Wings

"I'm sorry. . . I wish I knew what to say or, or what to do!" Dean sputters, moving closer to his pale, heaving friend. Cas leans into the angled, corner of the wall; his fists clenched, the whites of his knuckles attempting to burst through the skin. Dean feels his ribs ache in the spot where those knuckles had previously buried themselves.

"I told you . . . to get out!" Cas explodes, tensing his entire body until it looks like it could snap.

The brimstone rolling out of his friend causes Dean's skin to sting; every muscle and organ pulls at its casing, trying to rip free from the being that did this, that brought this sort of pain to someone. He never knew there could be this much anger in a man who is normally, such a soldier of patience; and Dean is the one who wrecked him.

"Cas, please . . . I—I don't like seeing you like this, man" Dean pleads. He wants Cas to turn around and see every fiber in his body and every hair on his head, hating the sight of his best friend looking so lost; lost to Dean and lost to himself. "I don't like knowing that I—"

"That you, what? That you are the one who started all this, made this the way things are now?" Cas spits, tossing a sideways glance over his shoulder and back at Dean, letting his forearm jut from his side to motion at the air. "You don't like the guilt?"

"I don't like seeing you lose faith in me!" Dean bursts, surprising himself by the answer; but somehow, his mouth knew the truth before his mind did. He watches as Castiel's head lifts a little, and the razor ridges beneath his shirt, dip down again, smoothing the cotton.

Dean inches closer.

"Cas, man. I know . . . I know this started because of me. I know that we both would have been fine, well, you would have been fine, if I never pushed you . . ." Dean sucks in a shaky breath at the memory "— up against that wall, and if you never had to try and fix my mistakes . . . but I did, and—"

"You did." Cas interrupts, dryly.

Dean feels his head fall with Cas's confirmation. He peers up again from under his brow, green eyes saturated with the hopes that all this might be fixable. He stares at his friend, whose ears are perked, waiting for Dean to speak again.

"I can't go back and change it, Cas. I can't take away what I did or anything I did afterwards, I'm sorry."

"Do you want to?" the words sneak from between Cas's lips, into the open air of the living room in front of him, taking too long to reverberate off the walls and back to Dean's ears, barely even audible.

"Wh—what do you mean?" Dean stammers, not expecting the question.

Castiel unseals his side from the plastered edge and turns slowly, the normally, sun-whites of his eyes are now a red, battleground of tears. His skin seems pale and waxy. Dean feels his stomach drop as he watches the gray rings seize, where brilliant, blue irises would normally dance. Cas slides close to Dean again, his face just under Dean's brow, peering up at him, expectantly. For a moment, Dean catches a breath of Cas's scent—the hints of earth and water; but even that seems far away somehow and Dean feels like he could break with the distance.

"Do you wish you could take it all back; never have had any of it happen?" Cas leans into Dean, and the edge in his voice tempers. Dean tastes the warmth of Cas's breath as he hovers close to his lips. "Do you, Dean? Do you wish all of it would just, go away?"

Dean searches Cas's cold, greying eyes, not sure of what they are intending. The heat of the man's body and how he is falling into him now, makes Dean want to wrap his arms around his friend and pull him close, like he did last night. The ache in the man's eyes, however, and the cool hesitation in his words, causes him to worry that he was about to get thrown into the wall again.

"I—I, I don't—" Dean grapples at words, trying to find the right ones that will keep the dark haired man at ease.

"You don't?" Castiel pulls away a little with his question, and the icy air filling the hallway swoops back to Dean's front, chilling him with stabbing pinches. "You don't . . . know?" Cas leads, the bones of his shoulders arcing again, making him look hard and untouchable.

"I . . . just don't want it to be this way." Dean staggers, pointing at the ground.

"Did you think I wanted this?" Cas spits, narrowing his eyes at the spot Dean is pointing to.

"I went to that restaurant tonight, partly for Sam, but mostly for you. I wanted to make sure you were okay. I wanted to make sure that I didn't force your lips back to a bottle—little did I know, I forced them to another one of your vices!" Cas's voice is humming, his eyes continue to inspect the ground and Dean watches the waves and flicks of his friend's hair shake as he moves glances at each of his feet. The fierce man sucks in a large breath and drops, as if his knees finally gave out under the weight of everything he has been thinking. He rubs his hands across his face, leaving them there and talking in muffled tones beneath his fingers.

"I never thought for one second, that this all was anything more than it was, Dean. I didn't allow myself, why would I?" Cas finally pulls his hands to the sides of his face and cups his ears; rocking on his heels, still squatting in front of him. "I just thought that we were going to try and figure all this out, together. I thought you wanted that."

Dean looks down at his curling friend; taking a deep breath, knowing that nothing but honesty will do anymore, "I do, Cas."

Cas shoots a glare back up at Dean and slowly pulls himself upright, his face, rising until he is level with Dean's eye-line once more.

"You made what you want, perfectly clear tonight, Dean." Cas growls. He watches as his friend turns his back on him and walks down the hall towards the living room—his pace, much brisker and more controlled than before. Dean begins to panic, a whole new breed than what he felt when he was in bed with Castiel. This panic electrifies his body and sends his mind screaming as if someone has just set it on fire. Castiel is literally leaving him and by the tone in his voice and the deadness of his usually, brilliant eyes—Dean fears it will be for good. He stares down at the floor, glaring back and forth across the knots of the floorboards, searching for something to stop his only, real friend from walking away.

"I didn't lie!" Dean bursts out, feeling his voice start to crack.

Cas stops half way through the living room, not turning, just stoic against the silence.

"I didn't lie about caring about this, Cas." Dean whirrs, voice slipping into a gentleness that had been lost from the room. He quickly closes the distance between him and his friend, reaching his hand up a little, wanting to touch the man's arm but stopping and dropping it again; knowing that he may not want the touch. "I care." he whispers once more, finally letting his head fall forward, until his brow is resting on the wings of Cas's shoulder blades.

Dean can feel the man's heart beat hard through his body. He inhales him one more time, letting the scent file through him and stow itself away in his memory. He clings tightly to it, knowing it may need to last him. Cas's body shifts beneath his head. The fabric of his shirt slides against his skin and Dean looks up a little, to see Cas, turning around.

Azure flecks return between the grey and shine against the light, beaming from the kitchen. The corners of Cas's mouth twitch, and he seems to shrink an inch as every muscle melts beneath his skin.

"You didn't lie?" Cas asks, finally letting his forehead lean onto Dean's; the entire weight of his body, seeming to push into the touch.

Dean smiles, and shakes his head slowly, shaking Cas's with it.

"You want to try to understand this?" Cas whispers, closing his eyes as if in prayer.

"Yeah, Cas." Dean confirms, closing his eyes too, letting Cas's smell and warmth wrap around him.

"And . . ." his friend's voice trails off for a moment, as if trying to find its way, "did you want to kiss that woman?" Cas probes, turning his head to the side a little, flinching before Dean can even answer.

Dean hesitates, not sure if the truth will help or hurt, "I wanted to be wanted, Cas. I wanted that this morning. I guess I just . . . I just thought that you—"

Cas begins to laugh, small little, raspy chuckles that break Dean's thoughts, making him straighten his neck and open his eyes. Cas is still blinding himself to the world, smiling and shaking his head.

"What?" Dean asks, feeling a little concerned about the grin now forming on his own face, unsure if there's reason yet to be smiling.

Castiel breathes in deep, preparing to let Dean in on the joke.

"I wanted the same, damn thing."