Thursday November 13th
It's about ass-o'clock in the morning when Sam barges into Dean's room like he owns the place. He's dressed in his workout clothes and swaying on his feet, squinting at his older brother in the darkness.
"What 'd'ya want?" It's way too early for what he's assuming Sam is going to ask of him.
"I'm going running, would you like to come?"
Dean looks at his clock. "Dude, A: it's 5:30 in the morning, and two: you look like you're about to keel over."
Sam scoffs at him. "A: I always run in the mornings. And two," he bites out sarcastically, "I'm hoping it will help me wake up."
"I'll go with you." Castiel sits up, rubbing at his eyes blearily.
"Great job, Sam, you woke him up."
"I don't mind," Cas says, yawning a bit unconvincingly. "I'll go. We can take Colt."
Sam gives a Cheshire-cat grin at the guy who's probably just become his new best friend. "Awesome, we're meeting in the lounge in five minutes." Sam practically flounces out of the room, his too-long hair flowing behind him.
Castiel gets up and starts making his bed, which is surprising given the messy state of the floor. And that's when a pair of red lace panties falls out and unto said floor.
Dean snorts as Cas picks them up and examines them. "Those yours?
"Ha ha," he says flatly. "I think they're Bela's." Well, there's the answer to Dean's question of whether or not they're fooling around. "Or maybe they're Eve's."
Jesus Christ. Dean shouldn't be so shocked, though. Meg did say he was the resident slut.
"How many people are you sleeping with?" Dean says 'people' instead of 'girls,' because maybe Cas swings in his direction. He hopes Cas swings in his direction.
"Uh." Castiel thinks for a few seconds, scratching his head. "Four girls. Sometimes more than one at a time."
Dean feels a little stab of disappointment. Aside from a wink and a serious disregard for personal space, all evidence points to Cas being straight. He doesn't ask who the ladies are, but he's really fucking curious. Detective Dean will have to do some snooping later.
"I should return these," Castiel says, and Dean is relieved that he's not one of those perverts who hoards the underwear of his conquests. That would have lost him major potential-future-lover points.
"Alright, see you later," Dean calls as Cas walks out of the room without another word.
He sure does suck at goodbyes.
Dean tries to go back to sleep after his rude-ass awakening by his sometimes obnoxious little brother, but he can't, so he decides to take a nice, hot shower, hoping it will ebb away his growing headache and the anxious tightness in his chest. He takes his time, smelling all of Castiel's vanilla, organic, paraben-free (whatever the hell that means) shower products. Dean doesn't consider vanilla the most masculine scent, but it smells good just the same, and it fits the odd mold Cas has carved for himself.
By the time Dean is finished and into his favorite plaid shirt Castiel is back, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. He picks up a wrinkled t-shirt off of the floor, smells it, then puts it back (the room does have two hampers which Castiel ignores). He grabs another one, this one apparently cleaner, and heads toward the bathroom. But then he stops and looks at Dean.
"Did you serve?"
"What?" Dean looks down at his chest, where he forgot to tuck his dog tags in. "Uh, no." He hides them under his flannel and Cas drops the topic, thankfully. Dean is definitely not ready to go there, especially not with someone he hasn't even known for twenty-four hours. Hell, he won't even go there with Sam, who he's known for twenty-two years. That's one painful wound he's not sure he'll ever be ready to re-open.
Dean skips breakfast, stomach churning at the mere thought of food. Instead, he plays his guitar along to some songs on Castiel's iPod, writing the chords down in his notebook. He's practicing "Smoke on the Water" when Cas comes back, setting a mug of coffee on his shelf.
"Black with one sugar, right?"
Dean grabs the drink and takes a sip, and yes, Castiel made it perfectly. "You remembered."
Cas beams at him proudly.
Dean takes another sip, letting his eyes close, taking in the taste of liquid paradise.
"It's med time," Castiel tells him.
After his decision to not take his sleeping pill turned out to be a terrible one, Dean figures he might want to start giving the medication a shot. Pam is not in the med window; in her place is a mean-looking gray-haired woman. Dean turns to walk away, cause fuck that, but he runs into six-foot-four of his giraffe of a brother. Sam spins him around and pushes him into the line behind Cas.
"There's nothing to be ashamed of," his roommate says, as if he could read his mind.
"Uh, thanks, Cas." If only Dean could believe it. He grew up with the ideals that everything could be solved with sex and booze, not therapy and meds. He's way out of his element here.
Dean tries not to listen to everyone's prescriptions, but this lady is much louder than Pam was. It seems like every resident is on Prozac and he wonders if that's just the blanket drug that Dr. Crowley assigns to all his patients. Castiel is different, though, getting Zoloft and a medicine called Nexiclon. Dean wants to ask what it's for, but it's really none of his business. He's not a complete neanderthal when it comes to manners, despite what Sam might say.
When it's Dean's turn, the nurse looks at him like he's gum stuck to her shoe. "Name?" she drones.
"Dean Winchester."
The nurse hands him a little plastic cup and some water.
"Can I, uh, get a Neurontin, too?"
She looks into a binder and flips through it slowly as Dean tips back the pills. "How would you rate your anxiety on a scale of one to ten?"
"Um, probably like a six?" He rubs the back of his neck nervously. He's not usually an a anxious person. Then again, he's not usually a sober person.
"Then you don't need it. Use some coping skills and come back if it gets worse. Next."
Dean wants to tell her that just talking to her caused his rating to sky-rocket, but he really just wants to get the hell out of Dodge.
He waits for Sam and they go to the group room together, where a young brunette woman sits at the front, by the fireplace. She's very pretty, because apparently that's a job requirement at this place. Her name is Sarah, and she smiles warmly at everyone as they start to trickle in. When everyone is seated on the plush couches, she explains how the group, family dynamics, works. It is, true to its name, a group that involves talking about their families.
"Now, who would like to share?"
One of the guys, Dean thinks his name is Max, raises his hand.
The group turns out to be really fucking depressing. Max talks about his physically abusive stepfather and his mother who stood by and watched him get beaten day after day. He talks about how he ended up here, after a suicide attempt, which finally pushed his mother to leave the man. He and his mother have a broken relationship now, but they're trying to work through it in therapy.
"That was very brave of you to share, Max. Thank you." Everyone in the room echoes Sarah's appreciation. "Who would like to go next?"
Sam raises his hand and Dean's chest tightens, a lump forming in this throat. He immediately considers going back to the rude nurse. "Sam, no."
His brother sighs. "We're here to heal, Dean. That involves facing our problems and talking about them."
"It's none of their fucking business," Dean snaps. He knows he's being a dick, but he really doesn't want their fucked-up history spread out raw for everyone to see.
"I know this is difficult, Dean," Sarah says gently. "But this is a safe lace. We're all here to support you."
"I'm sorry, miss, but I don't need your support." In an act that feels like it's becoming a habit, he leaves the room and all related emotions behind.
The little incident in the group room ratchets his anxiety up to about a nine. When he tells that to the nurse, she asks him if he used any coping skills.
Coping skills, coping skills. "Uh." Dean's been using that word way too often recently. "Yeah. I did some deep breathing." It's a lie, but she finds it acceptable. He hands her the cups after he tips the Neurontin into his mouth and turns around to find Castiel, no more than three inches away from him. He chokes on his pill.
Cas claps him on the back a few times, and Dean manages to swallow it, though it burns his throat the whole way down. Castiel looks concerned but doesn't apologize. He does, however, ask if Dean is alright.
"I'm fine," Dean tells him, lying for the second time in under a minute.
"Come to our room, we can talk."
They walk to their room in companionable silence. Once their inside, Castiel closes the door behind them.
"No offense," Dean says, "but I'd rather not talk about my family."
Castiel shrugs. "That's okay, we can listen to music, if you'd like."
Dean breathes in a shaky breath, thankful that he was lucky enough to get such an awesome roommate who doesn't smother him with feelings-talk like Sam does. "Okay, thanks."
Of course, that's about when Dean's luck times out. Castiel puts on the Beatles.
"Can we listen to something else?" He hopes he doesn't sound rude, but his mother is the last person he wants to be thinking about right now.
"Of course," Cas acquiesces, changing the music to Blue Oyster Cult instead. Much better. Castiel climbs into his bed and pulls no less than three crocheted blankets over himself. With that, on top of wearing a warm-looking sweater, Dean isn't sure how the guy isn't having a heat stroke right now.
They sit together for a few minutes, just listening to the music, before Dean asks, "So what about your family? If you don't mind talking about them."
"No, I don't mind. Come here." Dean gets up and sits on the bed next to him.
"My family is very religious. My siblings and I are all named after angels."
"Yeah, I was wondering about the name. There's no Lucifer, is there?"
Castiel chuckles at that. "No, no Lucifer. My oldest brother is Michael. He's a heart surgeon. My mother's pride and joy," he says mockingly. There's clearly some tension (maybe jealousy?) between the brothers. "Then there's Gabriel. He was kicked out of the Garrison when he came out as being bisexual."
"The Garrison?"
Castiel rolls his eyes. "It's the religious community my family and I live in. It used to be a camp site, Camp Chitaqua."
"That sounds to me like a cult."
Castiel snorts at that. "Basically."
There's another question that Dean really wants to know the answer to. "Do you agree? With what they did to your brother?"
"Oh, no, of course not." Dean breathes a sigh of relief at that. He's not sure how he would deal with Cas if he was some sort of homophobe. "I think it was horrible. But he wanted to leave, anyways. Why not bang a few gongs while he's at it?
"So, that's Gabriel. Next, there's Anael. We call her Anna. She's a pediatrician, and pregnant out of wedlock."
"What does your family think about that?"
"They thought about throwing her out, too," Castiel says sadly, "but they decided that a new life is sacred and would be good for the community. She is frowned upon by most people, though. Also something I don't agree with."
"Wow." That's all Dean can really say. He can't imagine growing up with those 'values' shoved down his throat. He's surprised Cas turned out the way he did, open-minded and accepting.
"And finally there's my younger brother, Inias. He's lived with me since he was three. Us siblings practically raised each other. My mother works a lot."
Castiel points to a picture on his board. It's a photo of him standing next to a shorter man and a pretty redhead. "That's Anna and Gabriel." He points next to the only other photo he has. "That's Inias, when he was six. He's nine now. And that's my cat, Perseus."
That name sounds familiar. Oh, Clash of the Titans. "You sure do love mythology, don't you?"
"Yes, I think it's fascinating. My mother finds it very concerning. She tells me I'm a heathen," Castiel says with a mirthless laugh. "She even renamed my cat Bartholomew."
"Wow," Dean says again. What a horrible name for a cat.
"Yeah. He hates her. Understandably." Cas looks at his clock. "Oh, smoke break. Also, there's snack if you want something."
Castiel grabs his cigarettes and Dean heads to the kitchen where Sam is sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and an apple. He's talking to Ash, the mullet-guy from the cafeteria.
"Ellen told me you two know her."
Dean nods as he grabs a box of saltine crackers from the cabinet, intent on trying to calm his stomach. "Yeah, since I was a kid."
"Right on," Ash says, pumping his fist into the air and popping a Goldfish into his mouth. "She's a really cool chick."
Dean laughs, guessing that anyone would get an earful and possible an ass-kicking from Ellen if she ever heard them call her a 'chick.' He munches on his crackers until Castiel comes in and grabs a banana.
Sam looks pointedly at his brother. "You could learn a few tips from him, Dean."
"Can it, Sam." Dean puts the rest of the saltines back in the box and puts them away.
He almost makes it out before Sam calls after him. "Speaking of healthy eating, you're coming to nutrition, right?"
"Yeah yeah, I'll be there."
Nutrition is lead by Sarah. She talks about eating too much red meat and the possibility of clogged arteries. Red meat happens to be about sixty percent of Dean's diet and the conversation makes him feel nauseous at the thought of eating it right now.
By lunch time the anxiety pill has started to kick in, but his stomach is still churning so he goes to the kitchen instead for more crackers. He manages to force down about seven before he gives up and goes to bed.
An hour into his nap, Dean is shaken awake. He expects to see Sam, coming in to bug him about going to aftercare planning, but it's Castiel, sitting next to him wearing a huge grin and holding their two water bottles.
"Oh, thank God. Where did you get this?"
"Meg," Castiel tells him.
Dean reaches into his drawer and pulls out his wallet. "How much do I owe you?"
"Nothing. Meg and I have a... well, we have an arrangement."
Dean doesn't ask what the arrangement is, but he has an uneasy feeling that it involves indulging in her sex addiction. So that's Eve, Bela, and Meg. So who's girl number four? Dean doesn't know if he even wants the answer to that. He pushes those thoughts away and focuses on the burn of the gin traveling down his throat. It does nothing for his upset stomach, but after a few minutes he feels his headache fading away just a little bit.
Castiel leaves to go to group and Dean drinks. And drinks. He's made it all the way to drunk by the time Cas comes back into the room to grab a cigarette. He sticks it behind his ear and walks toward the door.
Castiel stops when Dean says, "You sure smoke a lot of someone who's trying to quit." Dean knows it's kind of an asshole thing to say, it's really not his business, but his tongue is loose and he really doesn't like the idea of Cas getting lung cancer or something. Castiel doesn't seem offended, just points to him and tells him he sure drinks a lot for someone trying to quit.
Dean thinks about that for a few seconds. Is he trying to quit? He doesn't respond.
"That's what I thought," Cas says, and he turns around and walks out of the room.
After Dean was kind of a dick to his roommate, he feels like being especially nice and goes to check on his brother. He's not in the lounge, or the group room, or the rec room, or the kitchen, so Dean heads to his bedroom, trying his best to walk straight. He doesn't think he succeeds.
Dean bursts into the room and flicks on the lights. Sam groans and covers his face with a pillow. "What the hell, Dean?"
"Rise and shine, Sammykins." Dean collapses on the bed next to him.
Sam does not look amused. "Again, what the hell, Dean?"
Dean pulls the pillow away from his face and Sam squints at him, trying to adjust to the light. "Can't a guy check on his sleepy baby brother?" He plants a sloppy kiss on Sam's cheek.
"Dean, are you–are you drunk?"
Damn it. Caught. He really should have known better.
"Not muchly drunk."
Sam's expression is dripping with disappointment. "Nice, Dean. Real typical. Just like dad."
Dean recoils like he's been slapped. That was a fucking low blow if he's ever heard one. "That's not true."
Sam shoves him off of the bed and Dean lands very ungraciously on the floor. "Really? I'm here, trying to get through withdrawal and still go to all my groups and sessions, and you're fucking drunk."
Dean is struck by an enormous wall of guilt, and a heap of misplaced anger toward his brother, who really just used their dad against him. "Fine. You know what? Fine. As of now, I'm drying up."
Sam looks less than impressed. "Good. Now get out. Don't talk to me until you're sober."
Dean obliges, tripping on a squeaky dog toy on his way through the lounge. All in all it's not too bad of a walk of shame, considering his current state of inebriation. Castiel is in their room, sitting on his bed in the lotus position again, with his eyes closed and his fingers running over a string of beads. He opens his eyes when Dean closes the door.
"I'm done. I'm done drinking." Dean hands Castiel the bottles. "You can have it."
Cas tilts his head at him in a way that reminds him of an adorable baby bird. "I wouldn't drink these in front of you. That would be terribly cruel." He hands Dean one of the bottles back. "Come on, we'll pour them out together."
They each empty one bottle into the sink as Dean stares wistfully at the liquid, watching it swirl down the drain. He's never found himself feeling so mocked by a beverage before now.
"Cas, can you do me a favor?"
"Of course, Dean. Anything."
"Don't let me drink any more. Even if I beg you, don't give me any, okay?"
Cas smiles at him. "Deal."
Dean goes to dinner, only for the coffee, trying to sober up over three mugs. Sam doesn't sit with him, which he tries not to take personally, but yeah, it's pretty fucking personal.
The residents at their table play some sort of word game, but Dean is too intoxicated to follow the complex system of rules. All he knows is that Castiel and Chuck, wait, Carver are great at it, coming up with words Dean can't even begin to guess the meaning of.
Ellen stops at his table near the end of dinner. "Why haven't you eaten since yesterday night?" Trust Ellen to pull out her maternal instincts and use them as needed.
"Not hungry," Dean tells her.
She tsks at him and tilts her head toward Sam, who is sitting at one of the booths with Ava and Lily. "And why isn't your brother sitting with you?"
"Because I'm an asshole." And it's the goddamn truth.
Ellen smacks him upside the head and tells him to fix things with Sam because he's the only family Dean has left. He opens his mouth to tell her that her and Bobby are family, too, but she walks away before his sluggish tongue can form the words.
"She really cares about you," Castiel says. "Your brother, too. He'll forgive you."
Dean shakes his head and takes a sip of coffee. "I wouldn't be so sure."
"Well I have faith."
And then Cas says something that makes him jerk his head up in surprise and nearly spit out his coffee.
"What?"
"I said, would you like a kiss?"
"Uh–I–" Yes. Hell yes. But wait. What?
Castiel smirks at him and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a Hershey's Kiss.
"Oh." Dean rubs the back of his neck, feeling extremely awkward. "I'll take a rain check. Thanks."
Castiel shrugs and peels the foil away, tossing the chocolate into the air and catching it with his mouth. "My brother, Gabriel, he owns a candy shop. He's always bringing me sweets. I try to eat healthy, so I usually give them all away, but I can't resist a good Kiss." Smug bastard.
Dean starts on his third mug of coffee. "So what do you do? Do you work?"
"Yes, I work in a tea shop." That's not surprising. "I also sell my art there. Do you have a job?"
"I'm a mechanic. I work for the guy I was telling you about yesterday, Bobby." His work, that is something he's never had a problem talking about.
"It must be nice working for someone you're so close to. My boss and and I don't exactly get along."
"Why is that?" Dean can't imagine anyone not getting along with Castiel.
"Well, the first week I was there, I may have slept with her daughter."
Also, not surprising. "Well, that'll do it."
Sam corners Dean in the phone room later, towering over him like a monument of accusation. "You didn't go to A.A."
Dean crosses his arms across his chest. "Yeah, and?" Okay, not exactly the best way to talk to someone whose forgiveness he finds himself desperate for.
Sam gives him a bitchface to end all bitchfaces, scoffs at him, and stomps away with his enormous elephant feet, leaving him alone in the phone room.
Dean drags a hand down his face and sits down in front of a phone. He knows Bobby's number by heart, and the phone only rings once before it's picked up. Dean doesn't even get in a 'hello' before Bobby starts yelling at him.
So, Sam told him, then.
It takes Bobby about five minutes and seven 'idjits' before he calms down enough to let Dean talk. "I'm sorry, Bobby. I know, I let you down. Sam even told me I was just like dad."
"Bullshit," comes Bobby's gruff response. "You're twice the man your daddy ever was, and I say that as one of his closest friends."
The air apparently cleared, they make small talk after that. Dean tells him about the other residents and staff members, and about the groups. He complains about his unfortunate lack of iPod and the fact that he can't sleep without music, before Bobby tells him to "Get over it, princess." They talk about the garage, and the incompetence of the guy taking over Dean's position. They talk until phone time is over and it's time for wrap-up group.
Dean doesn't go. He knows his being a chickenshit, but he wants to avoid Sam and his less-than-sympathetic looks. Instead, he sits in the rec room and watches Doctor Sexy, M.D. That is, until Meg comes in and stands between him and his favorite medical soap opera.
"Follow my finger," she taunts, waving a hand annoyingly in front of his face. She laughs when Dean tries to bat her hand away. "What, you didn't enjoy your little treat?" She leans down close to him, nearly touching her lips to his, and he gets an eyeful of breasts hanging out of her low-cut top. "There's more where it came from, big boy."
"I'm done," Dean tells Meg, pushing her away. "And you'd better keep your 'treats' away from my brother."
"I'm no babysitter, Deano," she says with a satisfied smirk. "If your moose of a brother comes a'callin', I won't deny him. Especially if he pays directly," she says with a wink. "Stimulants are his poison of choice, right? He looks dreadfully exhausted."
Dean sneers at her, thoroughly pissed off at her nonchalance. "You deal to him, and Missouri will be the first to know."
"Okay, okay." Meg holds up her hands in surrender. "Buzzkill." Then she leaves, swaying her hips exaggeratedly, probably sensing that he'd rather catch ebola than spend another minute with her.
Dean skips med time and turns down the pills when Pam comes and finds him. He's smart enough to know not to take a sleeping pill after alcohol, despite the fact that he would really prefer passing out over dealing with his inevitable nervousness and headache.
And that headache does come, full force, about an hour after talking to Pam. He is, however, lucky enough to be pulled out of his fit of self-loathing by Andy and Castiel, who stay up with him for another hour playing Uno. He loses every game, but it's a welcomed distraction from his current predicament.
He tries to sleep after Cas and Andy turn in for the night, but ends up tossing and turning in his bed for about forty-five minutes before Castiel sits up and stares at him.
"Can't sleep?"
Dean groans and rolls over onto his side, facing his roommate. "How could you tell?"
Castiel keeps staring at him until it passes the point of not-socially-acceptable and Dean clears his throat.
"Would you like to hear a story?" his roommate asks.
"Sure." Dean doesn't tell him that of course he does, he loves the sound of his voice and could listen to him talk for hours. He forces that thought into the box in the back of his mind labeled 'teenage girl.'
"Have you ever heard of the Greek demi-god, Herecles?"
Dean fluffs his pillow and tries to get comfortable on his back. "All I know about mythology is what I've seen in Clash of the Titans, that Disney movie I watched when Sam was little, and the Marvel movies."
"I've never seen any Marvel movies."
"Dude, Thor? Iron Man? The Avengers? None of those?"
"No, although I would be interested in seeing the one about Thor."
Dean jumps out of his bed excitedly, wincing at the head rush. "Lemme go tell Ash and ask him if we could watch it tomorrow."
He finds Ash in the lounge, rubbing Bela's back. She has her face in her hands and she's shaking, so Dean doesn't want to disturb them. He turns to head back to his room when Ash stops him. "What can I do for you?"
Bela looks up at him with watery eyes.
"I can come back later."
"It's fine," Bela tells him, standing up. "I was just leaving." She tells Ash goodnight and goes back to her room.
"So, what's up?" Ash runs a hand through the short, business-in-the-front part of his hair.
"I was just wondering if we could watch Thor tomorrow for movie night. Cas has never seen it."
Ash raises his eyebrows. "Castiel, king of myth and legend, has never seen Thor?"
"I know, right?"
"Charlie works tomorrow. I'm sure she has it. I'll give her a call."
"Awesome, thanks. Goodnight."
Ash claps him on the shoulder and Dean thinks that all the guys who work here are pretty touchy-feely.
When he gets back to his room Castiel is once again playing his Celtic folk music Dean found so relaxing. "I noticed this music made you calm." Geez, could Cas be any fucking nicer? He makes Dean want to kiss him and do girly things like hold him and cuddle.
And Dean hasn't cuddled in... he counts in his head. Four years. Not since Cassie. But Dean really doesn't want to think about that. Fuck, he needs the distraction. "So, tell me about that Herecles guy."
"Well, Herecles is the Greek adaptation of the Roman hero, Hercules. He was the son of the god Zeus and the mortal, Alcmene."
Castiel tells him about about the ten labors, set by his enemy, to rid Herecles of the sin of killing his children. By the time Cas gets to the seventh trial, something about a bull, Dean is fast asleep.