Chapter 8: Suppress

I remember. Four days and three hours ago I had found the stain of blood on your shirt. You had said you didn't know, whose blood it was, and dismissed it. And even when I had all the doubts in this world, I had accepted it. But just for the moment. Since four days and three hours ago there was something different between us. I could hardly handle to talk to you, only answered shortly, whenever you talked to me, but actually I tried to avoid words in general. And even when I could hardly bear your presence, every now and then I found myself staring at you, as if to hope to see something that would sell you out. And you noticed my gazes, and I always looked away.

There was an idea inside me. An idea that worked on making sense of it all. And was it only my cruel fantasy that wanted to make me believe the world is bad and everything in it as well, but I believed, no, I hoped not to be forced to believe, that there was a connection between the stain and our last case. The doubt inside me grew more and more and was pointed at you like a gun I only had to load still. And yet, I was afraid of the truth, no matter how much I sought it. And yet, there was a small part of me that wanted to come to you to the kitchen every night, a part that still believed in you. A part that didn't want to give up on our togethership and also not forget.

Sometimes I secretly discovered you wandering along the hallways. Alone, aimless. As if you had no other pastime. As if you were lost without me. Or maybe only full of fear because of me. And beyond all the possibilities and impossibilities, I maybe was, too. It scared me not to know the truth, it scared me that I needed to know it, and it scared me that I might already knew it. You scared me.

I was just talking to Sam about you, not because I wanted to, but because Sam forced me to. He tried to find out, what was going on, and even when I told him all the tiny, few facts there were, there were far more things I kept from him, than things I actually revealed. And then I stopped, because your sudden presence made me.

"Hey," you said way too cheerfully and sat down with us at one of the tables in the room, where you usually watched me read.

"Hey, Cas," my brother answered, not me. I stared at my phone, which seemed much easier than this situation, and I tried everything to ignore you. Sam on the other hand seemed to feel the tension in the air, which threatened to inflame it all. Like the quiet before the storm. And I was dying for the thunder to come, because the fight we were about to have was long overdue. The accusation was literally lying on the tip of my tongue and only waited for me to say it to your face. I wanted to shout at you. I wanted to hit you, right in your face. I wanted to tell you, how stupid you were, and ask, how you could do that. I wanted to make you the monster I wanted to see in you, because at least it would distract me from seeing the monster I was in my dreams. Which I failed to suppress, because with all the disappointment you had put upon me, you had taken the one thing from me that really helped: our routine.

"So uhm, Cas…," Sam began and I only now remembered that he was here, too. It was like I was in a room full of dust and dirt and evil, and the only thing I could see was you, although you actually should be part of it, although you actually were just as evil. Sam failed speaking and his eyes rushed to me. I literally tried to telepathically make him say something, so I wouldn't have to, but he didn't do anything. A deep sigh pushed out of my lungs and I pulled myself together. God, I was angry. So angry.

"Whose blood was it, Cas?" I asked and put all my energy in the try to stay as calm as possible. And surprisingly successfully. More or less. I already knew the answer, at least I thought so. Really, I only asked out of politeness. Or maybe I still had something inside me like hope to be wrong.

"I don't understand," you stammered.

"Answer the question," I fired and my voice became angrier, my hands became fists, desperately trying to keep my aggression in check. And you? You stared at you hands and closed your eyes. And that was the moment, when I knew I was right. Again someone had lied to me. Again I had to be watertight, and again I failed at it. It was like a labyrinth I couldn't find out of. The never ending story of Dean Winchester and how he is lied to. Episode 9023.

"The woman," you just said and my heart skipped a beat, as if to elude falling rocks that were about to hit me. When really, they had hit me long ago. I instantly knew, who you meant. My hope was dead and maybe I had still won in a way, because, after all, you had lived up to my expectation. Maybe I would be able to forgive you someday, maybe I would even be able to trust you again someday. Maybe there was a way out of the labyrinth of lies, and maybe I would find it. But never, never would it be as it had been. Never would our togethership be again how it had used to be. Because in the end, I was only the meaningless spot on the map of your story again. Unimportant enough to get lied to.

"Why?" I asked however, while the air hung heavy and the time seemed to stand still. And yet, I needed a reason. A little sense, which would at least make me understand it.

"It was a misunderstanding, Dean," you answered with a voice so small and quiet, I could hardly hear it.

"A misunderstanding?"

"I thought she was the ghoul, Dean"

"You thought?" I gave back with all the pressure in my voice I could come up with, "Since when is that our way of dealing with things, Cas?"

"I…," you began, but I couldn't let you finish your sentence. I wanted to shout at you. Hit you. Shake you, until you would come to your senses again.

"Cas, apart from…," and I stopped myself for a second to breathe and maybe to, despite all the anger, still keep hold on the yell inside me anyway, "… apart from the fact that you killed an innocent woman, the VICTIM, Cas, apart from you having failed colossally. Why the hell were you even there?!"

"I followed you," you said after what felt like forever.

"You followed us?!"

"Dean, I…"

"Why?!"

"I just wanted to make sure you…," and you swallowed, "… you two are okay"

"We don't need a babysitter"

"Dean"

"You can't just follow us like a goddamn stalker"

"Dean"

"And you can't walk around killing innocents, just because you 'think' they're some monsters"

"Dean," and I couldn't bear you saying my name over and over again, as if it belonged to you.

"We were handling it, until you showed up and screwed it all up like a fucking idiot"

"Dean"

"Cas!" I shouted, because I had to stop him, I couldn't hear my own name anymore. It was like you misused it for whatever you saw in it, for whatever you found right in my name. For whatever you seemed to do in my name. It was, as if Dean was your answer to everything, just that I, the real Dean, didn't want to be used as your excuse.

"Someone died." I said, "And all because of you"

"I know," you whispered and stood up, "I should go"

And even when a lot of me wanted to let you go, there was much more that didn't want that. It's weird, how someone can disappoint us over and over again and we can still want him to be with us. As if we needed it to be disappointed. As if we needed the drama. As if we needed someone, who reminds us again and again of how bad life can be, so we realize what is good for us. Like a lesson we teach ourselves. A practice parkour, in the manner of speaking. A labyrinth. And while everyone else is the architect of their own fortune, I'm only the architect of this labyrinth. And sometimes I'm standing in it and cry for help. And sometimes it's not help I cry for, but things I have to say, so I won't break. To stay watertight, to lute the cracks in my wall.

"You can stay." I said, "But I don't wanna see you."