DANGIT. Put this on the wrong story at first. Well. Now I feel dumb. UUUGGGGHHHHHH.
In it's rightful place now.
For the first half of the drive, Dean updates Castiel on pretty much every detail of his life the past few months. He learns about the parting of him and Lisa about three months ago – the draw of the hunt and the fact that Dean never really felt like he was anything more than a house guest and intruder (by no fault of Lisa's or Ben's, he's quick to say – but more on his own fault of thinking that people not raised in this life could ever truly understand him).
He talks about hunts he's been on, how Bobby doesn't like that he has to share his beer, how he missed cheap diner food even though Lisa was an excellent cook. "There's something about getting served your food by a toothless waitress that just can't be beat," he jokes, and Castiel can tell that Dean's just happy to have someone sitting shotgun again.
The first motel they stay in, Dean shows Castiel how to properly shave. He works on his face, and Cas just stares at him. His green eyes, slightly wrinkled brow, smell of musk and old leather and the Impala. Dean is closer to him than he's ever been, voluntarily, and Castiel doesn't know what to think of the comforting warmth expanding in his chest. He hates how every tiny little thing that happens makes his worthless, human body react in millions of different ways. A slight breeze causes awful little bumps on his arms and legs, uncomfortable sticking up of hair – heat produces salty sweat that stings his eyes and taints his mouth. His lips dry up and flake and bleed when he hasn't been drinking enough water.
A small bit of closeness creates confusing warmth and a twisting feeling in his stomach. A smell can make his nose wrinkle involuntarily, eyes watering. But other smells can make him salivate, while others create that strange warmness and knotting. Every tiny, insignificant little thing creates hundreds of different reactions and Castiel never knows what to expect. Never knows when he might laugh or what will make him cry – while he can associate these situations with similar ones that happened while he was an angel, the reactions are different and unexpected. Before, something humorous would maybe warrant a smile, but only as a comforting, human expression. The feeling of humor, as an angel, was different. Impossible to share or be understood by humans.
When Dean accidentally nicks his jaw, Castiel flinches. It's a little painful, but not as painful as when he had cut himself before and Dean is quick to use it as another lesson. "When you accidentally cut yourself," he's explaining, tearing a small piece of toilet paper off the roll, "it's best to try and halt the flow. So dab it with this, and put pressure on it. It's not a bad cut, but I think you get the gist of it."
Castiel wants to tell him that, yes Dean, I know how to treat a simple wound but he nods and dabs the paper on his face, presses it, and it's all under control pretty soon and Dean finishes shaving his face. He mutters something about Cas doing it by himself next time – with supervision of course – then glares at his hair. "What are we going to do about your mop top? You look almost as bad as…" Dean's eyes mist for a second and he clears his throat, "Anyway, let's make it a little more manageable, eh?"
Dean is in caretaker mode, but Castiel doesn't mind. A little bit of that new feeling of selfishness, he supposes. Or maybe it's also a bit of selflessness. He doesn't personally care about his hair or his beard, but knows that Dean has an image of him that's familiar and comforting. And that Dean needs someone to take care of and to look after and Cas doesn't really mind being that person for a bit.
It saves him from having to take care of himself.
When they stop to eat, Dean prods Castiel a little bit each time, never buying him a meal but always offering some of his. He appreciates this gesture, having been afraid that Dean would try to force him to eat. He finds it easier to pick food off someone else's plate, rather than being expected to eat a whole meal by himself. Though he doesn't tell Dean, Castiel begins to compile a mental list of foods he likes. Before, when he was first crazed with hunger, he went straight for a burger or a steak just because he remembered that that was what Jimmy was fond of. And while he didn't dislike the taste, he found himself unconsciously avoiding things that Jimmy liked. When he threw away his old vessel's clothes he supposed he also started trying to figure out more about Castiel. Which, admittedly, wasn't going very well. It's hard to soul search when you hate the fact that you have a soul, he realizes.
Dean's saying something and Castiel only catches the, "…and I'm pretty sure people think I'm lugging a cancer patient around…" and he looks up. Dean sighs, eyes tired and dripping with something Cas can't place. "Look, I don't…I don't know exactly what happened, but I know you Cas. For whatever reason, you're human or something now and you have to eat or at least start pretending like you care about yourself."
Castiel tilts his head slightly, a motion still engrained in him from before, and he squints his eyes slightly, considering this. It really isn't such a confusing idea – caring for oneself – but Castiel isn't really sure how he's supposed to go about it. As an angel, he always hoped to maintain an air of selflessness. For the good of man. At some point, "the good of man," became "the good of Dean Winchester," and while, admittedly, they were intertwined, a large part of him did it out of what he would now consider a selfish want to make Dean happy – but, as an angel, this was a foreign and unheard of concept. His entire life as a human so far, however, has been marked not with selflessness of angels, but careless disdain.
He imagines this is what Dean would call "giving up," which explains a lot.
"Also, you are going to have to talk to me at some point," Dean mutters. He's chewing absent mindedly on a fry, eyebrows furrowed. Castiel knows he's being difficult, but he's not sure how to fix it. So much of the past two months has been spent wallowing in self-loathing, hating every sensation – from too hot water to the feel of the one rock that's sharper than the others under his shoe – and he's not sure how to emerge from the other side of that. Being with Dean, even for a day, of course, has shown him less…awful parts of being human, but he's still struggling with the slow pace of everything. And Dean isn't exactly helping that.
Even though Castiel is sure that there's hunting to do, Dean has been taking his time to get back to Bobby's. The trip had only taken two days for Dean to get him (Castiel found that out a little after they left, horrifying Dean with the fact that he had essentially passed out after the phone call and didn't wake up, really, until the knock on the door), but they're on their second day now and Castiel isn't sure that they're as close to Singer Salvage as they should be.
"Time is so slow," Castiel finally says, getting a confused look from Dean as a response. He continues, words spilling out in what he hopes to be an intelligible stream, "My brain is thinking so much, over every little thing and I think that time should be going by, that two minutes from now, it should be tomorrow but it's not. And my body is dying I can feel it – "
"Okay, Cas, I think you're just tired that's not – "
"No," Cas cuts him off. "I can feel my cells getting older and my blood thinning in my veins and my bones getting brittle. It's in small amounts, but I can feel it. And I can't stop it. I cut myself and the blood keeps flowing and I can't will it to stop or do anything but wait for it to end. I'm weak and I'm dying and I hate it."
He feels heat rising in his face, a redness blossoming there and he thinks this might be anger. After all the hopelessness, he has to admit that it's a nice feeling – a welcome change. Fighting back, maybe? He's not sure. But whatever he's feeling, Dean smiles.
"What else?"
Castiel's eyes widen. What does he mean? "I'm not going to keep complaining, Dean," he mutters. As much as he would like to scream from the top of his lungs his disdain for being human, he knows that it wouldn't help. Just remind him what he lost. "All I've felt the past two months is hopelessness. You say I need to take care of myself, but I don't know how. I know the basic movements – sleep, eat, use the bathroom, shower – but the specifics of some are lost on me." He rubs his forehead and stares at the fries on Dean's plate. Dean's not doing a very good job at hiding the fact that he's saving as much as possible for Castiel to eat off his plate. Dean does raise his eyebrows at this, so Cas figures he should explain a little. "Like…what can I eat that will properly satisfy hunger? How much? Why do some foods hurt my stomach and others burn my tongue? Why do some foods not taste as good as they look?"
"Food's been a big problem for you, huh," Dean says. And it's a statement not a question. "Can't say I've ever had that problem, but, then again, I've always had to eat." He laughs. "That, however, is something I can help with. And I'll actually try to avoid eating only a burger joints because this is about you."
Not Jimmy, is the unspoken phrase. Or maybe Not Dean. Either way, it's a nice sentiment. And with that, Castiel eats a few fries, sips at his soda, and they're on the move again.
The car ride is filled with more nonsense talk from Dean, mostly him talking about the things he's going to introduce Cas to, but Castiel mostly tunes it out. Not that he doesn't appreciate the effort, but most of that is for Dean's benefit, not his. He figures that this isn't the best time to tell him that Sam's out of Hell, but he isn't really sure when the right time will pop up or if there is even a right time.
Because, no matter what, Dean will hate him for not calling him as soon as it happened.
That part, however, was Sam's idea. Castiel was completely ready to contact Dean, because, honestly, the only reason he went to Hell again was for Dean. Because he knew Dean was miserable without Sam. He wanted the Winchesters to be together, to smile, to bring back the man he rebelled for countless times, to show him that his angel would always, always, always, be on his side.
But Sam had things he needed to cope with, visions to expunge, and a part of him that didn't want to break Dean out of his apple pie life. Sam wants Dean to be happy no matter what. But Dean is only happy with Sam.
Castiel knows this.
But he keeps quiet, because he promised Sam. And that unfamiliar human emotion of guilt is back again but this time it's worse than he's ever felt it and Castiel hunches forward, clutching his stomach and trying to will the pit away.
"Cas?" Dean's rapidly glancing between the road and the passenger seat. "Cas? What's wrong?" His voice is urgent, and Castiel feels the Impala slowing down and veering to the right shoulder of the road and he knows that Dean's going to want to stop the car and talk about this so he straightens up as fast as he can, ignoring the feeling that just won't stop.
He clears his throat, catching Dean's worried and confused face and says, "I'm fine. I think the fries just disagreed with me." Which is a lie, because he probably ate like five fries but he knows that Dean's probably filling in the blanks with something like well Cas isn't eating at all so I can understand that his stomach is hurting and that's when he pulls the car over anyway.
Castiel looks at him in what he hopes is an expression of confusion, because on the inside he's actually irrationally angry. He hates that he can't control his features. So much of his emotion is so easily read on his face, he feels vulnerable, and he hates it. Before, one look could have made Dean keep on the road. He wouldn't have had to say anything, just level his vision and bore into him. He's lost that intensity now, he's afraid. He feels weak and exhausted.
"You've got to stop this," Dean is saying, eyes trying hard to be angry, but Castiel can see that he's frantic. He doesn't know what to do with this angel, this strong thing that's now so weak. He probably doesn't understand what it is to give up completely. "You've got to stop fighting being human – it's going to kill you." His voice is gruff, breathing slightly unsteady, and Castiel can tell that he's afraid.
He closes his eyes, not wanting to look at Dean anymore. "And what would be so bad about that, Dean?" He's trying very hard to keep his voice level, but it's tainted with the sound of a sadness that he's afraid is going to burst out of him. "I'm tired, and I'm useless. I'm cut away from everything. My Father. My brothers. Where I could once hear their voices all the time, I can only hear mine. And it's sad and pathetic and human and I feel so weak all the time, Dean. I can't live like this, I can't – "
There's a snarl that interrupts him and before he knows it, Dean has thrown open the door and is rounding the car to the passenger side, yanking Castiel out of his seat and slamming him up against the Impala. It hurts. And he knows that Dean is just angry and not used to being able to hurt him, but Castiel grimaces at the uncomfortable feeling of metal pressing hard into his back. Dean's hands are gripping his shirt and pulling it up and brushing against his neck, and Dean's breath is hot and unsteady in his face.
"Get a hold of yourself!" Dean growls. "This whole 'worthless' and 'pathetic' talk is really getting on my nerves. You know as well as I do that humans are stronger than you stupid angels believe – and I thought that you had been the one to tell me that Cas. But now look at you," and he releases Castiel from his grip and steps back and away, turning slightly. "You won't even fight back."
The anger is gone now, replaced with a sigh, and Castiel knows he's disappointed him. And an awful feeling fills his mind and heart and he thinks that maybe this might be "ashamed" which might not be so much an emotion as a state of being but he still hates it. Dean is the last person he wants to disappoint, but, then again, he's done a lot of things he's never wanted to do these past few months.
Dean turns back to look him in the eye, and he's still only a foot or so away. "Okay," he tries, "let's try something easy. What are you feeling right now? Don't think about it or over analyze it. Just tell me exactly what you're feeling."
Castiel frowns a bit, reaching for words. He motions to his stomach. "There's this, heaviness in here and" he motions to his heart "here. It's not the same as hunger, though I feel that one a lot. It's more like…I feel like my heart is sinking down into me. Especially right now. My body didn't like you getting angry with me. I feel…bad." His eyebrows furrow and he bites the inside of his lip, a new habit he's picked up in the past month that eases nervousness for some reason.
Dean looks uneasy for a bit, hands in his pocket, balancing on the balls of his feet. He's not sure what to say, and Cas knows that it's because he'd accidentally gotten angry. "Cas, I shouldn't have gotten mad at you, but…" he sighs. "You're…"
Cas closes his eyes and braces himself for more anger or…something.
"You're all I've got left," Dean says instead and Castiel opens his eyes. "You and Bobby. Hell, I've been staring at my phone almost every day the past month wondering if I should call you or if I should pray to you or whatever it is that I have to do to get to talk to you. And the one day I finally decide that maybe I should call you, you call me. And I'm thinking, 'hey this is like fate or somethin' and I find out that you're somehow human and instead of seeing the strong and stubborn you that I know, I find…"
The feeling from before grows stronger and Cas's eyes start to burn.
"It's breaking my heart Cas." A shuddered sigh escapes his lips.
"Dean, I…" Cas starts, but isn't sure how he's planning on finishing it. Dean looks at him with tired, hopeful eyes and Castiel knows that he has to fix this. Maybe it will all be easier if he does it for Dean, rather than doing it for himself. If Dean wants him to be healthy and more comfortable as a human, then Cas might as well try at least. "I know I've been difficult – " Dean lets out a scoff here " – and I'm sorry. It's just…it's been difficult for me too. But I agree that I can't…keep going like this. I called you for help, not to have you come and watch me die."
The matter-of-factness of the statement is so very much like the old Castiel, he knows, that Dean can't help but smile. "You don't have to do it alone, you know. We'll figure all this out together."
And Castiel knows he should appreciate this time because when Sam finally comes forward and home, Dean will have no more love left for his angel.
disclaimer: supernatural © eric kripke