enigmaticblue: (cas wings)
[personal profile] enigmaticblue
Hard Row to Hoe
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Through 6.08, “All Dogs Go to Heaven” and a sequel to Cold Hands (Warm Heart)
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Cas
Word Count: ~1330
Warnings: None
Summary: Castiel had made a promise to be there for Dean when he called.
A/N: Written for the [community profile] hc_bingo prompt “build up of job-related trauma”

Castiel hears Dean’s call while in the middle of some very tricky negotiations with two factions within the ranks of his brethren. He rushes through the rest of the discussions as quickly as he can, mindful of the promise he had made.

He’d told Dean that he would not be too busy for him in the future, and Castiel means to keep that promise.

Even so, the resolution seems to drag out, and Castiel knows that some time has gone by the time he arrives in Dean’s motel room. The décor in this room runs more to the dull than the garish, with faded blue paint on the walls, dull gray carpeting, and battered wooden furniture.

Dean is lounging on the bed nearest the door when Castiel arrives, pouring Jack into a plastic cup sitting on the table between the beds. Dean’s boots and jacket are in pile next to the door, and Castiel recognizes the signs that Dean has settled in for the night.

Dean doesn’t even look up when Castiel appears, just throws back his drink and pours another. When he does speak, his voice has a bitter edge. “Thanks for showing up.”

“What do you need, Dean?” Castiel asks, unable to keep the impatience from his voice. He’s still irritated with his brothers and sisters their intractability, and he hadn’t been able to shake it yet.

Dean shrugs. “I just called. What? Can’t I just call now?”

Castiel frowns uncertainly. “You prayed.”

“So, I drunk-dialed you,” Dean replies. “Or, you know, drunk-prayed.”

“You’re intoxicated,” he observes.

Dean takes another drink. “Getting there.”

Castiel isn’t sure how to respond, and he looks around the room. “Where’s your brother? Is Sam not here?”

“Sam took off,” Dean says with exaggerated care, as though trying not to slur his words. “He got a phone number from some waitress, and he told me not to wait up. And, you know, since he doesn’t sleep anymore, he can do whatever the fuck he wants.”

Castiel sits down on the other side of the blue and peach patterned bedspread and leans against the headboard. “And you’re angry.”

“It’s worse than when I thought he was dead,” Dean admits. “He’s not—he’s not my brother, you know? It’s like I had him back, but now it’s not Sam.”

“You feel as though you have an imperfect copy, one that everyone else asks you to accept as the real thing,” Cas suggests.

Dean is already nodding. “Yeah. That’s it. And I know Sam trusts the Campbells, but I don’t, and I don’t have—” He stops.

Castiel suspects that Dean is referring to Lisa and Ben; he’s well aware of how much Dean misses them, misses the family he had built, even if Dean doesn’t believe he deserves them. “Everyone has regrets, Dean.”

“Even you?” Dean snaps.

“Yes. Even me.”

Dean stares at him. “Do you regret pulling me out of hell?”




“Then what?” Dean demands.

“To a certain extent, I regret going back to heaven,” Castiel replies. “I regret not falling.”

Dean frowns. “You love being an angel.”

“Yes, but I dislike some of the things I’ve had to do since going back, and I regret leaving you.” Castiel raises his eyebrows. “I’ve said as much.”

Dean lets his head fall back against the headboard. “Fuck you, Cas.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow. “Would that make you feel better?”

Dean stares at him for a moment, and then he begins to laugh helplessly. “You’re serious,” he says after a moment.

Castiel shrugs. “If it would help.”

Dean laughs. “You know, I really believe you mean it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Castiel asks.

Dean shakes his head. “If I have to explain it to you, it won’t mean as much.”

Castiel shrugs. “I came here for you, Dean.”

“I just—I don’t think I can do this,” Dean confesses, tossing back his drink. “I got out of hunting, Cas, but everybody I ever trusted was lying to me. Bobby lied about Sam being back, Sam lied about being okay, and the Campbells lied about pretty much everything.”

“I understand,” Cas replies, and he does, because he’s spent the last year trying to determine who among the other angels he can trust, and he’s been betrayed at every turn. This isn’t what he’d signed on for; when he’d gone back to heaven, he hadn’t thought he’d be walking into the middle of a civil war.

“Yeah, you probably do,” Dean agrees eventually. “How bad is it up there?”

Castiel sighs. “Bad enough that I’ve given serious thought to running away.”

“And joining the circus?” Dean suggests.

“I don’t know what that means,” Castiel replies.

Dean chuckles. “I know you don’t.”

The silence stretches between them, but Castiel finds it comfortable. Dean is one of the few people Castiel knows he can trust. Dean doesn’t give his loyalty easily, but once given, it’s nearly irrevocable. If Dean has decided that Castiel is worthy of his trust, then Castiel will endeavor to prove himself worthy.

“Have you heard anything about Sam’s soul?” Dean asks eventually.

“No, not yet,” Castiel replies. “I can only imagine that it is jealously guarded, however.”

Dean sighs. “I figured.” He offers the bottle to Castiel. “Drink up,” he advises. “It’s the only way to deal with this kind of shit.”

Castiel decides that it would be impolite not to accept the offer, and he takes the bottle Dean holds out, drinking deeply.

“Forgot you can drink me under the table,” Dean mutters.

“What do you need, Dean?” Castiel asks, meaning every word. He would do anything for Dean, would take the weight of the world off his shoulders if he could. Whatever Dean needed, he would give, assuming it was in his power.

Castiel realized too late that his words might sound more harsh than he meant, but Dean was either too drunk to take offense, or too drunk to care if he had. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t have Sam, I don’t have Bobby, I don’t have Lisa. I’m fucked, Cas.”

“You have me,” Castiel promises, even though he knows he probably shouldn’t. “You will always have me.”

Dean stares at him for a moment, and then he leans close, his mouth meeting Castiel’s in a sloppy, drunken kiss.

Castiel is surprised, although he probably shouldn’t be. Dean expresses himself physically, through sex and violence and the impact of one body on another. Right now, he needs Castiel, and Castiel will offer up anything Dean asks.

Dean’s kiss is needy and grasping, and Castiel gives himself over to it entirely. For the moment, it’s a relief to let Dean take control.

When Dean pulls back, Castiel feels regret, although he lets Dean go.

“Sorry,” Dean murmurs. “I shouldn’t—”

“I will do anything you ask of me,” Castiel replies. “Even that. Anything, Dean.”

Dean just sighs. “I don’t want to do this while I’m drunk, or if you aren’t interested.” He rubs his forehead. “Maybe I should just sleep.”

Castiel runs his hand through Dean’s hair. “If you’d like, I can stay.”

“As long as you can?” Dean suggests. “Just, stay as long as you can.”

“I would stay longer,” Castiel replies, suddenly sick to death of all the jockeying for position going on in heaven, all the disputes between the factions. The idea of staying on Earth, with Dean, seems like paradise in comparison.

Dean shifts a little closer, his head resting against Castiel’s shoulder. “Don’t wake me up when you leave, okay? I don’t want to know what time Sam comes back.”

“Whatever you want,” Castiel assures him.

Dean had been an anchor for him, and Castiel is willing to return the favor.

(no subject)

Date: 2010-12-05 01:03 pm (UTC)
dossier: the ancient ancestor of Herbatus Unimoosis (Default)
From: [personal profile] dossier
What was it that Kirk said to Edith Keeler? "Let me help. A hundred years or so from now, I believe, a famous novelist will write a classic using that theme. He'll recommend those three words even over I love you."

Cas is totally saying I love you here. :)



August 2017


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