Fic: Pulled From The Wreckage
Jun. 4th, 2010 05:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
guineamaowTitle: Pulled From The Wreckage
Rating: PG
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Gabriel (minor)
Spoilers: very minor for 5.19 and 5.22
Warnings: angst
Word Count: 1,218
Summary: He'd promised Sam that he would try to do this and maybe that's the problem. He's not trying to be normal because he wants to, and it hurts.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Supernatural universe. It is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW Network. This story was not written for profit and no offense is meant to anyone.
Note: Title and inspiration for the fic taken from the Sarah McLachlan song "Angel".
He can't stay with Lisa. The normality she and Ben give his life just remind him too much of Sam and sometimes, he thinks it's going to drive him crazy. He'd promised Sam that he would try to do this and maybe that's the problem. He's not trying to be normal because he wants to, and it hurts because the day he leaves Cicero, Indiana, Dean Winchester feels like he's failed yet again.
For a while, he just drives, only stopping to rest when he's so tired that he can't see straight anymore. When he does stop, it'll be for a few days at a time and he'll just sit in his motel room, drinking straight from a bottle of whatever he'd grabbed at the nearest liquor store. Most of the time, he doesn't know what the bottle contains and after a while, he stops caring. He just wants the pain to stop. Ever since he was four years old, he's had just one job - protect Sam and make sure nothing happens to him. But he can never get even that right. He'd thought he was saving Sam, doing the right thing, when he made that deal and sold his soul, but instead, he'd set Sam down the slippery slope that nearly resulted in the end of the world.
It should have been me. It's all he ever thinks about when memories of the day Sam died creep into his head around the haze of alcohol and sleep-deprivation, because these days, Dean only ever sleeps for three or four hours at a time. Any longer than that and he starts dreaming - about Sam, Bobby, Ellen, Jo…. all the people he's let down over the years. He wakes up from those dreams as harshly as if he'd been dreaming about Hell again and drinks until he passes out or throws up, whichever comes first.
When he finally starts hunting again, Dean only takes on what he thinks will be the most dangerous jobs. Big nests of vampires, werewolves, wraiths, even a few demigods. He manages to fuck himself up pretty badly a few times, but never enough to die. He doesn't exactly want to die, but sometimes…. just sometimes, he wonders if maybe it would be better if he did.
On one hunt, he's not even paying close attention to what he's after. He's just going through the motions of interviews, research, and gathering the weapon necessary to kill the evil son of a bitch. In this case, a stake that's been dipped in the blood of one of its victims. But just when he thinks he's managed to catch the damn thing, there's a flash of light bright enough to cause huge spots in Dean's vision and he stumbles backward, landing on his ass in the middle of a compost pile. It takes a few minutes, but his vision eventually clears and when it does, there's someone standing over Dean, a frown marring their features.
"Dean Winchester. I guess it's true what I've been hearing about you, then?"
Dean tries to get up from the compost pile because this is not a conversation he wants to be having, especially with Gabriel, who should be dead right about now. He's stopped by a foot being planted firmly in the middle of his chest. "And just what have you been hearing? And why are you even alive?"
Gabriel shakes his head. "Don't worry about me. You need to be worrying about yourself right now, Dean. What I've been hearing on the grapevine is that you're in self-destruct mode again. Let me guess, you feel like a complete failure because you couldn't keep your little brother safe and alive." He pauses for a moment, then continues when the only response he gets is Dean looking away. "Dean, your brother was an adult. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself and making his own decisions. You can't blame yourself for every little thing that goes wrong with him or with anyone else, okay? It's not your responsibility. Maybe when you were kids, but not anymore."
Dean kicks out at Gabriel, knowing that it's a bad idea and he'll probably regret it, but then Gabriel falls backward, landing on the ground with an 'oof' as the breath is knocked out of his lungs. He's shocked for a moment that he was actually able to do that, but he doesn't stop to think about why. He just gets up and storms off because yeah, he can blame himself because it is all his fault. He's the one who started this whole thing by making that deal nearly three years ago.
*****
When he gets back to his motel, he starts going through what's become his usual evening routine. Strip down to his boxers, hide a gun under his pillow, then flop down on his bed and drink himself into oblivion. His latest drink of choice is a bottle of what he thinks is spiced rum and he doesn't really like the taste, but it does the job and he's so far gone by the time he sets the bottle down that he thinks he's hearing things. Either that or a damn bird got into his room somehow.
It's another night where he feels sick from all the drinking and he drags the little trash can over to the side of his bed before he lays down, on his side, just in case he does throw up. But after a few minutes, the nausea disappears completely and, much to his surprise, so does most of his drunkenness. What the hell? He starts to reach for the little light by his bed because he can feel it now, that sense of someone else being in the room and it's too damn dark in here, but he's stopped by a gentle hand on his upper arm.
Dean freezes and immediately tries to reach for the gun under his pillow because the someone that's in his room is in the bed with him. But then it hits him - a scent made up of a mixture he's never been able to understand before now. Sandalwood, vanilla, and under that, something else that's so distinct, his bedmate can only be one person. Or rather… one angel.
"Cas?" His voice is a bare whisper, terrified that if he speaks any louder, the angel will disappear or he'll wake up and this will all be a dream.
There's no response at first, but then Castiel is pressing himself against Dean's back and wrapping one arm around the hunter's waist. There's something else there, a light brushing of sensation against his entire side, like a very fine breeze or…. No, it's his wings. One of Cas' wings is draping over him like a blanket.
"Yes, Dean. I'm here now." Cas' voice is equally quiet as he presses a kiss to the back of Dean's neck. "Sleep. Everything's going to be alright."
And for once, Dean actually believes it. He still doesn't have Sam back, but he's not alone and he won't be again. Something in Cas' few words tells him that and for the first time in the year since Sam's death, Dean cries himself to sleep. It's going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Gabriel (minor)
Spoilers: very minor for 5.19 and 5.22
Warnings: angst
Word Count: 1,218
Summary: He'd promised Sam that he would try to do this and maybe that's the problem. He's not trying to be normal because he wants to, and it hurts.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Supernatural universe. It is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW Network. This story was not written for profit and no offense is meant to anyone.
Note: Title and inspiration for the fic taken from the Sarah McLachlan song "Angel".
He can't stay with Lisa. The normality she and Ben give his life just remind him too much of Sam and sometimes, he thinks it's going to drive him crazy. He'd promised Sam that he would try to do this and maybe that's the problem. He's not trying to be normal because he wants to, and it hurts because the day he leaves Cicero, Indiana, Dean Winchester feels like he's failed yet again.
For a while, he just drives, only stopping to rest when he's so tired that he can't see straight anymore. When he does stop, it'll be for a few days at a time and he'll just sit in his motel room, drinking straight from a bottle of whatever he'd grabbed at the nearest liquor store. Most of the time, he doesn't know what the bottle contains and after a while, he stops caring. He just wants the pain to stop. Ever since he was four years old, he's had just one job - protect Sam and make sure nothing happens to him. But he can never get even that right. He'd thought he was saving Sam, doing the right thing, when he made that deal and sold his soul, but instead, he'd set Sam down the slippery slope that nearly resulted in the end of the world.
It should have been me. It's all he ever thinks about when memories of the day Sam died creep into his head around the haze of alcohol and sleep-deprivation, because these days, Dean only ever sleeps for three or four hours at a time. Any longer than that and he starts dreaming - about Sam, Bobby, Ellen, Jo…. all the people he's let down over the years. He wakes up from those dreams as harshly as if he'd been dreaming about Hell again and drinks until he passes out or throws up, whichever comes first.
When he finally starts hunting again, Dean only takes on what he thinks will be the most dangerous jobs. Big nests of vampires, werewolves, wraiths, even a few demigods. He manages to fuck himself up pretty badly a few times, but never enough to die. He doesn't exactly want to die, but sometimes…. just sometimes, he wonders if maybe it would be better if he did.
On one hunt, he's not even paying close attention to what he's after. He's just going through the motions of interviews, research, and gathering the weapon necessary to kill the evil son of a bitch. In this case, a stake that's been dipped in the blood of one of its victims. But just when he thinks he's managed to catch the damn thing, there's a flash of light bright enough to cause huge spots in Dean's vision and he stumbles backward, landing on his ass in the middle of a compost pile. It takes a few minutes, but his vision eventually clears and when it does, there's someone standing over Dean, a frown marring their features.
"Dean Winchester. I guess it's true what I've been hearing about you, then?"
Dean tries to get up from the compost pile because this is not a conversation he wants to be having, especially with Gabriel, who should be dead right about now. He's stopped by a foot being planted firmly in the middle of his chest. "And just what have you been hearing? And why are you even alive?"
Gabriel shakes his head. "Don't worry about me. You need to be worrying about yourself right now, Dean. What I've been hearing on the grapevine is that you're in self-destruct mode again. Let me guess, you feel like a complete failure because you couldn't keep your little brother safe and alive." He pauses for a moment, then continues when the only response he gets is Dean looking away. "Dean, your brother was an adult. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself and making his own decisions. You can't blame yourself for every little thing that goes wrong with him or with anyone else, okay? It's not your responsibility. Maybe when you were kids, but not anymore."
Dean kicks out at Gabriel, knowing that it's a bad idea and he'll probably regret it, but then Gabriel falls backward, landing on the ground with an 'oof' as the breath is knocked out of his lungs. He's shocked for a moment that he was actually able to do that, but he doesn't stop to think about why. He just gets up and storms off because yeah, he can blame himself because it is all his fault. He's the one who started this whole thing by making that deal nearly three years ago.
*****
When he gets back to his motel, he starts going through what's become his usual evening routine. Strip down to his boxers, hide a gun under his pillow, then flop down on his bed and drink himself into oblivion. His latest drink of choice is a bottle of what he thinks is spiced rum and he doesn't really like the taste, but it does the job and he's so far gone by the time he sets the bottle down that he thinks he's hearing things. Either that or a damn bird got into his room somehow.
It's another night where he feels sick from all the drinking and he drags the little trash can over to the side of his bed before he lays down, on his side, just in case he does throw up. But after a few minutes, the nausea disappears completely and, much to his surprise, so does most of his drunkenness. What the hell? He starts to reach for the little light by his bed because he can feel it now, that sense of someone else being in the room and it's too damn dark in here, but he's stopped by a gentle hand on his upper arm.
Dean freezes and immediately tries to reach for the gun under his pillow because the someone that's in his room is in the bed with him. But then it hits him - a scent made up of a mixture he's never been able to understand before now. Sandalwood, vanilla, and under that, something else that's so distinct, his bedmate can only be one person. Or rather… one angel.
"Cas?" His voice is a bare whisper, terrified that if he speaks any louder, the angel will disappear or he'll wake up and this will all be a dream.
There's no response at first, but then Castiel is pressing himself against Dean's back and wrapping one arm around the hunter's waist. There's something else there, a light brushing of sensation against his entire side, like a very fine breeze or…. No, it's his wings. One of Cas' wings is draping over him like a blanket.
"Yes, Dean. I'm here now." Cas' voice is equally quiet as he presses a kiss to the back of Dean's neck. "Sleep. Everything's going to be alright."
And for once, Dean actually believes it. He still doesn't have Sam back, but he's not alone and he won't be again. Something in Cas' few words tells him that and for the first time in the year since Sam's death, Dean cries himself to sleep. It's going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.
