's mustache quivers when Castiel doesn't move. "And can I see your I.D.?"
Castiel reaches into his coat, pulls out a wallet and holds the whole thing out to Barnett, who takes it after a moment. "You don't get out much, do you?" Barnett mutters as he clicks the end of his pen - which is apparently not a pen at all, but actually a tiny flashlight - and he peers into the wallet.
Dean's really hopes that's not the fake fed I.D. he made for Castiel, because Castiel is acting way too clueless for a fed.
Barnett flips the wallet closed and hands it back to Castiel. "Would you mind standing with your feet together and your eyes closed, Mr. Novak?"
Holy freaking crap, Castiel somehow still has Jimmy's wallet after being shot, beaten up, stabbed, blown up, resurrected, meeting Lucifer, and the whole rest of the apocalypse.
Dean nearly loses his balance again when he realizes that Castiel just lied again.
Castiel passes the 'touch your finger to your nose' test with flying colors, and Dean can tell Barnett's getting irritated because that mustache is working overtime. "Can you recite the alphabet for me?" Barnett asks.
"Which one?" Castiel asks.
Barnett's eyes get even beadier. "What do you mean 'which one?'"
"Which alphabet? I know several."
"You frickin' smart-ass -"
"Sir, our friend isn't trying to be a smart-ass," Sam says. "He's just... extremely multi-lingual."
"And socially inept," Barnett says. "English. American English alphabet. Say it."
Castiel nods. "A-B-C-D -"
Barnett cuts him off with a smirk. "Backwards."
Damn freaking cop is cheating, but Castiel doesn't know that. "Z-Y-X-W-V-U-T..." And Castiel flies through the entire American English alphabet - backwards - with incredibly crisp pronunciation without missing a single beat and without even appearing to breathe, Sam's laughing again, and Dean even finds himself cracking a smile because Castiel is such a freak that Barnett doesn't try to stop him. "... D-C-B-A."
Barnett stares at Castiel after he's finished.
"Would you prefer it in Greek?"
Barnett stares for a solid ten more seconds. "Go back to your motel, boys," he finally says.
Dean grins. "Yes, sir!" He waits for a moment, but Barnett doesn't move to get back in his car. The bastard's actually going to stay and watch them leave.
Older asshole cops with mustaches really fucking suck.
Castiel's moving over towards him and Sam. "Dean," he says.
Dean's grip on his keys tightens until his hand hurts, but he holds them out, and Castiel takes them. "Oh, God," Dean groans.
He climbs into the passenger seat while Sam nearly falls into the back seat.
Castiel climbs into the driver's seat, and Dean thinks he might be sick for reasons that have nothing to do with drinking. "Oh, God," he says again.
"Dean, shut up," Sam says.
Dean does shut up, at least until the doors slam closed. "I can't believe that jackass is actually going to stay and make sure we leave."
"I can't believe he knew the word 'inept,'" Sam says.
"I can't believe you actually lied, Cas." Dean finds it incredibly hard to take his eyes off the keys in Castiel's hand, but he finally does. "You drank more than both me and Sam put together."
Castiel looks over to Dean, and he's doing that head tilting thing again. "When humans want something, you lie." He sticks the key into the ignition.
As pleased as Dean is about Castiel finally learning how to lie, he can't take it when the Impala roars to life, and he explodes. "And you also lied about knowing how to drive!"
"No, I didn't," Castiel says. "The officer never asked me if I knew how to drive."
"Dude, I can drive! Is he still there? Is he leaving?" Panicked, Dean peers outside to see Barnett still standing by his cruiser, and he rests his forehead against the window in frustration. "That fucking dick."
"You're too drunk to drive," Castiel says, and Dean jerks his head up when he feels the Impala shift into gear.
"I am not - oh, God - baby, I'm so, so sorry..." Dean starts babbling to his car as they ease back out of the parking spot. He shoots a look over at Castiel, whose eyes are directed over his right shoulder as if he actually knows what he's doing. Castiel brakes, and throws the car into drive. "It'll be okay, baby," Dean continues.
Sam mumbles something completely incomprehensible from the back.
It takes three blocks for Dean to stop apologizing to his car, and another mile down the road before his white-knuckled grip on the seat eases up. He glances over at Castiel again in surprise. "You're actually driving like you know what you're doing."
"I've watched you drive several times. It's not difficult," Castiel says, keeping his eyes on the road.
They have to go through four more stop signs before Dean stops pressing his right foot down onto the imaginary brake. "Cas, why didn't you just put the cop to sleep with your two-fingered angel trick?"
Castiel doesn't answer, and Dean sneaks a look over to see a hint of a smile on Castiel's face. "You sly bastard," Dean says.
"What?"
"'When humans want something, you lie?' You just wanted to drive my car."
One of Castiel's hands slides down the steering wheel. "It is enjoyable."
Dean snorts, annoyed, but amused. "She's great, isn't she?"
Castiel makes a clean turn into the motel parking lot, and steers into the spot right in front of their room. He shifts into park, flips the keys out of the ignition and passes them across the seat, and Dean's fingers linger over Castiel's for a moment before wrapping around his keys. As Castiel climbs out of the driver's seat, Dean glances into the back to see Sam totally passed out.
"You'd better not be drooling on the seat," Dean mutters before he reaches back and whacks Sam on the leg. Sam jerks awake, mumbles something that sounds more like Enochian than English, and he lumbers out of the car and over to the door of their room.
Dean locks up the Impala and watches Sam stab the doorknob a few times with the room key before finally figuring it out and disappearing into the room so fast that Dean thinks he might have just fallen through the door. A hand lands on his shoulder before he can follow his drunken brother. "Dean."
He glances over to see Castiel staring at him. Dean again decides that staring is most definitely better than glaring, but something in Castiel's eyes makes Dean think that this is the moment he's been dreading. "Cas, I..." He swallows. He thought getting nice and hammered would make this easier, but he's not ready for it.
"What makes you think I'm leaving?"
Dean blinks in a way that he's sure makes him look pretty stupid, but now he's wondering just how drunk he is because there's no way he heard that right. "What?"
"You mentioned it earlier. Why do you think I'm leaving?"
"I... well... aren't you?"
He knows the signs well enough now to see it coming, and sure enough, there's the tilting of the head. "Would you like me to leave?" Castiel asks.
"No!" Dean says. "Hell, no. I mean - if you want to leave, I don't want you to stick around if you don't want to -"
"Dean." Castiel cuts him off, and he's got that 'you are most perplexing' look on his face. "I would prefer to... 'stick around.'"
Dean stares at him. "Seriously?"
Castiel nods, just once.
"But... why?" Dean knows he shouldn't push his luck, but he's drunk, and he really doesn't get it. "You don't wanna go back... home? Earth is saved, humanity survived, everyone's happy, all that jazz. The apocalypse is over, Cas."
"Yes."
"What's the reason you want to stay?"
Castiel almost imperceptibly glances away from Dean and towards the Impala.
"Don't tell me you want to stay for my car," Dean says.
"No," Castiel says, and he's smiling when he looks back at Dean, and Dean realizes he's seen Castiel smile more times tonight than the entire time he's known him. "But I believe that in my absence, you would repeatedly make equally - or even more - reckless decisions than the one you made earlier."
Dean finds his own head is tilting before he even realizes what he's doing, and he can't tell if he's doing it because he's just that fucking drunk or if he somehow picked up on the habit from Castiel. "You're gonna hang around to make sure I don't drink and drive?"
"Among other things, yes. I want to stay here."
"So you're not leaving?"
Castiel shakes his head. "You must be very drunk to not have understood that the first three times I said it."
Relief floods through Dean, and he feels like something breaks open inside of him. And yeah, he's definitely drunk and can't help stumbling forward into Castiel. He wraps his arms around Castiel's shoulders and he feels Castiel go still, but he doesn't care because the guy's probably never gotten a hug that wasn't a spine-crushing hug from a Cupid before now, and also because Castiel isn't going anywhere.
He's staying.
Dean feels Castiel shift, and Castiel's arms tentatively come up and wrap around Dean's back.
"Cas -" Dean buries his face into the shoulder of Castiel's coat. "I'm really fucking glad you're sticking around."
Castiel's hesitant hug turns firm. "I am, too," he says quietly. "And someone needs to ensure that you stay alive."
As Dean feels Castiel's fingers winding into his jacket, Dean realizes exactly what it is that's keeping Castiel around, and he abruptly changes his opinion for good.
The Dead Dean Clause kind of rocks.
end
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel pre-slash (Sam, Impala)
Disclaimer: I don't own these guys.
Stuff: ~4900 words; humor-ish veering into fluffy, post-apocalyptic weirdness; very vague spoilers up to 5.14
Notes: This is a help_haiti fic written for tangodoodles, who requested some Dean/Cas happiness with a happy ending. I am usually an angst machine, so I hope this is satisfactory!
Thanks: Oodles of thanks to tracy_loo_who, who gave this the once-over and fixed the bad. I own all remaining mistakes.
Audiobook: An mp3 file of this fic, read by the lovely deltacephei, is now available here!
Summary: Sam drinks himself insane, Dean is drunk and belligerent, and Castiel learns how to lie. But it's still happy. Really.
Somewhere along the way they fell into an unspoken, informal arrangement.
Back in the days before the apocalypse - before Castiel - Sam and Dean would discuss and argue about everything. Anything from self-sacrificial moves on a hunt right down to where they were going for dinner wound up turning into an epic, bickering dialogue that could sometimes last for hours before coming to any sort of conclusion.
Then Castiel came into the picture, and every discussion suddenly became much easier for Dean to come out on top in.
Step One: Dean affixes his very sincere 'don't you dare let me down now' look on Castiel, which Dean has practiced to perfection.
Step Two: Castiel looks back at Dean with the familiar 'I shall forever be perplexed by this mortal' expression, then voices his agreement.
Step Three: Sam seems to value Castiel's opinion, so Sam's shoulders slouch just a bit in a way that screams 'damn, I guess you're right' and he sways over to Dean's side.
Thus, with this new arrangement, Dean's word becomes law - with only one exception, which Dean has dubbed the 'Dead Dean Clause.' The Dead Dean Clause only comes into effect when Sam convinces Castiel - or Castiel convinces himself - that the course of action they're discussing would likely result in Dean being dead.
Dean really hates the Dead Dean Clause, but he's definitely happy with the new arrangement overall. Dean's pretty sure he's the only one who is consciously aware of it and he'd like to keep it that way, so he makes sure to only put the arrangement into action when it's completely necessary so Sam and Castiel don't catch on.
But he's not certain if it even matters anymore. Now that the apocalypse is over, he's not entirely sure the arrangement will hold up, because Castiel - the linchpin that keeps the arrangement in place - doesn't really have a reason to stick around.
Castiel only came to Earth to stop the apocalypse. The apocalypse has been finished for hours and Castiel hasn't said anything just yet, but Dean knows it's coming: Castiel is leaving.
Dean doesn't find many people that he likes. People tend to be annoying, and they often wind up frustrating him if he spends too much time with them. Dean actually likes Castiel, and everything about Castiel that Dean has found frustrating has also become strangely endearing. He'll miss Castiel popping up out of nowhere and the invasions of personal space. Dean doesn't want to lose the complete lack of social graces and Castiel's unique habit of taking everything too literally. He's found himself enjoying explaining endless pop culture references to Castiel, and he loves watching Castiel consume enough alcohol to drop any normal person dead without getting so much as a little bit of a slur in his words. Hell, he'll even miss Castiel's utter inability to lie.
Dean hasn't found many people becoming a part of his life, but he's realized that he can't imagine his life without Castiel in it. But people who become a part of Dean's life tend to leave eventually, so he's bracing himself. Castiel has no reason to stay.
Dean's not happy about it at all, and for so many more reasons than just losing that awesome unspoken agreement. Dean doesn't care if Castiel suddenly starts disagreeing with everything Dean wants; he just really doesn't want Castiel to leave.
He knows he's risking Sam and Castiel figuring him out by trying to put the unspoken agreement into action for something so trivial, but if Castiel is going to be announcing his imminent departure at any given moment, Dean's sure as hell going to abuse it.
"Who's up for a post-apocalypse celebration at that dive we saw coming into town?"
As expected, his suggestion is met by resistance from Sam. "Seriously?"
It's a word that Dean is used to hearing from Sam, one that can have about twenty-six different meanings, and each meaning has at least three subcategories. The one Dean hears the most often usually means 'Dean is the most annoying person in the entire freaking world,' or 'I can't believe this guy is actually my brother' and it's almost always reinforced by Sam's Bitchface™. This 'seriously' is a different breed, but still just as familiar. This is the one that usually means 'my brother is too weird for me to fully comprehend,' only this one is so pointed that Sam may as well be saying 'Dean, you have grown a second and a third head.'
"Why not?"
"It's just... it seems kinda... anticlimactic."
"Dude, how much of a climax do you want? It's not like we're going to get a freaking ticker tape parade." Time for Step One. "Cas, you're in, right?" He knows this suggestion is death free, but he throws his best 'don't let me down' look at Castiel, anyway.
Castiel is hovering over by the door of their motel room - and Dean doesn't like that implication one bit - but when he stares back at Dean with the customary bewilderment Dean knows he's got the necessary Step Two. "I think what Dean is trying to say is that after the apocalypse, the less climactic, the better," Castiel finally says.
"Exactly!" Well, not exactly 'exactly,' but at least Castiel is agreeing with him, and Dean knows he's won before he even looks over at Sam.
And sure enough, Sam's shoulders are slouching, and Dean has to resist pumping a fist into the air in celebration of the arrival of Step Three. "Fine. Let's go." Sam is rolling his eyes, but he's shrugging his coat on as he does it so Dean doesn't really give a crap.
If Castiel is going to leave, Dean's going to make sure the arrangement - and everything else Castiel represents in Dean's life - goes out with an awesome, loud, and absolutely drunken bang.
* * *
Between the three of them they wind up consuming over $250 worth of alcohol - definitely an amount worthy of a post-apocalypse celebration for three - but Dean's pretty sure that Castiel is the one who racks the bill up to just under their maximum credit card limit, especially since Sam suggested that Castiel might be a Pinot Grigio kind of guy instead of an Irish Car Bomb kind of guy, and Castiel's tastebuds apparently agreed with Sam. Pinot Grigio costs way more than Irish Car Bombs, but the bill isn't the issue.
The issue is that when the bartender finally kicks them out at closing time and Dean pulls his keys out of his pocket, Sam just has to open his larger than average mouth and say, "dude, you're way too drunk to drive."
Dean doesn't think he's too drunk to drive, but that comment puts the dreaded Dead Dean Clause into effect, and now he and Castiel are standing next to the Impala, glaring at each other instead of just staring at each other, which is most definitely not how Dean wanted tonight to end up. If Castiel really is going to be leaving for good, Dean would far prefer to have the night consist of staring, because he kind of likes staring at Castiel.
Also, Castiel's glare is just a little nerve-wracking. Dean doesn't get it very often, and he hasn't gotten it in full-force in months, but it's definitely still just as hair-raising as it was back when Castiel told Dean he could throw him back into Hell.
Actually, this particular glare might be scarier than the 'I can throw you back in' glare.
"I'm fine."
"I'm not sure that you are."
Their entire conversation continuously comes back to that main argument and they're not really getting anywhere, and Dean thinks he might actually prefer arguing with Sam to arguing with Castiel.
Sam is absolutely no help. He's not only the one who caused the whole problem in the first place, but he's also currently collapsed against the Impala and laughing his ass off. Dean doesn't really feel like finding out what Sam is finding so hilarious, so he chalks it up to Sam being the happy drunk that he usually is.
"I could transport you both back to the motel," Castiel offers.
Well, that's something, even though Dean isn't exactly thrilled at the idea of angel-induced constipation for the next week. "What about my car? Can you fly her back to the motel, too?"
Castiel shakes his head. "I can't take your car. It's too large."
"Then no flying 'cuz there's no way I'm leaving her here!" Dean knows he's being too loud and just a little overly emotional, which probably is a sign that he actually is kind of drunk, but he's hoping Castiel doesn't catch on to that. "The bartender said it would get towed if it's left overnight."
For some reason this statement sends Sam into another bought of laughter, and Dean and Castiel both watch as Sam slides down the side of the Impala and into the gravel of the parking lot. Dean is glad to hear it since he hasn't heard his brother laugh like that in a very long time, but he's not exactly in the mood to savor that laughter when he's discussing his car being towed by some jackass who would probably fuck up the suspension while chaining her up. The fate of his car totally trumps whatever the happy drunk is laughing at.
"Well, Sam's definitely too drunk to drive," Dean points out, nodding towards the happy drunk.
"I agree with that," Castiel says. "But I believe you are, as well."
"I'm fine!" And they've come full circle. Again.
"Why can't Cas drive us back?" Sam offers after he's calmed his laughter enough to speak.
"'Cuz Cas can't drive!" Dean knows he's definitely too loud now, but that's just about the stupidest suggestion Sam has ever made in his entire life.
Castiel glances over at Sam with an appreciative nod. "I may be able to. I've never tried," he says.
Dean seriously can't believe Castiel is even considering this. "Cas, you know I trust you with my life, but you are so not going to try driving for the first time in my baby."
Castiel tilts his head to the side, and why the fuck does he have to do that, of all things? Castiel tilting his head makes Dean want to give him anything he wants. "You trust me with your life, but not with your car?"
"Definitely not!"
Sam's laughing again, and now it's just irritating.
"You mind sharing with the class just what the fuck is so funny, Sammy?" That just makes Sam double up and slide even further down into the gravel, and Dean stares, wondering if his brother has completely lost his mind. "Dude, seriously. What?"
"It's just... this." Sam makes a vague gesture with his hand towards the parking lot, one that looks somewhat awkward because of the way he's bent over, and Dean has absolutely no idea what Sam's trying to say. It makes Dean wonder if Sam is actually the one who drove the bill up so high, because Sam is apparently way more fucking drunk than Dean thought he was.
"Come again?"
"This," Sam says again. "This is a big problem." Then he starts laughing again, and Dean feels like he might throw Sam in the backseat of the Impala and lock the door just so he doesn't have to hear it anymore.
"Of course it's a problem!"
"But it's the only thing we have to worry about right now." Sam's grinning up at them with possibly the biggest smile Dean's seen on him since Sam was six.
"Sammy, I think you drank yourself insane."
"There's no apocalypse," Castiel says, and Dean snaps his gaze over to see him offering Sam one of his rarely seen smiles. "The world's not ending." Castiel looks back at Dean, and the tiny smile widens just a bit. "Your largest concern right now is getting back to the motel."
"Yes!" Sam says triumphantly, and Dean realizes that Sam's right.
Or he's almost right, since there's one thing that's a far bigger problem than the three of them being stuck in a parking lot in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere, and Dean suddenly can't look at Castiel. "I'm more worried about you leaving," he mumbles towards the ground, and yeah, maybe he is a little too drunk to drive, because he thinks he actually just said that out loud.
"What?" Castiel asks.
Dean stares at the ground for another moment, bracing himself to put on a happy face and to brush his comment away with a smart-ass remark, but when he looks back up he spots a bright, blinding white light over Castiel's shoulder.
He blinks against the light for a moment and a thousand possibilities start running through his mind, the most prominent being the thought that Castiel isn't leaving to go back to Heaven because Heaven's actually coming to get him.
Dean blinks again, and then swears under his breath.
It's not Heaven coming to take Castiel away from him; it's the headlights of a freaking police cruiser rolling into the parking lot.
"You just had to open your big mouth, didn't you, Sammy?" Dean mutters.
The big mouth at least has the sense to stop laughing, and Sam climbs to his feet when the cruiser rolls to a stop next to them.
Dean puts on his best police-friendly grin. "Evening, Officer!" he says when the window rolls down, hoping and praying to who-the-hell-knows-what that he can convince the officer that they are the least threatening bunch to ever grace his presence, and that they were just leaving, really.
The officer doesn't smile back and instead swings his door open and climbs out of his car, which is a really freaking bad sign. Another bad sign is the fact that he is indeed a 'he,' meaning Dean probably can't flirt his way out of whatever the cop wants. He's also an older cop, and older cops are much less likely to eat Dean's bullshit than the young ones. And he's got a mustache which tells Dean that he's almost definitely an asshole cop, which is just the icing on the cake.
Older male cops with mustaches really suck.
The officer looks from Dean to Sam to Castiel and back to Dean. "Where are you boys headed?"
"We're just going back to our motel, Officer..." Dean squints at the tiny embroidery on the cop's uniform. "... Barrett."
The mustache wiggles. "It's Barnett."
Shit. Maybe Dean really is more than a little drunk. "I'm sorry. It's a little dark out here." Dean tries to push his mistake off with a laugh.
Officer Barnett isn't laughing back, and he looks away from Dean and towards the closed-up dive. "Bar's been closed for a long minute, boys. What's the reason you're still hanging around?"
"Oh, we just got caught up talking," Dean says, turning his shit-eating grin back on. "You know how it goes - enjoying the beautiful night, and time just flies-"
"You know that your words are slurring together like your tongue is too big for your damn mouth?"
"I -" Dean shuts his damn mouth. Okay, so he's drunk.
Officer Barnett is eyeballing them again. "Which one of you three is driving tonight?"
Dean fights to hold back a flurry of curse words. None of them have gotten behind the wheel yet, so the cop can't technically cite them with anything except loitering - and possibly public intoxication, if Barnett is feeling frisky - but Dean really does not want to deal with paperwork or a night in jail or a citation on another one of his fake identities.
"I'm driving," Castiel says.
"Like hell, you are!" Dean says, and he instantly knows he's being too loud just as a hand slams over his mouth.
"Sorry; my brother is a little unnecessarily belligerent when he's drunk," Sam says. Dean can freaking smell the alcohol on Sam's palm, and he's a bit irritated that Sam's not getting a 'your tongue is too big for your mouth' comment from Barnett.
Barnett's ignoring both of them, though; instead he's eyeballing Castiel over his twitching mustache. "You had anything to drink tonight, son?"
"I have not," Castiel says.
Dean snorts against Sam's palm at Barnett calling Castiel 'son.'
"You sure about that?" Barnett asks. "'Cuz Joe gave the station a call, saying we should swing over."
Who the fuck is Joe?
"Joe's the bartender here," Barnett continues, answering Dean's unspoken question. "We like to keep an eye on our little town; there's no drinking and driving here. And Joe says that all three of you were drinking like fishes all night."
"He is mistaken," Castiel says with the slightest shake of his head. "I was not drinking tonight."
Dean's cursing under his breath again. The damn bartender took all their damn money and then had the nerve to practically set them up for a D.U.I. and what kind of - holy freaking Christ on a freaking cracker, Castiel is freaking lying to the cop.
Dean somehow manages to stumble while standing still, bumps into Sam, and stares at Castiel in pure astonishment because Castiel is actually lying. He's not telling Barnett that he had twenty-one glasses of Pinot Grigio and three Irish Car Bombs. Castiel's angelic tolerance of alcohol is through the roof so Dean knows he's probably not even feeling a little bit tipsy, but Castiel still drank all that and is most definitely lying about it.
Barnett takes a step closer to Castiel, his beady little eyes sizing Castiel up. He sniffs, pulls a pen out of his pocket and holds it up in front of Castiel's face. "If you haven't had a drop to drink, I'm guessing you'll have no problem keeping an eye on this?"
Sam starts shaking next to Dean, and his hand drops away from Dean's mouth to cover his own in order to hide his laughter.
They have officially entered the Twilight Zone, because Castiel is not only lying; he's also getting a freaking sobriety test.
Some part of Dean wants to tell Castiel that he doesn't legally have to do it, but the extreme weirdness of everything happening has apparently made Dean's mouth shut down, and Barnett is already slowly moving the pen from left to right.
Castiel's eyes are following the pen back and forth smoothly, and his eyebrows are folding together in curiosity. "What is the point of this?" he asks, and the fact that he manages to speak clearly and keep his eyes on the pen without missing a beat seems to tell Barnett that the pen trick isn't the way to catch Castiel. He drops the pen and his mustache twitches again.
"You've never had one of these before? Or seen one?" Barnett asks.
"A pen?" Castiel asks, bewildered.
Sam laughs - well, giggles. Dean wants to remind himself to make fun of Sam for giggling later, but he's too busy hoping Castiel's ignorance doesn't get him into trouble, especially after he went to the trouble of lying to a police officer.
"It's just a little test, son, to see if you've had too much to drink," Barnett says. "You got I.D.?"
"Fuck," Dean whispers. Sam elbows him in the ribs.
"Yes," Castiel says.
Barnett's mustache quivers when Castiel doesn't move. "And can I see your I.D.?"
Castiel reaches into his coat, pulls out a wallet and holds the whole thing out to Barnett, who takes it after a moment. "You don't get out much, do you?" Barnett mutters as he clicks the end of his pen - which is apparently not a pen at all, but actually a tiny flashlight - and he peers into the wallet.
Dean's really hopes that's not the fake fed I.D. he made for Castiel, because Castiel is acting way too clueless for a fed.
Barnett flips the wallet closed and hands it back to Castiel. "Would you mind standing with your feet together and your eyes closed, Mr. Novak?"
Holy freaking crap, Castiel somehow still has Jimmy's wallet after being shot, beaten up, stabbed, blown up, resurrected, meeting Lucifer, and the whole rest of the apocalypse.
Dean nearly loses his balance again when he realizes that Castiel just lied again.
Castiel passes the 'touch your finger to your nose' test with flying colors, and Dean can tell Barnett's getting irritated because that mustache is working overtime. "Can you recite the alphabet for me?" Barnett asks.
"Which one?" Castiel asks.
Barnett's eyes get even beadier. "What do you mean 'which one?'"
"Which alphabet? I know several."
"You frickin' smart-ass -"
"Sir, our friend isn't trying to be a smart-ass," Sam says. "He's just... extremely multi-lingual."
"And socially inept," Barnett says. "English. American English alphabet. Say it."
Castiel nods. "A-B-C-D -"
Barnett cuts him off with a smirk. "Backwards."
Damn freaking cop is cheating, but Castiel doesn't know that. "Z-Y-X-W-V-U-T..." And Castiel flies through the entire American English alphabet - backwards - with incredibly crisp pronunciation without missing a single beat and without even appearing to breathe, Sam's laughing again, and Dean even finds himself cracking a smile because Castiel is such a freak that Barnett doesn't try to stop him. "... D-C-B-A."
Barnett stares at Castiel after he's finished.
"Would you prefer it in Greek?"
Barnett stares for a solid ten more seconds. "Go back to your motel, boys," he finally says.
Dean grins. "Yes, sir!" He waits for a moment, but Barnett doesn't move to get back in his car. The bastard's actually going to stay and watch them leave.
Older asshole cops with mustaches really fucking suck.
Castiel's moving over towards him and Sam. "Dean," he says.
Dean's grip on his keys tightens until his hand hurts, but he holds them out, and Castiel takes them. "Oh, God," Dean groans.
He climbs into the passenger seat while Sam nearly falls into the back seat.
Castiel climbs into the driver's seat, and Dean thinks he might be sick for reasons that have nothing to do with drinking. "Oh, God," he says again.
"Dean, shut up," Sam says.
Dean does shut up, at least until the doors slam closed. "I can't believe that jackass is actually going to stay and make sure we leave."
"I can't believe he knew the word 'inept,'" Sam says.
"I can't believe you actually lied, Cas." Dean finds it incredibly hard to take his eyes off the keys in Castiel's hand, but he finally does. "You drank more than both me and Sam put together."
Castiel looks over to Dean, and he's doing that head tilting thing again. "When humans want something, you lie." He sticks the key into the ignition.
As pleased as Dean is about Castiel finally learning how to lie, he can't take it when the Impala roars to life, and he explodes. "And you also lied about knowing how to drive!"
"No, I didn't," Castiel says. "The officer never asked me if I knew how to drive."
"Dude, I can drive! Is he still there? Is he leaving?" Panicked, Dean peers outside to see Barnett still standing by his cruiser, and he rests his forehead against the window in frustration. "That fucking dick."
"You're too drunk to drive," Castiel says, and Dean jerks his head up when he feels the Impala shift into gear.
"I am not - oh, God - baby, I'm so, so sorry..." Dean starts babbling to his car as they ease back out of the parking spot. He shoots a look over at Castiel, whose eyes are directed over his right shoulder as if he actually knows what he's doing. Castiel brakes, and throws the car into drive. "It'll be okay, baby," Dean continues.
Sam mumbles something completely incomprehensible from the back.
It takes three blocks for Dean to stop apologizing to his car, and another mile down the road before his white-knuckled grip on the seat eases up. He glances over at Castiel again in surprise. "You're actually driving like you know what you're doing."
"I've watched you drive several times. It's not difficult," Castiel says, keeping his eyes on the road.
They have to go through four more stop signs before Dean stops pressing his right foot down onto the imaginary brake. "Cas, why didn't you just put the cop to sleep with your two-fingered angel trick?"
Castiel doesn't answer, and Dean sneaks a look over to see a hint of a smile on Castiel's face. "You sly bastard," Dean says.
"What?"
"'When humans want something, you lie?' You just wanted to drive my car."
One of Castiel's hands slides down the steering wheel. "It is enjoyable."
Dean snorts, annoyed, but amused. "She's great, isn't she?"
Castiel makes a clean turn into the motel parking lot, and steers into the spot right in front of their room. He shifts into park, flips the keys out of the ignition and passes them across the seat, and Dean's fingers linger over Castiel's for a moment before wrapping around his keys. As Castiel climbs out of the driver's seat, Dean glances into the back to see Sam totally passed out.
"You'd better not be drooling on the seat," Dean mutters before he reaches back and whacks Sam on the leg. Sam jerks awake, mumbles something that sounds more like Enochian than English, and he lumbers out of the car and over to the door of their room.
Dean locks up the Impala and watches Sam stab the doorknob a few times with the room key before finally figuring it out and disappearing into the room so fast that Dean thinks he might have just fallen through the door. A hand lands on his shoulder before he can follow his drunken brother. "Dean."
He glances over to see Castiel staring at him. Dean again decides that staring is most definitely better than glaring, but something in Castiel's eyes makes Dean think that this is the moment he's been dreading. "Cas, I..." He swallows. He thought getting nice and hammered would make this easier, but he's not ready for it.
"What makes you think I'm leaving?"
Dean blinks in a way that he's sure makes him look pretty stupid, but now he's wondering just how drunk he is because there's no way he heard that right. "What?"
"You mentioned it earlier. Why do you think I'm leaving?"
"I... well... aren't you?"
He knows the signs well enough now to see it coming, and sure enough, there's the tilting of the head. "Would you like me to leave?" Castiel asks.
"No!" Dean says. "Hell, no. I mean - if you want to leave, I don't want you to stick around if you don't want to -"
"Dean." Castiel cuts him off, and he's got that 'you are most perplexing' look on his face. "I would prefer to... 'stick around.'"
Dean stares at him. "Seriously?"
Castiel nods, just once.
"But... why?" Dean knows he shouldn't push his luck, but he's drunk, and he really doesn't get it. "You don't wanna go back... home? Earth is saved, humanity survived, everyone's happy, all that jazz. The apocalypse is over, Cas."
"Yes."
"What's the reason you want to stay?"
Castiel almost imperceptibly glances away from Dean and towards the Impala.
"Don't tell me you want to stay for my car," Dean says.
"No," Castiel says, and he's smiling when he looks back at Dean, and Dean realizes he's seen Castiel smile more times tonight than the entire time he's known him. "But I believe that in my absence, you would repeatedly make equally - or even more - reckless decisions than the one you made earlier."
Dean finds his own head is tilting before he even realizes what he's doing, and he can't tell if he's doing it because he's just that fucking drunk or if he somehow picked up on the habit from Castiel. "You're gonna hang around to make sure I don't drink and drive?"
"Among other things, yes. I want to stay here."
"So you're not leaving?"
Castiel shakes his head. "You must be very drunk to not have understood that the first three times I said it."
Relief floods through Dean, and he feels like something breaks open inside of him. And yeah, he's definitely drunk and can't help stumbling forward into Castiel. He wraps his arms around Castiel's shoulders and he feels Castiel go still, but he doesn't care because the guy's probably never gotten a hug that wasn't a spine-crushing hug from a Cupid before now, and also because Castiel isn't going anywhere.
He's staying.
Dean feels Castiel shift, and Castiel's arms tentatively come up and wrap around Dean's back.
"Cas -" Dean buries his face into the shoulder of Castiel's coat. "I'm really fucking glad you're sticking around."
Castiel's hesitant hug turns firm. "I am, too," he says quietly. "And someone needs to ensure that you stay alive."
As Dean feels Castiel's fingers winding into his jacket, Dean realizes exactly what it is that's keeping Castiel around, and he abruptly changes his opinion for good.
The Dead Dean Clause kind of rocks.
end