an: for those of you out there who wanted a 'road so far' there will be one going up before the next chapter- but as this one is just some well deserved quiet time, I hope that you can enjoy it on it's own.
Thanks for all the love and reviews.
Y'all are amazing.
puppies for everyone.
They were somewhere in the middle of highway Ninety with nothing but night darkened farmlands and the glare of headlights from traffic winding down the other side of the road. The steady slap slap of the windshield wipers competed with the tempo of Led Zeppelin, which had only been put on the pacify Dean who refused to listen to any more of Sam's douchy ninety's rock that had been some sort of incomprehensible punishment for the first fifty miles.
There wasn't much conversation going on, Dean tried on and off to talk to Castiel, but the Angel was barely on this side of lucid; sort of coming in and out, occasionally assuring Dean that he was fine- even though Dean hadn't asked.
Not that it mattered much.
Because if Cas got to pretend that he was alright that meant that Dean got to pretend that he was too.
And Dean really needed that return to normalcy right now. His insides were a mess of residual heat, painkillers, sulfur, and cola. He would be lucky if he could keep it all down. And making Sam pull over so he could puke in one of the gravel turnouts was not an ideal way to keep any kind of dignity intact.
He held Cas' hand in his own, lazily tracing shapes onto the back of the Angel's wrist and wondering when his skin had gotten so rough. He tried to remember that first night at Sam's house, when he had done his best to clean Castiel's wings, and how unbelievably soft the things had been. Dean wondered why he hadn't just kissed Cas then, and yes, there were many good answers to that. But their time together had a strangely finite flavor to it; almost like an expiration date. Dean hated that it had taken him so long to realize that this was even something that he wanted.
And the 'something' didn't even have to be sex. He just wanted to be close, and laugh and argue and talk about inanely stupid ideas… and so many things he hadn't figured out yet and he had a feeling that he might never get the chance to figure out.
They had wasted too much time driving and dodging demons and watching PBS and now all Dean had was the backseat of Sam's car and an unknown ream of hours or days or weeks that could be cut short without a second's notice. He looked at Sam's tense shoulders, and wondered if; unlike his brother, his angel would bother to say goodbye.
Cas squeezed his hand, fingers curling in staggered synchronization. But the Angel didn't look at Dean; didn't even blink. He made no acknowledgement that he was even aware of this hand's movements and all Dean could do was squeeze back.
He didn't want to lose Cas, but he had no idea how to hold on and it all felt too much like being a kid again.
John used to leave Dean in charge of Sam in some shithole of a motel in the middle of nowhere with a handgun and fifty-bucks, and then just take off into the night. John would be following some hunt halfway on the other side of the state and Dean had just been expected to man up and do whatever he had to keep him and Sammy alive.
For the most part he'd done a damn good job of it, seeing as both brothers were still among the living. But Dean was so lost.
He had been so fucking lost for days and weeks on end, waiting and hoping that any moment John would walk through the door, looking beat to hell, but smiling. Telling his boys that everything was fine and then Dean could sleep at night because he knew that John was there and he would take care of his boys.
And then a few days later John would leave again.
Dean had been only ten years old he first time John left him in charge of Sam, and Dean had lied through his teeth when he told his father that he could handle the responsibility- that they would be ok until he got back.
He couldn't remember ever in his life being more frightened to turn off the lights.
He couldn't even check for monsters under Sam's bed, because dad was gone and it didn't matter if there had never been monsters down there before- because Dean was positive that the things had just been waiting for their dad to leave and if Dean so much as lifted the edge of the blankets to check, a host of monsters would have rushed out and consumed them both.
Naturally, he never told Sam any of this. No, he was too proud, even at ten, to confess he was afraid. He told his baby brother to stop being such a girl and go to sleep.
The three long nights that it took John to come back from the hunt found the brothers sleeping in the same bed, every imaginable light in their motel room aglow, huddled together beneath the blankets despite the warmth.
That felt like a lifetime ago, and now Dean was ever so much more than ten- and he was loath to admit it, but he was still lost and scared to turn off the light.
He was still waiting for someone to come home and set everything right.
To tell him that everything was going to be fine, and to stop worrying.
To say that there were no monsters under the bed…
And it was all a load of shit, because nothing was fine, and bed-monsters were very much real and would bite through your hamstring, pull you beneath the mattresses, and eat your fucking face off if given the opportunity.
But Dean wanted the lie.
He wanted to believe that someone was going to step in and scare all the bad things away. He wanted to think that there might be a time in his future when he would be able to sleep at night, sprawled out beside his very own Angel- that no big, bad whatever would be permitted to try and steal it from him.
He couldn't stop himself from watching Cas; his profile in the near dark revealed for harsh moments in the yellow glow of headlights and then dashed back into shadows.
"Dean?" Cas' voice was rough, and nothing new there, but the sudden sound of it startled the Hunter from his thoughts.
"Yeah?" And Dean's own voice wasn't much better.
"What is this song about?"
It wasn't the sort of question that Dean had been expecting and it disarmed him. He blinked and frowned not even sure what it was they were listening to anymore.
Robert Plant's sultry voice was coming through the speakers and Dean made a mental note that he really needed to talk to Sam about the quality of his sound system.
'-meet me in the middle of the air. If my wings should fail me, Lord, Please meet me with another pair.'
And Dean was frowning harder, not at all sure that this song was appropriate for the current situation or company. "It's called 'In my Time of Dying', it's… about a man who can't get into heaven because of all the things he did wrong when he was young."
Cas' eyes narrowed slightly and he tilted his head, listening, waiting.
"And he… he goes around pleading to the Angels at the gates, saying that there must have been some good in his life and someone has to forgive him and let him in." Dean ran his free hand through his hair and wondered why exactly the lyrics had never before meant anything to him. But he supposed that this wasn't an album he had listened to in the past year since freaking Angels had started to fall out of the sky- things like that tended to put everything else in perspective.
'- it's got to be real. Oh, Lord, deliver me. All the wrong I've done-'
Dean didn't need to hear this. "Can we skip to the next song, Sammy?"
Sam didn't answer with words, but he did push a knuckle against the skip button and the thick baseline of 'Trampled Underfoot' replaced the previous song.
"I miss Gabriel." Cas spoke so quietly that Dean hardly heard the words, and was fairly sure that Sam didn't and that was probably for the best.
He tipped Cas a look of faint disbelief, rough and fond around the edges. In the brief time he was allowed to observe the two Angels they had never really seemed like the sort that would miss each other- but that was family for you. They don't hold your hand or bake you pies, but they do drive you fucking nuts. There were times that Dean couldn't stand being in the same state as his brother, much less the same motel room- but god help anyone who dared lay a finger on Sammy, because Dean sure as hell wouldn't show them an ounce of mercy.
Castiel watched him with eyes made black by the starless night, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment or reassurance or sympathy- Dean didn't know what was expected of him, so he gave him a kiss, just the barest brush of lips and an awkward bumping of noses caused by the unevenness of the highway.
"Try and get some sleep." He advised and in return Cas nodded numbly before resting his head against his window and watching the bleak landscape rush past in the darkness.
Dean took another pill, not one of his best plans, but sleep really sounded like a good thing that he was missing out on, but short of narcotics, he didn't think that he was going to be able to coax his body into complying with the idea.
He was right, but no sleep came, so he was afforded the joy of watching the cold light of the false dawn tainting the sky as Sam drove them to Sioux Falls.
Bobby wasn't home, or at least wasn't answering the door, when they got to his place, and this realization took roughly five seconds to send Dean into a near panic. It wasn't like Bobby to not be home. It's not like the old man had much of a social life.
Dean dug his phone from his pocket and cursed his life when he saw that the dumb thing had died. Maybe he hadn't charged it at any point in recent memory, but that didn't give the damn piece of technology leeway to just die whenever it wanted to.
"Call Bobby." He instructed his brother. "My phone's dead."
"Damn it, Dean." Sam fumbled for his own phone. "When was the last time you charged that thing? I swear it's always dead when I need to get a hold of you." And Sam wasn't really mad, he was just tired and Dean couldn't blame him.
He sort of shrugged in way of apology, a weak rolling of his shoulders. But Sam wasn't looking at him, pushing a hand through his long hair and sighing into his phone. "Hey, Bobby- Yeah, I know what time it is." Sam sighed again, sounding weary and half beaten. Then he blinked those sleepy eyes of his, startled by whatever Bobby was saying to him, and he nodded slowly. "Do you need backup?" And Sam took a long suffering breath through his nose. "Fine, sorry I offered- I just thought… you know. You're a little old to be hunting demons on your own and-"
Dean didn't like the idea of Bobby off on a hunt either, but the man had been at the job just about as long as the brothers had been alive- and who were they to talk of a quiet retirement? From the stricken look on Sam's face, Bobby was probably telling him much the same.
"Look," Sam interjected roughly, trying to get out of whatever lecture he was receiving. "We're at your place and we need to get in- we've - no, Dean's just fine." Sam's eyes darted over his brother as if to confirm his own words and he scowled, evidently not liking what he saw.
"No, we didn't break any windows- No- Bobby- I know-" and Sam half sunk against the door, his long legs bowing out beneath him. "Is there a spare key? -yeah, we'll put it back- ok. I'll tell him- yeah- thanks. And… be careful, Bobby."
He hung up and pulled himself back to his full height. "Bobby's on a hunt. He says we can stay here until he gets back, but we better not break anything and we'll have to go grocery shopping."
"Fine, whatever he wants." Dean was quick to agree to anything at this point if it held the promise of a bed and sleep... and maybe even a shower. They were just a few of many luxuries Dean realized he hadn't afforded himself in a long time.
"He also told me to tell you to keep your boyfriend out of his books."
"Bobby did not call him my boyfriend." Dean had never been more sure of anything in his life.
Sam shrugged gracelessly, a faint smile tugging the edge of his lips. "He didn't need to."
It was Dean's turn to scowl. It was the only way he could hide his smile. "I'll keep an eye on Cas."
Sam just nodded and wandered around the side of the old house, presumably to find the mythical spare key. Dean walked back to the car to see why the Angel still hadn't joined them.
The Toyota's windows had fogged over, looking almost frosted in the early morning light. And god, but Dean hated being awake during sunrises- but hey, at least it had stopped raining. Small favors?
Dean had attempted to wake Cas when they first arrived at the salvage yard and gotten nothing more than a few mumbled words in return. And there was his Castiel, still curled in his seat, hugging himself while he slept like a little… well, like an angel.
"Come on, Cas." Dean opened the door slowly, not wanting to spill the man out onto the muddy ground. "Wakey, wakey."
The Angel stirred, yawning and slowly looking up, his bright eyes focusing on the hunter beside him.
Cas' smiles were beautiful, had that been mentioned before?
How it was that Dean kept managing to forget about that was a mystery to him.
People weren't meant to smile like that- but if they were, it was certainly not something meant to be shared with a guy like Dean.
Very rarely in life did he ever feel as undeserving as when he came face to face with a sight so unspeakably glorious.
God must have been having a good day when he made Castiel.
"You doing ok?" Dean didn't want to ask the damn question. He wanted to crawl into the backseat and kiss that smile off of the other man's lips, but talking gave his stupid mouth something vaguely productive to do.
"I…" A small frown mercilessly slaughtered Cas' smile. "I am not well, but I will survive." He clamored out of the back seat, all awkward and obviously still half asleep.
Dean caught hold of him, an arm around his waist, keeping him upright. "You sure you're alright?"
"My legs feel… odd." Cas confided softly, looking unsure if he should start to worry or not, looking to Dean for an answer.
"They're probably asleep." He explained with a shake of his head. "It happens sometimes."
"I don't think I like it." Cas started towards the house, leaning heavily against Dean for support, stumbling like a drunk.
"No one does." He chuckled. "It's just part of being human."
Cas stopped walking, his dead weight dragging at Dean like an anchor.
"I am not human, Dean." He tilted his head up, blue eyes narrowing, his frown making little cracks in the dried blood beneath his nose.
"I know." Dean was quick to agree, too tired for an argument right now.
And it didn't look like it really mattered much that Dean had agreed with him, because Cas' face went pale with anger. Dean had never seen Cas angry before and it was fairly intimidating, especially up close like he was.
"Humans are petty, weak creations- with weak bodies that need things like sleep and food. They bleed and break so easily." He straightened, leaning away from Dean, shrugging out of the circle of his arm. "I am not human, Dean. I am an Angel of the Lord."
Now didn't feel like the right time to point out that Cas did all these things on a regular basis. Dean heard the slight slurring in his speech, and silently wondered if the self proclaimed Angel hadn't sustained some kind of head injury when Gabriel left him alone back in the parking lot. And if that was the case, how much damage had Dean caused by letting Cas nod off during the drive?
Maybe Angels didn't technically need things like sleep, and maybe they weren't supposed to bleed, but Cas' pupils were uneven and his skin was cold where Dean still held onto his wrist. Whatever Cas was now, whatever he used to be, he wasn't alright.
Dean protectively pulled him back into the shelter of his arm, settling Cas' oddly cool body against his side. "I believe you." He tightened his grip, hand fisting in the fabric of Cas' over shirt. "But let's go ahead and get inside where it's warm. I'm freezing my ass off out here."
Sam met them at the door and he let them pass before following and locking the deadbolt behind them. "I'm gunna' try and get some sleep. You two should do the same." He tossed the spare key down onto the little table beside the door and wandered off down the hall in the direction that Bobby kept the spare bedrooms they'd been using since they were kids.
Cas detached himself, leaving an icy aftermath where he had been leaning on Dean, a clammy, lingering chill like that of a corpse.
Dean was starting to worry.
The old clock in the hall was ringing six and he felt each toll down into his muddy boots. He rubbed at his face again and did his best to ignore the fact that his hands were shaking.
"Hey, Cas," Dean called after his Angel who was wandering slowly towards the kitchen.
Cas stopped and looked over his shoulder, face pale, his dark eyes hollow. He looked only slightly better than Dean felt. "Yes?"
"I need a shower." The hunter said carefully.
The Angel just blinked and tilted his head, waiting for something more.
"Come with me?" Dean made sure to make it a question, to leave it himself wide open for rejection.
Castiel seemed to consider this offer and then slowly shook his head. "I'm more hungry than dirty."
And that was an answer that took Dean a few long moments to translate. He nodded in resignation. Cas probably didn't understand the offer anyways and Dean wasn't the sort to press it.
"You want me to make you a sandwich or something?" He was shrugging out of his coat, hanging it crookedly on the stand beside the door.
"I can manage on my own."
Dean almost believed him, though he had subtle doubts that Cas had even the faintest idea how to make a sandwich. He left the Angel to his own devices and went down to the basement where he knew he had probably left behind a couple changes of clothes. They were there, folded neatly a top the dryer, because Bobby could be oddly domestic at times. He took two pairs of jeans and two t-shirts, setting one change of clothes on the couch for Cas and taking the second with him to the bathroom where he set them on the edge of the sink.
Pipes rattled in the wall when he turned the facet, and the water came out rust red before it ran clear. He stripped and stood under the hot stream until his skin felt raw and the shaking in his extremities lessened and then he just sat on the edge of the tub and hung his head, eyes closed while the water beat down on him.
The plastic wrap on his shoulder was starting to wrinkle. The masking tape holding it in place didn't stand a chance to the pounding stream of the shower, water finding its way beneath to trail painfully over the fresh tattoo. Dean grimaced and peeled the plastic off, tossing it at the waste bin and missing.
There were few thoughts skimming through his mind, or he tried to keep it that way with varying degrees of success. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to worry. Not right now. Right now he just wanted to sleep-and maybe it was for the best that Cas hadn't joined him in the shower. What the hell would Dean have done with a wet, naked Angel anyways? He was too damn tired to fool around, and Cas was something of a hot mess since whatever happened to him when Gabriel left.
No, if Cas had followed and Dean had done anything other than conduct himself like a gentleman he would have felt like a complete and total ass afterwards.
The water had gone cold, and when Dean opened his eyes he saw that his fingers had started to wrinkle. He must have dozed off at some point.
The pipes rattled again when he turned off the water, and he made a mental note to offer to help Bobby with the pluming. He dried off quickly, doing his best to pay no attention to the extra shadow that still clung to his feet like a persistent puppy. He had sort of assumed that it would vanish when the sigil was carved into his flesh with ink and blood- but perhaps he had been too hopeful.
Dean chose not to dwell.
It was a different problem for a different day.
He dressed and the methodical movements made his back and chest hurt, but right now he had a hard time thinking of anything that didn't make his back and chest hurt- so he tried not to let it slow him down.
All of the house lights were still off; the only illumination was the winter morning sunlight coming in through windows that hadn't been cleaned in months, all hazy and diffused. Dean's bare feet created soft noises on the worn wooden floor boards as he made his way to the kitchen. He needed to check on Cas and then he would collapse on the couch and sleep until spring.
There was no food or remnant thereof at the table where the Angel was seated, just a mostly empty bottle of Jack- which, judging by the two other empty bottles beside the sink was not wholly out of place in Bobby's kitchen.
"You find something to eat?" Dean went to the fridge, just hoping to find a cold beer, but there wasn't much more than a jar of pickles and three kinds of barbeque sauce to be found.
"There's no point." Cas grated out, his voice so low and soft that Dean had a hard time understanding him.
"I thought you were hungry." He went to the pantry, fully intending to make some pancakes or something for the guy before heading off to sleep, but he passed right behind Cas and was caught off guard by the smell. "Have you been drinking?"
"You told me once that it covered a multitude of sins." And maybe Cas wasn't quite drunk yet, just tipsy, but there was a slight difference in the cadence of his voice, a dark edge to his tone.
Dean couldn't remember using those exact words at any point, but it did sound like something he would say, so he didn't argue, he just pulled up a chair across from the Angel and braced himself.
"Alright, how much have you had?" Not that Dean intended to prescribe more liquor to fix whatever problem they were currently having or anything like that; he just wanted to know what he was working with.
"What does it matter, Dean?" Cas was slumped in his chair, shoulders low, head bowed, but he looked up at the hunter across from him and his eyes were rimmed red. "These sins of mine are so heavy. And this," he gestured clumsily at the bottle, "doesn't seem to be helping."
"Cas-"
"I don't think that Gabriel is going to return."
"It's a little early to give up…" Dean let the commentary die as he was suddenly shot a withering look from Cas.
What did Dean know? Stupid human that he was- how could he just decide if someone was going to make it or not? What made him think he was qualified to offer his opinion?
That look said a lot of unkind things that Dean hadn't thought Cas had in him.
Possible head injury and an undetermined amount of whisky didn't seem like a good combination.
"This is my fault." Cas growled out. "He never would have challenged Michael if it weren't for me. I called him a coward… and he proved me wrong." His long fingers brushed against the whisky bottle, but he didn't pick it up. "He finally chose a side, because of me." His voice broke on the last word. "And he chose the wrong side, Dean."
Gabriel had chosen to 'challenge Michael' and that was the wrong side.
The wrong side?
Cas had decided that the side of the humans and all the innocents that might die because of whatever Michael was scheming was wrong side?
Dean uncomfortably reminded himself that perhaps Cas had actually never decided. Maybe he had come down that way, preprogrammed.
He was just following orders.
He was just trying to get back home.
And Dean could understand that, he really could.
But hadn't the Angel told him he had his doubts? Because Cas fucking should have doubts. Michael's plan to let the Devil out to get their Dad's, to get God's, attention was possibly the worst plan that Dean had ever heard. Bar none.
"Look, Cas," Dean wanted to keep going and say 'you're drunk off your ass and you're not thinking straight- but he didn't. He took a sharp breath and recollected his sleep addled thoughts instead. "You can't blame yourself for what happened." He insisted gently. "You didn't make Gabriel do anything." He actually had no way of knowing, but it felt like the right thing to say, so he did. Dean honestly couldn't say why it was that Gabriel would have left like he did- how he could have left his brother halfway between a breakdown and clinical shock.
But all Dean had to do was imagine what he would have done had he been in Gabriel's place- and there was no question in his mind. "He was keeping you safe. He's your big brother. It's just what big brothers do." He swallowed thickly. "I would do the same for Sam in a heartbeat."
"You would die for your brother- but he is someone worth saving." Cas' fingers came up to his face and he rubbed clumsily at his eyes. "I'm not."
"Don't." Dean said in sharp warning. He had been here before, same as he was now, for Sam and for John more than once- but he had been on the other end too. He had had his fair share of deprecating moments, wallowing in self pity. And he could honestly say that it didn't matter how many of the words were actually true or not, because none of them helped. Talk like this never helped. Ever.
"Everyone deserves to be saved, Cas. Even you." Especially you, he thought with a note of desperation.
"I am no one... and I can't expect you to understand that. There are thousands of Angels in the host of Heaven, and I was just a foot soldier. Now I've been stripped of my Grace and I-" his breath was uneven, and it was definitely the alcohol talking now. "I had one job and I couldn't do it. And now I can't save my brother. I can't save myself. I can't even save you." His hand slipped from his face and he clumsily lifted the bottle.
Dean pulled himself up from his chair and took what was left of the whisky from Cas who didn't put up any sort of fight. He set the bottle down beside the empty ones on the counter and suddenly questioned if Bobby had left these or if they were a byproduct of Cas's misery.
Three bottles of whisky? Dean had never experienced a three whisky bottle problem before. And if he had, he would be long dead from alcohol poisoning before he was half way through. Apparently Angels had far fiercer livers than humans had been graced with.
"I've fallen so far." Cas whispered. "I could rebel right now- against all of Heaven, Dean. I could tell them to… what do you say? Go fuck themselves? And it wouldn't make any difference to anyone. I'm no longer part of any plan. No divine scheme for me. I'm no one. The great Archangel Gabriel is going to die for a no one. It's senseless and-"
"Hey!" Dean said a little louder than he intended and the word rang off the walls in the silent house. But it worked and Cas stopped his self-destructive monologue long enough to look up and there were pale tears on his cheeks.
"Hey," Dean repeated, more gently this time. "You can't talk like that, Cas. You… you just can't. Ok?" He reached out, brushing a knuckle along the Angel's jaw.
Cas sucked in a breath that was more of a hiccough than anything else, and he raised a hand to his own cheek, fingers shaking slightly. "What's wrong with my eyes?"
It was such an open, innocent question. Dean almost couldn't answer it.
"It's just another part of being human, Cas." He slowly ran his hand up into that mess of thick, dark hair.
Those impossibly deep blue eyes watched him, so trusting, so damaged.
"What if I've made the wrong choice? How am I supposed to-"
"There's no 'what ifs'. We take this one day, one bad choice at a time- together, you, me, Sam and Gabriel. Whatever your other brothers are planning, it doesn't matter. We'll deal with it when it gets here." He said it as strongly as he could, almost enough that he believed it himself. He tightened his grip in that dark hair, just for a moment, just enough that he could see the flinch in those dark eyes and then he loosened his fingers. "You're not alone, Cas."
"This isn't going to end well."
And Dean couldn't help himself. He laughed; a bad ruined tone to it. "Was there ever any doubt?"
"Whatever happens," Cas started, toneless and dead-sounding. "I want you to know that you're the one I loved the most."
Dean blinked fast, dismantled and unguarded and not at all prepared for the tectonic shift Castiel caused, saying something like that.
"Cas," he said, and that was it. His vocabulary ended there.
The Angel pulled away, turning his face down, breaking eye contact and Dean just stood there, numbly.
He knew what he was supposed to say now, but he didn't think he could. He hadn't said those words to anyone ever, except maybe his mother. But that was a lifetime ago and his mouth had long forgotten how to form those words.
Dean looked at his friend. There was no halo on his bowed head, no sign of there ever having been one- but this man, this glorious creature, half drunk and sitting in a dirty kitchen, was probably as close to Heaven as Dean would ever get.
He was far more accepting of this realization than he should be.
Dean had the words. They had been with him for days, maybe even weeks, even if he didn't know how to say them.
"Cas," he tried and his voice was surprisingly unsteady.
The Angel didn't even flinch.
"Cas, I-"
"I seem to be having an… episode, Dean." The words came out flat and carefully measured. "Perhaps you should leave until it passes."
Many times, more than he could count on both hands, Dean had wished for permission to leave just this sort of situation. But he didn't leave, and for that he gave himself about a billion gold stars.
Instead, he stood behind Cas, setting his hands heavily on the Angel's shoulders, making sure that there could be no question as to whether or not he was going anywhere.
He leaned down, pressing a kiss onto the crown of Castiel's head, and just stayed there, breathing him in, letting that dark hair tickle his nose.
Cas was silent beneath him, breaths shallow and maybe a little too fast, but otherwise so still.
Dean kissed him again.
He stood there, bowed down, and lost track of how many times he kissed the Angel's hair, the softness sliding against his lips, careful and slow. He let his thumbs tracing deep circles on either side of Cas' neck, pressing alongside his spine, and it was as much comfort as he knew how to offer.
Fingers slipped deftly over tight muscles, tracing the lines of Cas' narrow shoulders, down his back in slow, well-meaning circles. Dean found twin knots, just along the northern arch of the Angel's shoulder blades and he worked his fingers into the tight spots.
At some point Dean needed to make a notebook, to keep a reference list for later review and memorization of things that he could and couldn't do. Apparently one of those things that he couldn't do was give Castiel a simple, reassuring back rub- and see, that was something that he didn't know about himself, but if he kept a notebook somewhere with all these important little tidbits, perhaps he would have stood a chance at learning these things.
All the good intentions at the forefront of Dean's mind precluded earlier lessons he had been taught and Cas shuddered under the touch, a wanton noise escaping like a whimper, neither good or bad, but equally damning. Dean blinked and raised his head. He repeated the motion almost cautiously, fingers moving slowly, and Cas shivered, not pulling away, but arching up into the touch.
A pure heart and mind can only take you so far- sooner or later the hormones have their say, too.
He leaned down and offered a kiss to the back of the Angel's neck, his breath hot against the cool skin. And shouldn't Cas be warm after all he had to drink? Dean pressed closer, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, drawing a plaintive noise from the man in the chair.
He could help Cas warm up.
It was really the least he could do.
A quiet voice in the back of his mind started whispering to him- He's drunk. What are you doing, Winchester? He's drunk- over and over again. Dean took his hands back, quick like they had been burnt. He stood straight, not sure what he was doing anymore, but also very sure of the fact that he could not argue with that persistent voice.
His throat clicked when he swallowed. "Come on, Cas. We should try and get some sleep before some fresh, new hell wanders our way." He meant to walk around the table. He had every intention of moving safely to the doorway and calming himself the fuck down while waiting for the Angel to follow. Cas could have the couch, Dean would take the battered old recliner, maybe he would even rearrange the furniture a little so they could sleep close enough to hold hands if that is what Cas needed-
And apparently Cas needed, because he grabbed Dean's arm in a unexpectedly tight grip, keeping him from making any kind of brave escape. The Angel said nothing, he didn't even look up, he just pulled- gently at first, but when the hunter didn't comply, he pulled harder, drawing Dean back to him. Another pale hand came up, catching him by the belt buckle and Dean realized that he was in some kind of trouble. But it was the kind of trouble that he didn't mind. It was the nonviolent kind. He could handle this.
He hoped.
Cas kept tugging and Dean didn't have the strength or fortitude to keep on his feet. He went to his knees like his body was only meant to fold in one way.
"Come on, man. You're drunk and I'm dead tired. We should-"
But Cas had released Dean's belt in favor of clutching at the back of his neck, and the Angel pulled him into a not wholly unwelcome kiss. Dean kissed back for a few mindless seconds, lost with the taste of liquor and Cas' tongue moving along his own, then Cas' cold hand slipped down Dean's arm to fumble against his hand, twining their fingers. The tenderness of it was jarring, setting that very reasonable voice in Dean's mind chanting again. You can taste how drunk he is, Winchester. What the hell is wrong with you? You need to stop. You need to stop now.
Dean sucked on Cas' lower lip, plastering his free hand against the Angel's narrow chest, feeling the cold beating out of him in waves. Dean whispered sorry wordlessly into Cas' mouth, and pushed him away, hard enough to shove himself backwards, his ass smacking painfully on the floor.
Castiel, decommissioned Angel of the Lord, and very handsy drunk, blinked down at Dean, his eyes wide with surprise, his cheeks still wet with strange human emotions. "I… I don't understand."
"Yeah, I don't either... and that's why we're going to go to sleep now." He pushed himself back to his knees, one hand clutching the table for support. He didn't even have a chance to find his balance before Cas cupped his face between his hands and lowered his head once more to bite at Dean's mouth with fierce graceless kisses that dazed Dean better than right hooks.
His hands located the Angel's waist and Dean had every intention to push away again, but he found himself holding on instead. His fingers slid beneath the thin fabric of Cas' shirt, thumbs fitting with perfection into the groove of his hips. And Dean did his best to soften the onslaught of kisses that were surely bruising his mouth, because there was enough violence in every other aspect of his life without it manifesting in his sex too.
With a little coaxing, the kisses turned to something slower, deeper and all together breathtaking. And yes, Dean shouldn't be here, he had reasons in spades as to why he should get himself up off the floor- but he stayed, because life is short and he didn't know if he would have tomorrow. That voice, his often absent conscience or whatever it was kept up a persistent mantra of this isn't any better and you know it- you shouldn't be here, and Dean told it to bite him.
Cas' hands were so cold against his cheeks. Dean was almost certain that he could feel his own blood pounding beneath the sure touch, burning and too fast. He used a hip to push the Angel's knees apart so he could slide between them, pressing close, letting himself be the warmth for them both. His arms encircled that trim waist, his rough hands sliding up beneath the back of Cas' shirt, to flit along his spine and explore the knot of muscles along his shoulders.
That touch summoned a wrecked, desperate noise and Cas broke off their kiss to press his face into Dean's shoulder, gasping and pleading in words that the hunter couldn't make sense of. They were fleeting things, insubstantial and begging against the skin of his neck and all he could offer in answer was a bad noise that sounded far too needy for his own taste.
This was a moment of devastating weakness, for both of them, and Dean knew it like he knew his own name. He needed to pull back, he needed to catch his breath, but Cas' arms had found their way around him, one hooked behind his shoulders and the other clumsily grasping at Dean's far too short hair.
And this, this right here was exactly what he had been glad to avoid in the shower. This was taking all sorts of liberties which were not his to take, and exactly as he had predicted, he felt like a complete ass.
He let his hands fall, drawing away from those strange muscles that humans simply didn't have.
Cas trembled against him, holding him even tighter. "Don't stop." The words were pleading, faulty.
They did funny things to Dean's insides.
This was precisely where they had been going for quite some time, wasn't it?
Would it really be so bad if Dean didn't stop?
This was what they both wanted… right?
Oh, god. How tired was he that he had started to question himself like this?
There wasn't any amount of rationalizing that was going to make this ok.
"Hey," Sam's voice was so startling that Dean actually jumped, feeling as guilty as a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Are you guys alright?"
Dean didn't know if he should be grateful for his brother or not. He had to clear his throat twice before he was able to find his voice. "Yeah, Sammy. Cas just had a bit too much to drink."
Sam made a non-committal noise that sounded vaguely sympathetic and he walked on his stupidly long legs to the other side of the kitchen.
Over the Angel's shoulder, Dean watched his brother dig out the coffee maker and a battered can of Folgers- and he realized how this must look to Sam. Dean and Cas huddled against each other, almost hugging in the dark kitchen. It probably wasn't half as sexual to an outside observer. They probably just looked miserably sad. Cas wasn't helping matters by breathing in sharp, little gasps and even to Dean it sounded more like someone struggling not to cry than anything else.
His stomach churned and it hit home what he had been doing, what he had been considering doing. Cas really was drunk and Dean really was a horrible person. This wasn't new knowledge to him, but it didn't make the fact any less painful. This whole thing had taken a definite dark turn, one that Dean hadn't seen coming and wasn't comfortable with in the slightest. He wanted to blame a lot of things, but mostly himself.
He carefully pulled away, cupping the Angel's cheeks in both hands, kissing the spot between his red rimmed eyes. "Come on. It's time for you to go to sleep."
"I don't know what's wrong with me, Dean." Cas confided in a broken whisper.
"Nothing's wrong. You're just a little hammered is all." It took more strength than Dean thought he had to pull Cas to his feet.
"I'm sorry for coming here."
"Dude, we drove you." He shot a look at Sam who was still standing beside the stove, making a point to pretend he wasn't watching his big brother. There was a brief moment of eye contact and Dean tried to covey the idea of coffee without words. Sam nodded once and got out anther mug, and damn anyone who tried to say that the two didn't have a healthy relationship. Healthy could go jump off the nearest overpass.
"Not for coming to this house, Dean. I mean to Earth." Cas clung to his arm like a drowning man clings to a life preserver. "I never should have come to you."
They moved with sloppy precision towards the den and the waiting couch. "Just go to sleep, Cas. It'll be better in the morning." And that's just what you say when your drunk friend starts talking like this- apparently it didn't matter if it was already morning or not.
"But in the morning Gabriel will be dead and you will be Michael." Cas didn't fight as Dean gently pushed him down onto the couch, cheeks flushed, his eyes blurry and unfocused. "It will never be better, only worse. So much worse."
Dean pulled an old afghan from the back of the couch and laid it solemnly over his friend. "I'm serious. Go to sleep, Cas."
"I will miss you, Dean Winchester."
Cas tried to reach out to him, one pale hand fumbling against his own. Dean took a long suffering breath to steady himself and tucked that hand back beneath the scratchy wool afghan, all faded pinks and yellows and still somehow cheery after many years of use.
"I'm not going anywhere, Cas." Dean assured softly.
"Promise?"
Dean really hated promises he knew he probably couldn't keep. He bit the inside of his lip and forced a smile. "Cross my heart."
Apparently that was all the reassurance that was needed and Cas visibly relaxed, looking more trusting and far less sad. "I slept during the ride in the car. Why am I going to sleep again?"
"Because you're tired." Dean explained, looking behind the desk and finding a little trash bin. He settled the thing beside the couch, easily within the Angel's reach. "And if you wake up and have to puke, try to do it in the garbage."
Apparently suffering a small breakdown after three bottles of whisky had taken its toll, because Cas was already on his way out, eyes at half mast, and he nodded limply that he had heard the instructions… or perhaps he was nodding to something else all together that Dean would never understand.
Either way.
Dean tucked the sleepy Angel in more firmly, dutifully unlacing his shoes and tossing them aside before settling a second blanket over him in an effort to ward off the strange chill that had not lessened. "Just holler if you need something."
"I need you." Cas slurred in a half conscious whisper.
"Go to sleep."
He yawned, eyes finally closing, his lashes forming dark crescents against his cheeks. "Do … do you need me too, Dean?" He didn't even seem aware that he was still talking.
Dean liked to think himself a man who didn't need much of anything. Simple pleasures for a simple mind, as Sam liked to say. He needed his car, he needed his baby brother, he needed cheap liquor and cheaper porn, he needed moonlight nights and guns that never misfired.
He didn't need much, but when Dean tired to imagine the probable and possibly near future without Cas, he realized that he might need one more thing.
He needed to keep the promise he had just made minutes before.
He needed to not leave.
He needed to not lose this.
He needed to not lose Cas.
"Dean, coffee." Sam enticed softly from the other room.
The interruption spared Dean having to answer. The man asking the question had fallen asleep, but that was beside the point. The raw feeling in Dean's chest was all the answer he had anyways. It wasn't the sort of thing that you could or should put into words.
The widow over the sink had the shade drawn back and the salvage yard looked like a graveyard, tall monoliths cutting raggedly at the sky. Clouds had started to gather again, promising more rain and everything beyond the glass was gray and icy in mourning.
Sam pressed a white ceramic mug into Dean's hands without a word and he sat at the table in the seat that Cas had so recently been dragged from.
Dean sat across from his brother and if he had been expecting some half-assed attempt at a heart to heart he was disappointed, because Sam said nothing for once, eyes trained on the storm clouds outside.
"I thought you were going to bed." Dean offered once the silence started to grate on him.
Sam blinked rapidly, like a man surfacing from dark waters, and looked over at Dean. "I woke up."
"I see that." Dean sipped at his coffee and it was still too hot.
Sam wasn't even holding his neglected mug. There was no pretense of coffee drinking; just this bitter, haunted expression while he said nothing.
"This past week has just been one long, bad dream." Dean tried again to fill the silence. "I keep hoping I'll wake up back in Columbus, back before things started getting really weird."
"Before or after you got possessed and lost three days?" There was a hint of amusement to Sam's voice and Dean felt the quiet thrill of victory. It was always a good day if he could get a smile out of his brother and with any luck they could still get to that point with a little coaxing.
"Fair enough." Dean hid a smile of his own behind another tentative sip. "How starting over by waking up back at your house a few weeks ago?"
"Sometime between the first and second car accident?" He offered gently.
"Between Cas falling out of the sky and that Fallen Angel flipping my poor baby over." Dean agreed, mentally wincing at the thought that the Impala was waiting for him out in the salvage yard, still in need of repairs. Hopefully Bobby had thought to cover her up. The windshield was still broken and Dean didn't like the idea of rain on the upholstery.
"You wouldn't trade in Cas to have none of this happen?"
"Hell no." It wasn't a question that required even a second's worth of consideration.
"Even with the whole Michael, Lucifer thing, and the possessions and concussions and the bleeding in cheap motel rooms?" Sam was needling, just being his regular curious and obnoxious self and it was a good sign. It was the first good sign that Dean had had in a long time.
"Nope."
"What about that extra shadow?" Sam's eyebrows hitched for a second as he looked down at the linoleum floor to check that the apparition was still there.
It was. Lying just as silent and ambiguous as it had been since the night that Dean first saw it.
Dean shrugged and added some sugar to his coffee before drinking a bit more. "I really thought that the sigil would take care of it."
"It woke me up earlier." Sam said as if that were the most normal thing in the world to have happen.
"Excuse me?" Dean lowered his mug.
"Your shadow, it woke me up." Sam rubbed at his face and took a slow breath through is nose. "I was sleeping and it hit me with a book." He was looking at Dean now, watching his face closely, and measuring any response his story might receive. "I grabbed my gun and it ran."
"What do you mean it ran?" That bad feeling in Dean's stomach had returned.
"It just slipped away, across the wall and the floor, like… like a shadow." He shrugged awkwardly. "I followed it back to you. I would have said something then, but you two were sort of hugging it out and Cas didn't look like he could take any more weird tonight."
It was Dean's turn to watch his brother and say nothing. Not that he wanted to, he honestly just couldn't come up with a good response to something like that.
"Is he going to be alright?" Sam nodded in the direction of the sleeping Angel, shifting seamlessly to a different topic, like corporeal shadows chucking books at him were the least of his worries.
Dean grunted in an articulate manner, his mind still struggling to get up to speed.
"How much did he have to drink?" And Sam's eyes darted to the sink and the empty bottles.
"I don't know. More than enough." Dean rolled his shoulders and set his mug down because holding it showed too easily how badly his hands were shaking again. It was mostly just a roaring need for sleep, that's what Dean told himself. It was just sleep and not things more substantially damning like fear. He assured softly. "He's really upset about Gabe."
And immediately Dean wished he hadn't said that, because it meant he had to watch the light in Sam's eyes dim, the small lines of humor on his face die away. "Can't say I blame him." Sam finally lifted his mug, not bothering to even blow on his drink before putting it to his lips.
"Cas seem to thinks it's his fault that his brother left to go fight with Michael."
Something dark slipped over Sam's features and he lowered his mug enough to frown. "Is it?"
"Fuck you, Sam." Dean glared. "No. It's not his fault. And don't you tell him it is. He's already a wreck without this on top of everything else."
The fight went out of Sam, just like that and his shoulders slumped. "Sorry. It's just-" he shook his head, shaggy hair hiding his eyes. "Gabe's always been… impulsive. I'm worried he might have bit off more than he could swallow."
"Didn't you tell me that your little… whatever he is, is an Archangel?" Dean though it was strange that he couldn't bring himself to call Gabriel Sam's boyfriend, but he had to draw the line somewhere.
Sam looked at him oddly, in that 'so what, Dean' way that he had perfected many years ago.
"Well, one Archangel against another- they should be evenly matched." And this is why Dean was not the one to give consolations to grieving people. Evenly matched was nowhere close to the same as saying 'I'm sure you're boyfriend will be fine' or any variation on that theme.
Luckily Sam was used to Dean and he just sighed through a tight smile. "You're right."
"Of course I am. Gabriel's a scary son of a bitch. I think he blew up a Fallen Angel that tried to get Cas last time he was here. You should have seen it. There was meat everywhere, like someone dynamited a cow."
Sam set down his mug, making a face. "Shame I missed that one."
Dean set down his mug as well. "Yeah… maybe you're lucky you did." He had seen too many dismembered corpses in the past few weeks. There was the Fallen Angel that Gabe took out, then Andy's family and really, even one pile of former human was more than enough.
The brothers grew quiet once more, only now it was more uncomfortable than before. Dean rolled his half empty mug between his hands and tried not to look at the edge of his shadows that he could see half hidden beneath the table. He tried not to think of what he would do for Sam if Gabriel didn't come back. He tried not to think about what he would say if Cas remembered his drunken profession of love by the time he woke up.
Something must have shown on his face because Sam was giving him that look that always raised Dean's defenses.
"What?" He tried not to sound suspicious and he missed the mark by a mile.
"Did Cas say something to you?"
"No." And that was more guilty and evasive sounding than the last word had been.
"You look like you were just on the receiving end of a well deserved slap."
Dean looked up at the ceiling and worked on clenching and unclenching his jaw.
"Dean, is it something I should know about? Because there's a lot of bad stuff on the table right now and I'd rather not get blindsided because of your weird aversion to talking to me about what's going on in your life."
It needed to be noted that Sam was really good at reading Dean. They had known each other too long to have it any other way. Though, that didn't mean that Dean was just going to spill his guts on this one.
"This one's got nothing to do with you. Don't worry."
"It's not me that I'm worrying about, Dean." And Sam had always been the kinder Winchester, the one who felt too deeply, the one who cried at the part in Bambi when the mom gets shot, who offered heartfelt condolences to stranger. Sam was the one who worried as easily as some people breathe. He worried about everything, and everyone, though probably none as much as he worried about his big brother.
And try as he might, Dean could not fathom what he had done to deserve a brother like this. It must have something to do with being mislabeled as a righteous man. Sam was just a strange repercussion from a title he didn't deserve, much like the Angel in the other room.
Dean put his face in his hand, his elbows propping him up on the table and he just sighed until there was no air left in his lungs and they burned in protest.
"When this is all over," Sam started after the silence had been dragged out to the point of becoming painful, "you two should come visit me and Gabe."
Dean looked up.
"I'll get a real bed for the guest room and you two can just stay for a few weeks." Sam wore the most negligible of smiles. "I've been thinking of remodeling the kitchen once school's done and I could use some help."
"I've never remodeled a kitchen Sam. I'm a mechanic, not a construction worker." But Dean was smiling too.
"Then it should take us longer than normal. It'll give you a chance to really wear out your welcome."
Dean lightly kicked Sam under the table, like they were ten years old again and trying to annoy the hell out of each other without their Dad noticing. "I do like wearing out a welcome."
"I noticed." Sam kicked him back, his smile finally reaching his eyes, making them soft and a touch sad.
"You gunna' pay me in beer?"
"And pie."
"What kind of pie?" Dean asked skeptically.
"Does it really matter?" Sam raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
Dean thought about that for a heartbeat and felt himself grinning. "Not really." All pie was good pie. And any plan for a pleasant aftermath was better than no plan. Sure, this was the same as trying to get from point A to point C with no intermediate arrangement… but without it, things felt a little too helpless.
"And I know you're going to bitch at me," Sam got up from the table, taking his mug to the sink while he spoke, "but at some point you really should tell Cas how you feel."
And they were right back at that prickly place where Dean was clenching his jaw and refusing to comment.
"You know… just in case you guys can't make it out to Main for a visit." Those seemingly gentle words were a giant, looming death sentence if Dean had ever heard one. "He deserves to hear it once."
Where did Sam get off changing his mind like this? Last time he had brought up the Angel in the context of a relationship he had been telling Dean to be careful. He had been insisting that Dean not be so open, to be more cautious about his whole thing. And now he wanted Dean to go for it?
He half wanted to throw his mug at his brother's back. And it wasn't Sam's fault that Dean was so emotionally constipated, but that didn't lessen the desire to injure him.
"Shut up, Sam."
"I don't think I told Gabriel I loved him often enough." Sam kept rinsing his dish in the sink, not turning around while he spoke.
Apparently it was uncomfortable confession time, and Dean reevaluated the option of throwing his mug. "I don't want to hear this." He wished that the words were like calling uncle, that they held a power to cancel a verbal onslaught.
"Never is a lot worse than not enough, Dean."
"It's none of your business, Sammy."
"Is it the same none of my business as earlier?" He glanced over his shoulder, turning off the water and waiting for an answer.
Dean stubbornly said nothing and that in itself seemed to be the very answer that Sam was looking for.
"Did he get drunk and tell you he loves you?"
"I swear to god, Sam-"
"He did." Sam had a matchmaking glint in his eyes for a moment, like a teenage girl, and then it slipped away. "Is that why he was crying?"
"No."
"What did you say?"
"Jesus Christ, Sam." Dean threw his hands up in frustration. "I didn't say anything-"
The brothers looked at each other on either side of the kitchen, and Dean knew he shouldn't have answered. He should have kept his mouth shut. He should have gone to bed when he put Cas down and avoided this whole mess.
"You didn't say anything?" Sam stumbled over the last word in disbelief.
"God damn it." Dean put his face back in his hands.
"I don't understand. What do you mean you didn't say anything? You've never known when to shut your mouth, never once in your life- and the day you learn how is the day someone gets up the courage to say I love you?"
"Yes, Sam." He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "I'm a miserable son of a bitch, but you've known that for years."
"Dean-"
"And if we both know, then would you mind telling me why we're still talking about it? Because that's the part that I'm not understanding."
That shut Sam up for a few moments and Dean would have smiled if he could remember how.
"You have to tell him, Dean."
"Why?" He wasn't whining, it just sounded that way.
"Because I don't think that he's the sort of person who can figure it out for himself."
Sam didn't know Cas well… not that Dean really did either, but he was a bit further along in his Decoding of the Angel. So it was that Dean hated how right his brother was. Where did Sam get off understanding how strange and sometimes simple Cas could be?
Sam pressed on, not knowing when to quit. "Because if you don't tell him and he leaves, you're going to be an even more miserable son of a bitch than normal."
"If I tell him and he still leaves, how is that any better for either of us?" They were talking about feelings. Dean's life had officially become an afterschool special and he hated it. He hated that he couldn't even look at Sam while he spoke and he hated how they were both using the word leave. Leave, like it had already been decided on.
Dean got up, taking his cup and setting it on the counter, despite the fact he wanted to throw it. It was Bobby's and that was the only thing that saved the stupid thing. "Here's a bit of advice, Sammy: if no one asks for your opinion- or even if they do- be a man and mind your own fucking business."
It didn't seem to matter how tired Sam was, his bitch face came out in full force. "You have the emotional maturity of a blueberry muffin, do you know that?" Sam took a step closer, using his greater height to his advantage to loom over Dean. "If you don't want to hear my opinion, Dean, then let me just tell you a simple truth that you obviously overlooked. You're scared."
"Bite me."
"We're all scared, Dean." Sam was using his reasonable voice, his touchy feely voice. "Right now, it's really ok to be scared. I'd be a hell of a lot more worried if you weren't."
Sam knew him too well, and it was strange how furious something like that could make him. It took all Dean's willpower not to just go ahead and punch his brother in the face. A fist fight right now would be anything other than productive. Plus, Sam had been able to take him in a fight since he turned sixteen and learned to use that unnatural height of his like a moose during mating season.
Dean wasn't in the mood to get his ass handed to him on a plate. Not today.
Sam was only trying to help, and Dean knew he had to respect it even if he didn't have to accept it.
Rain started to fall outside, battering the porch and the siding like it meant to wear them down and come inside. By the unholy noise it was making they were in for a full blown storm.
"School gets out in June, right?" It had been a lifetime ago that Dean had attended any sort of school and it was hard to remember.
"What- yeah?" Sam looked at him sidelong, gauging his mood with a calculating expression.
"Me and Cas'll be by on the first." He licked his lips, a little self conscious. "And we need a king sized bed, because he likes to sprawl."
"Sure." Sam agreed softly.
He could see the question in his brother's eyes, unspoken but very much there. Sam wanted to know if his Dean was going to take his advice.
"I'm going to try and get some sleep." He went to walk away and hesitated in the doorway. "And put a rolled towel or something under your door to keep my shadow out… just in case."
As if that wasn't somehow one of the strangest things anyone had ever said to him, Sam just smiled. "Alright," simple and agreeable.
Sam had come down to the kitchen with a serious problem and it had gotten pushed aside in favor of Dean's life and its seemingly endless collapse. And there he was, smiling like nothing had ever been wrong.
Dean came back over, looked up at Sam and braced himself for one of the most uncomfortable things he had ever done. He placed a hand on his brother's arm, somewhere a little above his elbow. "You gunna' be ok, Sammy?"
It was a rare sight to see Sam at a loss for words. Strange, mixed emotions spilled over his face. He settled somewhere between confusion and amusement. "Of course, why wouldn't I be?"
Dean just gave him a look, but if Sam wasn't going to say anything about it than Dean wasn't going to either. It took about three more seconds of that uncomfortable physical contact before a look came over Sam and he took a little step back.
"Right. Gabriel." He looked back out the window and sighed in the most suffering way imaginable. "Do you really want to talk about this?"
"No." Dean said easily, and earned himself a startled little chuckle from Sam. "But I'll listen if you need to talk, as long as there's no hugging or crying involved."
Sam seemed to consider this offer, folding his arms over his broad chest and leaning back against the counter. He sighed again and looked at his bare feet.
"After Jess died I… I didn't think I would ever feel like that again, you know?" His gaze flicked to Dean then back down. "Then Gabe came along I don't know if it's just because he's an Angel or if it's because he reminds me so much of…" Sam shook his head, obviously not liking where that thought was going. "There are times when he scares the hell out of me and other times he's got me laughing so hard I can't breathe. And he's got this way of knowing when I've had a bad day and will have cookies and scotch waiting for me when I get home."
Dean smiled at the mental image, he couldn't help himself.
"I didn't know I could miss someone this bad. He's only been gone a few hours, Dean." Sam looked up again. "What am I going to do if he doesn't come back?"
The offer had been to listen to Sam, not give advice. Dean didn't know what to say so he shrugged and it meant nothing.
Sam let his head fall back, looking up at the ceiling. "I feel like he was made for me, or I was made for him. Does that make sense?"
"If someone made him for you, you need to ask to see a bigger size. Dude's like half your height."
And Sam got this funny little smile as he looked side long at Dean. "It did make sex a little awkward at first, but we figured it out."
"Sammy, no. Gross. I'm changing the rules. No hugging, crying or mentions of sex. I've already seen enough to give me a lifetime of nightmares about the two of you. I don't need any more ideas, thanks."
Sam chuckled and it only sounded a little forced. "You sure, because I could probably give you a few pointers."
"I don't need sex tips from my kid brother." Dean did his best to not make a face, because in his head all he could think was eww, and he didn't want it to show.
"That's right. You've been with plenty of guys before. I forgot." Sam was smiling, so it was in part just gentle teasing, but even still, it was uncalled for.
"Excuse me?" Dean's hands came up in either protest or defense. "I don't have to stand here and take this kind of abuse."
"Would you rather sit down?"
"Smartass." It was Dean's turn to chuckle.
No problems had been solved, no helpful advice given, but they were both smiling so it wasn't a total loss. The settled into the first comfortable silence since they found themselves in the kitchen and Sam had to ruin it by opening his big mouth.
"Do you think it's possible to kill an Angel?"
Dean closed his eyes for a breath and weighed his answer before giving it. He had seen enough of the things fall from the sky and just burn up and burn out, and he knew that it was, but that's not what Sam needed to hear. "I don't think I ever told you about how I found Gabriel." He couldn't bring himself to look at Sam as he spoke. He didn't want to see what sort of expression his words were forcing on the other man. "I told you about the coven, but not about how bad he was when I pulled him out of their basement. I hadn't seen anything that messed up in a long time and I haven't since. He's a tough son of a bitch, Sammy. I also think he knows how to deal with his brothers, he's obviously been doing it for a long time and he's come out ok so far."
"You're right." Sam consented.
I am? Dean thought wildly. It wasn't often that he heard those words, especially from Sam. "Course I am. Dude's probably up there givin'em hell right now."
Sam exhaled a short laugh and smiled at Dean. "Probably."
Dean resisted the urge to pat himself on the back. He had done alright, considering his lack of practice in these sorts of conversations- but maybe it was just a night for it. He'd spent his fair share of time talking Cas down earlier, and maybe this was just going to become a thing.
God, he hoped not.