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“Cas, you paying attention?”
Dean’s whisper snapped Cas out of his reverie. He’d been intently inspecting his pistol, still not quite used to it. Despite having been out of camp several times now since he’d become essentially human, it was a considerable adjustment.
Not only that, but the pills he’d taken – “uppers”, he’d heard them called – were somewhat affecting his focus. His increased alertness, while better than falling asleep, was also serving to make him more easily distracted.
“Yeah, I’m paying attention.” He forced himself to look around again, checking for Croats. “It’s clear.”
“Good.” Dean brushed against his shoulder, in what Cas was coming to recognize as comfortable intimacy that spilled over from the time they spent together in bed. “What’s next?”
Cas gave him the easy, relaxed smile that he’d been practicing for weeks. “We move forward, of course.”
“Okay, I’m gonna go first since I can actually fight. You stay close, you hear?”
“I hear.”
They fell silent, picking their way through the abandoned side streets. Flashes of color caught Cas’s gaze – a soup can label, a torn jacket, magazine pages wafting listlessly across the pavement. The pages came to what seemed like a melancholy stop against a twisted car bumper, and Cas forced himself to direct his attention forward again.
Thunder growled in the low, leaden clouds, and he risked a glance up. The storm was definitely closer now, darker too.
“We gotta hurry,” Dean hissed, halting at a restaurant backdoor. “Don’t wanna get caught out in the rain. Keep an eye out.”
“Okay.” Cas readied his stance, scanning for danger. Further down the alley, a scrawny cat wriggled its way out from under a crate and bolted.
In the days before Cas lost his “mojo”, as Dean kept calling it, he might have been tempted to go after the animal. It looked like it might be hurt, and he’d always felt compelled to help anything that was suffering.
Now, though, stripped of his powers, fear outweighed that desire to lend aid. Going down the alley would run the risk of attracting attention – and worse, his departure would put Dean in danger. Realizing that his breaths were quickening, he forced himself to exhale slowly. Getting anxious wouldn’t help anyone.
But as Dean finished picking the lock and pushed the door open, Cas’s chest tightened. Human emotions didn’t respond well to attempt to suppress them, and he found his hands trembling. Attempts to persuade himself that fear was irrational only resulted in increased anxiety, and he started to wonder if the pills were worsening this. Maybe he’d have to find another substance to help him relax when he got back to camp.
“Cas.” Dean touched his hand, and Cas realized that he was clutching his pistol in a death grip. “Keep it together. Focus on the mission, don’t get distracted. Got it?”
He nodded, mouth dry. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“You’d better damn well be. It’s gonna be your job to get the food together when we hit the pantry, and I’ll be pissed if you screw up.”
“I’m not gonna screw up.” The familiar banter helped to ease some of his tension, and he crept into the darkened building.
Their footfalls seemed loud in the desolate kitchen, but no Croats emerged from the shadows. That was something, at least. There were also no signs that this place had been ransacked before, a welcome change from their last expedition. That run had only produced some rather unpleasant canned green beans, which resulted in an even-grumpier-than-usual Dean.
Now, though, he seemed in his element. In fact, this was the most relaxed Cas had seen him in far too long. Every since they’d received the news out of Detroit, Dean had been angry, bitter, harsh.
There was still no absolute confirmation that Sam had said yes to Lucifer, but there were enough whispers and rumors among survivors that there was little hope left. Dean, grieving for his brother, had gone increasingly cold and callous.
For the moment, however, he almost seemed like the old Dean again. He winked at Cas, gesturing to the cabinet. “Have at it, tiger.”
“I’m on it.” Cas grinned at him, his own smile feeling more natural this time. It was good to see Dean thriving again, even if it was temporary. This was, after all, a situation that catered to his innate skills. Danger to energize him, someone he needed to protect…
Having someone to teach and guide likely contributed to his good mood, as well. Even if Dean sometimes got impatient, he seemed most like his old self when he was instructing Cas in how to shoot a gun, how to clear a building, or how to cook.
“I found canned peaches,” Cas whispered, loading cans into their bags. “I suspect we might actually need to come back for a second run at some point. There’s a lot of food.”
“Guess these guys must have gotten restocked right before everything went to crap.” Dean glanced over his shoulder, examining their new assortment of goods. “Okay, that’s enough for now. Let’s get this stuff back to camp.”
“All right, let’s roll.”
Dean snorted, slinging a bag over his shoulder. “Trying out some slang?”
“I guess, yeah. I mean, I’m human now, right? I better learn how to blend in.”
“Okay, hot stuff. Let’s roll, then. When we get back to camp, drinks are on me.”
Cas was momentarily confused - no one was paying for anything anymore - but he caught himself before vocalizing that confusion. Maybe he really was getting the hang of this “being human” thing. After all, he was developing the most human inclination of all – finding way to avoid dealing with his emotions. Alcohol seemed the perfect thing to take the edge off his anxiety.