A Heart That Hurts (Is A Heart That Works) - Chapter 1
A Heart That Hurts (Is A Heart That Works)
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, minor character death(s)
Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam, Bobby, Claire Novak, assorted others.
Spoilers: Through the end of season 4.
Summary: When Dean is offered a reward for sending Lucifer back to hell, he asks for Castiel to be let off the hook. What he doesn’t realize is that disobedience always has consequences. And when he gets a phone call from Claire Novak, Dean may find that he’s in over his head.
Chapter 1
Pain flared as he shifted on the hard ground, every muscle seizing up. Rough grass tickled his nose; dust filled his mouth. With a grunt, he rolled over onto his back, opening his eyes to see blue sky.
Thirst caused him to cough, and he turned his head enough to spit out the dust and grass he’d breathed in. He could feel sweat trickling down his neck and chest, and he knew that he needed to rise, but his heavy limbs refused to cooperate, gravity anchoring him to earth in a way that it hadn’t in the past.
Castiel gathered his strength. He rolled onto his side, and laboriously pushed himself to a kneeling position. Gathering his flagging strength, he briefly considered lying down again.
Dean, his conscience prodded him. He had a responsibility to Dean, even if he could provide little in the way of help now.
His own harsh breaths drowned out the birdsong that had filled the clearing. Castiel got his feet under him, swaying unsteadily. He took one step, then two, on shaky legs that threatened to buckle under his weight, sweat trickling into his eyes as he focused on the edge of the clearing.
There were at least a dozen downed trees around him, and Castiel dragged the sleeve of his trench coat across his forehead and took another step.
At this pace, the world would have ended by the time he found Dean.
“Cas!” Dean’s voice echoed across the clearing, and he jogged into the open, relief washing over his face. “You okay?”
Castiel tried to speak but could only manage a hoarse cough.
“Sammy! Over here! Grab the water from the car!” Dean shouted over his shoulder, and the words lifted a weight from Castiel’s mind he hadn’t known he felt. Castiel knew that without Sam, Dean would falter, and he had been aware of the possibility that Lucifer would use Sam, and that Dean would be forced to choose between his brother and the rest of the world.
Castiel suspected that the world might lose.
“Fucking angels,” Dean muttered as he ran rough hands over Castiel’s arms, checking for injuries. “They couldn’t have dropped you somewhere closer?”
Castiel managed to clear his throat enough for speech. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t try to talk,” Dean ordered. “Dammit. You look like you’re ready to have a heatstroke. It’s too fucking hot to wear a coat. You mind?”
Castiel wasn’t sure what Dean was asking if he minded, but he shook his head, and Dean wasted no time pushing his coat and suit jacket off his shoulders in one motion. Castiel felt his stomach twist with some unnamed emotion as Dean pulled his tie off and began unbuttoning his dress shirt.
“You okay?” Dean asked, his voice softer.
“Yes.” He tried to swallow and coughed again. “I’m okay.”
“Probably overheated and dehydrated,” Dean muttered, sounding angry, although Castiel didn’t think that Dean was angry at him. “How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know.”
Dean managed a smile then, patting Castiel on his damp shoulder. “Yeah, figures. It doesn’t look like you’re bleeding anywhere. Anything hurt?”
“Everything hurts,” he said plaintively, before he could think better of it.
Instead of scorn, however, the words earned him another smile, this time sympathetic. “It’s okay. We’ll get you to a motel, then you can have a bed.”
There was a crashing in the brush at the edge of the clearing, then Sam came loping towards them, his long legs covering a lot of ground. “Here you go,” he said, handing off the bottle to Dean. “How are you?”
Castiel realized that Sam was talking to him, and he looked in vain for any sign of the darkness that had been shrouding the man’s soul. Sam merely appeared concerned, however, the raw sympathy in his eyes difficult for Castiel to meet head-on. Castiel didn’t think this was the Sam he’d known, the one that the angels had considered killing.
“Drink.” Dean uncapped the water bottle and shoved it into Castiel’s hand. “Slowly, or you’ll make yourself sick.”
He sipped, and the lukewarm water was the best thing he’d tasted. Castiel was nearly overwhelmed by the sensation of his thirst being slaked.
His sigh of relief may have given some of that away, because Sam grinned, and Dean laughed out loud. “If you think that’s good, wait until you have your first beer.”
Castiel smiled, because he knew no other response to give. He had no experience with beer, and he didn’t know if he’d enjoy it.
“Can you walk?” Sam’s voice was gentle, at odds with the angry, secretive man Castiel remembered. Surely, so much couldn’t have changed in such a short time.
“Yes.” His legs still trembled, but Dean threw an arm around his waist, supporting his weight, while Sam gathered up his discarded clothing.
“The car isn’t far,” Sam assured him. “We’ll have you there in a minute.”
Castiel had questions, but each step he took stirred up new aches, and he didn’t have the energy to spare for words.
Dean helped him into the back seat, then grabbed another bottle of water, taking the empty one from him. “Keep drinking. You need the fluids.”
Castiel took a sip, then leaned his head against the window. Exhaustion had his eyes drifting shut even as he attempted to do as Dean had ordered.
“Hey.” Castiel’s eyes opened, and Sam took the bottle from his hand. “Go to sleep, Castiel.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
~~~~~
Dean kept glancing in the rearview mirror, wanting to be certain that the man in the backseat wasn’t an illusion or a dream.
“He’s not going anywhere, Dean.” Sam spoke quietly so as not to disturb Castiel.
Dean set his jaw, not replying.
A soft sigh came from the passenger seat. “I know he’s been gone for a year.”
“It doesn’t matter. We got him back.”
“What are we going to do with him?”
Trust Sam to be the practical one, Dean thought. The apocalypse had rubbed the idealism right out of him. “He’s been tortured for a year by his own kind. We’re going to look after him.”
“We don’t know that he was tortured.”
Dean snorted. “Yeah, right. You heard the archangel, and there’s no way they were playing Parcheesi.”
“Actually, I didn’t hear the archangel, remember? I was a little out of it at the time.” Sam’s impatient tone was paired with his bitch face, and not without reason. Dean was aware that he’d been an ass for the last couple of days, searching for Castiel.
“Michael said Cas was being punished, Sam.” Dean’s hands tightened on the wheel. “That’s all I need to know.”
When he’d been granted a request in return for ending the apocalypse-pretty much anything other than raising someone from the dead-Dean had thought of Castiel.
Dean had owed the angel-owed him for Sam’s life, because there was no telling what his brother would have done if Dean hadn’t shown up when he did. Since Castiel wasn’t actually dead, Dean could get him back.
And what Sam didn’t understand, what Dean couldn’t explain, was that it felt so damn good to finally save someone he had thought was beyond saving-and not have to go to hell to do it.
Dean glanced back at Castiel again; saving someone was never without consequences.
“I’m not saying that we shouldn’t help him, Dean.” Sam stared out of the window at the trees that lined the two-lane highway. “But we’re talking about a man who has no experience as a human. He might have been some help while he was an angel, but we’re hunters.”
“What the hell else would we do with him? Who do we leave him with? And we don’t even know how much danger he’s going to be in.” Dean wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince-himself or Sam-but he spoke the truth.
Sam nodded. “We can wait to find another hunt, maybe settle down somewhere for a while.”
Dean wondered how long Sam had been waiting to bring up that possibility; it sounded a lot like his old desire for a normal life. Dean had figured that got snuffed out along with his optimism. He’d begun to think that he was the one most likely to settle down.
“You think?”
“I’m tired, and I know you are.” Sam gave him a look. “We’ve been crisscrossing the country non-stop for the last year with no chance to heal-and you’re still favoring your left arm.”
Dean couldn’t argue with that. “Where do you want to go, Sam?”
“Where do you want to go?” Sam countered. “You were the one who saved the world.”
“Maybe Sioux Falls,” Dean suggested tentatively. “Bobby’s there.”
Sam laughed softly. “Yeah, I get it, Dean. Sioux Falls is fine. They’ve got a few colleges there.”
“You thinking about going back to school?”
“I don’t know.” Sam smiled. “Maybe.”
Dean nodded. “All right.”
He thought that might be just fine.
~~~~~
Castiel woke with a start, a strong hand on his shoulder shaking him awake.
“Cas? You okay?”
“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “I’m fine.” Castiel understood the theory behind dreams, but this was the first time he’d experienced one. The details were indistinct, but he felt unsettled.
“We’re at the motel,” Dean explained. “We’ll stop for the night and head out tomorrow.”
“Where are we going?”
“Bobby’s for now, but we’re going to find a spot to settle for a while. Come on.”
Dean helped him out of the backseat, showing no signs of impatience with his weakness, then into the motel room. Sam followed, laden with their bags and Castiel’s clothing.
The brothers communicated silently, the breach between them bridged as though it had never existed. “I’ll be back,” Sam announced.
“You want to get cleaned up?”
Castiel wasn’t sure what to make of the question. It sounded like more of a command, and he nodded uncertainly. “What about Lucifer? Did you stop him?”
Dean sat down next to him on the bed slowly, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “Yeah, we did. We stopped him.”
He breathed out a sigh of relief. “I was in time.”
Dean appeared uncertain. “Yeah, about that… It’s been a year, Cas.”
“A year?”
“A year since the green room, since Lucifer rose.”
Castiel didn’t understand what he meant. “But-”
“Lucifer is gone,” Dean assured him. “Locked back up in the Pit where he belongs.”
“I don’t understand.” Time did not bind angels; the fact that a year had passed for Dean should mean nothing. But Castiel had watched Dean, had known nearly everything that had gone on in his life over the year the seals were broken. This gap in knowledge troubled him.
“I got a wish granted. The archangel said I could have a request, pretty much anything other than bringing someone back from the dead.”
It took Castiel a moment to process the implications of Dean’s statement. “You asked for me?”
“You were still alive-or in existence.” Dean turned, ducking his head to meet Castiel’s eyes. “What did they do to you?”
He remembered pain-the feeling of being torn apart over and over again. And he remembered the face of the Archangel Michael and his terrible compassion as he had said, “You have been granted a reprieve, but disobedience always comes with consequences.”
Castiel shook his head. “I disobeyed, Dean.”
“You helped me.” The intensity in Dean’s voice caused Castiel to look up. “If I hadn’t arrived when I did, Sam might have gone darkside for good.”
“I didn’t do enough.”
“You did what you could.” Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You gonna be okay, Cas?”
Castiel didn’t know, but he didn’t want to disappoint Dean. “Yes.”
Dean chuckled. “We’ve got you lying like a Winchester already. Go take a shower. I’ll dig out some clean clothes out for you.”
Rising from the bed, Castiel waited until he felt steady enough to walk before heading for the bathroom. Dean’s voice checked him at the doorway. “Cas-I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want to fall.”
“Here is infinitely better than where I was.” Castiel managed a smile.
Dean nodded. “Okay. Holler if you need anything.”
~~~~~
Dean snatched the paper sack out of the air when Sam tossed it towards him. “Did you remember the pie?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “I forgot the pie once, Dean. Am I ever going to live that down?”
“In a word? No.” He dug into the bag. “You got something for Cas, too, right?”
“Turkey sandwich.”
Dean frowned. “Seriously?”
“We don’t know how long it’s been since he’s eaten. Anything too greasy will probably just come right back up.”
Dean grunted in tacit assent to that bit of wisdom. “Clothes?”
Sam tossed a bag from Wal-Mart on the bed. “Yeah. I wasn’t sure what he’d want.”
Dean snorted. “Anything other than that damn trench coat.”
Sam grinned and pulled out his chicken sandwich and fries. “It’s too warm for a coat right now.”
“Dean?” Castiel came out of the bathroom, clutching a towel around his waist. “I left my clothes on the floor as you asked.”
Ignoring the flash of desire that hit him at the sight of Cas in a towel, Dean reached for the plastic sack and found the packages of boxers, undershirts and socks that Sam had picked up. Ripping them open, he pulled out what Cas would need, then rummaged in his bag for a clean pair of jeans. Dean shoved the clothing into Castiel’s free hand.
“There you go.”
Castiel eyed the pile of clothing uncertainly. “Thank you.”
When he disappeared back into the bathroom, Sam turned to look at Dean. “You sure he doesn’t need help?”
“Shut up.” Dean spoke without heat, stuffing another couple of fries in his mouth.
“You going to share the bed with him?”
“You’re going to take the floor,” Dean countered, his mouth still full. He grinned, showing half-chewed food and making Sam grimace.
“Gross, dude.” Sam put his sandwich down. “Rock, paper, scissors?”
Dean wiped his hands on his jeans and prepared himself. He groaned a moment later. “Shit.”
“If you didn’t keep choosing scissors, I wouldn’t win all the time.” Sam leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. “You could always sleep with Cas.”
“Is this correct?”
Castiel’s emergence interrupted Dean’s scathing retort. He was dressed in Dean’s jeans and a white undershirt, wiggling sock-covered toes against the carpet.
“Yeah, it’s fine.” Dean couldn’t quite figure out why the sight of Castiel in normal clothing made his stomach twist. “Great.”
“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” Castiel offered.
Dean shook his head. “No, Cas. You’re hurt worse than I am. You should have the bed.”
“It’s big enough. Perhaps we can share?”
Dean coughed. “No, man. I kick.” He rose and waved Castiel to the chair he’d just vacated. “Sit. Eat. I, uh, I’m going to get cleaned up.”
He grabbed his things and disappeared into the bathroom, taking a deep breath. It was a normal reaction, Dean told himself. It was just relief. The apocalypse was over, Castiel was back, and they were settling down for a bit.
And if he took a long, hot shower, it was just because he was happy to be alive.
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, minor character death(s)
Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam, Bobby, Claire Novak, assorted others.
Spoilers: Through the end of season 4.
Summary: When Dean is offered a reward for sending Lucifer back to hell, he asks for Castiel to be let off the hook. What he doesn’t realize is that disobedience always has consequences. And when he gets a phone call from Claire Novak, Dean may find that he’s in over his head.
Chapter 1
Pain flared as he shifted on the hard ground, every muscle seizing up. Rough grass tickled his nose; dust filled his mouth. With a grunt, he rolled over onto his back, opening his eyes to see blue sky.
Thirst caused him to cough, and he turned his head enough to spit out the dust and grass he’d breathed in. He could feel sweat trickling down his neck and chest, and he knew that he needed to rise, but his heavy limbs refused to cooperate, gravity anchoring him to earth in a way that it hadn’t in the past.
Castiel gathered his strength. He rolled onto his side, and laboriously pushed himself to a kneeling position. Gathering his flagging strength, he briefly considered lying down again.
Dean, his conscience prodded him. He had a responsibility to Dean, even if he could provide little in the way of help now.
His own harsh breaths drowned out the birdsong that had filled the clearing. Castiel got his feet under him, swaying unsteadily. He took one step, then two, on shaky legs that threatened to buckle under his weight, sweat trickling into his eyes as he focused on the edge of the clearing.
There were at least a dozen downed trees around him, and Castiel dragged the sleeve of his trench coat across his forehead and took another step.
At this pace, the world would have ended by the time he found Dean.
“Cas!” Dean’s voice echoed across the clearing, and he jogged into the open, relief washing over his face. “You okay?”
Castiel tried to speak but could only manage a hoarse cough.
“Sammy! Over here! Grab the water from the car!” Dean shouted over his shoulder, and the words lifted a weight from Castiel’s mind he hadn’t known he felt. Castiel knew that without Sam, Dean would falter, and he had been aware of the possibility that Lucifer would use Sam, and that Dean would be forced to choose between his brother and the rest of the world.
Castiel suspected that the world might lose.
“Fucking angels,” Dean muttered as he ran rough hands over Castiel’s arms, checking for injuries. “They couldn’t have dropped you somewhere closer?”
Castiel managed to clear his throat enough for speech. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t try to talk,” Dean ordered. “Dammit. You look like you’re ready to have a heatstroke. It’s too fucking hot to wear a coat. You mind?”
Castiel wasn’t sure what Dean was asking if he minded, but he shook his head, and Dean wasted no time pushing his coat and suit jacket off his shoulders in one motion. Castiel felt his stomach twist with some unnamed emotion as Dean pulled his tie off and began unbuttoning his dress shirt.
“You okay?” Dean asked, his voice softer.
“Yes.” He tried to swallow and coughed again. “I’m okay.”
“Probably overheated and dehydrated,” Dean muttered, sounding angry, although Castiel didn’t think that Dean was angry at him. “How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know.”
Dean managed a smile then, patting Castiel on his damp shoulder. “Yeah, figures. It doesn’t look like you’re bleeding anywhere. Anything hurt?”
“Everything hurts,” he said plaintively, before he could think better of it.
Instead of scorn, however, the words earned him another smile, this time sympathetic. “It’s okay. We’ll get you to a motel, then you can have a bed.”
There was a crashing in the brush at the edge of the clearing, then Sam came loping towards them, his long legs covering a lot of ground. “Here you go,” he said, handing off the bottle to Dean. “How are you?”
Castiel realized that Sam was talking to him, and he looked in vain for any sign of the darkness that had been shrouding the man’s soul. Sam merely appeared concerned, however, the raw sympathy in his eyes difficult for Castiel to meet head-on. Castiel didn’t think this was the Sam he’d known, the one that the angels had considered killing.
“Drink.” Dean uncapped the water bottle and shoved it into Castiel’s hand. “Slowly, or you’ll make yourself sick.”
He sipped, and the lukewarm water was the best thing he’d tasted. Castiel was nearly overwhelmed by the sensation of his thirst being slaked.
His sigh of relief may have given some of that away, because Sam grinned, and Dean laughed out loud. “If you think that’s good, wait until you have your first beer.”
Castiel smiled, because he knew no other response to give. He had no experience with beer, and he didn’t know if he’d enjoy it.
“Can you walk?” Sam’s voice was gentle, at odds with the angry, secretive man Castiel remembered. Surely, so much couldn’t have changed in such a short time.
“Yes.” His legs still trembled, but Dean threw an arm around his waist, supporting his weight, while Sam gathered up his discarded clothing.
“The car isn’t far,” Sam assured him. “We’ll have you there in a minute.”
Castiel had questions, but each step he took stirred up new aches, and he didn’t have the energy to spare for words.
Dean helped him into the back seat, then grabbed another bottle of water, taking the empty one from him. “Keep drinking. You need the fluids.”
Castiel took a sip, then leaned his head against the window. Exhaustion had his eyes drifting shut even as he attempted to do as Dean had ordered.
“Hey.” Castiel’s eyes opened, and Sam took the bottle from his hand. “Go to sleep, Castiel.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
~~~~~
Dean kept glancing in the rearview mirror, wanting to be certain that the man in the backseat wasn’t an illusion or a dream.
“He’s not going anywhere, Dean.” Sam spoke quietly so as not to disturb Castiel.
Dean set his jaw, not replying.
A soft sigh came from the passenger seat. “I know he’s been gone for a year.”
“It doesn’t matter. We got him back.”
“What are we going to do with him?”
Trust Sam to be the practical one, Dean thought. The apocalypse had rubbed the idealism right out of him. “He’s been tortured for a year by his own kind. We’re going to look after him.”
“We don’t know that he was tortured.”
Dean snorted. “Yeah, right. You heard the archangel, and there’s no way they were playing Parcheesi.”
“Actually, I didn’t hear the archangel, remember? I was a little out of it at the time.” Sam’s impatient tone was paired with his bitch face, and not without reason. Dean was aware that he’d been an ass for the last couple of days, searching for Castiel.
“Michael said Cas was being punished, Sam.” Dean’s hands tightened on the wheel. “That’s all I need to know.”
When he’d been granted a request in return for ending the apocalypse-pretty much anything other than raising someone from the dead-Dean had thought of Castiel.
Dean had owed the angel-owed him for Sam’s life, because there was no telling what his brother would have done if Dean hadn’t shown up when he did. Since Castiel wasn’t actually dead, Dean could get him back.
And what Sam didn’t understand, what Dean couldn’t explain, was that it felt so damn good to finally save someone he had thought was beyond saving-and not have to go to hell to do it.
Dean glanced back at Castiel again; saving someone was never without consequences.
“I’m not saying that we shouldn’t help him, Dean.” Sam stared out of the window at the trees that lined the two-lane highway. “But we’re talking about a man who has no experience as a human. He might have been some help while he was an angel, but we’re hunters.”
“What the hell else would we do with him? Who do we leave him with? And we don’t even know how much danger he’s going to be in.” Dean wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince-himself or Sam-but he spoke the truth.
Sam nodded. “We can wait to find another hunt, maybe settle down somewhere for a while.”
Dean wondered how long Sam had been waiting to bring up that possibility; it sounded a lot like his old desire for a normal life. Dean had figured that got snuffed out along with his optimism. He’d begun to think that he was the one most likely to settle down.
“You think?”
“I’m tired, and I know you are.” Sam gave him a look. “We’ve been crisscrossing the country non-stop for the last year with no chance to heal-and you’re still favoring your left arm.”
Dean couldn’t argue with that. “Where do you want to go, Sam?”
“Where do you want to go?” Sam countered. “You were the one who saved the world.”
“Maybe Sioux Falls,” Dean suggested tentatively. “Bobby’s there.”
Sam laughed softly. “Yeah, I get it, Dean. Sioux Falls is fine. They’ve got a few colleges there.”
“You thinking about going back to school?”
“I don’t know.” Sam smiled. “Maybe.”
Dean nodded. “All right.”
He thought that might be just fine.
~~~~~
Castiel woke with a start, a strong hand on his shoulder shaking him awake.
“Cas? You okay?”
“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “I’m fine.” Castiel understood the theory behind dreams, but this was the first time he’d experienced one. The details were indistinct, but he felt unsettled.
“We’re at the motel,” Dean explained. “We’ll stop for the night and head out tomorrow.”
“Where are we going?”
“Bobby’s for now, but we’re going to find a spot to settle for a while. Come on.”
Dean helped him out of the backseat, showing no signs of impatience with his weakness, then into the motel room. Sam followed, laden with their bags and Castiel’s clothing.
The brothers communicated silently, the breach between them bridged as though it had never existed. “I’ll be back,” Sam announced.
“You want to get cleaned up?”
Castiel wasn’t sure what to make of the question. It sounded like more of a command, and he nodded uncertainly. “What about Lucifer? Did you stop him?”
Dean sat down next to him on the bed slowly, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “Yeah, we did. We stopped him.”
He breathed out a sigh of relief. “I was in time.”
Dean appeared uncertain. “Yeah, about that… It’s been a year, Cas.”
“A year?”
“A year since the green room, since Lucifer rose.”
Castiel didn’t understand what he meant. “But-”
“Lucifer is gone,” Dean assured him. “Locked back up in the Pit where he belongs.”
“I don’t understand.” Time did not bind angels; the fact that a year had passed for Dean should mean nothing. But Castiel had watched Dean, had known nearly everything that had gone on in his life over the year the seals were broken. This gap in knowledge troubled him.
“I got a wish granted. The archangel said I could have a request, pretty much anything other than bringing someone back from the dead.”
It took Castiel a moment to process the implications of Dean’s statement. “You asked for me?”
“You were still alive-or in existence.” Dean turned, ducking his head to meet Castiel’s eyes. “What did they do to you?”
He remembered pain-the feeling of being torn apart over and over again. And he remembered the face of the Archangel Michael and his terrible compassion as he had said, “You have been granted a reprieve, but disobedience always comes with consequences.”
Castiel shook his head. “I disobeyed, Dean.”
“You helped me.” The intensity in Dean’s voice caused Castiel to look up. “If I hadn’t arrived when I did, Sam might have gone darkside for good.”
“I didn’t do enough.”
“You did what you could.” Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You gonna be okay, Cas?”
Castiel didn’t know, but he didn’t want to disappoint Dean. “Yes.”
Dean chuckled. “We’ve got you lying like a Winchester already. Go take a shower. I’ll dig out some clean clothes out for you.”
Rising from the bed, Castiel waited until he felt steady enough to walk before heading for the bathroom. Dean’s voice checked him at the doorway. “Cas-I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want to fall.”
“Here is infinitely better than where I was.” Castiel managed a smile.
Dean nodded. “Okay. Holler if you need anything.”
~~~~~
Dean snatched the paper sack out of the air when Sam tossed it towards him. “Did you remember the pie?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “I forgot the pie once, Dean. Am I ever going to live that down?”
“In a word? No.” He dug into the bag. “You got something for Cas, too, right?”
“Turkey sandwich.”
Dean frowned. “Seriously?”
“We don’t know how long it’s been since he’s eaten. Anything too greasy will probably just come right back up.”
Dean grunted in tacit assent to that bit of wisdom. “Clothes?”
Sam tossed a bag from Wal-Mart on the bed. “Yeah. I wasn’t sure what he’d want.”
Dean snorted. “Anything other than that damn trench coat.”
Sam grinned and pulled out his chicken sandwich and fries. “It’s too warm for a coat right now.”
“Dean?” Castiel came out of the bathroom, clutching a towel around his waist. “I left my clothes on the floor as you asked.”
Ignoring the flash of desire that hit him at the sight of Cas in a towel, Dean reached for the plastic sack and found the packages of boxers, undershirts and socks that Sam had picked up. Ripping them open, he pulled out what Cas would need, then rummaged in his bag for a clean pair of jeans. Dean shoved the clothing into Castiel’s free hand.
“There you go.”
Castiel eyed the pile of clothing uncertainly. “Thank you.”
When he disappeared back into the bathroom, Sam turned to look at Dean. “You sure he doesn’t need help?”
“Shut up.” Dean spoke without heat, stuffing another couple of fries in his mouth.
“You going to share the bed with him?”
“You’re going to take the floor,” Dean countered, his mouth still full. He grinned, showing half-chewed food and making Sam grimace.
“Gross, dude.” Sam put his sandwich down. “Rock, paper, scissors?”
Dean wiped his hands on his jeans and prepared himself. He groaned a moment later. “Shit.”
“If you didn’t keep choosing scissors, I wouldn’t win all the time.” Sam leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. “You could always sleep with Cas.”
“Is this correct?”
Castiel’s emergence interrupted Dean’s scathing retort. He was dressed in Dean’s jeans and a white undershirt, wiggling sock-covered toes against the carpet.
“Yeah, it’s fine.” Dean couldn’t quite figure out why the sight of Castiel in normal clothing made his stomach twist. “Great.”
“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” Castiel offered.
Dean shook his head. “No, Cas. You’re hurt worse than I am. You should have the bed.”
“It’s big enough. Perhaps we can share?”
Dean coughed. “No, man. I kick.” He rose and waved Castiel to the chair he’d just vacated. “Sit. Eat. I, uh, I’m going to get cleaned up.”
He grabbed his things and disappeared into the bathroom, taking a deep breath. It was a normal reaction, Dean told himself. It was just relief. The apocalypse was over, Castiel was back, and they were settling down for a bit.
And if he took a long, hot shower, it was just because he was happy to be alive.