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shittyelfwriter · 5 years

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Stay Alive

Pairing: established Castiel x fem!reader

Word count: 3100-ish

Summary: After the events of a day that is a strong contestant for the worst of your lives, you and your partner take a moment to process some of the damage. Coda for 15x01 “Back and to the Future”.

Warnings: Angst that is consistent with the episode, mostly hurt/comfort

A/N: Obviously this episode wreaked havoc on my poor Cas loving heart. Was he a badass? Yes. Was he treated like shit? Also yes. Is the title a reference to the Hamilton soundtrack because while I was writing this I thought of the Stay Alive (reprise) and drew death-of-a-child parallels? Also also yes. I wrote this in half an hour, hopefully it’s not crap but the fire of my emotions really got me going and I went into a frenzy.

More of my writing (masterlist)

You saw the moment that Dean approached Cas from a distance. You’d just tossed your FBI jacket in the back of the Impala and broached the practical subject with Sam of finding something for dinner when you saw the few terse moments of interaction. You only caught the tail end of it, had seen rather than heard Dean say good, and then that was all. No comfort was offered, no physical reassurance, none of the warmth or solidarity you’d seen him and Sam exchanging earlier. Granted, they were brothers. Perhaps that just came with the territory. But you knew Dean was shunning Cas, you knew why, and you were internally furious with the man. You wanted to scream at him up and down the street for the way he was treating the angel, who had just experienced perhaps the most emotionally tolling loss of his existence, barring his falling away from Heaven and its tenets.

You’d lost Jack. Again.

Cas had lost his son, you all had, and here was Dean, still holding a grudge over Castiel’s head like a weapon. You knew that losing their mom was a hard hit. Mary’s death had been Jack’s fault, one way or another, and Cas had been protecting Jack. Dean was unwilling to forgive that mistake—if you could even be so bold as to call it that. Could protecting your child from the ire of another adult (and one likely to take aggressive action at that) really qualify as a mistake? It seemed like something any parent would do, especially when the matter of blame wasn’t really a clear cut thing.

Dean was grieving, obviously; and so far, he was coping with that by treating Cas like dirt and shunning him in all the ways that mattered. You needed to all pull together, to be a team in every sense to face what you were up against— dealing with three billion ghosts wasn’t going to be any sort of cakewalk, and then there was the fact that you were all hoping that Sam’s theory about Chuck dipping out of your universe were true, and that he wasn’t cooking up some fresh bullshit somewhere on Earth, under the radar.

But Cas was grieving too, and why Dean couldn’t see that and understand and maybe grant a little bit of mercy on the angel who had given so much to be standing at their side in the face of the wrath of his own father and creator was just a little too much for you to choke down. And to top it all off, a slap in all of your faces was the fact that as the gates of hell were opened, a demon had hopped skipped and jumped right into Jack’s still warm corpse.

And then Dean—and Sam, which made it suck even more—had insisted that Cas wasn’t allowed to chase the damned thing out. Nor were you, you were quickly told, when you’d bristled alongside your partner. To add insult to injury, the demon, who apparently went by Belphegor, was overtly cheery and made every attempt at camaraderie—which was just uncomfortable and grating, considering whose face he was wearing and under what circumstances. Both you and Cas were on edge every time he was around, but rushing away from what looked like Jack felt foreign, wrong. It was awful.

You weren’t gonna pick a fight with Dean, not today. Even though part of you wanted to chew the man out and give him a good piece of your mind, you yourself were exhausted. You’d been running on air for days, the only thing keeping you going had been fresh adrenaline and the need to keep moving. You had two days within the barrier Belphegor—if that really was who he was—had raised around the town before the real feds showed up. That was long enough to allow a few hours of rest, you figured, striding over to the angel before he could slink away from the scene feeling completely unwanted and alone.

You slipped your hand in his, and squeezed gently. “Hey.” It was a simple greeting, far too simple, but it was loaded with meaning. I saw. I know. I’m on the same page with you. You’re not alone.

A slight moment of hesitation later and he squeezed back, your heart warming at his attempt to reciprocate. “Hey,” he replied, voice even more gravelly than usual—a tell tale sign of emotional overload. His attention immediately focused in on you, as if grateful for a distraction from everything hurting him. “Are you alright?” He asked, other hand moving to rest on your arm, as he looked you over for any injuries he might have missed on his last visual inspection after the chaos had settled, anything he could heal. Anything he could fix, something he could make better for you. You offered him a small, watery smile.

“No,” you replied softly, and he knew you meant more than just a physical pain. He could see it in your eyes, the loss that he felt mirrored there. “But neither are you,” you added, a hand slipping up to his cheek, smoothing a thumb over his jaw. You saw that look flit through his eyes, the one that meant he felt like he didn’t deserve your sympathy, that he was beginning to believe that Dean’s anger was righteously placed upon him. Don’t do that, you prayed silently at him. Don’t you dare take his cold shoulder to heart. He’s hurting too. We all are. Give him time.

He drew a shaky breath, stepping into you, pressing closer like he needed the contact as reassurance. “I just…I can’t…” he fumbled for words, casting a glance over at the demon wearing your son’s body as a vessel, his expression distraught and angry and broken. You knew how he felt; it was a cruel taunt for Jack’s body to be walking and talking and filled with something so unholy when you’d lost him so recently—so recently, that you hadn’t even had a moment to slow down and process it.

“I know.” Your voice broke, tears filling your eyes. “I hate it too, Cas. I hate it so much.” You’d both lost Jack before, the first time he’d died. You’d grieved him, commemorated him, and you’d done it as a family. Now, it seemed that that wasn’t a luxury that would be afforded to him a second time, whether it be because Sam and Dean were too angry at his involvement in Mary’s death or the functionality of his body playing host to an unexpected freeloader. It was cruel, and impossible to fully come to terms with. You felt tears burning behind your eyes, a thick lump in your throat. He had deserved so much better.

You took a deep breath of your own, and a step back. “Come on, angel. I’ve got zombie guts on me and we’re gonna need to set up a base of operations. Let’s go.”

Whether it were just the example of a universal constant or instead the ever present influence of Chuck’s handiwork was unclear, but there was a motel just down the street from the high school where the rest of the town was holed up. It was just as mediocre as any motel you’d been in over the years, but it might as well have been the Ritz-Carlton because it was safe and quiet and had running hot water. Sam and Dean were wrapping things up with the locals and law enforcement and then making a stop wherever they could to scrounge up some food stuffs, and the demon—and more importantly, Jack’s body—would be with them until they got back. The only upside was that it left you with a short while alone with Cas where rude comments or just general harshness wouldn’t be flung at him.

Throwing the lock on the door and tugging yourself out of your jacket was thankfully routine, because you were barely even functional at this point. You felt like you were in a daze, like none of this were real; perhaps just a bad dream, wherein you were drained, completely and emotionally wrecked. Cas didn’t seem much better off, standing in the middle of the room like he didn’t know quite what to do with himself. You couldn’t blame him, but it still broke your heart when you saw him casting his eyes around, like a bird trapped in a cage. He wanted to run, to find something to fight, to get away from what he was feeling, it it wasn’t really what he needed. You knew him well enough by now to know that. Because as much as he wanted to escape it all, he didn’t want to be alone, either.

You tugged him by the hand when you went to shower, gently inviting him in with you. He didn’t need to, obviously, and it wasn’t going to be glamorous after the week you’d had, but it was a routine of your relationship, a little bit of constancy, normalcy. Being close was a comfort, one he needed too, and some privacy after all that had happened was welcome. You weren’t surprised when halfway through the shower your tears started free flowing. Even once you were clean, he just held you in his arms under the warm water, the two of you anchoring to each other in the middle of the storm. Nothing was said; neither of you were ready yet, your hearts too heavy. But by the time you’d pulled on clean clothes and tumbled into the shitty motel bed together, curling into one another like you couldn’t be separated, you found some.

“I know it’s stupid to say ‘it’s not fair’.” Your voice was soft, even in the quiet. His face was buried against your neck, breathing soft against your skin. He was holding onto you like a lifeline, like you were all that was keeping him tethered to reality instead of tumbling headfirst into his grief. Maybe you were, but he was doing the same for you. “But it’s not. And I hate it. And maybe we were never meant to win, or be safe, or be happy in Chuck’s story. But dammit.” Your voice broke, tears strangling you as you clenched your trembling hands. “I wanted Jack to have better than this. I didn’t want him to be just another person we cared about and lost, because he was so much more than that.”

“It’s my fault.” The words rumbled through you, and you felt your chest tighten. “I was supposed to protect him, and all I ever did was fail at it.” He let out a huff, a slight sardonic attempt at a laugh. “I lost him once and swore I’d never let it happen again, and I still failed.”

“No it’s not. It’s not your fault,” you countered, insisted. “It’s not. Do you honestly think there is anything we know of now that we could have done to protect him from Chuck? From God, himself? We were completely blindsided. We thought Dean was the threat.”

“We were wrong.” You knew Castiel had given up on his father a long time ago, but this was the kind of wound that took that to an entirely different level.

“I hate him.” You didn’t have to say who, you knew Cas could feel your intent. Chuck, God, whatever you called him he was a cruel, sadistic motherfucker and you wished you’d never had the misfortune of meeting your Maker. You could also tell, with the way Cas’ arms tightened around you, that he agreed, and that scared him a little.

“It should have been me.” Even though it wasn’t the first time you’d heard him say that, especially about Jack, it still it made your pulse skip a beat in panic. “If anyone deserved to die, like that, it’s me. I’ve done things to be worthy of my father’s wrath. Jack was”—his voice broke, and your heart shattered into even smaller pieces, fresh tears poring from the corners of your eyes—“Jack was so young. He was just trying his best. All of this, what he is—was—was so confusing, overwhelming. People tried to take advantage of him left and right. Lucifer, Dumah, even Dean…” You could feel in his words how betrayed he still felt by Dean’s choice to try and lock Jack away. “He was just a child. He was meant for so much more.”

“That doesn’t mean it should have been you.” You felt him nuzzle deeper into your hair, hiding his face from the world. “Cas, listen to me. I would have taken a bullet for that boy myself, any day of the week. I would have gladly died to keep him here, with you.”

“Don’t say that.” You could heat the panic lacing his voice, even in a whisper. “Don’t you dare say that, don’t even think it.” He drew back enough to fix you with a pleading look, and you were shocked to see his eyes swimming in tears. “For a moment I thought that he was going to—you were standing right there, not even six paces from him and I was so afraid that he’d just snap again and you’d be…”

That he’d kill you, too.

You hadn’t even paused to consider he might have been afraid of that.

“Oh, Cas.” You took his face in your hands, pressing your lips to his. I’m sorry, you amended in prayer. I didn’t mean it like that. He kissed you back, desperate, hands grasping at your hips and pulling you into him. Like he couldn’t be close enough, like he needed you very, very near to be sure that you were still actually there. “When he said ‘story’s over’ I thought he was going to kill us all right then and there,” you confessed, when you broke for air.

“I thought he might, too,” Cas agreed. His eyes fell away from yours. “I almost don’t know what to do now that he’s just…left us here.”

“We’ll figure it out,” you told him, smoothing a hand over his shoulder. “We always do. We’ll find a way to get through this.”

There was a long pause, wherein he didn’t argue with you but he didn’t agree, either. When he glanced back up at you, there was a strange look in his eyes.

“Promise me something.”

“What?” You asked, concern grabbing at your heart as you hoped he wouldn’t ask something impossible. Something like don’t sacrifice yourself for me, because you didn’t know if you could stop yourself, if it came down to it.

“Promise me you won’t start to hate me, too.” It surprised you, but he seemed serious.

“Why on earth would I hate you?” You asked, bewildered and almost exasperated in your state of exhaustion. “I love you, Castiel. I trust you more than anyone, more than even Sam and Dean—especially with the way they’re treating you right now.”

“Because that’s what happens when I care about people.” He held your face in his hand, the gentle caress of his thumb serving to make you even more sleepy. “Maybe it’s because of what I am. Maybe angels really aren’t meant to love anyone, because it always seems to end badly when emotions are involved.”

“I think that’s just part of being alive, love,” you told him, your eyes fluttering closed as you leaned into his touch. Some part of your chest felt hollow with that familiar feeling of loss, but with him by your side, you didn’t have to bear it alone. “It’s not your fault. Life is just unkind like that sometimes, and people make choices that can hurt you.” You sighed, and looked up at him. “I’ve loved you long enough, through enough, to know that I’m not going anywhere, angel. If there’s one person you don’t have to worry about losing, it’s me.” You paused, and you could literally feel that you were both thinking the same thing. “Not by choice, anyway,” you added quietly. Death was an eventuality, you knew, but for tonight, you’d like to think it would come later rather than sooner—in spite of the odds of your current predicament, which didn’t seem to lend much to that hope.

But a promise was what he had asked for, not for you to defy fate. He nodded, seeming content for now with that answer. There was only so much reassurance could do for either of you at that moment, anyway. Part of you wanted to promise him that you’d get Jack back, that you were family, that you’d done it once before and you’d do it again. That the two of you together would move Heaven and Earth if you needed to, to fix this. But could you? Could you repair what had been done, when you were up against the Creator’s will?

It was all too much, far too much for your muddled, sleep deprived brain. You found your eyes kept slipping shut of their own accord, despite you willing yourself awake to keep your partner company. But he knew better than you did how exhausted you were, and he rolled over beside you, pulling you to rest on his chest, your ear over his heartbeat.

“We have just about two hours until Sam and Dean return with something to eat,” he told you, and you didn’t have it in you to argue. You reached for his hand as he pulled the blanket up over your shoulders the way you liked it. “Sleep while you can, and I’ll watch over you.”

You murmured your thanks, sending a wave of love his way in lieu of words. You felt his other hand cradle your head, a kiss pressed into your hair. As you drifted into unconsciousness, you thought you heard him quietly say something about protecting you at all costs, that you were the only thing he had left—but maybe that was just your exhaustion getting the better of you, one thought lingering in your mind as sleep rushed to greet you with the sweet promise of relief from your heartache.

We’ll keep each other alive.

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