Work Text:
You belong to the cause
Come on, believe!
Pull your heels from the farthest
Corner you’ve been in
You belong to us
You belong to the cause
You were wrong, I meant no harm
— The Avener ft. Laura Gibson – ‘You Belong’
Afterwards, Castiel’s mind became a void.
In some ways it was peaceful. Not to think. Not to bother. Not to care.
Closing his eyes felt the same as having them open.
The room he took shelter in presented only chaos, decomposition of whatever was once ripe and sweet. He didn’t know how the fruit flies got in; he was underground. He didn’t mind them. They were company.
He found comfort in the white square. He’d once thought of it as a television screen, but the outer rim had since faded in his vision; empty bowls sat atop it like an ever-growing ceramic crown. They were static. The screen was static. It was just a white square.
He’d tried to turn it off. He left the room sometimes, to use the bathroom or to get food, but found the air too cold and bitter. As quickly as he could, he returned to comfort and blankets and the darkness. It was better. His head was quiet that way and he didn’t like the noise.
When the people on the screen smiled, he could smile. When they had adventures, he went with them. When they were hurting, he related, but was glad it wasn’t him. He hoped they’d feel better soon.
But when the screen drowned in white fuzz, Castiel remembered who he was: an angel, supposedly. He remembered where he was. He saw the trash around him, the sauce stains on his blanket. He looked at his flaking hands and he wondered if he should moisturise. He wondered why his stomach felt sad but his head was empty.
He wondered if Dean was home yet.
He hoped. He listened. He imagined he heard the sound of a door, but he wasn’t certain.
It was quiet in the hallway. The marble floor was icy under his bare foot.
Castiel changed his mind and went back. If Dean was home, he’d come and rescue Castiel. It wasn’t worth leaving otherwise.
The white square showed the outline of people, and Castiel watched their ghosts move through glittering fog. It didn’t matter he couldn’t see or hear them through the hissing. Their existence was important. If he didn’t pay attention to them, he’d remember all the real things he had no ability to change.
Hours passed, probably. Empty, useless hours.
Shallow breaths and nothingness.
Nothingness.
Nothingness.
That wasn’t a word.
Yes it was. It was the right word.
Nothingness.
Castiel stretched his fingers, and remembered he had hands. He quickly forgot about them again.
Was there any ice-cream in the freezer?
No.
Oh. He’d think of something tomorrow.
Apathy. That was a better word.
· · · ♥ · · ·
Dean immediately knew he shouldn’t comment on the state of the room. If he said, ‘Jeez, what died in here?’ there was only one possible reply: ‘Me.’
Dean crouched beside the lump of blankets, reaching out a hand to touch Castiel’s forearm. Castiel jerked awake, shutting his mouth. His eyes were narrow and dull, his skin was pallid. He tried to say Dean’s name but Dean only heard half a whisper.
There were plates and bowls everywhere, but no glasses. He’d forgotten to drink.
Dean shut his eyes and took Castiel by the back of the head, drawing him in for a half-hug. Forehead to Dean’s shoulder. Dean’s cheek to Castiel’s crown. Castiel hadn’t washed for the whole week. Dean didn’t breathe in again until they separated. Castiel’s hand still clung to Dean’s sleeve – weakly, like a toddler hanging on, trying not to get lost.
Castiel’s world had become as small as the sight before him. It was... terrifying.
Dean – a previous version of him – might’ve simply switched off the TV, yanked Castiel up, berated him all the way to the bathroom. Forced him back to life. But that Dean hadn’t learned yet. This Dean, he hadn’t learned yet, either. He was going to learn now.
‘You okay?’ was a bad question. Castiel would say he was fine, and believe it. He might not even realise this wasn’t good. He might not want to trouble Dean with the truth – he already thought he was a burden when he was physically functioning.
‘I’m sorry for leaving,’ would be an empty apology, because Dean could not promise he’d never leave again. He could only promise to care for Castiel while they were together, and to teach him how to care for himself. But this wasn’t the time to make promises. Not yet.
Dean settled for a wordless, encouraging smile, lips pressed together in a ‘I get it, you don’t wanna,’ sort of way. He tipped his head, indicating the door. Slowly he stood up, holding out a hand for Castiel.
Castiel stared at the screen. He smiled back at the GEICO gecko.
Dean let him watch to the end of the commercial, in case it gave Cas some sense of finality. He offered his hand again. “C’mon,” he said softly. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Castiel sighed like an old man, and took Dean’s hand.
He brought a blanket with him. He squinted at the lights, frowned constantly, and resisted Dean’s pull once or twice. He followed anyway, but only when Dean made gentle noises. “Not too far now. One more turning.”
Dean had guided a young Sam like this. Sleepy, whiny Sam.
Castiel didn’t whine, he just shuffled.
Mostly in silence, Dean filled a tumbler of water from the bathroom tap. He gave it to Castiel to drink, watching his dry lips part unsurely – not at all, then all at once. Castiel sipped. Then he guzzled. “Whoa-whoa-whoa,” Dean uttered, hand on the tumbler to level it. “Go easy.”
Castiel went easy. He was trembling from cold, though it wasn’t cold at all. His room was a cardboard box stuffed with packaging foam. All Dean had done was split the tape on top to let a draft in.
Dean set aside the empty tumbler and started up the shower. He held his hand under the flow, feeling for warmth. He turned the dial a little warmer. His other hand beckoned to Castiel.
Ghostlike, Castiel drifted closer. Dean divested him of his blanket, expecting him to do the rest himself. But Castiel just stood. Eyes closed.
“You’ll feel better, I promise,” Dean said.
Castiel seemed to have forgotten what ‘better’ meant. Everything was too much at once, but at the same time, it was all senseless nothing. Didn’t feel real. Was too real for comfort. Dean could recall that feeling, where every sense drifted before it reached anything properly palpable.
Dean touched Castiel’s bristly cheek. Castiel looked at him, startled.
“Two minutes, that’s all,” Dean insisted. “You just need to stand there.”
Castiel tried to undo his shirt buttons, but fumbled. Dean helped.
“I can do it,” Castiel rasped, once Dean was already done. “I’m fine, Dean.”
“I know you are,” Dean said. “Two minutes.”
Dean let Castiel undo his own pants. Eyes cast away, Dean sat on the closed toilet lid and rubbed back his hair, hiding his concerned expression from Cas. He listened for feet in the tub, squeaking and stumbling under the water spray.
Mostly in silence, Dean waited as Castiel washed. He smiled at the sound of his own shampoo bottle being opened and squeezed. Good. Progress.
Ten minutes passed, and Castiel wasn’t done yet.
Dean sang Smoke on the Water under his breath, leaning forward over his thighs, hands wringing around the thickest part of his thumb. He watched the tiled walls mattify with steam, then glimmer as droplets formed.
He made bets with himself, guessing which droplet would reach the floor first.
He never found out; Castiel turned off the shower and Dean stood up, ready with a towel.
Castiel stepped into the cotton embrace Dean offered, wrapped in a new, fluffier sort of blanket. Dean rubbed his arms for him, taking the opportunity to hug his best friend.
“Feel better?” Dean asked.
Castiel shrugged.
Dean fetched some clean clothes from his own room, unwilling to venture back into the pigsty of Castiel’s space. Dean whistled songs as he went, hoping Castiel would hear him coming back and be reassured.
Castiel looked good in black.
Dean towel-dried his hair for him, gentle massages over his scalp with the towel in steady hands. Castiel leaned into Dean’s touch, and they didn’t speak. One brave hand took Dean’s wrist, and Dean let Castiel hold on. For stability or comfort, it didn’t matter.
Now Castiel was tousled and damp-haired rather than dripping. His eyebrows still sat too low and too close, but even after recognising Castiel’s tension, Dean asked, “Feel better yet?”
Castiel shrugged again. He was tired.
“You hungry?” Dean asked.
Castiel shook his head. “What time is it?” he asked.
“It was three when me ‘n Sam got back,” Dean answered.
Castiel blinked, looking curiously at Dean. “Morning or afternoon?”
Dean took a breath, eyebrows rising. “Morning. It’s dark out.”
“What day is it?”
Dean again felt disturbed. “Tuesday.”
Castiel made a sound of acknowledgement. Dean could only imagine how many days Cas had stayed awake, not realising it was time to sleep. He wasn’t too good at knowing what his body needed.
Tuesday.
It had been Tuesday when Dean and Sam left, too. Maybe it felt like aeons had passed. Maybe it felt like a blink. Castiel was so old and so otherworldly, time had to pass in a series of incidences, not in seconds or minutes. If nothing eventful happened, maybe Castiel considered it as no time. It could be alarming to look around and realise the used plates in the room now supported life.
· · · ♥ · · ·
Sam smiled when he saw Castiel. “Hey,” he chirped, moving in for a hug. Castiel hugged back, eyes shut. The lines beneath his eyes were so obvious in the library’s light.
When Sam pulled back, Castiel followed for more, but only Dean noticed.
“I’m taking him outside,” Dean said. “Get some fresh air.” With a significant look at Sam, a twisted mouth, a twirl of his finger and a nudge of his head, Dean told his brother to take care of Castiel’s messy room while they were out.
Sam nodded dutifully, confusion in his eyes. He’d understand soon.
· · · ♥ · · ·
Mostly in silence, Dean led the way up the stone steps outside the bunker, leveling up to the road. There was no moon in the sky tonight. Naked trees shifted their spooky arms, sticks clattering applause as Castiel trailed after Dean.
Despite all the encouragement he was getting, he didn’t want to leave his nest. It was cold outside, and he missed the GEICO gecko already.
“Why are we out here, Dean,” Castiel intoned, wrapping his trenchcoat tighter around his borrowed t-shirt and jeans. “Can we go back inside now?”
“In a minute,” Dean said. He led Castiel to a concrete wall, brushing away dead leaves with a hand. He sat, then scooted along to give Castiel a place to sit.
Castiel sighed, frustrated that he was missing a re-run of Lassie that he’d actually wanted to watch.
Wind swooped low along the ground, stirring tree debris into an eddy, sweeping it along the road. The Impala was their parked sentinel, her headlamps like eyes, watching the road ahead for intruders, or intrepid graffiti artists who thought the bunker was abandoned.
“Look up, Cas,” Dean said, nodding at the sky.
Castiel looked up, expecting to see an alien ship or a firework display writing out words, like on TV. But he just saw treetops stripped back to thin lines, and stars. So many stars, speckles against black.
“What’s so special?” Castiel asked.
Dean scoffed. “Look at it.”
Castiel was looking. “It’s just the sky. I’ve seen it all. From this side, and from the other side. It’s practically the same all over.”
Dean looked incredulously at Castiel. “Oh, and every episode of Family Feud is completely different, is it?”
“Yes, actually,” Castiel said, scowling at the slippers on his feet. “People are interesting, and... brief. People change often. Stars are too slow.”
Dean grinned. “And they say kids these days have a short attention span.”
Castiel didn’t know how to respond, so he said nothing. His damp hair was chilling his head.
“I like the slowness,” Dean said quietly. He leaned back on his hands, throat stretching as he looked up. “Every day, down here, a million things just... happen. It’s all important, but you gotta pick and choose what you care about, you know? But, step back, and it’s all petty. Everything people fight about – the monsters, the money, the self-confidence, the religion, the politics – they all revolve around bizarre concepts we made up and got real passionate about. Does any of it matter? In the end we are all blips. Grand scheme of the universe, we’re... brief. Like you said.”
“That doesn’t mean small issues don’t matter, Dean,” Castiel amended. “It’s human nature to care intensely about a few things.”
Dean pursed his lips, hiding a smile. He’d been baiting Castiel into a discussion, and he’d won. Castiel didn’t even mind.
Dean exhaled, sitting up straighter. “We should just live our lives. We keep going, no matter how tiny or monumental the challenges are. Not everything needs to have some... bigger meaning. You know what I mean? We just need to get by, get through the next hour, next hunt, next moon cycle, and it’s fine. We keep grinding.”
He angled his head, gaze set on the side of Castiel’s face. “End of the day, we can turn our faces upward and there’s a freaking galaxy waiting. A million-billion stars. Somehow, we exist, orbiting a small sun. We are small. Our problems are pointless in comparison. Which is why every day counts.” Now Dean swallowed, reaching to touch Castiel’s hand.
Castiel looked his way, seeing softness and care in Dean’s eyes. Dean seemed worried, urging, “You get that, right? We all matter. You matter. Me and Sam care about you, yeah. But you gotta learn to care about yourself. For yourself. Even if you don’t see the point.”
“Look who’s talking,” Castiel said bitterly. “You couldn’t hate yourself more if you tried.”
Dean scoffed. “Never said I was role model, Cas. I know what I’m doing wrong. Don’t want you to make the same mistakes, is all. People just gotta do whatever makes them feel better, function better, day-to-day. At least I brush my teeth when I can, and eat some food, and drink some water. Wash my face. Jack off, or whatever. It’s all I do for myself, sometimes. But the point is, I do it.”
“I know what I need to do,” Castiel said. “I want to do it. I— I could. I just... don’t do it.”
With his eyebrows lifted into a friendly arch, Dean admitted, “‘S not your fault. It’s gotta suck, huh? Basic stuff ain’t always easy.” He gave Castiel a reassuring bump with his arm. “You’ll get there.”
Castiel tipped his chin up, and with disinterested eyes, he gazed into the dark again. It was far from black. Every star flickered a different colour, and the sky itself was shaded from purple to brown to blue in each corner, reflecting the light of nearby and distant cities. An airplane twinkled cobalt and scarlet, masquerading as a star. Satellites drifted past unseen, covering starlight for short moments as they hung suspended above the Earth.
Castiel knew full well that even the areas of the sky that looked empty were filled with literally billions of star systems, should anyone look hard enough.
“Listen, Cas,” Dean said firmly, but gently. “Maybe the sky is boring to you. Maybe you’ve been watching the same show since the beginning of time, and you’re over the old tricks. But you live in this world. You know how impressive humans are, compared to the vast cosmic—” Dean wafted his arms towards the sky, “blerh-lerh-lerh, whatever, the bigness. The huge, freakin’— Just— There’s so much out there. We’re weird little hairless apes who slurp noodles, and tell lies, and download music illegally. Every single one of us beat the universe’s odds when we were born. We’re defying the rest of that universe right now, sitting here, breathing.”
“I’m not human, Dean. I’m not anything like you.”
“You’re close enough.” With great determination, Dean took the back of Castiel’s hand tighter, squeezing. “Cas, you are close enough. Sure, okay, you were an angel once. Stardust, infinite existence, all that jazz. But you belong to us now. You’re small, insignificant, and so important to me. You’re still every bit the flaming fireball you were. You’re just... quieter, now. Alright? You’re human enough to be helpless. Human enough to get depressed. Human enough to need help, Cas. There’s no shame in asking for it.”
Castiel stared at the ground.
“I want to help you,” Dean said, speaking through a careful sigh. “I don’t know how to yet, but I wanna figure it out.”
In silence, they sat. Breathed. Listened to the Earth in her howling, empty hush. It was a loud kind of silence.
· · · ♥ · · ·
It was true that humans were incredible. There were infinite ways to communicate – through motion, through noise, through pictorial diagrams. Adding interlingual variations to that, including languages presently active and those with origins stretching back millennia, Castiel was astonished that he had not yet found a way to say certain things.
His feelings were all a big tangle within him. Presumably his thoughts were contained in his head, as they had been for Jimmy when he still owned this body. Yet, Castiel’s thoughts felt thoroughly heart-centric. There was a pain in his chest that wasn’t pain, and a heaviness that couldn’t be weighed.
Mostly in silence, just with a turn of his eyes and narrowed lips, Dean had asked Castiel what he could do to help. He didn’t know any more than Castiel did. He wanted to make Castiel feel ‘better’, but as of earlier tonight, all Castiel had been able to determine was that quiet and dark felt better than loud and bright. The longer he sat with Dean, conversed with him, the quiet darkness within him was giving way to loud brightness. He wasn’t sure if he liked it.
Was it better?
Was it better to love Dean, and be overwhelmed by his light, or to hide away and become smothered by nothingness and apathy? Yes, the white square waited, but static was not a starfield, and a bed didn’t feel quite as comforting as Dean’s big, warm hand over the ridges of Castiel’s knuckles.
‘How can I help?’ ought to be answered with ‘Recognise my romantic feelings for you, please.’ It wasn’t everything, but it would be a good start. One thread, pulled from the unravelling blanket of despair.
Only, Castiel didn’t have the words to say such a thing. Humans were so complicated.
He had the energy to do only one thing, make one small gesture to express himself, and he chose to turn his hand over.
Now his hand faced Dean’s hand palm-to-palm. Dean’s fingers straightened, unsure what Castiel was doing. But when Dean realised turning his hand was all Castiel was doing, Dean held on again. Their fingers laced together. Slowly. Hesitantly. Like neither was sure that was right, like maybe they arranged their hands wrong, or this was a mistake they were prepared to undo immediately and never speak of again.
Except their fingers settled in place between each other’s knuckles, and their wrists relaxed. Castiel’s knee provided a firm table for their united hands.
Castiel looked over at Dean, only to see Dean frowning in confusion at the stars.
“What?” Castiel asked.
In silence, Dean looked back. He took a short breath like he was ready to speak. However, after only the faintest crackle escaped his throat, the worry in his eyes paused, then faded. His mouth pressed in a soft line, and soon quirked up on one side. His gaze lowered to Castiel’s cheeks. “You feel better now?” he asked.
Castiel shrugged. The exchange had become a trend.
Dean breathed out, like a laugh that never came into being. His eyes shone with the kind of emotion that Castiel remembered feeling, once. He felt a tickle of it, now. More than a tickle – a beam. Straight from his strangled heart, breaking the clay shell and pouring forth a tight stream of white lava, goodness and purity and love.
Castiel eyed the shape of their hands together, and he felt – yes... – happiness. Just a little bit.
“Hey... Cas?” Dean said, asking questions without using any words. Castiel met his eyes and asked different ones back.
Their gaze held steady, and they both answered each other. The light in Castiel shone the tiniest bit brighter.
With a puff of nervous breath, Dean lowered his eyes to Castiel’s lips. Castiel sensed his urge to look around, to check if anyone could see. But, besides perhaps a curious owl, there was nobody watching. Even the ubiquitous eyes of God were firmly closed. Dean had no eyes to fear except his own.
So he closed them before he leaned in.
Castiel parted his lips as Dean’s touch met his; Dean pushed too softly, scared his love wasn’t welcome. Castiel allayed his fear on instinct, pushing and tilting his head, his free hand rising to take Dean’s neck at the side. Dean was flushing hot, his searing skin soft and scar-lined against Castiel’s bristly jaw.
Dean’s breathing became uncontrolled, forgetting how; air stuttered between their kissing lips, a rush of cold, then hot and humid. Castiel sensed long, curled eyelashes against his cheek, then fluttering on his eyebrow. Dean kissed Castiel’s upper lip, a hand firm over his ear, intensifying the roar of blood pounding in Castiel’s head. Beat, beat, beat, in time with his eager smooches against Dean’s plush lip line.
Pulling each other in for more (one more, one more), they ended up coiled chest-to-chest, thighs apress, Dean’s unlaced boot lounging against Castiel’s slippered foot, gently sliding the slipper away. The moment it dropped to the ground, Castiel stretched his toes against Dean’s ankle, taking pleasure in the peculiar intimacy.
Dean faded into a trance, the good kind of uncaring. He trusted Castiel to kiss him now; he let Castiel drive the connection, in charge of turning their heads, nosing his cheek to encourage him to part his lips again. He kept his eyes closed, no longer out of fear, but because he was confident Castiel would be gentle with him, and had no need of supervision.
Castiel now knew, definitively, that this was good. He felt good, and bright like a star inside. Maybe happiness would only last for these moments, maybe he’d go back to being entertained only by an animated insurance-company lizard and a trained dog limping on the wrong paw, but at least for now, he’d done something great for himself. Dean had helped more than he even knew.
When Castiel did finally break the kiss, he chuckled, seeing the dazed, happy look in Dean’s eyes, and the night-faded colour high in his cheeks. Dean sucked on his bottom lip, embarrassed, but obviously thrilled.
After a moment, Dean’s tongue separated his lips, which were now puffy and even more attractive than ever before. “H-How’d you feel?” he asked, lowly. “Better now?”
Castiel managed the smallest, most humble smile. “A little. Yes.” He closed his eyes and kissed Dean’s cheek. “Thank you.”
Dean smiled, but it didn’t light his eyes completely. “That— Um... Cas.” He struggled to speak, but unlike Castiel, he eventually managed to find the right words, and summoned the courage to speak them aloud. “We sh-should do that again. A lot. I mean, just in case you thought— Just in case. It’s not just for now.”
Castiel smiled back, proud of Dean for being so eloquent in the face of potential calamity. “I’d be glad if kissing was a regular occurrence for us, Dean.”
This time, Dean said nothing. He made a soft sound of self-assurance, however, and smiled to himself, chin down to his chest. Relief. Joy.
How precious he was. And how happy he made Castiel – even when Castiel had been convinced there was no other way to feel besides empty, and hadn’t even considered he was missing something. He’d forgotten. And now he remembered.
That darkness, the all-consuming nothingness and apathy, it was only his perception. Emptiness was a symptom of his sickness; it was not the world. The whole universe was full of majestic wonder, even if there were massive voids between each spectacle. And even the most insignificant human life could be made fantastic, too, if only someone were to look in the right place. Castiel needed to remember that. There could be moments of joy, even in a time of deep shadows.
Mostly in silence, Dean promised to help him remember that. With another kiss lighting a spark in Castiel’s heart, he promised.
Arm in arm, hand in hand, and thigh to thigh, they pressed close, with Dean’s cheek on Castiel’s shoulder. Together, they turned their eyes upward to watch the stars.
· · · ♥ · · ·