Work Text:
Broken
Morning dawns smelling like betrayal. Like the brackish smell of the warm beer in the bottle Dean holds in his hand, forgotten. He never finished it; the alcohol is doing nothing to stem the flow of misery in his veins. He hasn't slept. He is still sitting in the slowly-lightening living room. Right where Castiel left him the night before.
Castiel is derailing himself and Dean is going to have to stop him. The very thought of what Dean might have to do to accomplish that twists corners of his insides he never knew existed.
He’d called Castiel a child last night, and that was certainly appropriate. Yes, the angel thinks he is doing the right thing. Actually insists he is doing it for Dean, doing it for the right reasons. But teaming up with Crowley? Dean thinks Crowley must have spun the whole idea some way. Some way that appealed to the innocent desire Castiel has to help.
Castiel is his own worst enemy.
Dean wants to kill Crowley, wants him as far away from Cas as possible.
Dean can’t keep his thoughts from straying, from going back to that night in the car, angel-heat and warm lips on his. He can still feel Castiel’s body stiffen in surprise when Dean pulled him in and kissed him, still feel the moment when the angel relaxed into the kiss, still feel that jolt of desire. Whatever emotions might be rolling around inside Dean have to be put on hold.
This really can’t be happening.