But Now I Am Found
But Now I Am Found
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; too bad, so sad.
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam
Spoilers: Through 6.22, a sequel to I Once Was Lost
Word Count: ~1700
Summary: Dean doesn’t trust easily.
A/N: Written for the
hc_bingo wild card square, for the prompt “loss of trust”
“He’s changed a lot, you know,” Sam says quietly.
Dean figures that Sam has read his reluctance in the way Dean’s been driving under the speed limit on the way across town.
“You promised, Dean,” Sam had said. “I could get Bobby to drive me over, but you promised.”
And that’s the thing-Dean had promised, and even if Cas had betrayed Dean, that doesn’t give Dean license to not keep his word.
“I’m sure he has changed,” Dean finally replies, grateful that his voice remains steady. “A lot has happened.”
“I know you think Cas betrayed you,” Sam continues, echoing Dean’s thoughts with uncanny ability.
Dean interrupts him. “He did betray me.”
“But all of the reasons he had to make those decisions have been superseded. Raphael is dead, and Cas isn’t an angel anymore,” Sam insists. “There’s no reason to distrust him now.”
Dean shakes his head; he’s not so sure about that. “I told him. I warned him, and-”
“And he didn’t listen to you,” Sam says impatiently. “I didn’t listen to you, and you forgave me.”
Dean had no idea how to explain that his feelings for Sam are incredibly simple next to his feelings for Cas. Sam is his brother. He’s blood. At the end of the day, family is what matters.
But Cas is-well, Cas was a friend, but more than that. Dean has no idea how he feels about Cas, and he can’t explain the depth of the betrayal he felt when he’d discovered Cas’ deception, or when Cas went ahead and opened purgatory after Dean begged him not to.
“It’s different,” Dean finally says as they pull up in front of Cas’ small rental house.
Sam sighs. “It’s always different. Come on.”
Dean trails behind as Sam swings himself up the front walk and up the three steps to the front door of Cas’ house, moving fairly well for a guy on crutches. Dean stays back while Sam knocks, but Dean can hear Cas’ deep voice call out, “Come in.”
“I swear, one of these days he’s going to regret not keeping his door locked,” Sam mutters.
Dean feels a spike of worry but pushes it aside. If Cas wants to let just anybody come into his house, that’s no skin off Dean’s nose.
“Cas? It’s Sam and Dean,” Sam calls as he enters the house.
“I’m here.”
Dean isn’t prepared for the changes he sees. In the past, Cas had always met Dean’s eyes in a way that would have been a challenge from anybody else. Cas’ focus had been intense and impossible to escape. Now, his gaze is fixed on a point just over their left shoulders, and his blue eyes seem out of focus.
Cas is thinner, his face a little more gaunt. There are more lines around his eyes and mouth, and just the faintest sprinkling of gray in his hair and in the stubble on his face.
“Hello,” Cas says after an awkward pause where both he and Sam seem to be waiting for Dean to speak. “There are beers in the fridge if you want one.”
“I’ll get them,” Dean says, grateful for something to do.
He finds his way to the kitchen with little difficulty. This is the first time he’s been in Cas’ house, but it’s small. There’s a living room, a kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom, and that’s about it. Dean spots a door in the kitchen that probably leads down to a basement or a cellar, but those are common in South Dakota.
The fridge is stocked with a couple of six packs of beer, and a couple of half-empty casserole dishes covered in plastic. Out of curiosity, Dean checks the freezer and finds it full of slim cardboard boxes.
For some reason, the sight of all those cheap, microwave meals makes Dean’s chest ache.
He pushes the emotion aside and grabs three beers, popping the caps on the kitchen counter and bringing them in to Sam and Cas.
“Thank you,” Cas says politely when Dean puts the bottle, already slick with condensation, into his hand.
Sam has his leg stretched out on the ugly floral chintz couch, and Cas perches on an avocado green velour covered chair. That leaves a bright red, overstuffed chair for Dean, and he thinks that the whole room is an eyesore.
But then, that wouldn’t matter to Cas, who can’t see the furniture, and probably wouldn’t care if he could.
Sam takes up where they’d apparently left off, telling Cas about their most recent case, the one that had resulted in a broken leg for Sam.
Dean nurses his beer, watching Cas carefully. Other than the physical changes, Dean doesn’t see any obvious signs that Cas is a different person, as Sam keeps insisting.
Maybe he’s more human, but that doesn’t make Dean inclined to trust him again; humans fuck up regularly, after all. Sam might insist that Dean had forgiven him, but that had been different.
And Dean can admit-at least to himself-that part of that difference is that he and Sam kept getting thrown together. He hadn’t been able to turn his back on his brother, not for long, anyway, but Cas is never coming back on the road with them.
That thought hurts more than Dean expects. He hadn’t thought he’d want Cas back, but now he’s forced to face the reality of that loss. Cas had pulled their asses out of the fire too many times to count, and he’d pulled another miracle when he’d located Sam on that hunt a couple of weeks back.
But the time for miracles and last-minute saves is over. Cas is just as broken as the rest of them. He’s never going to be that guy again.
“Dean!”
Sam’s sharp tone pulls Dean out of his thoughts, and he can tell that Sam has been trying to get his attention for some time. “What?” he snaps.
“I asked what you thought,” Sam says.
Dean can’t pretend that he knows what Sam has asked. “Sorry. I wasn’t listening.”
“No kidding,” Sam mutters. “I told Cas he should come over to Bobby’s this weekend, and we could grill.”
“Don’t,” Cas says quietly. “Sam.”
“Cas-” Sam begins.
Cas gives a quick shake of his head. “No. I don’t want to impose.”
Dean can see the naked pain mixed with longing on Cas’ face, and that hurts, too. Dean’s discomfort might have led him to ignore the whole thing, change the subject and pretend that the invitation had never been extended.
If it had only been a matter of ignoring Cas’ obvious desire, Dean might have managed it, the way he’d managed to walk away from Cas’ bedside in the hospital. He might have even ignored the dirty looks Sam keeps sending his way that clearly make known his disappointment in Dean.
But Dean owes Cas for Sam’s life, and having him over for dinner might not be payment enough, but it’s something.
Then he thinks of the frozen dinners, and the six-packs, and the way Cas had been so certain that Dean had called on Sam’s behalf, because Cas had known Dean would never reach out to him any other way.
“Why don’t you come over Saturday?” Dean asks. “I can come pick you up.”
Cas’ fingers pick at the label on his bottle, small shreds of paper falling to the floor at his feet. “You don’t have to.”
“I know I don’t,” Dean replies, and the words come easier now.
Some of the tension has left Sam’s jaw, and he levers himself up off the couch with his crutches. “I’ll be right back,” he announces, and swings off towards the bathroom.
The silence that falls over the living room could be more awkward, but probably not by much. Cas holds his tongue, and Dean wonders if they’ll both just sit here saying nothing until Sam comes back if Dean doesn’t make the first move.
Dean suspects they’ll be sitting here a long time if that’s the case, because he knows Sam, and Sam’s just as likely to stay in the bathroom until he’s sure that Dean and Cas have hashed things out.
Dean clears his throat just as Cas says, “I’m sorry.”
The apology is easier to hear now that the pain of Cas’ betrayal isn’t quite so fresh. “I know,” Dean replies, and he means it this time.
“I know-I think I understand now why you were so angry,” Cas says, the explanation halting, as though he’s feeling his way through new territory.
He probably is; Dean figures that angels never apologize.
“Yeah,” Dean finally says, uncertain as to what he could add. “That’s good.”
“If I-can I make amends?” Cas asks, sounding a little plaintive, a little lost, as though he doesn’t expect Dean to give him the opportunity to try.
There’s a part of Dean that wants to say no, that he’s never going to trust Cas again, that they might manage to be friendly, but they’ll never be friends. And there’s a part that feels the weight of responsibility for Cas, because he’s the one who convinced Cas to rebel, and the whole mess wasn’t entirely Cas’ fault.
And there’s a part of Dean that is still fiercely loyal to the angel-the man-who pulled him out of hell, and broke ranks, and fought at Dean’s side. That’s the part of Dean that still feels Cas’ loss like an unhealed wound.
Cas fidgets in the silence, and the growing hopelessness in his expression proves to be the tipping point for Dean, who apparently can no more turn his back on Cas than he could on Sam, no matter what the provocation might be.
“I tell you what,” Dean says, his voice rough with emotion. “Why don’t we try starting over?”
And the shy grin that breaks out over Cas’ face loosens something in Dean’s chest, and tells him that this-that Cas-is worth the risk.