InsaneJournal

Who: Dean & Castiel
What: Dean’s first dream
When: 14 July
Where: Cas’ place
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of war trauma etc(spoilers beginning s8)
Status: Complete



It was 360º combat. Not most days. Every day. Most days, it just felt like that. Every day it actually was. There were things hunting him. Gorilla-wolves (seriously, the hell were those things?,) vampires, weres, friggen Jefferson Starships. Leviathan.

A year.

It was a year when he didn’t eat. Or sleep. That was the fortunate thing about getting jumped into purgatory, he guess. The rules about that crap didn’t apply there. There was a vampire. His friend, and Dean didn’t trust him, but he was all he had. And there? That was Jimmy. No. No, that was Castiel, and he was an angelic beacon in purgatory and Dean was sure as hell not going to leave him behind. Benny the vamp had a line on the way out and they went. Alright, he and Benny went and practically dragged Cas along, but that was just details.

They made it. Benny’s messed up vampy soul stowed in Dean’s arm and the gate out just...just right there. He turned around to grab Cas’ hand and then...his grip slipped. The gate closed around him.

He’d failed. He couldn’t hold on. Dean had left Cas behind.

Dean woke up with a start on Jimmy’s couch. He was sweating bullets and had probably been making some rather terrifying noises while he slept. That was, if the look on the other guy’s face had been anything to go on.

“Cas?” he asked roughly. Yeah. That was the same guy. All that beard and filth didn’t change those eyes.

“C’mere angel.” He scootched back properly onto the couch because he needed to make room, needed to hold him as tight as he could and never, ever let go.

Jimmy had been in the kitchen only a moment before -- getting everything set up and finished for the dinner that he'd been working for the better half of the evening. It wasn't often he cooked anything impressive, but he'd been inwardly excited to have a reason to do it. For Dean. Dean who was napping in the living room. Which Jimmy didn't have a problem with because he was rather under the impression that the other man didn't sleep enough.

He'd also been under the impression that he slept better here, but judging from the look on Dean's face and the little noises he was making when Jimmy returned to the living room, he'd thought wrong. Dean woke up on his own at basically the same time Jimmy was about to wake him. "Dean?" He asked, brow furrowed in concern over the mechanics' tone and expression (not to mention the two new nicknames that came off his tongue like they were the most natural things in the world). "Are you alright?" He sat close, as requested, even if he didn't understand what was going on.

No. Sitting wasn’t going to do it. Dean writhed and shifted until he could pull Cas tight against his chest. He was glad he had his shirt on and not only that but it had longer sleeves (though they were rolled up to his elbows,) to keep the contact between hand and scar to a minimum. Minimum being non-existent in this case. Easiest this way.

With Cas clutched tight to his chest, Dean felt like he could finally be okay, or at least talk a little about it. “I started dreaming.”

He hadn't been expecting that much -- well. Much. Dean continued to surprise him just by being, sometimes. With his head close enough to settle on Dean's shoulder, Jimmy did just that -- twisting around until he was pressed nearly flush against the other man, arm carefully snaking its way around Dean's rib cage.

"…Oh?" It was a prompting sort of question - curious and hesitantly interested. Before that scar had appeared on Dean's arm, Jimmy might never have believed the validity of any kind of nearly supernatural claims.

“I’m sorry,” he said, desperate and needing both a drink and his lover. Boyfriend. Angel. Whatever. “I tried to hold on. I couldn’t.” Or Cas couldn’t. Whatever happened, Dean wasn’t strong enough to carry them both and he should have been.

"What?" Confused enough to lean up a little, Jimmy squirmed a bit out of Dean's grip to really look at him, brows furrowed and eyes squinted. Was he in Dean's dreams? How bad were they? "I don't--" know what you're talking about. No need to finish that sentence.

Dean looked away. It wouldn’t matter what he’d sacrifice, nothing would keep the dreams from coming to Cas whenever they decided to. He couldn’t carry this weight on his shoulders, and Cas would just ask him why he thought he got to make that decision. “Never grow a beard.” That was all he could say to that. That beard was disgusting, and maybe if Cas had been able to trim it, it’d be fine. He hadn’t. The beard was the least traumatising thing that he could bring himself to talk about.

Not helpful, Dean. Not helpful at all, actually. Jimmy stared at him and managed to look a little less concerned and more bemused, if only because it seemed like a thing he should be doing. "I never planned on it." It didn't come out wryly, but instead just that odd honest.

Dean let go enough to touch Cas’ face. “Good,” he whispered, and then, “You’re in my dreams.” Destiny, right? Fuck.

Leaning into the touch, Jimmy remained silent. Waiting was something he could do -- and he'd sit here until Dean wanted to talk about it -- to explain what he was just barely hinting at. Dinner could wait, too.

Cas looked like he was waiting for more from Dean, like...like Dean was supposed to just lay on him what he’d all just seen. “They’re not good dreams...let’s just...let’s leave it at that for now, okay?”

Dean got another frown for his troubles, which hopefully he expected. You couldn't just tell someone that you dreamt about them and then go no further than that. "Not good," he repeated, still so obviously curious. But it wasn't a question so much as it was a vague worry.

“I lost you,” Dean said, all the weight of their hands falling apart settling on those three words.

Not able to look at Dean's troubled expression, Jimmy settled his head back down on his shoulder instead. He was quiet for a long moment, still curious, but unable to ask for more. Lost? Was he dead in Dean's dreams? It wasn't something he could just ask, it wasn't something he was sure he wanted to know.

"Dean," he said slowly, thoughtfully. "It's not real." But how would he really know that, anyway? It was nearly a lie, and he felt instantly guilty for saying something that he had no real information for. Still, he'd say it again and again if it comforted Dean in any way.

“It felt more real than the war,” Dean admitted, nose finding a familiar spot in Cas’ hair. “We should eat.” He wasn’t hungry, but Cas should eat anyway.

"We can." But Jimmy made no real move to get up and lead them toward the kitchen table. Instead, he just curled his fingers into the material of Dean's shirt and just held on.

“I’ve got you,” Dean promised. Always, Cas.

James Castiel sold insurance. He knew more about accident and fatality than most people could ever want to know. He knew with certainty that there was no avoiding those things, not really. He knew that Dean was promising something he had no right to be promising.

And yet, he found himself nodding and nearly believing it.

The kiss that came wasn’t as intense as it could have been. It was closer to a shy, scared little thing. Dean hid the tremble in his hands by holding tighter to Cas, rough, strong fingers proclaiming mine in every line of the other man’s body that they brushed. He couldn’t hide the break in his heart even if Cas didn’t know the reason for it (and frankly ‘Cas’ suited the other man far, far better than Jimmy ever had.) only that it was there.

Returning the kiss, it wasn't hard to see the hesitance there -- the fright behind those lips from something as strange as a dream. It was such a difference in Dean that Jimmy felt the need to make up for it, to make his mouth just as sure as his hands. Leaning in closer, the brunet kissed Dean so insistently that he was sure his lips would bruise. It wasn't even really a sexual thing, instead reassurance.

Dean had to pull away from the kiss. It was very nearly too much for him, and even where Cas was concerned he wasn’t big on the whole admitting he had emotions thing. It was overwhelming, feeling like this. It made all those awful parts of him want to grab his life all up in his arms and run from Cas the same way he’d stayed running from Sammy.

It took way, way too much of his strength to stay right where he was and ask,”what’s for dinner?”

Sitting up and resigning himself to mussed hair and a night filled with cautious confusion, Jimmy fixed his gaze on Dean. He had a million questions, and maybe just as many concerns but instead of voicing any of them (because it was clear that if Dean didn't want to talk, he just wouldn't), he just gave a tiny tilt of his lips. "Lasagna."

“Okay,” Dean replied, finally sitting up to stretch out of his nap and maybe shake all this...purgatory off of him. He stood up, offered Cas his hand and...really just wanted to lay in the backyard and look at the sky instead of eating at all. He didn’t want to let Cas out of his sight, out of his reach. He felt like if he did...if he did now everything really would come crashing down. It certainly helped explain why he needed him so desperately, even before anything really weird started happening.

Taking Dean's hand and standing, Jimmy tilted his head to the side in a thoughtful puppy sort of gesture. It was clear that Dean was still out of stories about whatever he'd dreamt. And if it had been bad, it was certainly possible that it would have put him off the idea of food. Just because he was lacking socially didn't mean he was unobservant. "If you aren't hungry," he started, and then never bothered finishing. He did that a lot, the rest of his conversation implied just by the beginning of it.

“You should eat if you are,” Dean said. “I can wait.” And he wasn’t hungry and Cas wasn’t going to make him eat which was good. At that point, he was pretty sure that not much would taste like anything to him and he wanted to do Cas the justice of being able to know what the food he worked so hard on actually was on his tongue.

The unknowing angel only gave a little shrug of his shoulders, as if to say he could go either way on the matter and didn't really care. He was just as okay with standing in his living room, fingers twisted through Dean's, although probably that might get awkward if they did it for too long.

"The beach isn't very far a walk from here," he offered instead. He liked the beach, particularly at night.

“Can we drive?” Dean asked instead. He wasn’t sure what walking was going to do to him, but a car hadn’t figured into his purgatory dream so...so maybe that would be okay.

"Yes." He answered it like Dean's question had been silly. Obviously they both knew how to drive, and they both had cars. It was an option that was completely doable.

Leading Dean toward the kitchen, Jimmy picked his keys out of the little bowl on the counter that also held his wallet and cellphone, and then triple checked the over to make sure it was actually off. He'd drive.

Dean pulled his keys out as he stepped back into his boots and walked to the front door. They had the nice car. Why wouldn’t they take his?

Or not. Dean, admittedly, did have a nicer car. Feeling a bit silly, Jimmy heeled Dean out of his own house, locked up behind them - checked his pockets to make sure he had everything he probably didn't need, and then piled into the car. Familiarly, he buckled his seatbelt and knew that Dean wouldn't. "It's up the road, mostly." he said, possibly needlessly, but who really knew.

It wasn't a long drive at all. But he was silent for the entire way.

Dean drove not straight to the place he thought Cas was talking about, but a bit further down where there were some trees and a hill. It was one of those places that teenagers and homicidal maniacs liked so much for...obvious different reasons. Dean got out of the car, and stretched out on the hood to listen to the waves and watch the stars. The only thing that would have made this better was alcohol and he only didn’t go for that because he didn’t want Cas yelling at him for driving drunk.

And he probably would have at least lectured about the wrongs of drinking and driving, so good call there, Dean. Jimmy stood to the side of the car closest to where Dean was, alternating his gaze from the mechanic to the ocean. He wouldn't sit until invited, purely because it was such a strange place to lounge and it seemed awkward to him.

He was quiet for a time, and that was unremarkable in general, considering. But then he glanced at Dean, eyebrows half raised. "Why 'Cas'?" he asked, after a moment. His last name seemed like an odd thing to cling to.

“Feels better than Jimmy?” Dean replied, gaze fixed up and not at Cas. “Just...one of those things that sits right in me. You’re Cas. Jimmy’s...Jimmy’s someone else.” Dean closed his eyes, arms crossed behind his head just taking the time to listen.

James had never even bothered to go by Jimmy before meeting Dean, and now his name was being changed again into something that he didn't think was familiar at all. Cas. It didn't sound bad. It was still him, he supposed -- just from the way Dean said it. He didn't dislike it. It was just different.

It's not like anyone but Dean would call him that anyway.

So he gave a vague little nod and looked back out at the ocean. Cas was in the habit of just accepting Dean's little oddities, particularly the ones he didn't quite understand. So he'd take it without further questioning.

“You don’t have to just stand there, you know,” Dean said, looking over at him finally. “Car’s nice and warm. Wouldn’t mind having you here.”

Wordlessly and with careful movements, Cas got onto the car next to Dean -- scooting over until when he leaned back, his shoulder brushed against Dean's. It always surprised him a little to even find stars in an area as populated as Orange county -- but really that was one of the perks of living near by an ocean, he supposed.

He reached out blindly with his hand until it found Dean's. "It is nicer here."

Dean laced their fingers together. There weren’t a lot of stars, but it was enough. Better than in the city proper at least. His thumb stroked along the ridge of tendons in the back of Cas’ hand.

“You’re the only thing keeping me from running right now,” he said, quiet in the dark, a hand in his own. It was safe. He couldn’t even see Cas staring at him.

"I'm not sorry." Cas talked like everything was simply fact instead of his own opinion. But he wasn't sorry. Dean might have been the one to pursue him, but now that he was here and now that they were, there was very little that could make the brunet want differently. He didn't have dreams or markings that said it was right or fateful, but that didn't mean Dean was any less of a pull for him. Idly, he wondered if needing someone was healthy or not.

Maybe Cas wasn’t sorry, but some part of Dean was. “I don’t know how not to run,” he admitted. “I’m...” He was what? Scared? Sorry? Nothing important it’d seem.

Unsure of whether to prompt more from Dean or not, Cas glanced over at him. It was dark, but not dark enough where he couldn't see a silhouette, and highlights of features. It was nearly a new sight, and so he just kept looking.

"You just stay," he said finally, because it seemed as simple as that, at least to him.

Dean let them sit in the quiet for a while longer. Just stay was far easier said than done. Didn’t Cas know that?

“I love you,” he said, so quietly that it might not have been words at all. Maybe Cas wouldn’t notice. It wouldn’t matter. Dean was pretty sure he already knew anyway. “I don’t want to let you down. I feel like I am. Constantly.”

Cas might not have known how hard it was to not run -- he'd always been here more or less, had never found himself with the desire to be anywhere but where he was. He'd never doubted. He did know that admitting love was strange and difficult and different -- and how could that be so much harder than staying?

He knew though. He knew without question or concern that Dean loved him. And that, although sometimes bewildering, he loved Dean right back. He thought it was so obvious he didn't even need to say so.

"I have yet to be disappointed," he said, clearly a little confused about why Dean might think so.

“If you start dreaming...you might.” He really hoped Cas didn’t. He really hoped that the one dream he had was going to be the last of them. No more. A twig snapped, and Dean moved without thinking off the car into a crouch, reaching for a weapon he didn’t have on him. He tried not to show up to his time with his...whatever, packing heat. He glared in the general direction of where the sound had come from, poised and ready even as he listened ever harder for the sounds of what was happening around them.

Cas was sitting now, eyes trained on Dean as opposed to wherever it was Dean was looking off to. He knew, of course, that Dean was a little jumpy -- didn't do well with fireworks and things like that. But this seemed a little extreme, considering. Was it because of the dream?

"Dean," Cas leaned forward a little, fingers seeking out his boyfriends' shoulder. "It's just -- wildlife."

Cas’ fingers were okay. They were Cas, and Dean had been aware of where his...boyfriend...angel whatever was as if the guy were an extension of himself. Nothing weird. Just training.

“Wildlife could be a lot of things,” Dean said but in this case it was just a squirrel. He sighed and stood up. The hell was he going to use to protect Cas anyway?

Angelic boyfriend? Cas was just Cas. Or Jimmy. Or whatever. Nothing special as far as he knew -- just a middle management insurance salesman who couldn't seem to grasp the idea of humor.

"There are no larger creatures around here than opossum or raccoon." Cas wasn't sure he wanted to ask what Dean thought the wildlife might have been.

“I really hope you get to keep living in a world where that’s true,” Dean replied. The moment had been ruined. Out here he was only going to end up listening to everything too hard, making assumptions, and all too high strung to actually enjoy romantic time with Cas. “Come on. I’ll get you home.”

There was no real way to argue with that, and so Cas scooted himself off the top of the car and moved to the passengers side seat. He was fiddling with the seatbelt again, watching Dean with his too-blue gaze before speaking. "You should stay. Tonight." Dean was clearly jumpier than normal. Cas would just feel better if he could keep an eye on him while he slept.

“If I stay, it’s on the couch,” Dean said cooly, throwing the car into reverse and peeling out of there. “I share a bed with you tonight and you’re not going to get any sleep. You work in the morning. I’m not willing to risk your life for a few nightmares.” It wasn’t just going to be the new one either. No, Dean was pretty sure that his mind was going to bring him some fresh unconscious hell. It’d be typical. Mix the new with the old and suddenly there’s IED’s in purgatory and he’s watching Cas get blown to bits.

He’d rather ride all of this out on his own. It’d be better for everyone. He could take the right amount of xanax to knock him out once he chased it with a shot of hell, bourbon maybe?

Cas' expression was that serious squinty one, and he regarded Dean for the better part of a block before turning to look at the road. "You think you'd hurt me in your sleep?" He was unsure if he should be arguing more for Dean to be in his bed, or if he should just work with the other man in little steps. The couch at his place was a start. And Cas wasn't exactly the sneakiest of people, but he was sure he might be able to persuade a sleepy Dean to come to the bed instead.

“I think I’d scare you,” Dean said cooly, heading back for Cas’ and parking. He didn’t care if he got a ticket. He just needed to be inside. “I don’t doubt that you can handle a lot, more than I can imagine. I just...don’t know if I’m ready to let you try. It’s bad. Real bad, and I’m not going to lie to you, Cas. I’ve woken myself up screaming way too many times.” This was all part of not fucking things up. If Cas knew the kind of shit that went on in Dean’s unconscious mind...hell, Dean could barely handle it most days and that barely was a generous estimate.

Silent for the time it took them both to get up the little walk to his house and unlock the door, Cas wasn't sure what to say. He was never sure what to say, if he had to be honest. Which was a lot of the reason he never did.

In the kitchen, he settled all the items from his pockets back in the little dish on the counter. "Just tonight," he said once he'd turned to put away the dinner he'd made but neither had eaten.

Cas didn’t seem mad at him, but even so Dean followed him into the kitchen, wrapped his arms around him from behind and just held him. Maybe if he was strong and steady enough, Cas would understand that this wasn’t his fault. Maybe if he loved this angel enough he’d get that this...this was just the way in which he wasn’t ever going to be fixed, or normal or...or what people needed from him. He wasn’t running. Dean was sure that had to count for something, but probably not much given that he was actually running if only to the couch.

He pressed his nose to the hair just above Cas’ ear, closed his eyes and just breathed. Dean wanted to just list all the reasons that Cas shouldn’t stay with him, but...but the truth was that he didn’t know what he’d do with himself if the guy left. That was probably the scariest thing of all. He hummed softly against that dark hair, swayed Cas just a little bit as if the other guy might be tricked into a slow dance.

Castiel was sure he hadn't quite understood the idea of domestic comfort until this very moment. Here in his own house with Dean's arms wrapped around him and his nose in his hair, he felt -- what? Actually comfortable? Normal. Not weirdly judged or awkward or at a loss for words that was so monumental it made the world seem intangible and far away.

He liked it.

Curling his fingers around Dean's wrists, he leaned back into the other man and just let himself be moved however Dean really wanted it. He wasn't mad. Cas rarely got mad (frustration was different), and he really didn't understand why Dean thought he was disappointed or let down. Especially not right now.

He turned slowly in Dean's arms, until they were face to face -- and then he settled his chin on Dean's shoulder. "I get scared about as often as I dance in my kitchen." Rarely. It Cas' way of trying to get Dean to stay in the bed instead of on the couch.

Dean smoothed a hand down Cas’ back. “You should dance more,” he whispered. “Good for the soul.” He kept moving. But moving was slowly becoming not enough and it turned into kissing and moving. Slow kisses for slow dances.

Cas didn't disagree with that assessment -- and how could he, really? Clearly this was good for the both of them. As usual though, he said nothing. He didn't need to, anyway, because kissing Dean seemed more important. Slow, but not chaste. Just a well paced exploration as if they both had all the time in the world.

His hands rested easily on Dean's hips, fingers curling into the material of his shirt as if to say that they belonged there that this was his to hold onto as he liked. Silent claim.