Work Text:
“Sorry, you have me confused with the other angel. You know, the one in the dirty trench coat who's in love with you."
Dean tapped his fingers restlessly against the steering wheel. He kept his eyes solely on the road, carefully tracking the blur of every street light passing him by. No music tonight, though. The thoughts in his head were loud enough.
It didn't mean anything. It couldn't. No way. Balthazar was just trying to get on his nerves. And yet…
Dean started tapping his foot. Think of England and old ladies and Sammy brushing his hair. He tried to keep Balthazar's voice out of his head, mind flashing from image to image of everything and anything, anything but—
Cas popped into his head, unbidden. Goddamnit.
Why are you so worried about thinking of him if it’s not true, some unhelpful part of his brain piped up snarkily.
Because it’s weird and I’m just going for a drive, Dean shot back. I don’t wanna think about anything.
Why is it weird?
…Shut up.
Dean watched the pieces of gravel in the road in front of him turn into streaks now, still tapping his fingers. It was to the beat of Angel by Aerosmith. Of course.
He slowly inhaled. Hold. Exhale.
Inhale.
Dean inhaled deeply as he pushed the soft earth away from his head, lungs filling with air for what felt like the first time in months.
Hold.
He couldn’t breathe as he turned, finding Castiel there. Tears pricked at his eyes as Castiel gazed at him sympathetically and put a hand on his shoulder.
Exhale.
Dean let out a breath of surprise as Castiel appeared on the bench next to him, glowing in the sunlight.
His breath started to pick up. Dean felt frantic, like he had too much energy buzzing around inside him. His hands were shaking with it. He pulled Baby over and rested his hands on the steering wheel before turning off the ignition and plunging himself into the darkness of the night.
Dark like that alley was on the best night of his life, when he felt the lightest he had in a long time and the constant crushing weight on his chest was a little less crushing. Like that warehouse was under the dim fluorescent lights when Castiel told him he would give anything not to have him do that.
Those feelings… they were the same that he felt so often now. It was a warmth unfolding in his chest, wrapping around his heart and keeping it safe from the cold outside.
I’m hunted, I rebelled, and I did it, all of it, for you.
Yeah, well, we’re making it up as we go.
I don’t think Cas is going anywhere.
Dean and I do share a more profound bond. My superiors have begun to question my sympathies. You see, he has this weakness: he likes you I was getting too close to the humans in my charge you I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition—
Dean’s hands were sweating so much he couldn’t even grip Baby’s wheel for stability anymore. Breathing clearly wasn’t working. He reached blindly into the backseat for the cooler, popping it open and grabbing a beer, the movement practiced. Dean knew Sammy wouldn’t approve, could almost imagine the flat line of his mouth when he disapproved of something. It’s not like he’d listen to his brother even if he were here. The coolness of the glass against his fingers steadied him. But when he popped it open, the beer tasted of cement and felt like gravel tearing up the inside of his throat. Alcohol usually helped, though. So Dean took another sip, and another.
The cement was hardening in his stomach.
He paused, pulling the slightly damp bottle away from his face and looking at it. Really looking at it. Dean stared and stared into the center of the amber liquid that he could barely see in the dark, like it was holding the answers to all the questions he had.
Cement kinda sucks.
Dean pushed the door open with its familiar creak, and without letting himself stop to think about it, poured the other half of the beer onto the dirt bordering the road. Then, with renewed determination, Dean pulled the cooler out of the backseat and dumped the rest out, one by one. He huffed and nodded self-reassuringly as he tossed the bottles back into the cooler. Sammy and Cas would be proud, he thought.
Cas would give a small smile, the ones he never used to do in front of anyone, the one he did for the first time in front of Dean, where just the corner of his mouth would turn up and his eyes would crinkle slightly, and just for a second, the cold, unfeeling soldier look would disappear from his eyes and shine just a little brighter than usual.
And there was that warm feeling again. He knew it wasn’t from the beer. That warmth vibrated and made him feel blurry. This one, though, this one just… enveloped him. It reminded him a lot of what he felt when he kissed Cassie and woke up in bed next to Lisa.
Whoa, wait. What the hell?
Dean could feel that nervous energy returning and his breath quickening, so he reached into the cooler for a beer, but all the bottles were empty. Right.
He clenched his hands into fists and forced himself to breathe. In for 3. Hold for 3. Out for 3.
The one who’s in love with you.
Cas… okay, so maybe he felt a little something. His dad’s face popped into his head, angry, face contorting like he was getting ready to scream—
He could deal with that freak-out later.
Now the question was, did Cas feel the same? Dean thought of the tiny, room-lighting smiles that escaped in his presence every so often, the massive, unbelievable sacrifices Cas made for Dean— not Sam and Dean; Cas had said as much— the little doubts and feelings that Cas confessed to him. Just a few days ago, he’d threatened to kill Fate herself to protect him.
But Cas was an angel . A warrior of God, a soldier, a commander of heavenly armies. He was good and strong and everything Dean could want, but worthy of much, much more than him. After all, what was Dean? A broken, emotionally stunted, alcoholic hunter that’d died one too many times? He could barely go a day without beer or whiskey and he couldn’t form a single thought for himself. He was just a soldier, a pawn in the game of God’s plan. Hell, Dean could barely function for two days without someone by his side, getting traumatized with him— that is why he went to Stanford in the first place. Not to mention, he got everyone around him killed. Just his touch was poison.
What would Cas ever want to do with him?
He shoved the back door of the Impala shut and climbed onto the hood. Dean stared at the stars as he laid with his arms crossed over his chest, connecting each one in his mind until it formed a shape.
Dean thought this is what Cas’s wings would look like.
It was fucking Balthazar. Of course he was lying.
Dean reconnected the stars into the shape of a beer bottle.