So this is my first time writing fanfiction - I thought I would just give it a try, and so far I'm really enjoying it. I'd also like to give credit to Sia's "I'm In Here" and (obviously) Supernatural for inspiration. Anyway, hopefully you like it and I'd love your feedback! :)
Castiel held up the Sorry board. Oh, somewhere, someone was laughing. But Dean wasn't entertained. He only felt his suppressed anger roiling within him, threatening to explode like soda from a can.
"Do you want to go first?" Cas asked, innocently.
His hand tingled, wanting to punch the child across the table, wanting to shatter that calm face. His hand shot out and he picked up the top card of the deck.
They were wasting time. Their big break - hell, their only break - was lying broken in pieces because of Cas. And instead of fixing it, he was playing Sorry. Dean moved the plastic piece.
"..their power tree was amazing." Dean looked up, tuning in to Cas' utter nonsense. How could he live for thousands of years yet have the fascination of a toddler? Wrong question, he berated himself. He knew that answer.
"Cas, where can we find this Metatron? Is he still alive?" Dean did need those answered.
"I'm sorry, I think you have to go back to start." Cas said timidly, choosing to ignore him.
Dean willed himself to stay calm and returned his piece. He was getting nowhere.
"This is important." He urged.
But Cas only gestured towards the pile of cards.
Dean's patience was rapidly evaporating. He glanced at the card. Move back four. Really? How about something good? Not that the game mattered, of course.
"I think Metatron could stop a lot of bad, you understand that?" The bad you let in and won't try to fix. Dean added, bitter.
"We live in a sorry universe," was Castiel's response. Dean sighed under his breath. The angel's face was serious but his words were ridiculous. Dean's fingers tingled, longing to grip the angel and shake some sense into him.
"It's engineered to create conflict, I mean, why should I profit from your misfortune?" Dean watched his opponent kick his other piece back to start. Was this a joke? He was up to his teeth in shit and now he couldn't even win a board game. He deserved more.
"But these are the rules, I didn't make them." Cas finished.
"You made some of them - when you tried to become God, when you cut that hole into that wall." His voice was low and strained. Here was Cas, who had done so much wrong. Yet dad, Ellen, Jo, mom, who had done so much good, were gone. Why did Cas get life, get to play?"
"Dean...it's your move." He said, stubbornly avoiding reality.
"Forget the damn game!" Dean snapped, knocking the board off the table. "Forget the game, Cas." He repeated, reigning in his anger, hoping for some acknowledgement.
"I'm sorry, Dean." Cas said, automatically.
"No, you're playing sorry." Dean corrected. He had been playing sorry ever since he had woken up. The only time it had been real was for that brief time before he took on Sam's crazy. Dean looked down at Cas, who was collecting the scattered pieces. If only their world was as easy to put back together again. But reality was broken; they were broken, crushed under too heavy a burden. Dean shook his head. For all the angel's gibberish, he could see sorry as a metaphor for their universe. Their relationship was riddled with apologies. And, somehow, they always did seem to end up back at the start. He stared at the crouched form, the ruffled, black hair. Where was their friendship now? Dean's chest throbbed. Just the thought of Cas awakened a deluge of emotions: rage, hurt, rejection and a stirring sensation he couldn't place. Although, in the end, all he was, was confused.
Some cards slipped from Cas' hands. Dean remembered the first time he had seen the angel. He had struck an impressive figure, striding forward through cascading sparks. Dean's heart had pounded to thunder's drumming when Castiel's wings had expanded the length of the barn in lightning's light. His breathing had become ragged and strangled under the angel's intense blue gaze. He had been laid bare before his stare. And now that angel was hunched on the floor, his attention consumed by the plastic pieces and paper cards of a cardboard game.
Cas looked up, smiling and Dean instinctively shoved his thoughts away to deal with the situation on hand.
~~O~~
A few hours later, Dean sat in Rufus' basement. Incidentally, he was another who had died doing good. Dean shifted in the hard chair, his muscles cramping. He needed a bed. He needed a soft pillow. And some porn. Couldn't forget the porn. The corner of his mouth twitched when he imaged Busty Asian Beauties hovering around him.
Suddenly, he heard gasping and hurried words. His daydream dissolved, and he found himself still perched on the uncomfortable seat across from the next 'prophet,' who happened to be hyperventilating. You have got to be kidding me. Hadn't this day been long enough? Dean extricated himself from the chair and pressed a brown bag to the kid's mouth. Why did he have to take care of everything?
The kid calmed down and they returned to their previous positions. Dean shut his eyelids to block out the glowing lightbulb. The pen scratching away grew fainter and fainter. His heartbeat slowed.
Castiel stood in front of him, his wings projected on the barn's wall.
"Hello, Dean." The angel growled.
Dean felt his heartbeat pick up again, thumping in his chest. His breath caught in his chest, fluttering. "I didn't think you'd come back." He managed to say.
"Of course I came back." Cas replied, perplexed by his absurd concern. "You know me, always answering your calls." He grinned, shyly.
Dean blushed. He could tell from the surge of heat that crept up his neck, burning his cheeks. "Yeah, well, I need you...'re help." He cursed internally. Cas always made things awkward, always put him on edge, causing him to trip over his tongue.
"What do you need-help-with?" Cas asked, haltingly, in his gruff voice.
"I, uh, um..." Man, those eyes were like blue lasers.
"I know." Cas was instantly in front of him, not a step away. "I know what you need, Dean Winchester." The angel clarified, speaking in such a soft voice.
"You do?" Dean was taken aback. He couldn't see how, unless Cas could hear his palpitating heart, see his shaking hands, feel the shiver running up his spine. Then again, Cas was an angel. A friggin' angel. Sometimes, he still couldn't believe they were real.
"I am-your-angel, Dean." Cas amended, reading his thoughts.
Normally he would call that an invasion of privacy. But this was Cas, in his head, in him. His dick rubbed against his jeans. He felt jittery, excited.
Cas' gaze flickered down for a moment and the angel smiled his crooked smile. He reached out and put his hand on Dean's shoulder, incidentally, or perhaps not, over his handprint seared into the hunter's skin.
Dean caught his breath as Castiel tilted forward.