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After two more hours on the road, they decided to stop at a motel to get a few hours of shut-eye. Sam had all but stumbled to bed, and Dean would be lying if he said he hadn't noticed how Sam seemed to tire more easily. He didn't bring it up, but if it was going to continue and get worse, he would have no choice. The stress was getting the best of his brother, it seemed.
Dean looked over from his bed to see his brother clutching the cover drawn over his enormous body. Sam's eyebrows were knit together in a worried manner, and Dean sighed and got up. He couldn't deal with seeing it and not being able to do anything about it. The whole situation sucked.
He didn't mind putting on his jacket, but was careful not to slam the door on his way out. Sam needed all the rest he could get.
Outside, the air was humid and heavy, no wind or breeze of any kind. The sky a friendly shade of blue, neither dark nor light. Didn't go completely dark around these parts this time of year, either. They would hit Blueridge tomorrow before midday, and Dean hoped it would be good to just work a normal case.
'Not so many of those these days,' he thought to himself and showed a few nickels into a vending machine under flickering, unfriendly light. He took the can of coke and sat in the car, which was surprisingly cool. Considering the tame, dulling temperature that only exists deep down south this time of year, it was a true comfort.
He sat quietly for a few minutes, taking a sip then and now, before he put the key in the ignition.
Turning it around, the voice of Ronnie Van Zant seeped through the speakers. 'Simple Man'. It was off side two of the tape Sam had given him earlier, before the damned demons crashed the party.
Muttering curses under his breath and clutching the can of coke a little tighter than strictly necessary, he suddenly remembered he'd doggy-bagged his birthday pie. He stretched around in his seat and grabbed the styrofoam box sitting on the floor behind him. Pie in hand, when he turned back there was a seat-full of angel beside him and he almost crunched the can completely.
“Will you ever learn?” Dean groaned and flipped the lid off the box.
“I am sorry, Dean. I should not have spoken to them,” Castiel said solemnly, looking straight at him with the eyes that of a wet, starved dog.
Dean frowned, but then understood what the guy was talking about.
“Oh. No, man, it's fine. That's five douche-baggy demons less to worry about now, so..,” he said and trailed off.
“Either way, I wanted to apologize for endangering the two of you,” Castiel said and sat straight in his seat, determined.
“Well, apology accepted, but not really needed. It's no problem, Cas,” he said and poked at the pie with a plastic fork. It had since long gone cold, and, blueberry-pecan or no, was no longer looking all that appetizing. He closed the lid and put it on top of the dashboard, sighing like a depressed old lady.
Silence stretched out between them, and after a minute or so Dean didn't feel as awkward as he usually would.
The thing about Castiel, Dean could never really make up his mind, was that he was either really patient or just so socially stunted that awkward silences didn't even register on his part. It was probably a mix of both, but Dean was afraid it was more the latter. On the other hand, when it was just the two of them in each other's company, he didn't really care too much. Sometimes he had to remind himself that the guy had literally torn him free and dragged him out of Hell, saved his sorry ass from endless torture. He'd survive the badly timed appearances and the awkward silences, even the bizarre questions that had a tendency to pop out of the guy more often than not.
Dean had actually noticed a change in himself after he went topside, and that was he was more patient than before. With evil, Devil hunting his baby brother, hellhounds and the like? Not a chance. But with the very few people in his life that he dared to care about, he was more patient. Maybe it was due to the fact that he was, regrettably, getting older? Either that, or maybe having died and subsequently become resurrected by an angel did that to a guy?
A hand to his shoulder brought him back from his thoughts, again registering the sound of cicadas and now low on the stereo, Mick Jagger singing about playing with fire.
“How do you feel, Dean?” Castiel asked and retracted his hand slowly.
“Me? Uh, I feel great. Yeah, just.. y'know, peachy.”
Castiel levelled him with his unimpressed trademark “drop the bullshit” stare, and Dean let his head fall back against the headrest.
“Alright, alright,” he sighed tiredly and rubbed his eyes before he continued “I'm tired.”
Castiel blinked.
“Then you should go to bed and rest, Dean.”
Dean frowned under the palms of his hands, wanting to ask Castiel if he did that on purpose. Thought better of it and dropped his hands back in his lap before turning slightly towards Heaven's best little soldier.
“No, man, I mean like I'm tired tired, I'm exhausted. Of this, of the whole fucking mess.”
Castiel nodded like he understood completely. He probably didn't, but Dean appreciated the silent support anyway.
After yet another minute of silence, Castiel spoke up again.
“Is there not anything I can do for you, Dean?”
Dean snorted and patted Castiel on the shoulder firmly.
“Thanks, Cas, but me and Sammy have to clean up our own mess. You're already a big help to us, by joining in from time to time and keeping us updated on angel radio.”
Dean gave Castiel's shoulder a light squeeze.
“We really appreciate it. I really appreciate it,” he emphasized.
Castiel smiled, a bit resigned, and melted back against the seat. The sullen look in his eyes not completely lost on Dean.
“Is that..,” he started and coughed before continuing, “..all I am to you? A big help?”, he finished turning his head to look straight at Dean. It felt more like he was actually looking straight into his soul.
“What? No! Of course not. You're a..a..you know..,” Dean made some hand gestures between them without really knowing what he meant.
Castiel turned his whole body towards Dean now, eyes open and almost...hopeful?
“Yes?”
Oh God, he was going to make him spell it out, wasn't he?
Staring intently at the shift lever he tried yet again with the hand gestures.
“Well, you know.. a very good..,” he coughed, “..friend.”
Silence.
Then a hum.
Dean turned and saw the angel grinning with deep satisfaction to himself, and he was immediately sure that an angel grinning like the one in front of him was doing now... Well, it could probably cure cancer.
“And to be honest,” Dean continued, his thoughts slightly polluted by seeing this rare sight, “..the best one I have. So, yeah.”
Castiel hummed again and closed his eyes, still smiling. It was pretty damn infectious.
And then suddenly Castiel was leaning towards him and Dean's heart started hammering in his chest like the sound of a machine gun pumping out bullets. Was he..?
“What are you-”
Castiel stretched passed him, grabbed the styrofoam box, and sat back in his seat.
“Maybe you want to clean it yourselves, but I will help you with this fucking mess.”
Dean looked completely dumbfounded, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. He had never believed, and would never, ever, ever believe that was a word he would actually hear his angel buddy say with such ease. Or even say at all. Damn.
“Awesome,” Dean uttered absentmindedly.
The smell of blueberries.
“Here,” Castiel said and handed Dean the styrofoam box.
“Eat and get some rest.”
“Sure,” Dean mumbled, still staring at Castiel, unable to process anything more than thinking how swearing really fit the guy.
“And Happy Birthday, my friend.”
Not a millisecond later he was looking at an empty seat.
“Ouch!”
He dropped the styrofoam box in his lap, suddenly aware of how hot it was.
Words and sentences swam around in his mind.
anything I can do for you, this fucking mess, my friend, do for you, fucking mess, my friend, for you, fucking, my friend, you, fucking, friend, fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckFUCK!
He popped the lid off, and the pie had been reheated. It smelled like a dream.
A funny, warm feeling started to pool low in his stomach just as he closed his mouth around the first bite.
“Well, shit.”
He almost choked on a piece of pie as realization hit him.
He was in love.
This was bad.
Just real fudging bad.