"You can't seriously be considering this, Cas! Running a marathon? I mean, who wants to do that?"
Dean sat on the couch, leaning forward as he tried to talk to Cas, who, perched on a chair across from him, was quietly tying the laces on his running shoes.
"I do," he sad matter of fact-ly. "Dean. I can't explain it, I just... I have to. I need to do this. Ever since..." he trailed slowly off, turning his head away from Dean, who sighed inwardly. Cas wasn't the same since he Fell.
Dean hadn't expected him to be the same, of course. You can't expect an angel to have his Grace torn from him and come back home with a smile on his face. But neither had he expected him to show up at the door of the bunker, dressed not in his usual trenchcoat and suit ensemble, but in soft, worn khaki pants and as many layers as you would have expected to see on a Winchester, not on Dean's forlorn Fallen angel.
Sam and Dean had been glad to see him, after the initial shock, happy to know that he was okay- besides the whole, you know, lack of Grace. Cas was depressed the first week or two that he stayed, hardly getting any sleep or eating any food. Dean turned into a worried mother hen and would force him to eat something whenever he was nearly faint from lack of food. After a while, though, he started to grudgingly accept that his now-human body had to be taken care of, though he mostly did it for Dean.
A couple of days ago, they'd been in town getting groceries- Dean had made Cas come along.
"It'll be good for you, you need to get out of the house," he told him.
On their way back to the bunker, a few bags of groceries in the back seat of the impala, Cas had asked dean about a sticker on the back of someone's car.
"What does that mean?" he'd asked, pointing at the bumper of a red Prius.
"Eh? Oh, that. 26.2. I think it's one of those stickers people get when they run a marathon. Idiots... Kinda bragging, isn't it? Like, 'oh, look at me, I ran a marathon, I drive a Prius, I'm better than you..." he continued for a while, mostly just trying to get Cas to chat, but the ex-angel just nodded, distracted.
The next day Cas had come up to him with this ridiculous idea- and now they were in this situation.
"Cas, I don't think it's even very healthy for you to run like that! I mean, come on, man, it's silly."
Cas sighed and looked him in the eye,
"Dean, lots of people run marathons. It's not silly. I need a goal. I don't care if you don't understand, I need a goal. I need to know that I can complete something. Besides, why do you even care?" he sounded completely fed up and Dean felt sort of bad for hounding the guy- he knew he was going through a hard time. Nagging him wasn't going to help.
"I... I just don't want you to hurt yourself, Cas," he spoke quietly, almost reluctantly, "But if you need to do this, then..." he looked him in the eye,"I'll support you."
Cas sat back in his chair, his gaze wandering down to his now-tied running shoes before he brought it up to look Dean in the eye.
"Thank you," he whispered gruffly.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go for a run."
He headed for the door of the bunker, but as he reached down to turn the doorknob, Dean called his name quietly.
"Just be careful, Cas, Don't push yourself too hard."
Cas gave him a hint of a smile, Dean's concern was quite touching at the same time as it was annoying. After all, though he was no longer an angel, he could still take care of himself.
"I will," he said as he jogged out of the doorway off onto the lonely road.