SpN: A Trickle of Strangers
10/7/09 01:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: A Trickle of Strangers
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Castiel/Dean
Rating: nc-17
Word Count: 2142
Spoilers: spoilers for 5.04
Summary: abi wanted screwed up Dean/Cas so I thought, 'what could be more screwed up than the story of how Cas got all human?' ala The End
Notes/Warnings: Well, this bit starts off kind of sweet but the fic in total should end full of angst and owies, but I wouldn't rule out the whole thing dissolving into a pile of shmoop—that happens to me a lot lately. Cross your fingers and hope for perversion!
The first time it happens, Dean is crouched under the blankets and sheet of yet another anonymous motel--no jackalope on these walls, no scintillating disco-ball overheard light, or avocado and tangerine wallpaper. The room's just beige and brown, all fairly new, because it's not fun anymore, the oddball hotels and motels, not since Sam left and…Dean's trying to breathe but it's not working all that well.
Or rather, it's working a little *too* well, 'cause his lungs keep sucking in air and shooting it out but not using it. And he'd been breathing kind of hard, but now he's…well, barking…and it hurts. Makes him dizzy. It's all Sam's fault.
All of this is Sam's fault.
Sam's fault.
Sam.
"Dean…" cool hands turn him over on the bed, stroke over his face and dry the wet. Tears and gluey snot glaze his face and the hands don't even hesitate, they slip and slide over the mucus slope his chin has become. "Dean. Please. Don’t—"
Dean shoves the cool hands away and god, it's hard to do but he does it because he's a fucking Winchester. He throws his arm over his eyes. "If—if—if you tell me—not—not to cry, I will kill you, 'cause I'm not crying."
"I know you're not. I can tell. If you were crying, there would be much less snot."
Dean startles himself by launching a soggy laugh into the crook of his arm. He wipes over the slime and snorts—carefully. "Yeah."
"You can talk to me. You can tell me anything. I'm here for you."
Dean jerks his arm down, but looking into angelic blue eyes and a solemn, solemn face, he gets the feeling that 'I'm here for you' means something different to Cas than it does to him. He thinks maybe Cas means it literally. Like he hasn't got a whole lot of choice. "Yeah…I'm thinking," he says. "I'm thinking this time, it's the end. Sam's gone again and I'm afraid."
Cas makes an encouraging noise so Dean goes on, "I'm afraid that this time, I won’t get him back. Stupid fuck—always trying to save me—us—the world. Bleeding heart kinda mentality, y'know? Sam was always after us to collect our fuckin' empties. Recycle, blah-fuckin' blah."
As if what Dean's blabbering about makes sense, Cas nods. There is no one alive who knows as well as Castiel that Dean's sold his ass in a million ways to protect Sam. There's nothing he's not done for his brother. Not a damn thing. "Yes," he says quietly. "There's nothing he wouldn't do for you. Dean."
"Hey, Cas…want a beer?" It's all Dean says.
Castiel nods. "Why not?"
xxxxo0oxxxx
The next time they share a moment, Dean's not crying—he's too damn dry. His head's pressed against the flank of the only thing that's never failed him, and he's wishing like hell he could cry, but he's seen Sam. Sam's…Sam's not home anymore. Can't be. Because no matter what Sam would never do what this thing's done. Sam never killed an innocent person, ever.
Not even when he was drinking demon blood had he stooped so low…Dean's telling his baby this, knees on the cold blacktop and gravel, mouth smeared up against her icy side. "He never, never, never…."
There's the low sound of leaves skittering across pavement, of the wind sweeping through dead trees and those cool, dry, silky-smooth hands are on him. Pulling him up, until Dean's head is resting against a surprisingly warm belly covered by smooth, clean cotton. He slumps until bumpy-soft wool is under his cheek. "Dean. Don't mourn your brother, he's not gone."
Yet Dean can hear the word hidden under Cas' awkward caress. Dean rubs his cheek against Cas' warmth, rubs and his mouth opens and he exhales everything in his lungs and Castiel grunts, surprise flavoring it. The noise reminds Dean of…what he's not had in a long, long time…he bites down, wanting to hear that sound again.
A quick, soft inhale and Cas slowly leans against the car, spreading as he settles Dean between his legs. "I'm here for you, Dean." Wriggles against the cold metal when Dean bites down over the length sliding down his leg, mouths and sucks against it. Cas' belly jumps and jumps, he makes surprised little grunts over and over and Dean exhales hot moist breath as he asks. "Ever feel that before?" and Cas shakes his head.
"What? I can't hear you." Teasing Cas makes Dean's pulse jump a little, especially since he knows Cas doesn't really get that it's teasing.
"No—no—" words burst out like yelps pf pain and Dean likes it, forces another hot wash of air over the fabric and Cas groans like it's on naked flesh. Dean grabs him, squeezes. "That's your dick. Like that? Like me touching it?"
Cas nods frantically, yells out yes when Dean starts to squeeze his handful of wool and dick. Dean chuckles. He's funny, Cas. "Owe you, hunh, since we fucked up the whorehouse, right?" He eases Cas' zipper down, reaches inside and touches hot straining flesh, rubs the tips of his fingers through dripping lube and grins. "Ready, hunh? Okay." he pulls Cas free, barely gets the tip into his mouth and Cas howls, jerks his hips hard a few times and he's gone. Dean chokes, but swallows it all, cheeks bulging briefly as he tries to coordinate swallowing and breathing. He drops back on his heels and pats Castiel's thigh distractedly. "Yeah…."
Watches Cas watch him as he jerks off, rough and fast.
After, he hands Cas his flask. "Don’t hog it," he says.
Cas tilts the flask and listens to the fluid slosh. Unscrews the stopper and sniffs—jerks back. Dean laughs at his expression and Cas smiles shyly.
"Why not?" he says.
xxxxo0oxxxx
There's a time it happens after everything changes.
They're near Detroit.
He gets a text.
PANIC IN DETROIT By the time they get there, the Motor City is well on its way to becoming a smoking hole in the ground.
Detroit lights up the sky for miles—flames turn the underside of the black clouds bloody red. It's bad, but not as bad as the sound of Sam's screaming. It goes on and on and on and after a while Dean's pretty sure the noise is just in his own head because no one's doing anything about it.
The endless shriek hangs over what's left of the city for days, hangs there like the thick blanket of smoke does…when it finally stops, the moment it does, Cas leans over and throws up. It gets so quiet then that all Dean hears is Cas retching and something in Dean breaks. He eyes the bare back of Castiel's neck for a long minute before fisting the ash-streaked collar of his Colombo drag and dragging him back towards the car. "Suck it up, bitch—we don't have time for this now—"
Dean has no idea what it was he'd really heard that day.
But he's pretty sure now it was his brother leaving him for good. Sam's left him unprotected. He just hopes whatever Sam felt for him died too.
Less complicated. He doesn't like to think of Sam sharing.
Dean figures from there, they should head to Bobby's. They drive until Dean's ready to drop because he won’t let Castiel behind the wheel and refuses to teach him. They stop where they want because everyone's headed the fucking other way, leaving all their shit behind, their houses open…people aren’t stupid. Or at least not stupid enough to sit tight over a powder keg. Dean watches them run. These are the people he's pledged to save, or do the best he can to. These are the people he'd chosen over Sam.
He thinks he should feel something more about that, feel something for the panicked masses…maybe it'll come to him.
They end up crashing for the night in a house on a road lined with other houses just like it, the only differences are color, flower beds, lawn ornaments—unimportant shit.
In the ruins of a pink and blue bedroom, smoke rises towards the ceiling, Dean watches it rise and fade out. The bed's creaking a slow cadence as Dean takes his time, one unhurried thrust after the other. He can see outside the window, a slice of scenery between lank curtains. On a still perfectly manicured front lawn, someone'd lined up a single file of pink flamingos, the cheap plastic kind you can find in 'everything for a dollar' stores, and set them on fire. The lawn was now host to a line of warped and twisted blackened lumps, some with their flamingo faces still recognizable…he has to admit, it's kind of funny.
The smell of burnt plastic wafts in on a breeze, almost overpowering the smell of burning weed. He inhales and the joint flares like burning flamingo's and little burning bits of paper drift down, pepper the back under him. Brings a hiss of pain that Dean barely hears. He pushes in deeper and Cas moans, slow, hurt--Dean moves to a low, steady murmur of sound. Dean's so fucked up he feels like he's been in him for hours, an agonizingly slow fuck against pale blue sheets, under the brainless smiles of some strangers nailed on the wall, palm trees in the background and mouse ears on their head. He squints and wonders what the fuck kind of grown person hangs a picture like that over their bed. He fucks in harder, and relaxes a bit when Cas groans….
It was another life. Another *world*. Dean wonders where they are now. Civilians. Losers.
"Dean, Dean…I need—I need—"
"You wanna come for me? Need me—"
"Yes, yes…I'm here for you, Dean," and Dean thinks…it sounds a little like Castiel's being punished. Yanks Cas up and fists his dick, until he's screaming and spurting over the stupid sheets.
Dena pulls out and rolls away. Peels the rubber and he's jerking his own dick, grunting with the effort. Cas looks at him, eyes half mast and cloudy as beach glass. He watches Dean work, licks his perpetually dry lips and slowly, almost fearfully reaches out. Dean snorts even as he groans…Cas looks like he's about to pet a savage kitten. Cas watches him, mouth open a little and then—touches.
He lays his hand right over that mark, that brand he gave him—Dean jerks up hard. His back arches, arches, arches until it hurts. He's grinding his head into the pillow and screaming—his heart pounds harder and harder and faster until Dean swears he can feel it slamming against his ribcage, splitting itself open against the bones. a feeling rips through him, frying nerves, popping little explosions in his blood—a little like when he'd gotten electrocuted but it feels…good doesn't begin to tell the story. His dick feels like he's got a live wire shoved in it and it threads right back to his asshole and he can feel himself clamp down on nothing as he comes harder than he's ever come in his life, so hard he's really, really, certain, he's *positive* that he's dying—about to tell Cas but what the fuck—he probably knows. Probably hopes for it….
When he opens his eyes again, he looks like he's been hosed down. Sweat and come run down his chest, drip between his legs…he looks like Japanese porn.
Cas is staring at him with big electric blue eyes--wipes his hand on the bed, then curls a piece of the sheet around his wet, now soft dick. His lips and cheeks burn red--he drops his eyes.
"You—you came on me, didn't you? Fuckin' freak…" but Dean's sort of amused, sort of turned on by it. Castiel goes and proves it by looking furtively guilty, and when Dean's eyes flutter shut from exhaustion, he barely catches a glimpse of Cas flicking his tongue over his fingers like a cat.
It's almost full dark when Dean wakes up again. Street lights are burning, a small beside lamp is lit…still got electricity, at least for a while. There's salt in a thin precise line on the windowsill, in a perfect circle around the bed.
He stretches and sighs. Sits up and kneels over the nightstand, rolls another joint. He thumbs his Zippo to life, and breathes in until his lungs burn. His throat's pounding trying to hold in the smoke…Dean can't help grinning at Cas watching, his mouth a little O of amazement. Dean chokes through a laugh, smoke leaks out his nose and the corners of his mouth. Eyebrow raised, he holds it out to Castiel.
Cas licks his lips thoughtfully. He never takes his eyes off Dean's mouth and says, "Why not?"
xxxxo0oxxxx
What do you think? More?
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Castiel/Dean
Rating: nc-17
Word Count: 2142
Spoilers: spoilers for 5.04
Summary: abi wanted screwed up Dean/Cas so I thought, 'what could be more screwed up than the story of how Cas got all human?' ala The End
Notes/Warnings: Well, this bit starts off kind of sweet but the fic in total should end full of angst and owies, but I wouldn't rule out the whole thing dissolving into a pile of shmoop—that happens to me a lot lately. Cross your fingers and hope for perversion!
The first time it happens, Dean is crouched under the blankets and sheet of yet another anonymous motel--no jackalope on these walls, no scintillating disco-ball overheard light, or avocado and tangerine wallpaper. The room's just beige and brown, all fairly new, because it's not fun anymore, the oddball hotels and motels, not since Sam left and…Dean's trying to breathe but it's not working all that well.
Or rather, it's working a little *too* well, 'cause his lungs keep sucking in air and shooting it out but not using it. And he'd been breathing kind of hard, but now he's…well, barking…and it hurts. Makes him dizzy. It's all Sam's fault.
All of this is Sam's fault.
Sam's fault.
Sam.
"Dean…" cool hands turn him over on the bed, stroke over his face and dry the wet. Tears and gluey snot glaze his face and the hands don't even hesitate, they slip and slide over the mucus slope his chin has become. "Dean. Please. Don’t—"
Dean shoves the cool hands away and god, it's hard to do but he does it because he's a fucking Winchester. He throws his arm over his eyes. "If—if—if you tell me—not—not to cry, I will kill you, 'cause I'm not crying."
"I know you're not. I can tell. If you were crying, there would be much less snot."
Dean startles himself by launching a soggy laugh into the crook of his arm. He wipes over the slime and snorts—carefully. "Yeah."
"You can talk to me. You can tell me anything. I'm here for you."
Dean jerks his arm down, but looking into angelic blue eyes and a solemn, solemn face, he gets the feeling that 'I'm here for you' means something different to Cas than it does to him. He thinks maybe Cas means it literally. Like he hasn't got a whole lot of choice. "Yeah…I'm thinking," he says. "I'm thinking this time, it's the end. Sam's gone again and I'm afraid."
Cas makes an encouraging noise so Dean goes on, "I'm afraid that this time, I won’t get him back. Stupid fuck—always trying to save me—us—the world. Bleeding heart kinda mentality, y'know? Sam was always after us to collect our fuckin' empties. Recycle, blah-fuckin' blah."
As if what Dean's blabbering about makes sense, Cas nods. There is no one alive who knows as well as Castiel that Dean's sold his ass in a million ways to protect Sam. There's nothing he's not done for his brother. Not a damn thing. "Yes," he says quietly. "There's nothing he wouldn't do for you. Dean."
"Hey, Cas…want a beer?" It's all Dean says.
Castiel nods. "Why not?"
The next time they share a moment, Dean's not crying—he's too damn dry. His head's pressed against the flank of the only thing that's never failed him, and he's wishing like hell he could cry, but he's seen Sam. Sam's…Sam's not home anymore. Can't be. Because no matter what Sam would never do what this thing's done. Sam never killed an innocent person, ever.
Not even when he was drinking demon blood had he stooped so low…Dean's telling his baby this, knees on the cold blacktop and gravel, mouth smeared up against her icy side. "He never, never, never…."
There's the low sound of leaves skittering across pavement, of the wind sweeping through dead trees and those cool, dry, silky-smooth hands are on him. Pulling him up, until Dean's head is resting against a surprisingly warm belly covered by smooth, clean cotton. He slumps until bumpy-soft wool is under his cheek. "Dean. Don't mourn your brother, he's not gone."
Yet Dean can hear the word hidden under Cas' awkward caress. Dean rubs his cheek against Cas' warmth, rubs and his mouth opens and he exhales everything in his lungs and Castiel grunts, surprise flavoring it. The noise reminds Dean of…what he's not had in a long, long time…he bites down, wanting to hear that sound again.
A quick, soft inhale and Cas slowly leans against the car, spreading as he settles Dean between his legs. "I'm here for you, Dean." Wriggles against the cold metal when Dean bites down over the length sliding down his leg, mouths and sucks against it. Cas' belly jumps and jumps, he makes surprised little grunts over and over and Dean exhales hot moist breath as he asks. "Ever feel that before?" and Cas shakes his head.
"What? I can't hear you." Teasing Cas makes Dean's pulse jump a little, especially since he knows Cas doesn't really get that it's teasing.
"No—no—" words burst out like yelps pf pain and Dean likes it, forces another hot wash of air over the fabric and Cas groans like it's on naked flesh. Dean grabs him, squeezes. "That's your dick. Like that? Like me touching it?"
Cas nods frantically, yells out yes when Dean starts to squeeze his handful of wool and dick. Dean chuckles. He's funny, Cas. "Owe you, hunh, since we fucked up the whorehouse, right?" He eases Cas' zipper down, reaches inside and touches hot straining flesh, rubs the tips of his fingers through dripping lube and grins. "Ready, hunh? Okay." he pulls Cas free, barely gets the tip into his mouth and Cas howls, jerks his hips hard a few times and he's gone. Dean chokes, but swallows it all, cheeks bulging briefly as he tries to coordinate swallowing and breathing. He drops back on his heels and pats Castiel's thigh distractedly. "Yeah…."
Watches Cas watch him as he jerks off, rough and fast.
After, he hands Cas his flask. "Don’t hog it," he says.
Cas tilts the flask and listens to the fluid slosh. Unscrews the stopper and sniffs—jerks back. Dean laughs at his expression and Cas smiles shyly.
"Why not?" he says.
There's a time it happens after everything changes.
They're near Detroit.
He gets a text.
PANIC IN DETROIT By the time they get there, the Motor City is well on its way to becoming a smoking hole in the ground.
Detroit lights up the sky for miles—flames turn the underside of the black clouds bloody red. It's bad, but not as bad as the sound of Sam's screaming. It goes on and on and on and after a while Dean's pretty sure the noise is just in his own head because no one's doing anything about it.
The endless shriek hangs over what's left of the city for days, hangs there like the thick blanket of smoke does…when it finally stops, the moment it does, Cas leans over and throws up. It gets so quiet then that all Dean hears is Cas retching and something in Dean breaks. He eyes the bare back of Castiel's neck for a long minute before fisting the ash-streaked collar of his Colombo drag and dragging him back towards the car. "Suck it up, bitch—we don't have time for this now—"
Dean has no idea what it was he'd really heard that day.
But he's pretty sure now it was his brother leaving him for good. Sam's left him unprotected. He just hopes whatever Sam felt for him died too.
Less complicated. He doesn't like to think of Sam sharing.
Dean figures from there, they should head to Bobby's. They drive until Dean's ready to drop because he won’t let Castiel behind the wheel and refuses to teach him. They stop where they want because everyone's headed the fucking other way, leaving all their shit behind, their houses open…people aren’t stupid. Or at least not stupid enough to sit tight over a powder keg. Dean watches them run. These are the people he's pledged to save, or do the best he can to. These are the people he'd chosen over Sam.
He thinks he should feel something more about that, feel something for the panicked masses…maybe it'll come to him.
They end up crashing for the night in a house on a road lined with other houses just like it, the only differences are color, flower beds, lawn ornaments—unimportant shit.
In the ruins of a pink and blue bedroom, smoke rises towards the ceiling, Dean watches it rise and fade out. The bed's creaking a slow cadence as Dean takes his time, one unhurried thrust after the other. He can see outside the window, a slice of scenery between lank curtains. On a still perfectly manicured front lawn, someone'd lined up a single file of pink flamingos, the cheap plastic kind you can find in 'everything for a dollar' stores, and set them on fire. The lawn was now host to a line of warped and twisted blackened lumps, some with their flamingo faces still recognizable…he has to admit, it's kind of funny.
The smell of burnt plastic wafts in on a breeze, almost overpowering the smell of burning weed. He inhales and the joint flares like burning flamingo's and little burning bits of paper drift down, pepper the back under him. Brings a hiss of pain that Dean barely hears. He pushes in deeper and Cas moans, slow, hurt--Dean moves to a low, steady murmur of sound. Dean's so fucked up he feels like he's been in him for hours, an agonizingly slow fuck against pale blue sheets, under the brainless smiles of some strangers nailed on the wall, palm trees in the background and mouse ears on their head. He squints and wonders what the fuck kind of grown person hangs a picture like that over their bed. He fucks in harder, and relaxes a bit when Cas groans….
It was another life. Another *world*. Dean wonders where they are now. Civilians. Losers.
"Dean, Dean…I need—I need—"
"You wanna come for me? Need me—"
"Yes, yes…I'm here for you, Dean," and Dean thinks…it sounds a little like Castiel's being punished. Yanks Cas up and fists his dick, until he's screaming and spurting over the stupid sheets.
Dena pulls out and rolls away. Peels the rubber and he's jerking his own dick, grunting with the effort. Cas looks at him, eyes half mast and cloudy as beach glass. He watches Dean work, licks his perpetually dry lips and slowly, almost fearfully reaches out. Dean snorts even as he groans…Cas looks like he's about to pet a savage kitten. Cas watches him, mouth open a little and then—touches.
He lays his hand right over that mark, that brand he gave him—Dean jerks up hard. His back arches, arches, arches until it hurts. He's grinding his head into the pillow and screaming—his heart pounds harder and harder and faster until Dean swears he can feel it slamming against his ribcage, splitting itself open against the bones. a feeling rips through him, frying nerves, popping little explosions in his blood—a little like when he'd gotten electrocuted but it feels…good doesn't begin to tell the story. His dick feels like he's got a live wire shoved in it and it threads right back to his asshole and he can feel himself clamp down on nothing as he comes harder than he's ever come in his life, so hard he's really, really, certain, he's *positive* that he's dying—about to tell Cas but what the fuck—he probably knows. Probably hopes for it….
When he opens his eyes again, he looks like he's been hosed down. Sweat and come run down his chest, drip between his legs…he looks like Japanese porn.
Cas is staring at him with big electric blue eyes--wipes his hand on the bed, then curls a piece of the sheet around his wet, now soft dick. His lips and cheeks burn red--he drops his eyes.
"You—you came on me, didn't you? Fuckin' freak…" but Dean's sort of amused, sort of turned on by it. Castiel goes and proves it by looking furtively guilty, and when Dean's eyes flutter shut from exhaustion, he barely catches a glimpse of Cas flicking his tongue over his fingers like a cat.
It's almost full dark when Dean wakes up again. Street lights are burning, a small beside lamp is lit…still got electricity, at least for a while. There's salt in a thin precise line on the windowsill, in a perfect circle around the bed.
He stretches and sighs. Sits up and kneels over the nightstand, rolls another joint. He thumbs his Zippo to life, and breathes in until his lungs burn. His throat's pounding trying to hold in the smoke…Dean can't help grinning at Cas watching, his mouth a little O of amazement. Dean chokes through a laugh, smoke leaks out his nose and the corners of his mouth. Eyebrow raised, he holds it out to Castiel.
Cas licks his lips thoughtfully. He never takes his eyes off Dean's mouth and says, "Why not?"
What do you think? More?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
10/7/09 05:19 am (UTC)because it's not fun anymore, the oddball hotels and motels, not since Sam left
Right when I read that I knew I was going to love this. I enjoy all your stories, hon, you know I do, but some of them. . . some of them I just *love* a little more, you know?
*whimper* The thought of Dean hearing Sam "dying" on a constant loop really terrifies me. Man, that's some good suspense! (And the smexin' was smoking hot too!!!!)
(no subject)
10/7/09 05:31 am (UTC)You! You're always so good to me!!
(no subject)
10/7/09 08:18 am (UTC)This hurts! Poor, screwed up boys. But it's so *good*.
(no subject)
10/7/09 11:45 am (UTC)But I still have no interest in actually watching the show. :D
(no subject)
10/7/09 02:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/7/09 02:59 pm (UTC):D
(no subject)
10/7/09 11:49 am (UTC)The endless shriek hangs over what's left of the city for days, hangs there like the thick blanket of smoke does…
*shivers*
Oh, that's.... I hate the weary, utterly 'done' flavor of Dean's thoughts. He's just running through the motions, and yeah, 'why not'.... Ooh....
*sniffle*
I love it.
(no subject)
10/7/09 03:04 pm (UTC)Oh wow--thanks so much! I'm so glad this bit worked! I should maybe always start writing in the dead of night. :)
(no subject)
10/7/09 02:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/7/09 03:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/7/09 04:54 pm (UTC)I love the complex tone - so much going on with all the characters, even Sam, who isn't "on screen." Please make some more????
(no subject)
10/8/09 05:31 am (UTC)Thanks *so* much for reading and for commenting!
(no subject)
10/8/09 01:51 pm (UTC)this one first?? i think you have a little unfinished business over on another planet little missy...
part ten
part teeeennnnnnnnnnn!!!111!!
(no subject)
10/8/09 01:59 pm (UTC)but my my other boys are apart and they're dying and you did it!
...part ten...
LOVE YOU!!!!
(no subject)
10/7/09 08:46 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/8/09 05:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
10/7/09 10:28 pm (UTC)And Sammy... *sniffles even more*
(no subject)
10/8/09 05:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
10/8/09 10:14 pm (UTC)