Acting Like a Harlot, Joined at the Lip
I feel vindicated about the whole David Cameron/Nick Clegg thing. It's as though, suddenly, the British press in its entirety has converted to slash. It's everywhere. The pictures in the paper and on the TV, the headlines declaring them married, in bed together, in a relationship... I'm sorry but I'm just not strong enough to resist that kind of temptation. I'm not Tory. I doubt i'll ever be a Tory, but right now I can't help shipping one. And I don't mean to Timbuktu. If one good thing has come out of this, it's that the slash is really making this coalition a lot easier for me to stomach. Funny how that happens.
Perhaps another good thing. burkesl17 seemed to think I was having a mental breakdown because of that "Clameron", or if you're a hack "Cleggeron", or if you're me "Dick" fic. And I'll admit, it was dirty and low even for me So to purify myself, and to prove to my dear friends I do actually still retain my sanity, I decided a comment fic of the SPN variety was in order.
elizah_jane's CuddleCommentFic meme seemed to provide the ideal, clean-living opportunity for this. The prompt I stole was maychorian's "Castiel & Everyone, gen; Castiel is no good at coping with human manpain. He figures out that hugs help. NO ONE IS SAFE." Suffice it to say, me and comment!fic are like Cameron and Clegg chalk and cheese. I'm not actually capable of writing anything shorter than 4,000 words. But it was fun and easy to write, and soothed my pain and fear at the up-coming episode.
Title: "Now there's a cuddle hormone spray that makes men more affectionate"
Rating: PG, only for some little swearing, otherwise it's the most G thing I've ever written.
Words: 4,238
Summary: Can be read as Dean/Cas pre-slash, Sam, Bobby. The apocalypse is over. Castiel finds a magazine.
Quick thanks to cienna for providing me access to knowledge of her country.
."Now there's a cuddle hormone spray that makes men more affectionate".
He reads it first in a magazine.
Castiel is tired and his legs and back ache from hours and hours sitting in the car as Dean drove them away from the end of the apocalypse. He doesn't know where they're going and he didn't even think to do anything other than obey Dean when he told Castiel to get in the damn car.
He only realises now, after miles and miles and miles, that there was a choice.
Other people coming and going around him are giving Castiel a wide berth and he wonders if he perhaps smells bad. Or it could be the soot and dirt streaked across his shirt, and the blood on his collar, and the bandages wrapped around his hands. Once, Castiel could have healed this flesh, re-sewn these clothes.
The bandages itch.
The magazine sits abandoned on a picnic table at a rest stop, and Castiel tries to ignore the fact that he doesn't know where he is. He doesn't just know.
He picks up the magazine absently because he has nothing else to do. The magazine is torn and crumpled and damp and has headlines that make no sense to Castiel.
It's a warm day, the day that was supposed to be the end of the world, and Dean and Sam are taking a long time buying supplies and gas and whatever else, so Castiel sits himself down. The bench is uncomfortable, but he is glad for the breeze and the quiet after hours of loud music that have given Castiel a headache and made him very much want to hurt Dean.
The page he opens to is entitled Self Help, and Castiel thinks, yes, this is what he needs now. He has no idea what to do from here. Before, he'd never thought to stop and consider that there might be an after in which he would have to live. It had always been stay alive and now and the next battle will be this. Castiel doesn't know his place in this world.
Don't rely too heavily on those around you, the magazine article advises. Castiel considers the logistics of this, because he has no money, and very dubious practical knowledge of human life, and he has no name here.
He could learn, though. As he had learned of humanity and of Dean and Sam and Bobby and Ellen and Jo and cars and diners and houses and fear and despair and victory. Castiel has learned all these things in such a short time. He could learn more.
Castiel turns the page.
The paper crinkles beneath his fingertips and he thinks he likes the sound.
The article he turns to is entitled The Importance of Human Contact and Castiel thinks, this could be important.
He learns many things.
***
Dean can't decide what to feel, so goes with hungry. And thirsty. And he can't avoid the aching and the pain that flares down his back every time he moves, so he feels that too. But he doesn't think he should feel happy, or glad, or victorious or some crap because of all the shit that's gone wrong the whole thing just feels like a fluke. Like it isn't real. Like they haven't really achieved anything. Which, technically, is true.
Ever the bringer or joyful news, Cas had declared, "We have prevented Lucifer from reigning over the earth, waging war on the heavens. For now."
For now.
So, no celebrating. Just driving away. As far away as fucking possible.
But he can't help but feel relieved. He's still got Sam, alive and not Lucifer and not fucked up beyond recognition. He's still got all his faculties intact. Cas didn't get pulverised, mostly, and yeah, it sucks that he's stuck with them now but Dean can't help but feel hope. And, shit, it's been such a long time since he knew how that felt.
There's things they need to do, and need to think about and get sorted out or whatever, but for now Dean's just going to follow the road to Bobby's, the long way round. And if Sam can tell what Dean's doing he's not complaining.
His brother buys ice cream in the crappy little store. He's licking one with a kind of glee Dean hasn't seen in years.
"I'm celebrating," he says in reply to Dean's raised eyebrow. Dean gestures to the second ice cream in his other hand.
"I hope that isn't for me," Dean says, trying to sound as disgusted as he can at the insult to his masculinity.
Sam shrugs. "Don't worry," he says. "It's not."
He tips his head to the side, towards Cas, who's sitting at a bench with his back to them.
"You're feeding him ice cream?"
Sam shrugs again. "Why not? It was either that or car grease."
Dean laughs, even though it's not that funny. Everything he cares about is still kicking and that's pretty much all he's ever wanted. So he nods and watches as Sam makes his way over to Cas, lifts and angles his long legs awkwardly to sit down beside him.
As Cas turns to look at Sam, Dean can see that Cas is holding a magazine. It looks glossy.
Sam holds out the ice cream and says something and after a moment of stillness Cas puts down his magazine and takes it. From this angle Dean can only see the side of his face but he thinks Cas might be kind of smiling.
Dean leaves his brother to cheering up the angel and goes back to the impala to check her over. It's getting to evening, the air turning cool, and he thinks maybe they should get a motel somewhere instead of speeding back to Bobby's. Maybe they can stretch it out another day, just stay in limbo a little longer, drifting and not thinking about the future.
Running his hands along the impala's body, getting his hands in her engine is, like it's always been, therapeutic, and by the time Dean's done he's finished with freaking out over what they just did, and over what might have happened, and what's happened to them. For now, at any rate. Dean's not sure it'll ever be gone, all that crap between them, inside him, but it's enough for the time being.
When he looks up, stretching out cramped muscles, Sam and Cas are still at the picnic table. Sam's talking and Cas is watching and it's weird because he's still so damn still, like someone's hit his pause button.
Sam lays a hand on Cas's shoulder, and Dean has to smile when Cas looks at the hand curiously. Sam's smiling his sympathetic, understanding smile and they hold like that for a moment. Dean gets the impression Sam's waiting for some kind of response and Dean wonders what they've been talking about all this time, when Cas does something Dean never expected.
Suddenly, his arms reach out, grab Sam by the shoulders and pulls him forwards. There's a really freaking hilarious look of shock on Sam's face and he unbalances, falls against Cas's chest and Cas takes this opportunity to wrap his arms fully around Sam's back. And, holy shit, really what the fuck were they discussing that it ended up in rapid strike hugging. No one's crying, though, for which Dean is going to be eternally grateful.
Sam recovers quickly from the surprise, and he smiles. Figures Sam'd actually enjoy it. He hugs Cas back and it's not awkward at all, but it is really weird to see two grown men having a hug at a rest stop somewhere off I-65. Dean'd laugh if he wasn't still kind of in shock.
He sees Sam lean forward even closer, say something right into Cas's ear, and Cas nods.
He can't help it, but Dean has the really uncomfortable feeling those two are up to something.
***
It's automatic. Sam gets a twin and doesn't even think that they're three now and Castiel really needs to sleep in something other than the backseat of the impala. He must think being human really sucks by now, the life they lead, the way they live.
He takes the keys, still not thinking much because he's dead on his feet and he's got bruises on his bruises and all he wants is to stop, and it's only when he opens the door and looks at their shitty room that he thinks, shit and then, Dean's going to kill me.
Dean doesn't kill him, but it's a near thing, saved only by Cas who tells them he doesn't mind sleeping on the floor and oh, Sam sees it coming but Cas has no clue. Dean rounds on him, pointing viciously and voice low and angry.
"You," he says. "Are sleeping in a bed."
Castiel goes from slightly pathetic droopy man to indignant in an instant.
"I will do what I want." There's pride, unexpectedly, and stubbornness in the set of Cas's face and his tone.
Dean's squaring his shoulders, settling in for a fight, so Sam intervenes, "Why are we fighting over this? This is my fault. I just wasn't with it." He puts his hands up placatingly. "We can get another room."
Immediately, Dean cuts in, "No! We stick together."
Sam knows this Dean, his brother transformed into a crazy mother hen protecting his brood, and he knows there's no arguing with him like this. Or, possibly, ever. Cas doesn't know that though, and he's frowning and Sam can see the arguments forming.
"Okay, fine," Sam says quickly, and Castiel shoots him a half-annoyed and half-confused look. He shrugs. He looks at Dean. "We can share. The beds are big enough and we've had worse. Whatever. Can we just please sleep."
Sam is grateful that Cas takes the hint and remains silent. Dean folds his arms, looking between them both.
"Fine," he says, finally. "You kick me out in the night and I’ll hurt you," he threatens before stalking off into the bathroom. Sam sighs in relief and starts digging through his bag for something to sleep in. He can feel Cas watching him.
"Dean won't listen when he gets like that," Sam explains.
The look on Cas's face turns thoughtful. "He's trying to protect us."
"Yeah." Sam thinks he needs to find Cas something to wear too. There are long rents in his coat, and the shirt is beyond hope of ever getting clean again. He's got nothing to wear to sleep in either. Sam looks for his cleanest t-shirt.
"It is very patronising," Cas says.
"Yeah," Sam agrees. "But he means well."
Sam sits himself down on the edge of the nearest bed. He looks uncomfortable and he rests his hands on his knees, palms facing upwards, like the burns under the bandages are just too sore to put any pressure on at all anymore.
"Perhaps he would like some physical affection?" Cas suggests, and holy fuck Sam can't help the surprised burst of laughter that escapes him, and Oh, God, Cas, Sam is just glad Dean wasn't in the room to hear that.
Castiel, affronted, is frowning and pulling the magazine he'd been reading earlier out of his coat pocket, opening to a dog-eared page. "Is this article wrong?"
"No, Cas, no," Sam laughs, the he adds more seriously. "It's not that. Dean just doesn't do hugging and stuff like that very well."
"The magazine states it is essential for humans," Cas insists. "We are humans," he says carefully, and the words surprise Sam. Yeah, he knew it. He can see evidence of it in the pain and exhaustion in Cas's eyes, and the dirt on his clothes and the sweat on his face, but for Cas to say it. It's just. He doesn't even know. It's like it's too much. How the hell do you become a whole other species? And the uncertainty and surprise is written all over Castiel's face too. He looks down at his hands, then back up to Sam.
"Yeah," Sam agrees, and goes over to Cas, and, to hell with his brother anyway. He sits next to Cas on the bed and throws an arm around his shoulders. "We should check those bandages," Sam says, and Cas nods, still looking like shit, but now he's maybe he's slightly less tense. "Like I said earlier, we'll get Dean yet." And then, at that, Cas grinned, and it was absolutely awesome.
It had, of course, to be that moment that Dean decided to come out of the bathroom.
He stands for a long moment, dripping on the carpet with only a towel wrapped around his waist. There're some ugly-looking bruises on his chest and skin red and scraped raw along his right side.
"Do I need to get another room?" he asks. "Let you two have some privacy?"
"Shut up, asshole," Sam retorts, but he's sure to give Cas's shoulder a quick squeeze before he lets go. It's beautiful, it's perfect, how Castiel just stares at Dean serenely like this happens all the time. Nothing new. Everything normal.
Dean narrows his eyes suspiciously, his confused, irritated face promising brooding and unsubtle teasing in the near future. And Sam knows then, as Cas stares at Dean and Dean stares right back, that they were, all three of them, going to be fine.
***
Castiel decides that, along with being slow and confining, driving is also tedious. Even if he can no longer fly, Castiel wishes he could at least walk wherever he needed to go.
He doesn't tell Dean this, because Dean seems to draw pleasure from sitting in his car for hours and hours on end. Castiel wonders if his obsession with the car is a physical thing; that Dean finds comfort in its continued presence in his life. It's something he can touch and feel safe with. He reads the magazine he picked up from cover to cover, but it does not talk anywhere about relationships with inanimate objects.
He's read every article and advertisement and completed every puzzle and questionnaire and still there's no indication that they were drawing close to their destination, so Castiel has to set it aside and watch the scenery pass. He still does not want to consider what he is doing, or rather, not doing. He knows Dean is looking at him in his mirror.
The next rest stop is brief respite. Sam gives him a bottle of water and tells him to drink it all. He gives him a t-shirt and tells him to change into it.
"My stuff smells bad and is old," Sam tells him. "You should have something new." He looks down at the old pair of Dean's jeans Castiel is wearing. "We'll get you more stuff when we find somewhere that actually sells decent stuff."
Castiel says, "You don't have to." It makes very little difference to him what he's wearing. Except where his coat is too hot, and his jacket is too restricting, and he was glad to change out of them.
Sam smiles, "We know that." He puts a hand on Castiel's shoulder and Castiel realises he is beginning to see the importance of physical contact. It makes him feel welcomed and loved. He wishes for this contact with Dean also, but he has noticed that even Sam rarely touches his brother.
Still, when Dean returns from the store and hands him a new magazine, Castiel does not stop himself reaching out with one hand and, just for a moment, holding on to Dean's arm in thanks.
Castiel is pleased when Dean neither pulls away nor seems annoyed. He just grunts a, "No problem," and instructs Cas to hurry up and get in the car.
Castiel lets go, and after Dean has slid himself into the driver's seat, over the roof of the car Sam gives Castiel a bright grin and holds his thumbs up.
It makes Castiel feel oddly accomplished.
***
They arrive at Bobby's late in the afternoon.
Sam unfolds himself from the impala and climbs out. His legs feel cramped and weak and pathetic from hours crammed into the car with Dean unwilling to stop for more than a few minutes at a time. Bobby must have said something really frightening over the phone to get him moving like that.
Bobby greets them out on the porch with, "Still alive then." He's got a beer in his hand and he's got his back leaning against the wall of the house.
Coming round the hood of the car to stand next to him, Dean says, "Yeah."
Bobby nods. "Good." And that, it seems, is that, because then Bobby turns away, going back into the house, and beside him Dean is smiling.
It's then he realises something's missing.
Sam turns back to the car, peering into the backseat. "Cas?" he calls. He worries for a second that something's up, but Dean comes around to the passenger door, throwing it open and laughing, "Cas, seriously. There's no way that magazine is that good. We're here, dude. Get out of the car."
Cas looks up at them like he hadn't even noticed they'd stopped moving. "I was reading an intriguing interview," he says defensively, but he slides out of the car and he rolls up the magazine and shoves it into the back pocket of his jeans as he stands up.
"Uh huh," Dean says, closing the door behind Cas. "About what?"
Seeing as the magazine is plastered with the main headline Be a Lucky Bitch, Sam thinks this is a really dangerous thing to ask.
"I was reading about keeping relationships strong during difficult times," he says. And, yeah, Dean really shouldn't have asked. Dean looks kind of appalled, and turns away saying, "Right. I'm going inside," and then, under his breath but loud enough to hear, "Can't believe I bought you that crap."
Behind Dean's back, Castiel looks over at Sam and does that grinning thing again. Cas, Sam decides, is a sneaky bastard.
He trails after Dean with Cas. "You did that on purpose," Sam says in a low voice.
"I did," Cas agrees. "But there really is an article like that. It also advises against neglecting the importance of casual physical contact."
And Sam thinks, as he laughs, again, when the hell did Cas become so damn funny.
***
The first thing Cas does after Bobby's greets him with a nod and a beer is to pull the old man into a hug.
It's like, Dean thinks, he's entered the Twilight Zone. Unless Cas has actually become a Cupid instead of a human when they weren't looking.
He expects Bobby to shove Cas off, but he just takes it, even patting Cas on the back with one hand, saying, "Yeah, yeah."
It doesn't last long before Cas pulls away, but it's like he's paved the way for more because as soon as Cas is out the way Sam goes in for the kill, wrapping stupidly long arms around Bobby until he's yelling at Sam, "Jesus, boy. Let me breathe!"
Castiel is watching them, and there's not much of an expression on his face, but Dean thinks he looks kind of pleased, like, Good job, well done. Or something.
And Dean wonders why, with all this sudden out-pouring of touchy-feeliness, none of them have cornered him yet.
***
"Are you ever," Dean asks, "Going to stop reading that crap?"
He's got two beers in one hand and a jacket in the other that he throws at Castiel, landing bunched up in Castiel's lap on top of his magazine.
"It's getting cold," he says by way of explanation, sitting himself down next to Castiel on the back steps. He nudges Castiel with his elbow when he doesn't move.
Temperature is an odd thing, Castiel is finding. He feels hot and cold at times that he thinks don't make sense, and sometimes he can't even tell which. It's dark out, and probably late by now, by the human clock, but Castiel feels awake and comfortable.
"I don't feel cold," Castiel tells Dean, but he fumbles to put the jacket on anyway. He will be glad when he no longer has to have the thick bandages covering his hands. They are nothing but a nuisance.
"That's the beer," Dean explains. "Keeps you warm." Which, Castiel admits, is probably the truth. He's had three, or four, and his head does feel light and unsteady, but it's a pleasant feeling. It's nothing like when he was angry and betrayed and bitter and drank more bottles of liquor than he cares to remember and all he felt afterwards was sick and heavy and still angry and betrayed and bitter.
The jacket on, Dean hands him another bottle and Castiel drinks from it slowly. It doesn't, he thinks, taste all that bad.
"What're you reading this time anyway?" Dean takes a long drink from his own bottle, and he's watching Castiel out the corner of his eye.
"I am reading about this month's hottest footwear," Castiel informs him, and Dean chokes on his beer, snorting and coughing.
After a moment, wiping spilt beer from his mouth with his sleeve, Dean accuses, "You did that on frigging purpose."
"I don't even know what I've done," Castiel replies truthfully. He can't see why what he said was so funny, but if it makes Dean laugh and smile and look as amused and relaxed as he does now then he really doesn't much care.
Dean shakes his head, and he looks like he can't quite decide whether to believe Castiel or not. And then, to Castiel's surprise, Dean pats him on the back, hands spread wide and warm where Castiel had not even realised he was cold.
"Sure, sure," Dean decides, and his hand falls away, going back to the bottle of beer. Castiel takes another drink of his own. "Whatever, man. I just wanted to make sure you were okay out here. Not, you know, getting any weird ideas from those things." He tips the neck of his bottle towards the magazine resting on Castiel's knee. "Those things will rot your brain."
"It will not," Castiel assures him. "And I'm fine." It's an unexpected thing but he finds that it's the truth, mostly.
"You haven't said much," Dean says, his voice quieter and more serious.
"I have nothing to say."
"You keep hugging people," Dean tries.
Castiel really doesn't understand where Dean is going with this conversation. "I read that human contact is important."
"From one of those magazines?" Dean asks, and Castiel nods. Dean says, "I guess it's true. It's just," Dean looks down at the bottle in his hand, runs a hand through his hair before looking back up to meet Castiel's eyes. "Cas, I just want you to know that we'll... help you. With whatever. Me and Sam."
Between Dean's awkwardness and what he isn't saying, Castiel sees then what Dean is asking. This, Castiel thinks, is why he does not feel cold, and he does not ache as much as he thinks he should.
Carefully, Castiel places his beer on the top step, closes the magazine and slides it off his lap to lay it down beside him. Dean is watching him so Castiel smiles.
"Thank you, Dean," he says. "For everything."
There are times when he has hated them, and been angry with them, and wished he'd never met them, but Castiel has lived so much in his time with the Winchesters, and he has been able to save humanity with them, and, at the end of it all, they have remained loyal friends to him. It is for these reasons that Castiel knows he will not burden them, and he will not wallow in his own grief. He will live, he thinks.
"But," he tells Dean, "I feel I must... find my own way."
Dean frowns. "You don't have to, y'know, do it all yourself."
"I know," Castiel says.
Dean doesn't look entirely convinced. He adds, "Being human isn't all crap."
"I know," Castiel agrees.
Dean nods. "So long as we're clear."
"We are," Castiel tells him. Dean is still staring, like he's looking for something in Castiel's face and not finding it, and Castiel wants Dean to see that he does understand. That he knows Dean and Sam and Bobby are his family now, so he reaches out and gathers Dean in his arms, resting his chin on Dean's shoulder. Dean goes still beneath him, squirms and complains, "Cas, man, dude, come on," but he doesn't push Castiel away and after a short while Dean gives in. He sighs dramatically, puts down his beer and reaches around to hug Cas in return, relaxing into it.
"I'm not buying you anymore girly magazines," Dean says, his voice loud where his mouth is so close to Castiel's ear. "Ever."
"They are very insightful," Castiel argues. "They're teaching me many things about humanity."
Castiel feels Dean snort against him. "Like how to do your hair?"
"Do my hair?" Castiel asks.
Dean pats Castiel on the back again. "Never mind."
For the first time in a long time, or maybe ever, Castiel thinks he knows what it feels like to be at peace. And even before raising Dean from hell, and disobeying orders, and fighting the apocalypse, that was all Castiel had ever really wanted.
.End.
A couple of end notes:
(1) All magazine titles come from a real edition of Cosmopolitan. That's right. The one about being a lucky bitch included.
(2) Err. I love Bobby. That is all.
Hope you feel as fluffy as I do now!
Comments and concrit? Why not.
Edited 14/05 for typos.
Perhaps another good thing. burkesl17 seemed to think I was having a mental breakdown because of that "Clameron", or if you're a hack "Cleggeron", or if you're me "Dick" fic. And I'll admit, it was dirty and low even for me So to purify myself, and to prove to my dear friends I do actually still retain my sanity, I decided a comment fic of the SPN variety was in order.
elizah_jane's CuddleCommentFic meme seemed to provide the ideal, clean-living opportunity for this. The prompt I stole was maychorian's "Castiel & Everyone, gen; Castiel is no good at coping with human manpain. He figures out that hugs help. NO ONE IS SAFE." Suffice it to say, me and comment!fic are like Cameron and Clegg chalk and cheese. I'm not actually capable of writing anything shorter than 4,000 words. But it was fun and easy to write, and soothed my pain and fear at the up-coming episode.
Title: "Now there's a cuddle hormone spray that makes men more affectionate"
Rating: PG, only for some little swearing, otherwise it's the most G thing I've ever written.
Words: 4,238
Summary: Can be read as Dean/Cas pre-slash, Sam, Bobby. The apocalypse is over. Castiel finds a magazine.
Quick thanks to cienna for providing me access to knowledge of her country.
."Now there's a cuddle hormone spray that makes men more affectionate".
He reads it first in a magazine.
Castiel is tired and his legs and back ache from hours and hours sitting in the car as Dean drove them away from the end of the apocalypse. He doesn't know where they're going and he didn't even think to do anything other than obey Dean when he told Castiel to get in the damn car.
He only realises now, after miles and miles and miles, that there was a choice.
Other people coming and going around him are giving Castiel a wide berth and he wonders if he perhaps smells bad. Or it could be the soot and dirt streaked across his shirt, and the blood on his collar, and the bandages wrapped around his hands. Once, Castiel could have healed this flesh, re-sewn these clothes.
The bandages itch.
The magazine sits abandoned on a picnic table at a rest stop, and Castiel tries to ignore the fact that he doesn't know where he is. He doesn't just know.
He picks up the magazine absently because he has nothing else to do. The magazine is torn and crumpled and damp and has headlines that make no sense to Castiel.
It's a warm day, the day that was supposed to be the end of the world, and Dean and Sam are taking a long time buying supplies and gas and whatever else, so Castiel sits himself down. The bench is uncomfortable, but he is glad for the breeze and the quiet after hours of loud music that have given Castiel a headache and made him very much want to hurt Dean.
The page he opens to is entitled Self Help, and Castiel thinks, yes, this is what he needs now. He has no idea what to do from here. Before, he'd never thought to stop and consider that there might be an after in which he would have to live. It had always been stay alive and now and the next battle will be this. Castiel doesn't know his place in this world.
Don't rely too heavily on those around you, the magazine article advises. Castiel considers the logistics of this, because he has no money, and very dubious practical knowledge of human life, and he has no name here.
He could learn, though. As he had learned of humanity and of Dean and Sam and Bobby and Ellen and Jo and cars and diners and houses and fear and despair and victory. Castiel has learned all these things in such a short time. He could learn more.
Castiel turns the page.
The paper crinkles beneath his fingertips and he thinks he likes the sound.
The article he turns to is entitled The Importance of Human Contact and Castiel thinks, this could be important.
He learns many things.
***
Dean can't decide what to feel, so goes with hungry. And thirsty. And he can't avoid the aching and the pain that flares down his back every time he moves, so he feels that too. But he doesn't think he should feel happy, or glad, or victorious or some crap because of all the shit that's gone wrong the whole thing just feels like a fluke. Like it isn't real. Like they haven't really achieved anything. Which, technically, is true.
Ever the bringer or joyful news, Cas had declared, "We have prevented Lucifer from reigning over the earth, waging war on the heavens. For now."
For now.
So, no celebrating. Just driving away. As far away as fucking possible.
But he can't help but feel relieved. He's still got Sam, alive and not Lucifer and not fucked up beyond recognition. He's still got all his faculties intact. Cas didn't get pulverised, mostly, and yeah, it sucks that he's stuck with them now but Dean can't help but feel hope. And, shit, it's been such a long time since he knew how that felt.
There's things they need to do, and need to think about and get sorted out or whatever, but for now Dean's just going to follow the road to Bobby's, the long way round. And if Sam can tell what Dean's doing he's not complaining.
His brother buys ice cream in the crappy little store. He's licking one with a kind of glee Dean hasn't seen in years.
"I'm celebrating," he says in reply to Dean's raised eyebrow. Dean gestures to the second ice cream in his other hand.
"I hope that isn't for me," Dean says, trying to sound as disgusted as he can at the insult to his masculinity.
Sam shrugs. "Don't worry," he says. "It's not."
He tips his head to the side, towards Cas, who's sitting at a bench with his back to them.
"You're feeding him ice cream?"
Sam shrugs again. "Why not? It was either that or car grease."
Dean laughs, even though it's not that funny. Everything he cares about is still kicking and that's pretty much all he's ever wanted. So he nods and watches as Sam makes his way over to Cas, lifts and angles his long legs awkwardly to sit down beside him.
As Cas turns to look at Sam, Dean can see that Cas is holding a magazine. It looks glossy.
Sam holds out the ice cream and says something and after a moment of stillness Cas puts down his magazine and takes it. From this angle Dean can only see the side of his face but he thinks Cas might be kind of smiling.
Dean leaves his brother to cheering up the angel and goes back to the impala to check her over. It's getting to evening, the air turning cool, and he thinks maybe they should get a motel somewhere instead of speeding back to Bobby's. Maybe they can stretch it out another day, just stay in limbo a little longer, drifting and not thinking about the future.
Running his hands along the impala's body, getting his hands in her engine is, like it's always been, therapeutic, and by the time Dean's done he's finished with freaking out over what they just did, and over what might have happened, and what's happened to them. For now, at any rate. Dean's not sure it'll ever be gone, all that crap between them, inside him, but it's enough for the time being.
When he looks up, stretching out cramped muscles, Sam and Cas are still at the picnic table. Sam's talking and Cas is watching and it's weird because he's still so damn still, like someone's hit his pause button.
Sam lays a hand on Cas's shoulder, and Dean has to smile when Cas looks at the hand curiously. Sam's smiling his sympathetic, understanding smile and they hold like that for a moment. Dean gets the impression Sam's waiting for some kind of response and Dean wonders what they've been talking about all this time, when Cas does something Dean never expected.
Suddenly, his arms reach out, grab Sam by the shoulders and pulls him forwards. There's a really freaking hilarious look of shock on Sam's face and he unbalances, falls against Cas's chest and Cas takes this opportunity to wrap his arms fully around Sam's back. And, holy shit, really what the fuck were they discussing that it ended up in rapid strike hugging. No one's crying, though, for which Dean is going to be eternally grateful.
Sam recovers quickly from the surprise, and he smiles. Figures Sam'd actually enjoy it. He hugs Cas back and it's not awkward at all, but it is really weird to see two grown men having a hug at a rest stop somewhere off I-65. Dean'd laugh if he wasn't still kind of in shock.
He sees Sam lean forward even closer, say something right into Cas's ear, and Cas nods.
He can't help it, but Dean has the really uncomfortable feeling those two are up to something.
***
It's automatic. Sam gets a twin and doesn't even think that they're three now and Castiel really needs to sleep in something other than the backseat of the impala. He must think being human really sucks by now, the life they lead, the way they live.
He takes the keys, still not thinking much because he's dead on his feet and he's got bruises on his bruises and all he wants is to stop, and it's only when he opens the door and looks at their shitty room that he thinks, shit and then, Dean's going to kill me.
Dean doesn't kill him, but it's a near thing, saved only by Cas who tells them he doesn't mind sleeping on the floor and oh, Sam sees it coming but Cas has no clue. Dean rounds on him, pointing viciously and voice low and angry.
"You," he says. "Are sleeping in a bed."
Castiel goes from slightly pathetic droopy man to indignant in an instant.
"I will do what I want." There's pride, unexpectedly, and stubbornness in the set of Cas's face and his tone.
Dean's squaring his shoulders, settling in for a fight, so Sam intervenes, "Why are we fighting over this? This is my fault. I just wasn't with it." He puts his hands up placatingly. "We can get another room."
Immediately, Dean cuts in, "No! We stick together."
Sam knows this Dean, his brother transformed into a crazy mother hen protecting his brood, and he knows there's no arguing with him like this. Or, possibly, ever. Cas doesn't know that though, and he's frowning and Sam can see the arguments forming.
"Okay, fine," Sam says quickly, and Castiel shoots him a half-annoyed and half-confused look. He shrugs. He looks at Dean. "We can share. The beds are big enough and we've had worse. Whatever. Can we just please sleep."
Sam is grateful that Cas takes the hint and remains silent. Dean folds his arms, looking between them both.
"Fine," he says, finally. "You kick me out in the night and I’ll hurt you," he threatens before stalking off into the bathroom. Sam sighs in relief and starts digging through his bag for something to sleep in. He can feel Cas watching him.
"Dean won't listen when he gets like that," Sam explains.
The look on Cas's face turns thoughtful. "He's trying to protect us."
"Yeah." Sam thinks he needs to find Cas something to wear too. There are long rents in his coat, and the shirt is beyond hope of ever getting clean again. He's got nothing to wear to sleep in either. Sam looks for his cleanest t-shirt.
"It is very patronising," Cas says.
"Yeah," Sam agrees. "But he means well."
Sam sits himself down on the edge of the nearest bed. He looks uncomfortable and he rests his hands on his knees, palms facing upwards, like the burns under the bandages are just too sore to put any pressure on at all anymore.
"Perhaps he would like some physical affection?" Cas suggests, and holy fuck Sam can't help the surprised burst of laughter that escapes him, and Oh, God, Cas, Sam is just glad Dean wasn't in the room to hear that.
Castiel, affronted, is frowning and pulling the magazine he'd been reading earlier out of his coat pocket, opening to a dog-eared page. "Is this article wrong?"
"No, Cas, no," Sam laughs, the he adds more seriously. "It's not that. Dean just doesn't do hugging and stuff like that very well."
"The magazine states it is essential for humans," Cas insists. "We are humans," he says carefully, and the words surprise Sam. Yeah, he knew it. He can see evidence of it in the pain and exhaustion in Cas's eyes, and the dirt on his clothes and the sweat on his face, but for Cas to say it. It's just. He doesn't even know. It's like it's too much. How the hell do you become a whole other species? And the uncertainty and surprise is written all over Castiel's face too. He looks down at his hands, then back up to Sam.
"Yeah," Sam agrees, and goes over to Cas, and, to hell with his brother anyway. He sits next to Cas on the bed and throws an arm around his shoulders. "We should check those bandages," Sam says, and Cas nods, still looking like shit, but now he's maybe he's slightly less tense. "Like I said earlier, we'll get Dean yet." And then, at that, Cas grinned, and it was absolutely awesome.
It had, of course, to be that moment that Dean decided to come out of the bathroom.
He stands for a long moment, dripping on the carpet with only a towel wrapped around his waist. There're some ugly-looking bruises on his chest and skin red and scraped raw along his right side.
"Do I need to get another room?" he asks. "Let you two have some privacy?"
"Shut up, asshole," Sam retorts, but he's sure to give Cas's shoulder a quick squeeze before he lets go. It's beautiful, it's perfect, how Castiel just stares at Dean serenely like this happens all the time. Nothing new. Everything normal.
Dean narrows his eyes suspiciously, his confused, irritated face promising brooding and unsubtle teasing in the near future. And Sam knows then, as Cas stares at Dean and Dean stares right back, that they were, all three of them, going to be fine.
***
Castiel decides that, along with being slow and confining, driving is also tedious. Even if he can no longer fly, Castiel wishes he could at least walk wherever he needed to go.
He doesn't tell Dean this, because Dean seems to draw pleasure from sitting in his car for hours and hours on end. Castiel wonders if his obsession with the car is a physical thing; that Dean finds comfort in its continued presence in his life. It's something he can touch and feel safe with. He reads the magazine he picked up from cover to cover, but it does not talk anywhere about relationships with inanimate objects.
He's read every article and advertisement and completed every puzzle and questionnaire and still there's no indication that they were drawing close to their destination, so Castiel has to set it aside and watch the scenery pass. He still does not want to consider what he is doing, or rather, not doing. He knows Dean is looking at him in his mirror.
The next rest stop is brief respite. Sam gives him a bottle of water and tells him to drink it all. He gives him a t-shirt and tells him to change into it.
"My stuff smells bad and is old," Sam tells him. "You should have something new." He looks down at the old pair of Dean's jeans Castiel is wearing. "We'll get you more stuff when we find somewhere that actually sells decent stuff."
Castiel says, "You don't have to." It makes very little difference to him what he's wearing. Except where his coat is too hot, and his jacket is too restricting, and he was glad to change out of them.
Sam smiles, "We know that." He puts a hand on Castiel's shoulder and Castiel realises he is beginning to see the importance of physical contact. It makes him feel welcomed and loved. He wishes for this contact with Dean also, but he has noticed that even Sam rarely touches his brother.
Still, when Dean returns from the store and hands him a new magazine, Castiel does not stop himself reaching out with one hand and, just for a moment, holding on to Dean's arm in thanks.
Castiel is pleased when Dean neither pulls away nor seems annoyed. He just grunts a, "No problem," and instructs Cas to hurry up and get in the car.
Castiel lets go, and after Dean has slid himself into the driver's seat, over the roof of the car Sam gives Castiel a bright grin and holds his thumbs up.
It makes Castiel feel oddly accomplished.
***
They arrive at Bobby's late in the afternoon.
Sam unfolds himself from the impala and climbs out. His legs feel cramped and weak and pathetic from hours crammed into the car with Dean unwilling to stop for more than a few minutes at a time. Bobby must have said something really frightening over the phone to get him moving like that.
Bobby greets them out on the porch with, "Still alive then." He's got a beer in his hand and he's got his back leaning against the wall of the house.
Coming round the hood of the car to stand next to him, Dean says, "Yeah."
Bobby nods. "Good." And that, it seems, is that, because then Bobby turns away, going back into the house, and beside him Dean is smiling.
It's then he realises something's missing.
Sam turns back to the car, peering into the backseat. "Cas?" he calls. He worries for a second that something's up, but Dean comes around to the passenger door, throwing it open and laughing, "Cas, seriously. There's no way that magazine is that good. We're here, dude. Get out of the car."
Cas looks up at them like he hadn't even noticed they'd stopped moving. "I was reading an intriguing interview," he says defensively, but he slides out of the car and he rolls up the magazine and shoves it into the back pocket of his jeans as he stands up.
"Uh huh," Dean says, closing the door behind Cas. "About what?"
Seeing as the magazine is plastered with the main headline Be a Lucky Bitch, Sam thinks this is a really dangerous thing to ask.
"I was reading about keeping relationships strong during difficult times," he says. And, yeah, Dean really shouldn't have asked. Dean looks kind of appalled, and turns away saying, "Right. I'm going inside," and then, under his breath but loud enough to hear, "Can't believe I bought you that crap."
Behind Dean's back, Castiel looks over at Sam and does that grinning thing again. Cas, Sam decides, is a sneaky bastard.
He trails after Dean with Cas. "You did that on purpose," Sam says in a low voice.
"I did," Cas agrees. "But there really is an article like that. It also advises against neglecting the importance of casual physical contact."
And Sam thinks, as he laughs, again, when the hell did Cas become so damn funny.
***
The first thing Cas does after Bobby's greets him with a nod and a beer is to pull the old man into a hug.
It's like, Dean thinks, he's entered the Twilight Zone. Unless Cas has actually become a Cupid instead of a human when they weren't looking.
He expects Bobby to shove Cas off, but he just takes it, even patting Cas on the back with one hand, saying, "Yeah, yeah."
It doesn't last long before Cas pulls away, but it's like he's paved the way for more because as soon as Cas is out the way Sam goes in for the kill, wrapping stupidly long arms around Bobby until he's yelling at Sam, "Jesus, boy. Let me breathe!"
Castiel is watching them, and there's not much of an expression on his face, but Dean thinks he looks kind of pleased, like, Good job, well done. Or something.
And Dean wonders why, with all this sudden out-pouring of touchy-feeliness, none of them have cornered him yet.
***
"Are you ever," Dean asks, "Going to stop reading that crap?"
He's got two beers in one hand and a jacket in the other that he throws at Castiel, landing bunched up in Castiel's lap on top of his magazine.
"It's getting cold," he says by way of explanation, sitting himself down next to Castiel on the back steps. He nudges Castiel with his elbow when he doesn't move.
Temperature is an odd thing, Castiel is finding. He feels hot and cold at times that he thinks don't make sense, and sometimes he can't even tell which. It's dark out, and probably late by now, by the human clock, but Castiel feels awake and comfortable.
"I don't feel cold," Castiel tells Dean, but he fumbles to put the jacket on anyway. He will be glad when he no longer has to have the thick bandages covering his hands. They are nothing but a nuisance.
"That's the beer," Dean explains. "Keeps you warm." Which, Castiel admits, is probably the truth. He's had three, or four, and his head does feel light and unsteady, but it's a pleasant feeling. It's nothing like when he was angry and betrayed and bitter and drank more bottles of liquor than he cares to remember and all he felt afterwards was sick and heavy and still angry and betrayed and bitter.
The jacket on, Dean hands him another bottle and Castiel drinks from it slowly. It doesn't, he thinks, taste all that bad.
"What're you reading this time anyway?" Dean takes a long drink from his own bottle, and he's watching Castiel out the corner of his eye.
"I am reading about this month's hottest footwear," Castiel informs him, and Dean chokes on his beer, snorting and coughing.
After a moment, wiping spilt beer from his mouth with his sleeve, Dean accuses, "You did that on frigging purpose."
"I don't even know what I've done," Castiel replies truthfully. He can't see why what he said was so funny, but if it makes Dean laugh and smile and look as amused and relaxed as he does now then he really doesn't much care.
Dean shakes his head, and he looks like he can't quite decide whether to believe Castiel or not. And then, to Castiel's surprise, Dean pats him on the back, hands spread wide and warm where Castiel had not even realised he was cold.
"Sure, sure," Dean decides, and his hand falls away, going back to the bottle of beer. Castiel takes another drink of his own. "Whatever, man. I just wanted to make sure you were okay out here. Not, you know, getting any weird ideas from those things." He tips the neck of his bottle towards the magazine resting on Castiel's knee. "Those things will rot your brain."
"It will not," Castiel assures him. "And I'm fine." It's an unexpected thing but he finds that it's the truth, mostly.
"You haven't said much," Dean says, his voice quieter and more serious.
"I have nothing to say."
"You keep hugging people," Dean tries.
Castiel really doesn't understand where Dean is going with this conversation. "I read that human contact is important."
"From one of those magazines?" Dean asks, and Castiel nods. Dean says, "I guess it's true. It's just," Dean looks down at the bottle in his hand, runs a hand through his hair before looking back up to meet Castiel's eyes. "Cas, I just want you to know that we'll... help you. With whatever. Me and Sam."
Between Dean's awkwardness and what he isn't saying, Castiel sees then what Dean is asking. This, Castiel thinks, is why he does not feel cold, and he does not ache as much as he thinks he should.
Carefully, Castiel places his beer on the top step, closes the magazine and slides it off his lap to lay it down beside him. Dean is watching him so Castiel smiles.
"Thank you, Dean," he says. "For everything."
There are times when he has hated them, and been angry with them, and wished he'd never met them, but Castiel has lived so much in his time with the Winchesters, and he has been able to save humanity with them, and, at the end of it all, they have remained loyal friends to him. It is for these reasons that Castiel knows he will not burden them, and he will not wallow in his own grief. He will live, he thinks.
"But," he tells Dean, "I feel I must... find my own way."
Dean frowns. "You don't have to, y'know, do it all yourself."
"I know," Castiel says.
Dean doesn't look entirely convinced. He adds, "Being human isn't all crap."
"I know," Castiel agrees.
Dean nods. "So long as we're clear."
"We are," Castiel tells him. Dean is still staring, like he's looking for something in Castiel's face and not finding it, and Castiel wants Dean to see that he does understand. That he knows Dean and Sam and Bobby are his family now, so he reaches out and gathers Dean in his arms, resting his chin on Dean's shoulder. Dean goes still beneath him, squirms and complains, "Cas, man, dude, come on," but he doesn't push Castiel away and after a short while Dean gives in. He sighs dramatically, puts down his beer and reaches around to hug Cas in return, relaxing into it.
"I'm not buying you anymore girly magazines," Dean says, his voice loud where his mouth is so close to Castiel's ear. "Ever."
"They are very insightful," Castiel argues. "They're teaching me many things about humanity."
Castiel feels Dean snort against him. "Like how to do your hair?"
"Do my hair?" Castiel asks.
Dean pats Castiel on the back again. "Never mind."
For the first time in a long time, or maybe ever, Castiel thinks he knows what it feels like to be at peace. And even before raising Dean from hell, and disobeying orders, and fighting the apocalypse, that was all Castiel had ever really wanted.
.End.
A couple of end notes:
(1) All magazine titles come from a real edition of Cosmopolitan. That's right. The one about being a lucky bitch included.
(2) Err. I love Bobby. That is all.
Hope you feel as fluffy as I do now!
Comments and concrit? Why not.
Edited 14/05 for typos.