"So this whole Wing gig, what's that about?" Dean asks over breakfast.
Suddenly self-conscious, Cas sits his fork on his empty plate. He can feel his cheeks become warm due to the rarity of discussing his 'career'. Career, Cas stifles a laugh at the term. As far as he can remember, the wings have just been a part of him, the preaching not so much. More a result of his drug induced allusions.
"Castiel, my name, it's the angel of Thursday," he states. Dean nods and shoves a forkful of pancakes in his mouth.
"So, you're like some prophet or some shit?" Cas stifles another laugh.
"For a profit," he chuckles now at his own joke. It's not as though he made much of any income. Most people listen for a moment but once his ramblings start to become blasphemy it's game over. He would have to grow extra limbs to count how many passerbies have retaliated to his sermons. He's always been much too stoned to care and thankful for the folks who throw pity change his way. These days he makes more money during back alley bargains with strangers who are too pushy, too needy and Cas never says no.
"I don't mean any offense man, but those things look like they were put together by a child."
Cas goes stiff, his chair suddenly uncomfortable and the room too small. He runs a hand through his hair and focuses on his plate. He decides he's too sober to talk about this but tries anyway.
"My sister, Anna, she made them before I left." He recalls the day she made them. They had moved into their new home, leaving discarded boxes strewn about. She was young and so damn artistic already. The room goes cold, making Cas shiver. He's back to the day he left again and Anna's small hands forcing those wings into his. The way she looked at him like some sort of superhero and he just needed his wings then he's off to save the human race. She had so much goddamned faith in him.
If he would not of spent so much time trying to pick battles with every word that hung from his father's tongue maybe he'd still be there. Maybe he could be there to watch her graduate next spring. There would be congratulations and him teasing the poor bastard that decided to be attracted to his little sister. He'd wake up on Sundays and go to the chapel she would later be wed in. His mornings would have coffee and breakfast instead of hangovers and empty stomach and endless miles.
Before thoughts like, shouldn't have left, and wayward son can enter his mind he's pushing past the table into the bathroom. He splashes cold water on his face before picking the pill bottle from his pocket and tossing two back. Inhale, exhale. He looks at his reflection, the bags under his eyes, feels the way they burn with threats of tears. There is a knock at the door so he tries to swallow down this thing that's been crawling up his esophagus. Then Dean's looking at him like he's holding an eternity of apologies in his eyes and Cas needs to go outside.
Dean doesn't pry when Cas shows up an hour later. When he's tripping over his feet grumbling to himself. He pours him a glass of water and waits for him to be coherent again. Cas wonders why he hasn't thrown him out yet. But he's grateful. His clothes haven't been washed yet but Dean's found him a new change of clothes that hang loosely from him. When his head starts to spin again he finds refuge on the couch and holds Grace. She smells, he realizes.
Sometime when Cas was gone Dean bought cat shampoo and other essentials. Tells Cas that he's in charge of cleaning the litter box. Cas runs a hand through matted fur and decides now is a good time for her bath. Grace is small compared to the tub and he can't stop laughing at how ridiculous she looks with a soap beard. Waters soaking through his shirt but he can't be bothered to change it. Instead he swaddles Grace in a towel and holds her to keep her from shaking. He wonders how long she's been on her own. Dean doesn't flinch when he sits beside him with her but still refuses to pet her. Says it won't be so bad when he finally gets some Claritin, or some sort of medication at least. Cas is a burden again. He lets Grace hop to the floor and whispers an apology.
Dean doesn't work until late so he spends the day around the house tip-toeing around Cas. When Dean's been silent for a while Cas tries to speak again, a buzz to get him through this time. As he opens his mouth, he realizes he doesn't actually know what to say. He hardly knows Dean.
"When did you want me to leave?" he find appropriate to ask.
"Uh," Dean is taken aback. "I hadn't thought that through actually. I mean until you're on your feet I guess."
Cas laughs. "That could be quite a while." He sinks into the couch.
"Well I could talk to Ellen at the roadhouse, I'm sure she wouldn't mind offering you a job. You would be doing grunt work but it's something."
"I haven't worked in a long time."
The room is silent a moment before Dean sighs. "I'm guessing whatever you're on right now isn't helping."
Cas stammers and shakes his head. They really aren't. He swallows and looks anywhere but Dean. Waits for him to hand him his things and send him back to the alleys.
"Are you going to tell me what they are or am I going to have to find out for myself," his voice is stern now.
Cas fidgets until he's holding an old prescription bottle he got through some trade. Four pills rattle inside of it and before he can twist off the cap Dean is grabbing it. He makes a bee line for the bathroom, Cas hears the toilet flush and sobers at the sound. His pills are gone, Dean flushed them. Before he can get through the door, Dean is pushing him back by the shoulders. There's screaming and Cas realizes it's him, words flying out of his mouth so fast it sounds like a foreign language. Dean just repeats that it is for the better and he ain't having that shit in his house. Cas's eyes burn because he's crying now and he's angry and his body is made of lead dragging him to the floor.
Dean doesn't leave when he starts shouting at him, just braces himself against it. He doesn't kick Cas out when he throws a fist, or when his nose is bleeding. Doesn't swing back when Cas is screaming in his face again. And when Cas has worn himself out he doesn't leave. He holds a rag to his nose and sits on the floor next to him. Cas throat hurts from screaming and his knuckles hurt from colliding with Dean's face. He's tired and wants to sleep but sits on the floor instead and tries to catch his breath. He's startled when Dean finally speaks up.
"I should have expected this," he huffs out a laugh but there's no humor. "This isn't the first time." His voice falters. Cas is too disoriented to reply.
When some of the tension has left Dean speaks again.
"My brother, he had the same problem."
"I'm sorry," Cas isn't sure if he means for his brother or for lashing out at him.
"No, but, Sammy, he's good now. I guess when I saw you out there, with those little wings. I couldn't just leave you I guess." Cas is quiet.
"You gotta sober up man," he claps him on the shoulder and leaves him to his thoughts.
He wonders how old his brother is, where he is now. Then he wonders if Dean was the one to help him the way he trying to aid him. He thinks of his own brother Gabriel, how he was always trying to give him advice. Cas never listened, felt it imprinted in his DNA to rebel.
By the time Dean has to leave for work they've ordered pizza and watched more Star Wars than Cas thought existed. They still haven't spoken of the 'incident' and Cas prefers it that way. Through forced conversation, he's learned that Sam's at Stanford now and going to become a lawyer. Dean does not like to talk about his mother but is more than happy to complain about his dad. He hates frilly music, would die before giving up his Impala and his favorite food is pie.
Cas isn't as enthusiastic about giving back stories but mentions his father's pressing of religion as one of the reasons he's started writing sermons. They are more of a fuck you, a sort of backlash. Talks about the times him and his brother got into trouble at school. He's in a state of nostalgia when he remembers the good times he had with his family but crumbles when he remembers Anna's birthday is soon. Silence consumes them again and Cas wants to punch Dean again. Instead, he asks for some paper, and an envelope if it's not too much trouble.
After Dean has left, he stares at blank lines and wonders what to say. Last his family knew, he was good on his own, owned an apartment, going to school. That was before the universe upended itself and knocked Cas on his ass. Before he was trading stress-relief in for a-whole-new-color-spectrum that was harder growing harder and harder to say no too. When the funds ran out there was no help, no fall back and Cas chose to keep moving forward. The further he runs the more the demons engulf him and it feels good doesn't it? Cas sets his pen aside and thinks the book shelf really needs a good dusting. When Dean comes home, the shelves are organized, the floors been swept and the laundry has been done. He never picks the pen back up.