PART TWO—DEAN
Easy, Winchester. It's just a phone. It doesn't have teeth, or ectoplasm, or tentacles. You dial, it rings.
"You might as well get it over with, kid."
Dean glares at Rodriguez. She taps her watch, her mouth pinched with boredom and tiredness. It might be the florescent "this-is-a-government-facility" lights, but she looks a little sick, like she hasn't slept through the night in weeks and can't hide it under makeup anymore. Whatever fugly's rolled into town, it's taking a toll on the men and women in blue. Dean's glare falls away as guilt takes its place. This woman should be home with her family or in bed, not chasing him and Cas off of airfields.
"Yeah, me and Cas'll get out of your hair," he says.
Cas. Cas loves him, and is sitting in a jail cell because of him.
Rodriguez is right. No amount of stalling will make this moment suck any less, and some things in life are unavoidable. Death, taxes, and John Winchester.
Deep breath, chin up, into the fire. On the fifth ring, Dad picks up.
"Winchester," he answers. His voice is heavy and defeated; he and Sam have been fighting. It's not the best time to catch him, but it's better than "about-to-drop-from-exhaustion" or "terminator-mode."
"Uh. Hi, Dad," Dean says sheepishly.
Dad sighs. "What did you do?"
"Nobody got hurt!" Dean protests, and then winces. Great start, Winchester. Smooth.
Deadly calm, John says, "Dean."
Dean's shoulders straighten even as his head dips, a toy soldier shamed rather than shouted back into line. As he talks he is met with silence, and in the silence realization grows. How could he have been so stupid? They don't know what's killing people in this town, and there he goes wandering off to the middle of nowhere like some jackass in a horror movie.
The phone line crackles and buzzes. A bead of sweat drips between his shoulder blades. When he makes eye contact with Rodriguez she raises her eyebrows, which he interprets as "Is your dad gonna rip you a new one?" He grimaces, and shrugs.
"Dad?" he ventures. The silence is killing him, here.
"This time, Dean. This time nobody got hurt. You know people here are dying. You were reckless, and I'm surprised at you."
Two parts of him battle. A voice that sounds suspiciously like Sam says, Where do you get off lecturing me about recklessness? But the second voice shouts it down as it occurs to Dean that not only is he the horror movie jackass, he's the jackass endangering his boyfriend.
Dean feels three feet tall and still shrinking by the time that Dad says, "You're seventeen and you're gonna get up to stupid shit. But I thought that you valued Castiel more than that."
Now would be a good time for the ground to open up and swallow him.
"Sorry," he mumbles.
"We'll talk about this later," Dad says. Dean hates later; later means gut-clenching dread. Maybe Dad will go off on him, like he did when Dean forgot to buy orange juice for Sam last week, or maybe he'll snap and make him do about a million push-ups. Or worse, the sad eyes.
He pushes the nervousness down. He screwed up, and he'll accept Dad's punishment, whatever it is. "Yes, sir."
Dad asks to talk to Rodriguez, which takes all of two minutes, and then she leads Dean back to where Cas is waiting. She warns them, "Don't get up to anything now that you're out of handcuffs, cause your dad'll be here soon and I don't want to deal with that kind of awkward."
"Yes ma'am," Dean says.
Cas tilts his head to the side, which in Cas-speak means "Your behavior is mildly perplexing." Dean ignores him, pacing rather than sitting down as Rodriguez's footsteps fade down the hallway.
"That was the perfect opportunity for a witty rejoinder," says Cas.
Dean smiles at him reflexively, but knows that Cas isn't fooled. "Yeah, well, even I can't keep the wit comin' all the time."
Cas frowns. Dean counts the seconds between each of Cas's breaths, slower than a normal person's. It was weird at first, kind of off putting, but now it makes Dean calm. His breaths slow, and his pacing feet along with them.
"Dean?"
"Yeah, Cas?"
"Did… your father say something to you?"
"That's generally the point of a phone conversation, Cas."
Cas huffs a frustrated breath, and Dean manages a real smile. Dean sits down next to him on the combo bed and bench unique to a small town lockup.
"Nothing that I didn't already know," he says. He can't quite meet Cas's eyes. "It was stupid to put you in danger like that."
"Danger?" Cas says. "From the planes?"
"What? No. From whatever the hell we're hunting."
"I don't remember being in any more danger than usual."
Dean snorts. "Yeah. Usual."
He can feel Cas's eyes on the side of his head, like he's trying to laser his way in. "Do you make a point of forgetting that I was a soldier of Heaven, millennia old and perfectly capable of taking care of myself?"
"Sure. Remind me: how did you get stuck in your meat-suit again?"
Cas closes the gap between them, leaning against his side. "I understand that my humanity frightens you. It frightens me." He tucks his head against Dean's neck so that when he talks, Dean feels his lips against his skin. "But I am what I was made to be, and so trouble will find me whatever I do."
"The fuck kind of pep talk is this?" Dean says, but also runs his fingers through Cas's hair, arranging the bed-headed mass into even more outrageous shapes.
Cas ignores him. "It isn't your responsibility to protect me, Dean. If anything, it's the other way around."
Dean's fingers still. "I don't need you to protect me."
"Exactly. Nor I you." Cas butts his head against Dean's hand like a cat. "I was enjoying that."
The scratch of Dean's nails on Cas's scalp and the slow sync of their breathing are the only sounds in the cell. Cas presses a single kiss against Dean's neck, and that's enough for now. There's a draft coming from a crack in the ceiling that's stealing his heat and his arms kind of hurt from when the pissed off cop yanked them to cuff him and who knows what'll happen when his Dad gets here, but who could remember to hold onto guilt when Cas-the-giant-cat cuddles in closer?
"Dean?"
"Yeah, Cas?"
"Are you planning to introduce me to your father?"
Dean chuckles. "The hell? You know my dad. I know Vogel didn't rough you up enough for brain damage."
"I mean, are you going to formally introduce me as your boyfriend?"
"WHAT?"
Cas sits up, regarding Dean with his serious-business frown. "Isn't that prudent? Considering that my…confession aligns with feelings that you've already expressed?"
He stares at Cas for a full five seconds before he has to laugh. Cas's deepening frown only makes it worse, and it's a solid minute until Dean can wheeze out, "Have you been reading Sam's chick lit?"
Crossing his arms, ready to take up the defense, Cas says, "I have been researching. Introduction to the family is a normal rite of passage for a serious relationship. Because I already know your family and Sam knows about our relationship, that leaves your father."
"Dammit Cas, Are you out of your MIND?"
Cas's arms uncross and his scowl drops into worry. "Do you think he will take issue?"
"Of course he—" Dean starts. But out of nowhere he remembers Ellen's sensible voice, the bounce of her ponytail as she slid a plate of burgers and fries across the bar, years back before he'd even dreamed of angels: If you're confused about something, kiddo, and your daddy don't give a straight answer, you come to me. He's one of the sharpest hunters there is and can tell you about all sorts of different monsters, but sometimes he can't be bothered keeping tabs on different kinds of people.
"I don't know," Dean admits.
"I suppose hunters don't have a reputation for tolerance," Cas muses.
"Ya think?"
Before Cas can push at this uncomfortable line of thought, boots clunk down the hall. He and Cas exchange a glance and then stand up, putting the standard foot of distance between them before Dad and Sam come into view. All things considered, that distance makes Dean more uncomfortable than Dad's stoic expression or Sam's scowl.
They ride back to the motel in uncomfortable silence. By some unspoken agreement Sam takes shotgun for once, after hissing to Dean, "You couldn't just make out in a parking lot like normal people?" to which Dean whispers, "Get to first base, then tell me what to do, Samwise." In the back seat, Cas's thigh presses against his, but Dean doesn't dare indulge in surreptitious handholding as his thoughts churn.
It's stupid. This isn't a Jane Whatever novel and he doesn't need his dad's permission to date Cas. Hell, why does Dad ever have to know? They've been fine, so why shouldn't they continue to be fine as they are?
In the motel Dad turns to Dean, who automatically stands up straighter. There's no guessing what Dad is thinking this time.
"Castiel," Dad says.
Cas startles. "Yes sir?"
"I want you and Sam to go to the convenience store and pick us up breakfast for tomorrow. We're going to get an early start."
He holds out a twenty to Cas. Cas looks at it as though it's playing possum, waiting to draw blood, before taking it.
"Alright."
"I can go by myself," says Sam.
"Don't argue with me, Sam," Dad snaps. He doesn't get that Sam's not rebelling against his ex-angel babysitter this time; he's trying to make sure Dean has backup. But Dean can't exactly translate right now.
Before Sam can make the crappy situation worse, Dean smirks at him and says, "Chocolate filled donuts, Sammy. Sprinkles are for nerds."
Cas is the one who answers, "We'll remember," before steering Sam away. Sam doesn't look happy about it, but shuts up this time. At Dean's reassuring smile, Sam only raises an eyebrow while Cas sighs.
And then the door shuts and it's just Dean and Dad, staring at each other. Whelp. Awkward.
"It won't happen again, sir," Dean blurts.
Dad sighs, scrubbing a hand across his mouth. "Sit down, son."
Dean's afraid that he's slipped into an alternate dimension, one in which conversations are longer than "Complete the mission; protect Sammy" and "Yes sir." When Dean flops onto the nearest bed, Dad sits next to him.
"Dean," Dad starts. He's squinting out of the grimy motel window into the flickering streetlight. The whole thing's a little ominous, like a bad crime movie.
And then the dam breaks. "We need to talk about the situation with you and Castiel."
Whatever Dean was expecting, that wasn't it. He clutches the bedspread to keep himself from bolting. "It wasn't his fault, Dad. It was my stupid idea, and—"
A shadow of amusement turns up Dad's mouth before he goes serious again and cuts Dean off. "That's part of it." And finally, he makes eye contact. "Is there something you want to tell me, son?"
Oh SHIT. Dean's mouth opens and closes like a fish. Right now would be an awesome time for a pair of those robot fish legs to get him the fuck out of here.
Where you gonna run to? Dean snaps his jaw shut. He remembers Cas, dirty and tired and human, planting himself in front of Dean and Sammy like the Devil himself couldn't move him.
"Yes," he says.
A beat.
"Well?" Dad raises an eyebrow.
"Yes," Dean repeats, willing every stubborn impulse he's ever had not to fail him now.
"What do you mean, yes?"
"Yes."
"Yes what, Dean?" Dad growls. If angels weren't dicks, Dean would be praying now.
"Is this your way of telling me you're fucking him?"
Dean's wide-eyed silence must be answer enough, because Dad closes his eyes and rubs at his temples.
"He's family," Dean admits, quiet, as though that'll make the truth easier to carry.
Dad takes a deep breath and lets it out slow, calm as the settled mud of a landslide.
"Dean. I know I raised you to know how to treat a girlfriend with respect, which I suppose applies to a boyfriend too."
"Of course," Dean says automatically. What?
Dad can't quite meet his eyes. "Are you being safe?"
"Dad!"
"Dean," he answers, serious as the grave.
Dean hides his face in his hands. "Yeeees."
"Okay," Dad says, relief evident on his face that that is a conversation they don't need to have. Dean knows the feeling.
Dad continues, "You'll be eighteen soon. And however old Castiel is, it's definitely old enough." He winces. "Just don't tell me any of the details. I don't need to know."
"Yeah," says Dean. The knot of terror that was his gut is slowly giving way to a quiet joy.
"How long have you known?"
Dad actually snorts. "You're not that subtle, kiddo."
He can breathe. "Just don't tell Sammy that. I'll never hear the end of it."
When Dad looks at him, sharp and shrewd, Dean understands, and adds, "Sam knows."
"Of course he does. I expect that whatever secrets you keep from me, it's impossible to keep anything from Sammy."
"I don't keep secrets from you!" Dean protests. "I know better. It's just…"
"What seventeen year old wants to talk to his old man about love?" Dad says dryly.
Dean can feel his eyes bug out. Dad said the "L" word. The one that isn't "lesbians." Sammy'd be crying big chick-flick tears of pride.
"Dean," Dad says, with all the gravity of Jupiter.
Chick-flick moment over. Unease creeps back in. "Yes, sir?"
"You know what's out there. You've seen it, fought it with your own hands. You've protected Sammy from it, seen it almost kill him more than once."
Dean goes cold all over. He nods.
"And now there's Castiel. He may be older and wilier than a thirteen year old, but you've seen how he needs protecting."
Dean can't take his eyes from his knees.
"If Castiel is your Mary, son, then it's up to you to keep him safe."
Or else. Dean can feel the flames cracking his skin and tearing his life apart.
"Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir," Dean whispers.
Dad puts a hand on his shoulder. "We'll pick up the Impala tomorrow, first thing," he says. Then he's clearing weapons off of the army cot, making room for Dean to sleep.
By the time that Cas and Sammy get back Dean's lying down, back to the room, trying to keep his mind out of the fire.
"Dean?" Sammy says softly.
Before Dean can decide if he has the energy to roll over and reply, if he can possibly look Sam in the eye, Cas says, "Will you give us a minute, Sam?"
Thank God. Or somebody.
The cot groans as Cas sits behind him.
"Is this one of those situations where it would be imprudent to offer you physical comfort?"
A tiny smile breaks through. "Knock yourself out."
Cas's fingers run through his hair. Dean can hear his deep, slow breathing.
"I'm sorry," Dean says.
"Don't be," says Cas.
From somewhere in the room comes the murmur of Dad and Sam's voices, and they're not on the edge of a fight for once. Everyone that Dean loves is safe in these walls. Slowly, his breathing deepens and syncs with Cas's.
Dean rolls over and looks up into the blue of Cas's eyes. We need water, good, good water…
"Stay."
"Yes."
As Cas settles next to Dean, the two of them wedged in tight on the cot, Sam ventures over.
He hesitates. "We got chocolate."
Dean grins. "But what about the spinach so you can grow up big and strong?"
Sam socks him on the shoulder, but he's grinning too.
Night settles on them like the slow strum of an acoustic guitar. The mini-fridge hums in the corner, and Sammy snores, and Dad shifts restlessly. Cas winds an arm around Dean's waist, and rubs gentle circles into his stomach. Dean settles back into him, and stays.
