Quiet House
A floodgate has opened inside him. He no longer feels reluctant tears or burning guilt, it's just . . . openness. A quiet calm that is all but quiet—it is conflicting in the best way and he can't even understand why. Dean, pulls at the feeling, he pulls it tight into himself. He can feel its force against him, brushing against his lips, softly but full of intent—like it wants him to be happy just as much as he wants to be.
Dean's eyes open-muscles snap. He is in his hallway. He is in his hallway with Castiel.
His tailbone grinds against the floorboard as he rips away from Cas's lips.
"Dean, I . . ."
Dean feels his jaw fall at the sight of Cas's rounded, wide blue eyes, burrowing into him.
"Dean, did you mean to?"
Dean isn't sure. He wants to answer him but all he can do is shake, a meager sapling standing against a whirlwind of confusion.
Words bubble up from somewhere in his throat, not even sure of what they'll be, "Cas, I-, I didn't . . . fuck!"
Dean looks away, he can't handle Cas's unblinking, inquisitive stare. He doesn't know how to make this clear to himself, none the less to Castiel. He isn't drunk, he isn't angry—in fact, a moment ago, he felt more in control than he had in months. Now, now he's floundering.
"Dean, I . . . I-"
He spins his gaze back to the dark haired man next to him; he knows what he is going to say. He knows he just did what he swore he would never do again, he terrified his best friend. He pushed himself on him in a whole new way, and even worse—he was sober while doing it.
Dean pulls himself to his feet, stumbling in the effort, keeping his eyes locked on Castiel. He backs away down the hall, feeling behind him for the door handle to his room. He bumps into it, his knuckles taking the brunt of the force, making him wince.
Cas just stares. Lips parted—eyes, starting a downward turn towards the floor.
"I'm sorry!" Dean yelps before tipping through his door and shutting it behind him. He turns and faces the inside of his room. He closes his eyes and collapses back, letting his head plop onto the wood with an all too audible thud. He hears Cas scurry off the ground and make his way down the remaining length of the hall. A light tap seeps through the grain, vibrating Dean's skin.
"Dean, it's okay. I. . .I am not upset." Cas's voice is muted and small.
Dean squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head violently until his neck pops, "Cas, I don't know what's wrong with me!"
"Nothing is wrong with you, Dean."
Dean hurls out a spit-filled breath.
"I keep taking this shit out on you, man! In one way or the other—you're on the receiving end! I can't keep doing this to you!"
His hands are balled into fists on the face of the door.
"You didn't do anything to me, Dean. Please, open the door and we can talk about this." Cas's pleas only cut deeper into him.
"No . . . Cas. Please, just go." Dean feels an awkward jerk at his chest as he says the words.
"Dean, I can't just leave!" Suddenly, Cas's rasped voice is booming through the door, punching Dean in the gut.
"Please, Cas." Dean mumbles pathetically. The jolt stabs his chest again.
A quiet falls over the house. Dean stares; panicked eyes, wide and matching mouth shooting silent, weighted breaths across the room. He hears Cas's hand fall flat against the opposite side of the door.
"Is that really what you want, Dean? You want me to leave?" his voice is low again, but still assertive, making Dean feel small and helpless.
"Yes, Cas, please. I don't want to—please, just go."
Dean doesn't even recognize himself. He sounds so defeated, he sounds so broken. The most worrisome of all: he isn't sure if he sounds that way because he just forced himself on Castiel again, or for knowing that, in a few short moments, Cas will be gone.