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spn fic: heartfelt
Title: heartfelt
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Rating: PG
Words: ~1,000
Summary: "You. Cas. The silent treatment." Sam's mouth thins slightly. "Again."
Notes: A pre-coda for 13x18.
[AO3]
heartfelt
Sam corners Dean as Dean is coming down the bunker stairs. He parks himself beside the map table and barks, "Where'd you go?"
"Beer run," Dean says, hefting the bags in his hands.
"You – really?" Sam folds his arms and leans his ass against the table. "Dude, it's eight in the morning."
"I ain't drinking it yet."
Sam sighs under his breath. "Okay. How long are we going to do this?"
Bottles clink as Dean sets the bags on the table. "Do what?"
"You. Cas. The silent treatment." Sam's mouth thins slightly. "Again."
"Hey, that's on him. He's the one who said –"
"He called you a reckless, impulsive, pig-headed martyr. I know. I – I heard." Sam pauses for a second, and the war room's machinery rattles and hums around them. "I also heard you call him a self-righteous jackass."
"If the shoe fits –"
"Dean." Sam sighs again. The bags under his eyes are heavy and dark; he hasn't slept much in the last few days. "Look, we got Jack and Mom back, and that's definitely a win. But we still have a lot on our plates right now. We don't have time for middle-school drama."
"Sam –"
The table creaks as Sam straightens. "I should check on Gabriel." He gives Dean a long, narrow look before turning and walking away.
Once Sam's gone, Dean grumbles," Damn it," and rubs his hand over his face. His head hurts; he's had a dull throb behind his eyes since he got back from apocalypse world. He drums his fingers on the table, then rubs his face again and heads for Cas' room. The beer is warm, so he doesn't bother grabbing one.
Cas yanks the door open as soon as Dean knocks. He stares at Dean for a moment, then huffs, "Oh."
"Yeah. Oh." Something angry and hot stabs into Dean's gut. Cas is wearing his coat. His tie is straight and his hair is combed. He – fuck. "You going somewhere?"
After a short, tight pause, Cas says, "Yes."
"Where?"
Another pause. Doors open and close at the end of the hall – Sam moving between Gabriel's room and Mary's. Cas squares his shoulders and says, "Heaven."
"What?" Dean crowds into the room, nudging Cas back and kicking the door closed behind him. "You – you're going to Heaven?"
Cas narrows his eyes. He grates, "Yes," like he's chewing a mouthful of broken glass. "I've heard strange things on angel radio this last week. Disturbing things." He swallows a noise and sits on the foot of his bed. "I believe Lucifer has seized control of Heaven. Or that he's somehow convinced the Host to give him control of Heaven."
"Shit," Dean mutters. The hits just keep on coming: Asmodeus, Michael, tentacle monsters, and now this. "What – why would they do that?"
"Angels are designed to obey," Cas says, leaning his elbows on his knees. "We crave structure. Order. God is gone, and the archangels are either dead or out of reach. Heaven has been leaderless for years."
"So... your dick brothers wanted a boss so badly they put Satan in charge?"
"The Host is dwindling. Thousands died when we laid siege to Hell, and again when Metatron closed Heaven." Cas sighs quietly. A frown tugs the corner of his mouth. Dean would bet large that he's thinking about the hundred or so angels he killed while playing God. "Lucifer may have convinced them he can create more."
Dean shifts his weight; the floor creaks under his feet. "Can he do that?"
"I don't know." With another sigh, Cas stands and paces between the dresser and the bed. "I've heard Raphael tried and failed while he and I were at war, but Raphael isn't Lucifer. At full power, Lucifer is capable of almost anything."
"Great." Dean's head is pounding. "Just great." He should make some coffee before they hit the road. "Gimme ten minutes to pack a bag."
Cas frowns. "Dean, you're not coming."
"'Course I am."
"Heaven isn't meant for living humans. If I bring you there, you'll die."
Anger stabs into Dean's gut again. He clenches his hands into fists and makes himself breathe. "So... what? You're just gonna pull some Wyatt Earp shit? Go charging after Lucifer alone?"
Cas huffs out a noise. "I seem to recall you charging after Michael alone."
"I didn't go after Michael," Dean insists. For a split-second he can taste and smell apocalypse world, all the smoke and grit in the air. "I went after Mom and Jack. And I didn't go alone."
"You shouldn't have trusted Ketch," Cas says.
Dean heaves out a sigh and rubs his throbbing eyes. "Hey, I made it out and Ketch didn't." He knows that should worry him – Ketch will sell himself to Michael as quickly as he sold himself to Asmodeus – but that's a problem for another day. "It's all good."
"You could've died."
"Yeah, but I didn't."
"But you could've." Cas steps closer and fists his hand in Dean's sleeve. "Do you have any idea what that would've done to me?"
And – fuck. This is skirting too close to all the crap neither of them are brave enough to talk about. Dean makes himself breathe. His voice shakes a little as he says, "Yeah. Lucifer killed you right in front of my face, remember?"
"Dean –"
"I wasn't right in the head, you know, after that," Dean admits. He can still see it – the blood, the flash of light, the way Cas' body collapsed onto the sand. His heart pounds in the back of his throat. "You – your wings – I wasn't –"
Cas kisses him. It's terrible at first, all tongue and teeth, too angry and tense to be anything but sloppy. But Dean – Dean can't get enough of it. He tugs Cas closer, and he cradles Cas' face in his hands, stroking his thumbs over Cas' cheeks until Cas settles and slows and sighs into his mouth.
Finally, Cas pulls away. He brushes his fingers through Dean's hair and says, "Dean, I have to go."
"Yeah." Dean makes himself nod. "Just – just promise me you'll come back."
Cas kisses him again. "I will."
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Rating: PG
Words: ~1,000
Summary: "You. Cas. The silent treatment." Sam's mouth thins slightly. "Again."
Notes: A pre-coda for 13x18.
[AO3]
Sam corners Dean as Dean is coming down the bunker stairs. He parks himself beside the map table and barks, "Where'd you go?"
"Beer run," Dean says, hefting the bags in his hands.
"You – really?" Sam folds his arms and leans his ass against the table. "Dude, it's eight in the morning."
"I ain't drinking it yet."
Sam sighs under his breath. "Okay. How long are we going to do this?"
Bottles clink as Dean sets the bags on the table. "Do what?"
"You. Cas. The silent treatment." Sam's mouth thins slightly. "Again."
"Hey, that's on him. He's the one who said –"
"He called you a reckless, impulsive, pig-headed martyr. I know. I – I heard." Sam pauses for a second, and the war room's machinery rattles and hums around them. "I also heard you call him a self-righteous jackass."
"If the shoe fits –"
"Dean." Sam sighs again. The bags under his eyes are heavy and dark; he hasn't slept much in the last few days. "Look, we got Jack and Mom back, and that's definitely a win. But we still have a lot on our plates right now. We don't have time for middle-school drama."
"Sam –"
The table creaks as Sam straightens. "I should check on Gabriel." He gives Dean a long, narrow look before turning and walking away.
Once Sam's gone, Dean grumbles," Damn it," and rubs his hand over his face. His head hurts; he's had a dull throb behind his eyes since he got back from apocalypse world. He drums his fingers on the table, then rubs his face again and heads for Cas' room. The beer is warm, so he doesn't bother grabbing one.
Cas yanks the door open as soon as Dean knocks. He stares at Dean for a moment, then huffs, "Oh."
"Yeah. Oh." Something angry and hot stabs into Dean's gut. Cas is wearing his coat. His tie is straight and his hair is combed. He – fuck. "You going somewhere?"
After a short, tight pause, Cas says, "Yes."
"Where?"
Another pause. Doors open and close at the end of the hall – Sam moving between Gabriel's room and Mary's. Cas squares his shoulders and says, "Heaven."
"What?" Dean crowds into the room, nudging Cas back and kicking the door closed behind him. "You – you're going to Heaven?"
Cas narrows his eyes. He grates, "Yes," like he's chewing a mouthful of broken glass. "I've heard strange things on angel radio this last week. Disturbing things." He swallows a noise and sits on the foot of his bed. "I believe Lucifer has seized control of Heaven. Or that he's somehow convinced the Host to give him control of Heaven."
"Shit," Dean mutters. The hits just keep on coming: Asmodeus, Michael, tentacle monsters, and now this. "What – why would they do that?"
"Angels are designed to obey," Cas says, leaning his elbows on his knees. "We crave structure. Order. God is gone, and the archangels are either dead or out of reach. Heaven has been leaderless for years."
"So... your dick brothers wanted a boss so badly they put Satan in charge?"
"The Host is dwindling. Thousands died when we laid siege to Hell, and again when Metatron closed Heaven." Cas sighs quietly. A frown tugs the corner of his mouth. Dean would bet large that he's thinking about the hundred or so angels he killed while playing God. "Lucifer may have convinced them he can create more."
Dean shifts his weight; the floor creaks under his feet. "Can he do that?"
"I don't know." With another sigh, Cas stands and paces between the dresser and the bed. "I've heard Raphael tried and failed while he and I were at war, but Raphael isn't Lucifer. At full power, Lucifer is capable of almost anything."
"Great." Dean's head is pounding. "Just great." He should make some coffee before they hit the road. "Gimme ten minutes to pack a bag."
Cas frowns. "Dean, you're not coming."
"'Course I am."
"Heaven isn't meant for living humans. If I bring you there, you'll die."
Anger stabs into Dean's gut again. He clenches his hands into fists and makes himself breathe. "So... what? You're just gonna pull some Wyatt Earp shit? Go charging after Lucifer alone?"
Cas huffs out a noise. "I seem to recall you charging after Michael alone."
"I didn't go after Michael," Dean insists. For a split-second he can taste and smell apocalypse world, all the smoke and grit in the air. "I went after Mom and Jack. And I didn't go alone."
"You shouldn't have trusted Ketch," Cas says.
Dean heaves out a sigh and rubs his throbbing eyes. "Hey, I made it out and Ketch didn't." He knows that should worry him – Ketch will sell himself to Michael as quickly as he sold himself to Asmodeus – but that's a problem for another day. "It's all good."
"You could've died."
"Yeah, but I didn't."
"But you could've." Cas steps closer and fists his hand in Dean's sleeve. "Do you have any idea what that would've done to me?"
And – fuck. This is skirting too close to all the crap neither of them are brave enough to talk about. Dean makes himself breathe. His voice shakes a little as he says, "Yeah. Lucifer killed you right in front of my face, remember?"
"Dean –"
"I wasn't right in the head, you know, after that," Dean admits. He can still see it – the blood, the flash of light, the way Cas' body collapsed onto the sand. His heart pounds in the back of his throat. "You – your wings – I wasn't –"
Cas kisses him. It's terrible at first, all tongue and teeth, too angry and tense to be anything but sloppy. But Dean – Dean can't get enough of it. He tugs Cas closer, and he cradles Cas' face in his hands, stroking his thumbs over Cas' cheeks until Cas settles and slows and sighs into his mouth.
Finally, Cas pulls away. He brushes his fingers through Dean's hair and says, "Dean, I have to go."
"Yeah." Dean makes himself nod. "Just – just promise me you'll come back."
Cas kisses him again. "I will."