Summary: Dean's channeling his inner alcoholic, Sammy's all knowing and Castiel loves baking.
Notes: Ugh, sorry. I know I keep getting delayed... Um, I'm not in a very good place right now and writing is trying my patience. I'm writing something as a present and I'll be writing a chapter for Bulletproof Love next. I got something for you guys in that chapter. ;) You know what, though, when I call Sam Sammy or Castiel Cas in prose, I feel like I'm stealing a very important thing from Dean. But if I write it otherwise, it feels like I'm part of their family. It's 3.24 AM here. I'm nightblogging on ff.
"Sam, have you seen Dean?" Castiel asked, leaning against the door frame of the library which was Sam's regular haunts.
"Hmm," Sam replied, distractedly. He didn't look up from the book he was reading.
Sam was usually so engrossed in the book he was reading that he would reply with an answer that popped up first in his head. Dean would stomp into the room and shake him until he did listen. Castiel had a different, gentler approach. He'd stand there, casting his shadow on the book and Sam would eventually look up with a sigh.
"Yes, Cas?" Sam asked, sighing.
"Have you seen Dean?" Castiel asked, triumphant.
"No. He won't talk to me but he took a six pack with him a while ago," Sam replied, sighing.
"He must be outside then… Thank you, Sam."
Castiel turned around.
"Cas?" Sam called, thoughtfully.
"Yes?"
"Take care of him, will you?"
Castiel let small frown cross his face. Standing up straight, he smiled and said, "Of course, Sam."
Sam smiled back, and when Castiel turned to look at him again, he was already buried in the book.
It was three days later to the call and Dean had spent every moment inebriated and on the top of the mound under which the bunker lay. The place was isolated and more often than not, Dean saw a lost dog and once even a deer. They didn't come near him. Why would they. They could smell the alcohol and failure on him. If Dean were them, he'd run when he saw him. If Dean were them, maybe he'd be happy…
He had an eight year old daughter and a dying ex-girlfriend. How had he even dared thinking that his troubles were over. It was just one thing after the other. No place to rest; not even a moment to breathe.
Dean remembered when he was three years old and his parents had taken him for the Fourth of July celebrations in a nearby park. Mary had put a bright yellow colored with red flowers blanket on top of the hood of the Impala. John had fetched the picnic basket from the back. He remembered how his dad had gone out that morning to look for the perfect spot for watching the fireworks because, he had said, Mary deserved the best. He found the perfect place near a thicket of trees in the park. Not many people were there.
Dean had never seen Mary that happy as she baked an apple pie and made all the other things she wanted for the picnic. She hummed during baking; she always hummed.
They had settled on the hood of the car, Dean between them. John and Mary had leaned back. They had chattered idly waiting for the fireworks, interrupted by Dean pointing out the things he saw. Mary had ruffled his hair and John cheered for him.
Dean smiled at the memory.
What had struck him most at the age of three was when his parents kissed when the fireworks started. It was sweet and friendly. When they looked at each other, they smiled and kissed again. They didn't notice Dean looking at them with awe. It wasn't the first time he had seen them kiss but it felt beautiful under the dancing lights on their face. He had turned around and crawled into the niche between them, burying his face in Mary's stomach. He felt John's chest rumble with laughter behind him. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to be like his dad when he grew up. He wanted a perfect woman to marry and to work to provide for her.
Scoffing, Dean drank till he could only see his mother's laughter under the dancing lights.
Castiel saw Dean's legs hanging over the awning of the bunker. He had taken a liking to the place over the three days. He didn't like to stray far from the bunker where he couldn't protect Sam, and to some extent, Castiel. He didn't like company or the musty rooms.
Castiel carefully climbed up the side of the hole in the ground that they call their home, wrapping his trench coat around him.
"Whatcha doin' 'ere?" Dean slurred.
"Looking for you, of course," Castiel replied, sitting beside Dean.
He took the beer bottle from Dean's loose grasp and puts it to a side. He pushed the six pack away from Dean's reach.
"You are inebriated," he stated, looking at Dean.
Dean hadn't shaved since three days and it seemed as though he hadn't had a bath either.
"No shi', Sher-Sher… Sherry!"
Castiel sighed, taking Dean's chin in his hand and moving Dean's face side to side. He leaned in to smell him. He smelled of sweat and alcohol. Castiel couldn't put a finger on which kind of alcohol because he smelled of all kinds.
"Shit dude. Ge' away frome," Dean said, pushing against Castiel's shoulder and attempting to get up. "Das gay. Y'know I'm not-not gay. I like chicks."
"I know, Dean," Castiel said, helping Dean up and stand straight. "You should get back inside," he said, sighing and getting him to walk down the mound.
Dean resisted. "I don' wanna go," he whined. "I wanna stay an-an' wait for Bambi."
"You can wait for Bambi later, Dean. Please come inside with me."
Dean noticed the beer behind Castiel and made a lunge for them but Castiel caught his arm to keep him still, almost hugging him to his body. With one hand, he forced Dean to look at him. As Castiel's face swam into view, Dean forgot his scuffle for the beer.
"Can we please go back to your room, Dean?"
Dean looked at Castiel for a moment, squinting as though figuring out Castiel's motive. Castiel squinted back.
"Okay," Dean replied, finally, huffing a breath.
Castiel rolled his eyes and wrapped Dean's arm around his shoulders. He wrapped his own around Dean's waist and assisted him down the steep.
They made it to the hallway with their room before Dean turned around and cupped Castiel's shoulders with his palms, looking desperate.
"Will ya help me, Cas?" he slurred. "Will y'save me again?" He hiccupped, stopping for a moment.
Something inside Castiel broke at the desperation and helplessness in Dean's eyes. He grimaced at his own inability to fix things and led Dean to his room. Dean hung his head and let himself be guided. He let Castiel take off his coat and sat down to let him take off his shoes. He promptly lied down after that and snuggled under the blanket as Castiel put it over him. He grabbed Castiel's hand before he left.
"Don' go," he garbled.
Castiel pried Dean's fingers and away and quietly settled in a chair beside the bed.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Dean nodded and huddled back in to sleep.
Before he fell asleep, all he could think about was how Mary would have loved Castiel.
Dean woke up with his mouth tasting like ass and a giant headache. Grunting, he sat up, rubbing his eyes. As soon as he sat, he realized what a huge mistake it was.
Somebody had a hand on his back and was holding a bucket under his mouth as he puked.
"Easy," Castiel murmured, rubbing his back.
Dean panted and looked up, his vision swimming.
"What?" he asked, hoarsely.
"You had a drink too many."
Dean nodded and groaned when his head felt like it would fall off.
"Here," Castiel said, handing Dean two aspirins and holding a glass of water.
Dean swallowed the aspirin and let Castiel help him drink the water, after his first attempt.
"Thanks, Cas," he grunted, lying back down gently.
"It's no trouble," Castiel said, patting his shoulder.
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes; Dean facing the wall and Castiel looking at Dean, his hand still on Dean's shoulder. Dean didn't shake it off. It seemed to be helping in fending off the shivers wracking his body.
"I thought I could hold my alcohol," Dean rasped, staring at the ceiling.
"I don't think anyone can hold their alcohol after drinking continuously for three days."
"You can," Dean said, turning to look at Castiel. "You're an angel of the Lord."
"I'm hardly an angel, Dean."
"Is that why you won't heal, Sam? Because you're 'hardly' an angel?" Dean asked, unable to keep the venom out of his voice.
Castiel pursed his lips and got up to sit in his chair.
"Is it because you feel guilty? Tell me, Cas… Is it because your entire family is trapped up there and you're alone here?" Dean asked, his voice getting stronger.
Castiel refused to meet his eyes.
"Is it because you're stuck with us?" He took a deep breath to calm himself. It didn't work. "TELL ME! IS IT BECAUSE OF ME? IS IT BECAUSE YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME ANY-"
"NO!" Castiel shouted, standing up, an ice cold fire in his eyes. "No! I am not an angel anymore because my grace is weaning! The second I closed the Gates to Heaven, most of grace lost its power and I've steadily been losing contact with the Host! I say I'm not an angel because I'm not! I'm turning human!"
Castiel took a deep breath, even his breathing sounded self-righteous. He looked away from Dean and crossed his arms.
"I have apologized over and over," he began, quieter now but not bereft of disapproval and hurt. "I have tried to tell you in ways that I can, that I'm not leaving again." He laughed wryly, raising his arms in defeat and turned around. "Dean, I don't have anywhere to go. Soon, I'll be completely human… I- I was given a choice. I could pick Heaven and close the Gates behind me or I could pick… Pick you and Sam, and shut the Gates to Heaven for me forever. Well, I'm sure my choice is clear. I picked my family."
He turned around to offer Dean a wry smile and walked out, leaving Dean feeling like the hugest ass in the entire universe.
Groaning, he fell in back into a troubled sleep.
Dean woke up to the same feeling but with lesser intensity. He threw up again in the bucket lying near his bed. Popping in another aspirin, he got up slowly and padded over to the bathroom.
Showered and brushed, Dean felt much better as he heads over to the library. It seemed like the peace grounds at the moment. He knows he'll find Sam there. Dean's sure that the kid sleeps in the library these days. He feels bad suddenly as he realizes that it's been three days since he last helped Castiel take Sam to the room. Sam tries to be macho about it but he appreciates the help.
"Hey," Sam says, looking up.
It's the first time in days that Sam has acknowledged somebody walking into the library. Dean raised his eyebrows.
"What's up?" Sam asked with a small smile.
"Hungover," he replied, his voice gravelly.
Sam laughed and nodded his head. "I bet."
"I thought you were going Hermione Granger on the library's ass. To what do I owe the pleasure of your attention on me?" Dean asked, mock innocently.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean…"
"Ooh, you're serious," Dean teased.
He knew what Sam wanted to talk about but he honestly wasn't interested in talking about his feelings. He had already screwed it up with Castiel.
"Shut up and listen to me. You need to go. Go to her. You… You don't know how long she has. I know… It's difficult. I can't even imagine, Dean. No! Let me talk… Just listen me out and then you can kick a hole in the wall.
"It's hard and it takes time… But you don't have time. It's stage four, you told me. Look, man, I've seen you go lengths for family and that little girl, Mary, is family. They'll tow her away to some orphanage if you don't go…"
Dean didn't say anything but grit his teeth and stared at the table.
"Dean, I know you're worried about being like dad," Sam started, leaning in. "You're not dad, Dean. You're nothing like him… I know you, man. I knew dad, Dean. You're like mom. You're kind, you're-you're going to be an amazing dad, Dean. Remember Ben? He loved you."
"Sam, that was different," Dean said, shaking his head.
"How was it different, Dean? Except that you have me? You have Cas, too, man. Stop being worried. She's your daughter. And Cassie needs you too, Dean."
Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He knew he was running out of time. Being drunk was best. At least he had no idea about what day it was.
"Will you come with me?" he asked meekly.
"I… I really want to but my leg…" Sam said, apologetically. "But you can take Cas along."
"No," Dean said, shaking his head.
"Why not?"
"We… We had a fight and you need someone to look after you." Dean shifted uncomfortably, scratching his neck. He refused to meet Sam's eyes.
"Apologize to him," Sam said, frowning at Dean.
"Why are you assuming that I was wrong?" Dean asked, defensively.
Sam raised an eyebrow, huffing a laugh. Dean grimaced at his brother.
"I will, but what about you?" Dean finally grumbled, conceding.
"I can take care of myself," Sam said, giving Dean a bitchface.
"Sam," Dean said, using his mom voice.
"I'll call Charlie or Kevin, alright?"
Dean was gleeful when it seemed to work. It always worked.
"Good," he told Sam, winking at him. Sam grumbled under his breath.
Dean finds Castiel in one go. He's in the kitchen. Castiel has taken a liking to cooking, especially baking. When Castiel is distressed, he makes cookies. Lots of them. The kitchen was fragrant with cookies.
Dean saw a tray of loft house cookies on his left and choco-chip on his right. His mouth was watering. He wanted to steal a couple of one cookie.
The best part was that they were absolutely delicious. Over the top delicious.
With his nose quivering with delight, he walked forward into the kitchen, looking for Castiel between the stacked supplies and trays of cookies.
Castiel was bent over in front of the oven, glaring at it. Dean was pretty sure that the heat in Castiel's glare was responsible for the baking rather than the oven equipment.
"Hi?" Dean asked, walking closer to Castiel, squinting fearfully. He half expected Castiel to throw punches.
Castiel turned to look around, schooling his features to a blank look. But he can't stop his large eyes from betraying his emotions. Dean has always been good at reading him as good as Castiel and Sam are at reading him. He seems part sad, part fearful and all parts defensive.
He lets a frown cross his features, waiting for Dean to speak.
"I, um… I'm sorry, Cas. I was hungover."
Castiel nods and turns around. "It's alright," he says quietly.
"Cas…"
"Yes, Dean?" he asks, his tone hard.
"I'm really sorry."
"It's alright, Dean. I forgive you," he said, flippantly. But there was just a smidgen of scope in there.
Dean grabbed it. "Look at me. Please?"
Castiel turned around, hesitantly, not meeting Dean's eyes. "Sam asked the first day in. I told him I couldn't heal him without killing myself."
Dean felt like an even bigger ass than was possible. He scrubbed a hand over his face. He realized he needed a shave.
"I'm sorry, Cas. I… I shouldn't have said all that but you know… You know me well. My mouth runs without my brain sometimes." He grimaces. What an argument…
"Dean it had been on our mind for a while. You just voiced it." He said it matter of factly, frowning but only in confusion. He had expected it, it seemed. He finally looked up at Dean, trying to understand Dean; taking him apart layer by layer.
Dean sighed, shuddering once under the inspection. "I-I knew you would have healed Sam, if you could. I just didn't know why," he said, lamely, breaking the eye contact this time.
Castiel nodded. "Of course," he murmured, turning around again.
"You're our family too, Cas," he said, quietly, before almost fleeing from the room.
After all, emotions and Dean don't go together.
For dinner, they had cookies. All courses. There wasn't enough space in the kitchen for much else and almost all supplies had been put into making the cookies.
Castiel apologized profusely for it but Sam and Dean just shook their heads, stuffing their mouths with the delicious cookies. They felt like five year olds given a day off from eating vegetables. Dean grinned blissfully after desert of loft house cookies was over.
"So what time are you guys heading out?" Sam asks, bursting the temporary bubble.
Dean knew he had to return to mother Earth but why so soon. He bites his lip, realizing that he hasn't asked Castiel yet.
"What? Where?" Castiel asks, frowning.
"Um, Cas. I was meaning to ask before… But would you like to accompany me tomorrow? I'm… Uh, going to… them," he says, frowning and scratching his head and ignoring Sam's bitchface.
Castiel nods. "Of course, but what about Sam?"
Dean takes a moment to let it sink in that Castiel is ready to go with him. He didn't even hesitate or think about it. He almost made Dean sound like the idiot for even thinking that Castiel would do anything other than accept. It's humbling.
"I'll call Charlie or Kevin," Sam replies, waving his huge hand.
Castiel nods again. "Alright. At what time do you expect me?"
Dean reddens under the scrutiny. These two people's judgment is the only one that matters. He doesn't look up, mumbling incoherently to himself, pretending to decide a time.
"You should start at five," Sam says, taking the wheel as usual. "You'll be there by night if you don't stop anywhere."
"I'm not intending to stop anywhere," Dean mumbles.
"It'd be best if we reach as soon as possible," Castiel agrees.
So the decision is made.
Dean looked up at the house that he hasn't seen in years. He hasn't the woman inside in years. He had forgotten about her. So much had happened between meeting her and now.
When Dean had first met her, he was twenty four years old. She was twenty one and in college, getting her journalism degree. Oh, she was smart and beautiful. She was everything Dean wasn't and she was dating him. Dean remembered the way she looked then. Dark hair, red lips, smiling over her drink at him.
He remember when he met her again two years later and how she her eyes had changed from wondrous and excited to serious and focused.
Cassie I'll see you, I will. The words haunted him now. How his priorities had changed.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Castiel. He brought him back to the real world, with a reassuring squeeze.
Dean sighed and looked at the door. He rang the bell.
It was different, without the FBI clothes, the badge, and another story to chase. The FBI uniform set him apart from the others. It felt like a shelter. This way, in his plaid and jacket; he felt naked and vulnerable.
The door opened and a little girl stood, looking up at them.
She was beautiful. Long blonde hair mussed up, her green eyes shone as she smiled at Dean. She was the spitting image of Mary Winchester.
Dean realized that there was a tear running down his face, as he took the hand the little girl offered to him. She tugged him inside and led him to up the stairs.
Mary Jane was leading Dean up to Cassie's room. He quickly wiped the tear off his face.
Cassie Robinson was a corpse of the woman that she used to be. Her eyes were shining when she looked up at Dean. She looked him all over, drinking him in.
"You're not dreaming this," a deep voice rang out.
Dean jumped. He had forgotten that Castiel was here. He looked odd, just standing there. Castiel shuffled on his feet, uncomfortably as all eyes turned on him.
"This," Dean said, finding his voice. It was small and slightly squeaky. He cleared his throat. "This is my friend, Cas," he announced to the room.
"Hello, Cas," Mary Jane said, letting go of Dean's hand and taking Castiel's.
Castiel looked even more flustered than before. She tugged him away from the room.
"Be careful," Cassie called after her.
She looked up at Dean. He gulped. He walked forward towards her, wiping his suddenly sweaty hands on his jeans. She smiled fondly at him. Her eyes were wondrous and huge again; shiny.
"I didn't expect you to come," she said.
Dean made a non-committal sound and looked away from her. For the first time he looked at the room. Every flat surface, except the floor, was packed full of medicine containers. There was a rod with a glucose packet on a side. There were other hospital things that Dean didn't know the names of.
"A nurse… Actually my friend," Cassie started. Dean realized that her voice was the same but her tone a little world weary and worn around the edges. "He's a nurse. He comes in the morning. Of course, I can't afford most of these things, what with MJ's school fee… He helps. He cuts his shift and helps me." She smiled warmly.
Dean smiled back, a little hesitant but he remembered how easy it used to be to talk to her. He remembered everything.
"You had told me once that you will come to meet me again," she said, raising an eyebrow.
He coughed, embarrassed.
"Thank you for keeping your promise."