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Title; Silence Between Kingdoms

Rating; NC17 for later sex scenes, graphic violence, murder, torture, swearing,

Summary; A month after Castiel becomes Dean's hunting partners; he gets desperate calls from heaven urging him to come back for his own good. He ignores them in favour of being with Dean. Something crawled out of hell through the hole that Sam fell through, something that has its sights set on Dean. Very quickly, Castiel becomes Dean's only hope of survival. Destiel.

Author's Notes; I haven't watched the entire season 6, only six episodes, and I've only seen Slash Fiction from season 7 so my knowledge of what goes down is flimsy, so I'm going to make a lot of stuff up. Dean will have a personality change, as will Cas, and don't worry; Sam will be in this story, just not for a while. I love Sam, I do, but he doesn't fit into this. I'm hoping to update this every week, but I'm not going to make any promises because I write when I feel up to it because I'm susceptible to illnesses and headaches.

Silence Between Kingdoms

Chapter 1

"Hello, Dean."

After swearing for so long that he would never be able to get used to Castiel whooshing in and out of the room, Dean was actually starting to get used to it now. He learned that when he expects someone, he notices the faintest rustle of wings or clothes. Resting his bloodied jacket on the sink, Dean turned around to face his friend.

Ever since Sam tossed himself down the hole into hell to save the world, Dean had to admit that he longed for company now. He didn't think he could ever be alone for more than a night now, because everything just seemed so empty. So pointless. He'd lost the one good thing he had left to fight for. There was no one on the planet related to him anymore—not that he knew of, anyway—and he just longed for someone to fill the room up with their presence, even if they ignored him, because he couldn't stand being able to see four lonely walls without seeing someone out of the corner of his eye.

"What's up, Cas?" Dean asked, setting down the damp cloth he'd been using to wipe his jacket off with. He made a mental note to get the jacket to the Laundromat as soon as possible so the blood wouldn't stain and he wouldn't have to go out and replace the damn thing.

They'd been off on a demon hunt that had seemed relatively simple until at least four more appeared out of nowhere, as if the air had just given birth to them, and beat the crap out of them. After Castiel had beamed Dean across the street and out of harm's way (temporarily, at least), he'd gone back and fought them all single-handedly. Admittedly, Dean was still amazed that Castiel had managed to hold them off for as long as he did.

Laying some angel mojo on the demons to kill them proved to be difficult for Castiel at that stage, because he couldn't direct his attention to one long enough to kill them. They'd been ducking, weaving and landing blow on all directions, and it was almost like Castiel would need to have several different eyes just to see them all.

When Castiel had gotten himself pinned to the ground somehow, demons having gotten the angel sword in all the confusion, Dean hadn't even thought of the consequences of rushing back into the fray to save him. To simplify what was a back and forth fight that went on for at least fifteen minutes, Dean managed to kill two with the knife, and Castiel got another two with the retrieved sword. Most of the blood on Dean's jacket was his own.

"Nothing," said Cas, taking a seat on the end of Dean's bed, the rusty squeal of protesting springs answered that action. Both men winced at the sound. "I just thought I'd sit here."

That was another thing that Castiel did these days; drop in unexpectedly (yet somehow expected all the same) and then just sit there. Not that Dean minded. Any company was good company unless it tried to kill him. He shrugged it off pretty easily, suddenly craving a beer.

He went over to the old mini fridge and pulled out two bottles, holding one out to Cas. After a brief hesitation, Cas reached out and took one with a small muttering of thanks. The silence of the room was filled with the sharp crack of opening beer bottle lids. After several mouthfuls without air, Dean pulled the bottle from his lips with a load, groaning sigh. Then he burped. Castiel, however, drank his beer like a posh wife of a business director would drink her wine at a dinner party.

"Come on, man," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "If you're going to have a beer, at least drink a quarter of it."

Castiel looked up at him, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. He maintained that eye contact as he slowly raised the bottle back up to his lips and drank. He nearly choked as he swallowed a mouthful that was much too big for him.

"Was that good enough?" Castiel asked through watering eyes after he managed to clear his airways of the offending liquid.

Dean didn't get the chance to respond to that.

With a pained yell, Castiel dropped the beer, his hands flying up to grasp at his head. Dean rushed over to him, knelt down beside his legs, careful to avoid the chunks of broken glass.

"Cas?" he asked, panicked. "Cas! Hey, talk to me, man. What's wrong? Cas!"

Castiel looked at Dean directly, except it didn't seem like he really was. One of his shaking hands reached out and gripped the front of Dean's shirt as if asking for support, and Dean let him. Long, heart pounding seconds passed between them. Then, Cas choked back a gasp and fell forward into Dean, who barely managed to catch him before they both tumbled to the ground.

Dean let out a pained moan. "Cas? You okay?"

"Another message from heaven," Cas muttered, pulling back slightly so that he could see into Dean's face. "My apologies for squashing you."

"Never mind that." Dean waved off the apology impatiently. "What was this about a message from heaven? What do those sons of bitches want now?"

"They are trying to warn me. Trying to tell me to come back to heaven," said Castiel, scrunching up his face in concentration, staring at a spot on the ground about a foot away from Dean. He shook his head slightly. "I do not understand what it was they were warning me against."

A cold shiver of fear wracked Dean's body.

"Well, then what's the point of warning you if they aren't going to tell you what you're supposed to be looking for?" Dean asked, biting the inside of his mouth. He paused for a moment, then wagged his eyebrows in disbelief and stood up, offering a hand down to Castiel, who, after staring at it in confusion, took it and allowed himself to be pulled up. "I say you should ignore it."

He walked back over to his jacket, deciding to busy himself with cleaning it again. These were not the kind of thoughts he needed; he couldn't handle another big baddie roaming the earth, and he most certainly couldn't handle it alone should Castiel choose to leave.

"What if it's important, Dean?"

"If it was important, then they would have told you," said Dean, shrugging, trying to sound nonchalant but knew that he hadn't pulled it off. "Just forget about it."

Dean knew that if he glanced up into the mirror, he'd see Castiel giving him the big puppy-eyed stare full of confusion. He also knew that he would cave underneath that look and be forced to console Castiel in the manliest way possible. So he didn't look up.

"I don't know, Dean," said Castiel uncomfortably. "I do think they were trying to tell me what was wrong; they just couldn't get the message across clear enough."

"Even so, just ignore them." Dean looked up into the mirror, shuffling his feet. "Nothing good comes from a warning from heaven, especially an unclear one."


Dean and Castiel were back out on the road by morning. They had to clear up and go quicker than what they would have liked as the maid decided to come in, despite the fact that they'd told her they didn't want her to clean up or bring them fresh towels, and saw the guns on the bed that Dean had currently been cleaning. Dean had never known a woman to have such lungs.

The dusty back road seemed to stretch endlessly. In the baking hot summer sunshine, Dean had to squint to see up ahead as the heat waves danced merrily through the air.

"Where to now?" Castiel asked, looking through the window at the passing trees.

"Anywhere," said Dean, shrugging. "Next town, maybe, until we get a hunt."

Dean remembered a time when that kind of plan brought him peace. Back then, the only thing at the end of the road was just another thing to kill. Another demon, another shapeshifter. But now there was so much more than that.

Somehow it didn't feel as though they'd ended the Apocalypse. Not forever, at least. Somehow what seemed like the best laid plans ended up blowing up in their faces so spectacularly that it seemed worse than before.

Now Dean had to be so damn careful about what he did. He couldn't afford to die or get injured during battle. Demons were crawling around everywhere, polluting the earth and taking bodies. The Apocalypse was far from over. The Croatoan virus was only just starting to ease up, cities were starting to be rebuilt slowly. The Apocalypse promised stormy red skies and bloodbaths. They had gotten the latter but not the former. Dean hadn't killed Lucifer yet, just shoved him back into a damn hole with his damned brothers.

"Whatever road your thoughts are taking, I suggest you abandon it," said Castiel, like he was talking about the fucking weather or something. Dean shot him an irritated glare, which Castiel ignored. "What's done is done, and what is coming shall come."

"I'll show you what's done and what's coming," Dean muttered, shaking his head. He didn't think he would ever be able to get used to the fact that Castiel could read him like an open book.

Castiel tilted his head confusedly, thankfully choosing not to say anything.

They ended up driving past two dusty towns in five hours. By the time they rolled up at the third and decided that they might as well find a good hotel, Dean's ass was aching from sitting still for so long. He itched to get out of the car, walk around and stretch. Naturally, Castiel was spared.

A middle-aged woman stood behind the counter of the first hotel they found. Her black hair, tied up into a bun on the middle of her head, was starting to grey.

She smiled at them, revealing the smokers-yellow smile, complete with cracks and missing teeth. Dean fought back the urge to exclaim his revulsion.

"What can I do for you two fine fellas?" she asked, her speech slightly impaired.

"One room, please," said Dean, getting one room out of habit because that was what he and Sam always got. "Two singles," he added quickly, when the woman opened her mouth, no doubt to ask him whether he wanted one bed or two (apparently it was just as hard to escape peoples suspicions that he was gay with Castiel as well as with Sam).

"Alrighty, then," said the woman, her gaze lingering a bit on Castiel who, admittedly, looked a little weird thanks to his staring problem. She cleared her throat and wrote something down on a clipboard, then handed Dean a set of keys, flicking Castiel another wary glance once more. Dean resisted the urge to elbow Cas in the ribs. "Room 22 is yours."

Dean took the key and shoved it in his pocket with his keychain. "Thank you," he said, grabbing Cas by the elbow and all but steering him out of the lobby.

Room 22 happened to be located near the parking lot on the opposite side of where Dean parked the Impala. As most of the hotel rooms Dean had stayed in over his life, this one looked as though it had been constructed with the dirt the walls, floors and even the ceiling was encrusted with.

There were two beds pressed up against the middle of the wall with a small cabinet holding a dusty lamp in the middle. Like he always did when Sam was around, Dean chose the bed closest to the door, just in case some monster came crashing through it.

"Dean," said Castiel. "I don't need to sleep. What have I got a bed for?"

"To sit down on, if you're not going to use it to get some shut eye."

"Isn't that what a chair is for?"

Dean rolled his eyes, kicking off his shoes and throwing himself down on the bed. "Cas, beds are more comfortable. Just sit down on it and be grateful."

If he was into the whole "Praise the Lord" thing—and how could he be? All the angels except for Cas were a bunch of dicks, and their creator couldn't be much better—he would have done so because he'd finally been able to get a decent night sleep. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out cold.

The sunshine filtering through the dusty curtains woke Dean up, the sound of birds chirping incessantly filling his ears as he sat up and rubbed blearily at his eyes. Immediately, his eyes searched out Cas.

"Dude, did you just sit there the whole night?" Dean asked in disbelief, finding Castiel in the same spot he'd been in when Dean had fallen asleep. "Seriously? The whole fucking night?"

"No," said Cas curtly. "I went over to the window to watch the view outside, and then I came back."

Dean's eyebrow arched. "Fascinating."

Throwing off the blankets that he didn't remember pulling over himself, Dean stood up and, in his half-asleep state, stomped into the adjacent bathroom and slammed the door behind him. He felt heavy—weighed down by something. Turning on the faucet, he cupped his hands underneath the stream of water and splashed it all over his face to wake him up, grabbing for the towel on the rack and patting his face dry. Dropping the towel to the floor, he gripped the edge of the basin and then slowly, as if this was the last thing he wanted to do but had no choice, looked up into the chipped mirror.

He couldn't stand to look at himself. Turning away from the mirror, disgust at himself curdling deep within himself, he stepped closer to the toilet, undid his pants and relieved himself.

It was on days like this when he didn't really know how to function—or how to live with himself, for that matter. It felt as though he'd lost a limb; lost a part of him that he could never get back or replaced. Castiel, he knew, was a dear friend, but not even he was big enough to fill the hole that Sam had left behind. Castiel had his own spot in Dean's heart, which he could never be removed from.

Dean jerked in surprise as Castiel himself pounded on the bathroom door.

"Dean?" Cas called. "You've been in there a while."

There had been a time when Cas probably wouldn't have even cared about how long Dean had been in the fucking bathroom for, but with everything that had happened recently, Dean really couldn't blame Cas for being concerned. After all, he had contemplated drowning himself in the bath, or filling up the sink and just sticking his head in it. Dean was pretty sure Cas knew of his intentions each and every time.

"I'll be right out, Cas," Dean called back, flushing the toilet.

When he opened the door, Dean nearly walked head first into Castiel.

"Dude … could you back up a little there?"

Slowly, Castiel tilted his head, staring hard at Dean. "You're having them bad thoughts again," he said. "Your depression is kicking in. I can see it."

Well, if this wasn't uncomfortable. "There's a difference between thoughts and acting them out."

"I still don't like it," said Castiel.

"Tough," said Dean.


Castiel, Castiel, Castiel …

The voices inside Castiel's head grew louder, until his whole body shook from it. It was all he could do not to cry out in agony, because Dean needed his sleep. Heaven's calls were getting louder, more persistent. Something big was going to go down, and very soon. Heaven wanted him out of the way when it happened.

Come home, Castiel! Come home! Home! Castiel! Come home!

"Enough!" Castiel finally screamed, unable to bear it any longer.

Across the room, Dean jack-knifed into a sitting position, looking around blearily. "What's going on?" he asked. Then he locked onto Castiel, and was across the room in seconds, kneeling down next to Castiel's legs and taking his face in his hands to get a better look at him. "Cas, what's going on? Are they calling you again?"

Castiel barely managed a nod. "Y-yes."

"W-well, can't you tell them to go away?" Dean asked worriedly. "Block them out, or something?"

"Not that easy, Dean," Castiel choked out, squeezing his eyes shut.

Dean wanted to grab Castiel by the shoulders and scream, "It is so fucking easy!" but he didn't, because he really had no clue. Besides, he might actually damage Castiel if he were to shake him. All Dean could do was sit by Castiel's side, offering support just by being there, gritting his teeth and hating the fuck out of this shitty predicament.

When it all abruptly ends—the pleading voices, the steady hum of angels speaking in native tongues—Castiel gasps out a breath that practically threatens to destroy his throat. His body, suddenly heavier than what he'd remembered it to be, fell back onto the bed.

"Whoa, whoa! Cas, what the hell?" Dean knelt on the bed beside Castiel in seconds, placing a hand to Castiel's sweaty cheek. His eyes were alight with concern and fear. "Did the angels do something to you? Damn it, Cas, answer me!"

"N-no," Castiel managed to force out, blinking once, and then twice. "No, they're just … gone."

"Gone?" Dean echoed in disbelief.

"I can't feel them anymore," said Castiel by way of agreement.

Dean hummed darkly. "They'll be back." They always came back.

But it was a little unsettling having the angels just up and disappear when they'd been trying to get hold of one of their own for ages. Did they finally decide to give up on Castiel, or were they just taking a breather? That was what worried Dean. That, and being so fucking useless to Castiel whenever the angel was in pain. How do you kick out the radio in an angel's head without actually kicking out the angel?

It turned out Dean really didn't need to worry about that.

While they were driving to Minnesota two days later to hunt down a demon that had been terrorizing a family, an explosion of bright white light filled the car, along with the inhuman screech of an angel. Dean, on reflex, closed his eyes, slamming down on the brakes. The smell of burning rubber filled his nostrils as the tyres skid along the ground. If he thought it would have done any good, Dean would have screamed Castiel's name and turned to get a good look at him. Except, he wouldn't be heard and he wouldn't see again if he did so. All he could do was keep his eyes shut and cover his ears, hoping that there wasn't another car on the road to plough into them.


To Be Continued. . .

So there you have it! The chapter that took a week and a half to write! Please leave a review!

Chapter 2
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