"Jesus Christ, Cas, what the hell is that?"
Dean has put up with a lot of weird stuff ever since Cas arrived on their doorstep that Thursday night soaked to the bone and covered in about six too many layers ("No Cas, you can't wear two plaid shirts at the same time-…Why? Because it clashes, that's why!) The shower head, Sam's favorite belt, the kitchen tile, all the meat in the freezer, the light bulbs in the library, and don't even get him started on the Impala's wipers. It still sends goosebumps skittering up Dean's arms to think about that unfortunate incident.
But it's understandable. The guy never even had to use any of those things until a few days ago (which was precisely the reason Dean wouldn't let him anywhere near a razor by himself just yet.)
He's trying his best to learn, though. He's a stubborn, touchy, temperamental, tired, hungry, insufferable douche bag most days, but he's trying.
And it's Dean's fault he got his wings clipped in the first place. Hester was right, the minute Cas laid a hand on his shoulder he was lost. Dean's curse rubbed off on him the second his grace touched Dean's soul and damned him to hell, possibly quite literally. Just another nightmare to string into the endless reel of guilt that is Dean's life.
So yeah, Dean puts up with the whiny insomniac of the lord that likes to watch Italian soaps at three o'clock in the morning with the volume up to 75% while he stuffs himself full of whatever food he can get his greedy little ex-celestial hands on.
But this?
This is too much.
"He's an axolotl, Dean."
"Ex-so-what-tal?"
"Axolotl." When Dean's face remains as just as blank, Cas emphasizes. "An amphibian. An aquatic salamander."
The creature wriggling in the tank on the counter looks more like something from an alien horror movie. It's skin is pale white with a tinge of pink like it's never seen a day of sun in it's life with huge black eyes that remind Dean far too much of a possessed human's. The thing's got a halo of these feathery feelers ringing its head that undulate every few seconds.
It's creeping him the fuck out.
"Okay well…why is it on the counter? Do we need it for a ritual or something?"
The minute the words leave Dean's mouth, he knows they were a mistake. Cas' face folds in on itself into what Dean has affectionately dubbed the "assbuttface" (he's pretty sure Sam's already patented his bitchface)- a strange combination of frustration, anger, and hurt. It's like Cas doesn't know how to handle his emotions, like they're all vying for full power inside his head at once, and it comes out as a cocktail of unpleasant facial expressions.
Cas tugs the tank into his arms and hugs it protectively to his chest, sloshing some exsotoal water up onto his shirt. "No. He's a pet."
"Wha-…" Dean points at the tank in Cas' arms, an incredulous expression on his face. "That thing's a pet?"
"Yes, Dean, a pet. Was I unclear?"
"Cas…" Dean sits down heavily on one of the barstools. The granite of the counter is cool on his exposed arms where his sleeves are rolled up, hand grease-stained from working on his baby all afternoon. He absentmindedly picks at his nails while he talk, peeling away little shreds of black. "We can't have pets, dude. We're on the road all the time and if you think I'm letting that thing into my car-"
The tank is slammed down so suddenly in front of Dean that he jerks back and very nearly falls off the barstool. He almost feels bad for the axsotail inside as the water inside the tank swirls around as a result of the drop.
"Dean I have been trying to live up to your expectations day after day," Cas shouts. Dean's never heard his voice like this, rough around the edges with anger and desperation, words slurring a little bit together from fatigue. And okay, yeah, maybe he's a little intimidated. He leans back a few inches. "But I wasn't prepared for this," he waves hand vaguely at his body "to be so hard. I am constantly starving but everything I eat is too much for my stomach and I vomit it back up within the hour. I am always exhausted but whenever I close my eyes, I see my brothers and sisters falling- falling, Dean- and if sleep does come I am plagued with nightmares. I mess up the simplest tasks and what I excel at, fighting and hunting, isn't something you or your brother are allowing me to do! This is something I can do and I will not let you take it away from me!"
There's a few tense seconds of silence that follow, neither man willing the break the stillness. When Dean is sure that Cas isn't going to continue, he opts for the route that always deterred Sam when he saw a free dog ad on a telephone pole or in the library.
"How is it-"
"He."
Dean grinds his jaw and forces himself to stay calm. "How is he going to eat, Cas? We don't exactly have money to spare on squid or whatever the hell it likes."
"I can take care of that." Cas squares his shoulders. "You won't have to do anything."
"I dunno, man, it's not like-"
"Please."
It's so soft that Dean almost doesn't hear it, breathed more than spoken. Whatever excuse he had dies in his throat as he takes in Cas' posture. All the bravado he has worked up in the past few days is gone, along with whatever life was in his eyes. The ex-angel's spine is bowed in a way Dean knows. It means too much weight is resting on a single person's shoulders. The weight of an entire race rests there, straining the newly human Castiel and forcing him to bend in half when no one is looking, to lay face down on the floor and inhale dusty air and feel the sheer responsibility of it all press him into the rug.
And the thing is, Dean can kind of relate.
"Fine." Cas' spine straightens almost imperceptibly. "Fine. Keep the goddamn salamander."
Dean pauses his escape from the room and the ever increasing probability of a chick flick moment when Cas speaks. "Solomon."
"Huh?"
Cas picks the tank back up and taps the glass, a smile dancing just out of view behind his lips. "I'll call him Solomon."
Dean shakes his head and grins. "Welcome to the family, Solomon."
...
Okay, I fucking love axolotls, then I saw this post on tumblr and it was just so perfect that I had to write it.