Chapter 28

Dean's hand quaked as he clutched his cellphone. He rolled his lips, chewing and licking them without even noticing, he just needed some distraction from what he was feeling. Real or fake, the conversation he was about to have would cause pain for both him and Cas. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, sprawled into a somewhat awkward position to make way for his afflictions. There was a faint mumble of conversation drifting under the door from the common room; and the only light was the dull orange glow of the old bulb suspended above, casting light without the protection of a shade but with no help from the inky sky outside.

"You alright?"

Dean jumped, he'd been sucked into his own little land of distraction, and completely forgotten that Chuck was even in the room. He paused a few beats until his heart stammered into a steady rhythm again after his fright and looked up at Chuck, "hey man, can you do me a favor?"

Chuck shrugged, probably just cautious about the fact that Dean had never really asked him for anything before. They sort of just had a comfortable mutual silence, with occasional small-talk. Not a huge amount of interaction with each other. Which was a huge upgrade from his previous roommate.

"Can you go for a walk or something, just for a bit. Go make a sandwich or do your laundry or something? I need to talk to someone, in private." He paused for a moment to test Chuck's reaction, before he added, "it's really important."

Chuck's eyelids slacked slightly, and the corners of his lips tugged down in a face so unimpressed it was borderline miserable. "Didn't your old flatmate make you do this all of the time?"

"Y-yeah," Dean replied uneasily, palm cupping the back of his own neck as his eyes flickered away uncomfortably.

"And didn't you tell me how much you hated that, and how it was a lot of the reason behind why you left?"

Dean swallowed hard and nodded again, looking back at his flatmate, "please."

The scruffy man took a deep breath and exhaled before he nodded reluctantly, "fine, fine. I'll get out of your hair for a bit."

"Thank-you."

"You owe me one."

"I do."

There was something about Chuck that he just trusted. Maybe it was the fact that he was such a dramatic change from what Michael had been to him, or maybe he saw him as salvation, a second chance. Of course now that he thought about it, it could well be those blue, blue eyes and that dark scruff of hair. He was a constant reminder of Cas.

He watched him go before he turned back to his phone, realising how reluctant he was for Chuck to leave now; he had been the last hurdle between distraction and this inevitable call he had to make. He inhaled shakily, feeling the nerves rising in him, the overwhelming feeling of anxiety almost making it hard to breath, filling him up inside and spreading through every part of him. His eyes slid closed as he prepared himself. Mind dripping over thoughts of what he would have to say, what he had to sound like, how he should act. All of the things he didn't want to ever have to say to Cas, all of the things he avoided doing because he knew how volatile he could be and how strongly he reacted to any aggression. But he had to get it over with. He knew that Cas was probably just as nervous – if not moreso, considering he had no knowledge of the rest of their fine plan.

His eyes opened, but not as fully as normal, they lingered with melancholy on the screen of his cell before he finally keyed in the numbers that he knew by heart now. How could he not? He'd memorized the number before he'd even met Cas, before he'd even called in. It was hope for him, always had been – even while he was still building up the courage to talk to Angel; even while he was still even entertaining the idea that he could call in some day and everything would change for the better. And now this was the end. No matter what way things went, he might not ever be able to call in again, and if the situation arrived in which he would be able to, it would be a long time from now.

What worse way to end an era?

"Hey there, Caller, you're live on the air."

He'd patched him right through, quick as that. He hadn't even been listening to the rest of the show, he didn't know what had been happening before this, whether it was a good night or not, but he'd patched him right through. "Angel," he said, with a tone of bitter greeting.

"Hey, look at that, it's my little Demon," Angel replied, cheer lacing his words. Ever a great actor, apparently. He was probably a good liar, and good at putting on a mask, and he was showing these skills in full flourish right then.

"At least one of us gets to be happy," bitterness, still.

"What do you mean?" Angel asked with obvious confusion and just a hint of worry.

"You honestly don't know?"

"Know what? What's wrong?"

"I just got out of the Hospital today, thanks to you."

"Thanks to me?"

"A friend of yours decided to send me a message, guess they don't think I'm good company for you. And I got jumped, and beaten within an inch of my life."

"Jesus Christ, Demon, are you okay?"

"The fuck do you think?" he snapped, his tone angry, and aggressive.

"You're blaming me for this? I didn't know anything about it," he was protesting the blame, but his voice was getting quiet and weak, much more like Cas than Angel. It was strange to hear him like this on air, or on his cell, whatever. But it only made this that much more difficult.

"You could have at least given me a heads up, you obviously knew this guy would do something if he found out we were talking. But no, it's all about you. The Angel show. Fuck everyone else."

"That's not fair…"

"That's not fair? That's. Not. Fair? You know what isn't fair? Having a fractured skull from being smacked by a metal pole in the back of the head, or coughing up blood from being kicked and stomped on, maybe being hit so much that your whole face swells up and you can't even see the person who's doing it anymore. And then being alone in the cold and dark for hours until someone spots you. All because of you. All because I thought you were a friend. Because I talked to you."

"Demon, I-"

"No, fuck that. Who else can I blame but you? And even now you won't take responsibility. Because why should you? No one knows who you are, I'm the only one who came close. You'll just hide behind your big mic and your pseudonym and screw the rest." Some dry sob choked Dean, something he hadn't been expecting, he hadn't rehearsed. But every word he spoke was a nail in the coffin of this relationship, and it pierced his flesh just as sharply. "Don't ever try to contact me again. Don't call me, don't try to find me, don't even think my name. Not that you even really know it.

"How many months have I been spilling my guts to you and every other listener? You know everything about me, and I know nothing about you. The beating I took wasn't worth any secrets you have, it isn't worth your birthday, or your family history, your Major or your favourite film. You can take that with you to the grave; because you'll never trust anyone. You'll never let anyone know you and you'll die more alone than I ever felt before I met you.

"Fuck you, Angel. I hate you."

He heard a noise from Angel. A cry, like he'd been stabbed, cut so deeply and suddenly that he cried out. And he couldn't say anything else. He just hung up. He felt like the whole last rant in that conversation (not that he left much room for Cas to talk) had been an out-of-body experience. He heard the words, saw them come from his lips, but it didn't feel like he was the one saying them. Reality flashed before him as he realised it was over now, the radio, the calls, the best thing to happen during his lonely weeks since he'd came to KU. He reluctantly flicked on Angel's show, there was a silence. Just static. He knew that meant that Angel had been too upset by the call to continue the show, he'd signed off early.

The screen of his cell went dark and he caught his reflection. His face looked red and puffy, wet with tears that he didn't know he'd been crying. The argument was staged, but it felt so real, it felt so draining. Like when you've been marathoning a TV show and you feel such a connection to a character that you feel what they feel. Sam said it happened to him a lot with the books he read. When a character was in a bad place, he would find himself feeling down until he read on and they found consolation or redemption. He sat there for a couple of minutes, until the channel realised what had happened and started playing some generic song. Something Angel would never play. He switched it off and almost immediately there was a knock on the door and Jo pushed it open, "Dean, you have to come see this."

"What is it?"

"Charlie and Ash managed to get Michael's files, the bad stuff. You won't believe this." Dean blinked and quickly struggled to get up, letting the crutches support his weight while he got to his feet and Jo led him back to the others. She indicated he look at Ash's screen and he leaned over him to get a closer look at what appeared to be emails and scans of different documents, he shook his head after a few moments of trying to decipher the information, "what is this?"

"Dean," Jo said seriously and he looked up at her, not quite sure what they were trying to tell them, "he's got your roommate in his pocket, he's using Chuck."

"Dean, Chuck's been spying on you."

Dean's gaze shifted to Gabe as he spoke, trying to get him to understand. He stumbled back slightly until he found himself in a chair, and he knew that everyone was staring at him, waiting for a reaction, waiting for a plan or something that would make this better, but his mind was a blank. All this time, he thought he'd been safe. Any calls he made, any stuff he left out when he wasn't there, anything he said even in passing, anywhere he went… Chuck had been feeding it back to Michael. He could possibly know everything, because Dean couldn't even begin to work out what he might know. He could potentially know about these little meetings, he could have been eavesdropping this entire time, he could know everything.

Every interaction he'd had with Chuck started flashing before his eyes as he re-evaluated every last one of them, searching for some detail he may have let slip, something he said or did that would make things dangerous for Cas. Cas and his blue, blue eyes like Chucks. Chuck who he had thought he could trust. Now everything was spiralling down the plug-hole and he was at a loss. What if his stupidity was putting his friend in danger? Because he couldn't keep his trap shut, because all of the people in this room knew a secret that this boy had managed to keep to himself for God knows how long. He was here trampling over all of that and putting him at a real risk. No matter how much Cas avoiding Michael might put the plan in jeopardy, he wouldn't let him near that man. Not again. There was too much that could happen to him.

He looked up at everyone, eyes dragging from one person to the next, and he was at a loss for words, he didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to proceed. All he could think about was Cas and getting him out of danger. Michael used to kick him out after Angel's show, did that mean he would be summoning Cas soon? Would the blue-eyed boy go because Dean told him he should?

"Shit, I have to call Cas," Dean said finally, aloud. "I have to tell him everything." And then it sort of all fell into place, a plan of action. "You two, get all of the files you can, someone make a list of anyone Michael has power over, and what he has on them. No one talks to Chuck. We're going to use him, we'll feed him false information to cover our tracks and buy some more time." His gaze flicked between Sam, Jo, Ash and Charlie, "do you guys think you could all stay the weekend? We have a lot to do."