Chapter Text
"If he stays, I'm afraid I will have no choice but to leave."
And then, what? Then Sam will die. He'll die.
And Cas will be homeless and alone. Because of him. Because of all that Dean has done. All the crap he's pulled. Called the Trials off. Made his brother feel like he had failed, gotten him pretty much DEAD, was in such a weird place with Cas AFTER the guy upped and left after breaking free from the hinky voodoo angel mind control he'd been under ...that Naomi, what an absolute bitch.
"You're hoping Castiel will return to you. Such loyalty; I only wish he felt the same way."
No. No, that's crap. Cas needs to be here. They need to be together the ---- all three of them. Well, four including Kevin if he wants to keep hanging out. And if this angel can just sack up.
Ezekiel is striding off, stiffly, in the body of his brother, and those words bein' the ending of the conversation isn't -- that's not good enough for Dean Winchester. He jumps to his feet, smacks his lips, whirls and follows with arm extended. He stops, though, shaking with all the crap he's feeling. "No," he says, a growl.
Zeke stops, turns, eyebrow arching up the way Sammy's does when he's about to say something smart. "...Excuse me?" His voice isn't Sam's. Well, it is, of course, but the intonation isn't right. He's too reserved, quiet. It's honestly about to give Dean a headache, and he already feels like a coal is burning in his throat.
"No," he snaps out, stomping forward. "Fuck that. Cas is staying, he has to stay." Dean licks his lips and swallows, shakes his head with eyes snapping closed. And then he reopens them and continues, blurts because if he lets the guy think, if he doesn't talk, Zeke is out. But he doesn't have to be. "Why would you have to leave because of him? The angels can't find his trail if he's human, they ain't bloodhounds, and by the way there's sigils here to stop them even if they do get wind." He needs help, damnit. He needs MY help, like he has before, and this time I gotta do something. I hafta help him. Dean lifts his chin and forces down the obvious fart joke he could make (that a couple years ago without all his marbles, Cas WOULD make), defiant.
The angel shuffles his feet. He looks ... awkward, and he's not flaring up and flashing the eyes and booming about Dean defying his will or something, and so that means goodbye Sam. No; he's pushing Sam's hair back and his eyes are flickering around. He looks almost... shifty. Like there's guilt, and okay, well he SHOULD feel guilty for just saying he'd ditch like that, Dean thinks angrily. But --- there's something itching at him, nagging. Something else. It's like somebody is rapping on his skull or ringing alarm bells. Feels the same way it did when Bobby told him and Sam things sometimes, such as people being in the bodies possessed by demons. Like his skin's starting to crawl, or there's an itch he can't scratch. An IMPORTANT itch.
Damn he wishes Bobby were here. He'd see past the bullshit like he always did. Dean is a bullshit artist himself, and he knows Sam. Even without his brother's tone and manner, there's still...there remains the awkward similarities, the hesitance before a lie. Or when, as now, there's something in his micro expressions.
There is something else.
There's gotta be something else.
Dean steps forward, ducking his head to lock on the angel's eyes (as he did to Cas, he remembers, but this causes a different feeling to collect in his gut. Not desperate ...care -Cas is his best friend, damn it, he's allowed to care, and he's gotta believe Cas cares too, no matter what that bitch had been saying- back it up, focus on now, Dean. And fury, yeah, those fucking angels had been planning on killing EVERYTHING-, but unease).
His voice softens as he asks "What's the real problem here, Zeke? Spill it."
"He..." A clearing throat, scratching of hair, so similar to the way Sam does it makes Dean's chest hurt. Hell, maybe he should let this guy leave, it'd be less painful than looking at Sam like this. Being --- he can't stop himself thinking, being worn. But whatever makes this angel feel so unsure, it hits as he eventually says "he wouldn't like me."
Dean snorts. He lets out a barking laugh of honest surprise. "Who, Cas? Hell, none of the other angels like him, all the rest that we've met are dicks, so he's probably worried about you" and then recalling the warmth in Cas's voice when he'd said Ezekiel's name the first time "Wait, but he said you were a good soldier, so." What the hell? Do the good angels have the lowest self-esteem? No judgement on that, Dean thinks. He can't talk.
It looks like the dude is wrestling with himself. He's working his lips and opening and closing his hands until finally it's as if he can't take it anymore and bursts out "that's - he wasn't talking about me"
Dean blinks, jerks his head. "What the fuck do you mean, there's ANOTHER Ezekiel? God's doubling up on names now?"
Eyes pained, in fact his entire face creased now in apparent agony, quiet, in a sudden thick wet-sounding rush "no... it's, I am not Ezekiel."
Dean freezes, stupefied. What --- the hell?!
"What" his tongue feels thick, his heart is going crazy. Sweat starts popping up along his hairline and he might be sick. Where the hell is Cas with his angel blade, why the fuCK hasn't Dean been carrying one around himself? He must be an idiot. Completely fucking stupid. He's let his guard down. Only went out for a minute - Sam could die, he has died, once is enough and Dean's not letting him die again but what the hell is going on "What do you mean you're not Ezekiel?!?"