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One of the first things that Dean had ever learned about Cas was that he was a certified, grade-A creeper. If they gave out a medal for staring with unblinking intensity, Cas would have won gold every time, hands down. It was good to know some things didn't change, even when the guy swapped species.
Cas was staring now as Dean navigated the dark streets of Rexford, Idaho. Dean thought he might have been through here before, a long time ago when Dad was still the one driving and Dean and Sam were too busy pushing each other around in the backseat to bother noticing which podunk town they’d pulled into this time. Something about the local mom-and-pop joint that had greeted Dean when he rode in had seemed familiar. Then again, the place had looked like about fifty other diners he’d visited over the years, so maybe it didn’t mean anything.
Dean braked as the light turned from yellow to red, easing the Impala to a gentle stop. Cas was still cradling his wrist awkwardly; he didn’t want to jolt the car and risk hurting him. He glanced at Cas, met his gaze. There was uncertainty lingering around the edges of Cas’ eyes, like he wasn’t completely sure any of this was really happening. Dean looked away and waited for the light to turn green.
It had made Dean uncomfortable, at first, the staring. It would have made anyone uncomfortable, but Cas had always had a particular tilt to his head when he looked at Dean, like he was seeing the soul under Dean’s skin. A flaying kind of assessment Dean could hardly bear.
You don't think you deserved to be saved , one of the first things Cas had ever said to Dean. And he'd said it so damn sadly, as if he hadn't seen Dean was more scarred tissue than human, as if Cas hadn’t just yanked him out of the pit and away from the soul Dean had been tearing into. He'd seen the poison at the heart of Dean, right from the start, and for some damn reason he'd stayed instead of running in the other direction.
You make some shitty ass decisions, Cas , Dean thought. Which was probably why he was sitting in the passenger seat of Dean’s car, human and in pain and staring as if squinting hard enough might let him see through Dean’s skull to the thoughts beneath.
It was a cruel thought, uncharitable. It wasn't Cas' fault he'd been lied to and manipulated, Dean could admit that. He’d been angry when Cas ran with the tablet, felt something adjacent to grief when he'd told Dean he was working something to close the gates of heaven for the final time. But Cas didn't deserve this. And if Dean ever saw Metatron again, he was going to stab him straight through his smug fucking face.
“You didn’t say where you wanted me to take you,” Dean said, pulling forward as the light turned green.
This, finally, was what broke Cas’ unspoken staring contest. He shifted in his seat, turning so he could look out the window away from Dean. He said nothing.
Dean sighed and took them back to his motel.
It was raining by the time they arrived, heavy drops falling and reducing visibility to a few feet in front of the car. It made Dean’s shoulders hike up around his ears as he peered through the windshield and he could feel the tension drain out of him when the motel sign came into view.
“Damn, it’s really pissing down, isn’t it?” he said, easing the Impala into the parking space in front of his room and shoving her gratefully into park. Again, Cas said nothing. He didn’t even bother to turn to face Dean, still staring out into the rain. Dean figured he deserved that.
He took a breath, clenching his hands around the steering wheel before he forced himself to let go.
“Cas, c’mon. Come inside, let me have a look at that,” Dean tried, gesturing to Cas’ wrist. Cas’ eyes flicked to him before he looked back out the window. He didn’t move.
“Cas,” Dean said, a little despairingly. Nothing this time, not even a glance.
Dean sighed and opened his door. The sound of the rain hitting the asphalt poured in and Dean was soaked in seconds. He shut the door but didn’t move, staring through the windshield at the dark lump sitting inside. He didn’t have the staring skills Cas had but damn if he wasn’t willing to give it a shot.
For long seconds, nothing happened. The rain continued to fall, seeping through Dean’s jacket, running down his collar and into his shirt. He hunched his shoulders, folded his wet hands into his pockets, for all the good it did.
Finally, the passenger side door opened and Cas emerged. The rain immediately plastered his hair to his head; Dean thought he heard him gasp as the water met his skin but that was impossible, not over the crash of the rain hitting the ground.
“It’s this way,” Dean said, raising his voice a bit over the din. Cas followed him mutely to the room, huddling beside Dean under the small overhang by the door.
The key stuck in the lock, refusing to move while Dean jiggled it in vain. Dean almost thought he might need to head back to the car for his lockpicks when the key finally turned and the door creaked open.
Cas followed him closely into the room, stopping just inside the door. Dean fumbled for the light switch, his fingers gone a little numb with the cold. The overhead lights came on, illuminating the ugly little room in a way that seemed to turn everything a sickening shade of yellow. Dean peeled himself out of his coat, shuddering at the feeling of wet fabric peeling off his arms. He glanced up as he did so and noticed Cas was still standing barely inside the door, rooted to the spot.
“C’mon in, Cas, make yourself comfortable,” he said. Cas hesitated, then took a small step forward. He looked uncertain again, like he was walking on fragile ice rather than solid ground covered in terribly-patterned carpeting. As if he’d go under any minute.
He already looked drowned, his hair plastered to his forehead and rivulets of water tracking down his face. The rain had soaked into his shirt too; the white fabric was practically see-through now. It clung to him, emphasizing the leanness of his torso; water dotted the skin of his forearms, exposed by his rolled up sleeves. Dean glanced down and could just see the dark marks of Cas’ nipples, showing through the damp fabric.
Dean made himself look away, forcibly ignoring the heat springing up inside of him at the sight. He made himself look instead at Cas’s hunched shoulders, the pained expression lingering on his face. The skin on his forearms had broken out in goosebumps and he was still cradling his wrist with his hand. He looked tired and hurt; he looked like a ship broken on the shore of humanity and Dean Winchester.
He was the picture of suffering and Dean still wanted to fuck him. It was enough to make him sick.
Dean walked into the bathroom, pulling a towel off the neatly folded pile. He tossed it to Cas and immediately felt like the world’s biggest jerk when Cas caught it with a wince, having to let go of his injured wrist to do so.
The apology caught in his throat, turning his voice rough when he said, “Get dry. You can borrow something of mine.”
Dean turned to his duffel bag, digging through his clothes until he found something comfortable. An old shirt, washed so many times the fabric had gone soft to the touch, and a pair of old sweat pants that were more hole than pants by now. He hesitated, then added the sweater he’d stolen from Sam at some point. It was a massive, baggy thing, even on Sam, but it was comfortable and warm. Cas could probably use that right now.
He turned back to Cas, the clothes bundled in his arms. Cas seemed to have only given his hair a quick rub or two and the towel was draped across his shoulders now. He still looked lost and wary, his eyes darting between Dean’s face and the clothes he was holding.
“C’mon,” Dean said again, gesturing to the bathroom. Cas followed him, slowly. Dean placed the clothes on the tiny section of the bathroom counter not taken up by the sink. It was a miniscule room and Dean was suddenly glad that Sam hadn’t come on this case; he would’ve had a hard time fitting his gigantor limbs in here.
Of course, Sam being able to fit in the bathroom was the least of why Sam couldn’t come. The angel inside him, the only thing keeping him alive, that would run at the first sight of Cas, that was the problem. The reason why they were even in this motel room in the first place, rather than heading home to the bunker, all three of them.
Dean cleared his throat, glancing at Cas’ wary face. “Let me know if you need anything,” he said, and closed the door.
Dean quickly changed out of his own wet clothes, pulling on a new shirt and pair of jeans. He’d given Cas the only pair of sweatpants he had and like hell was he going to go around the room wearing only boxers. If it was only Sam, he’d do it in a heartbeat but he just couldn’t, not with Cas.
While he was changing, he heard the shower start up. He sat down on the bed and tried to resist the urge to go back out to the car and grab the cooler from the back. He could really use a beer right now.
Instead, he stared at the ugly carpeting and tried not to think about anything. Not about Sam and his questions, not about fucking Zeke holding them all hostage, and not about Cas. Not about the look on Cas’ face when Dean had told him he couldn’t stay, not about the way his voice had gone low earlier in the Gas-N-Sip when he’d said I lost everything . Not about the almost-heat of his skin when Dean had unbuttoned his shirt and certainly not about the urge that had made Dean unbutton his shirt in the first place. As if it would mean something that Dean was the one who helped make Cas look good enough to fuck, even though Cas was fucking someone else.
He tightened his fingers in the bedspread — a greeny yellow which clashed horrifically with the carpet — and didn’t think about Cas in the shower, his bare skin wet and warming under the spray, his head bent, his mouth just a little open. Dean tilted his head back, clenched his jaw, and didn’t think at all.
The shower shut off and a few minutes later the bathroom door opened, steam billowing out into the room. Cas was dressed in Dean’s clothes, the towel wrapped around his shoulders again. He hadn’t put the sweater on, holding it in his good hand. Dean leapt to his feet, beyond grateful to have something to do that wasn’t just waiting.
“Give me your wet things, I’ll dry them,” he said. He didn’t wait for an answer, pushing past Cas into the steamy bathroom and grabbing the shirt and pants Cas had left on the floor. He passed Cas again, lingering just outside the bathroom, and went to drape the wet clothes beside his own by the room’s shitty heater. Hopefully, they’d be dry by morning but with Dean’s luck they’d probably just be in that disgusting damp phase, clammy and stifling on the skin. He was already dreading having to sit in the car like that.
He turned from their clothes to face Cas. He hadn’t moved, apparently too invested in staring around the room to bother. Dean followed his eyes to the bed in the middle of the room and almost groaned out loud.
Why the hell hadn’t he realized before now that, of course, he’d only gotten the one bed? He hadn’t expected to need more when he’d rolled into town earlier that day, why would he? It wasn’t like Sam had come along.
For a wild moment, he thought about venturing out into the rain, going to the motel office and asking for a second room. Then he thought about how that was stupid, he was a fucking adult and so was Cas, and they were more than capable of sharing. Dean had shared with Sam plenty of times; and yes, this situation was completely and utterly different in every single way, but that didn’t mean Dean couldn’t put on his big-boy pants and deal with it like the mature adult he pretended to be.
So they’d share. It wasn’t a big deal. At least then Dean wouldn’t need to see whatever expression Cas would make when Dean told him about the second room. When Dean told he couldn’t stay, not even here.
“You want me to look at your arm?” Dean asked. Cas glanced down at the wrist he was holding close to his chest and shrugged. Dean sighed and shepherded him back into the bathroom. He had Cas sit on the toilet lid, crouching in front of him on the cracked tile.
“Give it here,” he murmured. Cas held out his arm gingerly, his brow knit. As gently as he could, Dean took his arm, turning it slowly, feeling the overheated skin.
“Tell me when it hurts,” he said, slowly bending Cas’ wrist. Cas winced after a few seconds, then made a quiet, hurt noise.
“There?” Dean asked. Cas nodded.
“Okay,” Dean murmured, letting go. “I think it’s just strained. Nothing too bad, but I can wrap it for the night. It should help.” Cas nodded again.
They were silent as Dean wrapped Cas’ wrist. There was something intimate about it — the stifling room, the feel of Cas’ skin under Dean’s fingers, the tiny noises Cas made any time Dean pressed on a sore spot. Dean on his knees, all too aware of Cas above him. It was different from all of the other times he’d been in this situation, patching up Dad or Sam with fishing line and gutrot whiskey. He felt too close to Cas, so close he could practically feel Cas’ breath in his lungs, feel Cas’ heart in his chest. All those human, bodily things that Cas needed to live now.
He was so close he’d only have to straighten a little to press his cheek to Cas’. He’d only have to turn a little from there to brush their lips together. To feel that breath on his mouth and take it into his own lungs. Bring Cas inside him and make a home for him there inside his ribs, where he’d be safe and he could never leave Dean again, not even if Dean tried to make him.
Dean finished up and moved away. If he lingered any longer, he’d do something they’d both regret.
“You’re good,” he muttered, pushing to his feet. “Let’s get some food, I’m hungry.”
He left the room. He thought he might have heard Cas sigh quietly behind him.
The motel room looked just as ugly and empty as before and Dean wasted no time in flicking on the TV. The image winked on to some show Dean didn’t recognize, people talking in a grungy hallway. Probably some police procedural. Without looking at him, he waved the remote at Cas, who’d just emerged from the bathroom.
“Pick something,” he said. “You know what you want to eat?”
Cas didn’t say anything, prompting Dean to glance at him. Their eyes met for a second, just as long as it took for Cas to shrug and look down at the remote instead.
Dean pawed at the takeout menus scattered along the room’s desk, picking out the first pizza one he came across. Hard to go wrong with pizza, he figured. Even for someone who was so new to humanity he might as well still have a new car smell.
“Pizza good with you?” he asked. “Know what you like on it?” Cas had now taken a seat on the motel bed, leaning against the headboard. He seemed absorbed by the TV, clicking to a new channel every few seconds. He shrugged again, not looking at Dean.
“Yeah, okay,” Dean muttered and went ahead and placed his usual order. At the very least it would be a learning experience for Cas.
Ordering didn’t take long and it was only a few minutes later that Dean hung up the phone. He took a breath and made himself look at Cas. In the few minutes Dean had been on the phone, he’d managed to squirm his way into his borrowed sweater. The thing was massive on him, the sleeves practically covering his entire hands so just his fingers poked out. The fabric drooped off his shoulders, pooled around his waist. He looked ridiculous, with his hair drying in spikes. He looked vulnerable and oddly young, even with the bags under his eyes and Jimmy’s wrinkles lining Cas’ borrowed face.
It was like a fucking knife to the heart, the way it drove the breath from Dean’s lungs. He could hardly bear to look at Cas like this and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to make it through the entire night if a goddamn sweater was enough to undo him.
He took a shaky breath and made himself walk to the bed. Cas didn’t look at him as he sat down, slowly and gingerly, on the farthest edge of the bed. Dean watched him out of the corner of his eye, the frown on his face, the slouch of his shoulders, the curious way he watched the TV before deciding whatever was on didn’t meet his standards.
“Be about twenty minutes for the food,” Dean said, unsure how his voice would sound. It sounded normal, something that distantly shocked him.
Cas nodded vaguely, flicking the channel again. Dean took another breath and let himself relax a little. He could do this. He could be normal for one goddamn night. Dean pushed himself up the bed a little, leaning next to Cas against the headboard. Cas didn’t even seem to notice, a fact that Dean refused to allow himself to feel bitter about.
Clenching his jaw, he shifted his gaze so he was looking at the TV, too. He caught just a glimpse of the current show — something in a hospital, not Dr. Sexy — before Cas flipped the channel again. A game show. New channel — something about trees, maybe a nature documentary. New channel—Buffy rerun. New channel —
“Oh, this one’s good,” Dean said, without thinking.
Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman were standing next to each other, staring in disgust at the bloody crime scene before them. It looked like they’d just found the second body, so the movie wasn’t too far in.
“What is it?”
Dean almost wanted to do a double take at the sound of Cas’ voice. It was low and rough, just like usual, and it was enough to make Dean shake. It meant Cas was back in the room with him, for the first time since they’d left that woman’s house. He was finally back with Dean and when Dean looked at him, Cas was looking back.
“The movie?” Dean asked, stupidly. Cas nodded, eyes still fixed on Dean.
“It’s, uh, it’s about these two detectives. They’re trying to solve this case with this fucked up serial killer guy. He’s killing these people based on the seven deadly sins.”
Cas frowned, his gaze going back to the TV. Dean slumped slightly, having those eyes off him.
“That seems convoluted,” Cas said.
Dean snorted, the smile breaking across his face a little too enthusiastic. “Yeah, guess so. Movie’s pretty good, though.”
“And this woman?” Cas said. The scene had changed; now Gwyneth Paltrow and Brad Pitt were talking, before Brad Pitt wrapped her in a hug.
“His girlfriend.”
“She’s not a detective?”
“Nah, I think she’s — ” Dean frowned. “I actually don’t know what she does. I think she’s just there to worry about Brad Pitt, to be honest.” And die, but Dean wasn’t going to spoil that for Cas if he didn’t already know. Dean was looking forward to seeing his face when he figured out what was in the box.
They watched quietly until the pizza arrived. Dean paid the pizza kid, dropping the box on the bed. Cas’ gaze flicked between the box and Dean.
“Go ahead, dig in,” Dean said, settling back down.
Cas still hesitated, his fingers reaching out and brushing the lid of the box. “I can pay you back,” he said.
Dean’s stomach churned. “You don’t — ” he started sharply, swallowing it when Cas’ fingers flinched away from the box. Dean pressed his palms hard against his thighs, staring at the TV rather than the expression on Cas’ face. “You don’t gotta do that, man. You don’t — don’t do that.”
It ended up sounding more like a plea than Dean intended. But his words dried up and so Dean let it stand, sitting silently. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cas’ hands reach slowly for the box again. When Dean said nothing, he lifted the lid and extracted a slice.
Dean blankly watched the TV for a few minutes, listening to the sound of Cas chew beside him. Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman were at another crime scene now, looking disturbed and sickened. It wasn’t long before he could see Cas’ hand sneaking in for a second slice.
“They don’t seem very good at their jobs,” Cas said abruptly, voice muffled by the food in his mouth.
It broke the tension in Dean’s body, pulling a laugh out of him. He glanced at Cas; he was smothering a smile, very poorly, while chewing a huge bite. He met Dean’s eyes, face creased with laughter. It was probably the most cheerful Dean had seen him since he rolled into town.
“Hell yeah,” he said, nudging Cas with his elbow. “We would’ve solved this thing already.”
Cas chuckled quietly under his breath, his gaze going back to the TV. “Of course, it probably would have been demons. Which poses its own problems.”
“Nothing we can’t handle, right?”
The words made the light fade from Cas’ eyes, his gaze going dim. Dean could practically see him retreating into himself. He managed a quick glance at Dean, his lips twitching in the small smile Dean remembered from that bar before Cas left to close Heaven. He felt his stomach twist again and he turned back to the TV, not saying anything.
They watched quietly, then, Cas asking the odd question here and there, steadily eating his way through half the pizza. Dean seemed to have lost his own appetite and kept his share to a measly two slices. Cas eventually wiped his fingers on his sweatpants, seemingly satisfied, and Dean took the opportunity to put the box on the floor so Cas could stretch out his legs.
Brad Pitt had just got smacked in the head with a tire iron when Dean felt a soft weight fall against his shoulder. He stiffened and glanced down. Cas’s head was leaning against his shoulder, his eyes closed and his breath deep and even. He’d fallen asleep.
Dean made himself relax, unclenching his muscles one by one. He dipped his shoulder slightly and Cas unconsciously nestled closer. His exhale brushed against Dean’s neck, making Dean shiver and his skin break out in goosebumps.
This had been a stupid idea, all of it. It had been a stupid idea to come to Rexford, rather than pass the case off to Jody. It had been a stupid idea to seek Cas out and drag him out with Dean on the case, rather than just leaving him in that gas station to his human life. It had been an especially stupid idea to invite Cas to his motel room, to try and pretend like everything was normal when it so clearly wasn’t.
This wasn’t just another case, not for them. There was no baseline for them, not anymore, if there ever had been, what with the never ending apocalypses, the deaths, the betrayals, the fucking mind control. Whatever their normal was, Dean had destroyed it, that night in the bunker. All he was doing now was drawing it out.
They both knew how this was going to end; he could see it in Cas’ eyes every time he looked at him. Dean was going to leave Rexford, go back to the bunker and his brother. Cas was going to stay here, maybe see that Nora chick for real this time. Maybe settle down, get hitched, have a family. Cas had always made a habit of defying expectations; Dean could never really predict him, even in those moments they were so in-tune it seemed like he was reading the thoughts straight from Cas’ brain.
There was a snore just starting in Cas’ throat, exacerbated by the way he was bending his neck to fit on Dean’s shoulder. Dean wondered if it would develop over time into a proper, full throated noise, like the rumble his dad had when Dean was a kid.
Maybe, in another world, Dean would have the chance to find out. Maybe in that world, he’d still leave Cas in Rexford tomorrow with the promise to see him on the weekend, next Thanksgiving, Dean’s birthday. Maybe in that world, he’d make the drive up to Rexford and check out that diner near the edge of town, bring Sam along to make it a proper family outing. Hell, maybe in that world, he’d come to pick Cas up on their way to the coast, where they’d all go for no reason other than to go, their first ever proper vacation.
They didn’t need to live together, not if Cas didn’t want to. As long as Cas was within a day or so’s drive, Dean would be happy. Dean would fall to his knees in gratitude.
But hell, if Dean was already wishing, he might as well go all the way.
In that other world, Dean could shift now, curl his arm around Cas’ back. Cas would move closer to him and Dean could lay them both down on the bed, slowly, so he wouldn’t wake Cas. He could turn to his side, tucking one arm under Cas’ pillow and the other around his waist. Hold him close and fall asleep with the feel of Cas’ breath on his collarbone.
In that world, Dean would wake up first. He’d still be wrapped around Cas and he’d only have to lean forward a few inches to press his lips to Cas’ face, wake him up like that. And in that world, Cas would open his eyes blearily, that striking blue hazy with sleep but already smiling at Dean.
He’d mutter hello with that deep voice, roughened by sleep, and kiss Dean without hesitation because he hadn’t been human long enough to know to give a shit about morning breath.
In that world, Dean would kiss him back and think about taking his time getting up. They could swing northeast through Yellowstone, maybe make a trip of it and stay at Jody’s for the night on their way back. Of course, if they did that Cas would probably insist they stop at that kitschy antique shop just outside Norfolk and get some horrible bauble for Sam. Dean would complain about the stupid thing all the way back until Cas insisted he pull over just so he could kiss Dean to make him shut up.
He wanted to live in that world, so fucking bad. A world where he hadn’t done the things he’d done. A world where it was okay for him to be tender; a world where he knew how to be.
But he didn’t live in that world, he lived in this one. In this world, every inch of Dean flinched with guilt whenever he so much as looked at Cas. He was choking on it, screaming with it so loud he was shocked Cas couldn’t hear it.
Making Cas leave was bad enough. Throwing him into a cruel world without any protection, any lifeline, just a burner phone with Dean’s number, a pocket full of cash, and the clothes on his back. That was enough to make Dean cringe, to keep him up at night wondering where Cas had gone, if he was safe and at least something close to happy.
But what made Dean clench his fists, made him quiver with shame, was the fact that Cas had never questioned Dean. He hadn’t protested at all, just looked at Dean with that tragic expression before folding it carefully away into a studied blankness. He’d accepted the phone and the cash mutely, let Dean press them into his hands. He’d borne Dean’s apologies, his stammered attempts at explaining without actually explaining, stoically and then left so quietly that Dean wondered if he’d ever been there at all. In the dark of that night, Dean steadily making his way through a bottle of his worst whiskey, he wondered if maybe he’d actually imagined the whole thing. Maybe Cas was still dead in that apartment where they’d found him, the fading heat of his cheeks seared into Dean’s palms all that was left of him.
He could have gotten angry at Dean, demanded to know why he was sending Cas away. Gotten into his face, pushed him against the wall, hit him even. Dean would have welcomed that anger, he would have welcomed more. Anything but that pained confusion, quickly buried, and the silence Cas still hadn’t let go. As if understanding that this was all Dean could offer him.
They didn’t live in a world where they got family vacations, barbecues with friends, backyards with a well tended garden and a beehive just for Cas, a weekly trip to the grocery store and a chore chart Dean always ignored. They lived in a world that had filled Dean so full with poison that it spilled over onto everyone he loved. A world where Dean had tricked his brother into being possessed by an angel, even knowing Sam would never understand, would never forgive him. A world where Dean made the person he refused to acknowledge was the love of his life leave to appease that angel’s demands. A world where the love of his life accepted that, as if he had never expected any better of Dean. As if he understood that pain was all Dean could ever really give him.
A long time ago, the man sleeping on his shoulder had looked him in the eye and said good things do happen . Dean looked at him now, sleeping crunched up on the rickety bed, pain lingering around his eyes even in his sleep and thought not in my experience .