We don't get to be... (Supernatural)

[crazyfoolstiney]

Title: We don't get to be...
Pairings: Dean/Cas, brief, non-explicit Cas/OFC
Warnings: It's End!Verse. It's full of despair, violence and blood. And that includes during sex. Graphic mutual intimate partner violence, drug and alcohol abuse and unpleasant headcanon about Bobby's End!Verse fate.
Summary: Sometimes the brutal collision of fist to face is the only relief in sight.
A/N: For sonora_coneja. I'm not REALLY sorry in the least for infecting you with Supernatural feels. But please take this as penance anyway. xD

“Ah, our fearless leader has returned!” Cas announced with a slurred chuckle as Dean stepped through the beaded curtain of the entryway. The familiar stink of incense and marijuana hit the hunter immediately but something different lay just underneath. Sick and sour. Vomit.

He’d known Cas had overdone it. Was the reason he hadn’t even bothered to come up here when he’d gathered the group for the haul to Bobby’s old place at dawn.

“How’d it go?” Cas asked, handing the joint to Susannah, who was straddled atop him on the bed.

Dean stared at the pair in stony silence as they flippantly returned to their previous activities when no answer was forthcoming.

‘How’d it go? How’d it go? I filled Bobby with bullets even after he’d fallen out of his chair because he’d still been slobbering and gnashing to get at me. And you weren’t there.’

Anger flared in the pit of Dean’s stomach and he kicked the bedside table, sending the rickety piece of shit across the room as the woman yelped.

He wordlessly turned and swiped an arm over the top of the dresser, orange vials and a rainbow of pills scattering over the floor.

You don’t get to check out while I handle the hard shit.

He ignored the shouting and Susannah’s footfalls as she took off out of the cabin.

Easy for you to blitz out all your pain while mine’s gaping and rotting because I got people to take care of.

Dean poured bottles of Cas’ precious absinthe out, a river of green liquid splashing across wooden planks as he fumbled for the lighter in his jacket pocket.

The lighter he’d used to burn the bodies, Bobby, earlier.

He’d just as much fire this place up and stand watching it burn to ash.

Even with what Dean knew had to have been a full day of shoving down whatever mind-altering substance he could, Cas’ fist was solid and took him by surprise.

The punch landed squarely against Dean’s jaw and he only had enough time to spit blood before Cas was on him.

It figured. There was never a reaction from him anymore unless his drugs were involved.

Cas’ weight slammed into Dean, his back hitting the corner of the dresser, vision flashing bright with the sharp pain.

“Sonofabitch.” Dean growled, fist clipping the shorter man’s chin.

Pictures that’d never been taken down fell off the walls. Littering the floor with shards of glass as the pair continued to move around the room; the angry curses and violent lashing out of limbs an all-too familiar dance.

“Goddamnit.” Dean howled when Cas’ teeth bit into his wrist.

A rough shove planted to the center of the scarred, useless banishing sigil on Cas’ chest sent the former angel toppling to the floor.

Cas, sprawled naked with blood pouring out of his nose just stared at him with blue eyes suddenly clearer than the hunter had seen in a long time.

Dean held his gaze as he wiped the blood from his own busted lip. His body thrummed, muscles burned but every violent contact had quieted the clawing emptiness he knew they each carried around every day.

It wouldn’t last long and they’d be back here soon enough. Both of them trying to fill the holes with each injury inflicted on the other. Tearing it all down for the sake of sanity, no matter how temporary.

Air whistled through a possible broken nose before Cas opened his mouth to say something.

Something Dean didn’t want to hear.

He pushed forward and fell to his knees, quickly overtaking the other man. Silencing the words with a vicious collision of tongue and teeth as his fingers tangled in dark, unwashed hair.

Dean lost himself in the low groan that rumbled against his lips as they trailed along Cas’ throat; while hands efficiently stripped away the barrier of clothing between them.

Blunt nails dragged livid red lines over the skin of Dean’s back in response to the teeth that sunk into Cas’ shoulder as they rutted against each other.

This was all they had left.

No longer the Righteous Man gripped tight. No more Angel of the Lord that raised him from Perdition.

All that remained was the skewed, twisted pantomime of that bond as they dove into each other with fists and fucking.

Dean placed a hand on the floor to steady himself and slipped in what he assumed was some of Cas’ “orgy oil” lying among the other bottle remnants. He leaned back and swiped his slick hand over his cock before pulling Cas to him.

“Dean.” The former angel’s voice was so raw and full of emotion as it wrapped around his name that he had to close his eyes. Couldn't chance seeing the expression that went with it, even though the light from the candle didn’t come close to reaching their dark corner of the room.

Dean jumped when Cas pressed a hand to the identically shaped scar on his shoulder. The jolt coming not from the electricity that used to run through that connection, those days were far gone; but more from its absence. A fierce, forgotten longing reared up and Dean bitterly shook the gesture off.

“Come on. Hands on the wall.”

If the sharp rebuff stung, Cas didn’t show it as he scrambled to follow the order. While Dean slotted along his back with slick fingers that barely brushed against him before the final push in.

Dean breathed hard over Cas’ neck, one hand tight on a hipbone and the other braced against unfinished wood. Both men shivering as sweat cooled and the adrenaline from earlier left their bodies.

“Move.” Cas huffed and the hunter complied with determined thrusts. The slide not nearly as slick as it should have been and the occasional hiss mixed among Cas’ moans only served to propel Dean closer to the edge.

When the former angel shifted and tried to capture his mouth, Dean countered with a snarl as he shoved Cas’ face roughly to the wall.

He kept a hand at the base of Cas’ skull as he continued his drive toward completion. Grip never loosening; even when he felt Cas take hold of his own cock with erratic strokes that nearly matched the thrusts into his body. It was only when Cas tensed and came with a wail so jarring and full of loss that Dean’s hips stuttered to a stop. Shakes momentarily overtaking the hunter as his memory flashed to unearthly shrieking with the power to shatter windows.

Minutes later when movement didn’t resume, Cas turned, taking hold of Dean’s flagging erection as he dropped to his knees. Fingers continued their insistent slide over flesh, but to no avail.

“Dammit, Cas, stop.” Dean grunted, physically pushing the other man away when words didn’t work.

The rejection sinking in, Cas levered himself along the wall with a blank and unreadable expression.

“I’m going to the lake to wash up.” He moved passed, scooping pills from the floor and dry swallowing them as he stumbled toward the entrance.

Dean slumped to his knees and watched him walk out, the door left wide open in his wake.

Not that anyone would blink an eye at the actions. They were more than used to the sight of Cas bruised and streaked with blood and come whenever Dean returned from situations outside of camp that'd gone south.

And Dean didn’t care.

Not when Bobby had growled at him. Or when Chuck gave him poorly disguised, withering looks.

All that mattered was sharp edges of pain being dulled to an almost tolerable level. Even if the gnawing ache was always back before the harsh light of morning.

It was enough. Had to be.