Weeks passed by miserably. Again, Cas was stuck in a routine of trying to perform minor miracles (what little he could do with borrowed grace), tried to track down any leads on the Mark, kept in constant contact with a worried Sam, and a cordial but distant communication with Dean.
"Sir," a kind, young waitress stopped by his table, peering at him with concerned green eyes. Cas brought his head up to look her straight in her eyes, which caused her to blush at the sudden attention. "Do you need anything?"
"Coffee please." She smiled sweetly, and hurried to comply. It only took a second for her to return with a full coffee cup with sugar and cream to set before him. "Thank you."
Maybe there was something in his voice, or Sam had mentioned before how sometimes Cas' low gruff tone seemed either disapproving or completely bleak and lost to the world. Cas hadn't found it in himself at the time that Sam had pointed this out, to admit that he did feel lost and bleak much of the time. Whatever it might have been, the young woman took the seat across the table. He stared at her with a titled head, silently questioning her.
"I thought you could use a friend." She answered simply.
The tilt to his head stayed. "I have friends," he tried to assure her. He knew well enough how people viewed those who were incapable of obtaining friends. "They are just busy."
Her dark green eyes twinkled with an amused light that he often saw reflected in Dean's own green eyes. "I didn't mean to imply that you didn't have friends." Her smile was warm and friendly. "I just meant that you looked like you needed a friend here and now. Someone to talk to. To share your burdens." When Cas didn't speak, she continued, "I'm a bartender on the weekends. That sort of makes me a certified therapist."
Cas doubted that, but she was smiling sweetly at him and he thought it might be rude to completely reject her. He had, though, seen bartenders listen attentively to their customers, so maybe there was something to the job description, if not the certification itself. "It has been a tiring few weeks," he decided to dislodge metaphorically from his chest. "A friend of mine is very ill."
The woman's cheery expression fell to appropriately signify sincerity. "Fatal?" She guessed, probably from the near hopelessness of Cas' voice.
To that, he didn't reply. For, in all intent and purposes, the Mark was not a fatal illness. In fact, it would keep Dean from being fatal at all. However, in terms of the spirit, in terms of Dean's soul, it was most definitely fatal.
"I'm sorry."
His bleak, glassy eyes looked straight into her's. "It is not your fault." He could never understand why humans thought it necessary to apologize for things that they had no control. Dean certainly had the habit of taking it upon himself to take the blame for all the trouble of the world no matter who was actually at fault. "You have no need to apologize."
The little frown, the sad green eyes were a bit too much for Cas. There was too much emotion in that gaze, that as an angel Castiel still struggled with comprehending.
"I know it might not be my place," she started again after a few moments of quiet condolence, her sweet voice low, "but it seems to me like you're taking this illness upon yourself as well."
"I am not ill."
Her frown only deepened. "No offense, but you certainly seem like you are."
It was at this this time that Cas decided that he couldn't take any more of this woman's time. He stood brusquely, setting a wad of cash onto the table. "Thank you for the coffee and your company." Then he was heading out.
Despite his rudeness, she was calling after him. "My name is Ruth, if you want to stop by later to talk. Sometimes it's good to talk."
But Cas couldn't. He wouldn't have minded if she had wanted to hear his sad tale of how his best friend was dying in all the ways that mattered. It might have been beneficial for Cas to talk to someone other than Sam about the weariness that came along with worrying over someone with so much energy. He might have, if she had been utterly willing, to tell her briefly of his woes in concern to Dean. However, he refused to speak of his own personal weakness...his own illness, as the stranger had seen. For, as much as Sam tried to reassure him that he mattered for himself, and not just for his relation to Dean, Cas still had the dutiful sense of a failed angel that he needed to do penance. Whatever 'illness' that did come upon himself, then it was what he deserved.
And, he admitted to himself as he drove his yellow car to the worn down motel, he was ill, at least in the angelic sense. Earlier that day he had performed a minor miracle in healing a baby of a brain tumor. A simple miracle that wouldn't have taken much out of him years before. With everything that had happened recently, though, specifically with the grace that wasn't his, such a healing had completely drained Castiel. He felt faint, his muscles numb and lazy. He was pale, a sickish hue beneath his baggy eyes. Though he didn't sweat, he felt feverish. He felt weak. And it was a weakness that he couldn't admit to anyone, but rather a weakness that he deserved to suffer alone.
When he got to the motel, he plopped unceremoniously onto the bed, thinking about the possibility of going to sleep. When he was human, sleeping had been terrible, full of nightmares and fitfulness. As an angel, even as a pathetic one, he didn't require sleep per se. However, rest was one way to recharge. Maybe that was all he needed, he tried to convince himself. Maybe a few hours of rest would allow him to wake up ready to take on the challenges of this year.
After a while of laying ungracefully on the stuffy bed, Cas rearranged himself more comfortably. He scooted up further onto the bed, resting his head upon the fluffed up pillows. The TV was on now and a Hallmark movie was playing. Still, despite the more relaxed position he had put himself into, he couldn't find it in himself to drift off to sleep. There were too many things keeping him awake. Too many things shouting within him, not willing to allow himself to forget even for a moment all the ways he had failed and all the ways he continued to fail as the angels rebuilt Heaven within him and his best friend suffered miles away.
Just as he was able to change the channel to something less emotional (something that wouldn't upset his already sensitive being), his phone began to ring. "What?"
There was a surprised pause on the other end. "Cas?" He heard the astonished and concerned voice of Sam. "You okay, man?"
"Yes, of course," Cas responded gruffly. "What do you need?" Weariness seeped through his gravel words.
"I, uh," Sam was stuttering. "I don't need anything. Just wanted to check on you. You didn't call today."
Cas sighed. "I apologize. I was busy. I am fine. Thank you for checking in."
"Wait," Sam stopped him from trying to end the conversation. "Really, man? What's going on?"
"Not much," the angel tried to answer casually, in the kind of sass he had heard from Dean when asked so questions. "Just looking for a cure." And failing.
There was another pause. When Sam spoke, his tone was low and careful. "Maybe you should come back home, you know, get some rest."
"I cannot go home. You know that." Cas bit out bitterly.
"I meant here...at the bunker. Cas, this is your home. And," the Winchester tried to come up with the appropriate words, "I don't want to wear yourself thin. Why don't come back for a while and recharge?"
It sounded nice, and Cas certainly wanted to return to the bunker to be with both of the Winchesters...but he couldn't. For one, as much as Sam tried to make it sound like his home, it was a hard truth for the angel to accept. Second, he couldn't bring himself to be so close to Dean so soon. Not after their last time of being together. Not after Cas had been too weak to resist what the Mark had urged Dean to do.
He didn't think Dean would hate him for what Cas had allowed the Mark to do. Dean had proven time and time again, that Cas could damage the world and the hunter wouldn't hate him. However, that didn't mean that Dean wouldn't be furious as hell. And right now, Cas didn't think he could handle that type of anger, especially coming from the oldest Winchester. He certainly wouldn't be able to handle the guilt and regret Dean himself would be feeling at having kissed another man, at having done such things with Cas.
"I can't."
This time it was Sam that sighed. "Cas, please, whatever happened between you and Dean, you'll both come around. Just come home and rest, and everything will work out in the end."
"I will be fine Cas."
Sam scoffed. "You sound like a Winchester."
"Sam…"
"Just come back for a while please. It's no use overworking yourself like this."
"Goodnight Sam. I will make sure to call you tomorrow."
