A/N:
Hey guys! Sorry for the delay. I hope everyone enjoyed the Super Bowl!
Dean fiddled with one of his old handguns, busying himself in the familiar task of pulling apart a gun and making sure it'd been cleaned properly for the thousandth time today. It gave his hands and mind just enough to do so that he wasn't left thinking about the spell, or the Mark, or the way his wrists still burned after their last hunt, or how Cas had been looking at him lately….
As if on cue, the door opened with a slow caution. He could tell just from the motion of the hulking oak door that it would be Cas, and not Sam- his brother usually forsook his public timidness in the bunker and would have already started talking his ear off about some new hunt or development. Instead, the hinges creaked ever so slightly, and Cas pulled a hand around the side of it to peer in. Dean realized he must have had some kind of look on his face when Cas' gaze shadowed over. "Should I come back later?" Cas asked, keeping his voice quiet. It might have been early evening or early morning, but really, Dean's circadian rhythm had been thrown off for a couple of days now. It was easy to get mixed up when your younger brother had a mother-hen complex growing, and you weren't supposed to leave the bunker anymore.
Or leisure drive. Or drink. Or basically, anything that made Dean feel a little normal whenever things got turned upside down.
He tried to smile for Cas, even though he knew it'd be impossible to hide how he was forcing it out. But he didn't mind if Cas wanted to talk. Maybe- well, yeah, he'd been pissed with the angel a couple weeks earlier, but the moment had long since passed. There was plenty of space on his bed by the time he scooched over for Cas to have sat down beside him, but the angel used the chair at his desk instead. And that reminded him. "So, your grace is doing good now?"
Cas nodded. "I'm not exactly at full strength, but it's my own grace, at least."
They both sat there for a moment. The rest of the bunker was silent- though, with the door now closed again, it wouldn't be easy to hear what happened on the other side. He appreciated the privacy it gave conversations like this. Though ever since getting hit with that spell, he hadn't gotten many chances to be alone with Cas lately, and he wondered if his new appearance made as much of a difference to Cas as it did for Sam. If it should feel as awkward as it did. Dean continued glancing down, still weirded out by how much more his legs could extend to touch the floor while he sat. If Cas planned on taking Sam's word for everything- and God knows, they'd been conspiring a lot lately- it would have sounded like Dean had de-aged mentally, too. Sam wasn't about to start trusting him with anything lately. He guessed he'd been expecting the same from Cas- the same kind of distrustful, disdainful, worry that he got from Sam. Instead, when Dean finally looked up, all he found was concern. Two very similar looks with two entirely different trains of thought. Some words- any words- came pouring out as soon as he locked eyes with Cas. "I shouldn't have called when you were busy."
Cas tossed out his hands, as if to confirm that it'd just been a bad call at a bad time. Dean had been lounging around the bunker after being told he wasn't supposed to do anything with his concussion- but Cas had been busy travelling around with Hannah, restoring his real grace. At least, that's what Sam had told him. Cas had been too busy to talk. And he'd been pissed that Cas was running off again somewhere without telling him.
Yet here was Cas, being his usual self and nobly ignoring how that phone call had ended, in favour of just talking. "That's not what I was worried about." The angel made a small shrug. "A couple of days ago, I felt you- praying."
Dean groaned a little more outwardly than he meant. He'd known Cas beating around the bush for something was never a good sign. Although Cas was refusing to call them "Stay Puft prayers", Dean knew exactly what he was talking about. Cas had told him sometime back that prayers weren't limited to questions, summons, words, or really anything. They could direct imagery, smells, memories- and among the worst, emotions. Apparently, Dean was very bad for sending the latter kind accidentally, and it was the sort of unnerving idea that got stuck in his brain. It didn't need a second explanation. It was just… a silent horror. "It must've been while we were still at that chapter house."
"Sam told me about the hallucinations it could create," Cas said, recognizing the hunt they'd been on just a couple days ago. Because of course Sam would've told him.
"Then I guess you got the whole story."
Cas frowned at his venom. "You know that's not what I meant." They both sat there, silently assessing the other for a moment. "You're going to have to tell me what happened eventually."
"Oh, really?" His eyebrow quirked upwards.
Cas didn't seem to be in the mood for humour when he gave a curt, "Yes." Then his hand was reaching out for Dean's, and before he knew it, there was a soft white light surrounding his left wrist. The residual burn from having the skin rubbed raw, in some areas through solid chunks of flesh, was instantly replaced by a cool, soothing feeling, almost like a liquid glossing over the wounds. He instinctively braced for the pain's return when the healing light finally subsided- but, of course, his wrist had been perfectly healed. Even as Cas' feathery touch let his hand go, a bit of warmth seeped into the rest of his arm.
He grinned sheepishly. "It's a long story."
"Better get on with it."
Dean glanced up, but Cas was only smiling at him through the look in his eyes. Not angry at Dean's outbursts, not impatient enough to walk out when Dean was trying to shrug off his invitations to open up. It was odd to think that this was the same person who was always leaving the bunker without a word of explanation- sympathies and regards just vanishing into the wind. It was also frustrating. But then he was offering his other wrist to Cas, and Cas was healing it without complaint or grudge, and Dean forgot that he was pissy. "Well, first off, I had to sneak into the Impala."
Cas finally grinned now. "Sam wanted to go alone?"
"He wanted to 'protect me', or whatever. Especially after the cabin ordeal."
"So this is how it gets long."
"You wanna hear about the cabin?" He pulled his hand back after Cas had finished fixing up his opposite wrist, and fumbled to remove the wraps around them. It was something more to do with his hands and eyes while he figured out where to actually start.
"Only if you want to talk about it."
He took a breath in. "Sam came back to the bunker cranky. I guess the wendigo hunt didn't treat him so great." It wasn't what he thought at all, but Cas remained annoyingly unrevealing about how Sam got chased by angels on a wendigo hunt. "Even though I saved his ass, I couldn't go anywhere in the bunker without him bitching that I didn't rest enough with the concussion-"
"Concussion?"
Dean sighed, leaning forward enough for Cas to touch two fingers to his temple. Nothing seemed to change when Cas sat back again; he was pretty sure Sam exaggerated the severity of the concussion. It wasn't like they hadn't seen some of the worst of it, anyways. "I wasn't supposed to be on electronics for a while, wasn't supposed to do research for any length of time. Y'know, the only stuff I could do right now while Sam's demanding I stay in the bunker." He scoffed. "Suddenly he thinks he's my mom or something."
"I'm sure he just means to be helpful," Cas cut in, but he leaned back from Dean's "stop interrupting" glare. The silence would only last for a couple minutes, but this was their usual rhythm by now.
"So, I'm stuck watching- uh- my computer, or making snacks in the kitchen, basically. No surprise I end up going through the main room when Sam gets a call from Charlie, who's obviously panicking about something on the other end because he's gone all gushy-authoritative. Then he says he's 'coming', hangs up, and thinks he'll get away by slinging a bag over his shoulder and making a beeline for it. I came into the library and gave him shit." He got a questioning look from Cas. "He basically threatened me into not coming with you two to tackle the wendigo again. Yeah. It was on the drive back. And… I was so tired of his crap, I really didn't care. I was actually kinda glad that I didn't need to go on a hunt anymore." His right arm flared up in a fathom burning, tugging sensation. "But then he almost got smited. And you were off somewhere when Charlie called. Sam didn't think to tell me what you were doing, and I never told him I called you. All I knew until after the cabin thing was that you and Sam's adventure had been a colossal fail. I wasn't going to sit around in a stupid bunker while Charlie might be hurt." Memories of being likened to Peter Dinklage came and went as fast as his mind would allow. "He would've needed to handcuff me to make me miss another hunt. That shut him up pretty quick."
The cabin had had that slight tinge of familiarity to it. The smell of fifty and five hundred year-old books, mixed with an old ashiness and the fresh bout of piney forest that entered in with someone when they opened the door. The forest scent never lasted long, but it felt right at home among the rest regardless. There hadn't been much time to grab supplies- they were about as stocked when they arrived as Charlie was, but he'd found the curse box to hide the book in, and that was one of the most valuable finds in a long time. He didn't like the look of the book Charlie had brought back. And when Dean finally got the chance to poke around at the alleged history of the Styne family, he began to like it less and less.
Though, he hadn't gotten a chance to do all of that before they reached the cabin, and Charlie became even more skittish than usual. She had just finished pulling a sticky note from her forehead when he walked in behind Sam and closed the cabin door. "Oh, um, hi." She appeared dazed and exhausted, but her eyes darted away far too quickly to land on Sam- as if he was the sole reason a child was tagging along.
"Hey Charlie," he greeted, hoping that he wouldn't be completely overshadowed by his brother throughout the rest of today. It already seemed like a nerd mission, from what Sam had briefed him on during the drive. A big mysterious book with big mysterious connotations that won't be named because he isn't supposed to have anything to do with them. In fact, Sam seemed resolute on the fact that Dean wouldn't be leaving the cabin until they knew exactly what they were up against. He prodded for more info where there was none more to give. Charlie might be in danger; leave any fighting to Sam. They might really need to use the book she's found; leave all the nerdy research about it to Sam. Hell, leave the snack running to Sam. That was the rundown Dean got during the many hours of their drive. And dare he say anything about it- well, hell hath no fury. He had buried his face into a few books about dark magic, but it was all the same type of thing they'd seen again and again while searching for ways to remove the Mark. The spell wouldn't be hard to reverse- but on the Mark, there had been no progress. And one wasn't going without the other.
He'd brought the curse box in from the bunker, as well as the tallest stack of books he could manage. Dean guessed he probably looked even more outsized until he'd slammed the books down onto the coffee table and handed the box over to Charlie, who was grasping the book with unconcealed confusion.
"Do- do I, um, should I know-?"
"Dean got caught by a witch," Sam told her. "And like a moron, he chose not to reverse the spell. But he's kinda cute now and I can boss him around-"
"I don't think that's how Sam sees this."
"Dean got caught by a witch," Sam told her. "He was being noble- like always- and didn't want to reverse the spell for a while. But I'm supposed to be the smart one here, so his forward thinking pisses me off-"
"Dean-"
"Oh, and he's got a useless aim now, so I just planned on having him mull around in the cabin while we crack this book on our own. So don't mind him. Or talk to him. He's kinda snarky and I want people to think he's just an angry person in general instead of them finding out MY dumbass self is the problem. I'm sure if we hand him a Gameboy he'll shut up like any other kid and let us explore this dark and dangerous book."
Dean paused when he noticed Cas wasn't going to try interrupting him again. It sort of took the wind out of his sails- being watched with pitying eyes, by someone who had never lived as or been treated like a kid. He wanted to hate Cas. But even when the angel adopted a soft voice- the voice he would have murdered Sam for using- it was hard to be mad. "Is that how all this feels?"
For a split second, his mind started running through a list of answers and fallbacks. Sorting things out. Finding ways to describe, in words, how-
Dean repositioned himself on the bed, looking for something to do, some way to move so that his brain would slow down for a second. He knew his hormones- or, whatever it was- were acting up again. He knew he'd been idiotic and petty a moment ago, laying all his griefs at Cas' feet that had nothing to do with the actual case. And he hoped what Cas had asked was rhetorical. "Well… we didn't know it was dangerous at first. I researched the Styne family while they were doing their nerdy detective stuff…" He allowed himself another glance at Cas, wondering how long he'd be able to beat around the prior question. This was going to be a long recounting.
