I AM SO SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG OKAY I HAVE NO EXCUSE I AM SORRY. Think of it like S6 okay it's going to pick up later but for now you'll have to bear with me I am so so so sorry okay I am sorry.
Castiel never wants it to end – he could spent forever sliding his fingers through Dean's hair, tilting his head into the welcoming press of Dean's mouth, feel the first tentative stroke of Dean's warm hand down his spine until his knees feel like he's going to melt into the floor.
And then catches up with him – his lungs are burning and he needs air or he's probably going to pass out. Not the smoothest way to have a first kiss. So he pulls away, places his mouth against Dean's jaw instead and just listens to him breathe. Dean is warm, so unbelievably warm like the heat of a fire in winter, and Castiel just wants to bury himself into Dean and never come back out.
He takes in a deep breath, soothing his burning lungs, and leans back, looking up into Dean's face. The Winchester boy's eyes are closed, his lips slightly swollen and flushed and wet on the inside, slightly parted so Castiel can see his teeth. His cheeks are flushed too. He looks gorgeous, Castiel never wants to let him go.
"Dean…" he starts, but his voice goes soft and his mouth is dry and he has nothing to say.
"What changed?" Dean asks, eyes fluttering open, emotive green eyes so wide and bright that for a moment all Castiel can do is stare. What he would give to just stay like this for a little longer, but that question – the harsh truth of the answer. It won't last long.
"Nothing," he confesses, knowing the truth now will be better than any lie he can concoct. "Nothing has changed. That's why it's selfish. That's why I can't -."
"Shut up," Dean snaps, but he's smiling a little bit and already leaning in and, damn it, Castiel doesn't want to fight it. So he doesn't – he tilts his head again and closes his eyes and lets Dean's kiss speak for him; he doesn't want to go. Doesn't want this moment to end. He will, but that doesn't mean he has to like it.
He doesn't know how they end up going from kissing in front of the altar to collapsing over one another on one of the long pews, Dean pinned underneath Castiel as the older teen straddles his thighs, tries to get some purchase on the smooth and narrow seats and instead finds it in Dean's clothing, locking on and holding tight as Dean manages to prop himself up enough that Castiel can comfortably sit in his lap without either of them falling on their asses.
"Dean," Castiel gasps, feeling lust flare down his spine like a hand is scratching it into his spine, taking a hold of his spine and tugging hard, setting him alight. He hasn't felt this way since…well, since ever, really. Sex had lost most of its flare for Castiel but Dean seemed to just set it all alight again. He feels like he's shaking, he might be shaking, can't quite tell, but Dean's breathing unsteadily beneath him and he feels really, really warm and if Castiel tilts his hips just the right way…
There it is. He can feel Dean thickening up beneath him, rolls his hips to get better friction for Dean just to hear the younger boy gasp, Dean's strong hands wrapping around Castiel's skinny hips, the spurs of his hipbones fit so nicely there too, until Dean's hands move further back against his spine and splay out wide, pulling him closer until Dean has to tilt his head right back and Castiel can't feel a single part of himself that isn't touching Dean in some way.
And Dean's grinding back up against him, teeth sinking into Castiel's lower lip to feel him shiver, his breath picking up and Castiel can feel his heartbeat racing underneath his palm, and then Dean's stroking through his hair and it feels so damn good, being wanting like this, touched as though he actually means something to the person touching him. Kind of novel, really.
But… "Dean…" Castiel pulls back, then, partially because he needs more air, and partially because… "We can't. Not here." Not yet, he wants to say, never wants to feel as though some nameless faceless God is watching him with this look of disapproval and disgust, or even admiration – fuck any God he has to earn the love of. He's not even sure he wants to go that far with Dean…not yet, anyway; the wounds are too raw and too real and to be honest now that they've slowed down, the proximity is making him tremble for an entirely different reason.
He takes a deep breath and focuses on Dean's face to rid himself of those feelings.
Dean is biting his lower lip, looking up to Castiel's face, before his eyes widen and he lets go immediately, Castiel sliding off of him without a word. "Sorry, Cas," he murmurs, looking down and flushing with shame. Of course Castiel wouldn't want him…here. Not with Michael's stain still so obviously on him. He rubs his palms onto the tops of his thighs, breathing deep to try and slow his heart rate down, calm his breathing. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize," Castiel whispers in reply, sitting next to Dean on the pew. "I very rarely let myself get carried away."
Dean's not sure if that's an absolution or an excuse on Castiel's part, but he doesn't ask either. He stands, and together they switch off the sound system and leave the quiet church to return home.
The silence in Dean's car is almost uncomfortable to Castiel – they don't even have the radio on, and they always have the radio on, Dean singing along to every song that comes on like he has every one committed to memory, even if he doesn't know the words.
They pull up in front of the Winchester house and Dean cuts the engine, making to get out of the car, but Castiel's hands on his thigh stops him.
He freezes. "What is it, Cas?" he asks, face so open and honest and Castiel feels like some dirty stain on his brightness, his goodness. Selfish and dirty and awful.
"I…" He pauses, swallows, searches Dean's bright eyes for something, anything, to tell him that what he's feeling is justified – at least if Dean hated him he would be able to acknowledge that. But…God, his head is so messed up. What is it about this boy that just turns him upside-down? "I'm sorry."
"You keep apologizing," Dean says, smiling a little and shaking his head. "You've done nothing wrong." He closes the door again, settling back into the front seat of the Impala, arm slung over the bench seat again like he's so relaxed when Castiel feels like he's stretched tighter than a bowstring.
Castiel just watches him, for a long moment, jaw clenching and unclenching as he thinks of what to say – but there isn't anything to say. How much he wishes that Balthazar were with him, to provide a safe house and guidance for his confused mind. Instead he sighs, and turns away to get out of the car, Dean following him inside.
Mary is there to greet them both, smiling a little as she finishes packing the leftovers of her prepared breakfast into Tupperware to put away, and Castiel feel another stab of guilt when he sees the food, knowing she was making it for him only to have him ditch her to go make out with and defile her son. "Castiel," she says, stumbling over the name for a moment, "your father's attorney called. A Mr. Crowley. He wants to meet with you."
"On a Saturday?" Castiel asks, raising an eyebrow as Dean walks forward and takes the Tupperware from his mother and, instead of putting it in the fridge, stuffs it into the microwave for a few seconds, easy as anything. Like nothing has changed. Like his entire world hasn't been flipped on its edge.
Maybe it hasn't for him. Maybe Castiel doesn't mean anything.
He swallows and tries to pay attention to what Mary is telling him. "You're the closest relative to settle his affairs. He wouldn't say anything more," she says with a one-shoulder shrug. "If you'd like I'm sure John or Dean could drive you if it's not on a school day. His number's on the fridge."
"Thank you," Castiel says, and sure enough, scribbled on a post-it note is 'Mr. Crowley' followed by an office number. Castiel takes it and folds it into his pocket. He's not sure he can deal with a lawyer right now, so soon – damn, sharks work fast – and he has a lot to think about. "I'll call him later."
He runs upstairs without another word, not hungry anymore, and up into the attic. The soundtrack he'd burned is still playing, now Not That Girl just starting up and he swallows, turning the CD player off. That song had been cut from the musical anyway because Chuck hadn't been able to reword it enough to make it work. Besides most of the lion, tin man and scarecrow part was being omitted anyway. Castiel has to wonder, just for a second, if the whole musical hadn't merely been an attempt to see if they could, rather than because anyone really wanted to do that particular play.
He sighs again, running a hand through his hair. He wants to call Bal, but twice in one week? Talk about needy. His friend would give him no end of grief for it. This is what happens when he has too much time to think about his life – at least when his father had been alive it had been simple. Not very pleasant, but pretty damn simple. Now…God, how can he feel like the luckiest man in the world and at the same time want nothing more than to die?
He runs his hands through his hair again, sitting down and resting his back against this ugly teal upright piano the Winchesters have in their attic, and only lifts his head when he hears footsteps coming up to join him. The dark hair marks the newcomer as not Dean or Sam, and Castiel sighs out a large breath when he sees Ruby joining him next to the piano.
"Do you need the space?" he asks, figuring she had come up here to practice and that he should leave.
Ruby shakes her head. "Dean thought you were upset." Castiel can't help but smile. He used to be better at hiding this sort of thing. "I thought maybe you would want to talk."
"I have nothing to say," he replies, lifting his head and sighing, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "What could I possibly say?"
She pauses. "Whatever you want, Cas. You can do that, now."
Whatever he wants. What a dangerous thing – freedom, free will. He sighs again, running his hands through his hair once more, then down over his face. It still smarts a little but most of it is more aesthetic than anything else anymore – his father rarely had hit to actually debilitate him. It was more of a perk than an intention.
"I want to stay," he whispers, admits to the quiet of the Winchesters' attic and this slight little girl who is so much like him and so much stronger in ways he could never be. He admires Ruby, so much, and knows she'll do so much with her life, and be happy. If only he could just be happy. "But I have to go. I've…I've always said that I'll go, that I'll get away, but what is there to get away from now? Where am I running where I can't find it right here? And what if it doesn't work out – what if I leave but there's nothing out there for me – what if I stay and it's the opposite? I just…God damn it, things were so simple and now they're just so fucked up."
"It's gonna be okay, Cas," Ruby murmurs, setting a hand on his shoulder and he wants to ask her how – how, how can it possibly be okay? He's going to ruin them, assuming they care enough about him for him to ruin them at all.
Maybe he doesn't. Maybe Dean's just letting him 'have this' because he knows he's going to leave. Maybe Dean's so Goddamn used to being used that he doesn't even care anymore, will let anyone with any kind of desire for him just use him and leave him for the next better thing.
"How do you know?" he asks instead of all the other things he wants to ask – she's not the right person for it, anyway. She's only fifteen, for God's sake.
He can hear her smile; "I have faith."
He snorts. Faith. "Yeah, well…" He rubs his hand over his mouth, wincing at the tug on the sore muscles in his face, and licks his lips. He imagines he can still taste Dean in his mouth. "It's not going to happen tomorrow, is it? And I'll be eighteen soon."
"How soon?" Ruby asks, curious as she turns her body to face him, leaning forward to rest their shoulders together and he smiles, resting his head on hers. Not for the first time, he wishes he had a little sister or brother, someone to be stupid and innocent, something for him to live for and fight for rather than just himself. Maybe his father would have been better if there had been more than just the two of them. Maybe he'd have been worse.
"January fourth. I was a prom night baby," he says with a snort of derision and a roll of his eyes. "At least I assume I was."
"Were your parents that young?" she asks, surprised.
"You'd have to be," is all he says in reply, shifting away from her again. His parents, he'd always assumed they'd been young when they conceived him. What happened to his mother he doesn't know – maybe she went off to college, maybe she fled back to her family, or maybe nothing happened to her and she just forgot. Doesn't matter anymore – Castiel has intention or desire to track her down. He'd have run away too, if he could.
"We'll have to throw you a party. Eighteen's a big number," she says, pushing herself to her feet and dusting off the backs of her jeans where she had been sitting. Castiel just manages a smile. "Mom told me to remind you to call that lawyer guy – I think maybe the bank doesn't wanna wait too long before taking care of the will. I guess." She shrugs. "Law's more Sam's thing, I think."
"What do you want to be when you grow up, Ruby?" Castiel asks, partly because he's curious, partly because he wonders what normal kids desire out of live, rather than just to be alive.
She smiles, and shrugs one shoulder – the Winchester shrug. "I wanna take care of kids," she says, of course she does, she probably gets that from Mary. "Like maybe a primary school teacher or a kindergarten worker or something."
"You'd make a good one," he says, because he means it but he also has nothing else to say.
Ruby just smiles at him. "Stop stalling," she says, "and start sorting yourself out."
Yes. Definitely gets it from Mary.