Ice (AO3)

Summary: Inspired by this figure skating video. After an accident takes away Dean’s future in competitive figure skating, his relationship with Castiel suffers.

Please watch the video before reading!

“So give me the good news, Doc, when can I get back to competing?” Dean jokes, even though his face is white with the residual pain, even with painkillers taking the edge off. It really fucking hurts.

Castiel is by his side, clutching his hand tightly, lending support and comfort. It had been a nasty accident, one of the junior competitors had snuck over onto Dean’s side of the ice and crashed into him. The combination of Dean’s triple salchow and an overeager fan resulted in two broken bones and some muscle damage to Dean’s ankle. The kid had skated away without even a scratch.

He’d been on track for a fourth gold medal. Now he has no choice but to forfeit the competition. Castiel is the frontrunner for the gold medal, his third to date.

When the doctor doesn’t smile back, Dean’s stomach plummets.

“Mr. Winchester… I don’t think you realise how grave the damage to your ankle was. I can’t recommend you ever go back to competitive figure skating. The rigorous training regimen will only serve to weaken your muscles, and one more accident could mean you’ll never skate again. If you retire now, you’ll still be able to skate recreationally, maybe even coach.”

Dean stops listening after he hears the three words that shatters his heart. Never skate again. He’ll never be able to skate on the ice with Castiel again.

He turns to his lover abruptly, seeing the pain in his own eyes mirrored back. Desperately, Dean’s fingers tighten around Castiel’s and he bows his head.

“Could you give us a minute to process?” Castiel asks, vocalising what Dean was thinking. It’s too much to take in. It can’t be true. He’s had worse scrapes than this, he’d just been warming up. The sound of the door closing behind the surgeon vaguely echoes through the haze surrounding Dean, and he looks up at Castiel dumbly.

Castiel doesn’t speak, just strokes his thumb over the back of Dean’s hand and waits for him to talk in his own time.

“I want to go home,” Dean says eventually, averting his eyes. He can’t even look at Castiel right now, can’t bear the sympathy in his eyes. He can’t bear to see his lover, knowing that he was on track to win several more gold medals, while Dean will never win another. That his career has been cut short in his prime all because of a simple accident.

He flies home from Russia alone, watches Castiel skate on television in their shared apartment.

He’s magnificent, of course. That was one of the reasons Dean had fallen for him. Castiel was different from the beginning, standing out among the modern skaters. Even Dean, with his tattoos and trademark classic rock isn’t as out of place as Castiel. His routines should be dated. He always skates to Frank Sinatra, Fred Astaire, the classics. With his slicked back hair and his waistcoats, he looks and moves like a gentleman that is out of his time.

He’s unique and the public love it.

Dean does too. Despite initial reservations, Castiel had a dry wit that left him doubled over, and a sense of morals and honesty that Dean had never encountered before. Their first season on the ice had seen them both competing against each other furiously. Losing to Benny Lafitte had seen them taken down a few pegs, and a few drinks had led to a friendship that eventually blossomed into a whirlwind romance.

When their relationship became public, everyone had said it would be impossible for them to maintain a relationship while competing against each other.

Dean and Castiel have defied the odds for six years.

Dean smiles as he watches Castiel skate. They’ve always taken their careers seriously, working on their choreography separately despite their unique trademark styles. This is the first time he’s seen Castiel’s free skate.

His smile fades as the commentator spends the duration of Castiel’s second half talking about Dean’s absence and what it will mean for his future to have pulled out at this stage.

Castiel spins and twirls, his body moving instinctively and Dean can see the exhilaration and joy on his face. He knows he’ll never feel that again.

When Castiel finishes, Dean switches off the TV and limps to the bedroom, starting to pack his bags.

By the time the results are announced, and Castiel is clutching the gold medal, Dean is long gone.

“Dean, we’re going. That’s the end of it.” Sam snaps. “You’ve spent a year wallowing in misery over this, and it’s not healthy.”

Dean shrugs, his face defiant. “I’m allowed to be bitter, Sammy, figure skating was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“No, Cas was the best thing that ever happened to you, and you threw that away the second you found out you’d never be able to compete with him again. Your relationship was everything, and you threw it away because, what, he’d have more medals than you?”

Dean raises his eyes, rage simmering behind them but when Sam doesn’t flinch, his shoulders slump in defeat. “What was I meant to do? I watched him skate and I hated it. I resented that he still got to do the very thing that brought us together in the first place, while I had to watch from the sidelines. If I hadn’t left, I’d have grown to hate him and I couldn’t bear that.”

Sam softens and pats him on the shoulder. “I get it. I do. But you’re wrong about him still getting do what you love. He hasn’t competed in the World Championships since you left him.”

Dean knows that, because even though he fell out of touch with the ice skating world after his accident, he couldn’t resist sneaking a peek at the results of last year, wondering if Castiel had gotten another gold. It had been a shock to find out Castiel had taken a season off.

“Get your coat, Dean,” Sam’s orders break through Dean’s reverie and he sighs. He knows his brother is just trying to help by getting them tickets to Figure Art, a figure skating music festival that’s in town for one night only. He appreciates that Sam wants to help him get over the ache that he still feels in his chest when he thinks about figure skating, but he knows that the loss is mostly to do with Castiel than it is to do with his injury.

The muscle damage isn’t as limiting as he first thought. He can still skate his old routines, still choreograph new ones. He just can’t indulge in vigorous training like he used to, will never be able to compete again. Dean finds that it’s not as heart-breaking as he thought it would be. He’s even considered coaching again, once he finds the right student.

The gaping hole in his chest isn’t from estrangement from figure skating. It’s from a life without Castiel.

Dean grabs his jacket and allows himself to get lost in thought on the way to the stadium. He’s thought about contacting Castiel a million times since he left, but he knows he never will. The decision to leave their shared apartment leaving only a note behind has weighed on him for a whole year, but seeking out closure will only continue to hurt them both. Deep down, Dean knows that.

The skaters are good. He watches them with the mindset of a coach, with equal parts critique and approval. All of them appear to be recreational skaters; he doesn’t recognise anyone from previous seasons.

“Next up, ladies and gentleman, is a gold medalist from the World Championship, Castiel Novak!”

Dean’s heart stops. Cas? Here?

He can’t even bring himself to be mad at his brother for what he now knows was a set-up. He hasn’t set eyes on Castiel in just over a year, and curiosity and nostalgia and love are dominating against his instinct for self-preservation that is screaming at him to leave.

When the opening notes to Paint It Black start, Dean’s breath catches in his chest.

The lights come up, and if Dean didn’t know Castiel intimately, he would swear it wasn’t him. The messy hair, black vest, tight leather pants, fake tattoos up and down his muscular biceps – it could be a different man.

But it isn’t.

Dean had talked about skating to this for his very last season, before he planned to retire. This was to be his final bow, but he’d never gotten to that stage.

Castiel had choreographed a skate and was doing it for him.

His performance is flawless. He twirls and leaps, and Dean stares, mesmerised, his heart aching with longing. He’s only vaguely aware of the tears dripping down his cheeks as he sees the man he’s never managed to get over, skating a routine that could only be meant for him.

He starts to rise, planning on running to the edge. He wants a better look, a closer look, before Castiel is gone again.

Sam’s hand on his shoulder stops him. “You can see him backstage, Dean,” his brother mutters. “Don’t worry. I pulled a lot of strings to get you two this close to each other, Cas isn’t leaving before you talk to him.”

When the song ends, Dean claps harder than anyone, barely able to see through his tears.

His hands are clammy as he makes his way backstage. He passes all of the other skaters, but he only has eyes for one.

Castiel is drinking a bottle of water, his throat contracting with each swallow. Dean stops, suddenly unsure of his welcome. It’s obvious Castiel hasn’t seen him, and he suddenly realises that he doesn’t know what to say. There’s nothing he can say for the cowardly, shameful way he left Castiel behind.

“And I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we’re out together skating cheek-to-cheek…” he sings quietly, noting the very moment that Castiel recognises the song and his voice from the stiffening in his shoulders.

“If I turn around, are you going to be there, or just another note?” Castiel’s voice comes out sharp, but Dean knows him well enough to identify the pain there.

Ouch. But the words are hardly undeserved, so Dean doesn’t object to the slight.

“Me,” Dean replies, shakily. “Just me. God, Cas, I’ve missed you. I know I don’t have any right to say that to you. But it’s true.”

Castiel doesn’t turn. “You left me a note, Dean. Six years, and you couldn’t even break up with me in person. I get home after winning a medal that I didn’t even want, let alone deserve, and find a piece of paper telling me that you left me. Do you know how that felt?”

“No,” Dean admits, roughly. “But if it’s anything like how I’ve felt every day since, I have a pretty good idea. I love you, Cas. I always have. I left because I didn’t think I could deal with losing figure skating while watching you do what I couldn’t. I would have resented you. I’d rather live knowing you hated me than ever look at you that way.”

When Cas still doesn’t turn, Dean takes the initiative and moves in front of him. He’s horrified to see the tears rolling down Castiel’s cheeks and hates himself for putting them there.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – I’ll go.”

“Did you like it?”

Castiel’s words stop him in his tracks and Dean knows he means the skate. “You know I did. You took the best part of me and skated it for the whole world to see. How could I not love that?”

How can he not love Cas for doing that for him? His heart screams with the need to touch, to gather Castiel into his arms and never let go.

“That was never the best part of you, Dean,” Castiel replies, sadly.

“No,” Dean admits. “The best part of me was you, and what we had.”

He waits for a moment, hoping Cas will say something else, will give him a reason to stay. He screwed up, this has to be on Castiel’s terms now.

“The show is over. We still have the rink until midnight, and… I have a spare pair of skates that would fit you,” Castiel offers. “Skate with me? We can talk afterwards.”

Dean smiles, inclining his head. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

They have a lot of talking to do, but they can begin the way their relationship had started in the first place.

They can skate.

Masterpost