Chapter Text
**Present Day, Ennis Hill Inn, Cas’ POV**
Castiel stares across at Garth’s lifeless body. It’s strange how human beings are so fragile, except for when they aren’t. He remembers reading years ago about a woman who fell more than thirty thousand feet from a plane and survived. Yet, sometimes all it takes is a copper-plated piece of lead or a well-aimed punch, and that’s it forever.
Garth’s eyes are glassy, the corneas already turning cloudy.
Castiel turns away, pillowing his hand underneath his head, staring up at the webbing of cracks in the dining room ceiling.
He’s not one for guilt, but he actually feels a small twinge of something pluck at his heartstrings. He liked Garth and Charlie. They were good people who tried to be good friends, and they deserved better than to die in an abandoned hotel in the middle of nowhere.
Still, it was necessary.
Behind him, the fire crackles, casting everything in a hellfire glow. The shadows on the support beams jump in time with the flames, flitting over the well-worn floorboards, walls and ceiling.
Castiel holds his other hand up above him, twists it this way and that, watching the way the light dances between his fingertips. A gunshot rings out in the foyer, followed by the stumble of feet, then another shot.
Charlie screams. Hand lowered to his chest, Castiel’s eyes follow the line of a crack in the ceiling, looking for constellations and patterns. He finds a unicorn–
A third gunshot.
–a severed thumb–
A fourth.
–and what could either be an ash or walnut tree. It’s hard to tell from this angle.
Finally, a fifth.
Meg doesn’t have the best aim. Once, when they were sixteen, Castiel tried to teach her with a stolen gun, but after she nearly shot an innocent squirrel, and simultaneously managed to hit none of the twelve cans and bottles they’d set up, they had to concede that her talents lay elsewhere.
That was right after Balthazar, when three became two and they were nothing more than chaotic, kinetic energy, rebounding off each other and ricocheting from incident to incident, hoping that they didn’t get caught or get dead.
The difference between Castiel and Meg is that Castiel always wanted to put that behind him, to move on and actually have a semblance of a normal life. But Meg, Meg lives for the drama, the chaos, the anarchy.
She’s never known any different; her world has always been steeped in destruction and disarray. It’s a way of life for her, and it’s who she is. She’s never had someone else to want to be better for.
Castiel did. He does.
Sometimes, he wonders if Meg wanted someone to love and he just happened to be there.
“Cas!”
Pulse spiking when he hears Dean’s urgent shout from outside, Castiel levers himself up into a sitting position, grimacing as the move pulls at his wounds.
“Why the hell are you doing this, you crazy bitch?” Dean’s muffled voice demands, and Castiel almost smiles. Even with a gun pointed at him, Dean is still obstinate and pigheaded.
“Peer pressure,” Meg responds flippantly. “In there. Move.”
In the next second, Dean appears in the dining room doorway, worse for wear and covered in blood – Charlie’s, Castiel hopes. Their eyes catch and hold, and even from here, Castiel can see Dean’s stuttered exhale of relief. Dean glares at Meg out of the corner of his eye, an I-dare-you-to-shoot-me glance, before he’s rushing toward Castiel, collapsing the distance between them, dropping to his knees.
Meg positions herself just inside the dining room, gun aimed at Dean’s back. She smirks, triumphant and pleased.
Dean runs his hands over Castiel's shoulders and neck, cupping his face with blood-tacky fingers, telegraphing desperation and concern with every sweep of his thumb over Castiel’s jaw, every plasma-sticky touch of skin on skin.
“Cas, thank fuck, I was so scared, I thought–”
Hauling him close, burying his face in Dean’s neck, Castiel breathes him in. He smells like the earth, rich and deep, like dirt and trees, overlaid with the thick, familiar tang of iron. There’s a faraway look in his unfocused green eyes when he pulls back; haunted and exhausted. But he’s still beautiful, still his Dean Winchester.
“What’s going on?” Dean asks, clutching Castiel’s shoulder as he casts a glance sideways, catching sight of Garth sprawled out face down on the floorboards, slack expression turned toward them. He lets out an anguished-sounding sob. “Jesus fucking Christ, Garth ?”
It really is a shame that Garth and Charlie had to die in order for Castiel to save Dean. But the universe doesn’t often deal out second chances, so it was up to Castiel to create his own.
Dean's attention swings back to Castiel. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you?”
Behind them, Meg scoffs. “If I wanted to hurt him, he’d be dead, mmkay?”
Dean clenches his jaw, his grip on Castiel tightening, but he doesn’t respond to her.
Castiel lets his raised eyebrow express everything he needs to. Well-versed in each other by now, Dean gets it and touches his forehead to Castiel’s, the two of them so close that they’re sharing breath.
Impatient, Meg orders, “Come on, angelface. Time to get this show on the road. Up you get.”
Over his shoulder, Dean shoots her a nasty look. “His ankle’s fucked up.”
“It’s fine, Dean,” Castiel assures him, pulling Dean’s focus. “I’ll be alright.”
They share another wordless conversation and after a second that ticks into five, Dean relents and dutifully knee-walks to Castiel’s side, sliding an arm around Castiel’s back, hand curling around his rib cage. His lips brush Castiel’s hairline when he says, “You ready? This is gonna hurt.”
Nothing could hurt as much as letting Dean leave.
Though, back then, it wasn’t so much a case of letting him leave as not having the words to make him stay. Castiel may have won competitions and be respected in his profession because he can find the legal loophole in anything, can talk circles around almost anyone, but when it comes to Dean? Dean’s always been his weakness, leaves him tongue-tied and stupid.
How do you ask someone to stay when you can’t come up with a single solitary reason why they should, beyond ‘I don’t want you to go’?
When Castiel was ten, his mother told him that love isn’t always enough. It never made much sense to him until the day Dean left. There hasn’t been a minute that Castiel hasn’t loved Dean, ever since he laid eyes on him in that dorm with the narrow beds and the window that wouldn’t close all the way. If anything, the feeling has gotten more acute as the years passed, but back then, he knows it wasn’t enough. He was trying so hard to be so many things to so many people.
It was exhausting, constantly modifying his behavior to mirror whoever he was talking to. He couldn’t work out how other people did it all the time, before he realized that other people weren’t faking it; they really did enjoy Star Wars and knitting and calling themselves ‘fur moms’.
The only thing Castiel’s ever truly enjoyed is Dean. And horror movies. Which is odd, because on the face of it, he probably shouldn’t. His formative years were one big horror movie, and for him, there’s none of the vicarious comfort to be found, none of the rest-and-relax dopamine hit that the rest of the audience gets when the credits roll.
As with a lot of things in his life though, his appreciation started with Dean. Castiel was an awkward nineteen-year-old in love with his – quite frankly, unnervingly beautiful – roommate and unsure of what to do about it. His first port of call was to find out what Dean loved – horror movies and video games – and to get knowledgeable about the former and competent at the latter. In time, he came to discover his own enjoyment for horror movies.
The misunderstood monster, the vengeful spirit, the manifestation of fear itself – a lot of them were failed or wronged in some way and took it upon themselves to enact vengeance; quite often on behalf of someone they loved. Jason might have lost the terror and mystery he once held with recent installments to the franchise, but that first movie? His mother loved him enough to kill for him, and there’s something about that kind of love that’s always appealed to Castiel, something he’s never experienced for himself (at least not with his own mother).
So, maybe Castiel is projecting his own issues, just a little bit. But he can relate to the movie monster, can see why he might be considered a monster himself from an outside perspective.
Dean’s shoulder jostles into Castiel’s armpit as they struggle through the ordeal of getting him to his feet. Even with Dean’s makeshift splint in place, it’s awkward, and for the tenth time tonight, Castiel wishes he’d chosen to break his arm instead.
With Castiel finally upright, Dean manages a fleeting smile. “There ya go, Cas.”
Across from them, Meg stands in the gray rectangle of the doorway, gun held in her hand like an afterthought. “Aw, isn’t this adorable? You two were always sickeningly cute together, right, Clarence?”
Castiel scowls at her. Her problem with Dean transcends all good sense. As evidenced by this current situation. If she weren’t so easy to manipulate when it comes to Dean, none of them would be here right now.
All Castiel had to do was pretend to give in to her desire to see Dean dead, and she was on board.
“What the fuck is your problem?” Dean asks her through clenched teeth, every muscle in his body tense as he continues to support Castiel’s weight.
“My problem?” she repeats incredulously. Castiel has always disliked her penchant for dramatics.
Then again, it’s not like he can really point fingers.
After all, this Christie-style denouement was his idea.
“You killed my friends, you fucking bitch!” Dean spits, clinging protectively to Castiel as though he’s worried Meg is going to target him next.
His instinct to shield – whilst misguided – warms Castiel’s heart.
“Charlie never liked me,” Meg replies with a callous shrug, and Castiel hates her. Just a little.
“Gee, I wonder why,” Dean smarts. Self-preservation has never been his strong suit, but he has no idea how trigger-happy Meg may or may not be. She could shoot him dead without a second thought. Probably would, if Castiel hadn’t instructed her that Dean was his. Promised her that tonight was the night that he would kill Dean.
“I actually don’t know,” Meg says. “Shame that we can’t ask her anymore, isn’t it?”
Dean glances at Garth again. His heartache is written all over his face. “And Garth? What the hell did he ever do?”
She moves toward them both, her footsteps hollow on the old floorboards. “Well, you see, Clarence and I are on a bit of an ex purge. But then, we’re not the only ones getting rid of old crushes, are we? Where is that handsome Louisiana native? The one you disappeared into the forest with?”
“Oh, you bitch .”
Meg’s smile is serrated. “Seems like a stupid thing to say to the person with a gun, but then you never were all that smart, were you?” She slinks forward, shoving the gun under Dean’s jaw, forcing his head back, and Castiel has to fight to keep himself from reacting, has to pretend that he’s okay with her hurting Dean. “You’re just as ruthless as the rest of us, aren’t you, handsome? Poor Benny, all he wanted was to get through to you, wanted you to love him back, but you know how that goes, don’t you?”
Dean’s eyes are ablaze when he spits, “Fuck you.”
She grins, satisfied, and releases him. “Shame, I quite liked him.” Gaze bouncing between the two of them, she adds, “Bet he was thick where it counted.”
“That’s enough,” Castiel tells her, more mediator than accomplice.
Meg’s grin widens.
“So, you wanted to wipe us all out?” Dean asks, and Castiel knows that he’s playing for time. To do what, Castiel doesn’t know, but it sets his teeth on edge all the same. This is a delicate situation, and Dean needs to be careful. “Are you just bored or do you have a plan?”
“Oh, there’s always a plan,” Meg says. “It’s been a long time coming. Ten years or so, because you were the one who got away. And I’m not just talking about relationships here, mmkay? It’s taken me a long time to persuade Clarence to get rid of you.”
“ Rid of me? ” Dean repeats, confused. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Oh boy, you really are making me do the villain monologue here, aren’t you? Fine. I’ll spell it out for you. You broke his fucking heart when you left him. And I did warn you what would happen if you hurt him, didn’t I? Except your sweetheart wouldn’t let me come after you because he always held out hope that you’d find your way back to each other. Isn’t that just delicious?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Well, after Ketch’s body was found, he realized that maybe it was time to throw you under the bus, after all.”
Not all of that is strictly true. Yes, Castiel was thoroughly heartbroken after Dean left. Yes, he had hoped that on one of these yearly visits, they might be able to sit down and talk. But no, Ketch’s body wasn’t ‘found’ so much as it was dug up by Castiel, and this was never about throwing Dean under the bus for that crime.
It suits him to let Meg think that they’re on the same side though – it’s worked for him up until now – so he keeps quiet.
A muscle in Dean’s jaw jumps, and Castiel silently wills him to just believe in him, in them. To know that Castiel would never do that to him.
“Nah,” Dean says after a long moment. “Cas wouldn’t. Try again, sweetheart.”
“You poor, dumb bastard,” she says, a tiny frisson of frustration filtering through. “It’s a little too late to believe in him now. Where were you ten years ago? Too busy tearing yourself apart because you thought he killed his parents, weren’t you?” She leans into his space, shares it like a secret. “He did, by the way. Balthazar too.”
If Dean’s surprised by the knowledge that it was Castiel who killed them all, he doesn’t show it. Whether it’s always been there in black and white and red and Dean’s simply come to terms with it, or whether he thinks that Meg is lying, Castiel doesn’t know.
Shifting uncomfortably due to the torn ligament in his ankle – a very real injury, it needs to be stressed, because when Dean and Castiel are explaining all this to the police and paramedics later, it won’t do to have faked it – Castiel leans his weight against the nearest support beam.
Meg won’t be there explaining it with them, because it’ll be like college all over again: she’ll never leave them alone to be happy. She’ll start up the blackmail shit again, and Castiel is too old to play those kinds of games.
He just wants Dean. It’s all he’s wanted for the last fourteen years, and the only thing figuratively standing between Castiel and Dean is Meg. There's no other way to do this. She knows too much, so she has to die and take Castiel’s (and Dean's) past with her. The stuff with Ketch, Jo, Balthazar, their parents (because it wasn’t a heart attack that killed asshole extraordinaire John Winchester six years ago). Everything.
This is their opportunity to start all over again, completely fresh, with a clean slate, with no chance of people turning them in or bodies falling out of closets.
The gun Meg is wielding just so happens to be both the one that Castiel retrieved from one of the hidden cubby holes in the registration desk while Dean was patching him up, and also the one that he used to kill Ketch, because Castiel may be a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.
All of this really has been a long time coming, and if Dean would’ve given Castiel the time of day before now, things wouldn’t have needed to get this extreme. But maybe it’s better this way. Now they get to tie up all the loose ends and it really can just be the two of them, like Dean always wanted.
Castiel reaches out a hand for Dean’s bicep under the guise of steadying himself, and doesn’t need to feign his grimace. It hurts, but losing Dean hurts worse, so he was willing to take one for their two-person team.
Automatically, Dean layers his hand on top, skin not as smooth as Castiel’s; manual labor to Castiel’s deskwork. But they both got their hands dirty in the end. Just like Castiel knew they would.
Dean licks his lips, and his voice is small, but determined when he speaks. “Have you ever loved anyone so much that you just don’t care about anything else? You just have to be with them. If they look at you, it’s like sunlight on your soul. If you feel their breath on your skin, you just ache. Have you ever craved anyone so bad that nothing else matters but having them in your life, no matter the cost?”
Oh, Dean.
Meg’s silence is deafening. She looks away from them, eyes focused somewhere in the shadows of the dining room. Tightening her grip around the gun, she finally answers, “...yes.”
The tips of his ears pink, Dean says, gruffer now, "Well, then you know. You know that you can say what you want, but it’s not gonna work. Telling the truth, not telling the truth, who gives a fuck? It’s not gonna change the way I feel. About him, about you, about any of this.” He laughs, bitter and thick. “You think anything you have to say to me right now, after you killed my fucking friends, is gonna make me not wanna watch you die slowly and painfully?” The vehemence in Dean’s voice has Castiel shivering all the way to his fingertips. Dean’s been magnificent tonight; soul-crushingly beautiful and fierce and determined and all the things Castiel always knew he was. He’s earned this, he deserves this: to confront Meg after all these years. To finally get his catharsis.
So Castiel settles back and waits. Lets the two of them spit their venom at each other.
“I almost admire your bravery,” Meg tells Dean with a serrated smile. “Happy to die for the unrequited love of your life. It’s cute.”
The irony is palpable.
It’s not unrequited, it was never unrequited; it’s just that Castiel had been burned before. The only other man Castiel let get close – Balthazar – betrayed him, turned him in when he discovered that Castiel had been the one to put an end to the homophobic, abusive lives of his parents. Castiel knew Dean wouldn’t betray him, knew it deep down in the recesses of his soul, but was still so scared of Dean walking away in disgust – and having to face the consequences of that. So Castiel didn’t tell him the truth.
Turns out, Dean walked away anyway.
“You wanna talk about unrequited love, huh?” Dean replies, cutthroat and not interested in believing Meg anymore. “‘Cause from what I heard, even with me outta the picture, Cas still didn’t wanna fuck you. Must be super shitty to watch your best friend – the dude you’ve been in love with for twenty years – pass you over for literally anyone that comes along–”
Not true and not fair; there’s never been anybody but Dean, but Castiel will let it slide, because this is Dean’s moment.
“–because he just. doesn’t. want. you.” Dean pouts, shoving his bottom lip out. “‘Happy to die for the unrequited love of your life. It’s cute.’”
Meg’s face has turned an interesting shade of crimson, sweeping pink across her cheekbones. “This was his idea, you fucking idiot. You think that all of this is just coincidence?” She gestures around the dining room with the gun. “That you’re here just because Garth and I went for some drinks, pored over the good times and I said, ‘Hey, I know, why don’t you and your pals go on holiday to some spooky abandoned hotel?’ And my endgame was to off you all up in the wilds, just for the hell of it? How do you think I even knew about this place, huh? I know it’s nothing but cars and candy floss up in that pretty head of yours, but please try to use some critical thinking skills.”
Dean laughs, perfectly psychotic. “Y’know what? I don’t care. I killed one of my best friends tonight. I killed him because there was a chance that all this might’ve been his doing, but now that I know it’s not? Makes no difference. Know why, sweetheart? He hurt Cas, and he was threatening to turn us in for the Ketch murder. So what do you think I’d be happy to do to you, a no-good skank who’s responsible for breaking us up? Who killed Charlie and Garth? ‘Cause honestly, I’m feeling kinda footloose and fancy fucking free right now!”
Meg looks helplessly past Dean to Castiel. On the surface, she seems unperturbed, but Castiel can see the slight tremor where she’s holding the gun. “He’s gone crazy.”
Castiel lifts one shoulder in a shrug. In all honesty, Dean’s surpassing his expectations. He’d hoped Dean would kill Benny, obviously – orchestrated it that way – but he thought that once the rage had cooled, there’d be remorse.
He’s pleasantly surprised to discover that’s not the case.
Dean really is just like him.
“Are you doing this then?” Meg asks Castiel, impatient and irritated. After all, she’s had her fun, and now that Dean’s biting back instead of wallowing in his own insecurities, she’s got nowhere to go and nothing to push up against. It’s really getting under her skin, the fact that Dean is more comfortable with himself and his identity now. She was expecting the same insecure twenty-three-year-old with daddy issues and trauma, and whilst Castiel knows that none of it has really gone away over the years, the way Dean deals with it has certainly changed. For the better.
“I’ll need the gun,” Castiel tells her coolly, trying not to give the game away.
“Cas,” Dean says, his voice reed-thin. When he half-turns toward Castiel, his lashes flutter up to meet Castiel’s stare. There’s something about the heedless way he can look Castiel unflinchingly in the eye now that would bring him to his knees if he could get past the hot throb of pain in his ankle.
The self-inflicted pain, because let’s be honest, would Benny really have had the courage?
No. He’d rather pine for fourteen pathetic years than do something about it.
Of course, if he had done something about it, he would’ve died a long time ago.
Castiel’s known about Benny’s crush for as long as it existed. It’s not like Benny was subtle, but Dean’s self-esteem was painfully low back then, so he never realized that Benny was head over heels. In any case, Castiel saw Dean first and was determined to keep him.
By any means necessary.
If Ketch hadn’t wronged Dean – staring him down, creeping him out, most likely touching him in the shower that time – then he wouldn’t have been an easy scapegoat for Castiel’s own misguided attempts to grab and retain Dean’s attention. As an awkward sophomore, the most Castiel ever managed was a stilted, off-topic-but-not-quite comment about women with low self-esteem, in the hopes that it might prompt self-realization, but that would have required introspection without self-loathing, which is not one of Dean’s specialties. Not then, as a fresh-faced twenty-year-old, and not now, as a ruggedly handsome thirty-four-year-old.
It destroyed Castiel, knowing that Dean was out there with other people when he could have been with him. So he enlisted Meg’s help to make Dean as jealous as Castiel himself felt.
Of course, because of the aforementioned low self-esteem, it backfired.
When Castiel rushed out after Dean to apologize, to maybe stutter out his feelings, Dean was sitting on a bench in the plaza, looking so miserable that Castiel actually felt something like guilt carving out a hole in his chest. It was odd, and he didn’t like it. Though, looking back, it was the first indication that this wasn’t a mere infatuation, as Meg kept insisting. This was something more.
Castiel was about to approach when Meg showed up. Camera in hand from the photography class she’d shared with Charlie for one semester, Meg took a photograph of Dean, hugging his bag to his chest.
“Buy him a present,” she’d said. “It’ll cheer him up and be a way into his pants.”
After Castiel had racked his brain for the best part of a week, hoping something would shake itself loose, he decided on a multi-tool. A perfect present for an engineer. Dean had been distant since the week before, on edge and avoidant, so it was apparent that Castiel had misjudged the situation. But hopefully, a present would help clear things up. Maybe Dean would throw himself into Castiel’s arms, grateful to receive such a thoughtful gift.
That wasn’t quite how it turned out.
Of course, at that time, Castiel didn’t know about Arthur Ketch’s staring or about the groping incident, but he certainly made Ketch pay for it in the end.
Understandable, then, that Dean was skittish about the gift, the one that Castiel got cold feet about acknowledging when Dean gave him a smile that was tight around the edges.
Castiel took that smile as polite disinterest, and so backed down from his gift. Maybe Dean didn’t want him, maybe he was just being nice to his weird roommate, like he tended to be nice to everybody, and shit. Who would even buy someone they were interested in that kind of gift anyway? It was clingy and strange, Castiel suddenly realized.
The multi-tool was too much for a first present, that much was obvious. But rather than giving up, Castiel tried the more traditional route. Despite Meg telling him that flowers are for girls – how are flowers gendered? – Castiel bought Dean some roses.
He was doe-eyed and hopeful, even though it was becoming increasingly obvious that Dean was avoiding him. It all culminated in the Great Misunderstanding™ – apparently they’re not just for romantic comedies. Dean babbled some nonsense about switching rooms, before he ran away again, and Castiel wondered if this was how normal people dated, because it was exhausting.
Castiel went after Dean again, and seeing him entering Jo’s building had Castiel’s jealousy and frustration reach a boiling point. The flowers ended up getting ripped to shreds on Dean’s bed, scattered everywhere.
(Castiel lied to Dean earlier tonight when he said that he doesn’t think about Jo. He thinks about her a lot. He’s glad that she died when she did, because she – unlike Benny – might have actually made a move).
When Dean called him the next morning, explaining his theory about the stalker, Castiel stared across at Dean’s empty bed, covered in the evidence of his own temper tantrum. Whoops.
He needed a better plan to get Dean to fall in love with him, and as Castiel escorted him all over campus, he hit on it. Of course, learning that the asshole across the hall had been creeping on Dean served two purposes. Firstly, it gave Castiel a reason to be the protector, Dean’s knight in shining armor, because if there’s anything Castiel knows how to do, it’s fight. If you find yourself in enough crazy situations as an adolescent, you become adept at fighting your way out of them. Secondly, Ketch was a convenient scapegoat, because Dean’s suspicions were already in place. Castiel just had to massage them a little.
After dropping Dean off at a seminar, he ran to the library and printed out the first love letter he’d ever write. The font was nondescript, but the message itself was anything but.
After that, things fell into place.
Not everything was plain sailing, of course. Castiel truly lost his temper the day Benny took Dean to the Botanical Garden. He had been patiently waiting for Dean, knowing his exam schedule. Garth was due to bring him home, and when he didn’t, Castiel set out looking for him. One fruitless visit to Garth and Charlie's later, he happened to catch Dean and Benny leaving Benny's place so he followed the two of them to the Botanical Garden.
It worked out in his favor in the end, because after a couple of quick polaroids, Dean ran straight home to him. Not Benny. Castiel.
Dean just needed someone to show him they cared about him, and Castiel was happy to be that person. On one side, Dean had the stalker, the guy frightening the shit out of him, and on the other, he had safe, reliable Castiel.
It was Meg’s idea to write ‘I’ll never let you go’ in lipstick at the party.
Stupid, Castiel thought at the time, but it rattled Dean enough to shove all of his fear and rage onto the scapegoat. And Castiel was proud to be the manifestation of that fear and rage, especially when it meant that Dean gave himself fully to Castiel that night. And then again the next morning.
Dean was everything: perfection personified and distilled into one human. Love and kink, darkness and light, wholesome and depraved. Castiel had to protect it. Had to protect Dean.
There would always be people who wanted what they had. Contenders for Dean’s heart. And Castiel would happily fight the world for Dean Winchester, but would Dean do the same for him? It was impossible to be certain, but Castiel soon hit on a solution: they had to do something together that was so far beyond the pale as to bind them forever.
Castiel just had to force Dean’s fear of his stalker past the point of no return. So he kept pushing and pushing and pushing.
Dean’s panic attack in the quad was truly unfortunate. When Castiel rushed to help that day, he was so worried, he barely even noticed Meg following after him. Before Castiel could get to Dean, Meg grabbed his arm and held him back so she could take a picture of Dean in distress.
The whole thing didn’t sit right with him, but it did serve as the perfect catalyst for the murder of Ketch. Which was everything Castiel had been hoping for, and more. It bound them tighter, and Castiel was convinced that this was it, that he and Dean would be together forever.
Then Dean started pulling away from him again.
It couldn’t have been Benny – again, too weak – but Jo? She did have a lot of influence over Dean. He’d already killed one person for Dean. Another was just a number.
They were closer than ever after Jo’s death. Castiel felt vindicated, and Dean became his all over again.
Then, just as Castiel was starting to find some rhythm between all of his worlds, Dean left him.
Of course, if Dean thought that a break-up was going to keep Castiel away from him, he was sorely mistaken.
Castiel had promised he’d always keep Dean safe, and it was a promise he intended to keep for life.
Over the years, Castiel watched as Dean dated, but none of those relationships ever turned serious.
There was a reason for that.
Nobody deserved Dean, nobody else was worthy. The fact that they all disappeared after one single little threat spoke volumes about their commitment. Dean deserved better.
Dean deserved Castiel. Castiel deserved Dean.
Castiel made a mistake the first time around. He should’ve gotten rid of everybody who could’ve ever come between him and Dean. But there are only so many bodies you can bury before you’re building tombs on top of tombs. Only so many skeletons you can stuff in a closet.
Just one more now though. Then it’ll be just the two of them.
“Cas,” Dean tries again, watching with wide-eyed horror as Castiel accepts the gun from Meg. Castiel pulls back the slide, checking how many bullets are left in the chamber. Two. “What are you doing, man?”
The right thing.
Murderer to some, reluctant hero to others. It all depends on your perspective.
Because, if you really think about it, what was Billy Loomis doing other than avenging the death of his mom and the loss of his family? From his point of view, killing all those people was an acceptable – if extreme – course of action.
Their fingers still intertwined, Castiel drags Dean closer to him, pressing himself up against Dean’s back, warm and solid in all the places they touch. Releasing Dean’s hand, Castiel hooks his left arm around Dean’s throat from behind and squeezes. Just a little. Dean goes deathly still, his breathing nothing more than a rough in-and-out as Castiel puts the muzzle of the gun up to Dean’s temple. The Earth stops spinning for half an instant, nothing but stale air in Castiel’s lungs.
Dean’s hair is soft. His lashes flutter. The scent of dirt and blood clings to his skin.
Castiel kisses the spot below Dean’s ear, the same place he kissed ten years ago, the last time they said goodbye. Dean makes a tiny, heartbroken sound in the back of his throat.
Silently willing Dean to just believe in him, in them, Castiel traces Dean’s jaw with the muzzle, edgy fear in Dean’s eyes, but there’s a ravenous gleam to them too that Castiel more than appreciates.
They’re both pretty fucked up.
“Just shoot him,” Meg says, feigning boredom, but this moment has been fourteen years in the making; there’s no chance she wants to miss this.
“I love him,” Castiel tells her, not looking at her, too enthralled with the slow bob of Dean’s throat as he swallows. “I’ve always loved him.”
“O-kay. Sure, whatever. Look, I get that this is hard for you, but this is what we came here to do.”
It actually is hard for him. He loves Meg too. Just not in the same way or to the same degree.
Castiel drags the cool metal of the gun across Dean’s shoulder and down his arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. It could be fear or arousal, but Castiel knows which one his money is on. He presses the gun into the open palm of Dean’s right hand. Dean’s fingers close around it, and he lifts the gun to point it directly at Meg.
She pales. “Castiel?”
Dean smiles serenely, a cool, glassy sheen over tonight’s chaos and frenetic energy. “Guess your BFF made his choice, huh?”
The flip from panic to anger is one of Castiel’s favorite things in the entire world. That split-second where you see precisely how much of a fighter someone is going to be with a gun or fist in their face. He thrives on it.
Of course, he knows Meg, always knew that her reaction would be that of a cornered animal, but he’s still reluctantly impressed with the way she demands, “What the hell is this, Castiel?” before not giving him the opportunity to answer. Instead, she dives for Dean’s hand.
Dean sees her coming though and catches her by the hair, yanking her head back. He kicks her left leg out from underneath her, sending her sprawling backward to the floorboards, knocking the air from her lungs, and making the rotten wood creak like an old ship. Her dark hair fans out around her and her chest heaves, betrayal written in every line of her face.
Castiel watches alongside Dean as Meg twists onto her front and starts to belly-crawl away. She thrusts herself up onto her hands and knees, scurrying forward.
The opening snap of the knife on the multi-tool is loud. Dean sinks to his knees, knife in one hand, gun in the other. He stabs the blade several inches into her calf muscle and she screams in agony.
"It's always been Dean. Sorry," Castiel says, knowing he doesn't sound all that apologetic. “I may have misled you about the purpose of all this somewhat. They’ll find everyone dead by your hand, killed by the same gun that was used to kill Ketch. This was never about you and me, Meg, this was always about Dean and me.”
Leaving the knife sticking up in her leg, Dean grabs her ankle and jerks her backward. She kicks and thrashes like a toddler throwing a tantrum. That is until Dean gets his hand around the knife and twists. She screams again and Dean yanks it out, stabbing her higher up, in the soft place behind her knee, wrenching another agonized sound from her.
She rolls over onto her back and Dean swings his leg over her thighs, sitting on her stomach. Gasping for breath, Meg brings her hands up, slapping at Dean’s face, his neck, clawing and scratching anywhere she can reach.
Unfazed, Dean presses the gun to her forehead and leans in so close that Castiel has to strain to hear. “Looks like I win, bitch.” And then he fires.
One shot is all it takes, and suddenly Dean has freckles of blood alongside the caramel ones that Castiel has counted from every angle over the past fourteen years.
Dean climbs off Meg’s body, using the back of his arm to wipe the worst of the blood off his face.
Crouched on his haunches, he starts going through her pockets, whilst Castiel holds the gun on her, just in case. If there’s one thing Castiel has learned from horror movies, it’s that the killer always finds a way to rise back up for one last scare.
“Aha!” Dean says, triumphant, turning on the ball of his foot to show Castiel his discovery. “The ignition leads!” From her other pocket, Dean pulls out the picture Charlie took at the beginning of the evening. The last one of them together. Dean studies it with liquid eyes for a couple of heartbeats, before tucking it back into Meg’s pocket, leaving it in the past where it belongs.
Because this isn’t a horror movie, Meg doesn’t rise, but Castiel puts another bullet in her anyway. Just to be sure. He tosses the empty gun onto his best friend’s lifeless body.
He’s not feeling much beyond a profound sense of relief that it’s over. That after everything, he and Dean can be together.
The sun is just peeking over the horizon as they stagger their way through reception onto the porch, rising on a new day. It fills the sky with shades of orange and pink, and Castiel with hope for his and Dean’s future together.
Arms around each other, they stand there, taking it all in.
Maybe one day Castiel will tell Dean everything. If he asks.
Dean’s voice is cracked around the edges when he says, “It’s just you and me, right, Cas? You’re gonna stay with me?”
“It’s just you and me, Dean,” Castiel promises. “I’ll never let you go.”