Castiel wanders through town in a daze. He doesn't know where to go or how to contact Dean or Sam. Metatron had stolen his phone along with his grace. Castiel curses himself again for being so naïve and believing the twisted scribe. His eyes burn and he thinks again how strange these emotions are. How painful it is to be human. He pauses to gaze into the large, glass window at his right; there are people eating spaghetti and garlic bread inside. Castiel's tongue flicks out to moisten his chapped lips. The smells coming from the restaurant are so enticing and he realizes that he must be hungry, but he has no money to pay for his very inconvenient human needs and it's all quite frustrating to him. He keeps walking, trying to think up ways to gain money. All he remembers is Dean hustling pool or using fake credit cards. Castiel sighs; he does not understand the plastic cards or how to obtain one nor does he know how to play pool. A white sign catches his eye with big, red letters slapped across it.
HELP WANTED.
Castiel looks the establishment over. He supposes he can get a job.
Dean rubs his left hand over his eyes as the other grips the steering wheel tightly. He blinks the drowsiness away before scowling at the highway again; a road sign tells him that they are five miles from the next town. He feels Sam's worried gaze on him and it takes all of his willpower not to acknowledge his younger brother. He stifles a yawn before cranking up his stereo in hopes that the crashing and jamming of his rock music will help him stay awake. After a few loud songs pass, Sam finally reaches for the radio and clicks it off.
"Hey!" Dean growls, sending his brother a threatening glare as he slows to a stop at a traffic light.
"Dean, do you need to pull over and let me drive?" Sam says, sounding a tad frustrated.
"What? No, I'm fine. You're sick and need to get better, anyways." Dean responds stubbornly with a shake of his head.
"Dude, you've been driving for thirty hours straight. You need to rest or else you'll crash this car." Sam reasons with a sigh. "And I'm not that bad. I can drive a freakin' car."
"I'm fine, Sammy. All I need is a cup of joe and I'll be set." Dean's eyes scan the town they're driving through before he spots the first place with a drive-thru that sells coffee a couple miles ahead.
Sam sends Dean a bitch face that Dean ignores. "Do you at least wanna talk about—"
"No."
"Dean, it's okay. I know you're worried." Sam sighs, brows creasing with concern. "But there is a very real chance that Cas is alright."
"No, Sam, he's not." Dean's voice is sharp.
"You don't know that," Sam says cautiously.
"Cas said he was goin' upstairs to get Metatron and now…" Dean gestures upwards with his hand before letting it fall back to the wheel. "You saw them falling. And burning. Cas was up there and I should'a stopped him from going. Dammit."
Dean's face crumples for a moment, the pain of losing Cas—his closest friend—washing over him like a tsunami wave. Then, his mask is back up. That hard exterior he wears for the world to block everyone from seeing what he is really feeling is back and Sam can't help but frown at it.
"So don't you dare lie to me and tell me that Cas is okay. Cuz he ain't. He's gone and it's my damn fault. And I'm gonna do what I can to make this right." Dean manages to squeeze that last bit out without so much as a tear escaping even though that tsunami of pain is filling him to the brim. He has to keep the feelings hidden.
"Dean, it's not—" Sam starts before Dean punches the radio and the music drowns out whatever his younger brother was saying.
"Whatever. I'm gonna grab me a cup of coffee. Want anything?" Dean asks, barely glancing at Sam as he turns into the drive-thru of McDonald's
Sam shakes his head, murmuring that he "is good." Dean shrugs and rolls down his window when he reaches the speaker. A bored-sounding female voice sounds from the intercom, "Welcome to McDonald's. How may I help you."
"Uh, yeah, can I just have a cup of coffee? Large." Dean loudly responds after turning down his music, leaning out of the vehicle slightly.
"Yes, sir. Will you be needing any cream or sugar?"
"No, thanks."
"Alright. Your total is one-oh-eight. Please pull to the window." The bored employee says, cutting off the connection.
Dean slowly pulls forward, waiting a minute at the window. His car's engine purrs loudly as he waits and when the girl comes to the window to collect his money. Her black, dreaded hair was in a ponytail underneath a visor that read "good morning!" in a font far too happy for her personality. Dean smiles at her as he hands her two one dollar bills, saying, "Do you do shots of espresso?"
"No, sir."
"Alright, well, I actually will need some sugar, then… Can I have about six?" Dean asks as the girl leans out the window to hand his steaming cup is handed out to him.
"Yeah, one moment." The girl says as she pulls back into the window. She turns as the window slowly slides closed and calls over her shoulder. "Hey, Castiel! The guy wants—" the window closes, muting the rest of her sentence.
Dean shoves his cup into Sam's hand.
Castiel's feet hurt and he fights the urge to sit down. It is his first twelve-hour shift and he needs to do well to prove himself. The teenagers and twenty year-olds already shut him out because he is older than them. And because he consistently messes up on his orders. Cas is just trying to show that he can do this job. He rubs his eyes and glances at the clock on the wall. Only two hours until it's eight am and he can leave to sleep in the old, abandoned house he found eight miles down the road.
A single item blinks up on the screen, saying that a drive-thru order for coffee needed to be prepared. Castiel steels himself before approaching that dreaded coffee machine. He fumbles with the switches, forgetting what button to push, what lever to pull, that the cup needs a sleeve. Hot coffee burns as it spills all over his hand and he hears the exasperation in Helena's loud sigh as she comes over and makes a large cup of coffee herself.
"How about you just go make that meal for counter?" she suggests, sounding tired and bored and annoyed.
Castiel bows his head in defeat and lets Pablo show him—once again—where everything is located in order to prepare the counter's Big Breakfast meal. So, Castiel starts preparations for that when Helena calls over her shoulder to him, asking him to bring her sugar. He grabs a bag of the sweeteners and brings it to her area for her before returning to pulling a few biscuits from the proofer, wincing as the hot air stings his burnt hand. He places the meal on a tray, allowing Pablo to inspect it before he starts to walk it to the counter.
The front door slams open and Castiel stops halfway through calling the order number.
Dean.
Dean stands in the doorway, staring at Castiel as if he saw a ghost. Castiel walks out from behind the counter, ignoring Pablo as he exclaims, "Castiel, what are you doing?" Castiel cluctches the tray so tightly that his knuckles are white. His burnt hand screams in pain. Is Dean mad at him? Does Dean know that Cas is the reason the angels fell? Did Dean miss him?
"Cas," Dean murmurs, a smile breaking out across his usually-somber face and the hunter walks forwards quickly and with purpose.
The tray of breakfast clatters to the floor and Castiel falls into Dean's outstretched arms. Castiel wraps his arms around Dean, burrowing his face in Dean's strong shoulder, knocking his visor off his head. He fists handfuls of Dean's over shirt, breathing in the smell of gasoline and ash and the road and sunshine and everything familiar and Dean. Dean's arms are wrapped around Castiel's waist and shoulders. He rubs Cas's shoulders with his hand, ignoring the staring of Pablo and the disgruntled customer. Sam appears in the doorway, exclaiming, "Dean, what the hell was that about?!" Before his hazel eyes land on Castiel—who is now crying quietly into Dean. Sam's mouth snaps shut and he averts his eyes.
"It's alright, Cas," Dean whispers into the man's raven hair. "I got you. It's okay."