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This Is Not A Drive-By	By : karmascars Category: Supernatural > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1991 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or make any money writing fanfiction about it.

Chapter List
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- 2
- 3
This Is Not A Drive-By
Summary: Smut-tastic, freakishly long sequel to Learning to Drive. AU. Dean can barely remember, Castiel can't forget - and Sam has far surpassed them both.
A/N: This story is COMPLETE. I will be posting chapters as they leave beta.
Once again, thanks to my lovely beta-licious, Mistress Whimsy!

CHAPTER TWO

"So, Bobby's got a job for us," Sam said preemptively. It was the first thing he'd said in days that wasn't either angry, or a one-word answer.
Dean turned to stare at his brother. It was a I've finally got a good thing going here, despite your shit, and now after everything you've said to me you just decide we're a team again? kind of stare, but Sam met it levelly. "If I'm going to get stronger, we can't just sit on our asses."
"I don't want you to get stronger," Dean heard himself saying. "I want you to stop."
"I was given these powers for a reason, Dean," Sam said evenly. "It wouldn't make sense not to use them."
“It does make sense -- Sammy, you bleed when you use them. That's like saying you're going to keep eating burritos that make you crap out your organs, just because they taste good.” Dean had caught a South Park marathon the other night, and thought that was a pretty accurate parallel.
Sam quirked an eyebrow. “It's not like that at all.”
“Sam.” Dean pursed his lips. “You could be killing yourself.”
“I've got it under control, Dean,” Sam said in that flat, this-discussion-is-over tone. “Do you want to go gank this thing or not?”
“What is it?”
“Bobby thinks it might be a tulpa.”
“Where is it?”
Sam grinned. “Florida.” When Dean failed to react, Sam waved his hands around. “Come on, Dean -- beaches, bikinis! Tropical paradise, dude.”
Dean forced a smile for his brother's sake. “You know me too well.”
Sam opened his mouth, probably to say something lewd about Dean's sex life, but all the light bulbs blew out simultaneously and there was Castiel, standing between them, the blankness in his eyes disturbing beyond belief. He regarded them both in turn, and Dean finally said something. “Hey, Cas... where ya been?”
“I have been sent to aid you in your tasks,” Castiel replied, his voice as dead as his gaze.
“The... tulpa?” Sam said hesitantly, and gulped when the angel regarded him.
“That and others,” was his answer.
Sam and Dean exchanged glances, their argument temporarily forgotten. Castiel was acting like he had when they first met him. Like...
“Cas,” Dean asked softly, “what did they do to you up there?”
Castiel's head canted to the side, and it was such a robotic imitation of the way he'd done it in recent months that it hurt to see. “I don't know what you mean,” he said.
Dean gave up -- for the moment. “Right, well, that beastie won't disbelieve itself. Let's get a move on -- I feel like sex on the beach.”
Sam snorted. “Lead the way.”

~#~#~

It wasn't a tulpa, it was a poltergeist, which made it simultaneously easier and more difficult to handle. The salt-and-burn regime would work, of course, but they had to be able to complete it.
Not that he would admit it, but Dean felt a little twinge of fear the fourth time his lighter was forcibly pulled from his hand. There was still salt on the bones, but not as much as he'd poured -- it kept getting blown away and soaked into the mud by the freak rain storm (which Sam went so far as to insist was normal weather for Florida). His little brother was lying unconscious eight feet away, tangled in barbed wire, and Castiel was nowhere to be found.
In fact, Dean couldn't remember having seen the angel since they hit A1A earlier that afternoon. He'd quipped something about angels and tropical paradise, glossing over his fear that Castiel was just readying an ambush or something.
After researching the creature (with the help of some cheap suits and fake I.D.s) and discovering Bobby's oversight, the brothers had proceeded to celebrate their arrival in Palm Coast with a bar crawl, convinced they could handle the job in an hour or so.
Now, as he struggled with the preternatural strength of a tourist child who'd drowned in the '80s, Dean wished he'd cared a little more about the job and a little less about getting laid. Just a little.
But seriously -- back-to-school body shots with incredibly sexy co-eds. How could he have said no to that?
Lightning crashed. Dean's foot stuck, slipped in the deepening mud and he fell to his knees. The spirit shrieked in triumph, its face a ruinous mask, and swooped in to incapacitate him permanently. Dean refused to flinch, but his body did it anyway.
From nowhere a gout of flame descended, eating away at the bones, using all the oxygen in the grave. There wasn't even enough time for the spirit to properly burn in midair before it disappeared. Dean, suddenly unable to breathe, fell forward on to his hands. He was hot... burning up, and the mud looked comfortable even as it began to boil.
“Dean!” Sam's yell was so far away.
Then a strong hand clamped onto his arm and dragged him forcibly into sweet, breathable air.
Castiel laid Dean on his back on the grass and the hunter tasted the rain, smiling and just a little delirious. Steam rose from his clothes. “Dean!” Sam lurched to his side, touching his shoulder then jerking away with a hiss. “You're burning up, there's --- blisters, what the fuck happened?”
“Little shit made it hurricane,” Dean grumbled, but even he could hear that the words he actually said weren't words at all. He was losing consciousness.
God, this is lame.
He thought he saw a smile quirk on the angel's lips as he thought that, but angels couldn't read minds, right, and it was probably just a trick of the lightning...
Darkness claimed him, and the scent of sodden earth.

~#~#~

It was dangerous, this remembering.
Castiel had gone with the boys to Florida, intent on getting Sam alone and finishing his task without the the unnecessary risk of Dean seeing it happen, knowing it was him, going on an angel-killing rampage, and winding up as Heaven's next target.
However, something about riding in the Impala's back seat again... as they shot along a sunny highway with the windows down, Castiel felt something stir in his chest, and a flood of streaming images struck through his mind. He remembered, then, being behind the wheel of that car, the slip-sliding scenery, the visceral, physical thrill of the drive.
How it felt.
Castiel was something entirely new, and he still didn't know it. It never occurred to him that no angel in all the Host had ever found a reason to cast aside their brotherhood and become an individual. Even the Devil, when he fell, did it out of love for their Father.
He did know, though, that it was somewhat strange, him being able to shake off the effects of a reset. To recall his previous actions in a positive light. To desire something.
His longing to feel that rhythm again, to fall into the harmonies of driving, was so intensely bothersome that Castiel simply left without saying anything to the brothers, fleeing to sit on the cloud cover and calm himself. He didn't stir from his reverie until the clouds were tinted in blues and grays, a nighttime storm. It felt unnatural, and he remembered why he was here.
Castiel saw the poltergeist and acted without thinking, torching the grave before he realized that Dean was down there, too, now being burned alive.
So he grasped the hunter's shoulder, right over the mark from their first encounter, and pulled him from the flames. This feeling, he mused as he hauled Dean to safety, I believe humans call it déjà vu.
Then Dean muttered something, and Castiel remembered the way Dean had gasped out those instructions, the way he'd believed in the angel, when he taught him how to drive. Castiel couldn't help it -- he smiled.
Green eyes widened slightly, then slipped closed.

~#~#~

They made it back to the motel by angel-zap, Impala and all. Inside, Sam looked sidewise at Castiel, who was standing beside Dean's motel bed with the mother of all conflicted expressions on his face. The younger Winchester couldn't figure the angel out, but all things considered, he couldn't care less what Castiel was thinking.
He moved to open the door. “Where are you going?” Castiel's low rumble of a voice carried surprisingly well. Sam glanced back over his shoulder. “Out,” he said shortly. He didn't need to explain himself to an angel. He felt a twinge at leaving while Dean was unconscious, but he was doing it to avoid the inevitable questions -- one of which, the angel had just asked.
Thankfully Castiel didn't pursue the matter, just dropped his gaze back to the bed. He's oddly focused on Dean, Sam thought fleetingly. Do I care?
Eh. I don't really think I do.
With an expression not unlike a sneer, Sam shut the door quietly and walked away. He headed south. Midway past the Impala, as he entered a copse of straggly palms, he closed his eyes -- and vanished.

~#~#~

Dean woke in a motel bed, in a fresh pair of sweats and no shirt, with a major throbbing headache. “Hello?” he croaked. “Sam?”
Then: “Cas?”
“I am here, Dean,” came the graveled reply. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “I was starting to think I'd imagined that rescue.”
“I pulled you from the flames once, so I did it again.”
Dean nodded, sinking into his pillow. Then he shot straight up, swiveling on the mattress til he was facing Castiel with his legs pulled up and his arms around them. “Didn't you start that fire?”
“I... did,” the angel said carefully. “I did not notice you were in the hole.”
“Didn't notice?” Dean quirked an eyebrow. “Can't you, like, see my soul, or something?”
“I can,” Castiel affirmed. “It glows.” He dropped Dean's gaze, staring a hole in the floor. “I was distracted. I -- I'm sorry.”
“Hey, it's okay,” Dean said, feeling an easy smile form on his lips. Castiel looked up, and when he focused on Dean something in his expression changed, and his lips parted slightly. He looked... conflicted.
Abruptly, he stood, hands behind his back, beginning to pace. “Sam left a few hours ago, and I don't know where he went. He has not been back, nor has he called.”
Dean waved a hand. “I'm sure he's just off getting his Sam on. We are in a college town.”
“No, Dean.” Castiel's eyes were dark, serious. “I believe Sam is out developing his dark power.”
“Sounds naughty when you say it that way,” Dean said, stretching out his legs as he slid to the edge of the bed. He didn't want to have this conversation. Not with Castiel -- as glad as he was that the angel seemed back to his usual self -- not with anybody. Not even with Sam -- they never got anywhere, anyway. Difference of opinion.
"We need to find him," Castiel said. "The last few times I saw him, his soul had gathered more and more shadows. We must find him, while he still has some light left."
Dean stared at the floor. For awhile they sat and stood there, hunter and angel, silent.
Then green eyes met blue, and the two of them left without a word.

~#~#~

Sam Winchester stalked a ghoul through oppressively-sunny downtown Orlando, his mind elsewhere. The jump through the spacial planes had taken him further than he'd ever managed before -- the motel where he'd left his brother was hours of driving away.
Think of the travel time we'd save! The gas money! he imagined telling Dean, but he knew his brother wouldn't listen. Dean liked to drive, and he was notoriously close-minded about things he didn't like or even properly understand.
Plus, Dean had an angel on his shoulder.
Sam found himself liking Castiel less and less. There had always been something off-putting about him, even more so this last encounter. He was always appearing when Dean was alone, working to turn him against his own brother. Dean had always been a little weirded out by Sam's visions, and he may have grumbled about the mental exorcisms, but he'd only started speaking out against it all after meeting Castiel.
And then there were the nightmares Sam still had sometimes, of waking up woozy in the back seat of the Impala only to realize that Dean was dying in the front seat and Castiel was driving. Only when he went to check Dean's pulse, the dream varied from the memory -- in his mind, Dean was dead, and then he'd turn to Castiel only to meet a palm to his forehead and a sudden, blinding light... or worse, white eyes and a bloody mouth.
Not to mention whatever was going on in the angel's head right now. The way he'd been looking at Dean... It was almost like he had no idea what he was doing, either. Sam didn't know if he wished any of this on his brother at all, but it was Dean's mess now -- he could deal with it.
Sam turned down a narrow side street, ducking into the alley behind a strip mall. Pepto-Bismol walls with rusted pipes flanked him about two feet on either side. He knew the ghoul was crouching up ahead to the right. It thought it'd blended perfectly into those crowds on the boardwalk. It hadn't banked on his heightened sense of smell.
Something slid from the air behind him, smelling faintly of sulfur. Sam didn't turn, didn't even slow his pace.
"'Bout time you got here, Cim."
A man as tall as he was -- dark-haired, lean-muscled, and wearing an expensive suit -- matched his stride. Together they filled the narrow space. Cim smiled coldly, crows' feet crinkling at the corners of eyes black as pitch.
"How was the trip?"
Sam grinned. "Made it all the way from Palm Coast."
"No nosebleed?"
"Not even a headache this time."
"Good." They rounded the corner fluidly and faced the startled ghoul side by side. It had taken the form of a teenage boy, all pimples and gangly limbs, and when it saw them it tensed to spring. The demon put his hand on Sam's shoulder and Sam raised a hand, concentrating on rending, tearing apart.
The ghoul shredded into a fine spray, mid-leap.
Screw Dean. This felt right.
“Ready to go?” Cim asked. Sam nodded, and they blinked out together.

Please review~! Let me know what you think. I really do want to know... *crosses fingers for good things*

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This Is Not A Drive-By