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

[dashboardlite]

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

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

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.

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

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.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

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.

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

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.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

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."