Fic: Ping Pong and Pie; Dean/Cas, PG-13
Title: Ping Pong and Pie
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angst, sap, language.
Word count: 2,400
A/N: Fix-it fic for 8.22.
Summary: “When I’m gone, you’re angry at me. When I’m here, you’re angry at me. I never know what you want.”
Alright, so. Dean might not always be the most self-aware dude on the planet. He knows damn well that he’s made an art form out of repressing shit, because that’s what you do when life keeps throwing more and more crap at you. You put it away somewhere, to deal with it later, no matter how fucking unhealthy that might be, because, at the time, dealing with it just ain’t an option.
That being said, though. He’s not stupid. And he doesn’t need Sam’s puppy dog expression to realize that he’s being a douchebag, or to understand that this thing with Cas is a world of issues stacked on top of even more issues - issues that they’ve never really worked out - and that the place they’re at right now is just the icing on the issues cake.
So he does his job. He ignores Cas’ big blue eyes, Ignores his apologies. Does what he has to do - save people, hunt things, keep Sam safe, stop Crowley, the motherfucking bastard - and when that all comes crashing down on them - when Sarah’s dead and Sam is wrecked and Cas is gone again - Dean curls up in his bedroom. Retreats to his own little safe haven, and then lies on his bed and wishes, desperately, for a drink. Tries not to think about the countdown clock they’re on. It’s only ten hours until Crowley guts someone else - someone he and Sam have saved; the whole damn reason they do this job in the first place - and they have nothing even close to a plan.
“Dean.”
He wonders, distantly, if he’ll ever be able to hear his name like that without it going straight through him, like a punch to the chest. Ever be able to hear that flutter of feathers without his stupid fucking heart damn near missing a beat. Closes his eyes, breathes through the ache, and then carefully keeps his eyes closed.
“Thought you’d ditched us again.”
There’s no response save for the rustle of fabric - that damn trench coat - and when Dean opens his eyes again, Cas is sitting in the chair by his bed, hands in his lap, eyes on his hands. His shoulders are hunched, and he looks absolutely fucking miserable, and the ache in Dean’s chest gets a little tighter, but - no. Cas ditched them. Again. He didn’t trust them - didn’t trust him, christ - and he ran off with the angel tablet and he didn’t answer Dean’s prayers and goddammit, Cas cannot keep doing this to him.
Cas flinches, then, and Dean’s about to start cursing him out anew when Cas raises his hands in the universal sign for surrender, staring at him in a way that hurts Dean all over.
“Apologies. I did not mean - you were thinking rather loudly.”
“Stay out of my head.”
“I know; I know you dislike when - I’m trying, Dean. Can’t you see? I’m trying, I just keep trying; I’m no good at - at anything, anymore, it seems, I know that, but I’m still trying, and -”
“Hey.”
He’s sitting up on the bed, and he sounds wary even to himself - because this, here, is not how Cas normally reacts when Dean tells him to stay the fuck out of his head - and when Cas cuts himself off and just stares at him, something imploring there, Dean feels himself start to crack in a way that feels way too much like giving in. Thinks of what Sam said - because it’s Cas - and watches Cas watch him, and is suddenly so exhausted that it’s almost enough to overwhelm the anger.
Almost, though. Not quite. And now Cas is being shifty - again. At this point, Dean knows the signs, and god, he hates that he knows the signs. Bites down the wave of nausea at the thought.
“Talk to me, Cas. What’s going on?”
Cas stares at him for a moment longer - all big eyes and desperate expression - and the he drops his gaze again, hunches in a bit closer to himself, and Dean honestly doesn’t know what he wants more - to kiss him or to punch him. It’s a situation he’s found himself in far too often over the last while.
“I just want you to be safe. You, and Sam. I just want - everything I do - I just want to keep you safe.”
“Then work with us, you bastard. Not against us.”
“I’m not -”
“When you go MIA for weeks at a time? Yeah. That’s working against us. So stop fucking ditching us and running off and save the world all by yourself, alright? Cause it ain’t ever gonna work. You should know that by -”
“I can never figure out whether you really want me here.”
Dean barely hears the words - they’re that soft, and Cas is still staring down at his hands - but he does hear them, somehow, and distantly realizes that his mouth is hanging open, but he can’t do anything about it, because Cas has managed to look at him again, and Dean can’t deal with what he’s seeing there.
“When I’m gone, you’re angry at me. When I’m here, you’re angry at me. I never know what you want.”
And then they’re just staring at each other, and - wow. Dean feels like he’s been gutted. And maybe it shouldn’t be this simple - maybe he should have built up an immunity to those eyes and that voice and Cas’ quiet desperation by now - but any strength he has seems to be slowly slipping away with the hopeless way Cas is staring at him - and, hell. He’ll forgive Cas, eventually. He always does, because it’s Cas. And if he’s been acting so shitty that Cas seems to think he’s nothing but angry with him, then, well - maybe Cas isn’t the only one who needs to apologize. Maybe Dean needs to man the fuck up and take some responsibility for all the damage they've been doing to each other.
“Dean? I can - if you want me to go, I can -”
Dean shakes his head - can’t seem to make his mouth work around I’m sorry too, you stupid bastard - but the motion stops Cas from flying away, at least - he’s on his feet, now, watching Dean for his next clue - and Dean grinds his teeth together as he shifts over to swing his legs over the side of the bed. For a second, Cas just keeps staring at him - and then he takes a hesitant step forward, moving slowly, and Dean can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.
“I’m not gonna bite.”
“Dean -”
“Can we - please just not talk about this?”
And, god, Dean knows it’s not that simple - knows that, at some point, they’re going to have to learn to actually use their words; knows that the anger he’s still dealing with isn’t just going to go away on its own - but Cas is already moving into his personal space, kneeling down to slide between his knees, still staring at him as he rests his hands on Dean’s thighs, and Dean can’t stop the helpless fucking shudder. Can’t help the way his eyes slide closed - can’t help the way there’s way too much in Cas’ expression for him to deal with - and neither of them move until Cas’ hands slide down his legs, fingers pressing softly through the denim, the movement something far too close to a caress.
“Dean.”
And - yeah, no. Dean is never going to get used to hearing his name said like that. Never. Swallows hard and tells himself to man the fuck up as he gets his eyes open; and after a few more moments of strained silence - Cas simply staring at him, still looking a little desperate, and Dean barely managing to breathe - Cas’ hands slide down to tangle in his own, and Dean lets himself be tugged to his feet, ignoring the way Cas’ fingers in his own are making his stomach ache.
“I want to show you something.”
Cas’ voice is low, hesitant, as though he can’t believe this tentative truce they seem to have suddenly stumbled into, and Dean just nods. Doesn’t trust himself to speak right now. Breathes through the gentle squeeze of his fingers before Cas lets go of his hands and leaves the room - the rest of the bunker is mostly dark, and Sam, hopefully, is getting some much-needed rest, and won’t be privy to any of this - and Dean follows him in silence. Doesn’t say a word as they walk through the empty hallways, a not-quite-comfortable silence, until they’re at one of their storage rooms - empty, save for some old records, from what Dean remembers - and Dean can’t stop the way his eyebrows raise; especially because Cas is looking nervous again.
“What, you bring me down here to make out against some old books, or something?”
Cas opens his mouth to say something, his expression getting stuck somewhere between nervous and exasperated, and Dean grins a bit at him - genuine, even - before he takes pity on him and just opens the door. The light that spills out is unexpected - it’s an old storage room, after all - but it’s the sudden change in décor that leaves him gaping, feeling like someone’s reached into his chest and twisted.
A fridge. And an honest-to-god fucking ping pong table. And Cas, just standing there beside him, looking so fucking unsure of himself it hurts to look at, all but wringing his goddamn hands.
“There is - in the fridge. I acquired pie. And beer. There is pie and beer. And the table - if you were serious when you said -”
“What, you couldn’t tell it was my serious face?”
His voice cracks around the edges, though, and his throat is tight and his stomach is hurting, and whatever his face is doing right now, it must get the point across, because Cas’ lips turn up at the edges, his eyes going all soft and bright and happy - and, god. Dean is not going to cry over a stupid fucking ping pong table. He’s not. Clears his throat, swallows hard, and somehow keeps it together when Cas tugs him in close, pulling him into something that - if they were horizontal - would be far too much like a cuddle; but for now, Dean’s gonna just call it a hug, and - yeah. He can deal with that. Might be holding on a little too tight, but Cas is doing the same, so he thinks he gets a free pass.
“I know this doesn’t fix everything -”
Cas’ voice is warm and soft against his neck, and Dean cuts him off with a shake of his head, tightens his grip. Knows that Cas is right - knows they have shit to work out - but, right now, that’s not what he wants. Right now he just wants to know that Cas knows that he belongs right here.
“It’s great, Cas. Thank you.”
“It was the least I could -”
“And, I - I’m not always angry with you, you know.”
“Dean -”
“Just - stop pulling stupid stunts and getting yourself hurt, okay? And stop disappearing, christ - you can’t do that to me, Cas. Alright? You just can’t. We need - I need - you here, okay? You’ve gotta know that by now. And when you go all radio silence for weeks at a time -”
Cas - thank everything, because Dean’s mouth is getting away from him in a way that’s quickly becoming terrifying - cuts him off by nodding against his neck, his hands tightening against his back as he pulls Dean in even closer.
“I’m sorry, Dean. I won’t do it again.”
“Yeah, well - I’m sorry, too.”
The only way he gets it out as is that Cas is too close to actually look at him, and when Cas’ only response is to tighten his grip around him, Dean closes his eyes in gratitude and does the same. He’s not sure how long they stand there - doesn’t give a damn, frankly, because it feels like something inside him is finally sliding back into place after being cracked for a damn long time - but it’s Cas who eventually pulls him away. Even then, though, it’s only to stare at him and raise a hand to slide his fingers through Dean’s hair, and Dean flushes almost painfully hot - because there’s vertical cuddling and then there’s Cas looking at him with that terrifying amount of fondness as he plays with his hair, and Dean’s not sure he’s quite ready to deal with that just yet.
“So, uh - you ever played ping-pong?”
It’s a weak out, and they both must know it, because Cas’ lips only turn up a bit further, even as he shakes his head in response, and Dean manages a shaky grin as he goes to pull away - but his movement is stopped when Cas gently tugs him back. Waits for him to look at him again, and then pulls him in close to press a painfully soft kiss against his mouth - Dean is pretty sure he stops breathing, everything inside him catching fire and getting all tangled up - before he’s pulling back to smile at him some more, his eyes bright and his expression happier than Dean has seen it in way too fucking long.
“Alright, Dean. Yes, I would like to learn how to play ping-pong.”
And - christ. Dean isn’t sure - again - what his face is doing - suspects that he’s looking shaken in a way that he’s really fucking glad nobody else is around to see - because Cas thankfully takes pity on him, and reaches out to pick up one of the paddles from the side of the table. Studies it like it’s something fascinating, and if it takes Dean a few seconds to realize that Cas is giving him some space to get himself back together, then Dean thinks he can be forgiven for the lapse. Swallows hard, takes a steadying breath, and then picks up the other paddle from the table, watching as Cas goes back to watching him with that little smile, and - yeah. They might still have a long way to go, when it comes to fixing everything that’s been broken between them, but they’re a damn sight better than they were only an hour ago, and Cas is smiling at him and Dean can't help but smile back, that broken place inside him feeling a little less cracked than it has in a long time.
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angst, sap, language.
Word count: 2,400
A/N: Fix-it fic for 8.22.
Summary: “When I’m gone, you’re angry at me. When I’m here, you’re angry at me. I never know what you want.”
Alright, so. Dean might not always be the most self-aware dude on the planet. He knows damn well that he’s made an art form out of repressing shit, because that’s what you do when life keeps throwing more and more crap at you. You put it away somewhere, to deal with it later, no matter how fucking unhealthy that might be, because, at the time, dealing with it just ain’t an option.
That being said, though. He’s not stupid. And he doesn’t need Sam’s puppy dog expression to realize that he’s being a douchebag, or to understand that this thing with Cas is a world of issues stacked on top of even more issues - issues that they’ve never really worked out - and that the place they’re at right now is just the icing on the issues cake.
So he does his job. He ignores Cas’ big blue eyes, Ignores his apologies. Does what he has to do - save people, hunt things, keep Sam safe, stop Crowley, the motherfucking bastard - and when that all comes crashing down on them - when Sarah’s dead and Sam is wrecked and Cas is gone again - Dean curls up in his bedroom. Retreats to his own little safe haven, and then lies on his bed and wishes, desperately, for a drink. Tries not to think about the countdown clock they’re on. It’s only ten hours until Crowley guts someone else - someone he and Sam have saved; the whole damn reason they do this job in the first place - and they have nothing even close to a plan.
“Dean.”
He wonders, distantly, if he’ll ever be able to hear his name like that without it going straight through him, like a punch to the chest. Ever be able to hear that flutter of feathers without his stupid fucking heart damn near missing a beat. Closes his eyes, breathes through the ache, and then carefully keeps his eyes closed.
“Thought you’d ditched us again.”
There’s no response save for the rustle of fabric - that damn trench coat - and when Dean opens his eyes again, Cas is sitting in the chair by his bed, hands in his lap, eyes on his hands. His shoulders are hunched, and he looks absolutely fucking miserable, and the ache in Dean’s chest gets a little tighter, but - no. Cas ditched them. Again. He didn’t trust them - didn’t trust him, christ - and he ran off with the angel tablet and he didn’t answer Dean’s prayers and goddammit, Cas cannot keep doing this to him.
Cas flinches, then, and Dean’s about to start cursing him out anew when Cas raises his hands in the universal sign for surrender, staring at him in a way that hurts Dean all over.
“Apologies. I did not mean - you were thinking rather loudly.”
“Stay out of my head.”
“I know; I know you dislike when - I’m trying, Dean. Can’t you see? I’m trying, I just keep trying; I’m no good at - at anything, anymore, it seems, I know that, but I’m still trying, and -”
“Hey.”
He’s sitting up on the bed, and he sounds wary even to himself - because this, here, is not how Cas normally reacts when Dean tells him to stay the fuck out of his head - and when Cas cuts himself off and just stares at him, something imploring there, Dean feels himself start to crack in a way that feels way too much like giving in. Thinks of what Sam said - because it’s Cas - and watches Cas watch him, and is suddenly so exhausted that it’s almost enough to overwhelm the anger.
Almost, though. Not quite. And now Cas is being shifty - again. At this point, Dean knows the signs, and god, he hates that he knows the signs. Bites down the wave of nausea at the thought.
“Talk to me, Cas. What’s going on?”
Cas stares at him for a moment longer - all big eyes and desperate expression - and the he drops his gaze again, hunches in a bit closer to himself, and Dean honestly doesn’t know what he wants more - to kiss him or to punch him. It’s a situation he’s found himself in far too often over the last while.
“I just want you to be safe. You, and Sam. I just want - everything I do - I just want to keep you safe.”
“Then work with us, you bastard. Not against us.”
“I’m not -”
“When you go MIA for weeks at a time? Yeah. That’s working against us. So stop fucking ditching us and running off and save the world all by yourself, alright? Cause it ain’t ever gonna work. You should know that by -”
“I can never figure out whether you really want me here.”
Dean barely hears the words - they’re that soft, and Cas is still staring down at his hands - but he does hear them, somehow, and distantly realizes that his mouth is hanging open, but he can’t do anything about it, because Cas has managed to look at him again, and Dean can’t deal with what he’s seeing there.
“When I’m gone, you’re angry at me. When I’m here, you’re angry at me. I never know what you want.”
And then they’re just staring at each other, and - wow. Dean feels like he’s been gutted. And maybe it shouldn’t be this simple - maybe he should have built up an immunity to those eyes and that voice and Cas’ quiet desperation by now - but any strength he has seems to be slowly slipping away with the hopeless way Cas is staring at him - and, hell. He’ll forgive Cas, eventually. He always does, because it’s Cas. And if he’s been acting so shitty that Cas seems to think he’s nothing but angry with him, then, well - maybe Cas isn’t the only one who needs to apologize. Maybe Dean needs to man the fuck up and take some responsibility for all the damage they've been doing to each other.
“Dean? I can - if you want me to go, I can -”
Dean shakes his head - can’t seem to make his mouth work around I’m sorry too, you stupid bastard - but the motion stops Cas from flying away, at least - he’s on his feet, now, watching Dean for his next clue - and Dean grinds his teeth together as he shifts over to swing his legs over the side of the bed. For a second, Cas just keeps staring at him - and then he takes a hesitant step forward, moving slowly, and Dean can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.
“I’m not gonna bite.”
“Dean -”
“Can we - please just not talk about this?”
And, god, Dean knows it’s not that simple - knows that, at some point, they’re going to have to learn to actually use their words; knows that the anger he’s still dealing with isn’t just going to go away on its own - but Cas is already moving into his personal space, kneeling down to slide between his knees, still staring at him as he rests his hands on Dean’s thighs, and Dean can’t stop the helpless fucking shudder. Can’t help the way his eyes slide closed - can’t help the way there’s way too much in Cas’ expression for him to deal with - and neither of them move until Cas’ hands slide down his legs, fingers pressing softly through the denim, the movement something far too close to a caress.
“Dean.”
And - yeah, no. Dean is never going to get used to hearing his name said like that. Never. Swallows hard and tells himself to man the fuck up as he gets his eyes open; and after a few more moments of strained silence - Cas simply staring at him, still looking a little desperate, and Dean barely managing to breathe - Cas’ hands slide down to tangle in his own, and Dean lets himself be tugged to his feet, ignoring the way Cas’ fingers in his own are making his stomach ache.
“I want to show you something.”
Cas’ voice is low, hesitant, as though he can’t believe this tentative truce they seem to have suddenly stumbled into, and Dean just nods. Doesn’t trust himself to speak right now. Breathes through the gentle squeeze of his fingers before Cas lets go of his hands and leaves the room - the rest of the bunker is mostly dark, and Sam, hopefully, is getting some much-needed rest, and won’t be privy to any of this - and Dean follows him in silence. Doesn’t say a word as they walk through the empty hallways, a not-quite-comfortable silence, until they’re at one of their storage rooms - empty, save for some old records, from what Dean remembers - and Dean can’t stop the way his eyebrows raise; especially because Cas is looking nervous again.
“What, you bring me down here to make out against some old books, or something?”
Cas opens his mouth to say something, his expression getting stuck somewhere between nervous and exasperated, and Dean grins a bit at him - genuine, even - before he takes pity on him and just opens the door. The light that spills out is unexpected - it’s an old storage room, after all - but it’s the sudden change in décor that leaves him gaping, feeling like someone’s reached into his chest and twisted.
A fridge. And an honest-to-god fucking ping pong table. And Cas, just standing there beside him, looking so fucking unsure of himself it hurts to look at, all but wringing his goddamn hands.
“There is - in the fridge. I acquired pie. And beer. There is pie and beer. And the table - if you were serious when you said -”
“What, you couldn’t tell it was my serious face?”
His voice cracks around the edges, though, and his throat is tight and his stomach is hurting, and whatever his face is doing right now, it must get the point across, because Cas’ lips turn up at the edges, his eyes going all soft and bright and happy - and, god. Dean is not going to cry over a stupid fucking ping pong table. He’s not. Clears his throat, swallows hard, and somehow keeps it together when Cas tugs him in close, pulling him into something that - if they were horizontal - would be far too much like a cuddle; but for now, Dean’s gonna just call it a hug, and - yeah. He can deal with that. Might be holding on a little too tight, but Cas is doing the same, so he thinks he gets a free pass.
“I know this doesn’t fix everything -”
Cas’ voice is warm and soft against his neck, and Dean cuts him off with a shake of his head, tightens his grip. Knows that Cas is right - knows they have shit to work out - but, right now, that’s not what he wants. Right now he just wants to know that Cas knows that he belongs right here.
“It’s great, Cas. Thank you.”
“It was the least I could -”
“And, I - I’m not always angry with you, you know.”
“Dean -”
“Just - stop pulling stupid stunts and getting yourself hurt, okay? And stop disappearing, christ - you can’t do that to me, Cas. Alright? You just can’t. We need - I need - you here, okay? You’ve gotta know that by now. And when you go all radio silence for weeks at a time -”
Cas - thank everything, because Dean’s mouth is getting away from him in a way that’s quickly becoming terrifying - cuts him off by nodding against his neck, his hands tightening against his back as he pulls Dean in even closer.
“I’m sorry, Dean. I won’t do it again.”
“Yeah, well - I’m sorry, too.”
The only way he gets it out as is that Cas is too close to actually look at him, and when Cas’ only response is to tighten his grip around him, Dean closes his eyes in gratitude and does the same. He’s not sure how long they stand there - doesn’t give a damn, frankly, because it feels like something inside him is finally sliding back into place after being cracked for a damn long time - but it’s Cas who eventually pulls him away. Even then, though, it’s only to stare at him and raise a hand to slide his fingers through Dean’s hair, and Dean flushes almost painfully hot - because there’s vertical cuddling and then there’s Cas looking at him with that terrifying amount of fondness as he plays with his hair, and Dean’s not sure he’s quite ready to deal with that just yet.
“So, uh - you ever played ping-pong?”
It’s a weak out, and they both must know it, because Cas’ lips only turn up a bit further, even as he shakes his head in response, and Dean manages a shaky grin as he goes to pull away - but his movement is stopped when Cas gently tugs him back. Waits for him to look at him again, and then pulls him in close to press a painfully soft kiss against his mouth - Dean is pretty sure he stops breathing, everything inside him catching fire and getting all tangled up - before he’s pulling back to smile at him some more, his eyes bright and his expression happier than Dean has seen it in way too fucking long.
“Alright, Dean. Yes, I would like to learn how to play ping-pong.”
And - christ. Dean isn’t sure - again - what his face is doing - suspects that he’s looking shaken in a way that he’s really fucking glad nobody else is around to see - because Cas thankfully takes pity on him, and reaches out to pick up one of the paddles from the side of the table. Studies it like it’s something fascinating, and if it takes Dean a few seconds to realize that Cas is giving him some space to get himself back together, then Dean thinks he can be forgiven for the lapse. Swallows hard, takes a steadying breath, and then picks up the other paddle from the table, watching as Cas goes back to watching him with that little smile, and - yeah. They might still have a long way to go, when it comes to fixing everything that’s been broken between them, but they’re a damn sight better than they were only an hour ago, and Cas is smiling at him and Dean can't help but smile back, that broken place inside him feeling a little less cracked than it has in a long time.