Thinking about end!verse Dean, who is practically feral at this point, meeting season 5, guilty ridden eager to please will get ordered to jump and he'll ask how high, Sammy (but only by and for Dean).
Thinking about end!verse Dean just taking off with him never to be seen again, leaving everyone and everything behind bc he now has the thing he wanted the most in the world.
Thinking about end!verse Dean taking his frustrations out on s5 Sammy, pushing him around a little bit, lashing out at him, "why did you say yes?, why did you leave ME?, why did you chose HIM over me?, Was I never enough for you? I sold my soul for you and you still chose HIM!!" punching him here and there but apologizing afterwards, kissing it better "I'm sorry I didn't mean it, I'm just so fucked up without you, please don't leave me again".
Thinking about S5 Sammy not just being ok with whatever this Dean tells him to do or does to him, but so fucking happy and grateful bc he has his big bro's love back and he will be damned before he fucks this up, always saying "yes Dean" and "thank you for loving me again Dean" and "i love you Dean".
Thinking about end!verse Dean threatening to cut off Sam's legs and arms if he even thinks about taking off without his permission, he can't lose him again. And Sam it's juts like: "i will never leave ur side, Dean, I love you 🥰"
summary - Dean tried not to think about the past, but it had a funny way on sneaking up on it. The End AU
pairing: dean x jo
warnings: typical canon violence
notes: I know if I don’t post this now, I never will. so I hope you guys enjoy it.
[part ii] [part iii]
[masterlist]
The end happened rather quickly.
Quicker than Jo Harvelle even anticipated as a Hunter. She knew the world was fragile, but people and their laws and logic were no match for the supernatural, who abided by no laws. Or rather, the all-powerful angels who wanted to throw a temper tantrum with the whole world as their sandbox.
She knew this could have been the outcome. She had been well aware of the pending apocalypse. The war that was anticipated between Heaven and Hell - Michael and Lucifer. She knew she was one of the few that knew anything was brewing back in 2006 when grieving brothers stepped through her mother’s door.
She had been there for the first phase of it with War in River Pass, Colorado. She still didn’t know if she was upset or just frustrated with how easily she was compromised during that hunt. It was just another thing her mother had used to show that she shouldn’t - couldn’t - hunt alone. It was just apparent evidence that she was still some naïve schoolgirl.
Yet, she was still here. She was still fighting and surviving. She was at least prepared. It was more than most had. She knew how to live off the grid. How to pack efficiently and effectively for all weather types. How to ration her food. She knew how to steal cars and move in the shadows. She knew what lived in the shadows.
Having all those technical skills still didn’t prepare her for everything. Most of the time, she traveled alone, especially after what happened in the beginning. She didn’t think she had it in her to be with other people. One, it had been proven time and time again that people were worst than monsters. Jo knew that good people don’t survive. They are the ones that seem to run out of luck. Good people are the ones to make the sacrifices for others to survive - to live.
It was why Jo didn’t think she was a good person - not anymore. It wasn’t just zombies or Croats that she needed to worry about. Monsters were fighting to survive in the depleting food chain. She didn’t think she could worry about herself and try to keep others safe. She was tired of being the last person standing when a camp falls.
The screams, the terror, and the children were just gone, Jo didn’t think she could handle that anymore. She knew in ways there was a strength in numbers. She knew it deep in her bones, but with this new world, it seemed she was always bathing in the blood of good people.
Jo wiped a hand across her forehand. The weather was in a state of flux. It was that cold heat where the sun was burning brightly, but the wind bit through the clothes. She was covered in blood, dirt, and sweat as her legs burned to put distance between her and the utter destruction of a small camp she happened to come across.
She had been alone for days. Her voice was hoarse from the lack of use when she had stumbled upon Lee and Krissy Chambers, a father and daughter duo with Victor Rogers. Both men were hunters. She remembered Lee had been a somewhat frequent patron of the Roadhouse. It was the only reason she stopped to relieve the numbness in her feet. The body also had a breaking point. It could have been no longer than an hour or two after the sun had set when the nest attacked.
It was a nest of 6 vampires. Jo had taken out two. One had immediately attacked her and she barely managed to sever the head with her hunting knife. Victor had no chance of surviving immediately. His two attackers had gone for the throat. Lee was doubled-teamed as well. Jo was ashamed to admit she thought of running, but she grabbed her machete and immediately hacked into the vampire attacking Krissy.
Jo knew that it was no use trying to save Lee. As they ran, she grabbed their packs and tugged Krissy along. She ignored the fact that vampires had their scents for life. She knew that they would probably follow their trail.
They ran and ran. They stopped briefly when a storm cloud passed and they hid in the trunk of a car. Krissy’s loud sobs had turned into hard shakes. The trunk smelled of mold, sweat, and blood. For a moment, with the sliver of moonlight peeking through the trunk of the car. She was reminded of her first hunt in HJ Holmes's tomb he kept his victims. Those times were much simpler. She wished someday she could go back. She wished to relieve the stupid arguments with her mother. Teasing Ash for his inability to lie. Beating hunters at poker. She even missed her horrid days in college.
Jo knew it was lethal to have these thoughts. Nostalgia was a powerful and dangerous drug.
She didn’t even realize Krissy was no longer shaking. From the small puffs of air and the even breaths, the girl was asleep.
Jo didn’t know where to go from here. The girl had to live with seeing her father torn apart by vampires. She had to grow up in this world.
But through this, Jo had managed to save one person for another hour, minute, and day. That meant something and maybe she was still somewhat of a good person.
. . .
He couldn’t afford to remember the beginning. The smaller threads that got him - the world - to this point. Thinking about the past was a luxury he couldn’t afford and it only distracted him from the present. It was all just wasted energy. It only distracted from the present.
Dean Winchester knew there was only pain and misery thinking about the way things used to be. Even now, fighting to survive if things somehow miraculously changed, things would still not be the same. They would never be.
When he did lapse into the toxic drug of nostalgia, he wished to go back to the days when the monster to kill was just a ghost, heck even a vampire or a werewolf. Not a Coatoan zombie trying to tear his throat out. He missed the Impala and the open road. Now everything is overgrown and rusted. No classic rock or sweating leather to tide his days.
Now it was checking inventory for food and weapons. Keeping a whole camp of twitchy survivors in check.
And he wondered why he did it all. The start of the camp was haphazard at most. It had been more so Bobby’s idea with a few other hunters. Dean just nodded along, but somehow he ended up becoming the leader. Everyone ended up listening to him and his words. But he didn’t want that responsibility.
But this was his burden. He played a part in this. All of this was because of him. He couldn’t shirk off that onto someone else. This was his mess to clean up.
The mess kept getting bigger and bigger and the world was just a walking corpse. And the losses were piling up. The only thing he could cling to was warm beer, which his supply was rapidly depleting, and the fact Cas was still alive, broke, but still here.
He winced as he thought about how Cas acted when he managed to break his foot and was laid up for two months. The plight of humanity - of being human - had crashed down pretty hard on Cas and before Dean could really blink he had himself a hippie with a commune.
Dean eyed his wooden ceiling with its ceiling fan. He had the luxury of a ceiling fan. He thought about the run they had to do. They were going to venture further out and so far it’s been 30 days without an accident. He wasn’t going to pray and he didn’t have much hope, but he wanted all of his crew to make it back. They were aiming to be gone a week, but he knew it would quickly be extended to two weeks.
Dean moved up from the bed and rolled his shoulders and neck sighing as the cracks eased the stiffness. He heard a familiar trek up his steps as he made his way to the kitchen to make himself some coffee. They had been lucky to find a nice stash and Dean was savoring every bit of it. He made a mental note to figure out how to grow coffee beans.
“Oh fearless leader,” Cas announced before he was fully in the home.
Dean didn’t bother greeting him and it is not like Cas expected it.
“Everyone ready?”
“Yes, I got the supply list from Chuck. The cars are being checked out and loaded up.”
Dean nodded. And he tried to not be annoyed by Cas’ humming as he seemed to be in a chipper mood.
“You know, Dean, I feel it is going to be a good day.”
Dean ignored the coffee scalding his tongue.
. . .
Jo’s not sure how she exactly ended up in Montana. When the end happened, she and her mom were in Minnesota. It had taken about two months for them to even get to South Dakota to reach Bobby’s and by then the house had been overturned. She and her mom stayed for a couple of days and the plan was to go back to Nebraska. Her mom still had property, but her mom never made it.
Jo just traveled. Alone. She had the hope deep down that maybe someone she knew was alive. Yet, she looked for safety for where ever. It just sucked that out of all the skills Jo had being a decent mechanic wasn’t one of them.
“My feet are killing me,” Krissy groaned as Jo failed to start another car.
Jo moved out the white beat-up Ford Taurus. She wiped her hands against her jeans. “Maybe we’ll come across some bikes. At least we wouldn’t run the chance of running out of gas.”
“Wishful thinking,” Krissy replied as she eyed their surroundings.
Jo was surprised almost by the silence the end of the world brought. Even nature seemed quieter than she remembered. No humming from any type of motor. The birds seemed scared to chirp. It was a still silence that always made her on edge.
“Come on, we are losing daylight.”
Krissy followed without complaint. The only sound between them is the jostling of their backpacks. Jo wanted to bring up what happened with her dad and Victor. She didn’t know how and even then Jo wanted the comfort of four walls before bringing up something like that. Jo knew how it felt to lose a parent and to witness it.
The blonde hunter squinted as the sun began to get low and she made out an outline for a sign to a church. Jo noticed a beaten path and followed the trail that took them from the open road to the uneven terrain of the woods.
They were about half a mile out when Jo finally saw the high church bell peak over into the horizon. Jo grabbed her sawed-off shotgun while Krissy grabbed her revolver. The church was small and picturesque. The white siding seemed to shine amongst the filth of the world. It seemed untouched - pure. She could’ve snorted thinking how a church of all places seemed to be a goddamn sanctuary.
Jo nodded at Krissy to keep watch in the front as she checked the sides and back of the church. She couldn’t see any movement from the stained glass windows. There was no blood or brain matter smeared against the siding. The only thing that stained the church was the outside elements. Jo frowned as it seemed the only way in or out of the church was through the front.
Jo met Krissy out front, her body on edge for any type of attack. She noticed Krissy was trying to act tough, but even in her stance of holding the gun didn’t hold confidence. It’s weird now that Jo could slightly see where her mom’s concern about the life stemmed from. This world of monsters shouldn’t be bestowed on any child. Jo could see that now through an adult lens of a jaded hunter.
“Follow my lead,” Jo told her before they entered the church. They check every crook and cranny. There was a bathroom, an office space, and a storage room. They found the usual Christianity paraphilia. They even found a small stash of canned food with an inventory full of communion wine and dust.
Jo didn’t like the feel of the place. However, the dust did show evidence that no one had been here for a while.
“We can fortify this place. It’s also close to a small town. It could be something,” Krissy said as she stood on the altar.
“Could be,” Jo muttered. Jo didn’t like it. There was no type of fencing. To take watch would be clearly shit. There was no advantage point. If they were attacked, they would be screwed. The place only offered to be a temporary option. A nice reprieve until they found something better. Yet, Jo knew that there might not be something better out there.
Jo rubbed her forehead. “Let’s fortify this place.”
“So we’re staying?”
“For now,” Jo told her.
They covered all the windows with boards and carved the inside with as many protection symbols that were ingrained in her memory. Krissy fell asleep quickly after that and it left Jo on watch out front. She just had the front steps to set up with her gun.
The night was cooler. She could hear some birds - or most likely - bats flying in the distance. She knew Krissy wanted to stay here. She could understand the desire as being on the road with the elements could wear anyone down. Yet, it would require serious planning to make this a home. Jo thought that was what she needed most. Even as a hunter Jo always had a place to stay considering her mom’s connection. Jo shook her head she wasn’t going to go down that route. It wouldn’t lead to anywhere but misery.
Instead, despite it all, she prayed. She prayed to Castiel and hoped that everything was okay. That Rufus was still out there fighting strong. Ash, her mom, and Bobby were in heaven. She prayed that Sam and Dean were okay.
She prayed if anything that they had each other.
. . .
Dean didn’t mind going on runs. The risks were high and it required trusting others to a degree to watch his back, but it was a break away from the camp. It was one of the few ways to keep sharp on his skills and to properly make note of the world and its decay.
Besides, he never knew what could lead to a clue to the Colt.
The Colt was the only thing he had that gave him some hope that this all could end. For now, his chief concern was finding toilet paper before Chuck had a stroke. He would think with the man being a prophet and all he could have foreseen the shortage of the ass wipe. Chuck also brought up the concern of condoms and babies.
The one thing Dean didn’t want to deal with was telling people how to be responsible between the sheets. He knew he couldn’t outright say no babies, but Dean wanted to. They were already struggling, caring for the few families at the camp.
Yet, he knew it was better to be safe and proactive. The end of the world wouldn’t stop hedonism, hence Cas.
Dean looked up at the stars and wondered if “God” was listening. Yet, Dean knew that familiar pain of absent fathers. It was the oldest child stuck with the task of watching and protecting. It was them making sure there was enough food for the week if that meant him skipping out on meals. They made sure scrapped knees were mended and homework was done.
God’s reward was punishment. Punishment because he loved his family too much.
. . .
Sleep did not come easy for Jo. In this new world, she could only afford 4 hours every night. If she was lucky she was able to get 5 hours.
Even when she was a hunter, she was lucky when she could get a decent amount of rest. Sure, she had the occasional night of nightmares that interrupted a normal sleep schedule. In the beginning, she had that false impression that it was good she would hound over a case for hours. Neglecting sleep was a must in her naive brain.
However, sleep was probably the most important thing the body needed. Being groggy and sleep-deprived would only put herself in danger, but the people she was trying to save. Sleep, food, and water were the things she kept on her priority list.
In the dark walls of the church, she wanted to drift to sleep. She wanted to escape the circumstances of what life was like now. Yet, every creak and breath Krissy took kept her alert. As much as Krissy claimed to be able to handle herself and was adamant she could take care of herself, it was tainted by the fact Krissy didn’t know how to mute her steps on a wooden floor.
Instead, Jo found herself in one of those sleeps with her eyes open. Where her mind was blank, but her body was lethargic and just creeping on that precipice of a few moments of bliss.
Jo didn’t want to admit it, but her constant fight and survival mode wore out on her. She was trying to figure out really want the end goal was for the angels and demons at this point. If they shred the world apart what was there to gain from that?
Although Jo learned nothing would come from trying to figure out the motive of things. Sometimes things couldn’t be explained.
Jo rubbed her eyes and the next thing she knew the sun was staining the glass windows. She leaned up from the church pew with her body protesting every move.
She sighed, knowing she needed to figure out their next steps. This place could be something if they tried. Or a nice pit stop to let their bodies recharge before trying to find something more permanent.
“You think we should try to loot the town?”
Jo licked her lips. They were tight from the lack of balm. Her breath was sour. Toothpaste or some type of mints were high on her want list. Jo rubbed her forehead before she looked at Krissy.
“Yeah. Should do that early to figure out our prospects in staying here.”
The walk to town was about 40 minutes. Clouds cover the sun, and the chill still causes Jo's skin to become damp through the trek.
Jo thought she would sell her soul for a shower.
They reached an abandoned Salvation Army. The store looked like a time capsule. Racks were still full of clothes and the appliances that lined the shelves were coated with a blanket of dust.
Yet, the most treasured find was located in the basement, apparently. In the middle of the store, the ground had caved in and flooded. From their viewpoint, it seemed the basement was the storage room and there were shelves lined with canned goods. Jo even spotted toilet paper.
“Just think we can grab you an extra pair of socks,” Krissy commented as Jo went over the dilemma. There seemingly was no con outside of the water damage that could be done to her clothes.
Jo rubbed her face, as it seemed she was going swimming. Jo began to remove her top layers and stuffed them into her bag. She was going into the water while Krissy waited at the top to grab each item.
She placed her hair in a high bun before placing her foot on the creaky wooden step.
“God, this water smells like ass.”
“I can smell it,” Jo countered as the cool water reached her ankle. As she waded in deeper with the water coming up underneath her chest, she wasn’t going to ponder the filth that could be in the water. She assumed it was just as bad as the guts, brains, and blood of the various monsters she hunted.
She waded in the water with her bowie knife tight in her grip. The water had a slimy consistency. She could see spiders jumping around. She winced at the uncomfortable squish of her feet against her boots as she reached the first shelf. There was a landmine of good finds, especially the toilet paper that wasn’t submerged in the water. She knew people would kill for these items.
She grabbed the first clear tote that was filled with boxed goods. From her quick glance, it seemed to be filled with rice, potatoes, and pancake mix. She easily cleared the first shelf.
When she moved to cross the room to the stash of paper goods a ripple in the water made her stop.
"Everything okay?" Krissy called from the top of the stairs.
Jo tightened the hold on her knife. She watched the water and waited for a ripple. Maybe it was just her movement.
"I'm going to grab a pack of toilet paper," Jo announced as she looked up at Krissy. She watched as Krissy's intense look of concentration changed to horror.
Jo felt herself being grabbed by her shoulders and submerged under the water. The contaminated water filled her lungs choking her.
She could hear Krissy screaming as she fought against the grip pulling her down. Jo used her knife and cut at the wrist that was pulling her.
She could hear a startled scream and the grip on her shoulder was gone.
Jo kicked her legs and her eyes burned in the murky water. She kicked her legs and her lungs were fighting for air as she swam her way to the top.
The swim was longer than anticipated. Her fingers glided over the sharp edges of torn concrete.
Jo realized the leak in the basement wasn't just an ordinary leak.
She breached the surface coughing while trying to get in air. Her eyes widen as Krissy moved down the steps.
"No, don't come down here!" Jo screamed. She tried to move quickly but the water slowed her down.
"Is it a Croat!"
Jo coughed. Her lungs burned as she tried to reach the steps. She could feel her warm blood pouring down her shoulder from the talons. She grabbed the wooden stairwell.
"No, I think it's a water nymph."
"I thought they were peaceful?"
Jo nodded her head as they usually were. She imagined the end of the world fucked up the food chain. Monsters that were docile and friendly were desperate and turned ravenous.
Jo placed a foot on the bottom step when she felt the wood break away from underneath her. She stumbled and scraped her arm against the stairs as she tried to catch her balance. She grunted as the feeling of wood became embedded in her skin.
"Shit!"
"Jo!"
It was the only warning she had before she felt a grip on her ankle trying to pull her down. Jo latched on the wooden step as she kicked her leg out. She knew the step wasn't going to hold long.
She screamed as the nymph's talons pierced into her calf.
"Fuck!"
A loud bang echoed and the grip on Jo's ankle loosen. Jo looked up to find Krissy holding her gun. Jo looked behind her and found a floating nymph surrounded by a halo of blood in the murky water. The packet of toilet paper bumped into the still body.
Jo hissed as she moved to stand straighter. She steadied herself as she grabbed the toilet paper and handed it off to Krissy.
. . .
Jo didn't want to admit that her body was hurting. They were able to patch her up in the store where she was her own stained glass of bruises and scrapes. Of course, it was the splinter that hurt the most. It wasn't the talons that sliced her that had her cursing everything. It was the piece of rotting wood that had her hissing and on the verge of tears.
She wasn't sure if the toilet paper was worth it.
Though the fire in the church had her nice and warm, then maybe the wine she was drinking contributed to the warm feeling in her cheeks. Jo knew it was probably stupid to be drinking in the first place.
Wine wasn't even a favored drink of hers. Growing up in a roadhouse it wasn't as if they kept red or white wine on tap. Although wine could be an acquired taste. Who knew the apocalypse would have her drinking wine over beer and tequila? She could admit at least the wine did have a decent taste. It's sweet, not dry. And she couldn't feel the stinging of her cuts anymore.
"So are we staying?"
Jo's head felt heavy as she looked up at Krissy. Krissy was full of hope and optimism. “Yeah, we’re staying.”
. . .
Jo didn’t remember closing her eyes or even laying her head down on a pillow. Her body felt heavy. Her mouth was dry. Her lips felt as if they were glued together. Opening her mouth, the fresh air stung her lips.
She wasn’t sure what woke her now, though. Her eyes fought against the crust to open. She flexed her fingers as she tried to hear any movement from Krissy from her soft snoring, the scratching of a pencil, or the sound of fabric running together from walking.
Instead, there was an eerie silence within the black church. Her fingers searched for the knife that was strapped to her thigh. She gripped the handle as she moved from the cocoon of blankets. Moving slowly from the couch, she winced as the wooden plank creaked under her weight. Her body was on high alert as she moved closer to the door. It’s filled with the tension and simmering adrenaline that only came from a hunt. Something was not right, and she regretted the wine she drank earlier. Creeping quietly to the door, she waited for some sign of life. Her hands are about to grasp the doorknob when a scream of her name ripped through the still of the night.
. . .
Dean was restless. Since they crossed over into Montana something had been off. He can’t put his finger on it, but years of hunting have told him to trust his gut instinct. It was the reason he had made it alive this long. Since they made camp in the abandoned schoolyard he felt queasy. The building was half burnt down with charred bricks and busted windows.
His group had easily made themselves at home. Made a feast out of baked beans and got cozy for the night. He couldn’t settle and he found his way walking the perimeter before he caught sight of a trail that had directions to a church.
His feet began following the path before his mind caught up to him. He thought the last place he would ever think to seek out would be a church. Yet, he found that most of the survivors they come across have been in churches. They think there was a God out there to protect or worse save them.
The path was filled with fallen leaves and plenty of twigs. It made it hard to have quiet footsteps, which was why he could make the heavy tread of Cas' steps. The fallen angel hadn't quite recovered since he broke his foot.
"I know you're following me, Cas," Dean called out.
"Our fearless leader shouldn't be walking alone in the woods."
Dean didn't bother giving Cas a response. Not like his response would matter. The Cas from before was slowly drifting away. It's being replaced by this human version of Cas being beaten and broken by free will. This once angelic being has been stripped down to a simple human being filled with weaknesses.
Dean didn't know at this point if death would be a mercy to Cas. He wondered if other angels mocked the once-respected General.
But that was what happened when you touched Dean Winchester. He corrupted if he didn't get them killed.
"There is something different here."
Cas' words made Dean stop. He turned to look at his friend. "Are your angel senses tingly?"
The expression on Cas' face gave Dean pause. He wasn't looking at a high Cas or post-coitus one. The serious expression on his face reminded Dean of the early days. Those brief meetings with Cas when he was raised from hell. The face of a soldier preparing for battle.
Even the walk turned from languid to swift and stiff. Dean thought he could see the silhouette of the abandoned trench coat.
Dean didn't have a chance to open his mouth for further probing when a scream pierced through the night.
It’s the innate instinct of a hunter. His feet glided over the twigs, rocks, and all the other debris found in the woods. As he moved closer, he could see the silhouette of the church. It wasn’t a grand display of opulence. It seemed to be a tiny house that, at the last minute, was converted into a place of worship. Cas signaled he was going to check the church from the back.
The sound of a crash broke his musings on the exterior design. His grip was tight on his gun as he approached the door slowly. He could make the distinct sounds of a struggle. There were things crashing. Grunts and cries of pain.
It startled him when the door burst open and a body flew down the short stairs. The body landed hard, which even made him wince. The person groaned as their fingers scraped the earth to get their bearings.
The echo of footsteps approached. “You see, we were going to be merciful. Drain you slowly…”
Dean froze as the person walked past him. The person was too concerned with its prey in front of them.
He watched as the person turned on their back. The person saw him and fell back laughing. In the dark of the night, he couldn’t make out much, but he knew that voice. He knew that laugh.
“What’s so funny, hunter?”
A voice that haunted him on the loneliness of nights caused goosebumps to erupt across his skin.
here's some end!verse angst and hurt/comfort for u <3
When Dean finds Castiel again, he's sat in the tall grass at the back of his cabin, a tablet of something melting under his tongue, and a journal open on his right thigh where he writes in foreign languages he still retains.
There's no proof that Castiel uses ancient Sumerian for the purpose of coding his personal journals, to make them near impossible to decipher their meaning, but Dean has a feeling that's exactly what he's doing.
It's fine that Dean can't read it. He doesn't want to. He's petrified of what he might find out.
"You don't need to hover like a ghost, Dean. Just announce yourself or leave."
"Says the worst silent-starer of history," Dean combats, hackles raising.
Seeing Cas turn to face him with that black eye and split lip nearly drives Dean to physical illness.
His heart sinks low in his gut, and he cringes, looking away.
"That's actually fair," Castiel allows, "carry on, then."
Rolling his eyes at the darkening sky, Dean counts to ten, then takes another step toward Cas.
The black eye is very distracting.
"You should put ice on that."
"I don't like feeling cold."
"Well, tough," Dean grumbles, scowling at the offending shade, physically restraining himself from going to fetch an icepack for him.
With just a tired sigh, Cas turns back to his writing, seeming to dismiss Dean until Dean is more willing to state his purpose. And that sucks for multiple reasons, chief among them being that Dean has no idea what he's doing there at all.
"Is there nothing you'd like to say?"
"What? You expect me to apologize?"
Glancing over his shoulder again, Castiel evaluates him, then decides, "no. You're not sorry. Why would you be?"
Scoffing, Dean throws his arms out and accuses, "you had it coming!"
"You punched me in the face."
"You tried to kiss me!"
"There's an operative word in there," Castiel replies, turning back to his writing, "if all you came here to do is tell me I deserve my suffering, I assure you, I don't require assistance."
For a few beats, Dean just stands there, useless, furling and unfurling his fists at his hips, floundering.
"I'm not good at this, Cas. I dunno what the fuck to do here."
"Okay."
"Don't give me that 'okay,' shit - you can be a real passive aggressive bitch sometimes, you know that?"
"Dean, I'm not interested in making you do anything," Castiel says to his scribblings, "I don't know why you're here, I am getting the distinct impression that you don't know why you're here either, and there's nothing I can do about that. You say you don't know what to do here, and I don't know what you're trying to do here, so I cannot help. I tell you it's okay because there is a throbbing on the side of my face reminding me that you don't have the emotional bandwidth available for things between us to be anything other than okay, and it's something I can afford you."
"The world is falling apart around you, you're tired, I'm tired too, and I can't do what I once..."
He trails off, lets his pen go loose in his hold, sighs again, hangs his head and mutters, "I'm not what I once was. You don't know how devastating that is for me. For you, it's an inconvenience. For me, it's... loss as I've never known. But I can't ask you to carry any part of that, as a friend or otherwise, and one thing I can do for you is turn the other cheek."
He half-looks over his shoulder, not really peeking over, but giving the impression of looking; it's very defeated.
"This is me turning the other cheek. I wanted to kiss you, you punched me, I've gone to lick my wounds in privacy which you've broken unannounced, and you want me to know you're not sorry, and that I deserve this. I hear you. I understand. It's okay, because that's all I have left to give you."
Dean feels ill again.
"Stop giving me shit - stop giving me passes, Cas. I fuckin' hit you."
"You did," Cas admits, shrugging, fully facing away from Dean, "That cannot be changed."
"Yeah, and you want me to be sorry."
"Do I wish you felt regret for causing me bodily harm? Obviously, Dean."
"Yeah, well, I don't!" Dean shouts too loud, his hands shake at his sides, his eyes feel hot, "and I'm not gonna - I'm not changing, okay? I'm not - I wasn't - I've never - and I won't. Okay? I won't."
"Okay, Dean."
"No, fuck you!" Dean argues, stomping closer to Cas' hunched form, "Don't do that!"
"What do you want me to do?"
"Get up, and tell me to go fuck myself!" Dean shouts, gesticulating wildly, "have a fuckin' spine! Face me, and tell me to wise up, or -"
"Or, what, Dean?" Castiel asks, standing and turning in an uncurling, graceful motion he's had the others learning in yoga, "you expect I'll leave you?"
Jaw locking up, Dean scowls dangerously at Cas, and growls out, "it's what I'd do."
"I won't leave you," Castiel vows, not for the first time; his eyes scan Dean's face, memories in his eyes, "I do not stay with you because I expect you to change, Dean. I stay with you because of precisely who you are - not for what you might be. I'm sorry if that unsettles you."
Pushing his chest, Dean shoves him and follows after, putting them much too close.
"Tell me to go fuck myself! I hurt you, Cas! I hurt you, and that's - it's fucked up! It's fucked up that I did that!"
"I agree," Castiel tells him, serene as anything, "I forgive you."
"I'm not -"
A broad, calloused hand wraps around Dean's wrist; he glances down at where Cas' thumb pushes at the smooth skin of his forearm, then glares into Cas' eyes.
Cas' other hand reaches up, nicotine-stained fingertips coming to brush delicately at Dean's face; he swats at the hand, postures like he's going to strike again, but Cas doesn't flinch.
After a brief struggle, Cas just takes that hand in his too.
"Stop it," Dean commands, a quiver in his voice as Cas steps closer.
He gets up so close, their noses nearly touch, and Dean flinches in Cas' hold, but Cas still has that preternatural strength of something not-quite-all-human, and has Dean well in hand.
"Is it so terrible? To be loved so tirelessly?"
Heart skipping a beat, Dean's eyes flash across Cas', flickering back and forth; his auditory processing isn't always great, it sometimes lags, and he thinks that if he gives them a few moments of silence, his brain will catch up to what was just said in a way that makes more sense, but then that doesn't happen.
"Don't say that."
"So many rules," Cas observes, like he's pondering again why humans prefer personal space.
"Let me go," he says, and doesn't resist.
"Is it so bad?" Castiel asks again, gaze soft and sorry, "I wouldn't know."
That takes the fight out of Dean; 'I wouldn't know what it is to be loved, can you describe it?' - it's a roundhouse kick that lands directly in Dean's solar plexus and promises to bruise for months.
"No," Dean mutters, eyes hot and vision cloudy, "don't - fuck, Cas - don't say that."
"What am I allowed to say?"
When Dean weakly tries to pull away again, Cas' hold gets tighter, he tilts his head, breathes in Dean's breath out, and asks, "what are you so frightened of?"
"Fuck you."
Squinting his eyes, Castiel looks at him, looks through him the way he always has, and Dean's praying to a God he doesn't believe in that Cas can't do that psychic shit anymore now that he's lost his wings - he has to believe he's got some privacy left at the end of the world.
It doesn't matter, though.
Cas knows him, has known him since the start, and just like they're standing back in time, back in the dark of that old barn, Castiel cocks his head and says carefully, "loss. You fear that voicing desire means marking someone for death. That if you allow yourself to feel loved, and to want, that inevitably, this too will be taken from you."
"It's easier not to hope, after a time, isn't it?" Castiel asks him, like he's not just flayed him, "you are a strong man, powerful, and fearsome, but not a harbinger of destruction, Dean. In fact, I think you're a brilliant engineer, better than my Father, even."
Dean's eyes round out, and Cas watches that happen with fascination.
He mutters, as though it's inconsequential, "you build invisible things. Homes, families, love. You don't destroy. You only create in the wake of destruction. Sometimes... I sometimes wonder if I was real at all before I met you."
That snaps the last hold in Dean, and he rips his hands away, grabs at Cas' shoulders, walks him hurriedly backwards, and throws him down into the grass.
Cas blinks up at him, wondering, and then Dean is on his knees, straddling Cas, cupping his face and kissing him like it's an insult, like he hopes there's venom in it that will kill his best friend.
Rough hands pet his flanks, his chest, his neck, and he's groaning or crying - he's one long, exposed nerve, and Cas kisses him like he's got all the time in the world.
"Stop it," Dean huffs out, biting at Cas' bottom lip, "I'm not any'uh that, Cas, I'm not - I hurt you. That's what I do. That's who I am."
"You're wrong, my friend," Castiel assures him, leaning up to kiss him better, to lick into his mouth and moan against him.
"I'm sorry," Dean manages tearfully, hands trembling around Cas' bruised and cut face, "I'm sorry, I -"
"Dean, I forgive you," Castiel answers, kissing him again and again, "I forgive you."
