Work Text:
Veritas
Dean studies the website about Gabriel’s Horn of Truth briefly before he finishes off his glass of whiskey and decides to try Cas again.
“Castiel? Hello? Possible loose nuke down here – angelic weapon. Kind of your department. You hear that, Cas?”
“Hello, Dean.” The angel says quietly as he appears with his usual fluster of wings.
“Are you kidding me? I have been on red alert about Sam, and you come for some stupid horn,” Dean complains.
“You asked me to be here, and I came.” The angel replies patiently.
This just annoys Dean. “I -- I've been asking you to be here for days, you dick!” Which he instantly regrets, but doesn't apologize for.
Castiel is staying calm, electing to ignore the name-calling. “I didn't come about Sam because I have nothing to offer about Sam.”
“Well, that's great, because for all we know, he's just gift wrap for Lucifer.”
Cas reaches for the whiskey bottle, coming closer to Dean. “No, he's... he's not Lucifer.”
“And how do you know that?” Dean asks, as Cas refills his glass.
“If Lucifer escaped the cage, we'd feel it.” Cas replies.
“What is wrong with him?”
“I don't know, Dean. I'm sorry.”
Dean hesitates to ask his next question, but he needs to know. Something is wrong with his brother. And something is wrong with his angel, too.
“What happened to you, Cas? You used to be human, or at least like one.”
“I'm at war. Certain... regrettable things are now required of me.”
“And Gabriel's Horn of Truth? That's a real thing?” Dean asks.
“You've seen it?”
Dean takes a drink of his whiskey. “We think it's in town. Something's forcing people..”
Castiel is gone without a word.
“Oh, well, you're welcome!” Dean says to no one, taking another drink.
And just like that, he hears Cas returning behind him.
“It isn't the Horn of Truth.” Cas tells him definitely.
“What are you talking about? You were gone for like two seconds. Where did you look?”
The angel looks just a bit confused by the question. “Everywhere,” he replies, as if Dean should already know this.
“Right. Well, nice seeing you, anyway.” Dean says dismissively.
“Dean.”
“What?”
“About your brother. I... I don't know what's wrong with him, but I do want to help. I'll make inquiries.”
Dean looks at him steadily, so used to overlong glances hanging between them that it doesn't make the hunter uncomfortable anymore. Not discomfort. Not that. Meeting the angel’s eyes (his so very blue eyes) like this is a bit distracting, twists something in his chest that the hunter has no time for right now.
“I wish you would, Cas,” Dean entreats him solemnly. “I just- there’s something wrong with him. I know I was gone a whole year, but still. I can’t figure it out. I know he waited long enough to let that vamp bite me and I don’t know how he could just stand there without even flinching when you were reading that kid’s soul. I know you have a crap-pile of busy up there, civil war and all, Cas, I know it, but it’s Sam, and I need him to be all right.”
Castiel moves closer and rests a hand on Dean’s arm, spreading warmth right through him, and Dean thinks Cas is using his Grace to calm his fears.
“I will try to find something, Dean. I want Sam to be all right, too. If you notice anything else, let me know. I will try to answer as soon as I can.”
And with that, the angel is gone again, leaving Dean alone in the motel room and feeling the solitude sharply.