Part XVI
Desperation

Air fresheners were not meant to be used as deodorant, especially not little green cut outs resembling evergreen trees but possessing an overly pungent smell that was acid to Dean's nostrils. Dean regretted his decision to rub the green tree against the side of his neck almost immediately. It seemed like a good idea at the time, considering Dean hadn't had the time to shower off the stale rank of a his latest bender, but the overpowering scent of artificial pine was worsening his already pounding headache.

The Impala jerked to the side as the wheels bumped over another curb Dean illegally drove over to get around slower traffic. The suspension creaked noisily and Dean winced as she leveled back out. He would have to give her some serious TLC when the day was over.

"Bear with me a little longer, baby."

Dean squinted at the street signs, searching for the tell-tale picture of an airplane and an arrow pointing the way. He had a general idea of where the airport was located, but he had never personally driven there. When he was on a case he drove where he needed to be, even if it was across a few state lines. The agency never seemed to mind – mainly because they didn't know that he refused to fly. As long as he got the information they wanted within a certain time frame, they were willing to turn a blind eye to Dean's minor quirks.

Spotting the sign he needed, Dean made a quick lane change that incited a blare of angry horn from the guy he'd just cut off. Dean lifted a hand in apology as he sharply turned onto the adjacent street. Sorry dude, but he was running out of time and he didn't even have a damn clue where he was supposed to find Castiel! He reached for the ticket lying on the passenger seat. Gate, what gate? Dean's eyes poured over the ticket, then flicked to the dashboard clock, then to the line of tail lights ahead of him. Dean swore colorfully as he slammed on the brakes. The drive up to the terminal was jam-packed with shuttle buses, rental cars, and people like himself that didn't have a damn clue how airport parking worked.

Another minute ticked away.

Dean eyed the no parking zone clearly hashed in yellow along the sidewalk. Other cars were using it as a drop off point. Dean contemplated the spot while chewing over his lip. "Baby," God he loved that car. It was the only constant in his life. Dean squeezed the steering wheel. "I'm sorry. I promise, if they so much as scratch your paint I will break each and every one of their fingers."

It was so much easier expression his feelings to an inanimate object.

"I'm not abandoning you," Dean pulled in next to the sidewalk; the Impala's tires striking boldly against the yellow lines of warning. If he was lucky the tow truck would be held up by traffic and the most Dean would get is a hefty parking ticket.

Dean made sure to grab his credentials from the glove box, lock the doors, before sprinting inside. Noise hit him from all sides. Bodies and wheeled luggage swarmed every which way he looked. There were flat screen televisions mounted along the walls and lines of people sprawling across the floor for baggage checks. Dean's head was spinning and it wasn't from the booze – at least not all of it. There was no blinking neon sign pointing him in the right direction. No signs marked clearly for him: Go this way if you're a pathetic sap.

"Hey, excuse me-" Dean caught the arm of a passing woman. By the wide-eye stare he earned, Dean guessed he wasn't looking very pretty, or the musk of pine green was worse than his bad body order. Maybe a little bit of both. "How do I get to.. " He checked his ticket. "Gate G7?"

The bewildered lady looked around before pointing out a direction. Dean quickly took off toward the escalators despite the woman's call that he needed to check in first. He didn't have time for that crap. Security, of course, had other plans for him – particularly in the form of a mile long line being herded along by thing strips of black rope.

No, no, no.. !

Dean checked his watch. If he still had his badge he probably could have skipped on through without a hitch. Shit, had he come this far, left his poor baby to the mercy of an unscrupulous tower, just to be thwarted by the TSA? No, Dean Winchester doesn't just roll over. Okay, he had a mild set back with the lapse filled with copious amounts of drinking, but he wasn't beaten yet. Dean rolled his shoulders as he mentally psyched himself. He could do this; no pussy footing it.

Dean began to force his way up the line. Most people gaped at him. It was one of those rules that was ground into people at a young age. Don't cut in line, especially in the hot lunch line on pizza Friday. A person who cut in line instantly became ostracized by the rest of the line. It unified the people against the offender, and Dean was certain the glares following him were reaching lynching levels.

"Hey!"

One man grabbed him by the arm and Dean only just held back the urge to smash in the guy's face. He stared at the man's pinched expression, then down at the hand fastened around his forearm. The stranger puffed up, "You can wait in line like everyone else."

Dean shook off the grip and firmly pressed his lips together. He took in the line behind him and the people still ahead of him. He was getting a lot of looks, including wary ones from the security. It would detour him further if he got escorted out, but he couldn't wait at the back of the line. He didn't have the time!

Dean once again checked his watch. "Look man, my flight leaves in ten minutes. I can't be late, someone is waiting for me. I need.. please man, I'm sorry, but I need this."

"You should have gotten here earlier like the rest of us."

Dean's fingers began to curl into fists as his self-control waned.

"Oh give it a rest," A lady interrupted. "Son, you can get in ahead of me. One person isn't going to change how fast we get through."

Dean jumped into line while rambling a long-winded thanks to the woman. She patted his arm, commenting about it not being wise to stop a man in love. Dean flashed a nervous smile as she went on further to say the girl must be a lucky one.

It wasn't like that, Dean wanted to explain, but he also wanted to avoid the topic all together. He concentrated his attention on the slow shuffle of feet toward the metal doorway (and some kind of crazy air chamber) that signified his freedom. The pace was agonizing. It made him want to scream. The minutes continued to tick by at an even faster rate. Why was it time dragged on when he was bored, but escaped him when he needed it most.

As he filled the blue tub with his shoes and the contents of his pockets, Dean realized he had forgotten his phone. If only he had paused to think things through he could have called Castiel from the beginning. That is if Castiel would have even accept his call. Shit, he hadn't even thought about how Castiel would react upon seeing him there. Now that the doubtful thought crossed Dean's mind, he suddenly found himself frozen on the spot.

The room around him spun, brightening to a blinding radiance before narrowing to a tiny black tunnel. Dean's fingers tightened around the plastic tub he had set on the roller bars. People were waiting expectantly on him but Dean couldn't move. What was he doing here? All this time he was acting on impulse and right then it felt like he'd been fueled on insanity.

"Honey," It was the woman who allowed him to cut in line. "It'll be fine, don't lose hope."

Dean stared at her, wondering what good deed he had done in life to have this positive, encouraging force in his life. She was an angel placed there to steer him back toward the light. It was a gentle hand urging him forward. Dean nodded, took a deep breath and moved through the metal frame. Then it was through the gas chamber thing. Dean held in his breath as it scanned him and he prayed the mix of booze and pine didn't set off alarms.

He was clear and free on the other side without incident.

Dean awkwardly shoved his feet back into his shoes as he rushed toward the gates. He was late by five minutes, but it always took longer to board than that. Or so Dean told himself. His knowledge was based off of stories from co-workers; mainly the complaints of having to stand 'forever' in line, or in their seats while the plane boarded.

Section 7 of G was empty.

Dean double-checked his ticket and the time of departure. His green eyes swept over the empty row of seats around the gate before landing on the flight attendant stationed near the boarding terminal. Dean was on her within seconds, waving his ticket and trying to express the urgent need to be allowed on the plane.

The language he'd chosen in his panic must have been a dialect of Neanderthal with a touch of crazy because the woman's eyes widen to the size of golf balls. Oh come on! What was with people and their frail sensibilities today? Dean didn't have time to tip toe through the god damn eggshells!

Slipping around the woman, Dean made for the terminal. He had his hand around the door handle by the time the woman responded. Her small hands impacted the door above Dean's grasp. "Sir! You can't!"

"Move."

"You need to go sit down or I will-"

"I said move!" Dean roared as he forced the door open despite the woman's fight to keep it closed. He heard the crackle of her radio as she called for security. Dean didn't care. He didn't have much more to lose at this point. He'd already left his dignity somewhere back at the motel.

Dean made it all of ten feet before he came to a screeching halt. Ahead of him the terminal ended and dropped a straight dozen feet or more to the empty tarmac. The was no plane to board. Dean had missed it – by five minutes! – how was that even possible!?

Ugh, this was just what Lucifer wanted – for him to run around like a headless chicken. Well done asshole, Dean toasted the empty air, well done.

Dean wouldn't be able to get drunk fast enough to escape the crushing defeat currently smashing in his head. Yet there was a numbness present even while semi-sober. A seeping cold that shielded him from the fact he was falling apart piece by pathetic piece. The last shred of his 'give a fuck' pulverized. It was never going to happen again. He was never going to allow someone to get close to him (even accidentally!)

"Dean?"

It was strange how the world around him had faded into a distant static of an untuned radio despite the chaos unfolding around him. The airport was a bustling collection of ambient noises, and as Dean wandered aimlessly back into the boarding area, the woman was still yammering at full speed to a hand held radio while her hand was flapping in attempt to catch the attention of someone in the distance. There were lookers pausing to gawk and whisper. Yet the only thing that had the power to cut through the commotion and reach Dean was that one particularly unforgettable voice.

His green eyes lifted to seek out a familiar face. He was closing the distance before even taking all of Castiel in – coffee in one hand, luggage handle in the other, and in a damn trench coat. Dean smirked, of course Castiel would be the awkward type to look like he was going on a business trip when flying to the Caribbean.

"Dean, what are you doing here?"

The question stopped him a couple feet short of whisking Castiel up in his arms and waltzing across the airport. "Uh," that was always a strong opener. Dean rubbed at the short hairs along the back of his neck as he fumbled his answer, "What are you doing here? I thought your plane boarded ten minutes ago."

"It's been delayed by an hour," Castiel gestured toward the marque near the terminal Dean had previously busted through without taking the precious few seconds to stop, look, and read.

"Oh," Because what else could he say other than regale Castiel with the pathetic tale of his scramble to arrive on time. Dean wanted to blame it on Lucifer, believing the man was so devious at his puppet show to make Dean once again fall flat on his face while the audience roared with laughter.

An awkward silence hung between them. Castiel mirrored some of Dean's nervous posture, and neither man met the other's gaze for long. Castiel looked right while Dean looked left. There was so much that Dean wanted to say. He could feel it building up and filling the space between them. It was suffocating and Castiel had to be able to feel it as well. There was an elephant jammed between them but neither man uttered a single word.

I'm here to see you.

I'm here to stop you from leaving.

I'm here to go with you.

I'm here to tell you I'm sorry.

Dean couldn't say any of it. He couldn't even turn his eyes to Castiel, like they were two opposing magnets repelling each other. The force was too great to overcome for more than a brief second. Even when Castiel's feet shuffled and he began to edge away, Dean couldn't do more than shift his weight. Castiel was passing him by with that stupid carry on wheeling behind him. Dean's fingers flexed once, twice, then he seized a fistful of Castiel's trench and pulled the man close. He was desperate and the sloppy kiss he planted on Castiel's lips expressed as much.

When he broke away from a stunned Castiel, his hands were still gripping the lapels of his trench. "I want to change."

Dean wasn't sure why, out of everything he thought to say, some other garbage came out. "I fucked up. My life is a series of fuck ups and meeting you has made me realize I want to change that pattern."

Was he even making sense? What had it been that Castiel had said to him, "I'm ready for something different. I want.. I want.. you – want what we could have together."

"Dean.."

"I'm serious, Cas. I know I've deceived you in the past," Dean sank to his knees with hands sliding down to hold either side of Castiel's waist. "But look at me."

Castiel was having a hard time not turning a brilliant shade of red at Dean's theatrics. Dean would probably be embarrassed for himself once he was more sober. At the moment he was utterly oblivious to the gawkers around them. Castiel was the only one that existed for him in that moment.

"I'm not lying to you," He openly met Castiel's gaze, willing the other man to see the truth in his eyes. Dean nearly blurted out the little tidbit about the box of clothes back at his motel room. It struck him as so ridiculous and embarrassing that it could only be true Castiel had to believe him – it would have been too pathetic to be a lie.

Dean managed to keep that last shred of his dignity in tack.

"Dean.." By Castiel's tone alone, Dean knew he hadn't convinced the other man. ".. you've been drinking."

His heart sank, but in its place his temper soared. "This isn't a drunken ramble! Yes. Yes I've – " noticing the way his hands had balled in the fabric of Castiel's trench, Dean released the coat and sat back on his heels with his hands falling limply into his lap. "Yes I have been drinking, but this is something that's been in the works for a while. I just.. just.. "

He stared helplessly down at his empty hands.

"Fashionably late."

Dean's gaze flicked up to Castiel's for clarification.

"I believe it is your nature to be.. fashionably late."

The ex-agent braved a crooked smile, clinging to the hope that Castiel's comment was a good sign. It was better than being called a spineless coward. Feelings had that effect on Dean – where he turned and ran blindly in the other direction instead of confronting said feelings.

"What can I say," Dean shrugged and tried to embrace the reprieve of the moment. "I like to make an entrance."

Dean regretted his attempt at a casual joke as soon as it passed his lips. Castiel's brows were edging upward and Dean quickly replayed the elements of his dramatic entrance. Disheveled, reeking of booze and gas store pine, and fallen desperately to his knees. Dean quickly climbed to his feet. The silence once again began to creep in between them. Dean coughed to expel it, "So, uh, where does this put us?"

Castiel was noticeably conflicted as his gaze strayed.

Dean felt a hot stab of anger knife through his chest. "He's not coming."

Once a cop, always a cop. Dean was observant, so he noticed the way Castiel's finger tightened on the plastic handle of the carry-on. His expression remained pensive, but his hands had already given away his guilty reaction. "Lucifer."

At least he didn't feign innocence and ask about who Dean meant. In fact the name was toned with a note of resignation. The next moment he was sinking into once of the nearby chairs. Dean awkwardly sat next to him, folding his hands into his lap and waited for the conclusion. Honestly he felt let down by the whole thing. Apparently he'd been holding on to the hope that he could take Castiel into his arms and all the woes could be forgotten by a period of extensive lip-locking.

Castiel's hands cycled through the motions of rubbing the fabric over his knees, threading through his dark hair, and clasping together beneath his chin. Then minutes ticked by before Castiel spoke, "I'm sorry."

His head bowed between his hands until his fingers covered the back of his skull, "Sorry I got you into all this."

"To be fair, I was assigned to the case to become involved.." Dean just didn't anticipate how far he'd fall into that rabbit hole. Tentatively he reached over to brush his fingers over Castiel's hand and hair.

Castiel suddenly sat upright, a frenzy igniting around him. "But you lost your job!"

How did Castiel know that? And how much did Castiel know? Did Lucifer tell him about the disappearing evidence? It would save Dean from blundering over a tender moment. Considering that Castiel wasn't looking at him in awe, Dean doubted Castiel knew the full truth.

"It's just a job," Dean licked his lips before braving forward, "And I didn't want to lose you." Well, he still did, but at least Castiel wasn't in prison.

Castiel had quickly simmered back down. He shyly peeked side-long at Dean, "Do you mean it?"

"Yeah," Dean paused to back-track through everything he'd said to Castiel thus far just to be sure he hadn't slipped into a lie somewhere. It was an occupational hazard Dean had been trained to lie on pure reflex. He nodded with reassurance, "Yeah."

"You want to do this?"

"I want to do a lot of things, " Dean hinted suggestively – far more comfortable with innuendo than being made to feel vulnerable by expression his feelings in a non-sexual context.

Castiel's gaze retreated to the floor, but there was no hiding the pink tinge on his cheeks.

"I even have this.. " Dean procured the ticket Lucifer had given him. He showed it to Castiel.

Puzzlement drew Castiel into an upright position. His deep blue eyes moved slowly from the ticket to Dean's face. "You're.. "

"Going to puke my guts out on a plane ride to the Caribbean," See, he always had to kill a special moment. Nothing said sexy like mentioning vomit. "Well, that is if you are still going. There is no way in hell I am going without you."

Dean was gradually learning that Castiel was a very pragmatic sort. He could take himself out of the moment, away from all the tugging and tearing of emotions. He would sit in silence and heavily weight the situation between his hands. It wasn't just pros and cons he debated. Castiel twisted and turned the ordeal around like a crystal to the sun until the right angle was discovered – the one that cast the most dazzling rainbows across the room.

"If we go," Castiel carefully picked over his words. "We would be staying at a house owned by Lucifer, using his money.."

That did wretch at his heart, but instead of riding out the emotion roller coaster, Dean attempted to take his own moment outside of time. "Why not?"

It was tiring to fight against a force that was beyond his control. Dean though he'd feel defeat, yet by letting go of his anger, Dean felt relieved he could work over this trip-up if he simply tried instead of smashing it against the floor like an angry toddler. "Why the hell not – let the twisted bastard pay for everything. I'll have extra shots on him. We'll live it up to the fullest and he can foot the bill."

A smile, part amused and part pain, flitted across Castiel's features. Dean latched on to the moment. He reached over to take Castiel's hand, tugging it over to his side while seeking eye contact, "He can buy me a whole new wardrobe, because other than my birthday suit, what you see is all I brought."

Castiel actually swept his eyes over Dean's rumpled clothes.

Dean snorted, "Don't judge, you don't exactly look like you're ready to go out on the beach yourself."

Castiel grimaced, "I've never been to the beach."

Odd, Dean would have figured this little island getaway was a common escape route for Castiel and Lucifer. Did Lucifer bring Castiel along and lock him in a room? Dean chucked that particular line of thought aside because he decided he would rather not know. He gave Castiel's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Then we'll be sure to buy you a speedo. A bright yellow banana hammock."

The color drained from Castiel's mortified features and Dean couldn't help but bust out laughing. After a moment Castiel gave him an uncertain smile. It isn't until the boarding announcement that Dean gets himself back under control. It came as a cold wash of fear as people began to herd toward the terminal. Fear gripped him tight and he wasn't even on the plane yet.

"Dean?"

"I have a fear of flying," He blurted and sought out Castiel's gaze for support.

For a long time Castiel just stared at him, then, words failing him, he reached over to squeeze Dean's hand. It was a small comfort, and Dean took it for what it was worth. He wrapped both hands around Castiel's. His fingers tightened on their own accord, trapping Castiel next to him.

"There's something else you should know," He prattled on in his nervousness.

Castiel patiently watched him.

Dean shifted in his seat, darting glances between Castiel's face and the line of boarding passengers. He just wanted to be honest – get as close to a full closure as possible before he stepped a foot on that plane and his life was completely sent down an unfamiliar path. It was the last bump he could see with his limited foresight. One last thing that might get in the way of the possibility of a shared future. Dean swallowed, before uttering in a voice no higher than a whisper.

"I'm married."

Things to know:
1.) I have a new laptop. You can thank mhmellie for making me get off my arse and write up this chapter after such a long absence.
2.) Dean really did have this inner delusion of showing up and sweeping Castiel into his arm and they would make out for half an hour.
3.) Incoming Fluff.