The Truth
His house seems cold. The cleanliness is uninviting and it makes everything seem unfamiliar—unlived in. It's like Castiel just walked into a model house and decided to stay there. Then again, his whole life feels that way now, like he just really started living a moment ago, and everything he was doing before has been false. It's just a story he made up in his head to pass the time. Dean opened his eyes a little to reality when they first met in that bar; but he opened them completely when the two were in that hallway. Cas is just supposed to go back to normal now; whatever "normal" may be?
His rosemary is dying. The tiny plant hasn't been watered in days. Cas apologizes to the sorry, browning thing. It didn't ask for that sort of neglect; everything looks neglected, even himself. When he finally makes his way into his bedroom, the mirror on the wall shows a sorry sight. He is unshaven, hair is a tumbleweed of dark knots; and the bruise on his jaw is starting to yellow in the center, making Cas look diseased and dirty. His boss will think he had caught the plague. Work tomorrow will be hellish.
The disheveled man slumps across the hall from his bedroom, into his office. He presses buttons and turns on switches, bringing the room to life with lights and the hums and clicks of the computer. In a matter of seconds, the speakers sound out various beeps and pings of all the messages and alerts waiting eagerly for Castiel's ears. The sounds are grating, and he wonders why he has even bothered with this now. He is certainly not in the mood for polite responses and troubleshooting other people's issues.
A faint jingle floats through the house, and Cas realizes he left his phone on the entryway counter. He pulls himself from his chair and shuffles down the hall, not really eager to talk to whoever might be on the line, because he knows that it will be anyone other than Dean. Cas reaches his phone, just before the final ring—the screen reading out "Sam W. Calling" in large, block letters.
"Hello, Sam." Cas answers dryly, too drained to attempt a pleasant tone.
"Hey Cas! What are you up to tonight, bud?" Sam pips, his chipper mood becoming an instant annoyance.
Cas sighs, louder than intended, "I was going to catch up on some work before tomorrow; why do you ask?" He feels his eyes roll slightly, hoping that Sam is not seeking favors. He really cannot handle another Winchester at the moment—even if Sam is the easy one.
"Well, me and Dean and a couple of my friends are heading out to dinner and I thought you might like to join us."
Cas is now regretting his prayers for no favors. He would much rather be running errands or giving rides than finding a valid enough excuse for not joining everyone tonight.
"Sam, I—I really can't. I am very behind on work." Cas feels a little guilty-it isn't really a lie but it is certainly not the entire truth.
"Oh c'mon Cas! How long has it been since we all hung out? I mean, since Dean is doing better—thank you for that by the way man, really! I went and saw him the other day; I mean, he's not a hundred percent but you did some magic or something!"
"I assure you, Sam, there was no magic involved." Cas retorts.
"You know what I mean, man," Sam says, chuckling through the speaker, "anyway, you have to come. It has been forever since we could all just chill out together and I think we all need it. It would mean a lot to me. Please buddy?"
Cas could scream. Sam knows him too well; he knows Cas cannot say no to pathetic pleas. He has to say no though, he cannot possibly sit across the table from Dean, trying to act normal—not only with Sam but with strangers around? How could he keep up such a façade? He can't tell Sam that, though. What is he supposed to say? "I'm very sorry Sam, but I had intimate relations with your brother and I thought he felt pressured to reciprocate, so we got into an argument and he eventually asked me to leave; therefore, dinner will be far too uncomfortable to have together. I hope you understand"? That certainly would not go over well.
"What do you say? Just one quick bite to eat and then you can go back and do all the work you want!"
Sam's tone seems almost overly eager, and Cas wonders if he is up to something more than casual dinner-invites.
"Again, it would really, really mean a lot to me, Cas."
The exhausted man pulls the phone away from his ear, silently cursing the world and god for making him such a pushover for a Winchester.
"Fine." Cas snorts.
"Awesome! Thanks man, it's gonna be great! Just like old times! So we're meeting at Bobby's Grill and Bar. You know, the one on Singer Street?"
"Yes, I'm familiar." Cas croaks.
"Great, we'll all be there at eight, but we can save you a seat if you come a little later. I know how you are when your head gets wrapped up in work."
"That is very considerate of you, Sam." Cas offers sarcastically, disapproving of the accommodating tone of Sam's voice.
"Okay man! Well, we will see you there!"
"Alright." Cas drones and with a click, Sam is gone.
The phone slides from Castiel's ear and he nearly drops it onto the shining, hard wood floor. What on earth is he going to do? Cas looks down at the phone's face, still glowing in his hand. Twelve forty seven. He has less than eight hours to come up with a plan. He has less than eight hours to practice pretending that his friendship may not be over with Dean. He has to pretend that before Dean told him to get out of his house, Cas didn't say that he was worried that Dean was still too fragile to make any big changes yet; that he didn't want Dean to push himself too far because he may just break down again if things do not go right. He has to act like Dean's jaw didn't clench and his brow didn't crease and he didn't respond with "I am not something to be pitied, Castiel. I am not anyone's project!" Cas has to pretend that he did not solely bring about long awaited happiness for his best friend and then rip it away in less than twenty four hours. He has to pretend that he and Dean are perfectly alright. They are not though, and they might never be. Maybe, if he pretends long enough, it will actually be true.