The air outside the windows of whatever cheap motel he was in was gritty and grey, polluted. All Dean could think about, regardless of whether he would admit it to himself, was where Sam could be, what he might be doing, who he might be with. If it was that demon bitch again... he could feel rage welling up inside him. The thought of Sam lying to him, going behind his back just to, God, he couldn't even think it. Just to be with some backstabbing black-eyed bitch, it tore him up.
Something big was about to go down. If Dean could feel it, he knew Sam could. And he'd picked now to go all dark side on Dean, of course. Perfect timing. Whatever it was that was putting all this together, it was probably loving this. Dean sat on the edge of the bed with its ugly pea-green comforter and went over and over everything in his head, combing through everything he could remember down to the shortest word, the last little moment, trying to figure out where Sammy could've gone wrong.
He looked up, combing his hands through his hair, about to head out and check around town for info on the case he was working, a nest of vamps feeding on the locals. Castiel was standing in the shadows by the door. "Damn it, Cas, you gotta work on that," Dean half-shouted, jumping, although he'd never admit it. Privately he wondered how long Castiel had been there, watching him. The angel had his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, eyes downcast, a serious three-day old crop of stubble lining his sunken cheeks, looking for all the world like somebody skulking in an alley somewhere.
"A while now" Cas said, his deep voice sounding cracked. "I see you've noticed the shape my host is in. It is hard for him, having to bear this. His body is becoming weak. We don't have much time, Dean." Castiel stepped out from the pool of shadows and into the halo of light thrown around the bed by the lamp that was nailed down to the tiny side table. Dean knew there was a bible in one of the drawers in the table. He hadn't looked in them.
"Lemme guess. Something's happening, you can't tell me what, I gotta follow you--," Dean looked up at the ceiling, tossing up his hands, "God knows where, and I can't ask any questions. Right?" Castiel stared solemnly at Dean's face, unable or unwilling to look him in the eye. He started to answer, but Dean didn't let him get any words out. "I don't think so. I am done following orders, Cas. What about you?" Dean's angry gaze burned holes in Castiel's body. He said nothing. "That's what I thought," Dean said bitterly, pushing past the angel. "I got work to do."
He reached out for the doorknob. "Dean," Castiel said, his tone almost pleading, one hand grasping Dean's arm as he passed by. "Please. I can't," Cas's voice faded and his words cut off completely. Then his body crumpled and he fell to the floor, hand still on Dean's arm, his weight almost pulling Dean down with him. "Cas!" Dean yelled, letting go of the handle and leaning over the angel's human body. His host's skin was paler that usual against his dark hair, his face gaunter now close up in the light. Dean's instinct was to slap him awake like he'd had to with Sam a few times, but Castiel looked ill and Dean didn't want to hurt the body he was in.
With a groan, Dean lifted Castiel over one shoulder and tossed him onto one of the hard hotel mattresses. He paced the room, not sure whether it was okay to leave and do recon on the nest or if he should stay and wait for Cas to wake up, or try to wake him up, or... He ran a hand through his hair again, frustrated. Darkness was falling outside, making the lamplight brighter and the shadows deeper. Dean paced again, walking into the darkness and back out into the light. On his left he heard Castiel rustling, saw him leaning forward on his elbows. "Cas," he said. "You alright?"
"Oh, shit," Dean murmured. Castiel was holding a hand up to his mouth. It came away, Dean could see it shining wetly under the lamp, covered in blood. He grabbed a napkin off the table on the other side of the room and handed it to Castiel. The angel held it under his nose, looking tired but not confused, like a person would be. "I told you. This body is failing," he said, quietly, as if he were explaining something simple to a child who couldn't grasp the idea. "Cas--" Dean said, but he was cut off. "We have bigger problems. The seals are breaking faster and faster. The world as we know it may not exist for much longer."
"I know that, Cas. But what am I gonna be able to do about that if you "fail"? Who am I gonna be stuck with? Cause that douche Zacariah..."
"Your attachment is touching, but that is of no concern. Finding a new host is a simple task. I am not worried."
"Well maybe you should be. What about the guy you're using? What happens to him, Cas?" Dean shouted, standing at the foot of the bed now. Castiel looked down and away. "It is as I said. He will not live." Dean fumed. The way Castiel said that, like it was just an inevitability... A part of him was angry for a different reason, though. This body was the way he was used to seeing Castiel. He... he wasn't going to let his thoughts go any farther than this.
Quickly Dean pushed those thoughts away, hoping like hell Cas hadn't heard, then quit those thoughts before they were caught too. He turned back towards Castiel, face half-concealed by darkness. The pensive angel remained silent. Judging the conversation to be over, Dean pulled one of the green-cushioned chairs out from the squat round table and sat down, opening up a warm beer that was still in its cardboard six-pack on the tabletop, next to the car keys and Sam's laptop. He took a long swig from the amberglass bottle.
The tv on a shelf across from the table was on, sound turned off, the black and white picture looking as though it should be blaring. The little people on screen were shouting back and forth, and Dean watched it, pouring all of his concentration onto the screen as he emptied the bottle of beer in front of him. He tried not to think, and not to look over at Castiel, although from the corner of his eye he could see him move to sit on the edge of the bed, knees knocking against the side table.
"Dean, I--" Castiel started. "Save it," the hunter said, propping his feet, boots and all, up on the table and turning the sound up on the tv. "You done here?"
For a long moment Castiel said nothing. Dean could almost feel his confusion and something else, palpable in the air. The angel inhaled. "Yes." he muttered. "Planning on leaving anytime soon?" Dean's eyes didn't leave the screen. "If that is what you wish," Castiel replied, his voice emotionless as ever. Dean didn't have to turn to know when he had gone.
**
The next time Cas showed up was in some dumpy little diner in Missouri. He just popped into the little red leather booth, out of the clear blue sky, trench coat not even ruffled, looking as though he'd been sitting there all along enjoying breakfast and coffee with the Winchesters. Except for without the enjoying part. He obviously didn't see anything out of order with his appearing from nowhere in a restaurant crowded with people, his face showing no signs that he felt anything at all. He preferred it that way, especially now, after his last encounter with Dean had strayed so far from where he had meant to let it go. He had surmised that it was best if the brothers had no more reasons to worry.
"Goddamn it, Castiel!," Dean cursed, choosing not to see the shocked look on the angel's face when he took his Father's name in vain. Sam, however, he could not ignore. "Dean!," he hissed, his voice incredulous. Dean didn't say anything, just crossed his arms and leaned back in the booth. "Sorry, Cas," Sam apologized, shooting a look across the table at his brother.
"It is of no concern," Castiel replied, stoic. Although he did not know how to put it into words, Dean's anger made him...not quite ashamed. Something more than that. He did not want to disappoint his charge. All of his Father's creations were beautiful, but Dean...his soul shone with a light that made Castiel think of Grace. "But I am sorry. For my sudden entrance. Perhaps I should make use of the door more often from here on."
A pretty blonde waitress dropped a tray full of dishware on the sienna-tiled floor near them, the restaurant filling with the resounding clatter of breaking sounds and the girl's shriek of surprise. Dean looked up, arms still crossed, leather jacket crumpled. His face, Castiel could ascertain, held surprise as well. Other emotions flittered across, through Dean's eyes, over his lips...Castiel wanted to know them but Dean had asked for privacy, to be left alone, so he didn't ask or even dip into Dean's thoughts.
"Hey now, hold on. Was that sarcasm just then, Cas?" Dean asked, soul light coming into his eyes once more. "I have studied you and your brother much, Dean," the angel replied. He felt something stir in him again when Dean's smile broadened. "Double whammy!" he exclaimed, reaching over to clap Castiel on the back. "Way to go," Sam said, a small smile breaking on his face, hesitant. He had other things on his mind, Castiel knew. Things that he did not know burdened his brother as well.
Castiel had come to them this day to burden them further. More bad news, as humans would say. The sky outside was so bright and blue, and these humans so joyful, and they looked towards Castiel and laughed as though he belonged there with them. Dean smiling, their last meeting perhaps forgotten. Castiel found himself not wanting to bring an end to that. So he didn't. He sat there for a while more with them in the booth, warm sun pouring in through the plate glass windows, making jokes with the Winchesters and trying not to think about whether not wanting could also be wanting.
**
Dean awoke with a start, bolting up in bed with his arms flung out in front of his face and chest defensively. He was breathing heavy, rib cage heaving, fresh out of another nightmare. Burning flesh, sulfur, smoke. Blood and someone screaming as Dean reached in with bare hands and ripped a handful of unidentifiable organs from inside them. Laughter from the group of demons watching, enjoying his fall from... whatever it was he had been before. Humanity. He couldn't really remember, and he didn't care. He was enjoying this as much as they were.
A small sound, full of so many emotions it was almost a moan, escaped Dean's throat, and he leaned forward with a knee bent up to rest his head on his open palm. The neon lights from signs outside the grimy window filtered across his skin, face first, then his hair and neck as he moved foward. He didn't have to look over to know that Sam was gone. The mini-fridge in one corner hummed, on and on, a singularly lonely sound. He just steeped in it for a while, not moving.
Breathe in, exhale. There was a whoosh of dry air to his right. "Hey. Cas," he said, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eye and trying to sound normal. "Finally learned how to make some noise, huh?" he joked, half-heartedly. "That was for your benefit only, Dean Winchester," Castiel replied from his perch on the end of Sam's bed, serious as ever.
"Yeah?" Dean looked over, lips tilting up a little. Castiel nodded solemnly. He had liked seeing the expression Dean wore at his words, even if he did not fully understand what was humorous about them.
"So what gives? What's on the menu tonight?" Dean said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Castiel noticed with somewhat detached interest that his hands were shaking where they gripped the edge of the mattress.
"Dean," the angel started, but found himself hesitating, something he was slowly getting used to since having the Winchesters under his watch. The brothers made him question himself often. Now he was wondering whether mentioning this observation would be an unwelcome invasion of the privacy Dean seemed to value so highly. So instead he settled for, "You were dreaming."
"Not dreaming so much as remembering," came Dean's voice. Castiel could not ascertain the movement of his lips. "What gave me away?"
"You are my charge. I watch over you," is all the angel said by way of response, his eyes boring into Dean, watching out of curiosity to see what he would do next.
There were no words for a few moments. He could see Dean trying hard to still himself, his hands still shaking into the sheets. In half a second Castiel was beside him on the other bed. Whether he had walked or willed himself there was getting harder and harder to tell. The bed crumpled with his sudden weight. Dean's face, Castiel could see, was confused under the sleep deprivation and the stubble that ran across his cheeks. "Cas," he started, voice pitched deep.
The humming from the refrigerator stopped with a mechanical clunk and a few short clicks. "Your hands..." Castiel started, covering Dean's with his own, a solid softness, "They're shaking. Does this... does this help?"
"Yes," Dean whispered roughly. "No. I don't know. Just." He was faltering, Castiel could see. His brow furrowed in confusion. Their hands, warm together, didn't move between them. "Can you go? I just want to get some sleep." Dean said, slipping his hand out from under Castiel's. Something inside of him ached at that, at the warmth and sureness of Dean's hand, Dean's pulse, being taken from him.
He turned his head aside. Just underneath the surface, he could feel the darkness, the nightmares seething and waiting to well up again once Dean was asleep and unable to hold them at bay. "I will go. Just," Cas started, unaccountably nervous, "Let me stay until you sleep. I can help you forget. Let me help you, Dean."
His voice was yearning, desperate. He even knew this. Dean hesitated, surely caught between deciding whether it would be more painful to remain in Castiel's presence longer than necessary or endure the remnants of his time spent in Hell. Castiel's breath was bated. Certainly Dean would send him away again.
"Okay," he finally assented, voice barely a whisper, and he laid down, back turned to Castiel. For a stretch of time Castiel listened to the tone of his breathing, until he was sure that Dean was asleep, so that his touch wouldn't be an intrusion again. He leaned over Dean, face already contorting with agony, and placed a cool hand on his sweat slick forehead, brushing it feather soft over his cheek until he was calm and peaceful, and his dreams were memories of friends and places he loved. Ellen and Jo Harvell, Bobby, Sam, their old house. Other people Castiel did not recognize.
He held onto Dean for a moment longer and then he was gone.
**