I Need You
Scene: Spoilers for 8x02; Purgatory, after Dean and Benny find Cas on the riverbank.
Rating: T for language and some sexual content
Standard disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing about Supernatural; not the characters, not the concepts, nothing. This story is just an expression of my love for the series. If anyone at the CW sees this, I'm not making any money off it. If you want my ideas, you can have them. Actually yes please take this and put it in Season 8 because reasons.
Dean is angry. Of course, that's not exactly new for him; he's been angry for so long he can't even remember what it felt like to not be pissed about something. And this particular flavor of rage is all too familiar; ever since the double-cross with Crowley, being pissed at Cas has been as natural as breathing.
It's been five days since he and Benny found Cas on the riverbank in Purgatory. Five days of running, hiding, and a series of desperate life-or-death scrambles growing more and more desperate. Dean sighs and tugs at the bandage on his leg, a bloody souvenir from the last fight; one of the Leviathans got too close for comfort before Benny put it down. He really, really hates to admit it, but Cas was right; they were safer separate. That's not the point, though; he grinds his teeth as a fresh wave of anger at the angel sweeps over him. So what if leaving him there really was the best way to keep him safe? So what if the price on Castiel's head makes them a red-hot target for everything nasty that can crawl, run or slither? As if safe means a goddamn thing, even here. Safe was never the priority anyway, not between the two of them, he knew the stupid feathery bastard wasn't exactly caught up on human interactions but how fucking thick do you have to be to realize—
He growls and shakes his head, trying to clear it. No use chasing that train of thought any further, he'll only get himself more worked up. Dean heaves another deep sigh and scratches at the bandage again. He knows he should be worried about the gash getting infected, but it itches, god dammit, and he isn't a model of self-restraint even on his good days. Indulge, that's the Dean Winchester way; if it itches, you scratch. Maybe if they could rest for a while, a solid night without being found and attacked again, Cas could recharge his angel mojo enough to heal it up. At the moment, the days of nearly non-stop violence—following the months before that, with no one to watch his back—have left the angel too drained to heal so much as a papercut.
Dean leans back against the wall of the cave they were hiding in, closing his eyes as most of the anger he feels towards Cas turns into his own personal blend of sympathy and compassion flavored strongly with guilt. The poor little guy really looks worn out…and Dean can't really be too angry at him for not understanding the way things are. After all, he only figured it out himself a few short days ago, when his arms closed around Cas and a sudden flash of clarity had suddenly made it all make sense, what it all meant, exactly why Cas had made him so damn angry by running off to team up with Crowley, why he couldn't forgive him, couldn't let it go, couldn't forgive the betrayal like he forgave Sam over and over and over again…
He looks over at Cas, sitting bent over by the far corner of the cave. He really does look exhausted. And no wonder. Cut off from Heaven, fighting to the death with hordes of "abominations" day in and day out; he's barely said two words to Dean since the riverbank. Dean stops short, frowns. He's hardly looked at him, either. Castiel stared, that was his thing, right? Whether tired, or hurt, or on top of his game, he'd sit there fixing Dean with that intense, way-too-blue, piercing stare that made it seem like they were the only two people in the room. Like Dean was the only real thing in Castiel's vision, the only thing he could see. And now he won't even look at me, Dean thinks; I'm right, dammit, now that I stop and think about it the sonuvabitch hasn't more than glanced at me since the riverbank. Why isn't he staring like usual? He furrows his eyebrows and glares thoughtfully across at the bearded forlorn figure, coming to an abrupt decision.
With a groan, Dean hauls himself upright and lurches across the cave to flop down next to Cas, who startles, looking up briefly in surprise before fixing his gaze back to the ground. Benny cocks one eyebrow, but knows Dean well enough by now to know not to comment—not after the way Dean glares at him. Benny's eyebrows climb higher up his forehead when Dean jerks his head towards the cave entrance in a silent command to Get. Out., but he obeys without any more protest than a sullen snort and a shake of the head.
Dean's trying so hard to figure out how to break the silence he almost jumps out of his skin when Cas does it for him.
"How is your injury?"
"Your leg. You were wounded, during that last fight."
Oh yeah. "It's fine. Well, actually it hurts like a bitch, but, ya know, I've had worse."
Silence stretches back between them, heavy in the air. Dammit. Ah fuck, might as well bite the bullet and get it over with. "Cas, what the hell's going on with you?"
Without looking he can hear the rustle as the angel shifts uncomfortably. "What do you mean?"
Dean exhales sharply, turning to face Castiel. "Dammit, Cas, you know exactly what I mean. Five days we been running together, beating seven kinds of shit out of every kind of nasty, and this is the longest conversation we've had! You said you weren't crazy anymore, so, the fuck is going on in that head?" Instead of replying, the angel turns, facing away from Dean, turning his head to the far low corner, and something inside Dean snaps. He reaches over, grabbing Cas by the lapel of the filthy bloodstained trenchcoat and whipping him around, his hand clenched in a tight fist under the angel's jaw, forcing his face up to stare straight into Dean's. "You won't even freaking look at me anymore! What is going on with you?!"
Cas tries to pull away, tries to shift his gaze away again, but Dean's grip is too tight, holding him steady. He opens his mouth to speak, shuts it in defiance, then abruptly sags in defeat into Dean's strong hold, opens his mouth again, begins to speak, haltingly. "Dean, I…I am ashamed. What I did…joining Crowley, hurting Sam, going 'dark side', as you said, I never…I have not been able to…since I died for my transgressions, and losing my memory and then my mind after my return, I never…sought your forgiveness. The guilt of all I did still weighs me down, and… I turned to Crowley only because of how I care for you. I could not bear to drag you back into the war when you had found such peace…but, your anger, when you discovered my betrayal, my—unholy alliance…Dean, I want you to forgive me, for betraying you, for not…What happened on our arrival to Purgatory, I have no doubt that leaving you that way felt like yet another betrayal, but I swear to you, Dean, I had only your safety in mind. I was trying to…to make amends, to draw the beasts' attention away from you, to lessen your burden. And yet, here I am, putting you in danger once again over my selfish and weak desire to not be alone."
Castiel has built up steam now, Dean tries to interject, to protest, but Cas steamrollers over him in an unstoppable surge of words that, now unleashed, cannot be dammed. "You said you need me, but the truth is that my presence here endangers you; the wound you received earlier today is proof of that. I am a warrior, a Soldier of the Lord, and I should do what must be done, I should leave you to survive without me and draw the fire of the Abomination to let you escape, but somehow I cannot. I am weak and cursed and when you said you needed me, when you said you would not leave without me, that we would fight side by side against whatever threat came, I knew then. When I said "I understand", what I understood was that I could never leave you again. That I would stay by your side, through everything, that I would never, ever leave you. Even if it meant your death. And I am ashamed of my weakness. That I cannot do what I must to fulfill my role as your guardian."
Following Castiel's outburst, silence rolls back in around them, heavy and dark. In the suffocating silence, Dean feels the rage building back up inside of him, beginning as a hot stone burning in his gut and building up pressure as the heat moves up into his chest and explodes in his throat with a low and vicious growl as the last vestige of his patience shatters. He grabs the smaller man with both hands by the collar of his coat and surges to his feet, dragging Cas along with him. He shakes the unresisting angel like a rag doll; the pain in his leg rises, but Dean is oblivious to everything except the burning anger inside him and the burning blue eyes that are finally, finally, fixed on his. Dean's anger finally solidifies into a conscious thought and he punctuates each word with a vicious shake. "You…Fucking…IDIOT!" He knows he should be quieter, knows there are things outside, things hunting them, things that could hear him, but he's too far gone to care.
"You stupid son of a bitch. That's what this crap is about? You're ashamed of yourself, because you're staying with me instead of fucking off somewhere to get yourself killed and take the heat off me? Because you never made amends for betraying me, years ago, running off with Crowley?" Dean pulls Cas's face in close, inches away. "Let me explain this to you. You know why I was so pissed? Why I just couldn't forgive you for what you did, for making that deal with Crowley?" He exhales sharply in frustration, looking down momentarily and tightening his grip on the angel's lapel as he locks his gaze back on those impossibly blue eyes. "Dammit, Cas…Didn't you ever wonder why I kept calling you? I knew you were busy, I knew you had your own stuff to do, but every time I had a problem, I called you up, first thing, made you come down and take care of it; and you never wondered why? I dunno, maybe you just thought I was too stupid to realize you had other problems, or I was just too selfish to care. Maybe I am just selfish. Either way, no matter how much you gave, I always wanted more. You freakin' fell from Grace for me, and I kept asking you for more. No matter how many times I called, it never stopped me from calling again. That wasn't an accident, Cas."
Dean loosens his grip on the filthy trenchcoat, his voice and face softening as he straightens up. Castiel takes advantage of the drop in intensity to shift his gaze back to the floor.
"Don't you get it? Cas, you're mine."
Dean can feel the shock run through Cas's body as the angel tenses up, his eyes flying back to Dean's face. "I…I don't understand."
"What's so damn complicated? You're mine. As in, you belong to me." Frustrated by the angel's confusion, Dean grabs a new handful of trenchcoat to stop Cas, now rigid, from pulling away. "You. Are. Mine. Property of Dean. No matter how much you gave for me, I never hesitated to ask you to give again. No matter how tired, how bloody you got, how much pain you went through, I kept asking for whatever you had left because you are mine, every drop. Can't feel bad about asking for something you own anyway. And here's where it gets hairy, 'cause Cas, the thing you never got is that it goes both ways. I'm yours, Cas. Have been since the moment we met. That one bitchy angel, the blonde chick from your garrison, she saw it. The moment you laid a hand on me in Hell, we were tied together. Profound bond, just like you said. And you…you didn't feel it. You said you went to Crowley instead of me for help because you didn't want to ask me for more after I'd given so much, right? Well, that's bullshit. There's no limits, Cas, not with us. No matter how much I give for you, you should always ask for more, 'cause I'm yours, down to the last damn drop. Whatever I got left, you take. Except you didn't feel it. That…bond, or whatever the hell you want to call it, when you teamed up with Crowley instead of pulling me back in, that told me that you didn't feel that connection the same way I did. That I was yours, but you didn't want me to be. And that was what I couldn't forgive, Cas. Not the demon deal; shit, Sam and I have pulled that crap so many times it's not even a big deal anymore. Hell, here I am running around new best friends with Benny, and he's a freaking vampire. But you not taking what I had left to give, not taking me for granted the way I took you so many times…I couldn't forgive that."
That's gotta be the longest speech I've ever given, Dean thinks, swallowing hard; he's run out of words, if Cas still doesn't understand he's gonna just fucking give up because if "I am yours and you are mine" isn't clear enough then he's out of ideas. But no, there's comprehension there in the haggard, dirty face in front of him, understanding dawning and…something else? This new wave of realization breaks over Dean and stuns him with an electric shock as his whole world rearranges to make room for this new knowledge of the exact nature of the bond between him and his angel. It's easier than he would have thought to come to terms with; the momentary objections of his prejudice and disgust are swiftly overridden, and acceptance follows swift on their heels. And there is his angel, stunning blue eyes fixed on his, mere inches away…
Ah, hell. If it itches, you scratch.
He sees Castiel's lips part to begin forming some response and in an instant he closes the gap between them. The kiss is angry, aggressive, possessive, domineering; Dean forces his tongue into Cas's mouth in an act born more of anger than love. He can feel the angel—HIS angel—freeze in momentary confusion and then tighten, shocked; Castiel tries to pull away but there's no way in hell Dean's stopping now, he's got the bit between his teeth and a deathgrip on Cas's coat. He can feel the shock ebb away out of his angel's body, to be replaced by—if that pressure on his leg is what he thinks it is—desire. Cas returns his kiss with the desperation of a drowning man, awkward and clumsy and grasping, mirroring Dean's motions with his mouth as he snakes one arm under Dean's grasp to wrap around his waist under his coat, the other seeking his shoulder to latch with a vise-like grip tight enough to bruise on the mark he left there, the tangible proof of their bond, the handprint from their first meeting when the Angel of the Lord raised his Righteous Man from Hell.
Dean moans with pleasure and throws Cas roughly across the few feet to the cave wall. He hits the wall with a thud but he doesn't even have time to blink before Dean is on him again, his muscular thigh driving Cas's legs apart. One hand knotted in Castiel's hair, one hand sliding up under his shirt, as a swift kiss on the mouth leads to biting his lower lip, his earlobe, down the side of his neck to the curve of his shoulder, pushing the trenchcoat and shirt back as Dean grinds his pelvis slowly and rhythmically into Cas's groin. Dean is dimly aware that Castiel's hand has found the print on his shoulder again, and the sound of Cas's low rasp moaning his name directly into his ear is enough to vaporize the last microscopic shred of restraint he had left. He remembers himself just long enough to kiss Castiel properly, slow and sweet and gentle this time, and whisper "I love you" into his ear before they're gone, adrift on a sea of desire, inextricably linked as they devour each other, down to the last drop.
Outside the cave, Benny sits in the rain sulking and wishing to God his hearing wasn't quite so good. Even after the noises stop, he doesn't dare venture back inside until well after dawn.