Amateur
Cas watches helplessly as the woman knocks on Dean's door. He still is shaking with relief at the sight of the Impala, safe in the driveway. The entire drive over, he was worried that Dean may not even be home- he may not even be alive. He feels positively silly now for hiding in his car, like some amateur sleuth on a stakeout. He hopes he is far enough away to be out of sight on the other side of Dean's curving street. He gave himself a little over three house-lengths—close enough to still see what is happening, but far enough away that hopefully Dean won't spot him. Cas's car is pretty inconspicuous, and Dean may, very well be drunk again; which means his observation skills are probably limited. Cas holds his breath anyway, wondering if this plan will actually work.
He is shocked to see the door fly open so quickly. Cas is even more surprised to see Dean, upright and alert, standing tall and firm in the doorway. He watches as Fate flits her hands and bobs her head with her words. He squints, trying make out Dean's expression. So far, all Cas can tell is that Dean isn't saying a word.
Fate continues on, rambling about god knows what. Cas prays that she is sticking to the quickly scored script he made her. Something deep within his gut however, tells him that isn't the case. He watches as Dean inhales deeply, eventually tilting his body to rest on the frame of the door. His arms lift and fold tight across his chest as watches the skinny woman slink before him.
"He's being defensive" Cas breathes into himself, feeling his chest tighten, imagining that Dean is probably not making a happy face.
Fate finally stills, letting her arms fall to her sides. She stands a little straighter and leans her head towards Dean, as if she is trying to hear a whisper. Cas finds himself leaning forward too, his chest pressing into the ribbed leather of his steering wheel; as if the pair's words could just fly on an expressway to his ears.
Cas's eyes burst wide in a panic as Dean's arm unfolds and extends out— a stern finger pointing down the other length of road running through the neighborhood. Fate juts out her hip, pausing for a moment before tossing one more fluttery gesture into the air. The woman turns around, marching hard against the pavement and back down the other side of the street to her parked car. Her mouth twists and snarls with unheard expletives, that Cas is grateful aren't directed at him.
He watches Dean, as Dean watches the woman disappear in her Pinto and down the road. The only clear features Cas can make out are Dean's slanted eyes with perfect, green glints flashing through the slits. Castiel sinks- melting into his chair, letting his head fall back against the leather headrest; it slides a bit, and Cas realizes he's been sweating profusely. Was Dean that angry? So angry, he refuses something he wanted only two days ago? Refuses it because it was something from Castiel? Did he know it was Cas who sent Fate back to him? Did she tell him?
Cas feels the frustration rock his temples. He clenches his jaw and winces—the bruise not letting him forget for even a moment that this is all his fault. He grunts, shooting his hands out and palming the steering wheel with all his force. He locks his elbows and curls his fingers over the leather; pulling back and forth violently, causing the car to rock and squeak on its hinges.
"Fuck!"
The dark haired man feels the word fall uneasily out of his mouth. He feels it more than he hears it, but the sound still cracks like glass against his ears. The judgmental eyes of his father suddenly gaze upon him, somehow, knowing that he is being a bad child; dirtying his mouth with such filth. Oh, how his father would have hated Dean's influence on him. Cas's stern face breaks into a brief smile—how he would have loved to show his father Dean's influence on him.
Cas reaches for his keys, gripping them tight and pulling them apart slowly, feeling for the largest one to slip into the ignition. His eyes dart up, staring blankly at Dean's now, closed front door. His touch finally finds the correct key and he moves his hand towards the slot at the base of the wheel, stopped only by the familiar beat of Dean's ringtone, filling up the muggy air of the cab.