Chapter Seven

After what Dean dubs The Hot-for-Teacher Incident, Castiel doesn't come back to the apartment. For two weeks. When Dean asked after a couple days, he said, "Nah, it's cool, he's crashing with Daphne. Something about space."

Instead of dwelling on it, Dean found Luke's XBox and learned how to play Call of Duty online. It was the first time he'd been called a cocksucker by a thirteen-year-old girl.

What he does is look into families. He considers finding Amelia and Claire, except how sick would it be to call up Amelia to tell her that her husband is dead but his body has gone on procreating. It's cold, even by Dean's standards.

He can't call an agency - Hey, I'm a pregnant dude and I think my baby deserves a real family. - and he can't just contact a family with that information either. Eventually, he decides to roll with the law for once; if he takes the baby to the ER within the first three days, they'll find it a home. It's not a perfect solution, but it appears to be the least-questions-asked method.

Dean prefers to avoid tricky questions.

Eventually Castiel comes back like nothing was wrong, and they fall into a comfortable routine of not talking to each other. They share a room each night without saying a word. Their child begins to move in earnest with each day, and Dean doesn't say a word.

Right on schedule his phone chimes, and Dean hunkers his character behind a wall as he checks it. Welcome to week 28. It's your third trimester. It seems wrong to pretend that he intends to keep the baby, but he doesn't want lectures or guilt trips. He just wants to make a plan and stick with it.

He rearranges the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and goes back to shooting things in the face to work off his frustration.

It's for the best, he tells both himself and the baby when it shifts inside him. Whatever else is fucking wrong with his life, the baby is thriving and growing and alive. At least his body can manage to do this one thing right. You deserve a better family than me.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts and gets back into the game, just in time to get shot in the back of the head.

"Morning, Winchester," Luke says from behind the couch. "How are the troops?"

"I think this dude just threatened to fuck me in the ear," Dean says, pulling the headset down over his neck. "These people are vicious."

"Online gaming is serious business. Hey, are you cool with me throwing a party next weekend? I'm overdue for a truly legendary one."

"It's your house. You coming for coffee?"

"Nah," Luke says.

Those are apparently the magic words to break the truce with Castiel, because he chimes in, "I could use some coffee."

Fucking Saturday mornings. Dean looks over his shoulder to where Castiel is standing in the hallway, already dressed for the day. "Sure, let me put some real clothes on." He disconnects from the game; undoubtedly he'll have plenty of pissed off messages when he logs back on. When he stands the blanket drops into a pile on the couch behind him.

"Winchester," Luke says as he climbs over the back of the couch, "your manly military physique isn't standing up to the rigors of the XBox."

Dean pulls his t-shirt down over what apparently looks like a gut to people who don't know. "I'll start PT in the spring." He would probably need the distraction by then anyway.

"Attaboy - hibernation is good for you!" Luke takes over the controller. Castiel leans against the wall in the hall, his gaze intent as Dean heads back to the bedroom.

At this point in his pregnancy, the best Dean can do is rig his jeans too low on his hips to avoid the growing midsection, and wear the biggest shirts he owns. He pulls a hoody on for good measure - his jacket has long since given up on closing around him. He doesn't know how anyone can look at him and see anything but a pregnant dude, but he's glad that they don't notice.

He and Castiel walk down to the coffee shop in silence. They order their coffee and take two armchairs in the corner before Castiel finally speaks. "We cannot continue this silence for three more months."

"I don't - "

"You decided this." Castiel leans forward and close to Dean. His hair is mussed, and there's a fine layer of stubble covering his cheeks. He sets his mug of tea on the table. "I didn't ask for miracles, I just asked you to turn around and look at me. You could not even offer me that. I wasn't going to wait forever. I do not have forever to wait."

Dean remembers the moment just fine, but he doesn't care for the reminder. No one had warned him that it was a turning point. "Do you have any idea how weird this is for me?"

"No," Castiel says, frustration evident in his voice. "I do not understand how the state of your genitals has changed anything between us, because it clearly hasn't. But I'm sorry that you're hurt. I did not intend it."

Dean shakes his head and looks out the window. If ever there was a time to tell Castiel that he intends to give up their baby, this is it. "It's fine. You're an adult, Cas, and I've made my peace with the thing. I just don't have anything to say. Nothing has changed."

"Look at yourself." Castiel leans back, grabbing his tea and taking a sip. "Everything has changed. I barely recognize you sometimes."

Dean shrugs. He's gotten lethargic, and he knows it. The longer he gets into this pregnancy, the more out of touch with himself he feels. At the worst of times, he considers the possibility that this will never end and he will never be the same. No, scratch that - at the worst of times he just wishes the worst would happen, that whatever was left of Castiel's grace would unravel within him and kill this thing now, before it gets more complicated. He places a hand over his abdomen, but the baby rarely moves in the morning. "Yeah. Me too."

Castiel heaves a long sigh. "Daphne is coming over for dinner tonight; she's really wanted to meet you, and I've held her off for as long as I can. Are you going to be okay through this?"

No, Dean wants to say, except that he finds he's gone numb to the idea of her. His world is on pause until he's got this baby somewhere safe and sound, as far from himself as possible. "Yeah. It'll be nice to get to know the future Mrs. Holy Tax Accountant." He knows he's taken it just a step too far when he says it, sees the flash of anger behind Castiel's eyes and just can't bring himself to regret it. At least he knows that Castiel is feeling something.

At least there's nothing left to say.

"Are you sure that you don't want to stay?" Castiel asks as Luke pulls on his shoes. "We've ordered plenty of take-out."

"Ha, are you kidding? I want to be as far from whatever this is as possible. Add one more wheel to this dinner and it'll drive right off. I'll be back later. Good luck, Winchester!"

"What, you think I can't handle a couple of love-struck professors?" Dean waggles his eyebrows and pulls Castiel's bedroom door closed, hiding the laundry thrown in at the last minute.

"Your funeral, man. Good luck gentlemen." Luke opens the door, and then laughs. "Speak of the angel herself, good evening, Daphne. The boys just finished cleaning up."

"Running off again, Luke?" she says, her smile teasing. "Don't have too much fun."

Luke closes the door with a flourish.

Castiel moves to the door to greet her. "Let me get that," he says as he takes her coat and kisses her cheek.

Even from where he's standing in the hallway, Dean can see her flush. The dinner is supposed to be casual, but even in casual wear she's pretty, her jeans well-fitted and her blouse bright and flowing.

She catches his eye as Castiel hangs her coat on the rack. "Dean! I'm so glad to see you again." She walks toward him, and he meets her halfway; she turns his intended hand-shake into a hug, and he finds himself praying that the baby won't move at just the wrong moment. "I'm sorry it's been so long."

"Oh, please, it's been all me," Dean replies with an easy smile. Just like flirting with a mark, with the charm turned down. He's puffy and swollen anyway; even with the charm turned up to eleven, he probably wouldn't have much luck. "The food just arrived, if you're ready to eat."

"Famished." She goes into the kitchen and moves like she knows the place; when Castiel joins her, they work like a unit. Dean sits at the freshly-cleaned table and watches.

As much as Dean wants to believe that there's just convenience or attraction between the two, there's really something there. Castiel says something, and she laughs. Castiel smiles with warmth in his eyes, kisses her forehead and helps her carry out the plates.

They look like they could be a family. Castiel may be scruffy and a bit worse for wear, but maybe with more time - maybe by the time the baby comes - he'll be in a better place. With her.

"So, Dean," she says, sounding all the world like a mother talking to a child's new friend, "I hear that you and Cas served together for a couple years."

"Yeah, sort of." Dean chews a large bite of his noodles, suddenly starving at the sight of food. He's going to have heartburn in an hour, but the spicy noodles and beef are so worth it. "I was just reserves, you see; Cas served a lot longer before I even got there. But we got injured on the same mission, and, well, we just stuck together after that."

Castiel shoots him a look and clears his throat. "We're not supposed to talk about it," he says softly to Daphne. "But Dean was a skilled and valuable soldier."

"So I've been told. Cas speaks well of you, Dean."

Dean looks up his plate. "Really?" He tries to meet Castiel's eyes, but Castiel has taken to staring down at his dinner.

"Of course; you saved his life, from what he's told me. I never saw him so excited as when he told me you were coming to stay. Are you guys planning to get a larger place?"

Dean shrugs. "I don't think I'll be staying too much longer. My brother has been running the family business back home without me. He's good, but I miss the work."

"Oh, Cas, you didn't tell me that." She reaches out and touches his arm, as though the news is much worse than all that.

Castiel sips his cheap beer and shrugs. "It was inevitable. I didn't expect him to squeeze in here forever."

"And Cas has been so gracious about sharing his space. I can only impose for so long. He has a life to get on with. No one wants the past to follow them forever."

Castiel closes his eyes momentarily, as though warding off a headache, and dives back into his dinner with renewed gusto.

Dean does the same, though they both answer whatever questions Daphne asks, and contribute to whatever it is she has to say. For as frustrated as Dean is, he can't help but liking her. She's warm and engaging, and the longer she talks, the more Dean thinks that maybe she's it. Maybe she was meant to have this kid all along.

The baby stretches inside him, and Dean wishes he had anything other than his own instinct to run on here. With one hand settled just under his shirt, he feels the slight shift of weight from one side of the other. It seems like all the weight of the baby can fit against his hand, even though it's just a sort of lump. A sharp pain hits him, like the baby hit some nerve as it moved.

Castiel excuses himself to the porch for a cigarette; the door scrapes as it shuts. Dean clears his throat and pulls his hand away, the pain forgotten. He stands to get himself some more noodles. "Do you want kids, Daphne? Or more food?"

"Can you bring the rice and chicken, please?" She stands to help him carry the boxes, and serves herself as Dean sits. "As for children - yes, when I'm married and settled. It's surprisingly difficult to balance family and dating when you have to deal with college students." She laughs, and Dean follows suit because he assumes it's supposed to be funny. He doesn't know anything about college students, other than Sam was once one and they will sell just about anything at embarrassingly low prices. "Do you?"

He finds the question odd – that she might be genuinely curious about his feelings. The whole setup is strange, as he sits there and eats dinner with his baby daddy's girlfriend. "Yeah, actually. I didn't think I did, until I had this stepson."

"Oh, you were married?"

"No." Dean shifts; the baby follows suit. It's hard to ignore the baby when it moves so often within him. He clears his throat. "It didn't work out between his mom and I."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Dean turns all his focus onto his dinner. "How did you meet Cas?"

"Oh, the library. He has a lot of knowledge of religious texts. It was nice to have someone to talk to about work." Her voice is filled with pleasure. "Then it turned out we were attending the same church at different times. It just felt sort of like divine intervention putting us in the right place at the right time."

"I get that." Dean focuses on drinking his water, overwhelmed by how far he'd taken this. He can certainly imagine her with Castiel's child. "He's really at ease with you."

"Thank you." She sets her fork aside and leans forward. "You must care for him quite a bit."

Dean shakes his head and stands. It was bad enough that its obvious; hearing it from Castiel's girlfriend is really just too fucking much."Its no big deal. We're just friends."

Dean's restless and exhausted when he tries to fall asleep later. In the other room Luke has his music up too loud to cover up the fact that he's got his girlfriend over. It just reminds Dean, with every thump of the bass and growl of the singer, that Luke isn't the only person in the apartment with a girlfriend. Feeling safe in the dark, he rolls onto his side and asks Castiel, "Do you want to keep it?"

He can see where Castiel lays stretched out on his mattress. He always sleeps on his stomach, and right now he has his head turned toward Dean. "Clearly," he says, his voice flat. "We've gone through a lot of effort to keep it so far."

At least he understands what Dean means, though he can't help the twinge of guilt that runs through him. "I mean you, specifically. I know I talked you into keeping it alive, but do you really want to be a dad?"

Castiel sits up. Even in the dark his eyes are too bright. "What do you mean?"

Dean rolls up on his side to avoid looking Castiel in the face. He's a coward; he always has been when it comes to real life. "Aside from living with Luke, you've got a relatively stable life going on here. It makes more sense for you and Daphne to adopt a stray, than it would for us to work out some complex custody thing."

The bed dips and Castiel turns him bodily with one hand on his shoulder. He's close and warm and Dean misses having him so close. He wants nothing more than to pull Castiel under the covers and keep him near. "Don't, Dean. You always make foolish decisions when you panic."

"What am I going to do with a baby at a scrap yard? Wear it on my back while I tear apart rusty old cars?"

"I don't believe for a minute that you're willing to walk away."

Dean clears his throat and swallows his indignation. "I've had some time to think it over. I don't think that I'm going to make a very good father."

"I don't want to do this without you."

Dean sits up on the bed to give them some sense of balance. "You've lived fine without me."

"You're not stupid," Castiel says. "I just manage to live."

The worst part is that Dean wants to believe that Castiel is just as lost as he is. That he's not the only one confused and lonely. Dean hates having him across the room - hates feeling so incomplete.

So Dean leans in to kiss him, as hesitant and wary as that first time, when he was a girl and lying about how it wasn't going to change anything.

Castiel tilts his face away before they meet. "Please don't ask this of me." He rubs his face with his hands and shakes his head. "I have to go."

"Don't."

But Castiel is out the door without another word.

Despite having looked six times, nothing inside the refrigerator has changed. Dean is still debating the merits of going out for something to eat when someone knocks on the door. He closes his robe surreptitiously and checks out the peep hole.

Sighing, he unbolts and opens the door. "Hi, Daphne," he says with a little forced cheer. It's not that he dislikes her; it's that he wasn't prepared for her. Looking at her reminds him that she will probably be a great mother, when he would only be a mediocre father. "Did you forget something?"

She's dressed nicely, in a knee-length skirt and modest top, and her hair pulled up from her face. "No, actually; I'm looking for Cas. Is he in? He missed church this morning." As if sensing Dean's hesitance, she holds up a drink carrier with four cups of coffee and a paper bag. "I brought breakfast."

"Let me check," Dean says. "Come on in." She breezes past him and sets breakfast on the table while he looks in the bedroom where he knows Castiel isn't. For good measure he bangs on Luke's door. "Cas in there?"

"Fuck off!"

He heads back into the living room. "Sorry; he must have gone out."

"Oh, I hope he's alright. I brought you and Luke coffee," she says as she sits across from him. "And turnovers. Cas loves turnovers, and Luke will eat anything. I didn't know if you had a preference."

"Um, food. My preference is food." It dawns on him that he's responsible for being social. She's opening up one of the coffees and blowing on it. Strands of hair escape her coif, framing her face in curly red strands. Fuck, but she really is pretty. He feels like Chuck, standing there with a tattered robe over his pyjamas. He shucks it off and tosses it over the back of the couch, then goes to get some plates from the kitchen. "Thanks, Daphne; I appreciate the thought. Do you need anything?"

"A fork would be lovely, thank you."

Dean pulls down the plates and notices for the first time an open shoebox on the counter. When he goes to close it he glances in it; the pot and papers and pipes don't surprise him. It's the little orange prescription bottles that throw him for a loop. Xanax and Percocet and Ambien, all labeled in Cas' tight, messy handwriting, marker over the white remains of the original labels.

Swallowing, he covers on the box, then grabs the plates and a fork for Daphne. "Sorry, lost my train of thought. I'm not much of a morning person."

"It's fine," she says as she takes the plate and fork. "Neither am I." They divvy out their large turnovers. She doesn't say anything else until she's eaten half of hers. It's too sudden, too nervous when she sets her fork down across the rim of her plate. "You don't like me."

Dean starts, his fingers sticky from his breakfast as he stares at her. He swallows slowly and wipes his hands on his pants. "That's not true."

"I'm not foolish. You're uncomfortable with me. It took Cas weeks to agree to us all having dinner together. I'd have to be blind not to see that there's some problem. You ask me questions like you're doing some sort of wellness exam."

"It's not you." He flounders for a handhold in a conversation that's rapidly moving beyond his control. "I just... Cas is complicated and - "

"You mean the drugs, right?"

"What?" He sits up as if caught red-handed, and wonders if he spoke aloud when he saw that box in the kitchen. "What do you - "

"I'm nice," she says, and she smiles because damn it, she really is. "Please don't mistake me for naive. Cas isn't as good at hiding his problems as he thinks he is."

Well enough that I missed it, or perhaps ignored it was more truthful. He cracks his knuckles and keeps his gaze on Daphne. "Is he getting worse?"

She swallows and looks down at her hands. "Yes, though I don't think he thinks so. We haven't spoken of it in so many words. I just encourage him to speak to our pastor, and he makes empty promises."

And Dean wonders who taught him that little maneuver. Maybe if Castiel had latched onto Sam, he would have been an easier human. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She straightens her shoulders. "I understand that this is so painfully stereotypical, me determined to fix him, but it's... More complex than all that. I love him. When we met, it really did feel right. I can see children and a home with him. Ugly minivans and ER trips at midnight. If that means getting him through this, then its worth it."

He look away, embarrassed and flustered by her emotion. He understands exactly what she means. "You really love him?"

"Yes. I always did like a challenge."

He almost tells her, right then. Not everything, not the hard things - just that there's a baby, and it could be her baby, Castiel's protests be damned. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so suspicious, I just... Castiel has been hurt before." No need to go into who did the hurting.

"I suspected so." The room fills with their silence, their coffee still mostly full and their breakfast suddenly much less appealing. He wonders what she's thinking, what powers the concern on her face. She clears her throat and stands suddenly. "I just thought we should clear the air - that if I told you how I felt, you could be more at ease with me. I do want to be friends with Cas' friends – with you. Please let Cas know that I'm looking for him, if he turns up."

"Sure thing. Thanks for stopping by."

She pops the lid on her coffee and sees herself out. Once the door closes behind her, Dean goes back to the shoebox and looks through the contents more carefully.

It's definitely Castiel's - there's no denying the way his letters are shaped, awkward and neat at the same time. If Dean is honest with himself, he knows that this was always an option. Even back when Castiel started falling during the Apocalypse, Dean had always waited for the day that he began to take self-medicating one step too far.

It's after sundown when Castiel returns. If Luke and his friends hadn't shouted, "Cas!" in eerily perfect unison, Dean would've missed it entirely. He sets his computer aside and arms himself with the box, headed out into the apartment just in time to see Castiel let himself out onto the deck. Dean grabs a sweatshirt on his way out, and pulls the blinds closed before he closes the door.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel says, as calm as when he was an angel. Instead of greeting him, Dean drops the shoebox onto the table. "Ah. I must have left that out."

"You can't live like that." Dean paces the small space between the empty chair and the railing. Cas opens the box and starts loading his pipe as though that's the totally normal response to this situation. "The fuck?"

"I think this conversation is going to be long and difficult, and my buzz is wearing off."

"Don't - Don't be so fucking calm about this. This is a big deal!"

Castiel holds his lighter to the bowl and inhales deep. He holds for a moment, then blows the smoke upwards as he exhales, staring right into the cloud as though he can see something within it. "I am patient. Do not mistake that for calm."

Dean cracks his knuckles. The baby does some sort of weird hop-flip in his gut, and he tries to send it all the seriously, not now vibes he can muster. "Daphne knows. If you don't give a shit about yourself, aren't you at least a little bothered about what this is like for her?"

Leaning his head back, Castiel sighs. "What do you want from me, Dean?"

"Excuse me?"

Cas takes another hit before setting the pipe aside. The light shines between the slats on the blinds, obscuring most of his expression. "I don't understand what you expect from me. You have made it clear that we are not a 'thing.' You are not my family. I don't see how you should care how I conduct my life or my relationships."

"You walked away too."

"From what - a brief respite before you changed your mind again? I can't keep letting you get my hopes up. I refuse."

"I was trying!"

"You always try!" Castiel stands and shakes his hands like he would rather take a swing at Dean than just stand there. "Being with you has just been another terrible thing to define the last year of my life - I have a life, Dean, do you understand how hard that is? What this year has been to me?"

Dean's hot with embarrassment and anger, and he isn't sure if he wants to shake Castiel or just hug him until he stops sounding so hurt. "How would I? It's not like you talk when there's trouble!"

"Let me catch you up, then." Castiel holds up an index finger. "I was banished from my home and removed from all my brothers." He holds up another finger. "I was tasked with telling a widow that while her husband's body lives on, his soul is gone. I stole a father from his child, literally the only person on Earth who could relate to the pain she's going to feel from having been my vessel." He holds up a third finger. "I foolishly let myself believe that if I loved you enough, that you would not give up on me."

"It wasn't about you!"

"Of course it was about me! I'm a man now, for better or worse. This is my reality, and it will not change." Castiel sits down like he's exhausted, like all the wind has gone from him, and takes another hit off his pipe. He turns away from the light and away from Dean. "Every day, I look at you and I wait for the moment when my grace is gone from you. That child is just another thing I cannot have."

Dean feels like Castiel has drawn all the energy from him. He sits and folds his hands over his stomach. Suddenly, he's not so bothered by the way the baby moves. "You don't know that."

Castiel laughs, low and humorless. "I'm a failure, Dean. I cannot make you see me, and I cannot help our child survive. Right now, all I can worry about is how I'll keep you alive when this all comes to pass. And I don't even know how I'll do that."

"I'm not helpless."

"No, you're not." Castiel looks at the shoebox longingly, his eyes lit from the light indoors. "I'm not used to feeling so intensely. I hardly know how to hold it all in."

"You don't." Dean scoots the chair across the concrete; the metal screeches and protests, but he just gets close enough so that he can grab Castiel's hand. "I'm not the poster boy for emotional maturity, but you just - you have to find someone to unload on. No one can do it alone, Cas."

Castiel grips his hand. "You've always had Sam."

"And you have me." Dean licks his lips and swallows the doubt and the niggling part of his mind that still says, this isn't you, this isn't how it's supposed to go. Instead he leans in and breathes the pungent scent of smoke off Castiel. "Don't go down like this. Don't push me out, and I'll keep you close. We can scream at each other until everything feels normal again."

"We have no normal," Castiel whispers, his breath brushing Dean's lips.

"We'll figure it out."

When they kiss, slow and tentative in the dark of the deck, it feels feels more normal than anything else in Dean's life.