Ummm... there was kind of a plot, or a point to this, but then i kinda lost it so then it just kinda stopped.
tw: drug use, shotgunning
Dean's head is full of cotton balls.
The thought floats across his mind and he has to resist the urge to giggle. He can't quite manage it though; his chest spasms and the laughter bubbles from between his lips despite his attempts to swallow it down. His head bows and his arms shake as he struggles to hold himself up.
"What's so funny?"
Dean opens his eyes and finds a pair of big blue ones staring back at him. Cas still has a hand in his hair, his other arm extended away and off the bed with a half-smoked joint dangling between his fingers.
Below him, Cas smiles lazily, loose and relaxed. His eyebrow piercing glints in the light of the room and his hair, a deep black that Dean's pretty sure comes from a bottle, is mussed and sticks out at odd angles from where Dean has run his hands through it. The thin eyeliner that rims his eyes looks a little smudged, although Dean can't tell if that's the pot or not.
"Again?" Cas asks. His voice seems pitched even lower than usual, graveled and rough at the edges.
"Yeah, sure."
Dean watches as Cas brings the joint to his lips and takes another hit, entranced by the way Cas holds the smoke in his mouth. After a couple seconds, Cas nods and Dean leans forward until their mouths are fitted over each other, and then Cas opens his lips to gently blow the smoke out. Dean concentrates on sucking in, on not allowing too much of the smoke to escape into the air. He holds it in his lungs for a minute until his eyes start to water before he exhales slowly, watching the pale smoke trail over Cas' face before fading away.
How they got here is a bit of a blur.
Dean's pretty sure there was something about an English project or a chemistry lab, maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe Cas just invited him over and Dean said yes. He doesn't really remember the details anymore.
What he does know, however, is Cas' mattress if fucking amazing (memory foam, Dean's positive, and man he has got to check that shit out) and Cas' lips slot nicely into his. He thinks he might want to try that again sometime, maybe without the marijuana.
But the marijuana's pretty good too. It makes everything a little hazy, like he's lost in a fog of warm bittersweet smoke. He's kind of happy to be lost there though, because he knows he's not lost alone.
Wordlessly, Cas hands Dean the hand-rolled joint and allows Dean to blow the smoke past his lips.
There's music playing the background, some old rock and roll Cas plugged into the speakers earlier. Dean doesn't recognize it, which is surprising, but the music is soothing, with the bass and drums and guitars reverberating somewhere inside his chest.
He leans forward again, this time to just kiss Cas, plain and simple. The joint stays between his fingers, away from them, and the only taste of smoke is only what’s been left on their lips. He's a little surprised when Cas returns it, arching beneath him hungrily, and a thrill shoots up Dean's spine as he gets the barest hint of Cas' tongue piercing.
Cas reaches down, takes the joint from Dean's hand, and places it safely on the nightstand, where it sits, faintly glowing, as he rolls over and pins Dean beneath him.
Blind!Cas. First time. Porn. That's all I'm gonna say.
(Part 3/?)
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Cas is trembling.
His hands flutter across the bed, clutching at the sheets for a second before letting go, as if he's unsure of what to do with them. Dean's own hands stop, midway through unbuttoning Cas' shirt, and he stops pressing soft kisses to his neck.
"Cas?"
The shaking stops, just for a moment, as Cas deliberately flattens his hands to the soft, freshly laundered sheets. "Yes?"
"You okay?" Dean asks, leaning up a bit from where he's straddling Cas' hips.
Cas follows him, propping himself up with one arm. He smiles a little in Dean's general direction, a pale blush on his cheeks and eyes still closed. "I'm just..."
"Nervous?"
"Yeah."
"No!" Cas' hand somehow manages to find Dean's wrist and he wraps his fingers around it, bringing to his lips to kiss the inside of Dean's palm. "I- I'm okay. I want it to be now." He slides his hand from Dean's wrist up his arm until he's cupping his neck. "I want it to be you."
Dean takes a moment to remind himself that he's here, in his room, and this is actually happening. Cas is lying beneath him, telling him that he wants him. The room smells faintly of vanilla and the new sheets Dean bought are soft beneath his fingers. He wonders how it all feels for Cas, if his heightened senses ("spidey senses," Dean sometimes calls them) can pick up on all of it as well.
"We'll go slow," he promises, although he's not sure if that's more for Cas' benefit or his own.
He leans forward until their lips slot together, keeping a grip on Cas' shoulder. Kissing is simple, easy, familiar territory for both of them. Dean feels Cas grin against his lips as he slowly lowers himself back down to the bed, Dean following and bracketing his elbows on either side of Cas' head to hold himself up.
It deepens naturally. Mouths part and tongues trace lightly over lips as teeth bite down gently. Dean's fingers scratch through Cas' scalp to tug gently at his hair. Cas sighs, warm and wet and content as he twines his arms around Dean's neck to pull him closer, his back arching up until their chests brush together.
There's a smacking sound as their lips separate and Dean pushes himself up and away. He finishes unbuttoning Cas' shirt and helps slide it off his shoulders and over the bed, where it falls to the floor with a soft thump. He quickly follows suit, pulling off his own shirt and tossing it somewhere behind him before he falls forward onto his elbows to find Cas' lips again.
It's better shirtless, when he can feel every breath from Cas' chest, when Cas grazes his blunt fingernails down Dean's side and back up again. They shift positions slightly; instead of straddling Cas' hips, Dean moves until he's kneeling forward between Cas' legs, still using his elbows to hover over him. His lips shift too, kissing down Cas' jaw and onto his neck, teeth nipping at a spot below his ear.
He rolls his hips down towards Cas', like he did that day on the couch, but instead of pushing him away this time, Cas' legs come up to wrap loosely around Dean's waist, keeping him there. Dean stills for a moment, surprised, but then he feels Cas tilt his hips upward so that they're completely pressed together, just for a moment, and he groans deep in his throat.
There's a bit of a scramble after that, a rush to remove the rest of their clothing. Dean fumbles with Cas' belt, fingers flying too fast as he tries to keep his forehead pressed against Cas'. He discovers, however, that Cas apparently has a talent for it, because he removes Dean's belt in one fluid motion and is then undoing the button of his jeans and sliding down the zipper, a very pleased look on his face.
"You little shit," he mumbles, huffing out a laugh.
Cas laughs as well, breathlessly as he helps Dean undo the buckle on his belt.
They both shimmy out of their pants with some difficulty, neither of them wanting to move too much from their current positions. There's a lot of giggling and half-muttered curses as they try to remove their clothes without accidentally clocking the other in the face. Their pants end up on the floor beside their shirts, underwear soon following.
And then they're both naked, and any sense of urgency evaporates like steam. Dean pauses for a moment, taking it all in. Cas is all soft pale skin, lean muscles shifting with every breath. His hands are trembling a little again.
Dean folds his hands over Cas', calming them as he leans forward to kiss him again. Cas arches toward it and tangles his fingers in Dean's hair. He hooks his legs around Dean's hips and their cocks brush together, producing that desperately needed friction. Dean chases it, jerking his hips down while Cas bucks upward. They find a sort of rhythm to the tune of muffled moans and choked off gasps.
Cas fits a hand between them and strokes both of them, smearing the gathered pre-come and making the slide easier. Dean leans his forehead against Cas' and the two of them breathe the same heated air. It feels amazing, jerking into Cas' fist and against his cock, and it takes almost all of Dean's willpower to stop.
"Cas-we gotta-we have to," another searing kiss stops Dean midsentence and his hips stutter forward instinctively, "Cas," he groans out, "Just-hang on for a second-fuck."
"Why?" Cas asks, and shit it's like his voice has dropped two more octaves, lower and just as gravely. He strokes both of their cocks, as if for emphasis.
"Because if you don't stop what you're doing," Dean lets out a shaky laugh that fades into a short moan as Cas deliberately twists his wrist, "shit-this is gonna be over a lot sooner than I think either of us want it to be."
Cas finally takes his hand away and Dean takes a deep breath, the heat continuing to pool below his stomach. Their lips find each other again, slower this time as their hips rock together naturally. Dean moves to kiss down Cas' jaw and neck, feather light with just the barest bite of teeth. With his head bowed toward the mattress, his lips press around the shell of Cas' ear, teeth coming to tug gently at the lobe. Cas' breath becomes increasingly harsh, tiny little gasps as his chest heaves.
"Dean," he pants, the name broken sharply into two syllables. "I- I need-ah-I need you to-" the rest of the sentence dissolves into incoherent noise, but Dean gets the message.
"Shit, okay, just let me-let me-" Dean stops moving for a second and scrambles for a container of lube lost under the rumpled sheets.
As the lid clicks open and Dean warms the lube between his fingers, Cas spreads his legs, drawing his knees up and planting his feet into the bed. The image of him laid out and open like that is seared into Dean's mind like a brand, and he wants to stop time for a minute to fully absorb it, but Cas is waiting and wanting now.
The first finger is a little awkward. Cas squirms and shifts, trying to get used to the intrusion. Dean is patient, kissing the inside of his knee as he waits for Cas to adjust. He pushes his finger in shallowly, tracing the rim of muscle until Cas asks for more.
After the second it gets easier. Dean scissors and stretches and watches Cas slowly unravel beneath him, stomach muscles tightening and glistening in a light sheen of sweat. He grows even harder at the sight of his fingers plunging into Cas’ hole, and the room is suddenly stifling, far too hot even though it's February and he's pretty sure it's raining outside. Cas runs a hand through his own hair and bites his lip, tilting his hips upward in vain, trying to urge Dean on faster.
At three Cas is writhing in the sheets, his back and neck extending and falling back to the mattress. His toes curl and he presses back against Dean's hand, and from his lips come a litany of moans mixed in with various pleas of more and faster. Dean finds a condom and wipes his hand on the sheets, ignoring how gross that kind of is. He rolls the condom on and overdoes it on the lube a little, but he figures it's better than not using enough.
As he settles between Cas' legs and lines himself up, he kisses the corner of Cas' lips. "This might hurt a bit," he warns," so just tell me if you need me to stop or go slower or just-"
"Dean," Cas cuts him off with a wildly off center kiss under Dean's eye. "Just hurry up and fuck me already."
"Yeah, I can do that," Dean says in a rush, nodding despite knowing Cas can't see him.
He still pushes in slowly, inch by inch until he's pressed flush against Cas, the heat and tightness of it making his head spin a little. He waits though, watching as Cas takes a deep breath and attempts to relax his body.
"Okay?"
"Yeah, it's just..."
"A little weird?"
"Kinda." Cas clenches experimentally, enough that Dean ends up falling forward onto the bed again, pulling his hips out and fucking back in. Cas moans deeply at the sensation, and it's signal enough for Dean to start moving again.
Dean hovers on his elbows, burying his cock in Cas each time his hips snap forward. He tries to go slower and hold off, but on every thrust Cas is there to grind against him. They kiss sloppily, tongues meeting messily and teeth clacking as they try to find a rhythm. Dean clenches his eyes shut and listens for a moment, to the sound of Cas cursing below him, to the sound of skin slapping on skin, to the dirty sucking sound of their lips. He feels Cas clinging to his shoulder and pulling at his hair, painfully good.
“-God, Cas, you’re so tight and-fuck-you feel so good and just-“
“-Harder, harder-yes, yes- right there, Dean, please-“
Dean forces his eyes open and watches as Cas' mouth hangs open in a moan, his hair in a disarray and his eyes still squeezed shut. Burying his head in Cas' neck and laying a bruising hickey there, Dean wonders for a second how any of this is real.
"Open your eyes for me," he grunts out. He wedges a hand between their stomachs and starts stroking Cas in time to his thrusts. "C'mon, Cas."
Cas keens a little and opens his eyes. The pupils are still blown wide with lust and in the light of the room they sparkle, for a second looking as if there's life behind them.
Neither of them last much longer after that. After a final twist around the head of his cock Cas comes, clenching and spilling white hot into Dean's fist and onto his stomach. Dean's rhythm grows increasingly erratic and after three more fucks in he follows, moaning almost embarrassingly loud.
His mind whites out for a few seconds and it takes him a while to come back into himself. He slowly pulls out of Cas, kissing Cas' cheek apologetically as Cas whimpers at the loss. He ties up and throws away the condom into a trashcan by the bed and staggers off into the bathroom in search of a damp washcloth. When he comes back he cleans both of them up and throws the washcloth over the side of the bed before collapsing next to Cas.
He glances over at Cas, whose eyes are still wide open, a thin ring of blue around black.
"How are you?" Dean asks after a while. He's strangely nervous.
"Perfect," Cas says, a blissed out smile on his face. His hand traces Dean's shoulder up to his face, and his fingers search out Dean's smile.
"Me too."
"I can tell."
Dean reaches over to turn out the lamp and curls around Cas, their legs slotting together like jigsaw pieces. His arm wraps around Cas' stomach, nails scratching out random patterns on the skin there. Dean grins and decides that this is the most content he's ever felt with another person. They're sweaty and the room smells like sex mixed in with fragranced candles, but Cas is pressed against his side and it's almost terrifying how much it feels like he belongs there.
He pushes aside those thoughts and instead focuses on Cas' breathing, how it's slowly starting to even itself out.
"Hey, Cas?"
"Yes?"
"You're sure it was-"
"It was perfect, Dean," Cas murmurs, a smile in his voice. "I loved it."
There are more words that seem to hang in the air for a second before blowing away for another day.
"Oh, good. I was..."
"Worried?"
"No! Just..."
"Worried?" Cas repeats. He turns and faces Dean, smirking in the darkness.
"Shut up."
Beside them, the candles burn down to their wicks as the two of them fall asleep together.
When he’s four, it’s a stupid little thing and doesn’t really matter all that much. To him the neighbor girls are just weird and he doesn’t need them because he has a newborn baby brother to spend time with.
Why doesn’t he go play with them, Mary asks, saying she’ll sit out on the front porch with Sammy. She promises to keep the two month old in plain sight, so every time Dean turns around he’s greeted by a squeal and pudgy arms flailing about.
July is hot and sticky and muggy and he would much rather be showing Sammy how to play with his army men than listening to these girls sing. But his baby brother seems absolutely delighted if the giggles are anything to go by, and his mother is smiling at the girls’ mother Mrs. Meyer, so he figures he can take on for the team. What’s the point of Ring-a-round the Rosie anyway?
After his bath Dean gives John a weird look when his father chuckles and asks if he had fun playing with the Meyer twins. Dean scrunches his nose up and shakes wet hair in his father’s face (his parents say he should get it cut but he’s adamant and tells them no because he likes it the way it is) and says sure, even though Katie’s kind of gross. He doesn’t mean it in a mean way, but she kind of is. They’d been in the middle of playing when she’d gotten all sneeze-y and stuff and what fun is there in holding hands and spinning around in a circle?
John laughs and says he’ll like girls sooner or later. Dean frowns, says they’re weird, and then asks what posies are.
——-
When he’s four-going-on-five, he figures he knows what “ashes, ashes, we all fall down” means.
——-
When he’s nine, he watches Sammy walk out of his kindergarten class, all bright-eyed and big smiles like the first day of school is the best day of his life. He clutches Dean’s hand like he’s supposed and prattles on about how they colored today and introduced themselves and can’t wait to learn how to read could Dean maybe teach him?
Sam gets quieter along the way back to Bobby’s house because he’s starting to run out of things to talk about, so he decides to hum instead. He yelps when Dean tugs his arm really hard and tells him no Sammy, please. Big hazel eyes well up with tears because Dean looks more hurt than mad, and Sammy promises not to sing the song he learned today at school any more.
——-
When he’s twelve, he salts-and-burns his first corpse and John’s hand on his shoulder feels more like a weight he can’t begin to shoulder than the comfort and pride it’s supposed to.
The bones smells like dirt and charcoal and other things young boys aren’t supposed to know about.
He listens to them crackle and hiss in the heat, but all he can hear is four-year-old Katie Meyer and her sister crooning in his ear.
——-
When’s he’s sixteen, he watches the victim’s wife muffle her sobs with her palm, and thinks about how Sam would reach across the coffee table, the twelve-year-old a stark contrast from his father and brother in the department of expressing emotions to strangers. Sunlight catches on the band on the third finger of her left hand that probably feels heavier than it’s supposed to, and he thinks about how his mother and father used to have a matching set. Two halves of a whole or something. John must notice too, because he shifts on the sofa and clears his throat.
He’s about to ask the former Mrs. Anderson about her husband before he had his throat shredded when her daughter shrieks from the backyard and then laughs. The sliding glass door leading to the patio is open and through it Dean can hear Lindsay and her friend singing with childish glee.
He doesn’t realize he’s up and moving until the widow tells him second door on the left and he’s on his knees, the girls chanting about the posies he never understood and John’s back in the living room, making up a quick cover about a stomach bug.
——-
When he’s nineteen, he watches Sam accidentally burn himself helping with dinner and hiss when Dean shoves his hand under the frigid water in the sink.
Dean might mutter something about a rosie and pockets while he’s assessing the reddened heel of his palm, but Sam doesn’t point it out.
——-
When he’s twenty-two, Sam lets the door slam behind him and John throws an empty bottle at the wall.
Dean hits the ground and he thinks, this, this is how we all fall down.
Later, he’s too drunk to laugh at himself properly and the bench seat of the Impala is so empty it’s suffocating.
———
When he’s twenty-six, Sam’s scrambling on his bed screaming, Jess, Jessica, and Dean’s barreling through the front door screaming, Sam, Sammy. His mouth and lungs are raw and taste of smoke, and the baby brother who used to cling to his back claws at instead as he’s manhandled out of the apartment.
They stand against the Impala and suddenly Dean’s four-going-on-five, except this time the bundle of blankets is standing right next to him, face shiny and wet and looking like he’s two breaths away from falling apart.
Ashes, Dean thinks once Sam finally slumps against him, face pressed into the leather jacket that smells of smoke and big brother and home with an open-mouth sob, Ashes crumble and fall apart.
———
When he’s twenty-six and a few months, Dean tries to ignore the face Sam pulls when he sees the way his brother reacts to Sari taking Ritchie’s hands and spinning them in a circle with a delighted squeal. Jenny laughs and welcomes the break from having to try to explain that there’s nothing weird going on in their old house aside from what she believes to be rats.
Dean doesn’t outright glare at her because he wouldn’t do that to a kid, but he stiffens, clears his throat and gives Jenny a forced smile, even if she can’t tell it’s fake.
He excuses himself, all but power-walking to the front door and the walls fucking swim around him. This whole case is really not okay, he shouldn’t have listened to Sam, he shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t stand in the kitchen and think no, the table goes over here, the walls aren’t supposed to be that color. Shouldn’t go upstairs, stand in Sari’s room and think, and if you look above you, you’ll see the outline where Mary Winchester burned.
He can barely hear Sam offer a quick apology over the roaring his ears, but he pauses long enough to tell himself in-and-out and all but slams his hands on the cool top of his car.
A weak, choked laugh and he manages to think, well, at least he didn’t throw up in the front yard.
———
Mary Winchester’s spirit shows up and there’s a fucking figure on fire in the closet and none of that is remotely okay.
———
When he’s twenty-six and a few more months, he realizes that he never told Sam he wanted to be a firefighter. His brother makes that thoughtful sound that he sometimes does, but then the mask on his face starts to feel a bit too tight.
He sheds the gear as soon as can, and there’s a fine dusting of old soot on his palms.
By the time they find John, he just can’t wait to be out of the building and in the Impala, driving far enough away that this place isn’t even a speck in the rear view mirror.
———
When he’s twenty-seven, his brother’s face is a wet, anguished mess and there’s a heat licking across his skin that shouldn’t be. Sam asks, wants to know if John said anything to him before, but Dean can’t bring himself to say what just yet, so he tells him no and they go back to watching the pyre in a silence that’s more painful than it should be.
John’s body burns before him and then Dean’s twenty-six, twenty-two, nineteen, sixteen, twelve, nine, four again. He’s watching Sam leave again, watching Jessica burn, listening to Mary hum, listening to these little girls play, sinking under the weight of John’s hand as the bones burn and it’s all too much, too much to handle and there’s nothing he can do about it.
They watch, and they wait, and hours later all that’s left of John Winchester is a smouldering pile of ash and all that’s left of Dean is the broken family he can’t piece back together.
As Sam leads him back to the car he thinks maybe, in some sick way, maybe this is them coming full circle.
———
When he’s twenty-seven, he’s wandering through the Pierpoint Inn trying to find Susan and some concrete information to work with when he approaches the room labeled “Staff.”
Tyler’s in there with Maggie chanting in the way only little girls can and he’s barely got time to wrench open the door to the room he’s sharing with his brother when he barrels into Sam’s chest.
He can’t wait to leave, and once they do he speeds across the state line as soon as physically possible and probably gives them both whiplash.
Sam’s asking him to slow down, calm down, pull over or something dude come on, what are you doing, and his cast rattles against the window when the Impala jerks onto the shoulder.
Doors slam and Dean’s fuming, because everything else has been too much and then Sam had to go and get drunk and then have him make promises and fuck, what the hell?
And then John’s telling him things Dean shouldn’t know, shouldn’t have to swear to, and then John’s burning and his throat is clogged with ashes and he’s drowning and everyone’s just asking too much, way too much.
A hand presses against his arm and Sam’s next to him, asking Dean, what?
Dean gets pissed and explodes and, says it’s a song about the Bubonic Plague. The fucking plague, man, who does that? Who teaches kids to sing about it, let alone encourage it?
Dean, Sam tries to say.
Who does that, Sam? Tell me, who does that? Who sings about fire and ashes and shit like that and thinks it’s okay? Who teaches kids to sing about death and ashes, I mean who does that?
And then Sam gets it. Oh shit does Sam get it.
But Dean can’t stop, can’t hold it back after all these years and he’s lucky he’s not throwing punches.
It’s a song about the plague, about people dying and burning bodies and how is that okay, Sam? Tell me, how is that okay? Ashes, ashes, Dean mocks. Jesus Christ.
Maybe it’s like that “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” bullshit, but Dean can’t figure out which one irritates him more at the moment. He doesn’t know when he reached for him, but now he’s got a fistful of Sam’s shirt and his brother stumbles at first but then his hands latch onto that jacket that smells like leather and home.
Dean, Sam tries again, Dean.
But then everything dies down, the smoke starting to clear away and Dean’s done, Dean’s just done. He relinquishes his hold, all but shoves Sam and away and tells him whatever, get in the car.
The Impala rumbles beneath him and AC/DC blares loud enough to burst his eardrums, but Katie Meyer’s still singing, Mary’s still laughing, Sam’s still crying, John’s still trying to apologize and there’s this heavy, heavy weight that just won’t go away.
They cross the state line into Nebraska late in the afternoon. Dean pulls the car over and insists that Cas take a picture by the "Welcome to Nebraska" sign to commemorate the event. And even though Nebraska looks a whole lot like Kansas for the most part, with lots of wide open spaces and cornfields, Cas still can't help but get excited as he reminds himself that this is the farthest away he's ever been from home, and the distance just keeps increasing.
“So why business?”
“Hm?”
“Why business? I mean, this is what you’ve wanted to do, right? Travel, study culture, learn languages, and all that. Why pick business then? Do you have some secret desire to be someone’s tax accountant?”
Cas had been on the verge of sleep, even though they already booked a room in a motel down the road and the top of Dean's car is anything but comfortable. He sits up and leans his arms on his knees, thinking about Dean’s question.
“Practicality, you know? I need to be…employable, I guess. There’s not much I can do with a history degree or anything.”
Dean shifts and puts his hands behind his head, elbows taking up the space Cas recently vacated. “I think that’s bullshit.”
Cas bristles. “Well, I’m sorry then, Mr. Engineer.”
“I’m minoring in English too, you know.”
Cas stares incredulously as Dean sighs and rolls up into a seated position. "You never told me that."
"Never really seemed to come up, or I thought you would've picked up on it at some point or something. But yeah, I'm doing American Lit, along with some creative writing, I think," he shrugs and looks over at Cas. "I bet you could do the same thing, you know. Get at least a minor in history or whatever it was you wanted to do."
Cas wonders, for a moment, but then shakes his head. "I think it's too late to declare things like that now. We're already going into junior year."
"You should try, at least. You owe yourself that much."
There's silence as Cas simply nods noncommittally, staring out over the field. Dean sighs again and hops off his car, leaning down to pick up the empty beer bottles they had finished earlier. "We should get going. Early start in the morning." He looks up and takes in the night sky, where the stars twinkle brightly. He whistles lowly at them. "Man, look at that. You should get your fill of the stars now. Once we start hitting the big cities, they're not gonna look like this anymore."
He walks off in search of a trash can, whistling under his breath, leaving Cas to his thoughts for a few minutes. He stares up at the unfamiliar constellations above as well and tries to pick out the handful he remembers. He manages to find Ursa Major, the Great Bear, and from there singles out the North Star. He smiles, remembering stories of how sailors would use the night sky to navigate their way across the ocean. Maybe they'll do the same for him.
*~*~*
Their plan is to head up north for a while before taking a giant right turn towards the east coast, going as far as New York or maybe Massachusetts before they start heading south, following the Atlantic Ocean. Once they hit the top of Florida they'll turn and drive along the southern border until California, when they'll make another huge turn, this time northward toward San Francisco before then cutting back east, completing the loop when they hit Kansas again.
Dean estimates it'll take about a month, if they keep moving and don't stay more than a couple days at each stop. He's trying to map out the days, loosely putting together a schedule for them. Cas doesn't really care how long it takes, nor does he have his heart set on any strict itinerary. His main mission was to get out, and he's already accomplished that.
He does have one request: to stick his feet in any major body of water they find.
It's a stupid kind of goal, he knows, silly and childish even. But when he mentions it to Dean, driving in the car the next morning, Dean just smiles and says, "Alright," as if he understands. He then asks Cas if he has any preference among the five Great Lakes.
Nebraska flies by outside of Cas' window and they soon cross over into South Dakota, staying to the east. Dean says they have to make a quick stop in some place called Sioux Falls; he has to pick up some camping supplies from an uncle who apparently lives there.
The car ride is easier than expected. Cas had worried about needing to keep up a constant stream of conversation, but he finds they mainly sit in an easy silence. Dean slots in one of his mix tapes (actual tapes-- Cas had teased him for a good half hour about that one) and Cas digs one of his books out of his bag, and it feels a little like they're studying together in their dorm room again. There's no pressing need to be constantly in each other's faces. Dean hasn't even asked Cas to play navigator and open a map, because he apparently has all the routes programmed into his mind.
(Cas had tried, at least, to set up a GPS "just in case," but that's the day he finds out Dean has a very strong vendetta against GPS's and their "snarky, self-righteous voices.")
A few minutes after reaching Sioux Falls, Dean turns and pulls into what looks like an abandoned car lot, filled with the empty rusting bodies of cars dating back to the late 50's. He kills the engine in front of a small house that was perhaps quaint and clean at one point but has since grown old and faded. They get out of the car, Cas trailing behind Dean slowly.
The front door swings open before they reach it and in it stands a gruff looking man with a dirty baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. He stands there, intimidating, for a moment, before his bearded face breaks open into a smile and he comes forward to pull Dean into a warm hug.
"It's been too long, son," he says, "You're too busy filling your head with all that academia crap at that college of yours."
The three of them go inside, where Castiel meets Bobby Singer while Dean disappears upstairs to find the sleeping bags. Bobby's house smells faintly of sour alcohol and everything seems to have a thin layer of dust on it, but the handshake he gives is strong and his hands feel rough and fatherly. He's actually a retired professor, Cas finds out, specializing in ancient mythology and dead languages. It's close enough to Cas' own interests that they fall into talking for a while, still chatting about Japanese lore when Dean comes back down the stairs.
They eat lunch in a cluttered kitchen, next to thick textbooks full of translations. Dean and Bobby swap stories and memories while Cas eats his sandwich and watches, absorbing it all like a sponge. His favorite is when Dean is recounting the time he and his little brother had set off fireworks on the fourth of July in Bobby’s car lot, apparently unbeknownst to Bobby himself, who had stormed out of the house with a shotgun when he heard the explosions. Cas likes the way Dean's eyes light up when he laughs.
The two of them leave soon after that, despite Bobby trying to force them to stay for dinner, or at least a beer.
"No can do," Dean says, slinging an arm around Cas' shoulder, "Cas and me have got places to be, things to do. I'll pick you up on that beer next time, okay?"
"You better." Bobby wraps Dean into another hug and Cas can hear him mumble something that sounds faintly like "idjit" into Dean's shoulder.
"It was nice to meet you, Cas," Bobby says when he pulls away from Dean. Cas holds his hand out for another handshake and is surprised when Bobby gives him a hug as well. "Don't let him get you into too much trouble, you hear?"
Dean sputters and looks offended, shoving Bobby away and pulling Cas under his arm again. They walk back to their car, calling out their goodbyes over their shoulders until they get back into the car and Dean starts the engine again.
"Where to now?" Cas asks.
"Now," Dean says, "we're going to the quintessential road trip landmark of America."
*~*~*
Said landmark turns out to be the largest ball of twine created by a single person, located in Darwin, Minnesota.
"I thought it would be..." Cas says frowning.
"Bigger?"
"Yeah."
"That's what we all say."
The ball is sadly enclosed within a little house-like structure, which serves to make it seem even smaller. Dean and Cas stand in front of it, near the faded blue sign that boasts "World's Largest Twine Ball!"
"At least you can say you've seen it," Dean says after a short pause. "Everyone should have a chance to feel the unique type of disappointment that comes with the local attractions. They're part of the road trip experience."
"So this is now an official road trip? Because of this?"
"Starting now," Dean agrees, nodding his head vigorously, "Welcome to Dean and Cas' Excellent Adventure."
"...Is that a reference to something?"
"Seriously, dude?"
“Some of us were too busy studying as children to be watching movies,” Cas says solemnly, but with a teasing glint in his eye.
“But Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure! C’mon, Cas.”
They're still bickering when they turn and walk back to Dean’s car, even as they pull out of the parking lot and start driving again.
krshnc replied to your post “krshnc replied to your post “SO MANY DCBB FICS TO READ” LITERALLY ME I...”
I have a billion things from college and every week I have new stuff to do that takes a lot of time and why can't I get good grades just reading fanfic
LAUGHS the utopy all of us dream about
hallowcastiel replied to your post “SO MANY DCBB FICS TO READ”
I am to lazy to go to the master list, link meeee
i iddn't read any lau! but if you have time I have some on my rec list tag, and like 10 different fics on a OneTab looking at me right now accusingly
