Jess. 22. Texan.
Stumbling through adulthood and willing to talk to anyone about anything. I do a lot of shipping and a lot of writing.
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I’m afraid I will want to kill myself.
The words rang in Dean’s ears, loud and obnoxious and so startling he could feel his chest tighten in panic.
Suicide wasn’t a concept unfamiliar to Dean Winchester, the man who started the apocalypse, the man who strung up and tortured because it was better to hurt than to be hurt. He was the man who saved lives by killing and knew no matter how many innocents he saved, there would be more and more waiting to be sacrificed. He could never purge his soul of his sins.
But he was human. Flawed. It was expected.
Cas? Cas was an angel. HIs angel. Righteous and pure and strong and unfailing in his faith—whether it was in Dean or Heaven or in Team Free Will. He wasn’t supposed to be like Dean, he was supposed to be better.
He cleared his throat, which was dry and his mouth tasted like ash. Cas sat on the opposite bed—Dean’s bed—eye’s wide and body open, vulnerable and scared. Dean never thought of Cas as small until now.
Dean got up from the bed and came to sit down next to his angel, Castiel’s eyes tracking his every movement.
It was the first time they had been alone, truly alone, since they had been out of Purgatory. Even know, feeling the heat radiating off of the man beside him, Dean could recall cold nights in Purgatory, wrapped in a dirty trench coat with a comforting hand running through his hair, a gentle hum of Hey Jude ringing in his ear.
Cas had comforted him in Purgatory, even when Dean hadn’t spoken out loud of how scared he was. It was Dean’s turn to, for once, offer comfort to the man—angel—that had done so much for him.
"Cas. Listen to me." His voice was clear and strong, never wavering. He needed Cas to listen, to believe. "You did a lot of bad things, man." Cas’ eyes dropped, shoulders slumping. Dean reached a hand out to rest on his shoulder, fingers gripping tight, anchoring the angel to reality.
"But man, look around. Look how safe you are here. With me. With Sam. We’ve all done some fucked up shit, we’ve all killed and maimed and turned. But I forgave you, Sam forgave you, so long ago." He felt Cas’ muscles tense beneath his hand. He scooted closer and pulled John’s journal from his hands and placed it on the stand beside the bed.
Dean’s thighs and legs now pressed against Castiel’s, his voice low and intimate. He could see Cas’ head dip closer towards him, straining to listen.
"We’re still fighting. We’re still hoping and praying that one day, we’ll be enough. You think I didn’t want to end my life? You think I didn’t hate myself when you pulled me out of that hellhole?" Cas opened his mouth, as if to say, Yes, Dean. I know everything about you. but Dean hurried on, desperate to get everything out, desperate to get Castiel to understand how important he was.
Dean leaned close and pressed his lips to Castiel’s cheek—now smooth and stubble free. Castiel gasped at the contact and Dean felt a returning pressure on his lips. Cas was pressing his cheek further into the warmth of Dean’s lips and mouth, soaking up the contact.
Dean pulled away and rested his forehead on his angel’s.
"I need you, Cas. I told you once in Purgatory and I’ll tell you again, now. I need you and I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose you again. So, please, I’m begging you man,” he took a deep breath, “Stay. Just stay with me. Trust me. Trust Sam. We will take care of you. But, killing yourself? You can’t. You just can’t.”
Castiel’s breath hitched and he nodded slowly, the skin of his forehead rubbing against Dean’s, his hair falling and tickling Dean’s head.
Dean grinned, relieved. “Promise me.”
A pink tongue came out to swipe against even pinker lips, wetting them and alleviating a bit of the chapped skin there. His voice came out low and gravelly as usual and it sent a thrill through Dean, as it always had since the moment the angel first spoke in the middle of an abandoned barn.
"I promise, Dean."
Dean leaned forward and pressed his lips to Castiel’s, tongue sweeping across the seam of his lips, begging once more, this time for entrance into the warmth and safety of Castiel’s mouth. With a groan, Cas opened for him and brought his hands from Dean’s thigh to card through his hair, an imitation of a gesture Dean thought had stopped since their nights in Purgatory.
Just as Cas let out a little whine when Dean deepened this kiss, inviting tongue and teeth and sharp bites into the mix, Dean pulled away, brushing soft, uncharacteristically gentle kisses along Castiel’s cheek, upper lip, nose, eyebrow, forehead, ears, any bit of skin he could find.
It was reverent and gently and worshipful.
Dean’s voice rumbled across his skin, “I promise you, Cas. When I’m done with you, you’ll feel so fucking worthy, so safe and at home, you’ll never leave. Never. You won’t forget, we can’t forget, can we? But the pain will fade, the sins will feel less heavy. Just stay. Stay.”
Castiel’s hands tugged at Dean’s head, pulling him up to connect their lips once more. It spoke to everything he was afraid to say. Yes, Dean. I’ll stay, Dean. Fix me, Dean. Help me, Dean.
As Dean continued to brush warm lips on even warmer skin, Dean heard his angel’s cry for help in every tug and grip of his fingertips. He couldn’t help but think that they would continue to save each other, fix each other, heal each other.
For now, though, Dean was content to have a lapful of pliant angel in his arms and his family—however broken—back together. At least for a little while.