Edited
4
Teaser
Pushing through a memory of Dean and Sam on one of their many hunts, he finally found what he was looking for.
The image startled him, pained him, and he desperately hoped it had never actually happened.
Sadly, he suspected otherwise.
A young Dean lay before him on the ground, an orange and brown ratty carpet beneath him. He couldn't have been more than twelve. John Winchester stood over him shouting obscenities at the poor child. There was a swell of bright red skin on Dean's face, slowly turning purple; evidence of the violence that John had inflicted. Dean sobbed through apologies, holding an arm over his head in a pathetic attempt to shield himself from the man who should have been a better father.
John was blaming the young man for Sam having run off under Dean's care.
"I told you to watch him!" John shouted.
Castiel always thought of Dean as tough and arrogant in the face of anyone or anything attacking him but this was not that Dean. This Dean was cowering under the onslaught of the accusations—allowing himself to be beaten and diminished, likely because he felt he deserved the punishment.
Castiel moved forward purposefully, shoving the contents of the memory to a distant corner of Dean's mind. He found himself looking down at a full-grown Dean curled on the ground.
The angel crouched down beside his charge and cradled Dean's head in his palms, unsure of whether Dean still believed he was a young boy or not. He brushed the damp hair away from Dean's forehead and searched his eyes.
"Ca-as?" Dean stuttered and then turned over, flopping spread-eagle on the ground.
Cas sat back against his heels, not knowing what else he could say. It was no wonder that Dean had a hard time formulating healthy relationships—he had no basis for what one should be. Not that Castiel had any advice or recommendations on that front. He'd slaughtered much of his own family...and done even more unspeakable things. It was a wonder Dean and Sam still spoke to him.
Regardless, this wasn't about him. This was about Dean.
"Dean, do you trust me?" he asked, his eyes turned away from Dean so the hunter would feel more comfortable.
Dean ignored him. "Where are we?"
Castiel frowned. "In your dream," he reiterated. "Do you trust me?" This time his voice was sharper. His irritability was eased mildly by fingering along the inner seam of his tie. It wasn't his original blue tie…this one was darker. He liked it better. Though perhaps that had more to do with how he'd gotten it. It had been the night he'd shown up at the bunker to find Dean aggrieved over Kevin's death and Sam being taken by Gadreel. Before they'd left, Dean had come up to him with the tie, saying that the new look wasn't complete without it. The strongest part of the memory was Dean's fingers brushing against his neck as he'd tied the tie for him.
"Yeah 'course. You know I do." Dean pushed his body up enough to rest back on his elbows and looked at Cas, waiting for him to go on. There was a bit more life in his eyes than Cas had seen by the lake so hopefully things were going a bit better.
At least they didn't seem any worse.
"Do you trust me when I say that you are not poison?"
Dean scoffed, his eyes briefly closing.
"Dean, you're just…psychologically damaged," he began considerately. "You need to trust me when I say that you will, in fact, be okay. You don't need to believe it yet…just trust me to believe it for you," he added earnestly.
Dean started to laugh. Why? Cas had no idea, but since he hadn't been sure he'd ever hear the sound again, he sat there and enjoyed it for a moment.
"What in this do you find humorous?" Cas' eyebrows knitted together as he tilted his head to watch his friend throw an arm across his stomach, his eyes and mouth crinkling at the edges.
"Y-you...just c-called me...psychologically damaged!" Dean barked and continued laughing in hoots, slapping a hand to his leg.
Castiel still wasn't sure why this was funny at all, but Dean's laughter was contagious and it lifted his spirits and soon his own bursts of happiness joined in. It was strange and wonderful, and he couldn't take his eyes off of Dean. He'd never been more thankful for being inadvertently funny.
In a few short seconds they were both laughing heartily; their bodies shaking, tears reactively streaming down their faces. It had been a long, long time since they'd laughed together. It felt incredible; like a weight had slid off of them (even if only temporarily).
With a great conclusive sigh, the laughter died and the quiet took over.
Abruptly, the landscape shifted. They were sitting together on dry, soft grass beneath a cloudless perfect night sky, littered with millions of white perfect stars. Cas fondly noticed the Impala parked in the distance out of the corner of his eye. He looked down between his legs at the ground and smiled—trying to hide his contentment from Dean.
Castiel hadn't caused the change in dreamscape so it had obviously been Dean and that made Castiel hopeful. This was good.
He felt Dean watching him; observing him with a notable intensity.
"What?" he asked, his eyes darting to the side to glance at Dean sitting cross-legged beside him. His voice lightly amused. A dim smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"So…" Dean began, listing to the side enough to bump Castiel's shoulder. "How do you like my body?" he asked, straight-faced.
What better way to reply than to choke on air, Cas thought sarcastically as he coughed in sputters. Turning his focus to the side, he shot a startled, wide-eyed look at Dean.
"Umm…?" was about all Castiel could force out of his mouth. His eyes darted around anxiously.
Shit.
Course, he had no idea if Dean was asking whether he "liked" his body, as in its physical construction, or, if he had somehow realized that his "supposed" best friend was actually possessing him.
Either question caused issues. Castiel was embarrassed, ashamed, cornered—answering either implication would be...revealing.
Dean must've took notice of the building panic because his features softened, and he held Cas with his eyes.
"Cas, stop freaking… I remember," Dean clarified gently, biting his lower lip. "I know this isn't really a dream… Not exactly." He frowned faintly, confused. "Or is it? I don't know how this all works," he admitted, waving his hand about in an abstract motion.
"I remember passing out—Pathetic, right?" he droned rhetorically. "I remember the alley getting brighter, but then I was back in Hell somehow and… Fuck. It felt so damn real. And then you were there. Man I was pissed. I'd thought you'd gone and risked your life to pull me outta the pit … Again. But then I remembered saying yes to you…and I, uh, felt you." Dean's voice caught at the end but he smiled, sucking in a thick breath.
Cas stared at his friend as he spoke, his body rigid. His breath held still as he waited for Dean to go on.
"Honestly, it felt…friggin' peaceful. Wouldn't've expected that…" Dean said nervously, rubbing a hand along the back his neck.
The dim smile Dean wore stuck around, and the two of them sat there looking oddly at one another. It took a few minutes before Castiel felt able to speak.
"I'm so sorry, Dean," he muttered, bracing himself. "I didn't feel as though I had another choice." Such bittersweet words to both of them. The same line used so many times over to excuse badly chosen actions. Retreating into a sulk, he waited for Dean to expel him.
A tight grip grasping his shoulder startled him, forcing his closed eyes open. The face that dominated his field of vision was one he knew better than his own. Making matters worse, Dean had shifted closer, and his eyes seemed to hold Castiel in a strange limbo for a good few breaths.
If he were given the time, he could finally count all those freckles.
"I know, Cas... It's okay. I get it." Dean assured him. There was no trace of anger, hidden or otherwise that he could sense.
The grip of Dean's hand tightened and moved to rest across his shoulders, replicating what Cas had done by the lake. A warm line of comfort that he was tempted to sag towards, but held stiff instead.
"You're not mad? Don't you want me gone?" Knowing Dean as he did, the acceptance was difficult to believe. For the most part, Castiel was still cringing, waiting for the inevitable force to slam his grace out.
Screwing his face up, Dean spouted, "How could I be mad!? It would be damn hypocritical of me to get pissed at you for doing the same damn thing I forced on Sam because I, too, felt like I didn't have another choice." The harsh tone was worsened by the cruel lines of Dean's face. The man's self-hatred displayed front and centre—like it often was. It gave Castiel the sudden urge to jostle him, thrash him, and say 'It's not your fault!' but instead he watched patiently and under his sight, Dean softened; the anger waning.
The hunter twisted the ratty hem of his jeans between his fingers with the hand that was free and continued speaking, this time in a lower voice, his eyes set on the ground.
"Besides that… it's you. You're not some psycho angel. You're just m—Cas." The words were shaky and unsure. He wondered what Dean had been about to say. Would it have been "my" something? Sheer temptation to hear Dean voice Castiel as his—in whatever capacity—hit him in the pit of his stomach.
A sensation he recognized as longing. Something he'd often felt from humans many times over. And, on occasion, in times of desperation, from Dean…for him.
In the silence, Cas memorized Dean's profile against the moonlight, wishing his friend had not suffered through so much. If only he could have pulled him from this life as he'd done with him from Hell. If only he could have saved him... Really, truly saved him.
"I'm sorry I'm so fucked up." Dean whispered about ten minutes later. The tone was reproachful—filled with regret. Cas shook his head in exasperation.
"We're all fucked up, Dean." Cas granted, forcing a smile in his friend's direction.
"Gee… Thanks for the ray of sunshine."
Discreetly, as he spoke, Dean pulled Castiel a bit closer, their bodies now pushed flush together along their sides, right down to their hips and thighs. The gesture came off as instinctive and unplanned; like they'd done this before. They definitely had not. Without a doubt, he would've remembered the feeling of Dean's side pressed up against him, the smell of him this close…the heat of his body seeping through their clothes.
"You're right though," Dean went on. "What you said before. I need to change. I need to be…different. Better at dealing with crap, I guess. I need to—"
"—Relax." Castiel interrupted, both as a sentence-ender and a demand. "Just relax…" He was chasing this moment; the quiet, calm night, the dream, Dean right up by his side, sitting on the ground. All he wanted was for Dean to stay beside him in this dream, to enjoy as he was.
I need this. We need this.
"Just relax, huh?" Dean cocked his head, giving a lopsided smirk. The man was evidently charmed by Cas' trivial suggestion. No earth-shattering, soul-reaffirming psychoanalytic prescriptions this time.
Relax… he thought once more, pushing the command towards Dean, feeling anything but as the moment carried on.
Tilting left, he fully met Dean's green-eyes; the connection causing everything to warp. The atmosphere in the dream thickened, growing and flexing around them like a pulse.
They were suddenly too close—maybe not close enough, Cas considered. But infinitely closer than they'd ever been. And not just physically, intimately close, but in a kind of transcendent way. Not that it should be too surprising, considering they were sharing the same subconscious, but this was different… This was skin-tightening, mouth-suddenly-dry, heart-hammering closeness. Castiel was inexplicably terrified.
A heated tension pushed its way between them; the erupted outcome of a million looks stretched across several years, a million remembered touches, a million private thoughts swarmed through the air between them like flashes on a spastic television screen.
The discomfort grew as the seconds passed. Dean's eyes shifted back and forth, the uncertainty in them clear as anything could be. This vibe that had sprung up with a forceful surge after many years of neglect was quietly acknowledged. There was no doubt they both felt it.
Dean's stare flickered down to his lips. Cas reflexively licked them. His face felt like it was on fire, and, was he sweating? His body tightened like a spring, but for what purpose?
Nothing happened.
It seemed they didn't know what to do, or how. The world halted and, apparently, so did they. The want and need was plain as day in their weighted breaths and dark stares, closely watching each other but it became a stalemate. Neither of them wanted to be the first to break, to admit there was something more. Saying something like that out loud was not the Winchester way and Cas knew that. Their bad traits must've grown on him.
It was all such bad timing, too. And what if Dean rejected him? What if he'd been wrong all this time? Was this hushed, ignored, long-building concept of "them" something that could turn into a reality? In the end, Castiel doubted that very much, at least from Dean's perspective, and that set his resolve. His heart seemed to plummet, but he took a breath and began to pull back.
Feeling his retreat, Dean tightened his grip on Cas' opposite shoulder, holding him in place, forcibly keeping them breath-sharing close but stopping short of doing anything else. Dean didn't speak. Or do anything. Maybe he couldn't, trapped in the same static pattern that held Castiel just the same.
As the moment dragged on, Castiel had to break through this weighted limbo. Feeling appreciative for this moment no matter what it meant, he smiled. He had Dean's affection and for that he was grateful.
The corner of Dean's mouth turned up. Slowly, languidly. Despite the long intense moment, Dean seemed to relax, the muscles over his eyes and near his jaw stretched back out, softening.
An awkward laugh bubbled up from his chest, seeing the way Dean sat there looking at him—all very lax and content. It made no sense to see this, not this close. The action wasn't forced or weird. It seemed relaxed of all things, just like Cas has asked for. The break in tension made him chuckle timidly, and something more comfortable settled between them.
Dean continued to grin as Castiel laughed softly—just quiet huffs of breath and a slight tremble of his shoulders. The whole exchange between them was unlike anything else…
An entire conversation had passed in a few short moments but Cas wasn't entirely sure what had been said.
They'd spent a lot of time together over the years, and so many times they'd been on the brink of something, of a step never being taken.
This moment felt exactly like that, though exponentially stronger. And a hell of lot more confusing.
After a few unsteady, but slowly calming breaths, Dean broke the heavy silence.
"So if you're…uhm—" Dean blushed. "—in me..." he coughed awkwardly, pausing long enough to take in Cas' broad responsive grin. "Then where is your body? Or Jimmy's? You know what I mean," Dean gestured vaguely with his left hand.
"At the bunker. It's protected," he answered. Castiel found himself unable to hold back his blatant staring. Their silent conversation had shaken something loose and it refused to be put away again.
"Oh." Dean turned to the movement of the trees and grass as the fake dream-like wind pushed everything around. "Good," Dean tacked on with a slight nod of his head, his thumb grazing in a quick back and forth pattern at the side of Cas' neck. Such a small gesture shouldn't leave a trail of fire in its wake, but that was exactly how it felt.
"Dean," he said gently, reluctant to break this moment. "I really do think it is a good idea for you and Sam to live apart for a while, but…that doesn't mean I think you should be alone. I can stay with you…wherever you plan to be," he suggested nervously. If you want…
If you'll have me.
It was no doubt selfish to offer this. Dean wasn't the only Winchester brother who needed him. Sam required further healing, but looking at Dean, his choice between the two was already cemented in his gut. Though, in his defense, Dean was clearly the more inadvertently suicidal of the two. Besides, it wasn't that Dean and Sam needed to remain separated indefinitely, they could visit each other (as they should), but it probably wasn't the best thing for them to spend every waking moment together as they had for the last three-plus decades.
Clearly that had been problematic, he considered, amused by his own thoughts.
"Cassss?" Dean teased his name in one drawn-out syllable, bringing him back to their moment. "Are you saying you want to move in with me?" A swaggering grin was unleashed on him and if he'd been standing, he probably would have buckled.
"I… I… umm… I just—" Cas sputtered stupidly.
"—Chill, I'm just teasing you," Dean cut in. The hand resting on Castiel's shoulder stroked downwards along his arm. "I want you around too, Cas."
The touch warmed him to his core and all the things Cas wanted and tried not to think about broke free. It was time he should be leaving Dean, but now, the thought of it filled him with ripe aversion.
"I, uh, I find that I don't want to go," he admitted. He should be ashamed for staying here longer than he needed to. Dean seemed to be okay. Maybe not okay…but stable.
"What's it like? You know…possessing me?" Dean considered him seriously. It was still puzzling that Dean had thus far not shown one iota of discomfort for the fact that Castiel was currently taking over his body.
"It's strange, I guess." Castiel gazed out over the landscape. "But mostly because it's you. I feel like I'm perversely invading something Holy and—" In trying to explain, Dean interrupted by tugging a chunk of his hair, forcibly turning him so they were face-to-face.
"—Holy?!" Dean barked on a laugh.
The lips that caught Castiel's eye spread slowly into a strange smile that made his stomach feel unsettled. It reminded him of the smile Dean had unleashed on him back when they'd been at the bar over a month ago and Dean had been saying something about hook-ups and perfection… Cas could hardly remember the rest of the conversation from the way Dean had stared at him.
With no forewarning, Dean's smile vanished. His hand gripped the fistful of Cas' hair a little more stiffly, and used it as leverage to pull him in until they were no more than an inch apart.
Heaven Help Me…
Castiel panicked, affected profoundly by a shiver from Dean tugging his hair. His breath turned rapid and for a split-second he thought: This is it.
"Cas, nothing about my body is Holy. I can promise you that." Deans' eyes darkened considerably, his voice just as deep. It sent a tremor through Cas' dream-fabricated form and he had the impulsive urge to close up that horrendous gap between them. The muscles in his abdomen clenched, realizing for the first time the true strength of desire. He'd never imagined it would be so crippling.
Dean tilted his head down a fraction, his eyelids drifting shut, his breath warm against Cas' lips. Before Dean's lips reached his, Castiel freaked and disappeared.
Startled, Dean fell forwards to the ground, catching himself on his arms before he face-planted the grass.
Re-appearing a few feet away, Castiel stood mutely. For the most part, he corrected, save for the embarrassing, uncontrollable pants for air. His chest puffed out and in as he stared wide-eyed at Dean on the ground.
The human in question glared upwards, more than a little aggravated it appeared.
"Jesus Cas! What the hell!?" Dean threw his arms in the air. His cheeks were pink and he was breathing rough too. Thankfully, Dean's embarrassment seemed to make way in favour of irritation.
"It's just…uhm…if what I think was about to happen…was actually about to happen, I would sincerely prefer we were not in your head." Castiel hastily supplied in explanation and hoped he hadn't screwed things up.
Dean looked up at him blankly, so he added, "I want it to be real…" in a whisper.
The first shy, dim smile broke across Dean's face. "Right. Yeah…uhh…me too. Sorry."
Dean nervously glanced down and then jumped up to his feet in a swift motion, shaking his body in the process as though trying to dispel the weird almost kiss.
It hit Castiel full-force, his eyes widening... He and Dean almost kissed.
Kissed!
"How long will it take you to get here? Or wherever I am." Dean asked with sudden excitement, tacking on suspiciously: "Where even am I?"
Doing a little shake-off himself, Cas answered. "A motel, but I didn't pay. Actually, I didn't check in at all so you probably can't stay here very long."
A part of him could still feel the bed beneath Dean's body, the stale motel air, the darkness and quiet.
The anticipation between them started to build all-over again as they thought of their imminent reconnection. The growing nervous energy was nearly a visible substance in the dream. The breeze, which had been dull, picked up.
"Right… So, uh, how about we meet halfway?" suggested Dean. Castiel watched, amused, as Dean fidgeted. The man's vivid green eyes were unable to stay focused on any one thing for longer than a second.
Agreeing with a nod, Castiel walked the short distance to Dean, stopping with barely a foot between them. He didn't dare get any closer.
"I'll see you soon then…" Castiel said; coming out as more of a demand than a promise. There was a small, anxious part of him that worried this was all a well-conceived lie to get rid of him so that Dean could go off and self-destruct in peace—somewhere that Castiel wouldn't be able to find him this time.
The concern must have shown in the creases of his forehead because Dean virtually discarded of all the remaining space between them and put his warm, big hands on either side of Castiel's face to hold him still, forcing his head straight but tilted up.
"Hey…look at me."
Gladly, Castiel thought, focusing on the spectrum of green in his eyes.
"Cas, I promise you that I will not go off and get myself ganked in a blaze of flaming glory when you vacate my hot piece of ass. Okay?" Dean grinned crookedly, staring at him.
He managed a disjointed nod, mostly distracted by the lack of air between them, feeling Dean's muscled thighs pressed against his own. Even though Dean held his face a set distance away (presumably so they could actually converse), their hips were provocatively close. Dean's body was curved in towards him and Castiel couldn't help that his gaze flashed down.
Dean snickered. "So you do like my body?!" he teased.
Castiel cheeks flamed red, which he hadn't imagined was possible in this dream-state, but he'd been wrong.
Obviously.
In fact, everything about this fake-dream was bewildering and unexpected. That included Dean himself. Maybe it was because they were both occupying the same mind, the same body, maybe it was the innate closeness in that context. Either way, Dean had never been like this with him, and he'd never ventured to test the boundaries of their friendship before—strained as it could be. Whatever the reason for lax boundaries, Castiel felt gifted that where he'd expected anger or distrust resulting from his panic-induced actions of possessing Dean, he instead got closer to what he wanted, something he never thought he could have.
"How about this?" Dean put forward, interrupting his inner monologue of revelations. "The sooner you leave, the sooner we can meet back up… And the sooner you can…uh…get inside me again." Dean grinned wickedly, licking his lips to try and dampen the smile.
"…Sort of," he added after a seconds' thought.
Quirking an eyebrow, passing a quick tongue over his bottom lip, Castiel stared in utter confusion. Why would Dean want to be possessed again? Did he find it pleasant?
"Why would you wa—"
A hand slapped over his mouth. Dean gave him a hard, long look, his eyes beseeching Cas to think on that some more. And he would have, had that hand not felt sensual, and therefore immensely distracting.
This unhindered, novel, and frequent touching that was evidently permitted was hard to acclimate to. Cas' body whacked out from sensory overload and he had to force his brain to repeat what Dean had said: "Inside me again..."
Watching the flavour of mischief on Dean's face gave him all the answer he needed.
As realization dawned, Cas' eyebrows practically ascended off of his face in shock at the barefaced invitation. It was just so daringly forward and though Castiel might've be a little thick when it came to sexual interest, Dean's audaciousness was still unexpected.
Having watched Dean over the years with women, the bold advance wasn't too unheard of…but there was no denying this was different. They were friends, and Castiel was, for all intents and purposes, a man. And of course, Dean had never propositioned him before.
The man dominating his thoughts winked at him and Castiel turned red, wondering at what point his face would simply explode. Trying to force the temperature of his blood down was useless. He opted to hold himself rigid and still, mouth in a tight line, hands and arms stiff at his sides.
"K, time to go." Dean stepped back, pushing Cas by the shoulders to widen the gap between them.
Grimacing with the cold air that took Dean's place, Castiel looked across the two feet and frowned. Dean offered him a sympathetic smile, reaching up to brush a thumb against his jaw in quick motion.
"Go," Dean repeated, softer.
Holding onto the promise of more, of something real: Lips, and skin, and other things real, he backed further away. His body filled with a strange mixture of panic and exhilaration.
Nodding once, incapable of actual words, he collected himself in a fluid motion and moved out of Dean's soul, surging out of the familiar body that he left lying on the motel room bed.
He glanced back once as he let his essence float, memorizing the look on Dean's face before he woke.
It was calm.
Castiel knew it wouldn't be long before they would see each other, but after what felt like weeks inside of Dean's mind, any separation from that level of closeness was going to feel like a dull, cold, pit. Perhaps he was being a bit dramatic, he reasoned.
Surely everything would be okay.
/\/\/\
Dean woke on the bed feeling refreshed—like he'd spent the week at a spa. He didn't move, didn't even bother to flex his fingers.
He thought back on all that happened, finding his thoughts to be a total mess. His emotions were so...all over the damn place. Dean imagined that this must be what bipolar people feel like. Torn in two, or three, or four…
He flipped between wanting to off himself, cry like a friggin' baby, or lock himself in the bathroom and jack-off violently to the image of Cas' flushed face, his mouth hanging open, his eyes dark and excited.
It was like a twisted carnival Merry-Go-Round of WTF.
Dean ran a hand through his short hair, surprised at the softness, considering he'd spent a good while lying in a fucking alley—God, the shame in that was immense. Clearly Cas must've mojo'd him sober and clean. Which only made him feel a shit-ton worse.
Knowing Cas had seen him that low was downright embarrassing. Then again, it was probably nothing compared to what Cas might have seen inside his noggin. God knows what Cas had stumbled across in there—Dean was all too aware of the bat-shit crazy he had going on in his head.
Shit…
What had he been thinking, anyway?! This wasn't him. All that 'woe-is-me' crap was for douchey-emo-dickwads.
So he fucked up… BFD. Right?
Shit happens…as the bumper-sticker claimed. He needed to get his damn act together.
Taking a deep breath, he sat up. The room was dark and quiet, reflecting how alone he was. Again with the emo-crap! He wanted to mentally slap himself for being so goddamned needy. 'Cause that's what it all boiled down to, wasn't it? Deep-down, though he'd never admit it, he was so desperately lonely that the thought of being in this shit-hole of a world without his brother was unthinkable.
But Cas had been right—Sam didn't need that kind of cling-wrap. Ya know…set them free and all that…whatever.
Grow-up, Dean thought to himself. Be a man. Show Sam that you can be a better family for him.
And on that note, he added, maybe show Cas you aren't a dick. Or a coward. Dean tried not to lose his mind thinking about all that had happened in the privacy of his head. They'd leapt off the proverbial cliff and there was no going back…at least not without repercussions.
Dean would do his best. He would try. He owed them that.
Digging into his pocket, he grasped his phone. Hands were shaky, but no one was around to witness that. Cas' contact was the first he pulled up. Faced with the blank screen and touchable keyboard, he typed slowly… "Can't wait to see u… for real. Wanted u to know that."
Dean puffed his cheeks, blowing out a breath and then hit send. Rolling off his sudden upstanding psychological behaviour, he pulled up Sam's contact and tapped absently on the smooth surface trying to decide what to say. He should call, of course, but…you know…baby steps.
"Hey Sammy… I'm sorry, u know, for everything. And I shouldn't have left."
After hitting send on that message he re-pocketed his phone, used the bathroom quickly, and headed out the door quietly so hopefully the front office wouldn't see him and accuse him of squatting. A quick cab ride later and he was back at his original motel room across town, his baby parked by the front door.
He was halfway done packing his stuff when his phone dinged. It was a message from Cas: "Me too. Sam saw your message. He's being stubborn (I believe this to be a Winchester trait). Give him time. Send him another message in a little while."
Dean locked the phone, nursing the hurt that Sam was purposely not responding but decided he could be patient.
When he was packed, he walked out of the room and stopped to stare at the sun breaching the horizon creating a dull glow over the landscape. It was hard to believe that his drunken, idiotic (and potentially dangerous) stupor had been less than twelve hours ago. It seemed like months had passed between then and now...and shit, maybe it had? In the crazy hallways of his brain who knew what time meant there. Hadn't he heard somewhere that a dream can feel like hours and yet only last in actual time for something like seven minutes? The thought triggered a memory of 'Seven Minutes in Heaven' from when he was fourteen and he couldn't stop the comparison between making out with Jenny and almost making out with Cas... Dean decided ultimately that Cas being an angel and everything had a better run at the whole 'Heaven' part of that game.
Shit. Almost kissing Cas? Dean paused by the door of his car, hand on the hood holding his cell. Jesus Fuck...
With a big-ass breath, and a necessary head-shake, he forced from his mind the imagery that kept cropping up for attention as it all nestled into the cracks of the pleasure-centres of his mind. He threw his duffel into the back and plopped down into the driver's seat. The door creaked as he pulled it shut and he started his baby, rejoicing in the rumbling sound of her engine.
Before reversing out, he texted Cas again. They were a good twelve hours apart now and Dean had a head start getting to the halfway point so he figured he'd just drive until he decided to stop and tell Cas where he was. "I'll let u know where I end up, okay?" After a moment's hesitation, he added: "Hurry up…"
Pathetic, he chastised himself, but still desperate enough to send it. He was trying to be okay, to be normal, but he just wasn't all the way there yet. Hitting rock bottom, or what he thought was rock-bottom at the time, had made him want to change.
He hadn't a friggin' clue how to go about doing that though.
How do you mold yourself into a better person? Regardless, it was about damn time that he tried. Clean up your mess, right? That's what he'd said to Cas when the angel had made a colossal mistake.
Take your own damn advice, Winchester.
His phone dinged once as he was pulling onto the freeway and then again five minutes later. When he settled into a lane and the traffic seemed steady enough, he checked his phone.
It was from Sam. "No. You shouldn't have. I'm still pissed but call me when you get a chance. Let me know you're not dead. And Cas is being weird."
Dean was surprised to see the message from Sam but reading the words, seeing his brother's name on the screen eased a weight from his chest that he hadn't known had been so heavy. He expanded his lungs, enjoying the absence of that tight restriction he'd been living with for days, maybe months.
"Oh, c'mon!" Dean shouted at the slow car in front of him, swerving round to pass, and got resettled in a lane. The road wouldn't pass by fast enough for him.
The second text had been from Cas. "Patience, Dean. Are you familiar with the concept?"
No, he thought, huffing a laugh through his nose. He had his arm half-extended to drop the phone on the passenger seat when another text from Cas popped on the screen. "I'll admit though I feel restlessly eager. Human travel is infuriatingly slow."
Yes it was, Dean agreed silently. He had no damn clue what he planned to do when he and Cas were in the same room—that was a 'Level One: Freak-Out' kind of situation. But like anything else, he would force himself to figure it out. Besides...he had an unopened bottle of whiskey in the trunk so that would probably pave the way a little bit. Then he considered how things might go when he saw Sam again... That encounter was going to be about as fun as a trip to the dentist. Things were about to get weird and difficult, but taking the easy way out was no longer an option.
Grow up and nut-up.
"And so begins the Dean Winchester journey to mental health," he said to himself, half-sarcastically, reaching across to the glove compartment to grab a Metallica tape, flipping it the right way in his fingers and then pushed it into the tape-deck.
The pattern of drums and bass and awesomeness filled the Impala and he forced a smile and sang along until the smile was real.
And the road becomes my bride
I have stripped of all but pride
So in her I do confide
And she keeps me satisfied
Gives me all I need
And with dust in throat I crave
Only knowledge will I save
To the game you stay a slave
Roamer, wanderer
Nomad, vagabond
Call me what you will
But I'll take my time anywhere
Free to speak my mind anywhere
And I'll redefine anywhere
Anywhere I roam
Where I lay my head is home
(And the earth becomes my throne)
And the earth becomes my throne
I adapt to the unknown
Under wandering stars I've grown
By myself but not alone
I ask no one
And my ties are severed clean
Less I have the more I gain
Off the beaten path I reign
Roamer, wanderer
Nomad, vagabond
Call me what you will
But I'll take my time anywhere
I'm free to speak my mind anywhere
And I'll never mind anywhere
…