Long Are the Nights (When My Days Revolve Around You)

Sam and Castiel sit at the table in silence; they've been that way for a while now. Dean is currently 'out'—that was the only reply he gave when they asked where he was going as he had angrily stalked up the stairs and out of the bunker about an hour ago.

"We'll get them back," Sam says suddenly, out of the blue; whether to Castiel or himself, he isn't sure. "We'll find Gabriel and convince him to help us, we'll stop Michael, we'll stop Lucifer, and we'll get mom and Jack back." And everything will be fine. Castiel nods absentmindedly in a way that doesn't quite seem like agreement.

They return to silence. The air between them is stifling; thick with conversations that had stopped before they'd ever started and words they should've spoken that they hadn't. Trying to break the silence, the cycle, Castiel says— tries to ask, "When we get them back— I don't know what Mary will do, but Jack... Do you think...?"

But the question, like everything else, still lingers unspoken. Castiel can't finish it, though; they both know what he can't yet bring himself to say:

Will it be safe here? For Jack? For us? With Dean?

Dean chooses that moment to enter the bunker. The door slams open and they both glance up at the sound—to him—unable to stop themselves before quickly looking away. Dean stomps down the stairs; every loud step is a clear signal of his anger not only at the situation but with them. They hold themselves completely still, not daring to say anything to lessen Dean's anger or to appease him because they know they'd only make it worse. They'd only make him angrier. Dean doesn't say a word to them, either, as he coldly brushes past them to his room. His door slams shut with a resounding bang echoing throughout the bunker that causes them both to flinch.

It's only until after they're sure that Dean isn't coming back out that they can finally breathe again; that they're even aware they were holding their breath in the first place; that they even realize how afraid they've been of Dean and his anger this whole time.

Sam swallows and leans forward, speaking in a hushed voice, not wanting to risk Dean hearing them. "I lied."

Castiel looks at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"When you came back," Sam starts, "After you died. When we told you Jack was doing well... He wasn't. At all. Because of Dean." Sam lets out a harsh breath. "Dean tried to kill him, Cas. He treated him like he wasn't even a person. Jack told me..." Sam looks away, then, ashamed that he had ever let the situation get as bad as it did. "Dean told Jack that he was evil. Jack thought that he should die, that Dean should kill him, because of what Dean said to him. Because of how Dean was treating him." Sam looks back at Castiel, a new thought coming to him. "Did Jack ever even tell you any of this?"

Castiel shakes his head. "No, but..." He sighs tiredly. "I don't think I'm surprised by it." He thinks back. "I should've known something was wrong when Dean almost shot Jack. It was an honest mistake on Dean's part, but the way Jack reacted to him afterwards... He was so wary of Dean. I should've known something else was going on. Instead, I just..." Castiel sighs again, entirely too aware of the role he's played in letting Dean get away with how he's treated all of them for too long. "Made an excuse."

Sam speaks, though; again, unsure if it's for his own benefit or for Cas's or even for the both of them. "I thought things might have been getting better, that's why I didn't say anything to you about it. Or, I don't know. Maybe I just wanted to believe they were getting better."

"You wanted to believe that things would be different this time," Castiel adds, echoing Sam's sentiments, voice sounding strangely far away even to himself. He realizes he's been staring at the spot where Dean had left him bloody and beaten on the ground years ago. At the time, he had told himself that it was just the mark—that it had only ever been the mark and that it wasn't Dean, it couldn't have been Dean—but... But it hadn't been the mark tonight, had it? And it wasn't the mark a year ago when Dean slammed him against a wall. Or when they were in the mental institution. Or when Dean had him heal Sam after he'd beaten him unconscious. Or any of the other times.

"But it hasn't, has it?" Sam asks, shaking Castiel out of his thoughts. "I mean, I keep trying to tell myself that there's some meaning behind it. That it's just part of Dean being protective. Or that as soon as we fix whatever problem, whatever apocalypse is going on, that it'll get better. Or that if I just did something different... I tried convincing Jack of it, too, but there's always something. There's always something for Dean to be angry about. There's always something we've done wrong. There's always some reason why Dean keeps... hurting me. You. All of us."

They're silent, again, for a while after that. It needed to be said, but now that it has, they can't go back. They can't hide from the truth of it anymore. What Dean, what this is. What it's done to them. What it's still doing to them. What might happen, how much worse it could get, if things continue the way they are.

At last, Castiel speaks, saying what he couldn't before: "I think when we get your mother and Jack back, we need to leave. It isn't safe here for any of us with Dean."

Sam nods in agreement.

Yet there's still something in the silence that hangs between them; another unspoken truth they can't yet say aloud nor quite admit to themselves but that they know to be true. We should leave now.

We already should've left.