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Entry tags:
'your dirt removes my blindness' - Supernatural - Castiel/Dean - R
Ah, being a fandom latecomer. I am very sad that I missed this party :( but whatevs, I got a short Chuckfic in progress and a Mordred fic at beta. In the meantime, here is one of those obligatory 'The End' episode tags.
In the immortal words of the Mask:
SOMEBODY STOP MEEEEEE
your dirt removes my blindness
Supernatural. Castiel/Dean. R. Episode tag to 5x04.
"There are a thousand things he would have done differently with Dean Winchester." ~1221 words
In an elegant act of either cruelty or neglect, Castiel is allowed to keep his wings.
He shows them to Dean the way he did during their first meeting: as shadows on the wall. "Can't fly though," Castiel says. "I tried. Now they're only good for shadow puppets. Watch, I do a good eagle."
"I've seen better," Dean smirks.
It's all Castiel has after the angels left: invisible wings and something Dean calls 'spidey senses'. Castiel can still see demons and spirits for what they are, but he can no longer banish them. He can understand their true language, but he can barely achieve his true voice.
Tonight is not the first time Castiel is drunk, and it's not the first time they fuck. As he straddles Dean, he unfurls his wings with an achingly familiar motion and stretches them out as far as they can go, just for the sheer thrill of it. His fingers digging into Dean's skin will leave bruises, and Dean moans low as Castiel moves slowly, slowly, taking his time.
It has been a year since Detroit, and around them the world continues to end.
+
"O-kay," Dean-from-the-past finally says. "I see the zombie apocalypse hasn't broken you of your habit of getting into other people's personal space."
"Don't be foolish, Dean, I hold bi-weekly orgies." Castiel scrutinizes him, not letting go of Dean-from-the-past's shoulders. "I know all about personal space."
"Yeah, like how to violate it."
"Shh."
It's hard to focus. Castiel's vision is swimming and he isn't sure if it's because of the drugs or Dean, the old Dean, Dean before Croatoan, before Detroit, before everything. This man in front of him thrums with a vitality that used to call to Castiel before the sigils were carved into his bones. There's still compassion in this man, and hope that flows thick and slow like a muddy river. Castiel leans in close and he can feel Dean's heartbeat: slow, faster, fast.
"I can't believe it's really you," Castiel says fuzzily.
"I could say the same thing."
Dean-from-the-present has a scar over his left eyebrow from that one time with the machetes, but this Dean's brow is unmarred. Castiel lifts his hand to touch where the scar will be in a few years, and it's like remembering something he didn't even realize he's forgotten.
+
The camp is a beehive of activity and people trying to do a hundred different things at once, and Dean-from-the-past's bewilderment at the hubbub only reminds Castiel of how different things used to be. Once upon a time there were open skies and open roads, but now life's pleasures, like this camp, have become cramped and noisy and desperate. The thought doesn't sadden him anymore. Castiel can't be sad about it; there's too much amphetamine in his system.
All the same, he's glad to leave the camp for a while, Dean at his side like it's the good old days again. En route, Castiel explains his situation and he thinks Dean gets it, maybe, or he hopes Dean does anyway, but maybe it doesn't really matter. He starts telling Dean about life at camp and the wacky adventures that take them unawares ("The keys were under the croat corpse the whole time!"), and Dean chuckles along sometimes, smiles tightly other times.
The convoy stops at the safehouse where they'll spend the rest of the night. Castiel and past Dean are on first watch.
"So," past Dean ventures, "the angels just left you here? No postcards, no emails?"
"They didn't fire me," Castiel says, not without a hint of pride. "I quit."
"You quit?"
"I stayed."
"Why? I thought you said--"
"I stayed for you. I didn't know I was gonna go mortal."
Dean raises his eyebrows. "For me? You mean the other me."
"No, I didn't stay for 'the other you'," Castiel says irritably. "The 'other you' is what you became after you decided mercy and compassion were only holding you back. I stayed for you." He jabs a finger in Dean's chest. "You, as you are, right now."
The expression on Dean's face is one of wonderment and contemplative disbelief, and Castiel aches at the sincerity of it. In a way, Castiel has always wanted this. He feels the slow burn of desire pool in his gut, the need to reach out and touch Dean, to ascertain his solidity a second third fourth fifth time. There are a thousand things he would have done differently with Dean Winchester, but it isn't like he can go back in time for do-overs anymore. Dean goes forward in time instead and it's like a wish gone wrong. It is the things that are almost blessings that make the most painful curses.
"Cas..." Dean manages, "I'm not much of anything right now."
"That makes two of us," Castiel says as he shifts closer, and kisses him.
+
There is a light that hums brightly just under Dean's skin, and Castiel has not felt it in months, until now. Dean wraps himself around Castiel with a fervor unmarked by despair, and he remembers now what it was like to not have the dark clouds hovering. This building is cold and dirty, but they've fucked in worse places, and all Castiel is concerned with right now is getting as close to Dean as possible, to drink him in and taste him, feel him and make him feel. It's not quite turning back the hands of time, but maybe it's close enough under the circumstances.
Castiel used to think of Dean as the one unchanging thing in a world falling apart, and it's comforting to feel that again, at least for a little while.
+
It's time for the changing of the guard, and when Castiel and Dean return upstairs, Risa and other Dean are already awake.
"Everything okay out there?" asks Dean-from-the-present.
"All quiet on the western front," says Dean-from-the-past.
As they do a last minute check, Dean-from-the-present mutters quietly to Castiel, "You guys had fun?"
Castiel frowns, and Dean looks back coolly.
"What, are you jealous?" Castiel smirks.
His fearless leader doesn't answer, just tightens the laces of his boots.
"If you were having trouble sleeping, I have some extra valium," Castiel offers.
"Fuck you, Cas." He stands up and doesn't apologize when he shoulders Castiel out of the way.
When Dean and Risa are gone, Dean-from-the-past raises an eyebrow at Castiel and makes a 'what the hell was that' face. Castiel shrugs and makes a 'Dean-from-the-present is a bitch, what can I say?' face. He pops some valium and sacks out on the floor next to Dean, close but not too close, and he closes his eyes and waits for sleep. But--
"Cas," Dean says softly.
"What."
"I... All this stuff, this world. Everything. I'm sorry."
"Dean, you can't apologize for things you haven't done."
"I'm sorry you're not an angel anymore."
Something painful hitches in Castiel's chest, and he waits for it to dull before he replies. "It's not so bad," he finally says, because now that he's not an angel anymore, it's easier to lie.
+
In front of the Jackson County Sanitarium, present Dean returns from the trees alone.
"Where's past you?" Castiel asks.
"He's gone on ahead. Guns out, move fast," Dean orders, and grins a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "We're ending this today."
In the immortal words of the Mask:
SOMEBODY STOP MEEEEEE
your dirt removes my blindness
Supernatural. Castiel/Dean. R. Episode tag to 5x04.
"There are a thousand things he would have done differently with Dean Winchester." ~1221 words
In an elegant act of either cruelty or neglect, Castiel is allowed to keep his wings.
He shows them to Dean the way he did during their first meeting: as shadows on the wall. "Can't fly though," Castiel says. "I tried. Now they're only good for shadow puppets. Watch, I do a good eagle."
"I've seen better," Dean smirks.
It's all Castiel has after the angels left: invisible wings and something Dean calls 'spidey senses'. Castiel can still see demons and spirits for what they are, but he can no longer banish them. He can understand their true language, but he can barely achieve his true voice.
Tonight is not the first time Castiel is drunk, and it's not the first time they fuck. As he straddles Dean, he unfurls his wings with an achingly familiar motion and stretches them out as far as they can go, just for the sheer thrill of it. His fingers digging into Dean's skin will leave bruises, and Dean moans low as Castiel moves slowly, slowly, taking his time.
It has been a year since Detroit, and around them the world continues to end.
+
"O-kay," Dean-from-the-past finally says. "I see the zombie apocalypse hasn't broken you of your habit of getting into other people's personal space."
"Don't be foolish, Dean, I hold bi-weekly orgies." Castiel scrutinizes him, not letting go of Dean-from-the-past's shoulders. "I know all about personal space."
"Yeah, like how to violate it."
"Shh."
It's hard to focus. Castiel's vision is swimming and he isn't sure if it's because of the drugs or Dean, the old Dean, Dean before Croatoan, before Detroit, before everything. This man in front of him thrums with a vitality that used to call to Castiel before the sigils were carved into his bones. There's still compassion in this man, and hope that flows thick and slow like a muddy river. Castiel leans in close and he can feel Dean's heartbeat: slow, faster, fast.
"I can't believe it's really you," Castiel says fuzzily.
"I could say the same thing."
Dean-from-the-present has a scar over his left eyebrow from that one time with the machetes, but this Dean's brow is unmarred. Castiel lifts his hand to touch where the scar will be in a few years, and it's like remembering something he didn't even realize he's forgotten.
+
The camp is a beehive of activity and people trying to do a hundred different things at once, and Dean-from-the-past's bewilderment at the hubbub only reminds Castiel of how different things used to be. Once upon a time there were open skies and open roads, but now life's pleasures, like this camp, have become cramped and noisy and desperate. The thought doesn't sadden him anymore. Castiel can't be sad about it; there's too much amphetamine in his system.
All the same, he's glad to leave the camp for a while, Dean at his side like it's the good old days again. En route, Castiel explains his situation and he thinks Dean gets it, maybe, or he hopes Dean does anyway, but maybe it doesn't really matter. He starts telling Dean about life at camp and the wacky adventures that take them unawares ("The keys were under the croat corpse the whole time!"), and Dean chuckles along sometimes, smiles tightly other times.
The convoy stops at the safehouse where they'll spend the rest of the night. Castiel and past Dean are on first watch.
"So," past Dean ventures, "the angels just left you here? No postcards, no emails?"
"They didn't fire me," Castiel says, not without a hint of pride. "I quit."
"You quit?"
"I stayed."
"Why? I thought you said--"
"I stayed for you. I didn't know I was gonna go mortal."
Dean raises his eyebrows. "For me? You mean the other me."
"No, I didn't stay for 'the other you'," Castiel says irritably. "The 'other you' is what you became after you decided mercy and compassion were only holding you back. I stayed for you." He jabs a finger in Dean's chest. "You, as you are, right now."
The expression on Dean's face is one of wonderment and contemplative disbelief, and Castiel aches at the sincerity of it. In a way, Castiel has always wanted this. He feels the slow burn of desire pool in his gut, the need to reach out and touch Dean, to ascertain his solidity a second third fourth fifth time. There are a thousand things he would have done differently with Dean Winchester, but it isn't like he can go back in time for do-overs anymore. Dean goes forward in time instead and it's like a wish gone wrong. It is the things that are almost blessings that make the most painful curses.
"Cas..." Dean manages, "I'm not much of anything right now."
"That makes two of us," Castiel says as he shifts closer, and kisses him.
+
There is a light that hums brightly just under Dean's skin, and Castiel has not felt it in months, until now. Dean wraps himself around Castiel with a fervor unmarked by despair, and he remembers now what it was like to not have the dark clouds hovering. This building is cold and dirty, but they've fucked in worse places, and all Castiel is concerned with right now is getting as close to Dean as possible, to drink him in and taste him, feel him and make him feel. It's not quite turning back the hands of time, but maybe it's close enough under the circumstances.
Castiel used to think of Dean as the one unchanging thing in a world falling apart, and it's comforting to feel that again, at least for a little while.
+
It's time for the changing of the guard, and when Castiel and Dean return upstairs, Risa and other Dean are already awake.
"Everything okay out there?" asks Dean-from-the-present.
"All quiet on the western front," says Dean-from-the-past.
As they do a last minute check, Dean-from-the-present mutters quietly to Castiel, "You guys had fun?"
Castiel frowns, and Dean looks back coolly.
"What, are you jealous?" Castiel smirks.
His fearless leader doesn't answer, just tightens the laces of his boots.
"If you were having trouble sleeping, I have some extra valium," Castiel offers.
"Fuck you, Cas." He stands up and doesn't apologize when he shoulders Castiel out of the way.
When Dean and Risa are gone, Dean-from-the-past raises an eyebrow at Castiel and makes a 'what the hell was that' face. Castiel shrugs and makes a 'Dean-from-the-present is a bitch, what can I say?' face. He pops some valium and sacks out on the floor next to Dean, close but not too close, and he closes his eyes and waits for sleep. But--
"Cas," Dean says softly.
"What."
"I... All this stuff, this world. Everything. I'm sorry."
"Dean, you can't apologize for things you haven't done."
"I'm sorry you're not an angel anymore."
Something painful hitches in Castiel's chest, and he waits for it to dull before he replies. "It's not so bad," he finally says, because now that he's not an angel anymore, it's easier to lie.
+
In front of the Jackson County Sanitarium, present Dean returns from the trees alone.
"Where's past you?" Castiel asks.
"He's gone on ahead. Guns out, move fast," Dean orders, and grins a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "We're ending this today."