THE MIND FUCK. (4/5)

[amoama]

FOUR: I Was Your Coffin.

“You are awakened from one dream by another, itself the interpretation of the dream.”

Dean finds himself on a long, grey road with red buses driving up and down it. There is a small shopfront, pictures of men with short, cropped hair in the window, a black headboard and the name ‘Castiel’s’ across the top. He knows why he is here as soon as he sees it. He crosses the road and stares in through the window. Sure enough he sees Cas through the window having a haircut. The barber is a tad flamboyant Dean thinks, he is wearing a loose white t-shirt and black cardigan and his trousers are ridiculously skinny. His hair is peroxide blonde. He is wielding two pairs of scissors and seems to be applying some kind of gel to Cas’s head. Dean raises one eyebrow, typical Cas to let himself be talked into something like this.

Cas turns then and sees Dean at the window. He smiles with something like relief and gestures at him to come in. “Dean”, Cas’s deep voice is heavy with gratitude, “Is there something urgent we must attend to?”

“What are you doing here Cas?” Dean doesn’t even know where ‘here’ is but he hopes Cas can give him the answers.

“I saw my name over the entrance and assumed it was a sign.”

“Of what? Needing a haircut?”

“That is what Phil here offered and I accepted.” Cas is looking like he rather wishes he hadn’t. Incredibly his hair has been tamed and is now pasted across his forehead in an unnaturally straight fashion. Dean hates it.

The barber is fluffing up the back of Cas’s hair in complete opposition to the now flat hair at the front. Cas tries to move out of the chair but is forced back down by Phil who waves the scissors threateningly. “Hey!” Dean is surprised at the force of his objection. He shoves Phil out the way roughly and grabs Cas’s shoulder. “Come on Cas, let’s make a move.” Cas stands up but struggles to disentangle himself from the barber’s robe and the hairdryer wire. Phil is now advancing on them, his eyes, predictably, have turned jet black. “A fucking demon hairdresser.” Dean swears to himself as he lands his first punch. In lieu of salt, he throws a pot of talcum powder over ‘Phil’. It doesn’t accomplish the same thing but it gives him time to reach for Ruby’s knife and he dispatches the sucker easily. He almost feels bad about it.

He turns to see Cas staring at himself in the mirror, utterly bewildered by what he sees. Dean wonders if he ever even thought about his hair before. “What kind of a demon was that Dean? What did he do to me?” Distress is clear in his tone.

“I don’t know man, that was one fetishy demon. Scary. Seriously though Cas, why didn’t you mojo yourself out of there?”

“Dean, I didn’t know he was a demon. I don’t know why I didn’t sense it. I just thought it would be impolite to say anything.” They stare at each other, both trying to digest this new level of crazy.

Finally Cas asks, “Dean, help me.” He gestures to his hair helplessly.

Dean looks at Cas’s head. It’s freaking him out to be honest and he doesn’t really want to touch it but he spots the sink in the corner and drags Cas over to it. There is a little hose attached to the tap and he pours water all over Cas’s hair. He reaches for the soap and squirts it all over Cas’s head from high above. Eventually he feels comfortable enough to touch Cas’s head and he smears the shampoo in as thoroughly as possible before hosing it out again. He takes a towel to Cas’s head and rubs hard and fast, leaning over Cas’s body as he does it. It feels intimate and slightly awkward. Cas has his eyes closed and is looking more and more relaxed with every passing second. Dean lets the towel drop and sighs in satisfaction at Cas’s damp, unruly, tousled hair. Cas opens his eyes and reaches up to touch it. He breathes out deeply and looks gratefully at Dean. He reaches out and takes Dean’s hand, or rather his arm, just above the wrist. “Thank you Dean, I feel freer now, more like myself.” Dean reaches one hand back up to Cas’s head and brushes his fingers through the mess of brown hair.

He wakes up with Cas’s voice reverberating in his head. Can you hear me?

The next day, every time Dean runs his hand through his hair or sees Sam do it, he shudders. He looks at his hands constantly and pictures them tousling Cas’s hair, mussing it up affectionately. He watches as his traitorous hands tremble at the thought. He has to physically shake his head to get the picture of himself washing Cas’s hair out of his mind. It never stays gone for long. Dean growls with frustration every so often. Sam looks at him like he’s finally cracked. Dean wonders if that is in fact the case.

*

Dean is learning his lines furiously. How is he ever going to get this scene right? The play hinges on this one moment and he’s too nervous to even say the words. You talk as if you had no heart, no pity in you.

Cas is watching him carefully, waiting for his cue. He is right up in Dean’s face and it’s making Dean really uncomfortable. He wishes he were alone. He wishes he hadn’t got this stupid play to do. Cas frowns a little, “Shall I say my line again Dean?” Can you hear me? Dean nods.

“Punishment can purify us. If God were truly just, man should pray, ‘Smite us for our iniquities.’ Not ‘forgive us our sins’”. Cas delivers the line with all the authority of a warrior angel racing to earth on a chariot of fire. Dean searches for his friend through the bullshit. He steps in closer still and says his lines finally, wonderingly, “You talk as if you had no heart, no pity in you.” Dean knows it isn’t true, even more, he knows that it is his job to bring it out of Cas. Automatically he reaches up to stroke Cas’s cheek, coaxing him. Don’t die completely.

Cas’s eyes bore into him as words topple out of him, "You are a wonderful creation. You know more than you think you know, just as you know less than you want to know." Dean starts, looks down briefly, then up again, grinning, totally out of the character again. “That’s my line, you dick, and it’s from two scenes earlier.” Cas shrugs helplessly.

They’re never going to get this scene done and they’re never going to get out of here. Dean can’t bring himself to mind. He stares at Cas’s lips as he says his lines again.

*

Cas is twirling in a white dress. It has a corseted top with thin lace straps that cling to his shoulders. It makes his chest and arms look incredible, strong and more than a little ripped – for a skinny guy. The dress spills out at his hips, all the way to the floor where it swirls around his feet and drags out at the back. It looks like a wedding dress.

Cas is in a wedding dress, spinning slowly. Dean is stunned, his heart stutters as his mouth does odd soundless fish-impressions. He’s totally bewildered and more than a little entranced.

*

Cas’s skull cracks again as he is thrown against concrete. His whole body feels like its spinning. The violence and the pain keep dragging him back to this room and his own personal darkness. He tries hard to focus his mind on Dean’s dream. Why is Dean picturing him in a dress? Why a wedding dress? There’s something Cas doesn’t understand here. He tries to think what joke or cultural reference he might have missed that led to this in Dean’s mind but his head hurts too much to come up with anything. He’s seeing a serious amount of stars which are distorting the images in Dean’s brain enough as it is.

He is being dragged across the room again. He pictures a white gown trailing behind him rather than the copious amounts of his own blood. He is hung from his wrists this time. The whip flies into his thighs and his body spins round on the rope. He worries about blood ruining the dress.

*

Dean takes his eyes off the dress and Cas’s body and sees that Cas looks in pain. He is turning as if he is on a revolving podium or something and as Dean looks again he realises that he is on the outside of a giant glass casing - like a snow-globe - and Cas is trapped inside. Dean runs to the glass and pushes his face against it. Cas sees him as he turns towards him and keeps his eyes on him for as long as possible craning his neck as he revolves past Dean and whipping it round so he catches sight of him again as soon as possible. Cas’s expression is a powerful mixture of agony and longing.

Dean beats on the glass furiously until he finally realises he might be able to lift the glass case a little. It’s heavy but he manages to tip it enough to manoeuvre himself underneath. He feels the reverberations as it crashes back down beside him. It’s oddly silent inside the glass apart from the mechanical sound of the revolving platform. He rushes to Cas and lifts up the bottom of the dress. He sees that Cas is tied to a metal pole that is placed between his ankles. Dean uses his knife to cut the ropes that bind Cas and he emerges from under the gown triumphantly. He stands to face Cas, revolving with him on the platform for an instant before grabbing his arm and pulling him onto flat ground. Cas wobbles a bit and looks generally pretty unstable. He leans heavily on Dean’s shoulder. Dean feels the satin and lace of the dress against his clothes and he kind of feels underdressed. Cas’s strong bare arm is all the way around his back, hand gripping tightly to his far shoulder, he rests his forehead against Dean’s cheek and seems to wait for his balance to return.

After a minute he looks at Dean and says, “Help me out of this dress Dean will you?” Dean agrees and moves around to look at the strong ribbon tying the corset together at the back. Cas has to lean his hands against the glass wall to keep himself steady. Dean decides against trying to untie anything and takes out his knife again. Slowly he frees Cas one bow at a time, watching as he exposes more and more of Cas’s broad, bare, back. Cas shudders slightly as the corset unclenches and drops forward. There are red, inflamed grooves on Cas’s skin where the corset has been tied too tight. Something in Dean constricts and the back of his throat seems to ache. He keeps cutting down. As he reaches the bottom of the corset Dean tugs his knife onwards through the seam of the skirt bit. He cuts down over Cas’s hips until the dress falls down completely into a heap around Cas’s ankles, leaving the angel naked before him. Without thinking Dean's hands cover Cas's ass, compelled almost by the curiosity of seeing it displayed so openly. It is still eerily silent in the glass cacoon. Cas’s head falls a little further forward but he doesn’t say a word. Dean moves his hands up Cas’s back over scars but no wings. Dean's hands move on over Cas's shoulders, pressing gently down his arms until Dean’s whole body fits over Cas’s, his hands resting on the angel’s. He turns his head to one side and rests it at the nape of Cas’s neck and lets peace flow through them. He doesn’t try to move.

-Don’t die completely.

-I’ll try not to.

-Don’t die at all.

-I’ll try not to.

Cas tries to feel Dean’s weight full against his entire body as he hangs in the dank torture room. He starts at the bottom and tries to imagine Dean’s legs pressing into his own, Dean’s knees slightly above the break in his own legs, the hard zip on his jeans against his ass, the pressure beneath. Dean’s heart beating against his spine, his head nestled into Cas's neck. Cas wants to feel it so much he forgets where he is. The next lash surprises him more than it hurts. He’s grateful it hits his chest and doesn’t hurt Dean behind him.

*

The dream of Cas in the wedding dress has Dean all confused. He spends all day trying not to think at all. About anything. Sam sees the expression on his face and knows not to go anywhere near him. They barely speak all day. Dean concentrates hard on not thinking. He doesn’t think about how Cas is beautiful, actually, physically, beautiful to him. He doesn’t think about why a wedding dress would make him think this. He doesn’t think about the feel of the silk against his skin, the look of the corset against Cas’s broad, flat torso. He doesn’t fret about the tortured look Cas gave him or the marks on his body. He doesn’t dwell on his body at all. He doesn’t imagine that his hands soothe and heal Cas. He doesn’t long to see Cas and he doesn’t talk himself out of praying for him every 20 seconds or so. He just fixes his stare on the horizon as he drives and hopes the wind doesn’t change while he’s wearing the biggest bitchface on record in Winchester history.

*

Dean sees the back of Cas’s head at the table in the diner and races over to him. “Hey, Ca-“ He stops suddenly, “Oh I’m sorry Miss, I thought you were a friend of mine.” The girl looks up curiously, head to one side, chin poking forward, eyes narrowed in thought. God this is uncanny, Dean thinks. Her hair is short and messy and her eyes are a piercing blue. All she’s missing is the trench coat he marvels. Dean slides regretfully out of the booth. He gets his food to takeaway.

*

Dean dreams he’s making love to the girl from the diner. She appears suddenly at the end of his bed, her eyes questioning him in a sardonic fashion. He grins and kneels on the bed, reaching towards her. He pulls at her tie - which he doesn’t think she was wearing earlier - and she moves towards him, clambering onto the end of the bed. “Dean”, she says, her voice lower than he expected, “You should show me some respect.” Dean swallows his retort - he really is messed up these days. She pushes him back down and straddles him on the bed. She jerks her head slightly and all of their clothes disappear and reappear on a chair on the other side of the room. Dean looks shocked but she just cocks her head again and says, “Perks.” Dean takes a minute to appreciate her form, for some reason he can only think of words beginning with p to describe her, pert, petite, precious, peculiar. He’s definitely losing it. To feel more like himself, he gets to work stroking up her thighs and over her hips. She’s sat directly over his cock and he’s already hard. She rolls on a condom that he has no idea how she found and she’s about to lower herself on to him when he realises that they haven’t even kissed yet. “Girls usually require more foreplay than this Cas,” he says and he freezes as he notices that he’s called her Cas. She looks him straight in the eye and then stares at his lips for a long time. Finally Dean snaps out of it and pulls her head down towards him, kissing her hard on the lips.

She puts her hands on either side of his head, eventually pulling him back with an impressive strength. She holds his head still, tilted up towards her and she kisses him again, softer, playfully. But with a heat behind it that is making her lips tremble. She releases his head and he surges towards her again, desire burning through him. She reaches down for his cock again, the pressure of her hand feels incredible and his hands scrape down her back, clawing at her skin as she lowers herself onto him. It feels like she’s everywhere, she’s on top of him, around him, along him. She moves herself up and down, slowly, painfully slowly, an almost comically quizzical look on her face, as if this is something she never imagined she’d be doing. “You okay?” Dean gasps. “Of course Dean,” she replies, “I am finding the experience extremely pleasurable.” The formality of her words makes him roar in frustration. Quickly he turns them both over on the bed so that he is on top. He begins to thrust into her slow and hard. He puts two fingers over her clit and rubs in time with himself making little circular motions that one of Sammy’s teachers taught him a long time ago. Minutes later and the girl is quivering from head to toe, arching her hips into him. He smiles to himself and asks, “How are you feeling now.” The reply is a low, guttural, “Deannnnn.” Her eyelids flit closed and her head falls backwards. Her pleasure is gorgeous to witness and yet Dean closes his eyes. He feels phantom lips move down his spine, firmer hands grasp at his hips from behind and begin to pull him apart. There is sensation everywhere. Two fingers slide between his cheeks and into him, lubed and careful. He feels wrenched open and surrounded. Cas, he thinks.

The two Cas speak together, two low voices, one softer than the other, both calling out his name. Above him Cas leans forward, pressing the top of his head into Dean’s cheek, rubbing into him, Dean feels the scrape of stubble against his jaw and neck. He turns his head to look at this Cas, eyes opening again and catching Cas’s glance as he breaches Dean below. Cas blushes, nostrils flaring in concentration as he does so. All three let out a breath of disbelieving pleasure as Cas moves into Dean steady and powerful and Dean pushes further into the Cas below him. Her hand reaches up to his mouth, caressing his lips. It can’t last and when Cas moves up within him one finally time - hitting that sweet place within him that Dean barely knew existed - he comes inside her, beyond comprehension of time and place. He empties himself in shuddering pulses, even as he senses he is being filled up from behind. He doesn’t know how he can feel all this. He holds himself within the girl Cas and continues moving his fingers until she clenches around him and he hears her soft desperate pants calming down. He collapses beside her and turns his head back to look at her.

It’s Cas beside him, male, totally naked and utterly debauched. Cas is looking down at himself in a mystified manner, he is breathing heavily, his chest is heaving and his belly is vibrating with the aftermath of physical exertion. Dean leans towards him, throwing an arm over his ribs, “That was great Cas,” he says as he kisses along his jaw – it really is better than admitting he nearly went blind from bliss. Cas turns towards him, eyes bright and full of something like trust. “Your dreams are so weird these days.”

*

Cas tries to imagine what it would feel like to be with Dean that way. He thinks it would be the opposite of what he feels now; the opposite of alone and exiled and faithless; ridiculed, reviled, and dismissed. And yet, a small part of his belly feels hope kindling at what he sees in Dean’s mind: the realisation that at least some part of Dean wants to touch Cas like that, to be close to him. Or some version of him at any rate. Cas knows he’s not coming out of this imprisonment the same. If he comes out at all. Dean may never recognise him again. For one mad moment he considers finding the girl Dean saw and asking her to be his vessel but he doesn’t know if her body could hold him and he knows really that he would hate it. It was too painful taking Jimmy, stealing his life, his body, for himself. He wonders if that guilt was his first step towards humanity. The need to atone and the knowledge that there are people out there for whom nothing could make up for what he has done. Amelia. Claire. He took from them and there is nothing he can give back that could replace Jimmy for them. Doing that again to another soul, another family; Castiel could not justify it again. This is his body now, his only one on this earth. No wonder they whispered in Heaven that one of his faces was taking on the likeness of his vessel. He was a much changed angel and his human face was a part of that, no wonder it would manifest itself in his heavenly form. He understood that most angels would see it as weakness infusing even his angelic presence but he didn’t see it that way. He thought maybe it signified hope that all angels had a humanity inside them, a freedom, that he just needed to tap into.

*

Sam and Dean go back to the same diner for breakfast the next day. Dean looks for the Cas-girl. He even mentions it to Sam, trying to sound all casual as he explains how he saw a girl yesterday that looked bizarrely like Cas. He regrets it instantly because Sam looks at him like he just told him his puppy died and for a frightening few seconds it seems like he’s going to try and hug Dean. Dean reverts to the deathstare-bitchface he perfected the day before and pointedly eats his pancakes. He gets really annoyed because now he doesn’t know if the girl he saw really did look like Cas or if his mind is just making random strangers look like Cas to him now. He’s so fed up with being in his own head that he just wants a demon to come along and beat his brains in a little until he’s thinking straight again. But then he remembers the demon in the psychiatry hospital and all the dry brains they found and changes his mind. Cas is better than nothing he supposes.

*

All day Dean walks around expecting Cas to show up at any moment. He’s not sure why he’s doing it but it seems ridiculous that he could be thinking this much about him and not have him show up. Every time he turns a corner in the town-he-keeps-forgetting-the-name-of he’s more than prepared to see Cas walking towards him in the opposite direction. When they return to the motel he expects him to be waiting in the room. When they get jumped by the spirit of a scorned bride in the lobby of the town hall later that night he almost forgets to fight back he’s so busy waiting for Cas to pop up and start smiting. Not that Cas doesn’t have bigger fish to fry these days, Dean thinks bitterly. Dean wants to see him so badly, that every time he doesn’t materialise feels like a missed opportunity. Cas isn’t the girl, he thinks. I am. Cas ignores me for a few weeks and I turn into the massivist, pining, girlie dickwad to walk the face of the planet. Or worse, I turn into Sam. Dean thinks he may never respect himself again.

*

Dean dreams he’s back in the glass cage pressed against Cas’s naked back. He dreams his hands circle down around Cas, over his rib cage and stomach, over his soft hair, down to the base of his cock. He feels his own cock twitch in anticipation.

And then he feels the air gently rustle.

Suddenly he is feeling very awake but he keeps his eyes firmly shut. His first thought is, ‘Finally! Cas you bastard.’ His second is, ‘This is still a dream, doofus,’ which is why he determinedly refuses to open his eyes.

He doesn’t open them as he feels hot breath on his boxer shorts and fingers pull them down just enough to free his cock. His eyes roll back a little in his head as soft lips greet the tip with gentle pressure. His fingers claw at the mattress as a tongue licks stripes down his shaft and clever fingers tease at his balls. His neck and shoulders curve upwards as lips and even the tiniest hint of teeth nibble and suck round the base and he groans aloud with need just as the tongue comes back up to the tip and laps energetically at the small pool of precome gathered there. Just as Dean’s about to open his eyes to tell Cas to ‘get the fuck on with it’ he’s taken deep into the wet, warm mouth. His ears seem to ring with the sensation of it. He feels tongue swirl around him and fierce lips pump him up and down, bobbing into the hand below which is working the base of his cock furiously while another set of fingers continue to massage his balls with increasing intensity. Dean’s own mouth is wide open, dragging in long gulps of air - like breathing has suddenly become a difficult process - wild, winded sounds filling the air. He comes hard without thinking of uttering a warning, come shooting into the mouth that does its best to remain in place.

Dean’s hand comes down to rest on the head, to muss the hair and pull those lips up for a kiss but the hair feels odd to touch, thicker and more wirey than he expected. He frowns slightly through his sated contentment, panic building. A body crawls up his side and he hears a voice - that certainly doesn’t belong to Cas - drawl smugly, “Your angel sends his apologies. He wanted me to tell you, he’s sorry he can’t come to you himself, he’s a little tied up at the moment.” Dean’s already closed eyes tighten in horror and then fly open. Balthazar. Fuck. “Balthazar! You fucking flying sack of shit. What the fuck did you think you were doing?” Dean is flooded by rage and a sense of powerlessness. He totally just let Balthazar take advantage of him. Balthazar cracks a nasty smile, “You looked like you needed some relief and I thought I may as well provide. I’m sure that’s what Cas would have wanted.” Balthazar licks his lips pornographically, some of Dean’s come still shimmering on them. Dean groans in despair and regret as Balthazar continues, “And given your lack of agreeable character traits, I thought I should find out what it was that enchanted dear Cassy so much, I thought you must have the world’s most beautiful dick, or champagne-flavoured come or some such. No luck there though.” For good measure Balthazar flicks his tongue over the corner of his lip one more time. Dean stops himself from defending his cock. That is not where he wants this conversation to end up. He’s already recovered from the shock enough to hear the underlying bitterness in Balthazar’s tone and realises there is more a stake here than he understands.

In the end he simply asks the question that consumes him more than any other, even after all that Balthazar has just done, “Balthazar, where is Cas?”

Balthazar looks piercingly at him and then suddenly looks very far away. Dean frowns, feeling worried now, but eventually Balthazar fixes him another, ‘Could you be more annoying?’ look and says,

“Seriously I just blew your mind with my superior blow job skills and all you can think of is where Cas might be? I’m offended.”

Dean glares at him, knowing it would be useless to start throwing punches, however tempting it is.

“Fine,” Balthazar offers finally, “He’s busy fighting Raphael and he may be a while. That’s why I’m checking in with you. An angel’s gotta get his perks where he can.”

Now Dean knows he’s lying. Angels don’t ‘check in’ – that would be unnecessary when they can just use you in their plans as they like and dispose of you after. Dean’s own anger rises as he thinks of all the times recently Cas and Balthazar have treated him and Sam like pawns and lackeys. Balthazar doesn’t seem to want to get to the point of why he’s really here and yet he doesn’t look in a hurry to leave either. Dean figures he may as well try and get as much out of him as he can while he’s here. Dean moves off the bed and puts on jeans and a t-shirt, wiping himself a bit with a towel before he does so - letting out a few more choice expletives to vent his frustration. God, Balthazar is a dick. He feels dirty and a little tainted if he’s honest, like Balthazar just stomped all over something precious. It’s just too close a reminder of Hell.

More than anything he hates to think of all the demons that he rutted with during those last ten years off the rack. Demons that would come by to admire his work, to marvel at the broken seal (he thinks now) and would carelessly offer him their bodies for a few short minutes. He would grab them urgently, the only hope for release in sight, and yet somehow, the closer he got to climaxing, the more indifferent he felt. By the time he achieved a physical release, his mind was back on the torture table considering his next move; the demon in his lap little more than a piece of meat.

In his mind he hears Cas saying, Don’t die completely. I’m fucking trying he thinks and he realises that Cas means don’t die on the inside as well as just don’t die. Not for the first time, Dean wonders if Cas really did fix him back together right. All this stuff in his mind that he can’t seem to do a fuck about – couldn’t Cas have given him a free pass on that?

When he turns back Balthazar is grinning slyly at him, he smacks his lips at him one more time. Dean ignores him.

“Where is he Balthazar? What’s going on?” Dean’s tone is urgent and Balthazar can sense they’re not messing around anymore.

“Why?” He asks, “What’s got your pretty knickers in a twist like this?”

The words are teasing but the tone isn’t. Balthazar is asking him for real.

“What do you know? Why are you so worried?”

Dean looks at him uncertainly for a minute. His instinct is to hold back, protect the truth and his dignity, but for once he doesn’t. He’s not sure what it is about Balthazar that however much he lies to them, yanks their chain and abuses their trust, he and Sam always seem to end up trusting him. Dean confesses: “I keep dreaming about Cas. That he’s trapped somewhere or something. I think he might need help.”

*

In his dream, Dean is back in Hell, wielding a silver knife. The body in front of him is held up by its hands, chained way above its head, hanging from a rope. The feet are a few inches from the floor so the body swings a little. Alastair tells him it’s called Palestinian Hanging.

Dean drags the knife over the body in front of him teasing the skin, making continuous, shallow cuts that form a pattern he hasn’t pre-determined. He watches the blood flow out in the wake of his knife. It bubbles slightly, as if surprised at its new-found freedom and then surges down over the pale skin, following pathways on the skin that are invisible to the naked eye. The blood is Dean’s interpreter now. It reads the body in a way the naked eye never could, it exposes the dips and weaknesses and nestles into cracks as it travels down the hanging body. He follows it with his knife, cutting the body along its own contours. When he is done he takes a vinegar stained cloth and with a detached concentration begins to wipe the chest and back to reveal his cuts that are now intricately weaved all over the body. He hears his victim hiss at the sting of the vinegar but Dean still doesn’t look up. Only when he lifts his knife and begins to deepen the cuts from the base of the spine upwards does he hear the groan of agony from the tortured soul. Something in the sound draws Dean’s attention, testing his detachment. He looks carefully at the back and shoulders before him. They do seem familiar. He moves round the body to where the head has fallen forward, chin resting on the chest. The hair resembles Cas’s he thinks. But what is Cas doing here in Hell like this? He lifts up the chin and two blue eyes pierce into him imploringly.

Dean gives a hollow laugh. He holds his knife up to Cas’s right eye. The blue reflects off the sharp silver.

“Do you cry Cas? I’ve wondered, do you cry? I think you do, I think you could. If you cry for me I won’t need the blood. Cry Cas, cry now.”

Cas doesn’t even blink. He looks at Dean with more love than Dean knows how to recognise.

Noticing it feels like fingernails scratching on the surface of his emptiness. He automatically suppresses the feelings that lie beneath the wall he’s constructed so carefully. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it. He fits the knife into the far corner of Cas’s right eye, lifting up the skin there a little. Then he cuts. He pulls the knife out towards the hair line and down in a semi-circle until he reaches the corner of Cas’s mouth. The blood spills down Cas’s cheek, coursing far too quickly over the skin. Dean has not kept to his plan, he has not been gentle, the blood is a thick sheet down the side of Castiel’s face. The eyes narrow with pain but they still do not blink or cry. Cas’s face is a distorted mess, his eye, cheek and lip all hanging loosely down. The pathways are lost, Dean thinks. He leans in and licks up the cut he has just made from the mouth to the eye. Cas shudders, Dean looks at him and then he watches as one tear seeps out of the ripped eye, runs down the side of his nose, along the top lip until it merges with the blood at the corner of Cas’s mouth. And then, even though his eyes are trained on Cas’s lips and he knows they don’t move, he hears Cas say,

“Are you alive?”

But Dean isn’t sure of the answer so he replies, “Almost.” And hopes it’s true.

*

Dean has had this dream before, with other people on the rack in front of him. Mostly his brother; sometimes his mum or dad. Sometimes Bobby, occasionally Cassie or Lisa. He’s even dreamt about cutting himself before. Cas is new. He’s never thought of Cas as someone who could be bound to Hell or subject to his will like that. In the light of day he knows that when he was in Hell he wouldn’t even have recognised Cas if he was tied up in front of him; he didn’t know Cas before Hell. It terrifies him to think of Cas there, Cas is the one who is stronger than Hell.

The image of Cas’s strong, lean, sinuous body stretched out and helpless before him chases him around all day. He pictures the patterns of scars he carved on Castiel’s body, he wants to reach out and soothe them with his fingers, as if tracing them will erase the cuts. Every now and then he catches himself with his hand out, reaching for an invisible Cas, the one that is at the mercy of his imagination. In the absence of Cas, he lifts his hand to his own face and runs a finger from eye to lips in mute apology. There are no words he can think of to go with this.

Dean hates himself. He hates thinking. He wants to rip his brains out. His scowl is the size of the Grand Canyon. He wishes Cas had never pulled him out of hell. He just wants to do his fucking job, help some people, one town at a time. He kills the monsters fast because he’s freaked out about his torture fetish. He doesn’t want it to look like he’s playing with the demon, causing it unnecessary pain. Sam keeps dropping unsubtle hints about talking to “someone” about whatever’s on his mind.

Dean wouldn’t know where to start.


PART FIVE HERE

Comments

[aerilex.livejournal.com]

Cas is right. Dean's dreams are weird. Sometimes insanely hot, and sometimes really disturbing, but weird. Weird funny, though. :D

[vasiliki.livejournal.com]

He’s grateful it hits his chest and doesn’t hurt Dean behind him.

You're breaking me! *sobs*

He looks at Dean with more love than Dean knows how to recognise.

Man, I've repeatedly said that Cas' only crime was that he loved too much! ;_;

*reading the threesome scene* Oh, so THAT'S what the "threesome" warning was about! I almost skipped reading this fic because I thought it'd be Dean/Castiel/Balthazar. Maybe you want to make the warning more specific in order not to lose potential readers. Although Dean/Balthazar was difficult enough on its own to read! :P

Although the most difficult of all to read was Dean's dream of torturing Cas. *sobs*

[amoama.livejournal.com]

Thanks for the tip! *amends*

Yeah the Dean/Balthazar was pretty weird to write - pretty much squicked myself out there, lol.

*holds*

[mulder200.livejournal.com]

LOL! The Dean/Balthazar blow job was hot but so weird. And Poor Dean! His dreams are certainly interesting to say the least.