Dean desperately tries to stay awake because Cas is once again right in the middle of a story about his past, back to the times of creation, and Dean wants to know it all, wants to learn everything about the angel and his life, but Dean is utterly exhausted after a long day of researching and digging up several graves, so in the end he drifts off, strong arms wrapping themselves around his torso the last thing he registers before everything turns dark.
And that’s how he wakes up many hours later, on the shitty motel bed right in Cas’ embrace. The angel kisses him good morning, offers Dean some breakfast in bed he got from the diner across the street mere minutes prior, and as Dean happily starts to munch on his pancakes Cas resumes his story from last night, starting exactly at the point where Dean fell asleep before.
Like he just patiently waited the last few hours for the hunter to finally wake up so he could continue his tale. Like he’s just as eager to let Dean know everything about his past as Dean is to drink it all in.
And so they sit there, side by side, one of them eating, the other one talking, and both of them content.
They’ve been researching for hours - Castiel combing through old tomes, and Dean looking up lore and discussion boards his laptop.
“Hey Cas, you got any chapstick on you?” Dean asks, smacking his lips together for emphasis.
It’s the first time either have them spoken in quite some time.
“Yes, Dean.” Castiel murmurs, not looking up from his book.
“Can I borrow some?”
“Yes, Dean.”
Castiel puts the book down, pulls out a tube of chapstick, applies it heavily to his own lips, and puts it back into his pocket.
“Hey -“
Castiel turns towards him and gently tugs on the front of Dean’s flannel to press soft lips against Dean’s. After a small noise of surprise, Dean leans into it and gets comfortable just in time for Castiel to pull away and pick his book back up.
There was a time when he didn’t like it so much, when he was still getting use to a human body that was really his and felt everything with jarring sensitivity.
He hated being startled from his sleep by the shivers racing up his back, tingling through his legs and no amount of blankets or rubbing his feet together seemed to help.
It took him a while to understand it was more than just temperature. Loneliness feels like ice in the veins.
Abandonment is like swallowing an iceberg.
But now no matter if it’s in the bed right next to the air conditioner in some rundown motel or their room in the drafty old bunker, when Castiel wakes up cold in the early morning hours, warmth is never too far.
All he has to do is roll over.
Dean is like a furnace when he sleeps, a beacon of heat and comfort and somehow his arms are always open, always welcoming, and Castiel knows that invitation is only for him.
So he rolls toward the warmth. Dean’s arm naturally curls around him once Cas is pressed to Dean’s warm chest, and their legs slot together. Dean’s head turns, making room for Cas in the space between his shoulder and neck like he was meant to fit there.
Held together like this, Cas is overwhelmed by the smell of Dean’s shampoo and the salt of his skin. The warmth of his body.
The shivers are chased away, his limbs growing heavy, eyes fluttering shut.
Dean’s alarm is due to go off in just another hour or so but Castiel can’t find it in himself to care. He’s more than pleased to spend that time drifting in and out of consciousness in Dean’s arms.
He doesn’t mind waking up cold anymore. As long as his heaven is sleeping next to him.
Prompt for destiel where one of them saves the other from a calamity, au or canon/humans or human & angel, but they get severely hurt instead, and other gets to comfort them and help them heal, and they get to confess
---
It’s his fault.
That’s all Dean can think as he kneels on the grimy floor, slick with Cas’ blood. His fault.
He was the one who insisted on pressing forward with the hunt, who overrode Cas’ desires to wait. He should have listened. After all, it was just him and Cas, newly human and still a little fragile with it. He should have listened to Cas’ objections, should have listened to the little coil of unease in the pit of his stomach warning him that this was a bad idea, should have, should have, should have.
It should have only been one demon.
There had been more.
The demons had fought with brutal efficiency; within a few seconds, he and Castiel were separated from each other. From far away, Dean had heard the struggles, the snap of electricity that signaled a demon’s death and the grunts from Cas that accompanied the sick, wet sounds of fists striking flesh. At least Cas was still fighting. Dean was less than useless, caught in a chokehold that slowly obstructed his airway. His joints screamed in pain while black and red crowded at the edge of his vision.
“Dean Winchester.” His name was spoken in a sneer, contempt dripping from the lips of the leader of this little outfit. In a former life, her meatsuit must have been some kind of model--she was all lithe lines and sleek muscle and tall enough to look Dean in the eyes. Her eyes flashed black as her fingers gripped at his chin. Five bright pinpricks of pain blossomed across his cheeks as her nails dug in. Dean grunted, but wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of crying out.
“You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? The whole world, open for the taking, room enough for everyone to spread out now that you killed the man upstairs, and you still couldn’t let us be.” A thin trickle of blood dribbled down Dean’s chin as her nails broke skin. “Well, you should have kept your nose out of it.”
She drew her hand back, silver glinting as she moved. All Dean saw was the wickedly sharp point of her angel blade. He remembered how it felt, skin and muscle splitting underneath the force of the blow, how easily the blade slid into his body. Looked like he was going to get to experience it again, except this time without the failsafe of the Mark to pull him out again.
“Dean! Dean!”
The blade started to plunge down and Dean closed his eyes. They hadn’t had enough time, him and Cas, and now he was leaving Cas to the rest of a mortal life, alone. I’m sorry, Dean thought, tensing in preparation for the inevitable blow. Cas, I’m so sorry...
The blow never hit. Instead, what hit was a dervish, a whirl of blows and snarls and yelps. Somewhere, in the mad scuffle, Dean recognized the shock of dark hair and the flash of Cas’ shirt. Seeing that gave him enough strength to break free of the hold. His own blade slipped into his hand and he plunged it into the gut of the demon who had been holding him.
He’d had just enough time to feel triumphant before he heard the low grunt of pain.
He’d known what it was, but he still turned around to confirm. His eyes landed on a nightmare.
A demon stood tall, blade in hand. Crimson liquid dripped slowly off of the tip of the blade to splash upon the ground. Though it was impossible, Dean would swear that he heard the impact of every drop. A sick, twisted grin spread across the demon’s face as they looked down.
Castiel staggered backward, hands clutching at his stomach. Already, a dark stain spread across his shirt. Horrified, Dean could only watch as Cas dropped down to one knee, before he finally collapsed to the ground.
Dean’s still not sure the exact sequence of events. He knows that he charged forward, a pained shout erupting from his throat. He knows that there’s a dead demon. He knows that his fumbling fingers managed to find his phone and call Sam, leaving bloody smears on the screen.
And he knows that Cas is dying.
“You stupid son of a bitch, why the hell did you do that?” He won’t cry, not here and not now, but he wants to. Cas moans lowly in pained protest as Dean drags him into his lap. He ignores the sticky warmth leaking into his jeans from the ragged wound in Cas’ stomach the same that he ignores Cas’ eyes squinting shut in agony. He’ll deal with those later, push through those nightmares when Cas isn’t gasping for air right in front of him. Dean lays his hand on Cas’ neck, fingers pressing down on his pulse point. It’s thready and rabbit-fast.
“You have to ask?”
“Dammit Cas.” Dean bends down low over Cas’ body, as if he could shield him from the rest of the world. Too little, too late. He’d screwed up and now Cas was paying the price, like always. “You know that I’m not worth it. You know it.”
“Dean.” Cas’ mouth moves like he wanted to say more, but all that comes out is a dribble of blood, leaking from the corner of his mouth. His hands grasp at Dean, but his grip is so weak that it slides off without ever making an impression. “Dean,” Cas manages to say, breathing in deep and forcing the single syllable of his name out with extreme effort. “I, I--”
“Don’t you say it,” Dean hisses, pressing down hard on Cas’ stomach. The sound of Cas’ agonized cry is enough to twist a knife in his heart, and the feel of warm blood gushing over his hand makes him sick to his stomach, but at least it forces Cas to stop talking.
“You’re not fucking dying on me,” Dean almost snarls, voice wobbling towards the end. “You hear me, Castiel? Not yet.”
Cas’ eyes close. He doesn’t respond.
---
Dean watches the skip and jump of the heart monitor and listens to the steady beats. Like a metronome, it counts the beats of Cas’ heart. Each rise and fall, each electronic beep soothes Dean’s rough edges, as it acts as a reminder. Cas is still here. He didn’t lose him.
Twenty-two stitches. That’s what it had taken to save him. That and some very good surgeons, some impossible luck, and a series of driving maneuvers delivered by one Sam Winchester. Dean would doubt that his brother was capable of such driving, if he hadn’t been in the back seat with him for the full duration.
They’d cut the margin of error so thinly that it was translucent. Minutes, the doctors had said, with the vague whiff of suspicion that came from bringing in a stabbing victim. If traffic had been heavier or if Sam hadn’t been driving quite so fast and furious on the Fury Road...Well, Dean would have another corpse on his hands to burn. Again.
Dean’s attention is caught by a low groan coming from the direction of the bed. Within seconds, he’s at Cas’ bedside so that he can see the exact moment that Cas’ eyes flutter open.
He’d been so angry earlier. Furious, that once again, Castiel saw fit to throw himself to the wolves, all for Dean’s sake. He’d been ready to give Cas an earful when he finally woke up (once they discovered that he was going to wake up). But seeing the hazy, pained look in Cas’ eyes vanish to be replaced with a slow, pleased smile erases all thoughts of rage from Dean’s brain. All it leaves him with is sweet, clear relief.
“Hey sleeping beauty.” Dean cards his fingers through Cas’ hair, as tentatively as though Cas were made of porcelain. “How are you feeling?”
Cas pauses to consider. “Numb,” he finally rasps. He glances to the side, where the IV stand drips down into various tubes connected to his body. “I assume that there’s a large amount of medication responsible for that?”
“Yeah, you’re getting the good stuff,” Dean says. He can’t stop touching Cas’ hair. It’s a little gross--Other than a few quick sponge-baths from the nurses, Cas hasn’t bathed and his hair has taken the brunt of that. It’s a little greasy, but Dean couldn’t care less about that. Not when Cas smiles up at him through a grizzled beard.
“Don’t be angry,” Castiel says. His fingers wrap weakly around Dean’s wrist. “I know that you’re probably furious with me.”
“Damn right I am. How many times do I have to tell you, I ain’t worth--”
“Stop.” Cas squeezes his wrist. His grip is pathetic enough that it forces Dean into silence more than if Cas had managed his usual bone-bruising force. “Nothing you say will ever convince me that you’re not worth saving. Nothing,” Cas says, as severe as his voice will allow. He strokes over the soft skin of Dean’s wrist. His eyes look at something faraway only he can see. “I sometimes think that I was created in order to keep you safe. Please don’t deny me that.”
And what can you say to that?
Dean lifts Cas’ knuckles to his face, brushing a gentle kiss over them. “Way to make a guy feel guilty, asshole.”
Cas smiles wanly. “Whatever it takes.” His voice turns thin and ragged around the edges. Dean knows that it’s not going to be long before he slips back into sleep.
“But you have to try and stay around.” Dean takes in a deep breath. The words sit on his tongue, ready to taste freedom. “It’s not fair to make me go through this without you. I love you, dumbass, and if you go off and get yourself killed just because you were trying to save me then I’m going to be really pissed at you.”
They haven’t said it. They’ve kissed, they’ve fucked, hell sometimes they’ve even done what Sam would probably call making love. They live together and they’ve died for the other. But they’ve never said the words. Dean had been convinced that he never would. Cas knew. That was enough for him. Everything else was window dressing.
But there in the backseat, with Cas’ limp and bleeding body pressed against him, forced to listen to Cas’ pained wheezes, and his hand pressed against Cas’ stomach trying to keep Cas’ blood inside, Dean had been overcome by only thought.
Cas is going to die and I never told him.
The thought that Cas could die without knowing exactly how much he’s adored has kept Dean awake for several nights.
Cas’ eyes are wide as his fingers clench reflexively around Dean’s wrist. “Dean,” he finally gets out. He blinks quickly, obviously fighting against impending sleep. “Dean, I--”
“Yeah. I know.” Dean brushes Cas’ hair off of his forehead and leans down to press a kiss against the clammy skin. “Go to sleep.”
“You’ll be here? When I wake up?” Cas’ voice is already slurred, sleep wrapping around him and tugging him deep into oblivion.
Dean settles onto the edge of Cas’ bed, unwilling to release his hold on Cas until he absolutely has to. Cas murmurs happily, nonsense words that trail off into silence.
Dean runs his finger down Cas’ cheek, bristly and unshaven. It’s warm to the touch. When he pulls away, Cas almost follows after him, squirming in his sleep until Dean takes his hand in his and laces their fingers together. Only then does Cas subside into peace.
“Yeah Cas,” Dean says, despite the fact that Cas can’t appreciate his words. “Yeah, I’ll be here.
@destivltrash requested P. While driving or in/around a car
canon-compliant, love confessions
Dean squints through the rain drumming on the windshield. He can barely see the dark road ahead. The wipers are squeaking a little. It’s annoying. Dean would turn the radio up to drown out the sound, but Sam is snoring softly splayed over the backseat and he doesn’t want to wake him. Cas is twitchy at his side. He opens and closes the glove department for the third time in five minutes.
"Stop fidgeting," Dean growls. Castiel leans back in his seat with a sigh.
"I’m not used to long drives."
"Ain’t my fault you can’t just pop yourself to wherever you want."
Castiel looks at him, squinting. "Are you mad at me?" he asks.
Dean lets out a harsh breath. "No," he murmurs. It’s not a lie. He’s not mad at Cas he’s just... confused since what happened during the hunt yesterday. The fight was tough and at one point Dean got scared. It’s not something that happens often, not something he’d admit easily. But when he saw Castiel gasping for breath, his body contorted with pain, the fear almost paralyzed him. He knew he was too far away from Cas to be able to help him, he knew the only way was to keep fighting the witch but all he wanted to do was run to Castiel. He did just that the moment the witch’s blood splashed over his hands. He crossed the room in record time and wrapped his arms around Cas, pulling him towards his heaving chest. Castiel was still shaking, but he wasn’t in danger anymore. He slumped against Dean, grabbing at the lapel of his jacket. "Dean," he breathed out.
Dean looked down at him. He thought he was going to lose him. Castiel got hit by the curse when he threw himself between Dean and the witch. He had been protecting Dean and almost died because of it.
Dean shuddered at the thought and squeezed Castiel tighter. Castiel let his eyes fall shut and a content sigh left his parted lips.
Before he could think better of it, Dean overwhelmed by the fear and the relief leaned down and kissed him.
He half-expected Cas to push him away. In hindsight, it would have been better. But Castiel grabbed the back of his head and returned the kiss with as much passion as Dean felt. It was much better than Dean ever dreamed, not that he would ever admit to dreaming about kissing Castiel. They parted after what felt like ages and wasn’t long enough at the same time. Dean helped Castiel to his feet and they joined Sam in the other room where he was getting rid of hex-bags.
And that was it. They didn’t talk about it, didn’t acknowledge it. They retreated into a dingy motel, took care of their wounds and crawled into beds.
And now they are here, on the road again like nothing happened.
"You are grumpy," Castiel comments and opens the glove department again.
"I’m not-" Dean growls and punches it close. The car swerves. "Fuck, I need a coffee," he grumbles.
"I can drive if you’re tired," Castiel offers. Dean shakes his head.
"There’s a gas station a few miles ahead."
The bitter coffee and cold air ease Dean’s mind a little. He’s standing by the car, sheltered from the rain by the roof, looking at cars passing by. He startles when Castiel’s hand lands on his shoulder.
"Dean," he says softly. "Please, talk to me. I know something’s bothering you."
Dean shakes his head and takes a sip of his coffee.
"Is it about yesterday?"
Dean’s heart skips a beat. He forces himself to look at Cas. He has this puzzled look he always has when he encounters human behavior he doesn’t understand. Dean scoffs.
"I don’t want to talk about it." He turns away. Castiel grabs his shoulder again, not so gently this time. He makes Dean turn to him.
"But I do. Dean, you can be angry at me all you want but at least explain what I did wrong."
"I told you I’m not-" Dean rises his voice but gets his temper under control. "I’m not angry I’m just-" he huffs and shakes his head looking down at his coffee.
"When people kiss, it usually means something to them. I mean, not always, sometimes it’s just fun, but often it... it means something."
He can feel Castiel’s eyes on him. "The kiss meant something to you," Castiel says slowly.
Dean grunts and runs his hand through his hair. He already wishes this conversation never happened.
"And you think it didn’t mean anything to me," Cas adds.
"Well, I don’t blame you. You’re an angel. I don’t expect you to-"
"Dean."
Dean looks up when he hears the urgency in Castiel’s voice. He meets Cas’ eyes and his heart pics up its pace.
"You’re wrong," Cas starts. He’s in Dean’s personal space but Dean doesn’t have it in him to step back. "It meant a lot to me."
Dean’s lips part but no words come up. He wants to protest, wants to cut Cas off, afraid that he’s going to say something Dean doesn’t want to hear. At the same time, he’s desperate to hear him say something.
"I didn’t talk to you about the kiss because I know you don’t like to talk about feelings. I wanted to give you time. "
Dean laughs mirthlessly and covers his face with his palms. He feels stupid and giddy at the same time.
Castiel’s fingers wrap gently around his wrists and pull his hands away. There’s a soft smile on his lips.
"The kiss meant that you might be finally ready to reciprocate my feelings for you," Cas says.
Dean’s brain short-circuits. Castiel’s feelings for him. Castiel has feelings for him. And he was just waiting for Dean to reciprocate them.
"Was I wrong?" Cas asks when Dean doesn’t reply.
"No," Dean breathes out. "I mean. You have feelings for me?" He’s shaking, feeling almost as weak as he did yesterday after the witch’s attack.
Castiel’s smile grows bigger. "I love you, Dean. Have loved you for a while."
Dean feels like he might black out. He’s glad Castiel is holding his hands.
"But you’re an angel."
"Yes. My love is different from human love. I would be happy loving you with my whole being without you acknowledging it or without it ever being manifested physically."
Dean frowns.
Castiel lets go of his wrists and instead cups his cheeks with both his hands. Dean holds his breath.
"But I will be very happy if that doesn’t have to be the case," Cas almost whispers.
Dean nods. "It doesn’t," he says just as softly. He closes his eyes. "Kiss me."
Dean notices the demon creeping up behind him a half-second too late and nearly loses his head. Fortunately, Cas swoops in for a last minute save-the-day smiting.
You know, it’s the little things that make a relationship work.
So, while Cas is staring at Dean, eyes narrowing, probably about to start in on a lecture about how Dean needs to be more careful, Dean throws his knife over Cas’s shoulder, straight into the neck of a demon about to get a jump on him.
Dean looks pointedly at Cas.
Cas huffs as he shrugs.
Dean should let it go, but he’s kind of pissed at himself for letting that demon almost get him, and at that other demon for even trying to touch his angel. “You were saying?”
“I didn’t say anything.” Cas’s mouth is pinched, like he tasted something sour.
“Out with it,” Dean says. “You’ll feel better.”
“You should be more careful,” Cas says, just as Dean mimics, “You should be more careful.”
Dean frowns. Cas frowns harder.
Sam rolls his eyes the entire drive home. When he’s abandoned them, when its just Dean and Cas alone in the run-down hotel room, they prowl forward toward each other like two tigers about to pounce.
Cas says, “You are insufferable ass.”
Dean says, “You like this ass.”
“Wrong.” Cas grabs him by the shirt and yanks him closer. “I love this ass.”
Then they are kissing, and yeah. It’s the little things.
what stays (and what fades away) | Posting on April 26
Fic by dothraki_shieldmaiden
Art by skeletonsinzeeclost
Cas Novak's life is perfect. He has a job that he loves and friends who support him. Most importantly, he has his husband, Dean Winchester, and his two adopted children, Claire and Jack. With them, nothing could ever go wrong.
That is, until he starts having flashes of a life that isn't his and meets someone who shares his husband's face but not his personality, someone who insists that he's someone, something, different altogether. Cas' life shatters when he's dragged into a world that he doesn't belong to and doesn't understand.
Dean Winchester's life was already shattered when he lost Castiel.
Keep reading for a sneak preview!
“There were problems,” Dean settles for saying.
And because Sam can never leave anything alone, he immediately asks, “What kind of problems?”
Dean rakes his fingers through his hair. He can’t handle this right now; not when Cas is still unresponsive. “I don’t...Just problems Sam. Jesus.”
His head hurts. His whole body hurts, but he concentrates on his head. Concentrating on anything else would be too much at the moment.
Cas had looked so goddamn happy in that kitchen. Dean hadn’t really known that Cas could smile like that, wide and gummy, eyes sparkling. He hadn’t known that when he’s truly happy, Cas’ whole body relaxes into a grin, like even his goddamned elbows are in on the joke. He hadn’t known that that kind of joy could find a place on Cas’ face.
His thoughts are interrupted by Jack’s bright cry of “Cas!”
Dean’s eyes fly to Cas’ bed. The angel in question sits up slowly, eyes flicking around the room, never settling on any one place for longer than a few seconds. Finally, he meets Dean’s eyes. Dean’s heart has just enough time to hammer at the confines of his ribs, before Cas’ eyes slide away.
Jack’s grin could dim the sun as he reaches out to Cas, no doubt to assess the levels of damage. All four of them--Dean, Sam, Eileen, and Jack--freeze when Cas flinches away from Jack’s touch.
“Dean?” Jack calls, eyes darting nervously to him.
Dean tries to put on a good face for Jack, but the look he gets from Cas sends a bolt of foreboding through his body. It settles, hard and mean, in the pit of his belly. Something’s not right. He can taste it in the air. Cas sits up and looks around the room like he’s never seen it before.
Something is wrong.
“Cas?” Sam must realize it too; he’s using the soft voice that he always uses with victims and their families. “You alright Cas? You back with us?”
For one, eternal second, the world hangs on Castiel’s answer.
Then, with a final sigh, Cas delivers the death blow.
“I don’t know.” He locks eyes with Dean, speaking directly to him. “I’ve never met any of you before in my life.”
Luego de descubrir que Dean en secreto es fan de los programas de RuPaul, Sam le presenta un caso de “salar y quemar” que se desarrolla en el corazón de un concurso de Drag Queens. Sólo pretendía burlarse de él, pero el asunto se le va de las manos cuando Dean decide que deben ocuparse del tema antes de que alguien más salga herido. Una cosa lleva a la otra y, de algún modo, los tres hombres acabarán teniendo que pegarse las pestañas y acomodarse las pelucas si quieren resolver el caso a tiempo.
