Archive of Our Own ^beta

In this new, broken world, there are good nights, and there are bad nights. There is a whole spectrum, spanning out from the worst of the worst to the ones that are next to perfect. As perfect as it gets, in a reality as cruel as his.

One of the types of a good night is one when Dean comes to him, lonely and looking for an escape. He doesn't say anything, just knocks on the cabin door and looks at his feet, face darkened in shame and fatigue, shoulders slumped and movements slow.

"Hi, Dean," Cas will say on those nights, and he's met with a curt nod. They both know what he is here for, to lose himself, and they both know that Dean doesn't like the before and the after, so he extinguishes the candles with his back to Dean as he undresses, and then Dean messes with the weird stuff on Cas's shelf as he does. Cas crawls under the covers, even if it's hot out, so that they can't see their bodies. Dean will follow, movements jerky and self conscious, but he loosens up as soon as he's on top of Cas and the fallen angel runs his hands down his body, never the face or the neck, but he is allowed to touch Dean's chest and torso and legs and of course Dean won't object to Cas's touch in between his thighs, and then he begins to forget.

Those nights are made infinitely better when Dean takes a while to prepare him, mind elsewhere, after one of their comrades have disappeared or been turned or killed. It's selfish of him, but he doesn't really care about any of their group except for Dean, and by proxy, Bobby. He's seen far too many humans to get attached, it was stupid of him to fall for Dean as a friend and then as something more. He's the whore of the group, and the sex is why they let him stick around even though he doesn't help much. All social pretenses have been dropped, as they scrabble for survival and the human population of the world nose dives. Guys can fuck guys, because they are alive and they have an opening and hey, there's no time of the month, Cas is there all the time. Nobody cares if girls act on their own desires, and it's a good stress relief. So he sleeps around, and it's a wonderful escape, but Dean is the reason he hasn't overdosed.

So when Dean is distracted, in a good way, he actually embraces Cas as he rolls his hips. When he doesn't care one way or another, he stays upright and fucks into him while Cas is laying down, looking away or closing his eyes completely. Sometimes, he is considerate enough to make sure Cas is getting off. The sex they have when Dean needs touch is awesome, because the Fearless Leader is clingy.

The best nights are when he is too tired to go back to his own bunk and he sobs into Cas's shoulder and falls asleep.

Those nights, if Cas had happened to get high enough that he can deceive himself, he can almost convince himself that Dean is curled into his chest because he loves him, not because fucking is a good stress relief and there is no need for pretenses in Cas's cabin. He allows himself to run his fingers through that wiry blond hair, wipe away the tears with his thumb and sing softly to him in Enochian. He almost wishes his affectionate touches would wake Dean up one night, so he could see what he meant to the fallen man. But Dean never awakens, and Cas settles for this, this bittersweet, stupid, stupid thing. He tells Dean that he cares about him, occasionally going as far as the other L word that Dean will never be ready to accept. He kisses his cheek, his forehead, the top of his head, wraps himself in his scent, and lets himself be clung to as he follows Dean into sleep.

Dean is never there when he wakes up, and it tears a deep gash in Cas's heart, keeping him in the bed longer than he can afford to, crying silently and clutching at his chest. They will avoid each other, and Dean won't be back the next few nights.

So Cas drinks the pain away, except it just comes back stronger.

But those nights, those are good nights, when he gets to hold and touch and open himself up for taking.

It's not a bad night when Dean is frustrated and determined. These are the nights that he doesn't have the grace to look ashamed, but he still bothers to knock. He might lean against the wall those nights, or perch on the edge of the bed, and guide Cas's mouth to his cock without even taking his pants all the way off. Cas has gotten really, really good at blow jobs, and especially for Dean. He knows where to suck, where to lick, where to graze his teeth, and his gag reflex is non-existent. He grunts and swears, but never says Cas's name as much as Cas pines for it. He will grasp the fallen man's hair, but not in a way that feels good. It hurts, and the lack of breath makes him dizzy and the pain in his scalp and his knees is all too angry.

Dean will relax a bit after he comes, on those blow job nights, and as he dresses again he claps Cas on the shoulder before going back to his own cold, lonely bed.

Other times, he's a little angry, burnt out and totally unable to think of the person under him, flipping Cas onto his stomach and rutting into him without needing to see his face, to acknowledge that he is using Cas for his own selfishness. Maybe they'll be on hands and knees, Dean clawing at his chest and biting down on his ear, or maybe he'll want Cas curled in a ball, and he'll kneel behind him, grasping Cas's hips and moaning.

He flees quickly after those nights, going away to drink off his self loathing and shame at what he just did. He's still a good person, and somewhere deep inside he must feel bad for doing this to him. That's what Cas tells himself, and sometimes he can fool himself well enough to get off once the door swings shut, three fingers inside him and fisting his dick with the sticky come that is oozing out between his thighs.

He likes that more than blow jobs, because when he's covered in Dean's come he can still smell the Fearless Leader. He never cleans himself, not after Dean, not caring that it's uncomfortable in the morning. The others, the guys especially, he washes immediately, feeling disgusting and wrong, but he needs evidence that he didn't just imagine the whole encounter.

Some nights, he can't reach orgasm after that, his heart feels heavy and empty and old and he stares at the ceiling and tries not to dream up gentle caresses and pet names and lazy morning kisses and holding hands and Dean looking at him every once in a while, maybe even often, and letting them spend time together, and smiling at him, ruffling his hair and laughing.....

He never gets that, and those are the nights that he takes pills (more than usual) to sleep. He dreams of Dean wanting him the way Cas wants Dean.

But those are far from the worst nights.

Bad is when Dean is drunk or raging or filled with so much hatred that he can't see straight or all of the above. Those nights, Dean is rough, he doesn't care that he's manhandling Cas and hurting him. He pins Cas down and ignores the futile squirming. He doesn't bother to make sure Cas is ready, and he doesn't notice Cas's soft screams of agony into the pillow. He doesn't choose to notice sobs and the tears, the way Cas finally gives up the struggle and lays limp while Dean finishes up.

Bad is that Dean talks those nights, low grunts of 'Cas, so fucking tight', and 'feel so good', and all the things Cas wants to hear when he's not being split open, his hole red and swollen and on fire.

Then at some point he notices that Dean is gone, and he rolls onto his side and reaches for the dope in his pillowcase and screams and screams into his pillow. He loves Dean so fucking much, and he just wants him to know that. He wants Dean to know that he forgives him for these intrusions before they happen, that he understands the stress and the horror that Dean has to deal with. He just wishes he would let Cas hold him, to make love, as it were, instead of this unfeeling, desperate, sinful, animalistic fucking. He aches, his body and his soul, from the pain and from the unbearable need to have Dean there with him. He forgives the forceful sex, and he wants Dean there to kiss him and distract him with gentle murmurs and hushed breaths and strong arms and warm chest. He is so, so sick of sleeping alone.

He needs Dean like he needs air, and at least on those nights Dean is in his bed, however briefly, and Cas is selfishly glad that it's him who can take the leader's pain away.

But those painful, horrific, nightmarish nights aren't the worst.

The worst nights are when Dean has a girlfriend. Someone who he can be affectionate with and get cuddled and not feel guilty. He'll stay away for weeks, and Cas pines for him as other men lose themselves inside his body and women allow themselves to indulge. The girls will kiss him sometimes, and topping is nice for a change, but they're soft and malleable and not what he wants. The guys aren't soft at all, and that makes them worse. They are doing what Dean does, but they aren't him.

He is glad when his regulars are killed, a sick, cloying relief.

The nights when Dean hasn't been in his bed for ages are the nights when no amount of codeine or vodka can coax him to sleep.

But somehow, somehow he keeps himself from suicide, if only to be there to spread his legs as soon as the girl du jour is dead and to let them fall into their old patterns.

As time progresses, as the gentle Dean dies and the rough, ruthless Dean emerges, Cas begins to be covered in bruises and bites. Dean ignores him and actively hurts him, calling him names like 'whore' and 'little bitch' and 'slut' in conversations with others. Dean eventually stops taking Cas while the fallen man lies on his back. He shoves and crushes and draws blood, twisting and prodding so that Cas is in pain. He begins to favor Cas huddled on the bed, ass in the air, his arms twisted behind him and held in place as he is used. Cas loses the ability to shoot accurately, to carry anything more than a twelve-pack of beer. Dean dislocates his shoulders sometimes, sprains his wrists and twists his knees.

2010 melts into 2011 melts into 2012 melts into 2013 melts into 2014.

They both cling to life, even though they are plummeting further and further from their old roles as angel and righteous man.

Then, the past Dean shows up, Dean from a half of a decade ago, and he treats Cas like a person, spending time with him. Cas eats it up, and locks his door at night, following the old Dean like a puppy instead of the needy bitch he knows he is. This Dean makes eye contact, worries about his drug use. This is the Dean he fell in love with all those years ago.

Dean- his Dean, the Dean undamaged by this hell, is gone after the strike. Dean- the one he belonged to, his master, really, that Dean dies.

So Castiel runs, then walks, until he finds a cliff.

He thinks of Dean in his last moments.

The fall that follows the jump reminds him of flying, and he is free.