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“You gotta be kidding,” Dean groans. “Andy has a twin? An evil twin?”
“Well, we did kill his brother,” Charlie reasons. “Not that he isn’t evil, but he does have a reason to target us, you know?”
“His brother targeted me,” Cas corrects, looking down at his notebook. “Twice.”
“I fucking told you it hadn’t been me,” Dean directs at Cas, Kilgore’s frustration laying overlap with Dean’s own. “But does anyone listen to me? No! Everyone thinks I’m being paranoid and then some fucker is gunning for me, because the preacher’s boy wouldn’t let me the fuck alone.”
Castiel frowns for a second, words dying on the tip of his tongue and normally that would make Dean a bit proud, Cas’ baby steps towards avoiding metagaming, replacing the surely scalding retort he would give for the impenetrable silent judgment Kora reserves for Kilgore alone, but Dean can’t muster even that.
There’s no basking in a good story today, when the sting of not being believed is more real than a consequence of a bad roll. Not when Dean spent minutes on the phone with his dad, one short word away from a shouting match or when Bobby’s usual reluctance to jump feet first read too much like unreliability on Dean’s skills, not with everything from Sam not picking the phone to an asshole almost T-Boning him on the way here and even worse, not with everyone at the table staring at him like they’re trying to figure out how to defuse him.
Everyone but Cas, who doesn’t know him all that well yet, but who has stuck close to Dean and won’t flinch but push back in that specific way of his, aiming at pressure points and leaving Dean reeling. Cas, whose character can’t stop parroting about fate and divine plans, about Kilgore being chosen, about becoming someone when Kilgore had been content enough with being nobody.
Being nobody had kept Kilgore and his family safe, until Kora waltzed into The Dozing Lion like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
So really, holding onto the anger is just perfect roleplaying on Dean’s part.
“You call tell your god to shove it,” Dean snarls. “He hasn’t done shit for me my whole life and now I’m being haunted by a fucking necromancer because his wonder boy pissed the wrong person by walking around town like nothing could touch him.”
Castiel doesn’t say anything and Dean’s done, he ain’t waiting for another Elena to stab him on the back. “He leaves or I do.”
“What?”
“Dude.”
Dean crosses his arms, a mockery of a laugh making it out. “I’m leaving.”
“Kora’s gonna grab his arm to stop him,” Castiel finally says. “I’ll follow you. Lathander picked you and he picked me to keep you on the path. You were chosen.”
“I don’t give a damn, Kora.” Dean snaps. “The Morninglord can shove it. Ever since he started to meddle in my life, everything has fallen apart. So fuck it, I’m not gonna be a sitting duck. And if you follow, I’ll kill you.”
“Woah, Kilgore, we-” Ash starts, only to shut his mouth when Cas raises his hand, asking Doc to stay back.
“Andy was always gonna die”
Dean blinks, disoriented. “What?”
“It's not blame that falls on you, Kilgore, it's fate.” Cas turns, looking into Dean’s eyes. His voice is firm, for all that it shakes Dean. “Ansem was always gonna send his brother my way, I was always meant to kill him, uselessly, for him to be brought back and die by your sword, your hand. To show you the rot, to show you the path to end it, this deprivation of Lathander’s path, this corrupted rebirth.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Dean deadpans. “Hasn’t Lathander heard of prophetic dreams? Of fucking carrier pidgeons?”
“Would you have believed?”
“A man’s life is not worth my faith,” Dean snarls. “He was a kid.”
“So was I.” Cas shrugs, the movement so casual it clashes. “So were you, and Willow and Doc, and yet everyday we risk our lives for what we believed in. Andy believed in the wrong person, trusted someone he shouldn’t. And I pity him, for falling into a trap so well-laid, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t meant to happen.”
“Lathander ain’t my cause.”
“But this world is,” Cas insists. “And it needs you to keep on the path, it needs you to stay here, where I can help you.”
“What does that even mean? What does that look like, saving the world?”
Cas looks away, catching something over Dean’s shoulder that tears his attention away and Dean doesn’t turn, doesn’t care about anything but what’s being said, “Son of a bitch, what does that mean?!”
Castiel turns back and his voice softens as he says, “I don’t know.”
“Bull.”
“I don’t, Kilgore. He doesn’t tell me much. Just what’s needed.” He breathes out. “I know that our fate rests on you, on your choices.”
“Well, then everyone’s screwed. I can't do it, Kora. It's too big.” Dean lets his voice waver. “I'm not—I'm not strong enough. I'm not the man anyone wanted me to be. Find someone else. It's not me.”
A beat and Dean turns to Sam. “Kilgore is gonna take his things and leave the room.”
“Where are you going?”
“Away.”
Instead of asking him to clarify, Sam nods and turns towards the rest of the table.
“Once he’s out of sight, I’m going to cast Message,” Cas says. “Kora takes out the wire Kilgore gave him and brings it to his mouth, thinking of him as he whispers: For what it’s worth… I would give anything not to have you do this.”
Dean looks at the table, tapping his pen against it for a second to organize his brain. “Kilgore doesn’t answer, shaking his head and walking away.”
After that, a discussion breaks out between Willow and Kora, with Doc being prevented from following by Charlie’s angry Druid not trusting anyone to not make it worse.
Dean breathes out and takes a sip of his beer. It’s not cold anymore, but Dean doesn’t really mind, finishing it off as Willow sneaks out and Doc fails to do the same, getting caught and joining Willow in their search, and Kora stays in his room, messaging his sister over and over and over, before getting cold-shouldered by the god he’s fighting tooth and nail to believe in.
Dean gives his location to Sam, not surprised when his hiding is high enough to force Willow and Doc to go back to the tavern. Another talk starts and Dean wants the session to be over, the itch under his skin morphing for the residual anger to plain tiredness, the subject of his inadequacy too fresh for him to feel comfortable bringing attention to himself in-game.
They take a break a few minutes after, the doorbell ringing with their take out order and everyone agreeing to eat and then play instead of doing it at the same time. They claim it’s because the food is messier than usual, but Dean has the niggling suspicion he’s making it suck for everyone.
He wishes he gave more of a damn.
He knows he will, after.
He offers to bring everyone’s drinks and Charlie looks at him, concern making her face crease. He jokingly mimics the look and she huffs a laugh, patting him on the arm as he goes.
There’s plates on the sink and Dean tires seeing them, almost missing the repurposed takeout receipt on the counter. It has been turned around, the white highlighting the doodled half-orc smiley face. Cas’ blue pen wavered over the tusks, making one bigger than the other, but it’s better than any of Sam’s.
Dean takes the red pen in his hand and adds a > over the eyes, but the result makes Kilgore look more mischievous than angry, so he tries to make the eyes better shaped.
A throat clearing and Dean turns around, pen in hand and an excuse about the delay in the drinks dying when he sees that it’s Cas. Castiel’s eyes go to the receipt, to his newly-vandalized art.
“Sam said we’re gonna cut it short tonight,” Cas says, addressing nothing. “I wanted to say goodbye before I left.”
Instead of just leaving, like he has done all those times before. “You’re learning, my young Padawan.”
Castiel tilts his head.
“Star wars,” Dean explains and has the growing pleasure of seeing the clarification do nothing for Castiel’s understanding.
“Okay,” Castiel nods. “Goodbye, Dean.”
“Night, Cas.”
Dean stays in the kitchen until he hears the door close, knowing Charlie will stay over and Sam will insist upon watching an episode of whatever, with Ash bringing up some weird-ass niche movie that Dean will forever love or hate to even see referenced. Maybe Dean can convince them to watch The Shining, to keep up the theme.
Maybe he should’ve asked Castiel to stay. Make him spend some time with them outside of playing and party group chats. Get to know him a bit more, instead of trying to puzzle him out.
“Dean!” Sam calls out. “We’re gonna eat your pie if you don’t move it!”
Dean pockets the pen and the receipt, before he goes back to the living room.