A/N: Don't own the characters.
I think.. I like writing Dean and Cas arguments best. I always disliked the fics where Cas acted like a kicked puppy when Dean showed his ass.
We've seen evidence in the show that Cas has more of a spine than that, and either I'm not reading the right things or there just needs more StandingUp!Cas in fanfiction.
Anyways,
"No!" The word bellows out like a boom of thunder. All at once the demon charging Dean is gone, somewhere across the room with rays of blinding light searing out his eyes and wide open mouth.
For a brief moment, things are quiet.
Dean's ears almost ring with the angel's shout, and where once he had been alone on a common task to look into the whereabouts of the Colt, now he was with company and down one demonic threat.
"Dean." Cas said tightly the second he rose to his feet from expelling the demon.
A blink of an eye ago it had been far too close to the hunter with a knife in hand. Dean had been jumped, which normally was no big deal. But yet another argument had split the brothers up. They had long since made up, but Sam was at least half a state away and unable to help with what was supposed to be a routine look into a possible lead. However, Winchester luck was rarely that cut and dry and as Castiel turned on his heel and got into Dean's face the air shifted from adrenaline of danger to that of a different nature.
"What are you doing? He nearly killed you." The angel's hands fisted at his sides. His jaw tightened and his shoulders curled up together, like someone had ran an electric current through his veins, tightening every single one of them as he glared down at the hunter.
Dean stared up, startled and trying to catch up to the moment.
He hadn't seen Cas in... what? Months? It felt like more. So much more. Years, almost. Maybe it had been one, at the least. Dean had gotten used to thing being just him and Sam, that was for sure.
To anyone else, seeing the person that had been plaguing their dreams for weeks upon months would be a blessing. To finally see the form you'd had ticking away in the back of your mind with the chant of "Is he safe? Is he ok?" would be a blessing.
And such things were met with smiles and sighs of relief.
But all that came out of Dean's mouth was, "Yeah? Well if he had it wouldn't have been any of your damn business." He didn't back away from the angel this time. Dean shifted, getting up in Cas' face even more than the other already had, leaving barely more than an inch between them.
Cas glared, but there was more to the sharp decline of his eyebrows than simple anger. There was hurt, and fear, and the strongest scream of "How could you say that?" that any face could ever display.
But either Dean didn't see it, or didn't want to. He snarled, and ripped away from the shared space.
Across the room, far out of reach, was his knife. He snagged it and slammed it back into his belt a little too hard, slicing his thumb slightly. He hissed, pressing the split skin to his lips before turning to glare back at Cas, who was looming with the same mixture of fury and pain in his eyes.
"Well?" Dean spat as he moved his finger to his shirt, where the weak cotton soaked up what it could.
"You gonna poof again or what? Cause I got work to do and I don't have time to waste on you."
There was so much pain writhing just under his dumb mouth. Dean's chest was splintering into fragments of bone and sinew as he spoke, roaring the words at the face he'd almost started to forget. But the plains of Castiel's features seemed impossible familiar as he glared at him, taking in the blazing blue eyes and tightened jawline.
In that moment, Castiel was very much an avenging angel, and not for the first time in his life Dean felt like nothing short of some vile demon.
"I'd hate for you to waste your time." Cas spat just as balefully as Dean had directed all of his words. Even if turnabout was fair play, the tone cut deep. Dean flinched as Cas vanished, leaving in no more than a flurry of feathers, just as he had arrived.
Trying to fight the pain away with grimaces and snarled, Dean huffed once to himself before stomping straight to the door. The lead was false, as much the demon ambush had said, and with that obstacle eliminated he had no further business in the abandoned house.
Ignoring his still-bleeding hand for the time, the hunter marched straight out to the impala, which he drove with his clean hand while leaving the other in his lap.
Outside the edge of town where the house rested he found a roach motel. Slamming his baby into park in the parking lot, his free hand wrestled in the back seat for the first-aid kit in the floor.
Just who the hell did Cas think he was?
He just went AWOL for at least five fucking months, then he just shows up for giggles to make Dean look like a girl before leaving?
His hands shook with anger badly enough to prevent the bandage from cooperating.
In a fight of frustration Dean kicked the door to the impala open, threw the bandage away, and marched across the gravel ground.
He didn't want to stay here. Couldn't, really. Not with the fury burning through his veins. But he'd told Sam to meet him here, so he was trapped with nothing but anger for company.
Cas had a lot of nerve to ditch him after that day. He hadn't answered a single call, even when Dean had damn near begged for his help with this or that, or simply offered to talk to him about what had been said. The hunter assumed he was off pouting and looking for God, which was like trying to find a good pop song- impossible.
Despite that, Dean had gone on. He'd called Sam when things got to be too much, and over time the two had gotten the band shakily back together. By now things were smoother. They searched for leads and busted monsters on the way, sometimes together and other times apart. They were one another's greatest weaknesses, but at the same time an unbeatable strength. And splitting their time apart and together helped immensely.
But now, riled and pent up, Dean just wanted to drive.
Fuck Cas, and the other angels. Fuck Heaven and the apocalypse. He just wanted to drive, with the radio on full blast, only stopping for burgers and booze. Maybe a woman or two.
Because he was fucking straight, and no dream or idle thought would say otherwise.
He hadn't dreamt about Cas the same way he hadn't wanted to talk about the whole situation in a way that maybe involved some introspection that proved painful.
Dean sure as hell hadn't realized that maybe -just maybe- he felt a little more than friendship towards Cas. Why the hell would he really put himself that far out there for some angel prick who left.
Just like everyone else.
By the time Sam pulled in to the crappy motel (because Dean's taste in rest stops was so classy) he felt exhausted. He'd been driving for hours, which was normal but still tiring, and to make it all worse he still had to drag his things inside whatever room his brother had bought for the next few hours.
Hopefully he could knock out and rest before the idiot decided a new job was in order.
Lately Dean had been racing from job to job without fail. There was no time to think, or sleep, both of which seemed to vex the older Winchester to no end.
Slowly Sam made his way to the front counter, where a man in a loose tank top and backwards ball cap directed him to room 55B. Up stairs.
Sam groaned, thanked him, and drug himself back to the car for his bags. Deciding he could live easily with just one (the one containing his toiletries) he marched up the small metal stairs on the side of the long building and found 55A.
It was dead quiet when he unlocked the door, and the smell that smacked him in the face upon opening it said why.
Dean was passed out in one of the beds, surrounded by his usual friends with the empty brown necks and black labels.
Sam sighed, lugging his small suitcase inside and tossing it onto the bed.
Shutting and locking the door carefully, he paused in the middle of getting out his sealed bag of toothpaste and brush to stare at the window.
A sigil of dried blood rested on the glass, guarding them from any angelic eyes.
This wasn't unusual, considering Micheal was still trying to ride Dean's ass to D-Day. But lately Dean hadn't really bothered with the wards. In fact, he'd almost seemed to avoid using them when he could.
Sam, being Sam, came to the only logical conclusion while trudging off to the shower.
Yet again Dean was acting more like a girl than he realized, with the pouting and refusing to even see Cas. Though of course all the empty bottles meant the other had tried to see Dean.
With a shake of his head, Sam turned the shower on full hot and sighed heavily. He didn't want to get involved in his brother's mess. But if he was going to act like this (and thus be a surly hungover dick come morning) something needed to be done.
He made up his mind between the oddly-scented shampoo and brushing his teeth with the toothpaste he actually trusted, that before bed he would call Bobby. Sooner rather than later, his brother would have to sort out his little feud.
Hopefully, Sam though before falling into bed with maybe two hours left to rest, tomorrow would prove productive.
Yeah.. And maybe Lucifer would just give up and go back to Hell, to.
