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“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Cas!”
The angel rolled his eyes and set his jaw, still so fucking irritatingly calm and it only made Dean’s rage grow deep in his gut.
At this point, he couldn’t remember what they were arguing about. He had had a couple drinks and was, admittedly, not exactly in his right mind and feeling exceptionally irritable but that didn’t excuse what Cas had did, or said or...whatever it was that he did.
“Dean.” Even the gravel of his voice grated against his nerves and made his fists clench. “Dean, calm down, let’s talk about this. Calm and rational, remember?”
“I am calm and rational!” Dean exclaimed, ignoring how his speech slurred at the edges and definitely emphasised how obviously un-calm and irrational he was being. At this point, he couldn’t bring himself to care. It wasn’t like he could calm the adrenaline pumping through him any time soon.
The angel sighed. “Dean. you can’t keep running on alcohol like this, you need to sleep at some point.”
Oh shit, yeah, they were arguing about his sleep schedule. That made sense now, and it definitely explained why he was irritated. Years of following orders gave way to a hatred for being told what to do and an inability to do what others told him to, and Daddy Dearest kicking it definitely enhanced those feelings. Therefore, his angel telling him to sleep not only made him angry, but made him even less likely to sleep to prove a point.
Was he being petty? Most likely, yeah. Did he care? Nope.
“Fffuck off, ya stupid angel.” Dean sniffed, wiping his nose against his sleeve and took another swig of the beer in his hand.
Cas growled, presumably to himself. “This is pointless.”
He raised his arms in exasperation, and suddenly he wasn’t Cas, he was Dad, and he was in a run down motel, the smell of mould assaulting his nose. Sammy was locked in the bathroom, he could hear him banging on the door, but he was a little preoccupied with the bloody fist hurtling towards his face, oh god-
“No!” The shout escaped his chest before he could stop himself and he ducked, running under the crooked table in the corner of the motel. He curled in on himself, hands over his head. He’d fucked up, he knew this. He knew he wasn’t allowed to escape the punishment he deserved and by hiding he had just made it that much worse.
Footsteps, heavy, drunkenly uneven, approached but Dean didn’t look, kept his arms over his head, kept muttering those pointless apologies because what else could he do at this point. He was fucked, positively and most definitely fucked.
“Dean, look at me.” You little shit.
“I’m sorry, Sir, I’m sorry.” He could feel the drool dripping off his chin, mixing with the salt lines. Inwardly, he scolded himself for being so childish. He was sixteen, for fucks sake, he shouldn’t be blubbering under the table like a fucking baby.
“Dean, you’re okay. You’re alright.” You deserve what you get, prick. Take it like a man!
“I know, I’m sorry, I will.” He could barely talk around the ache in his throat from trying not to break down in fear because that would make Dad angrier.
“Dean.” His rough, calloused hand wrapped around his wrist, trying to pry his hands away from his head.
In a split second of stupidity, Dean yelped, choking on a sob as he tightened his ball, burying himself deeper into his shirt. He was just digging his own grave at this point but the wrench of primal fear was uncontrollable.
He hated how weak he was.
The hand disappeared, much to Dean’s surprise. Footsteps receded, and for a second Dean was stunned out of his hyperventilating, listening as the footsteps moved towards the bathroom.
The bathroom where Sammy was currently locked.
“Sammy!” The instinct this fear brought was new, and the jolt of it shocked himself into action. He unfurled himself, crawled out from under the table and stood...in the bunker.
The change in location was dizzying. Dean stumbled back against what was now the map table with shaky limbs. Scrubbing the tears from his eyes, he stared in confused relief at the walls of the bunker, with their rusted beams and crumbling bricks. The dust that floated in the air, carrying the ‘old-building’ scent along with coffee and books and that rustic scent that was associated only with a certain messy trench coat.
Cas was standing where he heard the footsteps recede, which turned out to be the far wall. As Dean’s eyes met his, he straightened from where he had been leaning against the wall, his crossed arms dropping to his sides, clenching and unclenching in uncertainty.
For a moment, all they did was stare at each other, until the events of the last minute finally clicked into Dean’s brain and made his ears grow hot. He cleared his throat, sniffled, but couldn’t bring to mind anything to say.
Cas fidgeted with the hem of his jacket. “Are you, um-”
“Yeah, I’m uh-”
“Good, good, that’s-”
“Just a little, you know-”
“Understandable, completely-”
And the silence resumed. The taste of alcohol began to grow stale on his tongue, and he reached for his beer beside him. However, with the woosh of wings, the bottle ended up in the angel’s hands instead, and Dean whined in irritation.
“I think you’ve had quite enough, Dean.”
“Caaas-”
“Dean.” His crystalline eyes were narrowed under bushy eyebrows, and Dean almost laughed at how his baby face could look so serious.
Instead, he pushed himself to sit on top of the table, taking another deep breath to cool his still racing heart.
Okay, so his little...issue was finally an open thing. That’s okay, that’s cool, he could deal with that. As long as he wasn’t expected to attend a weekly therapy session to talk through his feelings like a fucking angsty teenager, he would be just great.
“Dean, we need to talk about this.”
Dean groaned. He rested his elbows on his knees and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. “No, we don’t.”
“You can’t just-” Cas sighed next to him. Dean listened as the bottle was put down and Cas pushed himself up to sit next to him. For a second, nothing happened, and Dean could have honestly fallen asleep right there, until the tentative tips of rough fingers brushed his wrist, carefully.
Dean felt that pit of anger again, and let out a growl. “Cas, you don’t have to treat me like I’m made of fucking glass.” He let out a breath and straightened to meet Cas’ concerned gaze. “Yanno, that’s the whole reason I’ve never talked to anyone about this in the first place! I’m a hunter, not a little princess who needs to be cared for and looked after and watched twenty-four seven in case she shatters because she’s stubbed her toe!” He huffed, running a hand through his hair to stop the emotions welling. “I’m stronger than that, Cas. As much as I appreciate it, I don’t need a guardian angel.”
The hurt in those eyes stabbed him straight through the gut. “Dean, I...I don’t think you’re fragile, or weak, I...I just want to help-”
“Yeah well I don’t need your fucking help, Cas, I’m fine.”
And they were back to where they were before, with Dean, slightly tipsy, yelling in defiance and Cas just staring with that look of fucking pity he has honestly never wanted to punch more.
Cas sighed. “Yeah, okay, and I’m the president of the United States.”
For a second, Dean was taken aback. “Wait, was...was that sarcasm?”
Cas smirked. “I’ve been practicing.”
Dean snorted, then tried to frown. “Dude, you can’t be making me laugh when I’m mad at you, it’s not fair.”
Cas huffed out a laugh, the adorable way he does it where he ducks his head slightly, chewing the edge of his lower lip. Then the smile wavered, and his fingers resumed fidgeting with his jacket. “Dean...I want to help you through this. Because…” He looked up, like he was checking if Dean was going to interrupt. When he didn’t, he kept going. “Because I care about you. A lot, and I want you to be happy. Now, if-” His hand slipped into Dean’s, and Dean couldn’t help the warm feeling that spread through him. “-that means that I need to leave you completely alone and not bring it up ever, then I will do that. However, I know you quite well, Dean Winchester. Well enough to know that you sitting in this will only make it worse. It will become a distraction until your lack of sleep and drinking will make you fail, and you could get hurt, or-” The angel’s voice shook. “-or worse...and I don’t want that so, please. Tell me how to help.”
At this point, their eyes were locked, and Dean could hardly concentrate. He was very much so aware of the pad of Cas’ thumb dragging slowly over his knuckles, though the angel didn’t seem to notice. After a moment of still silence, Dean gave in to the fatigue crawling at the edges of his mind and let his head fall onto Cas’ shoulder, nuzzling his nose into his neck.
Cas’ hand went up and dragged through Dean’s hair at the same pace he dragged over his knuckles, and Dean let his breathing fall into the same pattern. And for a moment, that was all Dean needed. He could practically feel the ache of his childhood leave with each slowing exhale he let out, and it felt better than any amount of drinking. He allowed himself this moment to breathe in the angel’s scent - the rustic scent of his trench coat and the aura of Jimmy’s cologne, all mixed in with the flurry of his own shampoo that Cas had been using.
And there was something else. Something that couldn’t be described as anything but pure Cas , and it made his heart stutter and his secrets spill from his lungs like blood from a bullet.
Dean clenched his hand around Cas’. “I...I don’t know, man, I-” The way Cas’ thumb dragged across his hairline was incredibly distracting. “I just don’t want it any more.”
Cas was shushing him before he even realised he was crying. “That’s okay. That’s okay, Dean, we can work this out. Hey-” He shifted, making Dean lift his head, and Cas’ hands came up to cup his cheeks. He dragged his thumb across his cheekbone, wiping away the raw emotion sculpting his features. “You’re not alone in this, Dean. Not anymore.”
And with that, Cas’ lips met Dean’s, and the world melted around them.