A/N: Don't own anything but the plot to this, and even then only loosely.
Inspired by a song prompt on my tumblr. Safety Suit's "What If".
Set in a loose Season 4 world, where everything after is made up and the points don't matter.
Current chapters are T, but there might be some M in the future?
"Ok, what has been with you lately?"
Dean threw the Impala into park in the middle of the road. They were in Bumfuck Nowhere, likely in Oregon though he wasn't too sure. They hadn't seen a road sign in miles. All he'd see was dirt road, dirt road, and a very quiet angel in the passenger's seat.
He and Sam had had yet another argument, leading to yet another "Winchester Breakup" and now Cas was the Tonto to Dean's Lone Ranger. The only problem (among all the many other non Castiel-related ones) was that his only company and source for conversation was dead silent.
Which wasn't too unusual. Cas wasn't exactly a chatterbox. On the sparse few times they'd been alone together before he normally just sat there with that unreadable look on his face, staring out the window or at Dean as they coasted through cities, towns, and stretches of nothing like the current.
But for some reason he could tell a different today. There was a fine line between angel-quiet and upset-quiet, and they'd passed it several days ago. Dean hadn't said anything at first. Between the looming Armageddon, Sam's apparent taste for demon blood, and -oh yeah- the freaking Armageddon, he hadn't wanted to add Cas' personal problems to his list of things to fix.
But now it was just getting on his damn nerves and there was no way around it.
He could have asked, like a normal person. But Cas didn't hang around him for a sense of normalcy.
The suited man straighten as the car halted, looking alert and half alarmed until Dean spoke. Then whatever was ticking away in that weird alien mind of his faded back behind a hard to read stare and neutral expression.
Dean grimaced briefly before going as far as to turn the car all the way off and hold the keys in his lap.
"Seriously, Cas." He pushed, almost crossing his arms before deciding it would seem far too girly a motion. Instead he settled for the crook of one eyebrow and the bitter twist of his lips downwards.
Castiel looked clueless as he allowed blue eyes to search Dean's own, then everything slowly down from the set of his lips and jaw to his tense shoulders and-
He stopped at the hips before quickly going back to the eyes.
"I don't know what you're-" he got out before Dean rolled his eyes and cut him off.
"Come on." The hunter protested, shifting to put both hands on the relatively useless steering wheel. They weren't going anywhere until Cas talked about whatever was up his ass, but having nowhere to stand or move made Dean anxious. So he settled for shifting his hands and feet around awkwardly, falling back to his face to convey his irritation with the other.
"You've been acting funny for days. What's up?"
Briefly Castiel was flattered. Dean, a human, caring about his own matters?
It was likely only due to a sense of work. If he was distracted he would make a poor fighter.
But still.. He liked to think somewhere in the case of impossible determination and one-track thinking, Dean cared about him. Of course, that was exactly the problem he wanted to know about, wasn't it?
Dean didn't care. But Cas did.
A lot.
"I don't think anything about my actions have been humorous, Dean." Cas dodged. He hoped the other would assume his obliviousness to get be some form of naivete. Not an actual, artful dodge of the topic. He didn't like doing it. It was too close to lying for his taste. But out of the man things Dean had taught him, lying or avoiding the truth for certain purposes was acceptable. This was one of the rare few times the angel would indulge. Even so, he couldn't shake the idea of his brothers and sisters chastising him for it in the back of his mind. Realistically however, they would be upset with him for far more than an almost-lie.
Dean was shaking his head as Cas fought with the facts and fantasies of his siblings knowing too much. The damn angel was always like that, and Dean was never sure if he was honestly that dim, or just that careful. Either way, they were gonna talk about it come hell or high water. The nipping reminder that Hell was more likely made his restlessness increase.
"You know what I mean, Cas." Even if he didn't, Dean would try to assume more of him. As always.
"You've barely spoken, ya hardly look at me or pay attention when I'm talking about a job.."
He was watching the angel carefully as he spoke, looking for any sign to give away what was wrong. But Castiel was a wall, as per usual. He had no idea the issue wasn't with lack of attention, but the abundance of it.
He would stare too long at Dean going after a monster, or over-analyze certain words until he was dizzy. Castiel listened too closely, saw too much, and wanted more than an angel of the lord should.
"Even now, you look distracted. If there's somewhere else you wanna be.."
Dean shrugged, trying to act like he didn't care if the other straight up split.
Honestly, he'd be miserable. Lonely. Freaked out, cause his job was not one done solo easily.
But like hell he'd say that. Instead he played it off, like Cas' presence didn't mean anything.
That was what stuck with the ruffled angel as he watched Dean, trying to understand if that was his subtle way of saying 'get lost'.
"I.." He paused, looking Dean over. Trying to find some sign of how he felt.
"I can go.. If you'd like..?"
Dean didn't say anything. He stared, trying to find a crack in Cas' face or eyes. A hint he wanted to stay. Anything he could use instead of admitting he wanted the other around.
All that came out after an awkward silence however was a frustrated sigh and a shrug. He lifted one hand, heavily hitting the steering wheel with it before facing away.
"If you're gonna act like there's somewhere else you gotta be, then-"
But that was as far as he got before the other was gone.
At least to him, Cas was gone.
Dean started the car back up, and spent a brief moment gripping the wheel tight before slamming his baby a little too forcefully into drive and flooring the gas.
Castiel stayed, invisible and silent, in the passenger's seat.
Sometimes Dean didn't want him around, and he left.
Other times he just faded away, out of sight and mind but still close by.
What if Dean needed him? That was how he justified his irrational want to be by the other.
Some half of him, a stronger, bolder half understood what it was.
He loved Dean. Greater than his love for his siblings, or his father. He loved the brash, clumsy hunter with all of his vessel's physical heart, and his own form's.. energy. There was no better comparison.
But he couldn't dare admit it openly. Not to Dean, or himself.
He didn't want to acknowledge the way he looked at the younger man when he was facing away. Cas didn't want to dwell on how he hung off the other's words, and would drop everything in the blink of an eye if Dean so much as whispered for him. Which happened a lot, mostly in his sleep.
Dean whispered many names, of fears and past lovers and his family. Cas wasn't sure what category he fit into, but he knew he liked the sound of his name coming from the other.
He liked all of Dean, far too much to be right.
He couldn't stop it. So he pushed it down, like Dean did. Another human lesson, not that he wanted to be one. But they had useful skills, like shoving emotions aside for work. Once upon a time he'd been able to do the same, up until a certain Winchester needed to be pulled from hell.
When Dean finally found a main road and got on track, Castiel left for a short time. He still had work to do, trying to find God. Dean was never that interested in the task. He was more obsessed in finding the Colt or any other leads. So their paths mostly only intertwined when Dean needed help, or Castiel was simply lonely. At first, he hadn't understood the sensation. All he knew was that Dean cured it.
But he'd figured it out on his own, and the knowledge unsettled him.
Dean was the only one who really spoke to him anymore, aside from Bobby and Sam. Sometimes he spoke to them, but not nearly as often as the other. Which he wasn't complaining about.
Their time apart was brief. One month, roughly. Cas found that short, though Dean obviously didn't when he popped back in only to be greeted with a startled hunter and a, "Stop freakin' doing that. And where the hell have you been?".
He frowned for half a second before glancing away, eastward.
"I was looking for God." he reminded the other.
"Oh yeah, how's that going for you?" Dean bit sarcastically while returning to what he'd been doing upon Castiel's arrival: loading guns. He must have gone on a hunt lately, the angel assumed, as most of his weapons seemed empty.
Momentarily he thought about helping, but thought better of it. Guns were not his specialty.
"I have not found anything, yet."
Slowly he moved, trying to find his place in the room. It was always the hardest part of popping in on Dean. He didn't want to move too close, or too far. He didn't feel right just sitting down, but he'd been told once before by a woman that standing and talking to people who were sitting was rude.
So he looked around, sizing the small single bed up before glancing back at Dean, sitting at the small rickety desk covered in guns and bullets and tools Cas didn't understand. He was focusing on loading one, saying nothing and not looking interested at all.
He debated leaving again, but that wouldn't solve anything.
So what was he supposed to do?
"Have you found anything on the Colt?"
Dean sighed. Castiel tried not to flinch at the realization that that was a bad question to ask.
If Dean had found it, he would have said so by now. Instead all the other did was set the gun he was loading down and turn slowly.
"Yes, Cas. I found the Colt, didn't tell you, and have been sitting on my ass not shooting the devil cause- Hey! It's not like the world is ending or anything, I got time!"
He threw his hands up briefly them slapped them onto his legs.
Cas grimaced.
"You're upset." He stated flatly.
Their situation was, without doubt, stressful. But Dean's constant attitude, his urge to push at every pull and fight every bump always made things so much more difficult.
His constant snapping and attitude were doing nothing for Castiel's tired nerves from time spent searching to no avail. But Dean didn't care about that. Dean care about Dean.
"I understand this, but-"
Dean stood. Stepped closer, but still out of arm's reach, before snapping.
"No, I don't think you do, Cas. Sam's out there trying to tango with the devil while I'm here with no colt, no plan, and no back up. It's great that you're trying to sort out your daddy issues, but we really don't have time for your wild goose chase right now!"
Something very, very small snapped.
Maybe it was patience. Maybe it was just everything, the feelings and secrets and half-lies, crushing him. But something broke in Castiel and it took his small remainder of restraint with it.
Thus, almost without thinking, he grabbed the other by the collar and nearly threw him into the wall.
The angel kept hold of Dean's shirt and jacket collar as he pressed his arms into the hunter's chest, pushing but not crushing. Even when mad he had self-control, unlike some people.
"Don't take that tone with me, Dean." Castiel warned. "I fell. From heaven. For you." His words lowered into a growl with every word. He wasn't bitter about his exiled status. Or at least, he tried not to be. But Dean's impossible attitude.. Just made it so damn hard sometimes..
"I know the things going on over your head. I know more than anyone the precedence of this issue. Don't act like you're the only one upset over things right now."
Just like that, he backed off. He let got, stepped back, and in one fell swoop was gone.
Dean just stood, dumbstruck, staring at the place Cas had been.
This time there was no invisible guardian in the room. Dead was alone, left to slowly move back to the desk, only to stare at one gun before growling and throwing himself onto his feet and towards the bed.
Castiel stood among the rolling hills, staring out at the wash of blues and white and purples.
The flowers were in full bloom, smiling up at him and trying desperately to remind him how beautiful the world was. His father had painted it all, and sometimes the only way he felt close to God was to be close to his creations.
So he stood, staring at the flowers. Counting them.
He'd seen girls before, plucking the petals off. Saying "he loves me, he loves me not" over and over until the petals ran out. Personally, he'd never understood it. Why did they decide love by destroying something as beautiful as a flower? It was tragic and somewhat cruel in his eyes, especially when they could so easily spare the flowers and simply ask the one they cared for.
Whenever he had such a thought on his mind (which was to say, only just recently, and only lately now that he was trying to come to terms with it) he counted the flowers instead.
All of them rolling down the hills of the European outskirts, far from people and their chatter and odd habits and words and a thousand other things Castiel just didn't understand.
He didn't understand girls and their flowers.
He didn't understand Dean and his temper, or the way it made him act in return.
Mostly, he decided as a small wind blew through the bottom of the hills, he just didn't understand what was wrong with him.
Exactly what Dean had wanted to know.
He still didn't have a good answer.
Cas hadn't been back in three months.
Dean had prayed, once. It was more like pissed off ranting as he asked Cas where the hell he was and why he hadn't helped out when Dean had taken a particularly angry witch's knife to the leg. He'd bled everywhere, had to stitch it up on the fly after killing the bitch, and had then been reduced to limping to the impala, getting blood all over the seats, and driving to a clinic since it wasn't a wound he could tend to all by himself.
All of that, and not a hide or hair of Cas.
Dean was even more pent up and furious than he had been last time.
Of course, remembering their last meeting brought chills. He didn't like Cas when he decided to grow a spine and show it off. Normally he was just subtle. In the background.
But every now and then he flared, like some invisible wings spread and anyone in the room couldn't help but be shadowed by them.
Normally those moments were nice. Funny, or bitchin depending on if there was some pain in the ass demon to deal with.
But when it was directed at him.. Dean grimaced lightly as he drug the towel over his head through his hair a few more times, trying to shake the remaining water free.
His jeans were falling off his hips since he had been skipping meals lately, hoping anxiously from one job to the next. He hadn't been sleeping well either, worried about Sam (who wasn't answering his phone) the devil, Cas, and the rest of the fucking world that was on the line.
Giving up on drying off before fully dressing, he tossed the towel to the floor, buttoned up his jeans, and grabbed a shirt out of the suitcase by his bed. He hadn't even bothered to unpack this time, just leaving the suitcase open for the two days it had taken him to find the ghost and salt/burn it's bones.
It was nice, to go back to what felt like the start. The good old days, hunting with his dad, or Sam.
At least he called them that.
Honestly? He couldn't remember the last "good old day" he'd had. There was always something hanging over his head, something wrong with someone, or fucking something going wrong to ruin any potential happiness.
Dean had snippets. Good days, or moments, or meals.
He looked back on them as best he could, but seeing the dark stains eating every other part of his life stole a bit of the mirth out of the recollections.
Weighed down by exhaustion he threw himself back onto his bed, only to be greeted by a certain trench coat in the corner of his eye, barely a few inches from his face.
Dean yelped and jerked up, unsettled enough by the still bouncing bed that his launch upwards landed him too high, until he met ground and slammed into the wall barely two feet from the opposite side of the bed.
"Dammit, Cas!" He shouted, though it lacked the normal level of irritation.
He was relieved. Cas was right in front of him, looking fine, which was one less weight on his shoulders. Only 7 billion more to go.
The messy angel only nodded his usual silent apology, then took to looking all over the room.
He didn't pop in without reason though, so Dean assumed he was looking for something and waited for him to find it. When he didn't after several awkwardly long seconds, the hunter shrugged slightly, opening both hands and palms up as if Cas expected the item to magically appear by staring at the floor.
"What the hell? You're AWOL for three whole months and you can't even say hi?"
"Hello Dean." Cas grunted, though it seemed more out of obligation than anything.
Dean just gave the other a dull stare.
"Yeah. Hi."
"You should sit down." Cas motioned to the bed.
Dean rose one eyebrow, then crossed his arms and got more comfortable leaning on the wall.
"What's wrong?"
Cause it was never 'what's up'. Something was always wrong and in need of fixing.
Castiel waited, but Dean didn't move. After a long moment he cleared his throat unevenly, shifted his weight from foot to foot, and took to staring at one place on the ground.
"I care about you, Dean."
The silence was painfully long.
Dean looked around, then at Cas, then around again.
Finally, confused and half-concerned, he nodded.
"Yeahh.. I.." It sounded so girly put that way. "I care about you to, man."
In a totally-just-bros, completely heterosexual way, of course.
Anything more would just be.. weird.
"No, Dean." Cas sighed, suddenly sounding immensely frustrated.
"I mean.. I..." He struggled for a moment, hands fisting and loosening at his sides repeatedly.
"I mean I.. care about you. Deeply."
He dared to glance up. Dean still looked confused.
Cas swallowed, gathered himself, and pulled every string of courage he had. Every ounce of the courageous, fearless soldier of God he had in himself collected as he straightened, looking at the Winchester with an expression he hoped was confident. Serious. Obvious.
"I love you, Dean."
