As the weekend approaches, Cas decides he needs to get out of the apartment. Since the detoxification process began, he has been lounging on the couch or cuddling with the toilet and frankly, he is sick of it. He wants to feel the grass between toes and the wind on the nape of his neck. To feel the tug on his shoulders as his wings sway in the wind. There is something about four walls that make him feel like drowning, accompanied by Dean's being one-step behind him. He picks up after him and gets him drinks, blankets, and Tylenol and Cas feels smothered.
When Dean is asleep, he shrugs off his afghan and grabs his wings, which are safely tucked away between the bookshelf and couch. The door creaks when it is opened so Cas does his best to compress his body and fit through the crack. When he has finished jimmying a stick in the frame of the main door, he makes his way to the park. The town is silent apart from a dog barking nearby.
Cas breathes in the fresh air before a new wave of nausea settles in his stomach. He finds a bench to sit on and perches his head between his knees the way his mother taught him to do as child. His stomach lurches but he is able to swallow it down, no longer as violent as it was in the beginning. He pulls his wings over his shoulders and feels impervious. When the nausea has subsided he walks across the field and digs his toes in the grass, it is soft and comfortable and all he needs.
He pulls out his little note book and a pen that has been borrowed, not stolen. Cas takes pleasure in the way the ink works smoothly across the pages. He recalls a nightmare he had last night and begins to put the picture into words, the moon serving as a light. He smells the sulfur and burning of flesh, hears the screams of lost souls. Around him are black eyes, black souls, cutting into the innocent, then there is him. In the center, he's always trapped in the mix of it all, no matter how much he wants to save them those chains weigh him down. Then there's Anna and she's screaming so loud it shatters windows and break light bulbs. He can hear his father's cackle making him stop because anymore and it will be real again. Inhale, exhale.
He digs his toes in the grass again and watches the stars. He could never tell the Big Dipper from Orion's Belt but he could appreciate the beauty of God's handiwork. He stifles a laugh. He thinks back to the day when his father took them to the Creation Museum in Kentucky. He could care less about Noah's Ark but the observatory enthralled him. To know that he was a speck in this universe is fascinating, seeing the colors galaxies created as they spiraled too close is even better.
The wind picks up, he feels like he is floating, riding a brand new high, and the only way down is to fall. If he concentrates hard enough he can feel the earth rotating beneath him. He lies down and hums the tune to something he had heard Dean play the day before. There is a rustle in the distance but Cas is too distracted by galaxies to notice. When figure sits beside him, Cas turns to see Dean staring up at the sky. He notices the wonder is his eyes, the shadows on his jaw line, the way the moon light makes him look deified. That's how Dean has been to Cas, a savior.
Dean's voice is raspy when he tries to whisper, "When my dad had bad nights I'd drive Sammy to an empty field down past our house. We'd just lay on the hood of the Impala and watch the stars." He keeps his gaze at the sky when he speaks. Cas nods.
"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt, just when it was too quiet I got a little worried." Something warm grows in Cas' chest so he smiles this time when he nods.
Dean's eyeing him back now, looks like he's about to speak but shuts his mouth. Instead, he picks at the edge of Cas' notebook before rolling it over in his hands. He reads 'Sermons' on the cover before opening to the first page. They are scribbles mainly, small notes Cas has made to himself. His eyes scan doodles Cas has made, making no real attempt to read the words. When he's done he tosses it back on Cas' chest.
"That's some dark shit, Cas." Then he's lying beside him, elbows bumping. Cas can't figure out why his heart is beating faster and wonders if his nausea will come back.
"They are the results of nightmares and bad trips," he laughs out, but there is nothing funny about having your fears exposed. He looks back at the sky to ground himself against the anxiety that has been rolling through him.
It is Dean's turn to nod and look away. He opts to change the subject when he can't formulate a reply. "Are you feeling better?" He rolls to his side so Cas can see the concern on his face. A heat climbs up Cas' neck to his cheeks because he can feels Dean breathe beside him and the last time he was this close to someone it was in an exchange for pot, and he didn't have money to offer.
He focuses hard on a tree branch moving in the wind. "Much, thanks." He clears his throat and wonders when stars and galaxies became so intimate.
Since Dean started spending nights awake with him, he thinks. Since Dean became more than just a stranger who gave him a bite to eat. He's helping him, or trying to, and sharing stories, personal ones. He buys Grace litter and gives Cas old clothes to wear. He's there when he vomits and thinks it will be the day he dies. Dean never throws a fit when he sleeps in late or kicks him out when his hands shake so bad that he breaks another dish. Cas doesn't know what to do with it all so he pockets his notebook and walks back to the apartment with Dean at his side.
After Cas has four cups of coffee and has managed to clean all of the dishes he sits down at the kitchen table. He found another piece of paper and think it's time to finally write. Writing is hard a first but, he scribbles out the bad bits and keeps going.
Dear Anna,
I'm staying with a man friend. He's nice, you would like him. He works at some bar, that's not important. It's your birthday soon, relish in being an adult. I couldn't get you a present, sorry. But I'm doing well, better now. I'm sober, Dean did that. I have a cat, you would like her, too. She's white and has black paws, like she walked in paint. I named her Grace. That's not important.
I miss you and I'm sorry I left so abruptly. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get in touch. I was lost for a while. I miss Gabriel too, I hope he's doing well. I wish I could be there, to see you graduate. I know dad wouldn't like that, though. I'm sorry for that too.
I miss you, I love you,
Castiel
He gives the envelope to Dean to fill out the address and he promises to mail it on his way to work. They are settled in front of the T.V. when Cas tells him about Anna. He leads with the letter, with her age and the school she's attending. He tells him about the day she made him wings because he's Castiel and angels have wings. How she begrudgingly made another pair for Gabriel when he complained that he's an angel too. His voice breaks when he talks about the day he left. Says that he regrets it but, his dad would not give him another choice. That's what happens when you bring drugs into your religious father's house. When he catches you sneaking out at night and coming back too stoned to remember to be quiet. He is angry when he talks about being kicked out of school because his father refusing to pay the tuition.
Cas thinks of Dean and his brother. Says he would forgive him, if he were Sam. Dean should call him and work things out. Sam is older now, level headed. Castiel tells him that minds just don't function the way they should when people are on that shit. He would do the same, has done the same, but Dean is a good brother and Sam is a good kid. Dean remembers to grab the envelope before he leaves for work an hour early.
Cas wants to say he is sorry so he starts opening cabinets and pulling out ingredients. There are old cookbooks on the bookshelf and he flips to the pie recipes. Dean does not have much to work with but that does not stop Cas from rolling out enough dough for a crust. There is pumpkin pie filling, abandoned from Thanksgiving's past, and then Cas is waiting for the timer. He has never been one to cook but he has his fingers crossed that it is not terrible.
When the timer finally announces that the pie is finished, Cas is humming along to one of Dean's tapes that he's managed to get working in a beat up stereo. He sits on the couch with Grace waiting for Dean to come home. After a moment of thought, he laughs at how much of a housewife he has become. He needs to get a job soon to start pulling his own weight. The final chords of a Metallica song beat out of the stereo when Dean comes in with take-out. The scent of greasy burgers fills the room, causing Cas to nearly forget the pie.
Dean is heading into the kitchen to set down the food and stops at the archway. He looks at the pie, to the stove, to Cas, then back at the pie. He slowly rests the food on the table and rests his hands on his hips. Cas wonders if he's done something wrong until Dean erupts in laughter. Then he is pulling out plates and forks and cuts slices for Cas and him. He is still laughing when he slides into the space beside Cas and slides a plate and fork his way. Cas watches as he pushes a bite past his lips and smiles around his fork.
"Cas you make pie as good as this everyday and you can live here forever," he manages between bites.
Cas feels his face warm as he starts in on his own slice. It's not bad, not Martha Stewart worthy either. Dean likes it though, so he feels accomplished. When they are finished, Dean sets their plates in the sink and debates eating his burger now or digesting first. He sticks them in the fridge and things they can wait. Cas turns the stereo off and claims the couch for himself, stretching out his legs. Dean musses up his hair and mutter goodnight, his hand lingers when he seems to realize what he's done. Cas doesn't want him to move though, so he catches his retreating hand. Dean runs the pad of his thump across the back of his hand, smirks as if he has figured something out and goes to his room. That night Cas dreams of laying on the moon and holding hands with strangers.