Yay! Chapter 4 is here! You know what to do... read on!

4. Broken

It takes a minute for Dean to wake up, but when he does, it's with a warm body tucked comfortably into his side. It's strange, but not an altogether unpleasant feeling, and he most definitely isn't pushing it away. It doesn't take much for him to reach over and pull whoever-it-is close, basking in the warmth. He synchronizes his breathing to the rise and fall of the chest next to him, deep and even and comfortable. It's nice, he thinks, nice to feel good, to not wake up from a nightmare.

Then the door to the hotel room opens and Dean's up and out of bed, knife in hand, before it can close.

The intruder is tall and muscular, wide awake despite the earliness, two cups of coffee in his hands. A threat, most definitely, and the coffee will burn like hell if the man decides to throw it.

"Whoa. Settle down, Dean. It's just me."

The man won't throw it, though, because Dean knows him. It's… Todd? Dean relaxes after a half-second and rubs his hands over his face. Damn, why can't he remember?

"How's he doing?"

"Fine." Dean takes a deep breath. "Had a few nightmares—whimpering and stuff. I don't think he's used to sleeping in a bed." And that's probably the least of their problems. Cas isn't used to anything they want him to do, especially when it comes to speaking out. Getting him not to do chores just makes him more withdrawn, probably makes him feel useless, and Dean isn't loathe to admit that it's nice having someone around who caters to the both of them, even if he does want it to stop.

"Really? It's been two weeks." Sid pulls up a seat and sits in front of the laptop.

Dean thinks there's something that looks right about him being there, like it's his place or something. "I don't know. I don't like the way he looks at me though, like he's always waiting for an order."

"You just have to give him time. He'll get used to us soon enough."

Dean glares at his sock-clad feet. "I don't want him to get used to me," he says.

"Then what do you want?"

"I don't know."

The smirk that appears on the man's face is familiar, but at the same time foreign. What the hell is his name again? Dean wishes he could remember. He knows he should know him, better than anyone else, but he just can't seem to pull the name to the forefront of his mind.

Jim? Jack? Jose?

"Ah, yeah, he's just deer hunting up at the cabin, and he's probably got Jim, Jack, and Jose with him. We're just gonna go bring him back."

"What about the interview?"

"I'll make the interview. It's only a couple of days."

It's harder than he thinks it should be, sitting outside the window in the cold, eaves dropping on a conversation he definitely doesn't need to hear. Despite what he told Sammy earlier, his shoulder still hurts from the hold he was in and his ribs are definitely bruised. It's not so hard to breathe that he can't Hunt, but it's bad enough that he's going to be feeling it for the next few days.

"Sam, I mean, please. Just stop for a second. You sure you're okay?"

But for all he knows, his brother's right. Dad's probably not dead, just out in some cabin, drinking his nightmares away with the three wise men.

"Hey, everything's gonna be okay."

It doesn't feel that way, though. There's something different about this one, this time that Dad's gone. Anxiety rises in his chest, building until he needs to steady his breathing again, and this time it's not because of his bruised ribs…

"Dean? Dean."

He knows the voice. It's the same voice from the bedroom, the man who caused the bruised ribs and sprained shoulder. They're healed now, but there's no doubt in Dean's mind that this man is dangerous. He's too tall and the strength in his far-reaching limbs is substantial, completely tensed and waiting—for what, Dean has no clue—but there is no doubt in his mind that this man can hurt him if he wants.

Dean hardens his face, exuding the most threatening appearance he can, but the man doesn't back away, just looks at him, waiting for him to strike, as if Dean's a snake and he just has to see what it'll do before he kills it.

Dean doesn't like it and he isn't waiting to see what the man decides. His hand curls into a fist at his side and he rolls slightly so that he's poised on the balls of his feet, ready to strike hard and fast before the man even realizes it.

A light hand grazes his shoulder from behind, and before Dean notices he's even moved, he turns and holds the man to the wall by his neck. The man is by no means short, but Dean towers over him anyway, face twisted into a sneer of hatred until he realizes who he's pinning.

"Cas?"

Cas doesn't nod, but Dean automatically loosens his hold, pressing lightly against the angel's neck, not keeping him in place as much as checking his reaction. It's strange. There's fear there, but it's not of him and definitely not of the man he was ready to kill. If anything, it's fear for the man, as if Dean hurting him will hurt Cas.

"Dean?" the man asks, and Dean remembers that it's Sam who's asking, that Sam's bigger now, not a kid, not that man in his memory anymore, even if Dean can't remember how he got that way.

"Yeah, Sammy?" he asks, still looking right into Cas's eyes. If he looks away, he thinks, maybe he'll forget.

"You're hurting him."

But he isn't. Cas isn't showing any sign of discomfort at the hand around his neck, isn't withering in the slightest under Dean's gaze. He'd been shrinking in on himself more and more with every passing day since they found him, but like this, he's strong, ready to take whatever Dean is willing to give.

Dean's hand slides away from the angel's neck. He notes the slight frown with unease, but doesn't move to remedy it. Dean doesn't have enough of himself left to give anyone, especially not an angel who needs someone to help him fix himself. Dean is broken, doesn't know the first thing about helping someone, not really.

He watches Cas walk head-down to the side of the bed and kneel there like he had the first night. It isn't fair of him to confuse Cas like that, and Dean feels that guilt weigh on him more than even Sam's look of concern does when he forces a smile.

It should have been easy, he thinks as he tries to repress the rising ride of anger. It should have been simple for him to go back to how things are supposed to be. He isn't there anymore, so why does he still feel like Hell is all around him?

"You need to talk about this," Sam says.

Before Hell, Sam would have undoubtedly placed a hand on his shoulder and looked up at him with those too-wide puppy eyes, but now he just sits on the edge of the bed and stares down at his boots when he speaks, doesn't even make a move to reach out to Dean.

And damn, that stings.

Dean doesn't answer though because, for all Sam's asking—and there's no doubt that Sam really does want Dean to talk about it—Dean's sure that Sam really doesn't want to know.

"I'm going out," he says instead. When he sees disapproval written all over Sam's face, he adds, "I think Cas needs to go outside more, get used to the outside world."

He knows Sam just can't think of an argument for that. He'd argued the same thing just five minutes ago.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean says.

Cas rises and comes to his side obediently. He would have done it anyway, Dean knows, but there's something in Cas's demeanor that makes Dean think he's excited. The last time he'd been outside with Dean, he was unconscious. Who knows when he was out before then.

"See if you can find something on that collar," Dean says on his way out the door. "I hate the look of the thing."

He catches Cas's frown at the statement and wonders at it. The collar is their biggest problem. It won't come off. After Dean killed the damn vamp that did that to Cas, it attached itself directly to the hunter, tying them together. Dean needs it gone or else he risks the chance of hurting Cas, and that's something he's decidedly against. Cas, on the other hand, seems almost disappointed.

But then they're outside, sunlight shining down on them from overhead, temperature just right in the November south. The leaves are readying to fall and they give the street color, livening it even in the midst of dying.

"It's nice," he decides aloud.

Cas nods his head in agreement.

"Where do you want to go?"

The angel's brow creases in confusion, but he doesn't utter a word, just looks at him with those curious eyes.

"C'mon, Cas. Where do you want to go?" But Dean knows that he won't speak without permission.

Dean turns his back to the sun and walks northward. According to the map of the town he'd spent hours studying, there should be a park nearby. Cas stays right on his haunches, not moving an inch unless it's in Dean's direction. He suppresses a sigh and continues until they reach the large expanse of grass leading up to a small playground.

Following his lead, Cas lies down next to him. He rests on his stomach and side, curled in on himself even as he slowly relaxes on the soft grass. Dean smiles at the sight, though he knows that the reason Cas doesn't stretch out like he does is because his back still pains him. His wings are full-grown now, prettily refracting the light, but they're sore, sensitive.

What surprises Dean more than anything is how easy it is for him to read the angel. It's the same way he can read Sam, but he can blame that one on years of practice. With Cas it's simple, easy. He doesn't need to hear him speak to know what he wants. It isn't in his eyes or on his face. It's something else, something other that he can't put a name to. It's in the loosening of his shoulders and the way he seems to radiate himself around Dean, the small smile he gets when he says great job, Cas, and how the broken angel looks to him with those eyes, so trusting, just waiting to follow. He knows it's wrong, but it's hard not to like that.

"Cas," he murmurs, closing his eyes to keep from seeing the same broken expression he sees everyday in the mirror. "What do you want?" He asks, and despite his better judgment, he adds, "Speak."

"I don't know," comes the hesitant whisper.

Dean doesn't have to look at him to know that he flinches.

Dean thinks about ordering him, about asking another question and telling him to speak, if only to get a response from the angel, but he doesn't like to do it often.

Dean opens his eyes, surprised when they come in contact with a pair of wide blue eyes he's hardly seen before. The angel is careful to always keep his eyes downcast, focused solely on the carpet. This makes three times—Dean's been counting—that he's seen the angel's eyes.

Then Cas lowers his head, breaking the connection, and Dean's hand moves of its own accord to stop him. Unlike earlier, Dean's touch is soft and gentle, guiding not forcing, his chin back up. Blue eyes meet his again and Dean finds himself speaking. "I'm going to give you an order, Castiel, and I expect to be obeyed."

Cas's eyes widen even more in surprise, looking eager of all things, but Dean doesn't let it deter him. He continues on, voice hard and demanding. It's a voice he learned from his father, one that he's used more often than he ever hoped to.

"I'm done with you hiding. You're not allowed to do that anymore. I want you to be you. No holding back, okay? If you want to speak, speak. If you want to move, move. I don't want you to hide from me."

Cas nods his head—not like Dean expects any different—and lies his head back down on the grass.

"Let me know when you're ready to leave," Dean says, closing his own eyes against the sun.

The quiet rustling of the trees is peaceful and the sound of children's joyous laughter pastes a smirk on his face. Cas's steady breathing lulls him to sleep. It isn't long before he feels a press of warmth against him, Cas snuggling into his side. Dean's surprised at the gesture, but tries not to let it show. Like he did just that morning, he pulls Cas closer, holding him tight against him.

"Is this okay?" Cas asks, voice slightly shaky.

Dean smiles warmly. "Of course."

The answering smile Dean gets in return is more than enough to make the order worth it. They're both broken, but who knows? Together there might even be enough pieces to make up a whole person.

One more chapter and this fic will be over :( No worries though. This is just part one of a trilogy! Two more parts, five chapters each, should be expected within the year (I'm guestimating about six months or so for part 2 to start going up). I am currently in collaboration with MothMeetsFlame on AO3 to write the explicit scenes in the next two parts, so though part one is relatively smutt-less, there will be more in upcoming parts for those of you who want it. The non-explicit version will be available on FFN, explicit version on AO3.

On another note, I have a few projects I'm working on before all of that. Updates below:

"Bloodline": Sequel will start going up mid-June! For those of you who haven't read, it's a CM/Spn xover with BAMF wee!Dean. If you wanna read the sequel, you gotta read the first.

"Death Counted": Plot bunnies are hopping all over my brain, pushing me to write a few short fics in this world so while I'm posting the chapters for "Bloodline," a few short fics in this series will make an appearance on my profile as well.

"No Rest for the Wicked": Despite the huge want for another fic in this 'verse, I'm not feeling it too much so my plan for a sequel is on hiatus. There will, however, be a sequel sometime in the upcoming years-hopefully sooner rather than later.

Holy crap, that's a long ass endnote. Well, I'm done now, Fearless Readers. Until Sunday. Laura out!