Dean arrived home, and as Cas always saw him, he was...broken, defeated, dead. Even though he held a smile for Cas, Cas could see the pain. When he read him books every night his voice was rough and worn, like a car that had no fuel left. Nothing left to fight for. Cas wanted to be what was worth fighting for. Was he?
When Dean sat down, Castiel couldn't look at his face for more than a second before the utter terror took over again. It made no sense. Dean always made him feel safe, but he couldn't be touched, even by his own husband, without completely losing himself. Without breaking down in a mess of tears and flashbacks. He looked up though, really taking in Dean's face. That was the only way he would ever get better.
Dean handed Castiel the book before walking into the bathroom. As he shut the door, Cas heard a sigh, and his heart tightened. He studied the book, hands following the individual blades of grass the horse was standing on. Each had different shades of green that blended in diverse ways, so no two blades were even remotely the same. He realized it must be odd to be able to appreciate water color grass. It never occurred as the norm.
When some minutes passed, Dean walked out in stained shorts and a t-shirt. Cas continued to stare intently at the grass, a slight grin on his face as his eyes found their way to the Kiger Mustang atop it. The Mustang seemed so free, alert and daring. His face held determination, something Castiel wished he had. It seems as though since his accident, he just didn't have as much fight as he used to have. Maybe accident wasn't the best term for what had happened.
Dean crawled into bed next to him, making sure he didn't touch Cas. Cas appreciated the thought Dean put into every movement for him, and took comfort in the fact that Dean would wait forever if needed. All he could do was hope that this fear would someday go away. In all honesty, he wanted just to hug Dean again. He wanted to press his mouth to his and smell the layers of old spice that always clumped on Dean's neck. He wanted to hold his hand through the suburban streets as they walked to the park. He wanted to snuggle under a blanket and watch the stars on the hood of the impala and breathe. He wanted to be free again. He wanted to live again.
As Dean read, Cas zoned out, staring at the popcorn ceiling of their house. His ears still listened though. They heard Dean's rough voice and the flip of the pages. He heard when Dean cleared his throat and shifted a bit, or when he licked his finger to help grip the page. Dean was always so careful when flipping pages, making sure none of them rip or bend. He kept them in perfect condition, for his bookshelf. Dean had a bookshelf with every book he had ever read to Cas, starting with the first and going on. Dean said that when Cas got better, they could read them again together. It started with A Dog's Purpose, the book Dean had read when Cas thought his new life without voice wasn't worth it. While the story did give Castiel a bit of a push, Dean's commitment was what made him keep fighting.
Now, the book being read described the wild west, before men took it over with trains and coal. From the mustang's view, Cas could see mountains that breached the limits of the sky, and rock faces layered with the history that came long before. Endless seas of hills that had yet to be touched by oily human hands, that sheltered the hooves of the horses that now ran on them. He could taste the sweet wind that would bring with it smells of the blue rivers. Pollen of the flowers clung to berry bushes that sheltered rabbits that hid from the thundering hooves. They shook the earth with guns blazing, and Cas smiled. It was small, quick, but nonetheless there. He knew Dean didn't see, but the moment had passed already. Dean had to know though. Why else would he still be reading after all this time?
Reality returned when he heard the slap of pages on each other when the book was closed. Dean placed it beside him, grinning at the cover once more before turning back over.
Night was really settled in now. The darkness was creeping closer and closer. Dean's hand brushed Castiel's shoulder. He jumped a bit, before attempting to relax in Dean's grasp. There were two reasons he let Dean touch him at this time. Firstly, the dark was terrifying. His accident happened in the dark, so whenever he closed his eyes he saw it. He hoped Dean knew how special he was. Not just anyone could hold him at night. Secondly, he needed to try to get better. If he ever wanted to be himself again, he had to fight for his life back. If that meant letting his husband touch his arm, even when it was scarred, that's what he had to do.
When he was almost asleep, he felt arms hug him. Then, he heard tears. Dean's tears that he tried to fall asleep before every night. He hated hearing them. He hated knowing that those tears were for Cas. Sometimes, he heard the prayers Dean whispered while rocking Cas back and forth. Cas knew Dean wasn't religious, but people do crazy things for love.
He finally fell asleep, blocking out the sound of Dean's crying with his own thoughts. His own screams mixed with Dean's in the memories he couldn't stop. Movie tapes being played over and over until he slept from the pain of staying awake. Blood-curling laughter and fear that clawed its way up his throat. And, just like everynight, Castiel whispered into the dark,
Is it worth it?