Title: Tastes Like Forgiveness – Chapter 7
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 6,000 this chapter – 35k total
Summary: Season 7 AU. After releasing Leviathan, Castiel is pulled from the reservoir fully human. With only the men he betrayed to rely on, Castiel does anything he can to redeem himself, especially to Dean.
Spoilers: End of season 6, throughout season 7
Warnings: Spanking, CBT, humiliation, angst, everyone's mean to Cas, potential domestic abuse triggers
"Tell me how you're doing with dream walking," Nora said over the phone.
"It's very frustrating. I can't help but compare it to when I was an angel," Castiel said. He was stretched out on Dean's bed in the motel room. The reception was better near the window. He had his spell books, and his own notes, spread out in front of him, books he kept secreted away in the bottom of his duffel bag, wrapped up in dirty laundry.
He knew, deep down, that this secret of his would absolutely be considered lying by Dean. That the man would be furious if he found out Castiel was keeping this from him. But he rationalized that it was meant to be a surprise, a gift for Dean, so Castiel kept it that way. He would tell him, as soon as he had something to show for it, something he could give to them that would help.
His notes were a jumble of ideas and theories, about healing, demon wards, exorcisms, protective spells, and anything else he thought might be useful to a hunter. The brothers dabbled in magics sometimes, using spells that just needed reading and ingredients, but they didn't have the talent for it. When they really needed a big hitter, they had some friends, like Nora, that they could turn to. After Castiel's miserable shooting lessons with Dean, which he felt should have earned him a good whipping, his resolve was strengthened to hone this other talent, which they lacked.
"I don't suppose you have any more theories about Sam?" Castiel asked, sounding less than hopeful. He had an entire notebook dedicated to the problem of Sam and how to get Lucifer out of his head. He had theories about restructuring the wall, erasing Sam's memories, forcing the madness to manifest physically so they could fight it, and a long list of potentially healing herbs, but nothing fit, or they were well beyond his abilities and expertise.
"Nothing better than your own theories. You really should take a chance with them," Nora said, her voice encouraging and full of pride in Castiel. Castiel liked that. He was certain, that if he could still see it, her soul would be pure and clean.
The two exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then hung up. Castiel lingered with his notes for a little while longer, and then packed them up, tight and hidden, deep in his bag, before he went back to research.
The one theory that kept pushing at his mind was forefront in his thoughts. It was a simple idea, one of the first Nora had taught him, but it was a different angle than their other theories. He was fairly certain it would work, but was reluctant to try it, because it would require Sam's complicity in the matter, which would mean he would find out.
Castiel wasn't sure he wanted to reveal it yet, when he couldn't be sure. He didn't want to get Sam's hopes up, and then have it fail. He was afraid Sam would hate him again, and he couldn't have that after they'd made so much progress.
Castiel deliberately provoked Dean sometimes. It was the only way in their twisted, bizarre relationship that either of them could ask for sex. Sometimes, Castiel would break a rule. Sometimes, Dean would call out a minor fault. It worked like a game they played so they could both get what they wanted.
"Dean," Castiel often said, "I bought you a pie from the store."
"Really?" Dean asked, unsurprised.
"No. I lied," Castiel said, and he'd already be working his belt off, and undoing the buttons of his pants while Dean stood up, looking menacing, and reaching for the crop.
Castiel still hated it. He'd thought he would get used to it, start to get off on it, like he had the spanking. He'd seen videos of men who loved having their cock and balls whipped, pinched, pulled and stepped on, usually by beautiful women in leather, but his cock was stubbornly disinterested in it, remaining small and soft as Dean whipped him.
But he did it for Dean. He offered himself up for the man, giving into his tears freely as the pain stung between his legs, because Dean loved his tears. Loved to lick them away when he was done, and Castiel would lean up into those almost kisses, that never touched his lips, and would moan, pleading for more.
The more was what they were both after. The punishment was a preamble, to assuage Dean's guilt, to free him of the pressure of forgiveness. Afterwards, he had no compunction about taking pleasure with Castiel.
"Let's try something new tonight," Dean said, fingering the crop as he stood over Castiel, who was lying naked on the bed, his legs spread wide to give Dean easy access. Castiel shivered with anticipation. 'Something new,' was usually good. Dean had a lot more experience than he did in matters of the flesh and sex. He had a lot of practice over the years, and delighted in showing Castiel all the ways he could feel good.
"It's a game," Dean said, a too-pleased smile on his face as he ran the crop feather light down Castiel's chest. "I'm going to whip you all over, and if you start to get hard, I'll whip your cock. Sound fun?"
"No," Castiel said petulantly.
"Too bad," Dean said, still looking pleased, and then he let the crop fall on Castiel's mouth, smacking his lips a little off center. Castiel flinched, having the crop so close to his face, but it hadn't hurt much. Dean hadn't struck so hard.
"Good? Bad?" Dean asked, the crop poised in his hand.
"Not sure. It was strange."
Dean whipped Castiel's mouth a few more times, still that very light tap of the crop, and then looked at him questioningly again. Castiel just shrugged. Having his mouth whipped didn't seem to do much for him. Dean shrugged in return, and moved the crop lower.
The sting of it against his nipples however, which he'd never thought of as sensitive before, sent heat to his groin, and he gasped out loud at the first strike. Then Dean switched the crop, back and forth between each nipple, quick and hard, making Castiel squirm on the bed, trying to escape.
And then the sharp, cutting pain on his cock that made him shout. The stirring between his legs cooled instantly, and his cock shrank back. Dean grinned at him, looking victorious. Castiel just whimpered quietly.
Dean worked the crop down his sides, playing it along his ribs, and into his navel. It didn't feel bad, but Castiel was careful not to let the sensation take control again, and bit his lip furiously while he thought about cleaning guns.
The crop worked around his hips, which made him gasp as they hit an oddly sensitive and ticklish spot, but when Dean didn't get the response he wanted, he moved to Castiel's thighs, ordering him to spread his legs so he could get the insides of his thighs pink. Castiel cursed at his traitorous cock as it started showing its interest, and caught Dean's eye.
It took a few more sharp smacks to get his erection to wilt again, and the tears stung in Castiel's eyes as he cried out.
"Dean," he whined, his voice a little jagged from the strain already.
"Hush. We just got started."
Dean chuckled as he worked his way down Castiel's legs, getting the backs of his knees, and his calves, but not the desired, forbidden reaction he wanted. It wasn't until he got to Castiel's feet, to the soles, that he got a reaction he liked. He gave Castiel one hard smack, and Castiel cried out and jerked his foot away, out of Dean's reach. He knew his mistake as soon as he made it.
"Sorry… it hurt… Dean…"
"Definitely no flinching allowed," Dean asserted, and the crop came down between Castiel's legs once more, smacking his soft cock for punishment.
When Dean was done, little pink welts were left all over Castiel's body. Dean found that whipping his nipples, thighs, and pretty much anywhere on his back, would get Castiel hard. Other spots certainly excited him, and he'd use it in the future to torment Castiel in some fashion. Castiel was just happy that Dean had finished off with a quick whipping of his ass, and didn't whip his erection afterwards, leaving him hard and straining, and waiting for what happened after punishment.
Usually, Dean's fingers would seek between Castiel's cheeks, spreading him open to make him loose. Or maybe, Castiel would be ordered to sit up and suck Dean off while he stroked himself. However, this particular night, Dean did something he'd never done before. Slowly, keeping his eyes locked with Castiel's, he bent down over the former angel's groin, opened his mouth, and sucked the tip of Castiel's cock into his mouth.
Castiel let out a long moan, and almost came instantly. But he drew a shaky breath and held it back. He curled in on himself, over Dean's head as it bobbed between his legs and gave into his urge to slide his fingers into the man's hair. He wanted to pull and tug, like Dean did with him, but held back, afraid Dean wouldn't like it, and then he would stop.
Castiel didn't want this to ever stop.
Dean worked his way down Castiel's cock, sucking and licking, and making lewd noises that made Castiel lose his breath. He'd often wondered what it would be like to feel this, after months of doing the favor for Dean. He'd imagined it often, in his sleeping bag, or in the shower when he had a few extra minutes. But none of his imaginings compared to the feeling of Dean's hot mouth, and his wicked tongue, which toyed at the slit of Castiel's cock, and pressed eagerly along the thick, throbbing vein.
Compared to his own hand, Dean's mouth was so soft, and Castiel had to admit with some embarrassment, much better at wreaking pleasure over his skin than he himself was. He always felt so clumsy touching himself, driving himself blindly toward pleasure, while Dean's mouth was pleasure in and of itself.
Castiel couldn't help himself, and though he wanted the experience to last much longer, he couldn't hold out, and soon felt his orgasm cresting. He moaned out a small warning to Dean, a little noise that creaked out of his mouth before he was shooting, his come flooding into Dean's mouth. Castiel was surprised that the man didn't pull away, and flushed hot when he saw his throat working, gulping down all Castiel had to offer until the last pulse faded, and Castiel softened in his mouth.
Dean pulled away slowly, and licked his lips, thoughtfully. "Bitter sweet," he murmured, looking up at Castiel, his eyes hazy. "Tastes like your tears."
Castiel's breath hitched, and he wasn't sure what to say. An awkward "Thank you," tumbled from his lips, and Dean laughed at him.
"Dude, you don't have to say thank you for a blow job. Makes it weird. What you could do though, is turn over for me," Dean said, and his lips quirked up into a lusty grin as he started undoing the button of his jeans, just below which, his cock bulged obscenely.
Castiel felt heat surge down to his groin again, urging him toward hardness very quickly at just the sight of Dean starting to undress, and asking him for more. He didn't hesitate much longer, and rolled onto his belly, spreading his legs, again, to give Dean better access.
Later that night, after they were finished, and Castiel had showered, he lingered at the foot of Dean's bed, eying the bed, and his sleeping bag, which was rolled out on the floor. He turned his eyes to Dean, who was just starting to sit up, to take a shower himself. There was a silent question in Castiel's eyes, and Dean looked away and brushed passed him into the shower.
"Not yet," he murmured and shut the door.
Castiel considered for a moment climbing into Dean's bed anyway, and wondered what would happen. Would Dean give in and just let him sleep there? Would there be an argument and more whippings? Or would he just climb into the other bed and avoid the whole topic? He decided he didn't want to know and compromised by stealing a pillow from Dean's bed, which smelled of Dean, and sex, and curled up with that in his sleeping bag.
Sam was getting worse, despite his best efforts. The pain from the scar on his hand was only able to keep Lucifer at bay for so long, and he could hardly press his hand while he was sleeping, which was when the hallucinations seemed to enjoy bothering him the most. It left him groggy and sleep deprived almost constantly, which was a less than an ideal mental state to fend off madness. It was even worse when he was on a hunt and needed to be at his very best to keep himself and Dean alive.
Sam was drinking coffee like water, downing four to five cups before lunch time, just to stave off his exhaustion. Dean worried Sam would make a mistake while they were hunting and get one of them killed. Castiel worried that Sam would keel over and die from the lack of sleep.
With growing concern, Castiel called Nora, asking for advice. She told him exactly what he thought she would say, and exactly what he didn't want to hear.
"Castiel," she said, in what Castiel learned was considered a 'mom voice,' and was beginning to understand why children obeyed their parents. "You have a friend who might die, and you won't do anything because you're afraid he'll be angry? Which is worse, dead or angry?"
"You've no idea what I've done, Nora. I can't afford to lose them again."
"Did you know I own a TV? And that occasionally, I watch the news? I know what you did. I know what you were, what you thought you were. And after all of that, Dean and Sam still took you in. Yes, they're going to be angry that you kept a secret. Seems to be a big thing between you three, but when they see what you can do, how can they do anything but forgive you?"
Castiel sighed, but deep down, he agreed with Nora. Even if Dean and Sam were angry, even if they tossed him aside, he knew it would be worth it if Sam was healed. It was a promise he meant to keep. So he hung up with Nora, gathered his notebooks, with his finalized theory for Sam, and went to his motel room.
Sam looked terrible when he opened the door for Castiel. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face looked pained. Occasionally, he would flinch, for no apparent reason, and level a glare off in a random direction in the room. Castiel could only imagine what sort of torment his mind was creating in the guise of Lucifer.
"I hope I didn't wake you," Castiel said quietly, as he slipped into the room as unobtrusively as possible.
"No, Lucifer's got a handle on that," Sam said wearily. A smile cracked his lips, but faded quickly, and then turned into a hard, jaw-popping yawn. "Did you need something?"
"No, actually. I have something for you," Castiel said. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he held out his notebook, open on the page with his notes about Sam's condition. "I think this might help you with Lucifer. Though, I'm not sure. I haven't been able to test it."
Sam's eyes widened slightly, hope sparking around the corners, though dimly, either because he'd given up all hope, or else he was just too tired to gather up the energy to let it flow through. Still, he took the book from Castiel's hands, almost snatching it, and started flipping through the pages intently.
"Any attempts to heal the madness, or get it out of you haven't worked. We just don't have the power for that. But I was thinking about what you did after I… after I broke your wall," Castiel said guiltily. "You shouldn't have been able to put yourself together again. Certainly not that quickly. So I thought, mentally, you're very strong, so why not make it stronger? Fight the problem from the inside, rather than from without."
"It's a meditation technique," Sam said, his nose still buried in the book, his eyes sparkling with curiosity, but also a hint of hope.
"Meditation induced dream walking. While inside your head, you can fend off the madness, build walls, fight Lucifer almost physically. Once you're in full control of your mind, the hallucinations should disappear," Castiel said, emphasizing the word 'should' carefully.
"It's so simple, no wonder we never thought of it," Sam murmured, already mouthing the incantation to bring about the altered state of consciousness. Likely, he was also taking a mental catalogue of the herbs they had on hand.
"It's not a quick fix though. You'll get better slowly, and you need to keep doing it… maybe for the rest of your life," Castiel added cautiously. He'd wanted to snap his fingers and heal Sam instantly, but it was beyond his or any other human's ability. All he could manage was this rehabilitation for Sam's mind. It meant slow, hard work, but he was certain Sam could do it.
"Or until we find something else. If this can help me sleep tonight, then we're already a step ahead again," Sam said, and he finally looked up from the book, a smile on his lips, which reached up to his eyes and made them sparkle. Castiel felt the emotion pass through him, and it made his heart skip a beat, caught off guard from the intensity of that feeling from Sam.
"Where'd you find this spell, anyway?" Sam asked.
Castiel sighed. He'd hoped this wouldn't come up. That Sam would just be grateful and accept it, perhaps throw him out in order to give the spell a try without asking any questions. But Castiel was determined not to lie, when asked directly. Besides, Nora had been quite adamant about honesty. It was apparently necessary when practicing Wicca, in order to keep your intent clear and unmuddied.
"I wrote it," Castiel said meekly, his eyes on the floor. "Nora Havelock helped me with some of the techniques, and sent me some books. But I wrote it. I made it for you."
"That's impossible. Not unless you've been studying…" Sam started, and then realization hit him, and his brow furrowed. "Damnit, Cas. You've been studying magic with Nora?"
"She thinks I have a gift for it… Maybe because I used to be an angel, but I didn't really believe her. I thought if I could, it would be useful for you and Dean. But I didn't want to say anything until I knew for sure I could do it. I didn't want to get your hopes up and then have it turn out that I had no gift."
"What else can you do?"
"Not much. I can heal myself a little. Maybe others, though I haven't tried it. Some dream walking, again, only on myself… Everything else is just theory. I've just started."
"Does Dean know about this?" Sam asked.
Castiel shook his head. "I was planning on telling him about it as soon as we tried out the spell. If it works, and you're better, maybe he won't be so angry," Castiel said, meekly, turning hopeful eyes toward Sam to help him in this regard.
"If we try this now, how long before we see the effect?"
"If it works as planned, you should be able to get some sleep tonight. If anything, the exercise itself should exhaust you enough to block out Lucifer."
Hope flared again in Sam's eyes, but Castiel saw him trying to tamp it down and look more stern and serious. "No matter what the result, good or bad, we're telling Dean tomorrow."
Sam woke up. Which in and of itself was a miracle. More so, that he woke up about 4 hours later, the longest bout of uninterrupted sleep he'd had in several days. Granted, he was woken up by Lucifer gleefully playing a cat piano, but when he pressed the scar on his hand, the devil didn't even have time for a pithy complaint before he blinked out of existence.
Dean noticed the change when he joined Sam at breakfast in a small diner. Oddly, Castiel had begged off, saying he wanted more sleep and that he'd eat later on his own.
"You look… sort of bright eyed and bushy tailed this morning. You actually get some sleep?"
"Yeah," Sam said, eating eagerly. The lack of sleep and constant drip of coffee had beaten up most of his appetite. "Thanks to Cas. He gave me this spell last night. It kind of works like that dream walking we did a few years ago. It gets me into my own head and lets me work from in there on the crazy. Deep meditative altered reality stuff. It's exhausting, but I got four hours, and I haven't had to press my scar in two."
"That's… That's great!" Dean exclaimed unable to hide his exuberance, hope springing in his eyes that his brother would be getting better. "So you're cured now?"
"Not quite. I'm… making myself less crazy. It'll take time. But last night was great. I was totally in control of my own head for the first time in ages."
"Well, this is the best news I've heard in a long time, and I didn't even know Cas was still looking. Where did he find this spell, anyway?"
"He's kept it pretty close to the chest since he didn't exactly find it… He kind of wrote it himself," Sam said as cautiously as he could, hoping to soften the blow.
"He kind of wrote it himself? What does that even mean? He translated it? He kind of made it up and hoped for the best?"
"No," Sam said, determined to keep cool and calm, hoping Dean would pick up his own behavior. "He's been studying Wicca since Idaho. Nora's been teaching him."
"Wicca?" Dean almost shouted, and got a few looks from around the diner. He lowered his voice again and leveled a glare at his brother. "He's been studying magic for months, and never told us? How long have you known about this?"
"Just last night," Sam said, putting his hands up defensively. "He wanted to wait until he had the spell ready for me before he told us. And look, it's working. I don't know how he did it, but he wrote a spell to fix me, like he promised he would."
"Yeah, and lied about it."
"Because he knew you'd blow up at him. Hell, I probably would have too if I found out a few months ago. But he's doing it to help us, Dean. You can't be angry about that."
"You know what else he did to help us? He swallowed all the souls in purgatory so he could kill Raphael. And you know how that turned out!" Dean was shouting again, and rather than be hushed or thrown out by the diner staff, he stormed out to the parking lot. Sam threw money on the table and rushed out after him.
"So now what? You going back to the motel to beat the hell out of him some more?" Sam asked, chasing after his brother.
"Don't talk about shit you don't understand," Dean growled as he whirled around to face Sam. "I don't care why, I don't care how, but he lied to us. Again. Don't you think he might be keeping other secrets, too?"
"No! You're acting like he's trying to destroy the world, when all he's done is dabble in white magic. To help us," Sam said, hoping that by just repeating that one basic idea, Dean would accept it, but Dean just shook his head violently and started heading for the car.
"Dean. Stop. Just cool off for a bit, OK? Don't go back there pissed to hell and doing something you'll regret." Sam reached out to grab Dean's shoulder, and got punched in the face instead, sending him reeling flat on his ass in the parking lot. Dean stormed off to the car and got it started. Sam was up and after him and pulling at the passenger side door, but it was locked.
"Dean! Unlock the door! I'm not letting you go back there like this!" Sam shouted at the closed window, but Dean acted like he didn't hear him, and peeled out of the lot, leaving a cloud of dust to spring up around Sam.
Sam yelled with anger at the stupidity and hot-headedness of his brother, pulling at his own hair with frustration and worry. It was a three mile walk back to the motel, so all he could do was call Castiel and give him at least a little warning.
"Dean's on his way back to the motel," Sam said once Castiel picked up, with no other greeting. "He's really, really pissed, so you might want to get out of there and lie low for awhile."
"He did not take the news of your cure well?"
"It didn't matter. Just get out of there. I don't know what he's going to do."
"I understand, Sam. Thank you," Castiel said, and hung up. But he didn't move. He'd known Dean would be angry, furious even, despite Sam's consolations, and had decided he would face that fury, no matter what it entailed.
Dean had been very clear about not lying, and Castiel had agreed to it, even when he already had his secret. He had deliberately disobeyed Dean's order, and though he had done it with good intentions, well, he knew where good intentions led. He deserved Dean's punishment, and perhaps a relapse from the progress they had made together. No more pleasure games with the crop. No more tears licked away like a lover would. Castiel sighed, mourning the loss. He would focus on the gains, though, and Sam's rehabilitation. It would help him weather the storm until Dean's anger faded, and his forgiveness began again.
Dean stormed into the room a few minutes later, and his expression was much as Castiel had expected. Hurt, anger, betrayal. At first, without his angelic power, without being able to see into Dean's soul, it had been hard to read human emotions. But with time, and practice, it was becoming so much easier. When Dean was with the people he was close to, his emotions flooded his face, bare and raw, like he was unable to hold them back.
"It stops now," Dean growled, getting up close to Castiel, well within his personal space, stabbing a finger against his chest. "You burn those books. You cut off ties with Nora. And you never so much as touch a piece of magic again."
"I was only trying to help," Castiel said, his voice low, but clear. "I am sorry that I lied to you, but it was necessary to find a cure for Sam."
"Great! Good job!" Dean said, his voice overloud in the small room, thick with sarcasm and hurt. "You found a cure, and now it stops. No more magic."
"But I can do so much more, Dean. I can learn to heal. I won't ever be as powerful as I was as an angel, but I can fix you. Stop the pain. Keep back infection. If you just let me study more, I'll be stronger."
"And that's it, isn't it?" Dean said with a harsh laugh, though there was no humor in his eyes. "Strength. Power. It's the same story all over again. You were weaker than Raphael, and now you're weaker than me. So you need power to fight back."
Shock widened Castiel's eyes, and he automatically started shaking his head as understanding dawned on him. Dean's incredible fury wasn't the betrayal caused by lying, but the fear of the past, to go through again what had already played out.
"No, no it's not like that," Castiel insisted, still shaking his head. "It's only white magic. You can't do anything with it," Castiel added, a little disdainfully. Nora would probably be unhappy with his summation, but it was true. Without the blood, pain, and viscera of darker magics, there was no true power. "I don't want to fight anymore. I just want to help."
"Help. That's how it starts. You just want to help. But what happens when it's not enough? What do you do when you need more? You can't be trusted with something like this."
"Trusted?" Castiel snapped back. "I'm not a child, Dean. I can make decisions on my own."
"Oh, like you did last year? Opening purgatory and letting leviathan out? Bang up job there!"
"I've learned from my mistake. I'm not going to do that again," Castiel said, and he pushed Dean out of his personal space, so he could walk away. But was shocked when he got shoved back, harder, and slammed up against the wall, his breath knocked out of him for a moment.
"You told me to give you orders," Dean said, placing his hands on either side of Castiel's head, boxing him in and towering over him. "You told me to make you obey. Or were you lying about that, too?"
"This is different," Castiel said, and was about to say more when Dean's hand slammed into the wall near his head. He flinched, and looked up at Dean, saw his face twisted with strain, and the muscles in his arms tense. He could feel the heat of violence radiating under Dean's skin, and his heart pulsed in his chest with fear.
"What am I going to do with you?" Dean asked, and his voice broke a little.
"Punish me if you want," Castiel offered, making it sound like a challenge. "But I will keep practicing. I will make myself useful again."
"It's not enough," Dean said, and pushed away from the wall, and Castiel. "I'm not going to watch this happen again. I'm not going to be part of it."
The words rang in Castiel's ears, but he couldn't be sure he understood them fully. He watched as Dean drew away from him, and felt a tug at his heart, aching as Dean stepped further from him, wanting to be close again.
"I don't understand," he said in a whisper, hating the words in his mouth. He thought he was doing so well, learning so much, but there were still so many things he didn't understand. He still felt so stupid.
"Just get out," Dean said, his voice hoarse, but he didn't look at Castiel. "Go sleep in Sam's room. I don't even want to look at you."
Castiel's whole body slumped, suddenly slack with confusion and loss. Everything he was, the only place he belonged, was in that room with Dean Winchester. But he took the advice from Sam, that he should have taken sooner, and made himself scarce. He grabbed his duffel bag, not even sure if it was packed or not, and walked to the door. He hesitated a moment, to wait and see if Dean would call for him. Call him back to apologize, or yell some more, or punish him. Anything would be fine. But Dean stayed silent, his back still turned to Castiel.
As soon as Castiel left the room, he was lost. He stood dumbly outside the door of the motel room, just a few feet away from what he wanted, his duffel bag hanging limply from his hand. He might have stood there until Dean came out, bumping into him, if Sam hadn't jogged into the parking lot, covered in road dust and sweat, and panting from his run back from the diner.
"What happened?" Sam asked, but looking Castiel up and down, dejected and alone, with his duffel in his hand, the question didn't really need an answer. Sam leveled a glare at Dean's door, considering going in for a moment, but instead, wrapped an arm around Castiel's shoulder and herded him into his own room.
Sam tried several times during the course of the day to get Castiel to talk, or really, respond in any fashion, but the man just sat on the bed, staring at the floor, almost as motionless as he had been when he was an angel.
Later in the day, there was a knock on Sam's door. It was Dean collecting him for work that needed to be done. His eyes never even passed over Castiel, did not acknowledge him in any fashion, even when Sam made hinting noises, and pointedly looked at Castiel. Dean ignored the hints and went to wait in the car. Sam made apologies, promised he'd return soon, told Castiel to just wait for him. And then he was gone.
Castiel wondered idly what the brothers would speak of. Sam would bring it up, try to talk about it. Dean would probably shut him out, his anger too new and righteous to be broken through with Sam's reason. He imagined the conversation to be short, heated, and resulting in nothing changed.
When Sam got back that night, Castiel was gone. He took a quick look around the room, noticing that Castiel's bag was gone as well, and went to Dean's room. Dean was standing at the foot of his bed, holding Castiel's cell phone, with worry lines creasing his brow.
"Damn it, Dean. What the Hell did you say to him?" Sam demanded.
"I told him to get out," Dean said numbly. "But I just meant the room. I didn't mean for him to run off."
"Good job. Tell the literal minded former angel to get out. You really are a dumb ass sometimes. We need to go find him."
"How?" Dean waved Castiel's phone in the air. "Can't track his GPS. He doesn't have any credit cards. We could get a bloodhound, if he'd left any of his clothes behind."
"We could let it sniff the bed where Cas sleeps- Oh wait, he doesn't get to sleep in a bed."
Both brothers glared at each other hotly, angry with the other, and worried about Castiel.
"You know honestly, there's only one place he'd go," Dean said.
Sam considered that for a moment and then nodded. He pulled out his phone and called Bobby, giving him the barest details, that Castiel was upset about something that Dean did (Bobby was unsurprised) and had run off. They assumed he'd head toward Bobby, but it would take him a day or two, even if he bought a bus ticket. Bobby said he'd let them know if Castiel showed up.
"So, now what? Just wait around until we hear from Bobby?" Dean said, pacing anxiously.
"We can look around town. Maybe he didn't get very far."
"I'll take a look around. Give Nora a call, too. He might turn to her," Dean said, and stepped out of the motel. But though he drove all over town, checking restaurants and the bus station, he didn't see Castiel anywhere, and returned to the motel in a foul mood.
The Winchesters waited out in the motel for three days. More than enough time for Castiel to reach Bobby's, but apparently that wasn't the way he was heading. And Nora hadn't heard from him either.
"We can't stay here forever," Sam said, as he was packing up his bag. "We have to keep moving. We've gotta get Dick. Cas'll turn up. When he's ready. I'm sure of it."
Dean didn't say anything, but he grudgingly packed up his bag and loaded it into the car.