The best part of having Sam in the bunker is the delivery of fresh bread rolls every morning, without having to leave their cosy hole. Sunday morning batch even came with a bonus of a pie. And not just a slice, at that, or three, even. The entire, lovely pie, sitting in the silver form, with golden crust and white layer of powder covering the mushy insides, sweet with a sour note. The voluntary and unprompted purchase sure seems uncharacteristic for Dean's salad fanatic of a brother. But Dean is in no position to complain, as he stuffs the sugary heaven into his mouth even before breakfast. Whatever the occasion is, it surely doesn't come nearly often enough.
By the dessert time, the majority of Dean's estimate one-third is long gone, which might have been a bit of a miscalculation on his part, since Sam's and Cas's pieces have remained intact. Can't eat a cookie and have a cookie, after all, and almost literally, in this case. He still flops his last slice on the plate, visibly slimmer than the two portions already sitting on the plates. He makes up for the difference with a poor substitute of tripled whipped cream.
"Warned you not to eat it all at once," Sam says, prompted by Dean's grieving face.
He tilts his head back and fills his mouth with the whipped cream from the can, before putting it back in the fridge.
"Shu'up," Dean blurts, not in a mood to come up with a clever comeback.
"Is Cas joining us? Haven't seen him much around today."
Dean clenches his jaw and forces it to relax before he answers.
"Don't ask me," he musters in his most casual tone. He's trying to balance the plates in his hands as Sam grabs the mugs. "If he doesn't, I'm eating his pie."
"Is there something wrong between you?"
Dean's eyes snap to Sam and he nearly drops one of the plates. So Sam saw it too, which means he's not exaggerating, it's not all just wildest scenarios in his head. It's kind of a relief to know he's not just being paranoid.
It's also kind of a punch to the lungs.
"So you noticed?" He sighs, tipping his head toward the room.
He waits 'til the plates are secure on the table and they're sat in front of the tv, Sam in the armchair, Dean on the couch; the empty space beside him even more jarring now.
He takes in a deep breath. "I mean, it's not between us," he starts, then corrects, "At least I hope it's not. It's just him."
Sam puts on that compassionate frown of his. "What is it?"
Where does Dean even begin? Left to his own devices, he's had way too much time to come up with more and less probable explanations. He's not sure he can say even one of them out loud in case giving them names can give them shape. Or maybe it's just that something deep inside his gut tells him they're all too absurd.
"Wish I knew, man," he confesses, instead, staring at his hands. "That's the problem. If I knew what it is I could try to work it out. But all I got is–" he waves at all the space lacking Cas–"this."
He looks at his brother, to read from his face the answer to the question he cannot ask – partially because, even as it echoes unspoken in his head, it sounds too pathetic. Mainly, though, he can't ask it, because he's afraid that the answer is yes. Yes, you're right to be worried. Yes, you must have fucked something up. Yes, you're gonna lose him.
How long did you think it was gonna last?
And that's without mentioning the lying about the fucking phone call.
But studying Sam's knitted eyebrows, the pursed lips, he can't see there what he dreads to find.
"Since when has this been going on?"
"Tuesday, I think," Dean replies, not really up for the rehash. "I've no idea why, what prompted it. He just keeps locking himself in the room and hoarding books."
The creases in Sam's forehead smoothen. "That's not long. I don't think you–"
"And how long did it take him to–" Dean cuts and lowers his voice, just in case, "To cast the angels down?"
"You can't be serious, Dean," Sam protests. There's a visible drop in his shoulders as he relaxes and leans back in the armchair. "He never meant for that to happen, you know that."
"That's not the point, I know he meant well. But what if he wants well again? Or– or something! I don't know, Sam!" He throws his hands in the air then hides his head in them.
"Dean, I think you should stop worrying and just go talk to him," Sam advises, like it's that fucking easy.
If it was that fucking easy, Dean would have found out already. It's Cas who broke the no lying rule.
"I tried, sorta. A few times," Dean admits. "He won't spill."
"Want me to try later?" the guy offers and Dean's grateful all he needs to do is nod.
Cas joins them, after all, announced by the silent steps from the corridor. He's lucky enough to knock before Dean puts his fingers on his slice of pie. Or even his own, swimming in the half-melted whipped cream.
"Took you long enough. I was about you eat your pie," Dean informs him, when Cas takes the place by his side.
"That's fine," Cas answers, reaching for Dean's plate instead of his.
"No, this one." Dean corrects his mistake, pushing Cas's plate towards him, but Cas doesn't react, still hellbent on taking the slimmer slice.
Sam snorts.
"Hey, what was that supposed to mean?" Dean barks.
"Nothing, nothing," Sam throws his palms up defensively. "Just that you've already had your part."
"I know," Cas replies, practically forcing his plate into Dean's palm. "But Dean likes pie. And I don't mind if he eats some of mine."
Dean pulls a winner face at him, as he accepts the plate. Cas's legs lend across Dean's lap as soon as he leans back.
"You are the best boyfriend ever," Dean gushes, flashing Cas a toothy grin, before sinking his fork in the portion, epic-sized compared to the other measly dish. "And you're just jealous, Sammy, it's okay," he adds, but his jokes seems to be a misfire, given the way Sam's smile leaves his eyes.
Looks like Dean's not the only one in relationship troubles, but as he opens his mouth to say something, Sam puts the movie on. It's an obvious enough sign, so Dean just stuffs a huge bite of the pie into that open mouth and lets it go for now. They eat in silence broken only by the obscene jokes from the tv and Dean's obnoxious, delighted noises. Soon, he's joined by Cas in the wordless appraisal.
"Is this rhubarb?" Cas asks, squinting as he chews the squishy filling. "I've only had rhubarb pie once, but–"
"Yeah, it is." Dean beams. "How far do you go jogging, Sammy? They sure don't make rhubarb in Lebanon. I even tried bribery, Sue would not yield."
"Sue? You mean that gray-haired lady? She said they're expanding their offer and when I said I was your brother, she told me I must take a whole pie for you."
"Good, old Sue." Dean chuckles. "You for real, though? I've been fighting for it for years," he adds, slightly offended. He's been a regular for how long now? And Sam just goes once and this miracle is waiting for him? Where's justice? "Don't tell me they've got pecan now too."
"Didn't ask."
"This sounds like a reason not to move out," Cas jumps on an occasion.
"Can't argue that this'll go on the pro-staying list," Dean answers, surprised Cas was the one to initiate, but judging by the guy's face that was his last word on the matter, too.
There's a crease on Sam's brow as he glances to Dean. His mouth falls open, as the words begin to push through, despite Dean's hand gesturing at his brother to shut up.
"You're moving out?"
There it fucking goes. Dean and Cas utter their respective "yeah" and "no," only Cas's is too quiet, muffled by the rhubarb filling he nearly sputters out. At least, Dean assumes, that's why Sam feels the need to keep digging.
"Where to?"
Dean gives out a sigh.
"Apparently, Bobby had a safe house in Saint Helena, which is ours now, so–"
"Saint Helena, California?" A growing grin brightens Sam's face. He shifts in the armchair, practically forcing himself not to bounce like an agitated puppy. "That's like, what? Two hours away from me?"
Before Dean can answer, Cas sets his plate down on with a loud clank.
"Don't get excited, Sam. We're not moving out," he announces, unceremoniously shutting down the topic.
Sam shoots Dean a confounded look, but doesn't dare ask any more questions this time, even without any additional warnings from his brother. Dean just raises his shoulders in a hopeless gesture. The message is clear: Cas doesn't like to talk about it and he's sure as hell gonna sulk now for hours.
"I'm sorry," Sam mouths to Dean, but really, how could he have known? A few years back, if Dean was to bet on which way this argument would go, he'd say he'd never leave here in a hundred years. Why would he? How could he anticipate how dark and heavy the place would grow on him, how much money would suck when all they have is a ghost address, how much he'd crave to remain what he and Cas are, only somewhere brighter, somewhere normal?
Who could guess Cas would be so opposed to it, though he was the one to nearly drag Dean out of the life. It might have taken him a few months, but Dean was set to lose ever since that day they won. The night sky still gleamed, from time to time, with the blueish glow of the celestial beacons returning home, never to bother humanity again, not in their lifetimes, at least.
"One out of three, not too shabby." Dean yawned, buttoning up his jacket. "We can go back to our regularly scheduled program, right, Sammy?"
Sam pushed a hand through his hair and shook the bag off his back. His stare was fixed on the zipper as he spoke, "Can't we take a moment to savor this one victory first?"
Dean pushed the tip of his shoe into the grass-covered soil, never letting his gaze off the side of Sam's head. He watched him pull out the hoodie, in the slowest way possible. Dean knew what it was all about, he wasn't dumb. There wasn't gonna be any regularly scheduled program, no slicing and dicing, sending black-eyes to Hell and other things nasty to Purgatory. No family business. For Sam, it was the end, right there, right then. For him–
"Victory," Dean echoed, repeating the word in his head, until the black hole feeling in his chest that bloomed in there within moments returned the light and lightness, the euphory that had been shooting through his veins only minutes ago. "Victory, yeah." A buzzing chuckle at first, turned into a brief, unrestrained salve of laughter.
He crossed the distance to his brother, put a hand on his shoulder in an unspoken blessing.
"We're so gonna savor it, little brother," he said. "I propose drinking until we pass out and then sleeping it all off for a month. At least."
Those had been tough few weeks, sleepless nights, and they all showed in black circles underneath Sam's eyes. But those, now nearly disappeared, brightened by the gratitude and honest to God happiness.
"We'll do that," Sam promised. His eyes darted to the dark figure sitting on the ground behind Dean's back. "We should walk if we don't wanna sleep here."
Dean shot a glance to the west, to the distant line of trees. The Impala awaited them on the other side, a mile or so across the forest. This was gonna take some time and Dean could barely keep his eyes open now that the adrenaline had faded.
"How about we'll catch up to you?"
Sam nodded and started his trek towards the car. He wouldn't go into the woods without them, only far enough to allow them some privacy.
"How you holding up, buddy?" Dean asked, sitting in the grass next to Cas, their knees bumped.
The ground was cold, but the dying bonfire still emitted enough warmth to make it the nicest place to be on the entire, vast meadow. Or maybe it wasn't the fire at all.
Cas didn't acknowledge him at first, staring through the glass of a vial between his fingers at the tongues of fire on the orange of embers. The smoke still carried the scent of burned ingredients. The man's lips stretched in a small smile.
"I'm great," he replied. "We returned my brethren to Heaven where they belong. We righted my error. Of course I'm good."
"Yeah, but you couldn't–" Dean swallowed his words. Instead, he put a hand on Cas's thigh. "It's not the end, okay?" He points to the empty glass that used to hold Cas's grace. "Just because it's missing doesn't mean it's gone. We'll find it and we–" His voice got stuck in his throat. He cleared it and tried again, "We'll get you back up there."
Cas turned to Dean, his eyebrows knitted together. "Why would I want to go back?"
"You don't want to?" Dean smiled, unable to hide his relief.
All this time when they had searched for Cas's grace and for ways to open Heaven, every shared moment, every kiss, every night he had been given he had cherished, knowing it had only been for some time. But maybe their some time could last a little while longer.
The fallen angel lifted his eyes towards the sky.
"There is nothing waiting for me in Heaven," he said, finding Dean's palm on his leg. "Every single thing that matters is here."
Over his shoulder, Dean cast a glance at his brother, his silhouette leaning against a tree, then back to their palms, their fingers interlocked.
"I couldn't agree more," he muttered, pressing lips to Cas's temple.
His free hand Dean wrapped around his waist to pull him close before they had to put the fire out and leave. For the first time, Dean held Cas like he wasn't just a temporary thing, without every breath bringing him closer to letting go.
And he's not letting go, not now, not yet. He clings to every curl of Cas's mouth even if the smiles aren't directed at him but at the movie. They're better than his lips pressed into a thin, white line in-between, eyes stubbornly never even glancing anywhere else but the screen, body never shifting an inch.
It's an uncertainty more than anything else. It's been that since it all began, but if he's got Cas pissed too, on top of conspiring, Dean might not hold on for much longer. He has to check if they're fine, at least in this little moment, if he's to ever have a chance to find out if they're fine in their happily ever after.
He might not have enough courage for words, but he's still got his body, touch. He places a palm on top of Cas's knee, still resting on Dean's lap. When no reaction comes, he gets braver. He moves his palm along Cas's calf, fingers caressing the bare skin where his sweatpants rolled up. When his fingertips reach the ticklish sole of Cas's feet, Dean expects the man to shake off his hand, take his legs away or even leave, but Cas just wiggles his foot and whines the same way he always does.
Dean only takes his hand for a moment, before the second attempt. This time the wiggling gets stronger and Cas huffs out a childish, prolonged "stop iiiit." Neither of them can't help but smile. Cas still struggling to keep on his angry frown; Dean – because Cas fails.
At the third attempt, Cas's legs fly off Dean's lap, but it's not to carry Cas out of the room. Before Dean can even register what's going on and jump away to save his skin, Cas is all over him, his swift fingers tickle his sides. A half-shriek, half-giggle escapes Dean's mouth as he bends over, but Cas is relentless, readjusting his body to continue the torment.
"I told you to stop," Cas growls into his ear, clinging to his back. His hands don't even skip a beat.
Dean's got what he wished for and no swatting can help him get out of Cas's trap. And Cas knows no mercy when it gets to tickling revenge. The rapid spasm quickly pump all air out of Dean's lungs. But his honor won't let him give up. He stoops lower, with his fists handful of Cas's shirt, until the guy topples over and ends up on the floor with a thump.
Dean has not a second to waste. He jumps off the sofa, pins Cas to the floor with his knees on both sides of his pelvis. His fingers go straight for Cas's armpits, which are his weakest spots. Pressing his elbows to his sides, Cas tries to block the attack, but Dean doesn't stop until he draws hysterical laughter from his mouth, then leans in to kiss that laughter away.
That is his mistake, playing too nice. Cas moves into the offense again and they struggle for the dominance, rolling on the soft carpet in the narrow space between the sofa and the table. As always, the last word belongs to Cas, who's got Dean's legs immobilized with his weight seated on them, both his wrists trapped in his one palm, over Dean's head. The other palm tickles his stomach, armpits and neck at the speed of light until Dean's all red and reduced to squeaking like a little kid through his coarse throat.
"Alright," Dean gasps, fighting for air. "Truce! Truce!"
Cas's hand freezes mid-movement at Dean's capitulation. He gives Dean a moment to catch his breath, before grabbing the front of his shirt and dragging him upwards until their faces are less than an inch away.
"Don't start with me unless you're prepared to lose," Cas says with his voice even deeper and sexier from the strain.
"Did I lose? I didn't notice," Dean teases, pressing his mouth to Cas's.
"Eww, guys, get a room," Sam calls from his armchair, where he pulled up his knees to his chin not to get in their way.
Laughing, Cas gets off Dean and stretches out his hand to help Dean up.
"Technically, we are in a room." Dean grins.
To further mentally scar his little brother, he yanks Cas hard by hips to drag him down with him when he plops back on the couch. Cas lands on his lap, a little staggered, his ass slips into the space between Dean and the armrest, knees under Dean's chin. Dean holds him like he's not a six feet tall guy.
"Aren't we, Cas?" Dean teases, pulling Cas in by his t-shirt into a kiss. This time he doesn't need to use any force at all.
"Who's got brain bleach?" Sam mutters amused, just to stay true to the younger brother script.
He unpauses the movie he stopped for their sake, but Dean couldn't care less about the movie when he's got Cas on top of him, Cas's playful tongue teasing his, Cas's fingers buried in his hair.
They retain some decency, of course, quickly bring their little party to an end before it gets gross and chases Sam away. Cas peels himself off Dean and takes place beside him. It feels good, watching the movie with Cas clung to his arm, his head rested on Dean's shoulder. For the first time in days Dean thinks that maybe it's not that bad, maybe Cas isn't going anywhere. After all, he's already where he belongs.
"Come on, Sam, I've already seen Brokeback Mountain, that not enough?" Dean grumbles, trying to rip the remote out of Sam's hand without initiating a full-blown fight for it. The gigantor's arms are too freakishly long for him to stand a chance. "Just because I'm with a guy, doesn't mean I have to watch every gay flick there is."
Sam switches the remote to the other hand. Dean needs a better plan.
"But nobody dies in this one," the younger brother explains like that's supposed to convince Dean to willingly spend two hours of his life watching another freaking romance. He's already watched enough of them to last him at least five lifetimes.
Before Dean can comment on the lacking relevance of the reveal to Dean's decision, Cas comes with an unintentional back-up.
"Spoiler," he mutters, pulling out his phone.
Dean narrows eyes at the guy, but doesn't comment. In case this is the last thing Cas says on this or any other topic tonight, having much more interesting things to do or, hopefully, just bored to death with their quipping, Dean clings to it.
"See? Spoiler," he echoes, turning Sam's words against him. He bends over Sam's legs, reaching for the device lying on the armrest, but Sam is quicker and swoops it away. "Now even Cas doesn't want to watch it."
"I did not say that," Cas corrects, just as Dean's starts to feel safe in his opposition, affirmed by the tight line of Sam's lips.
Now Sam's lips are spread into a wide, toothy grin and his fingers move on the remote's buttons. How exactly did the thing even end up in his grasp?
Dean throws himself back on the sofa, crossing arms on his chest.
"Et tu, Cas?" he whines.
He fully expects a lengthy explanation for the wild maneuver the man performed that made Dean look like an idiot and for choosing Sam's side over his lover's, but Cas only shrugs, still glued to his phone.
"You better be looking for a good action movie," Dean mutters, strongly emphasizing the action part. He tries to peek at his screen, but all he manages to catch is their picture on the wallpaper, before Cas locks the phone and pockets it.
"I was checking the weather," he answers evenly, turning to face them, hands wrapped around his knee.
Dean's eyebrows ride up to his hairline. Checking the weather is a new one, providing an excuse in general is new, so either Cas finally started to feel particularly guilty or suspected, or he in fact was checking the weather, God knows what for.
"So, Sam, Dean," he begins, to which Dean's eyebrows ride all the way to the back of his head. One of his silent alarms suddenly gains voice, and a screechy one at that. "What are your plans for the rest of the week?"
Dean slides a few inches down, forcing himself not to curse. That was really fucking close to a heart attack.
"Uh– um–" Sam grunts, pointing to the TV, while simultaneously trying to come up with a fancier way to say 'we'll watch everything there is on Netflix.'
"We'll go climb Kilimanjaro," Dean supplies. "What do you think?"
Cas rolls eyes at him and looks to Sam instead. "Remember when you mentioned you'd like to go on a road trip?"
Intrigued, Sam puts the remote down and leans in, rests elbows on his knees. "Yeah, we talked about it on Christmas. Remember, Dean?"
"I remember," Dean agrees emotionlessly. He's not really eager to see where this is going.
They did talk about a road trip for the old time's sake. Not to hunt, just to pick a road and drive, to turn up the radio and roll down the windows. And to take Baby out on one more long ride. It might have been less than a year since Sam moved out for good, but it's been much longer since they last drove further than the airport in Omaha.
They might have been a little drunk when they planned it, though.
"Well, I was thinking you could go now," Cas announces, tone so self-congratulatory as if the idea was about to grant him the Nobel Prize. "It's warm enough. It's going to be sunny next few days."
So that's why the weather forecast.
Sam jumps on the wagon right away, looking like he's about to pull out the map and get to planning. As long as it saves Dean from watching some indie romance, he should be content. But there's something here that doesn't sit well with him, he just can't put a finger on it–
"We could catch a show in Des Moines then go North maybe," Sam says, really pumped up. "We might go fishing, huh, Dean? What do you think?"
Dean shrugs. He appreciates Sam's attempts to cater to his needs during the trip even if it's just the catch to persuade him, but saying so much as a 'yeah' feels risky for some damn reason.
"Hey, we could go visit Jody and the girls!" Sam exclaims. "I haven't seen them in ages. Well, since we dropped Claire and Alex there. It'll be great to see them."
"Yeah," Cas mutters. "Sounds good. What do you think, Dean?"
It does sound good. One of the downsides of settling down is not seeing your friends for months or even years at the time. Of course, the biggest perk is having any living friends, at all.
Dean opens his mouth to say that yes, seeing Jody and Donna and the girls would be great, let's go on the trip, fuck yeah. But before any sound can come out, it clicks. What felt so wrong about this whole trip idea, was not the trip part, it was Cas's choice of words.
"You," Dean snaps at Cas, accusingly. "You said 'you could go,' not 'we,'" he continues through his teeth. "As in Sam and I, yeah? And what about you, Cas?"
In contrary to Dean, Cas remains completely calm. He even dares to smile at Dean.
"I'll stay here," he explains, like it's obvious. "It's a brotherly trip, you and Sam, like the old times."
"Oh, the old times," Dean echoes and quieter he adds, "Because those were so great." He runs a palm down his face, using up all his willpower to retain his composure. "How do you imagine that?"
Cas parts his lips, staring at Dean confused.
"What Dean wants to say," Sam rushes to help, "is that brotherly doesn't mean without you. You're practically my brother-in-law."
"I did not mean to imply that," Cas corrects. "But you two used to spend all days together. You miss Dean and Dean misses you, Sam." He turns to Dean. "I know how much you do, Dean. And you're getting restless too."
There's something in his words, his tone, that feels rehearsed. But it might just be Dean's imagination. Cas has sounded rehearsed half the time ever since they met.
But that still doesn't answer the key matter.
"Why without you?" Dean reiterates the question for him more clearly.
Cas shrugs. "I can't, I've lessons during the week," he answer plainly.
Dean blinks a few times. Of course, the simplest lies are the best. He can't exactly say he wants to be alone to do whatever the hell he's doing, not confined to the enclosement of his room, without having to watch out for Dean and make up excuses. Or worse. He could just get to the fucking shit up right away. Or he could just leave.
"Reschedule," Dean supplies, struggling for control over his own voice.
The man shakes his head. "There are too many to reschedule them all. We need the money don't we? Besides, Jonah and Lily have important tests next week and we haven't finished the material yet."
There are two pairs of eyes burning holes into Dean's head. It all comes down to him now, his decision. It's not really much of a decision. He's not leaving Cas, not now and definitely not when he so openly wants to get rid of him. Sucks for Sam, sure, the kid won't get a chance to come until summer holidays. But then, it's not Dean's fault he was stubborn in going back to fucking Stanford, half-way through the country, as if there weren't good law schools within a days travel.
Sam will understand, Dean knows that. There'll be more opportunities for bonding on the road and visit old friends. They could do an entire tour across the States in the summer, if they're still so eager by then, they could visit not only Jody and Claire, but Charlie, Garth, Kevin too, if he wants to see them.
If they go now, there might never be an opportunity for anything, again.
Sure, it doesn't have to be final at this very moment. Maybe if Sam investigates Cas, gets a single, proper answer and an acceptable one, Dean will change his mind, but for now–
"You either go with us or we don't go at all," Dean announces firmly and snatches the remote so no one has any doubt he's done with the conversation.
Sam accepts his decision with an understanding nod.
Cas, of course, does not.
"I don't get what your problem is, Dean," he questions, his hand on Dean's forearm, only amping up the dissonance between his words and his actions.
It's the last straw. Cas doesn't get to hide things and lie about them so blatantly just to turn around and play dumb. And it doesn't matter if Dean is being a paranoid or a drama queen. No lies means no lies. It's Dean's time to deal low blows.
"Well, I don't get how living in a nasties-proof house will get me murdered but a road trip in a Winchester trademark car won't."
It's the first thing he should have asked, really, it's pure logic – or the lack thereof. Cas must have not thought this part through when he came up with his brilliant plan, which only speaks to his guilt. Are his moving out concerns even real or are they just false pretense to hide the real reason Cas is so hell-bent on staying?
Cas looks like he's been slapped across the face with his own, ripped out liver. His mouth opens and closes, as he's looking for the risposte.
It looks like Dean won, but he sure doesn't feel like celebrating. He still doesn't let his eyes off Cas, waiting for him to speak, to prove Dean wrong, before Dean falls apart.
And then Cas does.
When the words seep out of his mouth, at last, they're so quiet, Dean nearly misses them.
"You'd be with Sam."
It's Dean, now, who gets slapped and stabbed and kicked in the gut. It's him, who reaches out to Cas.
"What are you talking about?" he asks, softly, although something tells him he already knows the answer.
"Sam can protect you," Cas says, a little louder this time.
He doesn't have to add the other part of the sentence.
"Is this about Whitefish?"
Of course, it's about Whitefish. Dean should have known. All this talk about the dangers out there and keeping him safe. How fucking dumb did Dean have to be not to put two and two together. It's been almost a year and the only marks the event left on Dean are a bunch of scars. He's had it worse, much worse.
But Cas had never before had to carry his bloodied, drunk ass to the hospital, never before had to sit by his bed. It was a really shitty ending to a really fun reception. Dean wasn't without blame, he shouldn't have drunk so much he couldn't protect himself.
"D'I known you'd've friend this hot 'ere, d've find ya a diff'nt safehouse," Dean slurred, as Cas dragged him out of the passenger seat.
"She was already engaged when I moved in here," Cas informed him, note of amusement in his voice.
Dean chuckles, trying to keep balance. "Tha' what stopcha?"
"No, I was waiting on this one asshole to call me." Cas's hand slipped under Dean's arm and led him across the shaky ground. "Could you walk a little straighter?"
"Gotcha." Dean winked, pulling a finger-gun on Cas. All it got him was Cas tugging him harder and pushing through the door.
"Get in bed," he ordered and mumbled something about getting wood that Dean didn't catch exactly, but it excited him anyway.
Now they were talking. Dean jumped eagerly towards the bedroom door, fumbling to take off his suit jacket on the way. He managed to get to the bed, despite the room bouncing around. He bent over to and began to struggle with his shoelaces that just wouldn't comply, slipping out from between his fingers.
He had a little too much pride in him to ask for help, but he hoped Cas would stop just looming over him and give him a hand. But no dice, Cas stood there, unmoving and Dean had to kick his shoes off without undoing them. At last, they were off and they could keep going.
Dean grinned, satisfied, and straightened up. He opened his mouth to coax Cas to come closer, but the man did step up without it. Only it wasn't Cas.
Dean tumbled to the floor, sharp pain bloomed in his jaw.
"What the–"
A kick to the chest successfully shut his mouth. He reached to his belt, but there was nothing there, not a knife, not a gun, of-fucking-course.
"Look who I got here," the attacker hissed through his teeth. "The mighty Winchester, drunk out of his wits."
"Wanted t' give ya a headstart," Dean grunted, which only earned him another kick. Stomach, this time.
He curled on the floor, arms wrapped around his middle. That's a shitty position to start with, the guy towering high above him. And Dean had had trouble standing straight even before the first hit.
He had to do something. He wasn't gonna die there like that, suckerpunched and taken out drunk and vulnerable. As the fucker lifted his boot, Dean pushed back and rolled under the bed. He clenched his teeth, trying to withstand the swirling it caused in his head. If he couldn't find, he was gonna stall, until Cas comes to save his damsel in distress ass.
Unless Cas was already–
The bed didn't serve him as a shelter for long. The wooden frame flew up and against the nearest wall, leaving Dean again cowering in the corner.
"Really?" The thing's eyes gleamed black.
"Crowley sent you?"
"Nah, Crowley wuvz you. Makes him a crappy king," the demon replied. "But I kill the greatest demon slayer, his bee-eff and his bro? I might just get crowned."
Another kick to the face reverberated all the way down his spine.
"Newsflash, we're out of busi–"
Crack of his ribs drowned out the rest of his words.
Stomach. Chest. Back. Head, at last. That one came with a promise of sweet darkness, devoid of pain. The silver glint of the knife carried a promise Dean did not like. But he wouldn't feel that anymore, he began to sink. From the distance, a desperate, terrified sound reached his ears.
"Dean!"
The lights went out for good after that, Dean didn't get to witness Cas fight the demon and exorcise him. In the backseat of the Impala, he'd swing in and out of consciousness, as Cas drove frantically, swerving among the cars on busy streets. He saw Cas next when he woke up in a hospital bed, he sported dark circles beneath his eyes and a single bruise on his jaw.
The first words Dean heard from him were: "I'm sorry, Dean."
Dean should have known then. He should have known now.
"It was not your fault, Cas," he repeats the exact words he said to him in the hospital.
But just like then, Cas doesn't seem to hear them at all.
"I failed to protect you," he insists. His eyes fall to his hands. "I'll fail again."
"You didn't fail to protect me!" Dean says, voice firm. He puts one hand on Cas's knee, with the other he reaches to Cas's chin, to force him to look back at him. "You saved my life, Cas."
The man still shakes his head.
"You almost died."
"I did not almost die," he reminds him, trying to remain calm and not to roll his eyes. "It wasn't half as bad as you paint it, man." He presses fingers to his eyeballs, takes a breath. "But I would have died if it weren't for you."
"Exactly, if I didn't com–"
"But you did!" Dean bursts out. "You came just in the right moment, you sent the demon back to hell and saved my ass. That's what matters. Not any ifs and would haves."
Cas turns his head away, not to look at Dean. Behind Dean's back, a quiet click of the door lets Dean know Sam left to give them some privacy and he's fucking thankful for it. It'll all hopefully go much smoother without a witness.
Cas opens his mouth again and Dean knows exactly what he wants to say and beats him to it.
"The demon shouldn't have gotten there in the first place, I know. We should have checked the traps," he says, with a strong emphasis on 'we.' "We both should have made sure the place is safe. It's not just on you."
He sees it, in the way Cas's lips press into a thin line, the way he doesn't look at him, that he still somehow thinks it's all his fault, that he's solely responsible for the attack and even without that–"
"It happened once, it can happen again. I can no longer guarantee you safety."
"No one can, Cas. You think Sam can? You're not any less capable of protecting me than Sam. Besides, that's not your damned job to do so. I'm a grown man, Cas, I can take care of myself and if I can't, well, sucks for me."
"But it'll be me who'll have to keep going without you."
This shuts Dean up. The words and the look in Cas's eyes, distraught and griefful as if he's already lost him. What can he say to it? What can he offer other than a touch of his palms on his face, fingers swiping away his unruly bangs, a kiss pressed to his forehead. What can he offer him when he can't promise he won't lose him, he can't guarantee him that.
"I know," he says, at last. I know, because that's the same damn thing I fear. "I know," he repeats, pressing his lips to Cas's hair. "I won't be nagging you about moving out until you're ready, okay?"
Cas nods, breathes evenly, slipping into Dean's embrace and Dean holds him, safe in his arms, in their home. Why was he ever so bent on leaving when all he needs is right here? Whether it's here or anywhere else. Every single thing that matters is right there.
"Is that what you've been up to lately?" Dean murmurs, his chin rested on top of Cas's head.
Cas doesn't answer right away. "Up to? What do you mean?"
Dean sighs. Is he gonna do it now?
"Really, Cas? You think I didn't notice you locking yourself in your room all the time and stuff?"
"Ah," he pauses. His fingers trace the hills of his knuckles for a while before he speaks again. "I thought I was being more subtle."
"Yeah, very fucking subtle." Dean huffs out a laugh, forcing the humor into it. "So is that it? Protection? Looking for superspells or something? You'll get me tattooed all over with them?"
Cas chuckles. "No," he replies. "And yes, that's what I've been looking for. I think I'm close," he informs, then with a sudden thought, he swivels out of Dean's hold and turns to look at Dean. "Wait, is– it that why you wouldn't go on the trip with Sam? Because you thought I was up to something?"
"Yeah," Dean admits. "I was worried you'd do, I don't know, something."
A briefest emotion shoots through Cas's face, but it's gone before Dean can decipher it. Was it disappointment at Dean's lack of trust? It had to be. But then a smile blooms on Cas's face.
"Does that mean you'll go?"
Dean throws his head back in a quiet growl. "Yeah, okay, I'll go," he decides.
"Great," Cas says with a returned excitement, as if he was the one going on an adventure of a lifetime.
Dean pulls Cas in for a kiss.
"Just promise me you don't plan anything dangerous," he pleads.
Cas nods, palm on Dean's cheek, eyes bright. "I promise."
