Unknown Number
Chapter 4
see Chapter 1 for author's notes
What the fuck did he just type? Dean stared at his outgoing text:
give me 1 more chnce?
then glared balefully at the glass on the table beside him, now empty of all but a few drops of whiskey. He'd just meant to ask for a chance to explain, to tell Cas that all this wasn't his fault, that he just couldn't do a relationship right now, not even a friendship with potential.
And, okay, so maybe between drinks he'd been playing with the idea of seeing where things went with Cas, but he thought he had quashed that. The words dancing around his screen said different.
Son of a bitch.
ignor this convo pls been drnking
Almost immediately, his phone buzzed an answer.
Are you all right, Dean? Where are you?
Dean stared at his phone in disbelief. Figured that Cas would be the kind of guy to be worry about Dean, even after what he'd done.
y arnt u yelling at me
I have no reason to yell. But I will if you don't tell me that you're ok.
Dean chuckled. He had thought Sam was the only human able to communicate pissiness through text. Apparently not.
fine. at home.
and u should b mad at me
He really, really should. Dean nodded, in total agreement with himself. He had promised Cas a good time, then went and fucked that all to hell. Cas would have even been better off with that Bartholomew guy, probably.
No, definitely. Better off with anyone other than Dean. Hell, Dean had done him a favor. Shouldn't go out with strange guys you meet via wrong number, anyway.
He forced himself to stop nodding. It took a minute for the rest of the room to get the message and stop moving as well. Once it had, he reached for the whiskey bottle and started to tilt it toward his glass, almost dropping the bottle when his phone buzzed again. Focusing on the screen, he saw several notifications from Cas. He set the bottle back down with a frown, the glass still empty. If he was gone enough that he'd missed multiple texts, he probably needed to stop for the night.
I'm not mad at you, Dean. But I am worried. Why are you drinking, presumably alone?
If it's about tonight, please don't worry. Sometimes things just don't work out.
We can still be friends.
Dean huffed a half-laugh at that one.
Now I don't know if you're ignoring me for the cliche, if something's wrong, or if you've just passed out. PLease answer just to let me know you're ok.
His fingers hovered over the tiny, virtual keyboard, trying to figure out what to say. He wasn't okay, but that sure wasn't Cas' fault, or his responsibility. Dean didn't want to lie to Cas, but he didn't want him to worry, either. And he seemed to have developed an irritating habit of typing things he didn't really mean to at the moment.
The phone rang. He answered before he thought better of it.
"Dean, good. I apologize if I've overstepped, but I just needed to be sure you're okay. I can hang up now." He could hear the concern in Cas' voice, and just for a moment let himself enjoy it, whether or not he deserved it.
"Don't hang up," he said into the silence.
"Okay."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay. Do you want to talk about it?"
Dean's laugh might have sounded more like a sob, but Cas didn't comment. "Not really, no, but I guess I kind of owe you an explanation."
"You don't owe me anything, Dean."
Cas' voice was so nice and warm. Dean just wanted to wrap himself up in in and not move. He slid down till he was laying flat on the couch, kicking his feet up onto the armrest so that he could stretch his legs out.
"Maybe you don't think so, but, yeah, I really should. Just, not over the phone man."
"I understand." Dean's eyes fluttered shut as he listened to that soothing voice. "And please know that I won't hold you to anything tomorrow, if in the sober light of day you decide differently."
"Y're a goodguy, Cas." Dean wasn't sure that he'd actually gotten all the words out he intended to with that, but he was really tired and enunciating was such hard work.
"Dean? Are you falling asleep?"
"mmmmmm" He snuggled down deeper against the cushions. This was nice. If he let himself believe it, it was almost like Castiel actually cared, was there with him. And he probably shouldn't let himself indulge in the fantasy, but it was only for the night. Just for a little while.
"Don't go to sleep yet." The voice was still gorgeous, but slightly more pointed. Dean frowned. "Dean, you need to get up and drink some water before you sleep. Maybe take an aspirin."
Dean shook his head.
"I know you don't want to, but you will be thankful you did, come morning." Dean lay there debating the merits of Cas' proposal. Comfort now versus comfort in the morning. With a groan, he pushed up to a sitting position.
"That's good, Dean. I want you to drink at least one whole glass of water, then refill it and leave it beside your bed."
"'Kay," he mumbled. He shuffled to the kitchen and filled a glass, drinking down the water in great gulps as Castiel talked on about taking care of oneself and staying hydrated. Dean wasn't following the actual words, just the voice. Care and concern without expectation. He carried the refilled glass to his room and set it down, stripped down to his boxers, juggling the phone as he did so, and flopped onto the bed with a grunt.
"Under the covers, Dean," came the gentle admonition. "Then you can sleep."
He wiggled his way under the covers and sighed contentedly.
"Good night, Dean."
"Night Cas."
He was asleep before the soft beep of Cas disconnecting sounded.
It was disgustingly bright out when Dean opened his eyes. He threw a hand across his face as he quickly realized his mistake, rolled over and tried to fall back into the relative painlessness of sleep. His alcohol-filled bladder and throbbing head had other ideas, and soon enough he was staggering to the bathroom.
He grabbed the glass off his nightstand and gulped the water down when he returned to the bedroom. The water from the night before must have helped - his headache was definitely there, but not quite at 'chop it off' levels. It was as he thought, Good call, Cas, that memories of the night before crashed through his consciousness.
He'd offered to tell Cas the whole story. The Story. Not even Sam knew everything. No one did.
He sat down heavily. "Son of a bitch."
What the hell was it about Cas that made Dean lose all sense of what he should and shouldn't do or say?
He grabbed his phone just to check that it wasn't all some alcohol-induced nightmare. And nope, there was a nice long call logged with Castiel, along with numerous texts, including one unread, received just after 1AM that morning.
I'm here if you want to talk, but please do not feel any obligation
Dean tossed his phone onto the bed with a sigh. That was why: Cas was just so damn nice about everything. He shook his head, ignoring the bolt of pain that generated. Castiel could do so much better than him.
By the time Dean was out of the shower, he'd decided that he was just going to lose Cas' number. Better for everyone that way.
By the time he had breakfast on the plate, he'd talked himself back into telling Cas about Victor, reasoning that once he knew what a dick Dean really was, Dean wouldn't have to worry about losing his number, and Cas wouldn't feel rejected. Instead, he could rest secure in the knowledge that he'd dodged a bullet.
He stared at his phone while he ate. If he thought too much about it, he would have to admit that there was a part of him that was upset by the idea of running Cas off. And maybe a part of him hoped that the acceptance and friendship Cas had offered the night before might survive. Dating would definitely be off the table (not that Dean wanted to, except that it had been kind of nice to feel that connection again, to be touched, to want to touch), but maybe they could salvage a friendship.
But he couldn't let himself think about all that. There was no percentage in fixating on the what-ifs. So, as soon as he finished eating, Dean pulled up Castiel's contact info and hit Call.
Castiel pulled into the parking lot adjoining the neighborhood park. The playground was a mass of kids, climbing and swinging, enjoying their weekend afternoon in the mild autumn weather. Others roamed the grassy field, tossing balls back and forth. He savored their joy as he made his way to the far side of the field, almost a little jealous of how simple life was for them.
His life had been simple a week ago. He had been content, if not joyful. Before Dean Winchester and his abrupt emotional u-turns. It was hard enough for Castiel to navigate his friendships with Gabriel and Balthazar, who tended to be as shallow and obvious as a person could be; understanding Dean could very well prove to be beyond his capability. It would have made more sense just to have taken the obvious out that Dean had tried to hand him last night, but there was something about the man that made Castiel hesitate to walk away too quickly.
Dean had sounded so lost on the phone the previous night, and Castiel had found himself drawn in despite himself, compelled to provide direction and comfort. He had honestly thought it would end there; Dean's call that morning had been a complete surprise. And despite some residual misgivings, Castiel found himself here, approaching Dean as he sat on a bench, just where he had described, reading a letter as he waited. Castiel glimpsed some type of official-looking letterhead before Dean looked up and saw him.
"Hey," Dean said, giving him a relieved smile. "I wasn't sure you'd actually show up." Castiel was struck by how green Dean's eyes were in the daylight; the bar had been too dim to truly appreciate them the night before. Absolutely gorgeous.
Dean's smile wavered when Castiel didn't reply. "Not that I would blame you."
"No, no, I, uh..." Castiel looked over at the kids playing on the far side of the field to distract himself. "I'm here." He looked back at Dean, who was methodically folding the letter and putting it back in its envelope. "What's that?" Castiel asked, just before realizing that it was probably a very rude question.
But Dean's smile brightened proudly, even as he blushed. He slid the envelope into his jacket pocket as he answered. "Oh, yeah, this. I, um. I took the Detective's Exam a few weeks ago. Stopped by to pick up the results on my way here. I passed."
"Congratulations, Dean." Castiel took a seat, leaving a carefully calculated distance between them. "You must be very proud."
"Yeah, I am." Dean sounded almost surprised. "My captain wanted me to take the test. We've got a few people retiring pretty soon, and he wants to move me up." He shook his head. "I didn't really think..."
"I'm sure you will be a great asset."
"Thanks, Cas." They fell into a quiet that straddled the line between comfortable and un, as Dean grew increasingly tense. He chewed his lip for a moment before sighing. "So, I guess I should get this over with."
"Dean, I'm happy to listen, and I want to help if I can, but you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to." Castiel was unsure where Dean's insistence on telling him this story came from; he feared it stemmed from a misplaced sense of guilt.
Dean gave a half-nod. "Yeah, I know," he said slowly. "But, I kinda feel like I have to tell you, tell someone. So..." He looked at Castiel, waiting for permission.
Castiel nodded. Dean took a deep breath and visibly steeled himself. Castiel waited patiently, unsure what was coming, but wanting to give Dean the freedom to move at the pace that made him most comfortable.
"There was a guy ... Victor," Dean began haltingly. There was love in his voice, but also pain and regret, and Castiel's heart already ached in anticipation of what he would hear.
"We met at the Academy. We were buddies almost right away ... well, once we got over our competitive streak." He chuckled briefly at the memory. "By the time we graduated, we were ... well, we were more than friends. We both got positions at the department here, and it got ... serious. And then we were living together. It was a good few years." Dean smiled fondly.
"But Vic always had bigger aspirations than local law enforcement. A couple years ago, he was accepted to the FBI's training program." Dean laughed. "The day he was notified, man, you would've thought he'd won the lottery. He just could not shut up about it." He shook his head in fond exasperation at the memory. "Happiest I'd ever seen him, really.
"He had to move down to Quantico for New Agent Training; it lasts almost six months, and we didn't know where he'd be assigned once he'd graduated. So it just made sense for me to stay here and we'd figure out what next once he had his assignment. The training was pretty intense - he was always studying or just flat out exhausted. We only saw each other a few weekends during the whole time."
Dean sat lost in thought for a while, watching the kids playing across the field. Castiel watched Dean. Just in the course of the conversation, he seemed aged, burdened, and Castiel bit back another offer to let Dean skip the rest of the story. This was something he obviously needed to talk about.
"He was assigned to the New York field office. Not exactly next door, so commuting was not an option. The plan was that I would start looking for a job near him, and move once I found something."
Dean blew out a breath. "It wasn't conscious or anything. I mean, I looked up some job openings, scouted a few departments, but after a few months went by, I realized I hadn't actually applied anywhere." He paused. "And it started to dawn on me that maybe I didn't miss Victor quite as much as I should. Not the way you should miss someone you want to spend the rest of your life with, you know?"
Dean's jaw was clenched, his eyes slightly off-focus, caught up in the past. His voice was rough. "Didn't want to tell him over the phone. We had a long weekend coming up, was gonna drive out and talk to him then."
He looked away, swallowed harshly. "There was an incident, a couple of days before my trip. Vic and his partner were supposed to pick up a couple of fugitives and transport them back to the city. Supposed to be a cakewalk."
Dean gave a mirthless laugh. "Famous last words. No one really knows what happened. There was an explosion. Vic, his partner, the local leos, the prisoners... they were all killed. You might have heard about it."
A sick feeling settled in Castiel's stomach. The story had dominated the news for weeks the previous year. Castiel had followed the story with the morbid fascination of the uninvolved, as investigators tried and failed to determine the cause.
"Dean, I'm -"
"Please don't Cas. Everyone was so fucking sorry, felt so bad for me." Cas tilted his head as he listened, surprised at the target of Dean's anger. "I stood there at the funeral and played the grieving boyfriend, accepted their condolences. I just didn't know how to tell anyone that ... it had already been over. I didn't deserve any more sympathy than anyone else."
Dean's bitterness was palpable. From the little Castiel knew about Dean's past, he understood that the man had a complicated relationship with the death of those close to him. Victor's death wouldn't have been easy in the best of circumstances, but with already complex feelings, Dean seemed determined to let it fester into some sort of guilt.
"Dean, you haven't shared this story with anyone since then, have you?"
He shook his head, his gaze focused steadily on the ground. "No. Why?"
Castiel leaned forward far enough to hover in Dean's peripheral vision. "Because I can't believe that your brother or your friends would let you continue to feel guilty about something for which you bear no guilt."
Dean looked up at Cas out of the corner of his eye. "It was all a lie, man. And I just let it ..."
Cautiously, Castiel rested a hand on Dean's shoulder, pleased when he didn't shrug it off. "You loved him, didn't you?"
"I wasn't in ..."
"You don't have to be in love to love someone. And you loved him."
Dean nodded silently.
"You had been together for years. He was a large part of your life, even if his role was changing. There's no crime in accepting support from others for a loss like that. You didn't do anything wrong."
Dean's shoulders tensed under Castiel's hand. He looked up after a long moment, his eyes shimmering. "I didn't tell him. I had been dodging his calls when I could, kept it short when I couldn't." He shrugged. "Didn't want to say too much. Didn't want to have to lie."
Castiel ran his hand in soothing circles across Dean's upper back, feeling the rhythmic motion of Dean's deliberately steady breathing.
"For what it's worth," Castiel offered, "I would have done the same thing. Waited to talk in person, I mean. You couldn't have predicted what would happen."
Dean shook his head. "He deserved better than that, Cas. He gave me everything, and I couldn't even move for him. Didn't even realize that for how long? I just left him hanging and confused. And I can't fix that."
He sat up suddenly with a huff of breath, brushing his hand across his face. "So, yeah, that's the story." He looked challengingly at Castiel. "And now that you see how spectacularly I can fuck up a relationship, I guess you'll be on your merry way."
Castiel held back his instinctive response to Dean's challenge. He was hurting and vulnerable and throwing up walls to push Castiel away and protect himself. But there was no way Castiel was abandoning him to the despair and self-reproach written all over his face. Even had he not already felt invested in Dean, simple human decency demanded more.
"I'm still here," he replied simply, calmly. "And I don't intend to go anywhere."
Dean shot him an exasperated look. "Didn't figure you for a glutton for punishment."
Castiel chuckled drily. "That, I definitely am not. But I will not leave a friend alone in pain when I can help."
Dean's whole demeanor transformed. His expression turned hard and smirking, his whole body tense and defensive. "You can help, huh? What, you gonna pull out a secret time machine?"
Again, Castiel reined in his natural response, taking a deep, slow breath. Dean was very good at pushing his buttons, but it would be pointless to answer snark with snark.
"No. I'm sorry that things happened the way they did, but we both know that the past can't be changed. What I can do is help you see that it doesn't mean you are unworthy of friendship or love."
The space between them was heavily charged, and Castiel began to get a true sense of how very dangerous Dean could be - sharp-witted, physically powerful, emotionally intense. He was banking on his short experience with Dean that he was not a violent man. If he was wrong, things could get messy pretty quickly.
The moment stretched between them, Castiel all calmness and acceptance, Dean a swirling mass of anger and confusion. Then Dean gave a shuddering gasp and his whole frame slouched, suddenly free from the anger that had been holding him so tense. "Why?"
Castiel held Dean's eyes as he spoke. "Because I think you need to be reminded that good things do happen, Dean. Because I mistakenly dialed your number one night, and you were kind to me. Because you are a good man with a good heart. And because I like you."
Dean's brow furrowed, and he shook his head. "Don't know why, man."
Castiel shrugged. He wasn't entirely sure, either. But Dean was fascinating and challenging, and interested him in a way no one had done for years.
Dean shifted. "And about that. I don't what you're thinking, but I just don't think I'm ... I mean, last night kind of backfired 'cause -"
Castiel nodded, and Dean stopped his stumbling explanation. "I understand, Dean. I've been very happy with the friendship we've been building. We don't have to pursue anything beyond that now. Or ever."
Dean let out a relieved sigh. "Yeah, okay. Thanks." He nodded. "So... friends."
"Friends," Castiel confirmed. It would be disappointing, Castiel thought, if that was where their relationship stayed. But to try to force it before Dean was ready would be disastrous for both of them. And in the meantime, he would at least have Dean's company.
They sat quietly. Castiel enjoyed the slight breeze that had picked up as they spoke. Seeing Dean falling deeper into his own thoughts, he stood up. "I think I'll be going now."
Dean looked up at him and smiled. It was tentative - too much of the pain from his past still haunted his eyes - but it was there. "Yeah. I think I'm just gonna hang here for a bit."
"Of course."
He turned to leave, but stopped when Dean called him. "Cas, I'm actually gonna be able to watch this week's Dr. Sexy episode when it airs. Maybe I could call you? We could phone-watch it together?"
Castiel grinned. "I look forward to it."
Author's Note: And this is my Kill Your Darlings chapter. The only resemblance it to how I originally envisioned it is in the details of Dean's backstory. Which leaves me wondering where they go from here. Additionally, I have to turn my attention to my fic for the DCJ Big Bang, so it may be a while before I get back to this.
