21: [Video/Action] Dark Side of the Moon

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Sam?!

[It's playing on a loop in Dean's head.]

Mom?  Mom!  Dad?!  C'mon, this isn't funny!

[The...the Dean in the television had been screaming.  For an hour.]

Bobby?  Dad!  You guys, please!  Don't just...don't just leave me here.

[Until his voice was raw.  Until he couldn't scream anymore.  Until he curled up and sobbed.  Dean can remember it distinctly enough.  Something that was him.  But not him.  Alone in a room.  It was dark, and quiet.  And no one was answering.  No one was there.  Not even-]

Cas?!

[Dean sucks in a shaky breath, settled in the corner of his childhood room in his old house.  The entire kitschy motel room looks like his house, down to the gash in the paintjob from when Dean ran his Hot Wheels cars into the wall, repeating some movie stunt he'd seen on tv when he was four.  Cradling a small statue of an angel - one of the only things he found in the room that was completely unscathed, and a gift from his mother - Dean sends a terrified, sidelong glance at a family portrait, framed and hung on the wall.

Hairline fractures have snaked through the infrastructure of the bedroom, the window panes split and spider-webbed, the photographs of everyone close to him torn.  His mother is ripped from every single one.  Sammy has slashes through his face; white scrapes made with an Exacto knife in anger.  And Dean isn't even next to his father in any of them.]

Someone...  [He croaks, looking down at the statue of the angel in his hands.  Dean can't remember when he first noticed it was in his room, on his shelf, but he definitely remembers that his father thought it was sort of silly.  His mother believed otherwise.]

It's okay, baby, it's all okay.  Angels are watching over you.

[Dean swallows before trying again.]

...anyone?

Comments

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Anyone and everyone who's shown up in his room has come through the linen closet door on the second floor of Dean's old house in Lawrence. It's right across the hall from him. Half the time, he wishes he could just get his ass off the floor and leave through that door. Every time he's tried so far (twice, actually), opening the door revealed what it used to hold: linens. Sheets that smelled like his mother. Not fresh, but stale. Bitter, and older.

The longer he's stayed here, the bigger the cracks in the walls grow. Long and thick, the house creaks beneath the strain, but refuses to collapse. It's the last bastion of hope - the last thing standing of Dean's home. The last symbol of the family life he had so briefly.

He's seen it. Flashes of it, out of the corner of his eye, in his peripheral vision. Flickering. It looks just like him. But the eyes are an inky, demon-black.

In the corner of his childhood bedroom, cradling his mother's sappy little garage-sale statue in his hands, Dean startles abruptly as the door slams open and someone he'd hoped to confront later walks inside.

"Cas," Dean manages quietly, almost worried. It could come back. It could stay.

"You shouldn't be here."

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"Here is exactly where I should be, Dean."

He strides into the room, going purposefully to where Dean is huddled. He sees the small angel in Dean's hands - breakable as Cas is not - and gives it a small smile. He grasps Dean around his upper arms, pulling him to his feet.

Close like this, he wants to kiss Dean, wants to comfort the pain haunting his eyes away. But he doesn't. It's not the time... not yet. Kurt's earlier advice to him, to be assertive and take what he wants, to push Dean, also flits through his thoughts. He wants that too, but to have that, to have someone who will push him back, first he must restore Dean to himself.

"Dean," he says again, looking into his eyes, "Where is it? Have you seen it yet?"

[action]

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Hefted onto his feet forcefully - everyone else has been too careful with him, too hesitant - Dean finds the power and sureness there to be remarkably comforting. That, and they're very close. Castiel's fingers feel as though they're pressing a brand into his arm, and belatedly Dean remembers that he receives just such a parting gift in the future.

"It's...around," He replies, glancing nervously toward his open doorway, then back down to the statue in his hands. Feeling the crests of his cheeks heating with embarrassment, he turns slightly and tosses it onto his bed where it lands with a muffled thump.

Dean stares blankly at Castiel's stupid, loose tie for a moment before getting the sneaking suspicion that someone else was watching them. Watching him.

And there it is. Leaning casually against the jamb, arms folded across its chest, eyes black as Hell.

""

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"No," Cas says to the shadow, turning toward it. Even knowing it's not real the same way he and Dean are, the blackness of its eyes, they way it wears Dean's form so nonchalantly, make him shudder inwardly. He is fiercely glad Dean's tattoo defends him against possession.

"No," he says again, this time to Dean. "I suspect you have already spoken enough. Despite what Sam might advise you," - he spares Sam a wry expression in his mind - "conversation is not always the solution to problems." Don't tell Sam he said that.

"--But acceptance often is."

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"'Scuse me?" Dean stares at Castiel incredulously, gaze flicking between his Shadow and the angel. He's infinitely glad that Cas isn't suggesting he talk it out with the bastard wearing his skin, because he already got a headful of that for the past few hours, like a skipping record.

But acceptance? Dean would rather gouge out his eyes than admit that he needs-

He realizes that his fingers are tightening around Castiel's sleeve. He realizes that he's been clinging to Castiel this entire time.

""

"Just shut up!" Dean hisses, bringing his hands up to hold the sides of his head, covering his ears. He backs away from Castiel, up against the wall, as far away from anyone as he can possibly get.

"Shut up! I'm not listening to this crap again!"

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Cas follows him. He crowds into Dean's space, blocking the shadow-Dean from his view. Gently pulls his shaking hands away from his ears. Looks into his terrified eyes.

"I do not know what it has already said to you," he intones softly but firmly, "but whatever it is, it is in some way a part of you. And you must accept it to defeat it. There is no other way.

"Believe me," he says wryly, "I tried."

[action]

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

He's too close. Castiel is too close and it makes Dean too uncomfortable because the last time they were this close, the circumstances were different and all he'd wanted was to feel the angel's heat, to taste his breath. Here and now, Dean is honestly scared.

"A part of me-? That...that thing is me?"

Of course it is.

"It's...me."

He states carefully. Dean is shaking. "It said I'm alone," He forces out, voice cracking. "I'm alone and going to Hell, Cas - I'm going to Hell, and I don't wanna go there. I-I don't, I can't."

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"No, Dean. You are not alone." Cas is still clutching Dean's hands. He wants to shake him, to force him to understand, and simultaneously wants to shelter and comfort him. He puts as much conviction as he can into his words. "You have me, and I will never leave you as long as it is within my power. And in the future I will be there to pull you out. You will endure it, and you will be stronger for it.

"And that thing is not you. It's your fears, the things you don't want to think about, and its strength is only an illusion." He is sorry for what he has to say next. "Whatever small grain of truth is in what it says: that is what you must accept, because it is already reality."

[action]

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Dean doesn't want to hear any of this. He knows it's him. Blown out of proportion a little, but still him. Bitter and angry inside that he can't do anything to get himself out of this mess, and furious that he got himself into it in the first place by letting Sam die.

The grain of truth - aside from the obvious going to Hell shpiel - is still there. He's terrified. Tipping his head forward, resting on one of Castiel's shoulder, Dean's breathes deep and murmurs The Truth.

Maybe it will make it leave.

"...I'm scared, Cas. I don't wanna die. I'm scared of being forgotten. That I never did enough. That I never was enough.

"...not for anyone."

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Without making Dean meet his eyes - because this is heavy stuff, and he knows he might not get a chance at it again, a Dean open and vulnerable enough to hear it - Cas murmurs his reply in Dean's ear.

"I'm afraid too," he says. "I am slowly falling, becoming more and more human." For you. "I am afraid of what will come with that. But I will never, ever forget you, and my memory is very, very long.

"And you have done and will do so much more than anyone could imagine.

"And you are enough for me."

Am I enough for you?


Surreptitiously Cas glances backward over his own shoulder. The shadow is still there, though it seems a little fainter after Dean's admissions.

[action] 1/2

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They haven't talked about this before. Not this...not this "falling" thing, not about any of the typical attributes of an angel. Their memories, their lifespan. Don't they live forever? Dean doesn't even know. Tugging his wrists out of Castiel's grasp, he wraps both arms around Cas' middle very slowly, taking a deep breath and exhaling shakily. Fingers clinging to the back of the angel's trenchcoat, he swallows, throat dry, and mumbles into canvas before lifting his head.

More than enough.

Squeezing Cas tightly for another second - and realizing in the process just how much he's missed this kind of contact - Dean disentangles himself from their embrace long enough to step around the angel, towards himself. Slowly. Hands clenched.

[action] 2/2

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""

CRACK

Dean's fists sails into the Shadow's jaw, and he can feel some of the bones in his fingers protest by breaking. It stumbles back against a dresser, slumping. "Shut up," Dean snarls, "I get it, okay? I get it. I'm you. You're me. We're a great, big, happy family. Barney's over and you need a time out. Now get back in my body, where you belong."

The Shadow seems surprised, but it flickers out a little, like a ghost. When it's gone, Dean feels it sinking back into his chest, where it always was.

Where it's always going to be. Funny, really, how he didn't quite feel complete without it. Dean makes a small, quiet, broken sound before turning back to Cas.

He doesn't say a word.

Cas should know.

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Cas doesn't say a word back. Doesn't want to cheapen the situation, the enormity of what Dean has just done, with limited human words.

So instead he pulls Dean back into his embrace, holds him tight for a long minute.

Finally he draws back, but only far enough to gently catch Dean's wounded hand at the wrist, far from the broken fingers. He brings the hand upward, cradles in his own fingers, and slowly, so slowly, touch soft as his own feathers, he kisses each fractured digit, healing them as he goes.

It's only when he's done, and Dean hasn't pulled away from him, that he dares to look upward, to meet Dean's eyes again.

He wonders if Dean can hear his heart pounding, this close.

[action] 2/2 SURPRIIIISE yeah was about to pass out and changed my mind, ahaha

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There's an awkward, pregnant pause. And then, before he can talk himself out of it--

Cas shifts forward the tiny amount of space necessary, one hand dropping Dean's to pull his head down to kiss him. It's tame, even compared to their last - first - kiss, lips dry and closed.

It's still full of everything Cas feels for Dean. Everything he prays Dean won't throw back at him again.



Cas really, really hopes taking Kurt's advice wasn't the wrong thing to do.

I LOVE SURPRISES <333

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He's still shaking, just a little, and Dean gets over his masculine need to rock himself back to sanity by himself, grabbing at Castiel's coat for support. Taking careful, deep breaths, he jerks a little as the angel takes his wrist.

"I'll just splint 'em," He sighs, voice hoarse. "Don't worry about i-"

Cutting himself off with a frown, Dean watches Cas with rapt attention. He's...healing him. With - Dean swallows - his mouth. Heat licks through him, and he's surprised to find that he doesn't mind it. When Castiel is through, Dean flexes his hand experimentally, eyebrows raising. "Thanks," He mumbles, glancing back up at Cas. "You, uh...you didn't have to..."

Dean's stomach lurches at the quiet contemplative expression on Cas' face. There's another long moment of silence before warm fingers slip around the back of his neck and pull him into a kiss; Dean doesn't even wait to respond. With a quiet, grateful moan, he cups Castiel's cheeks and deepens it eagerly.

OH YAY GOOD.

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Castiel literally sags against Dean in relief when the kiss is returned, a chorus of thank you, ohhh, thank you playing in his mind, but very soon drowned out by just the word Dean, as his entire being aligns to him like the needle of a compass to magnetic North. The feeling of Dean's fingers on his cheeks is so tender, so perfect.

He pulls Dean tighter against him, and emboldened by Dean's moan, he licks across the seam of his lips, asking entrance. The fingers of one hand twine into the hair at Dean's nape, while the other one wraps around his torso to dip into the valley of his lower spine, clutching there.

While they kiss, the cracks and dull plaster walls of Dean's childhood house fall away, illusion fading back to their own familiar room.

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In the absence of all else, there isn't anything keeping Dean from his fascination with someone who is constantly saying I'd do anything for you.

And he hadn't realized how much he'd needed Castiel until the angel wasn't around.

Insinuating a hand to tilt Cas' chin up, parting his lips and wrapping one arm around the angel's waist - because damn, Cas nearly collapsed against him - Dean wishes he could smooth away whatever tiredness is clinging to his features the way Cas can heal wounds with a mere touch. Opening up in a way that he hadn't anticipated was harder than he thought it would be. Harder, but worth it.

He doesn't even notice when he's back in the motel room.

"'M sorry I was stupid," Dean mumbles, sighing against Castiel's mouth.

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It takes Castiel a while to register Dean's words, occupied as he is, and uncharacteristic as they are. Dean is apologizing, and that doesn't happen terribly often.

"It is past," he murmurs between kisses, "I forgive you." He breaks the kiss and pulls back enough to stare into Dean's gaze, a tiny almost-sardonic quirk to his lips. "But please do not let it happen again."

He's joking, but there's seriousness underlying it: Dean's rejection hurt, threw off Castiel's equilibrium. He is slowly gaining self-identity, but the fact remains that Dean is the reason he is on the physical plane at all. And Cas is discovering that even independently of that connection, he wants Dean.

He is thinking too much. He pulls Dean back down again, licking up into his mouth, a small urgent sound escaping him. His hands come up to frame Dean's face, fingertips brushing stubble.

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Forgiveness is a powerful thing. It's not something Dean is used to receiving, for one, and it makes him unquestionably nervous to apologize to anyone in the first place. In his line of work, the "sorry"s come and go, but they never mean anything. Not in the way he means it now.

"Won't let it happen again," He breathes, combing the fingers of one hand through Castiel's hair. Fighting down the subconscious terror of committing himself to a single person, Dean tries to ground the situation with Phil's advice.

Take it a month at a time.

Well, they've got all the time in the world here.

Sliding his hands down to Castiel's hips, Dean backs himself up against the dresser, upsetting the lamp as he pulls the angel flush against him. Opening his mouth to the inquiring tongue and groaning more eagerly than before, sensing Cas' impatience and feeling his own virtue wearing thin.

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Cas can feel Dean's sincerity, letting it wash against him, reassuring and comforting. He sighs into the kiss, shivering a little at the tingle of Dean's hand in his hair, the coolness it leaves in its wake when both hands drift down to his hips.

Cas gasps as they collide with the dresser, Dean's body a long warm line of contact against him. They fit, he realizes, and it's like benediction, a confirmation of the rightness of them, together. Dean's groan alights something in him, need flaring hot and sharp, and he presses himself even more firmly against Dean's solidity, both hands now in his hair, palms scraping across the stubble of his cheeks, tongue tangling with Dean's.

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He's made out with...a lot of women. More than he can actually remember. He's done more than that, too, but Dean is fairly certain that none of those other occasions ever felt anything like this. Castiel is different - Castiel's body is different, and while the sensation is foreign, it's not objectionable. Not anymore, anyway.

It's perfect.

"Shit, Cas-" Dean chokes out, realizing that it's gotten to the point where if this goes any further, he'll need to take off his damn pants. Hands up under Cas' dress shirt, kneading the skin beneath his fingers, Dean is just about to yank his mouth away to hazard leaving a hickey on the angel's neck when his communicator crackles from the bed.

Fuzzy, familiar words filter through - It sounds like Philip. Groaning again (this time with slight unhappiness), Dean presses another lingering kiss to Cas' lips.

"It's show time."