Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13296831.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F, M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural, The_Stand_-_Stephen_King
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester, Dean_Winchester_&_Castiel_&_Rufus_Turner_&_Donna
      Hanscum, Donna_Hanscum/Jody_Mills
  Character:
      Castiel_(Supernatural), Dean_Winchester, Rufus_Turner, Donna_Hanscum,
      Jody_Mills, Kevin_Tran, Claire_Novak, Pamela_Barnes_(Supernatural), Alfie
      (Supernatural), Alistair, Nick_(Lucifer), Marv_(Metatron), Zachariah_
      (Supernatural), Bartholomew_(Supernatural), Ava_Wilson
  Additional Tags:
      Rape/Non-con_Elements, Underage_Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Sexual_Slavery,
      Stephen_King-Level_Violence, Showdown-style_violence, Murder, Stillbirth,
      Really_Horrible_Shit, MCD_isn't_Dean_or_Cas, Castiel_Gives_Oral_Sex, Come
      Marking, Non-Consensual_Drug_Use
  Series:
      Part 28 of Destiel_Playlist
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-07 Words: 5934
****** Blame (Bastille) ******
by Clitler
Summary
     Sequel to Don't Dream It's Over
     Dean and Cas acquire some more members to their group as they make
     their way across Colorado
     Shit hits the fan when they stumble on the Rape Caravan
Notes
     This is looking like maybe a four-parter.
     There will probably be some things in here that are triggers. All I
     can say is heed the tags and if you see something that needs to be
     tagged but isn't, speak up.
     Not a lot of smut, but definitely next time.
     As always unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.
See the end of the work for more notes
                               Blame (Bastille)
            “I’m tellin’ you, son, the North route is easier,” Rufus said,
probably for the twentieth time.
 
            “Don’t call me that,” Dean grumbled, tossing aside the battered
bachelor’s button he’d been twisting distractedly during their 15-minute rest
period.  The cold metal of the train tracks he sat on was going to give him
hemorrhoids, but Hell if he was going to let Cas know that.  It had been Rufus’
idea to stick to the train tracks and it had panned out really well so far, but
Dean wasn’t in the mood to listen to anyone after what happened two nights
ago. 
 
            Suddenly, Cas’ warmth snugged up behind Dean’s back and his
boyfriend hooked his chin over Dean’s shoulder.  “You want me to decide?”
 
            Dean took a moment, then nodded, trying not to let any more tears
slip out.  He’d already cried enough over them as it was. “Stand up, you’re
gonna get your ass all wet,” Dean grumbled.  Cas sighed warm air across Dean’s
wind-chapped ear and tucked a light peck to his neck before standing up and
walking over to Rufus, wiping snow off his insulated jeans as he went.  Dean
plucked another of the hearty wildflowers that were sprouting between the
wooden ties and started tying knots in its stem.  Why should something so
pretty thrive in these mountains when the one thing that should have lived died
without ever drawing breath?  For maybe the millionth time, Dean cursed Ava
Wilson’s name.
 
            “Chief, it’s time,” Donna mumbled.  Dean hadn’t even heard her
approach until she was right in front of him.  She wasn’t looking at him,
though.  Her eyes kept up a constant scan of the trees on either side of them. 
She’d been Rufus’ loudest supporter when he suggested the tracks, but she was
even more on edge than she’d been on the road, always muttering about the trees
and not enough eyes or something.
 
            Their group had grown by drips and drabs ever since Cas had decided
to tag along with Dean on his trek to California.  When Dean had mused upon the
fact that he hadn’t so much as seenanother survivor all the way through Kansas,
until he found Cas, then people were coming out of the woodwork to join them,
Cas had laughed and told Dean he must be a good luck charm.  And it was good
luck, aside from Ava, because in this brave new world, there was definitely
safety in numbers.  If you had the numbers, you had security.  More people gave
you more mouths to feed, more people looking for leadership, and the movements
of larger groups were harder to hide.  But more people also meant more
knowledge and knowledge meant survival.  How to start a fire without a lighter
or dry kindling (Rufus).  How to jump-start a car that had sat fallow for six
weeks or more (Dean).  How to spot potential ambushes from other survivors
desperate enough to kill the few people left in the world for a few measly cans
of corned beef (Donna).  What plants were edible when everyone’s teeth started
to feel loose from lack of fresh greens (Cas).  Dean’s breath catches on a sob
when he thinks about Little Mama’s contribution, her sweet voice drifting soft
over the sound of Cas’ guitar that night outside of Boulder, the one and only
time any of them had heard her voice and, to the best of Dean’s knowledge, the
last time the world would ever it.  Fucking Ava, that bitch.
 
            Rufus was the first of what he referred to as ‘Dean’s Strays’,
walking right up to Dean and Cas where they sat eating lunch on a picnic table
in a park in the town west of Cas’, like people weren’t the world’s biggest
danger nowadays.  Ava had been the next, before even Donna, but not by much,
maybe two days.  Cas said it was unusual for two survivors to live so close,
both in the same town, but Donna’s accent was Northern Midwest as sure as Dean
was Kansas-born, not that she had volunteered much personal information.  Ava
Dean had found in a Walgreens, when he went in search of more lube and
condoms.  Her peals of laughter had scared the shit out of him and he’d dropped
the big pump-bottle of lube in his haste to grab his gun.  Donna showed up a
few days later, as their group was making its way out of town.  She’d told Dean
the only reason she approached them was because Ava had been teasing Rufus, so
she obviously wasn’t their prisoner and they were stupidly walking down the
main street, completely open to attack.  In Dean’s defense, Ava had told them
she was the only survivor in town.  Dean wishes he’d gone to the CVS across the
street for lube.  They wouldn’t have Donna, but Little Mama might still be
alive.
 
            Dean finally stood up, knees creaking alarmingly loud.  Cas took
his gloved hand and they headed off again.  With Cas’ mittened hand in his,
Dean let himself think about Little Mama and what he could have done to save
her.  She’d been Cas’ find.  He’d seen her sitting on a swing set across the
street from the grocery store they’d been looting in a suburb of Boulder.  He’d
been scanning the selection of soda pop when he froze, then bolted out the
door, ignoring Dean shouts, which had alerted Donna, Ava, and Rufus, who all
chased after Dean as he chased after Cas.  Donna still referred to it as their
‘Keystone Kops’ moment.  Dean had caught up to Cas as he knelt in from of a
girl who would have looked all of 12, if it weren’t for the baby bump clearly
visible under her light jacket.  The snow had yet to fly, but she was still not
dressed for the weather, in a knee-length skirt, her long hair whipping around
her gaunt face in the breeze.  She wouldn’t (or maybe couldn’t) speak, only
nodding or shaking her head to answer questions.  She went with them willingly,
though, even letting Cas perform a non-invasive exam.  His guess had been that
she was between the ages of 15 and 17.  Her bun was only four months or so in
the oven.  Dean should have known something was wrong when Ava was the only
voice of dissent when they voted on letting her join.  Her only argument had
been a succinct, ‘it’s a liability’.  Red flag number one.
 
            Red flag number two had been the story about the kittens.  They had
all been sitting around the fire Rufus had built for them inside a parking
garage, talking about which pets had made it through the Fever.  Donna said
she’d seen a golden retriever before she got to Colorado.  Rufus and Dean had
both seen cats.  Cas volunteered that birds seemed immune, but his guinea pigs
had died even before any people had succumbed.  Ava told them that her cat had
given birth to six kittens the week before the Super Flu (her name for it) had
hit her town.  The mama cat had died, but all six kittens had ‘lived through
the flu’.  That phrase would haunt Dean the rest of his life, because after
what she did to Little Mama, Dean was pretty sure Ava had killed those kittens.
 
            Red flag number three was the amount of time Ava spent whispering
to Little Mama at night.  Rufus later said he’d heard Little Mama crying
several times once the whispering stopped, but had chalked it up to the stress
of the whole situation.  As the days wore on, Dean doubted his decision to let
Little Mama share a tent with Ava more and more, but Ava got agitated every
time he mentioned splitting them up and when Ava got like that, she was liable
to act out, so he let it go.  Every day, Little Mama looked paler and ate less,
even with Cas cajoling her about keeping her strength up for the baby.  In
fact, every time anyone mentioned the baby, Little Mama’s eyes would get wide
and she’d shake her head until whoever was talking just shut up.
 
            Three red flags and it still happened.  Dean and Cas retired to
their tent, set as far away from the others as was comfortable.  They had only
been lying there, talking quietly about the upcoming passage through the
Rockies when they heard Rufus screaming at Ava.  Dean and Cas had burst out of
their tent to see Donna dragging Little Mama out of their tent, blood
everywhere.  Donna knelt with Little Mama’s head in her lap and tried to stem
the flow of blood from her throat as Dean slid on his knees across the cold
concrete.  Dean could hear Cas and Rufus shouting at Ava as she held them at
bay with Rufus’ straight razor.  Donna had looked at Dean, eyes red and wet,
and told him Little Mama was gone.  Dean vaguely remembered yelling for Cas to
‘get a goddamned knife’.  Cas had suddenly been at his shoulder, telling him it
was no good, the baby was too young, it’d wouldn’t survive.  Donna handed Dean
her Bowie knife.  Dean’s hands didn’t even shake as he lifted Little Mama’s t
shirt and made a clean cut across the bottom of her abdomen, not too deep.  He
remembers Cas’ pleas to ‘stop, Dean, please, love, don’t do this, let her be,
please just let her be’.  Dean was shocked at the bright pink of her womb, just
like a giant gumball.  He remembers telling Little Mama it would be okay, the
baby was okay, they’d look after her baby for her as he cut into all that pink
and watched the fluid gush out.  It was only the matter of a moment to pull the
baby out of the small incision, it’s limbs stick-thin and chalk-white.  His
little face was screwed up like he knew what kind of world Dean was trying to
bring him into.  Donna cut the cord and Cas gave his little chest a couple of
rubs before leaning down to cover his mouth and nose with his mouth, trying to
clear his airway, Dean thought.  None of it was any use.  He never even tried
to breathe.  He just laid there in Dean’s hands, so, so tiny and over before
he’d even begun.
 
            Donna said Dean handed her the baby, telling her to ‘give him back
to his mother’.  Dean doesn’t remember that, but he does remember stalking over
to their tent, grabbing his Colt revolver out of Cas’ backpack, loading it, and
walking up to stand even with Cas and Rufus, who were still trying to talk Ava
into dropping the razor blade.  Dean remembers raising the gun and putting one
between her eyes as she screamed some nonsense about kittens and an albatross. 
Rufus said he handed the old man the gun and promptly collapsed, his knees
hitting the concrete hard enough to make him bite through his tongue.  He
remembers the copper taste of blood, but he kept thinking it was Little Mama’s,
for some reason.  He remembers Cas dragging him back to their tent as he sobbed
uncontrollably in the shorter man’s arms.  He remembers Cas pushing a bottle of
water into Dean’s hands, tacky with blood and amniotic fluid, and making him
drink the whole thing.  He doesn’t know what was in that water, but the next
thing he knew, he was waking up in a soft bed, warm sunlight pouring in through
a window, all traces of blood and dirt and dried fluids gone.  Once he was up
and dressed, Cas had explained that they were leaving, taking the route they
had agreed upon.  When Dean had asked about Little Mama in a choked voice,
Rufus had planted his weathered hand on Dean’s shoulder and told him she’d been
laid to rest with her baby, whom Donna had named Joseph.  They had never
learned Little Mama’s name, so Cas named her Mary, after Dean’s mother.  Dean
had just nodded.  He hoped they’d left Ava to rot in the basement of the
apartment building he woke up in.  If he’d had his way, he’d have razed the
ground where her putrid corpse lay and salted the earth afterward.
 
            Donna’s ‘tsk’ of warning brought Dean’s mind back from his dark
thoughts.  They were nearing the intersection with the road Rufus told them
would lead to a set of tracks further north, bypassing the last peak in the
mountains and leading them on an easier path West.  Dean raised his rifle up
halfway as he indicated that Rufus and Cas were to get into the trees to the
right of the tracks.  He and Donna split up and made their way to the edge of
the forest, where it thinned out enough to see clearly through.  There in the
road was the biggest RV Dean had ever seen, listing dangerously away from him. 
He could hear the angry argument of several men’s voices coming from the far
side of the vehicle.  Another man lounged against the driver’s side, smoking a
cigarette and holding a gun indolently on a group of five people sitting in the
road.  Dean knew instantly what this was.  The motorcycles were a dead give-
away, but there were only three of them now.  The captives sat in a loose
circle, backs to each other, just thirty in front of where Dean stood behind a
big pine tree.
 
            “Jodes,” Donna breathed out from behind a tree to Dean’s right. 
Dean cut his hand across his throat to shut her up and pointed back the way
they’d come.  Donna threw him a mutinous look, but started picking her way back
through the trees to where Rufus and Cas would be waiting.
 
            “Donna, what the fuck?!” Dean hissed when they made it back to
Rufus and Cas.
 
            “That was…that’s…” Donna stammered, looking back and forth between
the three men in sheer panic.
 
            “We know what that is!” Dean blurted out, “What I wanna know is how
the fuck do youknow what that is?”
 
            “What is it?” Cas asked, barely above a whisper.
 
            Dean straightened up and Cas could see the muscle jumping in his
jaw as he tried to control his anger, “Rape Caravan,” he gritted out.
 
            “A what?” Rufus asked at the same time Cas gasped and grabbed
Dean’s arm.
 
            “Dean, we have to-“ Cas started.
 
            “I know and we will, but first, Donna’s gonna tell us everything
she knows about those assholes.”  Dean stared at Donna menacingly.
 
            Donna scrubbed her hands through hair, gripping the blonde strands
and royally fucking up her perfect pony tail.  She growled under her breathe
and met Dean’s glare, “I know what that is because…because…up until two days
before you guys found me, I was one of their prisoners.”  Donna’s breathing was
getting shallower as she ripped the rubber band from her hair, “And we don’t
have the time for me to tell you everything I know about them!  Any minute now,
they’re gonna figure out how to fix that blown tire and then we won’t stand a
chance.  Right now, they’re distracted, they’re not paying attention!  You saw
how Zach was ‘watching’ the prisoners!  We need to take him out quietly, then
go after the others before they even know we’re there!”
 
            “Zis got,” Rufus muttered under his breath.  “How many?”
 
            “Six,” Cas said as Donna said, “Five.”  Donna’s eyes narrowed, and
Cas tried not to shrink behind Dean.  Despite what Dean had said about it, he
still felt guilty about not doing something to help those poor women.
 
            “Donna,” Dean snapped.
 
            “Five, now.  The old woman killed Marv so I could get away.  They
must have killed her, though, she wasn’t sitting with the rest of them.  She
died so I could go find help.”
 
            “I need to know how they’re set for arms,” Dean asked, much calmer
now that he felt like he was planning an op and not hurtling face-first into
certain death.  Five he could handle, with Rufus and Donna as his back-up.  He
doesn’t want to think what would have happened if he and Cas had stumbled into
that hornet’s nest by themselves.
 
            “They have a shit ton of guns and knives, and even more ammo.  I
think I heard Al telling Bart he has a crossbow tucked away under the dash of
the RV,” she said bluntly, crossing her arms.
 
            “Fuck,” Rufus whispered.
 
            “Look, we can take out Zach easy and he’s the only one who has eyes
on our approach, but Donna’s right, we have to be quick about this, before one
of them thinks to pull that tow truck over to lift the rear axle,” Dean bowed
his head a second then turned back to Donna, “Any of those people cognizant
enough to hold a gun?”
 
            “’People’?” Cas muttered, looking the question at Dean.
 
            “Yeah, babe, there’s a couple guys in there, too,” Dean said,
quickly turning back to Donna.
 
            “Jody, for sure.  She was the Sheriff in Sioux Falls.  I don’t know
about Claire, she’s just a kid but she’s got a lot of anger.  Same with Kevin,
but he’s fairly new so I’m not 100% on him.  Pamela, definitely, if her eyes
aren’t still swollen shut from her last ‘lesson’ with Al.  Not Alfie, though,
kid’s nearly catatonic, at this point,” Donna explained.
 
            “Alright, Cas, load everything we have and give Donna both speed
loaders and all the extra ammo for both revolvers and the shotgun.  You’ll have
the 9 mil, but keep all the extra shells where you can get to them quickly. 
Rufus, you gonna do the knife thing?”
 
            “Seein’ as how I can’t hit the broad side of a barn with a piece of
iron?  Yeah, son, I’m gonna do the knife thing.”
 
            “Good, here’s how it’s gonna go…”
 
 
 
            Zachariah was having a real shit bird of a day.  All he’d wanted
this morning when he’d woken up with the world’s worst hangover was some hot
coffee, two aspirin, and maybe get his dick wet.  He’d gotten a bottle of water
thrown at his head by Nick, two uppers from Bart, and his dick nearly torn off
by that sweaty little Chink kid when the tire on the bus blew and they’d both
been thrown across the lounge.  How that little shit missed biting his dick off
at the root, he’ll never know.  As it is, he’s got massive bruises blooming
around the base of his cock and he’ll be out of commission for weeks.  He
catches the fucker’s eye while he lights another cigarette and the little
bastard winks and licks his lips.  Zachariah thinks about Marv and vows to keep
his dick away from anything with teeth from here to Kingdom come.  Just as he’s
glowering his scariest glower at the Chink and taking another drag on his
stale-ass smoke, he sees bright red blood arc away from his neck, sparkling
darkly in the sunshine, then another…and another.  He looks down, his cigarette
slipping from his suddenly-numb fingers, to see a bib of his own blood
spreading across his favorite blue button down, the one with the white
pinstripes and collar.  Turning his head is hard, but he’s rewarded with the
smiling face of that fat, blonde cop Marv nabbed in that Podunk town in
Wisconsin.  The black that was creeping on the edges of his vision finishes
filling in the world as his body slides down the side of the bus and Zachariah
Adler, former CFO of Sandover Bridge and Iron, Inc. knows nothing ever again.
   
                       
            “It isn’t going to work, Nick, I’m fucking telling you!” Gordon
yells, sweat rolling down his temples from standing in the goddamn sun for
almost an hour.
 
            Bart plops down from crouching next to the ruined tire to sitting
next to it, “Just give him the fucking keys, Gordo.”
 
            “I told you not to call me that, Bartholomew,” Gordon warns.
 
            “Look, Gordon,” Nick plants a hand on the shorter man’s shoulder
and lowers his voice, “we all know the score here.  Bart here is our drug guy,
Zach is logistics, I’m the brains, Al’s the pretty face,” “Preach brother,” Al
interjects in his nasally lisp, “and you’re the muscle.  So, why don’t you stop
trying to force the issue, and stay in your box?  You know how upset Al gets
when he feels we aren’t all playing by the rules, don’t you Al?” “Terribly
upset,” Al adds from where he’s leaning against the motor home, picking his
nails with a boning knife.  “That’s right,” Nick continues as he steers Gordon
toward the back of the bus, “and you know what Al does when he’s upset?  He
gets sloppy!  He’s liable to lash out at anyone when he’s upset and-“
 
            Gordon registers Nick’s body dropping to the pavement before he
hears the shot and he’s got his gun out of its holster and in his hand even
quicker.  Not twelve inches away is a man with dirty blonde hair and startled
green eyes, a Glock held in a double-handed grip and pointing right between
Gordon’s eyes.  Gordon doesn’t flinch when the sound of gunshots echos off the
bedrock of the mountains and seeming to multiply into a chaotic cacophony.  He
doesn’t look to Bart or Al to back him up, he knows they won’t.  He just smiles
at the stranger and pulls the trigger.  He doesn’t feel the bullet that rips
through his brain at 1,700 miles per hour, pulling most of what made Gordon
Walker the snake he was out the back of his head.  He certainly doesn’t
register someone screaming ‘DEAN!’ into the cold mountain air.
 
            Al was rounding the front of the bus before Nick’s pretty blonde
head hit the pavement, coming face-to-face with the one that got away: that Mud
Duck bitch.  He’s swinging before she can even raise the revolver in her hand. 
If he’d thought to use his right fist, he could have slit her stupid throat
with the knife, but he’d always been a Southpaw at heart and all he
accomplished was knocking her fat ass in the dirt.  Regretting that he doesn’t
have time to finish the job, Al leaps over her body and makes it around the bus
in time to see the blind (thanks to her last appointment with him) chick
kicking Zach’s corpse.  With a minimum of fuss, he strides over and opens her
throat from ear to ear with the boning knife, what he likes to call the ‘Pez
dispenser’, and bends over to retrieve Zach’s gun and shoots Nick’s favorite
fucktoy between his pretty blue eyes before he’s even standing up straight. 
Once he’s upright again, he takes aim at a tall brunette who’s helping a dirty
blonde as they stumble around the back of the bus.  A blade sprouts from his
chest and he has a split second to relish the exquisite pain before another
blooms from his right eye and his dead body folds gracelessly to the pavement.
 
            Rufus runs over to help Cas with Dean; whose shoulder is bleeding
like Niagara Falls all over the leather jacket Rufus has been trying to talk
him out of since they first met.
 
            “Find Cas!” Dean bellows, “CAAAASSS!” he screams before passing
out.  Cas helps Rufus lay him out on the road, keeping pressure on the bullet
wound in his shoulder as a young Asian boy runs over and kneels next to Cas.
 
            “Hey, yeah, keep pressure on it, you’re doing great, man.  Hey, old
guy, there’s a big white box with a red cross on it in the bathroom of the bus,
under the sink, go get it,” the kid rattles off.
 
            “Old guy? Kid, we just saved your bacon-“
 
            “NOW!” the kid screams, “Unless you want this guy to bleed out
right now!”  Cas sobs but keeps his hands firm around the wound.  He’s pressing
so hard he can feel his own pulse throbbing in his hands but Dean is
white,white as the snow that’s sifting down from the rocking RV as Rufus makes
his way to the first aid box and oh our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be
thy name, save Dean Winchester, fucking please!!!
 
            The dude pressing on the other dude’s wound is mumbling some broken
Our Fathers as the old guy gets back with the first aid kit.  Going along with
his mother’s plan to turn him into the country’s leading thoracic surgeon
before the age of 30 was finally going to be good for more than keeping his
butthole virginity.  When Nick, aka Satan, had first picked him up and found
out that he was set to start his surgical residency before the Super Flu hit,
he’d made Kevin a deal: become their little mobile torture chamber’s resident
Doogie Howser or start taking it up the ass from the other blonde guy with the
million-watt smile and the ten-inch dick.  Kevin’s IQ was nearly off the
charts, he chose to keep his asshole intact.  But thanks to Donna and her male
model friends, Kevin was free and he’d be damned for all eternity if he didn’t
save the guy currently getting showered with his boyfriend’s (husband’s?)
tears.  Kevin’s capable hands fly through the box and he gets to work.
 
            Donna comes around to the most beautiful sight in the world, Jody’s
sweet face smiling down at her, “There you are, doll,” Jody sighs in relief,
“Thought you were gonna sleep all day.  Think you can sit up?”
 
            “Sure thing, Jodes,” Donna grunts and grabs Jody’s hand for a
little assistance.  A vicious wave of nausea rolls through her at the same time
someone drives a railroad spike through her head and she groans, dropping her
head to Jody’s shoulder.  “They’re all dead, in case you were wondering.  Well,
mostly dead.”
 
            “Wha’s tha mean?” Donna slurred.
 
            “Bart’s gutshot, probably gonna take a while,” Jody points down the
bus and there’s Bart, lying on the ground by the blown tire. “He tried to
squeeze under the bus.”
 
            “Ours?”
 
            “Al killed Pamela and Alfie before one of your buddies put a couple
blades in him.  The pretty one took one in the shoulder from Gordon, but he
took him down first, got Nick, too.  Kevin’s workin’ on his shoulder now.”
 
            “Killed Zach,” Donna lifted her head to nuzzle in Jody’s neck, “Fer
you…wha’ he did a you…love you, Jodes…” Donna tried to hold back the tears that
threatened at the memory of the horrible night they had taken Jody in Sioux
Falls.  “Oh shoot! Jodes, Claire!”
 
            “Took off when Zach went down, like I told her, but no guarantees
where she got off to, might take a while to find her,” Jody stands, pulling
Donna with her, “Come on, ya goof, let’s get ol’ Barty over to your friends.”
 
            Jody and Donna stand over Bart as he wiggles and clutches his
crotch, “Did ya shoot him in the dick, Jodes?”
 
            “Well, yeah.  He was halfway under the bus by the time I got over
here.”
 
            “And in the stomach?”
 
            “Yeah, after I dragged him out.”
 
            “Hm, good.”
 
            “You got left one?”
 
            “Sure thing, Jodes.”
 
            They each take a foot and drag Bart around the end of the RV,
ignoring his pleas and cries of pain just as he always ignored theirs.  By the
time they drop him near where Dean lays on the other side of the bus, Kevin’s
just finishing up.  Cas cradles Dean’s head in his lap, an IV bag held up in
one hand, as Kevin finishes cleaning around the now-neatly sewn wound.  Kevin
explains the bullet went all the way through and Dean nods his understanding,
reassuring Cas he’s had worse.  Despite everyone’s protests, Dean insists on
sitting up.
 
            “What’s your name, man?” Kevin asks once he and Cas have propped
Dean up against the side of the RV.
 
            “Dean…Winchester, this is Professor Doctor Castiel Novak,” “Cas is
fine,” Cas murmurs to Kevin, “That tall drink of water behind ya is Rufus
Turner and you know Donna, so-“
 
            Weak laughter bubbles up from Dean’s left.  “He still alive?” he
asks Kevin.  Kevin goes over and comes back a minute later.
 
            “Not for long.  Jody shot his dick off, then once in the gut at
close range with the shotgun.”
 
            “Win…chester…more like…Lose…chesters…” Bart gurgles, then laughs, a
weak watery thing that sets Cas’ teeth on edge. “Used to…know…one
a…those…Saaa….”
 
            Dean launches off the side of the bus, knocking Cas back, Kevin
scrambling after, trying to pull him back.  Dean grabs the blonde guy’s shirt,
screaming into his face, “You know Sam?!! Where is he?!  Where’s Sam?  Answer
me!!!” The guy opens his mouth, coughing blood, then stops breathing.  “NO! You
fucker!! Fucking answer me!!  Where’s my brother??!!”  It takes four of them to
pull Dean off the guy’s lifeless body.
 
 
 
            Dean woke up in another bed, sunlight hitting his eyes, only this
time, Cas was draped on his right arm, snoring softly.  When he tried to lift
his left hand to touch Cas’ hair, pain lanced through his shoulder and into his
chest. “Sonuvabitch!” he hissed.  That woke Cas, who was right there, gently
holding him down.
 
            “Don’t move too much, Dean,” his sleep-gravely voice murmured in
Dean’s ear.  The pain brought back the memory of yesterday, or what he thought
had been yesterday.  From the pressure in his bladder it could have been two
days or more.
 
            “Gotta piss,” Dean grumbled as he let his head fall back to the
pillow.
 
            “Well, yes,” Cas mumbled, some shuffling and then a cool surface
under the skin of his dick.  “Go ahead,” Cas whispered and he did, no idea what
he was pissing into and slightly mortified to need the help, but it felt too
good to worry about right then.  After what felt like the world’s longest piss,
Cas took the container away and tucked him back into his underwear.
 
            Cas settled back across his right arm, resting his chin on his hand
and stared at Dean.  “Did we kill ‘em all?”
 
            “Yes,” Cas said sadly, “But we lost two of the prisoners and one
just came back last night after running off, a teenage girl.  I guess it was
Jody’s idea.  They all seem very protective of Claire, especially Donna and
Jody, who are together, by the way.”
 
            “Names,” Dean said quietly.
 
            “A woman named Pamela and a…a boy.  Claire said his name was
something the bastards couldn’t be bothered to pronounce, so they called him
Alfie.”
 
            “Need his real name.”
 
            “I’ll ask Donna, maybe she knows.  She was with them the longest,
besides Alfie and the older lady who took out the one named Marv.  Kevin
confirmed that Nick shot her for helping Donna escape.”  Dean stayed silent for
a long time.  Cas watched as tears started rolling down his face, hushed sobs
shaking his big body.  “Oh, love, please don’t,” Cas levered himself up,
holding his weight off Dean and wiped the tears away, kissing Dean’s lips
softly, “Please stop, Dean.  You saved so many.  The others weren’t your fault,
love.  If I’d done something sooner…”
 
            Dean’s eyes flew open and burned into Cas, “NO! You did the right
thing! Don’t you ever say different, Cas.  If they’d gotten ahold of you…I
can’t even…think about that.”
 
            “Then don’t blame yourself for the ones who died!” Anger simmered
just below the surface of Cas’ voice, “I won’t have you denigrating what you
did!  You’re a big damn hero and the only one who doesn’t know that is you!”
 
            The two stared at each other for a full minute before Dean pulled
Cas to him with his good arm, locking his mouth to Cas’.  Morning breath be
damned, Dean poured every ounce of worry and love and joy at seeing Cas unhurt
that he had into that kiss and when they broke away for air, Cas rested his
forehead on Dean’s.  “I love you,” he whispered.  Dean sobbed once and kissed
Cas again, licking into his mouth and tipping Cas’ head to deepen the kiss.
 
            Cas moaned into Dean’s mouth but pulled back, “We have to be
careful of your shoulder,” at the same time Dean blurted out, “I love you.” 
Cas smiled broadly and went in for another kiss.
 
            Cas broke away to trail his mouth down Dean’s stubbly chin, locking
onto his pulse point and sucking a mark there.  Dean groaned, “Fuck,
angel…mmm,” as Cas made his way down to Dean’s right nipple, licking and
nipping until the bud hardened.  Cas bit down gently and Dean’s back bowed up.
 
            “Lie still,” Cas ground out, pushing on Dean’s sternum to drive his
point home, sending a jolt of pure lust shooting straight to Dean’s dick, now
fully hard in his briefs and leaking on his hip.  Cas worked his way down
Dean’s stomach, sucking marks intermittently and dipping his tongue into Dean’s
belly button to make him huff a breathy laugh.  Cas smirked as he made short
work of Dean’s briefs, drawing them down his thighs.  Licking a broad stripe up
Dean’s twitching cock, Cas lavished the head with flicks and long strokes of
his tongue.
 
            Dean was having a hard time not thrusting his hips at Cas’ sinful
mouth.  The teasing was always his favorite part, but he also cursed it,
already wanting to get inside Cas’ perfect, tight heat.  Finally, Cas pulled
his dick up straight and surrounded his head in wet suction that had Dean
keening in need.  Cas sunk down, swirling his tongue around and over the big
vein that ran along the underside of Dean’s length, until his nose was brushing
the soft, ginger hair at the base of Dean’s dick.  He hummed, his soft palette
vibrating around the head and Dean groaned deep and long.
 
            “Fuck…Cas…not gonna last…you keep doin’ that…”
 
            Cas pulled back and bobbed his head, using lots of tongue, letting
his spit run out and drip down Dean’s balls as they tightened up in
anticipation.  Cas’ own dick was painfully hard and he reached a hand down to
stroke himself through his boxers.  Dean’s dick thickened and got impossibly
harder on Cas’ tongue and he plunged his head down, swallowed repeatedly around
the tip.  Dean grunted and thrust just the smallest bit as he unloaded down
Cas’ throat, his hand gripping Cas’ hair painfully.  Cas sucked him through his
aftershocks until Dean pushed his head back, muttering ‘too much’.
 
            Cas rose up, throwing the covers off his back, and pulled his dick
out of the slit in his boxers.  Straddling Dean’s right thigh, he stroked
himself another three times before his orgasm rolled through him and he shot
all over Dean’s soft, wet dick and lower stomach with a grunted ‘hunh’.  He
collapsed on Dean’s good side and they traded lazy kisses as they recovered.
 
            When Cas’ heart rate slowed down, he cleaned Dean up with the
corner of the sheet and helped Dean sit up enough to wash a couple of
painkillers down with a bottle of water.  Snuggling against Dean, Cas explained
the revised plan, one more day of bedrest, then down the mountain via the
Northern tracks, then through the rest of Northern Utah to Idaho and Oregon,
bypassing Nevada all together.  Dean could feel sleep pulling him back down, so
he didn’t have the energy to argue about the delay the detour would cost them. 
He let sleep take him as Cas stroked his hair.  
End Notes
     Zis got=Sweet God (Yiddish)
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