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Is that what you think you're doing, Castiel – the best you can?
He watches the lights go by, Ephraim’s words ringing through his head as Dean drives toward... Well, something anyway. Maybe back to the Gas'n'Sip. Maybe toward wherever Dean thinks Castiel’s house is. Maybe halfway up to Lebanon before Dean realises that he’s still in the Impala and kicks him out onto the highway.
Castiel’s wrist is throbbing, the pain radiating out sharply. He wonder idly if it’s broken. If Nora would fire him for ruining her evening, for being so utterly useless he couldn’t guard a human infant for a few hours, for injuring himself so bad he might not be able to work. He looks down at his hands, the palms red and raw, the nails chipped - small, weak human hands that once contained an ocean of power, throbbing and crackling under the skin like lightning.
He remembers a time when he could have healed Tanya with a touch of his finger, a time when he could’ve fought off Ephraim with nothing but his bare hands, a time where Ephraim would not have even targeted him, because Castiel did not know what despair was.
“Cas?” Dean’s voice breaks him out of his reverie, “We’re here.”
Here turns out to be the Red Doors Motel, one of the few places to stay in Rexford. Castiel steps out of the Impala, following Dean as he heads to his room. Dean’s duffle is on one of the beds, so he leads Castiel to the other one and gently pushes him down.
“Let me see that,” Dean says, taking Castiel’s hand carefully into his own. They hadn’t had much time to do anything but a basic cleanup of the wound before Nora arrived. “bleeding’s stopped. Now let me just-”
Castiel lets out a pained hiss as Dean prods at his wrist.
“Just checking to see if it’s broken,” Dean tells him. “it’ll hurt a bit. Try to think of something else.”
Castiel almost smiles at that, letting his eyes wander over the ragged carpet, at the lampshades with miniature grey horses, at the rather hideous painting of a fruit bowl on the wall. He grinds his teeth, trying not to wince as Dean turns the wrist over. The wallpaper is a sickly yellow and lime green, seemingly designed to give people migraines.
He remembers visiting the Winchesters in countless motel rooms over the years, nearly all of them had something in it that was functionally useless, yet was present simply to try and liven up the drab rooms. The human compulsion to decorate their surroundings was a foreign concept to Castiel. Angels did not have possessions, nor did they see any need to have them.
“Why even try?” Castiel remembers asking Sam one day, poking at a truly ugly candle stand.
“Because it looks lived in,” Sam had said, “it makes people uncomfortable to have just bare walls and plain furniture. It’s too much like prison.”
“This stand is incredibly unappealing. I fail to see how it makes anyone more comfortable.”
“I know,” Sam answered gently, “but it shows that someone tried to make this room beautiful.”
Castiel hadn’t understood then, but after the fall, after sleeping on the streets for weeks, now making his living space secretly in a stockroom, he understands. What Sam meant that day, to have something that belongs to him, to have his own space in a small corner of the wide world, to leave an impression when he’s gone.
“Hey, hey,” Dean’s voice is gentle as he wraps up Castiel’s wrist tightly. “it’s done, don’t worry- it’s not broken. You’ll get better real soon, okay?”
“All right,” Castiel says hoarsely, “thank you, Dean.”
Dean’s face falls at this, his green eyes losing their usual sparkle. He raises a trembling hand to Castiel’s cheek, wiping at the tears he didn’t know he was shedding.
“Cas-”
“I’m fine,” he says, and stands up abruptly, shame flooding him. “thank you, Dean, but I must go now.”
“Where?” Dean cries out, alarmed. He makes an aborted attempt at grabbing Castiel’s hand before thinking the better of it. “Where are you going? You can’t exactly walk back.”
“I can walk. I’ve done it before.” Castiel says, dropping his eyes.
Dean flinches a little, but tries to smile.
“I’ll drop you off, Cas. Where do you live anyway?”
“I- At the Gas'n'Sip is fine.”
“Why? Do you have to go back to work right now? You just got off.”
“This is not you, man. You are above this. Come on” Dean had said earlier, his voice earnest.
Castiel wishes the ground would open up right now and swallow him whole. He’s saving up as much as he can, but it’ll be months before he can scrape up a deposit for a proper place to live. Everytime he makes some headway, an unexpected expense comes through - new shoes, a coat and hat, shaving cream, socks...
“Cas?” Dean’s voice is small, “Cas, are you- do you stay-”
“Don’t,” he bites out before stumbling toward the door.
But if this is the best that the famed Castiel can do, you're a more urgent case than I thought. I used to admire you.
He can’t bear it now, the pity in Dean’s voice, the wasted sympathy, the kind platitudes, a few hundred dollars pressed into his hands before Dean inevitably leaves again. His hand is on the doorknob when strong arms wrap themselves around his middle and haul him back.
“Please don’t go,” Dean whispers into his hair.
He can feel the tremble in Dean’s voice, the way Dean clutches onto him like he’s drowning. Castiel allows himself to lean back into his arms, the pain in his wrist disappearing for a brief moment.
“My shift doesn’t start till seven.”
+
They order a pizza and watch TV, finding a rerun of some spanish soap. Dean seems familiar with it and spends most of the episode talking to Castiel about the numerous characters. Castiel gets lost in the maze of relationships, but Dean is near, his voice is soothing and the painkillers he gave Castiel kick in enough for him to be in a pleasurable daze throughout the recitation.
They pile the empty pizza boxes on the table before Castiel sinks into the warm bed. It feels like heaven and he utters an involuntary sigh of contentment. He closes his eyes and tries to memorize everything - the feel of a soft blanket around him, an actual pillow to rest his head on, the sound of another person breathing next to him, the knowledge that Dean is only an arm’s length away.
He’s almost asleep when Dean speaks, “I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”
Castiel sighs and turns to his side, away from Dean, “Goodnight, Dean.”
“I just wanted to tell you why-”
“I don’t want to talk about this, Dean.”
He doesn’t want to know why Dean wanted him gone from the bunker, away from him and Sam. He doesn’t want to lose the one final piece of delusion he carries around with him, the piece that tells him Dean does care about him. He wants one night where he can pretend he’s still Castiel - the one who pulled the Righteous Man out of hell, the fastest flier in his garrison, the one who helped stop an apocalypse. Castiel, ally of the Winchesters. Cas, possible friend to Dean Winchester.
Anything but Steve, with his sales associate job and the endless, purposeless days in front of him.
Days spent waking up at dawn and hiding his sleeping bag, of brushing his teeth with the cheap toothbrush that always made his gums hurt, of unsatisfying, hurried showers in the tiny men’s room, of putting on one of the two pairs of outfits he owned. Days spent cleaning the store, checking the deliveries, greeting the customers, getting sworn at by the grumpy ones, standing at the register for hours till his feet throbbed in pain. All day, every day - stuck in this little town with no hope for any change.
I just followed the sound of your pain. You have no idea how loud it is. I could hear you for miles.
“I should never have called,” he says bitterly, “If I hadn’t-”
Ephraim would have killed him and left. Perhaps he would have started wrecking havoc in other towns, but perhaps not. Dean would never have even known.
There’s a rustling sound as Dean sits up. Castiel screws his eyes shut.
“Why did you then?” Dean asks him.
Castiel wants to tell him that he had stared at his phone every single night, his finger on the green call button, wondering if Dean and Sam were fine, if they were hunting again. He imagined them watching a movie with Kevin, imagined Dean cooking, the three of them laughing together, Dean with his head thrown back like a young god, his vibrant green eyes sparkling… Castiel would curl up tighter into his bag, trying to chase away the desperate refrain in his head of Dean, Dean, Dean...
“I just wanted to hear your voice,” he says finally.
The bed dips as Dean comes to sit by his side. Castiel doesn’t open his eyes.
“Cas,” Dean shakes his arm gently, “Castiel. Look at me.”
Dean’s face is mere inches away, his eyes calm and considerate. He smiles a little when Castiel meets his gaze.
“There you are,” he says, resting a warm palm of Castiel’s cheek, “I’m glad you called. You can always call. I swear I’ll come to you when you need me to, Cas. I know you’re angry that I- but if I could- I’ll give anything, Cas.”
Castiel blinks up at him, dazed.
“I’m not angry,” he says, “I was, at first, but Dean, I- I have no right to be upset. I’ve not been there for you when you needed me and- I am sor-”
Dean kisses him. It’s just a soft press of lips, light and worshipful, tender and sweet like nothing Castiel has ever experienced before.
“Don’t,” Dean whispers against his mouth. “Don’t apologize to me, Cas. I’m the one who needs to- I’m the one who-”
He breaks off to kiss Castiel again, climbing into bed beside him, his arms wrapping themselves over Castiel’s shoulders.
“Dean” he breathes out, between kisses. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’m here,” Dean pants, unbuttoning Castiel’s shirt, his hands slipping toward the waistband of his trousers. “I’m here now.”
+
“Me and Sam will take care of the angels. You're human now. It's not your problem anymore.”
Castiel bites his lower lip and looks at the entrance of the store.
“Hey,” Dean says, softer than before. There’s a small mark on the side of his jaw and Castiel feels an odd pride at the sight of it. There are similar ones all over Castiel’s torso and neck and he suppresses a shiver when Dean leans in to kiss him briefly. “promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”
“I promise.”
He gets out of the car and bends down to look at Dean. The other man waves back, trying hard to smile. Castiel waves back and quickly steps into the Gas’n’Sip, turning on the television, not wanting to see or hear Dean leave.
The news reporter is talking about strange weather patterns in Phoenix when he feels the wad of paper in his trouser pocket. There are nearly five hundred dollars in assorted denominations, Dean must have given him his last penny.
I’m human now, Castiel thinks to himself as he fingers the bills, feeling a rush of affection and shame overwhelm him. Why should it mean I must be useless?
He imagines quitting, imagines taking the money he’s saved and what Dean has given him and investing in a good suit or two, buying a weapon, possibly stealing a car, travelling across the country, helping those who needed it.
Finally being part of it, doing penance for all the wrongs he’s done. Fighting by Dean’s side.
Castiel smiles.