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Entry tags:
- angst,
- castiel,
- dean,
- dean/castiel,
- one-shot,
- sam,
- sex,
- supernatural
SPN: Broken Like The Day
Fandom: Supernatural
Main characters: Dean, Castiel, Sam
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: Dean/Castiel
Contains: Angst, sex.
Rating: R.
Summary: It's the last day on earth, and Dean has his own ideas about how it's meant to go.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
zelda_zee in the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
deancastiel fic exchange. Authors have been revealed for a while, I just forgot to post...
"This is a damn good burger," Dean says. He makes an appreciative noise as he bites into said burger, closing his eyes in bliss. And it really is a good burger, the best he's had in a long time, and he's goddamn hungry, but he has to lower it a minute later because Sam and Castiel are looking at him like kicked puppies, both of them, and neither of them are even pretending to eat. "Something wrong with your food?"
Sam makes a visible effort to pull himself together, looking down at his salad and picking through it. "No," he says, but quietly, and he obviously has no real interest in it at all. Dean opens his mouth to start on a lecture, except the burger is tasty and still warm and he can lecture once he's had another bite. Or two.
"I don't wish to eat," Castiel says, while Dean's mouth is full and he can't really argue, which he probably did on purpose. Cas is sneaky like that, these days -- he's getting to know Dean far too well, and it was bad enough to begin with, with the way he'd look right into Dean, right past all the masks and the bullshit and into the real Dean. Dean swallows his mouthful of burger, which is actually a bit much to take all at once, and kicks Cas' ankle lightly under the table.
"Come on, man. It's good food."
"I am not hungry."
"Suit yourself," Dean says, and bites into his burger again, a little bit more fiercely. They could at least try.
"I'm not really hungry either," Sam says. He catches Dean's look and shrugs, a tiny smile twisting up a corner of his mouth. "What? I feel kinda sick, s'all. You know how I used to get on long car rides."
And then Castiel has to open up his big mouth. "Feeling sick is understandable, considering what -- "
Dean kicks Castiel under the table again. "Dude, will you just forget about that for five minutes?"
Castiel fixes him with one of those Looks, the ones that deserve capital letters and italics and sometimes bold and underline too. "It is impossible to forget what is happening, Dean. I am sure even you are not actually able to put it out of your mind."
"Watch me," Dean mutters. His stomach is flipping over, though, and the burger is heavy inside him and suddenly tasteless in his mouth. "You couldn't just play along?" he asks, looking up. They're both looking back at him, solemn and apparently determined not to enjoy themselves.
"I am sorry, Dean."
"Yeah, whatever." Dean throws the rest of the burger down on his plate and the other two push their meals away too, like they were just waiting for him. He gets up. "Let's just get on the road again, huh?"
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
Castiel catches Dean's arm, looks into his face again. "You know we cannot outrun this, Dean."
"I'm not tryin' to," Dean says, and shakes him off. "Come on."
---
The road rolls out before them like always, like nothing's ever changed, except maybe for how quiet it is, how few other cars there are around. And sure, sometimes they'll drive for what feels like hours without seeing any other cars, but the whole feeling is off. Dean glances at the other two -- at Sam, asleep in the seat beside him, long legs stretched out as much as possible; at Castiel, sat bolt-upright and still in the back of the Impala, his hands in his lap. He's pretty much the picture of patience, and Dean doesn't buy it for a minute, but he's not going to say so. He's going to keep as much of this peace as he can, the peace that seems like it could go on forever as long as the road does.
Castiel's patience lasts five more minutes, and then he clears his throat pointedly. "Dean?"
"Yeah? Need me to pull over so you can take a leak or something, Cas?"
There's a short, disapproving silence, and Dean smiles to himself. It's not a real smile, but it'll do. This'll do. He keeps driving until Castiel huffs out a breath, sounding very humanly exasperated. "Dean. We're wasting time."
"What else were you planning to do? Got an urgent date or something?"
"Dean..."
"Look, there's nothing else to do. We might as well try to enjoy this day. I wanted some good food and to drive, Sam wanted things to be like normal. You chose to hang round with us."
"I wanted to be with you for this day," Castiel says, softly, far too seriously. "I wanted to spend this time with you."
"Well, then," Dean says, with as much finality as he can. But Cas carries on, of course.
"We haven't got much time left, Dean."
"Cas, we're not supposed to be talking about -- "
"There are things I want to tell you, Dean. Things I need to tell you."
"I know," Dean says, and tries to ignore the flipping of his stomach and the heaviness in his chest, the heaviness all over that's weighing him down. He keeps driving, staring straight out at the front, at the road. "I know, Cas."
Which seems to be enough to shut him up, for now.
---
It's nearly dark already when he stops. Sam's been conscious for a while, but Dean wouldn't exactly call it awake. He punches his brother lightly in the shoulder as he parks the car. "C'mon, Sammy. We're going to sleep somewhere half-decent tonight."
Sam peels his eyes open again and rubs them, peering up at the hotel. "Dude. No way we can afford this."
Dean gives him a look. "Does it matter now? C'mon." He gets out of the car and stretches luxuriously, joints popping. Cas gets out too and just stands there watching the two of them while Sam unfolds himself out of the car. Dean shrugs at the look Sam's still giving him. "If tomorrow's the big showdown, game over, insert coin, then we might as well go out with a bang."
Sam snorts softly. "I'm too tired to go out with a bang."
"I'm not," Dean says, and winks at him, which makes Sam roll his eyes in that obnoxious little brother way he has.
"I'm gonna have a separate room, then."
Dean nods. Castiel doesn't say a word as he follows them inside, or while he sorts out the rooms, or even until Sam has walked off to go find his room. Dean wishes him well of it -- sleeping isn't exactly the way he'd choose to spend his last night on earth, even if he was bone-tired, but Sammy needs some sleep and he might as well be fresh to face what's coming.
"Dean," Castiel says, quietly, and he turns to face him. "What did you mean for me to do?"
Dean looks at him, then, properly, holding the silence for a moment to look him over and look into his eyes, taking note of the tired and strained look, taking note of the affection there, and the confusion. He slings his arm around Castiel's shoulders, then, and tugs him along. "Thought you'd want to spend the time with me," he says, light enough that Cas can say no, soft enough that he can say anything else he wants. Cas makes a little noise of surprise and then, awkwardly, leans into him a little -- which isn't comfortable, but it's still nice, in a way.
"I do," he says. He looks dazed. Dean waits until they're in the room to kiss him, because he knows he's not going to want to stop.
---
He kind of lost track of things after the kiss. Castiel was eager, is eager, his hands everywhere, his mouth everywhere -- amazed every time Dean touches him, biting his lip and pushing into each touches, clumsy and perfect. How they got out of their clothes, Dean isn't sure -- and Cas still has his shirt on, albeit undone and half off one shoulder, and Dean still has his socks on, which feels just a little bit ridiculous but doesn't matter. He lets himself get lost in it because there's no point in memorising every moment. It's not like they'll have time to remember it afterwards.
He has to push the shirt off the other shoulder, kiss that new bare skin, tug the shirt down Castiel's arms and get it off, because he needs -- he needs to feel Castiel's skin against his, as much skin as possible, he needs to know every inch of him. He can't take this with him, they can't take this away from this hotel room -- he has to have everything now, has to have it all, needs it.
"Dean," Castiel whispers, touching Dean's face, and Dean has to stop and turn his face into it and close his eyes against the tenderness in Cas' voice, his face, his eyes. There are tremors running through his body -- or through Dean's, or through both -- and he feels so good, like they're made to fit together like this. Dean never wants it to stop. He moves slow, as slow as he can bear, and it's stupid but there are tears in his eyes that he doesn't bother to hold back, and salt on his lips that Castiel tastes -- chases, licking away with his tongue and then kissing, and it makes Dean want to break apart. He is breaking apart, with nothing but Castiel to hold him together.
"Cas," he whispers back, finally, into the thick closeness, and touches him too -- his chest, his stomach, hip, everywhere. He presses them together, as close as they can be, and tries to keep up that slow pace, against all instinct and habit. Castiel's fingers are in his hair, on the back of his neck, digging into his shoulders, and this -- this is what he's always wanted, this, forever and ever, amen.
---
Their hotel room is dark, now, except for Castiel's own light. Somehow, Dean isn't surprised to see it -- or the outlines of wings, arching up over them, sheltering, hiding. He wants to touch them, but he also wants to lie still and not move, there in Castiel's arms. Wants to just watch, watch Castiel's own light creeping over their bodies. Wants to lie there in the shelter of his wings and be safe, just for this night.
Cas sees his look, though, and shifts close to them. "We're so close to the end now that everything is changing. You'll begin to see the true nature of everything."
"You'll find out that I'm a bastard, if you didn't realise that before, then," Dean says, trying to be light, trying so hard, but Castiel holds him closer.
"You shine, Dean," he says, very quietly, against the stubble-rough curve of his jaw. A secret, just for them. "You shine so bright."
Dean closes his eyes. "We're not meant to be talking about this, anyway," he says, though his throat is tight and he aches.
"What should we talk about, then?"
"Tell me what you meant to tell me in the car," Dean says, and then stops Cas' mouth with his own before he starts to speak. "Not like that. Like this," he says, barely more than a breath, because now really isn't the time for words. He guides Cas' hands to his body again, rolls on top of him and looks down into his face. Words aren't enough in the face of this, but this -- this language, of their bodies, of their hands and the soft noises that mean nothing, this is almost enough.
Not quite, because nothing is enough, in the face of the growing dawn outside the windows.
Main characters: Dean, Castiel, Sam
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: Dean/Castiel
Contains: Angst, sex.
Rating: R.
Summary: It's the last day on earth, and Dean has his own ideas about how it's meant to go.
Notes: Written for
zelda_zee in the deancastiel fic exchange. Authors have been revealed for a while, I just forgot to post..."This is a damn good burger," Dean says. He makes an appreciative noise as he bites into said burger, closing his eyes in bliss. And it really is a good burger, the best he's had in a long time, and he's goddamn hungry, but he has to lower it a minute later because Sam and Castiel are looking at him like kicked puppies, both of them, and neither of them are even pretending to eat. "Something wrong with your food?"
Sam makes a visible effort to pull himself together, looking down at his salad and picking through it. "No," he says, but quietly, and he obviously has no real interest in it at all. Dean opens his mouth to start on a lecture, except the burger is tasty and still warm and he can lecture once he's had another bite. Or two.
"I don't wish to eat," Castiel says, while Dean's mouth is full and he can't really argue, which he probably did on purpose. Cas is sneaky like that, these days -- he's getting to know Dean far too well, and it was bad enough to begin with, with the way he'd look right into Dean, right past all the masks and the bullshit and into the real Dean. Dean swallows his mouthful of burger, which is actually a bit much to take all at once, and kicks Cas' ankle lightly under the table.
"Come on, man. It's good food."
"I am not hungry."
"Suit yourself," Dean says, and bites into his burger again, a little bit more fiercely. They could at least try.
"I'm not really hungry either," Sam says. He catches Dean's look and shrugs, a tiny smile twisting up a corner of his mouth. "What? I feel kinda sick, s'all. You know how I used to get on long car rides."
And then Castiel has to open up his big mouth. "Feeling sick is understandable, considering what -- "
Dean kicks Castiel under the table again. "Dude, will you just forget about that for five minutes?"
Castiel fixes him with one of those Looks, the ones that deserve capital letters and italics and sometimes bold and underline too. "It is impossible to forget what is happening, Dean. I am sure even you are not actually able to put it out of your mind."
"Watch me," Dean mutters. His stomach is flipping over, though, and the burger is heavy inside him and suddenly tasteless in his mouth. "You couldn't just play along?" he asks, looking up. They're both looking back at him, solemn and apparently determined not to enjoy themselves.
"I am sorry, Dean."
"Yeah, whatever." Dean throws the rest of the burger down on his plate and the other two push their meals away too, like they were just waiting for him. He gets up. "Let's just get on the road again, huh?"
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
Castiel catches Dean's arm, looks into his face again. "You know we cannot outrun this, Dean."
"I'm not tryin' to," Dean says, and shakes him off. "Come on."
The road rolls out before them like always, like nothing's ever changed, except maybe for how quiet it is, how few other cars there are around. And sure, sometimes they'll drive for what feels like hours without seeing any other cars, but the whole feeling is off. Dean glances at the other two -- at Sam, asleep in the seat beside him, long legs stretched out as much as possible; at Castiel, sat bolt-upright and still in the back of the Impala, his hands in his lap. He's pretty much the picture of patience, and Dean doesn't buy it for a minute, but he's not going to say so. He's going to keep as much of this peace as he can, the peace that seems like it could go on forever as long as the road does.
Castiel's patience lasts five more minutes, and then he clears his throat pointedly. "Dean?"
"Yeah? Need me to pull over so you can take a leak or something, Cas?"
There's a short, disapproving silence, and Dean smiles to himself. It's not a real smile, but it'll do. This'll do. He keeps driving until Castiel huffs out a breath, sounding very humanly exasperated. "Dean. We're wasting time."
"What else were you planning to do? Got an urgent date or something?"
"Dean..."
"Look, there's nothing else to do. We might as well try to enjoy this day. I wanted some good food and to drive, Sam wanted things to be like normal. You chose to hang round with us."
"I wanted to be with you for this day," Castiel says, softly, far too seriously. "I wanted to spend this time with you."
"Well, then," Dean says, with as much finality as he can. But Cas carries on, of course.
"We haven't got much time left, Dean."
"Cas, we're not supposed to be talking about -- "
"There are things I want to tell you, Dean. Things I need to tell you."
"I know," Dean says, and tries to ignore the flipping of his stomach and the heaviness in his chest, the heaviness all over that's weighing him down. He keeps driving, staring straight out at the front, at the road. "I know, Cas."
Which seems to be enough to shut him up, for now.
It's nearly dark already when he stops. Sam's been conscious for a while, but Dean wouldn't exactly call it awake. He punches his brother lightly in the shoulder as he parks the car. "C'mon, Sammy. We're going to sleep somewhere half-decent tonight."
Sam peels his eyes open again and rubs them, peering up at the hotel. "Dude. No way we can afford this."
Dean gives him a look. "Does it matter now? C'mon." He gets out of the car and stretches luxuriously, joints popping. Cas gets out too and just stands there watching the two of them while Sam unfolds himself out of the car. Dean shrugs at the look Sam's still giving him. "If tomorrow's the big showdown, game over, insert coin, then we might as well go out with a bang."
Sam snorts softly. "I'm too tired to go out with a bang."
"I'm not," Dean says, and winks at him, which makes Sam roll his eyes in that obnoxious little brother way he has.
"I'm gonna have a separate room, then."
Dean nods. Castiel doesn't say a word as he follows them inside, or while he sorts out the rooms, or even until Sam has walked off to go find his room. Dean wishes him well of it -- sleeping isn't exactly the way he'd choose to spend his last night on earth, even if he was bone-tired, but Sammy needs some sleep and he might as well be fresh to face what's coming.
"Dean," Castiel says, quietly, and he turns to face him. "What did you mean for me to do?"
Dean looks at him, then, properly, holding the silence for a moment to look him over and look into his eyes, taking note of the tired and strained look, taking note of the affection there, and the confusion. He slings his arm around Castiel's shoulders, then, and tugs him along. "Thought you'd want to spend the time with me," he says, light enough that Cas can say no, soft enough that he can say anything else he wants. Cas makes a little noise of surprise and then, awkwardly, leans into him a little -- which isn't comfortable, but it's still nice, in a way.
"I do," he says. He looks dazed. Dean waits until they're in the room to kiss him, because he knows he's not going to want to stop.
He kind of lost track of things after the kiss. Castiel was eager, is eager, his hands everywhere, his mouth everywhere -- amazed every time Dean touches him, biting his lip and pushing into each touches, clumsy and perfect. How they got out of their clothes, Dean isn't sure -- and Cas still has his shirt on, albeit undone and half off one shoulder, and Dean still has his socks on, which feels just a little bit ridiculous but doesn't matter. He lets himself get lost in it because there's no point in memorising every moment. It's not like they'll have time to remember it afterwards.
He has to push the shirt off the other shoulder, kiss that new bare skin, tug the shirt down Castiel's arms and get it off, because he needs -- he needs to feel Castiel's skin against his, as much skin as possible, he needs to know every inch of him. He can't take this with him, they can't take this away from this hotel room -- he has to have everything now, has to have it all, needs it.
"Dean," Castiel whispers, touching Dean's face, and Dean has to stop and turn his face into it and close his eyes against the tenderness in Cas' voice, his face, his eyes. There are tremors running through his body -- or through Dean's, or through both -- and he feels so good, like they're made to fit together like this. Dean never wants it to stop. He moves slow, as slow as he can bear, and it's stupid but there are tears in his eyes that he doesn't bother to hold back, and salt on his lips that Castiel tastes -- chases, licking away with his tongue and then kissing, and it makes Dean want to break apart. He is breaking apart, with nothing but Castiel to hold him together.
"Cas," he whispers back, finally, into the thick closeness, and touches him too -- his chest, his stomach, hip, everywhere. He presses them together, as close as they can be, and tries to keep up that slow pace, against all instinct and habit. Castiel's fingers are in his hair, on the back of his neck, digging into his shoulders, and this -- this is what he's always wanted, this, forever and ever, amen.
Their hotel room is dark, now, except for Castiel's own light. Somehow, Dean isn't surprised to see it -- or the outlines of wings, arching up over them, sheltering, hiding. He wants to touch them, but he also wants to lie still and not move, there in Castiel's arms. Wants to just watch, watch Castiel's own light creeping over their bodies. Wants to lie there in the shelter of his wings and be safe, just for this night.
Cas sees his look, though, and shifts close to them. "We're so close to the end now that everything is changing. You'll begin to see the true nature of everything."
"You'll find out that I'm a bastard, if you didn't realise that before, then," Dean says, trying to be light, trying so hard, but Castiel holds him closer.
"You shine, Dean," he says, very quietly, against the stubble-rough curve of his jaw. A secret, just for them. "You shine so bright."
Dean closes his eyes. "We're not meant to be talking about this, anyway," he says, though his throat is tight and he aches.
"What should we talk about, then?"
"Tell me what you meant to tell me in the car," Dean says, and then stops Cas' mouth with his own before he starts to speak. "Not like that. Like this," he says, barely more than a breath, because now really isn't the time for words. He guides Cas' hands to his body again, rolls on top of him and looks down into his face. Words aren't enough in the face of this, but this -- this language, of their bodies, of their hands and the soft noises that mean nothing, this is almost enough.
Not quite, because nothing is enough, in the face of the growing dawn outside the windows.