Sam and Charlie's turn of conversation -something about Carl Jung and alchemy, and something only those two would eagerly chat about- made a good excuse for Dean to pardon himself from the table. His stomach was full with the sacred duo of consumables, pizza and beer, and that alone would be enough. But Cas has been gone for awhile. He didn't say whether or not he would return, as he never really did to begin with. Considering the journey Cas had of losing and finally obtaining his grace, he felt indebted to check in on the poor guy. That's what Cas would do for him, right? When Dean's feeling the lowest of the lows, dirt weighed under even more dirt, he could always rely on the angel... looking at him. His way of conversing. Seeing past Dean and giving him the heebie jeebies.
"Hey, um. Any reason why you're holed up here in my room?" After checking a decent three-quarters of the bunker he found Cas standing in front of his mirror. Not doing anything. Not brushing his teeth or hair, or shaving or giving himself a little pep talk. Nothing. Staring back at his reflection, observant and steady as any other time he tried to interpret something. Was he?
Cas toss around Dean's question in his mind, evident by the large damn gap between that and the answer, before finally a shadow of a grin tugged at his lips. "Yes."
Alright, just another weird Cas answer. Keep it moving. "Can I ask what you're doing here?" he motioned to the mirror, now standing closer to Cas.
The tiny smile melted away, a small pebble being thrown against Dean's insides which he sure as hell couldn't explain, and he was lost in the mirror again. "You just did. I'm..." He leaned his hands on the sink, shoulders hunched. "It's real to me now."
"What is?"
"When... when I fell, when all the angels fell, we lost our wings, but for the rest of my brothers and sisters their grace remained. But I was human. After quick trials, and after I became less disoriented, I learned my ability to fly was gone. I knew that of course." Cas was becoming more and more annoyed with himself. "I just watched my brothers and sisters fall from heaven, something I had a hand in. So, I couldn't fly anymore. And it was... fine."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "A bird gets its wings chopped off and it's fine?"
"Of course not. But now that I have had time to reflect on it, I noticed I reacted how a human would. Or how you do when you think of yourselves of not having wings. 'As much as I want to fly, I cannot, I accept that.' I accepted it as fact. Travel was -still is- difficult. But I dealt with with. Public transportation, finding a car of my own."
"Great choice, by the way," Dean chuckled.
"It took me to where I needed to be. I see no shame in that."
"It's gold, Cas."
"And what if it is?" He squinted. "Gold is renowned for being a regal color."
"It's gold, Cas," Dean said a little slower.
Unable to counter that logic, Cas sighed. "That bad, huh?"
"Sure is." He patted Cas's shoulder, like a friend pitting another. Which he was. He grieved that Cas thought it was humane to drive that 70's flashback on the road with other living beings. How was he to know one day an angel would need his hot-wiring skills? Poor guy could have had a Mustang. But this is Cas: if he could avoid stealing he would. He never even stole food. Yet something else to grieve over.
Cas was trying his hardest to look annoyed, he really was. In the end he failed, almost relieved. "I'm glad you appear to be... okay."
"I guess I am – for a little while, anyway." He shrugged. "I'm full of dough and grease, I don't have that book whispering in my head anymore; you got your mojo back, healed Charlie of her boo-boo, and I'm going to have a damn long sleep in my bed. So until tomorrow, life is aces."
"I think I understand what you mean." The mirror pulled him in once again. There was something more to it, than Cas looking at himself. He was... He had to be seeing something Dean could not. "I'm okay. Even if it's only for tonight, I'm okay. Some hours will pass and our burdens will return. Your Mark, Metatron, Claire, Crowley and his mother... Are you certain that's his mother?" he asked skeptically.
"Why would anyone want to impersonate the mother of the King of Douchebags? No reason to doubt her."
Cas nodded in agreement. "Well, they'll still be there tomorrow. Is that a human trait?"
"What is?"
"Living day by day. Fearing what tomorrow may bring."
After a thick pause, Dean said, "I guess that depends on who you ask and when you ask 'em. I can't speak for the normal folk out there but for people like myself and Sammy. We've died enough times to know tomorrow isn't a given, and even if we happen to get on Lady Luck's good side and live to see another sunrise, people we know have a tendency to... uh." This was a dark place he didn't need to slink off into right now. Move off onto a less treacherous path. "Anyway. Yeah, hunters do tend to live twenty-four hours at a time."
"There's no comfort in knowing your happiness is temporary. The world is very fortunate to have people like you, so willing to sacrifice yourselves only to die anonymously." The chuckle that came from him sounded more human than Cas probably realized, a remnant of his mortality. "I have my opinions but I doubt you'd like them much."
"Your giggles got me curious. You gotta keep going now."
"I don't doubt that the world will always need hunters. But haven't you bled enough, Dean?"
Dean was too shocked to really comprehend the implications of what he just said. Just those five words, hearing Cas say them; he couldn't find his tongue to answer.
"You and your brother, you deserve to see the sunrise and never worry about shedding blood or having your own covering your body. You deserve to not fear tomorrow. You two have been burdened with lifetimes of pain. Every human has dreams, and that includes you, no matter what that Mark causes you to feel. Is it selfish of me to want to repeat nights like this, to want contentment for the people I care about?"
"No, Cas." This was all too strange. Cas cares, always had, in his distant kind of way, stating his feelings like facts. Over the years he had become less robotic in this sense and assimilating in increments with the humans around him. But since he lost his grace and his wings that seemed to increase substantially. Living as a human instead of like one changed his perspective, allowing him sense life and not just observe it. Pain, both physical and emotional, must have been a revelation, as tasting food for what it is and not its chemical composition must have been; giving in to the incessant nudge of sleep, experiencing love as a human would – even if that did end in disaster (what doesn't?). Those memories are a part of him now, becoming one with his grace: some he'd like to keep that way, others he has no choice but to keep.
As a human, seeing that sunrise isn't always the gift others would have you believe.
"There's nothing wrong with wanting what's best for people you care for. Don't particularly understand some of Sammy's interests, but seeing the kid smile for a change makes for a pretty damn good day."
"Even as you drown?" Cas snapped back, too quickly, too sharply. He expected him to bring up Sam, didn't he? Cas wasn't even harsh about it, more like... what is it? Those eyes were on him, lasers right through his head, but god damn if he didn't look broken-hearted. There was more, a list more, an encyclopedia more, of things he wanted to say. Why say them? Dean could read them all in the lines of his face, the crease of his brow. And he didn't want to respond to any of them. That was a box to open another day. Another century.
"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "You never, uh – never did answer me about why you're holed away in my room."
"I wanted to... look."
"At my room? You sure you got the right grace?"
"No, Dean." He's feeling polite tonight, Dean thought. Let the opportunity to call me a dunce pass right by him. "My..." He sighed and Dean saw the air deflate out of him. "I can feel them, what's left of them. They feel so brittle; bend them incorrectly and they'll snap off. Crumble into ash.
"But I wanted to see them." Frustration began to boil in his voice. "I wanted to see what I caused."
"Damnit Cas, that piece of crap stole your grace because he wanted to; nobody but himself forced him to do that, especially not you. We were all idiots for giving Metatron a chance and not seeing the signs he was gonna screw all of us over."
"It was still my grace," Cas said with resounding acceptance. "My willingness was irrelevant. When you kill under the influence of the Mark, don't you feel guilt afterwards? You think of all the excuses in the world but the remorse still eats away at you."
Guilt doesn't even begin to cover the disgust and loathing Dean feels after having that god-forsaken Mark take control of him. A parasite with a hair trigger was rotting away in him, getting into his blood, changing him. He resigned himself to dealing with it, that maybe there was a way to live with it; Cain did, right? Cain's dead. The Mark is still branded on his forearm, forever being a threat and a reminder that his life will never fully be his own until it's gone.
"And Jimmy Novak," Cas continued. "He wanted to be an angel's vessel. I ruined his family. Destroyed his family. I knew what would happen: the dissolving of his family, the great possibility that we would both die. I told him all that I could, all the risks and... he still said yes. He gave me his consent but I was still the one that ruined him."
If you said no I never would have met you. Dean rubbed his eyes. Talk about being selfish. One man's loss was another man's gain.
He was so uneasy. The talk of the Mark and guilt and seeing Cas so god damn torn up made him want to run as fast as his legs would allow back to Sam and Charlie and swallow several gallons of booze. But something kept him. Maybe it's because Cas is still a novice to this emotion business and, while he's certainly curious to see the angel talk it out and make sense of it all, he knew that's why he should stay. Him being there gave Cas the excuse to traverse the maze of his feelings, Dean knowing it's almost always a lonely road. Like that song says, that's what friends are for.
"So the moral of the story is that we're both feeling pretty shitty about ourselves. Just another day at the office. I think that deserves more pizza and beer."
"Haven't you had enough yet?"
"Oh you haven't even come close to seeing what's 'enough' for me," Dean winked.
Cas scrutinized Dean for a moment. "I've vomited once. It was in no way a pleasant experience. Please don't make yourself sick, Dean."
"C'mon! It's ancient knowledge that beer soaks up grease. I think the Egyptians discovered that."
"There were no pizzas in ancient Egypt..."
"Really? Coulda swore I read about Moses making a pie for his people."
Cas looked about ready to slap him on the head and that was just fantastic. Life got tough for him but his Cas is still there, still looking like he wants to push Dean into traffic.
His Cas? Where the hell did that come from?
Dean was about to open the door and ask if Cas cared to join him for round two of the feast, but Cas stopped him before he could. "I mean it."
"Mean what?"
"About wanting the best for you. I know you have dreams outside of the life you currently lead. It might take the rest of your life to achieve one, but I hope you do. Beyond the sunrise."
"I'd like that too." And I'd like you to be there to see it.
Oh, it was happening again. That flippy twisty stomach samba. Was it the pizza?
His eyes were so bright. Cas meant every word he meant, from the bottom of his very being. He wouldn't have said anything otherwise, that's how it usually goes. Dean's seen that smile before, the one when he Cas announces he's going to be sticking with him and Sam for a couple of days.
No, the pizza wasn't it.