Chapter Text
About Five Times The Distance
then I knew
in the crystalline knowledge of you
drove me through the mountains
through the crystal like and clear water fountain
drove me like a magnet
to the sea
Dean wakes slowly. Judging from the way he feels all groggy and his mouth tastes like unwashed cotton, he must have slept too long. Rolling over with a grunt, refusing to open his eyes, he fumbles a hand out of the sheets, reaching for—
He blearily blinks his eyes open.
The left side of his bed is empty.
Dean frowns, immediately feeling his mood sink.
He rubs a hand over his face and sighs, then sits up and throws the covers off, because where's the point in staying in bed and dozing when there's no Cas to snuggle up to and—and whatever.
He puts socks on, stomps his feet into his slippers, then opts for his gray hoodie instead of his robe because it's softer and warmer.
Whatever.
Shuffling over to the sink, he scrubs his hands and face clean, and refuses to look at his bedhead and likely disgruntled expression.
When he enters the kitchen, Dean's greeted by the sight of Cas and Sam at the table. There's a half-empty coffee mug dangerously perched by Sam's elbow, and he's got his laptop in front of him while Cas is dicking around on his phone.
Dean rolls his eyes and goes to get his own mug.
“Hey,” Sam greets him, only looking up briefly and then going right back to scrolling. If he's that engrossed, it's either a case or serial killer stats. Dean suppresses a shudder to avoid spilling coffee on the counter he scrubbed clean only yesterday.
“Good morning, Dean.”
This early, Cas's voice is rough, his hair's a mess even though he didn't even sleep, and he doesn't look up from his phone at all.
Dean scowls, and says nothing, and adds sugar and milk and a pinch of cinnamon to his coffee since no one is paying him enough attention to notice anyway. He could dance the hula for all the attention Cas is giving him.
It's not like Dean is asking Cas to—like, morning breath and all, and maybe it's important what he's doing on his phone, or maybe he just ain't in the mood.
Or maybe Dean did something?
He quickly goes over yesterday in his head while leaning against the counter sipping his coffee—they stocked up on groceries, drove back home, Dean cooked, took a shower before bed, then Cas came into his room and they talked a bit until Dean fell asleep.
Maybe it's something Dean said? But all they did was talk about Jack, because he's still struggling now that he's as good as human.
Or... Cas is simply not a stay-in-bed-and-cuddle, sleepy-morning-kisses kinda guy. The dude doesn't sleep; Dean should be content that Cas wastes a couple hours every night letting Dean fall asleep next to him and staying until he's really out for the count. Sometimes he even lets Dean falls asleep on his chest, and if Dean wakes up alone later, well, it's still more than he's ever had before. He shouldn't complain.
Dean slumps further against the counter, huddles into his hoodie and licks sugary coffee residue off of his lips.
If this is all he's going to get, then, well. It's cool. He's going to suck it up and be grateful.
“Hey, you e-e-eaten yet?”
Finally, that gets a reaction.
Sam lifts his head, looking hopeful. “Uh, no. You gonna make breakfast?”
Dean rolls his eyes and turns around to the stove.
Clearly, he is surrounded by lazy slobs.
>
Cooking and having something to do with his hands calms Dean down despite himself. Of course the giant slug Dean's making breakfast for lacks the decency to set the table, so Dean does that himself—joke's on Sam though, because he will do the clean up for once, or so help him.
Dean sits down beside Cas, close enough their elbows are brushing. At one point, Cas stretches so that his arm is behind Dean, and Dean tries to play it cool because surely Cas is going to lay his arm around him now, all nice and heavy and warm, and—
And Cas puts both his elbows back on the table, attention again consumed by playing what looks like Words With Friends, probably with Claire.
The stab of irrational disappointment is so sharp, Dean's appetite decides to curl up in a corner and die. He shoves his barely touched plate away from himself and scrubs a hand over his face.
“Dean? Are you alright?”
Cas is looking at him with round, worried eyes. Dean is so startled, he doesn't answer, and the next thing he knows Cas has laid a flat palm on his forehead and is squinting at him.
“You feel a bit hot.”
Dean feels himself smile despite himself, warmth spreading in his chest where he felt cold before.
He's about to make a dumb joke when Sam groans and says, “Guys, we talked about this.”
Dean's smile falls away and he frowns at Sam, who frowns right back.
Cas takes his hand off Dean's head, and, great , moment officially ruined.
“We d-d-d-didn't even d-do anyth-th-th-thing!”
Dean shares a look with Cas, who looks equally as confused.
Sam just keeps frowning and then steamrolls right over them, “I got a call earlier. Apparently over seventy people have gone missing in San Diego over the last three months or so, all of them homeless. No bodies, no demon activity. The woman who called me, Molly, used to be a hunter herself. When she got wind of our network, she reached out. Mom and Bobby are still busy with that vetala case, so. I say we go check this out.”
Dean's mood, if possible, sinks further. They just finished a salt and burn three days ago, and he'd been hoping for some more time to just, well, nest , and hang out, especially now that the bunker is just theirs again and they don't have to worry about fucking Michael anymore. He sighs.
“F-f-fine. What about the k-kid, he up yet?” It's been a couple months since he lost his Grace, but Jack still has trouble sleeping. A lot of the time, he either sleeps like a drunk baby or not at all.
“Yeah, I talked with him already, think he's packing a bag now. Hey, are you really not gonna eat that?”
Dean shoves his plate over to Sam, who takes it and shovels Dean's eggs over onto his own plate. The fuck, why doesn't he just use Dean's?
Sam shoves Dean's empty plate back to him and digs in happily. Dean only barely stops himself from rolling his eyes, again , and turns halfway around to Cas, “You c-c-comin' with?” He doesn't bother hiding the hope in his voice.
Cas finally sets his phone down. “Of course,” he says, sounding far too serious, but the affirmation still soothes Dean’s stupid separation anxiety.
Sam lets his fork clutter onto his plate and stands up, “Gonna go pack, meet you at the car.”
He's gone so fast Dean doesn't even have time to tell him to clean up after himself.
Dean stares at the two empty plates. Sam’s been tense and skittish and irritable lately. It doesn’t even help that Dean knows why, because he’s not sure how to fix it. If Sam was even honest about what’s wrong.
It's silent, and when Dean finally lifts his head, Cas is looking the way Sam left with a frown of annoyance.
“He's being rude. Why is he being rude? I didn't kiss you, I wasn't even going to.”
Dean rubs at his forehead and shrugs, suddenly feeling incredibly tired.
“I d-dunno... guess he n-needs m-more—more t-time, or w-w-w-whatever.” He gestures vaguely and Cas frowns.
“It's been a month. I don’t understand what it is he says he needs to get used to.”
Dean swallows, feeling guilty. If he'd managed to put his foot down...
“'M gonna t-talk with him ag-g-gain. Ok-k-kay? I promise.”
Cas's expression instantly softens, and he reaches over and puts a hand on Dean's back, and oh, finally . Even that simple touch feels so nice Dean is all but melting into it.
It would be even nicer if Cas would run his hand up and down, rub Dean's back a little, but he's going to take what he can get.
“It's not your fault, Dean,” Cas is saying.
Dean fiddles with the cuffs of his hoodie and tries to believe that.
“You're n-not mad?” He asks at length.
Cas smiles softly and shakes his head, but he also takes his hand off Dean's back, and Dean has to fight down the urge to grab it and put it back there.
“Of course not, Dean.”
Dean grimaces. He knows Cas means it, but it only serves to make him feel more guilty. He scowls at the table.
“Yeah, well, mayb-b-be you should be.”
Dean's about to get up and start with clean-up when Cas stops him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Dean.”
Dean sits back down, nervously meets Cas's eyes.
“I know you hate being at odds with Sam—”
Dean grimaces, because yeah, true, but still.
“Just remember that you did nothing wrong. Okay?”
That's not going to be easy, but... okay.
Dean swallows, and nods.
When he lifts his head, Cas is looking at him all soft; that certain blend of worry and admiration that makes Dean brave and shy at the same time. He licks his lips and then smirks at Cas, all lopsided and false bravado because his heart is stumbling all over the place.
“Sooo—you w-w-weren't goin' to k-kiss me, huh?”
Cas looks puzzled for a moment and then fond, huffing out an amused breath and shaking his head lightly at Dean's antics.
“Maybe I could be persuaded,” Cas says, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, crows-feet deepening, a slow smile tugging at his mouth because he's caught on now to the game they're playing.
“Oh y-yeah?” Dean asks, leaning in, looking at Cas through hooded eyes, unable to keep from smiling.
“Yes,” Cas breathes against his mouth, voice raspy, and then he closes the last bit of distance between them, and, oh .
Cas's lips are a bit chapped, but his mouth is soft and warm. Dean sighs against his cheek, his eyes closing the rest of the way. Cas might not be the most experienced kisser, but he appears determined to learn as fast as possible. Dean is happy to let him ‘practice’, and even more happy with the fact that Cas has started to take control of their kisses more and more as he gains in confidence.
Like now: Cas coaxing Dean's mouth open, gentle but insistent, one of his hands cupping Dean's cheek while the other is lightly gripping the short strands of hair at the back of his head, keeping him in place.
It makes Dean feel warm all over.
Wanted.
Held.
Somehow, his hands have found their way to Cas's forearms. The solid strength there kicks his desire up a notch, and he has to pause their kiss to moan lowly against Cas's mouth.
He leans back in, and Cas—leans away.
Dean blinks his eyes open, already panicking, because fuck , what did he do, was that too much?
Cas doesn't look mad or irritated though. More like a mix of exasperated and frustrated.
“Dean—we've got a case, you need to get ready.”
Dean shakes his head and leans back in, because nope, just no.
“D-d-don't c-c-care. More k-kissing.”
Instead of getting with the program, Cas sighs and gets up and starts collecting the plates. “Come on, I'll help you clean up.”
Dean grumbles under his breath and takes a moment to fight down his disappointment.
“Dean?”
He must have spaced out, because Cas is looking at him with the milk bottle in one hand and a frown on his face.
“Are you alright?”
Dean opens his mouth. Closes it again.
He doesn't want to say he is when he's not.
But how can he ask for more when Cas seems so content with what they have?
“It's, um.” Dean fidgets with his hands, then rises and walks halfway around the table to stand beside Cas. “Just s-s-sucks that we d-didn't get more together-r-r t-t-time, y'know.”
When he's scraped together the courage to meet Cas's eyes, Cas is looking at him all warm and maybe a little bit sad, and okay, Dean really wants close now. Wants to hug.
He broadcasts his movements, giving Cas plenty of time to back out, but Cas just puts the milk bottle down and steps right into the hug, drawing Dean close. Dean sighs and leans his head on Cas's shoulder, tucking his face into Cas's neck.
He wishes they had a stereo system in the kitchen, and a little bit of luck, because then some slow-dancing song would start playing just now, and they could sway a little, and maybe kiss a little, and—
Cas draws out of the hug, his hands caressing down Dean's back and one coming to rest on his side. That would be nice on its own, if less nice than the hugging, but Cas is squinting up at Dean with worry again.
“Is something the matter? You've seemed... out of sorts, lately. At first I thought it was just because of Sam, but now I'm not so sure anymore.”
Dean shifts his weight and stares at Cas's chest, trying to find the right words.
“For instance,” Cas adds, “You're not usually this... clingy.”
Dean grimaces and shifts to step out of Cas's hold.
“Dean, wait—”
Cas moves with him, and Dean stops and warily lifts his head.
“It doesn't bother me,” Cas is saying, peering earnestly into Dean's eyes. “But is it because—did you have another flashback last night while I wasn’t there?”
Dean shakes his head and attempts a smile. “Was just k-kinda l-l-lonely w-when I woke up.”
Cas looks perplexed. “Oh”, he says. “Jack was awake early and I wanted to check on him. He didn't feel like going back to sleep so I stayed with him.” Cas squints at him. “This is what upset you,” he says, uncertainly but too flatly for it to be a question.
Dean flounders.
“Well—y-yeah. No. I—”
“Dude, are you still not ready?!”
Sam is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking annoyed.
Dean scowls and steps away from Cas, fingers twitching with pent-up frustration.
“C-c-comin'.”
From his periphery, he can see Sam nodding and leaving. Dean's shoulders slump and he scrubs his hands over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Rain ch-check?” He asks Cas, voice subdued with exhaustion, and they haven't even left the bunker yet.
When he lets his hands sink, Cas mostly looks resigned.
“Okay, Dean.”
Dean grimaces, then manages a weak grin.
“Gonna go l-l-l-look if Sam used up a-a-a-all the hot water for his stupid hair. Good l-l-luck kiss?”
Cas huffs and rolls his eyes, but there's that smile tugging one corner of his mouth up.
“You will sulk if I don't kiss you, won't you?”
Dean is grinning genuinely now. “Yep. All-l-l the sulking. D-d-definitely.”
Cas shakes his head in exasperation, but his smile is betraying him. Dean gets all of five seconds to feel smug and then Cas's hand is at the back of his head and guiding him into a sweet if short kiss.
Too short.
Dean leans in for a second one, but Cas stops him with a hand to Dean's chest.
Dean pouts, and briefly contemplates complaining, but he knows Cas is right. He needs to get going.
He takes Cas's hand off his chest and briefly squeezes it. With his other hand, he motions to where Cas's phone is lying on the table, blinking with notifications.
“Say hi to our oth-ther troublem-m-maker for me, 'kay?”
Cas nods.
“I will.”
Dean sighs, and squeezes Cas's hand again, and then leaves to go enjoy their excellent water pressure for a precious five minutes.
>
Jack is napping in the back beside Cas, the radio is on low, Sam is reading, and Dean is driving.
Dean’s missed Baby like fuck during the time he was recovering, and being behind her wheel is usually where he feels the most at peace, but now he shifts in his seat in discomfort. His back is complaining about how tense he is and his stomach is grumbling about how little breakfast he fed it. Dean scowls at the road, and then at Sam. Sam is either oblivious or ignoring him, so Dean scowls at the road again. They need to talk, but it's not going to get resolved that easy, and if he starts now, it might mess up the case.
He sucks it up, and keeps his mouth shut. He is going to splurge on their motel rooms once they're in San Diego though, even though Sam's going to complain. If Sam insists on keeping him from nice things like his memory foam, and falling asleep beside Cas on his memory foam, Dean at least wants a decent mattress and sheets without questionable stains.
And since he's also being kept from cooking something nice in his kitchen, that means burgers for him when they stop for lunch a couple hours later. Sam scrunches his nose and nags Dean about his cholesterol, but Dean tunes him out. The concept of comfort food appears to be entirely lost on Sam.
Dean would wonder where he went wrong raising him, except he knows exactly what went wrong in terms of food when they were kids.
Jack orders a stew that smells delicious, but he's poking at it more than eating it. Dean makes the effort of swallowing before opening his mouth, because it's at times difficult enough to understand him with his stutter as it is. “Hey, k-kid, you okay?”
Sam and Cas stop talking about ancient Sumerian hair products or whatever it was they were going on about that Dean was ignoring in favor of inhaling his food. Jack swallows, eyes fixed on his plate.
Sam turns in his seat, frowning down at Jack, who still isn't looking at any of them. “Jack?”
“It's alright, I'm just—” He sighs, and then abruptly shoves his plate over to Dean and gets out of the booth. “You can have it, I—I will wait outside.” Then he turns around and walks out.
Cas is getting up and Dean reaches out, presses him back into his seat with a hand to his chest. “Give him a m-m-moment.”
For a beat it looks like Cas is going to fight him, but then he deflates. Dean goes back to shoving chili fries into his mouth. When he looks out to the parking lot in search of the kid, he finds him leaning against Baby's side, head bowed.
“What the hell just happened?” Sam looks at Dean, then makes a face and looks at Cas for answers.
Cas is staring out into the parking lot.
“Cas?”
“I'm not sure, I... I need to talk to him.”
Dean gets up so Cas can get out if the booth. He kind of wants to lean in for a quick peck, but Cas has his business face on and Dean tastes like chili and grease, so Dean stomps on his neediness and just sits back down. It doesn't look like the kid's coming back anytime soon and Dean is done with his burger but still hungry, so he starts in on the stew. Sam shoots him a look but his phone vibrates before he can bitch at Dean. Dean watches Sam smile down at his phone as he types, and his suspicions are confirmed when Sam says, “It's Eileen. She's just wrapped up a hunt.”
“She in the area?”
“Dude, chew with your mouth closed. And I dunno, she didn't say.” Sam shrugs and puts his phone down like it's nothing.
Dean frowns. “Well, ask 'er. She could-d-d join us.” He shovels more stew into his mouth. Man, that stuff is good. Next time he’s making Cas read him the menu before ordering.
Sam looks at him like he just proposed they should go river dancing. “Why? There's four of us, I think that's more than enough for this case.” He chuckles a little like Dean is being really silly, but it doesn’t sound sincere.
“And?” Dean counters. He finally doesn't feel like he's starving anymore, but he's going to get the rest of the stew to go. It would be a damn shame to waste it. “Just means l-l-less w-work f-f-f-for all-l-l of us.” Dean rubs at his jaw, irritated with the way his fluency is going downhill. It’s been months but it’s still difficult to hear his words not come out right anymore. “A-a-and unless you b-b-been sneakin' out at night, you guys h-haven't seen each other in while. So w-what gives?”
Something closes off behind Sam's eyes and it makes alarm bells ring in Dean's head. “We're just friends, Dean.” He still sounds calm, but there's an undercurrent to his tone that lets Dean know he needs to back off, now.
“Alr-r-r-right, got it.” Dean turns in his seat and signals the waitress. Sam is putting his phone away, mouth set in a thin line.
>
Dean goes to hit the head and by the time he walks outside with his little take-out box of stew, everyone's already piled back into the Impala. Sam is sitting shotgun again, and Dean would think it's for Jack's benefit so he can be in the back with Cas, except Jack seems to have fallen asleep. Dean would really like to have Cas be in the front with him, so Cas could nag him about staying hydrated and they could argue some more about whether Cowboys vs Aliens is a good bad movie or a bad bad movie.
But Dean’s too tired to argue, so he just gives Cas his take-out box for safe keeping, and then guides Baby back onto the road.
The kid looks like he's out for the count, head leaned against the window at an uncomfortable looking angle. Dean's starting to feel too warm anyway, so he shrugs out of his jacket, holds it out to Cas. “Stuff that und-d-der his head, ‘m g-g-getting a crick in my n-neck just from w-w-watching.”
Sam keeps fiddling with his phone; putting it away, pulling it back out again, then stuffing it almost angrily into his jacket. Dean leaves him be. When it looks like Sam is settling in for a nap himself, Dean switches the radio to a soft rock station. Zep's The Rain Song comes on and Dean feels his cheeks heat.
He risks a glance into the rearview mirror only to see Cas already looking at him, his eyes all soft. Dean's blush instantly gets worse, which is just ridiculous. They're together together now, and it's been what, two years since he gave Cas that tape?
Dean risks another look, and while the adoration in Cas's eyes would make him shy away for sure if they were face to face, now Dean lets himself smile in return. Screw it, right? Sam and Jack are both asleep, and even if they weren't, they wouldn't know what this is about anyway.
Dean can't hold eye contact for too long, because there's, well, the road he's got to pay attention to. But their little private moment has given him a stupid little flutter in his chest, and something that was wound tight in there relaxes a little.
By the time they arrive in Fruita, Colorado, they've been on the road for nine hours. Eight is usually Dean's limit by now, even when they take lots of stops to stretch their legs. He's grumpy and his back hurts when he crawls out of the car in the parking lot of the H Motel just off Interstate 70. The kid had woken up a couple hours earlier but didn't seem in the mood for Cas and Sam's more or less gentle prodding, so Dean had put him to work looking for cheap motels with clean showers and nice beds.
They get two doubles, rooms 19 and 25, because there aren't any family rooms left. Dean's about to call dibs on bunking with Cas when he hesitates. While Sam is busy filling out their very much fake information, Dean walks over to where Jack is studying the pamphlets that are laid out next to the counter.
“Hey, who you w-w-wanna bunk w-with? You d-d-did all-l-l-l the w-w-work, you get to call-l-l dibs.”
Jack puts the pamphlet back down he'd been studying. Dean can't read what's it saying, but judging from the pictures it's some kind of dinosaur exhibition.
The kid looks up at Dean and hesitates for a moment before saying, “I... I'd like to share with Castiel, if that's alright.”
God fucking dammit.
Dean sighs internally, cursing the marshmallow he apparently has for a heart, but he smiles and claps Jack on the back gently.
“Yeah, 'c-c-course.”
>
The rooms are nice, much nicer than what they usually get for 70 dollars a night. Dean almost falls asleep in the shower, and then again when he makes the mistake of sitting down on the bed, but there's a nice little Mexican place right next door, and he's starving. He herds everyone in there, and while Jack ate the rest of the stew after he woke up in the car, the mother hen in Dean is only appeased when the kid gets a serving of nachos and starts wolfing them down in a manner eerily similar to Dean himself.
“How is it,” Cas laments as he watches them eat, “that every time I form a close bond with a child, they adopt Dean’s eating habits.”
Dean wants to object and say that at least Claire did not adopt anything from him, she and Dean just happen to share a love for ketchup and for eating pizza with their hands, but his mouth is too full.
Cas is sitting beside Dean, which is nice, and he nags Dean about slowing down, which is less nice, but it's still attention Dean's getting from him, and Dean is really pathetic for attention from Cas. Not pathetic enough to intentionally swallow wrong and send himself coughing, but enough so that he savors the way Cas pats his back after he's done saying his I-told-you-so’s.
The moment they're back in their rooms, Dean peels out of his jeans and flannel and changes into sweats and a soft tee. Then he collapses on top of his bed with a groan. He drifts somewhere close to sleep while Sam putters around their room, doing fuck knows what. Dean would ask, but he's tired and not in the mood to get his head bitten off. Still, he cracks open an eye and makes a valid effort at kicking his brain into gear when Sam sits down on his bed across from Dean and says, in a really weird tone, “So uh, Eileen wants to help with the case. She should be in San Diego by the time we're there.”
Dean studies Sam for a moment. That tension from earlier is back in his jaw and he keeps fiddling with his phone. So, nervous, but also...angry? What the hell?
“Okay,” Dean says at length. “Th-that's great.”
Sam nods without looking at Dean, but the tension he's holding only seems to coil tighter. Dean sighs and moves to sit up against the headboard, arranging the pillows at his back.
“C'mon, out with it. What's w-w-wrong with her j-j-j-joinin' us?”
“I didn't say there was anything wrong with it.” Sam throws his phone on the bed beside him and starts digging through his bag in a way that tells Dean he isn't looking for anything except a way to end the conversation he started himself.
“Yeah, b-but you're not happy 'bout it. You two f-f-fight?”
Sam throws his bag to the side and stands up, only to hover like an angry giraffe. “No, and I told you we're just friends! Stop talking like we're a couple!”
Sam is definitely angry now, and apparently also on a roll, because Dean starts to say something placating when Sam cuts him off with, “And besides, shouldn't you worry more about your own relationship?”
Dean thinks he should maybe be offended, but he's mostly just confused at the sudden change of topic.
“The h-hell you talkin' ab-b-bout? Me 'n C-Cas are c-c-cool.”
Sam fixes Dean with a look like they're in court and Dean is a sworn witness that Sam is about to accuse of lying.
“Oh yeah? Then why aren't you sleeping together?”
Dean's about to counter that he let the kid choose who to bunk with when it clicks with him what Sam's actually getting at.
“D-d-did you just ask m-me why C-C-Cas and me aren't h-havin' sex ? What th-the fuck , d-dude?!”
Sam lifts his eyebrows like he didn't expect Dean to admit that so fast. “So you aren't,” he states, and Dean has to exert a lot of effort not to throw something at his brother's head because he's getting seriously pissed off.
“Okay, f-f-first of, n-n-none of your business. S-s-second of all, news f-f-flash, somet-t-times people l-l-like to take it s-s-slow.” Dean has to swallow and force in a deep breath, because now he's agitated on top of tired, and that means he’s a hair’s breadth away from blocking on every third word. Sam at the very least has the decency not to interrupt him while he struggles with his mouth. “Stop m-m-making th-this about m-me. We were just talking-g-g ab-bout you . So tell m-me what's w-w-wrong with y-you alread-d-dy!”
For a beat, it seems like Sam is the one who's going to throw something after all, he looks that angry. But then his expression shutters off, and he turns on his heel. “I need some air.” He grabs his key card and his phone and then marches out and slams the door behind him.
Dean stares at the closed door and then lets his head thud against the wall he's been sitting up against. Great. This is just... great.
He sits there for a while torn between being angry at and worried about Sam. His back starts to protest being upright in any way but Dean's feeling too lonely and upset to go to sleep right now. He takes his key card and his phone and pads across the hallway over to room 19, not even bothering to put on shoes, because fuck that noise.
Cas and Jack are playing Scrabble on one of the beds. Dean would ask where they got it from, except the motel probably provided it and also he doesn't care. Jack asks Dean to join, then looks absurdly guilty when he remembers why Dean can't. Dean just waves him off. He's tired and he wants to lie down, he just doesn't want to be alone.
Dean makes a show of complaining about his back and then stretching out on his belly to Cas's left. Cas, because he's a dumbass, doesn't get the hint. After several seconds of lying there while Cas ignores Dean's suffering and Dean in general, Dean finally has enough. He grabs Cas's left hand, puts it on his back, and then lies down again with his face turned away.
Cas doesn't move his hand away but he also doesn't move it at all. “Do you want something, Dean?” He asks, all quiet amusement. Dean can hear the kid try and fail to suppress a chuckle.
“B-b-b-backr-r-r-rub,” he mumbles into the comforter he's lying on, barely intelligible. “N-n-now.”
Cas sighs, because not only is he a dumbass he's also super dramatic, but he does start rubbing Dean's back so Dean instantly forgives him. Jesus, it's nice. Cas's hands are warm but not sweaty, and also they're so freaking big , and strong. And also finally touching Dean. It's a good thing Dean's wearing a tee and is also seriously tired, because otherwise he might just sport a chubby from this, and that would be really awkward with the kid in the room.
It's so nice that Dean must fall asleep at some point, because the next thing he's vaguely aware of is being lifted bridal style into someone's arms. And then his head is resting against Cas's chest, and Dean should really really yell at him to put him the fuck down right now. But he doesn't. Cas is holding him so securely, and it's making Dean's chest do that fluttery thing again, so Dean keeps his eyes closed and lets it happen.
Sam must not be back yet, because Dean hears knocking and then the door being opened with the card, probably by Jack. And then Dean's being put down and tucked into bed, as much as Cas knows how to tuck someone in. Dean really wants a goodnight kiss, but before he can decide whether to blow his cover or not, Cas has already moved away.
The door clicks shut, and then Dean's alone in the dark room, and he really doesn't like it. He's going to have to suck it up though, so he rolls over, fumbles around for one of the extra pillows, draws it into his arms and curls up around it. Sometimes, when it gets so bad Dean thinks he's going to have a public meltdown if he's denied being close to someone for even another hour, he sneaks a hot water bottle into his room when it's time for bed. Having that warmth at his back helps him feel like there's somebody there, and it's the only way he can go to sleep at all.
He hasn't had to do that since him and Cas became, well, him and Cas, because Cas is there often enough when Dean falls asleep. Cas is worlds better than a hot water bottle. And Cas seems content with what they have, because he's not like Dean.
Dean, who hoards more food than he could ever eat, and all the soft bedding he can find. Who starts missing his home, his nest, when they're away from the bunker for too long. Who used to sleep with anyone who would have him because take what you can get or get nothing was the motto he'd learned to live by.
Dean, who seems to need more than anybody else, more than he can ask of anyone.
On his next inhale, Dean hears himself sniffle, and okay, that's... that's just dumb; he can't be lying here crying about this. That's a level of pathetic he's not ready for. It's all fine. Dean's family is close, and they're okay, they're safe. Well, Dean doesn't know where Sam is. But Sam is smart, and he's armed, and he can't be too far away. Probably just having a beer and bitching to people about his dumb older brother. He's okay. Everything's okay.
Dean repeats that mantra until he drifts off. He only wakes up briefly when Sam comes back, but knowing his little brother is close and safe makes it a lot easier to fall asleep again. Dean expects to be able to sleep till morning, but the next time he comes to he's sitting up, his tee is sticking to his back with sweat, his heart is racing, and he can't breathe .
“Dean! Dean, don't do this, c'mon!”
There's a hand touching his back and Dean shudders and jerks away. It's an incentive to open his eyes though, and then Sam's concerned face is swimming in his vision. And oh, Dean's close to hyperventilating. That's not good. He should stop that.
“That's it, deep breaths, you're doing great!”
Dean would make a quip about how Sam should change careers and become a birthing class instructor, but he's too busy forcing himself to calm the fuck down. His heart rate gradually goes back to normal but a pounding is starting in his temples that he's unfortunately very familiar with by now. Dean squeezes his eyes shut against it but doesn't manage to suppress a groan.
“You okay?”
He's not. He wants Cas.
Dean nods and forces himself to blink open his eyes. Sam gives him a smile but his expression stays concerned. He moves to clap Dean on the back, then aborts the movement, probably remembering how Dean sometimes doesn't like to be touched right after these particular nightmares. Sam of all people must understand the terror of having control over your body taken away, of being stuffed down and forced to watch, voiceless and helpless. Dean doesn’t think he will ever be able to fully forgive himself for failing to protect Sam from that.
The room is dark except for the bedside lamp Sam must have switched on when he woke up to Dean screaming. Well, Dean guesses he screamed, judging from the way his throat feels. Apparently it sounds even more disturbing with how his words shatter under distress now, so Dean is glad he rarely ever remembers that part.
Sam comes back from the bathroom with a glass of water. He hands it to Dean and then sits back down opposite him. Dean's hands aren't shaking so bad anymore and he drinks a few mouthfuls before he presses the glass to his temple and closes his eyes again. “Th-thanks. W-w-what t-t-t-time's it?”
“Four in the morning. And I was just dreaming about spending a nice day at a farmer's market, so thanks for that.” Dean head is starting to seriously hurt, but he's still hit by a rush of affection for his little brother, who's trying to soothe him with humor.
“Y-you're w-w-welc-c-come, d-d-dude.” Dean's voice sounds like he's munched on sand paper, but Sam still snorts in amusement. Dean takes the glass away from his head and puts it on the nightstand because it isn't even helping. He opens his eyes again and despite the gentle lighting, they immediately start to water.
They share a moment of companionable silence, and then Sam draws a breath like he's steeling himself and says, “Dean, listen... I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't—”
Dean holds up a hand. “C-c-can we t-t-talk ab-b-bout th-this when my b-b-brain's n-not t-t-tryin' to l-l-leak out through my ears? A-a-and th-this,” he gestures at his mouth, “isn’t a-a-acting up as m-m-much? Please.”
Sam makes a face. “That bad?”
Dean just nods and then winces, because even that little movement was too much. Fucking fantastic. He grins wryly. “L-l-looks l-l-like you're in l-l-luck and get to d-d-drive tomor-r-r—” He blocks on the last word, throat muscles spasming, and doesn't bother finishing it.
Sam regards him with sympathy. “Sure. Think you can go back to sleep?”
Dean wishes, but he knows how this goes. “Gonna take a sh-sh-shower.” And then he leans forward and draws Sam into a hug. Sam seems surprised for a second but then relaxes into it and, very carefully, puts his arms around Dean as well. Dean would bitch that he ain't fragile, but he doesn't have the energy. He couldn't even say if this hug is more for Sam's benefit or his own. Maybe it doesn't matter.
Dean holds on for another long moment, then claps Sam on the back. “G-g-get some m-m-more b-b-beauty ssssleep.” He winces internally at how bad he sounds right now, but it's worth it to see Sam shake his head and laugh in that my-brother-is-a-jerk-but-I-love-him-anyway kind of way that never fails to make Dean feel kind of proud of them.
The water pressure in the shower is the opposite of memorable, but Dean knew that already and it's enough to wash the sweat off his skin. It doesn't do much for the pain, but nothing really does. Which means Dean's in for a miserable six to twelve hours.
Sam's already snoring again when Dean sneaks back in. It helps his head a little to shut off the light, but that also means he's alone in the dark while in pain.
Dean knows that if he asked, Cas would come to him. But then what? Cas can't heal him. They've established months ago that the migraines are Dean's body and mind trying to heal themselves from the crap they'd been put through for six months. They happen less now, and they're not as bad as in the beginning, when he was having flashbacks all the fucking time. He's just got to knuckle through.
Dean manages to doze fitfully until Sam's alarm goes off at six in the morning. He winces at the shrill noise and Sam is quick to shut it off.
He hears Sam pad around the room but doesn't dare open his eyes. Even the little bit of light filtering through the thick curtains is too much.
“How you feeling?”
“Been b-b-b-better,” Dean rasps. He's leaning against the headboard again, because lying down completely flat makes the pounding in his temples worse.
“Think you can eat breakfast?”
Dean's hungry, but the pain is also starting to make him nauseous. And grumpy. He hates nothing more than to be kept from eating.
“Nah, I'll b-b-b-e f-f-f-fine. Just get me my s-s-sunglasses.”
Sam briefly ducks into the bathroom and then gets Dean's shades from the car. He presses them into Dean's hand, squeezes his shoulder, and then leaves to go eat bird food instead of the bacon the motel kitchen probably just finished preparing and that Dean's still bummed about missing out on. Dean mopes for a couple more minutes and then drags himself into the bathroom to take a piss and throw water on his face and shave off his stubble before it can start to itch and irritate him later.
His hair's a mess but he leaves it because by the time he's done with everything else his eyes are watering too bad to fuss with it anyway. It's a relief to shut off the light and go back to the room where the curtains are still keeping out the brunt of the sunlight. He's just finished putting on pants and a fresh tee when there's a knock on the door and a muffled, “Dean?”
Cas is frowning at him when he opens the door. “Sam told me what happened. How are you?”
Dean waves him in and quickly shuts the door again. He can barely open his eyes, but he can basically feel Cas looking him up and down, checking him over for injuries in a way that's probably mostly reflex by now. It still warms Dean a little inside. If Cas was protective before, it's got nothing on how he's been since Dean gave Michael his front door key.
Dean sighs and rubs at his temples. “Not g-g-great, b-b-but I'll man-n-nage. You?”
“Jack beat me at Scrabble last night,” Cas says, sounding proud.
Dean chuckles. “L-l-l-like it's hard-d-d,” he teases. “Your s-s-slang still sucks, d-d-dude.”
Cas rolls his eyes. “He didn't beat me with slang words, Dean.”
“Huh,” Dean says, swaying closer to Cas. “I’m g-g-gonna t-t-t-teach him some more anyw-w-way.”
Cas shakes his head in exasperation, but even in the dimness of the room Dean can see that he looks fond. Dean smiles at him, then winces when the pounding in his temples kicks up a notch. “Ugh, god d-d-d-dammit.” He sits back down at the edge of his bed, squeezing his eyes shut. The mattress dips when Cas sits down beside him. Cas puts a hand between Dean's shoulder blades, and Dean has to stomp down on the urge to curl up in Cas's arms and never leave again.
“Can I get you anything?”
Dean shakes his head. Painkillers don't do crap for this kind of thing. He tries to only take them when he really needs to anyway, because he's been skirting the edge of dependency for years now. What he really wants is some coffee, but he can't have any if he plans to try and sleep off the worst of this in the car.
Cas huffs in that way he does when something frustrates him and that Dean finds kind of stupidly endearing. It suddenly hits him that they're alone, no kids or annoying brothers in sight, and Cas is close, and his hand is still on Dean's back, warm and broad and heavy. He wouldn't have to slide it up far to like, pet Dean's hair, or cup his neck.
“Y'know, th-there's something you c-c-could d-d-do.”
Dean tries to sound suggestive, but either he can't pull it off or Cas is just too damn oblivious, because he's just looking at Dean earnestly.
“What?”
Dean grins even as he feels himself blush a little. “You c-c-could k-k-kiss it better.”
Cas rolls his eyes. “Dean,” he starts, in that tone that's a blend of frustration and exasperation, so Dean gives him his best pleading look. Cas squints at him, but then he moves his other hand to Dean's cheek, leans forward and—pecks Dean's temple. And then the fucker has the gall to smirk at Dean all smugly, while Dean pouts.
“N-n-not what I m-m-meant, and-d-d you know it,” he accuses.
“You asked me to kiss it better, and I did.”
“It still hu-hu-hu-hurts.” Dean complains, not even having to try very hard to sound as pathetic as possible. It does still hurt, and it's bound to get worse, and anyway, is it too much to ask for a damn kiss on the mouth? “Really really b-b-b-bad.”
Cas hums in reply, making a show of contemplating what to do about it. And rationally Dean knows it's all in good fun, that Cas doesn't mean anything by it, except maybe he really does not want to kiss Dean right now, or be kissed. And Dean would respect that, but he can't help sounding a little hurt when he leans away and gripes, “F-f-fine, you don't w-w-wanna, I g-g-g-get it—”
He's about to get up and start the super fun task of packing his bag when Cas cups his cheek and presses their mouths together. This time when Dean's eyes close it's because of pleasure and relief, and he puts his hand over Cas's hand on his cheek. The angle isn't perfect so Dean tips his head a little more to the side, and then oh , oh yes. He opens his mouth in invitation and Cas deepens the kiss, still a little clumsily but Dean doesn't need him to be an expert at this, he just needs him .
Dean tends to get a little lost in touch when it's offered to him, and he only becomes aware of the grip he has on Cas's thigh and the needy sounds he's making in the back of his throat when Cas breaks off the kiss and says Dean's name warningly. Dean's panting and a little dazed, but he stops touching Cas immediately. “S-s-sor-r-ry. G-g-g-got c-c-carried away.”
Cas just watches him, looking a little bit sad. And while Dean is glad that the pain he's in did at least keep him from getting hard, Cas doesn't look ruffled from their little make-out session at all. Doesn't look like he wants Dean the way Dean wants him. Dean swallows against the hurt and as if on cue, the pain in his head makes him squeeze his eyes shut and wince.
“You don't need to apologize,” Cas is saying. He gently touches Dean's forehead, rubs his thumb over Dean's temple. There's a heat behind Dean's eyes and he kind of wants to cry. “Is it getting worse?” Cas asks, and Dean nods mutely, keeps his eyes closed.
Cas gets up and moves away, and Dean's skin prickles and his heart lurches with separation anxiety, because that's how fucked up he is. It only marginally gets better when Cas comes back and puts a cool, wet washcloth on Dean's neck. Dean searches blindly for Cas's hand and then grips it tightly when he finds it, hoping that Cas will chalk up his touchy-feely-ness to him being in pain.
Cas lets him crush his hand, but he says, sounding worried, “Dean, if you're in this much pain...”
“C-C-Cas, c-c-can we—” Dean cuts himself off to clear his throat, struggling to keep his emotions from fucking up his already fucked up voice further. “When th-this sh-sh-shitshow is over,” he gestures at his head while still keeping his eyes closed, “a-a-a-and Sam isn't ab-b-bout to c-c-come b-b-b-bargin' into the room, c-c-can we talk?”
Cas is silent for so long that Dean finally risks opening his eyes. It hurts, and he has to blink away moisture to be able to see Cas at all. Cas is studying Dean, and he looks kind of alarmed, so Dean hastily adds, “It's n-n-n-nothing b-b-b-bad, okay? Quit l-l-looking at me like I'm ab-b-bout to b-b-break up with you, it's n-n-not that.”
Cas seems to relax while he mulls that over. “Is it about why you were upset yesterday?”
Dean sighs and looks down at their hands. “Y-yeah.”
“Alright.”
Cas still looks worried, so Dean nudges him a little with his shoulder. “Hey. We're g-g-good, 'kay?”
Dean has relaxed his grip a little and now squeezes Cas's hand in a way he hopes translates as reassuring. Cas exhales a breath and is even smiling a little now. “Okay.”
There's footsteps outside and then the door clicking open. Dean can see Sam's gaze dropping down to their hands as soon as he catches sight of them, but Sam only says, “Hey. You guys ready to go?”
“Yeah, g-g-g-gimme a sec.” Dean's about to get up when Cas puts a hand on his chest and pushes him back down on the bed again.
“Let me.” Cas heaves Dean's bag on the bed and then moves to get Dean’s toiletry kit from the bathroom. It's kind of nice being fussed over, but Dean needs a distraction from how it felt to have Cas's broad, strong hand on his chest, manhandling him. Dean watches with narrowed eyes as Cas folds up his sleeping clothes.
“D-d-don't mix the d-d-dirty stuff in with the c-c-clean,” he bickers.
“I know how to pack a bag, Dean.”
“Oh yeah? 'C-c-cause l-l-last time I had-d-d to do the sniff t-t-test with everyth-th-thing after.”
“That's because you didn't listen to me when I told you what I put where.”
“I had a con-c-c-cussion!”
On the other bed, Sam is packing his own bag, except he's stopped to watch Dean and Cas like they're some sort of bizarre tennis match, his stupid eyebrows almost disappearing into his stupid hairline. He's not saying anything though, so Dean ignores him in favor of more complaining. Which he keeps up all the way to the car, where Jack is already sitting shotgun, rifling through a whole stack of pamphlets. He's been fascinated with them for a while now, actually taking them home with him to build up a collection. Must be Sam's boring nerd influence.
The kid's been having a rough time though, and Dean's not a complete asshole, so he doesn't complain about the pamphlets taking up too much space on Baby's dashboard. He's got lots of other things to complain about anyway. Like how it's too damn hot already, and too bright, and he can't get comfortable. He's still grumbling by the time Sam has guided Baby back onto the highway. He's also taken off his shoes, and his sunglasses, and he fusses and nudges until Cas sighs long-sufferingly and sits up against the opposite door so that Dean can lie between his legs and with his head on Cas's chest.
Dean settles himself in, arms around Cas's thick waist and cheek mashed against his shirt. Still grumbling under his breath, he tries to will himself to pass out to escape the pounding in his head.
Jack has turned around and is leaning over the front bench, watching them with open amusement. “You weren't kidding about him being a bear. A huggy bear!”
Cas puts a hand on Dean's back but instead of defending his honor he says, with a solemnity that's completely uncalled for, “It's his favorite sleeping position.”
Dean feels his face heat and hides further against Cas's chest, making a mental note to complain about Cas being a traitor later. Sam makes a choking noise from the front, and for a second Dean thinks maybe his brother's delicate sensibilities will come in handy this one time, but then Sam laughs, “I can believe that. He hugs pillows in his sleep.”
“Really?” Jack sounds delighted at that information. And okay, enough is enough. Dean briefly unwinds one of his arms to flip all of them off.
“I h-h-hate you g-g-guys.”
Sam and Jack laugh. Cas tucks Dean's arm back against him and says, like Dean is some petulant child, “Sleep, Dean.”
Dean grumbles some more but eventually falls into a light doze almost against his will, soothed by Baby's comforting rumble and the weight of Cas's hand on his back. The other three finally take pity on him, keeping the radio on low and their conversation quiet.
“Can we go to SeaWorld while we're there?” There’s the soft sound of pages turning, like Jack is reading one of his pamphlets.
“You want to go to SeaWorld?”
“I'd like to feed the sea lions. And try the... Electric Eel.”
“Try the what ?”
Faint chuckling. “It's a roller coaster, Cas.”
“The tallest, fastest roller coaster of San Diego, with an upside down view of Mission Bay! It sounds like fun!”
“It sounds terrifying,” Cas says, his voice rumbling in his chest where Dean's ear is pressed against it. Jack and Sam argue something back, but Dean barely registers half of it, finally drifting off.
A sharp stab of pain through his head is what wakes him an indefinite amount of time later, abruptly, making his guts churn with nausea and his mouth flood with saliva. With a groan, Dean tries to move, but he's sluggish and disoriented. He clumsily pushes himself off of Cas's chest, not daring to open his eyes, it hurts that bad.
“Dean?”
Cas's hand is on his shoulder, steadying him, and Dean swallows with difficulty.
“Stop the c-c-car. Stop the car, 'm g-g-gonna—”
The moment Baby jolts to a halt on the shoulder, Dean fumbles the door open on his side, leans out and pukes all over the gravel. Since his stomach is empty it's just water and bile, but the sharp, disgusting taste still makes him cough and splutter. Cas's hand is between his shoulder blades, rubbing gently, while he keeps Dean from tumbling out of the car with the other. Dean pants and dry heaves for another minute, but apparently he has nothing else to throw up. Someone presses a bottle of lukewarm water into his hand, and he uses it to rinse out his mouth. The nausea is still going strong, his head feels like it's splitting open, and he just wants to be unconscious, now .
He vaguely thinks the others are talking to him but it barely even registers. He lets himself fall back against Cas, pleading, “Kn-kn-knock me out. Pl-l-lease .”
Dean's been avoiding asking for this, trying to bear the pain for as long as he is able. The feeling of Grace flooding into him, taking away control, just brings back too many bad memories. But he's past his limit now.
Cas cups his cheek, and Dean gasps when he feels the touch of his Grace, barely keeping himself from flinching away. And then it's quiet, and dark. Everything falls away, and the pain goes with it.
>
For a little over a week after getting back, after being home again and alone in his body, Dean hadn’t been able to talk at all. Everything was overwhelming and exhausting, and he communicated in nods and headshakes when he was present enough to hear and understand what someone was asking him in the first place. A lot of those first few days back, he’d just drifted, losing track of hours and days, mind far away.
Then one day he’d been sitting in the kitchen, shivering despite his three blankets and oversized hoodie. Sam brought him hot chocolate, and Dean heard himself say, “Th-thanks, um, S-S-S-Sam-m-my.”
It was a good thing Sam had already put the mug down at that point, because he looked so startled he probably would have dropped it. Dean himself had been so taken aback at hearing his own voice, raspy and stuttery as it was, it took him a moment to realize Sam was hugging him, face pressed into Dean’s neck and wet with tears.
On automatic, Dean’s own arms came up to hug Sam back, asking, “W-w-what’s um, um-m-m, w-w-wrong-g-g?”
Then suddenly everybody was there, and Sammy was smiling so wide despite the teartracks on his cheeks. And they all acted like Dean was a toddler who just did the first steps thing, meanwhile Dean was still a little confused about everything and just wanted to drink his hot chocolate in peace.
They figured out fast that trying to get Dean to say more than the very basics of conversation, or get him to talk when he didn’t want to, only made him clam up and space out again. They seemed to think it was a big deal that Dean was talking, and Dean thought that his family overall looked much happier, but his fuzzy mind couldn’t quite puzzle that together with the fact that he was talking again. He didn’t worry about it much, too busy piling his bed with soft blankets and sleeping most of the day away in the nest he’d created for himself. There, he could rest and be safe and just drift uninterrupted in the quiet fog inside his head.
Of course, that couldn’t last. The more Dean’s mind and body recovered, the more it rediscovered , too. With the relief and the joy of finally realizing that he was home had come the memories and the flashbacks. The migraines that came along with them left him in agony, and more than once Cas had to knock him out, Dean incapable of doing anything but puking and shaking so hard Sam was worried about seizures.
“It’s damage done by an Archangel’s Grace,” Cas would explain, his voice a blend of frustration and grief, “By trauma. I can’t heal that. It will heal by itself, with time, or it won’t.”
For a while then, nobody mentioned Dean’s stuttery speech, at least not where he could hear, though they did sometimes have to ask him to repeat himself. The flashbacks and nightmares finally let up, but his brain to mouth connection still wasn’t working right.
Then Sam mentioned that their Mom was worried because Dean wasn’t answering her text messages, and Dean plugged in his phone for the first time in forever, only to be faced with the fact that he had a dozen messages and couldn’t read any of them. He stared at the words that no longer made sense to him until his eyes watered, frozen in fear because if this was gone that meant more things could be gone and he just hadn’t noticed yet.
It had taken him a while, then, to find the courage to go and tell the others. Sam and Cas were in the library, and they stopped talking when Dean entered. Wordlessly, he’d handed Sam his phone. His speech still wasn’t improving, and it got worse when he was distressed, and he suddenly couldn’t bear to hear himself talk, to hear himself admit that he couldn’t do yet another very simple thing anymore.
Sam was understandably confused. “You want me to read these?”
Dean sat down between them at the head of the table, eyes low, hands fidgeting in his lap.
“Dean? What’s wrong?” Cas's voice was soft with concern and he reached for Dean, put a comforting hand on his arm. And for the past couple weeks, Dean had either been too spaced out or in too much pain to process much, and then he’d just been so grateful and relieved to be with his family again. Had told himself that the pain and the weakness he was dealing with were worth their victory over Lucifer, were deserved for what Michael was able to do because Dean gave him his Sword.
“Dean? Hey, whatever is wrong, you can tell us, okay? We’ll fix it.”
Dean had rubbed at his jaw and swallowed, shaking his head. In his mind, he could already see the frowns on Sam and Cas's faces as they struggled to understand what he was saying but tried, for his sake, to act like his voice was what it used to be instead of shattered and wrong. He could imagine the way their expressions would slip into disappointment after learning that there was yet another thing that would not be coming back. And he could feel already the pain of everyone inevitably turning away when they realized the changes were permanent, of them going on with their lives, Dean scrambling to keep up but ultimately left behind, alone, because he couldn’t be who they needed anymore.
He had cried a lot since getting back, either from relief or from pain, but nothing like he’d cried then, slumped forwards on his elbows with his hands pressed over his eyes, violent sobs shaking his whole frame, stealing his breath.
“Oh no,” Sam was saying, sounding heartbroken, “Dean—”
There were two sets of hands on him then, stroking his back, and soothing words meant to calm him down, but the tears were still dripping down his chin, relentless sobs making him gasp for air.
Sam stood up then, “I’ll go grab his blanket. And some juice,” and Dean had wanted to choke on his shame. But the weight and warmth of a blanket on his shoulders had been the only thing able to calm him down lately, making him feel anchored in his body and covered and sheltered.
Cas was still there, a hand on Dean’s trembling back, but Dean hadn’t been able to hear him over the static in his ears and the sounds of his own distress. Then, finally, the weight of his blanket had settled around him, and he could calm down, could breathe again.
When his tears stopped and he could take his hands away from his eyes, he was given tissues and orange juice. Sam was fiddling with Dean’s phone.
“All I’m seeing here are like, get well wishes. Is this, um. About Mom?” Sam sounded like he was treading carefully, worried about setting Dean off again. “I know it hurt you when she left again with Bobby. But you’ve got like six messages and a voice mail from her. She—”
Dean had quickly shaken his head. He pressed the glass with cool juice against his throbbing temple and closed his eyes, took a shuddering breath.
“I c-c-can’t—” He clammed up again, flinching away from the sound of his own voice. Cas squeezed his shoulder in silent encouragement.
“Just take a breath, Dean,” Sam was saying. “It gets better when you’re calm, c’mon.”
Dean had wanted to yell that no fucking deep breathing exercise would fix his broken mouth, that some things just plain do not get better, they get worse. But Sam didn’t deserve to take the brunt of Dean’s frustration, so he swallowed all of that back.
“I c-c-can’t. I t-t-t-tried b-but I c-c-can’t. R-r-r-read. It d-doesn’t w-w-work a-a-an-n-ny-m-more.”
“Oh.”
Sam and Cas exchanged a look.
“Dean, listen, this might be temporary. And even if it’s not, we can find a way to work around it. It’s—”
Dean shook his head, looking at Sam with watery eyes. “It’s n-n-n-not . Tem-m-mpor-r-rary. I c-can f-f-f-feel it. L-l-l-like. In, um, ins-s-side. It w-w-won’t g-get b-back t-t-to how it, um, w-w-was bef-f-for-r-re. He w-won’t b-be c-c-coming-g-g b-b-back.”
Sam and Cas were frowning at him, obviously struggling to understand his disrupted speech, and now they exchanged a look of pure confusion.
“He?” Sam had asked, starting to look alarmed but still mostly like he was at a complete loss. “Michael? Of course he’s not coming back! What does that—”
“No!” Dean closed his eyes. “Not h-h-him.” A fist clenched in his blanket, he’d swallowed, forced the words out past the spasms in his throat, past the debilitating fear. “The D-D-Dean y-you knew f-f-from b-bef-f-fore . He’s g-g-gone. A-a-a-and he’s n-not c-c-coming-g b-b-back.”
A tear trailed down his cheek. Dean angrily wiped it away. “You’re l-l-left w-with th-th-this ,” he gestured at himself. “A-a-and I c-c-can’t. I c-c-can’t d-d-do w-w-what he c-c-c—” He blocked hard on the last word and gave up.
“Dean…”
Dean shook his head. Sam sounded shocked, and Dean couldn’t take it. He put a hand over his eyes again, unable to look at either of them. His other hand was still gripping the blanket so tight it hurt, and then suddenly Cas's hand was covering his, holding on to him.
“Dean. When Michael took you...it left a hole in the heart of our family.” Cas squeezed Dean’s fingers, voice wavering with emotion. “And that was not because Dean the hunter was gone, our leader and protector. It’s because Dean was gone, our family, who we love .”
Dean sniffed and bit his lip hard enough to hurt.
Sam’s hand was on his back, rubbing.
“It doesn’t matter to us what you can and can’t do,” he said. “We’re still gonna want you here and we’re still going to be there. Okay?”
Dean just nodded, trying his damnedest to believe what his family was telling him. Sam had pulled him into another hug then, one that Dean could barely reciprocate, arms pressed against his sides. He had been getting hugged a lot lately, but the gentle touch still shook Dean to his core every time, not used to it anymore after months of complete isolation.
“You won’t be alone in dealing with this,” Sam had said. “Okay? That’s not happening. Not anymore.”
>
There's fingers carding through his hair. Dean's lying on something that's warm and a little bit wet. His head feels fuzzy and there's a dull ache behind his eyes.
“Dean?”
Dean wants to ask what , but it comes out sounding more like “Bwahh?”
“We've arrived.”
The fingers stop carding through his hair, which Dean is not on board with. He frowns and blindly tries to find the hand and put it back there. Cas chuckles, and Dean finally realizes his face is smashed into Cas's chest and the reason that it's wet under his cheek is because he drooled all over Cas's shirt.
“You need to get up now.”
Dean moves his cheek away from the wet spot but refuses to open his eyes.
“D-d-d-don't wanna.”
Cas sounds amused. “I can see that.” A thumb rubs at the back of Dean's neck and Dean sighs. He just wants to go back to sleep, but now that he's more awake he’s becoming aware of how bad his mouth tastes, that he needs to take a piss, and that he's starving . Reluctantly, he pushes himself off of Cas's chest and rubs sleep out of his eyes with the backs of his hands. He squints outside, and it looks like a motel parking lot.
“Please t-t-tell me we ain't stayin' at a S-S-Super 8,” he pleads, grimacing.
“We're staying at the Kings Inn. It has a pool, and a hot tub. The reviews said the rooms are very clean and the beds comfortable. There's a Mexican restaurant and a diner called Waffle Spot on site.”
Dean gapes at him. “Seriousl-l-ly?!”
“The prices were surprisingly reasonable. Besides, I could persuade Sam that we would have to put up with your whining the entire time otherwise.”
Dean can't even be mad about that because it would have been a hundred percent true. And also, The Waffle Spot is the best place to get waffles in all of California, and what psycho doesn’t love waffles. Dean’s already looking forward to stuffing his face there first chance he gets.
Cas makes to add something, then suddenly falters. He looks almost nervous when he says, “I thought it would be a waste of money to get two beds since I don't sleep, so. Our room just has one, um, bed.” He looks up at Dean, and he's definitely nervous when he peers into his eyes. “I hope that's okay?”
Dean stares back, feeling the tips of his ears heat. It takes him a beat to realize he's supposed to answer. “What?” It comes out almost as a squeak. “I m-mean yeah. Why w-w-wouldn't it be?”
Cas swallows. “I... don't know.”
“Right.”
Cas still has that deer caught in the headlights look about him, and judging from how hot his face feels, Dean isn't faring much better. Which is just ridiculous. How can they possibly be shy around each other? Cas sits in Dean's bed all the time when they watch movies or while Dean falls asleep beside him. And still, Dean's heart speeds up stupidly at the thought of sharing a room and a bed with Cas, like he's some virginal 18th century heroine in some hackneyed romance novel. It's more kinds of stupid than Dean can shake a stick at.
The sudden knock on the window startles both of them. Dean’s about to give whoever that is a piece of his mind when he realizes it’s Eileen, resulting in an awkward disentangling of limbs where Cas's knee comes dangerously close to taking out Dean’s fun zone. By the time they’ve finally made it out the backseat, Eileen looks like she’s struggling to hold back laughter.
Dean smiles at her and opens his arms wide for a hug that he then tries his best not to melt into too much. Eileen doesn’t seem to mind though. She squeezes him, and then Dean draws back.
“Hey,” he says, speaking slower than usual to reign in his stutter and doing his best to enunciate as carefully as possible. “Good to see you. How you b-been?” While Eileen is smiling back at him, Dean can’t help but notice how she looks kind of tense, and worn around the edges.
Eileen hugs Cas too before she starts to speak and sign. It makes Dean feel bad because everyone is so much better at signing than he is by now, even though Eileen has told him that she would never even think of being mad at him for not having the time or energy to study during his recovery. While she’s exceptionally good at lip-reading, it’s gotten a lot more difficult for her to understand Dean, so he’s mostly been relying on Cas signing what he says to make it easier for her.
“I’m okay. Just tired, it was a very long drive.”
Dean nods but regards her with worry. He doesn’t have time to think of a way to ask her if she’s really okay because then Sam and Jack are back.
Sam smiles at her and he signs while he greets her, and she does the same, but they don’t touch and there’s a carefully measured distance between the two of them. Dean frowns but doesn’t say anything, filing the information away for later.
Oblivious at the tension, Jack beams at her and signs something without speaking. She looks delighted, laughing and signing something back. Cas is smiling at their antics, but he glances at Dean when Dean shuffles, overcome by frustration again. Longing for comfort and understanding, Dean almost physically aches with how much he wants Cas to rub his back or take his hand. Then he realizes how ridiculous and needy he’s being and tries to squash those thoughts the best he can.
“Ok-k-kay,” he grouses, rolling his eyes. “Can we go inside alread-d-dy? I’m hungry.”