Chapter 16: Lost

The drive back to the bunker is quiet for the most part. Castiel tries to ignore Dean's pursed lips and the annoyed way with which he flips on his music. Instead, Cas leans his head against his window and watches the scenery outside. The trees blur and road signs pass, while Castiel struggles to figure out the images in his mind.

His thoughts travel back to the two distinct flashes, the most discernible parts: Dean bloody on the floor, and the angel Naomi with her hand in his own chest. It doesn't take much to deduce that for some reason, she has something to do with his falling from grace, but the image of Dean bloodied and injured on the floor; it haunts his mind.

The silence must finally be too much for Dean, for he finally flicks off his music and looks at Castiel. His eyes are narrowed, and his mouth is turned downward. The engine of the impala roars as Dean's foot presses down on the pedal, his hand on the steering wheel is gripping it tight.

"What gives, Cas?"

Castiel lifts his head slowly from its resting spot against the cool window. His eyes meet Dean's very briefly, before Dean glances back at the road. Cas puts a hand to his chest, mindlessly as he remembers the brief flash in his mind of Naomi with her hand there. He shakes his head and puts his hand back into his lap. His hands overlap each other, each long finger intertwining as he squeezes his hands together tightly and looks downwards.

Dean reaches one hand over, his left hand taking over the steering wheel. He places his palm facing upward, gesturing for Cas to take his hand. Cas recognizes it as a sign of affection, but he can't stop the panicked feeling that is sinking in his gut, that he is more lost than he had previously thought. His eyes quickly flicker back to the passing scenery outside his window, and he exhales slowly, ignoring Dean's outstretched hand, hoping that Dean will believe he did not see it to begin with.

A moment passes before Dean pulls his hand away, which Castiel catches in his peripheral vision. Castiel can almost feel the anger emanating from Dean. He sneaks a glance, and his heart beats a step more quickly when he notices Dean's jaw is clenched tight. His eyebrows are drawn tightly together, and his lips are pursed as if they are trying to hold in some choice words. Cas can only assume that he doesn't want to hear the words raging around Dean's head right now.

He takes a deep breathe, and leans his head back against his headrest. The road stretches out in front of them, and Dean flicks his headlights on and off. He finally breaks the silence, his voice is neutral and cold, but Cas can tell there is a wave of uncertainty riding beneath.

"So, you mad at me for some reason now?" Dean asks.

Castiel shakes his head slowly. He isn't sure what he feels really. He feels upset, and lost, and confused by the images in his head. If he closes his eyes, he can see things clearer for just a moment before it blurs again. Something feels off, and a feeling of mistrust has settled into his bones. His old bones, carrying so much baggage, are burdened with new uncertainty.

"Dean, I've been having flashbacks"

Cas doesn't even need to look at Dean to feel the change in the air around them. He looks anyway, because despite his reservations, he likes to look at Dean. His eyes take in the way Dean's shoulders tense, his eyes squint as if to decipher some small meaning in the distance. Dean's breathing becomes shorter and his lips form a small "o" as he tries to find something to say. Castiel doesn't need to look at Dean to understand. Dean knows something that he doesn't want to share.

"Well, uh, Cas, try not to dwell on that too much, OK?" he says, stammering slightly. Cas knows by now that Dean is a terrible liar. He can put on a suit and pretend to be an FBI agent, or smooth talk his way through any confrontation…but Dean can't lie to Sam, and he can't lie to Cas. Maybe it was all the time Cas spent watching over Dean, when Dean knew it and when he didn't. He'd memorized the very wrinkle in Dean's forehead that gave him away and the stuttering when he told Sam he was fine even when he wasn't.

The sinking feeling in his stomach grows heavy like a stone, and Cas can only quietly reply "ok", before closing his eyes again to try to filter his thoughts through the running sieve of his mind. He can't help the seed of mistrust and doubt sitting low in his gut, forcing him to ask questions that he has been avoiding all along.

When they arrive back at the bunker, it is almost time for the sun to rise. Cas tries to ignore the jerky movements of Dean parking the car into the open spot on the street, or the way he slams his car door shut. He opens his mouth to speak, but can't find any words to say. Sympathies escape him, as he hangs his head low and follows Dean inside.

The bunker is dark, meaning Sam is in bed already. A dim light is left on in the kitchen, and Dean heads in there first. Castiel puts down their hunting bag, and listens for a moment as he hears Dean rummaging through the fridge. He hears the distinct clanking of glasses bottles, and rolls his eyes. He should have guessed. Dean didn't seem to drink nearly as often these days, but it was his safety net whenever things were bothering him.

Castiel feels a small tug in his heart, knowing that his foul mood and attitude were responsible for Dean's current anger, but he can't help but feel detached from it as well. He doesn't want to be comforting, to be comforted, or to be there. He wants to fly away, to retreat within himself, to be an angel again. Cas shakes his head, squandering that thought before it takes off and creates an empty void in his heart.

He throws one last quick glance towards the kitchen before deciding that Dean would probably be drinking on his own for a while, and there would be no sense in standing here. He takes the stairs lightly and quietly, pausing for a moment outside the open door to Dean's room. He hangs his head low as he realizes that he doesn't want to sleep in there, not tonight. Cas takes a deep breath and continues down the dark hallway towards the room that was his, but only in name.

The top of the dresser is covered in dust, and a small pile of dirty clothing is stacked in a corner. The bed is still made, like it had been for months. Cas sighs heavily and wraps his arms around his chest for a moment as he examines the dim light on the ceiling and the shadows it casts on the bare walls. For a brief moment, he considers retreating to the safety of Dean's room again, but he decides against this as he hears Dean's door slam in anger.

Cas sighs again and begins to remove his jacket ignoring the pain in his shoulder. He tosses his jacket over the lone chair in the corner and begins to remove the black shirt he was wearing, that is now unfortunately blood stained and extremely dirty. Cas wrinkles his nose slightly at he looks down at his jeans and notices the dirt stains from the damp old house they had been crawling around in. He considers showering, but he realizes he is too exhausted to even finish changing.

He throws his dirty clothing into the pile in the corner, and throws himself face first onto his bed. The room is cold, uninviting, and Cas quickly pulls his legs up to tuck them into the cool blankets. He tries to ignore the emptiness of the space beside him, pulling his arms tightly around his pillow. Within minutes, Cas finds himself drifting to sleep; somewhere between his nightmares and reality.