Surprisingly little changes.
Dean had been expecting a huge upheaval, a newfound awkwardness- not to mention enough angst to sink the Titanic twice over. Instead, he sits in the garden and squabbles with Jo; Sam brings him books and they argue over whether Holden Caulfield was misunderstood or just a massive dick; he digs up advert after advert for new cars, all of which Cas finds some small but vital error with. Cas had already been visiting nearly every day, and Dean was already spending a lot of time around his house- the only thing that's changed is that, now, they spend a lot more time touching.
A huge part of Dean still feels like he's being selfish, like this relationship is a burden Cas shouldn't have taken on, but that's nothing new either. It's been five months since they met, and that's been five months of Dean not thinking he was worth it. Cas has spent a lot of time working to dispel that belief, and he's not showing any intentions of stopping.
Benny increases the difficulty of Dean's hand exercises and Tessa keeps on dragging words out of him, like she's pulling out bits of sadness with hooked wire and cauterising the lesions left behind. He doesn't tell her about Cas- he hasn't told anyone yet. It's not something he wants people examining.
Two weeks later, Sam arrives with no warning to find Dean more or less in Cas' lap. Dean pulls away almost instantly, but it's a lost cause.
"Okay, so this is not how I wanted you two to meet," is all Dean manages to say. Sam's already got his bitch-of-a-little-brother face on, an expression that's somewhere between 'what the fuck is this?' and 'man, I am so teasing you about this later'.
"Hello, Sam," Cas says after a few seconds, all stilted awkwardness. Sam swallows and nods.
"I'm guessing you're Cas?"
"Castiel Novak," Cas introduces himself, standing up from the bed to shake Sam's hand.
"Dean talks about you a lot," Sam says.
"I do not," Dean says, at the exact same moment as Cas says "He does the same about you."
"He does now, does he?" Sam says, looking at Dean. "Does he say good things?"
Cas hesitates. "Mostly."
Sam snorts. "Yeah, that's about the best I could hope for."
"Bitch," Dean mutters without thinking.
"Jerk," Sam replies instinctively.
"I believe I may now understand the card," Cas says to Dean, his voice low.
"You saw that?" Sam questions, overhearing.
"You seriously thought these hands did that?" Dean snorts. "He didn't just see it, man, he wrote it."
"Of course, yeah. I forgot you were already volunteering back then," Sam says to Cas, who looks embarrassed.
"I don't volunteer much anymore," he says. "I haven't in… months, actually."
"I'm special," Dean grins. Sam rolls his eyes and then looks back at Cas. Something changes in Sam's face- softens, maybe. Dean looks at him suspiciously, but Sam's not giving anything away.
"Listen, so I'm gonna go," Sam says.
"You don't have to," Cas objects, but Sam shakes his head.
"No, I just wanted to- I had news," he admits. Going by the look in his eyes, it's good.
"Spill," Dean says.
"I can leave," Cas offers.
"You two are gonna give me abandonment issues soon," Dean groans. "Sit down, both of you."
Sam and Cas both sit down, Cas picking the chair furthest away from Dean. Dean's uncomfortably reminded of being fifteen and turning into an overly formal statue whenever a girl's father turned up early.
"Well?" Dean prompts, looking at Sam.
"Jess is pregnant," Sam says, the words all spilling out in one go as his mouth twists into a huge smile, an expression that Dean instantly finds mirrored on his own face.
"Before the wedding?" he crows. "Sam, you dog!"
"Congratulations," Cas says, sounding genuinely pleased. "When's she due?"
"She's two months pregnant, so… April?"
"Are you moving the wedding?"
"We thought about it doing it sooner, but Jess said she'd rather not spend her wedding day being a super-cranky pregnant woman. She's already got this thing about how big the kid's gonna be."
"Then she shouldn't have bred with Kansas' answer to the abominable snowman," Dean says. "So, what is it? A Samantha or a Jesse?"
"Obviously we don't know yet, but I think it's a girl. She thinks it's a boy."
"Good luck having a four month old anything at the wedding."
A look of fear flashes over Sam's face, the kind of that Dean thinks Vietnam flashbacks probably look like. "We'll cope," he says, very cautiously.
Sam and Cas both stay for a while longer. Cas leaves first, leaving Dean with a younger brother who's got a shit-eating grin on his face by the time Cas closes the door.
"So," Sam says, in a voice that he probably thinks is casual. "You and Cas, huh?"
"Me and Cas what?" Dean says, before realising he'd really rather Sam didn't say it. "No no no, I get it. Uh, yeah. I guess. Just don't go painting the halls with it, okay? We're keeping things on the down low for now."
"Of course, yeah," Sam says. "How long have you two been a… thing?"
Dean would deny that he and Cas are 'a thing', but he guesses they kind of are. "Two weeks."
"Seriously?" Sam blurts out.
"What do you mean, 'seriously'"
"It just- I'm not being funny, Dean, but this has kinda been on the cards for a while now."
"What? I don't even- what?" Dean says again, incredulously. "You'd never even met him before today!"
"The way you talk about him? Trust me, I didn't need to."
"Okay, so this is gross," Dean says. "I think we're done here. As long as you're not gonna sweep in to defend my honour or whatever-"
"Like you have any honour," Sam snorts. "Though if I'm being honest, I wasn't sure at first."
"Not that you get any say in it- but why not?"
It takes Sam a while to phrase his reply. "You've been really alone for a really long time, Dean. You didn't see many people, you weren't in the best headspace, and I thought maybe… Cas could be taking advantage of you. Don't look at me like that," he says defensively. "I'm not gonna apologise for wanting what's best for you. Yeah, I was worried. Sue me."
"Was worried, huh?" Dean says tightly, ready to lash out if he has to. "Something change your mind?"
"Yeah," Sam says. "Today. When you said you were special, you should've seen the way he looked at you. It was like… you said it as a joke, and he knew that, but it didn't feel like a joke to him. I see the way Jess looks at me sometimes- and man, I thank God that she does- and that's the way he looked at you. Like you were the only thing in the room worth paying attention to."
"This conversation is over."
"Noted," Sam says. "I'm just… I'm happy for you, okay?"
"Over, Sammy," Dean stresses, and Sam holds his hands up.
"Okay, okay, I'm going."
"Probably a good idea," Dean says. "After all, your cranky, pregnant fiancé will be waiting."
"She's not cranky," Sam defends.
"Not yet."
"No worse than usual."
The next week, Dean buys Sam's laptop off him.
Initially, Sam wanted him to take it for nothing- he's been saving up for months to buy a new one, and he kept insisting he's got no need for the old one- but Dean's never been great with charity. They ended up settling on $150, with the mouse thrown in for good measure.
Ash turns up to check it out, deems it passable, and then dicks about with the settings for a while. Dean has no idea what he does, but it makes the keyboard a hell of a lot easier to use. Now, he has to press and hold each key for a half-second before the computer agrees to type the letter. Whilst it takes a little longer to write out each word, the time he saves not having to edit out mistakes from where his fingers slipped more than makes up for it.
That being said, Dean thinks his hands are starting to get a little better. He says as much to Benny later in the week, who agrees and asks a few questions about how things are in day-to-day life. After Dean admits he still gets pretty frequent pain in his wrists and hands, Benny bullies him into asking Bobby for a stronger painkiller- apparently, 'manning up and dealing with it' isn't an acceptable analgesic. As much as Dean dislikes relying on drugs, he has to admit that he doesn't miss the feeling of somebody randomly taking a machete to his joints.
Dean still goes around Cas' house, though he doesn't use his computer anymore. Sometimes, Dean brings his own laptop and tries to talk Cas into buying various classic cars, but mostly they just talk. Cas hates work more than ever, and Dean thinks this is the closest he's ever been to just giving up and quitting.
One late September afternoon, Cas is much quieter than usual. Dean's sitting on the sofa by Cas, wheelchair parked nearby, and after a while he reaches over and nudges him.
"Hey," he says. "What's up?"
"What do you mean?"
"Come on, don't give me that. What's wrong?"
"It's the anniversary of my mother's death," Cas says. There's so little emotion in his tone that, at first, Dean doesn't quite process the words and thinks Cas has given another excuse. When understanding clicks, he feels like the world's biggest asshole. He already knew Cas' mother died when he was young- breast cancer, caught too late after it metastasized- but Cas never really talks about it.
"Shit, Cas, I'm sorry," Dean says. He leans against Cas gently, his head bumping against Cas' neck. Cas winds his arm around Dean's upper back, resting his hand on Dean's other shoulder. "Do you remember her?"
"I was only two years old," he says, "so no. Inias is two years older, so he remembers a little more. Anna was the only one of us who could ever recall her face."
Shit, the tragedies just keep heaping on today. "And the others are all half-siblings, right? Different mother?"
"Yes," Cas says. "My father will probably visit the grave, but I don't know if they'll go too. She's buried in Illinois- maybe I should have driven over, but…"
"Long way from Kansas to Illinois," Dean agrees. "Is Inias going?"
"I don't know. We haven't spoken since we visited Anna's grave."
It's been two months since then; two months since Cas turned up in Dean's room, his hair dripping with rain and his eyes full of sorrow. "How come you guys never talk? You fight or something?"
"No, nothing like that," Cas says. "There's no anger or malice there, just… a lack of common ground. When Anna was still alive, we stayed close for her sake, but the only thing linking us after she passed was pain that she was gone. We reached a mutual decision to fall out of contact."
"That's disgustingly sensible," Dean says. "I swear, you've never done a bad thing in your life."
Cas laughs at that, a nasty sound, and Dean looks on in interest. "Oh, man, tell me."
"No," Cas says instantly, aggressively, and Dean pulls away to look at him.
"Cas?"
"No. It's… no," Cas says, rubbing a hand over his face.
"Listen…" Dean starts, not really knowing where he's taking this but wanting to try all the same. "Family stuff is hard. I get it."
"It's not like that."
"So tell me what it's like." Cas is fiddling with his sleeves again, eyes very firmly not on Dean's. "Cas, you gotta give me something here, man. You gotta trust me."
"I don't want you to know the bad things about me," Cas admits, his voice small, and a part of Dean's heart melts.
"Cas, I am literally ninety-nine percent bad things, but you somehow give enough of a crap to stick around and search for that one percent. You seriously think I could judge you for one bad thing when there's so much goodin you?"
Cas looks at him with eyes that might as well be mirrors, dark and swollen with a thousand things- sadness, desperation, gratitude, pick one, pick them all.
"Dean," he breathes, like Dean can't possibly mean it, like he doesn't understand what he's saying.
"Try me," Dean says. "So, you and Inias don't talk."
Cas swallows. "Yes, well Inias is the rational one. My stepmother's genes, on the other hand, apparently contained some kind of mutation that made any children she produced impossible to please."
Now we're getting somewhere. "Three of them, right?"
"Balthazar, Hester, Uriel, in that order. Balthazar is nineteen and currently living… somewhere. He left somewhere between the fifth and sixth hundredth fight about his lifestyle choices."
"What, did the dude sleep with dudes or something?" Dean says.
"Yes, but so did I, and nobody particularly cared about that," Cas says, and Dean gives a nod of fair enough.
"It was more the fact that he would sleep with three or so at once, under the influence of the kind of substances you probably spent your career arresting people for dealing," Cas continues.
"Wow," Dean says, not quite sure what to say. "That's, uh… that's something."
"I tried," Cas says, his eyes somewhere far away. "I tried so hard, Dean. I was ten when he was born- I was at boarding school- but I loved coming home to see him. He looked up to me. I was proud to know him… I was proud of him."
"Yeah, I get you," Dean says softly. He's always been proud of Sam, so proud that at times he had no idea how to contain it- on more than one occasion, he caught himself talking to check-out girls or retail workers about his brother. He couldn't help it; he wanted to tell everyone he saw about Sam's grades, about the things Sam said, about this genius kid who looked at Dean and saw- against all logic- something superior to himself.
"Balthazar was intelligent, charismatic… we all assumed politics was where he'd end up, given time," Cas says. "But when he was fifteen, all of that was forgotten. I bought him books on quitting and he wouldn't read them, so I read them for him, and I tried to talk to him but he wouldn't listen. I was twenty-five by then- far too old to be able to connect to him- and Hester and Uriel were no use," Castiel spits, with surprising venom. Dean's face must say it all, because Cas twists his lips like he wishes he could take the words back.
"That was unfair of me. Hester loves her family, myself and Inias included. She loves us fiercely, and she saw Balthazar's refusal to talk to us or to change as a betrayal. When our father finally gave Balthazar an ultimatum- get clean or get out- she viewed his choosing the latter as treason. She's an angry girl, Dean- seventeen now, and just angry with everything. It ruins her," he says. Carefully, Dean moves his hand to Cas' arm and squeezes lightly. Cas shoots him a brief look of gratitude.
"How about Uriel?" Dean asks.
"Her opposite," Cas says bluntly. "He hated our father."
"Why?" Dean says, surprised.
"As time went on, our father became… steadily more absent. It seemed that by child number five, he'd lost all interest. Our stepmother loved Uriel, of course, but that wasn't enough for him. By the time Uriel was ten, Inias, Anna and myself had all moved out, and there was just Hester ordering him to love his family and Balthazar determined to give him reasons not to. He's angry too, but he turns it into darkness. He's rarely at home, and when he is, he refuses to talk to any of us."
"Christmas must be hellish," Dean says, for lack of anything else.
"I don't go," Cas says. "Ever. I hate myself for it, but I don't. I can't handle their denunciations of Balthazar, and I can't handle the silences with Inias because we have nothing to say, and I don't know how to talk to Hester or how to even try with Uriel. Whenever I phoned our father, he never answered and he never rung back. And Anna-" he swallows hard, and Dean can tell that's not a road they're going down today.
"They all needed so much, in their own ways, and whatever I gave was never enough," Cas says. "Balthazar still snorted and injected and drank, and Anna was still ill, and Hester still fought and Uriel wouldn't talk. After Anna died, it all got worse, and I couldn't handle it anymore. I stopped answering calls. I stopped opening my emails. I pushed it all away."
Dean's never seen Castiel like this, stumbling on the words that fight each other to spill out of his mouth. If Dean represses, Cas controls. Nearly everything Cas says is carefully calculated to reveal only what he deems 'safe'; he keeps his walls high enough that only the tallest, greenest trees are seen, that the weeds and debris underneath stay hidden from sight.
"Meeting with Inias served as a reminder of the things I was running from," Cas says, "a problem I resolved by running further. You called me a good person; you were wrong. I have nobody, Dean, because I couldn't put aside my own feelings long enough to have anybody."
Dean's been listening to every word Cas says, but he's interpreting the same material in a very different way. He's hearing that sometimes Cas lets anger or disappointment overtake love, that sometimes he can't cope, that he tries but that he fails because he's human. That he was human enough to run, and human enough to be saddened when nobody ran after him.
Dean means to tell Cas as much. He wants to tell him that you can love your family and still push them away, to tell him that Balthazar probably hates every second he's telling Cas to fuck off but that he hates himself even more, hates himself too much to stop. He wants to promise that nothing's changed, that nothing's lessened; to swear that Cas did his best, and that it wasn't his fault when 'his best' eventually, inevitably ran out. Dean means to say a lot of things, but for once his heart and his mouth are working in tandem, and his brain doesn't get a say.
"You've got me," he hears himself saying. The surprise in Cas' eyes turns into wonder as Dean holds his gaze unwaveringly. A weak smile flickers over Cas' face, and Dean suddenly thinks that maybe that wasn't the right thing to say.
"Cas..." Dean says. "I'm awkward. I'm stubborn, and I'm a dick, and I want you to swear that if that ever gets too much- if you ever want to call this off and get the hell out of here- you will."
"I couldn't leave you," Cas says quietly.
"Dammit, Cas-"
"No," Cas says simply. "There would be too much to miss. With my family, all I ever felt was sadness - there was no relief, no reward. There were no 'good days'. With you… you described it as 'one percent good versus ninety-nine bad'. I believe you got the percentages the wrong way around."
Dean looks at Cas, sure that he must be joking, but he isn't. He really, genuinely isn't.
"You're a good person, Dean," Cas says. "You love your family, and you hold me in irrationally high regard considering what I did to mine."
"What, taking a break from a set of dysfunctional assholes that had you halfway to a nervous breakdown?" Dean says incredulously.
"I thought you'd find it deplorable."
"I find it sane."
"Even if it was the right thing to do, it didn't feel that way," Cas says heavily. "I'm so ashamed of what I did."
Dean smiles softly, because this time, he doesn't even have to think about the answer.
"Thing is," he says, closing his fingers around Cas', "someone once told me that things are only shaming if you let them be."
Dean's eating dinner one night when Jo turns to him and says "Hey, can I use your laptop?"
"Why?" he asks suspiciously.
"Porn," she says bluntly. Becky averts her eyes; Meg rolls hers and doesn't bother commenting.
"Ha, ha. No, seriously, what?"
"Looking for a new chair," Jo says. "Doesn't look like I'm gonna stand up again, so I might as well sit down in style."
Not even Dean's a big enough asshole to say no to that. "Sure," he says, and so he winds up sitting by Jo's side as she scrolls through wheelchair listings.
"That one looks good."
"Sure, if you're in Ireland."
"My bad," she says, changing the country settings. "Okay, what about that one?
Dean looks at her. "Seriously?"
"What?" she defends. "It's in Oklahoma, that's not too bad."
"It's tartan, Jo."
"You wear tartan all the time."
"I wear plaid."
"Same difference."
"Now you're just embarrassing yourself."
Dean was only intending to help Jo out, but now he's looking, he has to admit that some of these chairs are… actually kind of badass. He doesn't understand what all of the terms in the specification mean, or what's good and bad, but there's no question that some seem better than others.
When Cas visits the following day, he finds Dean buried in research- and not, this time, for cars.
"Okay, but check this one out," Dean says, pointing at the screen. "Quick release wheels, lightweight as hell, and it comes with a goddamn memory foam seat."
"That's… good?" Cas says hesitantly. Dean snorts.
"Yeah, Cas, that's good." Cas nods, satisfied, and Dean adds "Unlike your car."
"Dean Winchester, you could make a living out of telling people how bad their cars are."
"One of my many talents," he says, and Cas kisses the grin off his face.
Maybe Cas is a little more psychic than Dean thought, because in the late evening of that very same day, Dean stumbles across a car forum with the most pathetic plea for help he's ever seen.
The guy writing the post is a newly-made orphan, who came back from his father's funeral to realise he'd been left his parent's old car- their first car, their love, their pride and joy. He drove their vintage Impala for exactly fourteen miles before it broke down.
Judging by the way he writes- somebody asks him if its an automatic or a manual, and he replies 'which one has the stick again?'- he's feeling little like a polar bear that's been dumped in the Sahara desert and expected to farm cacti. Nobody's given him any useful advice, his uncle is coming to visit tomorrow and has said several times how excited he is to see the car, and the guy posting is very clear that he can't afford to take the thing to a mechanic on such short notice.
So far, Dean's been taking a Star Trek approach to the whole online car advice thing: observe, but don't interfere. But it's not like his boy Kirk to let an innocent creature suffer- and damn, that car is definitely an innocent here.
Two hours later, Dean's somehow created an account on the site and left the guy a detailed, step-by-step, 'your Chihuahua could probably follow these damn instructions' guide to troubleshooting his car. It takes a long, long time to type out, but Ash's keyboard mods help, and it's not a topic Dean minds concentrating on. The model isn't a 1967, so it's not quite as familiar as the wrecked shell of a car Dean left for the police to deal with, but hey, Dean can be flexible.
Right before Dean goes to bed, he gets a private message from the guy who started the thread.
- - - - -
[reply] [forward] [delete]
To: dwinchester
From: flyboy77 [block] [report user]
Subject: car advice
thank you thank you thank you oh my god you are a lifesaver thank you so much! i tried everything you said and i don't know which bit fixed it but it's working now
do you want money or anything
"Some people," Dean tells the screen, "really shouldn't be allowed to own the cars they do."
- - - - -
To: flyboy77
From: dwinchester
Subject: re: car advice
It's ok, glad I could help.
No just take care of her!
It's been a while since Dean got to be the one riding in on a metaphorical white horse. It's a good feeling.
As October goes on, autumn starts to make itself known. Now when Cas leaves, it's dark outside, and Dean starts layering up again because it's getting too cold for t-shirts. He can handle the change in weather, but the temperature isn't the only thing that's on the decline.
At first, he doesn't mention it to anyone. His hands are hurting more often, and no matter how many painkillers he swallows, he can't block it out. He's hyperaware of their presence, of the way the muscles cramp and twist and pull his fingers into gnarled positions. He keeps waiting for it to pass, but it doesn't. Doing PT hurts, and so he quits doing the exercises when Benny isn't around, figuring it's a good idea to rest. After a few weeks, he stops taking the drugs too, because what's the point? They weren't helping.
He's still been visiting Cas' house, or going into the nearby town with him- there's a quiet corner of the park Dean doesn't mind sitting in, far away from the brats he knows will point and laugh- but he's starting to wonder what the point is. He feels people's eyes on him more than ever, and it feeds right back into the cycle of hands get worse, people stare, hands get worse, more people stare. He's going downhill, and the whole damn world knows it.
After all, Dean still doesn't get why Cas wants to spend time with him. Coming here and volunteering, okay, that's a tick on the big cosmic sheet that lets you go upstairs rather than down- but inviting Dean into his life? The idea doesn't make any sense. It's never made sense, but recently, Dean can't seem to get it off his mind. He feels like he's just sitting around and waiting for the day Cas doesn't want to come- doesn't want to be seen with him. He decides to make the decision before Cas can.
"I'm not going out," he says one day, before Cas has even said hello. "You can if you want. I don't care."
He doesn't say anything else. He doesn't make eye contact with Cas and, when Cas touches him, he shies away from it. Cas asks a few questions, but Dean doesn't answer them. The words seem to be coming from somewhere a long way away and Dean's mouth feels frozen, like his face is set in concrete. Answering doesn't seem to be an option. Cas sits with him in silence for half an hour before he leaves again, and Dean throws the remote at the TV so hard the screen shatters.
He tells Ellen it was an accident, grunts the words at her without offering any more of an explanation. He's not sure that she believes it, but she lets it slide. She asks if he wants to ring Sam, and he tells her to leave him the hell alone. With a sad look, she does.
After she goes, Dean texts Cas and asks him not to come by for a few days. The message takes ten minutes to type out, his fingers fumbling with the small, sensitive keys. He waits for a reply, doesn't get one, gets into bed and doesn't get out again until the following afternoon.
In pretty much every horror movie Dean's ever seen, there's a scene where the lead character thinks they've escaped, the kind of hope the audience knows can only end badly. Before long, the monster they thought they'd left behind comes back in a big way, clamping its teeth down hard. It happens every goddamn time.
That's how Dean feels now. He feels like he's drowning, like just when he thought he was out of the swamp something sucked him back in. He can feel the pressure of that dark, dank water on top of him, pressing him down and slowing every movement and thought he has. He can feel himself hazing out of life, some sick, sad creature best pushed to the background and forgotten about.
It's three days before somebody manages to reach in and grab hold.
"We've talked about this," Benny says firmly, standing in the semi-darkness of Dean's bedroom. "You gotta get up, brother."
"Bite me," Dean replies without emotion.
"Better not. Might like the taste too much and not let go again."
Dean keeps his back turned away, but he opens his eyes to glare at the wall. "No offence, Benny, but can you get lost?"
"None taken, and nope."
Dean groans. Benny responds by drawing up a chair by the bed.
"At least look at me," he says. Angrily, Dean pushes himself up and around to face him.
"Happy?" he snaps.
"Looking at that face?" Benny snorts, but then he quietens down. "What's goin' on?" Benny asks gently, like the 200lb teddy bear he is.
"Hate to break it to you, coach, but PT ain't going so well," Dean says. He's always been assured that his unique brand of malfunction isn't the kind to get worse, but it's hardly the first promise he's had broken.
"It's not working, okay?" he snaps when Benny doesn't say anything. "My hands are getting worse. It takes me longer to do things. I'm screwing up more and more often, and it's not gonna get better, so why are we even bothering?"
Dean doesn't understand the look that Benny gives him. "What?" Dean snarls.
"Your hands haven't been getting worse," Benny says slowly.
"Uh, yeah, they have."
"Uh, no, they haven't. I keep logs, remember? What, you think I just play around with my toys all day then go home and watch cable? I pay attention to my patients, and I can tell you that you've only been getting better. Progress is slow, sure, but it's there."
"Maybe at first," Dean says uncertainly. "But from like, the end of September onwards-"
"Improvement or no change," Benny says. "Never decline. Didn't know a damn thing was wrong until you threw a hissy fit and wouldn't play nice today."
"They hurt more- a lot more. I'm not making that up."
"Are you taking your meds?"
"No, but-"
"Then are you really surprised?"
"If my hands haven't been getting worse, why have so many people been staring at me?" Dean says- the final missile in his artillery, the one he'd hoped he wouldn't have to use. "Huh?"
This time, he understands the look Benny gives him. "They haven't been staring at me, have they?" Dean says tiredly, the conclusion heavy where it hangs from his mind.
Benny gives a small, sad smile. "I would guess not."
Dean rubs a hand over his face. "Shit," he mutters, pressing his mouth into his palm. "Shit," he says again.
"You okay?"
It takes Dean a few seconds to answer. "I think I fucked up fucking up."
A warm hand clasps Dean's shoulder. "Dean. Dean- would you look at me?"
Dean does so, reluctantly. Benny pulls back and moves a hand to his own neck, reaching inside his shirt to pull out a pendant.
"The hell is that?" Dean asks.
"A gift. Came from a sweet lady called the AA," Benny says, a hint of pride in his voice as he lets the golden disc drop back against his chest. "Eighteen months since I last touched a drop."
Dean looks at him in interest, a smile at his lips- the first genuine one for a while. "Good on you, man."
Benny allows himself a small, self-satisfied nod, before he grows serious again. "We've all got our demons, brother. Sometimes, you can get rid of them- sometimes, you can't. Sometimes, you just gotta focus on all the angels that drown them out. I got Andrea, our kid, work, friends, hobbies- and hell, there are still days when I want to throw it all away for five minutes with a pint of whatever, but I don't."
Benny leans forward intently, resting his arms on his knees. "Happiness don't always come easy, Dean. I ain't saying it's been easy, but I'm saying it's been worth it."
Dean shakes his head. "You know, if the PT market falls flat, you could make a pretty good motivational speaker."
"What can I say?" Benny grins. "I'm that kind of man. Now shut up and get up. You got work to do."
Cas keeps his distance for a while longer- and when he does visit, he does not pick a good time.
Things have been hard. Getting up is hard- staying up is hard. Persuading himself to shower or eat something or go outside takes physical effort, psyching himself up like he's about to tackle a goddamn line-backer. The day's been long and difficult- he had an appointment with Tessa which, whilst probably helpful in the long term, was about as fun as getting his ribcage ripped open- and by the time evening rolls around, Dean's struggling to find a reason to keep on going.
He's back in bed, facing the wall, when he hears his door open and the familiar "Hello, Dean". He's enough of a selfish bastard that it's good to hear, like drinking a glass of water and realising how thirsty you'd been.
"Cas," he says. He hears footsteps and lies silent and still, waiting for something to happen. At first, nothing does- but after a few seconds, he feels the other side of his bed go down as Cas sits.
"Not that I don't wanna see you," Dean says heavily, "but I'm not really in the mood for talking."
"Alright," Cas responds, and a moment later the weight on the bed shifts. He feels the warm press of a body behind his, though he loses the sensation somewhere around his lower back. An arm slips around Dean's chest- higher than a normal hold goes, fingers tucking under Dean's neck.
"I'm not a very talkative person," Cas murmurs, his breath hot against the back of Dean's neck. Dean keeps one hand under his pillow and moves the other until it brushes Cas' arm, holding him in place.
Dean honestly has no idea how much time passes before he next speaks. It feels like years.
"Don't think that you haven't made things better," Dean says, "because you have. Shit, Cas, you really, really have. You just haven't made things… better. You can't."
"I know," Cas replies. Dean feels the drag of a knuckle down the back of his neck before lips take its place, pressing a quiet kiss into his skin.
"I don't know if I can be fixed," Dean says, his voice shaking.
"You are not broken," Cas says, his soft and steady.
Cas leaves four hours later, when Ellen kindly yet firmly tells him it's against health and safety policies for guests to stay the night. Before Cas goes, he asks what the policy is on a resident spending the night at someone else's house. Ellen says that as long as it's cleared in advance, it's fine. Cas nods and leaves it at that.
October took effort; November is easier.
Like a child edging their way into cold water, Dean finds his way back into the life he'd been crafting- phoning Sam, visiting Cas, sitting in the park when it's warm and in quiet corners of bookstores or diners when it's not.
It's still not easy. November is a bad month for Dean's family- the anniversary of his mother's death marks the start of the month, the anniversary of the car crash lying nearer the end. It's been two years since Dean last stood up, two years since he last heard his father say his name, and that hurts. He meets up with Sam on both anniversaries and whilst they don't talk much, it's good to get a visual reminder that, despite everything, Sam made it out okay. Dean's lost a lot, but he hasn't lost his brother- somehow, that manages to be enough.
He goes back to taking his pain meds and- with no small amount of internal conflict- sees Tessa once or twice a week. He's actually a little embarrassed to admit how much it's helping. He tells her about his father and his mother and Sam; he even tells her about Cas.
"He deserves better." Dean doesn't look at her when he speaks. He tells it to the floor, to his useless feet on their footrest, to anything he knows cannot judge him. "He took care of his sister. I don't want him taking care of me too."
"Do you feel that Castiel takes care of you?"
"Obviously."
"How so?"
"What do you mean?"
"Does he push your chair for you?"
"Not usually."
"Feed you? Dress you?"
"No."
"Wash you? Catheterise-"
"Fucking hell, Tessa, no."
"So what does he do?"
Dean senses that 'show up' is not the correct answer here. "Uh, he listens to me. Goes places with me. He helped bandage my leg once."
"And I do all of those things with my husband," Tessa says wryly. "Those are things you do for people you care about, Dean. Not for people you pity."
It's an interesting thought, and one that sticks with Dean as he helps Jo pick out her next chair. She has terrible taste and ignores nearly all of his advice, but it's still weirdly fun. For himself, Dean's got his eye on a gorgeous 'luxury' chair that'll set him back a couple hundred dollars. He shows it to Jo and she agrees that it's nice, though she complains that it's too big.
"It's the wheelchair equivalent of a guy with a tiny dick ordering a car with an engine the size of a cow," she criticises.
"Okay, let's get things straight- there is nothing tiny here," he says. "And at least it's a sensible colour."
"Red is a sensible colour!"
"What's wrong with black?" he defends, dragging the laptop back to face him.
"What's wrong with red?"
"I always know when you two are missing," a voice comes from the door, "because my job suddenly gets a lot easier."
"You love it," Dean tells Ellen. She rolls her eyes.
"Lunch," she announces. "We got cheeseburgers, Jo."
"God is real, and he loves his daughter," Jo grins. She looks over at Dean. "They're actually really good, I swear."
He's already shaking his head. It's a pretty good day for his hands, but that doesn't mean he trusts them enough to try something that risky.
"How do you not like burgers?" Jo says incredulously.
"I do," Dean says defensively. "I just don't like wasting a whole burger when my hands… you know. Quit being hands."
"So get it cut up," Jo says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Dean barks out a laugh.
"That's not happening."
"Can we have two burgers, both cut up?" Jo asks Ellen.
"You don't need yours like that," Dean accuses Jo.
"Don't tell me what I need."
"Probably easier to let her have her way," Ellen says to Dean, not unkindly.
"Fine, whatever," Dean sighs. "Burger it is."
As if that wasn't bad enough, Jo drags Dean out to eat with the others. He keeps trying to object, but every time he does, she just goes "I'm doing it", and gives him this look like 'are you really gonna get beaten by a girl?'
A girl, Dean could live with. Jo? Shit, no.
The burgers come out already cut into eighths, and the shame that that sends burning through Dean's bones is quickly dampened when he takes a bite. It's not the best he's ever had, but after nearly two years without, it's pretty fucking close.
Once he's finished, Jo looks over at him and smirks.
"What?" he says
"Nothing," she hums, and Dean steals the final eighth of her burger straight from her plate. The ensuing fight is very much worth it.
The next day, Dean gets an email telling him he's received a new personal message. At first he thinks it's a mistake, but when he clicks through, he's taken to a forum that feels loosely familiar. After clicking on a few things, he remembers- it's that car website, the one he used to give advice to that poor bastard with the Impala.
- - - - -
[reply] [forward] [delete]
To: dwinchester
From: lost_at_sea [block] [report user]
Subject: No Subject
Sorry to bother you but I saw that post you wrote about troubleshooting the impala, and I was wondering if you knew anything about jaguars? I just bought my first one and there are some engine problems I want to get fixed but my garage charges stupid prices. If you have any free time could you maybe give me some advice? Thanks
It's a weird message, but it's not entirely unwelcome. It makes something pleasant glow in Dean's chest, and he smiles as he types out his reply.
To: dwinchester
From: lost_at_sea
Subject: Sure!
I can try. What's wrong?
While he waits for a response, Dean idly browses through the Chevrolet subsection of the forums- and, after that, every other subsection in alphabetical order.
The forum's pretty big, with users from all over the world. It's a strange blend of novices who spell the word 'carburetor' in increasingly interesting ways, one-time users who want help fixing their Ford Focus and want it now, and a big group of admirers and collectors of classic cars. If it's possible to fall in love with a website, Dean thinks he probably does. He can't stop himself from commenting a few times, and by the time the guy replies, Dean's midway through a heated but good-natured battle on the benefits of Japanese vs. American cars. He bookmarks the site before he goes to bed, and after that he visits it most days.
He's sitting in the lounge one day and complaining to Jo about how typing sometimes hurts his hands, when Ash looks up like an owl hearing prey.
"Voice transcription software," he says immediately. "Your laptop will have some inbuilt, but it's probably crappy. Let me hook you up."
Dean attempts to object, but standing between Ash and anything technology related is like standing between a mother bear and her cub. Within a week, his computer is fitted with some of the best speech-to-word software the market has to offer. Ash pays for half of it- he says that the satisfaction of a job well done is way more rewarding than a fistful of dollars could ever be.
It's a few weeks before somebody from the forum, in an attempt to be friendly, asks him what he drives. Dean stares at the screen with a pang of pain, and temporarily debates just shutting the laptop and never going on the site again. Instead, he sighs, then speaks into his microphone.
dwinchester
I used to drive a chevy 67 but I got in this accident and now I've got four wheels under me all the time if you know what I mean. Sucks but what can you do.
He closes the window and reads for a while, not expecting any replies and not wanting to see any he does get. He doesn't check again until the next day, when his emails inform him he has seven unread private messages- and that's not counting replies to his post.
The responses range from offering condolences to enthusing about Impalas, but none are overly sympathetic, and nobody asks 'what the hell are you doing on a car forum?'. The private messages are mostly from people telling more personal stories- their brother/mother/wife went through a similar thing, so they know how it sucks, etc etc. The whole thing is a little overwhelming, to be honest, and by the time he clicks on the last message he feels almost shell-shocked.
- - - - -
[reply] [forward] [delete]
To: dwinchester
From: hotwheels85 [block] [report user]
Subject: your post
Hey, Dean!
I've been in a chair since I was 12- got scared at a sleepover, phoned my parents, drunk driver hit us on the way home, massive bummer all around. My girlfriend's really into cars so I spend a lot of time on here (personally, I'm more into dragons. Or broomsticks. I'm getting carried away, sorry).
I wondered if you'd ever tried hand controls? I've been driving my car for six years and I'm better than pretty much everyone who drives with their feet, lbr. You should check it out!
Have a good day,
Charlie
Dean spends a long time looking at Charlie's message before he replies.
"Hand controls," he says under his breath, as he opens up Google in another page. "Huh."
In mid-November, Dean stays with Cas for the first time. He gets about four separate lectures from Bobby and various carers on making sure he takes care of himself, that he doesn't let himself get too hot or too cold, that he eats, that he drinks, that he phones them or the local hospital right away if he starts to think something's up, yada, yada. He nods along with all of it and wonders if he can persuade Cas to let him get drunk. At the home, most residents capable of drinking alcohol are more than welcome to- Dean, however, is a special case. When he living with Sam and Jess, Sam found him blackout drunk once too many times, and now his file contains the ever-pleasant phrase 'recovering alcoholic'- as if it wasn't a depressing enough read already.
Unfortunately for him (or maybe fortunately; Dean decides against thinking about it too hard), Cas doesn't drink. The strongest thing in his house is his goddamn mouthwash, and so Dean sticks to root beer.
It goes like any visit does, except Dean stays later and Cas orders pizza for dinner. Dean rips small pieces off, a pretty effective technique that lets him take down three slices in half an hour. It's good to feel like himself again. Cas has bought pie too, because he's an asshole who insists Dean deserves nice things, and Dean holds the fork over the bowl so that when he drops it (twice), he doesn't have to get a clean one. Cas eats an apple instead and, ridiculously, insists it's more or less the same.
This is the man I've fallen in love with, Dean thinks incredulously, the 'L' word slipping into his head like it belongs there. When he realises, he's surprised by how little weight the revelation holds. He's in love with Cas. All he can really say on the matter is uh, duh.
It makes getting into bed with the guy a lot more awkward, though. From a practical side of things, Cas' bedroom is upstairs, so he's had to pull out the sofa-bed downstairs. He insists that he doesn't mind, but Dean still feels bad. The transfer from chair to bed is pretty easy, though, and Dean parks his chair by the bed for if he wants to get up in the night. The familiar shape is strangely comforting.
Cas wanders through in a t-shirt and boxer shorts, and Dean doesn't even try not to stare. Cas catches him, smirks, and pulls the sheets back on his side of the bed. He flicks the light off and lies down next to Dean, and this is where the emotional side of things come in, because Dean has no friggin' clue what to do with his hands. Or face. Or, uh, anything.
"Hi," he says, eyes flickering from Cas' face to his lips to where his collarbone peeks out from the neck of his shirt.
"Hello," Cas replies- and then, after a few seconds, "You can touch me, you know."
"Forward, but I'll take it," Dean says, slinging his arm around Cas' waist. Cas moves closer, pressing his face into Dean's neck and wrapping both arms around his shoulders- high again, high enough so that Dean can pinpoint where his fingers come to rest. They drift across Dean's shoulders, rubbing small circles into his skin, lips mouthing at Dean's throat until Dean drags Cas' face up to meet his.
Kissing Cas has a strange way of making Dean forget the rest of the world exists, but after a while, the sick feeling licking at the walls of his gut grows too great to be ignored. He breaks away and ducks his head out the way when Cas tries to chase his lips again.
"Dean?" Cas asks, concerned. "What's wrong?"
"I, uh," he says, and wow, this really is not a conversation he's been looking forward to. It's one they need to have, though, so Dean moves his eyes to fix somewhere past Cas' shoulder as he speaks.
"I don't know if I can- you know," he says. "I don't know if I can even get- and that might be a mind thing or a body thing or it might be both, but either way, it's a problem. Obviously."
"Obviously?" Cas says blankly.
"Jesus, Cas, do I need to spell this out for you? I don't know if I can have sex. Ever. Okay?"
Dean lets his eyes flicker to Cas' face and is surprised to find that whilst Cas doesn't look angry as such, it's a very close thing.
"I will never understand," Cas says, "why you continue to place so much importance on your body."
"Meaning?"
"I don't want you for sex, Dean. I'm not here because of your hair, or your skin, or your bone structure. I'm not saying you're not attractive- I don't think there's a human being alive who could deny that- but I am far more interested in what's inside you than the package it comes in."
"You sound like a serial killer."
Cas shuts his eyes. "You really do have a talent for killing the moment."
"I learned it from the best."
Cas' face breaks into a small smile then, a slight laugh. "There are ways," he said eventually, "around everything. If and when you feel ready to explore them, we will. Until then, don't let it bother you. Please."
"I'm not the type to give it up on the first date anyway," Dean says. "Actually, that's a lie, I totally am. But I… yeah. Thanks," he says quietly. Cas' only response is to press another gentle kiss to Dean's lips- one which Dean returns until something occurs to him.
"Wait," he says suspiciously. "What do you mean, 'there are ways'?"
"Disabled people can still have active sex lives," Cas says. "There are methods-"
"How do you know that?"
Cas has the good grace to look flustered. "I may have conducted some research."
"Research?"
"Google contains many resources."
"Castiel," Dean interrupts. "Did you Google how to have sex with me?"
A pause. "I sense that 'yes' is not the correct answer here."
"Cas."
"Maybe."
Dean starts chuckling, and finds it very hard to stop. "Google," he repeats through his laughter. "Oh my God, Cas. Never change."
"I meant what I said," Cas insists, but Dean waves it away.
"I know," he says- and then, more soberly- "I know. I believe you, okay?"
"Good," Cas says, splaying his fingers on Dean's chest. "It's important to me that you understand."
"I know," Dean says for the third time, kissing Cas softly. "I do."
They stay like that a while longer, exchanging kisses and gentle touches, until Dean breaks off again. Cas has a pre-emptively fearful look in his eyes, already emotionally prepping himself for whichever torrent of bullshit Dean's going to release next.
"So," Dean begins. "About these methods. I'm gonna need you to enlighten me."
The stay is deemed a success, and after that, Dean spends every Saturday night at Cas' house. Back at the home, he takes most of his meals on the ward- and whilst he'll still pick the safe option nine times out of ten, every once in a while, he doesn't. It's a small step, sure, but he figures one sandwich a week is better than none at all.
His food comes out already cut up, which makes it a lot easier to handle, but he's actually finding that he drops way less food recently. He's more relaxed at meals, which helps, and whilst his hands still tremor and spasm, his grip is better- he's learning to pay more attention to what his nerves are telling him. Benny's real big on 'listening to your body'. Dean once told Benny that the phrase made him sound like a new-age yoga instructor; Benny threatened to start lighting candles and draping Dean with flower crowns, and that shut him up pretty quickly.
Dean's been doing some research into hand-control cars, but he still prefers talking about the real deal. He's getting more well-known on the forum, and he's been exchanging messages with Charlie for a while now. He'd assumed she was a guy until she sent over a picture of a pretty redheaded woman sitting by a shiny new car, and labelled the file 'me!'. They started out talking about cars but drifted off-topic quickly, and soon Charlie's sending Dean lists of the various fantasy series he really, really needs to read. When Dean inevitably has to file for bankruptcy as a result of all the damn books he's buying, he's going to blame one Miss Charlie Bradbury.
On the last day of November, a man named Howard- someone Dean only spoke to a handful of times- passes away, and an air of mourning descends on the home. Death is kind of inevitable in a place like this, but that doesn't mean it's pleasant. December brings advent, and the staff compensate for the solemn mood by throwing themselves into decoration. Becky starts wearing reindeer antlers every time she works. Dean makes a habit of asking Lilith when she's planning to do the same, mostly to see how much it annoys her. He's not disappointed.
Soon, the home looks like Santa's grotto on steroids. Dean counts no fewer than five Christmas trees- two real, a decent fake, a terrible fake, and one that is honest-to-God fuschia.Jo likes that one best; Dean makes a habit of 'accidentally' ramming his chair into it. His excuse is that the wheels are bad, which ties in neatly with his newest purchase. The chair's all paid for, and Dean's arranged to have her delivered at the start of the new year. The memory foam pillow cost an extra $5 in the end, which Dean views as necessary expenditure.
When it comes to buying things for other people, though, Dean's lost. He and Sam have never really done the whole 'gift' thing, but he figures he should really get Cas something. The problem is that the only person he leaves the home with is Cas, and he's not exactly going to say 'hey, please leave me outside this store and wander around somewhere else for a couple hours'.
Jody offers to take him to a mall nearby- one she knows has wide doors and decent lifts- and, after some deliberation, he agrees. The thought of all those people in such a small space freaks him out, but he figures that if he can push his bullshit aside for anybody, it's Cas.
Ruby and Ava end up coming along too. Ava draws stares from parents and kids alike- she slumps in her chair, and she drools a little sometimes- but she's good company, and Dean's not going to complain. Ruby, though, he does complain about- quite vehemently, and she's happy to return the sentiment.
They end up in a book shop, where Dean surveys the displays like a grandmother who was looking for fruit and accidentally wandered into the Apple Store. What the hell do people buy for each other? Cas likes languages, okay- what the hell do you get for someone who likes languages? A dictionary?
"What do you think?" he asks Ava, holding a book up in front of her face. "It's about France or some crap."
Ava looks at him.
"What? He likes France. Probably."
Ava looks at him again.
"You're not helping," he tells her, putting the book back. He moves backwards to better see what's on the top shelves, but none of them look right. He glances over at Ava. "Quit looking at the cake books. You don't need more cake books."
Dean ends up going back empty-handed except for two chocolate milkshakes- one for him, and one for Jo. Her food always comes cut up now- apparently MS produces a tremor in something like 75% of cases, and she wasn't the lucky quarter. She spends a lot more time sleeping, and if she's not paying attention she sometimes drops words or slurs her sentences. It's understandably starting to get her down, and Dean figures chocolate-flavoured anything is a pretty good mood-booster.
"You're gonna give your boyfriend a milkshake for Christmas?" Ruby says on the way back, raising an eyebrow.
"It's not for-" he starts, but then he narrows his eyes. "Why did you call him my 'boyfriend'?"
"Because I have eyes and ears? You two are so sickeningly in love that it makes me want to punch a baby deer just to try and neutralise the situation."
"How the hell did you get into care work?"
"I had a really shitty careers counsellor," she says, and then rolls her eyes. "I'm joking, dumbass. I happen to like it, okay? Helping people and all that. Feels good."
"Do you like me?" he says, batting his eyelashes.
"Don't push your luck," she warns. "You know the money doesn't matter here, right? Whatever you give him, it'll still come from you. That means a lot more than the price tag."
"You must want to punch a deer so badly right now."
"I may vomit," she admits. "I'm right, though."
"Probably," he acknowledges.
"Hey, how about your brother? If you want help getting a gift for him, I've got some good suggestions."
"If you wanted to get him something, you could always try babygros or confetti. For, you know, the baby. And the wedding. To his wife."
"I think you might be trying to say something here, but I just don't know what."
"Bitch."
"Asshole."
Dean should probably have fewer relationships that revolve around mutual insults.
Christmas gets closer and closer, and soon it's only a few days away. If Dean's worried that his gift for Cas isn't good enough, then he's friggin' convinced that his one for Sam isn't.
"You're okay to wait here?" Cas says. They're standing outside a restaurant, the sky dark but the street well-lit. A few days ago, Cas phoned Sam out of the blue and asked if he and Jess wanted to go out for a meal, so that they could better get to know each other a little better. Sam agreed instantly- was ridiculously eager about the whole thing, actually- and Castiel offered to book the restaurant.
Dean's not sure why he never got around to telling Sam that, these days, he leaves the care home pretty regularly. At first, he guesses that he was embarrassed- ashamed that it was considered an accomplishment at all, reluctant to hear any kind of pity or praise- and after a while, so long had passed without telling Sam that he'd have to explain why he hadn't mentioned it before. The whole thing felt awkward whenever Dean thought about it, and so he's been trying his hardest not to. Sam knows that Dean's been around Cas' house, but he has no idea that Dean's been to parks, bookshops, libraries, diners, malls… okay, Dean hasn't done the 'eating in a restaurant' thing since the crash, but Cas assures him that the restaurant's been informed and that everything should be fine.
Dean is giving himself to Sam for Christmas. It's probably the most arrogant gift anybody's ever given, and Dean regretted suggesting it almost immediately- but Cas had loved the idea, and in the eight months that they've known each other, Dean has not gotten any better at saying 'no' to him.
"I'm good," Dean says. "Might need to get a trampoline if our table's upstairs, though."
"It isn't," Cas says. "It's right by the front door, apparently. I'd better go in." They're a little late as it is- they had to make sure Sam and Jess arrived first. The plan is for Cas to go in, and for Dean to follow in a few minute's time.
"Knock 'em dead," Dean says. Cas has gone for 'smart casual' dress, and he looks ridiculously attractive- but, then again, he always does. Dean is wearing jeans, and he'd be a lot more apologetic about that if this wasn't his first time wearing them in two years. Usually, he lives in sweatpants and t-shirts- easy to pull on and off, with no awkward buttons or zips. Today, though, he made the effort, and he waived his pride enough to let Cas do the fly up for him.
(That had threatened to break his good mood- you're pretty damn useless, he had thought, if you can't even do up a button- but then Cas had caught Dean's eye as he tugged at the zip and given Dean the most wolfish grin he's ever seen. It's hard to stay sad when you're laughing that hard.)
Cas kisses Dean the cheek and goes inside, leaving Dean outside. Being so exposed makes him feel a little uncomfortable, but he doesn't freak out. He stares at the door, keeping his breathing steady as his hands absently work through the ASL alphabet. After a couple of minutes, a couple go in and the woman pauses, holding the door open for him questioningly. Thanking her, he goes on in.
"I'm with them," he tells the hostess, nodding over at Cas, Sam and Jess. True to word, they're the first table you come to- though the table's in a kind of hollowed-out section that means there's more than enough room for a wheelchair to be pulled up to it. Where there should be an empty chair next to Cas, there's a space, and Jess and Sam sit opposite him with their backs to Dean. Cas looks at Dean and immediately moves his eyes past, though a small smile flickers across his face.
Dean moves forwards, his heart pounding in his throat. A few people glance over at him, but they look away again. It's no big deal. He's just some guy, going out for dinner with his brother.
Think of how things were before.
When he gets close enough to hear the conversation, Sam is speaking.
"- salad is really good here," he's enthusing.
"If you come to a steakhouse and order salad," Dean says loudly, "I'll disown you."
The speed at which Sam's head snaps around is almost comical. When he catches sight of Dean, he seems to have some trouble organising his words. "D-Dean?" he gets out eventually.
"No, I'm actually his evil twin," Dean deadpans. He looks past Sam to catch Jess' eyes, and something tightens in his chest. She's as beautiful as ever, but she looks terrified. They haven't seen each other for at least a year now- at first, her and Sam would visit together, but after a while Jess stopped coming. Dean really can't blame her.
Cas moves his chair over slightly, and Dean wheels himself into place. Sam's still looking at Dean like he can't quite believe he's real.
"So this is your Christmas present," Dean says. "Crappy, I know. Don't worry, I'll get you beer too. Or porn. Something."
"It's fine," Sam says, his eyes still wide. "This is… this is good. This is really, really good." Dean thinks that Sam's actually about to tear up, which is equal parts heartbreaking and hilarious, especially as he thinks that he might be doing the same. He focuses his attention on Jess instead.
"I think I'm supposed to say you look glowing," he tells her.
"Well, do I?"
"I don't know. I'm not really sure what that looks like. You look hot, though," he adds, and Sam and Cas glare at him in unison. Jess snorts with laughter.
"You did well for yourself too," she says, nodding at Cas. "Very well indeed."
"I know, right?" Dean says proudly. "Wish I could say the same for you."
"Ahh, he'll do."
"We are here, right?" Sam says to Cas. "They can actually see us?"
"I'm beginning to doubt it," Cas agrees, frowning.
Dean steers clear of anything that requires too much cutting and orders some cheese-drenched nacho dish, which works pretty well. He orders beer too, but not so much that Sam gets pissy about it. Cas does get steak, but Sam has a salad; Jess orders a burger and exchanges despairing glances with Dean whenever possible. The meal goes well- Dean had forgotten how much he likes Jess, and pretty much everyone seems to like Cas.
"How're we splitting the bill?" Jess asks once they're done.
"We could each pay for our own?" Sam suggests.
"Make the pregnant woman pay for her food," Dean comments. "Classy."
"Make the man in the wheelchair pay for his," Jess shoots back. Dean can hear Sam's sharp intake of breath, but Dean just gives a tilt of his head.
"Touché," he says. "So we're making Sam and Cas pay for everything?"
"Sure seems that way."
They end up splitting the bill a little more evenly than that, and Dean and Cas walk Sam and Jess back to their car.
"What are you doing for Christmas?" Jess asks.
"Hadn't really thought about it," Dean says. "Cas?"
"I don't have any plans."
"You should come around ours," Sam says. "Jess is a really great cook."
"It's easy if you buy all the stuff pre-prepared," she says cheerily.
"It'd be really great to have you guys there," Sam wheedles.
"Are you sure I wouldn't be intruding?" Cas says uncertainly.
"'course," Jess said. "Please?"
"I'm down with that," Dean shrugs.
"That sounds wonderful, thank you," Cas agrees. "What time do you want us to arrive?"
"Uh… one?" Sam suggests.
"One it is," Cas says. "I'm going to go and find my car- I'll drive it over here," he says to Dean, turning and walking away.
"He might be pretty, but he sure as hell ain't subtle," Dean comments, watching him leave. He doesn't know what kind of deep and meaningful conversation Cas is expecting him to have here, but he's sure as hell not having it. He turns back to Sam to laugh over the whole thing, but apparently they're reading from very different songbooks.
"Thank you," Sam says, his words threatening to spill over with emotion. "I don't think you know how much that meant to me, Dean, so just… thank you."
"Yeah, okay," Dean says, Sam's weepy gratitude itching him like poison ivy. "It's okay, Sammy. Honest."
"It was good to see you," Jess adds. "I mean, to really see you. I missed this, Dean."
"Me too," he admits. "Insulting Sam's no fun when there's nobody around to back you up."
"See you at Christmas?" she says hopefully.
"Looking forward to it," he confirms, and she kisses him on the cheek. When Sam bends down to hug him, Dean wraps his arms tightly around his little brother, and he hugs back.