curseboxes | {perkynipples} You don't understand. I NEED pie.

Good. Dean might not be a genius with feelings, but he can read that look, read his body language, and that awful, vindictive part of Dean, that part of him that had been all too okay with slicing Abaddon up, the part that had watched the videos with interest and not disgust - that part was almost pleased at this. That Cas was finally feeling some sliver of what Dean'd felt the last few months.

He shoves it all down with a swallow, staring at him a long moment. "Don't lie to me, Cas, okay. You screw with me and Sam enough, but you don't gotta lie to me, on top of it. Gimme the goddamn courtesy there."

He turns back then, still sad, still stricken and feeling helpless. "I'm not lying to you, Dean. Why should I lie to you? You have always known, some part of you, how I feel about you." Or so he had hoped. He closes his eyes a moment, collecting himself. His head has been an awful wreck for years now and it's just now that he's feeling like himself and able to explain things to Dean. Not that he blames Dean for mistrusting him now, but he doesn't know how to make this better and can't accept that it can't be.

"I didn't leave with the tablet because I didn't trust you specifically. I had just come back to myself after months of having everything I knew rewritten. I was free of the control, but I didn't know who or what I could trust. I was confused. I was afraid. Dean, I was being hunted. I came back to you in the end."

Dean's eyes slide shut so he doesn't have to look at him. This isn't the talk he wants to have right now. He wants to go back to an hour ago, where he was sure he wouldn't even see Cas, because that was easier at this point. No such goddamn luck, though, and so Dean has to suck it up. Has to deal with it.

He sucks a breath in and holds it, jamming his hands into his pockets to start playing with the Impala's keys.

"Months later, yeah," he mutters, and drags a hand over his face, not wanting to get into a Talk right then. "Just-- drop it, okay. How's your barfight injury healin' up?"

It's as much a plea to drop this right now as it is a peace offering. Things aren't okay, not really, but Dean's too exhausted to even want to do this, so he focuses on what he can help. Right now, that's Castiel's gut, considering the injury.

"Lemme see."

Castiel doesn't want to let it go. He doesn't want to deal with it another time. He is upset, he is angry, he is frightened, and he is dreading the fact that he has yet to confess to another crime he has committed. And he does, and soon, before Dean finds out from another source. And if Dean can't forgive him for the things he's done so far, how can he forgive him for that too?

"I'll live." He hesitates when Dean asks to see it, and turns slightly away. It's not that he doesn't trust him to tend to his wound, but he still feels like he's held his heart out to Dean and had it roughly tossed aside, and how can he let Dean care for him when he is trying to desperately hold himself together?

He can do this. He might not be able to process how he feels, might not be able to sort through what to say, but he can do this. Actions are louder than words, right?

Dean ducks down a hall for a moment to grab the first aid kit and some whiskey, and pours two glasses, sliding the first over to Castiel while he sits in the chair, glancing up at him when Cas turns away. No. No, goddamnit, he can do this.

"Cas, don't be a moron, just let me see."

He's still looking at Dean like Dean might actually bite him (for all the good it would do) but shrugs out of his coat and jacket, takes off his tie and then unbuttons his shirt so that Dean can see the wound on his stomach. It's healing slowly, too slowly, far more slowly than it should be - even considering that the wound came from a bullet made from an angel's blade. Cas is watching Dean carefully, his words still thrumming in his head - the knowledge that he can't fix this too much to allow him to just move on and relax as quickly as Dean has switched himself off.

"I'll be fine."

The jacket, the shirt, the tie, everything goes off and gets put aside enough for him to see the injury, and Dean presses his lips together in a thin line, exhaling in a slow breath.

"Shouldn't you be healing faster?" he asks quietly, and reaches out without asking, pressing fingers to the edge of the wound, gently going over it, making sure it's cleaned, and rebandaged.

"Yeah, I know, but how long is it gonna take?"

"Yes." It is a simple answer, and he can do this much. He winces at Dean's touch, he is holding his stomach much too taught to do the injury any good, but he feels far too tense at the idea of Dean touching him like this. Of touching him now when he knows that he has lost the friendship he holds so dear and instead this attentiveness comes from ... obligation perhaps.

"I don't know."

"'course not," Dean mumbles, and finishes the wrap, the taping him up, until it's neat and tidy and pressed against the injury and Dean is left staring up at him, awkward, because now he doesn't know what he's supposed to do. What either of them are supposed to do.

He swallows hard, and mechanically starts to put things away, waiting for Cas to say something- anything at this point.

"Why are you doing this, Dean?" He blurts out the question before he can really think about it or any effects it might have. Honestly at this point he just doesn't understand. If there is nothing fixable left between them, if he has truly lost the man, then there is no reason he should want to care for him the way he is doing now. He shouldn't want him here ... unless it is merely Dean's need of him.

"You have no obligation to me. I know I have broken the bond we shared, but I would still come to you when you need me. You shouldn't have to suffer my presence."

And Dean hasn't asked him to go, but Cas just doesn't understand why Dean wouldn't want him to. He doesn't want to be in the way or make Dean uncomfortable by his presence.

Wow, if that isn't a glass of cold water poured down his shoulders. Dean jerks back fast enough that there's no way to disguise it as anything but, and they leave it alone there. If Cas is gonna call him out on it, Dean's not going to think too hard.

"You're not an obligation, Cas." And he really, really doesn't want to hear about their bond. Dean snorts, and then it turns into a real, true laugh, because really? He's gonna straight up lie to him like Dean hasn't been there the last few months?

Wow.

Wow. Dean stares him down a moment, and then pulls back. "Whatever you say."

"Then what am I?" He needs to understand, he needs Dean to explain it to him because every time he's thought he understood he's gotten it wrong. Dean still doesn't understand him either though and that is equally frustrating."

"When I was out of purgatory it was you I went to, you I wanted to be with. I only left after Naomi intervened. Dean, I am trying so hard to do what's right, and trying so hard to be at your side but you tell me I can't fix what's been broken and that I never do the right thing. Heaven is just as broken, yet again something I have done, and my family there has turned their backs on me as well, used me as a tool or a weapon to be controlled and pointed where they will but no of my own accord and ultimately doing more damage everywhere."

He looks away from Dean, down to his hands and he just feels lost without direction or anchor. "What is the point of me if I can't serve heaven and I can't serve you? How am I anything but an obligation if I've lost your friendship and you don't need me anymore?"

Dean's torn between feeling like he's going to be sick and feeling like he just wants to shake Castiel senseless. He's not sure what the better option is going to be at this point, truthfully.

"Don't put this on me," Dean says quiet and low and furious, staring him down. It's not his fault the way thing went, it's not his fault that shit is so awful, he didn't make Cas make those decisions, he's just tried to fucking help and now --

He sucks a breath in, holds it and stares him down, furious. "You think that's what I want? A servant? Want an angel on a leash to sic on the bad guys, someone who's gonna say how high? when I tell him to jump?" Dean doesn't know if he's more pissed at himself, or Cas, or the angels for making him think that, and he shuts it out instead, swallowing. "I don't want a fucking attack dog, asshole, I want you. We don't need Cas the angel who makes shit decisions sometimes, we need you."

"I'm not putting it on you, Dean I just don't underst-" Dean shouts out the difference, angry and Castiel is floored by what he says because what does that mean? Castiel has only ever been a servant and a soldier. He has only ever been those two things and when Dean says he doesn't need those things but needs Cas he just ...

"What more to me is there?" And he doesn't know because that's there's ever been and that's how he thinks of himself. He's never had the chance to get to know himself in any other capacity.

"I don't know, asshole, that's up to you." Dean jerks away, and takes to pacing, walking the length of the room, because he's full of jittery, nervous energy and it's not getting any better no matter how hard he tries.

Dean grips the table instead, and it creaks under his white knuckles, shivering. "You gotta figure that shit out, not me."

Dean's answer is even more frustrating because it doesn't even begin to touch on the question.

"Then what do you mean when you say you need me? Dean what is it that you need? If you say you need me, not the soldier, not the angel - when you make that distinction but then say you don't know who I am, what do you mean? I'm not trying to be difficult, I'm not trying to make things worse but I don't understand. I'm not human, I'm not used to people depending on me for ... personal comfort or whatever it is you want me here for. I'm not unwilling to give it but I need you to teach me, to show me, to help me understand. I don't know who I am anymore. What is it you see in me? Who am I to you?"

It's a futile question and ends with Castiel standing up and walking halfway across the room, he brings a hand to his head, realising he is getting a headache and that is not normal. "I think that I'm falling."

What does it mean? Is he-- is he joking, or something? Dean stares Cas down like he doesn't quite believe what he's hearing, because there's no fucking way he's really asking that. What the hell else does I need you mean? What does Cas want him to say, does he want him to wax poetic about shit that Dean always has trouble talking about?

"That's your problem, Cas," Dean finally says, tired, watching him. "You don't need me to do this. You don't need the fucking angels, don't need Crowley, don't need anything but you to figure out what the hell you want. Stop lookin' at one of us to tell you what you're supposed to do -- that's the whole point of free will, Cas."

It's all said in one long, rough rush, and by the end of it, his shoulders are tight again, all the way until he hears that and his stomach drops.

"You what."

There are things he still needs to say, things that he needs to clarify because Dean still isn't understanding what he's asking. He can figure out who he is in time, certainly. He just doesn't understand where he fits in. If he's not a brother, if he's not a friend, if he's not a comrade in arms or a weapon to be used then what the hell is he?

"I think that I am falling. Like I did before. During the apocolypse. Becoming human." It's the only explanation for the series of symptoms that Castiel is experiencing, and really he should have seen it before - maybe he even did - but he doesn't really want to admit it even now because it's too frightening. "I'm not healing the way that I should be, I'm tired, exhausted, I slept last night - eight hours. I'm hungry, and I have a headache."

"But you can't," Dean says in a rush, hoarse and near panicked, because no, no no no, he knows how close they are to 2014, knows that things are fucking miserable. But there are still angels on earth, so he can't be, that's just not possible.

"Cas, there are still angels here. Still a ton of 'em being dicks all over the place."

He swallows, stares at the other man, taking note of everything - the exhaustion, the sleep, the hunger, the headache, and they still don't have real food, aside from what Cas bought.

"How the fuck do we fix it?"

"Fix it?" Castiel laughs slightly bitter and sad all at the same time, and every bit of it aimed at himself. "Dean, we don't. I have fallen so far, rebelled so thoroughly. I believe that heaven has simply decided that I am no longer welcome. I've crossed too many lines. If this is what I am becoming then there is no going back this time."

He's quiet for a moment and then turns back to Dean, a helpless look on his face. "It's terrifying. It was before, but I honestly didn't think we would survive the apocalypse I wasn't worried about where I would fit in in the world. Now things are different. I have no identity here, no connections, just you and Sam. In that respect this might not be so bad, except that the current state of our relationship has left me thoroughly shaken. And for that reason, when I ask you what you see in me what I am asking is ... have I lost you?"

No. No, things can't go like this. There's no virus, no end of the world, because they're gonna fix this. They're going to make this better, where they haven't yet. They're gonna nuke the black eyed bitches, gonna shut Heaven out of here somehow, gonna take care of all of this. They have to.

"You can make connections. You're not--" Dean laughs, just a little bit, and it sounds bitter and jagged and wrong spilling out of his mouth. "You aren't Sam and I. You've got a helluva better chance than we do."

Cas falling wouldn't be the worst thing, in his mind, so long as he wasn't stuck with Dean and Sam. Maybe he'd find another girl, find Daphne, settle down and have a good, wholesome Christian life, without the end of the world looming over them.

"Cas, people fight." He says it like he's explaining it to a child, and doesn't quite look at him. "I'm pissed at you, I'm not kicking you out."

"I don't want a life out there. I wasn't brought up valuing family and jobs and security the way that humans are. I am in this life whether I am with you or not, I would just rather be with you."

He takes a few steps towards Dean when he explains that this is merely a fight, and Castiel looks doubtful. "I asked you how I can fix things between us. You said that we can't. You haven't asked me to leave, no, but that's not what I'm asking. I'm asking about you and me. Are you simply angry, something that we can resolve? Or have I fallen too far out of your respect. I want to be here, but I won't stay if you're only letting me remain because you would feel guilty putting me out. I want to repair our friendship. I want you to trust me again. I don't expect an immediate fix, I just need to know if it's possible."

He can't decide how he feels about this. On one hand, he wants to be angry. Wants to tell him that he's being stupid and asking stupid questions and that he needs to just shut up and get better, and then they can have the feelings and sap talk, but there's no such luck, there.

"It isn't like a formula, man," Dean says quietly, staring down at the table rather than at Cas, fingers easing away a mark on it as he rubs. "You don't just put A and B together and get C, which fixes everything, okay."

And then the rest of it settles in, and yeah, anger, that's normal, that's safe, and Dean bristles.

"I gotta say, though, I love how only now it's a talk of hey, can I stay. Like I ever kicked you out. Like I ever said our home wasn't open to you, like I-- you're the one who fucking left us. Don't even start."

"That's not what I mean!" He's losing his temper and he doesn't mean to but he is so frustrated with his inability to communicate and express himself and he longs for the days when Dean could just look at him and know what he meant.

"I'm not asking if I can stay. I'm asking if you can stand it if I do. I never wanted to leave you, Dean. Do you remember what I said to you when I got back? You asked me what I wanted to do and I told you I wanted to be a hunter. That I wanted to ride shotgun. The first thing I did was return to you before even pausing to clean myself up. I went straight to you. And that is what I do when I have free will. I only left you after it had been taken away."

"I can't do this, Cas," Dean says hoarsely, before he can get anything else out. Yeah, Cas had returned. Yeah, Cas had vanished and come back a dozen times so far, and yeah it hadn't gone as stellar as either of them would have liked but that didn't mean that it couldn't go better from here on out.

None of that meant anything right then, though, because Cas just isn't getting it. It's not about the fact that Cas came back. "You left, Cas. You took the tablet and left. You just keep doin' it, and yeah, you keep coming back, but I can't--"

Dean makes a furious, unhappy noise in the back of his throat, gripping the chair tighter.

{perkynipples} You don't understand. I NEED pie.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject