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Well, I know the feeling
Of finding yourself stuck out on the ledge
Dull green eyes stared at the bottom of the whiskey glass on the table next to where his head rested on the scratched and stained wood. His finger ran along one side of the lip of the glass, watching the ice slowly melt and shift in the amber liquid. He looked past the glass after a moment, towards the door, though knew it wouldn't open unless he got up to leave.
With a sigh, he sat up and downed the glass of whiskey, feeling the familiar burn scorch his throat to settle in his stomach. It wasn't as pleasing as it usually was, but drinking alone wasn't exactly the best way to enjoy himself. He set the glass back down on the table a little harder that he thought, looking at the newly cracked glass in his hand. He could feel it creak as he applied more pressure, easing up before it broke completely.
Maybe this was his punishment for thinking he could have just an inkling of what he had desired. Maybe his brother had just finally given up trying to help him out of this dark place he'd found himself in. Not that he blamed Sam, of course. It wasn't his little brother's job to try and fix him. At this point, he didn't think there was enough left to fix.
And there ain't no healing
From cutting yourself with the jagged edge
Lifting the bottle from the table, he poured himself another drink, not seeming to care that it was slowly dripping out from the crack on the side of the glass. He glanced at his cell that was sitting on the table as it lit up. He didn't care enough to answer it, just let it go to his already overfull voice mail. Leaning back in his chair, he ran a hand through his greasy hair, wincing a bit at the feel of it. He didn't care enough about that either to fix it.
Letting his hand drop, back onto the table, he stared at the leaking glass of liquid fire and lifted it up. He watched a drop slowly sluice down the side of the glass to land in the puddle already on the table. Instead of drinking it, however, he threw it as hard as he could at the wall, listening to the shatter, watched the alcohol roll down the wall. He sighed, shifting his weight forward to the edge of his chair, holding his head up with hands. He was at war with himself, one part wanting to just wallow in his misery, let himself waste away, let arguments go unargued, questions unanswered, feelings untold, unrequited.
Another part of him was trying to pull him out of his slump. It hadn't been his fault, he couldn't possibly be expected to hold himself responsible for the deaths of everyone. That part told him there were people that loved him, would kill—die—for him, just as he would for them. That he didn't have to deal with these feelings himself, that he could get help.
But did he want help?
I'm telling you that, it's never that bad
Take it from someone who's been where you're at
Laid out on the floor
And you're not sure you can take this anymore
So many had died because of his mistakes. He'd seen people he loved torn to pieces metaphorically, watched them question their own sanity and come apart at the seams while he stood by helpless except to offer reassurances that things would get better. But he wasn't sure if he deserved that comfort himself. He sure as hell pushed Sam away every time he tried to help. Even as stubborn as Sam was, he had appeared to admit defeat and would just attempt to glue together whatever pieces he could find back together again.
Tearing at his own hair, he stood up decisively and grabbed his jacket, leaving the motel room he'd holed up in, purposely leaving his phone behind as it lit up again.
So just give it one more try to a lullaby
And turn this up on the radio
The town he'd driven to the night before wasn't one he was familiar with. He didn't know the legends of the specific area, didn't know what nasties were lurking in the shadows, nor did he care. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he ducked his head down and just began walking, avoiding eye contact carefully. One hand held the handle of a stake in his pocket as he walked, grounding himself to reality as he dodged people on the streets. Even when he wasn't in his right mind, he knew better than to leave completely unarmed.
He wasn't even sure where his feet were leading him until his body decided to sit down. Blinking, he focused his eyes on stained-glass windows that turned the inside of a small church multicolored. He looked around, half out of habit, half out of genuine curiosity. It didn't have am ominous feeling that some of the bigger churches had, not that it meant that it was completely safe. His eyes landed on the large statue in the front of the Crucifixion and chuckled quietly to himself.
“My son, you look troubled, maybe I can help you?” The priest said as he walked towards Dean. He seemed friendly enough, clean shaved and with kind blue eyes. Dean forced himself to keep eye contact as he craned his neck back a bit to look up at the man.
“Don't take this the wrong way, Father,” Dean said, having enough sense in himself to attempt being respectable, at least here. “but I don't think you could help.”
The man only gave him a smile, moving to sit down beside him, looking at Dean for a long moment before he looked forward. “Perhaps I cannot physically help, but it may help in general to tell me what's troubling you and having an outsider's advice or point of view to reach an answer.”
Dean was resolutely silent, looking forward again as well, at least for a while. “I'm scared,” He admitted, voice rough as he forced the words out. He let out a short huff of hysterical laughter. “I'm so fucking scared of what's going on, aware that I'm completely powerless to stop whatever is happening, and it's not right.”
If you can hear me now
I'm reaching out
To let you know that you're not alone
The priest merely inclined his head, a silent gesture for Dean to continue speaking, but did verbalize his request, “What has you scared?”
“Everything. Nothing. I don't know.” Dean said, leaning forward. “I think I'm in love, but that hasn't ever worked out for the best in the past. And with my best friend, no less. And too much shit has happened, and I know we share some sort of profound bond or something, but that doesn't mean anything other than trust and respect is returned.” He let out a dry laugh. “If I even have his trust any longer.”
The priest raised a hand and set it on Dean's shoulder, squeezing his shoulder. “Love is a terrifyingly wonderful thing, my son. There isn't enough advice in the world to really help you with what you feel. And I'm not going to tell you what to do, because I believe matters of the heart will resolve themselves eventually. You just need to be strong.”
“I can't be strong!” Dean shouted, burying his hands into his hair. His voice reverberated through the church, his own frightened voice coming back into his ears. “I just can't be strong any longer. I've no strength left for myself.” He said, voice quieter.
And if you can't tell, I'm scared as hell
'Cause I can't get you on the telephone
The priest just squeezed his shoulder again. “Maybe prayer will help you, my son,” he said with a reassuring smile before he got up, leaving Dean to his thoughts.
Dean nearly laughed at the irony of that. Who was he supposed to pray to? The only one that had ever answered before surely regretted ever pulling his torn and tattered soul from Hell in the first place by now. He slowly lifted his head, looking over the statue and towards the windows, through them, to the sky above.
He wondered where Castiel was, and not for the first time that day. It was what had lead him to drink in the first place, the ache that had blossomed in his chest from the look of utter disappointment and anger in those stormy blue-gray eyes before he had disappeared with a rustle of invisible wings a week prior. And sure, he knew the guy was busy putting Heaven back into order, but he had hoped Castiel would've at least sent a sign of some sort to let him know he was at least okay.
Lurching to his feet, he got up and headed out of the church silently. He wasn't more than ten steps away from the doors when the first drizzle started. He closed in on himself to keep as dry as he could, the effort in vain as he walked back to the motel in the same, lost-in-thought he'd left it in.
Once back in the motel room, he shrugged out of his soaked jacket and draped it over the back of a chair at an attempt to dry it before sitting down on the bed, no doubt soaking the blanket. He felt the cold of being in wet clothes, but on a different level. He felt so achingly alone in this room, this town, this state. His mind wandered to Sam, wondering how his brother was doing, then shook his head. He was surely fine in the bunker with their favorite trickster. He snorted at the thought and flopped back onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling.
“Cas, I don't know if you've even got your Angel Radio still on or if you've added me to your blacklist of callers,” Dean started, not bothering to move from his spot. “I don't know where you are, or what you're doing, and I'm sure you don't want me to know. I don't know if I can fix things between us, or if you want them fixed.” He paused, working the lump down in his throat. “Hell, I don't even know if I'm still your friend at this point. But I'm sorry, alright? I don't know if that hunt was a test or not, but I get the feeling I would've failed no matter what I chose.”
So just close your eyes
Oh, honey here comes a lullaby
Your very own lullaby
He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling them burn with unshed tears. “Cas, I don't deserve you as a friend, much less as anything more. I don't know if I can do this much more. I can't...” His voice was drowned out by a crack of thunder, the lightning turning the dark day bright for a brief moment. He swore the room shook, thought he could see Castiel's silhouette, large wings outspread, on the inside of his eyelids and he couldn't stop the small whimper that left him. “I need you, Cas.”
The alcohol in his system finally seemed to catch up with his brain and he drifted off fitfully to the sound of the storm overhead, tears streaming down his face from his closed eyes. Just before the darkness overtook his mind, he swore he heard the ruffle of wings just under the sound of the next thunder clap, could feel fingers brush the tear tracks from his face.
Please let me take you
Out of the darkness and into the light
Dean woke with a groan to the loud knocking at the motel door. “No cleaning needed here, thanks!” he shouted at the door with a sleep-sore voice, wincing at how scratchy his throat was.
“I'm not your damn maid, Dean, now open up the door.” Sam's voice said from the other side of the door. Dean groaned again and rolled over to push himself out of the bed—when had he gotten under the covers? Or dry?--and headed for the door to wrench it open. Sam stood there, face pulled into a grimace. “Why didn't you answer your phone, jackass?” He asked, the worry in his eyes effectively killing any real anger in the younger man's question. He pushed past Dean, who shut the door behind him and moved to take a seat at the table.
“I was asleep. Or did that not cross your mind?” Dean grumped, ignoring the glare that was sent his way. “What do you want anyway?”
“For you to come back to the bunker.” Sam said, the anger slipping from his face, leaving behind worry. “You can't let that hunt loom over your head forever. It wasn't your fault. We didn't know there was a third werewolf was there.”
“We should have, though,” Dean said, a little louder than he had meant. “I should have known there was another one there. The kid tried to tell me, Sam, and I just ignored her. If I had listened instead of thinking I knew better, I wouldn't have had to put a bullet in her fucking head.”
Sam winced faintly. It wasn't exactly something he wanted to remember, the blank look Dean had had, the sobbing of the child pleading for him to spare her, that she wouldn't hurt anyone, the way Dean shook for hours afterward, too unfocused to drive. “Dean, we're only human. Mistakes—accidents—happen. There isn't anything we can do now.”
Dean scoffed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes enough to let starts bloom behind his eyelids before he pulled them away, blinking the pain away. “Don't I know it.” He muttered. He reached into his jacket pocket and tossed the keys to the Impala to Sam. “Alright, take me back to jail, warden. I'm done running.”
Sam rolled his eyes at his dramatics and moved to help him up, wincing a bit. At least the rain had worked as a pseudo-shower so that it wouldn't be extraordinarily uncomfortable traveling back. “Dude, you need a shower when we get back” He said, prodding him out of the motel room, snatching up the man's phone and pressing it into his hands after they were settled in the car. “You should try to call him.”
“He won't answer when I pray to him, Sam. I doubt he'll answer if I try calling him.” Dean countered as he flipped open the phone. His voice mail was full, but that wasn't all that shocking. Thirty missed calls, three of them telemarketers, twenty from Sam, five from Charlie, and... One from Cas. He swallowed as he stared at the screen. A crappy photo of Cas stared back at him, confused, amused, and with a little smile just above his name. Without thinking, he pressed the call button and lifted the phone to his ear, watching the town dissolve into countryside soon enough.
Ring. Ring. Ring. “You've reached Castiel. Leave a message.” Dean gripped the phone tighter, silent after the beep for a few seconds. “Cas...” Dean murmured before he hung up and put the phone away in his pocket.
'Cause I have faith in you
That you're gonna make it through another night
The trip back to the bunker was mostly silent, save for Dean's quiet breathing and Sam murmuring the words to the songs on the radio that he'd put on for some background noise. When he pulled into the garage, he looked over at his brother and his own expression softened.
Dean had his head pressed against the window, looking like it was the first time he'd actually slept in days. He looked both older and younger all at once, as paradoxical as it was, and Sam knew he'd seen more than his fair share, lived through more heartache and pain than he should ever have to. He was reluctant to wake him up, but did so anyway. “Dean, hey, wake up.”
Dean's eyes scrunched before they fluttered opened as he inhaled sharply and slowly stretched. “We're back already?” he asked in a sleep roughened voice. When Sam nodded, he pocketed the keys before getting out of the car and headed for the showers. As tired as he was, he appreciated the water pressure enough to attempt cleanliness before he went to bed. It'd probably make him feel better.
Stop thinking about the easy way out
There's no need to go and blow the candle out
Pressing his forehead to the tiled wall of the shower, he let out a slow breath, letting the too-hot water was over him, just letting himself wake up and relax under the spray. He'd already washed up, even shaved, and was just delaying the inevitable of going to sleep. He wasn't sure he wanted to. He didn't want to deal with the nightmares he knew were waiting for him. With a sigh, he shut the water and reached out of the shower to grasp a towel, haphazardly drying himself before wrapping the towel around his waist.
Stepping out of the shower into the steamy but still cold room, he slipped and caught himself on the edge of the counter, letting out a hiss as his hand found the razor he'd left out. He stared at the crimson welling up to the surface, watched it trickle down to pool on the counter before he shook his head. As often as he thought of running that blade along his neck, pressing a little harder than necessary, he knew it'd just send him back to Hell, and there would be no escaping this time.
He headed towards his room to find something to get dressed in, resolutely ignoring the wave that he got from a certain archangel he passed in the halls. When he got back to his room, he had no sooner pulled on a pair of boxers and pants when his mind decided he needed to try and call Cas again. Setting his towel around his neck, he sat down on the bed and dialed again.
“You've reached Castiel. Leave a message.”
Because you're not done
You're far too young
And the best is yet to come
Dean inhaled sharply, shakily, before hanging up, feeling a sense of dread in his stomach. Plugging the damn thing in, he settled down into his bed and curled up on his side as he called again and again.
“You've reached Castiel. Leave a message. You've reached Castiel. Leave a message...”
So just give it one more try to a lullaby
And turn this up on the radio
“Dean?” The question was asked. It got no answer, and the resounding click of a disconnected call filled the room, not that Dean heard it, already lost in his fitful dreams.
If you can hear me now
I'm reaching out
To let you know that you're not alone
Several more days passed and Dean seemed to be coming out of his depression all on his own, much to Sam's relief. He wasn't sure what else to do other than beg Gabriel to at least put up some mental blocks for his brother. He was glad that he didn't have to resort to that, even if he thought it fitting punishment for Dean for having tricked him to accept being a host to an angel before.
Dean downed his coffee, sitting at the table and looking over the paper strewn out on the surface. “Whatcha been researching, Sammy?” He asked. Sam internally twitched at the nickname, but let it slide for the moment and began explaining that, with Gabriel's help, he had been making the bunker harder to enter without invitation. Giving every Supernatural creature a vampire complex, so to speak. “Sounds like a lot of fun,” Dean drawled out when Sam was done. He jumped when his phone began ringing and he lifted it to his head. “Hello?”
“Dean? I require your assistance.” Castiel said. Dean almost couldn't believe his ears. Cas was talking to him. “Dean, I don't have a lot of time. I need you to trace my phone and get here as fast as you can. And be careful.” Dean couldn't ignore the pain he could hear in Castiel's voice, and it caused his heart to race in his chest with fright.
“Yeah, I'll be there soon, Cas. Just hold on as best as you can, alright?” Dean asked, connecting his signal to the computer they had, watching it search for the source of the call. He had no sooner gotten it when the call was disconnected. It wasn't far from here, thankfully. With a rushed explanation, he ran out of the bunker, feet pounding on the pavement.
And if you can't tell, I'm scared as hell
'Cause I can't get you on the telephone
Gripping his phone, he looked at the map, at the little needle he'd placed on it pinpoint Castiel's location. He panted as he ran faster than ever before. “Cas...” He muttered under his breath as he paused to try and catch his breath, looking around for where he would be. Trying to call Castiel seemed pointless. He hadn't called from his own phone, he'd called from a restricted number.
Shaking his head, he pushed himself into a sprint again. He couldn't shake the feeling that Castiel was in danger, that his only hope of making it out this time rested solely on Dean's shoulders. It was a weight he didn't like, it felt too heavy. What if he failed to get there in time? What could he possibly do to help him.
He shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment before they snapped open. Gathering what strength he had left, he ran towards an abandoned cabin and could only hope he'd be there in time.
So just close your eyes
Oh, honey here comes a lullaby
Your very own lullaby
Dean kicked the door in, only to freeze. Castiel's wings were in tatters, drooping from his shoulders. Midnight blue-black feathers littered the floor, sticky with blood splatter. Castiel's eyes opened after a moment and he lifted his head, eyes full of pain and hope. “You came...” Dean approached, wary of an attack. “They're dead, Dean. I saw to that, but not before they did this to me,”
With that known, Dean surged forward, falling to his knees in front of the angel. “What happened?” he asked, pulling out a knife to cut the angel's bindings. He was uncertain why Castiel hadn't seen to them himself, but shook the thought from his head.
“I was lured into a trap.” Castiel said, head dropping back with a dull thud against the wall. “I thought someone was in trouble here, only to become said victim.”
Dean assessed the damage as best as he could with the dim light in the cabin. “We need to get you back to the bunker.” He told Castiel. Pulling out his phone, he called Sam, getting anxious when he saw Castiel's eyes close. “Cas, buddy you gotta stay awake for me.” He said.
Well, everybody's hit the bottom
Everybody's been forgotten
When everybody's tired of being alone
Yeah, everybody's been abandoned
And left a little empty handed
So if you're out there barely hanging on...
Castiel forced his eyes open and he let out a cough. “I do not know how long I can stay awake, Dean. Everything hurts so much. Please, let me sleep.” He whispered.
Dean shook his head, telling Sam where they were and to bring emergency medical things before he snapped the phone shut. “Cas, if you go to sleep now, you might not wake up.”
Castiel let out a pained chuckle and lifted a hand, taking Dean's hand. “I heard your prayer, Dean.” He said. “I heard the pain in your voice, could feel your soul resonate with it from our bond.” He squeezed Dean's hand. “You're wrong, you know. You deserve so much more than me, Dean.”
“Don't you dare do this, Castiel.” Dean snapped, squeezing his fingers. “I've seen you die twice now, I won't allow a you to die a third time. So don't you dare say goodbye.”
Just give it one more try to a lullaby
Castiel shook his head. “I'm to weak to heal myself, Dean, there isn't anything that can be done about this.” He offered a weak smile. He raised his other hand, wiping tears from Dean's cheeks. “Don't cry, Dean.”
Dean squeezed his eyes shut. “You're going to be fine, Cas. Sammy will be here soon, he'll have that ass of your brother with him. He can help, I know he can. You'll be as good as new.” He said, opening his eyes again.
And turn this up on the radio
Castiel took a deep breath and let it out after a moment, wincing in pain. “Even if I live, Dean, I'll be almost useless. The amount of Grace I used to take out my attackers was too much. I'll be worse than a broken angel.”
Dean pressed his forehead to Castiel's. “You listen to me, feather butt, you're going to be fine. Stop being so fucking pessimistic.” He said sternly. He ransacked his brain, trying to think of something he could do to help.
If you can hear me now
“Dean,” Castiel said quietly after a moment. “I wish to ask you something selfish.”
“Anything, Cas.” Dean said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He could hear the Impala's engine, still a few miles off, but rapidly closing distance.
“I want to know what it would've been like if you had been mine, as I have been yours,” Castiel said, nudging Dean's nose with his own.
I'm reaching out
“Cas,” Dean started, voice wrecked as he pressed a chaste kiss to the angel's bruised lips. “Cas, I've always been yours. I just didn't realize it at first.”
Castiel's lips quirked upwards into a faint smile and Dean's chest tightened. “All this time, we could have been so close.”
To let you know that you're not alone
“Castiel, don't you dare do this,” Dean warned again, feeling tears roll down his cheeks. He watched the way his eyes were beginning to dim. “Cas, stay awake. Just a few more minutes.” He pleaded.
He heard the doors of the Impala open before two sets of footsteps made their way to him. He was pulled away from Castiel's body by Sam as Gabriel took his place, placing a hand on Castiel's chest.
And if you can't tell, I'm scared as hell
Dean's heart pounded in his chest as he watched, swallowing thickly as Gabriel did a form of angel resuscitation. He couldn't hear anything, too focused on waiting for Castiel's eyes to spark with life again, for his chest to start rising again. He was numb with hope as everything slowed down. “Please, Cas...”
'Cause I can't get you on the telephone
“Dean, I don't know if this is going to work,” Sam said once Dean's hearing came back. Gabriel was still trying, but it seemed to be a fruitless effort.
“Something has to work, damnit!” Dean shouted, breaking free of his brother's hold and rushing forward again. “Gabriel, that thing you did with Sam. Could I do that with Cas, bring him back?”
Gabriel looked unsure. “I don't know if it would work, Dean. With how weak he is, he could drag you into death with him.”
Dean glared. “I don't fucking care. What do I do?”
Gabriel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If it were any other time, he'd poke fun at the elder Winchester's fear, would want to see how far down into his bones it went. “It's going to feel like you're engulfed in fire.”
So just close your eyes
Dean nodded. “Do it.” he said, closing his eyes. At least Gabriel hadn't lied about this. He wasn't sure if he screamed or not. He thought he did. His throat certainly hurt. He opened his eyes, watching Castiel as much as he could with his vision swimming from pain before things eventually went black.
Oh, honey here comes a lullaby
Your very own lullaby
Dean sat up in his bed, soaked with sweat and heart racing a mile a minute. He looked around him wildly. Everything seemed it was as it should be. Clothes thrown haphazardly on the ground, a familiar trench coat folded over the desk chair. He shakily raised a hand to run through his hair as he tried to calm himself.
“Dean?” A voice thick with sleep came from beside him. Dean slowly turned his head, his panicked green eyes locking with sleepy but concerned blue ones. “What's wrong?” Castiel asked as he pushed himself up. His chest was littered in love bites and residual bruises from the attack. Large black wings were draped across the bed, as the angel had been laying on his stomach. The new feathers were coming in nicely, covering up the scars he had gained.
Castiel winced as he pushed himself up onto his knees and stretched before he moved to wrap his arms around Dean, pressing his forehead into the side of his neck, feeling Dean relax against him and return the embrace. “It's alright, Dean. You're safe,” he whispered, just barely awake enough to talk. He had to heal at a human's speed with how drained his Grace had been, and was often sleeping more than he had been when he was human.
“It's not me I was worried about,” Dean muttered as he tightened his grip on Castiel, his body shaking for a moment before calming suddenly. “I thought I was going to lose you,”
Castiel shifted, gripping Dean's arm just over the hand print he'd left on the man. “I will never be lost to you, Dean.” he said rubbing his stubbled cheek against Dean's own as he lifted his head up, pressing a chaste, sleepy kiss to his lips. “Lay down and get some more sleep. I'll protect your dreams, Dean.”
Dean hesitantly listened to him, laying back down, letting Castiel settle half on top of him, his weight comforting. His hand found the angel's back, just over his heart, and allowed his heart to slow and match that pace, eventually drifting off to the lullaby of Castiel's breathing and heart.
Oh, honey here comes a lullaby
Your very own lullaby
EXTRA
“Dean, how do I record this voice mail message?” Castiel asked as he held up the phone that Dean had given him. The hunter in question was fresh out of the shower, wearing just his boxers with a towel around his neck. He approached the angel who had entered his room without permission, not that he cared much.
“What do you want it to say?” Dean asked curiously, rubbing the towel through his hair to collect as much water as he could.
Castiel shrugged, handing the phone over when Dean held his hand out for it. “Just something simple, I guess.”
Dean nodded and pushed a few buttons. “Alright, when it beeps, record your message.” He said, handing the phone back to him. He watched as Castiel's eyes lit up in curiosity.
“U-Uh... Crap what did I want to say?” Castiel asked, making Dean laugh as it was recorded and played back.
Dean shook his head and smiled faintly. He remembered teaching Castiel once before, but at the amused look in the angel's eyes, he gave in and wrapped his arms around Castiel's waist, wings carefully tucked away now that they were healed. He pressed a kiss to Castiel's neck, feeling the shudder that ran the length of his body. “Why are you changing your voice mail message, anyway?”
“Because the one I have now is too impersonal.” Castiel said. “It worked at the time, but it just doesn't fit anymore.” He relaxed into Dean's hold smiling at him.
“Hm... What would fit better then?” Dean asked. He was aware that the phone in question had become more of a personal phone, unlike his, which was mostly business. “Something silly?”
“No.” Castiel answered, smiling. “But I would like something with you.”
Dean chuckled a bit as they recorded their message, only to toss the phone aside and pull Castiel into a kiss.
When Sam called later, he was sent straight to voice mail and smiled fondly before shaking his head.
“You've reached Dean-” Came Castiel's voice. “And Cas!” Dean added in, his grin nearly able to be heard. “Sorry we can't get to the phone, we're a little busy-” “Dean, you can't say things like that!” “-Leave a message and we'll maybe call back.” “Dean, give me back the phone,” Castiel was laughing, and there was rustling as the phone was fought over. “Thank you,” Castiel said before there was dual laughter, followed by a beep.