#from perdition

“If you recall, I erased that. He had no memory of me.”

Adam huffed. “Sure. Which is a solid reason for him to deck you if he ever found that out, but…” He reached for his Coke and took a long drink. “Oh man, I've missed this. I’m not saying I’m not thankful you guys finally came back for us, but you sure took your sweet time about it. Anyway, my point is: Dean had no memory of you, you walked in and introduced yourself as the one who had saved him from Hell, and his first instinct was to stab you.”

Castiel sighed. “The thing you need to understand about your brother—”

“Not really a brother, Castiel. We didn’t grow up together, never even met him and Sam until we were adults. I don’t hate them, but there’s not really a relationship there either.”

“That is understandable.” Castiel raised an eyebrow. “But then why are you so interested in this story?”

Adam leaned back in his seat. “Michael wants to understand his brother. I’m being supportive.”

“We didn’t exactly ‘grow up together’ either.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. So, you were saying? The thing I need to understand about Dean is….?” Adam drug the last word out, waiting for Castiel to return to the story.

Castiel nodded, thinking how to explain. “When you were trapped in the cage, you knew you’d gotten a bad deal. You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve to be dragged into our war. You didn’t deserve to be imprisoned along with Michael and Lucifer for a thing you never wanted. When I broke Sam out—as poor a rescue as it was that was later amended by Death—you knew it was wrong that you’d been left behind. You were angry, bitter,” He looked at Adam apologetically, “and rightfully so. You knew that none of this was what you deserved.” 

Adam waited quietly. He said nothing, but there was agreement in his gaze.

Castiel nodded. “Well, the thing that you need to understand about Dean—in order to understand why he does a great many of the things he does—is that he doesn’t think he deserves to be saved.”

~

Castiel looked down at the blade in his chest. 

Dean had stabbed him. Only hours ago, Dean had been clinging to him.

Castiel clenched his jaw, ignoring the flood of various confusing emotions, and pulled out the knife, only somewhat glad that it was no longer his blade that Dean had been holding. This one was a demon blade, useless. He hated that Dean didn’t know it was useless.

Castiel held out a hand to catch the crow bar that Dean’s friend was swinging at him. He wrapped his fingers around it.

Ridiculous humans and their useless weapons. 

Castiel turned and put two fingers to the man’s forehead, putting him to sleep. Then, turned back to his charge. “We need to talk, Dean…alone.”

Dean ignored him and bent to the ground.

Castiel rolled his eyes and, leaving Dean to soothe himself by confirming his friend was fine, began thumbing idly through their notes. 

They truly had thought of everything but angels. Castiel hated that Dean hadn’t known to think of angels.

“Your friend’s alive,” he told Dean impassively, ignoring the hint of sting that Dean thought he would have killed him.

“Who are you?” Dean asked shortly in response.

Castiel kept his eyes on the notes. Dean didn’t know his name. Just earlier Dean had been pleading his name. “Castiel.”

“Yeah, I figured that much. I mean: what are you?”

It was the worst deja vu. In his mind, Castiel could see Dean at the rack, blade in hand, covered in the blood of his victims as Alistair had taught him to be, demanding to know what Castiel was.

Castiel finally turned and looked at Dean as convincingly as he could. “I’m an angel of the Lord.”

Of course, again, Dean didn’t believe him. “Get the Hell out of here.” Only hours ago Dean had trusted Castiel to save him.

Bullshit, Dean had said in Hell. “There’s no such thing,” he said now.

Look, I don’t know what you are, but you’re no angel, so just cut the crap, all right?

In Hell, Castiel had growled and thrown Dean against the wall, told Dean that he could carry him out of Perdition nicely or drag him kicking and screaming.

Now, Castiel sighed. “This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.”

Dean wouldn’t be able to see Castiel’s wings as he once had—Castiel’s attempts at communicating with him before finding a vessel had proven that much—but…the silhouette of them wouldn’t hurt him…

Castiel didn’t have the time or patience for this, he thought as he extended his wings. To say he’d had a long day would be to say the sun was a little warm or that Hell was a bit dark or how their Father was a tad glorious. This day, Castiel had finally escaped from Hell with Dean only to hear threats from Heaven of throwing him back if Dean refused to be Michael’s vessel, had figured out he harbored feelings for Dean (even if their nature was still somewhat confusing), had been kissed by Dean, had erased all Dean’s memories of him and given up any hope of exploring his newfound feelings so that Dean would fulfill his purpose and Castiel could keep him safe, had defied Michael by branding Dean as his own and then protecting him, had endured his own memories being tampered with and then restored…

Then, he had arrived here, prepared to convince and help Dean to fulfill the roll that would keep him safe…and Dean had stabbed him. Of course he had.

After all, in Dean’s mind, anything that would save someone like him…must be truly detestable. In Dean’s mind, all of the healing they’d been through together had been erased. In Dean’s mind, he was a monster; and therefore, anything that would want him back on earth was also a monster with a heinous agenda.

Perhaps Castiel was.

~~~

Tagging a couple people

So, don’t think about the way this makes Dean spiral downward. Don’t think about how he drinks more and more, how he tries to hook up with strangers at bars but always fails, ‘cause there’s always something about them to remind him of Cas, and that won’t do. That’s just...no. He can’t.

Don’t think about how he becomes more and more reckless on hunts, barreling in, needing something to fight, lacking the proper worry for his own life.

Maybe that recklessness get’s Dean hurt. Bad. 

And when it happens, Cas is almost too late. He finds Dean crumpled on the floor of a rundown warehouse in a bloody mess. Cas runs to him and cradles him in his arms, but Dean’s lost so much blood; he’s so cold. 

Cas heals the injuries, but Dean doesn’t wake up instantly. Cas holds him close and waits. He knows Dean will wake up soon and that he’ll be okay...physically; but Cas can also see what’s been happening on the inside. He hates what’s been happening on the inside.

Don’t think about how much it’s been utterly destroying Cas to watch Dean’s downward spiral, to have to bite his tongue while Dean convinces himself that Cas doesn’t love him the way Dean wants him to, while Dean convinces himself that he doesn’t deserve to be loved. After all, Cas’s first ten years of knowing Dean were spent trying to convince him that he was worth something, that he was more than a blunt instrument, that he was worth saving, that he was worth fighting for, that he was worth rebelling for, that he was worth dying for.

So, don’t think about how Dean wakes up to Cas clutching him tightly, shaking, crying freely as he begins to pepper Dean’s face with wet, salty kisses. He starts at Dean’s forehead, moves to his temple, his cheeks. He hovers over Dean’s mouth for a moment but can’t and kisses next to it instead. He starts telling Dean things between these kisses…

“Dean.”

Kiss.

You can’t—” kiss “—keep doing this.”

Kiss. 

“You can’t be so reckless with yourself.”

Kiss. 

“You mean too much—” Kiss. “—to everyone,” kiss, “to me.”

Kiss.

“You are good.”

Kiss.

“You are strong.”

Kiss.

“You amaze me.”

Kiss.

“I love you, Dean.”

Kiss.

“I love you so much.” Kiss. I—”

Dean’s had enough. He reaches for Cas’s face and roughly redirects the next kiss that was aimed at his cheek, pulling Cas’s mouth to his own. 

Castiel freezes for a moment, but not for long before he’s melting, desperately crushing into Dean, seemingly unable to get close enough, unable to taste enough, like he’s trying to straight up breath Dean in before he disappears.

Don’t think about how happy the rest of the gang is for them when they get back to the bunker. Don’t think about the knowing looks from Sam, the pure happiness for them from Jack.

Don’t think about how Dean and Cas stay up all night simply soaking in each other’s presence with the walls finally down. Don’t think about them smiling, holding hands, talking, touching, and lingering as much as they want, kissing, laughing, and holding each other until Dean finally falls asleep in Cas’s arms.

And in the morning, Cas is gone.

There are traces of black goo.

I warned you. I warned you not to think of this, but if you choose to anyway...then, don’t worry. There is a happy ending for these two, and this is just the prologue.