Justifications
He buries himself up to his nostrils in unedited articles and emails; spanning subjects from global warming to why the break-room coffee maker spews out bitter mud. No issue is too frivolous right now—Castiel welcomes it. Anything to distract him from the unanswered questions left circling his mind like vultures. He flies through projects, sitting back at various moments, in awe of just how productive he can be when the rest of his world is crumbling beneath him. It's bitter sweet, just like the coffee.
Deafening violins burst through his headphones. Castiel had to slip some sort of sound between his ears. Three hours into his work-order catch-up, and everything was starting to fatigue. His eyes grew heavy and his fingers ached with the continuous pounding of the keys. The more tired he became, the easier it was for Dean to sneak back into his thoughts. So he brought Bach into the ring, and Mozart, and Beethoven if things got really unbearable. Now, Cas let's his eardrums writhe on the sharp trills and thunderous booms of each piece—typing faster and faster, the only audible thought coming through being the concern that he might not be making any sense.
Cas's head hums with new, hard cadence just as fingers slide across his shoulder and grip him tight, pulling him hard, making his office chair spin furiously round. Cas's eyes catch up with his body, brain still trailing slightly behind. When they finally come together, he is met by a looming-Dean, arms crossed, staring down at him.
"Dean? What are you doing here?" Cas blurts, ripping the headphones from his ears and tossing them on his desk. "How did you get in my house? "
Dean doesn't flinch, he only chucks the spare key Cas gave him years ago, into his lap; bending forward slightly at the waist, his green eyes full of fire.
"What you did to Sammy tonight, Cas . . . that was messed up!"
Each accusing blink ignites Castiel. Dean's eyes leer at him as if he were the one skating on the lips of another. His nails dig tight into the arms of his chair, feeling as if he could rip them from their bolts.
"What I did?" Cas barks, leaping from his seat. "What do you mean, what I did?"
Dean leans forward into Cas's wrath, "You just walked on him, Cas! You're pissed at me, remember? Why did you feel you had to embarrass Sam in front of his girlfriend?" Dean unlocks his arms, throwing the right out to the side, gesturing at the fictitious Sam in the room. "This has nothing to do with him!"
Cas nearly falls back at the words barreling out of the man's mouth, a little surprised that not a drop of alcohol was riding them. "You are correct, Dean, in that, I'm angry with you! I feel badly for leaving Sam like that; but what did you honestly expect me to do?"
Dean straightens a little, re-folding his tightened limbs, "I expected you to act like the mature, know-it-all, you always consider yourself to be and stick the fuck around!" he huffs, gruffly.
"No, Dean! You expected me to not mention, nor care about what I saw when I walked into that place!" Cas takes a large step into Dean's space, causing the defensive man to bend backwards a little. "You expected me to not notice how you had already forgotten everything that just happened between us! You really don't waste any time, do you? And you apparently don't really care how anyone might feel about it!"
"I didn't even know Sam invited you!" Dean sputters, his wide eyes, gawking at Cas's questions.
Castiel's mouth gapes for a moment, unable to comprehend Dean's justifications.
"Oh! Then by all means, Dean! Sleep around! Become the town's drunken bachelor again—never resting until every available woman has been conquered!"
Dean lets a snarled laugh burst from his lips, "Sleep around? One, I only kissed the chick and two—it's only considered sleeping around if you're in a relationship!"
Cas turns his head away from Dean's gaze, feeling as if he'd been punched again. He corrects his neck, slowly, his voice erupting in vicious whispers, "So, was this all just an experiment to you then? Was I just your test subject; a hypothesis to see if all your long-term hatred of male intimacy was justified?" Castiel pushes further into the man, chests grazing each other's, his chin at Dean's—sipping in the uneasy breaths slipping from the other's lips.
Dean's mouth contorts on misshapen words, taking a few beats before any begin to tumble out, "What? No, of course not!"
Cas feels the fury within him eclipse his fears of overstepping, "Oh, so you are the timeless cliché then!" Cas gives Dean a shove, knocking the man backwards, "You are the homophobic man who is only so hateful, in order to mask his own desire for the same sex? Only acknowledging his hunger behind closed doors? Did you expect me to stay behind closed doors Dean? Before I became too much of a hassle, that is?"
Dean's face loosens, and a look of surprise and worry floods over his skin. "No, Cas, that's not—"
"Am I being pitied then? Is that it, Dean? Poor Castiel! Am I that pathetic to you? So much so that you needed to throw me a literal-bone?"
The throbbing veins return to Dean's brow, "You want to talk about pity? What was all that:Dean, you're too fragile bullshit, huh?" Dean thrusts his neck back at Castiel, cutting off any advance that he may have had. "You told me to stop, Cas! You told me I couldn't handle this! You told me to fucking stop!"
With a cooling glare, Cas pulls away, until he can focus clearly on every clenched muscle in Dean's face. "You don't think you're fragile Dean? What did it take . . . one argument with me to send you tumbling back into your old ways? If Sam wasn't there, would you have been drunk too? One little argument, and that was all the reasoning you needed to dismiss the world, wasn't it?"
Castiel begins taking slow, methodical steps towards his counterpart—never blinking, causing Dean to inch back with each advance. "What if I didn't stop you, Dean? What if I had let you continue trying to pleasure me? Would you have changed your mind in the morning? Kicked me out at sunrise, like all your other flings? Chalked it all up to one big mistake on top of your many? How would you have felt if you thought you had just messed up, yet again?"
Dean stops his retreat, letting his voice drop low until it shakes Cas's knees "Are you really worried how I would have felt if that happened? Or are you more worried about how you would feel?" Dean hisses, making Cas flinch a little.
"I was worried about both, Dean! And why wouldn't I be? Do I always have to be the selfless?" Cas thunders, feeling his words vibrate the ground.
"Do you really think that little of me, Cas? That I would just up and change my mind, overnight?" Dean spits back, hurt and alarm pooling in his narrowed eyes.
"Isn't that what you did anyway? Isn't that what you always do? I have seen you with a hundred women, Dean, and none of them made a reappearance, save for Lisa—but one hardly excuses the pattern! Did you think I wouldn't be able to see the signs? I stayed the night, and come morning, you already have my replacement running through your mind!"
"Wow, your memory of this morning is really fucked up, Cas. Again, you-stopped-me!"
"So, then that's it? I say no and you move on? Life must be so much easier when you can forget people so quickly!"
Dean opens his mouth but a cold silence chokes his words. Cas feels his rage accumulate on his tongue.
"I have pulled you out of the pit more times than I can count, and this is what I get?" The blue in Cas's eyes grow arid and dark as he juts his face up to Dean's ozone, "I have been there for you, even when Sam couldn't handle your relentless neediness! I have literally let you beat me if it would make you feel even slightly better—I did all that for you, Dean! And you just toss me aside?"
"Cas . . . I- I didn't toss you aside!" Dean stammers.
Castiel's eyes cloud with white flashes; he feels his hands tangle into the fabric of Dean's shirt, as his knuckles dig into his ribs, lifting the taller man and propelling him backwards through the office door and against the wall of the hallway, rattling the frames with the impact. Dean coughs and sputters as he tries to collect the air that was just heaved from his lungs—his eyes wide, mouth gaping.
"You don't have to sleep with me, Dean! You don't have to kiss me! I never asked you to do any of that; that was your damn choice! The very least I expected . . ." Cas's voice dips, rumbling low, churning his own fiery stomach with the heavy base, "the very least—was that you would respect me."
"I—I do"
Cas's eyes burn with anger and with the tears he had been willing himself not to create.
"Don't you dare patronize me, Dean!" Cas bursts, releasing his grip from the man and hurtling himself round, facing the opposite wall. He growls deeply, wheezing around the boulders collecting in his throat, finally, pounding the sides of his fists against the plaster, as if he could beat all this from his world.
"I think . . . I think you should leave now." Cas roils, letting his forehead press against the wall between his fists.
"Cas, c'mon . . ." Dean offers softly. Castiel hears him move towards his back—the warmth of Dean's outstretched hand, hovering over his shoulder before dropping and gripping his shirt. The touch sends a shockwave through his joints. He whips back again, exploding his arms forward and pushing Dean away with all his strength.
Dean coughs with the collision, "What the fuck, Cas?"
"What? Are you angry now Dean? Are you going to hit me again?" Cas backs up and throws his hands into the air. "Go ahead! Go ahead, Dean! Please? Come on, throw another punch!"
Dean unknits his brow,shaking his head, "Cas, I'm not going to—"
"Please, Dean! Hit me! Do it! Do it, because I am telling you right now, that will feel so much better than this!" Cas demands; the truth of his own words nearly doubling him over. He turns again and staggers down the hall, determined not to let Dean see him break.
"Castiel . . ." Dean whimpers
Cas moves to the mouth of the hallway and leans on the edge. "I'm resting in your teeth, Dean and you're choosing to bite down. I-I can't take it . . ." Cas whispers through choked tears.
"I—I don't know what you want me to say."
The uncertainty in Dean's voice spurts out the last bit of venom from Cas's throat. "I don't want you to say anything, Dean. I—want you to get the hell out of my house!"
