Fic: And I Will Walk On Water (2/18)
Aug. 2nd, 2009 03:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tracy_loo_whoTitle: And I Will Walk On Water (2/18)
Characters: Dean and Castiel, Sam
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~5,500
Notes:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ibroketuesday helped. A lot. ♥
Podfic: Read bykatrinaswift/fullondazzled, download here.
Summary: Castiel is back, so he should be okay now, but there are all these cracks..
Part 1
Dean dreamed of dark caves and giant stalagmites, only they were made of frozen blood and Castiel was trapped in a ring of them. Dean wanted to help him and the stalagmites melted when he neared, which heartened him, but then there were stalactites above Castiel, too, and when those began melting they came crashing down to drive their bloody tips straight into his bare chest. Castiel was pinned to the ground and he screamed and screamed as his blood poured out of his body to mingle with that from the melted stalagmites and stalactites and become a thunderous river. It rushed toward Dean and carried him away from Castiel in its undercurrent, and when he opened his mouth to yell Castiel's name, he found that he couldn't because he was at the bottom of the river and all the blood was getting into his mouth and making him choke.
Dean woke up sweaty but quietly, and Sam was already on the computer, looking for their next case. Dean's mouth was dry but he swallowed painfully and stared up at the ceiling, wishing its faded yellow would wash away the red from his dream more quickly. At least he couldn't hear Castiel's screams anymore, though, and he was profoundly grateful for that. The image of an angel screaming made him acutely uncomfortable in a way that wasn't unlike how he'd felt the first time he'd watched his dad cry, when he'd been four and solidarity and untouchable idols had come crashing down around him. Dean had hated witnessing his dad's weakness, and his jaw tightened at the thought of Castiel's, now.
The sound of Sam's typing distracted him, though, and Dean looked over and allowed himself to be calmed by the familiar sight of his little brother staring at the laptop screen. "Find anything?" he asked with a forced lightness, even though it was a question he didn't want to know the answer to half the time, these days.
"Wanna go to Cedar Point?" Sam asked, glancing up only briefly.
Dean made a face. "Not particularly." Roller coasters were even worse than planes, in his opinion, but instead of expressing this particular opinion, he asked, "What happened to looking for Jo?" She had run off five days ago despite all of Ellen's attempts to keep her away from any and all apocalyptic activity, and then two days ago she had simply turned off her phone and stopped returning calls. Dean and Sam had been trying to track her down, mostly as a favor for Ellen, but their few leads had all led to dead ends. Dean supposed he shouldn't be too bitter about their wasted time, though, because if they hadn't gone to Indiana to investigate the last lead, well, then they also wouldn't have stumbled right into Castiel.
"The witness cited by this article was a young blonde," Sam said meaningfully. "And then she apparently disappeared before cops could question her further."
Good enough for Dean, considering they had nothing else. "So what actually happened?" he asked as he pushed the covers off of himself and sat up in bed.
"Six people died there yesterday," came the reply. "Riding roller coasters."
Dean winced. He knew there was a good reason for his dislike of those things. "Wouldn't the place be closed today, then?"
"It was closed yesterday, too," Sam said grimly. "The rides were empty except for those six people. It says here that black smoke came out of their mouths the moment they got on."
"So we're thinkin' demons possessed them for just long enough to put them on suicidal rides and then let them enjoy their last run?" Dean shook his head in disgust. "These sons of bitches are getting creative with their fun."
Sam didn't look up from his computer, but he got that look on his face that he always got when they heard news of demonic activity, which had been every day since Lucifer's rise: guilt, fury, and hopelessness. Dean was tired of seeing it because he couldn't chase it away with any number of shots or beers or speeches about how it Wasn't His Fault (not entirely, anyway) that people were dying and Jo was missing because both Heaven and Hell had been playing him. Dean wished he could take all the burdens from his little brother's shoulders and bear them himself if that would fix Sam, but he didn't know how to and that was worst of all.
He pretended to rub the last traces of sleep from his eyes with one hand and changed the subject. "We should stop somewhere on the way and get our hex bags fixed, though."
"What?" Sam did look up, at that. "What's wrong with our hex bags?"
"Well, they hide us from angels too, right?" Dean said slowly, because really, this was fairly obvious and Sam was usually a pretty bright kid. "How else is Cas gonna find us when he's ready?"
Something about Sam's look hardened just a fraction. "Do you want him to find us?"
"Of course, he's--" Dean frowned at the image that came unbidden to his mind -- that of Castiel naked and curled into a ball -- and finished, a little softer, "he's Cas. You don't want him to find us?"
Sam shook his head, but it wasn't a no. It wasn't a yes, either. "I don't know, Dean, haven't we been jerked around enough already? You're the one who keeps telling me we can't trust any of them."
"Yes, but. It's Cas," Dean insisted, like it was all the explanation he needed. "He disobeyed, remember? He's different." And alive, Dean reminded himself. His mind still hadn't completely wrapped around that fact yet, not when he'd spent three months thinking otherwise, so he still wasn't quite sure what to make of the previous day's revelations. Except for in his dreams, he hadn't thought about them too much after the first couple of beers because wondering what it must have been like for his exasperating-but-well-meaning Cas to spend three months in the tender care of vengeful demons, alone and abandoned, was even worse than wondering how many of the demons out there in the world right now were of his own making.
Sam derailed that train of thought by reminding him darkly, "That's what I said about Ruby."
Dean couldn't believe they were even having this conversation, and his irritation spiked. "Sam, you saw him yesterday. You saw what they did to him. None of that would've happened if he hadn't disobeyed because of me!"
Sam pursed his lips, unconvinced. "You said he was going to face off with archangels. Where did demons factor into that equation, Dean?"
"I'm sure he'll tell us when he's ready to! You know, if he can find us," Dean snapped.
"Look, Dean." Sam gave a frustrated sigh and ran fingers through his hair. "All I'm saying is we don't know what happened, and we shouldn't be so quick to trust anyone, including him. He's not one of us. I'm sorry he was in such a bad form, I really am, but he's free now, and he'll be okay. He can look out for himself, and we should do the same. Besides, who's to say the other angels won't come after us first if we stop hiding from all of them?"
"Sam--" Dean began, but he knew his brother wouldn't budge on this, not after what Ruby had done to him, and he could almost understand that. The thing was, as much as Dean wanted to be able to, he didn't think he could vouch for Castiel, either, when it came down to it. He may have come through for them when it had counted the most and paid for it dearly, and Dean may be feeling unusually protective and guilty, but Castiel was still a largely unfathomable entity and Dean had no idea how the past three months had changed him or what his agenda would be now. Maybe Sam was right. Or maybe he just didn't want to fight with him, because look where fighting had led them before. Dean couldn't let this drive another wedge between them now, not when they'd spent so long working so hard on becoming brothers again, so he looked away from Sam to glare at the wall. "Fine. But I'm going to go shower now, and when I get out there had better be coffee and donuts waiting."
***
Cedar Point turned out to be another false start, but at least they'd been able to round up the demons and exorcise them, so it hadn't been a complete bust.
Now it was two days later; same story, different state. They'd had the situation under control, really, because these were only low pay grade demons, after all, but for some reason Castiel felt the need to come help them out anyway. And normally Dean would have appreciated the gesture, but they'd been trying to kill some demons and instead most of them fled before an angel of the Lord.
His relief at seeing Castiel healthy and well again pushed everything else to the back of his mind, though. "Cas!" he called delightedly, forgetting, even, to be suspicious about how Castiel had found them.
Castiel watched the last demon flee in a cloud of black smoke and then turned to him. "Hello, Dean," he said, looking rumpled and unreadable and so very Cas. He was in his old suit, tie, and trench coat again, and he had teeth and a pair of intent blue eyes and everything. The sense of otherworldly power was also back, crackling restlessly and dangerously just under the vessel's skin, and it made it difficult to picture the Castiel they'd seen last time, all small and broken in the corner of a prison cell.
Dean got some stupid and soppy urge to hug him just for being so him, but Sam spoke up before he could act on it. "How did you find us?" he asked, surprised. He, at least, hadn't forgotten to be suspicious.
"Your hex bags work just fine," Castiel reassured them, though he didn't take his eyes off Dean's. "I didn't find you so much as follow you since Indiana."
"You've been trailing us for days now?" Sam frowned. "Why show up now, then? We were going to kill them, you know, before you scared them all off."
At that, Castiel did let his gaze flicker to Sam, but then it returned to Dean and he hesitated. "I foiled your plan," he said softly, to Dean, with an uncharacteristic unsureness that Dean found strangely unsettling.
"It's alright, Cas," Dean assured him with a briefly annoyed glance at his brother. "I'm just glad you're okay." He paused, because maybe that was assuming too much from appearances. "You are okay, aren't you?"
"I'm fine," Castiel replied, but Dean was dubious because he looked away when he said it.
He decided to let it slide. If Castiel didn't want to talk about it yet, well, Dean could hardly blame him. "What now, then?" he asked. Business was usually a safe topic, and really the only other thing Dean could think of to bring up. They hadn't talked about much else, before. "Got any juice on Lucifer for us? We've been running ourselves ragged for three months now trying to put a dent in the civilian demon population but haven't heard a word on the big names. No one knows what they're up to, and it's starting to make us feel like Geezer-Spock sitting around on Delta Vega with his thumbs up his ass, waiting to watch Vulcan implode on itself." It felt good, Dean discovered as he spoke, to have an angel around again, one who would know more than he did and who he could mostly-trust to have their backs when they needed it. He felt a tiny bit of the weight of responsibility shift from his shoulders already.
Castiel, however, wasn't much help. "I know nothing more than you do," he told them, sounding like he rued it.
"Oh." Dean forgot to hide his disappointment.
"What would you have me do, ask my superiors to fill me in?" Castiel asked, a touch acidly.
"What? No," Dean said hurriedly, surprised by his tone and chastised, "I just meant--" But Castiel didn't stick around to find out what he meant, and Dean found himself talking to empty air. He lifted his eyebrows and muttered, "Touchy, touchy, huh?"
"Dude," Sam said. "I think your angel just flounced on us."
Dean rolled his eyes and was a little concerned, a little annoyed, and a lot bemused. "Shut up, Sam."
***
"Cas?" Dean called into the warm night sometime later, because he couldn't sleep and the coke machine outside the motel made him think of Castiel. "Come on, I know you can hear me, where are you?"
Castiel was behind him, as it turned out, and Dean turned with a small, hopefully-placating smile when he heard the soft rustle. "Hey," he said.
Castiel tilted his head. "Hello, Dean. Why have you called?"
Dean shrugged. He didn't have a good reason, to be honest, except Castiel had left so suddenly earlier after days of absence. And that had come after three months Dean never wanted to think about again. He repeated his question from earlier. "Are you okay?"
In the silence that followed, Castiel's eyes narrowed a fraction but he gave no reply. "Why have you really called?" he asked.
Dean was equal parts concerned and annoyed that Castiel wouldn't answer his question. Was it so impossible for him to believe that Dean honestly just wanted to know how he was? "You never even told me what happened to you," he pointed out.
Castiel glanced briefly up at the sky before letting his gaze drop and settle on the cars in the parking lot. "The archangels left me when Lucifer rose," he said, and he might as well have been reciting the damned phone book, "but I was... compromised, and Derek sought me from the moment he came through the gates of Hell. He found me."
"Derek," Dean repeated softly, and tried to imagine what kind of person Derek might have been before he'd gone to Hell and gotten chained to Dean's rack. It wasn't an evil-sounding name. "I didn't know his name."
"He knew yours," Castiel replied, and those piercing eyes were focused on Dean again.
Dean grimaced and looked away, unable to meet Castiel's gaze. "Yeah, I bet." Castiel had to know that everything that had been done to him might as well have been done to him by Dean. He had done all of those things and more, to Derek, to hundreds of others, and none of it would have happened to Castiel if only Dean hadn't broken. Actually, none of this apocalypse shit would have happened if only Dean hadn't broken, and Castiel would still be welcomed by his brothers and sisters instead of shunned and hunted. "Do you hate me?" Dean blurted.
"No," Castiel answered immediately, and looked surprised by the question. Or at least, as surprised as he ever managed to look, which was actually less surprise and more I-may-have-discovered-a-hidden-message-written-in-your-freckles, but Dean wasn't about to be picky about his expressions.
"Do you even know how to hate?" he asked, a little sharper than he'd intended, because Castiel should hate him, by all rights. "Do you hate Derek?"
Castiel frowned, clearly confused. "He was," he began, and his brow furrowed even more. "His anger was understandable."
"But do you hate him?" Dean was unrelenting and not even sure why he needed to know. Except, if Castiel could hate Derek and yet still not hate Dean, maybe that would mean that they could be okay. And it frustrated him that he still had no idea how Castiel's mind worked, because he wanted to trust him but how could he, if he didn't know what drove Castiel? He'd always just been there, pushy and creepy and comforting and frustrating as hell, an angel through and through but even if Dean ever figured out what that meant -- what angels really were, other than contestants in Heaven's Next Top Dick -- Dean still wouldn't be able to figure Castiel out because he wasn't like the rest of them. He'd been ready to throw his life away because Dean had asked him to and Dean couldn't wrap his mind around how that was possible.
"I don't know," Castiel said, and Dean wished he wouldn't sound so lost because Castiel was supposed to be calm and quietly reassuring, a solid presence even when he didn't have all the answers and wasn't very helpful. Dean wasn't feeling very reassured at the moment, especially when Castiel asked, "Should I?"
The question made Dean blink incredulously, and then he did it again, but Castiel was still there, and he was still waiting for Dean to tell him how he should feel. It was ridiculous and alien and wrong and Dean said, "Dude. I'm not going to tell you how you're supposed to feel, Cas, what are you, some kind of programmable robot?"
Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again and cast his eyes downward, silent. Sam is right, Dean realized with a disappointed shake of his head, he's not one of us. If Castiel could go from dick to maybe-ally and then back to dick and then back to maybe-ally again and still be such an angel, then there was really no way of telling what he'd do next.
"Forget it," Dean sighed, because he could tell this conversation wasn't going anywhere and it would be best to start over later. "I'm going back to sleep."
If Castiel looked a tiny bit panicked before Dean turned to head back to the room, he didn't dwell on it because he knew Castiel would be gone even if he did turn back around to try to figure out why things weren't going the way they were supposed to go even though Castiel was back now.
***
The next night, Dean was dreaming about sitting in a diner when Castiel appeared in the booth opposite him. He glanced down at the empty table between them and quirked an eyebrow. "You're making me dream about a place that sells pie and not letting me have any? That's just cruel, Cas."
Castiel tilted his head ever so slightly as he regarded Dean, and as soon as Dean blinked, a slice of warm blueberry pie sat before him. He blinked again, a little surprised because he hadn't actually expected Castiel to humor him so obligingly. Not that he was about to complain, of course, because he had better things to do, like dig into the pie and close his eyes with relish as he brought the first bite to his mouth. "Dream-pie is the way to go, man," he told Castiel brightly between mouthfuls. "All the mouth-porn value of real pie and none of the calories."
Castiel watched for him for a few moments with an expression of patient bemusement, then glanced down at his own hands, which were folded on the table. "I would be more useful if I could, Dean," he said.
Dean sighed and put his fork down, all thoughts of humor and even pie chased away by Castiel's words. "I know, Cas. You've had a rough time of it, it's okay."
Castiel didn't seem inclined to talk about his rough time. "I can help on your hunts," he offered instead, though considering the way he looked at Dean as he said it, he might as well have been asking instead of offering.
"Our hunts?" Dean asked skeptically, suddenly picturing the three of them in the Impala together and finding it odd. "Haven't you got anything better to do?"
Castiel's eyes slid down to Dean's half-eaten pie as he answered softly, "No."
"Oh." It made sense, Dean supposed, so perhaps he shouldn't be so surprised. Castiel had turned his back on his garrison, after all, so it wasn't like he was getting any orders from them anymore. Dean hesitated, though, because he didn't know how Sam would feel about having Castiel tag along all the time.
Castiel must have sensed his hesitation, because he said quietly, "You don't want me around." Dean almost winced, because really, Castiel was an angel of the Lord and thus automatically not supposed to say such pathetic things.
"That's not it, Cas," he insisted, frowning. "Angelic assistance would be awesome, actually, but. Look, Sam is having trust issues after the whole Ruby deal, that's all." He didn't mention his own trust issues.
"I understand," Castiel replied, though he didn't look any less unhappy. It made Dean feel like a jerk, really. A jerk who kicked homeless puppies and left them out on the street.
Something occurred to him, then, and a spark of hope lit in his chest. "Jo," he said, wondering why he hadn't thought of this before. "She's a hunter, and she's gone missing. Sam and I have been looking for her, but it's been over a week now and we've been all over the place: Colorado, Nebraska, Indiana--" His gaze darted to Castiel on that last one, but Castiel's expression closed off and became unreadable, so Dean continued, "--but we still have nothing. If you can sniff her out with your angel mojo and come back to let us know where she is, we could bust her out of whatever trouble she's gotten into and return her to her mom."
Castiel nodded twice, slowly. "I know of her," he said. "How did she get taken?"
"Well," Dean said, making a face. "She didn't really get taken, that's the thing. She ran off to go hunting on her own -- said if there was an apocalypse going on then she was going to help fight it -- and then five days ago she turned off her phone and no one's heard from her since." Most likely she was okay, but when he and Sam had driven past Ellen's roadhouse the other day, they'd done simply that: driven past it. Their dad had gotten her husband killed, and now the poor woman was probably assuming the worst where Jo was concerned and secretly putting it on their heads. Not that Dean blamed her, so the sooner they found Jo, the better.
"You're spending all your time searching for a girl who ran away from her mother of her own accord?" Castiel asked, bringing Dean's attention back to the present. He didn't seem impressed.
"Well, it hasn't been a complete waste of time," Dean said, feeling kind of defensive. They owed this to Ellen and Jo, and maybe they owed it to themselves, too. "A couple of good hunts have landed in our lap along the way, and you did, too," he pointed out. He thought Castiel would be glad about that, but instead he only got narrowed eyes. Dean went on anyway. "Besides, even if Lucifer's somewhere out there, there isn't a damned thing we can do about him with no leads and no help, so for now, all we can do is look for Jo until we find her, right?"
When Castiel spoke, there was an undercurrent of resentment beneath his words that caught Dean off guard. "And if you don't? How long until you give up?"
Dean opened his mouth to retort that they wouldn't, but then everything clicked and he closed his mouth again, in guilt or shame or both. They'd given up on looking for Castiel after only two months; he had every right to resent Dean for it. But the circumstances had been different with him, and Dean rushed to explain even though it felt uncomfortably like grasping at excuses. But he couldn't not try to explain, not when Castiel was looking at him like that, with hurt and anger leaking out from the cracks in that mask of impassiveness he was trying so hard to maintain. "Cas, look. You had archangels on your ass, and you're the one who told me they were the most fearsome wrath of Heaven. We saw what they did to Chuck's house, and he stopped having visions of you, so we thought..." He paused and bit his lip hard enough to hurt and wished there was something he could say that would make this even a little bit better. But there wasn't, and maybe Castiel did hate him after all. He finished reluctantly, "We were sure, Cas. I'm sorry. And I won't blame you if you want to tell me to fuck off."
Whatever reaction Dean was expecting Castiel to have, it wasn't what he got. Castiel looked down at the table, and all traces of resentment were suddenly replaced by worry. "No, Dean, it's not your fault," he said, and then looked up again with those blue, blue eyes. "You shouldn't apologize. I -- I'm grateful that you helped me." He didn't have to be grateful for shit, and Dean was about to tell him so, but Castiel hurried to add, "And I will do my best to find Jo Harvelle."
Something had gone over Dean's head, he could practically hear its whoosh. He didn't follow Castiel's sudden change in attitude at all, and was nonplussed. "Uh," he said uncertainly, "you don't have to, you know." Besides, now that Dean thought about it, it seemed kind of cruelly ironic to tell Castiel that his rescue had been a side effect of searching for someone else and to then turn around and ask for his help with the case.
But if Castiel was bitter about it, he hid it well. "I will do my best," he repeated, and then he was gone and Dean found himself alone in the dream with the rest of his pie. It occurred to him, as he picked up his fork again, that he hadn't offered Castiel any.
***
Over a week later, Dean still hadn't heard back from Castiel about Jo. In fact, he hadn't heard from Castiel at all, and he was starting to get antsy. They hadn't parted on unfriendly terms, but it certainly hadn't been comfortable, either, and Dean couldn't shake the niggling worry that Castiel might have decided he was done with him after all (which was a thought that bothered Dean more than he cared to admit to himself). Or that he'd found Jo and had foolishly tried to save her himself and had gotten caught again. Dean was surprised to find that he was actually more concerned about Castiel's safety than he was about Jo's, which was stupid, really, because Castiel could take care of himself. And yet --
"Cas," he said, directing it up at the moonlit clouds hanging over the motel. "You still around?"
"Yes," came Castiel's immediate reply from behind him, accompanied by the familiar sound of rustling feathers.
Dean spun around, and in his stupid relief he stupidly forgot to stop himself from admitting, "Oh, I wasn't sure you'd come." He kicked himself for it afterward, because that wasn't what he'd meant to say at all.
And in any case, Castiel didn't take it well. He looked stung for a moment, and then he practically growled, "Despite what you may think, I don't make a habit of abandoning my side in a war, Dean."
For his part, Dean mostly just wondered how they'd managed to get off on the wrong foot already. "Whoa, Cas," he said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "No need to get your feathers in a knot, I wasn't questioning your loyalty and honor and all that good stuff, you know," he told him even as he admittedly privately to himself that he actually sort of had been, technically. He hadn't meant to, though; he'd just been trying to gauge Castiel's personal feelings, and despite all the pissiness, his words reassured Dean.
It seemed to placate Castiel, and he said, more calmly, "I will always come when you call, Dean." There was a pause, and then he amended stiffly, "If I'm able." Dean knew what he meant; his prayers had gone unanswered for two months, after all, through no fault of Castiel's.
"Wish I could hear your prayers, too," he sighed, and Castiel gave him a startled look, as if Dean had stumbled onto his deepest secrets. "He said you prayed to me," Dean explained, and Castiel looked quickly away, chin lifting almost imperceptibly in defiance, but it wasn't a denial. He said nothing, and Dean pursed his lips. "Come on, Cas, say something. You've obviously been hanging out around here at least some of the time, considering how quickly you showed up just now, but you never drop in for so much as a 'hello'. You'll make me think I smell or something." He kept his tone light and teasing, but he watched Castiel closely, still testing the waters.
Castiel turned his head to look warily at him. "You said to come back and tell you if I found information on Jo Harvelle," he reminded Dean. "I haven't yet, so what would you have me say?"
Dean had been about to ask that next, but now he breathed a sigh of heavy disappointment and worry. If even an angel couldn't find her, then that meant she really didn't want to be found, someone else really didn't want her to be found, or she was already past being found. Dean fervently hoped it was the first one, that she wasn't just another casualty of his failures. He thought of Ellen, wondering if he would ever be able to look her in the eye again and shaking his head to himself as he did so.
"I'll keep searching," Castiel said with an urgency that cut through Dean's thoughts. "I won't come back until I find her."
"What? No! Cas, wait," Dean said, stumbling over his words in the rush to get them out before Castiel disappeared. "You can't be serious, what if she's really gone and you never find her? Does that mean you'll never come back? Come on, man." Castiel could be such a drama queen sometimes.
Castiel did seem serious, though, because he said, quite fiercely, "I won't disappoint you again."
"Uhm," Dean frowned. "It's not me you should be worried about. It's Jo, if she's gagged and chained up by demons or something, and it's Ellen, who's lost both her husband and her daughter, now. I'd go check up on her myself if I thought for a second that she'd want me anywhere near her."
"I can see how she's doing, if that would provide you some measure of peace," Castiel offered.
Dean paused in his train of thought and raised his eyebrows. "You don't have to, Cas, I was just thinking out loud," he said carefully.
Castiel didn't miss a beat. "Then I will continue searching for her daughter."
"Cas," Dean said, slightly exasperated by his over-eagerness. "Stop it. If we come across something, we'll go from there. Until then, I'm sure she's just working a case and you flying around aimlessly for another week or more isn't going to do anyone any good." For a moment he could have sworn Castiel looked a bit crestfallen, but the expression was gone when he looked again, and Dean chalked it up to poor night vision. "If you're really that bored and restless, maybe you can help us gank a few demons now and then, eh?" After all, Castiel had offered that very thing the last time they'd spoken. Dean didn't mention that he secretly just wanted to keep Castiel closer, so he wouldn't have to worry about him as he had this past week.
At first, Castiel looked almost hopeful at the suggestion, but then he hesitated. "Sam doesn't want me around," he pointed out.
Dean sighed. It was true, Castiel's presence might cause some friction between them, but it didn't look like he was going anywhere anytime soon, so Sam might as well start getting used to it now. Besides, angelic assistance would certainly give them a leg up in a pinch, Sam would see. "He'll get over it," Dean told him, and although Castiel looked distinctly unconvinced, he nodded slowly.
"Will that be all, then?" he inquired with a tilt of his head.
Dean snorted. "No need to be so damned stuffy, Cas. There may be a war going on, but that doesn't mean you have to act like you're in Band of Brothers."
The reference was clearly lost on Castiel, because his jaw tensed before he said, "I know that's not what we are, Dean."
And then he was gone before Dean could explain that that's not what he'd meant at all -- it had simply been the first military movie that had come to mind. He shook his head in frustration and muttered, "Friggin' angels." They would probably never be on the same page, he and Castiel, and the thought made him sigh in resignation as he went back inside.
Part 3
Characters: Dean and Castiel, Sam
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~5,500
Notes:
ibroketuesday helped. A lot. ♥Podfic: Read by
katrinaswift/fullondazzled, download here.Summary: Castiel is back, so he should be okay now, but there are all these cracks..
Part 1
Dean dreamed of dark caves and giant stalagmites, only they were made of frozen blood and Castiel was trapped in a ring of them. Dean wanted to help him and the stalagmites melted when he neared, which heartened him, but then there were stalactites above Castiel, too, and when those began melting they came crashing down to drive their bloody tips straight into his bare chest. Castiel was pinned to the ground and he screamed and screamed as his blood poured out of his body to mingle with that from the melted stalagmites and stalactites and become a thunderous river. It rushed toward Dean and carried him away from Castiel in its undercurrent, and when he opened his mouth to yell Castiel's name, he found that he couldn't because he was at the bottom of the river and all the blood was getting into his mouth and making him choke.
Dean woke up sweaty but quietly, and Sam was already on the computer, looking for their next case. Dean's mouth was dry but he swallowed painfully and stared up at the ceiling, wishing its faded yellow would wash away the red from his dream more quickly. At least he couldn't hear Castiel's screams anymore, though, and he was profoundly grateful for that. The image of an angel screaming made him acutely uncomfortable in a way that wasn't unlike how he'd felt the first time he'd watched his dad cry, when he'd been four and solidarity and untouchable idols had come crashing down around him. Dean had hated witnessing his dad's weakness, and his jaw tightened at the thought of Castiel's, now.
The sound of Sam's typing distracted him, though, and Dean looked over and allowed himself to be calmed by the familiar sight of his little brother staring at the laptop screen. "Find anything?" he asked with a forced lightness, even though it was a question he didn't want to know the answer to half the time, these days.
"Wanna go to Cedar Point?" Sam asked, glancing up only briefly.
Dean made a face. "Not particularly." Roller coasters were even worse than planes, in his opinion, but instead of expressing this particular opinion, he asked, "What happened to looking for Jo?" She had run off five days ago despite all of Ellen's attempts to keep her away from any and all apocalyptic activity, and then two days ago she had simply turned off her phone and stopped returning calls. Dean and Sam had been trying to track her down, mostly as a favor for Ellen, but their few leads had all led to dead ends. Dean supposed he shouldn't be too bitter about their wasted time, though, because if they hadn't gone to Indiana to investigate the last lead, well, then they also wouldn't have stumbled right into Castiel.
"The witness cited by this article was a young blonde," Sam said meaningfully. "And then she apparently disappeared before cops could question her further."
Good enough for Dean, considering they had nothing else. "So what actually happened?" he asked as he pushed the covers off of himself and sat up in bed.
"Six people died there yesterday," came the reply. "Riding roller coasters."
Dean winced. He knew there was a good reason for his dislike of those things. "Wouldn't the place be closed today, then?"
"It was closed yesterday, too," Sam said grimly. "The rides were empty except for those six people. It says here that black smoke came out of their mouths the moment they got on."
"So we're thinkin' demons possessed them for just long enough to put them on suicidal rides and then let them enjoy their last run?" Dean shook his head in disgust. "These sons of bitches are getting creative with their fun."
Sam didn't look up from his computer, but he got that look on his face that he always got when they heard news of demonic activity, which had been every day since Lucifer's rise: guilt, fury, and hopelessness. Dean was tired of seeing it because he couldn't chase it away with any number of shots or beers or speeches about how it Wasn't His Fault (not entirely, anyway) that people were dying and Jo was missing because both Heaven and Hell had been playing him. Dean wished he could take all the burdens from his little brother's shoulders and bear them himself if that would fix Sam, but he didn't know how to and that was worst of all.
He pretended to rub the last traces of sleep from his eyes with one hand and changed the subject. "We should stop somewhere on the way and get our hex bags fixed, though."
"What?" Sam did look up, at that. "What's wrong with our hex bags?"
"Well, they hide us from angels too, right?" Dean said slowly, because really, this was fairly obvious and Sam was usually a pretty bright kid. "How else is Cas gonna find us when he's ready?"
Something about Sam's look hardened just a fraction. "Do you want him to find us?"
"Of course, he's--" Dean frowned at the image that came unbidden to his mind -- that of Castiel naked and curled into a ball -- and finished, a little softer, "he's Cas. You don't want him to find us?"
Sam shook his head, but it wasn't a no. It wasn't a yes, either. "I don't know, Dean, haven't we been jerked around enough already? You're the one who keeps telling me we can't trust any of them."
"Yes, but. It's Cas," Dean insisted, like it was all the explanation he needed. "He disobeyed, remember? He's different." And alive, Dean reminded himself. His mind still hadn't completely wrapped around that fact yet, not when he'd spent three months thinking otherwise, so he still wasn't quite sure what to make of the previous day's revelations. Except for in his dreams, he hadn't thought about them too much after the first couple of beers because wondering what it must have been like for his exasperating-but-well-meaning Cas to spend three months in the tender care of vengeful demons, alone and abandoned, was even worse than wondering how many of the demons out there in the world right now were of his own making.
Sam derailed that train of thought by reminding him darkly, "That's what I said about Ruby."
Dean couldn't believe they were even having this conversation, and his irritation spiked. "Sam, you saw him yesterday. You saw what they did to him. None of that would've happened if he hadn't disobeyed because of me!"
Sam pursed his lips, unconvinced. "You said he was going to face off with archangels. Where did demons factor into that equation, Dean?"
"I'm sure he'll tell us when he's ready to! You know, if he can find us," Dean snapped.
"Look, Dean." Sam gave a frustrated sigh and ran fingers through his hair. "All I'm saying is we don't know what happened, and we shouldn't be so quick to trust anyone, including him. He's not one of us. I'm sorry he was in such a bad form, I really am, but he's free now, and he'll be okay. He can look out for himself, and we should do the same. Besides, who's to say the other angels won't come after us first if we stop hiding from all of them?"
"Sam--" Dean began, but he knew his brother wouldn't budge on this, not after what Ruby had done to him, and he could almost understand that. The thing was, as much as Dean wanted to be able to, he didn't think he could vouch for Castiel, either, when it came down to it. He may have come through for them when it had counted the most and paid for it dearly, and Dean may be feeling unusually protective and guilty, but Castiel was still a largely unfathomable entity and Dean had no idea how the past three months had changed him or what his agenda would be now. Maybe Sam was right. Or maybe he just didn't want to fight with him, because look where fighting had led them before. Dean couldn't let this drive another wedge between them now, not when they'd spent so long working so hard on becoming brothers again, so he looked away from Sam to glare at the wall. "Fine. But I'm going to go shower now, and when I get out there had better be coffee and donuts waiting."
***
Cedar Point turned out to be another false start, but at least they'd been able to round up the demons and exorcise them, so it hadn't been a complete bust.
Now it was two days later; same story, different state. They'd had the situation under control, really, because these were only low pay grade demons, after all, but for some reason Castiel felt the need to come help them out anyway. And normally Dean would have appreciated the gesture, but they'd been trying to kill some demons and instead most of them fled before an angel of the Lord.
His relief at seeing Castiel healthy and well again pushed everything else to the back of his mind, though. "Cas!" he called delightedly, forgetting, even, to be suspicious about how Castiel had found them.
Castiel watched the last demon flee in a cloud of black smoke and then turned to him. "Hello, Dean," he said, looking rumpled and unreadable and so very Cas. He was in his old suit, tie, and trench coat again, and he had teeth and a pair of intent blue eyes and everything. The sense of otherworldly power was also back, crackling restlessly and dangerously just under the vessel's skin, and it made it difficult to picture the Castiel they'd seen last time, all small and broken in the corner of a prison cell.
Dean got some stupid and soppy urge to hug him just for being so him, but Sam spoke up before he could act on it. "How did you find us?" he asked, surprised. He, at least, hadn't forgotten to be suspicious.
"Your hex bags work just fine," Castiel reassured them, though he didn't take his eyes off Dean's. "I didn't find you so much as follow you since Indiana."
"You've been trailing us for days now?" Sam frowned. "Why show up now, then? We were going to kill them, you know, before you scared them all off."
At that, Castiel did let his gaze flicker to Sam, but then it returned to Dean and he hesitated. "I foiled your plan," he said softly, to Dean, with an uncharacteristic unsureness that Dean found strangely unsettling.
"It's alright, Cas," Dean assured him with a briefly annoyed glance at his brother. "I'm just glad you're okay." He paused, because maybe that was assuming too much from appearances. "You are okay, aren't you?"
"I'm fine," Castiel replied, but Dean was dubious because he looked away when he said it.
He decided to let it slide. If Castiel didn't want to talk about it yet, well, Dean could hardly blame him. "What now, then?" he asked. Business was usually a safe topic, and really the only other thing Dean could think of to bring up. They hadn't talked about much else, before. "Got any juice on Lucifer for us? We've been running ourselves ragged for three months now trying to put a dent in the civilian demon population but haven't heard a word on the big names. No one knows what they're up to, and it's starting to make us feel like Geezer-Spock sitting around on Delta Vega with his thumbs up his ass, waiting to watch Vulcan implode on itself." It felt good, Dean discovered as he spoke, to have an angel around again, one who would know more than he did and who he could mostly-trust to have their backs when they needed it. He felt a tiny bit of the weight of responsibility shift from his shoulders already.
Castiel, however, wasn't much help. "I know nothing more than you do," he told them, sounding like he rued it.
"Oh." Dean forgot to hide his disappointment.
"What would you have me do, ask my superiors to fill me in?" Castiel asked, a touch acidly.
"What? No," Dean said hurriedly, surprised by his tone and chastised, "I just meant--" But Castiel didn't stick around to find out what he meant, and Dean found himself talking to empty air. He lifted his eyebrows and muttered, "Touchy, touchy, huh?"
"Dude," Sam said. "I think your angel just flounced on us."
Dean rolled his eyes and was a little concerned, a little annoyed, and a lot bemused. "Shut up, Sam."
***
"Cas?" Dean called into the warm night sometime later, because he couldn't sleep and the coke machine outside the motel made him think of Castiel. "Come on, I know you can hear me, where are you?"
Castiel was behind him, as it turned out, and Dean turned with a small, hopefully-placating smile when he heard the soft rustle. "Hey," he said.
Castiel tilted his head. "Hello, Dean. Why have you called?"
Dean shrugged. He didn't have a good reason, to be honest, except Castiel had left so suddenly earlier after days of absence. And that had come after three months Dean never wanted to think about again. He repeated his question from earlier. "Are you okay?"
In the silence that followed, Castiel's eyes narrowed a fraction but he gave no reply. "Why have you really called?" he asked.
Dean was equal parts concerned and annoyed that Castiel wouldn't answer his question. Was it so impossible for him to believe that Dean honestly just wanted to know how he was? "You never even told me what happened to you," he pointed out.
Castiel glanced briefly up at the sky before letting his gaze drop and settle on the cars in the parking lot. "The archangels left me when Lucifer rose," he said, and he might as well have been reciting the damned phone book, "but I was... compromised, and Derek sought me from the moment he came through the gates of Hell. He found me."
"Derek," Dean repeated softly, and tried to imagine what kind of person Derek might have been before he'd gone to Hell and gotten chained to Dean's rack. It wasn't an evil-sounding name. "I didn't know his name."
"He knew yours," Castiel replied, and those piercing eyes were focused on Dean again.
Dean grimaced and looked away, unable to meet Castiel's gaze. "Yeah, I bet." Castiel had to know that everything that had been done to him might as well have been done to him by Dean. He had done all of those things and more, to Derek, to hundreds of others, and none of it would have happened to Castiel if only Dean hadn't broken. Actually, none of this apocalypse shit would have happened if only Dean hadn't broken, and Castiel would still be welcomed by his brothers and sisters instead of shunned and hunted. "Do you hate me?" Dean blurted.
"No," Castiel answered immediately, and looked surprised by the question. Or at least, as surprised as he ever managed to look, which was actually less surprise and more I-may-have-discovered-a-hidden-message-written-in-your-freckles, but Dean wasn't about to be picky about his expressions.
"Do you even know how to hate?" he asked, a little sharper than he'd intended, because Castiel should hate him, by all rights. "Do you hate Derek?"
Castiel frowned, clearly confused. "He was," he began, and his brow furrowed even more. "His anger was understandable."
"But do you hate him?" Dean was unrelenting and not even sure why he needed to know. Except, if Castiel could hate Derek and yet still not hate Dean, maybe that would mean that they could be okay. And it frustrated him that he still had no idea how Castiel's mind worked, because he wanted to trust him but how could he, if he didn't know what drove Castiel? He'd always just been there, pushy and creepy and comforting and frustrating as hell, an angel through and through but even if Dean ever figured out what that meant -- what angels really were, other than contestants in Heaven's Next Top Dick -- Dean still wouldn't be able to figure Castiel out because he wasn't like the rest of them. He'd been ready to throw his life away because Dean had asked him to and Dean couldn't wrap his mind around how that was possible.
"I don't know," Castiel said, and Dean wished he wouldn't sound so lost because Castiel was supposed to be calm and quietly reassuring, a solid presence even when he didn't have all the answers and wasn't very helpful. Dean wasn't feeling very reassured at the moment, especially when Castiel asked, "Should I?"
The question made Dean blink incredulously, and then he did it again, but Castiel was still there, and he was still waiting for Dean to tell him how he should feel. It was ridiculous and alien and wrong and Dean said, "Dude. I'm not going to tell you how you're supposed to feel, Cas, what are you, some kind of programmable robot?"
Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again and cast his eyes downward, silent. Sam is right, Dean realized with a disappointed shake of his head, he's not one of us. If Castiel could go from dick to maybe-ally and then back to dick and then back to maybe-ally again and still be such an angel, then there was really no way of telling what he'd do next.
"Forget it," Dean sighed, because he could tell this conversation wasn't going anywhere and it would be best to start over later. "I'm going back to sleep."
If Castiel looked a tiny bit panicked before Dean turned to head back to the room, he didn't dwell on it because he knew Castiel would be gone even if he did turn back around to try to figure out why things weren't going the way they were supposed to go even though Castiel was back now.
***
The next night, Dean was dreaming about sitting in a diner when Castiel appeared in the booth opposite him. He glanced down at the empty table between them and quirked an eyebrow. "You're making me dream about a place that sells pie and not letting me have any? That's just cruel, Cas."
Castiel tilted his head ever so slightly as he regarded Dean, and as soon as Dean blinked, a slice of warm blueberry pie sat before him. He blinked again, a little surprised because he hadn't actually expected Castiel to humor him so obligingly. Not that he was about to complain, of course, because he had better things to do, like dig into the pie and close his eyes with relish as he brought the first bite to his mouth. "Dream-pie is the way to go, man," he told Castiel brightly between mouthfuls. "All the mouth-porn value of real pie and none of the calories."
Castiel watched for him for a few moments with an expression of patient bemusement, then glanced down at his own hands, which were folded on the table. "I would be more useful if I could, Dean," he said.
Dean sighed and put his fork down, all thoughts of humor and even pie chased away by Castiel's words. "I know, Cas. You've had a rough time of it, it's okay."
Castiel didn't seem inclined to talk about his rough time. "I can help on your hunts," he offered instead, though considering the way he looked at Dean as he said it, he might as well have been asking instead of offering.
"Our hunts?" Dean asked skeptically, suddenly picturing the three of them in the Impala together and finding it odd. "Haven't you got anything better to do?"
Castiel's eyes slid down to Dean's half-eaten pie as he answered softly, "No."
"Oh." It made sense, Dean supposed, so perhaps he shouldn't be so surprised. Castiel had turned his back on his garrison, after all, so it wasn't like he was getting any orders from them anymore. Dean hesitated, though, because he didn't know how Sam would feel about having Castiel tag along all the time.
Castiel must have sensed his hesitation, because he said quietly, "You don't want me around." Dean almost winced, because really, Castiel was an angel of the Lord and thus automatically not supposed to say such pathetic things.
"That's not it, Cas," he insisted, frowning. "Angelic assistance would be awesome, actually, but. Look, Sam is having trust issues after the whole Ruby deal, that's all." He didn't mention his own trust issues.
"I understand," Castiel replied, though he didn't look any less unhappy. It made Dean feel like a jerk, really. A jerk who kicked homeless puppies and left them out on the street.
Something occurred to him, then, and a spark of hope lit in his chest. "Jo," he said, wondering why he hadn't thought of this before. "She's a hunter, and she's gone missing. Sam and I have been looking for her, but it's been over a week now and we've been all over the place: Colorado, Nebraska, Indiana--" His gaze darted to Castiel on that last one, but Castiel's expression closed off and became unreadable, so Dean continued, "--but we still have nothing. If you can sniff her out with your angel mojo and come back to let us know where she is, we could bust her out of whatever trouble she's gotten into and return her to her mom."
Castiel nodded twice, slowly. "I know of her," he said. "How did she get taken?"
"Well," Dean said, making a face. "She didn't really get taken, that's the thing. She ran off to go hunting on her own -- said if there was an apocalypse going on then she was going to help fight it -- and then five days ago she turned off her phone and no one's heard from her since." Most likely she was okay, but when he and Sam had driven past Ellen's roadhouse the other day, they'd done simply that: driven past it. Their dad had gotten her husband killed, and now the poor woman was probably assuming the worst where Jo was concerned and secretly putting it on their heads. Not that Dean blamed her, so the sooner they found Jo, the better.
"You're spending all your time searching for a girl who ran away from her mother of her own accord?" Castiel asked, bringing Dean's attention back to the present. He didn't seem impressed.
"Well, it hasn't been a complete waste of time," Dean said, feeling kind of defensive. They owed this to Ellen and Jo, and maybe they owed it to themselves, too. "A couple of good hunts have landed in our lap along the way, and you did, too," he pointed out. He thought Castiel would be glad about that, but instead he only got narrowed eyes. Dean went on anyway. "Besides, even if Lucifer's somewhere out there, there isn't a damned thing we can do about him with no leads and no help, so for now, all we can do is look for Jo until we find her, right?"
When Castiel spoke, there was an undercurrent of resentment beneath his words that caught Dean off guard. "And if you don't? How long until you give up?"
Dean opened his mouth to retort that they wouldn't, but then everything clicked and he closed his mouth again, in guilt or shame or both. They'd given up on looking for Castiel after only two months; he had every right to resent Dean for it. But the circumstances had been different with him, and Dean rushed to explain even though it felt uncomfortably like grasping at excuses. But he couldn't not try to explain, not when Castiel was looking at him like that, with hurt and anger leaking out from the cracks in that mask of impassiveness he was trying so hard to maintain. "Cas, look. You had archangels on your ass, and you're the one who told me they were the most fearsome wrath of Heaven. We saw what they did to Chuck's house, and he stopped having visions of you, so we thought..." He paused and bit his lip hard enough to hurt and wished there was something he could say that would make this even a little bit better. But there wasn't, and maybe Castiel did hate him after all. He finished reluctantly, "We were sure, Cas. I'm sorry. And I won't blame you if you want to tell me to fuck off."
Whatever reaction Dean was expecting Castiel to have, it wasn't what he got. Castiel looked down at the table, and all traces of resentment were suddenly replaced by worry. "No, Dean, it's not your fault," he said, and then looked up again with those blue, blue eyes. "You shouldn't apologize. I -- I'm grateful that you helped me." He didn't have to be grateful for shit, and Dean was about to tell him so, but Castiel hurried to add, "And I will do my best to find Jo Harvelle."
Something had gone over Dean's head, he could practically hear its whoosh. He didn't follow Castiel's sudden change in attitude at all, and was nonplussed. "Uh," he said uncertainly, "you don't have to, you know." Besides, now that Dean thought about it, it seemed kind of cruelly ironic to tell Castiel that his rescue had been a side effect of searching for someone else and to then turn around and ask for his help with the case.
But if Castiel was bitter about it, he hid it well. "I will do my best," he repeated, and then he was gone and Dean found himself alone in the dream with the rest of his pie. It occurred to him, as he picked up his fork again, that he hadn't offered Castiel any.
***
Over a week later, Dean still hadn't heard back from Castiel about Jo. In fact, he hadn't heard from Castiel at all, and he was starting to get antsy. They hadn't parted on unfriendly terms, but it certainly hadn't been comfortable, either, and Dean couldn't shake the niggling worry that Castiel might have decided he was done with him after all (which was a thought that bothered Dean more than he cared to admit to himself). Or that he'd found Jo and had foolishly tried to save her himself and had gotten caught again. Dean was surprised to find that he was actually more concerned about Castiel's safety than he was about Jo's, which was stupid, really, because Castiel could take care of himself. And yet --
"Cas," he said, directing it up at the moonlit clouds hanging over the motel. "You still around?"
"Yes," came Castiel's immediate reply from behind him, accompanied by the familiar sound of rustling feathers.
Dean spun around, and in his stupid relief he stupidly forgot to stop himself from admitting, "Oh, I wasn't sure you'd come." He kicked himself for it afterward, because that wasn't what he'd meant to say at all.
And in any case, Castiel didn't take it well. He looked stung for a moment, and then he practically growled, "Despite what you may think, I don't make a habit of abandoning my side in a war, Dean."
For his part, Dean mostly just wondered how they'd managed to get off on the wrong foot already. "Whoa, Cas," he said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "No need to get your feathers in a knot, I wasn't questioning your loyalty and honor and all that good stuff, you know," he told him even as he admittedly privately to himself that he actually sort of had been, technically. He hadn't meant to, though; he'd just been trying to gauge Castiel's personal feelings, and despite all the pissiness, his words reassured Dean.
It seemed to placate Castiel, and he said, more calmly, "I will always come when you call, Dean." There was a pause, and then he amended stiffly, "If I'm able." Dean knew what he meant; his prayers had gone unanswered for two months, after all, through no fault of Castiel's.
"Wish I could hear your prayers, too," he sighed, and Castiel gave him a startled look, as if Dean had stumbled onto his deepest secrets. "He said you prayed to me," Dean explained, and Castiel looked quickly away, chin lifting almost imperceptibly in defiance, but it wasn't a denial. He said nothing, and Dean pursed his lips. "Come on, Cas, say something. You've obviously been hanging out around here at least some of the time, considering how quickly you showed up just now, but you never drop in for so much as a 'hello'. You'll make me think I smell or something." He kept his tone light and teasing, but he watched Castiel closely, still testing the waters.
Castiel turned his head to look warily at him. "You said to come back and tell you if I found information on Jo Harvelle," he reminded Dean. "I haven't yet, so what would you have me say?"
Dean had been about to ask that next, but now he breathed a sigh of heavy disappointment and worry. If even an angel couldn't find her, then that meant she really didn't want to be found, someone else really didn't want her to be found, or she was already past being found. Dean fervently hoped it was the first one, that she wasn't just another casualty of his failures. He thought of Ellen, wondering if he would ever be able to look her in the eye again and shaking his head to himself as he did so.
"I'll keep searching," Castiel said with an urgency that cut through Dean's thoughts. "I won't come back until I find her."
"What? No! Cas, wait," Dean said, stumbling over his words in the rush to get them out before Castiel disappeared. "You can't be serious, what if she's really gone and you never find her? Does that mean you'll never come back? Come on, man." Castiel could be such a drama queen sometimes.
Castiel did seem serious, though, because he said, quite fiercely, "I won't disappoint you again."
"Uhm," Dean frowned. "It's not me you should be worried about. It's Jo, if she's gagged and chained up by demons or something, and it's Ellen, who's lost both her husband and her daughter, now. I'd go check up on her myself if I thought for a second that she'd want me anywhere near her."
"I can see how she's doing, if that would provide you some measure of peace," Castiel offered.
Dean paused in his train of thought and raised his eyebrows. "You don't have to, Cas, I was just thinking out loud," he said carefully.
Castiel didn't miss a beat. "Then I will continue searching for her daughter."
"Cas," Dean said, slightly exasperated by his over-eagerness. "Stop it. If we come across something, we'll go from there. Until then, I'm sure she's just working a case and you flying around aimlessly for another week or more isn't going to do anyone any good." For a moment he could have sworn Castiel looked a bit crestfallen, but the expression was gone when he looked again, and Dean chalked it up to poor night vision. "If you're really that bored and restless, maybe you can help us gank a few demons now and then, eh?" After all, Castiel had offered that very thing the last time they'd spoken. Dean didn't mention that he secretly just wanted to keep Castiel closer, so he wouldn't have to worry about him as he had this past week.
At first, Castiel looked almost hopeful at the suggestion, but then he hesitated. "Sam doesn't want me around," he pointed out.
Dean sighed. It was true, Castiel's presence might cause some friction between them, but it didn't look like he was going anywhere anytime soon, so Sam might as well start getting used to it now. Besides, angelic assistance would certainly give them a leg up in a pinch, Sam would see. "He'll get over it," Dean told him, and although Castiel looked distinctly unconvinced, he nodded slowly.
"Will that be all, then?" he inquired with a tilt of his head.
Dean snorted. "No need to be so damned stuffy, Cas. There may be a war going on, but that doesn't mean you have to act like you're in Band of Brothers."
The reference was clearly lost on Castiel, because his jaw tensed before he said, "I know that's not what we are, Dean."
And then he was gone before Dean could explain that that's not what he'd meant at all -- it had simply been the first military movie that had come to mind. He shook his head in frustration and muttered, "Friggin' angels." They would probably never be on the same page, he and Castiel, and the thought made him sigh in resignation as he went back inside.
Part 3
