Not With A Bang

Title: Not With A Bang
Author: janekrahe
Recipient: cs_whitewolf
Pairing: Future!Dean/Future!Castiel
Rating: NC-17 Not for the kiddies, folks
Warnings: Serious angst, mentions of torture, graphic death, mentions of the death of a child
Spoilers: Up to episode 5:04
Word Count: 3795
Notes/Prompt(s): The prompt was: Anything Dean/Castiel wise that is set in the 5.04 The End verse. With or without Past!Dean included as the author sees fit.
Summary: This is the way Dean’s world ends.


This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

T. S. Eliot


It was a rainy Tuesday in Detroit the day Sam Winchester said "Yes" to the Devil.

Castiel was there. He was at Dean's side through the entire battle. They hadn't even known Sam would be there. But suddenly, there he was, in the middle of the fray, face streaked with soot, kneeling on the floor in the middle of the burned-out car factory. Lucifer was in front of him, a slow smile spreading across his face. Castiel watched as Sam mouthed the words. He couldn't hear him, but he didn't have to. He knew what had happened. He knew because he felt Lucifer enter Sam's body. He felt his brother’s presence sear through Sam, scorching out what remained of the boy, burning red through his flesh, before settling like a dark cancer in his gut.

Castiel watched as Lucifer stood, rolling the muscular shoulders, testing the weight of his fresh meat. Castiel turned in time to see Dean's face go slack with horror, to see him realize what had happened. Dean turned away from the mockery of his brother, fell to his knees, and screamed, "MICHAEL!! GET YOUR ANGELIC ASS DOWN HERE AND DO SOMETHING!!!"

But there was a ringing growing in Castiel's ears. Louder and louder, and it brought him to his knees as well, next to Dean who had eyes only for the sky. Castiel felt something burn hot through his chest, down his throat, and he realized that, quite suddenly, breathing was no longer elective. He felt the first painful beats of his heart, and he knew then what had happened.

The angels were gone.

And he was alone.

*************

It took them two days to get back to camp. Two days of silence from Dean, who could do nothing but stare unseeingly out the window. Castiel had turned to Chuck for help in dealing with his new-found humanity: when to eat, how to sleep, what those pesky emotions mean, and how to know when to use the bathroom so as not to piss your pants because you don't know what a full bladder feels like.

Once they returned to camp, Dean disappeared. Castiel let him go, told the others not to follow. Dean was dangerous in this state of emptiness. Nothing mattered to him anymore, and Castiel wasn't sure what he'd do if people tried to bring him back down to Earth with well-meaning "We need you"'s.

For four hours Castiel lost track of Dean. He sat in Dean's cabin, with Chuck and Missouri, silently sipping scotch. It was having an effect on him, making him not care as much about Dean's absence. He thought he might very much like alcohol.

Castiel heard the sounds of shattering glass. He and the others rushed to the window, Cas stumbling on his own two, unfamiliar feet. Dean was outside, taking a baseball bat to the windows of his car. It broke Cas's heart, and for the first time he felt his eyes well up with tears. He moved away from the window and sat back down, draining his glass in one gulp, savoring the painful burn down his throat.

A few minutes passed, then Cas heard Missouri mutter, "Dear God in Heaven!" He had a moment to think, 'God's not in Heaven; I looked', before he heard the distinct whooshing sound of flames. He moved to the window once more.

Dean had set fire to the Impala.

*************

It was another week before Dean spoke to anyone. Cas just happened to be there; he'd stayed at Dean's side as much as possible, waiting to see if he would ever recover. Dean had been standing in his cabin, arms crossed over his chest, staring out the window at the blacked skeleton of his beloved car. Castiel was across the room, leafing through a book whose pages he wasn't really reading. He had a headache, his first ever, and some perverse part of him was trying to make it worse, focusing on tiny texts and translation, straining his eyes and mind, just to see what kind of a pain threshold his body really had.

Dean opened his mouth and spoke, but Castiel missed it at first because his head chose that moment to throb, red and hot behind his eyes. He cringed, dropping the book to the floor. It was only once he stood, his vision clearing of it's haze of pain, that he realized Dean had spoken. "What?" he asked, rushing over to Dean's side. "Dean? What did you say?"

Dean cleared his throat, then spoke, his voice rough from lack of use. "I never told him."

"Told who what?"

"I never once told Sam I love him."

*************

Three weeks passed. Castiel learned the limits of his body; learned that he liked coffee, but hated soda. Learned that he was a morning person, that he had strong legs, that he was startlingly flexible. Learned that his libido was a bit over-active, and after his first few wet-dreams, that he was bisexual.

Castiel liked pork rinds. And chocolate. And scotch. And wine. And marijuana. But not mushrooms. When Chuck gave him those he saw God, who shunned him for his new, human life, and his new, human sins. He spent three days in bed afterwards, crying and vomiting. Chuck called it a “bad trip”, but Castiel refused to touch anything even remotely mushroom-shaped after that.

Castiel lost his virginity to a pretty girl named Marie, who was spaced out on acid the entire time. She rode him hard, and called him Tom, and Castiel came only after she shouted, “Oh, Christ!” He wondered what was wrong with him.

A month passed, then two. They got the first words of the Croatoan virus becoming active. Dean began teaching the recruits how to spot infection. He tortured his first human; a Satanist who was following the demons. The girl didn’t make it. But Dean got his information.

Castiel got his first haircut; Dean had taken a look at him one morning and barked, “Get that hair out of your eyes.” Chuck cut it for him. He also taught him how to shave.

Dean and Castiel kissed exactly three months after Sam said “yes”.

Castiel was a little drunk. He’d just heard that Marie, that pretty girl who’d called him Tom, had died of an overdose. It was probably intentional. He was depressed, something that was becoming a frequent occurrence for him.

Dean came to Cas’s cabin reeking of whiskey. “Was it my fault, Cas?” he’d asked, red-rimmed eyes watery and pleading. “Did I do this? Did I make him say it?”

Cas felt tears well up in his eyes, another event he was becoming familiar with, another one he hated. “No,” he replied, his voice barely more than a whisper. “No, Dean, it wasn’t your fault.”

Dean’s eyes got wider. A tear spilled down, and Castiel wondered how Dean managed to look so beautiful even when crying. “But I... but...” he drifted into silence. Dean shook his head then, more tears falling down his unshaven cheeks. He gripped Castiel by the shirt and pulled him forward, crushing their mouths together. Castiel tasted whiskey and salt and despair, and he kissed back with all of his limited ability. If this was what Dean needed, then he would give it to him. Because Dean was all he had.

*************

Castiel came to Dean’s cabin one day, just a few days later, to find Dean sitting in the middle of the floor, arms around his knees, his back hunched, a cell phone laying open in front of him. Dean was crying, sobs wracking his frame, almost the way a child would cry. Castiel took a quiet step forward. He heard Sam’s voice.

“This is Sam. I’m not available right now. Leave a message. If this is an emergency, call my brother Dean with your coordinates.”

Castiel stepped back out of the cabin, shutting the door silently behind him.

Dean didn’t come out for two days.

*************

It was another month before Dean came to see Castiel again. Much had happened. Missouri had died, her heart ripped out while battling a demon. Bobby was dead; Lucifer had come for the old hunter himself, pulling him from his chair and out onto the lawn. He’d strung Bobby up by his neck, watched him kick and spasm, before dropping his carcass on Dean’s door just to prove he could.

They’d burned Bobby’s remains. And that night Dean came to him.

Cas was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. After Bobby’s funeral pyre, he hadn’t even had the energy to get high or drunk. He just laid down and sank into a stupor so deep he barely remembered his own name. He wasn’t even aware of his surroundings until he felt the bed dip.

Dean didn’t say anything, he just leaned over and captured Castiel’s mouth with his. Cas melted into him, wondering vaguely when this shift in their partnership had happened, when Dean had started to need him like this.

Dean lowered himself onto Cas’s body, his arousal pressing through his rough jeans. Cas felt his own body stir in response, and rolled his hips up into Dean’s without thinking. Dean broke away from the kiss, his green eyes wide, startled. Cas held his breath, utterly convinced that he’d gone too far. Then Dean blinked, his eyes darkened, and in a low, rough tone, he said, “God, yes,” swooping back down to kiss Cas again.

The whole affair was quick and dirty. Dean shoved his hands down Castiel’s pants, wrapping calloused fingers around his cock. He drew Castiel’s orgasm from him in an embarrassingly short time, wrist twisting and fingers teasing. Castiel did his best to reciprocate, his hand firm, pace a little unsure. Dean’s cock was different than Castiel’s, wider and slightly shorter, and though he’d known it would be different,feeling the difference was a heady shock.

After a few moments of Castiel’s fumbling, Dean placed his hand over the ex-angel’s and guided him. Together they brought Dean to orgasm, pearly ropes shooting up over Cas’s shirt. When Castiel brought his sticky hand up to his mouth and took and experimental lick, Dean groaned and kissed him again.

The fell asleep like that, sticky and cold, and when Castiel woke up, he was alone.

*************

A few weeks later, Dean asked Castiel to accompany him to his mother’s grave.

It was something he’d done with Sam, something he’d scoffed at Sam for. Castiel remembered it, from his days when all he did was watch. So he’d said yes, and packed up three bottles of Jack and had driven with Dean in an old green Jeep.

They didn’t see it until they were nearer, but the sight made Castiel’s gut twist.

Mary Winchester’s grave was unearthed, the empty coffin exposed. In it someone had placed the body of a boy, maybe ten or eleven years old. He was a handsome child, all dark hair and dimples. Dean froze when they came in sight of the grave, muttered “Ben?”, then rushed over.

Blood had been slathered over the gravestone, forming words.

NO FAMILY FOR YOU WINCHESTER

Castiel knew who the boy was, understood why Dean cradled his body so reverently.

They burned Ben right there in the graveyard. Dean said the boy was hunter, through and through, and he deserved nothing less. Part of Castiel wanted to ask about Lisa, if maybe they should look for her, but he knew better.

When they returned to the car, Castiel felt himself being shoved up against the cold metal. Dean turned him around, then dropped to his knees before Castiel could react.

Castiel had yet to receive a blow-job, though he’d heard a few of the men extolling their virtues. He understood this to be where Dean was headed, here and now, and the mere thought had him hard and leaking. Dean’s hand pulled Castiel’s jeans down roughly, the denim scraping his pale flesh. His mouth enveloped Castiel’s cock and Cas cried out, the sensation so new and bright that it took every ounce of self-control not to shoot down Dean’s throat.

Cas tangled his hands in Dean’s hair and held on as Dean’s sinful mouth slid over him, his tongue pressing on the vein underneath, and when Cas’s hips began to thrust Dean encouraged it, taking Cas all the way down and holding still, letting the angel fuck his mouth. Castiel could feel his orgasm building, and when Dean’s hand slipped back and the tip of his finger dipped into Castiel’s puckered hole, Cas came in a white-hot flash, cock pulsing as Dean’s throat fluttered around it.

Cas was boneless and spent afterwards, and he let Dean man-handle him back into the car. Once there, Castiel had the presence of mind to noticed the large bulge in Dean’s pants, and he snaked a hand over while Dean was driving, reveling in the sight of Dean trying to maintain focus while Cas brought him to pieces. As he stroked Dean to completion and his come cascaded over Cas’s hand, the car swerved, narrowly avoiding a tree, and the accompanying jolt of adrenaline made Cas feel alive for the first time since Detroit.

*************


Castiel began to realize that he was watching Dean die. It was slow, and agonizing, but with every defeat, every setback, every familiar body left eviscerated by the wayside, Dean was dying.

Almost a year had passed since Sam had said “yes”. Castiel felt a dry, dark humor at how time was measured now: BD and AD. Before Detroit. And After...

It started like most days did. Investigating rumors, analyzing demon signs. Searching for any way to destroy their mutual brothers. Castiel had awoken that morning to Dean’s tongue on his cock, so he was feeling slightly cheerier than he usually did. He was also sober, a first in over two months.

Chuck had come running in, saying that the CB was talking.

Someone had spotted Lucifer in Lawrence, Kansas.

Castiel could see the emotions flickering behind Dean’s eyes at this news, emotions that had been dimmed in recent months. A perverse part of Castiel was glad they were there. Then again, there was little of Castiel that hadn’t been twisted and perverted since becoming human.

Castiel accompanied Dean to Kansas. They rode together in the green Jeep. Castiel wondered at one point if Dean ever missed the Impala, but he knew better than to mention it. The last person who’d mentioned anything to do with Sam was dead.

Dean had slept with some guy; Castiel didn’t begrudge him this. He’d been sick for a week, and it wasn’t as if Dean had ever promised him anything. And besides, Castiel wasn’t exactly monogamous either.

Dean had slept with this guy, and afterwards he’d placed his hand over Dean’s pendant, and asked if he could have it, to remember him by.

Dean had hit him. Then hit him again. And again. And then he stopped moving.

And then Dean hit him some more.

Dean had told the camp that he’d been a demon, but later in Castiel’s cabin, Dean had told him the truth, between sobs and shots of whiskey. Dean had wanted to die, then, but Castiel wouldn’t allow it. He’d told Dean not to be a coward. Dean had told him very loudly to “Fuck right the hell off!”

But he’d lived to see the next morning.

So Castiel didn’t ask about the Impala.

They reached Lawrence around dusk, and the town was empty. Buildings had been razed, the land was scorched and dry, and the heat coming off the fires made Castiel’s skin grow tight and cracked.

Somehow, they’d always known where Lucifer would be, the only place he’d go if he’d gone to Kansas.

When they reached the house of John and Mary Winchester, it was already burned to the ground. The area around it was back and charred, and Lucifer stood in the center, Sam’s body clothed in white, his hands in his pockets.

Dean seemed frozen for a long while. Castiel stood anxiously at his side, wondering what exactly Dean had planned to do. They didn’t have a way to kill Lucifer, after all. Castiel had the sneaking suspicion that this was Dean’s way of ending it, “suicide by cop” if you will, and if that was the case, then Cas wasn’t going to let him do it alone.

Lucifer turned, Sam’s face splitting into a wide grin. “Hello, little brother.”

Castiel wasn’t sure which of them he was talking to.

“I’ve missed you.”

Castiel vaguely registered the sound of Dean vomiting somewhere beside him.

Lucifer walked forward, and Castiel took an instinctive step back. Lucifer laughed. “Please, Castiel, you really think I’m going to hurt you? Why would I? You’re just a man.”

He walked right past Cas, leaving Sam’s scent in his wake.

He wasn’t important.

No, of course he wasn’t.

Lucifer knelt in front of Dean, who was still on his knees, still coughing. “Dean,” he said. “It doesn’t have to be this way. Sam’s here with me.” Dean’s eyes raised, something perversely like hope filtering through them. “He’s here, Dean. And he’s happy.”

Castiel wanted to shout out, wanted to tell Dean no, Sam wasn’t there, Lucifer burned him out of his own flesh a year ago, but he found he couldn’t move. He could only watch, and wait.

“Sam’s here, Dean.” Lucifer leaned forward slightly. “He wants to say something to you. Would you like to hear it?”

Tears coursed down Dean’s face, but still he nodded.

Lucifer leaned down, bringing Sam’s mouth right up to Dean’s ear, and in Sam’s sweet voice, he whispered, “Sam says you should have known he’d say ‘yes’. Sam says a good brother would have known.”

Lucifer disappeared then, and Castiel forced himself to move. He grabbed Dean by the arms and hauled him back to the Jeep. He tossed Dean into the passenger’s seat then drove them home, trying not to look at him, trying not to see Dean fall apart.

When they reached camp, Castiel wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist, and the two of them stumbled to Dean’s cabin. Cas deposited Dean on the bed and made to leave. He was stopped by a rough hand on his thigh. “Stay,” Dean said, his voice harsh and dry. “You’re all that’s left.”

Cas sat down on the bed with Dean. His heart ached for him, ached in a way he hadn’t know he was capable of. It was as if someone had taken up all his guts in one hand and twisted them like a maid with a mop. When Dean reached up and kissed him, Cas felt tears spill over his eyes, and he wondered if he was being punished for his disobedience, if maybe this was Hell.

The cabin was cold, but Dean’s skin was hot, and they shed their clothes in a hurried, desperate flurry. Dean rolled Cas onto his back and settled on top of him, bare cock rubbing against his. Castiel arched up into it, wanting the friction to take him away, to let his mind fall into a blank abyss. As they kissed, Dean brought his hand to Cas’s mouth, nudged his lips with two fingers. Castiel sucked them in, lapping at them, not really understanding why Dean wanted him to.

Dean removed his fingers, and Castiel instantly forgot about them, distracted as he was by the feel of Dean’s cock, hard and leaking against his. He was reminded sharply of them, however, when Dean’s spit-slicked fingers traced a line from his balls back to his hole. They circled the small pucker, and Castiel quivered, the feeling so alien and dirty. Dean’s finger slid inside to the first knuckle, and Castiel clenched in surprised, letting out a soft cry.

Dean swore, muttering, “So tight, goddamn, Cas.” Castiel tried to relax, and after a moment Dean continued, nudging and pressing. Once the first finger was, Dean crooked it at a certain angle, and Castiel’s world went white. He panted and gasped as he came back to Earth, realizing that it hadn’t been an orgasm, just a flick to his prostate from very skilled fingers.

Castiel forced his muscles to relax, and quite soon Dean had three fingers inside him, caressing and teasing, driving Cas insane. “Dean, just -” he gasped out. “Please, dammit, just -”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said, voice low. He wrapped an arm around Castiel’s back, and using the other, guided himself to Castiel’s entrance.

The first breach of Dean’s head inside him burned, and Castiel willed himself not to clench. He’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted Dean to be inside him, and he wanted it now.

It took a few thrusts, but soon Dean was fully sheathed, and to Cas the feeling was like being complete, like a missing puzzle piece had finally been fitted into it’s rightful place. Dean took a moment to breathe, letting out the occasional, “Oh, fuck.”

And when he moved, Castiel forgot how to breathe.

They rocked together, Castiel and Dean, sweat mingling in the cold air. Castiel felt like his skin was on fire, and everywhere he and Dean touched had his nerves dancing. Dean kissed him, hard and desperate, and Cas knew this wouldn’t last, and part of him wanted it to, but part of him felt he might die from it.

Castiel snaked a hand down between them, past his own aching cock, to the place where the two of them were joined. He wanted to feel it, wanted to be sure it was real. His fingertips brushed across Dean’s slick length, and Dean moaned into Cas’s mouth, hips stuttering. The change in angle had Dean’s cock rubbing up against Cas’s prostate almost continuously, and he went from kind-of-sort-of-almost-there to dear-God-I’m-going-to-come in seconds. “Dean,” he moaned, tightened his fingers around Dean’s base. When Cas’s fingertip slipped inside himself as Dean slid back in, they both arched and came, Castiel crying out, Dean whimpering.

They came back down quickly, and Castiel’s blood went cold at the sight of Dean’s eyes.

They were cold, and hard, and glazed. And not an ounce of the man Castiel once knew was in there.

Dean was dead. His body just hadn’t caught up to the fact.

Dean rolled up off the bed, then dressed and left, all without word, without even a glance Castiel’s way.

And as Castiel lay in bed, listening to the night, he entertained the idea of leaving, of finding his fortune somewhere else.

But he knew he never would. Castiel had defied Heaven for Dean Winchester, and he knew he could never leave him.

He’d die with Dean, as Dean had died with him.


fin