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Castiel hears Dean talking, sees his mouth moving, knows he should reply, but all he can do is stare at Dean blankly. The words rattle around in his brain, too empty now that it’s devoid of all the voices of his brothers and sisters.
Where to? It’s a reasonable question, a good one, but one Castiel has no answer for. Nora had just found his things at the Gas n’ Sip earlier that day, so he doesn’t want to try and press his luck there, but he has nowhere else. A shelter, maybe? He had stayed in a few while he was making his way to the bunker, and while they’d be okay for a couple nights, maybe, if they have room, it’s not a long term solution.
“Cas?” Dean prods, shaking Castiel out of his thoughts.
Castiel bites his lip. “I’ll…I’ll just tag along with you, if that’s all right.”
Dean’s not making eye contact, so he takes the chance to give Dean a doleful stare, admiring his profile and the way his stubble turns a reddish blond in the glow of the streetlights. “I’ve missed you,” Castiel admits softly.
Dean finally turns his head to look, really look, at Castiel. “I’ve missed you, too.”
Dean lets out a deep sigh, then. “Look, Cas, I—”
Castiel cuts him off. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’m not an angel anymore. What use am I?”
A look Castiel can’t quite identify crosses Dean’s face. Even after several years, Castiel still isn’t the most versed in identifying human emotions. “What? It’s not about that. You don’t have to be useful to be worth something to me, man.” Dean huffs and runs a hand through his short hair. “And of course it’s fine that you stay with me for the night, but how about you show me your place, huh? It’ll help me sleep better if I know you’re doing okay.”
“Well, I don’t exactly have… a place.” Now Castiel is the one avoiding eye contact.
“What do you mean? Where have you been staying?”
“At the store,” he answers, glancing over at Dean as shame washes over him in a bright blaze.
“Oh, Cas,” Dean murmurs, before clapping one of his hands against the Impala’s dash. “Well, we ought to get you some better digs, then, right?”
Castiel coughs awkwardly, not wanting to upset the delicate balance of Dean’s now-forced good mood. He looks out the window and leans his head against the cool glass, closing his eyes and trying to pretend he has his wings again, but it’s a poor substitute. His wings never rumbled, or hit potholes, or expelled fumes. Castiel’s nose wrinkles in distaste when Dean cracks his window.
Eventually, after an amount of time Castiel has completely lost track of, the Impala rumbles to a stop and Dean reaches over to shake his shoulder. “Wake up, sleepyhead. We’re here.”
Castiel doesn’t bother to waste his breath protesting he wasn’t asleep. He’s not an angel anymore, so it was a reasonable assumption for Dean to make, he supposes. He squints out at the bright lights proclaiming vacancy refracting through the window. The driver’s door slams shut, followed shortly by the trunk squeaking open, and Dean presumably retrieving his duffle bag. Castiel opens his door and slowly gets out, feeling the crunch of gravel beneath his thin soled shoes.
Castiel trails Dean into the lobby, trying not to look out of place as Dean talks to the clerk. “One king,” he says gruffly, and Castiel’s head whips up in surprise. “I’m paying for the month.” Castiel’s head drops just as quickly.
Dean’s just going to dump him here and move on, since Castiel is obviously no longer a worthy investment of Dean’s time now that he has nothing left to offer. To Castiel’s surprise, Dean doesn’t just press the key into Castiel’s hand, but brushes past Castiel and out the door, ignoring the questioning look the desk clerk sends the two of them.
Castiel stumbles out after him, the cool night air biting his skin. Dean looks down at the number on the key and mutters to himself, looking around before he spots the door and walks up to it. Dean pounds a hand against the door, as if testing its sturdiness, and he must be satisfied because he unlocks it and gestures for Castiel to go in.
Dean follows and closes the door behind him, tossing his duffel on the bed before pointedly moving it to one side. “I—I figured we could share for the night. That way you’d have more space to stretch out the rest of the time, when I’m not here.”
Castiel may not have angelic hearing anymore, but he can still hear Dean’s hard swallow. “Sure,” Castiel says awkwardly, turning away from Dean and unbuttoning his shirt. He drops his slacks as well before he climbs into the bed, using the covers as a shield for the uncomfortable emotions swirling around in his gut.
Everything is so much more intense now that Castiel is a human, but at the same time, it’s not. His emotions overwhelm him more than they ever did when he was an angel, but his head feels empty without the voices of his brothers and sisters constantly swirling around and the world seems dull and flat now that he can’t perceive souls. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to see a sight as beautiful as Dean’s soul again, and the thought is more than a little depressing.
While Castiel's thoughts have been occupied, Dean has slipped into the bathroom, and Castiel can hear the shower running. An urge possesses Castiel to open the door, pull back the shower curtain, and join Dean, like he’s observed many humans do in the years since they’ve invented indoor plumbing, but he stomps down on it.
Castiel lays there staring at the ceiling for what seems like hours, but is probably a few minutes. His patience is just one more thing that evaporated into thin air when he fell. Finally, the bathroom door opens, and Castiel wilts back from the cool air. He was expecting steamy warmness, but he’s left shivering.
Castiel tries to keep his eyes on the ceiling, tracing the cracks and water stains, but his eyes keep shifting towards Dean, tracing drops of water as they run down his back, highlighting the muscles. Castiel swallows hard. He’s lost count of how many times he’s cursed being human in the past day alone.
Castiel snaps his eyes back to the ceiling, turning over for good measure when Dean drops the towel, but not before he gets a good look at Dean’s ass. Castiel remembers shaping the curve of it, placing every freckle with care after he raised Dean from Hell. It’s different, though, now.
Everything is different, and Castiel hates it.
His throat is scratchy. Castiel considers getting up to get a drink from the sink, but then he would have to walk past Dean, and there’s a rapidly developing situation under the sheets that would make that mortifying. Castiel’s newly human body hasn’t seemed to have received the memo that Castiel is not a teenage boy. Castiel holds his breath as Dean lifts the sheets and slides in next to him. There’s a rush of cold air, and Dean shifts as he settles in the bed. “Is this okay?” Dean whispers.
Dean’s presence draws Castiel towards him; it always has, and now Dean expects Castiel to resist his pull when he’s less than six inches away from him. No, it’s not okay.
“It’s fine,” Castiel grunts.
“Just don’t stick your cold feet on me in the middle of the night, okay?”
Castiel always runs cold now that he’s human, and he can feel Dean’s heat radiating even from his spot on the mattress. “Of course, Dean.”
Castiel stays resolutely still, not wanting to bother Dean with his fidgeting. He can’t seem to fall asleep without tossing and turning, and it’s so pathetically human that Castiel hates himself for it. For not being able to fall asleep, and needing to sleep at all in the first place. It’s not until Dean’s breathing evens out that Castiel allows his body to relax. His back and jaw ache from holding himself so stiffly. His wrist throbs from where Ephraim had brutally twisted it. He thinks it has a slight fracture, and he knows he should do something for it, to make sure it doesn’t get worse, but he can’t seem to summon the motivation. He cradles it against his chest and stares at the wall.
The passage of time is marked by the headlights of cars sliding across the walls as they drive by and the slow turn of the flip number alarm clock. His heart pounds in his ears, but he can’t hear Dean’s, which is an uncomfortable change. He turns so he can see the rise and fall of Dean’s chest. Castiel lets the sight soothe him to sleep.
-
Castiel wakes to a pleasant friction. His hips are slowly rolling into the mattress, and his eyes flutter back shut. Since becoming human, he has discovered the peculiar phenomenon of morning erections, and although they can sometimes be an inconvenience when he’s running late for work, they’re largely enjoyable. He moans a little as he lets the sensation wash over him.
A choked sound comes from next to him, and Castiel freezes, stilling the movement of his hips. The last night comes rushing back to him, and he realizes he’s not as alone as he thought he was. Blood rushes to his face, making it uncomfortably warm. He cracks his eyes open and is relieved to find he’s facing away from Dean. Maybe he can pretend he’s still sleeping.
“Cas?” Dean whispers.
Damn it.
“Good morning, Dean,” he grates out, his voice sleep-hoarse.
The mattress shifts as Dean moves, and Castiel expects the dip of Dean’s weight to disappear, for him to go to the bathroom, or even more likely, say goodbye and take his leave, vanishing from Castiel’s life forever, but all of a sudden, there’s heat pressing against his back instead. Dean reaches over, and his fingers trace a path down Castiel’s chest, ghosting over his hip bones, down to his groin. Castiel stiffens, unsure of if he’s still sleeping or not. This doesn’t happen to him when he’s awake.
Maybe he got thrown against the wall harder than he thought.
“What are you doing?”
Dean’s hand stills. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Why, then?” Castiel is puzzled as to why Dean hasn’t left. He had had no qualms telling Castiel he couldn’t stay in the bunker, so he’s not sure why Dean wants to spend extra time with him now, and he has absolutely no idea why Dean would be trying to initiate this with him. Castiel is still new to feeling emotions in their most potent form, but he doesn’t know which cocktail of them could lead this.
Dean swallows hard, and his hand retreats. “I—I just thought—”
Castiel turns over to face Dean, to look at the microexpressions that flit across his face. Now that he can’t see Dean’s soul, this is all he has to rely on when it comes to gauging Dean’s mood. Dean’s eyes catch on Castiel’s for a second, before he looks away, staring at the curtain instead. He licks his lips nervously. “I thought you looked like you could use a hand. And, you know, you look sad. Sex always makes me feel better.”
Castiel raises his eyebrows. “Does it?”
Dean huffs. “Most of the time. Well, I just thought I’d help you out, but you obviously don’t want that, so that’s fine. That’s cool.”
Dean stumbles out of the bed, accidentally dragging the covers with him, and Castiel winces at the blast of cold air.
“I’m, uh, I’ll go, then. You probably have to be at work, anyway.”
Castiel looks over at the alarm clock. “I have until ten.”
Dean follows his gaze. It’s six. “I suppose you need a ride?” he sighs, tugging a hand through his hair.
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course not, just— Fuck, Cas. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
Castiel looks on in alarm as Dean takes a heavy seat back on the edge of the bed, bringing his hands up to his head and burying his face. Castiel can barely handle his own feelings, much less someone’s else.
Nevertheless, he sits up and puts a hand on Dean’s back. “Are you okay?”
Dean laughs ruefully. “I’m pretty far from okay. I miss you, man, and Sam’s up my ass all the time, and—”
“And what?”
“Nothing, it’s not important. I’m just… stressed, I guess.”
“Ah. So you wanted a relaxation?” Castiel asks. He’s heard of humans using intercourse for anxiety management.
“What? No. Just forget it.”
“Forget it,” Castiel echoes. “Right.”
He turns away from Dean, swinging his legs off the bed and letting his toes wiggle into the scratchy carpet. He wrinkles his nose as the smell of cigarette smoke wafts up.
“Wait, Cas,” Dean says, and Castiel can’t help the way his mind jumps back to last night, when Dean had said the same thing. Castiel had thought Dean was going to tell him to stop, to not go to Nora, to quit his job, to come back home , but there was no such luck last night, and Castiel doesn’t allow himself to get his hopes up now.
He turns to look at Dean, and Dean wilts. “Nevermind.”
Castiel huffs and darts his gaze away, standing up and retrieving his clothes from where they’re a puddle on the ground. He pulls them on, and Dean clears his throat behind him. “Looking a little wrinkly there, buddy.”
Castiel shrugs. “This is all I have.”
“Well, here.” Dean reaches into his army green duffel bag and unfurls an impressively unwrinkled pair of jeans and a shirt. “This ain’t amateur hour, dude,” Dean says, responding to the questioning raise of Castiel’s eyebrows.
Castiel watches intently as Dean folds his clothes from the day before into his duffel, trying to learn the technique. He needs to be able to keep his clothes looking presentable. Dean finishes his folding and looks up to see Castiel’s eyes fixed on him. He grunts. “You ready to go?”
Castiel looks back at the clock, ready to protest and fight for more time with Dean, but he jostles his arm and hisses. Dean is on him in a second, his hands warm and gentle on Castiel’s arm.
“Did this happen last night? Why didn’t you say anything?”
Castiel shrugs.
Dean pokes at it with two fingers. Castiel flinches away.
“All right, all right. Let me wrap this up, okay? A splint probably wouldn’t hurt either,” Dean muses.
Dean pulls out his alarmingly large first aid kit and sifts through it until he finds what he’s looking for. He holds Castiel’s hand like he’s afraid he’s going to break it, and something shifts in Castiel’s chest.
Castiel crushes it deliberately, and as he waves at Dean from just outside the Gas n’ Sip after Dean drops him off, he knows he made the right choice. There’s no ember to be stoked from their ashes.
He wonders if he’s just seen Dean for the last time. He restocks the dairy case, and tries not to think.
-
“Boyfriend?” Nora asks, making Castiel jump as she appears behind his shoulder as he refills the nacho cheese dispenser.
“What?”
“That guy you left with yesterday. Is he your boyfriend?”
Castiel swallows hard. “No.”
“Oh,” Nora says knowingly. “Your ex.”
“Dean and I have never been together,” Castiel protests, his voice a little more high pitched than normal.
“Oh,” Nora says again. “Hmm. You know, I don’t know much about your past, Steve. I’m here if you want someone to listen.”
Castiel’s throat is dry. “Thank you.”
-
Later, he stands in the doorway of Nora’s office where she’s hunched over her desk doing payroll. “We were… in the military together.”
Nora looks up, and Castiel sees confusion cross her face, swiftly replaced by understanding. “You must have been through some real shit together, then.”
“You could say that,” Castiel hedges.
“You don’t have to hide from me, Steve. I saw the way you looked at him.” Nora squints at him.
“We’ve saved each other's lives.”
Nora doesn’t respond, just looks at him steadily with a knowing smile, and Castiel retreats back to the register.
He pastes on a smile as he serves the next customer.
-
That night, he goes back to the motel where Dean had paid for him, and he’s disappointed to find that Dean’s scent is already gone, replaced by the smoke that seems to permeate the whole motel. Castiel figures it’s fitting, at the very least.
He stares at the ceiling and wonders what life has left to offer him.
-
Nora catches on to his mood the next day. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
Castiel sighs and drums his fingers against the countertop before giving her a wry smile. “Boy problems.”
Nora doesn’t react, and Castiel doesn’t know how to feel about that. “Want to talk about it?”
“Maybe.”
She hums. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
After a millennia of impermanence, of empires rising and falling and everyone Castiel cares about leaving him or pushing him away, Castiel knows Nora can’t promise that, but he appreciates the sentiment.
-
Castiel’s days fall into a pattern. He scrounges up enough money to keep living out of his motel room and afford some canned fruits and vegetables to supplement his diet that largely consists of peanut butter and jelly and what Nora shoves on him from the Gas n’ Sip. She squints at him and says he looks like he’s getting skinnier, and that’s not going to happen on her watch.
Castiel can’t say he’s too surprised when the pattern breaks. He’s coming from a long day of work, and the door to his motel room swings right open. Castiel freezes. He knows he left it locked. He fumbles in his bag for his angel blade, his one last reminder of his old life. He has a feeling whatever is inside is going to want to compete for that title.
Castiel wonders if it’s too grim to speculate if this will be the thing that finally puts him out of his misery. Although, he supposes it’s not fair to say he’s living in misery. The amount of time he spends staring at the atrociously papered motel room wall might say differently, but Castiel prefers to think of it as monotonous rather than any of those other descriptors.
Angel blade in hand, he walks through the door, scanning for any disturbances. He’s never been more surprised to see Dean. Dean’s propped against the pillows, his legs crossed at the ankles. His flannel is draped over the back of the desk chair, leaving him in just a threadbare t-shirt.
“Hey, Cas.”
Castiel lowers the angel blade with shaking hands. “Dean. What are you doing here?”
Dean shrugs, and Castiel notices just how beat down he looks. Dean has always seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, but it finally appears to be taking its toll. He’s paler than Castiel remembers, more drawn, and even more worried looking, if that’s possible.
Castiel sets his bag down on the ground. “Do you need something?” Castiel asks, even though he doesn’t know what he has to offer now.
“Is it a crime to want to see you?”
Castiel lifts his chin. “I was under the impression you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”
Dean looks at him in surprise. “What makes you think that?”
“You kicked me out. You told me I couldn’t stay! All I wanted to do was stay,” Castiel says, his voice cracking on the last sentence.
Dean uncrosses his legs and stands up, moves into Castiel’s space. He puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, and Castiel realizes just how much he’s yearned for touch since leaving Dean last. The most he’s gotten is a brush of fingers as he hands someone their change, and his human body craves more than that.
Nevertheless, he jerks away from Dean. This way, it’ll sting less when Castiel is inevitably dropped from Dean’s life again.
Dean steps back, hurt flashing across his face. Castiel doesn’t let himself feel bad. He’s not the one who should be apologizing. “I missed you,” Dean says weakly.
Castiel desperately returns the sentiment, but he doesn’t voice the thought.
At Castiel’s stony silence, Dean points to the windowsill. “I brought you a housewarming gift. Well, motel warming.”
Castiel follows his finger to where a tiny cactus sits, soaking in the feeble rays of evening sunlight. “I can barely take care of myself,” he jokes, but it lands flat.
“Don’t worry. Sam says they’re impossible to kill.”
“How is Sam?” Castiel asks, seizing on the new topic.
Interestingly, Dean clams up. He’s never not wanted to talk about Sam before. “He’s fine. We’re fine.”
Castiel hums. “That’s why you showed up here, right?”
Dean’s glance flits away before it comes back, making eye contact with a vengeance. Dean’s always been a skilled liar, so Castiel doesn’t give it much weight.
“Can I stay?” Dean asks. “For the night?”
Castiel agrees, and tries not to think of the irony.
-
When he wakes up in the morning, Dean is gone, and only the lingering scent of his cologne betrays the fact that he was there at all.
-
Nora notices. “You seem… more melancholy than usual today,” she says carefully, and Castiel tries not to snort.
“Melancholy? Really?”
Nora waves a hand. “You know what I mean.”
Castiel bites his lip. “I saw Dean yesterday.”
“Oh?” Nora asks, keeping her voice carefully neutral.
“He just showed up. And now he’s gone again.”
“What did he say?”
“Not much. He seemed stressed.” Castiel shakes his head. “He brought me a cactus.”
Nora looks puzzled by that, and frankly, Castiel is, too, so he lets Nora redirect the conversation, giving him all the latest news about her daughter.
Back at the motel, he runs his fingers over the tiny spines of the cactus, and wonders.
-
Nora helps him get a bank account, and Castiel watches the numbers slowly add up. Dean drops by periodically, always topping off Castiel’s motel credit. Until, one day, it runs out, and Castiel begins to worry. He and Dean don’t text; Castiel doesn’t even have a phone. Castiel pays for the next week at the motel and frets through his day at work. Nora has the day off, so Castiel has no one to confide in.
He’s never been so relieved to see his motel room broken into, but his relief is quickly shattered when he sees the blood seeping onto his bed spread.
Dean is pouring whiskey on to a wound on his side, and Castiel feels affronted for a second at the disregard Dean has for his sheets, but he rushes forward to take the bottle from Dean. “What happened?” he demands.
“Werewolf got the jump on me,” Dean says weakly. “You got any floss around here? Preferably not mint? That shit stings like a bitch.”
Cas just stares at him.
“Well, you gonna stitch me up, or are you going to let me bleed out?”
By this point, Cas knows better than to ask where Sam is, so he lets his feet carry him to the bathroom where he finds a sewing needle and the requested floss. Unflavored, thankfully for Dean. He digs through Dean’s jacket pocket where he knows he keeps his lighter, ignoring Dean’s comment about buying him dinner first.
Castiel sterilizes the needle and soaks a washcloth in whiskey before wiping at Dean’s wound. Dean hisses. “Don’t be a baby,” Castiel says, and Dean’s mouth flaps up and down, but he doesn’t come up with a response because by then Castiel has the needle threaded and pokes it through Dean’s skin.
Castiel makes neat stitches under Dean’s close supervision. The only time it wanders is when he takes another swig of whiskey.
By the time Castiel has finished and takes the bottle back from Dean to douse the whole thing, Dean is nearly asleep. Castiel puts a bandage on the wound, taken from Dean’s painfully familiar first aid kit. Dean watches Castiel clean up with hooded eyes, and when Castiel curls up beside him, he pets his hand through Castiel’s hair. Dean mumbles something, but he slurs it so much that Castiel can’t understand what it was. He falls asleep with a hand fisted in the sheets.
-
For once, when Castiel wakes up, Dean is still there. He prods at Dean’s bandage-covered wound, and Dean slaps his hand away and rolls onto his stomach. Castiel gets up to start getting ready for work. When he leaves, he tries to memorize the shape of Dean’s sleeping form. Castiel doesn’t allow himself to hope that that will be the case when he returns.
-
To Castiel’s shock, there is still a Dean-sized lump in his bed when he finishes his shift. Dean notes his gobsmacked look and rolls his eyes. “Baby’s not exactly the smoothest ride. Did you want me to get all jostled around and open up my stitches?”
“Um. No?”
“That’s what I thought. Now what do you have to eat around here?”
-
Dean stays the night, and the night after that. Castiel can’t believe his luck, but he doesn’t want to let himself get too used to this, either.
Surprisingly, it’s not Dean that shatters Castiel’s idyll, but Castiel himself. Castiel jerks awake, panting, and Dean is right there with his hands all over Castiel, asking if he’s okay. Castiel flinches back, still seeing the Deans from his dream with their unseeing eyes. He hasn’t told Dean about how Naomi made him kill all those versions of him, and he doesn’t intend to now.
Dean runs a soothing hand down his back, and Castiel melts into the touch, deliberately slowing his breathing. “You good?” Dean asks softly.
“I am now.”
-
When Dean finally leaves, he presses a worn paperback into Castiel’s hands that he says he picked up at a second hand store. Castiel squints at the cover curiously. Stranger in a Strange Land , it proclaims. “Thought you might be able to relate,” Dean says, shrugging.
“Thank you.” Castiel sits it next to his cactus, and he almost misses the way Dean swells in pride.
-
Castiel buys a car, Nora by his side and glaring at the salesman until he lowers the price. Castiel smiles at her gratefully. He pats the hood as the salesman walks away to get the paperwork. “What do you think?”
Nora looks over the golden Continental. “It’s, uh, it’s nice.”
Castiel beams.
-
Castiel knows how Dean takes care of the Impala, so he tries to do the same to his new car. He buys a phone so he can learn how to change the oil on youtube. He carefully plugs in Dean’s number from memory and texts him, letting him know Castiel’s new number. He doesn’t get a response, and Castiel tries not to let it bother him.
His car never seems to become imbued with the same sense of home that Baby has, but he likes it regardless. It’s something that’s solely his , with no influence of his siblings or Dean carved all over it. Nora makes fun of him for it, but he doesn’t mind.
-
Eventually, Castiel gets a phone call that some part of him knew was inevitable. No one ever really gets out, that’s what Dean has always said.
“Cas, it’s bad. It’s Sam. Just… I need you.”
“Okay. It’s going to be okay, Dean.”
“I know,” Dean says, and Castiel graciously doesn’t call him out on the falsehood.
“You know I love you, right?” Dean asks, rushed and all of a sudden, like it’s something he’s been working towards for a while.
“I know,” Castiel lies.
Whatever happens next, he’s excited at the prospect of being able to learn that for himself.