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They drove and drove, barely stopping even for food and rest in the last two days since their departure from Union, Kentucky. The Impala was constantly noisy, but only to the blaring of ACDC or Aerosmith to name a few. On the other hand, the two occupants of the Impala were unusually silent, despite their months [years] of separation and avoided physical or even eye contact with each other. That, was only in the last two days since...
Sam had turned over what Dean told him in his head over and over again, feeling disconnected and wondering if the person sitting next to him in the driver's seat was really his brother? Forty years. The thought alone pulled painfully at Sam's heart and Sam realised that Dean was right. There was nothing he could say or do to change what happened; there was nothing he could do or say to help Dean forget. Dean was, Sam thought, different but still the same. But that thought scared Sam. How much was really Dean and how much was really an act? An act to hide how broken—how traumatised Dean really was? Dean's personality was still the same but...
Sam discretely glanced at Dean through the corner of his eyes. Dean was focusing on the road intently, eyes hooded with what could either be the darkness of his memories of his time in Hell or from the lack of sleep. Fighting a yawn, Sam glanced at his cellphone and noted the time to be just past midnight. Sam sighed briefly before reaching for the stereo power and turning it off.
Dean seemed startled by the sudden lack of noise in the Impala and actually looked confused for a few moments before refocusing on the road and casting a glance at Sam. Sam, to his best effort, tried to smile before responding. "It's past midnight and my arse is really sore. Could we find some motel and call it a night?"
"Yeah. Yeah sure." And the music was abruptly turned on again and that was the end of that conversation.
Sam sighed again and turned around to face the window again. He carefully watched Dean's reflection in the darkened window and realised his brother was once again focused too intently on the road without actually seeing the road. Once again, Sam wondered what could be going through Dean's head. Though Dean had told Sam the truth of what occurred in Hell for the four[ty] months [years] he was in hell, Dean never mentioned how he was feeling about it now. He knew Dean had nightmares of his time in Hell, but that was only because Uriel had told him that Dean does remember his time in Hell. As a result of that, Sam had stayed in the motel room the entire night the night of All Saint's Day and had witnessed the torment on his brother's sleeping face personally. Since that night, Sam's heart still clenched in guilt thinking back to when Dean was resurrected and he still left every night to meet with Ruby. He was being selfish, Sam thought, thinking of his own revenge and seeking his own gratification while his brother suffered alone in some dingy motel with half-clean sheets that was better not being used at all. Some brother he was.
Sam turned his head to face Dean again and watched him overtly. Sam thought of the tears, of Anna, of the demons and of the angels. 'Never again,' thought Sam. Watching his brother's hooded eyes and lips drawn in a tight lipped frown, Sam saw the despair, the guilt, the pain and more on his brother's face. For the first time since Dean's return, Sam felt he was seeing the real Dean, the Dean that suffered and the Dean that was still his brother. Looking at Dean through the darkness of the night with only the street lamps casting a soft glow on his brother, Sam vowed never to leave his brother's side again.
As if sensing his thoughts, Dean finally broke his gaze with the road and glanced at Sam, casting a weak smile that seemed to imply Dean was far older than he actually was (forty years). "Looks like a motel up ahead. Then we can shower and get some sleep."
Sam nodded and watched as his brother returned his gaze to the road and was once again lost in his own thoughts and memories. Sam wondered, as the Impala pulled into the parking lot of the motel, if he could persuade his brother to forgive himself as he himself had forgiven his brother. Thirty years Dean held on , withstanding the most horrifying torture and for that, Sam was proud that Dean was his older brother.
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Dean slumped down on his bed exhausted to the bones and vaguely acknowledged Sam as he went into the shower. Dean was so tired, but he felt like he still had to keep driving, to keep running. To run away from the truth his Sammy had to hear; to run away from the memories of Anna; to run away from Castiel. Angels and Demons...Dean really wished his mother wasn't a Hunter then. Wished his father didn't become a Hunter, and wished his father wasn't dead.
Dean sat up with a sudden realisation. His father. From the time Dean was almost taken by a Reaper of Death, to the time Dean looked Azazel square in the eyes and shot him with the Colt as the Devil's Gate lay open for Demons and lost souls alike to escape from Hell was a span of over eight months. "Shit." Dean fell back down onto the bed and covered his eyes with both hands as though that would prevent the gathering tears from falling. John had been in Hell twice as long as Dean had. Eight months on Earth, means eighty years in Hell. Eighty years of torture, eighty years of Alastair. "God..."
Dean couldn't breathe, couldn't get enough air into his lungs as he chocked back his tears. His father probably had to withstand the same torture and the same offer Alastair made him for eighty years. Dean knew his father and he knew John Winchester was probably the most stubborn and inherently good person he knew. Dean knew his father wouldn't have caved in; Dean knew his father would've resisted Alastair's offer for the full eighty years. Unlike him.
Guilt welled up in Dean's chest as he painfully pushed himself off the bed and grabbed a set of motel keys and the keys to the Impala. Pausing briefly to look at the mirror hanging on the wall, Dean saw a broken shadow of his former self with tears streaking down his reflection's face. Vaguely noting a notepad by the telephone, Dean scribbled Sam a quick note and left the motel room.
Dean drove into town and eyed each and every bar before finally stopping at the busiest looking one and went in. Dean figured with more people, there would be a less likely chance for people to bother him and Dean Winchester was not a cry baby who cried in bars. Dean entered the bar and sat down in the far corner of the bar and flagged the barman for a whiskey. After taking the first shot, Dean asked that the bottle be left with him. The barman eyed Dean speculatively but assented when Dean slapped down a fifty. Dean poured himself another shot and chugged it down before pulling off the top off the whiskey bottle and just chugging the whiskey straight from the bottle. Dean grimaced at the burn of the whiskey going down his throat before throwing back several more gulps.
For several hours, Dean continued to drink his bottle of whiskey, eyeing his surroundings with distrust and wondering why the hell he was still conscience. After finishing half the bottle of whiskey, Dean sluggishly got up and stumbled aimlessly to the exit of the bar with the bottle of whiskey in hand, bumping into several people along the way and actually knocking down a woman down as well. Dean muttered a guttural apology before making his exit and winced as the cold wind blew through his body and straight into his heart. He pulled his leather jacket tighter around him and took another large gulp of the whiskey before making his way unsteadily towards the Impala.
"Hey you son of a bitch! You knocked down my girl you arsehole!"
Dean turned around straight into a punch which collided with his jaw. Dean stumbled backwards into a parked car and gripped his jaw as another man came at him. Dean dodged the second man messily, nearly tripping over his own feet before swinging the half full bottle of whiskey at the second man's head, smashing it into pieces on the man's head and taking him out instantly. The first man grabbed Dean from behind and rammed him into another parked car before grabbing a tuft of Dean's hair and trying to use that as leverage to bang Dean's head on the car. Dean kicked backwards, getting the man square in the bollocks before elbowing him and finally kicking the man away. A third man appeared out of nowhere, swinging a tire iron. Dean dodged the first swing of the man which broke through the windscreen of the car and stumbled backwards dizzily.
"Woah dude, we don't need to do that." Dean noted mildly that his words were slurred and he had difficulty focusing on the man. Dean dodged another swing of the man's tire iron and stumbled backward before backing into the fallen man and tripping over him. "Shit!" Dean raised his arms over his face to block the swinging tire iron and—
"Hey, let go you—" Castiel had grabbed the tire iron before it could strike Dean and pulled it away from the man with relative ease. He then reached out and with a tap of his middle and index finger to the forehead of the attacker, the man slumped over and fell down knocked out cold.
Dean blinked blearily at Castiel for a few moments, wondering if it was another holy tax accountant that saved him before his brain finally caught up and he realised he only knew one holy tax accountant. Dean rubbed his face wearily, wincing when his hand brushed his jaw. "Fuck that hurts." Dean pulled himself up unsteadily with the assistance of the car looked mournfully at his broken bottle of whiskey. "And I didn't even finish it—"
"Which you shouldn't do. Dean, you're drunk."
Dean scoffed at Castiel before turning away to head towards his car again. "Duh, no shit." Dean reached the Impala and groped around in his pocket for his keys. "Where the hell are they...?" Dean's head snapped up as he heard the sirens of police cars and dug around even more frantically in his other pockets for his car keys. A jingle behind him alerted him to their location.
Dean turned around to face Castiel again and Castiel held both Dean's car keys and his motel room keys in his hand. "You shouldn't drive in your condition."
"Screw that." Dean snatched at the keys but missed as Castiel pulled his hand away. Castiel briefly glanced in direction of the sirens before pushing Dean away from the car door.
"I'll drive."
"Yeah right!" Dean scoffed at Castiel as he steadied himself on the hood of the Impala. "I'm not letting you touch my baby. And can Angel's even drive?"
Castiel looked down and fingered his trench coat before meeting Dean's eyes. "This vessel knows how to, so I merely have to borrow his memories." Dean scoffed again, muttering about crazy angels before making his way to the passenger side door. Castiel unlocked the Impala and smoothly got into the driver's seat while Dean collapsed into the passenger side seat, knocking his head in the process of getting into the seat. Castiel pulled on the seatbelt looking mystified by such a contraption before helping Dean pull on his own seatbelt. Castiel studied the steering wheel intently for a few moments, reviewing the memories of his vessel, before starting the car and driving out of the bar parking lot. Castiel drove steadily, ignoring the passing police cars and glanced at Dean who was looking at Castiel in awe.
Dean winced when he scoffed again. "Look at that, the Angel can drive. Like an old man."
"It is far safer to drive at this speed and far less conspicuous for the police who are trying to find you." Castiel gave Dean a pointed look that was reprimanding before focusing on the road. After twenty minutes, Castiel pulled into the parking space in front of Dean's motel room and smoothly got out of the car and made his way over to the passenger side to help Dean out of the car. Dean shook away Castiel's help, muttering under his breath and stumbled to the door of his motel room. After fiddling with the lock for a few moments, Dean pushed open the door and collapsed onto the closet bed. Castiel followed Dean into the motel room and closed the door, locking it behind him. Castiel turned to face Dean again who was clutching his head to stave off an oncoming headache. "Sam is out looking for you."
Dean looked around the room and noted the torn notepad with his note. "He'll come back eventually." Dean reached into his pocket and drew out his silenced cellphone, noting he had half a dozen text messages and a couple of missed calls.
"You should tell him you're alright. That is, unless you are deliberately seeking isolation."
Dean snorted and winced as that produced pain in his jaw again. "Then get out if you know what I want." Dean reached up and pulled a relatively clean motel pillow to him and buried his face in it, refusing to acknowledge Castiel. Dean laid motionless on the bed for several minutes before curiosity got the better of him and removed the pillow from his face. Castiel was still there, seemingly staring off into space with his back to Dean. As if sensing Dean's eyes, Castiel turned to meet Dean's eyes. Dean groaned in annoyance before throwing the pillow back over his face. "You really do get your freak on by watching me sleep don't you? Arsehole."
The bed dipped down slightly by Dean's hip. "Dean, we need to talk."
"Well I have nothing to say to you and there is nothing I want to hear from you," mumbled Dean into the pillow.
"Dean."
Dean groaned in frustration before throwing off the pillow and sitting up, shaking off the drowsiness of the alcohol. "What dammit?"
Castiel met Dean's eyes and held it for a few moments before breaking it and looking down. "I want to thank you for starters. If Alastair was able to finish that spell, he would have killed me. I...I did not expect him to be so powerful. While Uriel specializes in combat, I cannot say I share the same capabilities as he does." Castiel paused.
Dean shrugged in response. "Whatever. I'd get one over Alastair any day, that conniving bastard. You just happened to be pinned by the guy. Besides you saved me from getting a face full of tire iron. Now can you leave me alone so I can go to sleep? I'm going to have one hell of a hangover come morning and I just want to sleep it off."
Castiel looked up to meet Dean's eyes again. "If you know how badly off you will be in the morning, then why do you drink?"
"Because I want to get drunk. Isn't that obvious, mister omniscient?"
Castiel gave an uncharacteristic sigh and reached out to place a hand on Dean's bruised jaw. "And you want to be drunk so that you can forget everything that happened two days ago. Dean, you can't run away from everything that has happened."
"Who the hell's running?" Dean made an angry swipe at Castiel's hand, knocking it aside. Castiel then moved his hand to the hand print he burnt into Dean's shoulder. Dean winced. It wasn't painful, Castiel's touch on his scar, but it did pulse in a strange warmth that Dean was hesitant to say, was comforting.
"I gripped you tight and pulled you from perdition, not so that you can drink yourself back." Castiel gripped Dean's shoulder, increasing the warmth Dean felt on his shoulder that then started spreading to the rest of his body. "I never meant to threaten to throw you back. I never want to throw you back into the darkness of Hell. I've been down there, and I understand what horrors exist there. That was one of the reasons why I had Uriel tell you instead that night—"
"No! Instead you threaten to throw Sammy in the pit! All for what? An angel who choose to live and understand human emotions!" Dean pushed Castiel's arm off his shoulder. "All Anna wanted was to understand and feel, something you obviously can't do! And...and..." Dean broke off, the tears that he had suppressed with the alcohol, making a fast comeback.
"And you feel you failed her. Just as you feel you failed your brother, your father, and yourself—"
"SHUT—SHUT UP!" Dean gripped his eyes tightly, hoping to push back the tears that were now falling freely again. "You don't understand a damn thing because you can't feel—you can't understand!"
Castiel looked down at his vessel's hand, the one Dean shoved off his shoulder. "I'm trying Dean; I'm trying to feel. I can't understand humans as well as Anna can, but I'm trying. Humans are confusing creatures that can be so full of love and hatred and that, I believe, is what makes them so beautiful. Dean, you have to forgive yourself for what happened in Hell. My Father forgives you, and I forgive you as well—"
"How about my father then?! When my father was down there in the Pit for twice as long as I was, did he ever give in? Did he ever give in to Alastair?" Dean's tear filled eyes met Castiel's.
Castiel looked away first. "No but—"
"No, my father didn't give in! But I did! I tortured and tore and destroyed for ten years! I couldn't even last half the time my father lasted! I couldn't—can't be the son my father wanted me to be. I can't face Sammy anymore and see the pity and apprehension in his eyes, knowing his big brother wasn't as strong as he believed, wasn't strong as his father! I failed as a hunter and as a human being! I—" Dean broke off to wipe away his tears with his sleeve. "I would have become a demon if I had to do that any longer. I should have just stayed on that fucking rack; I—" Dean broke off, unable to continue pouring out his heart.
Castiel watched Dean quietly during Dean's tirade. "No, but your father wasn't tortured by Alastair who is undoubtedly one of the cruellest demons imaginable." Dean choked down a sob and Castiel, despite Dean's resistance, placed his hand over the hand print scar once again, offering Dean warmth. "You're running Dean. You're running from what has already past and I'm sorry, but I cannot take away the pain of those memories. Those memories, I believe, will allow you to understand why the Apocalypse must never come to pass—"
"That's all you care about huh? Well you can bet I sure as hell will not let Lucifer break out of his kennel. I know, alright Cas! I know what Hell is like! And this is about the only thing I can do to atone for what I've done in Hell. But even with that, I'll never truly atone, and the moment I die whether by getting a piano dropped on me or a heart attack at some ripe old age, won't change the fact that I'll go back to Hell—"
"No you will not! I will not allow it!" Castiel gripped Dean by both shoulders and forced him to look him in the eyes. "I will not allow you go back to Hell, Dean. Whenever you die again, it doesn't matter. Even if I have to defy my Father's orders, I'll will not allow you to fall into Hell again. Never again Dean. You have to forgive yourself Dean. I can't tell you whether or not your father forgives you for giving in, but you know your father better than I do. But from what I do know, your father values your safety and well-being. Knowing that, I can say with quite certainty he too forgives you for your transgressions in Hell. Dean, only now you have to forgive yourself and make peace with yourself. You said this was a way to atone, but you lack conviction behind that. Believe in it Dean, believe in this and forgive yourself. You can continue to drown yourself in alcohol the night before but come morn, the pain will still be there if not worse. No one blames you for giving in. You've done your best and that's all you can do. Let go, Dean. Let go."
Castiel nodded, seemingly shocked by the feeling. "Yes, it feels...whole." Dean nodded in agreement and that warmth from Castiel seemed to be surging throughout his body, setting his senses alight. After a few more moments to gather his bearings, Dean began to move, rocking his hips gently and ripping out pleasured gasps from the Angel beneath him. "Dean—!" Understanding Castiel, Dean pulled the Angel into his arms tightly as the Angel gripped him tightly, one hand always on his scar and the other wrapped around his neck.
They moved together in a steady pace for what seemed like an eternity of pleasure, warmth, and something more before Dean finally felt his end coming. The warmth seemed to have reached a crescendo then as his whole body heated up as though he was a volcano about to erupt. "Dean!" Castiel had reached his end before Dean, and Dean upon hearing his name gasped out from the Angel in his arms, felt his end arrive.
It was Heaven. Or atleast this was what Dean imagined to be Heaven. Stars filled his eyes as a gentle melodic voice rang clear around him and he was encased in a warmth that seemed to never end as wind rushed passed his ears and the sound of flapping wings welcomed him into the centre of a light so bright, and beautiful. How long Dean remained in such a state, he wasn't sure. But by the time he regained consciousness, the semen between his and Castiel's body had already cooled and become sticky and Castiel was stroking Dean's hair gently as Dean rested atop of Castiel, using his chest as a pillow. Sensing Dean's return from his orgasmic high, Castiel leaned down and kissed Dean on his forehead tenderly before muttering into Dean's temple to sleep. So Dean slept.
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Dean snapped awake and pulled the pillow from his face as Sam slammed the door to the motel room angrily. "Dean! Where were you; I was worried!" Dean blinked at Sam wearily and quickly realised that the insides of his pants were soiled with his spunk. Dean quickly placed the pillow onto his lap as Sam turned on the lights, temporarily blinding Dean who was still trying to blink the vestiges of sleep from his eyes.
"Getting drunk."
Sam leaned down by Dean and sniffed. "I'll say, how many drinks did you have?"
Dean blinked confusedly and looked around the room, noting that there was no sign of Castiel or even a sign that Castiel had been there. "Half a bottle of whiskey?"
"And you drove back?"
"No, no, it was Cas—"
"Castiel? Castiel drove you back?! You really are drunk."
Dean sighed in disappointment as he continued to look around the room under Sam's watchful gaze. Dean rubbed his face to wake himself up and realised with a pang of disappointment that his jaw was [still] smarting and the headache was coming at full force. "Dream, I guess..."
"Dean?" Sam sighed and sat next to Dean. "Look, Dean. I know you don't want to talk about how you're doing, but you are sure as hell not alright. Dean, we can't keep pretending like you never told me the truth—"
"I know! I know...just, let me talk about it in the morning alright?" Dean laid himself back down on the bed and sighed wearily, his body still tingling with the vestiges of his dream. "I'm wasted and I need to shower." For reasons, Dean thought, that he did not want Sam to know.
"Alright." Sam got off Dean's bed and moved to the other one where his duffel lay. "But really, how did you get back? And were you at that bar at the edge of town?"
Dean shrugged and made of noise of not knowing. "I wasn't really paying attention; was it really busy?"
"Yeah, and the cops were all over the place looking for someone who started a fight outside in the parking lot—Dean! Please tell me that wasn't you!"
"Might've been..."
"Dean! I know you're angry at everything right now, but to start a bar fight and attract all of that attention! Look..." Sam moved to stand over Dean's form. "If you really want to fight someone, then fight me okay? Just lay it on me! But you can't—"
"Just shut it Sammy. I'm fine now."
Sam made a noise of disbelief before returning to his bed. "Three guys you took out Dean. According to the police, one guy's got a concussion from getting a glass bottle smashed onto his head—"
"The power of whiskey—"
Sam groaned in frustration. "Another guy's got a broken jaw and the last guy's just plain out cold—"
"Castiel. That one was Castiel."
Sam threw his clothes down in frustration and looked at Dean. He looked at Dean for a few moments and realised he was not kidding. "Castiel? You're serious?" Sam was silent, shocked and wondering what the hell an Angel was doing in a bar fight. "He saved you?"
Dean smirked to himself, wondering the double meaning of Sam's words before nodding. "Yeah, he did." Dean let out a bark of a laugh. "And drove me back, saying I was too drunk to drive. The guy drives like an old man..."
Sam moved quickly to the window and looked out at the Impala as though hoping to still see Castiel in the driver's seat. Sam looked behind him and picked up the Impala's keys that were on the table and went outside to examine the Impala. Dean snorted in amusement and sat up quickly, using the opportunity to sneak into the shower to clean off after his not-so-holy dream. Dean made his way to his duffel before pausing and looking at the table. On the seat of the chair where Castiel had [in his dreams] draped his trench coat, there lay a single silver-gold tinted white feather, that was a good eighteen centimetres long. Dean smirked slightly before picking up the feather, feeling its fluffy soft texture, and tucking it into his leather jacket. Hearing the Impala's door slam, Dean quickly made his way to the shower and turned on the shower just as Sam was coming in. Dean really didn't want Sam to see his pants.
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The next day, Dean found himself talking to his brother again about everything he was feeling as advised by Castiel and though it wasn't the cathartic experience Dean was hoping for, it helped alleviate some of the feelings that pulled at his heart. They had decided to leave town quickly, with Sam taking the Impala to go shopping for supplies as Dean stayed in the motel room to avoid being seen by someone from last night's bar fight. To entertain himself [because Sam had confiscated his laptop when Dean mentioned Busty Asian Beauties as a joke], Dean had taken to examining the feather that was left behind, obviously by Castiel. Under the light of day, the feather seemed to glow with silver and gold light and it held the lingering warmth of Castiel. Dean was quite certain the events of last night were just in his head, but Dean couldn't help but wonder if Castiel himself had felt anything. After all, Dean did fuck an Angel—and not just a fallen Angel. A real very much so still winged Angel that was still in God's good graces. Of course, Dean blatantly realised, the reason why Castiel had said it [sex] wasn't blasphemy was because it was all in Dean's head. Dean snorted as he contemplated, putting down the feather onto the table and rubbing his face, wondering if he was that pitiful enough to be dreaming of pity sex.