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spn ficlet: here
here
Castiel/Dean | gen | ~500 words
Spoilers for 9x22.
--
"I'm sorry," Dean says later, quietly, unable to look Cas in the eye. His hands clench into shaky fists at his sides, angel blood sticky between his fingers.
"Why?"
"They left you. All of them." Dean shifts in the doorway, too jittery to sit, too tired to stand. The rush that comes with using the First Blade always crests over him like a wave, leaves him drained and useless when it finally ebbs away.
Cas frowns. "An hour ago you said the three of us were enough."
An hour ago, Gadreel's meatsuit hadn't been bleeding out on the couch. "I was wrong." If he hadn't been touching the First Blade when he shook Gadreel's hand, he wouldn't have -- well. He hates the sonofabitch for what he did to Kevin and Sam, but Cas needs the intel. Metatron is what's important right now. "Is he gonna make it?"
"I was able to save him." Cas straightens and moves away from the couch. Behind him, Gadreel is laid out as stiff as a statue, his face too pale and his skin stretched too tightly over his jaw; the need to touch the First Blade is like a living thing Dean's gut, but underneath that he feels hollow and worthless, emptied of everything. "He may sleep for a day or two. His vessel will need the rest."
"I'm sorry. You shouldn't be wasting your grace like that."
"I didn't use much," Cas says, shaking his head. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and blood is streaked up and down his arm. "Dean, Hannah never should've asked that of me."
"Yeah, I know. Violence wasn't supposed to be your crew's gig."
"No. That's not what I meant." He catches Dean's arm, his hand sliding up, stopping just below the Mark. "You mean far more to me than Metatron."
The heat in Dean's gut shifts, itching at something that crawls up the back of his neck, burns under his jaw. "Killing Metatron is your only shot at going home."
"I never -- I don't want to return to heaven."
"What?"
"Metatron betrayed me. He used me to expel the angels, and fighting him was the only way to right that wrong, to reopen heaven so my brothers and sisters could return, but I wanted -- I want to stay here."
"Here?"
"Yes, here. On earth. With you."
"With, um. Cas," Dean says, his chest pulling tight. Cas is standing too close, is still holding his arm. "Cas, you can't -- "
"I love you."
Dean closes his eyes. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in the back of his throat.
"I love you," Cas says again, soft. He kisses the curve of Dean's cheek and the edge of Dean's jaw, his fingers curling into the sleeve of Dean's shirt. The First Blade is still a sour itch under Dean's skin, but Cas -- Cas. He smells like human sweat and angel blood, and when he leans in again Dean presses their mouths together, pushes his hand into Cas' hair.
Castiel/Dean | gen | ~500 words
Spoilers for 9x22.
--
"I'm sorry," Dean says later, quietly, unable to look Cas in the eye. His hands clench into shaky fists at his sides, angel blood sticky between his fingers.
"Why?"
"They left you. All of them." Dean shifts in the doorway, too jittery to sit, too tired to stand. The rush that comes with using the First Blade always crests over him like a wave, leaves him drained and useless when it finally ebbs away.
Cas frowns. "An hour ago you said the three of us were enough."
An hour ago, Gadreel's meatsuit hadn't been bleeding out on the couch. "I was wrong." If he hadn't been touching the First Blade when he shook Gadreel's hand, he wouldn't have -- well. He hates the sonofabitch for what he did to Kevin and Sam, but Cas needs the intel. Metatron is what's important right now. "Is he gonna make it?"
"I was able to save him." Cas straightens and moves away from the couch. Behind him, Gadreel is laid out as stiff as a statue, his face too pale and his skin stretched too tightly over his jaw; the need to touch the First Blade is like a living thing Dean's gut, but underneath that he feels hollow and worthless, emptied of everything. "He may sleep for a day or two. His vessel will need the rest."
"I'm sorry. You shouldn't be wasting your grace like that."
"I didn't use much," Cas says, shaking his head. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and blood is streaked up and down his arm. "Dean, Hannah never should've asked that of me."
"Yeah, I know. Violence wasn't supposed to be your crew's gig."
"No. That's not what I meant." He catches Dean's arm, his hand sliding up, stopping just below the Mark. "You mean far more to me than Metatron."
The heat in Dean's gut shifts, itching at something that crawls up the back of his neck, burns under his jaw. "Killing Metatron is your only shot at going home."
"I never -- I don't want to return to heaven."
"What?"
"Metatron betrayed me. He used me to expel the angels, and fighting him was the only way to right that wrong, to reopen heaven so my brothers and sisters could return, but I wanted -- I want to stay here."
"Here?"
"Yes, here. On earth. With you."
"With, um. Cas," Dean says, his chest pulling tight. Cas is standing too close, is still holding his arm. "Cas, you can't -- "
"I love you."
Dean closes his eyes. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in the back of his throat.
"I love you," Cas says again, soft. He kisses the curve of Dean's cheek and the edge of Dean's jaw, his fingers curling into the sleeve of Dean's shirt. The First Blade is still a sour itch under Dean's skin, but Cas -- Cas. He smells like human sweat and angel blood, and when he leans in again Dean presses their mouths together, pushes his hand into Cas' hair.