Add it to the Mix
The violent whizzing of a weed-whacker next door kicks Cas out of his slumber—if that's what you could call what he had just experienced. Cas rubs his jaw and feels it click with a painful twinge that shoots through his temples. He looks around, at first, not sure where he is, but soon recognizing the familiar colors and patterns of Dean's wrinkled shirts. The musky smell of Dean's aftershave soaks the air. Cas relaxes for a moment in the safety of someplace a little familiar, even though he's rarely been in Dean's room.
"Dean?" Cas tries to shout but his voice is hoarse and it hurts his throat to yell. "Dean, are you here?" he finally croaks.
The responding silence is confusing; until he slowly remembers why he's here. He remembers the bleary eyed woman who swindled him out of that extra fifty dollars. He remembers the anger on Dean's face when he realized that woman was gone. He remembers Dean's grip, how heavy his fists were. What had he done? Cas's heart begins to pound.
"Let's hope he doesn't kill himself"
Sam's words explode in Cas's head, over and over, like fireworks in the dark. He sent away the only person he's seen Dean reach out to in all this time—even though she was a mess of a thing, Cas knew Dean had chosen her for a reason; for comfort, for company. He didn't choose Sam for that. Dean didn't choose him either—but Cas did just what he was told not to, he butted in. He pushed inside this house and he pushed his best friend to the brink. Perhaps, even over the edge.
"Dean!" Cas yelps, desperately hoping for an answer.
Nothing.
He isn't here. He may not be anywhere. The realization that Dean's absence may be permanent digs deeps into the center of Cas's chest. He hasn't known a life without the Winchesters in almost eight years and he never cared to know it again. Dean saved him from solitary—from an overbearing father's will and from a predestined life that did nothing but sink Cas's spirit into the mud.
The sound of Dean's breathy laugh still rings in his ears, his heavy hand still seems to be pressing thoughtfully on Cas's shoulder; the dizzying sound of the crowded bar instantly softens when Dean starts to sway and scoop words into an artful dance that somehow warded off danger. It calmed the intimidating man that was ready to pummel Cas into nothing after he accidentally spilled his drink with a misguided step.
"Excuse my friend." the memory starts to play. "It's his first real drink and his first time in the states. He doesn't know any better, you can't blame a guy for being an inexperienced drunk, can you?"
Dean's old words are bouncing off the walls of Cas's skull. He recalls trying to explain how Dean must have him confused for someone else, but before he could, the kind, green eyed man tossed him a mischievous wink. Cas is still surprised he knew what that wink meant. The heroic stranger had somehow found a way of pushing some clarity into Cas's socially awkward brain.
The rest of that night at the bar went better than expected, so much better. Cas couldn't believe he found luck in such an unnerving place. He would have never even visited there if it hadn't been for the poor planning of his study group. A group who never even bothered to show, leaving Cas wandering a crowded, sticky bar, arms full of textbooks and no one to talk to.
That kindness and all the kindness that followed in years to come could never be repaid. And now, here he is, not only throwing that kindness back in Dean's face, but causing his usually composed, happy friend to lose control.
Cas has seen Dean drunk; he has seen Dean become mindless and numb to things. But he has never seen him when so much anger was added to the mix.
Cas let his head fall into his hands, tousling his hair as if he could shake out the guilt from his follicles.
"You are a stupid man, Castiel"
He imagines, if Dean is still alive- he is somewhere seeking out a new best friend, or perhaps, a new woman—or the same woman. He knows Dean still wants company; that has been the one constant throughout all of this. He knows Dean very well, and he knows he loves sex. Dean was so desperate, he nearly sought that comfort from him! The thought rings through Cas's head. He recalls the feeling of Dean, hard against the small of his back. He wasn't sure of what was happening at the time, but now, as he looks in the rearview, he understands Dean's intentions.
The sound of Dean's zipper sliding down seems to the last forever in Cas's memory, only realizing seconds later that the lawn equipment outside is still humming. The shaky, half image of Dean's curled face comes back to the corners of Cas's vision. It plays like an old movie in his mind, a projector screen made from the chipping paint on the walls of Dean's room. The green eyes he knows too well, red with drink and rage. Lips dry, jaw riddled with hair, forgotten for days. The face Cas always sought understanding in was suddenly masked with something unfamiliar and he wishes he could have pin pointed what it was. If he knew, maybe then he could have stopped Dean from looking so sad afterwards- after he backed away from Castiel. Back away in disgust, perhaps—he couldn't find comfort in someone who just wrecked the little trust he had left, no matter how desperate he was. Cas thought he might have backed away too, if the tables were turned.
What if Dean hadn't backed away? The idea of it going further didn't scare the blue eyes man as much as he thought it might—not as much as if it were just a hypothetical curiosity. The ones offered in random conversation. The reality of it was more confusing than anything else. He somehow knew that Dean wouldn't hurt him, not intentionally. Even in a drunken rage, he knew Dean would stop before anything too horrible happened.
Maybe horrible isn't the right word. Cas stares intensely out the window, the whirring of the weed-whacker next door, jumbling his thoughts along with the grass. He knew, Dean would stop at that moment, before something happened. Whatever that would be to Dean, Cas can't say. He just knows that right now, he wishes he could have offered Dean something, anything that would have made him feel better.