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After years of companionship, coming home to Dean in the bunker after a prolonged absence always means a warm hug followed by a brief period of relaxed closeness with the hunter.
Too brief.
All too soon, Dean returns to his comments about personal space, an awkward silence falling over them and pushing them further apart. So, when Castiel notices that the longer he spends away, the longer he gets to enjoy the nearness of the object of his one desire, he starts making up reasons to leave, staying away longer each time so he can come back and get that closeness he craves.
Only now, Castiel misses Dean too much and the entire situation is out of control. Every lie leads to another lie. He’s in too deep to fix the mess he created and, more than anything, he’s afraid Dean will never forgive him for all the lying.
This is not how it was supposed to be.
Castiel stands outside the bunker, conflicted, a noxious ball of worry in the pit of his stomach. His longing for Dean wins over though and he slowly makes his way inside, always welcome, a knock unnecessary for the closest friend of the Winchester brothers, a title that means more to him than any other. At least so far in the eons of his existence.
As he takes the stairs down to the floor below, he hears Sam call out, “That you, Cas?”
At the bottom of the stairs, he spots Sam in the library with a book in his hands. Comfortingly familiar. Dean would usually be sitting on the opposite side of the table with his laptop, but the younger Winchester seems to be alone.
Castiel believes he does an excellent job of keeping his voice neutral when he asks, “Where’s Dean?”
“Uh, he’s been in a mood lately and he went out on a case to clear his head.”
“Alone?” Castiel asks, his tone more than a little self-righteous.
“He insisted and I gotta be honest, Cas, he was driving me crazy.”
“What kind of mood?”
Sam looks up at him for the first time since he came in with what Dean calls his bitchface. “Maybe you should ask him when he gets back…” Without another word, Sam stands and grabs his book and his phone and stalks his way through the map room and down the hall, his door closing firmly a moment later.
His tone and body language would seem to imply that Castiel should either know or that he is the one responsible for whatever mood his brother is currently suffering under, but he’s been gone for some time and when he was last here, he left Dean in a fine mood.
At least he thought he had.
With nothing else to do until he returns, Castiel shuffles his way down the hall to his own room with his hands in his pockets. Upon entering, he slips his coat off and hangs it in the closet. Remembering the clothes in the dresser, the scant wardrobe he has slowly amassed from Dean after returning from his fake trips, he quickly changes, simply wanting the contact, to touch something of the man in his absence.
Over the next few days, he cycles between a few different pairs of sweats and t-shirts that once belonged to Dean, the next best thing to having him there, but it’s not nearly enough. He wonders if he will get the same treatment as usual when it’s the hunter returning instead of the angel and waits in anticipation.
When the bunker door slams open and closed and Sam rushes past his door, Castiel jumps to his feet, following on his heels to find Dean stumbling down the stairs, his face and clothes streaked in blood, only to collapse at the bottom. In a move that is now muscle memory, he reaches for Dean’s forehead to heal him, but he slaps his hand away.
"No, I don't want your magic hoodoo! You can't just show up and fix me. You can't just disappear and come back when you feel like it. Humans don't work this way, Cas."
“Dean, you can be angry with me, and we can talk when you’re feeling up to it, but I am going to heal you right now,” he says, pressing two fingers to his forehead until the worst of his injuries are gone.
“Let’s get you to bed,” Sam says, slipping his arm around Dean’s back and pulling him to his feet.
Castiel watches helplessly as Dean leans on Sam with his arm around his shoulder, resisting the urge to follow despite wanting to know how and why this happened. Instead, he waits for Sam to come back, leaning against a table until he returns and wraps his arms around Castiel’s shoulders.
“Thank you, Cas. I don’t know what went wrong but he was in bad shape. He needs rest.”
Castiel nods and heads off in search of cleaning supplies, the only thing he knows to do for Dean in mind. He steps out of the bunker and finds Baby parked at an awkward angle, the door wide open with blood splattered and spread everywhere and the keys still hanging from the ignition. He could miracle it away, but that feels like cheating, so he takes the first clean cloth and starts scrubbing until every inch of the upholstery and the dash is spotless.
He turns to the bloody handprints and fingerprints on the driver side window, grateful that Dean made it back home after whatever caused this kind of carnage. He works until every surface is clean before he turns the key and drives Baby around to park her safely in the garage where he checks the trunk and restocks the mobile armory.
When he finally comes down the stairs, Sam is there to meet him.
“Thanks for taking care of the car. Dean’s awake and he’s asking for you.”
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Castiel turns down the hall and drags his feet to Dean’s room, knocking lightly on the door before opening it just a crack and peeking in. “Dean?”
“Come in,” Dean says, lifting a plate with a half-eaten sandwich and moving it to the bedside table. “I see you’ve made yourself at home in my clothes while I was gone.”
Castiel looks down at the band tee and sweats. “I guess I have.”
“Sit,” he says, patting the other side of the bed.
With some reluctance, Castiel enters, closing the door behind him and taking a seat next to Dean. “I’m sorry-”
“No, Cas, let me say this. I was out of line earlier and I should have treated you better. It just seems like every time you leave, you’re gone a little bit longer and I wonder if the next time is going to be the time you don’t come back.”
“Dean, I’ve been lying to you. Half the time I make up excuses to leave and I have been staying away longer than necessary.”
“Oh,” Dean says, looking down at his hands in his lap. “Mind telling me what I did?”
“Nothing. You just…I miss you even when I’m here. It’s hard to be here with you, physically close but…emotionally distant.”
At this, Dean jerks his head back up and holds his gaze with nothing but the gravity of his being. “Why didn’t you just say something?”
“Right. Because Dean Winchester is a pillar of communication,” Castiel says, voice harsh, but a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.
“Ouch. Don’t hold back. Tell me how you really feel.”
The smile on Dean’s face betrays his caustic voice. For a moment, Castiel wavers between telling the truth and continuing with the lie, but they’ve come this far, and the hunter is being more open than he has seen him in some time.
“I want what you don’t want to give.”
Dean’s face softens and he opens his mouth to speak as if not quite settled on how he wants to answer. “Try me,” he says, lifting his body from his position against the pillows which brings him closer.
The nearness makes Castiel ache to reach out and pull him into his arms before he loses him forever. “You, Dean. I want more of you and I know that it’s not fair to ask and I’ve probably just ruined our friendship, but-”
Large hands, worn and warm on either side of his face, derail his thoughts and Dean leans in with a press of lips, soft and tender. Castiel opens for him, inviting him in but letting the hunter choose how much he wants to give, where to draw the line. His hands grasp at Castiel’s arms, pulling him further onto the bed, nearer to his desire, and he comes as he always does when Dean Winchester calls.
Through the haze of want and need, he hears Dean’s voice in his head.
A single word.
A prayer.
Stay.