If You Run (gen with overtones of slash, R)

Title: If You Run
Genre: gen with overtones of slash (unrequited Dean/Castiel, mild hints of Sam/Dean)
Rating: R
Word count: ~1600
Warnings: stalking, hints of threats of violence, creeper behavior.
Summary: Castiel just wants Dean to love him.
A/N: This was written for spn_shebang's October theme of generalized creepiness and encounters with supernatural beings. I had been thinking of writing something along these lines for awhile and that was the impetus to finally actually do it.

I want to thank lexhibition for being such an enthusiastic cheerleader to this fic, and akadougal for the extremely helpful beta read.

I also owe a major thanks to my entire twitter feed for not killing me as I wrote this. I have been really badly blocked in my writing for a few months now and it turned out that having a deadline did not help me write this. Oh, the angst and whining I directed at my poor twitter peeps. Never before has so much angst produced so few words. Anyway, sorry and thanks.



Sam sleeps a lot now.

Before the wall, Sam didn't need to sleep, and every morning Dean woke up to find his brother sitting on a neatly made bed (because it had never been unmade), dressed and ready to go. He was never sad or happy or tired, and he never rolled his eyes and looked annoyed, he didn't hum along out of tune with the music on the radio, and he wasn't anything like Sam.

Dean had never felt so lonely in his life. Sometimes in the quiet of the night when there was nothing to distract him from his own thoughts, Dean thought that maybe he was being haunted.

Sam is back now, and sometimes Dean has to consciously stop himself from letting his fingers curl under the hem of his brother's shirt, to hold him close. But Sam sleeps a lot now - perhaps exhausted from all the sleep his body didn't get before - and Dean forces himself to sit on the opposite side of the room. Not touching, just watching.

"You missed him, didn't you?" Castiel asks.

One day, Dean will get used to Cas appearing without warning.

Maybe.

"Yeah," Dean says. His eyes don't move from Sam's sleeping form. The bed is too small for him and his feet - still in socks - peek out the bottom of the plaid motel room blanket. "I did."

Castiel nods thoughtfully.

"You could have asked for me to help you," Castiel says. Dean looks over at him for the first time. He looks the same as always, wearing that poor bastard Jimmy's clothes, blue eyes steady.

"Oh yeah?" Dean asks. "What were you going to do?"

"I would have done whatever I could have," Castiel tells him seriously. "But you didn't even ask. Didn't pray to me even once."

Dean blinks. He'd never even considered asking - praying to - Castiel for help. It had never occurred to him until Sam had suggested it.

"I'm not really the praying sort," he says. He struggles to think of a good excuse, but then Cas is gone, quietly disappearing during the blink of an eye.

"Shit," Dean mutters to the air. The only response is his brother's even breathing.

::

The next time Dean sees Castiel, he's well on his way to oblivion, more shots of whiskey that he can remember. Dean and Sam had headed to the bar for a celebratory drink after a successful and surprisingly easy salt and burn (nothing has been easy lately, and it definitely deserved a couple of drinks), but a drooping and fading Sam had left Dean on his own hours ago.

Dean doesn't think Cas would just appear in a crowded bar, but one second he's alone at the bar, smiling fuzzily at the flirtatious bartender, and the next, Castiel is on Sam's abandoned stool, his right leg pressing against Dean's left.

No one else seems to notice.

"You want a drink, Cas?" Dean offers, too drunk to be surprised.

"No," Castiel says. "Dean, you still aren't praying to me."

Dean is confused.

"I haven't needed to ask you anything," he says.

Castiel doesn't make a lot of expressions, but Dean can see confusion in the way his eyes draw together.

"Have you ever thought that maybe I need you?" he asks.

Actually, it hadn't.

"What do you need me for?" Dean asks. His right hand wraps around the damp shot glass.

Cas leans forward and rests his hand on Dean's. His hand is cool and smooth.

"I do need you, Dean."

And then he's gone again.

::

"Are you okay?" Sam asks in the morning.

Dean isn't okay. He has a hangover and everything hurts. He shakes his head and that makes it hurt worse.

Sam looks simultaneously sympathetic and like he's trying not to laugh. Stupid Sam. Dean loves him a lot, especially when he hands Dean a bottle of water and a couple of aspirins.

He thinks about the dream he had. Dean can't usually remember his dreams.

"Pray to me, Dean."

He's in a forest.

"I need you to pray to me."

It's dark and the air is thick with moisture.

"I need you to show me you love me."

You love me.

::

It's a long way from some shithole town on the Mississippi side of the Memphis suburbs to LaCrosse, Wisconsin where there may or not be a poltergeist. Sam drums his fingers to the music on the radio while Dean tries to pray.

Cas.

Are you happy now?

I'm praying.

::

I don't know what you want from me.

::

"What am I to you?" Castiel asks. They're in a gas station bathroom in some state somewhere.

"You're the guy creeping me in the bathroom, dude," Dean says. "What are you doing here?"

Instead of answering, Castiel reaches one hand out and cups Dean's face, his thumb stroking over Dean's cheekbone.

Dean is shocked into silence.

"I saved you, Dean. I went to hell for you and I rebuilt you. Why won't you love me?"

Something hard and cool presses up against Dean's back. It's the filthy tile wall of the bathroom.

"What?" Dean whispers.

"You're so beautiful," Castiel tells him. His voice lowers. "All humans are perfect, of course, created in the image of our father, but none I have seen are like you. So delicate. Fragile. I could end your life so easily, Dean." He leans in close and for one moment Dean thinks that Castiel is going to kiss him. "Of course, I could never do that. Not to you."

"I just want to touch your skin," Castiel says. His eyes are only a few inches away from Dean's and never seem to blink.

"You're...you're doing a good job of that right now," Dean says, trying for humor. Pointless, since Cas doesn't have a sense of humor.

Castiel doesn't speak for a moment.

"I want to touch your skin on the inside."

Dean shudders and tries to back up more, but the wall refuses to budge.

"You're...you're really...are you saying you want to take my body as a vessel, Cas? Because if so, the answer is definitely no."

Cas cocks his head. He seems disappointed for some reason.

"No," he says. "That isn't what I'm saying."

He takes a step back and Dean relaxes slightly. Cas looks sad.

"I'll talk to Sam," he says, and before Dean can even open his mouth to say no!, he's gone.

::

"If you see Cas," Dean says when he gets back to the car.

Sam waits a moment before he seems to realize that the sentence isn't going anywhere.

"If I see Cas, what?" he asks.

Dean shrugs. He concentrates very very carefully on turning the key in the ignition and turning the car back on the highway.

"Just ignore him," he says.

::

Dean remembers hell. It all blurred together after awhile into one long stretch of pain and terror and loneliness, but it's enough.

He thinks of Castiel and how he saved Dean, brought him back from that.

I could end your life so easily, Dean.

::

"Castiel asked me if he could use my body as a vessel," Sam tells Dean the next day. "He thinks maybe my body is more...pleasing to you than the one he's already got."

"What did you say?" Dean asks, suddenly afraid.

"No, of course." Sam sounds offended that Dean would even ask.

"What's with him?" Sam asks.

"I don't know, he's-." Dean pauses. "He's been acting strangely lately."

"Huh," Sam says.

::

Dean wakes up at 4 am. He's only been asleep for a couple hours and the first thing he realizes is: someone is touching my hair.

"What the fuck."

"You smell good, Dean," Castiel says.

Dean knows he smells like shit. He hasn't showered in three days and his mouth feels tacky and gross because he couldn't find his toothbrush in his bag and it was raining and he didn't feel like going out to the car to look for it.

"Go away, Cas," he says. "I'm kind of at the end of my rope with you."

"I love you, Dean," Castiel tells him. "I want you to love me too."

Dean closes his eyes and hopes that maybe Castiel will pull one of his disappearing tricks, but instead he continues speaking.

"I want to touch you," Castiel says.

Dean doesn't even know where to begin, and he's still not completely sure this isn't just another fucked up angel dream, so he spits out the first thing he thinks of.

"That's not even your body, Cas. How does Jimmy feel about you using his body for...whatever?"

"Jimmy prayed for me to take his body, Dean. To be used by heaven as we saw fit. He put no limits on it."

"Still, I don't think he intended..."

Dean's words end in a sharp gasp as he feels the cool hand slip under the covers and rest on his belly.

"I just want to touch you, Dean," Castiel says. "I want to be with you. I love you."

Dean pulls Castiel's hand away, pushes it to the other side of the blanket.

"Castiel, you need to stop."

"Stop?" Castiel echoes, like he doesn't know what the word means.

"Yeah, stop. You need to...back off." He pauses. "Maybe you should go back to heaven. Don't you have a lot of stuff going on there anyway?"

"Oh, no, Dean," Castiel breathes. His breath smells like nothing. "Don't worry about me. I will never leave you alone, Dean."

Dean presses his head against the pillow. Castiel takes hold of Dean's hand again, and grips it tightly. Castiel speaks over Dean's gasp of pain.

"I will love you forever."