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

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

Castiel had had ample time to stew in the juices of his misdeeds long before he returned to the bunker, his groceries in hand. When Dean was not there he grew agitated. When a full day came and went without word from either of the Winchesters he grew worried.

Considering the present climate of chaos in their lives any number of unsavory scenarios had occurred to Castiel as possibilities for their absence - but Dean has forbidden Castiel to go to him, so he tries to comply with Dean's wishes for once and stays. That doesn't mean it's easy. It doesn't mean the combination of his own intense guilt, his feeling of helplessness, and general ill-ease about Castiel's fight with Dean has made it easy. By the time he hears the impala pull up outside he's worked himself back into irritation again, almost anger, and so when Sam and Dean finally make their way in the door the first thing that comes out of Castiel's mouth is a very gruff and confrontational "Where were you?"

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He's six seconds from ripping the face off of the next person that gets in his way. Angel, demon, at this point he'd settle for one or the other, because he's full of tension, full of this anxiety and anger and indignation that he can't shake because there's nothing to get it out on. There's no demons, no angels, and yeah, they could figure something out but he's running on fumes and Sammy looks like-- well.

Dean knows what Sam looks like, and it makes his heart fucking ache. So he ushers him inside, and closes the door, and promptly walks right past Sam, even as the taller one tries to say something and then just shakes his head, murmuring that he's gonna go lay down. The twelve hour thing is weighing on them, but they both know at least a few hours of sleep are needed before they figure this out.

On the less positive side, it means that Dean is left alone with Cas, so he maturely solves that by walking past him and shrugging one shoulder. "Out."

Castiel catches his shoulder with one hand and spins him around, holds him in place. "You said you were going to dig up Abaddon. It's been days. Days." He's been worried, genuinely so. Abaddon is no mere demon. She is the horror of the pit made flesh in the body of her host.

Oh, hell no. He's practically shaking with tension, all of it boiling up inside of him and when Cas grabs him, Dean reaches for a weapon on instinct, because he's been riding on the edge for hours now. It's only when his fingers brush it that he jerks back and stands there, hands fisted.

"We took a detour. We're figuring it out, okay."

"Abaddon is a knight of hell. When I didn't hear from you I became worried. You should have called." As if he has any right to demand such things from Dean after he has basically done the same thing and worse, leaving Dean alone for weeks and months at a time with no word for his welfare.

"Oh," Dean says, and it's clear that it's all wrong by the way his voice goes sickly sweet for that one word, and he pushes past him, to go raid the kitchen and the fridge. "Yeah, so says the poster child of calling. I'll get right on that."

"It's different." He knows it's not, but feels like it is anyway, and Castiel feels like himself for the first time in months, no longer confused by Naomi's influence just warring with his own pressing guilt that stretches on and on, and the overwhelming anger born of fear for Dean's safety, the frustration that they can never seem to get this right. "It's different. I'm an angel, Dean. You're human. She could have torn you to shreds and I should have been there to protect you, but instead I was-"

And there he cuts off because once again he has done something unspeakable and he really should just be put out and permanantly.

Dean laughs, and that's just as wrong as his tone earlier, except this is forced and choked and goddamnit, he really cannot deal with Castiel's shit right now. He can't find anything he's looking for so he wipes his fingers along the rim of a glass he's pretty sure was his, and fills it with water, staring at the sink like it'll fix this. Fix Cas, fix his brother, fix him.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't.

"Don't even start right now, Cas."

Cas doesn't know what to do or what to say. Things are so wrong between them and he doesn't know where to even begin to start to fix them. It's painful. It's wrong. He and Dean have always understood each other perfectly, even when they didn't, and now they just couldn't seem to get back to where they belonged.

"I bought you pie." He blurts it out and it's completely without thinking about it, but it had been supposed to be his peace offering.

The words are so jarring that Dean just stares at first. It's like he's speaking another language, because whatever Dean's expecting, this isn't it. It's not a comment about pie, it's not the tentative peace offering that he finds in front of him, it's something - anything else entirely.

Dean licks his lips, and thinks about what to say to that. Now-- now really isn't the time. On some level, he appreciates it. Cas was trying, in that same way he always did, but Dean was just so fucking tired of this. Cas just doesn't get it. Doesn't understand why Dean's on edge, why he's so pissed. Doesn't understand why Dean's stomach is twisted into knots every time they get even remotely close to talking about anything not business right now, and even that gets him tense.

"Pie," Dean says quietly, and he knows what Cas is going for - it's an apology, just like the I'm sorry and the woeful looks, and it's just. It doesn't cut it. Not right now. "I'm not hungry."

"I bought pie, and beer, and porn and toilet paper. Sorry wasn't enough, and so I bought you things you need. I know it's not enough. I know ... you're right. That I always do what I think is right, and it's always the wrong thing." And boy does he ever know that now, because that point was driven implicitly home when he chose to kill the nephilim. "Even this, now I can tell is so far from what I need to do to make this right between us, but I don't know what else to do. I don't know how to make this right. Dean, help me."

It all comes out, practically at once. Castiel is so desperate and so hopeless and he just doesn't understand what he keeps doing wrong or how he always manages to find the one thing that is going to make things so much worse. He's tried so hard to do the right thing, to use this free will that Dean has taught him and make something of himself but he has found that he just can't do this on his own. "Please, Dean. I need you."

The words come out an unconscious echo of Dean's own until they're out of his mouth and then he just looks helpless.

For a horrible, unhealthy moment Dean thinks he hates him. He's going to be sick all over the ground, gonna lose his shit and yell at him because he's been on edge since everything happened, and he really, really needs some sleep after everything that's happened but that's not going to happen any time soon, either.

"You can't just make it right, with shit, Cas," Dean snarls it before he can even think, his shoulders stiff as he draws up into himself, like he's torn between getting right up into Castiel's face, and hunching into himself and he chooses the latter to keep himself from doing something he'll regret. It's not the fucking physical items, it's not the pie, the toilet paper, the porn, he doesn't want any of that. It's not going to fix this, because everything is wrong and you can't fix fucking everything with a few items. "You can't just-- you can't, okay, you fucking can't."

And he rears back for some sort of grand tirade about how fucking stupid all of this is, fueled by exhaustion and rage and the fact that he can't do a single goddamn thing while Crowley kills another one of the people they saved, and then he hears it, and stops, just like that.

"No, you don't. You made that pretty goddamn clear," Dean whispers hoarsely, all the venom taken out of his voice, all the fight, leaving nothing but the raw, pure exhaustion as he stares at him.

It is the first time that Castiel has ever truly felt rejected by Dean and it feels like a physical blow, straight to his heart. He can't fix it. There is nothing he can do. They will never have back the the strength of trust and friendship between them that once existed and it is Castiel's fault, over and over again. He has always wondered how Dean could have such faith in him, such determination that he wouldn't give up, but now Castiel realizes he has.

He can't live with it. He finds the idea of living without Dean in his life, the one true, special thing he's ever had for himself - their friendship - gone forever.

He feels like his heart is broken and he stands there looking at Dean like that, the emotion written plainly across his face for once, a near tangible thing. He turns away, unable to keep looking at him. "I don't know how to live without you anymore, Dean. For me, you are a constant, even when I am not here. But I understand. I will leave, if you prefer. I don't wish to burden you with my ... with the trouble I cause."

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."

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

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