Chapter Text
The Singer home was bustling. Every room downstairs held at least one person, from the kitchen to the living area to Bobby's "office" space. A typical day in the house wasn't nearly this busy, but it wasn't a typical day - it was Super Bowl Sunday. None of them had been able to enjoy something as frivolous as a football game in decades, if ever. There was a strikingly human aspect to it all, gathering with good food and huddling around the television, even if no one truly took interest in the competition itself. While upsetting that they had to die before being allowed this experience, all of them were notably excited in a peaceful way. Not a soul in the home had felt that in far too long.
Karen hummed to herself in the kitchen as she trimmed and crimped pie crusts. At the counter a few feet away stood Dean, who was whisking some stuff in a metal bowl; occasionally, he would dip a pinky in to taste whatever it was, nodding satisfactorily. Sam was in the living room setting up the TV, because of course he was given the only slightly technical task. He turned to sign at Eileen, who was helping him find a Deaf-accessible channel, asking her where to select live subtitles. Glass clanked and metal wheels squeaked when Bobby rolled past the common area pushing a cart stacked with various bottles of liquor and spirits. Rufus and his wife sat at the dining table and stacked platters precariously, stealing a bite or two here and there. Some people were still missing, though.
"Dean," Bobby called from the adjacent room, "John and Mary here yet?"
The man in question peered directly forward at the front door, examining the space around the entrance as well. No welcomes, no greetings, no new guests.
"Nope," Dean answered, perfectly content to move on immediately.
"And no Cas?"
There it is.
Dean knew where the angel was because they were together not long before he came over to set up for the party. They had been at the cabin finalizing plans for a hunt, that 'divine secretary' type of work that he helped with when he could. Honestly, nothing else happened, and yet Dean would rather deny the fact that they were even friends anymore than admit he had seen Cas mere hours earlier. Anything to keep the illusion up, he deduced. Good thing he had spent his entire life lying.
"Nah. Not a word from him, either."
Lying. Overcompensating, perhaps. Lying, definitely.
"Man, they're really standin' us up!"
Maybe the Winchester parents were, but Cas certainly wasn't. Dean could've cleared the air. He didn't.
"These creatures only hunt at night. You'll need a few things to take them down, too."
A ragtag bunch of hunters - both humans and angels - stood around Castiel, who was explaining this week's monster. They were in someone's home, whichever one happened to be nearest to the nest. One of the hunters had notified Heaven of an insurmountable case. Everyone in the area was stumped and from what they could tell, there were dozens of these things hiding out on the outskirts of town. So, Cas did what he always did, what he had promised, and brought the information to the greatest hunter he knew. He couldn't just ignore the fact that he kept a wealth of knowledge and expertise in his back pocket. Besides, Dean Winchester never passed up an opportunity to do what he was best at.
"These bullets are cast out of pure bronze," Cas noted, dropping a handful of rounds on the table. "Each one is imbued with magic. I have a metal box with enough for each of you to bring on this hunt."
"What about blades?" a flannel-clad woman asked.
Cas looked at her.
"We did not make any, I'm afraid."
She sighed, clearly irritated, potentially nervous.
"Guns will give you an advantage both with range and speed. That was the priority. I apologize."
He had an angel blade stashed in his coat. The temptation to offer it and ease the woman's mind was very strong. He was also in possession of one of the last remaining blades, however, and under strict orders not to give it away or lend it out. In theory, Jack could create more, as many as he wished, but he wouldn't. Not even the other angels in that room carried one.
Cas began passing the bullets out to each hunter. He could feel the power radiating from them, they almost vibrated.
"What I give you is all you will receive."
The spell used to infuse these was incredibly powerful and energy-consuming, even for a witch as strong as Rowena, who had performed it in this case. She refused to continue beyond the amount necessary for their mission.
"A single shot as close to the heart as possible is most efficient. I trust you all can achieve that?" He scanned the room cautiously.
A different hunter piped up, "Damn straight."
"Excellent. If that is everything, then we will depart shortly. Everyone in vehicles together," Cas caught the sight of both other angels, "no splitting up."
"Why?" The inquirer's vessel appeared no older than 25, reflecting the maturity and skill - or lack thereof - of its inhabitant.
Shifting toward them with conviction, Cas answered, "Splitting up gets you killed, or worse."
The young being cowered slightly. They understood.
Everyone parted ways for a few minutes to pack their bags, stock their cars, and prepare their weapons. Each person was as uncharming as ever, and all Cas could be reminded of was Dean.
I'll return soon, bee.
He knew this was a big hunt. Hell, he'd pitched the whole idea in the first place, on top of helping Cas figure out what those things were. As much as he enjoyed playing the role of 'Heavenly Research Assistant', Dean couldn't say he wasn't starting to worry. Not more than a few hours, Cas had said, and yet here they were, still on different planes of existence. The anxiety only worsened when other people began asking.
First Bobby, then Sam:
"Any word from Cas?"
And now Eileen:
"Is Cas joining us?"
Sam shot her a warning glance, aware of something she didn't seem to notice. He saw the panic ignite in his brother's eyes once again, just as it had earlier when he posed a similar question, and realized that nothing was going how Dean wanted it to.
"I dunno," Dean responded icily, hoping he could mask the intense fear he was really experiencing.
"I hope he does. I haven't seen him in a while!"
When she finished speaking, she turned to her husband, signing instead.
"Is he okay? He seems stressed."
Sam pondered for a moment before replying, "I'm not sure, but I do think it has to do with Cas."
"You should ask."
"Should I?"
"There are two people he would talk to about how he's feeling. Right now, one of them isn't here, and that might be the problem."
With a sigh, Sam agreed.
"Alright. If this goes badly, I'm blaming you."
"The fault is mine, fully," Eileen conceded with a humorous grin.
Sam smiled back before walking over to Dean. He had started to leave the living room and retreat back to the kitchen, but flipped around when a hand tapped on his shoulder from behind. His little brother had those stupid puppy eyes, like he was concerned and wanted you to know it.
"Is something wrong?" Sam queried.
"Why would something be wrong?" Dean bit back, short and snippy.
"Are you worrying about Cas?"
"Why is everyone asking me about him?"
"Do you know where he is?"
"Does it matter? He's not here, is he?"
Circles, circles, circles of questions. No answers. Dean was so stubborn.
Sam glared ever-so-slightly, almost unnoticeable, and offered in a quiet tone, "Can we talk outside?"
Without warning, Dean shoved his way past, toward the front door. He stormed out, angry yet measured so as not to pull too much attention. Feet shuffled to keep up behind him. Sam always wanted to talk it out.
"What's going on, Dean?" Sam asked, pulling the door closed behind him.
"I don't know where he is."
"Cas?"
Dean nearly whispered. He couldn't give anything away, he wasn't ready.
"Yes!" he replied aggressively. Only Sam could hear it. "I mean, I know where he is, and I kinda know what he's doing, but he wasn't supposed to be gone this long!"
Sam reached outward, indicating to him to slow down.
"Whoa whoa, hold on. Chill out, man."
"I can't fucking 'chill out'!"
"I need you to tell me what you do know."
Dean took what could only generously be considered a deep breath, which seemed pointless.
"I helped him with a case," he explained. "Sometimes something will stump him and he'll bring it to me, so he told me about this monster and I helped him. We figured out what it was and how to kill it. He organized a hunt for tonight with some others, told me exactly when he left and when he would be back if all went according to plan, and he's not back which means--"
"It didn't all go according to plan," Sam completed.
"Exactly!"
There was a beat of speechlessness.
"I can't get a hold of him, I can't look for him, Jack’s doing God stuff. If something happened to him, Sam, I…"
"Hey, let's not get ahead of ourselves here. I know things are a little different now, but you can still think about this normally."
Except, "things" were way more different than Sam could even begin to understand. He didn't know about the past few weeks, the insomnia, the tears and anguish. The 'I love you's that had never graced the air until some nights ago. He didn't even know about the day Cas died. Dean never found the courage to tell him; or, maybe it wasn't meant to be told. As much as he had loved Cas in life, he only let himself experience it now. The terror he felt in this moment was beyond what he expected or even wanted to feel.
Dean finally replied, solemnly, "Maybe I can, but it doesn't matter because I can't fix it anymore. I can't save him."
"He might not need saving."
"If he does, I'm useless."
"That's not true."
"Of course it is."
"No," Sam fought. "You give him something to come home to. You're important to him. When he makes it back, you can help him, and it will work because he loves you and he needs you."
"What kind of sappy rom-com bullshit is that?"
Sam scoffed.
"Do you remember how many times we fucked over our supposed 'destiny' just to save each other? Just by sheer will not to lose our only family?"
Another bit of silence interrupted their arguing. It was enough of an answer for Sam, who continued, unrelenting.
"You're Cas's family. You are everything to him, and that means something. Pull your head out of your ass and stop blaming yourself for shit you can't control. Be scared, be mad, just stop being fucking ridiculous."
Even as his speech became more heated, Sam's voice never rose louder. He had also made the conscious effort to distance himself significantly from the house so there was less chance anyone inside would hear them.
"What do I do, then?" Dean asked, gazing at his brother. So, so worried, and it showed on every inch of his face.
Calmly, Sam advised, "Just wait it out. Sometimes a hunt takes a little longer. Maybe he forgot he was supposed to be here by now. If something's wrong, I'm sure Jack would tell us."
There was no chance Cas simply forgot to come home.
"Jack’s a bit busy these days."
"Cas is like a father to him. You are, too. He wouldn't just let that fly under the radar."
Their ideas of 'relevant' and 'important' were bound to be different than literal God’s.
"Fine, I guess. I can wait, but I ain't gonna be the life of the party. I'm freaking the fuck out, dude."
"As long as you're there, I've got your back. And," Sam added sincerely, "Cas will be okay. So will you."
They walked back inside as if nothing had happened.
Hours. It had taken them hours to clear out that nest of things, those foul creatures that threatened everyone in the vicinity. And they had guns to do it, too.
There would've been casualties if a professional wasn't present - an angel, at that, with celestial power beyond human imagining. Luckily for the hunters, Cas was always willing to offer up those unique abilities. There were other angels, too, but they only had enough juice to help themselves. That left Cas, in all his mercy and adoration of humanity, to pick up the broken pieces of his own soldiers and mash them back together. Between one human and himself, he may have made it out unscathed; but aiding four of them while leaving some grace left just to stay standing? That was damn near impossible.
In the back of a cramped pickup truck, all Cas could think about was how tired he was despite having no practical need to sleep. It reminded him of the physical exhaustion of mortality. The open gash on his right cheek actually burned because he didn't have it in him to heal it, not after fixing up some of his companions. Even they maintained many of their worse injuries. There were some cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a cut that risked infection having gone down to the bone. At least one of them was mildly concussed. Another was temporarily hexed.
He was suddenly aware of the ghostly yet massive, heavy wings he carried with him constantly, knowing he couldn't use them if he tried right now. With no way to return home or contact Dean, tears began stabbing at the back of Cas's eyes.
The group arrived back at a hunter's home, who told them all to stay the night if necessary, rest and fuel up. Nothing was safer than a house full of monster hunters, after all. Cas certainly considered this, especially given the state of his… everything. The idea of being away from Heaven for this long without notice made his skin hurt. That could be the lacerations he was covered in, though.
If he didn't hole up here for a while, would he even be able to make it home in this condition?
It was already half-time. The game had burned through two full quarters and Cas still wasn't here. This was twice as long as he'd said, so many hours more than either of them prepared for. Dean felt cripplingly anxious and appalled by his codependency.
Rufus and his wife were making their way out, leaving Dean with just Sam, Eileen, and the Singers. His parents never showed - typical, even though they didn't have other obligations now. If anything were to go wrong or get out, these are the people he trusted most.
"Sam," he caught his brother's attention, nodding toward another room.
Said man gracefully excused himself from the conversation he was engaged in and followed Dean into the library space. Dean slid the doors shut quietly.
He declared, "He's not here."
"I know."
"It's been hours."
"I know."
"Something's not right."
"I agree."
"Sam, I know you said-- wait," Dean paused, caught off-guard, "what?"
"We need to find out what's going on," Sam concluded.
Dean was fully prepared to have some back-and-forth about this, or at least have to defend his insanity. Now he was confused.
With slight hesitation, he said, "Yeah, we do."
"Should we reach out to Jack?" Sam suggested. "This seems important enough."
The elder pondered for a second, weighing their chances of successfully getting a hold of Jack at all, let alone to help with this.
"Don't wanna piss him off."
"I don't think--"
"We can summon him," Dean realized.
Sam tilted his head curiously. "What?"
"You know, a spell ritual thingy. Bobby probably has everything we need in here," Dean replied, gesturing to the vast cabinetry and lore collection surrounding them.
"When was the last time you did that?" Sam wondered aloud, clearly skeptical.
"I dunno… but I happen to be in great company."
"You want"--Sam pointed at himself, surprised--"me to do it? I've never summoned an angel before!"
"You could do it, easy."
"I've never even seen the spell! It's probably in, like, Enochian or something!"
"What's the worst that could happen?"
"Really? Do you want me to start a list? Because I will!"
"Come on," Dean complained. "I don't wanna fuck it up, and I don't know what else to do. I can't sit here on my ass while--"
The office door glided open and Bobby peeked inside.
"What on God's green Earth are you boys arguin' about?"
Both of the Winchesters were quiet, but it seemed for different reasons. Sam wanted to leave the floor open for Dean to explain or not. Dean had no idea what lie to tell and wanted Sam to cover for him.
"Nothing," Sam finally answered.
Bobby called out, "Bullshit."
Now what? Drop the bomb? Go back to the party like nothing happened? Leave for the night? Perform this stupid ritual anyway?
"Look, I--"
"It's okay, Sam," Dean assured, though his posture and tone indicated he was anything but. "I've got it."
He drew his eyes up to the face of the man he called his father for so long. All he could find was that tired hunter irritation, the curmudgeon Bobby was. He felt like a kid again, abandoned by his real father, seeking acceptance and comfort with his chosen family, because that don't end with blood. Family don't end with blood. His breathing was shallow.
"We're doing a spell."
"What? Why?" Bobby exclaimed, raising his voice slightly.
"To summon an angel, because…"
Dean brought his gaze back down to the musty rug covering the floor beneath them.
"...Cas is missing."
"So what? Doesn't he leave here a lot?"
Bobby was a lot less shaken than Dean had expected him to be, which was both frustrating and relieving.
"Well, yeah, but… he's been gone longer than he should've been."
"What, you keep track?"
Dean’s cheeks warmed, turning pink just enough to scare him.
"Not exactly--"
"I get he's your friend, but you were gonna do an Enochian ritual in my house in Heaven? What has gotten into you?"
This old man could not catch a hint if it were an inch in front of his nose.
"Bobby, hold on--" Sam piped up.
"I don't wanna be tangled up in that mess, boys," Bobby interrupted. "Unless there's somethin' else going on, but you gotta tell me."
"I haven't heard from him all day," Dean cracked. "He was only supposed to be downstairs for a few hours and it's been twice that. What would you do if one of us went radio silent, after we promised you we'd be back?"
"That's different, you're my boys! If somethin' happened to one of you, I'd…" Bobby trailed off.
"Cas is like…" It hurt Dean to finish this sentence this way. "...he's like a brother to me, okay? I can't-- I need to find him."
He turned to Sam with barely teary eyes, begging for support here. Sam knew because he always had.
"We need to find him," Sam repeated.
The expression on Bobby's face was one of bewilderment and incredulity.
"Take your shit and do it somewhere else," he muttered at last. "I ain't gettin' mixed up with angels no more."
He turned and walked away with that signature Bobby disappointment, an emotion that could fill any room he entered, one that made Dean's stomach sink with self-hatred. Even so, the brothers wasted no time searching for the correct spell, and once they found it, they gathered ingredients, too. When they entered the living room, hands full and seething with determination, Eileen stopped Sam to ask what it was all for.
"Helping Dean with something," he spoke despite her having signed. "Sorry, no hands."
"Okay," she responded, still in sign language. "Stay safe, please."
"Always."
The Winchesters exited the home and searched for a clearing to lay out their spell.
Cas.
Cas, come on.
The angel snapped out of his unusual slumber at the sound of the voice. It seemed familiar, though distorted.
I really hope this works, Sammy…
Dean.
Cas? Cas!..
He was so worried, Cas could hear it, even through the static interference that separated Heaven and Earth. What he wouldn't do to relieve that pain…
How could he even hear Dean, in fact?
Before he had time to analyze the past several moments, Cas's vision began swirling and blurring. Intense and unfamiliar nausea overtook him, and suddenly he was focused on staying awake as he fell, faster and faster until he became cosmic dust. In a matter of seconds, each particle fused back together, like a huge intricate jigsaw puzzle. All he felt was dizzy, nothing else. His head could be rolling on the ground for all he knew.
Cas..?
The speech was muffled nearly beyond recognition.
Cas, are you alright? Cas!..
All at once, as if his ears popped, he could hear everything normally again. Except he wasn't where he was less than a minute ago. No, where he was there were dry leaves rustling, birds twittering softly, small animals seeking shelter as dark approached. He could identify each vivid sound perfectly. His favorite was the voice.
"Cas, can you hear me?"
He turned toward the source while his vision gradually recovered.
"I can hear you, Dean."
Dean sighed as if he hadn't exhaled in days. Every muscle in his face relaxed immediately.
"Thank God," Dean said, kneeling to meet Cas on the ground a few feet away.
It wasn't until the initial relief subsided that he noticed how scratched and bruised Cas was.
"What the hell happened?"
"That nest," Cas began, breathing labored, "was far worse than we expected."
"No shit! You're all dinged up…"
Time slowed when Dean really took in the image of his angel, skin torn and bloody, knuckles swollen. He wanted to snap his fingers and undo it all. He furiously blinked away the tears he could sense creeping up on him.
"How'd you end up like this, Cas?"
"I was weak."
"Why?"
Cas locked gazes with him. He appeared sort of apologetic, which was unlike him.
"They were too strong," he said. "There were so many of them. I had to expend my energy keeping the hunters alive, but they're all seriously injured."
"Did you win?" Dean followed.
"By some definitions, yes. The creatures are gone, at least for now. I let my soldiers down, though."
"What? No--"
"I sent them in there believing we could succeed, and we didn't. The only reason they're living now is because I almost killed myself keeping them that way."
Dean was confused, yet above anything he was terrified. Only a failure so significant could send Cas spiraling like this. What if he didn't make it home next time?
"Of course you succeeded, you're all still here. You made it back…" he dwindled with a note of unease.
"I shouldn't have led them in there, they weren't ready. I wasn't ready. Dean, we--"
He cut himself off, inhaling shakily, preparing for the onslaught of emotion he would face.
"We could have died."
They had both forgotten about Sam, who stood some yards away and listened. The fear in the air was palpable for most, but especially for him, and especially when it involved Dean. He scanned his brother's face each time Cas added to their dialogue, noticing anxieties and expressions he had never seen before. Everything about everything was so foreign.
"You should go home," Sam suggested, abundantly caring and watchful. "Both of you."
Dean seemed to ask with his eyes, Do you want to?
"Please," Cas echoed.
The game was still in its third quarter when Sam returned to the Singer home. As expected, he was met with questions.
"Where's Dean?" Bobby interrogated.
"Went home," Sam replied as casually as he could.
"What about Cas?"
"We got him," he continued nervously. "The spell worked. Nothing went sideways."
"Mhm," Bobby nodded slowly, suspicion bleeding from such a short utterance. "So Cas went..?"
"I don't know. Wherever he wants."
"With Dean?"
"Maybe."
Bobby grumbled with frustration.
"What's goin' on with them?"
Meanwhile, Eileen and Karen anxiously watched the conversation unfold.
"Dean and Cas?"
"Yeah, Dean’s been… He's actin' strange, all on edge."
"I mean, he was worried about Cas."
"You didn't seem too upset about the whole thing," Bobby dug.
Subtle anger bubbled in Sam's throat. He prayed he could conceal it.
"So what?"
"So, Cas is your friend, too."
"It's different."
"Is it, now?"
Sam knew he was in no position to expose his brother like this, so he had to back out somehow.
"Always has been. They've got some 'profound bond' or something, I don't know."
Sure, he could act like he was as clueless as Bobby was. That could work.
"Yeah, alright."
Bobby turned back to the TV, but not without huffing, making it obvious to everyone that he didn't believe a word of what Sam said. His wife stared with a mixture of disappointment and astonishment, a sort of, "Really? Here, now?" He didn't acknowledge it whatsoever.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam caught Eileen waving. She signed, both concerned and intrigued by the situation.
"What was that about?"
Sam was sure she would respect such a personal aspect of Dean’s life, yet understood that it wasn't his place to tell her; no one else would know, though…
"No clue," he responded.
"Grouchy old man, he is."
"Has been as long as I've known him."
They both paused to observe the football game, neither really absorbing any of it, instead deciding what to say next.
"How is Dean?" Eileen prompted.
He wouldn't lie, there was no reason to. He could omit truth, but he wouldn't lie, not to her.
"He's just Dean behaving like Dean."
"Sure, of course. But I've known him for a while, I think, and this is still weird. Worrying, running off, anxiety, all of it. I could be wrong."
"No, you're right. It's not my responsibility to tell. If it was, I would."
She smiled. "You're a good brother."
"Why do you say that?"
"You clearly know what's happening but you're respecting his choice not to tell everyone."
"Seems like decency."
"Maybe. Admirable either way."
She leaned closer, her eyes flitting to look at his lips.
"What about you?" she asked.
"Me?" Sam clarified with raised eyebrows. "Why wouldn't I be okay?"
"I know sometimes it's hard for you to see Dean like this."
His smile was short, almost insincere, because she was completely correct. It was really difficult for him to watch his big brother struggle so much with something so complicated. To stand on the sidelines helplessly as he had so few times in his actual life. To know he couldn't change any of it and that, no matter what he said, the situation was what it was.
"I'm alright, baby."
"Okay. I'm still gonna kiss you."
"I happily accept."
Eileen closed the space between them to gently bring their lips together. Even sitting, she had to pull his face down to meet hers. A small, calm, peaceful moment.
"I love you," she signed.
"I love you, too."
Everyone should be able to feel the way he did, without fear or doubt. He could not imagine denying himself or being denied any human experience of love like this.
They sat back on the sofa, Sam's arm thrown over Eileen's shoulders, and enjoyed the party.
About an hour passed until the game ended and the time to depart arrived. Everyone exchanged pleasantries - hugs, thank yous, see you laters - without mentioning the fact that one guest had never returned. They certainly all noticed, including Bobby's wife, Karen, who approached Sam seconds before he and Eileen opened the door to leave.
"Sam, dear, would you bring this to Dean?" she requested. She offered up a paper plate covered in plastic wrap, which protected a slice of blueberry pie. "I know it's his favorite."
The man accepted the dish thoughtfully and promised, "Of course, Karen."
"Let him know we missed him, and I hope he feels better!"
"I will do that."
Such a kind gesture seemed the perfect note to walk away on.
Cas was finally asleep on Dean's couch. His upper arm was wrapped in gauze and his shirt was practically ruined, but he was resting. Dean, on the other hand, was far from it.
Only something truly awful could tear Cas apart like that. The plan must have gone sideways. The angel also had a tendency to spread himself thin if it meant saving his people, remaining loyal. He had to have spent his grace on those hunters before healing himself, as he had often done for the Winchesters in the past. In any case, this all proved that the world was still terrifyingly dangerous for Cas, which meant it was dangerous for Dean.
He reflected on their meeting so long ago, how invincible and impossible Cas was compared to anything he'd encountered previously. Maybe his perspective was just different now, but Cas seemed far less resilient than he had initially. On the contrary, Cas may not have changed at all. He wondered if any of it could be his fault.
The feelings reminded him a lot of the end of his dad's life. In hopeful young Dean's eyes, his father was so persistently strong. He could withstand anything, and he did for years, until he couldn't anymore. A far more innocent, less pessimistic Dean watched as his dad turned from stalwart head of the family to an unstable, crazed madman. Perhaps John had always been like that, though, and it just took Dean forever to realize it.
Should he really be surprised that his angel showed up crumpled on the ground, battered and bruised?
A knock at the front door brought him out of this spiral, but not without confusing him. He opened it barely enough to identify the face on the other side, because he was nervous about everything today, and he didn't want anyone to see Cas shirtless in his living room. Luckily, it was just his brother.
"Sam? What are you doing here?" His voice was hardly louder than a whisper.
"Just came to check on you."
"Are you alone?"
"Yeah, why..?"
Dean dropped his shoulders and relaxed his grip on the doorknob. The door fell open a couple more inches, revealing the home's interior.
"...Oh."
With a certain sadness, Dean explained, "Didn't want anyone else to see him here like this."
"I get it."
A slightly awkward pause left Dean embarrassed and hoping Sam didn't notice. Of course, Sam did notice, but he was good at pretending he didn't.
"Here," he persisted, his posture indicating toward the plate in his hand. "Karen wanted me to bring this to you."
It required so much energy for Dean to overcome the disbelief this caused. Someone thinking about him, concerned, even?
"She told me to tell you we missed you, and she hopes you feel better." Sam coaxed the pie in his brother's direction.
"Uh--" Dean finally spoke, his fingers hesitantly wrapping under the plate.
"Everyone's pretty worried."
Dean glanced up, unsure and slightly warm in the cheeks. "...Really?"
"Yeah. Got asked about you a couple times when you didn't come back for third quarter."
"Why?"
"I mean, you were acting kinda weird today. Even for you, just antsy and off. We're all just looking out for you."
Sam stopped, wondering if he should explain the argument that had occurred, unable to decide by the time Dean asked another question.
"Sam," he pressed seriously, "what did you tell them?"
"Nothing, obviously. Bobby wouldn't lay off, but I didn't say anything."
With a sigh, Dean brought his gaze down to the plate he was holding, suddenly realizing he hadn't eaten much that evening.
"He still knows, Dean."
"The hell he does," Dean grumbled.
"Look, I may not have told him exactly what's going on, but--"
"'But' what?"
Sam took a deep breath.
"He asked, I didn't budge. The questions got more specific, I steered him away. He wanted to know why I wasn't all freaked out about Cas like you were, so I spouted some shit about that 'profound bond' or whatever. It ended there, but you know Bobby…"
The quiet had turned from awkward to stressed so quickly it gave Dean whiplash. He turned to look over his shoulder at the angel, whose breathing was slow and consistent while he slept as he never does. Something about it was serene yet unsettling, like when the power goes out and not even the clock ticks anymore. Cas wasn't supposed to be like that, but he was, and somehow he was beautiful. Everyone should know he was beautiful - why didn't Dean let everyone know he was beautiful?
"All I'm saying is he has his suspicions," Sam concluded. "I think Eileen is catching on, too."
Dean's eyes must have exposed his thoughts, his brain repeating, "I can't, I can't," because Sam appeared to have more to say.
"Look, man, I… I can never understand how hard this is for you--"
Dean hated the way it sounded like pity.
"--or what this feels like--"
Enough about his feelings, he despised himself for them anyway.
"--or what's best for you right now."
There was no best solution. Every option could and likely would result in pain.
"...Don't think you owe anyone anything just because of their speculating."
It sounded like he did owe everyone something, a reason; the truth, no matter how much it stung.
"...I just think you should talk to him about it," Sam added, looking towards Castiel. "Maybe he can help figure out how to--"
"Come out?" Dean completed. The phrase tasted bitter, almost gagging him.
Sam nodded thoughtfully, "Yeah."
The two of them settled their respective emotions and prepared to bid farewell once again. Their meeting had only lasted a handful of minutes, but to Dean it seemed to be hours, and to Sam merely seconds. As if on cue, Cas began stirring on the sofa in the house, providing Dean with an excuse to wrap things up even sooner. He glanced over his shoulder, then back at his brother, and without prompt, Sam dismissed himself.
"Go, he needs you. Let me know how he's doing later," he smiled.
All Dean could manage was a half-genuine grin in response before latching the door between them. His hand lingered on the doorknob, knuckles white with force, the way they’d be if he were angry. He didn’t think he was; he could be wrong. He had already misunderstood himself too many times in the past. Some moments later, his grip released. Wood scratched as he pressed his back against the door and slid to the ground in slow motion. The thud of his collapse rustled his guest into lucidity.
Dean had thrown his favorite fleece blanket over Castiel - its scent kept the angel drifting through sleep more easily than anything else could. Cas pushed himself upright, brought it behind him, and wrapped it loosely around his shoulders. The floor creaked when he stood, his feet shuffled against it; Dean’s eyes remained buried in his hands held by his elbows held by his knees. Even once Cas eased down next to him, he couldn’t discern whether there was crying. He draped his blanketed arm across Dean’s back and pulled him in.
“Thank you,” the angel spoke, low and drowsy.
No response was given, not a grunt or a shift or a sob or a prayer. Nothing. He didn’t talk again for a couple minutes.
“Who was here?”
There was a pause as Dean debated whether or not he wanted to relive the conversation.
“Sam,” he answered reluctantly.
Cas’s thumb tenderly brushed Dean’s arm, a gesture of attention and deep caring, he hoped. He briefly contemplated the paper plate lying disregarded at Dean’s opposite side. The entire scene was warm yet agonizing.
“He told me,” Dean proceeded, “that they’re asking about it.”
The meaning of ‘it’ required no explanation on either side.
“Sam didn’t tell anyone?”
“‘Course not, they’re just…”
Dean hadn’t moved anything except his lips, which barely did. Every word was an upset mumble.
“I really lost my cool today, Cas.”
“I understand, love.”
“I don’t think you do.”
The resulting silence left much to be desired for both. They wanted the same thing, but it was beyond reach, and that distance grew by the millisecond. Cas allowed it to persist longer than was comfortable with the knowledge that it was necessary.
“I’m going to bed,” he announced at last. His voice carried a note of sorrow, disconnection.
Chilly air bombarded Dean as his company retreated back to the couch. Unmoving he remained, slouched against the front door, not even glancing up when Cas began snoring some time later.