Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Warnings/Tags: Miscommuniacation, Arguments, Slut-Shaming (sort of), slut!Cas, Crying, Hurt/Comfort, Masturbation
Summary: Stories always have two sides. As do mistakes.
Word Count: 7904
Notes: As it was requested so much (on Ao3, anyways), here's 'Communication Breakdown', told from Cas' point of view. Hope you enjoy! ^_^
Tonight was Saturday. Otherwise known as party night, to Castiel.
He'd gone down to some club – Seventh Heaven? Something like that – intent on picking up a decent fuck for tonight. Five hours in, he'd finally found someone adequate; a dude named Jacob (Cas was pretty sure that was his name, anyway). He was tall, with a nice, firm body that Cas could enjoy all the perks of tonight
Cas had driven them back– he never had alcohol on his 'special nights'. He didn't wanna get roofied, or wake up in the morning with somebody he didn't even remember. He liked having a lot of sex, but he did have standards, you know.
They made it up the stairs, and soon, Cas' apartment door swam into view, and Cas could barely manage to find his keys with Jacob groping his ass.
Half-heartedly, he smacked Jacob's hand away, fumbling with his key as he unlocked the door. Jacob laughed.
"Shhh, sh!" Cas scolded, stumbling through the doorway, "My roommate might hear -"
Cas tripped over the doormat - Jacob wrapped an arm around his shoulders, trying to stop him from falling. Cas' hand splayed on the wall, and he felt his grin falter when his eyes met with those familiar greens.
"...us." He finished lamely, watching as Dean's gaze flitted to Jacob's arm, then to the coffee table. Cas looked in the same direction, his stomach doing a funny little flip when he saw the massive pile of sandwiches waiting for him.
Dean had stayed up until three in the morning to make him sandwiches.
Cas very suddenly didn't want Jacob to be with him right now.
"Uhm..." Dean bounced awkwardly on the balls of his feet, "Don't mind me - I'll just, uh, go. I guess."
Cas watched with something that felt suspiciously like guilt as Dean grabbed his coat and bolted towards the door. Useless, Cas reached for Dean's hand, missing entirely, having to watch his best friend walk out the door with no shoes on in the middle of the night.
The door clicked shut, and Cas felt his stomach sink.
"...Was he your...?" Jacob trailed. Cas shook his head, eyes still glued to the door.
"No," he said faintly, "No he's not."
He tried to forget that fact through a night of mindless fucking.
-x-x-
Cas was feeling embarrassed come the next morning. Reluctantly, he sat down at the breakfast island, trying to avoid eye contact with his roommate as a plate of freshly buttered toast was pushed in front of him.
God, he must've made Dean feel so awkward. Hell, if Cas was the straight one, and his gay friend came home in the wee hours of the morning with a complete stranger, he'd be pretty embarrassed too.
"So…" he heard Dean murmur, "…How was he?"
Cas looked up, locking onto Dean's open gaze, and he was tempted to mouth 'Thank you' because Dean was giving him an opening. A chance to skate over the awkwardness. God, he loved his roommate sometimes
Immediately, Cas eased back into himself, grabbing a slice of toast and smiling easily.
"Oh, last night?" he took a bite of his toast, chewing thoughtfully, "Last night was awesome."
Dean raised his eyebrows, "Really? Better than Randall?"
"Randy," Cas corrected, "Randall was the guy last week, Dean."
"Oh sorry," Dean joked. Cas felt himself grin, "I'll try and keep up with your sexual escapades a little better in the future."
"But yes" Cas continued, "Jacob was much better than Randy," hell yes he was. He'd licked him out for a solid twenty five minutes, "He did this thing with his mouth that -"
"Whoa, whoa," Dean held up his hands, leaning back from the table, "Spare the gory details, jeez. Don't wanna barf up my breakfast."
Cas rolled his eyes, "Don't knock it 'til you've tried, my dear straight friend."
Dean looked at him for a moment, running his eyes up and down Cas' appearance, like he was a puzzle that needed to be solved. Cas shifted on his seat.
"So," Dean said suddenly, "Got any new conquests planned for tonight?" He asked, propping an elbow on the counter. Cas beamed at him. Only Dean could talk about this sort of thing so easily.
"Yep," he said, "A recommendation."
"Yeah? Who recommended him?"
"A friend," Cas shrugged He was starting to get a bit of a reputation in the small gay community of Lawrence. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing, "He's a great lay apparently. And I'm horny as fuck, so it should work."
"You're always horny as fuck, Cas."
"Your point?"
Dean paused then. A string of thoughts flickered in his eyes, and Cas felt like he'd said something wrong. But then Dean carried on as usual.
"Touche. Go get laid then, you horny bastard."
Cas grinned at him. Dean's lips twitched in an abortive smile, before he looked down at his toast. Inwardly, Cas shrugged. Dean was straight – even if Cas could talk to him about this kind of stuff, it was bound to make him uncomfortable. Unknowing, Cas carried on eating, oblivious to the pile of turmoil sat two feet away.
-x-x-
Shortly after Cas had turned seventeen, his father passed. Car crash. He'd died almost instantly. Painlessly, according to the hospital. Cas was highly cynical of that.
Not exactly the greatest way to start off his senior year.
Cas had been devastated. After two full weeks of rage and aggressive behaviour, he'd fallen into a slump. He'd lost interest in everything - classes, people, sleeping, eating. He just hadn't cared anymore.
It took two weeks for the doctors to diagnose him with major depression. They'd given him therapy appointments along with a pretty bottle of pills to pop three times a day to stop him from trying to off himself if he was left alone for more than an hour.
Pills hadn't helped. They'd merely numbed him to the world. If anything, they'd made him care less.
But throughout it all, Dean had stayed with him. Stuck by his side throughout the entire ordeal. Talked to him like he wasn't a depressed, fragile teenager walking the line between suicide and disinterest in life. Dean had laughed with him when there wasn't anything funny to be laughed at, forced him to eat, visited despite Cas' protests. Forced him to survive.
Three long months had passed like this - of Dean's constant perseverance. And Cas had appreciated it. He really had. But he could see his condition taking its toll on Dean; he'd stolen the taller boy's grade reports from his bag on one of his visits whilst Dean had been in the bathroom. Dean had gone from a grade A student to scraping the bottom with Es and Fs. His grade point average had dropped from 3.6 to 2.1.
"Dean," he'd said afterwards, confronting the other boy head-on in his bedroom. Cas had just downed his third bout of pills for that day, "Why don't you just give up already?"
Dean turned where he sat on the floor. Slow.
"What?" He asked. Cas leant forwards on his bed, eyes clashing with Dean's.
"You're failing your classes. Because of me," he threw Dean's report to the floor. Yeah it was bad. He didn't care, "I'm cursed with this illness Dean, there's no hope for me. I'm ruining your chances of having a decent career, I hardly ever talk, I'm irritable all the time - so why don't you just give up?"
And, like magic, Dean had said the most simple answer Cas had ever heard.
"Because it's you," he shrugged, before shuffling across the floor to put his hand on Cas' knee, "I'm sorry Cas, but grades don't mean much when one of my best friends is like this. I'd rather have you, cursed or not."
After that, Cas had smiled a lot more. The doctors had eased him off of the pills, and Cas had returned to his normal life again.
Ever since, Cas had clung to Dean like glue.
-x-x-
Cas snuggled more firmly into Dean's thigh, enjoying the feel of his roommate's hand on his shoulder. He shuffled every so often, trying to tempt as many non-existent touches as he could. If they were there, he'd find them.
He only paid half of his attention to Marty McFly's rendition of Johnny B Goode started, freezing up when he felt Dean's thumb start rubbing absent-minded circles into his shoulder. He covered up his hitch of breath with a question.
"If Marty learnt the song from Chuck Berry, and Chuck Berry learnt the song from Marty, then who actually made the song?"
Dean's thumb didn't stop. Cas was pretty sure that the taller man didn't know he was doing it. "Just shut up and enjoy the movie, Cas."
Cas grinned against Dean's jean-clad thigh, not daring to move a muscle - he didn't want to throw off Dean's subconscious movement. It was a snatch at a caress - a pathetic one at that - but if he could close his eyes and pretend for a moment that Dean was doing it on purpose, then Cas was going to.
It'd become second nature to Cas by now. Searching out physical contact from his roommate. More and more often he'd find himself looking at Dean, sat close to Dean, resisting the urge to run his hand through that blonde bedhead and kissing the frowns off of those plump lips -
Shit.
He was falling for his very straight best friend.
-x-x-
Cas was quite content when next Tuesday rolled around. He'd been fucked six ways from Sunday. Fucked by so many guys that he'd literally lost count; name a position in the Karma Sutra, he'd probably performed it that week. The Morning Star was a particular favourite of his. There was just something about sitting down on a dick that appealed to him – 'specially when there was a set of strong thighs beneath his own to hold him up.
While sex was great and everything, it was still nice to be able to take a break once in a while. A comfy couch and a good friend was always a nice way to sit back and relax.
Not to mention, it gave him a good excuse to cosy up to Dean as much as he could. It was bad of him, really - Dean was straight. Hadn't shown any interest in Cas whatsoever since they'd met, so stealing his personal space in order to fool himself into thinking they were cuddling was all kinds of inappropriate. Cas knew that. But that didn't mean he stopped himself. If Dean didn't protest, then hey, what was the point in stopping?
He burrowed into Dean's shoulder, as far as he think he could get away with, imagining the phantom feel of the other man's arm wrapped around him, thumbs rubbing little circles into his hip as they watched TV. Cas had long since stopped paying attention to what was actually on (Texas Ranger), too busy concentrating on the steady push and pull of Dean's breath, letting his eyes flutter shut and allowing himself the pleasure of listening to the constant thrum of Dean's heartbeat.
…Then of course, Dean started snoring, breaking the peace entirely. Cas sat up, glancing at the clock. It was five past seven. Way too early to be falling asleep. Tentative, he tapped Dean's shoulder.
"Dean, are you alright?"
The snoring stopped, and Dean groaned. "Mmmm."
Cas bit back a smile. He didn't often see a dopey, sleep-ridden Dean, considering the taller man usually woke him up, rather than the other way around.
"How are you tired already?" He asked, amused, "It's barely gone seven."
Dean stopped leaning on his hand, head swinging around to look Cas straight in the eye. A little thrill travelled down Cas' spine. They were so close.
"You're loud when you have sex." Dean said abruptly. Cas felt himself go bright red.
"...Oh." He trailed, sitting a little straighter, nearly bumping their noses, "I wasn't aware..."
"No worries," Dean said, his eyes meeting Cas', and Cas nearly died because he could've sworn Dean was drifting closer. His heart felt like it was going to explode out of his ribs. "It's good that you... uh... enjoy yourself, I guess."
Cas smiled at the eloquent choice of words, repressing a laugh; his roommate wasn't the most well-spoken of people. Another endearing quality that Cas friggin' mooned over.
"That's just sex though." Cas shrugged, his fingers twitching - he could reach out and touch Dean's thigh, if he wanted, "Watching Texas Ranger with you is far more enjoyable, in my opinion."
Dean's bottom lip twitched, as if he'd just been about to say something - but whatever it was got lost when he stood. Cas lost balance, hand flailing outwards to hold himself up. Dean looked down at him, his face flushed.
"I'm gonna... call it a night," he said, making the excuse sound even more like an excuse with the nervous way he said it, "I gotta get down to the workshop early tomorrow. We're interviewing new interns and... stuff."
Cas looked at him, hoping it didn't show on his face that he was disappointed. Jerkily, he nodded.
"Texas Ranger can wait until tomorrow," he said flatly, trying to fire a kind smile the other man's way, "Good night Dean."
Dean nodded hurriedly, "G'night."
Then he turned and practically bolted down the hallway. Cas swallowed, looking down at his knees.
Dean's straight, he reminded himself, He's never going to want you.
Cas didn't want to believe it, but he knew his brain was right. Dean wouldn't ever want him as anything more than a token gay friend.
-x-x-
Wednesdays and Thursdays. Those were the days that Dean got back home earlier than Cas.
Usually Dean would be cooking something, maybe watching TV or organising the porn on his computer that he thought Cas didn't know about.
What ever Dean was doing, though, he was never asleep.
One afternoon, Cas walked in through the door, a greeting fresh on his lips until he walked into the living room and saw those big clunky feet sticking over the armrest of the couch.
He smiled to himself when he rounded the sofa. Dean's lanky form was sprawled across the cushions, a hand dangling over the edge, fingers grazing the floor. His mouth was hanging open, and Cas was extremely tempted to snap a picture because prideful Mr. Winchester was drooling.
But Cas was a Saint, and just generally too nice to do that, so instead, he made a quiet trip to the linen closet, got a thin blanket and threw it over his roommate. Dean snorted in his sleep, callous hand coming up to grab the edge of the blanket and pull it over his shoulder. Cas bit his lip, hand hovering over Dean's shoulder.
He shouldn't. He really shouldn't.
Aw hell. Dean wasn't like this often. Why not?
Tentatively, he ran his hand loosely through Dean's hair, fingers lingering amid the blonde spikes.
He wondered what it'd be like to be able to do that when Dean was awake.
Quickly, he bustled away to his bedroom, completely missing the way Dean shifted and mumbled "Cas…" under his breath.
-x-x-
Cas was immersed in the second chapter of Of Mice And Men when he heard a loud bang in the kitchen.
He jumped where he sat, book snapping shut. He glared in the general direction of the noise, sliding his glasses off of his nose. Sighing, he stood, hand lingering on the cover of his book. Later.
Their apartment was open plan - the kitchen and the living room were one in the same, so it didn't exactly take a genius to figure out that the noise was Dean throwing his weight around with pots and pans as he made dinner. Something was burning, judging by the odd smell filling Cas' nose. Dean's back was facing him, muscles tense beneath the worn fabric of his t-shirt. Alarm bells went off in Cas' head.
"...Dean?" He asked, sliding onto the stool beside the little counter they ate their breakfast at. The taller man spun around like he'd just been electrocuted.
"What?" He spat. Cas' brows creased, concern growing. He'd known Dean long enough to know that the taller man only got like this whenever something really awful was troubling him; all defensive and angry. Nearly tripping over himself, Cas stood, rounding the counter in record time, never once breaking eye contact.
"Tell me what's wrong," he said quietly - the gentle approach was the only way to do things with Dean. If Cas got angry and fought back, Dean fought back harder. Nothing ever got done, and they'd just end up going in frustrated circles. For added measure, he allowed himself the pleasure of running his palm down Dean's tense arm, under the guise of a comforting gesture.
He practically balked when Dean shrugged him off.
"Nothing," the taller man defended, turning his attention back to the cooker, shoulders rigid. The closed-off posture naturally meant that the problem was to do with Cas himself, otherwise Dean would've spilled the beans by now, "'M fine Cas. Just leave me alone."
Cas nearly snorted, because Dean was so obviously not fine that the denial was almost insulting. He let his hip brush the other man's, laying his hand between Dean's shoulder blades, determined to get to the root of the problem before it got any worse. "Dean -"
"I said leave me alone!"
Cas jolted when the frying pan hit the wooden floor, hands flying up to the sides of his head. Shocked, he stepped away, tripping on the floor as he backed off. It was with some measure of sadness that he realised that spiking sensation in his stomach was fear. He turned back to Dean, only to find the other man already halfway out the door.
"Dean!" He called, genuinely worried at this point. This problem was Big, with a capital B. "Dean - wait!"
The door shut. Cas was left standing in the hallway wondering what the hell he'd done wrong.
-x-x-
Cas was mad. Fuming, actually.
He hadn't done a single thing wrong. Nothing he'd done in the last year could've been considered remotely bad, and yet somehow, Dean had still managed to find something to be angry at him for.
God, Dean just - he was just so infuriating!
Petulantly, he balled up a random piece of paper and threw it across his room. When it hit the wall, it didn't make him feel any better. He groaned, agitated, falling back on his bed and screwing his eyes shut. He'd retreated to his room after cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. From where Dean had thrown all of his toys out of the pram, so to speak.
That was another thing - that whole damn kitchen escapade kept replaying in his head; he kept searching for something that he'd missed. Something that Dean might've been trying to tell him without words - but either there wasn't anything, or Cas' brain wasn't working. At all.
The only thing his brain kept doing was concocting different versions of the memory itself. And that was anything but helpful.
"I said leave me alone!"
Cas jolted when the frying pan hit the wooden floor, hands flying up to the sides of his head. Shocked, he stepped away, tripping on the floor as he backed off. It was with some measure of sadness that he realised that spiking sensation in his stomach was fear. He turned back to Dean, only to find the other man was heading to the door.
"Dean!" He called out, bounding forwards to grab Dean's wrist - the taller man had no choice but to stop and face him, "Dean, what the hell?"
Dean's shoulders heaved with every ragged breath, his wrist shaking beneath Cas' iron grip. He glanced at Cas, glanced at the floor, and before Cas knew it, he'd been pinned to the wall, Dean's thigh shoved between his own, the taller man's tongue swiping his bottom lip, forearms caging his head.
"Dean -" he gasped, shocked, his fingers flexing uselessly in mid-air, "Dean..."
He melted in Dean's grip, hands sliding up to run through the taller man's hair, winding his fingers tightly in the short blonde spikes. The growl he got in return was enough to send blood rushing south, and he groaned shamelessly into Dean's mouth, hips moving in lazy little circles against Dean's thigh.
His breath hitched when he felt the hard line of Dean's cock against the inside of his thigh. Dean pulled away, his hand grabbing a fistful of Cas' hair and yanking his head backwards, baring the column of his throat. He craned his neck, latching onto the shorter man's pulse point, nipping with his teeth and sucking bruising marks into china-white skin and -
Back on his bed, Cas groaned. He could feel his cock swelling against his thigh, could feel that tell tale pool of heat at the base of his spine. His hands were balled, a mixture of respect and pride preventing them from drifting lower - respect, because Dean was his friend, and jerking off to the thought of him was inappropriate; pride because he was not going to let prissy-miss Dean be the fuel to one of his sexual fantasies. Definitely not.
Five minutes later, his pants were off and he was on all fours, pumping his cock furiously between his legs. He was sweating like crazy, head pressed into his forearm as he drove his hips forwards as hard as he could.
Okay. So maybe angry sex fantasies led to angry jerk off sessions. It was only logical.
He hardly took note of the groans passing through his lips - he was too busy imagining the feel of Dean's harsh fingertips digging into his hips, too busy imagining filthy words being said to him as he got fucked hard into the mattress. A frustrated moan leapt out of his throat.
He needed extra stimulation. The edge was there, he just couldn't reach it. Maybe if he got one of the dildos out of his bottom drawer -
Thump thump thump.
Cas' hand paused. He knew who was out there. Fuck, Dean was out there. Dean would've heard him. And. - Lord help him - the thought that Dean had just heard all of those little whines of pleasure escaping his throat was enough to make Cas come all over the sheets like a horny teenager, biting his lip hard, trying to prevent himself from making any more noise.
Fuck. Fuck he was so gone.
Legs still shaky in the aftermath, he fell off of his bed in his haste to get to the door, grunting as his knees hit the floor. He grabbed his (now dirty) duvet and bundled it up, throwing it into the corner. Breathing hard, he bound over to the door, his hand on the handle. Then he realised he was still naked. He made a desperate bid for his dressing gown (Dean's dressing gown, in a past life) and opened the door.
Dean was there, as expected, arms folded, looking like his car had just gotten keyed. Cas tried the joking approach, rather than the comforting one. Maybe that'd get a rise.
"Decided to come back after your hissy fit then," he said, still a little breathless, leaning against the doorway.
He knew he'd said the wrong thing when Dean looked at him with those dangerous eyes. The change was visible - like a shadow, curling around Dean's very person. His shoulders tensed, and those plump lips pulled into a sneer that hurt to look at.
"Stop it," Dean snapped, and the look in his eyes was almost pleading, "I just want you to stop it. All these guys you sleep with - all these strangers -"
Cas snorted his indignance, covering up the little pang that made his chest squeeze. Was Dean… jealous?
"Dean, there isn't even anybody in here," what was Dean's problem? It wasn't like he cared. Besides, it was his body, he could do whatever he wanted with it, "And even if there was, you couldn't do anything about it. If I want to sleep with somebody, I'm going to. I don't care if you don't like it, and if you've got a problem, then just move out."
The words leapt off of his tongue before he could stop them - God, he didn't want Dean to move out. That'd be like scooping out his lungs and trying to breathe without them; but dammit, Dean pissed him off sometimes. So instead of apologising, like his rationality wanted him to, he just kept going, letting the anger that had been stewing in the pit of his stomach for the best part of the evening guide his way
"Look," he said, leaning forwards, catching Dean's eyes again - hell yes, you should pay attention, "Just because I can pull anybody I want, doesn't mean I'm going to let your blue-balls-parade loom over my head too."
Cas could see the metaphorical hackles raising. It was like watching a big cat preparing to leap. Dean cocked his head to the side, eyes running up and down Cas' appearance.
He looked... disgusted.
Cas took a step back.
"I think I get it," Dean said. He'd gone quiet in a deadly way - the way in which Cas imagined assassins spoke to their victims before they killed them. "The never-ending chain of guys. Why you get laid by a different person every damn day."
A pause. Cas' throat went dry. He'd stopped breathing. Dean leant forwards, getting into Cas' face. The movement felt horrible. Vindictive.
"It's 'cause nobody ever wants to stick around afterwards for you, Cas. No one likes a whore."
It felt like a stake had just been hammered between his ribs.
Warm pins pricked the back of his eyes, and he felt his face beginning to crumple. An unbearable ache welled up in his stomach.
"Dean..." He murmured, eyes brimming - it was so pathetic, to cry in front of your best friend. But Cas couldn't stop it because - because if that was what Dean thought of him, then they weren't exactly best friends, were they?
He'd slammed the door shut before anything else remotely hurtful could make its way out of Dean's mouth, leaning his back on the door and sliding to the ground, his sobs muffled as he buried his face in his knees.
Hopefully, things would get better in a couple of hours. Until then, Cas was content with crying his damn eyes out of their sockets.
-x-x-
This was ridiculous. Sobbing his heart out on his bedroom floor. It was more than pathetic.
But he kept hearing Dean's voice - Dean's hatred-filled voice - sneering in his head.
"No one likes a whore, Cas."
Was that all he was? A whore?
If his best friend had said it, it must be true. He was just an easy fuck for all the locals. Shit, maybe Dean was right.
But why did it have to be Dean of all people to point it out?
That was the question that kept bringing up tears. He wouldn't have cared if it was some stranger. Wouldn't have even taken a second glance if it had been someone else. But Dean? Dean… Dean meant something. Dean was important. What he thought was important, and if he thought Cas was a…whore, than Cas was a whore. Dean wouldn't ever say something so hurtful unless he meant it, and if the anger in those green eyes had been anything to go by… he'd meant it. Fully.
After what felt like hours, he pushed himself off of his floor. He sniffled pathetically, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his gown. The bones in his knees clicked as he stood, and his side throbbed from where he'd been laid on it for the best part of three hours.
Shaky, he opened his door, tiptoeing out into the hallway.
Dean must be in his room. Or out. The apartment felt too quiet. The air was too still. Call it a sixth sense, but Cas had always been able to tell whether or not Dean was close by. The taller man had always carried a presence about him; he filled a room wherever he went. Made it brighter with big smiles and those snarky comments of his.
Defeated, Cas trudged forwards, falling onto the couch with a miserable sniffle. The cushions fucking smelt like Dean - like motor oil and leather and that spicy Axe shampoo he always liked to use.
God, he even knew what shampoo his roommate used. By smell. If that wasn't proof that he'd fallen hard, he didn't know what was.
His arm felt like lead as he reached for the TV remote. There was this half-assed notion in the back of his head that if he filled up the time with some mindless programming, it'd take his mind off of Dean for a while. Of course, that was impossible. Thinking about Dean was as second nature by now as breathing.
When his fingertips brushed something that wasn't a remote, he looked down.
A letter. There was a letter on the table.
Cas' heart skipped a beat.
He knew what a letter meant.
Letters were bad. Letters were things people wrote because they couldn't be said out loud. Letters meant long, permanent goodbyes.
And on top of it was Dean's mobile. Next to his bracelet.
His bracelet.
Cas sat up, his throat feeling tight as he picked up the note. His hands were trembling.
He took a breath and flicked open the piece of paper, his breath catching when he saw Dean's untidy handwriting.
Cas,
You don't have to forgive me for anything I said, okay? I'm a jerk, and you didn't deserve any of that. By the time you've read this, hopefully I'll be out of your hair -
Cas' heart thumped in his ears, feeling the floor drop out beneath his feet. Dean was gone? As in, left for good?
No, no that couldn't be right. He surely must mean he would be taking a break for a while. Going out to get some air. Cas nodded to himself. That must be it.
- You don't have to suffer my 'hissy fits' anymore, so I hope that makes you happy.
Cas was starting to realise that Dean wasn't taking a break. Not by a long shot. This was real. Dean was gone.
Cas' eyes blurred as he read on.
That's all I really want for you, Cas. I want you to be happy. You make sure you do that, okay? Do whatever it takes to make yourself happy. God knows I couldn't do it well enough, so maybe you can find somebody perfect to make you feel good.
He let out a sniff of morose laughter. Of course, Dean would care about somebody else more than himself.
You're not a 'whore' - I can't believe I even said that shit to you. I was angry, and jealous, and stupid because dammit Cas, I love you.
Cas' eyes stuck on those last three words. The world stopped spinning. The sun stopped shining. Pigs flew. He re-read them at least four times, before choking out a feeble whimper. Another set of tears began to track down his cheeks.
Damn it.
Why did Dean Winchester know the exact way to break his heart?
I've loved you for years. Yeah, weird right? Your 'dear straight friend' is actually kinda gay, and also kind of in love with his best friend. Way to present my feelings, huh? Throwing pots and pans and getting angry over nothing. I guess I'm more terrible at expressing myself than I already thought.
Point is, Cas - I'm a prick, and I say bad things, and I'm just a generally bad person. Just 'cause you're my friend, doesn't mean you should have to put up with me. I've paid the next two months' rent in advance, and there's some leftover paella in the fridge. Please don't forget to take care of yourself. Do that for me, okay? And if not for me, do it for the next person that drops into your life and cares about you as much as I do.
I'll miss you Cas. Really will. But this is better for you. I want you to be happy, and doing this is the only way I can see that happening.
- Dean.
The words were starting smudge where Cas' tears had slipped off of his chin and onto the page. Fuck Dean Winchester. Fuck him and his God-fucking-damn letter. Telling Cas what was 'best'. Bah. Dean Winchester's opinions on what was 'best' could go shove themselves because what was best for Cas was having his roommate by his side. What was best was having Dean with him for as long as they could stay together. What was best was Dean being here.
He could feel his shoulders shaking, a sharp pain shooting through his chest on every inhale. It was physical. This pain was physical.
Why would Dean think that this was best? Cas didn't understand... He didn't...
Oh Dean.
The paper hit the floor. Cas couldn't look at it anymore.
Maybe if he'd acted sooner. Maybe if he'd shown Dean that he cared, then this wouldn't have happened. Maybe if he'd grabbed the idiot by the scruff of the neck and pulled him in for a kiss then he wouldn't have left.
Too many 'maybe's, not enough 'done's.
Through the haze, he tried to understand how it must've felt to be in Dean's position - to live in such a close proximity to somebody he loved. To see them having sex with all these nameless people - oh God, to hear them - day in and day out. No wonder Dean hadn't slept; he must've felt so fucking horrible. Tired and depressed and Jesus, Dean wasn't allowed to be either of those things. Dean was happy – Dean was a wonderful, beautiful human being with a heart of gold and eyes like hot whisky. He didn't deserve to be tired or depressed.
Barely managing to breathe, he made a grab for the bracelet, clutching it tightly. In some desperate movement, he gripped it hard, dying for something to hold onto. He pressed the wooden beads to his lips, the charms digging into his skin, tethering him painfully.
Numb, his eyes drifted to his roommate's mobile phone, and a flare of panic jarred deep in his stomach. It slice up his insides.
Dean had left his phone behind. That meant he didn't want anybody to contact him. Didn't want Cas to contact him.
Oh fuck, what if he'd done something stupid? Cas'd never be able to deal with that. Never be able to deal with the guilt if his best friend had - had -
He bit back a sob, running a hand through his hair.
Phone calls needed to be made. Soon.
-x-x-
"Whoa whoa Cas, slow down - I can't hear a word."
Cas took a few deep, calming breaths, blinking back another wave of tears, "He's gone. Charlie, he's gone, and it's all my fault, and what if he's don't something stupid because of me? What if -"
"Dean's gone?" Charlie asked, cutting through Cas' panicky BS.
Cas nodded, before remembering he was on the phone, "Gone. We had a fight and he... he left. God, Charlie, I don't think he's coming back either."
That knowledge made Cas want to jump out of the nearest window.
"Oh c'mon, Cas. You guys have fought before - besides, this is Dean we're talking about here. He's the biggest drama queen ever, you know that," but she was wrong, God she was so wrong. It hadn't ever been this bad and oh fuck, he didn't know what to do.
"He left a note, Charlie," he said, as if that verified everything. Charlie must've heard the quaver in his voice, because she fell utterly silent, "He said he was leaving. Said it was better for me if he - if he 'got out of my hair'."
There was a pause.
"...What did you guys even fight about.?" Charlie said, her voice dropping to a far more serious tone. Cas took a stuttering breath.
"Doesn't matter. What matters is he told me he loved me, and now he's gone and I don't know what to -"
"He what?" Cas flinched at the pitch of Charlie's voice.
"He said in the letter. Said he... he loved me." Cas choked on the end of his sentence, looking down at the bracelet in his open palm - those words were so foreign when associated with Dean that it threw his brain for a loop trying to say them out loud, "And now he's gone. Charlie, I need your help. You have to try and find him before he leaves Lawrence."
Charlie was muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "...through a letter? That bastard..." but she stopped her (possibly psychotic) ramblings as soon as she heard the word 'help'.
"Okay Cas. Me and Gilda are gonna try and get a bunch people out, okay? We'll find him, don't worry honey."
The fact that Charlie pulled the 'h' word on him showed how serious this situation was. He bleated a pitiful "Thank you" through the phone's speaker, before hanging up, falling like a dead weight back onto the couch, eyeing the clock on the wall. It was nearly two in the morning, but he wouldn't be able to sleep. Not with this dead weight in his chest and the painful stinging in his eyes.
To think; Dean leaving hurt so much. Who knew how much leaving hurt Dean? He must've felt like he was in a pretty tight corner if he figured that this was the easiest way to resolve things. By breaking Cas' heart. Leaving it vulnerable like an open wound.
He felt another sob well up in his chest, but he pushed it down. Dean wouldn't cry. Dean hadn't cried since his mother died. He was tougher than nails - tougher than Cas. And if he was hurting more than Cas, he certainly wouldn't be crying about it. He'd be doing something productive. Something worthwhile.
The beads of Dean's bracelet seemed to dig harder into his palm. He looked down at the little charm. A string of hand-crafted beads, dotted with tiny trinkets. There was a reason behind each one. The anti-possession symbol made Cas smirk at the memory of Dean's past paranoia; the angel wings reminded him of the time Dean had dubbed Cas his 'guardian angel' because of the help he'd given him during finals; the feathers were jaybird feathers - the bird that had landed on Cas' windowsill the day he'd met Dean.
Okay, that last one was sappy as all hell. But Cas was a sentimental person. The day he met Dean (Thursday, September 9th, 1999. Yes he had the date memorised. Shut up.) was high up on the list of most important events in his life. If he hadn't included something to do with that date, then he honestly wouldn't have seen the point in making the bracelet in the first place.
He felt nauseous when he realised Dean may never wear it again.
The little ornaments glinted dully in his hand for a few minutes more, resting in his palm. Without Dean's wrist they looked sort of... lonely.
As if calling him from a different plane, he eyed the drawer in the TV unit, where his silver craft knife lay, still in the cloth box that it had been in the day it'd been bought. Probably still as sharp too; Cas liked to keep his things in mint condition.
In minutes, Cas had gathered the necessary items - a block of wood (which may or may not have been the handle from his bedside cupboard), his knife, and a blanket. He'd found a patch of wall to lean on beside the front door, Dean's letter acting as motivation in his lap as he set to work
He was gonna carve his damn heart out.
-x-x-
His eyes were drifting shut come lunch time the next day. For the best part of nine hours, he'd been carving out the next charm to make its way onto Dean's bracelet, praying for a knock to sound on the door.
Any time now. Any time.
Charlie still hadn't called. Cas could only fathom that that meant Dean was gone. But he didn't let himself think about that. No, he did the opposite. He denied it with all his being; he believed that each extra little line he put onto Dean's charm would make it more likely for the man to come back. One extra chip, one extra chance that Dean would be on that doorstep in next to no time.
His tongue was making clicking noises against the roof of his mouth in an attempt to keep himself awake - he didn't exactly want to slice off his fingers. Besides, he needed to be awake so that he could be prepared for when Dean came back. Because Dean was going to come back. Dean was going to come back, because Cas couldn't see a future without him.
By two in the afternoon, he'd finished the little trinket. A replica of Dean's Impala, complete with the tiny digs in the treads of the tires. Had he been in a different situation, he would've admired his handiwork – the minute details on the rims was nothing short of fantastic - but he wasn't in a different situation. His situation was one that didn't have time for pride or self-admiration. He'd been selfish enough already.
So all he did was slide it onto Dean's bracelet, face solemn, eyes tired and helpless.
Sinking, he decided. That's what it felt like. He was on a ship with a hole in the hull, and there wasn't any chance of surviving.
Knock.
Cas jerked his head up, eyes wide. Unbelieving.
Knock.
He leapt to his feet so fast that he went dizzy.
Two clicks and a pull later, he was standing face to face with the man who'd kept him up all night.
Honest to God, the rush of relief that Cas felt fill his lungs was too much. The speed at which he launched himself at the other man made them tumble backwards, but Cas didn't care. He slung his arms his arms around Dean's neck regardless. Dean was here, he wasn't somewhere else, and that was all Cas cared about right now.
"You idiot," he babbled into Dean's neck - motor oil and leather, "You goddamn idiot. I love you - love you so much you fucking great big idiot."
A sob escaped Cas' throat when Dean hugged back.
"Charlie told me. Helped me get my ass in gear," his voice was muffled and strained in Cas' ear, "I'm so fucking sorry Cas. I didn't think you'd want to see me again. Not after -"
Cas shook his head in the hollow of Dean's throat. He was wrong. So wrong. They'd both acted like dicks, and their dickishness had cancelled the other's out. As far as Cas was concerned, Dean coming back to where he belonged meant more than any apology ever possibly could.
"Dean," Cas relished the taste of Dean's name on his tongue as he pulled away. He didn't think twice about framing the other man's face, thumbs stroking along those high cheek bones in a (dare he say?) tender fashion. He really did look awful. Those beautiful green eyes were glassy and bloodshot, and his skin was pale, tinged almost grey. To think Cas had done that... Made Dean looked like a hollow mess. Cas'd never be able to forgive himself. He had to try and make it up somehow. He'd spend the rest of his whole damn life making it up, if he had to.
Gingerly, he leant in close, scared of moving too quickly. Scaring Dean off.
"Shut up." He said eloquently, before pulling Dean forwards and capturing his lips.
Fireworks. That was the only way Cas could explain it.
It was like his head had been a dark, motionless void. Even with all those nameless men, all of those nights fucking, nothing had ever felt like this.
The touch of Dean's skin sent sparks of colour racing across that void, lighting him up on the inside. Blues and reds and greens and yellows - every slide of their mouths created a new colour, breathing life into him. Making him dizzy.
If there was a Heaven, this was it.
Dean stumbled a little (and that was the singularly most adorable thing Cas had ever witnessed) before he could catch up with what was happening. Calloused hands gripped Cas' waist, not too tight, coaxing him gently forwards. They were pressed tightly together, hip to hip, bodies fitting together like they'd always meant to. Like coming home. There was something sharp digging into Cas' hip, and when he realised what it was, he pulled away.
"Wait," he breathed. His eyes popped when Dean tugged him forwards and virtually crushed him between his bulky arms. Cas coughed.
"Dean -" he gasped, feeling his lungs start to collapse, " - Dean I can't breathe -"
The vice loosened. "'M sorry." Dean mumbled into his ear. Cas held back a laugh. Trust Dean to get all needy in the space of ten seconds.
Cas grinned at the man in front of him, fondness pouring out of his ears, "You left something behind when you disappeared."
He reached into his jean pocket, sliding the bracelet out and dangling it before Dean's nose. The other man took it, looking slightly awe-struck.
"Thanks," he breathed. Cas looped his fingers around Dean's wrist, pulling his hand back up between their chests.
"Take a look," he said, pulling the bracelet to its full length. He watched Dean's eyes run across it, landing on the new addition, his mouth falling agape.
"I started it last week," he lied - because he was not admitting that he'd etched the whole thing out in less than ten hours, "But I didn't have the proper... stimulation to finish it until yesterday. If you don't like it I can make a different one, if you want -"
"Don't be stupid," Dean said, making Cas all kinds of happy when he slipped the bracelet around his wrist and clipped it in place. "It's perfect. I love it."
It felt like electricity sparked across Cas' skin when Dean ran his hand through the shorter man's hair, pulling him close and pressing his lips to Cas' forehead.
"Never let me be a moron again, Cas," he gruffed, face buried in Cas' hair, "Just punch me before I do something stupid."
Cas chuckled, nodding, "If Dean Winchester strays into doofus-land, I'll punch him. Duly noted."
Dean's laugh sounded like the notes to a long-forgotten song.
Cas hadn't ever heard anything so good.
-x-x-
The next night, Cas fell asleep with his head in Dean's lap. The taller man's thumb rubbed cricles into his hip all the while.
Cas couldn't have been happier.