Created: 15/07/2015

Just one second

by

Raining Sky Guy

.

Desperation was thick on the air, as two ragged breathings scraped against the silence.

Dean smashed his mouth against Cass, a sudden frenzy overcoming both of them. It was too much, it was far too much. They needed a break. A time-out.

The Apocalypse was upon them? Well it was still going to be there even if they took some minutes off. The upright little soldier, the dork of an angel had finally bowed to the weight of the world. His father had not answered him. But an answer had been given nonetheless.

Dean had seen himself in his eyes and hated both for it. Despite feeling deep down that he didn't actually care, the Winchester still took him away to his room, grabbed his face and forced Cass to look at him.

"Let me forget." The broken toy of an angel whispered.

Dean stared back in silence. Why should he? Nobody had ever done him the fucking favor. Why should he help anyone else out? Castiel leaned his head against his hand, eyes closed, defeated. His neck was exposed, as if he begged anyone to come and kill him.

What happens to angels when they die? Humans go to either Hell or Heaven…but angels?

Apparently Castiel doesn't know, but he's willing to give it a shot. "Why?" he whispers again, lower lip trembling.

"Why indeed." Dean says as his mind engraved the sight of a defeated Cass without his consent. It was so funny, just like seeing himself on the mirror. Now there were two broken toys in the room while the world ended around them. For them, the world had already ended. The moment they had been tossed away, overlooked, ignored.

Cass opened his eyes, shining with tears, yet looking at Dean almost pensively. "It is curious. How you look exactly how I feel? How is it possible?"

The hand dropped and the angel was forced forward as Dean's hands entangle on his shirt, face close, anger almost creating sparks on his face.

"Shut up. Just, shut your trap." The words clogged Dean's throat. It was horrible, once more he's alone. Left behind. A sob threatens to escape his wall of anger, but he forces it down, just like always.

Now it's Cass who raises his hand to the other's cheek and Dean really really just wants to lean into that hand, that's how much he craves human touch, affection-

But no. He won't.

He's not sure why. He feels as if… if he lets go, then…

He'd let go.

Cass frowns at him, seeing the raw pain of the soul, just like his own and he traces his thumb over a cheek, something inside him calling him forward. Seeking consolation, he breathed over his lips and Dean had enough.

Dean cries out in rage, forcefully mashing their lips together and this…it didn't feel right. Not like when he made out with hookers, or kissed a nice gal. It wasn't even a proper kiss. It was an action. Somehow, like this, he felt as if he could forget everything.

Forget.

That's what he wanted, right?

Cass doesn't know what he's doing, but as their lips move one against the other he feels liberated. As if he was never abandoned. As if he'd never set off with hope in his heart to do his duty and just be met with a shrug of the shoulder. Like everything he had done, over which he had struggled so much had all amounted to nothing.

For just one second.

Don't let it be me.

Don't let me be me.

"Because I might just give up."

Liars. The both of them.

Something warm trickles down and meshes together on their faces. Neither knows who it belonged to. Neither care.

Cass is the first to break away, his mouth leaving Dean's, his face turning away. Away and Dean can't feel him. He's just leaving like everyone else. It was nice to forget for a second and he's done and he's tossing Dean away as he just deserves.

Overcome with grief, as if he wasn't in control of himself— and maybe he had given up control, maybe he had had enough of everything —Dean sagged down, suddenly ashamed of his outburst. Of letting another see him in such a state. His forehead connects with a piece of feverish skin and willed the other, just for one second, just a moment, to let him compose himself.

But no.

Another sob grows in his throat and this time he can't stop it and it erupts as embarrassing and ridiculous as he feared. Warmth once again covers his mouth, forcing the subsequent sobs down and he's grateful. He returns the gesture, needy, not for lust or any other sentiment.

He seeks release.

Release from this miserable life he leads. He doubts he's even worth anything to this angel. After all, he's just a meat-suit for Michael. But as he bruises his lips against teeth he experiences what he's spent his life seeking— he can forget.

This time he knows it's his tears, as they sting his eyes. Cass says nothing, instead breaking away once more, biting into the flesh on his neck to keep in the scream that still tore itself free from his throat.

What a worthless duo they were.

The mouth that bit into him harshly, kisses him on the same spot, as if apologizing. Dean whimpers softly. He deserves nothing like that. He was just trying to forget-!

Slowly, deliberately but almost hesitant a tongue touches that same spot that was still smarting from the bite, and Dean relishes in the feeling. Cass seems to think the same as he laps at the skin again. And again, each time going further up, ending with another kiss on his jaw.

It's intoxicating. No matter what happens next right here, right now, he's with someone who's defeated just like him and who's looking for salvation in damnation.

Let this flesh be the sin that washes everything away then.

Dean towers over this little angel for the first time. It didn't matter their heights, Castiel had always held himself high. Except he couldn't now. And he's glad that the man who's towering over him is bowing his head to reach him. It's a foreign feeling— a tongue darting from his neck down to his collar bone. But it's distracting. Distracting enough to forget he's all alone again. His missing father doesn't care-

His knees bend and he's falling. Surprised, the human manages to barely catch him. Why? Just let him fall.

"Cass." He hears, voice husky and strained. "Come on, big boy, there's a bed just right there."

Dean half helps half lugs the other to it. The angel falls down on it, face up, looking ready to sleep forever. The moment has broken away and while the desperation still clings to the both of them, Dean can't help but wonder just what the fuck is he doing. Cass wouldn't know what's going on. And while he know what their actions are heading to… he's not sure why. He's not sure…

Laughter erupts from his mouth, unwanted and unneeded. This was stupid. What were they even doing? Pathetic.

It dies on his throat just as everything else. He wants to break. Break down into tiny emotionless pieces. Too small to even care.

And he can do it.

Defile the angel that mirrors him and defile himself in turn.

Shoulders tight with sorrow he straddles Castiel, ready to continue but then he opens his eyes.

He fucking opens his eyes and smiles as he sees him. "Thank you."

The fucking bastard! Why does he trust him? Why is he thanking him? The smile slips down as confusion draws a straight line on his lips. "Dean?" He asks as the big fat droplets start to fall over his chest, as the aforementioned man bows down to grief again.

Why can't he be more like Dean?

Why does Castiel thank him with such an earnest voice?

How?

"God help me, but I can't do this anymore, Cass." Dean sobs into his hands, he knows the other is disappointed. He knows Cass feels betrayed and the loneliness is back to crush him. But Dean can't bring himself to sully him.

The little rebel angel with the earnest eyes.

He deserves better.

Of course he does. Even if for one second he had looked so much like him… they were different. Castiel was not empty inside. Not yet.

Not if Dean stopped.

Just one second. It's all it took.

But things changed.

Somehow, someone is taking his hands away and he blearily sees that the tears Castiel had been holding back were finally flowing free. He feels so ashamed.

But Cass, he, he doesn't throw him off, no. He continues grabbing on his hands, head cocked as if he was mildly confused.

"I'm sorry." He says at last, and Dean is just one second away from wrenching himself away when he feels a soft kiss on his hands. He blinks away the dying stream of tears to properly stare. Yes, Cass had just kissed his hands.

"Why?"

"I understand now." The rebel angel replies, not looking at him, but finding his hands awfully interesting. "Why you look as you do. I should not have forced you to do this…" Dean feels himself flush with shame. He stops another's fall and he gets a lecture? He gets to be patronized again?

"It doesn't have to rest only on your shoulders. Take me with you."

Dean starts shaking his head without conscious thought.

Castiel looks at the broken righteous man with what he now knows is overwhelming sadness and reaches for his face. He had learned something today, and he'd use it if need be.

His lips clumsily meet Dean's, forgiving and ready to forget. And Dean stops it all.

He stops it before they lose themselves again.

But the promise remains.

It remains even as Dean slumps to the ground, face covered, curled up into a tight ball of frustration, of despair.

It stands as still-pure and still-confused blue eyes stare at the ceiling too tired to care, tears still streaming down and he suddenly can't forget any longer that God doesn't care…

Confusing and terrible feelings well up on the angel as he convers his face letting out wracking sobs. No, why had they stopped? Why let him remember?

He wants to fall.

Fall and forget about everything. What they were doing, whatever it was… it felt-

He had not asked for feelings. He was not a fallen angel. Not yet, not quite. Why did he now have such heavy, disgusting things? Was it God's will?

If this crushing pain in his chest was indeed… why did He hate him so much? Did Dean hate him too? Was that why he had stopped? Prevented Cass from falling to Dean's level?

Just for one second, as he reached that conclusion, the winged angel tethered over the edge. But then there's a hand, a whole arm wrapping around his legs and pulling him down. Cass falls off the bed on his butt, confusion winning over his growing despondency.

Dean can't bear to look at him, he just stares ahead tiredly. "You…you were thinking out loud. Idiot." The hand still resting on the other's leg pats him. "I'm sorry.

"But you're not me. You still have hope."

Dean smiles now, in that bitter way of his, that's only self-mocking. "I'm sorry for not noticing on time." He doesn't know if Cass is staring at him, but he can guess as much. He just wonders with what kind of expression.

"Why do you suppose you're right?" Ah. Cass's angry. A hand roughly grabs him by the shoulder. "Dean."

"You… I don't know, experience?" Dean tries to shrug, but the smile slips off his lips. ""Cass, you can't ask this out of me. You can't make me turn you into…into me when you still have a chance." Dean's face starts to contort almost amusingly as he tries to keep his face and voice steady. "So, go. Go and tell the world it can't beat you or something like that. I- eh, I need things to go over first. Alone."

Why where things so different now? All it took was a second. A second and… Cass swallows, ignoring the lump in his throat, feeling unknown emotions bubbling inside him. He recognizes the anger, and he's ready to act on it. To beat up Dean for saying such things. For fighting for others but not for himself… but he can't.

He doesn't know why. He just knows that if he tries…

Castiel doesn't want to hurt him any more. Somehow he woke up from his daze. He managed to ignore Joshua's words for the first time since what seemed like forever and now he notices, he fully notices Dean. Despite his claims of being empty, of not caring… here he was, holding Cass back from the depths.

A smile crawls its way to his face and he struggled against himself to tug at Dean, so they were elbow against elbow. Dean looks at him, bewildered and still trying to bite back more tears.

"I think I'll stay." He murmurs softly and he feels guilty at the betrayal he spots on Dean's face — he lowers his head. "Just for one moment. Please."

The two little broken toys of Heaven, one disposable, another sought after, sat side by side as they waited for something. They waited together, silently and motionless for the dawn of a new day. Their hope is still shattered. Their faith painfully nonexistent—that God exists and doesn't care is worse than not knowing he's there to begin with. Their prospect for the future is more than grim — the Apocalypse is upon them. But here they were. Here they are, still alive and kicking, ready for another day. Of course they are.

"Thank you."

What else can be done?