[chapter] Passenger Seat (3/6)
words: 6.262 words
“you lost something precious -
a part of you, your body shredded,
realigned, recombined, sewn together but leaving out
about ten ounces of flesh, a red, pulpy mess,
and you thought you saw it beating
as they dumped it overboard.
you lost something precious,
and you think it was your soul, but the truth
is that you lost your way;
you lost your eyes to see.
so let me be your eyes, my dear.
let me be, let me be.”
I’ll show you the way home // s.s.
»»-------------¤-------------««
Castiel tried not to sigh as his mother ran him past all the things that he needed to pay attention to for about the millionth time. He was pretty positive that after eighteen years, he knew where the dangers were, where to get food and how to look after a kid. From the way that his mother behaved, you would have thought that it was the first time that he had somebody to look out for that could actually die if Cas didn’t threat him right.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t looked after the kids of the people that hunted with his mother before. He’d feed them and keep them busy while also keeping them safe and after a few days, their parents would come and pick them up. It was easy, especially when the kids were younger because entertaining them was easier. Especially the younger kids, he could help with their homework tuck into bed and have time for himself starting at nine pm on good days. He actually enjoyed taking the younger kids out to play some football.
He couldn’t say that he was a chef or he was even remotely good at cooking, but he had yet to meet a kid that didn’t eat the things he cooked. Castiel’s menu may be restricted to ready to cook packs and spaghetti or mac and cheese, but they seemed to like it enough. Kids weren't a difficult public. Get them hungry enough and Castiel was sure they'd eat anything.
No matter how he looked at it, it wasn’t that Sam was a kid. He was already eleven years old and in the hunter world he might as well be a grown up. He was old enough to hold a gun and known how to keep the monsters away. In theory, Dean could take care of him on his own without Castiel being there to help out or as a second set of eyes, but his mother had seemed to feel more reassured and comfortable knowing that Castiel took care of the two as well. He guessed that she wanted Cas to look out for Dean and Dean for Castiel. She was always worried about him having so little contact with people of his own age.
Their excuse was that it cut back on the costs when they put all three of them in a motel room together, but both John Winchester as his mother weren’t fooling him. They were just scared that something would happen. Castiel didn’t really mind it. He’d only spend a few minutes with the two of them, but he guessed that if he would put Sam in a room with a mountain of books he probably wouldn’t see him except perhaps for food. If the kid even thought about food.
Dean on the other hand was a completely different story. One that Castiel found to be quite the mystery. It wasn’t like he wasn’t friendly enough, because he was, but he had something about him, this macho I don’t need your help thing. It threw Cas a little bit.
“Stay safe, okay,” Naomi sighed before pressing one of her own silver knifes in his hands. “Especially keep the little guy safe.”
"You should be the one to worry about,” Cas mumbled as she pulled him closer for a hug. “You’re out there being dangerous, but of course mom. Sam will be fine and all caught up on his homework by the time you guys get back.”
“Maybe. We’ll both be fine though. Thank you.”
“I know. Check in?"
“At night? I will whenever I can,” Naomi promised him, “but if I don’t call a few days, it doesn’t mean anything. Service could be out for all I know.”
“I know, I know.” It was almost like their little tradition now. Whenever she left, Castiel would ask her to call when they turned in for the night or whenever something major happened. Each time she said that she might not have service or may get wrapped up in the case too much, but up until that day, Castiel had always had a call before midnight. The first few years, when he was fourteen and all alone, she always chastised him about picking up when she called, because it was too late for boys to still be up. As he got older, she started asking if he had even slept the previous night and lately, the answer had usually been no. Schoolwork was crazy and he was an amnesiac. He didn’t know what else to say. He tried to lie to her as often as he could, promised her that he had indeed slept, but Castiel doubted that she ever believed a word he said.
“John is waiting, I should go. You’ll join the boys tomorrow?”
“Yes mom. Dean’s expecting me around one to give the room a check over.” Dean and he had done some texting back and forth to arrange what either of them would bring. In the end, they had just decided on getting everything double. More salt was never that bad and if both of them were armed to the teeth well, at least they were safe for sure.
His mother left him with a couple hundred dollars and a peck to the cheek. She knew him well enough to know that she shouldn’t wish him good luck or anything like that. The effort would be wasted. Naomi promised that she would call whenever she could to reassure him. It was her only promise and probably also the only promise that he really wanted her to make. He knew that if she promised more stuff, that she would only turn out not to come back. He’d seen it before and he wasn’t going to risk it. If that meant not saying goodbye to his mother before leaving and being superstitious than hell, he would.
He knocked on the hotel room twice, waiting until Dean opened up the door even though it wasn't locked. Except that it wasn’t Dean who opened the door, but Sam.
“Dean’s out,” Sam sighed before plopping back on his bed, book opened on the pillow. “You just missed him.”
“Does he want the bed?” His backpack was still slung over his shoulder a little awkwardly, not sure where he should drop it. It had been a little while since he’d shared a hotel room with somebody that he didn’t know and the logistics of it had gotten lost in him. “Probably, right?”
“I think so, yeah,” he shrugged, “but if you want I don’t think Dean will complain about sharing a bed with me, they’re queens anyway.” It was kind of the kid, but he didn't really need the bed anyway. He was so used to either sleeping in the back of a car or a couch somewhere that beds felt too soft, too comforting.
“No, it’s fine.” He dropped his backpack by the couch. “I’ve slept on worse things than a couch.” Almost bitterly, he remembered the flimsy mattresses and sleeping in the back of the car, getting more pain in his neck each day. His mother didn’t stop at motels when they were having a difficult time getting money or keeping it. The cost of gas was high enough without the costs of motel rooms. “I’ll be fine. Homework?” He nodded. “I’ll leave you to do it. Can’t promise you anything, but I can maybe help if you don’t get something.”
“Thank you.” Not that Castiel actually thought that it would happen. He knew the kid was smarter than anything, Naomi had said that John had bragged about it, how smart he was and how he was getting the good grades in the family. How that had partially scared him, because it could mean that he dreamt of college and that was something that they couldn’t afford.
Castiel sighed before pulling the journal out of his backpack along with the pen. It had been a birthday present from his mother a few days ago and he still had to start it. He just didn’t know what to do with it. His life wasn’t exciting or anything, he had very little to write about that wouldn’t be a disgrace to the gorgeous thing. He had uncapped the pen so many times, tried to write something and then put it back away, he did it each time. Especially now.
“It doesn’t matter, you know.” Sam was looking at him, propped up on the bed. “What you write. Just write.”
Castiel slept on the couch that night, curled up under one of their old quilts. He had made dinner for the three of them, which Sam and he ate with their knees pulled up on their respective beds and the television playing in the background. Sam had asked if they could wait for Dean to come back for food before they ate, and they had waited. It seemed like they had waited for hours before Castiel realized that if they’d keep waiting, they could wait until midnight or later. He hadn’t said anything before putting the food back on the stove to reheat and scooped the pasta into two bowls.
“If we keep waiting, we’ll be waiting for a while. I kept some on the stove for him. He can reheat it when he comes back." Sam had nodded and eaten reluctantly with his eyes flickering to the door each time a car pulled in. They kept a portion of mac and cheese to the side for Dean, even though he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be hungry when he came back.
Sam tried so hard to stay awake until his brother came back, but ended up falling asleep with his face still turned to the door. If anything broke Cas’s heart, it was that. The hope that he’d seen in Sam’s eyes.
CASTIEL (11:00 pm)
Where are you?
CASTIEL (12:00 pm)
Your brother is worried.
Dean came back around one am, closing the door behind him gently. Castiel didn’t ask a thing about where he'd been or why the hell he'd been out this long, knowing that it wasn’t any of his concern what he was doing, just looked up from where he was reading and nodded at him.
“Sam waited up for you,” he whispered under his breath, eyes flickering to the tangle of blankets on the other side of the room. Sam had fallen asleep later than Castiel had wanted him to, considering that he had school “There’s mac and cheese on the counter if you’re hungry.”
Dean just nodded and ate his food cold, sitting on the side of his mattress. He didn’t say a thing as he took off his jeans and shoes before slipping under the covers and went to sleep. Castiel only wished that he could fall asleep as easily and quickly as Dean could.
It was only later, when Dean disappeared again the next day and came back around two, that Castiel really acted on his disapproval. He had pretended to be asleep on the couch and heard him put the money in their stash. Cas didn’t care about what it was that he did, but he was worried. Afraid that whatever it was wasn’t safe.
“Hustling pool sure makes a lot of money,” he muttered from his spot on the couch when Dean came back on day four of their stay at the room. Castiel was tired; he’d been there all the time and was tired of seeing nothing but the four walls of their motel room. Sure, Dean had to go away and go out. It was just that he didn’t see the disappointed look in his brother’s eyes when the door pulled shut or how he sometimes had to be distracted to get out of the headspace.
“It’s none of your business,” Dean snapped at him, tugging at the laces of his shoes with a renewed anger.
“I know it isn’t.” He sighed before sitting up, eyes flicking back to check that Sam was still asleep. “It’s his. He has questions Dean.”
“Well good for him. Sorry, I’m not doing this tonight, I’m too tired.”
“Dean. One night, stay for just one night. I don’t care if you sneak out after Sam falls asleep.” Castiel sighed, too awake to fall asleep now. “He already misses his father and now he doesn’t even have his brother there to take care of him. He only has a virtual stranger to worry about him. Look. I haven't been outside in four days except to play soccer with him once and he didn't even like it." Dean actually shook his head at that, a small smile on his lips. "You don't have to do it for me but I am asking you. One day." He was going stir crazy staying in.
“Will it shut you up?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
At least it kept him in that day. Sam laughed just a little bit more and spending time with his brother seemed to be helping Dean a little bit as well. Castiel escaped the room for a little while, only his phone and wallet in his pockets and the notebook in his hands. His mother had send a quick text the previous day to assure him that they were fine and starting to get a start on the case. It wasn’t weird that his mother hadn’t gotten into contact with him that day, but he wanted to keep his cellphone on him just in case. If she should call that he could answer her.
Motel rooms always made him feel like he was being held prisoner. Usually, he’d be out and wandering, trying to find some place to walk or where he could relax a little bit, but now he’d wanted to keep Sam company, so he hadn’t. He could hardly allow Sam to be alone. Something could come in and hurt the kid while he was supposed to be watching. If that happened, he wouldn't only have Dean's wrath and Sam's anger, but also John's rage and his mom's disapproval.
The playground was abandoned at nine pm, thankfully. It wasn’t that he would have minded the kids all that much, but they always stole the swings and made the place too loud. He settled himself in the swing, knees pulled up and book on his legs, pen hoovering above the page.
She’s gone again.
Castiel sighed. He should use it better than this, but Sam had told him that it didn’t matter. That in a few years, he’d want to read it through regardless of what he wrote right now.
You’d think that after eighteen years, you would be used to it. My mother always protected me from the lifestyle and she still partially does.
Up until this date, I still haven’t really been on a hunt. The thought that her baby boy could possibly be pulled into the same almost war that she grew up in terrifies her more than I think.
But it’s okay.
Sometimes, I just miss her I think. Or worry. I don’t know which one of the two gets the upper hand on moments like these.
And it isn’t like people around me right now aren’t giving me reasons to worry about them. Mom dropped me off with the Winchester brothers. Sam is fourteen and the other guy is around my age. I can’t remember if he already turned eighteen or not.
Sam is a great kid. Actually told me to go ahead and write whatever I want with it, that it really doesn’t matter what I do in here.
Dean is weird. A mystery, I don’t know what his problem is. He’s out all night and comes back around one or two. Sometimes I wonder what he does all night. You’re not going to tell me that those five hundred bucks that he put in the stash last night were all from hustling pool. I’ve done that before when money ran out.
Good, I may be a piss poor excuse, but I suspect that even a good hustler can’t get that much money. And last night, he’d looked as if he had been shaking, his face was so pale that I kind of regret not saying anything about it.
I mean, come on. There is enough that I worry about already. A random kid that I haven’t even seen for an entire day can’t be that.
DEAN W. (10:22 pm)
Sam’s asking when you’re planning on coming back.
DEAN W. (10:25 pm)
Do I tell him to get his ass to bed or what?
CASTIEL (10:25 pm)
Tell him to go to bed.
Some nights it feels like everything is raining down on me at the same time and others it feels like everything is fine and I’m good. I got lucky, having the mother that I do. As bad as this feels being written, I am glad that I didn’t get the same upbringing as the Winchesters.
Mom told me how Mary died. She was actually friends with the Winchesters before and saw how John unraveled afterwards. She said that Dean and I spend a lot of time in the same cribs when my father - god bless his soul - and John went out on hunts and Dean stayed behind. Part of me wonders why she didn’t do something while she could. Perhaps these two boys would have gotten the chance of growing up in a safe environment if she had.
I guess I understand. Mom had her own problems at the time. I can’t blame her for not saving them, it’s just something that I wonder about.
Sorry, I’m a little bit sensitive tonight. Dad died two years ago today an it’s been getting on my nerves. Especially with my mom being away right now and me not knowing if she is safe or not.
I would have expected her to at least call and talk to me for a little while. I guess it would have settled my mind a little bit better. It’s getting cold outside and I should probably get back but I don’t know, I don’t want to go back to the motel room before mom at least texts.
I should text her, but I just don’t feel like it. I don’t know.
I’m going to anyway.
CASTIEL (11:50 pm)
Stay safe mom.
MOM (12:00 am)
You too Cas.
MOM (12:00 am)
Pray, for your father?
CASTIEL (01:05 am)
I will.
Guess that was an answer. Or not you know. I don’t know. I've said those three words so often in so few words that it's embarrassing.
But I will pray for him, before bed. She knows that I always do.
Praying is part of me that still settles well with the rest of the world. I know that there is nobody out there and that by praying I am just shouting out in the empty void, but that it does not mean that it doesn’t bring me a certain sense of, peace I guess.
It’s a reassurance that I won’t be judged for thoughts or things that I think. I cannot remember how often I have yelled to the gods how much I wished that I wouldn’t be into guys the way that I am or that it wouldn’t feel as each time I look at a guy the wrong way, people will know and that they will judge me over something that I cannot control. I’ve had guys make fun of me before. I am no hunter, but a hunter’s kid. I fall under the same category of people that are not supposed to have a little bit more of a feminine side, as they seem being queer is.
The word settles with me wrong. It doesn’t completely suit be, but straight doesn’t either. Neither does gay. There are other words being thrown around, but I don’t think that they’ll fit either. Labels suck and yeah, a label is nothing to be proud about but does that mean that I cannot want one.
That I cannot want to have a word for what feels is wrong with me? Being queer is a sin. God, it feels like that. It feels like the world would rather tear me apart than do anything else and I understand. Understand because you know, it feels like a sin, so it has to be one too. It has to be wrong for me to feel like I do sometimes.
I don’t tend to go to bars because of it. Afraid that I will find a guy that looks the part and make my heart beat faster. Kind of like Dean. You should have seen him you know. He’s bloody gorgeous. Not the ‘okay he’s kinda cute’ type but the actual, ‘somebody fan me I can’t do this’ kind. Why? Why must I feel like this? It's nothing more than aesthetic attraction, nothing more than thinking jesus christ you are gorgeous.
Some days feel like there is smoke in my lungs that tries to drown me and choke me and the only reason it's there because I put it there in the first place. Like I am haunting myself and allowing the dark stuff to happen to me instead of the other way around and it cleaning me. Can you tell that this is messing me up just a little bit?
Anyway. Enough crappy stuff. I’m not going to fill this thing up with my complaining about stuff that I shouldn’t complain about. It’s childish. I can do better than that.
Anyway. Mom is apparently fine, so I’m glad.
One am is no time to be outside writing. Especially not when the cold is starting to creep into your bones and your hands shake more than anything.
Or when you’re using your phone as a light source because you don’t have anything else at the moment.
DEAN W. (01;25 am)
Dude. It’s freezing out. Come back to the motel before your fingers freeze off.
CASTIEL (01;45 am)
On my way.
But it numbs everything a little bit. I didn’t even know that I needed this to distract me until I was writing. It feels like I can finally open up and it is almost heaven. Almost because it doesn’t really make the feeling last for longer than twenty minutes. I know that by the time that I’ll be in bed, I’ll feel like shit again.
Anyway, I should go before Dean comes to get me himself. Not that he’d find me but still.
Castiel closed the door to the motel room gently, trying not to disturb Sam. He didn’t mean to wake the others up. He was pretty sure that Dean had fallen asleep by now, as he should have. He had been right, it was getting quite late. Perhaps a little bit too late to be up, they had a point.
Castiel had lighted a cigarette on the way back, watching how the tip of it flashed against the background. Part of him hated himself for starting the habit a few months ago, but now it offered him comfort and comfort he needed. Sure, he could go do what John Winchester did and a lot of the others did as well, he could go ahead and drink booze, but he wasn’t that far gone just yet. Not that far.
“Where the hell where you?” Dean hissed from his bed as he closed the door and locket it, quickly checking that the salt lines they’d laid down were still there and unbroken.
“Thinking, writing. Playground.” If he didn’t ask, Dean shouldn’t either. “Needed some time to think.”
“Yeah, okay.” There was a frown on Dean’s face as Castiel slipped into the bathroom to get changed. All he had to do was go ahead and brush his teeth, get the taste of the coffee off his tongue. “You okay?”
“I will be.” He would be, he just needed a little bit of rest and a new day to arrive. “Go to sleep.”
“You waited up for me,” Dean shrugged. “I’d be an ass if I didn’t wake up for you that one time you go out. Good night, Cas.”
“Good night Dean.”
Castiel didn’t actually sleep that night. First, he’d just lain there and tried to sum up the willpower to pray. He just didn’t know what to say, what to pray for. His mother knew that his faith had wavered quite a bit in his lifetime. He had grown up in a family that wasn’t quite religious but still handled about the same morals; Sundays were spend at church once a year, only because his grandmother always did the same thing with his mother.
He was the only one in their tiny family to really catch a longing or a love for the concept of somebody out there to hear your prayers. He liked knowing that there would be something more, that it all was worth it in the end. He was the one that looked forward to Church.
But on some days, when his mother was hurt or he was just in a bad place, he sometimes started doubting. Doubting if this was the right path and if he really believed in that, if he really thought that some god up there decided all those things. Castiel sighed. It wasn’t like he should care that much about it. Sure, religion was a part of his life, but it wasn’t like he was that religious. It had never been a big part of his life.
Sam woke up around six am, before Cas had even gotten a chance to fall back asleep. He’d been staring at the same spot on the ceiling for too long, way too long. Eventually, he’d gotten up to sit down at the kitchen table with an empty cup of coffee in front of him. His notebook was in front of him again, to reread the bullshit that he had written the day before. It was all pathetic, so incredibly pathetic. It sounded like what a child would write or a thirteen year old. SOmebody who didn't know how to cope with anything.
“How late did you get back?” Sam asked him sleepily from where he was still buried under the blankets, one eye peeping out. “I didn’t hear you come back.”
“Around two,” he muttered, careful not to wake Dean up. He was still snoring away. “It was pretty late. I'm sorry.” Castiel knew that he didn't need to apologize, not really, but he wanted to.
“You’re up already?” He frowned. “Dean doesn’t get out of bed before eight even if he fell asleep around nine. And then you say that Dean doesn’t sleep enough.”
“I didn’t. Sleep that is.” He had wanted too, sure, but he’d started praying and there he had been hours later still crying with tears stinging in his eyes. He’d asked for guidance at first, a path through all that was going on, but soon he was asking for strength for his mother. He asked if his mother could come back in one piece. Soon enough, his prayer had gotten longer and longer, like the notebook entry of the previous night. Soon enough, he’d been crying like a five year old. He’d swallowed his pride, took a quick shower with the door locked and the water to hide the tears that ran down his cheeks like sins.
Sam looked at him with pity in his eyes. He eyed the empty cup that Cas still cradled in his hands. The heat had gone away a long time ago, he just hadn’t found the energy to get up and fill it up again.
“You don’t look so good. You’re okay, right?” Sam asked as he filled a bowl with cornflakes. In the empty room, the sound almost seemed too loud. He'd picked up Castiel's empty cup on the way and filled it for him, dumping in two packs of sugar without asking before handing it back, smiling a little.
“Yeah, I am. Or will be. I don’t know. Yesterday was just an anniversary of something that I don’t like remembering.” The coffee burned his tongue. “I’m sorry if I worried you by staying out that late by the way. Dean told me you were worried.”
“If it’s worth anything, Dean was worried too.” Cas smiled.
“Now you’re just trying to embarrass your brother.” The slight smile that stretched across his face was telltale. Siblings. “But yeah, I figured when I walked in and he was still up. Dean shouldn’t have.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” There was an evil grin on his lips. “It’s not like Dean would admit it out loud. But no seriously. I’m sorry about you having a rough day.”
“Nah, it’s okay. Don’t worry. Enjoy your lucky charms."
The rest of the week passed by in a quiet haze. Cas kept his stuff clean and helped Sam with some of his homework while Dean went out, got their money. Dean got caught up in a monster hunt one of the days. It was nothing but a ‘we met at the wrong moment’ thing, but he still came home bleeding and bruised. Cas tried not to freak out as Dean walked in with blood running down his face and broken knuckles at two am.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten mixed up in it in the first place,” he hissed as he pulled Dean in the bathroom with him. “What did you do?”
“Saved a girl from being kidnapped by a werewolf,” he bit back. “He’s off worse.” His face pulled as Cas poured peroxide over the wounds and watched it bubble. “Being gentle isn’t your strongest point is it?”
“Do you want your wounds cleaned out or me being gentle and you getting infected wounds, because only one of them goes,” he snapped back, Dean’s hand still in his where he held it in the sink. “What if Sam had seen you?”
“He’s seen worse.”
“Yes. He has. But not at two am and hold that rag back to your head before you get even more blood on everyone.” He didn’t mean to snap like Dean, like he was doing now, but he couldn’t help it. “You’re lucky that probably doesn’t need stitches.”
“Yes mom, thanks for that observation.”
“You can just do your own wounds.” He didn’t mean to snap at him like that, but he was tired and Dean arriving like that had scared the shit out of him. His mother had raised him to be caring and to be a little mother when it came to people he started to care about. “Be my guest. I don't need to stay awake for this.” He didn't let go of the tape though.
“Sorry.”
A little over an hour later, Castiel's shirt was covered in Dean’s blood, but at least the bleeding had stopped. It seemed to take forever before he could get a grasp on the head wound.
“This should be it,” Cas sighed as he stuck down the last bit of tape. What he thought was one laceration had appeared to be two, one higher up his face, closer to the hairline. It was small enough that it had stopped bleeding soon, but still needed a dressing just in case. “I’ll need to change the bandage later, but you get some sleep first and take a pill, otherwise you won’t be able to sleep.” Or perhaps, with how drowsy Dean already looked he would be able to sleep. Regardless, it would make the morning easier on him. He’d probably have a killer headache by the time that he got up and even more bruises that weren’t showing just yet.
“Hmm.”
“Dean. Come on.” He’d set Dean down on a chair in the kitchen when the bathroom had gotten too bloody and his legs had started to give way. “You need to cooperate.” Except he wouldn’t. Dean was a big guy, both taller and more muscled than him, but the bed wasn’t that far. Carrying him over his shoulder would have made this a lot easier, but you couldn’t really do that to an injured guy with busted ribs.
“You’re going to be the dead of me,” he hissed as he lifted Dean in his arms, Dean settling against him as if he had found his pillow. “Yes, absolutely. My death in the form of a 170 pound guy.” He couldn’t help but chuckle. Castiel blamed it on the lack of sleep. "You're lucky you're out or I would have you cleaning the goddamn bathroom yourself." It was almost a wonder that he hadn’t fully woken up again by the time Cas put him in bed and had taken off his shoes and jeans. He would feel terrible if he woke up still wearing them, and if he could do at least that, it was a start.
Around seven am, he gathered Dean’s bloody clothes and their laundry, left a note on the table for Sam - he doubted Dean would be up before noon with how little he’d slept and the pills he’d taken - and went to the laundromat to get the clothes clean. He could go later, but people would look at him too closely if he did and he didn’t want people asking him where the blood had come from. People always had their conclusions and him being a serial killer was not something that he wanted people to think.
And regardless, he needed to think a bit, be alone for a little. His hands still stung from the bleach that he'd had to use to get some of the blood off the tiles. The bathroom was airing so that Sam wouldn't be too suspicious when he woke up and smelled bleach.
Dean was up when he came back with the clean laundry, sitting up even. He still looked like shit, but it was a start at least. The Impala was parked out front; the voices of their parents and Dean’s defending himself carried further than the door, which was still opened to a crack. Castiel didn’t say anything until he closed the door and saw three pairs of eyes turned to him. His mother’s look was curious, asking almost while John and Dean had this oddly level look in their eyes. Belatedly, he wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t have let Dean go in the first place.
“We should get going,” his mother sighed, getting back up. “Cas, pack your stuff.”
“Yeah, okay. Let me change his dressing first though?” His mother smiled lightly before nodding.
“Of course. John, come help get my stuff out of your truck?”
“Yeah.”
He packed his bags within minutes, not exactly having anything to really pack up. His stuff had remained in his duffel mostly, except for his journal that had been on the kitchen table and a few things in the bathroom. Dean lingered in the door opening until Cas waved him forward, forced him to go ahead and sit down on the chair. He tried to be careful as he loosened the tape and not pull out the hair there.
“You can pull, I’ve looked worse. Once, they actually had to shave a bit to get the stitches done,” Dean said, “I don’t really care if you rip out a little bit of hair there.”
“I’ll try to be gentle,” he said, shrugging. His fingers peeled away the last of the gauze, showing the angry red cut. It had mostly closed up, but opened up somewhere during the night judging from the blood that clung to the gauze. “This might sting a bit.”
“I’m not a toddler.”
“I don’t want you to flinch and get the salve all over your face. I know your reflexes and a black eye is not on my list of things I want to have happen.” He cleaned the wound again, putting a new dressing on them before taking Dean’s hand in his and shifting closer. The cuts on his knuckles had mostly bruised over, swollen quite badly in some places. He cleaned those too, eyes only on the blood still clinging to his fingers. “You should put some ice on those. I think that they might be sprained. Don’t think they’re broken, because you can move your fingers without too much pain. I should have driven you to the hospital.”
“Hunters get worse Cas.” They were in too close quarters, Cas crouched in front of Dean where he sat in the chair, knees bumping. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
“I’m still going to text you to remind you to clean them.” He looked up at Dean, capturing his eyes with his. “And I will need to hear how they’re healing. Don't think I can't call Sam to check.”
“Yeah.” Dean sighed, eyes drifting down to Cas’s lips. As if wondering. He reached out a hand, experimentally, letting it rest on Dean’s shoulder. Cas had expected him to flinch away, but he didn’t, instead bringing his head closer, until they were almost breathing
“Cas!” his mother yelled from outside the door, throwing it open. They sprung apart like they were burned, Cas’s cheeks burning. “We should go.” She knew what she had walked in on, told him as much in the car ride back.
They didn’t speak of it ever again.