The apocalypse is drawing nearer and nearer. Everything hangs in the balance. And in Room 312 of the Harmony Hills Motel, an angel appears in Dean Winchester's bedroom. read under the cut or on ao3 here
Castiel is aware of how late it is. Dean has asked him before not to show up like this, not to just appear in the middle of the night with no warning. He wanted to waitâhe tried to wait. But Castiel is weak, and every day, he grows weaker.
At his arrival, the sudden displacement of air, Dean stirs in bed. Heâs the only one in the motel room tonight; Sam is at a womanâs apartment, sharing an encounter Castiel didnât want to spend too long looking at. Dean and Castiel are alone in this place, Room 312 in Harmony Hills Motel, together.
âCas?â Deanâs voice is rasping, low in the darkness. âThat you?â
âYeah,â Castiel says. âItâs me.â
âWhatâs wrong?â Dean sits up all the way, already sounding more alert. Through the dark, Castiel sees him reach for the knife under his pillow.Â
âNothing. Nothingâs wrong.â
Dean groans. âThen what the hell are you doing here? Itâs, like, three in the morning.â
âIâŚâ Castiel looks at Deanâs form in the bed, the blankets pooling around his waist. His soul is soft in a way Castiel has only seen it in very specific moments: moments of calm and safety, of contentment. âI apologize. I shouldnâtâI donât know why I came.â
âWoah, hey.â Deanâs voice reaches out at the same time his soul does. They both curl around Castiel, imploring and gentle. âWhateverâs wrong, itâs fine. Justâcâmere. Tell me whatâs going on.â
There was a time when Castiel would have been strong enough to refuse the request of a human. But that time is long past, and this isnât just any humanâthis is Dean. So he goes, against his better judgment, and sits down gingerly on the edge of the bed.
âHello, Dean,â he says.
Dean smiles, but itâs the smile he puts on when heâs worried about someone. âHey, man.â
Castiel looks down at the bedspread. The pattern is floral, and he traces each flower with a fingertip, recalling their scientific names as he looks at them. Centaurea cyanus, Myosotis sylvatica, Gypsophila elegansâ
âYou gonna tell me whatâs wrong with you?â Dean nudges Castielâs thigh with a socked foot. Heâs out from under the blankets now, sitting perpendicular to Castiel, and he bends his head in an attempt to catch Castielâs eye. âCâmon, whatâs up?â
âIâmâŚâ Castiel speaks slowly. Itâs been a long time since human language felt foreign to him, but this is difficult to translate. Difficult to say. âAre you⌠are you scared, Dean?â
âMe?â Dean laughs, the sound tumbling out of him in surprise. âUh, why?â
âAre you?â
Dean searches Castielâs face, and Castiel tries his best not to look away again, tries to bear the weight of the Righteous Manâs gaze. âYeah. Yeah, Iâm scared. All the fucking time.â Deanâs eyes glitter in the white light of the parking lot outside. âAre you scared?â
âIââ His voice falters; thatâs never happened to him before. Castiel takes a long breath. Feels Deanâs soul, glowing warmly within him. âI canâtâIâve never felt this way. Afraid, like this.â
âAbout the apocalypse?â
âAbout everything. All of it,â Cas says, voice beginning to shake. âIâm afraid for your safety, and Samâs, and Iâm afraid about losing my powers and leaving you without my help, and Iâm afraid of what will happen if we fail, and Iâmââ
âWoah, Cas, hey,â Dean cuts in. He reaches out and takes hold of Casâs wrist where heâs still tracing the bedspread, Centaurea cyanus, Myosotis sylvatica, Gypsophila elegans. âItâs okay.â
âBut itâs not.â Cas thinks there is another name for this feeling: despair. Hopeless, terrible despair. âI canât save us. I canât keep you safe. And Iâm terrified.â
Dean looks at him for a long moment, his thumb feathering back and forth across the softest pulse point on Castielâs wrist. And then, carefully, slowly, he gets down on his knees in front of him.Â
Castiel watches with hungry, disbelieving eyes. Dean slips off Castielâs shoes, peels off black socks to reveal pale skin Castiel has never seen before. Then, he reaches up, hands hovering over the crotch of the pants Jimmy picked out one morning a million years ago. Thereâs a question in Deanâs eyes; Castiel nods, and Dean unbuttons and unzips and then slides the pants down Castielâs legs. He squeezes Castielâs knees with warm hands.
âStand up.â
So Castiel stands. Heâs the weakest heâs ever been, and despite that, he knows he could overpower Dean without much effort. But he allows Dean this, allows him to remove the coat and the tie, allows him to unbutton the shirt and reveal the white tank top beneath. He allows Deanâs hands to skim up his sides, raising goosebumps that feel like the thrum of grace through a vessel.
âLetâs lay down,â Deanâs voice is so soft, so quiet. Castiel wants to curl up in it.
Castiel doesnât think heâs ever laid in a bed before. The mattress creaks as they settle side by side, and it appears to dip in the middle, forcing them closer. The sheets scratch against his skin. The floral bedspread is thinner than he expected. And Deanâs face and Deanâs soul and Deanâs skin is here in front of him.
âI know you donât sleep,â Dean says, leaving it unsaid that Castiel might soon require it if he continues to lose his powers, âbut sometimes itâs nice to lay with somebody you, uh. You care about. Sometimes it makes you feel better about things when theyâre shitty.â Dean grins wryly. âAnd theyâre pretty shitty right now.â
âThey are,â Castiel agrees. âThank you. For sharing this with me.â
Dean turns pink, right at the top of his cheeks. Castiel watches with fascination. âYouâre welcome,â he says awkwardly.
And something about that, the color, the closeness, makes Castiel terribly honest. âI love you.â
Dean doesnât seem surprised, not really, but his soul is flaring a bright, brilliant gold, something like fear and adoration and hope. âCas, you donâtââ
âI know what Iâm saying.â
âIâŚâ Dean lets out a breath like heâs been punched, and Castiel doesnât miss the sudden shimmering tears in his eyes. âCas, this is really bad timing, man. Itâsâthe world is ending.â
Castiel reaches out and touches the warm pinkness of Deanâs face; his thumb traces the path of a tear, and Dean leans into it. âI know.â
âIâfuck.â Dean chokes out. âCas, what are we gonna do?â
âI donât know,â Castiel whispers. The edge of terror is close, still, but Dean is with him. Theyâre together. âI donât know.â
Thereâs nothing more to say. Dean eventually reaches out and pulls Castiel flush with his body, tucks Castiel under his chin, runs calloused, gentle hands up and down Castielâs back. Presses a kiss to the top of Castielâs head.Â
And against the skin of Deanâs neck, the smell of motel soap and deodorant and human sweat, Castiel prays. His Father isnât listening anymore, but maybe someone will hear it. Maybe someone will hear it, and answer. Castiel prays for safety, for victory, for love. He prays until the dawn light creeps up in the sky, turning the room into grey shadow. Then, he watches Dean breathe. Thatâs something to be grateful for: Dean, beside him, breathing and warm.Â
Some prayers are answered. The day is new. And Dean is holding him like something precious. Thatâs enough, Castiel thinks.
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two things 1) I accidentally unfollowed you attempting to send this ask and 2) I once told my therapist "i'm asexual" and then two sessions later said "I don't think I'm asexual" and exactly one session after that she said "do you think you might be asexual?" and I said "oh yeah I know I am". high school musical style we're all in this together but it's you and me throwing labels at our therapists like boomerangs
AJDNSNSJSSKK THATâS SO FUNNY oh my god
iâm also ace (something i donât really mention much anymore because people suck a lot <3), which only makes all my confusion about A HUNDRED times worse and more complicated than it should be ://
sammy if you had to assign a springsteen song to claire and a mitski song to jack, which ones would you choose?
ok first of all? yell.
secondly, obsessed with you asking ME this specifically.
THIRDLY ok. ill admit ive thought about this painfully long like since laurel hell came out but jack would have to be assigned i guess. it's so painfully sincere and lonesome and GOD he's been orphaned and abandoned in so many ways it's just too perfect not to assign to him.
and for claire?? oh man. definitely the ties that bind. she's literally the person he's singing to! part of what makes claire claire is her relationship to family and that security, and understanding that she doesnt have to walk through life alone. that she's allowed to love and be loved, and it's how she lets go of all the rage and heartbreak that's bogging her down
im obsessed with this ask kath tysm im going to listen to both albums now <333
I want to send all my love to the people in the EFCU @caskarass @justcastiel @supernatural-jaeger @pointyearedelvishprincling @faithlesshunter @emeraldcas
You are all so incredibly talanted and kind and funny. Being apart of our cozy little farmhouse server is a delight. You are the best people I know and I treasure you all so so much đ
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Happy birthday to the proponent of the fluids school of literary criticism themself! I hope it's a good one filled with good food that is not Cas' liver in Purgatory. Bon appĂŠtit.